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PROM THE JOIIV EL’LL.
VISITINCiS.
A lady having presented the Author, on a visit, with her
•Jiwnb to shake hands with, the Muse opened her
month and spake as follows:
Some women at parting scarce give you
.So much a* a simple-good byp.
And from others as long us you live, you
Will never he IiIoshM with a sigh ;
Sonic uill press you so warmly, you’d linger
Deside them forever, and some
Will give you an icy forefinger,
Uut Fanny presents you a thumb.
Sonic will give von a look <>f indifference,
Others will give you a smile ;
Wlii! • some of the eoldcr and stifler ones,
Dow in their own chilly style.
There are some who look merry at parting,
And some who look wofullv grnm ;
Some give you a blessing at starting, 1
But Fanny just gives you a thumb.
There are some who will go to the door with you, 1
some ung f»r the man or the maid ;
Sum- who do less, and some more, with you,
And .1 few would be glad if you stay’d.
A good many wish you’d be slack again,
Their way on a visit to come;
Two or three give you leave to go back again,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
With a number, ten minutes are lunger
Thau you find yourself welcome to stay ;
While some, whose affections are stronger!
Would like to detain you all day.
Some offer you Sherry and biscuit,
Others give not a drop nor a crumb ;
Some a sandwich, from surloin or brisket,
Mill Fanny gives simply bur thumb.
Home look with a sort of a squint to you,
Some whisper they’ve visits to make;
.Some glance at their watches—a hint to you
Which, if you’re wise, you will take.
Home faintly invite you to dinner,
(So faint, you may *ro it’s all hum,
Unh ss you’re a silly beginner)
But Fanny presents you a thumb.
Home ehnttcr—thirteen to the do7.cn—
Some don’t speak a word all the time ;
Home open the albums they’ve chosen,
And beg you to scribble in rhyme ;
Some bellow so loud, they admonish
Your car to take care of its drum ;
Soufe give you ail ogle nuito tonish,
But Fanny gives nought, save her thumb.
■Home wonder how long you’ve been absent,
IVspair of your coming again ;
While some have a coach or a cab iunt,
'i'o take you uwav if it rain.
Some shut up their windows in summer,
Some wont stir the (ire though you’re numb;
Some give you hot punch in a rummer,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
Some talk about scandal, or lovers,
Some talk about Byron or Scott;
Some offer you eggs laid by plovers,
Some offer the luck of the pot;
A great many oiler you nothing,
They sit like automata, dumb,
The silly ones give you a loathing,
But Fanny give* merely her thumb.
Some horo you with six-year-old gabies,
In the shape of a master or miss;
Others hold up their slobbering babies,
Which you must he n bruto not to kiss:
Home tell you their household disnsteis,
While otlieis their instruments strum :
Borne give you receipts for corn plasters,
Blit Fanny presents you her thumb.
Some talk of the play they’ve been last at,
And some of the stcam-d iven coach ;
While those who are prudes look aghast at
Kach niece of new scandal you broach ;
Some talk of converting the Hindoos,
To relish like Christiuus, their rum ;
Some give you a view from their windows,
But Fanny gives only hei thumb.
Some ask what you think of the tussle, inan,
Between the all-lies and the l’orto;
And Cod-rington’s thrashing the muscle-man,
(Duns being such people’s forte.)
The men speak ofehange in the cabinet;
The women—how con thoy sit mum ?
Give their thoughts upon laces and tabinct,
But Fanny gives merely her thumb.
Home speak of the Marquis of l.ansdownc,
Who, to nrovc the old proverb, has set
About thin-catching—laying wise plans down
In the Uut and Cry weekly gazette.
Somo think that the Whigs nro but noodles.
(Hut such are, of course, the mere scum ;)
Homo give you long tales of their poodles,
But Fanny presents you her thumb.
Good luck to them all f—where I visit#
I inert with warm hearts and warm hands;
But that’s not n common thing; is it ?
