New-York dispatch. [volume], January 25, 1857, Image 7

About New-York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1854-1861

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
[Written for the New York Dispatch.]
I SHARE THEM NO LONGER V7ITH THEE,
BY RICHARD BARBER.
Ah ! why do they wish me to mingle
In pleasures so frail and so fleet ?
Joys thril ing and merriment’s tingle
Have long ago ceased to be sweet:—
Why, why do they force me to haunt them,
The scenes where the light-hearted be,
.And listen to music’s glad authem,
When I share them no longer with thee I
To childhood’s old fireside they bring me,
That once to my heart was so dear —
And childhood’s old anthems they sing mo
I once longed so fondly to hear:—
I see the old home, and I listen
To youth’s merry, innocent glee,
And my sorrow dimmed eyelids but glisters,
Since I share them no longer with thee 1
No matter how livelily dancing
The sunbeams may glitter and play—
What matter now deep and entrancing
The bright eyes that circle my way—
What matter toe smiles and caresses
They fail not to shower upon me—
The charm that once lightened oppresses,
For I share it no longer with thee !
I wander at eve thro’ the wild wood, —
The berries are glistening there still,
The flowers that sweetened our childhood
Still blossom by streamlet and hill:—
Not a wreath has been snatched from the bower—
Not a leaf has been plucked from the tre*,
But. ah I where is the soft thrilling power
They had when I shared them with thee I
Tbo’-oft they have courted and won me
To join them in dance and iu ball,
They know not what spell is upon me
Tnat turneth life’s blessings to gall;—
When the charms of the Spring-time are blooming,—
Their beauties no longer I see,
For anguish my heart is consuming,
Since I share then no longer with thee I
Life’s terrors no longer alarm me—
Its blessings no more can I prize,—
No pleasure it watte th can charm me—
No evils it bringeth urprise,
My prayer and my only desire is
At once from earth’s sorrows to flee,
And-jo n those bright seraphs whose choir is
Enlivened, enchanted by thee.
[Written fer the New York Dispatch.]
MT FIRST PATIENT.
BY “ OUB FAMILY PHYSICIAN.”
I had passed the rubicon. I had gone through the
fiery orueal of examination unscathed, and was
fairly dubbed Doctor of Medicine. The “11. D.”
sat strangely upon me at first, but I bore my honors
as meekly as possible, and turned my attention to
ward the most feasible modus opernndi (I, at that
time, prodigiously affected Latin phrases) of com
mencing a practice that should ultimately rival, in
extent and lame, (as in my modest seif-apprecia
tion I felt was more than certain,) that of Hippo
crates himself.
My father, a man, presented
me with a horse, a purse sufficient to keep me for
six months, (with economy, as the old gentleman
said,) his parental blessing,and his advice to proceed
to town as the most likely place in which to
commence practice.
Our family were well and favorably known in
——— town, and that was one thing of moment to
me. It was a comparatively new place, and that
was another desideratum, it had also been pro
' nounced that there was decidedly an opening for- a
new physician, and that was the'third and most im
portant recommendation. There were three physi
cians in ■ town, to be sure, but one was blind
■with age and otherwise superannuated; a second
was said to be “a very good physician when he was
sober;” whilst the third, Dr. Sheepshanks, really
possessed pretty much all the practice of the place.
This then was to be my rival. And the result so
proved.
I followed my father's advice, went to
town, hired an “ office,” bung out my shingle, un
packed my medical library, arranged my book
shelves at once tastefully, scientifically, and con
spicuously, and sat down in an arm-chair, with my
feet on the mantie-shelf, and a huge tome on diete
tics in my hand, to wait for a call.
I might have waited from then until now, some
forty years, for a call (my private and solemn
opinion,) if—after waiting four and a half months,
with occasional intervening drives to inspect the
beautiful and picturesque country around, —I had
not hit upon a promising scheme.
Sitting in my favorite postui e, one morning, pre
tending to be very much occupied with the page
before me, but really watching with nervous
anxiety to see if the shadow of a call would not fall
upon my theshoid, I was aroused by the simple
occurrence of Dr. Sheepshanks driving past at a
furious rate, bowing as he glanced by with, as I
thought,, a provoking condescension, that had
in it far more malicious exultation than friendly
recognition.
“ The very thing!” exclaimed I, starting to my
feet with a bound. “ Thanks Dr. S., you have
taught me something—you have given me a new
idea that I shall forthwith act upon.” I accordingly
Baddie d Cherry (my horse) in great haste, taking
care to throw the professional “ bags ” across the
saddle, mounted, and taking the direction opposite
to that taken by Dr. Sheepshanks, rode as though
Eblis himself were at my heels. Upon arriving at
a sequestered place I slackened my pace, gazed
upon the delicious scenery around me, gave my
Bosinante free rein to nibble grass and drink of the
refreshing waters of a sparkling spring, and then
took my way leisurely home.
This same process I went through with in the
afternoon, taking care to vary the route. Upon
the next morning I was suddenly called to the same
patient I had visited on the morning previous, and
in the afternoon I had no call, for I did not wish to
have it appear that my services were in too sudden
a demand.
For one month I rode thus furiously through the
village, some part of every day, and sometimes
twice and even three times a day,'to the infinite de
light, of the various groups of ragged boys, who
lustily cheered me as I passed, and the infinite
amazement of certain toothless gossips, who
stretched out their long, wrinkled necks to peer at
me. But the only good I appeared to have accom
plished was to wear off some of Cherry’s super
fluous fat.
. I was as far from a genuine call as ever. Mean
time funds ran low. The stipulated “ six months ”
lacked but two weeks to their completion; and
then what was I to do? Bide back home on
Cherry’s back, like a whipped cur, acknowledging
myself beaten, throwing myself on my father’s
generosity again, and thus rob my sisters of what
was now theirs by right? No, I had too much
pluck for that. I knew my father had done all he
could for me, all he ought without robbing the
younger ones. So I went on with my fast rides,
fully persuaded in my own mind that'sooner or
later something must come of them.
For some inexplicable cause, I had very few
friends in town. To tell the truth, I had
none. Everyone appeared to avoid me, as by
mutual content. I felt this severely, but I was too
proud to acknowledge even to myself how much
hurt I really was by the coldness and distance of
all around me. My life was a very lonely one, but
I resolved never to say “ die,” so 1 kept a “stiff
upper lip,” was courteous to every one, asked
nothing of any one, and—took my furious rides to
attend upon imaginary patients.
In my heart 1 blamed the envious spirit of Dr.
Sheepshanks for all my ill success. I could see by
the light of his green eyes, as his oblique glances
flashed suspiciously on me whenever we met, that
my presence in town was anything but agreea-
ble to him. I felt that he was the cause of old and
young, mothers, daughters and fathers, looking at
me so askance; and my, suspicions were one day
more than confirmed. Jake Peabody, a great gaw
key fellow, half fool, halfwit—the only being in the
village who had attempted anything like familiarity
with me, but whose familiarity was so disgustingly
conceited and vulgar, that it was more offensive to
me than the reserve of all the rest—lounged into my
office one evening just at dusk, and after inspecting
the backs of my books, (for the fiftieth time) he
broke out with:
“ Dull woik, doctor, ain’t it, eh?” and he gave a
sidelong leer.
“ To which author do you allude, sir ?” replied I
■with all the dignity of twenty-one.
“ The author of the dull work to which I allude
isn’t bound in-calf,” and he gave another knowing
leer, accompanied by a chuckling laugh ; but,
with the hide of sheep’s trotters, his sheepskin
serving to hide the wolf of his nature,” and this
piece of involuted wit concluded, the creature
chuckled immoderately.
“You are entirely too deep for me, Mr. Peabody,”
rejoined I; “ I cannot conceive to what volume you
allude.”
“ Some folks have sometimes too much dignity to
conceive what they don’t wish to comprehend ; eh,
doctor, isn’t it so ?” and again he chuckled immod
erately, resuming: “ To be plain, then, Dr. Sheep
shanks, isn’t he a volume in himself ? But let me
tell you, doctor, he does not owe you any love.”
“No! why not, pray, if I may ask ?” inquired I,
contemptuously.
“Why not? Bless me 1 how can you ask ? Why,
haven’t you come into the village with the express
intention of stealing away his practice ; of robbing
him, beggaring him on his very hearth stone ?”
“ Pah 1” exclaimed I.
But, let me tell you,” persisted Jake, “ I hive
heard Sheepshanks make use of those very words,
and let me tell you moreover that all your ill-luck
proceeds from his strenuous exertions'in your be
half.”
“11l luck! I may not have so extensive a practice
as the other physicians of the place, certainly, lam
a stranger here as yet. There is undoubtedly
enough for all to do, if the sick of the place are
to properly atended, and”-
“Yes, that may all be, and, between you and me
sb, but Dr. Sheepshanks don’t think so, and mark
my words, he won’t rest until he gets you out of
here, for, you see, you are young, good looking,
and confoundedly smart. So you see are mightily in
his way.”
“ It is for the people of the place themselves to
decide. My patrons appear perfectly satisfied with
the services I render them, and Dr. Sheepshanks
has still as much or more practice than he can at
tend to with justice to his patients.”
As I said this with an air of sublime loftiness it
was met with a look of quizzical incredulity that
would have nonplussed any one less determined or
desperate than myself.
“ Dr. Sheepshanks says, ‘ that, for your patients !
and .rake snapped his fingers. Retells every body
that your mighty fast rides are all sham, that you
have never had one real call, not one real patient
since you have been in the place, and he says he is
determined to writes you and expose you to the
whole town, how, Dr , I thought I might as
well act the part of a friend toward you and put
you on your guard. They say forewarned is fore
armed,” and the ungainly feilow. jerked his hand
forward for a “ good morning,” grunted a “nood
bye,” and took himself off.
That he meant kindness towards me I did not of
course believe, and determining not to be affected
by his malicious gossip, I saddled Cherry and took
a pleasant ride—not a professional one, but a ride
through the silent, grand old woods, that the voice
of Nature might speak soothing words to my heart
—that my perturbed feelings might find the rest
they needed.
I came home strong and refreshed, ready to battle
with the worl d anew,and take it rough and tumble. I
was determined not to give up the ship, so, the next
morning, I again saddled Cherry for one of my fu
nous gallops. I was even in a greater hurry than
ever—for my patient lay in a most critical state,
even at the point of death.
