The Georgia citizen. (Macon, Ga.) 1850-1860, March 21, 1850, Image 1
VOL. I.
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I'nftnj.
Good Spirits are Abroad.
rnxr.LOTTi: Torso.
Good bits are abroad!
v\i 111 tiu?e rheii
By tt .tnpre-s they have left
Or ill loving human things;
Byt rising against wrong,
> 1 tiie struggle for the righi,
An> the dawning of the day
‘"iat -hall chase the people’s night.
Th‘. are bearing mortals forward,
1 >n progression’s rapid stream ;
T- :y are marshalling the brave ones,
And leaving drones t o dream.
ood spirits are abroad!
You may hear their muster roll—
t ringeth through the land,
Like a ’laruin to the soul,
They are speaking in a voice
J That grows stronger as they plead,
/ For the guilty and misled —
/ For the little childrens’ need.
§ m 7rtt fh.T uCl 1 and strong endeax-or
/ They are ar out each scheme;
/ They are 1:1a.-1 ..mg the brave ones,
/ And leav'ng drones to dream.
——f Good spirits are abroad ! ,
t Let ns join the goodly band;
’ They have still some holy task
For the humblest of the land—
For the feet that cannot tread
The busy walks of life—
For the gentle hearts at home—
For the daughter, for the wife.
Oh ! each can help his neighbor
In the universal scheme ;
Let us mingie with the brave ones,
And leave the drones to dream.
[fOR THE GEORGIA CITIZEN.]
Tlie Model Loafer.
<le is his own tormentor; always full of wants and of complaints
wl e his inactivity often proves fatal both to his body any mind.
Dr. Buck.
“ What man is he with tasteful coat
Whose purse boasts not a single groat?”
Why ¥ don’t you kn >w he's one of note—
A model matchless loafer!
You see his phiz in every street,
To find a “verdant one” to cheat
Out of a suit nf cloths complete,
To “cut”—the model loafer.
The tailors all, one sad truth tell, j*ais
How he did promise, and how well;
Ancf how they “sutler” when they sell *
Clothes to a model loafer
The landlords, who boarded aim d< stiffi
Oft thrust at him up unpaid bill,
Until they lit,. h< .s uthil
wwwHese loafer! .
/
■ -riff His washerwomen, every one.
Will their . ay—he gives them none ;
| For lie holds it impjffi nt to “Jun”
WMa model, start \f loaf* -.
f The sons 01 , r: - •. seek (heir dues,
Fer divi is pairs rtf !>oots and shoes;
Mot U-ht. too late the unpleasant news,
Their customer’s a loafer !
He never squares his printer’s bill,
But bores the Editors, until
They kick him from 1 heir domicil,
Si And tell him ~Jz?ave, you loafer!”
Most Editors, are peaceful men.
But when a loafer enters, —then
They use their feet, in lieu of pen,
Against a peering loafer.
Mb. The loafer hangs forevermore,
Hlk Around some busy person’s door,
And proves himself a hateful bore,
The idle, whittling loafer !
feAVc need not search the world around,
?> 1 find out where such men are found,
>t everywhere npon the ground,
We find the lazy loafer.
times, these bipeds disappear,
Ljf come again, another year,
™ a walled place, the state house near,
E \ A graduated loafer.
The- ■ men w ho prove Progression’s blight,
Are never gone, till comes death’s mght,
An object then delights our sight,—
It is the vanquish’d loafer.
Coluiajus Ga. 1850. a _ .
c. T. J.
A “Perilous S!alo
OR A PATIENT IN A QUANDARY.
Now what aiu to do?
IHV, >iere ) have go* the fever!
N 601 '* ‘ UCk I£itkit ljear me through.
/ M Hr’ Ch l recover never!
If I to. >oetisr .-lop
■L Go f j* relief, he bieeus me ;
• all bis shop, x
Which is the safest plan ¥
To stick to pills and (lotions —
Os trust life’s little span
Tohomoepathic notions?
