labor-saving machinery for manufacturing purposes? Yet we find
that although one man now, by the assistance of machinery,
can do the work which twenty performed a few years since,
yet we do not learn that any more are out of employment, or
that they have any less profitable business than formerly. If
permanent fashions should be established, some would, no doubt,
feel their influence at first: but would they be affected any
more injuriously than some branches of business are in every
few years, by _changes_ in the _fashions_? Take the business
of wig-maker, for instance. When the full-bottomed wig was
worn by a Dauphin of France, to hide an imperfection in his
shoulder, wigs became fashionable, and were worn by all ages
and classes in society, not only in France but also in England
and America--and their manufacture must have given employment
to many thousands. But somehow or other, the people of the
present age, not being able to discern why the imperfections
of a foreign prince should for ever rest upon their heads,
have with one consent thrown them off. They did not, however,
wait till all the wig-makers were dead before the change was
made, and of course many of them must have felt the effects
of the change in fashion upon their business. Look too at the
broad shoe-buckles of our revolutionary ancestors, and the
bright buckles at their knees. Did the buckle-makers starve
to death, when, as independent freemen, our sires resolved to
wear pantaloons and shoe-strings? No! Nor would the interest of
any class of the community be any more seriously affected by
establishing permanent models of fashion, than were those of
the wig or buckle-maker, who were compelled to seek some other
employment for a livelihood.
"If a careful examination is made, it will be found that a much
larger number are annually ruined in business by attempting to
follow the vagaries of fashion, than possibly could be injured
by establishing fashion upon a permanent basis."
We think all will agree with the writer in this position, on another
ground, namely: that when the novelty of fashion shall be dispensed
with in society, the female circle will at once forego much useless
intercourse on the subject, and introduce in its place more rational
and profitable topics.
We close, by recommending this Lecture to readers of every class, as
containing much that is instructive, and that may be made profitable,
to all.
* * * * *
WILD FLOWERS, CULLED FOR EARLY YOUTH. BY A LADY. In one volume,
pp. 257. New-York: JOHN S. TAYLOR.
WE are glad to perceive the public favor bestowed upon such works
for the moral and religious improvement of the young, as the one
now under notice. Stories, naturally related, and blended with good
advice implied, and valuable lessons adroitly disguised, or robbed
of didactic dullness, are capable of extensive good. They are well
calculated to gain those passes of the heart which are often guarded
by prejudice or indifference against the direct force of truth. We
can heartily commend both the execution and tendency of each of the
eight sketches in the volume before us. They are thus entitled:
The Young Mechanics; Anselmo, Gardener of Lyons; Adela De Coven;
My Uncle's Wand; The Friend of Olden Times; Stanmore; Glimpses of
New-England Mountaineers, from a Traveller's Memoranda; and After the
Party. As a specimen of the agreeable, unaffected style of the book,
we make the following extract from the 'New-England Mountaineers:'
"One clear sun-shiny morning, in the month of February, some
three or four years since, as I was travelling in New-England,
not far from the Green Mountains, I left the stage-sleigh,
as it drew up to the door of a village post-office, and ran
forward to put my blood into quicker circulation.
"A crust had been formed upon the new-fallen snow, by the
freezing of a little rain that had followed the snow-storm, so
that a pretty decided step was requisite to break the crust, so
far as to walk securely, it being extremely slippery.
"Every tree and shrub was likewise encrusted with ice, the bare
boughs and slender twigs all standing out in full relief, under
a sky of purest blue, glittered in the sun-beams, as if covered
with rubies and diamonds.
"Those who have never experienced a northern winter, can form
no idea of the effect of sun-rise over such a scene as this.
"The day was severe enough to require all the aids of lion
skin, buffalo robes, and fine furs, to preserve the vital fluid
from stagnation. I had gone about a quarter of a mile ahead
when I met a little urchin of four or five years, carrying a
small pail of milk.
"'Why, my little fellow,' said I, 'where are your stockings
this cold morning?'
"'Aunt Nelly's ironing on 'em.'
"'What's your name, my boy?'
"'George Washington La Fayette Keeny.'
"'The deuce it is!' Why, my man, your name is very like a
jelly-bag, larger at the top than it is at the bottom.'
"'I never seed a jelly-bag,' said the youngster, 'but that is
exactly the shape of our Tom's kite; it's proper big at the
top, and tapers off at the end in a _leetle_ peak.'
