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'rn, as if he were totally unconcerned at the •;\ and waa waiting the event only as a matter

anoiity. It Ib the first effect of the opiate, opetig on hie own will and changing his own active

:::le against the control of pain, to a passive yciousneat, that the contest is taken out of his c li by a power abler than himself, who will fight , tattles for him. He lies then a calm, though effol spectator—above and beyond the terrible _t; within him—a third, distinct consciousness !*>3t him.

The pain is all that straggles. It darts its arrows sfar or fights a hand to hand conflict. The caijne does not struggle—does not even surge as Eoves onward. It is the slow progress of the

notten river, risi og in its strength and still press;i onward. The citadel of the pain is reached: v more sorties from the garrison, they begin to feel at loporific influence of the embattled foe, march2f onward in its slow, measured, painless tread, ssmstimes the disease rallies,-and touching some btherto concealed nerve, sends dismay through the ileal, and drives the opiate off its defences, and toastrouses you from your semi-couscious state, isd teaches you that you have some interest in the ■mil. Bat the anodyne is not defeated or disheartsed. It presses on even to the newly aroused ■ervt, bathes it in its healing, soothing influences, ratqaersits irritation and calms it into quietude, lie pain succumbs—the balmy influences of gentle beep begin to steep your senses in unconsciousness. '■ Sji that you feel is that you are Hunting on the 'i> lake with which the opiate has surrounded w. thankful that something beyond yonr own ■f'fti has co nquered your late harsh enemy.

The Elcb mod the Poor.

k *ritsr remarks that, take their whole lives ircogb, the rich suffer more than the poor, and in :aiilj enjoy leas. Where one poor man undergoes •je pains reaulting from the want of food, there are a rich men who are suffering from diseases that ire the legitimate fruits of excess. The gout inUtj more pain on the human race than starvation '*«■ Drunkenness is a greater enemy to mankind all penary. It produces more actual and positive iiitreu. How often are the rich obliged to underfJ te evils of the deprivation of food, because exi-.iiied nature compels them by her suffering, lo

it. How much more relishing is the crust and 'le «»ter to the hungry poor, than the most luxuriinfrast to the rich! How much more real en,7ment in the one case than in the other.

. •::••?«: the poor^ring on distempers that . .'.mi Hi to the grave, by their thinness of cloth':sod exposure to the changes of the weather, it »'■"». Bnt count the troops of thin, pale damsels Eoog the rich who are crowding rapidly towards * grave, from the same cause—precisely the same aa«—want of proper clothing to shield them from ^inclemencies of the winter's storms. Are there

u many of the rich that sutler pain, undergo •««!9, and finally meet death, from thin thoet, as "■"n? the poor from going barefoot? Pride has *t victims, as well as penury. Fashion can arect •J triumphant pyramid of skulls, as well as want. 1W poor widow, who dies under the pangs of lung '"», because she was necessitated to go to her *crk with but a thin shawl, suffers no more than

'taihionable maiden, who dances in a worm ■» with no covering over her white shoulders, ,J! ihen rushes to the cold air for temporary com■t «nd dies in a week of the same complaint, '^nances of the one are as numerous as those other.

is true iu fuel and warmth

as many children of the rich dwindle and die from the want of proper ventilation and llio breathing over of impure gases, as there are of the children of the poor who suffer and sink under the pressure of cold.

We might carry these illustrations farther, but food, fuel and clothing are the three great sources of want, and are sufficient.

The Beard. «

A curious festival was held in honor of the Beard and in support of the movement in favor of wearing it, at Chicago, a few days ago. It is believed to be the first festival ever held in honor of that hirsute appendage. It was called " the bearded ball," and no gentleman was admitted without "some hairy honor to his face." Of course, the movement is too recent to require every man to wear the whole beard—hence some had the moustache alone; some the lower beard alone; some sported the dark, glossy whisker, with an otherwise smooth face—a whisker, the very polish of whose hairs told the perfection of the dye; while others appeared whose whole faces were covered with the incipient efforts of a new beard, in their white sprinklings of bristles where the chin and the cheek had hitherto been kept well shorn, so that altogether it looked like a stubble field, or a hemlock swamp after a fire, the charred stumps only being visible. How the ladies approved of the effort does not appear. Many of them have already declared that "they shall set their faces against" any such innovation. At the supper table, many toasts were given, and speeches made, denunciatory of shaving. Among the rest, ■ was the following:

Man—Full grown, bearded, nature's great master work; too noble to be barefaced, too perfect lo be botched by the bungling of barberism.

The entertainment closed with "the Bearded Quadrille," a dance made for the occasion. How opinions change on the subject of the Beard! In Cicero's time, to shave or trim the beard was a sign of dandyism. In describing the followers of Cataline, the Orator hits off the Exquisites of the day who had joined him, as "imherbes, aut bene barbati,"—beardless or with beards well trimmed.— Among oor Gothic ancestors on the shores of the Baltic, a young man could not have the privilege of being shaved, until he could show the head of an enemy, killed by his own prowess.

FOR THX COURANT.

Dentistry—Its Introduction and Progress In the United Statei.

Amid war's strife and carnage, streaming through the smoke of booming cannon, mingling with the bright glistenings of clashing swords, wo see the first faint glimmerings of tho dawning light of our profession in the New World. According to our best information, the first Dentist who came to this country was a man by the name of Le Mair, who accompanied the French army that so nobly came to our aid at the time of our revolutionary struggle. Soon after his arrival, a Dentist by the name of Whitlock came from England, and to them is said to belong the honor of first introducing the art of Dental Surgery in the United States. The extt nt of their abilities is not known, though supposed 10 . have been limited, their operations consisting for the most part iu carving artificial teeth from blocks of ivory. The first native American Dentist, it is supposed, was a Mr. John Greenwood, who commenced practice in New York about the year 1788, and in 1790 is said to have been the only Dentist in that city. Ami lure 1 think it will be interesting to remark that about the year 1790 Mr. Greenwood executed an entire denture for Gen. Washington, which were said to be equal in their ingenious design aud beauty to any of the artificial teeth in Europe at that time. As usual at that period, the teeth were carved from ivory, and confined in the mouth with spiral springs. I cannot but think Mr.

