University of South Carolina Libraries
? - . * . * " " ' ' ' . >' ' * ; * -V ? ^^^ " "'^ _ ~ " " " ? ' ^ ... ^ '. ^... - '^_ samNlLwMmelt6n, ]proprietor^ Aii Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. {lewism.grist, fubu.her. * VOL 2. YORIvYILLE,' S. C., THURSDAY, MARCH 20, 1856. NO. 12. Cjwtc JMvij. KITTY NEIL. BY D. P. M'CABTHY, KSQ. Ah sweet Kitty Neil, rise up from yourwheel, Your neat little foot will be weary of spinning; Come trip down with me to the sycamore tree? Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning. The sua has gone down, and the clear harvest moon Shines sweet and cool on the dew whitened valley, While all the air ring3 with the soft, loving things Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley. With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while, Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, glancing, i 'Tis hard to refuse when a young lover sues? She could not but choose to go off to the dancing. And now on the green the glad groups are seen, Each gay hearted lad with the lass of his choosing; A~.i D. wiflinnt fn.il led out sweet Kittv Neil? Somehow when he asked she ne'er thought of refusing. Now Felix M'Gee puts his pipes on his knee, And with flourish so free sets each couple in 1 motion; ] With a cheer and a bound the lads patter the ground, ( The maids moved around just like swans on the , y ocean. Cheeks bright as the rose?feet light as the doe's? i Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing ; Search the world around, from the sky to the ground, No such sight cau be found as an Irish lass dan- 1 cing. i Sweet Kate! who could view your eyes of deep ' blue, Burning humidly through the black lashes so < mildly; Your fair turned arm, heaving breast, rounded form, 1 Nor feel his heart warm and his pulses beat < wilder ! Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart, Subdued by the smart of such painful yet sweet ' love; i The sight leaves his eye, as he cries, with a sigh, nunee lipht. for mv heart it is under your feet, love. Original feai). : For the Yorkville Enquirer. CIVILIZATION; j IN.WHAT DOES IT CONSIST? j ilY W. F. NANCE. Mutable and transitory is dominion. IIow 1 Various have been the circumstances which r marked its progress from the great Asiatic r rivers?from the luxurious clime of Persia? L and from theocratic Egypt, to fertile Greece, 1 to graver Rome, to lovely Italy?and thence, northward, to the wilds of Germany, whence it spread to Spain, to France, to England, to Russia?till at last? ''Westward the star of empire took its way.*" ' ? > 1 1 A. 1 iuany ana various uavc uecu wc piiuv-s w ^ civilization, and man has not yet approached his primitive condition of purity and excel- , lence. It is in the contemplation of the many miseries to which the progressive march j of empire has subjected man, that the ques- t tion naturally arises, and is even now dispu- ( ted, whether civilization is a good or an evil. 1 And while we are, like Ilomer's Sthenelas, t "returning thanks to God that we are infin-: c itely better than our fathers"?this question ! ? comes upon us and we are forcibly led to attempt its solution. When the impartial attempt is made, when a disinterested search into the existing state of things is ended, ^ many a nation sees its true condition indicated by evidence as plain and palpable as the y fiery writing on the wall of Belshazzar's temple. For all who shall awake and strive to correct their political errors, there is yet J in store a brighter future; but woe to those j tt who, seeing their degeneracy, fail to act and console themselves with the delusive belief r I C that they have already reached human per- { t fection. The present is a period of chan- j ges, of changes vast and great in their importance to the human race. It appears as a speedy fulfillment of the seemingly inspir- j ^ ed prophecy of an eminent Southern states-1: man, that the yocernments of the more ml- j ra need and civilized portions of the ylobe L are in a state of transition. It then becomes ! ^ the present generation earnestly to enquire, j j in what does civilization consist ??to deter- j mine its most suitable phase,and use all,! their highest, efforts for its advancement and 11 permanent establishment. i j "In words contemplated singly there are limindless stores of moral and historic truth. and do less of passion and imagination, laid ; up,?lessons of infinite worth."f No word j ( is oftener used without a clear and compre- t hensive idea of its true etymological mean-1 ing than is civilization. * None admits of | | deeper and more refined analysis, and none ! proves itself far too wider for a mere scientific ; t definition. Indeed the days of scholastic j f philosophy have so long since passed away, j j that it would, doubtless, appear presumptu- [ ous to attempt its revival in the slightest de- J gree by proceeding at once to define specifically a word of such great importance. It is to common-sense?to the gcniim of human- j it]/?that we are to look for the deepest, truest1 signification of this complex term. And t what is the answer given ? Its fundamental! < notion is one of progress?of social-advance- j t went. But does it stop at this 'I Is no more ^ of value attached to this important term ?? > Civilization implies an idea of perfection, and j 1 if this were the only answer given by our; [ oracle, then human perfection would consist | of no more exalted elements than are those |: of perfect machinery. But it does not stop ' at this:?it tells of a higher progress, of a ! 