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in Heaven, I pray you to protect my little ones. Preserve them, my father, from the snares of the world, from the temptations which await the poor and the unfriended. I have known hardship and privation —I have shrunk from the winter’s cold, end panted beneath the summer’s heat for my children’s sake, and I have learned how ter rible are the dangers which beset the child of poverty and pride. For my husband I ask your forgiveness and your forbearance ; he will bring you his children to atone for his fearly error —let them be to you even as I was in the days of my merry childhood, and if the wilfulness of their mother’s na ture ever springs up within their innocent bosoms, tell them of tlieir mother’s sin, and of her punishment. God bless you father! it is the last prayer, save one, of your dy ing MARIAN,” The heart that had refused to melt at the voice of a penitent child, was touched at last. The agony of a contrite spirit was too terrible for human eye to witness, and Mr. Dale lay for hours, like a crushed worm, upon the earth, ere he was sufficient ly calm to meet his innocent grandchildren. A vain hope of silencing the voice of con science, led him to lavish kindness on all whom Marian had loved. Her husband re turned to America, where, a liberal annuity from Mr, Dale, enabled him to live in liis own way, while few unpleasant reminis cences of former sorrow were allowed to sadden the countenance, or depress the spirits of the thoughtless, good-hearted man. A second marriage soon severed the slen der ties which bound his heart to the object of his youthful passion, and to the mind of him for whom Mari n had sacrificed the happiness of a father, and to whom she had devoted her brief existence, her memory soon became as the half-traced image of n painful dream. Mr. Dale still lives to find iu the budding virtues of his two grand children, some alleviation of his sorrow ; but in the little church yard of Dalcsford, arises a slender marble shaft, on wliii h is inscribed the single word, “ Marian,” and when his eye turns to that vain memorial of her whose ashes sleep beyond the Atlantic wave, the remembrance of the obduracy which doomed her to an early tomb, pierces, like an artow to tho heart which still be wails an only daughter, while, to the gentle children of an erring mother, that monu ment seems to say the only commandment which bears tvith it promise, is one which, even in this world, is never violated with impunity. Brooklyn, L. I. WOMAN. The following eloquent tribute to woman is by Burret, the 1 learned Blacksmith.’ We have seldom read anything finer. •“ There are new developemcnts of hu man character which, like the light of dis tant stars, are yet to visit the eye of man and operate upon human society. Ever since the image of the Godhead was first sketched in Eden, its great Author and an gels have been painting upon it; influence like the incessant breath of heaven, have left each its line upon the canvass •, still the finishing stroke of the pencil will not be ac complished until the last lingering survivor of the “wreck of matter <S: crush of Worlds” is changed in the twinkling of an eye. “ The hemisphere of the present age is studed all over with much pearls “ and pati nes of bright gold,” as never shone before in the heaven of the human soul. In these latter days, the waves of time have washed Hip from depths that angels never fathomed, gomsof purer light serene,” than ever worn before in the crown of man. We are now but half way advanced in anew cycle of human history. The race.is hut. just emerging from the long reaching shadows of an iron age, and coming out into the star light and sunlight of new influences. If, as we are assured, scoves of new stars have taken raiik with the heavenly host during the last two centuries; stars brighter than they, have in the same period, kindled up new lights in the moral firmament. Among these new stars, one a little lower than that of Bethlehem has just appealed above the horizon. It is the star of Woman's Influ ence. Influential woman is abeing of scarce two centuries; up to that period, and al most hitherto, her influence has fallen upon human character and society, like the feeble rays a rising winter’s sun upon polar fields of ice. But her sun js reaching upward. There is a glorious r “eridian to which she shall as suredly come as to-morrow’s rising sun shall reach his or our natural heaven. What man will be, when she shall shine upon him then and thence, we are unable to divine ; but we can found an anticipation from the influence of her drawing rays. Her morn ing tight has gilded the visions of human hope, and silvered over the night