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AUBI AND I.
L'owu on the slope the cow hells tinkled—
Up lu the trees the robins sung
The bees humrqid low and Arri and I
Slat in the grape-vine there and swung.
Strange dark eyes and a tender face.
Set in fairest golden hair,
A shy soft form of beauty and grace,
Sneli was Arri beside me there.
«
We were children then, they called us so,
And we sat there, under the summer noon.
Swinging listlessly to and fro,
And humming together a low' love tune.
The sycamore drooped its fern-loavod arms,
And like russet tassels swung
To and fro like marriage cells,
On the white twigs silver hung.
There’s a fair soft tress has slept on my heart,
This many and many a day,
I have thought thatlhe heart might scarcely beat
If that were taken away.
Over and over I kiss it—so,
Lav it oat In the moonlight there ;
It brings me back the strange dark eyes,
The tender face, and the golden hair.
She gave It to me one night in May,
Walking under the full new moon—
I was going away in the ship that night—
To come assf*ia iu the next year s June.
I have come again, but it is not June-
Down ou the slope the snow drifts high.
The winter moon shines clear and cold.
The trees are gray and so am I.
Moons have passed away, unremembered,
Since theft—their lustrous coils
Have wound aiound the smiling earth.
Making thd, night their spoils.
Many a May has passed away
Many a June has sped ;
Death and winter reign on the slope,
1 am here, but Arri is dead.
They have made a graveyard down on the slope,
The church bells swing and ring
And white stones part the drifted snow
Close by the grapevine swing.
The sycamore droops its !ong,t>are arms,
And the russet tassels swing
To and fro like funeral bells
Ou the dead twigs where they cling.
We are both here, under the moonlight,
Where we talked so long ago—
Doth, both, are under the moonlight.
But one is under the snow.
Dark eyes lie deep under snow and sod,
Damp mould on tne golden hair—
Deep, deep, under shadow' and gravestones —
Thick dost is gathering there.
Dust, on the forehead pure and white,
Dust on my heart so heavy and cold—
Tempest, and rain, and night, have passed
Over my life so gray and old.
Many a night, and many a storm,
Have darkened the blue Pacific's How—
! only remember one that passed,
Down by the red Equator's glow.
Passed with Ps sheltering wings of night,
We were left on a black baibarbui shore,
The burning tropical day rose up—
And then I counted the t ime ne, more.'
I never counted the burning years.
Crossing tho seas with iheur silent tread.
What matters to me it they went or Coinr —
I was a slave, and she was dead.
i knew she was dead, she came to me.
One nijht when the fiery Southern moon
Was sinking down from the midnight sky—
And May was gliding into June;
Came with her shining hair's soft gold,
Her lender face and girlish brow,
The strange dark eyes wore a sorrowful look
Horrowful then, but she smilcth now.
M A SON IC.
A UOKDS ABOUT TUB FIRST
IEII1 1 UK.
BY M.W. AND HON. PHILIP C. TUCKER,
Past Grand Master of Vermont.
Whatever credulity may effect upon
minds predisposed to mystery, it is doubt
less true, that if there is any evidence of
the existence of any such Freemasonry as
we are acquainted with, previous to the
days of Solomon, it is so very slight t s
scarcely to be appreciable as matter for re
liable history.
Jacob's ladder, the tabernacle iu the
wilderness, the ford of tue river Jordan,
and some other things, are used in Mason
ry as symbolic only—they do not consti
tute links in the chain of Masonic history.
The ladder would represent its masonic
meaning equally as well had its place in
time been centuries later, and its location
have been the Mount of Olives instead of
the plain of Mesopotamia. . The Taberna
cle would lose nothing of its mystic teach
ings, whether it was erected by the tribe
of Levi, in the wilderness, or upon Mount
Zion in tho days of the Temple; and the
sheaf of corn would still bear the full force
of its expressive meaning, whether sus
pended at the ford of the Jordan iu the
days of the Judges, or at the crossing
place of the Euphrates in the days of Al
exander of Macedon.
The organization certainly, and—in the
present state of our information—the orig
ination of the Freemasonry which we pos
sess, occurred in connection with the
building of the Temple of Solomon. We
propose to say a few words about the erec
tion of that temple, desultory, perhaps, in
themselves, and yet, probably, not un
worthy of our remembrance.
‘lt is a very prevalent idea that all the
■workmen engaged Xn the building of the
Temple of Solomon were Jew:*? This is
an error. The Temple was not built ex
ciusively by Jewish hands. Before the
death of David, the Jewish kingdom had
been largely extended. At the time of his
death “ ho left a compact and united State,
sketching from the frontier of Egypt to
the foot of Lebanon, and from the Euplia
rates to the sea. He had crushed the pow
er of the Philistines, subdued or curbed all
the adjacent kindoms, and formed a last
ing ami important alliance with the great
city of Tyre.” The thirty thousand men
who cut the timber for the Temple, the
seventy thousand who were hearers of bur
dens, tiie eighty thousand who hewed the
stone and were employed in the quarries,
were not Israelites hut strangers —although
they were of Canaanitish descent, and
were men who had been permitted to in
habit the Jewish territory. Between them
and the pure Jews Solomon made no dis
tinction, either in the preparation for the
building, or while the work was proceed
ing, or at tiie laying of the capstone, and
the dedication of the structure.
Many strong facts arrest the attention as
we turn our thoughts to the erection of the
first edifice raised upon earth for the wor
ship of “the one only living and true
(Jod.” Our ancient brethren were, at that
time, in great prosperity, and maintained
a long and perfect union for the accom
plishment of the work. Tyre then was the
port of Palestine, and Palestine the grana
ry of Tyre. The Phoenician league em
braced Tyre, Sidon, audAradus, and prob
ably Tripolis, Byblus, and Barytus. For
long years the great purposes of those
wealthy countries were combined and con
centrated to forward the magnificent
woik then going on at Jerusalem. Upon
Mount Moriah all was quietness and
peace. For seven long years, as the walls
of the Temple gradually arose, no “ sound
of axe, h<u,mer, or any tool of iron,” dis
turbed thoquiet and repose of the scene ;
nor, l'or that long period of time, did a sin -
gle storm disturb the labors of the work
men.
At length, th»so labors are ended. Tlie
1 Tuple is tiuis*ed. The capstone is
placed to bind thetast arch, and tire pre
parations for, celebrating that event, aud
dedicating the structure to the God of
Universe, are made. The time fixed is
the month l’isri, or fapteiriber; seven
mouths’ notice are given v> the nation, for
the assemblage of the Hebrews at Jerusa
ietn, “to see the Temple wiiieh had been
built, and to remove the ark of God into
it.” it is the feast of tabernacles. Tin*
“ elders of Israel” the “ headsof the tribes,”
tlie “ chief of the fathers of the children of
Israel” are there in response to the call of
Israel’s king. The humble hill of Moriah,
the spot where Abraham raised the sacri -
ficial altar which, tested his faith in the
Ood of Israel, the threshing-floor ofOmri,
tlie Jcbusito, is before them, and on it
stands the sacred edifice which one nation,
of all the broad earth, has raised to Him
whose existence is written upon its whole
surface, “ in the painted pebble and the
painted flower; in the volcano and in the
cornfield; in the wild, winter storm,
and in the soft, summer moonlight.”
The masses of the nation, also, are there;
the brave and pious men, and the fair aud
devoted women of Israel. Solomon as
sembles them all upon Mount Zion, the
city of his father David. The sun shines
in his glory, and no cloud is to he seen in
the broad sky. The Levites take up the
ark of the covenant, the tabernacle of the
congregation, and the holy vessels of the
tabernacle. Solomon and the congrega
tion stand before the ark, and innumerable
sacrafices are offered up to God. All are
now ready to move from Zion to Moriah.
