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THE WORLD WS LITE IX. Courts are generally dull places. Etiquette is fatal to candor, and candor is the mother of wit. But clever things transpire now and tlieu. When the late Duke de Ridielicu, wiio, during his emigration, had been for some years Governor of Odessa, was appointed I’rimc Minister by Louis XVIH. y someone happened to ask Talleyrand at the Tuilleries, « What qualities could have raised tlic Duke to that high situation?” “Qualities!” said the Ex-Minister with a sneer, “ Oh he knows a great deal about Odessa.” A bon mot in exactly the same spirit lias been dying about tlie Court on Lord Durham’s appointment to Canada. This little lord is certainly an ex traordinary instance of the whimsicality with which Fortune sometimes showers lier favors on tlie smallest of mankind. If bitterness and blundering, narrow ability, and mushroom pride, Radicalism when out of power, and in dole nee when in, could make a choice ridieu lous, it was in the choice which appointed Iyord Durham to play the dictator, and restore j>eacc to Canada. Someone at Court the other day asked, “ What possible merits in Lord Durham could have justified the appoint ment ?” “ Oh,” was the answer, “he has l>ccn just two years in Russia, and he is har dened to a cold climate.” William IV. sometimes had the happy art of saying tlie most eccentric things with tlie most amusing simplicity. On Talleyrand’s first coming over as ambassador he was one day dining at St. James’s with most of the so. reign ambassadors, when the King, after con versing on some indifferent topics, suddenly turned, and asked what was the last news of Casimir Perier, tlie Prime Minister of France, wlio had been siezed with the cholera. “He is either dead or dying,” said the ambassador, in his sepulchral tone. “Ha !” said the King in one of his fits of abstraction, “ very unfortu nate ; a great man and an honest one; tlie only honest statesman in France dead ! —the only man capable of ruling such a pack of san guinary rogues; is it not so ?” turning to a foreign diplomatist at his side. The diploma tist, much embarrassed, looked unutterable things, and muttered unintelligible ones. All tlie ambassadors, not knowing where else to look, looked into their plates, and could scarce ly restrain their laughter. Talleyrand alone applied himself vigorously to his soup. He had been in tlie habit of swallowing Royal com pliments, and tlie practice was useful to him on this occasion—he never moved a muscle. It was said of this imperturbable Minister, that if a man were kicking him behind as he was speaking to you, you would never know it by a change of his visage. Perhaps of all the beings that walk the earth the German has the least sensibility. He was intended for an honest, plodding, pains-taking, creature, and such he is, when he follows com mon sense and obeys the original law of his being. But the affectation of French liveliness and Italian sensibility has the effect on the poor Teuton of rendering him irresistibly ridiculous. Having no faculty of either graceful mirth or poetic feeling in himself, he always overstrains the mark in both, and contrives to exhibit him self either tlie mountebank or tlie maniac. On Sontng’s first successes in Berlin, the whole capital took to madness, as the happiest mode of proving their sense of musical per lection. Sontng was certainly a pleasing singer, with remarkable facility of voice, though feeble in tone, and with neitherjjbeauty of per son nor elegance of acting to recommend her. But even this was enough to set the phlegm of the German in an uproar, and all the yellow moustaches of that bristled race were convulsed with ecstacy. Some of their displays of this rapture were happily expres sive of tlie delicacy of their tastes. We are told that a party of amateurs, especial admirers of the lady’s talent, purchased from her ser vant a pair of her cast off shoes, in which they actually drank her health in nightly, until this singular drinking implement would hold out no longer. Whether the liquor were wine, or, ns is more probable, beer, the anecdote, being one of a thousand of similar displays, is expres sive. Blackwood. UTILITT OF THE NEWSPAPER PRESS. S[)eech of Mr. Watts at the Newspaper Be nevolent Association Dinner: “ The wide dif fusion of newspapers throughout this great empire, sufficiently shows the general estima tion in which they are held. To many per sons, indeed, a newspaper has become almost one of the necessaries of life. What a dull day would that be, especially in the metropolis, on which, owing to some combination of cir cumstances, not a single newspaper were to make its appearance. (A laugh and cheers.) How many derive their own information and amusement—how many derive the means of informing and amusing other’s solely from the newspaper. (Hear, hear.) Does a politi cian wish to know the state of Canada, or Spain, or the proceedings in the houses of Par liament ? He reads the newspaper. (Ap plause.) Does a naval or military officer de sire to learn where our regiments or men of war are stationed ? He reads tlie