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VOL. 10. fIIS DEMOCRAT. W. S. IS PPK11SO K, EDIT Oilt. MISCELLANEOUS. Work and Play. Though written immediately tor the merid ian of New York, the annexed article, which we cops' from the Times of that city, has nn applicability to almost all parts of this coun try. It has in it a sober sound sense that is deserving of consideration: It is beginning to be felt among us that oven the American power of labor has its limits. The truth is gradually being real ised, that the human constitution is not made of steel and oak fibre. There is a salutary though tardy impression gaining ground, that sixteen hours labor out of the twenty-four and a hot brain through the night are not mute the conditions of health even in our unequalled country. People who were stub born to fine sentiments with regarn to culti vating every faculty of our nature, or Avho shrugged their shoulders at the " philosophy of amusement," arc staggered by some rath er palpable facts. The American face is not quite the type of health. Somehow the ruddy and plump faces in a crowd are al wavs foreign. The native born citizen of this glorious Republic is not a model of happi ness, even physically. One hears everywhere of the horrible phantom, Dyspepsia, which is clutching at the cheerfulness and activity of so rrmnv. Nervous diseases seem to be the rule with the better classes, and through all classes a silent pestilence rages, which every household feel, but of which the public speaks not Consumption. Our women, even more than the men, show the national weakness. A vigorous, completely healthy woman of middle life Mich as you see in foreign lands, is an excep tion here. There is an unhappiness not ex pressed, yet general, spreading through all our better classes. Men are biases, or restless, or "blue;" The nature of man, not healthily and fall? developed, seems asserting its rights. Still the old whirlpool of work rushes on, as though the human frame and human mind were a kind of perrennial machine, with the sole object of grinding out labor. The merchant hurries to his wcrehouse, plans and schemes, risks and tempts, is pushed and worried hither and thither ; gorges his meals and carries on his unwearied plans for the evening through the feverish night. The writer or the editor has the same whirl of life. Men with every possible idea or inven tion, which they would lay before him ; men faom the distant ends of the world to talk to ; business to watch ; important and dis tant interests to gdard, and the thoughts which press hard on his brain, to give while subject and strength are fresh night be comes day in such work. The lawyer, the mechanic, the teacher, the clergyman, all feel something of this endlessly active life which beats through New York. The City is a world-centre now. One lives in a day here what one would not in years in a village. Life is fast The laggard or the "fog-" is dropped behind tinder the current. There is no rest. And yet, in our own vernacular, " it does not pay." We are not a happy people. The inces; sant round of straining does not give all which the body and mind demand. Excite ment, and venture, and sleepless effort, are pleasant, but there seem to be human nerves of stomach and brain, which require some thing beside. Man cannot live by work alone. And when it is all gained, when the man stands in the centre of a w ide influence, successful in plans, in wealth and in power, what is it all worth, if his brain reels with its incessant tasking if his nerves faij and the fulless and vigor of manhood are spent in di verting the impending disease ? One pulsa iion of his young health would be more than -all his gains. We rejoice to see that the public arc be coming somew hat awakened to all this. But would liave them more so. We must come frack to the old child's rhyme, and bo satis fied that " all work and no play," is as bad for us as it was for our friend of the nursery. We have gone so &r that sensible people must now make it a duty to play. Wc want manly, open air sports and amusements for the muscles, to meet this incessant action of theirain. The world has passed by any an i'ient notions of the sin "of boat-racing and sparring , and religiously disposed, dyspep tic gentlemen, are not indisposed even to ten pin bowling now, in watering places. Let jus rescue tie whole of them from the hands of rqwdies and "fast men." Let us le boys a-'aia, as we cannot be healthy men. There is no real time lost in a good excursion, as your headache, friend merchant, and your bronchitis an 1 dvsnopsia, friend clergyman, will convince you. Fishing and sporting, boating and riding, walks and games, all Li II JtMT- i A pny. we must nave tree, uneons ions movement in the open air. No one in Amer ica appreciates the worth of sunlight and air. They act on the body js surely, even if not as quickly as on plants. No constitution can be suited even for work without much of their influence. ICvory man who poastbry can, ought now to encourage any tendencies to these