and jingling sword-chaius, does not shut off, or terpolate here a little song of the dead master, by make us cease to watch, the mournfully-nodding a translation which is little known, about plumes of black and white which wave over the Nearly every shop is shut where the procession trails by. And whose body is lying under the plumes which wave yonder, far now by the column of the Bastile ? Only a poet's! Only a songster's! Yet what a poet and what a singer was Béranger! "As to my funeral obsequies" (he wrote latterly thus to his friend and publisher, M. Perrotin), if you can avoid all public demonstration, do it, I beg you, my dear Perrotin. When I lose friends, I have a horror of public clamor and of discourses at their tomb." And of this dying wish the Emperor has become self-appointed executor. There were only a few friends, indeed, admitted within the grave-yard inclosure, and no speech there; but in all else, what a magnificent lie! Loving friends, who dare not come near; loving voices, that dare not speak; and all that army of Paris, which the dead poet loved as men and "scorned as soldiers, appearing only in musket .mockery-a kind of machine pomp-with no word, no look of the silent and tender sympathy that bound their hearts to the songs of the dead man! Was there ever such a painting of a corpse! and painting it in colors most odious to the poet when alive! It is hard for a man not a Frenchman to understand the regard in which Béranger was held every where in Paris and in France. The poor, struggling, ambitious, honest Scotchmen, who toss off an annual bumper to Burns, know something of it. But the Béranger feeling is the Burns feeling intensified. It is a Burns's Yule-log, always burning How is this? Not alone because his songs penetrated the humblest hearts, and kindled love and joy there always; not alone because he assumed their sufferings, and became the expression of their fondest as well as their faintest hopes; not alone because he caught and reflected all the blaze of their endeavor; not altogether because he gave so quick and biting a tongue to their griefs, and such passionate, fearful distinctness to their curses against a damning tyranny, but because every act of his life was true to his every word! He told no grief he did not feel. He pictured no humility he did not act-no poverty whose pinch he did not know-no despotism at which his great heart had not rebelled, in deed as in word. The whole flow of his verse was a translucent river of feeling and thought, whose soul-bed every man knew and saw. He covered no vice to which he had fallen victim; he affected no purity he had not reached. How he sung"Lisette, ma Lisette, Tu m'as trompé toujours; Je bois à nos amours!" 'Twas a great, fond, honest heart he had, and a quick brain for interpreter. Shall we weary our reader (surely not) if we in MY LISETTE, SHE IS NO MORE! You in silk and sarcenet! Oh, no, no, no, My Lisette, you are no more! Oh, no, no, no, Oh, no, no, no, My Lisette, you are no more! All that heart can wish to get. My Lisette, you are no more! To a smile of etiquette; Oh, no, no, no, My Lisette, you are no more! When in cabin cold and wet, My Lisette, you are no more! Oh, no, no, no. Paying dear for leave to fret! Oh, no, no, no, My Lisette, you are no more! 'Tis when fair and free are met; Oh, no, no, no, My Lisette, she is no more! How strange! This plaintive Lisette-lover has five hundred thousand mourners crowding to his tomb! It was not the artist they honored-not the lover-not the democrat even-but the true-hearted man! Swift upon this mention (the date of the journal is but a trifle later) comes the story of Eugene Sue's death. And what contrast! Yet the Paris world was never more eager for a new song-book of B ranger's than it had been for the Wandering Jew But it was for a splendid spectacle those people crowded-of passion, indeed-poverty, may be-life, always and every where. But the man sunk below the artist; he never lived up to the level of his thought. Sue's self-indulgence overcame him; he put all his feeling on paper; his sympathies taxed his imagination only. It was Lisette in satin. Plumes there may be waving in his funeral cortège, but no heart-sighs fan them. And now to bed. One last look upon the night. The stars are out, and dance and play in the water. But the mountains are dim banks, which might be clouds-dim banks, where, in our dreams, we see white glories crowding! Crick-crack, crick-crack, crick-crack (over the paving-stones), rumble, rumble, rumble (over a smooth Macadam), and we go bowling down the road that leads to Chamouni; passport all right, knapsack repacked, and we eager for the mountains. There is an American beside us upon the top of the coach; he is chewing a quid; he is unshaven; he wears the air of an independent citizen. It is a grand air to wear, but does not involve impudence or conceit. There are too many who think it does. "Parley English ?" says he, interrogatively. We tell him that we have that faculty. "You speak it pretty well," says he. We bow in acknowledgment. We somehow dread the thought of having this man's talk in our ear as we catch our first near view of Mont Blanc. There seems no hope of escape, however. "Do you live about here, Sir?" continues