are too fresh in memory to need repeating.

Measure principles by the standard of Holy Writ, and estimate the statesman by his allegiance to Him who made all men brothers. The age is in advance. England, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, and the islands of the sea, are toiling up the sides of the political Pisgah from which our fathers so long ago saw the land promised to those who worship the Common Father. On this soil are to be fully settled the questions of free speech, free press, religious voluntaryism and universal equality before the law. The people are to rule, and every citizen is to be equally a subject and equally a king. Blood shall constitute no caste, wealth shall confer no higher power, learning shall only bring its owner near to the truth; and hither shall assemble representatives of all nations for instruction and final missionary dispersion again to spread the Word to the ends of the earth.

To this end, by choice or providential indirection, tends every fiber of the republic. The memory of political tricksters shall rot; even prevalent public venality shall but show how selfishness may ruin unless God interpose, and only those statesmen shall be approved who do justice from pure love of it and its Great Ordainer.

We leave the final verdict with the reader as to whether SCHUYLER COLFAX measures up to the authoritative standard. A pure mother, an elevating home, religious associations and professions, and the odor of his life, bespeak the people's trust. His voice has swelled the chorus of freedom, his votes have been given on the right side, and his course seems to be consistent.

Turn again, now, to the foregoing portrait, and let us modify the artist's presentation. Even the best engravings sometimes escape not Landseer's definition of a photograph, "Justice without mercy."

Mr. Colfax is under medium hight, with brown hair, a brow firmly molded, a blue, open and generous eye, a frank face full of character, a mouth strongly inclined to smile at the least provocation, but clearly showing that firmness, decision, energy, and kindness of heart, which have done so much to make him what he is.

He is not learned, in the university sense; but he possesses great practical wisdom and a thorough self-education whose industry was forshadowed in his early and very brief school-life. His intellect is clear, his readings wide, perceptions quick, convictions deep, and sense of duty as imperative as a voice from the sky. Honorably unselfish, unquestionably sincere, no wire-pulling trickster, no pretentious humbug whose eminence alone protects him from exposure, generous to subordinates and true to all, he deserves the love which he is sure to retain. Having obtained position as a mere incident to duty, he justly estimates the conditions of permanent success. Believing that a true man has always at hand all legitimate material, he scorns to corduroy his path to eminence with the bodies of competitors slain through fear of their honorable emulation. He will as soon decoy your child a victim to the dissectingroom, as to build for himself upon the debris of reputation ruined by his misrepresentation or calumny. A mean, cowardly inuendo is to him as impossible as forgery or theft. In all relations no man is more approachable, no grasp more cordial, no welcome more genuine, no laugh more hearty, no frankness more charming.

As a speaker he is ready, seldom hesitating to replace a word or failing to touch the quick of a question, never employing any thing for stage effect; but straightforward, direct, and often exquisitely elegant in image and diction, he is, in the genuine sense, eloquent. His every speech is a suc

cess, and though one often wonders how he will extricate himself in the varied and often untimely calls made upon his treasury, he always closes with added wealth of gratified admirers.

In the Chair he is suave and forbearing almost to excess, but as impartial as the congressional clock opposite his seat. Nothing escapes him, nothing nonpluses him. The marvel of his presid ing watchfulness is equaled alone by the intuitive, rapid solution of the knotty point suddenly presented, and having either no precedent, or, at best, but a very distant one. In every quandary, the South Bend legislature, or the "Journal" reporter, or the present student of Jefferson or Cushing, or all, rally to the rescue of the wondering House or Senate and still smiling ChairThe advocate is never confused with the judge. When presiding, it is

man.

as difficult to remember, as when de bating to forget, that he is radically a Radical.

Mr. COLFAX is not famous as the author of any great national measure, like a few prominent men whose association with certain absorbing public issues has conferred a good or bad immortality, though their championship was a mere accident. He is, however, distinguished through his even excellence in every assigned position. As boy, youth or man, editor, representative or speaker, he has never failed. Increasingly influential, he yet is as quiet during or after his work as a sunbeam.

Thus, about half-way on his journey— for we hope he will live a century, and mount still higher in honors and popular love- we bid him Godspeed.

