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Most of his companions, without reflection, responded
to the proposal with loud huzzas, when, on an instant,
one of the party started up, pale with anger and in-
dignation."

THE FIRST GRENADIER OF FRANCE.

CHAPTER 1.-THE POOR BLIND MAN.

In the year 1781, Tour d'Auvergne was admitted as a volunteer into the army of Spain, that besieged

On the morning of the 15th of May, in the year

He

"You shall not do it," cried he, "you shall not Mahon, then in the power of the British. commit so unworthy an action." refused to accept of either rank or recompense, although he contributed materially towards the success of the enterprise. He signalized himself by acts of great bravery; nevertheless, he only sought an inward satisfaction, rather than the praise of his superiors or the applause of the crowd.

On another occasion, being surprised and taken prisoner by the English, the officer wanted to deprive him of his cockade; but Tour d'Auvergne, indignantly snatching it from his cap, attached it to the point of his sword, exclaiming: "There it is! tell him to come and take it!"

1756, the sun rose in all its splendor over the fertile plains of Brittany; upon the roof of every house in the little village of Carhaix were reflected the brilliant rays. It was the Sunday, on which sacred day all the schools were closed, and the numerous children belonging to the better class of families in the neighborhood, taking advantage of the beauty of the morning, had assembled together, and, like a flight of birds liberated from their cages, had hastened to the green fields to engage in a sham "You are a coward thus to attack and insult the battle. It was a pretty and interesting sight to be-blind," cried the boy who had refused to listen to the hold the juvenile band, in all the buoyancy and proposal, and rushing upon his comrade and throwjoyousness of youth, and enthusiasm of the moment, ing him down upon his knees, in which position he At the period of the French revolution, Tour marching off à la militaire, some in the strict order held him, exclaimedd'Auvergne was made a captain, his modesty and of a well-disciplined regiment of infantry, and others simplicity dictating the refusal of a colonelcy which bestriding pasteboard horses, like the sham steeds at was offered him; and it was at the head of his comAstley's, prancing about as cavalry, all being clad in pany, afterwards distinguished as "The Infernal paper uniforms, and carrying wooden sabres and Refusal was out of the question, and the mis- Column," that he led the assault, and on several assuming the fierce moustache provided on the occa-chievous youngster was obliged to deliver up the occasions routed the battalions of the enemy. At sion by the aid of burnt cork. contents of his purse to his bold companion, who, length, old and fatigued, he quitted the army and after allowing the former-burning with shame and returned to Paris, where he learnt that the son of anger to rise from his vanquished position, ad- his friend was about to depart for the war as a convanced towards the blind man, adjusted the cord script. Tour d'Auvergne, however, without a round the dog's neck, and drawing from his own moment's hesitation, engaged himself as a substipocket double the pieces of money he had forced tute, and enrolling himself once more as a volunteer, from his thoughtless playmate, said, in good-natured hastened, with knapsack on his back, to rejoin as a private that army in which he had fought as a superior officer.

tone,

rays of the declining sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. The hours of sweet freedom and recreation

caused the day to appear short to him, and at length he broke silence, exclaiming,

"What shall we play at now?"

"It's tedious," said another, "to be always playing at the same game."

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'Hold!” observed a third, “look yonder at that old blind man approaching towards us; look at his spaniel !"

"Is he not ugly!" cried the children.

At this moment the old man, who was within a few of them, approached close to the juvenile camp, paces and addressing the youngsters in a supplicating tone, said

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"Who dares prevent me?" said the other, at the same moment suiting the action to the word by severing the cord.

The old blind man, feeling himself no longer guided by his faithful dog, uttered lamentable cries, and the poor animal, regretting the liberty that had been given him in spite of himself, licked mournfully the hand of his afflicted master.

The "scene of action" having been reached, the parties took up their respective positions. The attack commenced, and amid the general din a stout battle was fought. Shrill were the pigmy words of command to advance to the charge or retreat given by the youthful leaders, who endeavored in vain to deepen their voices as though to impart solemnity to the mimic scene, and occasionally might be heard the rallying cry after a partial reverse; so that the battle was energetically persevered in, until at length the contending forces, finding themselves exhausted by the severity of the engagement, came to a truce, and sat down upon the cool refreshing grass (the field of battle) for momentary repose.

The venerable recipient of this unexpected donation had not retired many paces, when the children surrounded their generous comrade.

After a slight cessation of hostilities, one of the most spirited of the army of "young France," who had scarcely recovered his breath (and whose chubby face was besmeared with paint, which the heat had

“But," said they, "Maurice did not give half the money that you offered the old man in his name." Well, what does that matter," replied the noble caused to run further than was anticipated), evinced boy disdainfully; "I could not handsomely accuse a seeming inclination to resume the combat ere the my companion of both cowardice and avarice at the mill demanded permission to capitulate; a window

66

"Now, repair your fault, and give this old man the money you have in your purse; I hear some crowns chinking in your pocket."

