Newspaper Page Text
THE SOUTHERN* SENTINEL
Is published every Thursday Morning,
IX COLUMBUS, GA.
BY WILLIAM H. CHAMBERS,
EDITOR AND FKOPBIETOR.
To whom all com nunicutions most be directed, post paid.
O/ice on Randolph Street.
Terms of Subscription.
One copy twelve months, in advance, - - 82 50
Not in advance, -3 00
” “ Six “ “ “ - 150
CT Where the subscription is not paid during the
year, 15 cents will be charged for every month’s delay.
No subscription w.ll be received lor less than six
months and none discontinued ui.til all arrearages arc
paid, except at the option of the proprietor.
To Clubs.
Five copies twelve months, ... 510 00
Ten “ “ 16 00
xsr The money from Clubs must in all cases ac
company the named, or the price ol a single subscription
will ue charged.
Rates of Advertising.
One Square, fir-t insertion, - - §1 00
“ “ Each subsequent insertion, - 50
A liberal di Art.on on there terms will be made in favor
of tho. e wi; > advertise by the year.
Adve.itlenre.lU not specified as to time, will be pub
lished till forbid, and charged accordingly.
M j.ithly Advevt.seinents will be charged as new Ad
vsrU'ciiieiits at each inreiton.
Letsl Advertisements.
N. B—Sales of Lands, by Administrators, Ex
ecutor; ,n- Guardians, are required by law to be held on
the fir t i’llo day m the month, between the hours of 10
in tiie forenoon, aud 3 in the afternoon, at the Court
House el tiie county in which the land is situated. No
tice of there sales mu-1 be given in a public gazette
si xt it da vs previous to the d.-.y of ‘ale.
Sales o! Neioroes ru.. t be made at a public auction
on the first 1 ie-day of the month, between the usual
hours of sale, t the place of public sales in tiie coui ty
where tiie Letters Te-tamentary, oi Adinini tration or
Guard.. ll hip,may have been granted, first giving sixty
days nol.ee thereof in one of tiie public gazette* of this
State, and at t!ie door of the Court House, where such
sales are t > i'c held.
Notice for the sal- of Personal property must be given
in Lite mannei roarv days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an estate must
fee published forty days.
Notice t.iat application will be made to the Court of
Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published for
FOUR MONTHS.
Notice for leave to sell Negroes must be published for
FOCR months, before any order absolute snail be made
thereon by the Court.
Citations for loiters of Administration, must be pub
lished thirty days—for dismission from admiur-t ration,
7n3.i1/Uy six months —for dismission fiom Guardianship,
FORTY DAYS.
Rules for the foreclosure of a Mortgage must be pub
lished MONTHLY f>r FOUR MONTHS —tor e tabii.-hing lost
papers, for tiie full stace of three months —for com
pelling titles from Executors or Admini-t store, where a
Bond has reen given by the deceased, the full stace ol
THREE MONTHS.
Publication!, will always be continued according to
these legal requ.rement.. unless otherwise ordered.
SOUTHERN SENTINEL
Job Office.
HAVING received anew and extensive assortment
01 Joj Material, we are prepared to execute at
tfiia office, all orders for JOB WORK, in a manner which
can not be excelled in the State, on very liberal term-,
and at the shorte t notice.
We feel contident of onr ability to give entire satisfac
tion in every variety of Job Printing, including
Boms, Business c ards,
Pamphlets, Bill Heads,
Circulars, Blanks of every description,
Han l Bills, Bills of Lading,
Posters, djv. <s•<:.
In abort, all descriptions of Printing which can be ex
ecuted :u any otiice m the coui.try, will be turned out
with elegance and de-patcli.
mm-. • 11 mimm d—M—
County Surveyor.
THE undersigned informs his friends and the Planters
of Muscogee county, that lie is prepared to make
official surveys 111 Mu-cogee county. Letters addressed
*o Pot Olh-re, Columbus, will meet with prompt atten
tiom WM. F. SLKRbLL,
County Surveyor.
Office over E. Barnard it Co.’s store, Broad St.
Columbus, Jan. 31,1650. 5 ly
NOTICE.
rpilE firm name of “M. 11. Deseau, Agent. ‘ is champed,
A from this date, to M. 11. DESSAU.
Columbus, Feb. 7, 1350. 6 ts
JAMES FORT,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
HOLLY SPRINGS, MISS.
July 4, 1350. 27 6m
Williimb, Flewellen & Williams,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA.
May 23, 1853. 21
Williams & Howard,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA.
*OBT. It HOWARD. CHAS. J. WILLIAMS.
April 4, 1350. 14 tl
J. D. LEXNARD,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
T.II.HUTTON, GA.
WILL attend to business in Talbot and the adjacent
co j..t es. Ail business entrusted to his care will meet
with prompt attention.
April 4, 1350. 14 ly
KING & WINNEMORE,
Commission Merchants,
MOBILE, ALABAMA.
Dec. CO, 1840. p/ofc. Trib] 15 tl
THIS PAPER
IS MANUFACTURED BY THE
Rock Island Factory,
NEAR THIS CITY.
Columbus, Feb. 23,1350. 0 ts
Marble Works,
East side Iliorsil St. near the Market House,
COLUMBUS, GA.
HAVE constantly on hand all kinds of Grave Stones<
Monuments. Tombs and Tablets, ol American.
Italian and Irish Marble. Engraving and caning
done on stone 111 the best possible manner; and all kinds
of Granite Work at the shortest notice.
JOHN H. MADDEN.
P. S.—Plaister of Paris and Cement, always on hand
for sale.
Columbus, March 7, 1850. 10 ts
NORTH CAROLINA
Plutaal Life Insurance Company.
LOCATED AT RALEIGH, H. C.
rpHE Charter of this company gives important advan-
L tagesto the assured, over moT other companies.
The husband can insure his own life for the sole u.-e and
benefit of lus wile and children, tree from any other
cWim*. Pe . oils who insure for life participate in the
profits which are declared annually, ana when tiie pre
mia n exceeds 830, may pay one-half in a note.
Staves are injured at two-thirds their value for one or
five years.
Applications for Risks mav be made to
JOHN MUNN.
Agent. Columbus,Ga.
fcz*’” Office at Greenwood &. Co.’s Warehouse.
Nov. 15, 1349. ts
WANTED.
•JAA AAA tbs. RAGS. Cash paid for clean cot
Ivl/.y v/v ton or linen rags—3i cents per pound.
When delivered in quantities ot 100 pounds or more ; and
3 cents when delivered in small quantities. For old
hemp, bagging, and p : eees of rope, H cents, delivered
e.the- at Rock Island Factory or at their store in Co
lumbus, in the South eomer Room of Oglethorpe House
D. ADAMS, Secretary.
Columbus, Feb. 23,1550. 9 ts
TO RENT,
TILL the firet day of January next The old printing
oifice room ot the “Muscogee Democrat ”
Apply at this office. 13 ts.
M Globe Hotel,
BUENA VISTA, MARION CO„ GA.
BY J. WILLIAMS.
March 14,1350. 11 ts
JUST RECEIVED,
A LARGE lot ol Miscellaneous and School Books.
Also a large and beautiful assortment of Stationery,
fine Letter and Note Paper. Envelopes, &c.
deGRAFFENRIED & ROBINSON.
April 18
VOL. I.
[For the Southern Sentinel.]
The Past and the Present.
BY E. S. R.
He was a fair browed youth, far from his home,
And all tl-e cherished t.e- that moke home dear;
In thoughtful mood he -at, and watched the stars,
And drank the music of a moonlight eve,
Till he seem’d 10-t to all but rcve.y.
I marked his blue eye flash, then melt to tears,
As ho-is of early memories welled up,
Chaining a spirit wild as tame’ers steed.
Unmindfully, he wandered in his dreams,
Aud thus his tongue gave utterance to his thoughts:—
Turn to my childhood's page, remorseless Time,
And let me live it o'e • a little while;
It* mem'ries have a charm that doth asmage
The cares, and choking grief--, I've le.imt from life ;
Give back to me my childhood’s purity,
Thief of m_v brighte t days ; the joyous heart,
w itii all its little treasures, and its joys,
That was mine own, when I wa9 but a child :
Then hide from mem’ry’s eye there clouded years,
These bla ted hopes yield to me.’ I would mure:
I made thee banker, tyrant, of my hopes,
Ar.d largely reckoned on thy promises ;
I heard, w-th willing ear, a syren’s ta'e,
That told of happiness in store for me,
Entiu-ted to thv care, and I believed
That it would ripen fully in thy charge,—
That thoa would’t mete it out with bounteous hand,
When ripening years were stamped upon my brow.
Alas! how recreant thou art, O, Time;
To be the victim of mere circunr tance,
Is poor return for young life's withered hope3.
I was a wayward chi'd, to fancies given,
And musing* rendered dear, by light and shade _
Ol pe ’sive thoughtfulness, and sadness sweet.
Oft did I steal away from noisy play,
And scenes where life was drawn in miniature,
To be alone in nature’s solitude l .
Yet not alone, for eve-y flower, and leaf,
And brook, and rustling breeze, did -peak to me.
The e was a fav’rite dell where I did stray,
Dear to the mem’ric* of the sunny past:
A gurgling streamlet from the tow'ring hills,
That had for ages leaped from rocky steeps,
Came babbling through this glen, yet ere ’twas lost
’Mid mossy rocks, and creeping vine*, below,
Fell in a foaming sheet from lofty height,
Making sweet musie in that lone dell’s choir.
Oft have I listened to that waterfall,
The in ccts ham and note of warbling bird,
The many sound* which wake that solitude,
As I have clam 1 ered up the -lippery crag*,
Or stood upon some overhanging rock,
Gazing delighted on the silver thread
That spurned the g een bp of the precipice,
To wander in the quiet depths Veneath.
Oh, I was happy then, for I d.d look
On nature’s leauty With enraptured eye,
And I did feel drawn rear to nature's God ;
My heart was glad, yet bound with solemn awe;
There was a blissful feeling that stole o'er
My soul, and there were bright and sunny thoughts
That came, and went, and came, a* a soft breeze
Steals o’er the placid bosom of a lake.
At dawn’s first blush I've stood upon the clifis,
And gazed upon the grandeur of the scene ;
Beneath me.lay the dell in shadows wrapt:
The morning mists, that wore strange phantom shape*,
Crept slowly up, and hung, a leath’ry cloud,
Upon the crag* ; anon, this bridal veil
Spring gave my haunt, as a remembrancer.
When summer bade her seek a northern clime.
Enfolds the whitened trunk of aged oak,
Or hoary rock, lending to them new forms
As strange as superstition ever wove.
I’ve gazed upon the e “veiled and shapeless depths,”
And likced them unto Eternity:
The vapor cloud, irnpe etrable o’er
The voiceless boundary of mortal ken ;
The stream that kisicd the fiow’ry banks above,
Then fell abruptly to the e depths profound,
Unto the swiftly gliding tide of Time,
Sinking forever in that shoreless sea ;
The withered leaf upon the wat’ry verge,
A truthful emblem of its watcher’s fate.
Sublime, and beautiful, the wakening scene,
When rew-bom sunlight re t* on mountain top,
And glides to -leeping vales, to kiss from flowers
The glittering dews that dark-eyed night hath wept;
From valleys green sweet sounds come welling up ;
From leafy tree the thrilling gush of song ;
The brooklet* lend their sweete t minstrelsy,
A glorious anthem, to the new-born day.
Yes, my young soul was like thee, lovely dell!
When mom’s first blush stole o'er thy sleeping breast,
There was a dawn for me, and then bright thoughts
Came stealing in, and lighted up mv world
As sunny rays came timidly to thee.
’Twas in thy haunts, O, sweet, neglected spot,
My spirit bowed in homage to the Muse:
’Twas there it strove to breathe, in measure rude,
The fervid thought and a*piiat,on warm,
And tell of thing* of leauty, le ime 1 of thee.
Thy flowered clifis will echo back no more
The rhymes of childhood to my eager ear ;
Thy smiling nooks, my dear old shady beech.
Who e trunk is carved with letters rude and quaint,—
Thy flowers, and bird*, and rocks, and murm'ring rill, —
Thy bubbling spring, where oft, on bended knee,
I drank, ala.*! I ne’erw.ll see again.
Time whispered to me, on a summer day,
I could no longer be a careless child, —
That I must leave thee, for life’s busy scene*, —
Be doomed to w.re tie with its bufferings,—
To learn of want its care*, of sorrow griefs,—
To bid my spirit leave its sunny sphere,
And seek, in crowded marts, a golden oie,
A pittance small, to live from day to day.
It was a bidding -tore to one who e life
Had never knew lefore a daikened cloud, —
A bitter drink to quaff for one who e hopes
Bade him look forward to a fairer path,
In ofe'ning life, than chilling penury’s :
My thoughts soared up ldie eagle's to the skies,
And now they flutter like a wounded wren.
Still on life’s flue hold, come on, then, ye cares,
I’ll be a man, and strike for mastery :
I'll dream no longer, but will struggle on,
And do thee battle, yielding but w.th life
A Tavern Incident. —“ What are you
about you black rascal ? Twice have you
roused me trom my sound sleep to tell me that
breakfast is ready, and now you’ve awoke
me by attempting to pull off the bedclothes!
What the deuce do you mean ?” “Why,
massa, if ybu isn’t goin’ to git up, I mus hab
de sheet any how, ’case dey’r waitin for de
table clof!”
The Reason Why. ——“ Why, Bridget,
how came you to burn the bread so f” “Oeh!
; an’ is it burned it is ? Sure, then, ma’am,
but it's no fault of mine, for wan’t you after
tellin’ me the las’ thing afore you wint out,
I must bake one large loaf an hour l I made
three large leaves,so I baked ’em three hours,
} jist; for what else should I do?”
A shopkeeper once wrote his sister, that “our
aged father died yesterday with an assortment
of disorders.”
PHANTASIES of WALPURGIS NIGHT.
The Tempter.
It was at Prague, a considerable distance
from home, that 1 was once detained during
April by business of importance. I might,
perhaps, have found plenty of entertainment
there, if I had been disposed to enter into the
amusements of the place. All my thoughts,
however, were upon my distant home.
From my earliest years 1 have ever been
fondly attached to my native town. It had
become doubly dear to me from the time my
wife had inhabited it. She was there at the
time I speak of, and our separation had then
lasted for a longer period than upon any oth
er occasion since our marriage.
D
lobe sure, we corresponded regularly;
but my Fanny’s letters, overflowing with
tenderness and affection, served to increase
my impatience at our separation, till I wished
Prague and St. Nopomuk were many miles
to the N. E. of me.
The reader can conceive how heartily I
thanked Heaven when my business was at
last settled. I paid farewell vi-its to the
friends and acquaintances I had in Prague,
and bade my host be ready with his bill, as I
intended to start next day by the mail.
On the following morning, accordingly, he
waited upon me very deferentially with an ac
count of most portentious length. As Iliad
not change about me enough to meet hiS
charges, 1 felt for my pocket-book with the
intention of cashing a note. To my horror
the book was gone! I searched high and
low, in every pocket, hole and corner. It was
ail trtH'.o purpose. My anxiety may be con
ceived when i mention that, the missing pock
et-book, besides Fanny’s letters, contained no
less than two thousand dollars in notes, a
sum which I could ill afford to loose.
It was no use to turn the room topsy-tur
vy —the pocket-book had disappeared.
Was it stolen or lost? 1 had it in my
hands the day before. I generally carried it
in the breast-pocket of my coat. I couldn’t
help thinking that I had felt it safe as I un
dressed to go to bed on the previous night.
