HASZARD’S GAZETTE, MAY 26.

LITERATURE

THE CRIMEA. rrs TOWNS, INHABITANTB, &.c. av ii mar.

According to the representations of the lady writer.of this book, night and day scarcel stand in more distinct anta nism to each other, than do the northern an southern parts of the Crimea :—the northern consisting of a series of plains and steppes: while, as ifto balance this, Nature seems to have lavished all her grandeur and beauty on the southern part. The lower part of the Cr mea towards the south is popularly known as Russian Ital .—’l‘he gene- ra eatures of this raiige are be d crags and ravines, covered with never-ending forests of pine and oak. and which form a strikin con- trast to the splendid walnut,chestnut,mul rry, and cypress trees, which’ vie with one another in beauty, lower down towards the see. As this chain of mountains forms a screen against the bitin winds from the north, the climate is much mi der here than on the other side: and although an occasional winter's frost destroys many of the plants which have remained un- harmed for years, yet the rhododendron, the magnolia, and many delicate plants, may be seen at large size in the open air. It is in these nooks and corners by the sea side, and under the stupendous cm. s, that the traveller finds the luxurious villas o ' the Russian nobles. The soil here particularly suited to the cultiva- tion of the vine. The ii tree, the pomegranate with its showy scarlet b ossoms, and the lively little caper bush. are everywhere to be seen. Olive roves also are here and there to be met with : ut they are not widely cultivated.

‘I'll BEAUTIB 0? A TABTAR SPRING.

As we go northward, the steppe assumes its nd characteristic, presentinga huge circle

of flatness, where nothing is seen but the over- arching sky and the conical shaped tumuli, which rise every here and there, like monster mole-hills, on the surface of the plain. These etc pes are very beautiful in spring, when the wi e-spread green of the young grass becomes converted into a sea of wild flowers, yielding to the wind, which swa sbackwards and forwards their masses of varied colour, like waves on the shore. Fancy whole miles of purple lurk- spur gleaming in the sunshine, intersected with patches of scarlet pop‘ y ; and the pink-colour- ed wild peach shru ,with gaud tulips and erocuses, contributing also their ne contrast- ing ues. But, alas! these cuties soon vanish at the ap reach of summer, and are succeeded by a ta 1, feathery rass, such as I have often seen grown in gar ens in England.

BUIIIB.

In summer, the Crimea becomes literally baked with heat: and by the end of June, the grass on tho steppe is yellow and parched. It II at this season, that the mirage is most fre- quent, and it really helps to beguile the way by presentin ii temporary excitement to the traveller. Si-iving along the steppe, sud- denly something seems to arise like a city glittering through a mist in the distance; gradually an appearance of towers and trees comes out more clearly : as you advance, new spires arise, and trees, bridges, and rivers ap- pear-—-a ieturesque combination. By-and-by the sink’ into confusion ; and when on arrive there, where stood the clay of enchant- ment, all has vanished away, an you find but the waving of the parched race as before. From the wear and tear of the e ayey soil during the long droughts, which often last for months during summer, there is a great accumulation of dust. This gives rise to another phenome- non, of frequent occurrence on the steppe, reminding one of water-s ute on the sea, hut filled with dust instead 0 water—-Suppose the great flat steppe stretched out beneath the blue eky—nothing visible—no breath of air appa- rently stirring--the whole plain an embodiment of sultriness, silence, and ealmness—when gradually rise in the distance six or eight columns of dust, like inverted cases, two or three hundred feet high, gliding and gliding along the plain in solemn company; they ap- proach, they pass, and vanis again in the istan , like liugh genii on some preternatural errand. -<10?- POLITICS AND THE PULPIT.

