168 THE VALUE OF A NAME. alliance of such foes to the cause calls for union for courage, for perseverance. Wisdom and energy are often seen in means the most simple. The simplest and most efficient means to produce a consummation so devoutly to be wished, is a total, an absolute, an unqualified non-user. Preach this doctrine, and though it may be foolishness to the wise and conceited drunkard, yet it is by such preaching that proselytes have been made of that great multitude who are now within the pale of temperance. Preach this doctrineno other means is given unto men whereby they may be insured of perfect safety from the Spoiler. Preach this doctrine-it is the same which is written in capitals on the sacred Temple of Nature. Enter this grand and beautiful temple, and conault its oracles-a response never ambiguous, a response from the Almighty himself, saith, Use not the accursed thing-abstain; it is the quintessence of the poison of asps. The simplest means have always been employed by God in the economy of his works. We are not surprised, therefore, at the disparity between the means and the end. And how shall these doctrines be urged and enforced By a rigid and unblushing conformity to those pledges and obligations which men have voluntarily imposed on themselves. By a kind and affectionate solicitation of the neighbor to make trial of these principles. By pointing him to the fatal Charybdis in which have been wrecked the fortunes, the happiness, and the hopes of thousands. By showing him that health and life are in jeopardy. By training up the children in habits of abstemiousness, and requesting them to take, Hannibal-like, the oath of eternal obstinence. In the expressive and truthful language of the poet Cowper, "Th' Excise is fattened with the rich result VEILED HEART. -- BY ROSE RAMBLE. -- VEILED is man, a shadowy being, Masked are we each pilgrim gazeth Thoughts the best and thoughts the holiest When we greet a spirit true, Hid by curtain close and dark, Our Great High Priest above alone The captive heart shall burst its chain, THE VALUE OF A NAME. HISTORY joins issue with Shakspere as to the value of a name, and what is in it. Our great poet for dramatic purposes might conscientiously make his love-sick heroine demand what was in a name to separate her from her beloved. Passion, that goes straight to its object, and perceives not forms, as it admits not obstacles, naturally slights an impediment of such filmy texture as a name, and sees nothing in it." Like the "noble savage" of the poet, it still runs "wild in woods," and is beautifully innocent of civilized distinctions and the habits of society. Had Shakspere spoken in his own wise person, he would have told us a different story of the sig nificance of a name; for none knew better than he the force of trivialities in general affairs, as in familiar life. They govern us. Something small in our natures has so long accustomed us to pay deference to those petty autocrats, tha we are really surprised when our eyes are opene to the fact of their ruling us at all, or eve: existing at all. Of these, no one exercises a astonishing an influence, for good and for evil as a name. It stands at the head of the list, THE VALUE OF A NAME. inspiring aversion hard to be effaced altogether by the most transcendent qualities: propitiating affection for the most undeserving; playing cross-purposes of every kind. The adage, “Give a dog a bad name," shows that the clear wit of the people has long marked the fact and steered accordingly. A name, in this battle of life, is half the battle, as we may all read, see, and, some time in our lives, experience. Supposing a volume of promising poems published in these steam-driving days, with William Shakspere on the title page! we think we should turn over the leaves more briskly, and with a sort of thrill in the mind. Surely the most nauseated critic would dip into the volume with "speculation in his eye." To understand the virtue and, therefore, the value of a name, we must consider its effect upon the ear alone; its influence on the mind, and its impression on the memory. There is in a name something more than strikes the ear, as there is in a perfume something beyond what acts on the olfactory nerves. So closely are the animal senses connected with our higher organization, that we must be in a low state indeed when the exercise of one faculty conveys no meaning, or makes no appeal to another and subtler. It is true that "the rose by any other name may smell as sweet" to the nose, but a name of bad repute, or a name of two letters, by any other name would smell more sweet. Prestige is to a name what odor is to a flower. It is exquisite; it is unpleasant; or it exists not at all. In the latter case the hues must be of marvellously gorgeous dye to be presentable. A celebrated novelist contends that to distinguish the rose by the appellation of Jeremiah Bossolton would wonderfully diminish the renown of its fragrance; and we may ask, What poets would have the audacity to compare their beauties to a vegetable of such unwieldy nomenclature what lover dare to offer it as a decoration to the hair or bosom of his chosen fair one! But, on the other hand, a Jeremiah Bossolton even may become dear to us from association. There is nothing so humble or ridiculous that may not form the affections of our first years, that speak to us so mysteriously and powerful in after life, revived in half-intelligible gleams, clinging to any thing that is nearest, it matters little what. Memory is here addressed, The influence of a name upon the mind is naturally the most remarkable, comprising as it does the impression conveyed to