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[From the London Ledger.
TOE NEW ARISTOCRACY.
A title once could only show
The signs of noble birth,
And men of rank were years ago
The great ones of the earth.
They deemed it just the crowd should think
Before the cap and gown ;
They thought it wrong the poop should think,
And right to keep them down.
Those were the days when hooks were things
“The people" could not toticli
➢lade fbr the use of lords and kings,
And only made for such.
To work the loom, to till the soil,
To cat the costly gem,
To tread the round of daily toil— ,
Was quite enough for them.
Time was when just to road and write
Was thought a wondrous deal
For those who wake with morning light
To earn their (icily meal—
The man a more submissive slave
The less his head-piece know ;
And so the mans from habit gave
Their birth-right i p a low.
1 . 50 w look abroad—the light of Truth
Is spreading far and wide,
And that which tills the English youth
Must shame our ancient pride.
"ris mist, alone can wield the sword,
In spite of wealth and rank ;
The artisan may thee a lord
With thousands in the bank.
We scram not those of high degree.
For so were wrong to do ;
But poorer men as rich can be,
And quite as noble too.
The prince may act a gayer part,
But hd who works for bread
May hare, perchance, a warmer hearts,
Pcraps a c'earer head.'
Then grieve not for the ' l O.l oitl times,"
Behold it brighter day !
The 'muses or our Whet, crimes
Aro wearing fa•t away.
Before the Pen, the l'ress, the Buil ;
Must old opinions•full ;
The mighty project ennnOt
Then aid it one aunt ON
[From the Parlour Annual,
BY F. W. s,
Of all the conquests made li3lmati, none
can equal, none can bear comparison with
the mighty and profound achievements of
THE THINKER. 1 3 rem his dome of tho'ght
truths buried deep and long have come; at
the sound of his bidding, nigh, and feats
have thus been accomplished, which the
close investigator alone could fathom.
. It is the Thi.nkrr who has scanned the
hidden mysteries that reach far beyond the
surface of things, who has sounded away
into the immense unknown, and brought
out therefrom "truths sublime, that wake
to perish, never," those secrets of the uni
verse; which unravel and portray the nicer
and more expiate skill of the Groat Ar
chitect. It is his penetration that "gives
to airy nothing a local habitation and a
name," that "finds tongues iu trees, books
in the running brooks, sermons in stones,
and good in every thing." Strung with a
delicacy of texture fine as Olympian dews,
the varied atoms of matter dilate beneath
his gaze, and particles that go to make up
the sheen of things, magnifiy beneath his
tread. The nook, the glade, the rock
bound coast, the monutain peak, and the
cloud-capped tower furnish hint lofty sen
timents for contemplation ; thus ho quaffs
front nature's fountain pleasures pure, un
sophisticated, and which never cloy. The
lightning's flash and the thunder's roar are
Ito him, not the fabled monsters of the old
en time, but simply the natural effects of
!natural causes, which, like all things in
the material world, act in harmony. The
cavern and the mighty abyss below, he
brings vividly to view, examines the keolo
gical structure and compound of our globe,
and from out its strata deeply embeded
there, he gathers facts upon which he
dwells with an intensity of emotion, and a
capaciousness of thought. The coral beds
of the wide, blue sea, partaking of this un
der-current, upheave from their rocky ba
sis, and upward tending, and still, their
beauty and grandeur are too well fitted to
his refined taste to be passed listlessly by,
and here he expatiates in astonishment, in
admiration, and in awe.
From the teeming panoply beneath, to
the canopy above, reaching away into the
illimitable regions of space, he feasts his
own enlivened and forever-expanding capa
bilities, till imbued with wonderous and
high-wrought conceptions, he grasps the
remote. and unfolds from out their clois
ter, objects strangely vast, and immensely
lie even essays to taste of angels' food,
to study the science of God, and become
acquainted with those things which celes
tial intelligences desire to investigate.
