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OEKEBAL LEE'S TEBTI*ONY--THE TED*
POLICY TO BE PURSUED TOWARD
THE SOUTH-
The utmost that can reasonably be ex
pected from a people situated like the Yir
gioiane is such a political conformity as
aa Gen. Lee declared to exist. It is bare
ly tire Ire months since these men were
engaged in one of the most desperate wars
of modern time* —a war fought out to
'‘the bitter end” with every circumstance
of paasion and fury. To expect that they
should now look with positive affection on
their conquerors, condemn their most em
inent countrymen as traitors, and repudi
ate aa abominable the principles for which
they sacrificed their fortunes and staked
their lives, is beyond all reason- It is enough
if they know themselves beaten, if they ac
cept the results without reserve, if they
cherish no idea of deferred rebellion, and
if they are prepared to return to their form
er position with a resolution to perform sil
their duties «s citiftena, and with a readi
ness to receive the wanner impressions
which time and intercourse may bring.
These are actually the fneling* with which
Gen. fyee describes them aa now animated.
Mom, it mn«t be evident, ooald not be ex
pected ; hut if morn is desired, it is mani
feat that the result can only be secured by
that very policy wbioh vba President has
avowed, and which the radicals are so fan
atically opposing. If something is still to
. he dope—as.nobody need deny—before a
yi/ginian can look upon the Union aa he
looked ten years ago, it can only be ac
complished, aa Geo. Lae affirmed, by liber
al and conciliatory conduct on the part of
the Government. If passive acquiescence
i* to be converted into cordial sympathy, jt
must bo by kind and generous treatment.
Tho policy of the radicals is stultified by
their own professions. They pretend to
deeire a more sympathizing South than
they have already got, and then, to improve
the Sonthern foaling, they propose to in
flict political disgrace on the Southern peo
ple. They pronounce them to be still dis
affected, or not sufficiently well affeeted,
and by way of conciliating them would
condemn them to alienation and outlawry.
Such a policy stands sclfconvicted, for its
only results must he to make bad
worse.
It is not probable that a Virginian looks
upon the Government of the Union exact
ly like a New Englander; no reasonable
person would expect that he should do so.
It is enough for the purposes of prudent
reconstruction, if the States lately in seces
sion have abandoned all ideas of indepen
dence, and are prepared to make the best
of their position as members of the Union
cnoe mom. The rest must necessarily be
'{k work of time; but it will be accomplish
ed moat speedily, as well aa most surely,
through such a policy at the President
now advocates. He does not desire to
swamp the South with a iwarm of black
voters, nor to place the negro in a position
pf invidious and perilous antagonism to
ward the white man, He asks only for
simple professions of political honesty.
He stipulates that the Southern States
shall forego their views of secession, ac
knowledge and confirm the abolition of
slavery now and forever, deal foirly with
the enfranchised slaves, and repudiate the
debt contracted for the purpose of the re
bellion. To these conditions, they am wil
ling to assent, and the President would
open the doors of Congress to them, and
so restore the Union. Wbat his oppo
nents desire, or profess to desire, wc msy
collect from the exarairatlon to which Gen.
Lee was subjected. They demand impos
siblities; for it js simply absurd to require
that the South should humbly and thank
fully kiss rod after the fashion they pre
scribe. The policy of the President, on
the other hand, is a policy not only of
moderation, but of promise. It bids fsir
to bring back, the South to those senti
ments of perfect .concord which the radi
cals preteud to demand. It is Gen. Lee’s
opinion that mob a policy, aided by the
indispensable co-operation of time, will
really produce this effect; but it needs no
argument to show that a policy of provo
cation and oppression, continued after vic
tory, must intensify and perpetuate that
very hostility which it is intended to extin
guish.—leonAon Times, April I®.
Gamjsq.—Of all passions, gaming is the
moat dangerous and inexcusable. A game
ster endeavors to enrich himself with the
spoils of those he calls his friends. But
how many armies am in arms against himl
Behold that mother! her tears reproach him
with Urn rain of her only soot That father
pronounoee hie name with honor and con
tempt to his children i Pursued by hatted,
overwhelmed by calumny he feels himslf
condemned by reason and humanity; and,
after wandering long in the maxes of vice,
be finds nothing before his eyas but ruin
#'• kamerse.
