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HAST T HOC F0 R ('. 0 T ME?
RV MARY E. LKF.
“Thou and 1
Have mingled the fresh thoughts that early die.
Once flowering—never more!”
i.
Hast thou forgot me ? Thou who hast departed
Like a glad sunbeam from my yearning sight.
Leaving the spirit worn and broken-hearted,
vVhere once hope built a t’ mplo of delight—
Hastlhou forgot me? Thou, unto whose keeping I
I gave my every thought of perfect love,
Till on my idol’s shrine, all treasure heaping.
1 scarcely dared to look to heaven above.
t
n.
Hast thou forgot me? Unto outward seeming
My quivering lip with ready smile i mask'd ;
And the warm crimson through my cheek is stream -i
ing,
Alas 1 ’tis from the fevered heart o’ertasked ;
Hut could they read, as in a faultless mirror,
The truth my woman’s prido would still repress,
Soon would they own themselves to be in error,
And mourn my lot of utter wretchedness.
nt.
Hast thou forgot me? E'en in youth's glad hours
1 trembled ’neath the least glance of thine eye,
And life’s gay pathway was bedecked with flowers, i
And light and fragrance, if thou wast but nigh ;
Each music note of bliss to thee was given ;
Each joy and grief were told thee, e’en in birth ;
Thy presence made my home another heaven,
When thou wast absent ‘twas but common earth. |
i
IV.
Hast thou forgot me? With what fond endeavor
I hurried on iri learning’s endless chase ;
While wasted health and strength seemed nought, if i
ever
I won the dear approval from thy face ;
The midnight toil, the strife, the weary vision,
The pining after knowledge, vain and free,
I struggled against all, one hope clysian
Sustained me, ’twas 1 might grow worthy thee’
. * r 4 - -f Y v i
V.
Hast thou forgot me? Like yon flowers bending
On fragile stem, beneath the north wind’s wrath.
So to the darksome tomb I am descending,
No more to east a shadow o’er thy path ;
A few more months, and then this care-worn spirit j
Shall gently hush its never-ceasing moan,
Andtind, what long ityearneth to inherit,
The narrow church-yard plot, with weeds o’ergrown. j
PMIIfmOS WAX TIP BY THE PkI'XXAXP. j
The Washington ( Delaware) Statesman publishes !
tiie following. It v. ill lx- remembered that the Pro
hibitory Liquor bill passed both 1 ranches of the;
Delaware Legislature:
The most convincing argument in lavnr of pro- !
hibition that we 1 are ever heard, is said to have •
been made to a nt< mber in the State Senate of Dela
ware, during the pending of the Prohibitory bill j
before that body.
A man of notoriously Internp rate habits said to -j
the Honorable member (who it was thought held the i
life or death of that hill at his will) “Suppose Mr. , i
h vessel was out in the bay in a sinking condition
with a large number of persons on Iward, without,
boats or any other mean* of escape, and you had
the only l>oat anil the only means of escape, and.
without your assistance they roust perish, and you
could save them without endangering your own life, j
would you do it ?”
“Certainly 1 would I should Is* inhuman to A> 1
otherwise!”
“Well,’* said he, “I, and there are hundreds of
others like me. that have become such creatures of
habit, that wc have not tiie heart to try to save our
.tlves —you can by your vote in the Senate help us.
Will you do it
This appeal was sai l to be more convincing than
„ dozen such lectures would have been from Tem
perance meD—and the honorable gentleman’s mind
as more firmly fixed in favor of the bill than it bad
ever been before.
The gentleman did rote for the bill, and it has be-
icbfltcb to Crmpcraitcc, literature, (Central intelligence, anb t|e latest flttos.
come a huv. In a few months that poor inebriate,
with hundred* of others, their wives and children,
will have the shield of law for their protection
- -*•••>
THE LICENSE SYSTEM -THE TEMPTER'S ALLY.
11l KKV. K. 11. CHAPIN.
