Newspaper Page Text
THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
IB PUBLIBHBD
EVER V THURSDAY MORNING,
HY
T. LOMAX 4, CO.
TEXXENT LOMAX, Ho,™..
Office on Randolph street.
Dte van) Department.
Conducted by... CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. !
[WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR TUE SOUTHERN SENTINEL.] i
HELL AND ROSE.
BY CAROLINE LEK IIEXTZ.
(CONCLUDED.)
It was a bright blue, vernal morning, and
when Bell found herself by Mr. Urvin in an
elegant carriage, while Frank rode as a cav
alier, in advance, she felt, whatever life had
in store for her, there was joy, there was rap
ture, in the present moment Mr. Urvin’s
manner was so kind and tender, his conver- :
sat ion so fascinating—how could she think of ;
any thing else ? Then the air was so balmy j
with the incense of opening flowers, 60 full j
of the sweet music of singing waters and I
warbling birds and rustling leaves, her young J
heart, liberated from the restraint of daily dis- j
topline, throbbed in unison with the great, ;
glad heart of nature. The ride seemed all
too short, when they stopped at a large white
gate, in front of a handsome new house, built i
in the cottage style, in the midst of a beauti
ful green yard, shaded by acacia trees. Bell
east an enquiring glance towards her com
panion, who, smiiing at her bewildered ex
pression, sprang from the carriage and as- j
stated her to descend.
“Our hostess stands at the door to wel
come us,” said he. “Do you not recognize i
her ?”
Bell looked, hut the hostess was not stand
ing in the door; she was running down the j
steps to meet them, and Bell was sure, from
her dress and manner, that they were expect- i
ed guests. A glow, bright as the morning, j
dawned on her face. She ushered them into
a little parlor, newly and handsomely fur
nished, containing nothing to remind one of
the old room in the cabin, but the hour-glass,
which now stood on the mantlepiece, and the
boughs of the acacia trees, that shaded the !
windows.
“Yon miss the old cabin,” said Bose, “do ,
you not? Yonder it is, in the back ground, j
and there llannah presides, the happiest of
human beings. Can you imagine what mo
dern Aladdin has built this palace for our
abode, leaving us almost without a wish, j
certainly without a want ?”
.She cast a grateful, Bell thought an ador- j
ing, glance at Mr. Urvin, whose countenance j
beamed with joy. Yes, the shelves of books j
were there also, hanging on the wall. Frank, j
who thought himself armed with sufficient :
philosophy to think of Rose as a friend, felt ’
his panoply la! ling a wav from him, leaving him I
unhehued, unshielded and weaponless, find- |
ing it difficult to talk with ease, he turned to i
the hook shelves, and pretended to be absor- j
bed by their contents. Me took up his own j
Shakespeare. He could not help perceiving j
that every passage he had read and admired |
was imuked, and as he opened the leaves, j
rose petals, carefully pressed, dropped at his |
feet.
“'lake care!” said Rose, stooping to gath- !
er the faded blossoms. As she lifted her
head, their eyes met w ith mutual embarrass- j
meat, and as she dropped the rose leaves be j
tween the page?, her hand, which accidentally j
touched his, trembled. This did not seem ;
like indifference. Frank looked involuutari- j
lv at Mr. Urvin, exjK'cting to see a jealous*
frown, hut on the contrary, he wore a ie j
markablv benignant expression, though he
w as gazing on them.
“He does not seem to he jealous,” thought
Frank. “I’ll try bint a little more. I’ll ask
her to go to the spring, and drink perchance
the last pure draught of happiness that w ill
ever refresh my thirsty spoil.”
The serene expression of Mr. Urvin’?,
countenance uid not change, as they passed
out together, unless it beamed with greater
satisfaction. Bel! was vexed w ith herself at
the embarrassment she experienced, on find
ing herself alone with Mr Urvin. She thought
it hardly polite in Rose to leave her, and
wondered if Rose would have been pleased,
if she had gone with Mr. Urvin in the same
manner.
“How very lovely Rose is!” said she, fol
lowing with her eyes, her retreating figure.
“I thought her merely pretty when I first
saw her—now, sho is really beautiful.”
“She is lovely, and what is more, she is
good and true,” replied Mr. Urvin. “She is
■worthy of the heart she has won.”