shadow of human sorrow. There has been no depths of human misery beyond the reach of her ameliorating influence nor any height of human happiness which she has not raised still higher. Whoever has touched at eith er of these extremities, or at any of their intervening points, could attest that “ neith er height nor depth, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present or to come,” could divert or vitiate the accents and ano dynes'of her love. Whether we can trace the lineaments of her character in the mild twilight of her morning sun, or in the living beams of her rising day, we find that she lms touched human socict like an angel. It'would be irreverent to In r worth to say, in what walks of life 9he b s walked most like an angel of light and love: in what vicissitudes, in what joys or sorrows, in what situations or circumstances, she has most signally dischasgod the heavenly min istrations of her mission , what ordeals have best brought out the radiance of her hidden jewels ; what fruitions of earthly bliss, or furnaces of affliction, have best declared the fineness of her gold.” Duelists refuse to fight, unless their chal lengers are gentlemen. They will let black guards live ; but are desirous of sending gen tlemen to kingdom come. The world is not overstocked with the latter description of characters. They had much better shoot the blackguards, and refuse to kill the gen tle. aen. • CHRISTIAN NAMES. We promised our readers that we should commence making free with some of the gentlemen’s names, and give them our ideas of the signification to be attached to them. We begin, then, with William, which we consider a very pretty one. William will generally he found a gentleman, and a fa vorite with the ladies. He is always polite, difficult to put out of temper, and invariably willing to do anything in his power to oblige a lady, which is perhaps one reason why he is so much liked by them. William Henry is much the same sort of a person as Wil liam, but perhaps rather more lively, and inclined to be something of a general lover, lie basks in the sunshine of the ladies’ smiles, and existence would lie a blank to him, if he had not frequent opportunities of paying his devoirs to them. Now, tho abbreviations of this name, as commonly used, indicate very different per sons. Bill is always a dirty,rude, disagree-- able, unpleasant person—filthy, both in per son and manners. Will, on the contrary, although rude, is not so dirty or disagree able as Bill. Will is a ranting, roaming blade, always in mischief, and if a hoy, and you put on him anew suit of clothes in the morning, he will be sure, before night, to damage them—watch him, as you may, you can’t prevent it. He will either fall down with such violence that his pantaloons will split across the knee, or he will get the ser vant to hang up his jacket on some utiacces sible (to him) nail, and when lie endeavors to jerk it off, will give it an unlucky pull, that will make a rent, or else he will get in to some scrape, and in running away, will catch a portion of liis apparel on a projecting rail. Iu fact there is no end to his misfor tunes. Accidents will happen to a person called Will, that you never hear of befalling any one else. Lastly, there is Willy, who again is a very different person. \\ illy is a fair haired, gentle, amiable, intelligent per son, with an open, ingenuous countenance, which at once prepossesses you in liis favor, and he is always liked the better the more you know him.— United States Telegraph. THE SUMMER NIGHT. The summer alone might elevate us! God, what a season! In sooth, I often know not whether to stay in the city or go forth into the fields, so alike is it everywhere, and beautiful. If we go outside the city gate, the very beggars gladden our hearts, for they are no longer cold; and the post boys who can pass the whole night on horse back, and the shepherds asleep in the open air. We need no gloomy house: We make a chamber out of every bush and thereby have my good industrious bees before us, and the most gorgeous butterflies. In gar dens on the hills sit schoolboys and in the open air look out wofds in the dictionary. On account of the game-laws there is no shooting now, and every living thing in bush and furrow and on green branches, can en joy itself right heartily and safely. In all directions come travellers along the roads; —they have their carriages for the most part thrown hack —the horses have branches stuck in their saddles, and the drivers roses in tticir mouths. !he shadows of the clouds go trailing a! u:g,— the birds fly be tween them iij) ami *uwn, mid journeymen mechanics wander cl.. er:ly on with their bundles, and want no wont. Even wheif it