The independent press. (Abbeville C.H., S.C.) 1853-1860, October 22, 1858, Image 1
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VOLUME G?NO. 25. ABBEVILLE C. II., SOUTH CAROLINA, FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 22, 1858. WHOLE NUMBER 285
THE TWO HOMES.
Two men, on their wny home, met at a
street crossing, and walked on together.
Tliey were neighbors and friends.
' This has been a very hard day," said Mr.
Freeman, in a gloomy voice. And as they
Walked hoinewaid they discouraged each
other and made darker tho clouds that obscured
their whole horizon.
"Good evening" was at last said, hurriedly
; and the two men passed into their
homes.
M. Walcolt entered the room where his
wife and children were gathered, and with?..i
... . ii* ?
?jiil >|je;iiaiig to any one, seaieu mmseif in a
chair, and leaning his licad back, closed his
eyes. IIis countenance wore a sad, wearv,
exhausted look, lie had l??-en seated th'is
only a few minutes, when his wife said, in h
fretful voice:
"More trouble again."
"What is the matter now 2" asked Mr.
Walcott, almost startling.
"John has been sent home from school."
"What ?" Mr. Walcott partly rose from
his chair.
"lie has been suspended forbad conduct."
"Oh, dear !" groaned Mr. Walcott;
"where is he ?"
"Up in his room; I sent him there as
soon as he came home. You'll have to do
something with him. He'll be ruined if he
goo* on litis way. I'm out of all heart with
him."
Mr. Walcott, excited as much by the
manner in which his wife conveyed unpleas- |
ant information ashy tiie information itself,
started np, under the lilitnl impulse of the i
moment, and, going to the room where
John had been sent on coming home, pun- ,
ished the boy severely, and this without lis- !
tening to the explanation which the poor '
child tried to make him hear. .
"Father, said the boy, with forced calm- ;
tie.?s, after the cruel stripes had ceased, "I !
was not to blame; and if you will go with ;
i. il._ ? I T '
me 10 uie leacner, 1 can prove inysen inno- ;
cont."
Mr. Walcott had never know his son t
tell an imtrulii, au?l tlie words fell with a 1
rebuke upon his heart.
"Verv well?we will see about that," lie 1
answerer', with forced sternness; and leav- j
ing the"room, he went down stairs, feei ng |
much more uncomfortable than when he j
went up. A>jfain ho seated himself in his |
large chair, and again leaned back his weary |
head, and closed his heavy eyelids. Sadder !
was his face than before. As he sat thus i
his eldest daughter, in her sixteenth year, |
came in and stood by hitn. She held a
paper in her hand ?
"Father!"?tie opened his eyes.
"Here's my quarter's hill; enn't I have
the money to take to school with me in the j
morning J"
"I am afraid not," answered Mr. Walcott,
half in despair.
"Nearly all the girls will bring in their,
money to-morrow, and itrmrtifiis tne to be j
behind the others." The daughter spoke ,
fretfully. Mr. Waloott waived her aside
with his hand, and she went off mutteritijj ,
?
and poutinc. I
"It is mortifying," Raid Mrs. Walcott, a j
litUo sharply ; "and I don't wonder that
Helen feels annoyed about it. The bill lias j
to bu paid aud I don't see why it may not j
be done as well at first as last."
To this Mr. Walcott made no answer, i
The words but added another pressure to j
the heavy burden under which he was at- ;
ready staggering. After a silence of some j
moments, Mrs. W. said:
"The.coals are all gone."
"Impossible!" Mr. Walcott raised his I
head and looked incredulous. "I laid in I
sixteen tons."
"I can't help it if there wore sixty tons j
instead of sixteen, they are all gone. The
girls had hard work to-day to scrape enough
to keep the fire in."
"There has been a shameful waste some
where," sflid Mr. Walcott, with strong emphasis,
starting up and moving about the
room in a very disturbed manner.
"So j'ou always say, when anything runs
out," answered Mra. Walcott rather tartly.
"The barrel of flour is gone also, but I suppose
you have done your part, with the rest,
in using it up."
Mr. Walcott returned to hie chair, and i
again seating himself, leaned back his bend
and closed bis eyes as at first. How sad,
aod weary, and hopeless he felt! The burdens
of the dhy bad seemed almost too
heavy for bim; but he had borne up bravely.
To gather strength for a renewed struggle
witb adverse circumstances he had come
home. Alas I that the process of exhaustion
should atill go on?that where only
stVeugth. coul4 be looked for on eartb, no
sijrwgui was given.
Wen the lea-bell rung, Mr. Waloott
psade no, movement to obey the summons,
-"Come tp gupper," ?R4 bis wife, ooldly
Bnt he did not Btif,''
,,yoo ** Pr wpper 1" ?h6
called to mo), aa'sbe w^ul feavin^the roomijWon*r
Wfefc tbia *ferimg .
