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VOLUME 11. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
P © E T GS Y,
“ Much yet remains unsung
MY MOTHER’S VOICE.
BT J. VER V.
My mother’s voice, I hear it now;
I feel her hand upon my brow
As when in heartfelt joy,
She raised her evening hymn of praise,
And call’d down blessings on the days
Os her lov'd boy.
My mother's voice! I hear it now;
Her hand is on my burning brow,
As in that early hour,
When fever throbbed in all my veins,
With healing power.
My mother's voice! It sounds as when
She read to me of holy men.
The Patriarchs of old;
And gazing downward in my face
She seemed each infant thought to trace
My blue eyes told.
It comes when thoughts unhallowed throng
Woven in sweet deceptive song—
And whisper round my heart -,
As when at eve it rose on high,
1 hear and think that she is nigh,
And they depart.
BSLE ©T E ® TAILIE© O
From the Gcorgiu Courier.
THE PISTOL SHOT.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRF.NCII.
We were in garrison at * * *. Who
d.es not know the life of an officer in gar
rison ? In the morning, parade and drill;
a dinner with the commandet of the post or
at a miserable eating house; and in the even
ing, punch and cards. In the insignificant
little town where we were stationed, there
were no families which we visited, no young
ladies to be married, and consequently we
associated only with each other. There
was but one individual among us who did
soot belong to the at my ; be was about thir
ty years of age, and his experience of life
gave him great advantage over its; while
his melancholy temper, firmness of charac
ter, and acrimony of language, produced the
most powerful effects on our young minds.
A strange mystery surrounded him ; he ap
peared to be a Russian, but bore a foreign
name; he had already served in the army
and been distinguished for his bravery ; but
no one knew why he had resigned ; nor
what induced him to live so retired in this
small provincial town. His table was open
to all the officers of our regiment; it is true
that his dinners were merely composed of
two or three dishes cooked by an old inva
lid soldier, but his champaigne flowed in a
bnndance. No one knew exactly his situ
ation or fortune, and no one would have
dared to question him on such subjects. He
owned a few military works, and some nov
els and romances, which he lent freely to
whoever desired to read them ; but his prin
cipal occupation consisted in pistol shoot
ing; and the walls of his chamber were
pierced with innumerable halls, looking not
unlike the interior of a bee hive. A rich
collection of pistols composed the only or
nament of the cottage which served as his
dwelling. He had arrived at such extreme
skill in this amusement, that if lie had taken
a fancy to fire at a hnzleuut placed on any
one’s head, no one of us would have hesita
ted to gratify his whim.
Often when assembled together, the con
versation would turn upon duels ; Silvio (for
he was so called) never made any remarks
at sucli times, and when someone of the
company asked him one day if he had ever
fought a duel, he quietly answered “ yes,”
without entering into any details ; it was
very evident, however, that such questions
were disagreeable to him, and we were all
persuaded that he was rendered unhappy
by the remembrance of someone who had
doubtless fallen a victim to his fatal skill.
One day wc were dining with Silvio;
there were ten of us; we drank as usual,
that is to say freely. After dinner we call
ed for cards and commenced playing. It
was his usual practice while at cards to main
tain an inviolable silence, never answering
cor proffering any remarks. We knew his
manner and never nretended to disturb him;
4>ut there happened to he present on this oc
casion an officer who had just joined our
regiment awl was a stranger among us.—
This young man made a mistake in his play,
which was detected by Silvio and rectified;
the stranger disputed and took up the chalk
to prove himself in the right. Our host qui
etly effaced the marks and set it down right,
hut the officer heated with wine, and exci
ted by play, and the laughter of bis com
rades, thought himself grossly insulted ; and
seizing in nil anger the candlestick which
■stood upon the table, ho threw k with such
violence that Silvio had scarcely time by a
3uick motion to avoid the Wow, We were
lunderatrpek! Silvio rose; be was pale
with rage, and his eyes flashed lightning.—
Leave the house, sir, cried he to the officer,
and thank Heaven that this happened in my
wn house. Os course no one felt much in
the humor of playing after this event, and as
we returned to our different quarters, we
discussed the consequences of the duel
which we doubted not would tako place the
next day; and the undoubted fatal result to
our new comrade.