Greeuwood must have felt proud in numbering the great Father of his country among his patrons— Soon after this lime, a Dr. Spence who had received some instructions from Le Mair, commenced practice in Philadelphia, and about the year 1794, a Mr. Woofendale from London, joined Mr. Greenwood in New York; and also iu the mean time, some French and English Dental works were brought over, which contributed in no small degree to awaken the zeal and increase the energies of the few who were already here, laboring amid the difficulties aud obstacles of an as yet undeveloped art. It was not until the year 1800 that Dental Surgery "began to be cultivated as a science," or to receive its due consideration "as an important branch of the curative art." "The preservation of the natural teeth began now to be regarded as of more importance than the insertion of artificial ones.-' In the year 1800, we hear of a Dr. Hayden commencing practice in the city of Baltimore.— For a period of about forty years after the introduc'ien of Dental Surgery in the United States, those who joined the profession were for the most part, 1 believe, men of talent and professional abilities, consequently the ranks filled up slowly, and up to 1820 the number did not far exceed one hundred. But from this time, many joined the profession with but few or no qualifications for the calling, and in 1830 the number had increased to about three hundred, and in five years from the last named period, it had more than doubled. Butlo! light appears, and an era, new aud brighter than any before dawns upon the profession—the establishing of the American Journal and Library of Dental Science in 1839. "This was the rising of the morning star of improvement," aud now we note for Dental Surgery a more brilliant career, and its rapid and astonishing progress towards perfection, has been unsurpassed by that of any other science, and is but characteristic of the progressive spirit of the American people. New discoveries, inventions and improvements, in the theory and practice of Dental Surgery have been constantly taking place, until now the art iu the United States has well nigh reached the very acme of scientific and artistic perfection. We can proudly compare tho work of our hands with that of any iu the world. Our gold fillings, beautiful and durable, and our artificial teelh,combining in the highest degree, beauty aud utility, are not surpassed by any in Europe. We have our Dental Colleges, which are exerting an elevating and salutary influence, not only upon the profession here, but also in Europe—we have our elaborately written works, our quarterlies and monthlies, aud it is no strange thing to see a weekly periodical, edited and published by a Dentist. I think there is something beautiful in contemplating the introduction of Dental Surgery, its progress and rapid and brilliant career io the United States; and it is pleasant and flattering for us to know, thai nowhere in the world does the art shine brighter, than with the reflected light of American genius.

As to the number of Dentists in the United States at the present time, I can only say, it is legion. In the city of New York, there are about three hundred, in other cities the profession is well filled, and almost every town and village big enough to keep a Doctor, can also boast of their dentist. A. N.

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Battle of Balaklava.

The Earl of Cardigan, who headed the charge of the British cavalry, thus describes that bloody fight:

Uufortuuately our allies, the Turks, abandoned their position in a very short time, without maintaining any contest with the enemy. It was late in the afternoon when I received an order to attack the Russian forces posted iu the valley, which consisted of a loug line of guns drawn up in the form of balteries. 1 received that order, my Lord Mayor, and I obeyed it. (Loud cheers.) I delivered that order myself to the brigade under my command. I ordered them to march. I ordered them to advance. I ordered them to attack the Russians in the valley; but, my Lord, I must say this, tbat on that occasion, it being ,ny duty to give the order to my men. I did it, though I deeply regretted it at the time, and I am sure I should kave much more deeply regretted it afterwards if anything had prevented my performing the rest of my duly, which waa to share the dangers that those brave men so boldly faced. (Cheers.) My Lord, whatever danger ■ those men incurred, I shared it with them. (Cheers) We advanced down a gradual descent of more than three-quarters of a mile, with the batteries vomiting forth upon' us sheila and shot, round and grape, with one battery on our right flank and another on the left, and all the intermediate ground covered with the Russian riflemen; so that when we came to within a distance of fifty yards from the mouths of the artillery which had been hurling destruction upon ut, we were, in fact, surrounded and encircled by a blaze of fire, in addition to the fire of the riflemen upon our flanks. Aa we ascended the hill the oblique fire of the artillery poured upon our rear—so that we had thus a strong fire upon our front, our flank, and our rear. We entered the battery—we went through the battery—the two leading regiments cutting down a great number of the Russian gunners in their onset. (Cheers.) In the two regiments which 1 had the honor to lead, every officer, with one exception, was either killed or wounded, or had his horse shot under him. or injured. Those regiments proceeded, followed by the second line, consisting of two more regiments of cavalry, which continued to perform the duty of cutting down the Russian gunners. Then came the third line, formed of another regiment, which endeavored to complete the duty assigned to onr brigade. I believe this was achieved with great success, and the result was that this body, composed of only about 67-0 men, succeeded in passing through the muss of Russian cavalry of (as we have since learned)5,200 strong; and having broken through that mass, they went, according to our technical military expression "threes about," and retired in the same manner, doing as much execution in their course as they possibly could upon the enemy's cavalry. Upon our returning up the hill, which we had descended in the attack, we bad to run the same gauntlet, and to incur the same risk from the flank fire of the Tiralleurs, as we had encountered before. Numbers of our men were shot down— men and horses were killed, and many of the soldiers who had lost their horses were shot down while endeavoring to escape. But what, my lord, was the feeling, and what the bearing of those brave men who returned to the position 7 (Here the noble and gallant officer's voice faltered, and be spoke with evident emotion.) Of each of these regiments (he continued) there returned but a small detachment, two-thirds of the men engaged having been destroyed ; and those who survived, having arrived at the summit of the hill, whence they had commenced the attack but a short time before, could not refrain from giving three ringing cheers of triumph and rejoicing at the exploit which they themselves had performed—(cheers)—for they had ridden over a formidable Russian battery, and attacked a countless body of Russian cavalry in the rear. My lord, I understand it has been stated that the British cavalry are of a very inferior description, and require a thorough reform—that they are badly officered, being commanded by gentlemen of too high a rank in the country, and that they ought to be better officered. I can only say, that I do not think you will find any body of officers more careful of their men than thoso officers who now perform their duties in the cavalry regiments, or that yon will find any regiments in the world where there is such a mutual attachment between officers aud men, as is the case iu the British cavalry. (Hear, hear.) The officers are at all times perfectly ready to assist and to atteud to the comforts of their men. The men, likewise, are so attached to their officers, that, wherever those officers lead them iu the cause of honor and glory, there those men are always sure to follow them. (Cheers.) In conclusion, my lord, I will only add that, in the minds oTthose who escaped the dangers of that terrible attack to which I have referred, there exist reflections of which they cannot divest themselves. I think that every man who was engaged iu that disastrous aflair at Balaklava, and who was fortunate euough to come out of it alive, must feel that it was only by a merciful decree of Almighty Providence that he escaped from the greatest apparent certainty of death which could possibly be conceived. (Loud cheers.) The noble earl (who was also very indistinctly heard) sat down by repeating his ucknowledginrVl* for the honor that bad been done him.

