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[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
TRAVELS nr PARIS CHAPTER XU.
BY A RESIDENT AMERICAN.
AT MONTPARNASSE.
Directly ou passing the barriere, I turned my
steps towards La Vraie Califon ie. an extensive
eating house, kept by one Cadet. It received or
took this attractive title some years ago, in the
time of that famous Loterie de rlngot d'Or.
This lottery was got 'up under government pa
tronage about 1850-51. The profits of it were
to be devoted to the transport to California of
such members of the garde mobile as were wil
ling to go into fortune-seeking exile. In the
windows of the principal office and in the tickets
ot subordinate ticket venders throughout Paris,
there were exposed in those days brilliant por
traits of the prizes in the shape of wooden gilt
parallelopipedons. That was the Golden Age:
“ Liberte, Egalite and Fraternik ” still flourished
on the walls; the riches of the new Eldorado
were equally remote, unknown and admired; all
that glittered in excited imagination passed for
gold. The lottery has been drawn long since
with what disproportion of blanks to prizes,
with what unexpected distribution of luck, with
what fading away of golden visions, we know.
But as your independent State retains the patrial
name which the loyal colony took from King
George, so now at Cadet's, when illusions are
dispelled and allusion is no longer apt, stat mag
ni nominis umbra. Not that it stands inscribed
in golden or other characters over the door or
elsewhere on the outer walls. It only exists in
the mouths of men—literally vox etpreterea nihil.
Neither without nor within the establishment is
aureate sign or substance visible. What rich
yield might come indeed from “ washing,” can
only be conjectured—processes in that- kind be
ing evidently unpracticed, if not unknown in
these regions. Nevertheless, La Vraie CaUfor
nie of the barriere Montparnasse is more fre
quented than the Maison d'Or of the Boulevard
des Italiens, or than Key’s of the Palais Royal;
and the viands served there are eaten doubtless
with greater relish. If the chef be not a cordon
bleu, most of the guests bring with them a sauce
piquante beyond all culinary inventions, that
gives a zest to plainest food, unknown to jaded
palates “ not used to hunger’s savour.”
The building stands away from the streets be
tween a paved court and a large open space,
partly surrounded by sheds and high walls,
which, by virtue of a few trees planted there, is
called the garden. A passage through and un
der the houses of tho Chaussee du Maine gives
access, from that side, to the paved court yard;
an alley or lane leads to the garden on the oth
er. I approached by the lane. At the head of
it, on the right, is a wooden box, four feet by
five, the bureau of an Ecrivain Pub’ic, as a pa
per sign in its dingy window assures the passer
by. The writer who sits there, puts his literary
talent at tho service of that part of the public
too ignorant or too modest, in the matter of cal
ligraphy, orthography, etymology, syntax, proso
dy and the higher branches of rhetoric, to in
dulge in or trust to autographic efforts. He is
the editor of their ideas, licking them into shape
and dressing them up in presentable phrase.—
Or, to change the metaphor, he receives their
raw material, their rough ore of thoughts and
sentiments, which, with ready pen and skillful
literary processes, he works up into the desired
forms and styles—plain, chaste, ornamental
Love letters, (in which he does a largo business,)
dunning letters, begging letters—letters of friend
ship, business and condolence—legal papers,
petitions, memorials—the softest sighs, the most
ardent protestations, the hardest threats, the
coolest demands —human hopes, sympathies,
loves, hates, needs—he keeps on hand a stock
of verbal patterns to suit them all, and at mod
erate prices. And he reads, as well as writes,
for tho convenience of those who can as little
make out as make their letters. The number of
such unfortunates in this center of civilization is
not small, although less in Paris than in France
at large. In 1853, the number of young men,
who had attained the age of twenty-one that year,
utterly ignorant of reading and writing, amount
ed to a few hundreds less than one hundred
thousand. This in a total 'population of about
thirty-six millions. Tho hopeful side of the case
is that this proportion is steadily diminishing.
