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trembled so violently that he was obliged
to lean against the wall for support.
“ 1 amuse myself here in my leisure
hours,” said the doctor carlessly. He set
!"• the lamp on the table, pushed the corpse n
little one side, and pointing to the vacant;
place, said, “ This is where you will lie.”
“And who will assure me,” faltered the
marquis, with a sudden expression of sus
picion.
“Oh, Monsieur le Marquis distrusts me !”
cried the doctor. “If you knew me, 1 fear
your confidence would not be greatly in
creased. But it is not right to take advan
tage of your ignorance. You do not re
member my features, yet we have met be- I
fore. lam Leonard Rosier.”
The prisoner st3ggeied hack, horror- 1
struck.
“ I once insulted you, Monsieur le Mar- j
quis,” said Rosier. “It was on the occa
sion of your bridal. I beard you swear to 1
have my life. In truth, such an insult to a
noble can only be washed out with blood.
Take this sword—we will have the duel out
here, if you please.”
The weapon fell from the nerveless hand
of the terror-stricken wretch. “ Mercy !”
lie groaned ; “ have meiey upon me !”
There was n sVrmiting in the street —the
sans-culottes were come ! The guilty pris
. oner sank on his knees, clasped his hands,
iu the extremity of abject supplication. lie
crept towards the surgeon, be embraced his
knees, and piteously implored bis life—on
ly bis life ! Rosier recoiled from bis touch.
“ There is one ransom,” said he sternly.
“ Two weeks ago the Ciiatrau de Vernenil
was rased to the ground. 1 was on the
spot; a female servant implored my pro
tection for an infant hoy—for your son ! I
saved him from the knives of the soldiers;
I brought him lieie ; he is now asleep in an
adjoining apartment. One victim must he
delivered up—you or he. Will you give
up your son I Decide this instant —your
captors are at the door !”
A loud knocking at the same instant was
heard, and cries of “ Open, Citizen Ro
sier !”
“Decide!” thundered Rosier. “Will
you give up your son to the sans-culottes V ’
“Oh, 1 cannot—cannot die!” skiieked
the miserable suppliant. And tbe marquis
fell prostrate on tbe floor in tbe agony of bis
fear.
“ Contemptible wretch !” cried the sur
geon. “ Take the life for which you have
yielded everything—honor, virtue—the dig
nity of a man! I will stand surety with
sla. at that so base a foe can never harm the
republic ! Ho—patience there, my good
friends!” And, going to the door, he spoke
a few moments to the sans-culottes, who re
tired soon after. The life of the Marquis
de Vernenil was safe for the present.
“ Leave this house !” he said, on his re
turn to the dissecting-room ; “ and 1 coun
sel you to leave Paris also. Your son shall
be restored to his friends, or protected till
they claim him. For years,” lie added, “ I
. have longed for revenge ; but you are not a
man—and l cannot feel anger toward you.
Begone! If you are in Palis in six hours
from this, you may fall into the hands of
those who mny not have so true an appre
ciation of your soldierly qualities, Monsieur
le Marquis,as the surgeon Leonard Rosier.”
— Gift, 1543.
W—lX* ■ ■ma'ai.i'umnjitanßrM I m -.-/--Jr
MQ®©IELILA[Knf-
The Month. —October, the sweetest, sad
dest month of all the year, has come to pay
lier visit, and to warn us of decay ! Sum
mer—soft-eyed Summer ! art thou gone ?
Yes, we still hear the knell of thy fallen glo
ries ringing low in the vales, as iliy faint
breath steals from leaf to leaf away ! Au
tumn has commenced its reign of incipient
desolation. The deep and opulent green
of the summer verduie is fading into a va
riety of sickly tints under the chill night air ;
and the dry rustling of leaves, robbed of
their juicy elasticity, and scattered from the
twigs on which they nodded and danced, by
every breatli of the autumnal Ineeze—teach
es us the gloomy but salutary lesson that
life’s winter is approaching.
