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jPUBTOBEP BVEBY IIiunSDAY MOKMINq BY
John Jl. Brat toil.
HI
=
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EVENINGS; AT HOME.
BY KITTY. KING,
When the sad and dreamy twilight
Deepens into sterner night,
And the playful shadowy moonlight
Maketh all things fair and bright,
Then abroad ’fls sweet to wander
Mfeitth the heavens’ gilded dome :
But the,heart is bitter; fonder,
’Mid the joys of happy home.
Jin the warm, bright summer season,
W'hentho dewy evening air, >
■Stealing gently through the casement.
Panning from the brow each care,
’Then,, beside the window sitting,
Visions bright before' me loom:
And I wait a loved one coming
To share the bliss of joyous homo.
When the chilling blast of winter
. Moaneth through ,each crevice near,
And the gathering.tfempcst madly
Rushes on with sound so dear;'
.Then, upon the bright fire gazing,
.Think I of tho.poor who roam.
And I listen for the tread of
Ono I love to welcome homo;
■O, - these happy evening hours,
. Oft wo.’d fain prolong their stay ;
But they, swiftly passing onward.
Heed us not, but fly away, ,
So may we live,' that when oiir moments
One by one have lightly flown,
' Tvo may pass a long, bright evening
In .tins .angels’ happy home.
BEAUTIFUL SENTIMENT,
There’s many a gem unpolished,
And many a-star unknown —
Many. a bright, bud perished,
Neglected and alone.
When had a word booh.spoken, -
, . Ip lukindly, gentle tone,
T&e bud had bloomed unbroken,
The gem ha'd graced a throne!
Then, 01 scorn hot tho lowly,'
Nor do them any wrong.
Best tllbii ci ush an impulse holy.
Or blight a soul of song I
MmMmm,
THE DOVE OP THE BfORM.
ST DOBA M’NEItLE
Gently and quietly the night folded its wings
over'a pleasant home among the Green Moun
Jhdns, where a happy circle were gathered
around a blazing lire, of maple wood. It was
one of .those old fashioned homesteads of which
every one has a bright.idea ; tall trees bent over
, it as It to shelter the young hearts that beat hap
peacefully even as the
sung to theta through the long stiki.
days, <l^it l the f 4|t(le .pib^ntjA|ne|Sr4;fh‘;tHe:l^
• 4
at adiatance*
■ the : brfcad, ever-.
frcen "thickly covered with .show,'
fto&ytjdte not £h.e-people who* spend id ;plea
ripre the loveliest season God gives usVfor little
could toramus
efuontwhen./J ftult and waving grain was
ripening for them fo gather. . .
It was the farmer’s “season for flitting now;
Vie harvest moon had long since waned, and
left rich stores In ,b*arn and granary. T.her •
italwart to leave at home, who knew
right was -needful—am} the pa
rents had^i^eo i t r c?d. < to leaVo the little band
riocenco,
-trusted. ,
Trained as they had been to brave all storm
Arid danger, caring little for either, the hardy
children had enjoyed the independence of being
jjrit **Co take .care of themselves,” as James ;
Graham expressed it, and now they Were re ‘
counting all the homo duties they had faithfully
performed, for. :the absent .ones were expected
that night, arid each little heart, beat hap- ,
pily in the consciousness of having done rigid. ;!
<c Well,” said James, “I guess father don’t i
expect to And all the corn husked when lie gets i
librae.” , ‘ J
-" No,.noi‘fh’o ok* ailed boarded so nicely, s:
fl'aid Richard. . ,
J “ ; *Vhat have you got to toll father, Annie ?”
•said-James to a little gentle creature, who look
ed like a little White morning-glory with blue
©yes. - .
. shall toll bow-good we’ve all been,
and ho\V I Helped yoti feed the lamb every
day.”
<* Ye'd*!! tell hint \Vo’vo been good, too, won’t
job;, cousin Marion ?” asked Richard, for the
roguish boy began to remember certain instances
of his teasing and fun. which ho thought might
hot.sound very Wellfn,the account..
.A gay and. brilliant'girl was cousin Mat*ion,
’ who had escaped from the dull restraint of the
city; lor a .little while, to enjoy the freedom"sne'
loved; Oh, it was strange how she could leave
a sphere of gaiety and fashion, where she was
the brightest start, to sit bn that old stone hearth
|n the tanner’s kitchen, and crack butternuts or
help pare apples till her little bands looked
•black enough j but she did love it, and dearly
they all loved her; she was so gifted and so
. kind, so. winning to all; and then, qs James said,
j§h’e was a first rate hand at making candy and
popping corn. -
But Marion Wotvellowns not genteel—indeed
Bho wan’tl , She had rather play the romping
games of the country girls, coast with James
Graham of a: moonlight night, than dance the
bewitching polka in Jier splendid, city homo—
and why should, alio not f—,for. the shadows op
bid bending troes.wero on the frozen lake; aVidh
the mbon shines brighter there than gasliglii'
does Jn a crowded room on beauty which God'
did not make. Perhaps, Marion laid holier
thoughts than those-or* mere' enjoyment,
every night she had gathered the children around
her, and with them repeated a prayer, so earn
est in its few simple words, that their ydhng
eyes closed fervently as they knelt, and all her
mirth and gaity was for a few moments forgot,
ten.
" Now, as she s£t on a rudo, low sent, with An
nie’s sweet, faco resting in her lap, the glowing
fire-light lit up her faco with tho truest gladness
as aho answered Richard : ’
“ Yes, ooz, you have been good almost all tho
time, and,— “
Whllo she was thus speaking, the whole group
B‘«rtle4..by a low, distinct rapping ft the
jyipdow pane, and there with its whim breast
pressed close against the-glass, was a trombHng
dove, pocking the JVost covered window” as if
ho.plead for shelter from the driving storm _
A Mho children ran eagerly to the door, and
Biohurd laid tho ,dovo gently and pnrofnii *
Marion’s hand. The ffloSeri^
4p shone far out into tho Ibnoly road. dlm?v 7 '
snowing two (jgures all wreathed with ihliTng
spow. It was unusual In that lonely place to
stiwssas
«»;
j that^,lr ’ frozpn doTe to the
.ha(l rescued it. As it nestled
close in Mpnpn s bosoip, there was a glearp if),
terms.
poetical.
American
it BY JOHN B. BKATTON,
YOL. 44.
(its opening eyes that seemed almost human—an
.earnest that told of quiet gratitude and content.
