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‘JjJistcllairo.
Little Emma’s Cradle-Song.
BT T. H. cniYERS, M. D.
1. <
As the Cherubie Dove with her lily-white wings, ■
Overshadows her young in hor nest; ,
go thy mother will watch thee all night, while she sings
To her beautiful babe on her breast.
Since thy dear little sisters, that once were so bright, i
give returned to their Ilome in the sky; I
Thy dear father sits down by thy cradle to-night,
For fear that his Emma may die !
Then sleep, little Emma ! my pretty baby dear!
Thou fairest of babes ever born ;
Thy father, who loves thee, is watching thee near,
And will watch thee all night till the morn.
When thy mother is nigh,
She will sing Isu-bye ;* {
And when she Is away,
I will sing all the day—
Lullaby! lullaby!
Lull-lullabye! lull-lull-lay-bye!
2.
The beautiful Angels are whispering her now—
See! see how she smiles in her sleep!
Be silent ! or speak to her soothingly low, <
For fear she may wake now to weep!
Oh guard her, ye Angels of Glory above !
Protect her awake or asleep!
For the sake of her father’s dear inocent love,
Which keeps him awake now to weep !
Then sleep little Emma ! my pretty baby dear !
Then fairest of babes ever born !
Thy father, who loves thee, is watching thee near,
And will watch thee all night till the morn.
When thy mother is nigh,
She will sing Tsu-bye ;
And when she is away, „ i
I wilt sing all the day—
Lullaby ! lullaby!
Lull-lullabye! lull-lull-lay-bye!
./-us }>? irith you —a Refrain which I used to hear my
dear old mother sing.
Written for the Georgia Citizen.
To a Passing Bird.
BT L A r R A KGCLRSTOX.
Bright Bird of the woodlands ! 1
Fly back to onr Bowers:
Our skies are so pleasant,
In soft vernal hours.
The south-wind is blowing.
O’er violets pale ;
And fountains are flowing,
Away, to the vale.
The Lilac is waving
Her plumes to the Bees :
That nectar are craving.
O’er meadows and leas;
The sunbeams are dancing.
On river and rill :
And horses are prancing,
Away, on the hill.
Sweet Bird ! of the wood-lands.
Fly hack to our dime :
0 ’ quit Southern alcoves,
Os Orange and Lime.
We pine for thy numbers.
And chide thy delay.
Awake ! from thy slumbers,
And fly back, away!
Out charming auroras.
Lack naught, but thy song ;
And sunset’s mild glories.
Should haste thee along :
Then come, lovely songster,
O’er ether’s bright track ;
And warble thy gladness,
That thou art, here, back!
For the Georgia Citlien.
May.
The month of May has come again.
With buds and blossoms in its traiiT,
The streams are leaping, glad and bright.
The birds are singing with delight.
They’re singing on the greenwood tree.
In liquid strains of melody,
The skies are cloudless, blue and clear,
And sweetest perfumes fill the air.
The glassy streamlets, as they glide,
Mirroring the flow’rets by their side,
Seem as they ripple on, to say,
We welcome thee, sweet month of May.
The dove coos softly to her mate.
The mock-birds sing at evening, late,
The whisp'ring zephyrs seem to say,
We greet thee, flow’ry month of May.
Then let us all be glad, and gay,
To welcome in delightful May,
Let care bebauish’d from each hearth.
And all our hearts be fill’d with mirth.
And when on nature’s face we look,
The flow’ry fields, and limpid brooks
Forget not Him who this world gave,
And sent llis Son, our souls to save.
JKSSIK.
Thonas Jefferson and Itin Daughter Olnr
tlia.
In the superb new work lately issued by the
Appletons, under the title of the “ Republican
Court, or American Society in the days of Wash
ington,” by Rufus W. Griswold, we find an inter
esting letter from Mr. Jefferson to his eldest
daughter, addressed to her when she was at school
in Philadelphia. This daughter was afterwards
married to Hon. Thomas Mann Randolph, of
Tuckahoe, who became Governor of Virginia.
Dr. Griswold says of her:
‘'Martha Jefferson was born on the 27th Sep
tember, 1772, and was, therefore, now a little
more than seventeen years of age.” John Ran
dolph said she was “ the sweetest young creature
in Virginia.” Mrs. Adams, to whose care she
had been intrusted some time in Paris, refers to
her with most affectionate expression; and Mrs.
Smith, the daughter of Mrs. Adams, says: “deli
cacy and sensibility are read in her every feature,
and her manners are in unison with all that is
amiable and lovely.”
“While Miss Jefferson, 1783, was at school in
Philadelphia, boarding with Mrs. Trist, (grand
mother to Mr. Nicholis P. Trist, who is now the
husband of the granddaughter of Mr. Jefferson,)
her father addressed to her the following letter,
which has never hitherto been published, and is
v ery interesting as an illustration of his domestic
character and his views of the education of wo
man;
Annapolis, Nov. 28, 1782.
