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VOLUME X.
(Original
Written for the Visitor.
“Oh! would I were a Boy again!”
“ Oh! would I were a bov again,”
To roam where’er I wist, or will,
My bosom free from every pain,
The heart, and passions, calm and still;
For madly, now, each thought—eaeh feeling
In agony sweeps o'er my soul:
Dark passions, when awakened once,
Brook not, but still defj control.
I’ve knelt to thee—l kneel again;
I’ve worshipp’d thee—l worship still;
I said I loved—thou say’st ’tis vain—
And must l bow me to thy will?
\ et take this last, last pledge of me—
Bright hope no longer figures there,
For mind , and heart, in agony.
Have bow’d to mad/tens —and despair /
Schwarz kxski.
Awjusta, Geo,
“THE PEWTER.”
u Solomon saith Money answereth all things”—
ergo, get “Me Pewt*r.*'~ Nbho.
I own Miss B. is beautiful,
Her eyes how sweetly blue;
Her waist is delicately made,
Her step how lightsome too.
She talks in such a knowing style
Thut few would dare refute her.
The only fault she has on earth
Is—that she haint the pewter.
I used to be heels-over-head
In love with Mary M.,
I wrote her sonnets twice a week,
And even printed them.
But just when all admitted that
I was her favored suitor,
I quit the field—for Bob exclaimed,
“ Why', Dick, she haint the pewter' 1
When from the country Fannry came,
To speud the winter here,
Where’er in public she appeared,
There too would I appear:
In city ways and sights I was
Her only guide and tutor;
I think I’ll court her yet—but no,
I learn— she haint the pewter.
I called upon the Misses White—
Miss Emma’s very fair,
Around her brow, as white as snow,
Sweep braids of golden hair.
As for Miss Nancy, all admit
E’en Venus muv not hoot her—
But what are nil these charms to me
When told she haint the pettier /
There’s Lizzy G., whom all declare
Os city belles, the belle ;
She’s petted, flattered and adored
By ev’ry dashing swell.
High claims to admiration—none
Who know her will dispute her;
Yet who would wed a lady' now
If sure— she haint the pewter
DEAREST LOVE, BELIEVE ME.
Dearest Lve, believe me,
Though all else depart,
Naught shall e’er deceive thee
In this faithful heart.
Beauty may be blighted,
Youth may pass away,
But the vows we plighted,
Ne’er shall know decay.
Tempests may assail us
From affliction’s coast.
Fortune’s breeze may fail us,
When we need it most;
Fairest hopes may perish,
Firmest friends may change,
But the love we cherish,
Nothing shall estrange.
Dreams of fame and grandeur
End in bitter tears;
Love grows only fonder,
With the lapse of years.
Time, and change, and trouble,
Weaker tics unbind,
But the bands redouble
True affection’s twined.
SAUCY KATE.
Kate’s a dear, delicious creature,
Merry as a sunny elf;
Beautiful in form and feature—
Smiling mould of beauty’s self.
When she laughs, her silken tresses
Fall upon her gentle breast,
And her eyes, as dark as midnight,
Never seem to be at rest.
Kate s a sweet, but saucy creature,
With a lip of scarlet bloom—
Woodbines sipping golden sunlight,
Roses drinking rich perfume ;
Voice as dainty as the whisper
Founts give in their crystal shrine:
Saucy Kate, so full of mischief,
Would that I could call thee mine.
Kate’s a dear, but saucy creature,
Sprightly as a fleet gazelle;
Fondness dwells in every' dimple—
Surely love has marked her well;
Many hearts have strove to win her,
Bowed with disappointment low;
Saucy Kate, I fear to say it,
Winsome, always tell them “No!”
3- Scmtljcun UTwhlij Ciicnrnj antJ ftlisccllmuotts 3ounr.nl, for lljc Ijomc Circle.
Cl (Go oi) Sionj,
! THE DIAMOND MERCHANT.
AX EA STERN STO EY.
CHAPTER 11.
Hour after Lour sat Yusnu gul in her
apartment, listening to the footfalls of
every passing slave, and deeming that
each in turn heralded the return of Has
san ; hut Hassan came not!
