Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 2.
I'rofrsiiinnol k Snsin m Cnrbs
da gu e L r re orrpis t,
MACON, GA.
jUfT ENTRANCE FROM THE AVENUE.
prl9 t s
RAILROAD HOUSE,
OPPOSITE CENTRAL RAILROAD DEPOT
EAST MACON.
‘ * ‘f S. M. LANIER.
JACK BROWN*
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
BUKNA VISTA, MARION CO., GA.
upr 12 ly
I*. G. Alili ]N G TON,
Attorney at Law and Notary Public,
Oglctlioi’pp, Mhtron Cos.,
<ifo GEORGIA. 38—ts
“city hotel,
SAVANNAH,v.v.v.v.v.vGEORGIA.
P. CONDON.
Txrms: —Transient Roarders, per day, 81,50. Monthly and
yaarly Boarder* in p.oportion. aprs—y
O®S©aME A. tLOOHIRANiE,
slttaniri| nt Tnm,
OFFICE OVER BF.LDEN AND CO's. HAT STORE,
Mulberry Street, Maron, Georgia.
HARDEMAN & HAMILTON,
Waro House and Commission Merchants,
.VtCO.V, GF.OHGI.I.
HAMILTON & HARDEMAN,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
S.HVJ.V.VJH, GF.OHGI.I.
Will sive prompt attention to all business committedto them
uteither place.
TIIOS. II ARIIICM AN • ( 19—ts) CHAS. F. HAMILTON.
FACTORAGE AND
osmssissisia sseaiaass
Savannah, fia.
UJ m. P. YON(iE, N0.94 Bay street, Savannah, continues
tc transact a General Commission Business and Factor
and respectfully solicits consignments of Cotton. Corn,
anil other produce. He will also attend to receiving and for*
warding Merchandize.—
April 5,1831 ly
W. r>. ETHERIDGE fc Cos.,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
GF.O KG LI.
UTiflersigrnefl iIUWOJ: ifnnwcd a Copartnership for the
L transaction of the rilioy.e hnsrness. tender their service*
to their friends and the pit Mac generally and solicit a share of
patronage. We will pay strict attention to the sale of ( "otton
or other produce consigned to our care and all orders for !!ag
.’isg. Hope and family supplies will lie promptly attended to
and fitted at the lowest piiccs. Liberal advances will he made
upon Cotton or other produce consigned to us.
s. r. gove, (aug.’3-y) tv. n. f.tiikridde.
‘RA3ION, !Fy LT©M & ©©.,
•Factors & Commission Mercliaiits
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. —6m
FIELD <fc ADAMS.
EIKE-FROOF WAREHOUSE,
ffIACON, GORGI A.
fPIIE undersigned will continue th. Ware-House and Con*
L mission Business, at the commodious and well known Fire
I’rcof Building, formerly occupied by Dyson Si Field anil the
past season by us. The attention of both the partners will lie
given thal) business entrusted to their care. They respectful
lly solicit the patronage of the public generally. They are pre
pared to make liberal cash advances on all Cotton in store at
the customary rates.
l'f?~ All orders for Groceries, Bagging .And Rope will he fill
ed at the lowest market prices. JOHN M. FIELD,
aug9 ts A. B. ADAMS.
SASH AND WINDOW BLIND
rUMIE subscriber is manufacturing the above articles by
.1. Steam Machinery, at very moderate prices.
TURNING AND PLANING.
Be has machinery for this business, and will promptly exe
cute any jobs in this line. ALEX. McGRF.GOR.
July-G —6m
FIRE INSURANCE
BY THE
COMMERCIAL INSURANCE COMPANY
OF CHARLESTON S. C.
CAPITAL S2SO,OOO—ALL PAID IN.
AV m. B. llk.riot, Pres A. M. Lee. Sec’y.
Director* :
James K. Robinson, Geo. A. Trcnholm. Robert Caldwell,
R. Taft, Henry T. Street, Win. Mcßurncy, and. 11. B raw ley,
T.l. U’ragg.
r PI!E subscribers having been appointed Agents for the
1 above Company, are now prepared to take risks against
lire, on favorable terms. CAUUABT, BRO. & CO,
jiir.o'll .Igcvts.
DUS. RANKS A ROOSEVELT tender their
professional services to the citizens of Macon and sur
rounding country.
Residence on College llill. the house formerly occupied by
e-'harlus Day. Othee on the corner of Third and Walnut sireei.
U. BANKS, M. D. (septG-V) C. J. ROOSEVELT, M. D.
R. G. JEFFERSON & CO.
RAXITACTURER ANn WHOLESALE DEALERS IN
CHAIRS,
D ##l Side Broad St., first door abate P. M’ Larins,
coujinrs, ga.
r PBF.Y keep on hand an excellent supply of Office, Wood
L Seat, Split Bottom and Hocking Chairs ; Bedsteads, Wood
en Ware, Ac.
rr All Orders left as above, will meet with prompt atten
tion. novl —ts
W. S. WILLIFORD,
jcmniissioN merchant and auctioneer,
Macon, Ga.
All kind* of Produce and Merchandise, (except liquors) re
ceived on consignment. scp*27
S. & R. P. HALL,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW ,
Ma£on, Ga.
