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MM. THIERS AND CONSIDERANT.
Wc make the following extracts from |
Corkran’s “History of the National As
sembly, from May 1848,” a notice of
which may be found in another column, i
Mr. Corkran has given sketches ot prom
inent men of all parties in France, and
we have selected his deliniations of two j
who have been ranged among the lead- j
ers of opposite factions—Thiers and Con
6iderant. *
M. THIERS.
The most brilliant part of M. Thiers’
monarchical parliamentary career, if the
jrhrase be admitted, was perhaps its close.
Whether there yet be reserved for this gen
tleman new triumphs under the republican,
it is not given to us to predict; but should
such triumphs be reserved for him, they
will a (lord but fitting compensation for the
bitterness of the mortification he has had
to endure at the hands of the revolution.
The last appearance of M. Thiers in the
tribune of the Chamber of Deputies, and
his first in that of the National Assembly,
formed quite a contrast. Between these e
vents another had occured. He was
Minister for a few hours—long enough to
compromise his character with the republi
can, without effecting any good for the
throne.
Let us revert to his last appearance in
the Chamber of Deputies. For two y ears
or so previously, M. Thiers had taken no
part in public debates. To those who have j
watched the public career of politicians, it 1
would seem as if the recognized leaders of j
parties bidding fttr power, only made a
movement in advance, when a fair chance I
was presented of effecting a practical tri- j
umph. llow often have they, who are fa- j
miliar with the idiomatic language of the
political salons, heard the speech of a.’
Count Mole or a M. Thiers designated an [
Act. The fact of such men making oppo- ,
sition speeches has been taken to indicate j
coming changes of administration, i lie |
appearance of M. Thiers in the debate on j
the unlucky speech which opened the par-1
Lament of 1848, was regarded as “an
Act.” rliad taken possession of the pop
ular belief, that this eminent person had a
bandoned all notion of office during the j
life-time of the King, and that he held him- J
self in reserve for the regency. He knew j
that he never could force on I lie King an I
acceptance of his famous maxim, Lc Itoi,
rlgnemaisne gouverne pus; and he thought i
that he foresaw so clearly under the weak-1
er rule of a regent —with the impulses ol
a popular kind that acquire vigor from new
righis —the advent of parliamentary gov
ernment, that he deemed it not worth Ins
while to put the Monarchy in peril by en
gaging in a premature struggle. Nor was
he, in fact^ personally hostile to the King,
or desirous of making himself obnoxious
to the reigning family. He gave striking
proof of his disposition in that respect, by
supporting the Regency Bill which Louis
rhillippe had so much at heart.
The Due de Nemours, the eldest son of
the King, was generally unpopular. The
Duchess of Orleans much respected.—
Thiers had been a favorite guest of the sa
lons of bet husband, was regarded as his
future Minister, and had lie declared for
the motherof the Cointe de Paris, he might,
bad he been so disposed, have thwarted
very much the desires of the Court. How
ever incompatible his views with those of
the King, the latter could not regard him
in the light of an enemy to his thione.—
The regency would, according to the cal
culations of human foresight, bring about
naturally the great object lie had in view,
the heading an administration independent.
of the Court, rely.ng solely'on the majority 1
iii parliament, as parliament was then
constituted ; for M. Thiers had no taste for
Odilon Bar rot’s reform.
A younger man than M. (Jui/.ot by elev
en years and younger than M. Mole by
twice that sum, without any rising com
petitor of equal fame, M. Thiers might
have felt warranted in regarding the future
as his own. Although silent in the Cham
bers, he was busy in hiscloset, from which
issued at becoming intervals the huge
tonnes of his History of the C'onsulat and
the Empire. The book was doubly a stu
dy to the curious. The History of the
Revolution by the same author had been
called a pamphlet moustre, directed against
the Restoration, and when it had over
thrown it, or aided to do so, formed the
pinnacle on which stood the y r oung Minis
ter of Louis-l’hillippc. Was the History ‘
of the Empire hut a preface to another gi
gantic effort for remodeling the map of Eu
rope, with the Rhine for the boundary of
France, and all other countries the vassals j
of her will? Many thought f-o; and M
Thiers tried to reassure the many ; but his,
moderation was distrusted, and his morali
zing* about insensate ambition treated as
simple mystifications. M. Thiers, in one
sense a bad historian of the Republic, was,
by his very defects, a good historian of
the Empire. His first work lias not been;
unjustly treated as a deification of force, j
his second is a narrative of the acts of the j
consummate wiehler ol force.
