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VOLUME 11. | BY C, R. HANLEITER. P©[ ETTKYa __ “ Much yet remains unsung.” EARTH’S WANDERINGS. ‘* l AnJ the Dove found no rest for the sole of her foot.” Child of pleosure ! always roving Through the flowery fields of sin ; Still this truth forever proving, There's a canker worm within; Let thy fond delusion cease. Turn thee to the ark ofpeuce. Man of cares ! thus daily heaping Sordid treasures, glittering dust, Sowing on, yet never leaping, Ever fearing blight and rust; Turn from Mammon’s tossing sea, To the Ark of Peace for thee. Thou, the phantom fame pursuing, Tolling up Ambition’s height, Pause, the semblance thou art wooing, Leads through danger, crime auu night, From the wave of human strife, Turn thee, ere the storm is life. Pilgrim ! worn with grief, and weary, Mourning for the loved ones gone! Is thv pathway sad and dreary t Turn thee where the Ark rides on; All thy wanderings now ure o’er, Child of Sorrow, weep no more. ajpaaeMsg—imwii-i—— p— @EIL[E©TIEID) T^LESo TIIE WRECKER. Itr OUAIILE3 J. PETEKSON. The storm was at its height. During the whole day anil part of the preceding night it had been blowing fiercely, increasing in fu ry cvety hour, until it now raged with an in tensity lately witnessed even on our inhos pitable Atlantic coast. The wind whistled shrilly over the flat bench, making the bare elder bushes rattle like dry hones and almost prostrating the solitary wayturei, who stood, half sheltered by a low sand hill, gazing out over the white and troubled ocean. W ho over lie might be he had chosen a singular hour for his watch. It waslong alter twi light, and, in the shadowy obscurity the agi tated ocean before him, with its dark bil lows tipped with foam, stretching away be fore the sight until lost in the gloom of the wild seaboard, had something ghastly in its aspect. A reck of leaden colored clouds drove across the firmament, stooping low down over the waters with a weird and threatening aspect. ’1 he sea ran in moun tains, and though the whole surface of the deep was spotted with foam, there was a while, continuous line that never disappear ed, just beneath the visible horizon, betoken ing the shoals oil the coast. Further in, the waves broke again ; and a tew yards from the watcher they were shivered for the third time, hurling themselves on the beach in ceaseless thunder. At first their dark bosoms could he seen heaving sullenly up against the black seaboard ; then, all at once, a white line of foam, beginning at one end of the toppling wave, would run swift ly along the brow; the crest would curl over for an instant ; and then the huge mass of water would plunge headlong, in a cateract of snowy spray, on the beach. For a space the fragments of the wave would he seen shooting up the sand, and then as rapidly returning with the undertow. Another bil low would now break with a concussion us loud as before, again the shattered wave would slide up the beach, and again the un dertow would succeed. Rut it was not to gaze on the sublimity of this scene that the solitary individual had taken post on that desolate beach, llis eye ranged the horizon as if in search of some expected object, and at length he stooped forward, and shading his eyes with his hand gazed intently across the white waste ot wa ters, while a smile of savage, almost fiend ish exultation caine across his face. “ Ay! there she is,” he muttered, 11 1 knew she could not escape me, for I saw rier in the oiling an hour ago, I was sure.— 1 have her now. There has been but a pom trade this winter ; but this tall ship will make up for the bad times.” He rubbed his hands as he spoke end looked around, as if already contemplating the bales of rich silks which he expected to realize from the wreck; for well lie knew that nothing short of a miracle could save the doomed ship, since she was already too nigh to be able to claw oil the coast in the teeth of the north-eastern. He then cast his eye upward to a light fixed on a heavy pole, on the summit ot the low sand lull. “ Ah ! it’s a trick I never knew it to fail,” said the wrecker, as if conversing with him self. “ They, think it the light off tlio Hook, and shape their course accordingly. Let me see,” he continued, stopping a space to •think, “ they will heat’ up a little, so that ithey’ll come on a mile or two further down. Well, well, one place is as good as another. By morning”— .. The crew will he all dead,” said a harsh voice behind him, so unexpectedly that he started and looked around like one halt ex pecting to see a spirit. . * The wrecker’s