Newspaper Page Text
a JFantUj! aa,ttosaj)ersa=fflrteote to attcraturr, Hit arts, Srfrnce, aarlmUttw, JHttttanlts, BUnratlou, jForrtßii an o<mwst(c SntcUCßencr, fgumour, Ut.
VOLUME I.
INVOCATION TO POETRY.
Ia nd to the spirit of poesy, Come back, thoa art my
comforter.”
Come back, come back, sweet spirit,
I miss thee in my dreams;
I miss thee in ihe laughing bowers
And by the gushing streams:
The sunshine hath no gladness,
The harp no joyous tone.
Oh, darkly glide the moments by
Since thy soft light has flown.
Come back, come back, sweet spirit,
As in the glorious past,
When the halo of a brighter world
Was round my being cast—
When midnight had no darkness,
When sorrow smiled through tears,
Arid life’s blue'sky seemed bowed in love,
To bless the coining years.
Come back, come back, s-.veet spirit,
Like the glowing flowers of spring,
Ere time hath snatched the last pure wreath
From fancy's glittering wing :
Ere the heart’s increasing shadows
Refuse to pass away,
And the silver cord wax thin which binds
To heaven tne weary clay.
Como back ! thou art my comforter!
What is the world to me 1
Its cares that live, its hopes that die,
Its heartless revelry ?
Mine, mine, O! blessed spirit,
The inspiring draught be mine,
Though words may not reveal how deep
My worship at thy shrine.
Come back, thou holy spirit !
By the bliss thou may’st impart,
Or by the pain thy absence gives
A deeply stricken heart.
Come back, as comes the sunshine
Upon the sobbing sea,
And every roaming thought shall vow
Allegiance to thee !
From the Ladies’ Companion.
THE MOTHER’S COUNSEL.
BY MRS. EMETINE S. SMITH.
Tiie shadows of twilight were creeping
over the streets of a large city. Amid the
busy throng that crowded one of the prin
cipal thoroughfares, two little boys going in
different directions, met. and stopped, as if
by mutual consent, in front of a bookstore,
to gaze admiringly upon the fine prints and
elegantly bound volumes that decorated the
newly-lighted window. There was a strik
ing contrast in die appearance of the two
children ; one was about ten years of age,
tall and well formed, with the hue of health
on his cheek, and the light of happiness in
his eye. His face, however, was unpleasing,
for its general expression was harsh and sel
fish. He was richly dressed, and the ela
borate care evidently bestowed upon his
whole person, from his curled locks to Ins
neatly-covered foot, proclaimed him the pet
ted favorite of fortune. His companion,
though in reality one or two years older,
was much smaller in stature, and, butfor the
mature expression of his countenance, might
have been thought considerably younger.
It was easy to see by his scant and humble
nttire that he was the child of poverty. His
face was beautiful, and its every feature
lighted with intelligence beyond his years,
but alas, his body was delicate and deform
ed, and he was incurably a cripple. One
glance upon his high pale brow, where pre
mature care seemed already seated, and one
look into the depths of his eloquent eye,
which thus early glowed with the light of
lofty thought, was sufficient to assure the
observer that the knowledge of his misfor
tune was a weight that rested heavily upon
the boy’s spirit, and a cloud that darkened
the beautiful spring time of his lifo. He
seemed a fitting subject for the sympathy of
every heart, as he stood there gazing so
earnestly and wistfully at treasures which it
Was evident lie could not hope to obtain.
“ Don’t you wish,” said the larger boy,
interpreting the thoughts of the other, and
glancing, at the same time, at his coarse at
tire, “ don’t you wish your father was rich
enough to buy you some of those elegant
books]”
“ L have no father,” replied the deformed,
anu even the sound of his voice, as he ut
tered these few but touching words, was
eloquently expressive of the sadness that
■had settled upon his heart; it had nothing
■of the lightness and ch erfulness of child
hood, hut its tones were low, soft and sub
dued, like the accents of one v ho has long
?ieen acquainted with grief.
“ Ah, that is a pity,” carelessly said the
Hither ; “my father buys mo many such
hooks—more than I know what to do with.
1 don’t read half of them, for I don’t like
reading.”
“ But what do you with them, then ]”
asked the deformed.
