"Verily, I believe it would have been wise in thee to have done so—at least, until thee had become a little better fitted for the duties of wedded life. But wishing, will not mend thy lot-so I would advise thee to be patient, in well doing-it is never too late to learn. Thee must not blame thy servants for being as ignorant as thyself. Take courage, and hope for happier days-thee will be sure to find thine own children less troublesome than thy husband's. But I am truly sorry that Letty is gone. She was an honest and faithful servant; ever modest in her pretensions, but always proving capable of performing whatever was required of her (with proper instructions of course,) and she was moreover, remarkably neat, thee will not soon find her equal."

Mrs. Belding, realy wished to be angry with the plain-spoken quakeress, but it was impossible to take offence, conscious as she was of her own deficiencies, and the truth of the lady's words. Full well she knew that poor Letty would have doue well, if she herself had not been incapable of giving necessary directions. And she was far from being blind to the glaring faults, of her new cook-true, she seldom ventured into the kitchen, as she was most sure to soil the purity of her white morning-dress, if she did so. And she was conscious too, of a sad waste of provisions-but, she had given the cook, carte blanche, in the culinary { department, and she never troubled herself about the keys. So the least said upon that subject the better.

She sometimes thought that "nurse" was really "more plague than profit," for the more trouble the girl gave to the other servants the better it seemed to suit her. "Eva might carry sand in her apron, and spill coffee on the table cloth, if she liked-she did not have the washing to do," and she would teach her to make faces at the cook, and call her "niggar" too, if she chose."

that their children's airings would be more like
angels visits-few and far between. True the
fresh air may deepen the bloom upon the cheeks of
their little ones, but the recollection of the conver-
sation they are compelled to listen to, may bring a
blush upon their brows; in after days. Scandal
is a current coin, in this would-be-wise age and
generation, and "Hearsay" is, as in days of yore
a very interesting personage.

SCENE IV.

Aunt Mabel had said that Mrs. Belding would find her own children less troublesome than her husband's motherless "trio." And so she did ;— who can doubt it? Ask a young mother if the sun ever shone upon a lovlier babe than the little smiling one that slumbers on her bosom? Ask her if the soul does not beam more brightly from those heaven blue eyes, than from any belonging to that little group, now sporting upon the lawn? Her lips might refuse to answer, but the glance she bestows upon her own princely gem; so full of tenderness and pride, would be a truthful reply, and if you have chanced to behold one more beautiful, or bright—even though it be your own, it would be rash in you to assert it—the confidence and esteem of that young mother would, perchance be the forfeit.

had not the indiscreet remarks of others cause them to look upon each other as rivals.

"How sweet Alice's hair curls?" one would remark.

"Yes, and so did Eva's-when she was little; but it has got out of curl sadly since her mother died," would be the reply.

"What a graceful little fairy Eva is;-she was formed for a dancer, surely," is she fond of music?"

"Yes ;--very, but Mrs. Belding thinks dancing a useless accomplishment, and Mr. Belding thinks there is too much time spent thrumming the piano, which might be better employed; so between them both the children have not been taught either music or dancing."

"Ah! indeed, they may alter their opinions, by the time Alice is old enough to take lessons." "Should not wonder."

"Aunt Mabel, I want to speak with you," said Emma, one morning as that lady was walking in the garden.

"I know it, aunt Mabel-for that reason I wish you to ask him, he will do just as you think best."

The little Alice, was in truth a lovely child- Thee had better ask him thyself, Emma-though and Mrs. Belding was a proud, if not a happy I do not think he will be willing for thee to go from mother. Had there been no other children;-ri-home-he does not approve of sending children to vals in the fathers love-all would have been well. those fashionable boarding schools." He loved his little ones equally, we cannot doubt, but the mother would not believe it. True he sports with the bright little Alice, while pride and pleasure, are blended in his eyes—but, mark how tenderly his tearful eye will sometimes rest upon his motherless Eva, and with what gentleness he chides the mischievous Alonzo, whose thoughtless mirth threatens to disturb her infant's slumbers.