For I neither have house* nor lauds:
Not a look but the soul has a part in it,
(How different the looks are of some !)
Oh ! give me a hand with a heart in it,
And devil take finger and thumb.
—'—'in jau ■
FROM THE NEW-BN’CLAND GALAXY.
Corns.—Gentle render, dost thou know what
it is to have corns I Whether you do, or do
not, please to read this and sympathise. I am
one of those unfortunate individuals whose
mothers think that small feet arc becoming, and
who therefore wedge theirchildren’s into shoes
of the smallest possible dimensions, which will
admit of being forced on. This very com
mendable habit of my parents, I myself adopt
ed and continued ns long ns possible. But at
length, on tlm summit of the little toe of my
left foot, a corn began to appear. And it
grew and grew and grew until almost the whole
toe was covered by it. In truth it was a mon
strous one. If you would know how it look
ed, it resembled more ncnrly than any thing
else, an excrescence that has grown out in the
course of years, upon a tree, when a branch
has been cut off. Every remedy from the
most approved charm, up to tho last invented
salve, whose excellence is attested to bv its
thousands in the advertising columns of a
newspaper, have I tried. But all in vain.
Still it remains, growing prouder and stronger,
extending its power over the rest of the much
abused member, notwithstanding all the at
tempts 1 have made to put a stop to its incur
sions. But I had a particular adventure which
1 was about to relate.
Well—1 was sitting at homo reading the
Epicurean, tho other day, when I happened
to bethink me that a friend of mine was coming
into town that afternoon. Away I hasted to
Tavern in liattlo street, where his stage
stopped, to roccive him upon his arrival. But
it was half an hour or more before the time at
which it usually made its appearance. Not
withstanding the length of the time, I conclu
ded to wait. So calling for a cigar, I deposit
ed myself in a snug corner, and was reading
for the second time your last Galaxy, lhad not
read long, before happening to look up, I saw
a man in the opposite comer who seemed to
be Scrutinizing my dimensions and appearance
with much care. He was very tnll and pos
sessed a very commendable rotundity of figure.
He was dressed rather strangely I thought, but
nevertheless I saw nothing in which his clothes
differed from those of other men, except that
they were flung upon him with a negligent,
dashing sort of air. His cheeks were rubi
cund and full, and about his mouth there play
ed an expression of half malice, half fun, that
I hardly knew whether to dislike or not. Ilis
small eyes were set deep into the fat which al
most hid them; they were grey and twinkling.
And oil his head was perched a little low
crowned, narrow rimmed hat. But the most
curious part of his structure was a huge splay
foot, which 1 observed he studiously endea
vored to conceal under his chair. As I look
ed up, lie turned away, hut in a few minutes
looking towards hint again, I saw his little
twinkling, grey eyes, apparently scanning my
foot with much earnestness. VVilling to afford
him any pleasure in my power, I thrust it out
towards him, so that tic might have a fair view
of its proportions, and went on with the
Galaxy. I had not proceeded far when sud
denly somebody’s heel was thrust down upon
iny corn, grinding around like a millstone. I
leaped up in tho extremity of anguish. “ I
ask your pardon,” said the grey eyed, splay
footed monster, with an inexpressible kind of
leer. “ Of no consequence” said l. But I
waited there no longer for my friend.
1 rushed up Washington street likh a mad
man, and strode up and down until 1 had walk
ed off mv pain. 1 had paced back and forward
a considerablo time, imagining who he could
he; or what cause ho could have for perpe
trating such an abominable outrage on me.
Thus 1 went on—when )o! ns I was turning
the corner of a street, who should 1 meet hut
the very cause of my suffering. “You left
your gloves behind you at the tavern” said lie.
“ What V' said 1, ns I reached out my hand to
receive them. Ho answered not, but went on
—but as ho passed, down came his iron-heel
ed hoot upon my little too again. I would
hnvo given any thing to have knocked him
down, but before I could turn round he had
disappeared.
