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VOLUME IV.
THS GEORGIA CITxZEI'J,
A FAMILY NEWSPAPER,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
L p W. ANDREWS, Editor and Proprietor.
+•-
TERMS- $- PER ANXI MIX AT)\ AXCE.
From the Christian Advocate.
sabbath morning hymn.
A ,>—Rossbac’s Dream.
.< let mv application come before thee.”
- 11 Psalm CAIA: BRiB 170.
dud of mercy! help thy servant,
Listen to rav heart-felt prayer,
Train that heart to love more fervent,
Cleanse it from all sinful fear.
To tliv throne I haste with gladness—
!u thv brightness draw thee near,
Cha-v each anxious cloud of sadness:
■Saviour! listen to my prayer.
Haste and help me to adore thee,
In the fulness of thy grace
Set thy righteous laws before me,,
Lei ’me with thy Saint* take place.
Grd of me rev! God of power!
••(iod of Beauty,” draw thee near,
Let me love thee more each hour;
Saviour! listen to my prayer.
When upon thy sacred altar,
Tremblingly my heart I lay,
L't me not with “ vain fears ” falter,
Let thv light shine bright as day:
When that heart’s by thee glanced over,
Let each inmost thought appear,
Every secret wish discover:
Saviour! listen to my prayer.
When in hours of tribulation,
At thy throne, O, God! 1 mourn,
Grant me strength to breast temptation,
That thy chastening may he borne.
Let mv soul rejoice before thee,
Kiv'nr ’tis Thee that draweth near.
Peel thy watchful eye cast o’er me :
■Saviour! listen to my prayer,
When my song shall swell before thee,
When my grateful voice I raise
Let each strain proclaim Thv glory,
Lift mv heart to sing Thy praise.
Clod! the God of my Salvation,
God of Glory! draw thee near,
Pour thy light o’er all creation:
Saviour! listen to my prayer.
N’icoi.sxb Dory aa.
From the X?w York Christian Inquirer.
A Death Bed.
We have lately received from Berlin a beau
tiful tribute to the memory of August Xean
hier. The pamphlet, in itself a remarkable
-ychnen of printing, contains a sketch of the
theologian's hist hours, by“one of his students,
under the title of Neander’s Heimgang, a Go
iiigliom, which is followed by the addresses
lna.l:.* at the house, the grave, and r/bawards
at the University, by Drs. Strauss, Kruinma
clier and Xitsch. Taken together, these vari
ous papers define Xeander’s position and char
acter adtniruldv, and Liiug near OUT heaito a
man who has always commanded our admira
tion.
lie was one of the most catholic spirits
run >:ig the h a ling theologians of our time,
ami gave liiniodf without reserve to the pur
suit of Christian truth. In the sphere of
Church History, he was the elect minister of
reconciliation. Alike by bis personal experi
ence and his turn of mind, he seems to have
hen especially called to fulfil this office. In
his own experience lie pursed through the three
great stages of faith in bis historical develoji
’a nt. First a Jew, then a philosophical spir
itualist, at last a Christian, his was an epitome
hf the ages of human progress, and beginning
I with Moses, ae passed through the school of
s antes and Plato to the feet of Christ. Di
hitie Providence thus taught him to reconcile
-iXv—ons of ages, and to teach men that He
brew law and Greek philosophy were but lier
u!Js"t the Christian gospel, to lead the mind
10 Uhn who is the perfect Righteousness, and
the true Light.
the circumstances of his death were very
expressive and affecting. The incidents, which
” have never before seen in print, we learned
Cun the publication that has just come from
C riin. His health had been failing for some
time, and he was so feeble that,lie was led to
hh lecture room by his sister or some friend,
hi the middle of the week before Jiis death,
Cs Voice tailed him at the University —yet on
-’’caching home he insisted on following his
‘’ ia! work, and in the afternoon dictated for
- lre e hours to an amanuensis. Only bv tliegen
t,j: ‘tramt of Lis sister, who since his moth
■'’ death had charge of his house, could he
ill umed to give up work a*d .resign himself
lMa t “as now apparently inevitable. Al-
J most tainting upon his bed, lie still talked of
1 id tnpics dearest to him, and insisted on
-ing a theological student who was going to
<l ‘ er y distant post.
