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Vottrg.
TII7E. ORPHAN GIRL.
"Say, gentle stranger, why those tears,
And why that mournful air?
They ill become the tender years
Of oue like thee so fair!
'• Ilast seen some loved one shrouded,
And laid within the tomb,
To make thy life so clouded
With sorrow and with gloom?"
" Alas," the little maid replied,
"I am an orphan child.
And since my gentle mother died
No one has on me smiled.
•• With fro inn of hate they greet me now,
And scold and beat me oft;
They never soothe my aching brow
With hands, like mother's, soft.
"I'm called an ugly orphan brat,
They will not let me pray;
They never kiss my cheeks, for that
Would drive my tears away.
"My mother loved me, I am sure,
For oft I've seen her weep,
When pillow'd on her bosom pure,
I feign'd to fall asleep.
"Then she would murmur with a sigh
And clasp me strangely wild,
'Oh, God, WI am doomed to die,
Wilt thou protect my child!' "
•'She died, and near that spot of ground,
Where yonder yew trees wave,
Is seen the flowery-covered mound
Of my dear mother's grave.
"When bright the moon 611ineS overflew',
And all are hushed in sleep,
I fro there slyly front my bed,
To plant sweet flowers and weep.
"Lady, there is no joy for me,
And hence it is I cry:
They use ins so, I long to be
With mother, and to die!"
She ceased, while tears ran thick and fast
Admen her wasted cheek,
The lady saw, and, stooping, clasped
Her little form so meek,
And bore her to her home away,
And rearNl her as tier ONVII.
And there, beneath love's tender sway
Grief is no baiger known.
•
aub 'hloitttrat
Resolution
I /3.
" Do not give '-'p the ship," were the last
words of a man who lived in the " times that
tried men's souls." Whilst the slew ter thread
that binds his spirit to this mundane sphere
is suddenly being broken asunder, his patri
otic heart throbs wildly, his noble soul still
lingering amidst the carnage of battle, re
mains undaunted and undismayed.
Tie beholds his brave comrades falling
thick and fast around him, like leaves from
the forest. The sands of life are ebbing fast:
His warm blood—offered on the altar of lib
erty—lies clotted on the deck. lie lifts his
glaring eyes on high and sees amidst the
wreathing smoke the banner of 'his country
still floating in the breeze, as if supported by
superior power. Then rallying his dying en
ergies, he cries, " don't give up the ship !"
and falling back, the gifted, and heroic Law
rence is no more.
Well may we—his countrymen—call to
mind his admonition in all the vicissitudes of
life.
Amidst the petty annoyances of every day
experiences—when the lying Longue of slan
der, poisoned with bitter draughts from envy's
cup, would fain drive us from the path of
virtue and rectitude ; should we compare life
to a warfare—ourselves the combatants fin.
right—to battle against the opposing ranks of
deceiving yet deceived aspirants for power.
Young men when merging from boyhood
and entering upon the grand arena of life,
sometimes pay a total disregard to the injunc
tions of their parents ; and alas, too frequent
ly, are they, in after years, compelled to reap
the bitter fruits of their own doings. What
ever may be the highest point of your ambi
tion, let no experiment go untried, no imped
iment stand in your way, until you have
reached the desired goal.
Young man ! are you seeking an education?
Then " don't give up the ship !" Obstacles
will present themselves—difficulties must be
overcome. We cannot expect to arise to dis
tinction, without putting forth peculiar exer
tion. One thing which has ruined many a
young man—is want of RESOLUTION.
He perhaps sees a companion endowed
with far greater versatility of genius than he
possesses—and keeping this horn of the di
lemma continually before his mind despairs
of accomplishing any thing for want of abil
ity, as he is pleased to term it—whereas it is
fur want of nothing else than the cultivation
of determination. Our hero did not turn to
ask the counsel of this or that friend, but hav
ing formed his plan of action (which was to
conquer or die in the attempt) made every in
ferior motive yield for the accomplishment of
this one great design. We on the other hand
are apt to be continually asking advice of
different persons on every matter of any im
portance; and finally, in all probability, find
it more difficult to make the desired decision,
than it would have been at first. A gifted
writer says, "we should not judge a man's
merit by his great qualities, but by the use
he makes of them."
