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84
LITERARY.
WILLIAM W. MANN, Editor.
The Southern Field and Fireside
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SATURDAY AUGUST 6,1559.
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TO CORRESPONDENTS AND CONTRIBUTORS.
We have received during the week, the following arti
cles from our Contributors.
The Pride of the Laird of Strathspey—by Cousin
Jessie.
Rural Life—by J. G.
The World a Lie—by I)iv.
A Walk in Memory’s Garden—by Alma.
Cheerfulness—by Tallulaii May.
Summer Winds are passing—by S. L. 11.
Dream-Life —by Kate B. T.
Lives to one I knew in former days—by Louise.
The Wild Flower given by a Lady—by J. G.
“Napoleon's Prophecy,” and a Sonnet —by W. Gil
more Simms.
To an Authoress —by.NovissiMi s.
The Incarnation—by Novissimus.
The Stately Mansion—by Ammonette.
The time for fun —by Sun. •
Mrs. Hemans and L. E. L.—by Mosa.
The Patriot's Song—by B. .
Many of the above named Communications and of
those the reception of which has been heretofore a know
ledge, have not yet been read; and, of course, it has not
yet been determined whether, or not, we shall desire
them for our columns. Let our friends be patient yet a
little while. We hope soon to be able to announce to
them the disposition made of the favors they have sent
to us.
We have received also, several books and pamphlets
of Addresses and Poems, which we desired to notice
But they reached our table too late for notice to-day.
—1 •
FROM OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT.
Paris, 14th July, 1859.
The distinguishing characteristic of our mod
ern world, in this “middle of the 19th century,”
is the rapidity with which it rolls. The present
is the Young Rapid of Epochs. Louis Napo
leon took occasion, about a month ago, to inform
us, over the shoulders of the Milanese, that he
was of it—that if there were “old fogies” still
extant who did not know the time of day, he
was not one of them. Whatever divarications
are observable in certain other cases, between
his words and his acts, here, at least, his procla
mation and his performance run parallel. The
allied army, under his guidance, has won the
victory at Montebello; driven the Airntruyis from
Piedmont; crossed the Sesia ; twice beaten the
enemy at Palostro; crossed the Ticino; beaten the
enemy at Magenta; entered Milan ; fought and
won at Marignan; pursued the flyiug Austrians
to Castiglionc ; won the great battle of Sol
ferino; crossed the Mincio; invested Peschiera ;
blockaded Mantua; and threatened Verona—all
this was his work in six weeks. And now, on
the seventh, his rest, more remarkable than his
work, comes an ’armistice and Peace. A war
between two great nations, begun and ended
within two months. The case has no parallel in
history—which shows how much history, t. e.,
the world, has advanced. For, without question
ing Napoleon's great talent, both as captain and
diplomatist, I maintain that he could not have
done all this in the last century. The Spirit of
the age has been his powerful ally, which, lie lias
shown his truly great ability, by consulting and
obeying.
The steamer which took out my letter of last
Thursday, will have also brought you the great
news of the Armistice decided upon that day,
but not anticipated here, even by slightest ru
mor, one moment before the Emperor's telegraph
ic dispatch, dated at Valleggio, 7th July, was
published in an Extra Jluniteur —and that was
an hour after closing of the last mail for the
steamer. Had it been annnounced that evening
that Peschiera had fallen, or a new victory was
won in open battle, or that Verona had capitu
lated, the Parisians had been ready for the news
and cried, “I told you so.”
Indeed, idle rumors to such effect—rumors
ever on the wing, like evening swallows, catch
ing for an instant and releasing the attention of
as idle and mobile Parisians—had been floating
in the air that day. But when, at about eight
o’clock, the news of tW Armistice was officially
announced, we were taken utterly by surprise.
Strictly, it was not an armistice, but a suspen
sion of arms, which is something different, and,
according to the usages of war, something less
significant. But, though next day government
took pains to warn the public that it was but a
truce, not necessarily leading to any better re
sults, and though Napoleon’s order of the day to
the army, which was posted all over town, spoke
of it as offering the soldiers a time of repose
from their past glorious labors, and of recruiting
strength for new like labors, when the “hour
for combats should strike again,” it was almost
universally interpreted as the beginning of the
end of the war—the first step in a course, not
to be interrupted, toward peace. At seven
o’clock, P. M., on Thursday, no one expected a
truce; at nine o'clock, every one expected peace
was to come ; and when, at one o’clock on Tues
day, the guns of the Invalided announced that
peace had come, every one was more surprised
than if they had announced renewed war and
victory. Indeed, in spite of Armistice and ex
pectation, a new victory was the first involun
tary interpretation given by many to that peace- j
ful thunder.
