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About The Southern field and fireside. (Augusta, Ga.) 1859-1864 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 17, 1859)
130 [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] TO MYHSTEB. I hare been thinking, sister. Os the pleasant days of yore, When you and I were children. Flaying upon life's shore; When we sighed but for the future, And dreamed it had in store Far more of Joy and sunshine, Than the days that passed before; When in youth we read together, Building castles in the air, That faded from us quickly. Like almost all that's fair; When our laugh was merry music, And hearts, untouched by care, Loved all, and found new beauty, Daily and every where 1 Oh, I have sadly changed since then; The strifes of manhood now Are cutting many an ugly scar Too deeply on my brow! I'm changed, but 'twere an unkind task • To tell thee why or how, I would not even share with thee The griefs 'neath which I bow. And you, perchance, are not the same As in life's morning hours, When we, like two gay butterflys. Sought sweetness 'mid the flowers. No more, alas! they'll come no more— Those joyous times of ours. Our barks have floated out to sea, Far from those sunny bowers. We may not meet upon the tide That's bearing us from shore, But steer aright! we'll meet in ]>ort, Life's stormy passage o'er! Then, pure of heart as children arc, Far happier than before. At home, we'll tread the golden streets, And meet to part no more! G. F. T. Kanawha, Va, June 23d, 1869. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS OK, THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN. BY WM. W. TURNER. Bear reader, do not be uneasy about Mrs. Holmes’ heart, for she is fully equal to the task of taking care of it. As to Uncle Charley’s ob ject, you will discover soon enough what it was. Time frequently hangs heavy on the heads of these fashionable people, and they get up flirta tions, merely pour passer le temps. They mean no harm in the world by it; the thing being per fectly understood on both sides, they neither “ chate nor are ebated." They go into it with their eyes open, and it is merely a trial of skill, in which the heart is not the least concerned. In this view of the case, cannot even a man whose “ heart is in the right place,” indulge in a little flirtation, without doing violence to his na tural goodness ? I imagine this to be one of the very cases alluded to, whereas, Mrs. Holmes expressed it, they were “ forewarned and fore warned all around;’’ for my father had told Un cle Charley of the conversation in the colonnade and of his having read to the ladies extracts from that letter. Do not judge Uncle Charley too harshly, till you see the result of the flirta tion. “ Harry,” said my father’s friend to him one night, when all the rest of the company had re tired ; “ I do not feel the least sleepy, and you do not look so; suppose you go to my room and try a cigar.” “ Are they good, Charley ?” “ Come with me and see.” “There, sir!” continued Uncle Charley, after they had reached the room, as he opened a box and held it close under his friend’s olfactories. — “ See if they are not superior to anything you’ve smoked lately.” “They do look like a fair article,” was the reply, as my father inhaled their delicious aroma. “ Try one, Harry, and don’t put on such airs.” Charley, I shall not be surprised to find them almost equal to my E. D’s." “ Just listen to the man! * Hear till him!" They both lit weeds, and my father dropped into a luxurious arm chair, while his companion stretched himself at full length on a couch by one ofthe low-cut windows, and leaning out of it, gazed upon the silent dark grove below.— The moon was the faintest sort of a crescent, and cast a few silvery threads of light over the dense foliage, penetrating it only here and there. No sound was heard on the still night air, save the tremulous chime of the Katy-dids, and the softened murmur of distant water. A slight breeze was stirring the leaves of the oaks, and the dreamer bent over to catch it. Thousands of fire-flies glanced through the deep shade, with their sparkling, fitful light. “ Henry,” at length said Uncle Charley, “ how can you sit there instead of looking out upon this magnificent scene ? It is beautiful—lovely, beyond the power of description. Look at the deep shadow cast by these immense old trees, with a few lines of light streaming across it.