Months roll by, and years followed in their Nurse was very fond of taking Eva to walk, course, Mrs. Belding found, really, little to comparticularly as she was permitted to choose her own plain of, but still she was far from being happy. course in her rambles with the child. There was Not that perfect happiness is ever to be expected a large garden, and beautiful grounds, adjoining in this world of care, sin and death; but, innumerthe house-which were cooled by fountains and able petty annoyances, attendant upon her situashade trees, but for some reason unknown, nurse tion, which she could never have forseen or preven. always prefered walking in the street, and as Mrs.ted, destroyed her peace of mind and blasted every Belding made no objections, she frequently made "calls." Little Eva, and her loquacious nurse were sure to be welcome every where-particularly as the poor child had a step-mother.

pleasure. If she had not real troubles, she never
lacked imaginary ones. She tried to do her best,
and to please all parties, but her task was not easy,
nor her burden light, and too often was she remin-
ded of her friend Kate's prediction—too often dark

Of course the kind neighbors never failed to enquire very particularly after the health, and wel-clouds, gathered in the distance, and threatened to fare of their respected friend, and his interesting family. They all hoped the step-mother was kind to the children?—that she was a good house. keeper?-that she looked after the servants, as every lady ought to do?—and they sincerely hoped that no trouble would arise between the gentleman and his wife!-true, the man was very inconsiderate, to marry one so young-and it would be very strange if he did not have cause to repent of it. They had heard, that the lady knew nothing about cooking-they wondered if it was true?——— ah! indeed! well, they thought something went wrong, for he was known to dine out, very frequently, of late. They wondered if aunt Mabel, and the new wife, were likely to agree pretty well? &c. &c.

If parents were fully aware of the interest kind friends take in their affairs-it is very probable,

burst upon her head. Her husband was kind-but
she could not endure to see him glance at the por-
trait of his former wife—and more than once did
she wish it was burnt. If he alluded to the amia-
ble qualities of his lost Eva, hoping that little Eva
might imitate her virtues, she was ready to believe
that he meant to reprove her for the want of them
if he patted his children she fancied he did so
because they had no mother to caress them. If he
made them presents, Eva's would probably be a
book-and Emma's a musical instrument perhaps,
while that of little Alice, would be a waxen doll,
or a useless toy. Why should he make so much
difference, if he loved them all alike?-true Alice
was the youngest-but did that prove that she had
the least sense ?-

Eva and Alice, being so nearly of an age would
doubtless have loved each other like own sisters,

"But I do not think it best, my dear, we have as good schools near home, as we could find at a distance thou art too young to go at present." "Oh! but, Aunt Mabel if you only knew—" "Knew what? Emma."

"I do not like to go to school here--yesterday my French exercise was very imperfect, and the teacher found fault with it—I did not try to excuse myself because I knew I might have learned it more perfectly, if I had really tried-but Julia Walker told the teacher that it "was not my fault, for my step-mother kept me so close at my sewing that I had no time to study at home," the teacher said no more, but you cannot think how much ashamed I felt."

"It is thy duty, Emma, to assist thy motherand thee must not be unwilling to do 30—” still thee must not neglect thy lessons."

"But aunt-she told me I must finish hemming the sheet, and I did, though Julia Walker came, for me to go for a walk-and when I told her that I had not learned my lesson yet-she asked me why I was not studying, then, instead of hemming that sheet?—and said I was a little goose or I would not work my fingers off, for a lazy stepmother."

I do not mind the sewing-aunt Mabel, but I do not like to hear so many remarks."

however, until some dark clouds had shaded the

"Well-Emma I suppose you consider your brow of her father, and some mysterious expres-school-days over--and consequently, your educasions fallen from his lips, which were not quite tion finished?" pleasing to Mrs. Belding."

'Tis a pity if my children cannot be made comfortable at their own home-but that I must be at the trouble and expense of sending them away. I should imagine that we employed sew. ing-girls enough to furnish a family of five, without tasking a child till it become the town's talk."

Mrs. Belding, understood just enough of it all to make her feel unhappy-and she asked for no farther explanation, as she knew from experience that it would not help to mend the matter-she was conscious of no wrong on her own part, and in that consciousness she sought alone for

comfort.

