Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, March 7, 1875, Page 8

vom é : i i "bold EUROPEAN GOSSIP, Dumas’ Reception at the ‘French Academy, The Carnival at Rome---Costame- Ball at the. Palazza Gaeiani, A French Husband and Wife---Two Broken Hearts. A London Scandal--French Ju- dicial Wisdom. . _ ALEXANDRE DUMAS) Ae THE ACADEMIE FRAN- SE, ‘The Paris, Feb. 10, correspondence of the London Daily Telegraph says: “The recep- fion of Alexandro Dumas at the Academie to-day caused extraordinary excitement, Appli- cations for tickets of admission were cmore mumerons and more eager than on any former occasion. Even high dignitaries, who applied fortwo tickets, could only obtainone. At 9 o'clock the ticket-holdera began to assemble at eoch of the numerous doors, snd they kept their places valiantly in the hitter cold—severe enough to freeze all water not in motion—until the doors opened st 12. Every place in the hall was instantly occupied, but crowds nevertheless remained collected about the doorways, Jadies irying vainly their influence on the incorruptible officials. Ladies, as usual, wero the majority, in the proportion of at least throe fotwo. The ontside of the Palsis do I'Institute was guarded by Gardes do Paris on horseback and infantry troops. The entrance of Mme. Dumas, sccompanied by her two daughters, caused much interest. Al the members of the ‘Tustitute were in ordinary costume. As soon as the sudience had taken their ecste, Alexandre Dumas appeared between bis two parrains, Le- gouve and Camille Doucet, all three in academ- ical costume, the familiar coat embroidered with groen Isurel Ieaves, white waistcoat, and sword. Dumas wore siso the Order of the Legion of Honor. The new Academician wok his seat be- tween his two sponsors. Althongh beginning to sbow signe of baldness, his appearance is still youthful, and contrasted strongly with that of the aged men who were about him. His fine features are strongly marked, and his eyes and tall stature always attract attention, eveninacrowd. The Presi- dertisl bench was occupied by M. d'Hausson- ville. who was deputed to reply to Dumas, the Secretary, M. Patin, and M. Camille Roussett, alitbree in acadomical costuthe. At this mo- Ment not another human being could have been introduced into the building. The circular well iu front of the academical semi-circular tribune ‘was filled with ladies, including the Duchesse Decazes, Duchesse de Mouchy, and Mme. Ferdi- naud Duval. Among other conspicuous Indies present were Almo. Rainneville and Mile. Croi- Zotte, tho Istter in a costume entirely white from ‘Donnet to boo, Among the academicians the the Duc d’Aumale was canspicuons by his hand- gomo face and smart, eoldier-like demeanor. i Dumss' voice betrayed some emotion ‘at the opening of his discourse, eapecially when ho declared that his father was entoning the academy with him, his inberited name having opened its doors. Heread his discourse, hold- ing a pince-nez, or double oyeglass. He ‘spoke with a strong, deep, and very distinct voice, pausing slightly at the end of his most effective passages to give greater emphasis to every mot dela jin. Every separate eentence told. Never have [ heard so muclr applause within the walls of the academy. Certainly never bas so much bearty laughter resounded in those usually som- nolent hails. The academician has rightly pre- served his own idiosyncrasy and style, especi- ally in those passages justifying the morality of his own writings, and defending Richelieu from tho imputation of being jealous of Corneille. His splondid pauegsric of Corncille was en- thusiasticaily applauded. During one hour and a quarter Dumas kept the delighted atten- tron of bis audience at fall strain, Even his modified praise of bis predecessor, Lepran—an already forgotten mediocrity—was interesting, while his peroration was admirable. M. d'Haue- sonville’s reply, in marked contrast to Dumas, ‘was full of sly touches of irony aimed at Damas. ‘he opening passages excited much amusement, bus bis panegsric of Lebrun was unnecessary. #4. d'Haussonville is stone deaf, and his imper- {ect delivery became very monotonous and inef- fective, Nevertheless, the meeting altogether Was the most interesting on record, and prob- ably the most amusing since the foundation of the lemy. In the course of his address, af- ter some words in which M. Dumes pointed out with mach effect the influence of woman in the works of the stage, he went on to say: All the struggles to which our heroes are given up in pur works have for their one cause and their one recom- the posteesion of a Chimene, When they obtsin and are 5 is comedy. Wien they fal o obtain Ht thee despair; aud they die. ‘That is tragedy or melodrama. No one can ea real lover, and, by consequence, a real hero of the vtage, unless he have shown himself willing ta cat Bis fortune, bis glory, his life, his honor, xt the feet of the woman’ whom he would conquer, "She, for her Ere ‘Chimens, to pardon everything: even the Sead of pity ve » eve hier father, 1 the lover wom abe To our thinking it is woman who rulesthe world. “What fact the historian haa not been able to comprehend; the philosopher has not been able to explain—it is the wonian who casis a light upon everything. When Hodrurue Gghts it is for Chimens ; whan Orestes mur- ‘Bers it is for Hermione: when Arnolphe tears his he tears it for Agnes ; when -Alceste into exile it fx for Celimene ; when Figaro weeps it is for Lutron, ‘Thus dhe stage becomes the temple wherein we glorify. roman ; there we sdore her, we pity her, we excuso hor; there she comos for vengeance pon man; there she declares most effectually that in spite mi of all the Jaws which men have made, and in: virtue of which he is declared to be a lave, abe is Queen and mistress ef her tyrant, The stage ‘affords her s terrestrial eoais. “Everything comes by her—everything for her. . . . 80 soon as she begins to excite our interest, love becomes the ono object of her Ute, Danghier, lovin, wife, mother, she has but one thought one mind ia’ alwoys ready for the eternal. newdn of ‘het heart, ‘Thus it comes to pass that ahe is at the be- ginning and at the end of literature, and, above all, of the stage; thus that wien we bate conquered the ‘women we are sure of success, . , . ‘Thus thal when M, Lebrun failed to make his heroine sacrifice all tol Corneille did—be was wrong. . . , But, gentlemen, we force no one to come and hear our nomedies or our dramas, We write them, the direc tors of the theatres prosent them when they pleas and thoes come who choose, No one is forced to do so, unhappily. As to the women, we need uot ask them to come to the theatre—they come of Wemselves, and it is well, sinos no one is occupied by them, "For young girls the case is different— we do not invite ‘them. There is no possible Agreement between us and those tender soula whose examples are confined to their families and to their religion, We donot wish that these children should fearn more than that there are such things as dra~ atic authors, The innocent Agnes who hides Horace ber shamber, after baving seen him on her bal- cony; the tricky Rosina who correspon = ing soen him from her window; the tender Julict who gives » rendezvous to Homeo, {ue enemy of ber family, on the dey ehe mects him for the first time; the ardent Desdemona, who absn- vdons the paternal mansion to follow the Moor, ‘Othellg,—ave not models for our young daughters, er even scenes which we should desire to senttothem, Nevertheless, it would be unfortunate if webad no Agnes, Rosina, Juliet, or Detdemona, ‘though there may be parents who insist on thet Gaughiters to the theatre, In a word, contiemen, I ycak as a dramatist, and I tell you that the stsgo is not always designed for young ‘girls, Do you know why express myself eo clearly 7 It is amply because respect all that is worthy of respect. I respect ginls too much to ask them