1 ? t.l? -i 1 i -r a. e ii. i I nouier uevciopme.'ti?ui mc progress ui iuu i mind of man; a development of his intellcc- j1 tual and moral nature. Civilization is a great, jJ aye, the greatest "/act," in which all others j ' merge and in which all others live. "It is ; 1 the progress of the human race towards re- j 1 alizing the idea of humanity, through the ex- ! *Any reader of this paper who lias previously i perused "Schlegel's Philosophy of History," may be struck with the great resemblance of the present passage and one which occurs therein?but if < closer examination was deemed in the slightest j degree requisite, they would be found to differ. tTrenck on Words?Introduction. tension of the social relations, and as affected by the existence of civil and political institutions." And while its etymology would give to the latter the more prominent place in deciding its meaning, such is not, in reality, its highest feature. What noble truth is expressed in the words of the philosophical Collard on this immediate subject: "Human Societies are born, live and die upon the earth ; there they accomplish theirdestinies. But aften his engagement to society, there still remains in man the more noble part of his nature, those high faculties by which he elevates himself to God, to a future life, and to the unseen blessings of an invisible world. We, individuals, each with a separate and distinct existence; we, truly beings endowed witlr immortality; ve have a higher destiny than that of States." These, then, are the two chief, essential elements of perfect civilization : social and political refinement ; and intellectual and moral development. The i-u? ii- n?.i ??.i laucr 13 tiic itiuic CAuiifu luaiuiC; uuu iuc two are almost co-existent:?social security must ever be followed by mental improvement,and intellectual refinement is often productive of political excellence. The latter, however, has often resulted from stern Necessity, and in many cases she has truly bceu the noble "Mother of invention." These results have bceu invariably followed by this higher feature of civilization, and it may be safely asserted that this, in its most salutary form, is oftener the consequence than the cause of the former. Yet this assertion should be in no wise immoderately maintained, nor is the line of relation by any means drawn with mathematical accuracy. That which has ever brought a well ordered government from amid the noise aud confusion of Revolutionary strife, is an unseen power; and that beneficent Providence which marks the fall of every sparrow to the ground, has so ordered that every expansion of human intelligence is replete with good to the race. Civilization may so far advance and man may constantly improve so as to form concept ions more and more correct of true perfection, but that he shall ever experience that happy state, fallen and corrupt as he is, cannot be fioped for. It is quite sufficient it he docs ill he can do towards improving himself and lis race, and then waits with faithful patience or the solution of that problem for which ic has yearned; which must be revealed only vheu this corruptible shall have puton incor uption and this mortal shall have put on iuinortality. This is the great object of civiliation?this lofty moral education ; and this i he greatest problem to which it can lead us i ?what must be the end ? : These too elements of civilization must go : land in hand; where one is found there nust the other be also, or it is but half compete. Merc intellectual progress can not irotect unpeople in the constant action and eaction of nations upon each other, unless mited with such political security as shall tfford a barrier to ambitious encroachment. . \ nation of pure philosophers would be as < lelpless amid the continual strife of ua- i ional policy, as was Archimedes, in his clos- i :t, planning means of destruction for those i rery enemies who were even then penetra- < ing his retreats. And so, a well-ordered government, if not sustained by a corresponling individual refinement, would fall, depri'ed of its surest means of support. In vain i vcrc the Greeks of Byzantium possessed of i 11 it. J ? J 1 1 ! 4 % Jam! ,ii me wisuuui auu leuium^ ui nuticjiL Jrcece, of the best and purest models of ev- i ry description;?in vain did they see ensla ed the desceudajits of Themistocles, of Le- 1 nidasand Epaminondas?they had all this; 1 verything to elevate the mind, stir the soul < nd move the heart of man, and not a sin- s ;lo idea, not a single vital principal did they < ;ive towards strengthening their own politi- l :al fabric, and not an effort did they make < o tear ' " the name defiled from slavery's mourn t'ul page" * < >f the unhappy offspring of departed heroes, j < )n the other hand,we turn from this sicken- j < ng page of callous iudifferencc, and behold \ I lie Italiau mind acquiring force and fire a- > nid the chaos of the middle ages, and even < vhen threatened by the swords of (Jeruian- l c invaders, fanning the bright spark of Libsrty and Patriotism into a noble flame.