The star of the north. (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1849-1866, May 07, 1856, Image 1

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    THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
t. w. VMT W, rrtprie(rO
OLUMEB
THE STAR OF THE NORTH
U PUBLISHED EVERT WEDNESDAY MORNING BT
R. W. WEAVER,
OFFICE— Up stairs, in the new brick build"
trig, on the south side of Main Street,
third square below Market.
FEB. BIS:—Two Dollars per annum, if
paid within six months from the time of sub
scribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not
paid within the year. No subscription re
ceived for a less period than six months ; no
discontinuance permitted until all arrearages
are paid, unless at the option of the editor.
ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square
will be inserted three times for One Dollar
and twenty-five cents for each additional in
aarlion. A liberal discount will be made to
those who advertise by the year.
WATCH, MOTHER.
Mother, watch the little feet
Climbing o'er the garden wall,
Bounding through the busy street,
Ranging cellar, shed and hall.
Never connt the moments lost, w
Never mind the cost;
Utile feel will go astray,
Guide them Mother, while you may.
Mother! watch the little hand .
Picking berries by-the way,
Makiog houses in the sand,
Tossing up the fragrant hay.
Never dare the question ask,
"Why to me this weary task?" *
These same little hands may prove,
Messengers of light and love.
Mother! watch the little tongue
Prattling frequently and wild,
What it said and what is sung,
By the happy, joyous child.
Catch the word while yet unspoken,
Stop the vow before 'tis broken ;
This same longue may yet proclaim
Blessings in the Savior's name.
Mother! watch (be little heart
Beating soft and warm for you ;
Wholesome lessons now impart;
Keep, 0 keep, the young heart true.
Extricating every weed,
Sowing good and precious seed ;
Harvest rich you then may see
Ripening lor eternity.
MEN OF 91 ARK.
COUNT WALKWSKI, the French plenipoten
tentiary at the Peace Conference, is about
fifty years of ago. The upper pan ol his
face down to about half the nose is exces
sively spiritual; the lower portions not so
much so. Though comparatively young in
years, he is an old diplomatist. Twenty-five
years ago, he represented in Paris and Lon
don the provisional government of Poland,
then in insurrection against the Russians. In
1849 he accomplished a mission to Mehe
met Ali, confided to him by M. Theirs. La
ter, M. Guizol despatched him to the prov
ince of La Plata. He was also Minister
Plenipotentiary of France to the Court of
Tuscany, and in the same year to that ol Na
plea. In 1852. he was appointed embassa
dor to the Court of St. James. "The origin
of Count Walewski," says the Debate, "is
most illustrious, and this is always an advan
tage in a diplomatic assembly. He proceeds
from a branch of the Italian Colonna family,
which has given many cardinals snd a Pope
to the Church, besides many generals and
diplomatists to the Courts of Rome, Franca,
and Spain." This may,in fact, be the Count's
origin, legitimately speaking; bul, as the
wbole world knows, and as his features
graphically attest, the Count is the son of the
great Napoleon, and cow acts as president
of a Congress, one of whose duties will be
to efface the record made forty years ago, by
a similar assembly at Vienna, that no one of
the name and lineage of Bonaparte should
ever La recognized on the throne of France.
COUNT ORLOFK, (Be Russian plenipotentia
ry, ia seventy-one years of age, aud is a
wonderfully magnificent looking personage.
Likejtia friend, the late Czar Nicholas, ha is
something more than six feet high—of large
size, very erect, quick in bis movements,
and his countenance denotes robuel health
and great resolution. Ha hat a large head,
covered with iron gray hair, cropped close.
The expression of his features is quite Cal
muck. He look part in all the wars at the
beginning of the century. Wounded at Am
terlitz, and tt the battle of Bordino, he was
made aid-de-camp to the Emperor Alexan
der I. In 1825 he had reached the rank of
general, and in that quality commanJed the
regiment of horse-guards, which on Ihe 261h
of September hastened to repress the emeute
•t St. Petersburg. On that occasion his cou
rage and devotedness secured him the lasting
friendship of the Emperor Nicholas. He is
said to be a man of berculean strength, and
many instance* of its display are recounted.
One delicate exploit is remarkable as an act
of politeness. He was present at a large
banquet somewhere, and during tbe enter
tainment he overheard a lady guest express
her admiration at a beautiful bouquet which
ornamented tbe table. No sooner was the
sentence uttered than the count, reaching
forward, extricated the flowers from a large
rase, and was on the point ot presenting
them to her, wben he discovered that the
stalk* were wet, and dripping from the water
whioh had been placed for their preservation.
