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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
IS PUBLISIiKD
EVERY THURSDAY MORNING,
HY
T. LOMAX & CO.
TENXKNT LOMAX, Pkjcipal editor.
OTic.e <rn Randolph street.
Citeranj Depart wait.
CrtXDUCTED by CAROLINE LEE HBNTZ.
THE DIES IR.K.
Thp following beautiful Hrmn, composed by Thom
as of ’ Vlana, a friend and early follower of Saint Fran
cis of Assisi, ha ; been admired through four centuries.
A classical scholar and contributor to our columns bus
furnished us with a beautiful paraphrase, which breather
in every line the piou3 spirit of the original, and will
enable our unlearned leaders to appreciate, the excel
lence of the original composition. We also append a
literal prose tran lation: T. L.
1. I 10.
Dies ir®, dies ilia, ‘Qua:tens me seiisti lapsus,
Solve’ ras'luii) inbavilla, Knfimhti crucem passus,
Teste David coin SyhiMa. ‘Tantus labor non titca-rus!
2 11
Quanta* tremor est futuru®, |Jnste Judex nationis,
Qurmdo Judex est senturus,--Donum sac reinisdonis,
Curieta -triete discus*, urus. Ante diem rationis.
3. 12.
Tub* mirum spargens so .Ingnmiseo tanauam reus,
nail), jCuipa nibrt vuftus mens ;
Per sepuichra regkmum, Supplieanti puree, Deua!
Coget oinnes ante thronum 13.
4. Qui Mariam abso!vi.-ti,
.Morsstupebitet Natura, Lit lationeiii exaitdi ti,
Cfim resit:cfoatura, j Milii q laque sfiern dedi.-ti.
Judicanti responsura. 14.
5. Pieces mea non sunt dignse,
J.iftcr scriptus proferetur, .'cd tn bonus sac beniguc,
?ri quo totum conti iciur, Me perenni cremer igue!
Unde mundua judicetur. | lb
6 Inter oves locutn pvesta,
Judex ergo cum sedehit, ht ah hfeuD inc sequestra,
Quidqiiul latel apparebit, Statuciis in p-nte dextra.
bill inukuni remanebit. ]6.
7. Confutati* malcdictis
Quid sum tune dicta- Flummis acribus addicti*,
rus, Voca me cum benedictis.
Queui patronum roraturus. 17
Cum vix justus sit securus? Oro supplex et acelinis,
8. Cor contrituin q-asi einis
tvex Iremend* maje-tatis (fore curam met finis.
fQiii salvandoa eaives gratis, : 48.
C*aSve im. fens piotatis! Lachrymo-a dies ilia
S. Qua sxatmftct ex favilla
Recorda r e, Jcsa pie, .btdiraid as homo reus,
Quoil sum eau-a tua? vim, Huiecrga parce, Deus! •
No nte perdas ilia die!
The Day of Wrath.
1.
The day of wrath, the great avenging day,
Shall earth’s proud glories ail in ashes lay ;
With this dread theme, the choid- of David rung,
And Sybil bards in thrilling numbers sung.
2.
What horrors dire shall every bosom shake!
With (ear anil trembling, guilty souls shall quake;
When the great Judge ascend.- his awful throne
And makes each thought, and word, and action,
known.
3.
The solemn trump shall peal a thundering sound,
Ami wake the nations slumbering ’neath the ground :
Shall summon all the universe, to meet,
In dread array, before the judgment seat.
4.
Now startled Nature shrinks in wild dismay !
Death reels in terror at the grand di-play,
Os pallid nations bursting from the tomb,
To meet their Maker, and to judgment come!
5.
Behold the awful volume now display’d—
’ There, every word and action stands array’d—
Pregnant with bliss, or burning wrath to men,
Inscrib’d by God’s own strict, unerring pen.
6.
When the great Judge ascends his awful seat,
And men before that dread tribunal meet,
All secret schemes shall public, then, appear,
Nor evil counsels pass unpunish’d there.
Upon that day of wrath, that baleful day,
W hen God shall speak, what shall I, wretched, say ?
On what kind saint shall I, for succor, call,
When scarce the righteous ’scape the dreadful fall ?
8.
King of tremendous majesty, to Thee,
Who.-e mercy is so boundless, rich and free,
To Thee 1 come, thou Fount of holiness,
Oh ! save me, by thine all sufficient grace!
O, blessed Jesus, mark me from orj high.
For whom thou, here, didst groan and bleed and die ; |
And on that dnv, that great avenging day,
When Thou slialt come, oh! cast me no! away.
10.
Weary with searching, faint with toil extreme,
Thou didst my soul upon the cross redeem,
Endur’d a lite of grief, a death of pain:
Shall labor, such as this, be spent in vain 1
’ 11.
