‘‘ I do,” answered the girl, in a low and
“ It is your own desire to eschew the vani
ties of the outer world, and live a life of unin
terrupted devotion ?”
“ Yes, Father.”
“You have considered well of all these
things, have you ? You have resolved on this
step, only after much reflection and prayer ?”
“ I have, good Father.” she replied.
“ Then you may take your present farewell
of home and friends,” said he.
Gabriella looked up inquiringly into his
“We are ready to go with you this moment,”
said he, explaining it to her.
“ Ah!” exclaimed she, as if she for the first
“My daughter! My child!” said the beau
tiful Lady Monimia, extending her arms for an
embrace. “ You are strong in your heart, are
you not ?”
“ Yes, mother,” cried Gabriella, rushing to
her proffered embrace, and laying her head
nfleetionately upon her breast.
IMph were affected for a moment too deeply
-.to Swcr a WoiJ. ‘
have*, counted all the /cost, child?”
ttreyrfnjther, controlling herse’lf.
“ I have—l Save !” answered Gabriella.
“ And know what you sacrifice in tearing
yourself from me ?”
“ Oh, mother! that is the hardest of all! I
could well bear all else but that!”
“ Yet it is quite as bitter a draught for me,
“ I know—l know it!”
“ And I make the sacrifice willingly.”
“Yes, mother, you do.”
“ Because I know it is for your lasting happi
“ Oh, mother! mother! when shall I repay
you for giving up so much of your happiness
for mine! When shall I have it in my power
to make you even the least return for your great
“ You may do it at once, Gabriella,” re
sponded her mother.
“ How! How, my mother ?” eagerly asked
the tearful child.
“In your daily life, which you are now to
“ Can I?”
“ Yes ; you must enter with a true and deep
zeal into the objects of your new life, and
exert yourself only the more to create and
diffuse happiness, because you know that you
have sacrificed so much yourself.”
“ That I will, my dear mother.”
“ And now, my child, I have no farther
words of counsel to give.”
“No more, mother? I could listen all
through the day to the sweet tones of your
“ All, child, but that is only one of the temp
tations which the world still holds out to you at
this last moment. It follows you to the very
threshold of your new home. You should
rebuke such wordly advances, child, and put
them far behind you.”
“So I will, mother! So I will. I will do
all I can to reject such tempting illusions at
“ Yes, a&l at all times.”
“ I will,wren at all times, mother.”
“And sfc you will bo the happier, as you
f 11 ’ i.
you are obliged to make. You ’will gropv
strong in contemplation of tire trial you
have passed through. A self-imposed trial,
“ Heaven grant it may be so, mother, re
sponded the girl.
“Farewell, my child, then!” said the Lady
Monimia, again pressing her to her bosom.
“ Farewell to you'! Only be calm, —be watch
ful,—be wary,—be sober and thoughtful, and
you will be strong! You will feel a strength
growing up within your heart, each day of
your life. You must bo happy; for your heart
will be full to overflowing with pure and un
“ Oh, my mother!—my mother!” exclaimed
Gabriella, amid her stifling sobs and tears.
She could say no more then. For another
moment she hung upon the Lady Monimia’s
neck, and then there gushed tears from her
dark eyes plenteously. Her long, silken
lashes glistened with the drops as with pearls.
Another pressure,—a fond, long, struggling
kiss, —a single whisper of farewell, — and
mother and daughter were separated—per
The Lady Monimia was left in her mansion
The carriage containing the youthful Gabri
ella then rolled away to the mountain acclivi
ties that hedge in the plain of Florence, and
she went to anew home, and entered upon a
But as she emerged from the carriage to
pass within the outer walls of the nunnery,
there stood a figure not far off, partially con
cealed in the bushes, and gazing with all the
anxiety which it is possible for a pair of fierce
eyes to concentrate within themselves.
It was Juliette, —the faithful waiting-maid
Iler devotion lived till the last moment.
While the ambitious step-mother sat in her
apartment, and contemplated the undisturbed
field she had cleared for herself, she pressed
her jewelled hands thaidtfuilv together, and
already felt herself a queen !
Certainly, she had planned and executed
with wonderful precision and success.
THE NOTARY AT LENGTH SHOWS HIS HAND.
The night following the departure of Gabri
ella, was indeed a night full of thought and
dreams to the triumphant Lady Monimia.
She retired not to rest until quite a late
hour, and even long after that was her head
filled with fancies and speculations.
The whole matter had been concerted and
completed in so brief a time, and almost be
yond the possibility of her expectations, too,
that she needed some time in which to recover
from the bewilderment into which it had
She counted now, as the night-bells tolled
on the weary hours to the morning, the hopes
that were strung along upon her plan, as
thickly as the beads in her rosary.