rains we love to stand out of doors, and breathe in the quickening influence, and the wet does tlie herdsman harm no more. And is it night, so sit we only in a cooler shadow, from which we plainly discern the daylight on the northern horizon, and on the sweet warm stars of heaven. Wheresoever I look, there do 1 find my beloved blue on the flax in blossom, or the corn-flowers, and the godlike endless heaven into which I would fain spring as into a stream. And now it we turn homeward again, we find indeed but fresh delight. The street is a true nursery, for in the evening after supper, the little ones, though they have but few clot lies up on them, are again let out into the open air, and not driven under tho hod-quilt as in Winter, We sup by daylight, and hardly know where the candlesticks are. In the bed-chamber the windows arc open day and night, and likewise most of the doors, with out danger. The oldest women stand by tho window without a chill, and sew. Flow ers lie about everywhere—by the inkstand —on tho lawyer’s papers —on the justice’s table, and the tradesman’s counter. The children make a great noise, and one hears the howling of ninepin-alleys half tire night through our walks up and down the street; and talks loud, and sees the stars shoot in the high heaven. The foreign musicians, who wend their way homeward towards midnight, go fiddling along the street to tlieir quarters, and the whole neighborhood runs to tho window. The extra posts ar rive later, and the horses neigh. One lies in the noise by the window and drops asleep. The post-horns awake him. and the whole starry heaven hath spread itself open. O God! what a joyous life on this ‘little earth!— Jean Paul. The Drummer Boy of Lundy's Lane. — Major-General Wingfield Scott, while on the frontier during the late border difficul ties, at ft complimentary dinner given liim by the citizens of Cleveland, related the fol lowii.g characteristic anecdote that occurred during tlie battle of Lundy’s Lane, in the last war : In the very midst )f tl-e battle, his attention was arrested by observing at a little distance, where a whole company of riflemen had just been cut down by the ter rible fire of the enemy, three drummer boys quarrelling for a single drum, all that was left to them. Soon the two stronger ones went to “ fisticuffs,” while the third quietly folded his arms, awaiting the issue of the contest. At tliut moment, a cannon ball struck the hoys, and killed them both.— \Vi|,h one bound, the little fellow caught the drum from between them, and with a shout of triumph, and a loud “ tattoo,” dashed forward to the thickest of the fight. Said tlie General, “ I so admired the little sol dier, that 1 rode after him and enquired his name, which was , and directed him to find me at the close of the battle ; but I never saw him afterwards.” At this mo ment, Mr. , one of the most respect able merchants in Cleveland, arose, and, with a smile and bow, informed the company that he was the “Drummer Boy of Lundy’s Lane.” IMPROMPTU. “ Come kins me,” said Robin. I gently said, “No; “ For my mother forbade me to play with men so.” Ashamed by my answer, he glided away, Though my looks pretty plainly advised him to stay — Silly swain, not at all recollecting—not he, That bis mother ne’er said that he must not kiss me ! ©mmm/hL. _ A LECTURE, Delivered before the “ Ft/rsyth Polemic and Literary Society.” By a Member. BRITISH CORN LAWS. Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Society : Your attention is invited to a brief con sideration of a subject to which we see con stant reference made, hut which, it is pro bable, is understood by few. In that country to which most of us trace our ancestry, we have seen, during the past year, one party displaced, and another, after years of defeat and disaster, again elevated to place and power. The late Ministry of Great Britain, to carry out the reform pro mised by them, were proceeding step by step, and had arrived at a point when they thought it expedient to propose a modifica tion of the Corn Laws, so as to lessen the price of a commodity which is familiarly styled the staff of life, and is deemed essen tial to the existence of all classes. One would readily suppose, that the hare propo sition would have received a universal as sent ; hut upon taking the vote, Ministers were left in a hopeless minority, Parliament was dissolved, and anew Parliament called in order that the question might be submit ted to the ballot box for decision. Then ensued one of tlie most fiercely contested elections ever witnessed in England—and the result was the complete and triumphant success of the Tories, and the party in favor of continuing the present oppressive system of Corn