upon the bureau, and the other in the clothes basket, soiling a white dress just from the ironing table. Poor Mrs. Jones was grievously tried. The husband expected a storm, but no storm broke. He looked at his wife, as she lifted his hat from the bed and put it upon the mantle piece, and took his boots and put them in a closet from which she brought out his slippers and placed them beside him, but did not understand the expression of her face, exactly, nor feel comfortable about it. Mrs. Jones did not seem angry but burt. After she had handed him his slippers, she took the soiled dress from the clothes basket, over which she had spent nearly half an hour at the ironing table, and attempted to remove the dirt that the boot had left upon it. But she tried in vain. The pure white muslin was hopelessly soiled, and would have to go into the washing tub before it would be again fit to wear. "If you knew, Henry," she said, in a voice that touched her husband's feelings, as she laid aside the dress," how much trouble you give me, sometimes, I am sure you would be more particular." "Do I really give you much trouble, Jane?" Mr. Jones asked, as if a new idea had broken in upon his mind. "I am sure I am sorry for it." "Indeed you do. If you would only be more thoughtful, you would save me a great deal. I shall have to wash out this dress myself, now, for the washerwoman is gone, and I can't trust Sally with it. I spent nearly half an hour in ironing it to-day, hot as it is." He "I am very sorry indeed, Jane. It was a careless trick in me, I must confess; and if you will forgive me, I will promise not to offend again." All this was new. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jones felt surprised at themselves and each other. had offended, and she did not get angry; she had been annoyed, and he was really sorry for what he had done. Light broke into both their minds, and both made an instant resolution to be more careful in future of their words and actions towards each other; and they were more careful. When Mr. Jones offended, as he still too often did, his wife checked the instant impulse she felt to upbraid him. He perceived this, and, appreciating her self-denial, compelled himself, in consequence, to be more orderly in his habits. A few years wrought so great a change in Mr. Jones, that, to use hyperbole, he hardly knew himself. He could shut a closet door as well as open it,— could get a handkerchief, or any thing else from a drawer, without turning it upside down,-could hang his hat upon the rack, and put his boots away when he took them off. In fact, could be as orderly as any one, and without feeling that it involved any great self-denial to do so. CIVILIZATION. BY E. FERRETT. and powerful, alike would attack him-impose upon his good nature-despoil his means-trespass on his kindness-and after taking from him all he possessed, would unhesitatingly and unblushingly leave him to starve. Oh! glorious Civilization. Murders are as numerous now as ever they were. We have crimes of every description perpetrated in every quarter. All the horrors that disgust our better feelings are of daily occurrence. 'Tis true, that the governments of different countries are opposed to these, and strive in legislating and in enforcing their law, to crush vice; but, even in the Governments, war is tolerated-the most miserable relic of barbarism is encouraged--the doctrine that killing one man, makes a murderer, a dozen a hero, still governs our actions and enslaves our reason, and never, while such belief is recognised, can a country or the world be truly civilized. True civilization must consist in constant exercise of the higher faculties of man. In a state which can truly be called "civilized," the moral and intellectual portion of our nature must be enthroned and reigning supreme-the physical part in abeyance; then man will delight in doing good IVILIZATION! what glowing harangues! what eloquence! what intellect! have been expended in lauding it. In striving to advance it, what energy has been exhibited. In seeking to secure its advantages, what patient endurance has been displayed, and yet it exists but in name. True civilization has hardly began to dawn upon us. We are yet in a state of semi-barbarism; our passions are violent as whirlwinds, devastating every thing over which they pass; our selfishness is as cold and calculating as ever it was: our avarice as mean, sordid, and overwhelining; and our ambition as miserable, as destitute of every ennobling attribute. What is Civilization? It is considered to be an increasing population, increasing means, increasing exports, increasing imports, and increasing wants, increase of refinement, increase of luxuries and that which surely follows, increase of selfishness, increase of wealth to the few, at the expense of misery and labor to the many? We lay down railroads and rush over the ground with incredible rapidity. We extend our cities, increase our trade, and then say we advance in Civilization. his pleasures will be of the most enlightened How few of man's higher faculties are