I never knew what rage was before. But I
lr d no remedy, and I bore it ns patiently ns I
could. As the pain diminished and I grew
somewhat calmer, I could not but recollect
the singular uppearnnee of the man. There
was something fearful about him—something
almost fiendish. Ills eternally glistening eyes,
peering out from tlieir littlo hollows—tho
same accursed leer on his countenance—his
huge unshapely foot—“ AVho f what was he ?”
1 could not answer. There was something
mysterious about him. Ho was round shoul
dered and both in sitting and walking bent over
considerably. Ho said nothing—at least I had
heard but two sentences from him, and both
were spoken in the same low, cynical tone.
And why should he huve singled mo out as the
peculiar object of insult ? 1 could not guess.
To while away tho time, I went into a
bookstore. The “Miseries of human life”
was lying upon the counter. I took it up nnd
begnn to read, AA'ould that tho author of this
were here, thought I, that 1 might give him an
account of my suffering to enrich his hook.
At any rale wo might enjoy the consolation
which n companionship in misery gives. Thus
was I musing on bitter thoughts, when some
noise attracted my attention and caused mo to
turn round, when somebody’s heel fell upon
my toe. I looked up. It was my tormentor,
with the same inexplicable grin nnd the same
“your pardon sir.” In a moment ho was
gone. 1 tried to cry out in my agony—but my
tongue seemed tied and my mouth gave no
sound. I went home. The evening was spent
in imagining who my unknown torturer might
he. 1 had never seen him before. In his
walk, in his shape, indeed, in every thing he
was different from any body else. Besides,
there was something fearful about him. His
very glance made me shudder. Whenever 1 met
it, tho same sort of indefinable fear run over
me, that used to when in my earliest child
hood, tho maids told me the stories of the
witches and devils that flourished in the time
of Cotton Mather.
On tlint same evening I found myself, I
know not how it happened, on Charlestown
bridge. How I came there or for what pur-
iose, I have now no distant recollection. But
[ was there, and alone. No living thing was
in sight. In some way or other I knew that
my tormentor was approaching mo from the
oilier end of tho bridge. Mow I knew this, 1
cannot tell, for it was too dark for mo to dis
tinguish or even to see any one. It must have
been by that sort of instinct by which the
South American horses distinguish the ap
proach of a rain storm, or the birds of tropical
climates foresee any remarkable convulsion of
nature. I tried to fly, but I was spell-bound.
Presently his figure came near enough for me
to distinguish its outlines, and gradually his
features grew dishnetand clear. And then’l saw
his little, grey, adder-like eves, that sparkled
like diamonds, fastened upon me. 1 could
not turn mine from them. I could not movc-
1 felt that I was devoted. Nearer and nearer
he approached, stiii wearing that self same,
sardonic, infernal, unchangeable grin, and as I
gazed upon him, the sweat stood upon my
forehead like raindrops. At length he reach
ed nie and stood right in front of mo, with his
glassy eyes still fastened on mine. I could
not move—hand or foot. But I saw him raise
his beol—Oh! tho agony of that moment!
Down it came on my long suffering toe. In
the excess of pain l screamed out.
And reader, where was 11 Truly, ^ust
waking from an after dinner’s sleep in my arm
chair. 1 Imd on a pair of tight boots which I
had wet through by going out in the mud.
And as l sat sleeping before a large fire they
were gradually shrunk up and strained over my
corn, so as to create very sensible pain. And
this, together with a somewhat uneasy pos
ture, gave rise to my troubles. So, dearly
beloved reader, take warning from this, never
to sleep before a largo fire, with wet boots on,
if you have corns on your toes.
Instinct anil Reason.—Reason distinguishes
man frein the brute! Does it ? A few years
ago, an elephant was brought to this city, and
a sort of bridge was made from the side of the
ship, for tho purpose of unshipping the animal.
