»
I Ain Weary.
. f«m wean uyrfJ
~ ,oc fN*
‘ ' Ap3 in other hnii and brighter i„
• Jtff c»gs4isitit Jpngito.roanl.
TVplefce too BoTatoo'oarkfli**''
, That bounds onf.prospect hore,
- And salvo the aw(ji(; tny»tery -
OF |jl»t far off sphere.
I. am weary very weary ■
Of this gay and 'giddy fhrong,
That strives to banish cars away
‘ In revelry and song.
But I love loTmger all alone
Near a gently InnrmuriDg slroini,
And call up meraories of the past,
" And 'of the future dream. ,
1 am weary very jvcary
Of all this world .contains,
Au d would very gladly leave it
With its many cares end pains.
Would 1 could people ell the earth
With spirits pare and .fair,
That bports all warm and loving
' Would meet us everywhere.’ Moatra.
1 DOMESTIC SOTB¥.
A TEMPERANCE TAuJ Of FACTS.
Sam was one of a class inConneclicul,
who, figuratively speaking, sowed the wind
and reaped the whirlwmd through all their
age and generation. The Article in plain
English, which he cultivated, was New Eng
land Rum. The fruits of the crop were vis
ible all around him. Ho lived, or rather hp
bad a children hough!
to live, in ihe Greenwich woods. The near
est rum-hole was at Coscob landing, and there
was where Sam did most of bis work. He
was a wood cutter, and every night be used
in “ wood up” lor the perilous three miles’
voyage through the lanes and forests to his
home. In (he lanes, navigation was easy.—
It was difficult to get out of Ihe channel while
he had a stone wall upon each side; but when
ho came forth where there was more sea-room,
half-seas over, he was hard put to see his
way ; and, instead of keeping Ihe channel,
he went kersouse into' the channel of the
creek.
ills homo was just such a home as just
such characters always have. A little, black,
low wood house, with the door—only it was
off the hinges—and one glass window—only
the glass was almost all gone, and its place
supplied with old hats and breeches past hope,
and the remnants of some female appar-
Sam had a wife—she was country-born,
and tier father loved rum as well as her hus
band Before marriage, she was one of sev
cn as pretty girls as ever had a rum-drinking
father, and pious Christian mother—no un
common parentage. She is faded now,—
Five children, five and twenty knock-down
arguments, clinched by as many kicks, to
convince her that this was a free country,
where none but tyrants make a law against
mo right of freemen, freely to sell rum, had
worn upon her beauty, and she is not so
handsome now : though lately, since bread
has grown tnoro plenty and rum less, her
looks are improving.
Of course Spm was one of the loudest vo
ters against the Connecticut law of prohibi
tion. He even went su far as to declare he
would leave the State if the Legislature pas
sed “ that cursed Maine Law,” Yea, he
would give up all the comforts of home, and
nun his native land if the people become <"ran.
tic enough to pass such an act of tyranny
and oppression toward poor men. An act to
prevent them from having anything to give
the strength to perform their hard labor, or
comfort them in such affliction as he had met
with, when his wife left his bed and board,
because the latter was board without broad.
Sam-predicted the certain decay of trade
and commerce around the .port of Coscob,
uu; he determined not to live to see it. He
would leave the State—that ho would. So
ne did but it was only to go over to Rye, to
cel his jug filled.
Sam heard the Temperance law had passed,
bu: he did not know the provisions—he learn
ed them afterward. He wailed for the first
o' August, not with fear, but with full confi
dence-that “ they”—that is a very compre
bcnsive word—“ (hey would never dare to
enforce such a law ns that—why everybody
was opposed to it, and did they think we
were going to do without anything to drink 1”
But afier the first of August Sam found
himself hard-up for something wherewith to
pet down. His throat was_ open, but “ the
grocery” was shut up. So he went over to
glorious free Slate of New York. Something
to drink he must have. Why, he could not
live without it—never had lived without it—
never would live without it. To pass such a
law as that was murderous. It would kill
anybody as much accustomed to it as him
self, to have his grog at once stopped off.—
Do without a drop of rum 1 never 1 Ho was
100 independent for that, he was a nafiveborn
Connecticut freeman. He had always drank
“ moderately,” and so had his father and his
wife’s father, and it would kill him, he knew
it would, unless be could “ taper off by de
grees.”