They smotbed the ruffled white plumes carosa
_ ingiy, talking all the while to “Dovio,”as if it
know their meaning. They scarcely heeded the
entrance of Richard till ho said
“ Those folks were beggars, and wanted wo
should keep them over night, but I told them as
father always docs, that- every town took care
qf its own poor, and if they had, staid at homo
they needn’t suffer.” , .'
“ Who wore they’? how did they look 7 where
did they come from 7” inquired all at once.
“ Oh, they looked bad enough. There was
an old man.and girl, not so big as Marion,' and
. they came from some place down, below that I
never heard of before. . The old codger said lie
I' was going to see his brother up North j but I
I .guess ho made tip that story.”
“ Why, Dicfc;ididn’t think you’d turn off an
old man and a shivering girl, in such a night as
this;” and as Joseph spoke he went to the win
dow, adding, 7 ! don’t" think father and mother
will como, it storms so i if they are on the way
they will put up somewhere.”
“ The old man’s breath smelt of nun,” an
swered Richard, “and if he can buy that lie can
buy a lodging. I did pity the girl, to be' sure,
for when X told him that (ho tavern was two
miles off, she said, <Oh, dear, that seems a great
ways. .But, then, father says it is only.encou
raging folks to drink if you do any thing for
thorn when they wander, about so.”
Richard did, indeed, repeat an ,oft heard sen
tiruent of his father’s when ho said tins; for
though a worthy man in,‘many, respects, Mr.'
Graham one of those who remembered (ho
poor only as far as'tho sufferers are good and
virtuous and struggling hard to support them
selves. ,
But the holier teachings of his wife, had gfren
to the children other , and better feelings, and
Richard conscience smote' him when Annie
- quietly -sflid, “ mother wouldn’t have sent him
. away-, if the man did dnhlc rum.” ' ■
promised iusA story, cousin Marion,”
Richard, glad to turn-frorii a painful sub
ject; ‘‘tell us one of eld times, Hikethosebcst;”
“Tell abepit war,” said James. “About In
dians,” said Fred. “ About when yon was a
little .girl, like me,” said Annie. “ Tell us
something you never told us before,” said
! o> quiet boy in-the corner.
■ If the gifted Marion had one power Inpcrfec
non, it was the highly valued but rare gift of
telling stories. There was a low .seat in the
Kitchen, which they called a “settle;” it an
swered the place of a wood-box and sofa in the
winter- evenings, and being, painted, bright, red
and varnished, .it looked like a good-natured
laughing face in front of tho (ire. On this the
ciiikiren, used to sit for hoUrs aiid listen to ecu
sin Marion’s enchanting stories, which were us
ually thrilling realities of History dressed in
her own glowing thoughts,- Sometimes she re
cited an old fairy tale? or Some wild legend of
early times; but to-night the white-plumed.dove
lay lovingly by her ;breast, as it uttered thoSb
moaning sounds, which nothing on earth equals
in plaintive sadness.. Marion’s heart beat time
to tho mournful notes, for there were noble
feelings striving against her woman’s fearfui
uoss j thoughts of tho poor sufferers in that wild
storm, of their peril, and, it migiit be; of their
death.
She arose resolutely and said, “I am going
to. And those beggars ;” and as’sho spoke. She
began to wrap a shttwl nround hei, while her
.lovely, face, glowed Wltb eouiageona foeliiig.‘-,,
A‘‘-Rpn,fl;g;ort’ {•Jou'H'Pe
snotrlv’ • ■ . ; •
f< God will take caro of too, Annie,” siio nn-i
sWercd; laying the blue-eyed dpvo in the child’s
WP
•< you shall not goQilbhe, Cousin Marion;”
said Rickard, whose bitter feelings were allawa
kened by a little reflection. “PJI carry the lan
tern,said James 5 for,.rough boy as he,was, he
knew how to admire heroic resolution, and knew
the peril of such an errand.
While they are hastily wrapping coats nns
cloaks around them, wo will follow the beggard
on their lowlyp^lh.
• •. ■ . • ■ * ■ • •'*
“That house looked some iiko-our own hoine,
didn’t it,.pa I” said, tho pale,'sad-hearted girl,
as she looked back on tho lighted , house where
shelter had heOn refused them. «0h! how X
wish We word back where we used to live,” she
added, (is the ojd man walked on silently.
‘.‘■iron, have forgotten, haven’t you, that the
old place don’t belong to us now,” ho answered
harshly; “ don’t Worry about it, for wo can’t
help it now 1 .”
“ I know, it,” sti'd said, sadly, “ wo have no
homo anywhere;” Oh! how mournfully those
simple words were spoken, bearing tho tale of
'll young heart crushed,and blighted, of 3 T q.nng
hopes chilled forever. It touched oven the
heart of the- hardened father, and ho-drew his
' motherless child close to his side, nummirin 1
“jfoor dove! poor Isabel!” Ay, .the beggar
girl bore Hie proud naiue, and sho had graced it
in happier, days: when her father was an honor
:cd and trusted man; when the noblest vessel
:‘on the broad fakes was his own; before rum had
rufned a God-like intellect, and wasted'a prince
ly fortune. , ’
It was r dark now in those forsaken hearts, even
ias on God’s earth, arid their path wtis lost.—
Faster and faster came down the .blinded snow,
and tn their utter desolation tho wanderers at
last 'sat down, unablo to proceed, and weary"
with exertion. . And now the nogloofcd Isabel
lay folded' in the igjsom of thd father whoso fal
len fortrines she.had so devotedly shared,'and
hot fears fell from his eyes-onhoi'palo face.
“ Isabel, darling, can yon -forgive mo that 1
have deprived you Of ioveand home, and every
thing on earth 7 can 3 T ou forgive me for being a ,
drunkard 7”, , . . »
“Oh, father! do not talk of those tilings''
now; I am happy in dying with you, dead 1 fa- 1
father.” i
Shadotty phantoms gathered: dimly round the
-•fopentipg man, pointing far back to a lost hohie.
ami character; to a grave oi a broken hearted
; *p the fast closing eye-lids of his gen
itlu, (iajjyiiter. Broken words of agony and con
'ttw I the hollow difgo that the
V#' sbnt » ,|l<J fi>Hier knew it by.