every sense. It 169. is this which makes a good name a great blessing, and a bad name a bitter curse. The heritage of the former is the best and richest our parents can bequeath us; that of the latter the most dreadful burden. Nor is this unjust. By the same rule as an unthrifty man leaves empty coffers, a man who has offended the laws, betrayed his manhood, or proved traitor to his country, is scourged down all posterity, until the generations that spring from him are levelled with the dust, or have redeemed themselves by a gallant effort. To this day the name of the traitor who gave up Andreas Hofer is held in universal execration in the Tyrol. For many a day the Magyars will mark the name of him who surrendered to the Russians at Vilagos, with an indelible black cross. Honored in like proportion are the names of those heroes who have devoted their lives for the welfare of their country and of humanity; and it must be a proud and consoling thought to them in their hours of trial and selfabnegation, that no hoards of wealth, or leagues of gilded acrés, could value half the price of the pure, permanent, and exalted name that descends from them to their children. For (though it' happens sometimes, as our English chronicles evince) if one generation is blind and ungrateful, two seldom are. The age may refuse to recog nize its benefactor and greatest son, but no sooner is he silent in the cold and narrow crypt, than loud salvos of applause and admiration are fired over his mute remains, and his successors reap the fruit of his patient patriotism. An unworthy inheritor of a great or good name only merits deeper contempt, it is true, from the scornful lustre of contrast bringing his baseness and degeneracy more vividly into view. Let him be just not unworthy, however, and the world is so far paved for him, that he has only to walk upright and wear his honors. And this brings us to contemplate the hereditary possessor of a noble name. Few men hold a position at once so auspicious and exacting. Monarchs are not under such a bond to their subjects as he to all who hold his ancestor in esteem and reverence; for kings walk over the heads of the people, but he must walk among them, be of them, and yet above them. To that ancestor, moreover and especially, he is bound by the sternest law never to bring shame or ridicule on the unspotted name he has received in charge. It is his life-estate, for which he is responsible to the past and the future, and which he dares not squander. His doings are perpetually expected and suspected. There is always, 170. THE VALUE OF A NAME. at the first offset, a lurking dread that he may deviate, and he must be firm, consistent, and self-reliant indeed, if he follows the track of his convictions and conscience, while anticipation leaps and plays antics before him in every little 'by way of his career as well as in his public walk. Not to be unworthy, therefore, is to be, by comparison, great. Yet if the responsibilities are considerable and grave, they are in the end made good to him in many ways, chiefly in the moral support they afford. We might parody the poet's into Higher pleasures, higher pains, Higher duties, higher gains, in his regard. For he who best understands the duties of a name, most feels the value of a name, in the permanent succor he derives from its very exaltation. A form of excellence is always before him to act up to and emulate. An argument for hereditary rank is the constant standard of good-breeding and honor it inculcates from generation to generation. Were the aristocracy of a country in general contempt, we might safely predict that it would not continue to exist a quarter of a century. Whatever its vices, they will be pardoned, so long as it does not abandon that one historic virtue which has, since its creation, distinguished it from every other class. It may be fatuous and overbearing; it may be unscrupulous and haughty, and yet calculate on handing down its fiefs to a tolerably remote posterity; but when it ceases to be honorable, it ceases to be. The inheritor of a bad name has, on the contrary, every thing to fight against. We should feel uncomfortable at an introduction to Mr. John Ketch, though that gentleman were the best of mortals. We should have to know him well ere the harsh discord of the name wore away. Announced by the footman of a party, it would not propitiate people in his favor. Mr. John Ketch evidently goes through his daily round at a disadvantage. There is a shadow over him; an evil odor attendant upon him. It is in vain for him to lament this, or languish under it, as some do, little condoled with. A unanimous impression seems prevalent that a man born under such an infliction must combat with it manfully until the curse is conquered. Perhaps it is one of the keenest tests of manhood to stand up boldly in this way, and do battle with the offending thing. We have seen men do it, and felt them to be our betters. What boys at school-that mask and epitome of the world-suffer from resemblance of name, or the reported ill-condition and antecedents of that which their father bequeaths them, is frightful to think of. No nickname need be given to them. They have one ready-made, destined to lead them a round of torment. There no reserved delicacy, no civilized refinement withholds the most open and cruel onslaughts. Mr. John Ketch is their Master Jack Ketch, and with his first draught of historical knowledge, learns to look with gloomy vindictiveness on his progenitorial namesake-the tardy executioner of Monmouth. Do what he will, there is always one standing gibe that will carry the palm against him. The littlest boy in the school