The first degree that ho took was to cross
the line of New York, where he laid in a
store of the one thing needfull. It was not
needful that he should lay in sp much that he
laid down by the roadside to sleep, the sleep
of peace, rum and independence, and dream
away the fact that his wife and children had
not had a mouthful to eat for a week but milk
and potatoes, and the latter small and few in
the bill.
Sam was waked out of his nap by the con
stable, who gave him such a kick as Sam
had often given his poor broken-down wife as
lie said:
“ Come, Sam, get up, you are wanted !”
Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up, gazed at
the man in authority, and simmered forth :
" Well, horse, what d’ye want? I havn’l
done nothing!”
“ Yes, you have, you have got drunk, and
you can’t tell where you got your liquor.”
Why, I didn’t get it in this, State, old fel
low ; I’vo, been to New York.’ Your darned
Maine Law don’t extend over there, 1 guess I"
“ No, but when men go there and get drunk,
they must stay there and, got sober.' You
have crossed the line, Sam, and now we are
going to give you a sort of Neptune shave,—
Why, hallo! what’s all this—a jug? Yes,
and some of the contraband. So come along.
’Squire Smith will fix yo Ur
So did the ’Squire ; and as Sam could not
pay the fine of twenty dollars, and all his
For the Agitator.
m TT Tp
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COBB, STURadC|C ACO.', ' ,' 1
YOL 1.
rum-friends were hard up; and there was no
help for it, but Sam must go to jail. > Ho was
a martyr —the first victim in that town, of a
law of which he hat) said, “ they.will pevor
dare to execute.” Of course bis wifemourned
bis sad fate. It was orttel to take' a, 'man
away from his family for; nothing, Fornear.
ly three months; the" children- said,'* 1 dad’s
in jail.” The family, however, were no near-
Or starved than when he wasout andthe tOwn
found that the world Wagged on quite as well
without rum and Satn Farmer ns with them,
and'so they let the one stay in jail and the
other in New York./
Sam wrote piteouiTelterr at first that he
was dying. The debtor said that he was
only trying. The minister, though he gave
no spirit, minisleredjo spiritual necessi
ties. Sam didn’t -raf noitvlthstanding they,
fed him with mush, brown bread and gruel,
with plenty of water, upon which he puiged
and grew poor. Byiarjd hy a change came
over him, body Soul had been
dead a long time, and. body was pickled,
steeped, soaked in rum, until he was not mart,
but only a rum cask, and very foul, “ at that.”
But with physic and diet, the body, then the
soul came back, and Sam Farmer came out
of jail a new man; not only convicted that
“ they” would execute the Connecticut Liquor
Law, but that it is the best law ever enacted
hy a civilized people.
We met Sam (he other day, and we did not
know him a bit better than some folks knew
his namesake in Maasachuselts, where ho
made them a sort oil Slate visit, about elec
tion time. |
When we knew Sara Farmer,Tie was a
rumbloat—dirty, ragged, fetid, silly. When
we met him, we mot a respectable, clean-look
ing, well-dressed, sensible working-man.
How d’ye do I” said such a looking in
dividual to us. “ I am glad to see you. j
want to thank you from the bottom of my heart
for all you have said, wrote, and printed in
favor of tbe Maine Law.”
Sam saw we did not recognize him. He
understood his new character ; we did not.
In reply, wo said :
“Who is it?” Wa said it kindly, as
though we thought there was something of
humanity in the form before us. It was not
the despised form of a rum-soaked beast only
half human. '
The words went down into his heart ; and
the tears rolled down his cheeks as he an
swered :
“ I don’t wonder you don’t know mo. I
hardly know myself. I am not the same
creature that I was before they shut me up to
got sober.Whv-.Go.iLbless you t sir, I am—
that IS lam what was dnmkcn E 1
mer!”
