able variety. The sweet wines are from grapes fully ripe; the strong and acid from those less mature. France is the greatest wine country in the world. Champagne wines are from the district of Champagne, but the different qualities are almost as numerous as the vineyards producing them. The briskness and long effervescence of Champagne is no evidence of its excellence. The best judges prefer that which possesses these qualities in a more moderate degree only, as such as is found to possess and retain a more delicate aroma, and more luscious flavor. Burgundy wines are esteemed the richest in the world. They are both red and white, but the former are more esteemed. A MOTHER'S LOVE. What sweet poetry is contained in those three little words. Is there a sentence to be found in any language that is more replete with sentiment, beauty, grace, or finish? A mother's love! How noble! How self-sacrificing! How unceasing are her efforts in guiding aright the footsteps of her children! What privations will she not endure; what perils will she not encounter for the sake of her "loved ones!" From our earliest infancy 'tis our mother who watches over us with untiring devotion; who notes every change in our looks, both in sickness and in health. How our hearts bound beneath her loveful glances of her soul-lit eyes, as she bends them upon us beaming with a light so pure and holy! With what delight does she listen to our childish prattle, and observe each winning grace! How fondly she gazes upon us, and what a glorious future she paints for us! Then, as thought comes, that as we advance in years, she may be taken from us, and we be left to the cold charities of this world, her heartfelt prayer ascends to the Throne of Grace, beseeching Him to guide and direct our steps, so that we may be prepared to meet her in a brighter and bet He said one evening, just after dusk, they were kneeling at the foot of a large tree, when gradually the pious maiden forgot the principal object of her prayer, and began to pray for a husband for herself. Just as she had made her request known, an owl from the top of the tree gave utterance to a solemn “too hoo,” which the praying maiden supposed to be the voice of the Lord, asking who he should send in answer to her petition, to which she immediately replied “anybody Lord! Thou knowest I am not particular.” THE man who got off the following is no fool. He might have expressed himself in little sweeter notes, but-never mind that. All that he says is true: Better go without Hat, or coat or breeches, Than be pulled about By creditors the leeches! How distressed you feel, (Help it no one can,) Like a half-dead eel In a frying-pan! THE OBJECT AND AIM OF LIFE. bled to bestow our plaudits upon those ** BY L ** The names that shine brightest in the pages of history, are those of men who have devoted their high energies to the great cause of humanity-to the overthrow of tyranny, and the uplifting of the human race. The noble-hearted shoemaker, John Pounds, the founder of Ragged Schools in England, who toiled and taught daily in his shop, received the hero's reward; for when at last his pupils were told of his death, some fainted, while others wept-such was their love for him. Diogenes, the philosopher of instinct, who lived the life of a mere fault-finder, was not half so wise, or great, or good, as John Pounds. "Tis not enought that men are able to pull down; they must likewise be able to build and to plant. T. S. Arthur, whose life is so gentle, so sweet, so unobtrusive, is generally known only as a clever storywriter; yet he is one cf the greatest reformers of the age, for the golden threads of Christian truth run through all his writings, and his lessons are most useful. Bonaparte cut a road across the snowy Alps, and Cæsar passed Rubicon; but humanity shudders at the devastation wrought by these great commanders. They planted their heels on the necks of the people, while thoughts of self-aggrandizement bade them "Wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind." History shows us plainly that whenever self-love was permitted to take complete possession of the soul of man all goodness was expelled, no human love was left. The art of popularity is a dangerous thing in the hands of an ambitious aspirant, but a thorough knowledge of mankind will enable the masses to detect the deceiver. It is by looking back with impartial eyes upon the poet, as the historian unfolds to our gaze the names and deeds of our great men, that we are ena who really deserve them. Actions are what we look for, and we intuitively ask, what have these men done? One has invented the steam-engine, another the electro-magnetic telegraph; one has constructed a railway, another has built a cathedral; Michael Angelo has planned St. Peter's, and Shakspeare has written poetry immortal. Are we satisfied? No; we long for the unwritten history of the past; we would explore the depths of that river in which the treasures of humanity are lost-the stream that laves the legendary shore. We would fain sit down in the habitation of the poor, in the peasant's hut, and while the hare hirples on the hearth, listen to the stories which the widows and fatherless may tell. Oh! it is the home of poverty, where the pale child sings in plaintive tones: "Give me three grains of corn, mother, Emmet was not so eloquent as thou! thou wan child of suffering and want. But thy story was told long ago; hast thou yet no other to tell? No; the world hews out empires, builds pyramids, and monuments of glory; but we are the same-"the poor ye have with