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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, December 25, 1853, Image 1

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83030362/1853-12-25/ed-1/seq-1/

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ft -io thU d-iga *• atiite !*•*» and fir* ■*•6*l tfmiHtiM
ft oaj r —Mt t» awtea it *» •«■ «t W>i*wn. T* d® t*i« prjp«rly, re-
ft. W «i oo..te*mbte ttaw «*i **♦«, W. tw*i, Aerefrre, tJivt our read
ftft ><!?»«•* ■™»tt«Utkeu
»• •*«*•< www-
to Questioners. —“I send solutions
ft and anawera to several questions recently proposed in your
ft columns ; some I solved two or three weeks ago, but I have not
| had time to put them in shape for print...• -First: The hopper
I * .'/triton.” The hopper contains 1293.3/5 cubic Inches. The
ft bushel contains 2150- 4 cubic inches ; that is, it we reject small
ft factions, the hopper contains 6 bushels Now the line upon
ft wh?ch the measures are to be marked on the inner surface of
ft' one side, (that is the line drawn from the bottom to the top of
Mp.'ne side the kopper dividing the side into two equal parts) is
ft found to be 29. 88 inches. Hence according to the well known
■ rule that sim'lar cones are to each other as the cubes of the
HL homologous side, we have the proportion : viz :—6 is to las the
ft* cube of 29 88 is to the cube of the required height on the line
I for a bushel, that is 16 3 feet. For a half bushel or a quarter
■ bushel, substitute the half or the quarter in the place of the 1
* Second: The “2?ox Q action that is, to make abax of
| given proportion’, the largest that can be made out of a given
quantity of plank of given thick ness. I have made the follow
ing rule, applicable to all such cases Multiply the square feet
I in the ptank by bV 2 ; deduct from the product eight times the
jfaickness; extract the square root of the remainder. To the
root so obtained, add six times the thickness, and divide the
sum so obtained by eleven. The quotient will be the length ot
the smallest side of the required box. The other sides arejeasily
found from the given proportions. Exact accuracy, in practice,
can be obtained only in such cases as will admit of extracting
L square root without remainder. After catting out the first
ft side, k care should be taken to calculate the thickness of the
L plank in making out the other sides Third ; "The> Plum,
ft ‘Q nation'.” There were 30 plums in the basket Fourth;
ft The “TZirae hundred acres of land.” A paid §2 41 3. per acre,
ft and B paid $1 69.3 per acre Fifth: Tie ''Pole and globe
F guest ion,” of Querist. By the terms of the question the distance
ft -of the man’s eye from the ground is 116 feet. The area shutout
■ from sight is 11008 square feet, rejecting a small decimal. Ex
ft planation The periphery cf the field shut out from view by
ft the globe is a perfect circle ; the line of vision from the eye to
ft £1,2 edge of this circle is a tangent to the surface of the globe or
ft ball and forms the hypotheneun of a right angled triangle of
■ which the vertical height of the eye from the ground (116 feet)
r is one leg, and the radius of the required circle is the other.
Again; the vertical height of the eye from the centre of the
ball is 11 feet, and it forms the hypotheneum of light angled
triangle of which one leg is the radius drawn from the centre of
► the ball to the spot on its surface where the line of vision is
tangent to it, and the other leg is the distance of the eye from
■* thia spot which last mentioned leg is easily found by calculation
to be 7-7979 feet. These two right angled triangle are similar
because they have the same acuta angle common to both, that
is the angle at the eye between the the vertical and the line of
vision. This similarity gives the pr>portion, thus As the
longer leg of the small triangle (9.7979 ft) is to the shorter leg
ot the small triangle (5 feet) 80 is the longer leg of the larger
leg (116 ft) to the shorter leg of the larger triangle or the re
quired radius of the hidden area—s 9 feet and 196 one thou
sandths of a foot, from which the are tis found as above 11008.
16 m square feet Sixth. Qaerist’s solution to the question of
.the inscribed square in a right angle triangle is simply wrong.
Tte smallest decimal! deficiency in a question of that kind makes
a wonderful difference in the result. The exact answer is 28
feet for one leg and 21 feet for the other leg. An explanation of
M. my process would require a diagram which in your columns is
ft impracticable, I would be very thankful to Quaerist if he will
L state by what process he obtained his answers ... .Finally—
ft what ddes “A Wood'’ meau by the condition “without emyloying
ft a triangle in theeokdio- f ’ Does he mean a solution that is en-
ly independent of all rules and principles founded on the
ft nature of triangle and their proportions to each other ? Again ;
■ does he intend that the circles shall be inscribed regularly about
ft the centre of the large circle so that the lines joining their cen
ft tnes will make a rectangle ? or does he intend to have them over
ft?a> each other irregularly or otherwise provided they are only
thetdiameter given and all cut the centre of the large circle.?
* He must explain hint self, before a solution can be attempted.
A Student.—To your first enquiry all we
have to say is, that several religious denominations desire a re
vision of the present version of the BibleThera were se
ver*! translations of the Old and New Testaments, either in
whole or in pi>rt, as early as the age of Edward 111. Fox, the
writer of the Martyrology, prepared an edition of the Gospels
' in Saxon, under the patronage ef Parker, Archbishop of Can
terbury, and published it in 1571. Wickliffe, it is knowa, either
translated the whole Bible, or gathered together translations
o.< which made an English Bible. As Wickliffe died hi 1384, he
must have completed his work, many copies of which were taken,
somewhere about 1360. William Tyndal also translated a large
, portion of the Scriptures into the English longue, next in anti
quity to Wickliffe’s. Tyndal was acquainted with Luther,
whote advice and assistance he is reported to have had in his
translation. He lived much abroad, and before 1526 he had
comple ed an English version of the New Testament. Of this
ftXhe printed, we read, in that year two distinct editions—one in
tiViarto and one in duodecimo. Perfect copies of either of these
Editions is not known ; although there are no doubt but that
some of them are yet In existence. Tyndal’s translations were
, eage ly bought up and burnt in England, by the priesthood; bat
this only supplied him with the means of printing other editions
■with such corrections and improvements as were suggested to
him. He also translated the Pentateuch, the books of Moses,
-and manv other books in the Old Testament. Tyndal was put
to a cruel death in 1536, near Antwerp, where his translation
ti st appeared. Mi es Coverdale produced a complete English
Bible, based on Tynaal’s translations and his owe. shortly af
ter Tyndal’s death. It was followed by several other publica
tions of the English Bible, in the interval between 1535 and 1611,
when the present authorized version was first published.
From a werk at oar elbew. we exeerpt the fellewing
passage on the erigia ef the translation“ Early in
t±e leign of King James I. there was a conference of i
<ii vines of different opinions at Hampton Court, for the settling
the peace of the church. In this conference much was said con
cerning the imperfections of the exlstiag translations of ths Sirip
tures. Tie king himself, who was often present at these meet
ings, expressed a strong opinion on that point of the dehate. ‘I
wish,’ said he, ‘some special pains were taken for a aniform
translation, which should be done by the best learned in both
universities, then reviewed by the bishops, presented to the privy -
council, ana lastly, ratified by royal authority, obe read in the
whole church, and no other.’ vut of this speech of the king’s
arose the present English Bible; for the suggestion soon ripened
iato a resolution. Fifty-four of the persons in that age most dis
tinguished for that particular species of learning which such a
duty required, were selected for the work, according te the king’s
suggestion; finally, forty-seven of them undertook it. They di
vided themselves into six independent classes, to each of which
a certain portion of the work was assigned. Each person in the
class vas io produce his own translation of the whole committed
to (hem; these several translations ware to be revised at a gene
ral meeting of the class. When the class had agreed upon their
version, it was to be transmitted to each of the other classes, so
that no part was to come out without the sanction of the whole
body. Two of the classes sat at Westminster, tw.s at Oxford, and
% two at Cambridge. The instructions which they received from
’the king were, that they should adhere to the Bishop's Bible (first
printed in 156 o), which was then ordinarily read in the churches,
making as few deviations as possible. They were, however, to
use the other versions, and to consult the translations which had j
made into other modern languages; and they were to keep I
the old ecclesiastical words, such as church, Ac. When a
r word had divers significations, ‘that should be Kept which had 1
been most commonly used by tke ancient fathers, being agreea- ■
ble to the propriety of the place, and the analogy of tha faith.’ '
No marginal notes were to be used, except for the further expli- !
c£\ion of some Greek or Hebrew word. References to parallel .
passages might be given. They were to call in the assistance !
of any learned man who was known to have made this subject
\ his study. They were employed upon the work for three years,
namely, from 1607 io 1610, proceeding with that deliberation and
care which so weighty an undertaking required.”
W. A. P.—“Whatcauses the trade winds ?”
trade-winds occur in all epen season both sides the equator,
to and to the d.stance of about thirty degrees north and south of it. |
ft 'l>he rarefactien produces in our atmosphere, according to Hal-
L ley, by the apparent diurnal progress of the sun is the cause of
ft ’the trade winds. It appears that the heat caused by the sun in
the air is strong enough to produce this rarefaction to an extent
of about 60 degrees of latitude, as the trade-winds including the
region of calms, extend over nearly sveh a portion ot the globe.
Tn this immense space the rarefied air is replaced by the colder
Mid denser air which rests over the region contiguous to the re
gion of the trade-winds. If the wind could move with a degree
of velocity equal to the progress of the sun, it would blow from
the north on the north of the places under the infiuence of the
perpendicular rays of the sun, and from the south on tha south
ern side of such places. But the velocity of the wind is less
» than that of the earth. Hence it follows that the wind has
hardly taken the direction which is imparted to it by the rare- I
faction of one place, when the place of the greatest rarofacto* !
Bas already ehanged, having proceeded farther west. This
‘ makes the direction of the wind decline to the place of greater j
rarefaction, and thus the northern wind Is converted into a
north-eastern and souther* into a south-eastern wind. This 1
J Recess in the a'mosphero rapidly extends westward whea not :
ntarrnpted by tho intervention ef high land, and hence it is
found that in tho western portions of the ocean and also near the 1
equator the trade-winds blow nearly from due east. The trade- ;
winds both in tboir direction and limits, incline towards the sun,
'or place of greatest refraction; that is, when the sun is near |
the northern tropic, or returning from.jit, having heated tho '
northern hemisphere, tho S.E. trade-wind declines farther from
the E. point than in tho opposite season, and blows with strength
towards the place of greatest refraction ; and its northern limits ,
reach nearly to, and in some pjffcoa beyond, the eqiater. The
N. E. trade wind at the same time inclines nearer to the east
Soint than in the other season, blowing with loss strength, and
ecoming contracted in its southern limits, which then recede
eeveral degrees sometimes 14 or 15 to the north of the oqaator.
In the opposite season, when the southera hemisphere is greatly
heated by the sun, the N. E. trade-wind blows stronger, doclines
further from the east point, and approaches nearer the equator: .
tbo strength of tho N.E. trade'wind at the same time is conoid- J
ered diminished by tho influence of the sun, and approaches
e me points nearer to the east point. Much more might be said
bn this subject did space permitOf the difference in the 1
, temperature of the atmosphere on the eastern and western shores
of a continent we are not fully prepared to say anything of a
positive character. The observations of Sir Edward Parry and
Mr. Scoresby have suggested to Sir David Brewster a formula,
to the effect that the mean temperature at each of the foci of
eoldness is as the distance in degrees between the given place '
S and those foci. It is generally believed but not fully determ- |
ined, that the temporatu-e of the western parts of the conti
nent of Europe is now higher than it was nearly two thousand I
« years since ; and it has been inferred by Richarra Adams Lecke.
and we believe some others, that the magnetic poles have a di
rect influence upon minimum tempera'ures, and perform revolu- ;
% tions about the geographical poles of the earth, so that the ter- !
restial meridian on which the greatest cold prevails gradually '
changes its position in obedience to the movements of the mag
netic poles. Others have tkeught that the rotation of the earth '
from west to east may have such an influence upon the tempe- '
rature of the atmosphere as to reduce below in some instances,
the isothermal poiat on the eastern while it can cause no such
destructive action en the western side of an island or continent.
Stcars A Co., 17 Ann street, will supply you with ‘‘Tris
tam Shandy.”
Junius.—Suppose you do not ask more than
' twenty questions at one time. You will do u» a faver by setting
a limit to y< ur (jeeriec. If we were to answer all you have sent
as we would have room for little else in the paper. Modesty is
becoming in man as well as woman. Bancroft’s United States
Will give you a very excellent of the pelitic *1 history ef this
country.. .Mr. Benton is called ‘ Old Ballion” because he desired
a more general distribution of gold and silver in the currency of
the country. There is a long 6tory connected with the nickname
which we cannot afford to publish here ‘ Hards” and
♦ “Softs” are names given to two sections of the democratic party.
The “Hards” in this State are opposed to the pro»ent admlnis
while the “Softs” are warm in its support The
phrase, “Let justice be done, though tha heavens fall,” etc., if
we remember aright, occurs in one of President Jackson’s mes
eageeThe verse commencing with “ Truth crushed to
earth,” etc., is by William Cullen BryantWe suppose Fa
ther Gavaazi pnts the proceeds of his lectures in his pocket.
Where elso should he deposit the money ?... .The mousy raised ,
* by Kossnth in aid of Hungary is funded. ... A “ coupon bond”
is an interest certificate printed at the bottom of transferable
bonds (State, railroad; etc..) given for a torm of years. There
are as mauy of these certificates as there a-o payments of inte
rest te be mado. At each time of payment one is cut off (hence
its name, coupon a cut off,) axd presented for Daymen’. Tii-e .
above explanation may be f»»ad in Webster. ..“Tristram Shin
dy” is “peculiar” because it is one of the English classics and
- rather smutty... .Procrustes was a famous robber of Attica, .
killed by Theseus. He tied travellers on a bed, and if the length .
of their bodies exceeded that of the bed, he used to cut them off,
but if they were shorter he extended them to mako them equal
to it. Hence the saying, “the bod of Procrustes.” The or
igin of the >hrase “Promethean fire,” is s ddfobe, in fabulous (
<■ . history, as follows : Prometheus was the son of Japetus, who
animated a man he had formed of clay with fire, which, by the
assistance of Minerva, he stele from heaven. Jupiter, angered at !
his presumption, chained hint to a rock in Mount Caucasus, and i
caused a vulture to gnaw perpetually at his liver... St. George, '
the patron saint of England, was an Arian, and was, in the com
mencement of the Fourth century, elevated to tho episcopal
ttirone at Alexandria ; but he was so cruel, that ba was hurled
from bis seat, and committed to prison. Ten days afterwards, he
was killed by the people. When the English crusades went to I
the oast in 1096, they found St. George elevated to the rank of a 1
warrior-Balnt who had killed the devil in the form of a dragon, i
and with tho titlo of tho “victorious.” As they believed they i
wore indebted to him for aid at tho siege of Antioch, tljey adopt- I
- ed him as tho patroa of soldiers. Edward 111., was thus led to ;
make him patron of the Order of the Garter, and so gradually 1
St. George became tho tutelary saint of RuglandWe can’t ;
gratify yon with the “ eatiro histo-y of the Ga’phin claim.” ’
.....“The modus operandi ot co»ducting the United States
Bank.” was precisely the sama as is observed in other banks,
only on a more extended soalo.
A. W ood. —We did but glance over your
*Jnake question last week, when we stated that we would endea
vor to answer yoa in this number. Ifwa had read it more at
tentively we should not have made any such promise. We will
copy it for the bent fit of yourself and other readers : “Thehoad '
s of a rattlesnake was severed completely from his body; aed for
some minutes after the decapitation, it would snap at a stick
laid across its other parts fwhat other parts? 1; as this appsars to
me to be a phenomenon incompatible with the theory of tho 1
brain being tho seat of sensation, will you please enlighten me
ao to the animal havino a knowledge of the contact made with
the stick upon his body ?” At the first glance, we cams to the
conclusion that cn tho ground of “ineompatibility” you had an
swered tho question ; but then, wo thought, the snapping of the
’ , severed head was accidental or spasmodic. The latter supposi
tion will by many be considered as the true solution; but, friend
ood, let us go a littlo deeper into tho matter. May not mag
netic synspatby have had something to do with tho phenome
non? We have heard of mon complaining of an itching sensa
tion in some mombor which had boon lost months before, and in
voluntarily try to soothe the sympathetic part. There is an in-
K torior as well as an exterior form to all things : thue tho rose
has an interior body np on which Its oxtsrior is formed by tho
■dovolopement from within ontwardef particles of matter. This
interior form is magnetic : eo with tho animal creation—eioh
creation has a moro er loss developed magnetic form or soul,
simi'ar in all reopeots to tho exterior. This is termed in the
lower organizations, sensation simply; ia tha higher it is moro
complex and is cadled soul. Now, tho magnetic aura or soul
(if we may be permitted te uso tho torm) of tho Snake sustained
aympathetie relations to the severed parts, and in touching the
bedy with the stisk, the •oneatien trave'ed ever tho space in
termediate, and eommunicated with the nerve seat,(for a timo,)
almost ns readily as if tho animal was a unit. To this explana
tion. however, it may bo objected tha* once tho spiral column is
broken all be’ow tho part injured immediately loses sensation.