"'Well, you're a smart boy for a simile. Run home and get your
stockings, quick step, and here is a shilling toward another
pair.'
"On I ran, but was soon compelled to leave the faint traces of
a road to avoid a cutter that came hurrying on at the heels
of a frightened market-horse. One thing after another came
bouncing out, strewing the path, and, last of all, apparently
much against his will, out popped the driver himself, heels
over head, his capes flying about his ears, his cap tossed into
a gully, and his temper not a little discomposed. He sprang
upon his feet.
"'Now, that 'are skittish colt of our Dick's--what on
'arth can a fellow do to stop the trollup--she goes like a
jack-o'-lantern. Hullo there! Stop that 'are mare, will ye? My
stars--what 'ill our Nab say?'
"But the strong and lively perception of the ludicrous, that
characterizes the New-Englander, even of the roughest mould,
seemed to overpower his vexation. Springing up from the hollow,
into which his fur-cap had rolled, he swung it round his head,
and burst out into a fit of obstreperous laughter.
"How the adventure ended, history does not record; the coach
came up, and we were soon beyond the region of buttered roads."
A New-England country-wedding is admirably depicted in the subjoined
paragraphs:
"We reined up to an old-fashioned, solitary farm-house, flanked
by a range of barns and stables of more modern date, and their
capaciousness spoke well for the thrift of the owner.
"The farmer himself answered our summons at the door.
"'Can you give us a lodging to-night, my friend? The roads are
perilous in the dark, the storm is increasing every moment, and
'tis fifteen miles to the nearest public house. You will really
do us a Christian office, if you will but afford us a shelter
until day-light to-morrow.' The old gentleman hesitated, as he
stood with the door half open to shield himself from the rain
and hail.
"'Why, gentlemen, ye see, it is not quite convenient
_to-night_. We've got a _wedden_ here. I can't tell what our
folks would do with so many people. We shall have to keep all
the weddeners, like enough--'tis a savage night, out, I guess.'
At this crisis the son of 'mine host,' and heir-apparent of
house and homestead, came forward.
"'Father, I guess we can accommodate the gentlemen somehow. The
young men can sit up--there will be no difficulty. We can give
them a shelter and a warm supper at any rate.'
"All was settled, and in we went; and after due stamping,
shaking over-coats, and brushing up, with suitable ablutions,
we were ushered into the presence of the bride. She was an
interesting girl of eighteen, with a countenance bright with
health, intelligence, and happiness, dressed with marked
simplicity, and in charming taste. On one side she was
sustained by her lover--I beg pardon, her husband; the knot
had been tied a few minutes before our untimely intrusion--on
the other by two fair girls, their white favors, I took to be
bride's-maids.
"The ceremony of congratulating, or saluting, the new-married
lady, now commenced; but I perceived the young lady grew
pale, and showed symptoms of great reluctance at receiving
the salutations of this promiscuous company. The pretty
bride's-maids too, were considered fair game, and after
resisting, with very becoming shyness, they escaped from the
room, till the odious ceremony, as they called it, was over.
"This odd custom duly complied with, a custom now quite
obsolete in our cities, cake and metheglin were handed about.
An apology was made to the strangers for the absence of wine,
on the plea of '_total abstinence_.' A question was made at
once, whether metheglin did not come under the ban.
"'Well, well, my friends,' said the old gentleman, 'if it goes
agin your consciences, ye need not partake; but one thing I can
tell ye, 'tis better than any wine. When I was a young man, I
read a book called the Vicar of Wakefield, and I remember how
the minister used to praise madam's gooseberry wine; now I
don't believe it was a grain better than my wife's metheglin,
and I don't think there's any sin in drinking on't either--_at
a wedden_.'
"The company seemed very well pleased with the old gentleman's
logic, and still better satisfied with his lady's excellent
metheglin; and the two hours that intervened between cake and
supper were passed in cheerful conversation and music. * * *
Supper was now announced, not by bell or gong, or even the
whispered 'supper is ready' of some pampered son of Ethiopia.
