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—but he stood firm —his eyes diluted, his
mouth closely compressed, and his head
slightly drooping. He was for two or three
minutes speechless. At length, recovering
his voice, he said :
“ G-g-good —by-g-golly. That’s t-t-t-ame
1-lightenin, aint it?”
“Try it again, Boozy,” said ’Squire Wil
son.
“T-tryit y-yourself. S-s-squire W-wilson.
It g-goes through you 1-1-like —1-1-like” —
“ Like, what, Boozy?” interrupted Doctor
Bolus. ‘
“ L-l-like a d-d-dose of y-your ph-ph-is
sic, d-d-doctor!”
At length Boozy tried it again, and this
time the negative wire was placed in contact
with his feet, while he touched the knob as
before. The same effects were produced—
and ten times did he receive, through various
parts of his body, the full shock of the bat
tery of four quart jars. Gradually Itebecame
sober , and spoke more readily, till at last,
when he had recovered his speech from the
last, shock, he stepped back, and laying his
hand upon his breast, exclaimed in true ora
torical style :
“Gentl’men —I thank you. I’m rejuvena
ted! Whereas I had an impediment in my
speech—now I hav’nt none. Gentl'men, I
feel like anew made man,” and touching his
tattered cap he made a low bow. and walked
steadily out of the room—a sober man!
But, alas! in the afternoon of the same day,
as we were engaged with the magneto-elec
tric machine, Boozy reentered in a state of
“ interrogation.” as the “ Georgia Lawyer”
has it. He readily, at our request, grasped
the metallic cups connected with the two
poles of the instrument, which was instantly
put in operation. lie began to tremble, and
soon his hole frame was in violent motion :
he gradually bent forward, his eyes and
mouth dilated, the wires were doubled in his
contracting arms, and he was actually being
drawn off his feet, with his body stretching
half across the old counter on which the in
strument stood.
At length, in pity for his looks of terror
and hopeless despair, we stopped the machine.
His lingers immediately relaxed their terrible
hold, and dashing the cups violently on the
table, he raised himself, and with gleaming
eyes, clenched teeth, and uplifted arm—
shouted aloud—
“ D-n you—l’ll give a hundred dollars for
a feet of that d—d wire!”
Boozy could not be prevailed with to
touch “that wire ” again. We are sorry to
add —he is yet a drunkard !
A CAPITAL LETTER.
Our readers will remember, that it was cur
rently reported, and by some believed, that
Louis Philippe bad arrived in the United
States, under the assumed name of Patterson.
The N. Y. Sun, in particular, boldly asserted
that such was the fact—and afterwards pro
mulgated an inquiry as to the whereabouts of
this Andrew Egalite Patterson. This inquiry
drew forth ihe following letter, which is one
of the best pieces of burlesque we have seen
for a long time. The blundering style of
a Frenchman but moderately acquainted with
the English language, is admirably imitated:
‘I have seen in your papier very respecta
ble, zat you have announce, as arrive from
France in ze steam paquebot , Monsieur An
drew Fgalite Patterson. Et, Monsieur, you
have make some fun wiz de name of Mons.
Patterson—dat is not my name monsieur, but
by gar, mon nom , it is Vatterson, Monsieur,
vizout ze Philippe or ze Egalite.
I have de gran misfortune, ver mushe re
semble le gran tyran , Louis Philippe ;—be
cause of dat, 1 am myself force to fly from
my partie. In evree place, all ovare, all ze
time, ze gamins and ze sans culottes of Paris
dey dake me for ze ci-devant King—by
dam.
Eh! vat vill I do? Ino can sleep—l no
can eat at ze case—l no can promenade on
ze boulevards —1 no can visit at the theatre-
I no can do nothing—evree boddy, he say
dere ze daguerreotype vivant ov Louis Philip
pe.
Eh bein , monsieur, 1 say to myself I shall
go distract what you call in Amerique , cra
zie. I never can exist, not no more, en
France. I rushe to my cabinet—l seize one
pistolet—l go to blow my stupid head in tou
sand million pieces! Mais, Monsieur , at dat
moment, \ see pass before my hotel, de soldats
wid de musique, and he play very magnifique
ze \ ankee Doodle. Ah ha! monsieur c'est
ca , I tink tout de suite., of l’ Amerique, Eh!
bein I never be troubled dere about Louis
Philippe. I trow my pistolet au feu. I take
my depart from Paris. Igo myself abord ze
Britannia and I come to dis contree.
