SAILTEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor
VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 38.1
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gfitttirinz.
A Gipsy King.
Tho greatest weakness my poor aunt had
was a passion for adoption, and irregular
servants. To begin, she adopted me—her
niece. Our boy, who was page and waiter
.at table, was a transported burglar's orphan.
•Our two maid-servants were work-house
.castaways. Our late coachman and general
ornan-servant was ticket-of-leave holder, who
.did not turn out well; and, at last, we
adopted in his place a tipsy king. Aunt, or
Miss Granite, as I ought to call her—was a
maiden lady between fifty and sixty, pos
sessed of considerable property, great
strength of character, and unflinching mor
al courage. This was her very sensible,
though somewhat eccentric idea of practical
charity. Pci haps she was right; for, as a
whole, her system worked well. She rose
superior to the opinion of her neighbors, al
though we lived in a small dull village,
about fifteen miles on the highway from
London to Dover; and. our 1, illa being next
door to the rural station-house, the majesty
of the law, if required, could have been
turned on at any moment.
The ticket•of-leave man had a brother in
the village, who, in my opinion, was no
better than the convict, only he had never
been found out; and this brother, feeling
ashamed of his relative's presence, was al
ways urging him privately to go to Aus
tralia. This unceasing family pressure at
lust had its effect; and one night he disap
peared, taking enough of Miss Granite's
luose cash with him to defray the cost of his
passage.
It was getting late in the autumn; the
weather was cold and chilly; the trees were
standing under bare branches, the soil
round the town was of a elayoy nature;
there had been much rain fur many weeks, 1 .
and the mists were damp and dispiriting.—
About the middle of a very dismal day at
this period, a dirty, ragged man, of the
tramp species, was observed to walk to and
fro for some little time, in the hope of at
tracting the attention of inmates; but, as no
one went to the gate, he at last ventured to
ring the bell. Miss Granite was looking
through the drawing-room window, and at
once made amends for her neglect by order
ing the unpromising stranger to be invited
in. Although he had looked dirty, unpre
possessing, and half-wild outside the house,
when he entered our presence his appear
ance was infinitely worse. His clothes were
patched with rags, like a bed-quilt, and the
patches were repatched with clay. His face
was sharp, brown, and grizzly; and his
bands were nearly the color of treacle. Ills
object was to solicit the place left vacant by
the absconded ticket-ufleave man.
"Where have you lived before?" -asked my
aunt. The visitor was silent.
"I don't care where it was," continued
my aunt, "so long as I know the truth: I'm
above all vulgar prejudices."
"Well, mum," he said slowly, "I 'av'n't
lived anywhere to speak on, except in the
woods. I'm a gipsy king."
"A what?" exclaimed Mrs. Granite, in
astonishment•
gipsy king, mum," returned the
stranger, timidly, "an a worry 'ard life it
is, mum!"
My aunt for some few minutes remained
silent. The stranger waited for her to take
up the conversation, and I felt very much
disposed to laugh.
"Is it possible," said Miss Granite, "that
One of your ancient, wandering race, can
think of settling down in the home of civil
ization?"
"Yes, mum," replied the gipsy king,
."that's hezactly what it is."
"You aro not sincere,"asked Miss Gran
rite, "in your desire to forsake your tribe?"
.! , ,They didn't do the thing as %vas right by
me," said the gipsy king, erasive!y; "they
took a busurper; let 'ens keep 'ins."
"You have no wish to be any longer con
sidered a king?" asked Miss Granite; with
some tone of respect in her voice.
"Gipsy kings, mum, is all worry -well to
sing about over a planer," lie added, turn
ing to me; "but let 'em try it in the winter,
that's all!"
This last answer seemed satisfactory to
aunt, and it explained to me pretty clearly
the motives that had governed the stranger's
application for the place. The weather was
quite severe enough to drive every tribe of
real or professed gipsies into comfortable
winter quarters, except those who were con
tent to be petrified with rheumatism and
chilblains.
The gipsy king retired to the apartment
,of his predecessor, the late ticket-of-leave
man, and in the course of an sour he ac
quired the appearance of another individual.
Two buckets of water, several cakes of soap,
and the half-livery of the last servant (the
best suit he had left behind him,) turned
the gipy king into a very presentable groom
—even for a village.