We copy the following from the Bridgeport
Standard, The moral will suggest itself to
every reader: —
We heard a story the other day, perhaps
worth-repealing. Some lime ago, and before
the Maine Law came about, a merchant of
Litchfield county, well known in this vicinity,
came to the conclusion that the selling of
liquor was a bad business, and that he would
relinquish it. Happening down hero, how
ever, to buy-goods, he met with a prime ar
tide of rum, and thought he would try just
one more hogshead. He bought it and had it
placed in the same train in which he look
passage for home. On his way up, he fell
in conversation with a clergyman and others,
in regard to the great subject of temperance.
—Our friend felt moved to say that he be
lieved ardent spirits were a curse to the world.
For his part, he was afraid, and ha was re
solved to discontinue the sale. The people
o( his town were of his opinion, &c. Ho
was going on with a first rate temperance dis
course, when an untoward accident occur
red, It seems that the railroad men, in stow
ing away the hogshead in the freight car,
had placed a lot of scantling with it, and
somehow the head of the cask had been driv
en in, and the liquor, of course, was very
soon lying round loose. As the mischief
would have it, this was discovered just as our
friend was in the climax of his temperance
exhortation. .As he was going on in the most
animated strain, declaring that no liquor
ought ever to be sold, etc., the train suddenly;
came to a stop, the conductor opened the
door, and in the most abrupt manner called
out, Mr. G 1 Mr. G 1 your rum is
all spilled I Phaocy his pheelings. Here was
the rum gone—ever so many gallons—a cask
of good liquor knocked in the bead, and a
temperance lecture ditto. That, he says,
was the end of his liquor transactions, and
good luck to him I
A correspondent of the Cincinnati Timet,
from Burlington, Vi., relates the following:
1 am reminded—speaking of cheese —of a
little anecdote the stage driver told me yes
terday. We were passing an old farm house
with an untidy yard and dilapidated outbuild
ings, when he said:
“ A Boston man got off a pretty cute speech
to the owner of (hat place t'other day.”
“ What was it?" I asked.
“ Why, ho called at the house to buy a
cheese, but-when he come to look at tbo lot,
he concluded he didn't want ’em, they was
so full of “ skippers.” So ho made an ex
cuse and was going away, when the farmer
. said to him : > -
“ Look “here, Mister, how can T get my
cheese down to Boston the cheapest ?”
“ The gentleman looked at the stuff a mo
ment, and saw the maggots squirming, and
said: *
" Well, I don’t know; let ’em be a day or
(wo arid yeni can drive 'em right down!"
CuAßirr thinketh no evil.
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TIOGA 'COim TA., TIfITjSUAY MOHSIJ! (i, FKBBI ART 1, 1555.
A Tight Place.
Not Bad.
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■‘ # -TUB*’ AG^^TION O* TfiOCGHT TS Tllß BEOIBrNING 0> -
;', ’ "*: cl- ' ■
’ ■WIiMB tho'ildrirs girt'i grassy* <■ —r ■■
■-' Loaf-embowered nook, ; 1 .'.
TfaroJ j=Q>iccU QqUag^aMie, m -, i;j .^J
tyebrodc.,. jt ,. s . _ ,
Bright ihewavele't glanced beside i ;
'. :Brighletwaatlio;look .-
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; r , Washing'bytho brooks , , /' "
■■ : . Sweet thegpnga ofbirtls oroundhcr,;.
Songs of Nature's boot j .
. Sweeter bets to hint who foopd her . ,
'Washing by the bieok. "* n ‘ '
Heaven bleu her! Hearen watch her t
- Priqe may overlook,
Bui Tor graces may not match her,
Washing by the brook ! Peasant Baud,
SELECT MISCELLANY.
WELSH PREACHING.
At a meeting of ministers in Bristol, the
Rev. Mr. L. invited several of his brethren
to sup with him; and among the rest, was
the minister officiating at the Welsh chapel
there. He was an entire stranger to all the
company, and silently attentive to the gener
al-conversation of his brethren. The subject
in discussion was the different strain of preach
ing. When-several had given their opinion
they turned to the Welsh stranger and solic
ited his. He said he felt it his duty to com
ply with the request: “ Although,” contin
ued he, “ if I must give my opinion, I should
think that you have no good preaching!”
“ No!” exclaimed Mr. L.