fear, however, vanished, when, holding the lantern to the intruder, he beheld a woman’s face. Rut it seemed with exposure and age, and made more re pulsive by the grizzled hair which hung, like a Medusa’s snakes, about it. She woi e a man’s hat and pea-jacket. t) •* It’s only U 7 Master Bowen, said she, R iFamUg ilctosiiaper : DrbotcO to agriculture, duration, iForctflu .iwo Domestic fcuteUifleuce, Kt. •‘you needn’t he afeerd. The devil, no doubt, will have you some day, but not yet, not yet. You haven’t murdered enough folk yet by hiring ’em on here. But your time’s coming.” A dark scowl settled on the man’s brow at these words, while the veins of his fore head swelled like whip-cord with suppress ed passion. “ What calls you here, old beldame 1” he said sharply, “I told you to stay up at the hut,” and noticing a certain leer in her eyes, he continued, abruptly changing his tone, “ well— what have you seen to pay you for your walk ?” Nothing, master, nothing I haven’t long suspected. But enough,” she added, smil ing maliciously, “to make your neck not worth a farthing if I choose to speak out.” The man regarded her, for an instant, with a scowling brow, and perhaps might he meditating whether he should not mur der her; but the temptation passed away, or he thought proper to change his tactics. “ Come, come, old Kate,” he said, at length, “ this won’t do. You and 1 have been together too long to fall out now.— lou’ve seen me do only what a dozen oth ers along the coast have done, and what you’d do yourself if a good chance offered. Hei e, on the beach, all that comes ashore is ours, and, if the winter’s unlucky, we must lake to our wits to make it more for tunate.” “ Ha! ba! old master,” said the creature changing her malicious laugh to one of seemingly unearthly jocularity, “ there you’re right. 1 was only trying your nerves. M hat ! old Kate tell on you. Not for all the fiends below. Resides,” she added, and her voice lost some harshness, as if a better feeling was struggling to break through her icy heart, “ its all for Margy—all we get — all that falls to your lot, all that 1 pick up. Sweet child, 1 wish she would come hack— when, did you say, she was to leave Charles ton “ She was to have come home this win ter, but 1 sent word for her to stay till sum mer. Ry that time I shall have left here, and I thought it best on further consideia tion, that she shouldn’t return to this neigh borhood again.” “Oh ! ay ! I see it now. You will go to l’iiiiadcljdiia or York, as you’ve told me, and set up for a meichant or gentleman.— Well its best. 1 can’t go ; but I'll come sometime and see Margy. fcdie’s more like my own child than a stranger. It’s best she shouldn’t know the folk down here. But ha ! look out yonder—the ship will soon be on.” The man turned his look hastily seaward, and saw the tall and gallant shin which he had last beheld but faintly in the offing, now clearly defined against the murky sky, and evidently much closer in than when he be fore observed her. She had an enormous pressor canvass spread, as if too late sensi ble of her danger; and, with her head to the south-east, was endeavoring to claw off the shore ; hut, as she rose and fell heavily with tlie seas, now plunging headlong into the tough of the wave, and now shoving her bowsprit up and rising with difficulty after it, her drift to leeward was apparent. The practiced gaze of the man and his confeder ate saw that her doom was sealed, and their eyes met in savage exultation. The wreck er rubbed his hands. “ She’s a noble craft and deeply laden ; and has the look of an Indiamau, don’t you think so, Kate ? 1 said this should he my last winter if I had luck, and I’ll keep my word. I’ve worked hard here to have some thing to leave Margy, and we’ll now enjoy it. Ah! old woman, shan’t that be the way 1” “ What if Margy should be on that ship?” said the old woman. The man started, and his sun-burnt com plexion seemed to become white as ashes for an instant. ‘‘ I hope to God she is not,” he said fer vently. “ No—pshaw !” lie added impa tiently, as if ashamed of his momentary weakness. “You frightened me. What devil possesses you to-night.” “ I too hope she isn’t,” said the woman, appealing not to notice his question. “But the thought came into my head. Wouldn’t it ho an awful thing, Master Bowen, if she was aboard, and should die with the rest? It would he, if the Bible’s right—and I used to think so whon I was young, though 1 haven’t seen or thought ofit before for years —it would be, 1 say, a just punishment to us for bringing o many innocent folk on this coast. You