This is the case, wo know, in man, and in some of tho mare
perfectly organized animals ; but how far this extends in the
lower formations is io bo asoertained. A series of experiments
suggested to Mr. Wood. If it ie found that tho severed parte
In all cases act an in the instance cited, then, perhaps, our theo
ry is nearly corrost; but if tho phenomena does not again occur,
aur correspondent may safob ascribe the apparent sympathy of
the severed parts of the snake to accident or spasm.
A Sub.—From all the facts we have been
enabled to collect bearing upon the invention of the Electric
Tele graph, we are led to conclude that Prof. Morse, of this city,
is justly entitled to the honor of bsing the first to test its appli
cability as a medium for intercommunication. It is, however,
c a.med by Europeans, that Messrs W. F. Cooke akd Wheatl
Bt A’l e ’ , and Steinheil, of Bavaria, were the inventors
cf tho Electric Tele(rrj P h. Steinheil and Wheatstone perfected
their instrnnier.i. In the jeer 1837, and tested the applicability of
the be!Ury the same year that Morso Hied his caveat. Nothing,
Trowever, was kr can of the operations of the European inven!
tors previous to 1837, whereas Mr. Morse, as early as the year
1835, dewronet-atrd the prMtlcaMUtv of his invention before a
Bcieot.de audience in the New York University. Had we space
we would give at length the evidence bearing on this- but tha
points rneniloned above are evidence of the priority of the claim
setup for Mr. Morse as the inventor of the Electric Telegraph
. ... -The American steamship Savannah, of 380 tons, built by
, Messrs. Crocker k Fiskitt, at Corlear’s Hook, this city, was the
first vesrel moved by steam t,.at crossed the Atlantic’ Ths Sa
vannab left the p.rl of Savarnak on th. 26th of June ISIO and
urnved at Liverpool on tbp 15th of July—making tbe’umava
dl-ht«,„ day., during seven of-which she was under .Sam.
When tbu Savaunah entered St. George’s *'bannel, f r .n» the
quantity of smoke that re»e apparently from her deck, and en
veloped her rigring, she was thought to ba on fire, and the cem
mander of the Ch nnel Fleet sent two cutters to her relief, but
the astonishment of these ou board the English vessels can hard
. ly be imagined, when it was found that the strangers progressed
, through the water with considerable rapidity, notwithstanding
her baite wars furled. On beardiug her they discovered the
cause oftho tmoke and of her movements, and immediately
t* eg’-ephod her arrival to Liverpool. whe>o, on her casting an
chor, she wm greeted by thousands with enthusiastic eheers.
7"A t 0 St - P«tersburgh, and finally re'urnod
tathe United Ftates, when she vas divested of her wheels, and
euajiloyed as a packet between Savannah and New York. She
ent sequently went on shore on Long Island and broke up
'ferper’s M»ga:rne, that General Jack<oe de
t K c x t \ on ba « B employed for purposes ef defense at
the battle of New Orleane, is quite correct.
To T. F. S—As a further and more com-
P l r , d wc’l,7,' UUMiion as to tha right, of m.r
rled to personal and other property of which she was
and whkh ,0 '‘ B ' tllis
and e men vas briefly responded to in our last we copy the fol
.are”? Fr'ieCo n J?y“--^ C J'<Wiv“ id™y tK Snrro
wTlo with money hTbv “
the «t»tute.of 1848 .nd 1M», where X, ,I, I M
.with another man and die. int Sate,
children by the former marriage her snrvire 3r
bnrb.r <1 and not to bar children or lleit k f' Jl*
tot-.of 18t8.nd 1819 have not affected the reA, r re ’
hmband aa they exlrtad prior to the efatute,’eo fiiht
othep.reonal property of a dtceased wife acquired with h«J
twn money since the etatnte, and undisoe ed of bj b.7 12li re
concerned The statute of’lß and '49 giv, U/JJ" s'"J'
man the r.bsohite control and disposal oi her real ilSd olraonji
prrrpe.ty acqalred order it, during her life, but if
testate owning persona) properly, tha legal ownership there’f
vests in the hmbind and not in her h-s’rs or next of k?n
statute of distributions never did apply to the personal estate nr
* but the husband surviving- he.-was entitled
to it by the- »mmon law. Tho statutes of 1848 and 1849 have no
cted his legal rights in this respect, the win dying Intestate
c?eed Tn person al propa-ty. Tbc personal property is d e
o Jj’. e . hn J k * n<l under thettatnteof distribution not as heir
or next of kin, but as husband, and by that name.”
P’ J* - Robinson.—Our statement was cor
of the rchre’nJ’Z 611 *' gathered our returns of the B'renß’h
’ tire c ure, or no ? ln “ liouß lbc Lnil6ti ”>»lnly from
communicants in thJrSr j? urn ere hat * ° r number of
veTy well 'V® Ohurch, South, we could not
Jn&’n mir p'y’to’-l""l? »hleh we
m »«. »nd no'k<t »ny Intin lonre , W ", “ lmed «» correct-
in that cl ureh If**™. 0 ”* mjb-.-tatement,’ mto tho number
Chnrch for 18M plveV.&S". ,b< ' of the Methodist
tlcn iueres-. d be,ood d ™ omi ™
minutes of the Mrihodl." Chwh m |’>S " K ,0 't e
M.-thrdlet Episcopal Church hsd i-r sre’ d b) ’ he
Slethodlst Protretmrt 64,313, R.lomr-d the
11. rliodlsts .'II m> Germen Metho ™, m 3 ' I. W ' ? sl '
- A'jhrlgl t Meibodists t Kv.ng.lleU "Loc re t ? re,™’ 15 ,
total < i 776 or 10 000 le. s thanS hr
berx. It will be recollected that in this ?? Of .l ht U T 1 " 1 ’
psi MethodSouth, i» not included ■
Lute. Ct 1853 rhow a return of 573 331 com™„ W { h . <Ch .’ if ,he mi ’
respondente statement would be correct, and. °‘ lr - co ’’
lidated. ’ a our ow « not inva-
Putnam.—You are not entitled to a pension
breau evour brothers to.ght or d were killed ,t. , „ UU
r YoTI m F,lt P« :h *P H . lan< l warranto, as near
Rerv,tM - ... It depends on circumstances ’
chi 4 born on the pausgw from a port in Furopa inan AiTreJ 1
can al.'p, m>der the zmariaan flag, can ba c-n»i(fored acit'zmn nr
the United States the same as if born ir» the United State., ” Thl
in aZS? 1 ° f ‘ hft chl P would du P° Rd on ,h ® condition o?
nten on of to jmrenta at the time. Thus, if they were c'-mi v
ctelm to’bl’a ch? onl J> th< ch,ld could jnsti?
ei»Jm to a citizen bom of the Suited States, fn moc
ruitJ* 1101 ** * t7 ° f th ® ch,li iB d «‘crmined by that of the pa-
II I fl i I ill I i I : IB I I frh iL i I I
VOL. 9. NO. 5.
P. G To Quaerist. —“Let E bs the point of
the eye. C. the centre of sphere. B. Base of pole T. When the
eye touches the sphere, and S. where it strikes the earth.
Draw C. T. The angle at Lis Right (18ch of 3rd) ‘and by 47th
•f Ist. E T sq. equal E C sq—C T sq=96. And E T=»9. 8, nearly.
The triangles E T C and E B S are similar to E T : T C : : E
B: RS. That is 9. 8: 5: : 116: 59. 18?<. Tho reeiitu of the
required circle, the area of which is (11004). The Legs of
your trtangle should be 21 and 28 feet To. A. Wood.
Draw two diaxnaters at right angles ; Bisect each radios from
those points as eentrer. describe 4 circles. Jom the centres of
tw» of the hsser cirslte. Put r—semi radius (which is gives)
and by inspection r times the sq. roe’ of 2is equal to tho line join
ing tbo centres, and also to the distance from the centra of tho
greater to tho points where the lesser cut.
A Skeptic Jew.—There are two distinct
theories entertained by learned Chinese scholars as to the cos
mogony, or creation of the world : and what is singular, these
theories are not nnlike those which were held by Aristotle and
Epicurus. One school claims that the Universe has been from
the beginning, that is, was never created, andfcensequently can
never be dissolved ; the other doetrineis that the earth was cre
ated by the fortuitous adherance ef particles of matter having
affinity for each other, and that when this circumstance from
any cause is set aside, the particles will repel each other and re
solve themselves into their original element. Rather a comical
American.—There ia no law which prohib
its Americans from sitting on juries in the Court of Sessions ;
•n the contrary, under Title V., (of Trials for Offences, etc.,)
page 917, Sec. 7, we read that “no alien shall be entitled to a
jury of part aliens or strangers, for the trial ',of any indictment
whatever.” It was formerly a custom in civil cases to permit a
mixed jury—composed of citizens and aliens—but this has been
done away with under the Statutes as Revised. A foreigner has
the right to challenge, as has a citizen, and to set aside any per
son summoned as a juror whom he may think is prejudiceo, or
who would not give an impartial verdict.
S. 11. Vincent.—“A friend and myself have
had a discussion on the propriety of the word 'born.’ He con
tends that everything is born that is in existence, while I insist
that no’hing is horn except a human being that has a soul. Give
us y©ur opinion ?” What would yeur opinion be of a “human
being,” if he had not a soul? Yourself and friend could have
ended your dispute without difficulty or debate, by turning over
the pages of some Dictionary. Wetster Bays “bora—isto bring
forth, as an animal. To be born, —is to be produced, or brought
into life.”
Artist.—Miss Gertrude Dawes (Mrs. Car
penter ) was bora in the city of Savannah, Georgia, on the 21st
of July, 1835. Her maiden name was Briant. The lady made
her first appearance on any stage as one of the Fairies, in the
“King of the Mist,” at the National Theatre, Philadelphia, un
der the management of Wemyss and Oxley. .She firet appeared
in New York as “La Petite Gertrude,” at Barnum’s Museum,
as a dancer ; and subsequently appeared at the Bowery Theatre
as an actress in the part of Catherine Kloper, in a piece entitled
Lola Montes.
W. R. W.—The only way you can get over
the difficulty is to compel your brother to show you by what
right he lays claim to the property under consideration—in other
words insist upon his showing “those papers,” before he touches
a cent’s worth of the property of your lather There is no
statute which prohibits a man from marrying his wife’s sister
It depends upon the order of the court whether a man
on being divorced shall be permitted to marry again in this
L. L. L—According to custom, which is
common-law, it has been held that if a husband leaves his wife,
and has not been heard of for seven years, and is believed to be
cead, the wife may marry again. It is well for the wife, hour
ever, before she contracts another marriage, to be well satisfied
on the last mentioned point; as the return at any time of the ab
sent one, might cause some little trouble and a great deal of per
J. O. S.—lf the men from whom you pur
chased the goods refuse to fulfil their contract, institute a suit
Bgainstthem for damages The mortgage cannot be fore
closed and the property sold, so long as the interest is paid. If
the mortgage has expired and the loan is not redeemed, it may
be renewed by other parties, if such can be found, by releasing
the original mortgage.
Ferry.—The true and exact definition of
the word ferry is, according to Webster, “a boat or small vessel
in which passengers and goods are conveyed over rivers or nar
row waters.” Under this rendering of the word it would not
be proper to call one of Collins’ steamers a ferry boat, nor the
Atlantic ocean a “rive?,” or ‘ narrow water.”
J*. M. G.—We cannot say “whether it is
honorable or otherwise for a person to transfer his ticket ef mem
bership in the mercantile Library Association, to a mercantile
clerk, without the recipient, or new intended member, paying
the regular initiation fee ’’ Wo refer you to the laws of the As
sociation for a solution of this “knotty question.”
Fowler.—Near Port Jervis, on the line of
the New York and Erie Railroad, in Pike and Sullivan Coun
ties, you can pick up a good day’s gunning. There is some ex
cellent snipe-shooting near Flushing and in other parts of Long
Island ; as there is also in the interior and on the sea eoast of
New Jersey.
John Bull.—We believe, in fact we have no
reason to btlieve otherwise, “that there is quite as much water
in the now as there was at the time of the Deluge”
Yes, it will answer to say ‘ that water ascends in the atmosphere,
in the form of vapor, and on becoming condenced. descends
again in the form of rain.”
Ann.—Habitual drunkenness and neglect of
family is not deemed sufficient ground upon which to prosecute
a suit for divorce. Your better plan would be to enter a com
plaint before some sitting magistrate, and through him compel
your husband to provide means for the comfortable provision of
yourielf and family.
A Stranger.—lf the father prosecute you
for the seduction of his daughter, you will very soon learn
“what can be done to jou.” The seduction of a girl under age
is, in this State, a misdemeanor, punishab’e by confinement and
hard labor in the State Prison for a term of years.
A Brown.—Except in some instances, an
alien cannot be] compelled to sit upon a jury ; nor can he be
forced in time of peace to do militia duty. When an alien be
comes a citizen then all the duties of the citizen is imposed upon
Denebola—Proposes the following for soln
tion : —“ln a semi -circle piece of ground containing thirty acres,
required the length of the legs of aright angle which at either
extremity would just enclose one hundred square rods?” De
nebola will perceive that his answers have been anticipated.
Jaqueline.—Miss, you are requested to call
o» the gentleman whose name you mention in your note, at the
theatre. He will tell you “whether he is married or not.”
Disremember is an unauthorized word The U. S. ship Cyane
is in the home squadron.
J. M. B.—We cannot say positively whether
the effects of chloroform can (be removed before its strength is
exhausted ; but think if the patient were to receive a sudden and
powerful galvanic shock, he would be iustaatly restored to con
Esteemed Friend.—Barnum’s ‘ Fire Anni
hilator,” we believe, is laid up in lavenderße not over
anxious, you will hear of the whereabouts and intentions of the
owners of the caloric ship Erricson, before you are many days
A Con. Reader.—The Governor of this or
any other State has nothing whatever to do with the army of the
United States. He is simply Commander in-Chief of Militia and
Navy of the State over which he presides.
Frankness,—We cannot advise you. You
must take the letter of S S. Woodward for just what you think
it is worth. We are not acquainted with Mr. Woodward’s ad
J. M. P.— The Census of the United States
for 1850 is not intended for gratuitous circulation If you want
a copy of the last Census write to the Congressional Representa
tive of your District, and request him to forward you one.
H. Hezetline.—Wisconsin is a very fine
country for a hard working man to settle in. As a whole, that
territory is freer from disease than auy other ef which we have
a knowledge.
Quix. —You are not obliged by law to ad
vert se the loss ; but common honesty, which is superior to law,
should impel you to do itThe “up town post-ofiices” will
charge you for the delivery of the letter.
W. J.J.—We have heard of “Oil of Bricks,”
but never ef the Oil of St. John. There may be such a named
oil, however.
P. O.—By transferring your right to another,
a caveat and letters patent for the Invention may be taken out in
that other’s name.
M. S.—Thomas Francis Meagher, we be
lieve, was born in the city of Cork, Ireland. Mr. M. is about 28
years of age.
Cuban.—We have not forgotten you. We
shall endeavor to give you the desired information in a week or
two at fnrthe t.
G. R. G.—“Hayti” is a despotism .... “St.
Domingo” is a Republic Oh i-o is an Indian word, and
signifies, we believe, a beautiful river or country.
Querist. —Kane, of “extradition notoriety,”
was discharged.
T. C. B.—We have already stated in a for
mer number, “what would remove freckles.”