Daylight had passed away ; and the
illuminated minarets shot high into the
air, like fiery shafts, their graceful col
umns of light, while the bosom of the
Channel glowed like molten metal be
neath the blaze. Music was soft in the
distance, and, at intervals, a light laugh
oramerryseng rang upon the wind—
and still Hassan came not!
As yet, however, Yusnu gul rather
marvelled than mourned at his delay :
all the youth of Stamboul were abroad
in the glad city, and Hassan, gentle as
be was, ever loved to be the first in every
festival. The aged woman, therefore,
quietly replenished her pipe, and sipped
her coffee, and lost herself in conjectures
as to the motive of the extraordinary
conduct of the Defter-dar, and mental
repinings at the unmerited mortification
of her high-hearted son.
Another hour was filtered through
the lap of time, and the loud cannon
boomed along the Bosphorus in rapid
succession, while the Hitting fires of the
festival ran skim me ring along the daik
face of night, like mimic lightning;
glancing over the tops of the tall cedars,
and spreading in sheets of transient
flame a mantle of golden glory about
the city. At length the cold grey light
of morning broke pale aud chilly in
the east; the dusky rocks of the Asiatic
coast loomed out, stern and sterile; the
white buildings of I’era gleamed blank
and bleak in the faint sky; and the dis
tant minaiets of Scutari looked like
giant spirits, as the first beams of day
revealed their shadowy outline. It was
the morrow of the Bairam—and still
Ilassan returned not!
Yusnu gul, who loved her son with a
devotion as untiring as it was profound,
had watched throughout the night with
out a sensation of weariness. Hassan
was young and high spirited, and had,
doubtless, been detained by bis asso
ciates : and the heart of the mother
was soothed by the belief that, amid the
dissipation of the festival, he would for
get his recent mortification. But with
the chilly, cheerless dawn came other
and more anxious thoughts. Alike to
the pain-worn patient and to the weary
watcher—to the sick and to the sorrow
ing—there are no moments so sad and
so depressing as those in which day and
night stand together on the threshold of
time, as though each were reluctant to
yield up its empire.
\> ben the light broke around her,
Yusnu gnl began to fear she knew not
what! Ilassan was impetuous, haughty,
and uncompromising; of what rashness
might he not have been guilty, in the
first rush of his resentment ? True, he
had loved the Defter-dar as a father;
but Ynsnu-gul was woman enough to be
aware that outraged affection is the very
foundation on which may be erected the
firmest superstructure cf hate. His
attachment to the Ex-Treasurer had been
divested of every taint of worldliness
and self interest—a spontaneous out
pouring of reverence and regard—but
it is ever the most generous spirit which
is the quickliest stung; and the mother
found no consolation for her solitude in
the suggestions of her awakened fan
cies.
The slaves of Yusnu-gul removed her
morning meal untouched. Hassan was
yet absent; and the tearless eyes of the
gray and faded woman burnt with the
fever of her throbbing brain.
It was thus that she was found by
Nefzi-Sabah, the favorite wife of the
Defter-dar, who, on the day succeeding
that of the Bairam, entered the harem \
of Yusnu-gul, followed by a couple of I
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 0, 1850.
her slaves ; and, casting aside her yash
mac, turned towards the mother of Ilas
san a brow as moody as her own.
“ Ilai, hai—so, so, you are tardy with
your welcome, Eftendim ;” commenced
the beautiful Circassian, for the aged
woman had littered no greeting to her
visitor ; “ nor do I ask from you more
speedy courtesy. Mashallah ! the wrongs
that I have sutiered from the son are
fitly followed by the coldness of tbc
mother.”
“If you are come to tell of Ilassan,
speak!” said Yusnu gul, earnestly.
“If I am come to tell of Ilassan!”
was the retort; “think you that I can
tamely sutler the rivalry of a stripling
in the affections of the Defter-dar 1—
Arc my eyes dim, or my checks faded,
lliiff I should be overlooked because he
has a smooth tongue and a ready wit ?
[s he not a sakil siz—a no beard ?”
“Is Hassan indeed with the Defter
dar:” asked Yusnu-gul, while a gleam of
joy lit up her faded brow.