But why should we mourn ? There is,
after all, a mellowness and a pensive beauty
in the autumn landscape, wTiich, to the con
templative mind, is more fascinating than
the gaudier livery of the summer. The
skies are serentand clear; the streams blue
and beautiful ; and the atrnospheie is of
that fine transparency which gives a pecu
liar charm to our autumnal heaven. Go in
to the thick deep forest, where the vegeta
tion “dies like a dolphin,” changing to a
thousand splendid hues. The trees have
not yet lost their fulness and grace of con
tour, but now reign in glory beyond that of
nny oriental king. The yellow lint of the
tremulous birch ; the ruddy brown of the
oak ; the deep carmine and purple of the
woodbine; the dark scarlet of the ash ; the
orange of the elm, and the crimson of the
maple, that blushes at the first kiss of the
frost—mingle their gorgeous dyes, as if a
splendid sunset had fallen down in frag
ments on the wood, and set it all a blaze!
This changeful, though lovely scenery,lends
a touching spell to autumn, which is in uni
son with the mournful melodies of the dying
year. The sabbath stillness of the cool and
invigorating air is broken only by tlie dash
ing of the sere and withered leaf into the
silver stream, the chirp of the squirrel gath
ering in his harvest of nuts, or the wail of
the dejected-looking, heart-broken crow,
croaking psalm tunes from tbe blasted oak
iu the desolate cornfield.
Now is the season for excursions faraway
into the country —the very month for long
walks. You see gardens, with jolly sun- ■
flowers lolling their good-humored faces i
over the walls—orchards, with trees full of!
apples, whose great round cheeks are blush
ing with crimson, or beaming with gold—
and goodly plantations of honest pumpkins,
sunning themselves, or turning up their fat !
yellow bellies on ttie cornliill, to prepare for
the festivities of thanksgiving. You see pa
tient anglers, bending, hour after hour, over
the stream or placid lake, in quest of tiiesil- ,
very smelt or gleaming white perch, doom
ed to gratify the dire appetites of patrons of
Armstrong and Rogers. Now and then the
sharp repott of a fowling-piece rings through
the neighboring wood, and the puff ofsmoke
curls up gracefully into the sunny air
YVe love October. It is a chaste and gen
tle month ; it has not the frigid aspect of
December about it ; it has not the coquetry
f-f April, nor the fire and passion of July.—
It kisses our cheek with zephyrs sweet and
soft —“ sweet as the smile when fond lovers
meet, and soft as their parting tear.” Day :
pours down its profusion of light with a
moderate intensity of heat, and the intel
lectual and physical systems begin to re
sume the vigorous tone which had languish
ed and been paralyzed under the fires of a
vertical sun.
Never strayed from Paradise a more
beautiful and bewitching day than the one 1
whose silent splendors we are now enjoy- i
ing. Not a sound is heard—save that ever :
and anon the stillness of our editorial den j
hearkens to the sin ill buzz of some poor fly ■
expiring between the formidable forceps of j
a horrid black spider. Even the dim and
dust-stained panes in our window wear a |
glow of cheerfulness—and the yellow sun
shine, as it streams through the discolored .
glass, athwart a long mountain of nevvspa- i
pers piled up in front of us, and rests on the ,
page whereon we breathe “ our charmed
thought,” sends “ a warm and delightful
tin ill—like that of generous wine—along
every eager nerve, until it mounts into the
brain, and expands into living pictures of
beauty and happiness.” Look away into
yonder vault of heaven, at this sunset hour:
how the resplendent hues of topaz, and ame
thyst, and gold, beautifully blend with each
otliei, and stream in living light across the
ether sky ! Whose soul does not thrill with
ecstacy, while gazing on scenes like these ?
What are all the canopies, and balconies,
and galleries of human state, hung with the
richest drapery that ever that wizard, art.
drew forth in gorgeous folds ftom his match
less loom, in comparison with the radiant
palaces of Autumn, framed in the sky by
tbe Spirit of the season, for his own last res
idence, ere he move, ir. yearly migration,
with all his conit, to some foreign clime far
beyond the seas ? In what a blaze of glory
the sun goes down at last, and how delicate
ly beautiful the quiet radiance of the moon !
—and the brooks, how soothing is their
voice even in the still night—-
“ A noise like, ofa hidden brook
In llie leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singclh a quiet tune.”
But sounds and sights like these are not
for editors. They disturb us with an emo
tion too deep to he endured. ‘1 hey beget
desperate and rebellious thoughts—resolu
tions cif dashing out of our gloomy dtn,
leaving the Blade to rust, and hurrying over
hill and dale, any where to escape the din
of the engine, and the infernal lungs of‘‘the
devil.”— Yankee Blade.