He quietly took a rich and massive cover of
vermedl from the service before bin, and
with hardly a perceptible effort, rolled it into
a bouquet-holder, and placing tbe flowers
therein, gallantly offered tbem to his neigh
bor. The oocnl bat given Louis Napoleon
four superb horses from the Ukraine, aud be
praises the French army, particularly the
Zouaves, io ihe highest terms. He eologizss
Louis Napoleon daily, forgetting, doubtless,
lb# slights which bis former master, the Czar
Nicholas, delighted to impose upon hie "ton
ami," whom he would not admit into the
fraternity of mtmarchs.
Whotietkel, whicb,if T®° take the 'whole*
away, there will bo "some" left t
The won! wholesome.
BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 7, 1856.
FRENCH VIEWS of AMERICAN DRESS.
BY BUODE DE QVANART.
We give below an admirable article on the
subject of gentlemen's dress in America,
translated from the French of the eminent
journalist Blague de Quanart, whose contri
butions to the principal Parisisn and Belgiau
journals have of late years attracted so much
attention:
It has often been remarked by travelers,
that one of the predominant characteristics of
our American cities is their newness. . Ev
erywhere there is a fresh, bright color, and
an expression* of recent manufacture ; the
houses seem to have been turned out by
thousands to order, and look as if just finish
ed in one colossal batch—the pavements are
washed as if for a holiday—the very trees on
the sidewalks, in their elaborately trimmqd
neatness,'look as if they were young, snd
not yet accustomed to a regular growing life
—in short, the endless newness and recent
fashion of everything creates at least a feel
ing as though the wholu city were for sale,
and its proprietors were bent on keeping it
as clean, and as much in the style as possi
ble, so that no opportunity to praise it as "a
nest and tasty thing, sir," might be lost.
But not in houses alone do we perceive
endless newness and never ending submis
sion to the mode as though the Americans,
who have succeeded thus far, better than any
other nation in annihilating space, were bent
on defying time also, and leaving no-trace
ol his progress in the past. These people,
so rapid, so brusque, when threatened with
delay, so intoxicated with the endless spirit
of business, still contrive to present in their
persons a newness and freshnesa of attire
whioh altogether corresponds with their
houses, and which, to a practical philoso
pher, is perhaps one ol tho most curious of
the lesser phenomena of the race. For, as
among "the bouses, there are but few of
those palatial edifices so common in Europe,
although their freshness and luxury of paint
and scrubbing distinguishes them entirely
from the citizen homes of France and Ger
many, or even England, so '.he American,
though but rarely a fashion-plate dandy, still
in his style and attire maintains on an aver
age, an infinitely higher standard than that
aspired to by his colleague in perhaps the
same line of life in' Europe. When you
promenade even-the Boulevards of Parie, or
ride in the Champs Elysees—those gardens
of all the flowers of fashionable attire, where
the robes and flounces of Viotorin* wave in {
harmony with the artistically constructed
ccots of Humano—you do not, for all that,
find yoursell in a multitude of well dressed
people. No—even there the long haired
peasant, cn blouse; the artist, fierce, pictures
que, and sometimes dirty; the old gentle
men who recalls the storms of the Revolu
tion, and who clings fondly to his long queue
and coat o la Mazarin, (or who rather suffers
them to cling to him) —all these persons,
pictutesque though they may be, break in
upon the idea of plain good dressing. They
may serve as foils to others, but are in them
selves discords—of silk, cotton and woolen.
But let eome one who can recall the best
dressed street multitude which he has ever
seen in Europe, walk somp fine morning up
an American street, and that at about nine
o'clock, just when the entire current of busi
ness men is flowing down town iu one enor
mous tide towards its daily haunts! Par
preference , I would commend Broadway, New
York, for this observation, since I can reoall
no other city in which such a vast food of
life flows through one single street. You
who have only seen the Boulevards, or the
Pont Neof, when most filled wrtth passengers,
or who have derived ideas of a crowded
thoroughfare from thai terror to strangers,
the Strand in Lotidon, or who believe that
the Vienna Prater was ever 100 lull on the
day of high procession, would regard (hem
all as dreary solitudes wben compared with
Broadway. In ail this immense multitude
there is not one who it not more than passa
bly dressed, snd if you see a single person
among them whose boola are not faultless,
or with soles whioh are not tbiu as a rose
leaf, you may rely upon it that he is an En
glishman, a German, or a millionare. None
but a foreigner, or a man whose standing is
more than secured in' society, would dare
transgress the law of gpod boots which
weighs more heavily upon the American
than all the ter. commandments and the com
non code of the land.