The news spread through ton’ll with singular
rapidity, and was generally hailed with gladness.
Flags came out more rapidly and more abund
antly than after the Solferino victory; and at
night the illumination of the city was nearly as
brilliant as then. If the rejoicing on Tuesday
was in some respects less exultant, it was, I
think, as general and more profound. The ex
xhk sotrx&xiu? yxs&D Ann vxmssns.
pression of admiration is more noisy lie fore a
display of fire-works than a sun rise—which
does not prove that fire-works are most esteemed.
If the war was popular—and I believe it was
ns popular as any war, except one for home de
fense. can well lie—the peace is more poptdar.
Do not understand, however, that the French
let the manner or matter of it pass without criti
cism.
Now tjiat the first flush of surprise and tri
umph is past, the criticism is becoming in some
quarters severe enough. The bases of the peace
agreed upon by tlie two Emperors, as given in
the unsatisfactory and rather ambiguous brevity
of the Imperial telegram, are compared with
phrases of certain Imperial proclamations still
| fresh in our memory. And so we ask; Is Italy free,
| from the Alps to the Adriatic? Are the Italian
I people left to decide on their form of government ?
: In fine, wo ask much such questions here in
! Paris as you will be asking in Augusta for a
j fortnight hence. Since you are quite as com
petent as myself to find answers for them, I
| will pass on. or rather back, to some of the facts
in the history of this sudden peace making.
The suspension of arms was proposed by the
French Emperor—by tlie victor. At first sight,
; this seems surprising: a second thought shows
| it most natural. To say nothing of tlie Napole
■ onic precedent of 11 Germinal, year V, when
■ another victorious Bonaparte offered a truce to
j the Commander-in-Chief of another defeated
Austrian army, which terminated the great cam
paign of 1796, and led to the treaty of Campo
Formio—there were other present and pressing
; reasons why Napoleon should offer, and Francis
Joseph accept, a speedy settlement of the war.
You will not have forgotten that immediately
j after the battle of Solferino. a preliminary inter
change of courtesies began—a mutual return of
! officers and wounded prisoners—a request from
the Austrian for the dead body of young Win-
I dischgratz, most politely acceded to by the
Frenchman—out of all which grew passages
between the hostile camps of flags of truce —
some by officers of rank, who were treated on
either side with attentive hospitality—and tlie
exchange of Imperial autograph letters—then
| the truce—then the terms of it—then the peace.
; If you will consider the positions of the two
armies, you will see that, besides a possible su
; periority of numbers, the French had great ad
vantages of ground, in case of a battle. If they
conquered under great disadvantages of ground
at Solferino, what would they not do now ? But
they had the far greater moral advantage of un
! intei rupted past success. Peschiera was already
within ten days of capitulation: Mantua and
; Legnano could offer no co-operation with Verona,
which, in its turn, with a dispirited garrison,
could hardly have offered a long resistance to
’ the conquerors of Sebastopol; and, Verona taken,
! while Venice, if not already fallen, could not
!be expected to resist—a further resistance of
Austrians in Italy would have been impossible.
In that most important element of strength for
prolonging tlie war, pecuniary means, Napoleon
was still the superior of his bankrupt rival; and
again, was his superior in that he was free from
the distractions of imminent revolution at home.
But revolution is the common enemy of both
rulers. It was ouly for the case of a general
war, that Napoleon would have cared to use an
arm, so dangerous to himself, against hostile
Germany. lie has no motive for desiring now
tlie destruction of Austria, for the sake of further
strengthening Prussia, a much more formidable
enemy, for whom, perhaps, the next Napoleonic
war is planning. On tlie contrary, his policy is
to change his conquered enemy, Austria, into his
grateful friend, and therefore, instead of further
humiliating poor Francis Joseph, whose pride
and obstinacy are pretty well broken down by
a series of disasters, and chagrin, and fever, be
soothes and tickles him, by asking for a truce;
then, obtaining a personal interview, “eyes him
over," that innocent young man, with those
singular, still eyes of his; talks him over with
that smooth wise tongue of his; generously offers
his own aid; flatteringly asks his young impe
rial brother's aid against revolution, in Austria,
in Italy, in Europe.
