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BY K. BUCIIEJt SAYOOPE.
CLEAltF IEL1), ; WEJ)iS"ES DAY, XO Y. 2 i , 1 85
VOL.- 2.-X0. iO.-TOTAL, 68.
KOON. .
BT BBTAXT.
'Tit noon. At noon toe Hebrew bowed the knee
And worshiped, while the husdandman withdrew
From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man
Grew fan it. and tamed aside by bubbling fount,
Or rested in the ibado'w of the palm.
I, too. amid the orerflow of daj, -f . . ;
Behold the power which wields and cherishes
The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock
That overlooks tho Hudson's westers marge. .
X gaze': upon the long army of groves, .--The
piles and gulfs of verd ure drinking in
The grateful heats- They love th e fircy sun; sprays
Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their
Minb as be looks upon them. Inlhemidit,
The swelling river into his green gulfs.
Unshadowed are 'by passing sails above,
Takes the' redundant glory and enjoys
Toe rainier in his cliiiiv bed. Coy flowers.
That would Pot open in the early light, pool,
Push back their plaited sheath. The rivulet's
That d&rily quivered all the morning long" '
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun,
And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots aain,
The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within
Bun the brown water-beetles to and fro,
"A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour, .
Reigns o'er the field s; the laborer sit within
His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,
Unyoked, to bite the hcrbaye, ano his dog
Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.
3ow the gray marmot, with uplifted paws,
Somore sits listening by his den, but steals
Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,
And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while
Ji. eeaselnss mariner froru tho populous town
Swells o'er these solitudes ; a mingled sound
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash
Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang, ,
And creak of engines lifting pondrous bulks.
And calls and cries, and tread of eagor feet,
Innumerable, hurryin; to and fro.
Sioou, in that mighty mart of nations, brings
Je pause to toil and cfire; with early day
Bgan the tumult, and shall only cease
When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds
Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.
Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain
Ad luxury possess the hearts of men,
"'hut is it with the noon of human life.
We iii our fervid manhood, in our strength
Of reason, we. wiih hurry, noise and care.
Plan, toil and strive, and pause not to refresh .
Ucr spirits with the calm and beautiful
Of God's harmonious universe, that won
tnr youthful wouder; pause rot to inquire -Why
we are here, and what the reverence
Man owes to man, and what the mystery
That links us to the greater world, beside
'Whose borders we but hover for a Frtaee-
AN INCEDENT .
TN NORTHERN PRATICE.
Ill-clad poverty, numbed with cold, alone
Tvai abroad that winter's night, as the white
enow fleeced the frost-hardeued ground. But
BeTcrtnind, earth's cold bosom, the rich man's
heart doth warm him, and makes him merry,
however blows the wind, or rages the slorci.
Shiver, shiver on, beggar-poor! Te have no
hearts. Hungry stomach and chilly skin be
long to such as you. Kindly impulse nor
fccliug ars thine! Starvation and sense dull
ing cold alone belong to you !
Winter night ! hast thou no tongue to tell
how spiritless poverty covers beneath thy fro
ten breath, and vainly wraps its icj blood in
tattered rags 1 Canst thou not enter the sum
mered air of earth's favored children, and
teach a lesson to them ?
Through the crunching snow trudged a wea
ry boy, with alms-basket upon his shivering
arm. From his figure, he seemed not over ten
years old; but his face was so wan and sad that
it was difficult to tell how many year-blights
the beggar child had seeu. Summer clothes
were still upon htm; a tattered woolen comfort
or was the only winter article he wore.
Light yet enough remained with the snow's
reflection to discern every outline of chimney
and housetop, aga'mst the milky sky. A gy
carriage rolled noiselessly on, with a beautiful
girl well wrapped in fur and cape, whilst the
snow was dashed from the rapid wheels like a
hite dust. She saw the weary, thin-clad boy,
as he stopped, with his head bunt aside to the
flake-burdened blast, to gaai on the smoking
horses as they plunged through the fast-deepening
crust. The window was let down. She
threw a coin to the - boy it sank from her
warm hand deep into the snow! It might
have brought bread and a cheering faggot;
but the smitten child never got it : the snow
closed over it, whilst the blast blew keener.
Trudge, trudge on, weary boy ; life is a God.
lesson! :: ...
