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6 BRASS YS. BRAINS. The Career of J. Byron Smythe, of Goobertown. BY MARY K. BRYAM. 8o Mr. J. Byron Smythe has written a book. Here it is—bound in purple, with the national spread eagle hovering over a forlorn-looking woman among a hecatomb of books, stamped in gilt upon the cover. And here, on the title-page, is the author’s name, followed by a smirking dedication of ‘ this humble volume' to the ‘ wri ter's distinguished friend—Mr. Jonathan Hunks’ —the rich old cotton-bags of Alabama, who never read a book through m his life and never will. And as I live, here is also an engraved likeness of the distinguished Mr. Smythe himself—with his legs crossed in token of his independence, his hair tumbled Byronically back, like the fea thers of a frizzled chicken in a high wind, his hand supporting his forehead, and his eyes in a ‘fine frenzy rolling.’ The picture is recogniza ble, though the flattering'artist has dignified the snub into a Grecian and given a Marie Stuart gray to the nondescript eyes, as well as a Turk ish luxuriance to the scanty mustache and a look of intellectual superiority to the ficy, impudent physiognomy generally. Oh ! as I gaze upon this face (to quote from my poetical friend, Miss Matilda Milkins), what reminisoences of the past it brings to my mind ! It carries me back on the wings of fond memory, (still quoting Miss Matilda) to the time when said Byron coolly asked me to give him the one slice of plum pie, in my school bucket, and before I, confounded by his impudence, could timidly venture a remonstrance, “With his finger and thumb He picked out the plum’’—pie. Also, to the many times I have heard his drawl ing voice, asking my mother for the ‘ loan’ of a few peaches, or of half the oysters, his sharp eye had detected her in buying. These youthful pe culiarities were prophetical of Byron’s future character. The impudence ot the boy, became the sublime assurance of the man; the indefati- gable-not-to-be-put-downativeness of the tow headed ten-year-older, became one oi the prin cipal elements of the success that he has achiev ed. For has be not been brilliantly successful ? Has be not written a book? To be sure, it is difficult to tell what it is about. 'Soul Pic tures, drawn by the lightning pencil of thought,’ is the title, and I have read through as much of it as my weak stomach could bear, without hav ing any definite impression made upon me, ex cept a soreness of the cerebellum, as though all that unceasing string of meaningless words had been so many sledge-hammers playing Yankee Doodle upon my brain. But this, of course, is my own fault. It is the fault of my own stu pidity, that I cannot perceive the superior ex cellences of Mr. Smythe’s book. * Soul Pictures’ is no doubt a splendid thing. The newspapers have all said so, and are not newspapers as true as preaching, and editors as fully to be re lied upon as Moses and the prophets? Yea verily. Besides, did not my charming friend, Matilda Milkins, pronounce the book a ‘ sweet thing,’ and Matilda writes poetry, and is of course a competent judge. But the man ! J. Byron Smythe himself! I have said I had the ever-to-be-grateful-for honor of his acquaintance, though I must confess it was before his brow was encircled by laurels, or by anything but a napless hat. He was •leemes Smith then—a sallow chap, with hemp- coiored hair and a visage like a little shriveled up crab apple—who passed his time in lolling about the village stores, sucking molasses candy, that he had wheedled some big boy, or bullied some little fellow into letting him have. I feel proud to remember that my dear father, with his customary shrewdness, foresaw the future career of this embryo genius. ‘ Wife,' he said, as he gravely pointed to mas ter J. Byron, who was kicking up his ragged boots on the bench in front of Grubbins' grog- gery, ‘That boy will never make anything but a poet, or a pickpocket.' The fulfillment of this prophecy is before me. Here it is in these two hnndred and fifty pages of short lines, beginning with capital letters, which is all that is requisite for modern poetry; and here, on the initial page, is a ‘Soul Picture,’ which is a fair sample of the rest of the gallery. “ Oh 1 press me in thy enow white arms. My only life, my only love; Oh I let me clasp thy blushing charms. And envy not the saints above. Let thy white bosom beat to mine. Thy red, ripe lips to mine be pressed, Thy shining tresses bathe my