J mS, : y 1' vn tm u touched hers, and
3 that ho saw not the closing
rtfeif hcht°hWrt 01. ° yo o i . Bo mftny a ' mir 3’ day
"Eut had cheered him since poverty and
drunkenness had driven him opt to b'eg for daily
: bread s .they wbre clear and'blub ns'the waters
of their own; beloved lake, and they ever looked
kindly on him. Now they were closed;-the
eyes oMho wenry,s|ilrit were opened, and she
saw such white-winged angels ns had often float
ed dimly through her dreams, and sun-bright
flowers and gushing ftWntaihsi- nnd dwellings of
wondrous beauty wore bp loro her.
There they are perishing. Though Isabel has
earnestly longed id die, and as she revives a
little from, the death-lethargy, she nestles closer
to her father’s bosom,Jiko an innocent dove, and
feels itvis'sad to lay down a young life boro in a
dreary tenipost, so (ar from all of life and sym
pathy ; ; and once she gazes round and sees the
wild Storm-clouds parting slowing, and one star
tremblmg in its distant homo. NO, ’tis not a
star, ’tis a light, and there are sounding foot
steps and cheerful voices.
,Ttid- father roiised himself at her hurried
wjjr^a ? but they were too nearly exhausted (o
ho'lp. Marion heard a faint cry, as of
,ono;'rier|e»hiijg; it was just like tho moaning of
ft.dovo^
-SV&ero, Richard, this way with tho lantern!”
laimed, as sHe bounded over tho snow
kS«w* r 1 w wondfljtow lay* They saw a
fw ! / aCO bendin E a..dfelt
Marioft-seeaiod sud
fluSnfvrn'*•s, rSmsjißW'io. restore
andttlie K&diaipve they
satvjtheir, wijd. cousin in the i^w-^reathedS^-^
me bolero them. She poured warm cordials
on the colorless lips of tho old man, while James
took the light ilgure of Isabel in his arms and
wrapped her in his own coat. She smiled faint
ly in gratitude, and entreated him to go to her
father, but ho was already standing by his pre
preserver, anxiously‘inquiring for his daughter.
And now the whole party heard tho sound of
approaching sleigh-bells, and Richard joyfully
exclaimed:
“ ’Tis lather and mother !”
Though startled to see so strange a group by
the road-side, the parents soon understood all,'
and the old man was comfortably placed in a
sleigh, while the rest followed in a track home
ward. Jatudswould not give bp his, rescued
charge; and, leaning on his strong arm, with
Cousin Marion’s ever-joyons words of hope in
her ear, Isabel felt like one waking to a now
life.
It -was late on that eventful night When the
blazing lire went out on the hearth, and all were
asleep. In vain they sought for the rescued
dove ; it had flown none know whither, or little
,Annie had litllen asleep while the others were
away.
Morning brought new blooin to Isabel, bntnot
so to her father. A few days he lingered, ahd,
thoso who watched te.nderly by tho dying, saw
tho flashing forth of a glorions'intellect oven in
decay. When the next Sabbath sun was set
ting, the sun of his life went down also, not. in
the clouds and darkness, but surrounded by a
blaze of holy light; even that hope and trust in
Heaven.
And what became of the orphan, Isabel 7
They took tho sweet bird to their own nest, and
she became a gentle sister for the little Annie,
a loved daughter to her protectors; and when
five bright summers had flown gently by, she
became the wife of James Graham;
Neverwas bridal graced, by a fairer guest than
the light-hearted and lovely Marion; and though
tho white doVo never returned to nestle in her
bosom again, she always called Isabel, in the
language of her own heart-romance—The DoVe
or the Siobm.
IIOW JI.II CALLIN COME MIGUTT ONTO GET-
TIM LICKED.
The Southern correspondent who sends the
following Shall always have a r joyous greeting
when he conies with such a capital story as
this:
Dear Drawer hay? just returned from
riding the circuit with-riiy. friend, Johir Law
less, as capital a fellow as any of the young
sters at this bar ,* knows the country, 100 ; has
electioneered all over it; and is “ hail fellow’*
with every mim, woman and child in the dis
trict. ■
Y.Ve were approaching the celebrated city-of
Roseville, consisting of a court-house and one
other building which blended in . itself , the va
ried dignities of the store, post-office, and hotel,
kept'by one Mn.JalDes; Carlihe,.or, as he was
commonly called by the people of the section,
“Jim Carlin;” Justice ot the Peace, Hemberof
the Legislature, etc.,; a tall, stalwart fel)pwV
with frame like a stone wall,'red ba|r, a
squint;, a fist like: a sledgehammer/and tlio
pride,and bully of . the country; To uso, his
own words, “ he could outrun, outwork and al-!
So.o^d r mk;a n y.other human emitter atop of:
difty hb'd-durned ef'J don’t lick any bodv'a*J£oS 4
np.toit.’/;-. f ; '-.f. ;
I had myself jogged on,;, the sun was
setting, we had- talked ..each other .down, and
were mentally calculating the chances of a
stray, fed-from some unfori»inate : client, Vvhen
suddenly he straightened himself up and shout
ed : , '■ , ......
“ Hellp, Jonco!. Why, how are you old fel
low ?”
I looked and beheld a specimen of the genius
‘Cracker,’ who joyed in the altitude of five Peer
four; he had sandy hair, oj'es and complexion
were of one color : lie, had more legs than body,
and more stomach than either, and he was clad
in homespun, and bfogans of hide. ■ Such was
‘donee.’ ■ . . ' ■
‘‘How arc you, gen-td-meu !’ he said in tones
that no spelling can give the faintest idea of ;
‘ why; liow are you, Squire. Coin’ to Rosevil’
I s’pose, to tend Court. 1 Wal kin you give a
feller a lift ?’
‘ Oh, yes: jump up behind.’.
..lie needed no second invitation ; but, having
snugly enscqnscd'himself in the place design'at
ed. a brisk conversation speedily-ensiled on the
price of eggs, butter aiid poultry, the prospect;
ofweather, the chances of the ‘crop’ and other
such delightful and entertaining . topics.—■
•You’ll be g’wino to slay at dim Cfillin’a to
night ? Wal, a’ter supper dim'll start a ravin
and’ a tarin' around as usu al, talking' 'bout
his filin’ and how, ho can lick- creation. Qeii
til-iiien, dim kin out brag and'out lie any njan
I ever seed; but you jest ask him 'bout that ar
file hofdutxlown in Granby's Lane, and you'll
see how.quick he’ll drap his tail.”
“ How douce, did he get ihrashed ?”
