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MONSIEUR DURANCE.
Tiio following relation shows the high
state of perfection to which the French po
lice had attained under tlio celebrated min
ister M. Fouche:
Being designed early for a mercantile
profession, ! was sent, when a youth of fif
teen or sixteen, to Bordeaux, in order to ac
quire knowledge requisite for my proposed
pursuits, in tho counting-house of one of the
first establishments in that ancient city.
Tho head of this firm, which was an ex
ceedingly wealthy ijWc, was M. Durance, u
gentleman who, t'roff au old friendship for
my father took me intoms own house, and
was most parentally kind to.’ me. M. Du
rance was well up in years, round and rud
dy in aspect, social in his habits, and pos
sessed of one of the very best of hearts.—
He had one foible, howev.er, which made
the good soul almost intolerable to all man
kind. Notwithstanding the great extent of
tho business he had conducted, he had sel
dom been out of Bordeaux. He had only
once been to Paris ; but that once was e
nough. On that occasion he had met with
two adventures. Oh, those two adventures!
Tongue cannot tell, nor brain conceive, the
delight which the worthy man took in nar
rating these incidents. His friends'were
kept thereby in a state of perpetual alarm.
They never beard the words, ‘ Did you ev
er hear me tell,’ or eveu ‘Did you ever,’
come from M. Durance’s lips, without an
internal shudder, and an instant retreat, if
possible. 1 Did you,’ itself was enough to
bring out a cool perspiration. For if the
good old merchant once began, pause or
rest was out of the question for the suc
ceeding couple of hours. How often have
I been compelled, after dinner, to listen to
these two eternal adventures ! It was not
that they were uninteresting in themselves.
On the contrary, they were of very remark
able order, and still more remarkable as
having occurred at one and the same time.
But who can listen even to a good thing
forever! Nevertheless, as it is not likely
the reader can ever have suffered from M.
Durance’s perpetuities, we shall repeat
them once more, with a little more brevity
than it was the honest man’s practice to
employ.
M. Durance had occasion to go to Paris,
upon business. He had a carriage or cha
riot in which he proposed to travel, but at
the time when he found it convenient to set
out, this vehicle required a slight repair,
and the merchant, then comparatively
young and active, thought it best to ride
slowly forward on horseback for a couple of
stages, leaving his servant to bring the car
riage after him. M. Durance thus hoped
to enjoy, for some part of the way, a more
leisurely view of the country, which he
had scarcely ever seen beyond a few miles
distant from his own house. Accordingly,
after giving full instructions to the servant,
M. Durance set off respectably mounted,
and well armed, for he carried a large a
mount of bills and money. To do him
justice, he had a stout spirit and a fair share
of courage ; yet not much of either was re
quired to travclat that period, owing to the
admirable degree of efficiency into which
the famous Fouche had brought the police
of the country.
M. Durance’s first day’s travel was un
productive of any wonderful event. He
stopped before nightfall at a village inn,
rested comfortably, and the next morning
pursued his route. While riding slowly a
long the border of a large wood, in the fore
noon of the second day, he observed a party
of men, also on horseback, a short way be
fore him. He continued his course and
they did the same ; but the merchant was
uncomfortably surprised in the end to ob
serve them frequently turning round, one
after another apparently to look at him.—
M. Durance thought of his pistols, agd he
begun to be very uneasy. The road struck
into the wood already mentioned, and when
in the middle of it, poor Durance was
shocked to see the men halt, and turn round
to observe him, as if simultaneously. The
merchant was all this time but a short dis
tance from them, and could not help draw
ing up his horse also for a moment. While
lie was in this situation, one of the men af
ter an apparent consultation with the oth
ers left them, and advanced to oui friend.
‘Now is the time,’ thought Durance,
‘here comes the demand for my purse !
What is to be done V And the worthy soul’s
heart sank within him, when he thought of
the heavy sum which he bore.