The " Health of the Lord Mayor and the Lady

Mayoress" and the other customary civic toasts, then followed after which the company separated.

ADMIRAL KAriKK.

The moment it was first reported (erroneously) that Sebastopol was taken, it was also said, 'Why does not Admiral Napier go and take Cronstudt and St. Petersburg V In fact, I was asked, 'Why don't yon go and lake Moscow?' (Laughter.) Now, I never did expect that the Admiralty would joiu in that clamor; I say, I certainly never expected that they would have been so mean and despicable as lo join iu that clamor, in order to bring odium on a « naval officer who had done all in his power to bring honor and credit to his country. (Hear, hear.) What did I do? Why, I sent home to the Admiralty a clear and detailed account, stating my opinions and what appliances were necessary in ] order to take Sweaborg. (Hear.) You will not I expect me to state what those opinions were. | (Hear, hear.) Suffice it to say thai I had given two separate opinions, one of which, if followed, I be; lleved was certain to insure success, and the other, certain to bring destruction on the fleet. What did the Admiralty then dot I mention this in order I thai there may be no mistake whatever, because i? the government have the least spirit about them they will immediately discharge me and turn me out of the service. I say lhat the Admiralty perverted my language. They not only did lhat. buU they sent to me the most goading letters whicli they possibly could write. They asked me why I did not take Sweaborg, and why I did not do this, that, and the olher 7 Tbey received my letter, giving them an account of how Sweaborg might be taken, ou the 4th of October, the very day on which the first intelligence reached England of the capture of Sebastopol. On ihe 9lb of October—five days afterwards—ibe news arrived that Sebastopol was not taken; but the Admiralty had not the plain, straightforward dealing, or the honesty, to write to me and apologize. No; but what they did was' this—they perverted what I had written, giving them a plan for the taking of Sweaborg. My lord, I was not going to stand that—(laughter and cheers); I am not the man to put up with an insult. I remonstrated most strongly, but, after all my remonstrances, they still persisted in saying that I had led them astray. Well, what could I do 7 1 was not going to be driven into all this, particularly as Sir J. Graham during the whole period I was in the Baltic had written to me admonishing me to beware of stone walls; telling me not to risk her Majeaty's fleet against them: that these stone walls were not to be trusted; and reminding me that ! when I was first known to be going out to the Baltic I hud been accused by certain persous of want of discretion, but assuring me lhat now, in his opinion, I had proved myself a consummate commander-inchief. After that came the most insulting and degrading letters to me ever addressed to an officer; and I mention this particularly iu the hope that it will go forth to the world, and that Sir J. Graham will be prevented from ever sitting in the administration again as First Lord of the Admiralty. I slate it to the public, and I wish them to know that had I followed the advice of Sir J. Graham, I should most inevitably hove left the fleet behind me in the Baltic. I will prove this before all the world; and if Sir James Graham has one single spark of honor iu him, he will never again take his seat at the Admiralty until this matter is cleared up. On the olhj er hand. I will say that I have no right ever to be i omployed again, and 1 ought, iu fact, to be scratched i oft' the Navy List, if I am not telling the truth in what I now state, (cheers) lam taking thb first opportunity of making this statement publicly, and I am perfectly ready to answc r for my couduct before the House of Commons whenever they choose to call upon me to do so. (cheers) The gallant admiral then concluded by again thanking the company for the honor they bad done him iu drinking his health.

Plain Livino.—The New England Society for l the promotion of Manufactures and the Mechanic I Arts, adopted the following good resolution at its late meeting, in Boston:

Rexolved, That we earnestly desire that our penpie should keep up those habits of plain living and high acting, in which the foundations of New Boglaud Society were laid.

1 Portrait from Life—Seth Wftudaani's %

Mr. Seth Woodsura was mowing one mornii the lower haying field, and his eldest son, Obei a smart boy of thirteen, was opening the in grass to the sun; Mr. Woodsum looked up tow his house, and beheld his little danghter Har ten years of age, running towards him with hej most speed. As she came up, he perceived was greatly agitated; tears were running d< her cheeks, and she had scarcely breath euoug speak.

O, father,' she faintly articulated, 'mother dreadful sick; she's on the bed, and says ahe s die before you get there.' • Mr. Woodsum was a man of sober, sound mi and calm nerves; but he had, what sometimes h pens in this cold and loveless world of oars a teni attachment for his wife, which made the message the little girl fall upon his heart like a dagger, dropped his scythe, and ran with great haste r» t house. Obediah, who was at the olher end of t field, seeing this unusual movement of bis fatb dropped his fork and ran with all his might, a the two eutered the house almost at the same tin

Mr. Woodsum hastened to the bedside, ami toi his wife's hand, My dear Sally,' said he 'what the matter V

'What is the matter f" echoed Mrs. Woodsu. with a plaintive groan. 'I shouldn't think y< would need to ask what is the matter, Mr. Woo sum. Don't you see I am dying V

•Why, no, Sally, you don't look as if you was d ing. What is the matter 7 how do you feel 7'

'Oh, I shan't live till night," said Mrs. Woodsu with a heavy sigh—'I am going fast.'

Mr. Woodsum, without waiting to make furth< enquiries, told Obediah to run aud jump on to tb horse, and ride over after Doctor Fairfield, and g< him to come over as quick as he can come. *Te him I am afraid your mother is dying. If the Dot . tor's horse is away off in the pasture, ask him t take our horse and come right away over, whil you go and catch his.'

Obediah, with tears in his eyes, ami his heart i his mouth, flew as though he had wings added t his feet, and in three minutes' time was mountei upon Old Gray, and galloping with full speed to wards Doctor Fairfield's.

'My dear,' said Mr. Woodsum, leaning his heac upon the pillow, 'how do you feel 7 What makei you think you are dying 7' And he tenderly kissei tier forehead as he spoke, and pressed her hand ■ his bosom.

'Oh Samuel,'for she generally called him by his Christian name when under the influence offender emotion; 'Ob, Samuel, I feel dreadfully. I have pains darting through my head, aud must all over me; and I feel dizzy ana can't hardly see; and my heart beats as though it would come through my side—and, besides, I feel as though I was dying. I am sure I can't live till night; and what will become of my poor children 7' And she sobbed heavily and burst into a flood of tears.

