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OFFICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the
Market.
.. . j£=::r: :Z
>ijijc poffn Corner,
FOR THE “GEORGIA CITIZEN.’’
(From a volume of unpublished poems in Manuscript.)
GOOD T.
BY T. 11. CHIVKItS, M. D.
Now the Nighingale sits singing,
By liis Rose-bud in the grove,
While the I leavens above are ringing
With his river-song of love.
Like the wild Swan on the ocean,
Circled with her Cygnets white,
Star-engirdled, with soft, motion,
Sails the Moon through Heaven to-night.
Good night, my Love! my dearest!
1 ligh heaven of my delight!
Os all things brightest, fairest!
. My Beautiful —good night!
Go—while thou art softly sleeping
By the clear Elysiun streams,
I will be awake here weeping
By the “ Ivory gate of l Ireams.”
Angels, like the stars in number,
Watchers from their Courts of Light,
Sing around thy peaceful slumber
Through the beautiful good night.
Good night, my Love ! my dearest!
High heaven of my delight ;
Os all things brightest, fairest!
My Beautiful —good night 1
•
While the odorous flowers are closing
Their soft petals in the dew,
Thou wilt be in bed reposing—
I awake in mine for you.
Take, Oh, take to your soft bosom!
Faithful Nurse of my Delight!
This sweet Lily-bell in blossom,
And preserve her there, Good Night !
Good night, my Love! my dearest!
High heaven of my delight!
Os all things brightest, fairest!
My Beautiful —good night!
Here we both stand broken hearted,
Loaning on each other's heart;
For in parting we seem parted,
dust to think that we must part.
See! the pale, cold Moon is waning—
Sinking softly from our sight—
While our souls are here complaining
For the loss of our good night!
Good night, my Love! my dearest!
High heaven of my delight!
Os all things brightest, fairest!
My Beautiful —good night!
Where the Nightingale sits singing
By his rose-bud in the grove,
While the Heavens above are ringing
With his river-song of love;
While my soul is left here sighing
Out its song for my Delight,
I now hear her voice replying
Unto mine, “My Love ! good night! ”
Good night, my Love! my dearest!
High heaven of my delight !
Os all things brightest, fairest!
My Beautiful—good night!
U —.ii —i
Sketch of Jenny Lind.
Berlin, March 18, 1850.
It is confidently reported and credited that Jen
ny Lind will visit America during the coming year.
In anticipation of that event, 1 take the liberty of
translating some sketches of her life, collected from
the most authentic sources : —After singing in all
the neighboring towns, and often approaching so
that we could almost hear the warbling of her
ftoice, and then disappearing in the most tantalizing
manner, the Swedish Nightingale has at length
sought a resting place in Berlin. \V ho hits not
heard of Jenny Lind, the most remarkable appari
tion in the music world; who, through the aid of
natural genius, has gained a height above which no
one ever ascended ?
She was born in Stockholm, Oct. 6, 1821. Her
mother had established there an institution tor
ffirls, in which her father, a learned linguist, took
Prt. As her parents were without fortune, they
“ere obliged to turn their whole attention to this
school. Already in her third year was awakened in
‘he child an irresistible affection for singing. Every
m<-lody was seized upon with accuracy, and repeat
ed with such purity that it attracted universal at
tention. From year to year this passion for music
increased, and Jenny’s destiny foretold itself, un
known to herself and her parents, in her every word
nnd action.
Naturally inclined to earnest silence, and quiet
thought, music appeared to have been given by
rovidence to the pale and homely child, as a gilt,
rn<l ans ot which she could gain the sympathy
oid affection of mankind. An actress named Lund
•Tg, chanced to hear the child’s voice, and was so
surprised, with it that she besought the parents, es-
pecially the mother, to dedicate her to the stage.
Croelius, a well known music teacher in Stock
holm, was also delighted that he was instrumental
in having her placed at a school where music was
taught to those who were intended for the theatre.
