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JOHN 11. SEALS, /
t.DITOH. )
11l SERIES. VOL. I.
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Selected
TO. sis V N A T I V E PLA CE .
BY TIIOS. W. RENNF.
”
Tilt Indian, when his lamp of life
With faint and waning lustre burns,
And weary from the battle’s strife
And spirit-stirring chase he turns,
Sighs for the fields and streams where sprung
His young dreams into manhood’s fires,
Forever there to rest among
The graves and ashes of his sires .*
So, Maspeth, turns my heart to thee,
Scene of iny spirit’s Sabbath hours,
Where sported not more joyously
The bird amid thy woodland bowers,
Than my young feet, that, winged with joy,
Forever springing new and bright,
Had but one task, one sweet employ,
To chase the phantoms of delight—
The visions that from morn till eve
Rose to my soul’s enraptured view,
And which, if false, did so deceive,
They had not given more bliss if true.
Though brief as bright, yet still around
My spirit flit those forms of bliss
That Heaven to childhood’s hour has bound,
And Memory saves to gladden this.
I roam thy fields, I climb thy hills
With a wild joy, even now, as then :
And still the lovely prospect thrills
My heart—and lam young again!
Thy streams have something in their flow
That links to them this heart of mine—
I know not what, but only know
I love no other streams as thine.
I
Unaltered, where all else has changed.
AlDeit, unmapped, unnoted, these
Has Heaven in beauty round us ranged
As landmarks in our destinies—
The heart's material boundaries,
To which, how far soe’er it roam.
It may at will return, and seize
A blessing, if not a home.
For the Banner.
k 1 S 0 ALCOHOL.
Hear Banner —l have been for sometime looking j
into the affairs of King Alcohol, and have thought!
that some notice of him and liis government, and the
people he rules, might be of some interest to you
and your numerous readers. Alcohol is not: King
really, no more than you or I. The people have
dubbed him King because of his cruel tyranny over
those he may happen at any time to get under liis
thumb. He has no more right to the* place he holds
in the affections of the people than Benedict Arnold !
to the regal sceptre of these l nited States. He was
very early married to one* Miss Misery. She wa*- the ,
daughter of Abaddow. They say her father was j
much pleased with the union of his dear daughter
with one whose disposition and occupation was so
similar to his own. King Alcohol occupies hi- time
and strength in degrading the men he has under con-;
trol, while Queen Misery feels it to be her peculiar
prerogative to oppress arid wring bitter tear-* from all,
the women in the land.
King Alcohol reigns over a country called Inebri
ation. His country is. bounded East by the sea of
Common Sense, South by the land of Sobriety, West
hy the Province of Prosperity, and North bv the
beautiful territorie of Peace and Happiness. The
Inebrialians are a very singular people. Travelers
relate a curious fact in regard to them, and it is told
on good authority ; it is this, notwithstanding the
sea, of Common Sense laves the whole eastern shore
of Inebriation, not one of its inhabitants have ever
been known to saii over its peaceful waters upon
any craft. Some of them have been known to ‘
ride out of mornings, occasionally, into the land |
of Sobriety, but they always get back into their own j
country before midnight. Some never enter this last
named country by day or by night. As to the Pro
vince of Prosperity the Inebriations know very little
about it Some times when they arc the most mis
erable, they dream about the beautiful territories of;
Peace and Happiness, but they very soon forget all;
that when King Alcohol gets bib grip upon them.
Dffiotrt io Cnnjmriiiicc. literature, Central Intelligence, anb the I'atest Heins.