My Dear Patsy : — After four days’ journey, I
arrived here without accident, and in as good
health as when I left Philadelphia. The convic
tion that you would be more improved in the sit
uation where I have placed you than if still with
, has solaced me at parting with you, which my
‘\efcryoii las rendered a difficult thing. The
a ‘ fl'iiremente which I hope you will make under
T UIWMrs I have provided for you will render you
more worthy of my love, and if they cannot in
crea. e it, they will prevent the diminution.
A Weekly Family Journal,...Devoted to Literature, Politics, Domestic Economy, General News, and State & National Americanism.
“Consider the good lady who has taken you
under her roof, who has undertaken to see that
you perforin ali your exercises, and to admonish
you in all those wanderings from what is right, or
what is clever, to which your inexperience would
expose you—consider her, I say, as your mother,
as the only person to whom, since the loss with
which Heaven has been pieced to affiict you. vou
can now look up, and that her displeasure or dis
approbation, on any occasion, will be an immense
misfortune, which, should you be so unhappy as
to incur by any ungarded act, think no concession
too much to regain her good will.
“ With respect to the distribution of your time,
the following is what I should approve: From 8
to 10, practice music. From 10 to 1, dance one
day, and draw another. From Ito 2, draw on
the day you dance, and write a letter next day.
From 3to 4 read French. From 4to 5 exercise
yourself in music. From 5 till bed-time, read
English, write, &e. Communicate this plan to
Mrs. Hopkinson, and if she approves of it, pur
sue it. As long as Mrs. Trist remains in Philadel
phia. cultivate hor affections. She has been a
valuable friend to you, and her good sene and
good heart make her valued by all who know her,
and nobody on earth more than me.
‘ T expect you will write to me hv every post.
Inform we what books you read, what tunes you
learn, and enclose me your best copy of every les
son in drawing. W rite, also, one letter every week,
either to your aunt Eppes, your aunt Skipwith,
your aunt Carr, or the little lady from whom I
now enclose a letter, and always put the letter you
so write under cover to me. Take care that you
never spell a word wrong. Always, before vou
write a word, consider how it is spelt, and, if you
do not remember it, turn to a dictionary. It pro
duces great praise in a lady to spell well. I have
placed niv happiness on seeing you good and ac
complished, and no distress which this world can
bring on me would equal that of vour disappoint
ing my hopes. If you love me, then strive to be
good under every situation, and to all living crea
tures, and to acquire those accomplishments which
I have put in your power, and which will go far
towards insuring you the warmest love of your
affectionate father. “Tn. Jefferson.
P. Keep mv lottery and read them at times,
that you will always have present in vour mind
those things that will endear vou to me.”
An admirable portrait of Miss Jefferson strong
ly resembles her illustrious father, and justifies
the traditional fame of her grace and beauty.
I.ITH'IRS,
ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM CAPERS, D. D„
Bisho-p of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South.
BT C. SINCLAIR BIRO.
Our fathers, from their work of faith and love,
Pass, one by one, to that bright world above; *
Pilgrims to Zion hound themselves confest.
While on the road they sought nor wished for rest:
The howling storm did never tempt delay;
Or flower-clad field seduce their feet astray ;
Or syren song their closed ears delight,
Homeward they weary pressed by day and night.
Their footprints gleam the rugged road along;
They cheered their darksome hours by sweetest song;
And oft we see upon the road they trod,
Some bright memorial of their trust in Rod.
Some sacred bush that nnconsumed once burned,
To which the saint’s astonished gaze is turned;
Some pillar tall upon the desert lone;
Some holy spot, marked by a single stone,
Where to the resting saint a name was given,
A pledge of love, “a title clear” to heaven ;
Some Bethel, wnere the voice of God is heard,
And all the soul, by sweet emotion, stirred; m
Looks upward, and beholds a ladder near,
ITpon whose rounds the angel hosts appear;
A rapture holy thrills the weary frame; ‘
The trees around are wrapped in lambent flame;
A wondrous lustre fills the perfumed air :
Sweet is the spot, for Rod himself is there.
What numerous tokens did our Bishop rear;
Os answers gracious to the fervent, prayer:
Twas here his two-edged sword flashed in the fight;
And foes defeated left his awful might;
Here special grace, that pressing wants required,
Refreshed his heart and burning zeal inspired ;
Here songs of triumph cheered the list’ning ear,
And hope gleamed brightly on the flowing tear;
ncre joy ecstatic rapt his trusting soul—
He seemed already to have reached the goal.
These bright memorials, planted by his hand,
Line all the road up to that better land;
Near these, methinks the angels love to stay,
And cheer the pilgrim on his weary way.
0 mourning Zion ! brush away thy tears,
Drive from thy mind perturbed these gloomy fears;
Our Bishop’s life, with living lustre bright,
Shall change to smiling day thy heavy night.