Chiefly are we impressed with the fact
that among all these fine clothes there is
nothing outre—nothing absurd—unless it be
indeed an occasional instance given by some
one who in. bis intense eagerness to keep up
with the fashion has actually leaped beyond
it. In this uniformity—ibis dread of being
''odd '—this terror of eccentricity—this awe
of singularity—we have a curious illustra
tion of one of the ultimate social effects of a
republic. Ia all communities where every
one exercises freely his right to express
opinion, and where snch rights'are cherish
ed as the dearest of privileges, we soon have
a public opinion—for as history is nothing
but a fusion of biographies, so in a republic
the governing opinion is nothing but the
concentrated thoughts of the many. This
public opinion, confined inSurope to so few
points, extends itself in America over many
—I may say myriads. It bas a few bad
points, and many good one*, it is the cause
of a little hypocrisy and of much sound
morality. It auffera no one to wear an old
coat, but condemns to a dreary and despe
rate life of braedy, of clubs and of stables,
the man who gives himself entirely np to
wearing fine elothea or to being idle.
It is a striking pecnDerity of all this fine
dress—of til this broadcloth and velvet in
'winter, and of all this delicate linen and
Oriental cloth, which looks like woven air,
in summer, that it is enormously expensive.
The Parisian petit rentier —the small propri
etor who, in common with the Prussian of
ficer, is supposed to possess the art of carry
ing economy to its utmost extent, would
tremble with terror could be know the
prices which those clothes cost, and the sac
rifices which tome of those young clerks
are imperatively obliged to make "to pre
serve appearances," and with tham their
situations. Yet with all this, as 1 have be
fore said, there is but little elaborate dandy
ism, none of the exquisiteism liree a quatre
epingles which distinguishes the petit maitre
of Paris. No—the same inexorable publio
opinion Whioh here requires the young man 1
rising in the world to conform to a certain
standard, also forbids him from going beyond j
it. Ido not remember to have seen or beard
it remarked, but 1 am none the less certain
that to succeed among Americans, and above
all to acquire with them the slightest influ
ence or respect, you must be neat in your
person. I am convinced of this from the
frequency with which I have heard one
American, while disparaging another, say
"He is slovenly." This was always a con
cluding argument, and sufficed to silence
the warmest friends of the unfortunate slo
ven. One of the most curious instances
narrated to me, and which singularly illus
trates this American mania for neatness, re
lates to the very eminent journalist and poli
tician, Horace Greely, who adopted a style
of excessive carelessness in his outer gar
ments, simply to attract attention to the ex
quisite fineness of his linen and his great
personal cleanliness in the use of the bath.
All of his friends were carefully informed of
this latter peculiarity, and when some igno
rant opponent endeavored to blacken .the
character of Horace by speaking of old hat
and boots, he was at once confuted with—
"Ah ! my dear, you deceive yourself— Greely
is very particular in his shirts and drawers !"
I have heard, but do not vouch for the fact,
that the lingerie —the linen of this eminent
man costs front ten to fifteen thousand francs
per annum.
it will readily be understood that where
public opinion forces with such silent feroci
ty a standard of dress on ail the world, there
must bo a perfect paradise for the man who
desires to obtain an inso'ent nototiely in the
cheapest and readiest manner. It is very
possible that some of my readers have heard
af on MiMtAitl lofrlier #f NttU 'ft**
solved a few years ago in Paris, to become
notorioue by his dress. What pains, what
agonies of invention and of extravagance
the unfortunate was obliged lo undergo, ere
he could attract attention. Bands of blue,
scarlet and yellow ribbon, six inches wide,
twined around his bat and trailing six feet
from it—a scarlet velvet cape and gilt shoes
hardly caused as much observation as would
be granted in America to a man with his
cloak over his arm.
There lived not long since in New York, a
man whose peculiarity was that he weje
very old, very ragged and very dirty clothes,
and in addition to this bad no fixed place of
abode, but slept in lime-kilns or barns.—
"Nothing very remarkable, this," one would
say, in Europe, where every city has thou
sands of such vagrants. Ah! but you do
not understand America! That lime-kiln
vagabond was one of the Hons of New York
—his appearance in Broadway was chroni
cled in the first papers; when some one gave
him a new-old coat, it wss put down as an
event in their reports—when he died, the
press embalmed his memory in obituaries,
a thousand canards were let fly as to his
early life, a drama introducing him in his
dirty coat, drew tears from the eyea of the
ladies, and a I write a novel entitled "The
Limekiln Man" lies before me. Ask the
first New Yorkei whom you meet, if he has
ever heard of the Limekiln Man?
