Come, fellows, fill your glasses with a little of the 'O be joyful' before we part. What's the use of droning away life, like good old aunties, afraid of stepping quick for fear they put a wrinkle in their smooth aprons! Hurra for a little good cheer! The tutor is abed, and here's a health to his long nap to-morrow morning. What's the matter, Charles? Take a little; it's nothing but wine."

The tempted youth dared not refuse, and in a few minutes" nothing but wine" had banished mother, duty, danger and ruin, and with the ardor of his nature, he plunged headlong into the dissipation of the evening.

"Fill again, my merry boys," said their host. "Hurra for a song! Jack, let us have one of your best!"

"Hurra for a song," responded the whole company in concert. "Give us a good one,

Jack."

The young man thus called on, had a fine voice, and being a great wag, could sing drinking-bouts with great zest. Taking the wine, "giving his color in the cup," in his hand, and clearing his throat, he gave them a song from Moore.

"Friend of my soul, this goblet sip,

"Twill chase thy pensive tear. "Tis not so sweet as woman's lip, But oh, 'tis more sincere.

Like her delusive beam,

"Twill steal away thy mind; But like affection's dream,

It leaves no sting behind."

The song was received with noisy mirth by the company, and again the wine passed round. And thus with wine and song, the hours flew away, until several became first witty, then silly, and then drunk, and among them, Charles.

The morning came, and with it the bloodshot eye and aching head to witness against the last night's carouse, and withal, that insupportable sense of degradation and loss of self-respect. What a feeling of agony was that which racked the heart of this widow's son, as the past rushed across his vision, and the future like a horrid spectre loomed up in the distance. But he was in the toils, and his social qualities were the cord by which his wicked companions led him on to repeat that same disgraceful

scene.

And yet by dint of talent, he secured the honors of his class, in spite of his relaxed exertions. He had seen his mother but once since the change, and her pale countenance recalled

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him for a time to himself. She did not know of the change, but looked with a mother's pride and hope on her son. On the altar of home, he made his vows of reform. Again among his companions, those vows melted away like snowflakes in a river. If any man in the world can say truthfully," the evil which I would not that do I," it is the man beginning to slide down the steeps of dissipation, with companions at his back to prevent his return. And such this brilliant youth found it.

But we must hasten. That day so longed for by the student at length arrived. The widow, proud of her son's progress and honors, was there to witness his graduation. He had expected her, and had controlled his appetite accordingly. The splendid procession of alumni, undergraduates and spectators, crowded the spacious building, the galleries of which shone with a multitude of ladies. The scene is one of the most beautiful in a man's history.

The wrangle of political and religious po- ! lemics is left outside that inclosure consecrate to the "feast of reason," and woman (mother, sister and friend) lends her additional enchantment. It is a proud day for the candidate for honors especially if he be "the observed of all observers !"

Already have two speeches been pronounced, and anxious eyes are cast around for the valedictorian. "Where is he?" is the question repeated from lip to lip.

"Have you seen Charles

?" asked one "Where

of his classmates in a hurried tone. can he be? Zounds! I hope he will keep straight to-day, for the honor of the class!"

It was the veritable William who proffered the first wine-glass to Charles, who was now anxiously inquiring for him.

"I tell you," said his companion," I am afraid we shall find him at 's hotel. I saw him go in there about nine o'clock, and you know his failing."

"Impossible! he can't be such a fool as to get drunk to-day, when so much is depending on him and his mother here too!"

"Well, it can do no harm to step over and see, and we must be in a hurry, for in an hour and a half he must speak."

The young men hurried over to the hotel, and to their chagrin found their worst fears realized. There was Charles partially intoxicated. He needed a little "wineing," as he thought, to string him up for his part, and his appetite once excited, he had overdone the matter.

'Charley, what do you mean by this foolery?" was the first salutation of William. "Your speech, your speech-how are you going to deliver that when drunk as a fool ?" "Speech, ah yes, the speech," said Charles with a staggering attempt to cut a pigeon wing on the floor, in which he nearly fell, and then sung out,

"Send round the cup, for oh, there's a spell in Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality."