neck, Like Blanc by morning mists caressed." Ahem! Dear me ! how very voluptuous! and my sweet friend Matilda Milkins has marked it all around with a pencil. She told me it thrilled her bosom with delightfully poetic emotions. I have no doubt it did. But here again I am off the track—wandered away from the man to the book. That comes of being an editor. It is a singular fact that we quill and scissors individuals come to regard books and papers as actual flesh and blood per sonages—not the work of certain men and wo men, but as the bona fide men and women them selves. Very different are the impressions made upon me by this dainty book of my distinguished friend, J. Byron Smythe. It is very gratifying to have had a personal acquaintance with a ‘distinguish ed character;’ so that, at a literary re-union, when Mr. Augustus Flimsy, clasping his white fingers in such a manner as to give you a dis tinct view of his seal ring, exclaims, ‘Oh! Mrs. , have you seen the photograph of that di vine Jessie Jumps way, who has written Buch sweet poetry and such thrilling stories ?* You cau draw yourself up and reply sententiously, that you knew Miss Jessie very well; indeed, you may say, intimately; and that you will never forget your dying day, how fond the sweet dear used to be of pickled encumbers. But about J. Byron Smythe: I mean some day to immortalize myself and make my fortune by writing his autobiography—beginning with him <in the usual style) as an infant in long clothes, and with a face like a boiled beet, and carrying him on through the vicissitudes of babyhood, where his genius early displayed itself in a ro mantic determination to stay awake and squall all night—to the climax of his fortunes, when his distinguished pump soles were planted upon Fame's topmost pinnacle, with the everlasting bays of immortality encircling his brow, the shades of the undying Homer and Shakspere smiling upon him, and an admiring world duck ing and nodding aronnd him like ao many did dles in a thunder-storm. At present, however, I intend only to speak of one or two little incidents connected with the history of my renowned friend—incidents, whioh have been reealled to my mind by the reception of his book. Shakspere has contemptuously asked, ‘What’s in a name ?’ We answer that, in the instance we speak of there waa much. Had not the lite rary predilections of Mr. Smythe’s maternal pa rent, indooed her to bestow upon her first-born the name of the famous, but naughty poet, in all probability, he would never have awakened to a consciousness of hi8 own genins, and this valu able addition to literature would never have enriched my book table, or inspired this authen tic narrative. As it was, the namesake of the illustrious By ron wss led to oonsider himself a kind of step- . child of the Muses, and early felt within him ‘the ‘stirrings of the gift divine.’ The first evi dence of this appeared (while the juvenile poet was at oollege) in the album of a young lady and with the original title of “I‘li think of thee,“ Afterwards, the poet's corner of that brilliant paper, the “Weekly Cimitar,“ was enriched by an effusion from him, over the signature of “Philander." Forthwith, dreams of fame visited the soul of Philander. He wore dilapidated linen and friz zled hair, and kept his nails in mourning; be paddled in the dew“at the middle of the night," with his arms folded on his chest and his eyes fixed upon the melancholly moon; he looked ab stracted when in company, and, when recalled to the earth by his less etherial companions, re covered himself with a little tragio start and a toss back of his long, tangled hair. In short, he played the poet of the Byronic school to perfec tion, and was accordingly adored by the roman tic young ladies of Roschill Seminary, who pro nounced the ridiculous capers he cut the “eccentricities of genius,"and considered them, in the highest degree, poetical and proper. In tarn, he spent whole hours of study time con cocting impromptus to repeat, on the presenta tion of a flower or some other fol de rol to these his numerous bread-and-butter admirers. His self-confidence was the most remarkable quality of his very remarkable mind. He never for a moment entertained a doubt of his genius, or of the brilliant destiny he saw awaiting him. He was troubled with none of the misgivings which are erroneously attributed to scribblers, and to poets in particular—a class of individuals who possess more consumate assurance than any other in