WW ?0$es veijr m nob \
rnrii' 'i ii - -* ... - in -II?
4,In tlioiluni|s again !" muttered Mr'-.
Walcott to herself. 'It's as niueh as one's
life is worth to ask for money, or to say ny
thing is wanted." And sho kept cn her
way to the dining room. When sh<; returned,
her husband was still silting where
she had left him.
"Shall I bring you a cup of tea?" she
asked.
4'No ; I don't wish for anything."
"What's the matter, Mr. Walcott??
What do you look so troubled about, as if
you naun I a menu a Ineinl 111 tLie world ?
Wliat liavo I done to you? "
There was no answer, for tlir-io was not a
shade of real sympathy in the voice th: t
inadc the queries, but rather of querulous
I dissatisfaction. A few moments Mr. Wulcotl
stood behind her husb-.nd, but as ho
did not seem to be inclined to answer her
questions, she turned away from him, and
resumed the employment which had been
interrupted l<y ih.? ringing of the lea bel'.
The whole evening passed oft* without the
occurrence of a single incident that gave a
healthful pulsation to the sick heart of Mr.
Walcott. No though fill kindness was nvmi'ested
by any member of the family; but,
on the contrary, a narrow regard for self,
and looking to him oidy that he might
'supply the means of s?*lf-i*rniif?i?jiti?i?
No wonder, from the pressure which was !
on him, that Mr. Waleott full utterly discouraged.
Ho ret ire J caily ami sought to j
1 find that relief from mental disquietude in
! sleep which he had vainly hoped for in the
' bosom ofhis family, lint (he whole night
passed in broken slumber and disturbing ,
dreams. From the cheerless morning men',
at which he was reminded of the quarter's
bill that must be paid, of the coals and
flour that were out, and of the necessity of ,
supplying Mrs. Wale.otl's empty nurse, I e
went forth to meet the difficulties of another
day, faint at heart, and almost hopeless i
iif <iuipfj<c A * '
. UWv>\. AH Jk uuuiiMcni >uii iij >u>ihinc.'ii i?y
Iioiih! affections, would have carried li:m
thro-igh; bill, unsupported as ho was, the
burden was too heavy for liim, and lie sank
under it. The day that opened so unpro- |
piliouslv, closed upon him a mined iiuin !
J.el us look in for a few moments upon
Mr. Freeman, a friend and neighbor of M .
W'deott. lie, also, had come In rae weaiy,
dispirited, and almost sick. The trials ?.f
the day had been unusually severe, and
when he looked anxiously forward to scan
the future, not even a gl-?am of light was ,
seen along the black hoiizon.
As he stepped across the threshold of!
his dwelling, a pang shot thiough his heart, !
for the ihoucht came. "Hnw slmlii tl>? 1
present hoM upon all these comforts?"? j
Not for himself, but for his wife and children
was (he pain.
"Father's come!" criod a clad lillle voice
on the stairs, the moment his footfall sound- j
cd in the passage ; then quick, pattering 1
feet were heard?and then a tiny form was 1
springing into his arms. Before reaching
the ing room above, Alice, the eld- i
est df?uj, . r, was by his side, her arm '
drawn fondly within his, and her loving
eyes lifted to his face.
"Arc you not late, dear?" It was the
gentle voice of Mrs. Freeman.
' Mr. Freeman could not trust himself to '
answer. He was too deeply troubled in
spu n 10 assume at the moment, a cheerful
1 _ i
tone, ami lie had 110 wisli to sadden tin; .
hemts that loved him, by letting the do
pression from which he was Fu'rriiig hecome
loo closely apparent. T>ut thecvc* of
Mrs. Freeman saw quickly below the sur- .
face. j
"Are you not well, Robert ?" she inquir- '
ed, tenderly, as he drew his large arm-chair I
toward the center of the room.
"A little headache," he answered, with a ,
flight evasion.
Scarcely was Mr. Freeman seated ere a i
pair of hands was busy with each foc?t, re- j
moving caiter and shoe, and sunnlvinrr il??ir i
place willi a soft slipper. There were none j
the household who did not feel happier for j
his return, nor one who did not 6eek to render
him some kind office.
It whs impossible, under suuh a hurst .of
heart-sunshine for the spirit of Mr. Freeman
loii^fo rertfuin shrouded. Almost im- j
perco^tibly to himself gloomy thoughts i
gave place to more cheerful ones, and by 1
the time tea was ready, he had half forgot- !
ten the fears which had bo haunted him j
through the day.