The mind of man may be compared to a
vast machine, and resolution as the fixed prin
ciple which gives to it the required impetus
to set it in motion, and to keep it in an on
ward and upward tendency.
Then let us each write Excelsior on our
banner, and unfurling it to the wind, catch
every passing breeze--
And virtue's wreath shall crown our race,
Whilst unborn millions bless our memory
ACADEMIA, PA.
TRUE Put Losorny.—One great secret of en
joyment in domestic life is too much over
looked. It hes in bringing our wants clown
to our circumstances, instead of toiling to
bring up our circumstances to our wants.—
Wants will always be ahead of means, and
there will be no end to the race if you set
the latter chasing the former. Put the yoke
of self-denial on desire, apply the spur of in
dustry to energy, and then if the latter does
not overtake the former, it will at least come
in sight of it.
;.pl 50
. 75
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XII.
GRAND FATHER'S OLD FARM,
I was on a trip in the cars lately and found
myself upon the seat with a gentlemanly man
advanced in years, to whom (as I honor age)
I endeavored to make myself agreeable en
route.
After the interchange of a few common
place remarks, our conversation turned upon
the subject of agriculture, the old and new
modes of farming, &c. I subsequently ascer
tained that my venerable acquaintance was a
most intelligent farmer, who had retired in
his old age upon a competency. As we dash
ed along in the . cars he entertained me with
the substance of the following narrative, the
details of which he assured me had transpir
ed within his knowledge.
Speaking of the exerting progress and im
provements in agriculture, said he, reminds
me of an instance that occurred within my
remembrance, which I will relate to you, if
you are disposed to hear it. I thanked him,
and he proceeded on as follows:
Some forty years or more ago, a neighbor
of mine in C., a Mr. Smith, occupied an im
mense tract of land, which he called a "farm."
It was about thirty rods in width, and up
wards of two miles in length ; upon which
he had been brought up a "farmer," and
where his father and grand-father had lived
before him.
Each generation of the Smiths that had
dwelt upon this strip of land, had contrived
to farm it, each in the same old way, year in
and year out, from father to son.
The place had never known a dollar's in
cumbrance ; scores of Smith's had been rear
ed upon it, generation after generation came
and passed away, and the same cart paths,
and the same dilapidated wall and shanties
and decayed trees were still visible—almost
the same furrow had been turned for a hund
red years or more ; when as had been the
custom of the Smithfamilies on previous oc
casions, it finally came the turn of the occu
pant to resign , rrand-father's old place to his
only son, Ben Smith now come to thirty.
For five and thirty years at least Ben's
father had carried on his farm. In all that
long period, and regular as the 3-ear rolled
round, as regular had Mr. Smith ploughed up
his eight acres, mowed all the grass that Pro
vidence would growfbr him, pastured his ten
sheep, reared his four head of cattle, fattened
his three lmgs, and wintered as many cows.
But this was not all.
For The Globe
True Air- Smith had a great farm. lie
toiled like a trooper, from daylight till dark.
lie raised his own pork and corn (such as it
was) his cattle al id fodder ; from his own forest
the wood he burned ; never owed any man
farthing. Ile contrived even to pay his town
and county tax. But he was literally,
"even with the world," for he owed no one,
and no one owed Lima dollar. And so he liv
ed up to seventy.
"Ben," said the old man to his son, one
evening as they sat before the fire, "I am get
ting old. I have worked pooty hard here,
for a good many years, and 1 have concluded
to give it up. It is your turn now."
turn for what ?" asked Ben.
"To take charge of the farm, Ben. You
are young, stout and healthy. lam going to
give up the homestead to you ; and if you
continue to labor constantly as I've done, and
your Ihther did afore us—you can get a good
livin' off on't as we have done. We can't
take nothing out of this world with us, Ben.
Naked we came into it, and so we must go
out. But the old place is free from ineum
brance, there never - Nyasa dollar mortgage on
it, and I hope there never will be. 1 shall
give you the farm free and clear to-morrow.