The chief towns in the land of Inebriation are,
Appetitt, Loufuy, l‘ortrty, Bisoroee and Utter
Ruin. Appetite is the Capitol, It is • very
singular fact that (he Fnebriatians live success
ively in all those tow ns, according to their regular
turn. They are all born in the t’apitol, Appetite,
and very curly in life they move to Loafing, from
Loafing they go to Poverty, from Poverty they* move
to Disgrace, they then go from Disgrace to the city
of liter Ruin. When their race is run, and they en
ter the high and sombre walls ot liter Ruin, they
enter to go out no more forever. Their King
binds them in chains the most galling, and places
round them the the most vigilant guard, a if deter
mined to riot in their destruction, now that helms
them safe—one in a thousand may escape from this
place, but even that is doubted by the. wisest Histo
rians. Most generally they very soon die and are
buried in this city. The great cemetery of inebria
tion is in the city of I Her Ruin, and none of the in- 1
habitants are allowed to bo intered elsewhere by j
strict order of the King. It would make your hoart ’
sad to visit this cemetery and read the epitaphs upon |
the tombstones of the departed Inebrialians. The
most appalling feature in them is, that most of them
die very young, almost before they* reach the prime
oflife. This may be best. It is said to he accord
ing to the unalterable decree of their God Bacchus.
One tombstone is particularly conspicuous in this
cemetery, there is much pagentry about it, the epi
taph upon it runs thus, “Here lies the body of Alex
ander the Great, irho died in the S2d year of his aye,
of delirium tremens'’ We left the place feeling that
whoever visits the city of liter Ruin once, will nev
er wish to visit it again.
There are three noted rivers in the land of Inebri
ation, namely: Tethe, Shame and Sorrow. Tethe
differs from the Ancient river of the same name ; a
draught from the latter produced forgetfulness of all
the past transactions of life, while a draught from
the former causes one to forget all the interest and
friends of the present. I have known some under
the influence of the waters of the Tethe of Inebria
tion set upon their wives and little ones with the
fierceness of enraged hyenas, and never stop until
they destroyed all the valuables upon which they*
could lay hands. It is said, on good authority, that
old King Alcohol douses all iiis subjects in tin* river
Shame, just before he locks them up in the city of
Utter Ruin. The river Sorrow seems to be peculiar
ly the portion of the womdh of the country, and into
it they are plunged without mercy by their husbands,
fathers, brothers and sons. Queen Misery has erect
ed her Palace on the banks of this river, and shakes
her sides at the horrible plight of those who are
thrown into it by their merciless relatives. It is
generally known that this cruel treatment is by order
of King Alcohol for tlie purpose of making sport for
Queen Misery, his dear wife! All these rivers emp
ty themselves into the sea of Discontent, an inland
sea bard by the city of Utter Ruin.
There are two noted mountains in Inebriation,
Mount Anger and Mount Revenge. Mount Anger
is but a short distance from the Capitol. There i; a
Temple on its top, dedicated to Mars, tin: God of war.
The Inebrialians are accustomed to pay visits to this
mountain very frequently, and it is thought that
some of them hardly ever leave it for one hour at a
time. Captain Humanity -,ays, the worst is, those
miserable oten drag their wives and children with
them to this mountain and compel them to inhale
its poisonous atmosphere. All about this mountain
you meet with red eyes, red noses, and pouch-mouths.
.Mount Revenge is an ever active volcano, and is near
the city Utter Ruin. Many smashed countenances
are to be met with in the vicinity of this mountain,
and many gallows where victims to its poisonous
breath, have been executed.
1 have been told that Gen. Prohibition has declared
\ a war of extermination against King Alcohol, hoping
| to free the country of the tyrant and his cruel op
pressors. f don't knowwhat will come of it. They
say the old General ha- a faithful and well tryed land
under him, and three of ms brave and true officers as
ever lived. Their names tire Col. Humanity, Col.
Philanthropy and Gen Benevolence Tin c all live
in the land of Sobriety.
ADOI.PI,US PHYLANDER.
i , ■ --- _
s3*tecdlctneous Selccfcfoite,
L
THE HOT HUPPTft.
“We are to have a hot supper hi the loft over
1 Kinnard’s store,"said a junior to Drown, a <*la- -mate,
j “Turkey, chickens, apple-;*ie, and custard.-., precise*
ily at twelve. All the class are to be there, and you
won't refuse this time.” said White “It’s to be par
ticularly quiet and sober You’ll not regret i*. my
! good fellow.”