When the man came up, however, there
was no demand of this kind made. The
stranger’s first words to Durance were—
‘ VVhat is your purpose here ?’ The mer
chant hesitated, and at length stammered
out, ‘ I am come—upon an honest errand 1
hope—like yourself.’ ‘Ah, I thought so,’
replied the stranger. Then, after a mo
ment’s pause, he continued, ‘ Well, what
will you take to go away ? Will you take
one hundred louis ?’ Mystified thoroughly,
Durance, almost by accident, bolted out
‘No !’ The man again spoke, and said
‘ I cannot ofTer you more without speaking
to my companions.’ With which words he
turned away and rejoined his band.
M. Durance never was so much puzzled
in his life, but bis spirits rose as he saw no
intention on the part of the men to injure
him, and he waited till the stranger’s re
turn. That personage was not loffig away
and when he returned to the merchant, a
bag of money was in his hand This’bag
he held out to Durance, saving, ‘ We have
come to the resolution of just offering you
three hundred louis at once; here they are
if you choose to go away. Now, do take
them,’ continued he; ‘upon my word we
cannot oiler more.’ Durance sat more be
wildered than ever, and was about to speak,
when the bag was thrust into his hand by
the stranger, who at the same time said,
‘ Now, do take it without another word. It
will be as well for you perhaps, as you are
alone, and I can tell you there are some
determined fellows yonder,who would think
nothing to drive you off. But I was lor a
compromise, and, upon my honor, vi e can
not give more.’ With this the man turned
to move away. Part of his last speech had ;
made a wonderful impression on Durance,
who,though utterly unable toteU the mean
ing of all this,, thought it was wise to pock
et the bag, and ride onwards. He did so,
and soon lost sight of the strangely .liberal
party he had nut.
M. Durance continued his route peaq,ea
hly, till night, pondering all the way on
what hud passed, yet incapable of coming
to any conclusion on the subject. On
reaching the village where he proposed to
rest all night, he was joined by his servant,
Joseph Deinary, with the chariot, and on
the ensuing day they pursued their journey
in this vehicle. Nothing of interest occur
red throughout their further progress, until
they reached the very gates of Paris. But
just as the vehicle was passing the barrier,
a gentlemanly person came up to the car
riage side, and thus addressed M. Durance:
‘ Sir, you will have the goodness to go with
me.’ ‘ What ?’ said the merchant, ‘whith
er must 1-go ? and why V In a low tone
of voice, and with the utmost civility, the
gpntleman replied, ‘You will permit me to
have the honor of conducting you to M.
Fouche.’ ‘M. Fouche !’ ejaculated M.
Durance, in no small alarm at the thought
of what the famous head of the police could
want with him ; ‘ 1 have committed no of
fence, I have broken no law, and I cannot
understand why I should be sent for by’ •
The stranger cut short the speech by say
ing, ‘ I have been waiting for some time
upon you, sir, being instructed that you
would arrive in a carriage like this ; and
your person, portmanteau, and every thing
about you answer the description given to
me. 1 cannot, therefore, be mistaken in the
party, and you will have the goodness to at
tend me to M. Fouche, who will himself
explain his business with you, which is
more than I can do.’ There was no resist
ing this peremptorily civil request. By
tho stranger’s directions, M. Durance sent
on Ills servant to the hotel where he propo
sed to lodge, and seeing no alternative, fol
lowed the messenger to the office of the
head of the police.
Fouche received our hero with the ut
most politeness, and after requesting him to
be seated, entered immediately on a detail
of certain matters, which made the eyes of
M. Durance grow as round as full moons,
and led the good man to the conclusion that
Fouche and the gentleman in black were
things synonymous. -You are M. Du
rance of Bordeaux, the head of the exten
sive mercantile house that bears your name;
you have, in your portmanteau the sum of
(naming the exact sum) in specie, and
the sum ol in bills ; you are about to
reside at she hotel B. near the Boulevards;
and it is your custom to retire to rest about
cloven o’clock.’ These are hut a few of
the particulars regarding M. Durance’s sit
uation, purposes and habits, which the pub
lic functionary seemed to -be aware of.—
The merchant sat in mute astonishment.