Laws. This is matter of history with which all who have attended to the current news of tlie day are familiar; but the cause which gave rise to this political revolution may not be as generally under stood, I propose, then, briefly to explain, as clearly as I may be able, the operation of the British Corn Laws—to show their effects upon the moral and social condition of the English people—-to traee their connection with our own interests—-and, lastly, to an swer a question which naturally suggests itself: Why was’it that when the question of cheap or dear bread was submitted to the people, the decision was in favor of the lat ter ? In this investigation, an inquiry into the ancient Corn Laws of Great Britain is not necessary. For a long time, in the legisla tion of that country, the object of such laws was to secure to the people an abundance and a cheap supply of bread. With this object in view, the exportation of grain was prohibited—afterwards it was partially per mitted—and again, changing the object of the law, and having in view the interests of agriculture, instead of a cheap market for bread to the poor, a bounty was paid upon the exportation of grain. This was a radi cal change of the object embraced in the j early legislation upon this subject; and it j is upon the latter principle, viz: the pro tection of agriculture, that the present sys- tem of Corn Laws is based; and what was formerly effected by a bounty upon the ex portation of grain, is now more surely and certainly attained by a prohibition upon im portation, or by duties equivalent to it, when the price ot grain is low—a moderate duty when ‘he price rises higher, and a nominal duty when the price is considered exces sively high. The effect is to secure to the English agriculturist a home market for his grain ; and, as foreign competition is exclu ded, the price of wheat and other grains is always higher in England than in other countries of Europe, so that the object of affording protection to agriculturists is com pletely attained. To enter more into detail, the system is this: When l ! e price of wheat ranges from 43 to 445. per quarter, the duty is equivalent to the price—that is, ,C 2 3s. ; when from 44 to 455. per quarter, the duty is C 2 2s. S d., and thus as the price rises, the duty increas es; and when the price reaches 735. per quarter, the duty is only Is. But you will understand it better when given in our own vernacular language of dollars and cents. — A quarter is 8 bushels, and wheat at 435. per quarter, is 81 19 cts 3 mills per bush el. When, therefore, the average price of wheat is 435. per quarter, and the duty 435., according to our computation, the price would be 81 19 cts. 3m. per bushel, and the duty the same. You will readily perceive that at a duty of §1 19 cts. 3 ms. per bushel, the importation of grain would bo ruinous— a duty equivalent to the price operates as a total prohibition When the price rises to 445. per quarter —that is, iu Federal money, $4 22 cts; 1 m. per bushel—the duty is 81 IBcts. 4 nis.; at 81 24 cts. G ms. per husliel, ,the duty is 81 13 cts. Sms.; at 81 27 cts. 6 ins. per bushel, the duty is 81 12 cts. 8 ms.; at $1 30 cts. 4 ms. per. bushel, the duty is $1 Sets. 2 ms.; at 81 33 cts. 2 ms. per bush el, the duty is 81 7 cts. 3 ms.; at 81 35 cts. 9 ms. per bushel, the duty is 81 2 cts. 7 ms.; at 81 41 cts. 5 ms. per bushel, the duty is 97 i Cts. 1 m.; at $1 72 cts. per bushel, the duty is 68 cts. 4 ms.; at $1 85 cts. 9 ms. per bush el, the duty is 51 cts. 8 ms.; at 81 91 cts. 5 ins. per bushel, the duty is 37 cts. 9 ms.; and thus as the prices rises, and the duty decreases until it reaches 735. per quarter, and Is. duty—or, in our money, 82 2 cts. G ms. per bushel—the duty is 2 cts. 8 ms.— Now let it be borne in mind that when wheat is at its minimum price in England, it is yet higher than other nations would he willing to afford it, and it is then that the heaviest duties are imposed so as to exclude foreign competition, and the price must rise beyond the usual market price before the duties arc reduced so low as to justify the importation of wheat. Hence, you perceive, the hard ship and oppression of the Cora I^aws — their constant and inevitable tendency is to keep up the price of bread stuffs ; and it is not a difficult matter to see how such a sys tem makes the poor poorer : how it makes the rich richer will he shown hereafter. The next question which presents itself is, how is the market price ascertained with sufficient certainty to authorize the imposi tion of a particular duty ? It is done in this way: the average price is ascertained week ly in London, on every Thursday, always ending on, and including Saturday, and al so for