Fife and lamplight gleamed through window
" pane and wide-open door, as the jjay girl leap
ed from the carriage step health glowed as
Warraly from her bright cheek. The snow
melted as it fell on her up-turned face : on the
beggar boy it would have lain as upon a
corpse life blood had ceased ' to warm it.
Alas! for the beggar-poor 1 :
. From lowly cot to palace-house, the snow
17 unbroken not a sound broke on the night;
the Tery watch-dogs were hid in some place
secure from cold.' The wind alone was abroad,
howling its wintry dirge through leaf-strippwd
tree and hedge. Still the snow fell and drift
ed in ridge-like heaps landmark and road-cut
were all gone. None could tell where poor
man's lot or rich man's grounds began or end
ed ; like n the grave, their claims were one.
. The beggar-boy toiled on through drift and
dark ere he returned, more weary as the night
gathered on; Thus is it ever with the humble
rr; their lead ligbtent not, the' lift lenT
No light, nor warming hearth rthings that
make house a home were .there to.- welcome
the wandering boy.. lie placed his basket up
on a bench. A wick still struggled to light
the wretched apartmenT," 'as it flickered in the
deep socket. An old woman lay.aslecp in the
corner, covered with rug and rags.. .The; boy
approached,' and touched her face wfthhls cold
fingers they were colder than the blood of
starved age I Their chill aroused her. An
other light was placed in the socket, and a few
dried leaves with shavings, were put beneath
some rotten and water-soaked bark, to warm
the. frozen fragments that unwilling clarity
had given ; and thus wrintled age and wasted
youth-life broke fast. '
The clock had just struck two, as I was sum
moned to the house of Mrs..T- . ;Tbe same
carriage that in the evening had borne the
beautful girl,, awaited at my door, with its im
patient horses snortinggainst the frosted air.
In a few minutes, I entered the house. Mrs.
T : met me in the hall; her face was deadly
pale and her manner much excited. Herat
times singular nervousness had struck me, at
my former visits, whenever her daughter ail
ed. She now informed me that her darling
Emily was very ill with high fever.
The young girl lay with her head turned
aside upon the pillow, her golden brown hair
scattered in wild profusion upon its white cov
er, whilst the nurse was gently moistening the
palm of her out-stretched hand. The pulse
was beating wildly at the wrist and temples,
which were scorching hot ; fever heat glowed
from her lustrous eyes. As I kept my ' finger
on the pulse, and watched the expression of
my young patient's countenance, something
seemed to whisper it was not from any regu
lar reasoning from the symptoms that mind
had much to do In this over-action ot matter.
Whilst tho nurse held the candle to her face,
the traces of dried tears shone on her suffused
cheek. "Ileart-ache surely is here," I said
to myself.
The mother watched my countenance with a
painful solicitude. A faint harshness of ex
pression gave a certain rigidity to her fea
tures, which were still beatiful. There was
something in tho whole appearance of my pa
tient that excited my curiosity in the case.
Some eight or ten hours had only passed since
she had thrown the snow-claimed alms to the
beggar-boy, and now fever was running riot
through every artery in her body.
Silently seating myself at the bedside, after
administering a cooling draught, I watched for
the changes that might ensue.
The snow continued to fall, and was driven
clinking against the double window casements.
A comtortable fire burned on the hearth, cast
ing long shadows on the floor and walls. The
young girl dozed, but now and then started
from her short fever sleep with ecs wildly
open. Once or twicn a deep sob escaped her
lips, and a few words, unintelligible to the ear,
were uttered. After a time, she blnmbcred
most calmly. I placed my finger gently on
ber wrist; the pulse had lost much of its in
creased strength' and frequency.' I was now
satisfied that this sudden incursion of fever
originated from some violent mental cause.
Her mother sat near the fire, its blaze light
ing up every feature of her once beautiful f.icc,
which still remained very pale. In all my in
tercourse with Mrs. T , I had never had so
prolonged an opportunity of examining in
detail the expression of her countenance.
The longer I gazed on her tho more satisfied
I became that she had not passed through life
without a history. '.
A lew vague rumors had floated around rcl
tive to her history: that a strange desertion of
her husband had taken place, aud that he was
afterwards found drowned in a river near his
house, and that by his death Mrs. T had
become possessed of . ai, immense estate.