“ Wa1,.1 dunno.what you called thnished,
biit old Mr. Tow'niy, who cum up when the file
was a’mbst lout out, told me that dim had got
the durndest licking that he .ever seed a human
git. dim kep his bed for ten days after It, an'
when he riz his face wor of as many colors as
my old’oman's quilt. I’ll be Uodrotted. cf it
Wunf t 7 - . : ■ ;
Tell us all about it Joncd.”
But this donee positively refused to' do. If
we wanted to hear it, he declared we must get
it.out of .dim himself. -‘ We was lawyers, and
ef we couldn’t draw him out, he waa’n't worth
nothing: He wanted to hev it tooi add durned
if lib would’nt be thar.’ , '.
“ There Was a pretty full attendance of tha
bar thm night, aiid dim was in his glpry. : ;
After suppbr, when We were all seated around
the ample hearth, dim", as donee had prophe-’
cied. did commence, like Othelfo, to speak of
his ‘battles, bravely, hardly fought,’ he went
a ravin and tarin’ to his heart’s content, and
there was no end to the victories he had gained;
Wo listened in reverential silence, until, a pause
in the narration. Lawless asked him'if he had
ever been whipped ?
“No,sirce! Thar ain’t the man livin'ns
kin do it, neither,”
‘‘Never. Jim 1 Now think —if you were in
tho witness box, would you swear you never
were whipped ?” ■ . ■
“ VVal, I never Imve,been', but I come migh
ty onto it once—l did. V
!’ ST '™ sit I : Tell us Jim.”.
_ * r. al * J I] you all about it; but dod rot
y skm.ef I don t lick the fust man as pokes
fun at me about it ; now see ef I.don’t.”
- i , courso we assured him that none of us
Z*rl,h VeTtry 80 dangerous an experiment, and
,were.thereupon eniightenedT''as loathe biroum
stances, which transpired when “ Jim Callin
come so nigh onto gettin licked.”
‘‘Km eny one of you - gentlemen favor rae
with a gar? I’m obliged-to you. Mr.
Briefless. Wal, the way of it war this. Last
-August, a year ago, I hitched npiiny mar’ to go
over to Mr. Elliott 6 He’d promised me some
new fashioned turnip seed he had, which he
said would bring powerful big turnips. - ’Twos
one of the all firedest hottest afternoons you
ever seed : durped ef I don’t think ’twould mel
ted the horns off n a.billy goat ~ VVal. the sun
war prettoler’bly high, and I wos driving slow
kinder, through Granby’s Lane, the shady
side,' when her cum a feller up front of pe, in a
buggy, too, an’he, too,, war on the shady side
of ihetane. I dru'y.on, calo'latin’ he would
“OUR COUNTRY —MAY I® ALWAYS BE RIOM—BUT MOB® OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY"”
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, MAY 20; 1858.
tiirn put; but he driiv’on.jtoo, toll the horses’
noses fetched, and then wb-stopped and looked
at each other like. . Ho was ft little wiry feller,
made up suthin’ like Mr. Briefless iliar.au'
didn’t look like he had- any dire in him no
mdrn’ri u flea. ‘So we looked ftt i each other a
spell longer ..and then I sez, si-z I.
,*• Cum, arn’t you.gwino.id turn out!
, ‘‘ You be durned ! sez benight away, “Turn
out Yourself, i’mo.n the right side of the road,
and-I’ll ,be drotted ef I'll go onto the gunny
side for sech as you 1” \ • i • T
We’ll soon see ’bout that, Old boss!’’ sez I,
and then we both on-us jumped out onto the
road. ■'
“ I walked up to his boss, and had tuk hold
of the bridle-rein io ; turn hitn but, when he lot
drive, and hit mo the most (renienjousest.lick
right hero under the eye you'ever beam tell on.
I never had anything.to hurt fine so powerful
bad sons daddy; used to- lick Yne—After that,
soon as he had hit ho.pitched into me, an’
we had the most orfullest ilie.lrite time in that
ar lane, as ever were fotit. • We must a font for
a hour an’a haf, an’ the ground about than
looked like it had.beeh. a.’stomping ground for
cattle.the lasbsix. months-; ’twas powerful tore
up, I fell you. At last I foiind myself layin’
flat o’ ray back in the ditch- oh one side of the
lane, ah’ the feller atop .o’ the. Ho had Ins
knees od both my. arms, nu’:J .couldn't stir a
peg. I had, his thum’ in myjiubutli, but I was
’fraid to chaw it. for. ev'ry-time I tried it begin
me sich tromenjous licks ’lortg-side my head as
made me see more star’s than Over war in heav
en. , He had the devil in his eyes big as a mee
ting-house, and ev’ry time.hc hit,me he'd holler,
out, ‘.‘Ain’t ycr got enuff yii"? ’ Wal, I tell
you that riled me, but ’twas a base; I calo'lat
ed ’{war no use to lie’thar aad‘ be beat to doth,
an I war jest g’wine to squalj-when who should
ride up but old Mr.Townly—yon know old
Mr. Townly as plants on the f iver?—wal, inui
and his overseer, and that son o’ his’ri, Ca
leb. - Old Mr. Townly rid! uh’and he see, sez
he— .-'
• “ Hello here,.boys,? ■■whal’athe flic about ?”
“V7al, I ,coiild’nt /ans.vycr,’ for the felier’a
thumb in my month, and liQ'wouhln't aliswcr,
but kept on a lipkinit into me.' So Caleb and
the overseer they pitched in hfid dragged us out
O’ the ditch, and parted of us.v The fellow then
started for his buggy, alopking at me and a
ej’ein of me all the time, and wraping up his
thurn’ in a.silk' hahk'clfgff. "’Tf ffeh he got in his
buggy he riz up an’ gathered liis reins, and- he
sez tome, sez he.
“ Now, you, old .red headed, gimlet-eyed,
snaggle tooth .son pf. jackass'—them war his
words by golly—“ I recoin you won’t go, spilin
about the country fora file again in a hurry.
Clar the way thar and find let .me pass, of I 11,
give you particular fits ?”
“-Wal, the sun had. Sot by this time, and all.
the road warshady. SO L tliaught I’d run off
an’ let him slide. 1 He travelled, but as he pass
ed me he sleived himself fo'mid.in his buggy an.’
grinned at me, an’dura uiqef.ho did'ni keep art
gririin' at mo tell ho war clqaii.qut o.’ site.
Here a short pause ensued; .broken by cigar
puffs. l . ' ~■■ .