Thus the same class (young men just arrived at
twenty-one,) in 1843 showed one hundred and
eighteen, in 1840, one hundred and twonty-five
thousand unable to read or write. Think of it:
All that immeasurable domain of letters, luxu
riant with the growth of ages from the first
plantings of the Mosaic record and that grand
primeval poem of Job’s trials and reward, down
to tho last paragraph iu your morning’s paper,
and the delicate fancies of Tennyson—which
contain all that God has revealed and all that
man, created in His image, has best invented
and discovered—through which you roam at
will, conversing with Homer and Shakspeare,
Plato and Bacon, with poets, philosophers, states
men of the past—with those of the present day
—nay, with your friends, sons, fathers and
mothers, who had wandered away from you or
from whom you have wandered; —thinly of all
that; think of what your life would be, subtract
ing from its scene of enjoyments, capacities and
worth all that it has gained by reading and wri
ting, and through the readings and writings of
others; —and then think of those shutout, as by
an impassible wall, from this domain, and you
think of one of the darkest, saddest themes of
contemplation furnished by man’s history. And
for us Americans, especially, the foremost duty
is to break down this wall and to share among
all the common inheritance, which, happily,
grows instead of being diminished by increase
of partakers. Such is not simply our duty as
amiable philanthropists—it is our first pressing
interest as citizens and property holders, desi
rous of the continuance of a system that com
bines popular freedom with the security of pri
vate rights. Os one thousand persons brought
to trial hero in France, charged with crimes and
offenses, one hundred and forty only know how
to read and write; forty-seven only have what
can be called a fair education. This is the pro
portion, officially confirmed, for the five years
preceding 1855. Os sixty-two thousand per
sons imprisoned in Loudon in 1847, four thou
sand only could read aud write. Est ce clair ?
If it is not, larger argument will not make it so.
And I wander, perhaps, too far from the road of
my travels. To return to our Ecrivain Public
at the head of the lane.
Sometimes ho carries on both parts of a cor
respondence ; as, for example, harshly repulsing
his own tender advances; then pressing the
suit with renewed warmth and finally coyly
yielding or coldly mocking his own enthusiasm.
He is a profoundly discreet man withal, as his
office, which is a sort of lay confessional, requires
he should be. The secrets, the “ confidences,"
of which that wizened, snuffy, rusty old man has,
in the course of years, become the depository,
would be invaluable to a novellist. He is as
safe and unimaginative as a pigeon hole, or a
garret or red-tape or an old trunk. I may say,
in passing, that his is a regular recognized pro
fession, having a hundred or more practising
members in Paris.
SBK 80TOX81UI BXK&B &MU VX&XBXSK.
Next him, in the alley, is the large booth of a
| dealer in clothes for the bodies of men. He
| keeps open only on Sundays and Mondays, the
seasons of greatest affluence. We should call
i him an “ole clo’s man.” The French politely
i style him marchand d 'habits, aud his goods d 'oc
\ casion instead of “ second hand.” I have some
very profound ready-made reflexions on the na
i tional characteristics of English and French,
! apropos of this difference, which I save for the
| special chapter on the old clothes men of Paris.
where they will fit in very well
! In the next and still larger booth or shop,
j there are tin vessels full of a steaming black li
j quid, and cups and saucers and bottles. Two
I stoutish, middle-agedish dames called on me to
stop and take a cup and a little glass, assuring
, “e and all that considerable portion of the pop-
I ulation of France within sound of their voices,
j that the cup was of real coffee and the little
I glass of true cognac. I preferred taking their
| words to their beverage, although the price of
the latter was temptingly cheap—cup and glass
* together costing but three sous. Bowing and
thanking these ladies for answers given gratis to
I some questions asked, I backed out against a
| still stouter and, if possible, more middle-aged
i soprano, who invited me in a cheerfully boister
i ous tone to buy a nose-gay for a sous or for two
sous from the handcar full of flowers before her.