newspaper. (Renewed applause.) Is a commercial man anxious about the arrivals at the outports, or a monied man about the price of stocks ? (A laugh.) He reads the newspaper. (Cheers.) Is a lover of the fine arts, or the drama, or of the “concord of sweet sounds”—(much cheer ing) eager for information respecting the ex hibition, the theatre, or the concert room ? He reads the newspaper. (Cheers.) Are the ladies—God bless them ! —(long continued cheers) —are the ladies curious to ascertain the fashionable parties of tlie week ? Thev read the newspa|ier. (Laughter and cheers.) In short, almost every human being whocan read at all, reads the newspaper. (Renewed laugh ter and cheers.) Nay, in Ireland, unless my highly gifted and witty friend, Lover, be mis taken, the very foxes read the newspaper— (great laughter)— 4 for how else,’ says a sly old reynard, in one of Mr. Lover’s admirable tales, 4 how else should we know where the hounds are to meet ?”—(Shouts of laughter and cheers.) x He who is master of the fittest moment to crush his enemy, and magnanimously neglects it, is horn to be a conqueror. From the AagoaHl Mirror. THE MANIAC LOVERS. IMITATION OF BYRON’S DREAM. BY E. M. PENDLETON, M. D. The moon was shining out from heaven as pure And bright as ocean’s crystal wave, when th’ wind* Are hushed and th’ sun shines down with silvery light Upon her placid bosom ; and the stars were faint Though glaring with the ravs of distant suns In other systems. All was as calm and pure In the wide world around as the holy breath Os innocence, ’mid the soft, 9ilent sleep Os some sweet babe, whose dreams are full of heaven. Beside a window, in a princely hall. Two youthful beings sat, and they looked out Upon the moon swimming in waves oflight Which the sun threw back i* the tipper skies. Till the lustre of their own bright eye* seemed lo9t In the silvery beams around. And their lips Were mute a9 the nni«e!ess zephyr which so gaily played With the cur's that hung round the crimson cheeks Os that fair lady, beside whose lovely form Sat a youth of manlv brow. And oft his eyes Were drawn from the ravished gaze of the moon To look upon that beauteous face, which formed T!»e centre of his inmost thoughts; and long He gazed upon her bright blue eyes, and all That made her lovely, till a sigh escaped Her lips which spoke unutterable things. And then she turned her lust’rous sun-lit eyes Upon the youth, hut as their glances met There came a crimson mantling o’er her cheeks Like the first blushes of the early morn Up in the star-lit sky; and her ruby lips Were tremulous with some wild emotion. Which till now she ne’er had felt, and there came Unconscious to her aid a long, long breath, And thev spoke in soothed tones of days Long since gone hv, and happy hours to come, Till each to each declared their mutual love. 44 A change came o’er the spirit of my dream,” And those fond hearts were severed by the blight Os wintry breath, which fell upon their hopes And withered all. I saw them as they stood One lovely summer’s eve in that same spot, With the clear light of Cynthia shining on them. Her heart heat high and proudly as she cast A I'jok of disaffection and revealed The sad emotions of an inward pride. There was a struggle in that breast, unfclt By myriads of the heartless race of men, Known only by the few who love but once, And then love on unchanging through all time. Atid yet, she frowned upon the youth whose cheek VVas bleached and pale, as a marble monument. But in that frown a look of pity beamed And the bright crystal tear stood in her eye And told a secret she was loth to own. The youth was sad, and from his quivering lips There fell soft words of firm entreaty, till The fire of anguish on his fair one’s cheek Had fled, and left no sign of injured pride Save the cold look of heartless apathy. ’Twas then lie felt remorse, and then his breast Heaved like the waves of ocean, tempest tossed By w ild contrary winds; and his eyes Were fixed in keen despair, upon the one he loved, Beaming unearthly fire. He grasped her hand And whispered— 14 never, denrest, never, O, Farewell!” He fled that cloistered hall; and she Who made him what he was, a ruined soul, * Slept not that night; but sighs of bitter grief Disturbed her spirit’s rest, and burning tears Ran heedless down her feverish cheeks, and kissed The flowing curls of her dishelled hair. Most bitterly, as if they felt her woe. ** A change came o’er the spirit of my dream.” Long many moons had come, and waxed and waned, And passed away again, like some wild dream ; And that proud youth had gone to other climes And mingled in the busy world of strife To drown his grief. His soul quaffed deepest draughts Os thought at the Pyerean fount, and he Who bowed before at woman’s lovely shrine Now worshipped in ambition’s sane, and won A circling Wreath of glory for his brow. From the two shores, there sprang paens of praise, And raptured million’s felt the new-born fire Os his mighty genius and adored his name ; Yet she far off, the lady of his heart. In anguish pined ; till a wild feeling came Os frenzy and despair o’er her sad heart, An 1 