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THE DESERTERS.
BY J. A. C>LLIEK.
It was a lovely morning m June
not a cloud was seen to obscure tlie rays
of t lie glorious sun which shone in all its
splendor upon the earth ; groups of sol
diers were gathered in front of the bar
racks, some discussing the last express
from C , whilst others might be seen
in their quarters cleaning their equip
ments, for the parade which was momen
tarily expected to take place.
The hurrying ot the Orderly Sergeants
from the Commander’s quarters gave note
that something unusual was about to take
place.
A short distance without the Fort,
might be seen the guard house, a lone
building; in front, and in the rear stood
the sentinels, while on the left presented
to your view might be seen the < Mlieers of
the guard with their men paraded to march
with the prisoners to the parade ground
at the first call of the bugle.
Once it is heard wafted on the breeze,
from tiie Cob’s quarters. The companies
are seen to parade, and the order is given
to march on with the prisoners to hear
their dooms as deserters.
Let us take a retrospective view of the
crime which these unfortunate men were
about toexpiate before their fellow-soldiers
and countrymen.
The eldest, Dennis, lie who stands at
the head, is a man aged about thirty-five
years, and of gigantic: stature, his full and
broad brow, and flashing black eyes, were
convincing proof to the sjtecta'ors that lie
possessed courage. He was a native of
New York, of respectable parentage and
connections. He had formerly sr rved as
gunner in tlie Navy, but through some ir
regularity of conduct, had been dismissed
from that situation, all chance of again en
tering that branch of the service being
slopped, he was induced to enter the land
service as a private soldier.
After being sworn to defend his coun
try’, lie began to reflect upon his situation
for the first time; he saw at once he would
have to bend to the will of his superior
officers, however low they might he in
rank, and his soul spurned the idea of sub
mitting to the insolence of men far beneath
him in every respect, save rank, and lie
determined to desert.
While at C — Barracks he firmed an
acquaintance with the others whic h I shall
speak of.—Edgai Waddemore and Charles
De Namar. Edgar was a young man
aged about twenty-two, of remarkable
personal beauty, possessing the finest face
and form I ever saw, be had enlisted
about six months previously, and for his
uniform good qualities had been promoted
to the rank ot Sergeant, and his kind, obli
ging temper made him a universal favor
ite with the men.
While at C— he formed an attachment
to a beautiful girl of good family, and up
on the news of the detachment being or
dered from tlie post, he immediately ap
plied tor iiis discharge, but the letter,
through some delay, did not reach its des
tination in time, and Edgar was doomed
to leave with the detachment.
The other, Charles De Nainnr, had no
particular motive; lor deserting, lie had en
listed about three months previous, at the
age of nineteen, a wild harum-scarum
youth, he thought lie; had seen enough ot
military life to convince him that there
was very little honor or glory to be deri
ved in serving as a private soldier.
On the night previous to the detach
ment’s leaving the post, these three met
and resolved to desert that night, after tat
too, when all had retired for the night.
The old town clock slowly tolled the
hour of midnight, nought was heard but
the slow and measured tread of the senti
nels, and the ec ho of their cry of ‘All’s
well.’ Three indistinct forms might lie
seen emerging from the barracks; slowly
they 7 creep along until they arrive at one
of the adjoining fields in rear of the quar
ters.
They then proceed unmolested into the
next town, distant about five miles, when
a thought struc k them that they would be
detected by the citizens in their dresses,
not having provided themselves with oth
ers, and they saw at once the folly of pro
ceeding further, hut instead of going back
‘mmediately they concluded to arouse the
keeper of the public house and procure
some refreshment, while partaking there
of, tiieir host despatched a messenger to
the Fort to arrest them as deserters.
A detachment was immediately de
spatched for them and they not showing
pass or furlough, were immediately ar
rested as deserters, being found over one
mile from camp and garrison, they were
taken back to the barracks and confined in
the guard-house. The apprehension mo
ney was paid to the informer, and they
left C. in the morning for Fort L. On
their leaving the barracks the officer in
command informed them if they behaved
themselves properly on the route, he would
make intercession for them, and save them
if possible from disgrace.