Written Erjressln for tjiis Paper.
THE fflNimffllL
A Revolutionary Romance.
Farnier Barton reads Letter—He has a
visit from Hoxy, who enlightens him W'.th regard to
the Morahty of Cow-boys and Skinners—He is let
znto a Secret, and sets out on a hazardous*Expedi
We left Farmer Barton seated in his lodgings, near
Kingsbridge, busily engaged in the perusal of the let
ter that had been brought him by Mrs. Molloy. The
letter, as the reader will recollect, was from General
Washington, and conveyed instructions with regard
to the course the farmer was to pursue in the prosecu
tion of his novel duties.
The letter was brief. It merely said :
» “Friend Smith (the assumed name of Barton)—l
fear we have many secret enemies of our sacred cause
in the country and villages lying north of New York
(subsequently known as the Neutral Ground). I have
learned that one Abijah Todd, who sometime siuce
had an interview with me, and in whom, at that time,
I had full and perfect confidence, is a traitor to his
avowed principles. If so, ke has it in his power to do
us much harm, as I confided various matters to him
which will give him an opportunity of betraying us.
Watch him closely. To do this you must seek to gain
his confidence. If he be a true man—and God grant
he may be—-for if he has failed me, he will have awak
ened suspicions, which I would fain crush, this action
on your part will work for good; if he be a traitor,
you will, 1 trust, be enabled to controvert the effects
of his treachery. lam aware that this appearance of
deception will be repugnant to your feelings, as it
must necessarily be to those of every honest man. But
the evil is only ideal; in reality you will be doing right
in serving the cause of freedom, by thus unmasking
and exposing the machinations of our secret foes.
The hardest trial for you to undergo will be the feel
ing that, at least temporarily, you will be be distrusted
by those honest patriots, whose good opinion you
would most desire, and which you really merit. To
i none but myself, and the few to whom your secret ac
tions are confided, will you appear thefhonest man you
really are; but let us hope the day will come when,
like pure gold which has undergone the ordeal of the
turnace, commingled with base metal, your honesty
ai.d patriotism will come forth purer ana brighter, in
consequence of the severe test it has undergone.”
(Here followed a list of instructions, and the letter
[ concluded with the following words) : “Commit these
, instructions to memory, and destroy this letter imme
' diately after you have done so.”
Farmer Barton read the letter and the instructions
several times, and then committed it to the flames ;
and as he watched it burning, he felt, perhaps more
deeply than he had felt before, the serious risks he ran
, m accepting the severe and ungrateful service he had
entered upon ; but his mind was made up, and as the
blackened ash of the burnt paper flew up the chimney,
aiawn by the draught, he resolved, conscious of his
own rectitude, to dismiss all fears from his mind, that
j harass him or impede the freedom of his action.
A day or two alter he had received the above letter
the farmer was seated in his little room at breakfast,
when the door was opened by an individual who en
tered the room without thinking it necessary to exer
cise the formaiffy of previously knocking at the door,
lhe visitor was Hoxy, the Cow Boy •
1 “ What, at breakfast old fellow-Old Honesty, as the
boys call you, ha, ha, ha,” said he. “ Wall, Ido feel
I somewhat sharp set, and I don’t mind if I jine you A
| long walk yairly in the morning afore breakfast, makes
a man’s internals grumble like, for want o’ fodder •”
and without waiting for the invitatioa, which would
however, have been readily given, Hoxy seated hira-
, self asd vigorously attacked the broad and cold meat
on the board. Reappeared to be pretty sharply set,
as he called it, for he did not deign to state the cause
of his visit until nearly a whole loaf had disappeared
down his throat, and little but the bone of the joint of
mutton was left. Then taking a long swig at the jug
beer that was upon the table, he smacked his lips,
rubbed his hand upon his stomach, moved his chair
partially round so as the better to front the farmer, and
exclaimed :
/‘ Wall, when a man has eaten a good belly full of
he feels kinder more sociable like, than when
tne -hunger s a gnawin’ at his in’ards. Now, I dessay
guess what brought me here this
nne, trosty mornin’, say ?”
would n ? ldea >” re P ,ied ‘be farmer, who
es conridCT«l bt i SO 1 thou B ht >” replied Hoxy,
■ kke “Ha lm d hk d ?;hre Un K? remoniouavi » it a ß o<jd
ji se. M, na, ha, I thought to myself as I came un
sta>rs, I shall surprise old Honesty this fine mornin-.
Be wen t, no how be guessing as his new friend is
cinurgto see him. ’
T1 e fanner made no reply, and Hoxy, after waitin
awhile as though in the expectation of some imestio?
bung put to him by his host, proceeded : 1
" We let you into a thing or two that night when
you met me and Mike and Reuben at the log cabin
our headquarters in that diggins, I guess; but old
know everything yet-I suppose now
ion think that it was all correct what that old humbu"
Mike told you, and that we was real patriots disguised
sa Cow-boys. Now, say, didn't yon
.. a a‘“re B V lou s< - <J,l ‘ td to tell an actual untruth,
I ! "•’’’ed that he had his suspicions
I n" « di “K'“ se<3 them at the time that the old
S?Ll,t Irev < L alledl h * d deceived him. He
| might have added that he believed the whole party to
be arrant knaves—mere plunderers and robbers—per"
haps worse; but though he confessed to the truth he
did not feel that it was obligatory upon him in this
instance to tell the whole truth.
“ Yer did, aye. Yer had yer suspicions then; by
G—, you’re a darned sight cuter chap than I thought
yer was—you're one of the right sort after all. I
thought you was , well, never mind, I won’t say
what, old fellow. So you bamboozled us, instead of us
bamboozling you. Ha, ha, ha—l’m darned if that
don’t beat cockfighting.”
“ What may be the cause of your present visit, Mr.
Hoxy?” inquired the farmer, at last growing tired of
hia unwelcome visitor and hoping to get .peedily rid
of him.
“ Ah, I thought I’d stir up your curiosity, old cock.
I was determined to make yer ax a question. Pon my
soul, I like yer, you’re a chap arter my own heart
close—close, by G— as bricks and mortar. Well then,
I came to let you into a secret that I find you know al
ready. I came to see if I could make a friend ov yer,
and I find yer one o’ my own sort ready made. Ha,
ha, ba, ha—Old cock—so you want to become one of
us. Well now, you just listen to what I’m a going to
tell yer and then you see there’ll be no more misun
derstanding, for by you come darned near hitting
me an ngly blow with that old broadsword of your’n
in that scrimmage at Pine’s bridge, and may be, you
wouldn’t get off scot free—should such a shindy again
occur. Howsomaver, you know’s better now. Yer
see you and Mike and your party calls yourselves
Whigs or Skinners—and I and Reuben and our party
we calls ourselves tories or Cow-boys. You robs and
plunders the tories who’s got anything to be robbed
of and we does the same in regard to the whigs—
When business is good we both sticks to our own share
of the plunder—but when it grows dull, we goes in
for robbing everybody. We plays into each other’s
hands and deceives both the redcoats and the patriots.
This here rebellion makes fine times for such as we.
We lets the darned fools fight and steps in and takes
the spoil. That’s Skinner’s and Cow-boys’ morality,
d’ye see, and as I took a sort o’ likin’ to yer, and come
to set yer right; but I finds s>on knows pretty near as
much as I do. Now for business. We’re agoing out
to night to rob an old whig fanner named Clayton.
He’s sent to Mike, for want of better support to pro
tect him, for he’s got some suspicion, through the
cunning of his farm men, as we intend to seize upon
his property. Well, Mike has promised to protect him
with all the, force he has under his command ; but the
old chap’s tich, and Mike would like to go shares with
the swag; so in course he’ll find that the tories come
np too powerful for him, and he’ll cut and run, and
then we'U sack the place and set the house a-fire, and
arterwards the spoil ’ll be divided at the old log- cabin.
I called to let yer know, in order that yer mighn’t be
making a fool of yourself like you did last time, but I
see you’re up to the dodge.
“ The best of the joke is that a darned old rascal,
Captain Abijah Todd, who has command of a patriot
detachment ’tother side the river, has been sent for by
the old man ; but we’ve bought him over. He’s to
receive a tenth of the plunder and to arrive too late to
be of any service.
“ You’ll get a summons from Mike to-night, old fel
low, and now I hope you’ll be able to understand how
you are to act. I’ve had a famous hearty breakfast,
and now I’ll be off. G»od bye, old fellow, and success
to our next meeting.”
Thus expressing himself, to the great satisfaction ot
the farmer, who could scarcely contain his indignation,
the scoundrel left the room.
When he had retired, Farmer Barton sat for some
moments in deep thought. He had just heard a
confirmation of what his own shrewd intellect had led
him to suspect, to wit.: that the Skinners and Cowboys
weie mere robbers, who had seized upon the opportu
nity afforded them to profit in their unlawful profsssion
by the unhappy state of the internal affairs of the
country, and moiethan that, he had already received
information which, if it were true, was proof satisfac
tory that the suspicions of the commander-in-chief of
the patriot army were correct, and that Captain Abijah
Todd was a traitor to his country.
He was undecided how to act; he could not reconcile
it to his conscience to allow this robbery to be perpe
trated, if he could by any means prevent it, and yet
prevention seemed impossible. He knew that the old
man’s farm was only about three miles distant from
Hastings, and he determined, if possible, at least to
warn him of the treachery that was intended, and if
possible, also, to absent himself from the contemplated
scene of outrage.
With this object he dispatched a letter by the little
son of his hostess to the house of Farmer Clayton, and
determined himself to cross the river and to penetrate
in disguise into the presence of the trator Captain Todd.
The first matter was elsily done, although he was
doubtful if any good could ensue from it, but it
would, at all events, serve to put the old man on his
Having, therefore, dispatched the letter, he left his
lodgings, made his way to the river, and succeeded in
getting a passage across to the Jersey shore.
Capt. Abijah’s troop was stationed at Piermont, on
the confines of the States of New York and New Jer
sey, and, under the guise of a farrier, Farmer Barton
resolved to offer his services to the captain, and thus
to learn as ranch as possible of his traitorous schemes.
The farmer had naturally enough had considerable ex
perience with horses, for in the country he had many
a time been compelled to take upon himself the duties
of the farrier; and he felt perfectly capable of main
tainißg his disguise.
It was late in the afternoon of the day following that
on which the farmer had received the visit from Hoxy,
that a middle aged man, limping partially from lame
ness and partially from fatigue, was seen slowly ap
proaching towards the house occupied by Captain
Abijah Todd.
The captain had jnst finished his dinner, and was
sitting enjoying his pipe and a glass of smoking hot
whiskey and water, Vt-Ben he was aroused from his
comfortable reverie by a knock at the door of the
house. The door was opened by the daughter of
the tenant, and the stranger enquired whether Captain
Abijah Todd was within.
“ He is,” replied the girl.
“ Will you tell him that a stranger wishes to speak
with him ?”
The girl did as she was requested, and in another
moment Farmer Barton—-for the reader will readily
perceive that he was the stranger—heard the voice of
tke captain, saying—
“ What the d—l does he want with me, I wonder
Show the fellow in, Mary, at any rate,” and Farmer
Barton was ushered into the presence of the patriot
“ Well, neighbor,” said he, addressing the farmer,
“ What may be your business with me ?”
“lama farrier,” replied the farmer, “ the troubles
makes it hard now a-days for an honest man to get a
living, and I have been forced to tramp to look after a
job. May be, I thought, I may manage to pick up a
trifle by shoeing the horses of Captain Todd’s troop ;
for I heard yesterday, on ’tother side of the river, that
you were quartered here; and so, this morning I
passed over. Hard times—terrible hard times for
honest, poor folks, this rebellion.”
“ You came this morning from the other side of the
river, my friend,” said the captain, eyeing the farmer
closely: “Well, what’s doing there? They tell me
the Cowboys and Skinners are playing the very d—l
among honest folks there. Sit down—sit down—tell
me the news; and may be, afterwards I can find you
a job.”
'• Thank you, captain,” replied the farmer, “ Thank
yon, I’ve walked many a weary mile since I left my
home, and have often had to put up with hard fare. I
will avail myself of your offer.”
“ And maybe take some bread and cheese and a horn
of ale,” rejoined the captain. “ Truly, as you say,
this struggle makes it a hard job for honest folks to get
a living. Have you stayed for any length of time on
the other side in York state ?”
“ A week or so, that’s all,” replied the farmer.
“ Humph ! Do you happen to be acquainted with a
rich old fellow who owns a large farm near Hastings.
What’s his name ? Clay;—Clay—oh, Claytou ?”
“ There is such a person residing in the spot you
speak of, and I hear he is tolerably well to do ; but I
can’t say I know the man.”
“ You belong to the patriot side, my friead ?” in
quired the captain.
“Of course I do,” replied the farmer; though for
the matter of that, I don’t know but a man fares all
the worse for it.”
“ And yet the—the—what do you call them; God
bless me—the—the Skinners—what an odd appella
tion, —the Skinners on the other side are reaping’pret
ty profits by their patriotism.”
“ Much as the Cow Boys are doing by their loyalty,”
replied the farmer.
The captain smiled. “ I wonder,” he said, “ that
wealthy men, much as Clayton and others, do not re
move into places of greater security.”
“ It would be rather a difficult matter to remove a
farm and all the stock upon it to a place of security,”
answered tke farmer.
“So it would—so it would, my friend. By-the-bye,
what’s your name ? I don’t think you have told me,
“ They call me Smith,” replied the farmer.
“ Oh, you are one of that honorable and numerous
fraternity, are you ? Well, then, friend Smith, as you
have mixed with the fellows on the other side, and no
doubt are aware of the means they have at their com
mand, what chance do you think a man like Clayton
would have, if his place were attacked by these d d
tories, the Cowboys. Would the Skinners, think you,
aim themselves on Tria side? Could he trust to
them ?”
“I fear he would trust to a rotten reed in such an
emergency,” replied the farmer, “ and now I think of
it, there is a rumor abroad among the Cowboys that
the old man’s place is to be attacked to night, and
they did say that they were afraid that you would
cross with your troop to afford him protection.”
“There is, is there,” said the captain. “ Now I tell
you what my fine fellow, I’ve some idea that you be
long to the Cowboy fraternity yourself.”
“Then you are wrong,” responded the farmer.
“Nay, do not be hasty, my friend ; to be honest
with you, I respect the Cowboys quite as much as Ido
do the Skinners.”
“And so do I,” replied the farmer.
“Ha! ha! there is not much to choose between
them. Neither party, I fancy, can accuse the other of
possessing too much honesty ; for I fancy it is a rare
commodity amongst them; but as you were saying
with regaid to Clayton ; he has sent to me, hut you
see I cannot desert my post here—indeed, I dare not;
be must trust to his own friends.”
“And be robbed by them, as well as by his foes.”
“Exactly so; people are no ways particular in these
times. I presume, my good friend Smith, that you
would have no serious objection to going shares in the
spoil, although the farmer be a whig. Now tell me
the truth ?”
Fanner Barton, taken for the moment off his guard,
was about to make an indignant reply, but he recol
lected himscif in time and merely smiled what the
captain took to be an assent.
“Ah !” said the latter, “ as I thought, you are no
way particular. Supposing now I wanted the services
of a man whom I could trust—one who, for good pay,
would stick by me through thick and thin—what
would you say to accepting the post ? It would be
better than shoeing horses, my friend, in these hard
times. Think of what I have said and I will see you
again to night. Meanwhile since yon have rested you
may g» and sec what jobs you can find to do amongst
my men.”
The farmer went to the temporary barracks of the
men and found sufficient employment in his new voca
tion to occupy him for the remainder of the day. He fel
already confident that the information he had received
respecting the treason to the cause that lurked in the
heart of Captain Abijah Todd was correct, and
also convinced that avarice was the besetting sin of
bis character. He scorned the office of seeking,
under false pretences, to gain the confidence of any
man for the purpose of betraying him, yet he felt that
were it not for aneb unpleasant services as those he
had voluntarily offered to render, utter ruin might
crime upon the cause he, in common with all the rest
ot the patriots, bad at heart, through the villainy and
deceit of those whose aim it was to betray those
who had placed them in positions ot trust. He
saw that Captain Todd had mistaken his character,
and believed him to be a man willing, for the sake of
gain, to undertake any dirty action, and he resolved
not to undeceive him, until he had proof corroborative
of the suspicions entertained against the captain by
the commander in-chief. The day wore away, and
true to his appointment in the evening, the farmer,
under his assumed name of Smith, again visited the
captain, and took occas.on to express his opinions
pretty broadly, and in such a manner, that they could
not be well misunderstood, that the service which
promised the best pay, was that to which his notion led
“I want you to do nothing that can in any way com
promise the patriot cause, friend Smith,” raid the cap
tain, when they had sat for some time in conversa
tion; “but 1 want a trustworthy man, and one who
knows well the habits and the haunts of the Skinners
ai.d Cow-boys on the other side, and who, consequent
ly, is not likely to be intercepted by any of the scoun
drels, to carry a letter to an officer of the royal army.