“ What avails it that he is not;” de
manded NetzH,Sabah peevishly; “when
even the ingratitude and discourtesy of
his absence dining the festival of yes
terday have not yet opened the eyes of
the Defter-dar. No var—what is this?
Am I to listen to no discourse more flat
tering to my self love than repinings of
the non appearance of an ingrate ?”
“Talk not of ingratitude, Effendim ;”
said the mother indignantly ; “after the
gift with which the Defter dar honored
my son, he could scarcely have expected
thanks at his hands—ltishallah ! Ilas
san Effeiidi is no slave.”
“ Were lie a Pasha he could not de
sire one more costly !” exclaimed the
Circassian ; “ hut perchance the spoiled
favorite forgot the friend, when ho no
longer looked upon the Defter-dar.”
“ A shirt suited to a boatman !”said
the mother scornfully.
“Pistols for his woman hand, of which
the diamond hilts can alone bo valuable
!to the trouliler of the peace of ha
; reins— ’’ followed up the Circassian.
“'browsers, fitting only for a pea
i sant—” pursued Yusn.’.gul.
“A Damascus dagger whose fellow
would besought in vain, even through
out the golden city of Stamboul—” per
sisted Nclzi-Sabah.
“ A shawl-—” commenced the aged
woman.
“ Worthy to have covered the loins
of the camel which carried the Pro
phet—” broke in her companion.
Yusr.u-gul clapped her hands with a
gesture of contemptuous indifference,
and hastily commanded that the boksha
of the Defter-dar should be unfolded
before the visitor ; when the surprise of
the Circassian was extreme, on seeing
the coarse and unseemly garments which
had been tendered to Hassan as the
gift of his protector.
Rapidly and energetically did Nefzi-
Sabali enumerate and describe the con
tents of the handkerchief which had
been prepared by the bands of the Def
ter-dar for his favorite ; and, forgetful of
her own fancied subject of complaint,
against Hassan, she was soon engaged
as anxiously as Yusnu-gul herself in a
thousand contradictory and improbable
conjectures as to the cause of his unwont
ed absence. But, alas! in vain did
they surmise, and consult, and explain
—Hassan returned not!
Months wore painfully away. The
heart of Yusnu-gul was a widowed
heart; and, as she looked upon the
sparkling waters of the Bosphorus dur
ing the sunny days of summer, she saw
not their beauty, she felt not their
charm: to her those waters ever seemed
to be the grave of Hassan.
“Yes,” would she murmur to herself
in her bereavement; “there—beneath
that smiling and treacherous wave, lies
my manly boy—my only one—the light
of my eyes, the moon of my evening
sky, the bulbul whose voice is hushed;
the joy of tny old age, Ilassan the high
hearted !”
Nor did the Defter-dar mourn les3
deeply the disappearance of his favorite.
Os his death, his violent or self inflicted
death, it was impossible to doubt, as
every endeavor to discover his fate had
proved abortive; and the first anguish
of despair had slowly yielded to the calin
i er but no less heartfelt grief of resigna
tion, when a letter was one morning
placed in the hands of the Defter dar,
who started with a surprise which al
most amounted to incredulity, on recog
nizing the well known character of Ilas
san.
“ Bisinillah !—hi the name of the
most merciful Allah;” such were the
contents of the paper; “I am lost to
you, and to the world : I am lost even
to myself: and, having told volt this, I
dare not add anything in elucidation of
a mystery which must have bewildered,
and, ldo even hope, have grieved you.
I think of you often—fondly—your
memory dwells with mo as the remem
brance of lost light lingers witli the
tenant of a dungeon ; or as the Visions
of departed liberty comes hack upon
the spirit of the despairing captive.