“ No,” said the stranger, “that is, you
have no such preachers as we have in the
principality.”
“ 1 know,’ replied Mr. L., ‘ that you are
famous Cor jumping in Wales; but that is not
owing, I suppose, so much to the matter of
preaching, as to the enthusiasm of the char
acter,”
“ Indeed,’ said the stranger, ' you would
jump too, if you heard and. understood such
preaching,”
“ Why,’ said Mr. L., 1 do you not think I
could make them jump, if 1 were to preach
to them 1”
“You make them jump I’ exclaimed the,.
Welshman, ‘ you make them jump! A
Welshman would set firb to the world- while
you were lighting your -match !”
The whole company became njuch inter
ested in this new turn of the Subject, affd
unanimously requested the g6od man to giver
them a specimen of the style and tnanrier of
preaching in the principality.
“ Specimens,’ said he, * I cannot give you'.
If John Elias were here he would give you a
... ' «*■» -» *.-■ PUorfz? ir—-r»rpH»l
preacher!”
“ Well,” said the company, * give us
something that you have heard from him.”
“ O, no,’ said he, ‘ I cannot do justice to
it; besides,you do pot understand the Welsh
language.” .
“ No, not so as to follow the discourse.
“ Then,’ said he, ‘ it is impossible for you
to understand it, were I to give you a speci
men.” , .
“ But,’ said they, ‘ can you not pul it into
English I"
”0 no; your poor, meager language
would spoil it; it is not capable of expressing
those ideas which a Welshman can conceive.’
The interest of the company was now so
increased that nothing would satisfy but a
specimen ; while they promised to make ev
ery allowance for the language.
“ Well,’ said the Welshman, ‘ if you wiH
.have a piece, 1 will try ; bin I do not know
what to give you, I do not recollect the piece
of John Elias; he was our best preacher.
I must think a little—well, I recollect the
piece of Christmas Evans, Christmas Evans
is a good preacher, and 1 once heard him at
an association of ministers. He was preach
ing on the depravity of man by sin, and of
his recovery by the death of Christ. And
he said—“ Brethren, if I were to represent
to you in a figure, the condition of man as a
sinner, and his recovery by (he cross of
Christ, I should do it somewhat in this way.
Suppose a large grave-yard, surrounded by a
high wall, with only one entrance, which is
by a large iron gale that is fast bolted and
barred.
“ Within these walls are thousands and
tens of thousands of human beings of all ages
of all classes, by one epidemic disease, bend
ing to the grave which yawns to swallow
them up. This is the condition of man as a
sinner. And while man was in Ibis deplora
ble condition, Mercy, the darling attribute of
Deity came down and stood at the gale, look
ed at the scene, and weeping over it, exclaim
ed, “ O, that I might enter; I would relieve
thhir sorrow, I would save their souls.
“ While Mercy stood at tho gate weeping,
an embassy of angels, commissioned from
the Court of Heaven to - some other world,
paused at the sight, (Heaven forgave the
pause;) and seeing Mercy standing there, they
said, “ Mersy, Mercy canst thou not enter?
Canst thou look on the scene and not pity ?
Const thou pity and not relieve? Mercy.re
plied, ' I can seb, and,’ in tears she added,
‘ I can pity—but I cannot relieve,’ Why
canst thou not enter ? *o,’ said' Mercy,
1 Justice has barred the gale against me and
I cannot, I must not unbar ft.* At this mo
ment Justice himself appeared, as if to watch
the gale. The angels inquired of him why
he would not let Mercy enter. Justice re
plied, ’My law is broken, and it must be'
honored. Die they, or,Juslicq must.’ . ,
At this moment (here appeared among' the
.angels a- form like unto tho Son of 'God;
who,' addressing himself to Justice, said—
-1 What ara lhy demands.?’ Justicd fepliedj
• My terms are stern and rigid: I must have
sickness for their health; I must have
miny for their honor, death for .their hfe;
without (he shedding of blood there is no re
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mUsiori. ‘justice,’ said the Son of,God,
‘ i .accept thy.terms ;i.oit tne.to ilue-wrorig.