It is a hard case that these civil dissensions forbid the
intercourse of former friends who may now belong to
different parties; sever the dearest connections, and
even make us enemies among those we most dearly
love. 1 will kt you into a secret, friend Smith! This
officer has a sister to whom I was paying my
[ addresses when this unhappy rebellion broke out. The
, officer was rny dearest friend; but we always
held different political opinions. I espoused the
patriot cause; he, as a king's officer, joined hia regi
ment. Our intercourse has since been interrupted ;
but now I hear that he and his sister are in New
York; and I wish to send a friendly letter to them—to
the yonng lady especially. To send it openly would
be to lead to suspicion. You take it and satisfy me
that yon have taken it safely by bringing me back a
reply, and I and my friend will amply reward you.
You will gain more by one short journey, than you
would gain, rny good friend, by shoeing horses for a
year. What say you—will you undertake the job?
If not, I must find some other messenger, for it must
be delivered within three days.”
Had not the captain said that he must find some
ether messenger it is very probable that the farmer
would have refused, for he could not bring his mind,
as yet, to the practice of deceit; “ and, he thought,
“may be it is the truth he is telling, and the fact of
his having beloved friends in the royal camp may
be the only reason ■ that suspicion has attached itself
to his name; butthen he recalled the former conver
sation of the captain. The letter might be of »onse
i quence, and if he refused to carry it, the captain had
said he would find another messenger, for the letter
I must be delivered within three days. To refuse to un
i der take the task would be himself to betray those who
had trusted in him. Actuated by these motives, he
took the letter, and that evening recrossed the river,
having succeeded in obtaining an interview with Capt.
■ Todd, and having satisfied himself that the suspicions
entertained by General Washington were correct.
The letter was directed to Captain Jay, of His Ma
i jesty’s forces, now encamped in the City of New York,
in His Majesty’s Colonies of North America; and, be
fore delivering it, the farmer resolved to lay the whole
matter before the Commander-in-Chief of the Conti
nental forces.
Patience Barton and her Daughter set out from, Litch
i Jield far Haverstraw, under the escort of Lieutenant
Seuard—An arcidmt by the wayside—The refuge in
| the Forest—The Hestelry at Philltptown—Lieutenant
Seward’s effort to procure succor, fond what came
of it.
We left Patience Barton and her daughter Martha
on their way to Haverstraw to join the farmer, or
' rather to be near him during his sojourn on the Neu
tral Ground. They had been joined, as the reader will
recollect, by the young lieutenant, who had been
| wounded, as was supposed, by some one of the vagrant
Skinners, who at that period had just commenced
their lawless depredations in the neighborhood. The
' gallant lieutenant and the two females left Litchfield
tqgethsr, and passing the boundary line of the States
of Connecticut and New York, they soon found them
selves upon dangerous ground. The two females
would have remained at Litchfield until they had
I heard from Farmer Barton, notwithstanding their
anxiety to see him, had it not been for the proffered
escort of the young officer, whose gallantry, probably
exerted for the sake of Martha Barton, led him to alter
his own route, as it evidently would have been the
: more direct and the safer course for him to have tra-
■ veiled southward, through Connecticut to New York,
then occupied by the Royal forces, and thence to have
proceeded to his friends in Virginia.
The officer had engaged a light wagon for the con
veyance of the females, himself proceeding on horse
back, riding by their side.
It need not be repeated that he was already an ob
ject of favor in the eyes of Martha, and by his pleasant
conversation and gaiety of disposition, he shortly es
tablished himself in the good graces of Patience Bar
ton, who bad at first, notwithstanding the eulogies of
■ her daughter, regarded him with an eye of distrust in
| consequence of her knowledge that he was an enemy
to. the cause in which she was aware her busband was
’ heart and soul engaged.
The roads were not very good, and at length the
officer who began to thiak, perhaps, that he would ra-
■ ther he seated in the wagon beside Martha than on his
horseriding beside the wagon, made the roughness of
. the path and the consequent difficulty of driving an
! excuse to dismount, fasten his horse in rear of the ve-
I hide and take his seat beside the young lady, thereby
i relieving her of the trouble of driving.
All went well, until they approached Philips
i tow, when the off wheel of the wagon sunk into a
; deep .rut in the road and overthrew the vehicle, throw
; ing its occupants into the road, without., -j-.
. ing them any except that of frightening the
i ftmales and covering their clothing with dirt. The
wagon was,however, so ranch damaged that it was ren
dered useless ; they were still five or six miles from the
i nearest house where they could obtain rest and re
-5 freshment and the roads were almost impassable to
1 pedestrians, in consequence of the half congealed mud
and occasionally.tke deep pools of water, caused by
I late overflowing-tides, which obstructed and often con
i cealed the.path. It was growing towards dark, and
- therefore the party did not find themselves in the
■ most enviable condition.
I Leaving the ladies by the disabled wagon, well
wrapped up from the cold, the lieutenant left them to
I reconnoitre and to endeavor to discover some place of
i temporary shelter to which he might conduct them,
I and advise with them what further course he should
■ pursue.
i In a few minutes he returned saying :
i “Mrs. Bsrtn. about a furlong distaat, I have found
i out an old uninhabited hut or eabin. It is a mere
I wreck of a plase and is open to the four winds of
j heaven ; but if you will allow me to conduct you and
; year daughter thither, you will at all events be more
■ comfortable than you are here, and I will ride forward
I to Phillipstown and return as soon as possible with
some conveyance.”
There was no alternative, and though by no means
pleased with the idea of being left thus alone and un
protected in the midst of the woods and at a distance
trom any habitable dwelling, the ladies were fain to
make the best of it.
“If you were alone,” whispered the lieutenant to
Martha, “I would ask you to ride forward with me:
but though my goad steed might, upon an emergency ,
even in such roads as these, carry double, he could not
bear the burden of us all; but I have no doubt yon
will be unmolested in the hut, and believe me, I will
return with succor as speedily as possible.”
“I am not afraid,” replied Martha; “neither do I
fear the cold or discomfort of waiting a few hours, al
though I regret this untowardly accident.”
“And you, madam,” said the officer, addressing Mrs.
Barton, “you will not be alarmed at' being left wit
hout protection for a short time? otherwise I will
stay by you until morning; but I think it will be
| most desirable to procure aid to-night. A night bi
| vouac in the woods, although nothing to a soldier,
| would be no child’s play where ladies have to submit
i to it, especially at this season of the year.”
“I think you are quite right, sir,” replied Patience
i Barton; “we shall not feel alarmed, and shall trust to
i your leturning with assistance as speedily as pos
| Though Mrs. Barton thus expressed herself, the tone
; of her voice belied her words, and the young officer
perceived that she was in reality alarmed at the idea.
i of being left alone with her daughter in the hut.
j However, he sought to reassure her, and as by this
■ time they had reacned the hut, which was completely
, embosomed in the woods, he spread the fur apron of
the wagon on the floor to serve as a couch, disposed
the cushions to serve as props and pillows, and taking
off his own cloak, which ho insisted upon their accept
ing for the purpose of wrapping themselves up in, he
mounted his horse, and started for Phillipstown.
The roads, as we have remarked, were excessively
bad, and it was with great difficulty, amidst the in
creasing darkness, that the young lieutenant could
keep the track. He, however, urged his horse to the
utmost, and within an hour of his leaving the ladies,
found himself in sight of the hostelry of Phillipstown.
Betting spurs to his jaded horse, be rode up to the
door, and springing from his saddle, he fastened the
bridle to a post, and knocked at the doo.
There were sounds of mirth and revelry within, and
he had to repeat his summons several times before h
was heard. At length a rude voice demanded :
“Who is there?”
“A stranger, who has met wi':h an accident in com-
I pany with ladies,” was the reply.
“How do I know you are telling the truth ?” repeat
i ed the voice inside.
| “You cannot know that lam not telling the truth
- unless you admit me,” answered the lieutenant. “Is
not this a public hostelry ?”
“What it it is?”
“Then you are bound to give admiitance to still
gers and travellers under any circumstances.”
“Perhaps so, when they have means to pay; but
these are strange times, stranger, and wa don’t know
friends from foes.”
“I have abundant means to pav, and I have left
BOme ladies in distress. Will that satisfy you ?”
“Ah, that somewhat alters the case. Boys,” said
the voice, speaking to the party within, “what say you
—shall we open the door, and admit the stranger ?”
“Aye, open the door, and see what he looks like,”
i said one; and the others, apparently acquiescing in
I the decision, the landlord opened the door of the some
| what inhospitable and by no means inviting hostelry,
j and admitted the lieutenant.
‘ A dozen rude, roughly attired men were sitting
around a blazing log fire that burned in the ample
chimney, serving at the same time to give both light
I and heat to the apartment. The steams of variously
compounded liquors pervaded the room, and at least
: one half of the motley group there assembled, appear
! ed to be more or less under the influence of the strong
j potations they had been imbibing. The room was fill
ed with tobacco smoke, which, together with the heat,
made the atmosphere so close and stifling, especially to
I one entering as the lieutenant had done from the pure,
clear, frosty air without, that for some moments the
young officer found the oppression almost intolerable.
| After a short time, however, he breathed more free
j ly, and casting his eyes around, he found the assembled
party gazing intently upon him, with enquiring looks,
as though waiting for him further to explain himself.
“I have come from Litchfield this morning,” he said,
“with.two ladies; our wagon has broken down some
five miles distant from this place, and having deposit
ed the ladies in the rude shelter of an old dilapidated
log cabin, which by good fortune I discovered unten
anted, and deep in the woods, I have hastened on in
hopes of procuring some conveyance, which will carry
them to more comfortable quarters.”
“I don’t know where you will get any conveyance
to-night,” said the landlord.
‘.Surely I can get something; the ladies cannot be
left exposed to the cold and damp all night. lam
willing to pay for the convenience.”
“I might harness Old Bet to a wagon,” said a
middle-aged man, who was smoking his pipe in the
chimney corner, “ though the old jade is precious near
knocked up, for the roads are awful bad ; but, if I stir
out again to night I must be paid in hard dollars, in
advance—no continental bills—though I wish well to
the cause, I can’t afford to work for the paper trash
the Continental Congress has issued.”
“ Harness your horse, my friend,” exclaimed the
lieutenant, “ and here are five dollars in silver for you;
and, landlord, I suppose you will give the poor crea
tures shelter here till morning ?”
“ If so be, as I am paid for't, I may make shift to do
so, by giving up my wife’s and my bed,” replied the
landlord, when thus appealed to, “ but our house is
small and we haven’t much accommodation for travel
lers. Them as cornea here, takes pat-luck and a chance
snooze on the bench in the bar room.”
“ Well, well, 1 am willing to pay anything in
j reason,” replied the lieutenant.
“ Then pay me down five dollars, and I and my wife
will do our best to make the women folks comfort
The lieutenant paid the n.eney, exorbitant as was
the demand, and then turned to the man who had
ottered him the use of his wagon, and urged him to
make all in preparing for the journey.
“ Not so fast, young gentleman, not so fast,” said
the man ; “ the night’s cold, and I doesn’t start from
i my warm seat here till I gets something to drink; and
! at the same time, youngster, you seem to have a plen
j ty of the hard stuff. Suppose you orders a bowl of
punch for tho good of the house and help us to
I dnuk it.”
; “ Anything, anything, so that you will make haste
! and get leady,” said the young officer, in a tone of ir-
I ritation.
“ Call for tho punch. Here, landlord, is the money ;
but, for God’s sake, my good fellow, don’t you wait to
drink it. Come, hasten now, and I’ll add another dol
lar to the five, and you can drink to your heart's con
tent on your return. The ladies will be perished.”
The man took the dollar and left the room for the
purpose of getting his wagon ready. He was speed-
■ ily followed by two others who had sat watching
1 the young officer for some minutes without speaking a
I word. In the course of five minutes the man returned,
j saying that the wagon was leady, and at the same mo
ment the landlord appeared with the punch, and the
party sat to to the carousal.
“ Where’s Mike and Tidley ?” asked one of theparty.
; “Aint they agoing to jine us ?”
! “ Mike and Tidky’s going to take the chance of a
! csst in my wagon,” said the man who had made the
j airangement with the lieutenant. “ It’s in their way
I h< me, you see, and seeing they can get a chance they
i don’t often get, they are going to make the mo.t of it.”
“ They might have wished a fellow ‘ good evening,’
at all events, ’ said the man. “ Howsomever, there's
the more punch left for those who stay to drink it.
Success to you, sir,” added be, as the young officer,
with his companion, quitted the bar room.
On reaching the etable yard, the officer was sur
prised, and not a little annoyed, to perceive, that the
wagon was occupied by the two men spoken of as Mike
and 'fidley, and he expressed his opinion to the owner
of the vehicle that it would not contain the ladles and
himeelf, in addition to the already ample load.
“Oh,” repliedjthe man, “Mike and Tidely will get
off at the cross-road four miles from this. lam only
going to give them a cast on their way home. Come
mount, sir,” and at the same time he took his own seat
in the wagon.
Lieutenant Seward thought to himself, that as he had
paid so highly for the use of the vehicle, he certainly
had the right to choose his own company; but he did
not wish to appear churlish, notwithstanding he did
not fancy the appearance of his companions ; he did
not therefore reply, but mounting the vehicle, took his
seat, and the wagon was driven on.
The party had proceeded a full mile before a word
was spoken, and now they entered a narrow pathway
leading through a wood, which extended far on both
sides. Arrived here one of the strangers addressed tha
lieutenant as follows:
“ I guess as you're a stranger to this part of the
country, friend.’’
■ “lam so—quite so, I may say, although I have once
or twice traversed the Hoad; but I never stopped on
the journey.”
“ Dangerous times, friend, for a man to travel with
so much of the hard stuff in his pocket as yon seem
to carry.”
The lieutenant felt a growing sensation of uneasi
ness, for he felt himself in the power of three men
whose appearance was certainly by no means in their
favor. However, he determined to show no symptoms
of alarm, and he carelessly replied:
“ I fancy, my friend, you have given nae the credit of
possessing more wealth thau I actually do possess. I
have, to tell the truth, pretty well emptied my pock
ets in paying for the use of this wagon and for the
bowl of punch, which, by the way, you did not par
take of.”
“ What may be your business in this part of the
country?” inquired the eldest of the three men, “and
where may you come from, stranger, and where mxy
you be going ?”
“ I have no business in this part of the country,”
answered the lieutenant, who, although annoyed at
the questions, resolved to reply carelessly to them.
“ I am merely crossing with two ladies from Litchfield,
who are going to Haverstraw. My own route lies in a
different direction. lam from Litchfield myself last,
where I have been confined with illnes», and I am
goi»g to see my friends in Virginia.”
“ There be a great many tories down in old Vir
ginia, ’mung some of the ‘old families,’ ” said the
man. “ Excuse me, sir, but didn't I observe w.ien you
unbuttoned your coat to pay the landlord, that you
wore the king’s buttons on your waistcoat. Beant
you an officer of the royal forces, sir ?”
“My friend,” said ths lieutenant, “ it can matter
little to you what I am. I am now anxious to render
assistance as quickly as possible to the ladies who have
b»e> left exposed to the weather aad the night air, in
consequence of this untoward accident. I have hith
erto replied to your questions; let us now proceed
with all possible speed to the spot where I left the
“ You are our prisoner. We arrest you as a spy,”
said the man who had hitherto engrossed the conver
sation. We shall carry you back to Phillipstown to
night, and to-morrow you will be taken before Captain
Abijah Todd to answer for being found beyond the
precincts of the royal camp, in the king’s uniform.”