I was aware, in my terrible haste, as I pissed
Deacon Peabody’s, of seeing Jake mount his gray
mare, which was standing at the gate saddled and
bridled, and follow rapidly in the same direction I
had taken. But the circumstance gave me no un
easiness until I found, turn which way I would, the
gray mare, with Jake Peabody on her back, was
ever at my heels.
Still on, on I went, and still followed the persist
ent gray mare. I turned down this cross street and
the gray mare turned also; I turned up the next
and the gray mare turned up the next also. I
thought of flight, but Cherry was at his fullest
speed already. Still on I went, until at last I began
to see signs in Cherry of flagging. He was covered
with perspiration and foam, and was already lame
of one foot.
“ I shall lose my horse to a certainly,” thought I,
But then, I thought that Cherry stood as good a
chance as Jake’s gray mare, so on I went—the point
at issue now being which could hold out longest,
Cherry or the gray mare.
At this juncture, I cast my eyes over into a field.
Something unusual was going on, evidently. I
looked more intently ; a man was lying on the
grass,and aweman was leaning over him, wringing
her hands piteously, while near by stood a horse and
plow. A moment more and I was up close beside
them ; and so was Jake and the gray mare.
I sprang from the back of my panting horse, and,
in the coolest manner imaginable, said, in a loud,
clear tone:
“ Ah, my good woman, I see I am just in time.
Not a moment to lose. Take heart—all will yet be
well 1”
I went quickly but quietly to my saddle-bags,
drew from them linen bandages, lint, several instru
ments, and various other professional paraphernalia,
and proceeded without delay, to set the poor man’s
bones, splinter his limbs, bandage his bruises, ap
ply restoratioes to his lips, and otherwise attend to
his necessities.
The poor man had been ploughing, but. by some
accident, had fallen forward, and jerking the reins in
a wrorg direction, horse and plow passed over him,
injuring him terribly—almost fatally. After I had
patched him up, I proceeded to make a rude, but
strong litter of branches of trees, and turning to the
silent ar.d wondering Jake, requested him to assist
me in helping the now comparatively easy man to
his home.
Jake complied instantly, and soon we had the in
jured man laid comfortably upon his own bed, his
grateful wife thanking me in tones so heartfelt that
.lake seemed so much affected that he appeared on
the point of mingling tears with the weeping wife.
I heard him ask her, aside, just as we left, if she
had sent for Dr. , naming my name, to which
she replied enthusiastically: “ Yes, Heaven forever
bless him. 1 sent our Tommy as soon as the dread
ful accident occurred, and he hasn’t got back yet.”
This was enough. Our ride home that morning
(Jake’s and mine) was rather an unhurried one; he
expressing much astonishment all the way, and I
taking the matter coolly, as a thing.of course. But
before night my fame was spread, all throughout
town. I had call upon cajl before the week was
out, and in a short time was actually crowded with
practice.
1 visited the wounded farmer as often as neces
sary, and saw him fairly on his legs again. I found
from bis wife that she had sent her “Tommy” for
a physician on the morning of her husband’s acci
dent, and that from my opportune arrival she had
judged, of course, that I was the doctor her boy
bad found, but I had not more than got out of the
house, ss the good woman informed me, when Tom
my, with another’physician, arrived.
This is a faithful account of how I got my first
patient. Dr. Sheepshanks and I, before I left
town, became good friends. He found that
there was enough work for both of us, and I found
what an astonishing deal a little popularity will do
for a man, and all througbbeing “ just in time.”
Sri lltata.
Have we a Pastel Painter'among us?—
Indeed we have, and one, too, that excels all that
has heretofore been done in that beautiful branch
of art, on this side of the Atlantic. The frequenters
of Goupils’ must, for some few weeks past, have
observed the portrait of a most beautiful young
lady, a Spanish beauty, resident of this city. It is
a large pastel portrait, the work of Signor Phtania,
whose inimitable colored carricatures of our musical
and theatrical people, some time since attracted so
much attention in the windows of music shops.
The pastel in question possesses all the vigor, and
expression of the best oil portrait, united to the
subdued delicacy which the colored crayon alone
can impart. Don’t neglect to examine it en pas
sant whilst it remains at Goupils.
Monsieur Patania is the husband of the hand
some and talented vocalist of the same name, and
the clever artist pair, having now permanently set
tled in this city, form a valuable acquisition to
the artist circles of the metropolis. Madame
Patania is prepared to give finishing instructions
in vocalism to ladies, whilst her artist-husband is
ready for sitters who may desire to have portraits
by his master-hand.
“ The Paris Exposition of Fine Arts for
1857,” says an English exchange, “will contain an
equestrian portrait of the Emperor, byM. Horace
Vernet. In the foreground a grenadier of the Guard
presents arms to the Emperor, who advances with
his face towards the spectator. Behind the Emperor
are the officers of his staff. It is remarked that the
artist has not painted tile countenance of either of
the generals; their heads are turned, and they show,
at the utmost, nothing but indistinct profiles. The
question has been asked, why the artist has studious
ly avoided giving any other portrait than that of
the Emperor. The following is said to be the cause:
Mr. Vernet once painted the portrait of the Presi
dent of the Bepublic, accompanied by General
Changarnier. After the 2d of December an attempt
was made to induce him to efface the portrait of
the celebrated exile. Mr. Vernet refused, and the
painting was sent to Algeria. In order to avoid
exposing himself to a similar demand, M. Vernet
resolved to paint no portrait with that of the Em
peror. „
The joint committee on the library has invit
ed Horace Vernet, the celebrated French painter, to
execute a battle piece for the new Capitol exten
sion. .The invitation has been accepted, and the
artist may be expected in the United States during
the present Spring. He is now engaged upon a
picture for Louis Napoleon, representing the storm
ing of the Malakoff, and as soon as that is complete
he will be here. No price is agreed upon.
The Annual Exhibition of Art, at Paris,
has been postponed to the months of June, July and
August. This measure was decided by the Empe
ror himself, who was petitioned by a considerable
body of the prominent artists of the city to that
effect. The Exhibition of Animals will, therefore,
precede, instead of follow, the Exhibition of Paint
ings.
An artist has been engaged ts take a repre
sentation of Queen Victoria’s visit to the Arctic ship
Resolute, and an engraving thereof will shortly be
published.
New York Academy oy Design. —Mr.
Cummings presents the following report of receipts
of the several exhibitions of the National Academy
of Design, from its commencement to the present
time, viz:
Ist Exhibition ....1826—n0 record, estimated ats3oo,oo
2d “ ....1827 532 46
Sd “ ....1828 824 58
4th “ ....18291,053 86
sth “ ....18301.031 79
6th “ ....18311'170 33
Vth “ .... 1832 (Year of Cholera) 987 00
B<h “ ....18331,387 00
«th “ ....18341,215 00
10th “ ....18352,381 75
11th “ ....18363,758 50
12th “ ....18374 587 00
13th “ ....18384,669 23
14th “ ....18393,944 40
15th “ ....18403,239 00
ICth “ Eroad'ylß4l4,9o2 00
17th “ ....18423,449 00
18th “ ....18134,631 00
19th “ ....18444,964 86
20th •“ ....18455,163 24
21St “ ....18465,665 18
22d “ ....18476,278 22
23d “ ....1848...'4,446 91
24th 11 ....18492,753 47
26th- “ ....18503,066 61
26th “ 6638’y18512 918 17
27th “ ....18522.849 45
28th “ .'..,18532,306 44
29th “ ....18542'684 87
SOth “ ....18552,550 75
81st “ ....18562,711 25
T0ta1.,.-$92,903 32
Dtps, it appears, that from thirty-one annual ex
hibitions have been derived the sum total of near
$93,000, an average of $3,000 per annum. The ac
tual expenses of an exhibition, at- or including a
rental of SI,OOO, cannot be estimated at less tiiau
$2,500, exclusive ef all yearly and contingent ex
penses.
. The Academy reached its highest annual exhibi
tion receipts in its twenty-second year, 1847, when
it prodcced $6,278, since which it has gradually*de
clined to as low a point as $2,300, and cannot now
be calculated on at much, if any, over that sum.
Why is this ? Has the management fallen into the
bands of fogies? or is the Academy, like every
thing else, bound to wane after it has waxed, to lose
its teeth when maturity has passed, to decay after
thoroughly ripening?”
The above is from the Daily Times, but we can
not coincide with the conclusions. The manage
ment has not within the last few years “fallen
into the hands of fogies,” but has rather been
taken out of their hands. The cause of the decline
in the receipts of the last six years must alone be
traced to the limited accommodations afforded
to the exhibitions after they were removed from
tlie Society Library buildings (now Appleton’s).
As the subsequent exhibitions became inevitably
smaller (though of better quality), the public in
terest and patronage became naturally less, since the
number of contributors diminished. There has long
been a talk about procuring a new building with
better accommodations for our Academy of Design,
with its valuable and useful adjuncts of the antique
and life schools, but as yet nothing, so far as we
are informed, has been done in the premises. Is
there not public spirit and love of art enough in our
Metropolis to afford to this time-honored and first of
Art-institutions suitable accommodations for the
approaching Spring exhibition. Who among our
Nabobs ffiU make an earnest iaoy( in the matter ?
Wb find the following just remarks from the
pen of an artist, now going the round of the jour
nals. We re-publish them in the hope of aiding a
good cause :
“ It is deplorable and disgraceful to the citizens
of New York that no public gallery is open for
their gratification, and the cultivation of their taste.
The noble pride which we feel in contemplating
our commerce and elegant manufactures does not
seem to kindle the fires of enthusiasm in the line of
creative art. “Never,” said one of our most emi
nent artists, with whom we had a conversation en
the subject of art, “ were the arts so poorly patron
ized by our citizens.”
Without question, the United States possesses
more than an ordinary portion of genius; but to
what purpose is the divine attribute bestowed? Is
it the contagion of manners that blights the power
of perception of the beautiful, the original and the
true ? Or is it to be attributed te the passion for
huge mirrors, gaudy tapestry and tawdy frescoes?
In the early days of art, in this city, eminent paint
ers, learned professors, learned gentlemen of for
tune and taste, largely contributed to the institu
tion of a national academy and to the culture of art
taste; but for all practical purposes that has be
come effete, and we have now tawdy painted can
vas set forth in all the importance of Dutch metal
frames, to regale the eye and cultivate the taste.