Not only the whole broad earth is beau
tiful, but the great arcane of animate and
inanimate being pour forth an eloquence
that far surpasses speech, and he opens the
volumes of the universe and reads therein
in characters of living light, till his own
nature becomes resplendent, embellished
with those tints which beautify and adorn
that inner temple, thus eminating a halo of
brightness, and shedding mellowed splen
dor where obscurity has veiled We finer
lineaments that are scattered here, and
there, mid everywhere, over the fair face
of creation, and which proclaim.
_ . .
g‘Ths hand that made us is Divine:"
The range of the thinker is far from be
ing circumscribed—far from being tram
meled down within those limits which nar
row, and cramp, and clop and fettering,
bind. No slavish fears, tic' contracted
prejudices warp his enthusiasm 1 11reot
and commanding, the image of his Maker,
he stands unmoved amid the confusion of
elements, borne aloft by the nobler and'
the highcr, he sways the scepter of his
ownlutiversal dominion like as , ca workman
who necdeth not to be ashamed." .illark
him! Free and boundless he flits upon
the wings of the wind, roams at pleasure
wheresoever he will, and at random.
"Lives in all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
To him no high. no low, no great, no small,
He tills, he bounds, connects, and equals all."
Mr. Webster on the Evidences of
A few evenings since, sitting by his own
fireside, after a day of severe labor in the
Supreme Court, Mr. Webster introduced
the last Sabbath's sermon, and discoursed
in animated and glowing eloquence for an
hour on the great truths of the Gospel. I
cannot but regard the opinions of such a
n►an in some sense, as publio propeity,-
This is my apology for atletuping to recall
some of those remarks which were uttered
10 the privacy of the domestic circle.
.said Mr... Webster : "Last Sabbath I
listened to an able and learned discourac
upon' the evidences of Christianity. The
argiimentS were drawn from prophecy, his
tory, with internal evidence. They were
stated with logical accuracy and force; but,
es it seemed to me, the clergyman failed to
draw from them the right conclusion. He
dame so near the truth that I was astonish
ed ho missed it. In summing up his argu
ments, he said the only alternative present
ed by , these evidences is this : Either
Christianity is true, or it is ti delusion pro
duced by an excited imagination. Such is
not the alternative, said the critic : but it is
this : The Gospel is either true history, or
it is a consuniate fraud; it is either a reali
ty or an imposition. Christ was what he
professed to be, or he was an huposter.—
There is no other alternative. His spot
less life in his earnest enforcement of the
truth, his suffering in its defence, forbid us
td suppose that ho seas suffering an illusion
of a heated brain.
Every act of his pure and holy life
shows that he was the author of truth, the
advocate of truth, the earnest defender of
truth, and the uncompromising sufferer for
truth. Now, considering the purity of his
doctrines, the simplicity of his life, and the
sublimity of his death, is it possible that
he would have died for an illusion ? In all
his preading the Saviour made no populai
appeals. His discourses were all directed
to the individual. Christ and h=s Apostles
sought to impressoupon every man the con
viction that he must stand or fall alone—
he must live for himself, and give up his
account to the omniscient God, as though
he were the only dependent creatnre in the
universe. The Gospel leaves the individu
al sinner alone with himself and his God.
To his own master he stands or falls. He
has nothing to hope from the aid and sym
pathy of associates. The deluded advo
catcs of new doctrines do not so preach.—
HUNTINGDON; PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 9, 1853.
Christ and his Apostles, had they been de
ceivers, would not have so preached.
If clergymen in our days would return
to the simplicity of the Gospel, and preach
more to individuals, and less to the crowd,
there would not be so much compla:nt of
the decline of true religion. Many minis
ters of the present day take their text from
St. Paul, and preach from the newspapers.
When they do so, I prefer to enjoy my
own thoughts rather than to listen. I want
my pastor to come to me in the spirit of
the Gospel, saying, 'You are mortal ! your
probation is brief; your work must do done
speedily; you aro immortal too. You are
hastening to the bar of God; the Judge
standeth before the door.' When I am
thus admonished, I have no disposition to
muse or to sleep. "These topics," said
Mr. Webster, "have often occupied my
thoughts, and if I had time, I would write
on them myself."
