Newspaper Page Text
3 JFaiwWfi JLetoisiwjper : 2)ctooted to tfie &rtg, Science, Stgrieulture, i^ecfinnfc, JForeifiu ausr ©owessttc KttteUi&euee, turnout, see.
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
[p©HYKY a
*• Much yet remains unsung .”
THE BETROTHED.
Had I met thee in thy beauly,
When my heart and hand were freCj
When no other claimed the duty
Which my soul would yield to thee i
llad l wooed thee—had I won thee —
Oh ! how blest had been my fate '.
But thy sweetness hath undone me—
I have found thee —but too late.
For to one my vows were plighted
With a faltering lip and pale ;
Hands our cruel sires united —
Hearts were deemed of Blight avail!
Thus my youth's bright morn o’ershaded,
Thus bethroned to wealth and state,
All love’s own sweet prospect faded —
I have found thee—but too late !
Like the fawn that finds the fountain,
With the arrow in his breast,
Or like light upon the mountain
Where the snow must ever rest—
Thou hast known me, but forget me,
For I feel what ills await;
Oh ! ’tis madness to have met thee —
To havj found thee—but too late!
“ Sometimes fair truth in fiction we disguise ;
Sometimes present her naked to men’s eyes.”
From Graham’s Magazine.
THE SCIENCE OF KISSING!!
THE AFTER-DINNER TALK OF JEREMY
SHORT, ESQ.
What glorious times, Oliver, the old Turks
must have, sitting, on a sultry day like this,
listening to the cool plashing of their foun
tains, and smoking their chiboques—egad !
until they fall asleep, and dream of dark
eyed Houris smiling on them, amid the
fragrant groves and by the cool rivers of a
Musselman Paradise. What a pity we were
not born in Turkey, you a Bashaw of three
tails, and I the Sultaun of Stamboul! How
we would have stroked our beards—and
smoked our pipes—and given praise to the
prophet as we drank our sherbert, spiced,
you know, with a very little of the aqua ri
tes, that comfort of comforts to the inner
man! We could then have dressed like gen
tlemen, and not gone about, as we do now,
breeched, coated, and swaddled in broad
clothi, like a couple of Egyptian mummies.
Just imagine yourself in a dashing Turkish
dress, with a turban on your head, and a
scimitar all studded with diamonds at your
side, with which—the scimitar I mean—
you are wont to slice off the heads of infi
dels as I slice off the top of this pyramid
of ice-cream—help fyourself for .it’s deli
cious ! I think I see us now, charging at the
head of our the rascally Rus
sians, driving their half slwved soldier
slaves like chaff before a whirlwind, and car
rying our horse-tails and shouting “ 11 Al
lah !” into the very tents of their chieftains.
What magnificent fellows we would have
made ! Ah ! my dear boy, you and I are
out of our element. Take my word for it,
a Turk is your finest gentleman, your true
philosopher, the only man that understands
bow to live. He keeps better horses, wears
richer clotlies, walkes with a nobler mien,
smokes more luxuriously, drinks more se
ductive coffee, and kisses bis wife or ladye
love with better grace, than any man or set
of men, except you and I, “ under the broad
canopy of heaven” as the townmeeting ora
tors have it. And let me tell you this last
accomplishment —this kissing gracefully,
“ secuntum artum” is a point of education
most impiously neglected amongst us. Kiss
ing is a science by itself. Let us draw up
to the window where we can drink in the
presume of the garden, and while you whiff
away at your meerschaum, I will prove the
truth of my assertion. One has a knack for
talking after dinner—l suppose it is because
good steaks and madeira lubricate the
tongue.