I love to remember that I was dear to
you ; I have forgotten all that wounded
alike my pride and my affection. I
retain jealously and fondly the gentler
reminiscences which are wound about
my heart too closely ever to he rent
asunder! I parted from you proudly ;
all the kindness that you had lavished
upon me; every token of affection,
every proof of regard, had been the
spontaneous offering of your own gen
erous nature. Alas! I now appeal to
your memory as a suppliant. If you
ever loved—if you still love me—if you
would save me from misery, from suf
fering, from death—a speedy and pain
ful death—cherish no doubt, admit no
suspicion ; seek not to penetrate a mys
tery too dense ever to be fathomed. Do
not despise nor refuse me; but remem
berii g only the loving trust of our earli
er and happier communion, bestow out
of the wealth which Allah has poured
into your lap sufficient to save mu from
destruction. Deposit, at the waning of
the moon, a purse, containing twenty
thousand piastres, on the tall tuibaiied
head stone to the right of the great
avenue of the Cemetry of Scutari; one
will be there to secure it; but, as you
love me, linger not to assure yourself of
this fact, nor to palter with the messen
ger. in doing either you will'destroy
me. I dare add no more—pity and
pray for the lost Ilassan.”
The Defter-dar read and re-read the
letter ; there could be no doubt but that
the hand-writing was that of him whom
he had loved so well—of the son of
Yusnu-gul ; and, although with a sick
heart, and a throbbing pulse, he hesitat
ed not to obey the bidding.
The dawn was spreading faintly in
the sky, and the moon was waning into
a pale and sickly white, when the Def
ter-dar, leaving his caique at the pier of
Scutari, slowly wound his way through
the hushed and slumbering city, and
thence passed alone into its stately ne
cropolis. Long sweeps of wind were
heaving the heavy cypress boughs, like
spirit-sighs; but the Defter-dar quailed
not in his purpose. He plunged into
the deep gloom of the grave forest, and
soon stood before the tall stone which
had been indicated. At its base was
one of those small reservoirs, hollowed
in the marble for the use cf the birds
and the wandering dogs, so common in
Turkish burial-places; the little basin
was dried up : and in this spot the gen
erous friend deposited the sum which
had been required of him, turned a long,
searching look into the glooin around
him, and then slowly moved away.
But it was difficult to depart without
one retrospective glance ; and the Def
ter-dar bad not progressed more than a
few yards, ere lie paused, and looked
back. A dusky figure flitted across the
path, and lingered an instant beneath
the tall tornb—a deep voice murmured,
“It la well!” and then the ex courtier
was once more alone in the midst of the
deep stillness.
CHAPTER lit.
A year went by—a long and dreary
year—and the memory of Hassan be
came to the Defter dar like the indistinct
vision of a painful dream ; but the mys
tery was yet to deepen, and the fact of
his existence was once more to arouse all
the pain-fraught sympathies of those who
had loved him. A second letter, written
like tho first in agony of spirit, was
placed in the hands of the Defter dar at
the expiration of that period by one of
his slaves ; and the bearer, unmoved by
the peril of his mission, had east off his
slippers on the threshold of the ex treas
urer ; and there, awaited a reply.
“Once," thus ran tho missive, “once
I was dear to you : you were to me as
a father, and 1 loved you as a son. That
I still hold you in tny heart, bo this my
witness! I may bo forgotten—may have
been so long; yet I pray you in mercy
to recall my memory. lam in danger
imminent, instant danger—and yon
alone can save me. You are wealthy,
you are genetous —a trusty slave will
deliver this letter. Should you deny
my prayer, or detain my messenger, I
shall soon ho beyond help. If, however,
you would once more save mo from de
struction, let him be tho bearer of twenty
thousand piastres. I dare not doubt,
that you will preserve tne; ltishallah'
you are (lie last hope of the miserable
Hassan !”
The Defter-dar summoned tho strange
slave into his presence; ho bribed him
with gold and soft words; he threatened
him with tho bastinado and tho bow
string; but lie could extort no intelli
gence of I lie present position or the
threatened peril of Ilassan.
“Destroy or even detain me, and lie
is lost,” was the only answer to every
threat. “Dog me,and while lam elud
ing your pursuit, his fate will ho accom
plished.”
To the more gentle argument of bribe
and ent.ealy he was equally invulnerable.
“ If you grant tho request of which 1 am
; the bearer,” he said, “Hassan is saved;
j and for myself, in that case, my reward
!is sure. Effendim, I ask of you nothing
j save despatch.”
j Without the hesitation of a moment,
j the Defter-dar placed the required sum
in the hands of the messenger; and ac
! companied it witli a letter, replete with
friendship and anxiety, to Hassan, and
expressions of the most affectionate and
sorrowing interest, lie besought him
to unveil his melancholy mystery to his
best friend, for melancholy it must assur
edly be, when it could thus sever him
from the mother of his youth and the
companion of his manhood ; he prom
ised, should he have placed his life in
jeopardy by some act of violence or folly,
to exert for him all the interest which he
yet possessed at court, and concluded by
drawing a miserable picture of the
wretched Yusnu-gul, withering away
into a solitary and tin regret ted grave.
