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a mesalliance is a source at once of ridicule and misery.” The lady could only answer by a sigh. ” I have attained,” said he, “ high rank in the imperial service ; and 1 owe it to the emperor's goodness, and to my own char acter, not to suffer that rank to be degraded in the person of my child. I owe it to that child, herself, not to suffer the passion and precipitancy of her youth to lay up misery For the rest of her days. Those, madam, are maxims so essential, that to violate them is to violate the common obligations of so ciety, to offend public decorum, and to incur misfortune, with the additional pain that it is the offspring of our own folly.” The widow wrung her hands. “ Then my son must die !” were the only words she uttered. The general was moved, lightly pressed her hand, and she saw upon it a tear—but she also saw him rise from his chair, and move slowly toward the door of the apart ment. One moment more, and all must be lost. She rushed after him, and implored a moment’s audience. As he turned round, she threw up her veil, and he, tor the first time, saw her face. The light of recollec tion passed along his features. With one hand grasping his arm, with the other she drew a letter from her bosom. “ Read this,” said she, “ General Von Schuleuberg, and tell me whether it, too, was the offspring of folly and deception !” The general, overcome by emotion, sank into a chair. He had recognized his own hand -writing at the instant; and, as lie read, his emotions were visible in the changes of his manly countenance. It was the indig nant letter in which he had taken leave of the court, the Tyrol, and the lady of his love together. Every line, as lie traced its half faded characters, was an eloquent and forci ble contradiction of every word that he had but just spoken. All the arguments of the man of camps and courts found contemptu ous refutation in the glowing sentiments of the youth speaking the dictates of passion and nature. The general had seen a varied career.— On leaving the Austrian service, he had thrown himself into all the daring of a vol unteer’s life; distinguished for his intelligence and intrepidity in the campaigns of Russia, alike against Persian, Turk, and French man, and at length had been summoned back to the service ofhis country in the des perate struggle of 1809. Rut all was now peace; France was biokcn down, and the dashing volunteer was the gorgeous general. Yet bis original nature was suppressed, not extinguished. The embroidered uniform, loaded with orders, might constrain, but it could not control the native man ; and he often thought of the Tyrol, and the cup of unspeakable joy and grief which lie had tasted there. “In the name of heaven, where was this letter found 1” was his exclamation. “ Where it has been kept these five-and twenty years, Theodore,” was the trembling reply. “Adela! my own Adela!” pronounced the general, as his lips touched her forehead. She fainted in his arms. “My son, my son must live!” was her first utterance on reviving. “Your son is mine!” was the answer. The recollections, the delights, the fond and deep feelings of such an hour aie un speakable. On that night the court circle were aston ished by the two fold intelligence, that the general, who had been a widowet for some years, was to be a widower no longer; ami that the young culprit was not to be shot next morning, but to be married next week. The news was received with a marked difference by the Indies. The general had long been a capital prize in the scheme of thejiiatrimnuial lottery, and it was vexatious to see it carried off by a stranger, of whom nothing was known, and who was evidently nobody. The monopoly of the fair Rosan na was a matter of another order; she be ing a handsome rival, extinguished on the spot, and so fur easily dispensed with by lips less coral, tresses less raven, and eyes I less dazzling. One week [more, however, set the whole affair out of doubt. The Emperor Francis, was seen in his imperial chamber, signing the marriage contract be tween Theodore Von Schulenberg, Lieu tenant General, Knight of a dozen orders, Colonel of the Gtenadiers of the Guards, ect., and Adela, Princess of Waldemar, net Wolfenstein ; Francis, his usual bun hommic, congratulating himself “ that he had saved the life of the young cornet at the Eetition of his mother, and that he al >ue had rought about a happy reconciliation be tween all parties.’’ So much for the good deeds of emperors in Germany and else where. The marriage-day came. The Princess Waldemar was acknowledged to be the most distinct person in the world from Madame Von Lindorf. The hand some matron of forty-five, with the immense estates of the Wolfenstein family reclaimed in her right by the emperor, and covered cap-a-pce with diamonds—was declared by the whole circle, chamberlains, aides-de camp, princes, and poets, to he the perfec tion of youth and beauty. Her appearance was certainly noble ; and her countenance, which had never lost its original loveliness, had all the animation of hope and happiness. The young Theodore and his Hosanna made an exquisite pendant to the group; and, at the supper given by the emperor oil (be nuptials, Francis declared “ that no oc currence of his life had given him greater satisfaction; that, though lie supremely honored nobility, lie saw no possible reason why valor should not be as good as pedi gree ; why handsome young men should not please and be pleased by handsome young women, without asking leave of the ‘ lie rald’soffice;’ and, with tesjiect to the young pair, that, though he valued subordination as the soul of an army, yet ho was by no means disposed to deny that a brave officer, very much in love, had every right to chal lenge every body who Stood in his way, from a subaltern to a field-marshal; while the idea of shooting him in return for so natural an act, was among the most atrocious violences of human tyranny. For his own put t, he was the father of his people ; he felt alike for them all, from peasant to prince; and, though he wholly disproved of mcsuH tames, yet, if he thought that lie had thwarted a single marriage of affection for any reason whatever, he should feel the marble lie hea vy on his grave.” Some smiled at this ef fusion of imperial sensibility, but all ap plauded ; and the little man of feeling went to his pillow that night, acknowledging to every chamberlain round him,that” he had not, like ‘ Titus, lost a day ;’ but that he had set an example of virtue to the kings of Europe ; that, in shoit, there was nothing so imperial as having will of one’s own ; and that, come what might, Francis would al ways be the father of his people.” M 0 IE L L AMY. Sunday in France. —l have said that the women appear to he too busy to find time for any personal indulgence, but the frequent dancing, both in town and in country, espe cially on Sunday, must form an exception to this rule. Through the whole of the Sun day, both men and women seem to eive themselves up to the pursuit of pleasure, as earnestly as they do labor during the rest of the week. It is on this day especially, that the English stranger feels his real distance from his native land, and sighs in vain for the repose and quiet, as well as for the many holier associations, with which the memory of the Sabbath is sanctioned to him. It is true that in the south of France, the peas ants do not go out to field labor exactly as on other days, that the shops in the towns are less frequented, that the common peo ple are generally more neatly dressed, and many of them, especially the women, rnay he seen in the early part of the day repair ing to the different churches; hut the fact that it is a day set apart for amusements of every kind, amongst which may he enumer ated horse racing, horse fails, dancing, and public shows sufficiently proves how little idea prevails amongst the people of the real purpose for which the institution of the sab hath was organized. With regard to this day, we were particularly unfortunatein the lodgings we had chosen, being opposite to the theatre, where a more than common dis play is expected every Sunday evening; in addition to which, we were immediately over a room for drinking wine; for which purpose people continually flocked ir. be tween the acts. Resides the “spectacle,” many of the bams and public rooms in the town and suburbs of Pan, are filled with dancers on the Sunday afternoon and even ing, especially during the carnival; and in passing along the streets on that day, you frequently see stages erected for the display of some monster, or the performance of some mountebank ; and while there it is the custom for a party to station themselves at the doors of the churches, during service where they beat their drums and announce to the people as they come out, what is to he theainusenient of the afternoon and even ing.