the world—Jew peddlers always ex cepted. Having become disgusted with the “slowness” of the collegiate course, as well as, with the want—on the part of the Faculty—of a proper appreciation of genius. J. Byron shook off the dost of his feet at the University, and having presented his photograph with accompaning ver ses, to each of the disconsolate damsels of Rose Hill Seminary, and published in the Cimitar, a farewell sonnet, in which was poured forth all the bitterness and scorn of a heart that “had not loved the world, nor the world it”—having, I repeat, thus began a career analogous to that of Shelly, Byron and other geniuses, Philander returned to the village, which he had honored by condescending to be born in, and set about accomplishing his destiny. He spent six months in going through the farce called the Study of Law—whicb consists of lounging about on sofas and coaches, in a very dirty dressing gown, smoking bad cigars and committing to memory a few technical terms. Then the interesting little hnmbug of admission to the bar was gone through with, and J. Byron was enrolled as a member of the legal profession—which import ant fact was duly announced to the public at large, by a huge door plate, as brazen as the face of him, whose name it bore. The brass plate informed the people that J. Byron would practice in the counties of A. B. C., etc. This, however, was easier said than done. The conn- ties mentioned showed no disposition to let J. Byron practice in them; few and far between were his clients, and, despite undoubted talents for the profession (namely, his assurnnee and his inventive, or as it is sometimes uncharita bly termed lying faculty,) Mr. Smythe soon dis covered that the practice of law did not always ensne upon admission to the bar. This was another instance of non-appreciated genius; but the predestined author of “Soul Pictures” was not to be discouraged. He com miserated the ignorance of the “dull, low herd of common minds” aronnd him, but did not for a moment lose his exalted opinion of bis own talents, or his faith, in his own success. He talked as largely, strutted (no other word can express it,) in as grand style, swnnghis galvan ized watch chain with as careless an air, nodded as familiarly to Judges and distinguished mem bers, and as patronizingly to his brother sprouts, as though he counted his clients by scores in stead of units, and as if the rolls of tape-bonnd parchment, which he carried nnder his arm, as he harried in a business-like manner through the streets during conrt-time, were not every one of them, either blank or manuscripts of his own delicate poems. Bat matters had approached a crisis, and one night J. Byron borrowed a couple of cigars, and instead of sitting up as usual, perspiring over a compound composed of unequal parts of Shin- burne, Shelly and the balderdash of his own brain, which he called writing a poem—he ‘ sat himself down and resolutely looked his destiny in the face ’ <as Miss Milkins expresses it in her last * pome.’ Before the smoke of the last wretched little roll of tobacco, had settled in his hair, he had arrived at a conclusion, and formed an idea worthy of his brilliant intellect Immediately, he proceeded to give it an airing, and, in a speech next night, (whose audience consisted of two old maids, the black sexton, one woman and two babies, three giggling school girls, ditto yonng men and one deaf eld gentleman,) he laid before the “enlightened citizens” of his “native town” the grand project of establishing a newspaper in their midst. Of coarse, it was to be a purely philanthropic enterprise, whose sole object was the intellectual and moral good of the world in general, and the citizens of Tarnipville in particular. But, alas ! for man’s ingratitude to man. The people shrugged their shoulders and intimated that Byron should have been christened Barnum after the distingnished individual who reduced humbuggery to a science, but that, though he was quite cunning for so young a fox—they were a leetle too sharp to stick their fingers in his trap—they knew too much about him. So some of them showed themselves quite liberal in giving advice and encouraging the idea that had crept into the ambitious brain of Byron, while others contemptuonsly called it a fool’s crotchet, and all concurred in buttoning their coats more closely over their beloved pocket books, and shaking their heads at sight of a subscription paper—preferring to “wait and see if the thing would