There is a man who forms one of the "in
stitutions" of Philadelphia—everything ia an
institution in America—to whom (here oc
curred one day the brilliant idea of walking
with the gait of a young recruit undergoing
bis first drill. This startling, this wondrous,
this amazing conception was orowned with
the utmost success—a success which he
further secured by wearing his bat on the
back part ol hia head and tucking his panta
loons into hia boots! Wonderful genius!
happy man ! On fine days you may see
him walking along Chestnut street—the fash
ionable street of Philadelphia—condescend
ingly touching his hat to every lady; while
all the world murmurs after him, "There
goes (be man with the Military walk."
It ia needless to eay that the few young or
middle aged men In America who are gifted
with wealth and leisure, and who give them
selves up seriously to living for dress alone,
succeed amemeitle in attracting admiration,
envy and hatred—as in all parts of the world.
And when we reflect on the manner in
which American* succeed in dress when
they give themselves entirely up to it, it is
really amazing that such lions are so rare
among them. The "gilded youth" of Euro
pean capital* are not more elaborate, more
butterfly-like, more perfectly exogenous, as
they say in botany of those plante whose
growth ia entirely outward, than are the
young men who appeal at aoireee and re
ceptions ia Atlutio Amorioah cities.
I have not exhausted this subject—nay, I
bare not begun it. But 1 have said enough
to show you that in America, aa in all parts
of the world, the social spirit of the people,
its government and it* morals, are alt, to a
dpgtee, mirrored in their dress.
.f..
SEALED PROPOSALS.— The question popped
and sealed with a kiae.
Troth tod Bight fied aid tor Ctootvy.
THE WIDOW'S DBAII.
Services had commenced in tbe neat little
sanctuary, which the inhabitants of Harlem
had consecrated to the services of God. The
minister bad read the psalms, scripture les
sons, and had repeated the first line of the
opening bymn. The eyes of the people were
fixed latently upon him, for ha was not only
a sound and eloquent preacher, but he waa a
fine lookibg one, too, and thus enchained not
only the attention of tbe true, but the false
worshippers. The house wit very still—the
clear, melancholy tones of ths preacher were
the only sounds that throbbed on the balmy
golden air, which the midsummer's Sabbath
mom htd breathed into that holy place.
Tbe first syllable of the aecdßap Mw was
trembling on hi* lips, when a"Tt*tle al the
door, and the entrance of two persons, a lady
and a gentleman, dissolved the-eharm. In a
second every eye turned from the pulpit to
the broad aisle, and watched with more than
ordinary interest, tbe progress of the couple.
A most searching ordeal were tbey subjected
to, and when fairly and quietly sealed in the
first petv, immediately in front of the pulpit,
what a nudging of elbows there was—aye,
and bow many whispers, too.
In vain the sound, the good, tba eloquent,
the handsome Mr. B. sought ag'jin to steal
the attention of his hearers. "Ibey had no
eyes, no thoughts for any body else but wid
ow C. and widow C's. young, gentlemanly
and dashing attendant.
How she had cheated them* Hadn't she
said she didn't feel as though she could ever
wear anything but mourning! And in spita
of these protestations, come out
all at once, dreesed in while, Rid walked in-'
to the cburoh in broad daylight, leaning on
the arm of a your.g gentlemats.
Yes, indeed she bad. She would have
plead guilty to all these charges, grave ones
as they were, and to the last two how many
witnesses had been subpoenaed 1 She was
actually dressed in white, withpen corsage,
displaying an elaborately wrought ChemizeUe,
drapery sleeves trimmed with the richest
Mechlin lace, under-sleeves of the same ex
pensive material, with a white Jaoe hat with
orange buds and flowers, with kid gloves aud
light gaiters—such was the description every
lady bad on her tongue's end, to repeat over
as soon is the service was ended.
And lha gentleman—he was dressed in
style—didn't he wear white pants of tbe latest
pattern, and a white vest, and a coat of satin
ami white Jtids, toojrand. didn't be
sport a massive crism, no gazW
often and lovingly on the fair features beside
him?