Ze pas.sageres ov ze Steam-e-boat, evree
von i e say dat I am Louis Philippe—sacre!
8 © ® if si b & ei tfb.
dey salute me, all ze time, evree day> — votre
mnjeste, bon jour , —you take glass wine, your
majestie, —ver beautiful day, your majestie;.
it tousand time more bad as Paris.
En suite, Monsieur, I arrive:—l land my
self at de Jersee Citee, by gar all de same ev
ree body he come run zer fast from New
Yorek, for see Louis Philippe, your papier he
say he vos arrive,—by gar dey all come see,
I vos distract, — furieux —I go mad vis cole
re.
Mais. monsieur, I make escape myself irr
von carosse to Bordentowne, den I say ah ha!
mon brave , you all safe now, you see nobody
noting, .you nevare hear zat name so odieusc,
so horrible— zat name which I nevare ca.n
prononcez.
I nevare look in ze glass, zat I nevare may
see ze visage horrible like ze ci-devant king
—ven monsieur I vas astonish—l vas acorn
hie de douleurs , I was enraged to see in y our
papier ze terrible question—vere is Andrew
Philippe Egalite Patterson!
I tremble viz rage, and I am my self come
to New Yorek. to make explanation for evree
body, dat I myself am not Louis Philippe,
mias , monsieur, dat lam some oder person
lie.
Vill you den, monsieur, say to the peoples
dat 1 nevare vas king, dat I am not Louis
Philippe, and dat he is von oder gentilhom
me.
Monsieur, Je vous salute,
Andrew Vatterson.’
our Bowl of s)und).
THE MODEL LABOURER.
He supports a large family upon the small
est wages. He works from twelve to four
teen hours a day. He rises early to dig in
what he calls his garden. He prefers his
fireside to the alehouse, and has only one
pipe when he gets home, and then to bed. —
He attends church regularly, with a clean
smockfrqck and face on Sundays, and waits
outside, when service is over, to pull his hair
to his landlord, or, in his absence, pays the
same reverence to the steward. Beer and he
are perfect strangers, rarely meeting, except
at Christmas or Harvest time; and as for spir
its, he only know 6 * them, like meat, by name.
He does not care for skittles. He never loos
es a day's work by attending on political
meetings. Newspapers do not make him dis
contented, for the simple reason that he cannot
read. He believes strongly in the fact of his
belonging to the “Finest Peasantry.” He
sends his children to school somehow, and
gives them Hie best boots and education he
can. He attributes all blights, and seasons,
failures, losses, accidents, to the repeal of the
Corn Laws. He won’t look at a hare, and
imagines, in his respect for rabbits, that Jack
Sheppard was a poacher. He white-washes
his cottage once a year. He is punctual w r ith
his rent, and somehow, by some rare secret
best known by his wages, he is never ill. He
knows absolutely nothing beyond the affairs
of his parish, and does not trouble himself
greatly about them. If he has a vote, it is
his landlord’s, of course. He joins in the
cry of “Protection,” wondering what it
means, and puts his X most innocently to
any farmer’s petition. He subscribes a pen
ny a week to a Burial Society. He erects
triumphal arches, fills up a group of happy
tenants, shouts, sings, dances—any mockery
or absurdity, to please bis master. He has
an incurable horror for the Union, and his
greatest pride is to starve sooner than to so
licit parish relief. His children are taught
the same creed. He prefers living with nis
wife to being separated from her. His only
amusement is the Annual Agricultural Fat
and-Tallow show ; his greatest happiness, if
his master's pig, which he has fattened, gets
the prize. He struggles on, existing rather
than living, infinitely worse fed than the
beasts he gets up for the Exhibition—much
less cared about than the soil he cultivates,
toiling without hope, spring, summer, autumn
and winter, his wages never higher, frequent
ly less —and perhaps after thirty years’ un
ceasing labour, if he has been all that time
with the same landlord, he gets the munifi
cent reward of six-and-twopence, accompani
ed, it is true, with a warm eulogium on his
virtues by the President (a real Lord), for
having brought up ten children ‘and several
pigs upon five shillings a-week. This is the
Model Labourer, whose end of life is honour
ably fulfilled if he is able, after a whole life’s
sowing for another, to reap a coffin for him
self to be buried in !