But they could not be held back alto- !
gether, and their exjgtence was" marked", du- |
ring the evening, by au unusual silenco aud !
abstraction of mind. This was observed by
Mrs. Freeuiaq, who, more than h^lf suspecting
the cause, kept bayk from her husband
the knowledge of ccrlaio matters about
which she bad intended to speak to him,
for she feared they would add to his mental
disquietude. During tbe evening she
gleand from something be said the real
caused of bis changed Aspect. At once hef
thoughts commenced rutioing in a new
channel. Bf" a fe* loading fanwfcs the
her hotbmd; into convei>ati<rn^on the
- - iil i
t lings were mutually pronounced superflu- j
' ous, and easily to be dispensed witli ; and i
. before sleep fell soothingly on the lieavy j
eyelids of Mr. I'reeman that tiight, an en- i
j tire change in their style of living had been |
determined upon?a change that would re- !
dure their expenses at least one half.
"I seo light ahead." were the hopeful I
I words of Mr. I*'., as he resigned himself to 1
! slumber.
! i
: With renewed strength of mind and
body, and a confident spirit, ho went forth j
, the next day?a day that lie lind looked !
i forward to with fear and trembling. And ;
it was only through this renewed strength j
and confident spirit that he was able to (
overcome the diflieultics that loomed up,,
mountains nign, hetoro him. Weak de- i
' spoi.dcney would linve ruined all. Home i
I li :?<] proved !iis tower of strength?his wall- j
: ed city. Strengthened for the conflict, he !
i o ? i
| had gone forth again in the wot Id, and j
! conquered in the struggle.
"I see light ahead" gave place to "The i
morning breaketh !"'?Orunye Jilossomn.'
i Tiik Aht ok Thinking.?One of the,
best ways of improving the art of thinking
is to think on some subject la-fore yon read j
j upon it, and to observe after what manner >
it occurred to the mind of some great mas- !
tor; you will then observe whetlu-r von have j
' been too rash or too timid, what von have ;
' omiti?'d. and in what you have exceeded ; '
and by this process you will insensibly '
catch a (fri'rtt manner of viewing ;i
. - I ,
II is light in study not only to think when
any extraordinary incident provokes yon In j
think, hist from time to time to review !
what has passed ; to dwell upon it and to j
see what trains of thought voluntarily pres- ;
ent themselves to your mind. It is a most '
superior habit for some minds to refer all
the particular truths which strike them, to!
other truths more general ; so that their I
knowledge is beautifully methodized, and !
the general truth at any time suggests all j
particular exemplification, at oti.-e leads to !
the general truth. This kind of understand- !
ing lias an immense and decided supeiiori- i
ty over those confused heads in which one '
fact is piled upon another, without the least t
attempt at classification and arrangements. !
Some men always read with a pen in their j
hand and commit, to paper any new thought j
which strikes them : Others trust t<> eli:.t?-? i
!or its if-appcarance. \\ iiirh of thrso is j
t n* 1 t nic lio'l in the conduct < f under- i
standing uni t I suppose, d?:i)end a great |
deal upon tlx* particular uudcrslandiu.; in |
q' cstion. Some men can do nothing wiili- .
out pn-paialion ; others little with il ; some J
are fountains, some reservoirs.
Sidney Smith. j
UskPlknty oi* Gkavy.?Dr. Dixon, in j
a laate number of t lie ' Scalpel,'' in an arti- j
r.lc on diet, a^stiineft the position that the j
"use of oil would decrease the victims of!
coiismnntinn tiSnn.t?? ? !.? -...I - ' '
. ? |.?.v it ii i ur?, aim tllilt LUIS IS ;
the whole secret of the use of cod liver oil," i
and quotes the following summary obfteiva- !
tions on the suI, made l?y Dr. Ilookerj
Of nil persons at between the ages offif- :
teen and twenty-two years, more than one- ;
fifth eat no tat meat.
Of persons at the a<;e of forty-five all excepting
less than one in fifty, habitually use
fat meat.
Of persons who, between the ages of fifteen
and twenty-two, avoid fat meat, a few i (
acquire an appetite for it, and live to a good
old age, while the greater portion die with
phthisic before thitty five. ,
Of persons dying with phthisic, between i
the ages of twelve and forty-five, nine-tenths j
at least, have never used fat meat. I
.?m>i iiiniviiiiiais wno Hvoiit lat meat, al* I
so use little l<utter or oily gravies, though i I
they should compensate for this want, in j
p:irt, at least, l>y free use of those aitirles i '
and also milk. Htnl various sacchaiine
substances. But they constitute an impor- '
f it substitute for fat meat, without which, 1
sooner or later, the body is almost sure to j 1
show the effects of deficient calorification. 1
Mus. Partington on Long Life.?I've 1
always noticed," says Mrs.l'artinton, drop- '
pinjj her voice to the key that people adopt (
when they are disposed to bo pliilosophi- '
cal or moral, "I've always noticed that ev- 1
cry year added to a man's life has a tenden- ^
cy to make hint older, just as a man who
crops a journey finds, as he jo<js on. that 1
every mile stone brings him nearer to where (
lie is going and farther from where started..
