Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.”