“ Beware how you act,” said the lieutenant, drawing
a pistol from his pocket. “I am armed, and I will
not be taken prisoner alive. lam no spy, though I
do not deny that lam an officer of the royal troops ; ;
but I am now on leave of absence ; have been confined ’
te my bed for some time by sickness, and as I have
told you, am on a visit to my friends, and have merely
come by this route to serve two ladies of my acquaint
“ Very fine, my young fellow,” said the other occu
pant of the wagon, who had not hitherto spoken—at
the same moment striking a heavy blow upon the arm '
of the young officer, and knocking the pistol from his
hand, which exploded in the road ; “Very fine; but wa j
are armed too,” placing the muzzle of a heavy horse |
pistol to the forehead of the youth, “ and if you don’t i
give yourself up quietly we shall let you feel the con- I
tents of our barkers. No gammon, youngster; surren
der yourself as prisoner to Mike H..usely and Reuben
Smiley, scouts in the service of the Continental Con
gress—commonly called Sliinno-",” nuded he, rudely
In jrexreixer moment the driver had thrown down the
reins and assisted the other men in securing the perssn
of the youth, which was easily effected, for he was op
posed to three men armed, and stronger than himself,
and was still weak from the effect of his wound and
his long subsequent illness. His arms were tied be
hind him with strong cords, and he was securely fas
tened to the seat of the wagon, and then his pockets
were rifled of his watch and purse, and every article of
value he had upon his person.
“ That's how we serve darned tory spies,” said
Mike: “ and now Tom,” addressing the driver, “ let’s
carry the darned tory back again, and secure him for
the night.”
“ Hold on, Mike,” said Reuben ; “we ain’t half done
our duty yet. “ Drive on to the place where the
spy left the women folk. I knows the spot well
“ Aye, to be sure,” responded Mike. “By Jupiter,
I was well nigh forgettin’ the women kind.”
The lieutenant designed to make no reply; he dis
covered that he was in the hands not of patriots, but
of a band of miscreants, who, under the name of
patriots, lived by robbery, rapine and cruelty. To ar
gue with them would have been worse than useless,
and he submitted himself passively to his fate, only
hoping that since they had had their will of him in
robbing him of all the little valuables he possessed,
they might in the end carry him before some honest,
patriot officer, to whom he might explain the circum
stances of his capture. He trembled, however, for the
fate of the hapless females, and almost cursed himself
for having, been, as he supposed, the cause of their
distress and danger, and he knew not what beside; and
he shuddered to think of the possible fate of one whom
he felt he already loved dearer than hia own exist
In about three-quarters of an hour the wagon arrived
at the wood, and turning oil into a by-path, well
known to the Skinners, for the place was occasionally
need by them as a secure spot to secrete their plun
der, the vehicle stopped at the door of the cabin.
Martha rushed out—
“ I am so glad you have come,” said she, “ the time
has appeared to us to be so long, although we doubted
not you would make all possible haste. Come, dear
mother, Lieutenant Seward is here with a wagon. We
shall soon reach some hotel.”
“ Come, my pretty miss, jump in,” said Reuben,
“ addressing the girl; and then, turning to Patience
Barton, who had risen from her rude couch on hearing
tlxe exclamation of her daughter, and was adjusting
her clothing, he added: “ Come, old woman, the
night’s cold. Hustle into the wagon, and let us to
“Oh my God ! there must be some dreadful mis
take 1” cried Martha ; “ Lieutenant Seward is not
here. Oh, mother, mother, what will become of us?”
and she rushed from the man and clasping-her mother
in her arms, retreated to the extreme end of the
“I am here, Miss Barton,” said the lieutenant; “but
lama prisoner to these men. I have been infamously
betrayed ; but there is no help for it—come into the
wagon. They must work their will upon us; but
surely, men,” he added, turning to Mike and Reuben,
“you will not offer violence to defenceless women?”
“No, no, master; let them come into the wagon
quietly and I’ll vouch no harm shall happen them till
we get to Phillipstown,” said the man, who appeared,
villain as he was, to be somewhat softened by the ap
peal of the lieutenant.
“Fra a darned scoundrel now ; but I once had a
mother and a sister,” he added.
It is probable that this action on the part of Mike,
who seemed to have a sort of cvmmaud over his
companions, preserved the females from insult by the
other two men, who seemed to regard them with very
different feelings. Patience Barton, who appeared per- -
fectly prostrated with terror, was lifted into the wagon ■
wheie she sank down without speaking a word. Mar- I
tha bore herself bravely under the circumstances, and ;
she seated herself beside the lieutenant who expressed ;
in earnest tones his sorrow that the eseort he had ’
hoped would prove of such advantage to them had i
turned out so disastrous.
“ It is no fault of yours,” replied Martha, taking the i
hand of the manacled officer. “ Worse might have ■
happened had you not been with us. God will
help ns.”
“ I trust he will,” whispered the lieutenant.
The wagon was put in motion, and in another hour
the party were set down at the hostelry at Phillips
town. <The whole scheme seemed to have been known
to the landlord, who expressed no surprise. However,
his wife with some touch of commisseration, attended
to the females, who were taken to the apartment that
had been provided for them, and the lieutenant was
accommodated with a mattrass on the floor of the
bar-room, where his captors kept watch over him all
night—freely plying themselves with liquor, which,
however, appeared to have no effect upon them, and
even asking their prisoner to drink with them.
It was a long and a weary night to the lieutenant
and to the ladies, but the longest and the weariest
hours must come to aa end. The morning dawned at
last. A supply of tolerable food was provided for the
captives, and then preparations were made for their
conveyance, under the charge of Mike and Reuben, to
Piermont. They arrived on the bank of the river op
posite by noon, and were conveyed across by their
captors, and lodged in a temporary jail until the wor
thy Captain Abijah Tedd could be made acquainted
with the particulars Of their capture.
(To be Continued.)
“Elijah, the Prophet.”
The “hubbub” now in progress in our nridst, produced
by tke arrest of Farsons, the street preacher, has brought
to our city an individual of whom our readers have per
haps heard, and whose “mission” is such as to make him
worthy of & passing notice, viz.: to reconcile the conflict
ing popular elements now so fearfully discordant in our
The personage to whose advent we refer, is Simon I’ktbr
Monger, commonly known by the sovbriquet of “ Elijah,
the Prophet.” This “peculiar looking individual,” as the
Deacon in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” would call him, was born
August 17th, 1808, in Colchester township, U. C., on the
borders of Lake Erie. The Prophet’s father was born in
Rockingham county, Va From thence he emigrated to
Kentucky. There he was taken prisoner by the Indians,
while they were fighting as allies of the British, and car
ried into captivity in Canada, where Simon Peter, or
“Elijah,” first saw the light. Offing to these circum
stances, he claims to be the prophetic personage, spoken
of in the scriptures as “one born out of due season.”
Eis birth place, he says, is predicted in the 25th verse
of the 41st chapter of Isaiah, while the 42nd chapter de
scribes his “ mission,” whicn is to go forth to eonvertthe
world ! In doing this, he follows the example of St. Paul,
taking “neither puree nor scrip” with him, but “labor
ing with his own hands,” at farming, carpentering, &c.,
as he gets “ short of funds” from time to time, as the
best of men will, who have no rich and kind friends to
keep thom from want while serving the public for nothing
and finding themselves, as the Prophet does. He says he
is not allowed to take pay for preaching the gospel. Nor
is he permitted to speak in the streets. Yet he may be
on hand, to-day, to pray for, if not to assist, Mr. Parsons
ia his continued demoastrations.
Simon Peter Monger is indeed a “peculiar individual.”
He is nearly six feet high. He has a round, swarthy face,
fringed with a profuse beard, which projects liberal
ly from his chin. His hair is raven black, aad hangs heav
ily down to his shoulders. He wears a slouched hat, with
a very bread turned-up brim. His dress is a plain suit of
black, rather the worse of the wear, but better than usually
falls to the lot of the world-savers of his class who peram
bulate our mundane sphere, calling sinners to repentanc?.
He is very earnest, but cal&s in speech, even when dwell
ing on “the mission of Elijah,” and the proofs of his pro
phetic identity. He has seen many troubles, his wife and
children having forsaken him, and joined tne Shakers at
Lebanon, Ohio; and yet he seems to bear all his alllictions
with meekness.” He is confident that he will
live to see the Millenium ushered in. Cincinnati is to be
the New Eden, and to flourish in immortal bloom, after
New York, which is the Babylon, shall have been put to
fire and sword ! The present movement here he recog
nises as the “beginning of tho end” of the downfall of our
deomed city ! He is to be cast into the furnace of popu
lar indignation, “seven times heated,” but he will come
out, like Daniel, unharmed, to preach with increased pow
er and speedy success.
The Prophet fays he has had an interview with the
Chief of Police, and proposed to settle the whole Parsons
difficulty in a few hours ! Such is Simon Peter Monger,
tho modern ‘ Elijah the Prophet.” May he succeed in his
aims, converting our Israel, beginning with the Mayor and
Common Council, and his beard grow no less while he in
on his heavenly mission. His advent is just in the “nick
of time,” and makes us feel that we can breathe again.
Melancholy Bereavement.—Four children
of Mr. Thomas Kennedy, in Strong, Me., recently died
witbin the space of one week, as follows:—On the 20th
of November, Thomas, aged nine years ; on the 26th,
Josephine, aged six years; on the 27th, Nancy, aged
eleven years; and, in five minutes afterwards, Jane,
aged fourteen years. The disease was “ malignant
throat distemper.” At the time of the death of the
last »wo children, who died almost at the same mo
ment, a little infant daughter was added to the family.
The little girl who died the day previous had not been
interred, and the three deceased children, after being
placed in coffins, were each, in turn, brought to the
bedside of the sick mother, at her earnest solicitation,
for a parting look, after which they were buried in one
grave. These were all bright and affectionate chil
i dren, and tenderly beloved. What a change in one
short week!
’Tis Christmas morning, cold and clear,
The farewell feast of the dying year,
And every one, bo ch far and near,
Aunts, Uncles and Cousins, and relatives dear,
Defying cold weather,
Are gathered together,
And artfully bent on discovering whether
The day or the frost
Has contributed most
To give them a whet for their Christmas cheer.
The kitchen below
Is all “ of a glow”
With heat and with scullions, who come and who go,
And rosy-cheeked youngsters, who steal, on tip-toe,
(In defiance of mother,
To add to the bother),
To take a sly peep at the gluttonous show
Of turkeys, geese, chickens and ducks in a row,
All ready to go
When “ cook” should say so,
In the pipkin above—sr the oven below.
The fat old cook
Has a very red look,
And her slightest command is obeyed “ like a book,”
And her hands, with the pots, are as black as a rook;
And she now and then hies,
Beyond reach of our eyes,
To a species of cupboard—or sanctum—or nook,
Where one would suppose,
From the hues of her nose,
“ A snail drop of comfort” she cosily took.
There’s breaking of eggs and grating of bread,
And “ scoring” of celery “ four to the head,”
And many important things solemnly said
By the self-same cook,
Whose frowzy look
We’ve mentioned above as uncommonly red—.
“ That no one knew better,
If ‘ Misses’ would let her,
To serve up a meal for a Christmas ‘ spread.’ ”
But, now, another theme demands the Muse;
Hear me, ye Nine ! nor to my pen refuse
Thy wished-for aid. Fair Sisters I Intervene
To paint the glories of that festive scene.
Grant me one spark of true poetic fire,
To help me twang my gatronomic lyre.
Descend ! rap’t Inspiration, on my pen,
While I depict the hungry “ sons of men”
Who were the first to wield the knife and fork;
And who were last to quit the gallant work ;
Who first proposed a health with “ nine times nine;”
Who sherry took —and who preferred port wine.
Come, gentle sisters ! fill my yearning breast;
Give you the words—nay pen will do the rest.
I’m sorry to say
The Muses say “ Nay”
To my rap’t Invocation, and sullenly stay
11. their native Parnassus,
(A region whence asses—
Myself in the number) can’t coax them away,
But leave us to stray,
To make up an array
Of suitable syllables, ending in “ Ay;”
Abd if ev’ry rhyme
Were as hard to make chime
As this (which has cost me a huge deal of time),
One might work night aad day,
’Till his head had grown gray,
And choose his own subject—grave, learned or gay—
And find, to his cost,
That his labor was lost,
And this kind of “ Poetry” never would pay.
The boys are descried
Coming in from their slide
Their hands in their pockets, and eyes opened wide,
Taking in at a glance all the host has supplied,
Uf baked and of roasted, of boiled and of fried;
And looking, auite vioiows, —
At several dishes,
Done up in a style would have tickled Apicius.
In come the company, pair by pair,
And each one took his place,
And not a whisper stirred the air
While “ Dominie” said a grace ;
But that once done,
I tell you, ’twas fun
To see how they went the pace.
There’s jingling of glasses and rattling of knives;
And youngsters, all eating as is for their lives;
And talking and laughing,
And drinking and quaffing,
Mixed up, now and then, with a language called “chall
iDg;” e
But nobody thinking
Of shirking or shrinking
From playing his part at the eating and drinking;
Which, wondrous to say,
Disappears in away,
I can’t express better than saying “ like winking.”
And, oh ! it was a painful sight
For him who had “to foot the bill.”
To-see the wrecked, dismantled plight,
That met his aching vision—till
He thought upon the festive night,
And—had to gulp the bitter pill.
The eating and drinking
Still going “ like winking,”
Gives evident sign of the appetites sinking ;
And here I am puzzled
(My muse “kinder” muzzled),
To work up a sentence, altho’ I’ve been thinking,
Ten minutes or more,
My brain to explore,
To find out a word that I’ve not used before;
And suited to meet
The requisite feet,
To make this last stanza harmonious and neat.
It was my intention
To make ample mention
To ene truly great master-piece of invention;
Which, round as a ball,
Is served up to all—
The Christmas Pudding, the pride of the small
Folks of the convention,
Whose “ armed intervention”
Is looked on as totally past all retention ;
But that at the feast,
I have made such a beast
Of myself, that my stomach is working like yeast;
So I think it, is best
“ To knock offi” for a rest;
Besides (Horace says) “hungry poets write best.”
’Tis Christmas night,
The fire burns bright,
And the family circle’s heart is light;
And the pudding’s discussed
With a fervor that must
Have made some folks trowsers remarkably tight;
And the grandsire there,
In his old aim-chair,
Surrounded by grandsons and granddaughters fair,
Looks round with delight,
On as gladsome a sight
As e’er warmed one’s heart on a Christmas night.
But a tear drop dims the old man’s eye,
As he looks on the faces around,
And misses the friends of days gone by,
Whom a former Christmas found
As happy as they, and he heaves a sigh,
And thinks of the church-yard ground.
But story and song
Get gaily along,
And open-faced mirth is the order among
The rich and the poor, and tke old and the young,
Who dance and who sing,
And make the room ring
With the last “ nigger ” air, and all that sort of thing,
Which funny George Christy has managed to bring
Into vogue, and to get half New York on a string,
By dressing his figure
And face like a “ nigger,”
Displaying a fund of Virginian vigor.
But now I’m done—
My course is run—
This queer sort of Christmas “yarn is spun;”
But ev’ry single “mother’s son,”
Who saw the end of that Chrismas fun,
Had a face as red as the setting sun,
(The reason of which I won’t argue upon);
But with all my readers, far and near,
A happy Christmas—lots of good cheer—
A happy heart—a conscience clear ;
With pockets of money—(and did I not fear
The wrath of old Greeley—with barrels of beer),
The Piece.
A Christmas Story
It was Christrsas Eye! The weather was cold, and
the skies lowering ; yet the shops along Broadway
were never more brilliantly thronged. All ages and
sexes, sorts and conditions of people were afloat.