things. Merchants in tlwir hours of closing busi ness, every man in his own family, men in public relations, should favor whatever will induce men to healthful out door amusement Of in door, heated, unnatural amusement weakening body and effervescing the soul, we have enough. Ict all future " play" be man ly, invigorating and rational. Whatever leads this way should le endouraged Christ mas holidays, birth-dhvs and festivals in the family, home pleasures and sports anything which draws the heated brain away from work, and gives us play a little Avhile, in Heaven's name let not the most skeptical and matter-of-fact object to. If home sport and merriment are nothing, at least nerves and brain, stomach and lungs are something. To them we confidently appeal against American materialism and American over work. Snobs-'Squirls-Noodles. These somewhat contemptuous epithets are, neverthless, good strong "dictionary words," and f rcibly descriptive of certain weak specimens of the genus homo, chiefly to be be found among the fashionable purlieus of metropolitan society. The term "snob" has leen immortalized by Thackeray; and from all the varieties of the snob family so graphically depicted by the pen that wrote "Pendennis," we gather the true definition of the word, viz: A vulgar person who apes gentility. " Squirt," says Webster, is an ac tive verb, which to throw out to throw out words, and the inconsiderate babbler who ejects volleys of words without a knowledge of their application or meaning, is very prop erly catted, in vulgar parlanee, "a squirt." A " noodle," we take it for granted, without reference to Webster or Walker, is a simple ton. Having come to an understanding as to terms, and estimated the force of the epithets used, let us look around for a practical illus tration of the things they siguify. We will select a character who embraces and embod ies in his exquisite person in his individual Ego all the three simple wc have named making up that fashionable compound of vanity and ignorance a New York dandy a sublimated, snobbish squit a genuine Fifth-Avenoodle. We met him just now in that popular resort the " Academy of De sign ;" and our attention is arrested by his foppish dress, effeminate air, his half-impudent, half-amorous stare at the ladies, and the yawning disdain with which he glances at the paintings and denounces the whole exhibition as not worthy to be looked at by one who has " been abwawd." Who is this dainty, supercilious, " demni tiori fine" fellow that squirts out his sweep ing condemnation of everything in the shape of Art this side of the Vatican ! What are hi-? natural qualifications and acquired abili ties that make him so much wiser than other men of less pretensions, but of wider reputa tion for talent and intellectual cultivation ? In a 'fc'ord, to Use a popular phrase, what are his antecedents ? Where did he come from, where has he been, and w hat has he been do ing to make him so much wiser or finer in his taste and judgnient than the critics whose opinions he so indiscriminately condemns ? He was born, perhaps, of respectable, hard working parents, and to an inheritance it may be, of a small fortune. But like too many fathers who have had to drudge for a living, the son is brought up in idleness, looks upon labor as ignoble, and flatters himself that his porcelain person was ordained for orna ment rather than for use. He despises the vulgar olay of which common men are made, depreciates tho Re publican country that has done itself the lion or to give his .body birth , and at an early age, shaking the dirty dust of democracy fi onvhis little feet, takes himself with all the care duo to a brittle flower pot, to tho gay salons of Paris, w here, before he emerges from technical babyhood, ho runs through his " little all," and the whole gamut of cos mopolitan vices. Returning homo empty in purse, emaciated in person, with no intellec tual capital to fall back upon but the memo ry of a vicious experience, ho becomes misanthrope of the " Used-Up" class, and vents his humors by railing at eveiything American, in Nature as well as Art Such an one, " with soul so dead," can of course see no merit in one of Elliott's heads, no beauty in,one of Durand's landscapes He has had the run pf the picture galleries of Europe ; and after Paul Delaroche and Iloraco Veroet, he has no eye for the vulgar YAZOO CITY, MISSISSIPPI " daubs" of Ids own countrymen. And this disdainful vein runs through everything in poetry as well as in painting in architec ture, in sculpture, end in all the social and polifical institutions peculiar to American life. He denies the ability to criticise art to one who has seen and heard the artists of Europe. He has seen RacJicl ; and there fore he cares not a fig for our young Siddons of the West, wdiose truthful and graceful ex hibitions of Shakspeare's creations thrill to (he inmost depth every unsophisticated heart. He has seen the Medieoan Venus, " the stat ue that enchants tho world ;" and therfore finds no charm in tho creation of Powers, whose