—Summer and Winter in Pyrenees. New Inventions. —A Lady in the field of Invention ! and no ordinary discovery has she made; but an entirely new and most important invention is hers, and one destin ed,! predict, to hand her name down to pos terity with the brightest inventive geniuses of America. This invention is a submarine telescope. It is the invention of a lady of Brooklyn, N. Y., who is a native of New Hampshire, and whose name, with an en graving and description of her invention, shall appear in a future number of this pa per. This Telescope and its accompanying apparatus are now on exhibition at the A merican Museum in this city. 1 have just returned from an examination of it. and find it nothing less than un invention by means of which the bottom of the ocean; or any other deep water may he laid open distinct ly to the eye from the surface, and become perfectly illuminated ! Thus furnishing in combination, for the watery, what the mi croscope has furnished for the animalcule and the Telescope for the Celestial worlds ! For it proves both microscope and telescope! By this invention lamps are made to burn as free and clearly, in any depth of water, as in open air. Affixed to the apparatus is the telescope, and as the light can he moved about on the bottom, the focus of the tele scope is brought to bear accordingly, so that an object the size of a sixpence, fifty feet under water, appears to a person looking from a boat, through the telescope, as larne as a dollar. The whole apparatus is simple and compact in the extreme, and it seems to me that no invention of modern times, for unfolding the treasures of the ocean can at all be compared with it. The moment any person or thing is lost overboard from a ves sel, this apparatus can he lowered and made to illuminate the water for many feet around, and as it is moved with great facility no ob ject can well escape detection. The advan tages to he derived from this invention in preserving life and property are almost in calculable. The amount of money to he saved by this process in discovering and ex amining wrecks must he immense, and in the service of the pearl fishery it must he worth millions of dollars, and save thousands of lives. The many uses to which it may be profitably applied must he obvious, and hence it is unnecessary to enumerate them. Suffice it to say it is worth the attention of all mechanics and scientific men. The nov elty of seeing a lamp burn under water is certainly curious and interesting. As it is now exhibited at the American Museum, the lamp is put down to the bottom of a cask of water,in which goldfishes are seen swim ming about much plainer at night than they would he seen in open air and sunshine.— American Mechanic Reasons for Visiters. —“ I must call on Mrs. G raves to day.” “ l thought,” said the husband, “you dis liked that Mrs. Graves.” “ Oh, so I do ; 1 detest her—hut she lias such a horrid tongue. It is thebestto keep on the right side of such people.” Eloquence of the Bar. —May it please the court, the learned barrister lemindsme ofan Andalusian hull, with nostrils distended, eyes diluted, neck bowed, tail curled, roar ing and leaping, plunging, bellowing and charging over the Alpine heights and wide extended plains of jurisprudence; hut, may it please the court, the gentleman has failed in liis demurrer. ’ s<dtvvmuibr Genius in Prison. —lt was in prison that Boethius composed his excellent work on the “ Consolations rs Philosophy ;” it was in prison that Goldsmith wrote his “ Vicar of Wakefield;” it was in prison that Cer vantes wrofe “Don Quixote,” which laugh ed knight errantry out of Europe ; it was in prison that Charles I. composed that excel lent work, the “Portraiture of a Christian King;” it was in prison that Grotius wrote his “ Commentary on St. Matthew ;” it was in prison that Buchanan composed his ex cellent “Paraphrase on the Psalm of Da vid ;” it was in prison that Daniel Defoe wrote his “ Robinson Crusoe,” (he offered it to a hook-seller for ten pounds, which that liberal encourager of literature declined giv ing;) it was in prison that Sir Walter Ral eigh wrote his “ History of the World ;” it was in prison that Voltaire sketched the plan and composed most of the poem of “The Henriade;” it was in prison that Howler wrote most of his “Familiar Letters;” it was in prison that Elizabeth, of England, and her victim Mary, Queen of Scots, wrote their best poems ; it was in prison that Mar garet of France (wife of Henry IV.) wrote “An Apology for the Irregularity of her Conduct;” it was in prison that Sir John Pettas wrote the book on metals, called “Fleta Minor;” it was in prison that Tasso wrote some of his most affectionate poems. With the fear of a prison, how many works have been written!