she relinquished home and friends and all, And those bright eyes and cherry lips to one She never loved, a id who cared not foi her Save the low cravings of a base desire, Too soon, alas, forgot, when once obtained. “ A change came o’er the spirit of nty dream.” There was the sound of music and wild mirth In that old hall where oft the lovers met, And the tread of feet in the frantic dance, And the burst of merriment rang round again, Till the full orbed moon had risen high in heaven, But ’mid that festive scene one soul was sad, And a feint, sickly feeling came oft times O’er her full heart, like the dreadful thought of death. She hung upon the arin of one whose look Was hateful to her; and her lips were mute ’ And trembled sadly when the so'enin vow Os Hymen was performed ! O G.td ! what scenes Os bitter anguish started on her brain ! The dreams of buried years, and the fresh thought Os oar she loved, who yet in memory's halls Stood in his noblest attitude, the great, The brave, the good. The voice of mirth was hushed, And tramp of feet was heard along the walk Most hurriedly, and soon a gentle tap At the castle gate, and one of lofty step And a high bearing mingled with that throng. His eyes were wandering wildly round the hall, And seemed insatiate; yet that pafobride Had caught his glance, and looked with manic gaze Upon his noble form. A wild, wild shriek Was all she uttered, and then a faintish cry, “ O take him, take him from tne and buck she sank Into the arms of her affianced lord. And all the word went whirling round and round To her distracted view, til! gloomy clouds Enveloped every sense in ntenlal night. 44 A change came o’er the spirit of my dream.” There was a lofty castle ’mid the hum Os a vast city, where the maniac mind. Lost to the world, and all that made it sad Could steep its thoughts in that best opiate | Which nature gives, untroubled sleep ; and cease i To know it ever lived. In a lone cell, I Dark as the twilight hour, where glaring day Ne’er entered with his magic torch, sat one Os ruined mind. Despair was on his brow Graved in furrows with an iron pen, j And his unearthly eye wag full of fire Like that winch meteors, in erratic flight. Throw out against the heavens, —wild, glaring, and Inconstant as the fickle wind. Otic time A gleam of peaceful light shot on his brow, And a faint smile passed quickly o'er his lips Like sunshine chased between wto flying clouds Over a harvest field. It was the charm j Os a wild voice falling on his ear, 1 Like plaintive melody at eventide j From mountain shepherd’s lute, so mildly sott, i So tremulous, so sweet. It brought to view j The imagery of other years, and one it Whose form was rife and bright upon hie heart, And the old hall, and castle-gate, and moon, An<l twinkling gems of nigh', all, all as fresh And vivid to his maniac mind, as if they yet Were beaming on his eye. -It was the voice Os her he loved, that much affected bride, Who fell o'erpowered on that fatal eve At the sight of hitn ; and never more had joy Or intellect upon her brow; but ail Amid the wide earth was a dark, dark wastt Like the wild vagaries of unreal life. My dream was o'er, and reason came again ; Methottght it strange, that two sueh ones could love So faithfully and never wed—that cold Unfeeling pride should ever have dethroned That first devoted feeling of the heart And driven both to madness, so unreal. But such is human life, and such the end Os that wild dreatn, which startles even now The strangest b e ings of iny heart, and makes The world and all pass on before my view Like the false notion of some fanciful tiring, Which never was, hut strangely seems to be. l l’arrenton, Jane 2, l°3d. 5Cr We direct the attention of our business friends and readers to the following, they will find that it con* taius much truth, as well as much philosophy : PHILOSOPHY OF ADVERTISING. It may be worth while to communicate to voting tradesmen the ideas of an old one on this subject; they are simply and briefly as follows. The first utility of frequent and re gular advertising consists in this, there is at all times a large class of persons, both in coun try and in town, who have no fixed places for the purchase of certain necessary articles, and are ready to be swayed and drawn towards any particular place which is earnestly brought under their notice. Indifferent to all, they yield without hesitation to the first who asks. Then in the country, a considerable number of persons who wish a supply of the articles advertised, and do not know of any particular place where it is to be got, being thus furnish ed with the address of a person who can sup ply them, naturally open a communication with that address, which, perhaps, leads to much ulterior business. People in the coun try are also more liable to be favorably im pressed by the frequent sight of a name in the newspapers. The advertising party acquires distinction in their eyes, and thus they are led, in making a choice, to prefer him. But by far the most important effect of advertising is one of an indirect nature—it conveys the impression that the party —pretending or not