Newspaper Page Text
LITERACY
temperance
FENFIELP, GROrif^-™
L. LINCOLN VEAZEY, Editor.
THURSDAY MORNING, MAY 20,1858.
We regret having to place the paper of Mrs.
Bryan, “ Evenings at Home,” out-of its’ proper
location ; but owing to the run of her matter, it
was unavoidable.
The Westminster Review for April presents the
following-table of contents: The Religion of
Positivism; Recollections of Shelley and Byron;
China: Past and Present; Party Government;
The Boscobel Tracts; Our Relation to the Princes
of India; Medical Reform; Organization of the
War Department; Contemporary Literature.
Published by L. Scott & Cos. New York, at $3.00
a-year; Blackwood and either of the four Reviews
may be had for $5.00; Blachnood and the four,
SIO.OO.
Godey's Lady s’ Book for June is an attractive
number. The steel-engraved picture, “ The first
step/’ which immediately follows the title page,
is charmingly beautiful. The other illustrations
and fashion-plates are gotten up m handsome
style. Price, $3.00 a-year.
IT is one of the strangest paradoxes connected
with society, that those classes upon whom
the whole fabric ultimately depends, should be
treated with least respect. The aristocratic leader
of ton would lift his nose in scorn at meeting a
farmer; yet, without agriculture, his own fancied
importance would soon come to nought. The
lady who sweeps tire sidewalks in all the gaudi
ness of fashionable splendor, would shrink from
contact with the humble sewing woman whose
toiling fingers wrought into form the costly mate
rials of her dress, as she would from the touch of
a serpent. But were these classes, who are treated
with contempt by the blind devotees of wealth
and fashion, annihilated, the whole frame-work
of our social institutions would fall to ruin. They
are parts of the world’s machinery that cannot
be stricken out without the wreck of the whole.
A* degradation of the laboring classes by either
a monied or hereditary aristocracy] cripples the
energies of a nation and endangers its safety. In
hours of peril they constitute its effective strength.
The learning and diplomatic skill of the states
man could avail a country little* unless it pos
sessed the bone and sinew of a patriotic popula
tion. In the struggle for our national indepen
dence, it was “ the lower classes,” called from
the plow, the anvil or the saw, who endured all
its hardships and privations, and by their pa
tience, perseverance and energy brought the con
test to a glorious termination. The steady, un
yielding conservatism of the same “ lower classes”
has preserved the purity of our civil institutions,
despite the scheming of corrupt demagogues and
the wild fanaticism of political leaders. And if
the blessings which w r e enjoy shall be handed
down to generations yet unborn, it will be owing
to the patriotism and good sense of those whom
the purse-proud aristocrat would, with a sneer
on his lip, denominate “hewers of wood and
drawers of water.”
The French Revolution stands in history, a
dark and fearful illustration of the evils which
may result from the degradation of those classes
upon which the wealth and strength of a nation
•depend. There for ages a dissolute court and
overgrown aristocracy had feasted and fattened
■on the sufferings of the common people. They
had toiled for bread, when the fiend famine
weakened their tottering frames and then had it
snatched from their hungered lips to supply the
boards of their pampered tyrants. But a day of
retribution came. The poor, down-trodden masses,
in one tremendous upheaval, swept totally away
that fabric of misrule and oppression. The hor
rors that followed are familiar to every one; yet,
while we are shocked at the atrocity of those
bloody deeds, none can deny them to have been
the legitimate fruits of the seeds which had been
sown for ten generations before.
Distinctions of classes must exist, but they
should be drawn with more regard to merit and
substantial worth. To treat a man with contempt
because he pursues an humble calling, when that
calling is essential to the well-being of the hu
man race, is as unjust as it is unreasonable.
THE worthlessness of the sons of great men has
passed into an adage ; yet, there are so many
instances tJ the contrary, that they may be con
sidered rather as the rule than exceptions.
Much is expected from the son of a great man.
People have in some way gotten the idea that the
noble qualities of the head and heart may be
handed down from one man to his heirs, and
find fault if it is not so. This is erroneous; ob
servation abundantly proves the fact that the
characteristic qualities of father and son may, and
very often do, differ more widely than those of
other individuals not at at all related,
Yet, there is truth in the saying. Many great
men devote much of their energies to the accu
mulation of wealth, by which the necessity for
any active exertion on the part of their sons is
obviated. There is but a small amount of talent
exercised only when the well-being of the posses
sor renders it necessary/ With an inherited es
tate that supplies every luxdry which heart can
desire, there are to a few only any incentive to
action. Hence, many whom nature may have
endowed with high orders of talent pass lives of
slothful ease, and sink to their graves “ unwept,
unhonored or unsung.”
But, in the array of the world’s great men, per
haps the larger portion could boast of ‘distin
guished ancestry. Not a few of those .who have
inscribed their names on the scroll of fame by
displaying noble principles and performing en
nobling deeds, were crowned heads, who inher
ited positions of power and eminence. Alexan
der descended from a long line of able kings,
-and his father surpassed him in many elements
•of greatness. Hannibal was the son of a general
inferior only to himself in military skill and
; ability. The Roman youth was proud to contem
j plate the virtues of his ancestors, and this feeling
}prompted mahy a young patrician to emulate his
■Aire. In later years when Europe was just emerg
ing from the gloom of the dark ages, the talents
and lioerality of the Medici family, handed down
from father to son, rendered Italy as famous for
learning as she had once been for All are
familiar with the son of the illustrious Chatham,
who held the premiership of the British realm at
nn age when most young men are engaged in the
frivolities of boyhood/ In our own history, we
might pointasmt the examples of many who have
established other claims to distinction than the
Trreatness of the names which they inherited.