There is another set of causes to be mentioned
in this imperfect table of contents of last week’s
history. I was saying, tlie other day, that this
war might be regarded, in part, as French inva
sion of England, disguised under an Italian mask.
To close it as he began it, by hia» own hand,
would be the dictate, not merely of autocratic
pride and high egotistic ambition, but of the
long-headed anti-British policy of Louis Napo
leon. ‘While England, and Prussia, and Russia,
are getting ready to begin to be “ready for all
eventualities,” and diplomatic quill drivers are
busy with their preparations for offering propo
sitions for mediating for negotiations for prelim
inaries of a Congress, this one man steps before
them, does up tlie entire business in a day.—
Their diplomatic correspondence sinks to the
minimum value of waste paper. Much obliged
to them for their good intentions, but really has
no use for paving stones! When he has a job
of work to do, prefers to do it himself—English
neighbors and others had as well stay at home !
To England, and Prussia, the manner of this
peace-making is a sort of diplomatic insult, which
yet does not offer them achanccforopenlyresent
ing. Pocket it, they must. It also pretty well
clears off the old insult put upon France by the
Viennese treaties —which red tape and sealing
wax can hardly make a respectable looking pack
age of, any longer. The Viennese treaties, which
have been of small binding force on most of the
parties to them, any time the last forty years,
when the parties found it convenient to disregard
them, may henceforth pass for abrogated. This
is the part of Napoleon’s triumph which will
perhaps be most appreciated and lauded by the
French. It may well have been for a large part
also in Francis Joseph's readiness to accept the
offered terms, that it anticipated the action of
Prussia. It would be painful for Austria to re
ceive even favors from her; and her armed in
tervention, much as it was desired by Austria
ten days ago, must have been regarded with
jealousy and dread.
But I must stop. Some of your readers may
wish I had not begun with these solemnities and
gravities. They would prefer something of the
lightness and gaiety of Paris in letters dated from
the gay capital. Don’t blame me, dear readers;
blame, rather, the Emperors; or blame the Pari
sians themselves, of whose talk and interest on
and in the absorbing topic of tlie day, it is my
function to be the echo. Next week, or one of
these presently coming weeks, I promise that
the theme will be changed. Meantime, to amuse
such of you as are beginning your French les
sons, let me offer, to relieve the heaviness of the
foregoing columns, by this pleasant specimen of a
light French pun; it is the inscription which the
spirituelle Marquis do Bieose put up over tlie
entrance to his stables: Jlonni soitqui mol y panse.
Tiie celebrated Dunkirk fisherman, John
Barth, was elevated on account of his courage
and ability, to the rank of Commodore in the
French navy. When liis promotion took place,
Lo uis XIV. said to him, “ Oh, Barth, I have
made you a Commodore.” “Sire," replied the
bluff seaman, “you have done right.”
jf"lVe publish below the sketch entitled
“ A Battle Field,” and invite to its perusal, not
as a finished literary composition, but because
of the healthy moral tone which per
vades it, and to which the writer has
given such strong and indignant expression.
To our mind, the battle fields of Magenta and
Solferino present modern society, and human
nature itself, in a most discouraging aspect. As
lie contemplates them, the moralist, the philo
sopher, the philanthropist becomes sick at
heart, and the Christian, himself, almost despairs
of humanity. There is a march of mind. There
is a progress in civilization. Science, Art, Litera
ture have made, and are making, wonderful and
glorious advances. This is well. But talk not
of moral progress, of higher motives to human
conduct, of an improving moral sense, of the
religious principle penetrating and pervading
society, of an approaching Millennium, when
scenes like these we have just witnessed in Italy
are dared to be enacted! —when they can be
enacted without exciting a universal burst of
horror and reprobation against the actors!
Shame upon the two heartless, ruthless, Em
perors, demons in human shape, whose ambition
has thus led tlie nations to mutual slaughter!