prelending—quackish or not quackish—is anxious for business. One who is anxious for business is unavoidably supposed to he an in dustrious, attentive, civil person, who keeps the best of articles at the cheapest rate, does every thing in the neatest and most tradesmanlike manner, and in general uses every expedient to gratify and attach customers. People, of course, like to purchase under these circum. stances, and the system of advertising assur ing them that such circumstances exist at this particular shop, they select it accordingly. Such are the opinions of the old tradesman alluded to, and they are certainly supported by fact; for where ever an extensive or regu lar system of advertising is practised, and no back-drawing or unconquerable circumstances exist, it is usually seen to be attended with a considerable share of excess. One feature in the philosophy of the subject must be carefully attended to. A faint and unfrequent system of advertising does not succeed even in pro jmrtion, “ Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.” ECONOMY TAUGHT BY EXAMPLE. We find the following very sensible arti cle in a Southern paper. We most sincere ly hope that a stern necessity did not exer cise its iron will on the patriotic resolve of the writer: “ It is estimated, that from the five Southern States, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Geor gia and South Carolina, fifty thousand persons travel northward every summer for the pur poses of recreation and pleasure. To set down the travelling and incidental expenses of this army of tourists at five hundred dollars a head, would be a moderate estimate. Many of them, without question, spend their one and two thousands. Add to this, five hundred dollars a head laid out in purchases of various kinds, and we have the sum of forty millions of dollars disbursed every year at the North by the travelling gentry from the South. Now, if this immense treasure could for one year he applied to the liquidation of Southern debts, instead of the purchase of Northern pleasure, gewgaws, &c. &c, it strikes Us very forcibly, that the people of the five States above-men tioned would, at the end of twelvemonths, find themselves relieved of a heavy weight of in debtedness. An arrangement so desirable can, it is evident, easily be accomplished. All the Southerners have to do, is to stay at home and save travelling expenses. If they don’t soon find their debts paid after a rigid adher encc to this rule for one or two years, then our calculation is wrong. At any rate the experiment is well worth trying ; and so strong is our faith in its success, that we ourselves are resolved to stay at home the whole sum mer, and set a good example to our erratic neighbors.” BRANDRETII’s FILLS. Anew way to get money from a Bank. A good joke is told in the Cincinnatian, of the extraordinary efficacy of these pills, in the most hopeless cases. A merchant of Cincinnati, (the story says,) was refused a discount at hank, was disconsolate ; had a no’e to lift next day, and was out of funds. Despair was writ, ten oa his face, when he espied a newspaper in which was related the circumstance of an old and decrepid woman being restored to bloom ing youth, by merely reading the sign over one of Dr. Brandeth’s “ own offices.” An idea flashed upon him—lie determined to make the experiment of trying tlieir efficacy on Bank directors, and accordingly lie repaired imme diately to the office, and procured a box. This he folded up with his note, and sent a eounter hopper to the Bank who presented the same to the Directors, and awaited the issue. The rest will soon be told— the sight of the box worked upon them so forcible, that they ordered the money to be shelled out instuntcr ! WISDOM. It is as great a point in wisdom to hide ignorance, as to discover knowledge* TOE BIBLE. Os all the Loons which God has bestowed on our apostate and orphan race, we are bound to say that the Bible is the noblest and most precious. Wc bring not into comparison with this, the glorious sun-light nor the rich sustenance which is poured from the storehouse of the earth, though dust, to soar into com panionship with angels. The Bible is the de velopment ol man’s immortality, the guide which informs him how he may move off tri umphantly from a contracted and temporary scene, and grasp destinies of unbounded splen dor—eternity his life-time, and infinity his home. It is tlie record too. which tells us that this rebellious section of God’s unlimited em pire is not excluded from our Maker’s com passion; but that the creatures who move upon its surface, though they have hnselv sepulchred in sinfulness and corruption the magnificence of their nature, are yet so dear in their ruin to Him who formed them, that he bowed down the heavens in order to open their graves. O! you have only to think what a change would pass on the aspect of our race, if the Bible were suddenly withdrawn, and all remembrance of it swept away, and von arrive at some faint notion ofthe worth ofthe volume. Take from Christendom the Bible, and you have taken the moral chart bv which alone its population can be