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se ]s of noble families had bestowed them
pelves on divines. A waiting woman was
<renerally considered as the most suitable
helpmate for a parson. Queen Elizabeth, as
head of the Church, had given what seemed
to be a formal sanction to this prejudice, by
issuing special orders that no clergyman
should presume to marry a servant girl, with
out the consent of her master or mistress.
During several generations, accordingly the
relation between priests and handmaidens was
a theme for endless jest; nor would it be ea
sy to find, in the comedy of the seventeenth
century, a single instance of a clergyman
who wins aspouseabove the rank of a cook.
Even so late as the time of George the Sec
ond. the keenest of all observers of life and
manners, himself a priest, remarked that, in
a great household, the chaplain was the re
source of a lady's maid, whose character had
been blown upon, and who was therefore for
ced to give up hopes of catching the steward.
In general, the divine who quitted his chap
lainship for a benefice and a wife, found that
he had only exchanged one classof vexations
for another. Not one living in fifty enabled
the incumbent to bring up a family comforta
bly As children multiplied and grew, the
household of the priest became more and
more beggarly. Holes appeared more and
more plainly in the thatch of his parsonage
and in his single cassock. Often it was on
ly by toiling on his glebe, by feeding swine,
and by loading dung-carts, that he could ob
tain daily bread; nor did his utmost exertions
always prevent the bailiffs from taking his
concordance and his inkstand in execution.
It was a white day on which he was admit
ted into the kitchen of a great house, and re
galed by the servants with cold meat and ale.
His children were brought up like the chil
dren of the neighboring peasantry. His boys
followed the plough, and his girls went out
to service. Study he found impossible; for
the advowson of his living would hardly
have sold for a sum sufficient to purchase a
good theological library; and he might be
considered as unusually lucky, if he had ten
or twelve dogseared volumes among the pots
and pans on his shelves. Even a keen and
strong intellect might be expected to rust in so
unfavorable a situation.”
Sclcctci* jloctrn.
THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR.
BY BERNARD BARTON.
Fortv'-eight ! Old year! So thou
Hast for aye departed now :
All thy fitful hopes and fears,
All thy transient smiles and tears,
All thy many anxious schemes,
Now appear like fading dreams.
Such as owed to time their birth
Have but proved themselves of earth,
Born to dazzle and to die,
Linked not with eternity.
Forty-nine ! The year’s begun !
Hail’d by many! known to none !
Gladsome bells, with merry peal,
Thine auspicious birth reveal:
Who may hear thy parting kuele,
God and he alone, can tell!
Joyous tongues around express,’
For thee, hopes of happiness:
Sober’d hearts, too, here and there
Greet thee with a voiceless prayer.
But thy glory and thy gloom
Still are in thy future’s womb :
Whatsoe’er of good or ill
Shall bo given thee to fulfil,
May we look to him alone
Who can make thtfct good our own :
W’ho can guide us from each ill,
While we seek to do his will;
And when we from time must sever,
Tako ub to himself forever.
From tlie Literary American.
I TRUST IN GOD, AND TRUST IN THEE.
I trust in thee, because I know
That thou dost place thy trust on high ;
That, wheresoever thou dost go,
From out the blue and bending sky
The all-regarding eye of Love
Looks down, well-pleased thy faith to seo
I too have fixed my faith above,
And, trusting God, I trust in thee.
1 placed my heart within his care,
And he has placed it now in thine;
He listens to mine earnest prayer,
And thou wilt keep this heart of mine.
And thou wilt never love me less,
And never he less kind to me :
I smile, amid my loneliness —
I trust in God —I trust iu thee.
I know that if thou could’st forget
To warm my soul with love and light,
Each earthly hope for me would set
In clouds of everlasting night;
And yet I ask no word to tell
That thou dost still remember me ;
For, in seronestjoy I dwell,
And trust in God—and trust in thee.
§®©lfa StE 53 h a ITS IE AS Y (2 &8&IF H* B *
The love of soul with soul extends
Far. far, beyond this fading sphere,
And thou and 1 shall still be friends
When we have done with all things here.