— Listen at the singing and the enchanting sound of that distant waterfall.” “ Yes,” replied my father, a3 he puffed out a thin cloud of smoke which eddied slowly, grace fully, etherially, around his head, but not stir ring from his seat, “ I suppose it is all very beautiful, and have thought so all the time; but you have seen it frequently before, and how does it happen you've just concluded to remark its lovely features ?” “ I’ve admired it always.” “ Perhaps so ; but how happens it you’ve never expressed your admiration ? Something has certainly occurred to give a romantic tinge to your thoughts. What is it, my friend ?” “ Pshaw ! Can’t you allow a man to speak of the beauties which the God of Nature has spread out before him, but you must accuse him of romance ?” “ Hal ha ! ha !” laughed Uncle Charley’s companion. “ Now, lam sure there is some thing the matter with you.” Then ensued an interval of silence, during which the two friends puffed their cigars, and ruminated. My father had lighted on a train of thought which seemed to absorb liim for some moments. At length he broke the silence. “ Charley do you not believe marriage es sential to a man’s happiness ?” “ Y-e-e-e-s;’’ was the hesitating reply—“ to an old man’s happiness.” “ Well, you have never tried to marry.” “True.” “ How can you act thus, and think so ?” “ Am I an old man, then; Harry ?” “ Nonsense ! But to reply; let us begin far ther back. Tell me why you think marriage es sential to an old man’s happiness ?” Unde Charley was still smoking lazily, quiet ly ; and for some moments did not reply. His XKS gQFXKX&K SXSLfI AM) BIBJBSIHX. frie n ,i bore with him, for he saw there was something struggling in his bosom, and believed it would presently find utterance. At length Uncle Charly threw away his cigar, and straight ened himself up. “ Hal,” he exdaimed, “ this is a subject on which I have never conversed much, simply be cause I have never thought very seriously about it Lately, though, I have been meditating on it, somewhat The act of marrying in an old man is vety foolish, though the married state is, to him, almost the only happy one ; and there is the misery. What constitutes the happiness of this phase of existence, to an old man, is the deep and holy affection which has sprung up and strengthened between himself, and her who has been his companion in life’s long, weary, pilgrimage; and the children—the support of declining years—supposed to be the natural ac companiment of wedlock. To marry after one has grown old, of course renders a man liable to disappointment in this regard.” “ What a pity a man cannot marry a family at the same time he marries a wife I Then he might postpone this business till old age.” “ He can, Charley,” said my father. “How?” “By taking certain widows with numerous children.” “Ah! but they would not be his children.” “ That is true.” “ A young man can be happy, Hal, unmarried. I believe he can see more pleasure as a bachelor than as a benedict. Young, active, energetic, fond of roving, perhaps, with fresh, enthusiastic feelings, age lias not yet so cooled the ardor of his blood as to cause the quiet happiness of do mestic life to appear of more value in his eyes, than the excitement and pleasures of the world, or the pursuit of wealth or honor. “In old age, bn the contrary, loss of energy and physical infirmity render him incapable of enjoying the pursuits which in the days of his vigor were so attractive, and he seeks pleasures of a different kind. Shall the old man, then, at tempt to raise a family ? Alas! it is too late! — If he has spent his youth and manhood’s prime in what he is pleased to term ‘single blessed ness,’ his age will remind one of the old, decay ed and withered tree, standing in the midst of a vast plain, away from companionship'and shel ter , isolated, desolate ; stretching out its gaunt arms beseechingly, while the cruel storm beats pitilessly on its defenceless head. “ The last days of such a man present the most perfect picture of human wretchedness of which my mind can conceive. No children to soothe his last moments; No loved one now, no nestling nigh. He is floating down by himself to die! “ If by the mere act of marrying, a man could possess himself of what renders married life happy, then he might defer it till ho becomes old ; but as itjs, he must spend the best part of his young manhood in preparing those things which are to constitute his