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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
IS PUBLISHED
EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
Br WILLIAM H. CHAMBERS,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
Office on Randolph street.
r ' , CP of^v M*3 <: ’
[ORIGINAL.]
TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND.
BY MRS. R- H. RILEY.
Wail on, wail on ! ye wild, sad winds,
Around his early grave,—
Not ve nor tears of beauty had
The power his life to save.
Down stricken, as some vigorous oak,
When stonrn are riding high
Down stricken in the flush of youth,
’Twas hard that thou shouldst die!
Fair ringlets melted amber hke,
Hangs damp upon the check
Os my own fair and gentle child,
Who loved thy “inilo” to seek.
Her soft voice whispers thy good name,
’Mid troubled dream” at night,
And weeps afresh when comes the dawn
Os morning’s early light.
Ah! thou ha"t broken other ties
Which may not cease to bleed.
For memory, oil-like to the flame,
Must still our sorrows Iced.
All mourn thee, yet there is one heart
Whose grief we may not tell, —
Whose young, pure soul pants to lie free,
With thine in Heaven to dwell.
Throw hack upon her spirit’s night
The noon-day of thine own.
And breathe upon her ear in dreams
The hope of Heaven, thy home.
Bethel, Glynn county, Ga.
THE HAPPY PAIR.
BY TOWNSEND HAINES.
I once knew a ploughman. Bob Fletcher his name,
Who was old and was ugly, and so was his dame :
Y< t they lived quite contented, and free from all strife,
Boh Fletcher the ploughman, and Judy his wife.
As the morn streaked the east, and the night fled away,
They would ri"e up for labor, refreshed for the day ;
And the song of the lark, as it rose on the gale.
Found Boh at the plough, and his wile at the pail.
A neat little cottage, in front of a grove,
Where in youth they first gave their young hearts up to
love,
Wa” the. solace hf age, and to them doubly dear,
As it called up the pa"t, with a smile or a tear.
Each tree had its thought, and the vow could impart
That mingled in youth the warm wish of the heart;
The thorn was still there and the blossoms it bore.
And the song from its top seemed the same as before.
When the curtain of night over nature was spread,
And Boh had returned hom the plow Jo hi” shed,
f,ike tin* dove on he- ne’ t.he reposed from all care,
If hi” wife and his youngsters contented were there.
I have pas-cd by his door when the evening was grey, I
And the hill anil the landscape were lading away,
And have, heard from the cottage, with grateful surprise,
The voice of thanksgiving like, incense ari"e.
And I thought on the proud, who would look down with
scorn
On the neat little cottage, the grove, and the thorn,
And felt that the riches and tinsels of life,
Were drops, to contentment with Bob and his wife.
dUisccUn neons,
[From Arthur's Home Gazette.]
TIIE WHITE DOVE.
The little Lina opened her eyes upon this j
world in the arms of her father, the good Got
leib. He kissed the child with a holy joy.
“For,” said he, “now is a thought of God
fixed in an eternal form;” and he lelt that a
divine love flowed into this work of the great
God. This also thrilled his warm, manly
heart with a wondrous love. He felt the \
inmost of his being vibrating as with an elec
tric touch, to the inmost of the little new-born ■
innocent. But the rapture of the young fa
ther was altogether imperfect until lie had
sealed his lips in a love kiss upon those of the
fraulein Anna, who lay there, so white and
beautiful in the new joy of the young jnother.
Like an innocent maiden, she twined her
arms around Gotleib’s neck, and grew strong
in the influx of warm life that flowed into
her responsive'cares of the husband of her
heart. Then Gotleib held up the newly horn
Lina, and the mother’s lips touched the soft
cheek of the liny little one, with a living rap
ture, as if all of heaven were embraced in
this heart possession.
And Gotleib knelt by the bed-side and
thanked God for the beautiful gift of love
with a pious awe and holy joy large tears
stood in the eyes ol Anna. As he arose trom
his reverent posture, he kissed oil the bright
tears —even as the sun exhales dew-drops ironi
a pure flower —and said,
“Dost thou weep for joy, sweet one ?”
And Anna said—
“ Once—not long since, I had a dream—
a beautiful dream —that this day has been
realized. I dreamed that I was in a quite
heavenly place—yet the place was as noth
jpg—it was the stale, for 1 sat with an infant
in my arms—a bright, innocent little one—
and thou, dearest Gotleib! knelt beside me;
and an angel-woman stood near us, in a soft,
heavenly glory, and said, in low, musical,
spirit-words—‘Behold the fruit of the union
of good and truth.’ And then, methought
thou didst embrace me with anew joy ot
love, and whispered—‘An angel of God is
born of us.’ This little one is the dream
child, dear Gotleib.”
Thus beautiful was the birth of the little
Lina, who grew daily in a pure, innocent
loveliness. While she is expanding in the
iirst days of her new, breathing, sensitive life,
we will go back to the former life of Gotleib
and Anna.
