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morning— and I pledge you my life it will work wonders. There need never be anoth er divorce on thatscore—don't you think so ?” said the Captain turning briskly to Peter.” (Eclectic of 111 it THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN WflQ LOST HIS COAT TAIL. Walker’s celebrated exchange, in Louis ville, Kentucky, is the favorite resort of the citizens of that burg; and its gentlemanly proprietor enjoys a popularity there, which would almost elect him Governor of the State, if he would but consent to run for that office. Strangers, of course, go to Walker's, and he Jakes them in ; but sometimes lie puts them out. A case of the latter kind was related to us the other day, which deserves to be chron icled. A young stranger arrived in Louisville about t\v(f weeks since, on a matrimonial vi sit, and of course he donned his best suit to visit his girl. He made his call, arranged all the preliminaries, passed a delightful after noon and evening, tipped a honeyed kiss from the lips of his fair inamorata at parting, and started down to his lodgings at the Galt house. The wedding was set foi the next day, and the young dog tripped along, so buoyed up by anticipation, that you would have guessed, to have seen him, that he had, mercury-like, wings to his heels. On his way down he ob served that the light was still burning in “ Walkers,” and the large placard at the door, of “ fresh oysters in the shell,' 1 ' 1 was too tempting an invitation, at that interesting pe riod, to be stoically passed by ; so he thought lie would just step in and taste a dozen, by way of invigorating his dreams. He entered ; a dozen was called for, served, tasted, and washed down with a glass of the proprietor’s choice madeira. The general good feeling of the young stranger was measurably height ened. He turned to leave, and as he was the last customer, the bar-keeper followed him to the door, to lock it after him. At that mo ment a jolly crowd came round the corner, singing— “ Picayune Butler’s come to town.” The barkeeper knowing the crowd was making for W.’s, and it being already after midnight, he desired to shut them out: so he politely hurried the young stranger through the door, slammed it too, locked it, put the ! bar across, and retreated with his lamp up stairs. Presently there was a tremendous rapping at the front door, but the barkeeper, Satisfied that it was the noisy company he had barred out, rolled himself up in the quilts, and turned over to take his “ winks.” “Jim, will you open this door 1 you d — n fool!” shouted one of the crowd, with sten torian lungs. “ I ain’t no such fool,” grumbled Jim, as lie pulled the cover tighter around him. “Will you open this d-o-o-r?" 1 was yelled again. “ 1 wont —that’s flat,” growled Jim to him self in answer, and off he dropped into the land of dreams. He slept as it might he sup posed a soldier would, who was listening to the storming of Chapultepec. An amusing scene was transpiring all this time on the outside. The young stranger, in hastily passing through the portal, brushed up one of the tails of his new coat, and the barkeeper in shutting one half the door se curely fastened the coat tail in the opening. Supposing, of course, that he would observe it and instantly release him, the young man stood still for a moment, and the noisy party surrounded him. “Stand aside, stranger, and let us in,” said the ioremost of the party. “ I would like to do so, gentlemen,'’ was the reply, “if I could; hut upon my word, just at present, I am unable to comply.” “Well; we’ll help you,” said another, and seizing him by the arm. he slung him, minus the coat tail, out upon the pavement. Here was a very fine opening for a small light—but one of the party perceiving the dif ficulty at a glance, interfered with a thousand apologies for his impetuous friend, stated that •he torn garment should be paid for, &c., and j offered to lend him his own coat until the ! morning. The destruction of the wedding garment was very unfortunate, and the young stranger lost temper at the idea of his being so awkwardly fastened to the door by the bar keeper ; but what was his further horror to h n d that a package of money, amounting to intended to hear the expenses of him <elf and bride to her future home, was in the j coat tail pocket, and like it, fastened in the i,oor - He did not exactly know whether it was prudent to let the present crowd into a knowledge of the fact that such an amount tVas in the pocket, hut to get the door open. &0If£& AIE ¥ ©A 81 IF IF & ♦ he told them that his marriage certificate was in the wedged up coat tail. On this announce ment, all vowed they would rescue the pre cious document, or tear the tails of their com bined under garments in the effort, and ac cordingly they assailed the barred portal in a mass. They were preparing to follow up their fruitless effort of assault with feet and lists, by substituting an awning post fora bat tering ram, when a watchman interfered, in quired the cause of trouble, and volunteered to visit the rear of Walker’s premises, and have the rear of the gentleman’s wedding coat released. This arrangement was gene rally agreed to, and watchy started. In the meantime, the outsiders held a small caucus of condolence with the groom , during which several animated resolves were passed ; they would victimize the barkeeper, ichcn they got in, by keeping him up until day-light. The banging of the door behind them, and the bar closing in the iron hasp, aroused their atten tion, but it was too late. The barkeeper, on learning the trouble, had quietly