"No more such trash," said his impatient companion, interruping his drunken song. "Come along and sober yourself, for the day depends on your valedictory."

They then compelled him to use water freely, and then walked him up and down the street, uttering broken snatches of song. William became indignant and almost abused him, but Charles quickly silenced him by a keen allusion to his agency in bringing him to his present situation. But for once anger did a drunken man good in recalling him to the reality of his condition. But it is now almost time for the valedictory, and when the name at length was announced, there was a buzz of expectation throughout the vast assembly, for his reputation as the finest scholar and speaker in college was fully established. As he ascended the platform, his whole look and gait revealed his condition. His mother closed her eyes as against a horrid vision she could not believe. But it was no dream, and as his situation for the first time burst on her, she shrieked, “He is lost, he is lost!"

His eye rolled with a sort of vacant stare, as though he were attempting to recall his oration. The suppressed shriek of his mother, and the looks of pity so galling to a proud spirit, seemed to inspire him. For one moment he glanced over the assembly, and all hesitation vanished. Emotion was awakened, and it lent electricity to the burning words he uttered. Like a giant he grasped the feelings

of his audience, and bore them away as by a torrent. The triumph was complete, but it sent a thrill of indignation to many a heart, that a man with such a genius should sacrifice his magnificent gifts at the debasing shrine of intemperance.

Charles was sober now, and hurried to the side of his mother. He reproached his own suicidal course, and vowed to be guilty no more. But the mother looked on it all without confidence, and sank with despondency, under the belief that a drunken father would soon be followed to the grave by a drunken son. She was a broken-hearted woman. Had she lived at this day, she might have hoped, but thirty years ago, the entire influences of society swept men into the whirlpool, and there" was none to deliver."

For a time, while Charles was acquiring his profession, he abstained, but at length gave way to his fatal appetite occasionally. As a lawyer he rose, with astonishing rapidity, to the high places of that noble calling. All did homage to his genius, and yet most regretted that much inspiration did that genius receive from potations of brandy. His mother lived to see his fame, yet died of grief that her only son should so ruthlessly ruin that fame by a debasing practice. Her death seemed to remove the last restraint, and he hastened on his own death, when he had scarcely attained middle age.

Time had not yet produced the "good Samaritan" for the inebriate, "stripped," and "naked," and "half dead." The reformer had not yet come to bind up his wounds, and pour in oil and wine, else had this splendid man survived, an honor to his country, and in ripe old age might have reaped the reward of virtue and genius. Thirty years ago--oh, what changes has not Time made in false customs, and fatal fashions, preserving the innocent and rescuing the fallen? Let us thank God and take courage, as we now open a page of human life as exhibited at the present day.

This we reserve for a future number.

EVERY-DAY PHILOSOPHY.-If you wish to be good, do good. If you wish to be happy. set about the business of making others happy. In imparting a ray of hope to another, the giver receives a sunbeam in return. The magnet, if inactive, will soon part with

its magnetic power, and eventually lose its vitality as a magnet almost altogether. Use it, and its vitality is increased. It derives strength in imparting its peculiar influence to other objects. Thus is it with the human soul.

THE capital of the Union perhaps never witnessed so brilliant a day as the Fourth of July, 1848; the day designated for the laying of the corner-stone of the Monument to the memory of Washington, by the National Monument Society, or rather by the people of the United States, who might be considered as present in the representation of the various States congregated on the occasion, it being estimated that thirty thousand people were present. If out of three hundred and sixty-five days, the choicest, the most appropriate, the most delectable one had been selected, it could not have surpassed that one which Heaven gave our country for this august occasion. The rains of heaven had descended to cool the air and the earth. The sun shone with clearness through a moderated atmosphere, while a refreshing breeze was in constant action throughout the day. The national flag tossed itself in the element as if wild with joy. The sound of cannon echoed from the shores of Virginia and Maryland at early dawn, and at intervals through the day. Military companies from Boston to Richmond had assembled in the city to do honor to him who was "first in war;" civic companies and associations, and hosts of citizens had met in the metropolis to honor him who was "first in peace," and all to show that he was "first" in all "hearts." Singular order and decorum pervaded all ranks and all places, as if there was a spirit in men that bowed reverently to the recollection of the image of Washington. The excellent influence of the temperance associations on the aspect of the day must be confessed.