happiness in after life.” A long pause followed this harangue. At length the speaker resumed, “If I were sure of dying at the age of fifty, or even sixty, I would never marry; but as I may live longer, why ” “ Why what?" “ Let me light another cigar.” The cigar seemed to soothe Uncle Charley’s feelings, for he sank back quietly on the couch, and resigned himself to its benignant influence. When he spoke again, it was as follows: “ Henry, I am in love.” “I know it,” was the brief reply. “ How the devil do you know it?” “ Because six months of your manhood have never passed without your falling in love, and it is now just about half a year since your last scrape.” “ Oh, I am not jesting, now,” said Uncle Char ley. “ Besides,” resumed my father, apparently not noticing the last remark, “ you recollect what you wrote me in that letter.” “ Oh, blast the letter I It has played the very mischief with me, I fear.” “ But who has bound you in silken fetters this time ?” G riiHiaq “Miss Morton?” “No.” “ Well you’ve paid attention to only one other lady. Miss Banks and Miss Kate Morgan—the last named the most piquant of them all, in my humble opinion—have hardly received a passing notice at your hands.” “ Guess on.” “ It can't be Holmes ?” “ Harry, how can I convince you that I am serious this time ?” “ Y our manner has already half convinced me. Look me in the eye and tell me you are really in love; that will settle the matter.” “ See here, then. It is, at last, cold, sad reali ty. lam in love.” “ I fully believe you.” “Now, then, comes the most embarrassing part of the business—telling who it is that has bewitched me.” “ And why should that prove embarrassing?” “ I fear you’ll laugh at me.” “No, I will not.” “It is one who, I fear, is incapable of love, and even if this were not so, she could never be brought to regard me with affection. Besides, 1 believe if she really loved me, she would never allow herself to acknowledge it.” “And why not?” “ Because she is too proud; and she is a wo man. She seeks revenge, and were she to find I love her, even if she should return the feeling in her heart, she would sacrifice any thing for an opportunity of humbling me in tho dust.” “ It must be Mrs. Holmes.’’ “ You have guessed it” “ Well, how in the name of common sense, Charley, can you love a woman whom you con sider so heartless a creature?” “ How can you ask such a question, Hal? As if a man can bind or loose his passions as he listeth 1” “ I always thought men loved certain qualities, or attributes, and that they bestowed their af fections on the persons possessed of these.” “ Perhaps that is true —sometimes.” “ But it never seemed to me that heartlessness was calculated to win you.” “ I don’t know how that is. It may be that only my imagination is captivated.” “ Then get out of it, Charley.” “ Oh! I tell you I can’t help it.” “ You, Charley Hampton ? The cool, experien ced, well-balanced man of the world— you yield ing to such weakness!” “ Bear with me, my friend. I am not sure that what I say of Mrs. Holmes is true, I only awfully fear it.” “ Well Charley, I expect Mrs. Holmes lias the same opinion of you, that you have of her; so even should you make a declaration of love, in all probability she would think you were not se rious.” “ Yes.” “ But if you find out she is really destitute of “ That is true.” heart, surely you can then give up this sudden passion.” “Very easily. How, though, am Ito satisfy myself on this point, till I’ve been jilted ?” “ Well, really I can’t say.” “ I wish te avoid this mortification. Oh, I don't wish to have my feelings trampled on.” “ Charley, I know it is rather mean to say to you,‘l told you so;’ but you see the truth of my frequent warnings.” “ Alas, Hal, I now see how truly you prophe sied. I have so long sustained the character of flirt—trifle*—butterfly—that it is impossible for me to persuade people I can be any else. Oh, that a man should slitter away his life as I have done!" And Uncle Charley rose, grinding his teeth, and paced the floor, excitedly. At lengh he re sumed, “ I will ttell you all about it—though what will be the hse ? I was about to tell you of the origin and progress of my love, and how it dif fers from ordinary affection; but it would be sheer folly. Such tales have become trite and common to jtour ear. I myself have contributed more than any one else to make them so.” “ But what course do you intend to pursue?” asked my father. “ I don’t know, Ha*ry. Time will show. Per haps I will ‘ let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, feed on my damask cheek.’ If so, I must leave this. Good night. Hal. I must sleep now.” “Good night, Charley. You are fortunate if you can sleep. This makes me think you are still yourself. Sleep yet remember ‘ faint heart never won fair lady.’” But sleep did not visit Uncle Charley’s eyes hi a good while after his friend's departure; and for several nights previous, he had not his share of “tired nature’s sweet restorer.” It was strange to see tie matured man of the world, going through all the stages of love, like a youth of eighteen. The next morning at breakfast, “ the man of the world” had a sea by Mrs. Holmes, and com menced a conversaton which, to most of the guests, seemed to be in his ordinary cool, ban tering manner. The lady also, on her part, con ducted it, to casual observation, in the same careless flippant side. The close observer, though, especially i'ho had some inkling of what was passing in the deep recesses of the hearts of each, could detect a shade of embarrass ment and awkwardness in the manner of both parties which, indicated the existence of some feeling. For the next few cays, Uncle Charley sought Mrs. Holmes’ company frequently; but it all re sulted in nothing. “ ’"he truth is, Hal,’ he said to my father, “ I cannot muster courage to tell her I love her. If there were not so much truth in it, I could tell her so twenty times without the least embarrass ment. What has cone over me?” “I can’t say, Charley," was the answer, “ It seems to me you entirely forget that faint heart never won fair lady.” “ Yes; it is very easy for you to say that, but only place yourself in my situation.” “ What ?—in love ? Ain’t I in love now— with Mrs. Hopeton ? Wasn’t lin love w r hen I courted her ? At leas', you’d better not tell her I was not.” “ You had no flirt tc deal with. But why do I speak thus ? If I -bought Mrs. Holmes a mere flirt, I could not love her. Still, if I did rwt think her a flirt, I would not hesitate to avow my love.” “ I see, Charley," said father, “that though you are partially demented, you are philosopher enough to analyze your feelings very skillfully.” “ I wish I were philosopher enough, Hal, to reason this foolish whim out of my head ” CIIAITER XII. At the appointed time, Fitzwarren came, and soon after, Tom Harper rejoiced me with his ad vent. The sight of his handsome, manly face, and the sound of his cheering voice, brought to mind tho free, wild gallops we had taken to gether over the wild prairies, and the merry bivouacs with the entertaining talk around the camp fires.” “So you have really come back to Georgia, Tom,” said I. “You have rather surprised me, for I must acknowledge I di<j not much expect to see you.” “ Well, you know,” answered Tom, “I told you it was uncertain whether or not I would come; but an irresistible longing to see the old homestead, possessed me.” “ And in what kind of state did you find things at home?” “Os course they were much changed. The grave-yard, the grounds around the house, and the whole plantation, were overgrown with weeds and briars, and even shrubs which could almost be termed trees. The house was cover ed with moss; but fortunately it is a solid struc ture, and the body of it has yielded very little to the hand of time, though some of the out doors and windows were slightly decayed.” “ And where are you staying now ?” “ Why, where else but at my own home ? I have had all the rotten timbers replaced by sound ones, and made a few rooms comfortable, so that I am living in very snug bachelor quar ters. You must spend a week with me before you go back to College.” “ With pleasure.” “ I can give you some fine shooting. An old acquaintance of mine residing in Augusta, who has gone to Europe, laid me under obligations by sending me a well-broke pointer to keep du ring his absence. I used to have trained dogs, before I adopted the nomadic manner of living, and if I conclude to reside in Georgia again, I will take good care to have them once more.— I can easily drill some by the time D. returns.” “ I am glad to hear you talk of residing here again, Tom.” “ Yes. It is by no means certain that I will do so, however. I am, as yet, undetermined.— Circumstances may alter my half-formed plans, any day.” “ May I be allowed to inquire on what con tingencies your staying or not staying will de pend?” “ I will tell you some other time. But, Jack, what a charming lady is Miss Kate Morgan!