If next to naught’s a cure
With infinite solution,
Nothing, unmixed and pure,
Will do’t without dilution.
Meanwhile, I freeze or burn ;
Blood through each vein carouses.
And where for help to turn V
“A plague o’ both y .i-.r houses.”
ffltellamj.
[WRITTEN FOR THE GEORGIA CITIZEN.]
A Lhgiqid of Lovor’s Leap.
BY W. C. HODGES.
“ The cheat, ambition, eager to espouse
Dominion, courts it with a lying ehow,
And shines in borrowed pomp, to serve a turn:
But the match made, the larce is at an end,
And all the hireling equipage of virtues,
Faith, honor,justice, gratitude and friendship
Discharg'd at once.”—Jefieey’s Edwin.
To those of your readers, Mr. Editor, who hat e
been made acquainted with the scenery of the Chat
tahoochie valley, either from actual observation or
through the faithful medium of an illustrated work
published, a few years since, by the brothers Rich
ards, the locality commemorated in the following’ le
gend, needs no description.
But before entering upon the task we have as
sumed, lest these pages might attract the attention
of others, than the class ot‘ readers referred to, we
will briefly premise, that about one mile north of the
city of Columbus, contiguous to the river, and shad
owed by the dense forest, peers a huge massive rock,
easy of access from the eaf, but perpendicular above
the foaming cataract, upon which its dark summit
will forever frown.
From time almost out of mind, according to the
Indian’s story from which we select the following
passages, that rock has borne the name, that the
whites hat e translated “Lovers’ Leap.” It has been
asserted, with what correctness, we confess we are
too great a sciolist in the Indian idiom to determine,
that the literal signification of the word thus trans
lated by the whites, leaves it questionable whether
it was given to commemorate the heroic virtues of
a warrior, who has left posterity the enduring me
morial of a spiri that could not brook the tide of
overwhelming defeat, or the no less determined res
olution of a maiden who preferred death to the
chains of an unpropitious union. A contrariety of
opinion prevailed upon this question.
The summit of the cragged rook is only accessible
from the east. It is at ad ; zy height from the base
of the perpendicular side, and he who looks down ■
from that eminence, into the rugged chasm below,
however well soever he may have secured Ins foot
hold, places himself for the time, at the mercy of
his own dizziness. But to the story.
Many years ago, when tlie Muscogee tribes peo
pled the eastern valleys of the Cllattahoochie river,
there lived a chieftain of great influence, whose
name for nearly half a century had been a shield to
his own immediate tribe, and a terror to their ene
mies. He had spent years in establishing his au
thority, so that he was well advanced in years, when
he began to govern the conquests which he had
made by his prowess, after being added to his own
tribe. In his earlier successes
“ Dream after dream ensued,
And still he dreamed that he should still succeed.”
It is not the purpose of the narrator, to elucidate
the thought of the poet, who sung,
“ He who ascends to mountain top?, shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ;”
or draw a parallel between the aims of the untutor
ed savage’s aspirations, and the objects of tlie more
enlightened conqueror.
the old cassique, as he sat upon the rude em
blems of his authority, was often invoked by rival
ckiets, to settle diificulties, and the award was uni
versally respected, for he had the will to enforce it,
if the murmurings of the disappointed were heard.
In the course of time the old chieftain’s hctul be- j
gan to repose upon his own bosom, with tit * m ~. ;
of extreme age. His successful example, tor he was
an usurper, incited numerous warriors to exerwbns |
for the dignity wl L’ lie Kiwst soon surrender. Outs
of the host oi . -oirants, Hut one was so bold ;isd
base, as Uecompa-'S the sacrilegious death of the old
I man, u< a me.iLo of certain advantage over his ri
| Vill*. *
i The old brave had outlived his family save one
daughter, who seemed to have flourished the more
healthfully, as the blood of her father died out; like
the solitary vine that shoots its tendrils along with
the highest branches the giant oak, when every
| thing else that feeds upon the soil that strengthens
its own roots has been extirpated. She, standing
alone with her puisant sire, had expanded under his
undivided affection, into maturity and loveliness.—
This child was much like her father in spirit and
character, making allowances fur the differences in
the training given to the opposite sexes. Latterly
her own energies nnd sense contributed to the aid of
the wavering faculties of the aged ruler.
