He comes, and with him comes the wife who dared

The darkest storms of Austrian vengeance brave!
She who his dangers and his exile shared,
To seek a home of peace, perchance a grave.
The noble scions of a race so pure,
They too are welcome to our nation's heart :
And all who dare, and struggle, and endure,
And bear in Freedom's cause so brave a part-
O let them come in joy, and never more depart.

Now like a mother's blessing be the tones
Of earnest welcome to the exiles given:
To our protecting shores and sunny homes,
Alas! we cannot give the home from which they're
driven !

And though the tear, to worth for ever due,
Shall fill the eyes that feast on Kossuth's form,-
Though freemen's hearts and hands are ever true
To shield their illustrious brother from the storm,
Can he forget his Hungary, crushed, bleeding
and forlorn!

THE WIT AND WICKEDNESS OF SARCASM.

We do not know to whom to attribute the following, but it is worthy of remembrance.

"To be sarcastic is thought by some people a proof of ability. Such individuals are like a pack of Chinese crackers thrown into a crowd, continually exploding in every direction, but with greater noise than injury. There is more illbreeding than wit in a sarcasm; and more illnature than either. True wit does not consist in abuse, but in profound wisdom tersely expressed. Nothing, therefore, can be further from wit than sarcasm, and where they go together, one is pressed into the service, and is not a legitimate ally.

Nevertheless, we know many, mostly young persons, who set up for wits on the score of sarcasm. They are usually very conceited, or very foolish, or very unamiable individuals; and by no means the terror to others they imagine. Persons of sense are no more affected by their sarcasms than mastiffs are by the yelp of a lapdog. A real wit never condescends to reply to them. We have known many such sarcastic persons in our experience, and always found they cured themselves of this childish habit as soon as they grew up, or if they did not, that they remained children in their tempers to the end of their career. It is a mean sort of revenge that seeks to gall another's feelings by sarcasm. For where it chances to Le successful, it is like the copper shot of the Mexicans, which gangrenes the wound.

The

We frequently hear young persons at a party make sarcastic remarks on those who enter. There is here, perhaps, not so much ill-will, as ill-breeding, not so much spleen at others as a desire to display ourselves. It is a sort of verbal harlequinism got up to raise a laugh. would be wits in this case are like the monkey in a red coat at the menagerie who rides the ring and plays his antics to amuse the children rather than people of sense. When young gentlemen are the actors, they are generally forward and conceited slips of boys cultivating moustaches, and stretching themselves up in company to appear like men. But when young ladies are the offenders, they will frequently be found not very pretty, or not very amiable looking; and though they usually attract hearers, they make few fast friends, for every one is fearful lest they should turn out shrews. We may be amused at seeing a crowd run from a chaser, but we have no fancy to be chased our

selves. One enjoys the fun of beholding others take up nettles, but is very careful not to touch the sting. Hence the wisdom of the common saying that sarcastic women are rarely married. Though willing enough to laugh at others, men do not care to be made butts themselves. Moreover, a long practice in this habit, gives a person insensiblya splenetic mind,so that what was taken up to give zest to conversation, is too apt to end in spoiling the temper. Tartness would seem to be infectious. People grow sour and sarcastic together."

A SHORT SERMON ON STUMPS.

A CORRESPONDENT of the "Christian Register," over the signature of W. G. B., speaks a good word on Stumps, which may be useful to some of our readers. We have many times wished a moral lever to lift up certain stumps out of the field they marred. But hear the writer:

"We recently saw large unsightly stumps removed from their deep-seated home in the earth as quickly and easily as a surgeon extracts a tooth. It was done by Willis's patent lever application which was capable of producing a power, equal to one thousand tons weight.

Had Archimedes been present, his faith in removing mountains and moving the world with a lever would have been quickened and fostered.