Our greatest native artists, with the exception of
portrait painters, are in foreign lands, as though
forsooth we had neither a history nor a country
worthy their pencil.”
Copley, the American Painter, Lord
Lyndhurst’s Father.—Soon after my arrival in
England, says Warren, in his Men and Times of the
Devolution, having won at the insurance office one
hundred guineas, on the event of Lord Howe’s re
lieving Gibraltar, and dining the same day with
Copley, the distinguished painter, who was a Bos
tonian by birth, I determined to devote the sum to
a splendid portrait of myself. The painting was
finished in a most admirable style,except the back
ground, which Copley and myself designed to rep
resent a ship, bearing to America the Intelligence
of the acknowledgment of independence, with a
sun just rising upon the stripes of the union, stream
ing from her gaff. All was complete save the flag,
which Copley did not esteem prudent to hoist un
der present circumstances, as his gallery is a con
stant resort of the royal family and the nobility. I
dined with the artist on the glorious sth of Decem
ber, 1782, after listening with him to tlie speech of
the king, formally receiving and recognizing the
United States of America into the rank of -nations.
Previous to dining, and immediately after our re
turn from the House of Lords, he invited me into
bis studio, and there, with a bold hand, a master’s
touch, and, I believe, an American heart, attached
to the ship the stars and stripes. This was, I ima
gine, the first American flag hoisted in old England.
A Dawning Genius.—A Vermont genius,
by name Mead, 19 years of age, and with but slen
der opportunities for cultivating a remarkable artis
tic talent, has been astonishing the natives about
the fork iu the road near the Asylum, Brattleboro’,
Vt. During the night before Christmas, by tlie
light of a lantern, young Mead constructed of blocks
of frozen snow, on which water had been poured, a
statue of beauty, which genius alone could form or
conceive. The figure is said to represent a beauti
fully sculptured figure of the Goddess of Fame,
rather larger than life size. The design indicates
decided genius. Fame has just recorded the past
year’s history. Her right hand, still grasping the
pen, has fallen carelessly to her side, while her
left hand, holding the tablet, rests upon her knee;
her attention for the moment being engrossed with
passing and changing objects yet to be recorded.
Close scrutiny is necessary to detect the fact that
the whole f igure is made of snow anti ice, while the
tablet and pen are but pieces of an old cigar box.
This curiosity is reported to have attracted a num
ber of visitors.
Death of an Artist —The visitor to Bos
ton must have been struck with the admirable full
length portrait of Daniel Webster, which hangs iu
the gentlemen’s parlor of the Revere House. It is
said by many excellent judges to be the best pic
ture of the great original that has ever been put
upon canvas. It was painted by Albert G. Hait, a
young New Hampshire artist, who has given to the
world a number of fine pictures, which will long
survive as the best monuments of his genius and
his talents. For the hand that painted them is
now as motionless as themselves. This gifted
young artist, after a lingering illness, breathed his
last, at his residence in West Roxbury, on the 18th
ult., leaving many devoted friends, besides his
wife and children, to lament his early loss. He
was a man of refined taste, highly cultivated miud,
striking amenity of manners, modest with all his
genius, gentle, kind, and true in his social relations,
and upright and pure in all his dealings with
bis fellow-men. “ Requiescat in pace!”— New
Orleans Picayune.
As for artists, they are among the most
delightful of mankind. What do they care for con
ventional riches, whose life is one long dream of
beauty, and on whose world every sunbeam pours a
shower of living gold ? When the monarch stooped
to pick up the brush of Titian, he meant to say by
the act that he acknowledged his kingly brother
hood ; and Ludwig of Bavaria never did himself
greater honor than when he was walking arm-in
arm with Thorwaldsen. The empire of the artist is
only second to that of woman. He reigns by pro
ducing what she possesses—beauty Home Journal.
At a sale of paintings at Paris, lately, a
portrait of “ Angelica Kauffman,” by Reynolds,
was sold for £54 to Lord Holland, and an “ Inte
rior of a Guardhouse,” by Schalken, for £124, to
Baron Rothschild. At the same sale a small land
scape, by Hnysmanu, of Malines, went for £l6; an
“ Entry to a Public House,” by Karl Dujardin, for
£l6; “Two Horses,” by Gericault,for £2l; a “Por
trait of Fontenelle,” by Tourniers, for £18; and
“ A Lady of the Court of Louis XV.” by Nattier,
for £l9.
Mr. Winterhalter, the Court painter, has
just finished a labored portrait of the French Em
press, holding on her knees the Imperial Prince,
who wears the t Grand Cordon, of the Legion of
Honor. It is called a Portrait of the Imperial
Prince.
A huge bust of Minerva has been dug up at
Rome ; its nose is sixteen inches long. It is stated
to be a great work of ancient art.
(Bur SMI#
Satiety is alwajs to be avoided by those
who wish to enjoy the luxuries of life, either as re
gards game suppers or dramatic representations.
The pampered epicure will turn up his nose at plain
roast beef and plumb pudding, and the the profes
sional critic can see nothing worthy of notice in a
mediocre Hamlet, while a coal-heaver finds luxury
in a red herring and a youth from the rural districts
goes into ecstacies while witnessing a blood-and
thunder -melo-drama indifferently performed. The
axiom that “ to the pure all things are pure” is not
more true than that “ to the artless all things are
real.” We attended the Sroadway Theatre the
other night to witness Forest’s impersonation of
Hamlet, but we lost all the fine points, for our at
tention was absorbed by the conversation of a rus
tic couple in front of us. They looked horified when
the ghost made its appearance, their detestation of
the King for killing his brother was expressed in
pointed adjectives. They had the smallest kind of
opinion of Hamlet’s mother, they thought Polonius
was an old fool, they expressed the opinion that
Laertes was a nice young man, they wept when the
news was brought in that Ophelia had committed sui
cide, and said, “ she hadn’t oughter gone and done
it,” they had no doubt that Hamlet himself a was
only playin’ crazy,” and one of them would have no
tified the whole theatre when it came to the fencing
match in the last scene that the end of Laertes’s foil
was “ pisened” if he hadn’t been frightened by the
attending officer who told him roughly to “ shut
up.” After the curtain had fallen on the last act
my rustic friends were silent for some moments.
Both seemed in deep thought. At length one of
them broke the silence. “Josh,” said he, “I was
just thinkin’suthin !” “What was it?” inquired
his companion. “You know along back there,”
answered the first speaker, “where, them
two fellers, Kosencrantz and Gildenstern,
was tryin’ to pump Hamlet, and he found
it out, and let ’em know it by askin’
’em to p’ay on a fife ?’’ “ Yes,” said his companion,
“go on !” “ Well,” continued the other, “ I was
jist thinkin’ how orfully Hamlet would ’a bin suck
ed in if Gildenstern had a knode how to play on it /”
While a man remains in obscurity and
poverty, whatever his merits may be, there are few
who are-anxious to claim his acquaintance, a fact
which is plainly exemplified in the case of Paddy
Burke. While Paddy was pursuing the even tenor
of his way in humble life there were “ none so poor
to do him reverence,” but he had no sooner become
famous as a ghost, than, “ Presto !” he discovered
that he had “ troops of friends.” A few weeks
since one Darby O’Dowd was so anxious to renew
his intimacy with Paddy that he addressed that
“ broth of a boy” through our columns, and now we
have another claimant for the honor of acquaint
anceship in the person of one Michael O’Flaherty,
who dictates, as will be seen below,
AN EPISTLE TO THE GHOST.
Messrs Editors,: — I met a friend of mino the other day,
-one who hails Irom the “gim of the say/’and in the
course c f our conversation, he commented on the Dispatch,
and asked me if it was true that you had Paddy Burke
attached to your office ; saying, at the same time, that he
was acquainted with a chap of that name in the old
country. I told him I did not know, but if he addressed a
note to you, you would in all probability enlighten him.
He then asked me if I would write it for him, I said with
pleasure, and he dictated thus :
Misthurs Edithurs:—! hear a£ how yez have Paddy Burke
down thare in your office ; is that tbrue ; bocase av it is,
jist giv him me compjimints av yez plaze. But may bo its
Faddy wud like to be axing who I am. Axing yur pardin
fur net tellin befoore ; its Michael O’Fiaherty mo name
is barrin the O ; becase de yez see, it was ownly
Flaherty In the ould prod, but the fust day I kun to this
counthry, I had raison to change it; I’ll tell yez how it Was.
As I was goin along the strates, a chap stips up to me and
sis he “ lhats yur name,” sis he. Sis I, “fhats that yur
saying?” sis I, “fhat’s your name?” sis he. “Oh’Flaerty,”
sis I. “Faix,” sis he, “its a mighty gintale name,O’Flaherty
is,” sis he, “ and wan o’ the ouldest in Ireland,” sis he.
“Ibelave and Ivor since that I have called me
self O'Flaherty. But I won’t tell Paddy phere I live de
yez mind, becase de yez see it’s passin’ mesilf off fur a fur
rin gintleman, I am; Arrah, now, Paddy, darlin’, don’t be
laffin at me—bad luck to ye, fur havn’t I as much raison,
topass mesilf off fur somebody ilse.as that flfiy, Fraymont
had, who thried to pass himself ®fffur an Amirican, whin
he knows as will as mesilf that he was boorn among the
bogs on the ould sod? Misturs Edithurs, will yez be kind
enulf to ax Paddy did he know the Finigans that lived at
the Cross Roads in Baity whaskmalarry. That’s a fine
place„and av yez don’t know whare it is, just ax Paddy,
and he’ll till yez. The Finigans wor a fine sit, bo they wor;
and will do I remimber the time I was axed to attind a
party at the Flnignn’s. A sore eye, I belave yez call it iu
this counthry. Be gorra, it proved a sore eyb to me, fur
whin the nixt day I had as butiful a pair of black eyes as
ver was seen. Ony how, I wint, and, oh; fhat an illigint
time we had. Sure there was too nue tallow caudles
sthuck in bottles with there wicks brok off, and a gillin av
pottheen sthandin’ in the middle av the table, and thare
was Tim Dooley and his brother Thady; and Thady Dooley
and his brother Tim, all sittin’ round the table playin’
cards, and thare was Biddy O’Flynn (wonder does Pad
know Biddy O’Flynn) and Jim Monahan, dancin’ a shindy
in the middle of the floore, an’, by coorso I wasn’t long iu
jinin’ thru, and just as I was in the hoith of injiment, I
run agin a dhirty big-whiskered chap who was standin’
lukin’, an’ “I big^yer parrdin,” sis he. “Fhat fur.” sis
I. “ Sure it’s mesilf that shud big yur parrd n.” “ Divil
awan,” sis he “Yer lie,” sis I. “Fhat.” sis he;
“ yes, sis I. “Tak’ offyur jacket,” sis he. “Whororl,”
sis I. “Bad scram to ye fur a dhirty bucther,” sis I, as I
guv him a belther over the gob. At it we went—as I was
strikin’ out from the showldcr I happened to hit Tim Doo
ley. He tho’t it was someboddy ilse, and strik’ h : m.