"What name shall we call you by?" asked
Miss Granite, when he came into the sitting
room fur orders.
OM
"Well, mum," he replied, "if it's all the
same to ycu, I should like to drop my real
name, which no one could make anythin' of,
au' answer to the call of Sam."
ma
"We Shall call yuu Samuel," said Miss
Granite, with some dignity, "we have no
nicknames here."
My owu impression is, that the gipsy king
would, if properly treated, have sunk in
time to a steady, commonplace servant. The
influence of regular habits and regular meals
was beginning to tell upon his frame, and
while lie lost his hungry sharpness of face
lie acquired a very respectable rotundity of
body. The proverbial restlessness and ac
tivity of his race was certainly becoming
faded in him, for no one of the small kitch
en household was so often found asleep be
fore the tire. Ile was spoiled by his fellow
servants. They told him wonderful stories
of his people that he had never beard 'before,
and they sang unto him the wild songs of
his native tribes (as published by the music
sellers.) They read to him (for he could
not read himself) a cheap penny history of
Itampfylde Moore Carew; and though he
openly called the wandering gentleman an
idiot and a foal, the poison sank into his
soul. They would not let him alone, but
taught him cheerful ballads of a gypsy's life,
until his not very powerful mind began to
give way, and he passed much of his time
in dreaming of the lost poetry of the woods
and golds.
He was a tolerably steadyrnan, but a very
unsteady coachman. His knowledge of wild
horses might have been very great—as great
as he said it was—but fur thefirst two months
he could scarcely turn our old mare, Nancy,
in the road, and he was quite unequal to
backing her up a lane. Miss Granite seem
ed perfectly satisfied with him, and there
fore no one else could complain; and she al
ways treated him with much ceremony, in
consideration of the title he had given up
on entering her service.
The winter, which was a very severe one
passed by, and the spring came in very warm
and early. About the middle of March we
were sitting with open windows; the grass
was rich and full, and the birds were sing-
ing in trees that were prematurely covered
with le.ives. The songs which the gipsy
king had learnt of the servants he sang mure
loudly and more frequently about the house
and stable yard: and fur the last two months
he had claimed his periodical holidays, and
• had spent them, as far as I could learn, in
wanding about the country.
Miss Granite had a custom of going to
London twice a year—early in April and
early in Octoho—to see her stockbroker,
and transact a little city business. I never
knew what she did on those occasions, toy
duty being simply to accompany her in the
carriage, to wait until she was ready to re
turn, to dine with her at a particular pastry
cook's, and afterwards to ride with her home.
The coachman had always half-a-cruwo giv
en him, and permission to spend it at a par
ticularly old tavern near the Bank of Eng
land.
Of course these visits to the metropolis
were always made in our own carriage, as it
was exactly at that period when coaches bad
ceased to run, and railways had not yet thor
oughly taken their place.
The vehicle was brought to our door about
ten o'clock in the morning, and we drove
leisurely to the city, (not to distress the
horses,) arriving there about half-past one.
At five o'clock—allowing time for rest and
baiting—we again took our seats, and got
home between eight and nine to tea or sup
per. This is precisely what we had done, to
my knowledge, eighteen times during the
last nine years, and this is what Mrs. Gran
ite, in the early part of the April et which
I am writing, prepared to du again.
One coach was old-fashioned, but comfort
able; a yellow chariot that would have held
six upon an emergency, but which (except
when Miss Granite placed it at the disposal
of a children's party) never held but our two
selves. Miss Granite used to sit by herself
on the broad cushion facing the driver, as
she could not ride with her back to the
horses; and I used to sit opposite, as she al
: ways liked plenty of room. The two horses
were bony and majestic, and we never knew
what their full speed was, as it had never
been tried. The mare, Nancy, was rather
restive, but the other horse was easily man-
aged.
There was the equipage with which, on a
bright spring mozning, like a summer's
morning, we started fur London, the gipsy
king being elevated upon his novel throne,
t he coach box. Ile had driven us before ,
about the country, with more or less skill, 1
but this was his first metropolitan journey,
I had my misgivings, but it was useless to
express them.