These talcs, however, had soon subsided, and
as her means were large and her charities am
ple, the gossips of the town quietly dropped
the past and speculated on the future, as all
respectable gossips should do. '
The longer I scanned her features, which at
times became almost fierce, and varied with
the thoughts that seemed crowding her mem
ory, the more I was satisfied that this weman,
generally so stately and self-possessed, had
passed a stormy life at some period when her
passions were under less restraint than now.
The voice of the fevered girl' diverted her
thoughts: a few words" were murmured, aud
then , the lips pressed tremblingly together,
and a tear flowed and ran off her check. Sud
denly starting up In the bedi and threading
her curling hair with her slender fingers, she
exclaimed, in a wild, delirious tone: ;
"It cannot be true. , Oh, mother tell me,
mother!" . . ,
. Mrs. T fairly leaped to the bedside, and
placing her hand on her daughter's mouth,
exclaimed, with affrighted gesture: '
"What is it? What do you mean? My God
doctor, she raves.'? - . : :
The young girl fell back on her pillows.
The mother stood trembling and pale by 1 the
bed, a nameless terror depicted on every fea
ture. Turning to me, in a quick, restless
voice, she bade me give her a quieting draught
-anything that wpuld keep her from raving."
The -room was not more than comfortably
warm, yet the perspiration stood upon the ex
tired mother's forthod like a lhfcJr dew,
1 1 "Conscience," I thought to myself, "must lie
here.
: In tin course'ef an hour, the sufferer slum
bered heavily;1 her breathing was hurried and
oppressed; the fever heat had' increased,', and
her moanings were more constant.
Day was just breaking as I left my young
patient to return home.' The snow was' still
falling. The tracts of whcels made during
the night, wero nearly . e'raced. , As I looked
out of the carriage window, Ii saw a small boy
struggling knee-deep, in the unbroken snow.
It was the poor beggar-child, thin-clad, as of
yesterday, with his pale cheek as white as the
snow he Oiled through. ' I called to the coach
man to stop, as we Wfre passiug the child.
"Where are you going,". I exclaimea, "in this
coll winter morning, my poor boy ?" "
He raised his large, dark eyes to my face;
my heart grieved at their , look of u,tter hope
lessness, as he simply nnswercdy "To beg for
myself and old grandma." " i ' "
"Are you not vcry.cold in those thin clothes?"
I asked. His little teeth chattered as he. an
swered, "I am very eold, sir.", t .
The horses, impatient at resting, were plun
ging violently against the traees, and the
coachman asked if he had not better drive on.
I gave the boy a few silver coins that were in
my pocket, and the carriage passed by." I
never s:iw that boy but once again. " His look
haunts me to this day. As I drove on, mem
ory was busy tracing where I had ever seen
features like his. The dark hair that laid in
uncombed curls upon his forehead, and clus
tered warmly about his neck, as though in
protection against tho bitter cold; his largo
black eyes, with their long lashes; the chisel
led outline of his nose and mouth; these all
struck me. that somewhere I had seen a face
that strikingly resembled his. Foor boy!
beauty was his only possession!
At breakfast, a letter was handed me which
summoned me immediately to see one of my
children who lay ill at a di5tant town. Before
leaving, I wrote a hurried note to Mrs. T ,
stating the cause of my sudden departure, de
siring that she would call in, during ray ab
sence, another physician. The young girl's
fate, and the beggar-boy's sad face, were al-J
most forgotten, during the journey, in my
own cares.
On the sixth day after, I again found my-j
self s.t home. My first thought was for my
poor Emily.' I dreaded to ask there was
something whispering at my heart that all
was not well. . ;
My suspense was not long: a messenger had
just left, stating that the dear girl was fast
failing, and that her physicians had pronoun
ced her laboring uader typhus fever, My God!
how my heart sank as the words fell on my
c:tr. I had dreaded this mistake as I left.
Alas! how many have fallen by the iiame of a
disease, and not by the disoase itself ! When
will medical men learn to cast aside the shack
les, tastencd in' ignorance, and which have so
long clog-id their progress? Thank God,
the time is not far distant when the wretched
nosological works of the superanuati.d will
have ceased to be read, and the dust of neglect
consign them to a merited grave. .Read these
tomes, ponderous in error, and one would be
led to believe that disease consisted of an ex
cess cf vitality !