How to recover my precious papers was the
next question. If they had fallen into bad
bands, they might be converted into sil
ver or gold at a moment’s notice. In the ex
tremity of m3’ distress 1 could not help swear
ing—a most unusual thing with me. Oh,
thought l, would that the devil prowled about
as i.i the good old days of yore: I’d make a
bargain with him on the spot. As I thought
this, my mind involuntarily’ reverted to a fig
ure 1 had met with in a billiard room, some
days before, in a closer-buttoned, tightly-fit
ting red surtout, and which I set down at the
time as belonging to some potentate of hell,
who had lor some mysterious purposes as
sumed a human form for the time being. A
cold shudder th: illed through me ; and yet, in
the extremity of my despair, I thought—and
what if he were? he should be welcome if he
would but restore my pocket-book.
A knock at the door interrupted my semi
invocation. Aha, thought I, does the tempt
er mean to turn jest into earnest? I ran to
the door, my head so full of the red surtout
that L verily expected to see its bearer walk
in. Aud behold, wonder ul to relate, as I
opened the door, what should enter, with a
slight inclination of the head, hut the tempter
in person, on whom my thoughts had been
dwelling.
Further Particulars.
I must now explain how, and under what
circumstances, I became acquainted with the
apparation in question. At one of the tables
in the coffee-house, w here I happened to be
one evening, were two persons deeply ab
sorbed in a game of chess. Some young men,
seated at the w indow, were engaged in ani
mated discussion on the theoiy of spiiits and
the human soul. All elderly man,of diminu
tive stature,clad in a scat let surtout, was pac
ing up and down the room, with his hands
crossed behind his back. 1 called for some
refreshments and took up a paper.
There was something about the mysterious
man, as he strode to and fro, which irresisti
bly attracted my attention, to the exclusion
of politics and all other current topics. Sin
gular as was his choice of attire, his whole
appearance was more striking and singular
still. His features were repulsive and 3’et
most remarkable; although below the com
mon height, his shoulders were broad and his
frame well knit. He appeared to be from fif
ty to sixty*/ wears of age, and had a stooping
gait characteristic of that time of life, li is
hair was coal black and bristly. There
was something uncanny and repulsive in his
high cheek-bones and booked nose; and
whilst every feature was cold and impertura
ble his large hi iglit eye gleamed \\ itli a strange
fire that it was difficult to attribute to any or
dinary human thought or passion. He may
be, thought I, an hereditary headsman, a
grand inquisitor, a brigand chief, or, king of
the gypsies. From sheer capiice and wan
tonness that man would fire a whole town,
and impale infants on his lance. Right sony
should 1 be to meet him in a wood. Os a sure
ty’ he never smiled in all his life.
There I yvas wrong. ‘I he man stopped
to listen to the conversation alluded to, and
laughed several times as i* proceeded. But,
gracious Heavens, what a laugh it was! It
fai.ly made me shudder. His features ap
peared animated with a fiendish glee. Well,
thought I, if that being in the red coat be not
the devil himself, he is next of kin to him. I
involuntary cast my eyes upon his feet, ex
pecting to find them clpven; and though one
certainly was made much as those of or
dinary mortals, the other was clubbed,
and confined in a lace-up boot. But he
was not lame ; on the contrary*, he stepped
as gingerly as though the floor yvere paved
with egg-shells.
As he of the flame-colored garment passed
the table yvhere the players sat at chess, one
of them triumphantly observed to his adver
sary, “You are lost beyond all hope.”
Redcoat paused as he spoke, cast an ea
gle glance on the chess-board, and said to
the self-complacent speaker, “Wrong; three
moves more, and 3'ou are mate.”
The victor smiled blandly; his hard-pressed
adversary shook his head, and moved ; the
third move, and his exulting foe yvas defeated.
Whilst the players were disposing them
selves to reneyv the stiife, one of the young
men at the window observed somewhat warm
ly to Redcoat, “I infer, from your smile,
that 3’ou entertain contrary opinions with re
gard to the nature of the world and the God
head. Have you read Schelling ?”
“Certainly,” said Redcoat.
“And what means )'our smile?” “Your
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST I, 1850.
Schelling is one of j our subtle poets, yvho
look upon the phantasies of the brain as facts,
because there is none to contradict them.
It’s the old story; the blind are discussing
colors, and the deaf criticise sounds.”
So said Redcoat. His yvords provoked dis
cussion ; but, without mingling further in the
argument, he took up his hat, and glided from
the room.
Since then I had not seen him, although I
never forgot his remarkable figure, with his
fiendish features, and was in constant dread
of their haunting my dreams. And now,
when least expected, I found myself closeted
in the same room yvith him.
Temptation.
“Pardon my intrusion ; have I the honor to
address Mr. ?”
“The same,” yvas m3’ reply.
“What proofs have you of your identit3’ ?”
A singular question, though I; the man is,
no doubt, a spy of the police. An open let
ter lay before me. I took it up and pointed
to the address on the envelope.
“So far, so good ; but 3'ours is a very com
mon name. I want more conclusive testirno
113’. I may hay’e to do business yvith 3’ou.”
“Excuse me, sir, 1 am on the point of set
ting out on a journe3’ 5 besides, 3'ou are mis
taken in 3’our man. lam neither merchant
nor government official.”
He looked at me for some time yvith evi
dent surprise, and seemed as though about to
take his departure ; at length he observed,
“Business, however, has detained 3’ou at
Prague. Is not your brother on the verge of
bankruptcy?”
The blood rushed to my face ; for this, I
had imagined, yvas a secret known to myself
and my brother only. “You are again mis
taken, sir. True, I have a brother, and more
than one ; but none of them are in the pre
dicament to which you allude.”
“Indeed ?” muttered the tempter, incredu
lously.
“sir,” I returned yvith some yvarmth, for I
yvas distressed to think that any one in
Prague should be aware of my brother’s cir
cumstances, “3’ou have hit upon the wrpng
person. Excuse me if I beg you to ex
plain your business at once. 1 have not a
moment to lose.”
“A minute’s patience, I beseech you. I
have an object in speaking yvith you. You
appear ill at ease; has anything unpleasant
occurred? lam not a native of Prague, and
have not visited it for tyvelve years. Are
you in yvant of money ?”
As he spoke, the same smile, or rather grin,
of fiendish malignity, passed over his features.
I mistrusted him more and more. My
eyes fell by chance on his club foot, and
I own to haying yvorked myself up to a most
uncomfortable pitch of superstition. I re
plied, hoyvever, that I yvas in no need of mo
ney ; but that, as he appeared so fiiendly to.
wards me, I should like to know his name.
“It will avail you little to hear it; how
ever, I am a Mandevil.”
At this moment the door opened, and the
landlord handed me a letter.
“Read your letter before we resume our
conversation; no doubt it is from 3'our dear
Fanny.”
I yvas more puzzled than ever.
“Well, have you any further doubts as to
who I am, and the nature of my business yvith
you?”
I felt half inclined to say’ —“Sir, I have not
the slightest particle of doubt as to 3 our per
sonal identity with Satan himself, and anx
ious accordingly to make a bid for my unhap
py soul; but 1 resisted the impulse and yvas
silent.
“Moreover,” he continued, “you are start
ing for Eger. My route takes me thither.
Will 3’ou accept a seat in my carriage ?”
I thanked him for his offer, but told him I
had already ordered horses for niyself.
This seemed to disconcert him, for he said
—“Hoyv difficult it is to deal yvith 3’ou! I
have set my heart upon making the acquain
tance of y our Fanny and children. Cannot
you guess yvho I am? Do speak in the dey'-
il’s name. Sir, lam really most anxious to
oblige you.”
“Well, then,” quoth I, “if 3’on be a sorcer
er, my pocket book is lost; tell me hoyv to
recover it.”
“Pooh! never mind y-our pocket book; is
there nothing else ?”
“But Ido mind my pocket-book; it yvas
full of valuable and important papers. Tell
me yvliat I am to do if it be lost, or yvhat steps
to take supposing it to be stolen ?”
“What sort of a pocket-book yvas it ?”
I described it.
“Well, yve’ll see what is to be done. What
return yvill yreu make me if I cause it to be
restored to you ?”
And he fixed his eye upon me as though
to extort the yvords—?‘My soul shall be yours;”
but as 1 stood silent and beyvildered, he put
his hand in his pocket and produced the mis
sing book.
“How on earth did you come by it?” I
exclaimed, as I ascertained that the contents
yvere untouched.
“1 found it at four o’clock yesterday upon
the bridge.” (I noyv remembered to have ta
ken it out at that very time and place.) “I
examined the contents in order to ascertain
to whom it belonged. I thus discovered
your name and address, and I called on you
last night to restore it.”
I could almost have hugged my Mandevil
in the plentitude of my’ joy. He would not
listen to my thanks, but coolly said, as he
closed the door behind him, “My compli
ments to tho fair Fanny and a happy journev
to you. We shall meet again.”
Horae.
During the whole of my journey I could
not prevent my’ thoughts from reverting to
the mysterious stranger. I recalled his de
moniac laugh, his deformed foot, his syvarthy
hair cluste: ing about his temples as though
to conceal the horn that would have reveal
ed his secret to the sons of men, and I firmly’
convinced myself of his identity with the Evil
One. He had certainly’ behaved very hand
somely in the matter of the pocket-book, but
might not that have been, after all, but a
snare to entrap my soul ?
I bewildered myself in thinking of possi
ble temptations. I thought of ambition, of
woman’s beauty. But, pooh! what had Ito
do with beauties ? Was not my own sweet
Fanny all in all to me ? As the reader may
conjecture, I was endowed with a tolerable
degree of imagination, and I may as well ad
mit at once that at an earlier period of my
life, ere I knew my Fanny, I fancied myself
most desperately enamored of a certain
Julia. Her parents, however, would not con
sent to our union, and she subsequently be
came the bride of a wealthy Polish noble.
Os course we cried, kissed and vowed eter
nal fidelity, and, as generally happens in such
cases, both gotmariied forthwith.
Amidst all these fancies and reflections I
entered my native town as the church clock
was striking one. All was hushed in slum
ber. Unwilling to disturb my family at so
late an hour, I resolved to pass the night at
; the inn, but I could not resist the temptation
of strolling out to contemplate by moonlight
: that beloved home where, wrapped in sleep,
| lay all that w as dear to me.
The Fatal Meeting.
Not a soul w r as stirring. Fortunately, the
summer-house was open. I entered; and
saw by sundry little indications that Fanny and
the children had but recently occupied it. I
threw myself at length upon the sofa, and de
termined to pass the night there. I had
scarcely closed inv eyes, w’hen I was arous
ed by a noise at the door of the summer
house. I sat up; and imagine my astonish
ment at beholding my ftiend of the red coat!
“Whence come you, in Heaven’s name?”
I asked.
From Prague. I leave this within the hour.
Hearing you had but just arrived, I thought,
of course, that you would be still astir, and
that I could pay you and your Fanny a pass
ing visit. You must not sleep here, the damp
will injure your health.”