******
Doctors do not always relish being doc
tored. The axioms of the leader of the
doctrinaries might have been wise, but the
manner tlicrcul unpleasant. How uncon
sciously does a tone jar. m a susssplibility. (
The fault may be mutual; but it is not al
ways that we find even philosophers in
ronslant company. The lord ol the forest
! dwells alone. The spectatm seated in the
j tribune of the Chamber of Deputies, had
i only to keep his eve on Theirs upon any
! day of his self-devoted mutism, to gather
! his naluie from the unconscious sparks
j that played forth unceasingly from hisfea
| tines and his person. Look at the little
j man. as he enters with the jerking iriovc
j rnent of the Gamin de Paris, and yet he is
fifty. He dressed in many colors; his
trow sers light gray; his waistcoat blue;
his neckcloth some other color; his little
’ bright boots, as if his feet had been cut out
|of ebony. His smile, which is perennial,
j expresses a sort of undefinahle finesse —a
j love of merry r mischief; and should the op
i position s'ortn and the minister look an
noyed, the little hands will rub together;
the eye will flash through the spectacles,
I and the gray hair appear on the head of
I that wild boy as a freak of Nature. Such
j would Thiers look as he seated himself a
! mong his friends after his morning's labor,
| begun at perhaps five o’clock. How much
j this expansive, thoroughly French temper
| ament, may have had to do in attaching
graver natures, the acute reader will prob
i ably determine for himself.
j*** * * *
j NT. Thiers is a matter-of-fact man: lie
lis an esprit posit if. Moral philosophy,
; ethics, metaphysics, religion, all that rc
] lates to the soul of man, may he apprehen
\ ded by so lucid an intelligence, but not af-
I fected. On this account it is that M.
Thiers has only irritated the Socialists of all
shades, who, perceiving his unfitness for
the task of helping society in what they
conceive to I e a transitive state, regard him
as an interloper whose low views interpose
i an impediment in the way of a proper un
derstanding of social questions, and tend to
confirm the bourgeois in his prejudices.
M. CONSIDERANT.
‘I bis gentleman is not so robust a con
troversialist as M. Proudhon. When he
i was challenged to meet M. Thiers at the
J tribune of the National Assembly, lie ask
ed permission to develop his doctrines in
j the smaller nolle of the old Chamber of
I Deputies, on four successive evenings.
1 His request was not acceded to, and M.
I Considerant had recourse to his pen, for a
I revelation to the world of the beauties of
: i’halan-tei ianisni. Victor Considerant
j lias the picturesque exterior suited to the
j first loving disciple of the founder ofasect.
i lie is to Fourier what Mclauclhon was to
i Luther. The founder thunders at abuses
| shakes down the walls, causes lofty seats
j to topple, and is, in the eyes of an affright
-led world, a harsh and glim destroyer. To
some mild, enthusiastic, studious pupil he
teveals, in the genial solitude of hi- home,
and in well-seasoned table-talk, the depths
of tenderness and h v , which form the
| real springs of outer indignation. Capti-
I vated with such teachings, and imbued
I with such revelations, the mild pupil be-
I comes the testamentary executor of the
great will, which he performs with faith
’ fulness ami devotion. M. Considerant is
tall and slight, llis pale features bear the
maiks of study, and, with his abundant
dark liair arranged with some view to ef
fect, make what, In the language of paint
ers, would be called a good head. 11 1 -
dress has a certain priestly cut; an 1,
should the Phalnnstire ever be erected on
the banks of the Loire—according to that
captivating design exhibited at the Pha
lange Office, within a door of the house
where Voltaire was bom on the quay that
bears that witty scoffer’s name—Victor
j Considerant. the oppo-itc of Voltaire in all
I things, will look, as lie paces through its
pleasant gardens and orchards, or along it>
social halls, the sentimental, mystical, phi
losophical genius of so happy a place.