We are bom to kiss and be kissed. It
natural to us, as marriage does to a
Woman. Why, sir, I can remember kissing
Hie female babies when I was yet in my cra
dle, and my friend Sir Thomas Lawrence
did bimself the honor to paint me at my
favorite pursuit, as you know by that exqui
site picture in my library. The very first
day I went to school I kissed all the sweet
little angels there. I wasn’t fairly out of my
alphabet, when I used to wait behind a
pump, for my sweetheart to come out of
school, and as soon as I saw her I made a
point of kissing her just to see how prettily
she blushed. As I grew older I loved to
steal in, some summer evening, on her,
•und kiss her asleep on the sofa—or, if she
was awake, and the old folks were by, I’d
Wait till they both got nodding, and then
kiss her all the sweeter for the slyness of the
thing. Ah ! such stolen draughts are de
licious. I wouldn’t give a sous to kiss a girl
in company, and I always hated Copen
hagen, Pawns, and your other kissing plays,
as I hope I hate the devil. They had a
shocking custom when I was young, that
everybody at the wedding should kiss the
bride, just as they all drank, in the same free
and easy way, out of the one big china
punch-bowl; but the practice always hurt
tny sensibilities, and I avoided weddings as
I would avoid a ghost, a bailiff, or any other
fright. No—no—get your little charmer
up into a comer by yourselves—watch when
everybody’s back is turned—then slip your
arm around her waist, and kiss her with a
long sweet kiss, as if you were a bee suck
ing honey from a flower. Nor can one kiss
every girl. I’d as lief take ipecacuanha as
kiss some of your sharp-chinned icicle
mouthed, lignum-vitae-faced spinsters—why
one couldn’t get the taste of the bitters out
of his mouth For a week! Igo in for your
rosy, pouting lips, that seem to challenge
everybody so saucily—egad ! when we kiss
such at our leisure, we think we’re in a sev
enth heaven. 1 once lived on such a kiss
for forty-eight hours, for it took the taste for
commoner food out of my mouth “ intirely,”
as poor Power used to say. Oh! how I
loved the wide, daik entries one finds in old
mansions, where one could catch these sau
cy little fairies, and, before they were well
aware of your presence, kiss them so deli
ciously. There’s kissing for you ! Or, to
go upon a sleigh ride, and when all, save
you and your partner, are busy chatting—
while the merry ringing of the bells and the
whizzing motion of* the vehicle cause your
spirits to dance for very joy—to make be
lieve that you wish to arrange the buffalo,
or pull her shawl up closer around her, and
then slyly stealing your face into her bonnet
to kiss her for an instant of ecstasy, while
she blushes to the very temples, lest others
may catch you at your sport. And then, on
a summer eve, to row out upon the bosom
of a moonlit lake, and while one of the la
dies sings and all the rest listen, to snatch a
chance and laughingly kiss the pretty girl
at your side, all unnoticed except by her.
Or to sit beside a charmer on a sofa, before
a cozy fire on a bitter winter night, and fill
up the pauses of the conversation, you
know, by drawing her to you and kissing
her. But more than all, when you have
won a blushing confession of love from her
you have long and tremblingly worshipped
with all a boy’s devotion, is the rapture of
the kiss which you press holily to her brow,
while her warm heart flutters against your
side, and every pulse in your body thrills
with an ecstasy that has no rival in after life.
Ah ! sir, that kiss is the kiss. It is worth
all the rest.
Next to being bom a Turk I should choose
to have been born an Englishman in the
days of Harry the Eighth. Do you remem
ber how Erasmus tells us, in one of his let
ters, that all the pretty women in London
ran up to him and kissed him whenever they
met 1 That’s what I call being in clover. I
do n’t wonder people long for the good old
times, for, if all their fashions were like
this, commend me to the days of the bluff
monarch, when
“ thus passed on the time,
With jolly ways in those brave old day*,
When the world was in its prime.”
Did you ever attend a children’s party,
and see the little dears play Copenhagen 1
The boys seem to have an instinctive knack
at kissing their partners, who always show
the same modest repugnance—for modesty
is inborn in every woman—aye ! and flings
a glory about her like the halo around a Ma
donna’s head. The very instant one of the
young scapegraces gets into the ring, he
looks slyly all around it, and there be sure is
one little face that blushes scarlet, and one
little heart that beats faster, for well the
owner knows that she in peril. How fast
her hands slide to and fro along the rope,
and directly the imprisoned youngster makes
a dash at her hand, and, missing it, turns a
way amid the uproarious laughter and clap
ping of hands of the rest, and essays per
chance a feint to tap some other little hand,
all the while, however, keeping one corner
of his eye fixed on the blushing damsel who
has foiled him. And lo ! all at once—like
an eagle shooting from the skies—he daits
upon it. And now begins the struggle.