The next morning at drill several ques
tions were asked about our poor lieutenant;
3 iFamils JlcUiapaim*: 33rtootcir to ILiterature, iWrrtiaulcs, Education, jporeCati atm Eowratlc IfntclU&cwce, scc.
#
whether lie was still alive, and so on; when
suddenly he made his appearance among us.
He had received no message from Silvio!
We were extremely surprised; it was un
accountable : and some of us immediately
resolved to pay hint a visit, and discover, if
possible,the reason of his unexpected forliear
anee. We found him in the yard in front
of his house, amusing himself by sending his
halls one after another through the centre
of an ace of hearts which was nailed to his
door. He received us as usual, and spoke
not a word on the event of the proceeding
evening.
Three days passed away and our lieuten
ant was still living! could it be possible that
Silvio did not intend to fight ? Silvio so far
from fighting, contented himself with a very
slight apology from the officer and they were
reconciled.
This conduct lowered Silvio in the opin
ion of all the officers ; youth never forgives
a want of courage; looking upon it as the
first of all virtues, and the only one which
can in a degree excuse every species of
fault. However, little by little all was for
gotten, and Silvio regained in time the con
sideiatiou he had formerly enjoyed.
I alone could not forget the past! Na
ture had endowed me with a romantic im
agination ; I had been extremely interested
in the man ; his entire life had seemed an
enigma, and he appeared himself to be
the hero of some mysterious history. He
had loved me, at least it was only with me
that he laid aside his ironical manner, and
conversed on all subjects with ease and el
egance. But after that unfortunate even
ing, the idea that his honor had been com
promised, and that his own will alone had
prevented him from washing out the stain
in the blood of his enemy ; this idea so hu
miliating to him was always present to my
mind. I could not hear to look upon him,
and gradually withdrew from all intercourse
with him. Silvio could not fail but perceive
my coolness and guess its cause ; it appear
ed to pain him, and I observed that he de
sired an explanation ; but this I carefully
avoided, and finally he treated me as he did
my brother officers.
ti.
What an epoch is post day to the inhab
itants of a small country town; those who
live in cities, surrounded by so many som
ces of amusement can form no idea ot the
excitement created by the arrival of the mail
in our little community. Tuesdays and
Fridays were great days with us ; the guard
room of our regiment was filled with offi
cers, some expecting money ; some letters;
and others papers ; and all enjoying the an
imation of the scene. Silvio’s lettero were
addressed to our regiment and he always
came to the guard room to receive them.—
One day while vve were all assembled, wait
ing the distribution of our letters, a package
aopeard for him; he seized it with eager
ness, tore off the envelope with haste, and
rapidly ran his eyes over the contents, which
seemed to agitate him. After a moment’s
pause he said aloud, “Gentlemen, unex
pected events demand my immediate de-
Farture; 1 shall leave this place to night;
hope you will not refuse to dine once more
with me for the last time; I shall expect you
without fail,” added he turning to me, and
so saying we left the room.
At the appointed hour I repaired to his
house, where were assembled all the officers
of the garrison. Our host was in great spir
its, every arrangement had been made for
his departure; and he seemed resolved to
make the few intervening hours pass as gai
ly as possible. We drank to his future hap
piness, and wished him success in all his
undertakings. We rose late from table and
while I was waiting my turn to exchange
farewells with him, he said to me in a low
voice, “wait a moment; I want to speak
with you.” I retired to the opposite side of
the room and seated myself in silence; we
were soon alone together.