Guide to tiie Insolvent Debtors’ Court.
—The surest way, lately, of getting there has
been to turn Mob Orator.
PUMPS MILK JUG.
The Temperance movement generally makes
a step forward in the march of public events
once a year. May is generally the favoured
month for advancing, and Exeter Hall gener
ally the place where the step is taken. We
have often been accused of giving our coun
tenance exclusively to conviviality. Now
we have often an eye to temperance, and if
we do turn up our nose at it occasionally', it
is only done to enable us afterwards to take
a deeper draught of the jug that is filled at
the spring. We are really as fond of water
as a long life of Caudleism will enable us to
be, and if we do colour the liquid now and
then with a golden or purple hue, which
slightly improves its flavour, it is done mere
ly to draw the curtain over a Lecture which
we cannot darken in our thoughts by any
other means less potent. Wives should bear
this in mind: We can always tell the dispo
sition of a wife towards her husband, by the
quantity” of milk that is drunk in the house
hold. If we see lemons and nutmegs also, or
worse than all, a cigar-box in a house, we
know at once the worst. Mrs. scolds and
Mr. drinks. If Madam is very hard, then
Monsieur drinks, and smokes also. Now, to
prove we often open our lips to temperance,
we present the Teetotal Societies with the pat
tern of a beautiful Milk Jug we have had in
our family for the last fourteen—we were go
ing to write years, but we mean days. The
reader will be pleased to observe that in our
Milk Jug the water is ail on the outside.
When we drink water we don’t take it in our
milk, but have it direct from the pump.
Mr. Felix Summerly is welcome to our de
sign, providing he charges something less than
£lO for any T earthenware specimen he may
make out of it.
A DIFFICULT MOVE.
The Suffolk Chronicle gives us the partic
ulars of how’ a house was moved seventy
feel, quite entire and uninjured, at Ipswich.
It seems it was done by mechanical means,
and greased timber. The same parties should
be invited to come up to London to move the
House of Commons; though, probably, it
would defy the best machinery in the country,
as long as Lord John is inside it, and oppo
ses every popular movement. We warn him
to give way, or else the House,when it is
moved, will be brought about his ears in such
a manner that he will regret not having one
of the above greased timbers to enable him
(as Jenkins, in his rose-water diction would
say,) to “cut his stick upon.”
General (Eclectic.
The following specimen of an English song without a sib
ilant, will prove that this uncouthly harshness may be
avoided.
No not the eye of tender blue
Tho’ Mary ’twere the tint of thine ;
Or breathing lip of glowing hue,
Might bid the opening bud repine
Had long enthrall’d iny mind;
Nor tint with tint, alternate aiding
That o’er the dimpled tablet how,
The vermile to the lily fading ;
Nor ringlet bright with orient glow
In many a tendril ’twin’d.
The breathing tint, a beaming ray,
The linear harmony divine,
That o’er the form of beauty play,
Might warm a colder heart than mine,
But not forever bind.
But when to radiant form and feature,
Internal worth and beauty join
With temper mild and gay good nature, —
Around the willing heart, they twine
The empire of the mind.
ALCOHOL A PRISONER AT THE BAR.
On Friday evening, Mr. Jabez Inwards, a
gent of the National Temperance Society, de
livered the first part of his celebrated lecture,
entitled, “Alcohol a Prisoner at the Bar,” at
the Southampton Polytechnic Institution,
which was crowded on the occasion by a high
ly respectable audience, who paid the most
marked attention to the evidence adduced a
gainst the prisoner. The indictment prefer
red against him contained the following char
ges, viz: that he was a thief, a deceiver, a
traitor, and a murderer. It was proved that
as a thief he has robbed England of its moral
glory, inasmuch as at the present time we are
considered to be the most drunken country in
the world. He has stolen, and is stealing,
money from the pocket, health from the body,
and peace from the mind. In many instan
ces he has stolen hope from the soul, and has
tened it down to eternal woe. Asa deceiver,
he is mighty in his influence; in all ages he
lias led the people astray; he has deceived
kings, warriors, bishops, and clergymen of all
denominations; he has deceived merchants and
tradesmen ; he deceives, also, the moderate
drinkers, who foolishly believe that Alcohol
imparts strength. Asa traitor, he marches
through this country with six hundred thou
sand drunkards at his heels, and is continual
ly carrying on a warfare against the good or
der and peace of society. He arms his vic
tims with the implements of rebellion; they
fill the air with vile imprecations, and impart
an influence which is destructive to thousands.
