WOODEN SOALED SHOES.
Mr. Custis of Arlington, near Alexandria in a letter to the editor dated 1st Feb. last, observes—"Wooden soaled shoes are the very best for labourers that I ever met with. They keep the feet warm and dry in ditching, and in all kinds of labour, to be performed out of doors in winter, and are a saving in expense of fully 80 per cent. My people are all shod in this way, and themselves declare that they never were so comfortable in their feet before, while my leather bill from $100, has been reduced to scarce $20.
You form the soal, after the appearance of the leather soal and heel, the wood about half or three fourths of an inch in thickness, around the upper edge, is cut a rabbit, into which is nailed (with ordinary sized tacks) the upper leather.—Not a particle of thread is needed, except to close the two parts of upper leather.—Every man may be his own shoemaker, and a man would put together a dozen pair a day. In slippery weather, small plates of iron are nailed around the toes and heels, and frost nails driven in them, which also protects tects the soal from wear. Gum, ash, or dogwood, are best for the soals, and about two sets will last the winter.—The feet are never cold, or wet, and hence will be remedied those chronic pains and evils, to which labourers are subject, from exposure to cold and wet. For any purpose but a foot race, these are the very best shoes, and I doubt whether even Sir Humphrey Davy has made a more useful discovery in the last twenty years."
[Am. Farmer.
Republican Manners.—A gentleman, who lately visited the Atheneum at Boston, told us, that he saw a book there, on the title page of which was written these words, by the hand of Mr. Jefferson—
"From Thomas Jefferson to his friend
John Adams."
Now, to my way of thinking, all the flowers of rhetoric might be culled, and yet be wanting of the "sublime and beautiful" that irresistibly attaches itself to this little sentence—"Thomas Jefferson to his friend John Adams." It affords a practical result of our glorious system of government, more "precious than rubies." It is a diamond of the finest water, which the republican should hug to his bosom as a rich legacy to his children and his children's children "to the thousandth generation"—an evidence in favour of the simplicity of the truth never to be parted with, while the mighty Mississippi rolls her floods to the ocean! It is worthy of the best days of Greek or Roman history; and there is, doubtless, a sincerity in it that Greece or Rome hardly knew to exist between men so illustrious. The time has passed away in which either of those venerable men can be regarded as at the head of a party in the state, however much they were once opposed. They are preparing "for another and a better world;" but, like the patriarchs of old, with joyous hearts, survey the rich fruits of independence, planted by their toil and nurtured by their care. Passion has long ceased to influence either; oblivion has passed over their political differences of opinion; ancient friendships are renewed, and a spirit of harmony and reciprocal esteem prevails in each bosom.
What a magnificent sentence—"from Thomas Jefferson to his friend John Adams!" Let us consider how great a space those men have filled in the world. Each has been the rallying point of simultaneously contending parties—each filled the highest office in the gift of the only free people existing, to relieve the sombre despotism of the civilized world.—Each has lived to see his early vows to the republic fulfilled; and their present good understanding affords us a delightful proof of the inestimable aphorism, that "a difference of opinion is not a difference of principle."
What are now John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, so recently the leading politicians of the day, the heads of mighty parties?—private citizens, wholly abstracted from the bustle of the times, and leaning on their good intentions, like Jacob on his staff, to offer up thanksgivings to the Most High for the benefits which He has been pleased to bestow upon their beloved country! Neither holds a court, or is courted with sinister views; for it is well understood that both have retired from the influence that might have attached itself to them;—but the trace of their footsteps are as blessed by a grateful people, and a good old age has come upon them in peace!
May we imitate the plainness and sincerity of this little sentence! What could ten thousand high-sounding titles add to the reputation, or contribute to the internal satisfaction of these sages? Yet we practise them and there are hundreds of little things among us, creatures of the moment—here to-day and gone to-morrow, and forgotten, who feel insulted if they are not called of men honourable, written at full length, as if the title made them so. I believe I never wrote this word, as prefixed to a man's name, but once, and think that, while I preserve my reason and sense of moral honesty, I never will write it again, to a fellow citizen.
It would not do any harm if there was much more of this magnificent simplicity at the seat of government, where comfort is often sacrificed to form, and chilling etiquette keeps back from those in office the very persons that they ought to have familiar communication with. It is the yeomanry of the country, who are to carry to the chiefs of the government, the feelings and wishes of the nation: but they are frozen by the ceremony of their introduction to men in power—congressmen and others. It is hateful even to some who seemingly exact it—because it is "the rule." Why not abrogate the rule, and while impertinent intrusion is kept at a distance, receive honest worth on the level, as man should receive man? A little anecdote, which I have recently heard, may illustrate this remark—a certain gentleman, who now is a quaker, or at least conforms to many of their manners, a veteran of the revolution, and one of Mr. Monroe's earliest friends, having business at Washington, was specially sent for by the president, who had not seen him for more than forty years. The old man went to the president's house; he was met in the hall by the servants, who separately asked him for his cane, his coat, and his hat. The latter he would not part with, and it was intimated to him that he could not go into the president's room unless he dispossessed himself of it; but he observed, 'if he couldn't go in, he could go out,' and began to prepare for his departure. Then it was said, he might go in with his hat on, if he was willing in risk it! He was willing, and entered, and was received by the president as a true friend ought to be received; and they had a very interesting interview, grateful to one another. How much pleasure was nearly denied to Mr. Monroe for a matter of form!—for, if the sturdy old republican had once left the house, they never could have prevailed upon him to enter it again!
