Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME X.
(Original Pacfnj.
Written for the Visitor.
GIVE AID TO KANSAS.
Hush! hear ye not the distant sound
Os martial music Wending?
As loudly on the southern storm
Its voice for aid ’tis sending ?
Hear ye, amid the martial strains,
Tones of the bold and brave,
Proclaiming there, with patriot’s cheer,
Their “ Southern Rights” to save?
List, as it skims the swelling tide,
Os Carolina's sea,
Still cheering on, thro’ strife nnd storm,
To climes of Liberty;
And as it floats upon the breeze
Os Georgia’s spotless land,
It asks aloud, its tones all proud,
Her aid, for the Kansas band.
Hark! to the sweeping notes, that tell
Os Glory to be won;
To wrest our right, from Northern might—
The honor of our sons:
Come to the standard, now unfurled;
Launch boldly on the sea,
And let its wave bear ye, nil brave,
To shores of Victory.
Fly to the “Border RuflianV’ aid,
Fly to the swelling tide;
And fiercely in, ’mid battle’s din,
Practice your Southern pride;
Cast off your coats of cloth, and don
Those of the crimson cast—
Let that proclaim your soul’s just aim,
And struggle to the last.
Unbind your form from fashion'# garb,
And strap “ Sharp* * Jiijfe' fast;
With fearless leap, gain Freedom’s steep,
And sound the Victor’s blast;
Heave not, upon the strand of war,
One sigh that breathes of fear,
Nor moist the ground with the falling sound
Os one unmanly tear.
Coldly they spurn a brother’s clasp,
But ape old England’s foil;
Masking their cause in humane laws,
To rob us of our soil.
But false the aim ; with might and main,
We’ll join the patriot band ;
And make them feel, ’midst smoke and steel,
That “Southern Rights” ehall stand.
Siiaxa.
A "'juntas July , 1806.
HOW CUPID BECAME BLIND.
While in the garden of the skies,
Folly and Love, as children do,
Played, ere the god had lost his eves,
A quarrel rose betwixt the two!
Love said tin gods should do him right,
But Folly vowed to do it then,
And struck him o’er the orbs of sight
So hard ho never saw again.
ilia lovely mother’s grief was deep,
She called for vengeance on the deed—
A beauty does not vainly weep,
Nor colcly does a mother plead.
A shade came o’er the eternal bliss,
That fills the dwellers of the skies;
Even iron-hearted Nemesis
And Rhadamanthus wiped their eyes.
“ Behold,” said she, “ this lovely boy,”
While freshly streamed her graceful tears,
“ Is mortal, yet shut out from joy
And sunshine all his future years;
The child can never take, you see,
A single step without a staff;
The hardest punishment would be
Too lenient for the crime by half.”
All owned that Love had suffered wrong,
And well should be avenged, they said;
Then weighed the public interest long,
And long the party’s interest weighed,
And thus decreed the court above: —
“Since Love is blind from Folly’s blow,
Let Folly be the guide of Love,
Where’er the boy may choose to go ?”
THE LADY’S YES.
“Yes!” I answered you last night;
“No!” this morning, sir, I say;
Colors seen by candle light,
Will not look the same by day.
■\Vhcn the tabors played their best,
Lamps above and laughs below—
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes or fit for No!
Call me false or call me free —
1 Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on thy face shall see
Any grief for change on mine.
Yet the sin is on us both—
Time to dance is not to woo—
Wooer light makes fickle troth
Scorn of me recoils on you!
Learn to win a lady’s faith
Nobly as the thing is high;
Bravely, as for life and death—
With a loyal gravity.
Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from corn tship flatteries.
By your truth she shall be true—
Ever true, as wives of yore—
And her Yes, once said to you,
Shull be yes forevermore.
£1 Sonlljfvrt U'rchL) Cifcvanj nntr fttiscrilaucmts Sonvnnl, for tip' Ijcnne Circle,
Cl ( j xooli St on).
THE DIAMOND MERCHANT.
AX EASTERN STORY.
CHAPTER IV.