the six weeks immediately preceding, from weekly returns of sales and purchases made in one hundred and fifty of the prin cipal market towns. In London the sellers, in all other towns the buyers, must make the returns to the receiver, or corn inspec tor, in their respcctiv: towns. .These re turns are transmitted to the Comptroller of Corn Returns, in London. The Comptrol ler, on Thursday of each week, pioceeds to add together the quantity of grain sold and the prices paid for it. He then divides the total quantity sold by the total amount of prices paid, and the quotient is the average price for that week. He then adds this av erage to the averages of the five preceding weeks, divides the amount by 6, and the quotient is the General averatre for the six preceding weeks. This average is receiv ed on Saturday morning by the Collectors of the Customs, and is the price by which the duty on grain entered for consumption is ascertained and regulated, for the ensuing week. It is difficult for us to see the practical ef fect and bearing of this complex system up on the price of grain, but this much we may see—that it is a plan admirably adapted to keep up the price of grain and to impover ish those who look to the market for their daily bread. Its operation is to keep the ports of Great Britain almost continually shut against foreign grain. In order that wheat may be imported at the nominal duty of one shilling per quarter, or 2 cents 8 mills per bushel, it is necessary that the average price for six weeks be 735. per quarter, or $2 2 cts. 8 ms. per busliel. This can rare ly happen, and if at all, only in the time ol a long continued scarcity, or when the dealers in grain, anticipating a short crop, import large quantities of grain and bond it, and then withhold their English grain from mar ket, until the average price is forced up to the point at which imported grain can be entered for consumption at the low duty of 1 shilling per quarter, We will now consider the effect of this system upon the moral and social condition of the people. And here you will, no doubt, anticipate me. It must be apparent to all that the immediate and necessary conse quence is, to keep the poor bound down in hopeless poverty, and, at times, to bring them almost to starvation. England teems with an over-crowded population. Her lands are divided in large estates, and owned by the Aristocracy. The great mass of the people are tenants of the nobility—day-la borers and operatives employed in manu factures. So numerous are the two latter classes that, in the first place, to get employ ment at all is difficult; and when obtained, the price of labor is as low as it can possibly be reduced. Bread is an article of first ne cessity, and every increase of price is a tax upon the consumer, and takes so much from his daily wages—.-so that when the English operative has purchased his daily bread, and paid for it out of his scanty wages, the pit tance left is scarcely, at any time, sufficient to purchase clothing and fuel, aud to educate ins elnidi en. —Y> i. may hence perceive onc reasori why it is necessary for England to have a system of Poor Laws as well as Corn Laws—one is a necessary concomi tant of the other. Another injurious effect of’tlie Corn Laws, especially upon the poor, is the sudden fluc tuation of prices to which the system is li able. It may be well to remark here that grain may be imported into England and stored away in ware-houses, under the Jock and key of the Government, free of duty : iri this state it is said to be bonded. Now when the owners wish to throw it into mar ket, they must enter it for consumption and pay the duty required by the average pr ice of wheat at the time they take it out of bond. Dealers in grain sometimes import large quantities and thus bond it until a scarcity in tlio market, or some other cause, forces the price up to the point when tlie duty can be paid and a profit realized. Immense quantities thus thrown into the market at once cause prices to recede—they suddenly fall, and the duties again become prohibi tory, and the introduction of further sup plies is stopped until the same process is repeated. Now, it is this operation of the corn laws which so injuriously affects the moral and physical welfare of the working classes, and to none more than to them, is steadiness of price more important. The poor man wishes to possess some well grounded confidence in the average cost of maintaining his family; and he must he more or less than humjm, if he does not de sire to lay by a surplus from his hard earned wages to enable him to better his condition, to secure a command of comforts in declin ing age, and to leave an inheritance to his children to