The World We Live In (Newspaper) - March 10, 1860, Cincinnati, Ohio
CoiKlucted by B. F. SAXFORl), Editor and Proprictoi-Offic'c, Xorth-cast corner Fourth and AV'alnnt Streets.
\0L. I.CIM’lXAATl, OHIO; FOR THE WEEK ENIHNO SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 18(!0.
For |A« WmrM He Lirr In.
**Aa Waloome as Flowers in May."
■T J. G.
•• A« wetoooie a» ilowerx in 3I»j KiuU wunla with « luiiaictJ eound ;
WlMt CM ti« WKMV wwlcuow thwD they. When ihir-fiote^l Spring cometh round? OInal Sprii^! ewer welenme to each.
And ah* apMM n liwuyil i»ce.
Them are mamf ^age wekwe m tbeen, a« wn thmai tlM diM MM of ttfc;
A eal— MM* etjW—ire and ewae
Alter eemnae oreerrow end etrit?—
A fmaXbat ot tmktj and gWe
When a dnager, loag threntened, ie paet. And vrrm the knowledge to mm
That the tmmt hue come on oe nt Uet
rieah health oa the cheek of a child,
Tbet we fenred wne encaping whore ;—
A •BineW««i the aadd aadeSled,
Who hath kiadled one's eoul Into lore;— The Bonnd ef «he hUthe awrrlage boU To the hride who hae girea her heart. And the word* of her haebwnd, that tell Hi* derotioa will never depart;—
The birth ofa child, when we feel We can fcMter it, guard it, and guide. While the entile* of itt mother reveal Her matchleas aflection and pride ;
Its ftret broken arllablea, mad#
Mora claariy onr boaoms to biad.
And its up.growing beauty, dieplayed la the promiaittg dawn of tta mind ;—
The flrat pleaaant glimpse of our bumo, .tfter trarri, with toil and annoy.
When we row for the moment to ruam Xo more front its threshidd of Joy ;
Each form more expanded in grace.
Each roice more inetodioas grownn Tbei^l-beaming gUdnwts ol fece
r the whole household treasure, our own
OldjOosM's magaiflcent roar I a royager Wring the aea, the idgfat trf his dear native shore When he cometh back ecatheleee and free ; The music of hruoke and of bird*
To a captira Just loosened from thrall.
And the Wra-lighted look* and sweet words Of lUs wife, who is dearer tlian all;—
The aoul-tonching, penitent tears
Of thoae who hare strayed from the light.
When they coma, with their hopea and their fears. To ask ua to lead them aright i—
The trank cordial look of a foe
We hare conquered by kiiidnees and peace.
And the pare satisfaction to know
That a friendship begun will increase ;
And then, in onr calm chimney nook, Alone, with a Are burning bright.
How weieonae a Mwly-hought book.
That has startled the world with delight t How welcome one’s own printed name To oor Srat happy eiforte in aong.
And the first gratcAil whiaper of Fame, That bMs as apead brarely aWug!
There are many more anl^iecta, no doubt.
If my Muse hod but language and time;
Bat there’s aomething I must not leare out.
It will gracefully finish my rhyme:
From á friend how heart-warming to bear.
What his lips with aincerity say.
Why, your itreaeaee brings auinfort and cheer-Yoa’re as welco^ as flowers in May !”
For tike World We Lire Tm.
There’s no sneh Word as Fail"
BT WM. W. ni'SX.
The proudest motto for the young— Write it in iinea of gold.
Upon thy heart, and in thy mind The stirring words unioid ;
And in miefortone’s dreary hour.
Or fortune's prosperous gale,
’Twill have a holy, cheering power— “ There's no such word as feii."
The sailor, on the stormy sea.
Hay sigh for distant land.
And free and fearleoa though he be.
He longs to near the strand;
But when the storm on angry wings.
Bears lightning, sleet and kail.
He climbs the slippery noast, and rini^ ** There’s no sncfa word as fkil.”
The anxinns statasman bends his knee Before Fame’s glittering shrine.
And would a hnmble snppliant be To genitM so dirine ;
Tot though his progresa bs frill slow, And snsmliis do rail,
Ha manns at last the world to show,
“ There’s no ouch word as felL”
Tbs soMfer oa the bnttle-flehl.
When thirsting to be free.
To overthrow a tyrant’s power.
Says »OB,/sr hber^!
Ow housebolda and onr native land 1 We sMst, we wiu, provnil;
Then ftwt to foot, and band to hand— * Ther^ no nach word ns^Ui T ” Febranry, UflO.
Tbo last tear that I Amd was a warm one that fell As I kimed tboe, ter asethor, and hade thes ferewell, Whan I «VW the dosp aagaish teprossed oa thy fisos.
And fen for «ha last time a mother's embrace;
Whan I board thy choked aooeata, impaaeioned and wild, “ Ood felass the* ft>rever, Ood bless thee, my child.”
1 tboagbt of my boyhood, thy kindness to me,
WiM, ymmgari and term», I sat s« fihy kmm ;
Thy love to mo always so kindly expressed,
Jte 1 grew to manhood, scarce knowing bow blest; Thy praisBe when right, and thy chiding when wrong, , wayward with passton, nayieldiag and strong.
I thought of thy ooonaels nnbseded or sparned.
As mirth hsd ealirened, or anger bad burned;
And how, when ia sickness all helpless 1 lay,
Thoa didst anrse me, and soothe am, by night and by day ; What to tboe I bad been, both of eorrow aud joy—
Then my foeUaga o’srflowsd, and 1 wept like a boy.
Tsars, years of endursnee have vanished, and now Thsre is pain In my heart, there is care on my brow ; Bright visioas of bope and of fancy are gone.
