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hollow turnip for a head is a vulgar ren it, exacting as we proceed, with the redering after all, lacking the majesty to lentless greed of conquerors, the terms which this national tutor may fairly lay we choose to demand. It is a brave claim. It is too real, and therefore inad- game. We secure obedience ; our houses missible, for the power of tutor Bogie lies will be quiet, our late sleep in the mornin his mystery. Children tremble under ing will be unbroken; fewer windows will his hands, because they cannot see him ; be cracked ; our books will be unsoiled ; they continue, for generations, to fly from our newspapers will never be made into his presence, because his proportions swell cocked hats. We shall systematize that with their fears, and his eyes glare, and wholesome terror with which we guide his teeth gnash, and his wild hair waves the young idea. in coal-black masses over him. Where There are grave sentimentalists who * he begins and ends are unfathomable mys- hold, with Dr. Brown, that is a duty to teries. He is not a vulgar ghost of every- temper the parental authority with all the day life ; nor he in any way related to kindness of parental love; "which," says the time-honored specter that has been so the doctor, “even in exacting obedience long occupied in the dreary business of only where obedience is necessary for the dragging heavy chains up and down the good of him who obeys, is still the exacter oaken staircases of old castles. He de- of sacrifices which require to be sweetened clines to acknowledge affinity even with | by the kindness that demands them. This the vampire family. Cross question him duty, indeed, may be considered as in some as you may, you will get no definite an- degree involved in the general duty of swer from him. Clever dog! here lies moral education; since it is not a slight his strength, and he knows it. There is part of that duty to train the mind of the the greatest horror in the greatest mys- child to those affections which suit the tery. Tutor Bogie's empire begins, there-filial nature, and which are the chief elefore, as the sun sets ; like the owl, he ment of every other affection that adorns sleeps through the daylight, except when in after-life the friend, the citizen, the he is keeping school in the coal-cellar. | lover of mankind. The father who has As the gloom of night comes on he stalks no voice but that of stern command is a abroad, and thousands of little children's tyrant to all the extent of his power, and heads are buried deep under the counter- will excite only such feelings as tyrants pane. But does he walk? Well, that is excite; a ready obedience, perhaps, but his secret; as the form of his body, the an obedience that is the trembling haste color of his eyes, the depth of his revenge, of a slave, not the still quicker fondness are secrets we shall never know. And, of an ever-ready love ; and that will be if a grateful country decide to give him a withheld in the very instant in which the statue, the form must proceed entirely terror has lost its dominion. It is imfrom the sculptor's vivid imagination. He possible to have, in a single individual, can be presented, in the stone, only through both a slave and a son; and he who chooses the medium of elaborate allegory. Figures rather to have a slave, must not expect of dancing madmen, gibbering idiots, moth- that filial fondness which is no part of the ers and fathers quietly asleep, folded figures moral nature of a bondman. In thinking of little children shrinking into corners, that he increases his authority he truly are among the evidences of his power that diminishes it; for more than half the aumight decorate his pedestal. And then thority of the parent is in the love which for the figure. Why, let it be carved in he excites, in that zeal to obey which is the imagination of every spectator who scarcely felt as obedience when a wish is gazes upon it. Yes, let there be the solid expressed, and in that ready imitation of pedestal, chiseled out of the hardest gran- the virtues that are loved, which does not ite, and upon that pedestal let there be require even the expression of a wish; Nothing! That is, nothing perceptible but, without a command, becomes all to the touch : yet there shall be upon that which a virtuous parent could have compedestal, folded up in the gloom of night, manded." a figure, at which our children will look Now is it probable that the world will fall with starting eyes and parted lips. And in with this sentimental view of education ? then we shall take them up, shrieking, in No man who has observed the world as it our arms, and advance with them toward is rolling, can promulgate this doctrine of
limitless kindness, and hope to see it pres- men and women, are their slave-owners. ently in practice. There is a tyranny in We whip them, imprison them, reduce the world from which our grand-children their allowance of food, and, strange perwill not be emancipated, because it rests versity of nature, they grow up ungratein the selfishness and in the pride of men. ful! Deep and subtle as parental love is, it is soon reconciled to the shifts which selfishness imposes upon children, and to the
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. hard laws with which pride rules them. High hopes that burn'd like stars sublime, For the sake of quiet, in the quest of
Go down i' the heavens of Freedom, economy, how soon is the father ready to And true hearts perish in the time
We bitterliest need 'em! turn his child from home, to the care of a
But never sit we down and say stranger! He cheats himself generally There's nothing left but sorrow; into the belief that he is sorry to part with We walk the wilderness to-day, his child, but that the step is for its ulti
The Promised Land to-morrow. mate good. More, his mother is spoiling
Our birds of song are silent now, him. True, the poor mother may have There are no flowers blooming, worked upon the child's fears to keep Yet life beats in the frozen bough, it quiet ; true, she may have created in its
And Freedom's spring is coming!