Most high and holy Judge of all mankind,
Incline thine ear and grant that I may find.
Remission of my sins, a conscience clear,
Before the day of reckoning shall appear.
32.
In sighs and groanings, 1 bewail my state,
A guilty culprit, I, before Thee, wait;
‘The blush of shame spreads o’er iny burning brow.
Spare, God of mercy, spare thy suppliant now!
13.
Thou who to Marv didst afford relief,
And cheer the prospects of the dying thief
With promise of a home in Paradise,
Hast bid me hope lor man-. -*.s in the skies.
14.
Feebie am I, unworthy is my prayer,
But Thou, good Lord,grant iwThv lovejo share
.My soul secure, before the day of ire,
]Lest .1 be burned with everlasting fire!
15.
.And when before the great white throne 1 stand,
(Grant me a station b’nvt, at Thy right hand ;
Among the sheep, a sharer of Thy grace,
‘Nor, at Thy left, assign to me a place.
16.
’When Thou the dreadful sentence shalt proclaim,
“Depart ye cursed into quenchless flame,”
Oh ! let me not in that daik throng Ire found,
‘But, with the blessed, hear the welcome sound!
17.
I fall a suppliant, prostrate at Thy feet,
And for a lowly, contrite heart entreat;
O! when my end .'hall come—tire hour of death—
Be thou the solace of my latest breath.
IS.
O mournful day, day of the greai assize,
Which. fr< •m the ashes of the world, shall rise!
For judgment, then, shall stand a guilty race,
Spare them, O God, and save them by Thy grace.
Prose Translation. (Literal.)
1- The day of wrath, that day, shall dissolve the
world in ashes, David being witness with the Sybil.
2. W hat great terror shall there be, when the Judge
shall take his seat and strictly investigate all things! y
3. The trumpet sendu forth a wonderful sound,
through the sepulchres of the world, shall summon all
before His throne.
4. Death and Nature shall stand amazed, when fhs
creature, rismg from the grave, shall answer to bis
Judge.
The written book shall be brought out, in which
t* contained every thing . a which the world is to be
judged.
6. When, therefore, the Judge shall take his seat*
whatever now is hidden shall be laid open, and nodiing
eiiaj* reniLiu unpunished*
VOL. IV.
7. What shall TANARUS, wretched, then say? On what pat
ron saint shall I call, when scarcely the righteous shall
be secure ?
8. King of tremendous majesty, thou who freely sa
vest those who are to be saved, save me, thou Fount of
holine-s!
9. Remember, holy Jesus, that I am the cause of thy
wav,(i.e. it was forme that thoa didst become “a man
ol sorrows,’’) and lose me not, or destroy me not, in that
day.
10. Seeking nte, thou sattest down fainting, weary;
thou suffering the cross didst redeem me. Such great
laoor cannot be unavailing!
11. Just Judge of our deeds, do thou grant me pardon
of my euis (the gift of remission) before the day of reck
oning.
12. I groan as one accursed, my face turns red at my
crime ; spare him, O God, who supplicates Thy mercy
-13. riiou who didst forgive Mary, and hear the prayer
of the (penitent) thief, ha t also given me hope.
14. My prayers are unworthy (of thy notice,) but do
thou, good Lord,do kindly, uor burn me with endless
lire.
15. Among the sheep, grant me a place, and have me
separate from the goat-, standing on thy right hand.
16. When the cursed are confuted and consigned to
burning flames, O call ine with the blessed.
17. Prostrate and suppliant', 1 implore Thee for a heart
contrite as - ashes. Be my support in death.
1A Thata woeful day which diall arise from aches.
A guilty race is to be. judged. Spare them, 0 God.
[ WRi3TEX FOR THE SEXTINEL. 1
THE DYING SAGE 0E MARSHFIELD.
A few weeks since, there appeared an ex
tracted article in the Sentinel, entitled the
“Death-beu of Webster.” It was eloquently
written, and calculated to make a deep im
pression on the mind ol the reader; but the
-pint which it breathed was certainly want
ing in that divine charity whigli thinketh no
evil, “which hopeth all tilings, and believeth
ail things.”
Sad indeed is the penalty that man pays
for greatness. Every action of his life is rep
resented ace *: ‘ling to the medium through
which it is beheld, whether distorted bv pre
judice, darkened by blind zeal, or colored by
the burnin * hues of passion. Nor is this all.
Even the death-chamber, that sanctuary usu
ally sacral to love and affection, is exposed
to the cold scrutiny of the partisan, and the
last glance of the dying eye, the last words
of the expiring lips, treasures doubly precious
by the solemn consecration of death, are
made the property of the public, the theme of
a nation’s tongue.