We have no doubt that a ri orous landlord having sharked it all the wee , screwing and rilppin among his tennsnts, would be better p as to dose through an able gospel semen on divine mysteries. than to be kept awake by a practical sermon that might treat of the du- ties of a Christian landlord. A broker who

inbled on a magnificent scale all the week,

oes not to church to have his practical swindling analysed and measured by the “ New Testament" spirit. Catechism is what he wants-doctrine is,tohis tests. A merchant, whose last bale of ugglsd goods was safely stored on Saturday night, and his brother merchant, who, on the same day. swore a false invoice through the custom house}-they church to hear a sermon on faith, on an the resurrection. They have ‘nothing vested in these subjects; they expect the minister to ‘-

.l‘-".;f‘n’ «

table merchants to ample pew-rents, let commercial sub'ects. A

_A_ rich Christian brother owns largely ins distillery, and is clamorous about letting down the pulpit to the vulgarity of temperance ser- mons. Another man bears tax, titles, and noses all the week to see who can be slip d out of a neglected lot. A mechanic who p ies his craft with the unscrupulous appliance of every means that he will win, he, too, wants “ doc- trine" on the Sabbath, not these seeular ques- tions. Men wish two departments in life, the secular and the religious. Between them a high wall_ and opaque is to be built. They wish to do Just what they please for six long days. Then stepping on the other side of the wall, they wish the minister to use their fears to comfort their conscience, and urnish them a clear ticket and insurance for heaven. By such a shrewd management, our modern financiers. are determined to show that a Christian can serve two masters, both God and mammon, at the time.—Rcv. H. W. Beecher.

CIVILITY.

" A kindly air—a gentlemanly bow. And all the forms of mild civility.”

It is an easy thin to be civil, and although, in the language of t e old proverb, “ line words butter no arsni s,” the frequently, nay, al- most invariably, ave a indly effect, and in- fluence the mind as well as the heart. Never- theless, there are certain persons who go through the whole world,as if determined never to utter a civil turn.

The are naturally rough, harsh, peevish, and dissatisfied, and even when a pealed to in matters of business, they will indiiilge in such a spirit, and assume such an air,as to ma e the intercourse cold, formal and repulsive. sad mistake, in every point of view. All of us are more or less dependent upon civility. It softens and eweetens the intercourse between man and man—it breaks down barriers and im- pediments that would otherwise exist—it ap- peals to the higher and more refined ualixies of our nature, and it bespeaks not only intelli- gence and polish, but clearness of head and goodness of heart. A man of the world, one who has travelled, or enjo ed the advantages of a thorough education, an especially a gentle- man, is rarely uncivil. To be so. is to be rude, discourteous, and insulting. Nothing, indeed, is more agreeable,.notbing more fascinating, and nothin better calculated to secure an easy path in lie or societ , whether in the social or the business worl as unwavering civility. It touches many a heart, it impresses many a mind, it removes many an obstacle; and, while it is calculated to gratify thousands, it can olfend no one.

The man of finished manners and elegant taste, of cultivated mind and gentleinanly in- stincts, is civil, not only to the millionaire, the banker, and the merchant, but to the mechanic

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. . I him not vulgarize th: pulpit by introducing“

‘recollect: you were at dancing school. Well —you needn't my anything about that, to your teacher; because-—because there's ‘ a time to dues,’ and a time to go to meetin , and new it is meeting time; so one here, an let me roll that refractory ringlet over my finger once more, and then, do you walk solemnly along to church, as a baptised child should.

“Ilere ! stop a bit! you may wear this coral braelet of mine,if you won't lose it. There! now you look most as pretty as your mother did, when she was your age. Don t toss your head so, Jane; people wil call you vain; and you know I have a ways told you that it makes vet little diilerence how a little girl looks, if she s only a little christian. There, good bye; repeat your catechism going alon ; and, don't let the wind blow your hair out 0 curl.

A PENNY.

Thirty years ago there was seen to enter the city of London a lad about fourteen years of a c. He was dressed in a dark smock-frock, that hid all his under apparel, and which appeared to have been made for a person evidently taller than the wearer. His boots were smothered with dust from the high road. He had an old list with a black band, which contrasted strangely with the covering of his head, A small bundle, fastened to the end of a stick and thrown over his shoulder, was the whole of his equipment. As he approached the Man- sion-house, he paused to look at the build- ing and seating himself on the steps of one of the doors, he was about to rest himself, but the coming in and goin out of half a- dozen persons before he he time to finish unlying his bundle, made him leave that spot for the next open space, where the doors were in part closed. I-laying taken from the bundle a large quantity of bread and cheese, which he seemed to eat with a ravenous appetite, be amused himself by looking at the building befbre him with all the eager curiosity of one unaccustomed to see similar objects.