Ben slept on this, and the next day he was
master of the farm thirty rods wide and two
and a half miles long.
"I shall take the place, father," he said
and eary it on; but not as you and grand
father, and as his father did."
And though the old gentleman shook his
head and looked earnestly over the bridge
of his specs at his son, Ben was as good as
his word; forthwith he went to work in earn
est.
Spring came. Ben went into the old eight
acre field and ploughed up one half of it.—
Upon this he deposited the whole of the sea
son's manure, that had hitherto for years
been sparsely spread upon double the sur
face. He harrowed these four acres, and har
rowed them well. Hoeing time came and
Ben had only one half the space to go over.
Though the corn and potatoes looked, finely,
and the beets, the cabbages, and the carrots
grew marvellously, and the old man grew
crusty, and declared it wouldn't do, there
wouldn't be roots enough. But Ben went
right along his own way.
At the second hoeing Ben went into his
four acres ; but not with a hand hoe. He
got some kind of a jimereck, (as the old man
termed it,) hitched to the old mare's heels,
instead of hoeing his potatoes man fashion ;
he'd begun with his improvement; but that
cultivator, as Ben called it, "wouldn't work
no how."
Ben continued the use of the cultivator,
however ; the old gentleman continued to
grumble, and the corn and potatoes continued
to flourish.
Ben Smith had gone over to a neighboring
town early in the spring and run in debt
(Ben was the first Smith that ever did this
thing) for two hundred bushels of "nasty
ashes," which he tugged the cattle to draw
to the farm and with which he top dressed
the meadow. Here was an innovation sure.
And he had subscribed for a paper too ; and
with his jimerack of a "cultivator," his ashes
and "book farming," the old gentleman was
nearly crazed. "It would never do to go on
at this rate," said the old gentleman.
But the four acres of corn and potatoes and
vegetables still grew finely. Never had the
Smith's seen such corn, such carrots, such
potatoes.
The grass came up thick and strong and
thrifty, and the harvest time came around at
last.
The cattle had plenty of good feed, and
they were fat and sleek, the pigs were fat, the
poultry was fat, the old horse was fat, and
Ben grew fat and jolly as he garnished his
AND
WHAT WAS DONE WITH IT.
..„..
4,-'.)
~. ,.1 -",
:....... .:,..
~. :.
.::,.
high corn, his big potatoes, his generous sized
beets, and his great big yellow carrots. Ben
had found time during the evening to read
the agricultural articles in his paper, and to
post himself in regard to the markets.
Winter came, and the good old father en
tered the barn. It was crammed with hay
and cornstocks, and wheat and rye. The
granery was loaded with corn ; and Ben who
had been carefully taught to shell the cobs
across the edge of a shovel, now stood beside
another stupid machine, throwing in a bush
el of ears at the top, while the big golden
kernels rushed out in a constant shower at
the bottom. Ben Smith had "squandered"
six dollars in cash upon a corn sheller
!
"What is the silly boy coming to," exclaim
ed the venerable progenitor, as he sighed and
turned to the barn again.
The old man examined the harvesting;
there was more in the mows than ever be
fore. The corn had turned out grandly.—
There was everything in profusion, and only
half the ground bad been tilled. Ben point
ed to the gratifying result, and his father
only shook his head, and said, "Ben, you
have been very lucky ; we've had a remark
able season; things have grown finely."
Ben Smith, Jr. ' only smiled at this. He
continued to read his agriclutural works, sub
scribed for another paper, and paid for them
both, (ah what extravagance !) and winter
passed glibly away.
He killed off the old razor backed grunters,
that had been bred upon the ancient farm
from time immemorial, and bought six im
proved Suffolks—instead of the three alliga
tors that had previously been tolerated on
the Smith farm.
The superanuated cows, „with the crumb
led horns," were turned into beef, and a
brace of shining Durban's supplied their
place. A sub-soil plow found its way into
the yard one morning early in the spring, a
"new (angled harrow" followed this. Then
came a new patent churn, then a capital straw
cutter, then more nasty ashes, then a seed
drill—and 'there was no end, (said Ben sen
ior) to the infernal machines that Ben, jr.,
cluttered up the old place with.