We went on very well, evert down Shoot- I
er's Hill, until we got into the busy part of
the Old Kent Road; and there I noticed the
wheels of heavy wagons very close to our
windows, and we received several severe
Lumps. When we reachol the borough,
these signs of bad coachmanship became
more frequent; and we heard the sounds of
loud, angry and laughing voices, the slashing
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA., SATURDAY
of whips across the top of our chariot, and
saw the meaning gestures of many omni
bus drivers and hackney-cabmen. The pas
sage of L•)ndon Bridge and King William
street was an agony of terror to me, though
aunt seemed to bear it all very calmly. At
length we drew up at our destination, the
gipsy king received his half-a-crown and his
instructions, and we went about our busi-
CM
Punctually at our usual time (five o'clock)
we made our appearance to return, and we
found the gipsy king in readiness with the
vehicle. We took our seats ; our monarch
mounted his throne; and, after considerable
difficulty in turning the horses' heads, dur
ing which a dozen people b 0-; em c d to volun
teer their services, we were at last fairly
started on the road home. The passage of
the Bridge and borough seemed to have in
creased tenfold in difficulty since the morn
ing, and yet our driver, as if by inspiration,
llew through all. Other drivers still looked
at us, and once I heard a shout. and felt a
bump, and saw a truck rolling ever in the
gutter; but still we kept on our headlong
course. Aunt, whose nerves are like iron,
had gone fast asleep, and her body was.jump
ing from side to side like a puppet in a Punch
and Judy show. T: ^ horses had never been
put upon their metal before, and they seem
ed delighted and astonished at their speed.
Hooked. through the window behind me,
and saw the gipsy king 11Jurigring his whip
above his head, and bumping up and down
on his throne, like a jockey riding a race.
We soon left the town far in the rear, and
atill we kept on. Aunt had by this time be-
come thoroughly aroused, and half persuad
ed that something was wrong. All attempts '
to arrest the course of the gipsy king were
unavailing, and Miss Granite was about to
break the glass, and try to pull the wild
driver from his seat, when a sudden collis
ion with some roadside obstacle shook the
vehicle like a jelly, cast us both into each
other's arms, and threw both the horses on
their haunches. We quickly recovered our
selves, and seized the opportunity to jump
out, and question the gipsy king upon such
reckless behavior. He had got his horses
on their legs again, and he was grinning
with a stupid leer of satisfaction.
'•Samuel," said Miss Granite, with at ern
decision, "you're intoxie,tted; where are we?"
"Mum," returned Samuel, and he was in
toxicated, "you've done the—the—thing—
's—right—byme, an'—the gip's—'art's gra
—grateful."
"Where are we?" again asked Miss ; ran•
ite, with extraordinary firmness, while I
trembled nervously, fur we were on a bleak
common, and it was now nearly dusk.
"You know me," returned the gipsy king,
confidentially, "my 'ome—sholly ole green
'god tree! Am I right?"
"Samuel," returned Miss Granite, "my
home is Bexley-town, and I insist upon be
ing taken there."
"•Muni," stammered the gipsy king, with
much difficulty', and holding out his hand,
"this 'and's—a—gip—'s 'and, hut's never
bin stai—stained wi' crime." And then he
proceeded very clum,ily to mount his coach
box, singing all the while in a weak, shrill,
uncertain vuiee,
"Sa—a—a-11} . fol— low 'Jrn:
_a—a—a—tly 'au,"
"This is the teaching of those foolish girls
at home, aunt," I said, feeling that I must
say something, or faint.
"I don't know what it is, my dear," re
turned Miss Granite, "but I'm determined
we will not return home with that drunken
idiot, if we wander about the country all
night."
The tipsy king had by this time seated
himself upon the coach-Loa, with the reins
in his hands.
-You won't—mtnn—werry - well," he said,
addressing my aunt in a little louder tone
as he Eaw us meting away, "you'll 'ear from
me, 11.111111— . CaS t will. Ito Wry the gip—
scorns as he flies—tu's folast 'clue."
Saying this, he tloarilted his whip; and,
singing loudly some song about the pleas
ures of a gipv's life, he drove madly across
the common, and wa.‘ soon lust iu the dis
tance, amorist the trees.