you always!" Brutus and Cicero spoke in our behalf; But Rome has no orators now. The reformer of Eisleben was our friend; but Saxony will know him no more forever. The great theologian of Sweden has jeweled his volumes with charity and love; but our Senators have no time to learn the lessons therein taught. There is plenty of corn and wine in the land, but they must be bartered for munitions of war; the poor can do without. Oh, home! oh, poverty! ye are linked irrevocable together. Go forth, ye apostles of truth and mercy! ye are this day set over the nations, to proclaim the gospel of blessedness to all mankind; ye are commissioned to "root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build, and to plant." Go forth, like Columbus, in search of a new world, a home for the oppressed. Go forth, and teach the poor and needy the great lesson of life. Teach them not the spurious wisdom of Latin and Greek lore, but that THE SPECTRE. Somebody has told a thrilling story about a German hypochondriac, who fell a victim to the most terrible species of mental aberration which, perhaps, ever afflicted mortal man. The poor fellow, although perfectly rational upon every other subject, imagined that, day or night, at home or abroad, wherever he went a hideous skeleton was for ever immediate almost alone and persistently refused to divulge, even to his most intimate friends, the secret misery which was evidently dragging him down to his grave. At last, however, upon his death-bed, the wretched man entrusted the mystery to his physician, but it was then too late, and death shortly ended his horrible dream: true wisdom which sheds its heavenly sunlight around a life well spent. Teach them that virtue should go hand in hand with religion; instil into their hearts an abhorrence of vice, and a love for the pure and beautiful; and, above all, teach them practical lessons of charity. With-ly before him! For years he remained out practice, preaching is of no avail. Think you, if John Gough were still a drunkard, his lectures on temperance would be listened to? Nay; the men who give form and pressure to the age in which they live, must bear untarnished names; they themselves must be virtuous, if they would have their fellow-men to be so. In the work of self-denial, and in the strife to overcome the world, we are like men digging a wall: we dig down into our hearts, not that evil may flow in, but that good may flow out, and purify our whole being. This, then, is the object and aim of our present life, to prepare for another life, ever-during, eternal. All our dear hopes, our starry dreams, our high imaginings, are prescient of the realities that await us here after. vice STOP NOW!-Young man, if you are just commencing or practicing any or bad habit, the time to stop is now. You have arrived at the stopping place, and you may stop now if you please; but if you suffer yourself to be whirled on by appetites and passions, you may go so far that when you desire to stop it may be out of your power to do so. If you swear, or drink, or break the Sabbath, stop now. If you think evil thoughts or tell things not quite true, or sometimes tell a little more than the truth, stop now. are going to any place where you bad company, stop now. stop before it is too late. If you meet In all cases Men marvel oft at my moody mien- Goading my soul into mad despair! PRAWETS. It is said that when a Russian husband neglects to beat his wife for a month or two she begins to be alarmed at his indifference. OUR SOCIAL CHAIR. AN esteemed correspondent at Sacramento, whose heart is always in the right place, describes an affecting scene which he witnessed a few months since. How bitter were the words: "He died and they threw him in the sea!" FRIEND HUTCHINGS,-An old mining companion, whom I have long looked upon as a brother, scraped together his little earnings and enclosed them to his wife at New Orleans, with the request that she take the first steamer and join him here. Besides a young wife, my friend had left behind him in the Atlantic States a little boy-the first born-whom, it is hardly necessary to say, he loved most dearly. According to direction the wife at once cheerfully prepared to join her husband, and soon she and "Tommy" were on the ocean. But a cloud soon began to settle over the hitherto bright prospect. On the Isthmus the child was taken down sick with fever. The tender flower continued to fade rapidly, and in less than two days after they left Panama, the remains of "Tommy" were lowered into a watery grave. The mother's agony can better be imagined than described. From the moment that the body of her boy disappeared in the fathomless deep, she was another being. She became almost frantic with grief. So heavily, indeed, did the event bear upon her, that it required the most unremitting care and attention to keep her from sinking. At length, borne down with grief and well nigh worn out with the fatigues of the journey, (for she was of delicate frame,) she reached our shores. The scene, Mr. Editor, which transpired in this city (Sacramento,) at the meeting of husband and wife, ends this brief, but to me painful story. I was present, and God grant it may never again be my lot to look upon the like again. Upon beholding the familiar face of his wife, my friend rushed to clasp her in his arms. She screamed with joy at his approach, but he soon discovered that all was not right. He looked wildly about him for his boy, while she hung her head in silence. Her heart was too full for utterance. He broke the silence. "Come, Maggy," said