I am not aware of a more enormous inconsistency
than what is termed “the License System”- the sys
tem of permitting the sale of intoxicating drinks in a
degree, and of restricting them in a degree. For, hy
this method, either z i.mra? wrong is committed, or
else a civil one. If these drinks are nn individual
and public injury; if they distribute the seeds of dis
ease, crime, death, and every form ot social misery;
then what right have we in any respect to set
upon them the solar mi sanction of a Law? If, on
the other hand, they are a benefit to mankind; a
good gift of Providence, as some seem to think ; why
should we hamper their circulation ? Why should
we allow one inan the privilege of distributing such
a blessing, and forbid another who, no doubt, is
equally zealous for the- public good?
But this very system is a confession hy public
opinion, in its most authentic form of expression,
that the sale of intoxicating drinks is an evil. “On
ly,” we are told, “as it is a prevalent and deep evil,
it must be regulated.” But how can we regulate an
irregularity? How can you regulate an obstruction
that is involved with the springs of a machine, or
the works of a clock? The only possible method
obvious to common sense, would be to remove the
obstruction; and it would be thought the most fool
ish speculation conceivable for one to spend his in- <
genuity in contriving some way to keep the obstruc- i
tion where it is, and yet to keep the clock going as |
it ought. If it moved regularly, the matter referred
to would not be nn obstruction ; and if it did not,
the contrivance to keep it there, would be to help
the obstruction. Now, I consider this great vice of
Intemperance a decided obstruction in the clock
work of an individual man, or the more general me
chanism of society. It transforms a great many
faces into bad dial-plates, disturbs the pendulum of
public order, makes people go much too fast, and
renders them liable to strike at all times. Now, if a
man or a community, can be made to go just as well
with it as wituou. It, '<■ certainly need no legisla
: tion, for there is no obstruct ion. On the other hand,
if it is essentially an irregularity', the only rational
method is to get rid of its accessories altogeuior.— j
To enact some way in which the irregularity shall |
work, is to confin# and sanction the irregularity.— ,
And the license system—for I wish to be plain and
specific hero—confirms and sanctions the agents of
intemperance. It indicates a way in which the irreg
ularity may work.
And not only is vice thus ‘aided by the Law. The j
existence of such a sanction engenders either an er
ror or a moral wrong. For it indicates that the
salo of intoxicating drinks is a public benefit, which
Is false; or, on the other hand, that it is lawful to
uphold an evil. The same principle carried out hy
individuals, would excuse almost any Built. The
; man who steals a loaf of bread may contend that it
| is a necessary expedient; and he who (Ills an empty
j purse at his neighbor’s expense, only endeavors to j
! regulate an irregularity.
i But suppose wc make the system a strict one, what
process should be employed?—Probably you would
say—“break up all these filthy and low haunts; all
these places where the habitually intemperate, the
degraded, the wretchedly poor congregate ; and let
the beverages be sold only in respectable places and
to respectable people.” But is this really the best
plan ? On the contrary, it seems quite reasonable to
maintain that it is better to sell to the intemperate
than to the sober—to the degraded than to the re
spectable—for the same reason that it is better to
burn up an old bulk than to burn up anew and
splendid ship. 1 think it worse to put the first glass
jto a young man’s lips, than to crown with madness
’ an old drunkard’s life-long alienation; worse to wake
\ the fierce appetite in the depths of a generous and
1 promising nature, than to take the carrion of a man,
a mere shell of imbecility, and soak it in a fresh de-
I bauch. Therefore, if I were going to say where the
License should be granted in order to show its effic#.
! oy, I would say—take the worst sinks of intemper
ance in the city, give (hern the sanction of the law,
i and let them run to overflowing. But shut up the
! gilded apartments where youth takes its first draught,
and respectability just begins to falter from its level.
I Close the ample doors through which enters the long ;
1 train of those who stumble to destruction and reel
! into quick grave*, and let the flood overwhelm only j
• the maimed am! battered conscripts that remain.— i
I Besides, it is better to sec vice ns it really is, than as j
iit sometimes appears. The danger of internperanee
!is when it assumes this very garb of respectability, I
and sits in the radiant circle of fashion attended by i
, wit and bcatfty and social delight. la;t tis see the;
’ tempter, not a* he seems when he throws out hi* ;
earliest lures, in festal garments and With roses around
his brow; bur as he looks when fairly engaged in his
. work, showing his genuine expression. Let us see’
: this vice of intemperance in its results, as they teern
and darken here in the m*dst of our city life. Lay i
bare its channel—let us see to its very depths—where
it flows over the wrecks of human happiness and
over dead men’s bones. Lay bare its f catering heaps
i of disease, its madness, its despair, its domestic des
olation, its wmkiess sweep over a’l order and sane
■ tity ; and thu* tracing it from its sources under glit
’ trring chandeliers and in fonts of crystal we shall Ie
able to sav —“tin* is the real element which exists
and does its work, by public connivance and with
the sanction of the Law !”