But they one night, on the route eluded
ihe vigilance of the guard and made ano
ther effort to escape, but were unsuccess
ful, arid were soon retaken, and on theii
arrival at Fort L., they were tried on both
charges and found guilty, and the mail
had, on the morning of the opening of our
story, brought their sentence.
The regiment was drawn up sc as to
form a hollow square. The guard and
prisoners were placed in the centre of the .
square. The regimental band was alter
nately playing a melancholy air.
Anon the bugle note is heard and the>
commanding officer is seen to leave his
quartets, mounted upon his war steed,
. when all becomes as still as death. His
staffadvanced to salute him, he is seen to
present the Adjutant a package, who sa
lutes and advances and takes his position
in front of the Regiment. The officer of
the day advances and speaks to the officer
of the guard who orders tlie prisoners to bo
placed to the front.
The Adjutant then calls the regiment to
order to hear read the sentence of the
Court.
Sergeant Edgar Waddemore, you have
been tried by a General Court Martial,
and found guilty of dnserting from the Ar
my of the United States of America; the
| Court adjudges that you the said Sergeant
Edgar Waddemore shall lose your rank as j
Sergeant, and shall receive upon your
bare back fifty lashes well laid on with a
raw hide, and shall forfeit all pay that is,
lor may become due, and shall serve out
the remainder of your enlistment in the
! guard-house, with a ball and chain attach
ed to your left leg.
Privates Dennis Bancroft and Charles
De Namar, you have been found guilty of
deserting from the Army of the United
States of’ America, and the Court senten
ces you, the said privates, Banc.mil and
De Namar, to receive each and severally ;
upon jour bare backs fifty lashes well laid
on with a raw hide, and that you shall for
feit all pay that is or may be due and shall
i serve out the remainder of your enlist
ments in the guard house, with a ball and
chain attached to your left legs.
The Adjutant advances again to the
Colonel who presents him with another
package, he returns ami reads to the pris
oners.
Sergeant Edgar Waddemore, the com
manding officer has received an order for
your discharge from the United States Ar
my, the order being made out prior to your
desertion.
Private Charles Do Namar, the Court
leniently recommended you to mercy in
consideration of your youth, and have re
mitted the whipping. The officer of the!
guard will see the sentence carried into;
effect in the case of the other prisoner.
Four men are then commanded to seize 1
the prisoner and bind him to a tree ; one
is ordered to take the scourge and com
mence whipping him; —he receives the
ibst ten lashes, not a groan is heard.—
Another man is ordered to take the lash ;
the gruff'voice of the Colonel" is heard,
‘ men di your duly!" the flesh is seen to I
fall from his back in strips, the blood flows
from tlie wounds tc the ground! the vie-'
litn gasps! he has fainted !he /lets no more!
While the barbarous sentence was car
ried into effect many a noble soul was
known to bang down his head in shame,
and those men who would have faced the
enemy at the cannon’s mouth were seen
to brush away a tear. The older is given
to dismiss the parade, and the band plays
a lively air, while the guard is cutting
down the poor mangled victim, who is
now for a time taken to the hospital, but
in the end to serve out his years in the
guard-house. * God help the victim of Mar
tiul Low.'
LIFE AND ELOQUENCE OF LAKNED.
Mr. H. Colburn has received anew
work with this title; the Rev. R. R. Gur
ley, well known as a polished writer, be
ing the biographer and editor.