She looked forward to the time, now, when
she should have consummated all that she
had conceved, and the arts of the wily notary
should begin to be counted as of some practi
Then her mind run along, as easily as if she
were wandering in the mazes of a rosy dream
upon the things she would have done, when
everything was at length clearly and satisfac
torily in her hands, and also upon the many
things she determined should not bo done.
There were very many of both.
She finally wearied with this watching. She
felt her brain burning and swimming. That
cold, g! itering forehead of hers grew hot.
She couid scarcely lay her white hand across
its marble surface.
Just as the light of the morning began to
gleam upward through the tinted horizon, she
closed her eyes in slumber.
She slept long and deeply. And she had
dreams. For dreams were not yet forbidden
to such as she.
But it could not always be dreams to her,
and especially such pleasurable ones. The
hours rolled on. Juliette, twice or thrice en
tered her apartment, alarmed that she should
sleep to so late an hour, yet afraid as yet to
The morning slipped far away, and it was
quite late. Juliette looked again. She was
still sleeping soundly.
This time, however, she took courage, and
went to her bedside. She laid her hand lightly
upon her shoulder, and called her.
Lady Monimia awoke, and looked around
the room in great amazement, and with an
expression of alarm.
“You sleep so late, mistress, I thought I
must waken you,” said the maid.
“ is tfhe. hour, J.uliette ?” asked the
Lady Monimia. * j /
“ Nearly noon.”
“ Impossible ! But I was restless nearly all
night, Juliette, and could not sleep. I got no
sleep till toward morning, for thinking of
“ What made her go away from her home,
sweet mistress ?” innocently asked the maid ;
“ and how long will she stay?”
“I cannot tell if she will ever come back
“ Never ?” repeated the maid, mournfully.
“ She way not,” returned the Lady Monimia;
“ but I cannot tell when. So ask no more
questions about it. Leave me now, and I will
Juliette left the apartment, but her heart was
full for her departed young mistress.
The proud Lady Monimia’s mind was full of
fears lest she should have visitors ere she
could prepare herself to receive them. She
dressed herself in great haste, and partook at
once of her first meal for the day.
She had been in her reception-room but a
very short time, when, as she had already
feared, the maid came to usher in a morning
It was the notary—Bertani.
She received him with unaffected cordiality,
and motioned him to be seated.
The cunning notary accepted her silent in
vitation, and rested his person in the thick
coating of a rich chair.
“ I have news to tell you, sir notary!” began
the Lady Monimia.
“ I am glad.”
“ Good news !” said she.
“ That is always welcome,” replied he.
“ My plans—”
“ Ha! have they succeeded ?” impulsively
interrupted he, temporarily losing his accus
“ Yes, Signor.”
“ All ?” Do you say all, madam ?”
“ And the girl ?” said he.
“ She fell in with my wish.”
A j <
“ More ; she'has fully resolved in her mind.”
“ Better and better!” triumphantly exclaimed
“ More than this
“ More ?’’
“ Yes ; she has already gone 1” said she.
“ Gone ! Did you say—”
“ You amaze me, madam! I have never
heard the like before.”
For once, it seemed, as if the scheming no
tary had lost his proper equilibrium, so deep
was his delight.
“ Yes, Signor, she has retired from the world
into the walls of a convent. I have nothing to
fear now /”
“ No, madam, nothing ,” repeated he.
“ And when she shall finally have taken the
vail, which will be her last—her very last
farewell to the world, then my power will be
“Yes,” replied the notary.
“ But inasmuch as the matter looks so favor
able now, Signor Bertani, we may as well per
form our arrangements respecting the will of
my late husband at time.”
“ I have come prepared to do so,” said he.
“So much the better, then. You think, Sig
nor, that after this is at last settled, and after
the girl concludes to become a recluse alto
gether by the taking of the vail—you think
that no further obstacle stands in my way, do
you not ?”
“ I know of none, madam,” replied he,
“ I can be the mistress of the entire estate,
and its large income.”
The notary only bowed to this.
“ That is all at which I have aimed, Signor-
I shall reward you liberally for your part in
the matter, and never shall have a fear that
you will betray the secret you have already
kept so faithfully.”
“ My reward will be not what you expect,”
replied the notary.
“ What then ? Shall I return your favor by
any single* one of myoivn!”
“ That is all I could wish, my Lady.”
“ Pray, tell me what remains for me to do in
requital for your invaluable services ? Any
thing that I can do, I will.
“ Madam, you can do me one favor, which
will more than repay me,” slowly spake the
notary, fastening his eyes fixedly upon hers.
“ What, Signor ?”
“ I ask only for your hand /”
A confusion momentarily seized her mind,
from which she could not extricate herself.
“ That is the reward, and the only reward I
would ask for my services in this matter,” con
“ But, Signor—” protested she.
“ Are you not willing, madam?”