Mr. Woodsum was affected. He could not brine himself to believe that his wife was in such immediate danger of dissolution as (he seemed to apprehend. He thought she bad no appearance of a dying person; but still her earnest aud positive declaration that she should not live through the day, sent B thrill through his veins, and a sinking to his heart that no language has power to describe. Mr. Woodsum was as ignorant of medicine as a child; he therefore did not attempt to do anything Lo relieve his wife except to try to soothe her feeliogs by kind and encouraging words,till the doctor arrived. The half hour which elapsed, from the time Obediah left till the doctor came, seemed to Mr. Woodsum an age. He repeatedly went from the bedside to the door, to look and see if the doctor was anywhere near, and as often returned to hear his wife groan and say she was sinking fast, and could not stand it many minutes longer. | At length Doctor Fairfield rode up to the door, on Mr. Woodsum's old Gray, aud with bis saddle bags iu hBod, hastened into the house. A brief examination of the patient convinced him that it was a case of hypochondria, and he soon spoke eocouragiug words to her, and said though she was considerably uuwell, be did not doubt she would be better in a little while.

'Oh, Doctor, how can you say so 7' laid Mrs. Woodsum: 'don't you tee I am dying 7 1 can't possibly live till night; I am sinking ver) fait, DecHe ia assured tbat it is only an attKck li-ia, and the good lady herself

'.«f. and I shall never see the sunrise again. My besrt sometimes almost stops its beating now and ay feet and bauds are growing cold. But I must «e my poor children once more; do let 'em come in and btd me farewell.' Here she was overwhelmed with sobs and tears *u as to prevent her saying more.

The Doctor having administered the drugs in mcb case made and provided, ia followed out by Mr. Woodsum, all anxiety to learn the real danger

of the <

•f«. long i

Again and again, however, is our friend Seth summoned from bis plow, and the Doctor from his pills, to administer conaolation and relief in her dylag hoar, and again and again does she recover. We give below, the story of

DEATH S LAST ASSAULT.

At hut, the sober saddening days of autumn came on, Mr. Woodsum was in the midst of his fall work, which bad been several times interrupted by these ptriodical turns of despondency in his wife. One morning he went to his field early, for he had a heavy day's work -to do, and had engaged one of his neighbors to come with two yoke of oxen and i plow m help him "break up" an old mowing . Mis neighbor could only help him that day, be was very anxious to plow the whole field.— He accordingly bad left the children and nurse in tte boose, with strict charges to take good care of their mother. Mr. Woodsum was driving the team itJ bis neighbor was holding the plow, and things vest on to their mind till about ten o'clock in the forenoon, when little Harriet came running to the ield, aod told her father that her mother was dreadful lick, and wonted biui to come in as quick aa be caatd, for ahe was certainly dying now. Mr. Woodtm, without saying a word, drove his team to the end of the furrow; but he looked thoughtful and perplexed. Although be felt persuaded that her linger was imaginary, as it had always proved to

before, still the idea of the bare possibility that this aickneaa might be unto death, pressed upon aim with such power, that be had laid down his pedstick, and telling hia neighbor to let the cattle krealhe awhile, walked deliberately towards the Wise. Before be had accomplished the whole diss»we, however, his imagination had added such rings to his speed, that he found himself moving >t a quick run. He entered the house, and found Lk wife as he had so often found her before, in her own estimation, almost ready to breathe her last.— Her voice was faint and low, and her pillow was *et with tears. She had already taken her leave of ber dear children, and awaited only to exchange i few parting worda with her dear husband. Mr. Woodsum approached the bedside, and took ber hand tenderly, as he had ever been wont to do, but lie could not perceive any symptoms of approaching dissolution, different from what be had witnessed on former occasions.

'Now my dear,' said Mrs. Woodsum, faintly,' the time has come at last. I feel that I am on my death bed, and have but a short time longer to stay with yoo. Bat I hope we shall feel resigned to the will of Heaven. I would go cheerfully, dear, if it was Sot for my anxiety about you and the children.— Xow, don't you think) my dear," she continued with •rcreasiog tenderness, "don't you think it would be wit for you to be married again to some kind, good woman, that would be a mother to our dear little ones, and make your home pleaaant for all of you."

She paused and looked earnestly in hia face.

'Well, I've sometimes thought of late, it might be best' said Mr. Woodsum, with a very solemn air.

'Then you bave been thinking about it," said Mrs. Woodsum, with a slight contraction of the muscles of the face.

'Why, yes,' said Mr. Woodsum, 'I have snmejjnes thought about it, since you've had spells of *ing an very sick. It makes me feel dreadful to

!•» of it, but I don't know but it might be my amy.'

'Well, I do think it would,' said Mrs. Woodsum. ."yon can only get the right sort of a person.— 'ffrything depends upon that, my dear, and I hope I°a will be very particular about who you get,

Tery.'

.'1 certainly shall,' said Mr. Woodsum; 'don't pe yourself any uneasiness about that, my dear. ■•' I asaure yon I shall be very particular. The Person I shall probably have is oho of the kindest l*l bait tempered women in the world.'

'But have you%een thinking of any one in particular, my dear?' aaid Mra. Woodsum, with a manifest look of uneasiness,

'Why, yes,' said Mr. Woodsum, 'there is one, that I have thought for some time past, I should probably marry, if it should bo the will of Providence to take you from us.'

'And pray, Mr. Woodsum, who can it be?' said the wife, with au expression, more of earth than heaven, returning to her eye. Who is it, Mr. Woodsum T You havn't named.it to ber, have you?'

'Oh, by no means,' said Mr. Woodsum; 'but my dear, we had better drop the subject; it agitates you too much.

'But, Mr. Woodsum, you must tell me who it is; I never could die in peace till you do.'

'It is a subject too painful to think about.' said Mr. Woodsum, ' and it don't appear to me it would be best to call names.'

'But, 1 insist upon it,' said Mrs. Woodsum, who had by this time raised herself up with great earnestness and was leaning on her elbow, while her searching glance was reading every muscle in her husband's face. 'Mr. Woodsum, I insist upon it.'

'Well, then,' said Mr. Woodsum, with a sigh,' If you insist upon it, my dear, I have thought if it should be the will of Providence to take you from us, to be here no more, I have thought I should marry for my second wife, Hannah Lovejny.'

An earthly fire once more Hashed from Mrs. Wood' sum's ryes—she leaped from the bed like a cat; walked across the room, and seated herself in a chair.

'What!' she exclaimed, in a trembling voice, almost choked with agitation—'what! marry that idle, sleepy slut of a Hannah Lovejoy! Mr. Woodsum, that is too much for flesh and blood to bear— I can't endure that, nor I wou't- Hannah Lovejoy to be the mother of my children! No, that's what she never shall. So you may go to your plowing, Mr. Woodsum and set your heart at rest. Susan,' she continued,' make up more fire under the dinner pot.1

Mr. Woodsum went to the field, and pursued his work, and when he returned at noon, he found dinner well prepared, and his wife ready to do the honors of the table. Mrs. Wdodsom's health from tbat day continued to improve, and she was never afterwards visited by the terrible affection of hypochondria.— Way Down Ea$t, by Jack Downing.

