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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.”