can master him at any time. He finds refuge at last, if he is not above the average standard in callousness and insensibility; but school-life is to him ever after a miserable epoch; and if he is by nature at all morbid, the impression of what he then endured may poison his days. There was once at Ephesus a magnificent temple dedicated to Diana. This temple was reckoned one of the seven wonders of the world. Its roof was supported by 127 columns, some glorious with carvings of great masters; each column the gift of a king. In it were heaps of riches and votive offerings, but these outweighed not in price its architectural splendor. Now there passed before this temple daily one of the city of Ephesus, a common man, little known. He never failed to look up to the temple on his way, and wonder at its gorgeousness, and the worship that thronged towards it. Sometimes he would think of the architect, Ctesiphon, and the great renown he had achieved over all the world. "What a thing," he would frequently cry out as he turned away, "to be celebrated and spoken of like Ctesiphon! They caress him; send tributes to him from far places; make mottoes of his name, even !" By degrees he grew jealous of Ctesiphon! At last the thought struck him that there was yet a way, and a short way, too, for him to make himself as famous as Ctesiphon, and as much spoken of He nursed this thought for a long while, mumbling it over whenever he passed the temple. One evening, after dusk, he contrived to elude the vigilance of the guards, and stole into the temple unperceived. About him were the mys teries and the kingly presents, but he minded them not. Work was before him. About midnight fire was seen to issue from the temple. The guards gave the alarm, and soon the whole city was surging like a dark sea round the object THE WIFE'S REVERIE. of its idolatry. The people tried every means, but nothing could stay the conflagration and preserve the grand temple. When all was over, and ruins stood in the place of their beloved edifice, the chiefs of the city gave order to discover the incendiary. A man stood forth from among the crowd. "What hast thou to say?" they asked. "I am Eratostratus, the burner of the temple," he replied. The chiefs gave order that he should be seized, and condemned him. Afterwards they passed a law, making it criminal in any Ephesian to mention the name of Eratostratus, the burner of the temple. There was afterwards an English Eratostratus, who, impelled by the same passion, broke the celebrated Portland vase in the British Museum. He has also, by common consent, passed into oblivion among us. Thus much for what men will do for a name, even when certain that, if preserved at all, it must be as a mark of ignominy and abhorrence. Instances are extant of children so keenly alive to the shame bequeathed them by the folly or wickedness of their fathers, that they have adopted alien names rather than incur and continue the brand. A popular actress of the present day had recourse to this protection from her girlhood, and was never known by her right name until marriage relieved her of the expedi ent. The two sons of the republican Danton were educated to consider their father such a monster in human garb, that they made a vow never to marry and propagate the accursed name. Louis Napoleon, to retain his extraordinary and splendid position, must depend upon personal qualities of foresight, temperance and command; but that his name, and nothing save his name, exalted him from obscurity and contempt to the second throne on earth, in spite of antecedents not creditable and little promising, no sane man will dispute. The name he bears satisfies every demand in a name. It is, as we have said, great to the ear and to the mind, as also to national traditions. SELF-DENIAL is something more real than a beautiful theory, put forth in glowing language, and held up to an admiring audience. It is that crucifixion of the whole being which makes the endurer like the Master-a root out of dry ground. OPEN rebuke is better than secret love. THE WIFE'S REVERIE. BY ANNE HOPE. 171 COME with me into this parlor, the door of which stands so invitingly open. How pleasantly it impresses the eye, and yet no signs of wealth are here. The furniture is exceedingly simple; the chairs are maple, with cane seats; the lounges and ottomans, covered with chintz, are of domestic manufacture. The carpet lacks the soft, luxurious texture of the Wilton; there are no paintings, not even engravings; and yet you feel the love of the beautiful in nature and art must preside over this quiet room. What is the secret of its attractiveness? It is the spirit of harmony which pervades its arrangements. The deep bay-window is shaded by honeysuckles and roses, which shed their fragrance on the air. The humming-bird, poised on his wing, is sipping first at one flower and then at another. Anon a songster alights on the trellis, and sends forth one gushing song of melody, and then away again over the lawn, to the topmost bough of the old cherry tree. But who is this sitting at the broad east window, overshadowed by a walnut, through carpet? She seems to be in deep thought; her whose branches the sun dances merrily over the sewing lies neglected by her side; her eye rests on the ground beneath the window; an almost smile plays around her lips, and yet there are tears. They cannot be tears of sorrow, or the semblance of a smile would not linger so naturally on her face. Of what can she be thinking as she leans so meditatively on her hand? She is a wife and mother, and this is the anniversary of her marriage. She has travelled back, as she has sat thus abstracted, over