That harp is gilent, that in former days
Made Zion joyous with its songs of praise:
Thence streams melodious gushed with tuneful flow ;
It trilled responsive to the wail of woe;
Its strings oft tremble with the doubt and fear;
The sigh of penitence found utt’rance there.
Attuned by God, redeeming love its theme, .
Its tone the music of a pleasant dream,
The eager ear entranced drank in the strain, ,
Despair grew hopeful, sickness lost its pain :
Its song exultant nerved the failing heart,
The tyrant softened poised his pointless dart,
And seemed to linger loth to leave the room
Where heav’nly music cheered his heavy gloom.
♦The Indian heard it on his hunting ground,
His heart was gladdened by the strange sweet sound ;
And squaw and child, and stalwart chief drew near,
While down the sunburnt cheek there rolled the tear:
With skilful hand its tuneful strings he swept,
The toil-worn negro heard and wond’ring wept;
To that dear Cross his pensive eye he turned,
And new distress within his bosom burned;
He felt the magic of those numbers sweet,
And bowed repentant at the Saviour’s feet.
The harper weary heard his Lord’s command;
The strings grew tenser ’neath his trembling hand:
A soft sweet tone a moment quivered there:
A band of angels noiseless wing them near:
Mother and children look with tear-filled eyes :
Silent and cold the wondrous minstrel lies:
The burning Seraphs near the throne behold
Our CAPE with his harp of gold.
♦ltis generally known, I presume, that Bishop Capers ren
dered the Church efficient service, as a Missionary to the Creek
Indians; also, that he projected, and put into vigorous opera
tion, the Missions to the colored people, that have done, and
are still doing, so much good.
.Matrimony. —Hot buckwheat cakes—warm
beds —comfortable slippers—smoking coffee, round
arms—red lips—shirts exulting in bottons—re
deemed stockings—boot jacks—happiness, &c.
&c.
Single Blessedness :—Sheet iron quilts—blue
noses—frosty bones—ice in the pitcher—unre
deemed linen— heelless socks—coffee sweetened
with icicles—gutta percha biscuits—flabby steaks
dull razors—corns,coughs and colics —rhubarb—
aloes—misery, &c.
MACON, C3r£t. SLA.TTTiFt.ID.A.Y, JL'EA.-ST, S, loss.
.From Life Illustrated.
THE AMERICAN PRESS.—TO EDITORS
ONLY.
The power of the press is prodigious ; but like
all other powers, it may be fearfully misapplied.—
Os course, so long as advertisements are, in their
own character, unobjectionable, they must be in
serted. If a man choses to aver that he vends the
best wine, meat, bread, tea, sugar, breeches or
boots in the community, he is entitled to say so,
taking the responsibility of “making his vaunting
good.” These things do not derange trade ; the
serious evil commences when journalists pledge
their reputation for the excellence of things which
they know to be truly unworthy, or for the au
thenticity for deceptions. In America it would
appear, judging from Barhum’s revelations, that
the press is generally venal. He takes every op
portunity to insinuate that he had it at his com
mand, and does not attempt to disguise that the
preliminary Mermaid puffs were written by him
self. How, then, came they to be inserted ?
[Blackwood's Magazine , February.
The above is only one among some scores of
similar paragraphs that have lately appeared in
English periodicals. They occur mostly in re
views of “Barnurn’s Autobiographybut some
were called forth by the discovery that the indi
vidual known as the “Chevalier Wykoff” had
been kept in pay by a British minister, Lord Pal
merston, for the purpose of making known through
the press of France and America, the amiable
character and pacific intentions of the British gov
ernment This service was performed by the
“Chevalier,” and he drew salary for the same,
quarterly—to what amount is not stated. The
Athenaeum intimates that the book which revealed
the tact was promptly suppressed on its publica
tion in London, and that it has tried in vain to
procure a copy.
But no matter for Lord Palmerston and his A
merican hireling. The question that concerns us
is this: Is tin: American press ‘‘generally venal ?”
We believe that it is not. As tar as we know, the
acceptance of a direct bribe by an editor is nearly
unknown to the press of this country. Whence
then, the undeniable lacility of axe-grinding?—
Why so many puffs? Why such general timidi
ty in the avowal of opinion ? Why should a
Southern paper, published in the oity of New
York, copy a poem from the National Era, and
credit it to the National vEgis, as though by mis
take ? It is to points of this kind that we pre
sume on the present occasion to call the attention
of our editorial brethren. We merely propose to
“open up the subject,” leaving to others the op
portunity of giving it full development.
According to our view of the matter, the evils
under which the American press labors may be
attributed to four leading causes.
1. The Excessive Cheapness of Newspapers.—
This has been carried to such an extent, that some
papers are sohl for less than the cost of the paper
on which they are printed. The effect is, to make
the publishers dependent upon advertisers; and
advertisers have not been found backward in turn
ing to account the advantages of their position.—
To this cause we attribute one half of the insin
cerity, and the unwilling suppressions of the press.