Shame upon the hundreds of thousands of men
who permit themselves to be led to these battle
fields, like beasts into a Roman amphitheatre,
for the work of mutual destruction! And
shame upon our modern civilization, and upon
all Christendom that can look on with indiffer
ence, while these horrible sacrifices upon the
altar of Moloch are being performed! And
tliere are many who applaud! —and there are
many who call it “glorious!” Yes, there are
some who think a Zouave the very perfection of
humanity! For our own part, we do not see in
all this an iota’s advance upon the morality, the
motive the. religion, of three thousand years ago.
f [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
A BATTLE FIELD.
BY X. A. P.
“Yesterday evening, not without great dif
ficulty, I succeeded in getting here, to inspect
the field of the glorious battle fought on Satur
day last—Magenta— Carrs, of the London Xews:'
“A glorious battle /” Heavens! in what
strange company is that word — glorious t* But
yes, there is a glory of the battle-field; yet, how
strange must be the appetite to relish it! How
awfully must be tlie wliettiug preparatory to
that taste? How must the eye be educated in
the severe school of horrors to hold within its
vision that glory f Tlie ear —how greatly must
its natural functions be transformed, so as to
hear glory swelling from such a field ? And, oh!
how must every power of feeling and element
of sensation be blunted and stunned, in order
to realize glory swelling from such a scene ?
What is its glory? Hear it! Half a million
of men meet upon the fatal arena. Why ? Some
feature of a certain treaty is supposed to have
been directly or remotely infringed; and, there
by, or in addition—or, at least, so the fact is
stated, too much control is exercised by one
government over another. But, be the cause or
reason just, or unjust, the armies meet. Tlie
contest is long. A hundred times ten thousand,
the fearful cannons bellow the thunder of cer
tain death. Rifle and musket, bayonet and
sword, do their fatal work—the work of death;
twenty or thirty thousand are slain. The al
lies achieve a glorious victory! Ah! it is a proud
day for the Emperor! Who achieved the vic
tory? Who won the glory t Why, the Emperor
—yes, of course, his generals, and men, too. Well,
yes—glory! glory! I To whom ? Why, to the
side that lacked, say, five thousand of losing
as many meu as the other. Well, that is satis
factory, and, of course, it is susceptible of an
easy and clear demonstration.
The French conquered, because they drove
the enemy from the field, and lost not so many
in killed and wounded —yes, and took several
hundred guns, and flags, and knap-sacks—yes,
and prisoners. Set all this down as a gain.
A glorious battlefield! Suppose we go and
look at it. We will have a better chance to see
its glory now, that the smoke has all cleared
away, and not so much noise to disturb us.—
Here we are, entenng. We are on the verge.
Look! here is a dead man! Poor fellow! Let’s
look at him. See! his clothes are all stiff with
blood! Heh;! his arm is broken, and his leg:
and, look! that sabre-cut on liis shoulder! —
Here! stoop down! although laying on his side,
his eyes are open, and turned toward the ground.
Oh! how deeply intent is that look, though
sealed in death ! Ah! I see the reason. Look!
he holds in his bloody hand a daguerreotype!
Turn it over, and rub off the blood. 0 God!
he was a husband and father! Look! here is
his wife; and one, two, three, four—four lovely
children! 0! Heaven protect, pity, and love
them!
Now, let us look onward. See the immense
plain, dotted with its heaps of the dead and dy
ing—one vast charnel house! Let us pass
through, and over, sickening and heart-rending
as it is. Mark tlie easy and uneasy positions of the
dead—here, lying in heaps—there, scattered in
confused rows, clotted with human gore. Some
with bodies whole—others desperately mangled;
some with closed eyes and calm features—others
staring and glaring with all the grim contortions
of a frensied and maddened death; some witli
open hands—others grasping, in death, the
weapons of destruction. Here are the old, the
middle-aged, and the young—all sleeping in
death ? No! no!! no!!! Were it so, we might
make our solemn inspection of this glorious bat
tle-field without being so greatly horror-stricken;
but, my God! see the wounded and dying!—not
a few, but by hundreds and thousands. Listen!
their shrieks, moans, and groans swell through
the air, up to heaven, as one solid cloud of agony
and misery! 0! you who have eyes to bear
tlie sight, take one long look, and see o’er this
ocean of misery the frensied dying, parched
with fever, and pinched sorely by the torturing
hand of death! Sec them, as they throw their
arms about in wild'confusion! Others rise, stag
ger, and fall! Oh! what wild commotion!—
What eye can look, without a bleeding heart!
