Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

ever a thinker announces a fundamental principle at variance with the received belief.

The whole controversy may be very simply stated. The general opinion of Christendom-it can not be called a faith so much as a tradition-is that religion or Christianity is the controlling influence of civilization. It is assumed, it is not debated. But a student and a thinker assumes nothing in questions that depends upon evidence. "It is so," said public opinion. "Is it so?" replied Buckle. His offense is first in asking the question, and then in answering it accordingly to his conviction. "I have looked into this question," he says, "as deeply as most people. I have studied it in all its facts and bearings. I can have no other object than the truth, and I don't think that your view is the truth. It is not enough to be moral, you must be intelligently

moral."

That was his persuasion, and he wrote it down and the reasons for it in his remarkable work. There was no disguise in it, no deceit of any kind. "I have weak spots, doubtless," his very frankness said; "pierce them, and let me learn." Then as the loud and vague clamor rose around him, it is easy to fancy the look and tone of a man to whom every aspect of ignorance and bigotry in every age and nation was familiar, as he asked, "We all want truth, I suppose? We are not more interested in our own notions than in the truth, are we? We sincerely believe in moral liberty, do we not ?"

elected literary favorite of the age. But Buckle, with Carlyle, with John Stuart Mill, with all who belong to the truly catholic church of lovers of moral liberty, will mould the age which praises lesser men.

Mr. Buckle was scarcely forty-two years old and unmarried. He died at Damascus in May. It was only at the close of the winter that he was heard of in Egypt, the guest of our Consul General, Thayer. He then intended to come to this country, to enlighten himself by actual observation of our life and character. Had he done so the secret springs of our national significance and prosperity would have been contemplated as they have not yet been, with all of De Tocqueville's calmness, of Gurowski's perspicacity, with the shrewd eye of all our other critics, but also with the breadth and incisive universality with which he grasps the France of Louis XIV., and with a comprehensive exposition of the doctrine of Liberty that would have inspirited all our hearts.

THE war has now lasted more than a year. The wild amazement and excitement of its beginning are past. The national incredulity that any party or faction would actually take up arms has changed into the calm conviction that our rights and liberties, like those of every nation, are held only by our courage and self-sacrifice. There is no amulet which will protect national life but the hearty devotion of the citizens. There is no charm against selfishness and crime: no talisman that will dispense with personal heroism.

Saturday afternoons when the band plays. Broadway is as full as ever: the shops are not less gay; and if you roll slowly down in an omnibus at five o'clock in the afternoon you would be amazed to see how a great war may be raging only two days' journey off, and yet the city be as apparently unconcerned as in the most halcyon hour of peace.

In his second volume, published three years after the first, he expresses his convictions only the more strongly; and he speaks with warmth, yet with per- Meanwhile the aspect of the city is almost unfect dignity and pathos, of the barriers which tradi- changed. There is no less thronging and moving tion, ignorance, and superstition build in the path of along the streets: no less crowding in brilliant Liberty. Whoever, he says, will truly write his-theatres: no less swarming to the Central Park on tory must be "prepared for that obliquy which always awaits those who, by opening up new veins of thought, disturb the prejudices of their contemporaries. While ignorance, and worse than ignorance, is imputed to him; while his motives are misrepresented and his integrity impeached; while he is accused of denying the value of moral principles, and of attacking the foundation of all religion, as if he were some public enemy who made it his business to corrupt society, and whose delight it was to see what evil he could do; while these charges are brought forward and repeated from mouth to mouth, he must be capable of pursuing in silence the even tenor of his way, without swerving, without pausing, and without stepping from his path to notice the angry outcries which he can not but hear, and which he is more than human if he does not long to rebuke."