“I believe so. 1 have always thought, al
ways said so,” cried Bell, speaking with
warmth, though cold shivers crept through
her frame “1 congratulate you on the treas
ure you have gained. 1 hope—l trust ”
£he thought she would make an eloquent
speech, hut her voice grew husky, then falter
ed and died away. Ashamed of her emo
tion, and terrified at the construction he
might put upon it, she rose precipitately to
leave the room, when he intercepted her
flight.
“IV hy do you congratulate me /” he cried,
taking her hand and leading Fier back to her
seat, while a triumphant smile played upon
..is lips. “Look at me, Bell, read the lan
guage ot my countenance truly and honestly,
and then, if you have faith in my integrity,
tell me if you believe that 1 love Rose Mayfield;
that it is of my own heart 1 was speaking;
that 1 have even iu thought, ever rivalled your
brother ?”
Bell looked up one moment—tbq next, her
head was bowed, and her cheeks, forehead
Hi?d neck, were suffused with crimson. Even
VOL 111.
the hand which he held, caught a roseate ■
tinge, from the sun-burst of happiness that
illumined her heart.
“I have never intended to trifle with your
feelings, Bell,” added he, after a pause of
deep emotion, for he actually trembled to
perceive the extent of Ins ow n overmastering
influence. “I have withheld the expression
of my own, in spite of almost irresistible
temptations, while adversity has been testing
and time confirming your long latent virtues.
Even from the fiist, 1 was charmed by your
beauty, and fascinated by the strange min
gling of nrtlessness and affectation, of sim
plicity and coquetry, visible in your charac
ter. But I have passed the heyday of youth
ful romance, and could not choose as the |
wife of my bosom, a mere daughter of sash- j
ion, a devotee of the world. I resisted the
spell, though l still kept within the sphere of
the enchantress. It was not till your sudden
reverse of fortune, that l knew the extent of
my infatuation. Ah! little did you imagine,
when 1 coldly counselled, and cautiously di- j
vected your course of action, urging you
with the sternness of a stoic, to gird yourself
for tlie battle of life, without offering to
guard you in the day of conflict, how I lon
ged to fold you in my protecting arms, and
make my bosom your shield in danger, your ;
pillow in peace. But I saw that tied had ta
ken you liy tiie hand, to lead you through j
the refiner’s fire, and I followed His steps,
trembling, lest you should sink in the flames
kindled to purify your soul. Many a time ;
have 1 been tempted to speak and shorten
your day of trial, but so nobly, so heroically
did you bear yourself, it seemed sacrilege to
wish to turn you in a different path, though
the one you were treading might he strewed
with thorns. Bell, lam no young, boyish ;
wooer, r.ning of love and rapture. I am a
man, much older than yourself, and made !
of far sterner materials; hut such as 1 am, I
love you, with a love, strong, and deep, am!
boundless, and enduring.”
It is doubtful whether anv one ever felt
happier than Bell, while listening to thisman-
Iv avowal of i! she ever wished to inspire.
But the fervor of ins manner was so chasten- 1
ed by solemnity, so subdued by tenderness,
that she wept, even while her heart was
aching front the oppression of its joy—we
should rather say, because of that strange
fullness and oppression.
In the meantime Frank and Rose stood
by the spring, shaded by the prettiest little
arbor in the world.
“Rose!” exclaimed Frank, with till the
straight forwardness and impetuosity of his
nature, “only tell me one thing. Don’t trifle
with me. Don’t keep me in suspense —for t
cannot bear it. Are you going to marry .Mr.
Urvin?”
“Certainly not, unless he asks me,” she
replied, with a provoking smile, “but tell me
by what right you presume to ask me such
unwarrantable questions ?” When seeing the
tragic expression of his countenance, she ad
ded, with a gentle, earnest gravity —
“I love Mr. Urvin as my elder brother, es
teem him as my best friend, and revere him
as my generous, my noble benefactor. He
regards me with a kind of parental interest,
as the adopted child of his sister, whom he
most dearly loved. You see what he has
done for my father. This beautiful cottage,
with all the comforts and luxuries it contains,
he presented to me, that my father might ro-
I ecive as my gift, what he wool ! not accept
from another hand. I should be the most
ungrateful of human beings, it l did not revere
him next to my God. But as for love ”
She paused, smiled, and stooping down,
scooped some of the gushing water in the
hollow of her hand, and scattered it iu dia
monds over his head.
