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7:1. r.'''■■( ‘ — 7, . 1 7 t- :, ...... IHLIM. i wii MM to mmmm, tm mn aid scishcss, mb to mml mmyi. For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. BALLAD. From a Volume of Poems now in Press. BY W.M. GILMORE SIMMS. By the brooklet, grove and meadow, Where together once we strayil, Do I wander, fond as ever, Haunting still each secret shade ; Aud, that thus content I wander, Where such precious joys wore mine, Do 1 know that thou art with mo, And my spirit walks with thine. In the murmur of the brooklet, .Still, thy well-known voice I hear, And the whisper in the tree-top, Tells me that thy form is near ; Thou hast left me, at departing, All that earth could never take, And, still comforted, I wander Through these shadows for thy sake. Were 1 guilty oT a passion, Which thy beauty could survive, Still I feel thy gentle presence. Must the earthly fancy shrive ; And, discoursing with thy spirit, Oh ! I feel that earth has nought To compensate the forgetting Os the sweetness thou hast taught. J4> WHO IS THE MAN THAT LIVES NEXT DOOR? We live in a great city. It is filled with avenues, and the streets and lanes and al leys, and the sides of all these, are crowd ed with great piles of buildings, filled with people, men, women and children. But they are not fairly divided—those splendid palaces have but three or four inmates, who comprise the family—the rest are pampered, well-fed men and women ser vants. Six of these handsome piles take up the whole side of a block. Comeback a short distance : here is a little wooden building, away back at the end of a dark alley. It has a little yard —it’s like an ant hill. Children, little babies, almost tagged, dirty, and half starved, are tumbling about, just as though they liked being frozen; but go inside—only in one room : there is an old woman on a piece of carpet for a bed ; there are men lying round the fire, two wo men are washing, there are three pretty girls and some children ; the only home they’ve got in the world, is there in that room. Every room, nook and cranny, in that old, ricketty building, teems with mis erable human beings, and even they are only allowed to exist and stay there when they pay their way regularly from day to day. When they can’t do that, they must go out into the only place left them—the open air. That, God has provided for them, and they can sleep there, free of charge. Why is this so I—What a sim ple question ! The few people in the big house are rich, and hardly know what to do with their money, they have got so much of it. The people in the little old tenements, in the out-of-way place, though they, too, are human beings, just the same as the others, yet they are poor, very poor, and barely get food enough to keep them alive. They shiver and suffer with cold, but that ain’t nothing—they get used to that ; ong weeks of want and wretched ness are their portion—it does ’em good ; but food they must have now and then, or else they would die. Who would care if they did ? Who would miss these poor wretches 1 They would be better off—and then they wouldn’t annoy respectable peo ple, by coming to their houses, ringing the bell, worrying the poor servants to open the door, begging for a little food, a very little, just to carry home to dear little chil dren up in an old garret, lying there wrap ped up in the warmest covering she could find—it is the ragged old coat of her poor husband, who died of consumption, and was carried to Potter's Field to lie. That wretched, helpless mother, leaves the little i naked ones, nestling together in that old j coat, hungry and half frozen, while she goes to beg a little food to keep them, as well as herself, alive, until the cold weath er goes away, and it gets warm again.— She only wants a little ; see how pleading she looks—see her watering eyes, and the j beseeching way she has. She is thinking : of her little ones; thoj T are very dear to her. The servant slaps the door in her j face, and tells her, “Go away; we don't I give anything to beggars; the city pro-1 vides for them ; why don’t you go to the J Alms House 1” It is a cruel sight. Wei saw just such a sight one day last week ;! it was on the steps of a house not a hun- j died miles from Union Square, we heard these very words used. We were on the next steps, and had not rung the bell. We shan’t forget that woman’s hopeless look as the door closed. “Oh, God!” was all she uttered. It was enough. The tone, the look, the agony, all combined with the two words the destitute woman uttered, were enough. We felt that we were di rectly called upon to act. That woman, in her misery, had called almost in despair on God. We were one of his agents. We were warm and strong. She was suffer ing, a woman, ragged, weak, and half frozen. We hadn't a blessed cent about us, but that was nothing—we never care tor that, except it be in a case like this— then we borrow a shilling, quarter, or half, as the case may be, from the first kind friend we meet, and apply it to a holy pur pose—relieving suffering humanity. There is many a friend of our own, who, at the general settlement on the day of judgment, will find himself creditor for moneys in vested in this way, where we have acted as broker, and never charged a cent bro kerage. We are willing to let such friends have the whole benefit of the deed ; they are entitled to it, for we don’t remember ever having returned a cent under these circumstances. In this ease, we borrowed no money, but merely said to the poor wo man, “My good woman, just wait down on the side-walk a moment, wc want to talk to you —it’s all right.” It was worth a quarter, to see the hope that sparkled in that woman’s eyes, when we said this.