Not as the illustrious politician, the mighty
statesman, does the wi i-er of that article con
template Daniel Webster, but as the dying
man. Far differently has the sublime scene,
so lately enacted in the homestead of Marsh
field, impressed the minds of others. There
was awe, there was g aideur there, hut not
dread. There was resignation, there was
tranquility, but not fear, it was not a battle
field, where the recovering spirit strove and
grappled with the dark-victor power, in the
strength of despair, but a peaceful tent,
where the weary warrior folded “the drapery
of his couch about him,” and laid himself
down to everlasting rest.
“What,” said he to those gathered around
him, “what would be the condition of any of
us. without the hope of immortality ?”
“Mv general wish on earth,” uttered the
expiring sage, “lias been to do my Ma
ker’s will. 1 thunk him. { thank him for the
means of doing some little good for these be
loved objects, for the blessings that surround
me, for my nature and associations. I thank
Him that I am to die mid *r m many circum
stances of love and affection.”
Is this the language of a man shrouded by
doubts, darkened by fear, and wrestling with
at) unknown and dreaded future ? Is it not
rather the breathing of resignation, gratitude
and trust? “Leave me not,” he cried to his
mourning friends, who were summoned
to receive his calm, affectionate farewell.
“Leave not Marshfield till I am dead. Re
main with me til! all is over.”
Oh! lives there one “so cold, so dead,”
who does not wish the presence of those they
love,in life’s last waning hours? We do not
envy those who cannot sympathize in senti
ments like these:
“On some fond breast the parting soul relies.
Some pious drops the closing eye requires.
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.’’
“Most significant, too, was his request to
his son to read him Gray’s Elegy.” \es, it
was significant, not of a bitter, repining spir
it, tiiiged with the gall and wormwood of
disappointed ambition, but of the sublime
calmness of a soul, which even in the ago
nies of dissolving nature, could listen with
delight to those grand and melodious strains
which come rolling through the sounding
aisles of time, expressing thef true estimate
of human glory, the vanity of earth, the noth
ingness of fame.
When his Christian physician repeated toe
sustaining words of the Psalmist, he leaned
in the strength of faith on the “staff, the rod
held out to comfort and support. He prayed
in a voice full, clear and deep, earnestly and
devoutly, and his closing sentence was—
“ Heavenly Father, forgive my sins, and re
ceive me to thyself, through Jesus Christ our
SaviflTtr.”
Where js the want of sustaining faith, of
Christian hope, so often alluded to ? Where
the dark conflict of the doubling, fearing,
trembling soul? We look in vain tor the ev
idence in this touching, majestic scene. It
is said by one who was with him while pas
sing through th@ valley of the shadow of
death, that he seized upa? ,eyer y opportuni
ty to press upon the attention of friemjs the
great truths of religion, and their practical
application to the affairs of life, and tbaj he
‘• ----- ■ , ‘ -a
Ij . , ff ‘ •| j a
seemed to gain new strength, as he from
time to time eloquently and solemnly expa
tiated upon the beatitudes of Christianity and
divine principles and glorious promises.
During his paroxyms of suffering, and
they were Terrible, he was tranquil, happy
and in perfect possession of all his faculties,
fully aware of his situation, and sustained by
the most cheerful religious hopes. We see
no dim shadows hovering over this couch of
sickness, no phantoms of dread, haunting the
pillow of the expiring statesman; We see a
great soul departing, not in clouds and thick
darkness, but in majestic serenity, like the
suit, when he sinks slowly and grandly in
the western sky.
“1 live—l stilt live,” were !ii< last memora
ble words, the deathless spirit flashing forth,
from his eagle eye, in all its wonted Inillian
cy and power. Yes! he still lives and will
forever live in the immortality of his renown,
But it is not probable to such a life, that his
departing spirit awoke with such a triumph
ant consciousness. It was the life beyond
lilo, the breaking day of eternity, dawning
gloriously on the night shades of death.
One of the most touching incidents con
nected with his last moments, is the grateful
remembrance he expressed of his lowliest
friends—those who had served him faithfully
in life, and ministered to him tenderly in
sickness and death. How precious to them
will be those golden mementoes of his dying
regal’d, hearing the initials of his honored
name, united with their own humble ciphers!
Where, in the recorded death-scenes of the
high and mighty, do we find a proof of more
exquisite sensibility, more humility or ten
derness of let-ling? Greater, far greater was
he, in t.'iat moment ot physical weakness, but
intellectual and moral power, than when the
Senatmial halls reverberated to the deep mu
sic of his voice, and listening throngs bowed
before the majesty of iiis kingly brow.
He sleeps in death. \li that is mortal of
Daniel Webster sleeps to wake no more. In
tiie midst of the luxuriant and beautiful scene
ry lie so dearly loved, by the magnificent
shore wher. the murmurs of the ocean’s tide
breathe his everlasting requiem, he lies as
tranquil as if no storms of party strife had
ever disturbed his bosom’s neace.