protect them from want and suffering when he shall descend into the grave. But hard, indeed, is his lot, and bit ter and gloomy his mood of mind, if the surplus of his earnings, obtained by toil strung nerves, and saved, perhaps, at tlie cost of many a severe struggle against the tempting indulgence of the passing hour, is to be wrested fi om him by the ever recuri mg seasons of high prices, and then inadequate to save him from a heavy amount of misery. It is different with the wealthy—in times of scarcity and high prices, they have means to fall back upon—and can endure these changes and fluctuations without a material change in their habits—hut the poor must starve and overflow by turns —and in order that they may be forced to drain the cup of poverty to the very dregs, the demand for their labor is diminished, and consequently, their wages reduced when bread is dearest. Scarcity of grain and high prices, of course diminish tlie power of the consumer to buy; and the workman surely is in a poor condi tion to stand out for high wages when food is dear and work scarcely to he had. How foolish then —how absurd, nay, how crimin al is that policy which narrows the district from which supplies are drawn, and thus entails poverty upon thousands for the bene fit of the few. Another injurious effect of the corn laws upon the morals of the community is, that they beget a species of gambling. Dealers in grain, anticipating a short crop and a dc ficlency in the supplies, import large quan tities ol wheat and other grains and bond it. Grain in England always bears a higher price than in other countries of Europe, and if it were admitted free or at a moder ate duty, the importation at the customary English market prices would be profitable. Grain being thus introduced from a cheap market and bonded, dealers commence their operations to force the averages up to the point when it can be entered for consump tion at I*. per quarter, or 2 cts. 8 ms. per bushel—this done, they realize an immense profit—if they fail, they incur a heavy loss. To effect their object, fictitious sales are often made at high prices, and as the returns of prices are made by buyers and selleis, they have the grain in their own hands: from these returns of fictitious prices, the averages are made up, and it is thus that the operations in the corn exchange often put to the blush the gambling of stock jobbers, and well they may, for the gambling in stocks only allbcts capitalists—while gambling in grain falls With a crushing weight upon the laboring poor. In accordance with my arrangement, 1 have next to trace the connection of the corn laws with our own it •crests. We have States whose soil is as prolific in grain as any on the globe. Need I attempt to prove that their interest would be promoted, if the ports of Great Britain were thrown open to their grain ? It is not in this view that I in tend to consider this branch of my subject, but to take a view in which we are more immediately interested. How do the corn laws affect our own great staple 1 Mainly in this way: When bread is abundant and cheap in England, her manufactures flour ish. Labor is in demand, and her opera tives finding coustant employ met and regu lar wages can afford to expend more for clothing and other necessaries of life, apart from what they have to pay for bread—so that even at home there is a greater demand for her cotton fabrics and other manufac tures, and whatever increases the demand for cotton enhances its price. Besides, if the ports of Great Britain were thrown open to foreign grain at a moderate duty, or if it were admitted free of duty, there would boa constant and cheap supply of bread stuff's-—not only the prices of” grain, but also of cotton Would he regular and steady, for a fluctuation in one necessarily produces a fluctuation in the other. If prices were steady, operatives would not be thrown out of employment and manufactures would not be stopped. I have already shown how the corn laws operate to prevent this regularity and stea diness juf prices in grain; but there is an other view in which the subject may be con sidered. England sometimes, during a scarcity, experiences great difficulty in ob taining a supply abroad. Not being a regu lar customer, whenever she has recourse to foreign markets to supply the deficiency of her crops, the dematfd is extraordinary; and nations which do not sell to her regularly have not their markets always arranged to accommodate her extraordinary demands. And even if they should be prepared to supply her deficiency, when “ want comes upon her like an armed man,” as she is not a regular customer, they are not prepared to take her manufactures in payment for •their corn, nor