°trtcE on Cotton Avenue, over Little’s Drug Store, (octl 1)
Notice.
\LL persons indebted to the late firm of TAYLOR k ROFI
by open account or note, are solicited to call at the old
stand mid settle without delay. nol-'Jm TAYLOR A ROFF.
Dry Goods and Groceries,
THE subscriber offers for sale at his < W stand on Cotton
Avenue, a general assortment of Sta, It and fancy Dry
Goods, consisting in part of the following articles: Cassimeres,
Broadcloths, Alapacas, DeLains, Calicoes and Homespuns,
Ready made Clothing and Jewelry.
Also a fine supply of Groceries, and almost every other ar-
Ilc,e suited to city and country customers. His goods are re
ceived at short intervals, and may be relied upon as being both
fresh and fashionable, and are ofiored very low for Cash,
octll—in GEO. EHRLICH.
WHOLESALE Dry Goods, Groceries, Hardware Ac.
at low prices and reasonable terms or liberal discount
>r cash. (oct4j g, p DICKINSON/
1-4” | PRINTING PRESS FOR SALE.
f Jj A GOOD second hand Imperial PRINTING
tv , X A, I RESS, in good order, will tie sold a b*ir
'lyLvdjit f a, " on immediate application at this Office.
118 ,a [£? enough to work a paper of the size
the “Georgia Citizen.”
New Goods.
| MRS. WORTHINGTON
is novv owning a beautiful assort-
jgN*/ mentot New Style Mlllinary
V —Goods, Rich Bonnets, Ribbons,
Chenille Feathers and Flowers Silks
H Gloves, Dress and Mantilla Triin
mings, also, 2 cases fine Dress Hats,
with a large assortment of Straw Goods at all prices. Ladies
are respectfully solicited to call and examine her stock w hich
slip u ill sell at the lowest prices.
rF” Mantillas and Dresses made to order in the most fash
onable manner. Orders from the country promptly attended
to. STORE on Mulberry st„upstairs. octll
liiji
THE Son? of Iron,
BV G. W. CUTTER.
Author of 1 Song of Steam,’ and ‘E Pluribus Unum.’
Heave the bellows and pile the fire,
Like the red and fearful glow
AV here the crater’s lurid clouds aspire
O'er the darkened plains below ;
Let the weight of j our ponderous hammers smite
VV ith the power of the mountain stream ;
Or thunder beneath the earthquake might
That dwells in the arm of steam !
Though I cannot boast the diamond’s hue,
The tempting gleam of gold,
VV ith w hich, by the arts of the gasping few,
The nations are bought and sold ;
Aet is tny presence more priceless far
Than the blaze of earth’s royal gem,
lhal ever has kindled a ducal star,
Or flamed in a diadem.
In the fearlul depths of the rayless mine
My giant strength was laid,
Li e the sun, or the moon, or the stars that shine
In the boundless heavens, were made;
Lre darkness was rolled from the deep away;
Lre the skies were spread abroad ;
Ere tile words that called up the light of day
Were breathed bv the lips of God!
V e were but a pi,or and powerless race
Till ye wisely sought my aid ;
V < dwelt, like the beasts of the savage chase,
In tlie bloom of the forest shade ;
Where often the nomad yielded his hearth
To the wolf in pale affright,
And the tooth of the lion stained the earth
VV ith the blood of the troglodyte.
How helpless ye saw the descending rain,
The water’s resistless flow,
The frost that seared the verdant plain,
And the blinding drifts of snow !
For you no steer his neck would yield—
No steed your slave would be;
Ye traced no furrows along the field,
No pathways o’er the sea !
The myriad stars came forth at even ;
Tile bow of God was bent,
Inser.bi ig the wondrous laws of heaven,
O er the measureless firmament.
Bright constellations rose and fled,
The fair moon waxed and waned ;
But the record which they nightly spread
Unkown to you remained.
But when some prescient spark of mind
Invaded mj’ lone retreat.
And ye learned tny l’roteus form to bind
And fashion, with fervent heat,
The gleaming sword from the flames leaped out,
And the hook for the golden grain ;
And the air grew vocal with freedom's shout
VV here the tyrants of earth were slain !
Then rose the dome and the lofty tow’er
VV here the groaning forest fell;
And the massive guns looked frowning o’er
The walls of the citadel.
The dizzy and tapering steeple sprung
And flashed in the summer air;
And the pendent bell in the turret swung
Tosuintnon the world to prayer !
Stout ships encountered the howling storms
On the trackless sea secure ;
For I held the fate of their gallant forms,
And my grasp is strong and sure.
’Midst the lightning's gleam and the tempest's roar
They feared not the angry main,
For they cast their trusty anchors o’er,
And laughed at the hurricane.
At my touch the massive column soared,
The graceful arch was thrown !
And forms of beauty the world adored
Rose up in deathless stone.
Ye rivalled the tints of the blushing dawn
With the hues my dust supplied,
Till the humblest work of art has shown
Like the mist by rainbows dj’ed.
I come where the suffciing patient lies
On his couch, all wan and weak ;
And the lustre rtturns to his sunken eyes,
And the bloom to his pallid cheek.