He goes on to confess that the plan of his work was too vast, that he had hoped too much, and, that the task requires not only several minds but the successive experience of several generations. But his own ample and splendid contributions to that work will be his great monument, and an integral part of what is most valuable in English literature. His work is not likely to be continued by other hands, for the necessary preparation would consume the lifetime of most men. Besides, it must be conceived as clearly and vigorously as he conceived it, or it could not be done. As with the statues of Michael Angelo upon the Medici tomb, its incompleteness is so much finer than much completion, that we will be grateful for what was actually accomplished rather than despondent for what was necessarily left undone. England herself has hardly counted Buckle among her memorable men of this time. Macaulay, a purveyor of history rather than a historian, is her

Now and then, however, in strolling about the streets you are suddenly arrested by what is indeed an unwonted spectacle to us. Yesterday, for instance, as I was not strolling, but hastening along Cortlandt Street, I met a little wagon rolled rapidly along, and in it sat a man in uniform, both of whose legs had been shot away. His face was cheerful. The wagon was pushed by some friendly hand, the crowd parted silently before it, and every eye fell wistfully upon the melancholy sight.

A little farther on and I met a pale, emaciated youth, also in uniform and leaning heavily upon a cane, while he dragged himself slowly along. His sallow, wasted face showed the victim of fever. His rusty uniform was the credential of honorable service. I lifted my hat involuntarily. "I bow instinctively to a wounded soldier," said a friend at my side.

These are the not infrequent spectacles which now meet the eye of the loiterer or rapid passenger in the great city, whose only previous impression for two or three generations had been that of too fervent and exhaustive life. These wounded and forever disabled soldiers stop a man's thoughts as they arrest his steps, and remind him of the entirely changed aspects of the future. Peace, even after a just war, comes so sadly. It comes so shrouded in sorrow and poignant regret! The woes of war are so material and obvious, its advantages so spiritual

EDITOR'S EASY CHAIR.

and often remote, that it requires a strong, sweet faith not to think peace desirable at any cost.

Yet it is no paradox, though it seems so, that it is the lovers of peace who are generally obliged to make war. Men who respect their own rights and those of others, and who wish that the rights of all shall be maintained, are by nature in direct opposition to those who acknowledge no rights whatever When the laws which defend but their own wills. those rights are violated, or when the laws themselves violate those rights, there is no alternative but acquiescence or resistance. But acquiescence is merely the forging of the first link of the chain of submission; and unless slavery, and torpidity, and degradation, and death are peace, the lovers of peace must withstand their first assaults.

nal weapons. Oftentimes they are wounded, often
wasted, but never weary. They believe that God
is worth living for, and man worth dying for. Mind
their business! Oh yes, Cain, we have heard your
voice before. Their brother is their business. His
peace, ease, liberty, rights, general welfare, these
are their affair. These are the soldiers whose every
wound is sacred-of whom the Great Captain says,
"Whoso doeth it unto the least of these my little
ones, doeth it unto me."

THACKERAY has left the editorship of the Cornhill, and is finishing his "Philip," which has been a standing dish in the feast of this Magazine for many a month past. This story has all his characteristic excellences: simplicity, exquisite detail of delineation, thorough comprehension of his range of character, unsparing exposure of the most startling in

These wounded soldiers, too, solitary, as it were, among the crowd, remind us how few the soldiers of the army are when measured by the great popu-famy. lation of the country. And of those soldiers, too, how many are filled full with ardent conviction? How many know clearly what they are fighting for? More, doubtless, than the soldiers of any other army ever marshaled. But if their convictions were commensurate with their numbers, how irresistible they would be! They are combating now, God bless them! But if all men could see and feel what a few do a thousand would be terrible, and ten thou-ature, to be of service, must hold the mirror up to sand invincible.

Good reader, think of these soldiers who have given their limbs, their health, and would willingly have given their lives for your security and comfort. Think of them wounded, wasted, weary: unfitted henceforth, perhaps, for their ordinary business; with wives and children to provide for, with old parents and sisters-think of them, and of the cause for which they have suffered, and ask yourself what you can do. Can you help this man to get a wooden leg: or give that one a lift in learning a new trade? Can you pay this one's rent for a little while, until he gets upon his pins again; or have you some clothes, books, magazines, newspapers, to send to the hospital where so many lie listless in the warm summer days? Can you go and sit with Can you send them, read to them, nurse them? fruit, or delicate food? Can you do something, or don't you care-and think they were great fools not to stay at home and mind their own business?