The warrior who originated the plan of his own
advancement, involving the murder of the father,
addressed himself to the extremely difficult task of
winning the daughter to the scheme, ihe love of
authority is inherent. The schemer knew this. lie
sedulously but with much speciousness of native per
suasion, operated upon the cupidity and fears of the
girl, who having had her father between herself and
responsibility, knew only the captivating appurte
nances of power.
lie magnified to her the difficulties which would
inevitably result from the death ol the chief, if
brought about by any other means than those he
proposed, after the successor had fully arranged all
his plans for strengthening his own arms and smoth
ering the opposition, by a well arranged and concert
ed effort. He dwelt long and cmphatiglb^^i^l^
m
9
JM Jl§
MACON, GEORGIA, THURSDAY EVENING, MARCH 21, 1850.
Juucpcuifcnt in all things -—Neutral iu Notljing/’
being urged, tlie father was for the first time making
an open avowal of his preference, to the warriors as
sembled in his lodge.
r p. # o
Lie maiden and her father differed upon this
; point, and she reasonably hoped that the old man’s
authority and good wishes would descend upon the
warrior of her own choice, as her heart was a consid
erable portion of the inheritance. When, there
fore, she heard of the purpose of her father, in re
spect to the succession, she felt no manner of un
easiness, for knowing the revolting determination of
i the favorite rival, she expected to change the decree
, by nnm.tsking the hypocrite, at which time there
Mould f>e a favorable occasion for urging her own
preference.
he warrior, defeated in the effort to win the
maiden to his scheme, and hearing of the decision
ot the chief in his favor, at the council-board, felt
the pressing necessity of forestalling the disclosure
ot the daughter touching his premature proposition,
and hastened to the stern old man.
He imposed upon the credulous chief the story
that tlie warrior for whom it was known the daught
er felt interested, had proposed the very plan he him
selt had urged, and that a willing ear was given to
the scheme. Now it was not a secret to either of
these warriors, that the lover of the maiden was a
favorite ot a considerable portion of the tribe, and
that many were clamorous for him as the successor.
1 his very thing had hastened the old chief’s avow
al.
Under these circumstances, and reposing implicit
confidence in the informant, the old man was pre
pared to believe that his only child had joined the
conspiracy against him.
W hen, a few hours afterwards, the maiden ap
proached her father, he charged her with the al
ledged infidelity. She gave a true story of the con
spiracy, but the imbecile mind had been poisoned,
and he demanded as the only proof admissable of
her innocence, that she should, at once, consent to
f ‘haro the succession with the man of his selection.
YY ounded by this evidence of a want of confi
dence, and knowing the difficulty of eradicating the
fihal error, the daughter, after solemnly re-affirming
her own true version of tlie infidelity, declared her
unyielding determination to resist the command. She
plead with her father, but all to no avail. Ilis con
viction of the guilt or innocence of the daughter de
pended upon the results of the unworthy test, lie
would not* vield an inch. In vain she appealed to
her whole life, made up of constant acts of affection
and obedience. The chieftain threatened, and sum
moned the false hearted and forked tongue warrior.
She sought and placed herself under the protection
of her real lover.
The latter had positively refused to enter upon the
list of competitors for the envied succession, while
the incumbent lived. The story of Ins betrothed,
| however, changed his views; for knowing that he
would be hunted down, he now accepted the proffer
ed services of many of his peers, and prepared, with
all diligence, to meet the em rgency.