Ye fear not the roar of the thunder loud ;
l r e sleep with the storms around ;
For the bolt I clutch in the threatening cloud
Falls harmless to the ground.
Where I tread, the crooked paths grow straight,
The old hills disappear;
And I draw each distant, hostile State,
In friendly Commerce, near !
Swift through veins by the lightning hurled,
Your thoughts like tlie tempest sweep,
Till know ledge has covered the rolling world,
As the waters have covered the deep.
And soon shall ye see my massive ore,
In many a grander pile
Than ever adorned the Tiber's shore,
Or the banks of the ancient Nile.
Tlie sacred temple shall rear its roof,
The cottage for social glee,
The frowning fortress, thunder-proof,
And the ships of every sea.
Then hurrah ; ye fearless sons of toil!
Your nation’s strength and pride !
May ye reap a harvest of golden spoil
O’er the earth and the ocean wide!
Mav your ponderous hammers ever smite
With the power of the mountain stream ;
Or thunder beneath the earthquake might
That dwells in the arm of steam !
For the Georgia Citizen,
Memory and Hope.
BY JAS. T. ELLS.
Oft at the hour when evening throws
Its gathering shades o’er hill and dale,
When half the scene in twilight glows,
And half in sunlight glories still—
The thought of all that we have been,
And hoped, and feared on life’s long way—
Remembrances of joy and pain—
Came mingling with the close of day.
But, soft o’er each reviving scene
The chast’ning hues of memory spread,
And, smiling each dark thought between,
Hope softens every tear we shed.
Oh, thus, when death’s long night comes on,
And its dark shades around us lie,
May parting beams from memory’s sun
Blend softly in our evening sky.
“ ‘Mf-pniiirat in nil tjingn —llntfntl in noting.”
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 13, 1851.
An Angel (Ker the Right Shoulder,
Or, the Beginning of a Year.
‘A woman’s work is never done,’ said Mrs.
James. T am sure I thought I should get
through by sundown, and here is the lamp, now
on which 1 must go and spend half an hour be
fore it will burn.’
‘Don t you wish you had never been married?’
said Mr. James, with a good-natured laugh.
es,’ rose to Mrs. James’s lips, hut a glance
at her husband aud two little urchins, who, with
sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks, were tumb
ling over him, checked that reply.
‘I should like the good without the evil, if I
could have it,’ she said,
‘I am sure you have no great evils to endure,
replied her husband.
‘That is just all you gentlemen know about
it. llow should you like it if you could not get
an uninterrupted half hour to yourself form
morning to night? What would become of
your favorite studies ?’
‘I do not think there is any need of that. I
know your work could be arranged so systema
tically as to give you some time to your
own.’
‘Well, all I wish is,’ was the reply, ‘that you
could follow me around for one day, and see
what I have to do.’
When the lamp was trimmed the conversation
was resumed. Mr. James had given the subject
some thought.
‘Wife,’ said he, ‘I have a plan to propose,
and wish you to promise me that you will ac
cede to it. It is an experiment, and I wish you
to give it a fair trial to please me.’
After hesitating awhile, as she had great rea
son to suppose it would be quite impracticable,
she at length promised.
‘This is my plan. I want you to take two
hours out of every day for your own private
use. Make a point of going into your room,
and locking yourself in, and let the work go
undone, il it must. Spend this time in this
way most profitable to yourself. Now, I shall
bind you down to your promise for one month;
at the end of that time, if it has proved a total
failure, we will try some other way.
‘When shall I begin ?’
‘To-morrow.’
To morrow came. Mrs. James had selected
the two hours before dinner as the most conve
nient for her; aud as the family dined at one
o’clock, she was to have finished her morning
work, be dressed, and in her room at eleven.—
Hearty as her efforts were to accomplish this,
the appointed hour found her with her work
but half done; yet true to her promise,she re
tired to her room, and turned the key of the
door.
After spending perhaps half an hour in form
ing her plans for study, she drew up her table,
placed her books before her, prepared pen and
paper, and commenced with much enthusiasm.
Scarcely was the pen dipped in ink, when there
was a trampling of little feet along the hall, and
a loud pounding on the chamber door.
‘Mamma, mamma, 1 cannot rind my mittens,
and Frank is going without me, to slide.’
‘Goto Amy, daughter; mamma is busy now.’
‘Amy is busy, too, and says she can’t leave
the baby.’
Upon this the child began to cry. The ea
siest way for Mrs. James to settle the difficulty,
and indeed the only way, was to go and hunt
up the missing articles. Then a parley must
be held with Frank to induce him to wait for
his sister, and the little girl's tears must be
dried, and the little hearts must be set right be
fore the children were sent out to play, and a
little lecture given, too, on the necessity of put
ting things where they belonged. Time slipped
away, and when Mrs. James returned to her
study, her watch told her that one hour was
gone. She quietly resumed her task, and was
getting well under weigh again, when a heavier
step was heard, and her door was once more
tried. Now Mr. James must be admitted.
‘Mary,’ said he, do come and put on a string
for me. There is not a bosom in my drawer in
order. lamina hurry. I ought to have been
down town an hour ago.’