Yes, but what was their business? To let things go as they would? Well, it was no more their business to do that than it was Luther's, or John Wesley's, or Washington's, or Jefferson's? Why didn't Washington stay at home, and mind his business at Mount Vernon, and keep his feet warm and his head cool, instead of camping at Valley Forge in a frightfully bleak winter? Why didn't John Wesley preach comfortably in the comfortable churches, and let things slide as he found them? Who the dickens was John Wesley that he must find fault with his betters, and discover that the world was not good enough for him? It was good enough for the kings and the bishops; it was good enough for other people; but an obscure student must needs try to upset the settled order of things with his enthusiasms, and fanaticisms, and extravagances of every kind.

It is still true of Thackeray that he is an unsurVirtue and vice are passed painter of human life. never unmitigated in his pages. If it be not the business of a novelist to show people exactly as they are, then he is a poor novelist. But the usual criticism that is made of his works, that they are only portraits of ordinary people, is pointless, because the very substance of his literary morality is, that liter

nature. We are perhaps warned as much by the contemplation of our weakness as of our wisdom. And it is at least an open question whether the human family is not as sensibly stimulated by seeing how bad it is as how good it might be.

Of course it is not to be supposed that Thackeray proposes to himself a fine moral purpose when he begins a novel. It is a fine offer from the publisher which induces him to begin, and the moral follows. No man, indeed, can truly paint human life without being a great moralist. Victor Hugo is not a moralist, for instance, because he does not paint human life. He is a rhapsodist in sentiment and a caricaturist in delineation. Victor Hugo is like Doré. His works are grotesque and powerful, but they are all unreal. They are not men or women in his pages more than the figures are truly human or the houses actual brick and stone in Doré's sketches.

Thackeray's range is limited. His genius is not opulent, but it is profuse. He does not create many types, but he endlessly illustrates what he does create. In this he reminds a traveler of Ruysdael and Wouvermann, the old painters. There are plenty of their pictures in the German galleries, and there is no mistaking them. This is a Ruysdael, how rich and tranquil! this is a Wouvermann, how open and smiling! are the instinctive words with which you greet them. The scope, the method, almost the figures and the composition are the same in each Ruysdael, in each Wouvermann, but you are not troubled.

Ruysdael's heavy tree, Wouvermann's white horse, are not less agreeable in Dresden than in Berlin, or Munich, or Vienna. And shall we not be as tolerant in literature as in painting? Why should we expect simple pastoral nature in Victor Hugo, or electrical bursts of passion in Scott, or the "ideal" in Thackeray?

[graphic]

The reading world has been going into factitious Poor miserable sinners that we are! It is these men, and men like them, who make the world worth hysterics over "Les Miserables" of Victor Hugo, living in. They purify the air of human life. They and will say that "Philip" is the same old story. keep society sweet and decent, that otherwise, left No man is foolish enough, let us hope, to remonstrate to you and me and our kind, would stagnate and rot. with public opinion; but, speaking of old stories, These are the soldiers who fight the battles of the holy what is "Les Miserables ?" Its moral is that a bad war; sometimes with spiritual, sometimes with car-man may have good traits. But the treatment is in

such excessive chiaroscuro, it so blazes and darkens that the figures glimmer and glower and reel off in fantastic diablerie. The bad man is so good that the influence is lost, and the story vanishes like a fairy tale. The moral of "Philip," what is that? Simply that motives are mixed, that people are not absolutely good nor irredeemably bad-substantially the moral is the same as in "Les Miserables," but the morality is wonderfully different. The goodness does not gloze the vice, nor is the reader confused in his perceptions. In short, the one book is moral, and the other is not. Yet the one has a great deal of talk about religion, a great deal of preaching, and the other has no more sermon than the ordinary John Bull has imagination.