XiCt Mercy enter.’-. -‘When,’ said' Justice,-
,‘wilt.lhou perform this promise I’ -' 1 Ptm'r
thousand years hence—onthe hill of Calvin
ry .without the gates of Jerusalem*'! Wilf peN
fornaitin my own -person.’‘
“ The deed was prepared and signed in'the
preserve of Ihe angels of-Ootf. was
satisfied; and Mercy enteted, predchlngsaU
valtoif in the name pi/Jesus. The deed was
committed to the patriarchs ; by them 16 ijiei
king ofi larael and the'prophets; by them. it
wak preserved till Daniel’s seventy "weeks
were awomplikhed. Then, at the appointed
time, Justice appeared on the hill of Calvary
and Mercy presented to him the, important
Where,’ said JusticeJMyhe Son of
God?’ - 'Behold him,’ said Mercy, ‘at the
bottom of the hill bearing his own cross.’
She then departed and stood aloof.
“ At tho hour of trial Jesus ascended the
hill, while, in his train, followed bis weeping
church. Justice immediately presented to
him ths deed, saying : “ This is the .day
when the bond is to be executed.’ When he
received it, did he tear it in pieces and give
it to tho winds of Heaven 1 O, no, be nailed
it to the cross, exclaiming, ‘ It is Finisiikd!’
Justice called down holy .fire to consume the
sacrifice. Holy fire descended j it swallowed
up his humanity, but when it touched his di
vinity it expired. And (hero was darkness
over the whole heavens, but‘glory to God
in the highest, on earth, peace and good will
to men.”
‘This,’ said the Welshman, 1 is but o spec
imen of Christmas Evans.”
A Run upon au Indiana Bank.
“ Can you give me specie lor this ?”
“ No.”
“ Sight or short time eastern exchanges 7”
«' No.”
“ What can you give me?”
“ Nothing.”
« Why V ?
“ You are making a run on our institution.
This species of presentation we are bound to
resist. You are trying to break us, sir—to
make us stop payment, sir; you can’t do it
sir.” . '
“ But havn’t you stopped payment when
.you refuse to redeem ?”
h No, sir. Our’s is a stock institution.—
There’s your ultimate security, sir, deposited
with the auditor. We can’t break, sir; we
can’t slop payment. Look at the law I
Look at Mr. John P. Dunn’s circular!”
“ But have you no specie on hand J”
yyoi -**T — - -- - - • • , -
obliges us to keep twelve-and a half
per cent of specie on hand. If we pay out
every time one of you fellows calls, how can
we keep it on hand 1” ;*
“ Then I shall proceed to have the note
protested.” .
“Very well,.sir. .You will find a notary
public at Indianapolis, provided he is at home,
which is only about one hundred and forty
miles from here. But, sir, you had better go
home, and rely upon your ultimate security.
We can’t pay specie—find it won’t do; but
you are ultimately secure; you can’t Irfose
your money, though you never gel it. Re
member that.”
We will suppose our gentleman so unrea
sonable as not to be satisfied with the repre
sentation of the paying teller, or the great
spirit of-ultimate security. He finds his way
to Indianapolis, makes protest in duo form,
and, note in hand proceeds to the Hon. J. P.
Dexir, auditor of State, when -another dia
logue ensues :
“ Sir, I have a note of the Squash Bank,
at Lost Prarie, with certificate of protest,
which I want to deposit in your hands, with
a request that you make collection as speed
ily as possible.
“ Certainly, sir.”
“ How long before I can expect to realize
upon the ultimate securities of the institution ?
ThirtV days, is it not ?"
“ Not quite as soon os that, -jar, I sha.il
forthwith give notice to the officers of the
Squash Bank, if they pay no attention (oil,
I shall offer its securities in my hands for
sale ; but in discharging my duly to all the
creditors of.the institution, 1 shall not pro
ceed to offer any of its assets in this market
until after at least sixty days’ notice in' New
York, London and Paris, so as to insure .the
largest and best prices for the securities; and
not then, if, in my opinion, the ultimate in
terests of all concerned will be promoted by
a further extension 1 Hem I”
“ But, my dear sir, how long will it be be
fore 1 shall be able to realize upon my de
mand 1”
“Can’t say, sir-; stocks are down just
now—may rise in a year or two —depends
somewhat ppon the fate of the witr with Eu
rope. But never fear, Jrour ultimate security
is undoubted.' If you khou|d,'nev%r get it,
you will never ' loose it, remember that.—
Rely upon, your . ultimate .security, and you
are safe.”