Thus, one by one, the great ones of our
land pass away. Thus, one by one, the mas
sy pillars that support our national reputa
tion fall crumbling to the dust. Where the
funereal moss waves sully in the breeze, Car
olina mourns over the grave of her Calhoun.
V here the ash trees wreathe their clustering
branches, Kentucky weeps for her matchless
Clay ; and where the diti rise in regal majes
ty on a granite soil. New England bewails
the loss of her illustrious Webster. A nation
clothed in mourning and sackcloth, hallows
the memory of that glorious Trinity, with
reverence he it uttered, which cast a hah
round the age.
Whatever may he the difference of politi
cal opinions with regard to his public career,
! let it never cause injustice to the memory of
the Sage of Marshfield—that memory which
is a nation’s legacy. Every American must
be proud ol his fame. It is home on eairle
wings from hill to hill, and from shore to
i snm-e. But dear as this fame must be to his
! family and friends, it is not so piecious as
the memory of his domestic virtues. Rob
them imt of their holiest consolation, his
peaceful, Christian death. He is risen be
yond the reach of human calumny or ap
plause.
“Cun censure's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or finitely soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?”
No! but there are bleeding hearts to which
every cold, calumniating word must be a
barbed arrow rankling in their core; there
are those to whom his dying words were ho
ly utterances, never, never to be forgotten
Let the threshold of his death-chamber be a
sacred spot. Pass it not with a harsh, un
gentle tread. Angels have been waiting
there.
C. L. 11.
Quincy, Dec. 7, 18.72.
SOURCES OF PERFUMES.
Whether any perfumed lady woidd be dis
concerted at learning the sources of her per
fumes, each lady must decide for herself;
but it seems that Mr. Do La Rue and Dr.
Hoffman, in their capacities as jurors of the
Great Exhibition, have made terrible havoc
among perfumery. They have found that
many of the scents said to be procured from
flowers and fruits, are really produced from
anything but flowery sources ; the perfumers
a:e chemists enough to know that similar
odors mav be often produced from dissimi
lar substances, and if the half-crown bottle
of perfume really has the require! odour the
perfumer does not expect to be asked what
kind of odor was emitted by the substance
whence the perfume was obtained. Now,
Doctor Lvon Flay fair, in his summary of
S the jury investigation above alluded to, broad
; ly tells us that these primary odors are of
ten most unbearable. “A peculiarly foetid
oil, termed fusel oil. is formed in making
brandy and whiskey ; this fusel oil, distilled
with sulphuric acid and acetate of potash,
gives the oil of pears. The oil of apples is
made from the same fusel oil, by distillation
with sulphuric acid and bichromate of pot
ash. The oil of piue-apples is obtained from
a product of the action of putrid cheese on
sugar, or by making a soan with butter, and
distilling it with alcohol and sulphuric acid ;
; ami is bqw largely employed in England in
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 30, 1852:
making pine apple ale. Oil of grapes and
o'l of cognac, used to impart the flavor of
French, cognac, to British brandy, are little
else than fusel oil. The artificial oil of bit
ter almonds, now so largely employed in per
fuming soap and for flavoring confectionery,
is prepared by the action of nitric acid on
foetid oils of gas-tar. Many a fair forehead
is damped with can de millefleurs, without
knowing that its essential ingredient is deri
ved from the drainage of cow-houses.” In
all such cases as these the chemical science
involved is, really, of a high order and the
perfume produced is a bona fide perfume, not
one whit less sterling than if produced from
fruits and flowers. The only question is one
of commercial honesty in giving a name no
longer applicable, and charging too highly
for a cheaply produced scent. This mode
of saving a penny is chemically right but
commercially wrong.
[From the Alabama State Register.]
THE NOBLE SANOTA;
: OR, THE GRATITUDE OF AN INDIAN.
BV THE AUTHOR OF THE HISTORY OF ALABAMA.
Near the close of the year 17‘JO, there
stood, on a bluff beside the Alabama, iti the
vicinity of the present Claiborne, an Indian
cabin. The occupant was a woman of gen
erous impulses, and of much intelligence.
Vicev McGii th was the daughter of a Scotch
man, and her mother was of the pure Musco
gee blood. One dark night iu December, a
violent storm arose, bending the tops of the
lofty trees which surrounded her abode ; the
; cold rain descended in torrents, and the light
ning flashed quick and vivid; the children
huddled . rmpid the hearth, while the moth
er’s looks were expressive of anxiety and
alarm Presently the latchstring was timid
; ly pulled by someone on the steps, and the
door slowly opening admitted an Indian
{ :l d—Lari, buggered and dripping with ruin.