When earthly love shall sink in dust,
Still mind to mind shall wedded be ;
Believing this, in God I trust—
Believing this, I trust in thee.
Dark, very dark, the present seems ;
It scarce can claim one cheering ray:
But Hope flings forth her rosiest gleams
Where visions of the future stray.
Think not that loving makes mo sad —
Thou art not sad to think of me ;
And I—ah1 —ah ! should I not be glad 1
I trust in God—and trust in thee !
> >
WISHES.”
Sweet be her dreams—the fare, the young
Grace, Beauty, breathe upon her :
Music, haunt thou about her tongue—
Life, fill her path with honor !
All golden thoughts, all wealth of days—
Truth, Friendship Love, surround her !
So may she smile till life be closed,
And angel hands have crowned her.
©clectic of tUit.
THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER.
M. Bochsa, the harpist, is a wag. At the
concert on Thursday night, at the Temple,
Mulls. B. appeared before the audience for
the second time during the evening’s perfor
mance for the purpose of playing any airs
the auditors might select, with impromptu
embellishments and variations. M. Bochsa
is master of his instrument, and the harp in
his hands is susceptible of almost anything in
reason —but it might seem a question of taste,
whether, martial hymns are exactly the thing
to display the beauties of a harp. However,
we are a “democratic 1 ” people, and Mons. 8.,
albeit he is a wag, understands the principle !
“You will please send me ze tune vot I
sal play” —proposed Monsieur to the audience,
as he came upon the platform.
Half a dozen strips of paper immediately
found their way to the stand, and Monsieur
B. read them aloud, “0 Dolce Concento” —
“Yankee Doodil” —(I know him vera veil. —
I play him, one, two, three—several times!)
“Groves O’Blarney” —“Yankee Doo ” —(I
have two Yankee Doodils.) “Non puimes
ta” —Tres Be in.
“ Star Spangled Banner /” shouted some
body in the crowd.
“VatYousai?” inquired Bochsa.
“ Star Spangled Banner.”
Monsieur didn’t understand. He was a
little hard of hearing. He stepped quietly
down from the rostrum, and approached one
of the aisles.
“ Ze zhentilman vill plees step to ze front”
—but the stranger declined.
“ If ze zhentilman can’t come to me, I must
come to him,” continued Monsieur. The au
dience took “ the cue” —and a roar followed
this announcement, pending which the stran
ger made his appearance. A round of ap
plause greeted him as he passed to the foot of
the passage way where stood Monsieur, in
attitude most provokingly grave waiting for
further explanation.
“Vot you sai, sair?”
“The Star Spangled Banner, I want.”
“ Scar-tangle bannair ?•—ah, ha!— N 1 com
prende, Monsieur.”
“Not Scar Strangled , sir, Star Spangled
Banner.”
“ Ze bannaire —Oui—l un’erstan’ — Zeflag”
“Yes yes—The Flag of the United States.”
“Yes, sair, I remember him ver’ mooch.—
Zat is I do not recollec’ him zac’ly—Mon
sieur you know him]”
“ Why yes, to be sure—everybody knows
the Star Spangled Banner.”
Tres bien , Monsieur. Every Yankee
zhentleman vissel. You sal vissel him in my
ear.”
Another shout went up from the audience,
and the gentleman, nothing abashed, placed
his mouth at the side of Bochsa’s head, and
commenced whistling the “ Star Spangled
Banner” most philosophically, amid the con
vulsions of the audience, who could not find
this scene upon the hills of the evening!
“ Tres bien —Monsieur!” shouted Bochsa
—“elegant— superb! —Monsieur, you von
ver fine musician —l sal play ze Scar Stan
gled Bannaire vis much pleasur! -and
mounting the platform, he commenced with a
grand introduction to the several themes pro
posed, which was followed by some highly
finished and excellently performed variations
upon the melodies sent up, not forgetting his
two “ Yankee Doodils”—always so certain a
favorite.
On a sudden—a crash ot harmony leaped
from the harp strings, which took the andi
ence by surprise! An instant’s rest follow
ed, when our own beautiful National air, the
“Star Spangled Banner,” was produced,
with the most brilliant accompaniment, which
brought down shouts from the house.