— By Jove! if I were young as you, I believe I would fall in love.” “ I am glad to hear you talk so at last, Tom. Miss Kate’s bright eyes will dispel that lurking misanthropy in which you are prone to in dulge.” “ Very possible, Jack; but if I fall in love, I must have a rival to make it interesting.” “Never fear, Mr. Tom: you will have num bers of these.” “ Yourself among them?” “ Perhaps so ; but I will not be a very for midable one, as I am yet a college boy. How ever, you recollect that singular looking genius, Fitzwarren, to whom you were introduced this morning ?” “ Yes; and I never saw a more striking coun tenance. He cannot pass through a crowd un noticed.” “ You are right. He excites remark and con jecture wherever lie makes his appearance.” “ Docs he ever laugh, Jack ?” “ I have never seen anything more decided than a smile flit across his features, but they say he sometirtfes indulges in the wildest, most extravagant kind of mirth.” “ But what about him, Jack ? "Why did you speak of him?” “ Oh, I forgot. Why, I think, from the way he looked at Miss Kate during dinner, to-day, he is destined to be your rival, if you become tender in that quarter.” 11 So be it, then. But he is a devilish strange fellow.” / “Women are captivated by mystery and eccentricity, Tom.” “True! true! Oh,l dont doubt he’ll be as formidable a rival as I care to encounter. But if he spoils any game with Miss Morgan, I’ll e’en try a sly flirtation with Miss Laura Banks.” “ Seriously though, Tom, you must be a ladies’ man, once more, for the sake of our guests.” And true to his word, he almost devoted him self to the fair portion of our guests; and from what I have said of his qualifications, the read er can easily believe that he made himself agreeable. Fitzwarren also surprised me. Gen erally, he was cold, reserved, almost disdainful as when I first knew him. Even in the very midst of company, he wore the same air of mingled melancholy, haughtiness and abstrac tion. Sometimes, though, he would shake it off, and converse with a brilliancy and gayoty which absolutely astounded me. Occasionally, he would bury himself in his room, or wander off in the solitary woods, all day ; and whenever this was the case, at night, if we all gathered in the drawing-room, he was sure to delight us with flashing and erratic elo quence, or mirthful sallies. But even in these instances, there was a cold, dreamy look in his eye ; and sometimes, this would so increase as to render it unpleasant to encounter his fixed gaze. Then he would relapse into silence, and seem utterly oblivious of the presence of those around him. He was exceedingly fond of the exercise of riding on horseback. Nor did short excursions satisfy him. One day my father and I conclu ded to call on Mr. Warlock, and as it was a pretty long ride, knowing how Fitzwarren would be pleased, I asked him to accompany us. It happened, also, that Tom Harper went with us. Arrived at the house, we saw Mr. Warlock sitting in his porch, smoking; and for a wonder, his sons were with him. We entered the gate and walked up the steps. As we drew close to the old man, Fitzwarren, looking into his face, started as if he had trod on a serpent. Gazing, his eye dilated and his breath came short and quick, as he muttered, “ What a strange likeness! Can it be ?—but impossible! ” We looked on in wonder. Soon Fitzwarren perceived our astonishment, and by a strong ef fort resumed his composure. Almost in a moment his face wore the same impassable, im penetrable expression which was its customary one, and when he was introduced, not a tremor in his voice betrayed a trace of his recent agita tion. Fitzwarren’s name seemed to produce an equally wonderful influence on Mr. Warlock.