“The kirnr himself, and all the people and
Levites, went before, rendering the ground
moist with sacrifices and drink offerings,
iirni the blood.of a great number of obla
tions, and burning an immense quantity
of incense; and this, till the very air itself,
everywhere round about, was so full of
those odors that it met, in a most agreeable
manner, persons at a great distance, aud
was an indication of God’s presence; and,
«« Ctrl's opinions were, of hi s habitation
with them in this newly-built and conse
crated place ; tor they did not grow weary
eit her of singing hymns, or dancing until i
they came to the Temple.” These are the
literal words of the Jewish historian
Zion is left behind them. Zion ' long
celebrated for the magnificence of her
edifices, for David’s place and the tombs of
tlie kings, is, for the time, forgotten. Soar
ing over the humble Moriah, she is, for the
moment, as if she were not. Zion attracts
no worshippers now; the impulses of the
By Rose Ac Burr.
Hebrew heart are not there; it is not there
that the heart burst forth, or that tiie
knee is bent. It is separated from its
choicest and holiest treasures. The ark of
the covenant and the tabernacle are no
longer there. They have descended to a
more magnificent and more sacred resting
place. .
At the Temple the Ark of the covenant
is placed under the extended wings of the
Cherubim. Then the singers of Asaph, of
Hernan, of Jedathan, with their sons and
brethren, arrayedin white linen and hear
ing their cymbals, their psalteries, and
harps, stand at the east end of the altar :
and with them, also, one hundred and
twenty priests with trumpets. They burst
forth at the same instant, and but one
harmony is heard. Voices mingle among
the music of the trumpets, and the cym
bals and other instruments, and a whole
nation is heard, in fine grand unison, ex
claiming: “O, praise the Lord! for lie is
good, for his mercy endureth forever.” No
such worship had existed from the Crea
tion till then ; no such has been heard
since; and none such is likely to be heard
on eartli hereafter. And then says the
Bible, “ the house was filled with a cloud ;
so that the priests could not stand to min
ister by reason of the cloud ; for the glory
of the Lord had filled the house of God.”
And “ now,” says Josephus, in describ
ing the same scene, “ as sooti as the priests
had put all things iu order about the ark,
and were gone out, there came down a
thick clout! and stood there, and spread
itself, after a gentle manner, into the tem
ple ; such a cloud it was as was diffused
and temperate; not such a rough one as
we see full of rain in the winter season.—
This cloud so darkened the place that one
priest could not discover another; but it
afforded to the minds of all a visible im
age and glorious appearance of God’s hav
ing descended into this Temple, and of
his having gladly pitched his tabernacle
therein.”
In a state of things like this, Solomon,
King of (steal, stood before the altar, upon
a brazen scaffold three cubits high in the
midst of the court of the Temple; knelt
upon his knees before the whole congrega
tion of Israel, extended his hands towards
Heaven, ami exclaimed: “O Lord God
of Israel! there is no God like thee in
heaven nor in earth. Will God, in very
deed, dwell with men on the earth! Be
hold, Heaven and the Heaven of Heavens
run not contain Thee; how much less this
house which I have built.” And, among
other petitions to God, most glorious and
sublime, be prays: “ Moreover, concern
ing Ihe stranger which is not of Thy peo
ple Israel, but is come from a far country
for Thy great name's sake, and Thy mighty
hand, and Thy stretched-out arm; if they
come and pray iu the house, then hear
Thou from the Heavens, even from Thy
dwelling-place, and do according to all
that tiie stranger cal let b to Thee for; that
\atl the people of the earth may know Thy
name, amt fear Thee, as doth Thy people
Israel, and may know that ibis house
which I have built, is called by Thy
name.”
When this magnificent prayer was end
ed, the Bible informs us, that “the tire
came down from Heaven and consumed
the burnt offering and the sacrifices,” aifd
that “ the glory of the Lord- filled the
house,” and that “ when all the children
oflsreal saw how the fire came down,
and the glory of the Lord upon the house,
they bowed themselves, with their faces
to the ground, upon the pavement,
and worshiped ana praised the Lord;”
bearing out in their praises the glorious
language of the singers—“ For He is good,
His mercy endureth forever.”
It is not needful to follow this character
of our reminiscences further at this time.
VVe have spoken only of those things
which lay directly in our path —we have
passed many others, some of them too
sublime and high for this place, or for
the intellectual mastery of any mere hu
man being.
The first Temple—built by man and con
secrated by God—must always stand out,
in human history, as speaking to W\cpres
ent and pointing to the future. In the
quarries where its stone was prepared; in
Lebanon, whence came its cedars; in its
sanctum, where its architect stood; in its
jjecrtt chambers, where the King of Israel,
the King of Tyre, and theirnoblu assistant
associated, we believe that our society had
organization, and, most probably, its
birth. And what sensible Mason asks for
a nobler parentage? The little hill of
Moriah, insignificant indeed among the
bills and mountains by comparison, is not
only the spot of all this wide world where
the most interesting facts of human his
tory, in connection with the future, have
occurred, but is exclusively the spot where
a fair answer can be given to the question:
“ Does God indeed dwell on the earth?”
there, in the cloud, the fire, anti the spoken
voice, humility, faith, and truth, can ap
propriately respond to the question.
And what Mason on earth may not
well feel not only satisfied, but proud,
that he can trace his genealogy to the hill
of Moriah? What Mason may not feel
his heart full at remembering that upon
that sacred hill Masonry was boro ?
The bird foot-prints and the rain-drop
impressions in the solid rocks upon the
shore of the Connecticut, and the animal
foot-prints in the firm sandstone of Scot
land, embody an'unspokeu art unwritten
history of long past ages. They speak to
us of existing life and of storms, before
that portion of the earth’s surface, in
which they appear, had hardened into
rock—and the direction in which tho rain
drops struck reaches even to revealing to
us tlie quarter from which the wind then
blew. Strong revalations these, indeed,
where the dumb rocks of earth are our
only teachers. So, the dove which silently
brought the olive-leaf to Noah, imparted
the knowledge of the existence of dry
land, olive trees and a mild climate. The
foot-prints and the rain-drops of Masonry
are upon Mount Moriah ; the east wind of
Judea has borne the facts which they in
dicate to farthest West; olive-leaves of
Masonry have been borne on scions trans
planted from the gardens and groves oI
Jerusalem; and the firm and solid earth
basis ou which the Masonic mystic temple
reposes, is the traditions and the history
of the land of Solomon.
“Watchman— ‘Does his beams alone
UII<I the that save them birtli ?'
Bhothsk — 1 Ages are ils own—
See, it hursts o’er all the earth.’ ’ ’
Ah Gx<|Uitllc Story •
BY LAMARTINE. *
In the tribe of Neggdeh, there was a
horse whose fame was spread far and near,
ami a Bedouin of another tribe, by name
Duller, desired extremely to possess it.—
Having ottered in vain for it his camels
and his whole wealth, he bit at length
upon the following device, by which he
hoped to gain the object of his desire :
He resolved to stain bis face with tlie
juice of an herb, to clothe himself in rags,
to tie his legs and neck together, so as to
appear like a lame begger. Thus equipped
he went to wait for Naber, the owner of
the horee, who he knew was to pass that
way. When he saw Xu her approaching
on his beautiful steed, he cried out in a
weak voice:—
“ I am a poor stranger; for three days I
have been unable to move from this spot
to seek for food. lam dying, help me, and
heaven will reward you.”
The Bedouin kindly offered to take him
upon his horee and carry him home.
But tlie rogue replied ; “ I cannot rise,l
have no strength left.”
Naber, touched with pity, dismounted,
led his horse to the spot, and, with great
difficulty, set the seeming begger on his
back. But no sooner did Daher feel him
self in the saddle, than he set spurs to the
horse, and galloped off', calling out as he
did so, '
“ It is I, Daher. have got the horse
and am off with it.”
.Naber called for him to stop and listen.