The Rev. Sylvester Earned was first
pastor of the First Presbyterian Church
in New Orleans, where he died, in 1820.
at the early age of twenty-four years.—
Subsequent to the death of the late Dr.
inglis, he received a call to become the
pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in
this city, which he declined, as he judged
it to be his duty to remain in New Or
leans, where on account ofliis popular el-1
sequence and his remarkable personal ac
complishments, a wide field of usefulness
: ('pencil to his view. Having determined 1
to pass in New Orleans the third sickly
season, he fell a victim to yellow fever ini
ihe full maturity of his manhood, and in
the early 7 morning ofliis fame. Time had
j not touched his person with the decay of
] years; nor had lingering disease made an
I impression on that manly form. The
scythe of the great destroyer, which, like
the staff'ol the last King of Rome, often se- i
i lects the loftiest object for its stroke, cut!
down the flower,without having first with- 1
ered its bloom; and as weeping friends
folded him in the habiliments of death,
■ the countenance preserved the same man
ly beauty which had been so graceful in
life. <
The biographical sketch, which occu
pies one hundred and twenty pages of the
book, is drawn up with taste, and with an
ability credible to the author. The ma
terials for biography cannot be abundant
in a subject who died so young; and whose
| life, with the exception of the last three
I years, was passed in seminaries of" classi
cal and theological education. In early
|life he exhibited decided evidences of the
intellectual tastes which characterized his
subsequent course; and the boy gave speci
mens of that splendid oratory which con
ferred such pre-eminent distinction on the
man. The reader will lie gratified by the
perusal of this sketch of one whose fame
extended to all sections of the United
States, and whose early death was so uni-;
versally deplored.
The remainder of the volume contains
Thirty-two sermons, some of which are
early productions; but the larger portion
are selected from among those delivered j
but a short time previous to his death.
These discourses are not without merit,
and will be read with interest and piofit.
But if I should assert that they can in- i
crease, or even sustain, the unexampled j
reputation of the author, I should fail to
give expression to my deliberate opinion.
Indeed, l do not hesitate to assert that it
was impossible that these printed discour
ses, written, amidst various excitements
and engrossing pursuits, by a young man,
who had not attained his twentj’-fourth
year, could sustain a reputation which no
public speaker has ever attained in this
country, at so early a period of life. And
there is nothing peculiar in this decision,
in relation to .Mr. Larbed. We all recol
lect the brilliant reputaiion of Sumrner
, field, who, like the dove of Noah, came to
us with an oiive leaf in his mouth; and as-j
ter remaining a short time, was sent forth
and returned no more. Many of us hung
with rapture on the eloquence of the lipsj
|on which it almost seemed that the bees
of Plato had alighted. But will any man
who has read the lately published ser
mons of Crutuinerfield, assert that they give
.an indication on which to predicate the
! Great and just reputation of the author?
The same may be said ol the late Rev.
Thomas Spencer, of Liverpool, who died
so young, and was suddenly removed
i from the view of admiring audiences.
Ilow could any man, unbiassed by the
partialities of friendship, and uninfluenced
by the admiration of eloquence, have ex
pected a different resuh? Eloquence of a
very high order, in connection with youth
and personul accomplishments, takes cap
tive the judgment ol the audience, and ex
cites unbounded admiration. But when
the discourses are published, they who
did not know, and never heard the orator,
are unable to understand how the brilliant
reputation was gained. It is one tiling to
behold the living being, with all tlie capti
vating graces of speech, and person, and
feature, and motion; arid ft very different
thing to see the same being alter inexora
ble death Jws removed the spirit which
gave animation and beauty to the living
bodv. It is as much impossible to convex - , 1
by a printed discourse, any adequate con
ception of the eloquence of such j'oung
and graceful orators, as it would be to
transfer to canvass the beautifully blend
ed colors of the rainbow as it spans the
heavens alter the storm has passed; or the
gorgeousness of tlie clouds suspended
over the mountain top, and reflecting in
a thousand combinations the rays of the
setting sun. Nor do I think that this view
ol’llie subject is any disparagement to the
reputation of this class of men. The dew
drop, which sparkles like a diamond as it
rests on the rose leaf, is not the less beau- i
tiful because it cannot be gathered without l
destroying its brilliancy; nor does the spray
on the seashore, which reflects the raj’s of
light in a thousand combinations, unsur
passed in brilliancy by the jewels which
adorn woman’s brow, cease to excite our
admiration because the slightest touch dis
solves the charm.