The false hearted favorite took advantage of the
flight of the maiden he had so remorselessly villined,
and worked up the credulous old chief’s feelings to
a frenzy of exasperation. The wretch was not-with
out a strong party of adherents, and adroitly used
the circumstances of the flight and the influence of
the distinguished name and character of the old
chieftain, to strengthen his pretensions and swell his
war party. He headed the combined force, embrac
ing his own and the numerous friends of the old
i warrior—all eager to bring to condign punishment
the heartless man who compassed the murder of the
heroic father of his tribe. The worst passions of the
Indian heart were inflamed, by the story of the ag
gravated wrong intended to be perpetrated upon the
venerated sire. The clangor of the frightful missiles
of exterminating war, echoed and reverberated over
hills and valleys.
It was a beautiful prize, for which the bold and
eager rivals respectively marshaled their strength.
The one had greatly the advantage of numbers, and
the powerful incentive, revenge, that resulted from a
knowledge that the maiden despised his lodge. The
other had tlie prize in his lodge,—a full appreciation
of her peerless character, and the certain conviction
that nothing short of irretrievable defeat, in the im
pending tight, could wrest I from his passionate
embrace. The one, if at ail -- ’-peptibleof compunc
ti,., f>i conscience, must have heard tlie voice of the
> >reat Spirit, chiding him for The other
j had no sin upon his heart.
The contest must be, and both parties were eager
•to determine the dispute. The first shock of the
! combat was fierce. The squaws, from various heights,
looked down upon the furious struggle, witli intense
interest, as their feelings were enlisted in one or the
other party. The old chief, borne at his own earn
est request to a place whence he might witness the
fight, encouraged the adherents of the declared suc
cessor.
Numbers prevailed. The wicked sometimes pros
per. —And while the lesser band were being irre
trievably icduct-d under the vigorous blows of the
victors, the defeated warrior seized tin occasion to
announce the sad intelligence to the maiden, who
awaited in breathless suspense and anxiety, the de
cision that involved her life. “All is lost,’’ said the
dejected warrior, as. lie entered the lodge. “My
doom is spoken. I will sell my life upon the field of
battle. You will rettfrn to your father and the em
brace ”
“ Never,” interrupted tlie maiden, her dark eyes
flashing with indignation at the thought. “Never!
Never! Perish the insinuation ! My father has de
nounced me as tt parricide. He believes it. I shall
follow you, for with your destiny my existence is
linked.”
“ Hear!” rejoined the discomfited warrior; “ the
remnant of my party are retreating before the ensan
guined victors. I entreat you, go to your father.
J Ihe false charge will be ”
“ Do you love the heart that has sought your pro
tection the heart that knows no love but for you ?
i lien follow me,” said the maiden, in a determined
tone. And as they left the lodge, the enemy dis
covered and abandoned all else in pursuit of
ers. _
Jm
as the true Indian does, instinctively—divulged the
fatal falsehood of the chief-expectant, to the unhap
py old warrior. Others, concealed from observation,
had w itnessed the stern spirit of indignation with
which the proposition was rejected. All these now
spoke out. The guilt of the false hearted warrior
was established beyond question. He met the in
dignant rebuke of his former friends, and tlie severe
and merited punishment due to the treachery he had
perpetrated.
From ihe N. Y. Sunday Times.
Tlie Rev. Henry Bii<coiu,
THE TULLY OF KENTUCKY.
Eloquer-ce is the offspring of freedom. There are
chains on the tongue of me slave as well as on his
hand. He who fears to utter fully all his heart and
soul, can never speak iu tones of thunder. Wherev
er tlie iron will of the despot.has the force of immu
table law ; wherever a power reigns arrogating to it
self an authority w hich even God does not claim —
the authority to control the evolutions of pure thought
and the expression of honest opinion—be sure that,
whatever may he the genius of the head in children
of such a land, still the lip will falter, and babble with
wavering indirectness and confusion nevertheless,
ibis theory needs no assumptions or arguments a pri
ori in order to its demonstration. We find it on
the surface and at the center of all human history.