Mrs. James went for her work-basket, and
followed him, the tape was sewed on, then a
button needed fastening, and then a rip in his
glove must be mended.
Mrs. James took his glove,and stitched away
at it with a smile lurking in the corners of her
mouth.
‘What are you laughing at?’ inquired her
husband.
‘To think how famously your plan works,’
replied she.
‘1 declare!’ exclaimed he, ‘was this your study
hour? 1 am sorry, but what can a man do ? he
cannot go down town without a shirt bosom.’
‘Certainly not,’ replied his wife, quietly.
When her liege lord was fairly equipped,
Mrs. James returned to her room again. About
half an hour remained to her, of which she was
determined to make the most. Once more was I
her place found, and her pen dipped in ink, 1
when there was another disturbance in theen
try. Amy had returned with the baby from
his walk. She took him into the nursery to get
him to sleep. Now the only room in the house
where Mrs. James could have fire to herself
was the room adjoining the nursery. The or
dinary noise of the children did not disturb
her, but the very extraordinary one which Mas
ter Charley felt called upon to make, when he
was fairly upon his back in the cradle, was rather
more than could be borne by most mothers
without seriously disturbing the train of their
thoughts. The words of the author rose and
fell with the bawls and screams of the child.
Mrs. James closed her book until the storm
should be overpast. Soon after quiet was re
stored, the children came in from sliding, cry
ing with cold fingers. Just as the dinner bell
rung Mrs. James closed her book in despair.
‘How did you succeed with your studies this
morning ?’ inquired Mr. James.
‘Famously,’ replied Mrs. James. ‘I read about
seventy pages of German, and as many more
of French.’
‘Why, I am sure / did not hinder you long.’
‘Oh, yours was only one of a dozen interrup
tions.’
‘Oh, well, you must not be discouraged. You
cannot expect to succeed the first time. Per
sist in it, until the family learn that if they
want anything of you they must come at some
other time.’
‘But what is a man to do,’ replied lus wife;
‘he cannot go down m town with a string off his
bosom and a rip in his glove.’
‘Well, I was in a bad fix,’ replied Mr. James.
‘I dare say it will not happen again. At any
rate, trv the month out, and see what will come
of it.’
The second day of trial happened to be a
stormy one, and as the morning was very dark,
Bridget overslept herself, and breakfa’st was
one hour late. This last hour Mrs. James could
not recover. Eleven o'clock came, and her morn
ing work was but balf done. With a mind dis
turbed and depressed, she left things in the suds
as they were, and retired punctually to her stu
dy. She found, however, that it was impossi
ble to fix her attention upon any thing which j
required thought. Neglected duties haunted
her as ghosts do the guilty conscience. Finding ‘
she was reallv doing nothing with her books, I
and wishing not to lose the morning wholly, 1
she commenced a letter. Bridget came to her
door before she had written half a page.
‘N\ hiit shall we have for dinner, ina’am?
I here aint no marketing come, and you did not
tell me what to get.’
‘Have some steaks.’
‘We haint got any.’
‘Well, I will send out for some,’
Now, there was no one to send but Amy, and j
| Mrs. James knew it. With a sigh she put
away her letter and went into the nursery.
‘Amy, Mr. James has forgotten the market
ing, I wish you would run over to the provision
store and order some beefsteaks; I will stay
with the baby.’
Amy was none too well pleased to be sent on
this errand. She remarked ‘that she must
change her dress.’
‘Be as quick as possible, then,’ said Mrs.
James, ‘for I am particularly engaged this morn
ing.’
Amy neither obeyed nor disobeyed; but
managed to take her own time in reality, though
without any direct determination to do so.—
Mr. James, thinking she might get along a
sentence or two in the nursery, took her Ger
man book in ; but to this arrangement Charley !
would by no means consent. Mamma must
show him the kitties in the book; whether there !
or not it was all one to Jiipi—but amused he j
must be. Half her second day’s time of trial
was gone, when Amy came in ; and with a sigh J
Mrs. James returned to her room. Before one’
o'clock she had been called down into the kitch
en twice on some important business relating to
the dinner, and for this day not one entire page ■
of a letter had been written,
On the third morning she rose early, made
every provision for dinner aud for the comfort of *
the family which she deemed necessary, and |
elated by success, in good spirits and with good
courage she entered her study precisely at ele-1
ven o'clock. Now she was to have a fine time
of it. ller books were opened and a hard les- !
son summoned to the conflict. Scarcely had ‘
she read a line when she heard the door bell
ring.
•Somebody wants to see you in the parlor,
Mrs. James.’
‘Tell them lam engaged, Bridget.’
T told them you were to home, ma'am, and
they gave me their names,lbut 1 did not exactly
understand.’ T
Mrs. James was obliged fr °p —to when
she felt sober, to be sociawL Jn.cn her’ thoughts
were elsewhere. Her friends, however, seemed
to find her agreeable, for they made a long call;
and when they rose to go, others came. So in
the most unsatisfactory chit-chat all this morn
ing went.
On the next day Mr. James invited company
to tea, and Mrs. James was obliged to give up j
the morning to prepaiing for it, and did not
enter her study. On the day following she was
obliged tp keep her bed with sick headache;
and on Saturday, Amy having extra work to
do, the charge of the baby devolved upon her.