will they sell it to her on credit. She must pay in gold, and the Bank of England soon sees its bullion flowing to the Continent to pay the balance of trade —it immediately contracts its issues—calls in its debts—refuses further loans:—a pres sure in pecuniary matters ensues—manu facturers, unable to obtain the loans neces sary to carry on their business, fail and stop work—operatives are thrown out of em ployment, and the spirit of Chartism rises up all over England threatening to ravage and burn and devastate tlie country. If the corn laws are productive of these effects, is it not palpable that whatever de ranges the market for our cotton necessarily affects its price! Nay, so well are these matters now understood, and so close and intimate is the connection between the oper ation of the corn laws and the State of our cotton market in England, that we can tell from the state of the weather during harvest time*in Great Britain, whether in the com ing winter the demand for cotton will be brisk or dull. A continuance of wet weath er in the month of August sufficiently long to destroy or materially injure, the grain crop, is almost as fatal to the prospects of the cotton planter as arc the ravages of the army worm. I promised in the last place to show why tlie people of Great Britain in their recent election have determined against altering a system which operates thus injuriously up on them. This I shall do in a few words, and bring this tedious, and I fear, uninter esting lecture to a close. I answer the ques tion propounded by saying it is owing to the inequality of the different constituencies, and the preponderance of the landed inter est. Manchester with her three hundred thousand inhabitants, has two representa tives in Parliament—the little town of Har wich with 195 electors has the same. The House of Lords is composed of the Aris tocracy who own large landed estates. The House of Commons is also composed of men who represent the landed interest.— The farmers of Great Britain are not own ers of the soil they cultivate, but are tenants of the lords and noblemen who own the land. Hence, when the proprietors of these large estates nominate candidates for Parliament to represent the boroughs in which their estates are situated, the tenants, in order to please their landlord, and from fear of losing their lease, vote for his nomi nee, and thus it is, that members in the House of Lords, have, in the House of Commons, members subservient to their will—and thus it is, that the landed inteiest in both Houses preponderates. Now, the corn laws were enacted expressly with the view to increase the profits of agriculture— they are not intended for, nor can they ever yield much revenue to the Government.— The duties are so high as to prohibit all im portation, until the price of corn reaches that point at which very little revenue can be collected from it. Nor are they any essential benefit to the cultivators of the soil. They do indeed enhance the price of the productions of tho soil, but this increase of price goes into the pockets of landlords, for it is an invariable rule, that tlie higher the pried of corn, the higher rent is paid by tenants —their main tendency then is, to swell the rents and incomes of land holders, and to take from the hard earnings of con sumers to fill the pockets of the aristocracy, who are the owners, but not the cultivators of the soil. Hence, as the power of enact ing and altering the laws, is in the hands of the landed interest, no material modification of the corn laws may be expected until pa triotism shall predominate over self-interest, or until the people shall rise in their majes ty and claim that equality of rights and pri vileges which the God of Nature intended they should possess. THE MARINER’S BARK. My pnllant baik ! long may she plough the deep, To brave the winds and ebbing tide. And whirlwind storms, that o’er the tropics sweep, With aught of danger there besidfc. I do remember* as I pac’d her deck, A league Os two from Cuba’s strand, Iu the horizon to have seen a speck, Nor seem’d it larger than my hand. Soon it had spread the sky with pall as black As moonless night; save when the gleam Os lightning, a= it mark’d its vivid track, Came to blind the eye with its beam. And we had perished, but that God with there To keep us from a wat’rv grave ; And thus our bark is ever in Ills care, WUo never has refus’d to save. Again she spreads her canvass to the gale, And northern seas reflect her form— Where oft is heard the mariner’s loud wail, With the howl of the arctic storm. From thence our course was to my native shore, And a voice was there to meet me ; I told her that I’d -trust the sea no more, If w ith her