he. No, we do not; we half wish we did. "Well, now, I shouldn't; I should rather live on a praree" (he spits); "I'm from Ameriky, Sir." "Ah!" "P'raps you don't know what a praree is, Sir?" "A plain country," we venture. "Well, Sir, it's a plain, to be sure; but you don't have such plains in this country-about as large as all Switzerland, Sir; and the sile about so deep, Sir" (taking my Alpenstock and measuring about three feet upon the bottom, expectorating violently at the end of his observation). "Indeed!" A peasant, upon a hillside near by, is gathering up a little patch of hay; he collects it in a sheet, and bears it off upon his shoulders. Our quick-eyed countryman observes it. "Halloa! see there! a feller putting hay into a sheet! I should like to put that feller down plump into the middle of a praree, and just see him stare! Do you suppose now, Sir, that that's all his crop?" We think it possible. "And how many cows do you suppose he keeps?" Not many, we think. "No, Sir-ee!" 66 Perhaps goats." It is a new idea to our countryman. "They keep goats about here, do they, Sir?" We have sometimes seen them. "And do goats pay, Sir, as things go?" Do you pity us? How, after this, shall we draw our thoughts into the right mood for Chamouni? We have it! We will hum to ourselves (and you, reader) Coleridge's great Hymn: "Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star Rave ceaselessly: but thou, most awful Form! "Goats are a pretty tractable animal, ain't they ?" says our friend. "Yes-tractable." -"But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity!" COUNTRYMAN. "How fur is the furthest you can see Mount Blank of a clear day?" EASY CHAIR. "Ninety miles." COLERIDGE. -“O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought; entranced in prayer I worshiped the Invisible alone!" COUNTRYMAN (renewing his quid). "That's an all-fired distance." EASY CHAIR (indignant) quotes Coleridge aloud: "Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!" Our countryman has chewed violently through this; but he is not to be put off the track-not he. "Do you know Saxe ?" says he. We have not that pleasure. "He's a fine poet." Coleridge again: "Awake, my soul! not only passive praise My countryman is quieted, and we bowl along, under shade of wooded cliffs, over long reaches of level valley road, until at length, not far from noonday, upon a bridge that crosses by a single arch the turbid Arve, a great gap opens in the mountains before us; and in it-beyond it-filling it-topping it-topping every thing in the view-in your thought-in your anticipations-Mont Blanc! Propped by ridges of aiguilles, the great dome shines white in the sun. "Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, To rise before me. Rise, oh ever rise, Our countryman is right. It is Mont Blanc we see; and at his feet we lay down our pen. Editor's Drawer. Tsupply ardhe Drawer, and the following from THE bar and the pulpit are fruitful sources of the bench are admirable in their way: Judge Strong, our County Judge, was formerly -well, it was some years ago-given to imbibing more than was essential to the equilibrium of his mental or physical powers. But he was one of the politest men in the world, and never more so than when a little too deep in liquor. With his neigh-, bor, Mr. Bates, a political opponent, he had had many a sharp conflict; but one day, when quite mellow, it suddenly struck him that he ought to "make up friends" with Bates; and stepping up to him in the street he said: "I say, Mr. Bates, you and I have said a great many hard things about one another, and I am getting old, and feel as if I ought to make an apology for all I have said, and have it settled up." "Oh, never mind," said Mr. Bates, "let it pass; and if you keep quiet hereafter I'll be satisfied." "No, no," said the Judge; "I owe you an apology, for I've called you a rogue, a thief, and a liar." "Well, never mind." "Yes, but I do mind. I say I have called you a thief, and a liar, and a scoundrel-and-andI'll be hanged if I don't think just so still "" Judge Doane was another of our County Judges, recently deceased, a very profane man himself, but very sensitive on the proprieties of the court-room. An Irishman, being called as a witness, used 30 much profanity that the Judge reproved him sharply, and threatened to fine him if he swore again. The Irishman knew the swearing habits of the Judge so well that he thought him only in jest, and soon broke out again. "Mr. Clerk," said the Judge, "enter a fine of ten dollars against the witness." Pat paid up, and, turning to the bench, said: "Ye are a Judge, are ye ?" "I am, Sir," answered the Judge, quite pompously. and advised him to jump out and run. He took my advice, as in duty bound, and by this time he is more than two miles off." LEAVING the bench and the bar, we have some reminiscences of a Georgia constable which are very refreshing : Houston County, Georgia, boasts of the politest man and the most efficient constable in the State. Captain Spikes, of the 1631st district, G. M.. is well known, and so popular that it is not improbable he would have been made Governor, but his services in his present important office could not be readily dispensed with. It would be difficult to hold