“ Oh, I look at the pictures, if they have
pictures, and then throw them aside; some
times I tear them up, just for spoit.
“ Don’t you think it wrong and wicked
to do that ]” mildly asked the deformed.
There was a look of mingled astonishment
and indignation on the face of the spoiled
hoy, which plainly told that he was not ac
customed .to such questions, as he said, or
rather shouted—
“ How dare you ask me such an imper
tinent question, you poverty-stricken fellow]
One would think the hump of your back,
and that laine log, would teach you better
manners.”
At this coarse and unfeeling speech, the
80VVBXII MXBCII&AKT.
poor deformed seemed ready to sink to the
earth. His face grew deadly pale, his breast
I heaved, and his limbs trembled as if they
Ino longer would support him. For one in
stant he darted an angry glance at the speak
er, but the insult was to keen to awaken any
feelings save those of anguish, and, spite of
himself, the tears started to his eyes, and he
was forced to run away to couceal them.
VVitli a tortured spirit and trembling steps,
he left his unfeeling companion, and sought
his home. It was a lowly and a humble one
—scarcely containing the necessaries of life,
and barely affording ashelter from the “pelt
ing of the pitiless storm”—yet was it to the
stricken child, who now sought its precincts,
a heaven of rest, and a sanctuary of holy
joy ; for there he was ever greeted by the
look of kindness, and gladdened by the mu
sic tone of love ; and theie, despite the
gloom that had gathered over his spirit, the
Howersof hope and happiness would spring
up in his heart, and blossom beneath the
genial influence of a mother’s approving
smile.
That mother was a widow, and he her
only son. According to the peculiar nature
of maternal tenderness, her’s was more
lavishly bestowed upon her boy, in conse
quence of his infirmities ; but there were
many reasons to render him unutterably
dear to her heart. She had once seen better
and happier days—she had dwelt amid the
comforts of affluence—she had been blest
with the love of a kind and noble husband
—she had been the mother of many child
ren ; rosy, smiling, lovely children, whose
presence filled her home with light, and her
soul with bliss—but one by one of these
many blessings had been taken away. First,
reverses came, and surrounded her with the
chill atmosphere and rude storms of pover
ty. Then Death, the spoiler approached,
and the chosen of her youth—the beloved
partner of her days—the revered father of
her children, fell beneath that all-conquer
ing hand. Then one after another of her
beautiful band was Jsnatched away by the
same relentless power, until she was left
with no hope and no solace but her poor,
delicate and deformed hoy, who was then to
the heart, what the oasis is to the desert, the
one green and fertile spot in a wide waste
of desolation. Then he became the precious
link that united the spirit of the holy and
happy past —the sole and sacred tie that
bound her to life. She had mourned her
losses deeply, and almost despairingly ; but
the bitterness of grief bad at length passed
away, and her heart now rested peacefully,
if not happily, upon its last and only hope.
She now had but one earthly wish, and that
was, to see her poor boy happy. For this I
she would have made any sacrifice, or en- ‘
dured any suffering ; for this, so all absorb- ;
ing was her love, she would willingly and
cheerfully have perilled her life.
The hapless, heart-stricken child reached
his home. There were the bare walls, the
uncovered floor, the dying fire, the scanty
food, and all the cheerless accompaniments
of poverty, but there, to compensate for the
want of every other comfort, was such a
smile of love as migh't light the face of an
angel, and such words of greeting as might
welcome a repentant spirit of Heaven.
The mother, with a quick eye of affec
tion, discovered that something unusual had
pained her son, and the kiss she imprinted
on his pale forehead was fonder than ever,
and as she drew him towards her, and fold
ed him to her bosom, there was such a holy
tenderness in hermanner, that the poor hoy’s
heart was comforted. But it was only a
transient gleam of peace, shooting athwart
his mind, like a flitting sunbeam on a stor-’
my landscape, for soon the remembrance of
the bitter words he had heard, came back
to darken every hope, and burying his face
in his mother’s bosom to bide the tears that
would come, he.sobbed —
“ Mother, mother, I would like to die.
What right has such a maimed and miserable
wretch in this perfect and beautiful world I
Even now I am looked at with contempt,
and spoken to with scorn. If 1 live to grow
up to manhood, nobody will love tne, and I
shall have none to love. Some will pity,
and some despise, but all will dread my pre
sence, and shudder at my approach. Oh,
mother, what has life for me ?”