These are not of the rarest varieties; pos
i sibly are not, all of them, fresh culled. But they
| are gay colored and pleasant to the eye, as all
flowers are. They will all be sold, every one of
them, oefore eight o’clock and carried into town,
into little close back rooms and chambers in the
fifth story and under the roof, purifying and
cheering them with their free bright country
look. They will remind some of the purchasers
of old homes in the provinces where such flow
ers used to grow,—of the old folks left there and
of young sports—too often perhaps of young
health and young innocence left there, it seems
now so long ago, so far behind, so far away.—
Fragrant memories and sad regrets, remorse it
may be, gentle thoughts and bitter, tears that
soothe and tears that scald, spring up about
them. And after a day or two the flowers fade
and dry away and are tossed into the busy
street, where they are trampled on, grimed and
ground up to shapeless waste rubbish, which
does not prove their vanity.
The dinner you ate last Christmas still nour
ishes you; the coat you cast aside last winter
still warms you. Whatever of gentle, refining
influences ever camo from the sight of flowers
or from other cause, though the object be long
since destroyed and the instance forgotten, help
ed to make up the sum of the good side of your
life’s account. “ A thing of beauty is a joy for
ever." And flowers are among the most beauti
ful of things. If they do not make our lives
better, they surely tend to make them pleasant
er, which tends to the same thing. For what
man observant of his own mood, and especially
what woman observant of her own mood, has
not observed how pleasantness of mood favors
kindness of action ? Hence lovers press their
suit with gifts of flowers, thus gently disposing
maidens to their suit. And to brides “ favors”
are flowers. Were I beggar of a humbler sort,
commend mo to the charitable “lady of tho
house” who keeps a flower garden. I am sure
that the horticultural - department of your jour
nal though not a substitute for didactic ser
mons and books devoted to charity and natural
theology, is an eminently valuable auxiliary to
practical teaching in either kind.
But what I was coming to, and have been
rambling away lrom in these last straggling re
flections, is the large noticeable fact—so large
and noticeable as to be a national, or at least a
Parisian trait —the French love of flowers.—
Whereupon you tell mo that the immorality and
the irreligion of the French being notorious
facts, all my flowery argument or pretense of
argument falls to the ground. Pardon me, mad
am : In the second place, it is no proof that the
preaching is not sound and eloquent, though the
congregation lie not converted; in the third
place, it is no proof that the preaching has not
done inestimable good, although the effect pos
itively produced falls lamentably short of the re
sult aimed at; and in the first place, although
the notoriety of French naughtiness is a fact,
the naughtiness itself is somewhat less a fact.
On which last proposition, with the permission
of my best friend and enemy, the excellent edi
tor of the Field and Fireside, who may regard
it as wanton paradox, I shall enlarge iu a future
chapter. All I have to say at present, is, to beg
you to bear in mind the truthfulness of the pro
verb that a certain personage is not as black as
he is painted, and not forget that in most of the
portraits of French national character, winch
we have been accustomed to look upon as like
nesses, the features have been drawn and col
ored by English artists, who have possibly re
garded the original with jaundiced eyes through
the distorting medium of prejudice: Inimicus et
invidus vkinorum oculus.
Another step brings us to the “garden,” tho
further side of which is bounded by the Restau
rant proper.
FIRST AMERICAN NAVAL COMBATS.
BY LIEUT. A. J. PRESCOTT, U. S. X.
Com. Paul Jones and the Serapis. —We are now
to consider one of the most sanguinary conflicts
that ever occurred upon the sea. It was during
the war of the American Revolution. On the
17th of September, 1778, Commodore Paul Jones
(who came and settled in this country from Scot
ian!, and who finally died in France,) with two
vessels, the Bon Homme Richard and the Pallas,
came in sight of a fleet of British merchantmen
near the straits of Dover, escorted by the Serapis
and the Countess of Scarborough. At seven in
tho evening, after a tedious chase, Jones, in the
Richard, was hailed by the commander of the
Serapis, when within pistol-shot, and immediate
ly responded by a whole broadside. Jones then
ran his ship across the enemy’s bow, seized the
bowsprit with his own hands and lashed both
vessels together. Sails, yards, rigging, all be
came eventually entangled, and the opposing
cannon touched each other’s muzzles. In such
a position, in the night season, and under the
bright shining of a full moou, was fought one of
the most renowned of sea conflicts.