But when tho letter was concluded,
and the money delivered into the keep
ing of the slave, it was not so easy to
suffer him to depart unwatched; and a
trusty servant was put upon his track,
who followed for hours tho intricate
course of the stranger; but he followed
in vain—the inattention of a moment
sufficed to render abortive tho exertions
of a day; and lie returned to the palace
of the Defter-dar, defeated and baffled.
Once more months passed away ; and,
even as it had been foretold to Ilassan,
the disconsolate Yusnu-gul died. She
bad mourned her son, when she be
lieved him to be lost to her forever, with
the calm, deep grief of resignation ; but
her feeble frame and excited mind could
not contend with the irritation of this
new mystery, this unfathomable secret;
and she bent beneath the shock as the
forest tree bends to the tempest breath;
and as the overstrained branches, bowed
beyond-Iheir power of resistance, rend
the trunk from which they sprang, so did
the feelings of Yusnu-gul, indulged and
encouraged in the solitude of tho harem,
break the heart that could sustain the
pressure no longer.
There were moments when, in think
ing of Ilassan, and in weaving strange
fancies on his fate, the Defter dar almost
hoped that lie should hear of him no
more. That his letter had remained un
answered rather grieved than surprised
him; for he felt that, had Ilassan been
free to act, he would long ere this have
returned to his home, and to those whom
he had loved from his boyhood ; and he,
consequently, visited his silence upon the
same system of coercion, which had for
bidden his re appearance among his
friends. Could lie have disentangled the
ravelled skein of secresy in whose meshes
the poor youth was hound, the Defter
dar would have exerted every energy,
and strained every nerve, to restore him
to the world ; blit to hear of him only
to earn the miserable privilege of know
ing him to he beyond human help, was
a torment rather than a blessing to his
anxious affection. His mother was no
more; his former associates had almost
forgotten him. He, alone, remembered
him with regret; and yet, lie would have
thanked the messenger who brought the
tidings of his death. But this was not
to he : a third time came a scroll from
Ilassan—a voice from his living grave—
a record of his jeopardy—an appeal to
the friend who had cherished him:—
“For the last time,” he wrote, “Ilas
san, the son of Said, pours forth his grief
before the Defter-dar of the Sultan Mott
rad. I have a vague dream that a shad
ow had passed over jour brightness, ere
from me light was altogether shutout.
It may have been so—l know not if it
were—l heed it not, though you pro
claim it to be truth. The sky is full of
stars: the sage alone marks the quench
ing of those which fade from the galaxy:
to the common gaze all is unchanged—
I shall trouble you no more—this is my
last appeal. Save me, or I am lost—
gold alone can serve me : you have gold
and your heart is large: to none else
ciiu I apply. I write to you like a mad
man, hut it is only the madness of des
peration. I care not what may he the
consequence, I will wiite to you no more.
Friend! father! protector!—save me
again on this occasion—place the same
sum as before at the disposal of my mes
senger; then pity and forget the lost
Ilassan.”
The Defter dar replied to the missive
by silently putting a purse of gold into
the hands of the expectant slave, and
coldly telling him that he was free to de
part when he listed. The man looked
steadily in the face of tho courtier, made
a respectful obei-ance, and withdrew.
As he left the house, lie glanced stealth
ily back to note if he were pursued, hut
the street was empty; and the manner
of the Defter-dar had been sufficiently
indifferent to convince him that the ex
istence and well-being of Ilassan were
rapidly becoming unimportant to his for
mer friend. Thus assured, the messen
ger made few digressions from his direct
path ; and, after half an hour of rapid
walking, beat upon the door of a
stately mansion, and was instantly ad
mitted.