Gotleib Von Arnheim had first seen the
light in this same small cottage, on the con
fines of the Black Forest of Germany. He
was born with a large, loving heart. But the
father and mother, and the dear God, were
the only beings on whom iiis affections were
fixed; for his sensitive nature shrank from the
contact of the honest-hearted, but rough peas
ant neighbors, that made the little world ot
their simple hte. But soon death came, and
the good tatiier lelt the earth tor the heautitoi
Heaven-world. The little Gotleib missed his
kind father; but his mother told him ot
the bright inner-life, and how his father yet
lived and lover! him; and the heart oi the boy
*yus comforted—he felt a sense ot elevation
jii having his father, whom he had known so
familiarly here upon earth, now the compan
ion of angels, and living in such a bright and
beautiful world.
Ah, life had to bin) such an inner beauty;
and, when still, dreamy moments of leisure
intervened between his work and play, Ije
revelled in such dreams of fancy as lent light
and life and joy to his whole being, But the
death of the kind father had not only carried
the boy’s fancy to the other world ; it was also
drawing the mother’s heart away to the fair
spirit-land. Gotleib saw his mother’s face
growing thin and pale; he knew that she was
VOL. 11.
weak —for oftentimes, in the long winter eve
nings, as be read to her from the holy W ord of
God, her hand would drop wearily with the
raised spindle, and she, who was never before
idle, would fold her hands in a quiet, meek re
signation. At such times a tremor would
seize the bov’s heart. The mother saw it;
and, one night, when his fixed, tender gaze
rested on her, she raised her spiritual eyes to
| his, and said,
“Dear Gotleib! thou wilt yet have the good
I God to love.”
“Ah, mother! mother!” cried the boy,
| “wilt thou too leave me?” His head was
bowed upon her knees in a bitter grief; the
desolation of earth was spread like an impen
i etrable pall over his whole future. Suddenly
he looked up, full of a strange, bright hope,
; and said,
“Mother, 1 too mav die.”
Then the mother put off her ‘ eakness—and
long and loving was the talk she held with
hoi dear boy. She told him that from a little
tine, he had ever loved God; that the first
word lie had ever pronounced was the name
of the holy One. She had taught him to clasp
his tiny baby hands and look up, and say
“God,” ere any other vvoid had passed his
lips. She had named him Gotleib, because he
was the love of God to her, and he was to
be a lover of God. As she talked, the boy
grew strong and calm, and said—
“ Yet, oli my mother! God is so great for
the heart of a small child. God is so high
and lifted up in the far Heavens, that 1 fee!
myself but as the tiny blade of grass that
looks up to the far sun, —dear mother! the
earth will he too lonely—ah, there is no hope
but in death.”
“No, my son,’’ said the mother, “there is a
j beautiful hope for the earth also, I will tell
you what v\ ill make you love God more truly
than ever.”
The boy was fixed attention.
“Thou didst not know, dear Gotleib, that
when God created thee a strong, brave boy,
lie also created a tender, gentle little maid
en, like unto thee in all tilings—save thou
wert a boy, and she a maiden. Thou wert
| strong and able to work—and she gentle and
born to love thee.”
“Where is she ?” enquired the excited Got
leib.
“I know not,” replied the mother. “But
God knows, and lie will watch over the two
I whom he has created, the one for the other;
| and on earth or in heaven, the two will meet.
! Is it not better, then, not to wish to die, but to
leave all tilings to the will of God ? For what
if thy little maiden is left alone upon the ,
| earth, and there is no strong, manly heart up
|on which she may lean —and no vigorous j
arm to labor for her—bow will her spirit
I droop with a weary, lonely sadness! No,
my son, live! and the joy of a most beauti
| ful, loving companionship may yet he thine.
| The earth will not be desolate ever to thy or
phan heart, with this beautiful hope before
thee.”
Thus, in the cold wintry night of a dark
sorrow, did the good mother plant a living
seed of truth, that afterwards sprang up in a
vernal flowery Eden, that bloomed in the
boy’s heart with an eternal beauty.
When the early spring came, Gotleib look
ed calmly and lovingly on the beloved moth
er, who was leaving for the inner world.—
Death was beautiful to him now; it was sim
ply the new birth-time of a mature, living
soul.
The spirit of the mother’s love seemed to
j linger over the borne of bis childhood, and it
: was a great sorrow to leave the cherished
I spot; but hi mother had told him he was to
| seek a brother of hers in the distant town of
; Heidelberg. As Gotleib turned from the now
! voiceless borne of his parents, a fervent desire
\ arose in his heart that he might be permitted
1 again to dwell beneath this sheltering roof j
i and amidst its loving associations.
The boy went forth into the unknown
I world, with a living trust in his heart i:i the
j great God. llis was a simple, childish faith,
! born of his love—to him God was not amys
! tery. It was a Divine personality he loved.
,;esus had walked the earth, and his father
and mother also—all were now spirits—none
: the less to be loved and trusted than when
nnon earth; but now they were to him in
transcendent states of glory. The Lord Je
sus, as being infinitely great and glorious,’
was the alone One to whom he now looked
j for help—though ever as he knelt to pray to
| God, lie felt that his angel-mother bowed with
| his spirit, and by her prompting beautiful
words of humiliation and praise came to him
! that he himself could never have thought of;
; hence the affections of his heart all grew up
| ward into the inner spirit world.
And years passed in the good town of Hei
i delberg, years that brought blessings to the
orphan boy as they flew. The God in whom
he trusted had provided for him—had awaken
ed a friendly kindness in many warm hearts.
