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84 —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