— Ladies* Magazine. An Invisible Companion. —A correspon dent in the Liverpool Albion gives the fol lowing narration : —“ A young lady of fif teen, in good health, and with a mind by ‘ nature and education superior to her years, and a strength of reasoning superior to hei imagination, without superstition and almost without fear, has recently been attended by an invisible being, whose footsteps she enn distinctly hear, not always, but occasionally, during her walks, where no echoes could j arise, and frequently in the house, where she can plainly hear its steps ascend the stairs and come into the room, sometimes standing behind her, and often sighing, its breathings being as palpable as if the vvarni breath of a human being was uttering a similar exhalation. You will, no doubt, laugh at the simplicity of this relation, and say it is a childish story ; but the honor and innocence of the heart of her of whom 1 speak precludes the possibility of deception on her part, anu from her great strength of mind I am sure she is not led away by idle fancies. She has frequently attempted to speak to this aerial being, hut a something, which she Says is not fear, seems to choke her utterance. She, hut more particularly her friends, have treated this subject with some ridicule ; but a singular corroboration of its unaccountable truth has recently oc curred, of which I have just been witness. A favorite cat, that is often in the habit of lying on her bed, seems frequently consci ous of its presence, and this night I had an opportunity of seeing its strange probabili ty. The good, the loved, the innocent had just repeated her evening prayer, when the cat, that was lying on the bed, suddenly sprung up, as if some stranger had entered the room, ami looking for a moment in a ! particular direction, jumped off and ran down stairs. The direction was the same towards which the young lady looked, qui etly saying, “ I heard it come in,and it stood just there:’ for it seems to pass away on her speaking to her friends, or come and go ol its own accord without any circumstance that can mark or cause its unpleasant atten dance. There is no possible inducement to cheat me, and I have none to delude you. The ridicule attached to such dreams, be yond philosophy, will force me to adopt a fictitious signature —all else is fact; and, though l am as great a sceptß: as any man living, I cannot disbelieve what I have writ ten, which I pray some of your occult read ers to interpret.” Intercourse of the sere*. —What makes those men who associate habitually with wo men superior to otln r.s ? what makes that woman who is accustomed and at case in the company of men, superior to her sex iri general? Why are the women of France so universally admired and loved for their colloquial powers ? Solely because they are in the habit of free, graceful, and contin ual conversation with the other sex. Wo men in this way lose their frivolity; their faculties awaken ; their delicacies and pe culiaries unfold all their beauty and capti vation in the spirit of intellectual rivalry.— And they lose their pedantic, tude declama tory, or sullen manner, l'lie coin of the un derstanding and the heart is interchanged continually. Tlieir asperities are rubbed off, tlieir better materials polished and bright ened, and their richness, like fine gold, is wrought into finer workmanship by tike fin gers of women, than it ever could be by those of men. The iron and steel of char acter are hidden,like the harness and armor of a giant, in studs and knots of gold and precious stones, when they are not wanted in actual warfare.— John Neal. Groaning and Crying. —A celebrated French surgeon contends that groaning and crying are grand operations by which na ture allays anguish. He is always pleased by the crying and groaning of a patient dur ing tlie time he is performing a severe surgi cal operation, because he is satisfied that be will thereby soothe his nervous system so as to prevent fear, and insure a favorable termination. “Go and kick an ant’s nest about, and you will see the little laborious, courageous creatures instantly set to work to get it to gether again ; and if you do this ten times over, ten times over they will do the same. Here is the sort of stuff that men must he made of to oppose, with success, those who, by whatever meuns, get possession of great and mischievous power.”