Now that Thackeray has almost finished his novel, we wish he would undertake a work for which he is peculiarly fitted, and of which we have spoken beforea history of the reign of Queen Anne. It would take up Macaulay's story where the brilliant story-teller laid it down; and Thackeray's hearty sympathy with the bigwigs and hooped skirts and flowered waistcoats of the period-with his special studies in the manners, morals, and literature of the period, would give us a most sparkling and entertaining and veracious history. Moreover, he is evidently tired of story-telling, even if the public is not tired of listening. Let him begin the new work; for his mind is ripe, and his readers are ready.

Editor's Pramer.

to have had much experience without the limits of his father's fences. He was sent to room with a student whom he never saw before. As he was being introduced to his new domicile he asked his chum:

"Are there not two keys to this room?" "Yes, of course,' answered his chum. "Why, there's only one keyhole!" said the new-comer."

GRACE AND L

GRACE came to my chair-the sweet little pet,
With the sunniest hair that ever was yet –
And asked, with her blue eyes wide opened and fixed
On a passing idea our faces betwixt,
Through the trees without leaves, as I see it to-night?
"Dear Aunty, what makes all the meadow so white,
I said 'twas the snow; but she quickly said, “No;
Tis lambs lying there, and each time the winds blow
I watch one little fleecy thing frisk up and go."
Then quoth darling Grace, with her soft baby face
Upturned to the south window's uncurtained space—
(The candle was dim, or not lighted mayhap)

What is it makes shadows run over your lap
"The clouds," I replied, with the moon up above."
She shook her fair curls till they all interwove.

Lambs too—-spirit iambs—some of gray, some of gold;
The brightest my brother, of whom you're aft told,
And the moun is the shepherd that bears them to fold.TM*
My head threw eclipse as a kiss from my heart
I bent on her lips, rosy-hued and apart;
Then I raised her to sit where the shadows had been,
And told of the Lamb that was sisin for our sin;
Of a home he has promised, where winter and night
Are eternally banished for gladness and light

CHAPLAIN in the army of the Union writes Ner yes was I sure her faith simple and pure,

A to as from beyond the Mississippi River and Lite the as I be faith we getting mature,

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

A NEW correspondent in Lebanon writes to the poorest land be ever worked on: for, said he, **I Drawer:

“A week or two ago there was a 'match' which *took fire rather romantically. The bere and hereine ware from this place. The former knew of things #tiet happened boz aga but the latter was but a half-fledged schock-girl Among the bride's school males were wome but half her age. Tie was one ed them The came running to her mother the ocher GET BETTE

Mother is it true that Mary His married?"

[ocr errors]

•TAR IT de **WIT, she's only half through her botany"

“WHEN I was at college, not long ago, there was a young stadent fresh from the country her, tha vendancy made him subject to many persecutions by the 'more experi seed" Secaetimes the fun came without the assistance of his persecutors-ar "imposers as he thought. One morning be came in groat haste and excitement to his chum, crying Chum! chom! somebody stole our keyhole " "He meant the escutcheon

worked hard all summer, and at harvest-time, when we came to divide the crop, I not only had no corn left for myself, but I had to go and buy five bushels of shelled corn to make oct my father-in-law's half.”

Here is another case lastrating the workings of this peculiar institution" of doing things on shares: Farmer A happened to have more pigs that he could keep, while his neighbor, B. had more milk than be could dispose of... Che day A brought two pigs over and 3-posited them in B pen, saying that he wished B to keep them on shares, and that he might keep the two months and have one of them as his share. B replied that as he had plenty of feed, he would keep them four months and have them both, as, of anise, that would amount to the same thing! A left, saying that he supposed it was all right; but guessed he wouldn't bring any more.

Doctor Jess was once paid three guiness by a nich patient from whom be had a right to expect five. He dropped them on the four, when a servant picked them up and restored them. The doctor, instead of walking of continued his search on the carpet.

