A PECULIAR REVIEW.

BY OPAL.

Who has not seen peculiar people? Who does not know them by sight, or from sadder and nearer contact? People whose peculiarities make them as angular as polygons, before whom you must daintily choose your words and phrases, even your manner and expression, lest, in any thing, you should unwittingly offend. It has been said that people become strange as they grow old, and that in the first rank of peculiar people, we may find the bachelors and maiden ladies of the world. But our experience shows us, that many with wives and husbands come under the same condemnation.

How the country would be startled to see all its peculiar people in grand review! We wonder whether President Johnson would consent to review them, as he did our brave soldiers, "when this cruel war was over." But it is whispered, that he prefers an humbler place in the ranks of the grand army; so, gentle readers, we must c'en review them ourselves. We will find a place upon the platform our worthy President ought to have occupied, and there'll be "a chiel among us takin' notes," as the troops pass.

The bands are playing the Wedding March, and the grand army is moving the Peculiar Dress Brigade leading the advance, ladies first, all so bright and gay. Between you and I, gentle reader, they remind us of a collection of gorgeously colored Brazilian butterflies, that delighted us not very long ago; but courtesy forbids our making such an invidious comparison. We gaze awhile in mute bewilderment, until the voice of our escort, the "M. D," arrests our attention.

"Do look at the bonnets and chignons, what monstrosities! Great bunches of hair at the back of their heads, which make them look like double squashes or egg-plants."

"The M. D's" comparisons are certainly more forcible than elegant; but as he has seen much of men and things, we will take a note or two of his sayings as the review goes on.

"Half these chignons are made of the hair of European convicts, and the dear creatures, who have not nerve enough to walk through the wards of an American Penitentiary, are wearing the hair of the most abandoned women of Europe upon their heads. Fashionable women are humbugs. The rest of them wear horse hair, curled hair pulled from some old mattress or cushion. Pshaw! it is too disgusting! And then the parasites in some of this hair, that no boiling water can kill; the air of our ball-rooms is alive with them." And so "the MD" grumbles on.

"Bonnets? they have no bonnets, such as our dear, old grandmothers wore; nothing but fussy little head-dresses. One good thing is, the sun can get near them now, and we shall have a little color in their cheeks, and not be obliged to look at women, pale as Hamlet's ghost." Here we mildly suggest, that looking at the ladies is not a compulsory act, that

VOL. XVIII.-16.

neither President nor Congress have enjoined it upon us; on the contrary, the best of Books tells us to "turn away our eyes from beholding vanity." "The M. D." shrugs his shoulders, but we know, by the merry twinkle in his eye, that he enjoys looking as well as grumbling; though it would seem, to listen to him, that all this was sheer vanity and vexation of spirit. With banners waving, bands playing, the Light Brigade moves on, and once more we turn our ear to the M. D.'s accompaniment, though it is far from being a harmonious one.

"Dio Lewis says, when he sees a woman with a waist like a wasp's, he always wonders whether she has ever read a book, ever seen a Physiology. Just see those creatures; the average size of a woman's waist ought to be twenty-eight inches; and there are waists, look at them! they don't mea sure twenty. Talk about fashionable folly. This is crime, slow but sure suicide; cramping up their lungs, so that they can hardly breathe freely once during the day. The Chinese women cramp their feet, and we look upon them as outside barbarians. Our fashionables cramp their vital organs, screw up their hearts and lungs, and we consider them the quaint essence of modern civilization. That bandaging of the feet is not a bad idea after all; no doubt the fashion was invented by some solemn old Chinaman, who wanted to keep his family at home, and did not want to be escorting his female relatives from Dan to Beersheba. It must be a grand thing to live in China. It keeps people at home, and saves of bother."

heap

We look and listen alternately. Perhaps we ought to say, that "the M. D." is our brother, and has promised to take us with him to the great Paris Exposition; he will enjoy the trip, but it is his style to grumble about it a little. It amuses us, and we console ourselves with the reflection that "his bark is infinitely worse than his bite."