— We had to see the gentleman who lived next door to where the woman had been. The servant answered the bell: “ Not in.” “ Is the lady in ?” “1 11 see. What name V’ “ Mr. Henry.” While he went into the parlor, to ask the lady whether she was in or not, we hailed the woman on the walk— “ Don’t you go away until 1 come out.” “No, I won't,” was her reply. The servant came back — “Mrs. D wishes you to walk in the parlor.” We did so, and then found the lady— and there were too very charming young ladies. This was more than we had bar gained for when we had entered. But we had an object to achieve, and were not to be scared by two pretty girls. So, remem bering our mission, we put on an extra quantity of modest assurance, and opened after this fashion : “Madame, I called for the purpose of seeing your husband.” “ He is not at home.” “So your servant was kind enough to say to meand we looked at the grinning darkey, who stood ready to show us out. “My object in seeing your husband, was to ask him if he had received a letter recently from Col. S , of Cincinnati. I wish to know if that gentleman had left C. for Washington, or when he was to leave.” “I really do not know. I think, how ever, that Col. S is still at C. lam sorry my husband is not at home. Do you know Col. S 1” “ Intimately, madam—he is one of my most esteemed friends.” “Cato, close that door. Will you be seated 1” “Thank you, madam: I have something now to say to you. On the steps, next door, I saw a poor woman, evidently an American woman, grossly insulted by a servant, for nothing more than asking for a little food to take home, I suppose, to her children.” “ Indeed, why Mr. lives next door, on that side.” “ Yes, I know he does. I took his name down. He has the reputation of being very rich. God, madam, makes some terrible retributions, in a quiet way he has of do ing those things ; and rich as that man is, 1 should not be at all surprised if the Al mighty, in his wise arrangements, should strip him of a wealth he does not know how to use, and send him up to Bellevue He should be sent to Blackwell’s Island, madam, for keeping pampered servants to refuse a morsel of bread to one of God’s poor women. It is really awful.” “Why, how you talk. It is shocking to treat a woman so. Where is she V’ “On the side-walk, where I told her to wait until I could find, madam, someone like yourself, who could relieve her dis tress.” “ Susan, tell Cato to call her in directly.” The beautiful Susan didn't wait for the Homan, but called her to come in with her own pretty tongue. She came in, and Su san made her go with her into the parlor. ! We took a seat and looked on as a listen j er. What a beautiful sight it is, to see woman, beautiful woman, engaged in works of mercy and charity!—how such pure be ings as angels must look upon such a scene! Such a running down into the kitchen, and lugging up bread, cake, mince pie, half a chicken, ham—and a plate of mashed po tatoes. Cato brought up a basket—they piled it full. We have paid three shillings for just such a basket. The woman's heart was so swollen, she couldn’t speak, until Susan asked her about her children; then she found relief in a hearty crying spell. “ Madam,” said I, “I will carry the pro visions your bounty has bestowed upon de serving objects. I have no doubt there is no deception—l am sure. I will go home with her, and if there is anything that can be done, I will see to it.” Susan wished me to wait a moment, and up stairs she ran, but was back again in a jiffy, with something tied up in a bundle. She gave it to me. I thanked the kind la dy, for the poor woman could not. Kind ness had completely upset her philosophy; she was not used to it, and hadn’t a word to say. As I was leaving the parlor, Mrs. D observed— “ Mr. Henry, do you really think Mr. ever go to the poor house V’ “ Not a doubt about it; and as you have been so very kind to this poor woman, if the man next door is a friend of yours, I’ll speak to Moses G. Leonard, and hand him the name, so that, when he does reach there, he shall get extra grub, for your sake.” “You are taking too much trouble.” “Not at all. I will do it with pleasure. Mr. Leonard is the Commissioner, the head man of all—a very particular friend of mine; we were both in Congress together —that is—l mean to say—we were both iti Washington at the same time. He was in Congress—now I’ve got it right. I have made him