; I tell you what, gents,’’.lesnraeadim i'ljiat
-Arfriloyvscum us ,nigh-Jdid.o^;ki,n -meiasiiiiny
otber>mkq;in.<3edfgy; Kid; dbj&ot ef-hodidu’t.
-Xietls liquor:! 1 * ‘ ■ : -i
Thera \m‘csomo of .us ’tfc'u and'thero'.whd
[ thought that Jim could havoused : father sfrori
feur language than • that •; hd;oirm jrtg/i opto
being licked.;’’but as: none of iis could boast
the prowess of the little wiry -man of Qrahby’s'
Lane, we said 'nothing, swallowed the earn
juice, andl travelled oft to bed.
■ X would, however, as a friend, give you a par
ting bit of advice:, If you should chance io go
to the city of Roseville, you had better say noth
ing about Granby’s_Lane.”
; JSdfpif’s 'Magazine/
! ADDISON AND CRINOLINE.
In some of the papers contributed by Addi
son, we find remarks concerning a fashion in
ladies’dress which show that the fair of that
day were as much disposed to indulge in undue
expansion as 'they are atpi'eseUt. . His quiet
Irony is more effective than ' the.caricatures-of
modern satirists.- We make a few extracts froth
his account of the proceedings of the court “of
-judicatureoh. the petticoat.
“I gave; orders to bring in the criminal.—
Word was brought that she had endeavored
twice or thrice to come in. but could hot do it
by reason of her petticoat, Which was too large
I.'for the entrance of iuy house though Idiad or
dered both the.folding doors to Be thrown open'
for jts reception. Upon this.Xissnvd. au order
forthwith ‘That the criminal should be stripped
of her incumbrance till she becameJUtle enough
to enter my house.’ .
I,had before given directions for an engine of
several legs that could contract or open- ifself
like an umbrella, in order to place the petticoat
Upon' it, by which means! might take ; a leis
urely survey of it. as it should appear in its pro
per dimensions. This was all done accordingly;
and forthwith, upblt the ..closing of the engine,
the petticoat was brought into court. I then
directed the machine to be set upon the table,
and.dilnled in such a manner as to show the
garment in its utmost circumference,; but .my
great hall was too narrow for the experiment,
for, before it was half unfurled, it described so
immoderate a'circle,, that the lower phrt.bf it
brushed upon hiy face as ! sat in my chair of
judicature.
: I then inquired for the person .who belonged
tp:tho petticoat; and to my great-surprise ayas
directed to a very beautiful damsel, \vilh so'
pretty .a face qnd 1 shape, that I.bid her come
Oufot the crowd, and seated her upon a' little
stool at my left hand. 'My pretty maid,’said
I, ‘do you own yourself to have beenthe in hub-:
itan't of that garment before us?’ Tire-girl I
found had good sense,, and told me with a smile
that notwithstanding it was her own petticoat,
she should be very glad to see an example made
of it: and-that she .wore it for no other reason
but that she had a mind to look as-big and
burly ns other persons of her quality ; that she
had kept out of it as long as she could, and till
she began to appear little in the eyes of her ac
quaintance; that if she had laid it aside, peo
ple would think that she was not made like
other women.
I always give great allowance to softer sex
upon account of the fashion, and therefore was
not displeased with the defence of pretty crimi
nal. ' I then ordered the garment to be drawn
tip by a pulley, to the top of tny great hall, and
afterwards to be spread open by. the engine it
was placed upon, in such a manner that it
formed a very splendid and a triple canopy • over
our heads,and covered the whole court of judi
cature with a kind of ■silken rotunda : its form
not unlike'-the cupalo of St. Paul’s and I'onter
ed upon the whole cause with.great satisfaction
as I sat under the shadow of it.
Then followed,the arguments pf the counsel
for 1h« petticoat; which, in brief, were—-first,
the advantage its size .was to the silk arid wool ■
eh rrianufactory ; secondly, to the rope makers,
owing to the quantity of cord required; third
ly, to the greenland trade, there" being an im
mense depiand for the whalebhhe, &c. '
These arguments would ' hava' wrought very:
much upon toe, oB>t J told- .tho ! .copnp.any, had I
-g-' • ■ . u
It I
k J|i|' W ’^>
I not considered the additional expense such fash
; ions would bring upon fathers and husbands ;
and therefore by no means to be thought of till
some years after a peace. I ’further urged that
it would bo a prejudice to the ladies themselves,
who could never expect to have any money in
the pocket, if they laid out so much for the
petticoat. . -
.-For these and sundry other reasons I pro
nounced the petticoat n forfeiture ; but to show
that I did not make that judgment for. filthy
lucre, I ordered it to be folded up, and sent if.
as a present to h widow gentlewoman who has
five daughters, desiring she would make each of
them a petticoat out of it and send me back the
remainder, which I design to cut into stomach
ers, caps, facings of my coat sleeves, and other
garnitures suitable to my eye and quality.”
This critic concludes with staling that he is
a fficndto all proper ornaments of the fair, and
would have them bestow upon themselves all
tlie additional--beauties art cari supply them
with, which do not . interfere with, disguise, or
pervert those of nature.
“Quirk to Eat, Quick, to Work.”
It is an oldsaw which used often to bo urged
upon boys, particularly in the country, till
many came to consider it as much o,f a duty to
gobble down their dinners in the least number
of minutes possible, as to be ’‘spry 11 when sent
on an errand Whether the saying was import
ed, or originated at home,-we cannot say .with
certainty, but we suspect it to be wholly a
Yankee invention. -However that may be, a
worse maxim never was tirged upon children;
They arc too quick in eating, naturally, and
propensity is one which should be restrained
rather than encouraged. An attentive observer
of our habits in-this respect—it he-werea for
eigner—would naturally ask pf what use are
teeth to these people' ; they do not even attempt
to masticate their food with them : two grinds
and a swallow, with a dose of water every min
ute or two to keep the road open, constitutes
their whole process of eatings—no wonder that
■dyspepsia is such *a common complaint with
them.