It was a noiseless, but most suggestive occasion. To do a piece of work in two minutes at an expense of a few cents which ordinarily costs twenty-five dollars and requires days of severest toil-to redeem in one day an acre of stumps, which had been doomed to a perpetual neglect and waste, to make in one season fields of such land prolific of beauty and productive of richest vegetation, is doing something sublime and God-like. When God said, let there be light, there was light. All that we want in any given case of difficulty and hardship is motive power enough, and the work is easily accomplished. The application of science to art, the use of such labor saving machines is to be one of the redeeming instrumentalities in the ultimate salvation of the world. We have all of us met with some pretty hard cases in our fields and in our acquaintance, among stumps and among Bad habits, rooted with tremendous power in the characters of men, may be quietly removed and their place supplied with fragrant VOL. XX.

men.

29

and useful ones, by the application of power enough. What we saw in that field in Fitchburg, seemed as incredible and as wonderful as it now seems, that such and such profligate and hardened men can ever have their dispositions and characters changed for the better.

There is a prevalent feeling even in our Christian cities, that nothing can be done to redeem certain classes of the abandoned and so they are left from generation to generation like the barren, rocky, stumpy fields to moulder in their corruption. But does the true-hearted, experimental Christian doubt that there is power enough in Christ, if rightfully applied, to raise the dead in trespasses and sins from their graves of sensuality and wickedness.

Archimedes cried out in a transport of joy, when he discovered a simple law in hydrostatics; and the time is coming and now is, when the Church will sing aloud with joy, over waste places redeemed and rough, rugged, depraved hearts changed to gardens of verdure and fruit. If any one doubts it, let him see some such triumphs of mechanical force as I have described, and then let him look through these and beyond these to the superior power of spiritual forces."

STRENGTH FROM OTHERS.

MODERN theories of self-reliance, that make a man sufficient for himself, have no foundation in the reality of things.

Except above himself he can

Erect himself, how poor is man!"

The universe, intelligent and unintelligent, is a series of intimate dependances; and only the scrutiny of God's omniscience can tell the interlinking of forces and solve the problems of matter and spirit. The saddest pages in human history 'are those which tell the story of those who have tried to live within and to themselves -like Diogenes snarling at Alexander to get out of his sunshine, as though the light of day came down for him alone; or as the hermited misanthrope muttering his curses on a lying and deceiving world.

Self-reliance is good when it does not disavow the social relations and duties. It is noble and beautiful where it is the sacrifice of self to duty, as pointed out by the reception of some great truth or principle, unawed by the power of the majority, and unseduced by the temptations of

ease, social position, or present interests. It is grand to see such souls in the vast procession of History, holding their way in harmony with the order of the universe, gravitating to the idea of Duty to God and man, not men. Such souls are strong. Such souls have been the strength of nations and ages, and from their memories drop, as from the stars, the light of successful conquest for Right and Truth and Liberty.

We are but slightly acquainted with how much we find our strength in others, and only by meditating on the thought can we rise to a just appreciation of how strong we may be in the Lord -strong by ever-living moral forces, pouring into all the activities of our mental, affectionate and social being, the energy of enduring valor, devotion and love.

We were never made to be strong in ourselves. We see this in the little tottling infant, whose first efforts at walking are encouraged by the smile of the mother, and that smile gives strength to the failing limbs, just as truly as the sunlight lifts up the drooping plant and bids it show the grace and beauty of its make. The school-girl, timid, bashful and retiring, finds strength from the encouraging word of one she deems her superior; and the young mechanic, or artist, puts forth a better effort when an approving look tells the estimate in which his skill is held by some mind that knows where ability lies. The history of the struggles of genius abounds with instances where weakness found strength from some word of approbation, and many have known what Benjamin West meant when referring to his first effort at drawing and his mother's kiss when she overlooked him, he said, "That kiss made me a painter." Where genius is slighted and rudely repulsed, it does not find the strength by which it perseveres in itself alone, but rather from the knowledge of what genius has suffered, and how that suffering was glorified by the labors produced. We get our strength principally from others,-from what we have read, from what we know has been done, from our constant contact with minds around us. Every time of great excitement in the public mind, exhibits very strikingly this fact. One man sways thousands. They are strong or weak as the case may be with him; and it is sometimes lamentable to discover how few there are who have really strength from principles and alliance with the Right and Truth, and how many are strong only in men, or, it may be, in a man. This is the reason why public men should be good--sound in their