Certain of not being pursued, he turned
ana halted at a short distance from Naber,
who was armed with a spear.
" You have taken my horse,” said the
latter. “ Since lieaveu has willed it, 1
wish vou joy of it; but I do conjure you
never’tell any one howyou obtained it.
“ And why not,” said Daher.
* i Because,” said the noble Arab, an -
other man might be really ili, and men
would fear to help him. Aou would be
the cause of many refusing to perform an
act ofcliarlty for fear of being duped as I
have been.” . ,
Struck with shame at thesewords,Daher
was silent for a moment, then springing
from the horse returned it to its owner,
embracing him. Naber made him accom
pany him to his tent, where they spent a
few days together, and became fast friends
or life.
THE UAVEL SONG.
Air — Tramp, Tramp, Tramp.
Through tiie murky clouds of night
Bur sts the blaze of Orient Mgnt—
In the ruddy East appears the breaking Day:
Oh, ye Masons, up, tiie sky
Speaks the time ol labor nigh,
Aud the Master calls the quarrymen away .
' One, Two, Three, the Gavel sounding,
One, Two, Three, the Draft obey:
Led by holy Word of Love,
And the fear of One above
In the strength of God begin the opening Day.
Oh the memory of the time
When the Temple,rose Himllnie,
Aud JicitovAH caine in' fire aud cloud to see!
As we bowed* in worship there
First we formed the Pehksct Square,
And the Master blest the symbol of the Free.
While the Mason-craft shall stand,
Aud they journey o'er rue land,
As the golden sun awakes the ernlh mid main,
They will join In mystic ways
To recall the happy d»y« •
When on Zion’s mount they bulll Jehovah’s
sane.
Life is fleeting as a shade—
We must join the qrtiet dead.
But Freemasonry eternal liie shall bear;
And in bright Milieu la I way
They will keep the Opening Day
With the Sign and Step that make tho Perfect
Square.
Chorus.
Masonic Monthly.
FRATERNAL FACTS FOR FItK E
n a s o N s.
From Ist Franc Macon for September, 1857, trans
lated from a German Journal, published at Al
tenburg, entitled “ JtrudcrbloUer jur J-'rm- ;
mauri t.”
According to the familiar letters of the !
Baron de Bielfield, the Prince Royal
Frederic 11. being one day in company
with ins father,at tiie House of the Prince j
of Oran, at Loo, the conversation turned
upon Masonry, His father spoke of it
with contempt; hut the Count <>( Lippe-
Buckebourg defended it. On this occa
sion,'Frederic in secret expressed to the
Count his desire to he made a Mason, and
selected for Ills reception the Orient of
Braunswig, and fixed for it the night of
tln> 14th-loth of August, 1738. He appear- ;
ed there at that time, with the Count de;
Truch-sess-Waldbourg, whom lie proposed
for reception after himself. Frederic in
sisted that, no change in the reception
should be made in hie favor, and that lie
should he initiated like any other candi
date; and it. was accordingly so done. He
was applauded for his demeanor at the re
ception, ami above all for the admirable ;
courage with which he underwent/ tiie
tests, w hich were then real, terrible, and
often dangerous.
Frederic the Great alwHys firmly main- j
taiued that Masonry was an institution
useful to the State, because, lie often said, i
it prohibits Masons from intermeddling in
politic 1 matters, it requires them to serve
their country, and its object is the perfect
morulization of its members. Jn one of
bis letters, written on the 30th of January,
1777, to tbc National Grand Master, Prince
Frederic de Brauns wig. he thus expressed
biuiself, “ 1 cannot but infinitely applaud
the spirit which leads ail Masonic breth
ren to be good patriots aud faithful sub
jects; and under a Grand Master as en
lightened as your Most Serene Highness,
who, lo superior talents unites the most
tender attachment for my person, I can
not hut promise myself the most fortunate
results, from his devoted exertions to in
crease virtue and true patriotism iu the
hearts of my subjects.”
In another letter, written by the same
Prince on the 14th of Fehurury, 1777, to
t he Venerable Master of the Lodge of Royal
Yorkde VAmitie, at the Orient of Potsdam,
we find these expressions : “ The Masonic
society, whose sole object it is to make,
germinate aud to produce fruit of every
kind of virtue in my States, may always
count upon iriy protection. I; is a glori
ous duty of every good sovereign, and i
will never fail to fulfill it.”
Profanes have, therefore, falsely asserted
that this Prince once said, in a conversa
tion in regard to Masonry, “ It is a great
nothing." It is true that he separated
from tiie Order; but the reason was this:
Iu the first year of his reign, he establish
ed a Lodge of twenty-four members, whose
labors be directed, as Master. It was
composed of his most eminent statesmen
aijd generals, aud those rayst devoUid to
his person. Among them was General
Wailrave, his favorite and intimate
friend. After the conquest of the province
of Schleswig, Frederic commissioned him
to repair tiie old fortresses and build new
ones in that province. That of Neise,
being tiie most important, on account of
its excellent strategical position and its
mines, w as specially recommended to him
by the king.
Seduced by bribes of money, Wailrave
entered into an intimate correspondence
with the Austrian Prince Kaunitz, the
sworn enemy of the King of Prussia, and
made known to him the plan aud secret
mines of that important fortress.
This being discovered the monarch could
not permit tiie traitor to go unpunished ;
and this traitor, whom he had loaded with j
favors, and made him his brother, was
about to be proceeded against for the crime
of high treason. Frederic reflected on this j
perplexing case, and finally came to a |
determination worthy of himself, and at
the same time truly Masonic.
The Royal Master convoked the Lodge, j
and pronounced there an eloquent dis
course upon morality. He spoke to the
brethren with enthusiasm, of tlie duties of
Masons toward their brethren. Toward
the close of his discourse, his affectionate .
language was changed for words full of i
ardent fire, which caused in his auditors!
great astonishment, and filled them with j
emotion. The King Mason, profoundly
pained, rose from Ilia seat, and majestically
pronounced these Masonic words:
“One of the brethren here present lias
committed a horrible crime—a crime for
which be merits capital punishment.— J
This Mason has violated the laws of our 1
Order, aud failed in his duty to his coun
try. He has broken his Masonic oath, and
become an ingrate and a traitor, toward
me, his Venerable Master, toward me, his
king, his brother, his friend‘and his bene
factor. Asking,! wish fraternally to offer
him my hand, and raise him from the
moral abyss into which he has fallen; as
a man, I wish to forget the past. I ask
only that he will avow his crime, here,
among us, in the family, i wish him to
promise to forsake the path he has taken,
to repent; and all shall forever remain a
secret between us, and the least mention
never be made of it. But, if lie remans
silent, unwilling to accept the forgiveness
that as a Mason I offer him, then I declare
to him, that I shall be obliged to leave this
Lodo-e forever; and that, as the king, his
Master, and the first magistrate of the
country, I shall be forced to do my duty,
and deliver him into the hands ol justice,
to be tried for his offense.”
These earnest words moved and penetra
ted Ihe hearts of all the members, who, af
flicted and trembling, gazed upon one
another; but no one dared speak, or could
gUPH& to whom this stern aud yet just royal
sentence of their Venerable Master could
be addressed. The traitor himself was
silent. , , ~ , .
After some moments of silence, the King
repeated liis words, but more camly. The
membersstill responded by silence. Then,
with tears in his eyes, the great king,
with a smothered voice, uttered these
words; “Asa brother Mason, I have
performed my duty; but, alas! I see, that
even among this small number of Masons,
Masonic feeling does not govern; that
neither oath, nor sacred duties, nor sworn
fidelity, nor the gratitude due a benefactor
are strong enough to restrain men, to stifle
their evil passions, and to prevent them
from wronging their fellows. 1 close this
Lodge forever; and will never again take
up the gavel.”
He closed the Lodge in the usual form,
and expressing the most touching senti
ments, with bared head, he replaced tlie
guvel in the East.