I haven't got the exorbitance of feeling that
I had once, and I don't believe I shall ever
have it again, if I live to the age of Methusaleb,
which heaven knows, I don't want to.
And, speaking of long life, I haven't any
desire to live longer than thu breath remains
in my body, if it isn't more than
eighty years?I wouldn't wish to be a centurion,
and the idea of surviving one's factories
always give mo a disagreeable sonsoriousness.
liut whatever is to be, will be,
and there is no knowing how a thing will
take place till it turns out.?Boston Ouzette.
The Patient and the Teacher.?Never
attempt to dictate or *uggeat to the man to
whom yon confide your son, or von will nev
erlio satisfied. Leave everything rts you 1
Audit, convinced that if yoif'trv to m?nd 1
tbe.least you will spoil all. The more en- 1
t-rgelic a mail in in his bu*it)ess, the more
does he value the lessons of cx^arieneo, and '
the more heartily does he despise tho fancies
of all hut practical men. The*labor, the :
self-denial,and command, requisite to form
the characters of youth are v>ery great. No 1
inan will ?*er *uec?ed wbod(*p9 nw.t take an
interest in it \ and the least interference may j
cheek tbt? interest, or- cause It to be ejected 1
in favor, not of your son,bytof sous of wiser
parent?, .who do nothing to daiint ihe maeJr*
Contentment.
nv o. \v. HOLMES.
"Man wants but little here below."
Little I ask : my wants are few ;
I only wish a hut of stone.
(A very plain brown stone will do,)
That I ma}- eall my own ;
And close at hand is such a one.
In yonder street that fronts the sun.
Plain food i*<]uito enough for me ;
Three courses are as good as ten?
If nature can subsist' on three,
Thank Heaven for three. Amen !
I always thought cold victuals is nice?
My choice would be vanilla-ice.
1 care nottmu'h fur gold or land; j
Give me a mortgage here anil there?
Some guod bank-stock?some note of land,
Or trifling railroad share ; |
1 only ask thut- Fortune send
A little more tlian 1 shall spend.
Honors are silly toy?, I know.
And titles are but empty names?
I would, />er/wjit>, lie Plenipo,
lint, only near St. James;
I'm very sure 1 do not care j
To fill our Uubernator'a cliair.
Jewels are bubbles ; 'tis a sin
To care for such unfruitful things ;
One good-sized diamond pin?
home, not so large, in rings ;
A ruby, and a pearl, or so,
Will do for iijc?I laugh at show.
My dame should dress in cheap atlire ;
(Good, heavy silks are never dear) ;
I own, perhaps I might desire
Some shawls of true cashmere?
Some marrowy crapes ot China silk,
j.ikc wruiKicu skhi 011 scaiacu rniik. 1
I would not. have the horse I diive
S?> fust that folks must stop nnd stt.rc ; !
Aii easy gait?two forty-five?
Suits me : I do not care ;
Perhaps, fur just a single spurt.
Some seconds less would do no hurt.
Of pictures, I should like to own j
Tit inns ard Kaphacls three or four?
I love so much their ityle and tone?
One Turner, and no more.
(A landscape?foreground golden dirt ;
The cuunliiiie painted with u wijuirt.)
Of hooks hut. few?some fifty score v
For daily use, and hound for wear;
The rest upon an upp.-r floor ;
Some little luxury there
Of red moroccoV gilded gleam,
And vellum rich as country creatu.
Busts, cameos, gems?such things as these, ;
v? men outers oiien show for pride, t
1 value for their power to please,
Ami selfish curls derid? ;
One. Hirn?iivarious. 1 confess.
Two Mcerchauuis, 1 would lain possess. j
Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not lenrn, I
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool ;
Shall not enrved tables serve my turn,
But nil must be of buhl?
Give t!ta<piag pomp its double share?
1 ask but one recumbent chair.
Thus humble let me live and die.
Nor long for Midas' golden torch ;
If Heaven more generous gifts deny,
1 shall not miss them much. t
Too grateful for the blessing lent
Of simple tastes and mind contest.
I
A Visit to Professor Morse. I
The Rochester Democrat has a letter i
from a Poiighkoepsie correspondent, giving i
;iii account of a visit paid to Professor Morse :
by the writer.
