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A certain individual who was more famous for his Mnn
ONE of the most piquant stories told at mind just at this moment, which our readers may present in Parisian circles is the following: not all have heard. It seems that this innocent child of nature had a friend living in a town several miles off, and that the name of her friend was Peggy. So she formed the resolution. one day to chausen stories than as a shot, was once relating, amongst walk over to the town, and make a visit. The pre- other things, that when he, as an officer in the campaign of parations were all made, and the journey under-1813, was on a march to Suabia (where, by the bye, he had taken. On arriving at the edge of the town, much Hever been), he had killed an immense stag, in such a manto her surprise she found her way obstructed by a toll-gate, thrown exactly across the road. Walking up to it, however, she commenced knocking smartly with her knuckles. This she persisted in doing for a long time. The gate-keeper at length seeing her engaged in so ludicrous an operation, came out and asked her what she wanted. "Is this Croakertown?" she inquired, innocently looking up at him, from the last view of her knuckles. "Yaas," said he, with a drawl. "Then, is Peggy in?" she asked, her face glowing with happy expectation.
ner, that the bullet not only went through the hind foot, but the ear of the animal. Every one laughed, as well they might.
An author, who had obtained a certain success without
having a brilliant celebrity, seemed to be particularly favored by fortune; his position had always been independent, and his circumstances easy; the critics had been indulgent; and in the commencement of his literary career he had inspired a lively affection in a woman, young, charming, and rich, a happiness which nothing troubled; with his increase of fortune, it is not to be supposed that friends and flatterers fell away--far from it. He wrote when it suited him; and the librarians were eager to possess his manuscripts: his
whose husband he became. From this moment he enjoyed
books arrived at a second edition in a wonderfully short time; those who had formerly doubted his talent, had noth
ing to object to the fact that his works always sold; the first edition was exhausted in five or six weeks; few of his confrères could say so much. But man is the great enemy of his own happiness, and when he is favored by fortune, he himself attacks his prosperity. Having sought for a subject about which to make himself unhappy, he at length took it into his head to be jealous of his wife, the most virtuous of women, and perfectly devoted to him: the suspicion was as absurd as it was cruel; but, once conceived, he found a thou
sand reasons to confirm the opinion. His wife was in the habit of going out frequently unaccompanied, and with a certain mystery; she spends a good deal of money. One day he enters his wife's apartment suddenly, when she does not expect to see him; he observes her close hastily, and with ceal. This manœuvre does not escape his observation, but
some confusion, a cabinet, the key of which she tries to con
he commands his feelings.
"What is the matter, chère amie?" says he, " you seem "Nothing; there is nothing at all the matter with me,"
replies the lady with some embarrassment.
"You did not expect me, and you appear annoyed by my presence."
"What an idea!" "Let this trifling end, madame, you can deceive me no longer."
"I do not understand you." "Give me the key of that cabinet, which you have in your hand, madame?"
At these words the lady's confusion increased; in vain
she implored her husband to reject his unjust suspicions.
But no one appeared; and he stood gazing with a bewildered air on the threshold. There was no one there; but from the floor to the ceiling was piled books, nothing but books, his own works; his generous devoted wife had bought up all his works as they appeared; and here was the secret of his literary successes. His unjust and insulting suspi
cions brought their own punishment; his illusions are for
ever destroyed, and so are those of the people who wondered at, and envied the rapid sale of his productions; for the witnesses, on whose presence he had congratulated himself, took care to spread the news, which is no longer a secret.
An old story, but a good one, of a simple country maid somewhere in England, comes to
But while Jullien's departure leaves a mighty gap in the musical world, yet the ensuing season is to be a very marked one. The grand new opera house in Fourteenth street, and the Phoenix Theatre, now erecting on the site of the old Metropolitan Hall, will each open early in the autumn with opera. How they are both to be supported, we are puzzled to see. But there really will undoubtedly be a stimulant to great exertion on the part of each faction, and the result will be some great efforts that if not profitable to the movers, will be edifying to the public.
In the way of summer amusements, Niblo's, with the enchanting Ravels, is the most popular place of resort. Whatever we may think of the performances, the theatre itself is by far the prettiest and the pleasantest in the city. Wallack's is closed; at the Broadway, Barney Williams and his wife attract with their highly humorous delineations; at the cheaper theatres, hot melo-dramas correspond with the hot weather; the Negro Minstrels draw full houses of fun-loving audiences; and the Crystal Palace continues to give attraction to strangers and citizens.