No, no; by the good patriarch of the household himself, who,
with looks of real kindness, and true-hearted primitive
hospitality, threw open the door of the large old-fashioned
inner kitchen, and, rubbing his hands, cried out, 'Come,
my friends, all; supper is smoking; take your seats.' Thus
saying, he led the way, while the company followed in his wake,
rather unceremoniously, considering the occasion. * * * We had
venison brought in a frozen state from the Canadian borders;
we had delicious oysters from the coast of Connecticut; we had
salmon that had been preserved fresh in ice; we had ducks that
surpassed the famous canvas-backs, and the most delicate of
wild fowls and chickens, dressed in various ways. I must not
omit to mention a famous bird of the barn-yard, fattened and
killed, as the old gentleman asserted, 'a purpose for Clary's
_wedden_, and if it a'nt nice,' he added, 'it is not _my_
fault.' * * * Next came our dessert: I like to be particular.
We had of pasties a variety--custards, sweet-meats, jellies,
both foreign and domestic, honey rifled from the white clover
of their meadows, and all the different products of their dairy
in high perfection.
"After supper a toast was proposed. 'Long life, prosperity, and
concord to the newly-married couple;' which was drank with all
gravity."
These 'Wild Flowers' are tastefully secured by the publisher, who has
contributed not a little to the cause of typographical reform. Two
pretty engravings, also, embellish the volume.
* * * * *
LIVE AND LET LIVE; OR DOMESTIC SERVICE ILLUSTRATED. By the
Author of 'Hope Leslie,' 'The Linwoods,' 'The Poor Rich Man,
and the Rich Poor Man,' etc. In one volume, pp. 216. New-York:
HARPER AND BROTHERS.
A HALF page is left us, by the 'chances of type,' wherein to express
an opinion of this little volume; and we forego the pleasure of
extracts, that we may early call attention to a work which should
be in the hands of every mistress of a family and servants in the
United States. A thorough knowledge of American domestic life; a
spirit of generous kindness toward all, even the humblest, conditions
of humanity; a combination of incidents the most life-like, and all
fertile in useful lessons both to servants and those under whom
they are placed by Providence; a style simple, touching, and level
to every capacity; these are some of the characteristics of this
charming little book. We cannot doubt that the warmest hopes of
the benevolent writer, in relation to her work, may be realized;
that it _will_ rouse female minds to reflection upon the duties
and capabilities of mistresses of families, making them feel their
obligations to 'inferiors in position,' and quickening their sleeping
consciences.
EDITORS' TABLE.
WILLIAM TYNDALE'S 'NEWE TESTAMENTE.'--We have often thought how
delightfully a few hours might be passed in the London British
Museum, in examining the first translation that was ever made of the
Scriptures into the English tongue; and lo! without the expense,
trouble, or peril of journeying so far, that celebrated work, more
than three hundred years old, is before us, with a full and complete
memoir of the ever-memorable author, and eke his engraved portrait,
which whoso examines, shall forthwith pronounce, from _prima
faciæ_; evidence, to be a faithful likeness. What an expanse of
forehead!--how clear and searching the eyes!--what an air of decision
and martyr-like firmness in the compression of the lips!--forming,
in connection with the surrounding multitudinous beard, such an
expression as might be produced by a blending of Lorenzo Dow's and
Ex-Sheriff Parkins' most satirical smile. This acescent aspect,
however, may well be pardoned; for Tyndale was persecuted through
life, and finally suffered a painful martyrdom in the cause of his
Master.
Few Bible-readers are aware how much of persecution, of 'pain,
anguish, and tribulation,' they endured, who were the original
translators of the Scriptures into English, and the early defenders
of the doctrines they teach. The popish clergy charged Tyndale with
altering the sacred records, and forbade the circulation of his
Testament, under the severest penalties. The priest-ridden King of
England joined in the crusade, and by a 'constytucyon pronyneyall,'
prohibited the issue of any book of Scripture, in the English tongue;
'as though,' says Tyndale, 'it weren heresye for a Crysten man to
rede Crystes gospell.' In reply to the charge of altering the New
Testament, the martyr says, in a letter to a contemporary: 'I call
God to recorde agaynst the daye we shal appeare before our Lorde Jesu
Crist, to give rekonynge of oure doinges, that I neuer alterd one
syllable of Goddes worde agaynst my conscyence, nor wolde do thys
daye, yf all that is in earthe, whether it be honoure, pleasure, or
ryches, niyght be giuen me.' And in the preface to his first edition,
he also observes: 'I haue here translated (brethren and susters,
moost dere and tenderly beloved in Crist,) the Newe Testamente for
youre spirituall edyfyinge, consolacion, and solas: the causes
that moved me to translate, y thought better that other shulde
ymagion, than that y shulde rehearce them. Moreover, y supposed yt
superfluous, for who ys so blynde to axe why lyght shulde be shewed
to them that walke in dercknes, where they cannot but stomble, and
where to stomble ys the daunger of eternall damnacion.'