remember the mother frozen to death with the baby at her breast, who came on here last winter ? It was from the brig you misled with that same lantern.” The face of the father had again become livid, and he gazed with a haggard look on the speaker for a full minute after she ceas ed. The very suggestion that his child might be on board— impossible as it was that such could he the case—appeared to unnerve his whole frame. He shook with weakness, and was forced to lean against the sand-hank. Once or twice he attempt ed to speak, but could not, for his tongue clove to the roof of his month. The wo man, meantime, stood regarding him, not in exultation, but pity. Indeed her demeanor showed that what she had said was spoken with no malignant feelings, but as if under some irresistible impulse. She now ap proached him and laid her hand on his arm. “ Don’t take on so, sir,” she said, with a MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 22, 1813. If the character of this distinguished Hin doo or Indian Bramin, as to the develop ment of his mind and to his change of reli gious opinions, is not entirely unique, it is so uncommon that it deserves to be gener ally known to the Christian world. Ramniohun Hoy was a native of Bengal ; and was early taught ti.e Persian and Arab ic languages. lie studied the works of Euclid, and Aristotle, and thus became ac quainted with mathematics and logic. He then went to Calcutta to leant Sanscrit, the language of the Hindoo sacied scriptures, the knowledge of which was necessary to his caste and profession as a Bramin. On the death of his father and elder brother, he became possessed of a large estate, at the age of twenty-five years : and he soon after fixed his residence where his ancestors had lived. About this time lie wrote against “ the idolatry of all religions.” The publi cation gave great oftence to the Hindoos and Mohommodaris where he then resided, Slid lie leturned to Calcutta, in 1814. About this period, he studied the English language and soon after the Latin, Greek, and He brew. It is evident from his first work that he regarded with great disapprobation and dis gust, the monstrous and debasing system of idolatry, embraced by his countrymen. A careful study of the sacred writings of the Hindoos, convinced him that the prevailing notions of a multiplicity of deities, and the superstitious devotion to the licentious and inhuman customs connected with them, were founded in utter ignorance or gross perversion of their religion. The original records appeared to him to inculcate a sys tem of pure Theism, which taught the be ing atone God ; and that required of its pro fessors a mental rather than an outward worship, with strict personal virtue. Willi these views of Hindoo theology and nioralsf he was anxious to reform the creed and practice of his countrymen, and devoted his time and fottune to this benevolent object. Kamrnohnn Boy thus appears as a great and rare light, to his ignorant and supersti tious countrymen, who were in gross moral darkness and error. In the ancient w ritings which he studied, (of three thousand years before,) lie found traces of the patriarchal religion, which was the belief of Abraham, Job, and others of their day, who iiad re ceived instruction fiom their ancestors, ex tending back to Shorn, and even Noah. With this information, end in the state of mind which it produced, perceiving the er rors and absurdities both of idolatry and polytheism, and satisfied that the early sages of India taught a mote just and rational re ligion, lie read the Christian scriptures with attention, llis object was moral and reli gious truth; and lie says •* he found the Christian doctrines more conducive to moral principles, and belter adapted for the use of reasonable beings than any other w hich had touch of almost kindness, certainly of sym pathy in her harsh tones. “ I don't know whut made me speak as 1 did ; but sure 1 never thought Margy was aboard—it would drive me mad if she was.” ‘‘And me, too, by G—said the man, with startling energy. “ What have I not done to win riches lbr thut child)” lie said wildly, and as if unconscious that any one heard him, “ periled perhaps, uiy salvation —made myself on outcast on eaitli if my deeds are discovered—and now to think, if shu was in that ship. Oh ! God it is too much.” In a tninate, howevet, he was calm. The come to his knowledge.” But he was not content with studying the doctrines of the gospel in the creeds and systems in popular use. This personal and candid inquiry con vinced him, not only that the Christian re ligion whs more