bright vision of beauty was born in his own soul, while vet his lovely Slave was sleeping in the marble quarry of Italy. He has heard the sublime Miserere chaun ted beneath the lofty dome of St. Peter's and why should his heart be moved while standing beneath the starry vault of Heaven and listening to that note of eternity the everlasting Miserere of Niagara f These elements we admit are essential to the critic heart, head, and education or ex perience. Without the two former given bv God, the latter is of no avail. You cannot raise figs by sowing thistles ; nor, to use a more homely expression, " make a silk purse out of a ow's ear." 1 )aniel Webster was eloquent without ever listening to Cicero in the forum. Robert Bums was full of unex pressed poetry before he left the "clay biggin in which he was born : and when, at the ago of fifteen, he went reaping corn with his " bonnie lassie," the innate and immortal mel ody flowed forth, embalming all humanity with sweetness. Benjamin West was a pain ter, when at the age of six he plucked hairs from the cat for his pencil, and squeezed juice from lorries for his palette. Julia Dean was an artist wdiile chasing butterflies and gathering wild flowers from the Western Prairies, before she ever heard or dreamed of a theatre. There was gmius in her heart and grace in her steps, long be fore she ever heard of SUakpeare,s Jtilief, or saw the Queen of the drama sweeping across the stag And our own Dtirartd, whose reverent spirit hath bathed itself front infan cy in tho freshness an 1 splendor of our own virgin landscape who has worshipped the Soul of Nature in the solemn solitude of our mountains and forests bring? us ever near a veritable picture of our own glorious hills and vales, steeped in all the varying lights and shadows of all the hours and all the sea sons tho purple tints of morning, and the crimson hues of evening pouring over the gorgeous hues of the forest the rainbow glo ries which illumine mountain, lake and river. But we must not admire him, nor applaud him. We have not " been abwawd." No matter what our love of Nature may bo no matter how high and pure our ideals of Art, we must keep our mouths shut until we have been to Paris. Thus asserts our exquisite "squirt" whom we found ogling all the pret ty girls through his speculum? at tho Acade my : and knowing from observation how- many of our young men this fatal ''European complaint" is carrying otf annually, we could not help remembering the words of the sati rist, and attempting our hand at a similar vein in plain prose : Mrs. Bill is very ill, And nothing can improve her Until she sees the Tuileries And waddles through the Louvre." The Coi.i3F.rM. Under all aspects, in the blaze of noon, at sunset, by the light of the moon or stars the Coliseum stands alone and uaapproached. It is the monarch of ruins. It is a great tragedy in stone; arid it softens and subdues the mind like a drama of JEsehylus or Shakspeare: It is a colossal type of those struggles of humanity against an irresistible destiny in which the tragic poet finds the elements of his art. The cala mities which crushed the house of Atreus are symbolized in its broken arches and shattered walls. i3uut oi inuesiructioie materials, anu seemingly for eternity of a size, material and forni to defy the "strong hours" which conquer all, it has bowed its head to their touch, and passed into the inevitable cycle of decay! " And this, too, shall pass atfay" which the Eastern monarch engraved upon his signet ring is carved upon these Cyclo pean blocks. Tho stones of the Coliseum were once water; and they are now turning into dust. Such is ever the circle of nature. The solid is changing into the fluid, and the fluid into the solid ; and that which is unseen is alone indestructible. He does not see the Coliseum aright, who carries away from it no other impressions than those of form, size and hue. It speaks an intelligible language to tho wiser mind. It rebukes the peevish and consoles the patient, It teaches us that there are misfortunes which are clothed with dignity, and sorrows that are crowned with trranduer. As the same blue sky smiles up- t . . i i i i .1 n t on the rum wmcn smiiea upon ine peneci structure, so the same beneficial Providence bends over our shattered hopes and our an swered prayers. HilliarcTs Six Months in Italy. WEMISDAY, MAY Notabilities in Florence. The intelligent correspondent of the New ark Advertiser gives the following personal intelligence, of general interest: Florence, March 22, 1854. Mr. Marsh, the late minister resident, is now at Rome with his family. Among the English authors living here are Mrs. Somcrviile, tho Brownings, Charles Le ver, Mr. Kirkup, the antiquarian ; Mr. Tennv son, brother of the poet-laureate, and who has himself a volume of poems now in press; and Mrs. IVolIope, who made her debut in authorship through her libellous work on America. Since then her prolific brain has produced eighty-nine volumes of so so tales proving that "weeds grow apace" not