"Yes, dear little sister, I know you do; and how attempted by three of our men; but none, I think, dil have I repaid you? Oh! Minna, Minna, go away, and hate me, and never speak to me again." "No, Carry, if all the world hated you, I should love you." "And if I told you that I had hated you, hated you for months, and done you a serious injury, just because you are better than myself, and people love you more, what would you do then, Minna?" "Then, Caroline, I should try to make you love me, and when you loved me really, you would not wish to injure me any more, would you, dearest? But you have not done anything to me that I know of." "Do you remember about the doll, Minna?" "Oh! Carry, you surely were not so wicked as to do that, and on purpose too. Poor Cherry, she had never done you any harm." "There! I knew you would hate me." "No, Caroline, I do not hate you. But, oh! I am very much shocked." Caroline turned away in irrepressible misery. But soon she felt little hands passed over hers, and a gentle face pressed caressingly close to her own swollen and weeping features. "Sister," whispered Minna, "never let our mother know of this, it would make her so unhappy. And between us all, shall be forgiven and forgotten. Shall it, Carry?" "Minna, mamma has guessed all, and has questioned me about it, but I would not confess my sin. To-day, however, I could bear it in silence no longer, and just when you came to me in the plantation, I was making up my mind to go and tell her all about it, and ask her to beg of you to forgive me. Do you think, Minna," in a lower voice, "do you think that God will forgive me?" The children went together to their mamma, and Caroline, having unburthened her conscience of all its guilt, felt happier than she had done for many months. From that time, assisted by her good mamma, she kept a watch over her propensity to envy; and as the peace of love and good-will dawned upon her heart, it imparted a lustre to her countenance; and the once dark and silent Caroline became as popular and beloved as the sunny, golden-haired, affectionate, little Minna. FEATS OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS. it twice. The descent of the lower fall is a lesser feat, and the sensation of going down it head-foremost delightful: even that, however, is often fatal; and during our stay here, a man was lost merely through making a false step from the bank. The surprising agility of the women especially baffles description. One will sit by your side on the high bank, and remain so till you throw a stone into the water with all your force; then down she jumps, straight as an arrow, her feet crossed one over the instep of the other, and emerges with a laugh, holding up the stone. On first attempting to rise to the surface after going down the fall, the water seems, from the force of the current, to be matted overhead, and it is only by striking out into the eddy that you can rise: this the girls manage to perfection. They kick out their feet both together, and replaiting their hair with their hands, they float about the edge with a grace that is beautiful to see. Then the water is clear and blue, not cold, frosty, halfthawed. As lazily one watched the stream, down dropped from the ledges overhead, and cut the bright water, what soon reappeared, a man or woman. These ledges are fifty or eighty feet high; yet none seem to regard it as a feat, and the merry laugh told you it was done but to surprise the European. We appeared contemptible in our own eyes as we skurried from the rain with our umbrellas: but we soon yielded to wiser teaching, threw care away, got wet and dry again without minding it, swam, and enjoyed it as much as they did.-Walpole's Four Years in the Pacific. PADDY-GO-EASY. PADDY's dress maintained its early character to the last, no two parts of it being either good or bad at the same time. He always wore a grey frieze great coat, which, big as we have described him to be, was much too large for him. This coat always hung off one of his shoulders, and he has been sometimes known to twist up that shoulder with some remote intention of raising the collar to its proper place; but, during his whole life, no one ever could observe that he put his hand to it for that purpose. His shirt, which was no great shakes as a pattern either in cleanliness or make, he always wore open about the throat, exposing his broad red sunburnt breast, except of a Sunday, when he thrust a large corker pin transversely across the neck of it, which stuck up, stiff as leather, about his ears, giving him more the appearance of a thief looking out of the pillory than anything else we can now ONE of the greatest attractions was a waterfall, about remember. And indeed he himself felt conscious that three hundred yards up the river. It needed not the he was by no means at large on those occasions, nor in a feats done there to make the fall of the Wailuka or River capacity to enjoy a competent share of civil freedom so of Destruction worth looking at. The river ran for long as he was thus a prisoner in his own shirt. For this some hundred yards or so in rapids, over rocks and reason, then, no sooner was Mass over of a Sunday, or stones, the banks, crag, and