Bochsa was satisfied—his friend was satis
fied—the audience were satisfied—and the
splendid harpist l§ft the stage, (with a quiet
smirk at the corner of his mouth) amid a
perfect stonn of applause !— Boston Post.
HOW TO GET A BERTH.
A short time since, a couple of friends of
ours—one belonging to Jersey City, whom we
shall call “Joe,” and the other to Salem, Mas
sachusetts, whom we will designate by the
name of “Ned”—after spending a few days
in this city, took their departure in the steam
er Vanderbilt, for Boston. On going on
board the steamboat, Ned discovered that Joe
had not secured his berth for the night, and
that they were all taken—consequently, his
friend would be obliged to lie upon a settee.
Joe was a great strutterer, and likewise fond
of playing practical jokes.
“ Well,” said Ned, “ what are you going to
do ? You say you are determined to have a
berth—how do you intend to get it?”
u Wa-wa-wait and s-s-see, Ned. Wli-wh
what number is your b-b-b-berlh ?”
“ One hundred and twenty-nine.” said Ned.
“ V-v-very w-w-well,” replied Joe; “I-I-I
will have one hundred and t-t-t-twenty-eight.”
Accordingly, Joe got the berth-hook, and
discovered that a Mr. William Caball had se
cured it. “ Th-th-that’s my b-b-b-berth, any
how, Ned,” exclaimed our stuttering friend.
Shortly after supper. Ned told Joe he was
going to bed ; and Joe prepared to accompany
him and actually turned into berth one hun
dred and twenty-eight.
Ned lay awake, expecting something of a
row, and it was not long before his expecta
tions were realized; for Mr. William Caball
soon came along, and demanded of Joe what
right he had in his birth.
“ You be b-b-blamed,” he replied ; “ I-I
I’m in my ow T n b-b-b-birth.”
“ No, you are not,” replied Caball; “ for I
secured this berth myself, this forenoon.”
“ Don’t c-c-care if you d-d-did,” said Joe;
“it’s m-m-my h-h-berth, any how.”
“ Well, I will see the clerk of the boat and
find out whether I am to be cheated out of my
birth in this manner,” replied Caball.
It was but a short time before Caball re
turned with the clerk, who demanded by what
right he had taken one hundred and twenty
eight.
“ Be-be-because it’s m-m-my b-b-b-birth,”
replied Joe.
“Ah!” said the clerk; “pray, what may
be your name ?”
“ W-W-William Ca-Ca-Caball /” replied
Joe.
“Why, curse the fellow,” replied Caball,
as he gave up in despair, “ he’s not satisfied
with stealing my berth, but he must also steal
my name !”
Sfarospajm: 2tnaUcto.
LUXURY.
The progress of luxury in the last century
is strongly marked by the facts furnished in
the following paragraph from a British Mag
azine :
“It is recorded in a Review of London,
published near a century since, that the first
coffee-house ever established in England was
kept by a barber, named James Farr, at the
sign of the Rainbow, opposite Chancery-lane,
which still goes by the same name. In 1708,
he waspresented by the inquest of St. Dun
stan’s in the west, for making and selling a
liquor called coffee, as a great nuisance, and
prejudicial to the neighborhood. Who would
then have imagined, that in the progres of
50 succeeding years, such unisances should
have increased to no less a number than 3000.
In 1768. when the signs were taken down,
to give free circulation to the air in the streets
of the metropolis, and the numerous taverns
decreased, coffee-houses continued to multi
ply, in consequence of the opinion of the
College of Physicians, who stated publicly,
that coffee was a wholesome beverage. It
was then received into general estimation, and
continued to be drank with avidity until the
present day, when it appears by the register
at the licensing office, that there are upwards
of 9000 coffee-houses existing in London and
its environs.”
TRUE BLUE.