He placed his foot on the, bridge, looked very
wise, gave a dissatisfied shako of his head, and
drew back. The man of reason urged the brute
of instinct to try again—he did so—and again
he drew back. A third time, his keeper goad
ed him forward, the suhmissiva animal obeyed,
the bridge gave way, and down went quadru
ped, instinct and biped reason, to the damage
of both their bodies. Which was the fool in
this case ! The truth is. man values himself
overmuch, in comparison with the brute—
Give an experienced elephant the faculty of
speech, and he would make a better state coun
sellor than many a biped. The brutes have
ail the passions and affections of humanity ;
why should they not have its reason ? The
race-horse is ambitious ; the war-horse brave ;
the tiger is a plotter of treason, and the lion
is impelled by tho lust of dominion. The
dog remembers, anticipates, and forms syllo
gisms ; ho dreams by night, as well as his mas
ter; and is it instinct which dreams, or is it
mind ? If so, memory is a mere matter of in
stinct, and so is hope—Look through all the
animal creation ; look at tho heaver building
his dam ; the bird constructing her nest, and
the spider weaving his web ; with what polito
cunning the bald-eagle makes a tool of tho
fish-hawk ; call to inind the story of tho mon
key, tho cat and tlm chesnuts—and then make
a distinction between reason and instinct, if
you can.
The Imperial Magazine uses the following
language on this subject :—
“ AA'hat is the reason brutes are subject to
sufferings ? Brutes as well as men, are subject
to the samo sort of pains and diseases, so far
as their cases coincide. They suffered with
man the anguish of the fall. They have perish
ed with him in deluges and conflagrations,
in famines, pestilences, and destructions by
the sword. As bruto animals have attended
man in all great nnd capital calamities, they
will also attend him in his final deliverance, be
restored when he is restored, and have'a place
in those happy regions where nature shall as
sume the splendor and elegance of her pris
tine form, tho eternal God appear as he is, and
every thing ho representative of him. A gen
tleman had a pointer, which, whenever ho went
n shooting, ho was seen to take out with him.
Tho gentleman’s custom was, on his return
from his diversions, to discharge his piece at
Magpies or carrii n-crows, which ho would
take some pains to look for in the trees as he
passed along. The dog on these occasions al
ways kept behind, I suppose that ho might not
frighten those birds away, but that his master
might have a fair chance at (hem. .It happen
ed one day as ho was upon this business, that
a magpie, perched on the top of a largo oak,
escaped tho gentleman’s notice. The dog,
ever attentive ta his master's pleasures, peeps
into tho treo himself, nnd espies the party co
loured animal, whereupon he runs up to his
master, who lmd got some yards from the
place, lays hold of the flap of his coat behind,
and givos it a small pull with his tooth. The
gentleman, surprised, turns about to sec what
was tho matter, when the, dog immediately
starts back to the tree and shows him the bird,
which the gentleman very soon brought to the
ground. I wonder, after such an instance of
sagacity, if any person can have the effrontery
to maintain that brutes are only intelligent ma
chines. Reason declares in favour of the future
existence of brutes, l>v determining that brutes
have souls."—JV. Y. Morn. Cour.
A Gentleman.—Multifarious yet simple arc
tho indications of a gentleman. Many nnd
frequent arc the imitations of his characteris-
ticks. Education nnd a mixing with society
will rub the cxcroscnccs from tho manner and
bearing of a boor, and transform him into a
sufferable being; hut a true gentleman is so in
stinctively ; ho cannot be manufactured. Tho
qualifications are inherent from his birth.
There is a grace and manliness in his inter
course with others, that can never be attained
by an educated booby. Polish him as you
will, subject him to attrition and collision, ex
port him to Europe and import him back, but
a clown in spirit can never acquiro tho exte
rior deportment of a man of gentility. In the
conduct of the latter towards his associates, a
frankness mingled with dignity, a courteous
ness without ceremony, an openness and free
dom without vulgar familiarity, are dislingush-
ablo, which place him immeasurably above the
former, whose pomposity, superciliousness and
puffy politeness, aliko betray tho actor of a
part unsuited to his abilities and disposition.