precipice, two hundred feet at least that limited portion of its conclusion, which was high, whose rudeness was softened and refined by ten- the most that ever fell to his share, and he returning drils and creepers, that hung down to the foaming water, home, than he took the pin out, and thrusting it into his which ill-naturedly jerked them as it rushed by. A huge cuff, pursued his journey home like a free and inderock divided the stream, one half of which dashed petu-pendent man. As to his breeches, it was, during his lantly on, and met a noisy fate down the fall; while the whole life, a piece of unnecessary labour and expeuse to other, of a milder, gentler nature, ran along a channel have put buttons or button-holes to the knees of thera, of solid rock, and fell in one heavy stream a depth of inasmuch as honest Paddy would as soon think of taking about twenty-five feet, joining the rough waters below. to the highway at once as of buticning them. One A little turmoil succeeded the junction; then they flowed solitary button kept his waistcoat together after a fashion; quietly on, like brothers, arm-in-arm, till they fell but on no occasion was he ever known to have a garter again, and soon were lost in the salt waters of the ocean. on each leg, and, consequently, we need not say that one The great delight of the natives is to go down this fall. of his stockings, or in general both, were always about They sit in the channel I have described; they utter a his feet. If he got a new hat on Monday morning, a shout, a scream of joy, join the hands gracefully over the person would imagine, about the middle of the week, head, and, one after another, the girls of Hilo descend, that it had been an old acquaintance of his ; and, indeed, emerging like sea-nymphs in the eddy below. The figure, he stood in a similar category with respect to his shoes, as it gleams for an instant in the body of water, appears which, during the winter months, were always well to those standing below quite perfect; and the gay shouts foddered with straw, as might be known by the long and laughing taunt to follow, have led to the death of stalks of it that projected up about his ankles; for he many; for there is some secret current that not only never took the trouble either to pull or cut them away. drowns, but carries away the body too. The feat was -Carleton. Rhymes for Young Readers. AN EVENING SONG. Father above! I pray to thee, I seek thee on my bended knee, First let me thank thee for my share Of sweet and blessed health; It is a boon I would not spare, For worlds of shining wealth. And next I thank thy bounteous hand, I thank thee for each peaceful night, I thank thee for the morning's light, I own thy mercy when I move I thank thee for my kindred friends, So loving and so kind; Who tell me all that knowledge lends, To aid my heart and mind. Ah! let me value as I ought, The lessons good men teach, To bear no malice in my thought, No anger in my speech. Father above! Ah! hear my prayer. Worthy my earthly parents' care, ELIZA COOK. COARSENESS OF NICE PEOPLE. LIKE other things spurious, fastidiousness is often inconsistent with itself; the coarsest things are done, the cruelest things said, by the most fastidious people. Horace Walpole was a proverb of epicurean particularity of taste; yet none of the vulgarians whom he vilified had a keener relish for a coarse allusion or a malicious falsehood. Beckford, of Fonthill, demanded that life should be thrice winnowed for his use, but what was his life? Louis XIV. was "insolently nice" in some things; what was he in others? If we observe a person proud of a reputation for fastidiousness, we shall always find that the egotism which is its life will at times lead him to say or do something disgusting. We need expect from such people no delicate, silent self-sacrifice, no tender watching for others' tastes or needs, no graceful yielding up of privileges in unconsidered trifles, on which wait no flowing thanks." They may be kind and obliging to a certain extent, but when the service required involves anything disagreeable, anything offensive to the taste on which they pride themselves, we must apply elsewhere. Their fineness of nature sifts common duties, selecting for practice only those which will pass the test; and conscience is not hurt, for unsuspected pride has given her a bribe.-Mrs. Kirkland. DIAMOND DUST. WHEN the bitterness of malignity is absent, cheerfulness has full play; and candour, ever open and benevolent, is the exponent of mirth and good will. EDUCATION-Old Experience pointing out the road to Young Nature-a mental railway, beginning at birth, and running into eternity. IT is curious with what moral fortitude men can bear with the misfortunes of others. THE sun should shine on festivals, but the moon is the light for ruins. EVERY heart has its necropolis, filled with the gravestones of the loved and unforgotten. CORIOLANUS pardoning his ungrateful country, is greater than Regulus suffering martyrdom for his grateful country. SOLDIERS in peace are like chimneys in summer. MANY of the blessings universally desired are frequently wanted, because most men, when they should labour, content themselves to complain; and