Immediately after the vessels were lashed to
gether, the batteries of each vessel opened, and
the red-hot iron flew through and through the
hulls, tearing everything in their maddening
course. The water broke and dashed around
them, and then rolled off in glittering waves, un
til lost in the surrounding darkness. The ships
could be compared to nothing but two opposing
thunder clouds that should meet during a terrific
storm. Each deck was soon covered with man
gled victims, and one by one the American bat
teries became useless, until but three were fit
for service. Every gun of the British was in
full blast. A less daring spirit than Jones would
have yielded. But the iron-hearted sailor “ had
never learned to say die.” Pacing from point to
point on the deck, he shouted his men to their
duty. Death reigned all around him, and spar
after spar went down in crashing ruin. “Yet
still, over all that uproar, aud over the groans of
agony and thunder of battle, his voice pealed
like a spectre’s, and sternly bound his men to
duty The waves were rushing in at every
seam, until the pumps were useless, and then
oue appalling cry of fire told that long resistance
was impossible.”
Three under officers, overcome by the awful
scene, had called to the British commander, who
now demanded if Jones had struck. “NoI”
was the reply; and the battle raged on.
At half-past 9 o’clock Jones and his compan
ions had a moment’s joy as they saw the Alli
ance (a vessel that had deserted from Jones’
squadron,) approaching, for they supposed her
to be a repenting prodigal; but their hopes were
speedily dispelled when a broadside came rush
ing over the waters, splitting the stern of Jones’
vessel The false one was called upon to for
bear, but the response was shot after shot, that
pierced the Richard aud threatened to complete
her destruction. The little crew were now in
despair, the prisoners were let loose, and the
officers prayed Jones to surrender. But with
startling energy he stamped on the burning
deck, and ordered each man to his post. With
such a commander the sailors, of course, forgot
to fear, and hewed the way on to victory. Grad
uallly the British fire slackened, their mainmast
began to shake, and at half-past ten, or after a
direful contest of three and a half hours, they
struck. Scarcely was there time to transport
the wounded to the prize, when the Bon Homme
Richard sank. The Serapis was'herself on fire,
and had five feet of water in the hold. “ A per
son,” says Jones himself, “must have been an
eye-witness to form a just idea of the tremendous
scene of carnage, wreck and ruin which every
where occurred. Humanity cannot but recoil
from the prospect of such finished horror, and
lament that war should be capable of producing
such fatal consequences.”
The Serapis was a new ship of forty-four guns,
constructed in the most approved manner, with
two complete batteries—one of them eighteen
pounders. She was commanded by Commodore
Richard Pearson.
The Cunstlfiition and the Guerriere. —As every
one knows, the American Navy became particu
larly celebrated during our second war with
England. Down to that period the British had
no such daring opponents upon the water. The
French were but holiday sailors compared to the
Americans. The first of the brilliant victories
of our navy in that war was the capture of the
British frigate Guerriere by the United States
frigate Constitution, or “ Old Ironsides ” as she
was familiarly termed. The Constitution was
commanded by Captain Hull, and the battle oc
curred August 19,1812. Th us there was a very
hot conflict at a very warm season of the year.
The writer will let an old quarter-master on
board the Constitution, named Kennedy, tell a
portion of the story in his own quaint style.