THE anonymous author of that pleas and popular olla-podrida, “Nuge

ant and popular olla-podrida, "Nuga Venales," has propounded some ingenious questions, and amongst themWhich is the best kind of nose? Το this he replies, the Large-a conclusion to which, we fear, the celebrated Slawkenbergius would have steadily demurred.

Certainly the Roman rulers had monstrous noses, with the exception of Tarquinius Superbus-the reason, perhaps, his subjects deposed him. Numa's was six inches in length-whence he obtained the name of Pompilius, as being the proprietor of a superlatively

big nose. Lycurgus and Solon, accord

ing to Plutarch, were distinguished in a similar manner.

A large nose, we are told, is always a sign of wisdom. Had not Homer a proboscis seven inches in length? Hence the two proverbs-"Prudent men smell danger from afar off," and "A fool has no nose."

"Large noses," says Vigneul Marville, "are honored in every part of the world except China and Tartary. Pug noses are highly objectionable, and are ominous of ill fortune. The Constable de Montmorenci was pug-nosed, and was called by the court wits the 'Mont

the most delicate, ay! and the prettiest in the world! Why, like all noses of the kind, it has a little knob, and the tip of those little facets which painters call flats (méplats) !" And she goes on with a tiresome History of the Decline and Fall of her nose!

-

The author we have already quoted has given utterance to some very original ideas respecting the configuration of the human visage.

"We justly marvel," he says, "that

in all the world there are not two men with faces exactly alike. We do not take any notice of a circumstance equally remarkable, that every countenance is so fashioned that, however ugly it may appear to us, provided it has not suffered any accidental disfigurement, we should not know how to change it for the better unless we completely altered its character.

"Even in its ugliness, nature has observed so exact a symmetry that we can not change a feature! For instance, we can not lengthen a pug nose; because, were it so elongated, it would not harmonize with the other parts of the countenance, which, being a certain size, and showing certain elevations and depressions, require that the nose should be proportioned to them.

64 According to certain rules very reasonable in themselves, a pug nose ought to be a pug, and a face so decorated would become hideous if there were set on it a nose aquiline. I will go further, and say that it is sometimes as necessary a man should have no nose, as it is necessary- for example— that the capital of a Tuscan column should have no volute. In the Ionic or Corinthian style, the volute is an ornament; but it would be a monstrous irregularity in Tuscan architect

ure.

"A small nose, small eyes, a large mouth, commonly so disgusting to us, belong to an order of beauty which per

haps we do not admire, but which we ought not to condemn, because probably the order has its own rules, and these it is not for us to contradict. They are, in fact, so immutable, that it is only by the perfect acquaintance with them which skillful artists possess that they can give any versimilitude to the portraits they paint after nature. And so the inimitable Nanteuil boasted that he always seized upon the likeness, because he worked by certain fixed laws. I have heard him say that some features require particular examination, because the others are regulated by their standard; and that when these are once seized upon, the rest can not fail to be caught. I asked him, on one occasion, if he could paint a person he had never seen by following the description I could give him. 'Yes,' he replied, "if you were skillful enough to reply with exactness to the questions I should put to you; but in this consists all the secrets of my art.'"

Hay, in his Essay on Deformity, published in 1754, has a passage to this effect: "Corporeal deformity is very

rare.

Out of five hundred and eighty gentlemen composing the House of Commons, I am the only one that has to lament over his figure. I thank my constituents for never having alleged any thing against my person, and I hope they will never have any thing to allege against my conduct."

Going back no further than the fourteenth century, we meet with the following personages whose ugliness or deformity, if we can rely on the opinions of their contemporaries, entitle them to special notice: Margaret, Countess of Tyrol, surnamed Gueule de Sacthe sack-mouthed-whose hideous portrait frightens you in the gallery of Versailles; Leontius Pilate, a Greek man of letters in the fourteenth century; Giotto, the distinguished painter; Campagnio, an Italian author of the fifteenth century; De le Trémouille, the friend

of Madame de Sévigné; Bourignon, the celebrated visionary; St. Martin, a French writer of the seventeenth century; M'lle. de Scudéri, who composed popular romances in her day, of twenty quarto volumes in each; Dauchet, whose "large eyes" and "gaping mouth" Rousseau has immortalized; Delille, the translator of Virgil; Florian, the famous fabulist and story writer; Gibbon, the historian; the gastronomical Grimod la Regniere; Mirabeau, listening to whose eloquence men forgot he was ugly; Danton, the foe of Robespierre; and, finally, the celebrated comedian Charles Mathews, as ugly and as clever as his French rival, Le Kain.