Considerant speaks fluently and w ell : but
when it is laid dow i. that the student of
Fourier must, in or h r to become acquain
ted with his system, go through several
volumes, beginning with Fourieri>in-made
easy-liooks, general tieati.-cs, commenta
ries. preliminaries, etc., before lie can ven
ture to enter the bewitching labyrinth of
the I‘hntanslire, then M. Considerant
stands excused for having asked four
i nights’ revelations In that quiet cemetery
in which lies hushed the spirit of the old
Charter of 1830.
However mistaken Considerant may be
lie is not to be classed with the coarse
mob of revolutionists that, with a torch in
one hand to burn, and a knife in the other
to slay, hare inale the Socialism of the
year ISIS a spell of horror instead ol a
word of goodness and peace. A little
tract, puhlislie I by this gentleman in 1847,
under the title of •• Principles of Socialism ;
or Manifesto of tlie Democracy of the
Nineteenth Century.” contains so fair a re
sume of his views, that we shall endeavor
to o!let a general outline of its contents.—
Like all Socialists, the author finds the
root of misery in unlimited competition and
the tyrranny of capital. Taking a rapid
view l of past history, he finds that the su
reties of antiquity had force for principal
And law. rear for policy, and conquest for
end; while their economical system was
expressed by the word lavery. The feu
dal system was not less one of war and
conquest, with slavery modified into serf
age, owing the humane sentiment that
came w ith the first rays of Christianity.—
The new order of society disengaged from
the feudal system, rests upon common law
and the Christian principle of the unity of
all races in humanity, from w hence sprung
the political principle of the equal rights
of citizens in the Mate; and this spirit he
calls the Democratic.
The principle that all citizens are equal
before the law, and entitled alike to fill all
public functions, having been proclaimed
by the Revolution of 1789, it did so hap
pen that, for a length or time, the demo
malic principle was unfortunately identili
with all that was revolutionary. That a
ei [) 0 a a Q 0 s
new organization of society in harmony ;
with this principle of equality must take 1
place, is luiil down as the great task of
the present age. There is, as yet, no rule 1
or direction for industry. The old corpo-:
ations have been svvept away, which, tin- i
der the old system, gave organization to ;
trade and manufactures: but no new or
ganization having replaced the past, I
fact comes to this, that there is no organi- j
zation at all. There exists the most ab
solute laissez-faire: and the consequence
is, the most anarchical competition, and
the subjugation of industy to capital.
There results, as a further consequence
from this state of things, that while politi
cal lights are theoretically possessed by
all, anew aristocracy has arisen, a finan
cial moneyed aristocracy, who monopolize
every advantage, while the masses of the
people are reduced to misery. Absolute
liberty w ithout organization, means the ab
solute abandonment of the unprovided
masses to the discretion of the few who
are amply provided with every thing. .
******
The author next comes to a considera
tion of the remedies proposed, which he
classifies under two heads—that of Com
munism, which he denounce s as anti-social
and illusory; and that of Association,
which he adopts as a pacificatory princi
ple.
******
In order to show that this gentleman is
not to he confounded with the mass of de
structiomsts, so unfortunately notorious
for the manner in which they would carry
out their ambitious view's, we must quote
the following passage, written at a mo
ment when he thought the monarchy to he
in danger:
‘•The constitutional form, with an her
editary monarch, and an elected chamber,
appears to us more advanced, more per
fect, and more solid, than all other forms
of government—the Republican form not
excepted. But we do not believe, with a
certain political school, that because we
possess a Constitutional Government there
must he neither truce nor peace in Europe
so long as other people will not adopt our
own form. Leave to other people the care
of framing such forms as they believe suit
able. Their independence and dignity are
concerned in tli” question, and nations do
not in general observe with satisfaction
that their neighbors are busying themselves
in their affairs.” And he believes in Chris
tianity'. “ Christianity is the great religion
of humanity : Christianity will continue to
develop itself more and more. To believe
that there will he any other religion for
humanity than that which has revealed to
it its proper nature, its unity with all men
and willi God, is an illusion. The indi
-v
vidual and collective union of men among
themselves, and their individual and col
lective union with God—never will there
ho for men a move elevated religious prin
ciole, or any other than that.” Again he
says: —“Christianity, so far front being
dead, was never more living, more spread
abroad, more generally incarnate in human
intelligence.”