All honor to self-made men. We would give
all due praise to those who have attained erni
jfence by their unassisted e lergies; but- while
bestowing upon these just commendations, let us
not rob others of the honors which they deserve.
A man may attain distinction more readily when
■ he has the assistance Os a father’s reputation; but
even with this stepping stone, greatness must Re
the result of individual effort.
I QOCIEI Y. from the influence of fashion, has be
: O come to bo something in which there is very
! little sociability. That spontaneous, friendliness
! of manner, so characteristic of social life in it’s
j primitive states, has passed away. Then, society
| “oplied a free mingling together of congenial
| spirits, when an unchecked utteranceof thoughts
and feelings was. allowed. Now, trained in the
rules of a formal politeness, the whole aim of
people is to conceal their real sentiments and
produce false impressions. The intercourse be
tween those of the Stune “circle,” is marked by
an unbending stiffness that would be censurable,
in total strangers. Visits are interchanged with
as much solemnity as if ‘they were important
events upon which the destinies of the world
hinged. In such a state of things, true friendship
■ is an impossibility. Among females especially,
it is not uncommon that those who profess for
each other a most devoted attachment, are bit
terly envious rivals..
We have been led into these reflections by the
perusal of a paper in Blackwood —“ A few words on.
Social Philosophy, by one who is not a philos
( pher.” It is written in a live’y, piquant style,
yet, abounding in practical good sense. The wri
ter thus introduces himself in the character of
A SOCIAL MAN:
I like society. I feel all the humiliation of such
a confession in these improving times I know it
betrays great want of resources within oneself,
great dissipation of mind, miserable frivolity of
temperament. I know it all. I dare not have
confessed it even to my most intimate friends;
but I don’t mind confessing it here, because no
body knows me, and it will be a great relief to my
feelings. Yes, I like society; and I most not
even shelter myself under the reservation that I
mean, by this, fashionable society, or good soci
ety, or literary society. I simply mean, I like to
see about me the human face, more or less di
vine ; and to hear the human voice, even though
its ring may sound suspicious in the ears polite
of “the best circles.’*-Yes; I like what is com
monly called ordinary society. I find nothing
in my feelings, honestly examined, which res
ponds to the popular protests against the dull
propriety of country visiting, on the one hand, or
the heartless glitter of London parties, on the
other. I like going out to dinner, to a good din
ner, if possible—but to a bad dinner occasionally,
rather than not go out at all. 1 like meeting peo
ple—clever people, if possible—agreeable people
above all things; but we can’t all be clever or
agreeable; and I am inclined to take society—as
we are obliged to take a good many things in this
world—as it comes. It strikes me, too, very for
cibly, that if everybody declined to meet every
body who was not clever or agreeable, it would
fall rather hard upon some of us: I, for. instance
sh oidd have no society at all. lam not clever, cer
tainly, and npt agreeable always, indeed, at times
abominably stupid an 1 disagreeble, as my con
science painfully informs me; though, of course,
I should be justly indignant if any one else were
to take that liberty. Yet I should take it very
hard to be scouted as if I were a Hindoo (whether
Brahmin or Pariah, makes little difference just
now) on account of these infirmities ; which, af
ter all, are human, and largely prevalent.
After thus acquainting the reader with some of
his own social -traits, he proceeds to introduce a
few samples of his associates. There is Smith,
the fat, laughing, rough, free-spoken, but withal
good-natured country surgeon, the hearty shake
of whose hand is worth a ride of five miles through
dust and sunshine. Then his steady, honest
neighbor Jones shares largely of his esteem, at
the door of whose rural mansion he is never an
swered with a fashionable “Not at home,” and
to whose “jiotluck” he can sit down with the
most assured welcome. But passing on from
these, he gives us some of his experience in
INFORMAL VISITING:
One remembers and old-form of expression,
“dropping in to see a friend:” a barbarous idi
om, adapted to the savage state of—may we call
it society? among our forefathers, I protest—
with the exception of my friends Smith and
Jones, who are confessedly behind the age— l
should sink from trying that experiment at any
house of my acquaintance. I should expect to be
dropped out again pretty quickly, and thankful
if it were not our of a two pair of stairs window.