Soon afterwards Jenny Lind appeared upon the
stage, and aroused an enthusiasm which until this
moment has been unknown. Moving slowly for
ward, borne on by the applause which accompanied
every representation, Jenny reached her 12th year,
and with it the sudden end of the rosy dream which
earnest life had begun to awaken in the approach
ing woman. Jenny passed the age of childhood,
and matured to higher tasks—appeared to have
reached the termination of her career, the public
forgot the sensation which she had occasioned, and
only complained that such bright anticipations
were swallowed up in disappointment. The young
girl, whose pleasure in life was music, bore the loss
of her voice with silent resignation.
ebster’s Agatha had been from youth her ideal;
her brighest dreams, her keenest wishes were to be
able sometime to sing this part. Thus four years
passed away. It chanced at a concert at which the
fourth act of Meyerbeer’s ‘“Robert” was to he per
formed, no one could be found to take the part of Al
ice, who has to sing a short and not very well
known solo. And no one would undertake such an
insignificant part, the teacher bethought himself of
his poor scholar and hastened to her, to ascertain
if it would he possible for her to sing it. With
trembling happiness and a throbbing heart, Jenny
undertook, w hat seemed to her a great effort, to sing
this little measure. Suddenly—with what magic !
—the long lost voice returned; the electrified audi
ence recognised the tones of their former favorite,
and overpowered the fortunate Jenny with endless
applause.
\\ ho can describe her happiness as the delighted
teacher declared that now she must sing the part of
Agatha ? At bist she had attained her wish. A
gatlia in “Freischutz,” was the first opera part in
which Jenny appeared upon the stage in Stockholm.
After that time her fate was various. She sung in
opera after opera, and as the public wished to hear
no one else, she struggled privately, and with her
teacher, with the inflexibility of her voice. All this
did not conquer the obstinate talent, although she
worked upon it like a sculptor upon marble. Af
ter she had sung in different casts for a year and a
half, and had shown wonderful perseverance, she
felt that if she wished to attain perfection inartis
tic skill she must lay yet another hand upon the
work. An irresistable desire seized her to seek the
greatest teacher of music in Europe, Garcia, in Bar
is. But how carry out this wish ? Where find the
means to run tlie hazard of giving up her engage
ments and living two or three years in Paris ? Re
fusing every proffered aid, she undertook, in her own
way, and by her own talent, to accomplish the un
dertaking.
She employed the vacation time of the Theatre
in travelling with her father through all the larger
and smaller towns of Sweden and Norway; aroused
everywhere the greatest enthusiasm, and returned
soon to Stockholm w ith abundant means to perfect
her plan. She declared to the directors her resolu
tion, gave them satisfactory results and obtained
the desired release. Arrived in Paris, her first vis
it was to Garcia, whose threshold she sought with
feverish anxiety.
Now she stood before the master upon whose de
cision hung her whole future. She sung; Garcia
listened without token of pleasure or displeasure. —
Then, as she ended, he said quietly, “My child, you
have no voice,” or, correcting himself- —“You have
had a voice, and are now 7 on the point to lose it. Do
not sing a note for three months, and then come to
me again.”
With this comfortless answer she left the house
of the man upon whose instruction she had built
all her hopes. Three long months Jenny Lind li
ved in deep solitude, with feelings ot utter diseon
solation. ‘“I lived upon my tears and upon the an
guish of homesickness,” said she once as she spoke
of her residence in Paris. At the appointed time
she went again to Garcia, who found that her voice
was restored. The lessons commenced, and that
she enjoyed them only nine months is a proof how
great and extensive her industry must have been.
Scarcely a year bad passed away since Jenny Lind
hail left her home, when one of her countrymen, an
ingenious composer, came on behalf of the Direc
tors and the public to ask her return to her native
city. Through this messenger’s agency she made
the acquaintance of Meyerbeer, whose experienced
eye instantly detected, under her modest and unas
suming manner, her real worth, and from whom she
received a request to make an engagement for Ber
lin.
But her longings towards her father land and her
promised word bore her back to Stockholm, where
she now appeared as a finished artist, and at ouce
became the pride of her native city. In the midst
of her triumphs, she received an invitation to he
present at the opening of anew opera house in Ber
lin. Jenny Lind thought with pain upon this sec
ond departure from her home, —still she accepted
the invitation, and after aiding with her talents at
the coronation of the King of Sweden, she took
leave at a representation which eye witnesses de
clare to have been a feast of joy and sadness, —
was more weeping than applause; it was as
when a dearly loved child leaves the bosom of his
family.” Thousands of men filled the streets at her
departure. Every one wished to see her once more,
and never has a public so sincerely mourned the
loss of a favorite as Stockholm the departure of
Jenny Lind.
