Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 10.
Jlifrilkuff.
TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.
I? this a Fast to keep
The !ar<lcr leane,
And cleane,
From vat of veals and sheep ?
Is it to quit the dish
Os flesb, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish ?
Is it to faste an houre,
Or raft'd to go,
Or show
A downcast looke and sowre ?
No: ‘tis a Fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat,
And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.
Is it to fast from strife,
From old debate, t
And hate:
To circamcise your life.
To show a heart grief-rent,
To starve thy sin.
Not bin;
And that's to kep thy Lent.
[Herrick's Noble Number*, 1048.
LITTLE BY LITTLE
** Little i>r little,” a a acorn said.
As tt slowly sink In Its mossy Ned ;
■ I iru iutproTiiK every day.
Hid l<*n deep in th-* earth away.”
Little Ly little each day it ifrew;
Little hy little it i(tpe t the dew ;
Imwnward u -oat out a thread like root;
t'p In the air rpronz a liny *hrt.
[lay alter day, and year aiu-r year.
Little hy little the leaves appear;
A rut the slender nranehe- spread far and wide,
‘fill tlx luiithty oak Is the forest's pride.
Far down ia the depths of the dark i.ioe eea.
An lnwct train work* ceawlesalv ;
Oraia hy strain they are handing well.
E h one aloi e in its little cell.
Moment by moment, au<l day hy day.
Sever stopping to rest or pi y.
Kicks up mi r< < k* they are rnrfnc h ! irh,
nil the top looks oat on the sunny say;
The gentle wind and the htlmy air.
Little by KUte bring verdure tnere ;
‘TUI the summer snnl* urns ga It smile
On the hudi and flowers of the coral isle.
“Little by Hole,” eai Ia thoog'itfn! hoy.
•* Moment by moment, l’u welt employ,
Lenrnttig a I title every day.
And not spending all my time iu pay ;
And still this rale la my mind shall dwell—
• Whatever I do. I will do it well.’
Little by llttla I learn to know
The treasured wtsd on of king ago ;
And one of these days perhaps we'll se
That the world will be the belter f r me.”
And do you not think that this simple plan
Made him a wise and useful man ?
For the Georgia Citizen.
The Sorrows of a Short-Sighted Man.
BY AI N'T JKSSIK.
I am short-sighted—very short-sight
ed, and though many people m#y think
it a small matter, my opinion is, that 1
ini entitled to the tenderest sympathies
of the public. When I was a little fel
low 1 was always getting into scrapes in
consequence of my defective vision. At
school I never knew when the teacher
wis looking at me. and was as likely to
throw paper balls, or pinch my neighbor
when the schoolmaster’s eyes were on
my face as any other way. When I was
ten years old, I went to church one Sab
bath, thinking my mother would not at
tend. I j lined a particular crony, Tim
Mathews, and we had a jolly time of it.
‘f the sermon entered one tar, it certain
ly went directly out at the other, which.
1 tear, is sometimes the ease with older
people than Tim and myself were. Now
playing in church in N. England, where
was raised, is considered a high misde
meanor, and I returned home feeling
guilty to a degree, and hoping my mo
ther would not hear of it. Soon after
my entrance into the house, my mother
“ailed me to her side.
“•lohn,” said she, “you have acted
ver y badly in church to-day !—(Was the
von&n omnipresent ? thought I.) —And
w hi*t made your conduct still worse,
•ben I looked at you and shook my
be*d. you stared in my face with an air
’ defiance, and then whispered to Tim,
ln, l both laughed.”
Now to the first charge my conscience
plead guilty —to the second, emphatically
m>t guilty— and I replied to my mother
! did not see her, and did not know
• V was at church.
“ lohn. said my mother, wijh a look
! P*:n in her gentle face, “you have al
**ys been a truthful boy ; don’t add to
he sinfulness of your conduct in church,
felling me a falsehood.’’
heart swelled with a childish
*ense of injustice, and the pain 1 had giv-
my mother. Again I earnestly re
• ed : Mother, 1 did not see you—in
>*d. lam telling you the truth.”
looked me keenly in the eye, and
directly a light came over her counte
dtlee, as if she had made a discovery ;
Tr.d leading me to the window she point
ed to objects on the distant hills before
Jr house, asking me questions in rela
bon to them. Directly she laid her
nan d on my head, saying, with a look of
ended pity and gratification, “My
rear son, I am convinced that you are
Dear-sighted. While lam sorry that it
■’ ®°> 1 a **i truly glad to know you have
uttered an untruth. You shall have
a P*ir of spectacles.”