M. Fouche evidently enjoyed his visiter’s
wonder, and before any reply could be
made, the police functionary continued in
these rather startling words, ‘Sir, are you
a man of courage V We have already
mentioned that M. Durance had a good deal
■ of spirit about him, and he was now roused
to make the reply ‘ that no one had ever
doubted his courage, and he begged to know
the cause of the question.’ ‘ Sir,’ answer
ed M. Fouche, ‘ you are to be robbed and
murdered this night.’ ‘Robbed and mur
dered !’ exclaimed the thunder-struck mer
chant of Bordeaux. ‘ Gracious heaven !
can this he true !’ ‘lt is true,’ returned
M. Fouche. ‘ You have seeu how much of
the truth, relative to your affairs, I am ac
quainted with, and this also i-s the truth.
My reason for putting a question to you, af
fecting your courage, is this : If you have
enough of that quality, you will go to your
hotel, and retire to rest at the usual hour,
placing your portmanteau, as usual, by
your bed-side, and betraying no suspicions
to those around you. 6nly take care not
to fall asleep; and leave the rest to me.—
It will be unnecessary, and indeed improp
er, for you to look into the closets or be
neath the bed. In short, do nothing, but go
to rest as you would at home, and ieave the
rest to me. Have you the resolution to do
this?’ M. Durance meditated a little, as
was not unnatural, before giving an an
swer, on which the head of the police ad
dressed him again. ‘lf you do not feel in
clined to go through with the affair, I will
procure a gentleman to personate you.—
This will render the affair more difficult,
and its success less certain, but it might be
done.’ ‘ No, no,’exclaimed our friend, ‘I
will act precisely as you direct, leaving my
life in your hands.’ ‘ You may do so, sir,’
replied M. Fouche, ‘ with perfect confi
dence.’
After a repetition of these instructions,
and receiving some further particulars rel
ative to the intended attack on him, the mer
chant left A!. F’ouche, and having procured
a street vehicle, was driven to the hotel
whither he had sent his servant and car
riage. The evening was now pretty well
advanced, and ere M. Durance had rested
himself and taken some refreshment, it
wanted little more than two hours of bed
time. The merchant felt himself incapa
ble of going out, and he therefore sought a
hook and sat still, bur, with his usual kind
ness of heart, he did not wish to confine
others on his account. His servant Dema
ry, wJio was a Parisian, asked logo out and
call upon his friends. ‘Bv all means, Jo
seph/ said M. Durance, ‘go and see your
friends, but recollect to be here again at e
leveti.’ After this, M. Durance attempted
to read, hut finding himself incapable of
following the meaning of two lines togeth
er, he laid down the book and thought.
Joseph returned punctually at eleven,
and lighted his master to bed. On being
left alone, the courage of the merchant al
most gave way. He looked around him.
As M. Fouche had stated, there were two
large closets in the room. The thought
that at that moment, his intended murder
ers might he there, came across the mind of
M. Durance, and he was strongly tempted
to satisfy hirrjaelf before he lay down. But
he recollected his promise; he remember, j
ed how accurate the intelligence of M.
Fouche had been on other points, and he
resolved to confide in what had been stated
to him, and to obey every direction. Hav
ing come firmly to this conclusion, he put
out the lights and lay down on the bed.—
The counsel ‘.not to sleep,’ proved most
superfluous in the case of tho honest mer
chant. His mind and senses were too
much on the alert to permit him to slumber.
Sometimes, within the first hour after he
lay down, he thought lie heard stifled nois
es, but they were not continuous, and led to
nothing. At length, however, about half
past twelve, the door of his bed-chamber
wus opened, and a glimmer of light fell on
the opposite wall. Having purposely ar
ranged the bed clothes about his head in
such a way as to enable him to see without
being seen, M. Durance then beheld three
men enter, bearing a dark lantern, and
each armed with a dagger and pistols.—
One of them advanced to the bedside and
seized the portmanteau. In this person’s
face, to his horror, the merchant beheld the
lineaments of his own servant, Joseph Dem
ary ! The first act of the men was to rip
up and fifle the portmanteau ; but while
(hey were doing so together, each being un
able seemingly, to trust his companions, M.