That was the last we ever saw of the gip
sy king, or of the carriage. We reached a
laborer's cottage, where we passed the uight,
and we reached our home the next evening
by posting across the country. Miss Gran
ite, in her usual way, would have no inquiry
made about her loss, and she rather indulged
the belief that the gipsy king had killed
himself by driving Ipr a precipice. For
myself, I could only suppose that the horses
had been sold at a fair in the regular irreg
ular way; and that the carriage, it' not turned
into a shovr, was built up and disguked in
the almost inaccessible depths of some for
est, where it afforded is snug house of call
for tramps, or a winter home for gipsies and
gipsy babies.
A Dreadful Situation
"What a dreadful situation for a young
girl to find herself in! Pzrfectly willing to
be married, with a dear, kind father equally
as anxious for her to eater the gloriom ,
state of matrimony, which would crown her
with a hale of felicity—and not a lover to
be met with!"
Thus soliloquised a young girl of fifteen,
as she eat looking over the wide domains of
her father's chateau, apart from the world
of Paris, and oh! most strange to add, in a
part of the country as yet virgin of any
thing like a railroad. All this sort of reverie.
is delicious—all those dreams of the halo of
felicity erovning marriage are beautiful at
fifteen, but a few years later, and how rer3
like a crown of thorns the halo looks.
Jenny d'llerbeeouTt Vas very much to be
pitied. There was no inexorable father, no
cruel guardian, nothing was wanting to
complete her felicity but a mere trifle—the
man, and the man sorely puzzledithe young
lady's brains. Where was be to be found
in that isolated spot, only visited by a lum
bering diligence.
The good fattier was going to be married
again to a cousin of tier own, one Aglae—a
nice, good creature—and she, too, was
anxious fur Jenny to marry. Was ever
anything si) PrOVOkillg as all these consents,
without the assent of seine dear unknown?
Aglae was staying at the chateau, and
hard indeed mu-A be the heart which would
not feel for Jenny, when she beheld the
!charming 1 . 1011852a1l other future step-mother
ME!
"Some one shall appear," sighed Jenny,
after a conversation with hat• cousin .Aglae,
the sort of one to inflame a girl's head, if
not her heart—all aboutlaces and cashmeres,
orange flowers, &c. Most unfortunately
there was not a young man in the neighbor
hood
- free and able," (Jenny reserved to
herself to make him “willing,")
blessings on minds given to speculatel—a
company sent down a young engineer to
survey the land, with the view of com
mencing a railroad. Gustave Delvat was
the son of an old friend of her father, who
had met the young engineer in the country
surveying the land, and discovering who he
was, insisted upon his leaNing his hotel,
and taking up his lodgings at tl.e chateau.
A mouth had he been domiciled there,
and assuredly if he was a first-class en
gineer he was a third-class gallant. lie
did'nt seem to know that there was a young
girl within miles of him—his heart was as
hard as the rails he was about to lay down,
l and all this coldness made the iron enter
into Jenny's soul. All day long he was
making his calculations, while she was
speculating about him,
One day she pretended:to faint. Gustave
flew to her rescue; he was furred to look
into her faze, and discovered that site was
charming, fresh, and bright as the land be.
fore his horrid railroad cut it up.
Still he vent on with his parchment. So
Jenny went into his Ace and carried eLi
all his instruments, ke.,, and looked them
up. In vain he implored.
"Ynu are looking very ill," she said,
"and 1 sha/1 inNi.t 011 your only Irurking su
many Imnrs a day.•,
Again he looked in the face of one so
anxious about him, and yielded. She kept
the key of his of lee.
This loft him several hours a day undis
posed of. What could he do with them?
Jenny solved the difficulty, and together
they surveyed the surrounding country and
its beautiful walks, as yet not cut up.
One day the engineer furg:ut all the plans
he had laid down on his own road of action
—not to fall in love with Jenny, not to be
led into a path which lie imaginel would
be perhaps harder to cut throe:4h than a
rook. If it were but that! llalf our lines
rue through the like, but lie felt that her
heart would be harder than any granite.
and Jenny did nut like, in maiden modesty,
to tell hint she knew butter. So oil' to her
step mother she sped.
"Gustavo loves me" she cried, "but
would you believe it of a Parsiao he is
Something must be dune to overcome
that. So agreed her step mother, but a girl
like herself.
"1 have thought of something, Aglac,"
said Jenny at ',tit. • "Stay in the next room,
and call papa there on sumo excuse. Gus
tave is certain t , ) follow me hither; leave
the rust to me."
"Bac 'twill be a snare," exclaimed the
other.