And Gotleib, who was at first designed by
his relatives to spend his days over the shoe
maker’s awl and last, at length found himself ‘
bv bis own ardent exertions and the helpful |
| kindness of others, a student in the Univer
| sity. This was to him a most pure gratifica
tion—not because of a love of learning—not
because of ambition, to attain a position be- ,
fore his fellow men. Oh ! it was quite other
wise with the good youth—he had one object
lin life. The hope that his dying mother had
i awakened in his heart was the guiding
star of all his efforts. That little maiden—
j created for him, and to be supported by him!
The image was ever before him. \ es, he was a
student for a high and noble use. Science
was to be tiPliim the instrument of a life of
love and blessedness. To do good to others,
and thus to provide for the maiden, was what
led him to the arduous study of medicine.
It mattered not that cold and lunger and
toil all hound him in an earthly coil. The
warm, hopeful heart has a wonderful endur
ance. The delicate, attenuated form of the
young student seemed barely sufficient to
hold the bright and-gluwing spirit that looked
out from iiis soft eyes, when he received
his degrees. The desire of his life was
growing into a fruition; and when he return
ed to his poor lodgings, a sense of freedom,
of gratitude and delight crowned his yet bar
ren fife. To work ! to work! seemed now
the one call of his being; but whither was he
to “O? There was the childhood’s home, to
which his heart instinctively turned ; but lone
and desolate he could not dwell there. Got
leib had not forgotten the mother's lesson;
i he knelt and prayed to God for guidance
Even as he kneels and feels his spirit in the
sunshine of God's presence, there is a knock
at the door, and the good professor Eberhani
.
j enters. He has marked the student in his
i poverty and toil, and feels that he will now
hold out a helping hand to the young begin
j tier. As professor of Anatomy, he needs the
quick eye and delicate hand of an expert as
j sidtant.
Gotleib looked upon the Herr professor
as Heaven-sent, and in a few dais was in
stalled in ail the luxury of a life of active use.
Years passed away, and Gotleib Von Arn
heim sighed with a man’s full heart for a wo
man's sympathy and responsive affection. He
had seen bright eyes gleam and soft eheeks
flush ;it his approach, and he had looked \yon
deringly into many a sweet lace. But he i
had not yet seen the little maiden of whom
his mother spoke—who was to be the re
flex of himself. All these German maidens
were altogether different from him—and his
heart remained unsatisfied in their presence.
He felt no vision of eternity as he looked into
their friendly faces. Sometimes hope almost j
died out. But his trust in God seemed to for
bid the death of this sweet hope. Often
he said—“ i'he good God would not have i
created this intense desire in one so whol- ;
ly dependent upon Him, were lie not intend- j
ing to satisfy it.” At all events, he thought
—“lf the maiden is not upon earth, she is in
Heaven.” So he worked and waited pa- ‘
tientlv.
The wintry winds were howling, as it were, i
a loud requiem over the lordly ruins of the |
crime stained castle of Heidelberg. Cold, !
and hitter, and clear was the starry night, ‘■
when the weary Gotleib issued out of the I
Herr professor’s warm house to answer the j
late call of a sick woman. Gotleib looked j
up into those illimitable depths where earths j
and suns hang suspended, to appeal to the j
material perceptions of man, that this is not j
the alone world—the alone existence. The
I silent bright stars comforted the earth wea
ried heart in which the day’s toil had dimmed
the spirit’s perception. Gotleib stepped on
bravely through the frosty darkness, and said
hopefully to himself—
“ There is yet another world—another life
than this.”
And now he stood before the bouse in which
his services were needed. He entered a j
chamber, whose bare poverty reminded him |
of his student days. But far sadder was cold
poverty here, for a lady lav on a hard couch
lie fore the scantily furnished grate, and her
hollow cough and the oozing blood that satu
rated her white handkerchief, rendered all
words u: in ecessary.
A young girl with blanched cheek and tear
less ev r es of agony, knelt by the wan sufferer.
Gotleib felt himself in the sphere of his life’s
use; cold and fatigue were alike gone. ‘l'he
sick and almost dying woman seemed to re
vive under his touch--—it was as if strength
flowed from the physician into the patient.—
His very presence diffused an air of hope
and comfort through the desolate apartment,
and the kind serving-girl, Bettina, who had
guided him to the humble lodging, seconded
all of liis efforts to produce warmth and com
fort, and soon returned with one of his pre
scriptions—an abundance of fuel for the al
most exhausted grate. The cheerful blaze
threw its strong light upon the young girl,
who at first knelt in hopeless grief beside her
dying mother.
What was it that thrilled the heart of Got
leib, as he looked upon this young maiden?
Was it her beauty ? no—he had seen others
more beautiful. Was it her sot row? no—he
bad seen others quite as s;id. But, whatever
it was, Gotleib felt that he had met his des
tiny; the fullness of his being was developed
to him; and, till unconsciously, the maiden
turned to him as the Providence of God to !
her. She seemed to rest her troubled heart |
upon bis strong understanding. lie said her
mother would not die immediately, and she j
i
grew calm.
It was very late that night when Gotleib j
retired; and very fervent were the prayers !
that arose from liis heart before he slept. He ;
felt a sense of gr.ititude for the uses he was
permitted to perform to his fellow beings, !