The Beggars rs Ireland. —All over Ire
land, except in the Protestant province of
Ulster, crowds of beggars sttt round tlit? trav
eler and present such a picture of human
wo and destitution as he sees no where else.
TVie Inzlarotii of Italy, me rich and comfnrt
l able in comparison with these. In one
1 small town of Galway, when my postchaise
1 stopped at art inn, not a being was to be
| seen in tbe street; but before the horses
could be changed the beggars bad scented
their prey, and I counted nine-and-tliirty
men, women and children, none of whom
had shoes, few had linen, and ail were squa
lid with diit, ragged, unshaven and un
combed.
Nor is it only the beggars who are poor
and destitute; those who would fuin gain
something by work can bardly do so. Look
at yon old woman sitting down in tbe mar
ket place of tbe town ; she lias come five
miles on foot with her produce for sale ; and
what is it? Two eggs! On my credit, two
eggs and nothing more in the world beside;
and for these, perhaps, she will get two
pennies {four cents.) and wend her wav five
miles home to her hut, to wait till her single
hen shall lay more.
See those people with their jackasses and
pannies ladcned with panniers full of tuif
(peat.) they have come four, five or seven
miles—they have been here since early day
—it is now near noon, let us see what they
ask for their load, which they had to dig
from the bog, dry, load upon their beasts,
bring to market, and wait besides half a day.
llovv much for your peat my friend ? Six
pence, yotir honor, will you take it ? No,
I only asked to know the price. God bless
your honor, take it for five-pence. No, no,
my frit ml. I don’t want it. Oh, your honor,
take it for four-pence, and long life to your
honor, and he follows you up and begs you
to buy his load for eight cents.
This is not fancy ; in many, many a town
in Ireland have I beheld scenes like this;
and sometimes endangered a poor fellow's
reason, perhaps, by giving him a six-pence,
and leaving him his load, for you would
have thought him half crazy by the way he ‘
skipped about, and waved his ragged hat, :
and shouted “ bless your honor 1 long life
to your iionoi !”•— Cor. of Com. Adv.
Fashion, vs. Health. —The editor of the j
Medical Journal is out “dead set” against
pantaloon straps. Hear him.
“ Fashion lias been particularly severe
upon the lower limbs of her votaries, within i
the last two years. It was enough to half |
strangle a gentleman with a stiff, buckled
neck-stock, which has been influential in !
sending many a one to his long home, al
though charged to the account of an inex- ‘
plicable appoplexy. These tight straps un- !
tier the feet, when the leg in flexed, press ‘
the knee-pan so forcibly into the cavity of
the joint, that it is by no means strange
there are numerous complaints of weak
knees, i heumatic pains and soreness of the I
muscles. The fact is, if the custom is not j
abandoned pretty soon, the remedv for the j
disease they produce must be extensively l
circulated—which simply consists iti remov- j
ing the cause. However genteel it may be j
to have garments well fitted, they should
never be allowed to interfere with the func
tions of the body by abridging the motions
of the joints, nor to compress any part as to
induce disease. This fashion, like some
that are tolerated by the ladies, is against j
personal comfort, convenience, and the free
dom of locomotion.”
Bd>mwiniß)BW
Taking the Census in Alabama — Sol
Todd and the Buck Hole —Our next adven
ture was decidedly a dangerous one. Ford
ing the Tallapoosa liver, where its bed is
extremely uneven, being formed of masses
of rock full of fisures and covered with sli
my green moss, when about two-thirds of
the way across, we were hailed by Sol Todd
from the bank we were approaching. We J
stopped to hear him more distinctly.
“ Hellovv ! little ’squire, you a-chicken j
hunting to-day V
Being answered affirmatively, lie contin
ued—“ You better mind the holes in them !
ere rocks—if your horse's foot gits ketched I
in ’em you’ll never gee it out. You see |
that big black rock down to yo.tr right ! j
Well there’s good bottom down below that, j
Strike down tliar, outside that little riffle— j
and now cut right into that smooth water i
and come across!”
We followed Sid’s directions to the let
ter, and plunging into the smooth water, we
found it to he a basin suirounded with steep
ledges of rock and deep enough to swim the
horse we rode. Round and round the poor
old b'ack toiled without finding any place
at which lie could effect a landing, so preci
pitous were the sides. Sol occasionally
asked tis “ if the bottom wasn’t fitst rate,”
but did nothing to help us. At length we
scrambled out, wet and chilled to the bone
—for it was a sharp September morning—
and continued our journey not a little an
noyed by the boisterous, roaring laughter of
the said Solomon, at our picturesque ap
pearance.