Thus passed the first week.
True to promise, Mrs. James patiently perse
versed for a month in her efforts to secure to
herself this fragment of her broken time, with
what succes the week’s history can tell. With
its close, closed the month of December. Being
particularly occupied on the last day of the old
year in getting ready for the morrow’s festival,
it was near the last hour of the day when she
made good night’s call in the nursery. She
went to the crib to look at the baby; there he
lay fast asleep in his innocence aud beauty. —
j She kissed his rosy cheek gently, and stroked
softly his golden hair, and pressing his little
dimpled hands within hers, she drew the warm
covering more closely around him, carefully
tucking it in, then stealing one more kiss, she
left him to his slumbers, and sat down on her
daughter’s bed. She was also sweetly asleep,
with her dolly hugged close to her. Her mo
ther smiled, but soon it seemed as if graver and
sadder thoughts filled her mind, as indeed they
did. She was thinking of her disappointed
plans. To her, not only the past month, but
the past year, seemed to have been one of fruit
less effort; it seemed to her broken and dis
jointed : even her hours of religious meditation
had been encroached upon and distracted. She
had accomplished nothing that she could see,
but keep her house and family; and to her
saddened thoughts even this seemed to have
been but indifferently done. Yearnings for
; something better than this she was wuscious of;
; unsatisfied longings often clouded an otherwise
bright day for her, and yet all this seemed to
lie in a region dim and misty, which she could
not penetrate.
What did she need then ? To see some of
the results of her work ? To be conscious of
some unity of purpose, some weaving together
of these life-threads, now so broken and single?
She felt, she was quite sure, no desire to
‘shrink from duty,however humble; but she
I sighed for some comforting assurance of what
was duty. Her pursuits, conflicting as they did
with her lastes, seemed to her frivolous. She
felt there was some better way of living, which
she, from want of energy of character or ener
gy of principle, had failed of discovering. As
she leaned over her child, her tears now fell fast
upon that young brow.
How earnestly wished that mother that she
could shield her child from tlie disappointments
and self-reproaches, and mistakes, from which
she was then suffering—that the little one might
take up life where she could give it to hcr,mend
ed bv all ber own experience. It would have
been a great comfort, could she have felt that
she had fought the battle for both. Yet she
knew that it could not be so—that we must qll
learn for ourselves what those things are that
make for our peace. With tears still In her eyes,;
she gave the good night to the child, and with
soft step entered the adjoining room, and there
fairly kissed out the old year on another chub
by cheek which nestled among the pillows —
then she sought her own rest.
Soon she found herself in a singular place.
She was traversing a vast plain. No trees were
visible, save those which skirted the distant
horizon—on their tops rested a wreath of golden
clouds. Before her, travelling towards that dis
tant light, was a female. Little children w’ere
about her, sometimes in her arms and sometimes
at her side. As she journeyed on, she soothed
them when weary—now she taught them how
to travel, and again she warned them of the
pitfall and stumbling blocks in the way. She
helped them over one and taught them to bp
wary of the other. She talked to them of that
golden light which she kept constantly in view,
| and towards which she seemed to be hastening
I with her little flock. But what was most remar
kable, was that, all unknown to her, two golden
1 clouds floated above her, on which reposed two
angels. Before each was a golden book and a
* pen ot gold. One angel, with mild and lov
ing eyes, peered constantly over the right shoul
der, and the other over the left. They followed
lier from the rising to thq setting of the sun.
They watched every word and look, and deed,
no matter how trivial. When it was good, the
angel over the right shoulder, with a glad smile,
wrote it down in his golden book ; when evil,
however trivial, the angel over the left shoulder
j wrote it down in his book. Then he kept his
sorrowful eyes on her until he found penitence
for the evil, upon which he dropped a tear upon
his record, and blotted it out, and both angels
rejoi ced.
To the looker-on it seemed as if the traveler
; did little which was worthy such careful record.
| Sometimes she did but bathe the wearv feet of
her children, and the angel over the right shoul
’ der wrote it down. Sometimes she did but wait
j patiently to lure back some little truant who
I had taken a step in the wrong direction, and
! the angel over the right shoulder wrote it down.
Sometimes, with her eyes fixed upon the golden
horizon, she became so intent upon her own
progress as to let the little pilgrims at her side
languish or stray ; then it was the angel over
the left shoulder who lifted her golden pen and
1 made the entry, and followed her with sorrow
ing eyes, seeking to blot it out. If wishing to
| hasten on her journey, she left the little ones
j behind, it was the sorrowing angel who record
ed her progress.
Now the observer felt, as she looked on, that
; this was a faithful record, and was to be kept to
that journey’s end. Those strong clasps of gold
on those golden books, also impressed her with
the belief that they were to be sealed for a fu
ture opening. Her sympathies were warmly
excited for the traveller, and with a heating
heart she quickened her steps that she might
overtake her and tell her what she had seen and
entreat her to be watchful, and faithful, aud
patient to the end,in her life’s work; for she
had herself seen that its results would all be
known when those golden books should be un
clasped—that she must not think any duty
which it fell in her way to do. trivial, for surely
there was an angel over her right shoulderor one
over her left, who would record it all.