Everybody has heard and made use of the
phrase “ true blue;” but everybody does not
know that its first assumption was hv the
Covenanters, in opposition to the scarlet haduo
of Charles 1., and hence it was taken by the
troops of Leslie and Montrose in 1639. The
adoption of the color was one of those relig
ious pedantries in which the Covenanters af
fected a pharisaical observance of the script
ural letter, and the usages of the Hebrews ;
and thus, as they named their children Habak
kuk and Zerubabel, and their chapels Zion
and Ebenezar, they decorated their persons
with blue ribbons, because the following
sumptuary precept was given in the Jaw ot
Moses: “ Speak unto the children of Israel,
and bid them that they make them fringes in
the borders of their garments, throughout the
generations, and that they put upon the fringe
of the borders a ribband of blue.”
Regard for truth. —We are of those who
never forgive a falsehood. A man may possess
gentlemanly manners, a fine mind, an admira
ble heart, rich stores of acquired knowledge,
everything in short to render him an instruc
tive or agreeable companion, butif we find him
guilty of a deliberate and wanton untruth, we
can no longer yield him our confidence or
trust in him as a friend. It was the remark
of Sir Walter Scott, that habits of falsehood
undermined the whole character. Our own
experience leads to the same conclusion. The
person who will lie, only requires secrecy and
security to cheat, and lie who cheats is but
one remove from a thief. Those nations
which are most notorious for a disregard of
truth, such as the Bengalese, the Greeks, and
the Italians, produce the most swindlers,
hypocrites and assassins ; whil<* the races
that regard their word, though of ruder man
ners perhaps, are frank, honorable and high
minded.
And this difference is phylosophicah Truth
is, as it were, the keystone of morality.
Knock it away, and the whole fabric crum
bles. He who tells a lie with intent to de
ceive, generally wishes to conceal some folly,
or to commit some knavery. Men do not per
petrate falsehoods without a purpose. A de
liberate untruth is the result, therefore, of a
desire to hide some error or crime. It is in
consequence an almost infallible mark of de
fective or vicious character; and the individ
ual who will be guilty of it, maybe regarded
as bad, not only as regards this propensity,
but in other respects also,
A Word to Boys.—The learned Black
smith says : Boys, did you ever think that
this great world, with all its wealth and woe,
with all its mines and mountains, ocean s
seas, and rivers, with all its shipping, its
steamboats, railroads, and magnetic tele
raplis, and all its millions of darkly grouping
men, and all the science and progress of ages,
will soon be given over to hoys of the pre
sent age —boys like you, assembled in school
rooms, or playing without them, on both sides
the Atlantic ? Believe it, and look abroad
on your inhcrritance, and get ready to enter
upon its possession. The Kings, Presideuts,
Governors, Statesmen, Philosophers, Minis
ters, Teachers, men of the future, all are
boys whose feet, like yours, cannot reach the
floor, w hen seated on the benches upon which
they are learning to master the monosyllables
of their respective languages.
Drunkenness, (says Christopher North in
those inimitable papers, the Nodes Ambrosi
ana,) is the cause of nine-tenths of the grief
and guilt that aggravate the inevitable dis
tresses of the poor. Dry up that horrid thirst
and the hearts of the wretched would sing
aloud for joy. In their sober senses, it sel
dom happens that men, in a Christian coun
try, are such savages. But all cursed pas
sions latent in the heart, and, seemingly at
least, dead or nonexistent, while the heart
beats healthily in sober industry, leap up
fierce and full-grown in the power of drunk
enness, making the man at once a maniac, or
rather at once converting him into a fiend.
1 —i
Mirabeau's Youth.—At a year old he m
described as an enormous fellow, whose pas
time consisted chiefly in beating his nurse.-
At three years old he lay in a precarious statf*
for many days with the small pox, confluent
and malignant, preying upon his very life. —•
His mother, in mistaken kindness, poured
some quack ointments upon his face, so that,
when he recovered, his features were disfig
ured and deformed by huge seams and fur
rows. When Mirabeau was eleven, prizes
were given at Bignon for various feats, and
he was so fortunate as to gain a hat for run
ning. He immediately turned to an old by •
stander, who had but a poor cap, and cover
ing him with the prize hat, said, “Here, take
this: I have not two heads!” “He appear -
ed at that moment,” writes Nivernois, ‘ as the.
emperor of the world!” Nevertheless, to
this child, only eleven, beloved by every bo
dv, wit h a fine, open, free and generous soui,
the Marquis (his father) manifested a'daily
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