In the ante-chamber of the Lodge, upon
retiring, he demanded of General Wall
rave his sword, and ordered him to be ar
rested and placed in custody for trial. He
was condemned to thirty years imprison
ment; and died before expiating his
offense. Once he wrote from his prison to
the king, beseeching his pardon, referring
him to the 88th Psalm of David. The
king answered by sending him the 101st
Psalm.
Charges against Masons must be accom
panied with ample specifications or they
cannot be sustained.
A lodge should not recommend material
to another winch they are unwilling to
use themselves.
Macon, Ga., Wednesday, November 1, 1567.
FRANKNESS.
Scarcely any other of the every-day,
common-place virtues is so generally mis
apprehended and overatted as frankness.
Os course we like all men to tie open and
above board in their dealings, and we pre
fer that social intercourse should be some
thing more than an affair between mental
irdn-ciads. But while deceit and falsehood
are not desirable elements of conversation,
obtrusive and unseasonable sincerity, on
the other hand, is equally to be avoided.—
Truth au naturel is too rude a dish for tiie
fastidious palate of society. It is, Indeed,
rather a condiment or a hors d'truer e than
a piece de resistance, and few are aware on
how small a supply of it society, itself an
agreeable fiction, manages to subsist.. In
itself, and used in moderation, candor is
good ; but its abuse is so probable and so
fatal that it is safest to leave it alone. Once
a man begins to pride himself upon his
frankness lie is lost. There is nothing for
it but to write his social epitaph, and bury
him in tbe bosom of his family. There he
may display his virtue with a degree of
immunity and comfort that he will never
find in the impatient and censorious world.
And yet to the candid man it seems.no
doubt, very unjust, that he gets so little re
cognition. For we all praise frankness in
the abstract and at a distance —that dis
tance which lends enchantment; we uphold
it from the pulpit and the tea-tray; we
instil it into the youthful mind through
the medium of copybook and sampler; we
suller ourselves to be exhorted to its culti
vation at school exhibitions; we write
pleasing stories for juvenile magazines To
illustrate its beauties, wherein the good
little James, whose ingenuoususss is only
surpassed by his profound knowledge of
the catechism, receives the toothsome
plum-cake, and eventually tiie highest
offices in the gift of the author, while tin*
naughty little Jacky, who tells stories, is
entrapped into a'decayed apple-tree and
ignotuiuiously drowned; at the club and
tiie fireside, ill lectures and essays, we in
veigh against the hollowuess of society
where it is quietly ignored. Vet.after all,
from its actual presence we recoil with
aversion and dismay. And why? Be
cause society is right and we are wrong;
because as a rule frankness in actual play
does more harm than good. Nevertheless
ourcaudid friend has a clear right to com -
plain that our practice so fails short of our
preaching. After all, the fault lies not
with him, but with us; not iu tiie virtue
which a right judgement commends, but
in the human weakness which is unequal
to its attendant and inevitable evils.
Frankness, exercised about one’s seif, is
well enough in its way. There is no good
reason why a man should not share the
secrets of his mental and moral processes
with uli the word, if he choose and tho
world be willing. In friendship it is even
to some extent necceasary. We never
feel quite satisfied unless we know some
thing about our friend which no one ei.-e
knows; unless we have the key to a cham
ber iu IBs heart which is a Blue Beard’s
Gioset to all byside. He who unveils to
us the secrets of his individuality, w ho
gives us tiie clue to the labyrinth of ins
idiosyncrasies, enters into our being and
becomes apart of ourselves. It gratifies
at oce our curiosity and our vanity; we
are all eager to catch a glimpse of that pro
found mystery, a mates real iuuer life,
and it Halters us to be admitted within tbe
gcnclraUa. But apart from friendship, if
the candid man be otherwise clever and
well-informed, and if he have the tact to
know just how far not to go, he isjipt to
be a genial companion. Os course we oth
efs of the emuncla nar<.s, w ho scent out so
infailiably the hidden faults and frailties
of our neighbors—we see ail this charming
ingenuousness is only a phase of self-love.
Tbe candid man talks about himself be
cause self is the uppermost notion in his
mind; iK-cause be deems his affairs of
general interest. So he amuses and lifts i
us a step above him, so to speak’; we gen
erally feel a gentle glow <g' superiority to
him whom we detect in such a self-dclu- ,
sion, aud the sense ofsuperiority is always
soothing. Indeed, with tiie help of a fer
tile fancy and a correct ta- te, sell' may be
made attractive enough, and so deftly aud
variously disguised at readily to deceive
any careless observer. But as fancy and
taste are comnaritively rare possessions,
so, in the hands of most of men, frankness
is apt to become an awful mitsance. when i
our friend Jones first favors us with a mi
nute statement of his health ami business
prospects we hear him willinglyieven with
pleasure, for Jones is a good fellow iu the
main, and a good friend; when he pro
ceeds to lay bare tiie peculiarities of his
moral condition, we pity but endure; and
perhaps, if we have read the Book of Job
to good purpose, we feign considerable in
terest in the recital or his family affairs,
the details of his domestic management,
the ailments of his babies, and the despo
tisms of his wife. But thenceforth we
cease to court June’s society; we no longer
meet him with that cordiality and bon
homie which made our former intercourse
so delightful; when* chance does throw
us together, we are conscious of a feeling
of restraint, an uneasy propensity to edge
away—in short, Jones rapidly assmes all
the repulsive features of a first-class bore.
And yet Jones has no idea that lie is not
vastly entertaining, and ends his confi
dence with much sitisfaction and increas
ed affection for ourselves. It is quite sad
that j*o much genuine good feeiiug and
amiability as Jones displays should lie
wasted—should have so very opposite an
effect to his intention. It is all the fault
of this abominable perverse human nature
of ours. And so, teu to one, wo gradually
lose a very good friend; for presently
Jones sees that we avoid him, and is nat
urally piqued; his affection cools, and by
degrees we slide into diverging orbits. He
I is too proud to demand an explanation,
which wo should he unable to give. To
do so, in fact, would lie to fail into au er-
I ror which, let us hope, we are too discreet
to he guilty of—that worse extreme of
; frankness which concerns itself with tiie
! affairs of our neighbor. This is like the
patience it outrages in speedily ceasing
Itohe a virtue. In mostcases it is simply
a specious but transparent cloak for im
pertinence. Whatever right a man may
have to parade his own folies and short
comings failshim in exposing his friend’s.
Tho notion is very common that this
censorious and captious candor is tho
truest mark of friendship; like many
other common notions it is simply arrant
nonsense. “A friend should bear a friend's
infirmities,” not fling them in his face on
the slightest provocation. Intimacy is
constantly madewu excuse for the grossest
rudeness. “Itis no matter; heis my friend ;
he will? make allowances.” And so “my
friend ” is slighted and put upon and cozen
ed and carped at for dear friendship’s sake
till the balance of affection is overdrawn in
the constant drain of these petty annoy
ances. And, generally speaking, there is
a strong alloy of vanity in the friendship
, which prompts this hypocritical candor.
We suddenly discover or think wediscover
j that the beam in our friend’s eye is larger
than the mote in our own ; and our glori-
I fication is incomplete until he is made a
sharer of the important secret. Poor dear
j fellow: we should be false to the name of
! friendship were we not to warn him ; it is
delicate ground, but better hear it from
a friend than a stranger, etc. With such
like iuke warn sophistry do we delude
ourselves. In fact, between friends candor
is peculiarly out of place; It is too severe a
test for tbe firmest attachment. There is a
spice of treachery about it, too; it is like
giving a man your left hand to stab him
tiie more surely with your right. And
though our friend shall magnanimously
feign pleasure at our uncalled-for solici
tude, let us not be deceived ; the faults we
mayjnot scruple to confess it is humiliating i
to here from another, nor is it possible to !
repress a slight momentary feeling of
aversion to him who thus humbles us.