fourteen years of wedded life; and though the path has been sometimes rough, a kind hand has ever led her on. The retrospection gives her pleasure, and she is conscious that her blessings have far exceeded her trials, and her heart wells up in gratitude for the great happiness she has been permitted to enjoy. She does not owe this happiness to wealth, for it has never been at her command. She has struggled with poverty: its iron grasp has been upon her. She has often found it difficult to procure suitable clothing for herself and family, and has been compelled to study the closest economy in all her domestic arrangements. To ask for her daily bread has been no unmeaning petition to her, as with strong crying and tears she has besought her Heavenly Father to supply all her need. She has learned to ask him to 172 A SCENE AT HOME--AND AT SEA. provide for her wants, and to trust him as a God of love; and though the school in which she has been taught this lesson has been a severe one, a Father's hand placed her in it, to show her her Many sweet flowers have clustered around the pathway of this traveller through life's journey. Her husband is one whom she delights to honor. Her children are her most precious entire dependence upon him, and his willing-jewels; and their general good conduct, their ness to do more for her than she can ask or think. He has never deserted her in her extremity, but has ever provided some way by which she could be prepared to meet the coming emergency. Neither has health always crowned her days. She has not escaped sickness and pain; she has been brought to thewery verge of the grave; and her sweetest lesson of trust in God was learned just as its portal seemed opening. Whenever, previously, she had thought of death, she had felt anxious in regard to her children, and a conscious unwillingness to trust them motherless in this world of temptation and sin; but then, when her pulse could no longer be discerned, and her breath seemed fleeting away, the sweet conviction took possession of her soul, that if her Heavenly Father removed her from the loving care of her little ones, he would "take them up" and train them for his service. Since then, that painful anxiety has never distressed her, and she has been willing to trust them to the love of Him who gave his only-begotten Son to die for them. Strange she could ever have doubted! Yet it was herself she doubted. She was conscious her faith had not been strong enough to take hold of God's promises in such a way as to give the assurance of hope in regard to them; and though she longed to give them up, she could only say, "Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief;" and he helped her by bringing her where she could look into the dark valley and feel her utter inability to walk through, or lead those whom she loved, except as God gave her strength, and guided her and them "by his eye." As this wife looks back upon the trials and sorrows of her past life, she recognizes the hand of her Heavenly Father, who out of them all has brought good to her soul. Her character has been strengthened and improved, her energies have been quickened, and she feels new power with which to encounter the difficulties before her, and new determination to come off conqueror over them all. She does not rely on herself, for she knows that alone she can accomplish nothing. Her reliance is on Him who, if any lack wisdom, and ask of Him, will give liberally; and she humbly looks to Him for that strength which is made perfect in weakness. obedience to her wishes, and the consciousness that in their earliest infancy she devoted them to their Saviour, enables her to hope that they may one day adorn his diadem. Their love more than repays her for her days of toil and her nights of watchfulness, and their "precious mother, darling mother," as their arms lovingly enfold her, are words which thrill her inmost being. Daily, and almost hourly, these dear ones are borne, on the wings of prayer, to the Guardian of Israel, who never slumbers nor sleeps: and though a mother's anxieties often weigh heavily upon her, yet she casts them upon Him who careth for her, and she never yields the hope that their names are written in the Book of Life, as bought and saved by the blood of Christ. Death has never entered that little fold. The lambs are all there. No wonder that mother's heart overflows with unutterable thanksgivings as she feels that goodness and mercy have followed her all the days of her life. No wonder tears and smiles blend on her cheek as she looks back through the vista of years, and sees so many blessings reaching far away into the past, and finds even the trials which were sometimes agonizing, now covered over with fragrant flowers and delicious fruit. But hark! I hear a child's voice musically calling, "Mother, mother," and I know it will arouse her from her reverie. Let us step back through the half-opened door, for I feel we may have intruded, though unwittingly, on an hour sacred to love and gratitude. A SCENE AT HOME-AND AT SEA. Ir was on a cold night in the chill month of January, while the snow was fast falling and the wind whistled drearily, that a ring of the bell was heard at the door of a large, elegant house in one of the pleasantest streets in. The family were all gathered around a large, brilliant grate of ignited anthracite. The delightful temperature of a bland summer's atmosphere was diffused through the large, elegant drawing-room in which the family circle were convened. Cheerfulness, and the indications of high intellectual enjoyment, sat depicted on the countenance of the father. Time had whitened his locks, but |