rational and excellent than any other, but that it was of divine origin. He satisfied himself also, that some of the popular tenets of the teachers of Christiani ty, especially those confessedly of a specu lative or mysterious character, were not sup ported by the gospels; but tliut the writings both of the Old and New Testaments clear ly taught tl.e doctrine of the Divine Unity, and that Jesus of Nazareth was bis inspired messenger to mankind. Having become a convert to Christianity, lie wished to present it to his countrymen, for theii examination and acceptance ; and this he did in a pamphlet, with the title, “ The instructions and precepts of Jesus, the guide to peace and happiness.” But neither this appeal, nor oiliei publications of Rammoliun Roy, on the same most im portant subject, have, as yet, had any great effect with the idolaters and polytheists of Hindustan. If they are read in the spirit they ought to be, and in which they were written, we have reason to hope that some impressions will he made on the minds of heathens and pagans every where. Rammoliun Roy is a phenomenon in the pagan world, iti modern times. His inde pendence, liis impartiality, his love of moral truth, and his zealous inquiries to find it, to gether with the consideration of his person al sacrifices and dangers by his honesty of purpose, justly claim for him the praise and admiration of all lovers of moral and reli gious truth. We trust his example will not be lost upon mankind and the world. Rammoliun Roy visited England about ten years ago, charged with some public business to the government of that country; nnd with a view, probably, to a further knowledge of the characters, opinions and customs of the first nation in Chiisteudom. There he died during the year 183 J. It is not strange that the ignorant and in terested supporters ol heathen worship, en deavored to defend it, by imputations on the c haracter of this reformer. They charged him w ith “ rashness, self-conceit, arrogance and impiety.” Even his mother bitterly condemned him. She was a woman of strong mind, hut was wedded to the idola try and polytheism of her country, and was also under the influence of the superstitious and selfish priests. A short time, however, before her denth, or separation from him, she said, “ You are right, but I am a weak woman, mid atu ton old to give up these an cient observances, which are a comfort to me.” This is he language and sentiment of nature : and it accounts for the reluctance with which all persons (heathens or even Christians) give up their early faith and hab its. dark fear passed from him, he stared around vacantly an instant, and then, with his old, grim, exulting smile, said, *• Pshaw ! you made a fool of me, you beldame. Margy is safe in Charleston : and this night’s work will add a few thou sand to her fortune, won’t it, old Kate 1— But come let, us move up the beech toward the hut. You left the men there 1” Our readers, by this time, fully under stand the characters we have introduced to them. Even within the last few years the existence on our coast, and within a few miles of u great sea-port, of a gang of wreckers, or lunJ pirates as they are called in the popular vocabulary, has been estab lished by irrefragihle proof; but, at the pe riod of which we write, these wretches exis isted in larger numbers, and carried on their nefarious practices with far greater impuni ty than now. Wealthy men were, at that day, as now, implicated in these transactions, some as receivers of goods from the wrecks, and others as more prominent actors.— Among the latter was the man we have chosen to call Bowen. He had been a sea captair. in his youth, and had commanded a privateer, not of the nioc-t unexceptionable character, in the i evolutionary war. Re turning to tho land, at the close of the con flict, he had married and settled on the main, directly in the rear of a wild island beech, separated from the continent, like scores of those scattered along the coast, by a shallow hay interspersed with islets of salt marsh and thoroughfares navigable only for boats of a few tons burden. It was not long before Bowen purchased the beach and erected on it a house, ostensibly for the residence of a man to take care of the oys ter beds he planted in the hay. But the number of shipwrecks which occurred on this beach, together with the rapid increase in the owner’s wealth led eventually to dark suspicions. It was said that, on stormy nights, false beacons might be seen on Bow en’s beach, and that more than once vessels had thus been lured ashore. But those ru mors never