And cheerless I travel life’s pathway alone ;
Alone ! ay, alone—though some kind ones there be. There’s none that can love me, dear mother, like thee.
My mother, dear ssother, cold-hearted they deem Thy offspring—bat, oh, I am not what I seem ; Though calmly and tearless all changes I bear, Coidd they look in my boeom, the iéeiing 1« there. And BOW, sad aad kms, as my memory recalls Thy Medsiag si partiag. again the toar foils.
RtTFTrs Cboatf’s Lafocaof.—His words in talk weru the same raru and high-aoanding words which he oaed in his apeaking. I do not beiicTe anj man in America, if even in the world since Adam, had. such a remarkable rocabularj of language as he'^ had. It was the language of learning, of literature, of romance, of art, of newspapers, of slang even, all mingled up together. But chiefly, 1 think, be de> lighted in long words—“loug-tailed words termina
ting in -osity and -ation.” I asked him once how he supposed that a plain jury before him of farmers and workmen were going to understand that deluge of dictionaries with which for three hours he had overwhelmed them. “Well,” said he, laughing, “they know which side I’m on, and they know 1 spoke a yreai whiU, and that’s enough for them to know.” He did not accord at all in Mr. Webster’s veneration of the Saxon element of our language— the word* short, simple, and strong. He rather agreed witít Thomas de Quincey, that the Latin clement of the tongue ia needed to bear in upon the mind an impression of general power of beauty, and of eenaibility. When he choee, or the exigency de-manded, he could salt down a thought into th'e fimalleet and snuggeet sentences—but he did not geBenlly chooee. [ Cbl. Parker t Remitcencet.
Forth* HVrM H'« Li*« In.LITTLE BY LITTLE.
BY WM W. RUSK.
(ientle reader of Tke WorM H>/..rrf/a, metliinks 1 see tlie bright shadow of a smile flitting over yonr face as your eye rests on the caption of iny story. Now h.id I allowed reason to be led captive by fancy, 1 might have selected one that savore<i more of the ideal than the real. But as it is my intention to portray toyou soib# eCdiks: ^Arner ■¡ipdiHeff ’ «USm a title ÜMt wunra on its face more “pij^ than poetry."
Yonder little brooklet, that looks like a thread of silver winding through the green nteadow, was born of A vapor that arose from the earth, and then fell from the clouds, drop by drop, into its tiny bssin.
Follow its course. Gradually it deepens and widens, its mellow murmurings grow hoarse and loud, and soon loses itself in the broad ocean. But to be a little more practical. See yonder seamstress, as with her pale, slender fingers she unrolls such a quantity of cloth, all of which is to be made into garments. How is it to be done? Will one mighty effort aecbmplish it? No. With a pleasant face and a hopeful heart she seats herself at her task; and with needle and thread she patiently takes one stitch at a time, and at length her arduous duty is performed. How is it with that large hook before you on the table? Was it the work of a moment? No; first it required days, months, and even years of laborious work to complete it. it is with every calling of life. The poet, the scholar, and the statesman, all attained the position they now occupy by years of unremitting toil.
However, I will slop here, and go on with my story. Amid the branches of a well laden, cherry tree, a boy might have been seen gathering the luscious fruit into a basket. For the time being he applied himself to his task vigorously. But watch him. With the air of a hero, he pushes his straw hat from off his head, revealing a broad, intellectual forehead, around which plaj’S a profusion of black, curling hair; his large, thoughtful, gray eyes look larger than ever, and his lips move with n quick emotion. What is it that moves upon the boy's soul ? Gradually the expression of perplexity disappears from his face and he exclaims; “There I have it at last,’’ and as he said these words, he lost his grasp on the basket and it fell to the ground, scattering the cherries far and near. Just then he heard a rough voice saying, “There, down with you, you young imp! down with you, and off to school! you are more bother than profit, and always will he.
I Only yesterday through your carelessness, the I neighbor's cattle got into the field and destroyed I more than you could earn in a whole month.’’
“But, father,” interposed the boy, “let me try once more, and I will do better.”
“Not a word from you, young man,” replied the father shaking his sun-burnt fist at him, “not ‘ another word! I’ve tried to make something of j'ou long enough, and cannot do it; and the next thing that I shall do, is to look you out a good master. Now off to school, as I bid you, and make much of your time, for it will be short.’’
He went to school that morning with a heavy heart, but could not study his lessons; when school was out, he entered his cottage home with tears rapidly coursing down his cheeks. His mother ! said, “why, Charlie, my son, what is the trouble?
; *íípthing serious, I hope!”
i Charlie sank upon his chair, sobbing, and in a low I tone said, “Oyes, mother, it is dreadful. I have of-: fended father again. He says he is going to find me a place, and I know he is in earnest. He told me j yesterday, the next time I disol>eycd him, he would bind me out to some farmer nntil I was twenty-one, and I am now only fourteen. Only to think of it, mother! O, dear! what ehalll do?” and the boy wept more bitterly than before.