Alter a hurried roeal, I drove rapidly to
Mrs. T 's. The weather had again turned
intensely cold; the icy road cracked beneath
my horse's feet. The only green thing show
ing was whero hero and there the wind had
blown the snow-c.ips from the stuntad cedar
tops. Earth looked arrayed for the grave.
The house-door was quietly opened by a
servant; in another minute I stood in Emily's
chamber. The mautel was crowded with nu
merous vials; the close atmosphere of the room
sickened me- Daylight just sufficient to dis
cern objects was admitted through a partly
opened blind. My step was so light that no
one perceived my entrance. By the bed-side,
with her bead bowed down over one of her
daughter's pale hands, which she held in both
her own, sat the wretched mother. It seemed
to me as though ten years had passed over hej
faded and care-worn countenance; her hair had
hecome gray ! I could not move my heart
stood still. On the young girl's temples, dark,
round, blue marks with crossed gashes, show
ed that the fatal cups had been at their work;
the left arm, exposed by the withdrawn sleeve
of her night dress, was bandaged ct the elbow
blood also had been taken from the arm!
Oh, God! how my heart ached. . The doom of
the sweet sufferer had been thus surely sealed.
Fatal error ! The excitement of the brain had
been mistaken ior injiamation. '
I approached the bed; for the first time the
desolate mother heard my step, and turning
quickly she sprang from the chair, and placing
her hands on my shoulders she bowed her
head on my chest. She sobbed wildly, as
though her heart would break -
"Look, look, doctor,' would you have known
her ? Oh God ! she is leaving .me save her,
save herl";
She sank fainting on the floor. We gently
raised her, and bore her to her own chamber.
In a few minutes I returned to my patient's
room. She turned her head languidly towards
me, while her right hand moved as if to take
mine. , How dry the palm was ! Her color
had faled away; the round moulded cheeks
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were sunken; her eyes seemed double thrir
natural sieer and of a deeper color; the mouth
was seemingly swolldn, whilst the lips parted
sluggishly fVom the dark crust-covered teeth.'
With great . effort she 'said:; "Oh! I am glad
you have come back to me do try to save
me!" 1 ; " ' ? ' . v -j: '.-:
, .Poor. cliild! her dark tongue was so thick
and dry that her words were scarcely intelligi
ble. " I felt her pulses it was very rapid," and
the blood felt thin like water inthe easily-com-pressad
vein. Death .was at its work in the
young and innocent! ; -s
Sending the nurse from the room, I quickly
took the young girl's hand within my own.
"Emily,'? I said to her, ,"do you really wish
tj3ve?": "Tes, yes," sho ; distinctly, ruur-
mere.fi "J am very ronn too young to die!"
"Then, dear child, tell me, what has' shocked
your nervous system so terribly tell me.!' , i ,
With a strength that startled me, she search
ed under the mattress side, and placed a small
note in my hand. It was slightly " discolored,
as though by time. I opened it; the date was
over twelve years back. It ran
"When you receive this, Mira, my, c:irecr
will have ended. By my death you will inher
it all. Let my unborn child have its just legal
claim. Your child 'Emily,' take to your
home, as though it were an adopted orphan.
Let not her youth bo . blighted by the knowl
edge of her unblest birth. 1 forgive you.
Adieu for ever. IT. T."
My God! the doomed child was illegitimate!
I stooped down and kissed the sufferer's fore
head, and promised I would be a father to her.
"Come," I whispered, "cheer up; your moth
er, if she has sinned, has suffered much for
your sake forgive her."
"I do forgive her," she answered; "but
could I fcrgcl myself, unblessed as I am? But
I must live to know the truth. Oh where is
the right owner of all this wealth? My mem
ory returns now- indistinctly from my early
days; all seems in a cloud; but I remember a
small cottage in a deep wood, where my moth
er often came to see rue, and a tall woman
who took care of me; then a gay carriage took
me to a'large house; but I never went back to
the wood again. There mother left me a long
lime, and when she came back Oh, doctor, I
can speak no more; do give mo something to
strengthen me? and J will yet try to live !" ; ; :
A cordial was administered by ni own
handstand in a short time sleep came over
her. .Night again closed in; the wind had
gone down as the sun set. Another night of
cold was ushered in. Woe to thepoor! ; Woe
to the hungry and tireless !
The wretched mother still retained her room.
By night-watch, and fast, and heart-corroding
memories, her energies had been suddenly
snapped. Pride andpassion.so long her friends,
had now deserted her' leaving every heart
agony deeply line-graven on her faded coun
tenance.' In all my life I had never aecn such
a wreck ! The proud look of self-possession
was gone, suppliant dejection filling every fea
ture ; the haughty carriage bowed beneath a
weight, as though long years had robbed tho
muscles of their strength and pliant mould.
Her voice, but of late so charged with repress
ed impulse, was now low, and every word
spoken with a melancholy slowness, that but
too often becomes the forerenner of some
great life-change. .
As I entered late in the evening, I found her
sitting in an easy -chair near the lire. A small
private secretaire had been brought from the
library to her chamber; its lid was down, and
as I seated myself she took from a package of
tied letters a sealed parcel and placed it in
my hand. .. ..
"Read this, docter, at your leisure. My
pilgrimage of time is near ended. You will
judge how great my sin, and how severo my
punishment has been,' . I. ask no forgiveness,
for (here -will bt none left to forgive me. But
charity of feeling I beg from you j fori would
not liko to die knowing that you would retain
a severity of thought against one who, .how
ever erring, had paid the forfeit by great suf
fering." " -
She spoke for some minutes longer, in the
same low, distinct voice. , Well I knew her
heart was nigh crushed! . I soon left her aud
sought her daughters chamber. How still ev
ery thing seemed! The very candle with its
long flame parted by th thickened wick-char,
seemed not to flicker as it burnt on ! I look
edatthe bed; the sweet girl lay with both
hands crossed upon her bosom, as though in
prayer. An orange blossom had dropped
from her grasp ad lay neglected by her side.
Her life-hand never touched it more. I pla
ced its stem gently back; in her Jjalm ; for
death had claimed her as his bride ?
A wild piercing shriek Bounded through the
bouse; the erring mother nowknew'that she
was alone in the world ! ,
Whilst the shrouding of the dead took place
I retired to my room in the house, and open-1
ed the sealed package. I briefly told its tale
of sin and sorrow. How from first love Emily
was the fruit; and how, unknown , to all, the
child had been secreted. That about three
years after the birth, she was married to Har
old T y whom she never loved ; and how,
by a singular accident, the knowledge of her
trespass was made known to him. That after
violently cursing her, he left her," and was
shortly after found drowned. That the letter
so fatal to ETnitvhad accidentlv dropoed "from
her secretaire,' and was-pickcdnp bv hrr, un
known tor the mother till f lie day before my
return, when she missed it. It then spoke of
the birth of a male chili after T s,' death
and that seized with an insane fury; she ha 1
resolved he should never ' inherit the father's
name and wealth ; and how, through the con
nivance of a nurse.; it was placed,-with a 'snrrr
of money, at a beggar's door, and a dead child
laid beside her in its stead. - That beforo sen
ding the infant away- she had its fathers ini
tials tatooed on its left arm. ' 'All trace of the
ehild had been lost; the beggar woman had
died, and another had taken it. - At length libf
heart had reproached her, but "search had bn
made in vain. ... . . .
As I read the tale 'of crime and repenter.ee,
memory traced out the features of the beggar-
boy, "as he stood shivering in' the deep snow ;
i - r.. ' ' ' ' T si. i i ..V:' ' i'
uei"iv ijc. x.itvc a bii'-iuei! iigiu, n ourst up
on file ; the features that' had .so ' tormenred
my memory tp recall were those of the un
happy mother. Quickly I walked to Mrs.
T s room ; she was not there. . 1 enter
ed Emily's; the mother was clasping her
daughter's shrouded body, weeping as though
her heart would break. . Gently bearing her
back to her own chamber I4nformed her that
perhaps another child long lost might be re
stored to her. She listened as one bewilder
ed. I then informed her of my acventure with
the beggar-boy. - : -
It was hardly day-dawn as I 'entered the
carriage. My breath froze against the win
dow panes. After a few. minutes the horses
stopped before the wretched : snow-covered
hovel. Not a wor I answered the footman's
Knocks. I opened the carriage door and pla
ced my"hand on the latch ; the door opend ; it
was neither locked nor barred ; for no thief
would enter there. ! In the corner lay a bundle
of rugs with some straw apparently used for a
bed, but it was unoccupied. Near the fire
place, where naught but a little ashes and
well charred bark remained, half-reclining in
a large wooden chair, lay the beggar-boy.