"Here, my good man, this will purchase you bread for some time to come. My friend is willing through this means to atone for his fault by doing you good."

sabre was in the evening devoted to writing works of erudition and talent.

same moment."

Some pieces of money which had dropped from the pocket of Maurice during the scuffle proved he was unwilling to give up all, and hence a general enthusiasm was felt for the young hero of the day.

(6

"La Tour d'Auvergne !" exclaimed all in one
loud chorus. "You are a brave fellow; we appoint
you our general, and you shall command us!"

But Tour d'Auvergne declined to accept the
proffered honor, and laughing, be replied,—
"I prefer to remain a private soldier !"

CHAPTER II.-THE HERO.

life had ever been turned to better account
than that of Tour d'Auvergne, the child
destined in maturer years to figure as a distin-
guished soldier; no soul could be more generous
no heart more courageous and disinterested. The
hero of modern days equalled in his plainness the!
warriors of ancient times. Like Eschylus-at
once a writer and a soldier--Tour d'Auvergne knew
how to handle the pen as well as the sword; and the
same hand that in the morning had grasped the

ness.

France was at that time at war with Austria, and Tour d'Auvergne, now fifty years of age, found the opportunity of again displaying his energy and boldrous of seizing upon a windmill, in which had been A party of Hungarian grenadiers were desiplaced a store of arms and a quantity of gunpowder; but so sharp and deadly was the fire kept up from within, that the Hungarians were compelled to retire, with much loss. At length, after many hours of heroic defence, the besieged garrison in the

opened, and a soldier presented himself. It was Tour d'Auvergne.

"We desire," said he, addressing the enemy, "to evacuate our quarters with all the honors of war; with arms and baggage, drums beating, and colors flying."

These conditions were acceded to by the Austrian chief, who accordingly drew up his men in two lines, to receive the devoted garrison of the windmill. Tour d'Auvergne then slowly descended the steps of the mill, with musket shouldered, and passing between the double ranks of the enemy's bayonets, presented himself before the Austrian officer.

"Well!" observed the commander, "where, then, is the garrison?"

"Here it is!" replied Tour d'Auvergne, raising his hand, à la militaire, to his cap.

"But where is it, then ?" again asked the officer. "Here!" repeated Tour d'Auvergne. "What! you alone?" observed the Austrian. "I alone was in the windmill," rejoined the veteran; I was the only garrison!"

66

It was then that Napoleon, admiring the courage

of the soldier, and not knowing how to recompense rial dinner of the most solemn and aristocratic des-
him worthily for his gallant deeds, conferred on cription, he bounded from his seat, threw himself
Tour d'Auvergne the title of "First Grenadier of upon the valet, and began administering to him a
France;" sending him at the same time a sabre of most vigorous chastisement. In vain did the un-
honor in compliment of his services. The brave fortunate valet struggle to escape-in vain did he
grenadier, desiring still further to show his appre-remonstrate, crying-" But your Excellency bade
ciation of the honors thus conferred on him, per-me warn you whenever you transgressed the rules
sisted-in spite of his age and suffering-in remain- of society!—but it is an unheard-of thing, your
ing with the army of operation.
Excellency, to beat one's servant in company! Ex-
cellency, you are infringing every custom; you are
making yourself ridiculous !"

"I ought not to die in my bed," said he to his friends; I ought rather to perish on the field of battle, in the midst of my brave comrades!"

These heroic words of Tour d'Auvergne were fulfilled on the 25th of June, 1800. He fell, mortally wounded, having been pierced with a lance:

and thus was his prediction realized.

The old soldiers of the army-they of the grey moustache and furrowed brow, who had never shed a tear since the days of their childhood, wept for their illustrious companion-in-arms, and went into military mourning for his loss. His sabre of honor was deposited amid pomp in the Hôtel des Invalides, in Paris, and his name was honorably retained on the regimental roll. His heart, enclosed in a golden case, was intrusted to the senior sergeant, whose post was that next to the ensign, bearing the colors of the forty-sixth demi-brigade; and every day at parade, at the call of the name of " ThéophileMalo Corret de la Tour d'Auvergne," the oldest of the grenadier company responded, “Died upon the field of honor!"

How much more affecting than any monument of brass or marble is this strange tribute to the memory of a heroic soldier.

PARIS ANECDOTES.

OF

the variety of those little anecdotes, which are always rising like bubbles to the surface of French Society, the two following are the most amusing:

There is now at Paris an ambassador from some small foreign state, who is a perfectly honest and meritorious man, but one absolutely ignorant of the usages of Parisian life. Very tenacious of his dignity, and fearful of incurring ridicule, he wisely engaged an expert valet de chambre, whose principal recommendation was his knowledge of decorum and of all the exigencies of civility. The ambassador and his valet were inseparable. François was always at his master's elbow or behind his chair, ready to suggest an opportune movement, or to arrest him on the brink of an incongruity. Thus he would bend forward and whisper-"I must observe to your Excellency that one can ever ask a second helping of soup.-Excellency, it is not well bred to clean one's nails with the prong of one's fork. I think I have mentioned to your Excellency that you should never eat with your fingers."