Trinkets, and toys, bonbons, and bijouterie were in un
limited demand ; for Old Santa Ciaus had an army of
agents oat. If any one is so skeptical as to question
the fact that true happiness consists in conferring pleas
ure upon others let him go out among the shops on
Christmas Eve. No one is selfish on this occasion,
all are thinking of the gratification others will enjoy
from their purchases, but just watch their faces ; how :
the soul-beam of benevoltffbe lights up with a divine
halo the most common countenance 1
It was Christmas Eve! and, filled with the excite
ment of the occasion, little recked the (warmly clad
denizen* of Broadway for cold weather! Hither, and
thither, moved the eager crowd intent each on his or
her kindly mission, or enjoying as lookers on the spon
taneous sympathies with which the very atmosphere
is redolent at this season of cheer, and gladness ! But
there is :xo picture without its reverse, though we too
seldom see the latter. Behold ! Yonder little pale face
pressed against the glass window of that Tay Shop ; ,
the fragile, childish form is clothed in poverty's habili- i
ments, and want and suffering have chased away the
roses from her cheek, while the sweet musie of child
hood's happy glee has long since died away in her
sad, but innocent heart! It is Christmas Eve! but
the occasion has no joys for thee, lorn one! it brings
enly a dim but painful memory of brighter days with
their once happy associations, and the sigh that heaves
thy soft young breast, while wistfully contemplating
that fairy palace of childish delights before thee, is
the messenger of a sorrow as profound in comparison
as ever swelled the bosom of manhood at. the disap
pointment of loftiest hopes 1
“Well, Harcourt, what are you going to buy for
yourself now?” asked an elegantly dressed lady with
in the shop, of a handsome boy, some ton summers
“ I have no more money, mamma” replied the boy.
“ Why, yes you have, my son.”
“ Only my gold piece, and I don’t wish to spend
“ Well as you have been so generous as to spend all
your loose change for your sisters, what shall I give
you ?”
The child did not answer immediately, for his atten
tion was fixed on some object outside.
“ Answer me, my son; for we must be getting home.”
“ Buy her something, mamma,” pointing to the pale
little face outside.
The lady was at all times kind-hearted and benevo
lent, and at this moment the generous traits of her
noble boy had opened the fountains of maternal ten
derness, so that an appeal like this could not pass her
unheeded. Stepping to the door, she took the little
girl by the hand and said:
“ Come in, my child, and choose a toy for yourself;
what will you have?”
The little girl was fairly bewildered at this unexpected
turn in fortune; she was very beautiful, notwithstand
ing hei'wom features, sorrowful face, and homely
“■ Nothing, I thank you marm.”
“ Take a toy,” said Harcourt kindly; “mamma wish
es to give you one; see here, you may take one of thess
if you will,” offering those which he had just pur
“ Mother says I mustn't beg,” said she, shrinking
beck timidly, yet acknowledging by a kindly glance
the boy’s childish sympathy.
“ And who is your mother,dear?” asked the lady.
“ She ain’t my real mother, though she is kind to
me, a»d he is so cross aid ugly,” replied the little gid,
expressing with childhood's frankness the thought up
permost in her mind.
“ And what is your name ?”
“ Letty.”
“Letty what?”
The child shook her head sadly to intimate either
hat she did not know, ur could not tell.
“ Where have you been, Letty?” asked the lady, with
increased interest.
Letty blushed at first, and stammered, then won to
confidence by the kindness of her interrogator, she re
plied with tears; opening at the same time her coarse
little cloak, and exhibiting a bottle which she carried
“He made me go for brandy for him; she was sick,
and I didn’t want to disturb her—please doi’t keep me,
marm, or he’ll scold. I ought not to stop, but those
toys did look so pretty.”
“Well, Letty, you shall have one of the prettiest, so
choose; and you can tell your mother that you did not
beg for it, but a lady gave it to you. Is your mother
poor ? Does she want anything ?”
“He has money enough, marm, but he doesn't give
her much. When »he’s well she works, and then we
always have enough.”
“Here, my dear,” said the lady, “take this; don’t
shew it to him, but give it to your mother, and ask her
to let you come and see me to morrow; here is a card
with my address.”
Letty took a little roll, it was a bank note, from the
lady’s hand, and after curtsying, was about to depart.
“Yon have not chosen a toy yet.”
The child took one of the commonest and cheapest
she saw, which drew a warm smile of admiration from
the donor at such delicacy of sentiment from one so
young and apparently so lowly.
“Minima,” said Harcourt, pulling his mother a little
aside, “may I give her this?”
It was his gold piece.
“If you ehoose, Harcourt,” said the mother quietly,
though she felt much inward delight at the nobleness
of the boy’s disposition.
“Good bye, Letty, and do not forget to come to-mor
row,” said the lady.
“Won’t you shake hands before you go, Letty ?” ask-
i ed Harcourt, stepping forward.
The girl quickly put out her hand.
“Good bye, Letty, and take that for my sake.”
Harcourt left bis gold piece in her palm.
| Without looking to see what it was, and imagining
no doubt it was a trifle which she ought not to refuse,
; Letty closed her hand on the coin, and thanking her
| benefactors in a tremulous voice, left the shop, and
hurried along to her humble home with a heart full of
I those sweet and exciting emotions which unlooked-for
kindness always awakens in a bosom accustomed rather
■ to sonow than happiness.
In a small and squalid-looking apartment of a tenant
I house in street, lay a young woman upon a
■ straw bed. There was little other furniture in the
• room, which looked uncomfortable enough—there was
a dim light burning on a stand near the head of the
, bed, which contained also a broken pitchsr and a cup.
The woman was plain in her appearance; but her
countenance exhibited neither the reckless expression
sf habitual sin, nor the evidences of dissipation ; on
the contrary, though marked by suffering, for the
flush of fever was on her brow, and her low moans be
tokened bodily pain—there was an expression of good
ness which would have at once prepossessed the be
holder in *r favor.
The sick woman turned restlessly in her bed, and
opening her eyes from her uneasy and feverish slum
ber, she gazed a moment around the room, and then
called in a low husky voice.
“ Letty, Letty, dear.”
At this, the door opposite was opened, and a rough
man’s voice asked—
“ What do you want, Jane ?”
“ Drink, where is Letty ?”
“ She’s gone out; I’ll give you your drink :” and,
penning out a draught from the broken pitcher, he
handed it.
“ Isn’t it night ?” asked the invalid—" What makes
you send the child out so late ?”
“ Pshaw! it’s not late, and nobody ’ll harm her.—
She’s gone up Broadway for a bottle of brandy;
Hanks will be here to-night, and I want him in a good
humor; so you see I’ve sent lor something decent for
him to drink.”
“ Brandy, and Hanks—Oh! George, what will be
come of us at last? to think how happy we once were.”
And the poor woman sobbed in her agony.
“ Don’t be always crying like a fool," said the man,
who was about thirty live years of age, stout, well
built, and would have been handsome, but for the seal
of sin which was unmistakeably set on his brow, and
the ravages which dissipation had made on his face,—
“ you’d better make haste and get well, for I can tell
you times are awful hard, and I can’t seem to get
along half now-a-days.”
“We have never got along, George, since thaX fatal
error. The money was rather a curse than a blessing;
and every time the poor child has wanted food, and
comfortable clothes, every time in your anger you
have abused her, I have felt the curse of sin working
on me. Oh! how often have I begged you to adver
tise, or try to find her relatives, I am sure they would
gladly forgive you the money, only to get her back.”
“I tell you, no 1 the sum was too large,” said the
man, doggedly. “Besides the girl has fared well
enough—you’ve been a mother to her;” and then his
tone growing suddenly suspicions, he auaed, "you have
not been putting any notions in her head! By G—d,
you had better both look out, if you do.”
“I have never thwarted you, George, much as I dis
approved of your course; I have been an obedient and
faithful wife.”
“Well, well, don’t vex me; and if this business with
Hanks goes all right, we’ll be better off.”
“Take care, George, what you do—for heaven's sake
• take care; I don’t like that man Hanks—he’ll bring
you to no good.”
i “You’re a fool, Jane; I could not get along without
I Hanks, and we are to talk over a piece of business
I to-night, which may be the making of me; and then
: I’ll go to the country with you, to some villag®, and
set up my old trade, and we'U live quiet and peaceable
I once more.”
! “Ah! the very thought makes me well again; and
■ then we can be happy; and if you won’t hunt up Let
ty’s friends, why I can at least bring her up good and
I respectable. Will you, indeed, dear George—will you
j leave this vile city, so full of miseries for the poor?”
“I will, indeed, Jane,” said the man, somewhat
“But Hanks, George, I don’t like him; for God’s
sake, don’t you let him lead you into—into ”
“There—there; it will all be all right. Hush! here
comes Letty.”
The child came in with a glow on her cheek and a
spaikle in her eye, that was quite unusual. She
handed the mas his brandy in silence, and then turn
ing to the female, she exhibited her toy, and also gave
her a small parcel.
“See, mother," what a good lady gave me in Broad
way. I didn’t ask for it; she called me in the store,
and gave it to me—and she gave me money to buy
something for you; and I’ve bought such nice biscuit
and tea.”
The man had paused to listen, and said :
“Well, now, take care of ycur mother to-night, and
tc-morrow, maybe, I’ll buy you a new dress.”
The child looked both astonished and pleased ; not
so much at the half promise, as at the unwonted tone
of kindness. When he had gone into his own apart
ment, and closed the door, she eagerly told her mother
all. After that she soon bustled around, lighted a lit
tle fire in the furnace, put on a small kettle, and, in
less time and with less fuss than many an older cook
would have made, prepared a cup of fragrant tea for
I the invalid. How adversity matures and sharpens the
faculties—she was only seven years old !
After partaking of the refreshments thus offered,
and listening awhile to the child’s prattle, the poor
woman fell off into an’easier slumber. Letty put aside
the things, and prepared also for her rest; but, be
fore she laid down beside her mother, she stole quietly
to the door, listened until she distinguished voices in
low-whispered conference, and then, fastening an in
side bolt, retired—not so much to sleep as to enjoy the
new emotions which that evening’s episode in her
young life had called forth. Childhood and innocence,
however, are seldom wakeful, and Letty’s reveries
soon turned to dreams—rosy, bright dreams! If, as
has been asserted, all happiness is by comparison, the
Angel of Joy touched no bosom with his magic wand
on that Christmas eve more effectively than poor little
. Five years previous to our story, George Turner
I was a thriving mechanic in a little town on the banks
! of the Ohio, when one of those terrible accidents hap-
I pened which too frequently attest the recklessness of
I human life on the part of the conductors of public con
i veyances in our country—a steamboat explosion. The
I havoc and destruction were great; many lives were
I lost, and many mutilated but still living bodies were
, carried ashore to enlist the sympathies of the citizens,
i near whose town the catastrophe occurred, and whose
houses were hospitably thrown open for the reception
of the unfortunates. Among others who had been in
jured, was a gentleman, so burned and scalded as to
be unrecognisable, save, indeed, to the eye of affection,
for near him was a lovely girl of four years old, who
had escaped unhurt, and who was moaning piteously,
and calling in anguish, “ Papa! papa!” These fell to ’
the care of Turner, who had the gentleman removed to
his house, and prepared to render him every attention,
while his young wife affectionately took charge of the
sorrowing child.
In removing the garments from the poor sufferer,
that he might render him some assistance, until the
doctor could give his attention, Turner found a money- j
belt, and being tempted to examine its contents, he
was astonished to discover a very considerable amount
of money; he did not deem the motive dishonest with
which he concealed this, for said he to himself:
“If he gets well, I’ll return it of ceurse, and if he dies
why it will be safe when the lawful owner comes, and
I shall have to take care of the child anyhow.”
Dally not with temptation. The stranger died in a
few hours, and the small sum of money found in his
pocket book barely sufficed to inter the body properly;
and George Turner made some merit of keeping the
child, which his neighbors very readily granted. He
said nothing of the money belt!
There was some surprise in the town when, about
three weeks after these events, George Turner an
nounced his iatention of selling out his shop, and re
moving to New Orleans. The excuse, however, was 1
deemed valid, the death of a relative in Tennessee,
be stated, had left him a considerable fortune, and it .
was necessary to give it his personal attention, after
which he intended to go down to the “ Crescent City,”
and open his business on a large scale. Even his wife
credited this story, and the determination was put
promptly in execution. It was only when far away
from home that he disclosed to her the truth. Her
tears, entreaties, and remonstrances were alike cisre-
| garded, and only for the sake of quiet did he premiss I
I that he would hoard the money, and if they eve:
I should find out the relatives of the little girl, return it. :
At New Orleans, Turner fell into a course of dissipa
tion, which induced his wife to endeavor to persuade
him to leave that city, to which he the more readily
consented, as the child’s memory of scenes around
them created apprehensions in his mind that she might
be recognized. Turner, who was originally from the
North, now determined to move thither. They accor-
. dingly sailed for New York.
Vice is the invariable companion of crime, and the
act of dishonesty on the part of George Turner ap
peared to bring with it a whole train of minor sins.
He drank, gambled, and squandered in two years the
whole amount he had purloined, though it was thou
sands. He had in the beginning commenced to work
at his trade, but this was soon abandoned, and though
his shameless and dishonest proflgacy shocked and
pained his wife, it was not in her nature to abandon
him. The gradual degradation which George under
went brought him down, notwithstanding the occa
sional energy with which he would take hold and ■
work, to the state in which we find him ; and lower
and more rapidly would he have fallen but for his
wife, who, if weak in adhering to him, was brave and
strong in doing her duty, not only to him but the or
phan thus placed under her care. Jane’s heart had
learned to bear much, but the disreputable associations
and mysterious life led by her husband created still
another pang. Even if she would have left him when
he became almost brutalised in his neglect, as he him
self no doubt wished, there was a tie she could not
break, she could not desert the sweet little girl whrse
affection amply repaid her care, and her husband who
was, with all his evil ways, weak and timid, would
sooner have parted with a hand, fearing that her dis
covery when from under his supervision would inevi
tably lead to his own.
Sweetly the orphan slept on! Pleasant dreams be
guiled her fancy, and visions of happiness like old fa
miliar thoughts, disturbed with gentle violence the
calm of her slumbers! Suddenly there was the noise
of hurried steps in the next room, then a rude summons
at the door, which awoke both the woman aud child.
“See what he wants, Letty,” said the invalid, re
cognising at once her husband’s voice, “but don’t open
the door if you can help.”
The girl obeyed with a discretion beyond hei’ years.
“Here! curse you! take it quick; I don’t want to
come in ; but just put that under the bed,” said
George Turner, in an excited voice, as Letty partially
opened the door, handing her a small heavy parcel.
The child obeyed mechanically, closing the door aud
fastening it again, when she had received the charge.
I Neither attempted te examine the nature of the parcel,
but both were attracted by loud voices in the adjoining
apartment, which seemed every moment to grow more
I angry. All at one there was a pause, the steps of new
I comers were heard,a violent-altercationand a struggle
ensued, then the shuffling of retreating footsteps, and
all was still. Although the females felt an intense in
terest in what was going on, neither of them dared
interrupt Turner, and when quiet was restored, they
both gradually subsided into a matter-of-course sort of
feeling, and determining to await the morning for an
elucidation which they deemed nothing more than one
of his customary brawls, they both fell asleep. It was
but little after daylight when an alar.-.i at their door
again weke the slumberers. This time there was an
| authoritative manner about the intruder, that it was
i not so easy to reply to, and Letty at ones opened the
j door.
“ Who hare we here ?” -raid an officer, entering—
“ Accomplices, I suppose.”
1 “ I don't know what you mean,” replied Jane Tur-
ner. “ I am a poor sick woman, and this is my
“ Where is your husband ?”
“I don’t know; isn’t he in the other room?”
i “No; he is snug enough in the ‘lockup’ where
yon’ll have to go too, I rather calculate.”
“ What for?” asked Letty, boldly stepping forward.
“My mother is very sick ; she has been in her bed
more than a week. If anything wrong has happened,
she has nothing to do with it; please not to'trouble
“ A brave little girl,” said the officer's comrade,
admiring the courage of the child. “My dear, your
father has been concerned in a burglary last night,
and I hope, as you ray, that neither your mother nor
yourself have anything to do with it; but you see he’s
nabbed, and wo must search the premises.”
“ You may search, only I beg you not to disturb my
mother; you will find nothing here. Mr. Turner did
not come in this room last night.” Then suddenly re
collecting herself, Letty paused an instant, went to
the bed and taking the parcel given her by George,
handed it to the officer.
“ I forgot, he gave me this to keep, when he cam#
hack last night; I don’t know what it is.”
The officer undid the package which cont lined a
\ pocket book with several hundred dollars, and a leather
case. As he opened the latter, the flash of diamonds
greeted his eyes, and, surrounded by a circlet of bril
liants, he beheld the miniature of a lovely girl.