\\ hence came our great models of burning eloquence?
Every schoolboy can give the answer. Not from the
jeweled and gorgeous despotisms of the east, or from
frozen Russia’s grinding autocracy, where the words of
the orator seem ice instead of fire, but from Athens,
when her citizens were fetterless as the winds of the
-lEgeaii; from Rome, when the statue of Liberty was
first of all in the Forum, the Pantheon, and in every
temple of “the seven hills;” from France when Mira
beau chaunted prose-pieans to the new goddess; from
that third segment of Briton’s Parliament —the one
alone possessing freedom — the lower house; and fi
nally, from every line and point of our American
Union, which is free all over.
Liberty of itself, however, w ithout the aid of oth
er conditions, is not enough to develop the most sub
lime efforts of liberal speech. No man was ever tru
ly eloquent until aroused to the highest degree of
excitement by some motive. There can be no thun
der without a storm, and no storm without tumult or
agitation of the atmosphere. The necessary condi
tions of groat oratorical achievements are rivalries, op
position. intellectual strifes, and fiery and determined
antagonism.
This view* of the subject enables us to explain a
singular phenomon—the unquestionable fact that Ken
tucky has produced more distinguished orators beyond
all comparison than any other state in the confedera
cy . It is precisely becau-c Kentucky has l>een the
chosen theater of the fiercest and most numerous ag
itjition q Her soil, ,so fruitful iu other respects, lift?
always up to the present hour been wonderfully pro
lific in apples of discord. First, there was the contest
’between the “old court” and the “new,” that raged
for nearly* a dozen years, and almost resulted in civil
war. Next might be noticed her system of land ti
tles, which remained sub judicc during the full quar
ter of a century. Afterwards came too the “pitched
battles” of political factions, the most angry and pro
tracted ever recorded in peaceful times ; and finally,
we may add, the number and violence of her religious
sectarian controversies—fierce, bitter, legionary.
Now*, as all these various and heterogeneous issues
had to be settled mainly by a direct appeal to the pop
ular ear, an immense demand for the eloquence of
competent advocates was the inevitable consequence ;
and according to the everlasting law of mental as
well as social economy, the “supply” of every sort of
product soon accomodates itself to the “demand.” It
was so there.
But let us begin our brief and true biography—the
biography of a remarkable man—of a man whom
Henry Clay publickly pronounced at Lexington, some
three years ago, to be the mightiest orator of the age.
The Rev. Henry Bascom is a native of Kentucky.
The son of poor hut honest parents, his education was
mostly moral and physical till he arrived at the end
of eighteen summers, when he “professed conversion,”
to use a western phrase, and immediately became an
itinerant preacher in the Methodist connexion. From
that day his eagerness for knowledge and assiduity in
the toils to attain it, were unremitting and astonishing
ly successful. Fortune, or chance, favored his new*
ambition. His first circuit embraced the neighbor
hood of Henry Clay, then in all the splendor and
golden pride of his fame. Mrs. Chiy was in the hab
it of attending the appointments of the young minis
ter, and frequentl}’ urged her husband to go and hear
him. At length the great orator consented, in order
to please her, but with the painful expectation of be
ing most unmercifully bored. What, then must have
been his surprise and pleasure, when the inspired boy
arose, and from a beardless lip, poured forth a torrent
of burning words—rich, rare, radiant, and flashing
with the starry light of poesy from beginning to end.