Miss repeated her question.
"I ask you to promise me a trip to the East!"
"When?"

The guests dispersed, the lover entreated in vain. 'Never," said the English girl, "never wil I take a sedentary husband-a husband who is afraid of a little inconvenience or of a few battles; a husband who on the very day of our contract, refuses to gratify my first whim!" The affair was irrevocably broken off.

THE BOTTLE AT SEA.

The entente cordiale between England and France

is

SIR Duncan M'Gregor, an English officer of the thirty-first regiment of infantry, was on board manifested as much in the world of gaiety as in the Kent, East Indiaman, when it was burnt to the the regions of politics. This season has witnessed water's edge, in the Bay of Biscay. As soon as the the throwing open of a considerable number of Eng-fire broke out he hastily wrote a few lines describlish salons, where the Parisians are received with ing the situation of the vessel, and threw them overdistinction; and by an agreeable reciprocity the board in a bottle. Four years afterwards, being English abound in all the Parisian drawing-rooms. quartered at Barbadoes, he was walking on the The result of this communication is not only friendly, shore very early in the morning, when he espied but conjugal; the nations go hand in hand both to something in the water. The waves washed it to the field of battle and to the altar, and mingle their his feet, and it proved to be the identical bottle he signatures equally upon the diplomatic protocols had launched before being providentially saved from and the pages of the civil register. Amongst the the flames in the Kent! many international marriages with which all ears The following story is related by Mr. Benjamin and tongues are occupied, there was one which Franklin Bourne, an American ship-captain, in a attracted the universal attention of the aristocratic recently published account of his adventures among circles. The chief actors were a young man of the Giants of Patagonia. After three months' degood name, large property, and high position, and tention among those huge savages, during which a beautiful English girl, dashing, witty, and an time he suffered great hardships, he made his heiress. Like most of her fair countrywomen, Miss escape; and, having reached Borga Bay, Terra-delhad travelled much, and seen a great deal of Fuego, he landed. "We found on shore inscripthe world. On the morning of the day fixed for tions of California-bound vessels. On a branch of the signing of the contract, she thus addressed a tree overhanging a little stream, we found also a her future husband in the presence of the assembled bottle suspended, containing papers. This was taken on board, and its contents examined. Three company :"Before taking up the pen, I wish, Monsieur, to or four vessels, passing through the Straits, had left ask you one question." memoranda of their experience, such as (Be it observed that a Parisian demoiselle would storms, loss of spars, anchors, chains, &c. Captain never have said "I wish" on the day of her mar-Morton (Mr. Bourne's floating host) wrote a humorriage.) ous account of our voyage, to deposit in this repos"Pray, speak,” said the bridegroom, gallantly. itory of curiosities; and I added a contribution, "Will you consent to take me to Constanti- narrating my capture by the Indians and escape, nople?" with a request that if it should fall into hands bound "Comment?" cried the gentlemen, quite aston- for the United States or England, it might be pubished. lished." Mr. Bourne had previously written letters to the United States, had carefully left them to be sent through the post, and had never doubted that his relatives and friends were in full possession of his adventures through that usually exact channel. It turned out, however, that all his letters miscarried; and that the bottled information he had suspended from a tree, in a wilderness not visited

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"Next week. Directly after our marriage."
"Surely you would not dream of such a thing!"
"On the contrary, I have reflected upon it for a
long time."

"But do you forget that this place is the theatre by man many times in the course of a year, very
of war?"
soon afterwards made its appearance at full length
in the Boston Atlas newspaper! It happened that
some Indians found the bottle, sold it to a passing
trader, who forwarded it to Smith's News Rooms,
at Boston, United States. The advertising powers
of a bottle hung upon a tree did not end there. In

"It is precisely the war that I wish to see."
"The dangers to tourists are immense !"
"I fear nothing."

64

The season is unfit for travelling." "That I do not mind."

"But I should think such a voyage a most the course of the homeward voyage, Mr. Bourne wretched way of passing our honeymoon!"

"Then you refuse?"

visited the Fire Fly, Captain Smith. When his Born under an almost tropical sun, the diplomaname was announced, a young lady on board intist had often much difficulty in subduing the anger The gentleman endeavored to cloak that little stantly asked him if he was the hero of the captivity to which these admonitions frequently excited him; word of dissent in an infinity of clever and agree- in Patagonia? He was astonished at her knowbut one day alas! the preceptor being carried away able disguises, but his refusal was not the less dis-ledge of his adventures; but it turned out that the by his zeal, ventured a reprimand upon some sub-tinctly conveyed. young lady had landed at Borga Bay, and, having ject, which chanced so seriously to exasperate his "Very well, Monsieur," replied the lady. "Then seen the bottle, read its contents, and replaced them, master that, although it occurred during a ministe- I refuse also, and I cannot marry you." before the Indians took it away."