— Colbctt. “ When 1 was young,” said an old Scot tish lady recently, “ folk were unco, feared at water-devils, called water-kelpies; but noo I’ve lived to see them a’ dead—and I think, if I were to live another generation, I might outlive tlie vena devil himself.” “ I have so many things to see to,” as the eight eyed spider said when he jumped four ways at once. | ™!E“@3[D)[E WEAPON©®. “Come, gather round the blazin? hearth, And with reflection temper mirth ” The Sabbath. —Rut blessings and ten thou sand blessings be upon that day ! and let myriads of thanks stream up to the throne of God, for his divine and regenerating gift to man ! As I have sat in some bowery dale, with the sweetness of May around me, on a week-day, I have thought of the millions of immortal creatures, toiling for their daily life in factories and shops, amid the whirl of machienety, and the greedy craving for gain, and, suddenly, that golden interval of time lias lain before me in its brightness—a time, and a peiiietual recurring time, in which the iron grasps of earthly tyranny is loosed, and Peace, Faith and Freedom, the angels of God, curpe down and walked among men ! Ten thousand blessings on this day—the friend of man and beast ! The bigot would rob it ct its beautiful freedom, on the one hand. Would coop man up in his dungeons, and caflse him to walk with downcast eyes and demure steps; and the libertine would j desecrate all its sober decorum on the other. ! God and the sound heart and sterling sense of our countrymen, preserve it from both of these evils.— William Ilowitt. The dying Mother. —lt was asummer day, so bright and beautiful, that an angel wan dering from his heavenly sphere might al most have fancied himself still in paradise, and forgotten that man ever had sinned. Streams of water danced and sparkled in the sunbeams, sw’eet flowers sent forth their fragrance upon the air, and the birds war bled their wildest songs in the shady grove. All seemed joy and gladness; hut at that very hour, in the stillness of her chamber, and surrounded by sorrowing friends, one of the loveliest of God’s creatures was bid ding adieu to the earth with all its joys. In the spring of youth, and hope, and feeling, when life seemed sweetest, and tlie ties that hound her to the earth were strongest, her spirit was slowly passing away. They had moved her couch to the open window, and now the golden rays of the setting sun streamed richly into the chamber of the dying. The warm breeze kissed the palid cheek, and played among her bright tresses thus clustered around her brow, for the last, time. She knew that she should never look upon the bright, beautiful world again. She felt that life was ebbing fast away, and few were the moments left to her oti earth, and as she looked that last long look, her eyes beamed with “ unwonted fires,” and a bright smile lighted up her countenance. Her lips parted, and a sweet voice, broke the solemn stillness. “ Bring hither mv child; let him receive his mother’s dying blessing.” They brought to lu-r bedside a young and happy boy, who never beforeknew sorrow ; hut now, his joyous laugh was hushed, the smile had vanished from his lips, and his bright eyes were sad and wandering. They had told him that his mother was dying, and although lie knew not what death meant he felt that death was something terrible. He placed his little hand in hers, and looked into her face ; but that smile re-assured him, and he lisped that name so dertr to every woman’s heart—mother! What host of ago nizing feelings were stirred up in the heart of the invalid as he uttered that word. She closed her eye3, and fora moment her coun tenance was convulsed with the intense struggle. It was only for a moment; she was calm and the same bright smile was there again. All were hushed in breathless silence until she spoke. “ My son, you will soon be deprived of a mother’s love and care. You now hear me speak for the last time on earth ; but When my voice is hushed in death, and my body laid low in the tomb, remember my dying words. Resist temptation, and if sinners entice thee consent thou not. Pray to thy God morning and evening; and when you kneel alone, remember how often I have knelt with you and told you that you had a parent in heaven who would always take care of you. Mayyour mother’sdving bless ing rest upon your head through all the trials of this life, and when you are tempted to sin, remember that! er last breath was spent in prayer for you.” She paused for a mo ment, and when she spoke again her voice was faint and husky. “ My husband, come hither; place your hand beneath my head, and let mu rest upon your bosom. I would feel your breath upon my cheek once more.” He did as she desired, but a convulsive soli shook the strong man’s frame as he press ed her tohisheait, and the tears that he strug gled not to restrain, flowed down his cheeks. She raised her eyes, beaming with all the intensity of woman’s