His cap had fallen on the ground, and his dark
curling hair fe 11 clustering over his extendpd
nrmas his head rested on it. He had seemingly
fallen asleep the night before, for his thin
summer clothes were on, and hfs basket "yet
filled with t!ie fragments of broken feasts, re
mained untouched at his feer. I put my hand
upon his beautiful head: it was icy cold!
Quickly pushing backthe hairfrom his cheek,
the unmistakeable evidence of death met my
eye. He had apparently fallen asleep weep
ing, for a tear lay frozen between 'the long
lashes! . " "' '
We raised the sitffened corps of the ill-fated
youth, and tearing away the thin sleeve from
his left arm, the letters n. T were discovered
in light blue points. Deserted, famished, and
forzen, Death had claimed the lone boy before
he knew a mother's love.
- .'. Byron, -m ; ,
.'j. FROM MAC Al'LAT. , ;i
Byron's desciiptions, great as was there in
trinsic merit, derived their principal interest
from the feeling which always mingled with
them. . He was himself the beginning, the
middle, and the end of all his own poetry, the
hero, of every tale, the chief object in ev
ery landscape. Harold, Lara, Manfred, and a
crowd of other characters, were universally
considered merely loosa incognitos of By
ron; and there is every reason to believe that
he meant them to bo so considered., The won
ders of the outer world, ' the Tague, with the
mighty force of England ridiug op its bosom,
the tower of Cir.trca overhanging the- shaggy
forest of cork-trees and willows, the glaring
marble of Pentelicu the banks vf the Rhine,
the glaciers of Clarens, the sweet lake of Ice
man,' the dell of Egeriawith its summer-birds
and rustling lizards, the shapeless ruins of
Rome, overgrown' with- ivy and wall-flowers,
the stars, the sea. the mountains all were
mere accessaries the back-ground to "; one
dark and melancholy figure.' -
Never had any writer so vast a command of
the whole eloquence of scorn, misanthropy and
despair. That Marah was never dry. No art
could sweeten, no draughts- could exhaust, it
perennial waters of bitterness. Never-was
there such variety in monotony as that of By
ron: ' Front maniac laughter to piercing lam
entation, there was not a single note of human
anguish of which lie was not master.' Year af
ter year, and month aftermonth, he continued
to repeat that to be wretched is the destiny of
all; that to be eminently wretched, is the des
tiny of , the eminent; that all the desires by
which we are cursed lead alike to misery ; if
they are not gratified, to the misery of disap
pointment ; if they are gratified, to the misery
of satiety., nis principal heroes are men who
have arrived by different roads at the same
goal of despair, who are sick of life, who are
at war with society, who are supported in their
anguish only by an unconquerable pride, re
sembling that of Prometheus on the rock, or
of Satan in the burning marl; who can master
their agonies by the force of their will, and
who, to the last, , defy the whole power of
earth and heaven. He always described him
self as a man of the same kind with hi? favor
ite creations, as a man whose heart bad been
withered, ' whose capacity for happiness was
gone, and could not be restored bnt whose
invincible spirit" "dared- the - worst that conld
be-fall him here or hereafter
Protestantism nnd Catholicism, i
frox "jtACtaxrr
i -The geographical frontier between the tw
religions has continued to run altitost precise-t
ly wlfprc it ran at the close ot the. Thirty Years'":
War; nor has Protestantism given proofs of j
that "expansive power" which has been ascri
bed to it. , But the Protestant boasts, and most .
justly, that wealth, civilization, and. intelli-
gence, have increased far more on the north-
em than on the southern' side of tho boundary;
that countries so little favored. by nature .as
Scotland and Prussia, are now among the most
flourishing and. best governed portions of the:
world while the marble palaces of Genoa arj
deserted -while banditti infest tho., -beautiful'
shores of Campania while the fertile sea
cioast of the Pontifical State is abandoned to
Buffaloes and wild boars. It cannot bo doubt-1
erl, that since the sixteenth century? 'tie Pro-'
testsnt nations fair allowance being made for1
physical disadvantages have made decidedly '
greater progress -than'thoir neighbor!. r The'
progress made by those nations in which. Pro
tcau:im though - rot (finally successful, yet.