Silvio sat down opposite to me, every
trace of gaiety had vanished, his counten
ance was pale with repressed emotion, sev
eral minutes elapsed before he spoke, when
suddenly he said, “it is possible that we
shall never meet again; to the opinion of
many, I am indifferent; hut I value your
friendship and esteem too highly to leave
you without offering an explanation of your
unjust suspicions.” He paused a moment,
but as I proffered no remark, he continued,
“ You were surprised that I endured insult
from a drunken man without demanding sat
isfaction ; but you will at least acknowledge
that ns the insulted person, I had a right to
choose weapons, which would have placed
his life in my power. I might dignify my
moderation with the pompous title of gen
erosity, but I have no desire to deceive you;
if I could have punished the lieutenant with
out linking my own life, I should most un
doubtedly have done it.”
This avowal confounded me; my looks
expressed my amazement; hut without re
garding me he continued, “ Yes, that is the
truth of the case; I have no right to dispose
of my life ; six years ago, I received a blow!
and my enemy still lire*.”
My curiosity was wrought unto the high
est pitch. “ And you did not fight him ?” I
exclaimed.
“ I did,” replied Silvio, “ and here is an
evidence of the duel,” saying which he rose
and took from a box a red military cap,
which he placed upon his head, I then per- I
reived that it was pierced through by a hall !
about two inches above the forehead.
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 8, 1843.
“ You know,” continued Silvio, “ that I
setved in the * *** tsgimtiit of hussars.—
You have seen enough of me to know that I
am desirous to excel in all things, but in my
youth this ambition was a perfect passion
with me, and was not always directed to the
worthiest objects. My comrades however,
looked up to me as the leader in all extrav
agancies, and I was the most popular man
in the regiment. I was the model on which
they formed themselves. Affairs were in
this state, when a young man joined our
regiment whose name I shall not mention.
He belonged however, to one of the first
families of the empire; was wealthy, hand
some, intelligent and witty ; as full of life
and spirit as a child, but brave as ■ lion ton.
You may imagine the effect produced by the
arrival of such a character among us. My
superiority was no longer unrivalled. A
feeling of jealousy took possession of me. I
treated him coldly, although he evidently de
sired to become acquainted ; but finding I
did not receive his advances with cordiality,
he gave me up without regret. All this dis
pleased me; but his success in the regiment
and society, was unendurable to me ; I was
no longer the first! Finally we met one
night at a ball given by a Polish nobleman
to which most of our officers had been invi
ted. Among the ladies was one who had
made a great impression upon me, and who
hud hitherto received my homage at least
without disdain ; I flattered myself with the
hope of success. But this fatal night my ri
val was the object of universal attention, his
gaiety, his wit, his elegance of manner en
tirely eclipsed us all. To the lady of whom
I spoke, he seemed particularly to devote
himself: and she was evidently pleased with
his attentions. I approached him, and ut
tered some insulting remarks loud enough
to be overheard ; he became enraged and
struck me. We drew our swords and at
tacked each other, hut were instantly sene
rated. A challenge was however the im
mediate consequence, and it was arranged
that we should meet at daybreak. Before
the appointed hour, I was upon the spot with
my three seconds ; I waited impatiently for
the arrival of my antagonist. As day dawn
ed, I perceived him coming, accompanied
by only one second, and as he advanced leis
urely towards me, I saw that he held his
cap in one had filled with cherries which he
was eating. Our seconds measured the
distance and we drew lots for the first fire.
The lot fell upon him. We toolw our pla
ces ; he fired, and his ball pierced my cap as
you see. It was then my turn; his life was
at my mercy. I gazed eagetly upon my vic
tim; I endeavored to detect some slight
emotion in him, hut there he stood unmo
ved, eating his cherries, and shooting out
the stones with the utmost indifference.—
This coolness exasperated me! *• It seems,”
said I lowering my pistol, “ that it is not a
very appropriate time to shoot; you are
breakfasting ! I do not wish to disturb you.”
“ Not at all sir,” replied he; “ fire, I beg
of you ; you do not disturb me in the least.
Do as you please, however; it is your turn;
and if you prefer postponing it, I am at your
service any time.