“ Indeed, you do but surprise me by your
unexpectA demand,” said she, gradually recov
ering herself, as the hot blood flowed back
again from her surcharged heart, and colored
her cheeks and temples. “I hardly know how
I answer you, it is all so sudden—so un
looked for. I should want time in which to
reflect on the matter.”
“ That I would give you,” said he.
“Then you shall have a satisfactory answer
at another time.”
“ Satisfactory, said you, my Lady ?”
“ A definite —a final one, I should havo said,”
“Ah ! that makes the difference!” dryly
exclaimed the cool notary. “ But it is all I
would take, madam,” continued he, “ for my
poor services. It is all I would have for the
keeping of- this important secret. I ask no
greater boon. It is dearer to me than all
things else. Nay, my Lady, why may you not
give me an answer now ?”
With thinking the matter over, he had grown
more impatient and urgent. He would have
had the matter settled at once.
“Signor Bertani,” said she, after a moment’s
thought, “ I fear that I have it not in my power
ever to requite you thus for your efficient aid
and sympathy ; above all, for your invaluable
truthfulness to my cause. I fear I never can
“ May I ask why, my Lady ?”
“I have but lately become widowed, as you
“ And I would not again enter upon the mar
“ Would you not at all ?”
“ No, I think not,” replied she. “At least
for the present, I -would decline all such
thoughts. They are not essential to my hap
piness, and I must decline them. I would pay
you, Signor Bertani, most fully, most liberally,
for your great service to me. I would not
leave a whit of that duty undone.”
“ But Ido not ask any money!” suggested
he ijfgain. . / e
“ Will you not accept it from me ?”
“ Not a single coin.”
“ But w-hat then ?”
“ Madam, I love you,” said he. “ I would be
loved in return. I sue for your hand —I would
make you my wife. I must—l must! Do not
put off my suit, my Lady! I must be heard!”
“ But it will be impossible!” replied she,
gathering resolution and courage as she saw
his advance; “it will be impossible ! I cannot
bestow my hand on any one /”
“ Do you discard me, then ?” asked he.
“ I cannot accept your offer, Signor. I am
abundantly grateful for all your official ser
vices, and I shall see that they are fully repaid
to you. That I shall take care of. But this
favor which you ask of me—oh, no, no! —it
cannot—it cannot be!”
“ Madam,” said the notary, “ I have long
“T ou have been peculiarly unfortunate,
Signor,” said she, in a vein of irony.
“I knew what you would say,” replied he,
“ I know what your hint means. You would
tell me that while I have so long and sincerely
loved you, you have not so much as bestowed
a thought on me /”
-“I certainly never have, in the way of affec
tion, Signor,” frankly said she.
“Is that so, madam ?”
“ Understand me. I have always had the
deepest feelings of gratitude te you, Signor,
and always shall have—”
“ Ah! but gratitude is not love /” said he.
“ Yet you cannot expect one to love you,
Signor, whether she will or not!”
“ I would have you love me,” said he.
“ I am not regardless of you, I believe.”
“ That is not it. I would be loved !”
“ I cannot promise, that, Slgno.”
“ No. It is beyond my power. I will, nev
ertheless, abundantly reward you.”
“ With your hand ?”
“ Why, no, Signor!” replied she, with some
little sharpness. y‘ I cannot do it.”
“ You must do j/t, madam !”
f- NVhvu l” inriTicr
“ I say you must give me your hand !”
“You amaze me!” said she.
“ But that is not so bad as it might be, he
very cooly replied. “ There are worse feelings
for the heart than astonishment!”
“ What would you say, Signor? Ido not at
all comprehend you.”
“ I mean only this—that the condition of my
keeping this matter a secret, and of keeping
your husband’s estate in your power, is my
marriage with you /”
“ Impossible!” exclaimed she.
The color came and went quickly to and
from her face.
“It is my last offer, madam,” said he, mo
tioning as if to rise. “ Will you accept it ?”
“ No, Signor,” answered she resolutely.
“ My lady, do you remember an old suitor of
yours, in Ravenna, named Marini ?”
She turned pale.
“ Perfectly,” she answered.
“ Then see him before you again!”
“ You!” exclaimed the Lady Monimia, in
great affright and confusion.
“ Yes, madam ; look, and see for yourself if
I am not the one!”
Forthwith he removed his wig from his
head and his glasses from his eyes, and thus
presented quite another appearance to her.
She regarded him with feelings too deep for
“Yes, my fair Lady Monimia,” said he, “I
am an old suitor for your hand! This demand
of mine is no new one, believe me! You have
spurned me before!”
“ You should leave this house, Signor!”
cried she, in a burst of uncontrollable rage.
“You have spurned me before,” continued
he, as if he did not regard her hasty words;
“it is no new thing. I have become quite
used to it. I have followed your fortunes with
my watchful eyes—”
“ A spy!” cried she, indignantly.
