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began to disagree with the almanac, and the religious festivals to fall somewhat out of place. The error
Like one wild dream their waste unmeasured life,
Until I taught them how to note the year was estimated to amount to eleven days; the correc
By signal stars, and gave them Memory, tion of which was assumed by the Roman Pontifex.
The active mother of all human science. but with the aid of a science far more accurate than had been possessed by the Pontifices of the older time. The modes now adopted, for preserving accuracy in The Pulpit and the Press--the past and the future, are known to most well-informed readers, so present, the rising and the waning power, would be hat we shall not dwell upon them farther than to say, to some minds the first idea suggested by such a that they consist generally in such omissions of the collocation of terms. But we trust the time has no leap year, from time to time, as will correct the very yet come for the actual verification of any such con small excess by which a quarter of a day exceeds the trast. Far be it from us to underrate the value of the actual fraction of the tropical year.
very instrument through which we seek to instruct “And God said-Let there be lights in the firma- and reform the public mind; but woe to the land and ment of Heaven, and let them be for days, and for to the age in which such an antagonism shall ever be years, and for times, and for seasons.” It requires realized. The Press is man's boasted means for en. some thought before we can fully realize how much lightening the world. The Pulpit is Heaven's ordi we are indebted, morally and mentally, as well as nance; and sad will it be for the Church, and sadde. physically, to these time-measuring arrangements. still for the State, when any other power on earth We must place ourselves in the condition of the challenges a superiority, either in rank or influence savage before we can know how much of our civili. The clergy can safely occupy no inferior place; ang zation comes from the almanac, or, in other words, such is their position, unless they are ever in advance our exact divisions of time aiding the idea and the of the age, not in the common cant of a superficial memory-thus shaping our knowledge, or thinking, doctrine of progress, but as champions of the eterna) and even our emotions, so as to make them very dif- and immovable truths, while they are, at the same ferent from what they might have been, had we not time, contending in all the fields, whether of theology, possessed these regulators of our inner as well as our or science, or literature, or philosophy, in which there outer man. How unlike, in all this, must be the life may be an enemy to be subdued, or a victory won for of the untaught children of the forest! Let us en-Christ. Such rank, we believe, may still be claimed deavor to fancy men living from age to age without for the Church. In former centuries she had neither any known length or divisions of the year-no lesser antagonist nor rival. Now has she hosts of both or greater periods to serve as landmarks, or, rather, Yet are her servants still in the “fore-front of the sky-marks, in their history-and, therefore, without hottest battle." Philosophy and science are swelling any possibility of really having any history. Sum- loud and long the note of triumph, and yet it is still mer and winter come and go, but to the savage all true, even in a period the most thoroughly secular the future is a chaos, and all the past is
the world has ever known since the days of the With the years beyond the flood,
| Apostles, that the highest efforts of mind are conunmarked by any intervals which may give it a hold nected, as ever, with the domain of theology. Sci upon the thoughts or the memory. The heavenly ence, literature, and even politics, find their mos! bodies make their monthly, and annual, and cyclical profound interest for the human soul when the ques revolutions, but their eternal order finds no corretions they raise lie nearest to her sacred confines, spondence in his chaotic experience. The stars roll and connect themselves with that “faith which is nightly over his head, but only to direct his steps in the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of the wilderness, without shedding a ray of light upon things unseen." What true worth in any problem in the denser wilderness of his dark and sensual mind. philosophy, in any discovery in science, the moment The old man knows not how many years he has lived. it is once conclusively settled, beyond a peradventure, He knows not the ages of his children. He has heard, that man has no hereafter? What becomes of art, indeed, of the acts of his fathers; but all are equally and poetry? What meaning in "progress," and remote. They belong to the past, and the past is all “ideas," and the “rights of man?" But it is this alike-a dark back-ground of tradition, without any dread though all-conservative idea of a hereafter, of that chronological perspective through which former which it is the office of the Pulpit ever to keep before ages look down upon us with an aspect as life-like the human soul, not as a lifeless dogma for the un. and as truthful as the present. The phenomena of derstanding, but in all those stern relations to a higher The physical world have been ever fitting like shadows positive law, which shall ever prevent its coalescing before his sense, but the understanding has never with a frivolous creed in theology, or any boasting connected them with their causes, never followed them philosophy of mere secular reform. In doing this, to their sources, never seen in them any ground of there is needed for the Pulpit, first