“Charlie, don’t cry so,” said the fond mother, as she laid his head uj)on her lap, “you will break my heart if you do. Perhaps your father will think better of it when he becomes calmer; and now the best thing that you can do, would be to go to school this afternoon and try and be a better boy hereafter, and mind what your father tells you.” The boy, thus encouraged to hope for better thiilgs, washed his face in cold water, kissed his mother, and started to school. As Mrs. James watched his retreating steps as he crossed the pathway which led to the achool-bouse, her eyes grew more sorrowful in their expression, and despite hei^efforts to repress her tears, they rained down upon her handkerchief and the window-sill. Charlie was her first and only boy, and she worshipped him with a mother’s idolatry. “I know he must leave me,” she muttered, “and what J shall do without him, God only knows.” “Don’t cry, mother,” said a little, fairfaced girl of four Bummers,“ it makes me cry too.” Mrs. James early in life bad been-Mt an orphan, dependent upon the cold charities of the world. IVhen about nineteen years of age, she became acquainted with William James, and a hasty union had taken place between them. She had often regretted her thoughtless precipitation. During the first year of her marriage, sometimes of an evening she would persuade him to allow her to read some passages in the Bible. And often, when she had concluded a touching passage, she would look into | his faceto see what effect the beautiful words had | had on his mind. But she soon learned that it i was of no use; he- would be either adding up the proceeds of his crop,, or sleeping in his chair; or, t if neither of these, he would return her tearful gaie ; with one of such indifference, that with a heart-sickening sensation she would close her book, and indulge in bitter reflections, on the union she had made unaccompanied with sympathy of soul. Mr. James was not an unkind husband or father. He ■ loved his wife and children; but when his spirit was fairly aroused, he was often unreasonable, and his wife knew the more she attempted to tal)fe with him the more unreasonable he became.
Several days had passed by, and as no allusion had been made to the boy’s leaving home, Charlie began to hope that his father had repented of his l^ty threat.
One night, while sitting at the tea table, he observed his mother now and then wiping a tear from her eye. It was evident that she was trying to conceal her grief. But she could not. There was an expression, of half sorrow and half anger, resting on Mr. James’ face, as he partook of his silent meal.
Soon the mother arose and led her son to his little room. Poor Charlie! the sight that greeted him was more than he could bear. Tlicre before his bed stood his small trunk, all packed. He strove manfully against the bitter, burning tears, but despite bis efforts, they ran down his cheeks and dropped upon the uncarpeted floor. With one loud and almost heart breaking sob, he buried his face in his mother’s bosom, and mother and son wept as they had never wept before.
“ Charlie, my boy,” said the mother, “kneel with me.” And passing her arm around him, she offered up a long but earnest prayer; she prayed for strength to sustain them in the midst of her trying affliction—for Christian fortitude tobearthis giving-up of her darling boy. But above all, she pleaded that he might not be lead into the path of sin and wickedness. She prayed that as he was about to
go into the wide, wide world, alone n^l unprotected, that Heaven in kindness would raise up some one to love him anti care for him. She arose with hope in her heart. Charlie, too, felt calmer under the holy influence of a mother’s prayer.
The next morning when Charlie arose, his little sister asked his mother what made Charlie cry so. At this, .Mr. James’ lip quivered, and he was denly seixed #*• ‘
Torced to leave the room.
After breakfast, Charlie left the h«ose to visit the many haunts he loved. First, he went on and on, through the green meadow, until he came to an old oak tree with a bench under it. He stopped and gazed on it and thought how many happy hours, he had spent, seated on that old bench, with books for his companions. But ncfV he was to leave it, perhaps, forever. There were several other spots as dear to him as this. He went to the school bouse to bid his teacher good-bye. He pause<l before he opened the door, to summon all his fortitude, then with a quick, nervous movement he opened the door. But the moment his eyes rested upon the teacher and his schoolmates he had so dearly loved, he sank upon the first unoccupied sent, and laying his head upon the desk he wept bitterly. Charlie had ever been a favorite with both teachers and scholars—and well he tpight be, for he was obliging and stmlious ami attentive. When lie arose to leave, the scholars crowded arounil him to bid him “good-bye,” and many a parting keepsake was given him. AVith a heavy heart, he turned towards home again.
As he entered his father’ft house he was met by a stranger, who said, “ T suppose this is the boy I am going to take to C—; and now, young man, you 'must 1)C quick, we must be off in thirty minutes, at least.” In half an hour Charlie was ready. Cliar-lie pressed one soft kiss upon his little sister’s check, then imprinted another on his mother’s pale lips. His mother laid h^r white, trenabling hand on his head, and invoked tl>e blessings of Heaven to rest on him. The father’s heart throbbed violently during all this, yet not a word had he spoken. But now, with all the-eourage he could muster, he extended his hand towanls his son, and said : ‘‘'•Charlie., tnt/ botf, me if T have been too
harsh icith you. / meant it all tn kiwine.sg. God knows Í lov'yon. I am h xlf sorry I promised to send you atray. Jiut good-bye, and God bless you! ’
O, how precious were these words to Charlie’s ears!
It was gloomy and sad at the cottage that day. But Mrs. J:rmes’ sorrow was cheered in a mcastire by the remembrance of the kind words of her husband to Charlie, and the father rejoiced that he had spoken them. .\nd Charlie was sad aud lonely t“o, for he felt that every hour bore him, farther and farther from hisChome. His traveling companion did not seem in the least inclined to be sociable. At the close of„the second day after hjaving home the man reined up his horse in front of a large farm house, and turning to Charlie, said;
“ Let’s see, youngster, what is your name?’’ _
“ My name, sir, is Charlie.’’
“ Now, out with you, Charlie, and open the gate and trudge down the lane.’’
Charlie obeyed the command, and was glad to be relieved, for a time, of so disagreeable a companion. .Vs he looked around about him he saw thrifty or
^ys be what I
feel confident I shall not now."
Sallie s heart beat quickly, -^autiously she descended the stairs, and seating hiiself by the window, the tears ran down her cheeks^ torrents. “ I’oor boy,” she said, “how little hfi IM to encourage him, I will endeavor to do all 1 eiu|MpJfiÍso-’’
chards. and green fields ; while before him, in front
of the house, was a beautiful lawn, and on the south side of it, extetisive flower-beds, tastefullj’ laid out. .Vltogcther he thotight it the most charming spot he had ever beheld. 'I'wo beautiful giYls, one with dark eyes and raven curls, the other with soft blue eyes and light brown hair, were playing graces w^th a young gentleman. -\s he neared them, the gentleman wished to know who he was.