To this cause we attribute the fact, that many un
happy mortals, when they take a book in hand to
notice it, feel themselves compelled first of all to
ascertain the advertising propensities of its pub
lishers, and to do the notice accordingly. It would
be a great thing for the press of the United States
if three thousand of our four thousand periodicals
should cease this day to exist, and die remaining
thousand be doubled iii price. We should then
have papers six times as good as we now have,
and a family would find one sufficient fbr its pur
poses. At present the houses of people are littered
with newspapers from cellar to garret There is
. in no department of things so prodigious a waste
as in that of Newspapers. Why should there be
in a city like Buffalo more than one daily paper ?
If there was but one, Buffalo could have that one
good and complete, and the writers for the press
could be remunerated in a way that would place
them far above the temptation of inditing a puff.
Who can blame a poor hireling scribbler, toiling
on in the most, toilsome of all pursuits, for writing
a few lines in praise of a mousetrap which catches
his mice gratis ? It is upon the writers that this
evil of cheapness falls with crushing weight.—
More money is paid annually to the preachers of
Trinity church for preaching twice a week to a
few score of sleepy people, than to the twenty a
blcst writers for the New York Press, who address
and influence daily some millions of human beings.
This is absurd in the extreme; but it will contin
ue as long as papers are sold at little above the
cost of the raw material.
2. Fear of Public Opinion. “I think so and
so,” editors often remark, “but it won’t do to say
so.” It unll do. Note this one fact, known to all
the press: the two most prosperous newspapers
in this country are the two which have most fre
quently offended public opinion, made most ene
mies, and against which most has been written,
preached and said. We refer to the New York
Tribune and the New York Herald, which, differ
ing as they do in every other respect, are alike in
this particular. Both have flourished in spite of
an opprobrium that has at times seemed universal.
Observe, too, how rapidly the out-spoken Inde
pendent is striding past the trimming Observer.
Why, there is no single thing which an editor can
do half as politic as to lose a thousand subscribers
by writing in advance of their opinions. No in
vestment yields so large a return. Only one thing
is fatal to a newspaper that aspires to leadership,
and that is, not to be talked about A newspa
per that does not often defy, sometimes outrage,
public opinion, may be very well in its way, but
it will never be a power in the Republic. Are not
there self-evident truths ? Why, then, do seven
papers in every ten assume toward King Public
the attitude of abject flatterers and fawning syco
phants, and not the tone of loyal, high-minded sol
diers, who, doing their duty to their sovereign,
know also what is due to themselves? For exam
ple : There is notan editor in Virginia who does
not know what is the matter with Virginia. Why
does no man avow it, and make a fortune by hav-.
ing his office burned over his head and himself
hung in effigy ? Any leading paper could afford
to pay twenty thonEand dollar? for a great unpop-
ular truth ; and yet, though the precious commod
ity can be had lor nothing, nearly every editor in
the land regards it in the light of “hot potatoes.”
Suppose Theodore Parker were to set up a paper
for the avowed puqiose of showing the demorali
zing and effeminating tendency of the prevailing
religious creed, he would have twenty thousand
subscribers in a month. There would be outcry
enough ; but the people who are secretly longing
for light on that great subject would rush-for the
paper.
3. The Dead-Head system. The system is doom
ed ; but while it lasts, the press, particularly the
country press, is the hired servant of the railroad
interest We frequently hear, and oflate we some
times read, the complaints of country editors re
specting the insolence of railroad authorities.—
These magnates of the road, say our county
fiends, solicit the assistance of the press, not in
the manner of men who ask favors, but in that of
masters indicating duties to obliged and obedient
servants. No wonder. As long as an editor de
means himself by the acceptance of free tickets,
so long he will have to pay-for those tickets by
relinquishing some portion of his independence as
an editor. Nothing in the world is got for noth
ing ; and no man pays so high a price for his tra
velling as he who “settles” somewhere else than
at the captain's office. Be sure of that , Messrs Ed
itors. We have tried both ways, and we know.
4. Personal Friendship and Enmity. Our very
Best newspapers are weakened and injured thro’
the personal feelings of those who conduct them,
particularly in the departments of literature and
art. The book-writing and rhe Book-reviewing
classes are essentially one ; and, being members
of the same guild, they are, to a great extent, ac
quainted with one another. Now, the difficulty
this : to-day you dine with a man, chat with his
wife, kiss his children, and renew a long-felt in
terest in his prosperity and honor; to-morrow,
along comes his last book for review. The review
er’s embarrassment is sometimes painful in the
extreme. On the one hand there is the duty he
owes to the public; on the other, there are the
supposed claims of friendship. It is easy to say
that the allegiance one owes to truth is superior,
in the sacredness of its obligation, to any otlier.