to listen to all thats have to say ; I respect my art too much to reduce it within the ‘limits of what young girls may safely hear. ~ es We be ch? ,ptber, bases ted a cortain excess of passion, mrannere, vo long a6 it is understood thst justice will be done in the end. There in indoed one weakness which we haves right to ask sball be pardoned, and that is, that we shonld interest our audiences—that we should make them laugh or weep, or do both at once, sible; but whether we cause the one emotion or if poes! the other, it mast be aces te situation ie achat be frank wil 6 an and ns aoe —only I must ‘say st very low—we are re ica Tue various Governmenia Xow the Test ; they have ostablisked a censure which is continually in operation, end which works for us only. “THE ROMAN CARNIVAL—-A COSTUME BALL, A letter to the London Times, underdate of Rome, Feb. 9, says: Like everything else in Rome, the amusements of the ten daya before Lent are underroing s rapid chango. The old carnival is dying out ; a new carnival is spring- ing into existence, The Corso is being—has this year been entirely—given up up to the forestieri, who have desecrated the merry, frolicsome rites of the presiding divinity by flinging dirty lime confetti instead of sweet sugar-plums, throwing bundles of rank weeds instead of fragrant fow- THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, MARCH 7, 1875 . SIXTEEN PAGES ers, and generally introducing horae-play instead ~=oof lively fon and nonsense. Who wonld put on a handsome costume to have it completely ruined with Aqugntity of lime-dnst? And this yesr the practice hag been introduced of throwing flour by handfuls: in ract, one man has made himself conspicuous by positively shoveling flour from &n upper balcony upon the people below, with a stolid, unchanged expression of face all the time, a3 if he were an inhabitant of one of Dante's circles, condemned forever to that em- ployment. Toso dangerous an excess has this rough, senseless play been carried, that the Syndic issued s proclamation on Ssturday pro- hibiting the throwing of confeili, or anything of that kind, doring the last two days, with mani- fest improvement to the amusoments of the af- ternoong, aud a greatly increased influx of re- apectable people tuto the Corso. _ i The great feature of this carnival’s feativi- ties has been the splendid costume ball at the Gactani. “In issuing their invitations the Prince and Princess Teano made it distinctly understood that it was not to be either s mere mask or fancy ball; that costume in tho fullest acceptance of the word was de rigueur; and that no guests would be welcome in suy official drees worn in the presentday. No Deputy Lientenants’ red coats, with cocked hate and feathers; no yolunteer uniforms; not even that of » Field- Marshal, covered with stara and ribbons, nor of & Cardinal—their eminencea were by .no means averse from balls in days not long past—eren if be came in all his gorgeous Wealth of scarlet eilk, would quality the wearers to enter the Princess’ drawing-room without committing an unpardonable breach of good manners. I do not mean to say that all this was made publio in 28 many sentences, but you know how things get about, and three legible words at the corner of the card did the rost. It becamo soon known, algo, in the same little-bird fashion, that the period to be illustrated by those who dexired to bo strictly en regie was that com~ mencing from the opening of the sixteenth century to tho days of thoro who live to us in Vandyke’s portraits. A period rich enough in materials and in historie personages to represent a time when the Papacy played an unusually important part, and modem Italy held her most distinguished position in the history of the world; when Leo X., Paul IIL. Pius V., and the great Sixtus wore the tiara; when the Medicis ruled at Florence; when the thrones of France, England, and Scotland were occupied by Henri IL and Charles [X., Elizabeth and Mary Stuart ; ‘when the great religious: changes and troubles divided the populations of Europe and the mas- sacre of St. Bartholomew deluged the streets of Paris with blood. There is no city 1a Europe which affords the same advantages from evory point of view for doing justice to this period of history in the maaner intonded: the greater number of the illustrious familics still existing had ancestors who played more or less important parts in the-scenes of those days, whose portraits exist, and whose characters could be sasumed by the living representatives, It was soon known that Prince Humbert, the Marchese Calabrini, and others, had instructed Moneta, here in Rome, to construct them costly costumes; that others had sent to Worth, in Paris, and that Ascoli, the skilled costumier of the Apollo, had been ‘called in consultation by members of the Colonna and other princely fam- ilies. This presaged the necessity of going to some trouble and greater oxponse. All very well, it was said, for the few, but not likely to ba undertaken by the many. It was foretoid that the Princesa Teano would not succeed in filling her rooms, and that she would ba obligod to giva way, if not to the extent of admitting the hideous black cost of modern days, st least to permitting the scarcely lesa hideous court-dress of the nineteenth century. The prophets, how- over, were obliged to yield, and had only them- selves to thank for being driven to straits to complete tneir costumes, and, in a few cases, left oat in the cold altogether. Many of the costumes were absolute works of art, executed with con- summate skill, sided by correct study. One walked, sg it were, in a living picture-gallery, in which people’ of the present day rep- resented personages of the past with an exact- ness leaving but little of their own individu- ality recognizable. It was not by the Princess Teano that the company was received, but by her husband’s ancestress, the ‘scarcely more beautiful Giovannella Gaetani, the mother of the Farnese Pope Paul III., and by her side, besring a shadowy resemblance of Onorato Gac- tani, Prince of Tesno, stood Philip I, King of Spain. Near by was Cxsar Borgia, with Louis XIL and Henry III., of France, and, near the latter, three Catholic gentlemen in black, with white crosses double barred on_their caps, friends and instruments of Charles IS, though these waa no Huguenot blood visible on their hands; one of those was D'Epinay St. Luc, bearing a curtain likeness to D'Epinay tho sculptor. ‘Alistle before midnight the host and hostess went to the outer ante-room to receive the Prince and Princess of Piedmont—Prince Humbert and the Princess Margherita—and returned, Philip IL Jeading along the alley formed through the crowd a lady of most gracious presence, who, from the style of her. richly-jeweled costume, mus. have been of noble Florentine birth, aud the beautifnl Giovanelia Gactani leaning on the -arm of Charles Emanuel L, tho celebrated Conte Verde. ‘I'he personages of the past swept on into the empty ball room, the band playing an air unknown to me, ‘but which, from its character, I conceive to have been an ancient anthem of the Savoy family, aud then Charles Emanuel I., with the two illustrions ladies, took up ® position at the further end, while the crowd of celebrities of years gono by two by two, saluted thom, and went on into the next room. After the last bad made their obsisance, the room rapidly filled and dancing commenced. ‘Tho first quadrille was exclusively formed ty thoee wearing Henri If. and Yandyxe costumes, and was F opened by the Princess Margherita aud Prince Teano, with opposite them the Princess Teano and Signor Visconte Venosts, dressed as a noble Lombard of the same period. As the quadrille ended a slight sensation was evident, way was made, and in swept, scarcely doigning to ook to the right or tho left, Marie de Medici (the Duchess di Sarno), attended by a number of the Jadies and