We hadn’t mote than got out of hearing
of Sol's cachinatnry explosions, before we
met one of bis neighbors, who gave us to
understand that the ducking vve had just re
ceived, was but the fullfilment of a threat of
Sol’s, to make the ‘‘chicken-man’’ take a
swim in the “ Buck Hole.” He had heard
of our stopping on the opposite side of t lie
river, she night previous, and learning our
intention to ford just where we did, fixed
himself on the bank to ensure our finding
tbe way into the “ Buck Hole.”
This information raised our nap right up,
and requesting Bill Splawti to stay where
he was till we returned, we galloped back
to Sol’s, and found that w orthy rod on shoul
der, ready to leave on a fishing excursion.
“ Sol, old fellow,” said we, “that was a
most unfortunate Ivnge 1 made into that
hole in the river—l’ve lost $2 5 in specie
outef my coat pocket, and I’m certain it’s
iri that hole, for I felt my pocket gel light
while I was scuffling about in there, ‘i lie
money was tied up tight in a buckskin
pouch, and I must get you to help me get it.”
This of course was a regular old-fashioned
lie, as we had not seen the amount of cash
i mentioned as lost, in “a coon’s age.” It
took, however, pretty well, and Sol conclu
ded, as [how it was a pretty cold spell of
weather for the season and the water was
almost like ice, that half the contents of the
buckskin pouch would he just about fair for
recovering it. After some chaffering we
agreed that Sol should dive for the money
“on shares,” and we went down with him
to the precise spot at which our pocket
“grew light.” We did so with an anxious
exactness, and Sol soon denuded himself
and went under the water in the “Buck
Hole,” like a shuffler duck with his wing
broke. Puff! puff! as he rose to the sur
face. “ Got it Sol ?” “ No, dang it, here
goes again”—and Sol disappeared a second
time. Puff’! puff! and a considerable rat
tle of teeth as Sol once more rose into “ up
per air.” “ What luck, old horse 1” “By
jings, I felt it that time, hut some how it slid
out of my lingers.” Down went Sol again,
and up he came after the lapse of a minute,
still without the pouch. “Are you right
sure squire*, that you lost it in this hole ?”
said Sol, getting out upon a large took, while
the chattering of hts teeth divided his words
into rather more than their legitimate num
ber of syllables. “Ob perfectly certain,Sol,
perfectly certain. You know *25 in hard
dollars weigh a pound or tw'o. I didn’t
mention the circumstance when 1 first came
out of the river, because I was so scared and
confused that I didn’t remember it ; but I
know just as well when the pouch broke
through my coat pocket, as can he.”
Thus re-assured, Sol took to the water
again, and as we were in a hurry, we re
quested him to bring the pouch and half the
money to Dadeville, if his diving should
| prove successful.
“To be sure I will,” said be—and bis I
! Blue lips quivered with cold, and his whole
frame shook from the same cause.
The “river ager,” made Sol shake worse
j than that, that Fall.
But we left him diving for the pouch in
dustriously, and no doubt lie would have
got if, if it had been there !— Hooper.
II ho is a Gentleman ?—Not he who dis
plays the latest fashion—dressed in extrav- j
agance, with gold rings and chains to dis. !
play. Not he who talks the loudest and
makes constant use of profane and vulgar
wouls. Not he who is proud and over- I
bearing—who oppresses the poor and looks |
with contempt on honest industry. Not he
wlio cannot contio! his passion, and humble
himself as a child. No—none of these are
real gentlemen. It is he who is kind and
obliging—who is ready to do you a favor,
with no hope of reward—who visits tlie j
poor and assists those who are in need—
who is more careful of the state of his heart
than the dress of his person — who is humble
and sociable—not) irascible and revengeful
—who always speaks the truth without re
sorting to profane fir indecent words. Such
a man is a gentleman, wherever he may he
found. Rich or pour, high or low, lie is en
titled to the.appellation.
