Puslapio vaizdai

that Dr. Lardner may have placed in the way. Our talented countryman, Livingston, writing many years ago, in a commercial letter, asserts that railroads will not pay, from the undoubted fact that four miles an hour will be the greatest speed that can be obtained! Why, our locomotives, with their airy trains, dash on over all such theories at the speed of thirty miles an hour, and make nothing of it! Theories, I tell you, Mrs. Bantam, will not stand before the genius of practical workings.

"All this will apply also to your fine 'theories' of religion, Mr. Clingman, which are so effulgent to the first view. Bring them, sir, to the plain matter-offact test of Bible truth, and they will soon enough vanish, like rainbows in the spread of sunlight!

"In the fascination of beautiful theories lies the fact that so many fall in with the rampant errors of the day. Even Mrs. Freelove, whose name ought to bring up accumulated blushes, even Mrs. Freelove, who lectured the other night, carried us away and confounded us with her 'glorious' truths! 'A man,' said she, 'becomes, by foul means or fair, united in what they call lawful wedlock with a woman with whom he has no affinity. He lives on like a caged bird pining for a mate. He finds at last one whose soul beats in unison with his own. A pure and holy union of soul binds them together. God, looking down from heaven upon those souls whose emotions beat in unison, cannot but approve their harmonious, enrapt affinity!' Bah! O that the name of Deity should, on human lips, be coupled with such slanders on hu- | manity!

"You remember the Tribune article, Mr. Clingman, wherein it was asserted that many of our painters and poets are Swedenborgians? At first it seems a hard matter to account for, and we almost bow to theories that win such minds. But how comes this? Why, such ethereal minds as poets and painters have, whose souls ever look out for the beautiful, seldom take the trouble to look into a theological truth, and they, for the most part, receive at second or third hand, their notions of religion. Is it to be wondered at that such minds are carried away with such poetic fancies as make heaven a bright Elysian field, a flowery land, where earthborn emotions of the soul may ever find

fitting employ? What but a land of shadows, where tropical climes prevail, can satisfy the natural etherealness of a poet's heart? But the world is not by any means made up entirely of these. Nay! The world, the greater portion of this earth's crowding millions, are of a practical turn, and want realities, not shadows! To this great mass of mind the Bible comes with its realities and hopes! Progression, progression, that is what you plead, is it, Mrs. Bantam? I understand you. The world has been progressing. The ideas of eighteen hundred years ago are not equal to the wants of this day; nor are the men of even a hundred years ago fitting men to preach to us of to-day. To be sure, improvements go on in the outer world, but man in his radical nature is ever the same. The same sins and passions that prevailed to curse the world three thousand years ago prevail to-day; and the same salvation that saved a publican and the dying thief is requisite to save the sinners of these days.

"Eighteen hundred years ago one exclaimed: 'O wretched man that I am,' and there is not a man or woman of this day but has uttered the same groan of despair; and the same expression that the confiding heart of Paul made use of has gone out from many a heart of these days as a glorious exultation: 'Thanks be unto God that giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!'

"The mind has in its constituents memory, judgment, imagination; was not the mind of David or Isaiah made up of these? And if I still speak of emotions, passions, will, as they did two centuries ago, will you all, for that reason, call me old fogy? Why, then, am I such, when I speak of the soul's needs in language of the past?"

At this point Mr. Bantam took up the Westminster Review, and read: “We believe that the law of progress goes on through all eternity, that the highest philosopher of our time will be but the common staple of the time to come.""

"That is not a correct idea," said Sartor. "Did man live on earth forever, it would be possible, even probable; but he dies, and every new-born soul commences at the bottom of the ladder and dies before arriving at the altitude of the great ones who have passed away.

"But there are more facilities, you say?

ard and a Milton had their God-given mission.

As facilities increase man loses energy, and lassitude of mind prevails. The nations are like the tides of the sea, which ever vary. Circumstances will at times take a nation far up on intelligent cliffs, and then come on ebb tides, whereby the same people rolled on by supineness and luxury go backward to barbarism. Witness Italy, the land of Cicero, and Greece, the birthplace of Demosthenes. I have no doubt but the commingling races of this land will yet produce some of the greatest giants of intellect the world ever saw. No circumstances, it seems to me, have ever been so favorable to the production of giant minds and cultivated powers. Never was there a nation with so intelligent a host of mothers, never a nation with so much of energy of will; and yet the causes are already at work that in the oncoming ages will blast as with an east wind all this fair heritage of ours. The very gold of our mines will one day sink us beneath the waves of oblivion.

"Westward the course of empire takes its way!'