The ugliness of Pellisson has become proverbial. It is said that a lady once begged of him to be good enough to place himself as a study for an artist whom she had engaged to paint for her the governor of the infernal regions. He was so hideous that, when the Duke of Burgundy's confidant hesitated to propose to him for his confessor the Jesuit Martineau, a man of the most repulsive appearance, the Duke exclaimed: "Bah! nothing can frighten a man who has once seen Pellisson!"

Vauvenargues, the moralist, was so disfigured by the small-pox that he dared not return into society; and it is to this forced seclusion we owe his remarkable works. Another writer, and one above mediocrity, the Lyonnese De Virian, was rendered so frightful through disease that he would not return to France, and betook himself to Constantinople!

It may have been the same cause that induced the Prussian naturalist, Hilsenberg, who died in 1824, to fly to Madagascar. His pallid complexion, very light hair and eyebrows, and the red membrane of the eyelids, procured him from the islanders the nickname of "The Owl."

Bekker, the German, a marvelously ugly man, having denied in one of his

works the existence of his satanic majesty, La Monnoié hurled at him a stinging epigram, anglicized thus:

"Though thou hast blotted out the devil's name, Thy task is not yet ended: if the dire Destroyer's image we must never frame,

Put thine own portrait, Bekker, in the fire!"

Scarron, who satirized every body and every thing, did not spare himself. He has bequeathed to posterity his portrait, drawn by himself with all the minuteness of a daguerreotype:

"Reader! you who have never seen me-and who perhaps care little that you have not, since there is nothing to be gained by gazing on a person made as I am know that I, too, should be equally indifferent, had I not learned that some facetious fellows amuse themselves at the expense of the unfortunate, and paint me what I am not. Some assert that I am a cripple, others that I have no thighs, and that I am placed on a table in a box, where I chatter like a magpie; and others, that I fasten my hat to a rope which passes over a pulley, and which I raise or lower in salutation of those who visit me. I think myself obliged, in all conscience, to prevent them from lying any longer; and, for this reason, have had engraved the portrait which you see at the commencement of the book.

"You will doubtlessly grumble (for every reader grumbles, and I, too, when I am a reader)-you will grumble, I say, and will find fault because I only show my back. Certainly, I do not turn my back on my friends through any wish other than that the convex of my back can more fitly receive an inscription than the concave of my stomach, which is quite covered with my hanging head, and because on this side, quite as well as on the other, one can discern the irregular plan of my body. Without pretending to make a present to the public (for, by the nine Miss Muses, I have never expected my head would

form the original of a model), I would willingly sit to an artist, if any one would undertake to paint my likeness; but, in default of a painter, I intend myself to describe how I am made.

"I am thirty years old. If I live to be forty, I shall add many evils to those from which, for the last eight or nine years, I have suffered. I was formerly a good figure, though short; but my diseases have shortened me quite a foot. My head is rather too broad for my shape. I have a face full enough for my body not to appear scraggy; enough hair not to need a wig. I have good eye-sight, and great blue eyes-one very much sunken on the side that I droop my head. I have a tolerably wellshaped nose. My teeth, formerly square pearls, are now wood-colored, and will soon be slate-colored; I have lost one and a half on the right side, and I have two somewhat shaky. My legs and thighs made at first an obtuse anglethen an equilateral angle; and, lastly, an acute angle. My thighs and body form another; and, my head declining on my breast, I do not badly represent a Z. My arms are shortened as well as my legs, and my fingers as well as my arms. In fine, I am a compendium of human misery."

There are few men who could talk so amusingly about their own misfortunea subject on which the wittiest grow dull, and the wisest foolish.

The elder Disraeli, in his "Curiosities of Literature," has preserved some interesting anecdotes of this extraordinary man.

His sufferings were the result of a youthful freak. He disguised himself as a savage in the carnival at Mans in 1638. The singularity of a naked man attracted crowds. After having been hunted by the mob, he was forced to escape from his pursuers, and concealed himself in a swamp. A freezing cold seized him, and threw him, at the age of twenty-seven years, into a kind of