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I hear language like that you have just used, I
think of what Eugene Aram said when he heard
such a burst as yours, from a young man:
‘ Poor boy! How gallantly the ship leaves the
port! How worn and battered it will return!’
Let me tell you what I know to be a fact.
Whenever a man becomes a confirmed politician,
his own advancement is the primary object, to
which all others must yield. With some, the
second object is the prosperity of those who hap
pen to stand in the relation of friends to them.
With others, the good of the country comes next
to self.”
“ To state it in other words, they serve them
jelves first, and then they are willing to serve
their country, or their associates; and, even then,
they are sure to help those most able, or most
willing, to return the favor; so it resolves itself
into one continued effort for self, at last. They
talk of consistency! They are consistent in
one thing—devotion to their own interest. The
fools! The miserable demagogues! And one
of them says he ‘never changes; times, and
men, and parties may change, but he never
changes. He is the immaculate Julius Caesar
Andrew' Jackson—the unchanged and the un
changeable.’ Such insufferable vanity! Such
loathsome self-conceit!
“But I am wandering from my point; yet one
thing more. The instances of astounding van
ity among politicians are numerous. One of
them said: ‘I was born insensible to fear!’
The man who is ‘insensible to fear’ is an idiot!”
“ There are statesmen, however,” said I, “who
entertain the same opinions, and the same prin
ciples, during their whole lives.”
“Because,” answ r ered Tom, “their political
advancement requires it.”
“No; frequently they have been in a minor
ity.”
“ Then, they had sagacity enough to see, or
imagine they saw, that their opinions would one
day be adopted by the majority, and they would
then occupy vantage ground, from the fact that
they had always been consistent. To say that
a politician is consistent, is to say nothing in his
favor. Consistent to what? To truth? To
honest principle ? If so, then it is praise; but
if you merely mean that he is firm in his adher
ence to a party, or a particular set of dogmas,
under all circumstances, then you disparage
him. For, is any man infallible ? Is it not pos
sible for every one to form an erroneous judg
ment ? and shall he, because ho has once com
mitted himself to mistaken views, continue to
entertain them ?”
“ I admit that a man should not sacrifice truth
to such consistency, Tom; but, even this, you
will allow, is better than the course pursued by
some; that is, to watch the way the tide of
popular opinion sets, and regulate their course
altogether by that.”
“I do not see it so. Some men remain blind
ly, and stolidly, and stubbornly in one position,
where they can effect nothing, when, by shifting
a little, they might gain a stand-point from
which to operate for good. Others watch the
current, throw themselves upon it, even though
they know it is going wrong, in the hope that
they may lie able to direct it right. They are
willing to journey a little out of the way, with a
crowd, that they may finally win it back to the
right path.
“ All this they will do, and servo their coun
try, if, at the same time, they can serve them
selves. They even prefer to serve their coun
try, at the same time that they serve themselves,
provided they can do both—and that is the ex
tent of their patriotism. If self, or country, must
be thrown overboard, country goes first.
“ The worst fault of politicians, though, is the
readiness with which they sacrifice a friend on
tbe altar of interest, or ambition. Tins, how
ever, is a sin common to the human family; and,
perhaps, I do wrong to insinuate that politicians
are more guilty of it than others.”
“ Oh, Tom!” I here exclaimed, “ this will not
do. You accused fashionable people of heart
lessness and selfishness; and I thought, jerhaps,
your experience might justify your assertions.
You said that self was the primary object with
politicians, and you may have good reason for
thinking so; but, when you assert that no such
thing as disinterested friendship exists, I must
enter my protest.”
“ Did I not tell you it was a melancholy task
to undeceive a youth with reference to tho char
acter of the people who compose this world?
Remember the conversation of to-night; and
when you arrive at the age which I have reach
ed, if I am living, let me know what you think
of these things. But, let me explain myself.
There may be such a thing as friendship; but of
friends , I have known only two, in my life.
While there is a unity of interest between two
men, they entertain for each other the sentiment
called friendship. Let there be a conflict of in
terests, and they are no longer friends. This
conflict must bo greater or less, according to the
strength of the bond by which they had been
united.”
“ You certainly color darkly,” said I, “ and my
experience is too limited to set against yours.
My father, though, is older than you, and has
known all sorts of people; still, he does not think
so badly of mankind as you do.”