descended, opened the door, pushed out the coat tail, and fastening the entrance, heat a retreat again. The outsiders stormed, but it was of no use ; they, therefore, conclu ded to pack up the trophy, hear it along to some open establishment, and hold a jollifica tion over its rescue. The owner recovered his package of money, and wished to retreat, but they were in no mood to part with him— they wished to heal all differences before they separated, drink the health of the lady named in the recaptured document, and fill out an or der for anew wedding suit. The stranger was forced to yield, and we need not add, that he got home very late next morning. The day had grown old before the victim was able to visit his bride, and of course she pouted a little, but on the promise to assign sufficient cause at the wedding, the arrange ment was allowed to proceed. As he promis ed, so did he faithfully rehearse the above facts, and pledge his forgiving young v ife that he would hereafter try and keep himself out of such night scrapes.— St. Louis Reveille. £l)c (Essayist. For the Southern Literary Gazette. SHAKSPEARE’S CHARACTER OF BOTTOM, THE WEAVER. Hazlitt, commenting upon Shakspeare’s Comedy of the Midsummer-Night’s Dream, remarks that Bottom, the Weaver, is a char acter who has never had justice done him ; and we think his observation a true one. The fastidious portion of the reading world are too prone to eschew his humble acquain tance, for fear of soiling their imaginary gen tility. \\ hile, in our opinion, saving valiant Jack Falstaff, Nick Bottom is ihe most recher che of all Shakspeare’s humorists.. In the drama of life, it is remarkably true that the pomp and circumstance usually attendant up on piincely characters, throws a veil of ob scurity over those which occupy a subordi nate and less distinguished position ; yet, the consideration of these minor characters, or “lesser lights,” is essentially necessary to the completion of a perfect picture from na ture. Human nature is exemplified in the dis positions, the feelings, and outward actions of mankind—has its bright and its dark side— its beauties and its deformities—its spirituali ties and its carnalities; and. whether these are contemplated as thrown back from the elevated points of honor, or the sinks and pools of corruption, our reflections, thereup on, are equally significant in regard to the moral bearings which they severally possess. The proud and imperious occupant of the throne comprises, in his natural constitution— mental, moral and physical—the same prin ciples of life, the same feelings and actions, as the most contemptible minion that panders to his royal appetites. The human heart is everywhere the same : the icy atmosphere of the frozen zone cannot petrify, nor the burn ing rays of a tropical sun wither, its natural emotions. Its passions, its feelings, its sym pathies, are everywhere called into existence by the same desires and impulses; and, though education may construct a factitious fortification, under cover of which the true motives and principles of action may lie con cealed from public scrutiny, yet the hidden truths never fail to be detected by the all seeing and impartial eye of Conscience. Shakspeare, while descending to portray the elements of character which enter into the composition of so humble an individual as Bottom, has not perverted, for the purposes of fiction, the unchanging laws of human na ture. Bottom is strictly as genuine a repre sentative of a class in society as Hamlet, the princely lord and lover, or Richard, the bold, crafty, and villainous courtesan; and, though the station and sphere of influence be more exalted and extensive in the one case, the mo ral deductions from each are equally momen tous. Viewing the character of Bottom, then, in the light of an humble hut genuine repre sentative of a portion of our species, let us I not disclaim his acquaintance on account of | the obscurity of his occupation; for, to all who will examine the scenes in which he figures, we do promise a “ perpetual feast” of wit and humor. With these rambling preliminary remarks, we will now introduce the reader to Bottom, in propria persona. We find him assembled with a few’ choice spirits of the Athenian De mocracy, deliberating upon the preliminaries of a play to he performed before the Duke and Duchess, on the occasion of the celebra- J tion of their most glorious nuptials. The ! piece which has been seleoted for the occa sion is, “The most lamentable comedy and ; cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.” To Bottom is assigned the principal part in the play. He is to represent Pyramus, who dies “ most gallantly for love.” And no doubt, from his naturally enthusiastic disposition, he was the most proper man of all those Athenians to have personated the brave and chivalrous Pyramus. However, this perfor mance partakes too much of the sorrowful for his spirited disposition : he would prefer something in the “Ercles vein:” he thinks he could act a part to tear a cat in, rarely. If th rt re is one distinguishing feature in the character of Bottom, the Weaver, it is his un bounded egotism. The exalted opinion which he enterta ins of his infinite powers, contrast ed with his humble occupation and limited acquirements, gives the whole scene a most ludicrous appearance. Bottom belongs to that highly respectable class of men denomi nated “little great men”—busy bodies and restless discontents, who are never satisfied with the station “ nature and their stars” lias assigned to them, but who aspire to flourish in all professions and business, and all at the same time. No sooner is he infoimed that there is a lady’s part in the play, than he de sires to act it, and straightway enumerates his feminine qualifications for the part: among them is “a monstrous little voice,” by the aid of which he will say, very softly, “ This- 1 ne, Thisne; ah, Pyramus, my lover dear, thy Thisbe dear! and lady dear!" 1 But he as quickly changes his mind, when he learns that Snug, the Joiner, is to play the lion’s part, and that nothing is required but extem poraneous roaring. Yes, he must play the lion’s part, too, for he will roar, and it will do any man’s heart good to hear him —and he will make the Duke say, “ Let him roar again — let him roar again!" 