’ Who shall describe the agony of that lone
widow as she listened to these words 1 For
years, long and weary, years, she had striven
to keep the knowledge of his misfortune
from poisoning the mind of her son. For
this she had, whenever she looked upon the
blemishe- which wru.ng the heart, checked
every rising sigh, and repelled each bursting
tear. For this she had labored, to gain the
means of educating him, that, in the enjoy
ments of mind, he might forget the infirmi
ties of the body. For this she had toiled
beyond her feeble strength, and spent the
hours of needful rest in fervent prayer. She
knew that her boy was growing up a sor
rowful being; she knew that his misfortune
had burdened the light-heartedness of the
child, and brought the premature thought
fulness of manhood ; but she did not know,
until that miserable moment, how deeply
and despairingly the fearful knowledge had
fastened upon his heart. She had ever fear
ed some cruel lip would taunt him with his
infirmities ; and now that she knew it had
been so, she felt she had not anticipated half
the misery the event would awaken.
How was she to answer the passionate ap
peal ? How reply to those burning words
which proclaimed her son in feeling, if not
in years, a man ? She paused and pondered
well ; she raised her sorrowful eye to heav
en ; she breathed an inaudible but fervent
prayer ; she sought the aid of a wiser than
man eio she spake the words which she felt
were to exercise a mighty influence. Oh,
PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY C. R. IIANLEITEtt, AT TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
MADISON, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, MAY 3, 1842.
that mothers would thus pause and ponder
ere they give the counsel that may color a
’ whole existence ! How many a young heart
has. been led to good or evil by a few words
heard in the moments of deep and uncon
trollable feeling. How many a life has been
guided and governed by the influence of i
single lesson acquired in the season of pas
sionate thought. Oh, ye, to whom is en
trusted the glorious task of forming and di
recting the useful mind, reflect well upou
the serious importance of your charge, and
let not the innocent eye of childhood look
up to you in vain for that example of that
teaching which is to lead it unharmed and
unscathed through the licry ordeal of the
world!
They formed a fine picture, the mother
and her son, standing together in the sha
dowy light of that dim and dreary room—
she with her pale brow and imploring eye
raised to heaven, and he with his earnest
and asking gaze fixed upon the face that
was ever a heaven to him. The widow’s
prayer was ended ; the light she sought had
dawned upon her spirit, and she moved her
lips to speak.
“ My son,” and her voice was low and
solemn as if burdened with intensity of feel
ing, “my son, kneel this moment and ask
forgiveness of thy Father in Heaven for the
wrong thou hast this night done. Thou hast
despised the great and glorious gifts which
he has granted thee ; thou hast counted as
nought the priceless attributes of mind and
sighed for the perishing beauties of the bo
dy. Thou hast said ‘ what is there in this
life for me?’ Oh, my child, there is much,look
round upon the visible world; have you not
an eye to admire its beauties, a heart to feel
its power, and a mind to comprehend its
magnificence ? Go with me, at morn, away
to the pleasant places of nature and listen to
her perpetual hymn of praise. Have you
not an ear to drink in its melody, and a voice
to join in the universal song? Never again,
my dear boy, ask what is there in life for
thee. Thou are gifted with mind and un
derstanding far beyond thy years ; turn theu
to the fount of knowledge, and obtainjthere,
that which will make thee forget thy infirmi
ties, and value the body only for the imper
ishable gem it enshrines. Seek the aid of
Virtue and she will arm thy spirit with
strength to bear the ills of life. Use well
the noble gifts that God hath given thee, and
despite thy misfortunes, the glance of pity
and the tone of scorn shall be changed into
a look of approval and the word of praise.”
The mother spoke with the serious earn
estness of a priestess uttering a solemn pro
phecy, and the hoy listened with an interest
as intense as if life hung on every word.
By degrees his tears ceased, his brow he
came calm and his eye beamed with the ho
ly light of peace. When the admonition,
which though so lofty in its character had
been perfectly comprehended by the mature
mind of the child, was ended, his face was
radiant with a lofty resolution, and, kissing
the speaker fondly, he said—
“ Mother, dear mother, I am happy. I
will live to follow thy teaching, to honor thy
name and to comfort thy days. Forget that
I ever complained and I give you a promise,
which I pray God’tojhelp me to keep, that
l never more will mnrmurat my misfortune,
never more pain thy heart with useless re
grets, to follow the glorious path
you have*this night marked out.”