* “Well, perhaps 1 will go. -aid hi companion, who
! had uniformly refused nil invitation.--of thin vir', to
! club.-, oyster -.uppers, and convivialities of hi- fellow
; collegians, incurring thereby th< odious epithet of a
“stingy methodist.’
So he handed a bank note to tin. Junior, wh* left
; him in high spirits at his unlooked-for success.
For nearly three years Brown had firmly re is ted
j every temptation of this kind, and his high standing
ias a scholar, together with an unblemished reputa
tion, and obliging disposition, exempted him from
\ the .-uspicion and obloquy usually the reward of such
i well-doing.
Congratulations’ were expressed, and bets laid by
the high fellows, who were surprised as well as: de
lighted, that at last “the bird was caught.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Par-ons to Stone, “we’ve nailed
, him. He’s coming, and no mistake. I've laid a bet
lof ten dollars that he shall drink. He can’t refuse.
mil, chmu, sm iiiiti, ,ui i. ik
Now remember, mix fourth proof brandy with his
port, half-and-half, I say.”
“Vos, yes, ! know,” replied Stone,---“wouldn’t (
give a ten to see tie* sport? never fear.”
The night was cold and starry, when Drown threw
aside his books, adjusted his toilet quickly, and w alk
ed towards Kinnard’s store, not, however, w ithout
some compunctions visiting his conscience, at the
consent so hastily given to he present at the sup
per.
“For once, it may do no hat in m see what these
fatnon-suppers are; although I had much rather be
on my pillow, to tell the truth.” When he reached
the store the door was closed, and all was silent; hut
a faint light from the loti above, gate signs of vitali
ty, and gently pushing open the door, he made his
way through packages and barrels to the stairs, and
soon was admitted to the busy group.
\\ hettcil appetites in a keen December night, sel
dom luxuriously indulged within the precincts of
commons; various savory odors from the steaming
dishes, together with the cheerful faces of the colle
gians who were laying the eloth and producing from
baskets and pails, the materials for the feast, alto
gether, made if a scene of exhilaration.
Alter the arrangements were finished to the satis
faction of all present, the leading member of the
class arose, and with mock gravity*, imitating the
doctor, rang a little hell, ami desired someone to sav
grace.
A general titter went round the table, but all invol
untarily glanced at Drown, who nothing daunted,
instantly rose, and reverently asked a blessing of
find on the food so unexpectedly provided.
A silence followed. Stone tried to get off a w itti
cism upon the chaplain, but it did not talc e. The j
smoking viands were deliciously prepared, and tin* re
past went off with unusual courtesy and self-restraint
The fragments soon disappeared; plates, knives and
forks, gathered up into baskets, and wine followed,
as a matter of course.
Parsons, who presided, bowing low to liron n, pre
sented the glass, with the toast, “Good fellow
ship.”
“I thank you,” replied Brown, “no one desires
good fellowship with the present company more than
myself, but as I never drink wine, I shall only damp
your festivity, and therefore beg leave to retire."—
With this he rose and proceeded towards the door,
w hen Stone sprang forward and put the key in his
pocket.
“I on will not leave this room, Drown, till you have
drank with us. We only drink to good fellowship.
A ou surely arc not the crabbed fellow to go off*now.
Come, Drown, for once be merry, and have a good
time. Who’s afraid ? ”
“f am not, my friend,” said Drown firmly, as he
returned to his seat, “and as I believe courtesy per
mits mo to have the floor, I will reply to the toast as
a fraternal brother.” Drown then proceeded, in a
strain of eloquence, to address his auditors, who had
before expressed the highest admiration for his tal
ents —and briefly arranged liis arguments in favor of
a strictly temperance course oflife. His companions
listened in silence while he alluded to the scenes of
disgraceful riot which had expelled some of the mem
bers of college during the term, to their homes, car
rying sorrow and distress to their friends; and feel
ingly did he appeal to their noble motives to abandon
a course which must end in ruin.
He drew a picture of friends at home, toiling early
and late, to afford them the advantages of education;
of the mother’s prayers for her absent sons, lie ap
pealed to their future welfare, tlu ir ambitions hopes
all connected with college lift.