court if Captain Spikes was out of the place, and one of the Judges of the Circuit, on his arrival at Perry, always makes it a point to ask if Captain Spikes is on hand, for he says if he is not, he shall adjourn over. At the last Spring Term of the Court, a newly-admitted member of the bar made his appearance; and a striking appearance it was, as Nature had lavished upon his ungainly shoulders a head of flaming red hair, so brilliant and blazing as to shine instantly on the eyes of all around him. As he attempted to pass within the bar with the other lawyers, Captain Spikes presented his staff of office, and gently intimated that he could not come in, as the seats were reserved for the lawyers. But I am a lawyer." “I should think not," said Captain Spikes; "the Court won't allow it, and I can not let you in, Sir." General Warren, a well-known member of the bar, hearing the conversation, interposed, and told the Captain that the young gentleman had been recently admitted, and was a real lawyer. "Well. 'taint possible-sartingly 'taint possible; but go in, Sir-go in, Sir-I give it up. You're the first red-headed lawyer I ever seed!" Such an officer as Captain Spikes comes, in time, to be an important branch of the government, and assumes the place of Court and jury in certain cases that seem too plain to require a more formal trial. "Well, ye look more like a creeminal, and so ye are; for the little I swair isn't to be thought on by Twenty years ago the County of Dooly, adjointhe side of the almightenest blasphaimies of yering Houston, had a hard population, not very scru honer. Bad luck to yer honer!" The Judge would have been glad to fine him over again; but there was too much truth in this witness's testimony, and he let him off. Judge Strong, of whom the first of these stories is told, is the very magistrate who made his mark, when quite a youthful lawyer, by the ingenious counsel which he gave a client, and cleared him entirely and very unexpectedly. He practiced in Jefferson County, and a prisoner being arraigned for theft, who had no counsel, the Court appointed young Strong to that service, directing him to confer with the prisoner, and give him the best advice he could under the circumstances. He retired with his client to an adjacent room for consultation, and when an officer was sent to inform them that the Court was waiting, Strong was found alone, and returned with the officer into the court room. "Where is your client ?" demanded the Judge. "He has left the place," replied the lawyer. "Left the place!" cried the Judge, "What do you mean, Mr. Strong?" "Why, your honor directed me to give him the best advice I could under the circumstances. He told me he was guilty, and so I opened the window pulous about the distinction in property, especially in the matter of pigs and chickens, which they would take wherever they could find them. Jerry Barns had been arrested for robbing a roost, and being brought up to Court, where the justice was too slow to suit the summary notions of the constable, Captain Spikes assumed the duty of laying down the law to the jury, telling them if they didn't find Jerry guilty, he should take him into his own hands. The jury left the matter with Spikes, who proceeded to sentence him forthwith: "You done it, you know you did, and now you may have your choice to go to jail six months or take twenty-five lashes." Jerry chose the latter; and, after going through the course of sprouts, he said he wouldn't have minded it much if they had trimmed the hickories smooth, but the stubs had stuck in his back, and he was afraid it would make it sore. But Captain Spikes warned him that the next time he was caught he should have the lashes and the six months to boot. WHILE we are in Georgia let us hear from Morgan County, in which John Sturgis lives, who is said by some to be even more polite than Captain Spikes. We have heard before of a gentleman who | was passing a sitting hen, and said, “Don't rise, madam;" but Mr. Sturgis had never heard of this gentleman, and the other day he came to the trough with his horse, and found a hen in it on her nest. He bowed to the hen, and said, very politely, "Don't disturb yourself, madam; I'm not going to flustrate, no how, madam; lay onlay on-I'll take another trough!" And touching his hat, he bowed himself out of the presence of the fair fowl. of their number, and knifed him. As they all carried the same kind of knife, and all were equally drunk, and one quite as likely to have done the deed as another, they were tried together, and were quite likely to be hung together. Fenton was the lawyer whom they employed to see them out of the scrape. He appealed to the jury in strains of magniloquence not to be reported except by a lightning-rod, and having shown that this peaceful company had been compelled to kill the deceased in self-defense, he proceeded to harrow up their feelings by presenting the awful consequences of convicting them of murder: case. "Now, gentlemen of the jury, I am going to suppose a case. It ain't so, and I don't want you to think it is so, for I am only going to suppose a We have all got done; this Court gives you the instructions; you leave the room, and in a short time you come back-I am only supposing