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We ought to say a few words on the effects of this evil upon individuals, and upon the public spirit of our land. This is a severe taskwho can do it justice? The vast amount of money drained from the pockets of the honest and industrious is a small part of the evil. It deranges and confuses the order, the silent earnest progress of regular business life in the community. The calm and rational pleasures of social life are vitiated by the extraordinary nostrums presented by tricksters, showmen, doggerel-mongers, and negro ballad-singers. The taste of the community is rendered morbid. Itinerant quacks, in all professions, break in upon the regular flow of social and business life, interfering imprudently with, and often disparaging, home skill, home art, home industry, and home business-carrying away by large grabs more money than is required to sustain all the useful spheres of home industry, as well as the various necessary benevolent enterprises of the community. They tear into a community like a storm into a forest, to devour and desolate.

Humbug exerts a disastrous influence upon public morals. It promotes a dishonest spirit, and induces the low and the idle to endeavor to live by trickery. It has a tendency to undermine and sap the foundation of confidence between man and man. It acts as a caricature and burlesque upon science, and destroys confidence and respect for it; for in many of the forms of humbug there is such a mixture of the true and the false, as to make the true serve the false to its own dishonor. The true is thus disparaged. The true is modest, humbug is bold and impudent, and hence he throws into the shade and over-tops that which is a true benefit to man. This we see constantly. True skill in musical science is not encouraged; but not so with doggerel ballads and negro songs. True, serious, and useful authorships can scarcely live; but not so with hot-bed novels, morbid vulgarity, or the impudent life of a humbug. True medical skill and science is left far behind by the bold sweep of quackery. In short there is scarcely any department of regular, honest business, that is not forced to unequal competition with the intrusions of some foreign counterfeit in the same line of business.

The spirit of humbug is especially injurious to the young. It fills their minds with strange ambition, and with dangerous fancies. Seduces them to the idea that life is not an earnest, honest struggle, in which worthy action alone is honorable, but a game of chance, offering its best rewards to the grab of trick and cunning. This is the unblushing lesson which Barnum teaches in his Autobiography. Behold the end of his teachings in his own late bankruptcy.

We cannot, without some effort, by which we transfer ourselves back into the innocent age of childhood, form any true idea of the effect produced upon the unsuspecting and credulous minds of children by the mysterious professions of astrologers, and the brazen-faced vulgarities of medical quacks, as exhibited in almost every secular newspaper-and in some religious ones that enter our families. They believe it all—their visions feed upon it in wonder-and deep in their young minds lies the permanent impression!

Who has not seen the effect of any kind of humbug upon children. For weeks after one has swarmed in a town, you can see mimicings and imitations of their sayings and doings in the boys upon the street.

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We have carried our history of unpublished school-boy literature up to that period which may be called full boyhood. We have shown that there is at this time in boy-life danger of a certain kind of unlovely development-a characteristic bravo spirit which is rough, roguish, and rowdyish. We now proceed.

The period which may be called early youth, when the large boy begins to merge into the incipient young man, has its distinctly marked peculiarities. Nick-names no longer please-they are hated. The spirit assumes a sober, yea, even a serious tone. The youth now writes under his name, on the blank leaf of his school-book

"The grass is green,
The rose is red:

Here stands my name,
When I am dead."

The boy is satisfied with himself; but the youth no more. He begins to have strange longings. Instincts begin to dawn, which reach forward in the way of the spirit destiny, and he hears the soundings of immortality. The soul begins to turn its reflections in upon itself, and listens to its own prophetic undertones.

"A solemn murmur in the soul,
Tells of the world to be,

As travelers hear the billows roll

Before they reach the sea."

That the stanza which the youth now loves to record under his name, is prompted by the instincts of immortality is seen at once in the lines

"Here stands my name
When I am dead."

The aspirations of the spirit will leave their record behind. Hence not only on this blank page does the youth seek to leave his name, but in other places also he records it, that his memorial may not perish with him "when he is dead." Behold the same youth, at this period of life, not only in the school-room cutting his name in the writing desk and bench, but see him also in the rural arbor, and among the smoothedbacked trees, whither his pensive feelings have led him, carving for immortality!