"Ouc with which ho will taken, believe
me." answered the wide-awake young lady.
"And if it is for his happiness?"
"True, I overlooked that."
So Jenny remained alone, and soon, as
she had foreseen, the wandering engineer,
without the aid of his compass, discovered
the clod of earth, called Jenny d'llerbe
court.
"I want the key of my office, mademoi
selle," ho said, "I must work."
"I want you to oblige mo first, Monsieur
Gustave."
mademoiselle•"
"You see," continued Jenny, "I am to
play a part next week in a charade. Will
you rehearse it with me?"
"I don't know it; but command me, I
do my part."
"A young man is to make me a declara
tion of love. You may play that part."
"Too willingly would I, but how in the
charade?"
"Go down on your knees." (lle does it.)
"Now grasp my hand." (Fondly pressed.)
"Excellent. Now attempt to kiss it.
But I must draw it aw.q." (Accomplished
Ito the letter.)
"0! charming!" cried the young lady,
clapping her hands, and at that in rushed
Aglae, followed by the unconscious father.
Gustave sprang to his feet. and in the et
most confusion assured the indignant parent
that it was only an innocent joke.
Aglae and Jenny bad fled, but they were
listening.
At the word "joko" Monsieur d'llerbe
court flew into a pas.ion, and to prove how
little our theiry and practice ever agree he
who had written a pamphlet against duel
ling, challenged Gustave.
lORNING, APRIL 9, 1559.
At the idea, of fighting, the ladies thought
it time to interpose. Agle followed Mon
sieur d'Herhecourt, who had quitted the
room to prepare his arms, and Jenny rush
ing in loudly upbraided Gustave with wish
ing to kill her papa.
"Do not alarm yourself, mademoiselle,"
he said, "I will not raise an arm against
your father; he may kill met"
As if that was her purpose iu this little
scheme! Of what earthly use would a dead
lover be? She who had so much difficulty
in discovering this living ono.
"A. pretty egpedient," she erica, "as If
there was uut another way of arranging the
affair."
"1 See but one," re3ponded the engineer.
"one that would fill my heart with joy, but
I dare scarcely name it fur fear of displeas-
lug you.
"Never mind—name it."
••To .solieit your hand in marriage."
"Oh, that does not displea , e at all," she
exclaimed. '• 'Tis far• better than killing or
being killed. Go and ask papa."
At that moment d'Herbecourt entered
with an ontiuous-looking case of pistols un
der his arm; be was frowning in a most de
termined fashion. Agdae was following his
footsteps, and. without a word she opened
the ease and showed him his pamphlet
against duelling, which she had placed in
the ease iu lieu of the abstracted pistols.—
The blood-thirsty d'llerbecourt looked rath
er confused, and here Gustave stepped for
. ward and solicited the honor of Jenny's hand
In marriage
D'llerbecourt, delighted with ri son-in-law
whom he already esteemed, gladly grasped
his hand; and that evening. as Jentiy sat at
her window, looking at the moon, as all
young ladies in lure do, she said to herself,
smiling complacently.
"When a young girl wills anything—"
The re,t WaS Cuth:ludel by a significant
uod of the head.
The Chimpanze's Marriage.
A St:RIO-COMICALITY rnou FRENCH
If you have ever been at Nh-ones, at
Beau aerie, at Tarascon, at Montpelier, iu
short, any city of middle Ural oh! reader,
you are certainly acquainted with Polito.
,econd or third of the mime we
mean; for tl'e Pollan+ comAitute a dynasty
in thentsgi s cs, as immortal in the annals of
learned animals and menageries, as are tho
Franconia in those of the ring and the fly
ing cord.
At the period of our tale's catumenen
meta, Polito \V LS IlUt 11 , 1WeVer that he
wa, dc.tined to become; that is, director of
one of the mo,t briHiant menageries in the
world—a cuilectio❑ of animals which, in
fact, has made his fortune, and enabled him
to purehtte a Sea-f4de, chateau where he
nun- re-ides, completely retired from inter
courte with lions and rhinoceri.
Polito was then, only director of a troupe
of itinerant acrobats, a property nmeh lc
productive, and also much le,s expensive,
than a troupe of wild beasts, inasmuch as,
in a financial crisis, the actors can he
managed very well by means of promises
and kicks, while the lions, tigers and
leopards demand a bill of fare rather more
sub,tan tial.
