Newspaper Page Text
BY J. A. TURNER.
VOLUME 11.
fatirjj.
The Charge of the Bright Brigade.
We have seen several parodies of Tennyson's
famous battle-song; but none so well turned as
the following, from the Boston Transcript, entitled
The Charge of the Bright Brigade:
Round the room, round the room,
Round the room, onward,
Like a tee-totum
Revolved the one hundred.
Like a tee-totum
Revolved the one hundred,
For all were in order,
And no one had blundered.
“Onward, the bright brigade 1”
“ All around!” Palfrey said;
So round and round the room
Spun the one hundred.
Round, then, the bright brigade,
No one the least dismayed—
None—for the ladies knew
They never blundered;
Not theirs to make reply,
Not theirs to seem too shy,
Theirs but fast around to fly,
So round and round the room
Whirled the one hundred.
Mirrors to right of them,
Mirrors to left of them,
Mirrors in front of them,
Flowers unnumbered.
Lovely, in rich array,
With eyes as bright as day,
Partners as gay as they,
Into that fair melee,
Rushed the one hundred.
Rose all their arms so bare,
Flew all their skirts in air,
Sweeping those sitting there,
Whirling and spinning while
Lookers on wondered;
Trod on and pushed along,
Some looking quite forlorn,
Some of their drapery shorn,
Till they had reached their chairs,
Spun the one hundred.
Gas lights to right of them,
Gas lights to left of them,
Gas lights above them,
By glass pendants sundered.
Laughing and blushing so,
At seats all rushing so,
Heated and out of breath,
And from that figure there,
Now all have reached a chair,
All that are really left
Os that one hundred.
When will the next begin ?
Oh, that enchanting spin!
How old folks wondered.
How can they labor so,
Is that that true pleasure, oh,
Lovely one hundred ?
■rtlisccllaitcous.
Trials of a Modern Chevalier.
LOVE’S LABOR LOST.
Since the dawn of chivalry the world
has scarcely witnessed a case of more
impurturble knight-errantry than that
revealed in My Courtship and Its Con
sequences —the hero of which may be
reckoned the prince of modern lovers,
and the heroine the princess of co
quettes. The story of their wooing
eclipses the dim traditions of classic
amours. And however it may be as
to the truth of the familiar saying that
« xbe cours* of true love never did run smooth,"
this veteran Chevalier found the cur
rent of his affections a very “raging
canawl ” of perplexity.
In his earlier days, with the com
fortable auxiliaries of a polite educa
tion, and one eye already open to the
pleasures of the world and the pol
trooneries of modern polities, in the
vigor of young manhood, and flushed
with the wine of a youthful ambition,
the untried world lay before him like
a morning land.
A sentimental love already danced
* ; and sallied bewitehingly before him.
JThe golden dreams of slumber were
(linked with the waking world’s reali
ties. To hirn the fleet years seemed
only a long June day, and life a pret
ty romance full of pretty realities.
Above all, as touching his chivalry, it
was, and is, “downright fun to out
wit a lady”—a pleasure so delectable
that it ought to have been put among
the labors of Hercules.
Giving scope to his youtnful ambition
the Chevalier visited Europe, and at
length, by the aid of letters of intro
duction from his native city, Philadel
phia, he became an acquaintance and
intimate of a worthy family, consist
ing of a wealthy Scotchman with an
American wife, &c., and their, neice, a
fine young lady, whom, in a friendly
way. the Chevalier even, then seems
to have regarded as a little gem
of a woman in every respect.
At length circumstances call him,
and away 4® goes.
The absence is long; but the mem
ory of the friends “oyer the sea and
far away” is longer; and as for. the
friendship of the girl he left behind
him, it still seems to bp interminable,
though it is on record that “he stood
proof against ” her countless ‘ 4 charms,
then at their culminating point,”— a
feat which few Knights were able to
do who dared to confront them.
Under these circumstances is it un
pardonable, that, in the short space of
ten years, after the death of her rela
tives, and after having toted the fam
ous danseuse, Fanny Ellsler, across the
water to make her everlasting fortune
and help complete Bunker Hill Monu
ment, he returned to renew the acquain
tance with so inestimable a young
lady ?
She was vet in mourning; but in
no respect like Rachael, for she allow
ed herself to be comforted—by the
Chevalier; nay, more, she courted fur
ther and repeated attentions from him
for the remaining days of their sojourn
in the city.