And the boy, child as he was in years,
kept his promise with a resolute firmness
that would have done honor to manhood.
Never, after that memorable eve, was he
heard to utter one complaining word. Nev
er again, at least, in presence of his mother,
did Itis brow wear the cloud or his eye the
shadow of gloom. He went forth among
his companions wrapped in an armor of de
termination that defied all malice and turn
ed away all reproach. This change in his
feelings was productive of the most benefi
cial and happy results. Day by day he be
gan to acquire a strength of constitution
and elevation of character which could nev
er have been his if despondency had con
tinued to exercise its blighting influence ov
er his young and tender spirit. His fond
mother marked the change with delighted
eye ; and when at length, by the aid of a
small legacy left her by a distant relative
and her own unparalleled industry and eco
nomy, she was enabled to gratify the dearest
wish of her heart, that of giving her boy a
classical education, she felt herself blest in
deed beyond her most sanguine expecta
tions.
Her son passed his collegiate term with
honor to himself and his teachers, and left j
the institution with the admiration and re
spect of all who had been his associates.
He chose the profession of the law, and,
though for a time he had to struggle with
many disadvantages and difficulties, he nev
er despaired of obtaining the meed he sought
—an honorable and useful station in society.
The excellent counsels of the mother guid
ed the man as they had governed the boy,
and led him with unerring step to the posi
tion he desired. Gifted with a mind of the
highest order and a heart filled with noble
and generous emotions, it is not surpri ing
that he at length emerged from the obscuri
ty which had darkened his earlier years.
Those Who had known him in his friendless,
needy and afflicted boyhood, and who only
looked upon the “ outer man,” watched his
progress with a doubtful eye and wondered
at his ambitious dreams. But those who
looked deeper into the inner world of his
mind and marked its lofty aspirings, its noble
aims and untiring exertions, deemed that
success would crown his efforts, and believ
ed that the smiles of fortune, the adulation
of friends, and the unfading laurels of fame
would be his well merited reward.
Many years after their first meeting, the
deformed and the chance companion of his
boyhood stood together again in a different
scene and under far different circumstances.
One of these two was arraigned at the bar
of justice for the fearful crime of murder;
the other was there as counsel for the accus
ed. Need we say which was the criminal ?
The evil passions which had so early mani
fested themselves in one of the children had
“ grown with his growth and strengthened
with his strength,” until they had gained
complete mastery over his heart. In youth
they had led him into many a situation of
shame and sorrow, and now in manhood,
they had brought him before men, charged
with a deed of the darkest die !
From some circumstances connected with
the transaction it was fair to suppose that the
prisoner was innocent of the actual crime of
murder; but his unfortunate disposition
militated strongly against him, for,as he was
universally known as a man of an ungovern
able temper, it was generally thought that
he had, in one of his fits of rage when he
seemed capable of any excess, committed
the oreadful deed. The public voice was
loud against him, and many hearts had al
ready condemned. These knew not how
many minute circumstances had combined
to place him in the light of a criminal, and
they reflected not how much their own j u dg
ments were biassed and swayed by the deep
prejudices which his former faults had awak
ened in their minds. The belief of his guilt
had gone forth to the world—it had circula
ted widely ; it had poisoned almost every
nind and fastened itself upon almost every
heart. Before he had passed the ordeal
which was to establish his guilt or innocence,
the prisoner had been unfairly condemned!
and his advocate, whose duty it was to see
justice properly awarded, felt that it must
be a mighty effort which could avert the
doom which seemed almost inevitable.
To the young lawyer this was a case of
peculiar interest. It was of more moment
than any he had ever tried. He had almost
considered punishment by death a tragedy
ihat should seldom or never be performed,
and he was now placed in a situation where
his efforts might have some influence to pre
vent it. He felt that the culprit, however
guilty in the eyes of the world, did not me
rit the severest penalty of the law. f Added
to this, the prisoner was one who had been
the indirect meaits of his own prosp’ritv,
and he felt towards him a sentiment of gnu
itude which would have prompted him, had
there been no other consideration, to use ev
ery exertion, to strain every nerve, and to
toil with almost super-human energy in his
behalf.