Several hundreds of temperance men were in the procession; their banners, their symbols, and their example, all fitted to produce a good effect on the public mind. Then came the more grotesque bodies of men, the Odd Fellows, the Free Masons, and the Red Men. The firemen also, in these days, are decked in gorgeous style. Their flaming dresses look as if

they had been bathed in the fiery element itself, and their engines as if made of molten gold. Well, they are a useful class of men, and though, in some cities, their name is synonymous with rioting and battle, in Washington they have never incurred such reproach. A number of companies from Baltimore were present. The military pageant was splendid. Eighteen of the choicest companies of the land assembled at the capital, besides the highly disciplined U. S. Marine Corps of one hundred and eighty men from the Navy Yard, with its splendid band. Gen. Quitman commanded the troops, being dressed in a uniform more suitable for the battle-field than the parade-ground. He wore no chapeau, but the simple undress cap, while Col. May of the dragoons, in full military costume, mounted on a white charger, headed the cavalry, and though bereaved of his long hair, looked sufficiently fierce and martial for even a more warlike occasion than this pacific celebration. Gen. Cadwallader, too, in command of the infantry, looked every inch the soldier, and the troops seemed to feel prouder for being so well officered.

A less warlike section of the cortège consisted of a band of clergymen of different denominations, who walked together in a very fraternal manner, adding gravity and dignity to the assemblage.

That article of the Constitution seems almost a fiction which makes the President " commander-in-chief of the army and navy," though with an ambitious, or unscrupulous, or unsagacious President, it might prove a dangerous reality. When President Polk, in company with General Quitman and staff, reviewed the troops drawn up in line on Pennsylvania Avenue, habited as he was in plain citizen's dress, his long gray hair descending upon the collar of his coat, he appeared the only unmilitary person on parade. He seemed the embodiment rather of civil than of military power. Long may the President of the United States be thus, and thus only regarded.

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The vast area, in the centre of which the foundation of the monument is laid, lies in the south-western part of the city, near the east bank of the Potomac, and is entirely open, being without a dwelling. The surface of the ground is undulating, and the site commands various beautiful views. To the south may be seen Alexandria in the distance on the west side of the river; to the north-west Georgetown in closer proximity, its commanding heights looming up beyond its crowded dwellings; to the east the Smithsonian Institute and the Capitol, and to the north the long line of the city itself, seeming to terminate with the Executive Mansion. The heights of Arlington on the west constitute an elegant feature in the picture. The Monument of Washington is to stand on a portion of the ground selected by Washington himself as the site of the city which bears his name. Its projected height is five hundred feet, and its estimated cost one million of dollars. The inscription is yet to be written; and the writer trusts the classical taste of no one will be shocked by the suggestion that it be written in pure English, the native language of Washington, and of Washington's country, that every American citizen may be able to read and understand it. To conceal its meaning in Greek or Latin might be a compliment to antiquity, but would be little congenial with the honor of the rising Republic of the West, or of its illustrious founder, who claimed to be something more than a classical scholar. Why inscribe anything more than the simple name WASHINGTON? The world knows the rest. That is all that any one ventured to put on the tomb which incloses his mortal remains, and that is sufficient.

The oration by Speaker Winthrop was worthy of the occasion. Mr. Winthrop has a fine person-what there is of it; an easy and graceful carriage; a rich and impressive voice. He is about forty years of age, and in consequence of a certain freshness of countenance, appears even younger. His oration, which

was perfectly committed to memory after the manner of Mr. Everett, was delivered with animation, and distinctness of enunciation. With an exception or two, it might be considered a complete performance, a good moral and rhetorical symmetry pervading the whole. If in ancient or modern days an opportunity was ever given to be eloquent, this was one. Neither Greece nor Rome could have opened a finer field.