Then and there a courtship —the
courtship—“My Courtship,” reader,
commenced. But their was a flaw in
the wind at times which blew t e Chev
alier only questionable good, and seems
to have shaken him out of propriety.
My lady of all the charms went to
the sea shore. The Chevalier follow
ed after, to their mutual satisfaction,
and accor .ing to an implied under
standing. And here or elsewhere, he
discovered “ that her intellect, for
breadth and cultivation, was far beyond
the ordinary standard of her sex.”
And here, also, a nine days wonder
burst upon my lady’s head. With
the bashfulness of an unfledged school
boy, the Chevalier wilted before the
syren’s smile at every endeavor to
speak his “ phelinks ” and make a de
claration ; and in the desperation of
his extremity, on the eve of the ninth
and last day of his stay, he delivered
into the hands of his inamorata’s trav
eling companion a note with the proper
superscription, containing a devout
specimen of the hitherto unwritten
poetry of his affections.
On the following morning—having
thus snared the fowler—my lady of
all the accomplishments addressed to
him pro forma a decided rejection of
any such tender regard on the part of
the Chevalier.
This was too much for modern chiv
alry to begin the day with; and al
though our lady speedily recanted so
far as to send for him to enjoy the
morning meal with her only, he left
—in dudgeon and without his break
fast—and soon after crossing the chan
nel, “ turned up ” in Pans, where he
was at that time enjoying a diplomat
ic salary. We may imagine his feel
ings. Alas, how true it is, that
• “ * Woman’s' inhumanity to ‘ Chevaliers’
Makes countless thousands mourn I”
State matters, however, dimmed for
the moment the lustre of matrimoni
al speculations.
But gentler impulses once more per
vaded the heart of the fair and fickle
torturer; and* by the aid of tender
epistles, the forever-forgiving Cheva
lier was soon drawn back to London
by the cords of love, and the rosy
flame of his affections burnt again with
the brilliancy of a gas light.
Alas, this too was a short-lived joy ;
and the Chevalier sunk lower than
Mr. Caudle in the scale of felicity, as
the goddess of his idolatry once more
withdrew her benignant smiles and
cast him out of the heaven of her heart,
to unbosom his love to a commissera
ting acquaintance ere he fled again to
bury with his sorrow the damaged
remnant of his love in the gayeties of
the French capitol.
But again came winning missives,
and once more the Chevalier capitulat
ed. He answered the endearing com
munications, and flying to the Alps,
surprised the idol of his love upon the
summit of the “Great St. Bernard.”
But as my lady had once more, fall
en back upon her dignity on receiving
the Chevalier’s letter, coquettery was
now for a time at par on either hand.
However, a reconcilation took place.
The syren promised to be his, and gave
him her dainty hand in confirmation.
The Chevalier’s dream seemed almost
realized, he returned from Geneva to
France in the glorious anticipation of
the happy day when his troubles would
be at an end.
But that time was not yet; the end
of his troubles was not so near at
hand as his imagination had pictured,
and he was soon compelled to recog
nise the lover’s truism, that
“ There’s many a slip
Between the cup and the lip;”
and the consolation he so piously drew
from “old John Wesley” concerning
“ mighty faith in the promise ” was of
short duration, as, after having receiv
ed the congratulations of his confiden
tial friends, he set himself down to pe
ruse the fitst letter from his fiancee.
This was certainly a bad collapse to
befall a- high-pressure lover. Still,
bearing up against the blast, like a
true Knight and a true lover—of his
country and his lady-—he- adopted the
motto of one of our lamented heroes,
and with “ Never Surrender ” for
bis watchword, managed to acompany
his accomplished love from Paris to
London oh her return from Switzer
land.
All attempts to patch up a marriage
at this time, nowever, were unavailing.
For, ’tis said,
“If a woman will she will, you may depend on’t,
But if she won’t she won’t, end there’s the end
on’t;” p-
EATONTON, GA., SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 1855.
and the lovely “Jane,” as he had at
last ventured to call her, had wonted.
How much his former lady confidant
had had to do in the matter may be
left to conjecture, /- ' ,
Subsequent lionizing at princely ban
quets, &c., did obliviate these accumu
lating sorrows of our Chevalier, and
he had soon formed another scheme
for prosecuting his thus far luckless
amour, for he always believed the lady
loved him, and that she would at
length surrender.