Ah yea, he did so, and there was no fur
ther room to doubt. Widow C. had cheated
them. She had won a beau, laid aside her
mourning, put on a bridal attire and was go
ing to be married in obuioh. But who the
beau was, and from whence he came, it was
difficult to solve.
Services proceeded. The choir sung and
the minister prayed and preaohed—the peo
ple wondered when the ceremony would take
place.
Bujjo their utter astonishment, they were
left to wonder.
For wben the benediction wu pronounced,
widow C. and the strange gentleman walked
with the rest of Ihe congregation quietly out
of church. When they bad reached ihe
pavement, he offered her hiaarm very gtaoe
fully, and she placed her band-very confi
dentially on the beautiful cast sleeve, as tbey
passed on.
Whatamoruiogthat was in Harlem! What
a world of conjectures, surmises, inquiriea
and doubts roiled over in tbe brains of not
only gossipping ladies, but sober, matter-of
fact gentlemen. The like of such a thing
had never occurred in the annals ot the vil
lage—there wai something new uuder the
inn—a lady had a beau, and nobody knew
it.
Widow C , didn't yonr ears burn that day?
And we wonder they didn't drop off; surely
they must have been crisp and crimson.
The Rev. Mr. B. prepched to a crowded
house that afternoon; no compliment to him,
though. Every one was confident the wed
ding would take place then, bnt everybody
was sadly disappointed; and if tongues bad
run at railroad speed before, they traveled
then on electric wires. The minister might
have preached in Greek that day, and the
sermons would have been quite as edifying.
But one subject occupied the village mind—
the widow's beau.
It actually seemed, too, as though the lady
'tried to make all tbe talk she could. After
tea, arm in arm with the strange gentleman,
she walked the whole length of the village,
and away out into the country, and never re
turned till the moon was high.
"A nice looking dress I guess she _had,"
drawled out gtandma W. as she listened to
tbe story of the hendsonio widow's wander
ings. "I'm glad I hain't got to wash it, all
drabbled up with dew, a* it must have been;
but I don't 'eposerhe thought or cared a word
about it. she's ao tarried away witb bim.—
But I'll give her a piece ot my mind the Aral
lime I beve a chance; sea K I don't.
But the good old dame began to fear he
would never have the decire<t chance.
She hurried through bar wishing on Moil
day, and hobbled over loathe widow's as soon
ss possible, bat the dorr was locked, and
one of the neighbors (aid Mr*. C. and a gen
tleman went off in abarriags, nobody knew
where, early in the mkning—"Yes, and nev
er got home* until nits o'clook in the eve
ning." Look o.ut wiAw! yonr character is
on the carpet J? \
If she knaß.it, appsintly she did't care,
for the nernstf she wey a sailing with her
beau, day sUs mrtlMHtb him
off to the woodlawn, and Ihe next forenoon
jvent with him in a carriage to the railroed
station; and there not only wept as she part
ed fm him, but actually embraced and
kissed bim!
"What! in broad daylight!" exclaimed
grandma W. "Wall, if I evar heard or seen
tbe likeon't.
Little Nail, the old lady's youngest grand
child, wondered to herself if it wasany worse
in broad daylight than ttany other time
Perhaps you will wonder, too. We did'at
least.
There wu a Urge attendance that attar
noon at the weekly meeting of the village
sewing eooiety. Everybody went that could
poesibly leave home. And what a chatter
-1 ing there was when the bttstling of nsserab
ling wai over. There waa but one topic, but
that was all engrossing, the widow's beau,'
for the gentleman must be her beau,
or at least ought to be.
Everybody had something to tell, some
thing to wonder at'. But suddenly every mag
ic tongne was hushed ; an universal stroke of
palsy seemed to have fallen on the group as,
looking up, they perceived the very lady
about whom they were conversing so eager
ly, standing iu the doorway.
"Good afternoon, ladies," said she in her
usual quiet way; "1 am glad to see so large
and happy a galhe ring. It is a besutilul day
for our meeting.''
And then she proceeded to the table and
helped herself to a block of pa'chwork, in
quiring for the sewing silk, which having re
ceived, she sat down in the only vacant chair
and commenced hemming a red bird with a
yellow wing on a very green twig, which lat
ter had already been hemmed on to a square
piece of white cloth, and the whole, when
completed, was designed to form the twenti
eth part of a bed-spread. She seamed all
engroised with the bird's bill, and (poke to no
one. Everybody wondered if she had heard
what t.iey were saying when she came in;
but her placid countenance soon re assured
the most fearful, and every ono longed to
commence o personal attack.