From the Metropolitan Retold.
“ Fold it up Carefully-”
The beautiful lines entitled “ The Conquer
ed Banner,’* have been extensively copied by
tbe Southern press, nod are now classed among
the favorite poems of tha* section. The fallow
ing reply, written in England, comes to os from
n friend in Virginia, who says it wae sent by
the author to a gentleman in that State, and
that it has not yet appeared in print:
A Reply to the Lina entitled “ The Conquered
Danner.''
ax am HIMST Kocowon, Saar.
Gallant nation, foiled by numbers.
Say not not that your hopes are fled,
Keep that glorious flag wbioh slumbers.
One day to avenge your dead.
Keep it, widowed, coulees mothers,
Keep it, sisters, mourning brothers,
Pnrl it with an iron will;
Furl it now. but—keep it still;
Think not that its work is done.
Keep it till your children take it,
Once again to bail and nuke it
All their sires have bled and fought for.
All their noble hearts have sought for,
Bled and fought for all alone.
All alone! aye shame the story.
Millions here deplore the stain,
Shame alas t for England's glory.
Freedom called, and called in rein-
Furl that bnaner, sadly, slowly.
Treat it gently, for ’tin holy.
Till that day—yes, furl it sadly,
Then onoe more unfurl it gladly—
Conquered Banner—keep ft still 1
England, October, 186 b.
Mvewu Education.—ls I wern tbs
father of n family, nil the members of it
should learn music. Almost nil children
have naturally good earn and can catch
tunes easily; and, strange to tay, they are
able to master tbe mysteries of time rnaoh
better at an early age, then they do later.
Both girls and boys should be taught to
play upon the pianoforte, which, although it
waata the power of melting one sound in
to another—tiiat touching human effect
which some instrument* possess—is inval
uable as bringing almost every Tariety of
music within reach, and permitting oue
through arrangements and adaptation, to
become acquainted to a certain degree,
with nearly all the thoughts of the greatest
composers. At a more advaeeed age, I
would have them learn the grammar of
music, thorough has* and harmony. Tbe
knowledge of the principles upon which
the greatest men worked, and tbe exami
nation of the manner in which they work
ed, would boa study o( great interest, and
could but add to the admiration with which
they might happen to be regarded. Those
of my children who were greet musical
geniuses would only build tbe better for
building upon such a foundation; and thoaa
who were not having been taught by their
earlier studies what real greatness is, and
by the same process to comprehend what
real littleness is also, in default of the
charms of talent, would probably achieve
tbet of modesty, and instead of becoming
indifferent executants, would resign them
selves to being intelligent and umforstand
ing listenera—a race of which the world
stands greatly in need. — Comhill Maga
zine.
To Preserve Orchards. — Nathan
Sbotwell-Elba, Genesee county If ew York,
thinks tbe cause of the present appearance
of decay and death in so msny orchards,
is owing entirely to neglect and bed man
agement He thinks a majority of or
chards in this country have that neglected
appearance; some are not pruned at all,
others are carelessly haggled, and large
limbs left with protruding stamps that can
not heal over. Orchards are ploughed,
and the roots fore; farmers who Jiare ac
cess to leaves, musk, saw-dust, Ac., never
mulch their trees, nor remove tbe rough
berk which furnishes a harbor for insects.
It should be scraped off with a hoe, apd
the tree washed with strong lye. An old
orchard planted by roy father, and still ip
vigorous growth and bearing, has not been
ploughed for thirty years. ft has gener
ally beep pastured with swine until apples
began to ripen. Manure frequently pnt
to the roots of the trees destroying the
toughness of the sod, and making it loose
and spongy, and the scions (the last year's
gm*th) that were large enough, for graft
ing have nearly ell been removed yearly
for more than forty years.— ls, JT. Trib
une*
Kissing at a (Certain Aor.—A cele
brated dandy was one evening in company
with a young lady, and observing her kiss
her favorite poodle, he advanced and beg
ged the like feyor, remarking that she
ought to have aa much charity for him as
she had shown to the dog. “Sir," said
the belle, "I never kissed my dog whan ha
was a puppy."