her interesting tales. Many of her novels are suf-true-hearted Maine farmer, who, for his deep love's
ficiently extended to fill one, or two, or three sake---a love, unspoken through life--consents to as-
volumes. Why, it has been frequently asked, are sume a position foreign to his independent habits;
they not published in this form? The elegant and wear the garb of a servant. With his awkward
volume before us is an expression of Mrs. Stephens' manliness, his strength and keen sagacity, his stern
willingness to gratify this universal wish, and we purpose, bending only to his unselfish regard for the
being on whom his idolatry is lavished---Jacob is an
hail it as a pledge of future gifts.
“An important element of popularity in this book original, true to nature and worthy to be the hero of
is that its scenes are laid among us, and it portrays a romance. His sister, Mrs. Gray, the hucsterwo-
familiar life. The opening scene in the Fulton man, and mistress of the Long Island farm, is equally
market is inimitable in its fidelity, which the rich- admirable in her way, and would command respect
ness of coloring makes only more apparent. And for all her class. We are glad to meet her and her
the little girl, in whose humble fortunes we become double chin whenever they appear in the story, for
interested, is drawn with exquisite truth to nature. comfort and sunshine go with her, and her benevo-
The scenes in the home of her destitute grand- lence and generous sympathy are a light in dark
parents need none of the kind of aid given by late places. The description of her Thanksgiving-dinner
writers to their descriptions of the haunts of is a gem, the more precious as these old-fashioned
poverty; they are sketched simply, but with the celebrations of the jubilee are becoming rare and will
touch which makes the whole world kin, and leave soon be traditionary.
"We have space for only a few hasty comments;
their impression unmarred. The prison scenes are
appalling in their truth. It is to be hoped the legal nor will we attempt to deprive the reader of his legi-
injustice and oppression they expose will not long timate treat by giving any analysis of the story. The
be our reproach. The passages of life at the farm- book is full of incident, and the plot artistically
The style shows the luxuriant imagi-
house on Long Island, and about the old homestead wrought out.
in Maine, equally with the exhibitions of social nation of the author, and her felicitous command of
luxury and fashion in metropolitan circles, are language. Rich coloring is shed on the most com-
sketched with a master hand, and affect us as reali-mon-place scenes and events. It is not often we see
ties. The variety in the scenes, and their skilful genius of so high an order, such power of concep-
disposition in the work, add to the interest, which tion, combined with such artistic skill in grouping
never flags for a moment from the beginning to the and disposition, and accuracy of detail in description;
end of the tale. Most novels contain dull chapters, but this has always been a peculiarity in Mrs.
but here is one in which the reader's attention is Stephens.
stimulated and sustained, so that he cannot find a
convenient stopping-place throughout.

TETE-A-TETE,

WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.

HERE are various volumes of new publications

THER
lying on the table before us, many of which
are worthy of especial attention. Of course, at this
season, there are no books in demand but those
adapted to summer reading-books of a light, plea-
sant character, requiring no very studious applica-
tion, and which may be read between sleeping and
waking while lounging in a bower or lolling under a
shade tree.
There is Fanny Fern's "Fern Leaves"
No. II., as spicy, quaint, and dashing as ever, who
with all her faults, has the merit, at least, of never
growing dull or waxing prosy. A good book, em-
phatically, for a sail, a ride, a walk, or a lounge.
The next book upon which our hand rests is Mrs.
Moodie's "Flora Lyndsay," which, although marked
by the distinguished authoress's finished style and
knowledge of character, seems to us to be rather
dull. Dull it certainly is compared with the delight-
ful pages of "Roughing it in the Bush." We
wonder why her book, "Life at the Clearings," is
not republished here. We have seen a copy of the
English edition, and found it to possess all that
novelty of adventure and amusing delineation of
character which has made celebrated her other books.
"Behind the Scenes," by Lady Bulwer, next claims
our attention. As a matter of curiosity it might
be read, and for no other reason. This lady seems
to write books for but little other motive than to
abuse and caricature her husband, in which she
succeeds marvellously. The undying bitterness and

hatred she feels for her once lord and master is a
singular feature in this woman's character. Mark

66

Merryvale,” a serial novel by Paul Creyon, issued in seini-monthly parts, illustrated admirably by Billings, as far as we have read, promises to be a great work. The scene is laid in Boston. "The Dodd Family Abroad " is a new ponderous volume by Charles Lever, which we have not read, and scarcely mean to, inasmuch as dinner parties, horse-races, and harum-scarum scrapes have been done up by this author to our surfeit. The Master's House" is the most recent issue depicting Southern life, but deliver us from any more abolition and anti-abolition stories!