Someboddy ilse strik’ another feller, an’ in a sicond it was
a fray fight, and there we wur in the middle av the floore,
wid ould mother Finigan oh the top av us punchin’ us away
■win an impty bottle, whin someboddy sung out that the
pallors wur cornin’; Sis I to Tim, “will ye stand
by me, Tim?” “I will bedad,” sis he. “All right,”
sis I, and into tlie pailors we pitched. Arrah pad
dy, avic, it wud have done yer ueart good to have
been there. Fhile I was doin’ my purtiest, a dhirty spaL
peen av a pallor belthed me over the eyes wid a.sthick he
had. wich laid me out most splindidly, and siitled me hash
lor the rist av the aivenin’, and they’re black yitfram the
ifficts. Now, Paddy, maybe yez wud like to know who
the big wh’shkered filly was that comminced the distarb
iuce. Faix, by the same tokin. it was Tommy O’Flyna,
who lint you 2 pounds, which you forgot to pay. The
same chap that you swoore you’d punch his hid fur axing
fur the money; and av you didn’t punch his hid, (now,
Paddy, darlin, be aisy, for fhat I’m goin’ to till yez is all
fur frindship, so don’t be gittin’ into yer sturrips,) and I
say av ye didn’t, you shud git yer own hid punched.
Now, Paddy, don’t ye be sthrivin’ to find me, bekase, d’ye
see, it wud ownly be love’s labor lost, bekase I’m a po
laceman now, (made one on account av me sarvice on last
Diction,) and ave ye cum nare me I’ll arrist ye. So no
moore at prisint fram yours, M. O’Flaherty.
—As in every other case of this kind we
passed the above over to Paddy, who, after reading
it carefully, laid it upon our desk and said emphati
cally, as he looked at us out of the corner of Lis
eye, “Arrah, will,thin, Misther Editur, it’s a fa
mous filly mesilf is gittin to be since I bekem a
ghost, bud it’s a mighty quare thing, so it is, that
some o’ me rich relashins —Phalim O’Linn, me cou
sin, that owned three pigs, a Kerry cow, a patch uv
praties, and had his rint fra, or Pather Mulvey,
who had a whisky sthill av his own, an’ cud shwim
in potheen av he plased till he was meddled wid by
the Quane’s officers—it’s a mighty quare thing, I
say, that I don’t hare frim some o’ thim, besides a
sit av murthcrin’ vagabones that hasn’t the full o’
me eye av money, or common sinse enough to
shwear by. Sure I niver knew bud wan Mike O’Fla
herty, and he was thransported twice for shape
sthalin’, and had to make his eschape to this coun
thry at last to avido the pelrite attinshins av a gin
tleman connected in some way wid' the law. Ye
may tell him for me, Misther Editur, av ye plase,
that he may be off to Ireland now, av he likes, for
the man’s dead he stole the horse from.” Paddy is
growing crabbedA correspondent, who bids
fair to rival N. K. Pepper in the world of literature
at no distant day, sends us the following con
cerning
A MUSCINE POULTERER.
B. Pint Orange Conty This State )
January 10th 1857 j
Mister Edditurs— Deai Sirs—l want tu Rite yu an tell
yu I take the Dispatch an reed it tue, but it has tuck me a
nllflred Long Spell tu Reed it of lately. Nowo I want tu
toll yu wat a Bite of trubble I had about hum of latajy.
fust we got oil owre otes in the barn and thar they was tue
or 3 weaks well I bad Ris about 67 Chikens an thay growod
Lice I tell yu an got verry fat and useter Run in an eout of
the barn an I dident feed em much nether so I use tu think
thay was a rare breade that wood growe witheout eteting
much but I’ll tell yu how I got tucked in on eni. I went
way doun tu Nue Yourk an stayed oune weak an wen I
got tu hum I found onloy 24 of them Chikins about an the
folks sed thay gossed the skunks an wesels had tuck the
other 43 so I darned the skunks but I had to shut the
others up close tu the hous an then went to pounding eout
our otes an wen I got dun I found nothing much but straw
an cbaf the Otes was emmost all gone, th ?n I was mad bilin
Rite over for I nowed tlie Skunks had Stole all the Otes tu
so I Sot downe tu Console myselfo by Reeding the Dispach
but I wos So mad that I Got Rite up agane an tore the
Paper intue Pices an then I tuck my Gun an went tu 100 fl
it Put in lots of Powder an Shot an Ramed downe a big
hunk of the Dispach for wad well Pooty Sun owre Gal
Cum in an Sed the darned Skunk wos in the Barne Yard
so I Peeked eout, an Shure ennf thare Sot the darnest
Bigest Skunk I Ever did Seejn ad my life he Sot Rite up on
Ende with oune of my biggest Chikins in his Paws a Swol
lering it as fast as he Coud. I Ges Yu better bleve I had
Iron an Wood up tu my Cheek Pooty soon and Puled away
an hit him tu. Poot Powder Shot an Wad oil Rite Inta him
well that made me feel Bettre So I thant I wood Set Doun
an Reed my Paper an Give him time to Dy Esey So I tuck
up the Paper but I found I had tbred it Rite across the
Story wot I was Reeding, but I Recormombered that I
Seede the wad Go Rite intu the Skunk an thaut I Cood Save
it to finish my Story well I went to the Barn Yard an
thare wos a Site tu behold. I hope Yu Want think I am
telling a Stoory wen I tell Yu thare lade oune of the Big
gest allfiredest largest—wy it wos as Big as a verry big
tom Cat But Yu must bleve me wen I tell yu it wos a large
Gray Rat I tell yu wot that did Open my lyes Sum but
after My knerves got settled I tuck eout the Wad an begin
to Reed it an I see it wos Som of that Rat Story you Rit in
the Dispach So that Put me in mind about them Running
Rats So I opend him and tuck eout My Chikin an found
Otes in his (the Chikins) Krop well I nowed I did not feed
him Otes an I went into the Barne and seede war the
Darned fellow bad nawed holes in the upper floure an
shuk all cur Otes downe to the Chikins so as to fat Em for
his own Dieting now Yu tork about Yur China Rats an
Yur Africa Rats an Yur Suth Amarca Rats an horned Rats
and lastly Yur Telegrahfical Rats being Running, but I
Ges yu will Sa this Rat wot I Sbot is wun of tae most
Running of Yankey Rats for none but a Yankey wood know
how tu fat his own Game if I Run across any moor Rat dis
keevireys I will Rite and let yu nowe. All at Pressent
from Your Survent tu Commando
Poor & Halthy.
At Bilings Pint
Orang Conty this State.
There can be no doubt of the truth of thia
story. There is honesty on the face of it, hut the
fact that it conies to us from “ Orange County” is
enough to prove its genuineness. How could any
thing doubtful come out of a place which supplies
a million of people with pure milk daily!
“ Bose Wildwood” sends us the following sprightly
little effusion, under the caption of
“our frank.”
S-a-i-n t-e-d M-a r l-a ’ won’t our Frank fumo when he
discovers who wrote that letter ?—and discover he will.
He’s going down to Burlock’s this morning, to see if Dick
did it. 1 wonder if Rate ’ll be present at the interview ? I
hope not.
I must go and see that Frank’s suspender buttons are
firm and secure, also his linen in that region, for his im
petuosity may lead to very embarassing results ; and no
wonder indeed, for who likes to be called “bow legged,”
just because one’s anatomical proportions don’t happen to
be precisely perpendicular ?
And comparing Frank’s wavey locks to “ Belzebub’s
tail,” too ; calling it “ gay but not gaudy,” because, for
sooth, it came out red when Frank was a little baby, and
never chanced to change color since—’till he dyed it. And
what if ho does dye it? Older heads than his are served
the same way. But I wonder how Rate knew he applied
the “Essence of Egg-plant and Oil of Whale” for that pur
pose ? Perhaps Frank didn’t use Jockey Club freely, and
sat too near her the last time he was there ; at any rate,
she need not have called him “ ugly” People, generally,
think him good looking; beside, it is a very vulgar ex
pression. Let me read that again. Humph I she says :
“If I were as terrifically ugly as you, sir, I’d cut my
throat with my toe nail, or commit suicide with a fish bone.”
Now tbiuk of that I
And then, to cap tho climax, she deliberately makes a
postscript of that scaley conundrum which appeared in
last week’s Ledger— “ Why does a vhale weigh less than
a mackerel ? Ans. Because a mackerel has scales.”
Now, as if Frank is fool enough to believe a mackerel
has scales I Why Barnum's Wooly Horse, Mermaid and
Mummy, are not a flea bite to a scaley mackerel.
There goes Frank now, perspiring like a French cook In
Avgust, and swearing “ by all that’s good to eat” he’ll
“ find out who wrote that letter.” I wonder if he will?
We ll know by next week. Rose Wildwood.
We will venture io say mat there is at
least one “Rose” which conceals no thorn, what
ever “ Frank ” may .think The decimal cur
rency—the simplest, easiest calculated, and fairest
of all currencies—seems to be engaging general at
tention just at present. Our legislators have been
moving in the matter, and have resolved that the
old fashioned twelve-and-a-half and six-and-a-quar
ter cent pieces shall be thrown overboard altoge
ther, or at least brought down to their proper value.
“Itis a consummation devoutly to be wished." In
the meantime, one of our correspondent’s, “ Thomas
Fudge,” gives us his ideas on the subject. He is
DOWN ON TUB “SHAD SCALES." -
“ Large streams from little fountains flow,
Tall oaks Irom little acorns grow.”