;md. in his prayers, he lelt that light shone from j
the Divine sun upon the sorrowing maiden, !
and it was as if she knelt by his side, and his
strong spirit-arms upheld her in the sunshine
of God’s love.
When morning came, Gotleib awakened,
with a delicious sense of enjoyment in life—
with ;i looking forth into the events of l he day,
that lie had never before experienced. He
hastened through his morning duties with an
elasticity of spiritand hope that was altogether
new to him. Though, as yet, his feeling
was not defined into a thought; it was a faint
perception, a dim consciousness that the elec
tive affinities of his heart had all awakened.
And while bethought he was in an excessive
anxiety to see after his feeble patient; he was
borne on rather by the attraction of liis i
heart’s love. He paused in a thrilling excite
ment of hope and doubt, before the door of
that poor chamber; he dreaded to have the
agreeable impressions of the last evening dis
sipated. But, when he knocked, a light tread
was heard; the door was gently opened, and
the pale Anna stood before him, with such a ;
gentle grace, and so earnest a look of grati
fied expectation, that, as she said in subdued
tones—
“l hoped it was you,” his heart bounded
with exultation, to think that the young girl
had him in her thoughts. But, as he ap
proached the sick bed, his reason told him
what was more natural than her wishing for
the arrival of her mother’s physician.
A careful glance by daylight around the
humble apartment, revealed to Gotleib that
Anna worked with her delicate, white, lady- !
looking hands for the support of her dying !
mother. A table, placed by the window, was
covered with artificial flowers of exquisite
workmanship, and while he yet lingered in the
chamber, Bettimi, the maid,entered from the
street door, with a basket filled with the same
flowers—looked at Anna, and shook her head
mournfully. Theyounggirl's lips quivered, and
she pressed the tears back, when she saw
no purchaser had been found for her labor.
Gotleib saw and felt with the most intense
sympathy all that was passing. He lingered
yet longer—he made encouraging remarks to
the sick mother, and, at length, ventured to
approach the table, and gazed with admira
tion ou the beautiful flowers, while his brain
was busy an devising how he was to make
them the medium of conveying aid to the suf
fering mother and daughter. He turned to
the faithful Bettina, who clung to those whom
she served in their hard poverty —he told her
that if she would follow him he would find a
purchaser for the pretty flowers. Anna cast
upon him a look of tearful, smiling gratitude,
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 27, 1851.
| and her simple, “1 thank you,” as she held
; out her hand to him, bound him as with a
| magnetic chjiin to her being.
Bettina thought the Herr Doctor was a
most generous man, for he more than doubled
the paltry sum she demanded for the flowers; ;
| though she did not consider it necessary to
mention the fact to Anna—she merely stated
to her, that she had found a purchaser for as
many flowers as she chose to nv;ke.
But Gotleib! what an Eden those flowers
made of his chamber! with what a joy he re
turned to it after hours of absence! it seemed j
as if they brought him into contact with the
| sphere of a beloved existence. He examined
them with delight, and could not avoid cov- j
! ering them with kisses. Never was patient
visited or watched over more attentively than
was Madam Henthickson; and as the moth-|
er revived, the daughter seemed to fee! new j
life. Light beamed from her soft eyes, and,
oftentimes, Gotleib thought the roses that
bloomed in her delicate lace, were far more
beautiful and bright than those that grew un
der her light and skillful touch.
For him she seemed to feel an earnest, j
! trustful gratitude. She never concealed her
glad recognition of his coming; she was too i
pure, and innocent, and good, to think it ne- 1
cessary to conce;il anything. And Gotleib’s I
visits were so pleasant, they grew longer and j
longer—for he and Madam Hendrickson were
of the same religious faith—and he had a pe
culiar faculty for consoling her. Gotleib spoke
of the other world, with such a definite per
ception of its existences and modes of being, ]
that the dying woman never wearied of lis- j
tening to him. The high and true faith of;
the good Gotleib opened to him a world of
beauty, which lie poured forth in his earnest
enthusiasm, more like a gifted poet, than a }
being of mere prose. Oftentimes, ;is he talked,
the light of his intelligence seemed to gleam j
back from the answering eye of Anna, until
his whole being was filled with delight.—
While she felt that her hitherto dim and in
distinct faith was growing into form and fix
edness, and her intellect awakened to a sphere
of ideas, to a world of perceptions, that en
dowed her all at once with a charmed exis- j
| tence, and flooded her with the light of a j
graceful beauty, tiiat made her appear to the
admiring Gotleib like an angelic spirit.
Thus were the spirit-links being woven j
through the cold bright days of winter. — !
.Madam Hendrickson was no longer confined !
to her bed; and on the Sabbath days, Anna i
could attend the public worship of God, of:
whom, now only, she seemed truly to learn. 11
was to the holy supper she went on that first
solemn Sabbath day, after months of con
finement and sorrow. Oh! how blessed it
was to listen to the Divine word, through
which God seemed to her .awakened percep
tion to shine, in a veiled beauty —;ui<l when
she tasted the wine of spiritual truth, flowing
from the wisdom of the Divine One, and eat
of the bread of the celestial good of His love,
Heaven seemed to open to her receptive
heart and mind—and as her heart’s prayers
went up. with those of the shining angels
around the throne of God, it was not for her
self that she prayed, but for him who had j
spoken living truth to her virgin heart. Oh, j
the good child! In that holy moment she re- j
joiced to reveal her heart’s love to the Divine j
Father; she knew that her love was born of
her knowledge of God, and thus she knew
that it was blessed from above.