And Freedom's tide comes up alway, mind a horror of our old friend and tutor,
Though we may strand in sorrow; Bogie ; but has she not, too, held it to her and our good bark, aground to-day, bosom? It will run to fetch mamma's Shall float again to-morrow. scissors with a nimbler foot than that
Through all the long, dark night of years, which follows the paternal orders; for the
The people's cry ascendeth, father is but a mild form of Bogie-a Bo And earth is wet with blood and tears, gie tempered with occasional flashes of But our meek sufferance endeth! kindness. If there be punishment to in
The few shall not forever sway,
The many moil in sorrow; flict, it is he who chastises. If there be
The powers of hell are strong to-day, a lecture to deliver, his deep voice pro But Christ shall rise to-morrow. nounces it; and the child listens very gravely. This is, we are told, proper
Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes
With smiling features glisten! respect for the parent–the duty of the
For lo! our day bursts up the skies ! child to the father.
Lean out your souls and listen! But what if we say that the child, when
The world rolls Freedom's radiant way, it comes into the world, owes the parent
And ripens with her sorrow :
Keep heart! who bear the cross to-day no duty whatever ; that what we call duty
Shall wear the crown to-morrow. is simply bondage; if we assert that the true and only duty due from the child, is
O youth ! flame earnest! still aspire,
With energies immortal, its acknowledgment of the parental love
To many a heaven of desire that may be lavished upon it. But sup
Our yearing opes a portal! pose no love warms its childhood-suppose And though age wearies by the way, that the father mistakes stern authority
And hearts break in the furrow, for parental dignity-is the child a debtor
We'll sow the golden grains to-day ;
The harvest comes to-morrow. for its mere existence ? 6 Non est bonum vivere, sed bene vivere," said Seneca. Build up heroic lives, and all And he declared that he who gave him
Be like a sheathen'd saber, nothing more than life, gave him only
Ready to flash out at God's call,
O chivalry of labor ! what a fly or a worm might boast. Well,
Triumph and toil are twins, for aye is he a benefactor to the child or to the Joy suns the cloud of Sorrow, state, who nurses the child's fears and And 'tis the martyrdom to-day works upon them chiefly? In no sense.
Brings victory to-morrow. Constant fear degrades the moral sense. It is the basest of all influences; it chops Never regret an act of generosity, howthe fingers of the dying wretch over ever worthless the object. If you act nobly. weighting the raft; it turns crowds into to one that deserves nobly, you confer a wild animals, even in a place of worship. benefit on him and yourself; if he be unYet, Old Bogie is our witness that fear is deserving, still the very action does good brought to our children's cradles. We,' to your own heart.
with dignified ill-humor into a corner of
the window. HE correspondent to whose graceful “Yes," continued the mother, “ what
pen the National is indebted for a is to become of her I don't know. She series of articles on Humane Institutions, can do nothing, and she has learned nothhas given several biographical sketches ing. It is a sad thing when the two come of those who, in God's inscrutable provi- together.” dence, have come into this weary world “Is she a good child ?" without those faculties, in possession of “Good ? well, I hardly know myself; which most of us rejoice. The deaf, and I have so little time, and she doesn't talk the dumb, and the blind, have excited our much, but goes her own way. She does warmest sympathies. The various forms not beat her brothers and sisters ; I must of insanity, and the philanthropic means say that; and when I ask her to do anyused for its alleviation, have also been de- thing that she can do, peel potatoes, or scribed in former pages. There is another anything of that sort, she does it without large class of our fellow-creatures, the any objection, and is very industrious about silly, the half-witted, who pass through it; but, at the same time, most dreadfully life, too frequently the mere sport of the slow.” thoughtless, and who, nevertheless, have I looked, with unspeakable compassion, warm hearts, and whose lives might, by a at the poor little thing ; it grieved my little care, be rendered, if not happy, at heart to look, and yet I could not help least not altogether wretched. Read the doing so. I gave a small piece of money simple account which follows, from the to each of the children, simply for the pen of a German philanthropist.