"I shall be truly glad when the child is gone," thought she, for she is more troublesome to me than even Alonzo, for she is so wilful and perversethat I dare not pretend to manage her-and she encourages the others to be as bad as herself, and she is so cross to my Alice that the poor child is really afraid of her-but aunt Mabel, can see none of her faults, and her father does not imagine that she has any.

Five years passed away-little Alice grew in beauty, as she increased in years—and was truly, all that a doting mother could desire. She proved an only child, and consequently an idol of her mother, who lavished upon her a store of pent up affection, that had long been repulsed by those on whom she would willingly have bestowed it.

She had once loved her husband fondly-but she saw and felt, that his heart was with his former wife, and her, motherless children.

He was never unkind—but, she did not believe he ever really loved her he wanted some one to take care of his children-that was all-at least so she imagined, and perhaps she was right.

At length Emma returned from school--no longer a wilful child but a tall, handsome, and accomplished young lady. With pride and pleasure, did Mr. Belding gaze upon his eldest-born, and mark the improvement that had taken place in her manners and person, and he mentally thanked his sister for advising him to send her from home. The best private room in the house was furnished for the young lady—and nothing that money could procure was wanting to make it pleasant--with a valuable library-piano, and harpsichord--both of which she had learned to play, since she left home.

Contrary to the expectations of many of the kind friends who lived " right opposite," Emma treated her step-mother with the greatest respect-but that was all. In her sister, Eva found a true, and loving companion--and Alonzo, a confident, and an affectionate friend. But little Alice kept aloof ever by her mother's side, loving, and beloved. More than once Mrs. Belding thought of the broken rose tree-the bands of grass-and the red, and white blossoms-" separate, though side by side."

Emma had been at home about six months, when one morning, as she was curling her bright locks over her white taper fingers-for want, perhaps, of other employment; her father thus addressed her,

“Well-papa—so do you, I imagine."

"By no means-my dear--but first answer one or two questions, and then I will inform you what you have still to learn. In the first place, Emma, do you ever intend to marry?”

The crimson deepened on her cheek, as she stammered a reply-" why-papa-no,—that

is

"Verily, brother," said aunt Mabel, "I find thee endowed with more sense than the world has given thee credit for."

routine of moral education, in nine families out of ten, consists simply in adopting certain general rules for the regulation of the outward conduct, and then a passionate correction for each violation of the rules, without ever thinking of of reforming the feeling themselves; supposing that the evil disposition may be whipped to death, and that moral feelings-unsown and uncultivated -will naturally grow up in its stead. Thus, for instance, the parent lays down his rules for the government of his child, saying, this shalt thou do "Then pray-what does Charley Granger call and this shalt thou not do, holding out no other inhere so often for?-to see Aunt Mabel! eh, my ducement to obedience than simply—" I say it,”— girl." Well you can't answer, I perceive, so I will aiming merely to govern, not to improve, his child. conclude what I have to say, and be off. It is Under these circumstances it is natural that the simply this, and you may depend upon it too- child should disobey. Men never act without a that Charley Granger, or any other man shall nev-motive, and it is contrary to nature to suppose that er marry a daughter of mine, until she knows how children will do so However, the child is correcto stuff a turkey, and make a pudding--but asted, perhaps severely corrected, till he honestly you don't intend to marry, it is not so very essen- repents his transgression. But why does he repent? tial-" Only because he is forced to do so; not because he loves obedience or regards virtue. I grant he is, for the time, subdued, but he is not reformed.— The evil disposition that incited the transgression, Mrs. Belding colored to the temples, for she had like the smothered fires of the volcano, is accumunot forgotten the first dinner. "I was not whatlating in his heart, ready to break forth so soon as I ought to have been--I am not what I might the detested object, the rod, is removed. But the have been, but the fault is not all my own. My worst feature of all, and the most deplorable in its daughter, may live an old maid if she prefers, but effects, is the manner of correction. I mean that she shall marry a widower-never. I have indeed angry, vindicative spirit which is manifested by found the position of step-mother to be a thankful parents when they correct their children. I firmly office." believe that some of the worst feelings that human nature is subject to, are engendered in the heart during the hours of correction. If we correct our children in an angry mood, they will naturally imbibe our feelings, and soon we shall see them taking vengeance in like manner, upon whatever may cross their inclination. If ideas are intuitive, feelings are no less so. The military array, the fise and the drum, sounding to the battle, fire our hearts with a warlike disposition, and we are ready to imbrue our hands in the blood of our brother, though we have had no quarrel with him. So, also, if we see one weep, our hearts sympathize, even though we had not desired it. Thus are we instinctively led to imitate others, both in their virtues and their vices. It is on this principle that religious ceremonies have a salutary effect upon the heart. This brings us to remark that the true mode of moral education consists, not so much in warring incessantly with the evil disposition, nor yet in precepts of morality, but example. We may use the rod till we are tired of whipping, and mor. alize till we are weary of talking, and yet we shall fail in our efforts unless we present our children with good examples for their imitation. In this way, the feeling individually will be exercised, and like the intellectual faculties, by acting, they will learn to act. So, also, by habit, they will learn to act in a certain way. By exercising the feelings to virtuous habits, morality will become congenial, and vice incompatible. This is what we call natural religion.-Casket.