Said a visitor to Kennedy, wishing to draw him
out, “ You felt rather uncomfortable, Kennedy,
did you not, as you were bearing down on the
Guerriere, taking broadside and broadside from
her without returning a shot? You had time
to think of your sins, my good fellow, as con
science had you at the gangway?” “Well sir,”
replied Kennedy, deliberately rolling his tobacco
from one side of his mouth to the other, “Well,
sir, that ere was the first frigate action as ever
I was engaged in, and I am free to confess, I
overhauled the log of my conscience to see how
it stood, so it mought be I was called to muster
in the other world in a hurry; but I don’t think
any of his shipmates will say that old Bill Ken
nedy did his duty any the worse that day be
cause he thought of his God, as he has many a
time since at quarters. Howdsomever, I don’t
know the man who can stand by his gun at such
a time —tackle cast loose, decks sanded, match
es lighted, arm-chests thrown open, yards slung,
marines in the gang-ways, powder-boys passing
ammunition buckets, ship as still as death, offi
cers in their iron-bound boarding caps, cutlashes
hanging by lanyards at their wrists, standing
like statues at divisions, enemy maybe bearing
down on the weather quarter—l say I doesn’t
know the man at sich time as won’t take a fresh
bite of his quid, and give a hitch to the waist
band of his trowsers, as he takes a squint at the
enemy through the port as he bears down.”
The quarter-master told much more in the
same style, but being rather wordy, the remain
der of the account I shall condense as follows:
Thebruerriere did all the firing at the outset.
The Constitution was perfectly still, and yet bore
down upon her. At length the seamen of “ Old
Ironsides” became very uneasy, as ono after an
other of their number were cut down, and as the
ship was constantly receiving injuries. But
Hull’s reply to all their demands was, “Tell
them to wait for orders.” Finally, he said, “Are
you all ready, Lieutenant Morris ?" “ All ready,
sir,” says the Lieutenant. “ Don’t fire a gun till
I give the orders, Mr. Morris,” says the old man.
At length, as the ship run into the smoke of the
enemy, and waa at half pistol-shot, Capt. Hull
slaps his hand on Lis thigh with a report like a
pistol, and roars out iu a voice that reached the
gunners in the magazines—“ Now, Mr. Morris,
give it to them; now give it to them, fore and
aft, round and grape; give it to ’em, sir—give it
to ’em!” And the”shipdid pour forth a living
tide of death into the tropics, by the continual
roar and flash of tho batteries. In thirty min
utes the English ship was nothing but a hulk—
“ smooth as a canoe, not a spar standing but liis
bowsprit.” And such was the work of destruc
tion on the decks, that there were only hands
enough left to haul down the colors.
I have thus fulfilled the task proposed. In
these sketches the principal naval battles of
all time have been pictured to our readers. If
some of them were very destructive of human
life, they were productive of great results, ev
en in deciding the fate of nations; and all of them
have had their influence in protecting the com
merce of the world, and in establishing or defend
ing civil and religious liberty.— [Line-of-Battle
Shiqt.
1 • ■***■
The oldest known painting in tho world is a
Madonna and Child, painted A. D. 885. The
oldest in England are said to be the portraits
of Chaucer, painted in panel in the early part
of the fourteenth century, and of Henry IV.,
done in the beginning of the fifteenth century.
—■•***-
A Connecticut editor, having got into a con
troversy with a cotemporary, congratulated
himself that his head was safe from “ a donkey’s
heels.” His cotemporary astutely inferred from
this, that he was unable “to make both ends
meet.”
—
There are four Shaker societies in Ohio, num
bering 1,058; one in Connecticut, numbering
200; two in New Hampshire, numbering 500;
four in Matsacbusetts, numbering 700; two in
Kentucky, numbering 900; three in New York,
numbering 1,050 —making in all 18. societies.
- -4
There are in the United States 48 Roman Ca
tholic archbishops and bishops, 2 mitred abbots,
and 2,223 secular and religious priests.
CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.)
THE LOST CHILD.
Dear little readers of the Field and Fireside.
do you like stories ? I have no doubt that you
do, for you would be unlike most children if you
did not. Well then, I w r ill tell you one. It is
a true story, though a very sad one.