Having secured the confidence and
co-operation of her courier, by engag
ing to give him a thousand pounds if
he should succeed in his suit, he re
turned once more to Paris and set
about making arrangments to spend
the winter in the eastern part of the
continent.
His lady-love was already on her
second continental tour, and Louis,
her courier, the now faithful servant
of two masters, wrote to him from
Basle, Switzerland, stating, among
other things, that his mistress was very
sad, had been reading over her lover’s
last letter, and expressed an anxiety to
know how and where he was.
This missive touched the Chevalier’s
compassion more deeply than ever.
The Russian journey was at once aban
doned ; and, upon receiving a sympa
thetic note from her, with credulous
magnanimity another lover’s leap was
projected.
Arriving at Lausanne, however, an
other change cameoverthe gentle soul;
and upon receiving a kindly reply
from the Chevalier, she once more de
clared her independence in a cruel and
elaborate epistle. But this was too
late ; for the ever-forgiving Chevalier
was already on the wing for Italy in
search of bis lost treasure.
Reaching Lyons he passed on, and
at ten o’clock of the same morning,
much to his own surprise, overtook
the carriage of his jewel at the foot of
Mount Cenis. The courier, who had
promised him to drink no more wine,
was perched on his seat, regaling him
self upon cold duck and the
of a black bottle.
At length, discovering the Cheva
lier, and expressing his mortification
at being caught sucking “light wine,”
Louis stole down from his box, and
fell back to converse with employer
number two.
“What news?”asked the Chevalier
pointing to the carriage.
“ Oh, sir, she gets worse and worse,”
said Louis ; and he contiued to speak
of the quantity of tears she had shed
that morning, concluding with the wel
come assurance that, in his opinion,
his mistres would be delighted to see
her abused lover.
Satisfied of the chances thus far,
the Chevalier inquired of Louis their
plans for the journey, and after giving
the latter his address for the following
morning, hastened on to Turin.
Prompt in his engagements where
a thousand pounds were concerned,
Louis called early the next day, Sun
day, to announce their arrival.
After various talk concerning them
selves, the Chevalier informed Louis
that he wished to see his mistress on
that day ; and to that end he was soon
the occupant of a room in the same
hotel where she had put up. The first
effort, based upon a petty subterfuge,
for the accomplishment of his object
was a perplexing failure. However,
the Chevalier knew that
“ Faint heart never won fair lady,"
and another ruse, in which his pro
spective bride’s old maid-servant was
used as a cats-paw, resulted in his being
accused in a note from his promised
spouse, of “downright perfidy ,” in
showing her letters to a mutual friend
in London, to which she added that
“ nothing could induce her to see
him.”
But though cast down the Chevalier
was not yet destroyed, and he wrote
the author of the above loving declara
tion, a hoodwinking letter about leav
ing the hotel and possibly returning
immediately to Paris.
For a day or two after, the Chevalier
busied himself with courting the Amer
ican Charge d'Affaires, and certain na
tive celebrities; and then, as a further
rest from the labors of his love, left
for Genoa, where, as everywhere else,
he seems to have arrived on Friday.
Here, again, surprised that his fas
cinating trifler had arrived before
him, the flickering flame df love in
creased in stability and splendor, and
he was soon catechising Louis once
more concerning the chances.
It was finally agreed between them,
that for the -purpose of delaying her
immediate departure from Genoa; the
faithful courier should tell his mistress
that he had lost their passport. This
was accordingly done.
On the following morning the cou
rier and his mistress, started for the
police office to get anew ticket de
voyage. A short drive brought them
to the residence of the then absent
Russian Consul, where she met, in
stead of a police magistrate, a lover—
ever the discarded but undaunted
Chevalier; who, like some of General
Taylor’s volunteers, seejns never to
have known when .he was beaten. -
The dauntless divinity was little
surprised, and addressing the Cheva*
)ier, aid, “Ah, is it you ! Well, I
(DIB
thought it was a trick ;” to which the
hero replied, “ Yes, it’s all a trick,”
and excused the same by her refusal
to see him at Turin.
Upon her invincible lover’s request,
the fascinating lady Jane took a seat,
removed her bonnet, and made herself
at ease.