of all, and above coherence or relation, simply becaftse time, the great all, the most intense seriousness of spirit, secondly connective medium of all inductive comparison, has the most thoroågh knowledge of the Scriptures, and been to him an undivided, unarranged, and, therefore, thirdly, learning, science, and philosophy, fully equal unremembered vacancy. Hence it is, he never truly to any thing that may be brought to cope with it in earns to think, and, on this account, never makes its unyielding strife for the dominion of the world. progress-never rises of himself from that low animal In urging this, however, we should never forget, state to which he may once have fallen, in his ever that while the power of the periodical Press is often downward course from the primitive light and truth. unduly enhanced by a falsely coloring medium of Æschylus, in the Prometheus, makes such to have estimation, the glory and influence of ihe Pulpit are been the first condition of mankind. But, however diminished by a similar cause. Apparent variety of false his theory in this respect-opposed as it is to topic, an apparent freshness in the inode of treatment, the sure teachings of revelation-nothing can be truer a skillful adaptation to the ever varying excitements to the life than the fancy picture he has given us of the hour, all aided by the ceaseless craving in the No sure foreknowing sign had they of winter,
human soul for mere intellectual novelty, give to the Nor of flowery spring, or simmer with its fruits. one an appearance of superiority it does not really l'omarker the years rolled ever on; and hence possess, while, in respect to the other, the necessary
Editor's Easy Chair.
repetition of the same great truths, from age to age, / with its celestial origin. Here, indeed is progress has produced just the contrary effect.
But we must close our sketch. Is the picture over There is no way, therefore, in which we can bet- drawn? Or have we truthfully presented the highest ter employ the imagination than in helping us to get although, in spirit, the least acknowledged aspect of away from such a false and blinding influence. How the real superiority of the modern mind-even the would the mightiest minds of the ancient world now humblest modern mind-over the proudest intellects estimate the two prime powers of which we are of the ancient world? speaking. Let us imagine Cicero, or Aristotle, to be permitted to revisit the earth, and study its new modes of thought as they would strike them from their old and, therefore, unbiased point of observa. tion. Lay before them all the wonders of the modem PETWEEN CONGRESS, Kossuth, and Christ newspaper press. They would doubtless be startled D MAS—an alliterative trio of topic-we hardly with many things it would reveal to them in the dis know where to find the handle of a single other mov coveries of modern physical seience. But take them ing hammer of gossip. The hunt for chit-chat is after in those wide fields of thought in which mere physi- all a very philosophical employ; and we do not know cal discovery avails not to give superiority, and we another colaborateur, in the whole editorial fraternity, may well doubt whether they would yield to us that who has smacked the turbulence of congressional triumph we so loudly claim. There is nothing in any debaters, the enthusiasm of the Hungarian Patrick modern declamation on the rights of men, or rights Henry, and the cadeaux of our Noel, with more equa. of women, that would make Aristotle ashamed of his nimity and composure than ourselves. Politica. Cicero might hear discussed our closest Our chair, as we have hinted, is an easy one ; and questions of social casuistry, yet think as proudly of throwing ourselves back into its luxurious embrace, his Offices, and his Republic, as he ever did while a we have raced through the swift paragraphs of mornresident upon earth. No modern political corresponding journalism, or lingered, as is our wont, upon the ence would make him blush for his Letters to Brutus piquancy of occasional romance, with all the gravity and to Atticus. The ablest leader in any of our daily of a stoic, and all the glow of Epicurus. We are journals, would not strike them as very superior, writing now, while the street and the salon are lighteither in thought or style, to what might have been ed up with the full flush of the Hungarian enthusiasm. expected from a Pericles, a Cleon, an Isocrates, or a It amounts to a frenzy; and may well give to the Sallusı. Our profoundest arguments for and against quiet observer a text on which to preach of our na
ign inervention might, perhaps, only remind him tional characteristics. of the times when democratic Athens was so dis! And firstly, we are prone to enthusiastic outbursts, interestedly striving to extend her liberal institu- we love to admire with an ecstasy; and when we tions," and aristocratic Sparta, with just about equal do admire, we have a pride to eclipse all rivals in lionesty, was gathering the other Hellenic cities to a our admiration. We doubt if ever at Pesth, in the
rusade in favor of a sound conservatism. Modern best days that are gone, or that are to come, of Hun Europe, with its politics, would be only Greece on garian nationality, the chief of the nation could re 1 larger scale; and our own boasts of universal an- ceive more hearty and zealous plaudits than have nexation might only call up some sad reminiscences welcomed him upon our sunny Bay of New York. of the olden time, when “the masses" did their think. | A fine person, an honest eye, and an eloquent tongue ing through the sophist and the rhetorician, instead -pleading for liberty and against oppression-stir of the lecturer and the press.