Singular Emotion.—The following, written in an elegant business hand, was inscribed on the back of a five dollar bill lately received in New York from North Carolina:

"Here is a $5 bill which I intend to toss out of my window, in Norfolk, as soon as I bave written this. I am now no lover of money. I bate it most cordially, for it has been the ruin of all my family. I will beg from door to door eternally rather than own another cent one hour. It made my grand-father a suicide, my father a murderer, my mother the victim of a sorrow that sunk her * early to the grave, my brother a gambler, and myself a convict in the Slate prison four years."

Some years ago, says the St. Louia Intelligencer, a very beautiful young lady waa the ward of a person residing in Louisiana, who defrauded her out of a large fortune. This lady came to this city, where ahe married, but not living on good terms with her husband, finally obtained a divorce from him, and retired to a convent. Whilst she was there she received a letter from the son of her former guardian, informing herof his father's death, and that himselfabad heired all hia vaat property, but that he could not consent to retain that which had been treacherously obtained from another, and offering to make restitution. The lady immediately proceeded to Louisiana, bad an interview with the heir, and received back, both principal and interest, all that ahe had been wronged of. The strangest part of the story remains behind. No sooner had she got possession of her fortune, than she returned to this city, sought out her former husband, and in a few days was re-married to him. Verily, the love of woman passe'.h understanding. The parties are now living in St. Louis, and it is to be hoped will agree better than formerly.

Thi Bist Medium—The best method for a man to reap advantage in love matters, is to turn bis U head to the cultivation of waitt property.

Corrttpmdmee of the Newark Daily Advertiter.
Peter Parley In Florence.

Florence, Dec. 22, 1854.

The late arrival of "Peter Parley" created a sensation among the representatives of "Young America" here, only equalled by the furor which now awaits old Santa Clause himself. Nurseries grew as noisy as hencoops of spring chickens with "goosey gander" outside. "Only think," said master Frank to hia blue eyed sister, "we shall see him ourselves, spectacles, broad brim, knee-buckles and all!" "I wonder if be talk* stories, too!" rejoined Lizzie, her rosy cheeks getting rosier at the hopeful thought; "If he takes me on one knee, Frank, I'll ask him to take you on the other, so we can listen both together. The other evening a little party, bright with glad expectation, had arranged . in full view on a table the red gilt Lilliputian library, to await the real presence of its originator.— Chuckles were hiding away in dimples, ready to burst out in a general laugh ; plump cheeks shaking in advance, like little jelly-pots, and round eyes set on hinges prepared to open its sauces, when bedtime arrived, and lo! "Peter Parley" came not!— There was a fluttering of curls, a pouting of red lips, and the whole flock came down from the perch of expectation and scattered to their nests.

"Won't you invite him to dinner, so tbat be can't help coming, mamma?" said one of these the next morning,mid hopped away merrily with the wishedfor answer. Dinner came, and with it our hero !— The children ran to the encounter.but skulked back again, giving mamma's cheek the kiss meant for his, as an tntwrinkled, Parisian dressed gentleman made his bow to the company. Little Lizzie, however, took courage, on being called by him to approach, and aoon found heraelf on the unbuckled knee of the veritable atory-teller; but maater Frank, of two yeara more consideration, abied off into a corner, whence he watched them with a auspicious eye.— When they were alone again, his pent up indignatiou found vent in declaring to all, with solemn indignity, tbat thit Peter Parley was an impoater— Bans broad brim, sans knee-buckles, sans walking stick! "But he wears ipectaclei and tells stories; so I think it is he, after all," responded Lizzie. The most expressive wonder came from a little prodigy —the tiniest, fairest thing alive, daughter of Mr. T. R. Read-'-who having, unobserved, been watching one day, with doubtful eye, exclaimed, at last. "If you are really Peter Parley, why don't you do something funny?"

a. Benton en Cold Water.

The Mercantile Library Association of New York recently presented Hon. Thomas H. Benton with a silver pitcher and salver, as a testimonial of their appreciation of his services in lecturing before them. In making bis acknowledgments Mr. Benton thus speaks of his temperance habits through a long life, and it will be seen attributes to the use of water as a beverage whatever of mental or bodily vigor be now has, and whatever of business application he has ever shown:

In making these acknowledgments I take leave to say. that there was an appropriateness in the selection of the particular article for the testimonial, beyond what might have been understood when the pitcher was fixed upon, and which is this: When I was young I became what Dr. Franklin was—my only point of resemblance to that illustrious man— when be worked at his early calling in London, an aquatic—*Jfc term which his comrades applied to designate him as a water-drinker. I also drank water, and nothing stronger, in the early part of my life—the first half of it; and to that abstinence from all viuoua, spirituous and fermented fluids 1 attribute the good health and general vigor which I now enjoy.

As this allusion touches a point at which a word might be useful to other young men desirous to advance themselves in life, and to have good health in old age, I will go on to say that, at tbat time, and in the South, it was the custom in every house to offer something to drink to all visitors—even boys; sued' that excuses were no defence for those who would . refuse. Pressure, importunity, custom, broke down, all excuses, and it became necessary to oppose will where reason was unavailing; so I made a law for myself that I would drink nothing until I should be in the decline of life aod might need it; and reao

lately pleading that law, I afterward) escaped importunity. It waa the first itand, "aolitary and alone," that I ever made; but not the last. I was young enough, and silly enough, at that time, to suppose that this decline would come on me at thirty; aud so fixed that age as the limit of my law. When thirty came—I did not feel the decline, and extended the time; and eventually relaxed into temperance; and have remained at that point ever since. Thus, the first half of my life was abstinent —the second half temperate; and to these conditions I attribute whatever of mental and bodily vigor I may now have, and whatever of business application I have ever shown.

Faithful Preaching.

Rev. W. H. Milburn, to illustrate the peculiar faithfulness of some of the early Kentucky clergy, says in his lecture:—

"An incident related by Ewell White, himself a man of note, will illustrate this. It happened at

one time that a meeting was appointed in- in

old Simon Kenton's county. A preacher named James Axley, familiarly called Jemmy Alley, by his friends, and very popular, was expected. But when he came he brought another with him, who spoke first. This disappointed the people, and there was a good deal of noise and confusion, and great inattention on the part of the andience. It is customary when two ministers are present, for both to address the meeting; if one drives in a nail of truth the other clenches it. When Axley arose, all was still, everybody was disposed to listen.