unproductivcly, however, for her, since she has reaped therefrom an abundant pecuniary harvest, and now occupies a beautiful villa built by herself and her son, who is also a successful story teller. Mis. Trollope has one of the Largest and choicest of the private libraries in the city. The library room is an expansive CJothie hall, the furniture being all after tho antique, and decorated with statuary and paintings. In this hall she holds her Saturday morning reception, and strange to say, she affects Americans so much as to hunt them vp and load them w ith hospitali ties. She an affable, pleasant old lady f about seventy, and was probably more dis gusted with her pecuniary misadventures in the Unitfd States than with all the people she ridicilcd in her spleen. Mrs. Somcrviile, is now about seventy three years old in an excelleut state of pre servation and is altogether a remarkable woman. She rises early, devotes her time till noon to scientific study and writing, and at other times occupies herself much with sketching from nature, painting in oil, and embroidery, thus showing that the pursuit of mathematics is not incompatible with a love for the file arts. No living woman ever re ceived more flattering compliments from her own government, .and from great men of all nations, than Mrs. Somerville; her bust stands in the British Academy by the side of Sir Isaac Nevton's and Baron Humboldt has called her "the greatest of women." She is perfectly simple and unostentations in her manners, and never refers to her own labors, which, notwithstanding tho extensive circu lation of her works, have yielded her small pecuniary benefit. But she has a pension from the British crown, and lives here with her husband, a retired surgeon of the navy, and their two daughters; going much into so ciety, leirig welcomed everywhere and ad mired for her quiet manners and agreeable conversation. Mr. Lever lives generously in a palace : gives dinners sparkling with his wit and wine ; loves horses like a true Irish Englishman; rides on the casein with his rosy cheeked daughters on either side of him, and is literally "a good fellow," his conver sation being as full of humor as his Irish tales. Mr. Tennyson lives retired, though in easy aud elerrant circumstances, occupying a fine - O A " villa tilled with choice books and paintings. The Brownings still occupy the Casa Guidi, and old palace; never go into society, but receive their friends quietly in the evening. Mrs. Brow ning is physically as frail as her mind and verse are strong ; with such gentle, unpretending manners, and such a pleasant expression of face, that no one, to look at her, would believe that such force and passion could come of such an apparently delicate unperturbed nature. Mr. Browning is alive w ith good nature arid humor; full of practi cal knowledge, and as plain and smooth in talk as he is obscure and rough in his writ tings; in short, as is the casewith Mrs. Brow ning, the very opposite of the book-Brown ing. Mr. Read, one of our American artists now in Florence, has painted lately cabinet port raits of both, and they are truthful like nesses. They lelorig to a gentleman in Phil adelphia, and will give all who see them a just notion of the originals. Mr. Reed is now engaged upon several well conceived compositions, which will do him credit Mr. Edwin White, of New York, who has been some years studying in France and German, is now here, painting successfully; he has conceived a series of pictures on American subjects mostly scenes in the history of Puritans two of which are already done: Ilis chief work, however, is a picture of Columbus taking the sacrament previous to embarking on his expedition in search of the hew world. . - Mr. Nichols, of Connecticut, who has just left for Rome, painted, during his six months sojourn, some fine-toned landscapes, two of which are destined by the purchaser (Major Kearney) for a villa in the Vicinity of Newark, as are other paintings by Messrs. White, Read, Kellogg, Gould and Tait, all of whom have received orders from the same affluent Jerseyman. The last-mentioned artist, Mr Tait, though very young, gives much prom ise as a landscape painter. Tie is fiom Cin 31, cinnati, which has produced several artibts of distinction. Mr. Kellogg and Mr. Gould, who have resided in Florence longer than other American painters, are both highly successful in portraits; neither has, as yet, produced any remarkable compositions. Mr. Hart, the Kentucky sculptor, commissioned by the ladies of Virginia to make a statue Henry Clay, has recently produced some charming busts of young American ladies from only one or two sittings, with the aid of an ingenious measuring instrument of his own invention, for which soon he intends to take a patent, and w hicli proves a rare me chanical genius. He cannot fail ft win dis tinction. Indeed, America" nriistSft Fkj ence form a strong and ropwdMe rcpvc."u tative bod-, with Powers for its head. Dress as a Fine Art What a pr3gr33sion from fig lei ves to floun ces ; to jack-boot, re.l lnel, potnteJ toe, from deer-skin brogue, sandal, mocasin, yet still the same human foot in each ! What a clue are these metamorphoses to the min 1 that animntrs the bodies thus masked and hidden ! Vanity and love ot change, from the tim? that Eve twisted flowers among the fi-leaves and set the fashions for the young antediluvian maidens of some twenty summers. What a clue to the manners of a people, their religion, the climate, the coun try in which lh"!y live and from whence they came, ol thedr free Ion, th?ir war?, tbeir con quests, and their slavery 1 Tin Highlander still carries the Roman target, weirs the adapation of tho toga fasened by the Roman brooch, the phyr gian cap is on his hrad, and the Roman cro I garters are represented in his chequered stock ens. The imitative Saxon seems tojjhave derived from the s uns cmq i?nrs their robes and arm? : the Astatic cap, the Ai i tic double-head axe, and the Asiatic thichl. Tiic Norman knight wore the closed visor ol the Roman gladiator, and the shield of the Grocco Roman. From the E;ist the Crusaders b irrowed the long tunic over their ar mour, the parti colored scarf wreathed round the helmet, and the scimMer-like falchion. But with all its change, dress falls into a few- simple division, into which we arc unconscious ly perpetually recurring If men widen their sleeves tliy go back to George the Second. if they lighten them, to a far earlier date : widen the brim of the present hat, and put in a feath er, and you have the Spanish sombrero of Van dyke's reign, pin up the brim and you have the cocked hat, take to a cap, and you tail back to the flat bonnet of Elisabeth's reign. widen the band and you have the rich ornament of Elisa beth" courtiers : turn down the lop of the boot, and you will have Cliarles the Second's w ear," render the top immovable, it becomes' the fash ionable boot of the last half century, or the far mer's boot of today. OAe of the most curious features in tlie histo ry of dress is the vitality of the most absurd fashions, and their lingering for centuries among the peasantry, long after they are superseded in the court. Our own country has some curious instances of this. The Garb of the old Thames water-men, still occasionally visible in the streets, is that of the Elisabethan boatmen, even to the brass badge, which was then worn by ev ery retainer. The Bluecoat boys rejoice in the semi-monastic robes of the age of Edward the sixth, the voung founder of their school ; and the charity-school girls Of the City wear the plain mob-cap and long white gloves of queen Anne or the earlier Georges. The shoulder- knot of the modern footmen was once trie badge of high military rank. The stage smuggler struts in the common sailor's dress of the "vV II' - iam of Orange era. The bluecoat of the butch er reminds us of the distinctive dresses of the old guilds. The University dress of the present year varies little from that worn soon afteT the Reformation, except that the square cr phas stiff encd and widened, nd the falling collar has bcn clipped into traditionary bands. The Judge's coif is a curious absurdity borrowed from the silk cap worn by rhonkish lawyers to preserve their shaven heads from the draughts of the courts The wdgs introduced from France by Charles the Second are retained by the same Judges, by our barristers anrj coachmen. Our loot men still exult in that powder which gave a heightened lustre to Reynold's beauties. The gipsy in the west of England; Laborers how wear the deep flapped waistcoats and knee breeches of the third George, and the smock or a very eurly age ; and one is sure to meet in a day,s walk in London the Hessian boots or tight pantaloons so fashionable during the youth of the Regent. The Beefeaters at the Tower wear the cdstume of Henry the Seventh's body guard, and our grooms the doublet of James the First. Though we have been always borrowers of other nations' fashions, even we sober English have run strange lengths. Look at the lopping Richard the Second in polish shoes w ith toes a yard long, tied up to the knee with silver chains . and then in Henry the Eight,s time, the broad shoe widen again to half-a-yard, slashed and pad ded like a small cushion. In Henry the Sixth's time, it was considered "the thing" to wear forests of feathers nearly three Feet bnad and sweeping to the ground ; and little earlier dress es were party per pale' of two colors, so that one leg was blue and the other reU, a lavonic attire which died out very slowly. Then came sleeves jagged at the edges like leaves, and reach in from a man's wrist to the ground. The diseases of kings have been the origina tions of fashions : a bald knight rules and all his people shave,-r-a gouty monarch establishes the beauty of wide shoes. Scandal does say an unlucky princess ingeniously invented hoops. NO. 30. The most.picturseque period of chivalry was the golden reign of Richard the Third, w ho him self "realized half the dreams of knightly roman ces. The rich steel armour glancing through embroidered surcoats, the silken wreath