No man has ever heard of Faneuil Hall, who will not be pleased to hear somewhat of that noble-minded, whole-souled descendant of the primitive Huguenots--and such indeed he was--who came, as a stranger and sojourner here, and built that hall, at his own proper cost and charge, and gave it--the gift of a cheerful giver--to those, among whom he had come to dwell--and all this, in the midst of his days, in the very prime of his life, not waiting for the almond tree to flourish, and for desire to fail, and for the infirmities of age to admonish the rich man, that he must set his house in order, and could carry nothing with him, to those regions beyond. Faneuil Hall has been called the _Cradle of Liberty_, so long and so often, that it may seem to savor of political heresy, to quarrel with the name--but, for the soul of me, I cannot help it. If it be intended to say, that Faneuil Hall is the _birth place_ of Liberty, I am not aware of a single instance, on record, of a baby, _born in a cradle_. The proverbial use of the cradle has ever been to rock the baby to sleep; and Heaven knows our old fathers made no such use of Faneuil Hall, in their early management of the bantling; for it was an ever-wakeful child, from the very moment of its first, sharp, shrill, life cry. No. CXXIII. General Jackson has been reported--how justly I know not--upon some occasion, in a company of ladies, to have given a brief, but spirited, description of all his predecessors, in the Presidential chair, till he came down to the time of President Tyler, when, seizing his hat, he proceeded to bow himself out of the room. The ladies, however, insisted upon his completing the catalogue--_"Well, ladies," said he, "it is matter of history, and may therefore be spoken--President Tyler, ladies, was--pretty much nothing."_