rather linger in a state in which they cannot be at rest, than improve their condition by vigour and resolution. A WISE book is a true friend; its author, a public benefactor. NEVER put a curb on humanity; we are too apt to stop without it. If there is a delicate, deformed, or weak-minded child in a family, it is generally the favourite with its parents. This is a beautiful illustration of Nature taking the part of the most helpless. TACITURNITY is best learned among men who have none, and loquacity among the taciturn. REAL grief is never clamorous. It seeks to shun every oye; and breathes, in solitude and silence, the sighs that come from the heart. A GOOD man will never teach that which he does not believe. IN many persons, grief takes the form of anger. A proud spirit, unwilling to display itself covered with dust and ashes, uplifts its head with unbecoming pride, in order to conceal that temporary humiliation. BE at peace with all mankind, but at war with their vices. PEEVISH Contradiction about trifles is infinitely more vexatious than a generous opposition where matters of importance are involved. DUTY has pleasures which know no satiety. A GENEROUS mind identifies itself with all around; but a selfish one identifies all things with self. HYPOCRISY-the world's tacit acknowledgment of the superiority of virtue. MEN of talent often appear common-place, but it is generally when they are in the company of stupid and ungenial people. Do not all that you can do; spend not all that you have; believe not all that you hear; and tell not all you know. EXCESSIVE fear opens the door to desperation. structed us to pity the errors of others, and to amend our EXPERIENCE has taught us little, if it has not in own. MAN's knowledge is but as the rivulet, his ignorance as the sea. Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by JOHN OWEN CLARKE, (of No. 9, Hemingford Terrace, East, in the Parish of St. Mary, Islington, in the County of Middlesex) at his Printing Office, No. 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London. Saturday, November 24, 1849. THE FALSE RESPECTABLE. "A RESTLESSNESS in men's minds," says Sir William Temple, "to be something they are not, and have something they have not, is the root of all immorality." This sentiment, if analyzed, will be found strictly correct. One of the most prominent vices of modern society is, the aiming and struggling to keep up mere external appearances. This is the great social sin of the age. There is a universal effort at seeming to be something which we are not. We put on appearances, clothe ourselves in shams, and try to look something superior to, or at least different from, what we really are. "Respectability" is one of our great aims. Now, respectability, regarded in its true sense, is a proper and most desirable thing. To be respected, on right grounds, is an object which every man and woman is justified in aiming at. To be respectable-literally, worth looking at again, worth regarding and admiring-this is all proper enough, and we do not find fault with it. But what does "respectability" mean in the modern-social acceptation of the term? It means, wearing fine clothes, living in fine houses, "keeping a gig." It looks to the outside, to sound, show, externals. It listens to the chink of gold in the pocket, and admires the polish of the brazen face. Moral worth or goodness forms no part of it. A man in these days may be perfectly "respectable," and yet altogether despicable. [PRICE 1d. Each circle would think it a degradation to mix on familiar terms with the members of the circle beneath it. In small towns and villages, this feeling assumes its most intense form. There you find distinct coteries or circles, holding aloof from each other, despising each other, and often pelting each other with hard words. And while every one has his or her own exclusive circle, which all of supposed inferior rank are precluded from entering, they are at the same time struggling to pass over the line of social demarcation which has been drawn by those above them; they are eager to overleap it, and thus gain admission into a circle still more exclusive than their own. There is a desperate scramble for front places, and many are the mean shifts employed to gain them. We must be "respectable," forsooth! We must possess the homage of society! And for this purpose we must be rich, or at least seem to be so. Hence the struggles after style-the efforts made to put on the appearances of wealth-the dash, the glitter, and the show of middle and upper class life-the aping of aristocratic manners and customs-the gaudy "gentility," and "ton ;"-and hence, too, their motley train of palled and vitiated tastes, of shrunken hearts and stunted intellects, of folly, frivolity, and madness. It is not so much, however, in the mere appearances kept up, as in the means taken to keep them up, that the fruitful cause of immorality is to be found. A man, once having taken his class status, must run all risks to keep it up. To surrender any one indulgence, is to lose caste This false and demoralizing habit arises from the over-in his own eyes. It is thought to be a descent in the world weening estimate which we form in this