Resuming M. Considerant's doctrines
we find that lie is a Christian, a Constitu
tional Monaicliyman, a foe to war; that
lie is against I‘ropagamlistn, and interfer
ence with oilier nations or their concerns;
that he writes for Frenchmen, and that in
stead of seeking to force an adoption of
his system, he is for a commencement by
way of practical experiment, in the hope
j that success in one instance may’ lead to a
> doption and imitation.
A Reformer who presents himself in
[ this way is woriliy of friendly attention.
mn&sas
Tun I’i.Ai'K for Doctors. Doctors’
fees at the mines in California arc a hun
dred dollars avisil. A physician from Wos
| Chester, N V.. has established himself oil
! the hanks of the Sacramento, in a log cah
* in, one-half of which he uses as a store,
I and the other as a hospital; and it is said
; that lie receives as much gold daily as the
i average of twenty miners.
Marriage on Si’ndavs. It is said that
! the l’cimsylvanian Courts have decided
j that marriage is a civil contract, and that
they have also decided that no contract
made on Sunday is valid. The Register
i says that the question is now agitated
whether inuniages made in that State on
Sunday are lawful, and whether indict*
. incuts for bigamy can be sustained where
. lhe first mairingc had taken place on Sun
jdny.
Harvarh Cou.f.ge. Ninety seven tin-
J der graduates have already entered Har
vard College at the recent examinations.
This is the largest number that has ever
entered at one time.
ftay*An exchange says, the girls ought to
make a pledge not to kiss a man who uses
| tobacco, and it would soon break up the
practice ; and a friend of ours says they
ought also to kiss every man that don’t
use it, and we cordially endorse the senti
ment.
Seii’ A wag .vas jogging home rather late and
a little happy, when passing by a dark al
ley, a large, two-fisted fellow stepped out,
and seizing him by the collar, demanded
his money.
Money 1” said the wag, “ money 1 I
have none- hat if you will wait a moment,
I will give you my note at thirty days.”
A little boy of four or five years
was much vexed with h is grandmother for
boxing his ears : but not daring to 11 sauce”
the old lady directly, he took up his favor
ite cat, and stroking her back, thus address
ed her: —“Well, pussy, 1 wish one of us
three was dead—and it ain’t you, pussy,and
it ain’t me, pussy.”
A contemporary says that “brass
passes current now where modest merit is
rejected.'’ lleui I —what’s your circula
tion ?
9 ©B2BBBS.
DUS I? AS If 2) SHE IHAiitSui'Y,
J
OLIVER (iOLPSMITH.
The following is an extract from an article
bp Rev. Daniel CTkky, formerly of this
place, but now resident at Brooklyn, N.Y.
The history of this extraordinary man
presents so many inconsistencies, that some
attempt at a general estimate of his char
acter is requisite. Ilis genius is placed by
yond question by his imperishable works,
which at once proclaim his greatness and
characterize his mind. Yet ho was not a
learned man. In his early life opportuni
ties were wasted in idleness, and in man
hood they were denied him None of
his works give evidence of much reading;
while some of them clearly betray bis want
of information upon the subjects that en
gaged his pen. He wrote books because
that was his trade; and, as to the subjects,
he generally accommodated himself to the
wishes of his employers. Ilis knowledge of
human character was not contemptible,
though he viewed it in the aggregate rath
er than in its individual embodiments. So
ciety was the principal theme of his medi
tations. Ife detested some of its evils, faitli
[ fully’ exposed some of its iniquities, and
i fondly attempted to suggest the appropriate
corrections. Yet he was no politician—
probably because he knew too little of co
temporary politics to make up an intelligent
| opinion, and was too honest to decide at
random.
He was not deficient in imagination; but
his imaginative powers were rather con
structive than creative—and his images are
more remarkable lor their exquisite finish,
than for the boldness of their conception.
I lis stock of ideas was always limited—be
ing little more than the remembrances of
what he had observed previous to his com
ing to London; and these are constantly
•appearing and reappearing in lets writings.