Ben had been no idler meantime. He had
drawn into the cow yard two hundred loads
of pond muck the previous fall. lie got plas
ter and crushed bones and mixed with it, and
when February came it was heaped out gen
erously upon the four acres again. Every
thing went on smilingly, and at harvest the
cap-sheaf of machinery arrived.
"What on earth is that?" asked the old
gentleman, as Ben put his team before a new
horse rake. Ben laughed outright, and ask
ed his respected progenitor, why he did not
read papers ! But his father said he "knew
enough already."
Again the old barns creaked under their
generous harvest of hay, and grain, and ve
getables, and again the old man looked and
sighed and declared that the season had been
remarkable, very.
Ben hadn't room to store away two-thirds
of the year's produce. But his hay was ex
cellent, his potatoes were noble ones ; his
carrots, beets and onions were splendid ; he
had surplus rutabagas by the cord, and tur
nips, and squashes, and cabbages by the ton,
all of which readily found a good market,
seven miles distant. No body believed at
first, that these fine products really came
from Smith's farm.
When the snow and sleet rattled around
that ancient manson that winter, Ben owed
no man a dollar; his barn and cellars were
well filled, and he had three hundred dollars
in cash, on hand ! Here was a fortune.
"Verily, Ben," said his parent, "you have
been lucky and the seasons have been favor
able."
The elder Smith has been gathered to his
fathers. Benjamin Smith, Esq., is now a
man of solid substance, a justice of the peace
and a farmer of forty years in good standing.
lie knows the difference between partial and
thorough cultivation ; he can tell you the
benefits of subsoil ploughing and shallow
furrow ; he can tell you whether and where
fore a piece of Suffolk pork or Durham beef
is preferable to that of the grey hound hog or
the shingled back ox ; he knows how to use
the horse rake and the potato dropper ; he
will inform you the of advantage to be derived
from irrigation, from draining, from the use
of phosphate of lime, and the like; he will
show you on his farni big hay stacks, gener
ous squashes, huge potatoes, twelve rowed
corn, fat hogs,improved poultry,sleek velvety
cattle, and the jimeraeks of a modern ag
ricultural progress—and you will find, in a
snug corner of Ben's ample sleeping room,
at old Smith's homestead, the choicest Agri
cultural library in the State ; while he is a
constant reader and a paying subsriber to all
the leading book farm publications in the
whole country.
No one that new the old Smith farm five
and twenty years ago, would recogniseit now.
Esq. Ben is worth a pretty fortune, has a
buxom wife and half a dozen children, and
though a little corpulent, for he will live
well, he is as lively and as thrifty a "book
farmer," as you or I would wish to meet with.
I beg your pardon, concluded my traveler
friend at this point, but here we are ! and
the train halted in the depot.
latf&.Boys are admonished, by a sensible
writer, to beware of the following descrip
tions of company, if they would avoid be
coming like those who enter prison for their
crimes :-1. Those who ridicule parents, or
disobey their commands.-2. Those who pro
profane the Sabbath, or scoff at religion.-3.
Those who use profane or filthy language.-
4. Those who are unfaithful, play truant, or
waste their time in idleness.-5. Those who
are of a quarrelsome temper.-6. Those who
arc addicted to lying and stealing.-7. Those
who take pleasure in torturing animals and
insects.-8. Those who loaf around grog
shops and drinkwhiskey.—.Presbyterian.
nel—Stables, for cattle and sheep, should
be placed on rollers, so as to be movable,
from one part of the farm . to the other. In
this way the liquid nitrogen is distributed
around the farm.
-PERSEVERE.-
HUNTINGDON, PA., JULY 16, 1856.
A Touching Story of Filial Love
The following most remarkable and beau
tiful instance of filial affection
: appeared in
the Herald of Lima, (Peru,) to which it was
communicated by the Alcalde of Callao. A
man who can read it without emotion must
be debased indeed:
GENTLEmEN—There having passed in my
office (Justice of the Peace) a scene of great
interest and most rare at any time and place,
I cannot refrain from communicating the
same to you, believing that you will concur
with me in the opinion that an act so humble,
and worthy of the best qualities of human na
ture, deserves to be commemorated by means
of the press.