The statesman found himself astonished, delighted,
and borne away on an irresistible stream of enthusi
astic eloquence, whose source appears utterly inex
haustible. He had cojne thinking to be annoyed by
the stale monotony of Methodistic sing-song; but lo!
he listened to the celestial playing of an yEolian harp,
with its sweeps as high as the heavens and its chords
vibrating around the world. He expected to behold
a common pebble, and now saw and recognized at a
glance a diamond of the purest ray, that needed on
ly the polishing hand of the j weller to give it match
less brilliancy. He determined to be the jeweller him
self. When the service closed, he approached with
tears of joy in his eyes and made his own introduc
tion ; grasped young Bascom’s hand with brotherly
warmth ; greeted his ears with those exquisite com
pliments so grateful to aspiring genius ; invited him
to his house ; opened for his perpetual use the gla?s
case of his splendid library; procured for him the
best of teachers ; aided hiiuwith ample means; and,
more than all, fin<y|--ttery
bright and glorious as the smile of God. Before ten
o’clock ever}* pew* and every seat in the spacious
church was filled to overflowing. The whole popula
tion of Lawrenceburgh.a lovely little towm on the Ohio
river, in ludiaua, appeared to have turned out to hear
“the great orator” from Lexington, whose fame had
travelled in advance of his coming. It was his first
visit to that state, and hence the general anxiety to
witness his effort. All eyes were turned to the door,
and (as the winged minutes flew away) with many
signs of disappointment, as no one entered to answer
tlie very circumstantial description of bis person which
had the previous day been published in the papers.
Tlie hour of eleven arrived, and the well-known
parson of the station began the devotional exercises
by singing and prayer. At this, the tokens of vexa
tion increased with all, and, with a portion of the au
dience, so far as to amount to positive rudeness.
“What!” they whispered to each other, half aloud,
“is it only old Allen Wiley who is going to hold forth
after all ?”
At length the prayer was ended and Parson Wiley
resumed his seat, when a form, hitherto concealed by
the mahogany front of the pulpit, suddenly emerged
from behind it, and stood for more than two minutes
erect, silent, and motionless as a statue. At this ap
parition every individual in the immense throng start
ed, and every heart thrilled with a nameless emotion —
it so struck the senses, and there was so much elo
quence in liis attitude, his immobility, nay, in xiisYory
silence.
His figure was of perfect symmetry; his features of
classic mould ; his brow pure Grecian in its outlines,
and surrounded with a fine circle of jet black hair.
Ilis countenance seemed intensely intellectual, with
out the slightest perceptible trace of animal passion;
but his eyes, at the moment, were dreamy, expression
less, and set on empty space, as if lie were totally un
conscious of any presence other than the ideal of his
own deep thoughts ; his dress was of tlie richest cloth,
and made in the latest cut of the fashion. If it had
a fault, one might say it was loaded with too glitter
ing it profusion of ornaments for good taste.
Presently he raised his right hand w*it,h a gesture
of impetuous haste, aud pressed his fingers on his
pale forehead, as if to assist the brain hi its mighty
labors of thought, and then instantly announced his
text from the Book of Revelations —“Behold ! I make
all things new.” Without preface or apology —those
flimsy crutches of lame preachers—he pierced at once
into the heart of his subject, and then took wings and
rode away on a whirlwind of fiery words. Ilis voice,
from the commencement, rolled, and pealed, and rang
like the beautifully modulated music of some wond
rous organ, alternating with crashes of tremendous
power that seemed to jar the walls of the building as if
an avalanche were rushing out of the clouds. Now it
sunk into a wild wail, mellow and plaintive as a fu
neral ohime ; again it swelled to the steady roar of a
hurricane, if a hurricane indeed could be attuned to
such octavos of harmony : and then it would break
out in successive thunder claps, causing the very hair
to rise on the hearer’s head, and the warm marrow to
creep, as it were, in his bones. The effect was aided,
too, by the orator’s gesticulation —now graceful as the
airy circles of a butterfly in the air; and -mon, grand
to sublimity, and urgent as the swoop of the eagle
climbing the heights of the storm cloud. His eye—
at the outset, as we have said, dim and dreamy —now
burned, and flashed, and lightened, till, aided by the
illusions of fancy and the scene, it appeared to dart
arrows of flame around the assembly.