It is easy to say, that the finest compliment one
friend can pay to tbs good sense of another is to
tell him plainly of his errors. It is easy to say,
that the greatest service a reviewer can render an
author, is to make him acquainted with the de
fects of his work. But human nature, at present,
is weak; and, amid the apparently complicating
claims of truth and frendship, the reviewer is fain
to attempt a compromise, and so serves neither—
pleases neither. This is not an evil of rare occur
rence. An “old stager” will seldom take a book
in hand without being subjected in some degree
to this embarrassment. We can point out in the
last number of the North American Review, page
after page, every sentence of which was modified
by the personal feelings of the writer towards
the persons written about. The remedy for this
evil is, if possible, to make the articles in periodi
cals really , as well as apparently, anonymous. In
Canada, in England, in Germany, and to some ex
tent in France the editor is a being shrouded in
mystery, and his sanctum is a sanctum indeed.—
With us, on the contrary, an editor’s office may
be called the resort of the town’s select loafers.—
It ought to be, like Olympus, sacred to the gods.
No profane foot should tread its awful dust ; no
profane ear should catch its whispers; and no
profane mind should know auglit of its thunder
bolts till they burst upon an astounded world.
The press has helped all mankind. Shall it not
now help itself? Os the “powers and principali
ties,” spoken of in an ancient book, but two are
now extant in the world : one is the Czar of Rus
sia ; the other is the press of Free Countries. The
-London Times is the uncrowned king of England.
In the total break-down of the so-called govern
ment of this Republic, an unfettered press may di
■rcct its energies, and conduct it, ungoverned, and
not needing government, to the glory never yet
attained by any country, of an equal diffusion,
among all its worthy citizens, of whatever is indis
pensable to human welfare.
To this end it must, do more than clear its
skirts of the taint of venality. It must become
strong. The power of the press and the freedom
of the press will ever be in exact proportion. He
who would be free must be strong; he who would
be strong must be free ; and both strength and
freedom are won and kept by courage alone.
A poetical “lover,” not long since, sent the fol
lowing to Sally Ann, his lady-love:
TO SALLY ANN.
Soft is the down of the butter fly’s wing,
Soft is the whisper when lovers speak ;
Soft is the light which the moonbeams fling,
But softer by far is my ladye-love’s cheek.
• SALLY’S REPLY.
Soft am taters all smashed up,
And mush are soft as soft kin be;
But softer be’s that silly pup,
Wot writ that varse to me 1
Go it, Sarah! never mind your bonnet!
W|’
A Definite Conclusion.— Noah B was un
fortunate enough in his old age to become addict
ed to rather strong potations, and when under the
influence of spirits was more than unsually reli
gious. Now, on Saturday afternoon, baking day,
his wife, who was a very industrious old lady, and
in every way a model house wife, asked Noah to
come into the yard and split some wood to heat
the oven with. Noah concluded before he set
about it, to start oft’ to the tavern and ‘imbibe,’
whereby, of course, the baking was neglected.—
Coming back in a short time, and utterly oblivious
of his good woman’s request, he seated himself in
the old chair. Noah was very much attached to
that old chair, for like him, age had made it tot
tering in the legs and somewhat weak in the back.
‘Wife,’ said he, ‘wife, do you think the Lord in his
goodness (hie) kin send us into the fire everlastin'?”
Mrs. B this time made no answer. “Wife,
(hio)in fire everlastin’?” This was more than
human patience could endure, and she could not
hold her tongue any longer; she’d speak out if she
died for it: “No! yer old fool, yer! not if he
u!i*s for t 9 spfit jh* mod?’
From the Boston Post.
An Old Times Concert.
The people of Chelsea were enlivened last
Thursday evening by hearing a concert, given by
“The Continentallers”—a musical organization of
the place—whose object is to revive the'church
melody which flowed from the heart3, as well as
from the heads of their fathers. This melodv
* J
from some cause, is neglected, or so diluted by
modern book-makers that the old fervor of spirit
which characterized it has fled, leaving it but a
matter whose merits is execution alone, as me
chanical as the manufacture of the paper on
which it is printed.
The Continentallers have been in existence
about two years, and have diligently pursued their
object by stated private rehearsals, but have given
only one public concert previous to that of Thurs
day. The association proposed a concert for the
benefit of the Winnissimmet Benevolent Society,
which was readily responded to, and a crowded
hall was the result—some eight hundred people
being present. The whole expense of the concert
was borne by the association, and the gross re
ceipts given for the benevolent object
At half-past 7, the Continentallers, numbering
about seventy, marched into position, under the
lead of Col. Fay, whose tall form, surmounted by
a three-cornered cocked hat, seemed the embodied
Spirit of the Past, whose face was lighted up with
a glow that imparted happiness by the magnetism
of its kindness. He make a brief speech to the
audience, informing them who the Continentallers
were, and their objects. They claimed, he said,
to be a remnant of the continental army, who
had formed their organization for the purpose of
keeping alive the love of old melody and old man
ners, which might aid in training the younger
portion of the community, which, he hoped, when
they, in turn, were old, would not depart from
them. The object of the present gathering was
a benevolent one, but he hoped it would afford
amusement, besides. He particularly requested
the audience to keep still, because, he said, the old
singers had never been able to find any note in
the cleff to chord” with the whisper.