gentlemen of her Court. After this the dancing became general. The Prince and Princess left a little after 4 o'clock, but the majority of the guests remained until the end of the cotillion, when this splendid ball—one might almost eay pageant—broke up at 6. A FRENCH HUSBAND AND WIFE: Paris correspondence St. Louis Globe: My lodgings are, and have been, for some months, in the Rue Chaussee d’Antin. My landlady is Plearant, intelligent, quite comely, in the noigh- borhood, perhaps, of five-and-thirty. She always has a smile, is tastefully dressed, and bas some- thing of the coquettish air inseparable from Parisian women of avy education. Often, in coming and going, I have observed a spruce, genteel man of 40 or thereabout, who, Ihsd sup- posed, was one of my fellow-lodgers. I have never exchanged 8 word with him, though, ac- cording to French custom, we doft our bats to one another when we prs. Thad made up my mind that my unknown friend was a retired, well-to-do merchant, proba~ bly a bacholor, living comfortably on a anug in- come, I was confirmed in this opinion when I saw him lounging on the Boulevards, sipping his after-dinner coffee in front of the Maison Dores or Cafe Riche, and diving in the Bois with a ‘woman, pretty, young, and plainly fast. A fortnight since I encountered him in'esrnest conversation with my landlady, The same after- noon, having some business with her, we chanced to drift into talk on miscellaneous subjects. She told mo that the stranger I had {mistaken for a bechetor was her husband. They hed been mar- vied ten years. When she became acquainted with him he hed a wine-ahop; but he disposed of it after their union, i ‘He bas another and a better business now, no doubt,” I remarked casually. “O no, Monsieur; he has had no business since. He does not like work; he is too genteel for that. He loves to lounge on the Boulevards, to dine at the fashionable restauranta, to amuso himself elegantly. And I love to support him in such luxuries. Ican sffordto, Ihave quite an income from theso lodgings. He gets most of it; be ought to have it, for he is a nice follow, and I am proud of and fond of him, Don't you thing him hsndsome? He ssys many fine ladies on the Boulevards look after him iringly as they roll by in their carriages. Ah! Iwas very lucky to get him.” * “Ho assists you, I suppose, in your accounts, in collecting your rents.” “* Very far from it, I wonld not allow bim to. Besides, he would not soil his hands with bills and accounts. Imanage everything. Heyawns if I speak to him of money matters, which I gel- dom d is not right to annoy him with snch Vulgarities. Ab, he is 3 dear fellow. He ig very goodtome. Ho takes me out somotimes, not very often; that would spoil me. Then wo have very delicious times. I know the fne ladies envy mo. seeing me at his sido. Every once ins While he kisses mo when he goes away in the morning, and I am very happy then fér awhole week. Ihave asked him sometimes it, he does not kiss other women. He doca not repiy directly, but says gentlemen of gallantry must bave their recreations. Ah, TI pre- [same they musk Thope, though that’ ha oaly Kisses their hands or checks, That is not 50 bad. Ob, he is a noblo gentleman, my precious husband.” ‘The little womsn’s eyes suffused as she contem- plated the manifold perfections of her illustrous liege. She waa perfectly severe in overy word she uttered. She hed no ides thst she wet Eee vealing him to my supreme contempt; thal he was baso wretch, a pensioner, a sneak, adastard. And I pitied and esteemed ee much to tell her my opinion of him. we os genuine French Turveydrop he was, anc a And to think that this woman, intelligent, ehrewd, no longer young, should be 80 blinded iby | her affection as not to seo him in his true light. When she had ceased speaking, s now color bad je olive face. It was partly love, care eeido to tho miserable ecoundrel for Bis gonerostty in living upon her, and spending ber money for his vulgar plessures. SI looked almost beautiful. Icould have kissed Mer from commiseration, butIdid not. I bade hor good evening, and wont away. » TWO BROKEN HEARTS. "The Paris Figaro tells the following Frenchy story: In 1870 & young Frenchman, the Count George de Meyrac, married a beautiful girl of his own station in life, Mathilde ———, who was very much in love With him. All went well, and the two were very happy in their devotion to each other. They were fond of the theatre, and every one just at that time waa enraptured with a new actress, Rosita, who took tho ptin- aps! roles m the dubious dramas of the Dumas school. ‘The newly-wed- ded pair often went to Rosite’s theatro, until the Countess thought her hus- band’s eres lingered too fondly on the actross, and bogan to feol pangs of jealousy. Frou-Frou ‘was ono of Rosita’s best impersonations, and on her farewell night she p appeared by request in that character. ‘Lhe Jockey Club, of which George de Meyrac was Vice-President, gave her a supper after the play. George, of courso, was present, and ast by thoside of the fascinating Rosita, who was surrounded with bouquets. Wine flowed freely, and mirth and wit enlivened the banguet until 3 o'clock in the morning. Aleanwhile, the poor wife, Mathilde, waited at the little gate of their park for her truant hus- band. The hours passed slowly on, and he came not. Acold, penetrating rain began to fall at midnight, and Mathilde trembled from exhaus- tion and exposure. At5in the morning. when hor busband came through the little gate, he stumbled over her inanimate kody lying on the rain-soaked ground. She was potdead; sho lived five days after, Dut never recovered ber mind. In her delirium, she incessantly murmur- ed “Frou-Frou! Frou-Frou!” Those were ber last words. The Count was almost erazed by his wife's loss. Ho entered the army and sought death in the bloody battles of the co-Prussian war. Fate was cruel andhe returned unharmed. Hie wife's room, adjoming his own, had alwsys bean kept closed since her death, but owing to the suffocating heat ono summer's night, George opsned the door botwoon the two rooms, He then fell asleep. In about an hour he awoke; the clock struck midnight. As the last stroke sounded, he heard distinctly from the other room the words “ Frou #rou,” He listened with in- expressible anguish—‘ Frou Frou” seemed to be murmured trom all parts of the room. Ho leaped from his bed, lighted a can- dio, and crovsed tho threshold of Mathilde’s chamber. At that instant a current of air extia- guished the candle, and George felt upon his forehead, his lips, his cheeks, something indofin- able,—a breath, a caress, the contact of s cold wing, or, perhaps, the muslin of s peignoir. He fel unconscious. The next morning ho was found lying there insane. To every interroga- tion he only replied “ Frou-Frou.” The conn- try people in the neighborhood of the Chateau do Meyrac think that it was the soul of the Coun- tess returping at midnight to murmur in the ear of her crue] hnsband: ‘George, I stilt love thee ; but it is thon who hast killed me!” A LONDON SCANDAL. London correspondence New York Times: ‘The upper circles aro agitated just now, rather bya great social scandal than by any political Prognostications. The Times startled most of its readers yesterday morning by printing a very solemn leading article on the evils of gambling ; and oven those who were not in the secret moat have suspected that there was moro serious reason for the article than the vague gonera}- ities on which it appoared to be based. It point- ed ont that the passion for play waa becom- ing daily more furions, and consequently More ruinous; that stakes were continually rising, and that, in fect, reckloss gambling bad become one of the scandals of theage, and would, if not checked by the voice of public opinion, sap the morals of the country. Nothing ‘was said of any particular event, but many poo- ple had already heard that an