a promise, madam, to go through all the arrangements confided to his charge with him, and see how the system is car ried out in the details—the Alms House system ; and—really, 1 beg your pardon for trespassing upon your time—good af ternoon.” And we left the parlor for the hall with our protege; hut Susan was along, and saying kind and gentle words to the poor woman. She spoke one word to us aside. “AVill you go to her home T She may need this: will you be so kind as to see that it is used judiciously for her benefit 1” She placed something in our hand, just before we stepped out, and then she closed the door; we thought it was a quarter, and did not look at it until, with our loaded basket on our arm, we reached the side walk; then we looked —it was yellow! We took another look at the massive house. Now there was no mistake; wealth was written over the portals; the young girl knew what she had given. “ Shan’t I carry the basket, sir “ You 1 No, indeed ; I will carry it my self. But which way 1” “ We keep down the Bowery, to Riving ton, and then go towards the East River.” “Why, that’s exactly my road : how far overl” “Over towards Pitt.” “ Why, you are in my Ward!” That was a confounded heavy basket, and before we got half-way to the end of Rivington street, it weighed enormous. — We got to her home at last, but good God! what a place to call by the sweet name of home. We entered a place, that led back under and through a building—somewhere. She went a-head, and we followed, until we reached daylight, then through a yard, up a pair of ricketty old stairs, ihen through a room filled with a family, into her room. She rented that room from the people through whose room she had access to her own. Her rent was $2 a month or 50 cents a week. The paltry fire kept up by her poor neighbors, was all she had to warm her and her three children. They were all huddled up in the straw, in one corner, and had some old rags and some thing like a coverlet about them. The eld est was a girl about seven years old, the next a boy of five, and the youngest was only two years old. These were three as pretty children as wa ever laid eyes upon; and was it not a pleasant sight to sec their sparkling peepers, when they discovered that basket. They wanted food —they were half starved ; they did not seem to mind the cold, although they were all but naked. We had onr hands full the rest of that day ; but before we left that quartette, they had a room, a fire of their own, a month's vent paid for, a mattress, bed, blankets, quilt, and wood for a week. We used up the five, and all we could spare from our own house, to accomplish these objects. ’ The next morning, the mother came round to our house, and with her was the little girl, whom she called Jeanette. Snow co | vered the ground, and she was bare-foot. WPe hadn’t thought of that, neither had Su san. To remedy it, we went down town, j and made her mother let her remain until we got back. We went to a friend's house near the Battery. We had business with him, and, while there, we told his little daughter the story. She had lots of little old shoes and stockings, that would have answered lor our little Jeanette. But the little miss had lost a costly bracelet, had calls to make with her mother, was in a hurry, but would pick out her old shoes, and have them ready, if we would call, that day week. As we came up home, we remembered it was Saturday, and that there were a few dollars at our credit on that day in the Sun Newspaper Establishment. We stepped in and receipted for it. and little Jeanette went home to her mother with stockings and a pair of shoes upon her feet. “The blessings which even the weak and poor can scatter, have their own sea son.” How often do the rich and wealthy ex claim, “ Oh, we would give, but there are so many impostors, we might be deceived.” Suppose you are ? But you need not be! Go with the poor beggar; look with your own eyes; and if the object is deserving, you will lie down upon your pillow, after doing an act of real benevolence and char ity, administered by your own hands, and sleep more peacefully than the squander ing of hundreds of your surplus wealtli upon your own pleasures, could bring. This is no fiction ; and if the gentle gill who gave the gold for the relief of the poor widow, should ever see these lines, she need not blush at reading this tribute to her goodness. She deserves it all; and to those who wish to have an answer to the query of ‘Who’s the Man that lives next poor V we would most respectfully beg them to ex amine well, and see that they answer not to the description. 