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The Georgia citizen. (Macon, Ga.) 1850-1860, March 21, 1850, Image 1

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VOL. I. • iras • „, _ /'•> a* |IC lOiIOW • is published, every Thurn’ny R r •n 1 * n *’ ‘ ’ CONDITIONS : qo Mper annum. If paid strietly in advance ‘ . 3 0i ! “ “ If not so paid ‘ fhp olio wing pro- Le**, Advertisements will be made to conform to the visions of the Statute:— , r S vdministP and Guard- Snles of Und and Negroes by *““*•“} jn a pilW . **"•* **y ians, are required by law to be advertised in P davs previous to the day of sale. t 6 .month, between These sales must be held -n thenrs Tu.*l<V mil , i;moon< at the the hours of ten in the tor in ; n an - * -it anted. i;te f " r ’ davs , , llt > faiirt of Ordinary for Notice that application weekJy for four leave to sell Land and Ne D r months. . . irtl . m ,it published thirty days Citations or Letters of Adm ostrat. ‘*“ • months— for Dis —for Dismission from Adtmmstration, monthly miss . from Guardianship, *<• t'J 1 ‘!'*• published monthly, for Rules for foreclosure of mortmain. ‘• . !te f u ;\ S pae.e of three four • -tfAs—for establishing 1-t I; ; / , r Administrators where mor.tu —for compelling titlesrt>n> „f three months. abl ind has been given by the ue us< -. r . wording to the follow* Professional and Business Cards, mserU* • ing scale: / . $3 00 in advance. For 4 lines or less per annum j . 700 “ u “ 6 lines j* * j _ $lO 00 “ “ lines or less, for the first and 50 c . j rcent . 0 n settlement, On these rates there will be a ll > ’ .• ‘ without alteration. b All Letters except those conta f paid or free. ~t as Agents for the. “Citizen” Postmasters and others ■ aII casfl subscriptions tbr mav retain 20 per cent, lor their trou ” oS'cE on I..ulberry Street, East -f the Floyd House and near the ’ ‘ ‘ jaAlts ASJkJ'--2s’3EATS. Man for Milledgeville. Savanna Augusta and Columbus Cose at 9 Ahmads mn M os the Rate.(Tenacsse and Florida excepted) u Fourth. 6 Seville. Tb maston, Griffin, Atlanta, Marietta and Lai on.close at- ‘ Cock, P. M. “ Flunda Vf’ ii* Tuc Thursdays and Sundays at 3 o’- Via Knoxville, Tu< ays, Thursdays and Saturday’s at 3 u vija‘ciint onCEaton:&c. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sun days at 3o’c!k, P. I- „ . tt Via Fort Vailey, on *V ednesday and Saturday mornings, at Office open from 8 ’ 1-2 A. M. o 1 o*Ck- P M„ and from 2 to 4 P. The Mail by Macon & West m Railroad will be delivered at 5 1-2 to 6 A.M. Night Mails Z. T. CONNER, P. M. P. O. Macon, Mar. 12. 18: 0- 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 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.