sake of an excuse for giving a trifle to Little Bridget, when I first saw her, was Bridget. When her mother called her to no longer quite a child, being already thir-me, she gave me a disdainful look, held teen years of age; but she was very little out her hand sullenly, and muttered a few and a sad cripple. Judging from her words, which I did not understand ; if it height, you would have taken her for six was a “thank you,” it was, at any rate, an
She was very deaf, spoke most unfriendly one. I went away, but the unintelligibly, was most painfully deform- image of the little one went with me. I ed, and her face looked as if it belonged to a could think of nothing but that miserable, person of forty years of age. She always old-looking face, and the gray eyes that appeared very serious and ill-tempered, had been fixed upon me so scrutinizingly. I had almost said morose; and if she did In a few days I had arranged my plans ; occasionally smile, it had such a painful I begged Bridget's parents to confide the appearance that one hardly knew whether child to me, and, taking her to my country to grieve or to rejoice.
estate, placed her under the village schoolHer parents were poor people ; and one master, who had an excellent wife, and day, as I entered their cottage to offer was himself a very good man. her father a job of work, I saw Bridget In three years' time Bridget had acstanding amid à merry, rosy-cheeked quired some notion of religion—as much, group of her brothers and sisters. I was perhaps, as was requisite for her; she 80 startled by her appearance that I had could read and write too, but no one unalmost forgotten the object of my visit, derstood what she read. I called often to and could only stand staring at the poor see her: she had gradually become aclittle girl's old wizened-looking face. customed to me; I often praised her ; and
“Yes," said Bridget's mother, who when I first told her that she was a sensiseemed to guess the current of my ble little girl, to whom a great deal could thoughts, “ that child is a sad trouble ; be trusted, she smiled gratefully and joy. she is nearly thirteen, and can neither ously. read nor say her prayers.
At school they I reflected a long time upon the position can do nothing with her, and I have no time that Bridget seemed fitted to fill in the to devote to her ; so, you see, she grows world; at last I discovered a suitable up any how ; though, goodness knows, one occupation, and, after the expiration of cannot exactly say that she grows.” those three years, took her on to the estate,
The little one, perhaps, understood a and gave her the charge of all the poultry. great part of this speech, for she retired | The employment seemed made for her ;
she had not grown at all, and a curious They told me that she never left the room sight it was to see her, when, armed with excepting to see after the sick chickens ; her little switch, she went the round of that she had eaten nothing, and had only the poultry-yard, calling the fowls to- had a little milk to drink. gether in her murmuring way, and taking The schoolmaster's wife died a week care of them. It was easy to see, in her afterward. Bridget had not been in bed anxiety about them, that a rich treasure once ; in fact, she never stirred from the of love lay hidden in the heart of this poor invalid. She neither spoke nor cried; only little cripple.
now and then she stroked the sufferer's Her sole thought, from morning till hand, who smiled every time she did so, night, was how best to preserve her hens, for she loved the poor little creature who ducks, turkeys, and geese ; the sick, the was so devoted to her. lame, and, above all, the crippled among As soon as I heard of the poor woman's them, she nursed with unwearied care. death, I drove over to fetch Bridget, who Every morning she handed over the eggs refused at first to return with me, till I in the kitchen ; she would walk in with asked her, “What will become of the her dignified air, noticing no one, lay the poultry if you do not look after them, eggs on the kitchen table, and go away Bridget? That is your duty, you know." again without uttering a syllable. The After the death of her foster-mother, number of the eggs and of the fowls that Bridget hold herself more than ever aloof had been killed, or sold, she reckoned from every one, living only for the fowls. after a singular fashion.
For every egg
Half a year afterward she was taken she made a stroke in her book ; and then, ill ; I sent for a doctor, but he said that further off, was written, in letters an inch he could not save her, and that it was long, “ for one hen," “ for one duck," " for quite a wonder that the poor little girl had one goose ;" and the price of each was lived so long. I could not help feeling indicated by strokes. She handed this very sad, having become so accustomed account in to me, and I always told her to the poor little creature, whom I had that I understood it all, and that she was tried to benefit by kind treatment. very neat, which made her happy for a I went to see Bridget on her sick bed ; long time to come.
she could only converse with me by signs; Bridget had had the charge of the her face looked graver and older than ever, poultry-yard for a year, when the school. as her eyes wandered now and then to master's wife was taken ill. She came some crippled birds, who lay or ran about to me, and I guessed, rather than under- in the room. When I last saw her, her stood, what she wanted, and said, “You glance rested uneasily upon one spot; I wish to go and see your foster-mother ?" saw that her eyes were riveted upon a
She nodded her head, and still con- bundle which was carefully wrapped up in tinued mumbling.