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But the most note-worthy publication is Mrs. Stephens' remarkable romance of "Fashion and Famine," which is fast becoming the most talkedof-book of the summer. A distinguished literary lady has sent us a review of it, which we subjoin in

full:

"Many things combine to make this a remarkable and most interesting book. It is the first appearance in book form of any of the productions of the most gifted and popular authoress of our country, whose writings have delighted the public for many years, and won a reputation the more enviable because it has not been aided in its growth by the patronage of critics. Every reader is familiar with the name, and has admired the genius of Mrs. Stephens; her charming fictions have visited almost every house in the land between the embellished covers of magazines, welcomed on their account, and oft and oft has the wish been expressed that this favorite authoress would present the American public with a volume all her own, or a collection of

"By the time this notice meets the eye of our readers, Fashion and Famine,' will be published. It cannot fail to meet with a jubilant welcome and diffuse by its impressive and forceful moral teaching brilliant success; but knowledge of the good it will

will be more grateful to the author's benevolent heart."

"But the great peculiarity of the work is the

power displayed in the conception and development
of character. One or two original characters
usually suffice to make the reputation of a novel;
here are a cluster of striking ones. Old Mr. War-
ren is our especial favorite.
Friendless-poor-
JULIA's letter in our last, upon the sub-
starving-in the condemned cell-surrounded by all ject of tobacco, appears to have stirred up quite a
depressing circumstances there is a simple dignity commotion, if we may judge by the quantity of let-
and grandeur about him which elevate him above ters we have received upon the subject We sub-
our pity; it is a light from heaven poured through | join a few of them :
the opening his unswerving faith and holy trust have
made in the dark clouds of his fortunes. His cha-
racter, child-like, yet sublime, is delineated with
powerful but delicate touches; it grows upon us
through all the disasters that beset him, to the last
scene of Christian triumph in the prison, where he
fulfils the mission of his blameless life, reclaiming
his beloved and erring child. The most valuable of
moral lessons is embodied in such a portraiture.

To the Editor of the New York Journal:

SIR, Since reading the letter from Julia, published in your last number, a cloud has rested on my brow; and though convinced that I am no match for Julia in eloquence, still my mind has been fired to defend my cigar to the last extremity;

not that I wish to puff the weed into more extensive use, for concede that some of Julia's remarks contain "more truth than poetry," but which are the pleasures that wo indulge in that will not show a reverse side? The line between the

I

use and the abuse, is-like some bad cigars-very hard to
draw. I admit that Julia's letter is not to be sneezed at, for
she appears to be up to snuff to all our little weaknesses: I
have, therefore, troubled you with my reply.
And now to light my cigar, and subscribe myself
Yours, obediently,

To Julia:

"His repentant and suffering daughter-a wanderer for one sin, but restored through her noble father's prayers and teachings—is a brilliant creation -a Zara-a sad picture of womanhood with all rich gifts pertaining thereto, perverted and cankered by a single error, which it is the main effort of her life to repair. Her outward fortunes are glowingly contrasted with her father's-unbounded wealth and luxury and high social position are hers; but in her that the title is yours by right, and that you fancy, with the own proud, loving heart rankles the sting insepara-wedding-ring, you have bought the right to scold; for your ble from the conscience, not void of offence in all tone is certainly too acrimonious to spring from a young who are not depraved beyond feeling. Except in heart, beating with love and generous emotions. one of Hawthorne's novels, we know of no character in American fiction that matches Ada Leicester's. "Then there is Jacob Strong, the faithful, honest,

DEAR MADAM,-On mature reflection, I have concluded to address you by this title, feeling convinced that you must either have attained that "certain age" when ladies living in a state of single blessedness are usually so addressed, or

I must premise my remarks by informing you that I am a sensitive man, and that I am passionately attached to my cigar. I also have my strong antipathies; but I do not rush into print to herald them to the world. I am not so selfish

LEWIS.

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as to expose the little weaknesses of your sex, though were I❝to hold the mirror up to nature," I could ask why are my eyes so constantly offended by the sight of rouge? or my olfactory nerve disgusted by the smell of patchouly?

spent yearly in theatres, concerts and other amusements? Would not the cost be much less than all these, and would not the advantages be greater?

“But I can support, sir, only that which is useful."

Do you conceive that your letter expresses the sentiments of your sex universally? or is it not possible for it to bear a stronger resemblance to the proclamation of "the three tailors in Tooley street," which was headed "We the people of London ?"

It is an

DEAR SIR,-As a member of that class “Julia” abuses so emphatically, I can only say that I shall be prepared to fore

Ah, that curse of this age, utilitarianism. iron demon that crushes the fragrance out of every

Do we live wholly in the world for ourselves, and is there go the use of the weed, whenever a quid pro quo can be sug-flower, the beauty out of every grace, the good out gested; and until this be found I shall certainly continue to of everything! use it if I chews.