Some authors like Chattcrton, Kirk,
White, Pope, and Campbell, have attain
ed great and enduring reputation in early
life. Their eminence in youth was attain
ed by permanent works; and the transmis
sion of the cause secures the perpetuation
of the effect. But the ease is very differ
ent when the reputation is based on the
splendor of personal accomplishments
which die with their possessor. How can
we expect a different result from the pub
lication of the immature discourses of
I youthful orators? Few men have had
their reputation for eloquence increased or
sustained by published sermons. Barrow,
South, Massillon, Bossuet, Saurin, may be
enumerated among tlie few exceptions. —
How many of the great orators of antiquity
have their reputation sustained by their I
published orations? Demosthenes, par
ticularly in his oration De Corona, is pre-j
settled tons in large proportions. Tlie!
same may be said of Cicero; yet the fuel
that his orations as spoken, were superior!
to his orations when written, is manifested
by the remark of a client whose acquittal
he had obtained, “If you had advocated!
my cause by your written speech, I shou Id
have been convicted.” And 1 do not
know more than two great orators of recent
times —one English and one American—'
whose printed speeches will sustain their:
reputation to posterity.
There is a wide difference between cl
oqmncc and oratory —words almost uni
versally used as synonymes. Every
speaker whose conceptions are strong and
[distinct, and who has the power to convey
those conceptions to his audience in cor-j
responding language, is eloquent without:
figures or action. This is what Bacon
calls dry light; and implies a severe sim
plicity, such as was exhibited bj’ Chief j
Justice Marshall. Oratory is indebted
| for its effect to person, voice, gesture, ima
gination. Phillips was an orator, popular,
la few years since, among all school hoy
declaimers. But Phillips has sunk, as
any man deserved to sink who could de
scribe a great cotemporary as “A mental
pyramid in the solitude of time, around
whose brow eternity might play,” with
more of such incomprehensible nonsense.
It is the combination of eloquence and ora
tory —of clear and vigorous intellect with
person, voice, action, imagination—which
constitutes the great public speaker.— j
This country boasts ol tlie most remarka-:
able living example of this rare couibina-j
lion. Patrick Henry has left too little on
record to enable us to judge how far he
combined eloquence and orator}’, but, if
we-receive the opinion ol contemporaries,
perhaps lie was not surpassed by any man
the world has ever seen. 1 once heard a
| Senator of the United States, speaking of
another Senator remarkable for his orato
ry, observed that his displays were elegant,
J captivating, enchanting, but when he clos-'
ed a speech it was common to ask what
Tie had proved by his beautiful oration?!
Cicero described oratory, not eloquence,
I when he said, Est enim in oratione quidnm
1 cantus.
Mr. Earned was the handsomest man
I have ever seen. His beautifully regu
lar features, and his figure, which was the
perfection ol manly symmetry, would
have formed an admirable model fora
sculptor. His motion and manners were
eminently bold and graceful; and lie
would have felt at home in the societj’ of
kings and nobles. His spirit was utterly
insensible to fear; and had he followed
military pursuits, be would have made as
bold and daring a leader as the world has
produced. As he stood in the pulpit, you
saw a form cast in the most perfect mould,
a face cbisled without a fault, an eye of
piercing brightness. When his noble spi
rit, under the excitement of all his suscep
tibilities of emotion, animated this beauti
ful tenement, the effect was great: and
this was the secret of his power.
s.
There is a little man out West with
feet so large that he is obliged to put his
boots on over his bead.
“Millions for de-FF.xcE!” as the nigger!
said when a bull chased him across a ten-i
acre lot.
THE QUEEN & THE QUAKERESS.