As she passed out of the church, she en
countered the earnest glance of surprised and !
delighted recognition from Gotleib. Very 1
soon he was at her side. In the fullness and
stillness of beautiful thoughts and satisfied
affections, they walked on. Oh, how happy
the dear mother looked, when she saw the
two enter her lonely chamber. The heaven
ly light and warmth of love seemed to be
within and around them; and she saw that
two beings so exactly created the one for the
other, could not but find an eternal happiness
in each other. Gotleib was truly in one of
his genial and sunny moods; he seemed to
soju- into worlds of light; his expanding heart
was filled with the glory of Heaven. ‘i'he
teachings of his childhood were all brought
forth ; he talked of his beloved mother—now
an angel of God ; told of the beautiful hope
she awakened in his heart concerning the fit
tie maiden created by God for him, when his
heart shrunk in such pain from the isolation
her death would leave him in. Then he turn
ed to the blushing Anna, and said he thought
the maiden was now found. She lifted her
love-lighted eyes to his—he clasped her hand
and s;iid, softly—
“ Thou art mine!”
“I am thine,” fell responsive from the
maiden’s lips; and, in infinite blessedness,
flowed into the loving, satisfied heart of
Gotleib.
The next day brought with it anew and
beautiful joy. A letter from the beloved one,
conveyed into his hand as he tenderly press
ed hers, at parting. For this his thirsty soul
had yearned—for some expression of me
maiden’s heart-love that h:id as yet gleamed
upon him but momentarily from her modest
eyes. But alone in his chamber with the dear
letter before him! Ah. now indeed he was to
lift the veil that hid his life’s treasure. To
have revealed to him the heart and mind of
the beloved one. And his whole being went
forth to her as he read the tender revealings.
She wrote—
“Gotleib! m3’ heart would speak to thine.
It longs to say gratefully—‘l love thee, thou
Heaven-sent one.’ And I would tell thee of
a dream that came to me last night in my
heart's beautiful happiness:
“I was reading aloud to my mother in the
book you lent me. I read of how the angels
ever have their flic es turned to the Divine sun.
Os how their shining brows are attracted to
this central point, in whatever position they
may be—even as our feet are attracted to
the central point of the earth. 1 was happy
in this beautiful truth, and felt that through
my love for thee, my thought was lifted up
ward, and my face, too, was turned to the
Lord; and when sleep came, it seemed as if
my happy spirit was conscious of anew and
beautiful existence. I found myself in a large
place, and a company of angelic spirits sur
rounded me; and we were setited at a table,
adorned with an exceeding elegance, and hav
ing many varieties of food, of which we par
took, but without a consciousness of taste
only there was a genial delight of mind aris
ing from the mutual love of all those bright
ones. An angel-woman spoke to me and said,
•This is the Lord's supper—appropriate to
thyself the goods and truths of liis heavenly
kingdom.’ While she thus spoke, I saw thee, 1
dear Gotleib, approach, with such a smiling
i and beautiful grace, and thou saidst to me,
holding my hand—‘Sweet one! how bright
; thou art! Hast thou learnt some new truth ?
for thou art ever bright, when thou dost per
ceive anew truth.’ Then I answered, ‘Ah,
ves, indeed! I have learned a beautiful new
truth ;’ and I led thee to an east window and
pointed upward to the great Sun, that shone
in such a divine effulgence—then I told thee
how the angels were held by the attraction of
love in this centre of being—even as the chil
dren of the world are held by the attraction
of gravitation to the earth—and as we talked,
the light shone around thee, dear Gotleib,
with so heavenly a glory, that my heart was
filled with anew love to thee. For I saw, i
truly, that thou wort a child of God, and in
loving thee, I loved Him who shone in such a
radiant glory upon thee. Oh! was not this
a pleasant dream? Gotleib! what worlds I
of beauty thou hast opened to me. Once 1113’
thought was so narrow, so bound down to
the earth ; but thou hast lifted me above the |
earth. A woman’s heart is so weak—it is
like a trailing vine, that cannot lift itself up 1
until its curling tendrils are wound around
the lofty tree tops of a man’s ascending
thought. Gotleib, thus dost thou bear me up
into the serene, bright heavens, and like some
blooming flowery vine, will my love ever seek
to adorn thy noble thoughts.”
Gotleib was charmed with the maiden’s
thoughts. Oh, ves—her flowers were al
ready blooming over liis highest branches.— i
She soared above him, and through her, heav
nely truths were growing clearer to him.—
How grateful he was to his Heavenly F;i
thcr, that from his own bosom, as it were, was
born his spirit’s companion. But her life was ,
from God—and how holy was her whole be
ing to him ! She was enthroned in iiis inmost
heart, to be forever treasured as the highest j
and best gift of God.
it was evening when he next stood beside
; her. The mother slept, and Anna and Got
leib stood in the moon lit window. Few,
and softly whispered, were his loving words
to her. But she smiled in a oneness of
thought when he said—
“ln Heaven the sun shone upon us; upon
j earth the cold moonbeams unite us—but the
I sunshine will soon come again.”