This playful, graceful act did more to put
■ Frank at his ease, than a multitude of words
j cou’d do.
“One question more,” cried he, embolden
led by lie: gayety. “Could you, do you, will
you, love such a poor, good-for-nothing fel
low as myself? A little while ago 1 could
have laid a fortune at your feet—now I am
poor. 1 dare not ask you to share my pov
erty, but if you could only love me one mil
! liontli part as much as I love you, I should
; be inspired to do the work of a thousand gi
i ants. 1 would be a second Midas, and trans
mute every thing into gold, by the divine al
chemy of love. 1 would wait and serve like
another Jacob, thinking the days hours, and
the hours minutes, for the exceeding love I
; hear you.”
“But, supposing, as we are both poor, we
j should labor hand in hand, and not wait as
| long as Jacob did!” cried Rose, with a most
j beautiful blush.
“Do you say that, Rose?” exclaimed
j Frank. “Heaven bless you, Rose. I don’t
| deserve—l can hardly bear so much hap-
J piness.”
I In the ecstacy f his joy, he was about to
throw his arms around her, when a fresh
shower of diamonds sparkled in his face and
Winded his eyes. ...
“If you would have peace, there must “
space between us,” said she, langhing at’
twinkling of his eyes, as he shook the bngSfc
drops from his hair. “Come, let us go back
to the bouse. It is rude in roe to leave your
j sister so long.”
i “Tell me first, if l must be a farmer,
| Rose.”
“What are you now?”
“A lawyer by profession, a clerk by ne
cessity.”
“Y’ou had better consult Mr. Urrin.”
“But,” exclaimed Frank suddenly, with a
clouded countenance, “I forgot one thing—
you are rich—you are an heiress. Mr. Ur
vrn said he intended to settle half his fortune ;
on you. I desire no fortune. I would not ;
accept it, if it were offered. lam richer now
than my hopes, as affluent as my wishes. I j
am only poor in words to speak my heart’s j
immeasurable content.”
And she yielded her hand with charming
grace to Frank, whose usually merry eyes ac
tually glistened as he received it.
Does any one care to hear how well Far
mer Mayfield looked, in his Sunday clothes,
((residing at the dinner table, and carving the j
roasted turkey with his strong, brown hands? j
What delicious curds and cream were served
by the fair hands of Rose, and what happy
faces shone around that simple, hospitable
hoard ? Perhaps the farmer did most of the
eating himself, as labor creates appetite and
sentiment destroys it, but no one cares for
that.
Does any one care to know how Mrs.
Raymond became reconciled to the marriage
of her son with the farmer’s daughter ? and
how she exulted in securing, at last, the rich
and distinguished Mr. Urvin as her sou-in
law?
There is something so repulsive in her
character, we would rather say nothing more
about her, regretting that the paradise of
Bell’s happy homo should be marred by so
ungeuiul an inmate.
Mr. Urvin, with a delicacy only equalled
bv his munificence, settled the fortune on
Frank tie had intended for Rose, liyis ena
bling him to return to the profession for
which nature had most eminently qualified
him.
There is one circumstance connected with
Mrs. R aymond which we forgot to mention,
or we would not refer to her again.
Every Sunday, Mr. Urvin invited Farmer
Mayfield to dine with him, and had lie been
the Chief Magistrate of the land, he could not
have treated him with more respectful atten
tion. On this day, Frank and Rose were al
so regularly invited guests. It was a happy
family meeting, but the farmer’s presence al
ways gave Mrs. Raymond a sick headache,
and she was generally obliged to keep her
room, and this necessity never seemed to
damp the spirits of the household.
Poor Mrs. Raymond !
A PATRIARCH-INTRODUCTION OF
THE COTTON GIN. ‘
The following highly interesting commu
nication from the Hon. Garnett Andrews, to
the Southern Cultivator, presents some facts
: connected with the early history of the cot
j ton gin in Georgia, that cannot fail to he
’ entertaining:
i Messrs. E ditors —Cotton having become
j of such vast importance, not only to the pro
ducers, hut to the world, every thing relating
to its history is of interest. Therefore, I am
induced to g’ve a little information l lately
: obtained ol the great staple,
j i rode, a few days since, six miles below
i this place, to see my old friend, Thos. Talbot,
j and his kitchen and barn. Mr. Talbot is
eighty-three years old, in full possession of
his faculties, and is living where he settled
j sixty-two years ago. Whitnev, the inventor
of the cotton gin, settled a plantation adjoin
ing him, on which he placed one of his gins,
the first that was ever used in Wilkes county ;
perhaps the first in the State. He and his
* partner, Durkee, erected a gin house and a
large cotton house—the latter to hold the
I cotton they expected to receive from eusfo
mers to gin. The gin house was grated, so
that visitors might look through and see the
cotton flying from, without seeing the gin.