English military Officer, who was aleo the brother of an English peer, had been detected cheating at cards at AMonaco—the game was not whist, bat baccarat— hed beon called thief to his face, and openly denounced, and had not een able— caught as he was in the very act—to deny his guilt. He bad, howover, the presence.of mind ~ao the story ran—when kicked out of Monaco, to hasten straight to London, drive from tbe railway station to the War Office, andtender tho resignation of his commission in‘ the army with 8 demand for compensation under the recent act. if was at first thought thatsthe matter had been compromised by the authorities, bat in Jast night's official Gazette appoars the following significant announcement: “Major the Hon. Walter Harbord, of the Seventh Huzsara, ig ro- moved from the army, Her Majasts having no farther occasion for his services.” . Tho painful impression produced by this scandal has naturally been increased by thre fact that it is only one of severat incidentsof » simi- Jar kind which have recently occurred. Only a few montha agos well-known member of the Prince of Wales’ Club, the Marlborough, who is tho son of one Duke and the son-m-law of an- other, and who held = high placo in the public service, was exposed as = habitual cheat. He. had long been suspected, and the talk about his srugular lack at play had become so loud that, for the honor of the club it was deemed nect appoint four gentlomen to watch him, and thus the trickery was detected and exposed. Thera can be no doubt that the London clubs bare done a great deal to foster gambling in its worst forms, The card-table forms the chief attrac- tion in most of them, end it is eaid that at one house in Pali Mall, throughout the whole twene ty-four hours, the escred game is kept up by re- lays of players. FRENCH JUDICIAL WISDOM, “Shiridin,” writing from Paris to the Boston Saturday Evening Gazelle, gives the following specimen of French judicial wisdom: Genin bought some wine from Duboise, andin payment gave bis note for $30, payable on St. Fortunat's Day, noxt coming. This mode of dating is still common in Roman Catholic countries; for in- stance, farmers agree to pay half yearly rent on St. Michasi’s Day, Michaelmas. Dabois waited somo timo, but, hearing nothing from Genin, he dunned him. Genin told Dubois that he was ready to pay whenever Duboia brought him an almanse which mentioned St. Fortunat's Day. Dubois studied all the alma- nacs ho could Iay eyes on, but conld discover on none of them St. Fortunat’s Day. He laid hia distress before the Justice of the Peace. The usual writ bronght both parties before His Wor. ship, who, after attentively hearing both parties, gave this judgment: “Wherese Genin, the de. Tépdant in this suit, doth acknowledge that the promissory note held by Dubois and by bim pre- sented before us to bo his, the seid Gonin’s note; whereas Genin doth agrea by the eaid note to pay to the aforesaid Dubois thasum of $9) upon St. Fortnnat's Day next coming; whereas Genin doth declare himself ready and willing to provided he bo in- pay the said sum of mon formed upon what day of ‘tbe year St. Fortanat’s Day doth fall; whereas we, after making moat altigent search on every almanac, have been ‘unable to discover St. Fortunat’s namo on apy of them; whereas it is no part of our bounden duty to discover whether Fortunat ba a saint or the contrary ; whereas the law preaumeth noman to be guilty of fraudulent intention unless the tame shall have been proven; whereas the Promissory note aforesaid doth style Fortunat a3 St, Fortunat, and we ought, therofore, to grant him this atyle; whereas the Lat day of Novem. ber is the festival of all the eats, and more especially of all those saints who have no placoin the almanac, and therefore the lst day of Novem- bor ig tho festival day of the said Fortunat, styl- ed Saint in the aforesaid promissory note; now we do therefore adjudge, order, and decree that the said Genin do pay the said Dubois the afore- said sum of $300n tho Ist day of November next, that being All-Samts-Day, together with interest from the date of the aforesaid and all the costs of this suit.” O, most lesrned Judgo ! A second Daniel come to judgment! tae A Missonri Judge delivered a, unique desth- sentence. Ho said to the candidsie for the gallows: ‘If guilty, you richly deserve the fate that awaits you; if innocent, it will be a gratifi- cation for you to feel that vou were hanged with- out such acrimaon your conscience;'in either Caat, you will be delivered froma world of care.’ THE HUB. Frozen in Five Feet Deep---The Sali Sled on Charles River. The Over-Soul at the Radical Club. British Bounce .in Boston--The Occn- pation and the Man. Tho Dumb Animals and Their Fair Helpers, Special Correspondence af The Chicago Triune, Bostox, March ‘t—The long “cold snap,” which has beon celebrated in all the newspapers and commented on by the oldest inhabitant aa unprecedented, has at last broken its stiff back, andeome down into the region of thaws sud south winds. The plumbers have driven a brisk business in Boston and all its eub- urban towns, and the expected question which ran through tho down-town-going cars in the morning was, “How. did your pipes stand it Inst night?” The most careful of builders, who hai buried their pipes, as they supposed, out ‘of all freezing danger, were caught this season. ‘Think of the ground being frozen 5 feet in depth for forty or fifty days! Think of the Chares River being skatable and sledable for milea and miles along the shore, from Boston prope to the end of the eastorn line. With tho tlaw that comes so suddenly, with the mild south winds that biow to us from the Florida reefs, the blithe skaters and sleddera find their occupition gone, and they are literally the oly ‘class who do not rejoice in the let-uy of the Arctic days. It will take a longer time undo the winter-work bo- neath us, to thaw cut these 5 feet of solid earth- granite, The correspondents who tell of the gay dangers of the Sommon-coasting forget to paint the prettier ;cone on the Charles River, where the boat-elot, with white sails, takes the north wind and dats off on its swift and grace- fal cruise. The Coumon padoraima, especially at night, with its siging spanning the coast- ground, and the hundreds of double-rannors gaily decorated with Chinese lanterns, was LIKE A CARNIVAL-SCENE AT ROME, barring the extreme cold; for it was perfectly essy to fancy thom swinging Innterns, as they rushed past, part md parcel in the Romish fes- tival. But the sigt of the Charles River from some standpoints, na nipping day, when tho very atmosphere bad a sr frozen look, and through it, a mile away, you ould ses the sled-boat, or the boat-sled,—often nothing but a com- mon sled,—with ita trim sail stand- ing + out aginst the frosty ky, isa picture that oight to have been painted by De Haas himaelf.. Some of the Boston artists, however, have bem wise enough to make special studies of the uiusual landscape and seascape views this winter and next year's exhibition. days may show ayain a glimpse of the Charles River a la Labradir. And speaking o! the artists brings before one the late artiste’ ceptions, which called out a groat deal of diettnute criticiam, considera- ble enjoymont, and altogether were so good they ought to lave been better. Artists and artists’ studios, md their receptions, are always the {sshioa in Boston, especially with tho women-folk, yomgorold. The pretty, clear- skinned, tallish, md thinnish belle of Beacon or ‘Monnt Vernon stpot, will think it s fine thing to dreg her ruffles and flounces over the artistio bare boards of the rising or unrisen young painter's studio, who may or who may not have a spark of genious, And she'll STAND AND KART WITH HIM BY THE HOUR, whon all she knows about him is, that he sponds his time in whatshe calls High Art. Ho may smell of endless tobacco-pipes, and look as if