In October, 1844, Jenny Lind came to Berlin
where she appeared first in Norma, and subsequent
ly enjoyed a triumph w ithout parallel in the history
of the stage. It is one of the anecdotes related in
this city, that, at the rekersal on the occasion of her
first appearance in Berlin, the orchestra were so de
lighted that they stopped in the midst of one of the
songs, and throwing down their instruments, ap
plauded her for several minutes.
The world has heard more of Jenny Lind during
the last few years than of any other artist, and it is
unnecessary for me to pursue her history further.
She sings no longer in the theatre, and frequenters
of the opera are loud in their lamentations over
what seems to them overstrained consciousness. A
vast majority in America, however, will honor her
for it, and greater demonstrations and more enthu
siastic applause await her there than she has e\ ei
experienced in Europe. Jenny Lind is by no means
homely, she is neither too tall nor too short; foi m
and figure faultless; hair dark auburn; eyes as elo
quent as her voice—and her manner, that is inde
scribable. She is so sweetly unaffected and natu
ral in every movement, and her great goodness so
clearly manifests itself, that von will yield at once,
and acknowledge that all you have previously read
“3nhtpcnhcnt in all things—Neutral in Notljing.”
MACON, GEORGIA, THURSDAY EVENING, APRIL 25, 1850.
and heard of her was but a faint tribute to her real
worth.
Her concerts in this city, and I believe all she
lias given during the last four months, have been
for the benefit of various charitable institutions.—
She seems to regard her talent as a gift from Hea
ven, to be used only for the good of her fellow-crea
tures, and it is difficult to say whether she has been
more blest in her voice than in her heart. For once
we can gratify our taste for music—can hear the
greatest singer, and feel at the same time that what
we bestow goes to enrich one of the best and kind
est of women.
It is not known when Jenny Lind intends to take
her departure for America: you will probably hear
of her determination before it is made known in
Europe. The most extravagant stories are in circu
lation in refer ence to the immense sum which some
American has agreed to give her before she leaves
this country; it affords conclusive proof to the Ger
mans that ours is indeed a land of gold, and that the
Americans are the most astounding people on the
globe. The curious notions, and at the same time
exalted opinions entertained by the Germans of our
country, I will endeavor to give you in some future
letter.
Kindness (he best Punishment,
A Quaker, of exemplary character, was disturbed
at night by footsteps around his dwelling; and he
arose from his bed, and cautiously opened a back
door to reeonoitre. Close by was an out-house and
under it a cellar, near a window of which was a man
busily engaged in receiving the contents of his pork
barrel from another within the cellar. The old man
approached, and the man outside fled. He step
ped to the cellar window and received the pieces of
pork from the thief within, who, after a little while,
asked his supposed accomplice, in a whisper, “Shall
we take it all i ” The ow ner of the pork said softly,
“ Yes, take it all”—and the thief industriously hand
ed up the remainder through the window, and then
came up himself. Imagine his consternation when
instead of greeting his companion in crime, he was
confronted by the Quaker. Both were astonished ;
for the thief proved to be a near neighbor, whom
none would have suspected of such conduct. He
pleaded for mercy, begged the old man not to ex
pose him, spoke of the necessities of poverty, and
promised faithfully never to steal again.
“ If thou hadst asked mo for meat,” said the old
man, “it would have been given thee. I pity thy
poverty and thy weakness, and esteem thy family.
Thou art forgiven.”
The thief was greatlv rejoiced, and was about to
depart, when the old man said, “ Take the pork,
neighbor.”
“No, no,” said the thief, “ I don’t want the pork.”
“ Thy necessity was so great that it led thee to
steal. One half of the pork thou must take with
thee.”
The thief insisted he could never eat a morsel of
it. The thoughts of the crime would make it choke
him. He begged the privilege of letting it alone. —
But the old man was inexorable, and furnishing the
thief with a bag had half the pork put therein and
laving it on his back sent him home with it. He
met his neighbor daily, for many years afterwards ;
and their families visited together, but the matter
was kept a secret; and though in after times the
circumstance was mentioned, the name of the delin
quent was never known. The punishment was se
vere and effectual. It was probably the first, it was
certainly the last attempt made by him to steal.