And you, who have an ear to hear the sound,
listen to the unearthly wailing; some—ah!
thousands—calling for water! water!! O!
water! ! Others, in their delirium, storming
at the enemy— encouraging their follows to
otucard! Some talking of their wives and chil
dren—their little prattling babes far away—their
fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters!—
Others, in the derangement of a bleeding and
burning death, believing their friends are near,
♦Wars are often just—that is, on one side. (Both may
be wrong ; but not more than one of the tiro right)
The struggle may not be one of choice, but of compul
sion, and so, the canse, being * righteous one, victory
on that side may be the harbinger of much good.
seem to hold converse with them, and recount
their bloody strifes; and others —thousands—
moan the deep and hollow tones of death!
0 confusion! confusion!! hast thou retired, and
given place to this thy, superior ? 0, my God!
is this a chapter of human life ? Is this a para
graph of earth —our earth ? Yes, but this is a
part —the counterpart —of the glorious battle
field!
But standing in this open field of agony and
death, and seeing it in all its dread horrors, can
we imagine a scene more sickening to the soul ?
A scene, in itself, more powerfully arousing the
tender feelings of our nature, and pressing, as it
were, our souls out in gushes of deeply painful
sympathy? Yes. All we have to do, is to call
to this field (of glory)—not twenty thousand, but
forty thousand more; made up of weeping wid
ows, and wailing orphans; bereaved parents,
and mourning brothers and sisters. Allow them
to come—for such there are, but perhaps, in
greater numbers —and then, oh! Heaven! let
me be deaf and blind! Suffer me not to realize
a scene so painfully awful! Spare my heart
the pain of such bitter bleeding! Let me not
witness so painful a vision of the living and the
dead! Oh! who could measure that Hood of
scalding tears; and, flowing out therewith, the
essence of forty thousand deeply throbbing
hearts. And this, the glorious battle field!
But let us take one other view—a different one.
IVliy this destruction of human life? and how
this rushing together of maddening armies ?
Os their own free will? Not so. These were
as brothers—strangers—and their acquaintance
was formed in death. Had they met quietly
together, the better feelings of their nature
would have budded, bloomed, and matured in
friendship.
“Emperor fought against Emperor" —that is
true —there’s the secret. A little fire in a little
building burns up a city.
But again, Webster, in a passion, slays Park
man. Moral sentiment is aroused in a whole
Republic. Webster expiates liis crime on the
gallows. He dies, a felon. Again, an Emperor
grows jealous of his neighbor's power, or is dis
pleased at some of his acts—or his non-acts;
three hundred thousand men are called to the
field, and meet as many more; one hundred
thousand more are hurried to eternity. Wid
ows weep, orphans wail, parents bow down
with sorrow; which all amounts to “a great
victory!"—notorious battle!!"
Among the books which have been laid
upon our table, which we would like much to
read, and which we mean to read carefully, so
soon as we have a couple of hours to spare, is a
small volume containing a Tragedy entitled Iztal
ilro—the Lady of Tula — by Mrs. L. Virginia
French, of Tennessee.
We have in our portfolio an interesting con
tribution from the author of Iztalibo, which will
very soon appear in our columns; and we hope
that hereafter we shall frequently have the
pleasure of welcoming to our Fireside this most
amiable lady and charming writer.
In the meantime, and to supply the want of a
notice of our own, we cannot more acceptably
introduce her to our readers than by copying
the following notice of htalilxo from the pen of
the talented editress of the "Ladies’ Depart
ment of the Temperance Crusader:
IZTALILXO.
THE LADY OF TI’LA.
Last night, we “ devoured at a sitting ” this
beautiful tragedy, which, on our return, wc
found awaiting us, sent, with the compliments of
the distinguished authoress—Mrs. L. Virginia
French. It opens with an introductory note,
half preface, half dedication, which has the ef
fect of giving the reader almost a personal inter
est in what follows, because the note is addressed
to “my friend;” and who, at least in this
land of warm Southern hearts, is not the friend
of the gifted Mrs. French—the sweet poetess,
the sprightly essayist—more than this, the true
hearted woman, the faithful wife, and tender
mother ?