guided. Ignorance of the truths of God and only guessing at their own immortality, the tens of thousands would be as mariners, tossed oil a wide ocean, without a star to guide, and without a compass by which to steer. The blue-lights of the storm.fiend would burn ever in the shrouds ; and when the tornado rushes across the waters, there would be heard nothing but the shriek of the terrified, and tlie groans ofthe departing. It were to mantle the earth with more than Egyptian dark ness ; it were to dry up the fountain of human happiness ; it were to take the tide from our waters, and leave them stagnant, and the stars from our heavens, and leave them in sackcloth, and the verdure from our valleys, and leave them in barrenness ; it were to make the -pre sent all recklessness, and the future all hope lessness ; the maniac’s revelry and the fiends delight, if you could anihilate that precious volume which tells us of God and Christ, and unveils immortality, and instructs in duty, and woos to glory. Such is the Bible. Prize it ye youth, and study it more and more. Prize it ye aged, for it leads to the New Jerusalem. Prize it every one of ye, as ye are intelligent and immortal beings—for it giveth understanding to the simple. SAYINGS. BY DR. FRANKLIN. Sloth, like rust, consumes, faster than labor wears, whilst the used key is always bright. Dost thou love life ? Then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of. The sleeping fox catches no poultry. He that rises late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night. Early to bed and early to rise, Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. He that lives fipon liope will die fasting— industry need not sleep. There are no gains without pains. At the working man’s house hunger looks in, but never enters. Plough deep, while sluggards sleep, and you will have corn to sell or keep. One to-day is worth two to-morrows. Handle your tools without mittens-—a cat in gloves catches no nfro. He who by the plough would thrive, Lfimself must either hold or drive. The eye of a master will do more than both his hands. Not to oversee Workmen is to leave your purse open. A little neglect may breed a great mischief *“for want of a nail the shoe was lost, and for want of a horse tlie lider Was lost. And a fat kitchen makes lean will. If you would be rich, think of saving as well as getting. What maintains one vice would bring up two children. Beware of little expenses—a small leak wil* sink a great ship. If you would know the want of money, go and try to borrow some—for he that goes a borrowing goes sorrowing. Pride is as loud a beggar as want and a great deal more saucy. Pride breakfasted with plenty, dined with poyerty, and supped with infamy. Lying rides on debt’s back. It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright. Creditors have better memories than debtors. For nge and want save what von mav. No morning’s sun lasts the whole day. Rather go to bed supperless than rise in debt. If you do not hear reason she will be sure to rap your knuckles. He that hath a trade hath an estate ; and he that hath a calling hath a place of profit and honor. A ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on h s knee. The sound of a hammer at five in the morn ing, heard by a creditor, makes him feel easy six months longer. TO HAVE GOOD YEAST IN SUMMER, Is a desirable object with every housewife. Slie may have such by the following simple process. Boil a single handful of hops (which every farmer can and ought to raise, to the extent of liousehold wants.) in two or three quarts of water—strain and thicken the liquor when hot, with rye flour; then add two or three yeast or turnpike cakes to set the mess. If this is done at evening it wifi be fit for use early next morn ing. Reserve a pint of this yeast which thicken with Indian meal, make into small cakes, the size of crackers, and dry them in the shade for future use. In this Yeast, cakes kept a long time arc apt to become rancid, and loose their virtues. The fresher the cakes the better the yeast. 'nrnrrNTTT—“ To die Editor ofthe Southern Post, Dear Squire Pendleton: I have seen lately, several “Georgia Scenes ” “ Stray Collegian Effusio is,” “ Penciling,’” “Travels,” &c. &c. and not being willing thg| these things should receive all attention, I have concluded to take an “ Extract from my sad. die-bugs,” for tlie edification of all who are anxious to read about matters and things in gineral. My saddledrags are hung up in my house, and wlienevcr any thing of inqiortance happens, or whenever my mind is unusually filled with notions, I set tliein down on papeiy and then store ’em away in that convenient receptacle. T.iey are a family article; listen to their biography. A celebrated ancestor of tlie present Barlow stock went with King Henry the fifth of Eng land to France, during the wars of his reign, a id he carried a pair of saddle-bags with oint ments, liniments, dec. therein, to dress a sword cut, snake pole thrust, dec. if so be he should get into a fight. The first battle proved the overthrow of Samuelis Johannes Barlow, the flower and pride of British