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