These evanescent, transitory emotions
leave indelible traces on our lives; from
the love which has harbored them, though
the strength remain, the freshness and
bloom have gone for ever, as a single
breatli of evil will tarnish the whiteness of
a woman’s soul without winning it from
virtue. Thenceforth it is never quite the
same. No; friendship has its duties as
well as its delights, and its chief duty is
that, mutual forbearuce and kindliness
which make its greatest charm. Its end
is to make life pleasant, not a constant
martyrdom and vexation of spirit. This
undesirable and brutal frankness outrages
and insults that honest self-love which is
incomparably stronger than any possible
affection we can lia\je for another.
When .Jones begins with an engaging
smile and the usual formula: “ Now, my
dear fellow, you must not be angry, but I
should tell you as a friend that you are
getting oltVdr ugly or awkward ; your day
-i ve w »y to younger
' u ;> y<>ur mind to go
ott tins lie 1 * irfs out at us
in such barbarous style any of those dis-i
agreeable truths that shock our sensibili
ties like a moral douche, we naturally do
get angry. We feel that Jones is over
stepping the bounds of propriety, that he
is poaching on our preserves ; we feel an l
almost irresistible impulse to kick him.
Perhaps we might have yielded to the
temptation in our fiery youth when Plan
cus was consul; but grey hairs (we secret
ly own them to.vmrsefves with a mental
grimace) sober the passions, and then
something is due to dignity and standing
on ’Change. So that relief is denied us,
and as we eye Jones' beaming counte
nance,and as wereliect that he is our friend
after all, and means no harm, we get an
grier still. Very likely we retort peevish
ly I Jones’ feelings are wounded by this
j unlooked for ingratitude for his good
Suffices; he Ceases to beam, pulls in his
i tendrills, anil sets us down for a conceited
puppy who can t hear to be suspected of
imperfection. But we are not a puppy,
only a man; and when we attain so far
toward perfection that we can hear our
foibles wit heq uan imity we cease to be na en,
wo become angels. "For all that, the
seraphic element is not by any means a
drag in our markets; and until tbe mil
lennium friendship had best dispense with
this officious and meddlesome virtue.
The truth of the charge is no justifica
tion Jt is rather an aggravation of the of
fcmhp? It ianiH pl«R.*ant >o any 04*0 to be
told that we arc amiable rather than efeverj"
or better lilted forthe counting-house than
tne saloon, even if we can afford to laugh
at its injustice; but if in our own hearts
we secretly distrust, us some of us will, the
brilliancy of our mots or the lightness of
our waltzing, the iron enters our soul.
“ Tatum frsretuiH in Uin ferrutn."
“II L Just tbe truth that plants tiie sting.”
After all is said, however, candor is not
likely to suffer in popular estimation. It
is one of those cheap virtues which make
a great show for very small outlay. To
tho hearts of those phiiantluopic folk who
have a mission to do the disinterestedly
disagreeable it will ever lie especially dear.
But the truly wise will he content to learn
his failings from the mouths of his ene
mies, while he accords his friends the
same inestimable privilege.—[N. Y. Round
Table.
SOI TIIEU.N St 11001. HOOKS.
While our cotemporaries are working
them selves up to a fever heat over the
question of how to encourage immigra
tion, we must confess some indifference on
the subject just at present. Migration,like
other social movements, is properly regu
lated by natural causes, and it is as un
wise as it is useless to attempt forcing
the matter. A little bird ha* Whispered in
our ear that the tSouth has more to fear
from too much immigration than from too
little. In the course of a few years we
shall have such a nth in this direction as
will utterly obi Berate every lineament and
idosyncrasy of Southern character, unless
we take special pains to maintain those
characteristics that distingush the South
ron from the Yankee. 11l view of this
probability we esteem it a paramount duty
to assert Southern principles, and hold un
sullied those traits that constitute us a
people. By this means alone, can we hope
ito assimilate tiie crowds of immigrants j
| that will soon be upon us, and preserve our j
i own proud identity.
VVe notice that Prosessnr Ewell, of Wil- j
i liam and Mary College Ya; lias recently
! written au earnest protest against sectional |
I text-books. In so far as he uses the word
| “ sectional” in its legitimate sense, we
[ cordially agree. While anxious to see
1 (southern text-books in all our schools, we
wish them to hold their place by reason of
their intrinsic superiority, and not in vir
tue merely of the word “Southern” em
blazeued ou the title page. By ail means
let our children have the best books, come
from what source they may. We would
not poison or dwarf their minds with nar
row conceptions or sectional hatreds.
iu past years, unfortunately, we have
depended almost entirely ou the North for
our text-books, Aud the responsibility of
tiie Yankee common school system (with
"“rMff'mir j rr ijhhr
past seven years, cannot be over-estimated.
If we of the South escaped the use of Yan
ke*‘ books directly antagonistic to our in
stitutions, it was simply because there
were other Yankee books /nanufactured j
expressly for this lattitude. They were j
still negative Yankee, if not positive.
Now while we are averse to sectional
ismhii any shape, we especially di-like it
coming from New England— the birthplace
of little ideas and great pretensions:
We have before us a series of Readers,
compiled ly Geo. S. Hilliard, of Boston. ■
These, 'books may suit very' well for the ;
perpetuation of New Euglaudisiu, and for j
tiie education of Tennessee Radicals. But 1
why they are used in strictly Southern
schools, we are unable to conceive.
The Third Reader, for instance, contains
a wonderful story of “ Little Eddie,” whose
father “ had been killed by the rebels be
[ cause he was true to his country.” The
patriotic Eddie, accompanied by his moth
er, a widow in deep mourning, applies for
the position of drummer in a Western re-
I giment, and a very affecting scene follows.
T his wonderful boy loses both feet at the
I battle of Wilson’s Creek, “in which the
I brave Genera! Lyon fell.” And now comes
j the incredible party of the story : for we
j are gravely told that a rebel soldier who
j had been wounded and was lying near the
i boy, crawled to him, took off his deerskin
| suspenders and tied them tightly around
I Eddie’s limbs in order to stay the flow of
j blood. The author fears an outcry of in -
! credulity in regard to this exhibition of
; humanity by a rebel. ISO he moralizes on
■ the sad thought that any man capable of
:an act of kindness should be a rebel. The
; pupil naturally receives tho impression
! that '* rebels” are terrible monsters. The
j Southern child is shocked to learn how
vile are his father and brothers.
In the Fifth Reader we have the “ mar
tyred” Lincoln held up by the Rev. Dr.
Gurley as an embodiment of all the Chris
tian virtues. Next we have a sketch of
Joseph Holt, followed by au extract from
one of his bitterest harrangues. Then we
have a glowing eulogy 011 “ Our Heroes,”
by General Andrew.
In the Reader the children are en
tertained by various extracts from Lin
coln’s addreses and inaugurals, and from
Sumner’s speeches, all which may suit
very well Hr those who like them, or are
incapable of anything better.
The peopleof Nashville will, perhaps,be
surprised tb learn that these books have
been introduced into a school in this city
—a school supported by money left by
Southern men for the education of South
ern children. We are asked lo buy these
books and place them in the hands of our
sons. Here are sectional books in .South
ern schools, with a vengeance 1
We mourn for the “ Lost Cause,” but a
sadder misfortune may befall us; ve may
become a lost people. If wo yield the ed
ucation of our children to those who teach
them to hate the cause for which we fought
— the cause for which our brothers and
comrades died —we are lost as a pedple.
Our children will substitute the canting
hypocrisy and mercenary principles of the
j Yankee for the lofty virtue aud noble im
pulses of the Southern gentleman.
Nashville Gazette.
Mrs. Lincoln’s Clothes.— The rooms
of Brady, the pawnbroker where “Mrs.