I did that kind of thing once, I remember, in the
days of my comparative youth and simplicity, in
the ease of the Rev. Byron, who had been good
enough to say he should be “always glad to see
life. 1 rode over there about the uncanonical
hour of one, with a view to a possible lunch, let
mo say, as! lam about my confessions. The con
fidential servant was struggling into liis coat as he
opened the door for me, and was startled into a
confession that lie believed “master was in his
studyhe would see. So I was ushered into a
very cold drawing-room, and, after giving me time
to get exceedingly uncomfortable, my reverend
friend made his appearance. We were both, of
course, full of apologies—l for my unseasonable
interruption, he for having unavoidably detained
me. He gave me to understand, of course in the
most delicate manner, that he was always much
engaged in the morning. Now 1 happen, since
those days, to have learned the interpretation of
this mystery. At the time of course, I thought
he might be editing anew edition of the Fathers,
or an original explanation of the Articles—most of
my clericle friends were, in those days. But
Brown’s confidedtial servant happens to be a lover
of my cook’s. If you want to have all your private
habits known, keep one of these modern “ eonfi
dentials,” by all means. Brown buys all his ser
mons cheap— lithographed in MS. That’s the
last fashion. Perhaps, in his case, it’s just as well
for his hearers. It don’t take many of his morn
ings, at all events, to “ prepare for his duties,” as
Mrs. Byron termsit. But Brown’s morning of
study is pretty much as follows: Breakfast, 9 to
10; Times newspaper, 10 to 11; yawn; look out
of window; cast up yesterday’s accounts ; write
two notes (twice over), and three school reward
tickets. That carries us on till half-past twelve.
Try the Times again, perhaps; clerk calls about a
wedding orafuneral; chat with him about the fam
ily aflairsol the parties concerned till the luncheon
bell breaksup the conference. And Brown has been
“very busy”—he tells Mrs. Brown so, and he
thinks so. Such a man ought not be inter
rupted. .
In the same vein of sensible pleasantry, he
next shows up some characteristics of modern
female society, and gives us a few reasons for
LATE MA&RIGES AMONG MEN:
One of the great social evils of this age is ad
mitted to be the reluctance of our young men to
early marriages; they won’t marry now, we are
told, as they used to do, and ought to do, on three
hundred a-year, Depend upon it, in many and
many a case it is not the odd hundred or two that
is wanting—it’s the attraction. We have lest
that joyous and familiar intercourse between
neighbors’ families, whose young people’s individ
ualities had spaco and opportunity to develop
themselves, and heart met heart. Our modish
Cupid lias over-strung his bow—his arrows don’t
hit home. Young ladies hide away the key of
their hearts so carefully, that nobody thinks it
worth looking for. Whois to choose “ the one”
out of a bevy of proper-behaved damsels, like a
row of hollyhock, differing only in height, and
shape, and color? They all look alike, dress alike,
talk alike, and walk alike; and for anything that
appears to the contrary, think alike and feel a
like. Why, such a choice is an act of deliberate
intention —matrimony few men have
the nerve to venture upon it. No wonder they
calculate the probable butchers’ and bakers’ bills
before they take such a plunge as that. Don’t
fancy that! talk like a cynical old bird, not to be
caught with chaff. I take as the exponent oi
what my own feelings would be it I were young,
and open as I once was to the conviction of bright
eyes, my nephew, Jack Hawthorne, not long home
from the Crimea, six feet one, independent, hairy
as a Skye terrier, brave as a lion (claps for Alma
and Balakiava), gentle as a greyhound, andl should
say impressible, decidedly. “ What Imissed most,”
said he, in his open hearted, unabashed simplic
ity, “was the sight of a woman’s face.” Where
upon I spoke: “I wonder, Jack, you don’t
marry ; it would make you a happier man than
living half your days in the smoking-room of the
‘Army and Navy.’ Why not pick up a nice girl,
and set up the family name again at the old ma
nor V’ .
Well, so I would,” said Jack, interjectively
between the puffs of his cutty, “ but there are no
girls now—they’re all young ladies: catch me
marrying a young lady!” Jack, has mortally of
’ fended, I fear, airhole circle of previous admir
ers, mammas and daughters, by a very innocent
and well-intentioned little speech he made at one
of his last public appearances. His .hostels was
begging him to dance. Jack “ did’ntseem tocare
about dancing.” “But pray—to oblige her—
there were so many nice girls sitting down, and
_ the men’ were so stupid!” Jack would hayedaiiccd
with a she-bear sooner than be really rude or ill
natured, so he consented. The patroness was
charmed and gratefuW And now, which wohld
he like to introduce ifmi to? “Miss A.? ..sweet
; girl! Miss B.? very sweet girl—clever, only so
quiet. The two Miss C.’s? both darlings! Miss
I) F r ‘(in h whisper), “twenty thousand.-and’ not
engaged!” “Thaiikyc,” said Jack, after casting
his eye along the. line as if he were oh parade,
“they all look very much alike. As I am to.do
it,” continued ho, without moving a muscle of
his countenance; for he was in earnest, “I may
as well do it handsomely; so I'll take the tallpst
and the stillest, which a-shadoof redin her hair.”
* “.Within thine own bosom are the stars of thy destiny.”
BELIEVE it, young man, who art standing on
the verge of life, peering with an earnest,
anxious gaze into the great unknown of the fu
ture ? The luminaries that bespangle the nightly
vaultcan bring thee no revelation. The day-god,
wheeling his broad disc from the horizon, and
filling the earth with brilliance and glory, can
throw no light into this inysteuous realm. Con
stilt not the moon, for her soft, silver “learnings
can send back no response to thy inquiries.
Within thy own heart are spirits that can tell
thee what thy future shall bo with more truth
than Sybil ever spoke. Listen to their voices
with profound awe, and seek not lower a solution
of the problem of existence.