. . . But while we confess the poverty of his
creative genius, we must admire his powers
of construction. It is wonderful how far his
scanty materials were made available, and
one is ready to declare that be bad com
pletely exhausted his means. But the same
seemed to be the ease before he produced
liis last and best poem, when it seemed as if
bis powers of permutation and combination
were inexhaustible. * * * *
But how can we account for the concur
rence of qualities, thus securing for their
possessor at once admiration and contempt ?
Two mental properties apparently contra
dictory, yet capable of coexistence,—self
esteem and self-distrust, —distinguish his
history and his character. By the combined
action of these he was rendered extremely
sensitive. Esteeming himself highly, lie was
quick to fee! any seeming insult; and con
scious of a want of power to enforce respect,
his spirit writhed under the tortures of un
merited contempt. Ilad self-esteem been
seconded by self-confidence, it would have
given occasion to towering pretensions
and pride of opinion; he would have borne
the patronizing air of superiority, and even
his kindness would have had the appear
ance of the condescension of self-compla
cent dignity. But in the absence of self-
DIAMOND DUST.
Genius, like the sun upon the dial, gives
to the human heart both its shadow and
its light.
Bride mat -ometimes be a useful spring
board to the aspiring soul, but it is much
more frequently a destructive stumbling
block.
Men of the world hold that it is impos
sible to do an uninterested action, except
from an interested motive; for the sake
of admiration if for no grosser, more tangi
ble gain. Doubtless they are also con
vinced, that, when the sun is showering
light from the sky, he is only standing
there tj be stared at.
Our safety as eulogists lies among our
commendations of the dead.
Great men lose somewhat of their great
ness by being near us; ordinary men gain
much.
A letter timely writ is a rivet to the
chain of affection; and a letter untimely
delayed, is as rust to the soldier’s mail.
As gold which he cannot spend will
make no man rich, so knowledge which he
cannot apply will make no man wise.
The goodly outside is excellent, when
not falsely assumed ; but the worst natu
ral face that nature’s journeyman ever left
unfinished, is better than the bravest mask.
Truth is the object of philosophy.
A weak mind sinks under prospeiity as
well as under adversity. A strong, deep
mind has two highest tides —when the
moon is at the full, and when there is no
moon.
The only way to be permanently safe is
to be habitually honest.
Half of a fact is a whole falsehood.
Action is life and health ; repose isdeath
mnl corruption.
Each of us bears within himself a world
confidence, self-esteem is vanity, and he-!
comes the occasion of a thousand ridiculous
schemes to gain applanse, and of most poig- i
nant disappointment when withheld. How
fully all this is manifested in the life of Gold
smith must he plain to every one acquaint- !
ed with the subject. But the influence of
his self-esteem was not always evil. Its es- j
feets upon his style were highly faruble.
It has often been a subject of wonder that
a style of unequalled purity was attained by
one whose associations were so generally
vulgar. llis self-esteem affords a ready so
lution. In his low estate he always felt that
he was wronged and degraded by his posi
■ tion. esteemed himself too good to com-’
i mune in sentiment with his low-minded as
| soeiates, and so, although lie lived among
them, he never learned their language.—
-This also kept him from the low vices of
the v ilgar. ... His self-distrust, on the oth
er hand, which ever attended him as his
evil genius, was constantly paralyzing his
energies and frightening him from assert
ing his just claims. * * * Intimately con
| nccted with this distrust of self, and, per
haps, resulting from it, was his want of sclf
control;—lor he was accustomed to act
j from momentary impulses rather than fix
ed principles.