Lincoln’s things,” are set out lor sale, are
still largely visited by the curious, the at
tendeuce averaging a thousand parsons a
day. A S3OO of jewelry was sold yes- i
terday, but the dresses, which visitors are
politety requested mil to handle, siill hang
neglected on the chairs, lookingly decided
ly the worse for wear, ami are emphat
ically dead stock. A good natured damsel,
robed in white, has charge of the articles,
but it is hard to imagine how her equa
nimity can be preserved under the cross
lire of questioning, pertinent and imperti
nent, to which she is constantly subjected.
The subscription list for the family of
Abraham Lincoln, which hangs up in a
conspicuous place, is wofully blank. —
Among the subscriptions are several of ten
cents, and a pint of peanuts from a sym
pathizing newsboy. The whole affair af
fords an instructive commentary on the
mutability of Americans.—[New Yorklet
ter in Baltimore Sun.
The guard (three men) at the Nashville
Work-house, iiave been discharged, and
three negroes put in their places.
From the Ja Crosse Democrat.
•1 MAlt RIEOI”
It Is only a bit of cake—a little card on
which appears two familiar names—aeom
piimentary remembrance from those who
have gone forever from the walks and
ways of “ single blessedness” to travel to
gether the paths opening with such prom
ise to the eye, flower-decked and bright
with tho sunshine of happiness—yet what
a change those inanimate tokens typify—
how eloquently they speak to the heart —
how they set one thinking—what a crowd
of fancies they call forth from the cham
bers of imagination to people the future
with !
A strange thing this love, is it not? But
a day or two since, seemingly, you were
very near some friend’s heart—you listened
to his plans—took an interest in his pro
jects—heard his schemes for an active life
—noted the earnestness with which he
talked of the ye irs to come—hoped with
him for the success which answers those
who grasp forit with bold hearts, unflinch
ing patience, unyielding’perseverance. —
Id the life unfolding—the future scanned
so anxiously, there was no thought of a
love beside which all ambitions, hopes,
plans, thoughts, would be worthless, very
vanity of vanities!
it came, however,as it should come once
to every heart! “ First the blade, then the
leaf, then tiie full corn in the ear!” A
steady, fervent, heavenly vegetation ! The
existence that before seemed given for
busy life, for a name to be made, a fortune
to im acquired, a place to lie filled, finds its
ereotcrs onarui in the l«v« wUiuU has come
to gladden life, and make it indeed worth
tilt* having!
And how lovingly, wholly, truly, the
girl that was, the wife that now is—(let us
100 it at the card—how strangely the “ Mrs.”
looks when we think of tiie dignity it im
parts to its giri we irer)- gave the affections
of her hear to him who had won them
trusting in him with a faith that doubted
nothing and Udiev* 1 all good and holy
things!
And till-* is the <rid —no, only the begin
ning,— for with those who truly love, life
should begin not alone for tins but for the
eternal world at the marriage altar! The
words so full of meaning—the tic which
binds “ until death us do part”—the holy
j obligations and vows of constancy, pro
tection, care, love, have been uttered, and
the serious business of life is all before
those who with young yet hopeful hearts
this day commence it. God keep and bless
them, and make it indeed a- happy a
future as any they have dreamed !
But it is no holiday pastime—no trilling
with or mocking of fortune— not all sun
shine before them. After all, “ life u real,
life is earnest.” The honeymoon will
wane, aud the novelty of the new exis
tence settle into a matter-of-fact, every
day, hum-drum monotony. Days will
, merge into years—and the years, too, slip
away ; pray, therefore, for tiie love which
endures, grows stronger from the altar to
the gtave, ami lopks with unfaltering
tru-t beyond the grave hi that mystic un
known land, over the dark river—the love
which shall lighten toil—which shall he
forbearing, faithful,enduring! Then trials
may come until the weary spirit Lends be
neath them, but Jove shall lift it heaven
ward—sorrows darken, but love shall drive
away the shadowy and bring back the
sunshine of happiness—temptations beset,
| but armed with love, they shall be over
j come—misfortunes thickeu about you, but
I love shall lift you above them !
Make a home.’ ’Though it be ever so
humble, let it glow with home warmth !
A spot to nestle in and forget the cares and
toils of a working life! A refuge for
weary body utid tired soul! The haven of
peace to your hearts—of true joy and hap
pine-ss to your spirits! The simple pleas
ures you can find at home are worth all
you may seek elsewhere—the love that
should be waiting there, better than green
greenbacks, gold, houses or lands! Those
who are truly married and mated never
will need to look away from home for en
joyment—nor seek outside its charmed
and hallowed atmosphere for the happi
ness which should brighten tiie humblest
objects which help to make it beautiful.
Such homes there are scattered over this
land of ours—oases iu society’s deserts—
homes where love broods like a dove, per
petually—whose circle may widen, taking
tar, a* the years gu Ly, sou* »uid daughters,
but never weakening—from whose holy
precincts good men and women go forth to
fight life’s battles, aud make for them
selves homes whose mode! shall be taken
from the home of childhood, the place
where the old folk wait with loving hearts
and patient trust that time when mortal
love shall put on immortality, and what
has lieen but a broken dream shall become
an eternal, a blessed reality. Blessed is
the love that lasts through youth and mid
dle age, and illumines with its steady
light, the downhill way of life to old age.
What a beautiful thing is the affection,
which can sing so tender a love-song as
this, ringing from the heart with all the
harmony and melody and music of mar
riage bells in every word :
“ I know you are getting old, loTe;
Your form is shrunken and bent;
I know that the curls of gold, lore,
With silvery threads are blent.
Yet you’re young and handsome to me love,
Rosy,and winning, and fair,
For I shut my eyes and see, love,
Back through the years ot care.
“ I see the form of mv bride, lore,
Dressed in her raiment of while,
St lading as close by my side, love,
She stood on her iveddding night.
The eyes look inio tnv own, love,
Their azure dimmed with a tear ;
And I saw but that lace alone, love,
Os ail who were standing near.
‘ The eyes are no longer bright, love,
The cheeks are no longer red ;
The form is shrunken and slight, love,
And grey hairs cover the head ;
But the hand that 1 used to clasp, love,
Browned with exposure and care,
I hold in as warm a grasp, love,
As when it wa* dimpled and fair.
“The smile is the smile of youth, love,
The voice is the same tha' said.
Til love thee forevermore, love,
Till beauty au3 love are dead.
And that beauty will never die, love,
Ktevual its life wil! be,
And so. as the years go by love,
You’ll always be fair to me.
How fair and beautiful appears to many
if not all who enter upon the marriage
state, the future opening before them.—
How often and how quickly, too frequent
ly, clouds, disappointments, indifference,
coldness, break the charm and dispel the
bright anticipations, the happy, dreams,
! leaving Dead Sea fruits turning to ashes
on the lips—making marriage a thing hor
rible to contemplate, where each party
| drags through life a chain growing daily
■ heavier, a cross whose weight crushes out
i tiie nobler aspirations of. life, and bows
I the miserable bearer to the earth !
i Jlappy those whose choice, guided by
true love, is fixed upon a firm foundation
that neither the storms of adversity, or
the little and great troubles of life have
power to prevail against human constan
cy, or shake the faith that shall iive when
for earth time shall be no more. Mutual
j forbearance, unquestioning love, .with
j these magic talismans marriage may in
j deed be them sum of mortal happiness,
j without them it is an odious bondage, little
t better than a hell upon earth.
1 Marriage—marriage is—but the cake has
disappeared and our sermon is ended.
Sek Ell.
A Singular Claim. — It will be remem
bered that Secretary McCtillocll, some
weeks ago, received a package containing
Slit,ooo, a greater portion of which was in
seven-thirty bonds, with the numbers cut
out, and the remainder in national curren
cy. No letter or signature accompanied
the money, but the envelop was post
marked Urbaua, Ohio. The money was
placed to the credit of the conscience fund,
there being nothing to show from whom it
came, and ( lie fact that the numbers were
cut out of the bonds proved that the former
owner of them did not want to be known.