“I turned to the seconds and announced
my determination to defer my shot till some
future moment, and left the field—l imme
diately resigned from the army, and estab
lished myself in this retired place. At last
the time has come!”
As he uttered these words, Silvio drew
from his pocket the letter he had received
that morning; someone in his confidence
had written to him from Moscow, that a cer
tain individual was about to be married to
a young and beautiful creature, to whom be
was devotedly attached.
You can guess, continued Silvio, who tlic
certain individual is; I am going to Mos
cow; we shall see whether he will be us in
different to death now, as he was while eat
ing his cherries !
I had listened to this recital in silence,
filled with a thousand different emotions;
hut before I could reply, a servant announc
ed that the horses were reedy; we grasped
each others’ hands without speaking; lie
sprang into his Teleschka, and in a moment
was out of sight.
in.
Several years passed away; family affairs
induced me to leave the army, and I fixed
my residence on one of my patrimonial e
tates in the province of * * * *. Although
occupied with my private interests, 1 did
not cease to sigh over the remembrances of
my military career; so free from care, and
annoyances. My hardest task was to amuse
myself during the long and solitary winter
evenings ; through the day, time passed a
way easily enough, but after sunset 1 knew
not what to do with myself.
Four versts from my residence was a rich
estate belonging to the Countess Barinski.
The steward of this lady lived there alone;
she had only been there once, and that was
the year of her marriage when she had pass
ed a month there with the Count.
During the second year of my ’seclusion,
I learned with delight that the Count and
Countess proposed spending the ensuing
summer at this beautiful place, and none
but those who have felt the want of society,
can conceive the eagerness with which I
awaited their arrival.
The Countess was young and beautiful,
and I had frequently heard her spoken ofin
exalted terms, though I had never been so
fortunate as to meet her. Os her husband
lit was said that he was in every way wor
thy of her love.
Finally they arrived. In a few days, that
IS to any, at the very earliest moment pro
priety permitted, I mounted my horse with
the intention of making myself acquainted
with my charming neighbors, I had lived so
long out of the world that I felt a slight awk
wardness at the thought of encountering so
much wit and beauty; and it was with a novel
feeling of embarassment that I found myself
ushered into the splendid library by a foot
man, who went in search of the Count to
announce my visit.
While alone, I amused myself with ad
miring the various rich and curious articles
scattered about the apartment; among oth
er things which attracted my attention, was
a picture, which hung over the fireplace im
mediately opposite the door by which I en
tered. There was no particular beauty in
the painting however, which was a Swiss
landscape; but it was pierced directly through
the centre by a hole apparently made by two
balls, the last of which had evidently been
fired thro’ the aperture made by the first.—
While I was wondering whether this was
the effect of accident or skill, the door open
ed and the Count entered the apartment. —
He accosted roe with a frank and cordial
manner, and I was charmed at once with
his noble countenance, and engaging de
meanor. We soon became interested in
Conversation, when the lady made her ap
pearance. She was veiy beautiful; and her
affable manners soon relieved my embar
rassment. After some passing remarks, I
turned to the Count, and said pointing to
the picture, that was a capital shot!
“ Ye*,” replied he, “ it is very extraordi
nary ! Are you fond of pistol shooting t ”
He inquired.
“ I am tolerably expert at it,” replied I,
“ I can hit my mark at thirty paces, with a
pistol I am accustomed to.”
” Indeed!” exclaimed the Countess who
had listened with attention, “are you as
good a marksman 1” turning to her husband.
“ w* will make a trial some day,” repli
ed he smiling, “ I used to shoot very well
in my time, hut I have not touched a pistol
sot four years.”
“ Ah,” said I, “ you should practice con
stantly, else the hand loses its steadiness;
and the eye its correctness. The best marks
man I ever knew in my life, made it a rule
to fire three shots every day before dinner.
It was as regular a practice with him as to
eat.”
“ What was his name ?” inquired the
Count.
** Silvio.”
“ Silvio!” cried the Count springing from
his chair, “did you know Silvio?”