Durance heard them agree upon the neces
sity of his own immediate death. Ignorant
of the means prepared by M. Fouche for
his succor, M. Durance felt the perspiration
burst upon his body ; but he was not kept
long in this state,” for, ere the rifling of the
portmanteau could be completed, the closet
doors bust open, five or six men rushed out
and in an instant the surprised robbers were
in the hands of justice. On the officers
coming out, the bed-room door at the same
time was opened, and lights brought in,
showing that all had been thoroughly pre
pared for the relief of the merchant and
capture of the offenders.
‘ Aii, ha !’ M. Durance would here say,
when nanating the story himself, ‘what
think you of my second adventure? more
wonderful stfll than the first, was it not V
Whatever may be thought on this point,
there, is obviously less of invstery in the
last incident than in the preceding. The
extraordinary degree of information dis
played by M. Fouche, resulted simply from
the circumstance of Deniary having writ
ten from Bordeaux to Paris, announcing to
his associates the prize which was coming
in their way. It may be thought that a
round about and dangerous mode for M.
Durance was adopted for the seizure of the
offenders, and this may be in part true. —
But it is to be remembered that the slight
est symptom of preparation would have a
wakened the suspicion of Demary, and
would have thus prevented, in all proba
bility, the capture of his associates. As to
other points, M. Fouche,doubtless had been
afraid lest Durance, if informed previously
of the treachery of his servant, and other
particulars, might have prematurely done
something to betray the scheme.
The wretch of a servant and his associ
ates, were punished as they well merited.
M. Durance, grateful for his escape, bless
ed the wonderful police of his country,
settled his business to his satisfaction in Pa-,
ris, and in due time, returned to Bordeaux.
It was not till after his return, notwith
standing many inquiries, that he could get
any rational explanation of the first of his
two adventures. Finally, however, by dint
of local investigation, the mystery was sol
ved. And what do our readers think, was
the cause of the three hundred louis being
given to him with strange and apparently
■ causeless liberality ? The explanation is
j simple. In that wood, on the afternoon in
1 question, there was to be a great sale of
cut wood, which the party of men had come
from a distance to buy in concert with one
another. They looked fora great bargain,
having reason to hope that nobody would
appear to bid against them. But, on seeing
M. Durance on their track, they at once
concluded that he was on the same errand
as themselves. On consultation, they
thought it worth their while to endeavor to
buy up his opposition, by the offer of a good
round sum. M. Durance’s first words un
intentionally confirmed the mistake as to
his purposes. The issue is known to the
reader. It is not exactly in our power to
say to what extent M. Durance carried his
inquiries, with the view of restoring the
three hundred louis. We believe he offer
ed publicly to give up on call, but that it
was never claimed from him. Perhaps
the parties were ashamed of their extraor
dinary and simple-witted self deception.
Formation of De.o. —Dew is deposited on
the leaves of plants, in consequence of their
giving out so great agq.uantity of heat, by
raidiation on clear bright nights, when there
are no clouds, that the temperature of the
plant is reduced below that of the atmos
phere. When this takes place, the heat of
the atmosphere is absorbed’by the plant,
and is consequently, unable to retain so
great a quantity of moisture ; warm air pos
sessing the power of holding more vapor in
it than cold air. The manner in which dew
is deposited on plants may be seen by bring
ing a glass of cold water from a well into
a warm room. The cold water absorbs
some of the heat of the surrounding air,
which, in passing through the sides of the
glass, leaves behind the water it contained
in a state of vapor ; this will be seen on the
glass. Water decanters show this in sum
mer.—Dalton's Experiments.
The Orange Groves of Florida have been
visited during tie past year by the ravages
of an insect which threatened the total de
struction of that branch of production The
insect is of the cocoon family, very minute
and covers the bark, leaves, and fruit, ex
hausting the tree of its juice and destroying
it to the root. Whole groves have been
swept. It is understood that a similar in
sect once appeared in the groves of the south
of Europe.