"A few weeks since I had the pleasure, t
am' 1 may say the honor, too, of a call up- |
mi Professor Sainu.-I F. B. Morse, at his resi- |
deuce two miles below this city, upon the ;
old Post Road, over which many of your ]
leaders have made winter journeys by st;ige I
in days of yore. I do not intend to pass !
iin euloinum upon Mr. Morse, but this fact |
is impressed upon my mind?that he is one 1
of the most gentlemanly, kind-hearted, un- !
tisstimiug and respect-inspiring inen with I
whom il has ever been my lot to meet. I j
should think him to be about fifty years of!
Hge, nearly six feet in height, hair some j
zrey, countenance clear and healthy. I am
lold that he oftentimes has his hon<c filled
with visitors, strangers, many of whom ties
pass greatly upon his hospitality. The '
Professor has a splendid mansion, situated j
forty or fifty rods from the road, upon !
grounds extending to the Hudson. From i
liis verandahs and observatory an almost j
jnnvalleil view of the rtver and highlands ;
is obtained. His lawn is well planted wfth |
rare ami beautiful trees. The garden and j
jrapery show that lie has a tailing f6r early
vegetables and good fruit. Before the telegraph
wires upon the Post Road were taken
Jown and put upon another route, ho had
i "switch" frym the main line to his study,
where he could sit, and, with the simple initrument
of his own construction, talk by
ightning with his friends throughout the
country. When some new company sue- j
ee<is in laying a cable from another European
point, direct to New Yark, I iiope
.hey will have enough left to continue on
ip the "American Rhine," and land an end ,
>ii the telegraph inventor'# own soil, so that
ic can reac# London, Paris, or St. Peters- i |
iurg, without going off his domain.
u'ri.;..t??n i? i.~ ? J - ?* I
Aiiaii^u iiiiiuii litis no urus>eu me /it" f
antic, anfl, as he sailed Julv 24, at the same ,
iine he was nearing itie English coast, no
loubt pondering upon the obstacles of the
tubmarinu cable, God was pouring out Hi#
blessings upon the expedition, and crowning
man's greatest work with full success. How
,bink you Mr. Morso felt when the news
was brought to him that the cable was successfully
laid, and the signal# passe*) to and
fro ? Must it not have been the happiest, if
not the proudest day of his life? Contract
it with hia condition-when struggling to get.
the capital necessary to make his first experiment
oji theatre from Baltimore to
? * j -
?? oquio^kvii ? ctiwi ?*,!. virmiu, a
jeUbrated ornithologist, residing nojcttoihe
Professor, "Our Government ought to give
ProfossoF Morse five hundred thousand dollars
tor hit invention and throw it o{>eri to
Bweryhody." ..The !Freneh Government- has
voted Mbout- $"70,000, to him* an3 it h sup
posed thA Ru?ian *iul.Bome other K&jotean'
(>ow?rt vrftj roBdw ki tbd*rfi^$oitoe.
us ho|>e:^thtfj^^Ul/' . / '
.
"Old Hundred."
If it be true tbat Luther- composed tbat
tunc, and if tlio worship of mortals is carried
on the wings of angels to Heaven, how
| often has he heard the declaration, "They
! arc singing Old Hundred now." The
j solemn strain carries us back to times of the
! refonncis?Luther and his devoted band,
j lie, doubtless, was the first to strike the
. grand old chords in the public sanctuary of
j his own Germany. From his stentorian ;
j lungs they rolled, vibrating not through i
vaulted cathedral roof, but along a grander [
! arch, the eternal heavens, lie wrought J
1 into each note his own sublime faith, and I
I stamped it with that faith's immortality.'
j Hence it cannot die. Neither men nor j
angels will let it pass into oblivion.
J 0*?n you find a toinb in the land where ;
scaled lips lav, tliat liave not sung that tune? I
If they wore grey old men, they liad heard I
or sting "Old Hundred." If they were babies,
tliev smiled as tlieir mother rocked
them to sleep, singing "Old Hundred." Sinner
and saint have joined with endless congregations
where it has, with and without
the pealing organ, sounded on the sacred
air.
The dear little children, looking with
wondering eyes on this strange world, have
lisped it. The sweet young girl whoso
tombstone told of 10 summers ; she whose
pure innocent face haunted you with its
mild beauty, loved "Old Hundred and as
she sang ir, closed her eyes nnd seemed
communing with the angels who were soou
to ( liiini in??* ri? t. iw . .. .. ?? .<?
........ .JVK T1 IIU^V IllCltl IJ? ?\JVI ?rt^ UU-|
voted to the service of God, and he who j
with the wh'te hand placed over his labor-j
ing breast, loved 'Old Hundred." And
though sometimes his lips only move, away
down in his heart, so soon to cease its
throb*, the holy melody was sounding. The
tioar white-headed father, with his tremulous
voice, how he loved "Old Hundred !" Do ;
you see hirn now, sitting in the venerable j
arm chair, his hands crossed over the head j
of his cane, his silvery locks filiated off from I
his hollow temples, and a tear stealing,
down his careworn, furrowed cheeks, that ;
thin, quavering faltering sound, now burst-!
hig forth, now listened for almost in vain ?j
If you do not, we do ; and from such lips j
hallowed by four score year*' service in the I
master's cause, "Old Hundred," sounds in- j
deed, a sacred melody.