"Here come the lady street-sweepers, who never think of touching a broom at home, and yet are willing and ready to sweep our streets with their best and costliest garment. Such filth as they gather up! The thought of it is absolutely revolting. They are aping the nobility of Europe. Eugenie herself would not be seen in such streets as ours with dresses cut after that fashion. 'Disastrous parodies,' that's just what half our fashionables are-disastrous parodies' of distinguished foreigners."

"But we wear short dresses in the streets now," we say with a little exultation in our voice. 66 Well, they are sensible," says the M. D., "but I suppose reasonable people will be afraid of them, because they are fashionable. If you ladies would only adopt such fashions as are neat, pretty and sensible, and utterly ignore all others, we'd never have to review such folly again."

"Why don't you set out as a Reformer, and see what you can do among us?" we ask. The M. D. only shrugged his shoulders, and answered us never a word. It is our turn to triumph now; for here come the dandies, dapper little men, with faultless little kids, jaunty little hats and canes, hair parted in the middle, hair in ringlets on their shoulders, slender waists, too. But the less we say of them the better, only we cast a quiet glance towards the M. D., who looks unutterable things, but holds his peace.

And now the Light Brigade has passed, and here come the heavier troops-some of the solid men of the world; the Dunkers and Mennonites

from some of the Middle States, leading the advance. They wear great, wide-brimmed hats and long coats, with hooks and eyes instead of buttons. The women in green, poke bonnets, and strangely cut garments, which we cannot find it in our hearts to criticise, since their dress, though not pretty, is at least neat, and cannot injure them. Next come the Shakers of New England, strange and solemn people; and lastly, the Friends of Pennsylvania, with coats and hats that carry us back a century. One glance at the peaceful faces of the dear old ladies, almost conquers our prejudices against their coal scuttle bonnets; and the rest of their dress is so rich in material, so faultlessly neat, that we feel tempted to don sober drab henceforth and forever.

The M. D. wakes up again; for here are the Quaker lassies, fresh, rosy, and healthy looking. "There," said he, "that's a sight worth coming to see; if you girls would leave off your flowers and furbelows, and dress as these sensible ones do, the world might be the better for your living in it. Why can't people be sensible? They talk about common sense? Its the most uncommon commodity in the world."

After a short halt to refresh the weary columns, once more the grand army moves on.

"Heavy and solemn, a cloudy column,

O'er the green plain, they marching come,"

And the M. D. announces the Peculiar Habit Brigade, led by General Grant himself. So completely are they clouded from our sight, that we strive in vain to catch a glimpse of them,

"Until the wind an instant,
Lifts the cloudy veil aside,"

And we see men, with long pipes and meerschaums, cigars and cigarettes, puffing away, as if their lives depended upon the smoke they can raise. And now it is our turn to ask, whether these men ever read books, whether they do not know, that "smoking is very injurious to all the animal functions; that it makes the blood too fluid, arrests the biliary secretion, and deranges digestion; in short, arrests all the functional processes, upon which growth and development depend."

At this moment, the M. D. indulges in a prolonged whistle, strikes an attitude and exclaims, "Wonderful knowledge, profound erudition!"

"I and
and still the wonder grows,
gaze,
That one small head, could carry all she knows."

gaze,

And then adds, "seriously, Opal, it occurs to me, that smoking has'nt interfered with my growth, six feet, two, in my boots; I call that pretty fair development.'

"But you did not begin until you were twenty, and then only began it, lest you should keep on growing, and be taken round on exhibition, as a Kentucky giant, some day. Half our smokers have never reached their full stature. No wonder the race is degenerating. In the course of centuries, at this rate, the world will be peopled by pigmies."

But while we have been talking, the cloud of smoke has passed beyond our sight, and here we have a silent brigade, with lips moving, jaws moving, with constant regularity; but speaking never a word. They

seem to be, "chewing the end of sweet and bitter fancy;" for chewing they certainly are, and tobacco too; for on each side of them, yea verily, all around them, rolls a stream of its expressed essence absolutely "fearful, to contemplate."

