She is the mountain's sweetest smile, Green Mountain dews fall on her cheek; O now, may I depart in peace, [Written for the Gavel.] AMUSEMENTS FOR THE YOUNG. BY EN-HAKKORE. NATURE imbues the young with a desire for sport. Man is no exception in the animal creation to this propensity. The young of every kind exhibit a disposition for playfulness. There is ardency in youthfulness that gives zest to playfulness, and those plays that give exercise to the expanding muscles, are those enjoyed with most delight by all the young. Who ever saw the little girl skipping the rope, hopping the double hop, first upon the one foot then upon the other, her cheeks glowing with the rosy flush of animation, health and beauty, but felt a thrill of pleasure imparted to him, as if he there saw the exemplification of the love of nature's God, in the pure delight with which she bounded along, drinking in the golden light with her sparkling eyes, and inhaling the balmy air as her own bouyant spirit? And who ever witnessed the enjoyment of flying the kite or trundling the hoop, but wished himself half as happy as the ruddy urchin that had shut out all other thoughts, and glowing with the excitement and exercise, seemed entranced in the pleasures it afforded him? But it is not childhood alone that seeks pleasurable exercise, nor is it childhood alone that profits by such enjoyments. Youth, ardent and beautiful, seeks a higher enjoyment, superadding to muscular exercise, that of the intellect. The walk, the ride, the sail in company, where the observation, the description, the wit is rallied, and the exercise and air stimulates the enjoyment. Above all, the dance, where beauty, grace, and loveliness are presented in their most exciting forms; where float the figures of delicate mould, and manly form, in animated motion, to witching music's thrilling strain. There it is that seems concentrated most of life's sweet enjoyments. The eye feasts upon beauty and grace. The ear drinks in flowing harmony, and the whole frame is delighted with the participation of associated pleasures. That sympathy of soul that enkindles in each emotions of pleasure or pain, as either are seen in those we love, is here all wrought out, and each youth lives faster, enjoys more, drinks deeper of pleasure in the hour of the dance than in any other. Why not, then, let them enjoy it? If properly regulated the ball room has a most chastening influence. It improves the taste-nay, it creates taste for the refined and beautiful. 'Tis the school of the graces-polishing and ennobling. Why, then, denounce the ball room as we hear it denounced by the "rigid righteous," as sinful and demoralizing? Surely there can be nothing in the dance, of itself, that can incite any one to the commission of crime. No young man would be more likely to steal or falseswear for enjoying the delights of a quadrille or a gallopade. Nor would any young lady be likely to be less filial in her feeling, for having the privilege of measuring the graceful step to the music of a good orchestra. Away, then, with such bigotry, and give to the young such enjoyment as nature and reason unbiased must sanction. Let the moralaye, the religious parent think of the pernicious effects of stigmatizing such enjoyments as these as sinful. They can give no reason for such a charge that will convince the youth of its truth; and mere denunciation without convincing reasons, is only assuring them of its untruth; and what would be openly sought and enjoyed as honorable and proper, if made respectable by the countenance of the good, will, under such unreasonable anathemas, be indulged in by stealth. Let the aged and respectable parent and guardian attend tie ball room and at once banish from it every thing like dissipation or profanity, enforce the observance of proper hours, and throw about it the proper moral restraints, and dancing would become healthful, both physically and morally, to the young. The various shows; the museums, circuses, and manageries, if judiciously exhibited, exert a happy influence upon the young. The mind is then susceptible of the strongest impressions, and instead of feeling that they are neglected or not cared for in the gratification of sight seeing, the young should be made to feel that they have the advantage of thus learning as well as others, and if directed right, with careful explanations of the benefits to be derived from it, not only will greater enjoyments be had, but it will be remembered when a thousand graver lessons shall have been forgotten. A child may be learned more of natural History in half a day at the mana gerie, if properly explained, than he will in years from books when he has got older. Give your children amusement, teach them to play with grace, and kindness towards each other, learn them to row the boat, to swim and ride. The early lessons in such things, as may to every one of them be useful in after life, will be remembered ever; and the pleasures received in such exercises by the young, makes them most attentive to any instructions thus given, they learn with avidity then, what they might neglect when older. Children become attached to what is associated with their enjoyments when young, and if the parent shows himself interested in the amusements of the child, it awakens an attachment which will in return interest the child in the pursuits of the parent. The most gross neglect that a child can feel, is the neglect of all sympathy in the little matters that engross its young mind, what pleasures the child wants, should please those about him; and its first look for participation in the pleasure is to those who take the care of his other wants, and his affections are cemented as he finds a congenial feeling in the affairs that interest him the most. Give your children amusements, and by your care and instructions in these amusements, convey to them the great lessons of love and kindness which can there be taught with its greatest force and effect. Above all make them feel that their amusements are proper, that there is