Old grandmother W. was the first to ven
ture. She raeaut to do up the matter very del
icately, and in so roundabout a way that the
lady would not suspect her of curiosity. So
she began by praising Mrs. C's. dress.
"Why, it's resl'y a beauty. Where did you
get it?"
"I bought it."
•'Here ?
"No."
i -awii. i. in,, eii
"la the city, last spring."
"Oh. you did, did you ? But 1 thought you
was never going to drees in anything but black
again ?"
All scrutinized the lady's face in search of
a blush, but it continued as usual, while she
answered—
"l did.think and say so once, but I have
finally altered my mind."
"Yom have, eh! What made you ?"
"Oh, I had good reasons."
Here ike hearers and lookers on winked
and looked very expressive at eaoh othet.
"But did you not spoil your beautiful white
dress the other night wearing it to the bury
ing ground ?"
"I did not wear it."
Here was a damper for the old lady. She
, had such a long lecture to read on extrava
gance, and she determined to do it too, when
fortunately for her eloquent strain, Mrs. C.'a
dress hung up in her wardrobe all the time,
and she bad worn an old black wild.
After a while the old lady look a fresh start.
She would not be balked again. She would
find all about that bean before she went
home, "that she would."
She began by saying—
"Your company went away this morning
didn't he?"
"He did."
"He did not stay very long, did ha?"
"Not ao long as 1 wished him to stay," was
the reply.
And how the ladies looked at each other.
It was as good as a confession.
"When did he come ?"
"Saturday evening."
"Were you looking for him?"
"I had been expecting him for a fortnight
or more."
"Why, du tell if you have then, and you
have never told on't either. Had he any bu
siness in the place ?"
"He had."
"What was it ?'*
This, was rather more direct and blunt
than she meant to put, and she forthwith
apologized.
Bat the widow interrupted her by saying—
"o, I'd as lief you'd know it as not; he
came to see me."
O, widow C., your good name ilid go down
thee. Be careful what you say next, or you
will have only a remnant of a character left
to go home yvilh, and remnants go very
cheap.
"He did, did he ? and be didn't come for
nothing else, then. And were you glad to see
him?"
Indeed I was. It was one of the happiest
moments of ray existenoe."
"Well, well," said the old lady, hardly
knowing how to frame the next question, l
"weH, well, he's a very good looking man,
any way." * t I
'T think so too, and he's not only good
looking, but he's good hearted—one of the
best men I ever knew."
"You don't say so I But is he rich ?"
"Worth s hundred thousand or so," said
the lady earnestly.
"Why, da till if be ie. Why, you will
live like a lady, wont you? But what is bis
name?"
The old lady's curiosity was now raised to
to a high pilch.
"Heniy Macon."
"Macon! Macon! why, wasn't that 'your
name before you were married?"
"It was."
"Then he's a connextion, is he?"
"He is."
"Do tell who be is then. Not a cousin I
hope. I never did think much of a marriage
between cousins."
"He is not my cousin-"
"He isn't? Not your cousin.' But what
connexion is he? Du tell now."
"He is my youngest brother!"
If ever there was a rapid progress made in
sewing and knitting by any oircle of ladies, it
was by those composing this society, for the
next fifteen minutes. Nat a word was ut
tered nor an eye raised. Had the' latter been
done, and the roguish and expressive glances
seen whioh passed between Mrs. C. and the
minister, who, unobserved, had stood on the
threshold as a silent spectator and a curious
hearer perhaps—mind you we only say
perhaps— tbey might have guessed more cor*
rectly the character, standing and p.-ofesaion
of the widow's beau.
MACAULAY.—The Washington Intelligen
cer thus criticises tfie writing of the histori
an Macaulay :
Vivacity and buoyancy of style are ele
ments of all good writing ; but Mr. Macau
lay is never satisfied with goad writing ; he
aims always at fine writing, and for what is
popularly called fine writing we have little
admiration in other than boarding-school mis
ses and sophormorean orators. In them it is
not only pardonable, bul a hopeful symptom,
as indicating a redundancy of intellectual
outgrowth which it will afterwards be easy
to thin out with the pruning knife. But they
who persist iu such juvenile tricks of .rheto
ric most in the end bo content to find them
selves ranked lower even than school-girls
and freshmen, and be left to take their place
by the aide of pretty Mr. Tupper and the ex
quisite Mr. Gilfillan. .
It is impossible for Mr. Macaulay to write
with calmness on any subject. His blood ia
always up, whether it be to affirm or deny,
to vindicate a truth or to explode an error, to
exalt a friend or to hunt down an enemy—
We are sure that he rne'ans to be impartial,
but you might as well expect the leaning
lower ol Pisa to straighten itself to a perpen
dicular as to look for un unbiassed judgment
from Mr. Macaulay. The only question be
tween his admirers arid his censors is this:
the former contend thai hie leanings, if strong
and decided, are generally on the side of Ihe
right, and indicate the bent of a mind hab-
JlDaUsI io titx Loinagß -io iru'k wfcelo tbo I*4-
ter regard him as one who purposely distorts
his judgment, much as the Flathead Indian
purposely compresses his brain and thinks it
a beauty.
SYDNEY SMITH ON TEETOTAUSM— Sydney
Smith, in spite of his reputation as a'diner
out, gives some very excellent advice on the
subject of temperance. In one of his letters,
he says he never knew s gentleman who ate
or drank as little as was good for his health.
In ihe following epistle to Lady Holland, he
speaks more decidedly in favor ol abstinence
from all fermented liquors:
"My Dear Lady Holland -• Many thanks
for your kind anxiety respecting iny health.
I not only never was beUer, but never half
so well. Indeed, I And that I have been very
ill all my life without knowing it. Let me
state some of (he good arising from abstain
ing from all Termented liquors: First, sweet
sleep. Having r.ever known what sleep was,
I sleep like a baby or a plough boy. If I
1 wake, no needless terrors, no black visions
of life, bul pleasing hopes and recollections;
Holland House past and to come ! If I dream,
it is not ol lions and tigers, but of Easter
dua* and tithes. Seoondly, I can take longer
walks and make greater exertions without
fatigue. My understanding is improved, and
I comprehend political economy. I see bet
ter without wine and spectacles than when I
used both. Only one evil ensues from it—
I am in such extravagant spirits that I must
lose blood or look out for someone who will
bore and depress me. Pray leave off wine
the stomachqquiett t at rest ; no heartburn, no
pain, no distension I
Yours, SYDNEY SMITH."
THE SPIRIT or THE LORD'S PRATER. —The
i Spirit of the Lord's Prayer is beautiful. That
I form of petition breathes a Altai spiiit—"Fa
ther."
A catholic spirit—"Our Father."
A reverential spirit—"Hallowed be thy
name."
A missionary spirit-"Thy kingdom come."
An obedient spirit—"Thy will be done on
earth as it is in heaven."
A dependent spirit—"Give us this day our
daily bread."
A forgiving spirit—"And forgive us our
trespasses as we forgive those who trespass
against us."
A cautious spirit—"Lead us not into temp
tation but deliver us from evil."
A confidential and adoring spirit—"For
thine is the kingdom and the power, and the
glory, lor ever and ever. Amen."
THE RIGHT WAT. —By W. K. Bowling, M.
D., of Nashville, Tenn. "My rules is," said
an elegant lady in our presence, "to sum
mon Dr. A., and if he does not go exactly to
suit me, to send for Dr. 8., and then for Dr.
C., for J make it a point to be suited, so, doc- j
lor, if I should ever take it in my "head to
send for you, you will know my way."—
"You honor me, my dear madam, but too
highly, considering that I too have my way."
"And pray, sir, what would be your way V
"Why madam, I would, as I am a very re
served man, fall on my reserved rights."—
"And what, sir, would b$ your reserved
rights in such a case V' "Never to obey
your summon," — Nathvilh Jour, oj Mtd. and
Surgery.-
[Two Dollars per Annan.
NUMBER 16.
JO AN OF ARC.
From a report of a lecture by Mr. WHIP
FLIC, in tbe Portland Tratucript, we make (lie
following extract: .
Joan wae born in 1411, the daughter of a
poor peasant in the provinco of Lorraine.—
She was taught to eew and spin, but not to
read and write, and to tbe last of her career
she could not sign her own immortal name.
She was a gently beautiful, bashful child,
deeply imbued with religious feelings. Her
religion was the concrete Roraanish of the
time, and was learned at her mothePe knee.
