Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, March 20, 1856, Image 1
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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.