Look bravely ahead ; there are duties to per
form, aims to accomplish, promises to fulfill. The
world must not—nay, cannot ho a resting place
for you. Labor, arduous and difficult though it
may be, is the portion assigned you, and in that
alone can happiness be found. But while you
learn to labor, learn also to wait and the reward
will come. You may npt attain the position of
earthly greatness for which you have striven ; yet,
if a right course be steadily pursued with zeal and
industry, life cannot be a failure. There will be
a training of the spirit,-an increase cf its powers,
which will fit it to enjoy a better state of exis
tence in some other sphere!
“Within thine own bosom ave the stars of thy
destiny.” Consult them and learn their teach
ings. They arc not like the wandering plapet
which floats
turning a defiance to tliy every
inquiry. What are their names? Do virtue,
truth, patience, faith, hope and love form thy
moral constellation, surpassing in sublimity all
which the material universe can present? Then,
feel assured that whatever star may have ruled
thy birth, a noble destiny awaits thee. Be not
swerved by the ominous croakings of a gloomy
superstition. Let these stars of your bosom guide
you, as did the pillow of fire the host of Israel,
and on the page that records your history there
shall be no such word as fail.
<Xg > -
We have received the May number of the
Young Men's Magazine, a neat monthly of fifty
pages, the title of which gives a good description
of its character, and the style of reading to be
found in its columns. It is published by N. A.
Calkins, 348 Broadway, York, at $1.50 per
annum.
Here is the picture of an “'old maid,” drawn
with much truth and beauty by a woman’s pen.
There is thrown strongly over it the sunlight of
charity:
“Shelias not married. Under Heaven, her
home, her life, her lot, are all of her own making.
Bitter or sweet they may have been—it is not
ours to meddle with them, but we can any day
see tlieir results. Wide or narrow as her circle
of influence appears, she has exercised her pow
er to the uttermost,and for good. . . . Published
or unpublished, this woman’s life is a goodly
chronicle, the title-page of which you may read
in her quiet countenance ; her manner, settled,
cheerful, and at ease ; her unfailinginterest in all
things and.all people'. You will rarely find she
thinks nmcli*about herself; she has never had
time for it. And this her life-clironicle, which,
out of its very fulness, has taught her that the
more one does, the more one finds to do—she
will never flourish in your face, or the face ot
Heaven, as something uncommonly virtuous and
extraordinary, She knows that after all. she has
simply does what it was her duty to do.
“ But—and when her place is vaeant on earth,
this will be said of her assuredly, both here and
Otherwhere— ‘She hath done what she could.’” ■
But why throw so dark a shade over the follow
ing portrait? Can she allow no ray to illumine
the pathway of him who chooses to travel through
bfe alone?
“ Scarcely any sight is more pitiable than a
young man who has drifted on to past thirty,
without home or near kindred; with just income
enough to keep him respectably in the position
which he supposes himself bound to maintain,
and to supply him with the_ various small luxu
ries— such as thirty guineas per annum in ’ cigars
etc. —which have become habitual to him. Like
his fellow-mortals, he is liable enough to the un
lucky weakness of falling in love, now and then;
but lie somehow manges to extinguish the’ pas
sion before it gets fairly alight—knowing he can
no more ven t ure to ask a girl in his own sphere
to marry him, or be engaged to him, than he can
coax the planet Venus out of her golden west
nto the dirty, gloomy, two pair-back where his
laundress cheats him, and his landlady abuses
him: whence, perhaps, he occasionally emerges
gloriously, all studs and white neclc-tye—to assist
at some young beauty’s wedding, where he feels
in his. heart lie might once have been the happy
bridegroom—if from his silence site had not been
driven to go desperately and sell herself to the
old fool opposite, and is fast becoming, nay, is
already become, a fool’s clever mate—a mere wo
man of the world. And he —what a noble ideal
he has gained of our sex, from this and other
similar experiences! with what truth of emotion
will he repeat, as lie gives the toast of ‘ The bride
maids,’ the hackneyed quotation about pain and
Sorrow wringing the brow, and smile half-adorning
ly, half-pathetic ally, at the ‘ ministering angels’
who titter around him. .... . In the slow process
of inevitable deterioration, by forty lie learns
to think matrimony a decided humbug ; and
hugs himself in the conclusion that a virtuous,
high-minded, and disinterested woman, if exist
ing at all, exists as a mere lusus naturcc —not to be
met with my mortal man now-a-days. Relieving
his feeling with agrunt—half-sigh, half-sneer—he
dresses and goes to the op&ra— or the ballet, at all
events —or settles himself on the sofa to a French
novel and endr by firmly believing us women to
be—what we are painted there 1
■<•••♦■
Tiie . Lady’s Home Magazine, edited by T. S. Ar
thur and Virginia F. Townsend and published
at Philadelphia, is altogether one of the hand
somest monthlies in this country. Terms of sub
scription, §2.00 a-year in advance; 4 copies,
§5.00.
- r v
The last number of the Index contains an.obit
uary notice near two columns in length, and yet,
the eulogist did not give the name of the de
ceased,
Michael II inch, has been convicted in Musco
gee county for the murder of Samuel Tracy.
’ William Freeman, a prominent citizen of Grif
fin, Ga„ died on Tuesday last.