About 8 o'clock this morning a tumultuous
assembly of people invaded my house, bring
ing in with them a venerable looking man.
They inquired for the justice. On demand
ing of them the reason of a semi-riotous col
lection, they all began to speak at once, so
that I was for a time unable to comprchend
what was the real state of the case. Having,
however, at last obtained silence, the old
man addressed me thus :
Mr. Alcalde, having buried my wife, the
mother of these four lads, I ordered this one
name Jose Marie, to take charge of the other
three, who have already made choice of their
elder brother's profession. These two, At
anacio and Diouisio are both married ; the
youngest, although single, supports himself
by his labors as fishman. Ever since the
mother of these boys was taken away from
me, I have been living with my elder son, in
the interior; but have never failed to receive
care and attention from the other three. De
sirous of coming to Callao, Jose Marie wrote
to Julian in order that he should provide for
me—which injunction has given offence to
Atanacio, who declares that being the second
son the future care of me belongs of right to
him. I would like to divide myself into four
parts, so as to give each of my children a por
tion of my body, but, as it cannot be, we
have come before you, Mr. Alcalde, hi order
that you should decide which of these young
men is to be preferred."
The father had hardly finished speaking,
when the generous dispute commenced.
Atanacio, the second son, said that the
father having been hitherto living with his
elder brother, it was now 7iB turn to have
possession of him by order of birth. Dino
nisio contended that his brother Atanaeio
could not be with his father because he had
a great deal to do and could not give his fath
er the attenion lie required. The fourth son,
Julian, represented to me that it properly be
longed to him to support his father, as he
was the youngest and unmarried.
In truth I knew not what to resolve, my
heart was so affected with the extraordinary
picture presented to me. As I contemplated
this scene in silence, the old man, Clemente,
asking my permission to speak, said ; "My
dear children, my heart overflows with satis
faction in witnessing your disputes respect
ing which of you shall take charge of your
old father. I would gladly give content to
you all—and therefore propose that I be per
mitted to breakfast with one—dine with an
other—sleep in the house of the third—and
thus keep changing iron day to day; but if
you do not consent to this, let his honor, the
Judge, determine what shall be done with
me."
The young men unanimously rejected this
proposition, because they said, their father
would lead an idle life, errant, unquiet life.
I then proposed. to write on separate pieces
of paper the names of the sons, and let the
decision of chance settle the question. While
I wrote these papers, doubled them, and put
them into the hat of Clemente, which served
as a ballot-box, deathlike silence prevailed,
and there was plainly to be seen expressed
in the countenances of each of the sons his
hopes of being the lucky receiver of the de
sired prize.
The old man put his tremulous hand into
the hat and drew out the name of Atanacio,
the second son I My friends, I hardly know
how to express to you the new scene which
then broke in upon me ! Atanacio, upon
hearing his name called out. broke into
praise to the Omniscient for according him
such a boon. With his hands clasped, and
eyes directed to heaven, lie repeated over and
over his thanks, then fell on his knees before
his venerable parent, and bathed his sandle
feet with tears of frantic joy.
The other brothers followed his example,
and embraced the feet of the good old patri
arch, who remained like a. statute, oppressed
with emotions which he did not know how to
give vent to.
Such a scene as this melted all who wit
nessed it, among whom were the Lieutenant
of Police, the Alcalde Don Alfano, and other
friends. The brothers then retired, but soon
returned with a fresh demand—which was
that I should command that since Atanacio
had been favored by lot with the charge of
the father, they should not be deprived of the
pleasure of taking out the old man to walk by
turns in the afternoon, which order I gave
magisterially, in order to gratify these sim
ple, honest people, and they retired content
ed,
This humble family of Indian extraction, is
named Villavincencio. They are natives of
the valley of Chorine, but at present reside at
Callao.
I repeat gentlemen, that if this imperfect,
but true relation, be deemed worthy of publi
cation, you are at liberty to give it a place in
the columns of your Journal.
ATONIO A. DEL. VILLAII.