■Nifirday evening lie desired to go into his
“ ” r - v 011ee more, the pleasant sunny room
“a- re ibr so many years he had labored among
Utasuies to him dearer than gold. The phy
■ bin seeing that resistance might only disturb
‘i'n more, favored his humor, and the theolo
s‘ iii looked upon his books again, and to the
•■urpiiseof all, rose from the cushions and bo
vU a lecture on the New Testament—then
: ,: f ‘ of his plans for the next term, especially
-’-'Ctures upon the Gospel of St. John,
jCit disciple whose absorbing love for Christ
1 N > deeply shared. Lastly, he passed to his
- Ul -i history, and with mind perfectly clear,
ltl dictating at the exact passage where he
‘‘•l before left oft', and spoke with his usual
! rality- of the worthy elements in the mys
'* the latter Church. Overcome, he asked
” !r , and said, “I am tired. I must go to
!'■ Supported by his friends to his bed,
” breathed out gently his “ Good night,” and
“ lllk lnto a sleep which soon became death.
[ ‘ vas Sunday then, and the Christians of
l “- city thought with solemn joy that the
lla n, whose learning, piety and charity had
’ J ‘boir treasure, passed from the world on
1 d' l } hallowed bv the Saviour’s resurrec
tion.
bus passed away a man in himself a wit
°t God, and an interpreter of the great
‘T I A of witnesses of every age. Such men
J 1
our century with all the pressure of its materi
al interest, possesses, and their voices we are to
hear more reverently than anv of the voices of
the world. They are champions of progress,
upward as well as onward, representatives of
the Divine government which preceded earthly
things, and which must rule when these pass
away. God gives them to us and blesses us in
the gift.
The scholar may be a hero, and his death
bed may be as heroic as the soldier’s, and no
bler by far. Honor to the man whose life and
death alike prove his devotion to Christ and
the Church.
IBM I
Is Religion Beautiful.
Always J In the child, the maiden, the wife,
the mother, religion shines with a holy, benig
nant beauty of its own, which nothing of earth
can mar. Never yet was the female character
perfect without the steady faith of piety. —
Beauty, intellect, wealth! they are like pit falls,
dark in the brightest day, unless the divine
light, unless religion throws her soft beams
around them, to purify and exalt, making twice
glorious that which seemed all loveliness be
fore.
Religion is very beautiful —in health or sick
ness, in wealth or poverty. We never enter
the sick chamber of the good, but soft music
seems to float on the air, and the burden of
their song is, “ Lo ! peace is here.”
Could we look into thousands of families to
day where discontent sits fighting sullenly with
life, we should find the chief cause of unhap
piness, want of religion in woman.
And in felons 1 eelis—in places of crime,
misery destitution, ignorance—we should be
hold in all its most horrible deformity, the fruit
of irreligion in woman.
Oh, religion! benignant majesty, high on
thy throne thou sittest, glorious and exalted.
Xot above the clouds, for earth-clouds come
never between thee and the truly pious soul—
not beneath the clouds, far above thee is heav
en, opening through a broad vista of exceeding
beauty.
Its gates in the splendor of jasper and pre
cious stones, white with a dewy light that nei
ther flashes nor blazes, but steadily proceedetli
from the throne of God. Its towers bathed in
refulgent glory ten times the brightness of ten
thousand suns, yet soft, undazzling to the eye.
And there religion points. Art thou weary ?
it whispers, “ rest—up there—forever.” Art
thou sorrowing l ‘ eternal joy. 1 Art thou weigh
ed down with unmerited ignominy ? “'kings
and priests in that holy home.” Art thou poor ?
“ the very street before the mansion shall be
gold.” Art thou friendless ? “ the angels shall
be thy companions, and God thy friend and
Father.”
Is religion beautiful ? Y\ e answer, all is des
olation and deformity where religion is not.
stlisccHann.
Th3 Jones Family,
OH, AN ESTIMATE OF MONEY.
It is sheer nonsense to contend that money
does nothing towards raising a man’s respecta
bility in the world. Enough of this theory
was verified in the Jones family. Jacob Jones
was a poor thriftless man, with a large family
who were put to great straits to get along de
cently, and every body knew it; yet nobody
knew anything against them but their poverty,
lie was a sensible man, well versed in politics,
and could make as handsome a speech as ’Squire
Driver, in any town meeting or Freehold : but
then it was only ‘Jake Jones, the man who
wasn’t worth a cent in the world.’ He might
have held important offices in the militia, or
been one of the selectmen, but he was so poor
he was entirely overlooked.
Besides, this poverty was a great disadvant
age to the family. The girls were always held
below par in consequence of their being brought
up in an obscure way j and Mrs. Jones, their
mother, never attained to any office in the sew
ing circle or any charitable fair, simply be
cause she .could not mingle with the aristocra
cy. Yet she was acknowledged to be a sensi
ble woman, and every one pitied her because
she was so poor.