love, and exclaimed with sudden energy; “Oh! ’tis very hard to part from you, hut we shall meet again in heaven !” Her head sunk back, a slight convulsion passed over the pale face, and was succeed ed by asniile, and all was still. The mourn ers were alone with the dead. The eyes that beamed with life and gladness were closed, the tongue that never spoke but to bless was silent, and the heart that heat with all a woman’s generous feelings and warm affections, was still forever. The wife and mother was dead, but she still lived in the hearts of those who had loved her. The son never forgot her dying words ; and, in after years, when upon the verge of crime the same sweet voice seemed to whisper in his ear. “My son! resist temptation.” That husband never suffered another to beguile his heart from its homage to the dead, but ever treasured her memory, and looked forward to the, time when he should meet her in a happiei world, never again to part. Pleasures within. —Our pleasures are not derived so much by the beauties around us and the blessings and privileges we enjoy —as by our dispositions and the temper of our minds. We may have wealth and friends, we may he taised to the pinnacle of honor —we may live in a splendid palace, sur rounded by beauty and bloom, trees forever green, ripling streams and winding rivers, with every thing around and about us that we could desire, and yet l>e miserable. If we possess had hearts, suffer our thoughts to wander on forbidden objects, uro irasci ble in our tempers —are quarrelsome, mor ose and selfish, we shall assuredly he miser able, no matter where we are, or by what blessings surrounded. Yet multitudes are striving for wealth, for honor, and lor popu lar applause, vainly dreaming that when these are acquired they shall be completely happy. But they will always be miserable until they look into their bosoms end en deavor to root out all selfish desires, all un holy ambition, all self-love, and every thing that has a tendency to degrade human na ture. He who possesses no worldly proper ty, and is unambitious of thejhonors of man kind, but has a kind and generous heart, is the most happy man. He looks inwardly and not outwardly for enjoyment—and lie finds it there. The cares, ( the perplexities, the afflictions of life never move him. His heart is right with Heaven. If the mass of mankind knew where the seat of true hap piness lies, and would labor to enjoy life, and make the most of the pleasures by which j they are surrounded, we should seldom see a sad countenance, hear a cross word, or I mark the palid look and the wasted form. Man was made to be happy—the elements are within him. A chastened spirit—a sub dued temper —a will controlled by reason —confidence in God, and a love for all man kind, will secure to all his boon, which is vainlysougbt in a thousand different pursuits, but never found. Who is the Christian Woman ?—She who bends over the couch of infancy—the cradle bed of our young ami yet unfledged exist ence, whispering love and prayer in those tender ears that thrill with delight as an Eolian trembles under the kissing zephyr. She who kindly guides the step of youth.— She who bends over the pillow of pain, dis arming anguish of half its excruciating ago ny. She who grasps the couch of death where science dare no longer contend with the king of terrors, and still retires from the unequal task. Then Christian woman’shour hath come, and affection struggles with death, and cries to the dull ear of the tomb, give me hack mvlove! And while she kiss es away the clammy dews of dissolution, she wrestles with the enemy while hope and life remain—nor will she leave the dead— no, no, the poor pale remains of the loved one, are dear to her still. She strews roses around the bier—and often in far distant years, in evening’s solemn hour or beneath the silver moonlight, she re-visits the graves by others forgotten and unknown. She comes like a lofty spirit, noiseless and tear ful. and holy, to call up all the luxury of her still unwasted love.