“ Ultimate security I I want my mon
ey.”
“Well, sir, if that’s your gome, when you
gel it, please give us the information.”
Childhood, —Childhood.is merely n ques
tion of time. If I had come’ into the world
twenty years before my father, I,might pos
sibly have been his/al.har,, • ~
'Ah, indeed. And, pccordijig fo-this mode
of arguing, you had come into existence
twenty that, ypu might, have
been’ your jown greatgrandfather. r ,.,
, “Do yoU thipk'you are fit to die ?” said a
sthp-mother te hefnegrected child,' “ I don’t
know,” said the little girl,taking hold,olf her
dirty dress', and' inspecting it, "I guess so
—if 1 ain’t 100 dirty,”
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PUBLISHERS
Whatcballwo Cat?
r With one.ofrjhe hardest uwintefs for the
poor that has stared them'in the face for
many years, qridnqw with this cold month of
January upog them in all .its; rigor, it be
hooves then) to look about for somethiug less
costly than roast beef and plum pudding for
Ihetwo dollars a day,'that some of them
seemed t 6 think would endure forever, has
been 1 cot off suddenly. Jl is csfimated that
10,000 persons have been thrown but of em
ployment, sinceaho cold weather commenced
by. that causealone. An equal number have
been thrown out by failures and general slag
nation of business. It is to be ■a . winter .of
suffering to those who are dependent upon the
labor of their hands fey daily bread for them-
Selves and families. Whatever will (end,not
to cheapen food, for (hat we cannot hope for,
but hi'show them what to eat, less expensive
than I heir accustomed diet, should be at once
adopted. Foir this purpose we offer a few
suggestions;
Fresh moat of all kinds, at the prices at
which butchers retail it, is not economical
food. Meats will average over a shilling a
pound. Salted m&tts are cheaper than fresh
in economizing food, meat should never be
fried or boiled. If you would get the most
substance out of fresh meal, make it into
soup, or stow or pot pie. In making soup,
soak your meatsome hours in cold water, and
boil it in the same. Thicken with beans
peas, rice, barley, hominy, or broken bread.
The best meat is the most economical for
soup, . Do not buy bodes.
If you boil meat to eat, never put in cold
waler. Let it be boiling when you pul the
meal in the pot. Do not buy fresh meat a
pound ortwo at a time. Buy a quarter or
half a sheep. You got it at half price.—
Beef or pork by the' quarter is a quarter
cheaper.
Do not buy your bread ready' bajted. It
is sixpence a pound. Dry flour is the same.’
Home-made bread is far more nutritious.—
Make use of corn meal, oat meal, (prabam
floor, hominy, and cracked wheat for bread,
in preference to fine wheat flour, both for
health and economy.
Hominy we have before given our opinion
upon. It is an article-that no family, desi
rous of practicing economy, can do without.
It is a very cheap, healthy, nutricious load.
It costs only half the price per pound of flour
and contains-no moisture, while the best of
flour holds froth twelve to sixteen pounds of
water in a barrel.' Cracked wheat is excel
lent for sedentary persons. Thot and Gra
housed in preference, at the
more healthy and morebecause
dred pounds of Graham flour is worth as
much in a family as one hundred and thirty
three-pounds of superfine white flour. Corn
meal cOsls less than half the price of flour.
It is worth twice as much. It is not so econ
omical in summer, because it takes so much
fire to cook it. The first great error in corn
meal is in grinding it 100 much, and next ih
not cooking it enough. Corn meal mush
should boil two hours ; it is belter if-boiled
four, and not fit to eat if boiled less than ono
hour. Buckwheat flour should never be pur.
chased by a family who are obliged to econ
omize food. It is dear at any price. It must
be floated in dear butter, to be eaten, and
then it is not healthy. Oat meal is as good in
cakes as buckwheat, and fur more nutritious.
But it is most nutrlious, and is particularly
healthy for children, in the form of por
ridge.