Turkeys swallow corn whole—also gravel
stones,but they never get dyspeptic.- Human’s
swallow small junks of meat whole, and in lime
\ —d only a question of time —they bpeak
down 'umjer the process. Turkeys-have- no
grinders, and need none. Nature has made
provision in ; their maws for the digestion of
whatever instinct prompts them-to swallow,
without- its being pulverised beforehand ; but
nature has made no such provision, and if he
will not use his grinders; his digestive organs
must sufler,..; An- English, physician, treating
this subject, says:-
“Nature has provided man with teeth for'the i
purpose of mastication, and the food he takes
into his mouth—meat especially—should be
thoroughly pulverised by his-grinders before it
is swallowed. While that process is going on,
the saliva! glands exude their secretion, which
mixes with the food and prepares it so that it
the_.p>d.df
duller dr other {iqajd-— arid passed into the sto
mach ready for the Scdond process or digestion;
therefore no liquid-shoidd'be (akin- till after t/ie
I ealin'g ts fmishcil. By forcing down food half
masticated,-with the aid of liquids, an improp
er mass—and generally too much, also--is
pressed upon the 'digestive organs, requiring
more-gastric juice than they are able to fur
nish., The effort to accomplish the .task thus
recklessly forced upon these organs, weakens
their poWer from day, eliding at last in dyspep
sia, sour stomach, debility, &c., while a proper
attention to the rule ind'eated- above, presents
the food to them in such-a manner, and hi such
quantity, that they are always able to perform
their functions with facility, whereby the whole
system-is -hot only.kept in healthy condition,
but is-consiniitly improved and developed as
nature intended it. to bo.”
There may be nothing new in.this to most of
our readers, bu t if only one can be induced to
change his habit of eating—miscalled so in most
follow the advice of 'our English
writer, our object will bo partly- gained.
; IVhal shall I eat ? is a question often ashed.
The same author says the railes of diet are sim
ple. Any nourishing food, in proper quanti
ties, properly epoked, properly masticated, and
.taken off at regular intervals. But, lest; this
answer should be deemed too general, heampli-,
fics q little. “The flesh of young animals is
less nutritous than that of thesame animats full
grown, Fatty substances are generally to be
avoided ; also hard salted meats. Spices and
condiments are worse than useless. Uot bread
contains gases which are hurtful, and it should
never be eaten. Fine bread is not so good as
coarse. Ripe fruits, foreign or domestic, may
be used freely—cither raw or cooked. Cold
food is always better than hot: it comes in
contact with the natural heat of the stomach,
and is negative to it —therefore the process of
digestion commences immediately, and is soon
completed. Meat is never required but. once a
day. One hearty meql a day is enough ; let the
others be light. -.Drink-enough to satisfy thirst,
but not on Qugh to make a soup in your stom
ach, and impede digestion. Some other-rules
the worthy Englishman lays down, of things to
be avoided, giving- sound i reasons -therefore,
which we have no room for now. Indeed the
foregoing-are sufficient, if adhered to, combined
with a good share of exercise-and a reasonable
amount of recreation, to develop a sound body,
fit for the residence of a soiind mind ; and with-
out such a developement the mind must ever
be cramped—never can bo equal or' well balan
ced never able to pass onwardand upward with
untiring energy—growing wiser, stronger, bet
ter, with every passing day.
Burr’s Presence of Mind.
Col. T. B. Troupe, says: “When in Louis
ville, Ey., some years since,-! had the pleasure
—a pleasure I shall never forget, of meeting
Judge Rowan, One of the most remarkable men
of his day.- In the conversation of an evening,
the Judge, among other reminiscences of early
tithes, alluded to the arrest of Aaron Dtirr.’and
his arrival la Louisville, in ohargoof thn United
States authorities. Burr, for the time being,
occupied the then fashionable hole! of the
day, and was constantlysurrounded by a crowd
of visitors, drawn together by sympathy or cu
riosity. Among the persons present were
Judge Rowan and Clay. As night drew on.
the crowd outside the hotel, composed of the
wild, patriotic s sons of the west, became violent
in their denunciations of Burr, and so warm did
this clamor become that many persons thoqght
that'Burr would be seized by the people and
summarily dealt with. In thd midst of the ex
citement: almost every person immediately abou t
Burr beearaomqre or lessanxious for his safety,
when Henry .Clay , then in the beginning o( his
brillianfcweer. with A politeness that ho alone
could assume, stepped up to Mr. Burr, and
said : ‘Sir. depend upon it. wo, your friends
present; will.defend you,’ Burr, hardly half
the stature of Mr. Clay, instantly assumed an
air of dignity that rivalled that , of ‘Harry of
the West!’ His. brilliant .eye flashed fire, and
stepping-back; ho replied,; ''l‘have never in my
life; sir. Wen placed.under apy. ’circumstances
I where ! could not defend myself.’ ”
lord Byron’s fcrrifclo Secret,
The unhappy character of Lord Byron inky
perhaps be traced to the secret of his terrible
deformity, (he extent of which was never sus
pected even by his nearest friends, andwhich is
now revealed to the world for the first lime hy
his friend, Mr. -Trelawny. 'fjio little vanity
which was one of the illustrious poet’s saddest
weaknesses, made’this a source of continual ir
ritation during his life,-and at in’s death he ex
acted from his. confidential servant a solemn
promise that no one should sec his body, in or
der that the secret should descend with him to
the grave,. How the dying injunction of the
noble poet was defeated is told by the Alhen
irum; . .
Air. Trelawny was not with Byron at Jlisso
tonghi when he died; but he arrives while his
friqnd lies dead in the house. By stratagem,
he sends the trusty Fletcher out of the room in
which his dead master lies—that Fletcher whom
the dying poet has commanded on no account
whatsoever to.allow his body to - be uncovered
after death—and, we grieve to say it, Air. Tre
lawny, contrary to the poet's wish, uncovers
lus friend's feet. What does he find ?