On Wednesday last a letter was received
from a party in Wisconsin, the post mark
being Honey Creek. The writer claimed
that he sent the money to he converted
into other securities, such as the Secretary
might think proper to send, and gave as
his reason for sending no communication
or signature with the money, that he was
very sick at the time, and not able to
write. The officers of the Treasury are of
i the opinion that the letter is from some
| party who saw the publication that $19,000
had been received, amithinks hecanclaim
; the same. Detectives of tire Treasury will
1 look into the matter.— Wash. Star , Oct. 25.
Vol. No. 35
Truth Spokcu in Jest.
Iu January, 184—, I was a passenger ou
board the Washington, bound to New
York; t here were others, and among them
a lady, named A——. She was an English
woman, but bad married an American, a
merchant of New York. Though neither
handsome nor accomplished, she was yet
a very agreeable woman ; she had good
sense and good feeling. Although there
was something of what the French call
erupresseoient in her manners, it was un
tinctured with coarseness or forwardness.
Her children accompanied her, two fine
healthy boys, whose gambols afforded
amusement to all on.hoard.
Asa matter of course, travellers by sea
do everything in their power to abate the
irksomeness of their situation. Mighty
are their efforts to kill time-; on all r-ides
and with all kinds of weapons they can
assail him ; but in vain, time will not be
killed by them. Old though he be, he has
the strength of Hercules in his prime.
When they think they have him fast, and
are about to administer the coup do grace,
lie escapes from their hands and laughs
them to scorn.
On board the Washington, as on board
other vessels, the passengers talked a great
deal, and on a great many subjects. One
day the conversation turning on medicine
and its practitioners, I asked Mrs. A
what she thought of those in New York.
“ Very highly,’’she replied, “ Butarnong
them is one of whom I think more highly
than of all the rest put together; that is
Dr. B , a native of Baltimore, and the
gentleman who attends my family.”
And then shecommeuced a panegyric on
Dr. B , which would have been appro
priate enough if bestowed on a .Sydenham,
but on nobody else.
Amused at her warmth, I jokingly re
marked—
“ Doubtless, Mrs. A , were you to be
come a widow, you would marry this Dr.
B ,of whom you speak so highly?”
“I become a widow!” she exclaimed.
“ What an idea! Why, my husband is
only thirty-five years of age, and a re
markably healthy man ; lie never bad a
day’s illness in his life.”
“ Possibly not,” I rejoined, “hut re
markably healthy men are ojten cut off,
especially in the United .States, where the
climate, being always in extremes, is un
favorable to health.”
With that the conversation ended. The
Washington wasaciipper; in twenty-five
days after leaving the port of .Liverpool
she entered that of New York. Therethe
passengers separated ; some went to Cana
da, some to the Far West, others and 1
wa- one of them) to New Orleans.
I had been in that city some seven or
eight weeks, when one day, as I was read
ing a New York paper in the office room
of the Planter's Hotel, the following an
nouncement met my eye:
“ Died yesterday, of inflammation of the
heart, iu his thirty-fifth year, Mr. .Robert
A , merchant, of this city. He has
left a wife and children to deplore hm bsss.”
\\ hat, J said to myself, “can this be
the husband of M s. A—, the lady I
knew on board the Washington? .Surely
not!” J
J |S<s»n, however, I was compelled to think
differently; for 1 found, on reading a sec
ond time the obituary in the paper, that
every particular therein was applicable to
Mrs. A.’s husband. Uncertain, indeed, is
life? True the saying: “In the midst of
life we are iu death !”
Months passed ou, and I was still living
in New Orleans, when an event caused me
to leave it sooner than I had intended;
that event was my illness. In July, 184—,
yellow fever, always prevalent in that
month, was more so than usual, and more
fatal. In former year- the proportion of
deaths to recoveries was as one is to five;
in this, as one is to four. I was one of
those whom the disease attacked. Deeply
it stuck its fangs into me. Fora fortnight
the poison rioted iu my veins—death
seemed inevitable—yet I recovered. How?
By (as I verily believe) drinking common
salad oil! A bottle thereof lay ou a side
board in my room: delirious I seized it and
drank off the contents. From that moment
the fever began to abate ! But although I
bad triumphed over the enemy, I had "suf
fered in the conflict; my hollow cheeks
and attenuated limbs testified to its sever
ity. My doctor said I was consumptive,
and advised my immediate return to Eng
land. I acted upon bis advice.
Behold me once more iu New York :
that great city—the Liverpool of the
Fnited States—destined ere long, to be its
London. The journey from New Orleans,
inland, is fatiguing, even to the strong.—
To me, an invalid, it was killing. I felt
so ill the day after my arrival, that I de
cided on sending for a physician. Recol
lecting what Mrs. A had said in praise
of Or. B , I sent for him. He caine;
and I found him, if not the paragon Mrs.
A had represented him, a physician of
more than ordinary abilities, and of very
good manners withal. After prescribing
for me, and receiving the customary fee of
two dollars, lie was about to leave the
room, when a few words from me nailed
him to the spot. They were these :
“ Bray, doctor, is Mrs. A still in New
Y'ork ?”
He colored slightly—looked first at me,
then at his boots—at length said :
“She is. and in my house; we were mar
ried a month ago.”
I was thunderstruck. “ Manv a true
word is spoken iu jest!”
Impeachment ({uesiion-Vo Suspension,
The Hon. Thaddeus Stevens, ft is un
derstood, proposes to bring iu a bill at the
coming session of Congress providing that,
on being brought to trial before the Senate,
under resolutions of indictment or im
peachment from the House, the President
of tlie United States shah be suspeniieii in
the functions of his office, and field sus
pended until acquitted of the chayges made
against him. Mr. Stevens, no doubt,
supposes that, .as the constitution is silent
ou this question of suspension, Congress,
in the exercise of its discretionary powers,
may settle it in a bill passed over the Ex
ecutive veto. The following extracts from
Madison’s Debates in theconventioii which
framed the constitution, however, com
pletely upset this notion of Mr. Stevens :
IN CONVENTION.
“ Friday, Sept. 14, 1787.
“Mr. Rutledge and Mr. Gouverneur
Morris moved ‘That persons impeached
be suspended from their offices until they
be tried and acquitted.’
“Mr. Madisoii — 1 The President is made
too dependent already on the Legislature
by the power of-one branch to trv him in
consequence of au impeachment by the
other. This intermediate suspension will
put him in the power of one branch only.
They can at any moment in order to make
way for the function of another who will
be more favorable to their views, vote a
temporary removal of the existing magis
trate.’
“Mr. King concurred'in the opposition
to the amendment.
“ On the question to agree to it.: —
"Aye —Connecticut, South Carolina,
Georgia—.?.
“ Wb—New Hampshire, Massachusetts,
New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware,
Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina—B.
“So the proposed amendment was re
jected.”
Here we see that the proposition to fix
in the constitution a clause providing for
the President’s suspension while on trial
on charges of impeachment was made in
the organic convention in 1787, and voted
down by eight States, in opposition to
three in "favor of the motion. This vote,
therefore, is substantially the same thing
as a prohibition against suspension in ex
press terms in the body of tiie constitution
itself. Congress, for the very good reasons
given by Mr. Madison, is expressly denied
this power of suspension, and doubtless
any attempt to exercise it against Mr.
Johnson, in being carried up by him to the
Supreme Court, will be pronounced un
constitutional and void. Accordingly Mr.
Stevens would do well to abandon this
idea of providing by bill for President
Johnson’s suspension; for if such a bill
can be passed it will be quashed iu being
carried by Mr. Johnson into the Supreme
Court, in short, if he caunot be got out
of the White House by the impeachment,
trial and condemnation plainly set forth in
the constitution, the two houses of Con
gress cannot reach him at ali, and So they
had better drop the subject altogether.—jY.