As the mighty magician went on, the entire mul
titude seemed charged with electricity. Here and
there single individuals began to rise involuntarily to
their feet; then others rose by twos and threes ; next
a dozen sprang up together; and finally, the whole
living, throbbing, enthusiastic mass might be seen
standing as one man, with fixed, straining eyeballs,
devouring the speaker with a gaze, with half parted
lips, and teeth clenched by attention. The excitement
was measureless, and yet too profound for any species
of utterance. Not a sigh, not a whisper was heard.
Nothing could be heard save the voice of the orator;
and during the intervals of his pauses the fall of a
pin would have been audible.
His subject, too, was unique as his manner. His
theme was —“The future eternity of matter; its nat
ral capacity for indefinite and glorious changes; and
the possible splendor of the new heavens and earth.”
Ilis method of discussion was purely rational and sci
entific—that is to say, by analysis. A few of his in
imitable touches linger in my memory to the present
hour. He inferred the beauty of which all, even the
coarsest, matter is capable, from the following illustra
tion :
“Chemistry, with its fire-tongue of the galvanic bat
tery, teaches that the starry diamond in the crown of
kings, and the black carbon which the pe;isant treads
beneath his feet, are both composed of the same iden
tical elements; analysis also proves that a chief in
gredient in limestone is carbon. Then let the burn
ing breath of God pass over all the limestone of earth,
and bid its old mossy layers chrystalize into new beau
ty ; and lo ! at the almighty fat the mountain ran
ges flash into living gems with a luster that renders
midnight noon, and eclipses all the stars 1”
He urged the same view by another example still
better adapted to popular apprehension.
“Look yonder,”said the impassioned orator, point
ing a motionless Anger towards the lofty ceiling, as
if it were the sky. “see that wrathful thunder-cloud
—the fiery bed of the lightnings and hissing hail—
the cradle of tempests and floods! What can be
more dark, more dreary, more dreadful ? Bay, scoff
ing sceptic, is it capable of any beauty ? You pro
nounce, ‘no.’ Well, very well, but behold, while the
sneering denial curls your proud lips, the sun with
his sword of light shears through the sea of vapors
in the west, and laughs in your incredulous face with
his fine golden eye. Now, look again at the thunder
cloud! See where it was blackest and fullest of gloom,
the sun-beams have kissed its hideous
win-re the kiss fell there i> n >w a
ei:i■ i::’ 1-• 1 >n lie 1 hr-vv \ : MSK
blood ? Or were liis appeals unaccompanied by a
higher spiritual influence than mere oratory can con
fer ? All of these hypotheses have been assumed to
account for his want of success in gathering proselytes.
The fact, however, was due to a different cause. Ho
never chose the themes which stir up “revivals” He
delighted alone to expatiate on the grandeur, truth,
and beauty of the philosophy of the Bible; and hence
the feelings he aroused were intense admiration, rev
erence, wonder, and j>oetic rapture. But if he did
not make converts he always filled churches. He ne
ver raised whirlwinds of passionate excitement, but
neither did he ever fail to set the intellect and imag
ination on fire.
THE HUMP-BACKED COUSIN.
Behold an extraordinary adventure of these latter days.—
If it were an ordinary occurrence one need not relate it.
A father of a family inhabiting the Rue de la Michodiere,
received last summer, a letter from his nephew, who was in
the employ of Hyder Abad. The letter concluded thus :
“I have received the portraits of my two cousins. Marie and
Margaret. I have never had the pleasure of seeing them, as
I have lived with Hyder Abad since my youth, but I am sure
that those two portraits are resemblances. I will arrive at
Havre by the ship Inos Ego, about the Ist of October, and on
iny arrival lam determined to marry the beatiful Mar-
Tlie breaking open of the letter had destroyed the rest of
the name. It is impossible to tell if the cousin asks Marie or
Marjjarct iu marriage. The two sisters united previous to
this time, have commenced to live in misunderstandings,
each of them positive that it was tl*c rest of her name which
was torn offin breaking the seal.
