The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1857-09-10


to fOresee events and results; and last, thoug
not least, medical treatment.
MISCELLANEOUS.
a PICTURE.-The subject is simple north.
country village, on the shore of Morecambe
pay not IN the common sense picturesque
Village: there are no pretty bow-windows. or
red roofs, or rocky steps of entrance to the rms.
tic doors, or quaint gables; nothing but single
street OF matched and chiefly clay-built cot.
tages, ranged in a somewhat monotonous line.
the roofs 80 green with moss, that at first we
hardly discern the houses from the fields and
trees. The village street is closed at the end
ny wooden gate, indicating the little traffic
there IS On the road through it, and giving It
something the look of large farmstead. in
which q right of way lies through the ward.
The road which leads to this gate is full of ruts.
and winds down bad bit of hill between two
broken banks of moor ground, succeeding i'm.
mediately to the few enclosures which surround
the village; they can hardly be called gardens !:
but decayed fragment or two of fencing FIJI
the gaps In the bank; and the clothes line. with
some clothes on it, striped blue and red, and a
smock'frock, is stretched between the trunks of
some stunted willows cery small haystack
and plg-sty being seen at the back of the cot.
tage beyond. An empty two.wheeled lumber.
ing cart, drawn by pair of horses, with large
wooden collars, the driver sitting lazily in the
sun, sideways on the leader, is going slowly
nome along the rough road, it being about
country dlnner-tlme. At the end of the village
there Is better house, with three chineys, and
dormer window in it's roof. and the roof ia ~
stone single, instead of thatch, but very ronob
This house is, no doubt, the cergyman's: there
is some smoke from one of it's cb;mnevs none
GvrA auy oLner In tne village; this smoke ia
from the lowest chimney at the back, evidently
that OF the kitchen, and it is rather thick, the
tre not having been long lighted. A few hun.
dred yards from the clergyman's house, nearer
the shore, is the church, discernible from the
cottages only by its low, two-arched belfry.
little neater than one would expect in such
villsge-perhaps lately built by the Puseyite
incumbent; and beyond the church, close to
the sea, are two fragments of border war
tower, standing on their circular mound, worn
on its brow deep into edges and burrows, BY the
feet of the village children. On the bank of
moor, which forms the foreground are a few
cows, the carter's dog barking at a yixenisb
one. The milkmsid is feeding another. a gen.
tie white one, which turns its head to her. ex.
peotant OF handful of fresh hay, which she
has brought for it in her blue apron, fastened
up round her waist She stands with her pail
on her head, evidently the village coquette, for
she has neat bodice, and pretty striped petit
coat under the blue apron, and red stockings
Nearer us, the cow-herd, bare-footed, stands on
piece OF the limestone rock, (for the ground
Is thistly, and not pleasurable to bare feet
whether boy or girl, we are not sure; it may
be boy, with girls WORKOUT bonnet on. or a
girl, with pair of ragged trowsers on. Prob.
ably the first, as the old bonnet is evidently
looking for strayed COWS among the moorland
hollows, and helps US at present to watch, hold.
ing the bonnet's head down, the quarrel of the
vixenish COW with the dog, which, leaning on
our long stick, we allow to proceed, without
any interference. A little to the right the hay
is being got in, of which the milkmaid has lust
taken her apronfull to the white COW. But the
hay is very thin, and cannot well be raked up,
because of the rocks; we must CLEAN it, like
corn; hence the smallness of our stack behind
the willows; and woman is pressing bun
die of it hard together, kneeling against the
rocks edge, to carry it safely to the hay-cart
without dropping any. Beyond the village is a
rocky hill, deep set with brush-wood, a square
crag or two of limestone emerging here and
there, with pleasant turf on their brows, heaved
in russell and messy mounds against the sky,
which, clear and calm, and as golden as the
moss, stretches down behind it towards the sea.
A single cottage just shows its roof over the
edge of the hill, looking Stewards; perhaps one
of the village shepherds is a sea-captain now,
and may have built it there, that his mother
may first see the sails of his ship whenever it
runs into the bay. Then, under the hill, and
beyond the border tower, is the blue sea itself,
the waves flowing in over the sand in long
curved lines, slowly; shadows of cloud, and
CLEANS of shallow water on white sand alterna-
ting-miles away; but no sail is visible, not
one fisher boat on the beach, not one dark speck
on the quiet horizon. Beyond all are the Cum.
berlsnd mountains, clear in the sun, with rosy
light on all their crsgs. should think the
reader cannot but feel the kind of harmony
there is in this composition the entire purpose
of the painter to give us the impression of wild,
yet gentle, country life, monotonous as the sue
cession of the noiseless waves, patient and en-
during as the rocks; but peaceful, and full of
health and quiet hope, and sanctifed by the
pure mountain air and baptismal dew of heaven,
falling softly between days of toll and nights of
innocence.-Ruskin.
The DOCTRINE OF ATTRACTIoNs-We ex-
tract the following timely and judicious remarks
from the life of Shelley, prefxed to the beauti-
full edition of his works, in blue and gold, just
issued by Little, Brown, Co., of Boston:
However the brain may philosophize, the
heart remains loyal to its traditions; and al
though Mrs. Shelley may have been captivsted
with the doctrine of attractions while it drew
her husband to her, she was not prepared for
the more liberal application of it which drew
him away. No theorizing can sweeten deser-
ton; and the unhappy woman, disenchanted
of the dream, and forsaken by the substance,
sought shelter in death.
The lovers of Shelley, as a man and poet,
have done what they could to paliate his con.
duct in this matter. But question of morals,
as between man and society, cannot be reduced
to any individual standard, however exalted
our Partially for the man only heightens our
detestation of the error. The greater Shelley's
genius, the nobler his character and impulses,
so much more startling is the warning. If we
make our own inclinations the measure of what
is right, we must be sterner in curbing them.
A woman's heart is too delicate q thing to
serve ga q fulcrum for the 1aver with which