If youask me then, whether f think that a statute
1 of ab.-oliite prohibition would stop this flowing curse,
iwin, ran, mu mm. jiu % m.
I rcplyWbat nt least it would put the influence of an j
thnrily on the right side. It would lend it to the ;
force of consistent endeavor. As it is, it would be
far better if the public sanction bad no expression;
for now it only confirms and guarantees the evil.—
Its power is exerted not in the right, but in the
wrong direction. It is an ally of the temper. For
the spirit of everlasting Justice and Benevolence,
speaking asjt were by the mouth of Jesus, says—
“He that is not with me is against me."— Journal.
-♦***♦*- - - -
RESISTANCE AND REPEAL.
“We understand there are fifteen thousand men
in this city, who have enrolled their names to an
obligation, solemnly pledging “their lives, their for
tunes and their sacred honor,” to an unflinching re
sistance to the Prohibitory Law. But wo hope they
do not mean a physical force resistance; if so, they
had better make their wills and gut muKsured for
their coffins. The muskets that w ould be compelled
to obey the Governor in such an emerge,icy would
out number the rebel army ten to one. But when
it comes to the ballot-box, where the battle will soon
bo fought, we believe the spirit of freedom will re
act with renewed vigor and sweep the fanatics from
the field; and that the very next legislature will
quickly undo the domestic work of this. In the
meantime, let us replenish our wine-bins w ith Na
ture’s liquid amenities, so that, during the brief reign
of this fanatical Dracoriisin, when a genial friend
drop,* in to pass a social evening with us, wc may
“ Take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang sync.’’ X. F. Mirror. ;
“Repeal! Repeal!” —Saratoga Repulliean.
These rum journals ami the whi.skyitos having
! now uttered their manifest of determined resistance
to the law, will seek every possible ingenuity and
baseness, to render the law inoperative.
And then in keeping with this, we shall soon have
these journals and common whisky sellers exclaim
ing the law is a failure.
These men, after carrying on their full crusade
against the best interests of society, robbing families
of their daily bread, causing the vultures of want
and sorrow to eat out the vitals of life itself, plung
ing thousands into poverty, swelling the calendar of
criino and taxation, until the intelligent and sober
majority, and even their victims cry out for a re
lease from their ravenous clutches, are now to set;
‘ln-msotves in open defiance of n just and wholesome j
! law. Those arc the men who excite to a high pitch j
| the sympathy of a large portion of the press nod i
’ who urge them to the violation of law, and then seek j
to shield thems.-lvos from the blistering reproaches
of an outraged, but too gemrous people, who hare
so long tolerated their infernal traffic.
These journals have no sympathy for the thous
ands who arc annually stripped of their all, and, so
far as it lies within their, power heartlessly refuse to
afford any assistance, much less protection, to the de
fenceless mothers and children of the land who arc
suffering under the curse of the traffic.
Revolutions, however, never go backward, and
these defeated rnmsellcrs nmy champ their bits in
rage, the}’ may even hold the law in chock for a few’
months, but there is a principle of justice, of hu
i inanity, of sound policy to the beet interests of so
ciety in the law to which the great American heart
and the heart of every true philanthropist will respond.
They tell us that “when it comes hack to the bal
lot-box, where the battle will soon lie fought, wo
believe the sriniT or fkfkdom will re-act with re
newed vigor and sweep the fimatics from the field.”
The appeal has already been made to tho ballot
box in thirteen States, and nothing but defeat after
defeat has been the result; and in every instance
the “fanatics” have triumphed.
No reaction has as yet taken place, although for
! lorn whiskyites have awaited its coming. Revolu
tions never go backward, and we glory in the fact,
that this accursed traffic Ims been already attacked
in its strongest citadels and overthrown, and is inevi
tably destined to be hurled out of every State in this
Union.