* I In consideration of tbc many moral evils I hat infest the highest civilized societies, it las been ably argued that a "semi-civilized itate equally removed from the two extremes, 1 >f barbarity and refinement, seems to be that . jarticular meridian under which the recipro- 1 :itLes and gratitudes of hospitality do most ( eally flourish and abound. For it so hap- i lens that the ease, the luxury and the abun- < lance of the highest state of civilization are i is productive of se/JitJmesst as the difficulties, he privations, and the sterilities of the lowIt is in this middle condition of civir i; .i a i,:_.i 11.. :? ! lizuuim null uiaiiRiuu aiu cijuuijjr i^iuuuju < >f the subliraer and turbulent passions:? "Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife, 1 Their sober wishes never learn to stray ; 1 Along the cool sequestred vale of life, , They keep the noiseless tenor of their way." So long as Persia maintained the simpliciy of that political jurisprudence she once :ould boast, she was the most powerful na- ^ ion in the world; but when her frugality I vas relaxed by luxurious refinement, her ' notto was changed from that of a power!ul nation to the more appropriate one?vukri in a 1)1 The mind, pro-disposed to begin the exrniination of any topic at its source, naturally turns from the inert condition of Asia,? U'ltrft' |/v? trin e tin: yntrgis ??/' rirU Ittfs?to ;hat of Kurope,?Europe restless, agitated rnd seemingly confused, yet "its civilization subject to constituted authority." The civilization of Europe, as well as that of all nations of European origin, says Cluizot, is founded upon too principal elements: the ' jocial state which grew upon the diffusion of Llonran power, and the Christian Religion." [f these, in truth, be the basis of European Civilization, they have, nevertheless, assutu;d sccondary'characteristics,totally different n the different states of its divided surface. *Colton; "Lacon." jSisnrondi'sRoman Empire. Vet, in all wc plainly trace the effects of 1 each. Before the Christian Religion, "sclfish lust softened gradually into social love; the activity of a sportive fancy subdued the gloomy dictates of cruelty and revenge; the Gorgon form of fear gave place to the young radiance of hope; and superstition dropped its circlet of snakes and half listened to the voice of Reason and of Truth."-This effect added to the dignity imparted by the diffusion of Roman Power, has given to European civilization the particular character it has so long assumed. Of all the independent nations now in existence, German)*, France, England and the United States appear as the appointed propagators of Christian civilization. Each of these four great nations possesses some one positive and essential element of perfect civilization, without at the same timepossesing other requisites; and yet in these not totally deficient. In Germany we see the intellect fuUv developed. In France, asocial organ f * r ization favorable to the cultivation of science and literature, yet far more practical than in Germany. In England we behold the fruits of a happy constitution; and in the United States we have the. results of liberal institutions and a popular government. The German spirit is better seen in the splendid flights and grand conceptions of her Goethes, ^ her Schillers, and her ltichters, than in the 1 political economics which distinguished the 1 reign of Charles V. or the political sagacity of 1 the celebrated Oxenstiern. It is to her re- v ligious peace that she owes her present quiet c and future existence.* IJut the reformation, ^ which did so much elsewhere to strengthen * the bonds of society and secure political li- a berty, has failed to turn the speculations of I its birth-place to fruitful meditation upon ^ constitutional sciences. Aud even now, does T Germany, divided, and retaining so many " marks of primitive European society, present to Republican eyes a political picture 1 hardly less revolting than when the deadly f Tarantismf stalked throughout her borders, 1 and "the Father Land was one vast ball- I room, the ante-chamber to the Valley of 8 Death." v With regard to France, 'There is in the gcuius of her people "a sociablcness and a **' sympathy?a something which spreads itself ' with a facility and an energy?something 0 which gives to French civilization a sociable- ^ ness and a sympathy, beyond that of all other nations." And though at times her moral fea- 11 turc has exhibited a mournful aspect?al- v though there are still many Fartuffes await- ^ ing the deserved scourge, another Moliere, , still she has inherent moral resources which t] arc rapidly covering the gigantic ruins of n her late political revolutions, and placing ^ France at the head of modem civilization.? The present, war has given her a moral tri- *( uinph over England?a