We take it upon ourselves deliberately, to suggest to toy-makers, especially those who deal in sweetened ones, a new subject for the illustration of their talents; and that is no less a personage than his sable majesty, Old Nick! And that we may not seem at all presumptuous in this, nor yet appear to to have stolen a good idea from another one much more prolific than ourselves, we give our authority, A very suggestive way of obtaining literary fame,-Shakspeare himself. He says somewhere certainly, and the whole story very French like. Hamlet, we believe,
DANIEL Webster stated that he had
JULLIEN has departed. He shall wave his magic baton for us no more. His waistcoat, his gloves, his cravat, in all their unapproachable whiteness, have passed away forever. His busts been a member of the Massachusetts Legislature and portraits shall no longer grace the Broadway but twelve days, we believe it was, and the only shop windows, and his gay placards shall no longer law in whose framing he ever had any legislative adorn our brick walls. Ah, wonderful Jullien! interest or influence, was one concerning the proFarewell; we ne'er shall look upon thy like again. tection of trout in brooks; that law, he was proud Thy grand music, elegant humbug, and refined to say, was triumphantly passed, and stands among clap-trap shall no more delight our senses, make the statutes to this day. It should stand, forever, merry our hearts, or fleece our dollars. So, fare- a monument of the piscatorial foresight of one of well! the greatest of our anglers or statesmen.
"with devotion's visage And pious action, we do sugar o'er The Devil himself."
IN "Lloyd's Scandinavian Adventures," we find the following comical story of a "remarkable shot" :
"Is it not all true ?" inquired the narrator of the story to
his servant, who stood behind a chair. "You were, I remember, present on the oocasiou."
"Yes, to be sure, sir," said John very seriously. "It was
Neustadt, close by the great linden tree. The deer had, pardon me for saying so, some vermin about his head, and was scratching it. In the same moment you fired and hit him in the way described."
Every one now laughed still more. But the amiable John whispered in his master's ear:
"Another time, my noble sir, do not put your lies so far apart; for this time I had great difficulty in bringing them together."
We were conversing with a young lady some few evenings ago at a literary reunion, and as she had been introduced as a poetess, we of course touched on poetry. It was not many minutes before she had run through the stereotyped list of favorite authors, when she concluded with Byron, asserting her conviction that he was the greatest poet that ever wrote. We modestly hinted that we preferred according that distinguished position to Shakspeare; upon which, with an unaffected laugh at our simplicity, she cried: "Why, Shakspeare wasn't a poet; his plays don't rhyme!"
A GREEN Yankee stepped from a steamboat a few days since on one of our wharves, and so confounded was he by the confusion and turmoil of the scene, the jam of vehicles, the crowds of carmen and hackmen shouting and jostling, that he sought the shelter of the boat again in the utmost consternation.
"Why, friend," said a bystander to him, "you seem to be in trepidation."
"Wall, I'll be blasted," returned he, opening his eyes in astonishment, "ain't I in York after all? In Trepidation, am I? I'll be darned if I ever heerd of that place afore?"
As good a criticism, and as true a one, too, as we have heard lately, was made by an acquaintance of ours not long ago, of whom we sought to know what he thought of the performance of a popular orator, the evening before. "Wasn't he extremely fluent?" we inquired. “Did he betray any hesitation in framing his sentences?" in-not a bit," was the answer we got;
"not a bit." He talked well enough; he talked very well; but he didn't seem to talk anything but words!" That was the piercing of the bone and marrow of the whole matter.
Or course, dear reader, you have noted
well the exquisite picture, "Harvest," on the first page of this number. It is a beautiful companion to the one called "Haymaking," which we gave in our last. These rural pictures always have a great charm. In most of us they revive recollections of the old Homestead, with its wealth of orchards and meadows, and fish ponds, all of which might be so eloquent of things done in the boyhood time. And to all, they suggest visions of peace, beauty, and happiness. These pictures are from the pencil of Harrison Weir, one of the very best artists of the present time, whose productions are remarkable for their fidelity to nature, their spirit, and their vigorous power.
It is suggested that as now the dog-law is in force, there shall be each day a bell tolled to their extinct memories, in each district of the city, to be styled the cur-few bell. We have no doubt the dogs will agree to it, if wiser people don't.
A MACHINE has been invented, so we learn upon authority which we dare not impeach, for extracting the square root and solving difficult sums in arithmetic-in fact a new kind of Ready Reckoner. There is no doubt in the world but that some of these days machinery is to do all sorts of labor both physical and mental. Just imagine the convenience of the thing. And when to top all a machine is invented something upon the plan of the fairy's purse which always contained one guinea no matter how frequent your demands were upon itin plain English a cash-supplying machine, why then the crowning glory of mechanism is attained. Speed that hour!