Had the man been arraigned before a court
of justice, and imprisoned for the petty theft, how
different might have been the result! His family
disgraced, their peace destroyed, their character
ruined, and his spirits broken. Revenge, n<>t peni
tence, would have swayed his heart, the scorn of the
world would have darkened his future; and in all
probability lie would have entered upon a course of
crime at w’hich, w hen the first offence was committed,
his soul would have shuddered. And what would
the owner of the pork have gained ! Absolutely
nothing. Kindness was the best punishment, for it
saved while it punished.
■■■pmimbm——i—gawaanat
Hi'juirhitfiit.
NUMERATION.
Tutor. Well boys, to-day we are to begin Arith
metic. 1 hope you are come determined to learn it.
Charles. I wish to understand it above all tilings;
but they say it is very difficult, and that some nev
er can understand it.
Tutor. I know it is said so; but do not believe
it. It is only an excuse invented by indolence, to
palliate ignorance. Every body can learn arithme
tic, who gives his attention to it. Only give me
your whole attention, and I will engage to teach
you, not only how to perform the operations of
arithmetic, but why they are so performed.
George. If that is all I long to begin; you may
depend upon my attention.
Tutor. I like your ardor, and will begin the
lesson at once. The first thing is to learn to write
numbers. This is called Numeration. We have
but nine figures to express all possible numbers. I
will write them on the slate, and see if you can tell
what they are. Look Charles, 1,2, 3,4, 5,6, 7,
8, 0.
Charles. I have learned them already: They
are one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.
George. So have I: but I cannot see how these
few figures can express all the numbers in the world.
Tutor. That is just w hat I was going to explain.
The reason is, because we only count up to ten, and
then repeat.
Charles. But you have not shown us how to
write ten.
Tutor. I write it thus: 10. But here is no
new figure. The oon the right, is called a cipher
or voucjht. The other nine are called significant fig
ures, to distinguish them from this, which, by itself,
has no signification. You will see the use of it by
and by. But first let me explain what I mean by
saying w r e repeat after every ten. You have always
done it in counting, though perhaps you have never
thought of it. Reflect a moment. When you have
counted ten, you go hack to one, and take in all the
figures up to nine;thus, ten and one, are eleven; ten
and two, are twelve ; ten and three, are thirteen; ten
and four, are fourteen; and so on up to twenty,
which is twice ten. There you begin again with
one ; thus, twenty-one, or twice ten and one ; and
so on to thirty, or three tens, you call it a hundred;
and then repeat the hundred ufttil you come to ten
hundreds, or a thousand.
George. I understand, now, perfectly well what
you mean by repeating after every ten ; but why
would not any number, eight for instance, do just
as well ?
Tutor. lam glad you are inquisitive. I will tell
you. Eight would have done just as well if all men
had agreed to use it. But the reason why ten was
selected, is, that when men first began to count, they
made use of their fingers and thumbs, which are
ten. When they wanted to go beyond ten, they
began and counted over again. This is the reason
why we now repeat after every ten.
Charles. That is a very good reason, I almost
wonder I never thought of it before. But, are you not
jesting ? Was there really a time when men were
so ignorant that they had to use their fingers in
counting ?
Tutor. O yes! Did you never hear that the
savages of this continent could not reckon above five,
and when they wished to express more, were in the
habit of pointing to the hairs of their head? Nor
is it wonderful; for simple as our system of nota
tion may now seem to you, the invention of it, is
one of the most wonderful productions of the hu
man mind. If all the philosophers of the world,
were to meet together, and do their utmost, they
could not invent a system different from this, which
would be as good as this is. They could not devise
any method which would be so simple in its ele
ments, and yet so infinite in its combinations. For
as 1 have already said, there is no end to the values
which these nine simple characters may be made to
express ; and the key to the whole secret is their ten
fold increase in value at every step, as you go from
right to left. The first on the right, we call units,
the second, tens, the third, hundreds; these three
make the first period. Thus, 333, is read three
hundred and thirty-three : where you see the sec
ond 3 is worth ten times as much as the first, and
the third 3 is worth ten times ten, or a hundred
times as much as the first.
George. But suppose I wished to write exactly
three hundred, could I do it with one figure ?
Tutor. Yes —but then you must show that the
3 occupies the third place, and that there are no
tens or units ; and for this purpose, you make use
of ciphers. This, indeed, is all ciphers are good for ;
they merely show the absence of significant figures:
thus, 300 is the expression you wanted.