“ Indeed, sir, we knew nothing about this,” said
Letty earnestly.
“ Oh ! my God,” moaned the sick woman, “ what,
has it come to this at last! She is innocent, sir. Oh!
spare us; we knew nothing of what he has doue.”
Police officers are generally experienced in detecting
crime, and it was easy for the one in question to be
satisfied of the truth of the child’s assertions. Nor are
this cla-»s of persons necessarily hard hearted ; on the
contrary, there is often much active charity and benev
olence in them.
“ I believe you, my good woman; but it is necessary
that we search further.”
. “ But you won’t take my mother away to jail,” in-
terposed Letty; “ she is not bad, if he is.”
“ No, I will not; but she and you must remain here
. until I return, and if any one comes in, take notice
what they say. May I trust you ?”
“ You may,” said Letty, looking fearlessly and frank
ly into his face.
The two or three hours which passed before the offi
cer’s return were sad and weary ones for the poor
woman and child; bad as the husband had been of late,
his position now made them even more desolate.
“ What shall we de, my poor child, what shall we
do ? lam too sick to work, and I can never suffer
you to beg, Letty, if I starve.”
“ Perhaps, mother, I can get some work; and you
know I have some change left, the good lady gave me,
and the gold piece, too; and why not, mother, go and
' tell her our situation? I do not like to beg, but I
j should not mind asking her.”
“ Perhaps, after all, it will be best dear; not for my
sake, but your own. So when the officer comes, you
can ask him if you may leave to run up there.”
It was about three hours before the police officer
came ba< k. AU of the stolen property had been for
i tunately recovcied, and his visit was rather one of
kindress, as there could be no possible reason to im
plicate the unfortunate woman and child in the affair,
■I am sorry for you,” said he to Jane Turner,
“there is no doubt he will be sent up, and for a good
long term. Have you no friends ? for you seem hou-
• est.”
i “None.”
“I have spoken to the lady to whom the stolen prop- :
erty belongs about this little girl here, and she wishes
to see her.”
“We were about to ask your permission for Letty to
go out this morning to see a lady who was kind to her ■
last evening.”
“Yon are at liberty, I have no more to do with
“She gave me this,” said Letty holding up the card
; she had received, “and told me to come to day.”
The officer took the address carelessly and glanced |
it over—as he did so he started.
“That is strange ! It almost seems like a provi
dence. Why this is the very lady whose house was
I “Ob! mother,” exclaimed Letty—“ What shall wo
do? 1 can never go near her now. To think after
i all her kindness that one of ours should go and rob her.”
And the poor chiid buried her face in the clothes, and
sobbed as if she had lost her only friend.
“Come, you are wrong there, my little dear,” said
the warm hearted officer—“ the lady will not blame
you: 1 know she wishes to see you from the kindest
motives; so come along with me I am going to carry
back the articles.”
The repugnance on Letty’s part was easily overcome
by reason, and she prepared herself with a palpitating
heart to accompany the officer.
The lights blazed in the parlors of a fine mansion in
i Bleecker street, and childish voices might have been
heard in merry glee. It was Christmas Eve! and the
restraint of their ordinary discipline was removed from
the happy young beings whose little hearts were buoy
ed up by the excitement of the joyous occasion.
“Oh, I wish mamma and Harcourt would come back,
i I want to know what she thinks Santa Claus will bring
me,” said a little flaxen-haired elf, with blue eyes and
, rosy cheeks.
This enquiry- was directed to a lady with a sweet, be
nevolent cast of countenance, but grave aud melancholy
beyond her years, who was dressed not exactly in
; mourning, but in vestments of a sombre hue, such a > i
are often worn to express settled and irremediable
I grief.
“I have no doubt you will be gratified, my child,”
said the aunt.
I The stopping of a carriage in the street sent the whole
, gang of gypsies to the hall, where mamma and Har
court were greeted with many welcomes, aud more
questions. They preserved, however, a proper and
discreet silence, as Santa Claus’ agents. When the i
prattlers were somewhat quieted, Mrs. Stanley address
ed her sister, to whom we have just alluded—
“ Harcourt met with quite such an adventure, and !
has given his gold piece away to a little beggar girl.” '
“You forget, mamma,” said the boy, “she would not
“True, and she interested me singularly. I never
saw a livelier child, notwithstanding her pale face and I
ordinary garments. There was an air of mystery abont '■
her, though frank and open in her speech as day,
: which has quite enlisted my curiosity. I asked her to
i come and see us to-morrow.”
I “And, aunt,” said Harcourt, affectionately, “I liked
j her more because her name was Letty.”
A ray of increased interest lighted up the face of his
aunt, who said, in a low, melancholy voice—
“My name and hers, too; the child will have an
additional claim on my sympa’hy. You shall not suf- :
ter by your generosity, Harcourt.”
Mrs. Wynne, the sister of Mrs. Stanley, was a widow ;
upon wnom a ternoie and crushing mislortune nad ■
fallen, in the sudden loss of those she held dearest on
earth. Her heart was a tomb consecrated to their
memory ; and yet, with all her weight of sorrow, some
kindly leelings, some human sympathies yet remained,
which were devoted to her sister’s family, with whom
she lived in the closest affection.
Many were the conjectures hazarded about the
poor orphan who had enlisted their sympathy, and
each devised some plan of benefitting her. Blessed are
they who in prosperity remember the unfortunate!
Perhaps the inmates of no mansion in this mighty city
retired on that Christmas Eve with calmer conssiences,
and hearts whiph deserved to be happier than the
“It is too provoking, I declare,” said Mrs. Stanley,
at the breaklast table next morning.
“ What is the matter?” asked hersister.
“ Have you not heard that the house was entered by
robbers last night ?”
“ No ; I hope they have not carried off anything
very valuable.”
“About two thousand dollars in money, and jewel- ;
ry. You, lam sorry to say, are perhaps the greatest
“ Me! how so?”
“ Why, I neglected to return to your room the min- :
iature you loaned me yesterday, but placed it my se
cretary—which has been opened, and it is gone.”
Mrs. Wynne turned pale as death.
“Gone! It must be recovered at any price. It is
all, all I have left to remind me how blessed I once ’
was, how wretched I' now am,” and she bowed her
head in grief.
“ My dear sister, believe me it shall. I will advertise
all over the city, and no reward shall be wanting to
stimulate its discovery. Im fact, I have some reason- i
able hopes; it seems that the rogues were discovered
making their egress, and followed. I have already re
ceived an intimation of their capture and the probable
recovery of the property.”
Even the children, notwithstanding the exuberance
' of joy produced by the liberal and discriminating fa- '
vors of old Santa Claus, each one having found ex- ■
actly what be or she most wished for in the magic i
stocking, were sober and depressed by “ dear aunt I
; Letty’s” misfortune.
Breakfast was scarcely over before a ring at the ■
street ds or bell was heard, and a servant announced j
I that Mr. Jackson, the police officer, wanted to see Mrs. '
“Take him in the parlor, Betty ; I will be there in a '
“Well, Mr. Jackson,”said Mrs. Stanley, “have you i
got the miniature ?”
“Yes, madam.”
“And this is the little girl, eh? Bless me! why it
is the one we saw last evening. Come here, child ;
nay, don’t tremble so, I know all, and do not blame
Letty moved up beside the lady, who laid her hand
gently on her head.
“Poor thing ! you shall be better cared for. Now
Mr. Jackson, let us see.”
The property was handed over, and the worthy offi
cer received a reward which was truly liberal.
“1 understand you, there will be no necessity for me
to apear.” |
“None, madam, one of the accomplices has already
' ’peached.”
“Well, I thank you for your promptness. You may
leave this little girl with me—l will send her home.”
When Mrs. Stanley returned to the breakfast-room,
she held the miniature in one hand, and held the bash
ful shrinking Letty with the other.
“Here, sister, is your treasure,” said she.
Mrs. Wynne caught eagerly the case from her hand,
and opened it te be sure of its possession. For a few
moments she gazed on the beautiful childish features
of the fainting in a fit of tender abstraction, which no
one ventured to interrupt; then handing it to her sister
she said :
“You cannot blame me for idolizing the memory of
an angel.”
Mrs. Stanley looked awhile upon the picture ; and
I then suddenly her eye sought the face of thedittle or
phan she held by the hand, and a strange expression
passed over her face ; it did not escape the attention
of the mourner.
“Ah! that is your little protege ?”
“Letty!” said Mrs. Stanley.
The eyes of both her sister and the child, answered
the call, and were then for an instant mutually turned
on each other. There are moments when the voice of
Nature whispers to the heart with irresistible elo
quence, aud reveals truths and mysteries which all
human sagacity would fail to elucidate. This was one.
With pale cheeks, glittering eyes, and heaving breast;
the lady rivetted her gaze upon the poor orphan,
while, not less agitated, the latter, with outstretched
hands, parted lips, and the attraction of fascination in
. her looks, moved slowly forward—years of hardship
and sorrow—years of mourning and grief, passed from
their minds like a mist, and with a heart-cry on their
: lips—
“ Mother !”
“Mv child!”
The mourner and the long-lost one were clasped in
each other's arms!
Oh ! it was a merry Christmas—a happy Christmas
in the mansion of the Stanleys. Nor in their rejoicing
were the unfortunate, or even the sinful, forgotten. A
nurse was provided for Jane Turner, and every comfort
which she required procured; and, on her convale
scence, she was removed to the house of Mrs. Stanley,
and Installed as seamstress; while George, who was
convicted and sentenced on the testimony of his ac-t
complice, received a promise of a probable pardon at'
the end of a year, if the report of his conduct justified
the application. Through the influence of some influ
ential friends of Mrs. Stanley it was procured sooner,
and with sufficient means to begin fair in the world,
he set out westward. The advice of her friends would
1 have held Jane back from accompanying her husband,
at least until his promises of reformation had been
tested, but she would not be advised ;—hard as it was
I to part with her darling, she knew her happiness was
I secure, and his was to be cared for, reprobate and cruel
as he had been to her. Beautiful illustration of Wo
man's truth and faith!
* * * * * y
Beader! this very Christmas morning the marriage
j ceremony between Harcourt Stanley and Letty Wynne
I will be celebrated. The wedding-ring is made of that
I very self same Gold Piece 1
Magic Wosdjks of tm Senses.—Profes
. sor Haddock thus eloquently discourses concerning the
j sexses “ The senses! they are the most astonishing
parts of nature. What can surpass in mystery, the
familiar act of vision, in which this little ball of paint
ed humors, as it turns at will, in its socket, now tra
verses the cope of Heavens, and holds converse with
the stars, and then gathers in its contemplations to
concentrate them upon an insect’s wing, or the petal
of a flower. The eye, in fact creates the blue arch
above us, and spreads the colors upon the sky ; paints
the fields, and sees the rainbow in the clouds. There
is no arch above, no color in the sky, no rainbow in
the clouds. They are the magic wonders of the eye it
self. And then the ear, what is the power it pos
sesses, to work the waves of the air into music, and j
fill the world, which else had been silent evermore, |
with the sweet harmonies of nature and of man. Nor
is the touch less marvellous—alive, all over us, and in
the seemtagly coarse and clumsy fingers’ ends, pos- I
seeeing a delicacy of perception, a minuteness of ob
servation, an etherial sensibility of which the eye it
self is incapable. So there are the phenomena of life
in the human body, so unconsciously produced that
we know not of their health, and the complicated ac
tion of all this machine, all so quiet and noiseless, as
to be unthought of and unsuspected, till some acci
dent disturbs or jars.” Truly, “we are fearfully
and wonderfully made I”
We seldom think or speculate upon things that
transpire immediately around us—yet come to reflect,
they are full of incident. For example, it is curious
enough to see the circulation of a great city commence
in the morning—the great city that roared itself to
sleep. True, there was a feeble pulse all night; the
cars beat to and. fro ; a carriage now and then gave a
flutter, but after all, there had been a quiet hour.
About a hundred and fifty thousand of the people had
been lying “ on a dead level” for four or five hours ;
some on pillows of down, and some on curb stones ;
seme beneath silken counterpanes, and some beneath
the great blue quilt of heaven. Queer figure they
make in the mind's eye, to be sure—lso,ooo folks,
more er less, lying on their backs—lying in tiers or
rows, five or six miles long—lying three or four deep.
In the cellar—that’s the “ primitive formation ;” then
first floor, second, third, and so up to the garret. A
hundred thousand people snoring—what a concert 1—
Fifty thousand people dreaming! Fifty thousand
people in red night caps! Fifty thousand in white,
and here and there one trimmed with lace. Thirty
thousand curls twisted up in papers, giving their
owners an appearance of having made a pillow of cigar
lighters. Ten thousand curls hanging over the backs of
chairs or tossed upon tables. How gently Time touches
such people; they never grow gray at all. Ten thousand
people weeping, and now and then, one dying; dying in
his sleep ; dying in a dream! And then the getting
up is ridiculous enough, though going to bed— should
we say “ retire” in these refined times?—is a solemn
piece of business, whether people think of it or not.
But the getting up, the waking up, is funny enough
for a farce. It's a process—a species of gradualism.
There’s one who has slept “ like a top” for nine solid
hours, and now he begins to wake; first, it’s a half
lurch and a long breath and a yawn; then an arm is
thrust out, then a foot; the muscles are waking up.
Next, the rattle of the early-going wagons strikes his
ear; hearing is “ coming to.” Then, his tongue moves
uneasily; taste is returning. Last, his eyes open, and
one after the other—then half close, then open again,
and then the man’s awake—awake all over—awake
for all day. There’s another, sound asleep this minute,
and this, he shakes himself like a huge Newfoundland,
springs up “ percussion,” and the thing is done; the
fellow hasn’t a sleepy hair about him. Snowy quilts
that have just risen and fallen with the soft bosom be
neath, begin to grow uneasy. The sweet sleepers are
waking, so we’U draw the curtains, and leave them to
their toilette. Bundles of rags in dark, damp corners,
toss and tumble ; there's something alive underneath-
Out it comes, more rags. Misery makes no toilette,
and there are no curtains to draw.
It was in the assemblies of celebrated women that,
in the reign of Louis XV., were nourished the princi
ples of free discussion and destructive philosophy that
exercised so fatal an influence over the destinies of
France. In the bureaux d'esprit of Madame de la
Popeliniere and Madame de Teucin, the growing
tastes for artistic and intellectual excitement were
gratified. Madame de la Popeliniere was the daughter
of an actress, and was herself educated for the stage ;
but having formed a connection with a wealthy fer
mur-genei al, which the aristocratic notions of the day
did not allow to be continued, he was compelled by
minister Fleury to marry her, and she quickly assumed
a high position in society. Her career was, however,
a short one. Her husband discovered a communica
tion between the chimney of her boudoir and the next
house, which was tenanted by the Duke, afterwards
Marshal, de Bichelieu. He repudiated her, and she
died at an early age. Madame de Teucin was a nun in
the convent of the Augustines of Montfleuri, where a*
gay and jovial life seems to have been led, but as it was
too narrow a world for the lady, she gained her free
dom. Among her numerous admirers were Boling
broke and Fontenelle. The result of her imprudence
was a son. This child, to save the credit of her bro
ther with whom she resided, she abandoned, and ex
posed on the steps of a church. It was picked up by a
poor woman, and eventually attained the highest emi
nence by the name of D'Alembert, the friend of Vol
taire. As Madame de Teucin grew old she assumed an
air of respectability, and gained considerable indirect
political influence. Marmontel, Fontenelle, Marivaux,
and the young Helvetius were her friends, and Pope
Benedict XIV. was amongst her correspondents. She
died in 1749, and was succeeded in social reputation
by Madame Geoffrin,
OVCT LIIC DtilWiiiKa oUlli)ull6l'— vViliCa
a correspondent of a Scottish newspaper—l saw one
of those watchful monsters, a shark, winding lazily
backward and forward like a long meteor ; sometimes
rising till his nose disturbed the surface, and a gushing
sound, like a deep breath, rose through the breakers ;
at others, resting motionless on the water, as if listen
ing to our voices and thirsting for our blood. As we
were watching the motions of this monster, Cruce— a
lively little negro, and my cook—suggested the possi
bility of destroying it. This was, briefly, to heat a
fire brick in the stove, wrap it up hastily in some old
greasy cloths as a sort of disguise, and the* to heave
it overboard. This was the work of a few minutes,
and the effect was triumphant. The monster followed
after the hissing prey ; we saw it dart at th* brick
like a flash of lightning, and gorge it instanter. The
shark rose to the surface almost immediately, and his
uneasy motions soon betrayed the success of the ma
noeuvre ; his agonies became terrible, the waters ap
peared as if disturbed by a violent squall, and the spray
was driven over the taffrail where we stood, while the
gleaming body of the fish burst repeatedly through
the dark waves, as if writhing with fierce and terrible
convulsions. Sometimes, also, we thought we heard
a shrill, bellowing cry, as if indicative of anguish and
rage, rising through the gurgling waters. His fury,
how ever, was soon exhausted ; in a short time the
sounds broke away into distance, and the agitation of
the sea subsided ; the shark had given himself up to
the tides, as unable to struggle against the approach
of death, and they were carrying his body unresisting
ly to the beach.