Eager to warn her of this, she gently touched
her. The traveller turned, and she recognized
or seemed to recognize— herself! Startled and
alarmed, she awoke and found herself in tears.
The grey light of morning struggled strougL
the half open shutter, the door was ajar, aud
merry laces were peeping in.
‘Wish you a happy new year, mamma—wish
you a happy new year!’
She returned the merry greeting, heartilv.
She seemed to have entered on anew existence,
she had found her way through the mass
where she had been entangled, and light was
now about her path. The angel over the right
shoulder, whom she had seen in her dream, had
assured her that her life work was bound up in
that golden book, that its final results would be
known —had assured her what was duty. Now
she saw plainly enough, what she had not seen
before, that while it was right and important for
her to cultivate, as far as she could, her own
mind and heart, it was equally right and equal
ly important for her to perform faithfully all
those little household duties and cares on which
the comfort and virtue of her family depended
—they had acquired anew dignity from the re
cords of that golden pen, and they could not
be neglected without danger.
Sad thoughts and misgivings, and ungratified
longings, seemed all to have taken their flight
with the old year; and it was with anew reso
lution, and a cheerful hope, and a happy heart,
that she welcomed the new year.
Literature of the Bible.
No more convincing proof of a defective
taste can be given than an indifference or want
of familiarity with the Literature of the Bible.
Waiving its higher and awful claims to our re
verence, and considering it merely as a produc
tion of the human intellect, uninspired, save
with Promethean fire, the Book of hooks com
mands the attention of the critic and of the
general reader. Few educated men would wil
lingly confess ignorance cf Slinkspeare, or of
Milton, or of Voltaire, or of Burns ; yet bow
many not only admit, but rather boast, us their
want of familiarity with the volume from
which most of them, especially the greatest of
them all, drew so largely! There are few of
our readers, we may presume, who have not
heard persons, particularly young men, while
admitting their possession of the Bible, pro
claim rather vauntingly than otherwise, that
they had never read it. The man who makes
such a declaration is either destitute of the re
finement to appreciate, or ignorant of the su
perior merits of the work he undervalues and
neglects. No one capable of giving an intelli
gent opinion will fail in admiration of the
grandeur of the Hebrew poets. The terrible
sublimity of Isaiah, the stern boldness of Eze
kiel, the imposing simplicity of Job, and noble
dignity of Paul, alike enforce the respect of the
scholar and the student of rhetoric.
We have frequently thought of extracting
from Shakspeare and Milton the passages taken
partially or literally from the Bible. Those in
timately acquainted with both will us bear wit
ness that these passages are neither rare nor in
significant. Some of the finest apostrophes in
both are borrowed from that splendid treasure
house of eloquence and poetry—the English
translation of the Bible.
Our object, at present, is to impress upon our
youthful readers, those who are still pupils in
the study of their own language, the vital ne
cessity of looking to the Bible as a model for
; purity of style and language.
No language contains a more impressive or
| touching invocation to patriotism, than the
! 137th Psalm, commencing, ‘When I forget
’ thee, oh, Jerusalem ” etc. The introductory
passages of the Psalm are equally remarkable,
alluding as they do to the unhappy condition
| and subjugation of the inspired poet’s country.
One might almost be tempted to believe that
the Anglo-Saxon translators of the Scriptures
participated in the inspiration which dictated
the original text. Various in style and tone,
as diversified in topics, there is preserved
throughout the version in our language a gee- 1
eral resemblance, which without sinking the
individuality of any single prophet or apostle,
identifies them all as belonging to one great
family of genius, isolated from all otheis, as
much by their power as by the awe-inspiring
subjects of which they wrote.
One decisive proof of the excellence of the
translation in the English language, as execu
ted under the auspices of King James, is the
fact that, although many of the most gifted,
learned, and eloquent men, have paraphrased
portions of the Bible, or endeavored to mod
ernize its phraseology, they have all failed in
rendering their versions equal or even ap
proaching in excellence the homely English of
their model. Indeed it may be taken as now
an established principle that even the llletiicai
construction of portions of the inspired writings
are good, precisely in proportion as they apt
proximate to the actual language of the text.
Thus the version of the psalms by ‘good old
Roush,’quaint and bold as his manner is, has
given more universal satisfaction than has any
other writer of his class, from the reason that
even at the expense of rhyme and euphony, he
has adhered with scrupulousness to the
al language. One is inclined to smile some-
times at the gravity with which the worthy
author occasionally mutilates the poetry of Da
vid, but where be dues so, bis very anxiety to
keep close to his text, is so apparent as to re
deem his faults.
“By Babel's stream we sat and wept,
When Zion we thought on,”
is it true, rather foreign to the stately magni
ficence Qt the Royal Bard, but in innumerable
other passages, the beauty of the psalms and the
freedom of their movement, is, we might al
most say, improved, rather than injured, by the
fetters of metre. For instance, is. it possible
to read and not be impressed with the fine para
phrase :
“ The Lord’s my Shepherd, Fll not want,
lie makes me down to lie.