Early in the morning the purse bear
er of the 1 >efter-dar bent his way to the
great Tcharcbi of the city, and was
absent nearly an hour; and during this
time, bis master more than once remov
ed the chibouque from his lips, and
leaned forward in the attitude of listen
ing. When at length he returned, he
passed at once to the presence of the
Eftendi; and, having made his obeisance
and carefully let fall behind him the
heavy screen of tapestry which veiled
the door of the apartment, ho drew
from beneath his ample robe a handker
chief, from which he took the flowing
garments of a Bekta diy, or Mountain
Dervish. There was the wadded cap of
cloth with its binding of crimson wool :
the buffalo horn with its leathern sling ;
the broad belt of untanued leather
clapped with a clasp of metal; the
scarlet slippers, the heavy rosary, the
iron lamp suspended from the girdle,
and the ample robe and mantle of serge.
The metamorphosis was speedily
completed; and only a few moments
had passed since the return of the purse
bearer, ere the ex cotii tier stood before
him iu the full garb of a mountain de
votee. But the Deftcr-dar, however
excellent he admitted the disguise to be,
would not venture to trust it to tlie pry
ing eye of day ; and the garments were
accordingly laid aside until the twilight
came to aid, with its long shadows, the
enterprise of the adventurous friend.
At length the favorable hour arrived;
and when the Deftcr-dar passed out in
to the street, in the midst of his own
slaves, not a prostration was made,
though many an eye turned on him in
wonder, as none had seen him enter.
Satisfied with ibis unceremonious proof
of his successful transformation, the
heart of the Etter.di heat high with hope
as he pressed forward to the dwelling of
the mysterious Ileindoune Hanoum ;
nor did he allow his hand to falter as he
heat upon the well remembered door.
A weary interval elapsed ere bis sum
mons was answered ; but ultimately a
sturdy slave appeared, who seemed de
sirous to veil the interior of the dwelling
from the gaze of the intruder, as he
scarcely opened the porlal sufficient to
enable the suppliant dervish to perceive
that the hall beyond was of vast extent
and magnificent proportions, although
scantily lighted from the gallery which
ran around its lofty walls. »
The Defier dar was not, however, to
he diverted from his purpose by the
surliness of a porter ; and lie told his
tale of travel and weariness iu a tone
which at once insured to it the ample
credence of his listener.
“ The Hanoum Eftendi cares not to
epen her doors after sunset;” said the
slave coldly; “ she is a widow, and
deems it not seemly. But you arc a
holy man, and you are travel-spent, I
will tell her of your arrival, and shall
be speedy with my answer. Bashustun,
upon my head he it! she shall know
that you are at her threshold.” And,
without awaiting the reply of the Def
ter-dar, he hastily closed the door, and
the sound of his rapidly retreating foot
steps soon died away in the distance.
After a brief interval he returned,
and with civil words welcomed the
stranger to the roof of his mistress, as
he stood aside to give him entrance;
and the Defter dar found himself in a
stalely-hall, paved with marble, around
which ran a wide gallery, whence open
ed a range of apartments. But he bad
little time to acquaint liimself with the
locality, for he was hastily hurried for
ward a considerable distance down one
or two dark passages ; and, finally, into
a second saloon of incomparable beauty,
surrounded, like the outer hall, by a
gallery, whoso heavy balustrades were
richly wrought and gilded, and to
which access was afforded by a noble
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1856.
flight of marble steps that swept down
ward on either side of the stately apart
ment; he cast a hasty glance around as
he was about to follow his conductor to
a chamber on the ground floor, where a
shuffling of slippers was heard, and the
slave paused, and bowed reverently be
fore a tall muffled figure which hastily
approached him.
“ Is this the holy man ?” asked a voice
which would have been harsh, had not
time softened in some degree its asperi
ty ; “Ne bilirim—what can I say ? Is
this the dervish who claims shelter for
the night beneath my roof?” And, as
the question was uttered, a lean and
w ithered arm emerged from the mass of
drapery, and a bony hand held a lamp
close to the face of the pretended do
voice.
The Deftcr-dar bent low before the
speaker, and answered humbly in the
affirmative.