"What do I think of Mrs. Fry's idea of woman's mind in the December Ladies' Repository? Well, I confess she, for the moment, confounds me. 'Of what gender is intellect? . . . In the world of intellect mind is common and soul is sexless.' Those are her words, and it does really seem at first sight as though she had the right of it. Mind is mind-so runs the argument—whether in a female or a male body, and woman should claim equality in the world. It does really seem plausible, as you say, Mrs. Bantam; still I think there is a solution for the difficulty. And I will make woman inferior? Not exactly; but there certainly is a difference in the scope of the powers and aptitudes of the mind of the female sex and that of man. I do not at all undertake to say which is the superior any more than I would judge' between a gold watch and a purse of gold eagles, but I have adopted a theory which is at your pleasure. There are no two men alike. The world needs and finds men of all manner of mind. There are logicians and men of commerce; men of swaying eloquence and poets of ethereal minds; men of judgment and men of overpowering emotions. All these have their place, and I will not take it on myself to decide which cast of mind fulfills the noblest mission in God's world. A How-matter to be entered into, Mrs. Bantam.

"Then you want to know my opinion," Sartor continued, "on the proportion of pride in the sexes? Rather a difficult

"In looking at these different casts of mind we find that, independent of the doubtful science (so called) of phrenology, every quality has its peculiar organization, and the difference is for the most part the work of nature. A man at all accustomed to deal with his fellows will detect the manner of man he has to deal with at a glance into the unmistakable countenance. What is it, then, but that to the female form belongs by nature that peculiar organization of intellectual force that makes her the being she is, differing from man in most respects where the mind is concerned. The intellectual organization of woman is, it seems, such as develops more fully than man's does, love, emotion, and an appreciation of the beautiful. 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' with its touches of life, 'Jane Eyre,' with its overpowering emotion, and any quantity of pathetic poetry have fittingly come from the mind of woman; but where is your Novum Organum, your 'Locke on the Mind,' your Principia, your Euclid,' from the mind of woman? It never has been. and I deem it never will be, the mission of woman to enter the arena where such logical combats are fought. The poetic organization of Byron, of Dante, of Buchanan Reed will never produce us Principias, nor will the emotional soul of woman, bent as it is to its flights by the ethereal wings nature has given it, ever bring us such productions as 'The Old Red Sandstone,' Testimony of the Rocks,' or the 'Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation.'




But, as you say, Mrs. Bantam, there are women in our day who vie with the other sex in the arena of mind. To which I only make answer, that whenever you see such a woman you will see one that fully exhibits what is called a masculine mind, and will get married, if at all, under protest,' as Lucy Stone did. I have not as yet seen, smile as you may, Mrs. Bantam, a woman on our lecture platforms who was not by some freak of nature incased in a masculine organization, and this fact so unfits them for the place woman so gloriously fills, they are scarcely ever found in that endearing relation called wife, which woman so ardently desires.

I would say, however, in the beginning, that I am out of patience with all such twaddle as having pride enough to keep one's self decent! I should say a person ought to have good sense enough (not pride) to keep him decent; and I have known of some of the proudest people who were very indecent. And another thing I will say; I never saw a person, ever so gay a highflyer, that had any idea that he was proud. People must be decent, you know; that is ever the apology for all the superfluities of time, from ostrich feathers down to bespangled grass! Yet I like that saying of a friend who wrote the introduction to my book: 'Fine dress does not make the man, but when he is made he looks a great deal better dressed up.'

"But now to your question. All persons have some particular idol-some favorite idea of the soul, to which they give adherence. People are apt to be proud of whatever their hearts delight in most. The poet would die were the critics to berate his poetry and to praise his eyes, and would live if they called him hunchback and yet set him beside the Miltons; but a woman would be carried away in ecstasies could she read a dissertation on the beauty of her eyes!

"The fact lies here. Man looks out for honors, for office, and for wealth. Upon these he sets his heart's affections. A man's beautiful hair will never bring him a fortune, (unless it may be in shape of a woman who has the dimes,) but a woman's beautiful hair and eyes will!

"Whether the state of society be correct, or not we find in this world wealth makes the man and beauty the woman; and woman, knowing this, makes beauty her sole concern, and in consequence bedecks, and bejewels, and bedizens her mortal frame, that this her chief power may be omnipotent. And her joy being accumulated by outside show, this last appears more in view than is fitting for her reputation for humility. But man wraps himself in his consequential cloak, and dreams of wealth and sighs for fame, while we, the passers by, know nothing of the inward emotions. The passion for power is no doubt as strong in man, but more concealed; in woman it is seen and read of all men.