A true gentleman never walks into an edi
tor's office, and occupying an arm chair, in
quires the number of his subscribers ; he docs
not maintain his position rending the latest pa
pers, his feet over tho fireplace, and forming
with his legs a human gridiron ; he docs not
look over your shoulder and criticise your
chirography when you are engaged in writing;
he does not ask the names of your correspon
dents, and denounce this one as a dolt, and
that one as a alundcrhead.
” Hear all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands."
A truo gentleman never bows to a lady
withour lifting his cranium-cover; he does not
nod at her, mistaking impertinence for polite
ness ; he does not always maintain tho inside
of the walk, to the exclusion of males and fe
males ; but yields even his right to others, in
that respect, with easy politeness, lie is dis
tinguished by civility to his neighbours, though
they be strangers to him; and can notice those
of his vicinage with a courteous bow, though
tho ceremony of introduction may never have
passed between them. He never wears his
hat in counting-houses, theatres, or other pub
lic places. A gentleman never thrusts his
fork into the dishes at table, or cuts any ofthc
edibles with his own knife, save those upon
Ins plate. He never dips lib knife into the
salt-cellar.—The man who is guilty of this last
indecency, ought to be tied into a hard knot,
and left upon a snow-bank to extricate himself
from the involution.—Iioston Lit. Ga;.
Mr. Canning and his Servant.—AA'hcn at
college, he was attended by a very faithful ser
vant. who, like all surrounding his patron, be
came much attached to him. Francis, for
such was his name, was always distinguished
for his blunt honesty, and his familiarity with
his master. During Mr. Canning’s early po
litical career, Fiancis continued to live with
him. Mr. Canning, whose love of fun was in
nate, used sometimes te play off his servant’s
biuntness upon his right honourable friends.
One of these, whose honours did not sit so
easily upon him as upon the late premier, had
forgotten Francis, though often indebted to
his kind offices at Oxford. Francis complain
ed to Mr. Canning that Mr. AA\ did not speak
to him. “ Pooh,” said Mr. Canning “ it is all
your fault; you should speak first; ho thinks
i/on proud. He dines here to-day—go up to
him in the drawing-room, and congratulate
him upon the post lie has just got.” Francis
was obedient. Surrounded by a splendid mi
nisterial circle, Francis advanced to the asto
nished statesman, with “ How d’ye do, Mr.
AV. I hope you’re very well—I wish you joy
of your luck, and hope your place will turn out
a good thing.” Tho roar was of course uni
versal. The same Francis afterwards obtain
ed a comfortablo birth in the customs through
his kind master’s interest. lie was a staunch
Tory. During the Queen’s trial ho met Mr.
Canning in the street, “ Well Francis, how
are yon 1" said lhc statesman, who Imd just
resigned his office, holding out his hand. “It
is not well Mr. Canning,” replied Francis, re
fusing the pledgo of friendship; “ it is not well,
Mr. Canning, that you should say any thing in
favour of that .” “But, Francis, politi
cal differences should not separate old friends
—give me your hand.” Tho sturdy politi
cian at length consented to honour the ex-mi
nister with a shake of forgiveness. It is said
that Mr. Canning did not forget Francis when
ho'returned to power.—Annual Biography
and Obituary, for 1828.
Want of Point, a nice Point.—An ingenious
expedient was devised to save a prisoner
charged with robbery in the criminal Court at
Dublin. The principal thing that appeared in
evidenco against him was a confession, alleged
to have been made by him at the police office,
and taken down in writing by a peace officer.
The document purporting to contain this self-
criminating acknowledgement, was produced
by the officer, and the following passage was
road from it:—
“ Mangan said he never robbed but twice
Said it was Crawford.”