supremacy she should P ever retain. . ^ If it be true that nations, lib' individuals, 0 have a natural youth, perfection and ditxo- e hit ion, judging from the past experiences of ^ the world aud the signs of the present times ^ the English Monarchy has well nigh lived c its day and is rapidly ncaring the end of its n existence. What mean those internal murmurings which have of late been swelling ^ loudly across the Atlantic main? Can it be longer said with truth, that Euglish institu- 0 tions have nothing of age but its dignity,and J5, that their strength is still the strength of ,v youth ?t Could a Fletcher now say, with implicit confidence in the national refinement, u ?Ld me make the songs of a people ? Will licr dissatisfied Commons for a much longer J1 Lime seek protection under the withered hand . )f her decaying Aristocracy? The fearful S1 uid fermenting elements of her great old 0 jivil commotions, never perfectly appeased, c must sooner or later revive Rebellion's smoul- a Icring torch, and a people's craving must be ^ satisfied by a people's choice. Alas! for 1 Albion?once the fabled residence of departed spirits?she has nobly fulfilled one glorious prophecy?she has been greatest on the earth;?but yet there was another prophecy: Lite raptured ken of her neglected offspring w jaw her future fate:? w w "Where now is Britain?where her laureled names, Iter palaces, her halls? Dashed in the dust." a' Vet her former glory must live in the " F- ai :ernal Melodies" of her native (ienius, and Lhough the distant Future may deplore her P Present, it shall ever know her Past. And America! land of Washington ! the S1 n last resting place of Liberty, driveu from her Kastern Homo. She it is standest forth a- w lone in her civil greatness, as the home of P' eivil and religious freedom ; and other lands ^ may justly wonder at her noble constitution, ^ containing all the elements of a perfect gov- ai eminent. Such is truly her external aspect. ai But the days of her glory seem fast depart- 111 ing:?she is a house divided against itself. N'o Remus, slain by brother's hand, whose 111 ashes cry aloud for vengeance, lies buried in her hallowed soil; and yet how soon may the a] curse of offended Heaven be sent to avenge C) the damning crime of national fraticide !? ^ l)h! degenerate sons of Adams and of Ilaucock, shall the tacit eloquence of the graves I ^ of heroes plead iu vain ! Shall the sacred i 11 silence of the tombs of thy country's Father, I and the Apostle of Liberty be longer disre- j garded ! Beware?lest Liberty forever take j Si her flight, and the vice and suffering of oth- * er civilizations be present here in their darkest feature. ? ' Quo, f|UO, Scelesti mitis? iiscerbft Tata Itoinanus ogunt, C( Soelusi|ue fratcrmv necis el l?t immerontis tluxit in terrain Rcmi Sacer ncpotibus cruor." Horace. , ""Selilegt'l f'l'arantisni, or Dancing Mania. j k JMacnulay. C) The Kgyptians, at their leasts, to |r( prevent excesses, sat a skeleton before their ; guests, with this motto, remember you must shortly be such. . .. ^ w As many days as we pass without do- ^ iug some good, are so many days entirely h; lost and thrown away. 01 ? ? ?? a SGF Let pleasures be ever so innocent, w the excess is always criminal. ei Interesting fflkdlani) AN ADVERTISEMENT. " Wanted?a band to hold my own, As down life's vale I glide .* Wanted?an arm to lean upon, Forever by my side. Wanted?a firm and steady foot, With step secure nnd free, To take its straight and onward pace Over life's path with me. Wanted?a form erect and high, A head above my own So much that T might walk bcntulL Its shadows o'er me thrown. Wanted?an eye within whose depth .Mine own might rise and see Uprisings from a guileless heart, O'erflown with love for me. Wanted?a lip whose kindest smile Would speak for me alone; A voice whose richest melody Would breathe affection's tone. l - i ~..l nuuim?u iru?, rt'iigiiiu? ?uui, To pious purpose given, With whom my own might pass along ' The road that leads to Ilearen. A SKETCH FROM LIFE. At 5 o'elook on Thanksgiving morning, leacon Wilson arose as he was wont, no hoiday making any change in his hours. Yet iow he no longer sprang front his bed with he elaerity which changed duty into pleasire; he rose because imperious necessity ommanded it. There were the cattle to be ed and watered, and the poultry to receive he same attention, and there was moreover fire to be made in the huge old kitchen fire dace, for the deacon had now no servant or lelper, and in the grey winter of his lite, the phole burthen of managing his place had falen on his shoulders. Fortunately they were iroad and strong?fortunately, his constituion was good, his spirits elastic, and his pity sincere, for his burthens and trials were ndeed weighty. He had been comparativcy rich?he was now in embarrassed circumtances. lie had looked forward to the time phen a son should relieve him of the most iborious of his toils, while a daughter perr\y?rv\ /-? /I a cam a aAiaa (a* V* t o mi fft uiuiuii viiv naiiiu Aiuu uuiv;i; iui inn tuiu. loth had been disappointed?and dow the Id couple were the solitary tenants of that jne farm house. * The