paper. At length she feebly raised her " You would perhaps like to stay all little hand, and signed to me to give it to night there, if things are very bad ?" her. When I had done so, she handed
This was what she wished ; so I pro- the packet to me with a great effort. She posed that some one should drive her smiled, almost pleasantly, and attempted over ; but she declined the offer con with her little, hard, deformed hand, to temptuously, and soon after left the yard, press mine. her switch in one hand, and in the other a It was very affecting, and I could not little basket containing a few sick chickens. restrain my tears ; she signed to me to
The next day I went to see the invalid : leave her then, and a few minutes aftershe was suffering a great deal. Bridget ward they told me she was dead. was seated on a little stool by her side. The packet contained the feathers which The poor woman told me, in a feeble Bridget had collected from the ducks, hens, voice, that the child had been keeping and peacocks, which were on the estate. watch by her all night, and could not be I placed some of them in a vase, in made to move away ; but that it was too which they may still be seen, for I shall much for one so delicate, and begged me keep them ever in remembrance of the to desire her not to do it again.
poor little girl who was externally so unI spoke to Bridget about it. She looked prepossessing, but was, nevertheless, enat me disdainfully, but made no reply. I dowed with a heart so warm and faithful.
THE PLEIADES-A TRUE TALE OF the shore was at too great a distance for
| me to reach it by swimming. Upon lookTHE SEA.
ing around, I found that my companions TT was a lovely night; "the moon, part- were near me buffeting the waves. For I ing aside the light clouds” that floated several hours we tossed about, looking out in the heavens, peered forth with her anxiously for a sail, and striving to keep brilliant face. The sea, sparkling beneath up each others' fast drooping spirits. As her earnest glance, seemed like one vast long as I saw my companions near, I felt casket of gems; each ripple appeared a buoyed up, and continued to combat with diamond, and from each billowy wave the waves. But the fearful agony of that gleamed forth “the ever-changing opal's moment I shall never forget, when, looking light." Truly, Luna had never a more again on the spot where I had last seen " shining bath in which to lave" than on them tossing wildly their hands as if imthis night. For hours I had stood watch- ploring for aid, I found that they had dising“ the sea of fire” as it appeared in its appeared. I called aloud, I implored them brilliancy. I had never recollected seeing to answer; only one word, I said, to tell it more dazzling bright; and calling to me that I am not all alone-alone on this Henry Maxwell, who was standing near, I horrible deep. But O! my God, my God, invited him to share the glorious spectacle (said the speaker, overcome by his emo. with me. He came, I thought, rather re- tion) no voice replied ; they were gone. luctantly; and after giving one rapid | The waves had opened and ingulfed glance, turned coldly away. I followed them. Yes, I was alone : alone to combat him, for I had noticed that he shuddered, with the fierce elements that seemed drivas if in horror at the sight. On similar ing me on to eternity ; alone with my fast occasions I remembered his exhibiting the failing strength ; no voice near to cheer same apparent disgust, and I felt somewhat me, no human arm to uphold me. To add anxious to find out the cause. He had to my horrors, night threw her mantle seated himself when I reached him, in covering over the earth and sea, and soon thoughtful attitude, and placing myself by its shadows darkened all around. It was his side, I gathered from him the following the first quarter of the moon, and O! how thrilling incident:
I looked up and blessed her, as she hung It is some years since the vessel I then out her brilliant crescent, “like a silver belonged to was taking in a cargo of sugar boat launched on a boundless flood.” at Barbadoes. We were obliged to go | While I lay gazing up to heaven and from our ship, which was anchored at some thanking God for even this little ray of distance from the landing, in boats, and light, which was enough to enable me to transport our cargo in that manner. The distinguish surrounding objects, I saw a afternoon was a very windy one, when shark moving its ponderous form toward two comrades and myself pushed off in our me. I felt as if divested of all powers of boat, “nothing fearing,” to take in a load volition, and it seemed as if I had been of sugar. We had got out of sight of the spared the fate of my companions to meet vessel, when suddenly there came upon us with this more horrible death. Slowly the one of those violent gusts so often experi- creature advanced, and then remained enced in a tropical climate. It seemed as perfectly motionless at a little distance, if the “caverns of the wind” had been watching me. I bent my gaze upon it, and suddenly opened, and their pent-up prison-kept it fixed steadily; it moved not, neither ers rushed out to scatter with their foot- did I, save the gentle motion of my body steps the ocean's foam around. The boat caused by the rocking of the waves. All reeled as the blast descended, which was was still and silent; the winds had mursweeping over us with a mighty power, mured themselves to sleep; the billows hurling us from our places with a giant's moved quietly, as if fearful of disturbing strength. 0! the horror of that moment, the slumbers of those who slept beneath when I found myself tossing about on the them. It must have been about ten minmerciless deep; and how cold the waves utes (to me it seemed an “age of ages") felt as, dashing over me, I would rise and that this strange scene continued. At sink with their swell. I had caught two last I saw the creature move gradually pieces of timber that were floating past, off, and with a deep plunge that agitated and in that manner sustained myself, for the waters around, it sunk beneath the