country, of two to abridge one's-self of a superfluity. The seemingthings well enough in their place,-rank and wealth. We all of us feel as if we belonged to some rank or caste, out of which we are always struggling to rise into some other above it. You find this spirit of caste as keenly at work among the humblest as among the highest ranks. The linen-draper looks down on the huckster, the huckster on the day-labourer, the day-labourer has some one beneath him too. Higher up in the scale of wealth and rank, it is the same. rich man, who drives his close carriage and drinks champagne, will not tolerate a descent to a gig and plain port; and the respectable man, who keeps his gig, would think it a degradation to have to travel a-foot or in a 'bus, between his country-house and his town-office. They will descend to immorality rather than descend in apparent rank: they will yield to dishonesty rather than yield up the mock applause and hollow respect of that big fool, The man of acres despises the man of cotton."the world." How exclusive is Almacks! not even all titled men can have an entrée there. It matters not at what class you begin, or howsoever low in the scale; you will find that every man has some class beneath him that he looks down upon. Among the middle classes this exclusiveness is very marked. Who cannot call to mind hundreds of instances of men -"respectable men"-who, from one extravagance have gone on to another-wantonly squandering wealth which was not theirs-and all in order to keep up a worldly reputation, and to cut a great figure before their admiring fellows; all ending in a sudden smash, a frightful downfall, an utter bankruptcy-to the ruin, perhaps, of thousands. They have finished up with paying a respectable dividend of sevenpence in the pound! Indeed it is not too much to say, that five-sixths of the fraud and swindling that disgrace commercial transactions, have their origin in this same diseased sense of which we now speak. To be respectable, in the false sense of the term, what is not sacrificed? Peace, and honesty, and truth, and virtue, all to keep up appearances. We must cheat, and scrub, and deceive, and defraud, that "the world" may not see behind our mask! We must torment and enslave ourselves, because we must extort "the world's" applause, at least secure "the world's" good opinion! How often is suicide to be traced to this false sentiment! Vain men will give up their life rather than their class notions of respectability. They will go down to Tophet itself rather than sink one step in "society." They will rather cut the thread of existence itself, than cut fashionable circles. Very few suicides are committed from real want. "We never hear," says Joel Barlow, "of a man committing suicide for want of a loaf of bread, but it is often done for want of a coach." Of this mean and miserable spirit of class and caste, women are the especial victims. They are far too generally brought up with false notions of life, and taught to estimate men and things rather by their external appearance than by their intrinsic worth. Their education is conducted mainly with the view of pleasing and attracting the admiration of others, rather than of developing the best qualities of mind and heart within themselves. Hence the accomplishment-mania, and its results. They are early imbued with notions of exclusiveness, fashion, and gentility. Appearances, in course of time, come to be estimated by them above all more sterling and less glaring qualities. Respectable position in society is held up to them as the mark to be aimed at; and to be criminal or vicious is virtually represented to them as less horrible than to be "vulgar." Immured within the bastile of exclusivism, woman is held a captive to all the paltry shifts and expediencies of convention, fashion, gentility, and so forth. The genuine benevolence of her nature is thus perverted; her heart grows contracted; and the very highest sources of happiness-those which consist in a kindly sympathy with humanity in all ranks of life--become as a well shut up, and a fountain sealed. Is it not a fact, that in what is called fashionable society," a fine outside appearance is regarded almost in the light of a virtue? that, to be rich, or to have the appearance of it, is esteemed as a merit of a high order; whereas, to be poor, or to seem so, ranks as something like an unpardonable offence? Nay, such is the heartlessness of this class spirit, that a young woman, belonging to such an order, who, by misfortune or family reverses, may have been thrown upon her own resources, and who endeavours, by her own honest hands, to earn her own honest bread, immediately loses caste, and is virtually expelled from" respectable" society. Labour and useful occupation, which, in all cases, have a high dignity in them, and are honourable alike in man and woman, are considered among exclusive classes (at least when such labour is for a living) as derogatory from female character and respectability! The resolution to be independent-the most invigorating resolution which can take possession of the human mind-is scouted in such circles as a degrading thing; and those who have been brought up within their influence will