\\ ithout fixed purposes or decision of
I character, it is wonderful that he succeeded
so well as he did ; and the world may thank
the hand of hard necessity foiits property
in the fame and works of Oliver Gold
smith. He wrote that he might eat: —
and because the demands of hunger were
i oft-recurring and imperious, he wrote stea
j ‘lily | —and so his labors became habitual,
not from the steadiness of his purposes, but
from the unceasing demands of his necessi
ties. Artistic skill thus came unasked to
the aiil of his genius, and by their united
agencies, operating with the power of hab
its, formed most unwillingly, were produc
ed those exquisite works that irradate his
name. As to religious character, he had ab
solutely none at all lie had the best
though infinitely inferior substitutes—as to
himself, his self-esteem served instead of a
conscience; and, as to others, a spirit of
genial and sympathetic kindness occupied
the place of charity. He felt a lively in
terest in the joys and sorrows of all about
him. This forms a prominent object in liis
personal history, and lias given its impress
to most of his works. His associations dur
ing the time while liis character was taking
its form, were with the poor. The son cf a
poor clergyman, lie had gone through col
lege as a sizar; and, for years afterwards,
was the constant companion of want, and of
the. strange associations to which want oft
en drives its victims. His sympathies were
accordingly with the poor. Hence we have
his touching views of society—his sugges
tions of social reforms—his pleas in behalf
of the helpless debtor, and the novice in
crime, who may have fallen victims to un- j
equal laws, and capricious administrations
of law. To this tendency of his mind, thus
circumstantially directed, are we indebted
lor all that is most valuable in his writings.
unknown to his fellow-beings, and each
may relate of himself a history resembling
that of every one, yet like that of no one.
Where the world rebuketh there look
thou for the excellent.
Nothing but may be better, and every
better might be best.
Knowledge is the parent of dominion.
A mountain is made up of atoms, and
friendship of little matters, and, if the at
oms hold not together, the mountain is
crumbled into dust.
Half the noblest passages in poetry are
truisms; but these truisms are the great
truths of humanity ; and he is the true po
et who draws them from their fountains in
elemental purity and gives us to drink.
To the poor man, poverty greater than
his own never appeals in vain.
A wise man makes more opportunities
than he finds.
We do not find a pearl in every shell.
How much he knew of the human heart
who first called God our Father.
Experience is a torch lighted in the ash
es of our illusions
They who weep over errors were not
formed for crimes.
A TURKISH CUSTOM.
The Turks have one magnanimous cus
tom, despotic as they are in other re
spects. If the master call, and the servant
answer boldly, “I am eating,’” he need not
come ; so if the former say, “ call me such
a one,” and his messenger comes back
with the report that the man he wants is
asleep, the master lets him quietly take his
siesta, whatever hour of the day it may be.
The Christian might learn many things
from the Turks, and here are two of them.
Leaving laymen out of the question, only
fancy what the conduct of a Christian
Bishop or Archbishop who might receive
such an answer from his servant would be,
or passing to the ladies, what the most se
rious of them would say if the plea for
ipon-attcmlance of a servant of all-work
were that she was sleeping ? Again, we
are told the Turks always speak truth,
that they are perfectly honest, and that
their merchants and tradesmen put what
they think an honest and fair price upon
their goods, and if asked to take less, re
sent it as an insult, and are apt to ask,
“Do you take me for a Christian,to ask two
prices?” As we have already mfimated,
there are many things in which we should
be better Christians, if we would only fol
low the example set us by the Turks.
ICELAND AND ITS PEOPLE.
Altogether, the habits of the Icelanders
are simple, moral, and religious. But not
withstanding their prevalent taste for litera
ture, they have advanced little in any of
the other elegant arts of life. Their
houses, not excepting even those of the
capital of Reikiavik, are mere hovels, with
walls about four feet high, and composed
of rude rows of stones, with layers of turf
between, to serve instead of mortar. The
roof is of wood covered with turf, and a
cask with the ends knocked out, or a sim
ple hole m the roof, constitutes the chim
ney. Smoke, damp, and other evils, of
course are inevitable under such circum
stances. The almost total want of wood
on the island, stands, in part, as an apolo
gy for this state of tilings. The common
home dress of the female Icelanders consists
of a shift and petticoats of white wadmel
(a species of woollen cloth, made by them
selves), with a blue cap, the top of which
hangs down at one side of the head, and
terminates in a red or green tassel. This,
with blue outer petticoats and a blue jack
et, forms the house dress of the richest as
well as the poorest orders. When in full
dress, the women are decked with many
ornaments, the most remarkable of which
is a velvet girdle, slnded with silver and
polished stones. Silver chains and clasps
are favorite ornaments. The men wear
shirts, of wadmel, and blue waistcoats,
jackets, and trousers of the same kind of
cloth, edged with red stripes. They wear
raps like the women when at home, hut
put on broad-brimed hats on going abroad.