“ I asked Fletcher to bring me a glass of wa
ter. On leaving the room, to confirm or re
move my doubts as to the cause of his lame
ness, I uncovered the Pilgrim’s feet, and was
answered—the great mystery was solvtd. ‘ Both
his feet were clubbed, and his legs withered' to *
the knee—the form and features of an Apollo, I
with the feet of a sylvan satyr. This was a
cuisc, chaining a proud and soaring spirit like
his to the dull earth. It was generally thought
tins halting gait originated in some defect of
the right foot or ancle—the right foot was tire I
most distorted, and it had been worse'in-his
boyhood by vain efforts to. set it right. His
shoes were peculiar—very high heeled, with the
soles uncommonly thick .on the inside, and
pared,thjn on.the outside—the toes were stuffed
with cotton-wool, andjjis trowsers were strapp
ed down so as to cover his feet. The peculiari
ty of his gait was now accounted, for; he enter
ed a room with a sort; of a run, as if he could
not stop, then planted his best leg vyell for
ward, throwing back his body to keep his bal
ance. In early life, whilst his frame was light
and elastic, with the aid of a stick he might
have tottered along a mile or two; but after he
had waxed heavier, he seldom attempted to
walk more than a few hundred yards, without
leaning against the first wall, bank, rack; or
tree at hand, never sitting on the ground, as it
w;ould have been difficult for him to get up
again. In company of strangers, occasionally,
ho would make desperate efforts to conceal his
infirmity, but the hectic flush oh hitUkce. hls
swelling veins; and quivering nerves
him; and he Suffered for many days after such
exertions.” , ;
A Tale of Terror,
The following rather marvellous story is told
;by one of the Vienna journals: •
; “As a farmer of Orsihovi; near that city,was,
returning from market, he* slopped at . a road
side public house, and imprudently showed the
I mkccppr a largo sum of . money which fie ’Aad’
received. In the night'the innkeeper-armed
with a poinard, stole into the fanner’s chamber
and prepared to stab him; but the farmer,
who, from the man's manner at supper, con
ceived suspicion of 'foul play, had thrown him
self, fully dressed on the bed without going to
sleep, and being a' powerful man ho wrested •
the poinard from the other; and using it 1
agamst, laid, him dead at his feet, A few mo
?ments afier, he heard some stones thrown-at ‘
the window, and a voice which hcrccognized as ‘
that of the innkeeper’s son,said: “The crave Is 1
ready!” , ' ",
'£ liis proved to bim that the father and stm
had planned his murder, and to avoid detection,
■ had intended burying the dead body at Once.
Ho thereupon Wrapped the dead body in ashed
and let it down from the window; he then ran
to the gendarnieTie and stated wfutt had occur
red; Three gendarmes immediately accompa
nied, him to the house,'and found the young
man busily engaged in shovelling earth into-a
grave., ‘What are you: burying ?’ said they.
•Only a horse, which has just died I’ ‘ You are,
mistaken, answered one of them, jumping into
the grave and raising the corpse. ‘Look !’ and
he held np a lantern to the face of the deceased.
‘Good God!’ cried the young man, thunder
struck, ‘it is my father!’ He Was then arrest
ed and at once confessed all.
fashion.
“There is no great loss without soiftfe Small
gain,’’says the adage, and so, we believe that
everything unpleasant has its bimefits also. It
is “the fashion,” just now, to rail against fash
ton. Husbands and faihers are continually
sending up serio-comic complaints’ against the
tyranny of the fickle divinity, and makin"-
alarming estimates’oh dry goods and millinery
bills—editors mak6 use of their.cplumns to giye
fashion official - “fics,” andaltogether, she stems
to us,tin abused individual. We contend,then
that fashion is a very good thing, and taking a
bold stand, are prepared to prove it. In the
first place, it is as absurd that wo should al
ways Wear the same styles qt garments, as that
we should eat the same food, or drink the same
beverages. The -eye loves variety-— Sameness
palls upon the taste, and if wo acknowledge
that beauty ,means anything at all, Wc ac
knowledge the necessity‘of having fashions. But
the strongest argument in their lavor, is the
immense Variety of employment they give rise
to—the immense number of mouths which they
fill with daily bread. * There are 'hundreds of
persons who deserve li livihg just as well a 8 any
of ns, and who are occupied solely* in designing
new patterns for goods, jewelry, garments, em
broidery, etc., etc. Slop the fashions, and you
stop the salaries of all these persons. It is un
doubtedly- true, that nobody’s salvation ever
depended upon the cut of a coat or the form of
a waistband, but it is a grave mistake to think
that the absolute necessities of life are the only
things worth working for, and too much cant
has been talked about •humility’ and ‘plainess’
in all things. Such humility is, after all, only
another species of vanity. J
Suck to some one Puksuit.—There cannot
be a greater error than to be frequently chang
ing ones business. If any man will look
arouud and notice who has got rich and who
*hose ho started in life whh, he
will find that the successful have generally
stuck to some onpmursuit.
Two lawyers. Tor example, begin to practice
at the same time. One devotes his whole mind
to his profession, lays in slowly a stock of legal
learning, and waits patiently, it' may be for
years, till he gains an opportunity to show his
superiority. The other, -firing of such slow,
work, dashes into politics. Generally, at the
end of twenty years the latter will hot bewprlh
a penny, while the former will have a handsome I
practice, and count his tens of thousands in
bank slock or mortgages.
Two clerks attain a majority simultaneous
ly. One remains with his former employers,
or at least in thasame line pf trade, at flrgt cu
a small salary, then" on a larger, until finally.
AT $2,00 PEE ANNUM.
NO. 49.
' Kendall writes to (he Picayune; from Neitr'-
Branfeis, Texas, about some tallhail' they hays
had in (hat quarter: * i
Since March set in we have ha&seycral cbpf*:
ous showers, and one hail storm which beat ey. j
cry thing In that lino I have ever witnessed.
Why, the ball came down in chunks as fe.n* '
your fist, and many persons, caught In
midst of it, were terribly frightened ‘aqd. ! baitl\K
hurt. . I have fcvfen heard that young colts and
.calves were in some instances killed bplright.
Some of the hail stones are said to have weighed: l
a pound .and a half, and the windows pn the>
Windward side.of Some of the houses in ,N«w
Braunfels look as though they had been expfys*
ed to the thickest of a three days’ revolution in ;
Paris. According to Shakespeare, Lear tfctla.
caught in a tolerable severe tempest; • the pldi
King could not have withstood the u pelting of
Such a pitiless storm’* as ours for a: single .'mo*
menb - Ihe only people benefited bv ihe show*. •
er of ice were the glaziers; they have had theft*
hands full of Work. ‘ \
A Dogma.—Serjeant, Wilde, whose dictatori
al manner of arguing,a point of law. Is. well
[ Known, was once engaged-in rather a.'cufioVs'
case, where plaintiff and defendant - wpfe 'pba
sessed; one of a male and (he other bi* h /etridla'
dog, of a very rare species, to Order 10-pfe*
servo the breed, it.wns agreed by the. parties l
that the progeny of.thcse two animals'should he,
divided equally between them ; but subsequent.-,
ly the owner of the female dog refused to' give’
the otjicr his share of the litter of puppies which
had been produced. Sergeant, thin - Mr.V
Vwlde, who was . for the. defence,. tHuddereqT
forth several limes, in the course of his speech',
*'l lay U down as, an axiom.” ■At lest, thh
counsel on the other side, watching IJis' oppor-i
tunity, leaned over, as-e Wilde in his most :im*/
peratiyo tone, had repea[cc 1I lay it.down,as,
an axiom ’ —and whispered, to him, in a voice,
loud enough to be heard by thu bench andbar,*
•' Pray lay it down as a dog ina the iiext time;”'
The joke told—a suppressed laugh ran through
the court. Wilde, for the first time in his life;
lost his self possession, and' consequently his
danse. ... .
