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Home Department. .

ROMANCE,

BY MRS. H. B. STOWE.

THERE is no word in the English language more unceremoniously and indefinitely kicked and cuffed about, by what are called sensible people, than the word romance. When Mr Smith or Mr. Stubbs has brought every wheel of life into such range and order that it is one stearly, daily grind-when they themselves have come into the habits and attitudes of the patient donkey, who steps round and round the endlessly turning wheel of some machinery, then they fancy that they have gotten the victory that overcometh the world."

All but this dead grind, and the dollars that come through the mill, is by them thrown into one waste" catch-all," and labelled romance. Perhaps there was a time in Mr. Smith's youth-he remembers now-when he read poetry, when his cheek was wet with strange tears, when a lit:le song, ground out by an organ-grinder in the street, had power to set his heart beating and bring a mist before his eyes. Ah! in those days he had & vision !-a pair of soft eyes stirred him strangely; a little weak hand was laid on his manhood, and it shook and trembled; and then came all the humility, the aspiration, the fear, the hope, the high desire, the troubling of the waters by the descending angel of love, and a little more and Mr. Smith might have become a man, instead of a banker! He thinks of it now, sometimes, as he looks across the fire-place after dinner and sees Mrs. Smith asleep, innoceutly shaking the bouquet of pink bows and Brussels lace that waves over her placid red countenance.

Mrs. Smith wasn't his first love, nor, indeed, any love at all; but they agree reasonably well. And as for poor Nellie-well, she is dead and bnried-all that was staff and romance. Mrs. Smith's money set him up in business, and Mrs. Smith is a capital manager, and he thanks God that he isn't romantic, and tells Smith Junior not to read poetry or novels, and to stick to realities.

“This is the victory that overcometh the world"—to earn to be fat

and tranquil, to have warm fires and good dinners, to hang your hat on the same peg at the same hour every day, to sleep soundly all night, and never to trouble your head with a thought or imagining beyond.

But there are many people besides Mr. Smith who have gained this victory-who have strangled their higher nature and buried it, and built over its grave the structure of their life, the better to keep it down.

The fascinating Mrs. T., whose life is a whirl between ball and opera, point-lace, diamonds, and schemings of admiration for herself, and of establishments for her daughters—there was a time, if you will believe me, when that proud, worldly woman was so bambled under the touch of some mighty power, that she actually thought herself capable of being a poor man's wife. She thought she could live in a little, mean house, on no-matter-what-street, with one servant, and make her own bonnets and mend her own clothes, and sweep the house Mondays, while Betty washed, all for what & All because she thought there was a man so noble, so true, so good, so high-minded, that to live with him in poverty, to be guided by him in adversity, to lean on him in every rough place of life, was a something nobler, better, purer, more satisfactory than French laces, opera-boxes, and even Madame Roget's best gown.

Unfortunately, this was all romance—there was no such man. There was, indeed, a person of very common, self-interested aims and worldly nature, whom she had credited at sight with an unlimited draft on all her better nature; and when the hour of discovery came, she awoke from her dreams with a start and a laugh, and ever since has despised aspiration, and been busy with the realities of life, and feeds poor little Mary Jane, who sits by her in the opera-box there, with all the fruit which she has picked from the bitter tree of knowledge. There is no end to the epigrams and witticisms which she can throw out, this elegant Mrs. T., on people who marry for love, lead prosy, worky lives, and put on their best cap with pink ribbons for Sunday. “Mary Jane shall never make a fool of herself;" but, even as she speaks, poor Mary Jane's heart is dying within her at the vanishing of a pair of whiskers from an opposite boxwhich whiskers the poor little fool has credited with a resume drawn from her own imaginings of what is grandest and most heroic, most worshipful in man. By.and-by, when Mrs. T. finds the glamour has fallen on her daughter, she wonders; she has “ tried to keep novels out of the girl's way--where did she get these notions ?”

All prosaic, and all bitter, disenchanted people talk as if poets and novelists made romance. They do-just as much as craters make volcanoes

What is romance ? whence comes it? Plato spoke to the subject wisely, in his quaint way, some two thousand years ago, when he said, “ Man's soul, in a former state, was winged and soared among the

-no more.

gods; and so it comes to pass, that, in this life, when the soul, by the power of music or poetry, or the sight of beauty, hath her remembrance quickened, forth with there is a struggling and pricking pain as of wings trying to come forth-even as children in teething." And if an old heathen two thousand years ago, discoursed thus gravely of the romantic part of our nature, whence comes it that in Christian lands we think in so pagan a way of it, and turn the whole care of it to ballad-makers, romancers, and opera-singers.

Let us look up in fear and reverence and say, “God is the great maker of romance. HE, from whose hand came man and woman-He wbo strung the great harp of Existence with all its wild, and wonderful, and manifold chords, and attuned them to one another–He is the great Poet of life." Every impulse of beauty, of heroism, and every craving for purer love, fairer perfection, nobler type and style of being than that which closes like a prison-house around us, in the dim, daily walk of life, is God's breath, God's impulse, God's reminder to the soul that there is something higher, sweeter, purer, yet to be attained.