As 1 quitted the garden with him, I could
not help saying, “You have scared me as
though 1 had beheld an apparition; I tremble
in every limb. What induced you to seek me
in the summer-house? You seem to know
everything.”
Fiendish was his smile as he murmured,
“Know you me now, and what I would of
you ?”
“No better than I did at Prague; but I
must tell you the impression you then made
upon me. I trust you will not take offence ;
but l fancied either that you held communion
with spirits or with the Devil himself.”
Again that sardonic smile. “Now, merely
for the sake of the joke, assuming me to be
the latter, are you disposed to do a little bu
siness with me ?”
“You must bid high if you hope to win me,
for really, Sir Devil—pardon my jest in so
terming you—nothing can augment the hap
piness of my present lot.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed he; “that was all well
enough in the olden times, when folks still
had some faith in the Devil’s existence, and
! so kept every watch over their silly souls;
then one was lain to come to terms with
them. Cheap enough are they now-a-davs;
the sons of clay little reck they of the Devil,
their sole reliance is on pure reason.”
“I hold myself at a high rate; and albeit, I
regard Beelzebub as an old wife’s story, still
better worth is a grain of reason than the
strongest conviction of the powers of hell.”
“Spoken with all the pride of sorry mor
tals ; suffer me to use the language of the
personage I represent. Your arrogant self
reliance brings more recruits to the gates of
hell than w ould a swarm of fiends desp. tch
ed to tempt you. The best among your scur
vy crew is he who has met but the fewest op
portunities to sin.”
“Spoken right fiendlike!” I exclaimed.
“Os a verity,” answered he of the flame
colored doublet, smiling his horrid smile ; “but
it is the truth I speak, though all your faith
in truth be gone. You are, in truth, already
mine. Grant me but a single hair, and your
head is no more your own ; but the air is
chilly—my carriage waits—l must hence.”
I accompanied him to the inn, at the door
of which stood his carriage; he begged me to
enter the house, and partake of some punch
he had ordered. I w illingly complied, as the
night air had rendered such beverage highly
acceptable.
Temptation.
The punch sent forth its grateful odour as
we entered the room. We soon applied our
selves to it, and discussed a variety of topics
over our glasses. At length my companion
departed, and as I felt no inclination to re
turn to the summer-house, ordered a bed at
the inn. On my return to the coffee-room I
perceived a lady. As she turned towards me
I almost lost possession of my senses. It
was Julia, my first love, who, as I afterwards
learned, was there with her husband, on their
way to Italy.
“Gracious Heaven!” she cried, “is it you,
Robert?”
I could but stammer “Julia!” in reply.
“We have much to say to each other, Rob
ert. Follow me to my room.”
Once there, and my heart, my soul, were
all hers again. She was not happy, she said;
her husband was harsh and stern with her.
Did I remember our former vows, our last
farewell, our parting kiss? Forgive me, my
Fanny; how frail and weak is man. Julia’s
lips met mine once more. The door flung
suddenly open, and a tall, gaunt stranger en
tered abruptly, exclaiming, “Whom have 3 T ou
w ith you at this hour, Julia?”
We started up. Before us stood her hus
band, his face livid as a corpse, and unable to
articulate a word. With three strides he was
at Julia’s side. He caught her by her long
auburn hair, and dashed her to the ground,
exclaiming, “False, worthless woman !”
In the agony of the moment I caught up a
knife from the table, and threatened to plunge
it into his body if he stirred; but he rushed
upon me, and seized me by the neck, w ith so
vice-like a grasp, that I felt I was losing con
sciousness. With the instinct of self-preser
vation I thrust at him with the knife; he fell.
He was stabbed to the heart.
Julia was moaning over the body of her
slaughtered lord, whilst I stood motionless
and thunder-struck. O, thought I, would it
were all a dream, and that I were once more
on my sofa in the summer-house. Accursed
be the red-coat; accursed be the pocket
book ! My children, my own dear injured
Fanny, I am a murderer! Meanwhile the
alarm had been given, and I heard the sound
of approaching steps and voices. Flight was
my sole resource. I snatched up a light, and
rushed from the house.
The Crowning Horrors.
I felt that I was pursued, and, hopeless of
reaching the street, I dashed across the yard,
and made for a barn, behind which were
fields, on the outskirts of the town. My pur
suers gained on me a pace, and as I neared
the barn I felt myself seized by the coat
Nerved by despair, I dashed aside the hand
that clutched me, and thrust the light I bore
into the stack of straw before me. H igh rose
the flames, and in the confusion that followed
I effected my escape into the fields. On
wards, ever onwards, I hurried desperately,
over height and hollow, over brake and bush.
Was it a dream ? Alas, my bloody hands bore
witness too truly- to the frightful reality. My
strength forsook me; panting and exhausted
I sank at the foot of a tree. What means
that glare? why peal those bells? I looked
around; the town was in flames—mine was
the hand that fired it.
Foresw-orn, a murderer and an incendiary,
and all within one short hour! Thou said’st
well, fiend, the best among us is he who has
met with fewest inducements to sin. Louder
and louder pealed the bells, and I was about
to resume my flight, w-hen it suddenly oc
curred to me that this was the Ist of May’,
and my Fanny’s birth-da}-. Well had I ush
ered in it, forsooth! Moreover, it was Wal
purgis Night, when demons are said to hold
their revels upon earth.
- Cain.
I paused for breath, and took hurried coun
sel with rn}’self. I raised my hand to my
brow, it was still bedaubed with blood.