he, looking anxiously about the room, "where's my pet? What keeps him?" The poor wife attempted to speak, but failed for want of strength. She wept bitterly. "No more of this," resumed the husband. "If the boy is sick, and you did not deem By this time the wife had rallied, and was prepared to state the worst. She told how sprightly little Tommy was when he left New Orleans-how suddenly he was taken sick on the Isthmus-how, in spite of all attention, he sank into the arms of death, and how she was induced to permit his remains to be cast into the sea. Never can I forget her closing words: "Harry, I knew how you loved him, and how glad you would be to see him. I did all I could to save him, but he died, and they threw him in the sea!" saying which, Maggy burst into a flood of tears. You can I have nothing more to relate. well imagine the rest. Let me, however, say, in conclusion, that my friend is not, nor perhaps never will be, the man he was. THE editor of the Pacific Methodist, Brother FITZGERALD, who, by the way, has already taken a prominent place among the newspaper writers of this State-(we have never had the pleasure of hearing him preach) has been " among the sick" of this city. He has just returned from a visit to one of our Hospitals, and it is really touching to hear him tell about it: The building stands upon a gentle eminence, overlooking the sea. The patients, as they lie on their beds, look out wistfully upon the blue waters, and the breezes that steal into the windows bring to them sweet remembrances of far-off homes they shall never see again. The visitor sees sad sights, and becomes acquainted with sad histories. Here are the degraded and miserable victims of vice, suffering more than death from physical pain, aggravated by the reflection that it is the result of their own misconduct. Here are young men stricken down in manhood's morning to rise no more. Here are consumptives, fading away from life, flattering themselves with delusive hopes, refusing to see the pale horse and its rider approaching. Here are old men who, after long struggles against adversity and disease, have yielded at last and come here and die. Here are delicate females, tenderly reared, who, homeless and friendless, are forced to receive public charity from strangers' hands. O! precious boon of health! Without thee, life is indeed a world without a sun. Yet how slightly valued until lost! How recklessly thrown away! Will the reader take with us some walks among the sick? * * Hur as if hadn't rained all the time sense New * * * That man in the corner of the room was once a leading merchant of this city. His hair is gray, but he does not appear to be beyond middle age. His history teaches a double lesson. When he came to California he left his family in the States. He prospered in business, and became rich. He did not go to his family, neither did he send for them. But, disregarding the claims of duty, honor and truth, he married a young woman in this city, and sought to banish from his mind all thought of his deserted wife and children by giving himself up to the enjoyment of his wealth with his young wife. A change took place in his fortunes. Disease took hold upon him. One side of his body was struck with paralysis. His business failed, his means became exhausted, his California wife de--I'll-Hullo! what's that? Shutin' canserted him, and he found his way to the hospital. His long-neglected and shamefully-treated wife knew all, and no one may know the depth of her wretchedness when she learned his guilt, and we may imagine her deep resentment of so great a wrong. There is no sin which a woman will not pardon in the man she loves so long as he remains true to her. But to be deserted for another, is the worst offense in the female vocabulary of crimes. But whatever the wife may have felt, her heart still retained its affection for the father of her children, and immediately started for California. She arrived safely, and sought her faithless husband. She visits him daily, nurses him tenderly-while he, consciencestricken and smitten with a malady which is nigh unto death, has leisure to reflect upon his guilt, and opportunity to repent. There is nothing on earth so sacred as woman's love. He who trifles with it commits an awful crime. He who throws it away, parts with a treasure that worlds could not buy. "We concur." WE fell in with the following, the other day, while the rain was coming down" in the most disagreeable style. Who the author is, we may perhaps never discover, but that he is what a western man would call "a whole team, with a big dog under the wagon," will appear evident to all who read his soliloquy. We say nothing about his being tight-not a word: "Singler a feller can't geout jist for a leetle recreation 'thought it must rain, jist norns, eh!" Jake had heard the loud re- WHILE we think of it, we will tell that story on our friend Phelps, the popular manager of the Lyceum. A young, handsome, "peert" looking woman, who has not been a great while from the plains, arrived in our city last week, in search of employment. Not finding a place as readily as she had anticipated, she became uneasy, and was on the eve of retracing her steps to the interior, when she happened, in the course of her applications, to fall in with Phelps. The enterprising manager, it is but proper to say, was considerably taken with the appearance of the girl, and thought he saw in her a "new card" for his young theatre. "And you want a place?" he inquired, rubbing his hands energetically. "Indeed I do, sir," responded the fair |