We have just met an amusing story of a showman who was describing to a select audience the wonders which were to be seen in his picture of Waterloo. Amongst the ludicrous expressions which he gave vent to, was the following: "In the centre is the Duke of Wellington, riding on a white horse, but you can't see him for the smoke!"
A FRIEND of ours, who keeps a bookstore in Nassau street, related to us, the other day, the story of a green Irishman who came into the store and inquired for the novel of "The Wife's Secret." "There is no novel by that name; but there is a play so called." "A play!" exclaimed the Irishman, suddenly growing enlightened. "A play that must be it, for sure the lady plays on the piano!" AN exchange says: "A Saxon gentleman, whose name is Schuaschenhayenkleisterseixestern, is about to become a citizen of the United States." He must be the descendant of a long line and a monopolist of the alphabet. What must our citizens do when called upon to pronounce it? Is there no way of naturalizing his name as well as himself?
THE great Dryden said that if a straw could be made an instrument of happiness, it would be unwise to despise it. How often has a straw been our instrument of happiness! How often by its medium have we tasted of rapture unspeakable! Ah, sherry cobbler! Thou glorious invention! thou blissful concoction! Could Dryden prophetically have dreamed of the invention of this unmatched preparation? Undoubtedly. To what else could he have referred, or in what other way could he expect a straw to be a means of happiness?
"Other friends have flown before-
Startled at the stillness broken
Is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master Whom unmerciful Disaster Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, Till his songs one burden boreTill the dirges of his Hope the Melancholy burden bore
Of Nevermore'-of' Nevermore.'"
But the raven still beguiling
All my sad soul into smiling,
Front of bird, and bust, and door;
What this ominous bird of yore-
This I sat engaged in guessing,
Then, methought, the air grew denser,
From thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind neper.the, And forget this lost Lenore !" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-
Is there is there balm in Gilead?
"Prophet!" said I," thing of evil-
"Be that word our sign of parting,
Quit the bust above my door!
And the raven, never flitting,
Just above my chamber door,
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISII.
self the most fortunate among the villagers-he who is about to celebrate a double festival? Why does he throw himself down beneath yon tree, and hide his face with his arm?
Is it this remembrance which calls an expression of gloom to Johan's eyes, as he surveys the meadows, and casts a shade over his brow, as he turns his head and looks into the quiet valley beneath? In it stands a pretty cottage, newly whitewashed and repaired, with white curtains adorning its low windows, and surrounded by a neat little garden, gay with flowers of every hue. There dwell his mother and his betrothed; she who is soon to become his wife-for the wedding-day is fixed. But it is not the preparations for that event which have set the whole house astir; it is a festival of the village, a general holiday; for this day they are preparing to receive the men who had left their homes in order to defend their native land. These had been long absent, had encountered many hardships and perils, and many of them had been prisoners in the enemy's country. Most among them had one true loving heart at least awaiting his return with anxiety-therefore the whole of the little village was preparing a festal welcome for them. But why does Johan look as if he did not observe the promise of abundance around him-as if he were not him
Ah! memory has recalled to him that day when he and his brother-two strong, active boys-had stopped at this very place to look at a little girl who was crying bitterly. She was very poorly clad, and the curiosity of the boys passing into sympathy, they inquired why she was in tears? It was a long time before she would impart the cause of her grief to them; but when they placed themselves by her on the grass, patted her little cheek, and spoke words of kindness to her, she confided to them that she had recently come to their village. On the other side of the hill stood the small house in which her mother had lived; but she was now dead, and strangers had brought her over to the village. The overseer of the poor had placed her in service with a peasant woman; but she felt so lonely-so forsaken! She would fain to return to her cottage, which stood by itself on the heath; but she dared not leave her mistress. Johan took her hand, looked earnestly upon her, and asked what there was so uncommon about her mother's cottage?