A shrill, mocking laugh, that rung
painfully in his ears, was the icsult of
the assurance ; and ere he had recover
ed from its effects, the mantle in which
the female was enveloped was cast off;
the lamp that she held transferred to
the slave, who still stood silently beside
her; and, as she chipped her hands, the
doors along the gallery were flung back,
disclosing a glare of light by which the
Defter-dar was momentarily blinded,
while, liko a flight of summer birds
forth flocked a troop of maidens as fair
as the morning, whose ringing and yet
musical laughter created in an instant
an atmosphcie of joy about them, 11s
they rapidly descended the marble stairs
into the hall.
“ Ajaib —wonderful! here is one,”
half croaked, half shrieked the w ithered
crone who appeared to ho the mistress
of tlie levels, “ one who comes to us
with a chaplet of beads and the robe
of a dervish, and thinks to cheat its info
a belief of his sanctity 1 Look to it
»all of you, for there must be treachery
here?” And, as she ceased speaking,
( the slave put the lamp into the hand of
the foremost of the young beauties, who,
with ajesture half mocking, half curi
ous, railed it to the face of the mer
chant, as the old woman had previously
done and then passed it, with a silent
shake of the head, to her neighbor.
When each had played her part in j
this singular pantomime, and that all
had disclaimed any knowledge of the
| stranger’s identity, he stood in the cen
tre of the group, utterly unable to con
jecture the meaning of a scone such as
assuredly he had never before witness
ed ; and so bewildered were his senses
by the loveliness around him, that no
fear for his personal safety mingled with
his surprise. That the character for pi
ety borne by Ilemdoune Hanoum in the ,
neighborhood, was not altogether mer- j
ited, he at once perceived ; and, as he j
glanced toward the lean and withered
beldame, who stood glaring at him with
keen and eager eyes, as though she
; would read bis secret on his brow
i strange thoughts and fancies crowded
upon him. and lie almost began to re
gret that lie had undertaken the adven
ture. But repentance came too late :
he was now utterly in her power, and he ;
felt that firmness alone could save him
from its effects.
“Our holy guest faints with travel,”
once more burst forth the acrid voice of
the old woman ; “ he has toiled all day
beneath a hot sun, and there is neither
soil or dust upon his garments ; he has
left his slippers on the threshold, and
the crimson is yet unfaded. Let him,
however, blow us one blast upon bis
buffalo-born, and we w ill crave the bene
fit of his prayers. How now, Etfendim
is your breath spent, that you refuse
me this courtesy ?”
It was, however, no part of the Def
ter-dar’s purpose to refuse, though he
hesitated for a moment ere he complied,
being perfectly ignorant of his own ca
pabilities in this new science; and when
at last he raised the primitive instru.
ment to his lips, he blew so and scordant
and unmeasured a blast as threw the
laughing maidens into a convulsion of
merriment, and perfectly satisfied llem
douno II mount that her ordinary' saga
oily had not forsaken her.
“ Del, gel—come, come ;” sho ex
claimed, “wo w ill trouble our pious
guest for no more mountain music. 11c
has, however, done his best to amuse us,
and we are bound to repay bis good-will
in kind. Folcch-so, my daughter, to
your care I confide him ; show him the
wonders of our fairy palace, and tend
him carefully until ho has over-mastered
his fatigue—l will bo with you anon ;”
and, with another fiendish laugh, she
shuffled from the hall.
Felech so gazed upon the stranger for
an instant, as though somo faint and
lar-off memory were shaping itself into
tangibility in her mind ; but sho did
not long indulge so dangerous a mood,
and, in the next moment she was busily
engaged in assisting her companions to
replace the coarse head-gear of the Def
ter dar with a turban of consummate
cost and beauty, and to throw over his
robe of serge a pelisse, richly lined and
overlaid with sables. When this was
done, they led him to a sofa, and estab
lished him among the yielding cushions,
whose golden embroidery showed gor
geously on its ground of pale blue satin;
and w hile one tilled Ids chibouque ot jas
min wood, and another handed to him
on her knees the minute cup of mocha<
in its precious setting of fillagrecd gold,
lipped with jewels, Felech-so established
herself on a pcisian carpet at his feet,
and, with her graceful zebcc and power
ful voice, regulated the movements of a
group who had ranged themselves in
the centre of the floor, to dance the
dance of the harem.