He suffered women to go into thegin house to
| see the machinery, not apprehending that
; they could betray his secret to builders. Ly
on, who lived some eight or ten miles above
| this place, by dressing himself in women’s
clothes, procured admittance, and came out
and made his improvement, the saw gin.—
Mr. Talbot says that Billy McFerran, a little
Irish blacksmith, who died a few years ago
i in this county, made the saws, the first that
ever were made. Durkee, Whitney's partner,
i being dissipated and inattentive to business,
; he sold out his place, and the gin and cot
-1 ton house coming into the possession ot Mr.
i Talbot, he moved them to this place. The
former is now his kitchen, and still lias its
long grated windows, as in the time of Whit
ney. The cotton house makes a large and
j commodious barn. Mr. Talbot says that Al
i lison, or Ellison, who had been connected
1 with Whitney in business, told him that the
| latter got his first idea of the invention from
a gin used to prepare rags for making paper,
and which he saw on a wrecked vessel.
| On the place sold by Whitney was erect
-1 ed, in 1811, a cotton factory, and, I presume,
the first in the State. The prime mover in
the enterprise was a Mr. Bolton, of Savan
nah, a lerchnnt, who spent his summers,
j tefetyin Washington. Mr. Talbot had four
fjactory had one hundred and
cost 81700, and made fifty
tyardAfff cloth a day, which sold from fifty
cents to one dollar per yard. The weaving
was done hy hand-loom weavers, who were
obtained from Long Cane, in South Caroli
na. The factory proved an unprofitable
affair.
; In this connection, it may be interesting to
i say, that daring the war of 18)2, eotton
j was hauled from this country to Haltimore
! and Philadelphia, and the wagons loaded
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 28, 1852.
back again with goods. Wagoners are now
living in the country who used to drive the
teams engaged in this service.
1 cannot close this communication without
a word about my aged and highly respecta
ble friend, in his character of planter. Some
of the land now in cultivation by Mr. Talbot,
was old when three-fourths of Georgia was •
iu possession of the Indians. Originally o!
a strong soil, as Wilkes county generally
was, Mr. ‘Talbot, by paying some attention
to improvement, has not only preserved, but j
much improved some of his old lands. But :
that to which 1 wish particularly to direct at
tention, is his regret that he had not commen
ced hili-side ditching long ago, before the
creeks and branches had carried off the best
of his soil. The walnut, locust and other
shade trees in his yard, planted with his own
hands, have the appearance of aged trees, j
rlis servants, some as old or older than him
self, with the gent rations of children, grand I
children, and 1 do not know how far to go
in the great-grand-children, give to the white
headed citizen the appearance of a patriarch
!at the head of his tribe. He has had born
on his place one hundred and nine children,
but has kept no record of deaths.
GARNETT ANDREWS.
Washington, Ga., Aug., 1852.
SNEEZING.
One of the old French histories, in allu
ding to the tremendous influenza of the be
ginning of the seventh century, says that
there has been referred to it the familiar
usage of offering good wishes to those who
j sneeze. It is said, he says, that in the days
<*>f Gregory VII., those who had the misfor
■ tune to sneeze, immediately died. This gave
occasion to the religious Pontiff to order for
the faithful certain prayers accompanied by
good wishes to turn away these dangerous
effects from the corruption of the air. This
is a fable, adds the author ; for we arc assu
red that the custom is older m all parts of
the known world. It is well known to my
thological students that the first signs of
life, which the man made by Prometheus
•rave, was a sneeze. Prometheus had stolen
j D ‘
i a part of the rays of the sun, and filled with
I them a vessel made expressly for the purpose,
1 which lie sealed hermetically He then re
turned at once to his favorite statue, and pre
sented to it his bottle opened. It may be im
agined that the odor of the bottled sun
beams proved somewhat pungent; the rays
| had lot some of their activity; they insinu
ated themselves into the pores of the statue
and made it sneeze. Prometheus, charmed
with his success, made a prayer, and offer
ed vows for the preservation of this singular
being. Ilis pupil heard him ;he remember
ed him, and took great care on similar occa
sions to make the application of these vows
to his descendants, who, from father to son,
have preserved the memory of them from
generation to generation. And at this day
the custom holds in all countries of th e
world.