The scene of Iztalilxo is laid in the “ Land of
the Sun,” the country of Mexico, when the
strange people, the Tezcucons, ruled over its
wealth-teeming mountains and plains, and the
daring foot of Cortez had not yet printed its
strand. The little volume is full of impassioned,
poetry, and some of the scenes are highly dra
matic. The third one in the fourth act is finely
sustained; but the meeting in the Cypress grove,
between the two lovers, victims to the “ love
that fate forbids,” is replete with tenderness
and beauty. We can hardly choose, between so
many beautiful passages, any particular one to
quote; but there is one that only a woman could
have written. Iztalilxo has said, “ I wish,” and
then hesitated and paused, and the adoring
prince exclaims:
Thy “wish”—O tell me. love!
Hadst thou thy dearest wish, what would it be?
A throne—an empire—nations at thy feet—
Gold like the sands upon the boated shore —
Honors—or Fame to sound thy gentle name
Down ages yet to come—which should it be?
Izta. Not one of all these! I would be best hired
Os all that have been, or shall ever be!
Prixce. Why, that’s a woman's wish, and well
fuimied
Long ere'twas uttered, when I show the world
Its ruling impress
Izta. Stay! I crave not that;
The empire I would have is one sweet home
With two hearts dwelling in it; I’d not seek
To sway but one, for that is all the world !
And we cannot help thinking that this “wish”
is the dearest one in the heart of her who
makes a paradise of “ Forest Home.” A friend
once said to us: “ Yes; Mrs. French has ambi
tion, but it is ambition to be loved and prized by
the few, rather than admired by the many.”—
She has both —the love of friends, and the ad
miration of the many; and surely they were
never bestowed upon one more deserving.
An Old Book.—The oldest book in the United
States, it is said, is a manuscript Bible in the
possession of Dr. Wotherspoon, of Alabama,
written above a thousand years ago !
The book is strongly bound in boards of old
English oak, and with thongs by which the
leaves are also well bound together. The leaves
are entirely made of parchment of a very su
perior quality, of fineness and smoothness little
inferior to the best satin. The pages are all
ruled with great accuracy, and written with
great uniformity and beauty, in the old German
text hand, and divided into chapters and verses.
The first chapter of every book in the Bible is
written with a large capital'of inimitable beauty,
and splendidly illuminated with red, blue, and
black inks, still in vivid colors; and no two of
the capital letters in the book are precisely
alike.— Globe.
Mr. Gibson, the English sculptor, in whose
studio at Rome Miss Hosmer studied, has decid
ed upon coloring his statue of Bacchus as he
did his Venice and Cupid.
FUH, FACT, AND PHILOSOPHY.
“ I haven’t another word to say—l never
dispute with fools.”
“ Xo, sir, for you are very sure to agree with
them.” "
“ That's the rock on which we split,” said
Charley to his wife, when she asked him to rock
the cradle.
Mrs. Partington desires to know why the
captain of a vessel can't keep a memorandum
of the weight of his anchor, instead of weighing
it every time he leaves port.
A machine for the manufacture of ice is now
in operation in London, which turns out three
tons of that commodity daily. It is the inven
tion of Mr. Harrison of Australia. The refrigera
tion is produced by the evaporation of ether
in a vacuum.
The original of Power’s “ Greek Slave " has
been sold, in London, to the Duke of Cleveland,
for 1,800 guineas ($9,000).
To Ascertain the length of the day and
night at any time of the year, double the time
of the sun’s rising, which gives the length of
the night, and double the time of setting, which
gives the length of the day.
Good company and good conversation are the
sinew of virtue.
Time wears slippers of list, and his tread is
noiseless. The days come softly dawning, one
after another; they creep in at the windows;
their fresh morning air is grateful to the lips
that listen to it; their music is sweet to the
ears that listen to it; until, before we know it,
a whole life of days has possession of the cita
del, and time has taken us for its own.