In the autumn of lt>l6, her late Majesty
Queen Charlotte, visited Bath, accompa
nied by the Princess Elizabeth. The wa- .
ter so >n effected such a change in the roy- ;
al patient, that she proposed an excursion
to a park of some eelebtity in the same ,
neighborhood, then the estate ol a rich
widow, belonging to the Society ol Friends j
—Notice was given of the Queen’s inten
tion, iira message returned that she should
be welcome. Our illustrious traveller had
perhaps never before held any personal
intercourse with a member of the persua
sion whose votaries never voluntarily paid
taxes to “the man Geotge, called King
by tlie vain ones.” The lady and gentle
man who were to attend the august visi
ters, had but feeble ideas ot the reception
to be expected. It was supposed that the
Quaker would at least say, thy majesty,
thy highness, or madam. The royal car
riage arrived at the lodge of the park;
punctual to the appointed hour. No pre
parations appeared to be made, no hostess
or domestic stood ready to greet the guest.
Ihe porter’s bell was rung; he stepped
forth deliberately, with his broad brimed
beaver on; and unbendingly accosted the
lord in waiting with “what’s thy will
friend?”
This was almost unanswerable.
“Sure!}’,” said the nobleman, “your
lady is aware that her Majesty—Go to
your mistress, and say the Queen is here.’
“No trulj - ,” answered the man, “nee
deth not, 1 have no mistress nor lady; but
Irieml Rachel Mills thine; walk irff”
I lie Queen and Princess were handed
out and walked up the avenue. At the
door ::{the house stood the plainly attired
Rachel, who without a courtesy, but with
a cheerful nod, said,--“How’s thee do,
friend? lam glad to see thee and thy
daughter .1 wish thee well! Restand re
fresh thee and thy people before I show
thee my grounds.”
What could be said to such a person?
Some condescensions were attempted, im
plying that her majesty came not only to
view the park, but to testify her esteem
for the society to which mistress Mills be
longed.
Cold and unawed, she answered, ‘Yes,
thou art right there. The Friends are well
thought of by most folks; but they heed not
the praise of the world; for tlie rest, many
strangers gratify their curiosity by going
over this place; and it is my custom to con
duct them myself; therefore, l shall do the
like by thee, friend Charlotte!—Moreover
1 think well ol thee as a most dutiful wife
and mother. Thou hast had thy trials fc
so had thy good partner. I wish thv grand
child well through lier’s, (She alluded to
the princess Charlotte.)
It was so evident that the Friend meant
kindly, that off! nee could not be taken.
She escorted her guests through her estate.
Tlie princess Elizabeth noticed, in her
hen-house, a breed of poultry hitherto un
known to her; and expressed a wish to
possess some of these rare fowls, imagi
ning tint Mrs. Mills would regard her wish
as a law; butt ne (pi a keressquie y remar
ked, with characteristic evasion, “They
are rare, as thou savest; but if any are to
be purchased in this laml or any other
countries, I know lew women likelier than
thyself to procure them with ease.”
Her royal highness more plainly ex
pressed her desire to purchase some of
those she now beheld.
“I do not buy and sell,” answered Ra
chel Mills.
“Perhaps you will give me a pair?” per
severed the princess with a conciliating
smile.
“Nay, verily,” replied Rachel, “I have
refused many friends; and that which I
have denied my own kinswoman, Martha
Ash, it becomes me not to grant to any.
We have long had it to say, that these
birds belonged only to our house, and I
can make no exception in favor ol thine.”
This is fact. Some Friends, indeed,
are less stiffly starched, but old Quaker
lamilies still exist who pique themselves
on their independent indifference to rank,
and respect their fellow mortals only in
proportion to the good they have done
in their generation.
Morses' Electro Magnetic Telegraph. —
This wonderful machine is likely,ere long,
to become a successful rival to all other
modes of transmitting business and social
communications from place to place.—
With a line of the telegraphic conductors
extending from this city to New York, the
merchants of either city would no longer
sendtheir letters by mail or express, and
be subject to a delay of thirty-six hours for
the answer. They would be compelled,
by the natural course of events, to use the
telegraphic conveyance, by which means
they might get an answer to their commu
nications in from half an hour to an hour
and a half, according to the distance their
correspondents might be from the tele
graph office. It would require no longer
time to communicate with New Orleans,
if the telegraph conductors extended thus
far, than it would with New York, or than
it does between School street and Court
street in this city, where the telegraph is
now in operation. The only time consu
med is that requisite foe striking the char
acters, (the electric slued travelling the
circuit of the conductors at a velocity of
180,000 miles in a secondhand Professor
Morse has made 100 ofthe characters in
a minute through a long communication,
between Washington and Baltimore. It
would, therefore, require but ten minutes
to transmit a communication of 1,000 let
ters, which would be much longer than
the majority of business letters. Profes
sor Morse has a system also by which all
communications through the telegraph are
made private. The most private business
letter, or the most glowing epistle, of love
may be communicated through the tele
graph, without a word or sentence being
intelligible to any body hut the writer and
his correspondence.— Boston Daily Adver
tiser.