“Ho lias been more fortunate. His friends
never were subjected to the test severe enough
to destroy their friendship. Recollect, however,
I still believe I have met with two friends in my
life.”
“ They were not politicians, or fashionables,
though ?”
“ No; I haven’t time to tell you about them
now, for we have but a short time to sleep. Be
sides, I don't want to talk in such a strain any
longer. Good night.”*
“ Good night, then.”
(to be continued.)
Fate of the Apostles. —St. Matthew is sup
posed to have suffered martyrdom, or w'as put to
death by the sword at the city of Ethiopia.
St. Mark was dragged through the streets of
Alexandria, in Egypt, till he expired.
St. Luke was hanged upon an olive tree, in
Greece.
St. John was put into a caldron of boiling oil
at Rome and escapod death. He afterwards
died a natural death at Ephesus, in Asia.
St. James the Great was beheaded at Jeru
salem.
St. James the Less was thrown from a pin
nacle or wing of the temple, and then beaten to
death with a fuller's club.
St. Phillip w'as hanged up against a pillar at
Hiorapolis, a city of Phyrgin.
St. Bartholomew was flayed alive by tho com
mand of a barbarous king.
St Andrew was bound to a cross, whence he
preached to the people till he expired.
St. Thomas was run through tho body by a
lance, near Malipar, in the East Indies.
St. Jude was shot to death with arrows.
St. Simeon Zelotes was crucified in Persia.
St Matthias was stoned and then beheaded.
M HI ■
Mexico, since its establishment as a Republic,
which is thirty-seven years ago, lias had fifty
six Presidents.
VSS SOVnOBBa VXSX® EM® H®E&i®E.
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
LETTERS FROM MY LOO CABIN.-NO. L
(concluded.)
Sancho’s observant eye had detected some
thing unusual in his master's looks and conduct;
something of anxiety it was, not trouble; for he
appeared more pleased and buoyant in <his tone
and manner than usual—had spent his evenings
more retired on several occasions—and in all
other respects was the better for the new feature
in his conduct. Sancho was a little puzzled, es
pecially as his master preserved silence. “Ha,
spec Mas’ Reck hab some good news from Miss
Ada,” he suggested to himself one day; “ole
Madam DeQuincy cum round in de wind a little
bit”
This was no doubt in allusion to Mr. Recklaw
Ligrive’s long and unsuccessful courtship of a
very handsome and accomplished girl, the only
daughter of a widow lady living in the town,
whose name was DeQuincy. I say unsuccess
ful, only because it was not consummated by
marriage; albeit, the beautiful Adelaide was
willing enough, but the mother was obdurate ;
and she an only child, and too loving and
obedient, to disregard, in so serious a matter, the
wishes of an indulgent parent, to whom she was
tlie only hope and comfort.
Others, perhaps, among his boon companions,
might have noticed some slight abstractions in
Mr. Ligrivo’s conduct If they did, it was only
the pent up exuberance of the triumphant pos
session of a secret that was one day to explode
and “astonish the natives.”
However, all things have an end, even in ex
metropolisses; and the day came round in which
Tom Draper jubilantly announced to Mr. Reck
law Ligrive that the new-fashioned dress was
completed, which was to make him the “observ
ed of all observers,” change the commerce of
China, and bring golden guineas into the pockets
of the shrewd tailor. I mention guineas, be
cause a large portion of the circulating medium
of that period was still the coinage of Great
Britain. A rehearsal in full dress was had in
Tom’s before-mentioned private room. The fit
was admirable I Homer could not have entered
more sublimely into his description of the arms
and shield of Achilles, nor Achilles gloat with
greater wonder and joy over his present of new
war panoply, than did Tom Draper expatiate up
on, and Reck Ligrive admire, the navy blue frock
coat, with standing collar, and glittering row of
embossed brass buttons down the front; and
then the ample, flowing —yes, that was tho word
—pantaloons, covering the boots, and strapped
firmly over them. Crowning the whole, was a
new and enormously large “ bell-crowned hat,”
rising between twelve and fifteen inches above
the brim.
