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vans {lo&&i&y* ■ 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.