The Rabbins, speaking of this usage, do
not give to it the same antiquity. They say
that after the creation, God made a general
law that every living man should only sneeze
once, and that in the same instant he should
surrender his soul to God, without any pre
vious sickness. Jacob, who was dissatisfied
with this brusque way of going out of the
world, and wished an opportunity to set his
I affairs in order before he died, bowed himself
before the Lord, wrestled with him again, and
begged he might be excepted from this rule.
His prayer was granted ; he sneezed and did
not die. All the princes of the world being
informed oi this fact, ordered teat for the fu
ture, sneezing should be accompanied with
prayer and vows for the preservation and
prolongation of life.
T he tradition was very ancient in the timw
of Aristotle, who did not know the origin of
it and sought to explain it in his Problems.
He pretends that the first men conceived very
; elevated ideas about the head, which is the
principal seat of the mind, and that they carried
their reverence even to respect for the sneeze,
which is one of the most manifest and sen
sible operations of the head. The formulas
of blessing used by the Romans and Greeks
on occasions of sneezes, were : “May Ju
piter preserve you,” or simply “Health,” or
“May you be well.”
Telling Faults Did any body ever
hear the story of two bachelor brothers,
! down in Tennessee, who had lived a cat-and
dog sort of life, to their own and the neigh
borhood’s discomfort, for a good many years,
but now, having been at a camp meeting,
were slightly “convicted,” and concluded to
| reform ?
“Brother Tom,” says one, when they had
! arrived at their home, “let us sit down and
I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You tell me of
all my faults and I’ll tell you of yourn, and
so we’ll know how to go about mending
of ’em ”
“Good !” says brother Tom.
“Well,yon begin.”
“No, you begin, brother Joe.”
“Well—in the first place, you know, broth-
I er Tom, you will lie.”
i Crack! goes brother Tom’s “paw” be
tween brother Joe’s “blinkers,” and consid
| erable of a “scrimmage” ensues, until, in the
course of ten minutes, neither s able to
• “come np to time,” and the reformation i3
postponed sine die.—-V, TANARUS, Spirit of the
Titles
HAPPINESS AND PLEASURE.
Between happiness and pleasure there is a
great and material difference, yet how often is
one mistaken for the other! The man who
pursues pleasure in the hope ot obtaining
happiness, will find at last that he has but
followed a phantom, and instead of landing
safe upon its shore, will be wrecked upon
the rock of disappointment. To follow one
for the possession of the other is a great er
ror, for we are affected bv them in a totally
different manner, and to a certain degree,
they have nothing in common.
Pleasure, like a bird, is ever on the wing ; j
it is like a flash of lightning breaking through
a cloud and glittering only for a moment; j
and also bears a resemblance to a gentle j
flower, which perishes almost in the gather- j
mg. It has a tendency to enervate the mind, j
and generally leaves an unfilled space in the !
heart, while it renders most interesting ob
jects insipid, and when it departs, we sigh
with grief and remember it with regret.
We are all capable of feeling the sensa
tions of pleasure, and can always trace them
to the source from whence they originate; in
fact, pleasure is superficial, and is shed upon
us like an artificial heat, which, because it is
not natural, soon leaves us. The cause of it
is not \\ ithin ourselves, hut depends alto
gether upon circumstances, and thus it is
that the soul of man is not capable of receiv
ing lasting impressions of pleasure.
Happiness, on the contrary, is possessed
of an entirely different attribute —it is last
ing and shines equally upon all; it fills the
■ human mind with pure and lofty feelings,
and invests every object with a robe ot light
: and gladness, while at the same time it gen-
C .1 . . .
crates warmth, which we enjoy as it it were
communicated to us.
Happiness is closely allied with content
ment, for one cannot exist without the pres
ence of the other, and blessed are they who
feel the holy influence of that virtue. It
i fjiiclis ail murmurs, extinguishes all repinings,
: and destroys all ingratitude towards tiie Au
thor of our being. It gives sweetness to
our dispositions, serenity to our thoughts,
aml causes us to have a God-like love for all
the world.