You may fill your choirs with Sabbatli
prima donnas, whose daring notes emulate j
the steeple and cost most as much, but give i
us the spirit-stirring tones of the Lutheran |
hymn, sung by old and young together, j
Martyrs have hallowed it; it has gone up '
from the beds of the saints. The old ;
churches, where generation after geueration j
D;i3 worshipped, ami where tunny scores of!
tlio dear dead have been carried and laid 1
before the altar, where they give themselves
to God, seem to breathe of "Old Hundred"
from voftibnle to tower-top?the air is i
haunted with iis spirit.
Think a moment of the assembled com- i i
pany who have at different times and in ,
different places joined in the familiar tune! i
Throng upon throng?the strong, the timid, ,
the gentle, the brave, the beautiful, their
rapt fares all beaming with the inspiration
of the heavenly sounds.
"Old Hundred !" king of the sacred hand '
of "ancient airs!" Never shall our ears <
grow weary of hearing, or our tonnes of j
singing thee! And when we get to heaven,
who knows but what the first triumphal
strains that welcome, may be : 1
I
"Be thou, O God ! exalted high!"
The Burial Place.?What a multitude ?
of thoughts crowd upon tho mind in the
contemplation of such a scene! How i
much of tho future, even in its far distant : :
reaches, rises before us with all its persuasive ' (
realities ! Take but one little narrow spaco
of lime, and how affecting are its associations
! Within the flight of one-half centu- 3
ry, how many of the great, the good, and f
the wise, will bo gathered here! How j
many, in the loveliness of infancy, tho beau- x
ty of youth, the vigor of manhood, and the
maturity of age, will lie down here, and
dwall in the bosom of their mother eaitli! r
Tho rich and- the poor, tho gay and the. t
wretched. Lho fnvr>rili'? of iliftiiciin/lc on.l I :
, ? """ 1
forsaken of the world ; the stranger in his ,
solitary grave, and the patriarch, surrounded
by the kindred of a long lineage! How
many will hero bury their brightest hopes j s
or blasted expectations ! IIow many bit- j 1
ler tears will here be shed ! IIow many i p
agonizing sighs will here bo heaved ! IIow j
many trembling feet will cross the pathways, I
nlid, returning, leave behind them the deur* c
est objects of their reverence or love. t
Everett. \
A little girl from the country, on a visit j
!o her aunt in the^vity, w#s waiting impatiently,
one morning, former accustomed c
bowl of bread and milje, when her ahnt told 0
lw,? !.?< ?U- It?Ml L- ? ?
..vi M.ni. mo ujiiMiHwi iiau noi yoi come." t
lie cume at last, however, an J her want mat v
supplied. "Is it good, dear? do you like t
it I"?"I don't like milkman's v/iilk so well .
?s I do cow$ milk," was her ingenuous J
reply. , 'J
?: ?1 c
In -an advertisement by-*..railway com- t
patty of some un-called-fyr gooc]#, the letter
L has, by ?n accident, dropped from tb#' *
word lawful, and il reads now, ''People to r
whom these packages are directed' ar$ re- 8
quested to come'forward aud pay the awful t
charges gn the same." t
An Irish housemaid .who was ??nf.
ft gentleman tQ dinner found. Mm engaged ^
in lifting a tooth-brush. "Well, is ho com- }
iAgf oaid* the.lady of tbVhoutei '
servant returned, "Ye?/'diffeStry;'' i
waMhe repfy j "?d'$ jtttt thaftttfag;Hfe 4
r "
What it if to ba A Balle.
BY A BELLE.
It isn't enough to be pretly and modest :
to be a belle Good manners are not tho se- ;
eret, neither is great beauty alone, though ;
that coines nearer than anything else. But j
don't you know what people call tone in
pictures? It isn't the color nor the drawing,
only, it is a sort of something not to be
described ; at least I have asked a great j
ruany of long-haired, bad-hatted gentry who :
naint matures. and tliev never ncrroMl wlint.
4 1 ' J "9 .
it was. It is a sort of mellow complexion \
over tho whole tiling, and is as different !
from mere color as the bloom upon a ripe !
grape or plum is from the crude positive '
hue of the nniipe fruit?or didn't you ever '
notice the difference? No? Well tlien,
come to Nahiint, and you can study every <
variety of blush and bloom upon ripening J
fruit in Mr. Tudor'a gardens, buhiud those j
thick-paled fences, that strain these rough |
sea winds into soft zephyrs before they j
touch his trees, very much as a fine-tooth j
comb would transform the rummy breath '
of un old r.ailor on the coast into a kind of
music before it polluted the baby's lungs. !
