In man, the hair is an excellent index of character.  As the beard distinguishes man from woman, so its full and luxuriant growth often indicates strength and nobleness, intellectual and physical; while a meager beard suggests an uncertain character—­part masculine, part feminine.  Was there ever a truly great man, or one with a generous disposition, with a thin beard and a weazen face?  On the other hand, show me a man with “royal locks,” and I will trust his natural impulses in almost every vicissitude.  When we see a genuine man, upon whom Nature has declined to set this seal of her approval, we cannot help an involuntary emotion of admiration for the virtuous and persevering energy with which he must have overcome his destiny.

Pertinent hereto:  we have read with unusual satisfaction the arguments for Beards in Dr. Marcy’s Theory and Practice of Medicine and the pleasant essays in the same behalf which John Waters has printed in the Knickerbocker.  Our conservatism yields before these reformers, who would bring custom to the proprieties of nature.

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WHAT’S IN A NAME?—­A good deal, sometimes.  Thus, the truth of the adage of “give a dog a bad name,” &c., has lately been exemplified in a singular manner.  Eugene Sue, you may remember, causes some of the most terrible events in the Mysteres de Paris to occur in the Allee des Venves, a fine avenue in the Champs Elysees.  This has had the effect of giving the unfortunate Allee—­though as quiet, modest, well-behaved, moral street as need be—­a detestable reputation; people have shunned it as if it were a cavern of cutthroats—­those condemned to live in it have felt themselves quasi-infamous—­its rents have fallen, its shops stood empty, its business has dwindled away.  The owners of its houses, and its few remaining inhabitants and shopkeepers, have for months past been pestering the municipality of Paris to devise means of restoring its fallen prosperity, and removing the monstrous stigma attached to it.  At last, moved by compassion, the municipality has given permission to have the name changed to “Avenue de Montaigne.”  The ex-Allee, says the writer who informs us of the circumstance, is in great jubilation, and is crying with enthusiasm “Je suis sauvee!”

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“NAMES HIGH INSCRIBED.”—­It is stated that the names of nearly every distinguished man in every department of literature and science, from the remotest antiquity down to the present time, are inscribed in letters of gold on the outside of the new Bibliotheque de Sainte Genevieve, which is now rapidly approaching completion.  The list is naturally one of tremendous length, and covers not less than three whole sides of the vast building.  It is impossible not to admire the spirit in which it has been devised, and the impartiality with which it has been executed.  Altogether, it does the