Asa murderer, the evidence was very clear.
A great many of the murders committed in
this country are committed under his influ
ence. He fills the soul with desperate de
signs, and madly leads his victims on, until
they are guilty of the foul deed of murdering
their fellow-men. He was also proved to be
a murderer, inasmuch as many are slain by
his own direct fiery influence upon the physi
cal sy’stem. This is but a brief outline of
the indictment, after which the following
witnesses were called to speak against the
prisoner at the bar: —Ist. The Bible, the
evidence of which went to prove that Alcohol
wasan enemy to man. Noah's intemperance
was cited against him, and the influence he
possessed in causing the prophets and the
priests to err. The names by which he is
known in the Bible, are, “a mocker, a ser
pent, an adder,” &c., and the command ofthe
Bible is, “ Look not upon the wine when itis
red.” Ministers were then called upon to
give evidence. Their declarations against
the prisoner were of an appalling nature. —
They spoke of his mighty doings at home and
abroad —how he curses the people by land
and by sea—how he retards the progress of
the Gospel, and how even many ministers have
fallen by his power. The Christian prof essor
was then called upon, who stated that Alco
hol caused thirty thousand Christian profes
sors to backslide from the church every year
—that some of those who were once his
Christian friends, were now the inmates ofthe
public-house, and were singing the songs of
Bacchus. History was then called upon, and
gave evidence to the following effect:—That
Alcohol, in all countries and all climates, had
been an enemy to. man. He told us of Alex
ander the Great, who killed Clitus, his best
friend, under its influence, and how that
great man died at the age of 33 in conse
quence of Alcohol. It told us of intemper
ance in ancient Greece, and Rome, and came
dow r n to a later period, faithfully assuring the
jury that the prisoner is a continual foe to
man. History told of Shakspears being in
jured by it; of Byron’s intemperance; of poor
Burns, who was reduced to poverty; and of
Sheridan, whose once glorious sun shone
brightly, but who fell a victim to the prisoner
Alcohol, The Physician then proved that
Alcohol was a poison which spiung out of
vegetable death ; that it was an enemy to the
physical system. And at last the poor drun
kard gave evidence against his distrover;
this was a very solemn part of the meeting,
and the attention was profound. He spoke
of his father's embrace, and his mother’s care,
and referred to the time when his character
was unsullied, and his hopes bright; but Al
cohol met him in the days of his youth, and
for a time he was strictly moderate, but at
length he fell, and in that fall he separated
himself from all that was good, he had ruin
ed his children, and broken the heart of his
wife. He stood before them as a representa
tive of 600,000 of his miserable fellow-suffer
ers; and he solemnly charged all his disease
and wretchedness to Alcohol—the prisoner at
the bar. This closed the evidence for the
prosecution with which the first lecture ter
minated.—London Examiner.
LORD ELDON.
The following anecdote, from the chancel
lor s own relation, places him in an amiable
point of view, and is as favorable a specimen
as could be given of his narrative style :
When I went to enjoy repose at Encombe,
I gave orders to be denied to all strangers, or
I should have been beset with applicants- —
One of these was a country clergyman from
the north of England, who had found his way
thither on loot, and asked for the chancellor.
Ihe servant who opened the door said his
lordship was out shooting.
‘• W hich way is he gone ?” replied the cler
gyman.
“What is your business, sir?” asked the
servant.
‘‘Never mind,” rejoined the clergyman;
“ only just tell me which wav your master is
gone.” J J
The servant pointed out the quarter in
which the chancellor was to be found; and
the stranger, following the direction, was not
long before he came up with a man carrying
a gun, and accompanied by a brace of dogs,
but somewhat shahbily dressed, of whom he