— Mojfit. The Head. —The head basthe most beau tiful appearance, as well as the highest sta tion in a human figure. Nature lias laid out all her art in beautifying the face ; she has touched it with Vermillion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lighted up and enliven ed it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on each side with curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces that cannot be de scribed, and surrounded it with such a flow ing shade of hair as sets all its beautifies in the most agreeable light. In short she seems to have designed the head as the cu pola to the most glorious of her woiks : and when we load it with a pile of supernumer ary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beauties, to childish gewgaws, ribands, and lace. Woman's Influence. —In the ordinary af fairs of lire, a woman lias a greaterinfiuence over those naar her than a man. While our feelings are, for the most part, as retired as anchorites, hers are in constant play before us. We hear them in her varying voice ; we see them in the beautiful and harmoni ous undulations of her movements, in the quick shifting hue3 of her face, in her eye, glad and bright, then fond and suffused. Her whole frame is alive and active with what is at her heart, and all the outward form speaks. She seems of a finer mould than we, and cast into a form of beauty which, like all beauty, acts with a moral influence upon our hearts ; and, as she moves about us, we feel a movement within, which rises and spreads gently over us, harmonizing us with her own. And can any man listen to this ? Can bis eye rest upon this, day after day; and he not he touched, and he made better? ©uomo m h l □ For the “ Southern Miscellany.” WHISKERS, MOUSTACHES, ETC. \ResjpcctJally dedicated to the Hairy Paces in Savannah. J Mr. Editor : Sir —The uses and purposes, end, aim and existence of these mere temporary, and sometimes vulgar, features of men shall be ourtbeine. Aid us thou shade of the mighty whiskeied, who have long since sunk into that common receptacle of outlandish fash ions—the dark, lamentable Past! That whiskers, and also moustaches, of huge magnitude and shape do still exist, and wear their blushing honors thick among us, is a fact that comes home to our every-day’s observation and experience. The why and the wherefore is the only unsolved problem. Space is not permitted us to deduce from the dim and limited sphere of times gone by the true history of these appendages to man. It admits of a reasonable doubt at least, whether or not Adam, in his first state of happiness and ease, was honored with them. If he indeed were endued with a perpetual youth and beauty, it is more reasonable to suppose that lie was not lmrrassed with this encumbering horror. For our own part, we conceive that it is one of the fruits of the fall, and, as such, to be patiently endured by the softer sex and those of us (not myself, by tho-by, altogether !) of thesmooth chili gen try, with all charity and Christian patience. Granting this to he the case—ignorant as we are of the true period of the invention of Razors—we must presume that they were the rage among the exquisites of the Ante diluvian age ; and no doubt, as noiv, whoev er could show the greatest development of beard, Ac. was the animal of most value for the time being. The warrior tribes of the northern hive— the mother of nations—proudly wore their locks untouched by steel, as the necessary privilege of a warrior ; the uncivilized Ger man rush forth from the dark recesses of their ancient and impenetrable woods, in this fearful guise upon the ranks of the Ro mans. So has the fashion descended in a long line of warlike names, from the rough fathers to their steel-clad descendants. The hairy-faced Jew battled in the wars of Pal. estine. In those times, the flowing beards etcetera, were most welcome in the enticing halls of Beauty. With some, however, they have fallen out of favor—particularly among the most civilised ; though with all they still continue tp add a proper appearance to the countenance militane. In Shakspeaie’s time, also, there seems to linve been a varie ty of beards, for says Nick Bottom—“ I w iU discharge it in either your straw-colored beard, your orange-tawny heard, your pur ple-ingrain beard, or your Frcnch-croun-col ored heard, or your perfect yellow.” But, Mr. Editor, were we to attempt the history of Beards we should he under the necessity of calling you to our aid. The subject is too mighty, too deep, for our pen. Let this much suffice: that for some ages they have been the peculiar appendage of the whiskered, of the bearded animal mili tarie. And thus have we arrived at one use of the valuable article in question—i. e. to add expression of some sort to a counten ance otherwise, perhaps, undistinguished by any. Another aim may be also to distract that scrutinizing glance which might find fault with the features, by enveloping them in a mass of hair. In fact, it is the English system of ornamental gardening, applied to the human face ; for, Mr. Editor, perhaps you can testify—though the misfortunes of editorial labor lost—that it is not