twisted round the helmet or steaming trom behind it the bright feathers, the jewelled belt, sword hilt, argylpr-eheai h, the gilded housings of the oTO'rg&r;--lhe colored fluttering Irr m the lace must when seen in squadrons have been a gor geous s'ght : 8nd were utility end slpcndor so throroughly blended in the same attire. The Vandyke dress refnes next in point of picturscquc grace and capabilities of contrast. The broad Spanish hat, with its rich jewelled band' its clasp of precious stones, or its string of pearls the cloak, capable oi a thousand va riations of brightness and shade, from a mapk of broad rippling rTflrVirgnt G? flpngrioletto gloom the doublet fitting the f irm without ridicu lous compression the rich lace collar rather feminine to our eyes, did not the polished 6teet of the breast-piece gleam througx u fret-work the full Spanish hose and the trnaA shoe, witlt the rosette of ribbon, constitute a drest that de lights the painter and the poet. The nations of Europe have always sUurjqed the rich flower-bed of colours in w hich tti Asiatic kinsmen delight. The Turks, rejoices in Ukj primitive colors rich reds, blues and yel lows the Englishman in insipid neutral li lacs, buflH, and browns. ThfiWarmer the coun try the richer the taste for colors very observ able iri Venice, so Eastern in its assDciations, where houses, people, and buildings form a bright mosaic of intermingling hues relieved bv the d-jep liHrmc-nious unities of the skv and sea. We w ere gay as the butterflies in Charles the Seconds time. Tb what have we now fal len, when a solemn, dull undertaker like black has clouded every hue. and we walkabout in carnations of iron tiecessity and remorseless u lility ! A.'hion. Mr. Kunr's Ei.oQt i;T Eclogt On "Siui C'Ai.not x. The Portsmouth (V;i.) Daily tilobc reproduces an extract from the late speech of the JIun. L. M. Kerr upon the character and public service f Mr. Cal not N, which deserves to he cinilated ns one of the finest specimens of or-Mvy to w hich of the d bates Hf the present Congress have given rise. The Globe prefaces the extract with the following high complimentary re marks; "lle&uUful extracts from lite one or two speeches Mr. Keitt ha made, have gone tho oundsof the press, ihe following which taa scarcely ever been snrpaesedon thesamo floor for the eloquence of the eulogy and the !cauty of the simile is one ot 1 1 1 - several sin-de nassnires which have rendered his title, to the distinction of 'orator valid and legiti mate! . I "Sir, the biatorv of Mr. Calhoun for forty vears, is IjwjHv rrtrren ti lied iMrtbcfliisliU 'l of the Union, Splendid as w.-is his intellect glorious as were his deeds his moral puri- r i . mmi i Bk. ii . i ty oeautuieu ms cnanicier iiko ine oow seen in the clouds. No indirection ever marked his course. Win or fail, he ever marched di rectly to his object. Others might win their way to the pinnacle ot power by tortuous windings, as tlie serpent climbs upwards by sinuous folds,yet leaving behind, through bush and bramble; a track of slime to mark its course, lie stooped upon the summitas stoops tho eade from his loftv companion ship with the sun. Never did criminal am bition seduce him lmrri the duty ot the pa triot. He had travelled around the circle of human honors and w on the prize, save one and that, too, was in his grasp wJicn lie tur ned aside from the proud puthway of ambi tion to pick up, all torn and sullied, the Con stitution of his country. Exhausted and bro ken by life-long public sendee, he came here, w hile thick clouds erC gathering in our sky to shield the Union from outrage, and spend his last breath in the struggle fa otistitution al right, lie came here, stripped of mortal ambition, to utter his words of prophetic prev sioii, and then the oracle warm upon his lipc to die in yonder hall, with his arms lock ed around the pillars of the Constituton, brea thing a farewell prayer for its honor and in tegrily.' " Debt of the United stales. The following report was made to the Pen ate on the bin instant, accompanied oy a ta ble, showing the present iudebtedi United States and the amount o deemed since March 4, 1853 : Treasury Department, May Sir: In obedience to a resolui Senate of the 5th instant, "requ Secret ary of the Treasury to fund information of the Senate, a statei amount of bonds or other securi United States aedeemed since March, eighteen hundred and specifying in such statement the o of such statement the date of tl such bonds or securities, the rate when payable, and the amount paid on each class of the same," honor to transmit a statement, pi the liegisk-r of the Treosurr, cot information desireL In this st -.lcr. inrdmVd 1st that nortion of also inciuocu, ui puiiiou ui indemnity, tinder tho act of So 1850, for which stack has n t sued; 2d, tho amount of 1 tea standing; and, 3d, the amount of t ded and unfunded debts. if tb ing tho for the. it of the win 3d di Lust, mum paid And that the nin whether actual! thorized to be i which the Unit ble, outstandin; I am, very n Hon. D. R. At ;uison o