The Jones girls never had a fair position in
society, or they would have appeared as well as
many others. They were marked as ‘slab-sided
gawkv girls,’ with whom mothers evidently
preferred their daughters should have but little
intercourse, and they more especially feared
lest their sons should be attracted by their
faces, for they were pretty, notwithstanding
their poverty; and Mrs. Driver herself declared,
•if they only had money, they would appear as
well as any ladies in town;’ but as it was, they
were only known as ‘Jake Jones’s daughters,
who lived in the small red house under the hill.
But Mrs. Jones was descended from English
stock. She used to say, if she only had mo
ney to travel, she had no doubt but she could
find out her pedigree; but this ah went for
‘smart talk,’ until one day the public journal
announced that ‘the heirs of Lucretia Seldon, if
living, might hear of something to their ad
vantage by calling at street, No. 9.’—
Mrs. Jones was a Seldon, and her mother’s
name was Lucretia —if so, a property of 870,-
000 was their due from a bachelor uncle as be
quest to the heir of his sister; and Jlrs. Jones
was her only child. It was she without mis
take.
It would have been a curious chapter to have
noted down the sayings of their old acquain
tances when it was noised abroad that the
Jones’ had such a fortune. Mrs. Smith said,
‘she always thought there was something
“INDEPENDENT IN ALL THINGS—NEUTRAL IN NOTHING.”
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 30, 1853.
above the commonality in Mrs. Jones, for her
part she had always been sociable with her,
and treated her lady-like.’ ‘But, mother,’ said
Sophia, ‘you did warn me against associating
with her daughters. You know you said they
were awkward, uncouth girls.’ ‘But, my dear,
it is not so, they are in reality very genteel, ac
complished young ladies, and I have no objec
tion at all to your visiting them, especially as
such a good fortune has happened to them.*
Jacob Jones soon set up a rich style of liv
ing. He built an elegant house, kept his car
riage, hired servants, received a commission
from the Governor as justice of the peace ; the
next year was first selectman of the town; and
Dr. Bond eloquently urged his claims as Rep
resentative to the General Court, affirming
with great emphasis that ‘he knew no man in
town better calculated to represent its interests
than Squire Jones.’ This was the same man
who bolted out of meeting rather than hear
‘old Jake Jones talk,’ a little more than a year
ago I
And no\v the society of the Misses Jones was
courted. ‘Thomas, Richard, Henry,’ the moth
er used to say, ‘if you are going to a concert
or a lecture, why don’t you invite Cary or So
phia Jones to go with you ! They are sweet,
pretty girls, and you would do well if you could
push your way there. The Squire, they say,
is worth full seventy thousand, and that divi
ded makes his four girls and son independent.
They were no longer the slab-sided greenies,
but the tall, graceful, handsome girls, who were
dressed beautifully, and conversed as sensibly.
Did’nt the Jones's laugh behind the door as
they contrasted the present with the past —
Then there was Micajah Jones, who used to
play the big fiddle in the church, known only
in those days as‘Cage, the fiddler;’but since
he had procured a handsome house organ, and
had contributed largely for one in the church,
lie had assumed the cognomen of‘Mr. Jones,
our exquisite performer and organist—son of
Squire Jones, the gentleman who received such
a large fortune from England.’ The girls were
all ready to set in the choir now, without cry
ing, the organist was a noble f How, and was’nt
it a treat to borrow bis quizzing glass, to look
at the strangers, who happened to enter into
the church ?
Bye and bye there was anew event talked
about, for the affairs of Jones were now the all
engrossing topic. Sophia was thought to be
engaged to Mr. Tymphony, the village store
keeper. Nobody was certain of the fact. Yet
every one knew it must turn out an engage
ment; and it was the thought that his ‘variety
store’ was enlarged with a view upon the
Squire’s purse, when sudd’ nly Mr. Linker from
the South, a wealthy cotton planter, carried her
away at ten days notice, where slaves come to
her beck and call, to do as she bids.
Another was soon after married to a specu
lator, who lived like a nabob, gave large enter
tainments, bought a summer residence in Free
hold, and made it a perfect Paradise. Every
one of the daughters ‘married well,’ as the
phrase is, and never wanted for the warmest
friends and admirers.
The Squire and his lady now occupy the
broad aisle of the Episcopal Church, and the
bishop and rector always consult with him re
specting church matters. lie is the father of
the town, and marries more couples than the
minister, because people are pleased to have
the knot tied in such elegant drawing rooms,
and Mrs. Jones invariably orders a glass of
wine and a basket of cake at the ceremony.
Cloves, the barber, lives rent free in the small
red house they occupied in the days of their
poverty.