“ And have ever watched the opportunity
when you should be forced to do what you
would not doTZillingly /”
“A monster! A cruel, cowardly monster!”
ejaculated she, her voice trembling with the
excess of her rage.
“ Do not thus give way to your passion,
madam. I have more to tell you before I
“ I wish you to leave me ! Shall I have to
order you to go from my presence ? I will see
to it at once that you are paid for all your pro
fessional services in my behalf—paid liberally
and well. Leave me, I ask you!”
“ Wait a moment. Not so fast. I must say
a few words more.”
“ I will not hear them !” cried she.
“ Nay, madam, but I know you will! You
will be obliged to listen to every syllable I
utter in your hearing; because it concerns
your future so deeply.”
“ Then say on, sir notary 1” replied she, sud
denly controlling her anger and assuming an
attitude of defiant coolness.
“ You should know, my lady fair—”
“ Call me by no such endearments!” quickly
“ You should know, then, that the entire
disposition of your fortune as far as it is con
nected with the estate left by your late hus
band, rests in my hands.”
“ How do you go to work to prove such a
paradox as that, I would bo glad to know ?”
questioned she proudly, and still keeping down
the ebullition of her rage with an effort of
her strong will.
“ You do not perhaps know, then, madam,
that your husband left a codicil to his will ?”
“No, I do not,” replied she.
But she could not hold the wonted color in
her face, even though she could keep down
her feeling. Her countenance was overspread
suddenly with a pallor as of death.
[to be continued.]
THE TRAD ISMAN’S CRISIS.
“ Then let [s begin at once.”
It will he sufficier , for the reader’s purpose
it, passing over the eroine’s early history, we
observe that, at the >eriod our narrative com
mences, MaryNortoi *the soul and sunshine of
her parental home, a as entertaining the very
serious intention o leaving it—“ How her
father and mother a\ II ever bring their minds
to part with her, Ici n’t think!” was the some
what concerned: Se Sark of a neighbor, and
h§rc our story mtistiproceed in the words of
“ Poor Mary, herself, felt it would be a very
hard thing to leavA*tho dear little cottage
in which she had jgifsed so many happy days,
and above all, to liv> no longer under the same
roof with her parents. But then she loved
Edward Norris vciy much, and she was sure
he would be a good, find husband, for he had
always been so stead? and such a dutiful son
and affectionate brother.” And so hope
chased the tear from Mary’s eye, and the pass
ing pang from her hqtpt.
It was the eve ofTjbr wedding day, and she
was sitting in the a|hor, talking with Edward
about their future plans and prospects. They
were alone; Mrs. Ijforton was in the house
busily making preparations for . the next day,
anj£ Mr. Norton .
“Mary dear so afTrajd
you wont be able Sj-econcile yourself to liv
ing in a town, after TbeSng used all your life to
this pretty, quiet ( cottage. C is such a
bustling place, too ; a great deal more so than
L . It will make such a change.
“Never fear, Edward,” replied Mary, “I
think I could make myself happy anywhere,
with someone to love ; aqd besides I shall find
so much to do, that I shall have no time to
waste upon discontented musiugs.
And Mary’s eyes looked so bright and hope-s
ful, that Edward’s misgivings passed away,
and he thought if love could make her happy, it
should not be wanting. He was rather disposed
to be despond cast down by difficul
ties; but, since engagements with Mary,
he had been often reassured by her calm,
hopeful spirit, and cheered by-her encouraging
The next day they were married, and in a
week were settled in their new home at C .
There Mary found she had said) plenty to
employ her time and thoughts. Edward who
had served his apprenticeship to a bookseller
and stationer, was now a, shopman in the
establishment, and much esteemed by the
principal of the lonian for his uniform stead
iness and attention to business. His house
was near the shop, so that he always came
home to his meals'; and very comfortable
meals they were, for Mary was an excellent
housewife, and though they had only a slender
income, she was determined that what they
had should be laid out to the best advantage,
as far as she was concerned. Edward loved
his wife dearly and increasingly, and he had
reason to do so; for a “ good wife is from the
Lord,” and is among the most precious and
valuable of His earthly gifts. And Mary was
a good wife in the best sense of the word for
she was a Christian, and had learned to make
the Word of God her guide and counsellor,
believing that the Lord alone could enable her
faithfully and diligently to perform her new
(duties. Regulated and controlled by Divine
grace, her .natfirally rcheerful temper was a
and her husband, Sd >to all whocaHtwitliip
the sphere of its influence.
Five years passed away and Mary was the
mother of three children, while death had de
prived her of her kind good parents. Edward
had taken a small shop in a country town, a
few miles from C , and had commenced
businesss for himself. But ho soon found that
a young tradesman had many difficulties and
struggles to surmount before he can be fairly
established. Instead of the small but certain
salary which he had hitherto punctually re
ceived, he found that there were considerable
expenses to meet in stocking and altering the
shop, while at the same time the returns were
scanty and uncertain. What could be done ?