true love she’d greet me. And though I’ve hid my gallant craft farewell, She still is mistress of the sea ; And now I never hear the rolling swell, But on her decks 1 wish to be. Madison, Georgia. A COMPLAINT. There is a wide spread complaint of the hardness of the limes, It is on every man’s tongue. The man of wealth as-well as he, who has no wealth, complains. The mat* oat of debt and the man involved complains. The merchant complains. The professional man complains. Yea, all rtien of all pur suits complain. Why is this ? What is the cause ? Day and night still succeed each other—the seasons still keep their course, for even now tlie winter has gone by and spring with its soft winds, its gay flow ers, and its green robe has come. No wasting pestilence is abroad the land—lank and lean famine dwells not amongst us. There is still bread to the eater, and our physiol nature needs nought, that may not r< be supplied. What then is the cause? NoTOrcign force has invaded our country. Peace is through all its borders. The Constitution, which se cures to us freedom of speech and of the press, our religious and civil liberties, is still unbroken. The broad panoply of the law, protecting our rights and persons and things, is still over us. What then is the cause i Mind is unimpaired. The citadel of thought has not been broken down, and reason is left free to 4 combat error,’ and exert its ener gies. The heart still dwells from the play of its u fleet ions—its ennobling attributes are uncrushed, and the sympathies and sensibili ties of men arc not yet seared or blunted. What then is the cause ? Shall 1 write it? Shall it be printed ? Is it true that this w ail of the multitude springs alone from the scarcity of money ? Verily it is so—and yet, is it not strange that whilst we have day and night, seed time and harvest, health and strength, food and raiment,''friendsand home—peace to our country, constitutional and legal protec tion, mind unimpaired, hearts warm and bounding. Is it not strange that with all these for our portion, the want of money alone should extort such piteous lamentations from the mass. Hard Times ! Why are they hard ? Can money buy the unpurchaseable privileges and comforts we now have ? Cal culate one item in the account of your pre sent enjoyments—measure its value in mo ney if you can. Take one of the least— your health ; what number of dollars would compensate you for a ruined ’ constitution and a bed of sickness ? Can you tell, com plainer ? But money is scarce ! It is ? What then ? Every thing else is plenty. Is money, the grand instrument of human happiness ? If it be, then personal, social and providen tial blessings are of little worth, for these are mainly above the reach of procurement by money. Against this complaining for such a cause , 1 COMPLAIN. SABBATH SCHOOLS. The great usefulness and importance of Sabbath Schools is proved by the observation of all who have remarked their influence upon society, and the experience of all who have been connected with them either as pu pils or teachers. The education of the heart is the real safeguard of our social and politi cal rights; and the Sabbath School is, in our opinion, more conducive to such a purpose than any institution ever devised by human wisdom. We speak of it as a civil institu tion, and leave its religious character out of the question. The lessons learned by tlie pupil in the Sabbath School are of a charac ter which fits him better for all the relations of life, as well as the duties which lie owes to himself. He studies the best code of morals the world has ever had, and the temper, at this early period, being pliant, teachable, and uncorrupted by vicious indulgence, he carries his lessons into practice, and habits of virtue thus formed, will remain unchanged in mature years. A thirst for knowledge is natural—as natural, we think, as our appetite for food; and it is very soon discovered in the young mind, and may, by proper direction, lead to results wliick may make the pupil a blessing and ornament to his race. The peculiar re lation of the teacher to his class, and the kind of knowledge imparted are well suited to cuL tivate this natural desire. There is beauty in anew thought, which in a child awakens emotions of delight, and the possession of one idea creates a desire for mpre, which an ordinary teacher might repress and discour age, hut the Sabbath School teaoher lias too much of the feeling of a friend to be dicta torial, and the inquiries of his pupil ore never met by n word of reproof or an impatient frown. Knowledge, however, without wis dom is at least of doubtful tendency, and tho peculiar excellence of Sabbath School in struction is, that both aro united. Tho