The Columbus -papcrs say the religious revival in
that place is on ,the increase.
A planter of Lee county says the Albany Patriot,
informed us last Tuesday, that Re had seen a cot
ton square on a ratoon stalk in one of his fields.
Tuis is the first that we have heard of this spring.
Isaac Holcombe, of Fayette county, Georgia,
has been arrested by the. officers of the Pension
Bureau, to await his trial for the commission. of
frauds'in obtaining revolutionary pensions.
-# 1 ~
Two centuries ago no one in a hundred wore
stockings. Fifty years ago, not one boy in a thou
sand was allowed to run at large night or day.
Fifty years ago not one girl in a thousand made
her mammy wait on her as a hired servant.
Wonderful improvements.
“ I say Pat, what are you about? sweeping out
that room?’ “ No,” answered Pat, “I am sweep
ing out the dirt, and leaving the room.’ 1 -
“ Mister, will you just lend pa your newspaper?
He only wants tojsend it a to his uncle in the coun
try.” “■< >h, certainly ; and ask your father if he
will just lend me the roof of his house. I only
Want the shingles to make the tea-kettle boil.”
A volume, collected from Douglas Jerrold’s
writings and conversation, and arranged by Blan
chard Jerrold, the eldest son of thegaeat humor
ist, is ip press by Messers. Tick nor and Fields,
and will be published simultaneously with the
English edition.
Women cannot keep a Secret! —“Here is one
accusation which I must sorrowfully bring against
wom'en, as being much more guilty than men.
We nan keep a secret—ay, against all satire, I
protest w-e can—while the eonfider remains our
friend; but if that ceases, pop! out it comes !’ r
Four trials have been made in Providence, R.
1., to elect a Senator and six Representatives to
tlio legislature from that city, and yet there is no
choice. .
An old writer said that when cannons were in
troduced as negotiators, the canons of the church
were useless: that the world was governed first
by mtlrum and then by nitrim —first by St. Peter
and then by Saltpetre.
How to Get a Rich Wife. —A book has just
been jmblished in New Orleans with the above
title which contains a list of all the rich marri
ageble ladies and gentlemen, in Lonisiana and
the adjoining States, with the amount of solid
rhino possessed by each.
A number of students in the State University,
of Michigan, indulged in a night of debauch last
week, when one of them named George W. Bra
zie died from the effects of excessive intoxica
tion.
The Chinese proverb says a lie has no legs and
cannot stand, but it has wings, and can ily far
and wide.
Always do as the sun does, look at the bright
side of everything ; it is just as cheaj^and three
times as good for digestion.
The Rev. W. A. Scott, D. D., of California,
lias been chosen Moderator of the General Assem
bly of the Old School Presbyterian Church, which
body assembled in New Orleans” on Thursday
last.
The Maryville East Tennesseean says: We have
heretofore spoken in flattering terms cf the grow
ing wheat crop. We are compelled from close
observation now to express the opinion that the
prospect for a full crop of wheat is anything but
flattering.
There is a local editor out West so poor that he
never stands on one foot at a time, for fear
that he may wetu* out is boots quick.
There have been many definitions of a gentle
man, but the prettiest and most poetic is that
given by a lady: “A gentleman is a human
being combining a woman’s, tenderness and a
man’s courage.”
Courtships are the sweet and dreamy thres
hold of unseen Edens, where half the world has
paused in couples and talked in whispers under
the mooidight, and passed on, and never re
turned.
They have a queer way of doing some things
in Illinois: Two lovers wanted to get married,
and the girl's mother wouldn’t consent, and she
being of age, the gentleman sued out a writ of
habeas corpus, and the mother was compelled
to bring the daughter to court. The judge
asked the girl whether she wanted to marry
Smith? She said “yes 1 ” and ho married them.
A few days since, a asaan residing near Galena,
Illinios, took a load of .potatoes to that town to
sell, but not being able to get a, higher offer than
ten cents per bushel, he declined-sailing, and
threw the load into Fever river. He was ar
rested, thereupon, taken before Die authorities, 1
and fined sl4 lor obstructing the navigation.
A Revival Incident— Last Saturday, at the j
meeting at Burton's theatre, Henry Ward Beecher; I
made the sweeping assertion that all present were
sinners. Not so,” said a Methodist brother who*,
suddenly jumped from his seat in a very excited
manner—Not so, for I have been sanctified.
“ Glory to God in the highest,” shouted Beecher
at the top of his voice, “you ought, to have been
in Heaven long ago, you are not fit to live in this
world.”
Cheerful Church Music. —When the poet ,Car
pany inquired of his friend Haydn how it hap
pened that his church music was so cheerful, the
great composer made a most beautiful reply
“ I cannot,” said he, “ make it otherwise. I write
according to the thoughts I feel; when I think
upon God my heart is so full of joy that the notes
dance and leap, as it were, from my pen ; and
1 since God has given me a cheerful heart, it will
be pardoned me that I serve him with a cheerful
spirit.”