With the exception of a ragged shirt, which
hung close to his strippling form, he was as
naked as when he came into the world. Like
all others of Lis mysterious race, he utte> - . and
not a word of salutation ; bug being invited,
walked towards the fireside and seated him
self on a stool. The woman placed before
him a trencher of fried venison and corn cake,
and while he continued to eat, tears of grati ,
tude issued from the corners of his dark eyes
and rolled down his bony cheeks. That
poor boy was an orphan—an outcast. Five
years before, his father had fallen in battle
with the Chickisaws, and not long after, the
life of his mother had terminated by a fever.
Ever since then he had wandered from house
to house; and, although neither vicious nor
idle, none seemed to pity or befriend him.
The storm, which continued to blow, but
not with so much violence, produced an un
willingness among the inmates to retire to
! bed ; and anxious to pass away the night in
a cheerful manner, the woman proceeded to
draw from the boy an account of his family
and of his misfortunes Deeply affected by
the artless narrative, she at once determined
to adopt him as her son. She bid her own
children to love him as a brother and to call
him Sanota, which signified—orphan.
Sanota, becoming a stout and athletic war
rior, was accustomed to chase the deer over
the plains, to angle in the silvery streams;
and when occasion required it, marched with
his red associates to the field of batile. Nev
er did he neglect the woman who adopted
him. Never did he unwillingly contribute to
the support of her childien. When at home,
his ever successful hunts supplied them with
game, and when absent at war, he sought to
procure them the richest spoils.
* * * * Years rolled on, and Vicey
McGiith still lived at the same place.—Her
husband, Zac McGii th, well known to emi
grants, had accumulated property which gave
him influence. The vast wilderness of the
present States of Alabama and Mississippi
had partially been settled by American citi
zens, and the Creeks, disliking these en
croachments, only waited to be aroused to a
deeper sense of their injuries by some con
trolling spirit. It quickly came in the per
son of lecumseh, who, in the fall of 1812,
visited every town and hamlet in the Musco
gee Confederacy. His warlike heating cap
tivated the vonng; his eloquent appeals arous
ed the grave. Soon the larger number of
the savages became eager for immediate war
There was, however, much division upon the
question, and particularly those of half-blood,
being wedded to their American kinsmen,
had resolved to remain neutral. For that
which was considered a tory spirit, they were
presently pursued and driven into places of
defence, along with their American friends.
Over five hundred souls who had taken re
fuge behind the walls of Fort Mims were
suddenly surprised by a thousand warriors,
who entered the gates in the broad mid-day.
An unexampled butchery ensued. The as
sailants were so Indiscriminate in their slaugh
ter as to make the babe and its mother wel
ter in the blood of the expiring soldier. In
every direction the savages were seen cutting
the women and children in pieces, and Sano
ta was foremost in the assault. He was ad
vancing upon a few of the inmates who had
endeavored to screen themselves in the cor
net of the house—his bloody arm was raised
in the act of aiming a blow at the head of an
elderly woman of the half blood, when he
discovered that it was Vicey McGirth—sur-
I rounded by seven children. The ruthless
•'savages were pressing towards them, and the
agitated Sanota had no time to lose. De-
termined to save them at the risk of his own
life, he thrust them in a corner and made his
broad breast a rampart for their protection.
When finally fearing he should be overcome
by several of his more vindictive comrades,
he cried out, “these are my slaves, and I
charge you not to kill them.” In all Indian
wars, the victors had the right to kill their
prisoners or reserve them as slaves. This
declaration had the effect of forcing the war
riors to desist, and Vicey McGirth and her
children lived.
Tecuinseh had made deep impression upon
Sanota. He had become one of those who j
sought the extermination of every American
citizen. He knew not that the woman who
reared him was one of the inmates of Fort
Mims—he was confident she was within the j
walls of Fort Pierce ; and aware that the
Indians had resolved to destroy that place,
when they should have completed their pre
sent enterprise, it was his intention to save
her life when the opportunity offered.
‘l’lie sun of August had sunk below the j
tops of the trees, and twilight witnessed the ;
destruction of Fort Mims. The victorious
warriors, who had retired one mile to the j
east, were reposing after the toils of the day. j
Sanota conducted his adopted mother and
her children to a stream which meandered
through the green reeds; with its pure waters
quenched their thirst, and from the spoils he j
had taken he supplied them with food and
pallets on which to repose. Although fatigued
from a conflict of five hours, duration, lie clo
sed not his own eyes during that night, so
anxious was be to shield these unfortunate
females from the brutalities of the hostile.
Zac McGirth was not in the Fort when it
was attacked. With two of his slaves, he \
had entered a boat for the purpose of ascend- i
ing the Alabama to his plantation,for supplies^- 1
During the carnage-, he was at the distance of j
two miles, and seeing the folly of approaching |
the scene, when he knew bv tiie veils of the !
assailants that the inmates were overcome,
had remained i:i the woods until near the
close of day. About dark lie approached the
fatal spot, in search of his family. 1 have
already said that the savages had retired.