spicad beyond his immediate neighborhood, or reached the ears ofjustice. Bowen had grown rich and therefore pow erful before they arose, and even then, cir culating among a people whose morality on this subject was lax, they did him little harm. Besides, most of the fishermen, who could have told anything on the subject, were, in one wayor another, dependent on bis favor, and so, for many years, he had gone on un checked in his career. It may he asked what induced a man of some education and not wholly penniless to embark in these illegal practices. We can only point to the affection he entertained for his (laughter pa r adoxical as it may appear at first, to elucidate this otherwise incom prehenisible trait. Ilis wife died when hex child was but three years old ; and the love the heiieved husband soon came to enter tain for his motherless offspring, would have seemed incredible, to a superficial observer when his stern character is taken into con sideration. But the feelings, choked up in every other outlet, found vent, with tenfold force, in affection for his child. He loved her with a self-sacrificing passion, which made him disregard every law, human or divine, in order to advance what he thought her inteiests. He resolved that she should be rich, and accordingly embarked secretly iri the practices we have described. At first he only received the goods others obtained; then lie engaged personally in the business; and finally,hardening with custom, lie adopt ed means to lure vessels to his net. But he studiously concealed from his daughter his participation in these foul acts. But as he was lie did not care that she should know liis true character, and accordingly when she npprodtdied the age at which it would be impossible to keep uneasy suspicion from her, lie sent her to Charleston, ostensibly foi the purpose of education, but in reality to remove her from a neighborhood where she might hear, by some untowered accident, of her father’s pursuits. His determination was, as lie himself said in his conversation on the beach, to remove from his present vicinity into one where his former course of life should be unknown, before recalling his daughter to his household. We left Bowen and the old woman who attended him, on their way to the hut. The gale blew with such intensity, sometimes almost prostrating them, that it was with difficulty they made any headway, and a full half hour had elapsed ere they leached I lie cabin in whicli their confederates were. By that time the ill-fated ship had drifted in within half a mile of the beach. She was still seen staggering along under a press of sail in the vain attempt to claw off the shore. Even through the gloom of the night, they could behold her white sails lifting and fall ing against the sky, and matk the flashing foam that went crackling aft from hei bows as she thumped against the seas. “Give us the Nantes.” said old Kate, as she pushed open the cabin door, and roused three men who sat smoking and drinking over a scanty tire, “ the fish is almost caught —in five minutes she’ll strike.” “Ah !” aid one of the men, as they all started to tlicir feet on recognizing their em ployer, “ we hadn’t thought she was so close in. Tho jug, Mr. Bowen. A flue prize I hope she may be.” “ With all my heart; and may there be none to tell tale)*,” he added significantly. “ It’s easier to bury the dead,” .said the man with a coarse laugh, “ than to take care of the living. The night’s pretty chilly, so I think we need have no fears on that point. But liark ! there go her guns.” As he spoke, the report of a cannon, fired close at hand, boomed sullenly by ; and at the interval of half a minute, another report broke on the silence, which the party of wreckers had meantime maintained. A sa vage g' eam of exultation might be seen on every face, by the light of the now waning fire, giving them tho appearance of fiends rather than of human beings. The silence continued for the space of nearly five minutes, during which the inces sant boom of the signal cannon met their \ NUMBER 17. WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. ears at intervals of thirty seconds ; but at length the regular period having elapsed without a repetition of the sound, Bowen, who stood nearest the door, laid his hand on the latch, and threw open the entrance, exclaiming, with sudden energy. “ They have struck. Hark 1” As he spoke he rushed out on the beach, followed by the party of wreckers. The wind whirled into the room and put out the fire, then, eddying back, slammed to tha door, and could he heard shrieking across