The cheapest of food is while beans. They
are worth from 81 50 to 83 a bushel, and
retail for eight cents a quart. Prof, Liebig
has stated that pork and beans form a com
pound of substance peculiarly adapted to
furnish all that is necssary to support life,
and give bone, muscle and fat, in proper pro
portions’ to a man. This food will enable
one to perform more labor, at less cost, than
gny other substance, A quart of beans, 8
cents, half a pound of pork, 0 cents, Will
feed n large family tor a day, with good
strengthening food. And who (hat can raise
a reminiscence of good old times in New
England, but will remember that glorious old
fashioned dish called “ bean porridge 1”
Wo should call it bean soup now.- Four
quarts of beans and two pounds of corned
beef would give a good meal to fifty men—
one cent a meal. .
Woman not Inferior.
That woman was created in her secret and
sole organization subordinate to man, I shame
.not to admit, as I cannot for a moment ques
tion. This finds its prima facie evidence in
the nature of both, however humiliating it may
be to woman to confess it, or with however
much of lordliness or injustice it may inspire
the heart of man .—Correspondent of Boston
Post. ,
■ No, sir. Woman was not created subor
dinate to man, nor is she inferior to him.—
Her,strength is a different strength from that
of the other sex, but it is not less. If, in
some particulars she is the weaker, in other
particulars she is the stronger ; and those in
which she is stronger are more impor(ant
and more noble than those in which she is
weaker.
A woman cannot lift as many pounds av
oirdupois, nor strike as hard a blow as man.
But, in her.own'sphere,'she can'work as
hard, ns long, as loyally, as efficiently, as .a
man can in his. Her share of the world’s
existence as man’s share. She can endure,
anguish than .manj' antf.’&ojjf knows,
she has more anguisli to. endure, i-She can
die in the most,'appalling ctrcumslapces, with,
a p]acld dignity which man can seldom
surpass.. ;If she reasons loss,
she precoives moyc, and more truly thin
man. l If she declaims with less oiled in
public assemblies than man—o, sho has
overheard eloquence equal to that wiilwvhich
h'?. mother; yarned,, laught.ppd.inspjredhimf
i.hs- bpaming eyps, tha ,lrposfigute4 ~eoiinie.
Rancp, (He pen«tst!ng4QO9o£?!!§
bls.higbßsl bps
ever i
. Subordinate 1 -Never! Woman occupies,
and.righifiillyocoupieein' every enlightened
coramuouyVTit*; }
household’s queen, not
She ia the queen of hearts. .Shqjslheraqtlia
erofibo race.; > •»■■.
Woman; owes her, preeminence;, dif social
rank, not,to,man’s magnanimity. Jt ; 9 hot
because sheds the weaker. aex,.ihal men as,
sigls.her.tho best -and the choice of every
thing j, for, she is not the weaken sox, Jt is
because .Woman man. Jl is.
because every .woman, whetbef;#heihfl,mothii
er on not, belongs totho Order, of Mothers ?
and, sharing in.that- high. digoity,,eyecy son
owes her reverence. ,TJio mol her is In the
very nature of things, the social superiorof
the son.“i, A husband, 100, .when the raptures
of .his early Idve has, subsided,’ireybres bis
wife, not so much because, she is his wife v as
because she jia the mother, of Ibeir-.childretfc,*
VViih regard to the vexed , question.of ;wo*
mai#B voting—it will bo lime to consider .that
when the accursed alliance between ' politic!
and rum Is dissolved, when, persons are non*,
inaled fojr office .for. whom man- need f not ns
ashamed to.invite woman’s voter—when ; the
polls become-clean enough for womans'deli,
cate foot to tread—when political measures
will bear the scrutiny cf ’woman's • ■teltwtiofr,
At present, woman may well disdain to min,
gle in the vulgar brawl for the spoils."of glo»
'rious victory. —Life Illustrated.
>A MHT
f• "t .\i
* w <-
t, I
m.M.