“Certainly,” I replied, “ we were very
intimate; he was looked upon as a brother
officer by all our regiment; but it is five
years now since I have heard anything of
him. Does your lordship know him ?”
“ Yes, very well—did he never speak to
you of an extraordinary incident which once
happened, to him !”
“You mean,” said I, “the history of a
blow which be received at a ball, from some
thoughtless fellow.”
“ Did he tell you the name of the thought
less fellow t”
“No indeed, never I Ah, excuse me !”
added I quickly, for I began to suspect the
truth; “ I did not imagine—l had no idea
you were the person.”
“ Yes sir, it was I,” replied the Count,
and his countenance indicated great agita
tion ; “ and the picture you see, bears wit
ness to our last encounter.”
“Ah !” said the Countess, “do not, for
heaven’s sake relate that frightful incident;
it terrifies me even to hear it spoken of.”
“ On the contrary, I ought to tell it,” re
plied the Count; “he knows how I insulted
his friend; it is just that he should hear how
he revenged himself.”
The Count seated himself beside me nud
I listened with eagerness to the following
recital:
“ It is five years since I was married, we
rassed the honeymoon in this very place ;
owe to this house some of the happiest
moments of my life, as well as some of the
most painful recollections. One day I invi
ted my wife to ride with me on horseback ;
she mounted, but we had not proceeded
far, before her horse became unruly ; she
grew alarmed and finally dismounted, tell
ing me that she would walk back, as it was
hut a short distance; and I led her horse
home. I got there before her, and as I rode
into the court-yard, I saw atanding there a
travelling Teleschka. The servants told
me that a gentleman was waiting for me in
the library ; that he had refused to give his
name; but said he had business with me.—
1 entered the library, and saw a man cover
ed with dust, and with a beard of several
days giowth. He was standing here before
the fireplace. I did not recognise him until
he said in a tone which thrilled mo. “Do
you not know me, Count?’ ‘Silvio!’ ex
claimed I; and I acknowledge that I shud
dered. * Yes,’ said he, ‘you remember that
it is my turn to fire, I have come to finish
our duel; are you ready ?’ and he drew his
pistol from his breast—l measured off twelve
paces. I placed myself there in that corn
er opposite to him, and called upon him to
fire quickly, before my wife returned. But
he would not be hurried. He called for
lights; after they were brought, I closed
the door, telling the servants 1 was engaged !
and did not wish to be disturbed. I then ‘
I took my place again; he raised his pistol,
i took aim—lcounted the seconds—l thought
of her —it was a frightful moment! * What
a pity.’ said he, lowering his pistol, ‘that this
is not loaded with cherry stones !—then af
ter a pause he added, ‘I am not used to fire
at an unarmed man; take your pistol, and
let us once more draw lots ; fate will decide
for us.’ He loaded a second pistol; then
takiug off his cap, (the same which my ball
had already pierced) he threw two numbers
into it and told me to draw—mechanically
I obeyed ; again I drew the first number.
‘You are foitunate,’ said Silvio with a bitter
smile. I resumed my place, raised my pis
tol and fired!—my ball passed over his head,
and stiuck the picture as you see. Slowly
then Silvio raised his pistol, slowly he took
aim—at this moment the door was suddenly
thrown open, and Marie, who had been a
laimed by the report ofthe pistol rushed in
to the room, and threw herself into my arms
with a fearful cry. Her presence aroused
me ; ‘Dearest,’ srul I, ‘do you not see that
it is all a joke ? why should you be alarmed
—go my beloved, go and calm yourself,
then return to ns uud let me present to you
tqy old comrade—a brother officer’—Movie
would not “believe me. ‘Speak, sir! oh,
speak!’ cried she turning to Silvio who look
ed at her with an unmoved aspect, ‘isittrue
that you are only joking?’ ‘He always
jokes, madam,’ answered Silvio, ‘once in
joke he struck me, in joke he fired his ball
through my cap; he missed me just now in
joke, and now —it is my tmn to joke.’ As
lie raised his pistol to fire she threw herself
at his feet. ‘Rise instantly, Marie!’ cried I
sternly, ‘you disgrace yourself and me, and
you sir,’ continued I turning to him, ‘cease
to add to her anguish—fire!’ ‘I will not
fire,’ replied Silvio ; ‘ 1 have witnessed your
suffering, your fear , I have hnd my revenge;
you will never forget me; I leave the mem
ory of this hour to your conscience.’ As he
uttered these words, he reached the door,
turned, cast a look at the picture which 1
Imd hit, and with a glance raised his pistol
and sent his hall through the same spot. In
an instant he had disappeared; he rushed
down the stairs, called his postillion aud
drove off, liefore I fairly recovered my senses.