MISCELLANI.

INFANT TRAINING

WITH respect to moral education, one of the greatest errors into which men have fallen, is that of supposing the feelings originate in intellect-in other words, that knowledge will necessarily produce moral feelings and consequently, virtuous action. And hence, proceeding upon this error, they neglect entirely the moral improvement of their children, leaving them to form their own characters, when as they say, they are capable of thinking for themselves. But sad experience has taught us the fallacy of this doctrine The truth is, the feelings, no less then the intellectual faculties, are subject to various modifications and infinite improvement. And it is a fact, attested by all observation, that man in all periods of life, from infancy to old age acts more from feeling than from intellect. Indeed, this cannot be too strongly insisted upon. Many fond parents, of pure hearts and heavenly conversation, who could not look upon sin with the least degree of allowance, and who, fancying that their children, like themselves, would eschew the very thought of evil, have stumbled over this very stone.

Every action has its source, and that source is the heart and the heart, as before said, is the seat of feeling. The feelings embrace the affections, pas. sions and propeusites. These constitute the great mainspring of human action; and, therefore, demand our greatest care in thelr cultivation and improvement. With respect to the improvement of the feelings, education is very defective. Indeed, I do not know a subject involving the same amount of interest, respecting which men, gener. ally speaking, are so little informed. The whole

LOVE'S SIMPLICITY.

A YOUNG Woman alighted from a stage coach, when a piece of ribbon from her bonnet fell into the coach. "You have lost your bow behind," said a lady passenger. "Oh, no, I hav'nt, he's gone a fishing," innocently rejoined the damsel, proceeding on her way.

KINDNESS THE BEST PUNISHMENT.

took him before a magistrate, who fined him for
blasphemy. Twenty years after, Isaac met Cain,
while travelling, and observed that his appearance
was very much changed; that his dress was
tattered, and his countenance care worn. This
touched the friend's heart, and he stepped up and
shook hands with him, and spoke kindly to the
forlorn being. At first Cain did not recognize him,
when the Quaker said to him, "Dost thou not re-

A QUAKER of most exemplary character, was disturbed one night by footsteps around his dwelling, and he rose from his bed, and cautiously opened a back door to reconnoitre. Close by was an out house, and under it a cellar, near a window of which was a man busily engaged in receiving the contents of his pork barrel from another within the cellar. He stepped up to the cellar and received the peices of pork from the thief with-member me, and how I fined thee for swearing?" in, who, after a little while, asked his supposed accomplice in a whisper. "Shall we take it all ?" The owner of the pork said softly. "Yes, take it all," and the thief industriously handed up the balance through the window, and then come up himself.

Imagine his consternation, when, instead of greating his companion in crime, he was confronted by the Quaker. Both were astonished, for the thief proved to be a near neighbor of whom none would have suspected such conduct. He plead for mercy, begged the old man not to expose him, spoke of the necessity of poverty, and promised faithfully never to steal again.

"If thou hadst asked me for meat," said the old man, "it would have been given thee. I pity thy poverty and thy weakness, and esteem thy family. Thou art forgiven."

The thief was greatly rejoiced, and was about to depart, when the old man said:-"Take the pork, neighbor."