This religious teadhing instilled into her soul,
became the life of her whole being. She
lived in an internal world with saints and an
gels, and thus inward life became nearer and
Jearer tbau her outward exislenco. She wae
I a poet as well as a devote, and the greatest
| that Franca ever had. She was indifferent
to the pastimes ot youth, and spent muoh
time in prayer to St. Catharine and St. Mar
garet. The disturbed state of her country
kindled her devotion into a flame of eelf-de
voted patriotism. Her internal world became
endowed with external existence, and her
I visions pushed themselves into voices, and
J shapes, visible to her entranced eyes. The
| sense saw whallhe soul wished. At thirteen
] years walking ,in her father's garden, she
| heard the voice of the Archangel Michael
, calling upon her to go to the succor of the
king. Then came voices naming her the
deliverer of France. No historian doubti l
her faith in the reality of what she saw. The
most modest and bashful of women she re
sisted long this inward impulse. The new*
of the siege of Orleans at lasi deoided her.
Then commenced that course of entreaty
with the governor vt hich at last forced bis
common sense to yield to the persistency of
that aenst which is not common. She waa
permitted lo go to the Dauphin at Chalons,
150 leagues throngh i country occupied by
the enemy. She detected the disguised dau
phin, told him he was the true heir, and as
sured him heaven had sent her to see him
crowned in the city of Rheims. After much
hesitation her aid was accepted. Her work
was now to relieve Orleans and to see the
dauphin crowned in tbe city of Rheims, then
in the hands of the English. Her inspired
earnestness spread enthusiasm around, and
many believed in her powers. She wns bail
ed as a saint. She reformed the army—con
verting the soldiers from marauders intooru
saders, changing the camp into a camp-meet
ing. Her name went before her,-and fought
her battles to the armies of Hie English. It
was a superstitious age, and they said, if she
is ol God, it is impious to fight against her
if of the Devil, how can we prevail against
81l franca backed by Satanic powers ! With
200 men she entered the city, without oppo
sition from (he English. Great was tbe joy
of the beseiged. Religions ceremonies were
performed, and then came the attack. Her
military skill consisted only in resolution and
audacity. She mounted the walla of the
Engliah forts, and though atruck down by an
arrow, she again ascended, and stmck terror
into the English, who thought her dead.—
They began to see visions in their turn, and
declared that St. M'chael appeared in the air
cheering on the French. In seven days the
English burned their forts, raised the siege
and retreated. Two monthe after, Rheims
opened its galea and the king was crowned.
Joan's task was done—her vision accom
plished ! She asked lo be allowed to return
to her mother and the care of her flocks.—
Policy dictated a refusal, and she waa still re
tained to ausiain the canse she had aaved.
The only reward she asked was, that her na
tive village might not be taxed, which it waa
j npt for 300 years.
But she no longer felt (bat aha waa doing
the work of God, her heart was not in the
work. The saint waa sinking into the sol
dier, when she was saved by captivity. She
was taken prisoner by a Burguudian soldier,
and sold lo (he English for 10,000 livtes.—
| Their joy knew no bounds. Tbe bated
"witch" was at last in their bands, and they
prepared to glut their vengeance. Charged
with heresy and sorcery, she fell into the
hands of theological wolves and foxea, who
exerted all the malice and ingenuity of their
mean natures to entrap her, without success.
Her simplicity and truthfulness evaded all
their suares. Having persecuted her from a
heretic to a Catholic, these infamous crea
tures persecuted her Irom a Catholic to a
heretic, that they might condemn ber to the
slake. She waa burned In the oily of Rouen
on the 10th of May,'l43l. Thui was con
summated one of the darkest crimes record
ed on the page of history wbich, as it bla
zons on the eye, across the interval of four
ceuluries, throws a lurid glare of infamy on
the namea of those who perpetuated it. Suoh
beautiful simplicity, such angelic devotion,
was never before, nor never hereafter will be
witnessed on earth. Viotorions over perse
cution, peerless among women, the name of m
Joan of Ato will pariah not eo long M beau
ty, devotion and goodneis shall be cbariahod
among men.
IGovernor Wiae, of Virginia, baa writ
ten a letter to New York, whiob ie publiahed
in the Herald of Saturday laat, in whiob hs
strongly advocatea the nomination of Mr. Bu
chanan' for the Preaideney- Amongst other
reasona for his pieferenoe, be saya:
"Pennsylvania baa always stood by Virgin
ia, from tbe days of Simon Snyder and Thom
as Jefferson down to Ibis day ; she is one of
the largest and oldest and best of tbe old
thirteen States, and she has claims to give a
candidate, and she baa a son worthy of a
nomination, who is a representative, man and
name, of his State's Democracy; and if Vir
ginia again prefers him, as she did in 1852,1
will go for his uouilnalion might.and main."