\
Commodore PerryX- At the tremendous !
battle of Lake Erie, when a sweeping hav
oc which was sometimes made, a number of
men were shot awrny from around a gun, the
survivors looked silently around to Perty
and then stepped in their places. When
helooked at the poor fellows w ho lay wound
ed and weltering on the deck, he always
found their faces turned towards him, and
their eyes fixed on his countenance. It is
impossible for words to heighten the sim- j
pic affecting eloquence of this anecdote.— I
It speaks volumes in praise of the heroism
of the commander, and the confidence and i
affection of his men. I
The Mechanics nf Georgia. —There is not
a class of people in the State of Georgia, so
much oppressed as the hard-working me
chanics. They live and move in our villa
ges, and cities—conduct themselves up
rightly—are steady—and a large number of
them intellectual, and worthy citizens; but,
what of that ? Are they supported in their
honest endeavors to provide for themselves
and family ? Or, are not their efforts thwart
ed by the aristocracy, to such an extent, as
to keep them back and prevent them from
moving upon the same level with the rest of
their fellow citizens ? It is fearfully true
that the mechanic has suffered seriously ;
and, his sufferings are in consequence of a
want of appreciation on the part of his fel
low citizens.
How is the mechanic oppressed ? is a
question that may arise, from the foregoing
! remarks. We answer, that he is oppressed,
! first because many of our citizens, (during
j the sitting of the Legislature, when the
| Penitentiary goods are sold,) either visit, or
j appoint an agent to visit, Milledgeville, for
| the purpose of purchasing carriages, bug
gies, sulkies, wagons, (Jersey or road,) rea
dy made clothing, boots & shoes, household
| and kitchen furniture, (such as come under
! the denomination of Cabinet work,) har-
J ness, saddles, bridles, martingales, stone
; work, and mnr.ey other things, not necessa
• ry to be mentioned. These articles are all
j offered, at public outcry, to the highest bit!-
I der—and ate sold, whether they bring much
ior little. Arid, it is of but little consequence
to the purchaser, whether his neighbor at
! home, is perishing for the want of his pa
tronage or not, so that he is able to obtain
an article abroad, that costs him something
less than it would at home. Besides, he is
vain enough to think, that, because the arti
cle. was pucliascd at New York, Jersey ci
ty, Philadelphia, or at the MilledgeviUe
Penitentiary, it is of Letter quality, better
make, better style, and more fashionable.—
This is a fatal error, existing among many
of our fellow citizens. It is a ruinous er
ror ; one that is calculated to ruin our State.
Our mechanics aie already leaving this
State for the West; looking out new homes;
| seeking for equal eights. We shall soon
be left w ithout enough to carry on the com
mon business of our several communities
Something must be done, to prevent them
from leaving us, and to restore to them our
patronage.
Snd. The labor of the mechanic is un
derrated ; he is jewed, screwed, and heat
down to the lowest possible notch, and is
then told that the article can be purchased
elsewhere at a lower rate; or that such a
j negro (it matters not whether free, or
! a slave,) will do the work at a much low
j er price.
| 3rd. When the mechanic may chance to
I get a job of work—and presents bis bill for
payment, he is abruptly told that the account
is too large, and that it will not be settled,
shott of the legal provisions: the poor me
chanic is diiven, from necessity, to receive
i just such amount as his oppressive customer
j may think proper to pay him.
With all these provoking circumstances,
the poor mechanic is prepared to abandon
! himself to his fate, if he remains in the coun
try, or seek employment in a moi'e philan
thropic State. Thus, he is driven from Lis
home—from his country —from hisfiiends
—from his place of nativity, and is exiled
to a distant land, among strangers, where
I he has but little hope of better success, un
less he should possibly pitch his tent in a
land of sociability, benevolence and charity.
But, before the mechanic leaves his coun
tiy, he reflects upon his happy home, (though
humble it is still his home,) and, the many
inconveniences he would necessarily he
compelled to contend with—arid everything
else combined—all tend to bind him strong
ly with us; and, thus he ruminates, and
years tell away, and he is still as poor, and
oppressed as ever.
He looks arour.d ; and behold ! he sees
on every hand, a penitentiary convict enga
ged at work ; who is ready and willing to
work at any price, and at any place—cares
not for character—cares not for society—
looks not for the good of the community ;
and still lie is preferred, in preference to the
poor, honest mechanic. Such considera
tions as these are well calculated to deject
and distract any and every honest, and high
minded tradesman.