In contrast with the old continental costume,
Ligrive certainly did “cut a figure.” Had it
leen tho gradual change, by a single garment
at a time, it would not have appeared so singu
lar. But this was a full and complete revolu
tion of the W'hole dress. Imagine what would
lie the effect now , to see a gentleman of conspi
cuous physical proportions parade your streets
in a full dress, of the richest style, of the early
times of George HI. He would attract univer
sal curiosity, even in this age of wonders. Let
the reader be not surprised, then, at what befel
our hero among the staid, though, in some re
spects, refined and fashionable folks, of the old
seat of government. Chango did not enter
largely into the elements of society in the young
er days of our Republic. The enterprise, there
fore, which Mr. Ligrive had undertaken, might
have appalled a less daring spirit; but our hero
was the man for the hour and the work.
The next Sabbath day following, was decided
upon for tho grand display; and as there was
but one house of public worship, whose pulpit
was alternately occupied by a Baptist, or Pres
byterian minister, except when an occasional
Methodist passed that w'ay, it was usually filled
to its capacity. That was to be the theatre of
the performance. And brightly did the sun rise
on the day that was to be chequered with the
warning “ shadows of coming events.”
At the extreme upper end, and fronting the
street which led to the church, stands the coun
ty academy—a very neat two story brick build
ing, containing four rooms, sufficiently large for
a male and female school. It is situated upon a
handsome level plateau, of some twenty acres,
admirably adapted to, and often used for, mili
tary exercises, as well as a play ground for tho
school-boys. In tho rear is a in the
midst of a beautiful grove of a species of spruce
pine. Hard by stands tho church, and is still
used as of yore, excepting that the Baptists have,
within a few years past, built a church of their
own. In the academy hung a tine, deep-toned
bell, and it hangs there now, and it still continues
to summon, as it did half a century ago, w’illing
and unwilling scholars to their day’s studies. On
tho Sabbath it is tolled for public worship. Pain
fully have its tones often fallen upon my listening
ear, and bidden my reluctant steps turn to the
school room, and to the presence of tho “ master
so grim,” when I have been remiss in memoriz
ing my lessohs. The building possessed a sort
of terror to •me then ; but now I look upon it
with a kind of reverence; and, divested of those
terrors, love to call up the images of the teach
ers, whose forms and features are yet freshly
developed in “my mind's eye.” And I call up,
too, some of my old school-mates; and here and
there a pretty dimpled face, with laughing, merry
eyes, passes before me, that wakes up long
buried remembrances. I must have loved tho
owners of those pretty faces and merry eyes,
for their pictures are yet fresh, like so many
ambrotypes. But where are they now? Ah, it
is a sad tale to tell of some of them, and a plea
sant one to tell of others. If I may “ promise
and fulfil,” perhaps I may chronicle some of
them by and by.
The last tones of tho aforementioned bell had
died away in the distance, on the Sabbath morn
ing in question; and the street, but a few min
utes before so full of gigs, and “chairs,” and an
occasional carriage, as some more wealthy citi
zen, or family of proud lineage passed by, and
people on foot, wending their way to the church
—was now empty, save here and there a soli
tary stroller, or belated worshiper, when Mr.
Recklaw Ligrive, unattended, took his departure
for the same destination. Ho had taken the
precaution to send his faithful Sancho on a
fruitless errand in the country; and, therefore, no
human eye saw him, till he emerged, full dress
ed, from his room. Along tho now almost de
serted street, ho strode with more haste and
less “dignity," perhaps, than would have been
satisfactory to Sancho. Sir Walter Scott makes
Fitz James brave, when confronted by, and
confronting Roderick Dhu and his clansmen;
“ Yet, to his heart,
His life-blood thrilled with sadden start!”
And though our hero lacked not nerve, yet it
must be confessed his blood flowed not so calm
ly, nor was his pulse-throb so regular as they
were wont to be. And the strangeness of his
attire soon attracted the eyes of his ever watch
ful servants, who were loft, in the absence of
their owners, “to take care of the house," and
who generally improved such opportunities of
going to the front windows and gates, to have a
gossip with their neighboring fellow-servants;
and our hero frequently heard the cry, “ Bless
de Lord! who is dat ? ” and such similar expres
sions of surprise, as he passed on his way. He
entered the church at the side door, next to the
academy, and walked deliberately up the aisle,
just as the minister, who happened to be a
Methodist, had finished reading the hymn, pre
paratory to singing. The ghost of Banquo did
not appear to the astonished gaze of Macbeth at
a more propitious, or unpropitious moment, as it
may be, than Mr. Recklaw Ligrive showed him
self and his new suit to the puritan’s congregation.