The appearance of the youth soon at- tracted my curiosity, and ently opening the door, I stood behind him without his being the least conscious of my presence. He now began rummaging his pockets, and. after a great deal of trouble, brought out a roll of paper, which he opened. Af- ter satislying himself that a large copper coin was safe, be carefully put it back again, saying to himself, in a low tone- “ Mother, I will remember your last words; ‘a penny saved is two-pence earned.’ Ii slialldgo hard before I part with you, old

rien . ”

and day-laborer, and even the beggar who

hence be respects the feelings of others. He: looks for kindness and good-will at the hands, of his fellow-creatures, an be manifests these:

intirmities. his prejudices and his passions, his follies and his excitements; but, at all times and occasions, his langua and his manners, are civil, or if having unwittin ly committed an olfence against propriety, he is the first to make the amends honorable. [

Civility is not only one of the virtues, but it‘ is one of the essentials of social and civilized life. It cannot be cultivated too sedulously. We should as much as possible, endeavour to cngralt its spirit upon the youn , and thus render it a feature and an embe ishment of character. The effect cannot but be salutary. If this quality be calculated to adorn and digni- fy a 0, what a grace and a polish will it impart to t e ingenuousness of youth. It at June softens and refines. elevates and beantilles. Often, too it opens the road todprosperity, and leads the way to conquest an war. with the sterner sex it has a magic an acharm,eod with the gentler it is almost irresistible.

iii:i.ioioi:s insraucriow most A nasties- ABLE M0'l‘flllt.

“ Jane, What's the chief and ofinan! Don't know’ Well, it’s the most astonishing thing thiit that Assembly's Catechism don't.‘stay in your head any better! It seems to go into one ear and out of the other. attention while I tell you what the chief and of man is. The chief end of man is—- well--I —-wh don't you hold still? you are always puttinga! You hldg::l'I)0:(0llt, better run up stairs and get your k ere, sto a minute, and let mt tie your sash straight. ink is very beoenilng to ‘you, Jane; you inherit our mothbr's blonds been Come away rem that glass,Jane, this‘ in uute; don't, you knew it is wicked to look in the glnssonflundayl See if you can say your “creed” that your

knocks at his door. He respects himself, anditll the lad on the slwul(lel'-

Now pay particular ‘

Pleased with this remark, I gently touch- He started, and was about to move away when I said-

“ My good led you seem tired, and like-

qualities himself. He may have his errors and : who a stranger in this city‘ "

“ Yes sir, he answered, putting his hand to his liiit—he was again about to move forward. '

“You need not hurry away, my boy." “I observed, “Indeed, i you are a stranger, and willing to work, I can er- haps help you to find what you require.”

The boy stood mute with astonishment; and coloring to such an extent as to show all the freckles of a sunburnt face, stam- mered out,

“Yes, sir‘ " , .

“ I wish to know," I added, with all the kindness of manner I could assume, "whe- ther you are anxious to find work, for I am in want of a youth to assist my coachmsn.”

The poor lad twisted and tivirled his bun- dle about, and after only placing his hand to his head, managed to utter an awkward‘ answer, and said he would be very thankful.

I mentioned not a word about what I had overheard with regard to the penny, but inviting him into the house, I sent for the coachmsn. to whose care, I entrusted the new comer. .

Near a month had passed alter this meet- ing and conversation had occurred, when I resolved to make some inquiries oil‘ the coachmsn rsghrdingths conduct of the lad.

“ A better boy never came into the house, sir; and se for wasti anything, bless me sir, I know not,.where ehas been brought up, but I really believe he woul consider it a sin if he did not give the crumbs of bread to the birds every morn- ." 9’

Eplsco al ‘ I I)€l|0VOf'7(ll) less than one week your toes will be through those drab gaiters, Jane.