come to anything.” Bat this failure did not overwhelm our hero; he was born under no weak planet, and waa not made of the stuff that could be put down. He quitted Turnipville in disgust, and conceived the grand idea of taking by Btorm the neighbor ing county seat-a village rejoicing in the eu phonious appellation of Goobertown. He had printed a number of flaring red and yellow placards, announcing that a new era would take place in letters that the literary Gazette of the South—of the world—destined to rival the New York Ledger, the Tribune, Courier Journal and all the fastest nags on the race track of newspa- perdom, would be published by J. Byron Smythe, and that the city of Goobertown was honored by being choBen as the place where this literary prodigy should be published. These notices were pasted upon every Bign board, groggery, eating house and post-office in the country, and a number of them meeting the good people of Goobertown at every corner of the street, electrified them completely, and created snoh an excitement—according to Miss Tattle, the spinier Oracle—as had not been seen in Goobertown, sinoe General Harrison’s election. It was a new era in the history of the village, for, shut in by sand hills and pine ridges, Goobertown had not kept pace with the fast spirit of the age. The ereotion of a steeple to its one meeting house had been an event of so muoh m iment, as to produce an exoitem ent, that did not subside for weeks, and now a news paper to be published in its precincts!—a news paper too, of snoh grand pretensions, and her alded by snoh gorgeous plaoards ! Half the worthy citizens were a little in the dark as to what was going to happen, and rather ooinoided with the negroes and children, in thinking that it was some new fangled show or circus that was coming to town. (TO BZ CONTINUKn.) SOCIETY^ GOSSIP. Parties, Balls, Dinings, Marriages, and other Amusements. LIFE IN THE SOUTH. ...TLANTA, GA. The ‘Ion’ met Thursday afternoon at Mafc r Leyden’s. The Irving Club had an interesting meeting at Col. Nat Hammond’s, Friday uight Atlanta has certainly been charming this sea son, but we never are dull, even in July. ’Tia said that the city has been gayer than at any period sinoe the war. There was another of those delightful hops at the garrison Wednesday evening. The music is the finest furnished in the State. It is reported that one of oar most popular physicians is soon to wed a Milledgeville belle. Have you decided on your costume for the Young Men’s masquerade? for, of course, you will not miss the treat of the season. The com mittee are making grand preparations, and it will be the last ball of the season. Lent will soon be here, and there will be a lull in festivities—no more balls, fairs, souci receptions, and attractions at the theatre. Well, the girls need a rest. The Atlanta Amateur Minstrels really ought to give one of their performances in Columbus. Henry Geoutchins isjanxious to start a troupe, but Frank Gunby is absent, and Ed Shepherd is not well. Atlanta is now entertaining two of Macon's belles. They are among the most universally admired of the many fair visitors to our city this season. The large congregation at St. Philip's last Sunday morning, was an evidence oi the joy felt at Mr. Foute’s determination to stay among us. Miss Alice Cohen was married on the ‘20th to Mr. J. R. Polak, of Savannah. Both are ex ceedingly popular, and their return home will be a source of much pleasure to their hosts of friends. The ‘Rossini’ will present II Trovatore next Monday night The caste is fine, and we are sure of a tare musical treat. The receipts ot the Mistletoe Bough are thought to be some three hundred dollars. The ladies generously donated half of the proceeds to the Benevolent Home. Mrs. Walter We6ms is visiting Savannah. Two minstrel troupes occupy DeGive’s this week. Brignoli Opera Troupe will give ‘Don Pas- qualo’ next Tuesday night. At the ball in Marietta, last Monday night, Cap. Jeyner was the belle. The girls presented him with a cake half as big as the town. The Nickel Club held a delightful meeting Wednesday evening at the residence of Mrs. P. H. Snook. Mr. Clayton proposes to deliver his lecture on the Closer-to-my-bosom-come-Club, on the night of the 5th of March. It will be ‘rich, rare and racy.’ Mrs. Julia Whistler died at Newport, Ky., last week, at the age of ninety-one. She was a grand aunt of Miss Philip H. Sheridan. Miss Minnie MoKinney, of Richmond, Va., committed suicide on the 18th. The alleged cause was trouble with a gentleman to whom she was engaged to be married. About Men. Daniel Webster’s mansion in Marshfield, Mass., was burned Thursday. J. Willoughby Reade, the elooutionist, was booked for Louisville last week. Prof. Eichborn’s Louisville orchestra has been engaged for the Mardi Gras festivities in Mem phis, and will give a concert at the Memphis Theatre Sunday evening, March 3. Frank Mayo as Davy Crockett will give two entertainments in Memphis this week. He al ways attracts large audiences. Mr. Raskin has entrusted to the Fine Art So ciety of London, for exhibition at the Grosvenor Gallery, the whole of his collection of Turner drawings, more than a hundred in number, and is himself preparing an explanatory catalogue. General di Cesnola has just published a book giving a plain, practical and graphic account ot his life and work in Cyprus. The volume is provided with colored maps—everything in fact that can elucidate the text. Mr. J. M. Dickinson, of Nashville, a student of Liepsic University, gave a very lucid and in teresting lecture on “Student Life in Saxony,” in that city last week. He is a young man of brilliant talents. John W. Iliff, the Colorado Cattle King, died at his residence in Denver on the 16th inst. PHRENOLOGICAL DEPARTMENT. Philosophy and Utility of Phrenology EX PEOF. J. M. GAEST. Through the States. Miss Alice L. Hoyt, of Nashville, Tenn., was married last week to R. S. Trneheart, of St. Louis. The matrimonial knot was tied by the bride’s father, Rev. L. A. Hoyt. D. D., pastor of the First Presbyterian Cinrtfeij'lwFha bride is a great favorite in Nashville society. Hon. Albert Buford died at his residence near Pnlaski, Tenn., on the 10th inst. Mrs. McIntosh, of Pulaski, Tenn., accompa nied by her charming daughter is visiting friends in Nashville. C. E. Dexter and wife, of Columbus, Ga., cel ebrated their silver wedding on the 19th inst. La Grange had two marriages in one day last week. Miss Mary D. Bacon, was married to Thomas H. Lippitt, and the same afternoon, W. B. Cotter, a prosperous young merchant, was united to Mrs. Tuggle, of Mobile, a niece of Hon. W. C. Tuggle. Crawfordville, Ga., has caught the fever for •Clubs.’ At the last meetiag of the Literary Club, Capt. Frank Huger, Major J. B. Camming and J. R. Randall recited original poems. W. W. Reilly, of Americus, died on the 12th inst Sir Peter Coats and daughter are making an extensive tour through the South. These noted foreigners express themselves as highly delight ed with the Southern people. They spent sev eral days in New Orleans, and went from there to Columbns, Ga., to visit its extensive factories. Miss Sallie Cockrill, of Nashville, is visiting Memphis, the guest of Miss Maggie Rogers. Mrs. D. C. Bacon, of Savannah, is dead. She was the daughter of Col. Thomas Holcombe. Cel. John D. Logan, the founder of the San Antonio Herald, died last week. Daniel Weathers, the oldest person in Talbot county died on the 13th. The Ladies’ Aid Society gave asupperin Grif fin this week, and netted $228.45. About Women. Mother Theresa, of the order of Carmelite Nuns, died in their convent in Baltimore in her eighty-first year. She was known to the world as Mrs. Mary Hannah Sswall. H«r father was Col. Sewall, of Gen. Washington’s staff. Clara Morris’ own version of Jane Eyre, now being performed in New York, is pronounced a failure. A young lady in Wisconsin refused an offer of marriage recently on the ground that her father was not able to support a large family. The Danbury News wishes to know why wo men, unlike men, do not have parties on their twenty-first birthday. Why, because it would weaken their chances of marriage. Another Welsh fasting girl has come to light. She is about fifteen years of age, and is said not to have eaten or drank anything since the 30th of last Cctober. Rachel H. Whipp has gone to the Ohio State prison for seven years. She married a wealthy but aged widower with the expectation that he would die soon and lsave her all his property. He, however, had a stronger lease upon life than she had bargained for, so she attempted to hang him, thinking people would believe he had com mitted suicide. Two New England women have celebrated the hundredth anniversary of their birth within the past lev days— Mrs. Elizabeth T. Weston, of Peteraboro, N. H., and Mrs. Lucy Nioholls, of Waterbnrg, Conn. Toe wile of Col. Bob Ingersoll is thus describ ed by the Times, of Chiosgo: “Mrs. Ingersoll is tall, has