The above remarks are but a meagre
and imperfect abstract, from memory, of
one of the moat eloquent sermons to which
I ever listened.--Congregational Journal.
A New Jersey Justice.
A distinguished member of the New York
bar was retained on one occasion by
a friend, also a New Yorker, to attend to a
complaint made against him before a New
Jersey Justice, for an alleged assault and
battery upon one of the residents of the
"old Jersey State."
"I appear for the prisoner," said the
counsellor to the modern Dogberry.
"You appears for the prisoner, do you?
—and who .den be you?" interrupted the
justice, eyeing him from head to foot with
marked curiosity: "I ton't know's you;
Vriir he's you come from, and vet's yer
The counsellor modestly gave his name,
and said: am a member of the New
York Bar." . .
"Veil, den," replied the justice, you
gan't practice in die here gort."
"I am a counsellor of the Supreme
Court of the State of New York," reitera
ted the gAtorney.
'that makes not'ing tifferent," said the
ilien," said the ballad lawyer,
"suppose I show to your Honor that I am
a counsellor of the Supreme Court of the
United States?" •
"It ton's make a Tit petter," replied lie
of the ermine; "you ain't a gounsellor von
de State of New Jarsey, and you gan't
britetis in dish gort."
This decision accountsfor the fact. that
New Jersey is not in the United States'
On another occasion, the same dignitary
said to a jury, who had been listening to a
"trial" before him of an unfortunate fel
low for some offence against the State:
"Shentlemons of der shoory, sthand up:
dish ere yellow, dar bris'ner at the par,
sass he ish von Few York; now I (links he
pes a putcher poo, and if he ish a putcher
boy he trives pigs troo de shtreets, and ven
he trives der pigs, he kits oder beeples
pigs mit deiu vet he hat before; dat's vet
I calls pig-shtealin.' Now, shentlements,
if de yellow shtea'ls pigs in Now York, I
tink he vi!l shteal a gow in Jarsey, and
darefore I tink he be a grow t'ief, and
your shudgetuents all be kitty. Vot you
shall say, shentlemeans of de shoory—ish
he kilty, ow not kitty? If you say he ish
kilty, I sends hint to do Shtato Brison, mid
And ho did send bite.
The part that children play in the econ
omy of families is an important one. But,
important functions often devolve upon
creatures trivial in themselves. Not so in
the ease of children. The child is greater
than the man. The man is himself, and
that is often a shabby enough concern; but
the child is a thing of hops and anticipa
tion, we know not what it may beoome.—
The arch laughing glance of those eyes,
which flash upon us when the bushy nut
brown hair is thrown back by a toss of the
head—what a lovely creature that may be
come, to make some honest man's heart
ache ! That boy, with flaxen hair slightly
tinged with the golden, while his clear; re
solute eye looks fearlessly at everything it
encounters—what may he not accomplish
in after-life! To us there is more of ter
ror in the passions of children; • than of
grown men. They are sit dieproportioned
to their causes, that they rudely draw back
the veil from bur own hearts, reminding
us "what shadows we are, and what shad
ows we pursue/' Of . all expressons of
pain; we can least endure the wail of an in
fant. The poor little innocent cannot ex
plain its Sufferings, and, if it could, so lit
tle lies in our power to alleviate them.—
There is nothing for it but to have one's
heart rent by its complainings, and pray in
one's helplessness that its dark hour may
IC 4 - Waste not, want not
Row Iluebands may Rule.
BY FANNY FERN.
"Dear Mary," said Harry - to his
little wife, "I have a favor to ask of you.
You have a friend whom I dislike very
much, and who I am quite sure will make
trouble between us. Will you give up Mrs.
May for my sake, Mary?',
A light shade of vexation crossed Mary's
pretty face, as she said, "you are unreason
able, Harry. She is lady-like ; refined, in
tellectual, and fascinating, is she not?"
"Yes, all of that; and for that very rea
son her influence over one so impulsive and
yielding as yourself, is more to be dreaded,
it unfavorable. I'm quite in earnest, Ma
ry. I could wish never to see you togeth
"Pshaw ! dear Harry, that's going too
far; don't be disagreeable, lot us talk of
something else. As old Uncle Jeff says,
how's trade?" and she looked archly in his
Harry didn't smile.