He dreaded getting into debt, which ho had
hitherto scrupulously avoided. The only
alternative seemed to be to retrench their ex
penses, and yet he hardly knew how to do
that, since theyhad already lived as prudently
and economicall; off possible. Their present
establishment ccßsted of himself and wife,
three children, (aS-ery young,) an experienced
servant who with them ever since
their marriage, a*young girl who acted as
nurse, and a shopboy. It seemed to Edward
out of the question to part with one of their
three assistants, tnd y r et there appeared no
other way of saving. Mary had but recently
recovered from Iter last confinement, and he
was unwilling toMistress her with fears that
perplexed his owl mind.
It was late one! evening, when, after having
closed his shop fir the night, he entered theii
small sitting roon with a weight on his heart
and a cloud on his brow, which he could not
conceal from liis wife’s observant eye.
“ You are notwell to-night, Edward,” said
she, tenderly! “you look tired and worn out!”
“ A little perhaps, but I’m quite well,”
he answered, sndeaving, but ineffectually, to
“ W ell, try and forget business, and all its
cares,” saidiiarly cheerfully. “ I want to
to-night; do come and
read lonic so enjoy it.”
With a melaucloly smile he complied with
his wife’s requed, and taking a book from the
shelf, began to read. But the words fell
mechanically fjom his lips, while other
thoughts crowded into his mind. He looked
at the baby in the cradle by Mary’s side, and
he remembered the other two children who
were asleep upstairs. Here was an increas
ing family, ana consequently increasing ex
penses ; while it the same time he appeared
to be losing ground every day.
At last his wife suddenly put her hand on
his arm, and said, “ Dear Edward! what is the
matter ? lam sure something disturbs you:
do tell me all I can bear anything better
than seeing you look so miserable without
knowing the riason.
Thus urged, Edward was obliged at last to
reveal the cause of his abstraction.
Mary attentively listened till he had con
cluded, and tiking his hand, she said, affec
tionately, “ P-ior, dear Edward, you have been
brooding over your troubles in secret, till I
can venture to say, things appear a great deal
worse than they really are. You are not in
debt you say, at present ?”
“ No, thank God!” replied Edward, earnestly.
“ But then, Mary, love, if we cannot manage to
save, some way, we shall get into debt, that is,
unless my business brings in more than it does
“ Then let us begin to save at once!” said
“ But in what way can wo do so ?” asked
Edward. “We are not living extravagantly
in any respect. I don’t sec, at present, in what
way we can retrench.”
“0, I’ve thought of several ways already,”
said Mary', smiling, and looking so hopeful and
happy that the mere sight of her bright, ani
mated countenance, raised her husband’s
spirits, and made him feel more sanguine than
he had done for many days past.
Then followed a long conversation, carried
on in a low voice, interspersed occasionally
with a sigh from Edward, followed by an en
couraging Avord from his wife.
Next morning Mary rose full of her new
plans for saving and economizing. Her youngest
child was only six Aveeks old, the next could
run alone, and the eldest was four years of age.
They made plenty of work, as Mary knew
very well; but she determined, in the present
state of affairs, to discharge the girl AV'ho had
acted as nurse, and to manage Avith one ser
vant. This was no sooner determined thai.
acted upon, though Edward remonstrated
against it in very strong terms, telling his wife
that she was undertaking too much—that she
would overdo herself, and be laid up. But
Mary pleasantly combatted all his fears by/
telling him that exercise always agreed Avitlij
her, and that it Avould bfe no hardship to her’
In a day w two, Edwam’Hrseo’fared ■
Tom, the shop-boy, was of A'ery little use tc/
him ; that during a great part of the day lie
was idle, and therefore in mischief. He w 7 as
accordingly installed in a similar situation,
which Edw'ard easily procured for him at a
neighboring grocers, and thus tAvo considera
ble items Avere at once substracted from the
Mary seemed at no loss to discover ways
, and means to lessen the general expenses, and
bore her amount of extra Avork so cheerfully 1
and uncomplainingly, that her husband loved
her better than CA’cr. When he Avas obliged
(as lie occasionally was) to leave the shop foi
a short time, Mary Avas ahvays ready to take
his place, and with pleasant manner and active
hand to Avait upon the customers. And during
all this time the household affairs Avere carried
on Avith as much care and regularity’ as ever.
There was nothing like disorder and neglect,
but all Avas in its place, and everything done
at the right time.
“ I can’t think how’ you manage,” said Ed
ward, one day', w'hen he came into the neat
little sitting-room, and sat doAvn to a comforta
ble dressed dinner, at a time when he knew
that Mary w?as in the midst of a large wash.
