nothing in the world can give beside, for she knows that, however much in after years, love, ambition, traffic, worldly cares may withdraw some portion of that love, then the little being, with all its little wishes, hopes, and desires, is all her own. All the tenderness floating in its innocent eyes is for her to whom it owes all. This cannot last; the moment the little foot finds it can make itself a way unaided, some portion of its devotion ceases. Toys, amusements draw away its attention, and in the absorption of the child in its playthings and playmates, the mother beholds a miniature picture of its future life. Studies, amusements of another character then step in, and the passions which all must feel, and whose withering influence all men more or less experience. Life now dawns in reality; the all-engrossing power of ambition; the sweetness and the bitterness of love; the thickly ing; no passion so engrossing but knows some background of doubt. Fortunate for us that it is so. If every hope of life were crowned with success, if love could never die, or affection wither away, if all in this world proved true, man would be rendered intensely selfish, and unwilling to acknowledge the consoling power of faith. Our purpose in this world is to know and to suffer, for suffering purifies, and refines, and expands our sympathies towards others. The mission of man is universal, not exclusive, and sweet as is the early experience of life, with its freedom from sorrow and responsibility, we would not have it in exchange for the deep and sacred calm which descends upon our soul after having experienced something bringing pain. For along with that pain comes reflection and thought; the power of thought is an attribute never to be foregone. Childhood is the age of innocence and hap-crowded cares of life's daily struggle for expiness. A trite observation it may be, but its truth falls into every heart. An interest in beings that have not yet known and felt is always sure to be awakened. The impulses of our nature lead us to love that which is hidden, secret, and innocent. We love the flower that grows in the shade, the half-hidden rill, the quiet knoll, the unplucked blossom in the forest, protected by combre trees. The wild rose nestling in the brambly hedge, the violet covering its feet with fragrance, are ever dear to us. And so the child kept apart from the world, springing each day into fresh consciousness, and depending almost wholly on the being who gave it birth for direction and assistance, is loved and looked upon with admiration; and as it quits the sunny land of childhood, and rapidly approaches near the dark tract of experience which a riper age will bring, we view it with a more anxious tenderness, and grieve silently over the rebuffs it must know. We secretly breathe a wish that it could ever rest as it did, a babe on its mother's breast, hallowed in its innocence, a thing of purity, born only to give and to receive joy. Never in the whole course of our existence are we so loved as in our infancy; for unconsciously reposing on what we know not then-a mother's love--we draw our life, our nourishment, our happiness from one,and that one, when she nestles her babe to her bosom, experiences a thrill of rapture, istence; the yearning after fame; the devotion to money; the attractions to business; the excitement of travel, and even, perhaps, the gnawing, corroding, soul-depressing influence of poverty, sweeps away gradually the gentleness, the tenderness, the guilelessness, the purity even of youth; and for a while, lost in the giddy whirl of love and pleasure, man forgets the freshness of his early existence, the sweetness of sensations which men feel without perfectly comprehending them, is quite obliterated, and he goes forth hardened and prepared for the sterner realities of life which, while they fit him to hold a more manly position in society, render him oftentimes less pleasing in the domestic hearth. It is strange to contemplate how, after long. years separation from the period of youth, the mind will suddenly take a leap backwards, and plunge its memory into the scenes of the past. The indescribable train of association is not to be perfectly understood. Some trifle falling across our path will sometimes carry us back year by year to some time-hallowed scene, and place us with the same feelings and impulses in the very spot we then occupied. Out of some such links, conversations the most agreeable have arisen. Some associations having been created, life episodes, narratives, anecdotes, feelings all connected with the past, burst impetuously forth, and much of the old heart creeps out, while the memory of hours of innocence often refreshes and purifies our spirit. The melancholy caused by retrospection often throws an ineffable tenderness into our manners to those around. The recollection that we have experienced some delight in the world seems to compensate for many an after struggle, and prepares us to bear the evils yet in store for us with a more thankful heart. We frequently hear in society persons exclaim, "Oh, that reminds me of when I was a boy." "That recalls my childhood." "That puts me in mind of when-" "Does not that recall such and such a time?" Who can tell through what struggles, what turmoil, what pain, the spirit travels in the flight of an instant to that period, hallowed in whatever way it may be? Sometimes it conjures up a pleasant picture, sometimes it dates the commencement of a life of misery, sometimes it recals an episode fraught with passion, love, and devotion; sometimes it was a landmark, a boundary between the innocence of childhood and the guilt of