The Defter-dar was dazzled, hut ho
was not blinded. He felt at once that
all this was part of a system intended
to bewilder and throw him oil’ his guard;
hat iio was no longer young enough to
yield up his reason captive to the fascin
ations of the moment. Dark eyes were
flashing around him, while arms were
wreathing gracefully in air, and long
jetty tresses were falling in rich masses
on shoulders as while and smooth as
ivory. The Defter-dar saw all, and felt
its beauty : hut, as he gazed about him,
ho remembered a (ale which had once
been told to him by a giaour, of one of
the diversions of the far West, where
crowds flock together, and seat them
selves under pavilions of crimson, to list
en to soft music, and to sec fair women
and graceful men mimic the adventures
of every-day life, and live through a
long and eventful existence in the course
of one brief night. Even thus looked
the Defter-dar on the scene around him.
He felt that it was a hollow and deceit
ful pageant, which must ere long fade
before sterner and cold realities; and
wlien the bright shapes which bad flit
ted past him in the dance ultimately
grouped themselves about him, as if to
await his pleasure, ho thanked them for
their courtesy in a voice as steady as its
wont.
The dance had not long ceased when
Ilemdoune Hanoum entered the apart
ment, and, as she crossed the threshold,
every fair head bent low before her.
“It is well,” she said, as she glanced
towards her visitor ; “my lord has cast
oft' his disguise, and has now only to tell
us his name and rank, ere we devise
new inodes of amusement to divert his
leisure hours.”
“Ne bilirim —what, can Isay? You
do your slave too much grace, Effendim,”
said the Defter-dar quietly, “ that I am
not that which 1 would fain havo seem
ed, is true, and I will not wrong your
sagacity by attempting longer to con
ceal the fact. But neither am I that
which your courtesy would suggest.—
Your reception has been so much be
yond my poor deserts, that I am bound
in gratitude to tell you all—”
As the Defter-dar paused for a mo
ment, he accidentally caught the bright
eye of Felech-so fixed eagerly, and, as
it seemed, deprecatingly upon him ; but
it might have been only fancy that
there was warning in her earnest gaze,
and ho had no opportunity to convince
himself of the fact, as her head was
hastily averted when their eyes had
met.
“ I am a merchant,‘Effendim, trading
from a port in the Black Sea to the
fair city of Stamboul, and I have just
freighted an outward-bound brig with
the whole produce of ten years of indus
try, leaving myself so scantily provided
as to ho utterly unable to meet the daily
outlay necessary to my existence, until
the arrival of a brother merchant, for
whom I am anxiously watching from
hour to hour; and who has promised
mo a share in a venture of so profitable
a character, that, should he hold to his
word, my fortune is made. Iu this
strait, being unwilling to lodge myself
iu a khan without the present meins of
paying fairly for the accommodation,
I exchanged my usual dress with a deal
er iu the Tcharehi for the coitume of a
mountain dervish, well knowing that in
that guise 1 should he certain to profit
by (he alms of the pious. The fame of
the holy and charitable Ilemdoune Hun
ouni reached me as I stood in one of
the great thoroughfares of the city, tin- ,
Certain towards which quarter I should !
first bend my steps, and decided mu at
once. I have now confessed myself to ;
be an imposter, Effendim, nnd should
you put mo forth, I shall submit to the
justice of your fiat without a murmur.”
As he ceased speaking, the Defter-dar
glanced towards Felech-so, and this
time there could be no mistake. An
expression of unutterable relief had j
passed over her features, hut she sat j
with her face turned slightly aside, and [
her hands folded upon her bosom, as j
though she felt tio interest in the narra
tion of the stranger.
“ And you are then really too poor to \
lodgo yourself in a public caravanserai?” j
said Ilemdoune Hanoum, interrogative
ly.
“ You have said it,” was the concise |
reply.
“Do you not rather mock us with a
now fable ?” asked the old woman, an
grily, “when you utnuso us with the
tale of your poverty, while you wear
upon your linger a diamond which
would well nigh ransom a province !
Ey vah! wo are not to be cheated
twice.”
j For a moment the Defter-dar did not
reply—for a second his ready wit de
serted him—-and the blood rushed in a
volume to his brow, as he stood self-con
victed of a carelessness which, for aught
he knew, might perhaps cost him his
life.