a prominent nose, large dark eyes, heavy dark hair, arranged high in a twist, wears rich jewelry, copies nobody’s dress or manner, does jnst aa sue pleases and asks no odds.” The late Joel Hart’s group in marble, “Woman Triumphant,” which he left half-out, has been finished by his executors. Miss Saul, the En glish seulptor, and E. A. Selsbee, of Boston. Mrs. Susan A. S. Weiss, in Scribner, gives some kindly reminiscences of Edgar A. Poe. He appeared to her in her own home and in society as pre-eminently a gentleman. When pleased nothing oould exceed the charm of his manner —to his own sex oordial; to ladies marked by a sort of chivalrous, respectful courtesy. The term Phrenology is derived from the Greek phren, mind, and logos, word, or dis course, and literally means the Science of Mind, or Mental Philosophy. But it differs very ma terially from the popular system of Mental Philosophy taught in oar schools and colleges. Phrenology is based upon the principle that the brain is the organ of the mind, or the phys ical instrument of thought and feelings, and refers all mental phenomena to cerebral develop ments and conditions. Mental Philosophy, on the contrary, discusses the powers of the human mind without reference to the brain or the physical constitntion of man. Indeed the an cient philosophers with whom Mental Philoso phy originated, were grossly ignorant of the true relations existing between the body and the mind. They entertained the opinion that the mind is located in some particular portion of the body, bnt some supposed it resides in the stomach, some in the lungs and others in the heart. The question as to the true location of the mind was unsettled for ages, till about one hnndred years ago, Dr. Gall, of Vienna, for ever set the question at rest by establishing, beyond a doubt, tne truth of three dictinct propositions with reference to the relations existing between the mind and the brain: 1st The mind is located in the brain, or, in other words, the brain is the organ of the mind. 2d. Different portions of the brain perform different mental functions or faculties. 3d. The relative size of the different portions or organs of the brain indicate the relative strength of the different faculties or powers of the mind. Upon these principles Dr. Gall established the new science of the mind, and caiied it Phrenology, from the Greek, as above stated. Since the days of Gall much contention has arisen between his followers and the adherents to the old mental philosophy. All admit the truth of the general principles of Phrenology, but, from the difficulty of determining the dev elopments of the brain, it is argued that Phren ology can never become a science or an art. In other words, the metaphysicians contend that character cannot be determined with any degree of accuracy by manipulating the sknll, and that the professions of phrenologists in this respect are mere pretensions that cannot be sustained by facts. The phrenologists, on the other hand, argne that Mental Philosophy has no foundation as a science, but that phrenology is based upon strictly scientific principles. A science is a statement of the principles or laws that govern the operations of any depart ment of nature; bnt as we have no knowledge whatever of the lawB or principles that govern the mind as a separate entity, or as independent of the brain, we can have no science of the mind, that treats of the mind without regard to the physical organization. In other words the mind has no existence in this life, except as the function of the brain, and no science or hnman knowledge can reach the mind, except a3 it manifests its powers through the brain. Through every stage of human life from the cradle to the grave, the mind, in all its varied and wonderful manifestations is governed by fixed, organic laws; and phrenology being a faithful exposition of those laws is 03 much entitled to the dignity of a science, as anatomy and physiology, or any other science. It is a self evident fact that there is an inse parable connection existing between the mind and the body. The mind cannot exist (nnder the conditions of this life) without the body; neither can the body exist without the mind, the organization of one always depending npon the organization of the other. To establish the principles of phrenology we have only to show that these relations between mind and body are governed by fixed laws. Law reigns supreme throughout the realms of universal nature. Nothing