"From some statistics of the Legion of Honor just published, it appears that this body numbers about 52,000, or little more than a two-hundredth part of the male population of France. It was usually supposed to be larger; the English used to say that every third Frenchman in a respectable position was a 'Knight' of the Legion. In Louis Philippe's time it was conferred on some odd subjects, old Galignani among others, whose chief merits were, keeping a circulating library, printing English books (before the late international legislation on that subject), and publishing a newspaper of selections which put in all it can find in disparagement of the Americans.
"By the time a man has lived two or three years in Paris, he generally fancies himself pretty well posted up in French cookery; but I came across something the other day which knocked me, and will probably astonish you too, as it is founded on what we are accustomed to regard as a peculiarly national comestible. Every American is acquainted with pumpkin pie, and a good many of us like it. But what do you say to pumpkin soup? Till you have tried it, you don't know of what the vegetable is capable. Purée de Poturons; it is made just like Purée de Pois, or any other purée (and consequently is improved by the addition of croutons), pleasant to the eye (a rich golden yellow), and delicious to the taste."
THE MANNER OF DOING GOOD.—When your endeavors are directed towards doing good to an individual, in other words, doing him service, if there be any option as to the mode or way, consider and observe what mode is most to his taste. If you serve him as you think and say, in a way which is yours, and not his, the value of any service may, by an indefinite amount, be thus reduced. If the action of serving a man not in the way he wishes to be served be carried to a certain length, it becomes tyranny, not beneficence; an exercise of power for the satisfaction of the self-regarding affections, not an act of beneficence for the gratification of the sympathetic or social affections.
YANKEE DOODLE, WITH VARIATIONS.—Who is there among our readers who has not heard several of his favorite tunes played with variations? And who is there that could, when the musician got pretty deep in said variations, ever recognize the original tune? It should be with alterations, instead of variations. A recent writer, in the following, justly ridicules this "variation" business:—
A few evenings since, I had the satisfaction of being present at Signor Sivori's farewell concert. I was exceedingly diverted by the performances of that clever violinist, which also reminded me of an idea that had occasionally occurred to me before on hearing Ole Bull, Liszt, and other professors of musical gymnastics.
I perceived that the talent of these gentlemen lay principally in executing variations on certain favorite airs; that is, in disjointing their different portions, and filling up the intervals with divers fantastical and eccentric movements of their own—runs, shakes, and so forth; thus interspersing the original music, which was expressive of some sentiment, feeling, or state of mind, with passages which, having no meaning at all, formed an agreeable contrast to the melodies wherewith they were blended.
Now, the idea that occurred to me was that the principle (so greatly to the gratification of the public) acted upon by the musicians might be advantageously applied to the sister art of poetry. I think that Shakspeare with variations would very probably be received with great applause. The variations, of course, should correspond in expressiveness and intellectuality to those above alluded to. For instance, let the line to be varied be—
"To be, or not to be; that is the question."