— As the former looked him steady in the eye, he stood transfixed and motionless; gazing with as tonishment, and for some moments unable to ar ticulate. The two young men betrayed equal emotion. They glared on Fitzwarren with an expression of mingled fear and hatred, reminding me very forcibly of two dogs, in doubt,' whether to bite or rim away. At length the old man mustered composure sufficient to salute the strangers and ask us to be seated. His sons seemed to have lost all con trol over themselves; and soon making some ex cuse about “ business in the plantation,” they left the house. Their father made a show of conversation, but his agitation was painful to behold, especially when Fitzwarren, in addres sing him, would direct his calm, searching glance toward where he sat. We did not cease to wonder at all this. We made a short visit, though, for company seemed to be anything but agreeable to Mr. Warlock in his present mood. After a short attempt at con versation, we mounted our horses and rode homeward. As soon as we were fairly on our way, Fitzwarren, in his quiet, of course manner, remarked, “The old man we have just left bears so sin gular a resemblance to one whom I knew under very painful circumstances,that the sight of him discomposed me a little.” We might have told him that the old man seemed to know his name under “ very painful circumstances,” but of course politeness forbade it, since we saw he was not disposed to be any farther communicative. That night after supper, Tom, my father and myself sat smoking on a bench under one of our huge oaks. “Os course,” said I, “you two noticed Fitz warren’s agitation at meeting Mr. Warlock to day. What can it mean ?” “ Can’t say, Jack,” replied my father; “ you heard his explanation of it.” “ Rather a lame one, though, I thought.” “ Yes," said Tom. “He said the old man very much resembled one he had known under painful circumstances. But his name produced rather startling effects, as well as Mr. Warlock’s ap pearance." “ Perhaps,” said my father, rather sarcastical ly, “there was a resemblance in the name.” “ Can you explain it. Jack ?” asked Tom. “ No,” answered I, “ for nearly a year, I have been with Fitzwarren every day, but he is not a very communicative man, and I know nothing of his past life.” “ He has not bored you with his adventures as I have then ?” “He has told me nothing. I may be deceived in him, bi» I think that under a cold and cyni ical exterior, he conceals a noble and generous nature. I believe him to have a nice sense of honor in short, that he is a high-toned gen tleman.” Not far from where we sat, was a thick clump of shrubbery, which cast a deep shade, notwith standing the lightness with which the moon shone. As I ceased to speak, a long shadow was thrown across the space between where we sat and this dark spot, while the figure of a man emerged from concealment, and stalked to ward us. The new comer was a perfect curiosity in ap pearance. He was of immense height, of large frame, with broad shoulders, but thin in flesh. Ilis long, straight, black hair fell in raven mass es on his shoulders, and an equally black beard, with a few silver threads in it, flowed down his breast. He wore a slouched felt hat, put on in a style which reminded one of Spanish costume. A hunting suit, similar so that worn by regular frontiersmen, enveloped his form. A rifle of enormous length was carried on his shoulder.— So long was this gun, it seemed as if, in the hands of so tall a man as himself, it might be used for knocking the game out of trees, as well as shooting it. When within a few feet of us, he halted.— Tom looked at him with astonishment. “ If I were to see that figure cm the prairies, Jack,” said he, “it would seem in perfect keeping; but what the deuce is such a tiling doing in this country ?” “ Well, Gaunt,” said my father, before I could reply to Tom’s question, “why don’t you come up ? What do you stand there for ?” “ I want to see es you knowed me,” said ‘Gaunt,’ approaching, as he uttered a low, strange laugh. “ Knowed you ? Who could ever forget your scare-crow figure ?” “ Tour eye-sight keeps pretty good, I see.— ’Twas mighty good once, I know, when you and I used to cruise ropnd the pint.” "Well, never mind the pint, now. Have you had supper ?” “ No.” “ I’ll have a table set for you, then.” “ I don’t wan’t no table set Have me some cold meat and bread brought right here, quick as you please, for I am devilish hungry.” The victuals being brought, the strange visi tor made a terrible onslaught upon it. • “ You all jest talk on,” said he. “Don’tmind me till I’m done eatin, and then I’ll tell you what I come for.” Accordingly wc left the new comer to his re past and conversed on indifferent topics, till he should get through his meal. This was soon the case. “Try a cigar, sir ?” said Tom, as he saw the object of his wonderment cease from his attack on the edibles, and wipe his mouth with his coat sleeve. “ No, thankee,” was the reply, as Gaunt pro duced a short pipe from his pocket, and proceed ed to fill it with