Anna felt that her letter had made Gotleib
( very happy; and she bent her head lovingly
!on his manly breast. Oh ! to him, the deso
j late, forlorn one, how thrilling was the first
| c;iress of the maiden. His lips touched her
! soft white brow with a delicious new joy.
But brow, eyes, cheeks and lips, were soon
! covered with rapturous kisses.
Ah! happv youth and maiden, thus be
dewed with life’s nectar of blessedness.—
What are earth’s sorrows to thee? Heaven
j is in thee, and eternity 011I3’ can satisfy the
j infinite desires of such hearts.
But as the days passed, the material body
of the mother wasted away, and her spirit
was growing bright in its coining glory. She
wished much to see her beloved Anna in a
holy’ marriage union before she left this world, j
So a few weeks after the betrothal, Gotleib j
ledhisb’ide to the marriage altar. It was ]
a festive scene of the heart’s happiness even
beside the bed of death. Madam Hendrick- i
son felt that she, too, was adorning for a
beautiful bridal —and earthly care being thus
removed from her heart, she was altogether
happy.
And the good, true-hearted Anna, in white
bridal garments and virgin innocence, looked
to the loving mother and the happy Gotleib
like an angel of God. Even the Herr pro
fessor Eberliard thought thus, and quite cer
tain it is, that the good minister spoke as if a
heavenly inspiration flowed into him, as he
bound the two into an eternal oneness of
being.
“Little children!” said he, “love one an
other! was the teaching of the great God, as
He walked upon the earth. Hence love is ‘
the holy of holies. And it flows from God
even as heat flows from the material sun—and
as the sun is in its own heat and light, so God
is in love.”
And taking the marriage ring, he placed it
on the soft, white, rose-tipped finger of the ‘
bride, and said—
“ How beautiful and expressive is this
symbol of union, showing the conjunction
of good and truth, which conjunction exists [
first in the Lord, for his love is the inmost
and His wisdom is like the golden bond of
truth encasing and protecting love. And this
love of the Lord flowing into man is received,
protected and guarded by woman’s truth, un
til, in her fitness and perfect adaptation to
him, she becomes the love of the wisdom of j
the man’s love, and the twain are no longer
two, but one.”
The fresh spring days were now corning,
and Madam Hendrickson went to an eternal
spring. But the heart of the loving Anna
rose above the earthly sorrow of separation ;
as if upheld by her husband’s strong faith, her
imagination delighted itself in following the
beloved mother into her new and beautiful
states of being.
Gotleib felt that now it was good for him
to return to the home of Lis childhood, for it
was more delightful to live apart from the
strife and toil of men. In the simple country
life much good might he done, and 3’et there
would be less of life’s sorrow to look upon. ]
It was weary to live in a crowded haunt, 1
where a perception of vice and misery so of- j
ten mingled itself with the blessedness of his
heart’s love. Anna was charmed and de
lighted with the pure country life, and as bu
siness increased on the Herr Doctor’s hands,
it was so great a happiness to her to minister
to his comfort. After the long winter rides
how she chafed his cold hands and warmed
his frozen feet, and how lovingly she helped
him to the hot suppers of the good Bettina,
no homeless and desolate wanderer of earth
can know. But to Gotleib, what inexpressi
ble blessedness was all this; and how often
he left off to eat, that he might clasp Anna
to his heart and cover her with kisses. Thus
went the blessed married life, until another
spring brought with it the sweet “dream
child,” as Anna called the little one, whom
the angel said was “the fruit of the union of
good and truth.”
The little Lina, thus born into the very
sphere of love, seemed ever a living joy. The
father’s wisdom guided the mother’s tender
love, and the little one was good and unsel
fish —and so gay in the infantile innocence
and grace of her being, that oftentimes the
young mother, leaning on the father's bosom,
would whisper—
“Gotleib! she is, indeed, an angel of God.”
One dark and wintry day, as the child
thus sported in the iuner glad light and joy
; °1 her heart, and Gotleib and Anna as usual
were watching the light of her radiance, a
beautiful \Y bite Dove flew fluttering against |
the friendly window. ‘1 he child grew still
in her wondrous joy. But the father quickly
j opened toe window, and the half frozen bird ‘
flew in, and pantinglv nestled itself in Anna’s ;
bosom. It was warmed and fed and loved
as bird never was before. For the little one
thought it was the spirit of God come down
upon the house, and Gotleib loved it, because |
to him it was a living symbol of the peace !
and purity of his married life, and Anna re- ‘
ceived it as a heavenly gift for the loving
child. Thus, both literally and spiritually, the
White Dove of innocence and peace dwelt
! in their midst.
PHILIPS'S FIRE ANNIHILATOR.
i FORMATION OF A COMPANY —TRIAL OF THE
APPARATUS.