A Gorvernor, appointed by the King of
Denmark, rules the people of Iceland, un
der the title of Stiftamtman, and has four
provincial magistrates under him. The
ancient laws and constitution of Iceland
are preserved nearly unchanged, and all
the officers in the island, subordinate to
the Governorship, are filled commonly by
natives. Sometimes even the Governor is
an Icelander. The commerce of the Is
land, however, is chiefly in the hands of
Danish merchants, who export a consider
able amount of goods of different kinds.—
The wool of the Iceland sheep is very
fine in quality, notwithstanding the scan
tiness of the herbage ; and from 1,000,000
to 1,200,000 pounds of it, in a raw state, are
annually exported, besides about 200,000
pairs of knitted stockings, and 300,000
pairs of mittens, or fingerless gloves.—
Dried-fish of various kinds, fish-oil, whale
blubber, seal-skins, eider-down, feathers
and the moss called lichen Islandkus com
pose the chief exports from the island.—
Spirits, coffee, tobacco, sugar, soap, bread,
and other common necessaries of life are
the principal articles received in exchange
from Europe. Retaining the ancient sim
plicity of their laws, the Icelanders, as
has been mentioned, arc shackled with no
heavy burdens. Even their church, which
is held in so much reverence, cost them ex
tremely little. The richest living on the
island does not produce two hundred rix
dollars, and the. stipend in many instances
ranges between twenty and thirty rix-dol
lars. Some stipends are even as low as
five rix-dollars. The small glebes or farms
attached to the livings make up in part for
the miserable character of such allow-
THE HEROIC DAUGHTER.
In the town of Stonington, during the
last war,resided .an old woman with an only
daughter. When the attack on the place
was made by the British naval force, (an
attack which is memorable in the annalsof
war,) this widow was dying. All the oth
er inhabitants gathering their household
goods fled into the country. Only one
house was occupied by the dying woman
and her faithful daughter, who refused to
leave her. Balls passed through the
house, shells exploded all around them.—
The thunder of the cannon shook the earth.
But the thunder of cannon might not pre
vail to repel the sleep of death, which stole
calmly over the lip and eye and fell as
gently on the old woman's heart as if it
had been a sunny spring morning on the
glorious ocean shore. Fiercer and louder
grew the sounds of battle without, contrast
ing fearfully with that calm scene within,
where the devoted child sat by her dying
mother's side, and heard her murmur, as
the shot flew by, of long forgotten battle
fields in olden times. Death came at
length, that “calm safe refuge” from all
battlmgs. Undisturbed by the sound of
warrings, she fell asleep, and heard the
voice of the battle no longer. Rising then
from her long and holy watch, the daugh
ter called soldiers from the fort to aid in
burying her dead. They wrapped the
body in the blankets on which it lay, and
carried it in solemn procession to the burial
ground, in whose enclosure slept profound
ly the fathers of the village. There was
something sublime in that procession.—
Men bore their kindred dust along desert
ed streets, heedless of the missiles of death
that darkened the air, and entered the place
of rest with the load of clay. Even as
they entered, a shell fell before them, and
exploding, threw up the earth, and in the
trench thus opened, they laid the body and
covered it out of the reach of war. Then,
and not before, the daughter left the moth
er alone, and sought safety for herself.—
Jour, qf Com.
fl>(D
For Richurdo’ Weekly G&zetie
AN
AFFECTIONATE EXPOSTULATION,
Addressed to the “ Rowland Bard” of the Com
rier—from his brother Daureate of the ‘'Sarato
ga of the South.”
Dear brother bard, ’tis very hard
That you fill whole newtpajiers
With Howland's folks, and their fine jokes
And strange, fantastic capers.
You travel’d through the State, ’tis true,
Half way to Chattanooga ,
Bui not a word have we yet heard
Os our new “ Saratoga .”
No doubt you’ve seen at “ Rowland's,” too,
(Like every other place,)
Some very pretty specimens
Os Beauty, Wit and Grace.
But, brother, if you want a theme-
To bring your Muse in play,
Before your inspiration’s off,
. Just come “ up our way.”