All this mentis tact. To be a belle it i j
necessary to be handsome, well made, of
great good manners, and of consummate
tact. Now every girl can have almost any- !
thing but the chief thing. If you are not ;
positively squint-eyed or deformed, resolu- ]
tion and Madame?well, the freshest French
woman?will make you handsome an i of '
good figure. Manners you must manage j
for yourself. I have fuiind the best rulo ;
perfect kindness?I mean, of course, kind- !
ness of manner. Most men arc a little bash- :
ful with women. Young men get over it j
by bravado?older men with a kind of si- j
lent, superior, condescending air. Now if I
you study never to take advantage of this !
shyness, which makes men doubly sensitive j
?so that many a clever man is conscious J
of being a perfect fool with women?if you j
never wound them by look, or word, or in- i
sinuations, or implication, and never seem j
in league with any one man against any j
other?why, a little judicious flattery of;
manner only, not of words, does the whole !
business?the man Is yours.
Have you never noticed that very ".smart'
women are never belles? There are of,'
' i
course, what may he culled "loud" young
ladies from some Western cities and from !
New York, sometimes, who smoke and j
drink sherry cobblers at night, and call the j
gentlemen by their Christian names, and j
who are always very conspicuous; but there :s
the samo difference between such people i
and belles that there is between notoriety j
nnd fame.
The difficulty is, that tact is not to be j
taught. It is the sublimit sympathy con- j
Jtantly on the alert. lis aim is to please?
positively, by saying and doing what is j
lgreeable; and negatively, by omitting all j
illusions tliat are not so. "Never speak of j
liemp to a man whose father was hanged," j
is the negative way of stating tact. "All !
things to all men," is the positive way.? j
rhere is no need of asking me about the j
morality of this. I am treating on belles
and manneis, not of saints and moral philos>pheis
.
One thing, however, I am free to say to i
pou, in strict confidence; and that is, that I
jood manners are not always indicative of
jood moral.". I mean, of course, using the i
vord manners in the usual sense. If you j
co a man or woman every day, you would i
laturally presently discover their sympa- j
hies and tastes. They would betray them !
nvoluntarily. For instance, if a man enred !
tothing for children?if he wcro impatient
?r ill tempered?he could conceal U for j
omo time, but not for a long time, unless he
las some very desirable end to serve by |
laying a bilge and difficult game. (
Iiut for all that, if the great D should |
sver come to'Nabunt, or Newport, or Sara- ]
ogn, which of course he never doe9?for !
vbero could he stay, what couldhe do-??and
stitering his name upon tho book as the
leverned Mr. Lamb, should mingle in the ,
charming croups that swarm alonsr the fti
isa* or sit so amiably in the parlor, I think
be manners of the reverend gentleman
rould bo so winning and entertaining that
he young men would view him without
?;alousy, and the old without cynicism.?
Plie young woman would consider disparity
>f years nothing where hearts were truely
inited ; and the old ladies would seriously
tonder how much they might reduce the
lecescary figures for. their daughters, in oonideratMp
of certain advantages iu the hus"
>nnd. Old fcnd yoong would go to bed
sbarmed with tbe manners of their new ac
jilaiotaqce; jior, among the other dreams
iJtte nigbt wop Id tie fancy obtrude itself
;W when the Retv Liinb went off, he disippaared
in-amoke,and that the gentle- 1
nan^y compaolorf of the Wenmg; qooldMoh '
m awful tafd unfold. i. < ^
On the other baod,i .M^poM Dr. *2&hn10
mor^s ^ ^ ? 6 re
-,| - -
.
on? Yory well, it 19 true, I am that young
lady. I wear two bracelets ??nd ear ringp,
and theso very hoopy skiits. I bowl, bathe;
dine, flirt, drive, ?igli, smile, pick up mosses,
and wander over iho rocks in a-broad-brimmed
hat and a very becoming inorningdress
which the giils hero will cill pesynor, apparently
not knowing that jieignoir is tl^e
dressing gown?mine is a short gowtt?in
which we sit when the hair is being brushy
ed. I am that s.uno young lady?aged
somewhere between seventeen and twentythree.
I have spok<>n of Dr. Johnsonr^ I
know about him and about a good many
others, and you are surprised. That is always
the way with men. You profess to
honor us?your mouths froth with compliments.
S uldenlv \vi> ? ??
j iivk
fools, and you never forgive us*. You say
you want-something "femiuinoEspecially
men who ?lrink brandy ami water soon
after breakfast, smoke nil the morning,
talk horses and drive horses all the afternoon,
and gamble all night?especially
these men want the "feminine element" in
woman.