.McGirtb now stood aghast at the horrible
I spectacle before him. Human bodies at that
moment were frying and cracking upon the
1 glowing coals. He and his faithful negroes
turned over the dead, and scrutinizing face
after face, were unable to trace a resemblance
to those whom he sought. Turning away
with a sad heart, he hastened to Ids boat, and
dropping down to Mount Vernon, told the tide
of his lamented bereavement. Little did he
imagine while searching among the slain, that
his wife and children were alive, not far from
him—protected with care and vigilance by
the generous - Sanota.
On the morning after the massacre, Sanota
proceeded with his adopted mother and sis*
ters to his place of abode, on the banks
| the Coosa. Arriving at the Hick-Ground, !fe
placed them under the care of his wife, who
supplied their wants for a moment, while he
I went in quest of game He devoted himself
1 for the space of four months to the pleasing
task of alleviating their destress. W hen, how
ever, the warriors were assembling to resist
! the Tennesseeans at the Horse Shoe, Sanota
felt himself hound to be among the number.
Leaving Mrs. McGirtL tor-the present, with
i his equally kind wife, he rushed to the battle
! field and soon lay among the slain !
1 Fearing to remain longer among the popu
; lation who desired to witness her death at the
stake, Mrs. Me Girth, soon after hearing of
the fall of her friend, stole away with their
children and hid herself in the darkest part of
the wilderness. Wandering, for days and
i weeks, in a southwestern direction, eating
mots and wild berries, she finally reached the
abandoned plantation of her husband, below
Claiborne. There, American troops discov
ered the wretched party, and restored them to
McGirtb, who had long believed that their
bones bleached upon the field of Fort Mims.
abd-el-kadeS
There is not a man now living in Europe,
we think, entitled to share in an equal degree
with the Arab Chief the admiration of the
j world. His exploits and personal qualities
invest him with all the charm of romance,
combined with profound respect for his devo
! tion to Lis country, his heroism, and his mis
fortunes. His name will stand ‘in history
alongside of those of the Chi of Gonsalvo,
of Montrose, and Kosciusko. Since the
great Duke lias descended to the tomb, the
Arab Emir has no peer on the roll of illustri
ous living men. His adversities have added
to the interest inspired by his military achieve
ments, and the public heart sympathizes with
every thing relating to him; hut we have
seen no recent notice of him so touching as
the annexed passage from the Paris corres
pondence of the Journal of Commerce :
“Aba-el Kader arrived at the castle of Am
boise the day of his depasture from the capi
tal. About half past eight in the evening
he was received in form at the portal by the
Arab chiefs who shared his fortunes. He
graciously, but hastily, accepted their wel
come, and then rushed forward to meet his
j mother at the door of her apartment. He
i kissed each of her shoulders, threw himself
at her feet, and kissed them repeatedly. The
aged parent raised him up,and asked him for
a circumstantial narrative of his adventure at
Paris, after she had led him into ber room
and seated him before hen While he de-
honors of his sojourn, she wept now and then
from joy and surprise. As soon as he ended
he took her by the arm, and conducted her
to the Mosqur. in the Chateau, where all the
companions of his exile were assembled, and
a few French attendants admitted. He re
turned. in a loud voice, thanks to God for .all
that had occurred ; lie concluded with a po
etical prayer for the preservation of the new
Ca*sar, to* whom lie owed his release after
so long a captivity.
“The whole scene left a deep impression
oil the French spectators. After the religious
rite* he repaired to his legitimate spouse;
Arab etiquette required that she should be
the last object of !iis attention. On his way
ho exchanged good wishes and pleasant phra
ses with the male part of his household. The
morning after a fete was arranged by his
companions to celebrate bis return; they
danced to the sound of tambours. In the
course of the day the authorities of the town
of Amboise waited upon him with their con
gratulations. Asa manifestation of his su
preme content and confidence, he unveiled
Ids wife’s face to the French Commandant of
the Castle’ We are not told, in the official
report, from which the foregoing particulars
are drawn, whether the lady’s beauty or dig
nity of mien corresponded to the tine face
and exalted rank of tiie Emir.