[ We are not willing that the mechanics
! shall leave us ; but do we encourage them
to remain 1 No—w>e neither encourage
or support them—we have forgotten their
impoitance. In fact, we cannot dispense
j with them; hut, still we do not offer them
an inducement to stay. We ask, then, why
is it that something cannot he done for this
J useful class of people! Can nothing he
done 1 We answer, yes—the remedy is at
hand. Let the next Legislature abolish
all hi reels of mechanicism in the Penitentiary ;
! convert it into a State Prison, or Lunatic
Asylum. Let criminals be kept in solitary
confinement, if it is designed that punish
! ment be inflicted for crimes perpetrated—
fiir.it is now conceded and admitted to be a
fact, that labor is not punishment. Be
sides, it is not denied that the Penitentiary
of Georgia, at this time, is not only a place
of merchandise, but also a place of cruelty
and barbarity ; and does not meet the inten
tions of the law upon the subject.
Let the impression once be circulated
abroad, throughout Georgia, that the crim
inal shall he punished by solitary confine
ment, instead of years of labor, anti we will
hazard the assettinn that there will not he,
from that petiod, one half the crimes com
mitted, as is under the present organization.
Will any other press in Georgia take
sides with the oppressed mechanics? We
wait to hear from \.\\cm.—LaGtangcHcrald.
Highland Quarter. —A Highlander, whose
regiment, having been surrounded, had cut
their way out with the broad sword, with
the loss of half their number, being the last
in retreating, and highly chafed, was stop
ped by a forward Frenchman returning from
the pursuit, who charged him with liis bay
onet, but soon finding the disadvantage of
his weapon, cried out, “ quarter /”—"Quar
ter ye,” saiil Donald, “te muckle teefil may
ejuarfer ye for me ! Py my soul Pfe nae
time to quarter ye; ye maun e’en pe con
tentit to he cuttit in tica /” making his
head fly from his shoulders,
The Bank eif England. —We availed our
selves this morning of the permission ob
tained by Mr. Wiggin to visit the Bank of
England. An official, (mocer or usher) w ith
laced dress coat and three cornered hat, es
corted us to another officer of the Bank, who
took us leisurely through an institution that
is so potent in controlling and regulating the
money pulsations of Euiope. It is situated
on Threadneedle street, but fronts upon
half a dozen others, and occupies an irreg
ular area of eight acres. There are no
windows through the exteiior of the build
ing, light being supplied by sky-light open
courts within. There is a clock, by which
hank time is kept, with dials indicating the
time in sixteen different offices. The Bank,
with its various offices, is open ftom 9 a. m.,
till sp. m. The Bank has its piinting office,
hook bindery, engraving office, &c. See. —
Checks, blank books, &c., are all printed
within the Bank, as are the bank notes. In
the room where the circulating notes ate
printed there ate eight presses, all constant
ly employed, and which throw off’ about
j eight thousand impressions daily. We saw
two presses trilling off five pound notes, and
others upon the various denominations up
to .£IOOO, which is ttie largest note the
Bank issues. The dales and numbers of
the notes are supplied by smaller presses in
another room. The paper is delivered to
the presses counted, (an hundred at a time,)
and when worked and returned another hun
dred sheets ate gi\en. Pressmen work five
hours, and earn from two to three guineas a
week. In the office where redeemed notes
are examined, cancelled, &c., one hundred
and thirty six clerks ate constantly employ
ed. When we entered this room our at
tendant was sharply reprimanded for bring
ing strangers there; but, upon being inform
ed that it was by “ the Governor’s orders,”
we were allowed to pass. Forty thousand
different notes are frequently sent to this of
fice to be cancelled, in a day. The Bank
you know, never re-issues a note. When
returned to its counter for payment, the
note is cancelled, filed away, to be burnt at
the expiration of ten years. The armory of
the Bank contains an hundred stand of mus
kets, with pistols, hand grenades, See. &c.,
and has a night guard thirty eight strong. —
In the office where the bank notes ate count
ed into parcels, tied with twine, and placed
in pigeon holes, we found five staid, meth
odical, matter of fact looking clerks, w hom
you would trust for their faces. One of
these old chaps, with the precision of “ Old
Owen,” and the good nature of “Tom
Linkeitwater,” took his keys and unlocked
the depositories of paper wealth. The
“ rags” of each denomination were in sep
arate parcels. When we came to the “high
number” he placed four packages in my
band and remarked, “You now hold ,£4,-
000,000 sterling in your hand, sir.” Yes, I
actually was in possession of twenty millions
es dollars, a sum much larger than the whole
estate of John Jacob Astor ! But it all re
turned to its pigeon hole, and left ine a far
happier man than those who are encumber
ed with such overgrown fortunes. Another
of the old clerks opened the golden dot mi
ties where repose an endless nnmliei ofbags,
each containing eight hundred sovereigns.