"ANNT A Year or two she that, at the bestBing of one of the sessions of the same callage, AMINE the new students was a big boorish. Sociew, who wichi Doel have only three." have olarmad descent from the family zë Galad of Galz widowi font of contradiccion. He did not seem

Are all the giannas found?” asked the rich man. "There must be we still on the floor," said the

The hint was taken, and the two immediately handed erve

EDITOR'S DRAWER.

"I HAVE fifty dollars in property," said an Irishman to a young lawyer; "but Bill Smead has got a judgment against me, and I should like you to advise how I can hide away my property so he shall not get one sint."

"Well," said the lawyer, "make it over to Hyour old employer."

"And faith I'll do that," said Pat, hurrying from the office. The next day our sprig of the law met Pat in the street and gently reminded him that he forgot to pay the small fee for the advice received. "And didn't your Honor say I should give my property to Mr. H, and so I have; and now you and Smead may get it from Mr. H- if you can!"

AWAY Down East a wealthy old gentleman, who was especially fond of a glass of good brandy, had established a bank, and liking his own face better than any one's else, had the frankness to confess it by placing it on both ends of his bank-bills. One evening a bill of this description was offered at the village hotel, and was thought to be a counterfeit. "Put a glass of brandy to the picter," proposed a "and if his mouth opens you may be sure it is wag, one of old Vintner's."

"DEAR DRAWER,-I am now living on a vast prairie away West of the Mississippi; yet even here in this solitude my heart is made glad by the host of good things in the Drawer; and feeling that all who enjoy this feast should contribute, I send you my offering:

"Several years ago the Rev. Mr. C, a minister of the Troy Conference, was in charge of Circuit. Father C was eminently pious himself, and was truly anxious that his whole flock should be likewise pure; and his constant theme was for all the members of his church to seek 'holiness of heart,' or, in other words, 'entire sanctification.' But his congregation was in a wretchedly backslidden state, and his zeal was almost wholly unrewarded. There was one, however, who was ever ready with the earliest excitement to become converted and reconverted; and, I am sorry to add, quite as ready to go astray when all was over. But while the excitement lasted none labored more earnestly, or exhorted others more vehemently, than Joseph H. Yet even in his most pious moods Joseph had one great besetting sin; viz., profanity, with which he had battled for many years, but had never been able to entirely overcome; and often did poor Joe repent over some dreadful oath that had escaped him while off his guard. Joseph unfortunately had a great physical defect as well as a moral one he was blind in one eye.

"Well, Joseph was the only one whose heart was melted under the ministrations of Father C, and Now it professed to have received the 'blessing.' happened a few days after Joseph's last experience, that as he went into the field one warm day in June to plow a piece of tough and stony soil with a pair of very unhandy oxen he completely lost his temper, and with it the blessing,' and was lashing his steers, not only with his whip, but also with his tongue, and in language the most wicked, wherein the name of his Maker was oft repeated in vain; when suddenly, as he turned the corner, what should meet his astonished eye but Father C, who had come up to within a short distance of him, on the blind side, and had listened to his unlucky tirade.

"Joe's presence of mind was wonderful in cases of emergency; and hoping to deceive the good man, VOL. XXV.-No. 147.-D D*

he instantly resolved to sing, and thus have it ap-
pear that he had been engaged in that innocent
pleasure all the while. Accordingly, with infinite
tact, he commenced in his loudest strain. Then, as
though he had just discovered Father C, he
stopped short, and with extended hand walked up
to him, saying, 'Father C, I am glad to see you
here. Them steers jerk me about so among the
stones that I can scarcely sing a tune.'

666

"Stop that, you profane wretch! Don't add a lie to the sin you have already committed.'