Charles. Now 1 understand the use of these in
significant things. So, then if I wanted to write
three hundred and three, 1 should express it thus,
303 ; putting the cipher between, to show that there
are no tens.
Tutor. Exactly so; and 330 implies that there
are hundreds and tens, but no units. If you under
stand this period well, you can understand all the
rest: for the next period is formed of three figures,
in the same way. The first right hand figure in
this period, is thousands; the second, tens of thous
ands—just as before, the first was units, the second,
tens, and the third, hundreds : thus, 333,000, is read
three hundred and thirty-three thousand. You
know what the ciphers mean, George ?
George. Yes: they show the absence of the
first period by keeping its place. But nuppoae it’ l
[iut the two periods together, thus, 333,333, it
would read three hundred and thirty-three thous
and three hundred and thirty-three : but what is the
third period ? tell us that; and then I think I can
put the three together.
Tutor. It is just like the other, only the first fig
ure to the right is called millions.
George. Os course, then the second is tens of
millions; and 333,000,000, is three hundred and
thirty-three millions.
Tutor. You are right. Now tell me if nume
ration is not very simple, and if it is not truly won
derful that such vast and various values can be ex
pressed, bv the combinations of these few characters.
George. It is indeed. I wonder that those who
invented languages, had not done the same : Would
it not be possible ?
Tutor. It is said that the Chinese language
does resemble our arithmetical numbers in its for
mation. There are, however, strong objections to
such a language. But you could not understand
them yet, if 1 should state them: beside, the hour
is out. To-morrow I shall explain addition. Mean
time you must practice writing numbers until you
become perfectly familiar with it. Nothing but
practice can make you expert. We have only made
use of the figure three and ciphers: but what is true
of that, is true of every other. To-morrow, then, I
shall expect to find you perfect in Numeration.
Little Red Riding Hood.
Once upon a time, a country girl lived in a village,
who was the sweetest little creature that ever was
seen; her mother naturally loved her with exces
sive fondness, and her grandmother doated on her
still more. The good woman had made for her a
pretty little red colored hood, which so much be
came the little girl, that every one called her Little
Red Riding Hood. One day, her mother having
made some cheese cakes, said to her, “Go my child,
and see how grandmother does, for I fear she is ill;
carry her some of these cakes and a little pot of but
ter.” Little Red Riding Hood strait set out with a
basket tilled with the cakes and the pot of butter, for
her grandmother’s house,* which was in a village a
little way off the town that her mother lived in.—
As she was crossing a wood, which lay in her road,
she met a large wolf, which had a great mind to eat
her up, but dared not, for fear of some woodcutters,
who were at work near them in the forest. Yet he
spoke to her, and asked her whither she was going.
The little girl, who did not know the danger of talk
ing to a wolf, replied: I am going to see my grand
mama, and carry these cakes and a pot of butter.”
“Does she live far oft ? ” said the wolf.
“Oh, yes!” answered Little Red Riding Hood;
“ beyond the mill you see yonder, at the first house
in the village.”
“ Well” said the wolf, “ I will take this way, and
you take that, and see which will be there the
soonest.”
The wolf set out full speed, running as fast as he
Could, and taking the nearest way, while the little
girl took the longest; and as she went along began
to gather nuts, run after butterflies, and make nose
gays of such flowers as she found within her reach.
The wolf got to the dwelling of the grandmother
first, and knocked at the door. “Who is there?”
said some voice in the house. “It is your grand
child, Little Red Riding Hood,” said the wolf, speak
ing like the little girl as well as he could. “I have
brought you some cheesecakes, and a little pot of
butter, that mama has sent you.” The good old
woman, who was ill in bed, called out, “ Pull the
bobbin, and the latch will go up.” The wolf pulled
the bobbin, and the door went open: the wolf then
jumped upon the poor old grandmother, and ate
her up in a moment, for it was three days since he
had tasted any food. The wolf then shut the door,
and laid himself down in the bed, and waited for the
Little Red Riding Hood, who very soon after reached
the house.