A lengthy and spicy conversation
ensued, accompanied by alternate sweet
and bitter of look and language.—
Many curious things were said, and
the marriage promise was, singularly
enough, renewed. \
The hitherto Chevalier,
had now become both desperate and
wary; and after a further parley, she
was induced to put the promise in
writing; she wrote: u I bind myself to
marry Chevalier —according to the
pledges I made him to that effect at Ou
chy and Geneva .” And banteringly
inquired, “ There, will that do ?” but
subsequently added a “ promise ” to
forfeit half her income in case of non
fulfillment.
This worse than idle scribbling—de
manded by the Chevalier in the vain
hope of frightening her into a fulfill
ment of her former promises'—being
accomplished, the twain took a turn
to examine the splendid apartments,
and subsequently, by the aid of the
valet of the house, dined together lov
ingly.
Dinner being over and the day wa
ning, the now trebly affianced bundle
of accomplishments donned. her bon
net in prepartion for departure to her
own hotel, with her old nurse and ser
vant, Mary, and the courier, who had
already returned with the carriage.
But, as usual, a storm came after the
calm; and this time it proved a tempest,
for, falling back upon one of her ac
complishments, the rich, proud, and
untamed love of a woman, Jane, the
prospective wife, addressed the more
dimly prospective husband, the Chev
alier, first truly saying, “You have
played me a trick in bringing me
here;” —then menacingly adding,—
“and take care that I don’t play you
another;” whereupon the now roused
and audacious Chevalier, finding the
honey of love turned to the vinegar
of scorn, denied her permission to de- 5
part till she had “ changed her tone.”
This was the prelude to the crash.
The exasperated angel picked up the
poker and pushed it through a window
pane, exclaiming, tragically, “There,
now will you let me go?” to which
the heroic Chevalier replied, “Not
a bit of it!”
At this the lovely lady sat down,
reflected, asked the Chevalier several
questions, and made him several threats,
but all without moving his equanimi
ty ; seeing which, after a brief but an
imated cross-fire, she seized the valet
de place by the collar as he was lug
ging away a huge pile of plates, and
with a fierce warning to the innocent
fellow, who did not understand a word
of her English, so frightened him that
he nearly lost the use of his legs, ex
claiming heroically as she released
him, “ I have cowed him, at all events.”
Still the Chevalier remained uncow
ed in the enchanting presence of such
tragic loveliness. And, aided by the
partial sympathy of her waiting-maid,
who was all this time present, the fla
ming beauty went into a tramping fit,
and at length, with dishevelled hair,
threw herself upon the hearth-rug, de
claring that it was her intention to die
there.
“Let them bury the quick with the
dead,” said the Shakesperian Cheva
lier, feigning preparation to lie down
and die beside the prostrate heroine;
whereat she sprang to her feet.
After some further retorts, the Chev
alier signified his intention to have the
house closed for the night, which so
alarmed his desperate darling that she
ceased her fury and defiance, and they
soon after all went away together—
lovers and servants —lovingty, and put
up at anew hotel for the night, for
which it seems the heroine had made
preparations in a leathern bag—after
she had made amiable promises to
wake the Chevalier for an early de
parture in the morning, a promise
which she faithfully performed, as well
as some others recently made.
On the following day the lovely he
roine, true to her threat that the Chev
alier would “repent of it,” made a
complaint of “ abduction,” &c., against
tlie Chevalier, which was pushed agianst
him by the British Consul with vindic
tive and savage malignity ; and as on
this occasion the accomplishments of’
fickleness and caprice did not coriie to
the lovely Jane’s relief until it was too
late to stay proceedings, in a day or
two after—in spite of the efforts and
remonstrances of the American Consul
and others—the Chevalier, with the
trajnping lady’s courier and footman,
were all lodged in prison to await the
issue of the grave charges against them.
Poor Chevalier! After three months’
imprisonment, he underwent the mock
ery of trial, in which trickery and col
lusion bf every kirid were employed
against him, while his lovely accuser
and the British Consul were allowed
to testify, “ upon their honor,” for the
purpose : of securing his conviction.
And against reason and justice, on the
evening of the second day of the
farce, the Chevalier' and Louis were
convicted of the abduction, and sen
tenced to fifteen months imprisonment,
dating from the day of, their arrest,
and to pay the costs of process. And
thus a Chevalier was lost to the world.
However, overcoming his despond
ency, by the aid of his Consul he soon
sought means of obtaining pardon
through the interference "of tho most
influential men in the Cabinet and the
kingdom, whose friendship he had re
cently gained.