Y. Herald.
One of the stripes of the present tlag of
file Stars and Stripes is black and broad,
covering all the space where ten bright
stars used to shine.—[Prentice.
From the St. Louis Republican.
Something Reliable about Ihe Ilody of
J. Wilkes Booth.
Up to a very recent date, I was among a
great number of Uncle Ham’s subjects ad
hering to the idea that J. Wilkes Booth is
still living. I was not one of those either,
who entertained this idea merely on the
grounds that there wassome probability of
Sts beiugTrue. I entertained it after bear
ing statements made by a person who bad
some opportunity of knowing more about
the affair tliau auy other person I had
ever met with ; and this individual(an at
tache at Ford’s Theater on the night of
the assinatiou) gave me such a string of
circumstantial evidence bearing upon the
case, that I could not help thinking that
the body which was brought to the navy
yard, near Washington City, must have
been the body of someone else, and not
the remains of J. Wilkes Booth. Here
the matter rested until last July, when I
came across a paragraph in a newspaper,
which stated that Dr. May identified
Booth’s body by a scar upon bis neck. —
Dr. May being a relative of mine, and one
upon whom I could rely, I sat down and
wrote him the following letter, and I give
you his answer to it:
“ High Hill, Mo., July Id, 1867.
“ Cousin Frederick— l have seen a
statement from the notorious detective,.
General Baker, going the rounds of the
press, and iu it you are mentioned as the
physician who identified the body of J.
Wilkes Booth from a scar upon his neck,
caused by a surgical operation you per
formed upon him (Booth) before the late
war.
“ Now, that there has been another
plausible story published to the effect that
Booth is still living, I want to ask you
this question : “ Was the dead body the
Government paid one hundred thousand
dollars for, really the body of John Wilkes
Booth ?
“I don’t know of any thing, now that
the prejudic-s of those days have some
what subsided, that would keep you from
answering this question.
“There are some things in connection
with the late war the truth of which I
never expect to get: but I would like to
have this matter forever settled in my mind
by your answer.
“ Your cousin,
Barton K. Briscoe.”
(Copied verbatim.)
“ Washington, D, €., Jtfly 24,1867.
“ Dear Barton : I duly received yours
of the 12th inst., asking, * Was the dead
body the Government paid one hundred
thousand dollars for really the body of J.
Wilkes Booth ?’
“I don’t know what snm the Govern
ment paid for the body you allude to. 1
can, however, positively state that the
body I examined at the Navy-yard, in this
city, at the request and summons of the
officers of the Government, was tb body
of J. WUkes Booth, and that I identified it
as his, not only by the features, but also
by a scar on his neck, the result of a sur
gical operation performed by me on Booth
some year or two before the assassination
of the President.
“ Your cousins desire to be remembered
to you.
“ Truly yours,
“John Frederick Ma y,‘M. J).
Now that you have read them, my reader,
what do you think about the matter? J
know some will say this is another hum
bug. And l will say right here, believe
whatever you plea-e. It makes very lit
tle difference with me whether these let
ters change your mind or not. I know
Dr. May’s answer to my letter has changed
mv views iu regard to this matter consid
erably, and if you knew him as well as I
do perhatst it would change yours.
BARTON K. BRIHCOE.
High Bin, Mo., October 17, 1867.
Singular Freak of a Child—A Boy T ries
to Hang His Brother, and Failing iu
that He Hangs Himself.
The following particulars of a most sin
gular occurrence. which took place at One
Hundred and Four-mile Sliding, on the
Memphis and Charleston Railroad, are de
tailed by a correspondent of an evening
cotemporary:
Three children of Mr. Roberts (a work
man at the miliat the sliding) went out iu
the woods, a few hundred yards from the
house, to gather sticks for the fire to cook
dinner. They were a little boy of nine
years of age, another of seven, and a little
sister of live. They had with them some
small cords of strings, plaited from the
ravelings of old gunny sacks. The elder
boy, it seems, had become by some means
possessed of a mania ou the subject of
hanging, and often spoke (sometimes in a
jesting way, and at other times apparently
in earnest) of hanging himself, but bis
parents had no idea that heseriously med
itated anything of the kind, or would at
tempt to carry it into effect.
While out In the woods on this occasion,
he took his smaller brother to a bush not
over six feet high, and beDding it down
required his little sister to hold it bent,
while be tied one of the strings before
mentioned around bis brother’s neck and
, fastened the other end to the lop of the
bush and then let it go. The bush, how
ever, had not sufficient spring to strangle
the little fellow and only choked him to a
slight extent. The elder brother then
united him and took him toa stump which
had a projecting limb, and tried hard to
hang him”to it, but the cord was uot long
enough to tie around the limb, and he
abandoned the attempt.
Having failed to hang his brother, the
boy then seems to have determined to
hang himself, and climbing up a sapling,
: alxmt fifteen feet high and about the
1 thickness ofa man’s arm at the ground, he
made a slip-noose with the cord, which
I he placed around his neck, and tying the
j other end to the top of the sapling, he
I jumped from the bush, bending it down
with his weigtit, and being strangled al
i most instantly by the noose tightening ou
his neck.
The brother and sister ran to the house
| and gave the alarm, but when assistance
' arrived the boy wasquite dead. His knees
j were on the ground, and the cord stretched
j tight by the spring of the sapling. The
i small string used had made the work of
death sudden and sure.
Amorous but Unsuccessful.
On Sunday evening last, a young man,
whom for the sake of convenience, we cull
John, went to visit tbegirl whom he would
call his own. The fair one resides near
the canal. During the evening the young
man of the name of John was unable to
conceal the wish of his heart, and in ten
der accents declared bis desire that the
young lady should consent to be bis. He
met with a Hat lefusal. The ardent John
still pressed her further, declaring that, if
site would not accept him, he would then
and there drown himself in the briny wa
ters of the canal. As this threat did not ef
fect the desired purpose, he proceeded to
carry it out. He plunged feanessly in the
murky Hood, and waded out until the chil
ly air reached over his shoulders. It will
be remembered that the eveningou which
this occured was none of the warmest. —
Retreating before finally carrying out his
purpose, John cried out shivering with
the cold:
“ \V-w will vou marry me now?”
“No!”
In he plunged again, this time until
the water reached his neck, and agaiu he
halted before the last plunge.
“ W-w-will you marry me now?”
■ “No!” j
Again he went in, this time going fairly
under water, so far that only the top of his
head could be discovered above the surface.
But lie emerged and staggered out of the
canal, and shivering worse than ever, sput
tereu out:
“ N-n-now w-w-will you m-marry me?”
“ Well, I d-dontcarea d-damn whether
you’ll marry me or not. You won’t get
me into that canal again !”
Nor did he again essay his fortunes in
the uncertain deep. Shivering and chat
tering with his teeth, he quietly departed,
j and returned to his home a sadder, and,
| let us ho}>e a wiser man.—[Toledo Blade.
A Touching Incident.—At a second
class hotel in Frankfort, Kv., a few davs
since, a little girl entered the bar-room,
and in a pitiful tone told the barkeeper
that her mother sent her there to get eight
cents.
“ Eight cents! “said the barkeeper.
“ Yes sir.”
“What does your mother want of eight
cents? I don’t owe her anything.”
“ Well,” said the child, father spends
all his money here for rum, and we have
nobrexd to-day. Mother wants to buy a
loaf of bread.”
A loafer suggested to the barkeeper to
■kick tier out.
“ No,” said the barkeeper. “I’ll give
her mother the money, and if her father
comes back here again, I’ll kick him out.”
Humanity owes that barkeeper a vote of
thanks.
During the week ending 2bthult.. seven
ty immigrants fre*n the State of Drown
low, passed through Columbus, Ohio.