“ God helps me,” said Mary kissing his
cheek, “by giving me strength and fore
In the course of a feAv months, from the
effect of incessant care and attention, Edward’s
business began sensibly to increase ; and in a
year or two, from a struggling beginner, he
found himself a Avell-established tradesman.
And he felt and acknoAvledged that this pros
perous turn in his affairs was mainly attributed
to the influence and exertions of his Avife, who,
instead of lamenting her hard fate in being
obliged to economize and exert herself in every
possible way, had resolutely set to work, and
by her cheerful industry and careful manage
ment, had averted a melangholy crisis oi,
failure and disgrace. (j
PUGILISM^R^THE^MM^ LY ART OF|
A European or stranger in our midst, says c,
New York cotemporary', taking his impression/]
of our habits and the spirit of our society
from certain leading journals in this city,'’
would very naturally conclude that pugilism,
or the “ manly art of self-defense,” as it n
called in England, Avas a national “ institution,’
and a natural offspring of our social condition.
But though reports of the Heenan-Morrisey
affair of some months ago, as well as the more
recent fight of Price and Kelly?, and the many
similar brutalities, hav'e had a Avide circulation
through the press, and great numbers of peo
ple seem to take an active interest in them, it
is very certain that these things are wholly
foreign in their origin, and equally so that they
never will take root or flourish on Americai
soil. Pugilism is an unmixed brutality, A'astly.
immeasurably more degraded than the old
Roman gladitorial combats, of which it is a
base imitation, and never could originate in a
Democratic society, or anywhere except in
countries like England, where the “ loAver
orders’’have reached the loAvcst and most
brutalized condition that the nature of the
white race admits of. The Roman gladiators
were slaves, and their combats Avere ordered
by their masters to amuse the multitude, but
bloody and ferocious as were their combats,
the lofty and magnanimous Roman spirit de
manded that they should contest Avitli weapons
like men, and not descend to the grade Ci
brute beasts, to tear or pound themselves Avith
their hands or fists. And to this day, of all
the descendants of the Romans among the
entire population of southern Europe, such a
revolting brutality and degraded animalism as
pugilism is totally unknoAvn, Avhile in Russia,
in northern Germany, and especially in Eng
land, it is thought to be a “ manly sport ” to
fight like beasts. About half a century ago,
it was, in a sense, fashionable in England, and
patronized by statesmen and others of the
highest rank in the kingdom.
The late George JV and the members of the
Carleton Club wer. its especial patrons’ and
Cribb, the great “ bruiser ” of the day, Avas on
the most intimate and confidential terms with
these titled and distinguished people. Another
of the fraternity of brutes, as they should be
termed, for they imitate their natures and
habits, made such an impression on the
“ manly’ ” instincts of the A'oters of one of the
English constituencies, that he was elected to
the Parliament, and if there were any repre
sentation in that body at all, it might have
been said that he represented the animals of
the country. A paper in this city, commenting
on the late fatal affair in San Francisco, sought
to place dueling and pugilism in the same cat
egory ; but Avhile the former is undoubtedly’ a
barbarism, the latter is a brutalism, and there
is therefore just the same difference between
them that there is between a man and a beast.
But there is no danger of this “ English
sport” taking root on our soil. The men
engaged in it are all British subjects, or men
born and reared as such ; and though Ameri
cans may be ready enough, perhaps, at times,
with knife or pistols, they are surely incapable
of publicly descending to the role of beasts.
The story that obtained currency in
some quarters in regard to the title of the
Mount Vernon estate, is denied by authority.
The patriotic ladies of the Association have,
from the beginning of their enterprise, acted
under the direction of eminent gentlemen of
the legal profession, and there Avill bo no diffi
culty whatever about securing a clear title to
the “ Home of Washington.”
There is a blind phrenologist in St.
Louis, who is great on examining bumps. A
wag or two got one of the distinguished
judges, who thinks a great deal of himself, and
has a very bald head, which he generally
covers with a wig, to go to his rooms the other
day, and have his head examined. Wags and
judge arrive. “ Mr. B.” said one, “we have
now brought you for examination a head as is
a head ; -we wish to tost your science.” “ Very
well,” said the phrenologist; “ place the head
under my hand.” “He wears a wig,” said
one. “Can’t examine with that on,” replieef*
the professor. Wig was accordingly taken off,
and the bald head of the highly-expectant
judge was placed under manipulation of the
“What’s this? what’s this?” said
the phrenologist; and pressing his hand on
the top of the head, he said, somewhat ruffled.
1 Gentlemen, God has visited me with afflic
tion ; I have lost my eyesight, but I am no
iool; you can't pass this off on me for a head /”
.... A Yorksliireman, whose orchard had
oeen frequently pilfered, grafted some very
sour apple stems on the lower limbs of the
trees. 1 lie result, as described by’ himself,
was as follows : —“ Now, the boys, seem’ sich
yrod-lookiii’ apples handy, jump the fence,
the first fair one they can reach, take
■■■bite- —hut ‘gfter, one bite they never wait
rt ‘ *as
.egs can carry them to my neighbor Simmons’
orchard, to get one of his large Ribstons to
take the sour taste out of their mouths. My
orchard certainly has no good reputation—but
1 save my fruit.”