We clip the following humorous letter
ol a “genuinepady diinocrat,” to his iii*'iid j
in ould Ireland torivir and a day” from!
an exchange paper. Read it, and it will ]
knock the blues into a cocked hat faith •' j
LETTER FROM PATRICK McNOG-i
GING, IN DANVERS, AMERICA—|
TO MICHAEL OTLANEG.IN, KIL
MORE, IRELAND. \
• Michael my Deary. —The top o’ the mor
ning ty you, Michael, and can’t you pick]
up your little bit things, and be atiherj
coming over to this blessed counthry; and
bring Sawney and Bridget and tlie twins, i
and Patrick and little Michael and the j
other twins, and the baby, and the rest of j
’em? And ii’yo’Ube althercoming, yon!
can live on the best of parades, that can
he had for the digging, and then you can j
have coffee and parades in tlie morning,
and praties and tay at night, and mate &
paraties for dinner seven (.lays in the week
besides Friday, when you know the Praste
won’t let us have any male. It’s aland
o’ liberty, Michael, and we want the sons
of the Crane Isle to come over and help
us to make a President —and what’s that]
Pathrick ? says you. I’ll tell you Mich
ael. I’ts the man that rules the Yankees,!
and gives the offices to Irishmen. 1 want
you to come over this blessed month, and
help us choose Jemmy O’Poke far Praisi
: dent; and he’s as gude an Irishman as
any of us, only he wasn’t born in bis own
nal.iva emmlhry. It’s lie that was spaker
! of the'House, when they wouldn’t let him
i spake at all.
Now when von come over here, Micli
]ael, my honey, and the big-bellied man
j from the Custom House tells you to hur
rah lor Young Hakery, he manes Jemmy
I O’Poke, that’s the son of Zukiel O’Poke,
j his granfaiher. But alther all, Jemmy
1 ain’t the son of his own father, he’s the
i darliut child ofOuld Hakery Jackson, and
! ould Ilakery’s mother, you know, was an
Irishman. I tell \c, Mike, this is a great
j counthry, where you can dig on the rail
! mad in summer, and live in the work-
I house, for nothing at all, aud no tint to
I P'.v-
The Americans have got a great ugly
! thing here they call the Tariff’; but wluit
it is, it puzzles the likes o’ me to tell ye.
I They say it’s a great fence across the har
bors arid all ’round America, to keep off’
i every tiling the Yankees can make them
] selves. So you see, Michael, it makes the
I Americans have all their own work to do,
and what is worst of all, they »ei all the
' money lor doin’ it. Now, Mike, that’s
what I call dialing. It makes ’em live in
: their Mate houses, and wear their good
(.•loathes, and ate their coffee and tav and
I drink their mate and paraties, arid go to
their heretic churches ; and ain’t that down
right dialing all the good Catholics in Kil
| more ?
Now, Michael, ye’re a nice colder, and
no Blither’s son in Kilmore can bate you
in making a brogue, or tapping a shoe—
and supposin’you wants to make fifty,
brogues for me and Rory O’Scroggin and
the rest of us that’s diggiu’on the Dan
vers Railroad-—lon’l ye just go to the 1
Kilkenny, and buy vour leather of Tom
my M’Hide, the tanner, and don’t vmu git
Benny Meßlubber to curry it? And don’t
you goto Donblin and get your lasts, and
your tools, and your pegs, and your skins
and your binding skins? And dont von
cut out your brogues, and then git Billy
M'Doon an l Sawney O’Toole, that’s glad
to get tenpenee a day. to make ’em up?
