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March 30, 1864—pg. 6

     All Parisians have something of the woman in their composition. They are nervous, sensitive, (physically sensitive, the heart has nothing to do with it, a flood of tears relieves the nervous irritation instantly) of delicate tastes, gregarious, fond of dress, delight in show, love applause, and—abhor the country.
     Somebody who knows, says that when two or more women, approaching you on a narrow walk, fall behind one another to enable you to pass you may be sure they are ladies of uncommon politeness and consideration. The usual course pursued by women is to charge all abreast, sweeping everybody into the mud.
     Praise is not worth much, and I always take care when I am its object to receive it as a pleasant sensation, as metal which has not been assayed, and, if I do not use caution, as very probably a source of injury. Praise should always be considered a free-will offering rather than as a deserved reward.—German writer.
     A West Indian, who had a remarkably red nose, having fallen asleep in his chair, a negro boy who was in waiting observed a mosquito hovering round his face. Quashy eyed it very attentively; at last it lit upon his master’s nose, and instantly flew off again. “Yah, yah,” he exclaimed with great glee, “me berry glad to se you burn your fut.”

               Blazing in gold, and quenching in purple,
                  Leaping like leopards in the sky,
               Then at the feet of the old horizon
                  Laying her spotted face to die;
               Stooping as low as the oriel window,
                  Touching the rood, and tinting the barn,
               Kissing her bonnet to the meadow—
                  And the Juggler of Day is gone!

A soldier in the Armory square hospital, Washington, stone blind, was commiserated by a visitor. “Poor fellow,” said he, “how sorry I am that he cannot see!” “See?” was the answer, “I can see. Unseen things that I never beheld until I was wounded are now visible to me, and I would not exchange these visions for all I ever saw before. They will never be lost sight of again! The things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal!”
     The happiness and unhappiness of a man’s life depends upon the disposition with which he regards it. An unalloyed contentment of mind cannot be bought by man, it is the golden gift of heaven. But it is within the reach of all to soften to himself the rough shocks of life in this busy world. He may receive them courageously, sustain them patiently, and by his prudence alleviate or turn them aside; but even if his mind be unequal to these exertions, it need not, as is the case with too many, exert itself to annoy itself.
                              William von Humboldt.


     A GALLANT FEMALE SOLDIER.—Doctor Mary E. Walker, who is well known to many of our citizens, writes us from Chattanooga an account of a singular case of female martial spirit and patriotic devotion to the flag. Frances Hook’s parents died when she was only three years old, and left her, with a brother, in Chicago, Illinois. Soon after the war commenced, she and her brother enlisted in the 65th “Home Guards,” Frances assuming the name of “Frank Miller.” She served three months and was mustered out, without the slightest suspicion of her sex having arisen. She then enlisted in the 60th Illinois, and was taken prisoner in a battle near Chattanooga. She attempted to escape and was shot through the calf of one of her limbs, while said limbs were doing their duty in the attempt. The rebels searched her person for papers and discovered her sex. The rascals respected her as a woman, and gave her a separate room while in prison at Atlanta, Georgia. During her captivity she received a letter from Jeff Davis, offering her a lieutenant’s commission if she would enlist in their army. She had no home and no relatives, but she said she preferred to fight as a private soldier for the stars and stripes rather than be honored with a commission from the rebs. About two weeks ago she was exchanged. The insurgents tried to extort from her a promise that she would go home, and not enter the service again. “Go home!” she said, “My only brother was killed at Pittsburg Landing, and I have no home—no friends!” Dr Walker describes Frank as of about medium h[e]ight, with dark hazel eyes, dark brown hair, rounded features, and feminine voice and appearance. Dr W., is well versed in human nature, as well as anatomy, and she believes that justice to the young woman in question requires that she should be commissioned a lieutenant in the army. The doctor also argues that Congress should assign women to duty in the army, with compensations, as well as colored men, averring that patriotism has no sex. Whether the president will commission Miss Hook as a lieutenant, or Congress will draft Mrs Walker’s country-women into service we know not, but we are certain that the “Doctor” is thoroughly in earnest, and that the story of her new protegee is an interesting one.—Washington Republican.