PETER WHIFF.

no such principle as mutual forbearance? Let us be lenient to the little weaknesses of either sex, for IN Frederick Tennyson's recent volume the cigar is not the great evil you would paint it. How many troubled minds are calmed by its soothing powers; how WHAT has become of our grand Central of poems occurs, in the “ Songs of an old Man," the many are they who would feel the icy hand of solitude op- Park? Has it expired in the Municipal embrace? following sadly beautiful verses :— press them but for its companionable influences? Let not We do remember of hearing once, that a Committee gross selfishness "freeze the genial current of your soul;" leave us our cigar, for it disposes us to pensive thought, and had it in charge. We wonder who that Committee in its cloudy vapors may be seen a phantasmagoria of the was-if they exist, what they're about! We wonhappy scenes of our past life. It has a magic like the cabal-der when we shall be able to say, Behold, this is the istic words of the Arabian enchanter, to call up glittering Park? We wonder when it will become a tangible, spires, amd gorgeous palaces, and to bring back upon our hearts again the half-forgotten delights of youth to soften and definable, fixed, bounded and visible thing—-when it will cease to be merely an Act or an Incorporation on paper-when it will escape from the death-like hug of a Committee, and emerge before us with glorious being. For our part, we pant for it. We dream daily of its promised charms. We count the days that, passing on, increase so fast our sum of life, but that accomplish so little toward the great desideratum? Shall we grow old and see it not? Will our hair deepen into gray, and it come not? Answer, O thou Committee! Respond, mighty Councilmen !

to cheer us.

LEWIS.

and it certainly seems to me that the skill manifested and
prided in by some, by which their saliva is ejected to a great
distance with precision of aim, may excite the envy and ad-
miration of small boys, but is hardly an accomplishment to
be considered the crowning grace of a gentleman.
Respectfully,

MY DEAR MR. EDITOR

When I read Julia's letter, I was so delighted with it that

I ran right away to Brother Charles, who was in his smoking room, puffing away as if he were a funnel, and read it to him all through. "There, now Charles, what do you say to that ?"" "Some old maid's chattering!" replied he.

That's always the way with Charles. He thinks that if he stigmatizes an opinion as an old maid's, he has entirely annihilated it. I up and told him so, but the provoking fellow only laughed. "I tell you what it is, Charles," said I, "I am not an old maid (I was eighteen last May) and I don't ever mean to be one (the impudent fellow laughed outright,

and absolutely began to talk about that odious Peter Pump);

but I can tell you that Julia's sentiments are my sentiments and the sentiments of every spirited woman in the land. If you men don't stop masticating and smoking that nasty, nasty weed, we will meet together and pledge ourselves to

have nothing to say or to do with those of you who use the

vile thing."

A. R. C.

Lead me a little in the sun

Kind hand of maid, or loving child;
My tears the light of Heaven shall gild
Until my wintry day be done;
Though in my heart the voice of Spring
With its bright flowers and carols clear,
Tells me not of the passing year,
And the new life in everything;

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But takes me back where lie inurn'd
The ashes of imperial joys,
Discrowned hopes with quenched eyes,
Great passions with their torches burn'd.
Some spirit out of darkness brings,

And sets upon their ancient thrones
The scatter'd monumental bones
Of thoughts that were as mighty kings.
Some voice thrills in mine ear like breath
of virgin song, and fair young Love
Is seen his golden plumes to move
Over the dim gray land of Death.
My heart is like a temple dim,

Down whose long aisles the moonlight floats,

"And give up all your beaux, eh?"

Brother Charles always does put me in a passion. My blood began to boil; but I determined to keep as cool as 1

could. "Beaux," said I, "beaux! You men think that all

Our citizens generally, perhaps, do not appreciate all the advantages to be derived from a grand Park. Perhaps not! We think we see something in your eye, O reader, somewhat sceptical. Yes, there is a downright look of doubt. Ah, is it so? Perhaps, then, we can convince you. Rise up some morning, just as the sun lifts his rosy checks from out his slumbers, and say: "I will ride forth!" Mount your steed, and guide his eager steps countryward. You desire to taste the air as borne over fields and glades, laden with the perfume of flowers-you desire to seck out some sylvan retreat, or to find some bowered avenue, where your horse, with free rein and buoyant blood, can scamper along in its grateful shades. out of the room, determined to have no more to say to him; But, with such a desire in view, whither will you and I sat right down to write this note, because I thought go? Ride out by any of our avenues, and what do that if everybody would only publish what they think about you find but a hot, dusty, arid waste, no smooth grateit, we would eventually drive the thing out of the country. ful turf, no forest shades; and as for the air, why it I want to tell you a little incident that happened the other comes to you laden with the perfume of pig-styes or day. I had just, for the first time, put on an elegant lawn dress (you should have seen it, six flounces, ruffled-beau- distilleries. Oh, of all the cities in the world, the tiful!) and only run in two doors above us to show it to a approach to ours landwise is the most repulsive and friend, when, ugh! I found all down the side a great streak the most disgraceful. It is absolutely a frightful colof horrid yellow spittle, which somebody had squirted on me.lection of unsightly, unwholesome, and festering

we care about are beaux. I can just tell you it's no such thing! And I can tell you, too, that we women are determined to put up with it no longer; and that, if nothing else will cure you of your fondness for this disgusting stuff, we'll just begin to chew, and smoke, and snuff, and spit, and then we'll see how you would like it?" and with that I bounced

stop.