“ Not any one that you will care for, Mr. Johnson, I assure you," said the girl with brown hair. “He is nothing but some forsaken chap, and father has taken him to work. ”
‘•Hush, hush, Mollie, he will hear you, ’ interrupted her sister; “do you want to hurt his feelings ? I pity him, he looks sad.’’
And sure enough Charlie did hear part of the conversation, and burning tears sprang to his eyes. While he was busied with* his own sad reflections, Squire Davis, the father of the two young ladies, and the owner of tbe farm-house, came up and tapped him on the shoulder:
“ So, you are the boy that’s come to live with me. I like your looks pretty well, and guess that we shall get along finely, if you will bear in mind that I’m master l\ere. That's the trouble with boys— they want their own way. But come, 1 guess you would like some supper by this time. Go right into
«Itu tree, in the rear of the house. Suddenly he felt a kasKi laid shoalder. Turning around, he beheld Sallie. •
“ Come,” said she, “will you not walk with me a short distance, it is so pleasant’?” Charlie, of course, did not refuse. Their conversation that evening was only on general topics. But once more we find Charlie ajiU Sallie performing their evening walk, and perhaps it was tlieir last one too; for they were to part that night, and, perhaps, foi-ever. Daily they had found the attachment existing between them, growing stronger and stronger. Was it more than friendship tliat knit thsir souls together? This question had often been asked by each, inwardly, but never answered. But now the truth had come to their hearts. 'The secret that laid concealed in the l>o8om of each was laid open to the knowledge of the other. They looked at each other in silence, for a few moments, and tlien with a gentle pressure of hands, and a good-bye, they parted—he to go forth in the %vido world, and she to remain with her friends. After Charlie was gone, Sallie sought her room, and laying her head on the window-sill wept bitterly.
Seven yeará hjul passe<l since Charlie left. Again» gentle reader, we shall look in upon Squire Davis’ household. What a change have those seven years brought on ! The S<juire no longer looks like the same man ; his hair is gray^and,,he looks careworn, and his form is no longer erect. His wife, too, .bears the marks of decay. And Sallie, lovely Sallie, forms a striking picture ia the family group. Now the father rises and says ^ a voice choked with emotion : “Soon we shall bs homolciss. This broad esUile, which is lawfully mine, will l>c taken from me, and wo must go forth into the cold world to seek a strange home. Goil help us to bear it!’’
W’e will follow the well-nigh broken-hearted man to the Court House. It seems from what we can gather, that some one has come forward setting up a claim that S«juire Davis is not tht lawful possessor of the estate which he now holds. Now the trial commences. The plaintiff’s lawyer pleads the case with great eloquence. Already the plaintiffs face is full of joj'. God pity the old man and sustain him! Now the defendant’s statement is made His lawyer commences the defence with a moderate tone. There is none of the fire in his voice, like that of his predecessor. The last remnant of hope dies Out of the hearts of thoae favorably disposed towards the defendent. Just heaven! shall it be thus? God fQcbiA¿. Gr^ually the speaker warms. Flaw after flaw ia discovered in the case. Now he has gained bis purpose. The young lawyer has gained the case. The old Squire was so overpowered by this, that he wept bitterly. The young lawyer accompanies the old Squire to his home. There sits the family in almost breathless expectation. As he entered the house, the first words that fell from his lips, were, “Now, God l>e praised! this home is still our own.” Sallie lifted up her eyes and they fell upon those of tlie stranger. With one wild cry she rushes forward and exclaims, “ Charlie James !’’ He presses her to his bosom, and softly whispci-s “ Sallie.’’ Not another word .was spoken. Heart answers to heart. Though they 'have been Avidcly sundered they are still one in spirit.
AVheu Sallie and Charlie were once more alone, explanations followed. And Charlie related all his struggles since he left her, to seek for a name and a place among the good and the great in this world we live in. When Charlie leaves to visit his cottage home, he goes not singly aad alone, for his own gentle Sallie bears him company.
You would scarcely recognize the cottage to be the same as the one to which I first introduced you; there is such a -vast improvement made around it. It seemed as though his father, mother and his sister, who is now quite a young lady, co<ild never weary oí looking at him;'and Sallie finds warm hearts to love her among her new relations. Many years liave come and gone since the marriage of Charlie and Sallie, but should my readers look into their magnificent house, they would see on the wall, the motto. “ Little by little,” painted in golden letters.
broad field of battle” of bravo, independent spirits; yet the power of love must sub<lue hate and pride and cowardice in Eddie, and strengthen every germ of good in him. He must be taught restraint, but love must he the compelling power.
We must bind him to us by the strong cords of love, while wc can, that will never undo their clasp.
submit. Wc laid him beside Lute to rest, and Iffft him there.
The frost had now nipped the leaves of the trees, and cold stern winter was fast approaching, when the summons came' from the spirit-land fbr Henrietta, the first and only child, who entered existence only a few short months ago. But death
with coal for a thousand years; so that a ir’”’on of years will not exhaust our supply.
What an Incalculable increase of steam, and a consequent increase of population and general prosperity, does such a treasure of fuel open before this country! If our numbers should become only as many to the square mile as in Great Britain, or 2‘J8, there is room enough this side ~ '
may forget the golden links that were forge by day as he played and shonteil and grew up to manhood, the time will come to him when he will gather these golden links to his heart as his only comfort and solace, and live in the sunshine of the days that wrought them.
