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260 with his arms akimbo, he could easily, as I thought, with his long, bony fingers, have spanned it. Around him, his coat, which was very tight, was held together by one button, and in consequence, an inch or more of tape, to which the button was attached, was per ceptible where it was pulled through the cloth. About his neck he wore a white era* vat, in which his chin was occasionally bu ried as he moved his head in conversation ; no shirt collar was perceptible; every other person seemed to pride himself on the size of his, as they were then worn large. Mr. Randolph’s complexion was precisely that of a mummy —withered, saffron, dry, and blood less : you could not have placed a pin’s point on his face, where you would not have touch ed a wrinkle. His lips were thin, compressed and colorless; the chin, beardless as a boy’s, was broad for the size of his face, which was small; his nose was straight, with nothing remarkable in it, except that it was too short. He wore a fur cap, which he took off, stand ing a few minutes uncovered. Fancy a dead man struck into life by lightning, and all his life in his eye, and you have a picture of John Randolph.”— Magooris Orators of the American Revolution. (Sdcctic of lllit. A TALE OF A TURKEY. AN UNFORTUNATE FACT. BY F. A. DURIVAGE. Orlando. — Forbear ! and eat no more ? Duke —We have eat none yet. Orlando. —Nor shall you till my appetite be served. As You Like It. One Saturday evening, not long ago, a trio of young gentlemen going home in the even ing, after the labors of the week had ended, chancing to look upwards at a third story window of a certain house in a certain street, not many levies from the well-known Marl boro’ Hotel, Boston, tenanted by an acquant ance of theirs, a young man of great histrion ic ability and repute, espied one of “ Plato’s Men,” i. e. a bird of the genus Turkey, de nuded of its feathers, and in fact prepared for spitting, hanging in a melancholy manner from a window-fastening, for thebenefit of pure air. Mr. TANARUS., the proprietor of the bird, being something of a bird-fancier, had, a few days previous, purchased this choice turkey, for the purpose of regaling himself and family there with on Sunday, wisely deferring the luxuri ous feast to a day of rest, whereon the wick ed prompter ceaseth from troubling, and the annoying call-boy is quiescent. So there the turkey—or the ding-dong, as Paul Shack has it, liung in the night breeze: And like a mighty pendulum, All solemnly he swung. But if Mr. TANARUS., loved turkey, so did his three friends, and Mephistopheles prompted them to a “ deed without a name(null and void, accordingly, their easy consciences ar gued,) and this was no other than the abduc tion of the bird. “Turkies are high,” said one of the trio. “Yes, but they’ll come down,” answered another, who, by chance, had become posses sed of a long cedar pole, which had been drop ped out of an unconscious countryman’s cart. ‘To lash the hooked blade of an open jack knife to the extremity of this pole was the work of a moment; in another, the string which attached the turkey to his nail was cut. “The last link was broken,” and down came the bird— facihs descensus , as the poet has it. The watchman was slumbering, and the prize was secured. They carried it into an eating-house, and ordered mine host to roast it, and serve it up the next day with appro priate “fixins” for their Sunday dinner. The next day, punctual to the appointed hour, the friends assembled and were told their meal would soon be served. While waiting for this desirable consummation, in came the owner of the abducted bird. He was pale and wan, and in a state of consid erable agitation. Walking up to the land lord in a nervous manner, he begged to know if he could, as a great, favor, accommodate him with about five pounds of beaf-steak. “ It’s all gone,” was the answer. “Mutton V ’ “All out.” “ What have you got ?” gasped the des paring victim. “I’ve got nothing for my Sunday dinner.” “You’d ought to have provided before liand,” said the sententious host. “ So I did,” replied the agonized actor: §®®TFH IS &S3 1L UTF H©& IB ¥ BABISIf IF IS * “ I had a turkey, and a better one Ne’er did repose upon a rusty nail; But he is gone ; whither, I know not sir. The earth has bubbles as the water hath, And he was ono of these , A turkey towering in his pride of place, Was hawked and moused at by some prowling rascal—l only wish I knew who it was.” “ Won’t you dine with us ?” asked one of the conspirators, “ we are going to have tur key.” “ No—no—l thank you —think of my fam ily. they would have no turkey. “ Farewell, a long farewell to dreams of turkey;” Landlord, what can you give me?” “ I’m sorry to say,” said the host, after a wink from one of the initiated, “that I can’t spare you any meat or poultry. I'm hard up myself. If it was any other day but Sun day. As far as a pot of baked beans goes, however ” “ Beans!” shrieked the victim, “do you take us for Mexicans, that you would feed us on their national rations ? Begone ! thou troublest me- —I’m not in the bean-eating vein. My wife! my little ones! Beans. m he repeat ed, with a sneering and demoniac emphasis. “ Better have ’em.” said the landlord. “Beans he it, then !” said the victim, in the deep, hollow tones of forced resignation. “Salubrious, savory, economical beans!” suggested the landlord pleasantly and mildly. “ Ah !” he added soothingly, as he folded up a brown pot in a napkin and delivered it to the despairing applicant, “I could almost pick a bean with you myself.” “ Gentlemen !” said tne victim, folding the bean-pot in his arms with an air of great dig nity, “ you cannot fully appreciate my feel ings—you cannot sympathize entirely with me. You called for turkey, and you had it: i, who had for four days been preparing my palate for the inordinate delectation which a well-roasted dindon invariably affords, am obliged to satisfy it with an article compared to which, turkey is, as Shakspeare observes, ‘ Hyperion to a Satyr.’ Imagine the transi tion from roast turkey to baked beans ! Par don these tears! Truly there is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous!” And with these words Mr.T. disappeared with his sorrowful burthen. The conspirators dined well that day, while their victim—but we will forbear to draw aside the veil which should shroud the sor rows of a bereaved and afflicted family. On New Year’s eve, however, Mr. T. was agreeably surprised by the reception of a note and a parcel. The former was anonymous, and contained condolences upon his loss; the latter contained a turkey, finer, fatter, heavier than the lamented and lost bird. When the remains of this atonement were removed from the table upon New Year’s day, Mr. T. leaned back in his chair, weary with his labors. “That was capital!” said he—“but, upon my soul, I wish I could find out who stole that other turkey’' 1 NctDopa])£r Analects. AN EXTRAORDINARY -WOMAN. The Princess Belgiose has been, for the last ten years, one of the most renowned belles of Paris. At her first arrival in the French capital, she took the lead as a beau ty ; the perfection, as she was, of a glowing young Italian, but her wit and conversation al powers soon left her beauty a secondary thing, and even of this pre-eminence she, in a year or two, became impatient. With keen and ready industry, she took up sci ence, and before long became the beautiful centre of a circle of men of learning ; lastly, [ even, having written a work of divinity, j which added to the respect of superior men, for her powers. The Princess was lately called upon by a scientific gentleman. On entering her draw ing-room, he observed a young officer, and did not immediately recognise his fair friend under the disguise of the uniform. Her hair had been cropped short, and curled close to her head ala Titus. Her military frock w T as buttoned over her well-rounded chest to the throat. The stripe down the pantaloons was fitted to the boot with an imperative turn that gives a meaning to the spur, and there was but one exception, which all women make to the correctness of masculine costume—the cap was cocked too far one side. “How am I to explain this new phase of our favorite planet?” said the astronomer, making, at the fame time, the best possible use of his eyes. “Ah !” replied the Princess, “you did not observe my traveling carriage in the court yard, as you came up?” “And where bound in these troubled times ?” he asked with wonder. “To the wars—to the wars !” she exclaim ed, striking her heels together with a drill thump that made the apartment ring. “ Ita ly, my country, is at war with the tyrannical Austrians, and I am off in an hour!” “ Not famous enough, my dear Princess !” pathetically sighed the astronomer. “Beau ty, wit, science, theology, have all done their best for you, and still you are athirst for dis tinction ?” The Princess threw off her dramatic man ner, and looked grave. “It is not altogether for anew fame,” she said in another tone, “ though that goes for something, as it w T ell may—but my country, Italy, is a land worth striking a blow for, even with so poor a hand as this; and I go to raise men with what money I can command and to lead them if need be.” The Princess looked like an enthusiastic officer of 18, while she spoke, though she is now past thirty—her male dress had so reju venated her —and her learned friend describes her expression, tone and beauty together, as having been memorably attractive. The account of this morning call has be come current since the news from Italy, that in the late attack of the Sardinian army upon the Austrian, the Princess led two hundred of her own arming and equipping, and behaved herself most gallantly. — French Paper. -i M i —_ TIME’S CHANGES. A late letter in the Concordia Intelligencer has the following notice of a gentleman, who died recently in Mexico: “ Among the recent deaths here, I noticed one that scarcely attracted a passing remark, yet he was a man who, twenty years ago, stood at the head of society—Martin Duralde. Born of an influential and affluent family in Attakapas, extensively connected, augment ing his hereditary fortunes by successful in vestments, married to a daughter of the Hon. Henry Clay, who was then at the zenith of his popularity and power, Mr. Duralde was, on all sides, courted, consulted and caressed. But reverses overtook him ; city property ra pidly ran down; his wife died; his friends diminished with his fortune, and at the com mencement of the Mexican war, this man, once so rich, so popular, and so honored, found himself obliged, for subsistence, to fol low our march with a few packages of mer chandize. He recently embarked on a trad ing schooner at Tampico, to return home. The deadly fever of that coast swept off eve ry one of the crew but a small boy, and when the vessel, after beating about in the gulf, fi nally made the bar of the river, with a signal of distress, the captain was found dead on a pallet, and the unfortunate Duralde by his side in the last agonies, and no medicine, no water, and scarcely a ration of food onboard. What an illustration of the vanity and vicis situdes of life!” AN ODD SIMILE. Do you remember a description given of the Sloth by Sydney Smith, in his review of “Waterton’s Wanderings in South America.” “The Sloth in its wild state spends its life in trees, and never leaves them but from force or accident; and what is most extraordinary, he lives not upon the branches, but under them. He moves suspended, sleeps suspend ed, and passes his life in suspence—like a young clergyman distantly related to a Bish op !”