The antiquity claimed for the association caused
some mirth as its larger part was compos l -d of
young and vigorous man and womanhood, whom
nothing but closed eyes (and it was hard for those
not continentallers to close the eyes with such fair
faces before them) and ancient music could ever
cheat the senses into believing.
There were many ‘venerables’ present, on whom
the frosts of years had sprinkled their rime—ven
erable, but not be called old for many years to
come—whose voices were as fresh and strong as
when they sung Coronation or Old Hundred forty
years ago.
One of the younger members of the party was
dressed in full continental costume, from hat to
shoes—the hat one that was worn at Lexington
fight—reminding one of the lines of Holmes:
“Theold three-cornered hat,
And breeches, and all that,
Are so queer ”
After preliminary rosining of bows and thumb
ing of fiddle-strings, among the orchestra of one
bass-viol, one violincello, four violins, and a brass
horn—the musical conductor took his place before
the audience; and the Continentallers took up
their line of march back a hundred years into the
realm of ancient melody, through the gate of
Lenox—the invocatory character of the hymn
being very appropriate:
“Ye tribes of Adam, join,” &c.
This was sung very finely, with the olden spirit
that has made the roof-tree of many a village
church and school-house ring in times of old, and
made vocal the New England fire-sides in conti
nental times, “ When we lived under the king,”
lifting New England men up into an atmosphere
of freedom that gave them strength in time of
trial.
“Devotion” next followed, to the lines,
“ Sweet is the day of sacred rest,” &c.,
succeeded by sterling oTd Montgomery:
“ Early my God, without delay,
I haste to seek thy face.”
Then followed Milford, a magnificent old English
fugue, which was as magnificently sung, carrying
one away in the whirl of its graceful excentrici
ties—the different parts chasing each other Jn
melodious flights along the scale, and culminating
in a harmonious whole at the close.
On and on sublimely marched the Continental
lers, through New Jerusalem, which
: “comps down,
Adorned with shining grace.
From the third heaven, where God resides,
That holv, happy place;”
and dwelt awhile where
“Shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,”
when
“Theangel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.”
If ever the glory of the scene conld be imparted
by sound, it was done in the rendering of this
beautiful old tune. The “gtory shone around”—
it could be seen and felt—it dwelt in the emphat
ic beat of the hand, the flashing eye of the singer,
and rolled in a sublime wave of sound over the
spirits of all the listeners.
We have not room to devote to a description ol
each of the thirty pieces sung, but among the
number were included Complaint, with its beau
tiful prayer; and Invitation with the Song of
Solomon embodied in graceful measure—
*• Come, my beloved, haste away,”
and Newberg:
“ Let every creature join
To praise the eternal God'”
and Psalm 34th:
“Through all the changing scenes of life;”
and grand old Ocean, that carries in its melody
the swell of “ towering waves,” when the “ winds
arise” at the Almighty command; and Majesty,
and Delight. .
But the greatest pleasure was caused by the
singing of the “Easter Anthem"—
“Our Lord has risen from the dead,”
which made faith quicken by its triumphant
strains, and live in new hope of the glories of
immortality, tie cf which wa worth?
of the composition, and earned an away die
majesty and force of its melodious power.
The concert closed with “ Old Hundred,” in
which the audience joined most heartily. During
its performance, the high backed pews of the old
church, the singing seats, the sounding board, the
gown and bands of old formality, the wardens
and tithing men, all swept like the spirits of Kos
suth’s countrymen, before our gaze, and the yea - s
that came between, with their changes, were mo
mentarily forgotten, to be recalled by the drum
and fife of a fire company taking an evening air
ing outside.
The evening was as pleasant a one a3 we ever
passed. Mr. Slow, who was present, said it was
worth all the Italian operas, although it was
doubted if he had ever heard one.
Old singers, who had sat in the “ seats” fifty
years ago, could’nt keep still, but beat time and
sung with the rest, and Col. Fay, more conspicu
ous than any one else, sung all over. From boots
to cocked hat he was one mass of music. He sung
in every hair, in every fiber of his body, in every
article of his clothing.
A request being made on behalf of the audi
ence that the concert should be repeated; the
colonel, as “military commander” of the Continen
tallers, replied in their behalf that they would ac
cede and the audience broke up.
Soon tli<• Lovely time is routing;.
BY JEAN L. BRUCE.
Soon the lovely time is coming
When the daisies will be springing,
When the streams will all be humming,
And the birds will all be singing—
Speed along ve happy hours.
Children then that murmur’d sudly.
Looking through the frosted glasses,
Thought of gardens blooming gladly,
Said, “Mama, how slow time pusses,
When the cold snow hides the flowers.”