The National Intelligencer confirms the j
i statement that some citizens of the United
j States of high standing having, after negotia- 1
I tions during the summer, obtained from the
patentees i:i England the right of fabricating
and vending Philips’s celebrated fire annihi
lator, they have, in conjunction with other
I respectable gentlemen at Washington, forin
| ed an association for carrying into effect, in
j the most vigorous and extensive manner, their
laudable and interesting object. The Intel
ligencer adds:
“The members of the company have been
in conference in Washington city for several
days past, and the result of their meeting,
we understand, has been the appointment of
the Hon. Elisha Whittlesey as president of
the company, and P. T. Barnum, Esq., of
world-wide celebrity, as general manager
and secretary. The company have already
entered on measures for the fabrication of an
nihilators as fast as possible, until they shall
be commensurate with the demands of the
1 country, and that we presume will he every
| house throughout the land worth saving front
the flames.
“The mode of charging it is as follows:
The outer case, which has a double bottom,
is filled with a certain quantity of water, and
two cylinders, each opening at the top and
bottom, and the sides pierced with holes, are
placed in the inside of the outer case or ves
sel. In the inside cylinder is placed a block
of composition, greatly resembling in ap
pearance, taste and smell,gunpowder; though,
of course, not possessing its detonating pro
| perties. In the centre of this block is an ori
fice, in which is placed a vial containing two
!or three kinds of acids. A small orifice,
; which communicates between the interior of
i the machine and compartment under false
bottom, in which the water is contained, is
! stopped up with soap or beeswax, and the top
i having been placed on, the Annihilator is rea
'dy for operation. The mode of putting it in
operation is by a small iron rod winch passes
; down through the top and rests on the vial.
Pressing this down at once breaks the vial,
discharges the acids, and the combustion of
the block of composition immediately takes
place. An intense heat is at once produced,
steam is almost instantly generated from the
water in the bottom of the vessel, and this
steam passing through and opening the orifice
which had been closed with soap or bees
wax, mingles with the gas in the interior, and
Doth are discharged together with tremendous
force and volume through the nozzle of the
machine on the fire which it is desired to ex
tinguish.”
A trial of the annihilator was had in this
city on Thursday afternoon, in the presence
of a number of gentlemen, in the yard of the
Merchants’ shot-tower. The machine is one
of several which have been imported bv
.Messrs. Edwards, Sanford <v Cos., of Adams
& Co.’s Foreign Express, and is of what is
called the house size, or the smallest manu
factured ; its cost in England, with a number
of charges, being £3. The experiments were
under tiie superintendence of Mr. Samuel M.
Shoemaker, Mr. Wm. Peters, and Mr. Geo.
A. Rawlings, and were witnessed by a num
ber of gentlemen who had been invited to be
present. Several barrels of shavings and I
chips, saturated with turpentine, and fully ig- j
nited, were easily extinguished by the gas j
thrown from it into the barrel.
A further experiment was made yesterday !
afternoon by Messrs. Shoemaker and Peters,
in an open lot adjoining the Vulcan Iron
Works of Messrs. Murray & Ilazlehurst, in j
presence of a number of gentlemen anxious 1
to test the utility and efficiency of thisimpor- j
taut invention. A tar-barrel, thoroughly sat- I
urated, and filled with shavings, and dry {
boards split up, the whole well soaked with !
turpentine, was set up on end on an iron frame !
to admit of free draught from below, and ig- j
nited ; in an instant the contents were envel- j
oped in flame, which rose with violence some
eight or ten feet above the edge of the barrel, j
At a time when the combustion was most in
tense, and the heat had fairly taken hold of
the heads and the sides of the barrel, the in
strument was put in operation, and a stream
of the gaseous fluid, which was instantly gen
erated, directed upon the flaming pile. The
effect was astonishing. Although probably,
under the disadvantage of an application in !
the open air, but a small proportion of the
gas evolved by the instrument was actually
discharged upon the flame, the whole was ex
tinguished in twenty-five seconds, and nothing .
remained but the reeking barrel and its black, !
charred and moistened contents. Not a spark
was to be seen, yet the power of the instru
ment was nos exhausted until some time after
it had accomplished its work.— Baltimore j
Sun.’
London Polic e. —Some of the tricks of
| the swell mob at the Crystal Palace have
been curious. (Lie thief dressed and look
j ing like a gentleman pretended to find a bug
on a lady’s dress, begging her to allow him to
kill a noisome insect, and she saw himtake it ‘
off. She thanked him warmly, and off he 1
went.
Fortunately she immediately perceived
; she had lost a valuable bracelet. She sus
pected her friend; went to a policeman and ,
told what had passed. He said are you sere
you would know the man ? She said she
was certain she would. Then go and stand
by that door till I come to you. She did so,
and the policeman soon joined her. He had
by telegraph had every door shut but tne one
they were at; they had not waited long when
the lady said that’s the man. Hie person
was taken in custody, searched, and on him
was found a small box tull of little bugs and
the lady’s bracelet. NV <is not that a clever
’ trick ?
i 1
TERMS OF PUBLICATION.
For onoycar, if paid in advance. - - - $2 5 O
“ “ “ if not paid in advance, - -3 t)0
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
Oncsqnare.firstinsrrtion, - - - - -$1 0(1
“ each subsequent insertion, - 5®
A liberal deduction raadeiu favor of those who adver
tise largely.
NO. 48.
IMPORTANT INVENTION.
Some time since a patent was'granted to
Dr. E. Maynard, of Charleston, as the inven
tor of anew system of priming for fire-armtf.
