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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