our street-folk-and we hope in Heaven may always But now let fancy change the scene from the read stir them to such enthusiasm as no Paris mob can ing room to the ministrations of the Christian temple.
match. To present the contrast in its strongest light, let it be | But, secondly-since we are speaking sermonwise the humblest church, with the humblest worshipers, -our enthusiasm is only too apt to fall away into and the humblest preacher of our great city-some reaction. We do not so much grow into a steady obscure corner which the literary and editorial lights and healthful consciousness of what we count worthy, of the age might regard as the last place in which as we leap to the embrace of what wears the air of there could be expected any thing original or profound. worthiness; and the very excess of our emotion is Yes-the poorest sermon of the poorest preacher in only too often followed by a lethargy, which is not New York could hardly fail to strike the great Roman, so much the result of a changed opinion, as of a faand the greater Greek, with an awe which nothing tigue of sentiment. Whether this counter-action is of any other kind in the modern world could ever in- to follow upon the enthusiasm that greets the great spire. What wondrous truths are these, and whence Guest, we dare not say. We hope-for the sake or came they! Whence this doctrine of cternal life, so Hungary, for the sake of Liberty, and for the sake far beyond what we ever dared to think-this preach of all that ennobles manhood—that it may not! ing of “righteousness, temperance, and a judgment Thirdly, and finally, as sermonizers are wont to to come," so far transcending all the ancient moralists say, we are, at bottom, with all our exciting moments, had ever taught! Whence these new and startling and all our fevers of admiration, a very matter-of-fact words, these superhuman ideas of grace, of prayer, people. We could honor Mr. Dickens with such. of redemption, of a new and heavenly birth! And adulation, and such attention as he never found at then again, the sublimity of that invocation-the home; but when it came to the point of any definite heavenly thought, and heavenly harmony, of that action for the protection of his rights as an author, song of praise and love! All is redolent of a phi- we said to Mr. Dickens, wth our heart in his books, losophy to which our most rapt contemplations never but with our hands away from our pockets, “we are ventured to ascend. Even the despised hymn-book our own law-makers, and must pay you only inmay be soberly supposed to fill their souls with an honor!” adıniration that Dryden and Shakspeare might fail How will our matter-of-fact tendencies answer to to inspire. How transcendent the conceptions on the calls of Kossuth? We are not advocates or par. every page! How far beyond all ancient or modern tisans-least of all-in our Easy CHAIR: we only portry that is alien to its spirit, or claims no kindred seek to chisel out of the rough block of every day
VOL. IV.-No. 20.-S
talk, that image of thought which gives it soul and I SPEAKING of the French Republic, we can no: intent.