Don't their whole liveB show tbey do??
Don't every act of their lives proclaim upon
the houses tops their sympathy with what
is womanly ? Are they not an alluring style
of oak for the shrinking and clinging vines
to climb upon ?
Middle-AOKD Bkacti^UL WOMEN*.?In
no country in the world are so many middle-aged
beautiful women as in Italy. This
may be attributed to the fullness of their
imagination and spiritual nature, which
permits them to bear the sacred pangs of
moth .-rhood without impairing the vigor and
bouyancy of their physique or their intellect.
The innate eh'imnci* ?i?' ??< .??
inent of Italian character give to tlio Italian
women great social attraction. In Londor,
and Paris, and Vienna society, Italian ladies
are more beloved than any other1 class of
women. They present a combination of
nubility of appearance and simplicity of
manner, which is vouchsafed to few women
of other land*. So the traveler in Italy is
struck everywhere with queenly looking
women. '1 hey abound in the fashionable
circles of Florence and Rome, although
they are seen to much greater advantage in
their homes and in the interior of the couiv
try, where tho conventionalities of social
etiquette do not exist to hamper the freedom
of their movement and manifestations.
r many, 111 Italian womanhood, n3 a whole,
we find great and noble traits of moral and
mental devation, which uugur well for the
tut lire destinies of that beautiful and hallowed
country.? Washington Slates.
Is it not So? Are there not heart*
that in one fleeting moment have found an
object to cherish through all the days and
dreams this side of the tomb ? Uavo wo
at times met up with those whose smiles
have made a fairy land of memory, and
whoso voice of music has lingered as constant
ris the tones of the sen ? Why clings
remembrance around some scenes* and forgetting
others ? Why is that the shadows
of melancholy come upon us like the gloom
of niffllt. when certain nnmi>e nm mont??*??"!
Why is that little songs move the spirit,
and call to tho eyelids burning tears? It
is because tho heart has something cherished,
deep down in its innermost recesses.?
There have been those ivhofflistve gathered
in the dawn of youth the brightest flowers,
and then passed on to longyears ofsorrc?M!.
There liavo been those who have fondly
loved, and yet known no day of returning
affection. They have treasured fof thoir"
hopes the happiest anticipations in the sunshine
of a moment, and then watched thefading
of tlio^e joys that bloomed in tho
heaven of their hearts. They hav<^ found
objects to cherish with bitterness, a'nd cling
to with fondness. They say with Hyron :
From ihe wreck yfthe past, which hns perished,
'J ims miifli I nt. Ii?n?f " ?
It hall) taught mn that what. [ most oherijh'dDeserved
to be dean-st of all ;
[n the desert a fountain is springing.
In the wild waste ther? still in a tree.
And a bird in the solitude singing.
Which apeaka to mv spirit orf/ice."
Love and l^pisbatios.?Strange, and'
passing strange, rhat the relation between
two sexes, the passion of love, in sborl,
should ncit be taken tnto deeper <!qnsidera$?onby
our tenchfets and oor tegiflaUvft _ Reo- .
pie educate and legislate as ifthyri wns nb
mjoli thing in the worlB ; but ask the priest,/*
nek the phvelui^n?.let tbejty* hsv-e?V; tjie
amount of raGral amJ physi<'gl tesuiltA;ffonv
fhifc nnn / uiVo'a w..cf l~.?. Wn -1.~?i *
??IU VIIU vi.wov. t'tuoi, .v/rc l/o ill ?VH^rt 'OH4
cussed-iu blank vers$, as if it were a tlnfigto
be played in tragedies orsungiusong?
a subject for pretty ijhoem.ij and wicked-novels,
and have notliiifg to do with the prosaic
current of our every da* existence, our mornl*
welfare, and eternal salvation ? Must
love be ever (rented with prpfanene6S,'<!ai a
mere illusion ! or with coarseness, ??'a njeja'
impulse!-or with fear, as a more digea.*?!
ir.ivith.shame as a,me*e weakness j?orjwith
levity, as a mere accident? Wheft&i atis*
a great mystery, and a great necassity,,*lying
at iho foundation of human axTsUfnee,
morality," and happiness?mysterious,, universal,
inevitable as death. Why. then,,
should love be treated less SerioQaJy thandeath
t -It js aa seriotjs a toting.
Mrs. JameiorH
t J ' L
Lsabwino anp Wif^wym.?The learned5"
. ! < ?i < - * '
iuw1i 'b v>f7 wtoiui wiuo learneq ; *UO wise
miffi i? egollly weful'to ' tbc wire apd ibejtaplo.
Yfie merely learned tnno Iim not
elevatedl?? micd above.that of other*;
judgment* nre not more .pen?lratirig~hiirecnarkB