Monument to tiie Bronte Family.— A neat,
chaste, marble mural tablet is to be erected in
the church at Haworth, the memory of the de
ceased members of the Bronte family. The tablet,
has been designed and executed by Mr. Greaves,
sculptor, Halifax. The ground-work is of dove
colored marble. A cornice runs along the upper
part, surmounted by an ornamental pediment,
the form and working out of which are exceed-:
ingly chaste. Belcw the tablet are two flat-:
tened brackets, and between these the sacred
monogram, the letters I. H. S., in old English.’
The inscription is in Roman letters, initials, how
ever, in old English.
1 lie printing office has indeed proved a better
college to many a boy, has graduated more useful
and conspicuous members of society, has brought
more intellect out and turned it into practical, k
useful channels, awakened more minds, generated
more active and elevated thought, than many
•of the literary colleges of the country. A boy
who commences in such a school as the printing
office will have his talents and ideas brought
.out j and if he is a careful observer, experience
m his profession will contribute jnoi o toward an
education than can be obtained in almost any
other manner.
( George W, Curtis on Woman’s Rights. —Mr.
Curtis is bolder than Mr. Brady in his assertion
of woman’s right?/ His lecture in New York on
the subject closed with the following:
“ Is it improper for a woman to spend halt an
hour at the polls, and highly proper to be
ciowded for hours into lecture room or Church
to hear prurient poems in a play or see the petty
spectacle of an opera ? Unwomanly for a woman
to drop a ballot in a box; but quite modest and
lady-like to whirl in a polka in the arms of a man
she never saw before, and have her cheek fanned
by his tipsy breath. That there are children now
in some cities who will one day go with their
wives to the ballot box as they do to the theatre
or lyceurn, I just as firmly believe as Iclo that
women are quite as well informed as men on
political Subjects. I believe that women are as
inteligent as their gardeners, or as those of our
fellow citizens who land here ignorant of our
laws and customs, but whose eyes are anointed
with political sight by the tobacco spittle ot the
City Hall. I know how busy and dangerous is
prejudice in all its different torms; but it is our
duty to keep ourselves free from prejudice, and
to call our frieuds around us with sacred hospi
tality, and be ever generous to every movement
which lends to the welfare and elevation ot our
Common humanity.”
When you see an old man amiable, mild, equable,
content, and good-humored, be BUl ® that m his
youth he has been just, generous, and forbearing.
Inlris end he does not lament the past, nor dread
the future j he is like the evening of ft fine day.
’ EVENINGS AT HOME.
No. 1..
BY MARY BRYAN.
OUR early tea was over, the old-fashioned round
table, with its lighted lamp, was drawn to the
centre of the room and we gathered around it—
papa with his favorite Recorder, deep in politics
and wise speeches, my mother with our little
Johnny, fresh and rosy from his evening bath,
lying half asleep upon her lap, and ray sister
Helen, with a snow-drift of cambric and tiny em
broidery scissors, engaged- in the lady-like occu
pation which has been dofined, “cutting holes to
sew them up again.' ’*
For myself, with a well filled portfolio beside
me, I was employed in looking over the corres
pondence of a dear relative, whose memory I love
to recall, and whose rare intellect, deep, unaffec
ted piety and extended usefulness have rendered
her name familiar as a household word to many
unknown to me, whose eyes may rest upon this.
On taking from its envelope a sheet covered with
the delicate cliirograpliy of a female hand, a tiny
bit of paper, folded letter-shape, fell upon the
table. I opened it and found it written in a
child’s irregular hand. At Helen’s request, I
read it aloud.
“ My deal’ Aunt:
I have not had the pleasure of
writing to you in a long time, as I have been go
ing to school, and have not had time; and another
reason, I have not heard Susy say anything about
writing. I have not been very well for a few days
past, but lam getting well again. I have no
news worth telling you. I have a great many
amusements at school, and I study hard to please
Susy and because I like to learn when my lessons
are not too long. I went with Susy down to the
sea shore this summer season, I had fine times
down there. I have written these few lines to
let you know I have not forgotten my aunty in
Florida, for 1 love you, though I have never seen
you, and may be never shall, and I thank you
for being so good to Susy when she was away off
from home. I feed Susy a good deal on sparrow
berds( which I catch in my traps in the garden,
and a3 I have just finished one, which increases
my number to 3, I must stop and look at it, I
would like verry much to see you, and I hope I
will, some of these days; but as I cannot at pres
ent, I send my love and a kiss.
I remain your affectionate little boy,
JOHN S. WINTHROP. ,,
“ What a sweet little letter!” said
my sister; “who is Johnny Winthrop, mama?”
“ The only child of wealthy parents, residing
in Carolina. Ilis mother was a traveling acquaint
ance of your aunt’s. Mr. Winthrop had gone to
Florida to superintend an important law suit,
which created a good deal of excitement a year
or two ago. (You remember of reading the
Groom and Winthrop casein the papers?) His
wife accompanied him, and your aunt was attrac
ted by her pleasant, sensible face and quiet man
ner, so different from the airs assumed by the
vulgar rich. Their acquaintance soon ripened
into friendship, and Mrs. Winthrop spoke fre
quently of her little boy—her only child, and of
the manner she had adopted in his training.
Though heir to an independent patrimony, she
determined that he should not be raised in use
less indolence, and early taught him habits of
industry and usefulness. lie had never been in
dulged with costly gifts and playthings, and was
never allowed pocket money until he had earned*
or thought he had earned, it.