Drown sat down, surprised himself, at the respect
ful attention he received.
“You’ve lost you ten,” whispered Store to Par
sons.
“Yes, and got a temperance lecture in the bar
gain,” replied ('arsons.
The door was unlocked, and Drown bade bis com
panion-’ good evening and walked out, but was in
stantly followed by a young man who Liu] -at tho’t
fully at the lower end of the table, -hading bis face
i with hi hand.
“Drown give me your hand. Listen, 1 lu re solemn
ly promise by the stars above us, that never will I
touch a drop of liquor again. I have wasted time
and money enough, God sent you to that 101 l to
night. I have a widow-mother, whose very life is
bound up in mine. Drown, you have waked me
from a fata,l dream. God bless you.”
And thus do the delicate* wheels of Divine i'rovi-!
deuce take up opportunities improved, faithful, ear
| nest efforts of true disciples, turning the channels of i
vice and dissipation into healthy currents of living j
streams, which shall flow on forever. “Workers with
God,’ be faithful, for an eternity shall developc the I
mighty wonder of human instrumentality, wrought;
‘in and carried out, ?>v th'* mvst'ri'un: machinery of
Divine Providence.
. * * * * t >;< *** > V * * *
“Who it-your biblical Prof-.>or?” inquired Drown, ,
several year after, while visiting a Theological .‘'em-!
inary, in one of the Northern States.
“Why, Prof. Alden, you roust know him, one oi
the best men and moat distinguished scholars.”
“Alden! ah’, yes, I remember him.”
The friends met, ami mutual embraces and inqui-!
rics followed.
“Your sermon in Kinnards loft was the instru- j
ment of saving me, rny dear friend. From that night
I was an altered man. But for y ou, I had been lost,
to friends, to reputation, and lost to myself.”
Blessed be God, for seed dropped by the wayside,
1 for links of Providence touching the festive board,
and reaching on through eternal ages.
VTOMW's pi t\ TO TOOK PRETTY.
A Kronch author Ims recently written a hook on
I “The Duty of a Pretty Woman is to look I'rotLv.”
! Such a w ork, doubtless, has its uses; but it is of lim
ited application. We should have rejoiced in a title
of more extended significance, with contents corres
ponding to the title. The subject should bine been,
in effect word il ns you may- the duty of every
: woman to look as pretty as she can. Sonic women
arc unfortunately not pretty: but there are few wo
men who cannot, impart something of comeliness
even to an ill-favored face and a misshapen figure, il
they w ill only take the trouble
\\ o speak very gravely when vfe say that there
are few relations in life, or ratio i that there are few
relationless conditions, in which this is not a duty.
That cleanliness is a virtue is seldom denied. \
pretty woman, doubtless, looks prettier w hen clean,
and an ugly, uglier when dirty. And there are du
ties beyond personal cleanliness. Neatness, tidiness,
follow close upon it. But something more mnv still
be needed; and something; more clearly seen and
properly described, is the least possible spice of co
quetry.
A well-dressed woman, however little she may be
favored by nature, ceases to be plain. It is difficult,
indeed, to limit the extent to w hich a woman, by
due attention to dress, may improve her natural at
tractions, or obviate the disadvantages with which
she was born. And that it is her duty to do this,
whether she be well or ill favored, is something more
than a maxim of more worldlinoss. To endeavor to
the utmost to please those with whom we live is un
questionably a duty.
A man marries, indeed, for the sake of the donut*
et ylaeeus uxor. He does not take woman to liis
hearth because she is a philosopher, or an arithme
tician, but because, in homely language, there is
“something nice about her.” It was, doubtless, the
design of the Almighty, in giving man a helpmate,
that site should satisfy his natural craving after the
beautiful, the graceful, and the gentle. For this was
woman formed ;
“For softness she ami sweet attractive grace.”
The woman who forgets tin's, ignores one of the
great objects other creation. The wife who forgets
this, violates one of the primal conditions of the con
nubial contract.