We were next and finally conducted to a
subterranean region entiched by gold and
silver bullion. Here bars of the precious
metals were as plentifully heaped as those
of iron and steel are in the stores of our
friends Benedict, Townsend and Coining.
The silver we did not meddle with, but we
handled bars of gold, each weighing eight
thousand pounds sterling, that were piled in
barrow loads of seventy thousand pounds
sterling each. Much of this bullion was re
cently received from China, as an instalment
upon the sum John Bull makes the Celes
tials pay for their obstinate refusal to “take
opium.” ’1 lie Bank of England has now,
in paper and specie, neatly thiity eight mil
lions of pounds sterling. There ate eight
j hundred persons, in its various departments,
constantly employed within its walls.—Al
bany E> e. Journal.
The Jews. —The present physical, moral,
and social condition of the Jews must he a
miracle. We can come to no other conclu
sion. Had they continued from the Chris
tian era down to the present hour in some
such national state in which we find the
Chinese, walled ofHYom the rest of the hu
man family, and by their selfishness on a na
tional scale, and their repulsion of alien ele
ments, resisting every issault from without,
in the shape of hostile invasion, and from an
overpoweiing national pride forbidding the
introduction of new and foreign customs,
w'e should not see so much miracle inter
woven with their existence. But this is not
their state —far from it. They are neither
a united nor independent nation, nor a par
asitic province. They are peeled and scat
tered into fragments ; but, like broken glob
ules of quicksilver, instinct with a cohesive
power, ever claiming affinity, and ever ready I
to amalgamate. Geography, arms, genius,
politics, and foreign help do not explain
their existence; time and climate and cus
toms equally fail to unravel it. None of
these ate, or can he, springs of their perpe
tuity. They have spread over every part
of the habitable globe; have lived under the
reign of every dynasty; they have used ev
ery tongue, and lived in every latitude.—
The snows of Lapland have chilled, and the
suns of Africa have scorched them. They
have drunk of the ‘fiber, the Thames, the
Jordan, the Mississippi. In every country,
and in every degree of latitude and longitude
we find a Jew.
It is not so with any other race. Em
pires the most illustrious have fallen, and
buried men that constructed them ; but the
Jew lias lived among the ruins, a living mon
ument of indestructibility. Persecution has
unsheathed the sword and lighted the fag
got ; Papal superstition and Moslem barbar
ism have smitten them with unsparing fe
rocity ; penal rescripts and deep predjudice
have visited on them the most ungenerous
debasement; and, notwithstanding all, they
survive.
Like their own bush on Mount Horeb Is
rael has continued in the flames, hut uncon
surned. They are the aristocracy of Scrip
ture—let off'coronets—princes in degrada
tion. A Babylonian, a Theban, a Spartan,
ari Athenian, a Roman, nre names know n in
history only ; their shadows alone haunt the
worldand flicker on itstablets. AJewwalkr
every street, dwells in every capifal, traver-r
ses every exchange, ai d relieves the monot-r
Ohy of the nations of the earth. The l ace
has inherited the heirloom of immortality •
incapable of extinction or amalgamation
Like streamlets from a comhmn head, and*
composed of waters of a peculiar nature
they have flowed along every stream with!
out blending with it, or receiving its flavor
and traversed the surface of the globe amid”
; the lapse of many centuries, distinct— alone
1 The Jewish race at this day is, perhaps th e ’
J most striking seal of the sacred oracle's-
There is no possibility of accounting f or
theii perpetual isolation, their depressed but
distinct being, on any ground save those re
vealed in the records of truth. Frazer's
Magazine,
Female Labor. —The meetings of jour*
iicynien tailors and taihuesses, which have
recently taken place in Boston, have elicited
some startling lucts respecting the compen
sation of the latter for their work, Tli e
shirt-makers, it seems, have been working
i for six cents for making a garment. Tlie
j following is an extract from the proceeding
; of tlie meeting at Faneuil Hall on Friday;
One widow lady, by request of the presi
dent, stated her ease, as a specimen of what
all had to submit to who worked for her em
ployer. Since Januaiy last, she had made
pantaloons with straps, fin twenty-five cents
a pair, and had been obliged to take her
pay in orders. One dollar in cash was all
| she had received since January.