Tap! tap! “ Who is there ?” cried he. She was
at first a little afraid at hearing the gruff voice of the
wolf, but she thought that perhaps her grandmother
had got a cold, so she answered: “It is your grand
child, Little Red Riding Hood: mama has sent you
some cheesecakes, and a little pot of butter.” The
wolf cried out in a softer voice, “ Pull the bobbin, and
the latch will go up.” Little Red Riding Hood
pulled the bobbin, and the door went open. When
she came into the room, the wolf hid himself under
the bedclothes, and said to her, trying all he could
to speak in a feeble voice : “Put the basket on the
stool, my dear, and take off’ your clothes, and come
into bed.” Little Red Riding Hood, who always
used to do what she was told, straight undressed her
self, and stepped into bed; but she thought it
strange to see how her grandmother looked in her
nightclothes, so she said to her: “Dear me, grand-
what great arms you have got! ” “ They
are so much the better to hug you, my child,” re
plied the wolf. “But, grandmama,” said the little
girl, “ what great ears you have got!” “ They are
so much the better to hear you my child,” replied the
wolf. “ But then, grandmama, what great eyes you
have got,” said the little girl. “They are so much
the better to see you, my child,” replied the wolf.—
“And, grandmama, what great teeth you have got!”
said the little girl, who now began to be rather
afraid. “ They are to eat you up,” said the wolf;
and saying these words the wicked creature fell up
on Little Riding Hood, and ate her up in a moment.
The Boy’s Monitorial School.
There is a school so called in Boston, which had
an exhibition at “ the Temple,” (a beautiful build
’ ing so named,) on the thirty-first day of last Decem
ber. Although the room of “ the Temple” was
quite large, such was the interest entertained for this
exhibition that it was not large enough to hold the
crowd of persons, who went,to see the performances.
()ne great charm of these exhibitions, is that the
audience came to be pleased and amused rather than
to sit as critics.
The teacher warned the audience at the outset
that the prevalent colds had kept away some of his
best speakers, and several were present who ought
to have been at home. But still the interest was
kept up for three horn's, and the lads and young
gentlemen aequited themselves well, every one of
them. The speaking of the little boys was so natu
ral, that it won the hearts of every one. The per
formance spoke well for the discipline of the school,
the good fellowship of the pupils, and the talent of
the instructor, for he has no assistant in teaching this
“ art of arts.” Several of the pieces spoken were
original.
We were amused with a funny piece spoken by a
droll little fellow with a bad cold.
THE FISHES’ TOILET.
’Tis said, a gallant bark that bore
The cast off fashions of the day
From la belle France to tills fair shore,
Was stranded on the way,
And all the stock of toilet ware,
To mend the coarse or deck the fair,
To the bottom went, and every fish
That owned a whim, or felt a wish
To imitate the lords of air,
Rushed to the spot to get her share.
The Lumpfish seized a pair of stays
And squeezed the blood into her face ;
The Eel , too lank on every side,
A Bishop to her back applied ;
The Frog-fish thrust her flippers wet
Into a ruffled Pantalette ;
The Flounder and her cousin Plaice ,
Put on a Frill of Brussels-Lace;
The Chub while saying fie upon it,
Tried on a pretty Cottage Bonnet;
The Shark, to enlarge his mighty maw,
Tied a large Pocket on before.
The Carp to rail at those who pass,
Hung round her neck a Quizzing Glass ;
The Sculpins on their thorny heads,
Tore ruffled Night-caps into shreds;
The Whiting found of Rouge a box;
The Graphng seized some Auburn locks:
The Gold-fish on her interest bent,
Seized on some Musk and made a Scent ;
The Sun-fish seized a Parasol:
The Seal a box of Wafers stole ;
The Ale-wife , for her cask was low,
Secured a bottle of Noyau ;
A Cologne bottle pleased a Smelt;
The Porpoise fat about the smelt,
Sported a Fan; a sulky Pout
Applied Rose Ointment to her snout;
The Swell-fish finding it afloat,
Put on a large Hooped Petticoat;
The Lobster found some Pic-nic mita
For his red claws no bad mis-fits :
In fine, the fish around that shore
Beat all that fish e’er did before;
And if you don't believe it, with
My word for’t—Go ask Dr. Smith.
(Driginnl
GLEANINGS FROM THE MEXICAN WAR,
Or selected sketches from an unpublished work,
written by one of the “ rank and file” during a
twelve months’ campaign in 181 C-7.
“O, spirit gay, and kindly heart!
Precious the blessings ye impart.”