What a shouting—and merry laughing—
what cries of encouragement from the look
ers on—what a diving under the rope, and
over the rope, and among the chairs, mingled
with whoopings from the boys, ensues, un
til the victim has escaped, or else been caught
by her pursuer. Sometimes she submits
quietly to tfee forfeit, but at other times she
will fight like a young tiger. Then, indeed,
comes “ the tug of war.” If she covers her
face in her hands, and is a sturdy little piece
beside, young Master Harry will have to
give up the game, and be the laughing stock
of the boys, or else set all chivalry at defi
ance and tear away those pretty hands by
force. Many a time, you old curmudgeon,
have I laughed until the tears ran out of my
eyes to see a young scoundrel, scarcely
breeched, kissing an unwilling favorite.
How sturdily he sticks up to her, one hand
around her neck, and the other, herhaps, fast
hold of her chin; while she, with face avert
ed, and a frown upon her tiny brow, is a!!
the while pushing him desperately away.
But the young rascal knows he is the strong
est, and with him might makes right. With
eagerness in every line of his face, he slips
his arm around her waist, and, after sundry
repulses, wins the kiss at last. And then
what a mighty gentleman he thinks ho is !
In just such a scene has my old friend Law
rence taken me off, in that picture, of The
Proffered Kiss, in my library,|egad!
It is a great grief to me that a few un
derstand now to kiss gracefully. Kissing
is an accomplishment, 1 may be allowed to
remark, that should form a part of every
gentleman’s education. A man that is too
bashful to kiss a lady when all is agreeable,
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 28, 1842.
as Mrs. Malaprop would say, is a poor good
for-nought, a lost sinner, without hope of
mercy ! He will never have the courage to
pop the question, mark my word, and will
remain a bachelor to his dying day, unless
some lSdy kindly takes him in hand and asks
him to have her, as my friend Mrs. Desper
ate did. The women have a sly way of
doing these things, even if, like a spinster I
once knew, they have to ask a man flatly
whether his intentions are serious or not;
and they are very apt to do this as soon as
the kissing becomes a business on your part.
But to return to the modus operandi of a
kiss. Delicacy in this intellectual amuse
ment is the chief thing. Do n’t—by the
bones of Johannes Secundus ! don’t bun
gle the matter by a five minutes torture,
like a cat playing with a mouse. Kiss a
girl deliberately, sir, sensible all the time of
the great duty you are pei-forming,. but re
member also that a kiss, to be enjoyed in its
full flavor, should be taken fresh, like cham
pagne just from the flask. Ah! then you
get it in all its airy and spirituelle raciness.
If you wish a sentimental kiss, and after all
they are perhaps the spicier, steal your arm
around her waist, take her hand softly in
your own, and then tenderly drawing her
towards you, kiss her as you might imagine
a zephyr to do it! I never exactly timed the
manoeuvre with a stop-watch, but I’ve no
doubt the affair might be managed very
handsomely in ten seconds. The exact
point where a lady should be kissed may be
determined by the intersection of two ima
ginary lines, one drawn perpendicularly
down the centre of the face, and the other
passing at right angles through the line of
the mouth. Two such old codgers as you
and I may talk of these things without in
discretion ; and, it is but doing our duty by
the world, to give others the benefits of our
experience. Some of these days, when I
get leisure, Ishall write a book called “Kiss
ing Made Easy.” The title—don’t you
think ?—will make it sell.
Kissing, however has its evils, for the
world, you know, is made up of sweet and
sour. One often gets info the way of kiss
ing a pretty girl by way of a flirtation, and
ends by tumbling herad over ears into love
with her. This is taking the disease in its
most virulent form ; but, thank the stars !