neces- kind-mean and selfish acts will be unheard ofsary for what is commoly called Civilization. war will be forgotten-murder, and all the Barter and commerce, supplying the animal wants diabolical crimes that at present disgrace our -require only the exercise of a few of our intel-social communities, will be among the relics of lectual faculties. Mere perception accompanied the past, and pure and elevated benevolence, the by acquisitiveness, and animal cunning, is suffi-standard whereby to test every thing, be the great cient to make a most successful speculator. In guiding principle of our Governments. all our labors for existence; how few of our higher intellectual and moral faculties are exercised. We live in a maze of selfishness. Our highest achievment to make money-our greatest grief, the losing it. Surely, Civilization must be something different. Surely man is capable of something greater and more noble than worship-demned according as they advance to, or retrogade ing dollars and cents. Surely the cultivation and daily exercise of all our higher attributes cannot be incompatible with an ordinary state of existence! As society is at present constituted, there certainly is little inducement, although great scope, for exercising our highest attributes. Were a man to act in a truly benevolent manner -to do to others as he would be done unto, he would stand a fair chance of being devoured by-but, by the number of its charities, by the purity the sharks of society, who are ever on the alert to avail themselves of what they, in their selfishness, term the follies of mankind. He would be the victim of every class, high and low, weak When crimes of horrible die have ceased to be even remembered--when extortioners, and narrow minded bigots shall no longer be even tolerated in society, when pure benevolence shall be the actuating principle of the great human family when all projects shall be approved or con from, purity and virtue--when the strife of faction and party shall have discontinued, and all men shall struggle in fellowship for the advancement of the universal good, then, and not till then, we may call ourselves in a high state of civilization. A country's civilization is not exhibited simply by the extent of its commerce-great wealth always has its attendant opposite of great poverty of its institutions-by the justness of its lawsand above all, by brotherly love and benevolent feeling displayed on the part of its citizens one to another. LUCK. UCK is a most unphilosophical word, but although its literal meaning is not believed by the more intellectual part of the world, it is still with slight variation in common use. The well informed never, for a moment, think that there is luck" in any event; yet they do not scruple to speak of "lucky" and "unlucky" people. For our part, we confess, honestly, that there is much in the world for which we cannot account; among other things luck" is, to us, thoroughly incomprehensible. In our younger days, we eschewed the use and meaning of the word, with all the zeal and indignation of youthful knowledge, and youthful pomposity. We held that there was no such thing as what was called luck. We believed that success was within the reach of every man who strove for it; that certain effects must follow certain causes; and, as we marched along with our minds elevated to the highest pinnacle of ambition, we, in our ignorance, felt perfect conviction of our wisdom. Alas for human frailty, and human arrogance! As we plod on through life, we gradually get rubbed down; the sharp angles are worn off; our first impressions receive shock after shock, until they either give way entirely, or remain in such a modified form, as to be scarcely recognizable. } other succeed through possessing an abundance of such attributes. But, by some unaccountable, inscrutible means; by the result of circumstances that neither party by any foresight could possibly control, one becomes rich and the other poor,one is called "lucky" and the other "< unlucky." Why is all this? What does it mean? No person can deny the truth of these two positions, and therefore no person ought to deny the exist ence of luck, or of some operation of events which is known by that name. Neither should it be considered unphilosophical or illiterate to use the term, because that which is true cannot be unphilosophical. When we look at the mighty mass of things likely to effect our success and happiness in every career-things over which we have no shadow of control-we must feel that however energetic, however able, our efforts may be, success in any undertaking depends upon something more than our own exertions. We may name it as we please,-call a horse whatever we like, it still remains a horse,-and, call the wonderful coincidences whereby some men succeed and others fail, any thing that we please, they exist nevertheless. Plans laid with profound wisdom, are deranged and rendered nugatory by some unforseen event, so improbable of occurrence, that previously thereto, a man suggesting it would have been laughed at. Thousands of such occurrences daily tend to create riches for one class, and poverty for another,-things that are thoroughly beyond the human ken, and that, consequently, no human foresight could provide against. If this last fact be acknowledged-and how can it be denied?