We hope to show you, attentive reader, if you follow these
sketches, tliat amidst life's most unpromising duties and hard
ships, there are always presented aspects of human char
acter, upon which the most depressed in spirit under the un
toward circumstances, may dwell with pleasure. We should
always carry with us “ a spirit gay,” and the very errors of
our associates may furnish material for profitable reflection.
The true practical philosopher is he, who taking the world
in all its multiform aspects, just as he finds it, in his own cir
cles, performs his part as a relative, social being, in accurate
conformity with the dictates of an enlightened judgment and
experience, without overweening respect for others who may
never have observed human action under the influences at
work in his particular community. We like bold and origin
al thinkers ; and still more, the man who recognising the di
rection which the head of the Universe stamps upon all sub
lunary things, and the demand which this superinducing
cause makes upon their own exertions and reasoning faculties,
prepare themselves to meet with contented spirit the circum
stances of their own lot in life.
With these general views we have entered upon the priva
tions of war-life ; and if it shall appear that we have gleaned
many phases of human character overlooked by ordinary
reapers in the field, or discarded by book-writers, it will not
be difficult to determine the motives which enhance the value
of our own humble reapings.
In many of the leaves of these cursory sketches the same
common sense view “ and kindly heart” will appear to liave
had eontroling influence.
We shall write our own impressions of men, and places,
and things, as they come in our review before us. As to de
tails and execution, our plan for these sketches is not fully de-
fiued in our own mnd. Each number of the papers may bo
expected to be distinct and unconnected with others. Asa
whole, they will be discursive, and embrace m a brief view,
many topics. Our plan may occasionally lead us into tho
field of romance, but we hope to leave the line between truth
and fiction so clear and a nd: it.inct that every reader may readily
determine the character of each particular record.
We shall animadvert or praise; and sketch scenes and
character, genera! and personal, with a free pen. And if the
record is not occasionally spicy and piquant, we have seen
many good things to very little purpose ourselves.
Tills is our preface, and all the promises we have to make
have been indicated. It is important that we aver two ‘‘sav
ing clausesthe first relating to ourselves particularly • and
this we do by advertising all compeers in tlie campaign, that
we enter upon this task of entertaining the patrons of the
good “ Citizen” without the remotest purpose of wounding
the feelings of any person ; and that if any issue so untoward
should result from these pleasant reminiscences, and we are
summoned before a “ court of honor,” we claim the privilege
warranted by the numerous examples of recent affirrs , to
adjust the difficulty in foro cjnscientier , or no where. Se
condly, as to the reader, so often abused by trusting in tho
promises of an author, he shall reserve the right, if a partic
ular picture does not interest or amuse him, of withholding
his unqualified condemnation until he seeks in the next, diver
sion more to his taste.
Do not in any e;'je blame tlie literary caterer, our good friend
tho Editor, for he, like you, must take many effusions upon
dubious recommendations, when he accepts papers upon an
humble name, but seldom if ever whispered in coteriei of
intelligent men. Much chaff must be winnowed before you
find the wheat, if you apply the aphorism to the multifarious
issues of the modern press; and to elevate the standard in
this connexion, if you can fill the space occupied in the “ Cit
izen” by those sketches, it is your duty, instead of wasting
time in impotent imprecations upon one who offers a well
meant effort, to give the aid of your own intellect and pen.
SKETCH No. 1.
MU RITZ METTERCII, A 3IAX OF MARK;
OR THE SOLDIER WHO FOUND CAUSE TO REGRET 1118 ENLIST
MENT.
u Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt;
And every grin so merry, draws one out.”
Tlie subject of the following sketch, will be recognised by
many who personally witnessed the incidents to be reviewed.
The erratic habits of the man, together with his peculiar ro
pugnance to the arduous duties of camp life in Mexico, stamp
ed him an object of mark, not soon to be forgotten. Many
a merry joke has been enjoyed at bis expense.
In all that we have to say of Mauritz, it must be understood
that we delineate the character of tlie man ; and although in
the progress of the general plan, we may often be inclined to
introduce the type of a class, it is not so to be understood in
this case. The author who should attempt to detract one iota
from the well merited praise of hundreds of our adopted cit
izens, who followed the “ stars and stripes” through the nu
merous ensanguined fields over which they were ultimately
unfurled, would deserve the reprehension of all “ good men
and true.” This sketch and its hero stands *ui generig :
for whatever judgment we may award Mauritz, looking sole
ly to his conduct and motives, we sliall in due time render full
justice to his self-sacrificing countrymen who filled up thu
chasms made in our regular and volunteer armies.