Eureka! I’ve long thought thero was a screw loo=?e
somewhere, and now, eureka. When, how, and why did
our country become flooded with Spanish coin ? ’Twas the
result of a deep-laid plot, of unparalleled shrewdness in the
tyrants of the “old dominion,” to subvert republican
ism, in -which this demoniac coin was hatched. They saw,
with well grounded apprehension, the effect of the reflect
influence of our institutions upon their corrupt system of
government, and set to work to counteract it. The unob
served, silent, yet remarkable influence, the circulating
medium has upon a people, suggested the most efficient
agent for the purpose. They saw m our forefathers, minds
unshackled and far reaching, whose understanding com
passed earth, and at the bar of whose reason and ju Jgment
the acts of princes and the policy of powers were weighed.
To curb this wide comprehension, to narrow these broad
views of things, was the object to bo attained. Would ar
gument persuade or history prove that tyranny was pre
ferable to freedom ? Of course not. Bat the object might
be attained by presenting to the public eye objects so small
as to contract the compass of its vision ; for, they reasoned
from analogy, as tne natural eye grew near or far-sighted
according to its habit of viewing distant or near objects,
so would the mind be affected. This bit of philoso
phy the vzily Spaniards turned to account. They said
nothing, but did much. At that time Spain was in
her prime of wealth and power. Immense treasures
from the new world, poured in one continuous stream into
her coffers. Now why did not a people, when the precious
metals were so abundant, coin pieces of corresponding
value ? Why did millions of little shad scales (six and a
quarter and t welve and a half cent pieces) like countless
ephemeras, issue from their mint ami fill our land ? Simply
to corrupt the whole universal Yankee nation I Mark this.
These fatal quarters and haif cents came upon this country
like locusts in Egypt. Ere that, we were a band of brothers.
There were no Northern men or Southern man—sectional
principles or antagonistic interests. Agitation was un
known. The public nerves were strong and steady. Ihe
South held slaves then as now. But then all were like
Job’s comforters, full of condolence for the South In her
nigger afflictions. Then whether a candidate for office was
a Vermonter or Georgian, he was a man for ’a that. How
is it now ? Three groans for the fact. What has cau-:ed
all this deterioration of nationality and want of patriotism ?
Open your eyes deluded America— ? tis Spanish coin I The
people have been looking at the contemptible, little trash
un ; il they cannot glance over the whole field of our do
main without a national headache and hence they use for
eign eyes and tongues to determine their own condition.
Some may think my assigned cause too contemptible to
father the effect. But I refer such to the archives of tho
Don Emanuel De Mendoza family whose accounts are con
clusive and full. “ The. New England States,” saith tho
record, “are most visibly affected, but it worketh well
in all the land. As poison movetb more quickly in
active frames than lymphatic, so the nervous
Yankey is first to prove the power of our spell.”
The government have accidentally furnished a partial anti
dote to the poison in the new coin, avoiding the fatal frac
tions. This somewhat disappointed Mendoza, and, lest our
Solons should next gather .up the evil through its postal
agents, and recoin the stuff, a minister plenipotentiary was
dispatched to procure a regulation prohibiting the depart
ments receiving said coin. Then the Great West has taken
the matter in hand, and degraded tbis .coin into dimes and
half dimes; as should be done everywhere, But this has
only the more afflicted Yankeedom, for two aud-a-half
cents, on ten, is twenty-five per cent, and the Yankee
gathers up and ships Bast all the depreciated coin he can,
and it pays Hence New England is still under Spanish
dominion. Now, why won’t father “Sam” see the condi
tion of his cute son, the Yankee, and play the Maine law'
trick upon this injurious agent ? If Congress would let the
ebony question rest awhile, and consider this momentous
subject it might save Denmark from rotting. This is the
advice of yours, eruditely, Thomas Fudge, Esq.
Wo admire your sentiments, Brother
Fudge, but we fear all preaching upon this subject
is thrown away. Just so long as we are flooded
with Spanish shillings and sixpences, just so
long will corner groceries, omnibus-drivers and car
conductors realize four per cent, profit in making
change. You might as well attempt to initiate a
juvenile porker into the mysteries of the double rule
of three as to try to convince a Teutonic dealer in
soft soap, tallow dips, skimmed milk cheese, and
other et ceteras, that an American dollar contains
more than ninety-six cents when he counts the change
against a customer. Nothing less than twenty or
thirty ship-loads of half-cent pieces will save us
from the discount, and it would take at least a year
then to make a Dutchman understand the object of
their introduction Our correspondents seem
determined to give the subject of“ hoops” no rest.
One of them, 44 P. B.” (Perfect Brick, we presume,
of course), sends us the following
EXPERIENCE OF A VICTIM.
Editor of Dispatch :—I have had the pleasure of read
ing several ‘‘screeds” in your paper concerning hoops,
crinoline, &c., but nothing has yet met my eye to compare
with my individual experiences in those articles. I bad
been to see my intended “half” one eve, not Inng since,
and passed a few hours very (of course) pleasantly. Dur
ing my sojourn at Milady’s house, I discovered, accident
ally, that she wore hoops, or an equivalent, at least. I
have since thought she had just donned them, for she ap
peared about as much of a wonder in her own eyes as in
mine. They appeared to be a great novelty, and her
enormous spread of canvas seemed to completely dazzle
her. I was not thunderstruck or alarmed in-the least; on
the contrary, felt rather proud in being the prospective
protector, owner, or what not, of so much feminine
greatness. A profound mystery had always hung
around those articles of female apparel in my m ; nd ;
but I quieted my Yankee propensity of inquiry with
the confident hope of, at some day not far distant, being
able to see with my own eyes, and with no intervening
shades the internal (infernal) workings of this wonderful
machine. I went home, ana as the hours were rather
small, and few at that, I retired immediately. From my
youth up I have been subject to frequent nocturnal eques
trian excursions on that most refractory of all beasts—the
*• Night Mare. ” especially when my mind has been exer
cised by anything particularly exciting. On this night I
fell asleep and dreamed that “Fanny” had blessed me,
not only with the bestowal of her hand and all appertain
ing thereto, but weeks and months had flown since we
twain became one flesh. Thoughts of the many happy
hours we had passed, of the treasure I had found in my
dear little wife, floated dreamily before my steep bound
vision. The scene changed, as all such scenes do, and I
thought I was called from dreamland by no gentle shake
from my “ gude wife.” with the request to get up and pre
pare a cose of “Godfrey’s Cordial” for the unquiet pledge
of our affections, which lay between us, exercising its
tiny lungs in a wonderful manner. This appears to have
been the first intimation I had of their being an heir to my
title (!) and estates (?) but there it was as plain as the nose
on “Fan’s” face, and got up I must, or the bud would
scream itself into fits. So up I got, curtains all down,
dark as tar. I shaped my course for the mantle, for a
watch. I did not travel far, however,'before I broke my
shins over the cradle, and pitched headlong under the
table. I felt myself going, and as self preservation is the
first Jaw of nature, I threw out my arms, to catch some
thing which would arrest my downward career. I caught
the edge of the table, when over it went, books, baby
rattles, drums and trumpets, baby medicines, (warranted
to kill an adult at fifty yards,) &c. This alarming crash
made the innocent cause screech still louder, and my wife
supposing it to be the overture to an earthquake went into
hysterics. I arose and shook myself, but found I was
entangled in something unlike aught I had ever felt
before. It seemed to clasp me about the throat with
a firm, yet somewhat nervous grip, tightening at
every movement. I tried to unloose its folds, but
in vain. I struck out in every direction, hoping,to
vanquish the foe by that means, but the more I proceeded
the more I was choked. Thoughts of spirits, good and
bad. came, but not being a Spiritualist I gave up that
mode of reasoning. Then I thought of ghosts, but they
were so closely allied to spirits that I was sure a ghost
couldn’t be the cause. Finally,! discovered that Fanny/s
hoop, which had been left lying around loose, had got
over my h x ead. ’Twas her hoops which were choking me,
her hoops which I had been thrashing, and her joint heir
which had caused me all this trouble I deliberately,
though inwardly, “cussed ” the hoops and then felt some
easier. Another change took place. The whole apparatus
turned inside out, bottom up, still clasping me tightly
around the neck. An opening appeared in the roof.
Attraction of gravitation was overcome, and up I went -a
regular balloon, parachute and all. An agonizing shriek
from my wife recalled my thoughts to earth, but all of no
use. 1 couldn’t return, and the baby, our baby, lay there
kicking up his heels as though he didn’t care a continental
d—n for bis daddy, who was bound heavenward, though
much against his inclinations. Up I went. Monsieur Wise
would have envied me my flight up through the clouds,
under any other circumstances. I tried to steer the
thing, but of no use. It went wherever the winds listeth,
while this precious body of mine served only as ballast.
After sailing about for an indefinite period, I was wafted
into a cloud highly charged with electricity. A buckle on
my “ baloon ” served as a conductor, and the consequence
was, my aerial propellor was struck by lightning, col
lapsed, and down I came, increasing my velocity at every
yard, and I was some millions of yards up. I turned my
attention toward the earth, to ascertain where I was likely
to bring up, whether in Africa, among the Hottentots, or
in China, among the Orientals, but I soon had the question
decided for me, for as far as my eye could reach on every
side, the watery glitter of the heaving ocean alone was
visible. I tried to stop, but the more I tried the more I
couldn’t. Down I went, “kersplasli.” The sudden
change of element brought me to. I was unhorsed, and
as the familiar objects of my apartment were recognized,
I instinctively fell upon my knees and devoutly returned
thanks that I was still a bachelor. But that impression
wore eff, and Fanny, hoops and all, have become my pro
perty. I have no more such dreams, and when I allude
to the foregoing, she blushes jnst a little, and tells me to
hush, and of course I “ hush.” S. B.
That’s the way it always is—the man who
rails loudest at the hoops is first to be caught and
bound by them Our li L. E.” sends us the fol
lowing Thompson-like
SfcNNET.
Sunday, Jan. 18.
Rigorous January, the ruler stern,
To-day doth bare his keenest double blade;
And drives at will the well-dressed folk, who take
Their various way to church; or hero, or there,
The hands well gloved with lining fur—be-muffled,
Except what time the palms press on the ears,
Crimson or blanched, according to the stroke;
Anon, the “facial angle’s” point, protrude,
By friendly palm, its epidermis' saves;
Which else the savage cold, would tear like scalp.
Weil, churching folk have larder, oil and wine;
And registered warm, or grate affection flames,
While tutted carpet, like moss bed in June,
They press. Think they upon the poor to- day ?