Fhe father employed his eloquenoe in calming the anger of
his daughters, when a servant, sent in advance, arrives from
Havre announcing that his master left for Paris with the
evening train.
The servant, overwhelmed with questions, replied that
his master was ruined, and that lie had. moreover, on his
left shoulder, tin? horrid protuberance which caused, accord
ing to Planude, so many misfortunes to .Esop, the Phrygian.
The two cousins determined, hereupon, to remain single
forever, before marrying a cousin hump-baeked and ruined.
As they take this oath for the thirtieth time in twelve hours,
the cousin arrives. His uncle warmly embraces him, the
cousins make him a polite bow, and turn away their eyes.
The uncle then explains the incident of the tom letter, and
asks the matrimonial intentions of his nephew.
‘‘lt is my cousin Marie whom I came to man\ ” he repli
ed.
“Xever! never I ” screamed Marie. “I am contented
with my condition, and I will remain in it.”
“Mademoiselle,” said the nephew, “I have adopted the
customs of the country where I have been educated. Read
the customs of Hyder Abad, in Tavernier. There, when a
young man is refused in an offer of marriage, he withdraws
himself from society as a useless being.”
“He kills himself! ’ exclaimed sister, the good
Margaret.
‘He kills liimself! ‘ replies the nephew, in tb£_{Qne of a
man who is about to commit suicide.
“I Ins poor cousin,” said Margaret, weeping, “come from
such a distance, to die in the bosom of his family J”
“I know,” continued the nephew, “that my deformity af
flicts the sight of a woman, bm in time the eyes of a woman
becomes habituated to all things. I know, also, that my com
mercial position is not prosperous. Thrown very young in
the diamond business, the only occupation of Hyder Abad I
lost there all the fortune of my lather; but I have acquired
experience; lam young, active, and industrious. These are
riches in themselves.”
“Yes, yes, hump-backed and ruined 1” muttered Marie
aside, in a bantering tone.
“Poor young man!” said Margaret, and she adds, “my
cousin, I am refused and you pay no attention to it,”
“And by whom refused?” inquired her cousin.
“But to your cost, by you, since you have preferred y
sister to me.”
“Eh, bien!” said the cousin, “will you accept me if I ask
y°u in marriage from my uncle ?”
“I will engage my father to let my cousin live.”
“What!” exclaimed the hump-back; “yon consent my
lovely Margaret, to—”
“Sa e the life of a relative 1 Indeed I will not waver a
minute.”
“This is very well, my daughter,” said the unde, affected
by this scene. “Romances have not spoiled you.” “I have
a very small income, but I ought not to abandon the son of
my brother in misfortune. I will keep ham here, as kindred,
for where there is enough fin- three there’s enough for tour.”
The cousin threw himself at Margaret’s feet, saying:
“You have saved an unfortunate man from despair and
death.”
Margaret held out her liand to her cousin, raised him
up.
At a little distance Marie muttered to herself, “My sister
has courage. As for me, I would let all hump-baeked oon
sins die.” ,
“Uncle,” said the young man, “allow me to make a slight
toilet before breakfast.”
He pressed Margaret’s hand, bowed to Marie, and left to
change Ills travelling attire.
The uncle and his daughters were at the table nd await
ed their fourth guest.
The servant announced the cousin of Hyder Abad.
The two girls uttered two screams, hut on. different keys.
They see enter a charming young man, tail, without any
hutnp-back, who embraces Margaret and placing before her a
basket, he says to her: “Behold your marriage portion.”
It was the basket, full of diamonds. It was moreover the
liump, which had thus arrived free of duties.
“See what I have carried on my shoulders,” said the cousin,
“from Bombay to Havre, to offer it to that one of roy cousin*
who would accept me with my false poverty and my feigned
deformity.” *
There was great joy in the house, which was, astonishing
as it may seem, participated in by Marie. It is true that Ma
rie loved her sister dearly without detesting the diamonds.
NO. 1.