"My friends," said he, looking round with a keen observant glance, "it is perhaps a painful, but always a necessary duty of your minister to reprove sin, wherever found, and be assured I shall not shrink from it on this occasion. "Now," said he, "that sandy headed man standing by the door, that went out while the brother was speaking, staid as long as he wished, got his boots covered with mud, came in and made such a noise cleaning them as to disturb everybody, and prevent their hearing scarcely a word, that man thinks I mean him. And well he might think so, for it was a disgrace to Kentucky to say he was raised here and bad no more manners. Now, my friend, I advise you to go home, and learn how to behave when you come to the house of prayer. But I don't mean him.

That little girl about the middle of the floor, with flowers inside of her bonnet, that was giggling and laughing and chattering all the time the brother was speaking, thinks 1 mean her. And she ought.— I am sorry for her parents, who have raised a girl to fifteen, without her learning bow to behave modestly and properly, and they are to be pitied. Little girl, before you come aguin, learn to be quiet and reverend in the house of God, and respectful to the ministers he has sent. But 1 don't mean her.

And now that man on the bench, towards the corner, that's looking up as bright and wide awake, as if he had never oeen asleep in his life, and never expected to be, but who was nodding and bowing all through the preaching, and snoring so as to disturb all around him,—he thinks I mean him.— And indeed he well may. My friend, the house of God is not intended for a sleeping room. When you want to take a nap, go home and go to bed and take it regularly; but you come hero for another purpose. But I don't mean him."

And thus be went on, fixing his dark, piercing eye on eacii offender, singling him out in such a manner that he could not be mistakeV till he had nearly gone through with all who had made any disturbance, ending each reproval v,-\^But I don't mean him, or her. Wtiite.oieanwhile, was sitting on a bench in front of Axley, enjoying the fun amazingly, laughing, rubbing his hands, chewing more lustily, and spitting more vigorously and profusely than before, as each new offender was brought, till the aisle 'before him was a puddle.

"Now," said Axley, drawing himself up, and with a severe look, "I calculate you want to know who I do mean." "I mean," pointing directly to White—"1 mean that natty, dirty, filthy tobacco chaser. Look at the filthy brown puddle before hi,m; a load isou/dn't hop in it, and to think of the listen' drcuei having to go through it~

White was thunderstruck. He never again was known to chew tobacco in meeting.

Scandal, like « kite, to fly well, depends very flaucb. qn '-he length of .the tail it bas to carry.

Shaking HuA.

Shaking hands is the accepted manner of performing "how-de-do," "glad to see you;" but the manner of doing this varies so much that with some people we have "great shakes," aud with others "no shake at all." Politicians, if tbey are running for office, have the art of hand-shaking to perfection. Editors have a very impressive shake for a subscriber paying in advance. In shaking hands, ladies are generally passive, for the least pressure from their little fingers means volumes, including in it the formal and familiar ceremony.— We have been told, by those "posted up" in such matters, that the telling and eloquent shake of the hand.that eclipses all others, comes from a principal in a duel when his second announces to him "that the affair was amicably arranged." It would be impossible to give all the varied expression that characterizes the act of shaking bands; but there are a few that can be designated, which, like primitive colors, form the ground work of every varying shade.

The pump handle shake first deserves notice. It is performed in a solemn, mechanical manner. No attempt has ever been successful to give it grace or vivacity. As a genteel rule, it should not be continued after your friend is in a profuse perspiration from the unwonted exercise. The pendulum shake is of a similar character, but it has a horizontal instead of perpendicular motion. It is executed by boldly sweeping your hand horizontally toward your acquaintance, and after the junction is effected, rowing with it from one side to the other, as long as human nature will bear it. The tourniquet shake is next in importance. It derives its name from tho instrument of torture by wbich surgeons stop the circulation of the blood. The person using this style, if he has a large, powerful hand, can throw his victims into intense agony and produce dislocation of the small bones of fingers, and in delicate persons easily sprain the wrist.

The cordial shake is performed with hearty, boisterous agitation of your friend's hand, accompanied by a moderate degree of pressure, and cheerful exclamation of welcome. This style is indiscriminate and very popular. The grievous touch is tbe opposite of the cordial grapple. It is principally used by hypochondriacs and sentimental young clergymen, and is always accompanied by a nervous inquiry about somebody's health. The prUde Major and the prude minor are entirely monopolized by the ladies ; the first allows the gentlemen to touch the fingers down to the second joint; tbe second gives you the forefinger. Tbe very ladies, however, who use these styles most effectually, will, in a moment afterward, permit the tourniquet squeeze provided it is done in the waltz or other equally familliar dance. We might extend our list with descriptions of tbe gripe royal and the saw mill shakes, and the shake with malice prepense, which are after all, but exaggerated forms of the pump handle, pendulum, ana tourniquet varieties, and therefore can be conceived more easily than described.

A Fearful Death.

A French paper says that a workman engaged in digging a well near Bayeux was recently buried by the fall of a large body of earth. A shaft was immediately suuk through the fallen material to tbe depth at wbich the man was supposed to be, and excavations were made in every direction from tbe bottom, in the hope of rescuing him from death.— Soon his voice was heard calling to them, and although tbey could not tell from what direction it came, they continued their labors until ho was found embedded in a quantity of^wood work a few feet above tho place where they bad commenced their search. The upper part of bis body was free, but tbe lower portion was so fast jammed that all efforts to extricate him were ineffectual. Every effort would cause a fall of sand which endangered the lives of the workmen. The work was filially given over in despair; but after an interval of several hours, five gallant men volunteered to make a last attempt to rescue their unfortunate fellow laborer. They descended aud set to work with renewed energy. They excavated eDurtnous quantities of sand, and passing a rope round tbe man s waist,.exerted all their strength iu the eudeavor to pull bin. out. Their united efforts did not move itim an incL, ami at length, finding it absolutely useless to continue their efforts, anil that.to do so would only occasion the sacrifice of their own lives^

without resulting in any benefit to the sstferer, Iks reluctantly discontinued their task, sad were draM again to the surface of the ground. The paril priest, upon beuring that there was Do m hope, immediately caused himself to be let doin and gave absolution to the prisoner in the we The man was perfectly conscious and knew the which awaited him. The suspeusinu of work then formally ordered by the prefect, the which bad lingered in the hearts of the byslaoa was abandoned, and the engineers proceeded take measures for preserving the adjacent boast from damage in case the earth near the shaft ■DtW

Sive way. Nothing more was seen or heard uftfc oomed one below, and none knew the secret | bis last agouiei as be waited the approach of d«t '; iu that lonely pit.