Wasn't I in a rage, though? Oh, if I could have caught the
beast who did it, I'd-I'd-I really can't tell what I would objects. And is it not plain that the Central Park
have done, but something desperate I'm sure. But I must would remove these nuisances? at least, mainly.
Your suffering reader,
Would not the avenues that would surround it soon
EMILY W.
be selected, because of the natural beauties so near,
as advantageous and delightful situations for gentle-
SIR,-I agree with you that, if the ladies were generally
outspoken upon the subject of "Julia's" grievance, it might men's villas? Why, let the Central Park become
become in a degree mitigated. I think, sir, that it should be but a fixed and existing fact, and in a little while all
looked upon as a national reproach which patriotism would the main approaches to our city would be lined by
be well employed in seeking to remove. For my part, I de-
beautiful cottages. And then we should have a
sire the character of the American gentleman to become so
elevated and refined as to be an acknowledged model for the retreat wherein all who are city-bound can frequently
world, and it seems to me that the first step towards such an ❘ and freely partake of all the charms and beauties of
aim must be the proscription of a practice that at present the country. A retreat wherein, sir, you can prance
degrades and stigmatizes it. I allude now more particularly your steed and bound along in the exhilirating delight
to the habit of chewing tobacco. Smoking does not appear of your glorious exercise.

to possess so many objections, inasmuch as expectoration is
the great evil. I believe that this is the only country in the
world where saliva is so indiscriminately scattered about;

"But ah, the cost, the cost of all this!"
Why, yes, the cost! How much think you is gether!

And sad celestial organ notes
Hover, like wings of Cherubim.

Touch'd by some unseen hand, around
The marble figures of the Dead ;
But at this hour no living tread

Is heard, no disenchanting sound.

The lines of the third stanzas which are italicised, contain several magnificent images, reminding us of some of Alexander Smith's startling out-flashings.

"DEAR me, I done it yesterday!" "What do you think, I seen Mr. Smith last week?" "If I could I really would have went!"

"Oh, I'm so tired, I really would like to lay down!"

"Set down, I beg of you!"

These exclamations rattled around our ears the other evening from a party of elegantly-dressed ladies and gentleman at one of Jullien's concerts. Oh, ghost of Lindley Murray! Canst thou lie quietly in thy grave and hear these things? Does it not put you to the blush to see how, in this goodly town, these and other solecisms continually fall from the lips of the beautiful, the young, and the intelligent? Does it not stir your blood somewhat to hear from the purse-proud, the place-proud, the caste-proud, from would-be-statesmen, learned divines, accomplished M.D.'s, these vulgar errors continually dropping? Oh, it offends us to the very soul to see, as we often do, an animated, intelligent, beautiful woman mar her sentences by these vile and most atrocious errors. They are by no means confined to a class. We hear them in the drawing-room, the pulpit, on the stage, on the street. Reader, can we not reform them alto

"WHILE divorces," writes a friend east

""

6

"

"DANGEROUS PUBLICATION" is the someMODERN literature, in this progressive ward "are getting so plenty elsewhere, and the what startling term a cotemporary bestows upon us. age, is often given in its brightest efforts in the methods of procuring them being equally, on the "Dangerous !" exclaimed we, as our eye fell upon advertising columns of our morning paper. Poetry other side, at a premium, we recollect a story of an | the paragraph, and beginning to wax a little wroth, is now consecrated to trade—in every other form it old clergyman in Massachusetts, now many years Dangerous! Infamous! Such an epithet! But is considered obsolete and prosy. The National gathered to his fathers. A couple applied to him let us see a little further: The great danger of the Epic, when one is written, will undoubtedly appear one day, asking him what he could advise them" New York Journal" lies in the impossibility of in the shape of a huge advertisement, its heroes under the circumstances to do; for,' urged they, collecting sufficient nerve to lay it down until it is Genin and Lyon, and its story a tale of Broadway. 'you married us, and it's very plain we can't live finished, as its contents are of that engrossing In the meanwhile, we are provided with abundant together! We must be divorced!' The old gentle- character that the god of sleep is driven from his lighter effusions, and as a specimen of what poetry man, like many others of his school, was exceed throne, and rheumatic aches and pains entirely for- is doing, and to what uses it is put, we clip the folingly shrewd, and full of expedients; so instantly gotten for the time being.' Ah! we beg your par-lowing "elegant extract" from a morning paper, bidding them stand before him, back to back, he don, sir! That's quite another thing. We lift our where it prefixed a bootmaker's announcement :addressed them: 'There,' concluded he 'now, do hat to you, sir." both of you go different ways; and never come together again so long as you live!' They did as he told them; but whether that untying was sufficiently thorough to enable either of the parties to venture upon matrimonial expedients again, hardly appears with the history."

A SHOEMAKER, who evidently has his eye open to all the catches of trade, is about to introduce a new style of shoe, to be called the cornucopia; for he says they are to be made large enough to accommodate, without crowding, as many corns as a lady or a gentleman may see fit to cultivate. What the secret of the thing is, we don't know; but we have an idea that all who wear such articles abroad much, may very properly be called corn-stalk-ers!