-it is perfectly clear that the affairs of life depend upon that which is commonly called "luck"-another name more properly belongs to it-but altering the name does not change the principle. There appear to be some people in the world who are invariably fortunate; with whom every thing thrives; for whom every venture turns out well; who obtain good wives, affectionate children, kind friends, good health, and unvarying success in life; and who, yet, are by no means remarkable for sound judgment, or acute perceptions, on the contrary, they have been notorious from childhood for obtuseness of intellect. Why do they have so much good?-they are deficient in judgment-yet are their mercantile speculations successful; they are destitute of energy[The fact stated by our correspondent, is undoubtedly true. With some men, and they not always still, their business succeeds. As a converse to the best of men, every thing succeeds-whatever they this, there are many men of sound judgments, touch, to use a common expression, "turns to gold;" energetic minds, persevering industry, and un- while with another class, equally industrious, equally wearying application, who never do succeed-energetic, nothing turns out well. Two men send whose speculations always fail-who cannot in any way compass their desires, albeit they strive with tenfold the energy, and apparently tenfold the ability of others. What can this be called? The loser does not fail, because he is deficient in the attributes essential to success, nor does the out an adventure in the same ship, with equal prospects for a good return-one of them makes a large profit, and the other sustains a loss. Two men build each a house; both insure, and both houses are burnt. One gets the insurance without trouble; while some defect in the policy, or some informality, prevents the other from recovering a cent. But much stronger men have to undergo, are necessary for them, and are therefore permitted by Him who desires for his creatures all blessings, both natural and spiritual, but who ever withholds natural blessings when to give them would occasion a spiritual injury. This, at least, is our philosophy, and we have found in it, during many severe struggles with the world, when all was dark around, a sustaining power. It has been an anchor by which we have ridden out safely more than one storm that has threatened to shatter our poor bark. With Watts we ever try to feel, and say when storms are above, FANEUIL (See Plate.) FANEUIL HALL, of which we give a finely executed view in this number, is three stories high, 100 feet by 80, and was the gift of Peter Faneuil, Esq. to the town of Boston, in 1742. The building was enlarged in 1806 to its present size. Before the new market was built, the lower part of it was used as for meat stalls; it is now improved for stores. The Hall is 76 feet square 28 high, and has deep galleries on three sides. It is adorned with superb paintings of patriots, warriors and statesmen. A speech was pronounced in the hall on the 14th of March, 1763, by James Otis, Jr. Esq. He dedicated it to the cause of freedom, a cause in which he labored and suffered, and it has since received the appellation of The Cradle of Liberty. To every reader of American History, Faneuil Hall and the events connected with it are so familiar, that we need not repeat them here. The following spirited little poem, which we find in an old number of one of our periodicals, and which we think we recognise as from the pen of Mrs. Hale, is quite appropriate. The gorgeous rays of sunset fall HALL. Stranger, though many a nobler pile Is gilded by the sun's last smile And mem'ries of the mighty dead A hallowed glory round it shedYet this, as Freedom's holiest shrine, Glows with a beauty more divine Than ever graced Power's lordliest dome, Or temple of imperial Rome. Look backward-let Time's shadows pass, Scarce seventy years, o'er meinory's glass, What eager hopes, what anxious doubts, What words of fire, what joyful shouts Then echoed through this silent hall, Where now alone our footsteps fall. Our freedom's cradle-is it not In freeman's eyes, a hallowed spot? When throbbed their hearts to fling away The foreign despot's iron sway, 'Twas here that met the chosen band, Pledged to the cause in heart and hand; 'Twas here they wooed the martyr's crown, Nor thought, ere many years had flown, To wave instead o'er million's free The laurel wreath of victoryNor through the future's mist, I ween, Unto that patriot few was seen That when their standard first unfurled, It promised freedom for a world! Oh coldly oft the eye doth turn From marble hall and sculptured urn, But freedom's pilgrim lingers near This holy spot, and musing here Upon the past, with many a thrill Of joy and triumph, prayeth still That Time's destroying hand may fall Gently upon Old Faneuil Hall." |