FASJfY FEB*.
Faanv carries her 50 years with as soar
ing a head and aa springy a step as she
could possibly have dope in her 20s. Fan
ny has set that strong resolute (ace of hers
against growing old. fibe "will not,’’ and
she won’t. Repose is a very feeble rill in
her bring. Troubled and stormy are the
elements of her nature; troubled and
stormy have been her days. Her experi
ence* of life would have aged an ordinary
woman year* ago. Bnt like every other
epemy, Fanny defies age, and he has not
dared to harm bar as be can. Even when
at last death shall seize and carry her off,
he will have to do itin a terrible hurry or
he will miss his prize; for Fanny is a wo
man who never submits to “die by inchee.”
Fenny Fern’s foe* bears a striking resem
blance to that of bar brother, N. P. Wil
lis. The resemblance is so striking that,
as yon trace it, you wonder while ‘Hya
cinth’ we* such s prig, how “Ruth Half’
could have beea such an angel. Tbe sty
lish figure, the graceful bearing, the amber
curls, tbe pale odd eyes, tbe strong law,
are alike in both, only Fenny carries be
fore her by for the most proud, powerful
aud aggressive nose." Fenny Fern i* an
elegant woman. Her dress is usually
faultless in taste; yet in spit* of herself the
effect it striking. Her basghty head, her
elastic step, her stylish form, make it so.
That, as for as the eye can trace her, Fen
ny Fern is a marked woman in a Broadway
crowd. Faasy has done her best to make
the public believe that shffi* a termagant,
has socceded. She delights in outre
assertions sad savage sentences. It rather
pleases her to think that the’whole tribe of
outriders consider her a dragon. Like
many of her sister women, she doubtless
finds it very difficult to walk a full-fledged
angel here below, and tbe meu who mar
ried her should have been sure that they
possessed the power of subjugation or the
gift of submission, they desired peace
And yet under ,tbis volcano of brimstone
ripples a hundred rills of tender feelings,
end Fanny Fern in word and deed can be
gentle, womanly and good. Not loug ago,
oo tbe sunny tide of Broadway, in its nur
se’s arms, she taw somebody's baby. Who
owned tbe baby I cannot say. I can only
tell you that I came pat upon Fanny Fern
wedged in a corner, oblivious to everybody
and everything but tbe baby. Such ectla
cy, and such baby talk and such a transfig
in-face, all the pride and harshness in it melt
ed into e mother's love. Wjll, I looked
and listened, even while the crowd jostled
me 00, and concluded that a woman who
looked and talked like that to a baby was,
whatever her faults, much more a loving
woman at heart than a virago or blue stock
ing. Nobody need despair of tbe “final
salvation” of a woman who can talk like
that to a baby, aud that baby not her
own.
Thx True Frex Mason.—He is above
a mean thing. He invades no secrets in
the keeping of another. He betrays no se
cret* in tbe keeping of another. He betrays
po secret confined to his keeping. He takes
selfish advantage of no man’s mistakes.
He uses do ignoble weapons in controversy.
He never stabs in the dsrk. He is not
ope thing to a roan's face and another be
hind his back. If by accident he comes
into possession of his neighbor’s counsels,
he passes upon them an act of instant ob
livion. He bears sealed packages without
tampering with tho wax. Papers not
meant for his eye, whether they flutter in
at his window or lie open before him in
unguarded exposure, urn sacred. He pos
saaaea no privacy of others, however the
sentry sleep*. Bolts and bars, locks and
keys, hedge* and pickets, bonds and se
curities, notices to trespassers, are none of
them for him. H® may he trusted, himself
oat of sight— nearest the thinnest partition
—any where- He buys no office, he sells
none, he intrigues for none. He would
rather foil of his rights than win them
thropgh dishonor. U e Frill eat honest
breed- He tramples on no sensitive feeling.
Ho insults no man. If he have rebuke for
another, he is straightforward, open and
manly. He cannot descend to scurrility.