In a far-off land among strangers, in dreams he lives the child-life again. If he wanders in a lonesome road, the flowers by the way-side tell the same love language, t|iat they did when he planted them in his little garden, or gathere»! them a heart-offering for his mother; the birds sing the same sonpfs they did when he thought Heaven was so near that they reached it in tbeir flight.
However much he may'try, if you have bound him by tlie chain of love, he cannot undo its clasp. It will subdue him when nothing else can. It goes with him around the world; it brings the angels to him when death demands rhe temple of clay ; it reaches link by link to the celestial city and draws him up within its golden gates.
Oh I I think of so many little Eddies that have been sublued, but not by love—as promising, affoct-tionate hoys as ever laughed and played. There is one 1 call to mind now, and the remembrance of him saddens me, as it always does. He seemed a
they were compelled to witness the departing of her pure spirit, and to see her body wrapped in the dreamless sleep, which knows no waking until the sounding of the last trumpet which will call soul and body together.
We had almost begun to think, that the young only were passing away fi »m earth, when it was announced that Grandma too was summoned, and the messenger was waiting to conduct her over the river. We went to see her wrestle with the dread enemy, but she calmly went to rest as one that was fully ripe for the grave, having seen the passing away of almost four-score seed-times and harvests.
All these things assure us that we, too, as well as air nature, are transitory and must soon pass away. Our joys pass for sorrows, and sorrows soon pass and are forgotten. Even the furrowed cheek and withered brow tell us that we are fast passing away.
The seasons, too, teach us the same lesson. When we see Spring opening with its buds aud tender sprouts, the sight is truly refreshing to us after the long dreary Winter is passed, so it is sweet, when disappointment and sorrow have passed over our lives, to look on the sweet face of infancy, before time or sorrow has left an impression on its fair young face,
all that is in proapaet, is only an aseidenti^jsr inni> dental event in his theology who admits no special providence in nature.
We are not of that nnmber; for we not only believe that God through vasteyoles of duration cKreot e<l and eoatndlod the ageneieo of nature eo aa to bury in the bosom of this oontinent the means of future civilization and prosperity, but that a strong obligation hence results for every one living here to throw all his energies into tiie work of iMkfaig this land the glory of, and a blessing, to tks nations. —E. liitchcock.
perfect child. Nature coiihl have held him up to I passion has effaced the original purity of theWhat Will Subdue Eddie?
the kitchen, and there you will find the work-hands eating.’’
Charlie did as he was bidden. But he had no heart to eat, and the Irish girl, noticing that he left his food untasted on his plate, said; “ I’m
thinking ye’re sick or something, and wud be after going to bed, for I sposo ye’ve rode a heap to-day and am rale tired.”
Charlie followed her to his apartment. It was the third floor; and a desolate looking place it was indeed. A small rough bed-stead occupied one corner of the room, a little, cracked looking glass hung on the wall near .jt, and an old, broken chair stood near the window.
Charlie was perfectly awe struck when he gazed upon such a looking place.
At an early hour the next morning he was aroused by a rough voice at the door, saying: “Come
young man, its high time you was up.’’ He recognized thespeakers voice tobe that of his companion of the previous day.
Charlie found that he was to be a sort of a “ fng’’ for the whole establi.shnient, being the youngest hand employed. Indeed, his work was never done —for when he was not engaged out of doors, he found plenty of work to do in the house. Mollie seemoi^l to take delight in ordering him about. But her other sister, Sallie, was just the reverse. She seldom called on him for assistance, bu-t when she did, it was a pleasure for him to comply with her reqiie.st. Thti.s several weeks passed on. Charlie was quite a favo-ita with the Squire, hut then, as he was nothing but one of the “hands,” he of course was not permitted to mingle with the family. He must be contented in the evening, to sit in the kitchen with the domestics, and listen to their rough talk, or go to bed ; which latter he usually chose to do. Charlie often thought ha.l it not been for Sallie, his situation would have been a hard one to him. Mollie kept plaguing her sister, alleging that she could not see what she found so interesting in an ignorant hired-boy. Sometimes Sallie had observed that whenever she had been out late of an evening, on her return she saw a faint gUmi-iner of a light from the little window in Charlie's apartment, and the servant-girl grumbled because his candle was burnt so low every morning. This excited Sallie’s curiosity. So one night resolving to find it out, she went up stairs to his room, and there found the door partly open. What an unlooked-for sight greeted her. There sat Charlie, one hand buried in the clustering curls of his hair, while his elbow leaned upon the table. He was bent over a book. At length he said ; “ There I have
completed my task. Little by litlle I progress, and 1
BT HELEN V. ACSTl*.
This is now the question vexing the spirit of Mrs. Quibbs. She don’t like him any better than he likes her ; there is no “ affinity ” between them.
Eddie is impulsive, and full of life aud warm blood, while she has outlived ike kindly impulses of her nature—if she ever had any—her life is
view and surveyed him again and again and been pleased with her handiwork. He was high-spirited, and his parents in good faith, too, undertook to subdue him. ■ Yes, he must be conquered, it would never do to let him grow up with such a temper. The rod and the passions of his parents were the means qswl to subdue him. His father required as much work of the child as he could do himself. He m:wle him a coward and a liar by accusing him of disobedience or ueglecK by never trusting liis word, or allowing an ex|)l¿iiation, but always suspecting him of falsehooil.
The child’s bright intellect left him as he grew older, and oh, what a wreck he is now !
The last time I saw him, he said, “I am going West ; I never want to see the face of a relation again. I hate my father. Home has no attraction to me. 1 respect my mother, because she is my mother. She has had a life of trial, and perhaps did the best she oould. I used to think I would be a great man, a scholar, a philanthropist. I had great visions when a boy, and built high castles, but all have gone to the winds or been dashed to the earth, and I mean to try and lose myself in an attempt to ■nnkn mtmey—lov« ten n«v«r Aonm nnything for me.”