can take place in the universe, except in the obedience to eternal law. Hence the mind of man in its various manifestations through the animal organism, is governed by certain fixed, organic laws, which we are able to understand and define, and which constitute the science of phrenology, and which embrace all knowledge that pertains to man as an animal, as an intellectual and as a spiritual being. Bat the truth of phrenology does not rest alone npon theoretical demonstrations. Phren ology is pre-eminently a scienoe based npon facts. Dr. Gall did not discover from reasoning or from accident that the brain is the organ of the mind, bat he proved from facts that the developments of the brain indicate the charac ter of the man, whioh of necessity establishes the dootrine that the brain is the organ of the mind. Many attemps have been made to overthrow phrenology by theory, bnt theories, however ingenions, avail nothing against established facts. (to bs continued. ) SARAH BERNHARDT. Actress, Painter and Sculptor. The greatest living actress in France, (there fore, in the world, say all Frenchmen) is Mile. Sarah Bernhardt. Like Rachel, whom she al most equals, she is of the Jewish race. A sketch of her by Sarcey shows us the Jewish mother holding the hand of the little, thin- faced, dark, brilliant-eyed child at the door of the Paris Consevatoire, the great French school for musical and dramatic art. If she can only be admitted as a pupil, thinks the mother; the wonderful eyes of the ohild are full of hope, eagerness and will. The examiners before whom she is to appear are the most eminent composers, actors and writers of the age. t>ae of benevolent face and keen eyes is struck by something in the child’s face; he oalls on her for a specimen of her recitation. She has learn ed nothing new or brilliant, but she steps out and begins a well known fable of LaFontaine. Before three lines are given in her quaint, self- forgetting way, the old man pats her on the head: “You’ll do,” he says, and his word bus weight among his fellows. She is admitted to the Conservatory, where she gains a prize, and passes, at one bound, to the chief theatre—the Francais. There she meets with anything but a smooth progress. She is snubbed, put ti<»au, misrepresented, ridiculed by mediocrity aud envy. When, in spite of these, she rises from unimportant roles and has important parts as signed her, she still suffers criticism and de traction. She will not act according to tradi tion; she will not follow beaten paths. In vain they insisted on the deliberation, th6 pomp and solemnity of the ancient manner. She would follow her ideas of art, if it drove her, as it did, from the theatre Francais. She left, but sue said to them, in effdet, as another of her strong- hearted race—Disraeli—had said: “The time will come when you shall hear me!” The time came, years afterwards, when her success was assured—when she had created a style for her self that all pronounced vivid, unique, orig inal. She was implored to return to tne Frau- cais. She went on improving. At last she challenged the immortal memory of Ricbel by essaying the great actress’ role of Pu:e Ire. She bore off the honors in the first three acts. The fourth nearly killed her, as every great per formance does, owing to the delicacy of her physique; but what she had done was enough. There was no party of opposition left. She was hailed as the first actress in France, aud she subsequently confirmed the verdict by her per formance of the “Fille de Roland," aud the “Etrangere.” When she stood on this summit in the mimic world, and there were no fresh crowns to be won as an actress, her insatiable ambition, her fever ish energy, her versatile and unbounded genius led her to essay success in another direction. She sent to the salon a group of statuary of her carving, and the French were forced to stop in their applause of the actress to admire the skill and genius of the sculptress. Then she took np the brush aud painted pic tures of more than ordinary merit It is by her artistic work that she seems most enthusiasti cally absorbed. She has fitted her up a superb room—half studio, half drawing-room—where she works untiringly over the canvas and the marble. At twelve her coupe is at the door to take her to rehearsal at the Francais. The re hearsals there are tedious, laborious. Often she swoons at them, but 3he is back again, and by five she is ready to receive visitors. Not only is she actress, painter and