every smooth faced Publisher of “periodicals” who can venture to show his whole visage, and stand the test of open criticism ? Ei ther the sudden rage for beards, whiskers, &c. is the offspring of military ardor, burn ing to display itself, or the evidence of a mod esty which dares not present itself bare-faced to this garish world of ours. For myself, Mr. Editor, knowing as 1 do the almost un natural sha mfacedness of the present gener ation, I am inclined to .attribute it to this cause. The admirers of the customs of the old world—and I believe this class to he numer ous—look upon the resurrection of this ar ticle as a matter of glorification, and proof of the prevalence of a better taste. In this, however—as Henry A. Wise said in reply to Mr. Adams, who moved to have the gov ernment of Hay ti represented in Congress —this is altogether a matter of taste; as Wise declared was peculiar to Mr. Adams, a taste for colored scenery. Ihe full round lip needs no puny cover ing to conceal its beauty; the delicately formed chin requires not a circle of bristles. But let not those who ate in possession of these relics of antiquity suppose that we in anywise undervalue them. Things which are the object of such serious thought with them—dear fondlings of their souls—poor fellows—must he deserving of high esteem. They are too fondly cherished, too affection ately soothed, coaxed and caressed into ex istence, and nursed into the fullness of per fect stature with too much labor and anxie ty to be passed lightly over. I had almost forgotten to mention an ar gument in favor of the production of this ar ticle, which is so decidedly suited to the love of comfort, peculiar to this age, that 1 will not omit it. They are useful in cold weath er—keep the cliiily atmosphere at a ptoper distance, and also supply the place of “com forters!,” as our Northern friends call them. They may be divided and classified in va rious ways and methods ; as, by their size, with the savage, the goatish, the flowing, the lean, the starving, the muss or mossy, Ac.; or by their various hues—for they do vary as do the sands on the sea-shore—the raven colored, the “ day Bank,” the rusty red, the “ Barbu rosso tint,” the true red , the common red, and the poetical red —which is of great price, and rare—the brtnvn, and last, though not least, in the early history of my nursery tales, the inexpressible blue. Stern, in his sentimental journey, devotes a whole chapter to the subject of Whiskers, and well he might, for how could he pass over so fair a field as this untouched ? Whiskers, or moustaches, in a high state of cultivation. should ( show “ like a well train ed steed” upon the course, with nothing su perfluous about them. Authors and.most men are at variance as to whether they should curl, or only wave lightly as naturo forms them ; but in a matter of so high im port we must beg leave to have, and express some opinion—and we prefer a gentle curl. Some carefully divide them at the chin, leav ing a few stragglers, that sadly and lonely step out from their lurking places below the under lip, to serve as pets in a cold rainy day. Having touched upon this subject in ap pearance, style, Ac., let us not neglect its hearing upon the fair and softer sex—for their chins, and some hearts, me softer than ours. Is it, Mr. Editor—l don’t know whether you are able to give an experimental answer —to be supposed that a timid and shrinking fair one could endure, without previous prac tice, the rough, unpardonable salute of one of the Hussion animals? Indeed, sir, this boorish and vulgar practice is and has been carried to such an extent in some of our northern cities, that we are told several of these delicate beings are gradually inuring themselves for the suffrancc of this affliction by the daily exercise of applying their little chins to the house broom ! We vouch not for this, hut give it as a specimen of female ingenuity and endurance. Indeed, it would seem as if the cultivators ofhuman soil, dts pairing of winning the citadel of the heart by fair and open treaty, were determined to frighten the garrison into a surrender by formidable show of military engines; and to this end, all the resources of nature, and of art, are called in to their aid. But our far spent sheet warns us to bring our sub ject to a close. ‘ Time, who cuts dowrt all, spares not even Beards, Whiskers or Mous taches—nor can any dye prevail against Ins “ frosty breath.” Dim specks of a lighter hue begin to gleam from among the favorite curls; long, long does the owner face the dread necessity; many are file contrivance!