forbear putting in record a little episode of its nice That the enlarged ideas of Kossuth-independent care for itself. M. Dumas, the favorite dramatist, of their eloquent exposition from his lips-will meet publishes a letter in one of the Paris journals, inwith the largest and profoundest sympathy from the way of consolation for the imprisoned editor of the whole American people, we can not have a doubt. | Avenement. Nor can we doubt that that sympathy will lend such “My dear Vacquerie," he says. “ while I am on material aid, as was never before ent to any cause, | the lookout for sundry notices of what may touch the not our own. But the question arises, how far such hon 3rable institution of our Press censorship, I send sympathy and individual aid will help forward a poor, you this fact, which is worthy to stand beside the down-trodden, and distant nation, toward the vigor official condemnation of the verses of Victor Hugo. of health and power. Sympathies and favoring opin. M. GUIZARD, the director in such matters, has reion may do much toward alleviating the pains of fused me, personally, the request to reproduce my wounded hearts and pride ; they may, by urgency of Chevalier de la Maison Rouge ; and the reason is, expression, spread, and new leaven the whole thought that my poor play has contributed to the accession of the world; but he is a fast thinker who does not of the Republic!
Ever yours, know that this must be the action of time.
"A. Dumas." We can not but believe that the strongest sympa-| We are only surprised at the audacity of M. Dumas, thy, and the most generous proffers of individual aid in giving publicity to such a note. will, after all, help very little toward practical issues, in any new endeavor of Hungary to be itself again. As a curious and not unnatural issue, growing out Poor Poland is a mournful monument of the truth of of the free appropriation of Italian treasure, by the what we say. How then is our great Guest to de- | French Republicans of the last century, we notice
lies so near his heart?
ther, or grandfather, was a near connection of Pope We pose the question, not for political discussion. | Pius VI., has recently laid claim to some of the most but as the question which is giving a slant to all the valuable pictures in the Louvre. It appears from talk of the town. To break peace with Austria and his representations-supported by voluminous docuwith Russia, and openly to take ground, as a governmentary evidence-that these objects pertained to a ment, with the subdued Hungarians, is what very few certain villa near Rome, occupied at the time of tbe presume to hint-much less to think soberly of. The French invasion by the Braschi family. great Hungarian, himself, would hardly seem to havel Signor Braschi, in quality of heir, now claims entertained such a possibility. We suppose his ef- the spoils, including some of the most brilliant works forts rather to be directed toward the enkindling of of the Paris gallery. He avows his willingness, such a large love of liberty, and such international however, to waive his rights, in consideration of a sympathy among all people who are really free, as few millions of francs, to be paid within the year. shall make a giant league of opinion, whose thunders We have a fear that the only reparation the Republic shall mutter their anathemas against oppression, in will bestow, will be the offer of an airy apartment in every parliament and every congress ; and by con- the Maison des Fous. gruity of action, as well as congruity of impulse, fix the bounds to oppression, and fright every tyrant from Keeping to Paris gossip, for want of any thing advance---if not from security.
special in that way belonging to our own capital, we In all this we only sketch the color of the Hun- find this little half-incident chronicled in the French garian talk.
Ladies, it is known (or if not known may hence Winter gayeties, meantime, have taken up their forth be known) traffic in the funds at the Paris Ex march toward the fatigues of spring. Furs, and vel. change, in a way that would utterly amaze our prin vet mantillas float along the streets, as so many cesses of the salon. You do not indeed see them pleasant decoys to graver thought. The opera, they upon the marble floor of the stately Bourse itself, say, has held its old predominance, with a stronger but at the hour of “the board," you are very sure to list than ever, in the fashion of the town. Poor see a great many luxurious-looking little carriages. Lola Montes, shadowed under the folds of the Hun. | drawn up in the neighborhood, and a great many la garian banner, has hardly pointed the talk of an hour. dies, at that special hour, are particularly zealous in We can not learn that any triumphal arch groced the their admiration of the old paintings which the deal. entry of the Spanish Aspasia, or that her coming is ers behind the Exchange, offer“ at a bargain." Very celebrated in any more signal way, than by the un-quick-running footmen are also stirring, and repori corking of a few extra bottles of Bavarian beer. That sales and offers to their mistresses with most commany will see her if she dances, there can hardly be mendable activity. a doubt; but that many will boast the seeing her, is | Among these outsiders, some Paris romancist has far more doubtful. We can wink at occasional lewd. remarked lately a very elegantly dressed lady, who, ness at home, but when Europe sends us the queen three times a week, drew up her phaeton opposite the of its lewdness to worship, we fors wear the issue, | doors of the Vaudeville Theatre (which all habitués and like Agamemnon at the sacrifice of Iphigenia- will remember, is just opposite the Bu...se). Chance hide our faces in our mantles.