The publication of“ Roth Hall” has altrri*
olated public curiosity with regard to the
name arid character of fts -authoress, and
given occasion for a number of articles pur* 1
porting to describe her pcrsop.ornarrale her
history. Some of contain
statements which we know to be groundless,
and even calumnious; and. no one of them,
that we have seen, is calculated to give iho
public a'correct idea of her character. We
embrace the opportunity to tell our renders
a great deal more than they ought to belieVO,
Fanny Fern is the most retiring and un
obtrusive of human beings. More than any
other celebrity we have ever known, she
shrinks from personal display and public ob
servation. During her residence in this city
she has lived in the most perfect privacy,
never going to 'parlies or soirees, never giv
ing such herself, refusing to enlarge her cir
cle of friends, and finding full employment,
as well as satisfaction in her domestic and
literary duties. She has probably received
more invitations to private and public assem
blies, and her acquaintance has been moro
frequently sought by distinguished persons,
during the period of her Residence here, than
any other individual. To all solicitations of
this .kind she returns a mild but decided negj
alive. In the hotels at which she has resided,
no one, neither landlord nor guest, has ever
known her as Fanny Fern, Indeed, she has
an abhorrence of' personal publicity,' and
cannot be persuaded to sacrifice any part of
the comfort of an absolute incog. We can
not but approve her'resolution.
Fanny Fern is a sincerely religious wo-*
nation, and a regular attendant at church’.—''
We never knew any one who believed in a
belief more strongly than she in hers, or who
was more deeply grieved when that belief was
with disrespect; No one stands less
in awe’of conventionalities —no one is more
stret on a point of honor and principle tfmn \
she. She is a perspn who is able to do all
that she is convinced she ought, and to re-
Train from doing all that she is sure she ought
not. In strength of purpose, we know not
her equal among women.
The word which best describes Fanny
Fern is the word Lady. All her ways and
tastes are feminine and refined. Everything
she wears, every article of furniture in hrir
rooms, all the details of her table, must be
clean, elegant, tasteful. Her 'attire, which is
generally simple and inexpensive, is always,
exquisitely nice and becoming. In the storm- ,
icst days, when no visitor could be expected, ‘
site is as carefully dressed and adorned as
though she was going to court. We say, as
carefully, though in- fact, she has a quick.,
instinct for the becoming, and makes herself'
attractive -without bqstowing much time or
thought upon the matter. Her voice isr s/p
-gularly musical; her manner varies with
her humor, but is always that of a lady.-
One who knows Fanny Fern has an idea
what kind of women-thpy must have been
for whom khighls-erranl did battle in the raid-
die ages.
With all her strength Fanny Fern is ex
tremely sensitive. She can enjoy more, suf
fer more, love more, hale more, admire more
and detest more, that! any one whom we '■
have known. With-all her gentleness'of
manner, there is not a drop of milk and wat
er in her veins. She believes in having jus
lice done. Seventy limes and seven sho
could forgive a repentnhl brother } but not
once, unless he repented. .
Fanny Fern writes rapidly, in a large, bold
hand ; but she sends no article away without
very careful revision ; and her manuscript is
puzzling- to primers from- its numberless
erasures and insertions. She writes from
her heart and her eyes; shabfts little aptitude
or taste for abstract thought. She never talks
of her writings, and cares little for criticism,
however severe. She is no more capable of
writing an intentional double entendre; than
the' gross-minded men who have accused her
of doing so are capable of appreciating the
worth'of pure womanhood. _ ■
Such ore some of our impressions of this
celebrated authoress. Wo have read lately
that she smokes, rouges flirts, dresses-in mil
linery, wears-Wellington boots,snuffs candles
at ten paces; 1 perform* °n the stage, drives,
tandem, and cuts an traprecedented da?h gen
erally, to the dashypstonishraent of Broad
way. Thoseiwho ore familiar wi;h the writs
ihgs of Fanny Fern.do not need to be assured
that each and till of these allegations.are ulv
(erly- and ludicroUaly /alse.- fSbe-is, no such
person. , The people who have, asserted, that
she is, are either puppies whomsha:has cut,
dr women .whom, ishe; has cut cur. Fanny
Pern, it is true, has a superb figure a
striking presence.:- But all,(her charmsiaro
her own,; to nature, unassisted,she owes all
1
FannyFcrn.