The invention was brought (o the notice of
our Government, and it was considered wor
thy of a trial to test its efficiency. A joint
board of distinguished officers of the army
and navy was appointed, and a most severe
and protracted trial was made.
The report made by the board was so full
| and favorable that the Government nppoint
i ed another joint board, with the Ger.eral-in
| Chief as its President, to consider and report
, upon the propriety of a purchase of the pat
ent right for the Government use. The
board reported favorably, and the purcliaso
was made.
Last year an order for a practical field
trial was given, and two hundred mus
kets and thirty thousand primers were sent
j to Texas, where, for four months, they were
subjected by the l nited States troops to the
1 usual trials and exposures of military arms in
field service. The report of the officers en
trusted with this trial, is alike gratifying and
creditable to the inventor, and interesting to
all military and gun-using persons. A know
ledge of its merits and advantages secures all
that is now necessary to ensure the adoption
of this system, wherever the most perfect and
efficient arm for military purposes can he re
quired, and where the same advantages are
appreciated for sporting guns, rifles, <Ac.
This invention is extremely simple; it chan
ges neither the model, weight, nor action of
the gun, and is applicable to any kind of fire
arms. The arms used for the Government
trials, up to this time, have been flint-locks,
altered so as to use either this primer or the
percussion cap. Ti e very slightly increased
cost of the arm, upon this system, is so incon
siderable as to be covered by the saving on
live hundred primers, these costing less than
one-fourth as much as caps.
.So far as the act of priming is concerned,
the most difficult act the soldier has to per
form in battle, this invention makes the gun
automatic—it performs the act itself—and
that, too, with a precision unattainable by
hand, without regard to position, or tempera
ture, or climate, or light, of benumbed or
bruised and clumsy fingers, or awkwardness
of the soldier.
As may be supposed, the increase in rapid
ity of firing is very great—it is reported to ho
from twenty-five to thirty per cent. Ordina
rily, and under some circumstances, which
embarrass the soldier, the increase would he
some hundreds per cent.
As under some of the European patent laws,
a published description would debar the in
ventor from obtaining a patent, we will mere
ly say that this system differs entirely from
those in which the detonating material is in
the form of loose powder, (Forsyth’s,) or
in small pills, or in metallic or other tubes,
(Ilearteloupes Nebeli,) all which systems
have been tried for military purposes, and
have been abandoned ; some for insecurity
or inefficiency, and some because they can
not be understood, handled and managed by
the common soldier.
The new system is reported as safer than
the cap, (heretofore regarded the most safe;)’
and as being easily understood, and managed
with entire simplicity and ease by the most
untutored; and when once applied to tho
gun, lasts, without tho necessity of being
touched by the hand, for the duration of tho
longest battle. .Some of our sportsmen are
partially acquainted with this invention—it
having been applied to Sharp’s celebrated
rifle by Nipps and Butterfield; and a man
ufactory of the same arm and primer, upon a
very large scale, is in progress at Hartford,
Connecticut. The Messrs. Remington, of
Herkimer, New York, celebrated for their
barrels, both for the United States and pri
vate arms, have recently completed a double
barrel gun upon this system of priming for
the inventor. Its beauty, compactness, sim
plicity and utility, we have never seen equal
led. It cannot fail to arrest the attention and
please the taste of the sportsman. Before we
saw this we were not aware that such beau
tiful and perfect double-barrel sporting guns
were made in this country.
The many and favorable reports that have
been made respecting this important inven
tion, and the unanimous verdict given in its
favor by all military and sporting gentlemen
who have tried it. leave but little doubt of its
general adoption in tins country and abroad.
— Soul/urn Press.
Doings of Rum in One Year in New
York. —A record kept in New York, shows
that the deaths by delirium tremens and simi
lar causes in that city*, for the last twelve
months, were 150. Only a portion of the
deaths from intemperance are reported by
ph ysieians, who, out of regard to the feelings
of families, generally report them under the
name of apoplexy, congestion of the brain,
<kc. ‘The most of those on record are repor
ted from coroners’ inquests and hospitals.—
With this view of the case, the 150 deaths
above stated, may he taken as the record of
350 to 450 deaths during the twelve months.
To these may he added a largo portion of
those who are “found drowned,” and we shall
have from 500 to COO from intemperance eve
ry twelve months. But there are scores of
accidents which occur while parties are intox
icated, which are reported under the head of
“casualties,” which must be added to tho
above. During the twelve months included
in the above statement, many have fallen
and “fractured the skull,” “broken the neck,”
“fallen down stairs,” <Ac., the addition of
which will form a large figure in the sum to
tal. There were nine murders during the
; same time, caused by rum, and nearly net
thousand live-day commitments for drunken
ness ; nearly as many arrests for disorderly
i and riotous conduct and assault and battery,
: and other offences against public order. Jhe
i last quarterly report of the chief of police
gives over five thousand arrests, which aro
chargeable to intemperance.
Inteupehance. —Anacharsis, the philoso
pher, being asked by what mean3 a man
might best guard against the vice of drunk
enness, answered, “By bearing constant
ly in his mind the loathsome, indecent
behavior of such as are intoxicated.” Up
on this principle was founded the custom of
the Lacedemonians, of exposing their drunk
en slaves to their children, who by that
means conceived an early aversion to a vico
which makes men appear so monstrous and
irrational.