— Knickerbocker. A PAINFUL FROLIC. Among the facetiae of Charles ll.’s days, it was the custom when a gentleman drank a lady’s health as a toast, by way of doing her greater honor, to throw some part of his dress into the fire, an example which his compan ions were bound to follow, by consuming the article of their apparel, whatever it might be. One of his friends perceiving at a tavern din ner that Sir Charles Sedley had on a very rich lace cravat, when he named his toast, committed his cravat to the flames, as a burnt offering to the temporary divinity, and Sir Charles and the rest of the party were obliged to do the same. The poet bore his loss with I great composure, observing it was a good joke, but that he would have as good a one some other time. He watched, therefore, his opportunity, when the same party was as sembled on a similar occasion, and drinking off a bumper to the health of Nelj Gwynne or some other beauty of the day, he called the waiter, and ordering a tooth-drawer into the room, whom he had previously brought to the tavern for the purpose, made him draw a de cayed tooth which long had plagued him.— The rules of good fellowship, as then in force, clearly required that every one of the compa ny should have a tooth drawn also, but they j very naturally expressed a hope that SedW would not be so unmerciful as to enforce th law. Deaf, however, to all their remonstraf ces, persuasions and entreaties, he saw them one after another put themselves into th hands of the operator, and whilst writhing with pain, added to their torment by exclaim ing—“Patience, gentlemen, patience’ V ou promised that 1 should have my frolic too';’ -—■— IRISH INGENUITY, When General Y was quartered in a small town in Ireland, he and his lady were regularly besieged, whenever they got into their carriage, by an old beggar woman, who kept her post at the door, assailing them dai ly with fresh importunities and fresh tales of distress. At last the lady’s charity and the General's patience were nearly exhausted but their petitioner's wit was still in its pris tine vigor. One morning, at the accustomed hour, when the lady was getting into her car riage, the old woman began : “ Agia ! my lady; success to your lady ship, and success to your honor’s honor this morning, of all days in the year- for sure didn’t 1 dream last night, that her lady ship gave me a pound of ta, and that your honor gave me a pound of tobacco?” “ But, my good woman,” said the General, “ do you know that dreams always goby the rule of contrary ?” “ Do they so, plase your honor ?” rejoined the old woman. “Then it must be your honor that will give me the fa, and her ladyship that will give me the tobacco.” The General being of Sterne’s opinion, that a bon mot is always worth something, even more than a pinch of snuffy gave the inge nious dreamer, the value of her dream. i i AN HAPPY DEVICE. We know of a couple, not many hundred miles from the capital of Hoosierdom, who carried on their courtship in rather a novel manner. A young gentleman had fallen in love with the daughter of his employer, but from certain ideas of wealth anything like a match was strenuously opposed by the fath er. The consequence was, the young man was forbidden visiting at his employer's house. During the winter season, as the old gentleman was in the habit of wearing his cloak, the young couple made him the inno cent and unsuspecting bearer of their corres pondence. The young lady would pin a let ter inside the lining of the old man’s cloak during the dinner hour, and when the father had returned to the counting-house, and thrown off his cloak, the young lover would go take out the lady’s epistle, read it, and send the reply back in the same manner. It is needless to say, that love and ingenuity were finally successful. > i - PARLIAMENTARY FORMS. The following passage occurs in a late London letter to the N. Y. Evening Mirror: The process of receiving bills in the Com mons from the Lords will bear alluding to for the purpose of showing the capacity in which the brother of the Premier of England figures in respect to it. An old man (some times two) with a wig three times as large and six as hideous, if that be posstble, as judges’ wigs, and a lawyer’s gown, presents himself at the bar and makes a profound sa laam, a regular stage, Bluebeard sort of an affair. The eye of the speaker catches the movement —he can’t help it—and he calls out, “What have you got there?” Answer —“ Such and such” a bill from the Lords.”— The speaker then inquires, but without wait ing for a response, which is never given, if it be the pleasure of the House to receive the communication ? Whereupon the Sergent-at arms, Lord Charles Russell, hops out of his little pigeon hole of a seat at the entrance of the house, and walks up to the table, making obeisances to the chair with a mot oriental suppleness of back all the way, he being ac courted in court costume —knee breeches, silk stockings, buckled shoes and small sword. On arriving at the table he takes hold of the immense mace (Cromwell’s “bub ble”) and back he inarches backwards, front ing the speaker all tiie time, to the bar. Here he acts as convoy to the Peers’ messenger, and up the centre of the floor the pair strut, stopping every four or five paces to go through a particular emphatic cringe. The bill being laid upon the table the pair creep backwards, back again—and this is the part of the per formance which most disturbs the gravity of the gravest beholder ; and assuredly nothin)? so profoundly grosteque did mortal eyes ever behold in the serious business of life, as tw° full-grown men thus shambling about on tn