One day last summer a farmer’s wife, living
in one of the Northw'estera States, took her lit
tle daughter, a beautiful child of six years, and
went to spend the afternoon with a neighbor.—
On arriving there, she found her neighbor's chil
dren just starting to carry a jug of water to their
father, who was at work in a field some distance
from the house, and as little Lucy King wished
to accompany them, her mother consented, and
they all started off together, laughing and chat
ting merrily.
When they had gone about half a mile, they
came to a cluster of blackberry bushes growing
near the path, and loaded with fine large berries,
just beginning to ripen. The children sat down
the jug they had taken turns in carrying, and
commenced gathering the fine fruit. Little Lu
cy was just drawing toward her a branch on
which was a large cluster of berries, riper than
any they had before noticed, when Julia Allen,
a selfish little girl, a year older than Lucy, ex
claimed :
“ You shan’t have that bunch, Lucy. I saw
it before you did, and besides, they grow on my
papa’s land, and you have no right to them un
less we give them to you.”
“ For shame I Julia,” cried her brother, a boy
about nine years old; “ Lucy is our visitor, and
you should let her have all she wants.”
“ I don’t care if she is,” said the selfish Julia.
“ She has got more than I have now, and I’m
going to have these myself.”
“ I don’t believe you like me,” said Lucy, “and
I’m going back to the house to stay with mam
ma.”
“ I don’t care how quick you go. Joe and I
can get along well enough without you,” was the
reply of Julia.
Very rude you will say this was, but have
none of my littlo readers ever been guilty of
rudeness when their playmates have offended
them ?
“ Joe” plead with Lucy not to mind his sel
fish sister, but she was too much grieved to con
sent to go on with them, and started toward the
house, which could just be seen over the brow
of a hill they had passed. She probably thought
more of how she had been treated than the way
she was going, for when she had walked a little
distance from where she parted with the other
children, she took a path which led oft’ toward
an extensive tract of woodland that bordered
one side of Mr. Allen’s farm, aud was soon lost
in the depths of the forest
When Mrs. Allen’s children came home, Mrs.
King was much alarmed to find that her little
Lucy was not with them. Search was imme
diately made for her, but she was no where to
be found; and as night came on, the anxiety of
the poor mother was almost insupportable. She
did not suppose that there were any fero
cious wild beasts in the wood, for all such had
been driven away long before, but to think of
her darling wandering about in the darkness,
tearing her flesh on the briers and thorns; call
ing in vain for her mamma, and finally sinking
down, overcome with fatigue and fear on the
damp ground, with no supper to eat, no bed to
lie on, and no roof but the branches of the great
trees to protect her from the chilling dew, was
very trying to a mother’s heart.
The intelligence that little Lucy was lost soon
spread through the neighborhood, and more
than five hundred persons joined in the search
for her. The woods rang with her name ; but
in vain the people shouted and searched. Day
after day, and night after night they continued
to look for her, until all hope of finding her alive
was abandoned, by all except the nearly dis
tracted mother, who could not give it up.
On the ninth day, little Lucy was found—but
alas ! she had just ceased to breathe. She had
built her a “ play-house ” with little branches
of trees, and pieces of bark, and had undressed
as if preparing for bed. She had hung her bon
net on a tree, and carefully put her clothes away
in the house she had built, and then
lain down, or fallen, too weak to rise, across two
logs, where she was found, starved to death.
My little readers cannot realize what a dread
ful death this must have been, for I presume
they have never known what it was to suffer
the pangs of hunger ; but whenever you are
tempted to say rude words to your playmates,
think of Lucy King; and remember that she
not only lost her life in consequence of a child's
rudeness, but when her body was brought to her
poor mother, the sight of it caused her to go
crazy, and she lived and died a crazy woman.
Bessie B.
Pine Cottage, Fla., Nov., 1859.