Polito, following the tradithns of his
class, had enrolled among his "tirt artist.,"
several of his own children, and, with the
rest, Mademoiselle Atala, his favorite
daughter, (being his only one,) a pretty
little brunate of sixteen, to whom he had
given the most thorough education—in all
the branches of tight rope dancing and
pantomime.
Now, it happened one day, that such a
terrible clamor was heard in the interior of
Polito's caravan, that folks thought the
establishment must have taken fire, in all
the points of the compass at once. But it
was Thlito himself who made all the racket,
in a fearful rage, and pale as chalk, because
he has just caught Friseolo, his young
clown, kissing Maim:elle Atakt in a corner,
without much appearance of vigorous re
sistance on that damsel's part. Polito's
first act had been to box Mamzers cars
soundly, and his next, to full upon the un
fortunate Friscolo, and absolutely to drive
him out of the place like a rogue caught in
flagrank
In 'rain the sage and prudent Sainte-Mur
luche—quondam counsellor at laic, reduced
by misfortune to the position of treasurer
and brass-drum to tho troupe of Polito—
endeavored to plead tho cause of the dis
graced clown:
"In the first place," said Sainte3lerluche,
—Friscola is very young: besides, no one is
so wonderful in tho double summersault,
the di-loeation act, the india•rubber man.
.ts he. He seems more, in fact, like a snakr.,
a squirrel, a frog or a kid, than a man. In
short, Friscola is a most precious treasure
to our company."
But P.lito was hien:or:Ale. Paternal
feeling.; outrage.h outweighed even the di
rectorial interest, and the yulm2; clown Wat,
stricken from the rulls
Reader, pity p wor rrisoola, for not only
did he lose his i.uoial ,n, but he 14 , t.
above all, :11; iuzelle Atala—Mamzelle
Atala, whom he loved to distraction, and
will never ecan to adore:
Ciao or two years hare passed since then,
and now we find P.,lito at the bead of that
81,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN 41WANOE,
fine menagerie, which some of you must A small recedi.ig chin. , r a feeble jaw,
have seen at the great Lirs. Polito realizes may be entirely concealed by a full beard,
money rapidly; he dues a mmth better I and with great athanto.‘„re to the general
business than the Provincial theatres, who physiognomy. So may the opposite defect;
are obliged to pay tenors and prime donne of tun coarse a jaw-bone or tun long a ehiu.
thirty or forty thousand francs a year. But I Too straight an upper lip can he improved
thegreatest attraction of Polito's menagerie, by the curve of a well-trimmed ufskustaeile
after all, is neither his royal tiger, nor his Su can an upper lip tl.at it is too limet, from
elephant, nor his white bear, nor his giraffe, the nose down wo rd,, or ono that ie
nor even his hippopotamus! mcd i 0 die 1 , , some of the upper teeth.
Ni! the grand attraction, the real FIMIT,r; 114 the prime of life, suffered
is a chimpanze—that eMraordinary ape. from niillotion. and (artistically
almost as ugly as, and scarce less manly
thau eeveral wen of your and our arquain-
tanee, and who has been sz.: des,n-il.ed
by M. de Bunn of the famous lace sleeves.
Just look at him, the lovely beast, there
in his cage, cutting all sorts of queer antics.
winking at you, snaking horrible fief.,
drinking out or a bottle alter gravely (Iran -
ing the cork, re-corking, and handimt it. t
you empty, imitating all the gestures, in
short, of a mischievous urchin. 11,,w
natural, that, with such a prodigy as the
incomparable Jacques, (the ape's name
Jacques,) l'ohto's receipts :should be mag
nificent!
lint, alas! alas! how- fall the hopes and
ambition Of poor humanity! Imagino the
grief of Polito when, one day, he discover,-
that his dear Jacques is ill and languid!
Jaeves plays no more, but stretched so pine
in his cage all day, refuses food of all sorts,
even carrots, and when a Ciiimpatize refuse,
carrots, you know the affair is set ions.
Already the 'molter of spectators dimin
ish, and the receipts begin to lessen very
visibly.
".Malediction?" cries Polito; "to lose my
Chimpanze at the very moment that I was
beginning to make my fortune, and to think
of retiring upon my income:"
ITe is inconsolable. Ile will not even
venture Dear the cage for fear of killing
hiant.elf in despair ag.ain.t the bars.