a case-and the foreman hands up his verdict. The Court reads: Harlow Helm, guilty-off goes his head; Philo Helm, guilty-off goes his head; James Rowe, guilty-off goes his head; Maria Shepard, FATHER HAYNES, the celebrated negro preach-guilty-off goes her head; Levina Helm, guiltyer of Vermont, has been in the Drawer before. A correspondent sends us some personal reminiscences of the man that are well worth preserving: "Mr. Haynes was settled over the parish of West Rutland, and for several years was happy and useful. At length a council was called to consider the expediency of dismissing him. When they came together, and one of them asked him what was the matter ***Oh,' said he, matter enough. I have been preaching here these six years, and the people of West Rutland have just found out that I'm a nigger!' off goes her head.' The people won't listen; they will break for the woods; and what on airth will become of you, gentlemen of the jury?" The jury rendered a verdict of not guilty with out leaving the room. THE late John Stanley, of North Carolina, was one of the most brilliant men of the old North State. Judge Gaston relates the following anecdote, to show his extraordinary readiness and intrepidity: "When General Lafayette was expected to visit North Carolina, resolutions were introduced of a very liberal character, authorizing the Governor, without regard to expense, to receive him as the guest of the State. The Assembly contained its full proportion of those economists and calculators who seek to ingratiate themselves with the people by voting against every expenditure of money, and it was exceedingly feared that if the question were taken by the yeas and nays, all these-how. ever willing that the resolutions might pass-would "In the next parish, that of East Rutland, a very worthy man was settled, the Rev. Mr. Billings, who was an old bachelor-at least he was forty years old, and had never yet taken unto himself a spouse. Some members of his flock, prompted, perhaps, by some of the tender maidens, suggested to Father Haynes to advise Mr. Billings to change his condition. Father Haynes undertook this delicate office, and called over to see his neigh-record their votes against them. It was the fixed bor minister, and lay the subject before him. In his study, and in the midst of a cloud of tobaccosmoke, Mr. Haynes began: policy and earnest object of those who trembled for the character of the State to prevent that mode of taking the question. To their dismay a demand was made for the yeas and nays by a leader of the "It is thought by many of your congregation, Mr. Billings, that your usefulness would be great-liberal junto, and if this were seconded, the constily increased if you would take a wife.' tution enjoined that the question should be so put. Mr. Stanley instantly arose-his clear, blue eye bright with unusual fire, his outstretched arm directed to the member who had just resumed his "Now it happened that Father Haynes had two or three daughters, black but comely,' and Mr. Billings thought to tease the old man by saying, "Very likely, Father Haynes, and, by-the-seat, and his noble voice deep and full beyond its way, you have some fine daughters-what do you say to giving me one of them?' "Well, well,' replied the old wag, 'you see I have spent a great deal of money on their education, and I could not consent to see one of them throw herself away!' ordinary richness. Mr. Speaker,' he exclaimed, 'I thank the gentleman for his motion. I rise to second it. It is due to the honor of North Carolina to show, in the most solemn form, that there is not a man among us who hesitates to do all which that honor enjoins; or, if there be such a miscreant in "Mr. Billings did not press the suit, and Father our body, it is right that there should be an opporHaynes dropped the subject." WESTERN eloquence is still unrivaled. A correspondent in Kane County, Illinois, sends us the report of a recent murder trial there, from which we take a sketch of the peroration of the counsel's speech in behalf of the prisoners. There were half a dozen of them, men and women, a company of wandering basket-makers, who had got mad at one tunity of gibbeting his name high on the pillory of infamy! Not a word more was said. The question was taken, and all-even the mover of the yeas and nays-recorded their votes in favor of the resolutions." Two cases of filial affection have recently been communicated to the Drawer, so touching, and to nature so true, that we mention them; "A youth of seventeen meeting an acquaintance | he and I, and Judge Niles, from Indiana, started in the street, says, for church, but it was so muddy and so hot that we gave it up, returned to the hotel, and thought it "Guess who's dead.' “Mr. Jones, I suppose; I heard he was very would be quite as well to spend the evening in se sick.' No, it ain't; it's my ma! She died this morning.' The other: "A man from the country called in at a hardware-store in town, and asked for a new kind of reaping-machine recently introduced. He was requested to walk back into another part of of the store and it would be shown to him. As he was going on, he saw a huge circular-saw, and, tapping it with his hand as he passed, he said: "I had an old daddy cut in