3 NORTH CAROLINA PERSONIFIED, —OR A SUMMER IN THE SOUTH. BV A SOUTHRON. Morals of North-Carotina—Character of the North-Carolinian — His phlegm uni philosophy —His performances—His orators and histori ans—Shipping and Manufactures —3fotm- tains atui Farms —Diamonds and Minerals. “We have not forgotten our pledges,” said our sea-green orator from Alabama, “ and if not too full of better stuff, 1 pro pose to give you an ample supply of the Old North State. No one dissenting, he proceeded with his extracts in the follow ing language, which lie assured us was de rived from other sources than his own. “ The genius of North Carolina,” said he, “is clearly masculine. He would be ! as little interested if the scents which he ; gave forth were cologne instead of turpen tine. There he stands, an enormous wasts of manhood, looking out upon the Atlan tic. His form, though bulky, is angular, —one shoulder rather higher than the oth er, and one leg standing awkwardly at ease. His breeches, you perceive, are not of the most antique fashion,—equally short and light. He has evidently outgrown them, but the evidence is not yet apparent to his own mind. His meditations have not yet conducted him to that point, where the ne cessity of providing himself with a better fit, a more becoming cut, and a thoroughly new pair, comes upon him with the force of some sudden supernatural conviction. When they do, he will receive such a shock as will cover him with perspiration enough for a thousand years. He stands now, if you bclive ine, in pretty nearly the same attitude which he maintained when they were running the State Line between him and his northern brother (Virginia) to the great merriment, and the monstrous guffaw ing of the latter. He carries still the same earthen pipe, of mammoth dimensions, in his jaws; ami you may see him, any day, in a fog of his own making, with one hip resting against a barrel of tar, and with his nose half burried in a fusmigalor of tur pentine. He is the very model of that sort of constancy which may at least boast of certain impregnablenesses, llis tastes and temper undergo no changes, and are what they have been from the beginning. The shocks of the world do notdisturb his grav ity. He lets its great locomotives pass by, hurrying his neighbor ihrottgh existence, and congratulates himself that no one can force him into the car against his will. He is content to be the genius of tar and tur pentine only. His native modesty is quite too great to suffer him to pretend to any thing better. The vulgar notion is that this is due wholly to his lack of energy. But I am clear that it is to be ascribed al together to his excess of modesty. He as serts no pretentions at all—he disclaims most of those which are asserted for him. Some ambitious members of his household have claimed for him the first revolutiona ry movements —and the proper authorship of the Declaration of Independence. But his deportment has been that of one who says, “What matter 1 I did it, or I did not! The thing is done ! Enough! Let us have no botheration.” Do you ask what he does, aud what he is 1 You have the answer in a nutshell. He is no merchant, no politician, no oiator; but a small plant er, and a poor farmer, —and his manufac tures are wholly aromatic and spiritual. They consists in turpentine only, and his modesty suffers him to make no brag even of this. His farm yielJs him little more than peas and pumpkins.—His corn will not match with the Virginian’s, and that is by no means a miracle. 1 have seen a clump of sunflowers growing near his en trance, and pokeberries and palma christi are agreeable varieties in his shrubberies. Os groundnuts he raises enough to last the children a month at Christmas, and save enough for next year’s acre, llis pump kins are of pretty good size, though I have not seen them often, and think they are apt to rot before he can gatherthem. llis cab bage invariably turns out a collard, from which he so constantly strips the under leaves that denuded vegetables grows fi nally to be almost as tall as himself. His cotton crops are exceedingly small—so short in some seasons as not to permit the good wife to make more than short hose for for herself and little ones. His historian is Shovco Jones.” “ Where the d—l is Sltocco Jones, now?” was the inquiry of the little red faced stran ger. “He wrote well, that Jones. His defence of North Carolina against Tom Jef ferson was the very tiling, and I have seen some of his sketches of the old State that were a shine above Irving's.” “No doubt! no doubt! Jones and Smith have no doubt gone on a visit to their cou sin German, Thompson.” To proceed : “His oiators are Stanley and Clingman, who are by no means better than Webster and Calhoun —and his shipping consists of the “Mary and Sally,” and “Polly Hop kins .” He must have others, for I saw a wreck at Smithville in 183-, on the stern of which I read “ Still Water.” “She is there still, and still-water at that. She was beached in 1824—the “Sleeping Beauty” taking her place, between Squam Island, Duck’s Inlet, Old Flats and Smith ville, till, lingering to long in the river, the tide fell and left her on the Hognoseßank. But to proceed with our authority,” said the orator. “ Wilmington is his great port of entry —his city by the sea. Here he carries on some of his largest manufactures, convert ing daily into turpentine a thousand bar rels of the odoriferous gum. His dwellings here are of more pretension than elsewhere. He has latoly been doing them up, rebuild ing and