Happiness is not, like pleasure, dependent
; upon circumstances for its existence, for it is
the manner of feeling which constitutes it,
j and the)’ will never feel the want ot iiappi-
I ness who have a consciousness of their own
rectitude of conduct. W e may be blessed
i with worldly advantages, yet, without a pure
i conscience. s| nd conte ited mind, we would
fail to experience the joys which flow from
that heaven-born treasure, happiness ; and,
therefore, it becomes us all to ’Cultivate a
“good conscience,” that we may be able to
taste tiie bliss of a contented mind.
THE DIGNITY OF LABOR.
I It is an indication oi littleness in any
mind to be ashamed of work. It is to deny
i the law of nature, for it is a universal man
! date, written in the necessity of things, that
“iu the sweat of thy face” is every thing
great or valuable to be accomplished. The
human frame or genius has never yet dawned
j upon the world that could despise labor, and
not be an outlaw against nature. We look
1 as in vain, to w itness the accomplishment of
anything without the application of mental
or physical effort. YV here are the monu
ments of creative idleness ? YV hen are the
| triumphs of genius everlastingly at rest ?
They are not to he found in the past. His
tory makes no record of them. They are not
: among the wonders of the present. The
universe is void of all trace of them, for they
are not, and have not been. All that digni
fies history, or makes the present glorious,
i has been the result of this same law of work.
1 What has not labor done? In fact, nothing
has been done without it. It has bnilded our
cities, floated our navies, led our armies and
governed the nation. It has stored the mind
I of the student, penned the inspiration of the
I poet, struck eloquence from the mute marble,
| given history an unforgetting memory, and
thrown the hues and speaking lines of life
i upon an inanimate canvas. All this and more
has labor done. It lias beautified life and
made it tolerable. Without work, existence
were a dull, monotonous prolongation of
days, with nought to mark the lapse of time
hut the rising and setting of suns. Who covets
, the barren file of full ease, that has no manly
struggles, no doubtful battlefields, no gene
rous thrills ? Rather than be doomed to such
a Dead Sea fate, we would be thrown upon
the billows of an eternal conflict, to alter
nate forever between triumph and defeat.—
They whose lot is a life of toil, in their mad
ness often sigh for the repose and careless
indulgence of the opulent children of Mam
mon. But little do they think of the days
vacant of incident, and the nights burdened
with sleep, and the ceaseless return of the
forms misnamed of pleasure. And too light
ly do they estimate the luxury of genuine
impulse, the consciousness of mighty passion,
awaking to the sublimity of life, and
the proud and satisfying repose, that
| comes with the final triumph over tempora
ry ills.
We have said that there is a dignity in la
bor. Every one has felt it, who has lent him
self earnestly to work. He has felt that his
| virtue was safest, when he had thrown about
it the safeguard of honest, unwavering occu
pation. These are the moments of his most
i conscious pride,
1 Ti Ha a nari fn inwil.
cate the love of labor, the esteem of its re
wards and the supremacy of its law. Were
its true dignity appreciated, men would seek
to make their children gentlemen by making
them workers, rather than by putting money j
into their purses. If idleness be an evil, then j
is the father’s blessing too often his bitterest
curse. Labor is not onerous, when performed i
with an appreciation of its true nature. It !
then becomes dignified and'honorable, eievu- I
ting man to his true position among the cre
ations of Omniscience. Neglecting this law
of his being, he becomes an idler in a uni- j
verse of activity and energy. lie sleeps, till
the crisis of a great destiny is passed. He
sells his birth-right for a day of inglorious
ease. He dolls the priestly garment of Na
ture, and puts on, in its stead, the beggarly
rags of an outcast and a vagabond.
TIIE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
The principal item of news by the Canada, :
which arrived last week, is the death of the j
“Iron Duke,” which took place on the 14th |
ult., at Walmer Castle, after a succession of i
fits. The London Times of the 15th, a copy
of which is lying before us, devotes no less
than twenty-three columns to a recapitulation
of the history of the great captain of the age,
who, with not a spark of romantic heroism in
his composition, with not a drop of sympathy
with the masses of the people, “rose by a ra
pid series of achievements, which none had
surpassed, to a position which no other man
in the nation ever enjoyed.” In the estima
tion of the Times, “clearness of discernment,
j correctness of judgment, and rectitude in ac
tion, were, without doubt, the principal ele
ments of the Duke’s brilliant achievements in
war, and of his vast authority in the councils
of his country, as well as hi the conferences
of Europe.”