I once knew a man to make this confession : “ I did but one thing in my life that I never could forgive myself for. I was very angry and whipped my little girl severely, She was never the same child after that ; she suddenly grew older to me; her eyes never looked the same as they did before that time, and indeed I ceased to see in her my little Laura.”
It is .s.ad to see so many men who have outgrown and subdued the characteristics they possessed in boyhood. “ Innocence, bride of man’s childhood, ” is rejected and »coffe<l, and the man thinks it a weakness to go hand in hand with such a gentle guardian through life. Pure love is childish ; Iwys are taught outside of the house that it is babyish to be fond of their mothers, and cowardly to obey them.
To make money, this is the “love that makes the world go round” to Yankees as a nation. Men sacrifice all of real good in time and eternijy tq the golden god.
All they care about Liberty, or the American eagle, is their impression on the coin. They lose every particle of the genial nature that characterized them when boys. Old age makes no wrinkles deeper than this insane love of money does.
Let us pray that little Eddie s “ life of lifemay not go out and be subdued by the hardness and wickedness of the world, but that that love which conquers all, that “endureth all things,” may subdue him, that he may be enabled by Ixive Divine to curb his reckless, headlong disposition, that his child’s faith may never leave him, and that ho may keep his soul pure ; and while we pray, we must work for Eddie too, we must watch him, as those who must give a strict account to the master of the jewels entrusted to our keeping.
“ Oh, tlion ciiild of many prayers,
Life hath qnii-kiantl», iite hath snares—
Care and aj;e come unawares.
so'il. Bat Spring departs, an 1 so does infancy. Summer succeeds Spriug, and gladdens our hearts, with its verdure and the comforts that it brings; so youth follows quickly in the footsteps of infancy. Youth gladdens ua with all its hope^f^d casts but few shadows with its cares and h'>^ tumults of life; for neither sorrow nor time dan inore than make a shade on the sunny face of yobUuVXutumn follows in quick succession, and then comes the luxuriant fruit, and the “sere and yellow leaf;” i. hood being a realization of a few, a very ^'iw, of the hopes of youth. But oh ! the corroding cave, the tumultuous turmoils, and the anguish of spirit that distract him until he almost wishes that he too could pass away into tlie unknown land, from which intelligence is never received. "Winter comes on with a rapidity that astonishes and alarms us Cold, dreary Winter, when the earth is enveloped, in snow and the heavens in clouds. We all dread winter, yet sometimes we have rays of sunshine, and pleasure at that season. Old ago is appropriately designated the winterof life, dark as tHat period may appear to us when we are waiting to pass away; yet we soften the checrlessness of it by preparing OU» rays of sunabipQ. before the dark winter comes on, even as we lay up for the approaching winter of the year blessing.l and comforts But as Winter emerges into Spring again, so man must pass into a new existence. The comparison ends here; for man is no more like the passing seasons of the j ear, but remains unchangeab^ throughout eternity, and cannot pass away.
For The World We Lire In.Novel Reading:.
of that kind that keeps her from dying, but would never impart life or warmtb to anything else; and as for blood, there’s not a drop of that in her whole body. She is one of the people that look as though they were made of putty, and you could dent them with your finger and the mark firwild remain. She is amcoldasau iceberg. Bvitbfirsthe likeness cuds, for she is no brighter when Üm «un shines, and there is no probability of thawing or melting her.
She don’t take Eddie’s hand and speak pleasantly, but she clutches him by the shoulder and turns him around and looks at him, with those beainless eyes that never wink nor moisten, but look as though they were cast of lead and varnished, they are so cold and hard, and yet have a sort of glitter on them; and her words céme out as square and thin as her lips art, and she says : “ If Eddie had several good whippings it might,save him from the gallows some day. What are you going to do with him, and what do you think will ever subdue him ?’’
“ If Eddie were your child, Mrs. (Juibb.s, you would not talk so, and could not imagine a gallows for him in the future.’’ Her child ! It was the first time she ever thought of that, aud for a moment she remembered that every culprit has a mother.
The several whippings, the kind she would call “ goo<l, ” would change Eddie from a brave boy, to a cowardly one; from a confiding, loving l>oy, to a morose, sullen one; and as for the gallows, let us hope for humanity’s sake, that, by the time Eddie is a man, civilization will so far advance that there will.be none.
“But wha^ arc you going to do with Eddie?’’ Let him grow I 'I'he world will need a host of men that had nothing to do, when little boys, but grow—then let Eddie expand himself.
He wants enough to eat, and there is no danger but he knows the kind of food his system requires if you give him plenty of air and play, and put him to lied clean and in a good humor.
Young America has brains enough; but more of what is termed “back-bone,” more sinew, and muscle, more good sound common sense is needed.
What do you think will subdue Eddie ? That's the great quest ion. Nothing but love should subdue him. We should not want his spirit broken and subdued to the world—God gave him that as bis greatest heritage. There is uccd “ in the world’s
liike the swell of s<tn>e sweet tune, Murning iííh« into noon.
May glides onward into June.
Cliildliood is the bough where slnmliered Birds and hhsisoms many-numbered ;
Age tli.-it boiigli with snows encumbered.
fJat.her then each flower that blows When the young heart overflow*.
To embalm that tent of snows.
Bear tlirough sorrow, wrong «ml riitli, in thy heart the dew of yonth.
On thy IqM the smile of trutli.
Oh, that dew-liko balm shall steal Into wounds tluit cannot heal. Even as sleep our eyes doth seal !