Soon those cherub faces glowing,
Ciovw.ed >,uh halos L) da) ‘s leumicg,
Think no moreol winter’s snowing,
W hile the summer’s round them gleaming,
As they gambol through the fields.
Then the pauper came more slowly,
When the icy hail was falling,
With aw air so meek and lowly,
And a Spirit upward calling,
Thinking what God's mercy yields,
Thinking of the One above us,
Who will heed the stifFrer’s crying?
He who did so strongly love us
As to stoop to mortal dying,
Paving thus our w ay to God.
Mortal heart! these works around thee,
Show his mighty spirit’s moulding.
Have his teachings gently bound thee,
In thy breast their temple holding ?
Let them make it their abode.
From the skies so bluely shining,
Truth looks out with angtl lightness,
While the white clouds deliiy twining,
Castles build with fairy lightness,
As if formed of mammoth pearls.
‘Tisthe time for nature’s waking,
And in oratorios blending ;
Insect tones, in rupture breaking,
Up their sacred songs are sending—
Down the sun his splendor hurls.
Think my soul! art thou all mildly
Acting out thine earthly duty,
Better than when Autumn wildly
Mourn’d o’er Summer’s perished beauty?
Jew els w ere the moments lent.
Did’st thouyield their up full buruish’d,
Bright enough for Heaven’s receiving ?
Have they any blessing furnished
To the throngs ’mid earth’s bereaving?
What along their course was sent?
’Mid the ills around us heaping,
• In the task of daily living.
Shone no mem’ries woith .he keeping?
Like the stars their glory giving,
Through the sombre shades of night.
Words that fell from lips the dearest,
Social jovs the bosom treasures;
Scenes—when iu pain’s hour thou searest,
To shine around from faded pleasures,
And cheer the hovering blight.
Blissful time for true love’s meetings,
. With the flowers arouud them wreathing ;
Heart to heart sends met ry greetings,
In this season gladness breathing—
All things tell ofjoy und mirth.
Shall one being pine ungrateful
When all nature Bings in spirit?
Are God’s works so dark or hateful,
Or the future—dost thou fear it?
Then look up neyond the earth!
Home affection—is it left thee?
Blessed heart, oh ! keep it purely!
For when sorrow hath bereft thee
This will hold its truth most surely,
And gild earth’s withering clime.
But the lovelv time is coming,
When the daisies will be springing,
When the streams will all be humming,
Aud the birds will all be singing—
Come, oh. come! thou happy time!
Williamsburg, 1865.
The way it Ended.
A masquerade ball came off in Albany, on Tues
day evening last. Among those present were
Bob H. and Frank B. of this city. Bob
is a married gentleman, and owns the fee simple
of one of the prettiest wives and babies in the me
tropolis. Frank B. is a bachelor, slightly gi
ven to cliampaigne and illicit calico—in other
words Frank is a roue , and as a matter of course
is a great favorite with the ladies; roues always
are. Bob left town under the plea that a “sick
uncle” was dying, and that his services were need
ed to “regulate the will.”
The ball as we have stated took place on Tues
day evening last Among the distinguished visi
tors who entered the room as the sixth cotillion
was being danced, were Bob and his friend Frank
—the former disguised as “Cardinal Woolsey,”
and the latter as a “brigand.” Among the ladies
present was one whose beauty of contour and
delicately small ankles produced an immediate
impression on the pair. She wore a mask, and
personated some lady of Italian extraction.
‘That’s a killing foot, Bob, is’nt it ?’
‘ltis’nt anything else, and then wha? a form—
who in the deuce can she be ?’
‘Can’t say, but I intend to dance with her or
perish in the attempt.
After the ‘sixth cotilion’ was finished, Frank
crossed the room, drew on a pair of lemon colored
kids, ‘doubled up,’ and requested the honor of
dancing the next set with the fair unknown. The
‘fair unknown’ consented, and in a few moments
afterwards the good-looking brigand was doing a
waltz in a manner that indicated that what Buch
dancing lacked in grace, it made up in hugging.
Having acquitted himself of the waltz, Frank seat
ed his fascinating partner, and once more joined
his friend Bob.
‘Charming creature, is’nt she! —Waltzes like
an angel, and has all the bewitchingness of a
Spanish coquette.”
‘She has evidently made an impression on you,
Frank—did 7*>2 do flfeo sarr* t
. Utuv.. 1 ‘••‘b'-jj'Vi K u 4- C up -.tit
!T cy road, a3 soon as the bad is gver. If that is
’ notan impression, I don’t know what would be—
By the way, how can I find out who she is?’
‘Use stratagem —bet me fifty dollars and I’ll
ascertain that fact in twenty minutes.’
‘l’ll do it—now go ahead.’
Bob did so, and in the courae of a few minutes
returned.
l W ell, what luck. Bob—found out who she is?’