deacon went mechanically about his lorning labors; he drove the cattle to the rater tank, he supplied them with fresh foder, and after seeing that they were comforjblc, returned to the old kitchen. By this irae the good wife had prepared a breakfast, nd a genial tire was diffusing its heat thro' lie apartment. The old couple sat down to breakfast, afer a blessing by the old farmer, but the meal assed by in silence. It was followed by a jrvent prayer and the reading of a portion f the Scripture. After this they adjourn, d to the sitting room, where a good Ore was urning, and where the dame resumed her nitting, one of those incomprehensible pices of female industry, which seems to have either beginning nor end. "Well," said she with a sigh, "this is 'hanksgiving day. It does'nt seem like old mes at all. We used to have a house full f company, frolicksomc young folks, and hcerful old people; and now wc are all a>nc, alone," " Last Thanksgiving day," said the old lan, "there was one with us who seemed ) my old eyes like an angel of light, with er fairy golden hair floating like a glory on er shoulders, and her little foot making muic as she moved about the old bouse. But | ven then there was a hectic flush upou her J bet-lc, like the red tfpon the maple leaf in utumn.1 When the January snows lay deep 11 the hills and in the hollows, we carried er to her last homo?but God's will be one." "You forget we have another child alive." "No, T do not forget it," said the man itterly. There is oue living somewhere, ho has brought disgrace upon our name, ho has forgotten his parents and his God ; ho has drunk deep of the cup of iniquity, ad who has brought ruin upon his name nd family. "Do not speak harshly of poor William," leaded the mother. "Why should I not? Was he not inscnblc to kindness?steeled against affection ? bd he not scatter my hard earning to the iud ? Is it not to him that I owe the prosect of beggary and destitution ? Kememer -the first of February. That is the last ay of grace. If the money comes not then, id God knows whence it is to come, we :c houseless beggars. Who will care for 9 then "God will care for up," said the aged woian^ raising her eyes reverently to heaven. The old man made no reply, for his utter, ice was choked. At that moment the old ock that stood ticking in the corner, struck le hour of nine. The deacon rose. "It is time to harness old Dobbin," said e, "for we have a long way to ride to mccng and the roads are in a bad condition." Their preparations were soon made, and le old couple, poorly but decently attired, illicd forth to their public devotions. The jrvices ended, the deacon and his wife, as J icy issued from the porch, were kindly j reeted by many old friends and neighbors, iorc than one of whom pressed them to imc and partake of their thanksgiving liecr. But the deacon shook his head. "Many thanks, my friends," said he, "but rer since I have been a householder, I have ept my thanksgiving at home, and I shall intinue to do so, so long as I have a house ......ahav ,?,v linnrl " ;iuuiuiij? vtt* -.w-?. i>o they rode home together. While the eaeon drove up to the barn to put up his orse, the old lady opened the back door, hich was always on the latch, and entered* le kitchen. As she did so, she started ack. A stranger was seated by the kitcha fire, who rose on her entrance. Ue was tall stalwart man, dressed in a rough suit, ith a broad-leafed hat; his countenance, aibrowned by exposure to the sun and wind, and his upper lip almost concealed by a heavy and luxuriant moustache. "Good morning, ma'am," he said with some embarrassment. "Finding no one answered my knocks, I took the liberty of walking in. I believe I owe you no apology, for I have officiated as turnspit, and sa. ved your thanksgiving turkey from burning." "1 aru very much obliged to you, I am sure," answered the old lady, pulling off her mittens. "But did you want to see me, or the deacon ?" "Both of you," answered the stranger.? "You had a son, I believe ?" "Yes," replied Mrs. "Wilson, with hesitation, and casting down her eyes. "1 have seen him lately." "Where?" inquired the mother, with increased agitation. "California." "Was he doing well ?" "Admirably. Mother! mother!" he added impetuously, throwing back his hat, "don'tyou know me?don't you know your ttr:n: ;>> ?> imam ; He rushed into his mother's arms, and was clasped to her beating heart, while the tears streamed from the eyes of both. After the first greeting was over, the young man asked : "Where is sister Emmy?" "Gone," answered the mother, as her tears fiowed forth anew. William sank into a seat, and hiding his face in his hands, wept bitterly. The mother did not attempt to check him. She knew : those tears were precious. "And my father?" asked the young man, when he regained his composure. i "He is well. But you had better retire ] for awhile. Go to your old room, my son, i it is just as you left it, and wait till I sum- ' mon you. i It was with a fluttering heart that the j overjoyed mother went about the prepara- i tions for dinner, and when the table was neatly set, every dish in its place, and the i turkey smoking