POPULAR BELIEFS, AND THEIR TENDENCY. BY J. J. B. POPULAR beliefs, in the generally-accepted sense of the term, are those impressions which, originating perhaps with one or a few, become, by reason of their apparent worth or pleasing portrayal, almost axiomatic in their character, and, in proportion to these characteristics, exert their influence for good or evil upon their upholders. There is a French proverb which tells us that we should not judge a belief by its apparent worth, but by the good which results from it, for by this method no disadvantage or unfavorable tendency it may possess can be overlooked; and this would at once appear to a person of reason a most satisfactory method of determining upon what of the many should be accepted and what disregarded, and a rule by which the prejudices which inevitably exist regarding such matters, could be in part overcome, and the many still existing superstitions rejected as belonging, in a great measure, to those who, in default of better means, make use of them for the accomplishment of their ends. It is a maxim, however, which, judging from the unfortunate acceptance of some ideas in the past, is not always destined to be observed, in spite of its merit. Our confidence in a subject, whether it be regarding religion or any other branch of inquiry, is generally strengthened by the amount of corroboration it may afterwards receive, as well as by the other inducements for credence it may offer; but oftentimes the plausibility itself of the advanced opinion is sufficient to insure its acceptance. It is often surprising to see with what readiness and even eagerness a rumor, which most likely is but an expressed opinion, is seized and clothed with all the habiliments of an indisputable truth, and immediately the world is prepared to carry on a relentless warfare with those who have not been borne along with the mass toward a popular delusion; or, again, when a successful exploit has been accomplished, which from its general tendency seems a coup d'état as regards civil or religious advancement, the mass, with the greatest precipitancy, rush forward to pay their tokens of regard and admiration, while the object of this esteem, provided the praise be justly his, unaware of the results he may unconsciously have been the means of producing, and having awakened to find himself famous, congratulates himself upon being the recipient of Fortune's smiles. We also notice very many varieties of belief; some which embrace only a small portion of territory in extent, and others which include the inhabitants of many countries; and it frequently occurs that these most widely-extended views are the same which prove most errone ous, and the most difficult to eradicate from the minds of even an intelligent society-a fact which renders the saying "we enter free, But as regards our exit, slaves are we," a truism which we cannot doubt. It is with the utmost reluctance that a pleasing delusion is abandoned for a more grave but more evident truth, from the fact that the world delights in receiving a pleasant fiction provided it comes with no unpleasant provisions or disagreeable requirements. It is without denial that the effect of education on the acceptation of belief is marked. In former ages, when the light of seience had not yet shed itself on the people of our land, and the spirit of inquiry was still in its infancy, ideas of a much more repulsive character than those of the present were indulged in, and, there being but few tests to which matters of this kind could be subjected, imagination was allowed complete freedom, and was checked only by a final conviction of the falsity of the idea, or when the results following were fully realized. More than eighteen centuries ago, when the doctrine of the Jewish church was being called into question by the appearance of one calling himself the messenger of the Messiah, and when their ancient belief was being rejected for one which, in their opinion, was that of Beelzebub, their hatred was at once aroused, and the well-known cry, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" sounded throughout the halls of justice. And for what? For advancing a belief contrary to that of the world in general, and daring to resist the authority of the priesthood. On the other hand, there often exists a great reluctance to surrender old beliefs which have been handed from one to another for many generations, and, having never before been called into question, are thought to be indisputable. The well-known philosopher of old dared to proclaim his distaste and disapproval of the course of life pursued by the people of his time, by asserting his belief in a first cause and the immortality of the soul, and immediately he was doomed to death, and, in the midst of an excited populace, tasted the fatal hemlock. But it is not necessary to look for examples of this nature in the uncertainty of the past and the vista of preceding ages, for they are in every age visible, nor is it expedient to regard with aught but a feeling of indulgence the unimportant and oftentimes absurd speculations which agitated the minds of our forefathers, and involved the sacrifice of life and happiness. The people of