the bench, drowning, for the instant, even the noise of the surf. But suddenly a more awful somid was heard rising shrill and high, in the wild accents of despair, over even the howling of the hurricane. It was that cry to which Bowen had called their at tention. All held their breath while it swel led up for an instant on the gale, and then, as it passed off to leeward, a silence ensued; for even those hardened listeners were, for the moment, awe-struck by the agonizing shriek of a hundred human beings in des pair. “It is over,” at lengtht said Bowen, draw ing a long breaih, despite his efforts to con ceal it, “ and now- the game’s our own.” ” Look sharp,” said one of the men, af ter a pause. “ Isn’t that a spar, or some thing white floating out here. Just in a line with that elder bush—nee—the ship, l take it, is that Mack mass of shadow, occa sionally lost in foam, hereaway, east by so*- east from where I stand—now the object I see is a point or two south of that.” ” I see it,” said Bowen, “ it's unlucky it it should be one of the crew\ A passen ger we don’t ao much mind,” and he mov ed toward the surf, followed by the men. “No violence,” said Kate, striding up and laying her hand on Bowen’s arm, “ mind—l don’t feel like it to uight—and that awful shout hasn’t yet left my ears.” Bowen shook her off with an oath, hut recollecting himself, he said, “Pshaw! you needn’t fear It. But tee,** and he quickened his pure to a run, “ it is a man, and he lias touched the staud—but ahl the undertow carries him off—no! lie ve appeara—he is swept under again—curse him, there he is again, the fellow has the fife of a dog.” The man, who had been wildly buffeting tho surf, now hurled forward toward the beach, end now sucked back into the vor tex of the breakers, gained a film footing with Bowen’s words, and after staggering an instant ran swiftly up the beach and stood in safety beyond the reach of the undertow. Here he paused, looking hack on the boiling stir r. and then on the shadowy wreck in the wild vortex beyond. As he did so he clasped his hands and raised his eyes hurri edly above as if breathing a thank-giving. Otic of the wreckers looked at Bowen meaningly and glanced at the man, hut the leader shook his head. “ No—l’ll have none of that,” he said, “ let us call up the man, and learn from him what sort of a prize we’ve got. We can then pretend to him that he is exhausted, g : ve him some brandy, and lock him in the hut as an invalid whether he will or not.”— With tho words Bowen advanced from be hind the sand-bank, where with his party, he had stood concealed. Tho man turned at the sound of the footsteps, and tottered towards them. “ Thank God !” he said, “ 1 have fallen among Christians. I am almost exhaust ed,” and then, as if a sudden pang Croat him, he said, “oh ! my poor wife and child. Have none of voti, good sirs, any means to reach the wreck ? ‘They may yet he sav ed. My darling wife and only child are there. Why did I desert them t” and he turned wildly from one to another of tbn group. *• Nonsense, man,” said Bowen, ** they are gone, and there’s an end of it. Nothing can save them.” No—no. They cancor have perished,** said the man eagerly. “ Sir, I am rich,’* and he grasped Bowen’s arm, as the latter was turning away, ’* and 1 will give you all lam worth if you will save them. You must have a boat nigh—launch her into the surf. The ship ‘ Queen’ is a stout craft and will hold together these two hours. My wife it in the cabin, for I left her there when I went on deck and was swept ovei board. There’s a young woman never mind her unless you can save both.” Bowen wheeled aharp around on the man at these words, and said with a quirk, agitated voice,’ “ What is that ! Is yonder ship * The Queen’ of Charleston.” Ti e man nodded vacantly and again clasped his hands imploringly, as if about to renew his prayer for aid. “ Then in God’s name,” said Bowen fiercely, continuing his sentence, and he seized the man’s shoulder with such sudden energy as to turn him completely around, *• who is the young lady aboard t” The man, startled, for the moment, even out of his anxiety for his wife, by the pas sionate demeanor of Bowen, gazed in sur prise on the speaker, and then stammered, “ A Miss Bowen, I”—but his sentence was cut short, for at that word,ihe unhappy father uttered a groan, and, as if struck by a thunderbolt, fell to the ground. The delay in the answer had been bat a few seconds, not three at the most, but in that short space, what a world of agony and remorse was crowded on the father’eheap! The mention of the ship’* parae, and the