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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