The Times concludes a long and eloquent
| tribute to the distinguished dead with the fol
lowing words :
I r
“When men in after times shall look back
to the annals of England for examples of en-
I ergv and public virtue among those who have
raised this country to her station on the eaith,
no name will remain more conspicuous or
; more unsullied than that of Arthur Wellesley,
; the great Duke of Wellington. The actions
i of his life were extraordinary, but iris charac
ter was equal to his actions, lie was the ve
ry type and model of an Englishman; and
| though men are prone to invest the worthies
| of former ages with a dignity and merit they
1 commonly withhold from their contempora
ries, we can select none from tire long array
j of our captains and nobles, who, taken for
i all in all, can claim a rivalry with him who is
gone from amongst us, an inheritor of imper
ishable fame.”
1 THE DOUBLE SIGHTED YOUTH.
A correspondent Q.f the New York Her
ald, describing the varied? notabilities on
; board the steamer Arctic, make, ’*>& follow
| ihg mention of a mysterious yontti } who
must beat the spiritual rappers all hollow/#
the description be correct:
“The last, but by no means least, in the
array of professionals on board, is Mr. Er
nest Heller, known more familiarly through
out Europe a3 “The Mysterious Double
sighted Youth.” His performance of what i*
called the “second sight” is the most wonder
j I’ul and incomprehensible affair extant, of
which we had several opportunities of judging
; during the trip. He will allow himself to he
i blindfolded and placed at one end of the room
| and his companion, a cousin or a brother, 1
believe, will go round and collect articles
from the audience, and on the youth’s being
1 asked, he will describe the articles tendered for
; description—coins, rings, seals, crests, bills,
i cards, letters, signatures, notes, gloves,
handkerchiefs, and in short, the most unlook
; ed for curiosities, were handed out and cor
! rectiv described. All sorts of conjectures
! were, of course, on tiptoe as to bis powers
of discrimination, but all failed to come at
! even a shadow of certainty on the subject.
It is said to be animal magnetism. If so, it
is certainly the clearest illustration yet seen,
and will go far to show the fallacy of the
spiritual rapping doctrine. One of the
passengers, Mr. A. T. Stewart, thought
he could puzzle the youth, and very quietly
showed his brother a letter he had received
! from a house in England the day he sailed,
i and asked if Ernest could tell who wrote
it. “Oh, certainly,” was the reply, “ask him
yourself,” which was no sooner done than
| replied to, and the name in full given, to the
utter astonishment of our friend Stewart, of
Broad way celebrity. This novel entertain
ment will contrast well with the great events
of this miracle-working age.
From the Spirit World. —The follow
ing is reported as a true message from a cer
| tain individual now in the “Spirit World,” as
| we have been told:
Rapper. John Jones!
Spirit of John answers bv two raps.
Rapper. Are you happy?
Spirit. Yes, in all but one thing.
Rapper. What is that ?
| Spirit. I left the world without calling on
he Printer, as I promised. Oh, if I could
hut return to the earth, I would do
Rapper. Do what?
Spirit. Call on the poor Printer and pay
him them four dollars; but it’s too late.
Rapper. No; send a message to your
j once fond dear wife to pay it for you, and
i then vcu will ba happy
i• • *
TERMS OF PUBLICATION.
One Copy, per annum, if paid in advance,. ..$2 00
“ “ “ “ “ ia six mor.tr s, 250
“ “ “ •* “ at end of year, 300
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
One square, first insertion, - - - - - $1 00
“ “ each subsequent insertion, - 50
A liberal deduction made in iavor of those wh*
advertise largely.
NO. 44.
Spirit. Yes, yes, tell her if she wishes
me to enjoy eternal happiness, to go at onco
and discharge that debt, and everlasting bliss
is mine.
Rapper. I will do as you bid me.
A messenger is dispatched to the widow,
informing her of the sufferings of the spirit
of her late husband on account of not mak
ing peace with the Printer. She answers
that she wili go at once, pay the man of types,
and ask him his forgiveness for her poor dear.
Rapper. I sent a message as you bid me
to your wife, arid she is, ere tiiis, on her way
to the friend you had forgotten whilst on
earth.