hot, waiting to be carved, i she summoned the old man. He made his ! nppearance at once, and took his seat. Glan- i cing around the table he said : i "What is this, wife, you have set plates i for three ?" i "1 thought perhaps somebody might drop in unexpectedly." < "There is little danger?hope, I mean? < of that,' answered the deacon sadly. i At this juncture, Mrs. Wilson, with a mysterious expression, rang the bell, with < which, in happier days, she was wont to summon her tardy children to their meals. < It was answered by the appearance of the ! long lost William. ] The deacon, who recognized him after a . moment, gazed upon him with a stern eye, t but with a quivering lip that betrayed the force of his ill-suppressed emotions. r "So you have come back at last," he said. ? "Yes, father, but not as I left you. Father, last Thanksgiving day I went into my lonely room, and there, kneeling down, ad- j dressed myself to Heaven, and solemnly abjured the fatal cup which had brought ruin s upon me, and woe upon this once happy fam- * ily. From that day to this I have not touched a drop. Is my probation enough? Can you now welcome back your son and bless i him ?" "Bless him! Yes, yes, bless you, my J dear, dear boy !" said the old deacon, placing his trembling hand on the dark locks of the pleader. . 1 TITM1! il 1. I "louare welcome ? imam, rnougn you 1 come only to wituess the downfall of our . house." ' "Not so, father," answered the young man joyously, "I have come to save you? a to atone for my prodigality, for all my er- J rors. It was this hope that sustained me in ^ the lone heart of the Sierra Nevada, when . I was panting with thirst and dying with ^ hunger. Thoughts of home, of you and mo- * thcr, and Clod's angel, enabled me to conquer fortune. I have come back with a * store of gold?you shall not be a beggar in r your old age; father, we shall keep the ' farm." After this it is unnecessary to add that ^ joy entered the old homestead. It was a ^ chastened joy, for the shadows of the past yet mingled with the sunshine of the pres- |j cnt; but the felicity which attended the prodigal's return was enough to compensate for ? many sorrows. THE SPIRIT OF LOVE. t Beyond all question, it is the unalterable constitution of nature that there is efficacy, 11 divine, unspeakable efficacy, in love. The e exhibition of kindness has the power to bring ' the irrational animal into subjection. Show c kindness to a dog, and he will remember it; J he will be grateful; he will infallibly return love for love. Show kindness to a lion, and you can thrust your head into his mouth; you can melt the untamed ferocity of his heart into an affection stronger than death. 0 In all of God's vast unbounded creation, ^ there is not a living and sentient being, from * the least to the largest, not one, not even the e outcast and degraded serpent, that is insen- a ble to acts of kindness. If love, such as e our blessed Saviour manifested, could be e introduced into the world, and exert its ap- h propriate dominion, it would restore a state of things far brighter than the fabulous age h of gold; it would annihilate every sting; it would pluck every poisonous tooth; it would t( hush every discordant voice. Even the in- S1 animate creation is not insensible to this di- b vine iufluence. The bud, and flower, and iruit put iortn most abundantly and beauti- 11 fully, where the hand of kindness is extended for their culture. And if this blessed influence should extend itself over the earth, ' IV* a moral garden of Eden would exist in eve- h ry land; instead of the thorn and brier, n would spring up the fir-tree and the myrtle; P the desert would blossom, and the solitary 8 place be made glad.?Bishop Uphum. b 1,1, n flsor A meeting has been called at the New a York Park on Monday next, to consider the v present depressed condition of labor. COMPUTING TELEGRAPH. The Calculating Machine.?We used to think it was a jest?the idea of a calculating machine; but wc have seen it and its ingenious proprietor, Mr. Fuller. The rapidity and accuracy with which all business problems are solved is truly surprising. It needs only to be seen to be admired. Although an American invention, it has been extensively sold in England, France, Germany and Holland. Upwards of thirty of the principal London bankers have it in use. It computes interest, at every possible rate per cent., upon any sum of money, for any length of time, both at three hundred and sixty and three hundred and sixty-five days to the year, and has a mast perfect time telegraph to compute the nnmber of days any note has to run. The work equations of payments, or average of accounts, is one of its conveniences. Copies have been purchased in Washington bv all the departments, loruscinthe public ofbecs, as well as by the principal bankers, merchants and mechanics. Less time is required to obtain an answer to any business question than to prepare the statement. Full printed directions accompany the work. It is learned by one or two hours' study and practice. It occupied a prominent place in the Crystal Palace. In response to some questions yesterday, he stated in less time