And she follows up with some reflec
tions on
AN OSSIAN-LIKE DAY.
Monday, Jan. 19.
Who is this, of the white robe that yesterday fluttered
and played so languidly in the breeze?—downy lightness,
disporting like a broidered mousseline, of oriental transpa
rency—a languishing bride in meek happiness, gliding here
and there—so prettily, playfully indolent—wreathing,
swaying, like an Ossianic bride in veil of mist, on the hills
of Morgen. To-day how changed! The black knight,
Dunkelabend, taking her to his bosom, has thus trans
formed the gentle one ; and terrible is she now, to the
bard of the Kalten. As a vixen beyond a Xantippe, she is
storming. She has filled her trailing garment ; (yester
day so fleecy) with glittering spear points ; and lashing the
profuse foldings, of the lengthened train; from side to
side, from front to rear ; an apparent auto da fe proces
sion, files on gloomily, before her. White she compels the
Eorth wind, to sound his clarion’s most startling notes ; we
are benumbed, and smitten. She dashes the spear points
in our eyes, our very teeth ; and darkens our windows in
her wrath 1 Will the black knight have a care hereafter ?
Oh, Dunkelabend, let it be a never forgotten lesson—thou
didst hide the stars on yestereve ; and thy ungenial dark
ness, has brought this upon us ; from the vengeful spirit
of thy bride, in the snowy garment. Oh haste, and to
night let thy crimson ,beit, and glittering bandeau,
with thy softened, pitying eye and breath, appease the
chilled bosom, of the snow bride of Morgsn—md then
shall the bard, no longer of the Kalten; sing of sunlight
and love as the bard of the Guten.
Speaking of the cold weather, an amateur
Meriam, who for two years persisted in the pursuit
of knowledge under difficulties, and was obliged to
“cave” at last, thus details his experience in the
Buffalo Commercial. He will pass for
A PATIENT MAN.
Tho Express of this morning announces that It will pub
lisb, hereafter, a daily record of thd weather, as kept by
A. I. Mathews &Co., at their drug store. The most our
enterprise will allow, will be to publish the same record
once a week, with an occasional chronicling of a particu
larly mean day. If the Express had suffered irom weather
records as we have, it would let them alone. We will give
©ur experience as a warning to young men. Three years
ago we became convinced that climate was a study. We
sent to Philadelphia for instruments, then sent the instru
ments to Washington and had them tested at tire National
Observatory, and on their return we went to work. For
mortal years we made three observations daily, of the
following conditions : The winds; which way toey blew,
and how hard they blew ; the clouds, how npich of the
sky they covered, which way they were travelling, and
what kind of clouds they were, whether cirrus, cumulus, ,
nimbus, or stratus ; the rain, how much fell, and how
many hours it fell; the barometer ; the temperature of the
air and the temperature of evaporation ; with an occasional
turn at solar radiation, drying power, and ozone. Not
content with this, we brushed ufs our mathematics, and
posted up on a lot of algebraic formulae, by which we were
able to reduce from our observations tho dew-point, the
degree of saturation, and the actual weight of moisture in a
cubic foot of air. Very soon we got at some important
results and published them, whereupon an old gentle
man, who could not have reduced a dew-point to save
his captious old soul, pitched into us, called us an
ignoramus and a wilffil perverter of the truth. We let
newspapers alone after that, and kept at work. We were
constantly haunted by the necessity of an observation to
be made at a certain hour. Sometimes we would forgetour
night observation, and thinking of itjust as we got warm
in bed, would take a light and promenade the back yard in
the cold, with only a shirt on, rather than omit one of
those precious facts. It was a perfect incubus, a constant
restraint upon our personal liberty. However, at the end
of a year, we had accumulated observations of each con
dition, and condensed them into a report, written in our
best scientific style. We took it to Philadelphia, and read
it at a scientific convention. We were-told it was very in
teresting; and came home minus the expenses of the trip,
'bvXplus some glory. The Association published the re
port, and tho scientific journals puffed it. We wanted a
little home puffing, and sent copies to tho press. The local
editors all acknowledged its receipts, and one of them,
with a good taste for which ho is remarkable, informed his
readei s that “really something good had come out of Na
zareth.” »The blockhead! To add to our difficulties, we
soon found ourselves engaged in an extensive correspond
ence with other climatologists. What long letters they
used to write us ! Another year we worked faithfully. So
far as the unfailing record of two years is concerned, we'
had established a theory which we believe will last, but
up to this day we receive pamphlets from distant parts of
the country, controverting the views which we held, and
have the comfort of seeing that the donkeys who write'
them have no Idea of the principle involved, and from
sheer ignorance of common natural laws, are entirely in
capable of comprehending us. We stepped our experi
ments at the end of the second year, and when relieved
from the treadmill labor of these calculations, wo felt like
a man just out of jail.
We think that gentleman has fully established a
character for patience and perseverance. He will
do to travel now. He is equal to any task the com
pletion of which depends upon unwavering faith,any
amount of hope and a “stiff upper lip.”Wb
copy from the San Francisco Golden Era another
SHORT PATENT SERMON.
You have my text, for to-day, In tho following words
He who checks a child with terror,
Stops its play and stills its song,
Not alone commits an error,
But ft grievous, moral wrong.
Poor & Halthy.
At Bilings Pint
Orang Conty this State,
Give it play, and never fear it,
Active life is no defect;
Never, never, break its spirit—
Curb it—only to direct.
My Hearers :— Grown-up people are most wonderfully !
apt to consider that children have no business to cut up i
the same didos that they did In their bread and-’lasses
days,—to play horse with the broom—paddle in the dish
water—lug kittens by the tail, and be out of doors halt the
time, chasing pigs and butterflies, and making dirt-cakes
at the expense of a clean apron. They seem to think human
nature should change—keep pace with the spirit and im
provement of the age ; that, as each generation is supposed
to grow wiser, children should see their folly and the
error of their ways, if not as soon as they get their eyes
I open, certainly long before they have shed their short-
• clothes—or be whipped into it. Now, my brethren, the
J peevish crabbed old fool of sixty thinks that, by rubbing
i reason in notherwise and let it work up, he could force
I every particle of instinct out of the unsophisticated nature
| of the child, and thereby add at least thirty years, in ad.
' vance, to its intellectual growth For ray part, my friends
! I like to see a child dressed like a child, think like a child,
i act like a child, and cutup all the antics and shindies inci
dent to adolescence. A lad of six summers, in his grand-
I father’s bat, knee-breeches and Quaker-cut coat, thinking,
‘ acting, and treading to the adagio music of manhood, would
j be but a repulsive phenomenon, instead of the lovely, lively,
! wicked little devil you would like to catch up and ki-*s—a
i creature as unnatural and abhorrent as a babe born with a
■ double set of masticators, ready to make a demonstration
: upon a pound of bull beef. I don't believe, my friends, in re
peated floggings to force a child into a clo- e observance o r its
. P’s and Q’s. It grows more and more unyielding by such
I usage, or rather abuse; and after a while, its tender system
becomes so tanned to it, that you might as well attempt to
beat future silence into a drum head. A mother may wh»p
eggs into the right sort of consistency, but her children,
never. If kind Heaven should ever trust your forlorn
minister with the loan of a little son, he should be treated
as a tender vine. , His gadding propensities I would gently
train in the proper direction: and when the young tendrils
of ambition began to put forth, I would carefully place
within their reach some noble object to which they might
cling, and lift him to a proud position in “ this lowly vale
of tears” and sore toes. He should have something to
hope for besides a drubbing. Some bright morning—when
I felt as if my soul had a silk shirt on, and the rheumatism
fast asleep—l would say to him, “ Lorenzo (he should be
called Lorenzo), if you are a good boy to-day—keep your
nose and apron clean—don’t choke the kitten—don't kill a
toad, to make the cow give bloody milk—and mind your
mother, dad wUI bring you home a blacksmith’s shop—an
omnibus, with a driver that don’t say naughty words to his
horses—a pretty sheep, with its nanny, and lots of can
dies.” Lorenzo would surely be a good boy for the day,
and ever afterwards strive to make himself worthy of all
the nice things promised; but trouncings are the poorest
sort of encouragement to a youth.—he only wishes, for
the nonce, that he was only capable of returning such fi
vors with compound intfost. He becomes hardened,
careless, spirit broken—h* no love for father and mother,
no intuitive idea of self government, and acknowledges no
governorship at home. As likely as not, he may be heard
inmost any day in the streets repeating—‘ -Father and mama
• whip me, Betty knocks me, and I don’t care a cuss I” Pity
by the bucketfull have I for such unfortunate youths. Could
they but be made the recipients of sufficient parental praise
and encouragement to prop up their innocent failings, how
brightly their little souls might be made to shine through
two or three thicknesses of garden-soil, rags and original
sin! Fathers and mothers : check not your children's
healthful play, nor roughly endeavor to rub all symptoms
of m’sebief out of their unsophisticated natures. Better
give them a piece of bread and butter, with the promise of
another slice, thicker, longer and broader, in proportion to
their good conduct. Above all things, my dear parents,
give your children plenty of play in the open, free, invigo
rating air—beneath the heavens as blue as their own
eyes—under clouds, light and fleecy as their own fair
locks. Let them be kissed by the suu and caressed by the
breeze, till their checks present the picture of roses painted
on a brick-bat. Let them sing with the robin—screetch
with the owl—squeal with the pigs—rove, with the wild
bee, from flower to flower—or, with the tumble bug, kick,
scrabble and flounder in the dirt. All this will do them
no harm, for it is the kind nurse, Nature, who knows their
every want, that invites them out, and urges them thus to
do. Kittens and lambkins love to frisk and frolic in the
sunshine, and why not they ? Let them run ! —their you tg
blood will thus be kept as pure as the stream that sparkles
from its fountain. A constitution will be formed for them,
tough as whit-leather and twice as elastic. The mumps,
measles, croup and whooping-cough will then have some
thing gristly to “ chaw upon,” if they don’t get the go-by
: altogether. The demon of disease will not then prowl about
■ your dwellings, to pick away, one by one, your cherished
! offspring ; but the smiling angel of health shall hover over
| your little ones, and fold them beneath her protecting
pinions, “ even as the hen gathereth her chickens under her
wings,” or as the mother ’possum tucketh her helpless litter
into her belly-pouch when a dog draweth nigh—and you,
fond parents, shall be happy as the years roll round I
Mark, my friends, that little fashion-stunted thing, paling,
pining, spindliug in pent-up rooms and sickly parlors 1 It
enjoys no out of-dcor sport, for fear the wind will tan, or
the sun transplant the lily that spreads its snowy petals
upon its check. It is growing up lank, pale and leau—
wearing a greenish-whitey hue. like a potatoe-sprout in the
corner of a dark cellar. There is always something the
matter with it, and nobody knows what; but, no doubt, it
is wormy as sea biscuit on its seventeenth voyage At
any rate, there is a worm feeding upon that interesting
bud of humanity, audits doating parents shall never ex
perience the joy of beholding it burst into beauty and full
ness of bloom. The little petpimbles, droops and decays ;
paragoric has lost its soothing potency—the first and last
sickness sets in, malignant and dire. The doctor enters
the room—death treads upon his heels—and now, fare
well frail flower of the fashionable hot-house 1 Thou yet
may’st blossom in a purer atmosphere, wholly uncontami
nated by the parlor-bred poison of pride. My brethren :
as the holidays are hard upon us, I trust that all who are
married and own children, will endeavor to make good
boys and girls of them by deputing Santa Claus to wait
upon them with his customary bag full of knick-knacks.