the moral character, inasmuch as they are strength or weakness of thousands; and it is this that gives such a weight to the fact that Washington was pure, sound to the core, and ripe in every detail of his character. When speaking of the condition of things subsequent to the Revolution, the orator at the laying of the corner stone of the new Capitol at Washington city, spoke of the small resources and the debts of the new government, "but even then," said he, "in many respects the government was strong. It was strong in Washington's great character-it was strong in the wisdom and patriotism of other eminent public men, his political associates and fellow laborers-it was strong in the affections of the people." This was a truthful word; and who can measure the strength of the union of States which is derived from the name and character of Washington! There is a charm in the name, "The Land of Washington," that would make that phrase a rallying word of strength. No more could it be used were the Union dissolved. No part of the country in its isolated condition could claim that august name; and to me, while I regard the moral bond of Union by far the strongest bond that binds the States, the memory of Washington is the chief strength of that moral bond.

We see in this how we get strength from others-how in fellowship with them we are strong, and by this method of thought we rise to find our strength in Christ, our power in God. To "be strong in the Lord and in the power of his might," as the Apostle exhorts, is to give ourselves to the work which we know God has purposed, and let the conviction of union with him thus formed be a source of unfailing energy.

Philadelphia, Pa.

TO FANNY.

H. BACON.

THEY told me thou wert beautiful,
That from thy forehead fair
Were parted back rich, wavy curls
Of glossy auburn hair.

They said thy cheek was lily-pure,

Thy lip was coral-red,

And hinted, these had won the heart So lately to thee wed.

I wondered much that outward charms A soul like his could gain,

ABOUT the close of the last war with Great Britain, Clarence Nelson, a young man of fine exterior and most brilliant promise, was pursuing the study of law in a romantic village situated on one of the small, beautiful lakes of Central New York.

As a Major of one of the regiments sent out from that region upon the frontiers, he had met with several dashing adventures with the enemy, and had become noted for his dexterity in coping with the red men. This fact gave an additional touch of romance, especially in the eyes of the belles of the village of A, to that already attaching itself to him, in the form of a fine graceful figure, flashing black eyes, wavy locks of brown, and an easy eloquence that hung upon his tongue. He might indeed be said to have been the hero of A

Notwithstanding the timidity of our sex, and the shrinking from scenes of bloodshed and the horrors of war, we do admire a bold, dashing soldier; and even the frailest and most timid fears not to become the lady-love of the adventurous warrior. As a palliation of our weakness, we can declare truly that we catch this admiration of a false glory from no other than the "lords of creation."

Clarence was then but little past the age of twenty, full of ambition and enterprise, and looking restlessly about him for some opening to gratify his love of adventure and improvement.

He had been poring over the statute books

scarcely a year; and though he studied early and late, and made rapid advancement, still this was not sufficient to dampen the ardor of his spirits, wrinkle his brow, or render him moody and uncongenial. A full flow of wild exuberancy made him proof against the ravages of too close application, and he seemed to be at the same time preparing for future usefulness, and to lose none of the enjoyments of the present.

Lawyer Bascom, in whose office he pursued his studies, though generally very silent upon the merits or demerits of his students, did not hesitate to remark to his friends, that Clarence Nelson would by and by slide into his shoes and more than fill them.

This of course came to the ears of Clarence, but instead of rendering him vain and pompous, as it would have done a weaker mind, was the source of great merriment with him. He often declared that he would never wear lawyer Bascom's brogans, but would have those with higher heels and more exquisite fitness; and withal they should not be so economically chosen, as the old lawyer's. But he was a young man then, and did not know that "riches have wings," and use them too. A rich old father, residing a few miles from the village, had freely supplied him with all the money needful for his expenses; and Clarence, in the generosity of his soul, made free use of it, yet not with that careless prodigality that attends the profligate. His amusements were all of the highest order, his friends well chosen and not too many, and his obligations all carefully fulfilled. Many a needy creature left his presence with a happier heart, and many a mother blessed him for the rescue of her reckless son from ruin.