BY O. E. D,
The reailingof fictitious works has increased to such an extent within the past few years, that the intelligent American public should enter their protest against it, and endeavor by every laudable means in their power to turn the reader’s attention tu something more substantial, more noble, and more praiseworthy. It is probably the design of some novel writers, to make more clear and apparent our duties to our fellow man. But while this may be the object in a few fictitious writings, how seldom is it otherwise than that their only object is to please the imagination? The reading of any fictitious work, creates a thirst which cannot be satisfied, even by spending a great part of the time in perusing such works. They fill the mind with vague notions, rendering it unfit to drink copiously at the fountain of more substantial knowledge and have such impressions as nothing will remove The readers of novels should remember, that while they are thus spending their days and nights fwring over the pages of this worthies.'», yellow covered literature, they are leaving unread much that ia useful, entertaining, and substantial. Time is rapidly passing, and it is only by making a right use of it, that we will be enabled to accomplish anything that is good. How necessary is it then, th4t we read only such works as have a tendet^^ to improve the mind, and m^ike better the heart! I have known many of both sexes spend several years in reading novels; a sufficient length of time to have acquired an extensive knowledge of the higher branches of Mathematics—of the Natural Sciences, and of Latin and Greek. The knowledge of readííig and writing was given us^ that we might ourselves, be benefited, and the world made wiser and better. If we do not use aright the talents with which we are endowed, we are committing a sin, and must inevitably suffer the consequences. Novel reading is a sin; for which no one will affirm he has ever been made better, or in any manner benefited. We are forming a character, and wielding an influence, which will live after us. Let that character be such, as others will be proud to imitate.
Who Taught Tom to Sweart
Many years ago, when there were few railroads, a party set out from a Soathera mty tor a weary
journey by stage-coaoh. Amid all their discomforts, they had one great blessing. The youthfül driver was very cheerful, and seemed intent on making his passengers as much so as lay m his power. Many aiweary mile, over wretched roads, was beguiled by his merry whistle or lively song. The rain poured down, the horses lagged, but, heard above the winds was the carolled sir of “ Home, Sweet Home,” or the bird-like ^whistle of “Blne-Eyod Mary.” O, it is suqh a jojr to see another sat-istio<l and happy in his lot at his toil! It makes the lowly look up in hope, and the lofty look down in humanity; it makes the millionaire honor his driver or his footman.
Now that is the bright side of our young stoge-driver; M’hy must th^e be two sides to everything ? Before the party haltSl, after the first day’s journey, the jaded horses thought they had gone as far as profitable, and it was contrary to their sense of right that they were pressed on. Our hero on the box coaxed, whistled, patted, and at last whipped them, but still they dragged heavily on; when at length, losing all patience, the pleasant sounds that had cheered the insiders were changed. There did not seem to be passion in his tones, bu^ having tried all other motives to speed, the driver now began to swear, as if profanity could impel forward a worn-out horse. “God,” and “Jesus,” those two “dearest of all the names above,” were repeated with shocking frequebcy and carelessness. Some of the passengers were unmoved, but others could say with the prophet, “The reproaches of themtnat reproached Thee, fell on me.’’
Among the passengers was an aged minister. He said nothing at the time, but when they stopjmd for the night he made himself quite familiar with the young driver, asking him. questions about his business and his horses, manifesting an interest in all that he found interested him.
WhenTeady to start at break of day, he asked permission to sit on the box, that he might see the country, and talk with him, “For,” said he “1 am very fond of the company of young men.” This familiarity and condescension completely won the heart of thedriver, John; andin the kindest manner he gave all the information in his power to the old gentleman.
“You’re a minister, are you not?” asked the driver, after a little whilei
“Yes, my friend, I am a Baptist minister.”
“A Baptist minister, are you?’’ he cried; “why, .my mother is a Baptist, and when I get home I’ll tell her about you,” and strong filial love beamed., in his eye.
“Then your mother is a Baptist; is she a good womanf' asked the old man.
“Indeed she is, sir,” replied the affectionate son. “I owe her everything. I don’t know a single thing which she did not teach me.”
“ Are you sure of that, my young friend ?”
“Y"es, sir; for my father died when I was very small, and left us poor. We were four miles from a school, and as I wm her all, sir, she couldn’t trust me so far from her all day. So she taught me at home till we moved away from there; and then I will tell it to her credit, she taught me all I know.”
“ Zbd she teach you to swear, my sonT’ cried the old gentleman, in a stentorian voice, and clapping his hand heavily on the driver’s shoulder, “TeU me, did your mother teach you to swear?’’
'The youth looked thunder-struck; he colored deeply, and hung his head in silence.
“Come, my son,” said the minister, “you Have told me that your mother was a Baptist; I want to kuow whether she is the right kind of a Baptist or I not; did she teach you to swear f
i The young driver looked up. There was none of that dogged insolence, which we sometimes see in persons who have been justly reproved; no look of t defiance which said, plain as words could say, “I I can swear if I please, I am my own master, and it is none of your business who taught mé to do it.”
, No, even in his sin he showed the gentle touches of that humble mother’s moulding hand.
“I’m mortified, sir,” he said, “that you heard me swear at my horses last night. I was very tired,
and anxious to reach L \
“ And did yonr horses feel the oath more than the whip, my friend ? The passengers could not discover that they were at all influenced by it,”
! said the niinistcr.
“Of course not, sir. And as to my mother («oc 4-. xng me to swear, she does not know that I ever took * a profane word on my lips. I hope she never will know it. for 1 believe it would break her heart. I know as well as any minister can teach me, that I swearing is a low and wicked, as well as useless practice; but I’ve been thrown into a good deal of
bad company in my business, and have fallen into the habit, hardly knowing when I do it. I forget
And that smile of sunsliinc dart, into many a minie»* heart—
Fur asiuile of (iod thou art.” Richmond, Ind.