Another said that she did not take orders
. because she always wanted to lay her mon
| ey out just as she pleased, but she worked
| for less than those of her companions who
j took orders.
1 The president asked hei how mudi de
i dilution she made for cash ?
The speaker replied, “ I have considera
ble pride about some tilings, and. to tell you
tlie truth, 1 do not like to tell in public what
I get.”
The president then said he hoped the
pride of no member would prevent her from
stating facts which it would be useful to
have disclosed.
“ Well, then,” answered the relator,“for
pantaloons with two pockets and a watch
fob, I get only ten cents.”
A contemporary pionminces this mon
i sirous, and with good t easoti. Can we won.*
I derat combinations among hard working
people, weak poor vv< men, when their em
ployers grind them down to a standard of
wages whic h cannot, by any possibility, yield
the necessaries id’mere existence.
The best joke of the season. — Mr. Brown
son in the last Demon at c Review conclu
ded a series of profoundly studied aiticles
on the Origin of Government, which we
[dace among the ablest and most valuable
i political essays that have ever appeared in
i this coiintiy. But in the midst of general
I clearness and stlength, Mr. Brownsnn some
times undertakes to define what is indefina
ble and to grasp in logical f’oimula what is
by far too subtle to lie caught by the coarse
meshes of human language. lie defines
Humanity thus :
“ \Ve ate to bear in mind that the genus
Humanity—what we cal I human natuie —is
no logical abstraction, but a real existence,
and in some sort, an existence independent
of individuals. This is only saying that hu
manity is humanity. This settled, we may
proceed a step futther. Humanity, in this
genetic sense is causative, active, creative.
This is affirmed in affiinriig that humanity
is a reality. Our notion of reality is our no
tion of being or substance, of something that
is. But our notion of something that is—
that is to say, of being or substance, is pre
cisely our notion of cause or causative force.”
Tlie editoi of the Wilksbarre (Pa.) Far
mer quizzes the philosopher in the follow
ing rich strain—which if’ Mr. Brownsnn
himself can read without the healthful en
joyment of a.hearly laugh, he is graver than
we are.
“ \Ve are to bear in mind that the genus
of humbug, what we call natural humbug,
is no logical abstraction, but has a real ex
istence as much as a shad and in some sort
independent of fodder and friends just after
being elected to a fat office, though never
actually separable from individuals before
election. This is only saying that humbug
is still humbug any way you choose to fix it.
This port of the weather being settled, we
will venture a step or two further. Hum
-1 bug, in this pepper and ginger sense, is
causative of much gammon, active as the
greased end of perpetual motion, creative
of promises and pancakes. This is both
sworn to and affirmed iti affirming that hum
bug is a member of the regular army. Our
notion of being a member of tlie regular ar
my is our faith in factions—and faith is the
substance of things hoped for, the evidence
of things not seen. But our notion of some
thing that is, is our notion of a jackass—fur
a jackass, is—and not only is, that is to say
is; but a jackass, physically considered,con
veys precisely our notion of cause, kicking,
and causative force, and exists independent
of individuals—so does a meeting house.”
De Bar gives the following description of
“ dodging” in anew farce called tlie “ Art
ful Dodger :
“ Now, sir, I’ll prove how useful, philo
sophical and beneficial my speculations are:
I order a suit of chillies of a tailor, which I
never intend to pay for—benefits tailor.—
As how 1 He otders a piece of cloth of
woollen diaper. Cloth being ordered, he
benefits woollen draper on strength of which
he orders new dresses for family—benefits
dry goods store. Dry good store, on new
dresses being ordered, invites large party to
dinner. Butcher, upon meat being ordered)
treats a friend to a theatre —benefits Thea
tre. Butcher comes out, asks a friend to
drink—benefits hotel. Friend gets drunk,
kicks up a row, is put in the watch house,
fine foi getting drunk ; fine goes to corpora
tion—benefits corporation. So by ordering
a suit of clothes, which.l never intended ty
pay for, 1 benefit the whole community.’
“ Hallo, captain, stop !” shouted a little
urchin on board one of the Sound steam. 1
boats,
“ For what ?” asked the captain.
” I’ve lost my apple overboard {’*