‘I set him to weeding the garden, making
chicken coops or something of the kind/ said his
mother, ‘ and when he conies in, glowing with
exercise and with the pleasure of having been
useful and receives liis reward, it is prized all the
more, because it is the earnings of liis own labor.’ ”
“ But who is the Susy he speaks of ?”
“His mother —she was quite young and he
called his grand-mother, who lived with them,
‘mama;’ but you can see that ‘Susy’ is his Alpha
and Omega. On leaving him in Carolina, they
placed in his room a box containing a set of very
.neat little tools, and a note, telling him that if,
by their return, he had finished a nice kennel
for Hie New Foundland dog Nero, he should be
.rewarded by a visit to the sea shore. His mother
writes that the kennel was completed and Nero
in possession‘by the time they reached home.”
“’How mueh-better,” said papa, w T ho had be
come interested Jn the conversation and laid
down his paper, “dhan cOstly toys, that only serve
to foster an extravagant, disposition.”
“ Children,” observed ray,pother, “are quite as
well contented with simple playthings—such as
blocks.for building houses, or a slate and pencil
—amusements which call -their own ingenuity
into exercise. 1 admire Mrs. y/inthrop’s plan of
teaching herlittleboy at once the, value of money
and the habit of industry, to say. nothing , ,of the
pleasure of being employed and the beneficial
effects of the exercise.
“Mama practices what she preaches,” said my
sister, looking up from her embroidery. “John
ny earned his first.dime to-day:by picking a cup
of strawberries.”
“Was that the reason why Johnny was so busy
in the garden? He came running out to me as
‘I passed with’his lips and fingersstained with, the
red juice, and told me he had picked, ‘Oh ! such
a ‘heap df strawberries’ and only pulled one green
one, and that he had stuck. it on oytiitt.
Tape .smiled and looked up over his spectacles
at the little darling, who was now fast asleep, with
a smile on liis half-parted lips. I had been look
ing over Mm. Winthvop’s letter, and now read
this passage aloud:
“ Little Johnny has been at school only a month
and is delighted with it. He is as lovely and af
fectionate as ever, and I pray that he may always
continue so ; that he may grow up to manhood
with the same high principles of honor and re
ligion that now fill his heart; but Oh ! my dear
friend, what a difficult thing is this training of
children!”
“ Difficult, indeed,” I said; “ when even this
pious mother, with her strong,, disciplined mind
and excellent heart felt its -responsibilities.
There can be no positive rules laid down'for the
education of children, since a course that would
be beneficial for one child might crush the spirit
of another more sensitive ; and then this faculty
of imagination so often predominant in youthful
minds—some advise that it should bo rei>i essed,
wliilo others affirm that it must be cultivated to
the utmost. Papa, do you think there is any
harm in childrens reading story-books and fairy
tales?” .
“ Not half so much as in silly sentimental trash
or records of dates, murders and battles, called
histories, or oven dry essays that disgust and
weary, becauso they cannot be comprehended.
No; ‘pother Goose’s Melodies,’ ‘Puss in Boots’
and ‘ Elf-land’ never did ohildren any
harm. There is no more pleasant or impressive
manner of conveying wholesome moral lessons,
than through the graceful medium of fiotion.
There is more poetry and pathos in the sweet
story of the * Babes in the Wood’ than in all the
novels that Sand and Sue ever poured from the
hot press of France.”
“And ‘Puss, in Boots’—dear, unmatchable, in
comparable Pus3!” said my sister.
i * . “
“Yes, and'Katy Ross,’ with hermysterious vase
and its nameless contents* and ‘Moll o’ the
Marsh/ who travelled in her zeal for knowledge
nine miles to a witch cave, with a plug in each
ear and a plaster over each eye to guard against
the fascinations of the unearthlies who strove to
stop her.”
“Do you know,” said Helen, “that I never see
a green, or yellow’ and red. grasshopper, without
recalling the fable we read long ago about these
gay children of tiro sunshine and the industrious
ants, and, repeating the description of the grass
hopper’s ball, where .
‘ My Lady Goliglitly in a red silk dress and shawl,
With Sir Peregrine Peabody, was leading oil’the ball,
While my old Lord Hoddydoddy, who is fat as any pig,
Was dancing a high cockolorum jig.’
It is singular how lasting these early impressions
are. Walter Scott attributed much of his rich
imagination to the tendency given his mind by
the stories of Elfin and fairy, legends of border
chivalry and of wonderful courage and .self-devo- *
tion told him in his boyhood by his grand-mother .
in her lonely home on the banks of the TWeed.”
“Yes, but he never entirely recovered from th®
superstitious feeling they engendered. Is it Ir
ving or McLeod, who says that he pointed to a
huge black cat lying on the rug one night at Ab
botsford and told him half seriously, half in jest,
that he believed her to be some human being
transformed, and would not be much surprised
to see her resume her former shape and vanish
away on a broom stick?”
“ But,” said my mother, “ those old stories of
dwarfs and genii and faires always tend to exalt
virtue and debase vice. They have always some
wholesome moral, all the more impressive because
it is rather implied than expressed. How differ
ent from those miserable productions of authors,
who cater to the vitiated tastes of the public ancj
subtly and insidiously appeal to the worst pas
sions of our nature, even while appearing to ad
vocate the cause of virtue?*’
“Such as Reynolds,” said my sister ; “ I never
read a page of his works without throwing down
the book and rushing for relief into the open air,
ready to exclaim with the leper, ‘ Unclean! un
clean.!’”