We've lots of Carolina belles,
And Georgia fair ones, tro,
At Fancy Ball, Tableau and Waltz,
As brisk as any of you.
Those Madisonian belles, (if they
Would only let me name them.)
The fairest of Rowlanders
(1 11 wager) “ couldn't came them.”
Where could yoa find more easy grace,
A more complete Madona,
Than in the perfect form and faco
Os our fair “ Dcstlemona ?”
Or who more polished and refined,
With quiet, modest mien,
And manners formed in Nature’s mould,
Than “ Rome's ” high-favored “ Queen?' 9
Look at the “ Sylph's ” admiring gaze
Turn’d toward the “ Prince's ” throne,
A tribute to his looks, while crowds
Pay tribute to her own.
Those “ Novices ” and “Nuns ” unveiled,
How, though they dance, they glide,
Divested of their gay attire,
They “tripit” side by sido.
“ Sultans ” and “Bishops" Princes” high,
“Kings” “Queens” and king's fair daugh-
To “ Saratoga” rush in crowds, [ters,
To drink its healing waters.
Our brave “Othello ” doubly armed
And strong, is “ hard to beat
Prompt in the dance, or in the chase,
His happy friends to greet.
He'd take your dancers all by storm,
All captives, tudens volens:
j By jings! he'd scatter all the bucks
That ever frisk'd at Rowland's !
Here chines our gay low-country friend,
With smiling groups about him,
1 A universal ladies’ man,
“ They couldn’t do without him.”
Next ****** gliding noiselessly,
With sure and steady pace,
Through each cotillion executes
His movements with all grace.
I
That figure tall and soldier-like,
As “ partner round ” he turns,
The ladies all ask “Who is that 1”
Why that is Captain *****,
Then Doctors , iMiryets, Planter*, join,
All by the violin stirred ;
Merchants and Factors, with their C lerks,
In one rejoicing herd.
Let’s walk this way and join the group
Os true Carolina hearts,
From Sumpter, Fairfield, Pendleton,
And all about “ those parts.”
From Kdisto and all “ the Isles,”
And some too from “ the City,”
As dashing bells as tho“c of yours,
With faces fair and pretty !
Look at that crowd of Georgia belles
In yonder brilliant cluster,
From Athens—scat of classic loro —
Savannah an l Augusta.
Greensboro’. Macon, Madison,
Their lovely daughters send ;
Atlanta, Milledgeville, Monroe,
And Cass, their treasures lend.
Ta’k of your Courts of Love—why, man,
(That’s a soft thing to handle !)
Such Courts as those you write about
To Ours “ can’t hold a Candle.”
We’ve got the right material for
All sorts of litigation,
And cases of all kinds can bo
“ Done up ” to admiration !
Wc have no “ fiery faces,” true,
To frighten nervous debtors,
Your pleasant “ Notes ” ore all wc caro
To see, of “iMicyer's Tetters.”
Our modus operandi is
Quite simple and unique,
We manage things without a Judge
A J ury, or a cliquo !
Solicitors send forth their writs
And get their Respondendum ,
A Nolle proseque, or perchance
A Satisfaciendum.
No posse comitatus comes
To catch absconding felons,
But “eases of attachment ” rise
As plentiful as melons.
Assaults are raro, but fair ones’ eyes.
Send forth a flood of batteries ,
While verdant youths are lavishing
Their ad captandum flatteries.
Doubtless at Rowland's you can find
Judges and limbs in plenty,
Perhaps you can with ease count up.
Some ten, fifteen or twenty. —
Knough to frame a New “Digest ’*
Os Laws, and Legal Polity,
But what in quantity we lack,
Wo make it up in quality.
Our Medical Police will vie
With yours in point of numbers,
Wc have enough to send whole crowds
To th .ir eternal slumbers.
We have no Parson , I confess
To give us wholsomc teaching,
But your folks have ;.ot even got
A plaeo for one to preach in!
Os Loafers, sure, we have our share,
But there again, you beat us,
Os other “ varmints ” we have none,
No rod bugs or mosquitoes.
So now, 1 thiiik, dear hard you’llowiif
Since wc have got so deep in,
T hat Lowlands aint the only plac ‘
For mortal mau to sleep in.