was a fresh, cool summer morning; the birds appeared to have exhausted themselves with singing; but the breeze was not exhausted, for, if it seemed lulled for a moment under the clustering leaves of the trees, it was but suddenly to shake them about, and mingle its sighs with their rustling sound; there waved to and fro the heavy heads of the ears of corn in the fields, and the more lowly clover scattered its fragrance around. On the summit of yon green eminence, under the swaying branches of those oak-trees, stands a young peasant, a robust, vigorous youth. Shading his eyes with his hand, he is gazing across the fields, where the public road winds along, separated from the luxuriant corn by rows of young trees, and deep narrow ditches, whose edges are bordered by wild flowers. Yet it was but a short time before, that war-village. There was a well near our door, and when savage and bloody war-had raged there; that the one looked down into it, oh! it was so dark, and heavy trampling of the cavalry had torn up that deep, and cold! And when one was drawing up ground, now covered with the plentiful grain; that the bucket, it creaked, as if it were a labor to come the thunder of cannon had hushed every wild bird's up; and if it were let go again, one might wait and song, and that those flower-bordered ditches had watch a long time before it got down to where the been the death-beds of many a sinking warrior. water was. In winter, my mother sat in the house The traces of such scenes are soon effaced in spinning; then the snow almost blocked up our nature; it is only in the minds of mankind that they little windows; we dared not peep out of the door, remain and cannot be blotted out. for fear of the cold north wind getting in; and if one ventured into the outhouse to get peats for the little stove, one's teeth chattered with the cold. On the long, pitch-dark nights, when we went to bed early, to save candles, we used to lie awake, and creep close to each other, listening to every sound. Oh! how glad we were that we were too poor to fear robbers or bad men. Do you think it possible that there can be such a dear cottage as ours anywhere?"
Johan pointed down towards the valley, and said
"Do you see our house, yonder ? pretty?"
The little girl shook her head, while she replied— "You think so, perhaps, for you are accustomed to it."
"I should like very much to see your former home," said the other brother, George, who had been gazing upon the child with his large expressive eyes. 'Could you find the way to it ?" "Oh to be sure I could," she replied. "When I go with the sheep up to the top of the hills, I can see it far away towards the east."
"Ah! there is no house like it here in your village," replied the little girl, with animation. "You
it stood so entirely alone, nobody ever came near it, and out before the door the purple heather grew so thickly! When I lay there in the morning, it was so warm and still, and one never heard a sound but the humming of the wild bees, and the whirring of the great flies' wings. In the autumn, my mother and I used to cut off the long heather, bind it into bundles, and sell them yonder in the
Is it not
would have led her willingly to do so; but to make diately, Johan pressed the secret spring of a trapthe other brother unhappy! Had they not both door which led to the woods, and forced himself been so kind to the poor child whom they found through it. George stooped over it and was about under the tree? Which, could she say, had sur-to follow his example, when an evil spirit entered passed the other in affection to her? Besides, into Johan's heart; he thrust his brother back, drew neither of them had asked her which she liked best. down the trap-door, and rushed towards the trees. No-neither of them had ventured to do that; but Immediately he heard the sound of firing; the smoke both became more gloomy, both apparently more concealed his flight, he crept into the wood, tremblmiserable, and the love of both became more im- ing in every limb, and fainted away upon the grass. petuous.
On recovering from his swoon, all was still around him; but he soon fell in with some of his comrades, and rejoined his regiment. The troops were shortly after mustered, and the name of each individual was called. How intense were his feelings when his brother's was heard! None answered to it; and, conquering with a violent effort his emotion, he ventured to glance towards the place that his brother used to occupy, and where he almost dreaded to see a pale and threatening spectre. He heard his comrades talk of him, but his heart appeared to have become seared. He felt that he ought to write to Ellen, and evening after evening he sat down to the task; but he always abandoned it, for he fancied, that without any confession, she would discern that the hand which traced the letters on the paper to her had thrust his brother into the jaws of death. He gave up the idea of writing, but through another sent a message of kindness from himself, and the tidings of George's death.
It was agreed that the following Sunday they should all three go to see the wonderfully beautiful cottage the girl had described; and after that excursion they became playfellows and fast friends. In process of time, when the girl grew stronger, the mother of the boys, at their earnest and repeated request, took her as an assistant in her household work, and Ellen became happier and prettier every day. Johan carved wooden shoes for her, carried water for her, and helped her at her weaving: George whitewashed her little room, and planted flowers outside her window; and neither of the brothers ever went to the market-town without bringing a little gift to her.
"Brother! shall we go to the war?"
They were all three confirmed on the same day, though the brothers were older than Ellen; but from that day their peace was disturbed; Lars, the son of the clerk of the church, took it into his head to make up to Ellen, presented her with flowers and a silver ring, and, what was worse, at a dance in the village, shortly after, he danced with her almost the whole evening. Why was it that the gloomy A hearty shake of the hand was Johan's reply. looks of the dissatified brothers sought not each "For God's sake, do not leave me, my dear other's sympathy? Why did not they open their brother's!" cried Ellen. "Would it not be enough lips in mutual complaints-why not tell each other at least for one to . . . . " she added, almost in a that they had never dreamed of any one else danc- whisper; but she stopped suddenly, for the counteing with their sister, giving her presents, and speak-nances of both the young men had darkened in a ing soft words to her? Was it not they who had moment. In the fierce look which they exchanged met her first, and had visited with her the cottage lay more than words could have expressed; and on the heath? They, who had been so attached to Ellen felt, as if the idea had been conveyed to her her? But there had hitherto been two to love her in a flash of lightning, that they must both go. --why had two suddenly become one too many? She seized a hand of each, pressed them to her And when Ellen, her face radiant with joy, came beating heart, and told them, in a voice broken by tripping up to George, seized his hand, and said, suppressed sobs, that they must go, that they must "Will you not dance one little dance with me, trust in God, and that she would pray for them George?" why did Johan spring forward with a wrathful countenance, snatch away her hand, and exclaim" No; I am tired of staying here, Ellen; we must go home!"