This, it will be observed, has no mark of the
writer’s having any notion of punctuation, but
the meaning he attached to it was, that
“ Mangan said he never robbed but twice:
Said it was Crawford.”
Mr. O’Gorman, the counsel for the prisoner,
begged to look at tho paper. He perused it,
und rather astonished the peace officer by as
serting that so far from proving the man’s
guilt, it clearly established his innocence.
“ This,” said the learned gentleman, “ is the
cleat and obvious reading of the sentence :
“ * Mangan said lie never robbed:
But twice said it was Crawford.’ ”
This interpretation Imd its effect on tho jury,
and tho man was acquitted.
The Furies.—“ My furies,” said Pluto, to
the messenger of the gods, “ are getting old
and infirm, 1 wish for new ones ; ascend there
fore to the regions of tho eurtli, nnd find me
three active women.” Mercury departed.
Soon after, Juno said to Iris, her attendant.
“ Do you think, Iris, you could find among
mortals, two or three strict and virtuous mai
dens, perfectly correct—you understand me—
that I may bid defiance to Venus, Who boasts
of her subjugation of the whole female sox ?”
Iris obeyed. What part of the world did not
tho indefatigable Iris explore ; but all in vain.
Juno, perceiving her return alone, exclaimed,
“Is it possiblo 1 0chastity! O virtue!” “God
dess,” answered Iris, “ I might have brought
you three maidens, ail of whom are strict and
chaste, and neither of whom has ever smiled
on man, all threo having stifled every spark of
love in their bosoms, but I arrived too late.”
“ Too late” replied Juno, “ how so ?” “ AA’hy
Mercury had just before taken them to Pluto!”
“ Indeed ! for what docs Pluto want prudes ?”
“ For furies.”—Fables from the German of
Lessing. J
Cinderella.—The origin of the fable from
which this pantomime was adopted, is suffi
ciently curious. It was about tho year 1730
that a French actor, of equal talent and wealth,
named Thevenard, in passing through tho
streets of Paris, observed upon a eobler’s stall,
the shoe of a female, which struck him by the
remarkable smallness of its size. After admi
ring it for some time, he returned to his house ;
but his thoughts were revited to the shoe
with such intensity, that he rc-appearcd at the
stall the next day : but the cobler could give
him no other clue to the owner, than that it had
been left in his absence, for the purpose of be
ing repaired. Day after day did Thevenard
return to his post to watch the reintegration of
his slipper, which proceeded slowly ; nor did
the proprietor appear to claim it. Although
he had completed the sixtieth year ofliis age,
so extravagant became his paesion for the un
known fair one, that he became (were it rnipof.
sible for a Frenchman of that day to-be s» f v
melancholy and miserable. His paw (■
however, somewhat appeased by the avater of
the little foot itself, appertaining to aprettv and
youthful girl in the very humblest class of life
All distinctions were levelled at once by love ;
the actor sought the parents of the female, pro.
cured their consent to the match, and actually
made her his wife.
Comfort for Clients.—In the King’s Pencil
on Thursday week, a motion was made to put j
off a trial until next term, in consequence of
some error committed by tho attorney for the 1
plaintiff—on which Lord Tenterden remarked !
“ If I had not some regard to the interost of
the suitors I should strike out of tho paper all
causes so circumstanced. By the shameful
negligence of some attorneys many just cause*
arc lost altogether ; and in every instance of
tiic kind which comes before mo in future. I
will take caro that the client shall not be the
sufferer; the attorney in the cause must pav
the costs.”
A French Dancing-masier among the Ire.
quois.—His lessons were paid in beaver skins
and bears’hams. In the midst of a forest ap.
pcarod a sort of barn ; in this barn I found a
score of savages, male and female, bedaubed
like conjurors, their bodies half bare, their ears I
slashed ; with ravens’ feathers on their heads, 1
and rings passed through their nostrils. A 1
littlo Frciicli-man powdered and frizled in tho
old fashion, in a pea-green coat, a drug
get waiscoat, and muslin frill and ruffles, was
scraping away on his kit, and making the Iro
quois caper to the tune of Madelon Friquct. In
speaking of tho Indians, M. Violot always said.