....“Why, Bridget,” said her mistress,
who wished to rally her for the amusement of
Aer company upon the fantastic ornamenting
of a huge pie. “ Why, Bridget, did you do
‘ -his ? You are quite an artist. llow did you
lo it?” “ Indade, mum, it was meself that did
it,” replied Bridget. “ Isn’t it pretty mum ? I
did it with your false teeth, mum.”
.... W hat do you know of the defendant,
Mr. Thompson ?” asked the counsel of a wit
ness. “Do you consider him a good musician ?”
On that point I wish to bo particular,” re
plied Thompson. “ I don’t wish to insinuate
that Mr. Slopes is not a good musician. Not
it all. But I could not not help observing
that after he commenced playing on the clar
ionet, a saw-filer, who lived next door, left
home, and has never since been heard of!”
.... Indignant and much injured wife —So,
ui, out all night. Now I should like to know
where you have been. Delinquent and very
erratic husband —Been, my dear—ah, yes well
ah—you see—Brown came to the city, and
wanted to see the sights. I took him to see
the city from the spire of Trinity, and the sex
i ton forgot us and locked us in, and we were
obliged to remain up there all night. (Os
course his wife believes him.)
.... A farce was produced in Bannister’s
time under the title of “Fire and Water.” “I
predict its fate,” said he. “ What late ?” whis
pered the anxious author, at his side. “ What
fiate!” said Bannister; “ why, what can fire
sand water produce but a hiss?”
j Old Gent —Waiter! Waiter —Yes, sir!
1 Old Gent —Basin of soup, rare! Waiter —On a
Vprk, sir, or in a paper ? Old Gent —Tie it in
pny handkerchief, and don’t break the edge.
I (Exit waiter in of to-morrow’s paper.)
J an ordinary roller rule on
I up, and inquiring its use, was answered“ It
was a rule for counting-houses.” Too well
bred, as he construed politeness, to ask un
necessary questions, he turned it over and
over, and up and down repeatedly, and at last,
n a . paroxysm of baffled curiosity, inquired,
How is the name of wonder do you count
houses with this ?”
A young man in California, under sen
tence of death by hanging, asked the sheriff,
on the evening previous to his execution :
‘ I say, sheriff, at what time is that little affair
of mine coming off?”
.... “ The influence of the charming Zan
retta is very intoxicating,” said Dr. Spooner,
reaching over and speaking to Old Roger.
‘ Yes,” was the reply, “ very ; and I see that
even the rope she dances upon is tight.”
A correspondent of a Methodist paper
at the southwest thus describes the oratory of
a preacher with whom he was evidently quite
captivated: “ I have repeatedly heard the
most famed men in America, but there are
times when the flame of his pathos licks the
•everlasting hills with a roar that moves your
soul to depths fathomed by few other men!
Anew history of the United States, by an
Englishman, contains the following :—“ Before
I went to America, I had heard much of
American natural scenery; but I confess I
was sadly disappointed when I came to see it
myself. I have traversed the country from
the colonial dependence of Her Most Gracious
Majesty, in Canada, to the Rocky Mountains,
and I saw nothing that could be called worthy
of the artist’s or poet’s observation. It is true
that Canada had some charming scenery,
which has been much improved by British
taste and art—the natural consequence of the
refinement and cultivation of the inhabitants ;
but whenever one crosses into the States, the
1 country exhibits jpit.her wild fbroate or naked
prairies, both of which are dangerous to travel
througlipm consequence of the voracious ani
mals they contain. A distinguished member
es the United States Parliament informed me
that a railroad train last year was attacked by
a drove of raccoons, while crossing a prairie,
and every passenger destroyed. These rac
coons are the terror of this wild country, and
have depopulated thousands of miles of its
JKgy* Three or four times a couple appeared
betore a clergyman for marriage, but the bride
groom was drunk, and the reverend gentleman
refused to'tie the knot. On the last occasion,
he expressed surprise that so respectable a
looking girl was not ashamed to appear at the
altar w r ith a man in such a state. The poor
girl broke into tears, and said she could not
help it. “ And why, pray ?” “ Because, sir,
he won’t come when he is sober!”
BkS'” A splendid “ run ” was made at a bil
liard saloon the other evening, by a promising
young amateur. After playing and losing six
games, he ran out of the room without paying
for them —a “run” which startled the good
ss?'’ A wine merchant, in extolling “an ex
cellent article of port,” says in his advertise
ment : “It is as pure as the tears which be
reaved affection drops upon a new-made
S? ““ •%
.... History tells us of illustrious villains,
but there never was an illustrious miser.