be hadn't slept for the past week, and, moreover, may be ag supexilions aud curt as he pleases; she will accept sll, and come and come again, and invite him to her tledrums, if only bo has been spokenof as a possible star; whero- as the clerk, who may be ten times more of a gentlmmn ond a man, woulda never gains nanent’s recognition from her, and never, excep! on business, croza_her ‘ mar- bie balls,” ar puthis foot upon her Persian par- lor-ruge. This sounds, perhaps, invidious and personal. [tis nothing of thekind. It is only one very aight lunge at the vory mistaken notions that mika Boston's * best society,” to this day, areprach all over tho land. Boston is English, it las often and often been said. It is very truo; bat if ia English, not im the broad see of Jobn Bright's and Mill's Engiard but ‘in the sense of the society-sno22 who wail about,true to the life, in Trollope’s novels, and talk about “ trados- men,” aud “nofin society, you know.” It is this spirit which sepirates the man by his: occupation, and makes the mcupation stand for the man too often. The fine artistic occupations and the professions have fine fellows in their ranka, but they have aiso ; THE USUAL QUANTITY OF ENAVES AND FOOLS. Mayflower Ebston is shrewd enough to know this fact; bu she io bound to hor old British traditions, andoows down before the fine feath- ers, and turns ler back upon the people who are “not in eociety, you know," —that is, not in the Mayflower gst. If this seems overdrawn or prejudiced, Ihave only to cito a real case that came under my own observation. In one of the most claesic md literary of the suburban towns, s little Mayfower, about to give a child’s party, was reading over her list. Presontly’came & name unlinovn to the parental ear. Who was this smail onknown He? Inquiry at last brought out that the unknown waa the son Of atracesman in the Mayflowor English language ; aad, upon this knowledge, Miss May- flower was tld to erase the unknown name. ‘This is au enct fact. It was simply a matter of occupation, ind the Boston British way of iedsing uporit. But that there are individuala roader thantheir class in this old circle, no one denies; ands man and woman of this stamp Jeaven the loif with sweetness aud make us hope- fulof a broider future. Perhaps it ia some. thing, somo dutgrowth, of this narrowing spirit that as set TRE LITERARY TIDE Now-Yorkwards. For there is no denying that the rising tice, ate of Boston's literary tone and tendermees for literary people, is turning to New York. Most of the younger literary men of mark, and many of the women, have made New York’ their home. The literary genius needs broad breathing-places, and, though Boston is supposed to be intensely radical, every Bos- tonian knows itis only 2 struggling protest, which hos its own limitations, aud generally keops within s theobgical boundary, which ig narrowing done sense of itself. Mr. Henry James, tho learned essaystand scholar,—who, by tho way, isnot ithe Allentic story-teller, but bis reepectad arent,—touched this Very question of needed readth in sodety, at the recent Radical Club. ‘The essayist o! the morning was Mr. Cranch, the poet and painter; and the subject of the essay, “‘Symbolte Conceptions of Deity.” ‘The various Pergons present—amongst whom were Mr. Gan- nett, James Preoman Clarke, and William J. Potter—kept closo to the spiritual idea of symbols, It remained for Mr. James to pro- seus the ouly prectical and alive view of the sub- ject. Mr. Gannett bad just said that ho found the best symbols in modern Science, and could best conceive of God as the Universal Ether, whatever that my mean. Mr. James then spoke ‘up, and asked Mr. Gannett if he thought hia symbol was capable of verification, and anid that society should ba the symbol in this world of Deity; that society should surround and vivify the individual: that we hadn't any society now which was of much help to enybody's soul. We wluo our idea of society, and, for bs pert, ho would rather give up lif than that possibility. Ho candidly thougat there was too much talk about the soul, and bought ap Emergon’s oxpreasion of over-soul, aid told s fanny story of Thoreau and Alcott: Once, when the philosopher was holding one of his conversations, he began by saying: ‘All @uls ard plural.” “I'm sorry for that,” said Thoreau; ‘one is moro than I can take care of." In conclusion, Mr. James said that be could understand an over-body, but :fot an over-sonl; that HE NEVER DID UNDERSTAND HIS OWN SOUL. never expected to, and never wanted to; that ho thought the Divine spirit should be brought to bear upon the body, and inspire that with the knowledge of right-living through the body. In Short, as nearly 28 ono could get at it, it seemed that Mr. Jamez had the healthy human concep- tion of how fina a thing the temple of the soul might be made, if we could only owe ts ‘ander- stand aud respect it as much aa wa pretended to Age tae and eeepeet, fhe soul. Some one a b practic ‘inker—said, on one cccaaten at tke Radical Club: “I begin te think I shall see what they are all at when somebody tells an illustrative story. I will get the text and the key-note then.” So a good many of us feltwhen Mr, James told hie story of Thoreau, and there- from drew up.his own conclusions. Listening to the Radical Club phitoaophers is 8 good deal like reading Browning’s later works, and, indoed, some of his earlier ones: just when you think yon’va mastered the idea, you find ‘yourself adrift, These fino pitlosopters no doubt know what they mesn ; ut their listeners often find themselves quee- tioning their own sanity, as Douglass Jerrold did after reading Browning's Sordallo. cay dear,” he said to his wife, 2s he turned uneasily upon his sick bed, ‘have you read ‘Sordello?’” I have,” was the reaponse. “And, my dear, did you understand tt?” “Not a word of it.” “Thank God!” cried Mr. Jerrold, “then I am notinsane. fancied I was losing my mind be- cause I coulda’t make head or tail of it.” In tho midst of all this philosophizing, tho Practical work of the world goes on in Dumb- Animal Faira and Centennial Toa-Parties. At Present, tho dumb animals have the best of it ; aod the women-folk are wearing their nerves out, and fitting themselves for first-class abrews thereby, in carrying on this fair-work. Eyary year, soma “charity,” socatled, or somo “causo” which is to benefit the race, helps to pull down 8 great portion of the fominine race of the pres- ent day, to a dead certainty. It is quite common to bear women who have en insatiable itching to “belong” to some institution, and to bo active and “ spoken-of,” members of these Committees on Fair-Works, declare, as they meet at this season, that they have no time to rest,—no time tor any social amenity, in fact,— because they are “So TIRED WITH OUR FAIR." One lady in Boston spent months of preparation to turn her elegant house into a vast ball-room and converzazione for the dumb-animal cauge ; and the end of it all was vanity and vexation of spirit, weariness and worry, spent nerves and spoiled temper, and the vast sum of 3150 to deposit in the treasury! a sum her husband would no doubt havo gladly paid to save his carpets and peaco of mind. But “Satan must find something still for idle hands to do.” The guostion will arise, in these animal works and worries, where the saving comes in, and whether the hurt isn’t more than the help. | Fairs being inevitably the work of the idle, though the puay sre sometimes foolishly rung in, the old couplet of idle hands smiles sharply on the analytical and practical mind, ‘Fairs are women’s work ; the women must havo something to do,” said s mazculine worker recently, with stolid but gooa- natured irroverence. Bea. TAKING THE CHANCES, ‘The following narrative is from s translation ofa Mexican book. A Captain of tho insurgent army, during the war of Mexican independence, is giving on account of a meditated night attack upon a haciends cituated in the Cordilleras, and occupied bya large force of Spanish soldiers. After a variety of details, be continues : “Having arrived at the hacienda unperceiyed, thanks for the obscurity of a moonless night, we came to s halt under some large trees at somo distance from the building, and I rode forward from my troops, in order to reconnoitre the Place, Tho hacienda, so far as I could gee in gliding across, formed a large, massive parallel- ogram, strengthened by enormous buttresses of hewa stone. Along this chasm the walls of the hacienda almost formed a continuation of an- other perpendicular one, chiseled by Nature her- self in the rocks, to the bottom of which the eye could not penetrate, for the mists which inces- santly boiled up from below did not allow it to measnre their awful depths. Thia place was known in the country by the name of ‘The Yaladero.’ “I bad explored all sides of the building ex- cept this, when I know not what scruples of mil~ itary houor incited me to continue my ride along the ravina which protected the rear of the ha- cienda, Betweon tho walls and the principal there was a narrow pathway about 6 feet wide; by day the paasago wonld have been dangerous, but by night it was a perilons enterprise. The walls of the farm took an extensive sweep, the path crept round their entire basement, and to follow it to the ond in the darkness, only two paces from the edge of o perpendicular chasm, Was no verg ensy task, even for as practiced a horseman as myself. Nevertheless, I did not hesitate, but boldiy urged my horse between the Walls ef tho farm-house and the abyas of the Valadero. I had got over half tho distance without accident, when, sll of s sudden, my horse neighed aloud. This neigh made me shudder. [had just reached » pass where the ground was but wide enough for the four legs of a horse, and it was insposaible to retrace my steps. “*Hallo! I exclaimed alond, at the risk of betraying myself, which was even Joss dangorons than encountering » horseman in front of me on such a road. ‘There is Christian passing along the ravine. Keep back.’ “Jt was too late. At thar moment a man on horseback passed around one of the buttresses which here and there obstracted this accursed pathway. He advanced toward me. “ ‘Por the love of God can you return?” I ox- claimed, terrified at the situation in which we were both placed. “‘Impossible!’ replied the horzeman. I recommended my soul to God. To tarn our horses round for want of room, to back them along tbe path wo hsd traveled, or even to die mount from them,—these ware impossi- hilities, which placed us both in the presence of a fearful doom. Batween two horsemen so placed upon this fearful path, had they been father and son, one of thom must inevitably have become the prey of the abyss. But a few seo- onds had passed, and we were already face to face—the unknown and myself. Qur horses were head to head, and their nostrils,dilated with terror, mingled together their fiery breathing. Both of us halted in a dead silences Above was the smooth and lofty wall of the hacienda; on the other side, but 3 feet distant from the wall, opened the horrible guif. Was it an enemy I bad before my eyes? ‘Che love of my country, which boiled at that period in my young bosom, led me to hope it was, “* Aro you for Mexico and the Insurgents?” I exclaimed in s moment of excitement, ready to spring upon the unknown horseman, if he an- awerod mo in the negative. “Mexico e Insurgente! thatis my password,’ replica the cavalier. ‘I am the Colonel Gar- jato. “+Tam tho Captain Castanos.’ “Our acquaintance was of long standing; and, but for mutual agitation, we should have had no need to exchange our names. The Colonel bad loft us two days since, at the head of a detachment, which wo supposed to bs either prisoners or cut off, for he had not been seen to teturn to camp. “+ Well, Colonel,’ I exclaimed, ‘I am sorry that you are nota Spaniard, for you ‘perceive that one of us must yield the pathway to the other.’ “Our horses had the bridles on their necks, aud I pnt my hands to the holster of my saddle to draw out my pistols. ““*¥ see go plainly,’ said the Colonel, with slarming coolnous, ‘that I should slready have blown out the brains of your horse, but for the fear lest mine, in » moment of terror, should precipitate me, with yourself, to the bottom of tho abs,” “T remarked, in fact, that tho Colonel already held his pistols in his hands. We both main- tained almost pootound silence. Our horses felt the danger like ourselves, and remained as im- movable a5 if their feet were nailed to the ground, My excitement had entirely subsided. “What are we going todo?’ I demanded of the Colonel. i ‘«* Draw lots to see which of the two eball leap ite fhe pune... Hi fh aot “It was, in 8 sole means of solvin; the difieulty. e “*There are, nevertheless, some precantions to take,'said tho Colonel. *He who shall be condemned by the lot shall retire backward. It will be but a feeble chauce of escape for bim, T admit; but, in short, there is 2 chance, and expecially in favor of the winner.’ You cling not to life!” J cried ont, terrified atthe sang froid with which this proposition wT og to " “«T cling to life more than yourself,’ eharpl; replied the Colone), ‘forI have w mortal outrage, to avenge. But the time is fast slipping away. Are you ready to proceed todraw the last fottery at which one of us will ever exist?” ‘* How were we to proceed to this drawing by lot—~by means of the wet finger, like infants, o by head and tail, like the schoolboys? “Both ways Were impracticable. Our handa impradently stretched out over the heads of our frichtened horses might give them a fatal start. Should we toze up a piece of coin, tho night was too dark toenable us to distinguish which side fell up- Ward. ‘The Colonel bethought him of an expe. diont of which I nover should have dreamed. “Listen tome, Captain,’ said the Colonel, to whom I had commnnicated my perplexities | ‘Ihave another way. The terror which ont pores zeal sakes teas craw every moment a urning breath, The two shall neigh? us two whose horse “? Wins!" Lexclaimed hastily. “ © Not so—shall be loser. I’ know that you sre @ countryman, and as such, can do whatever (you please with yaur horme. As to myaelf, who but last year wore the gown of a theological stu- dent, I fear your equestrian prowess, You msy be able to make your horse neigh ; to hinder him from doing a0 is» very difficult matter.’ “We waited in deep and snxious silence until the voice of one af our horses should break forth. — ‘The silence Jested for a minute—for an ago! It was my horse who neighed first. The Colonel gave no external manifestation of his Joy; but, no doubt, he thanked God to the very bottom of his heart. “*You will allow mea minute tomake my Peace with heaven?" said I, with 2 failing voice. “* ‘Will five minutes be sufficient ?