Greece. —The Government of this coun
try is getting in debt so fast, tiiat they have
been obliged to lay a duty on foreign corn,
to suppress the Legations at London and
Paris, and to disband some troops.
A MAP OF LIFE.
Travels Through a Newspaper. —ln’ cas
ting our eyes over the columns of a news,
paper, wc cannot but bo struck with the
variety of intelligence conveyed in a single
sheet. Here we find the wholesale prices
current, which brings to view the bustle
of mercantile transactions; then perhaps
follows half a column of applications for
letters of administration, forcibly reminding
us that many of these lately active individ
uals are now quietly reposing in the arms
of death, and that many clamorous relatives
and friends are thinking more ofllieir prop
erty than of their ashes. The intelligen
cer now takes a more extensive range, and
we are, at certain seasons of the year, in
formed what a large congregation of these
transitory mortals are doing in their digni
fied, executive, and legislative capacity ;
men who talk about their rights as if they
were of eternal duration. Then a case ol
murder occurs, showing how these impor
tant characters may hasten the approach of
tho king of terrors, as if death delayed his
advances too long. Then we have an ac
count of a prison, explaining the mode a
dopted by society to secure the possessors
of property the means of enjoying it during
the regularadvancesoldeath. Then comes
a project of internal improvement, that fur
the little time we do remain upon this earth,,
we may he allowed the use of railroads and
canals ; that we may divert rivers from
tiieir ancient courses, all of which reminds
us of the flow of human existence. Then
follow advertisements for builders, brick
layers, stone-masons and what not to inform
us that these tenants of an hour must build
for their residence that will stand longer
than themselves, erecting superb mansions
for others to inhabit. At last in a little ob
scure corner of the newspaper we find an
obituary’, passed over as an ordinary event
to remind us after all of how little conse
quence we are.
The Philadelphia Ledger says that a
newspaper is an useful instrument of in
struction, and advantageous to the public
in proportion as it imparts valuable in
formation. Its province is more extended
than any other vehicle of public instruc
tion, and its influence for good or evil is
.consequently more deeply felt. Its main
object should be to teach its readers, to fur
nish them with news, to elucidate princi
ples, and to establish truth ; and this should
be done in a way to allay rather than excite
angry feeling; to lead to reflection, rather
than to urge to passion ; in short, should be
done in a gentlemanly manner, as intended
for the edification of gentlemen in a com
munity of gentlemen.— Boston Evening
Bulletin.
A QUEER TRIAL.
A legal correspondent of the Sandersville
[Geo.j Telescope, thus relates one of his
adventures at the Bar, in a certain District
of Georgia, near Ilawkinsville, known as
I the “ Third Kingdom of Dooley :
i “ Sometime since divers claims were
| placed in my hands for collection by Jilters
| M’Philters and Cos, of the city of New York,
and amongst them a small note on Screwy,
of the aforesaid district of Dooley. I han
ded it to Squire Markiil, one of the Justi
ces, and took his receipt for the same. The
claim progressed regularly on to judge,
inent; but some time since I was informed
that Screws had filed an affidavit of ille
gality to the Execution, and being the ‘At
torney General’of the aforesaid firm, and
not having much to do I determined to go
down and see to it. When I arrived at the
court ground, the court had been in session
sometime, hut upon inquiry, I found my
case had not been reached, hut was the next
and last. I called for the execution and
affidavit, and found the grounds of i I legal i
ty was the fact that the Plaintiffs lived out
of the State!
Squire Markiil was on the bench, and as
to his intelligence farther than the follow
ing will show, it is only necessary to add
that he was in the Legislature of 1842.
He was really a polite man however;
particularly so in his manner of speaking.
‘I should suppose, may it please yous
honor,’ I remarked, “that tl)ecourt does not
wish to hear from me on the subject of this
illegality.’
‘Well I reckon not squire,’ he replied
mildly, nodding his head to me—‘for it
seems plain that the execution ought to be
killed.’