But, I.! a few clays:: fn•rwards the mentpf
erie. is aWakellkell one 1110roinT. by b.)
Thee cries are uttered by :^,titee
lerluehe Wilt, is 1:111411i114 turd 1,1111,1,e1'11Z,
in a breath, like one demented.
Saved! sas ed! he ham he recovered!”
yell, liu ;:t Polito the nz.tnent he .ve ,
in the dislttlice. Arid he drag , the threztor
to the cage, where, pure enough, the Chin:-
panie appears seated on his bind patvs as
lively and joyous as ever and, as soon a,
he sees his ma•ter, executes a act ic, Of %Vlll
dernd le.tps and tumbles in proof of his
renewed health. P , dito inblxieated with
delight. Ile giveq instant elders to pro
claim through: the town that Jacques is
enm%alesceut, and, iu fact, wo,re nimbie than
IME2
In truthYaeques seems to have improved
during his siekuw<s, for he has inveutd a
number of new feats and h
would set a professional mourner to laugh-
You will readily suppose that tha crond
soon began to resume the rood to Polito*: ,
menagerie. People came to SOO the Clain'
ranZe front thirty miles round.
So, after a remarkalsle series of per
formances nit en through many slistricts
with invariable success, Polito betakes him
self one day to the estimate of his ;mills,
since the period of Jacques recovery and
discords that he is a millionaire.
"It is to thee that I owe all this fortune
my precicus ape," cries lie, turning toward
the Chinspari?;(:'s cage: "to thy .vuperior
in
telligeuce, thy grace, thy in:Ara:ordinary
faculties. If thou only had'st the organ of
speech thou might'st ask sue fu• any Toward
in my power to hest ow, and how gladly
would I gite it to thee!"
Scarcely has Polito finished this apoctro
phe, when the Chimp.anze opens his cage,
leaps out and falls at his master's feet
crying—
"Polito, I demand your daughter Atlath,
in marriage!"
We should do injustice to the perspietzeity
of our readers, if we permitted ottr.vil 4h+
to inform them—what they hare Ion;; sinee
douLtless discovered—that the Chimpunze,
Jacques was no other than the flown
Friscula, formerly drit en forth by the
director for snatching . a kiss from the
pretty Mom/elle Ataitt.
Oh: love, behold one of thy many mir
acles!
Beards
The Rome Journal discourses learnedly on
the beard question, as follows:
A very rare thing, indeed. is a male face
which looks better if altogether close
shaven. Yet there is here and there (me—
n youthful Appol:o or Ilyron, whose abso
lutely faultless outline of features is marred
by any breaking up of the harmuniuus
ell semble
Where the 130auty of the face, cor,si.o.
mainly in the fine formation of the jaw
bone and chin, a man lo.cq hr growing his
beard over this portion. Better wear only
the moustache.
There is lIOVI and then a man ‘1"11(10
Severity or sharpne.s of ere is relieved by
a good natured mouth—the stryintal char
acter of the person being 'kindlier that the
intellectual—and a coverinw of the lir,
in sorb n of course. a mistake❑
hiding f nature's apology, nod
detriment to the expretrdon. Bette: wear
only the Ivlliekers.
[WII OLE Nti 1J ER 1,495.
11, 4
tr, face, as ropre,eLted to pui.
tcr•ty. 11:1.“31Jeell reile%ed or_ 'll.B only
tveaLue, I: he Ihtd e ,, n,lealed the cullapbiLig.
Upper lip a tniiit•irc inJut.tuche,
A ii•ttUralty too grace cart
be wade too look. niore cheerful by turning
ap the turners of the moustache—wit Due
ichich is tun trivial and inespres.ive can Lo
made thoughtful by the careful eloping of
the moubtache, with struug linos, duwtl
wards.
Lie wearing of the whcde beard givea, cf
cour , e, a more tutimal look: which is no di,
athanta4e ii tle eyes are large and the fore
intellectual em.ugh to balance. it. But
where tie eyes are staull ur sensual, and 1.1.3
forehead low, the general expression is LW,
ter fur the smooth chin, which to tilo core
mon eye seems less animal.