maintained a long struggle, and left pcrraa. .
ncut traces, hs generally beea. considerable
But wheu we come to the Catholic Land,tothe
part of Europe iu which the first spark of ref-j
ormation was trodden out as soon aa ii appear
ed, and from which proceeded the impulse
which drove Protestantism back, we find, at'
best, a very slow, progress, and on the whole :
a retrogression. ' Compare Denmark and Pro
tugal. When Luther began to preach, the ill-'
periority of the Portuguese was nnqucstiona
blc. At present the superiority of the Dane
is no less so. Compare Edinburgh and Flor
ence. Edinburgh has owed less to climate, to
soil, and to the fostering care of rulers, than
any capital, Protestant or, Catholic. In all
these respects, Florence has been singularly
happy. Yet whoever knows what Florence
and Edinburgh were in the generation prece-
ding the Reformation, and what they are now ?
wiil acknowledge that some great cause baa, ,
during the last three centuries, operated to
raise cue part of the European family, and to,
depress the other. . Compare the history of,
Euglaud aud that of Spain during the last cen
tury. In arms, arts, sciences, letters, com
merce, agriculture," the contrast is is striking.
The distinction i not confined to this side of
the Atlantic. The colonies planted by Eng
land in America, have immeasureably over
grown in power those planted by Spain. Yet
we have no reason to believe that, at the be,
ginning of the sixteenth century, the Castiliaa
was in any respect inferior to ths Englishman."
Our firm belief is, that the North owes ita
great civilization and prosperity chiefly to the
moral effect of the Protestant Reformation;
and that the decay of the Southern countries
of Europe is to be mainly ascribed to the
great Catholic revival.
Boys out after Night.
Tho following observations of "A true friend
of boys," are so important and the evil depre
cated in them is so common, that we desire to
impress them on the. notice of parent and
guardians with all the emphais of editorial
recommendation. . - , .
, "I have been an observer, as I am a sympa
thizing lover of boys. I. like to see them
happy, cheerful, gleesome. Indeed, I can
hardly understand bow a hightoncd useful man
can be the ripened fruit of a boy who had not
enjoyed a full share of the glad privileges due
to. youth. But while I watch with a very jeal
ous eye &U rights and cusoms which entrench,
upon the proper rights of boys,, I am equally
apprehensive lest parents who are not fore
thoughtful, and who have not habituated
themselves to close observation' upon this sub
ject, permit their sons indulgences which are
almost certain to result in theirdemoralizationj
if not their total ruin; and among the habits
which I have observed as tending most surely
to ruin, I know of none more prominent than
that of p?.Tents permitting their sons to be in
fie;streets after nightfall.
T"It is ruinous to the ir morals in all Instan
ces. 1 They acquire, under the cover of night
an unhe&Hhful state of mind bad, vulgar, im
moral, and profane langnagc, obscene practic
es, criminal sentiments, a lawless and riotooi.
bearing. Indeed it is in thv street after night
fall that the boys principally acquire the ed
ucation of the bad, and capacity for beeoming
rowdy, dissolute, criminal men. Parents
should in this particular, have a rigid and in
flexible rule, that will not ermit a son tinder
any circumstances whatever,- to go into the
streets after nightfall with a view of engaging
in ont-of door sports, or meet other boys for
social chance occupation. A right rule of
this kind, invariably adhered - to,,, will soon
deaden the desire for such dangerous practices.
"Boys should, be taught to have pleasure
around the family centjrg table, in reading,., in
conversation, and in quiet amusement. Boys
are seen in the street after nightfall, behaving
in a manner entirely destructive, of t all good
morals. , Fathers and mothers, keep your chil
dren home .at, night, and see that you take
pains to mke your home pleasant, ; attractive
and profitable to them; and above all, with a
view of security from future destruction, le,
them npt become, while formidg . their charac
ters for life, so accustomed to disregard the
moral sense of shame as to openly violate . the
Sai)batk day ia street pastimes dming jte din
1