The London Athenaeum has a detailed account o
books which were called for. at the Manchester Free
Library, from which may be gathered the desired in
formation as to what books are most popular with Eng
lish readers. Shakspeare, it appears, is most in de
mand: his works, and books illustrating these works,
having been issued 352 several times within the first
year. The book.next in popularity to Shakspeare is
the “Arabian Nights”—which in the year founi 291
readers. Scott and Defoe come next in rank. “Ivan
hoe” was issued 241 times; “Robinson Crusoe” 239
times. The latter author seems to be a great favorite,
all his principal stories being in great demand: “Mol
Flanders was issued 237 times, “Roxiana” 108, “Cof
Jacque” 170, “Capt. Singleton” 107. Swiff’s “Gulli
ver” was read 123 times; Smollett’s “Roderick” 82-
Biography has been very much read. In the history
of England, Mr. Macauley is the popular favorite. His
“History” has been read by 124; the “Pictorial” by 00;
Lingardby4l; Hume by 31 persons. French history,
especially of the Napoleonic time, has been in great
demand. The Athemeum adds: “Many of the books
have been glanced at aud laid aside. Two readers ap
pear to have gone through Hume. Fourteen attacked
Clarendon, but only three reached the seventh volume;
the ssme number toiled through Lingard. Of the crowd
who began with Alison, only one came in at the death
Books of travel, shipwreck, and adventure have been
asked for verfl often. Mr. Cumming almost divided the
honcrii with Defoe. Dana’s 'Two Years befoie the
Mast’ has had 74 readers; and Mr. Layard’s ‘Nine
veh’ the same number.” Cannot some of our large
libraries give us something like the above, by which
we may judge what authors are most popular in our
country ?
A London journalist, speaking of the probabilities
of a statue of Sir Isaac Newton being erected at
Grantham, says : “ Curious are the uses of great men.
Dalton lends his name to a new street, a questionable
speculation calls itself the Howard Association, or a
leaky vessel goes down with Nelson and its contents.
Galileo, denied a grave in Tuscany, has got a territory
in the moon. Milton Ms got a city in the “ States,’’
—and Hampden a county in Australia. Ziska is
skinned to make a victorious drum. Shakspeare is
made a show. Blucher grows famous as a pair of
boots. Shirts, poems, razors, charities—all odds and
ends of incongruous things—lean on the universal fame
of Wellington. It is a great thing for a town to have
had a great man. If he were born there—or died
there—it is a fortune. Canterbury lived for ages on
the bones of a Becket—as Stratford will thrive to the
end cf time on the memories which have made it the
Mecca of the Saxon race wherever scattered. If the
greatness were not born there, or did not expire there,
the accident of its having passed through it is seized
as capital. This is much the case at Grantham with
Newton. The corporation of that town speak of the
proposed site of the monument having been ‘ conse
crated by his frequent footsteps.’ If that be a reason
why a statue should be placed there in particular, how
many corners of London streets, how many spots 1
Cambridge, can advance a stronger claim ?”
A gentleman from Swampville, State of New York
was telling how many different occupations he had
attempted. Among others he had tried school teach
irg:—“How long did you teach?” asked a bystander
“ Wai, I didn’t teach long ; that is, I went to teach.’
“ Did you hire out?” “ Wai, I didn’t hire out; I only
went to hire out.” “ Why did you give it up ?” “Wai,
I gave it up—for some reason or nuther—You see, I
travelled into a deestrict and inquired for the trustees.
Somebody said Mr. Snickles was the man I wanted to
see. So I found Mr. Snickles—named my objict in in
terducing myself—and asked him what he thought
about letting me try my luck with the big boys and
unruly gals in the deestrict. He wanted to kiow if I
raaly considered myself cap’ble; and I told him I
wouldn’t mind his asking me a few easy questions in
’rithmetic and ’jography, or showing my handwriting.
But he said no, never mind; he could tell a good
teacher by his gait. ‘ Let me see you walk off a little
ways,’ says he, ‘ and I can tell,’ says he, ‘ jis’s well’s
I’d beeied you examined,’ ” says he. “He sot in the
door, as he spoke and I thought he looked a little
skittish ; but I was consid'rable/iwifrataf, and didn’t
mind much; so I turned about and walked off as
smart as I know’d how.” He skid he’d tell me when
to stop, so I kep’t on till I thought I’d gone ’bout fur
enought—then I s'spected s’thing was to pay, and
looked round. Wai, the door was shet, awl Snickles
was gone “ Did you go back ?” “ Wai, no, I didn’t
goback.” “Did you apply for another school?”
‘Wai, no—l didn't apply for another school,” said,
the gentleman from Swampville. “ I rather judged
my appearance was against me.”
Our knowledge of the solar system was increased
during the year 1852 by the of seven new
planets, all hitherto unknown, which revolve in the
group between Mars and Jupiter. This group now
numbers twenty-two planets in all. The seven disco
vered the past year are as follows : Psyche, discovered
by De Gasparis, at Naples; Thetis, by Luther, at Bilk,
near Dusseldorf; Melpomene, by Hind, at London;
Fortuna, by Hind, at London; Massillia, by De "n.spa
ris, at Naples; Calliope, by Hind, at London; Lutetia,
by Gcldschmidt, at Paris. Massillia was independently
discovered one day later than by De Gasparis, by M.
Charcornac, at Marseilles, and Psyche was suspected
by Hind before DeGasparis’s discovery; but unfavora
ble weather prevented him from proving it to be anew
planet; Several of the previous planets were disco
vered independently by two persons; and this shows
how closely the sky is now watched for these bodies.
The following is a list of the whole of the small pla
nets, in the order of their discovery: Ceres, Pallas,
Juno, Vesta, Astirn, Hebe, Iris, Flora, Metis, Hygeia,
Parthenope, Victoria, Egeria, Irene, Eunomia, Psyche,
Thetis, Melpomene, Fortuna, Massilia, Calliope, Lute
tia. At the time of writing, no orbit of Lutetia has
been computed, but there is scarcely any doubt fhat it
belongs to the small planet system.
Miss Cunningbame, who a short time since was im
prisoned for reading from the Bible to Catholic sub
jects in Italy, gives the following account of her libe
ration : “ I have not accepted the Grand Dake’s gw
zia. Ou the contrary, I said at once, that what he
owed me in justice I did not wish ta receive in grace,
and that until I consulted my advocate I would not go
out of prison. However, in the course of a few hours,
I got another message to say that they had orders to
send me out, and that they begged me as a favor that
I would go, as otherwise they would be obliged to
turn me out. ‘ Thea,’ said I, ‘ give me a paper
stamped and signed, to say that I am turned out, and
have not gone voluntarily,’ which accordingly they
did. lam told that one half hour later I should have
had a decree from the Second Court in my favor,
which would have declared that I had done nothing
worthy of bonds, and therefore that the case could go
no further. It is currently reported that the cause
of this pardon is, that dispatches same from Lord
Clarendon to say that if I was not det at liberty at
once, the British arms would he taken down from the
Embassy, and this is what the Italians believe.” Miss
Cunninghame adds, “ It-is considered here the great
est triumph, since the Grand Dake has freed me be
cause England has demanded it, and it is universally
known also that I am declared innocent legally.”
Lady Napier relates a rather amusing anecdote of a
monkey. It seems that she and Sir Charles Napier,
during their travels, on one occasion pitched their
tent for the night on a spot which was inhabited by a
tribe of monkeys. These beasts were drawn by their
intense curiosity close to the travellers, and Lady Na
pier sent for some nuts, put them into the pocket ot
her apron and fed one which was bolder and tamer
than the rest with them. When they withdrew into
the tent, the apish guests likewise retreated. On awa
kening next morning, Lady Napier was startled at
finding that her purse which was in the pocket of her
apron had been stolen in the night. An inquiry was
instantly made and a search instituted in her room for
it, but in vain ; and she had come to the conclusion
that some of those Indian robbers, who can steal the
sheets from under one unfelt and unseen, had carried
off her property, for the loss was considerable. When
walking by chance into the back enclosure of the tent
she found her friend the monkey seated in grave dig
nity with her apron on, imitating her yester-evening’s
action, and supplying the want of nuts with her gold
and silver coins, which he ssattered liberally around
him. He was - suffered to empty the purse, and then
they tried to catch him, but so far as we remember,
did nor succeed ; he returned to his woods clad in a
black satin apron, and doubtless played for the future
the part of the monkey who had seen the world.
A traveller in t-e Oriental countries relates the fol
lowing: At the town of Derr I got accidentally into a
little adventure that might have proved extremely
unpleasant. Small as the place was, I con
trived to lose my way, and became entangled among a
number of garden walls and narrow passages. Pro
ceeding along one of these I fancied I heard female
voices, and presently, emerging into a shady court, be
held a young Circassian in the bath, attended by a
black female slave. In Christendom the lady would
certainly have shrieked and brought forth all the house -
hold in a moment; but her nriental education had
taught her great caution. Casting on ine a look of
surprise, as she stood upright in the marble basin, as
white as the marble itself, she asked how I came hither
I replied that I had lost my way, and knew not how I
had come nor how to depart. Perceiving my perplex
ity to be unfeigned, she replied—“ Stranger, you are in
much peril, but follow th# slave, and she will conduct
you to a place of safety.” So saying, she waved her
-baud towards a dark corridor, through which, after
wowing to the lady, I followed the negress till we reach
ed a small door opening into the street. As it would
have been extremely awkward to meet any gentleman
of the establishment within the walls, as they might
have shot me first, and then esquire how I came there,
I felt considerably eased by escape.
Louis Napoleon draws sustenance from all kinds of
sources. The following figures show what he obtains
from those gentlemen who “lie for a living.” From
the official report we learn that the number of barris.
ters in France is 4,927, who pay 168,823 francs per
year (calculated at one-fifteenth of the rent of thei r
lodgings) for their licenses; 58 barristers to the Coun
cil of State and Court of Cassation, who pay 5,867
francs for their licenses; 3,293 solicitors, who pay 134,-
919 francs for their licenses; 103 attorneys of the tri
bunal of commerce , who pay 8,077 francs; 3,232 regis
ters, who pay 45.W7 francs; 7,128 huissiers (a sort of
sheriff’s officer), who pay 106,618 francs; and 9,219
notaries, who pay 373,836. AH these gentlemen pay
each for their licenses at the rate of one-fifteenth part
of the rent of their offices; so that the whole amount
of rent paid by them per year is 12,516,490 francs
which is supposed by official calculation to represent a
tenth part of their professional revenue. Thus it ap.
pears that the French people pay their lawyers annu
ally a sum of not les# than 120,500,000 francs, or about
$24,000,000. Add to this sum the registration and
stamp duties, (say 275,000,000 francs, which is the
official estimate for 1854) and we have, as the total of
legal expenses per year, the alarming sum total of
about 400,000,000 francs, or $80,000,000.
“ So our neighbor, Mr. Guzzle, has been arranged at
the bar for drunkardice,” said Mrs. Partington, and
she sighed as she thought ot his wife and children at
horn#, with the cold weather close at hand and the
searching winds intruding through the chinks In the
windows and waving the tattered curtain like a banner/
where the little ones stood shivering by the faint em'
bers. “ God forgive him and pity them !” said she’
withga tone of voice tremulous with emotion. “ But
he was bailed out,” said Ike, who had devoured the
the residue of the paragraph, and laid the paper in a
pan of liquid custard that the dame was preparing for
Thanksgiving, and sat swinging the oven door to and
fro as if to fan the fire that crackled and blazed within
“ Bailed out, was he ?” said she; “ well, I should think
it would have been cheaper to hare pumped him out,
for when our cellar was filled, arterthe city fathers had
degraded the street, we had to have it pumped out
though there wasn’t half so much in it as he has swill
ed down.” She paused and reached up on the high
shelve# of the closet for her pie plates, while Ike busied
himself by tasting the various preparations. The dame
_thought that*was the smallest quart of sweet cider she
’had ever seen.
A British resident in Russia has recently made a
discovery which, if all accounts be true, promises to
be of great importance to painters and varnishers, It
is to the effect that the seed of the tobacco plant con
tains over 15 per cent, of its weight of drying oil of
superior quality and of easy extraction. The process
by which oil is extracted is to reduce the seed to pow
der, and knead it into a stiff paste by adding a suffi
cient quantity of hot water ; after which, the paste is
submitted to the action of a very strong press. The
oil thus obtained is then exposed to a moderate heat
which, by coagulating the vegetable albumen of the
seed, causes all impurities to form a cake at the bat
tom, leaving the oil perfectly clear. This oil, clthougli
extremely liquid, possesses, it may be said, the dryiu
qaality to a much higher degree than any other; a
circumstance which must render it valuable to all who
use paint or varnish of any kind. It will cost our to
bacco growers but little to make the experiment.
The New York Independent, a Congregational pa_
per, of which Henry Ward Beecher is a stated con.
tributor, hold« tha following remarkable language on
skepticism and reform: Among the earnest minded
men who are at this moment leading in thought and
action in America, we venture to say that four-liftha
are skeptical even of the historical facts of Christi
anity. What is told as Christian doctrine by the
churches is not aven considered by them. And fur
thermore, there is among them a general ill-concealed
diitrust of the clerical body as a class, and utter dis
gust with every aspect of modern Christianity and of
the church worship. This skepticism is not flippant;
little is said about it. It is not a peculiarity alone of
the radical *and fanatic; many of them are men of
calm and even balance of mind, and belong to no class
of ultraists. It i> not worldly and selfish. The doubt
ers lead in the bravest and most self-denying enter
prises of the day.
Those who are compelled to pay the existing high
price for this necessary article, may have the satisfac
tion of knowing that although it is scarce and dear ia
this part of the Union, it may be found piled up in
mountain loads in San Francisco, where it sells for
about the cost and charges incurred in shipping from
our own markets! A San Francisco paper of Nov. 15
in an article exposing the stupendous folly of our
Eastern merchants in flooding California with commo
dities that will not sell, informs us that the stock of
butter now in that market has already reached the
enormous amout of five and a half millions of pounds !
Yet the Eastern traders continue to send to that place
from 8,000 to 15,000 firkins per month—the con
sumption fer that time being only 9,000. We must
expect next spring to eat re-imported California New
. England butter.
An iron vessel named the “Enterprise,” intended
for the Deep Sea Fishing Association cf Scotland, has
be«n launched on the Clyde. She is about 100 feet
in length, and 16 feet beam, her measurement about
100 tens, and her engines are 100 horse power. The
propelling power, on a totally new principle, by
Messrs. Ruthven of Glasgow, the patentees, requires
neither paddles nor screw. One important feature of
the invention is, that by a simple movement the ves
sel can be either stopped, turned, or backed, almost
instantaneously, without requiring the steam to be
let off, or the machinery stopped. The principle of
propulsion is the injection of water through pipes, to
.act upon the mass of water in which the vessel is mov ■
ing. James Rumsey employed this principle, but
Ruthven’s improvement relates to the exit tubes.
The man and woman go into the water with a cow
and calf and an old priest. Th# man doth hold his
hand by the old man’s hand and the wife’s hand by
the husband’s, and all have the cow by the tail, and
they pour water out of a brass pot on the cow’s tail,
and then the old man ties him and her together by
their clothes; then they give to the Brahamin th®
cow and the cah f '. Then they go’to divers other idols
and give money, and then they go their way. It is
needless to observe that the money given to the idols
at the conclusion of this marriage ceremony is “taken
by the priest.”

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