Let the god-like work go on, for no power on
earth can now arrest its onward progress. \ pres- 1
tige is gathering about the law which will hear down I
all its opposers and emancipate this nation from a
legalised curse, which ha* smelled rank to heaven
for years. The best blood of the nation ha* been
offered up on its demon altar*-; and the hour of a
damning retribution has ovet taken the bloody traffic, j
—Southern Organ.
THE LITTLE PETITIONER.
j At this moment a child stepped into the bar-room. •
i Her little face was flushed, and great heads of perspi- j
i ration were slowly moving dow ri her crimson cheeks, j
Her step was elastic, her manner earnest, and her i
1 large dark eye bright with an eager purpose. She j
i glanced neither to the right nor to the left, but w alk- 1
; ing up to the landlord, lifting to him her sweet young ‘
; face, she said, in tones that thrilled every heart but,
bis :
“Please, Mr. Jenks, don’t sell papa any more li-j
‘qiiot !”
‘•Off home with you, this instant!” exclaimed j
; Jenks, the crimson of his face deepening to a dark ;
\ purple. As he spoke, he advanced towards the child,
’ with him hand uplifted in a threatening attitude.
“Please don't, Mr. Jenks,” persisted the child, not
; moving from where she stood, nor raking her eyes
from the landlords countenance. “Mothn says, if
you wouldn’t soil him liquor, tfiere’d b- no trouble,
i lie ig kind arid good to us ail when be docFiit drink.”
“tiff, I say 1” shouted J>. nks, now maddened be
yond self-control; and his hand was about descend
l ing upon the little one, when the stranger caught
1 her in his arms, exclaiming, as he did so, with deep
, ! emotion:
“God bless tho child ! Nv, m*. precious one!” hi
i added; “ihrn'i Aar him—plead for your fhthsr
plead for your home. Your petition must prevail!
He cannot say nay to one of tho little one*, whose
angels do always behold the face of their Esther in
Heaven. God bless the child !” added th* stranger,
in n choking voice. “O, that the father for whom
she is come on this touching errand were present
now! If there were anything of manhood yet left in
his nature, this would awaken it from its palsied
sleep.”
“Papa, O, papa!” now cried tho child, stretching
forth her hands. In the next moment she was cling
ing to the breast of her father, who with hi* Arms
clasped tightly around her, stood weeping and min
gling his tears with those now raining from the little
one’s eyes.
What an oppressive stillness pervaded tho mom!
Jenks stood subdued ami bewildered, his state ol
mental confusion scarcely enabling him to compre
hend tho full import of the scene; tho stranger look
ed on wondering, yet deeply effected. Quickly, and
with moist eyes, the two or three drinking customers,
who had been lounging in tho bar, went stealthily
out, and the landlord, tho stranger, and tho fttther
and his child, were left the only inmates of tho room.
“Come, Lizzy dear! This is no place for us,"said
Leslie, breaking the deop silence. “We’ll go home.”
?J£ttfccUi\wc(3uß Seiectfujttfi*
GOOD EVERYWHERE.
; The following from Dickon*, contains much truth:
“Believe mo Eusebius (to bo classical and genteel)
that many more good things exist in this world than
are. dreampt of in any phylosophy—from that of the
most roso-f olored optimist to that of the sourest cynic.
Don’t put any faith in yonder ragged, morose, shame
ful old man who, because he lives in a tub instead of
decent lodgings, and neglects, through sulky lazi
ness, to trim his hnir and beard, and wear clean
body linen, call* himself Diogenes and a philoso
pher, forsooth. If the old cynic would only take
the trouble to clean tho horn sides of his lantern,
and trim the wick of the candle within it, he would
find it not quite so difficult to find an honest ntan.
That all is vanity here below, I am perfectly ready
to admit; but have no conscience in the phylosophy
| which, with its parrot-prate of the Princtv of win
| doni’sapothegm—vanity—turns up its nose at, or pre
tends to ignore, the existence of the hidden good,
i Believe me, good is everywhere. Poor, naked, Inin
j gry, sick, wronged as wc may be through long
years, snug incomes, well cut coats, good dinners,
sound health, justice and fame will come, must come
at last, if wo will only wait, and hope, and work.