"Poor Joe was fairly caught, and had to own up, Then, and submitted for a long time to the indignant reproof of Father C without a murmur. after explaining the many vexations to which he had been subjected in the way of the heat, unruly cattle, and a hard and stony soil, and making a solemn promise to never sin in like manner again, he was dismissed with the following reply by Father C: Joseph, you have committed a very grave sin; but if God can forgive you I can too.'

"A few weeks after Joe, in great confidence, rein lated to me his unlucky visit from Father C— would never have caught the field; and slyly added that if it had not been for his blind Father Chim at that dodge."

eye

STORY OF A HAUNTED HOUSE. IN '56 and '57 (the glory days of Minnesota) one Olldritch made some investments in town lots in F, then one of the most flourishing towns in the State, but since the "crisis," like the balance, somewhat under a cloud. Olldritch was a fussy, crotchety old fellow, with a great many old maidish notions in his head, especially in regard to the management of his property. After remaining in Fa year or so, and long enough to erect three or four buildings on his lots, he was obliged to return to his former home in Indiana, where he had left his family. This was in the spring of '57, and just before the winter of our financial discontent had fairly set in. Of course he went away with the somewhat romantic notions of the prospects of the town, and the value of his property, common to the country at that time.

As agent to look after his business here he selected a young man by the name of C—, who, though he had never worn the judicial ermine, rejoiced in the sobriquet of Judge. The Judge was a man of good standing for honesty and capacity, but of all things he hated to be "bothered;" still, as he was always willing to oblige a friend, he consented to take charge of the property. One of the buildings which came under his oversight was a small, one-storied, unpainted bass-wood structure, built, as most of its neighbors were, on general principles, so as to be adapted to almost any purpose required in When it came into the Judge's a new country. hands it was occupied as a dwelling-house, but the tenant failing to recognize the obligation to pay rent was, after a good deal of argument on the Judge's part, brought to a realizing sense of the necessity of The giving up possession; which he at length did, evidently regarding it as a favor on his part. house remained vacant for a number of weeks, when the Judge, after a good deal of discussion as to terms and conditions, let it to an Irishman. Mr. Irishman took possession with his family, but finding his quarters rather more airy than is desirable even in a climate where the air is as pure and invigorating as it is here, he banked up the house nearly to the eaves with chips, and turf, and saw-dust, and gravel, and such other materials as were handy. The Judge,

HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

ther out into the street was but the work of a mo-
ment. But looking across the street after he had
cleared the premises, the Judge saw the mistress of
the pigs, swill-pail in hand, calling them together;
and fearing the consequences to himself if he re-
mained in the vicinity, he hastened to betake him-
self to a safe distance.
shoulder to see what course things were taking, and
Glancing back over his
whether he was being pursued or not, he had barely
time to see the Irish lady driving them all back into
the house and fastening the door, and as she did so
he saw her shaking her fist at him in defiance, and
heard her saying something about the divil's taking
the miserable spalpeen that dhrove poor people's pigs
into the sthrate.

humbled, and made up his mind that the less he
After this adventure the Judge was completely
had to do with that house the less he should be both-
ered. Mr. Olldritch was surprised by a communi-
cation which the Judge sent him shortly after, con-
taining the following statement of account:
-OLLDRITCH, ESQ.
To- C.
7. To attempt to collect rent...

1858.

Dr.