A residence of one year in A-, made hin respected, admired and esteemed of all. About this period an agent for the "North West American Fur Company" passed through the village, engaging enterprising young men as clerks for the company, and offering high wages. Clarence listened to his representations, and was soon beset with an eager desire to see the new country, to learn something of the life of a trader, but more particularly to do something that should seem like moving ahead in the world. He accordingly engaged himself as clerk to the trading Company for a year, at a high salary, and prepared to depart immediately. The romantic pictures drawn by the agent of the free, wild, adventurous life of a trader, kept him full of excitement; and it was not until his word was pledged and the bargain concluded, that he had

come to reflect upon the probable feelings of his parents and family. A momentary pang passed across his mind when he thought how they might grieve, but he had promised; besides it would be but a year he should soon come back, and then how many things of interest he should have to relate, and how much he would have learned that he desired to know. On the whole he was greatly pleased with the idea; and in three days had made his adieu to relations and friends, and was on his way to the far West.

In those days what we now regard as only a short, pleasant trip round the Lakes, was looked upon as a long, perilous undertaking; and Wisconsin lying now but three days journey from any part of New York, was almost past the boundary of return; at least, a return from that country was considered doubtful; consequently the friends of Clarence thought it not unreasonable that they should shed many tears at his departure, and speak of him as one whom they should probably never see again.

They felt not unlike those who have, with fear and trembling, seen their dear ones depart in recent times for the gold regions of California. Yet, however much they prognosticated and feared, Clarence Nelson did not die that year, nor for many a year afterward; nor is he dead now, unless his exit has taken place within a few weeks. We shall have a glance at him in future years-meantime let us look into his heart and read some of its youthful records.

and

CLOSE on the borders of the lovely lake of C, stood the elegant mansion of Gen. BIt was the home of peace and plenty. The General's family consisted of himself, Mrs. B., a lovely niece. She was an orphan, and had been left to the care of her uncle with the dying breath of her mother. Helen Hyde was a noble girl, and next to the pleasure of fighting his battles over again, of showing the scars made by the enemy's bullets, and of relating his "hairbreadth 'scapes," the General found his chief enjoyment in the company of Helen. She gave him every respect that she could have shown a parent; and adding to a beautiful face and form a well cultivated mind, excellent heart, and gentle manners, it was no wonder that the old man, having no children of his own, should become strongly attached to her. He was never weary of her society, and he threw around her every pleasure and delight that affection could think

of, or money procure. Helen was deeply sensible of her uncle's kindness, and strove to repay in part his goodness by the most unremitted attentions; yet she was much of the time, in spite of all the charms of her home, unhappy. Her aunt was a woman of the most disagreeable temper; and having taken an early dislike to Helen, strove to render her unhappy, whenever she could. In vain was Helen kind and obliging, in vain did she give up many a pleasure because her aunt disapproved. It was all lost upon the latter; and when the former found herself obliged to reject with firmness the addresses of her aunt's nephew, a wealthy but dissolute young man, the last touch was put to her relative's hatred. Still, for her uncle's sake, the sweet girl bore it all patiently, never giving cause of offence, and neglecting no opportunity of doing her aunt a service. One evening in September, after a most uncomfortable day, she had strolled into the garden and seated herself in an arbor that commanded a view of the lake. Her thoughts were bitter, but she strove to banish them. She strove to forget her aunt's unkindness, her heartless reproaches, and to overbalance all in her mind by her uncle's kindness; and had so far succeeded as to be quietly enjoying the scene before her, the beautiful lake sleeping beneath the tender glances of the moon, when a hasty step approached, and the next moment a young man entered and seated himself by her side.

"I sought you in the house, Helen, but not |· getting any satisfaction from your aunt as to your whereabouts; and knowing your love for this spot, I ventured to seek you here before returning to the office, I hope I am pardoned the presumption."

"Presumption! Clarence, I am happy to have you here to enjoy this beautiful scene with me; and if you have any griefs to dispel, here is just the place to get rid of them. I came here in an unhappy frame of mind, and now I am at peace, and feel that I can go on in my duties cheerfully."

"I cannot exactly say, Helen, as I have any real griefs to dispel; but I am not quite happy to-night, and I have sought you to make you a sharer of my thoughts and intentions. I hope you will not suffer any new disclosures of mine to agitate or disturb you."

"Why, Clarence, you seem very mysterious. What important disclosures can you have to make that are not already made?" said Helen,