The last day of the trial had come ; hun
dreds of people curious or interested in the
result assembled to witness the proceedings.
The prisoner had in early life, as we have
shown, been the favorite of fortune, but ere
he grew to manhood the smiles of the faith
less dame were withdrawn, and he who had
been reared in the expectation of a proud
inheritance was compelled to go forth and
seek subsistance by his own exertions. The
changes which followed this event—the ne
cessity of mingling with those whom he
once despised—the falling off one by one of
bis “ summer friends,” tended to embitter a
disposition naturally so violent, and goaded
his haughty spirit almost to madness. The
added bitterness of his temper had driven
away the few remaining friends whom ad
versity had not alienated, and now, in his
trying hour, he was unsoothed and unsus
tained by all save two persons connected to
him by the nearest ties of kindred.
But these two were powerful pleaders
in his behalf. They were his young wife
and aged mother. The former was a pretty
and interesting young creature, with her
pale cheek anti sunken eye telling a tale of
the mental agony she had lately endured.
The latter seemed a fine subject for a painter,
as she stood with her time-worn brow and her
dim eye uplifted to heaven, as if she sought
there the only consolation that could be
found for grief so poignant as her’s. Her
mind seemed nerved with heroic fortitude to
bear the worst, for her mauner was dignified
and calm, but despite all the resolution she
could call to her aid, her heart would send
some signs to the face to speak more elo
quently than words of its intensity of suffer
ing. The muscles of her mouth would of
ten twitch convulsively, her brow contract
like one in pain, and a largo tear would gath
er every few moments and roll unheeded
and unfelt down her furrowed cheek. Ma
ny an eye in that vast assembly looked tear
fully upon that picture of woe, and may a
heart, that had before condemned the pri
soner, now beat with an ardent wish for his
acquittal.
During the previous day of the trial the
testimony had closed, and the assembled
multitude awaited now with deep interest
the summing up of counsel. After a few
Ereliminarics the prisoner’s advocate arose.
[is appearance was interesting in the ex
treme, anti all eyes were instantly rivetted
upon him. He bad outgrown in one respect j
his early deformity, and there was nothing
now save iris lameness to detract from his
personal appearance. He was dressed in a
plain suit of the deepest black, which form
ed a fine contrast to the pale and al
most marble-like complexion. His face,
ever remarkable for its intellectual beauty,
was now rendered strikingly elegant by its
lofty and spirited expression. He seemed
deeply sensible of the important consequen
ces attached to his endeavors, and his man
ner was dignified, solemn, and impressive.
He looked calmly around the expectant au
dience and then began in a low, serious and
subdued tone—“ He who sheddelh man’s
blood, by man shall his blood be shed.” He
then paused until the last lingering sound of
his strangely musical voice had died away,
and then, amid the thrilling silence that en
sued, he resumed in a louder tone —“These
words of holy writ are unmistakable in
their import ; they tell us plainly as words
can tell that a murderer should not go un
punished—but th£se very words impose up
on us a solemn obligation to look well and
wisely ere we perform the fearful act of
punishing by death. Life is a glorious gift—
it is a spark of divinity—a portion of God.
Should we not tremble to quench the taper
lighted by an Almighty hand ? Even when
we look upon one whom we are told has
stained his soul with the blood of a brother,
should we not ponder deeply and consider
wisely ere we condemn the accused ? He
stands before us, erect in the pride and glo
ry of manhood ; his brow lifted to heaven,
bis form fashioned in the likeness of his di
vine creator, and his mind a portion of God
like intelligence ! It i hard to think a being
thus created would forget bis lofty birthright,
and degrade himself below the brutes that
perish. It is hard to think a being thus en
dowed and thus blessed would turn from
his high destiny to do a deed which humani
ty shudders to contemplate. And yet the
prisoner at the bar is charged with such a
deed ! Oh, if there is a doubt of this guilt,
should we not admit that doubt, and if there
is a hope of his innocence, should we not
turn to that hope and let its blessed light
lead us to mercy ?”