There was sudden stillness for a moment, and all
eyes w'ero turned in one direction, to where the
tearless and indomitable Reck turned, faced his
observers, and took his seat. The preacher paus
ed, laid his open book upon the desk, and look
ed inquiringly over his spectacles. Then there
was a bustling—a tittering—then whispering
and nodding of heads, and a waving of ostrich
feathers, which were worn plentifully in the
bonnets of the ladies of that period. The more
juvenile portion of the meeting manifested their
interest by jiunpingup and looking over the
heads of the congregation, and by the repeated
application of their handkerchiefs to their
mouths. All this our hero bore with exemplary
fortitude, for it was no more than he expected ;
but when by chance he caught the eye of Tom
Draper, a smile half triumphant and half in
quiring passed between them, which spoke, “as
plain as whisper in the ear, ” “ How do I look ?”
“How do you feel?”
The services went forward, however, and came
to a close; not without soipe very pointed re
marks from the representative of a class that in
veigh to this day much against the “ adorning
of the outward person.” Then came the real
trial to our gallant friend. He had to run the
guantlet of a score or two of jocular spirits, who
showered their remarks and questions so thick
that they left neither room nor time for answer.
The old men looked grave, young men laughed;
the girls, (which to Reck were the most import
ant,) cast side-long glances at him, “in such a
questionable manner,” that he was unable to
determine whether it w r as in sport or admira
tion. He had the self-complacency, however, to
balance accounts on that score. But the boys
gathered around him, and surveyed him with as
much astonishment as if he had been some
strange show-animal; asking all manner of
questions which their juvenile curiosity, as
well as their elder’s prompted, and persisted in
escorting our hero to his lodgings, in rather an
uproarious manner.
For the balance of the day Mr. Recklaw Li
gnve’s name was in the mouth of every body.
He “ found himself famous” with a vengeance.
And ho found, furthermore, before the day’s
events were ended, that public opinion was de
cidedly against him. And for the next week
he was the object of all kinds of squibs, bur
lesques, carricatures, and every species of annoy
ance which mischief or malice could invent.—
Our hero bore up bravely for awhile, but at
length his fortitude gave way, and he shut him
self up from all visitors.
But there was one faithful heart that battled
in his favor against all opposers, and did not hes
itate to rebut with sharpness, the ridicule
that was spoken in her presence. “I do not
seo,” said Adelaide De Quincy, in the midst of a
party of young people of both sexes, who had
made free with Mr. Ligrive and his new fashion,
in their conversation, “I do not see wdiy a gen
tleman may not adopt a new style of dress, if
it suits him, without the necessity of being
subjected to the ridicule of those whose tastes,
unfortunately, may not be capable of appreciat
ing it. It is purely a matter of taste, and Mr.
Ligrive has the right of judging for himself.”—
And the plain, frank-spoken girl soon silenced
ridicule in her quarter, though it might have
been at the expense to her, of some sly hints.
But Mr. Recklaw Ligrive had finally to sub
mit to the pouring out of Sancho’s vial of wrath,
which was probably the “ unkindest cut of all.”
That worthy had withheld any remarks what
ever, upon all that was passing, though his heart
was well nigh overflowing. One day he had been
out on an errand for his self-imprisoned mas
ter, and was more than usually annoyed by the
remarks of some of the young gentlemen of the
town, who took a special pleasure in teasing him
onftlie subject, on account of his sensitiveness.
When he returned he took occasion to adminis
ter his rebuke.
“ I spected sumting, sab, when you send me
on dat wild goose chase. Mas Reck, you hab
brung down the dignity ob do fambly. You
hab forsook de way ob de true old gentleman. I
hab to hang down my head when I walk de
street. I sorry, berry sorry, but I hab done my
duty, sail 1” and the sable conservator of the
“dignity” of the representative of all the Ligrives
assumed his erect and formal attitude, just as
Tom Draper, Ned Kingston, Charley Ferrell, and
some two or three others of Reek’s intimate
friends, entered his apartments, unasked and
unannounced. Ligrive rose, scarcely knowing
how to treat the intrusion ; but Tom Draper and
the others hastened to assure him that they were
preparing, each, a suit after the new fashion, and
were determined to become its champions, sat
isfied of its convenience and advantages; and
that public opinion was fast changing in his
favor.