WrMet! for The World We Lire In.Passing Away.
BY MAO MOORLY.
Only a few short months ago we had Gramlma, Lute, Charlie, and tiny Henrietta. And now where are they? The melancholy answer is they, have | passed away from earth. Ere the leaves had grown to their full age, or the roses had blossomed, Lute was taken from us to his long home; hut we missed him; yes, Lute was missed in the village^ and at the school, and at the house of God, but most of all was he missed in the family circle. Oh what a vacancy was there! Who can describe the anguish of the mother when called to give up her hope of after years, and commit him to the dark tomb, or who can paint the scene as for the last time we stood around that coffin and saw his father take the last farewell of his last son: but we buried him, and with sorrowing hearts we returned back to our homes, while his parents went their way to their lonely hearth.
Nature was not at all disturbed by our loss. The leaves attained their full size, and the flowers bloomed and seemed as gay as if Lute had not passed away. Before the fruit ripened, death claimed little Charlie, and it was in vain that we tried to baffle the monster. He was intent on his prey and took little Charlie, in spite of the endeavors of kind friends to turn him aside. It was indeed heart-rending to think that soon we would liave to consign another to the tomb; but there was no way to avert the stroke, so wc were forccd toDivine Interpositions in Nature.
'Fhe records of science furnish a class of examples in nature strongly indicative of a special providence. They are cases in which complicated causes have operated tJirough vast periods of duration, anterior to man s existence, or even anterior to that of the more perfect animals, in order to provide for the wants of those animals, especially of man. Laws, npi>arently conflicting and irregular in their action, have been so controlled and directed, and made to conspire, as to provide for the. wants of civilized life untold ages before man s existence. In those early times, vast forest.s, for instance, might liave been seen growing along the shores of estuaries, anti these dying, were biirietl deep in the mud. there to accumulate thick beds of vegetable matter over large areas, and this, by a long series of changes, was at length converted into coal.
This could be of no use whatever till man’s existence, nor even then, till civilization had taught him how to employ this substance for his comfort, and for a great variety of useful arts. Look, for instance, at the small island of Groat Britain. At tliis day 10,000 steam engines are driven by means of coal, with a power eqiial to that of 2,000,000 of men, and thus is put into operation machinery equaling the unaided poVvcr of 3(K>,0(X),000 or 400,-OOt), 000 of men. The influence thence emanating reaches the remotest portions of the globe, and tends mightily to the civilization and happiness of the race. And is all this an accidental effect of nature’s law '! Is it not rather a striking example of special prospective providence? What else but divine^ power, intent upon specific purpose, could have so directed the countless agencies employed, through so many ages, as to bring about such marvelous results ?
Dr take an example on a still more gigantic scale. It is already ascertained that, by the same process of vegetable growth and decay in the hoary past, thick beds of coal have been accumulated in the rocks of the United States, over an area of more than ‘20, 000 square miles, and probably many mot^ remain to be discovered. Yet, upon a moderate calculation, those already known contain more than 1,1(X),(XK) cubic miles of coal; one mile of which, at the rate it is now used, would furnish the country
when I lose my patience.”
“Do you forget when at home with your mother?” “Never; her presence forbids it. I eould not swear in her hearing.”
“ And yet you can do so in the hearing of the God you insult, of the Savior who died for you!” replied the old man. “ God forgive the child of a praying mother for such impiety 1”
“ Sir, I declare, with His helps that you have hoard my last oath," said the young man, deeply moved.
"Ifhen I left *y datighter’s hotte,” said *he mi»-
ister, “ she put a great loaf of fruit cake into my trunk. When we part, I will give it to you as a present for your mother, if you will promise to tell her how you got it, and all the particulars of our interview. Confess your sin to her and to God, and that, my son, will enable you to keep your good resolution.’’
The driver promised to do so, and after that he was never heard to use a coarse or profane word.
O, what a mighty power does a Christian mother exercise over her beloved wanderers, restraining them from sin, or drawing them out of its meshes Alien once ensnared!
tin (Texas) le following;
A pLiTKY WoM.AN.—The -Xusti Gazette, of the llthjultimo, has the
” We have dates from the Rio Grande te January 2. Du that evening Cortinas was in the neighborhood of Comargo. He had two wounded officers with him. It is supposed by some that a man named Antonio Games, or Jantes, is the real commander of the Mexicans, aud that he acts in obedience to the orders of t)je Miramon party. It is said that Cortinas left his camp near Brownsville because General Caravajal interfered with the supplies he was receiving from Matamoros. The rolls taken by our men in the battle at Rio Grande City have upon them thq names of men residing in Mexico. It is supposed that Cortinas will make his way down the country. While Cortinas was at Rió Grande City, he called upon the lady of Captain H. Clay Davis, tie informed her that he had orders to kill her husband on sight, but assured her of his intention not to Sioleat herself or family. She replied with all the heroism of a • Spartan woman : “ My husband has gone with a company of volunteers to help the peoplq of Brownsville. Xoumay be able to attack and kill him ; but if you do, you will have to go home and tell your folks you had to fight for it! Me told me to stay here when he left. It is our home, and I will stay in it while one brick is on top of the other,’ The little son of this heroine coming up at this moment shouted : “ Viva Tejasey
muera Cortina (“ Hurrah for Tr tnn d-rt** to Cortina I) The brigand chief laugH^ heartily and gave the boy a two-bit piece.”
“ I didn’t like our minister’s serm'bn, last Sunday,” said a deacon, who had slept all sermon time, to a brother deacon. “ Didn’t like it brother ? ^ Why I saw you nodding assent to every proposition of