I never saw again the hero of this extraor
dinary history, but I heard afterwards that
Silvio joined the Greeks, during the revolt
of Alexander Spsilanti, and was killed in the
attack on Skouloni.”
From Sties I-eslic’s Magazine.
FADING FLOWERS.
A Lesson of Patience.
One day, when but a chi hi, 1 gathered
my hands full of beautiful wild flowers, and,
placing them in little vessels of water, ar
ranged upon the mantel-piece, watched
them with delight for hours, hoping that
they would continue as fresh and blooming
as they were when I plucked them from
their vivid stems. When I went to bed at
night, I kept thinking of my flowers, and it
was a long time before I could get to sleep,
so full was my imagination ot the pleasant
blossoms 1 had gathered.
I dreamed that my flowers had faded, and
awoke in tears. I slept again, and again
dreamed of them, hut in their beauty.
In the morning I amse, dressed myself,
and want to look at my floral treasures.—
They had all withered, and hung with droop
ing heads over the sides of the glasses in
which I placed them ! A few curled leaves
almost colorless, lay upon the floor, and up
on some ol them a careless foot had trod
den.
I instantly burst into tears. It was some
time after that my mother came in, and she
(ound me sobbing and weeping in a corner
of the room. She sat down by my side,
and takiug my hand tenderly, inquired the
cause of my giief.
“My flowers!” said I, sobbing more
violently, it was all that I could litter.
A single glance towards my fluted I tins
soms, told her the whole story of my child
ish affliction. She did not speak for a few
minutes, but raised me up, and laid my head
upon her bosom. This fond action subdued
my transports of sorrow, and in a few min
utes, 1 could look into her face with calm
ness. Then she smiled on me with a smile
that only a mother’s countenance can wear
—but I well remember that a tear was on
her cheek.
I thought it strange at the time, that my
mother should weep; hut I can now well
understand her feelings, as the little incident
that I have mentioned, brought before her
mind, in sad array, the many disappoint
ments that, in coming life, would crowd my
path, of which this was but a gentle prelude.
She looked placidly into my face, which
was upturned to hers, for a moment, mid
then assuming a serious tono, implanted in
my young mind one of her first lessons of
patience —a lesson that has never been for
gotten.
“ My dear child,” she liegan, “ I am sor
ry yonr flowers have faded ; hut you know
that there are still many more flowers in the
fields, and much prettier ones iu the garden.
Yoii can gather more.”
“ But I gathered these, mother,” I said
“ And I liked them better than any others,
because they were mine.” And I wept
again to think that the very blossoms which
I had ro loved should have faded.
“ Your flowers will often wither thus, my
child,” answered my mother, in a voice of
tender interest. “Aud though you may
| NUMBER 2.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
love your own more than others, yet. when
their brightness and beauty are gone, vou
must remember that grieving cannot restore
them.”
“ Every thing that brings to you pleasure
is one of the flowers of life. Do you not
love me more than all these colored leaves.”
I could not say yes. But the smiling tears
in my eyes told her my feelings; and my
little arms that were twined fondly about
her neck, gave her the strongest affirmative
her heart wanted.
“1 am one of the flowers of life,” contin
ued she, “ so is your father, and so is sister
Mary. But did you never think that one
day these flowers might wither ?”