after years. An influence all-powerful and true is sometimes excited by these associations, trifling as their power may seem to be. We know many an instance in which this beneficial result has been produced. One of this kind will suffice for our purpose. There was a woman, beautiful, accomplished, and still bounding with strong impulses, although in her thirtieth year. She was so lovely, that her loveliness produced its danger; and not satisfied with the idolatry of her husband, she was tempted to listen to the worship of another, who worked upon her vanity, until, in a moment of forgetfulness, she resolved to quit him. Guilty as yet only in thought, she prepared for flight. A few links connected with the past were consigned to the flames, until, on unlocking a little drawer full of mementoes, not lately gazed upon, she took hold of a small paper packet. Trembling with sensations of regret, mingled with blind passion, she opened it, and, beholding its contents, sank into a seat, burst into tears, and remained absolutely convulsed with agony during a short period. Why this working of her soul? There rested there only the faded remains of a white rose, diffusing a faint, very faint fragrance, just enough, however, to revive a scene in the past, when she was pure and innocent. Her husband had given her that upon her betrothal, her husband still trusting, still loving; who idolized her, and imagined her still the guileless girl. Like the beauty of that small white rose her purity had faded, and, in a perfect delirium of agony, she wept over the bitterness of her experience. Her girlish feelings revived one by one, her reverence of virtue, her love of her husband seemed hovering spirit-like over her, and gradually stole into her heart, converting that seared and withered sanctuary into the sacred temple of innocence. Sixteen years of contact with the world faded from her memory; experience of its hollowness and coldness, of her own gradual hardening to the influence of the holiest feelings of life evaporated, and the fragrance of the faded rose diffused itself all through the room; reviving the fragrance of innocent, fresh feelings, young trustfulness, guilelessness, came pouring in floods over her soul, and washed away the stubborn particles of guilt. She rose from her recollections another woman, with every passion purified, every evil impulse vanished, and the very remorse of her soul imparted ever after a double tenderness to her mauner towards the husband she had wronged in thought, who never knew the evil experiences of that heart, but reposed for ever upon the love of her, of whose stainless purity the white rose was to his soul the only perfect emblem! Another instance of the strong power of association is of a less painful nature. We were once talking with an old friend, over whose head some fifty summers had passed. Coffee and biscuits stood upon the table, besides other pleasant concomitants. During the conversation, our friend was engaged in attacking many of the good things around, when he happened accidentally to taste one of the biscuits. "I have not tasted these for more than forty-five years," he exclaimed, "they remind me of my boyhood, and recall a hundred scenes to my fancy." He told us that at the moment he tasted the biscuit, a perfect landscape extended instantaneously before his view, and he beheld a scene he had never trod for more than fortyfive years, and which he deemed he had forgotten. Old feelings came bubbling out, old affections and links came rushing over his mind until he seemed lost in a melancholy but sweet train of retrospection. His boy hood, his early inspirations, and young feelings awakened by the novelty of daily experience rose vividly before him, and stretched like a panorama. Prone to indulge in somewhat misanthropic views, he felt refreshed, and the current of his thoughts sweetened by the bath of memory into which he had plunged. We have briefly sketched the power of association, but it would be vain to attempt to mention the thousand trifles that awaken us to recollection. Every one has felt something of this, and has experienced the painful delight of reproducing the past. A mere nothing will do it; the prospect of a sunset, the color of the sky, the rush of waters, the ripple of a stream, the chirp of a bird, the chasing of leaves by the autumn wind, the sighing of the breeze, the shape into which the clouds form themselves, the shadows in a room, the placing of flowers, the tones of music, the harmony of some voice, some song, some expression, some word, some peculiar look, some nothing, will carry us back into regions where all have revelled, and where many would return. The bitter experience of some in this life causes them to wish that they had never overstepped the boundary that carried them from youth to manhood; but most of us, with all our trials, our disappointments and our sorrows, have some hopeful, compensating feeling, some sacred and cherished sanctuary within our hearts, to which we may turn and experience the beauty of that faith which forces us to link even our misfortunes with good, and to draw from evil a consoling power. Few, very few, in this world, but have something—a child, a friend, or dear relative, to take away the sting from the hard pressure and experience of life. From "Chambers' Edinburgh Journal." THE SMUGGLER MALGRE LUI. THERE is perhaps no more singular anomaly in the history of the human mind than the very different light in which a fraud is viewed according to the circumstances in which it is practised. The singular revelations made to the Chancellor of the Exchequer by a late deputation will probably be fresh