That some women arc naturally more beautiful
arid graceful than others, is a fact which makes not
against, but for, our argument. Dress is common to
all. It is a consolation to those not naturally gifted,
that there is a point at which nature yields to art,
and tin; work of men’s hands is potent to supply the
adornment not vouchsafed by Providence. Ftissiir
prising what, a very little way mere personal beauty
goes.
We may confidently appeal to the experience of
men of the world in support of the assertion that the
efforts of art arc often more pleasing and attractive
than the gifts of nature in other words, that well
dressed women are more admired than merely beau
tiful ones. Accident is beaten by effort in the great
Olympics of society.
It may lie agreed that taste in dress is si arcelyless
a natural gift than personal beauty. And, to some
extent, at least, the fact ‘oust be admitted. One wo
man has naturally an eye for color and form, whilst
another has: neither the one nor the other. Itut
there arc few women who have not, or cannot acquire,
a sufficient knowledge of the becoming in costume
for all domestic purposes. It may be doubted, in
deed, whether the plea of iucompeteucy is ever set
up. The real secret of inattention to dress is care
lessness- indifference —idleness. Il is not worth
| the trouble. Women do not always consider that
what it is worth their while to gain, it, is worth their
while to keep. It is no uncommon thing for women
to become slatternly after marriage. They say that
they have other things to attend to, and dress is ha
-1 bitually neglected except, perhaps, on great occa
sions, when there is a display of finery and bad taste
abroad, to be followed by greater negligence at homo.
Grea t respect is shown to what is called “company;”
but apart from this there is a sort of end. bow aban
donment, and the compliment which i- paid to
strangers is withheld from those who have the best
right to claim, and are most likely to appreciate it.
This is a fatal, but too common error. When a wo
man, with reference to tb<- question of personal
adornment, begins to sny to herself, “Ft is only my
husband,” she. must prepare herself for consequen
ce.-, which, perhaps, she may rm- in the latest day
■ of her life.
j The effect, indeed, of attention or inattention to
j drew— and we include in the one little word what
j ever contributes to personal comeliness and at.trac
’ tivenes -. upon the domestic happiness, especially <,f
’ the lowet and middle classes, cannot easily be over
stated. ‘i'b o. phimm uxor, as we have said, is no
; small part of the totality of borne. If a man finds
; that he has not secured what lie believed be had tnar
j ried, he ha , a right, to feel disappointed. We do not
, ay that lie has a right to retaliate. The obligations
of the connubial contract are not conditional, but ab
i > ’
: -elute. Negligence on the one side doe-> not excuse
. negligence on the other; but it will very surely in
duce it. When there i- nothing attractive at home,
a man, however inexcusable such conduct may be,
i will seek it abroad, whether at the ale house, the
j club, the theatre, the gaining table, or only in what
,is called “society.” We do not mean to say that
dress alone is the agency by which the erratic pro
j penalties of husbands ate to be restrained, but that
iit is a highly important part of it. Indeed, it may
be asserted that the absence of attention t > tins mat
ter pre-supposes the absence of almost all other gen- 1
! tie, kindly, and attractive qualities.
VOL XXI.--IMBER IK.
THE MOTHER.
A writer beautifully remarks that a man’s mother
is the representative of his Maker. Misfortune, and
even crime, set up no barriers between her and her
son. \\ hile his mother lives he has one friend on
earth who will not listen when he is slandered, win
will not desert him when he suffers, who will south’
him in his sorrows, and speak to him of hope when
lie is ready to dispair. Her affection* know no ehh
ins tide, fliey How on from a pure fountain, and
speak happiness through this vale of tears, and < east
only ai the ocean of eternity.
—
THE iMAKIMI OK A UOOll WIFE.
When you see a young woman who rises early,
sets the table and prepares her lather’s breakfast
cheerfully, depend upon it she will make a good
wife. You may rely upon it she possesses a good
disposition and kind hoart.
When you see a young woman just out of bed at
nine o’clock, with her elbow upon the table, gasping
and sighing, “Oh, how dreadfully I feel,” rely upon
it she will not make a good wife. She must be lazy
and mopish.