In pastures green ; and L-adeth me
The pleasant waters by.’’
But we fear that we have followed what is a
favorite subject with us so far as to run the risk
of wearying tlie patience of our readers. This
however, we wouid willingly incur, if we could
contribute ever so slightly in fostering a taste
tor Bihical studies, for we are well convinced
that no where else can be found a model of
such commanding excellence.
In human compositions, human error min
gles with the loftiest flights of genius; and in
the splendors of imagination, the small, dark
cloud of immortality is too often lost sight of,
though present. But in the Bible there is no
alloy. To the profound teachings of philoso
phy and the gorgeous colorings of the most
magnificent poetry, it adds the rigid fidelity of
history and the dictates of divine morality.
There have been many men who have labor
ed to convince themselves as well as others of
the fabulous character of the Scriptures ; yet,
perhaps—nay, certainly, none of them after
once reading it and weighing its language, was
ever able to entirely free himself of a reverence
for its instruction. Thus, while it has been as
sailed vehemently by those whose voice it con
demned, it has asserted its eway over the con
sciences even of its enemies, whose writings
bore unwilling, perhaps unconscious testimony
to its spotless truth.
We do not desire to be misapprehended—we
trust we are as far removed from the shame of
hypocrisy, as we certainly have small right to
lecture others upon a rigid observance of the
maxims of the Scriptures. We have spoke of
the Bible as a work of the human intellect, be
cause we believe that, even in that aspect, so
infinitely below what it justly demands, it is
worthy of patient and laborious study, and of
enthusiastic admiration. When leisure or oc
casion suit, we may recur to the subject,
haps more in detail, unless, indeed, our hum
ble attempt may induce some more competent
person to follow more regularly than we have
done, a theme so exhaustless.
From the National Intelligencer.
Another Letter from Major Downing.
Downingtiile, down East in the State of Maine.
Nov. 24, 1851.
The Downingville Platform.
Mr. Gales and Seaton: —Since my Jotter to
you two or three weeks ago, I’ve had another
long talk with Uncle Joshua about the rickety
consarn of our politics all over the country,
and about contnvin anew platform to stand
on. Uncle Joshua takes hold of tlie business
like an old apostle of Liberty. He says some
thing must be done, or we are a gone-goose
people ; we can t never get along in this way
split up into twenty parties, and etery one
lighten agin all the rest. When we did’nt use
to have but two parties, he says, one or totner
most always stood a chance to beat, and they
that was’nt beat could take command of the
ship, and trim the sails as they thought best,
and man the helm and keep her moving on
the voyage. But now it’s one agjn ninteen
every where all over the country, and if the
good old ship did’nt get ashore in the squable,
oi; run on the rocks somewhere, it must be a
maracle that’ll save her.
‘Ye see Major,’ says Uncle Joshua, ‘we must
malgarnate these twetny parties into two par
ties agin, somehow or other. I can’t exactly see
yet how to do it; but the thing must be done,
or I say its gone-goose with us. All parties al
ways run out after a while and have to begin
anew. It can’t be helpt; it’s the nater of the
thing. All crops will run out if you keep’em
too long in the same field ; and when you find
the land don't bear hardly anything but weeds,
it’s best way to change tlie crop at once. It
was so with the two first old parties, the Feder
alists and Republicans ; they had somet -ing
to fight about and keep ’ra alive for some years.
One was afraid the Federal Government was’ut
strong enough to get along well, and t’other
was afraid it was too strong. And so they fit
that battle out year after year, till at last they
got used to tlie working of the Government,
and found it did nt want any tinkerin either
way. And so they left oft’ fightin, excccpt a
little once in awhile for the fun of it; and the
two parties begun to be sociable alike, to talk
together across from one rank J;q t’other, and
was’nt afraid to come up so near as to r. ach a
chew of tobacco across to one another, on the
pint of the baganut. At last they got kind of
mixed up like, and some went one side and
some t’other, and forgot which side they be
longed. And so when Mr. Monroe come and
looked round to see how the ranks stood, his
first words were, ‘ Why, fact , what Jefferson
once 6aid, we an all Federalists, we are ell Re
publicans , has come to pass ! And here the
first two old parties died out, and new ones
sprouted up and took their places.’
Here Uncle Joshua got up and went to the
fire and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and
put in u little more tobacco, and sot down
again.
‘W ell, now Major,’ says he, ‘its been jest so
with the last two great parties, the Whigs and
Democrats. As long as they have any thing
to light about they could keep their ranks
straightened and tell who was who, and they
did do it tor a good many years. One wanted a
great National Bank, and t'other didn’t; one
wanted a very high tariff; and t’other wanted
a very low tariff; one wanted to d/ive ahead,
like all possess'd, with making roads and canals
and alike, and t’other didn't want to go a step
that way. And so they drew the lines and tit
it out. How long and how hard they fit I
needu t tell you, Major, for you and Gineral
Jack>oll Had a hand in it, and know all about
W ell, arter a while hutli parties found out they
could do as well without a great National Bank
s they could with one. tso they dropped that
quarrel. Then some of them thaP wanted a
very high tariff begun to think they had pitched
it rather too high, and were willing to take one
considerable lower. And some of them that
wanted a very low tariff begiju to think, and to
feel too, that they had pitched it too low, and
begged tor one considerable higher. So tin*
Jig wan up about any more party fightin on
that spore. \\ ell, as for roads and canals, eve
ry body found out at last that them sort of
things would go ahead any how, partv or no
party, and it was no sort of use to fight agin'em.