"And, by the way, Mrs. Bantam, beauty is nothing that a person should wish to be

rid of. It is, in a worldly point of view, a misfortune to be homely, and one's influence is doubled by a handsome form and address; and because we are wont to be proud of whatever of beauty we possess is no more reason that we should disfigure ourselves than that we should remain in ignorance lest a little learning should exalt us too highly. I sometimes think He that made us intended the beauty, the wealth, the comforts of this life for us; and while none others suffer because of our plenty, we have a right to the flowers, beauties, paintings, poetries, and musics of this world of ours."

Mrs. Bantam and the other ladies left the table in fine humor, and each one took the very first opportunity of viewing herself in the glass, and all projected new means for accumulating graces, gave a few extra turns to the waving hair, and new ties to the ribbons that coquetted gently with the summer breezes. And if Sartor does speak forth pungent truths sometimes none need fear his influence, for he has a kind heart within him that will yet utter wholesome truths for readers of the inestimable NATIONAL.


Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest.—Micah, ii, 10. ARISE ye, and depart; for never more Can Life her Ishmael, lost Hope, restore Can shine the sun upon the darken'd cloud.

Unto the soul? That soul like Hagar bow'd And gazing o'er the waste; weaving her shroud

From out the sorrow hived within her breast:
She lists to murmurs, utter'd not aloud,
To the wing-music of an angel guest-
"Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest.”

Arise ye, and depart; yon setting sun
Casts lengthen'd shadows down the stony


The shatter'd sunbeams, angels one by one

Are stealing; leaves are blushing o'er decay; And Ocean moans his broken-hearted lay In Nature's ear; and Nature worn, oppres'd,

With hearing all her wayward children pray To her, but syllables that high behest"Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest."

Arise ye, and depart; all steep'd in light, That heaven-promised land lies far before; The cloud by day, the pillar'd fire by night,

Shall beacon onward to that distant shore: There every hope lost from the earthly store, And wildly mourn'd, is garner'd to the breast,

And from the Tree of Life can fall no more

A wither'd leaf. Wayworn and care-oppres'd, "Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your rest.”



UNE 3. - Once again I look upon green, growing, ever-fresh, and sweet trees and flowers. The wind, too; how softly yet cheerily it blows in at this window; even the wind has been a forbidden visitor, and I am thankful to feel its hand once more. I am like a little child; everything seems new to me, and bright, as though a mist of worldly cares had been wiped away since last I looked on nature.


When first thought of it seems hard that women have so much necessary suffering; that it is part of their daily life; not, as with men, an accidental circumstance. But, in reality, how wonderfully wise and beautiful a dispensation it is! Pure and youthful feeling is indispensable to a woman.. Yet, with her many wearing cares-small, it may be, but constant, and most difficult to remain noble under, because there is little that is great or glorious in the trials themselves, but only in the bearing them-how shall we keep this woman true to her own higher nature? Could we devise a better discipline than every fresh child brings to the busy mother? Death, awful, mysterious death, seems to stand waiting for her for many days before the child is born. She sees all things through his shadow. "It may be there is no to-morrow for me," is an ever-recurring thought. "On whom can I lean for comfort? To whom can I leave all these dear ones?"

My little baby sleeps softly in her cra

dle by my side. How seems the world to thee, my babe ? One little fat fist is doubled, as though she already heard the fight of life; but did ever soldier wear so sweet a smile, or breathe so calmly!

Here come my two merry boys. I know it by the banging of doors and the shouting; it is like a rush of sea-breeze. Now they are "hushing" one another. "Dear little sister is asleep." Such loud hushing! And each rosy face comes for a peep at baby.

July 1.-Robert and I had a long, delightful walk last evening up our "glen." I found it rather steep; but then I had his arm to help me, and the breeze on that sweet green hill at the end of the glen was so refreshing.

We had a long talk about our children, and tried to settle how we were to educate them. When I see so many fail in that most difficult of all the tasks that God has set us, the making good men and women, I feel, O, so fearful for our dear ones, so pure, and sweet, and guileless now! I have one great comfort; I have noticed that want of unity between the parents is the greatest cause of want of success in training up children.

Children are very close observers, (I have seen that in mine,) and are more influenced by example than precept. Besides, when the heads of a household are at variance there can be no consistent plan pursued.

How thankful I am that we have not that misery to contend with! I could scarcely keep back the tears of joy and gratitude, when I thought of all that, last evening. Robert was busy groping among the soft moss and wild thyme for little shells for the children. I wonder what were his thoughts! and I wonder, too, why I did not ask him! and why, when he said I had been silent so long, he feared I was tired. I let him think that, and not great love and joy, made me silent and pale. That is the way I always do when I feel deeply. I wish I could show him my whole heart more easily; but he does not mind my not doing so, and it therefore does not matter.