England once found courage to resist the authority of the Roman Catholic Church and attempt to break asunder the unyielding bonds of the priesthood which restrained them. Perhaps no contest has ever produced a greater effect, or left a more lasting impression upon the minds of the people than this. It took place in an age when civil or religious liberty was unheard of, and when the age of free thought and speech was yet to come; and the partial downfall of an empire of oppression bore with it the destruction of servile obedience and disgraceful tyranny, and the star of empire, which for a time seemed enveloped in the threatening clouds of war, at last shone forth with increased brilliancy and more constant light. was at first imagined; for those innovations which at the time appear beneficial in their character, and most pleasant to consider, are fly, when they no longer influence by their novelty and are more seriously considered, found to be destitute of all those attributes most to be desired. Regarding the characteristics of our people, we cannot easily persuade ourselves that we are living in an age of perfect mental freedom-when the majority do not make use of hypocrisy and its kindred deceits for the furtherance of their purposeswhen evident pleasure, or at least indifference, is not veiled in tears of sorrow and words of consolation, and when personal aggrandizement is not effected through the medium of the strictest piety and shouting from the housetops. Civilization, however, has reached that extent pocrisy seemingly necessary. A writer of our own time remarks, "Arts for attracting public attention form a necessary part of the qualifications even of the deserving; and skill in these goes farther than any other quality toward insuring success." Necessity compels us to make use of deception, or else to fall behind the less deserving, whose more alluring but less truthful representations, too often carry conviction to the popular mind. A strife which may be considered second to this in its uncalled-for cruelty, and even ferocity, was the French Revolution. Having as its chief aims the acquisition of power and the aggrandizement of a few, it reached a condition which rendered the sacrifice of life an almost necessary act, and, although the fall of the guillotine was an almost familiar sound, bring-which renders a considerable amount of hying to one party a feeling of dread and to the other one of satisfaction, it was not until the country was in an almost hopeless condition that its destroyers were made to see their mistake. This war, like that of the Inquisition, was not, we may safely say, without its beneficial results; in both cases the question was, whether or not the good impulses which were inherent in the minds of men should succumb to those less worthy, and whether the nobler feelings of the heart should serve as its beaconlight shining forth into the darkness of the age, and amid the storm which agitated the face of the world, directing the course of its beholder and determining the position and character of his dangers; and in both instances those better feelings were not entirely repressed, for, rising from the ruins of vast and destructive conflicts, there appeared a more liberal government and a society of much more desirable requirements than before. As regards the political effects of these conflicts, they were not less marked than were the moral -the right to give an opinion and assert one's own convictions was obtained, and a truth, whether agreeable or not in its character, was allowed attention. In literature, no less than in other departments in which imperfect civilization is visible, we have become aware of the price we pay for our advancement. This is undoubtedly a reading age, but the result of this progress is that we read too much, and with too little thought. In former years, especially before the art of printing had removed the restrictions which were placed upon the more rapid advancement of literature, books were not read in the desuitory manner which is the characteristic habit of the present age, but were used in the careful manner which they generally merited: as the author well knew that his work would not be cast aside after a day's careless perusal if it were a production of merit, but would be preserved for years as a valuable addition to the There are numerous other instances in which literature of the age; while at the present time popular ideas have sprung up and gained it is difficult for a work to gain acceptance unground in spite of the many disadvantages less it be through its novelty, as the life of ficthey have possessed, or the injurious tendency tion endures but for a day, and both its good they have exerted, and in no country have such and faulty characteristics are by to-morrow facts been more noticeable than in our own, forgotten. One of the effects of a high state and of such a character as we should hardly of cultivation is the diminution of personal inexpect would characterize this age of enlight- dependence. The productions and inventions enment; but human caprice and credulity have which have tended to lessen the development ever been subjects of regret, and often the of resources and