So here was the end on’t. The old parties
have had their day • and tell you, Major, they
are both as dead as herrin ; they’ve died a na
teral death,’
‘\\ hy L ncle Joshua, says I, ‘it sepuis to mq
you are getting wild. Do you say the old par
ties are dead .- Why ain’t Whigs and Demo
crats in every body’s mouth from mornin till
night? Haven t we got W’hig parties and
Democrat parties from one end of the country
to t'other ‘{ Don’t we every day hear of Whie
meetings and Democrat meetings in all tnl
States * IJavn t Mr. Donaldson and Green got
things all cut and dried for a Democrat Balti
more Convention to nominate a President ? And
ain’t the W big papers all the time tallvitg
about a national convention to nominate a
President on their side ? Then how can vog
say the W hig and Democrat parties are dead ?’
Ifere Uncle Joshua laid his pipe down, and
I see he was in arnest; and Aunt Keziali laid her
nittin work down, for she see he \ya§ in arnesi
too. And Uncle Joshua turned round to mej
and says lie, ‘Major, / tell you the old Whip
and Democrat parties arc as dead as tap ofd
stumps.’ I heir names may he alive yet, and some’
folks may think for a good while to come that
they are fightin agin the Whig party or agin
ihe Democrat party, jest as Mr. Ritchie thought
lie was fighting agin the old Federal party for
more than twenty years arter they was “all dead.
But what signifies the names when the Hie is
goue \ Ihe two parlies can't never be straight
ened out into a line agin and fight each other as
they used to. hoiks may keep mumbling the
names over, but the VI big and Democrat parDr
are dead and gone and dried up, and about
twenty parties have sprouted up to take their
places. This is the reason why some Whig
States now days choose Democrats for Govern
ors, and some Democrat States choose Whigs
tor Governors, and some whig papers take sides
with Democrats, and some Democrat papers
take sides with whigs. It's all notion else but
jest the crowdin of these twenty voungsproutin
parties to see which shall get the most ashes
qut of the two old stumps to spread round
their own roots to make'em grow and overtop*
the rest.
‘Now suppose some folks,’ says he, ‘thinkin
the whig and democrat parties was alive yet,
should go ahead and call the national conven
tions as they used to, and should let no body
in but jest the two old parties, and nominate
their Presidents on the two old whig and dtmo-
CJat platforms. Eacli party would then have
jest about nineteen fightiu agin ’em,
and nobody would stand any chance to choose
a President. There would be the Union whigs,
and the abolition whigs, and the Union demo
crats, and the Silver gray whigs, and the wool
ly-headed whigs, and the Hunker democrats,
and the Barnburner democrats, and the Seward
party, and Union Safety Committee party,
the old Abolition party, and the regular Free*
sile party, and the regular Vote-Yoursdf-a-
Farin party, and the old Secession party, and
the Co-operation secessionists, and the Out
and-out unqualified go-alone Secessionists, all
in the field and every one fightin oil their own
book. If any body can tell where a snip ig
likely to go to when the crew is in mutiny and
nobody at the helm, they can guess where we
shall be likely to go to if things go on tbig
way.’
• ‘Well,’ says I, ‘ L nele Josh pa, accordin to
your account, I think we are in a pickle.’
‘That's what we be,’ $ Lepand there’s
nothin w ill get us out of it but to go back to
tbe old fashion of two parties agin. These
twenty parties must be malgamated down in
to two parties, and we inusfc hegju anew, get on
to anew platform, and go ahead. But how
it’s to be done puzzles me and worries me a
good deal. I wish, Major, you would set your
wits to work and see if you can’t contrive some
plan.’
‘Well, Uncle Joshua,’ says J, ‘i never got so
fur into tbe woods yet but what I found the
way out agin; and I don’t see any difficulty
here. It seems to me the road out is jest as
plain as the road to mill-’
At tiiat Uncle Joshua gin me 3 slap or* the
shoulder that e'en amosr. fetched me over, and
says he, ‘ Mnjor that makes me feel as if a flash
of lightening went through me. If any body
else had saiJ it. I should say ’was all humburg j
but if you say it I believe it. Now in the name
of Old Hickory, do go to work and show us
the way out of the woods.’
‘Well,’says I, ‘uneje, I don’t think we cau,
malgamate the twenty parties down into two,
but l think we can sift em out into two parties
and make clean square work of it. In the first
place, we must get a principle to fight about,
for you've jest proved that that's the whole
life of parlies; and the greater the principle
is, the straighter will the parties draw the line ,
and the harder they'll sighs. Now, let us go
right to work and hew out anew platform that
shall reach dear from Maine to t’other end of
Texas, and from York to California, and
run up our flag on it, with letters large enough
for all to read—
The Union and the Constitution, xaw and
forever.
Then we’ll call out to the twenty parties and
NO. 37