Mauritz Metterch, as the name clearly Imports, was a Gor
man by birth; and but a few years a resident of our Repub
lic, when, on the commencement of hostilities with Mexico,
he exchanged the needle (the emblem of his vocation) for the
musket of the infantry service.
Mauritz was emphatically a small man in every respect.—
His ancestry were scarcely worthy his own memory, and in
this connection who will forget the sentiment of Horace, For
teg creantur fortibus. It will be seen tliat our hero did not
reverse the aphorism. It is extremely questionable whether
his own exertions would have ever raised him above driveling
mediocrity among journeymen. Some men seem, ju Iging
from all the mental exhibition., of strength developed in their
lives, to have been born for the drudgery of mechanical pur
suits. They seem never to comprehend liberty, even in a
land in which the grand charter of human rights pronounces
“ all men free and equal.” These persons make the best sol
diers, for they are very easily incorporated into the human
machine which only moves with the will of the master ma
chinist. Your bold, self-willed, native born freeman is too fre
quently refractory under tlie despotic rule of the military head
ship of this machine.
Standing .as erect as his physical conformation would allow,
Mauritz was scarcely five feet high in his heavy brogans, and
certainly did not weigh any great number of stone. His
features face were not at all prepossessing, and emitted,
accurately speaking, near about as many and as effulgent
scintillations of intellect, as yon would rationally expect from
the face of a white-washed monkey.
After he had yielded to the persuasive blandishments of the
stories of the recruiting sergeant, the mustering officer had
many doubts about admitting his name upon the “muster roll,”
on the ground of radical mal-conformation ; but eight dollars
a month and “rations,” contrasted with the insignificant re -
muneration of a very indifferent journeyman, incited Mauntx
to unyielding importunities, until much in the spirit of the
unjust Judge of the gospel, the officer consented to “ book
him.” It will appear that Mauritz was not a man of muc h
moral firmness or physical courage—not at all belligerently
inclined, though entering the w ar-serviee. The phrenologist
who should desire people to confirm his chart, would have
pronounced the development of caution and timidity much
more decided and full in the cranium of our hero than any
other. However, on this point the reader of the sketch may
be able to decide without calling in tlie aid of Fowler or any
one of his erudite disciples.
As we have intimated, Mauritz was rather wearied of the
needle and goose, and cloths and coarse satinetts, whin tlie
first inciting note of “the ear-piereing fife” and recruiting
drum indicated anew field for the employment of his valua
ble efforts. In connection with the aspect in which we have
presented his character, it may not be a fruitless inquiry to
search for the eontroling motives which induced the solicitude
of our hero to enlist for Mexico and “glorious war.” There
were other and distinct inducements eontroling his motives,
than those already assigned. He had listened with breathlew
interest to the florid descriptions of the salubrious and soft
Italian climate of the %-alleys of Mexico, and while his fancy
was captivated by these pictures, his mind was darkened as
to the real hazard fingrantig belli. Ashe treasured up the
disjointed chart of the country, gleaned from recruiting ser
geants, the prominent {mints of observation, upon which his
mental vision was ravished, were numermeus areas of fairy
land, shaded by perennial groves of the most luscious fruits of
the tropics. In certain quarters there was not a very forcible
array of the onerous duties of camp life. It was a perspec
tive picture that was presented to Mauritz, and w hile the fas
cinating objects were prominent,the casualties of war-life were
either greatly obscured by the adroit coloring of the main
points of attraction, or greatly blurred in the remote back
ground. Tlie man that had to win his position in the army
with the number he could place upon its “muster roll,” soon
learned how to draw and exhibit these pictures with the
greatest effect.
The German fradesfolks, by the way, Lave evinced, at home,
a eommendabfo spirit for perfecting themselves in their voca
tions and journey ings. It is not unfrequcntly the case, that
the journeyman Las a practical acquaintance with moet of the
cities of his own country, and it is not strange that they do
not always remain contented at one place on this continent
“No pent-up Utica contracts their powers"—and T. Bu!r
NO. 5.