But though the Chevalier was warmly
seconded in this endeavor by his Consul,
an eminent English naval officer, and
many other persons of note, his hopes
were blasted by the refusal of his ac
complished and cruel persecutress to
head the petition for his pardon; and
thus he was compelled to linger on
a caged lover—worrying himself to
death, and the daily food of an army
of insatiate insects, in the Prison St.
Andrea, a companion of rogues and
malefactors.
So the Chevalier served out his full
time, like an “ honest apprentice,” as
in love, though at this time about for
ty years of age, and wasting away in
more than chivalrous devotion, for a
fickle maiden only a little less in years,
it is charitable to,suppose he really was.
He counted the time by weeks and
months; and as he arrived at the latter
part of the term would say to himself,
“five moons more, four moons more,”
&c., till at last with exultation he
shouted, “no more moons!”
All this time—generous Chevalier!
—he bore only kindly feelings to
wards the arch coquette, his lovely lady
Jane, who was now at Naples.
At length the hour of midnight of
the last day of his imprisonment came ;
and the Chevalier was electrified with
the joyful consciousness that he was
once more free ; —that he was no more
compelled to correspond with the sym
pathizing great lights of the world
from the gloomy cells and damp stone
floors of St. Andrea; that his luckless
amour was finished; —that he could
once more return to his native land
and stand up before the world and
say, “ I am a man,” and prove the fact
to such British diplomatists and Amer
ican editors, lovers, and ladies, as were
inclined to discredit his assertion, —
filling up the hours of his future ex
istence by pouring out vials of legal
wrath upon the heads of those who
volunteered to crush a vanquished
Knight.
What wonder that he should then
feel as he declared he did, upon again
breathing the free air, that, without
the aid of a bowl of punch which the
Irishman’s mare required to perform a
similar feat, “ he could jump over the
highest church in Genoa.” Or what
wonder that he should indulge in a
“ Sardonic ‘ smile,’ ” at least, at the con
sciousness of his deliverance out of the
hands of his Delilah and. the diplo
matic and judicial Philistines of Ge
noa ?
But, alas, all this Herculean labor
of heroic love is lost. The hero has
returned to America; the heroine to
London; she has no husband, and no
wife has he!
A Well-Ordered Home,
These words are a “ home thrust ”
to many in practical lessons of wis
dom. The relation of husband and
wife, parents and children, and broth
ers and sisters, are all embraced with
in their meaning.
To the husband, kindness, honesty,
sincerity and forbearance towards the
chosen partner of his life are essential.
To the wife, a loving heart, a cheerful
home; bright fires instead of black
stoves, smiles of welcome, devotion and
obedience, natural forbearance, mutual,
interests, a cultivatiou of mutual tastes,
pursuits, and studies, a lpve of the
beautiful and true. To parents, fixed
rules of government for children, foun
ded on justice and mercy, whose fruit is
love, recognizing and strictly observ
ing the rights of the child, as scrupu
lously as they demand obedience; to
cultivate order and system in all things
and a taste for the useful and beautiful,
instead of follies and frivolites—all
these are equally essential.
Provide amusements for children, if
you would keep them from seeking
them away from home.
Make the house cheerful, and happy,
and desirable, if you would have it irres
istible to the members of it. Discard
the austerity and cold stiffness of for
mality, but observe all the true and
genuine politeness of honesty, hearty
humanity, which teaches us to “ do un
to others as we that others
should do unto us, ” and “ love one
another.” Such a home should every
Christian family be. Then the seeds
of piety, honesty, uprightness, cheer
fulness, and elevated happiness, sown
and nurtured in the home, would
spring up, and grow and multiply, as
the different members of these families
radiated to all points of the compass,
like a halo of glory, “ peace on earth
and good will to men” would be the
glorious, result.
Love.
Devotion Wafts the mind above,
But heaven itself descends in love:
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought;
A ray from him who formed,the whole;
A glory circling round the soul t
X
Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern;
H. Long & Brother : New York :
This is one of the richest books of
the season, It is far better than any
of the slashing productians of Fanny,
herself. Indeed, if we thought it pos
sible that Fanny could write as cor
rectly as this is written, we should
suspect her of playing a ruse upon the
public. She has all the coarseness
which would not shrink from the self
exposure, if the dollars were plainly
visible ahead. But she.did not write
it—that’s evident. -Whoever did do
so has Fanny’s own trenchant blade,
honed to a finer polish and keener
edge. He is an elegant demonstrator
of moral anatomy, and the divine,
living Fanny is now doubtless quiver
ing as he lightly and grrcefully exposes
and dissects the several organs which
make up the brilliant, coarse and sel
fish woman who so took the public
captive.