Let the kitchen be converted into a magnificent toy-shop
on the occasion, and promise tho little chubbies that, if
they will only be good, when Christmas comes again they
shall be doubly rewarded ; and, depend upon it, they will
be good,-if you but occasionally remind them of the pro
mise—and spare the pounding. So mote it be 1—
There is no discount on the truth con
tained in that philosophy. From the sensible man
ner in which Dow treats the subject of training
little ones, one would suppose that the best portion
of his life had been devoted to the task of “ teach
ing the young idea how to shoot.” But we fear
such is far from being the case The late
snow-storm has not buried everything which was ex
posed to its fury. It could not keep under, or even
dampen, the ardor of the indomitable Stephen H.
Branch, who is 4 ‘up and dressed” for business.
Here is
WHAT THE ALLIGATOR SAYS TO THE PUBLIC.
On, Stephen, on
To the Rubicon,
And cross its waves,
In teeth of graves ;
And brave the snow,
And freezing blow,
For subscriptions
To thy dictions.
At Sunday’s midnight, as 1 heard the bells’ dolefol
strains on the terrific storm, arid beheld the brave and
patriotic firemen plodding their weary way against the
snowy whirlwind, I could not restrain my tears. On re
turning to my home from the scene of desolation, I was
very cold, and placed my daily garb over the scanty bed
quilts, and buried my head and feet beneath their grateful
protection. On emerging at morning’s dawn, with icicles
on my nose and lips, and with a mouthful of straw and
feathers, which I promiscuously belched on the chilly air,
I found an avalanche had broken through the window
crevices ; and on gazing towards the street in response to
piercing cries, I beheld a newsboy struggling in a drifted
mound, whither he was blown, who, with hands just peer
ing from the snow, implored in tears for his immediate
extrication. I flew to his succor, and soon returned to my
attic cloister, nearly frozen, and ran fleetly up and down
my room and turned half a dozen summersets, to create a
fervent glow,—and explored the icebergs for water until I
broke a bootjack and my toilette pitcher. After a few
more gigantic strides to heat my paralized extremities,
and mantling my trembling limbs with buffalo-pants, mits,
cap and robe and ox-hide boots with rubbers over them
up to the knees, I departed on my dreary pilgrimage for
subscribers to my autobiography. I had not proceeded
far when I learned that an imposter had applied for sub
scriptions for my book, to a friend whom I had known
from early years, who violently paced him from his
store—
All sprawling
And bawling
into a fathomless congelation of winter dew. And now, to
prevent further imposition, I will very minutely describe
my person, so that you will recognize me at a glance when
I call for subscriptions. lam on the Venus verge of 40,
though the keenest eye would scan mo as on the 30th of
Aurora’s genial confines My altitude is that of tho wise
and truthful Socrates, or 5 feet 10, and 150 avordupois.
My shoulders arc gracefully rounded with the mournful
inheritance of poor John’s pilgrim. My eyes are of eagle
glare and magnitude, and caverned in a deep and gorgeous
perspective. My forehead is classic and massive, as Gree
ley’s or Webster’s, whose peak soars nearer the celestial
scintillations. My features are small and sweetly chiseled,
and wear the pensive hues of a Grecian lily. My voice is
plaintive and sincere, and is divided between the trumpet
and bugle, with melting tones from Paganini’s dulcet fin
gers. My teeth are even, and of snowy whiteness, and no
rude dentist has marred their pleasing unity and remorse
less clutch of Christmas turkey. My ears are tiny and
pretty, and my stomach is a projecting oval, and never
knew a pang save for nourishment from the carbon flocks
and herds of the mellifluous pastures. My hair and whis
kers are of curly and oily jet, (with no artifice from the
singing, dancing, prancing and merry Figaro,) and areas
' prolific as twilight leaves in Vallambrosa’s fertile and dis
mal vale. My moustache is dense aud glossy as a Pole’s
i or Russian’s, and my contour is frank and brave, and my
form majestic and commanding. So now prepare to be
hold a legitimate branch from Eden’s Paradise, and let all
freely partake of its delicious fruit for a solitary dollar.
Very sincerely, Stephen H Branch.
—Stephen accomplished a good thing for some
2:40 writer of blood and thunder romances in the
above appeal. It won’t be a great while before his
pen-and-ink portrait of himself will be dove-tailed
into Filkin’s 44 Massacred Mudturtle, or the Bloody
Butcher,” as the description of the hero of that
stunning work. There never was such another
44 alligator.”A great many kind old souls in
the country imagine that everything which finds its
way into the newspapers must be true. This is a
grand mistake, and' there is no better proof of the
fact than the following
FALSE ALARM.
It will be recollected that something like nino or ten
months ago Lucy Stone and a Mr. Blackwell became par
ties to a matrimonial contract. The Boston Post under
stands that a dividend has just been declared in the shape
of a fine white and bouncing baby. So “ rock the cradle,
Lucy.”— AU the. Papers.
[The “ understanding of the Boston Post” is all wrong.
No such dividend has been declared, nor is there any pros
pect of one. It is some other “institution” the Post has
heard of, and Mrs. Lucy has no notion of “ rocking the
cradle yet awhile.” She knows better.} —Life Illustrated.
when we first rpad the statement
in the Post, that there must be some mistake about
it. We never supposed that Lucy could spare time
to have “ a fine white and bouncing baby,” or any
other kind of a baby. Besides it isn’t in her line.
She is opposed to it from principle. We would as
soon expect to see a blasted pine tree produce a
golden apple as to see Lucy with her own baby in
her arms. If she ever should become a mother it
will be 44 just for spite.” Mark that!We find
the following rich incident in an exchange, under the
caption of
A BANKER IN TROUBLE.
A rich foreigner, named Sutherland, naturalized in Rus
sia, was banker to the court, and in high favor with tho
Empress. Ho was roused one morning by the iuforraa- j
tion that his house was surrounded with guards, and that i
Reliew, the Minister of Police, desired to <peak with h m.
This person entering, without further ceremony, at ouce !
announced his errand. “Mr. Sutherland,” said he, “I :
am charged by my gracious sovereign with the execution
of a sentence, the severity of which both astonishes and
grieves me ; and I am ignorant as to hpw you can have so
far excited the resentment of her Majesty ’ “lamas
much in the dark as yourself,” replied the banker. “But
what are your orders ?” “I nave not courage to tell you,”
said Reliew. “Have I lost the confidence of the Empress?”
inquired the banker. Mlf that were all yoa would not see
me troubled,” said Reliew; “Confidence return
position may be restored.” “Am Ito be sent back to my
own country, or, good heavens 1” cried the banker, trem
bling, “does the Empress think of banishing me to Sibe
ria ?” “Alas 1 you might some day return,” said Reliew.
“ Am I to be knouted?” inquired the agitated banker.
“ This punishment is fearful,” said Reliew, “but it does
not kill.” “Is my life, then, in peril?” exclaimed thd
banker “But I cannot believe that; for the Empress,
usually so mild, so gentle, spoke to me so kindly only two
days since—’tis impossible ! For heaven’s sake let me
know the worst. Anything is better than this suspense.”
“ Well, then,” said Reliew, in a melancholy tone, “my
gracious mistress has ordered me to have you stuffed,”
“Stuffed!” cried the banker, horrified. “Yes, stuffed
with straw,” continued Reliew. Sutherland looked fixed
ly at the Minister of Police an instant, and then ex
claimed, “Sir, either you have lost your reason or
the Empress is not in her right senses 1 Surely you
did not receive such a command without endeavoring
at least to point out its unreasonableness —its bar
barity.” “Alas! my unfortunate friend, I did that
which, under ordinary circumstances, I should not dare
attempt, ” said Reliew ; “ I manifested my grief, my con
sternation—l even hazarded a remonstrance ; but her im
perial majesty, in an irritated tone, bade me leave her
presence, and see her commands obeyed at once, adding
these words, which are still ringing in my ears, ‘ Go, and
forget not that it is your duty to acquit yourself, without a
murmur, of any commission with which 1 may deign to
trust you ’” It would he impossible to depict the horror,
the despair of the unhappy banker. A f ter waiting till tho
first burst of grief was over, Reliew informed him that ho
would bo allowed a quarter of an hour to settle his worldly
affairs. Sutherland wept, and prayed, aud entreated tho
minister of police to take a petition from him to the Em
press. Overcome by his supplications, the magistrate
consented to be his messenger, and took charge of the
missive ; but afraid to return to the palace, ho hastily pre
sented himself at tho residence of Earl Bruce, the English
Ambassador, and explained the affair to him. The Am
bassador, very naturally supposed the Minister of Police
had become insane, but bidding him follow, he hurried to
the palace. Introduced into the imperial presence, ho told
his story with as little delay as possible. “Merciful
heaven 1 ” exclaimed Catharine, on hearing this strango
recital, “what a dreadful mistake! Reliew must have
lost his wits. Run quickly, my lord, I beg, and desiro
that madman to relieve my poor banker of his groundless
fears, and to set him at liberty immediately.” The Earl
left the room to do as her majesty requested, and on his
return found Catharine laughing immoderately. “ I seo
now,” said she “ the cause of this inconceivably absurd
blunder I had for some years a little dog, to which I was
much attached. I called him Sutherland, because that
was the name of the gentleman who presented him to me.