All mere ceremonies are easy, and even in matters of the highest import, become mechanical to those accustomed to perform them daily—but are always irksome to those who never went through them—nor do they form any part of our habits of thinking and acting, as conformable to the nature of our institutions. I am apprehensive that they are on the increase, though well convinced that they are not desired by the president himself, and others that I could name. But they are fashionable; and it is easier to correct a positive vice than to do away an idle fashion. This fashion keeps no one from the presence of influential persons who has sinister designs to accomplish, but checks the warm flow of the blood with which an honest farmer or mechanic would meet his own elected rulers, and prevents that freedom of discussion by which truth is manifested. Let us all endeavour to imitate the simplicity and frankness of Jefferson—under this solemn assurance, that the further we are removed from this plainness, the greater is the danger of despotism. I am very far from being an enemy to what are called the elegancies of life, and am quite willing that, if a couple of dancing masters meet, they should bow to each other, "according to rule," for half an hour before they approached near enough to touch the tip of each other's finger, as the sign of shaking hands! Let those enjoy it who can, and practice it who may—but it is not the manner in which sincerity is shown, or good fellowship promoted. The homage of the heart, such as the republican will feel in reading the text of this article, is worth more than all the forms of etiquette ever devised. It is as a rock in the midst of the sea—faction assails it in vain; it is principle only that takes effect upon it. The tide of popularity may rise and fall, but the foundation is not to be shaken.
[Niles' Reg.
On the Importance of Manner.
To exasperate is not the way to convince: nor does asperity of language or of manner necessarily belong to the duty of plain dealing. So far otherwise, a scolding preacher, or a snarling reprover, betrays alike a gross ignorance of the philosophy of the human mind, and the absence of Christian meekness; and how zealous soever be his aim to do good, the provokingness of his manner will defeat the benevolence of his intentions.
The following remarks are from the pen of a man as distinguished for Christian piety as for superiour genius—the immortal Cowper. "No man" (says that evangelical poet) "was ever scolded out of his sins. The heart, corrupt as it is, and because it is so, grows angry if it be not treated with some management and good manners, and scolds again. A surly mastiff will bear perhaps to be stroked, though he will growl under that operation, but if you touch him roughly, he will bite. There is no grace that the spirit of self can counterfeit with more success than that of zeal. A man thinks he is fighting for Christ, when he is fighting for his own notions. He thinks that he is skillfully searching the hearts of others, when he is only gratifying the malignity of his own, and charitably supposes his hearers destitute of all grace, that he may shine the more in his own eyes by comparison."
Nor is scolding, or ridicule either, the proper way to cure men of their religious prejudices: for, by inflaming their anger, it renders their prejudices the more stubborn and inveterate. It is no matter how absurd or even how monstrous their errors and prejudices; if you offend them by the grossness of your manner, there is little hope of your convincing them afterwards by the cogency of your reasoning.
The Baptist Missionaries in India, at the first insulted, as we are told, the superstition which they attacked, and ridiculed and reviled the Bramins in the streets, and at their festivals, when the passions of the blinded and besotted populace were most likely to be influenced. But experience taught those pious and apostolical men, that this was not the right way to make converts: for which reason, in 1805, they made a declaration of the great principles upon which they thought it their duty to act. "It is necessary," say they, "in our intercourse with the Hindoos, that, as far as we are able, we abstain from those things which would increase their prejudices against the gospel. Those parts of English manners which are most offensive to them should be kept out of sight; nor is it advisable at once to attack their prejudices, by exhibiting with acrimony, the sins of their gods; neither should we do violence to their images, nor interrupt their worship."
Now if this forbearance from every thing provoking, whether in language or manner, was expedient in dealing with the errors of the grossly idolatrous pagans, it is assuredly not less expedient for fellow Christians, in their treatment of the real or supposed religious errors of one another. Bitter revilings and contumelious denouncements always provoke, but never convince. If they are used instead of argument, they betray a conscious weakness; for it is much easier to revile and denounce than to argue. And furthermore, we are quite as apt to be furiously in the wrong, as to be furiously in the right: or even if we know ourselves to be right as to matter, we put ourselves in the wrong as to manner, if we make use of foul weapons rather than those which the armoury of reason supplies.
Manner is to be carefully studied by every one, whether in a public or a private station, who undertakes to reclaim the vicious, or to convince the erring: for what would be beneficial if done in one manner, would be worse than labour lost, if done in another. A haughty, supercilious manner never wins, seldom convinces, and always disgusts; whereas that which indicates meekness and unmingled benevolence and compassion, rarely fails of some salutary impression; especially if suavity of manner be accompanied with force of reasoning, and a due regard be had to time, place, and circumstances.
No very long while ago, Mr. ——, an American clergyman, as distinguished for pious zeal as for eminent parts, was passing a river in a ferry boat, along with company of some distinction, among which was a military officer who repeatedly made use of profane language: Mr. —— continued silent till they had landed, when taking him aside, he expostulated with him in such a moving manner, that the officer expressed his thanks, and his deep sorrow for the offence; but added withal: "Sir, if you had reproved me before the company, I should have drawn my sword upon you."
There are some who glory in it, that by their plain dealing they wound the pride of those they deal with. Peradventure with greater pride they do it. Often, we are so little aware of the obliquities of our own hearts, that we may be feeding and nourishing pride within ourselves whilst we are zealously aiming our blows at the pride of others. Our love of chiding, our coarse bluntness, which we fondly term an honest plain heartedness, or a warmth of zeal, may possibly spring from other motives than those of pure Christian benevolence.