The publishers send us a copy
through Pfister, and we extract a chap
ter below:
FANNY, SPARKLING.
Fanny Fern’s writings are expres
sive of her character. But, if possi
ble, she is twice as original, spicy, and
entertaining, in her person as in her
sketches. To understand, her perfect
ly, one should see her and talk with
her; and to see her and talk with her
to advantage, one should meet her on
terms of chatty familiarity in her own
private apartments.
Fanny’s home in Boston is well re
membered by her favored acquain
tances. Introduced into her unique
parlor, the visitor found himself sur
rounded by pleasing evidences of lux
ury and taste, characterising its occu
pant as a woman of elegant leisure. A
subdued, monastic light, pervading the
apartment, never failed to add its
charm to the visit. Convenient shut
ters, and heavy folds of curtains rob
bed the saucy daylight of its too gar
ish beams, and by night, in the still
and quiet hours, a rich shade surround
ed glowing globe of the astral,
tempering its lustre to a soft, mellow
effulgence.
Fanny —as we have hinted—is just
like her sketches, only “more so.”
Bubbles and flashes might be gathered
from her conversation, that would
eclipse anything she ever wrote. To
have her sit by your side one hour,
and sparkle, (talk don’t express the
idea,) it is worth all the Fern Leaves
and Ruth Halls in the world. Witty
and pathetic by turns; now running
over with fun, and now with tears;
always plain and terse in her language,
she is sure to entertain you for one
hour at least, as no other woman can.
She will entertain you another hour,
some time, if you choose. But the
probability is, you don’t choose. Such
women don’t wear well. Their con
versations are like “Fern Leaves” —
brilliant enough at first, but presently
wearisome, and insipid. Consequent
ly they have a great many short ac
quaintances, but no long ones. Their
friends are not fast friends. We doubt
if Fanny ever enjoyed an enthusiastic
friendship which lasted more than a
couple ot years.
Fanny’s words are the least of her
fascinations. . Her manner is that of a
consummate actress. And is not long
before you discover that she is little
else than an actress. Her tears are
regular stage tears. If she desires to
excite your sympath}', she knows bet
ter than anybody else, how how to do
it. She’ll improvise a “Ruth Hall”
story for you, inventing wrongs and
sufferings to fit the occasion, and drop
a few ready tears, like hot wax, to
seal her testimony—sometimes sobbing
a little, and pressing your hand convul
sively, to heighten the effect.
Oh, she can be as fascinating as Cleo
patra ! She knows how to thrill you
with an unexpected touch. Then her
voice, how artistically tender its modu
lations, how musically mirthful, how
musically sad by turns! Oh, Fanny
is a great woman! She should go
upon the stage, or institute anew
“school of art and design” for the
fair sex.
Fanny has an off-hand, dashing way
of entertaining company, which we
have never seen surpassed. If you
are so fortunate as to be a favored visr
itor, and to find her alone, you may
make sure of her, for at least one
evening. No matter who calls; the
haughty Mr. A., the foppish 8,, the
jealous and frowning C., are neglected
for your sake. “Sit still,” says Fan
ny, “ and they’ll have sense enough to
see they are not wanted, and with
draw.” ” Accordingly, in a little while,
out goes A., very stiffly. Then B. re
tires, bowing snobbishly, and making
insipid remarks about the weather.
Finally comes poor C.’s gruff and low
ering “good evening.” And Fanny*
clapping her hands, and laughing mer
rily, rejoins .you on the sofa, after
shutting the door upon her last visitor
—and whispering a consoling word in
his ear, behind your back. Oh, match
less, diplomatic Fanny !
Os course the polite Fanny does the
agreeable in introducing you to her
friends. But she entertains odd ideas
about names. Sometimes you are
ready to explode in convulsions of
mirth, at the delightfully careless man-
ZMS3 R IW SHS 9
$2.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE.