- THE Soul—the true soul-sees itself mirrored in all the objects that surround us. Nature is something more than a mere economy" of existence. There is a living humanity pulsing through it all, from flower to star. We perceive material objects only through our senses, which may be called the windows of the soul, which lets in light to the real and inner nature, that we take in the true meaning of nature, in the many forms it holds out to us. As with the artist, there must be an eye within his eye, so with him who has begun truly to live,-there must be a life within the life, feeding itself on all things that the good God has spread out for his contemplation.

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WHO is the author of this most consolatory bit of poetry, and quite as sweet as it is consolatory?

A CORRESPONDENT assures us that the incident related below is strictly true. If so, it is quite the queerest idea we ever heard advanced in reference to the subject of qualifications for participation in the sacrament. A highly illiterate itinerant minister, who claimed no special denominational privileges as such, when the hour for the observance of the rite arrived, rose and observed:

The wisest of us all, when wo
Darkens our narrow path below,
Are childish to the last degree,
And think what is, must always be.
It rains, and there is gloom around,
Slippery and sullen is the ground,
And slow the step; within our sight
Nothing is cheerful, nothing bright.
Meanwhile the sun on high, although
We will not think it can be so,
Is shining at this very hour

In all his glory, all his power,
And when the cloud is past, again
Will dry up every drop of rain.

"Those present that believe in their hearts they're either going to heaven or hell, are wanted to unite with us! I wish that no others would presume to partake on this occasion!"

AN esteemed friend of ours once had
a good-for-nothing little black fellow, some twelve
or fourteen years old, as a waiter boy, and after
enduring his pranks and mischief for some year or
so, was at length obliged to send him adrift to look
after himself in the world. Not a great while after
parting with little cuffy, his former master, having
occasion to go to Albany, met him on board the
steamboat, where he was employed in the capacity

of steward's assistant, and addressing him, he said:
"Well, Tom, are you as bad as ever?" 66 Oh, no,"
answered the young rascal, with a grin that brought
into bold relief every one of his white grinders;
'I'se got no bad examples now, sir."

66

A little glove stirs up my heart, as tides stir up the ocean,
And snow-white muslin, when it fits, wakes many a curious

notion :

All sorts of lady fixins thrill my feelings, as they'd orter,
But little female gaiter boots are death, and nothing shorter
And just to put you on your guard
I'll give you short and brief,
A small hotel experience.
Which filled my heart with grief.
Last Summer, at the Clarendon

I stopped a week or more,
And marked two "boot-ies" every morn
Before my neighbor's door;
Two boots with patent-leather tips,
Two boots which seemed to say,
"An angel trots around in us "—
They stole my heart away.
And often in my nightly dreams
They swept before my face.
A lady growing out of them,

As flowers grow from a vase.
But, ah! one morn I saw a sight
Which struck me like a stone-
Some other name was on the book:
These boots were not alone!
A great tall pair of other boots
Were standing by their side.
And off they walked that afternoon,
And with them walked-a bride!

“What measures did you resort to?" continued

the coroner.
"Plaze yer honor, Teddy an' I rifled his pockets,
and he niver once stirred."

"taken from the water stone dead."

WHAT sweltering weather we are havThe jury immediately pronounced a verdict of ing to be sure! Oh, for one long, full, deep draught of mountain air, or for a glorious tumble in the cool surf! Blessed are they who can enjoy these things, and most blessed are they who can bury all remembrances of city life, and during these months of July and August give themselves up to the enjoyment of vigorous country air. The most felicitous existence that we can imagine just now is that of the mermaids. We try to imagine their cool caves as we look up at the thermometer before us, which marks its 96°. Ninety-six only! one would think, from the perspiration that beads our brow so thickly, that it ought to mark a somewhat higher number than that. But then, while we have thus to be bobbing about here and there, this same thermometer has nothing in the world to do but be quiet and keep cool, and who the dickens couldn't under circumstances so favorable!

We are not very nervous, nor do we indulge much in timid apprehensions, but just imagine the effect of the following lines upon even a courageous man as they catch his eye just as he is coolly sipping his coffee and gleaning the news:READ THE TRUE AMERICAN-The only American

paper published in New-York, for this week. It contains powerful articles to enlighten the American people on the subject of the Irish Catholic conspiracy to murder every

American Protestant in this country. Americans who do not wish to be assassinated in the public streets, will do well to read this independent paper.

Rather startling! It makes one think of St. Bartholomew and Bloody Mary, and the Popish riots that so tormented (in imagination mostly) the good old citizens of London. But most fortunately, with the frightful evil so freely prophecied above, a mode of safety is considerately shown. If we do not wish to be assassinated (which, we are bold to say, neither of us, reader, do wish to be), we have only to buy a copy of this "independent paper." Easy safety-valve! Although, if to read the paper were would be something worse than the chance of the necessary to secure a means of safety, the remedy

evil.

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