"Don't they know, that nicotine is as rank a poison as prussic acid, or arsenic? That, when tobacco is chewed, this poison passes into the blood, through the mouth and stomach? When smoked, it passes to the brain through the nostrils; and to the blood, as it passes through the lungs." We have the authority of an article, read before the British Medical Association for this statement, if any lovers of the weed, are inclined to dispute it; although we will not gratify the M. D's curiosity, by giving him any clue to the source of our "erudition." Snecze, sneeze, sneeze, from the battalion of snuff-takers, in full chorus. Here they come, snuffing away at the miserable dust; but the ranks are by no means full. Most of them are old and infirm. We see that they are hastening to "the bourne from whence no travellers return," and we turn away from them, wearily and sadly, only to be met by a sadder sight.

For here are the Moderate Drinkers of the country, singing snatches of drinking-songs, shouting, laughing, talking, indulging in pranks and antics, that are enough to make men and angels weep. How sad, that humanity can so degrade itself, that men for the gratification of an unnatural appetite should stoop so low.

And now, the poor drunkards come reeling along, some upon the verge of" delirium tremens" screaming, howling, swearing, oh it is pitiful, pitiful, pitiful.

"If the men that make and sell such poisonous drinks were dealt with according to their deserts, they would be hung high as Haman," says the M. D. "I would not change consciences with a liquor dealer, for all the gold of California. But, let us go away. This is no sight for you. They will be marching on for days, and weeks. We can even go to and return from Paris, before they have all passed this platform."

It was a sad sight, but we thought of the thousands of wives and daughters, who must see men in such condition every day, and we realized then, as we have never done before, the necessity of every man, woman, and child in the land, coming out decidedly, for Total Abstinence. Our physicians may recommend stimulants, and in some cases they may be ef ficacious, but if our brothers cannot safely indulge in them, if they lead them into temptation and sin, let us "Touch not, taste not, handle not," henceforth and forever. When men, sitting in high places in the land, indulge in such practices, it is time to take a bold, and decided stand, for the right. Dear ladies, never offer wine to your brothers or friends; ⚫ never encourage them to take it with them. Remember, it may be at the peril of their souls.

We have come back, from "over the hills and far away," and still the grand army is moving, and the last regiment of the Peculiar Habit Brigade is passing, as we take our seats upon the platform. But there seems to be some difficulty now. Has the country exhausted its resources? For we see only the marshals, at regular intervals, looking vexed, worn, and

weary.

One of them reports to the M. D., that the Peculiar Manner and Disposition Brigades cannot be marshalled for review. They say, "let the people who are so curious, come to our homes and see us; we won't make spectacles of ourselves for them."

"It was worse than taking the Census," said another marshal; "I have been in fearful peril from axes, broom-sticks, and pails of water. You'll never catch me trying such a game again."

"Well, I'm glad they have had sense enough to stay at home," says the M. D. "Don't we all know enough queer people, without wishing to see all there are in the country. It would set me crazy to hear a thousand women scolding together; what a clatter they would make!"

We thought, if the women themselves could witness such a spectacle, it might cure them effectually of that miserable habit. Who does not know men and women, who will find fault and keep on finding it upon the smallest pretext. Living with such people is a rare school for patience, but a grievous weariness to the flesh. If they would only speak words of cheer and kindness, how much happier the world would be.

* * * This review reminds us a little of the old lady who was wont to say: "It takes all sorts of queer people to make the world. I'm glad, I'm not one of them."

We have seen a few of the causes, that rank "the rest of mankind" among peculiar people. Let us also review our own hearts, manners, and habits, and find our places in the grand army. If we do not enjoy the society of our own Brigade, let us fit ourselves for higher, and more congenial communion, ever mindful that

"The heights by great men reached and kept,

Were not attained by sudden flight;

But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

Standing on what too long we bore,
With shoulders bent and down-cast eyes,

We may discern-unseen before-
A path to higher destinies.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,

If, rising on its wrecks, at last

To something nobler we attain."

CRITICISING PREACHING.-I never suffer myself to criticise it, but always act upon the uniform principle of endeavoring to obtain from what I hear all the edification it affords. This is a principle that I would warmly commend to my young friends in the present day; for nothing can be more mischievous than for learners to turn teachers, and young hearers critics. I am persuaded it is one of the means of drying up the waters of life in the soul; and sure I am that an exact method of weighing words and balancing doctrines which we hear, is a miserable exchange for tenderness of the spirit and the dew of heaven.-G. J. Gurney.