The Squire remembers he used to shave him
for nothing when his pockets were empty, and
he follows the golden rule. Mrs. Jones had
made several donations to her former milliner,
and a poor woman who used to do her spring
and fall sewing; and notone of the family have
assumed a purse proud air, since they came in
possession of their property. Consequently they
are deservedly respected, and show plainly that
they have common sense as a regulating me
dium, since they cast no reflections upon the
former inattentions of people in their days of
poverty, which is an infallible method to make
them feel that although money changed them
in the estimate of others, the genuine merit in
themselves remains unchanged. Yet, all the
while, they are as conscious as others that mo
ney alone gave them their present position in
society.
* It’s No t’oßcru of Muse* ”
As I was passing through Nassau street, not
long ago, on the way to my office, I found my
progress somewhat obstructed by sundry nui
sances on the sidewalk. If I recollect aright,
some persons were building a sewer in the
street, and, as is often the case in such circum
stances, these persons were less careful for the
interests of the passers-by than for their own
interests. For some reason or otiter—no mat
ter what that reason was—they had placed a
wide board on the sidewalk, which was sup
ported at each end by a joist some four or five
inches thick. Now it so happened that this
board was not confined to the joist, and more
over, that it projected so far at one end, that
when a person stepped upon it, it lifted up the
other end, thus endangering the limbs of an
other person who might be approaching it in
the opposite direction. I saw one man hurt in
this way. So I asked a gentleman —ifgentleman
he was who showed such an uugentle spirit —
standing in front of tfie door of his shop near
by, to give me a hammer and a couple of nails,
that I might confine the ends of this board, and
thus prevent another accident similar to the one
which had just occurred. ‘ I’ll do no such
thing, 1 said the man, gruffly, ‘ it’s no concern
of mine. ’
I have thought a good deal of that remark
since it fell upon my ear, and I have made up
my mind that nothing could have dictated it
but a very selfish spirit. And yet lam afraid
that this spirit is too common among mankind.
‘lt’s no concern of mine.’ How often we see
people act in accordance with this notion, in
in some such circumstances as those which 1
have recited ! But, dear reader, is it no con
cern of a man, when he sees a danger threaten
ed to his neighbor, to help that neighbor, es
pecially when he can do so with very little
trouble ? 1 tell you the Bible does’nt teach
any such doctrine as the Aassau street man
advanced. It says, ‘Look not every man on
his own things, hut on the tilings of others.’—
It tells us to be sure, of a certain priest who
passed by a man that was lying wounded and
half dead, because that man’s troubles were no
concern of his, and it tells us, too, of a Levite
who did pretty much the same thing; hut as
nearly as I can recollect, it does’nt compliment
either the priest or the Levite very highly.
‘lt’s no concern of mine,’ says the man who
is selling gin to the poor drunkard; ‘it’s no
concern of mine.’ But is it no concern of his?
He knows that that man, who has just walked
out of his store with a bottle in his hand, will
get drunk on its contents, lie kn.oivs it. He
knows, too, or at any rate, lie lias good reason
to think, that there is a poor family not far off,
who are suffering for want of the money which
bought this gin; that the liquor will make a
madman of that father, and that, under its in
fluence, he will go home and make his wife and
children wretched. Then is it no concern of
the man who measures out the liquor, fills the
bottle, and puts the money in his drawer ?
Will the Judge of that man, in the last great
day, accept of such an apology from the dead?
‘lt’s no concern of mine,’ an apothecary might
say, while in the act of selling the most deadly
poison in his shop, to a man who he knew was
weary of the world, and was going to commit
suicide. But is it no concern of that apothe
cary ? Would he dare use such language at
the bar of his Maker?
‘lt’s no concern of mine,’ people sometimes
sav, as they sit in their splendid parlors, sur
rounded with wealth and luxury, when they
hear of suffering and wretchedness going on all
around them. But is it, no concern of theirs ?
Is their not,in this remark somewhat of the sel
fishness of the priest and the Levite, who ‘pass
ed by on the other side,’ having more pressing
business on hand than bestowing their sympa
thies on a stranger, though dying for want of
their care?— Youth's Cabinet.
Iloiitlj .s Department.
The Basket of Strawberries.
FROM THE FRENCH.
On the beautiful avenue which leads from
Paris to llasrnolet, is a f lilonttmt Louse uallu.l
the Hermitage, whose front gate opens upon
| the maiu road. It was in the middle of May,
when this beautiful country produces the first
strawberries which appear in the capital.
Laura, the daughter of a Paris Banker, w ho
lived in the Hermitage, stood at the gate one
night alone, aud amused herself with reckon
ing up what she had saved from the monthly
allowance with which her father supplied her.