“I have seen in the U. S. the most emarka
ble Indian chiefs; and in Europe, Aflk.msand
Asiatics of various races, of the noblest ranks;
Egyptians, Abyssinians, Persians, Hindoos,
Siamese, Madagascar nobles, barbarians, and
semi-barbarians so styled ; but not one to be
compared with this Abd-el-Kader, in aspect,
demeanor, sentiment, or traits of superior in
tellect and refined spirit. The influence of
his life, character, and person on mv feelings
has caused me to collect, with special inter
est, the main occurrences of his visit to the
capital. It is stated that he is invited to re
turn on the proclamation of the Empire, ac
companied by his harem and the rest of his
household. The Marquis of Londonderry,
who takes to himself half at least of the cre
dit of the liberation, lias deputed a special
messenger to Amboise, bearing an urgent re
quest that the Emir would visit London as
his guest. Possibly his French benefactor
will not readily expose him to British influ
ences. or wish him to learn directly how vast
the metropolis and power of the rival nation.
Nothing would escape his intelligence.”
[From the Athens Herald.]
We were jnsLoju, the point of offering a
premium for the best essay on the importance
of paying,.punctually for newspapers, when
we me|with the following from the pen of
ourjfriend, the editor of the St. Louis Chris
tian Advocate. Fully satisfied that it would
bear off the premium, we transfer it to our
columns for the benefit of that portion of our
readers to whom it applies, with the hope
that they and we too may he profited by it:
THOMAS SLOW, Esq.
We put Esquire to Tommy's name,
though we have, no very high respect for
either ids name or nature. Still we put it
there, knowing very well, that in this age of
utilitarianism, esquire and doctor, and such
like appendages to men’s names, are some
what like the car! in a pig’s tail—more for
ornament than for use. So we call Tommy
“Esquire”, by courtesy, and he may make
much ot it, for it’s the only courtesy he will
ever receive at our hands.
Tommy—is precisely what his name indi.
cates— Slow. Slow to get up in the morning
slow to his breakfast, though not very slow t o
eat it, slow to his work, and slow at his work.
Slow at everything and all the time, except
when he sleeps—that he does fast enough.
Tommy ows this office three dollars for
jast year’s subscription to this paper. Many
a time he has felt it ought to he paid, and
many a time has he thought he would pay it.
But like the “old bachelor” in the song,
“There’s time enough for that,” said he, so
we have not been paid.
We have just been thinking what evil
Tommy is causing, and what good he is pre
venting, by neglecting to pay those three
dollars. Suppose, now, he would send the
money—not a very probable event—still sup
pose he were, we would go right off anti pay
the compositor, the compositor would pay the
pressman, the pressman would pay the roller
hov. the roller-boy would carry the money to
his widowed mother, she would pay Dr Calo
i mi l for that medicine that didn’t quite kill
tier sick child, Dr. Calomel would pay Peter
Crispen for mending his old hoots, Peter Cris
pen would pay Dick Black for the last coal
lie got from him, Dick Black would pay Bob
’Vulcan for shoeing his fidrse, Bob Vulcan
would pay Mr. Drygoods for his wife’s new
bonnet, Mr. Drygoods would pay Bill Gro
cer for the tea, cheese, &e., that graced his
j table last week, Bill Grocer would pay law
yer Ketchum his fee for counsel, in the ease
ot “the State of Missouri against the afore
said Bill Grocer,” lawyer Ketchum would
j pay Dan Baker for the bread and crackers
he and his family have been cracking for the
last month, Dan Baker would pay Joe Wa
terman for the milk he has furnished him, Joe
Waterman would pay honest John Steady
for the hay Ids cows have eaten, and honesj
John Steady is sach an honest fellow, that
jhe would be sure to come and pay us two
dollars in advance for .next year. So you
see all the debts would be paid, and the edi
tor would have two whole dollars! With
these two dollars ws rus|bt do several things.
TERMS OF PUBLICATION.
One Copy, per annum, if paid in advance,...§2 00
“ “ “ “ “ in six months, 2 . r )0
“ “ “ ** “ at end of year, 300
RATES Or ADVERTISING.
One square, first insertion, ----- $1 00
“ “ each subsequent insertion, - 50
A liberal deduction made in favor of those who
advertise largely.
NO. 1.
For instance, we might get anew coat or a
new hat, for some of our “todlin wee ones,”
or we might send to market and get several
nice bits of Fereature comforts with these,
how comfortable “old folks” would feel! O,
Tommy Slow, Tommy Slow, how much evil
von are doing ! how much happiness you are
preventing ! It requires all our forbearance to
keep from giving you a “terrible going over!”
Many persons who are indebted to this es
tablishment till to the life the above descrip
tion of Thomas Slow, Esq., but let an unfor
tunate devil owe one of them a “sevenoence,”
and he is Thomas Slow no longer. As regu
lar as the rising and setting of the sun—the
ebbing and flowing of the tide—will he their
visits to the unfortunate debtor—-yea, verily,
they will follow him like his shadow—no ex
cuse, no apology, “no nothing,” but the mo
ney, will satisfy them. We seht a few weeks
ago an account for some $25 to a man
once threatened to sue us for 37 1-2 cents
that we did not know we owed him, and he
has not deigned even to notice its receipt,
much less to pay it.