All have not an equal share, and sotno men, by a
continuous infelicity, which the most submissive are
tempted to regard as an adverse and remorseless fate,
fall down weary, and die upon tho very threshold
of mundane reward; but let any average man—the
medium between Miscrrimus and Fclicissimus—look
retrospectively into himself, and consider how many
good tilings have happened to him unexpectedly,
unasked for, undeserved; how many happinesses of
love, friendship, sight, fooling, have come upon him
unav.-nres—have “turned up,” so to say, familiarly.
A great Italian poet has said that (here is no greater
sorrow than the remembrance in misfortune of the
happy t'nie. It can he scarcely so. It is halm ra
ther than anguish for at man, when fortune has
thrown tho shade of a cypress over him, to recall
the dear friend*, the joyous meetings, the good
books, the leafy days of old, for w ith the remem
brance comes hope that the good things (present
circumstance# looking ever so black) will return
again. It is only when wo know wo have apurned,
misused, wasted the jewelled day* in tho yuar’s ro
sary that remembracc becomes sorrow; for remem
brance then is associated with Monsieur Remoise;
and wc wish—ah, how vainly! ah, how bitterly!—
that the days had never been, or that they might ho
again, and we use them bettor.”
THE USDAI’PY REPLY.
UY KO*Al,tr„
“1 do not think iti* a selfish act if I occupy this
i whole seat myself, a* 1 am to travel all this long,
warm day,” said 1 to a lady nearest me, orio sultry
morning, a* 1 took the out of tho way end scat, In j
the cars at Buffalo for Albany
| “Certainly not,” was the reply, as I put my shawl, j
| Isjoks, papers, fin, boquet, Ac., In tho one end, and ‘
j twwtled myself down in tho other. I soon wearied j
•of conversation and reading, and had sunk into a!
i fitful slumber, when a gentle tap on rny shoulder, j
i and a low “please Miss,” made me wake with amid- ’
i den start.
i The car was filled to overflowing, and a newly ar- j
j rived party had entered, and a palo littto woman ;
i with a fretful baby in her arms, stood asking permis- ’
\ sion to t.it beside me. With inoro of pity than of
, fil* asure, 1 shared my seat with her, yet I spoke but
! few words, ntid sulkily forebore taking the rcsth **
\ little creature, to ease her poor, wearied arms; but
j merely smoothed its yellow hair, and patted its paie,
I baby cheek*, and said Mary was a good and sweet -
j name.
For my own comfort I had opened the window,
th#t. 1 might rnoro distinctly catch those pictur- j
( clique views, that flitted hy us so quickly that they |
rtetmed like g! wing pictures, without one impertec
’ tion to mar, when my attention was drawn to my
: companion who was incessantly coughing.
I “| do wish you would let down that window,”
.said she, “the coal smoke makes my cough so much
* worse.”
I am ?slimmed to confess it now, but I felt the
i ‘angry blood burn in my cheek, and a flashing of the
j ■ • ......
S JAMES T. BLAIN,
( im.XTRR.
VOL XXl.~raiß 22.
•nd troubled, and hungry, ami thirsty, and crowded,
and hero you emne as an intruder, and would keep
me from the inite of cool fresh air that 1 *m trying
to got. Do you think you are doing as you would
he done by?” said I tartly; and without waiting for
a reply, I rose and was lotting down the window
with an angry crash, as a naughty child would slam a
dour shut, when she laid her poor, wasted little hand
or. my arm, and ha id, “Oh don't do it then!” and
hurst into tears, and leaned her head down on her
baby, and cried bitterly. Lite woman in my heart
was touched, but put ting on the injured air of a mar
tyr, 1 compressed my lips, and took up a paper pro
tending to road. Pretty soon tnv eyes grew so
dimmed I could not sec without crushing the tears
often, and I resolved to ask her pardon for my un
kindness; but minute after minute glided away, and
we soon reached her place of destination, and she
rose to leave. I roso too, ami ihc words were on
my lips, when a gentleman came to awiiHt her out.