Billingsgate slang don’t lie in hi* track.
From all profane and wanton words hi*
lips are chastened. Os woman, and to
her, he speaks with decency and respect.
In short, whatever he judges honorable, he
practices toward erery man.
It is told of an ingenious honseheeper
that she used to eweep her chimney by let
ting a rope down, which was fastened round
the legs of a goose, and then polling the
goose after it
Ixdcbtrt.—Nature instructs you to be
active. The brook runs busily over the
pebbles and never stays. The streams has
ten to join the large river, and the river to
meet tbe sea. Countless seeds are quick
en ing into life, and strike their roots down
ward. Presently the plant burst from tbe
earth—it pats forth its tender leaves and
its young blossoms—the flowers in every
variety of color and fragrance, are spread
in the sunbeam. The grain appears like a
soft green mantle over the field of the la
borer—it puts forth “first the blade—then
tbe ear—then the ripe corn in tbe ear.”
Tbe vine reaches out its tendrils like hands
and takes hold of some prop, whereon to
hang its clusters. The trees ate busy in
perfecting the ffoit for man. The spider
throw* her glittering thread from shrub to
shrub, and mot to and from the bridge of
her own bedding. Tbe silk worm spins,
that we msy be covered delicately, and
folds itself up in its coae like chamber, to
slumber awhile end to come forth with
wings. The bee labor* to prepare food for
herself and a banquet for us. The ant,
provident for winter, lays np its store. The
birds riag among tbe branches, as if their
tuneful hearts were full of praise. The
young lamb gambols by the side of its
mother. The dock leads her brood to tbe
water, and the shining fish glides along its
depths. Tbe ben provides for her chickens
and gathers them under her wings. We
msy gather a lesson of industry from these
inferior creatures. All, with different voi
ces seem to cell on u* to be active—they
teem to tell us to obey the commands of
the Creator.
Nrvxr Do Too Much at a Time.—
Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, in a lecture
recently delivered in England, gave the
following history of his literary habit* ;
Many persona seeing me so much engaged
in active life, and at much about the world
aa if I had never been a student, have said
to me, “When do yon get time to writo all
your books? How on earth do yon con
trive to do so much work?" I shall sur
prise you by the answer I make. The an
swer is this : “I contrive to do so much by
never doing too much at a time. A man,
to get through work, must not over work
himself, or, if be do too much to-day, tho
reaction of fatigue will come, and be will
he obliged to do 100 little to-morrow.—
Now, since I began really and earnestly to
study, which was not till I had left college,
end was actually in the world, I may per
haps say that I have gone through as large
a course of general reading as most men of
my time. I have traveled much, and I
have seen much; I have mixed much in
politics, and the various business of life ;
and in addition to all this, I have publish
ed somewhere about sixty volumes, some
upon subjects requiring much research.
And what time do you think, aa a general
rule, I have devoted to study, to reading
and writing t Not more than three hours a
day; and, when Parliament is sitting, not
always that. But then, during those hours,
I have gjven my whole attention to what I
was about."
The Art or Being Polite. —First
and foremost, don’t try to be polite I It
will spoil all! If you keep overwhelming
your guests with ostentatious entreaties to
make themselves at home, they will very
soon begin to wish they were there. Let
them fiud out that you are happy to see
them by your actions rather than words.
Always remember to let bashful people
alone at first. It is the only way to set
them at ease. Trying to draw them out
ha* sometimes the contrary effect of dri
ving them out—of the house ! Leading
the conversation is a dangerous experiment.
Better follow iu its wake, and if you want
to endear yourself to talkers, learn to listen
well. Never make a fuss about anything
—never talk about yourself—and always
preserve composure, no matter what sole
cism or blunders others may commit. Re
member that it is a very foolish proceeding
to lament that you can not offer to your
guest a better house, or furniture, or viands.
It is foir to presume that the visit is toyou
end not to these surroundings. Give peo
ple a pleasant impression of themselves,
and they will be pretty sure to go away
with a pleasant impression of our qualities
On just such slender wheels a* these the
whole fabric of society turns; it is yonr
business then to keep them in revolving
order.