1 And, in case the ladies become alarmed, he says, “But I will aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove—l will j roar you as if it were any nightingale.” > Mark the use and application of the word “aggravate.” The methodical and systemat ic Quince, the Carpenter, dees not esteem the versatile powers of Bottom so highly as he does himself; he, therefore, confines him to the part of Pyramus, because Pyramus is a most proper and sweet-faced man. Before rehearsing the piece, Bottom makes a few appropriate suggestions, which have occurred to his philosophic mind. He does not think the ladies can witness the drawing of a sword, which Pyramus must do when he kills himself ; he, therefore, intimates to his wor thy associates the propriety of instituting a new procedure, which is nothing more than a prologue. This ingenious plan does away with the necessity of abandoning the murder scene, while it entirely divests the unpleasant transaction of its bloody aspect, by informing the audience that Pyramus is not killed, and that Pyramus is not Pyramus, but Bottom, the Weaver. He likewise doubts the expe diency of introducing the lion. Hear him : “To bring in—God shield us!—a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild fowl than your lion living.” Another prologue must be introdu ced to tell the ladies that it is no lion which they see, but simply Snug, the Joiner. For the purpose of acquainting the reader more intimately with the character of Bottom, the Weaver, we beg leave to introduce a por tion of Scene first in Act the fourth. Tita nia, queen of the fairies, having fallen asleep, the juice of a certain herb is squeezed upon her eye-lids, which enamours her of the first object that meets her eye. When she awakes, she beholds Bottom with an ass's head. He is conducted to a bower by’ the attendants of the Fairy Queen, whereupon the following conversation takes place*: Tixa. —Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And k is? thy fair large cars, my gentle joy. Box. —Where’s Peas-blossom ? Pkas.—Ready. i Box. —Scratch my head, Teas blossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb 1 (Job. — R cady. Box.—Monsieur Cobweb, good Monsieur, get your weapons in your hand, and kill me a rod-hipped humble bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good Mon sieur, bring me the honev-bag. Do not fret your self too much in the action, Monsicr; and, good Monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey bag, Signior. Where’s Monsieur Mustavd-seed't” Musx.—Ready. Box.—Give mo your neif, Monsieur Mustard seed. Pray you, lca\e your courtesy, good Mon sieur. Mrrsx —What’s your will 1 Box. —Nothing, good Monsieur, but to help Ca valero Cobweb to scratch. 1 must to the barber's, Monsieur ; lor, moth inks, i am marvellous hairy about the face ; und 1 um such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. TtXA.—What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love 1 Box—l have a reasonable good ear in music: let m have the tongs and the hones. Tixa. —Or, say, sWeet love, what thou desir’st to eat. Bo r. —Truly, a peck of provender: I could mureh your good dry oats. Methinks i have a great desii'e to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fel'ow. Tixa. — l have a venturous fairy that shall seek tin* squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. Box. —I had rather have a handful or two of dried pe.ts. But, 1 pray you, let none of ybur people stir me ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. Tixa. —Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. The contrast between the sentimentality of the fairy Queen and Bottom’s sang froid is striking and amusing. Probably, in no pei formance of Shakspeare occur so many beau titul sentiments as are to be found in his Mid summer-Night’s Dream. Vet, in the very midst of so much elegance and refinement, he lias contrived to introduce a rough, careless, and whimsical character like Bottom, in such a manner as heightens and adorns, instead of detracting from the surrounding beauty. So much luxury of language would surfeit the eye, were there no coarser objects to which it could turn for repose. The portraiture of a character of this de scription would seem to have required a clo ser acquaintance with human nature than al most any other. The world abounds in ty rants, villains, ambitious lovers, and beauti ful women : hence, the painter of these would experience no great difficulty in finding the archetype of his hero or heroine. But the eye might survey a million of men, and not iind a Bottom among them all. Bottom nev er laughs. J. H. N. “ II OR AS NON NUMERO NISI SERENAS. “ [lnscription on a Dial.J Save whc.i the eun’s resplendent ray May gild the j assing hour, To mark the minutes on their way, I lose the ie.idy power. So only can sh it time be blest, Ami called by man his own, In which the sunbeam of the breast, The Conscience may have shone ! 179