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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 {’*