A learned lord, speaking of the salary at
tached to a rumored appointment to a new judge
ship, said it was all moonshine. Lord Lynd
liurst, in his dry, sarcastic way, remarked, “May
be so, but I have a strong notion that, moon
shine though it be, you would like to see the
first quarter of it”
“Husband, I must have some change to-day.”
“Well, stay at home and take care of the chil
dren—that will be change enough, anyhow.”
Jane lookt at me so tweete, i lookt at Jane,
And we both felt considerably nonplussed;
We was both happy 'nough to p<> insane.
And we sat there for a short time, and busted.
Two young ladies bathing near New York on
1 Friday, were carried out of their depth. One of
them was drowned. The other, with great pres
ence of mind, refrained from struggling, floated
upon her back, and though being in the water
for more than an hour, was very little exhausted
when rescued.
•
How to Restore People who Faint. —When
anybody faints, instead of making a noise or
dashing water upon him, lay him at full length
on his back on the floor, loosen his clothing, push
the crowd away, so as to allow the air to reach
him, and let him alone. The philosophy of a
fainting fit is, the heart fails to send the proper
supply of blood to the brain. If the person is
erect, that blood has to be thrown up hill; but
if lying down, it has to be projected horizontally.
Which requires less power, is apparent.
Small faults indulged, are little thieves which
let in greater.
Solitude is'dangerous to reason, without
being favorable to virtue.
Wear your learning like your watch, in a pri
vate pocket, and don’t pull it out to show that
you have one ; but ifyou are asked what o’clock
it is, tell it
A truly grateful heart may not be able to tell
its gratitude, but it can feel, and love, and act.
“Madam, has your piano an vEolian attach
ment ?” asked Stubbs, the other night, of the
wife of a man who appeared to live fully up to,
if not beyond, his means. “Hush 1” whispered
Stiggins in his ear; “it has a Sheriffs attachment."
Stubbs dropped the subject
“ Wno is that lovely girl ?” said the witty
Lord Norbury, in company with his friend,
Counsellor Grant. “Miss Glass,” replied Grant.
“ Miss Glass,” replied Grant. “I should often
be intoxicated, could I place such a glass to my
lips,” said Norbury.
“Have you noticed the vEolian attachment to
Miss B—’s piano ?,’
“No, but I’ve observed its Arcadian Attach *
merit," replied one who had remarked how fond
of each other Miss B. and her music teacher were
becoming.
Thirty-three stars will be on the National
flag from 4th of July, 1859. This is in com
pliance with the act of Congress, passed April,
1848, which declares that on the admission of
every new State one star shall be added, and
that such addition shall take place on the 4th of
July next succeeding its admission.
A church was dedicated to Spiritualism at
Sturgis, Michigan, on the 10th of June. Six
teen hundred persons were present.
Baudens says that chloroform was adminis
tered in thirty thousand cases, in the French
army in the Crimea, without any fatal accident
from it.
There is as much eloquence in the tone of
the voice, in the look, and in the gesture of an
orator, as in his language.
Were we to take as much pains to be what
we ought to be, as we do to disguise what we
really are, we might appear like ourselves,
without being at the trouble of any disguise.
Did we not flatter ourselves, the flattery of
others would never hurt us; for flattery is a sort
of bad money to which our vanity only gives
currency.
Wiiat is the difference between a butcher and
a ’young lady ? The former kills to dress while
the latter dresses to kill.
An Irishman, who had returned from Italy,
where he had been with his master, was asked
in the kitchen: “ Pat, what is the lava I hear
the master talking about?” “Only a drop of
the crater,” was Pat’s witty reply.
At a recent exhibition of paintings, a lady
and her son were regarding with much interest
a picture which the catalogue described as
“ Luther at the Diet of Worms.” Having des
canted at some length upon its merits, the boy
remarked, “ Mother, I see Luther and the table,
but where are the worms ?”
The following are provisions of the United
States law prescribing “a legal tender:” Gold
coins and silver dollars for all sums; half dol
lars and smaller silver coins for all sums not
over five dollars; and three cent pieces not over
thirty cents. No provision is made for cents,
which may, therefore, be refused.
A Snug Income. —Elias Howe, Jr., who has
purchased P. T. Bamum’s famous place in
Bridgeport, Conn., is the inventor of the sowing
machine needle, which, we are informed, yields
the patentee the snug income of one thousand
dollars a day.