"Yes, indeed, I do," said the colored man.
"Well, did it do thee any good?"

"No," said he, very gruffly, "not a bit, it only
made me mad to have my money taken from me."
Hopper then invited Cain to reckon up the in-
terest on the fine, and said at the same time,
" I
meant it for thy good Cain, and I am sorry that I
did thee any harm."

Cain's countenance changed-the tears rolled
down his cheeks-he took the money with many
thanks-became a quiet man—and was never after.
wards heard to use an oath,

Such was the happy result of kindness. It did what punishment could not do.

THE FORTUNE-TELLER'S ALMANAC.
To dream of a millstone about your neck is a
sign of what you may expect if you marry an ex-
travagant wife.

When a house-keeper dreams of bell ringing, and wakes with the sound of it in her ears it generally "No, no," said the thief, "I don't want the indicates that there is somebody at the door-most pork." probably a "gent," who has been stopping at the cider-cellars.

Thy necessity was so great that it led thee to steal. One half of the pork thou must take with thee."

The thief insisited he could never eat a morsel of it. The thoughts of the crime would make it choke him. He begged the privilege of letting it alone. But the old man was incorrigible, and, furnishing the thief with a bag, had half the pork put therein, and laying it upon his back sent him home with it. He met his neighbor daily for many years afterward, and their famillies visited together, but the matter was kept a secret; and though in after time the circumstance was mentioned the name of the delinquent was never known. The punishment was severe and effectual. It was probably his first, it was certainly his last attempt to steal.

Had the man been arraigned before a court of justice, and imprisoned for the petty theft, how different might have been the result. His family disgraced, their peace destroyed, the man's character ruined, and his spirits broken. Revenge, not penitence, would have swayed his heart, the scorn of the world would have blackened his future, and in all probability he would have entered into a course of crime at which, when the first offence was committed, his soul would have shuddered. And what would the owner of the pork have gained? Absolutely nothing. Kindness was the best punishment, for it saved while it punished. The following illustration in point is going the rounds of the newspapers:

It is very lucky to dream that you pay for a thing twice over; since, afterwards you will probably take care to have all your bills receipted.

To dream that you are a judge is a sign that you will remain a bachelor.

To dream of bagpipes is an agreeable omen.On the principle that dreams are to be interpreted by contraries, you may expect to hear music.

To dream of a bear foretokens mischief, which your vision shows you is a bruin.

If you dream of beer, it is a sign that you may expect "pot-luck,"

To dream of a boar forbodes a railway call.

To dream of cab, foreshows a journey and a dis. pute at the end of it; which will probably have some reference to the fare.

To dream of ice is a favorable omen of a lady, provided she relates her dream to an agreeable young man on passing a pastry-cook's shop on a hot day.

If you dream of a ducking, it may be presumed that you will escape one, by having the prudence not to venture forth without your umbrella.

To see apples in a dream betokens a wedding because where you find apples you may reasonably expect pairs.

Did you ever know a young lady without a scrap-book ?

Did you ever know an Irish servant-girl without a cousin ?

Did you ever know a railroad accident in which
there was any blame attached to anybody?
Did you ever know a disinterested politician?
Did you ever see any California Gold?
Did you ever know an acter who couldn't act
Macbeth.

EXTENSIVELY LAID OUT.

A PIAIN old father had a son much given to the vanities of the toilet, and on coming home in a new fashioned great coat, with something less than a score of capes, was asked what kind of thatching he had got on his sholders.

"Capes-only capes, father."

"So, so!" said the old man, passing his hand over them. "Cape Hatteras, Cape Henlopen, I suppose ; and here," clapping his hand on his son's head, "is the Light House."

In this city, on the 20th ult. at the Methodist Church, by Rev. G. Coles, Mr. Harrison C. Humphrey to Miss Sarah C. Hevener, all of this city.

On the 25th ult. by the Rev. G. Collins, Capt. John T. Haviland to Miss Delia White.

At Poughkeepsie, on the 25th ult. by the Rev. Polhemus Van Wyck, Mr. John Hallenbeck, of Greenport, Col. Co. to Miss Frances Churchill, of the former place.