‘Can’t say for certain—but think I have. While
sitting by her side, I drew her handkerchief from
her pocket, and with it her card case. There it is
—open it on the sly, and see if it contains what
you are in search of.’
Bob did as desired, and made a discovery
rather astonished him.
‘Who do you think she is?’
‘Could not even guess.’
‘Read that and take on knowledge.’
‘Mrs. Robert H. my wife, as I’m a sinner.
Get me a pistol—l'll murder you and then take
her life.’
The last seen of Bob and his friend, they were
rushing down State street, the latter about four
feet in advance of Cardinal Woolsey’s stiletto.—
What became of Mrs. H. will be known wnen
the northern mail arrives.
Moral.—When you go to see a “sick nncle,”
take your wife along. Loneliness is very sugges
tive, and leads to more impropriety than Byron’s
poems. —[N. Y. Dutchman.
P- S.—The Northern Mail haa arrived. Mar
ried, on Sunday morning last, at the residence of
Mr. ,by Mr. . Esq. Mr. B. ,to Mm
IL , all of Devil’s Half-Acre.—[No Cake re
ceived.—Ttpo.
For the Georgia Cltta*.
ENIGMA.
I am In age an infant child.
Yet, like a lion, atrong;
My ways are kind, my worda are mild.
My fatherland’s my 9ong.
My father lived in early days.
When brave, triumphant right
Sang freedom’s loud exultant lays.
O’er Britain's vanquished might.
In this ray fair and happy land,
I evermore shall live,
And with a wide extended hand.
Great blessings freely give.
Oolaparchee, April 19th, 1865. w. T. B.
- —iw mm
Some years since two preachers *rre sent to a
circuit in the South-Carolina Conference, while it
embraced the State of Georgia one an old man and
the other young and inexperienced in the itiner
ancy. He had, however, enjoyed better advant
ages than the old one, and was withal somewhat
of a humorist. The old gentleman concluded that
it would be best for the young preacher to accom
pany him the first round, to learn the habits of
the people, the ups and the downs of his new call
ing, and perhaps get some insight into the true
method of preaching the gospel. Having no great
resources and less energy, and being on a circuit
all his life; he had contracted the miserable habit
of fixing up a sermon to preach at every church
during a single round. Accordingly at the first
place they came to, he read out the text from Matr
viii, 14, 15, which details the sickness and cure of
Peter’s wife’s mother. His sermon was very pas
sable, but at every church the same tiresome rou
tine about ‘‘Peter’s wile’s mother being laid and
sick of a fever,” greeting the ear of the unfortu
nate young minister, until he became restless, if
not indignant at the repetition of the dose. At
length they approached the village and the distant
tolling of the church bell fell upon their ears, an
nouncing a mournful event to transpire. “Ah,
said the old gentleman, drawing a deep sigh, some
one is dead, I wonder who it can be.” “I don’t
know,” said the young preacher, very unsophisti
cally, ‘‘less it be Peter’s wife’s mother, for she
has been sick long enough.” The old Fogy wae
mum, for it knocked him out of a sermon for the
next day (being Sabbath) and he had to set to
work and construct another for the occasion.—
Young America was too hard for him
Mkdical Facts. —Merchants generally die of
the billious, printers of the typhus and brokers
the remittent fevers.
Masons usually go off with stone, gravel, o*
dropsy.
Abolitionists and colliers always die with the
black vomit.
Brewers are constantly ailing.
Glaziers are never without pains.
Most tailors leave the world in fits—though
their customers rarely do.
The children of coopers are never free from the
hooping cough.
Lovers have a palpitation of the heart, and ex
pectorate too much.
Our congressional orators are never troubled
with shortness of breath, although with them
flatulence is not uncommon.
Dyers are subject to the blues, and scarlet fever,
and clock makers to the tic do’oreax.
The King s Evil is not known in this country,
and is becoming rare even in Europe.
Woman. — A pretty woman is one of the “Insti
tutions” of this country—an angel in dry goods
and glory. She makes sunshine, blue sky, Fourth
of July, and happiness wherever she goes. Her
path is one of delicious roses, perfume and beauty.
She is a sweet poem, written in rare curls, and
choice calico, and good principles. Men stand up.
before her, as so many admiration points, to melt
into cream and then butter. Her words float
round the ear like music, birds of Paradise, or the
chimes of Sabbath bells. Without her, society
would lose its truest attraction, the church its
firmest reliance, and young men the very best of
comforts and company. Her influence and gener
osity restrain the vicious, strengthen the weak,
raise the lowly, flannel 6hirt the heathen, and
strengthen the fainthearted. Wherever you find
the virtuous woman, you also find pleasant fire
sides, boquets, clean clothes, order, good living,
gentle hearts, piety, music, light and model insti-
I tutions generally. She is the flower of humanity,
a very Venus in dimity, and her inspiiation i the
j hneeth of Heaven.
JNTo.