it is most apt to attend on cases where the
gentleman has not been used to kissing. 1
would recommend, as a general rule, that
every one should be inoculated to the mat
ter, for, depend upon it, this is the only way
to save them from a desperate and perhaps
fatal attack. I once knew ,a fine fellow—
talented, rich, in a profession, whose only
fault, indeed, was that he had never kissed
anybody but his sister. He had the most
holy horror of a man who could so insult the
dignity of the sex as to kiss a lady, and, I ve
rily believe, the sight of such a thing, in his
younger days, would have thrown him into
a fit. At length he fell in love; and as
sweet a creature was Blanche Meirion as
ever trod greensward, or sang from very
gaiety of heart oil the morning air. Day
after day her lover watched her from afar, as
a worshipper would watch the counten
ance of a saint; but months passed by
and still he dared not lift his eyes to her
face, when her own were shining on him
from their calm, holy depths. Other suitors
appeared, and if Blanche had fancied them,
she would have been lost forever to How
ard, through his own timidity ; but happily
none of them touched her heart, and she
went on her way “in maiden meditation
fancy free.” Often, in her own gay style of
raillery, would she torment pool Howard
about iiis bashfulness ; and during these
moments, I verily believe, he would gladly
have exchanged his situation for that of any
heretic that ever roasted in an inquisitorial
fire. A twelvemonth passed by, and yet
Howard could not muster courage to ex
press his devotion, and if perchance, his
eyes sometimes revealed his tale, the con
fession faded from them as soon as the liquid
ones of Blanche were turned upon him. If
ever one suffered he suffered from his love.
He worshipped his divinity in awe-stiuck
humility, scarcely deeming she would deign
to see his adoration. He might have said
with Helena,
“ thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more.”
At length a friend of Howard asked him
to wait on him as a groomsman, and who
should be his partner but Blanche ! Now', of
all places for kissing commend me to a wed
ding. The groom kisses the bride—and
the groomsmen kisses the bridemaids—and
each one of the company kisses his partner,
or if any one is destitute of the article he
makes a dumb show of kissing somebody
behind the door. But the groomsmen have
the cream of the business, for jt’s one of
the perquisites of their office that they
should kiss their partners, as a sort of re
compense for shawling them, and chaperon
ing them, aud paying those thousand little
attentions which are so exquisite to a lady,
and which a gentleman can only pay, espe
cially if the lady is grateful, at some peril to
his peace of mind. Ah! sir, a bridemaid
is a bachelor’s worst foe-—one plays with
edge tools when he waits at a wedding, and
though you may dance with an angel or flirt
with a Hour!, I’d never, heaven bless you,
recommend you to wait on a girl unless
you were ready to marry. Seeing other
folks married is infectious, and, before you
mSBSSSmSmBSBSSmSSSBSSaBSm—Ifc—
know it, you’ll find yourself engaged. It
was a lucky chance for Howard when he
was asked to wait on Blanche, for I would
stake my life that nothing else could have
cured him of his bashfulness. Nor even
then would he have succeeded but for an ac
cident, One lovely afternoon—it was a
coulfHy wedding—he happened to pass by a
little sort of summer house in a secluded
spot in the grounds attached to the mansion,
and who should he see within but Blanche,
asleep on a garden sofa. I wish I could
paint her to you as she then appeared. One
arm was thrown negligently back over her
head, while the other fell towards the floor,
holding the book she had been reading. Her
long, soft eye-lashes were drooped on her
cheek. Her golden curls fell, like a show
er of sunbeams scattered through the forest
leaves on a secluded stream, around her
brow and down her neck; and one fair tress,
stealing across her face and nestling in her
bosom, waved in her breath, and rose and
fell with the gentle heaving of that spotless
bust. A slight color was on her cheek, and
her lips were parted in a smile the smallest
space imaginable, disclosing the pure teeth
beneath, seeming like a line of pearl set
betwixt rubies, or a speck of snow within a
budding rose. Howard would have retreat
ed, but he could not, and so he stood .gaz
ing on her entranced, until, forgetting every
thing in that sight, he stole towards her, and
falling on his knees, hung a moment enrap
tured over her. As he thus knelt, his eyes
glanced an instant on the book. It was the
poems of Campbell, and open at the pas
sage which he had the evening before com
mended. Blanche had pencilled one verse
which he bad declared especially beautiful.
His heart leapt* into his mouth. His eyes
stole again to that lovely countenance, and
indistinctly he bent down and pressed his
lips softly to those of Banche. Slight, how
ever, as was the kiss, it broke her slumber,
and she started up; but when her eyes met
those of Howard the crimson blood rushed
over her face, and down even to
her bosom, while the lover stood, even more
abashed, rooted to the spot. Poor fellow !
he would have given the world if he could
have recalled that moment’s indiscretion.