‘as with a light heari I received a
r “ • lecture from my mother about my
in church. 1 thought little of
““7 f ' teot ‘ ve eye-sight, in comparison
• t ' a ®y mother's approbation and con
r j ence in my veracity.
be glasses were purchased, but I
ted to wear them, and continued to
bluuderg as before.
f ‘^ n y years ago, it was fashionable
f. e ladies of New England to wear
‘ nd of f “r tippet, called a “ boa”—so
I suppose, from its resemblance
a e r e snake—being Wig, and very
snaky in appearance. They had gone
out of fashion in my time among the
elite, though some old ladies continued
to wear them still.
When I was about sixteen, I was
walking, one cold day, djwn Broad
Street, in the flourishing town of B ,
Vt. In crossing the street I saw ahead
of me a shirt, chunky woman, with one
t-nd of her boa trailing on ihe ground
behind her. I hastened forward, ex
claiming, “ Madam, you are losing your
boa!” and precipitately rushing up to
her, I raised the end of it, when the cow
—for it was a cow’s tail I had mistaken
f*r the boa—kicked me in the region of
the stomach, regardless of my politenes.-,
and I fell backwards on the frozen, snow
covered ground.
Judge Benton, a friend of my father’s,
came to my assistance, and helped me
up with the consoling remark, “ Served
you right, John. You are too large a
boy to be pulling a cow’s tail in the
public street!”
I scorned to enter into an explana
tion, and returned home a sadder and a
sorer boy.
At eighteen I fell desperately in love.
Mrs. Norton had a niece—Miss Grey—
visiting her, from Boston, and she gave
her a large party. I was present. Miss
Grey came, saw, and conquered my sus
ceptible heart. I had on my spectacles,
and could see her in all her glory, iat
once decided she was my destiny—the
bright particular star of my firiniiient.
How unspeakably stale, fl it and unprof
itable seemed my whole previous life!
llow had I existed heretofore, unsunned
by the rays of her celestial eyes, un
cheered by her seraphic smile ? I re
ceived an introduction to my divinity—l
danced with her—and I loved her ! Miss
Grep was my senior, probably by three
or four years ; but what signifies a few
years’ difference in age with congenial
souls—twin spirits ? I went home that
night with blissful feelings. 1 determin
ed to win her, or die in the effort. In
fact, life would be a burden without her.
True, I nearly broke my shins against a
against a table in my room—having re
moved my glasses—and gave my head a
terrible thump against the corner of the
mantelpiece, as I walked across the
room, unable to be quiet when thinking |
of the angel of my visions. But 1 heed
ed not these trifles. What is physical
pain, w hen the soul is bathed in bliss ]
The next day I called on Miss Grey. 1
was ushered into the parlor. There she
sat, on a sofa, a lovely angel, attired in
blue, with a blue and black thing on her
beautiful head—a head dress 1 suppose,
but can’t swear to it, not being well
posted in the names of the articles of la
dies’ apparel. I bowed; she rose and
smiled, and extending her little hand
most graciously, she allowed me the ex
quisite honor of shaking it; then she
kindly made room for me on the sofa.—
1 spoke of the weather—she made angel
ic replies. I mentioned the party —she
had never enjoyed one as much. I
quoted Byron—she quoted Moore. I
I sofily alluded to the love of two con
genial hearts—she blushed and sighed,
and looked down at her very pretty feet,
which peeped, of course accidentally,
from the edge of her dress. 1 looked
in the same direction, and seeing the cor
ner of an embroidered pocket handker
chief on the floor, by her feet. 1 gal
lantly stooped to raise and return it to
its fair owner. I seized it with a sudden
jerk, w hen, oh horrors! I found I had
hold of her under skirt!
“ What are you doing, sir?” said she,
angrily, and the vixen actually slapped
me in the face!