“ Ma, I don’t believe that’s a true, true story,"
said a little girl to whom the above story W’as
read to test its effect upon children.
“ Don’t you, Sallie ? Why not ?”
“ Because I<know if I was to get lost”—
“ If you were to get lost, Sallie.” •
“ Because I know if I were to get lost in the
woods for a whole week, and have to sleep there
all alone and have nothing to eat, I wouldn’t do
as Lucy King did, and I don’t believe any other
little girl would—and I’m almost eight years
old, two years older than Lucy King was.”
“ And what do you think you’d do, if you
were lost in the woods, and had to sleep there
all alone away from home and mamma ?”
“ Why, I should cry my eyes out, I believe,
and run about like a crazy girl aQ d call out as
loud as ever I could for you, and father, and
mammy Dinah, and brother John ; and when
night come”—
“ Came, Sallie.”
“ And when night came, I'd sit down under a
big tree, and cry myselt to sleep. And next
day I’d be so hungry, and sick and tired, crying,
and running every which way, that I reckon I
should lay right down”—
“ Lie down, Sallie.”
“ Lie down by a big log and die.”
“ Well, my dear little girl I do expect that
would be the way of it. So take care never to
get lost in the woods. But the rest of the story
is all right, isn’t it ? Little girls do sometimes
talk to each other as Julia Allen did to Lucy
King—don't they ?”
“ Yes, ma ; I talked as almost as bad as that
yesterday to Mary Robbins, who pushed against
me and knocked my book out of my hand.”
“ Why, Sallie! What a naughty girl you were 1
Come right here and kiss me, and promise that
you’ll try not to do so any more—there, do you
promise, my daughter ?”
“ Yes’m.”
E3TTo give pleasing variety to the Children’s
Column of our paper, which, it is gratifying to
see, is growing in favor with young and old, a
Charade will be occasionally given, in addition
to Enigmas and Arithmetical Problems. But,
perhaps, a good many of the young folks, who
will be amused by the Charades, and will solve
them, and, may be, make them, have no very
clear idea of what a Charade is, and would be
sadly puzzled if asked to say what it is. So
before proposing one to be guessed, it would be
well to tell what a Charade is.
! It is a sort of riddle, frequently expressed in
| rhyme or verse, but not always so. It may be
| given as well, and is usually better given in
! prose than in verse. The Charade is said to get
! its name, like the famous instrument by which
criminals are put to death in France, (the guillo
tine,) from the name of the person who invented
it. But nobody knows now, who Mr. or Mrs.
Charade was, nor when, nor even where, he or
she lived. Like as not in France, too The
name has a rather French look and sound, and
the thing itself (the Charade that we are talking
l of,) seems as ii it might very well have come
; from France, where so many pretty and fanciful
| things have been invented.
The Charade, then, is a literary composition,
of which the subject is usually a word of two
or more syllables, each forming a distinct word.
Each syllable is announced in form of an Enigma
by some fanciful description, definition or appli
cation, and then the whole is expressed also in
Enigmatical form. Thus: “My first makes use
of my second to devour my whole.” An£
“ Bog-tooth," (a sort of grass.)
A Charade may be considered complete, if the
different enigmas which it contains are brought
into a proper relation to each other, and as a
whole, unite in an epigramatic point.
CHARADE 1.
My first half is two, though the half of a pair.
My second is two, though the third of thirty.
Everybody knows that my whole is only two,
yet everybody sees that it is four. And I’m a
word of but one syllable.
METRICAL RIDDLE.
Although of human race. I ween,
In water, earth, and air I'm aeon:
Ijm In the dew-drop on the flowers,
I'm In the rainbow after showers;
In all anticipated pleasures,
In all the miser's hidden treasures;
Tho’ present at each sorrow's birth,
I am the centre of all mirth. ,
I put an end to orphans’ tears,
Am whisper'd intne widow's prayers;
Yet never am I found in peace,
And but for me, all war would cease.
Problem No. 4, (by “ James.”)