‘Do I understand that your honor intends
to sustain this illegality ?’
‘Yes squire that’s the law.’
I expressed my astonishment at this and
made a speech of some length showing the
absurdity ofthe decision, and wound up bv
using Screws pretty rough for daring to
take such an oath. When I concluded the
bench went on :
‘I he Court is fond to hear you talk
Squire Nubbs—very fond indeed—you talk
well, and thecourt liopesthatyou will come
down often. But Mr. Screws is our neigh
bor—we know him—and besides he has
sworn that the execution is—illegal and
must be killed Squire Nubbs !’
‘Yes, hut may it please the Court, I will
swear that the execution is not illegal.’
‘Well but squire, you can’t do it. Now
if Jilters McPhilters & Cos. was here, and
would swear it, then it would he oath, agin
an oath, and it would be tried by a jury !’
Seeing nothing could he gained by the
adherence to the principles of law, and un
willing that my clients should be swindled
out of their money in this way, I took con
siderable pains to show that in a great ma
ny cases the attorney would act for the
principal, and finally got the justice to let
me swear ; which 1 had no hesitation in do
ing. A jury was immediately empannel
led, and we went to the trial. Screws said
nothing but I went into thecase warmly.—
The jury retired, in about Hive minutes
brought in this verdict: ‘We the Jure find
the execution ded !’
I was about retiring in dignified disgust,
when a bushy headed juryman asked who
was to pay the jury fee.
‘Stop squire,’ said the Court to me, ‘you
must pay the Court aud jury fees.’
‘The fee comes out of Mr. Screws,’
. -* ■ Mjy.lf.gi * ft. -
I replied as mildly as I could ; ‘the verdict!
was in his favor,’ • •
■That’s true, squire X nbb*, but it ain’t ;
law that a man that gains his ease shall
pay cost.’
‘May it please the court,’ I replied en
tirely out ofpatience, Jif 1 pay it may I be
damned.’
‘Thank you squire, that settles tho mat
ter ; the court fines you a dollar and a half*
for contempt of court. That will pay us
all boys and treat us in the bargain.’
‘1 launched out the one and fifty, and left
tho ‘Third Kingdom of Dooley’ with a con
siderable degree of rapidity.
THE RATTLESNAKE.
Incredible Stoiy relating to its Poison.
To give you an idea of the long time this
poison retains its property, 1 shall relate a
curious but well authenticated series of
facts, which took place in a central district
of the State of Pennsylvania, some twelve
or fifteen years ago :
A farmer was so slightly bit through the
boot, by a rattlesnake, as lie was walking
to view his ripening corn-field, that the pain
felt was thought by him, to have been the
scratch of a thorn, not having seen or heard
the reptile. Upon his return home, lie felt
on a sudden, violently sick at the stomach,
> vomited with great pain, and died within a
few hours.
Twelve months after this, the eldest son
who had taken his father’s boots, put them
on, and went to church at some distance.—
On his going to bed that night, whilst draw
ingoffhis boots, he felt slightly scratched
on the leg, but merely mentioned it to his
wife, and rubbed the place with his hand.
In a few hours afterwards, he was awaken
ed by violent pains ; complained of a gen
eral giddiness, frequently, and expired be-*
fore any succor could be applied with suc
cess ; tiie cause of his illness was also
quite a mystery.
In the course of time, his effects were
sold, and a second brother, through fil
ial affection, purchased the boots, and if I
remember rightly, put them on about two
years after As he drew them on, he felt
a scratch, and complained of it, when the
widowed sister, being present, recollected
that the same pain had been felftty her hus
band, on the like occasion. The youth
suffered and died in the same way that his
father and brother died before him.
These repeated and singular deaths, be
ing rumored in the country, a medical gen
tleman called upon the friends of the de
ceased, to inquire into the particulars, and
at once pronounced their deaths to have
been occasioned by venom. The boots that
had been the cause of complaint, were
brought to him, when he cut one of them o
pen with care, and discovered the extreme
point of the fang of a rattle-snake issuing
from the leather, and assured tho people
that this had done all the mischief. To
prove this satisfactorily, he scratched with
it, the nose of a dog, and the dog died in a
few hours, from the poisonous effects it was
still able to convey. In confirmation of
these facts, I have been told bv native A
mericans, that arrows dipped in rattlesnake
venom, would carry death for ages after.