° “The Colona) pulled out hia watch. I ad- dressed towards the heavens, brilliant with stars which I thought I waa looking to for the last time, an intense burning prayer. “<Tt's time," said the Colonel. « Tanswered nothing, and, with s firm band, gathered up the bridle of my horse, and drew it within my fingers, which were agitated with a nervous tremor. “*Yet one moment moré,’ I ssid to the Colonel, ‘for I have need of all my coolness to carry into execution the fearful maneuvre which Tam about to commence. ‘* * Granted,’ replied Gardano. “My education had been in the count childhood, and part of my earliest youth, al- most been passed on horseback. I may say, without fisttering myself, that. if there was apy ono in the world capable of executing & difficult equestrion feat, it was my- velf. I rallied myself with almost supernatural effort, and succeeded in recover- ing my entire self-possession in the very faco of death. Taking it at the worst,I had already braved it too often to be any longer alarmed at it. From that instant I dared to hope afresh. “As goon as my horse felt—for tho first time since my rencounter with the Colonel—the bit compressing his mouth, I verceived that he trembled beneath me. I gtrengthenod myself firmly on my stirrup to make the terrified ani- mal understand that his mastor no longer trem- bled. I held him up with bridle and tho hams, as every good horseman does in 5 dangerous as- sage, and, with the bridle, the body, and the spur together, succeeded in backing him a few paces. His head was already further from that of the horse of the Colonel, who encouraged me all he could with his voice. This done, I tet the poor, trembling brute, who obeyed me in spite of histerror, repose for afew moments, and then recommenced the same manervre. All of a sudden I felt his hind legs give way under me. A horrible shudder ran through my whole frame. I closed my eyes, 28 if about to roll to the bottom of the abyss, and I gave to my body a sudden impulse on the side next to the hacionda, the surface of which offered not a single projection, not a tuft of weeda tocheck mydescent. This sudden Movement, joined to the desperate atraggle of my horge, was the salvation of my life. He had sprung again on his legs, which seemed ready to fall from under him, so desperately did I feet them tremble, : “Thad succeeded in reaching, between the brink of the precipice and the wall of the build- ing, a spot some fow inches broader. A few more would have enabled mo to turn him round, but to attempt it hore would have been fatal, and I dared not venture. I sought to resume my back- ward progress, step by atep, Twice the horse threw himself on his hind legs, and fell down upon the same spot, It was in vain to urge him anew. either by voice, bridle, or epur; the animal obstinately refused to take a single step inthe rear, Nevertholess, I did not feel my courage exhausted, for I did not desire to die. One last, solitary chance of safety appeared to me like a fiash of light, and I resolved to employ it. Through the faatening of my boot, and in reach of my hand, was placed a and keen knife, which I drew forth from its sheath. With my left hand I began caressing the mane of my horse, all the while letting him hear my voice. “The poor animal replied to my caressing by s plaintive neighifig: then, not to alarm him, mz hand followed, by little and little, the curve of bis nervous neck, and finally rested upon the spot where the last of the vertebre unites itself with the cranium. The horse trembled, but I calmed him with my voice. When I. felt his very life, so to speak, palpitate in his brain be- neath my fingers, I leaned over toward the wall, my fect gently slid from the stirrops, and with one vigorous blow I buried the pointed blade of my knife into the seat of the vital prin- ciple. The animal fell as if thunderetruck, with- out ssingle motion ; and, for myself, my knees almost as high as my chin, 1 found myecit s-horsoback across a corpse! Iwaseaved! I uttered a triumphant cry, which was responded to by the Colonel, and which the abysa re-echoed with s hollow sound, as if it felt that its prey had eacaped it. I’ quitted the saddle, sat down dotween the wall and the body of my horse, snd vigorously pushed with my fect against the caresss of the wretched snimal, which rolled into the abyss. I then sroge, and cleared, at's few bounds, the distance which sep- arated tho placa where I was trom the plain; and, under the irresistible reaction of the terror which I had long suppressed, I sank into a swoon upon the ground.” THE CHILD AT PRAYER. Thesrd a cherub child, one night, ‘Hepeat her evening prayer; hoard ber ask for One above To keep her in His care. She knelt beside her mother’s kneo, With face upturned to Heaven; I wondered if that darling one ‘Had eins to be forgiven. - Her little hands together claspe: Her heart so free from pried “ Forgive my sins,” she sweetly izped 5 “Make me, O Lord, Thy child,” A tear bedimmod the mother’s eyes, ‘While she smoothed a shining curl, And thonght of the thorns that yet might wait in the path of her trusting girl; Of all the scalding tears of care, Oe fatto) Brie, and woe,— ¢ lot of many a pilgrim one ‘Who journeys here below. ‘What wisdom in tho All-Wise One ‘To bide from our dim eyes ‘The burden that our hearts must bear, ‘That in each life-path ies. Or many etout of heart, and those Of purposa strong and brave, ‘Would sicxen at the weary load, And find an early grave, ‘Were we to know of blighted hi ‘How off betrayed ous trast ee And that our idole, one by ons, ‘Must soon return to dust, Bright Hope her soft, delu: Would sing to aig raed Within our hearts no answering chord, Would echo back the strain, could but weep while there I gazed Lieder ao well that 2uteees neat lew 80 well thal ‘Would have ita its to bear, And, like myself, look sadly back To days when, free from care, She Knelt beside a mother’s kneo ‘To say her evening-prayer, CmrcaGo. . es Betz Bricm, oo Marriage and Longevity. 2 London Hedicat Reeord. In his recently published Study of Sociology,” Br, Herbert Spencer sssails a thoory that ‘hes Jong been current with re; to marringe and Jongevity. That married life is favorable to Jongevity has generally been regarded as satis- factorily proved by numerous statistics, shoming, almost without exception, a greater longevity on the part of the married. ‘When the ratio of deaths in the two classes stands at ten to four, and even twenty to fonr, there would appear 6 ho little room tor doubt. But to this astute Social scientist the evidence, strong as it seems, furnishes no warrant for the current be- lief. He regards the case as a substitution of conse for effect; in other words, greater longevity is not the consequence of° mar- tinge; on the contrary, marriages are clearly traceable to influences favoring longovity. ‘Tho principles of natural election’ work 80 strongly in deciding between the Benedicks and the bachelors, that the long livers are drawn to the former and short livers to the hitter. Marriage, Mr. ‘Spencer holds, is re wed by the ability to ‘meet its responsibilities, ‘The qualities which give the advantage here are in- tollectual and bodily vigor, prudence, and eelf- control; these, too, | ae the gualities which determine s prolonged life or a prema- ture death. An even more direct relation is to be found in the instincts which load most strongly to marriage. The reproductive in- aticts and emotions are strong in, Proportion as the surpius vital energy is great, and this in turn implies an organization hkely to last ; ‘so that, in fact, the superionty of physique. which is ac- companied by strength of the instincts and emo- tions causing marriage, 18 | saveriority of physique also conducive tollongevity.” Another influence tells in the same direction, Marriage is determined: by tho preference of women as Well as the desires of men, and, other things be- ing equal, women are attracted towards men of Physical and intellectual power, refusing the taalfarmed, diseased, and ill-developed types. Inthe operation of these throe elements Mr. Spencer finds all that is neoded to account for the striking difference of longevity between tha classes, and doclaras that ‘the fignres given aiford no proof that marriage and longevity are cause and consequence; but they simply verify the iaference which might be drawo a priori—- that marriage and longevity are concomitant re- Latte of tho game cause.” ~ My! BIG MEN. And Some Big Stories About Then ~—Og, the King of Bashan, Classical Giants, American Giants, and Fraudnient Giants, The Cardiff Humbug. Died in Baltimore, on the 34 tush, James furph; the Irish Giant, aged 33 years, He theasured Giese pis stockings, and weighed $51 pounds.. “Nay, but thera be menue thera 80 high aa 3 feet,” says ano lees credible traveler than the famed Sir John Mandeville. Mandeville is not the only writer who, pre. vious to