He stammered out something for an apology,
he knew not what, yet without daring to lift
his eyes t her face. She made no reply.
A minute of silence passed. Could he have
offended past forgiveness 1 He was desper
ate with igony and terror at the thought,
and, in that very desperation, resolved to
face the worst, and looked up. The bosom
of Blanche heaved violently, her eyes were
downcast,her cheek was changing fronl pale
to red and from red to pale. All her usual
gaiety had disappeared and she stood em
barrassed and confused, yet without any
marks of displeasure, such as the lover had
looked for, on her countenance. A sudden
light flashed on him, a sudden boldness took
possession of him. He lifted the hand of
Blanche—that tiny hand which now trem
bled in his grasp, and said,
“Blanche! dear Blanche ! if you forgive
me, be still more merciful, and'give me a
right to offend thus again. I love vou, oh !
how deeply and fervently! I have loved you
with an untiring devotion for years. Will
you, dearest, be mine 1” and in a torrent oft
burning eloquence—for the long pent-up
emotions of years, had now found vent—he
poured forth the whole history of his love, its
doubts and fears, its sensitiveness, its ado
ration, its final hope. And did Blanche turn
away ! No—you need n’t smile so meaning
ly, you old villain—she sank sobbing on her
lover’s shoulder, who, when at length she
was soothed, was as good as his word, and
sinned by a second kiss. It turned out that
Blanche had loved him all along, and it was
only his bashfulness that had blinded him,
else by a thousand little tokens he might
have seen what, in other ways, it would have
been unmaidenly for her to rereal. Now,
sir, months of mutual sorrow might have
been saved to both Blanche and her lover,
if he had only possessed a little more assur
ance—he would have possessed that assur
ance if he had been less finical—if he had
been less finical be would not have been
shocked at kissing a pretty girl.
I might'multiply instances, egad, for fifty
years of experience will store one’s memo
ry with facts, and by the aid of them I could
reel off arguments for this accomplishment
faster than a rocket whiazes into the sky.
Kissing, sir—but there goes the supper bell,
and I see your meerscluum’s out. We will
rejoin the ladies, and after taking our Mocha,
set the young folks to dancings while you
and I accompany then on the shovel and
tongs! Ta-ra-la-ra !
The passions aid affectionslead to numer
ous sources of en’or. Love induces a moth
er to think child the fairest and the
best. Intens* hope and desire make a few
days a< long os so many weeks. The fear
of the torture, of the galleys, or of painful
death,has induced multitudes to believe the
grossest absurdities. Envy misrepresents
the con ition and character of our neighbor,
and ma es us believe that he is much worse
than he eally is. Above all, self-interest
induce! nany to swallow almost any opini
on, and vindicate every practice, howev
er corr pt and absurd. It is from a spirit
of selfi mess, too, that we set up our own
opinioi in religion philosophy as the
test of rthodoxy and truth; and from the
same p inciple has arisen the anti-Christian
practic of persecution.
MANAGING A HUSBAND!
This is a branch of female education tdo
much neglected; it ought to be taught with
“ French, Italian, and the use of the globes.”
To be sure, as Mrs. Glass most sensibly ob
serves, “ first cateh your hare,” and you must
also first catch your husband. But we will
suppose hiraJcaught—and therefore to be
roasted, boiflß, stewed, or jugged. All
these methods of cooking have their matri
monial prototypes. The roasted husband is
done to death by the fiery temper, the boil
ed husband dissolves in the warm water of
conjugal tears, the stewed husband becomes
ductile by the application of worry, and the
jugged husband fairly subdued by sauce and
spice. Women have all a natural genius
for having their own way; still the finest
talents, like “the finest pisantry in the
world,” require cultivation. We recom
mend beginning soon.
When Sir William L—— was setting off
on his wedding excursion, while the bride
was subsiding from the pellucid lightness of
white satin and blonde, into the delicate
darkness of the lilac silk travelling dress,
the lady’s-maid rushed into his presence
with a torrent, not of tears, but of words.
His favorite French valet had put out all the
bandboxes that had been previously stored
with all feminine ingenuity in the carriage.