re-touching in a style that shows that he has suddenly opened his eyes upon what the world has been doing elsewhere. The change is really not in unison with his character. It sits unnaturally upon him, and gives him a slightly fidgetty man ner, which is no ways prepossessing. He seems to be impressed with an idea that the world requires him to bestir himself. He has a certain respect for the world, and is not unwilling to do what it requires, but he moves slowly and awkwardly about it. If he can accomplish the new duty without disparaging the old habit, he has no objec tion; but he seems quite unwilling to give up his pipe, his tar barrel, and hrs luxu rious position in the shade, just on the out er edge of the sunshine. The superficial observer thinks him lazy, rather than lux urious. But this is scandal, surely. lam willing to adm t that he has a Dutch intu- j sion in his veins, which antagonizes the naturally mercurial characteristic* of the South, hut it is really a Dutch taste, rather than Dutch phlegm, which is at the bottom of his failings. It has been gravely pro posed, to neutralize his deficiencies by a | foreign grafting, by the introduction of a j colony from Bluffton, in South Carolina— j otherwise called Little Gascony—and no | doubt an amalgamation with some of the j tribes of that impatient little settlement, I would work such a change in his constitu- j tion as might lead to the most active de monstrations. It would be as the yeast in the dough, the hops in the beer, the cay enne in the broth. The dish and drink would become rarely palatable with such | an infusion. But, even if we allow our j brother to be indolent, or apathetic, we are I constrained to say that he is not without his virtues. His chief misfortune is, that; knowing them to be such, he has grown j rather excessive in their indulgence. llis prudence is one of his virtues. For exam ple, ho-will owe no money to his neigh bors at a season when States beggar them selves in the wildest speculations, and dis honor themselves through a base feeling of the burden of their debts. Speculation cannot seduce him into following their foolish and mean examples. He believes in none of the fashionable bubbles. Fan-1 cy stocks have no attractions for him. lie ; rubs his forehead, feels his pockets, and remembers his old sagacity. Sometimes he lias been beguiled for a moment, but a moment only, and his repentance followed soon. He has been known, for example, to lay down a railway, and has taken it up again, the more effectually to make himself sure of being able to meet his con tracts. llis logic is doubtful, perhaps—his purpose and policy, never. You cannot gull U rn into Banks, though, strange to say, he still halts with a face looking too much in the direction of Whiggery. And. with the grateful smell of his turpentine factories always in his nostrils, though with no other interest in manufactures, you caur.ot persuade him that a protective tariff is any euch monstrous bugbear as wheu it is painted on the canvass of his South ern sister. Os this Southern sister he is rather jealous. She is too mercurial to be altogether to his liking. He thinks she runs too fast. He is of opinion that she is forward in her behaviour—too much so for his notions of propriety. A demure personage himself, he dislikes her vivaci ty. Even the grace with which she cou ples it, is only an additional danger which he eschews with warning and frequent ex hortation. His error is, perhaps, in assum ing her in excess in one way, and he only proper in the opposite extreme. As little prepared is he to approve of the demeanor of his Northern brother. Virginia is none of his favorites. He has never been satis fied with the high head she carries, from the day when that malicious Col. Byrd, of \Vestover, made fun of his commissioners.* The virtue of our North-Carolinian runs somewhat into austerity. We fear that he has suffered, somehow, a cross with the Puritans. His prudence is sometimes a little too close in its economies. His pro priety may he suspected of coldness; and a very nice analysis may find as much fri gidity in his modesty, as purity and sensi bility. He is unkind to nobody, so much as to himself. He puts himself too much on short commons.f He does not allow for what is really generous in his nature, and freezes up, accordingly, long before the 1 Yule Log’ is laid on the hearth at Christmas. His possessions constitute, in wealth perhaps no less than size, one of the first class States of the Confederacy,-- yet he has always to put the pToper value on them. His mountains—of which we shall give hereafter a series of sketches —are salubrious in a high degree,—very beautiful to the eye, and full of precious minerals and melals.J But his metallur gists do precious little with the one, and he has failed to commission a single painter to make pictures of the other. He lias some first-rate lands scattered over his vast do mains—the vallies between the mountains making not only the loveliest, but the most fertile farmsteads, while along his South ern borders, on the