no need of stealing them, and you will prevent a world of guilt and misery flowing from improper associations in sport. [Written for the Gavel.] LINES TO E. S. BY PHIZ. My heart they say is hard and cold Yet must I climb th' ambitious heights Nor do I ask thee to bestow, Thy smiles or kisses on me now, Or lay thy hand upon my brow But some day love me. Oh! let me gaze on thy dear form, Love's glance they say the coldest warms, EDITOR'S TABLE. FALSEHOODS OF HISTORY. THE man who reads history, with a deep determination to be himself, a suspicious and questioning judge of the truth of every page he reads, will not be long in perceiving that history teems with falsehood-especially that branch of it which treats of the genius and character of men. As the world goes there is little hope of pure truth and stern justice here. Our friends or our enemies write our histories-the one magnifies our virtues and the other exaggerates our faults. We have recently noticed a mortifying illustration of the truth of the remark in reading the life of Zimmerman, translated from the French of Tissot, in which we found the following remark on the domestic character of this great author: "No one was ever more attached to the duties of life; he was a good son, a good husband, a good father. Friendship was with him an ardent sentiment," &c. No statement could well be more false than this. With all of Zimmerman's stern frankness, and his heart of terrible integrity, he was unlovely, morose and cold as the gloom of a desert night. Many virtues were in him, but the household virtues were not in him. It was his pride and philosophy to cast every tender feeling out of himself, that he might be fortified against the weakness of sympathy, and the fondness of love. And so far from seeking to make others happy, he trampled on the happiness of his own blood. He treated his own son with such harshness that the young man was driven insane, as we are informed by the great Goethe, who knew Zimmerman well. Goethe has given us the following affecting account of a visit of Miss Zimmerman to his father's house. "She was as cold and lifeless as a statue, seldom venturing to speak, and never in the presence of her father. However, after she had passed a few days at our house, my mother's kind disposition and engaging manners produced a deep impression on her. She threw herself at the feet of Madame Goethe, and, with a torrent of tears, begged to be allowed to remain with her; in the most moving language she implored my mother to keep her as her servant or slave, rather than to allow her to return to her father, whose tyranny exceeded all conception." Soon after this, however, Miss Zimmerman sunk into the grave by the side of her ill-fated brother. May good heaven defend us from such husbands and fathers! We have ventured to imagine what would be the feelings and appearance of such an ironhearted, gloomy being as Zimmerman on entering an Odd Fellow's Lodge, where all the domestic virtues sit with mild and sweet affection, and make the very atmosphere divine! What ever might be the feelings of his icy soul, it is too plain that his appearance there would be very much like that of a rhinoceros in the Garden of Eden, before its sweet ripe fruit was plucked by man's adventurous hand. A great stout animal out in the pastures, and away in the rough gloomy forest there, but an untoward and graceless beast in a garden of harebells and roses. Altogether I cannot persuade myself that this is unlike the spirit of Zimmerman in the garden of the heart, where the tender flowers of love and pleasure bloom in brightness, and grow a delicate fruit, that is "pleasant to the taste." Notwithstanding the many fine things that the hasty and superficial Tissot says of him, I cannot but dis-fellowship the spirit of this cold, cloudy Zimmerman, with its eternal sighs, disturbing the mice and bats in their "solitude," and refusing to come out where God's stars shine, and sing a morning hynin with the robins, that send up their song of gladness from the pine and the maple. Give me that man whose heart leaps up into the clouds for joy, and all day basks in the sun-shine and the sparkles, while the willing hands work out, with much toil, a cheerful labor on the earth; and let the gloomy devil take, if he will, your Zimmermans and Tissots, and crickets and spiders, with all their solitude and dungeon vapors. REVISION OF THE WORK. Ir is with much gratification we announce that the Grand Lodge of the United States, at its late Session, appointed a committee to revise the entire Work of the Order. This committee was selected with an especial referrnce to their ability and supposed willingness to carry out fully the general wish for a thorough and radical change of such parts as obviously need alteration; and it is to be hoped the expectations now excited are not doomed to disapppointment. With an organization which, for efficiency, has excited the admiration of all familiar with it, and been productive of results which have surprised its friends and silenced the fault finder and sceptic, what is termed the "work of the Order" has nevertheless been marked by features so needless, (if nothing else) as to often induce the query for what purposes they were designed or what objects they accomplish? The only answer in such cases to be made, was a desire and duty to preserve the "ancient work" and maintain its uniformity, albeit by so doing we retained a mass of useless material that lacked even the poor virtue of being ornamental. While we were in connection with England, this was usually a satisfying answer, but the present independent action as well as jurisdiction of the Order in this country, has deprived that plea of all its force, and left us free to act the dictates of our own judgments untrammelled by any foreign alliance or adverse influThe spirit of the age, moreover, is a progressive one, and that policy is indeed questionable which would bind us to forms and ceremonials of by-gone days, merely because they are such, which, if not ence. |