coblers. The French Duke of Orleans laid violent hands on the saddle-bags, but a*friend of Samuelis, after a hard struggle recaptured the prize from the noble hut covetous Duke. The pair has re muined in the family from that day to this, a venerable relic of antiquity, and the honorable memento of chivalrous deeds. The above account is a true extract from our family re cord. Whenever I extract any thing therefrom, Jonathan Snip, scool teecher, revises, corrects, remodels gramar, retorick, logic, spelling, &c. for publication, and often elevates my style. I have added to my name at the suggestion of Jimmy Reynolds. He informed me that all great men signed their names thus: It. Shelton McKenzie, L. L. D., N. C. Brooks, A. M., W. Gilmore Simms, Jereboham Goliah Spilkv, 1). D. So not wishing to lie behind any. 1 bog leave, sir,most humbly to subscribe myself your most obedient servant, W. BONYPART BARLOW, Esq. FIRST EXTRACT FROM MYSADDLE BAGS. BV W. BONYPART BARLOW, ESQ. M'j first Love Letter. Lie there forever, said l, as I gently cram’d my first love letter into my saddle-bugs some twenty years ago ; but since age has worn off youthful baslifulness, and even youthful pride, I am willing to draw it from its time honored habitation, that I may once more behold it with mine own eys. It’s a rare tale; full of un pleasant reminiscences to me, yet no doubt many would laugh, if they could enter into my stead, and see the circumstances as I saw them. I will endeavor to give an account of the manner in which my first love-letter made its entree into the world ; and I can assure tlie reader, that though no star appeared at its ad vent, to rule its destiny, yet it was an epoch in the history of my life. It was a cold Christinas day in 18 —, the clouds were settling thick and black about the horizon, occasionally spreading their raven wings to zenith, obscuring the lace ofthe sun as he swiftly bent his way to his meridian throne, wlien Job Hawthorn poked his nose over the fence around f ither’s yard.arrJ hunde i me a note, which kindly invited me to a party that evening, at his father’s domicile. 1 was about eighteen ; consequently I was anxious to be at the party, seeing the girls, if not to be seen. Another characteristic of that blooming age was, the desire to appear splendidly drest None of my wearing apparel being of the spruce order, (to wit) broad-cloth. I made sundry depredations upon an elder motherts wardrobe, purloining therefrom a pair of inex pressibles, long enough lor Goliah, a pair of boots, vest, and ruffl’d shirt. Then was want ing a coat. Tiie lack ofthis indispensible arti cle gave me considerable uneasiness, especially when noon had passed, and the shades of even ing were lengthening “o’er the lawn.” There was no time lor delay, so 1 immediately entered my pants almost up to tlie chin, at any rate they pinched me under the arms, then l don’d my boots of most enormous dimensions. A cravat was then absolutely necessary. A four feet square piece of bleached homespun roll’d into a long pole served to shelter the parts be tween the top of tlie breast and collar hones and the te«th and years, the knot behind lorming a prodigious hump. My ve»t, whose longitude was amazing, very nearly hid one half of my whole person. Alter a little reflection I stole out fathers coat and hat, put them on, looked in the gkiss, the coat tail fun’d my heels and tiic hat very ligirtly rested itself on my ears and cravat, while its brim insured security from driving storms. 1 thought I looked unusually handsome; and this reflection beguiled an hours walk to Mr.Hawthorn’s house. I arrived at sunset—about tlie time tiiat others made their appearance—and took my seat (my fine dress being my credentials) among the youthful throng. For my life I could not hold my hands still, I could scarcely reach down to my coat pockets,and those in the pants were immediate ly under my arm s, so they would sometimes dangle down, next moment they would he in my mouth, or pulling down my cravat, to keep it from trespassing upon the premises of my nose. It’s taken for granted that many a sweet mouth smiled at the youthful scion of the Barlow family, especially if informed that many doubted whether the clothes had been thrown at me, or really ffnd truely put on. Laura Johnson, with her sparkling Hack eyes and smiling lips, was there; the source of pleasure, since all eyes were upoii her, old maids smiled contemptuously at her, and all young men courted her conversation. I had long loved her, yet no one knew the little secret of my breast, and 1 had never exhibited, my feelings even to her. I wanted to sit by her, and every opportunity that presented itself found mo moving in straight lines to the cen tre of gravitation. Finally, a chair by her side was vacated, I made for it with all possible speed, and sat down as perfect an exemplifica tion of idiocy as can be imagined. She scent ed to be awkwardly situated ; and I am cer tain, that if awkwardness was contagious, sho would have been so. Old Squire Hawthorn saw her situation, and sent Job with this mes sage to me, “ Father says, lie would like to sew