"Well," said the little wife, turning
away, and patting her foot nervously, "I
don't see how I can break with her) Har
ry, for a whim of yours; besides, I've pro
mised to go there this very evening."
Harry made no reply, and in a few min
utes was on his way to his offiee.
Mary stood behind the curtain, and look
ed after him as lie went down the street.
There was an uncomfortable stifling sen
sation in her throat, and something very
like a tear glittering in her eye. Harry
was vexed ! she was sure of that; he had
gone off for the first time since their mar
riage, without the affectionate good-bye
that was usual with him, even when they
parted but for an hour or two. And so
she wandered, restless and unhappy, into
her little sleeping room.
It was quite a little gem. There were
statuettes, and pictures, and vases, all gifts
from him either before or since their mar
riage—each one had a history of its own,
some tender association connected with
Harry. There was a bouquet, still fresh
and fragrant, that lie had purchased on his
way home the day beferei to gratify her!
papjon for fleweri. There was a choice
edition of poems they were reading togeth
er the night before,with Mary's name writ
ten on the leaf, in Harry's bold, handsome
hand. Turn where she would, some proof
of his devotion met her eye. But .Mrs.
.May ! She was so smart and satirical !
She would make so much sport of her for
being "ruled" so by Harry ! Hadn't she
told her "all the icon were tyrants r' and
this was Harry's first attempt to gitvern
her. No, no, it would not do for her to
So the pretty evening dress was taken
out; the trimming re-adjusted and remodel
led, and all the little et ceteras of her toil
ette decided. Yes she would go: she had
quite made up her mind to that. Then
she opened her jewel case, a little note fell
at her feet. She knew the contents very
well. It was from Harry, (slipped slily
into her hand on her birthday, with that
pretty bracelet.) It couldn't do any harm'
to read it again. It was very lover-lik l
for a year old husband. But she ?ticed it!
Dear Harry ! and she folded it Lack, and
sat down, more unhappy than ever, with
her hands crossed in_ her lap, and her mind
in a most piteablo state of irresolution!
Perhaps after,all Harry was right about
Mrs. May; and if he wasn't, one hair of his
head was worth more to her than all the
women in the world. He had
one unkiird word to her, never( he had an
ticipated every wish; he had be e n so atten
tive and solicitous when shetfas ill. How
could she grieve him l .
Love conquered. The pretty robe was
folded away, the jewels returned to their
case, and with a light heart, Mary sat
down to await her husband's return. .
The lamps were not lit in the drawing
room when Harry came up street. She.
had gone then Rafter all he had said!)
Ho passed slowly through the hall; enter:
eel the dark and deserted room; and threw
himself bn the sofa with a heavy sigh.
He was not angry, but he was grieved and
disappointed. The first doubt that creeps
ovor the mind, of the affection of one we
love, is so very painful.
"Dear Hurry !" said a welcome voice at
"God bless you, Mary," said the happy
husband, "you've saved me from a keen
Dear render, (won't you tell ?) there are
some husbands worth all the sacrifices a
loving heart can make ! —Olive Branch.
OLD TOWSER.—Don't you remember
old Towsor dear Kate Old Towser so
shaggy and kind ; How ho used to lay,
day and night by, the gate, And seize in
0 The Louisiana Legislature, by a
majority of two-thirds, have refused to gq
into an 'election for a U. S. Senator' in
place of Mr. Benjamin.
llg" Edward Harris is the Free Soil can
didate for Governor of Rhode Island and
Stephen Harris for Lieutenant Governor.
Love or Home.