in the remembrance of most of our readers. Even the learned gentleman himself could hardly maintain his professional gravity when informed of the ingenious contrivances adopted for defrauding the revenue. Advertisements floating through the air attached to balloons, French gloves making their way into the kingdom in separate detachments of right and left hands, mutilated clocks travelling without their wheels-such were some of the divers modes by which the law was declared to be evaded, and the custom-house officers baffled. We are by no means disposed either to think or speak with levity of this system of things. However much a man may succeed in reconciling any fraud to his own conscence, or however leniently it may be viewed by his fellow-men, it will yet assuredly help to degrade his moral nature, and its repetition will slowly, but surely, deaden the silent monitor within his breast. All we affirm is the well-known fact, that laws are in most cases ineffective, except in so far as they harmonize with the innate moral convictions of mankind; and that many a man who would not for worlds cheat his next-door neighbor of a penny, will own without a blush, and perhaps even with a smile of triumph, that he has cheated the government of thousands ! It is not often, however, that so daring and successful a stroke of this nature is effected as that which we find related of a celebrated Swiss jeweler, who actually succeeded in making the French director-general of the customs act the part of a smuggler! Geneva, as must be well known to all our readers, supplies half Europe with her watches and her jewelry. Three thousand workmen are kept in continual employment by her master goldsmiths; while seventyfive thousand ounces of gold, and fifty thousand marks of silver, annually change their form and multiply their value beneath their skillful hands. The most fashionable jeweler's shop in Geneva is unquestionably that of Beautte: his trinkets are those which beyond all others excite the longing of the Parisian ladies. A high duty is charged upon these in crossing the French frontier; but, in consideration of a brokerage of 5 per cent., M. Beautte undertakes to forward them safely to their destination through contraband channels; and the bargain between the buyer and seller is concluded with this condition as openly appended and avowed as if there were no such personages as custom- whichever of the employés should be so forhouse officers in the world. All this went on smoothly for some years with M. Beautte; but at length it so happened that M. le Comte de Saint-Cricq, a gentleman of much ability and vigilance, was appointed director-general of the customs. He heard so much of the skill evinced by M. Beautte in eluding the vigilance of his agents, that he resolved personally to investigate the matter, and prove for himself the truth of the reports. He consequently repaired to Geneva, presented himself at M. Beautte's shop, and purchased 30,000 francs' worth of jewelry, on the express condition that they should be transmitted to him free of duty on his return to Paris. M. Beautte accepted the proposed condition with the air of a man who was perfectly accustomed to arrangements of this description. He, however presented for signature to M. de Saint-Cricq a private deed, by which the purchaser pledged himself to pay the customary 5 per cent. smuggling dues, in addition to the 30,000 francs' purchase-money. M. de Saint-Cricq smiled, and taking the pen from the jeweler's hand, affixed to the deed the following signature-" L. de SaintCricq, Director-General of the Customs in France." He then handed the document back to M. Beautte, who merely glanced at the signature, and replied, with a courteous bow, "Monsieur le Directeur des Douanes, I shall take care that the articles which you have done me the honor of purchasing shall be handed to you in Paris directly after your arrival." M. de Saint-Cricq, piqued by the man's cool daring and apparent defiance of his authority and professional skill, immediately ordered post-horses, and without the delay of a single hour set out with all speed on the road to Paris. tunate as to seize the prohibited jewels-a promise which had the effect of keeping every officer on the line wide awake during the three succeeding days. In the mean while M. de Saint-Cricq reached Paris, alighted at his own residence, and after having embraced his wife and children, and passed a few moments in their society, retired to his dressing-room, for the purpose of laying aside his travelling costume. The first thing which arrested his attention when he entered the apartment was a very elegant-looking casket, which stood upon the mantel-piece, and which he did not remember to have ever before seen. He approached to examine it; his name was on the lid; it was addressed in full to M. le Comte de Saint-Cricq, DirectorGeneral of Customs." He accordingly opened it without hesitation, and his surprise and dismay may be conceived when, on examining the contents, he recognized at once the beautiful trinkets he had so recently purchased in Geneva ! The count rung for his valet and inquired from him whether he could throw any light upon this mysterious occurrence. The valet looked surprised, and replied, that on opening his master's portmanteau, the casket in question was one of the first articles which presented itself to his sight, and its elegant form and elaborate workmanship having led him to suppose that it contained articles of value, he had carefully laid it aside upon the mantel-piece. The count, who had full confidence in his valet, and felt assured that he was in no way concerned in the