passers imagined her to be some actress of the boards, We observe that our usually staid friend M. GAIL- and gazed at her accordingly. But it was observed LARDET, of the Courrier, records in one of his later that an “agent de change" made repeated visits to letters, an interview with the witching LOLA; and her little phaeton, and at the closing of the board our it would seem that he had been wrought upon to lady disappeared down the Rue Vivienne. speak for her an apologetic word. With all respect, Upon a certain day-no matter when-the by. however, for the French Republican, we think it will standers were startled by piercing shrieks issuing need far more than his casual encouragement, to lift from the phaeton of "my lady," and all ran, to pre the Bavarian countess into the range of American vent, as they supposed, some terrible crime. Sym esteem.
pathy proved vain; ard to the inquiries of the police
the “man of business” only made phlegmatic reply, l Yet another story is swimming in our ink-stand; That the funds had fallen some ten per cent., and and with a gracious lift of the pen, we shall stretch “my lady" was ruined.
it upon our sheet. Three days after, and the phaeton was a voiture de At Viterbo, which, as every one ought to know, lies remise in the Rue Lepelletier. The coachman had ne- within the Italian confines, lived once a poor peas. gotiated the sale, but all tidings of “my lady" were lost. ( ant, with a poor, but pretty daughter, whose name
was MARIANNE. She had not the silks of our ladies, Guinot, to whom we have been indebted again and or the refinements, so called, of fashion. She wore a again, has twisted out of his brain (we can not doubt rough peasant robe, and watched her father's kids as it) this little happening of Paris life, which, if not they wandered upon the olive-shaded slopes of Viterbo. true, is yet as characteristic of France as a revolution. At Viterbo lived a youth whose name was CARLO.
Two funerals, he says, on a certain day wended Carlo was prone to ramble; and albeit of higher their course toward the cemetery of Père la Chaise. family than the peasant's daughter, he saw and loved, One bier bore the body of a man; the other, the and wooed and won the pretty Marianne. They body of a woman. The day was a sour November were betrothed in the hearing only of the drowsy day-with the half-mist and half-frostiness that some tinkle of the bells that hung upon the necks of the times ushers in the Paris winter. The mourners kids, over which Marianne was shepherdess. To were few-as mourners at Paris are generally sew. marry they were afraid. He feared the anger of his Arrived within the gates, one cortège took the path father, and she feared to desert the cottage of her leading to the right; the other turned to the left. mother. The ceremonies being over, a single mourner only Carlo, swearing devotion, went away to Rome remained at each tomb.
and became an advocate. The revolution stirred At the grave of the lady lingered a man, apparent. the stolid Romans, and Carlo enlisted under Garily overcome with grief; at the grave of the man-a baldi. After a series of fights and of escapes, Carlo lady, who seemed equally overcome. Their adieus found himself in five years from his parting with the were lengthened at the graves until all the attendants pretty peasantess of Viterbo, a refugee, in the Café had disappeared. By chance, the grief of the two de France, which stands behind the Palais Royal parties seemed to show the same amount of persistat Paris. Lamenting over his broken fortunes, and ent sorrow, and of lingering regard : thus it happened mourning for his poor Italy, he sauntered, upon a cer. that in retracing their slow and saddened steps to- tain day, into the Garden of Plants, upon the further ward the main entrance, they met in the grand alley side of the Seine. It is a place where the neighboring face to face. They exchanged a look of sorrow, and world go to breathe the air of woods, and to relieve an exclamation of surprise.
the stifling atmosphere of the city, with the openness “You, madame ?"
and freedom of Nature. (In parenthesis, let us ask, Vous, monsieur ?"
when shall New York civilization reach such a kind “But this is very strange," continued the gentle- provision for life ?) man, " is it not ? We have met so rarely, since we Carlo wandered, dejected, sad, musing of bitter broke our marriage contract ten years ago !” ness, when his eye fell upon a face that seemed fa
“The chance which has led me here is a very sad miliar. It was the face of a lady-in Parisian cos. one, monsieur," and madame says it in very dolorous tume, with a Parisian air—but very like to the pretty tones.