I have at times tried to imagine the feel
ings of a man who is about td 6migrsite,
fully convinced that he never again will
look upon his native land—to my mind it
brings thoughts allied to death. I could
fancy that I was going away to die—going
to live somewhere until death came—in
some huge prison,—with a jail-like sky
above it, and an area that might stretch
hundreds of miles, with a wide sea around
it, on the margin of which I should wander
alone, ifighing away . my soul to regain my
native land. Eveiy thing would be strange
to sue; the landscape would call up no rec
ollections ; I should not have even a tree
to call my friend, nor a flower which I
could say was my own. Ala! after all it is
something to look upon the churchyard
where those that we love are at rest, to
gaze upon their graves, and think what we
have gone through with them, and what
we would undergo to recall then► from the
dead. Reader, pardon these childish
thoughts—they forced themselves into Joy
mind, and I have recorded them, they seem
to awaken my memory anew, and strip me
of a score of years; they have a foolish
hold on my affections. But surely It is a
worthy passion to cherish; there seems,
something holy about the past; it is freed
from all selfishness ; we love it for its own
sake ; we sigh for it because it can never
again be recalled ; even as a fond mother
broods over the memory of some darling
that is dead, as if she had but then discov
ered how much her heart loved it.
So long as *e may grow therein in wis
dom and worth it is well, it is desirable, to
live, but no further. To my view, insani
ty is the darkest, the most appalling of
earthly calamities, but how much better is
an old age that drivels and wanders, mis
understands and forgets? When the soul
shall have come choked and smoothed by
the ruins of its wasting, falling habitation,
I should prefer to inhabit that tenement
no longer. I should not choose to stand
shuddering and trembling on the brink of
the dark river, weakly drawing back from
the chill of its sweeping flood, when Faith
assures uie that a new Eden strenches
green and fair beyond it, and the baptism
it invites will olense the soul of all that
now clogs, clouds, and weighs it to the
earth. No; when the windows of the mind
shall bo darkened, when ihe growth of the
soul, shall have been arfested, I would
not weakly cling to-the earth which will
have ceased to nourish and uphold me.—:
Rather "let the golden bowl be loosed and
the pitcher broken at the fountain;" let the
sun of my existence go down ere the dusky
vapors shroud its horizon; lot the close my
eyes calmly on the things of earth, and lot
my weary frame sleep beneath the clods of
the valley; let the spirit ,which it can no lon
ger cherish as a guest, be spared the igno
miny of detention as a prisoner; but freed,
from the fetters of clay, let it wing its way
through the boundless universe, to where
soever the benign Father of• Spirits shall
have assigned it an everlasting home.
the cry of father an' mother—if my boy
had the 'laming,' what a janius he'd be .
In course, ye old fools, your bouchal would
be a swan among the goslings; but it isn't
'laming, half the world want ;
'laming,' by which they mean cobwebs pick
ed out of dead men's brain, if they would
get some discipline. Discipline—discipline--
discipline, that's the only education I ever
saw that brought a boy to any good. What
is the use of battering a man's, brains, full
of Greek and Latin'pothoeke,"that be for
gets before lie doffs his last round jacket,'
to put on his first long-tailed blue, if ye
doh% teach him the old Spartan
ttio:of obedience, hard living,.early rising,
and them si - ni aSSies Where's the use
of instructing him in hexameters and pen
tameters, if you leave him ignorant of the
value of a penny piece? 'What height of
Illotherime stupidity it is to be fillip' a boy's
brain with the wisdom, of the ancients, and
and then, turn hint out like an omadhuun,
to pick up his victuals among the moderns ?
—Blackwood's Magaz in e.
The Festival of Life.
Life is a ball-rpoto, whose guests are
constantly pouring in at the front door;
and out at the back door, without apparent
diminutions of the number within; who are
neither less gay nor more miserable on ac
count of the perpetual entrance and exit at
the two thresh holds of Titue'and Eternity.
And whosoever looks into the ball-room its
ages to come, will find its youth still as
buoyant, as graceful an'd as beautiful as
over, just as happy and 'unconcerned as if
Death never had oceured, and never would
occur upon earth'? Oh life! the faoinating
dig j guise with which Youth infests thee, is
tby prooious amulet, for it is their hands
that encircle thy blooming fields with thosO
gorgeous curtains which veil from the eye
of consciousness the rough scenery that
lies beyond—its retreating storms, its por
tentous clouds; its Mournful . retioapeOt,
and its painful future
VOL. 18, NO. 10.