dependence on one's own reprincipal drawbacks to the true progress of quirements, and which are the result of this society; internal disorders, which have often advanced state, are made use of without hesibeen rife among us, and which have owed their tation; and the result is, that more reliance is birth to such qualities as these, are undoubt-placed upon the force of circumstances than edly more to be dreaded than those from without, and, were the true causes of disaster traced The present era is, without doubt, one of adto their origin, we should find that their devel-vancement in the strict sense of the term, but opment was from a far different source than not in every sense an era of improvement, upon individual exertion. judging from such results as have been mentioned, and others which, owing to the unwillingness of the world to accept liberal sentiments, should, at the present, remain unwritten. As the evils attendant upon this advanced state of society cannot with readiness be realized, it remains for us, who are credited with an inborn impulse to reach a state of perfection, to hope, that, in the movement onward toward that state, there will be experienced more desirable results, and that, after all the evils which, like barriers, obstruct our march on ward, have been burned away, there may rise, Phoenix like, from their ashes, those conditions more productive of true progress. FORGET. BY MARY W. M VICAR I DO believe, if you could know how true, Each hour is lighter for a tender thought, Because of it, the duties of each day Go out on every silent hour to you, If you could know it all, you might forget I cannot still; for even in my dreams How freely you forgive, I know, ah, me! Full well, but do not quite forget, and it may be But on some future day you surely will, I know if I to-night were lying dead, You would forget all that I failed to be, It could not matter to me then, dear love, It would like benediction fall. LIFE is divided into three terms: that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present to live better for the future. KIND WORDS.-Kind words are the flowers of earth's existence; use them, and especially around the fireside circle. They are jewels beyond price, and powerful to heal the woundel heart and to make the weighed-down spirit glad. THE ORPHAN COUSINS. BY MINNIE HEATHCOTE. "My life is lone, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the winds are never weary, And my heart still clings to the mouldering past, And the hopes of my youth fall thick in the blast, For some days must be dark and dreary." SOFTLY through the half-open casement, borne on the low vernal breeze, came these words, half sung, half wailed, yet melodious, from the lips of a young girl, who, though she had scarcely wreathed the flowers of seventeen summers, had drained the cup of sorrow almost to the dregs, and felt that life held no more roses for her. Reclining upon a low window, half hidden by the graceful folds of the falling curtains, she heeded not the passer-by, or the bright golden day of early spring, beckoning her forth to enjoy God's holy baptism of love and light. Her form was sylph-like and beautiful; her light, golden hair was put plainly back, revealing a brow snow-white and expressive; while her bright blue eyes, once sparkling with mirth and happiness, were now overflowing with tears, which would come as her lost hopes came looming up before her. Nelly Graham and her cousin, Julia Moreton, a bright, black-eyed beauty, were bereft, in early life, of their parents, and were each confided to the care of a kind uncle residing in Missouri. Doctor Marshall had no children of his own, but had, some years previous, adopted a son of an early friend, and he felt that these were, indeed, two angels sent to cheer his lonely heart. Instead, however, of taking them immediately to his home, he placed them, then in their eighth years, in a good school, where they remained until they were sufficiently accomplished to enter society, where their uncle fondly hoped they would be bright ornaments; and at Commencement he proudly took them in his arms, after seeing them acquitted with highest honors, and blest them as his daughters. Bidding a kind farewell to their teachers and friends, they were soon flying over the railway to their new home on the shores of the turbid Missouri. The misgivings which had naturally risen in their hearts in regard to their western home, about which their uncle had been strangely silent, quickly vanished as they neared a stately brick dwelling, situated on a beautiful eminence, and almost surrounded by a grove of maples, with here and there a stately elm or magnificent oak, and an exclamation of "How beautiful! how picturesque !" burst simultaneously from their lips. "O uncle! why didn't you tell us of the splendid home you were bringing us to?" said Julia, who rather feared being immured in the "back-woods," compelled to waste her life among "ignorant Hoosiers," who could not appreciate her dark beauty, of which she was very vain. "I wished," said Doctor Marshall, "to let my little girls find out the beauties of their home themselves, so there might be no disappointments." The fair Nelly was silent