Then George threw his arm round her waist, pushed Johan away, and said, "Go, if you like, Johan; but Ellen and I will dance."
Perhaps it would have been better if Ellen could have then declared which she preferred; her heart
They were all three sitting together one evening; for the young men's mother was now very feeble, and mostly confined to bed. At length, Johan spoke of the news he had that day heard at the clergyman's house-that war had broken out, and that the king had called upon all his faithful subjects to assist him in it. For the first time for many months the brothers looked frankly and unsuspiciously at each other, and, holding out his hand, George said
That night, when she had retired to her little chamber, she wept bitter tears, and prayed to the Almighty that he would watch over them both; and if one must fall, that he would preserve him whose life would be of the greatest utility. But her sighs were for George, and her secret wishes for his safety.
When a cessation of hostilities for a time was agreed on, and Johan was to return home, he endeavoured and hoped to be able to shake off his deep gloom. He was to see Ellen again, but the thought of her no longer brought gladness to his soul. It was with slow and heavy steps that he approached the cottage in the valley; and when Ellen came out to meet him, and hid her tearful face on his breast, it did not anger him that she wept, for his own heart was so overcharged with misery, that it seemed to weigh him down to the earth. At length he felt somewhat easier; he tried to concentrate his thoughts upon Ellen, and he had everything that could remind Suddenly the brothers turned upon each other as him of his brother removed from sight. Yet, when if they had been bitter enemies; and they would The brothers joined the army. The life they led in passing through the woods, he came near some have come to blows, had Ellen not burst into tears, there, so new to both, seemed to call forth from their large tree, on which his brother and himself, as and, separating them, accompanied them home. inmost souls long-dormant feelings, and they once children, had cut their names together, painful and From that day forth they watched narrowly each more became intimate: but of home they never dark remembrances would rush on him; and it was other's word and look, and seemed to be always in dared to speak. They often wished to write to that still worse when his mother wept, and spoke of a state of miserable anxiety about each other. If home, but something impossible seemed always to George-of what he was as a little boy, and how they were going to market, they made a point of prevent them, and neither of them would let that good, and affectionate, and kind-hearted he had starting at the same time; for the one dared not duty devolve upon the other. It was almost a always been. When in the society of the neighborleave the other a moment behind, for fear he should relief to them when they had to march to the field ing peasants, he was silent, and seemingly indifferent have an opportunity of saying a kind word privately of battle; the lives of both would be exposed there to all amusement; and when he heard them remark to Ellen, or of obtaining a kind look from her, in-God would choose between them. And they "How Johan is changed since he went to the wars!" which the other could not share. If they were sit-looked earnestly one upon the other, and wrung he felt himself compelled to leave them, and fly ting together in their humble parlor, they kept a each other's hand. But when they met after the to solitude. Ellen was kind and gentle to him; but sharp and jealous look-out upon every glance of battle, they did not shake hands, they nodded coldly when, of an evening he loitered near the window of hers; and if she spoke a little longer, or with a little to each other; and, to a comrade from their native her little chamber, he could not help hearing how more apparent interest to one, the room seemed to village, they said "When you write home, tell she sighed and sobbed. be too confined for the other, and he would rush them that our Lord has spared us." out to breathe the free air, but yet without feeling the oppression removed from his heart. At length, even the little friendly attentions they used to pay to Ellen were given up, for jealousy taught both the brothers what poison there might lie in them for each.
Again they went forth to meet the enemy; again they participated in that fearful lottery for life or death; and amidst the tumult of the fight, they chanced to stand side by side. At length, driven off the field, they took refuge in a small building, but it was speedily attacked by the enemy; they saw the bayonets glittering on the outside, and heard the officer in command give orders to fire at it. Imme
One afternoon, when he came slowly home from his work in the fields, he began to commune with himself, and his soliloquy ended by his saying to himself—“I will be happy; for, as things are now, I might as well be where George is." And thus, resolving, he went straight to the window of Ellen's room, at which she was standing, and leaning against the outside frame, he said—
"Listen to me, Ellen! We have mourned long