THE LOST KITE.
kite! my kite ! I've lost my kite !
0, when I saw the sieady flight
With which she gained her lofty height,
How could I know that letting go
That naughty string would bring so low
My pretty, buoyant, darling kite,
To pass forever out of sight?
A purple cloud was sailing by,
With silver fringes, o'er the sky;
And then I thought it came so nigh
I'd let my kite go up and light
Upon its edge so soft and bright, •
aee bow noble, high, and proud
She'd look while riding on a cloud !
As near her shining mark she drew,
I clapped my hands ; the line slipped thro'gh
My silly fingers; and she flew
Away ! away ! in airy piaY.
Right over where the water lay.
SJ,e veered, and fluttered, swung, and gave
A plunge—then vanished with the wave !
I nev e r More Shall wrica to lzti
On that false cloud, dt oh the brook ;
Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took
Mr dearest joy, thus to destroy
The pastime of your happy boy.
My kite ! my kite ! bow sad to think •
She soared so high, so soon to sink !
Two little boys went to puss the after
noon and evening at the house of one of
their playmates, whp had a party, to keop
his birthday. Their parents•told them to
come home at eight o clock in the evening.
It was a beautiful afternoon, and a larje
party •of boys met at the house of their
friend. The first part of •thetr vlsit,waa,
spent out of doors; and never did boys hive
a more happy time..
They climbed the trees, they swung on
ropes,—and as they jumped about, and
tried all kinds of sports, they made the,
place ring with their joyous shouts. When
it became too dark for out-door play, they
went into the house, and commenced new
'sports in the brightly-lighted parlor.
As they were in the midst of the exciting
game of "blind man's buff," come one en-,
tered the room, and requested them all to
take their seats, for apples and puts were
to be brought in. But just as the door was,
opened by the servant, bringing in the wait
, er, loaded with apples and tints, the clock
The boys, who had been told to lea*e at
that hour, elt troubled enough. ise temp
tation to stay was almost too strong to be
resisted. The older brother, however, had
the courage to whisper to one at his side,
that he, must go. Immediately there was
an uproar all over the room, each one ex
claiming against it.
,said one ; "try mother told me
I might stay till nine."
"My mother," said another, "did not,
say any thing bout my coming home; she
will let ihe stay as long as I wish."
"I would not be tied to my mother's
apron-string," said a rude boy, in a distant
part of the room.
A timid boy, who lived in the next house
to the one in which these two little boys
lived, came up, and said, with an imploring .
look, "I am gying home at half past eight.
Now do stay while longer, and then,
we will go bode together. , I do not wish
to go home alone in the dark."
And cyan the lady of the house came to
them, and said, "I do not think your moth-.
er will he displeased if you stay a few mo
ments longer, and cat an - apple and a few
nuts." , . • ,
NoW, what could these Poor boys do ?
How could they resist so much entreaty I
Fora moment they hesitated, and almost
yielded to the temptation. But virtue wa
vered only for a moment. They immedi
ately mustered all their courage, and said,
"We must go."
,them all good-night,
they took their hats as quickly as they ;
could, for fear, if they delayed, they should
yield - to the temptation, and left the house.
They stopped not a moment to look back.
'upou the brightly-shining windows and
happy group of boys within, bnt taking
held of each other's hand, they ran as fast
as they could on their way .home. •
Do you not admire this noble, pt'oof of
.of these, little hSYs, and of
their disterinination to do their duty ? Go
you then and do ` like Wise, and you shall
have thcir rewa r.
Itr The young and thoughtless should
remember that the frequent use of "thnname
of God, or the devil;,allittidnato passages
of Scripture; mocking at anything serious
or devout; oaths, vulgar by-words, cant
phrases; affected' hard words, when %miller
terms will do as well; swaps of Latin,
Greek or French; quotations froM plays,
spoken in a theatrical manner; all these,
much used hi conversation, render a person
very oontetuptifile to grave and wide Men:
Pg" If'you woutd Krespected, respect