Editors are sometimes blamed by that por
tion of their customers who do pay, for their
complaints against those who do not. We
ask any honest man to say, on his own con
science, in view of (he above case, (and it is
not by any means an isolated one.) whether
there is not ample ground for complaint %
The fact is, there ought to he concert of
action among editors to protect their interests.
An inflexible rule should he adopted, viz. *
Never to send a [taper or insert an advertise
meet until paid for in advance, for anybody
whatever, from the President down to the
humblest citizen. This concert of action
can only be effected through the instrumen
tality of Convention-—and so far as Georgia
is concerned, the sooner it is held the better.
THE LEPERS IN JERUSALEM.
in my rambles about Jerusalem, says.a
correspondent of the Na.lio7ial InleUi;\cnc<ir ,
1 passed, on several occasions, through tjggu
quarter of the lepers. Apart from the Ip
terest attached to this unfortunate, class inf
beings, (arising from the frequent allusilib
made to them in ScHußum*) there i.->t.xpUch in
their appearayytyifliJl mode of life to attract
atlenti m <mjj[n{ist the sympathy of a stran
ger. disease go revoltmgly together
Ur ifo-gaunt famine stalks through the steeds;
a constant moan of suffering swells upon the
dead air, and sin broods darkly over the ruin
it has wrought in that gloomy and ill-fa
ted spot. Wasted forms sit in the doorways ;
faces covered with white scales and sight
less eyes are turned upward ; skeleton arms,
distorted and foitid with the ravages of lep
rosy, are outstretched from the foul moving
mass; and alow howl is heard, the howl of
the stricken for alms—“ Alms, oh stranger,
for the love of God! alms to feed the in
exorable destroyer! alms to prolong this
dreary and hopeless misery.!” Look upon it,
stranger, you who walk forth in all your pride
and strength, and breathe the fresh ainof
heaven —you who have nover known what it
is to be shunned by your fellow-man as a thing
unclean and accursed—you who believe your
selfunblcst with all the blessings that God has
given you upon earth—look upon it, and learn
tnnt there is a misery upon all that you have
conceived in your gloomiest hour—a misery
that can still be endured. Learn that even
i the leper, with death gnawing at hi v vitals
| and unceasing tortures in his blocd, cast
out from the society of his fellow-men, forbid
den to touch in friendship or affection the
hand of the untainted, still struggles for life,”
and deems each hour precious that keeps
him from the grave !
The quarter of the lepers is a sad and im
pressive place. By the laws of the land,
which have existed from Scriptural times,
; they are isolated from all actual contact with
; their fellow men ; but there seems no prptti
! bilion to their going out beyond the walls of
! Jerusalem, and begging by the road side,—-
j'Near the gate of Zion, on the way to Beth
; lehem, I saw. many of them sitting on the’
i rocks, their hideous faces uncovered, thrust
ing forth their scaly hands for alms Their
huts are rudely constructed of earth and
stones, seldom with more than one apartment,
and this so filthy and loathsome that it seems
unfit to be occupied by swine. Here they
live and propagate whole families, together,-
without distinction of sex; and their dread
ful malady is perpetuated from generation to
generation, and the groans of the aged and
the dying are mingled with the feeble wail of
the young that are brought forth branded for
a life of misery. Strange and mournful
thoughts arise, in the contemplation of the sad
condition and probable destiny of these ill
fated beings.
Among so many* there must be some in
whose breasts the power of true love i3 im
planted—love for woman in its purest sense,
for offspring, for all the endearments of do
me-tie life which the untainted are capable of
feeling, yet doomed never to exercise the af
fections without perpetuating the curse.
Some, too, in whom there are hidden powers
of the mind, unknown save to themselves;
ambition, that corrodes with unavailing aspi
rations; a thirst for action, that burns within
unceasingly, yet never to be assuaged ; and
the ruling passions, that are implanted in man
fc • great and noble purposes, never, never to
give one moment’s pleasure unmixed with the
perpetual gloom of that curse which dwells
in their blood.
As l pi odded my way for the last time
through this den of sickening sights, a vision
of human misery was impressed upon my
mind that time cannot efface. I passed when
the ray of the sun was cold and the light was
dim; and there came out from ,the reeking
hovels leprous men, gaunt with famine, and
they bared their hideous bodies, and howled
like beasts; and women held out their loath
some and accursed babes, arid tore away the
j rags that covered them, and pointing to the
I shapeless mass, shrieked for alms- All was
j sin and disease and sorrow wherever I went;
and as I passed on, unable to relieve a thou
sandth part of the misery, moans of despair
and howling curses'followed me, and lepers
crawled hack into their hovels to rol in tho
filth and die when God willed.