Eho turned her gentle and tearful oyes upon me,
with a sad expression, and bowed so sweetly that
ray hand was almost upraised to appeal to tho for
giveness, the word* wore just dropping from my lips,
but she wa# gono, it was too late, and I, a woman,
with a woman’s heart, was left with that stinging
little barb sticking in it, and tho Hweet words and
wasted littlo hand that alone could remove it, were
gone from me forever. I sank back in my seat and
wept bitterly.
The gentleman retumod from assisting her, and os
the car was full, ho took the place she had vacated.
I inquired who the lady was, an I he replied, “her
home is in Wisconsin, and she has returned to the
home of her childhood, t: die. Tho whole family
of brothers nnd sisters died of consumption, and
i lie, the last one, is going too.”
Oil! I turned away sick at heart, and tried to shut
out from remembrance that pallid, appealing face, as
I resolved, and resolved, never uguin in this poor life
of mine to speak another unkind word. —Ohio Far
mer.
GIRLS MHO WANT HUSBANDS,
Girl*, you want to get married, don’t you? Ah,
what a natural thing it is for young ladies to have
such a hankering for the sterner sex. It is weak
ness that woman has, and for this reason she is coll
ed the Weaker sex. Well, if you want to get mar
ried, don’t for conscience sake act like fools about it
Don’t go into a fit of the hips every time you see a
hat. and a pair of whiskers. Don’t gi-t the idea into
your heads that you must put yourselves in the way
of every young man in the neighborhood in order to
-ttract notice; for if you don't rim after the men
they will run after you. Mind that
A husband-hunter is the most detestable of alt
young ladies. She is full of starch and puckers;
she puts on many false airs, and she is so niee(f)
that she appears ridiculous in the eyes of every de
cent person. She may generally be found at moot
ing, coming in, of course, about the last one; always
at social parties, ami invariably takes a front seat at
concerts. She tries to be the belle of the place, and
thinks she is. Door girl! you arc fil ling yourself for
an old maid, just ssaure as Sabbath comes on Sunday
Men will flirt with yon, and flatter^you, simply be
cause they love to do it, but they have no more idea
of making you a wife than thoy have of committing
suicide. If I was a young man, I vfould have no
more to do with such a fancy than I would with a
rattlesnake.
Now, girls, let Nelly give you a piece of her ad
vice, and she knows from experience if you practice
it, you will gain a reputation of being worthy girtis,
and stand a fair chanco of getting respectable hus
bands. It is all well enough that you learn to finger
the piano, work embroidery, study grammar, 4c.,
but don’t neglect letting grandma, or your mother
teach yon how to make bread and get a meal of
victual* good enough for a king. No part of a
house-keeper’s duly should®} neglected; if you do
not marry a wealthy husband you will need to know
how to do such work, and if you do, it will be no
disadvantage to you to know how to oversee a ser
vant girl, and instruct her to do these things a* you
would have them done. In the next place, don’t
pretend to be what you arc not. Affectation is the
most despicable of accomplishments, and will only
causo sensible people to laugh at you. No one but
a fool will be caught by affectation—it has a transpa
rent skin ciwsilv to be seen through.
Dress plain but neatly. Remember that nothing
gives a girl so modest, becoming and lovely appear
ance as a neat and plain dress. All tho flummery
j and tinsel work of the dress- maker and milliner me
i unnecessary.
I If you aro really handsome, they do not add to
I your beauty one particle ; if you are homely they
’ only make you look worse. Gentlemen don’t court
! your face* and jewelry, but your own dear selves.
Finger-rings and folderols may do to look at, but
they add nothing to the value of a wife —til young
men know that. If you know how to talk, do it na
turally, and do not be so distressingly polite os to
spoil all you say. If your hair is straight, don’t put
! on the curling tongs to make people believe you have
’ negro blood in your veins. If your neck is very
j black, wear a lace color, but don’t be so selfish as to
| daub on paint, thinking that people are so blind as
l not to see it; and if your cheeks arc not rosy, don’t
I apply pink saucers, for tho deception will be detected
! and ItCts mo the gosip es the neighborhood.
Finally, girls, lis'en to (he counsel ofyourmoth
’ ers, and a#k their ad fu every thing. Think less
l of fas’-ion than )oudo of kitchen duties— loss of ro
|ui inco than you do of realities of lifts— ami instead
|of trying to catch busban In, strive to make your-
I selves worthy of being caught by them.