But the Defter-dar had learnt a lesson
of self-reliance from the failure of the at
tendant whom he had on a previous oc
casion intrusted with the discovery of a
secret which he was morbidly anxious to
unravel; and suffering the messenger of
Ilassan to leave by the main portal, un
pursued and unimpeded, be hastily
changed bis turban and pelisse, and
passed out by a side door opening into
his own garden, and thence into a cross
path terminating in tho main street,
along which be shrewdly conjectured
that tho slave, whose person he was con
fident of recognizing on the instant, must
ultimately pass. Nor was he deceived
in his conjecture; for, having by this
less circuitous route arrived in the great
thorough fore before the person whom he
was anxious to observe, and having,
moreover, by his own change of costume,
pievented all suspicion save that which
might be created by bis subsequent want
of caution, he had ero long the satisfac
tion of seeing the slave turn the corner
NUMBER 36.
of the lane, mid make his way towards
the great square of the Atmeidan.
The Defter-dar was careful, as they,
crossed the large open space, and passed
beside its stately columns, to shroud
himself among the crowd; and, when
they entered the street beyond it,
to leave such a distance between the
stranger and himself as to set suspicion
at defiance, lie remarked that the slave
looked back at intervals, like one who
cared not to trust altogether to his seem
ing impunity; but whenever this hap
pened, the Defter-dar craftily paused, as
though he were entering some house be
side his path ; or fairly swung himself
round, and made a few backward steps,
as though his route crossed that of his'
fellow passenger: thus preventing the per
fect view of his person which would have
betrayed his continued identity.
And thus it was that the Deftar di r
tracked the messenger of ILissan to the
dwelling which lie entered; and lie even
ventured to linger a while in its immedi
ate neighborhood to mark whether lie
would re appear; but he <&me not forth
again; and the Defter Oar*finally bent
his steps homeward, with the feeling of
one who is just awakening from a per
plexed and painful dream.
On the morrow ho caused strict but
guarded inquiries to be made, and soon
learnt the history of the house and its in
habitants. It was the abode, said the
neighbors, of a stern and pious matron',
Hemdoune Hanoum bv name, whose ha
rem was invisible as that of the Grand
Seigniour himself: who gave alios
largely to the poor; and who welcomed
with courtesy every wandering dervish
or fakeer who claimed her' hospitality,
and deemed her cares amply repaid by
their prayers and blessings.
In vain did the Defter-dar endeavor
by subtle questionings to elicit informa
tion of a more mysterious and exciting,
nature; the whole day was spent in use
less efforts to shake, or at least to throw
doubt upon, this well-connected story •
and, when evening fell, he became more
than ever perplexed as to the measures
which he should adopt to penetrate so
closely-woven a mystery.
The hour of rest came, and the Defter
dar retired to his bed, but not to sleep.
He lay revolving a thousand schemes,
each less feasible than the last, until
suddenly anew idea burst upon him ;
when, with a prayer to Allah and the-
Prophet, he composed himself quietly
upon his cushions, with a smile upon his
lips, and slept.
Tun l 'oo’s Jew’s Harp. —A brace of
Paddies having landed in Boston from
the Emerald Isle, went to a tavern and
called lor dinner. The landlord inform
ed them that, be bad no victuals prepared
but apple dumplings, which were accor
dingly set before them.
One says to the other :
“ What kind of meat is this ? I never
saw the like in Ireland.”
“Arrah, by my sowl,” said the other,
“ but I’ll soon be after finding out if it be
poison or not,” and threw one of the
dumplings under the table to a large
dog, who instantly seized it. The heat
ot it severely burning the dog’s mouth,
the animal begau to whine and howl,
and paw his mouth with his fore foot,
making a great noise.
“Ah, and Surely it’s a dog’s Jew’s harp;
only hear how swately ho plays!”
Power or Instinct.— The sluggish sea
turtle loves her home. A huge creature of
this kind was caught by English sailors
near the island of Ascension, and a name
and date burnt into its upper shell. On
the way to England it feH sick and out
of sheer pity it was thrown overboard in
the English channel. Two years later the
same turtle was captured once more, now
quite well, near its old home, Ascension.
What strange and inexplicable homesick
ness carried the slow heartless creature
4000 miles back through “ the ocean
where there is no tiack and no high
roads 1”