Os course, on the happiest day of his life,
Sir William could not “hint a fault or hesi
tate dislike,” aud he therefore ordered the
interesting exiles to be replaced. “ Ver veil,
Sare William,” said the prophetic gentle
man’s gentleman, “you let yourself be band
boxed now, you’ll be bandboxed all your
life.” 3
Ihe prediction of the masculine Cassan
dra of the cutling-irons was amply fulfilled.
Poor Sir William! One of his guests, a
gentleman whose wits might have belonged
to a Leeds clothier, for they were always
wool-gathering, confounded the bridal with
one of those annual festivals when people
cruelly give you joy of having made one
step more to your grave—this said guest, at
his wedding, literally wished him many hap-,
py returns of the day! The|politc admirer
of the bandboxes found, however, one an
niversary quite sufficient, without any re
turns.
Now, we do consider it somewhat hard
“to drag at each remove” such a very per
ceptible chain; it might as well have been
wreathed, or gilded, or even pinchbccked.
A friend of mine, Mrs. Francis Seymour,
does the thing much better. We shall give
a domestic dialogue in Curzon-street, by
way of example to the rising generation.
“ I have been at Doubiggin’s this morning,
my love,” said Mrs. Seymour, while helping
the soup; “he has two such lovely Sevre
tables, portraits of Louis the Fourteenth’s
beauties; you must let me have them for
the drawing-room, they are such loves.”
“I really do wonder,” exclaimed Mr.
Seymour, in his most decided tone, “what
can you want with any thing more in the
drawing-room. lam sure that it is as much
as any one can do to get across the room as
it is. I will have no more money spent on
such trash.”
“ This fish'is capital, the sauce is a ‘chef
d'oeuvre,” exclaimed the lady, hastening to
change the discourse; “do let me recom
mend it.”
Dinner proceeds, enlivened by a little
series of delicate attentions on the part of
the wife. One thing is advised; another,
which she is well aware is her husband’s
aversion, playfully forbidden, with a “my
dear Francis, you are so careless of yourself
—consider les horreurs dela digestion.”
Dinner declines into desert, and Mr. Sey
mour eats his walnuts, peeled
“ By no hand, as you may guess,
But that of Fairy Fair,”
alias Mrs. Seymour’s very pretty fingers-
Towards the middle of his second glass of
port, he perceives that there are tears in his
wife’s soft blue eyes—which become actual
sobs as he progresses in the third glass.
“1 see how it is, Laura; well, you shall
have the tables.”
“ The tables!” cried the lady, with an air,
as the school-boy said of ancient Gaul, quar
tered into three halves, of disdain, wounded
feelings, and tenderness; “I have really lost
all wish for them. It was of you, Francis
that I was thinking. Good heavens! can
you weigh a few paltry pounds against the
pleasure of gratifying your wife. I see I
have lost my hold on your affections. What
have I done! I, whose whole life has but
one happiness, that of pleasing you!”
We will not pursue the subject to its last
conjugal close of tears aud kisses; suffice it
to say, that the next day the tables were
sent home; not given-—but only accepted as
a favor!
Now this is a beautiful way of doing
business. We seriously recommend its con
sideration as a study to our lady readers.—
Scolding does much, for, as the old riddle
say, “ any thing,” is what
“Many a man, who ha* a wife,
Submits to for a quiet life.”
But the fair half of the world, out of whose
very remains the rose, as the eastern pro
verb has it, was formed at the creation
flattery, that honey of the heart, is the true
sway. Instead of divide, our new state se
cret is, “flatter to reign.”
“A man may lend his store
Os gold and silver ore,
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend.”
VOLUME I. -NUMBER 9.
To Parents. —The right education of
your children is dearer to you than any
earthly object: for a good education isrwtej
young man’s capital. To educate yob#'’
children well is to give them a fair start in
the world—it is to give them ah equal
chance for tbd privileges and honors of man*
hood. .
But, to keep them from school the most
of the time—to furnish them with a misera
ble, useless teacher—to deny them the ne
cessary and the most approved school books
—to be unwilling to spend a little to pro
cure papers and books for general informa*
tion and reading-—to do these things, or eith
er one of these, is to do your children an
incalculable injury.