What number is that, whose $, J and 1-5 ad
ded to the number, will make 39 ?
ANSWERS.
Problem No. 3, by “James”: 21 turkeys and
90chickens. [Ans. by “ Farroot,” Charleston.
Enigma XIII: Combustion—[Answered by
L. W. L., of Madison, Ga., and ‘Farroot,’ S. C.
Enigma XIV.: “God is Love.” [Answered
by W. E. C., Columbus, Ga.
Enigma XV.: General Duncan Lamonte
Clinch—[Answered by same, and W. E. C.
Received —Enigma from R. J. C.; Arithmeti
cal Problem from B.; Enigma from “Farroot.”
“ Connasena ” sends for this column five me
trical charades. The first two are not composed
with sufficient care and skill for acceptance.—
The metrical dress, when not well made and ad
justed, does not become the charade. Our friend
must take them back and improve the fit, or
send them to us dressed in plain homespun prose.
The third and fourth are accepted—but these
are rather simple riddles, than charades. The
fifth can easily be made so much better, that
we must be excused from accepting it as it is.—
We hope to hear again from our correspondent.
A Noble Little Girl. —One of our exchang
es contains an account of the death, on last
Thursday week, of a little girl of 8 or 9 years,
daughter of Mr. Traverse Gough, living a few
miles from Haymarket, Va. In tho absence of
all older than herself, her clothing took fire.
She tried to suppress the flames herself: then
she asked her little sister of four years to throw
water on her; but the little one ran, instead, to
call the neighbors. When they came, they
found her lying out in the yard, and, in reply to
the question “ what she was doing there ?” she
said, she thought if she staid in the house that
the house would catch fire, and burn the baby
up too. What a noble, sensible remark for one
so young 1 She retained all her faculties to the
last, conversed freely, and bore her sufferings
with a degree of fortitude truly remarkable for
oue of her age. The interesting little creature
deserved a better fate.
A Hint to Young People. —One thing we
would say to young people—always have a good
newspaper on hand to read. Read—don’t suf
fer yourself to be without a good paper if you
can help it. To many a young man it has been
a safeguard in an idle hour—and to many a
woman too. It gives you food for thought
—it takes you out of your own petty self, with
your small exaggerated distress; lifts you into
another and more healthful atmosphere, and does
for the mind what change of scene and fresh •*
air do for the jaded body. Never be without a
good newspaper. If you are solitary it is safe
company; if you have plenty of fnends it makes
you a more intelligent companion. Read. Yes;
read the papers.
India-Rubber Tools tor Machinists. —Mr.
Thomas J. Mayall of Roxbury, Massachusetts,
who has long been engaged in the enterprise,
has succeeded in producing a composition, the
basis of which is India-rubber combined with
emery wheels, from which are manufactured
files, emery wheels, grindstones, hones, razor
strops, scythe-rifles, knife-sharpeners, and a va
riety of other articles of like nature. The files
wrought from this new composition can be moul
ded into any desirable size or form, and adapted
to every variety of mechanical business in which
the common rasp and file are employed. They
can be made as rigid as the steel file, or as flex
ible and elastic as the original gum which forms
the basis of the invention. Emery wheels and
grindstones are wrought from this composition
of every desired shape and size, from the coars
est grade of emery to the finest buff wheel. In
point of economy the new composition is supe
rior to any of the implements which it is destin
ed to supersede, since the articles made from it
are serviceable until the material of which they
are composed is entirely worn away. It pos
sesses the virtue of repelling oils and solvents.
Os the great variety of useful and ornamental
forms which India-rubber, through the skill of
the inventor, has been made to assume, this is
regarded as the latest and most important appli
cation. This composition has been perfected by
a new process and principle discovered by Mr.
Mayall, and we learn that the rights of the dis
coverer have been duly secured in the United
States and in ali the nations of Europe.— [Boston
Journal.
M 11 I —«
Live within your income.
§
243