What woman is a skeptic then? The darker and nearer comes the shadow of death, the brighter shines the Light of lights, till the darkness becomes glorified, and death is swallowed up in victory. None know the true rest in God so well as those who have spent days and nights in searching after what is best for the future happiness of the beloved, and have sought in vain. Plan after plan is laid aside, because it has some flaw in it; and then comes the thought, what chance is there that anything will happen as I have imagined? Look back, foolish soul, and see how different was the actual from the

imagined or wished for! So struggles the spirit, and beats itself against the bars of fate, till, torn and weary, it drags itself | to the feet of the All-wise, and there finds rest and peace. VOL. XII.-18

July 29.-Annie Malitus is coming to spend a few weeks with us. I wonder if she is like her mother, sweet, unselfish, gentle Mary Malitus. I well remember her visits to our home. How happy she


She made us all, with her cheery ways. is so thoughtful of others' feelings," my mother used to say.

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August 14.—Annie Malitus and Robert have gone for a long walk, so I have time to write a little in my diary. She is not at all like her mother; but is a lively, pleasant girl. She is very pretty; I cannot keep from looking at her. It is a pleasure to watch her slight, graceful figure moving about the room, or to see the sun shine on her bright brown hair.

Baby has been ailing lately, and kept me more than ever at home. Do I sacrifice too much to my children? He said so yesterday. O, children, children; there is the crack in too many households that lets discord in! Yet, if husband and wife are one, that can never be. But is it possible for a man to fully sympathize with an anxious mother's feelings? Or can a woman, daily tried by small cares as she is, ever learn of him not to feel or fret about little troubles? O, what constant seeking to enter into the heart's bitterness, on each side; what tenderness for each other's special frailties it must need. God give us such abundant love and comOften my passion toward each other. husband is grieved or anxious about things that seem to me of no importance; and I often feel inclined to smile at his anxiety, (have done so, I fear;) but often the thought comes and stops me that he feels it a trial; he is troubled by it; my not feeling it does not make him feel it less, but adds vexation to vexation, or may make him hide his feelings from me next time, and so lay the first brick in that wall of partition which so many I now pity have Often built in that same heedless way. and often I think this; but, I fear, not often enough.

declare! I wonder if little Robby could
sit on that stool and eat it, and look at
this funny pocket-book of mine. And now
for baby!"

And so she managed to amuse them all, her tongue going fast to me between her chatter to them.

"I have not seen you these many days,
my dear," she said; "and I feel as
though all were not right if I have not
had a peep at you. I don't know what I
should do without you, Gertrude."

It is very sweet to be over-appreciated;
makes me feel very amiable, and very
I told her so, and how she
seemed to fill the place of a mother-in-
law to me.

"Do I indeed, my dear?" she said;
"and yet
over-appreciate you, you say;
and I'm sure you do the same to me.
That is strange. Well! it only shows
my theory is right. And now I remem-
ber what I came for. I bring an invita-
tion to your visitor (I hear she is so charm-
ing) from your father-in-law and his
daughters, to spend a week with them."

I thanked her for Annie, and then asked
what she meant by her theory.

"Why, my dear, I've come to the con-
clusion-now don't be shocked; looking
round among my friends, and seeing that
if you want a favorable idea of a woman,
don't go to her mother-in-law, and vice
versa, well, my dear, I've come to the
conclusion that it can't be either mother
or daughter-in-law's fault."
"Indeed!" I said. "What is the cause,

"It is, my dear, the putting mothers and
daughters-in-law down one another's
throats; that's it!" she said, laughing
merrily at her idea, and giving baby a toss
so high she looked almost frightened.


"Let a child see some jam, you know, my dear, and want it, and ask for it, perhaps steal it, and he thinks it very good. But cram that same sweet down his throat, and tell him he must eat it, it is his duty to like it, and how the child hates that same jam all his life! Don't you see the sense of it, my dear ?"

I was laughing too much to answer; partly at my boys' looks of astonishment.

August 21.-My dear friend Mrs. El-
liot was here this morning. It is always
I never
a pleasure to see her bright face.
feel afraid of her; never am uncomforta-
ble if the room is ever so untidy, or the
children ever so noisy, which is fortunate;
for our boys are so fond of her, I cannot
keep them away.

"There, my dear," she said to Herbert
this morning, "is my best gold pencil-
case; and here," feeling in her pocket,
"is such a clean piece of paper. Pray,
And so he was
draw me a picture."
"And what have I
quietly set to work.
got here for my little pet? A biscuit, I

"So you see, my dear," she continued, without waiting for my reply, "my first way of reforming the world in that matter would be, to make every one understand that mothers and daughters-in-law

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