NUMBER 11.
ner in which she bestows upon you
some comic patronymic, never before
heard of in your family history. To
night you are Mr. Pilridge. Last
night you are figured as Smith. To; ’
morrow you’ll be Jenkins or Jones.
Fanny is consistent, and invents
names for all her visitors. You are no
exception. Mr. White is introduced
to you as Mr. Brown. (Why, indeed,
shouldn’t a lady take the same liberty
with her friends’ names as with her
own complexion, and just change the
color a trifle ?) Mr. Webb becomes
a Mr. Wing—a mere difference of a
pinion. Mr. Rose is transferred into
Mr. Minks—probably on the princi
ple that a rose by any other name
will smell as sweet. In the same way
a Walker is dignified as a Ryder;
Dix is expanded into Richards; Rich
becomes Poore, and French is transla
ted into English.
Now, mistakes will happen in the
best regulated families. Some funny
ones occur in Fanny’s. ’Tisn’t so easy
a thing to remember all her names.
Accordingly, forgetting that you are
called Johnson, for this evening, you
gravely address Mr. Howard by that
name. The gentleman replies, with
a knowing smile, that Johnson is your
name—you laugh, Fanny laughs, and
it passes as a good joke. Or, perhaps,
the other visitor has also become
slightly confused, and readily subscri
bing to Johnson, bestows Howard
upon you, by way of exchange. Or,
while passing for Smith, you meet
some one who knew you last as PiL
ridge.
Another pleasant incident is liable
to occur. By a coincidence, you meet
at Fanny’s some friend whom you as
tonish into silence. You are similar
ly astonished; and observing no signs
of recognition, Fanny proceeds to in
troduce you. You can scarcely con
tain yourself on hearing familiar Bob
Peters dubbed as General Budington ;
and he looks hugely tickled at your ap
pellation of Rev. Mr. Bird.
One additional circumstance we
should not fail to state. You never
meet a lady visitor at Fanny’s. There
appears to be but little affinity between
her and her own sex. “Cause un
known,” as coroners’ verdicts say of
“poor deaths” that occur through neg
lect of the city authorities.
Dickens’s Picture of the True
Woman.
The true woman, for whose ambi
tion a husband’s love and her children’s
adoration are sufficient, who applies
her military instincts to the discipline of
her household, and whose legislatives
exercise themselves in making laws for
her nurse ; whose intellect has fiield
enough for her in communion with her
Inplband, and whose heart asks no oth
er honors than his love and admira
tion ; a woman who does not think it
a weakness to attend to her toilet, and
who does not disdain to be beautiful,
who believes in the virtue of glossy
hair and well fitting gowns, and who
eschews rents and ravelled edges, slip
shod shoes and audacious make ups ;
a woman who speaks low and does not
speak much ; who is patient and gen
tle, and intellectual and industrious ;
who loves more than she reasons, and
yet does not love blindly; who never
scolds and rarely argues, but adjusts
with a smile ; —such a woman is the
wife we have all dreamed of once in
our lives, and is the mother we still
worship in the backward distance of
the past.
The Judges of the Court of Claims.
The Court of Claims provided for
by a late act of Congress is composed
of J udges Blackford, of Indiana, Gil
christ, of New Hampshire, and Lump
kin, of Georgia, with Judge Blair, of
Missouri, as United States Solicitor.—
We have characterized this act as
amongst the most important passed du
ring the recent Congress, and yet we
have believed that its success and its
permanence would depend on the se
lections made to discharge its functions.
The President has felt sensibly the re
sponsibility which attaches to these ap
pointments, and the characters of the
appointees furnish a strong guarantee
that he has discharged the duty suc
cessfully. The positions now held by
the several judges in their respective
States-will at once inspire confidence
in their integrity, purity, and legal
abilities. They are gentlemen of es
tablished reputations, and will carry
with them into the new Court the na
tional confidence. . Two of the judg
es are democrats and one a whig, but
neither of them has been so engaged in
political life as to identify them in any
way with the class of questions to
which their jurisdiction extends. Be
fore such a Court the investigations
will be made with an impartiality and
ability which cannot fail to give their
reports a moral weight which will ma
terially diminish tne labors of Con
gress. — Washington Uiuon.
—
“Now, ’’—Let us keep this little word
always in mind, and .whenever any
thing presents itself to us in the shape
of work, whether mental or physical,
we should do it with all our might, re
membering that “now” is the only time
for us.