than the questions could be prepared or the answers recorded, that the Rotunda of the Capitol, being 90 feet in diameter, would contain 2,830 persons, and allow each 2 J square feet, or 18 by 18 inches. The Crystal Palace, he said, being 1,851 feet long, and 400 wide, with an additional acre to the transeptor centre, measures 18 acres, and would contain at the 3ame rate 347,000 persons upon the ground. The population of the globe being estimated at 900,000,000, could stand upon forty square miles, or an area of six and 33-100 miles square. If 900,000,000 of persons pass away every thirty years, and the world should be six thousand years old, this would be equal to 200 times 900,000,000. Thus the entire number of persons would have standing room on 200 times 40 square miles, or 8,000 square miles of land, or a trifle less than ninty miles square. If 900,000,000 die every thirty years, in one year thirty millions die. If 30,000,000 lie in 3G5 days, in one day 82,000 die. If in 24 hours 82,000 die, how many per hour? Ans. 3,420. If in 60 minutes this number i:? v? A 7 nit;, nun iiiuuj pci iuluuici aud. ui. The expense of the United States House [)f Representatives, at 88 per day, amounts to 81,944. The salary of the President is 868 } per day. The pensions of the late Queen Adelaide, was ?100,000 per annum, equal /o 81,325 per da}-. The revenue of the United States for 1851 it 852,000,000, is equal to 81,65 cents per second.? Washington Telegraph. DANIEL AND EZEKIEL WEBSTEB. Professor Sanborn, of Dartmouth College, las furnished the Boston Courier with severil interesting reminiscences of Daniel Webster and his brother Ezekiel. We copy the 'ollowing: Numerous letters written by these broth>rs, now in existence, and which are soon to see the light, furnish abundant proof of their nutual confidence, and particularly of the ii -h estimate which Daniel set upon his mother's advice. In a letter dated April, [804, Ezekiel gives his opinion on a question woposed by Daniel, as follows : Agreeably o your injunction, I have thought and medtatcd upon your letter for three days, and "or no considerable portion of three nights, ind I now give you the result as freely as I ii_. i. ,u\. T J ,i ? J mrijunuy wish juui weiiiiic. 1 am uuuucuy opposed to your going to New York, and or several reasons. The expensiveness of a ourney to, and a residenco in that place, is, vith me, a material objection. Secondly, he embarrassments to which you will be ubjeeted, without finances to assist, or patonage to support you. Thirdly, I fear the Jimate would be fatal to your constitution. ' have now told you what I would not have 'on do; and I also tell you what I desire 'ou to do. I would have you decamp imnediately from Salisbury, with all your bag;age, and march directly to this place."? rhen he goes on to state the reasons for this pinion which he had maturely formed.? ^hey were substantially the same which ylimately influenced Mr. Webster to remove o Boston. Daniel's estimate of his brother's endowaents may be learned from the following xtract from a letter, dated April 25, 1800 : You tell me that you have difficulties to enounter which I know ncthing of. What do ou mean, Ezekiel ? Do you mean to flater? If so, be assured, you greatly misake. Therefore, for the future, say in your stters to me. ?I am superior to you in naural endownments; I will know more, in ne year than you do now, and more in six han you ever will.' I should not resent his language?I should be very well pleasd in hearing it; but, be assured, as mighty s you are, your great puissance should nevr gain a victory without a contest.' Whenver the brothers met in after years, and in etter circumstances, they were accustomed ) rehearse, with great glee, the trials and ardships of their youth. On one occasion, when Ezekiel on a visit ) his brother in Boston, after rising from a araptuous dinner, Ezekiel turned to his rother and said, with great solemnity. 'Daniel, do you think we shall live till lorning V 'Why ? What do you mean V said Daniel. 'Don't you remember,' said Ezekiel, 'how, 'hen we were boys, at a certain time, we ad no meal in the house, and could not get o corn ground, and our mother fed U9 on otatoes and milk; and after the first supper oing up to bed, you turned round on the road stair and asked, with great serious:ess, 'Ezekiel, do you think we shall live till lorning?' 'Why?' said I. 'Only think rtiat stuff we've been eating.'" Money, so difficult then to be earned or hired, infinitely more so than it now is, oc- : cupied many of the thoughts and plans of* these young men. Daniel, in one of bis letters, in one of his early letters, intimated . that he should soon forward a small sum to Ezekiel, then in college. He replied : 'The very hint seemed to dispel the gloom that was thickening around me. It seemed like a momentary flash, that suddenly bursts through a night of clouds, or, as Young says: "So looked, in chaos, the first beam of light." In 1805 Daniel ordered some law books which he deemed essential to bis profession-v al success: but the money to pay the price'dT^ them could not be found by the agency of'*both the brothers; he, therefore, wrote to 1^i?a1?1a1 ik am in a? au fftl 1 attfl . 