the’ dawn of science, entertained hig readers with stories of monsters of all oonceiy. able kinds, among which races of Gianta ane found to be of frequent mention, from the re bellion of the Titans against Satur evan dow to what may be called modem times. oe Jonathan Ben Uaziel, ono of the anthors of the Jewish Targums, gives us, in = Portion of his Targums on the Book of Numbers, the folk. lowing specimen of the traditions which had come down to his day, and which ho, no doubt, com sidered to be s valuable commentary on tha hist tory of that mighty man. 0G, THE KING OF Dasnay, “Og,” anya the veracious Ben Uzzie, “having observed that the camp of the Israelites extend. ed6 miles, wént and tore up & mountain 6 mileg atits base, and put it on bis head and carriad, it towards the camp, that he might throw it on the camp and destroy them; but the word of the Lord prepared a worm, which bored a hole in the monntain over his head, so thatit fell down Upon his shoulders; and at the samo time his teeth grew out in all directions, eo that hs could not cast it off hishead. Moses, who was himsel 19 cubits high, socing Og thus entangled, took an ax 10 cubits long, and, having leayed 10 cubite in height, struck Og in the ankle-tone, #0 that he fell and wasslain.” What a terrible Oppose Rent maxt Moses here have hed ina man whose vory ankles were 45 feet sbove the ground oa which he walked, even with the weight of the ‘mountain 6 miles at its base” upon his shi ders! Buts further perusal of the Targum will reward the intelligent reader witk the discovery that the real stature of His Majesty of Bashan was only to be expressed in miles. Compared with Og, the GIANTS OF THE ORERE AND LATIN PoRTs, if, indeed, we except Atlas, who boro the whole world on his shoulders, sink into comparat ira pigmyism. It maybe true thst the impatieng writinga of Cneius and Enceladus are able to promote the occasions! eruptions of Etua under which thoy lie buried, but then we must all re. member that Polyphemus contented himsclf with a portion of a pine-tree,—“ tranca manuy pinus regit”—instead of a whole one, for bi» walking-stick. And yet no one of all the giants bas 20 great aclaim upon our regard aa thig same Polyphemus, who bas gorvod as a hero, not only for the ancient poeta, and even Lucian, in his ‘‘ Dialogues,” but for that charming story of Sinbad ths Sailor in the Arabian Nights’ En. tertamments—cne of the most bewitching and vigorous literary efforts of modern days. Who can fail to identify the one-eyed Cyclopean, who’ became the sport of Ulysses, with tho one-eyed giant whose light Sinbag aud his companions put out and with the like weapon—the burning piece of wood? EARLY AMERICAN GIAnts. ‘To say as little as possible of Blanderbore and Cormoran and their friends who fell oder the wily valor of the redonbtable Jack the Gians Hiller, from whom I would not for 3 moment strip a single leaf of laurel, and barely stopping to notice the discovery in England, in the year 171, of tho bones of a giant 50 feet in height, and in Italy of still more remarkable akeletons, we come to the sccounta of the wonders secn by the early visitors to oar American Continent, Garcilasso ds is Vogs, in his bistory of Peru, says that 4 company of giants came there, ina boat, so tall that the natives could reach no higher than their kness; that their eyos wero as broad as the bottom of a plate, and their limbs proportionally large. Another writer examined sone graves further down the coast, and foand the race of men there to have been no less than 15 feet high. : The Patsgonians came in fora large stare of giant fame when the Spaniards first visited their country and brought snch glowing accounts of their amazing atature to their wondering frionds athome. Can this race have so degenerated in 0 short 4 period as to have become redaced ta the average height of 61¢ feet? or could thein Spanish observers have given, like Rabbi Bea jaziel, free rein to the imagination ? GIANTS’ BONES. An early father gives a detailod account of a giant’s tooth, preserved in a certain church, which weighed several pounds, and conjecture, shrewdly enough, that “it must have been am enortnons mouth that held s full set of them.” That the mouth of the mastodon could have fur’ nished amplo room for them all, science lear:3. us no room to doubt. In Sir Hans Slosne’s time, 8 portion of « giant’s back-bone, whick had been. discovered in the fens of Lincolnshire, wag brought to him as a convincing proof of the ex, istence at one time of the giants of tradition, but, when it was perceived the trophy bsd | been the property of s monster of the so 7 ‘ the vertebrm of s whale,—the wonder - asleep. ‘Yet upou the whole, though we must reject, the fabuions traditions of gigantic races, we cane no doubt that ae INDIVIDUAL GIANTS bave existed in all ages, Nor shouldit be amat» ter of worder that in the great diversity of man Kind, though the species be but one, a very re markable sale: in stature may now and thea ocear. Why indeed should it be a matter of sur- prise that men should differ in height in a world of more than 1,200,000,000 of people, where no two faces are alike, where no two bodies hare, been castin thesame mold, and no two rales develop the same facuities in the sume pro portion ; in a world which has given bitth tom Goliath of 9 fect in length, and a Tom Thomb of 2 feat in brevity—to a Newton and an idiot? amet While pursuing this train of thought the wriker looks back with wonder to the excitement which followed the exhumation of thot stupanduas humbug, THE FOSSIL GIANT OF CARDIFF, Onondaga Cononty, in New York. This, as every one now knows, was an image cut rodely ont of a block ofgypsum, and aid in the ground for tha Purposes of as vile and strocions s frandss could well be practiced upon that moat guilibla all elements, the public. That the many- headed should have been deceived was natural, and likely enough, but that men who should from their position aa members of what ought tobe s learned profession—that of medicine be either effectually taken in, or bewildered with doubt, Seems inconceivable. Yet such was the acl The announcement of the discovery wss frst made to the writer, who happened to be in the immediate neighborhood at the time, by a0 ¥. - D. ‘A fossil giant,” said he, ‘ was yesterday, more than 11 fect in length, and there can be po doubt that this country was ones iobetiled, ye race of me eae gument was found unavailing, for - Of courtesy, was discontinasd. But it was ite possible to repress a‘ smile when a procession some thirty or forty sons of Galen wss se approaching the hole in which the figure bad been put by the orafty designers of the fad and, after gazing on it with something likr reve erential dread, como deliberately to the ci of sion that there could henceforth be no cow that such as the figure that lay before them ware the ancient possessors of tHe soil. caf that ‘The mass of authority leads to the belief tt the size of the buman raco, taken in its totslitfe rather estes than dimi ishes, and te pressions of gigantic nations have ori the minds of exceptionably small men who bss beon brought into contact with those of supeliat statare. ‘The mummies of Eeypt, though $,000 yetrd old, present no instances of greater stataze thaa are to bo found in the present day, and the bart our of many men who bave been described 88 Prodisions hoight is fonnd to be uncomfe smal 18 a¥erage-sized inquirer motives of curiosity, 9 ig tempted to put it cae Senator Wright, of Lowa, Declines @~ enomination. , Meokwk (Fo,) Gate-City, March By s private telegram from Washingtan, re ceived by a prominent citizen in this city yeater day, we learn that Sonstor Wright has formally declined s renomination, The informaticncom from a reliable source. His letter of declioation ; has been sent to two of the daily papers ia t® | State, and will sppesr in a day or two. Dhaene teak