He then proceeded to comment upon that.
portion of the evidence which favored the
belief of the prisoner’s innocence. He made
good use of it, and placed every favorable
circumstance in the best possible light. He
came at length to speak of the relatives of
the accused—of the young wife, with the
sweet and trusting love of woman; with
her dependence for comfort, her hopes of
happiness, her every thought and dream and
wish centered in die one dear object whom ‘
she had chosen as her protector. He pic
tured the pleasant home, the cheerful fire
side, the happy wife listening witli smiling
face for the sound of approaching steps. He
described the change that would come over
this scene, if he who stood at the bar ofjus
tipe pleading for mercy should be condemn
ed. The wife’s utter desolation of heart— 1
the destruction of her every joy—the wreck
and ruin of her every hope. The desolate !
home, the darkened hearth, the ceaseless 1
tears, and all the gloomy accompaniments of
woe. He called attention to the aged pa
rent, and then his own soul responded to the
same emotions that thrilled the hearts of his
auditors. Oh! how touchingly and feeling
ly did he paint the holy love of a mother
for her son ! Her suffering in giving him
life ; her tender and untiring care over his
helpless infancy, her unwearied watches by
his cradle-bed in the hours of sickness, and
her holy teaching in the days of health ;
her constant prayers for his happiness and
her ceaseless affection through every chance.
Then he asked if such prayers and such
love were all in vain—if, despite their sa
cred influence, their beloved object should
sink to eternal infamy, and the grey hairs of
that aged mother go down in shame and sor
row to the grave. And then he conjured
those who heard him, by every generous
feeling of their hearts, by every blessing
they held dear, by every hallowed tie that
bound them to parents, wife, and child, to
shut from their minds all belief of the pri
soner’s guilt.
There was a magic charm about that ora
tory which fascinated every hearer. Old
age forgot his weary thoughts and listened
with the enthusiastic feelings of youth.
Manhood laid aside his busy cares and am
bitious schemes to give his undivided atten
tion to the speaker ; and youth
his brilliant dreams of the future to fix eve
ry thought upon the present. But what
were the feelings of the accused as he drank
in every eloquent word ? The speaker seem
ed tohim a blessed being invested with pow
er to snatch him from eternal woe and give
him anew existence. Fate hung upon the
sound of his voice, and as he pleaded so
eloquently, so powerfully, and so convinc
ingly, the wretch who once despised could
have knelt and worshipped him as a superi
or being.
When that thrilling speech was ended,
there was one deep drawn breath from the
multitude who had been so long almost mo
tionless as statues, and then arose a tumult
and thunder of applause which shook the
stately ‘building to its foundation. Long
continued and oft repeated was that burst
of admiration and the speaker bailed it as
an omen of success. Ihe trial went on ;
the prosecuting attorney made his plea. He
spake ably and powerfully, but he spake to
ears that heard him not, or to hearts that had
already decided against him. The Judge’s
charge was favorable for the prisoner and
the jury retired amid faces bright with the
hope of an acquittal. A few moments of
suspense passed, and then the men up'ui
whose lips hung the fiat of life or death, re
turned with a verdict of “not guilty !” The
shout of applause that pealed from the dis
persing crowd told how satisfactorily that
decision was received.
The prisoner was pressed in the arms of
his delighted relatives ; and then the aged i
mother and the young wife and the bewild- j
ered acquitted knelt, and with tears of grat- [
itude called down blessings on the head of
him who had exerted himself so nobly in
their behalf. It were hard to say who was
the happiest of that group—the man releas
ed so unexpectedly from a noisome cell and
the fears of an ignominious death—the re- *
latives lifted so suddenly from the depth of
shame and sorrow to the pinnacle of hope
and happiness—or the advocate whose be
nevolent heart exulted in the reflection
the good deed it had done.
That evening the widow and her son com
muned together again in their home. It was
no longer a lowly and cheerless one, but
lofty and spacious and surrounded with all
the comforts and elegances of life. As for
the mother, words may not seek to describe
nor thought endeavor to imagine the 1 Ay
joy and gratitude that revelled in her heai
Suffice it to say her griefs were all lorgol
ten, heryears of care and anxiety, her count
less tears, toils and troubles all recompensed;
more than recompensed by her newly ac
quired bliss. And her son, her glorious
child—glorious despite the doubtful pro
mise of his spring-time; had not his ami
tious dreams and lofty aspirations been, t*
day, abundantly gratified.