Audubon's Notes.
Colony of 700 Lunatics. —At the late sit
ting ofthe French Academy of Sciences, a
paper on Insanity was read by its author,
M. Moreau, to the physicians present. The
chief object of this pamphlet is to recom
mend the adoption in France, as regards
pauper lunatics, of the plan resorted to in
Be luiurn.
M -V ■ . . tales that in the village of
Gii M, in that country, there are not less
than 700 lunatics, who are treated upon so
admirable a system that they are, perfectly
harmless, and iive and labor with the same?
inhabitants, whose habits they acquire, and
to which they become so attached, that
when cured they are frequently unwilling
to quit the place. These lunatics are made
useful in agriculture and manufactures,
and consequent 'y their cost is small as
compared witii ordinary lunatic asylums.
The origin of this colony dates as far hack
as the. sixth c ntury, and is another verifi
cation ofthe oid adage that there is nothing
n.av under the sun. The mode of treating
the lunatics at Hanwell, near London, was
considered, when first putin practice, as a
novelty, and yet it is nothing buttheGheel
practice imp rfeetlv carried out. It is on
ly surprising that this improved mode of
treatment should have been deferred so long
in England ; and it is now evident that it
is capable of great extension and applica
tion. Within the last few years only in
that country, medical nfen have ascertained
the possibility of so classing and occupying
lunatics as to render even the most violent
‘of them comparatively tranquil, and thus
facilitating the curative process. For
chains, whips and other means ofcoercion,
kindness and intelligence on the part ofthe
keepers have been substituted, not only at
Hanwell, but also at the Bethelem Asy
lum. ____
Prudence and Economy. —What if you
have a patch on your knee—it is nothing
to be ashamed of. It lay's easier on your
mind, than a writ at the door, or an inter
view with a creditor, who feels you have
wronged him. Better wear an old hat, an
unfashionable coat, or a pair of cowhide
shoes, than to live extravagantly, run in
debt, and have every body feel that you are
a villain. There is nothing like prudence
and economy ; especially if you are stri
ving to keep up your credit. Who will
trust you, if you are poor and. lazy, and
dress in broadcloth, and display gold rings
and breast pins ? No one : But with a
homespun coat, a brown face, hard hands
and industrious habits, you are sure to be
favored. Your appearance indicate that
you are a frugal and will he a safe custom
er.
A Valuable Bustle. —lt is said that when
treasurer Graves sloped, in female attire,
in order to he fashionable, he had a bustle
made of United States Treasury notes and
State Scrip amounting to $145,000, the
which lie stole out of the Treasure.
REPUDIATION.
The following is a copy of a Petition ad
dressed to Congress by tho Rev. Sydney
Smith, the well-known Blnglish author. It
tells some stinging truths-in a very pol
ished.and pointed manner:
“ I petition your honorable house to insti
tute some measures for the restoration of
American credit, and for the repayment of
debts incurred and repudiated by several Os
tho States. Your petitioner lent to the State
of Pennsylvania a sum of money, for the
purpose of some public improvement. The
amount? though small, is to him important,
: and is a saving from a life income, made
t with difficulty and privation. If their refu
i sal to pay (from which a very large num
ber of English families are suffering) had
been the result of war, produced by the un
just aggression of powerful enemies ; if it
had arisen from civil discord ; if it had pro
ceeded from an improvident application of
means in the first years of self-government;
if it were the act of a poor state struggling
against the barrenness of nature —every
friend of America would have been con
tented to wait for better times ; but the
fraud is committed in the profound peace of
Pennsylvania, by the richest Slate in the
Union, after the wise investment of the bor
rowed money in roads and canals, of which
the repudiators are every day reaping the
advantage. It is an act of bad faith which
(all its circumstances considered) has no
parallel, and no excuse.