This dog had just died, and I gave Reliew orders to have
him stuffed ; but as he for some time hesitated, I became
angry, supposing that, from a foolish excess of pride, he
thought this commission against his dignity. That,”
added Catharine, in conclusion, “is the solution of this
enigma.”
Most people are in favor of stuffing about
dinner time, but there can be too much of a good
thing Porter’s Spirit gets off a good thing un
der the caption of “ Drivin’ the Centre; or, Uncle
Billy’s Bifle Fight.” “ Uncle Billy” is a Western
character”—a sharp-shooter and “ tremenjns” in a
“freefight.” The “scrimmage” alluded to grew
out of a quarrel concerning a shooting match for a
gallon of whisky between the hero of the tale and
one “ Leven-ribs.” Here is
THE OLD man’s DESCRIPTION OR THE FIGHT.
“Hello I” says I, “ Iwon’t call that shoot; let’s go and
see whar my bullet hit.” And, when t’other side found
out that my bullet had glanced and beat ’em, they jest
biled, and sware that it shouldn’t count, because I had
called it, and my side swore as they wouldn’t let mo-cal!
it when I wanted to, that now it should count, and I
should not shoot it over. And, after jowering awhile,
every fellow pitched into his man, and thar war fifteen pair
of men fighting at once. I, of course, had locked hoans
with Leven ribs, and when all the rest Was done, ho
and I was jest a gittin’ in a good way. Wo commenced
fighting about ten o’clock in the morning, and fit like
all wrath till sun-down. I begun to git awful tired,
and was afraid that if Leven-ribs didn’t soon g'n in, that
I must; and while I was a thinking what I had best do,
my old woman, who had board what was goin’ on, dome
a tearin. and" as soon as she got within hollerin dis
tance, she begun: ” Horaw, my Bill!” As soon as I
heard her, I knew that if I got whipped, she would
think she bad just cause and provocation to leavo my bed
and board, as the sayin’ is. So, I made up my mind to
whip that fellow, or die, right thar. So, I gathered all tho
little strength I had, and I socked my thumb in his eys,
and, with my fingers, took a on his smeller, and
with the other hand I grabbed him by the back of tho
head ; I then caught his ear in my mouth, gin his head a
flirt, and out come his ear by the roots ! I then flapped his
head over, and caught his other ear in my mouth, and
jerked that out in the same way, and it made a hole in his
head that I could have rammed my fist through ; and I was
just a goin’ to do it, when he hollered, “ ’Nuffi” My old
woman then jumped up on a stump, and hollered out: “If
any feller in this crowd says that ain’t Bill Hardyarn’s
whiskey, jest let him trot his wife out, and I’ll use her a
darned sight wuss than my old man has done Arth Leven
ribs; and if he’s got no wife, I’ll put him through 1” But
none of ’em dared to take her up ; and, after comparing
notes awhile, every follow started for home, thinking ho
had seen a fight as was a fight. “ Boys. I won that whis
key ; but it was right expensive 1” “ But what did ho do
for you, Uncle Bill?” said one of the listeners. “Well,
that’s changing the subject,” said Uncle Bill. ‘“But, to
tell the truth, boys, he did take off some sign, if you call all
my bar any ; and next day some of us went to the place,
and we.picked up a two bushel basket even full of ears,
noses and eyes, that had been bit off and gouged out in tho
fuss.” “A pretty good pile, Uncle Billy, to come off of
thirty men,” said one of the boys ; and the look of sur
prise that the crowd, and particularly the hero, gave him,
told plainer than words could that it was rather unpopu
lar to doubt anything that Uncle Billy told concerning
himself.
Porter’s Spirit gets off another good thing
by “ Thomas the Rhymer,” under the caption of
MORAL SUASION.
There is nothing like “moral suasion.” It has grown to
be a great and controlling institution. Tho best example
of the same occurred in San Franciseo, recently. You well
know—if not, I can inform you thereon—that the chieicity
of California is frequently, if not oftener, infested by China
men. An acquaintance of ours was junior partner aud oc
casional saleeman, in a firm whose business it was to sell
fish hooks, cod lines, ropo’s ends, and other odds and
ends. One day, a John Chinaman, followed by a train of
about ten of his countrymen, ranged tandem fashion, en
tered the establishment, and after peering around for a
; few seconds, exclaimed : “Cotton seine twine—got him ?”
“Yes I” was the answer. “How much tikea?” “One
dollar a pound.” “Um! give fifty cents I” “Get out!”
said the junior partner, with a menacing gesture, and John
Chinaman departed, followed by his tail, and his country
men. The train passed and re-passed tho door several
times, and at length re entered. John, looking around as
though he had never been there before, again inquired :
“Cotton seine twiue—got him?” “Fes.”’ “How much
takee?” “One dollar a pound!” “Um 1 give seventee
fivecents.” “Get out!” cried the excited partner, and
the Chinese population departed as before. The wild
geese procession paraded past a few times, and then re
entered. The spokesman, after gazing around some time,
lifted up his voice a third time, and thus ho spoke : “Cot
ton seine twine—got him?” “Fes.”’ “How much
takee?” The salesman whispered to Patrick, the porter,
to hand him a cleaver. This had, he grasped the astonish
ed John Chinaman with his left hand, and raising his
cleaver with the right, exclaimed: “ One dollar a
pound!!” John gave lopk at the cleaver, another at the
face of the salesman, and yelled out: '“Z takee one hundred
pound !” The bargain was theron closed. So much for
moral suasion.
Here are a few pebbles from the Ocean of fob,
to finish with :
A French paper publishes the following as
as illustrative of the fact, that politeness always meets with
its reward: “Sir, sir, you have dropped your paper!” cried a
young man the other morning, to a person passing. “ Sir,
I'm very much obliged to you,” said the other turning round
and picking up a large bundle. “Excuse mo,” continued
he “ blit have I not the honor of addressing Mr. P ?”
“That is my name,” said the young man, with some sur
prise. “ Ay, I thought so. I was very lucky in meeting
you, lam an officer of the tribunal of commerce, and am
ordered to arrest you on a bill of exchange for one thou
sand five hundred francs. The paper which you were so
kind as to tell me I dropped, was tho summons against
you.”
Here are a few “local peculiarities —The
young ladies of Boston, before going to a party, rub their eyea
with extrait d’ognon t© make them sparkle and give a bril
liant expression. Tho New York belles don India rubber
stockings to contract the feet and make them look small.
The Providence beauties put a clam-shell under the hollow
of each foot to lift the instep and confer a well' made air to
the pedals. The Philadelphia demoiselles eat persimmons
to draw their mouths up to a point, and give their lips a
“do kiss me” look. The Cincinnati ladies “do up their
curls” with hogs tails, and when asked to marry, answer,
“oui, cui, oui.”
An exchange tells this story of a Hobo
ken Aiderman: A relative of , not remarkable for
his Hindoo ablutions, once applied to him for a remedy for
the sor<3 throat. “Why,” said gravely, “fill a pail
cf water as warm as you can bear it, till it reaches up to
your knees; then take a pint of oat meal and scrub y®ur
legs with it for quarter of an hour.” “Why, hang it!
man,” interrupted the other, “ this is nothing more than
washing one’s feet.” ‘‘Certainly, my dear said
he, “I admit it is open to that objection.”
There is a candid, not to say spicy,
editor in an Ohio town, who wants to sell out because (as
be says confidently in a printed circular) “he is dissatis
fied with the town and the people who inhabit it; and ho
believes the people are equally dissatisfied with him : be
sides, there is a great deal too much meanness and ignor
ance among them to suit him.” There is an eligible open
ing for some agreeable young man.
A monster, whose name we withhold for
the present, from the just indignation of our readers, says
that if women were turned out of doors in Kansas with no
more clothes on than his wife and daughters Lad when
they went to a party, one cold night last week, it would
have been called an ‘outrage,’ and the oditors would
have had two leaders on the subject.
—On a recent occasion, one of our friends
was coming down from Albany, and it appeared—as ill
luck would have it—that there sat opposite to him, in the
car. a gentleman with remarkably long legs, which ho
was not very particular about digging into our friend’s
knees. On the arrival o( the train at Sing Sing, the long
legged man observed to bis neighbor : “ I shall get out
and stretch my legs here a bit, as we wait ten minutes.”
“ For goodness sake, sir, don’t do that 1” said our friend,
“for 1 am quite sure they are too long by half already.”
A pert lawyer in the South lately in
suited the judge, who fined him SSO. Ho repeated the in
sult, and the judge doubled the fine ; he tried it again, and
he trebled it. Finally, ho asked permission to go home.
“ What for ?” asked the judge “To buy your honor’s
paper at ten percent., to pay my fine.”
—“I wonder this child don’t go to sleep,”
said an anxious mother to a female acquaintance. “ Well,
I don’t,” replied the lady : “It’s face is so dirty that it
can’t shut its eyes.”
A would-be prophet down South, lately
said in one of his sermons, that ho was sent to redeem the
world and all things therein. Upon hearing this, a native
pulled out two five dollar bills on broken banks, and re
quested him to fork over the specie for them.
An innocent young sportsman, in order
to shoot a squirrel on tho top of a tall tree, climbed another
one near by ; and being asked tho reason for so foolish a
freak, said : “ That he didn’t want to strain his gun by a
long shot.”
A celebrated physician boasting at din
ner that he cured bis own hams, one of the guests ob
served : “ Doctor, I would a great deal sooner be your ham
than your patient.”
—lt is enough to make one shudder to
read the printer’s advertisement, for a boy of “ moral
character,” when it is well known they intend to make a
“ devil” of him.
When Jake visited Vermont, where they
have pie for breakfast, ho was irreverent enough to re
mark that Vermont was great for early piety. .
A country editor having received two ,
gold dollars in advance for his paper, says that he allows '
his child to play with tho other children as ’usual.
A woman advertising for a husband,
wants him not only to be strictly religious, but of “good
character.”
A chap who went to California poor, and
subsequently became very rich, is now so extravagant
that he skates on ice-cream. ,
John Chinaman’s Philosophy. —An old
Chinese writer says the soul of a poet p&ses into
he body of a grasshopper at death—from th?
of the latter singing until it starves,