“You only cut too big a dash at first, Reck,”
laughingly observed Ned Kingston. “If you had
waited for company, you’d have saved your feel
ings.”
•‘Tom Draper,” said Ligrive, turning to that
gentleman, “you got mo into this confounded
scrape, with my consent, to be sure; but you
knew my weakness, and you took advantage of it
lam not angry, now; lam only wiser. If you
don’t help me turn the tables upon some of these
fellows, I'll never crack another bottle of wine
with you as long as I live."
“I’m at your service, my dear fellow, any mo
ment.”
“And I.”
“And I,” chimed in the others.
“That will do, boys. If I don’t teach the staid
folks of this goodly old town some new tricks, as
well as new fashions, byway of remembrance,
my name is not Reck Ligrive 1 Now for a night
of it!”
Sancho began to think he had been a little too
hasty. But he knew what had to be done next.
Long and Short Days. —At Berlin and Lon
don the longest day has sixteen hours and a
half; at Stockholm the longest day has eighteen
and a half hours; at Hamburg, the longest day
has seventeen hours, and the shortest seven;
at St. Petersburg, the longest has nineteen and
the shortest five hours ; at Tomea, in Finland,
tho longest day has twenty one hours and a half
at Wanderlius, in Norway, the day lasts from
21st of May to the 22d of July without interrup
tion ; and at Spitzbergen, the longost day is
three months and a half.
The whole quantity of gold which has been
extracted from the surface and bowels of the
earth, from the earliest time to the present day,
is estimated to be nine thousand millions of
dollars!
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
“LOOK HEREUPON THIS PICTURE, THEN ON
THIS.”
BY LAURA LINCOLN.
It was a cold stormy night. The snow had
drifted in heaps in the streets, and the wind
whistled around the comers like the wail of some
lost spirit. Every one seemed to have taken re
fuge within doors from the inclement weather,
and even tho great thouroughfare, Broadway,
was deserted. In a small room of a dilapidated
tenement in that quarter of the city of New
York where the poor most do congregate, upon
a wretched pallet lay a man apparently fast ap
proaching “that bourne whence no traveller re
turns.” His features were pinched and sharp
ened with suffering and cold, for there were but
a few smouldering embers upon the hearth,
around which sat three small children huddled
closely together for warmth. Beside the bed
knelt a girl, some ten years of age, chafing her
father’s hands, and endeavoring by soothing
words to induce him to try and sleep.
“Mother will soon be here,” she said; “and I
am sure she will bring ns something to eat.”
“I hope so,” feebly responded the sick man,
“ for we all need it sadly enough. I feel that I
am dying for want of food.”
As she spoke, the door opened, and a female
entered. The children gathered around her.
“Oh! mother, have you brought us some bread?”
“ Alas 1 my children, I have nothing for you.
I can get no work, and though for your sakes I
have stooped to beg in the streets, none would
listen to me.”
The dying husband who had eagerly raised
himself in bed, now fell back, and with a groan
turned his face to the wall. His wife seated her
self beside him on the pallet, saying, “ Never
mind, Charles, maybe I will get some work to
morrow.”
“To-morrow, I shall never see, without proper
nourishment,” was the dreary response.
Then the little girl, who had been listening in
tently to th s short dialogue, rose, and glided un
noticed fr.m the room.
Charles Miller was a sober and industrious
mechanic, and had earned sufficient to support
his family comfortably until the financial crisis
of ’57 came, when he, with many others, was
turned out of employment. Unable to find work
he continued to grow poorer and poorer, selling,
piece by piece, all of his furniture, and even the
wearing apparel of himself and wife, until, strick
en down by sickness, he found himself and
family on the point of starvation.
About half an hour after Mary Miller’s depart
ure she returned, and taking a loaf ofbread from
under her shawl, called the children to her, say
ing, “Here, children, is something for you to eat.”
“ Where did you get it, Mary ?” the Mother
asked, but this question her daughter pretended
not to hear. Footsteps had been heard ascend
ing the staircase, but supposing them to be some
other inmate of the house, no attention had been
paid, to them. They paused before their door, and
the bolt being turned, presented to their view a
man with the ominous star upon his breast, who
walked up to Mary, placed his hand upon her
shoulder, and said, “You are my prisoner.” Mrs.
Miller shrieked, and fell back upon the bed.