tobacco, drawn from the same receptacle. —• ’ “Now, Mr. Hopeton,” said he, after lighting the pipe and commencing to smoke, “ here’s what I come for. Is there a gentleman in your house named Fitzwarren ?” “Yes.” “ Is that him thar?” “No. Mr. Harper, let me introduce you to Mr. Carlos Nunez, commonly known as Bill Gaunt. He is quite a character. “ Gaunt, this is a friend of my son, and conse quently of myself.” “ Happy to form your acquaintance, Mr. Nunez,” said Tom, shaking the hand proffered him. “Es you’re a friend of Mr. Hopeton and his son,” answered Gaunt, “I’m glad to know you, and I'm your friend. I’m ready to serve any man who is friendly to Mr. Hopeton or his.” “Butwhat about Fitzwarren, Gaunt?” asked I, for I was burning with curiosty. “ Well, he'd better leave these parts as quick as possible.” “Why?” “Because Jake and Joe Warlock have sworn to have his blood.” “Whatl” exclaimed my father. “Why do they wish to kill him ?” “ First, then, as to that will you’ve got ” “The mischief 1 Gaunt! Are you a wizard, or an imp of darkness? Do you know every thing?” “ No, I don’t; but I know a damned sight, as the folks who have been hounding me so long will one day find to their cost.” “I expect so.” “ But,” resumed Gaunt, “ as to that will ” “ But how do you know I've got any will?” again interrupted my father. “Es you want to hear my tale,” said Gaunt, doggedly, “ I must tell it my own way.” “ Say on, then.” (to he continued.) - mt 11 > Unconscious Influence.—The very handling of the nursery is significant, and the petulance, the passion, the gentleness, the tranquility indi cated by it, are all reproduced in the child. Ilis soul is a purely receptive nature, aud that for a considerable period, without choice qr selection. A little further on he begins voluntarily to copy every thing he sees. Voice, manner, gait— every thing which the eye sees—the mimic in stinct delights to act over. And thus wo have a whole generation of future beginnings, and the deepest impulses of their life and immortali ty. They watch us every moment—in the family, before the hearth, and at the table; and when we are meaning them no good or evil, when we are not conscious of exerting any influence over them, they are drawing from us impressions and molds of habit, which, if wrong, no heaven ly discipline can wholy remove; or, if right, no kind of association utterly dissipate. Now it may be doubted, I think, whether, in all the ac tive influences of our lives, we do as much to shape the destiny of our fellow men as we do in this single article of unconscious influence over children. —— In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take this great world in our arms. Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn in our hearts or on the hearths, and all without or within is dismal, cold and dark. Wo believe every hearth has its secret sorrows which the world knows not; and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad. Longfellow. What we Eat.—A man in active life requires thirty-six ounces of solid food per day—say nine ounces of animal and twenty-seven ounces of vegetable—according to established scales of diet in the English and French army and navy regulations. Os food and drink a man will con sume about 1,500 pounds a year. Os course many persons consume much moro food, but this is the average estimate. HI Males and Females Boen.—There seems to be a universal law that more mules than females are born. This is sustained by the records of every nation where records have been kept.— The excess of males varies with different people, but, so far as known, tho excess is greatest In the United States. It varies widely among the different States, the excess in South Carolina and Kentucky being more than throe times as great as Massachusetts. The effect of climate and other appreciable causes producing this dispro portion in the sexes, is not settled. The excess is greatest in tho extreme climates—Russia and South Carolina. — I and J.—There are no two letters in the manuscript alphabet of the English language which occasion so much trouble, or causes so much misconstruction as the two letters I and J, as many persons inadvertently write them.— The rule for writing them properly, and which should be universally understood and adopted, is to extend the J below the line. If those who write I for J knew how it sometimes puzzles printers, they would remember the above sug gestion.