I looked inquiringly into her face, hut
half conscious of her meaning.
“ Remember, my dear,” she continued,
“ what I am now saying to you, even if you
do not fully comprehend it. All along your
way through life will spring up pleasant
flowers, and your hand will constantly ho
reached out to pluck them. But, my child,
all will droop and wither. Nothing on earth
is permanent. All things are changing and
passing away. You will form many brilliant
expectations, and, as you spring up to man
hood, will cherish many hopes di happiness
in this world. But disappointments con
stantly follow our steps, and the thorn of
sorrow often tears our hand, when we have
reached it out to pluck the blossoms of joy.
Yet, amid all this, there is a virtue that
throws light upon this dark picture—the vir
tue of patience. Do you not remember
reading in the hook J gave you a day or two
ago, that
* To bear :s to conquer our fa.e V
which means, that if we are patient under
disappointment and grief, we will rob them
of more than half of their painfulness.—
We make our sorrows greater than they
really are, by thinking and grieving over
them. Learn to have patience under all
circumstances, and nothing can utterly des
troy your happiness.
“ And now, my child,” she added, “ gath
er up the faded leaves from the floor, throw
away your withered flowers, and then go
and look for fresh ones.”
I ran to the fields as soon as I had eaten
my brenkfast, and collected another bunch
of flowers as pretty as those I had gathered
the day liefore, and was again happy in look
ing at them.
In a day or two, they were all faded; but
I remembered the words of my mother, and
tried to learn patience. It was a hard les
son at fiist; but whenever any thing went
wrong, I tried the remedy, and soon found
that patience was a charm that robbed dis
appointment of its bitterness.
I have ever since endeavored to use this
patience under all circumstances, and find
that it brings the mind nearer than any thing
else, below a confiding trust in Divine Prov
idence, to that contentment, which Camp
bell calls “ the all in all of life.”
O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths,
to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy,
revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into
beasts!—Suakspeare.
The rescued Sailor. —About a year ago,
the fine ship T— left New Orleans for Bos
ton. with a tolerably sober crew, with the
exception of one man, who was put on board
by his landlord dead drunk, without cloth
ing, lied, or might else for a winter voyage.
To this same landlord he hnd paid S3O two
or three days previous, together with sls
more when he signed the T ’s articles.
The wife of the captain was to make the
voyage with them, and her heart was pained
as the cabin-boy told her of the destitution
of the drunken sailor, and she resolved
when he should become sober, that she
would endeavor to save him ifnm courses
ro ruinous. But for several days after thev
left New Orleans, the sailor was crazed with
thehnrrois, and could neither eat nor sleep.
On the eighth day out, she fancied if she
could hut get him to eat, he would recover
his senses ; so she ordered the Steward to
prepare him a nice howl of gruel, and then
sent the hov forward to tell the poor fellow
to come and receive if. Her kindness made
such an impression onhismind.ihat hestrove
to obey her, and in a few hours he ceased
his ravings mid slept. The next day ami
the next, she continued to provide him with
gruel, while his shipmates thankful for the
quiet thus restored to the forecastle, won
dered at the interest she took in the outcast.
The weather coming on cold, the captain
loaned him a jacket, and some of the crew
a comforter and mittens, and thus he was
enabled to peifnrra his duty. Frequently
after this, when it would l>e his lorn nt the
wheel, he seemed almost bursting to tell her
how grateful he felt for her kindness, hut
she gave him no opportunity toß|>eak to her
until one Sabbath morning, ns she was dis
tributing hooks from a library given so the
ship by a Society in Liverpool,’(which, by the
way, we wish some good people would ro
py here,) wheu he came to get his l*ook, she
talked with him, pointed out the utter ruin
that would shortly fall upon biin unless he
became a sober man, and begeed him frfr
his own sake to refoim. Ho heard her
through, thanked her for the interest*}#,
manifested, told her he had once filled ah
officer’s birth, and promised that le would
now make one more eflort to raise himself.