BLACK REPUBLICAN SAYINGS.—The follow,
expressions of Black Republican sentiments
cannot be placed before the people too often.
"The Union is not worth supporting in
connection with the South."—New York Tri
bune.
"The Constitution is a reproach and a
league with Tophet."—Garrison.
"Sharp's Rifles are better than Bibles."—
Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.
"Let the Union slide."—.37. P. Banks.
The authors of these are all brilliant
stars in the Black Republican firmanent,
and of course reflect the views of the faction
to which they are attached.
„. 1
- Is'
•
From the Philadelphia Democrat, (arrnmit Paprr.)
The Success of Democracy---The Safety
of the Republic.
We believe that it would be safe to assert,
that no Nation everlost
,it liberty, until it had
ceased to regard the private rights of its citi
zens as a matter of sacred obligation. The
conscience of men cannot he invaded with
impunity, and they who violently attempt to
enforce acquiescence to a particular form of
belief, desecrate the holiest emotions which
- spring from the human heart. The cause of
religion and liberty are interwoven together;
but whenever sectarianism seeks to control
the former, the latter is in imminent peril.--
The temple of the Eternal is the Universe,
but He
_has erected a pulpit in the breast of
every thinking creature, from whieh the
breathings of a contrite spirit may be heard
with effect. Pure adorations to Deity need
not the investiture of forms to make them
acceptable. "Lord, what shall Ido to be
saved," met with a more prompt response
from the Martyr of Calvary, than the sanoti
monious prayers of the hypocritical Phari
sees. The cause of religion is dishonored by
coercion, and liberty trembles when the con
science is enforced. That country is in a de
clining state, which permits its citizens to be
degraded to a ectate, because they approach
their Maker with particular ceremonies, or
with none other than those which spring
from the consciousness that they are sinners.
The cause of truth and liberty is that of our
country ; anti when these arc assailed by the
prejudices of a faction, we must resort to the
lawful means of argument and persuasion to
rouse the indolent, reclaim the corrupt, and
reconcile a divided people. Proscription is
heterodox to our principles, and can no more
find favor with the Dconocratic party, than
vice can be domiciled in the regions of blissful
ness. When it is otherwise, nothing will re
main for an honest patriot to do, but either
sit down quietly and perish in the common
destruction, or assume the true dignity of
manhood by contending against it to the
death grasp. The latter means can be justified
only as a last resort.
It is our pride that we are members of a
party that has never bowed its knee to the
Baal of Black Republicanism, nor worship
ped the brazen image of Know Nothing pre
judice. The inward satisfaction Democrats
feel that they ere serving their country in ac
cordance with the Constitution, more than
compensates for the censures of their ene
mies. 'We have recently rejoiced in the com
mon joy of proscriptions overthrow,—let not
our spirits be clouded in a future common
calamity. To guard against this, we must
manfully combat the dangerous ambition, the
insatiable avarice and insolent dictation
which we find associated against the candi
dates of our party. However diversified
may be the opinions of the opposition, their
object is identical—the dr:Awl cf . the Democra- '
cy. Let our ambition be in doing good to all
our fellow citizens alike, withont regard to
their birth-place or religion, and receive our
certain reward in the fame and welfare of
our country. It is not more dangerous to
give compulsive assent to the invasion of per
sonal liberty, than to supinely acquiesce in
the witholding of legal privileges. The con
stitution and laws have declared us socially
equals, and in justice to those instruments,
, Sao citaencan abate a, jot of his political rights,
wit/tout injury to the, whole people. To vote is
a duty assigned every one of us, and be who
neglects this solemn obligation, has taken a
step in the condition of serfdom. They who
join to political considerations, a strong tinc
ture of religious prejudice, have already be
gan the destruction of our Constitution. The
desire to exalt or destroy a particular sect or
people, is the most dangerous conjuncture to
which liberty can be exposed. Opposition,
founded on religious prejudices, is apt to heat
both the head and heart to fanaticism, and
whenever this is the case, the spirit mingles
itself with that of faction, so that sonic
through folly and others through knavery,
are willing to sacrifice public liberty to their
particular schemes of religious worship.—
Under such a state of facts, freedom, may
flourish in speculation, but cannot subsist in,
practice.