accordingly submit to the most severe privations, and encounter the most painful trials, rather than submit to the loss of their class and caste respectability, by openly endeavouring to earn their living by honest industry. We should like to see the time arrive, and we think we see it rapidly approaching, when this inhuman and unchristian spirit of class and caste shall be voted down by society itself, as vulgar and disrespectable; when industry and usefulness shall be pronounced as truly honourable, and intelligence and moral worth be stamped as the only true respectability. AN ADVENTURE AT BOCA-DEL-RIO. Ir was an interesting moment when on emerging from the forest above Vera Cruz, through which I had been riding some hours, I caught sight of the ocean; the view of the broad expanse of water stretching far beyond the reach of vision to my native country, conveyed something like a home feeling to my mind. But there was that breeding in the elements which soon recalled me to my actual situation; all nature seemed oppressed by a strange uneasiness; a bitter smell rose from the sea, birds flew over its surface with wild cries; my horse panted under the suffocating heat; every thing in short announced the brewing of a norther, as the frequent hurricanes are called, which blow on the coast of the Mexican gulf. They last from two to six days; the most violent being the soonest over. While I was gazing, the dense bank of mist that obscured the horizon to the eastward was suddenly torn asunder, and the lofty Sierra of San Martin stood out clear and distinct in the distance, unshrouded in an instant by the impetuous blast. "Bad luck to the ships in the gulf," said my companion Calros, "for the norther is upon them sword in hand, and the coming night will be an ugly one, as we shall perhaps find out by-and-by, when we get to Bocadel-Rio." I wished to sail from Vera Cruz without delay, but Calros assured me that for four days at least no vessel would be able to stir, and reminded me at the same time of my promise to accompany him until the design he had in view was accomplished. The hurricane was an unanswerable argument, and being compelled to delay I agreed that after a short halt in the city to arrange for my departure, I would ride on in the evening to Boca-del-Rio, four leagues farther, and rejoin him there. The tempest was at its height when, having transacted my business, I proceeded by a road along the beach in the direction already taken by Calros. The icy blast from the north howled furiously, and the waves dashed foaming and hissing to the feet of my horse. It was growing dusk, and the gloom deepened as I advanced. At times I was compelled to turn my back to the wind; on such occasions I saw the light-house of San Juan de Ulloa in the distance, illuminating the white surface of the sea by alternate flashes, and half repented having left the city. I went on nevertheless in spite of the storm, and had almost reached the wood, beyond which stands Boca-delRio, when I saw a horseman riding a short distance in advance. With one hand raised to protect his eyes from the glare of the lightning, he was looking out intently over the ocean, as though he wished to penetrate the sombre veil which shrouded it. It was in vain that I hailed him, the roar of the tempest completely drowned my cries and the noise of my horse's feet, and I was about to quicken my pace; but at the moment the sound of a distant report came on the blast, and the stranger spurring his horse, was speedily out of sight. Once within the forest, the trouble of finding the narrow path through the tangled underwood prevented my thinking of what had occurred. The trees deadened the fury of the hurricane, and I rode slowly forward in comparative quiet for about an hour, when Boca-del-Rio, so named from standing at the mouth of a river, came in sight. I intended to betake myself immediately to quarters for the night, but an interesting spectacle awaited me. Notwithstanding the norther, all the population of the village was in movement on the shore, every eye gazing on the foaming waters. There was nothing in sight, but the report of a cannon had announced a ship in distress, ELIZA COOK'S JOURNAL. and wanting a pilot. In such a night it was evident that unless by miracle no vessel could lay near the land without wreck, still, as no second report had been heard, it was hoped that the strange sail had beaten off. Besides, the most expert pilot of the coast had gone out before the storm commenced, and he was doubtless on board, so that with a few exceptions, the spectators entertained no fears for the result. long to wait. A troop of horsemen made their appear- Calros, who was among the number, had communicated these particulars to me, when a second report was heard, followed soon after by the flash and roar of a third, and nearer than before. Presently we made out a vessel under bare poles moving rapidly towards the shore; the only hope of escape from utter destruction lay in her being able to enter a channel near where we stood, by which means she would strike easily on the sand. The channel, however, was barely discernible through the drifting spray and foam, and it was apparent from the movements