supposing that the property was well let, did not | kick open the door and kick the pigs and their moenter to view until several weeks after his new tenant had gone into possession; but when he saw the banking he was very much offended, both because it injured the appearance of the premises, and because it was a reflection on himself and the landlord. But when, on applying for the first quarter's rent, he discovered that Mr. Irishman was not the "gintleman who paid the rint," his wrath rose to the boiling point, and he gave notice to quit forthwith. Mr. Irishman hadn't come across the stormy Atlantic to be "trated" in this summary manner by an overbearing landlord, so in spite of the Judge's threats he remained there till spring, rent free, under the shadow of the banking which his thoughtful care had shoveled up against the winter's cold. The house was once more vacant and in the Judge's control, and, determined to profit by experience, the Judge resolved, inwardly and outwardly, that no man, woman, or child, should again enter it without bringing a good character, and paying rent in advance. To make this sure, he removed the window-sash and padlocked the door. And in his capacity of agent the Judge derived great inward satisfaction from the reflection that, under this line of policy, if his landlord and principal was not deriving any income from his property, he was not at least being defrauded out of his honest rents by dishonest tenants. Things remained in this condition for some time, when, one day in the month of August following, the Judge was sitting in his office (for, by-the-way, the Judge had been dabbling in politics, and had been recently elected to a position July 24. By proceeds house sold of responsibility in the county) smoking his meerschaum and digesting his dinner, when the door was opened by a middle-aged daughter of Erin, who inquired in a shrill voice, Is the gintleman they call the 'Jooge' in?" The Judge replied that he supposed that meant him. "An' shure," said she, "we hadn't any boords to make a pen to put the little pigs in, and we was afraid they would rin away, and we couldn't affoord to lose the little pigs, and we thought it would be a good, dry, warrum place, and so last Thursday was a week we put the little pigs into your schmall house jist across the sthrate from our shanty, and very convanient it is for us and for the little pigs, and very kind of yez-God bless yez, Sir!-not to complain."

The Judge was completely upset. What with the habit of conciliating the good-will of the people into which he had fallen in his political career, and his recollection of the treatment which he had received from his tenants, and the resolution which he had formed, his mind was for a few moments agitated by a storm of contending emotions. At length recovering his self-possession, and recalling the duty which he owed to Olldritch, he denounced the conduct of his visitor in his best style, with some profanity, and wound up his philippic by bidding her take her pigs out of the house immediately. The woman promised compliance, and left the office.

A few days after. the Judge was sauntering leisurely down the street, and happened to have the curiosity to look into the house to see in what condition the pigs had left it. What was his surprise, on looking through the window, to see six or eight well-grown pigs comfortably quartered in the house, and apparently enjoying all the rights and privileges which the premises afforded. The Judge was thunder-struck; for not only had the rights of property been wantonly invaded, but his own dignity and thority most outrageously trampled upon. To

1859.

Dec.,
Sept. 12. To letting house to Irishman..
Dec. 14. To attempt to collect rent of same

1860.

May 17. To taking out sash and padlock.
July 24. To commission on sale, 20
July 23. To removing pigs..

1860.

CONTRA.

Balance.....

per cent..

$2.00

1.75 1.00

.75

2.50

.50

$8.50

Cr.

2.50

$6.00

that the balance of $6 would be remitted at early The Judge closed his communication by hoping convenience, and resigned his agency.

theological notions are of the most heterodox. When "OUR baby,' Charlie Rand, is a comique. His his mother first tried to impress upon him an idea of the Great Father to whom his prayers should be addressed he insisted upon knowing what He wore, and the size of His hand and His eyes, and the like. And when his attention was turned from these points to the exceeding love and care of his Heavenly Father, and he was asked if he did not love Him, he replied, with an eager clapping of his hands,

666

I see him.'
"Yes; I'll get up in His lap and kiss him when

the Lord's Prayer he went on very well until he
"When the first attempt was made to teach him
came to the passage, 'Give us this day our daily
bread,' when he added, 'and butter too.'

thing but what I say. It is wrong to add your own "No,' said his mother; 'you must put in nowords.'

"But we want butter too,' persisted he.
peat it just as I do.'
"No, my child,' said his mother; 'you must re-

butter too, and drum-sticks, and bonfires!'-these
"Yes, yes,' cried he, obstinately; 'we want
last items being partially prohibited to him and his
elder brother, but forming in his mind the highest
pinnacle of boyish bliss.

till his understanding of the matter was a little fur-
"His mother deferred the teaching of the prayer
ther developed; and the next day she took him upon
her knee, and attempted to make him understand
the position of the First Great Cause in the universe.
The spring was approaching, and she told him that
God gave us the gentle showers, and that He would

« ZurückWeiter »