All attempts to stop the circulation of the Scriptures were of no
avail. Though they were not distributed 'withouten grete auenture
and parell,' yet they ran and were glorified. The Roman Catholic
bishop complains, that though often collected and burned, 'stil
these pestylent bokes are throwen in the strete, and lefte at mennys
dores by nyghte,' and that where they 'durste not offer theyr poyson
to sel, they wolde of theyr cheryte poyson men for noughte.' In
vain does the King issue orders, urging his subjects to 'kepe pure
and clene of all contagyon of wronge opynion in Cristes relygion,'
and warn them not to 'suffer suche euil sede, contaygyous and
dampnable, to be sowen and take roote, ouergrowinge the corne of
the Catholick fayth.' 'He that compyled the booke,' says Tyndale,
notwithstanding these warnings and edicts, 'purposyth, with Goddes
help, to mayntayne vnto the deathe, yf neede be. In brunninge the
Newe-Testamente, tha did none other thinge than I loked for; no more
shal tha doe, if tha brunne _me_ allso, if it be God his will it
shal be so.' In this spirit, did he continue, by the aid of equally
zealous cöoperators whom he raised up, to multiply editions of
the New-Testament, and to defend its doctrines, until he fell, by
shameful strategy, into the hands of his popish enemies, and was put
to a cruel death.
The reader may be curious to possess a specimen of this ancient
relic; we therefore make a few random extracts, in contrast with the
modern and approved version, commencing with St. PAUL'S eloquent
narration of his sufferings for the faith, in the eleventh chapter of
II Corinthians:
TYNEDALE. MODERN VERSION.
"Wherin soever eny man dare be |"Howbeit, whereinsoever any is
bolde (I speake folisshly) I dare |bold, (I speak foolishly,) I am
be bolde also. They are Ebrues, so |bold also. Are they Hebrews? so
am I: They are Israelites, even so |am I. Are they Israelites? so am
am I: They are the sede off Abraham, |I. Are they the seed of Abraham?
even so am I. They are the ministers |so am I. Are they ministers of
off Crist (I speake as a fole) I am |Christ? (I speak as a fool,) I
moare: In labours moare abundant: |am more: in labours more abundant,
In strypes above measure: In preson |in stripes above measure, in
more plenteously: In deeth ofte. Of |prisons more frequent, in deaths
the Iewes five tymes receaved I |oft. Of the Jews five times
every tymes xl. strypes, one excepte.|received I forty stripes save
Thryse was I beten with roddes. I |one. Thrice was I beaten with
was once stoned. I suffred thryse |rods, once was I stoned, thrice I
shipwracke. Nyght and daye have I |suffered shipwreck, a night and a
bene in the depe off the see. In |day I have been in the deep. In
iorneyinge often: In parrels of |journeyings often, in perils
waters: In parrels of robbers: In |of waters, in perils of robbers,
ieoperdies off myne awne nacion: In |in perils by mine own countrymen,
ieorperdies amonge the hethen. I have|in perils by the heathen, in perils
bene in parrels in cities, in parrels|in the city, in perils in the
in wildernes, in parrels in the see, |wilderness, in perils in the sea,
in parrels amonge falce brethren, in |in perils among false brethren.
laboure and travayle, in watchynge |In weariness and painfulness, in
often, in honger, in thirst, in |watchings often, in hunger and
fastynges often, in colde and in |thirst, in fastings often, in cold
nakednes. |and nakedness.
|
"Besyde the thynges which outwardly |"Besides those things that are
happen vnto me, I am combred dayly, |without, that which cometh upon
and care for all congregacions. Who |me daily, the care of all the
is sicke: and I am not sick? Who is |churches. Who is weak and I am not
hurte in the fayth: and my hert |weak? who is offended, and I burn
burneth not? Yf I must nedes reioyce,|not? If I must needs glory, I
I will reioyce of myne infirmities." |will glory of the things which
|concern mine infirmities."
The affecting farewell taken by PAUL of his disciples, as he was
about to 'depart for to go into Macedonia,' is thus recorded: