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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.