sculptor, and in the last has won a medal from the Salon, but she has a novel on the stocks, a poem in manuscript. Her new picture of Tribulet, the jester, weeping over the dead body of his daughter, is looked for with much eagerness. It is not yet finished. Her studio is unique. It is very broad, very lofty, lit both by the cathe dral-window and by skylight. It is tapestried in velvet. It contains easels, unfinished pic tures, busts in the rough, daintily-fashioned chairs, fauteuds, satin couches, vases big as sentry-boxes, which may have come direct from the sale of the furniture and effects of the leader of the “Forty Thieves.” And to add to the va riety of effects, towering tropical plants aud a fireplace worthy, in breadth and depth, of a castle of the middie ages. Of the personelle of the great actress, Clairin’s celebrated portrait conveys a vivid idea and renders the nameless charm of the woman better than any of the numerous por traits of her that have been exhibited. She sits on a couch, as she sits in the “Etran gere, ” an excessively frail but graceful shape, its outline half lost, half revealed, beneath masses of drapery, trailing far beyond her feet in sta tuesque folds. Above it a thiunish face of in tense power, with delicately cut features, framed, as it were, in a wild, luxuriant growth of hair, falling low on the forehead, and form ing a depth of shade to enhance the brilliancy of the eyes. Yon praise her becanse she looks as a picture, you praise the picture because it looks like the life. For any attempt to describe the quality of her charm,* grace must be the first and last word—grace in dietion, grace in dress, in gesture, attitude, regard; if still ano ther word be wanted, distinction is the ouly one that can be found. Never was there a more busy life than this brilliant woman leads. Work seems to be her element. Her will iB as strong as her physique is fragile; energy is feverishly intense. lu the versatility and activity of her genius, she is a human cariosity. Racy Political Tit-Hits. Speaker Sam. Randall presents the comical appearanoe of the long-eared animal inertive between two bales, while the wicked former is slipping op from the background to break his back with a club. Sam. tells the people of Pennsylvania he is a red-hot friend to tariff. And the oantioos, cun ning inhabitants of Pennsylvania ask him why he didn’t manage different in his committee ap pointments. And Sam. stands stnpid between his tariff cry and his anti-tariff appointments, and the horny-handed Pennsylvanian spits on the end of his bludgeon and prepares to make a political oorpse.—[Don Pint. The Philadelphia Times disposes of the day’s doings in the capital thus briefly: “Congress killed time at the usual rate yester day, and did little else. It is a rare thing that either branch really does any business nowa days, and a spicy bit of dialogue is a godsend to the reporters.” A romance in politics showed up last week in the appointment, by Gov. Halliday, of Algernon Sidney McRae to the police foroe of the State capital at Richmond. McRae was once Senator from that district, and afterwards professor of anatomy at the Richmond Medical College. Frank Rooney, a witness before the legislative committee on the recent labor troubles in Cali fornia, says: “I think the cause of the whole trouble has been Mayor Bryant and the civil authorities. I would like to show how by their orders the police broke up a meeting m Horti cultural Hall, and I have several witnesses to tes tify as to the way they used clubs on innocent people.” Willis wants to abolish the Government Print ing Office. Now if he will abolish Congress al together, I think we conld survive it The G >v- ernment Printing Office employs hundreds of men and women who wonld otherwise s veil the mob of destitute people now on onr hands, and it does good work, too; few people know h >w muoh. I did not myself until lately, when I went all through it, and saw what an immense amount of work was done. Now if Mr. Willis wants to economize, and really in his beart of hearts believes in it, let him move the passage of a bill—and the whole oonntry will support that member of Congress—like tne members of Parliament in England, serve without any sal ary, the honor being considered quite enough, though it might be a mooted question as to where the honor ties in the oaae. I am speaking S nerally, for I have some warm friends up in o Cave, but I cannot help poking fan at thou all.—Roberts.