21fachiavel cites numerous examples to
show, that the virtue of particular men
among the Romans, frequently drew that
Government back to its original principles.
As the spirit of liberty decayed, these ex
amples became more rare, and at last entire
ly failed. May we not reasonably hope, that
the candidates of the Democratic party have
a like mission as the virtuous Romans. Un
less this be the ease, faction and cabal will
stifle the spirit of liberty, and all orders of
Govormnent become tainted and corrupt.—
Good laws and customs will remain without
force, or be suspended, abrogated, or perver
ted, to serve the purposes of private ambition,
avarice or revenge. History tells us that ea
bids, not numerous enough to be called a
party, against the sense of a whole Nation,
have often brought that Nation to a condi
tion of servitude. It is an eternal truth, that
liberty and faction are repugnant and incom
patible. The life of either is the death of the
other. Let us, then, sacrifice our own per
sonal interests to those of our country, and
by so doing, imitate the example of the an
cient Romans, who received that grandeur
and glory from that which the Commonwealth
reflected. Let us consider ourselves as citi
zens and not as individuals. Rome only fell
when Octavius had a party and Antony a
arty ; but the Commonwealth had none._
Centuries intervened between Augustus and
Augustulus. Unless we defeat Black Repub
licanism and Know Nothingism, we may find
the same difference in a day. Our duty is
plain—the Democratic nominees must be
elected. Let every man treasure this up in
his memory.
•Froin my soul I respect the laboring
man. Labor is the foundation of the wealth
of every country; and the free laborers or the
north deserve respect both for their probity
and their intelligence. Heaven forbid that I
should do them wrong ! Of all the countries
on the earth we ought to have the most consi
deration for the laboring num.—Tames Bu
t-ha-wpm.
Editor and Proprietor
NO, 4.
From the Philadelphia. Daily ; Argus.
The German Language and Literature
A proposition was lately submitted to the
Controllers of the Public Schools, to dis
pense with the teaching of the German- Lan
guage in the High School. It is for the
Controllers to pass upon this proposition,
and doubtless they will do so in a pure 'spir
it of devotion to the interests of education;
but, if it can lie, the German Language
should be an essential part of High School
Education. That ancient tongue is the broth
er of our own English, It springs from the
same Teutonic origin. The vocabularies or
stocks of words—and especially old radical
ones—are very similar in both the lan
guages; so arc most of their etymologies, id
ioms, and methods of construction. We be
lieve that the English language is the strong
est, richest, and noblest of all the dialects of
man since the dispersion of Babel—abound
ing beyond others in various aclaptabilitiesi
great thoughts, works of genius, and master
pieces of literature. And yet this may be
only the natural prepossession of education
and selfhood. It is certain that the German
language is amazingly copious in its stock of
words, capable beyond limit of deriving and
constructing new ones, flexible to the utter- ,
most for all the infinite purposes and ex
pressions of thought, and full of serious and
noble euphony. ft may not be so transpa
rent as the French, nor so well-fitted for the
angular exactitude of physical science, or
the definitive precision of diplomacy, law, or
statesman-ship, but it far excels the Court
language of Europe in power and breadth of
of expression, in pathos, dignity, and pro
fundity. It is exquisitely fitted for those rare
mental operations, which are atonee abstract,
generalizing, logical, spiritual, and delicate.
Such a language cannot fail to embody a
precious literature. And. indeed the think-.