peasantess of Viterbo. He followed her—met her"It is as much for me; I have followed to the accosted her; there was no mistaking her frighted grave a person very dear to me.”
look of recognition. She was distant and cool-for “Ah," returns madame, “she is dead! I, too, the fates had bound her fortunes to those of a Parihave lost my dearest friend," and she sobs.
sian bourgeois, and she was the wife of the very re“I beg you would accept, madame, my sincerest spectable Monsieur Bovin. Carlo was neither cool ympathy."
nor distant: for grief had cast him down, and now "And you too, sir; believe me, my heart bleeds first, hope blessed him with a shadow of the joys or you."
that were gone. Madame Bovin's distance wore off Upon thus much of moumful interchange of grief, under the impassioned addresses of the poor refugee. supervenes a silence-only broken by the low steps and again and again Carlo found his way to the of the parties, and by occasional sobs of lament. Jardin des Plantes.
GUINOT opens their conversation again thus : Finally (alas for Paris virtue!) the household of
Gentleman.-" Alas, existence seems to me very the respectable Monsieur Bovin, was, upon a certain worthless—all is dark !"
morning, deserted; only a little note of poor French Lady.--"Ah, what must it be for me, then ?" told the disconsolate husband, that the pretty Mari Gentleman.—“How can I ever replace her fond. anne could no longer subdue her new kindled love
for her Italian home, and had gone back to the hills Lady.-"To whom can I confide my griefs ?" of Viterbo. Gentleman.-"What home will now receive me?" The sorrowing husband, though he could not purLady.--"Upon whose arm can I lean ?”
chase content, could yet purchase the services of the In such humor our racy feuilletonist traces their police. Through them, he tracked the runaway lov. walk and conversation along the parterres of that ers to the borders of France. Thereafter the search Paris garden of death ; at the gate he dismisses one was vain. of the two carriages which attend them; he crowns But, alas, for poor Carlo, he was recognized by their mutual offices of consolation with a happy re- the myrmidons of the powers that be, thrown into a union-never to be broken-till one shall be again a dungeon, and report tells a story of his death. mourner, and the other a tenant of the tomb.
As for the pretty peasant, Marianne, she wan, Thus, says he, grief moralizes ; and wise resolu. dered forlorn to her father's home ; but the father's tions ride at an easy gallop, into broken hearts ! home was gone; and now, for menial hire-in her
And thus, we say, French ingenuity makes every peasant dress (in place of the Paris robes) and with hearse the carrier of a romance; and seasons the a saddened heart-she watches the kids, upon the deepest woe with the piquancy of an intrigue ! | olive-shaded slopes of Viterbo !
| a moment-possibly with some vague thought of an
immediate resurrection-but with a sudden outburst W E are at the beginning of another year; a season of Hurrahs !' the sentiment took the turn of sub
W in which all pause, and “take note of time" - limity, and another glowing bumper was sent to join time, the vehicle that carries every thing into no the departed courser in his metempsychosis." thing. “We talk," says a quaint English author, The English papers sometimes get off telling jokes “of spending our time, as if it were so much interest against their neighbors across the Channel, but sel of a perpetual annuity; whereas, we are all living dom any thing better than this. Besides, how thor upon our capital; and he who wastes a single day, oughly French it is, both in the conception and ex throws away that which can never be recalled or ecution! Its origin could never be mistaken. recovered: Our moments fly apace,
We put on record, in these holiday-times of imbur Nor will our minutes stay ;
bition, these warning stanzas, to guard the reade: Just like a flood our hasty days
alike against cause and effect : . Are sweeping us away!”
“My head with ceaseless pain is torn, at is well to think of these things, standing upon the
Fast flow the tear-drops from my eye verge of a new year. But let us not trouble the
I curse the day I e'er was born, reader with a prolonged homily.