The greatest man living rqav stand in
need of- the meanest, as much as the meanest
does of him.
.... Envy is a passion so full of cowardice
and shame, that nobody ever had the confi
dence to own it. „
.A good word is an easy obligation;
but not to speak ill requires only our silence,
which costs us nothing.
.... Liberality is the best way to gain affec
tion ; for we are assured of their friendship,
to whom we are obliged.
A wise man will desire no more than
what he may get justly, use soberly, distribute
cheerfully, and live contentedly.
.... The triumph of wit is to make your
good nature subdue your censure; to be quick
in seeing faults, and slow in exposing them.
.... 11l nature is afcontradiction to the laws
of providence and tl/e interest ; it
is a iJTless )fani a fiMfclKteie
that have it.
.... Heaven and earth, advantages and ob
stacles, conspire to educate genius.
.... If well-respected honor bid me on, I
hold as little counsel with weak fear as you.
.... One of the most important rules of the
science of manners is an almost absolute silence
in regard to yourself.
The generous who is alw’ays just, and
the just who is always generous, may, unan
nounced, approach the throne of heaven.
.... Alas ! if the principles of contentment
arc not within us, the height of station and
worldly grandeur will as soon add a cubit to a
man’s stature as to his happiness.
.... The great blessings of mankind are
within us, and within our reach, but we shut
our eyes, and like peoplo in the dark we fall
foul upon the very thing we search for, with
out finding it.
.... If the minds bo consonant, the best
friendship is between different fortunes.
.... The conflict of patience is such that the
vanquished is better than the vanquisher.
.... When things are plain of themselves,
a set argument does but perplex and confound
.... It is better to judge between strangers
than between intimates ; for by the first one is
sure to gain a friend, and by the other an
.... Virtue is reproached as design, and re
ligion as only interest. The best of qualities
must not pass without a but to allay their merit
and abate their praises.
.... In conversation, a man of good sense
will seem to be less knowing, more obliging,
and choose to be on a level with others,rather
than oppress with the superiority of his genius.
.... The light here is not the true, I await a
.... Riches amassed in haste will diminish ;
rfrpr-jlrtji- if^Wtqfcfa^iJinnr 1
- will multiply.
.... Envy pierces more in llie restriction of
praises than in the exaggeration of its criti
.... The order of the Eternal manifests it
self in the sun which rises and the heavens
There are some minds like cither con
vex or concave mirrors, who represent objects
such as they receive them, but they never re
ceive them as they are.
.... It is much easier to meet with error
than to find truth ; error is on the surface, and
can be more easily met with; truth is hid in
great depths, and the way to seek does not
appear to all the world.
fallibility leads to mediocrity.
Neighbor Jauber weighs about two hun
dred, and has a decided objection to being
cheated. When he buys a pound of tea, he is
careful to get good weight. One day he went
to the wharf to get a ton of coal, and he in
sisted, after assuring himself that the scales
were well adjusted, upon seeing it weighed,
for coal-dealers sometimes make mistakes.
The team was driven upon the platform scales.
Sauber stood by to watch the figures.
“ Twenty-two hundred weight of coal,” said
the dealer, with a wink to the bystanders.
“ Rather short,” haggled the buyer. “ Throw
in a little more, and I will take the load.”
The obliging dealer complied, and the scale
was again examined.
“ All right—l am satisfied with that. You
coal-dealers don’t always give good weight,’
“ Drive on, John; stop in the street,” added
the seller, and he took Jauber into the count
ing-room, where the bill was paid.
“ Are you pei-fectly satisfied ?”
“Perfectly; T like to look aftejf tbqge thiujjS
“ Well, sir, I should say you had cheated
yourself out of two hundred pounds of coal
by looking after these things yourself.”
“ What do you mean ?”
The dealer ordered his teamster to back on
the scales again; and to the astonishment of
Jauber, the words were verified.
“ I don’t understand it,” added the buyer.
“ I do; you stood on the scales yourself
while you were watching mo, and I have sold
you for so much coal. But you are satified;
don’t bo so sharp next time,” laughed the
Jauber was confounded, but had not the
assurance to demand a revision of the tran
An eccentric friend of ours, says the
Litchfield (Ct.) Enquirer, stepped into a store
in the village, which shall be nameless, where
some “ colored brethren ” wero doing a little
trading. “Ah! Mr. ,” said our friend,
“ you have your cousins in, I see.” The young
merchant said nothing but looked mad. Our
friend stepped out, but in a few minutes re
turned, after the sable customers had depart
ed. “I hope you won’t take any offense at
what I remarked here just now,” said he. “Oh
no,” says the merchant, “ I never take offense
at anything you say.” “Glad of it,” replied
our quizzer, “ tho niggers are as mad as the
d—11” And then he sloped, narrowly missing
a flying yardstick.