Away with these polluted garments, thought
I, as I discarded coat and vest, and conceal
ed them in the wood. None hut the maniac
or murderer travels in this guise. I must do
battle with some peasant for his jerkin—lie
hid by day, and journey by night; food, too,
I require, and money. And I now recollect
ed that ray pocket-book was in the coat I bad
deposited in the wood. What was to be
done? Not for worlds would I have looked
again on the blood of the murdered man, or
beheld, through the opening trees, the red
glare of the horizon. Sudden!}-, there ap
proached, at a sober pace, a handsome trav
elling carriage, and drawn by two horses, and
driven by a man, who, with a quantity of
luggage, was its only occupant. As he was
about to pass me, the traveller drew up,
alighted from his carriage, inspected it most
minutely on every side, and then quitted the
road and walked a little distance into the
wood.
Were mine yon carriage, it w r ere well w ith
me, thought I. Means of escape—money
clothes, all within my gi f asp; I may } r et be
saved.
’Twas done as quick as thought. One
spring, and I was in the seat. I seized the
reins, and was turning the horses’ heads in
the opposite direction, when their rightful
owner issued from the wood and attempted to
arrest their progress. I lashed them furious
ly, they reared and started at full speed for
wards, freeing themselves from their master’s
hold, who fell at their feet. The carriage
passed over his body. He shouted for help.
His voice pierced to my very marrow; it was
the voice of one I well knew and loved.
Could I believe my ears ? I pulled up and
stretched forth my neck to catch a glimpse
of his face. It was my brother’s !
I threw myself upon his body, life was not
yet extinct. I raised him ; I called on him ;
but he heard me not, he recognized me not;
his head drooped, all was over. Again were
in}- hands imbrued in blood.
Remorse,
As I pressed my lips to ni}- brother’s life
less brow I heard voices in the wood. Ere I
was aware of what I meditated, I found my
self in the thickest of the wood, having aban
doned corpse and carriage to their fate.
The sun was high in the heavens, the fatal
Walpurgis Night was over. Morning be
held me bereft of home and hope. The curse
of Cain was upon me. Visions of the heads
man and his axe, the gibbet and the wheel,
flitted before me. Was an existence such as
mine worth the struggle to save ? Should
my own hand ?—hut no, I would deliver my
self into the hands of justice.
Now, that I had settled upon the course to
adopt, I became somewhat more calm. I
rose and prosecuted my route. I had lost all
traces of the track I was to follow; no mat
ter—sooner or later, my object would be at
tained.
The Tempter.
I held my course until a turning in the
road disclosed to me an overturned carriage
lying along it, and at its side, who to m}’ hor
ror or my delight, but—the well-known red
coat.
On perceiving me he grinned after his wont,
saying, “Welcome; I thought we should
meet again. Here have I remained the whole
night. I despatched my postilion to the
town in search of assistance, and he has not
yet returned.
“They need assistance more than you
here,” was my reply, “the whole town is in
flames.”
“I guessed as much, from the appearance
of the sky. But what brings you here in the
wood, why are you not lending a helping
hand }-onder ?”
“Save me. lam steeped to the neck in
crime. Since last we met, three short hours
have sufficed to render me a perjured hus
band, a cut-throat and an ineendiar}*, a high
way robber, aye, and a fratricide; and yet,
believe me if you will, I am at heart an up
right man.”
The redcoat stamped furiously with his
misshapen limb as I spoke.
“Know you me know,” he cried, in a ter
rible voice, “and what I would with you ?”
he at length exclaimed.
“My soul, } r ou would my soul; for now
*do I begin to believe you are in very earnest
he whom I deemed you in Prague during my
happier hours.”
“Whom deemed you me, th<?n?”
“The Evil One.”
“Bow down, then, and worship me,” burst
forth in tones that curdled my very blood.
I knelt before him in an agon}- of despair; ,
with clasped hartde I besought him to save
me, and my innocent wife and babes.
As l thus besought him, his outstretched
foot, (that foot!) spurned me, as I lay grovel-;
ling in the dust before him. I rose, and re
newed my entreaties. His voice withered
my soul, as he exclaimed, “Behold the mor- :
tal, in all the power and pride of his reason !
Lest his measure of iniquity should not be
full, 10, he crowns it by falling at the feet of
Satan!”
“I know thee now, Satan, and thy wile 6,”
I cried, “atld I defy thee; for I feel that my
60ul can yet be saved ; penitence and pray
er may yet avail.”
Harsh and contemptuous was his stem re
ply : “No, sir, I arrt no evil spirit, but a man
like yourseif. From a criminal, you haVe be*
come a madman*—rO uncommon phase in the
chapter of crime. I despise you, nor, were
it in my power, would I stretch forth my
hand to help you. What care 1 for your
soul? It is already ripe for hell. Satan
would hold it dear at the meanest coin!”
Hope*
Speechless and shame-stricken Stood I be
fore him; at length, I mustered sufficient cour
age to address him once more.
‘■Would } v ou were he for whom I took yott.
If you save hue not, I am lost. Save me!
But for } r ou, and all this had never been.
Who broke in upon my slumber? Whd
made me wander forth in the night ?”
“Aye, aye, ’tis always so ; man ever seeks
’ to shift his burden upon another, even though
that burden be his brother’s blood. True, I
awoke } r ou; but say, was it I who aWoke
within yott your slumbering lust for guilt ?