ers and writers of Germany, for half a cen
tury back, have led the van of the intellect
ual movement of the race. Metaphysical
philosophy is the highest effort, the chief
means, and the unerring index of the pro
gress of the mind of the ages. The super
ficiality, conventionalism, and materialism
of the eighteenth century is all betrayed in
the philosophy of the Lockes, Shaftesburys.,
Malebranches, Hobbes, Humes, and the En
cyclopedists. The great metaphysicians of
Germany have rejuvenated and spiritual
ized the abstract thought, the intellect, the
literature, and the sentiment of this era:
They may often be obscure—and so is deep
water and the fathomless height—they may
vary in their speculations mid results—no
rounded system limy be surely elaborated by
any or all of them—they themselves may be
unpractical in their own ideas—and yet they
are glorious for their single-eyed love and
seeking Ihr absolute, universal, necessary
truth and being, for their close, rigid, ana
lytical, sustained logic, for their broad, vast,
spiritual intuitions, for their telescopic, and
microscopic self-searching into the soul and
essential inner nature—for their profound
comprehension and mighty vindication of
the spiritualism of man's real being—for
their recognition of the necessary, indepen
dent immortality, truth, justice, virtue and
happiness. Plato and Aristotle, Bacon and
Descartes, are well succeeded by such rivals
of their pre-eminence as Kant, Fichte, Schel
ling and Hegel.-
To German Philosophy corresponds German
Lei}rning and Literature. Nothing is more
ftunous and proverbial than: the impartial,
dispassionate, protracted, laborious, minute ;
thorough, exhaustive achievements of the
modern German Critics, Antiquarians and
Theologians. The Scaligers, the Dolphin
Editors, the Dibliasts of the Reformation,
and the Benedictines were, so to speak,
superficial scratchers upon the surface where
hidden treasures have been mined anti revealed
by the Eichhorus, Niebuhrs, De Wettes and
Strausses. The German Critics and Anti
quarians have sifted the genuine and the
spurious, so that scholars of this age begin
to know - what is ancient literature as the an
cients had it without gloss or corruption.,
The German Historians have separated fable,
tradition and myth from authentic accounts,
and have so completely exhumed and com
pared the historical relics of the past, that
we begin to know what were the facts of old,
and to know them with a startling and life
like nearness and naturalness. The Ger
man Divines, from Paulus to Strauss, are so
independent, fearless, and scrutinizing, that
they keep Anglo-Saxon Orthodoxy in a per
petual fever of horror, scandalizement, ob
jurgation, stricture, and reply. Whatever
may be said of German Rationalism—and
most that is said is stupidly unappreciative and
misrepresenting—the intelligence of the age
agrees that such theologians us Schleier
macher, and Neander divine and compre
hend the very inward _essence and purpose
of the religion of Christ.
How enchanting is the diversified field of
German literature. There is the artistic
completeness and perfection of Goethe; the
pathos, power, and tragic wildness of Schil
ler; the refined and exquisite idealism of No
valis; the wierd terrors of Wieland; the del
icate beauty of Ticek; the inspired and in
spiring lyrics of Koerner; the eccentric, lux
uriant, suggestive, delightful, and grand
fancies, humors, stories, speculations, and
essayings of rare Jean Paul, and the attic
shortness, clearness, freshness, wit, and pow
er of Heinrich Heine. Time would fad to
enumerate in full; but the poets, and word
artists and literary men of Germany are re
markable for their 'vernal naturalness, their
domestic simplicity of sentiment, their pro
found breathing of the spirit of nature in its
ideal reality, their pure moral tone, their
affection aten ess and veneration. Such a lit-
erature spiritualizes, elevates, purifies, and
ennobles. This is the continental domain of
thought entered through the beautifully sol
emn portals of the German language—a lan
guage which for flexibility, power of self
evolvement, and capability for all the ex
igencies of abstract thought is only rivalled
by that greatest of all the vehicles of mind,
the ancient Greek.
To say nothing of the practical uses of
knowing the German in this land And day
of emigration from the Rhine . and Danube,
such knowledge is an accomplishment to
the scholar, a mighty aid to the student in
any field of learning, and a blessing to tho
mind and heart, if possible, the Control ,
lers should continue the German teaching in
our high School.
The Contrast
The Springfield Argus makes the, follow,-
ing pointed contrast:
"Buchanan is a stntesma.n; Fremont is art
adventurer ; Buchanan is known and tried ;
Fremont is tmknown,untried. Buchanan has
served his country faithfully in important po,
litical stations for over forty years ; Fremont
has explored the Rocky mountains and 'eaten
dog.' Buchanan has the qualifications for
the presidential office; Fremont is utterly
without them."
11E9 7 —lt is wiser to prevent a quarrel beforo
'---1 than to revenge it afterward-4,