As she was forming a thousand plans about
the disposal of a iouis, (about five dollars)
which she had been several months in accuniu
i bating, she heard a cry of grief, and turning
i round beheld a young girl without shoes or
stockings, whose foot had just slipped, and
■ who, in falling, had scattered on the ground
several baskets of strawberries, which she was
-carrying upon her head. Tears flowed abun
dantly down the cheeks of Bahct, (for this was
her name.) She cried in atone of despair:—
‘ How unfortunate lam 1 just entered the
service of Jean Pierre, the first time that 1 went
i to gather fruit in his garden, I am unlucky
enough to lose the product of his care and labor.
1 cannot repay him; he will send me from
him; perhaps spread the report that I am not
to he trusted. My poor mother, who depends
on me alone for support, oh, my poor mother!
what xvi 11 become of you ?’
Babet, hastily gathered up the few strawber
ries which remained uninjured, with which she
could scarcely fill one basket. The rest had
been crushed by her fall, and mixed with dust.
Those touching words, ‘My poor mother!
what will become of you ?’ went to Laura’s
heart. ‘Yeung girl,’ said she, beckoning her
to come towards her, ‘how much were those
baskets of strawberries worth, whose loss you
so much regret V
‘Alas! my beautiful young lady, out of six,
but one remains; five, at four francs apiece,
that makes —’
She began to count her lingers.
‘Twenty francs,’ said Laura.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ rejoined Babet. ‘lt is more
than I could earn in two months; what shall
I do? Oh, my poor mother! what will become
of you ?’
‘Well!’ said Laura, opening the gate, ‘trust
to me, young girl, and I will repay the loss you
have just met with. Give me the remaining
basket, and take this louis; it is just the price
you would have got for the six. Tell your
master you have sold the whole to the family
at the Hermitage; in this way no harm will
come to you; you will still he the support of
your mother, and I shall have made a good
use of my little savings.’
Babet with glad surprise, handed Laura her
last basket of strawberries. She kissed the hands
of lier benefactress, and took her way back to the
village. Laura, on her side, happy and proud
of having made such a good use of money, car
ried the precious basket into her chamber, pro
posing to eat the strawberries so rightfully hers,
and to increase the merit of her good action by
keeping it a secret from all.
Laura’s father had seen from the lattice of
his chamber all that passed. Following his
daughter with his eyes, he saw her carrying
the basket secretly into her chamber. After
she had gone down stairs, he slipped into her
room, took the basket, aud soon after rejoined
her in the sitting room, where she and her
mother were sewing. He told them that a
number of his frieuds would dine with them
the next day; among them, he said, were some
persons of distinction, and lie wished the enter
tainment to be as splendid as the company
would be brilliant
Soon after, Laura visited her chamber to look
at her precious basket, and eat some of the
strawberries which appeared the best she had
ever seen. But what was her surprise to find
them gone ! She searched for them anxiously,
put indirect questions to the servants, but no
one knew what she meant ; her father alone,
enjoyed her amiable embarrassment
The next day a large number of guests as
sembled. A sumptuous dessert was spread be
fore them. Every luxury that could he im
agined was present —-the rarest sweetmeats,
luscious pine-apples, beautiful pyramids of limits
of all kinds; hut every one remarked with
surprise that there were no strawberries, so
sought after at this season. Laura’s mother,
surprised like every one else, that her direc
tions had’nt been followed, was about to re
proach the servant who had charge of this du
ty, when he came forward and deposited in
the centre of the table, the precious basket of
Laura. She could not help uttering a cry of
joy, when she saw it, and the blush which im
mediately overspread, showed that this basket
was connected with some mystery. Her lath
er then related the incident to which he had
been a witness.
‘1 thought,’ said he, ‘that I could not offer to
my friends, to my guests, any strawberries hut
these; 1 know of no dish, were it of the finest
porcelain, and filled with the rarest fruit, that
could compare with the simple basket of Ba
bet.’
Every one praised Laura; her mother, above
all could not forbear kissing her with the ten
derest affection. She was entreated to distri
bute, herself, the strawberries which the basket
contained. But what was her surprise, when,
as she distributed the last, she found at the
bottom a coral necklace, to which was attach
ed a paper, bearing the words —Babet to her
benefactress.
The Fable of (he Rain-Drop.
There was once a farmer who had a large
field of corn; lie ploughed it and planted the
corn, arid harrowed it and weeded it with great
care, and on this field he depended for the sup
port, of liis family. But after he had worked
i 1
I so hard, he saw the corn begin to wither and
droop for want of rain, and he thought ho
should lose his crop. lie felt very sad, and
went out every day to look at his corn, and
sec if there was any hope of rain.