Nor is it only the loss of property which
your petitioner laments; lie laments still
more that immense power which the bad
faith of America has given to aristocratical
opinions, and to the enemies of free institu
tions in the old world. It is in vain any
, longer to appeal to history, and to point out ‘
the wrongs which the many have received
from the few. The Americans, who boast
to have improved the institutions of the old
world, have at least equalled its crimes. A
great nation, after trampling under foot all
tardily tyranny, has been guilty of a fraud
as enormous as ever disgraced the worst
king of the most degraded nation of Europe.
It is most painful to your petitioner to see
that American citizens excite, wherever
they may go, the recollection that they be
j"hg to a dishonest people, who pride them
selves on having tricked and pillaged Eu
rope ; and this mark is fixed, by their faith
less legislators, on some of the best and
most honorable men in the world, whom
every Englishman has been eager to see,
and proud to receive.
! It is a subject of serious concern to your
petitioner that you are losing all that power
which tho friends of freedom rejoiced that
you possessed, looking upon you as the ark
of human happiness, and the most splendid
picture of justice and of wisdom that the
world had yet seen. Little did the
of Arneriea expect it, and sad is the specta
cle, to see you rejected by every state in
Europe, as a nation with whom no contract
can be made, because none will be kept ;
unstable in the very foundations of social
file, deficient in the elements of good faith,
men who prefer any load of infamy, how.
ever great, to any pressure of taxation,
however light.
Nor is it only this gigantic bankruptcy
for so many degrees of longitude and lati
lude which your petitioner deplores, hut he
is alarmed also by that total want of shame
with which these thing-, have been done, the
callous immorality wnh which Europe has
been plundered, that deadness of the moral
sense which seems to preclude all return to
honesty, to perpetuate this new infamy, and
try threaten its extension over every state of
the; Union.
To any man of real philanthropy, who
receives pleasure from the improvements of
the world, the- repudiation of the public ,
debts of'America, and the shameless man
ner in which it has been talked of and done,
is the most melancholy event which has
happem and during the existence of the pres
ent gene ration. Your petitioner sincerely
prays that the great and good men still ex
isting among you may, by teaching to the
United States the deep disgrace ffiey have
incurred in the whole world, rcstWe them
to moral health, to that high position they
have lost, and which, for the happiness of
mankind, it is so important they should ev
er maintain ; for the United States are now
working out the greatest of all political
problems, and upon that confederacy the
eyes of thinking men are intensely fixed, to,
see how far the mass of mankind can be
trusted with the management of their own
affairs, and the establishment of their own
happiness.”
COTTAGES.
Mr. Ellsworth. Commissioner of Patents
in his annual report for 1843, describes a
new mode of building cottages, or ordinary
dwellings, which has been adopted in the
West. He says that the material is form
ed by removing the soil, digging to the com
mon clay, (which is almost universal, espe
cially at the West,) mixing it with water
and straw, and treading it into mortar by
oxen ; from this, bricks are made of 18 by
12 by 9 inches, 12 by 7 by 5 inches, in a
plank mould, and struck with a piece of i
ron hoop. These bricks are dried upon the
ground in ten or twelve days, while the
foundation of the building is preparing, and
prairie wood sills, or (which is better) a
course of slate laid, on which the dried but
unburnt brick are put up, a foot in thickngtts
the windows and-doors being put in as it
proceeds ; division walls a brick wide or
seven inches ; roofs of shingles or thatch,
projecting a foot or two each way. * The
walls are then plastered with good lime mor
tar, and the second time with the same,
pebble-dashed ; the inside without dashing
and the house is built. This house is very
cheap, is warm in winter, and cool in sum
mer, and affords no retreat for vermin. Its
walls are not damp, unburnt brick absorb
ing no water, which the burnt, being po
rous, will do. Such a house may be safe
ly carried up two or three stories, is almost
fire-proof,and nearly as cheap as a log cab
in, (in some places more so,) and will last
a century if the foundation be well laid