Prom the Botlon Advertiser, Feb. 3d. Yankee Humor. Captain Basil Hall, when he travelled in country, found the Yankees a people entirely! lute of wit and humor. Perhaps our grL. which ought to have put bim on the right scent, i ceived him. I do not know a more perfect exs pie of wit than something, which, as 1 have bea was said to the captain himself. Stopping at a l age inn there came up a thunder storm, and 0 Hall, surprised that a new country should ■ reached such perfection in these metereologis manufactures, said to a by-slander, "Why, you ha. very heavy thunder here. "Well, yes," replied lb. man, "wed*, consideriu' the number of inhabit ants." Here is another story which a stage drive) told me once: A wag iu tbe outside of the coact called to a man by the roadside who was fencing some very poor land—"I say, mister, what are vol fencing that pasture for 7 It would take forty Wcr» on't to starve a middle-sized cow." "Jesso; am I'm fencing of it to keep eour kettle eout."

Now in the "forty acre" part of the story, w< have an iustance of what is called American exaggeration, and wbich I take to be the syn.j' toms of most promise in Yankee fun. For i marks that desire for intensity of expression whicl is the phase of imagination. Indeed, many o these sayings are purely imaginative—as where fi man said of H painter he knew, that "he painted » shingle so exactly like marble that when it fell int« the river ii sank." A man told me once that tht people of a certain country town were so university dishonest, "that they bad to take in their stone walls at night." Iu some of these stories,imagination appears yet more strongly aud iu that contra* dictory union with the understanding which liea at the root of the highest humor. For example, ., coachman driving up some mountains in Vermont, was aBked if tbey were as steep on the other aide also? "Steep! chain-lightnin' couldn't go down 'em without the breechin' on!" I believe that there is more latent humor among the American people than in any other, and that it will one day develop itself and find expression throngh Art.—J, R. Lov ell't Lecture*.

k Woman's Vengeance.

A young woman named Sullivan, in Sau Francisco, lately fcflictcd two desperate stabs with a knife upon a man named Kerrisoor He had promised her marriage, and then left her to despair and ruin.— Upon her arrest, a letter, directed tn her false lover, was found upon her person, and from it can be seen

11 how hste csn barn

Id hearts oDce changed from soft to stern,
And all tbe false sad fatal zeal
The convert to revenge can feel."

"Now, Harry, to tell you that I have loved you —that I would have laid down my life for you— that if sickness had laid you on a bed, I would have worked for you and tended you as tenderly s» tbe fondest mother wonld her cbild—that if crime or reproach had been yours, I would have clung to you and loved yon through all—that nothing "u earth would have damped my Invo for yon. so closely bad I entwined you round my henrt. This, Horry, has been my love for you—this, Harry, has been the heart you have thrown from yon. Your own heart will best tell you why—if from the caprice of the moment, or from a passing fancy of your fickle nature, it matters all the same. The die is cast—if now you were aboat to offer is the sight of man to own me as your wife—if you ware to lay

iimy feet, I would refuse all, for a stronI laid bold of me—and a sweeter one. . Harry, and read. When I left home ive me n Bible. Since that, I have at it till last night. Do not treat this l of a moment. I am very calm—the | bate—deadly hate—aud I knell on my rcold earth, with no other witness than iibove—aud Harry Kerryson, I took an. oa that Holy Book—an oath which eyour blood run cold to bear. 'Tis you i my love—now you shall fee] my hale."

» rMbiona In Old Times.

Utenfing story, related by a mother to her lit lew years since, will show the spirit that ajiooog the people of New England at the kjaiod to which it relates: »'stbe afternoon of oDe the last days in May, ,ec 1 was a few months short of 6fieeu years pa came to Townsend, Mass., where my East) to lire, that fifteen soldiers were |t

fetioing band was instantly called out, aud lifer uext older than myself, was one that fllicted. He did'not retnrn till late at night, fed wire io bed. When I rose in the morning Wavy mother in tears, who informed me that ike John was to march the day after to-morrow, tie. My father was at Boston, in the AasemMotber said that though John was supplied nmmer clothes, he must be away seven or inihi and must suffer for want of winter There was at this time no store and no Ua to be had, except such as each family would 'itself. The sight of a mother's tears always all the hidden strength of the mind to aeI immediately asked her what garments were I 8he replied, "pantaloons." ]"*! if that is all," said I, "we will spin and «m him & pair before he goes." fftt,'' laid my mother, "the wool is on the i •aiand the sheep are in the pasture." 11 immediacy turned to a younger brother, and jjkhini take a aalt dish and call them up to the

iMother replied, "Voor child, there are no sheep

iWs within three miles and a half."

iibave some smalt shears in the loom," said I.

Bat we can't spin and weave in so short a time." Tl am certain we can, mother." fHow can you weave it? There is a long web d linen in the loom."

t "No matter. I can find an empty loom.1' i '4? tliii time the sound of the sheep made me fitken my steps towards the yard. I requested ■y lister to bring me the wheel and cards, while X *M for the wool. 1 went into the yard with my rater, and secured a white sheep, from which I 'beared, with my loom shears, half enough for the »e then let her go with the rest ol the flock. I sent the wool in with my sister. Luther ran for iWsckiheep, snd held her while I cut off wool for filling and half the warp, and then we allowed ■«to go with the remainiug part of her fleece. '»e wool thua obtained was duly carded and ;?'«. washed, sited and dried ; a loom was found a doori off, the web got in, woven and prepared, t:Jsnd made, two or three hours before my brotb"'oeparture, that is to say. in forty hours from the "Bnencement, without help from any modern imtmemsnl.

Ike good old lady closed by saying, "I felt no "inntu, I wept unti wui Berving my country; "•s assisting my poor mother; I was preparing

1 S'tment for my darling brother."

'"garmentbeing finished, I retired and wept, overcharged and bursting heart was reliev

Jtabrother waione of Gen. Stark's soldiers, Lti! D,I1CD *'P'rit to cope with, need we won

2 .tt Bor80yoe did not execute his threat of

°"TMng through the heart of America 1

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A Shrkwd Doctor.—The Philadelphia Sunday Mercury tells a bl ry to the effect that a man named Jennings undertook, a few nights since, to give a colored physician from St. Domingo, named Dr. Charles Le BruD, residing in this city, a severe drubbing for malpractice. It seems that Jennings had been troubled with dyspepsia, and bad applied to Dr. Le Brun for a cure; but after taking the doctor's physic for a month, he found himself much worse, told the doctor so, and then a quarrel and the assault just spoken of followed.