3^1" , "** j Jj^ciwuij iiivii an an iuuunn .a 'As yet, I find it Dot in my power to pro- ' cure any money for the purpose of paying K. for my books. I therefore am under the ne- * cessity of requesting you to moke my peace with Mr. Parker. Give him something, if aught you have to give to indemnify him for his trouble and expense, and ask him to put the books again on his shelves; or, of anybody in Boston is fool enough to lend you money, please buy them for me.' The gen- ' 4 erosity of the bookseller, however, enabled him to keep them. ' In the same letter he remarks: 'Some little business is done here, and. I ^ get a part of it. In time, perhaps, I shall gratify my moderate and rational wishes.' Previous to this date, it appears that he had once procured the purchase money of bi? books and lost it by his agent. He wrote respecting his loss: 'It is utterly out of my power to repair the loss of eighty-fiye dollars. I hired that money to a friend in Salisbury, and cannot, as I know, hire again a like sum.' In a letter to a classmate in 1808, he sayB: * 'Zeke is at Sanborton; he comes home once in a while, sits down before the kitchen fire, begins to joke and rattle the andirons; I know what is coming, and am muter At'3 * ' length he puts his feet up into the oven, , draws his right eye-brow up upon his fore- I head, and begins a very pathetic lecture on the evils of poverty. It is like church ser- , vice; he does all the talking, and I only respond, amen! amen !" - ^ POLITENESS OP WOMEN. A Cincinnati editor says that meir are more polite than women, and proceeds to prove it in this wise:?"Not long since we had occasion to ride a short distance in one of our city omnibuses: It was after dark, and the omnibus started off, nearly filled with men. Soon it stopped, and a woman opened the door. Instantly there was a move * ' among the men; they crowded together, and ? a seat was furnished the lady. After proceeding a square or two further, another lady wished to get in; an additional squeeze was made, and she was accommodated with a seat. A similar application was again soon made, and a gentleman instantly gave up his seat, and got on top. Another soon followed, and another gentleman did likewise. Repeated instances like this occurred, and the gentlemen, by crowding together, holding market baskets and children, accommodated every lady applicant, till we counted inside?men, women, and children?nearly twenty persons. Then the number began to aiminish; men and children got out, and the omnibus was decently filled with women, there being only two men inside, and they at the further end, completely blocked in by market baskets.? And now a woman opened the door; not a lady inside stirred. "Can I have a seat?" modestly asked the applicant. "I should like to see where you'd sit," said one lady. "Don't you see this'bus is full," said another. "You can stand," sneeringly said-a third. "I can walk," said the spunky ap? plicant, and slamming the door, off she walked. Now, had the omnibus been as full of men as it was of women, that lady would have been furnished a seat without a murmur. But it is not only in the omnibusfhat men show their superior politeness over wo? men. In a rainy day, if we meet two meg abreast on a crossing, one instantly steps be ninu the other, and gives you a passway.? But if you meet two ladies, ten chances to oue, but you will have to step into the mud.In a crowded church, men will squeeze together to accommodate another man; but ladies will spread themselves out, so that three or four will fill a pew, and not an inch will they move to accommodate one of their own sex. So in railroad cars, and other places where men and women congregate, and where the true native disposition is instinctively shown. We state these as general cases. There are exceptions, of course, but we wish merely to draw attention to the general fact, that while a man's rudeness to a woman is so rare as to attract notice when it occurs, the rudeness of a woman towards a man, or towards another woman, is so common as to be considered a matter of course. If, among other "Woman's Rights," which some ladies are now striving to obtain, they will ingraft the right to be always courteous and polite to each other, we men will take care of ourselves, and them, too?God bless 'em. With all their faults, we love them still." ; t&r The utmost of a woman's character is contained in domestic life: first, in her piety towards God, and next in the duties of a daughter, a wife, a mother and a sister. A good newspaper is like a sensible and soundhearted friend, whose appearance on one's threshold gladdens the mind with the the nromise of a nleasant and nrofitable ? ( i f hour. For everything you buy or sell, let or hire, make an exact bargain at first; and be not put off to an hereafter by one that says to you, < we shall not disagree about trifles.' 19* It is pleasant to open your wife's jewel-box, and discover a strange gentleman's hair done up as a keepsake. Vel, vot of it ? Ain't :t her cousin's ? Humph 1 19* It's man's duty to love his neighbors.