And then, don’t you get M’Adze, the car,
pen ter, t<> make a nate box to put ’em in?
and don’t you mark it on the top this wav
To
Patrick McNoggin,
this side hip,
from Kilmore Ireland, to
Patrick, in America.
50 Brogues, Danvers.
from Michael O’ Flan nkg an.
And then, Michael, don’t you send it to
me, and I and Rory and the rest of us,
git our brogues for 50 cents, instead ofgi
ving Mistber Maiming and ilisther Lawe,
the Yankee brogue-makers, a Dollar? No,
we don’t Mitchel. And why, says you,
Wait a bit, and I’ll tell you, my honey?
says I. This great lubberly Tariff stocks
up his lenee in Boston harbor, and stops
your nice box of brogues, and tells Patrick
McNoggin, (and tint's me,) and Rory and
tlie rest of us, “you can’t have your
brogues until you can pay Untie Sam e
nough money to make ’em cost more than
Mistber Manning’s and Mister Lane’s Yan
kee brogues do.”
Now, l ask you, Michael, ain’t that dia
ling you? And don’t it chate Billy Mc-
Doon and Sawney O’Toole, that made the
brogues? And doesn’t it chate Tommy
McHide, the Tanner, and Benny Meßlub
ber the Curr.isr? And isn’t it cheating the
Farmer who sells the paraties, and the
Carpenter McAdze, who made the box,
and the Praste you confess to, and the
Docthur that cured Sawney O’Toole’s
ninth child of the typhus saver?
Isay, Mike, don’t you in Ireland and
England and Germany and France, and
all about there, want good houses and
mate and tay, as well as the Yankees? And
ain’t the men that makes brogues in Kil
more, every bit as good as Mistber Man
ning and Mistber Lane,and the men that’s
doin’ their work? And can’t they live in
mud houses and eate paraties without any
salt, as well as Billy McDoon and Sawney
O’Toole? Then come over and vote for
Young Hakery, tint’s for the Repale and
the Tariff’. Resale ! is the work in
America as well as in Ould Ireland.
From yours,
Pathrick McNoggin.
P. S.—l’m done now, Michael, and sind
this by the good steamer Hibernia, and
hope you’ll git it before she gits there.
The Yankees are going to have another
kind of steamer, that ain’t no steamer at
all, but it sends letters by thunder and
lightning; so Michael, can’t I send you a
letter before that’s writ, and get an answer
before I send it? Pathrick.
Guard against wa fit. —Some writer re
marks that “we often see people trampling
about m the mud, with leather soaked
through, and how otten do such people,
when they return home, sit down by the
fire-side and permit their feet to dr\ r , with
out either changing their stockings or
shoes? Can we then wonder at" the
coughing and barking and rheumatism
and inflammation, which enable tlie doc
tors to ride in their carriages ? Wet k-r t
mosi commonly produce affections of the
throat and lungs ; and when such disea
ses have taken place, 1 the house is on fire,’
and danger is not far off’; therefore, let us
entreat our readers, no matter how healthy,
to guard against wet feet.”
Novelty in Manufacturers. —The French
have lately made a discovery bj - which
p. at “when taken from the bog” is redu
ced by beating to a line pulp, and then pla
ced under a press to force out all humidity
except such us is necessary to keep it suf
ficiently moist to receive impressions in
the mould in which it is placed. In this
state it may be converted into ornaments
ot ever} - kind, such as are made in embos
sed leather. Rendered firm bj- a solution
ot allnm or other adhesive material, it
tor ms flooring of u cheap and durable kind.
Potato Cheese. — Boil good white potatoes
peal them, and when cold, mash them un
til not the least lump remains. To live
pounds of this, add one pint of sour milk,
and as much salt ns you think suitable.
Work it well, and cover it, letting it re
main llnee or four dav's, according to the
season; then knead it again—make the
cheese the size you like, and dry them in
the shade. Put them in layers in large
pots or kegs, and let them remain lor a
■ ibrnight. They will he good for years, if
kept inclose vessels in a dry place.