matter, derived but little satisfaction from this account, which only served to throw a fresh veil of mystery over the transaction; and it was only some time afterwards, and after long investigation, that he succeeded in discovering the real facts of the case. Beautte the jeweler had a secret understanding with one of the servants of the On reaching the frontier, the DirectorGeneral made himself known to the employés who came forward to examine his carriage-informed the chief officer of the incident which had just occurred, and beg-hotel at which the Comte de Saint-Cricq ged of him to keep up the strictest surveillance along the whole of the frontier line, as he felt it to be a matter of the utmost importance to place some check upon the wholesale system of fraud which had for some years past been practised upon the revenue by the Geneva jewelers. He also promised a gratuity of fifty louis-d'ors to lodged in Geneva. This man taking advantage of the hurried preparations for the count's departure, contrived to slip the casket unperceived into one of his portmanteaus, and the ingenious jeweler had thus succeeded in making the Director-General of Customs one of the most successful smugglers in the kingdom! IN A BUNDLE OF GOSSIP. FROM time to time-quite as often as the moon changes our travelling fears are lighted up with the story of some terrible accident by railway. But it is not to be supposed from this, that every moderate calamity of the sort finds its way into type. We should say that a broken leg or twoa fractured thigh, a single split skull—would be hardly of enough importance to engage the attention of our newspaper economists. It is only when a "Bishop is burnt," that there is report of the awfulness of the fire. We have slipped-in the very outset of our Chronicle, into this mood of talk-first, because the City-world is stuffing its carpetbag for country movement; and second, because our eye has just been caught by the sound drubbing which the London Examiner gives a score of railway directors, for the mishap upon their road. There is a relish in the reading of such an article, which in the whole range of American newspapers we sigh for in vain. Accidents which would stir the English metropolitan press into a furor of condemnation, are passed over by our papers as "unfortunate occurrences," with "no blame attributable to the engineer or directors." Even those journals which are most braggart of their independence, and which show their freedom by ribaldry, are notoriously the best subjects of a bribe; and a fat douceur will calm their ire as quick as putrid meat will still the yelpings of a cur. The truth is, between free tickets furnished to the press, and the prospect of long advertisements from the "Company," there is scarce a paper that has a tongue of its traveller own for railways; and the poor must take his chance, without liberty to accuse, or any hope of expostulation. We throw out these hints for the sake of setting country readers right, in what they may innocently suppose a fair exposition of the railway mishaps of the country; and furthermore for the sake of contrasting the boldness of the English prints on these topics with the toadying servility of too many of our American journals. The Pacific has made another run which rates her name at the head of the steam marine of the world. The triumph is acknowledged in the British journals which came to hand by the Washington. The Times makes this mention of the run: "The Pacific sailed from New York precisely at 5 minutes past 12 on the 10th inst., was announced off Holyhead at 8 o'clock yesterday morning, and saluted the Rock Light-house at 15 minutes past 1 o'clock precisely, thus completing the run in the remarkably brief space of 9 days 19 hours and 25 minutes, mean time. Contrasting the Pacific's run with that of the Royal mail steamship Asia, (the fastest ever previously made,) there is a difference in favor of the Pacific to Holyhead of six hours, the Asia having been announced off Holyhead at 2 o'clock in the afternoon." The Great Exhibition is still in all mouths-as matter of talk. The Queen and Prince Albert are reported there almost daily. It will be remembered that it was not part of the original design to erect a permanent building for the Fair; nor even after the plan of Mr. PAXTON had been accepted, was it anticipated that his work would serve for any thing more than the display of the season. Now, however, not only is the building regarded as a parcel of the London inheritance from the Royal Commissioners, but the idea is bruited in influential circles of purchasing the goods upon display, and so making the Exhibition a permanent school of manufactures and design. An English journal remarks upon it thus: "There is a general feeling growing in intensity, that the assemblage of articles now classified together in the long avenues, spacious courts, and elegant galleries of that marvellous edifice ought to remain a permanent source of instruction and delight to the people of all ranks and classes-a living museum of the arts and industry of the living world. It seems likely that funds will not be wanting for the purpose, and that, after all expenses are paid, sufficient will remain to keep up the building, and to purchase the most important of the articles exhibited. Such a result, which no one was sanguine enough to imagine a few months ago, is now considered by sober people as highly desirable, and not at all impracticable. There remains but another step in the progress of opinion to be made, and then we shall have the realization of Mr. Paxton's idea, of a gratuitous admission of the people on certain specified days." |