One day, as he stood there looking at the
sky, and almost in despair, two little rain-drops
up in the clouds over his head saw him, and
one said to the other : “ Look at that poor far
mer ; 1 feel sorry for him ; lie has taken such
pains with his field of corn, and now it is ail
drying up; I wish I could do him some good.
“ Yes,” said the other, “ hut you are only a
little rain-drop ; what can you do 1 You can’t
wet even one hillock.”
“ Well,” said the first, “ to be sure I can’t do
much; but 1 can cheer the farmer a little at
any rate, and 1 am resolved to do my best. I'll
try; I’ll go to the field to show my good will,
if 1 can do no more; so here I go.” And
down went the rain-drop, and came pat on the
farmer’s nose, and then fell on one stalk of
corn. “Dear me,” said the farmer putting his
finger to his nose, “what 1 * that • A rain-drop.
Where did that drop come from ! Ido be
lieve we shall have a shower.”
The first rain-drop had no sooner started for
the field, than the second one said, “ Well, if
you go, 1 believe I will go to ; so here I come;”
and down dropped the rain-drop on another
stalk.
By this time a great many rain-drops had
come together to hear what their companions
were talking about, and when they heard them
and saw them going to cheer the farmer and
water the corn, one of them said, “ If you’re
going on such a good errand, I’ll go too;”and
down he came. “And I,” said another; “and
I,” “and I,” “and I,” and so on, till a whole
shower of them came, and the corn was all
watered, and it grew and ripened, all because
the first little rain-drop determined to do what
it could.
Never be discouraged, children, because you
cau’t do much. Do what you can. Angels
can do no more.— Child's Paper.
Innocence and Guilt,
“ A painter wanting a picture to represent in
nocence, drew the likeness of a child at prayer,
lie was kneeling by the side of his mother,
who regarded him with tenderness; the palms
of his up-lifted hands were reverently pressed
together, and his mild blue eye was upturned
with an expression of devotion and peace. —
This portrait of young Rupert was highly priz
ed by the painter, and lie hung it in his study,
and called it Innocence.
“Years passed by, and the painter became j
an old man, but the picture of innocence still
adorned his study walls. lie had long desired
to paint a picture representing guilt, as a con
trast to his favorite portrait, but had failed to
find a striking model. At length he effected
his purpose by visiting a neighboring jail. On
the damp floor of his dungeon lay a wretched
culprit named Randal, heavily ironed. Vice
was visible in his face; guilt was branded on
his brow, and horrid imprecations burst from
his blaspheming tongue. The painter execut
ed his task to the life, and the two portraits
were hung side by side, the one representing I
Innocence, the other Guilt. But, children, who
was young Rupert, that kneeled by the side of
his mother i And who do you think old Ran
dal was, that lay chainc l to the dungeon floor ?
Alas, the two were one! Young Rupert and
old Randal was the same person. That brow
which was once bright with peace and joy, in
years became darkened by guilt and shame.”
Children, there is danger in your path. You
do not know what a wicked world you live in :
you do not know what depraved hearts you
have ; you do not know how deceitful sin is.
The little boy at prayer gradually became the
wicked man. Perhaps he first disobeyed his
parents, then kept had company, then broke the
Sabbath, and so on, step by step, till he became
the picture of guilt. There is only one way
by which you can he saved from such an end,
and that is to give your hearts to the Saviour
now in your youthful days.— Child's Paper.
Corresjioukncc.
Letters from the North.
Boston, April 18th, 1853.
Dear Doctor. —Some time ago a gentleman
of Troy, New York, sent to the Literary World
a Latin Hymn, by Ilildebert, Bishop of Ano
manum, who flourished in the 12th century,
which Aclibishop Usliur, who transcribed it
from a MS copy in the Cottonion Library, calls
‘•rhythmos elegantissimos’ accompanied by his
own translation, or rather version. A little
while after this, another translation appeared in
1 the saijie paper, by a gentleman who resides in
Greenville, Now York ; and another on the Ist
of the present month, by the hand of C. T.
Brooks, of Baltimore. As you, perhaps, may
never have seen the original, which is one of
the most beautiful rhyming hymns ever written
in the Latin language, I now send it to you
with a translation of my ow n. Perliaps some
of the owl-eyed Literati would like to try their
hand on the matter, and attempt to translate it.
The following is the Ilymn with the transla
tion :
ORATIO AD DOMISUH.
I
Tu iivtrare me non sin as
InlVrnalcs officinas;
Übi mocror, übi nietus,
Übi fertor, übi fletus,
Übi probra deteguntur,
Übi rei confunduutur,
Übi tortor semper caedens,
Übi vermis semper edens;
Übi totum hoc perenne,
Quia perpes mors Gehenna?.
II
Me receptet Sion ilia.