As well may the midnight assassin impute
; his crimes to him who forged his sword.”
j “But why enact the fiend ? Why tell mo
that once to yield a hair, was to peril one’s
! head ?”
“Was I mistaken ? Who better knows it
than myself? I craved no hair, of your own
free will you tendered it. Had vou resisted
i the first impulse, had you called reflection
And religion to your aid, all had been well
Forget not that the first light and idle thought
to which we give Wat is the orfe single h'ffir
within the clutches of the fiend. You exult
ed in your imagined virtue, you gloried in
your hitherto unblemished career, hut the
germs of vice were quickening within you ;
; they awaited hut the first opportunity to be
j come matured.”
“I see and own it all; but save me, the
1 moments are precious; save me, and I sin no
j more.”
“I hope to save you,- but you must aid me
to do so. Know } r ou me now, and what I
would of you ?”
“You are my preserver, my- guardian an
gel !”
“Not in vain was my appearance in your
garden, or the warning I gave you; hut be of
good cheer, he who has faith has all.”
I am SirTed.’
As he uttered the last word's I sank faint
ing upon the ground. It was long ere 1 re
j turned to consciousness; as I re-opened my
eyes, bewildered hf the glare of the noon-da}’
sun, I saw the old man bending over me }
the harsh expression of his countenance was
gone. Benevolence seemed painted on eveiy
feature. I looked wildly and vaguely on him.
There was a confused din in my ears, as of
the distant peal of bells, the rustling of the
wind among the trees, or the far-off roar of
some mountain torrent. I had lost all power
of volition, and again I relapsed into a state
of insensibility. At length I rallied sufficient
ly to inquire \\ here I was, and what had hap
pened. The old man still bending over me :
there was pity, hope, encouragement in those
eyes I had erst judged so ill.
“Thou art saved,” he whispered in soft and
soothing tones. —“Fear not; weak wert thou,
and infirm of purpose. Demean thyself,
henceforth, as a man—but, remember, hu
man being never save I twice/’
Again I sank down in a kind of stupor,
and was aroused by feeling the pressure of
some invisible lips upon mine.
The New World.
That kiss restored me to earth, and now
I discovered that my eyes still refrained clos
ed. I started from the hard cold couch
whereon 1 lay, and beheld my own Fanny
bending over me. Her kiss it was that had
dispelled that fearful trance ; my children
clung about me, whilst Fanny rebuked me
gently for having passed the night in a chilly
summer-house. Had it not been for the arri
val of ray servant, she assured me that no
one would have suspected my return.
“And has Christopher but just returned
from the inn ?” I inquired; “did he pass the
night there ?”
“Why, you strange man, of course he did,
and said such were your orders. But why
on earth pass the night on this dreary sofa ?
why not wake us up?”
How relieved I felt! “And so you passed
an undisturbed, quiet night ?”
“Only too quiet, since I little dreamed you
I were so near me. Don’t you know that it
was Walpurgis Night, when evil sjiiits and
goblins are abroad ?”
I “Too well I know it!” I exclaimed, rub
bing my eyes, and overjoyed to find, as I
’ clasped my Fanny to my heart, that our roof
i was still standing, and our little town as
peaceful as ever. I told my dream to Fanny.
She laughed heartily.
Temptation and the Tempter.
It seemed as though my Walpurgis eve ad
ventures were not yet terminated. As I have
before said, it was my wife’s birthday, and
some friends had been invited in honor of the
occasion.
As we were placing ourselves at table, the
servant informed me that a strange geritle
mnn, a Baron Mandevil, desired to speak with
me. Fanny observed me start as the name
was announced. “Never mind the tempter
said she, “as long as the temj.ta’ion is absent;
; and never mind the temptation as long as I
am present.”
i I repaired to the summer-house, where I
had passed the preceding flight, and there up
on the very identical sofa that I had occu
pied, sat the redcoat of Prague bin s If. He
rose and greeted me as though we were old
friends, saying, “I am as good as my word,
you see. Do not be jealous; lam determin
ed to make your charming Fanny’s acquain
tance ; moreover, I bring two guests with me,
my brother and his wife. I believe you have
met my sister-in-law before.”
I was expressing satisfaction at his visit,
when in came a stout, burly gentleman, upon
whose arm was leaning a lady in a travelling
dress. Imagine my surprise—it Was Julia!
I, of course, conducted my guests into the
drawing-room.
The Baron made my wife the most flatter
ing speeches as I introduced him to her.
“I lost my heart to yod at Prague,” he said,
“upon reading all those pretty little secrets in
your letter.”
“I know all about it,” retorted Fanny.
“However, we have fourteen hundred dollars
to set against your knowledge of our secrets ;
but you are a very bad man nevertheless, fot*
you have made my husband pass a most
wretched night.”
“It is not over yet,” said I; advancing tm
wards Fanny, and introducing Julia to her. I
could perceive that Fanny was somewhat ta
ken aback ; however, the wit that never de
serts Womankind soon came to her assistance,
and she gave Julia a most hearty Welcome.
Ten minutes afterwards, and you might have
sworn that they had been friends from infan
cy ■
I learned from Julia, as we walked iu the
garden after dinner, that she was very happy,
and much attached to her worthy husband.
She felt all a daughter’s affection for her broth
er-in-law, who, as she told nte, after having
been a great traveller, had now settled down
at Pdsen, where he possessed a small estate*
and passed his time between agriculture and
literary pursuits. She spoke of him with the
greatest enthusiasm, and main tamed that he
NO. 31.