until they entered the house and saw the magnificence, and comfort there; and, after being shown their separate rooms, so elegantly and tastefully arranged with a view to their comfort, she fell upon her knees and poured out her thanks to God, that she, a penniless orphan, should be blessed with so good a friend, who was kind, indeed, as a father, and to whom, God helping her, she would be a dutiful and loving daughter. She soon changed her travelling dress for a plain white muslin, and descended to the pleasant sitting-room, where Julia, after having thoroughly examined the contents of her room, and made a dazzling toilet, had preceded her, and was plying “Uncle John” with innumerable questions as to the house, the neighbors, and surrounding country; viewing the prospects of becoming a belle, and hoping to reign queen over "Uncle John's" heart, with whom she was anxious to become a pet. Nelly knew no words by which to express her deep gratitude, and she silently put her arms about her uncle's neck and kissed him as a fond daughter. Turning to them, Doctor Marshall placed a hand on each of their heads, and said, with tears in his eyes : "My children, I am glad you like your home, for, since your aunt was taken from me, six long years ago, I have lived a lonely life, with no one but the servants and my kind old housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, whom I hope you will love. Now that I have you with me, life will seem new again; and to-morrow my boy will come, and my old home will again be a happy home to me." with dark-brown hair, a flowing beard, large brown eyes, from whose depths flashed the rays of intellect, softened by the light of a soul whose every impress and motive is love and goodness. Divining it to be their uncle's ward, and their adopted brother, Charles Morris, they met them in the sitting-room with a smile of welcome, and the four were soon seated around the dinner table, engaged in pleasant conversation, and rapidly becoming friends. From that day, time flew rapidly on the wings of love, and they began to talk of a separation, for Charlie was to leave them, to visit his aunt in Florida. Their home being near L, Julia and Nelly soon became reigning belles in the first circle there. On the afternoon preceding Charlie's departure for his aunt's, he, with the two girls, was sitting in the library, talking over the events of a party which they had attended on the previous evening. "Nelly, when am I to claim Mr. Simpson as a relative?" asked Julia. 'Really I cannot say, unless I knew how near a relative you mean." "A cousin, of course.' "If, as your looks imply, it is through me he is to become your cousin, then you will never claim him as one," said Nelly, her cheeks flushed with mortification. "You do not pretend to say that you and he are not the most devoted of lovers?" and Julia cast a look of triumph at Charlie, while Nellie haughtily replied: "I do say that he and I will never be more to each other than at present." She rose and left the room, and was soon followed by Julia, to prepare to ride with Mr. Clark, whom she saw at that moment driving up. Charlie Morris had been a silent listener to this conversation, and now walked to the window with a troubled look, where he stood in "How long since your son was at home?" deep thought, until he saw Julia with her esasked Nelly. "Only five months. He came home on a short visit each vacation; and, now that he has finished his school, I will have you all with me. But I hear the bell; let's go refresh ourselves with some coffee, for I know that schoolgirls have good appetites." After a good night's rest, the two girls were up early next morning, and walked to the river and back just as Doctor Marshall was going in to breakfast, which, after a hearty greeting, they all enjoyed greatly, after which the doctor started on his round of visits to his patients before going to meet his expected son, leaving the girls to ramble over the house and grounds, becoming acquainted with every nook and corner, taking no note of time as they flew from one new discovery to another, till they were attracted by the sound of horses' hoofs and carriage wheels, and discovered their uncle drive up, and with him a tall, handsome man, cort drive out of sight. He was turning to leave the room, when Nelly entered with her work. "I thought, Charlie, I would do some work, while you read to me from your favorite author." "No, Nelly, we will have no reading or working either; I want to talk," he said, seating himself by her side, and with a smile, half sad and half glad, took her hand in his, telling her to get ready to make a confession. "Nelly," he said, "were you in earnest when you said you and Simpson are not engaged?" "I certainly was." "And has he never told you of the love which it is evident to every one he bears you?" "He never has, Charlie, and I should be sorry if he should, for I would not like to give him pain, and I have no love for him." "My little Nelly, do you know what a bur den you have lifted from my heart? Nelly, darling, I love you, better than all else on earth; aye, better than my own life. Tell me, dear one, is this great love all in vain? Must I give up the bright hopes