When you see a girl with a broom, rubbing board
or clothes line in her hand, you may put it down
that she is industrious, and will make a good wife for
somebody.
When you see a girl w ith a novel in tier left hand,
and a fan in her right, shedding tears, you may be
sure that she is untit fora wife. Happiness and mis
ery are before you, which will you choose?
<■#■> -
THE MARRIAUE ALTAII.
1 linve drawn for you many pictures of death; let
mo sketch for you now a brief, but bright scene of
beautiful life, it is the Marriage Altar: A lovelv
female, clothed in all the freshness of youth and sur
passing beauty, leans upon the arm of him to whom
she lias just plighted her faith, to whom she has just
given up herself forever. Look in her eyes, ye gloomy
philosophers, and tell me, if you dare, that there is
no happiness on earth. See the trusting, the heroic
devotion, which impels her to leave country and
parents, fora comparative stranger. She lias launch
ed her frail bark upon a wide and stormy sea; she
lias handed over her happiness and doom for this
world, to another’s keeping; but, she has done it
fearlessly, for love whispers to her that her chosen
guardian and protector bears a manly and a noble
heart. Oh, woe to him that deceives her! Oh, woe
to him that forgets his oath and Ins manhood !
Her wing shall the eagle Hap,
O’er the false hearted ;
His life-blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life he parted;
Shame and dishonor sit
On his grave ever ;
Blessing shall hallow it,
Never! Oh, never I
ar wo i iavo alt read the story of the husband,
who, in a moment of hasty wrath, smd to her, who
hut a few months before had united her fate to his.
“If you are not satisfied with my conduct, go, return
to your friends and to your happiness.” “And will
you give me back that which I brought to you?”
asked the despairing wife. “Yes,” he replied, “all
your wealth shall go with you, I covet it not.”—
“Alas,” she answered, “I thought not of my wealth
—I spoke, of my maiden affections-—-of my buoyant
hope—of my devoted love; can you give these hack
tome?” “No! ” said the man, as he Hung himself
at her leet—“No! I cannot restore these; hut I will
do more I w ill keep thorn unsullied and unstained:
I will cherish them through iny life, and in my
death; and never again will 1 forget, that I have
sworn to protect, and to cheer her, who gave up to
me all that she held most dear.” Did I not tell you
that there was poetry in a woman's look—a woman’s
word? See it here! the mild, getitln reproof of love
winning back from its harshness and rudeness, the
stern and unyielding temper of an angry mun. Ah,
if creation’s fairer sex only knew their strongest wea
j pons, how many of wedlock’s battles would be un
! fought; how nnichofotibappiiiesK and coldness would
be avoided.”
There was much truth in the remark of an old
writer, that we can rarely guess how any man’s life
and character will turn until we know what kind of
wife he w ill find. The most promising character
may fail entirely to realize the expectations inspired
by it in youth, and the fairest prospects of prosperity
maybe defeated by an injudicious marriage; and on
the contrary there is hope of almost any man, how
ever faulty bis character, if he happen to marry a
prudent, patient, affectionate w ife.
We speak not theoretically, but from what we have
seen and known, when we maintain that there is a
silent, though often unseen and unrecognized power
in the judicious and devoted wife’.: influence, before
which none hut the sternest, most stubborn natures
can stand. It may be that many years shall pass be
fore that influence accomplishes its object, but at last
it will prevail. The rash and reckless character will
j at length yield to the prudent, careful, patient exatn
! pie of the wife; habits of dissipation, and intemper
ance, even, will often bo shamed and humbled by
the long suffering, forgiving, enduring love of the
wronged and injured partner. And if there is a be
ing on earth worthy of unallowed joy, it is she w ho,
alter years of disappointment and deferred hope, of
anxious waiting and patient endurance, at length
sees her husband turn from his errors and w alk with
her in ttic way of life and peace.
Those who think that money will do anything,
may be suspected of doing anything for money.
S JAMES T. liLAIN.
PRINTER.