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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.