Spirit. O, joy unspeakable!
Rapper. She has seen the Printer and
paid him.
Spirit. Happy! happy!! am I!!!
THE ANCIENT CITY OF ANTIOCH.
Bayard Taylor thus describes this renowned
town of ancient times: On reaching a height
overlooking the valley of the river Oroides,
we saw in the east, at the foot of the moun
tain chain, the long lines of barracks built by
Ibrahim Pasha for the defense of Antioch.
Behind them the ancient wall of the city
clornb the mountains, whose crest it followed
to the last peak of the chain. From the next
hill we saw the city—a large extent of one
story houses with tiled roofs, surrounded with
gardens and half buried in the foliage of syca
mores. It extends from the river Oroides,
which washes its wails, up the slope of the
mountain and the crags of gray rock which
overhang it. We crossed the liver by a mas
sive old bridge and entered the town. Riding
along the rills of filth which traverse the
streets, forming their central avenues, we
passed through several lines of bazaars to a
large and dreary looking khan, the keeper of
which gave us the best vacant chamber—a
narrow place, full of fleas. Antioch presents
not even a shadow of its former splendor.
Except the great walls, ten to fifteen miles ia
circuit, which the Turks have done their best
to destroy, every vestige of the old city has
disappeared. The houses are all of one story,
on account of earthquakes, from which
Antioch has suffered more than any other city
in the w orld. At one time, during the Middle
Ages, it iost 120.000 inhabitants in one day.
Its situation is magnificent, and the modern
town, notwithstanding its filth, wears a bright
and busy aspect. Situated at the base of a
lofty mountain, it overlooks towards the east, J
a plain thirty or forty miles in length, with a
lake in the centre, and producing the most
abundant harvests. A great, number of the
inhabitants are workers in wood and leather,
and very thrifty and cheerful people they ap
pear to be.— Correspondence of the Tribune, \
WELLINGTON AND NAPOLEON.
It has been said that the Duke of Welling
ton never wrote a dispatch in which the word
Duty did not occur, and that Napoleon never
wrote a dispatch to which the word Glory
was wanting. That is the difference be
twwfetthe two men, and the two countries
to which they belong’ and. was that moral
superiority that .JDnde Wellington the final
victor. Asa mere genera); the Duke of Wel
lington was immeasurably tuft, inferior of
Napoleon. Napoleon displayed tho ’fS&Tt.v j
genius in any one campaign, than Welling- 5
ton did in his whole life ; but the dogged
man of Duty triumphed at length over the
brilliant man of Glory ; so it was in the be
ginning, is now, and ever shall be. The
Frenchman may laugh at the stolidity and
stupidity of the Englishman, but so long as
the one race is capable of believing in the au
gust and commanding nature of Duty, and
the other race i.s not, England's supremacy
will be maintained. For every Napoleon
produced by France, Britain will always be
able to find a Wellington.
Imagine the two generals, Wellington and
Napoleon, changing armies. What fish out
<f water they would both have been ! Those
*
flaming Napoleonic bulletins and harangues
that used to set the French army all a-blazo
with enthusiasm, would have simply been
laughed at by the English soldier. Nor could
the solid English have executed those bril
liant aspirations of Napoleon, by which a
forced inarch of a few weeks sometimes
made a whole campaign his own. Welling
ton, on the other hand, could have done noth
ing with a French army. It would have rid
iculed his caution and bluntuess of speech,
sunk under his discipline, and run away from
every foe. A Frenchman can no more fight
than a balloon can ascend without inflation,
and Napoleon wa3 the man that knew ex
actly how, when and where to adjust the bel
lows. An English, a Gorman, or an Amer
ican army must respect its leader, or its
affairs will go ill.— Horne Journal.
That Fikk in the Rear.—John Van
Buren, in his speech at Newburgh, N. York,
among other things, said that after November
next, Gen. Scott would be delivered from all
apprehension of a “fire in tiie rear,” which
had been the nightmare of his life—because
then be would be so far behind, that there
wouid be nobody behind to fire at him.
f sdj~ The pavements are pretty slippery af
ter a thaw and a freeze, but not half so slip
pery as a five dollar bill in a printing office.
OCT “Pa, ain’t I growing tall?”
what’s your height, sonny ?” “I’tu seven
f#et lacking a yard 1”