“Yes,” proceeded the policeman, “I saw you take
the bread from a baker’s stand, and followed you
here, so you will please go with me to the guard
house.”
“Oh! sir,have mercy,” exclaimed the dis
tressed Mother. “We were starving, and Mary
knew it. This was her first, and I am sure that it
will be her last offence.”
“ The same old story. Why don’t you work?”
roughly replied the man.
“Because we cannot get it; we would gladi*’
work, if we could find employment."
“Pshaw! because you had rather beg and
steal, you had better say. You can’t gull me ;
I have seen too many like you, before. But
come, girl, lot’s be going; I am wasting time
here."
Mary, who had turned pale as death when
the policeman entered, now said :
“Let me kiss my fatlier, and tell him good-bye,
before I go, for I may never see him again ;" and
tho watchman releasing his hold, she went to
the pallet, and kneeling down, pressed her lips
to her father's. No sooner had she touched
them, however, than she sprang up, crying “He
is dead! oh! my father is dead !”
And it was indeed so. The shock had been
too much for the sick man's already enfeebled
frame, and the vital spark had fled forever.
The policeman, who was not utterly destitute
of feeling, could not find it in his heart to drag
the child away at such a time; and so he depart
ed without her. The next day a pauper’s grave
received all that remained of Charles Miller.
And now turn we to the other picture.
Our second scene is laid in tho “Sunny South,”
and in a neat log cabin, upon the plantation of
Colonel Henderson. On a coarse, though clean
ly bed in one corner of the-room, lay an aged
negro. He, too, seemed very near the close of
the voyage of life, and about to embark on the
vast ocean of Eternity.
A bright wood fire blazed in tho ample cliim
ney-place, for here, too, comes winter, though
of much milder aspect than in the northern clime
we have just left
Around the bed of death stood the master and
mistress of the slave, his wife, and the family
physician.
“Is there no hope ?” asked the Colonel. “None,
sir,” replied the doctor. “Old Tony’s moments
are numbered.” “We will not detain you, then,
from others who may need your attention.” The
physician bowed, and left the room.
The old man had been lying in a light slum
ber, and he now opened his eyes, and said : “I’m
almost gone, raarster and missis. The Lord
done call me, and I’m gwine home 1 Old Tony
wants to tell you, though, ’fore he goes, how
much he thanks you for all your goodness to
him. Poor Milley! and he laid Ins arm over
the neck of the sobbing creature beside him, “I
hates to leave you, but you’re old, Milly, and
you'll follow soon. Tell all the folks good bye
for me—tell 'urn I’m gwine to Heaben ; be sure
and meet me dar.”
His lips continued to move, as if in prayer,
though no sound escaped them—then, a slight
struggle, and all was still. Old Tony had gone
where there is no distinction of color.
The next day, a bright sunshiny Sabbath
morning, saw all of the negroes belonging to
CoL Henderson and others, from the adjoining
plantations, assembled, dressed in their holi
day suits, to witness the funeral of “ Uncle
Tony,” who had been the patriarch of the
place, and was known for twenty miles around.
The service was performed by one of their own
color—the black preacher of the neighborhood.
The negro is a very excitable race, and as the
rude but touching eloquence of the preacher fell
upon their ears, cries, groans, and even shout
ing, arose from the assembled throng. The body
was reverently lowered into the grave by some
of tho younger negroes. The white family, who
were also present, were affected to tears by the
solemnity of the scene, and by the thronging
recollections of the long faithful and affectionate
service of the humble old seiyant who had just
departed. At the close of the services, as the
negroes turned from the newly filled grave, out
upon the dear frosty air rang the triumphant
hymn—so popular with the sable race—“ King
Jesus is my Captain, Glory, Hallelujah 1”
And this “o’er true picture’’ was the death
and burial of one of that oppressed and down
trodden race, for whose redemption daily pray
ers ascend from those in whose midst dwelt the
subject of our first sketch. Comment is unne
cessary. But we would say to those would-be
philanthropists, who have thus far done more
evil than good, “Physician, heal thyself.”
And we, too, seriously, and in all kindness,
would recommend the two graphic pictures
above to the consideration of the misled philan
thropists at the North who are doing so much
harm to themselves, and us, to our common
country, and to the cause they wish to serve.
Old Tony had been unable to work for years,
and had been confined to his bed for months;
but he had never lacked a comfort which his
invalid condition required. All had been sup
plied by the conscientious and kind master
to whom the labor of his life had been devoted.