And wish to lay me down and die;
Bursts from my heart the frequent sigh, Every body will remember the missionary at one
It checks the utterance of my tongue; of the Cannibal Islands, who asked one of the natives
But why complain of silence !-why,
When all I speak is rash and wrong if he had ever known a certain predecessor of his upon the island, who had labored in the moral vine,
"The untasted cup before me lies
What care I for its sparkle now? yard there? “Yes, we know him well-we ate a
Before me other objects rise, part of him.” Now, the "piece of a cold missionary
I know not why-I know not how. on the sideboard for a morning lunch," of which the
My weary limbs beneath me bow. witty Sydney Smith made mention, is scarcely a
All useless is my unstrung hand: less objectionable dish, on the score of the material,
Why does this weight o'ershade my brow? than the chief feature of a repast, held, according to
Why doth my every vein expand ? a French journal, not a thousand miles from the "What rends my head with racking pain? Ascot race-course, in England :
Why through my heart do sorrows pass! “At the recent races at Ascot the famous horse
Why flow my tears like scalding rain ? Tiberius broke his leg, by bounding against one of
Why look my eyes like molten brass ?
And why from yonder brimming glass the posts of the barrier, while preparing for the race.
Or wine untasted have I shrunk? His owner, the Lord Millbank, lost ten thousand
'Cause I can't lift it--for, alas! pounds in betting upon his noble steed, besides his
I'm so pre-pos-ter-ous-ly drunk !" value, and others also lost very heavily : the law, of course, being that all bets should be paid whether The vagaries of the insane are sometimes amus. the failure to win came from the less speed or from ing to witness; and not unfrequently there is a accident.
“ method in their madness" that would not be amiss i Three day, afterward, Lord Millbank gave a in those who are on the outside of lunatic asylums. very sumptuous dinner. The most distinguished Many years ago in Philadelphia, a patient in the inof the English peerage were present, and the con- sane asylum of that city fancied himself to be the viviality ran exceedingly high. Toward the close, REDEEMER of the world; and his talk and actions the noble host rose in his place, and proposed on were always in keeping with the character, save that oblation to the health of the departed Tiberius. he exacted a rigid deference to his person and his
" The toast was clamorously received, but the divinely-derived power. But one day another paspeaker remained standing with his glass in his tient arrived, whose idiosyncrasy it was, that he was and.
the SUPREME BEING. A little while after his en “* We drink to Tiberius,' said Milord Millbank, trance into the institution, he met in one of the halls, when the shouts had subsided ; 'to Tiberius the as he was passing, the imagined representative of nost beautiful, the most admirable, the most spirited | the Son; who, not liking his bearing, reminded him ourser whose hoofs ever trod upon our glorious who he was : “Yes, you are the Son, but know British turf!
from this time henceforth, that you have seen the “ Shouts again resounded to the roof in vehement FATHER, and must obey him!" "And strange peals.
enough," said the keeper of the institution to the *** You know,' continued his lordship, the achieve- | friend who gives us the particulars, “from that day ments of this horse. His deeds belong to history. forward, all power was given unto the latter; and at Fame has taken charge of his glory. But it belongs length the fancied Son's. air-drawn' vision melted to me, and to you, my lords and gentlemen, to do away, and he left the establishment a perfectly sane honor to his mortal remains! I wished that this
t this man." lofty courser should have a burial worthy of his! Some twelve or afteen years ago there was in the great, his immortal deservings. He has had it, my lunatic asylum at Worcester, Massachusetts, a kind lords and gentlemen, he has had it! My cook has of crazy David CROCKETT, who fancied that he fitly prepared him, and you have feasted upon him could do any thing that could be done, and a little to-day! Yes, my lords and gentlemen, this repast more. One day a good many visitors were walking which you have relished so keenly--these dishes slowly through the halls, examining them, and occa. which awakened the so frequent inquiry, What sionally saying a word or two to the patients. After animal could be so delicious ??--that animal, my a very courteous reception of a gentleman, who menlords and gentlemen, was Tiberius! It is that noble tioned that he had come from South Carolina, the courser whose mortal remains now repose in your crazy man interrupted him abruptly with: stomachs! May your digestions be light!
“Have you felt any of my earthquakes down there “At these words the enthusiasm concentrated for lately?"