She dropped her scissors in her enthusiasm, and
mama, taking advantage of the pause in the con
versation, carried Johnny into the next room.
When she returned she said:
“\ou were speaking of the training of chil
dren. Much depends upon the influence of the
elder children upon the minds of the younger,
I marked Mrs. Ellis’ address to her pupils for you
to read to-day. You will find the book on n->y
bureau. Her strong, shrewd sense and womanly
feeling make amends for the absence of ornate
eloquence in her style.”
“Get the book, daughter, and read it aloud,”
said papa to mo; “it will be a good counterpoise
to all the sickly sentiment ancl trash your sister
has imbimbed from that yellow-covered volume
she was pouring over to-day.”
“ Fie! papa, to call Bulwor’s ‘ Varieties of Eu-.
glish life’ trash,” exclaimed Helen, playfully;
“such exalted sentiments, such deep insight into
human nature, such a masterly style and admi
rable reasoning, you cannot fin.cl in Bacon or any
of your philosophers, I am sure.” Papa shook
his head and looked surprised at my sister’s
earnestness, while Helen herself Mushed a,t hay
ing betrayed her enthusiasm.
I came to the rescu,c,
“ Papa,” said I, carelessly, “dp you recollect
the sermon I read you last Sunday evening ?”.
“Certainly I do,” replied my father; “it was
the best one of Splurgeon’s you have read me
yet. ‘ Bear ye one another’s burdens/ was the
text. What of it ?”
“Only that it was not Splurgeon’sbutßulwer’s.
You were lying on the lounge with a newspaper
over your face and did not see the ‘yellow cover/
It is the sermon Bulwer puts in the mouth of ex
cellent Parson Dale, in the ‘ Varieties of English
life.’”
My father tried to “pish!” and muttered some
thing about “one chapter being no evidence that
the others were as good; he would never judge
cotton by a picked samplebut finally he joined
in tlie laugh against himself, in the midst of
which I went into the next room and returned
with the book containing Mrs. Elds’ address to
her pupils, which mama had marked for our
evening reading.” M. B.
Sori’ows are like tempest clouds—in the distance
they look black, but when above us, scarcely
gray. As sad dreams joy, so will
it be with the so-often torturing dream of life
when it hath passed.
True politeness is the last touch of a noble
character. It is the gold on the spire, the sunlight
the corn-field, and the smile on the lij> of the
noble knight lowering his sword-point to liis lady
love.
A woman suggested that when mon break their
hearts, it is the same as when a lobster break,
one of his claws—another sproutingimmediately
and growing in its place.
It is a terrible thought to remember that noth
ing can be forgotten. I have somewhere read
that not an oath is uttered tha t does not continue
ito vibrate through all time, in the wild-spread
ing current of sound; not a prayer lisped that its
record is not to be found stamped on the laws of
nature by the indelible seal of the Almighty’s
will.” ’
In her earthy bed beneath the flowers, .
My little darling lies ;
ißut from heaven’s blue I hear a voice
’Tis hers. It sweetly says. “ Rejoice,
l am beyond the skies .
Beside her grave jjmiong the flowers,
I walk with thoughtful tread ;
And ’midst the buds beneath my feet,
I hear a whisper fairy-sweet-, t.-
“ Yourdafiing is not dead !”
Spurgeon says of a prayer, that it is the rope
of the belfry ; pull it, and it rings the bell up in
Heaven. Keep on pulling it! and though the
bell is up so high you cannot hear it ring, de
pend upon it, it can be heard in the tower of
Heavep, and is ringing before t the throne of God
who will give you answers of peace according to
your faith.
The drop which thou shakest from thy wet
hand, rests not where it falls, but to-morrow
thou findest it swept away. Already on the
wings of the north wind, it is nearing the tropic
of Cancer. How came it to evaporate, and not lie
motionless? Thinkest thou there is aught that
God has made, that is motionless, withont force,
and uttery dead ? — Carlyle.
Abuses of the Press in China. —lt is found
that at Pekin, the imperial capital of the Light
of the Universe, flic wisdom of China has admir
ably contrived a method for checking the abuses
of the Press; if an editor publishes a falsehood
there, by way guarding against ever doing the
like again, he is instantly seized and decapitated.
If such a law were adopted in the United States,
we hardly think that any political editor would
Jive twenty-four hours except those who publish
weekly journals; not one of whom would live
above seven days.
Love Rhymes —lt is singular how much amato
ry poety is written before marriage, and how little
after. One may have but little of “ the vision and
faculty divine,” but on fallingjin loye, he that.finds
he is not without the “ accomplishment of verse.”
This lets us into the secretwhy there are so many
unsuccessful wooers. “ Sir/’ said a iady to a gen
tleman who had addressed to her a copy of
verses,and who afterwards solicited the honor of
her hand—” Sir, I admire your person and esteem
your character; your manners are pleasing and
your disposition engaging—but—but your poetry is
execrable. I could never loye a writer of such
| verses.”