On the 14th ult. by the Rev. J. A. Wilson, Rector of St. Luke's Church, the Hon. O. Houston Van Cleve to Anne, daughter of David McKinstry, Esq. all of Ypsilanti.

At Saugerties, on the 15th ult. by Rev. C. Van Santvoord, Ira A. Shattuck, of New-York, to Rachel Baker, of Hudson.

At Ghent, on the 19th ult. at the Parsonage House, by the

Rev. J. C. Vandervoort, Mr. James A. Sharp to Miss Levantia
Eddy, both of Valatie.

At New Lebanon Springs, on the 14th ùlt. by the Rev. Mr.
Kendall, Mr. Martin C. Dedrick to Miss Elizabeth J. Fowler,

both of Kinderhook.

DEATHS.

In this city, on the 24th ult. Col. William A. Dean, in the 54th year of his age.

On the 29th ult. Joseph McMahan, in the 51 year of his age. On the 21st ult. at the residence of her father, Eliza Beekman, youngest daughter of John Crawford, Esq. aged 20 years.

At Kinderhook, on the 13th ult. Silas Wright, son of Silas Barton, aged 17th months.

DID you ever know a newspaper started that was'nt a capital medium for advertising? At Ghent, on the 13th ult. John Stewart Van Hoesen, aged Did you ever know a bottle of Port which hadn't 2 years, 2 months and 9 days, the only child of William and been six years in the bottle?

Isaac Hopper, who was a member of the Friends' Society in Philadelphia, once heard a colored man, a painter, by the name of Cain, a hardened wretch, using profane language, and the most horrid oaths, while engaged in a street fight; and supposing persuasion would have no effect upon him, heetest little thing in the world?

Jane Van Hoesen.

At Cincinnati, on the 21st ult. Mrs. Emily Shimer of Cholera, Did you ever know a baby that was not the qui- aged 38 years, daughter of Henry Hurder of this city.

At Clermont, on the 4th ult. at her son-in-laws William H. Smith, Mrs. Mary Miller, in the 66th year of her age.

ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM.

VOLUME XXV.

Semi-monthly Journal, Embellished with Engravings.

W. B. STODDARD, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.

HUDSON, N. Y. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1849.

PAYABLE IN ADVANCE.

NUMBER 22.

predecessors. They forget, in their day-dreams of gain, that they are about to exchange a pleasant mansion for a cheerless log cabin; the privileges of were scarcely known amid the muititude, pitched social intercourse and religious association, for altheir tents upon the virgin soil of the Mississippi most utter solitude; and a life of comparative ease valley, where the foot of the white man had never for the most arduous physical labor. They look before trodden, and in a few years found themselves upon the bright tints of the picture, and seldom surrounded with all the comforts of life, called upon glance at the umber to which the finger of experto take an active part in the political affairs of the ience would point them These are they who restate or territory wherein they had settled, and fre- turn from the west sadly disappointed in their hopes quently again sent eastward to sit in the national and expectations, and are for ever croaking about council. There are many, very many, who go its unhealthy climate, barren soil, and other equally to the west," with high anticipations of making grievous complaints. But he who goce, with the speedy fortunes, without counting the cost. In expectation of laboring hard, living prudently, their estimate of results they omit the many priva-managing wisely, and selects his locality with tions to which they will be exposed, and value too judgment, may be sure of receiving a bountiful relightly the lessons of experience read to them by turn for his sacrifices.

We have introduced here an illustration, exhibi- added to the confederacy-a new star to our na ting a family emigrating to the west. The entional banner. How many, very many, in humble graving is a day scene, in which is seen the emi-life, have thus left the Atlantic states, where they grant, with a gun upon his shoulder, and his faith ful dog by his side, leading the way, followed by a single horse and wagon, bearing his family, and perhaps all his earthly possessions. It is a picture of but one among thousands who leave the endearments of home, the luxuries of cultivated and commercial regions, teeming with population, for the wilds of the west. The rough road, the umbrageous forest, the gushing stream, and the treeless prairie, are no impediments to deter him from his purpose of finding some eligible spot where he may pitch his tent, rear his cabin, sow his seeds, and reap rich harvests, thus forming a nucleus for a thriving community and finally a new state to be