What is tot nion:3' called an "imperial,"
(a tuft on the middlc of the chin,) is apt to
look like a mere blotch on the lace. or to
Bice it at: air at pettiness and coxeoutbr3.
The wearing the beard tong or short,
forked or peaked, are physdognomical acivi
biEties upon which a titan of judgement
will take the ad% ico of an artist as hell nv
of an intimate friend or La - o—(mA upon all
other particulars, as vreli)—but having once
decided upon tlic most becoming, model, ha
should stick to it. Alteration in the shape
of i prominent a portion of the physiogno
my, give, an itoptession of unreliablenese
!And w.in:tv.
Mttidlo.-zigel men arc apt to be sensitive
wi , ll rho i turning gray of the beard.
i;o• ia. . .11 e . tdil l ll mistaken us to its erect.
t.;;.• tttrus , arlie.t, is not. only
u. l uo!v • - •ifil,elli,lied by a spriukliag
.s• exceedingly intellectualized
;nt , ymp,ohetieally expresbive. The
blunder is to dye such.
h'''ll , l. There is one complexion, hclrever,
of which the ttvizzling is so hideous. that
total shaving, dyeing, or any other : escape
prcferaldr. bi - leaving it to Nature."• t lVe
mean the reldi,h blonde, of which the ftret
blanching qivec the appearance of a dirty
mat. It w.ts un'ant to be dezeribed, per
hnp,i, by the taro Hues iu Ilmlibras:
ri,•• alp• r part illervor
7', It • , ir•r •,. 1 , 14 e. nux••4l v.'lol Vay•"
A white heard le so t,SeCedingly distin
guished, that every man whose hair prema
turely turns.inothl be glad to wear it; while
for an old man's face, it is so softening ti
a veil, so winning an embellishment, that it
is wonderful how such an advantage eould
lie es or thrown way. That old age should
be always long bearded, to be properly
veiled and sCrierable, is the feeling, we are
sure, .4 every loser f nature, as well as of
every eultistted rool deferential heart.
Youths sbouid he told in time that the
beard gro•.ws 'mph more gracefully, and
adapt, iitelf leach bats er.to the face, for he•
inn never :dialed; while, in all beards,
nascent and downy, left to themselves there
is great beauty. The, yellow tinted and
flaxen, with their slight sh.tdings of darker
• Id arc thought the handsomest in Indy
and the East, it bile, while in England and
this country, the dark brown and black aro
preicrred.
Beards are sometimes so coarse a
texture that they require to grow to a con
siderable length Itefore a judgement can be
formed as to the he,t shaping of them. In
dres-i lig the beard by Lou closea scrutiny in
a glass near n window, the IVOllter is apt to
lase the perspective and casual effect upon
the general eye—thus, sometimes, getting
needles-Iv out of humor with what strikes
ethos as Very WC/1011111d lILLIZIng mistaken
exparonents in trying to improve it.
Tho very general habit dyoin;.; of the
hear , / is ofielle.t an exceeding blunder.—
The pe,•uliar deadness of the tint mikes it
detectable to the commonest eye, and the
lack , wr all -hadlng, and the cnn.equebt aL
ruptoe-s of edge, add to the faleity of its
look. Much the greater portion of thou
lvliu "dye," would look vastly better either
with their gray beards, or with chins close
aliaven.
Let us add, by the way, that the lift of
the head abeve the shoulders, so necessary
to a well-bred air. may somctitnes be inter
fered with, by a heard worn too Lusby and
long. The effect of-the beard itself is very
often spoiled by a standing shirt color,
wo , n as to cut off its outline. Shirt, :coat,
and cravat, should all leave head and, beard
to unobstructed view—particularly with
persons of sbort stature.
There are various incidental motives, c I
course. which. arbitrarily rind quite inde
pendent of taste, affect the wearing of the
heard. Clergymen, tutors, deacons, tank
directors. and undertakers, may think it
more or less for their interest to "shave' , —
to satisfy. let us say. however, very un
reasonable expectation. in the eyes for
whieh they do it. But there for here
end there a man. a .t.ceunilary consideration
AT-vellum the natural policy of the bensd.
We +reek one N hose air and manner are
t suklued--one wiionromtyle
to,,,ti is no obvious in
-VI/ is thus naturally too
„,. „, t well to' propitiate
the t ;ea.tetral liopreesiun by its sacrifice.;