two with one of them things the other day!'" Tender-hearted creatures, both these fellows! Who will drop a tear when either of them rots? THANK God for the Sabbath! After six weary days of toil, and care, and business anxiety, how delightful is the coming of the Sabbath! The wheel of Ixion ceases in its turning revolutions; the stone of Sisyphus pauses upon the hillside; the back is eased of its burden; the mind is lifted from the thoughts of daily cares and avocations to the contemplation of higher and more ennobling themes. The Sabbath is a glorious institution. To the beast at the plow; to the artisan in his work-shop; to the chemist in his laboratory; to the professional man amidst his books; and to the author with his pen-comes the Sabbath with a like blessing unto each. A CORPULENT clergyman rose at a public dinner to return thanks, which he did by laying his hands imploringly on his stomach, and saying: "We thank Thee for these blessings so bountifully spread, and our capacity to enjoy them." FITTING, and almost sublime, is the epitaph on the tombstone of a soldier, Michael Adams, in a burial-ground in Montreal: "In peaceful quarters billeted am I, rious conversation. It was natural that the talk should take a turn toward preachers and preaching, and my Kentucky friend said that he himself once heard a sermon in North Carolina that was, in many respects, more striking than the Harp of a thousand strings;' and whereas that was evidently manufactured, he could vouch for his sermon, for he was there. It was at the funeral of a man well known in the community, and what he was well known for will appear from the traits of character drawn by the preacher, who said: "My friends and neighbors, the deceased, as you well know, had not many virtues whereof to boast; therefore, on that part of the subject, I shall necessarily be brief. But that he had some virtues, among which was good judgment, will appear evident when I inform you that he selected me to preach his funeral sermon. And what I am now about to speak, I wish distinctly understood, is by his own request, and that of the immediate friends of the deceased.' (The preacher here looked to the widow, who nodded assent.) That our deceased friend had his failings he does not wish me, his preacher, to deny, as his short-comings were known to you all. But that he was no hypocrite will appear evident when you hear what I have further to say. That our departed friend kept fighting-cocks, and fought them; that he kept race-horses, and run them; that he neglected his domestic duties and obligations, I have the most abundant assurance' (to which last remark the widow again nodded her assent). But he was no hypocrite. He wished me to say he did not wish you, his friends and neighbors, to copy his example. He was no hypocrite; he only fell into the sins of the time. Abundant evidence might be found, both in Scripture and in history, to show that men are very liable to fall into the sins of the time, but I need not prove it in the hearing of you, my friends and neighbors, for there is not one of you who has not, like our departed friend, often fallen into the same sins of the time. But I do not claim And when the last trumpet sounds I'll march again." this as a virtue, for, as I told you at the beginning, he did not claim any virtues. And, situated as he WHEN is a horse a victim of the Inquisition? now is, it will be well for me to call your attenWhen he is fastened to the rack. tion to these facts: If you should by any means ever chance to get into heaven, you will see some WHY are printers liable to bad colds? Because very strange things. First, you will wonder much they always use damp sheets. at not seeing a great many there who told you they were going there; and again, you will be agreea WHAT disease do reapers often get on a hot day? | bly disappointed in seeing some whom you did not A drop-sickle affection. FROM a city away almost at the outer verge of civilization a friend of ours sends us a letter, in which he mentions the following conversation, introducing an extract from a funeral sermon. It reads to us a little the most extraordinary of any thing in that line that has ever come within the circle of our acquaintance. Our correspondent writes: expect, and among them our departed friend; but the last and crowning wonder of all will be, that you have got there yourselves!' "With these words of eulogy and consolation the preacher concluded his sermon, and retired with the scattering crowd." MR. WISEMAN was going over the Liverpool ferry, from this city, in one of the steamers, and bought a splendid salamander safe to put in his "Conspicuous among the heterogeneous compa-state-room, to protect himself and his valuables in ny now gathered in this hotel-a company of live case the vessel was destroyed by fire. men from all parts of this great and ge-lorious country is a tall Kentuckian, who has made himself a man of mark by his convivial habits, his free-and-easy manners, and his unfailing fund of entertaining stories. Last evening, being Sunday, "MINE host of the Eagle," Leverett Crittenden, will be remembered by every man who was in the habit of being often in Albany some twenty-five years ago. What a jolly old fellow he was, with |