which have but,just sprung into new life?" Nelly's eyes were upon the floor, but her cheeks were flushed with happiness-happiness she had not dared hope for. "Tell me, little one," said Charlie, in pleading tones, drawing her to him. "Can't you love me a little?" Raising her tearful eyes to his, in tones low and sweet as angel lutes, she answered, "Yes, Charlie, a great deal." In ecstasy he folded her to his manly breast, and, kissing her brow and lips, vowed to love and cherish the treasure he had won through life. "And when I return, shall I claim my little dove for my very own?" In reply she placed her hand in his, with a happy smile of confidence and love. Drawing from his finger a brilliant diamond, he placed it on hers. "This, Nelly, was my mother's gift, and you alone, of all the world, are precious enough to wear it." Long they sat and talked of the bright and happy future in store for them, until Julia's return reminded them of the hour, and they were summoned to tea, after which they repaired to the parlor, and, company coming in, they spent the evening pleasantly, retiring at a late hour, Nelly and Charlie to dream of their new-found joy. For one short month after Charlie's departure from home they exchanged letters of love and faith; but suddenly Charlie's accustomed letter failed to come; yet Nelly waited from day to day, never dreaming he was faithless, till hope died within her. She knew it was not sickness that caused his silence, for Doctor Marshall received letters from him every week, and, being too proud to ask the cause, she gave way to feelings of despondency, moving about the house in silence, seeing no one, until her trouble became too much for her to bear; her brain gave way under the heavy pressure of thought, and for many weeks she hovered between life and death. But Doctor Marshall seldom left the bed-side of his treasure, and youth and a strong constitution, aided by his untiring devotion, prevailed, and she was slowly brought back to health, and is finally able to go into the library, where we find her sitting at the window where she plighted her faith to one whom she worshipped next to God. She has just heard that he is soon to be at home to make preparations to go abroad; that he is expected every day. Oh, if she could only go where she would be spared the agony of meeting him! Julia came in and commenced talking to her of the expected arrival, and of the pleasure it would give them to have him with them once more; but Nelly had learned to distrust the cousin whom she once loved so dearly, and feeling uneasy in her presence, and wishing to be alone, she threw a shawl about her and walked down to the river, to a little shady nook, where she and Charlie had passed many happy evenings, and she now felt its peaceful shade would nerve her for the coming trial. How long she sat there she knew not; all the past had come to her, seeming to mock her with her shattered hopes, until her brain seemed crazed, and in her agony she cried out : "O Charlie, my darling! why have you proved so unfaithful? Why did you gain my love, only to cast it from you and forget it?" And with a wailing cry she threw out her arms, and would have fallen, had not two strong arms caught her in a close embrace. "Nelly, dearest, have I been so deceived? the silly dupe of a cruel falsehood? Speak to me, darling! tell me you love me yet, and welcome me home. I see it all now." But Nelly heard nothing after his arms closed around her, and, laying her gently down, he brought water from the river and bathed her face, and she soon revived, to hear an explanation of her lover's silence. Soon after reaching his aunt's he received a letter from Julia, a kind, long letter, and, "Among the many items of news," he told her, "she told me she was right in her conjectures in regard to Mr. Simpson and yourself; that he was a constant visitor, and that you were to be married to him early in the spring. It was very hard for me to believe my little bird false, yet she seemed so earnest, and I thought she knew nothing of our relation." "Why, Charlie, I told her of my happiness the evening you left, and I thought she looked so strangely when I told her, and her manner has been changed toward me ever since." "Then it is as I feared. She would like Clark if he was heir to my fortune; that not being the case, she would break your dear heart to secure me; but she would have failed, for I had made up my mind to spend my days in travel, a lone and single life, since my one bright star had failed me. I should not have come home could I have undertaken so long a voyage without seeing my more than father." "But, Charlie, how came you to find me here?" "Just this way, little one. Doctor Marshall told me, coming from the train, of your severe illness, and how you were just getting able to take short walks, but that you still seemed to have a deep trouble on your mind, which he was sure had caused your sickness. A shadow of the truth dawned upon me, and I asked him if you and Simpson were not soon to be married; at which he seemed greatly astonished, and told me you discarded him soon after I left. When we reached the gate, Mrs. Smith met us with the complaint that you would go to the |