NAPOLEON IN HIS YOUTH.
The conduct of Napoleon among his
companions was that of a studious and
reserved youth, addicted himself deep
ly to the means of improvements, and
rather avoiding than seeking the usual
temptations to dissipation of time. lie
had lew fiiends and no intimates; vet
at different times, when he chose to ex
ert it, he exhibited considerable influ
ence over bis Icllow-sludents, and when
there was any joint plan to Ire carried
into effect, lie was frequently chosen die
tutor of the little republic. In the time of
winter, Bonaparte, upon one occasion, en
gaged* his companions in constructing a
fortress out of the snow, regularly defen
ded by ditches and bastions, according to
' the rules of fortification, it was consider
ed as displaying the great powers of the
juvenile engineer in the way ofliis prol’es
j sion, and was attacked and defended by
the students, who divided into parties fin*
the purpose, until the battle became so
] keen that their superiors thought it proper
to proclaim a truce. I’lie young Bona
parte gave another instance of address and
ienterprise upon the following occasion.
There was a fair held annually in the
! neighborhood of Brienne, where the pu
pils ofthe military school used to find a
(day’s amusement; but on account of a
quarrel betwixt them and t lie country pro
| pie upon a former occasion, or Ibr some
I such cause, the masters of the institution.
] had directed that the students should nut
lon the lair day be premitlcd logo beyond
!their own precincts, which were surroun
jded !>}• a wall. Under the direction of the
young Corsican, however, the scholars had
already laid a plot for securing their usu
al da\ : ’s diversion. They had undermi
ned the wall which encompassed their ex
lercisiiig ground with so much skill and se
lereev, that their operations remained nn
(known till the morning of the fair, when
Ia part of the boundary unexpectedly fell,
land gave a free passage to tlie imprisoned
: stu Luis, of which they immediately took
the- advantage by hurrying to the prohibi
j ted place of amusement:. But although
lon these,and perhaps other occasions, Bo
naparte displayed some’of the frolic tem
per of youth, mixed with the inventive ge-
I tiius and the talent for commanding oth
(ersby which he was distinguished in al
ter time, his life at school was in general
(that of a recluse and severe student, ac
quiring by his judgement, and treasuring
in his memory, that wonderful process ol
almost unlimited combination, by means
of which he was afterwards able to sim-
I plity the most difficult and complicated uti
(dertakings. His mathematical teacln r
I was proud of the young islander, as the
boast ofliis school; and bisother scientific
I instructors had the same reason to be sa
tisfied. In language, Bonaparte was not
a proficient, and never acquired the art ot
writing or spelling French, far less foreign
languages, with accuracy or correctness.
Though of Italian origin, Bonaparte had
not a decided taste Ibr the fine arts,
and his taste for composition seems to
have leaned towards tlie grotesque and
the bombastic. Ml the age of seventeen,
he became (when a lieutenant of artillery)
(“an adventurer lor the honorsot literature
also,” and was anonj'mously a competi
tor for the prize offered by tlie academy ol
Lj’ons on Raynald’s question, “What
are the principles anti instructions, by the
application of which mankind can be rat*
| sed to the highest pitch of happiness.
The prize was adjudged to the young sol
dier. It is impossible to avoid feeling cu
riosity to know the character of the juve
nile theories respecting government advo
cated by one, who, at length, attained the
power of practically making vvhatexpj
i ritnents be pleased. Probably his ear y
Jideasdid not exactly coincide with ni»
more mature practice; for when l allcj
rand, many years afterwards, got the e?
: say out of the records of the academv
returned it to the author, Bonaparte c e®
troyed it after he had read a few page®’
] He also labored under the temptation or
■writing a journey to Mount Cents, a
the manner ol Sterne, which he wa®
tunate enough finally to resist.
! fectation which pervades Sterne specu
' liar style of composition was not iuv J
i be simplified uuder.the pen of Bonaparte.