Ccs messieurs snuvages, and ces dames sauva■ i
gesses. He highly extolled tho agility of hie
scholars ; in fact, I never witnessed such gam- <
bols. M. Voilot, holding his kit between his
chin and his chest, tuned the important instru.
ment; he cried out in Iroquis, “ To your pla
ces!” and tho whole company foil a capering
liko a band of demons.-— Chateaubriand's
Travels in America.
Extraordinary Pet.—An officer in our cus
tom department, long famous for pets of almost
every description, has now in his possession an
extraordinary ono indeed—it is no less than a [
Pet Oyster taken off the Mayor's bed, the
property of the corporation, and of the largest j
and finest Poll Doody brood: being fed on ]
oatmeal, for which it regularly opens its shell;
and being occasionally treated with a dip in its
native element, it seems to enjoy a place in
the curious menagerie almost as well as its t
neighbours. But tho most extraordinary trait
in the history of this amphibious pel is, that it |
has proved itself an excellent mouscr; having,
as we are informed, already destroyed live
mice, by instantly crushing the heads of such 1
as. tempted by the odiferous meal, had the to-
merity to intrude their noses within his bival-
vular clutches. Twice have two of the five j
little marauders suffered together,-—Galway
paper. |
Curpenter's Retort.—A humorous follow, h
carpenter, being subpoenaed as a witness on a
trial of assault, ono of the counsel, tvho was
very much given to brow-beat tho evidence,
askod him what distance he was from the par
ties, when he saw the defendant striking the
plaintiff? The carpenter answered, “just four
feet five inches and a half.” “ Prytlice fel
low,” said the counsel “ how is it possible von
can bo so very exact as to the distance f l
“ Why to tell tho truth,” said the carpenter,
“ I thought perhaps somo fool or the otlici
might ask me, and so I measured it.”
How to tell a good Husband.—A few days
since a gentleman from tho greon-sod was en
gaged in loading his cart with boards which
had recently been druwn from a raft, and had
placed his horso in a position which rendored
it difficult to pass; two girls, nno of them a smi
ling little gipscy, not liking the obstruction
turned tho horse out of the way—l'at, who at
that moment was tottering under the weight of
a heavy plank hurst forth with a volley of abu
sive language, when this smiling girl stretched
forth her finger and exclaimed, “ Pll bet a dol
lar you whip your wife.’’—Phil Aurora.
Elements of Physiognomy.—lie who has u
low forehead, and full of wrinkles, will look
liko a monkoy. IIo who has a high forehead
will have his eyes under it, and will live all the
days of his life, and that is infallible.
A great mouth from car to ear signifies
much foam and no bridle ; but these are not
hard mouthed, but all mouth.
A little mouth drawn up like a purse denotes
darkness within, and looks more like a loop
hole than a window.
A watery mouth, that splutters when it
speaks, and overflows when it laughs, will
have need of a bib.
He that is bald will have no hair; and if ho
happens to have any it will not be on the bald
place.
Sparkling eyes will be very apt to shine.
AAomen who havo curious eye-brows will
in ail likelihood havo eye-lashes under them,
and will bo beloved if any body takes a liking
to them.
AA’hensoever you see a man who has but one
eye, you may safely conclude that he has lost
the other.
They that havo but small feet will need but
little shoes, and will have alightpairofhccls.—
Translated from the Spanish.
A Prodigy.—An Irishman recommending an
excellent milch cow, said that she would give
milk year-afteryear without having calves ; be
cause it ran in the breed, as she came from a
cow that never had a calf!
Hope and courage, are the main pillars in the
temple of man’s destiny—uniting beauty with
strength, ornament with utility, and elegance
with grandeur. °