And his last moments had been embittered, and
his mind agonized, by no anxiety for the future
comfort of his wife and his children. He knew
that the same watchful and kind earthly Provi
dence which had cared for him, would care for
them. And he calmly awaited his end.
Charles Miller was a slave just as truly as was
Tony; and he devoted the labor of liis life to
his master’s service just as truly, and far more
gainfully than did Tony. Only Charles Miller
had one hundred masters, and Tony had one.
Only conscience and law compelled Tony’s master
to care and provide for him in old age and sick
ness ; but Charles Miller’s one hundred masters
(society,) not being bound either by conscience
or law to provide for him, he died miserably,
tormented by an anxiety worse than death, when
he thought of the future in connection with his
wife and children.
So long as civilized society exists, there will
be, there must be, slaves of the class of Charles
Miller—a large class— permanent and perpetual
as a class. What sensible, reflecting man can
doubt this? And Charles Miller is not an ex
ception in his class. His story and his end are
the story and the end of nine-tenths of his fel
lows, in all dense populations, all the world over.
Who doubts it ? It ever has been, it is, it ever
will be. Who doubts it ? None but a few en
thusiastic, illogical dreamers, and utopists, who
can’t, or who wont, read history and human na
ture aright Yes, to these who doubt must be add
ed many millions of poor, ignorant, deluded, but
honest and down-trodden slaves of this class all
over Europe, who, stung to desperation by the
misery and the wrong which they suffer, have
sworn, and are plotting, in their wrath, the de
struction of all that is. They are yearly threat
ening to break up and overturn the foundations
of society, to awaken the slumbering earthquake
of social revolution among the masses below,
and pour the scorching and destructive lava of
communism and socialism over the whole sur
face of modem civilization.
We have said that we believe that slaves of
the class of Charles Miller will always exist.
No progress in civilization, in philanthropy, in
Christianity, can prevent it. Human nature,
and the great rules which govern it, instituted
by the Creator, must be radically changed ere
this social slavery can be exterminated. And
we as religiously believe that negro, or domes
tic slavery, as it exists in the Southern United
States, will always exist there, and elsewhere,
where rice, sugar, and cotton are the staple agri
cultural productions. To extinguish African
slavery in such regions, would require as thor
ough and radical a change of human nature and
its laws, as it would to extinguish the slavery of
which Charles Miller is the type.
That there are evils, and great evils, incident
to both species of slavery, we do not deny. But
when we reflect that food and clothing, physical
comfort, is all that either class of slaves work
for, or can hope to obtain, and when we com- ’
pare the amount of physical comfort which the
two systems assure to its subjects, comfort en
joyed presently, and assured for the future, in
sickness and old age, for themselves and their
families, we do not doubt, we cannot doubt, that
the advantage rests decidedly with the African
slave of the Southern United States.
We do not believe that there is under the sun
a-working class whose material comforts, whose
physical necessities, are so well provided for,
and secured, as are those of the three or four
millions of Southern slaves. If this be so, which
system of slavery is the better ? The philoso
pher and the philanthropist may well pause, be
fore they answer.
—^
Cold Df Siberia.— Some idea of the intense
cold in Siberia may be inferred from the fact
that the earth in some parts is frozen to the
depth of sixty feet. In the su/umer season, this
frozen soil, thawed to the depth of about three
feet, produces barley and other varieties of the
eerial grains. In the frozen gravel, which
composes the banks of the Lena; there are
found the icy remains of the mastodon, imbedded
for ages, so well preserved, that the flesh when
thawed is devoured by dogs with avidity.
. ll >
A meeting of the Atlantic Telegraph Compa
ny had been held, and they adopted a report,
already published, and authorised the acceptance
of the government agreement, and the raising of
a new capital of six hundred thousand pounds.
The English government have guaranteed a di
vidend of eight per cent, for twenty-five years,
to the company, provided the cable is in work
ing order, and capable of conveying one hundred
words per hour. The government also agrees
to pay twenty thousand {founds per year for mes
sages ; and this amount, with the sum to be re
ceived from the United States, will, probably,
induce an early subscription of the new capital.
It requires more magnanimity to give up what
is wrong, than to maintain what is right ; for
our pride is wounded by the one effort, and flat
tered by the other.
51