That the aged fiend who sat with her
keen eyes fixed upon him, evidently
gloating ever his discomposure, would
suffer him to depart after having laid
baro before him, for some hidden pur
pose of her own, the secrets of her
household, he was not weak enough to
believe even for an instant; and that
she would not scruple to rid herself, by
the most effectual means, of so profitless
a guest, he was equally assured ; and,
in this dilemma, he resolved to make
one more attempt, ere ho resigned him
self tamely to a fate at which it was
not difficult to guess.
“ What blossom shall be hidden from
the sun ? and what sand rift shall resist
the billow ?” exclaimed he, as if in ad
miration of the shrewdness of the hos
tess. “Is it not vain that I would con
ceal even a portion of my secret from
Ilemdoune Hanoum, to whom it is giv
en to know all things. This ring, Ef
fendim ;” and, as in obedience to ages
ture of the old woman, ho withdrew it
from his finger, and placed it in her
hand, he remembered with a pang that
the precious jewel had been the gift of
the Sultan in his days of court favor,
and that it was now, in all probability,
]ost to him forever! —“ This ring is a
portion of the mystery. Look on it
well, and then tell mo if it be not a
diamond of surpassing beauty.”
The aged woman readily obeyed:
slie passed the glorious jewel on her
own bony finger, and, having examined
it near the light, and ascertained that
it was without spot or blemish ; and
that, as she slowly moved her hand to
and fro, it gave out a thousand rainbow
tuffs, she withdrew with it into a fat
corner of the saloon, and there, shading
it from- the glare of the tapers, sho ad
mired the sparks which, with every
j movement that she made, it flung out in
to the darkness.
“ It is a rare stone !’’ she said, more
blandly than sho had yet spoken, as she
returned to the side of the Defter dar ;
“ the Sultan himself hath not a finer.
I would fain hear its history ere I re
store it to you.”
“That shall you not do, Effendim,”
replied her crafty guest, “if its posses
sion give you pleasure—nay, offer me
no acknowledgments, I pray you,” he
added, hastily, as his hostess was about
to speak; “keep the bauble, and I will
tell you all. I have already stated that
1 am awaiting in Stamboul a merchant
iof my acquaintance; but I played you
| false when I pleaded poverty as an ex
tenuation of my disguise. lam about
to coufido to you a secret upon which
hangs my life, hut you will not betray
me: and brief shall be the period which
intervenes ere I repay you a hundred
fold for all the courtesies that you have
lavished on me. Effendim, tho trinket
on your finger is a mere toy—the jewel
is counterfeit—l came to the city with
many such for sale, and I have parted
from them all at a heavy sum, save this,
which I letained in a weak fit of senti
ment, because it had been given to me
by my friend ere he admitted me to
share in his adventurous traffic. Many
of the stones with which I caine laden to
Stamboul have found their way into the
treasury of the Sovereign; others are in
the harems of our wealthiest pashas,
while a few of the meanest arc at this
moment the boast and wonder 'of the
bezenstein. Were my secret discovered,
the bowstring would be my portion;
but, meanwhile, so long as I continue
unbetrayed, I coin piastres faster than
tho inspector of the mint himself.”
A deep thoughtfulness settled like a
cloud on the stern brow of Ilemdoune j
Hanoum, and she did not immediately ’
reply to the communication of her guest: j
but, after a while she looked up, and
said anxiously, “Do I undeisland that
you have no other jewel of the same sort !
in your possession ?”
“At this moment, none,” answered the
guest, readily; “but my friend and
principal, Mechined Cadire Ishmael, who
himself manufactures them, should arrive
in tho city tomorrow evening at tho
latest; and if it be permitted to him to
share iu the smiles which have lit up my
own existence since sunset, I will answer
for the readiness with which ho will re
pay the debt of hospitality, by permit
ting the Hanoum Eftendi to select a
dozen of the stones, ere he offers them
for public sale in tho bezenstein, as a
memorial of her own character and our
gratitude.”
“But be will not know where to find
you,” suggested the llanoum.