A late philosopher says: “Beore peo
ple take tbe leap through the wedding-ring,
they should be quite certain that the
blanket of connubial contentment is held
tight oo the other aide."
Stccessfcl Editor.—An English wri
ter saye what is very true, that “a good ed
itor, a competent newspaper conductor, is
like a general or a poet, born, not made.
Exercise and experience give facility, but
tbe qualification is innate or it is never man
ifested. On the London daiily papers all
tbe great historians, novelists, poets, essay
ists, and the writers of travels, have ’been
tried, and nearly every one foiled. ‘loan,'
said the late editor of tbe London Times,
‘find any number of men of genius to writ*
for me, bat very seldom one man of Com
mon sense.’ Nearly all succesful editors
are of this description. A good editor sel
dom writes much for bis paper—he reads,
judges, selects, dictates, alters, and com
bines, and to do all this well he has but
little time for composition. To write for a
paper is one thing—to edit a paper anoth
er.”
A Sabbath-school superintendent, after
inveighing against tbe “pernicous practice"
which he said some well-intentioned per
sons indulge in, of telling amusing stories
to children, went on to give his scholars
something more excellent, and which
should to no manner create amusement.
He would tell them about Peter. “And
who was Peter!” be asked. No reply,
"Wbat!” be exclaimed, "cannons of you
tell me who Peter wasf ’ At last a little
boy about four years old held up his hand
in token of knowledge on tbe subject,
“There is a boy—a little b#—who can
tell me who Peter was," said the superin
tendent, looking reprovingly al the larger
children. “Now, my son, tell me who Pe
ter was.”
“Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater.
Had a wile sod could'ot keep her,”
wss the triumphant response.
Southern Call for Bridget.—We
find the follow ing in tho Woodville Repub
lican :
Wanted.—Having been deprived, by
intrigues of* neighbor and friend, of all
my labor, I am in need of a cook, washer
and ironer. An ugly white woman, who
will get breakfast before eleven o'clock,
dinner before dsrk, and keep in a good hu
mor, and will not start to report me to tbe
Provost Marshall more than once a week,
will find a comfortable home end fair wa
ges by immediate application. No appli
cation by a colored lady will be entertain
ed. (Should they apply, they will be refer
red to the Freedman's headquarters, in this
neighborhood.
The Best of Gifts. —A celebrated
writer says, tbe best thing to give your en
emy is forgiveness; to your opponents, tol
erance ; to a friend, your heart; to vour
children, a good example; to s father, de
ference ; to your mother, conduct that will
make her proud of you; to yourself, res
pect ; to all men, charity.
A French writer, in describing the trad
ing powers of the genuine Yankee, said :
“If he was cast away on a desolate island,
he’d get up the next morning and go
around selling maps to the inhabitants.”
The last case of indolence is related in
one of our exchanges; it is that of a man
named John Hole, who was so lazy, that
in writing his name he simply used tbe let
ter J., and then punched a bole through
the paper I
‘ ‘Spell cat," said a little girl of five years
of age, tbe other day to a smaller one on
ly three.” “I can’t," was the reply.
“Well, then," continued the yonthtul mis
tress, “If you cau’t spell ‘cat,’ spell ‘kit
ten.’”
Rousseau used to say, “that to write a
good love letter, you ought to begin with
out knowing wbat you mean to say, and
to finish without knowing what you have
written.”
A lady was asked to join one of the di
visions of the Daughters of Tempo rence.
She replied, '‘This is unnecessary, as it is
my intention to join odc of the sons in the
course of a few weeks.”
“I have lost my appetite," said a gigan
tic fellow, who was an eminent performer
on tbe trencher, to a friend.’ ‘I hope,” said
the frienij, “no poor man has found it, for
it would nun him in a week."
Timid people are bow defined to be—
a lover about to pop the question, a man
who does not like to be a shot, and a steam
boat captain with a cholera case on
board.
A poor man once came to a miser and
said, "I have a favor to ask.” “So have
I,” said the miser; “grant mine first.”
“Agreed.” “Ify request is,” said the miser,
“that you ask me for nothing.”