You wish your children to be companions
of the virtuous and intelligent—then make
them virtuous and intelligent; unless you
do this, your children will be unfit for such
society as you wish them to keep. Yotl
wish your offspring respected and influential
—morality and intellect are always respect
ed, and these qualities are always influential*
too. You do not wish others to trample up
on the rights of your children—you do not
wish others to lead them, to think for them,
or to make them mere tools for ambitious
ends. Then give them an education, a
mind, that they may know and keep their
rights—that they may make for themselves,
and have the privileges of freemen. Igno
rance is always the vassal, the slave of in
telligence. The educated man always has
had, and always will have, the advantage of
ignorance; and if you let your children
grow up uneducated, you let them grow up
to be the tools and the slaves of others. You
cannot do your children a greater injury
than to let them step into manhood unedu
cated ; and in no other way can you do these
free institutions a greater evil.
Mother. —There is something in that Word
—mother, that sounds a pause in the busy
pursuits of life—nay, in the current of or
dinary thought. There is a calm about it
that divests of every selfish, every sordid
feeling—it strikes|the sweetest string of the
sympathies of our nature ; it brings up the
remembrance, the peacefulness, the sunty
days of our earthly life, and with them all
their vision of prospective honor, and fame,
and happiness. No time—no distance—no
vicissitudes of life can change that deep,
that holy veneration, we early imbibe for her
who gave us existence. It is not the first
principle that germinates in the bosom of
infancy ; it is, as it were the guardian spirit
of youth and even maturer years; it is the
act that quits the human heart when aban
doned to vice—when it becomes an outlaw
to its God. If our footsteps have been di
rected in the paths of virtue—if success has
rewanded our exertions in the pursuits of a
virtuous ambition—if we ride joyously up
on the waves of affluence and glory; a “moth
er's voice” mingles, and gladdens, and crowns
the felicity, if overtaken by the storms of
adversity ; every hope blighted by chilling
disappointment; betrayed by • the teachery
friendship, the hypocracy of the world;
abandoned to penury, sorrow ‘and disease*
then, even then, there is one that will not
desert us ; there is yet one safe, quiet asy
lum left us; home, the home of our child
hood, a “ mother's home !” it is a green spot
in the great Zahara of life; it is the peace
ful harbor, where we may find shelter from
the tempest of the ever changeful ocean of
human existence. Mother! In the sound
of that sacred name, the monarch himself
forgets his diadem, and feels that he is -a
child ; the wretch who is doomed to mi
serable existence in a dungeon, or to a one
for crime upon the scaffold, whose atrocities
long since have sealed up the fountain of his
sympathies, tell him of the bitter anguish of
a “ mother,” and, though the apostate to his
Maker, he trembles and kneels in peniten
tial sorrow; the tear, that stranger to vice,
trickles silently down the brawny cheek,
wrinkled by time, and care, and guilt.
Such is the tribute, the involuntary ho
mage of onr hearts towards our mothers.
The principle, the controlling power of this
veneration, although almost imperceptible,
is still incalculable. “Where is the man,
whatever may be his age, his wisdom, bis
condition of life, that would utterly disre
gard the counsels of his mother? Where is
the wretch however lost to virtue, however
abandoned to iniquity, who would dare to
raise his hand in crime, should he hear the
maternal injunction, “ forbear!”
Home. —No man of sensibility, after bat
tling with the perplexities of the out door
world, but retires with a feeling of refresh
ment to his happy fireside; he hears with
joy the lisp of the cherub urchin that climbs
upon his knee, to tell him some wonderful
tale about nothing, or feels with delight the
soft breath of some young daughter, whose
downy peach like cheek is glowing close to
his win lam ne".her a husband nor a fath
er, but I can easily fancy the feeling of su
preme pleasure which either must experi
ence. Let us survey the World of business!
“ What go we out to see ?” the reed of am
bition shaken by the breath of the multi
tude ; cold hearted traders and brokets,
trafficers and over-ieachers, anxious each to
circumvent, and turn to his purse the golden
tide in which all would dabble. Look (
the homes of most of these. Thera the
wife waits for her husband; and while she
feels that anxiety for his presence, which
may be called the hunger of the heart* she