“Doubtlessly, should I not myself
seek and conduct him hither, he will
pursue me in vain,” replied tho Defter
dar; “for he will scarcely look to find
his comrade Ibrahim in the palaco of a
Pasha’s wife,”
“\ou shall describe tho good mer
chant to my trusty clave Emin;” said the
old woman; “and you can write a few
words of greeting and invitation, which
will he his warrant with your friend.”
“You say well, Effendim,” was the
ready answer; “but I know not the color
of his vest, nor the tint of his turban.
Meehmed is from tho desert, and only
leaves tho caravan to pass over to the
Golden City. Them arc many of his
name in the bezenstein, nnd your slave
may miss him until his fairest merchan
dise is bartered to the dealers in dia
monds, and he has no longer any stones
to offer to the Hanoum Effendi, or her
ladies.”
“It is true,” said the croi e, after an.
NUMBER 37.
oilier pause of thought; “I would have
kept you here as a surety for his coming,-,
hut the jewel which you leave with me
convinces me of your good faith. You
shall depart then to-morrow at break of
day, and at. sunset I shall expect you
hack, accompanied by your friend. It
will please mo to see his merchandise,
and to hear from him the tale of his
desert-pilgrimage.” She then clapped
her hands, and a slave, habited in a flow
ing robe of crimson and gold, hastily
obeyed the signal, and prostrated him
self to the earth before her.
“Sadtik,” she said with peculiar em
phasis; ‘ conduct Ibrahim Eifendi, my
honored guest, a to chamber near the half
of entrance. At daybreak he will de
part—hinder him not—l have told you l
my pleasure.”
“To hoar is to obey,” was the brief
reply ; but, as the slave glanced towards
the Defter dar, ho could not wholly con
ceal the astonishment which the words
o. his mistress had elicited.
Conjugal Endearment.
“My dear, I'd thank you for a littlo'
more sugar in my coffee, if you please.-”’
“My dear ! Don’t dear nte. I’d as
soon have you call me my devil as my
dear.”
“ Well, my devil, then I’d thank you'
for a little more sugar in my coffee.”
At this proof of affection on the part
of the husband, Mrs. Snapdragon burst
into tears. Slio had got up, as the say
ing is, “ wrong end foremost,” that morn
ing, and nothing could please her. Sho
was no better pleased with being called
my devil than my dear, though she bad 1
a moment before declared that she pre
ferred it. On the contrary, she took her
husband bitteily to task for his ready
compliance with her suggestion.
“ Oil you vile, wicked, good-for-no
thing man !” she exclaimed; “is it thus;
you treat your affectionate wife ? Is it
thus you dare apply names to her—
names which I dare not mention?”
“My devil, you did not mention it
just now. You suggested the idea—
you put the very word iti my mouth—
j and I always like to comply with your
wishes, you know. So my dear—my
devil, I mean —a little more sugar, if.
you please.”
“ Sugar, I won’t give you a jot more.
I’ll see yon hanged tirst. You use more
sweetening than your neck is worth.”
“I’ve acquired that habit from having
so sweet a wife. Besides, I pay for it
with my own money.”
“ Now reproach me with what you do.
If I did not bring you any money, I
brought you respectable connections.”
“True you brought all your connec
tions and—”
“Now you reproach mo with that, do
you ? I daro say you grudge my rela
tions every mouthful the}' eat while they
are here.”
“1 grudge them nothing, my dear—
I would say my dev—”
“ Don’t use that word again, Mr..
Snapdragon; if you do I’ll leave the
table.”
“Thank you my love; then I’ll help
myself to sugar.”
“Yes, and you would help yourself, I
dare say, if I was gone.”
‘ I am afraid there is little chance of
that. But my coffee is cooling while
I’m waiting for the sugar.”
“Then it will bo like your love, which,
has been cooling ever since we wero
married.”
“ Thank von, my love, there’s nothing
like sharp acid for a cooling draught.”
“ Sharp acid ! do you call me a sharp
acid ? I’ll not endure your taunts any
longer. I’ll go homo to my connections.
I’ll have a separate maintenance.”
“ Whenever you please, my dev—dar
ling.”
“I won’t take such pesky language
from you.” [Going, with the sugar bowl
in her hand.]
“My dear, leave the sugar bowl, if
you please.”
“ Here take it.” [Throwing it at his
head, and wit.]