'Monsieur le Mayor,' said L , 'I uo pretend to be ze wizzard, but I cure any body dat do vat 1 say. I tell dis man be must take two of my pill to-morrow, four ze nex day, and den go on double ze dose forty day, and if he no cure den, I tell him he come to me I vill give him back his money tout tuite.— Sate, dat is de bargane vat I made vid him, and he no do dat, to it no vonder he git vorse."

Jennings replied to this—"I took his pills, air, according to directions, for five days, doubling every day, as be told me. and found, on the fifth day, that the dose amounted to thirty-two pills, and then I began to figure up what it wonld come to in forty days, and found that I should have to take at least half a peck."

-No mattare if it was a bushel,' said Dr. Le Brun; 'ze pill is vegelabeel, just same as von turneep, and be might live on zem all ze time and ze no hurt. But if be no give ze pill a fair trial, vot for I give back bis money V

It was plain enough that Jennings did not go according to contract, and so he bad no pretence for asking Dr. Le Brun to refund. The doctor promised to say nothing about the assault and battery, if Jennings would persevere in the purchase and use of the medicine, but Jennings, in this extreme case, preferred the operation of the law to that of physic, and was accordingly bound over to answer for the outrage he had t

Facts.—Should all the inhabitants of the United States cease to use intoxicating liquor, the following would be some of the beneficial results, viz;

1. Not an individual would hereafter become a drunkard.

2. Many who are now drunkards, would reform, and would be saved from the drunkard's grave.

3. As soon as those that would not reform, should be dead, which would be a short time, not a drunkard would be found, and the whole land would be free.

4. More than three fourths of the pauperism of the country might be prevented; and also more than three fourths of the crimes.

5. One of the grand causes of error in principle, and immorality in practice, and the sources of vice and wretchedness would be removed.

6. The number, frequency and severity of diseases would be greatly lessened; and the number and hopelessness of maniacs in our land be exceedingly diminished.

7. One of the greatest dangers of our children and one of the pnncipal causes of bodily, mental, and moral deterioration would be removed.

8. Loss of property in one generation to an amount greater than the present value of all the houses and land in the United Slates, might be prevented.

9. One of the greatest dangers to our free institutions, to the perpetuity of our government, and to all the blessings of civil aud religious liberty would be removed.

10. The efficacy of the gospel, aud all the means which God has appointed for the spiritual and eternal good of mean, would be exceedingly augmented; aud the same amount of moral and religious effort might be expected to produce more than double its present effects.—Episcopal Recorder.

At Newcastle, a young servant girl devoted every minute of her spare time to making warm clothing for the soldiers in the Crimea. Among other articles contributed was a pair of drawers, and inside she tacked the following warm-hearted note:

"My Dear Soldier—I have had very great pleasure in making these drawers for you, and I hope they will keep you nice and warm. I hope you will get back to your country without losing either leg or arm. If I were % man I would come and help yon. If you can, let me know who you are. I am your affectionate friend, Mart Aim."

Beautiful Incident.—A correspondent of the Preston (Eng.) Chronicle gives the following anecdote: A good while ago a boy named Charlie had a large dog which was very fond of the water, and in hot weather he used to swim across the river near which the boy lived. One day the thought ■truck him that it would be fine fun to make the dog carry him across the river, so he tied a string to the dog's collar, and ran down with him to the water's edge, where be took off his clothes; and then holding hard by the dog's neck and the bit of string he went into the water, and the dog pulled bim across. After playing about on the other aide for some time, they returned in the way they had come; but when Charlie looked for hit clothes, he could find nothing but his shoes! The wind bad blown all the rest into the water. The dog saw what had happened, and making hit little master let go the string, by making believe to bite him, he dashed into the water, and brought out first his coat, and then all the rest in succession. Charlie dressed and went home in his wet clothes, and told bis mother what fun he and the dog had had. Hit mother told bim that be did very wrong in going across the river at he had done, and that he should thank God for making the dog take him over and back again safely; for if the dog had made him let go in the river he would most likoly have sunk, and been drowned. Little Charlie laid, "Shall I thank God now, Mamma?" and be kneeled down at his mother's knee and thanked God; then, getting up again, he threw bis arms around bis dog's neck, saying, "I thank you too, dear doggie, for not letting go." Little Charlie it now Admiral Sir Cbarlet Napier.

The Danger, To Nationality.—In the elevation and splendor of Athenian power, says Chancellor Kent, the privilege of citizenship was considered to distinguished a favor, that it was granted only by special decree of two successive assemblies of the people, and then alone to tingle worth and reputation. In the timet of the earlier Caesars the freedom of the city and empire was given with a sparing hand; but the line of degenerate emperors succeeding, corrupted and destroyed this salutary jealousy of the right of citizenship, by extending it first to the whole of Italy, and finally to the entire empire, composed, at it was, of an aggregate of subjugated kingdoms, until, the national blood was tainted, the distinctive national prejudice and spirit were dissolved,and the State perished under a horde of foreign barbarians, whose warlike invasion affords almost the only historic parallel in number to the peaceful and insidious foreign influx to our shores at the present day. In England, the most liberal of the present European governments, citizenship is conferred only by special act of Parliament In the Continental nations there are still further limitations, of a total prohibition.

When we witness the profuse liberality with which the sacred right of citizenship it bestowed among us, the slender guards that exist against its unworthy or fraudulent gift, and the great interests in the hands of those who grant it, we should pause and calmly consider the possible consequences.

Characteristic—The following notice of a "ran upon a bank," which we clip from the N. Y. Pott,

is not only amusing, but characteristic of the African aud Anglo-American races. The scene occurred at one of the Six-penny Savings Bauks of that city:

"Among the swarm of people bringing in deposits of all conceivable values, ranging from S cents as high as $22, we noticed a stout colored man, who walked up to a desk, inquiring with the air of a millionaire, 'Is the President of the bank in V -Here I am at your service, sir." '1 should like,' says the applicant, 'to make a draft on you to-morrow, if the Bank it prepared for it.' 'Anything to accommodate you, my friend,' said the President; 'how much may your draft be V 'Well, air,' said the sable visitor, drawing himself up, coughing and looking as sternly important as if his words were destined to produce a crash in the fiffances of the universe, —'About nine cents '.' 'You shall certainly have it,' answered the accommodating functionary, not at all bewildered at the announcement, 'there is a balance of twenty-one cents to your account—call again.' And the colored man makes room for the next call."

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