After many moments indulgence of u
happiness too deep for words the mothc.
spake—“ Said I not, my dear boy, that the
glance of pitty and the tone of scorn wool ‘
be changed to the look of approval aru t’
word of praise. Has not the exp . i nee c;
this day proved that I told thee aright ?”
“ It has indeed, dear mother—to thee l
owe the triumph. But for thee and thy bless
ed counsel I should now have been a miser
able wretch, despised by society and debat
ed by my own heart. Thy excellent teach
ings have made me what lam and to thee
my eternal gratitude is due.”
“ Not so, my son, not to me but to tfcy
Father in Heaven be all praise awarded.
Let us kneel, my dear child, and pray for a
fitting spirit to bear this excess of joy.”
BOLINBROKE.
As an orator, Bolinbroke was rated very
high by his contemporaries. His successors
in life, (Pitt and Brougham,) have estimated
him the very first of English orators. Lord
Chesterfield thought him superior to the
ancients. But, in his printed works, he is
infinitely beneath Burke—who, singularly
enough, commenced his career by an imi
tation of Bolinbroke—which proved supe
rior to the original. We can imagine him,
however, a very popular speaker. He had
all the arts of oratory, and a fine person.
He was quick, brilliant, energetic, fiery;
his manners, soft, elegant, refined; his schol
arship, daizling, and deceptive. He wub
also, when necessary, untiring in business;
and perhaps,’ the best negotiator and diplo
mat, among the English statesmen of bis
time.
“ The personal character of this brilliant
knave ” was, in early life, grossly sensual; —
he was a sort of Marquis of Waterford;
only rivalling him in reckless licentiousness.
He kept the most expensive mistress in the
kingdom, and boasted of being able to drink
more than any other man could bear. Ho
once ran a race naked through Hyde Park.
Lord Byron was quite a puritan compared
with Bolingbroke. His lordship’s ambition,
when a collegian, and until the age of near
thirty, was wholly of the puerile sort that
distinguishes rich young men of fashion of
the present day.
As he advanced toward maturity, he be
came the statesman and political leader.
After tlie loss of power and influence, be
turned philosopher. It may look like want
of charity, but we confess we suspect it to
be true, that philosophy was the last resoit
of Bolinbroke; as politics has been said to
be “the last resoit of a scoundrel.” And
it is astonishing, how men are allowed to
conduct the affairs of the nation, whose pri
vate business is entirely neglected, and
whose personal character is highly valued,
at the very smallest premium.
Religion, Bolingbroke repelled with dis
dian; but rested firm in the consolations of
philosophy. He died at an advanced age,
and holding the same doctrines to the very
last.
Apologue on printing by steam. —During
a wonderful period of the world, the kings
of the earth leagued themselves together to
destroy all opposition, to root out, if they
could, the very thoughts of mankind. In
quisition was made for blood. The ears of
the grovelling lay in wait for every murmur.
On a sudden, during this great hour of dan
ger, there arose in a hundred parts of the
world, a cry, to which the cry Blatant Beast
was a whisper. It proceeded from the
wonderful multiplication of an extraordin
ary Creature, which had already turned the
cheeks of the tyrants pallid. It groaned
and it grew loud: it spoke with a hundred
tongues: it grew fervidly on the ear, like
the noise of a million of wheels. And the
sound of a million of wheels was in it, to
gether with other marvellous and awful
voices. There was the sharpening of swords,
the braying of trumpets, the neighing of
war-liorses, the laughter of solemn voices,
the rushing by of lights, the of
impatient feet, a tread as if the world were
coming. And ever and anon there were
pauses with “a still small voice,” which
made a trembling in the night-time; but
still the glowing sound of the wheels renew
ed itself; gathering early towards the morn
ing. And when you came tip to one of
these creatures, you saw, with fear and rev
erence, its mighty conformation, being like
wheels indeed and a great vapor. And ever
and anon the vapor boiled, and tlie wheels
went rolling, and the creature threw out of
its mouth visible words, that fell into the air
by millions, and spoke to the uttermost parts
of the earth. And the nations, (for it was a
loving though a fearful Creature) fed upon
its wordsslike the air that breathed: and tho
Monarchs paused, for they knew their mas
-1 levs.—Leigh Hunt.
NUMBER 5.