Therefore, man or woman, when thy ideal is shattered—as shattered a thousand times it must be—when the vision fades, the rapture burns out, turn not away in skepticism and bitterness, saying, “There is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink,” but rather cherish the revelations of those boars as prophecies and foreshadowings of something real and possible, yet to be attained in the manhoud of immortality. The scoffing spirit that laughs at romance, is an apple of the devil's own handing from the bitter tree of knowledge—it open the eyes only to see eternal nakedress.

If ever you have had & romantic, uncalculating friendship--a boundless worship and belief in some hero of your soul- if ever you have so loved, that all cold prudence, all selfish worldly considerations have gone down like drift-wood before a river flooded with new rain from heaven, so that you even forgot yourself, and were ready to cast your whole being into the chasm of existence, as an offering before the feet of another, and all for nothing, if you awoke bitterly betrayed and deceived, still give thanks to God that you have had one glimpse of heaven. The door now shut will open again. Rejoice that the noblest capability of your eternal inheritance has been made known to you; treasure it as the highest honor of your being, that ever you could so feel—that so divine a guest ever possessed your soul.

By such experiences we are tanght the pathos, the sacredness of life; and if we use them wisely, our eyes will ever after be anointed to see what poems, what romances, what sublime tragedies lie around us in the daily

walk of life," written not with ink, but in fleshy tables of the heart." The dullest street of the most prosaic town has matter in it, for more smiles, more tears, more intense excitement, than ever were written in story or sung in poem; the reality is there, of which the romancer is the second-hand recorder.-From " The Minister's Wooing."

AFTER THE RAIN.

The rain has ceased, and in my room
The sunshine pours an orange flood;
And on the churches dizzy vane
The ancient cross is bathed in blood.

From out the dripping ivy-leaves,
Antiquely carven, gray and high,
A dormer, facing westward, looks
Upon the village like an eye :

And now it glimmers in the sun,
A globe of gold, a disc, a speck:
And in the Belfry sits a Dove
With purple ripples on her neck.

T. B. Aldrich.

TRUSTEES OF INSANE HOSPITAL.

The Governor has appointed under chapter 218 of the general laws of 1859, the following persons as Trustees of the Insane Hospital:

For three years from April 4, 1858: Leonard J. Farwell, Madison. Edward P. Allis, Milwaukee. Levi Sterling, Mineral Point.

For two years from April 4, 1859: Chauncey Abbott, Madison. John P. McGregor, Portage.

For one year from April 4, 1859: Thomas Hood, Madison. Charles D. Robinson, Green Bay.

Mathematical Department.

Another Solution of Problem No. 16.-Since 33 acres will pasture 12 sheep four weeks, 12 sheep x 4=48 sheep will eat the same in one week. By the problem 10 acres will pasture 21 sheep 9 weeks, therefore, 37 being f of 10, 33 acres will pasture 3 of 21 sheep 9 weeks, or 63 sheep one week. We have now found that if to 33 acres of grass we add its growth for nine weeks, it will pasture 63 sheep one week, but if we add its growth for four weeks, it will pasture only 48 sheep one week. It is, therefore, evident, that the growth on 33 acres for (9-4)=5 weeks will pasture (63—48)=15 sheep one week. Hence of 15 sheep = 12 sheep will be fed one week on the growth of 33 acres for four weeks, or 3 sheep one week on one weeks growth. Now 48—12=36 the number of sheep that the original quantity of grass on 34 acres will pasture one week. From the above we learn that the original quantity of grass on 33 acres will pasture 36 sheep one week. Hence the original quantity of grass on each acre is just=to 12 times its growth per week. Therefore, 24 acres +18 weeks growth=23 times the original quantity of grass on 24 acres.

24 Hence, x 36 x :-18=36 the number of sheep required. 33

L. CAMPBELL. [By a mistake 35 was given instead of 36, the true answer in Mr. Whitcom's solution of this problem.-ED]

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Solution of Problem No. 20.-Let r = the radius of the base, x = the height, 8=the solid content of a segment. Then (Davie's Legendre B. 8. 17. scho. 7) we have fo *72x+ šox=S.

(1.) Let D=the diameter of the sphere. Then go=(D_h) h=Dh-h, and this value of pain (1), after reducing, gives 22 (3D—2x) *, 5236=S. (2.)

40% X, 5236 In problem 20, D=40, and S=

3

=f the solid content of the sphere; hence, (2) becomes 28—60x'=-10666,6666 etc., which solved by any of the usual methods, gives x=15,482 +inches-height of each end segment; hence, the height of the middle segment is 40-2 x 15,482= 9,036-inches.

A. W, WHITOOM.

* This siga is used here to represent the ratio of the diameter of a circle to its circumference -Ed;

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