Sion David, urbs tranquilla,
t'ujus fiber auctor lucis,
Cujus porta? lignum crucis,
Cujus claves lingua Petri,
Cujus rives semper keti,
Cujus muri lapis vivus,
Cujus custos Ilex festivus.
in
In bae urbe, lux solemn.-;
Verseturnum, pax perennis;
In hac, odor implens coelos,
In bae, semper festum melon.
iv.
Non est ibi corruptela,
Non delectus, non querela;
Non minuti, non deformes,
Omnes Christo sunt conformea.
T -
Urbs coelestis, urbs beata!
Supra petram collocata,
Urbs in portu satis tuto!
De longinquo te saluto;
Te saluto, te suspiro,
Te affecto, te requiro.
vi.
Quantum tui gratulcntur,!
Quam festive conviventur!
Quis affectus eos stringat,
Aut qua? gemma muros cingat,
Quis chalcedon, quis jacintua,
Xovuut illi qui suutintus.
VIL
In plateis hujus urbis,
Sociatur piis turbis.
Cum Moise et Elija
Pium cantcm Alleluja!
TRANSLATION.
1
Save me Lord! thou Judge Eternal!
From those dark Domains infernal,
Where is weeping, where is wailing—
Where all prayers are unavailing—
Where each soul doth self-ir.herit
Proof of its own damned.demerit —
Tortures reaping, ever crying,
From the Worm that is undying—
Where no Hope can come to sever
Life from death in Hell forever!
i
Me to Zion take in pity !
David’s Zion, tranquil city!
Duilt by God of light—its Portal
Cross of Christ, the wood immortal;
Key that locks, the tougue of Peter—
Turned, the songs of Gods not sweeter;
Walled, Heaven-high, the scaleless story,
Guarded by the God of Glory!
3
In this city, light eternal,
Reigns forever—peace supernal;
Odors flow in such conipletness,
Heaven is filled with songs of sweetness.
4
Here the soul knows no corruption—
Frailty none, nor interruption;
None too little, none dilated—
. All in Christ are consummated.
5
Heavenly city! glorious city !
Built upon the Rock of Pity!
City in whose Gates are gathered
All I long for—all I fathered!
Thee I greet now—the I sigh for—
Whose possession I would die for!
6
With what warm congratulations
Meet in thee the joyfyl Nations!
How delighted stand they gazing
At the walls with glory biaziug—
Hyacinth with Chalcedony—
Heaven’s own wealth their patrimony!
7.
In this City’s streets, for greeting,
Clouds of blessed souls are meeting—
Singing songs such as the pious
Moses sang for rapt Elias!
You will perceive that I have translated
‘ Cujus claves lingua Petri ,’ by the word Keys
that lock, the tongue of Peter, as being the
most obvious meaning of the Latin ; but I am
very certain that this was not the poetical or
ideal meaning attached to the line by the Au
thor—being rather that the doors were hung on
adamantine hinges.
You will also see that I have translated
‘Cujus muri lapis vivus,
Cujus custcs Rex festivus,’
by the following lines:—
W ailed, Heaven-high, the scaleless story,
Guarded by the King of Glory.
NUMBER 3.
But this is not their literal meaning—as
none could be given poetically, in the English
rhyme—the literal one Wing that the walls of
the city were built of living stone and guarded
by the King of joy.
The following lines are more literally ren
dered :
‘Urbs in portu satis tuto!
De longinquo te saluto!
—r Te saluto, te suspiro,
Te affecto, te requiro!’
But this is not necessary in any translation—•
the ouly thing required being merely to give
the Author’s meaning in a correspondingly
poetical language —in which each of the trans
lators above mentioned, is wholly deficient.
Yours, very truly,
THOS. H. CHIVERS.
New Orleans Correspondence.
Introduction — Poetry—Creole Beauty — Wo*
men — Moise — Grand Opera — Kids — Coun
tess of Landsfddt — Mrs, Sinclair — Booth —
Reminiscence — The Citizen — Advertisements,
Keill J. — Finale.