seaboard, it is found that he can raise as good rice as in any other region. But he is too religiously true to tar and turnpentine, to develope the rare resources which he possesses and might •See the Wostover Manuscripts, one of the pleasantest of native productions, from a genuine wit and humorist, and a frank and manly South ron ■fTlic venerable Nathaniel Macon, a very noble and virtuous gentleman, has boon heard to say to his friends, “Don’t come to sec me this season’ for I’ve made no con'. I'll have to buy.” Jit is not so generally known that the only dia monds found in the United States, have been found, of lato years, in North Carolina. Some six or eight have been picked up without search, attesting the probnblc abundant of the region. unfold by the adoption of only a moderate degree of that mouvment impulse which the world on every side of him exhibits.J He has tried some experiments in silk, but it seems to have given him pain to behold the fatiguing labors of his worms, and averting his eyes from their sufferings, he has forgotten to provide the fresh mulberry leaves on which they fed. W hen they perished, his consolation was found in the conviction that they were freed from their toils, with this additional advantage over men, that their works would never follow them. llis negroes are fat and lazy, pos sessing, in the former respect, greatly the advantage of their masters. Our North- Carolinian will he a lean dog always— though it would be no satisfaction to him if the chase is to be inevitable from the leanness. llis experience refutes the pro verb. Certainly, the contrast is prodigious between his negroes and himself. They have the most unctuous look of all the slaves in the South, and would put to ut ter shame and confusion their brethren of the same hue in the Yankee provinces— the thin-visaged, lank-jawed, sunken-eyed, shirking, skulking free negroes of Connec ticut and Rhode Island. Our North Caro lina negro rolls, rather than walks. His head is rather socketed between his shoul ders, than upon a neck or shaft. \\ hen he talks, it is like a heated dog lapping \ his mouth is always greasy, and he whis tles w henever he has eaten. He is the em blem of a race, the most sleek, satisfied, and saucy, iu the world. \ou see the be nevolence of the master in the condition of the slave. He derives his chief enjoy ments, indeed, from the gay humors of the latter. He seems to have been chosen by heaven as a sort of guardian of the negro, his chief business being to make him hap py. Our North Carolinian, with all his deficiencies, is a model of simplicity and virtue. His commendable qualities are in numerable. He never ruus into excesses. You will never see him playing Jack Pud ding at a feast. He commits no extrava gancies. You will never find him work ing himself to death for a living. He is as patient in his desires as he is moderate in his toils. He seems to envy nobody. You can scarcely put him out of temper lie contracts no debts, and is suspicious of those who (10. He pays as he goes, and never through the nose. He wastes none of his capital, if he never increases it: and his economy is such, that he never trou bles himself to furnish a reason for his con duct, before he is aske 1 for it. In truth, he is almost too virtuous for our time. He seems to have been designed for quite ano ther planet. He is totally unambitious, and though you may congratulate yourself at getting ahead of him, you will be motti fieJ to learn from himself that this is alto gether because he prefers to remain behind. He has no wants now. that I remembet, with a single exception. W ithout having a single moral feature in common with Di ogenes, lie perhaps will be obliged to you if you will not interrupt his sunshine."— Charleston News. §Our orator must not forget the new ii ail Hoad progress of the Old North State. It strikes ns she has already turned over anew leaf,and prom ises to become a moving ehara-ter — [Utb UsS’” A Western paper records the mar riage of Mr Timothy Strange to Miss Re becca True. Well, this seems strange, hut neverthe less ’tis true.—Bee It seems true, but nevertheless is strange. At breakfast Old Rodger, throw ing down the newspaper with violence, ex claimed, “D—n that Crevasse!” “ What did you say!” asked the landlady, with a look of horror. “Oh,” said he, “I merely inquired why they don’t dam that cre vasse at New Orleans. There s been noth ing elsein this d—d paper forsix weeks.— Boston Post. “Old Rodger” will have perceived that his wishes have been complied with. The crevasse has bean darn’d. Ufa?” If five and a half yards make a perch, how many will make a trout ? If two hogshead make a pipe, itow many will make a cigar 1 {Sigp> An Irishman received a challenge to fight a duel, hut declined. On being asked the reason, “Och,” said Pat, “would yon have me lave my mother an orphan V Prince Henry once said, that “ all the pleasure in the world is not worth an oath.” I gy What is the difference between Noah's Ark and Joan of Arc 1 One was mule of Gopher-wood, the other Maui off Orleans.