The day-the anniversary of our country's independence; the occasion-a tribute to the great Washington; the audience—the people of the United States, represented by the Government and by informal delegations from various parts of the country; the period of time-a crisis among nations, when the foundations of thrones are breaking up, and the spirit of LIBERTY is ascending above their ruins; when republicanism is the brightening cynosure of the old monarchies of Europe; the freshness of the impression produced on the public mind by a restored peace; the blending of all parties; the great national symbols and structures all in sight; the immense audience, pervaded by one sympathy; even the matchless beauty of the day itself—all nature being wreathed in smiles-these were elements concurring in an extraordinary degree to awaken in the orator the spirit of eloquence, and to assist, if they did not too much oppress him, in rearing on the spot an intellectual monument, which the world "would not willingly let die."

Of these advantages the orator judiciously availed himself, and at least prepared one very elegant stone towards building his own monument.

The day closed with a military review, in which the President, for the first time during his administration, appeared on horseback in his capacity as Commander-in-chief. He was in citizen's dress, and was accompanied by Gen. Quitman and staff. Now commences the hard labor of the enterprise. Will the present generation complete what it has begun ?

A BRIEF analysis of conscience is quite necessary to a clear understanding of the right educational process, and will not, it is hoped, be regarded as too philosophical for the Parlor Magazine. It would be an invidious reflection upon its fair readers to suppose for a moment that they do not love to think as well as to be amused.

In an exercise of conscience, then, there is a complex operation of the mind involving two distinct elements. One of these elements is a purely intellectual state, which is commonly called judgment. It is not, however, wrong judgment of any sort, but it is a judgment belonging to that peculiar and well-known variety, in which the mind takes cognizance of right and wrong. This is the first element of the complex operation involved in an exercise of conscience.

The second element is a feeling or emotion; and these two elements are involved in every exercise which is truly and properly an exercise of conscience, viz., a judgment, which is by itself a mere intellectual act or state, and a peculiar feeling, which arises with it or from it, and which, in its nature, is wholly distinct and different. This peculiar feeling varies according to the object from which, as its occasion or cause, it arises. The judgment may be formed in view of a past act or feeling remembered; and if this remembered act or feeling is judged to have been right, fit, or good, then there arises the feeling of self-approbation, and we say our conscience approves it. But if the remembered act or feeling is judged to have been wrong or bad, there arises the feeling of self-condemnation, and we say in common conversation, not thinking of any philosophical analysis, that our conscience condemns it.

Every faculty of the mind, whether simple or complex, may be educated; that is, may be drawn out, moulded, strengthened, and trained up to the highest state of perfection of which it is capable. And every faculty, whether intellectual or moral, needs to be educated. All

the faculties exist alike, though not in equal native vigor, in every sound and rational mind; but none of them will ever be fully and rightly developed without culture. As the body grows and expands into full manhood by nutrition and exercise, so it is with the mind. Its growth is hastened by the proper aliment, or retarded for the want of it. The perceptive faculty, the memory, the imagination, the judgment or reason, and the affections, all need to be educated. Hence the necessity of schools and colleges, and professional seminaries, and hence the numberless treatises which have been written upon domestic, popular, and classical education.

But wherein lies the need of educating the conscience, and what is the right system? How is it to be done? The conscience, like the other faculties, needs to be educated, because, like them, it exists at first in an elementary or infantile state, ready to be evolved and moulded by external appliances. The faculty of judg ment is in the mind of the child, and the moral feelings are there, but beth in an embryo state. Even if he was perfectly holy, his conscience would need to be educated; that is, he would need to have right and wrong set before him and explained, that he might choose the one and refuse the other. The task, to be sure, would be infinitely easier than it is now, because the conscience, being pure, would uniformly approve of that which is good and right the moment it was perceived, and its dictates would be as uniformly obeyed. But even then, I say, a process of education would be necessary to develop the faculty, and make it the governing principle of the heart and life. How much more then is a wise and faithful course of enlightenment and discipline necessary when we consider how the mind is darkened, how the moral sense or judgment is warped by innate depravity, how strong the natural propensity of the heart is to prefer the wrong to the right, when both are presented to its choice. No faculty stands in greater need of being watchfully and wisely trained than conscience; for