Goodness! if there isn't the bell l Why didn t

be bold eudirldsodos. Bat ifhe wants respec.

you get your lesson‘ Saturday evening’ Oh! I

tiipcher wants you to learn. .Ooine, ,

‘II am glad to hear so good an account," re lied.

it . “And as for his good nature, sii-.,_ there

sup, and he writes all our letters for us. Oh, sir, he has got more learning than all of us put to ether; and, what's more, I]. doesn't min work, never talks about our secrets after he writes our letters. ” Determined to see Joseph myself, I re. quested the coachmsn to send him to the parlour. ''‘I understand, Joseph, that you can read and write.” “Yes, sir, thanks to my poor dead mother. " “ on have lately lost your mother, pn

s-s =’ Q 5

“A month that very day when you were kind enough to take me into your house an unprotected orphan, ” answered Joseph.

“ Where did you go to school?”

“ Sir, my mother has been a widow ever since I can remember. She was a daugh- ter of the village school-master, and, hav- ing to maintain herself with the needle, she took the opportunity of her leisure moments to teach me not only how to read and write, but to cast up accounts.”

“ And did she give you that penny which I saw you unroll so carefully at the door?”

Joseph stood amazed, but at length re- plied with emotion, and a tear stood in his eye-

“ Yes, air, it was the very last penny she gave me," .

“ Well, Joseph, so satisfied am I with your conduct, that not only do I pay for a month's wages willingly for the time you have been here, but I must beg of you to lulfil the duties of collecting Clerk to our firm, which situation has become vacant by the death of a very old and faithful assis- taut.”

Joseph thanked me in the most unassum- ing manner, and I was asked to take care of his money, since I had promised to pro- vide him with suitable elothing for his oc- cupafion.

It will be unnecessary to relate how, step by step, this country lad proceeded to win the confidence of my self and partner. The accounts were always correct to a penny; and whenever his salary became due, he drew out of my hands no more than be ab- solutely wnnted, even to a penny. At length he lied saved a suliicient sum of money to be deposited in the bank.

It so happened that one of our customers who carried on a successful business, want- ed an active partner. This person was of eccentric habits, and considerably advan- ced in years. Seru ulously just, he looked to every penny, an invariably discharged his workmen if they were not equally scru- pulous in their dealing with him.

Aware of this peculiarity of temper, there was no person I could recommend but Joseph: ‘and alter overcoming the repug- nance of my partner, who was unwilling to be deprived of so valuable an assistant, Joseph was duly received into the firm of Richard Fairbrothers and Co. Prosperity attending Joseph in his new undertaking, and never suffering a penny difi‘erence to appear in his transactions, he had so com- pletely won the confidence of ' his senior partner, that he lelt him the whole of his business, as he expressed in his will, “even to the very last penny.”

SALE-ZRATUS.

Mrs. Stowe, in her “ Sunny Memories,” and other travellers, tell us of the health and beauty of the English being so much more lasting than that of the American ladies. This is attributed among other things, to their freedom from the use of sslieratus.

The journals of the day send forth warn- ng notes against its far too common use n our country. I wonder if its manufac- turers and dealers yet discover any dimi- nution in orders and sales? How many of our housewives have said, we will not allow it in our kitchpns-—we will tax our ingenui- ty, and contrive, without its assistance, to have variety as well as sweetnessand light- ness in our cookery. Where can we lind a “Cock Buolt"_ln which it does not rank an indispcnsableingrcdicnt, in most of the plain recei ts? A ' .. ,_

I knew a case. wife who used it as freely as salt. It was always in her light bread, and everythiu that issued from that gene- rous oven 91! halted jun right-" light as pull'," and ol" beautiful hue. She was s

is not a se;-vatitamong us that doeso’t speak well of Joseph. He reads to uswltils we . . g t ‘

J,

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mestpntisisig housekeeper and spent much