"With knife deface
The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name,
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.
So strong the zeal t' immortalize himself
Beats in the heart of man, that even a few,
Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorr'à
Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize."


The stanza on which we are commenting is most frequently written at the close of school, about the opening of the spring season, when the grass is green," and the bud of the "red rose" begins to swell. Strange as it may seem to those who seek for the reason of things on the surface, it has long since been observed that the instincts of immortality are strongest in spring-time. They awaken with the revival of nature. It is, moreover, at this season of the year that the soul is most moved by mystic longings. This explains why Solomon, in the Song of Songs, connects with the coming of spring the singing of birds, the blooming of flowers, the inward voice which invites: "Arise my love, my fair one, and come away!" We would suppose this the very time when the heart would most desire to remain, and would feel itself most sweetly at home on earth. But it is not so. It is amid the bloom and beauty of spring that the spirit feels itself most strongly drawn upon by the powers of the infinite. An undefined hope sings in the bosom of youth a song which accords with the prophetic cooings of the dove, waking the same memories and inspiring the same hopes.

Under the influence of these mysterious feelings the youth writes the stanza which we have quoted. How important that this strange seriousness should receive the proper direction! These mystic feelings are no doubt deep yearnings after Christ, as they are after an hereafter. They are a feeling in the dark after the true rest of the soul. They are a warmth and a light slumbering in the embers; a

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The stanza we have quoted, though serious, has still a great deal of hope in it. It belongs, as we have said, to dawning youth. Sometimes, however, the same sentiment is expressed in a more gloomy style:

"When I am dead and in my grave,
And all my bones are rotten,
This little verse will show my name

When I am quite forgotten."

This evidently belongs to a later period in youth. It shows that some disappointments have darkened life; hope is no more so spontaneous and firm as it once was, and the heart feels that "there has passed away a glory from earth." There is not so implicit a faith in the perpetuity of friendship. The writer believes that he shall be "quite forgotten" except as this "little verse" shall call him to the mind and memory of his companions. This verse does not please us. It is too cheerless. It sounds even morbid. We fear that the heart of the youth who writes it is not lighted up by the hopes of religion as it ought to be. It seems so much like the sorrow of the world which worketh death.

There is another form in which this same gloomy sentiment is sometimes expressed. Thus:

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Again we say, we would rather see something more cheerful. Religion is serious, but not gloomy. This stanza seems to us too much like a rose that has a worm at its heart. It has a fragrance, but it is too languid to be breathed from a healthy heart. We would say to such a one, pray for a little more cheerful faith. With that which has more hope in it. It is this that gives freshness and vigor to the heart, and makes youth the happy preparatory stage to a pious, brave, and useful life.

In short, what we recommend is something of the spirit which breathes in another stanza which we find in school books. Thus:

"Wilson Langdon is my name,
Farming is my station:

Iowa is my dwelling place,
And Christ is my salvation."

There is nerve, and faith, and purpose in this! He takes right hold of his secular calling in the hope and spirit of religion. Here is no languid, morbid dreaming about "rotten bones" and being "forgotten." Here is the power which brings resurrection. He has chosen an honorable vocation. He is determined to be a christian farmer; and yet he does not propose to follow this business as an end, only as a means, of life. He intends to be diligent in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord. While his hands rest on the plough, his heart shall rest on Christ as "his salvation." We venture to say that this is just what all young men should learn at school; and this is the spirit in which they should step from the school into the business of life.

THE SCRIPTURES ALWAYS FRESH.-Can this be said of any other book? The venerable Dr. Woods, in addressing the students at Andover, said that when he commenced his duties as Professor of Theology, he feared that the frequency with which he should have to pass over the same portions of Scripture, would abate the interest in his own mind in reading them; but, after more than fifty years of study, it was his experience that with every class his interest increased.

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