Its many the day since you caught a glimpse
at this old, familiar and ugly fist, but accord
ing to the old adage, ‘better late than never,’
and so here I am ‘turned up at last,’ like the
boy’s daddy that arrived ou the steamboat.-
The little fellow had never seen his father, and
you may rest assured he was overjoyed when
the gentleman, with tlm blue cotton unbrella in
bis hand, addressed him in such a sweet, kind,
voice, saying ‘my son, I will pay you hand
somely to take this carpet bag to the hotel.’ —
The boy had expected the ‘old gentleman 1 would
turn up some day —his paternity never having
been satisfactorily but little thought
he would meet with him on the levee with a
blue cotton umbrella uuder his arm and a red
carpet bag tied with a piece of leather in his
hand. But so it was—the boy imagined his
father had come to hand, right side up with
j care, and in reality, you are this morning lured
j by reading a long letter from an old correspon
j dent, who in the language of the immortal
Hector, (not the one that was treated in such
a had manner by Achilles, but the Bard of
‘Cow Creek,’) had left the couutry where
“ The tall pines rise
To the bending ske-ies,
And the wild Magnolias’ blossom.”
and had taken up his abode in the swamps of
Louisiana, where all is
“ Tribulation, toil and niud.”-(‘ Osborne, ch. 96 v. 84.*
Pardon the poetical quotations—knight of
the quill, hut 1 can’t refuse to use them as it
comes as natural as eating cheese—which you
know is the most naturalist thing in all the
world. Young ducks may take to water and
yaller cats may fight, but cheese against tlio
world.
I sat me down to write a letter, for the
benefit of your ‘country readers’—thinking
that a line from the great Crescent Citv might
not bo entirely uninteresting, but for the life
and the soul of me 1 don’t know what to sav
now that 1 have commenced. I must say
something, however, and when Ido say it—-.say
it quick and don’t be all day about it. Well
then, the demand for bacon during the week—
pooh, this won’t do, who cares anything about
the price of bacon so it is’nt over seven cents ?
I see I must avoid the markets, not that any
one would be the wiser by the information {
may communicate on the subject, but for the
pleasure of all your readers. I must also take
into consideration that many of your patrons
are of Hebrew origin and any thing in refer
ence to ‘pork’ would be repugnant to their feel
ings. But still if I should be found occasion
ally making a digression, and coupling ‘molas
ses w ith love,’ I hope your anti-whi-key soul
w ill not revolt, but hear patiently with me to
the end. Every letter from here that I ever
saw published treats of the same subjects—in
short they all amount to the same thing. With
your permission I would take a widely* differ
ent field. Strangers visiting our city form bad
impressions, and in giving them to *the public
show their ignorance in many different wavs.
We profess to have the handsomest women in
the world, but don’t trot out the female in
mates of our hotels as samples. The parlors
of the hotels are the resort during the winter
months of all the up country Lady Leather
bridges, and visitors imagine them to be our
Creole beauties. They are brought here by the
attractive gaieties of the season, and the proba
bility of ensnaring a moustached husband
whose whole fortune consists of old clothes,
kc. We acknowledge a profusion of ‘Joey
Bagstocks’ are ever ready to do the agreeable,
but stoutly deny the ownership of all the paint
ed and decayed up-country aristocracy. They
are like the Muggin’s ‘good people*’ and al
that, but in personal attractions are sadly defi
cient—for w Inch, however, they are not to he
blamed. They are just as nature formed them,
I ‘minus the rouge,’ and if all hard featured peo
ple are to be proscribed I might probablv take
precedence. Some are blind to their own Vaults,
says the proverb, but I am not—for instance a
contraction of the mouth, an enlargement of
the brain, a curtailment of the nose and a splice
of my ‘off leg’ might be to my advantage in
numerous ways. But aside from this, the Ope
ra is the place yvhere Creole beauty can be best
seen when not marred by anything from the
country.
The Orleans theatre possesses but few attrac
tions except for those who speak the French
language, and though it is often filled by ‘re
publicans, yet they go there for ‘manners’ alone.
In support ot this 1 will cite you toau iustanca
that occurred but a short time since. Neill J.
and I strangely concluded that we would like
to see Moses, Rossini’s Grand Opera, a. per
formed by the French Troupe at the Orleans.
It was then late, but we carried out our deter
mination, and in a very few minutes, found our
selves quietly ensconced in a box in the dress
circle. The Opera was ‘raging—there stood
Moses and the burning bush and with him were
all sorts of Cyrioudy dressed people—the Or
chestra, (I’m told,) (no, I read it in the Delta
next evening,) discoursed delightful music—
every body on the stage was awfully took back
and the audience were in raptures. None of
this we observed, for on all sides we were en
circled by such an array of beautv as ‘never
mortal eyses dwelt on.’ We didVit have any
double-barreled skv-glasses by which we could
draw the ‘dear tilings’ up to us, but this we
did’nt regret. Talk of bright-poetic eyes, deli
cately chisell’d features—waving black hair and
auburn ringlets, in profusion—necks of snowy
whiteness and forms that Powers would have
studied with delight. And then to see them
smile—what mouths—what teeth, like ‘snow*
set in verbena.’ We saw ’era ail and though
we lost the C>pera were satisfied and willing to
give double the price of a ticket any time to see