Ducgged TOO Much.— Or. o'. W. Holmes,'
belter known as the funny than, in his recent*
valedictory address to the medical graduates of
Harvard University gives them the foliowinff
good advice: ‘ ■ ,rf>
"With regard to the adfhinteltnng of .drags
as a part of your medical treatment, the goltteil
rule is, be sparine. Many remedies you give
would make a well person so ill that ho would
send for you al once if he.had taken one of yoii'r
doses accidentally. It is not'quitc fair to;giyS
such things to_ a sick man, unless it.is clear
that they will do more good than the very con
siderable harm you know they will cause. Bfl
very gracious with children especially. I have
seen old men shiver at the recollection of rhu
barb and jalap of infancy. You may depend
upon it that, half the success of Homeopathy is
due to the sweet peace it has brought into the
nursery. Between the gurgling down of loath
some mixtures and the sacraline delinquents of
a minute globule, what tender mother could
for a momeut hesitate ?”
SsLP-BESPKCr,—Keep up a good opinion of
yourself— not a vain one, but a good solid re
spect, which shall stimulate you to'higher
purer thoughts, words and actions. The map
who relies upon his own respect, will never bo
mean, for though nobody else knows of Jtr.hS
himself will, and that should bo enough to, dj>
ter him from’petty deeds. ; ,
Would yon like mo to give you a shil
ling l‘ asked a littlo boy of a gentleman on the
street. ‘To bo sure I would,” was the,reply.
‘Very well, fhon,’ said the boy, ‘dounioblhera
as yon Would others should do unto you;* - "-*
wealth nor birth, but mind only,
should be.the aristocracy ol a frog people.
D3T No dust affects the ayes like cold dnatb
and no glasses like brandy glasses. . r
;if ho i§ meritorious, he is taken irtto partObri
• ship. ThoothV:llVJ'ka;it bencath trim 4b fill
a'subordinate position, now'that he has" become
a man, and accordingly starts in sompothcc
business on bis own account, .or undertakes’fop
a,new firmin the old.Jirtp ,of.trade, ,Where
does heentl ? , Often in insolvency; rare in rich
cs., To this every merohantepn- ■-
; A young man is bred. a, ..pieohanio,- lie-aff
. quires a distaste for his trade, however, thinks
it,is a tedious way to get .ahead; and'seta oat
for the West or California. But,in most l ca
- ses, the same restless, discontented, and specu
lativo spirit, which carried him, awhy at first,
renders continued application at any one tirao'
irksome .to him ; .and so he goes wandering
about the wor!d„a sort of semi-bmlizediArab/'
really a vagrant in. Character, ‘and sure to dio
insolvent. , Mcautimc his fclkitv - apprrotipo, T .
who has stayed at home, practicing economy,
and working_steadily;at. his trade; hasgrown
comfortable in his circumstances, and is even,
jlechaps a citizen of mar’e. . ,
There arc jnert of ability, in'cVcSy Walk of
life, who arc notorious for never getting Slobg.
.Usually, it is because th6y never stick ttf Any
One business. Just- when they.haVb mastered
one pursuit, and are on the.point of .making
money, they change it for another, wlii'oh they
do not understand; and, in a little while, what
tittle they are Worth is lost ■forever." Weknonr
scores of sdoh persons. Co wiicre yoU wili,
you will generally find that tho.uitn wlib havo-'
failed in life are those who never ■ stuck to one-,
thing long.— Journal of Progress- . .. .
Kentucky Jnstirt.
The trial of; Hardesty , for. tile bhootiag'bf
Grubb occupied three days of-, last week at •
Burlington,-Boone co., Ky. ' .-V ' ,
, It will be remembered that a sister of Hor- ’
desty w# 3 seduced by Grubb, and that Hordes- ?
ty told the seducer that lie would give him sis ;
months bftwceli Carrying the girl and being
Killed, xho six months expired, and, Grubb 1
not having married the girl r Hardesty, met him,
?nd op sightshot him. The evidence shbWca'
that Grubb was armed also in expectation of '
the.attack, but was shot in the act of drawing
his weapon. The trial was ended lust Thurs
aP l (:1 , * le verdict of the jury was, hot guilty. .
The following is the substance of thejudgihent '
pronounced by Judge Nutall upon the verdict 1
of not guilty by thejury.in behalfof Hardesty:
Judgment op tub Court.—Siiv-Yqu havh
been indicted by a grand jury of your country J
upbn a most henious charge. You have put
yourself upon your country and' your ,God Tor I.
deliverance. You have had a fair and iiiiplir
tial trial before them, and they have both 1 pro-,
nounced you not guilty, and so say I. It inky ■
[ not be proper for me to express my opinion,yetff •
nevertheless, I-will do it. Young maq ! had,!
been wronged ns you have been, I would have
spent every dollar I had on earth, and at! that '
1 could have begged and borrowed, ani fheii r
stajwed upon the tracks of the villian, but I'
womp have imbrued my liands in his bfootlv
Go hence without delay. You arc. Acquitted I ’
' A Crazy Monarch.- : '
The London correspondent of the New York '
Tribune says: 1 :
“The King of Prussia has become stark mad; .
Ilo.occasionally beliefs that he is a private fiOj- ■
dicr, who has just received his commission as
ensign, but lias since lost the parchment, and ,
therefore he anxiously seeks in nil the Kidded . ‘
corners of the palace and nooks qf the garden;
He dislikes to be watched by his aid-do-camri; • ’
.whom bo believes to be his commanding bffldek-
Though his.mental aberration is hopeless, Jthd ■
question of the Regency remains unset tlcd.'as:
the Queen prevents any step in this direction,
and the ministers do their best to delay it; still •
more, well aware that the first measure of the .
Regent would be to turn them out of office- '
The question becomes still more complicated.by'
the fact that the English Courtwish lor tha kfit '
dication of the Prince of Prussia, and. that tbd '
Queen’s young son-in-law, Prince Predcnc.inw; ■
try his hand at governing a country.
Some Haiti ’
---,,.,,M._,