of the vessel, that those on board were delaying the attempt as long as possible. All at once a shout of pleasure rose above the noise of the wind: about a cannon shot from where we had assembled, a light shone above the shingle. Had some courageous individual de-a voted himself to guide the ship towards the channel? The crew evidently regarded it as a friendly signal, for the brig with foresail set to render her more obedient to the helm in such a critical moment, came driving shorewards with fearful rapidity. Sometimes she seemed to pause during a lull, bnt it was only to receive an additional impulse from the fierce blasts that immediately followed; at last, after a sudden bound she struck heavily; a cry of distress was heard above the uproar of the storm, and at the same instant the light disappeared, like the It was ignes fatui after luring travellers to destruction. all over with the vessel, and there remained but to save the crew. While we were deliberating on the choice of means, a man holding a lantern in his hand, showed himself on the bow of the wreck, and by the light he was recognised as the pilot Ventura. We could neither hear his voice, nor go to his assistance; a few minutes later a boat was lowered from the side of the brig into the water, and several men got in to bring a rope to the land, but after a short struggle with the waves she disappeared in a dash of foam. Only one man reached the shore; he emerged from the water half dead with fatigue and cold: it was the pilot. A line was passed round his body, which enabled us to stretch a hawser from the vessel to the land, and one by one, though not without great difficulty and danger, all that remained on board were saved. As soon as Ventura could speak, he gave us the astounding intelligence that the brig had been lost by treachery; the light which led her to a ledge of rocks had been kindled by wretches who regard every shipwreck as an opportunity for plunder. I could not help thinking of the individual whom I had seen on the road, and who had ridden off so suddenly at the first gun-fire. "A curse on these marauders," exclaimed Ventura, as he finished his recital, "whom every norther brings down to the shore for pillage. A curse on the villain who made us strike to gratify his hateful cupidity." The brig was American, and freighted with a valuable cargo of contraband goods for the port of Alvarado. Being insured, the survivors treated their misfortune with characteristic phlegm. The villagers were ready with offers of hospitality, and before long the beach was almost deserted, only a few men remaining to seize whatever might drift on shore on the final breaking up of the wreck. Desirous of witnessing the end, I waited with Ventura. "Wherever there is carrion," he whispered, "the vultures are not far off: we shall presently see those who caused the wreck." A row of mangroves was between us and the beach, We had not and concealed the party from observation. "It is the man I seek," continued the Jarocho, squeezing my hand. "You, seeking for him?" inquired the pilot, "and why?" To kill him," replied Calros, with heroic simplicity. "Well! undertake that you shall find him to-mor"You hear him, senor cavalier," said the Jarocho, row, and he will be lucky if he escape a second time." turning to me, "you also are interested in pursuing Campos." For the moment, however, every other purpose gave The articles way to that of dividing the spoils, which now floated on shore from the wreck in great quantities. were placed in a pile, and apportioned with strict impartiality; Ventura took for his share a few chests of Irish linen. I began to suspect that it was not pure disinterestedness which actuated the villagers in their opposition to the fugitive band of plunderers. So promptly was the booty carried away, that in a few minutes Calros and I were left alone on the beach; we, in turn proceeded to the village, where we partook of a frugal repast to prepare ourselves for the coming fatigue, and then bent our steps to the place where the pilot was waiting for us. In a small creek shaded by willows, Ventura was preparing a canoe for an expedition. This mode of travelling was far more agreeable than a weary tramp through the wood as I had anticipated. Calros knew how to row; The gloomy forest we took our places, and aided by the flood tide were soon gliding rapidly up the dark current. rose on either hand; sometimes the stream was so narrow that the trees overhung, and formed a dense vaulted After rowing some time in silence the pilot and canopy. the Jarocho began to converse on the chances of the enterprise: our position was not an enviable one, and an enemy posted in a tree above our heads might take his choice of any one of the three as his victim. The night was so dark that it was scarcely possible to distinguish objects; we had kept on for more than two hours, when Calros rested for a few moments to breathe. The canoe, left to itself, drifted broadside to the current. "Keep her in a line with the stream," exclaimed Ventura sharply, "for supposing that we meet no human enemies, yet the And the danger wind may have blown down a tree, and a collision broadside on would infallibly capsize us. |