1 rose to my feet, my countenance
crimson with mortification and the blow',
and replied, sullenly, “ 1 thought it was
your pocket handkerchief; I am near
sighted.” At which she actually laugh
ed ; but I let her laugh alone, for, bid
ding her a hasty adieu, I left, completely
cured of my passion.
1 decided that I had been mistaken
about her being the star of my destiny ;
for if there was one thing on earth I cor
dially detested, it was a virago, and that
slap put an effectual extinguisher on my
evanescent flame. I have never seen her
since, but am happy to be able to say,
she is yet Miss Grey, and that name, 1
trust, will le the one on her tomb stone!
Not that I am vindictive, but I think
any impartial, right-thinking person will
admit that it is hard, because one hap
pens to be near-sighted, that his first
dream of love should be dispelled by a
slap from the angel beloved !
, At table lam constantly mistaking
butter for cheese, taking a piece of the
former with my fiDgers, sr cutting a del
icate morsel of the latter with my knife.
Often have 1 mistaken a dish for some
-1 thing else, and called lor something not
on the table; or, grown wiser from ex
-1 j perience. omitted to help myself to some
thing 1 was particularly fond of, for fear
1 j it was something else. Upon one occa
-1! sion l mortally offended a lady by in
’ I forming her she had flour <>n her face.
i when it was in reality chalk, put there
by her own fair hand, to beautify her
! complexion ! 1 have repeatedly ad
vanced, with a gracious air and smiling
face, in a crowd, to speak to a friend,
and getting in close proximity found it
to be a pei feet stranger, wearing a look
of more surprise than pleasure at my fa
miliar grin of welcome ! I have neg
lected to return the bows and smiles of
fair ladies, because, forsooth, I did not
sec their tokens of recognition, thereby
incurring their ill will. I have repeat
edly been ca.ight in the act of putting
on overcoats and hats that did not be
long to me, and sometimes my excuse
of short-sight failed to convince the own
ers of my honesty ! I have divers times
given myself a black eye. by running
against lamp posts at night. I have
thrown kisses at young ladies I never
saw before, mistaking them for school
girls of my acquaintance. 1 have neg
lected to attend the summons across the
room, at a party or concert, from ladies
who beckoned me with fair hands, when
I was apparently looking straight at
them. In short. lam always in some
scrape on account of my eyes, and half
of my acquaintances will not take my
misfortune as any excuse for my blun
ders. They naturally ask why 1 don’t
wear glasses all the time. I detest the
thing-*, and expect to continue making
mistakes to the end of the chapter.
A week later. What care 1 if lam
short-sighted ? I met Miss Grey last
Monday, very unexpectedly. She is
lovelier than ever! We talked of the
past, She was grieved about that slap
she gave me. I found she had loved me
from the first, and she has consented to
be my darling wife! She is a lovely
woman. She has spirit, and I like that
in a woman, and always did. These
tame, milk-and-water girls I never could
endure. We are to be married next
month. Oh, I am a lucky fellow, if I
cm near-sighted ! for Ellen Grey is a
prize any man might be proud of win
ning.
After we are married I think I’ll try
to wear my spectacles more. 1 really
think spectacles add to a gentleman’s
looks. They give a distingue and lit
erary air to a man. Ellen says she
adores glasses—the lovely angel !
For the Georgia Citizen.
In Memoriam.
Sadly in life's meridian day,
Has my dear Chivkrs passed away—
Borne down by toil and anxious care.
He slumbers now in silence there.
Sadly I mourn his hapless lot —
I weep alave his resting spot.
And wish I could have seen his face.
And heard his words of truth and grace.
But he has gone ; the tide of life
Has borne him from earth's scenes of strife;
And silent in his holy rest
He sweetly sleeps, in Jesus blest.
But soon the morning light shall break,
And death's cold captives shall awake:
Then harps with holiest praise shall ring.
For saints who sleep shall wake and sing!
J. G.
The Sentence on the Saviour.
A correspondent of the Notes and Que
ries writes : “ Can any of your correspon
dents inform me whether the enclosed ex
tract. from the Kolnische Zeitung, is based
on sound authority, and what that authority
is? also, where and when was the Kolni.-che
published ?’’
Correct Transcript of the Sentence of
Death Pronounced Against Jesus Ciiiust.
The following is a copy of the most memo
rable judicial sentence which ha3 ever been
pronounced in the annals of the world—that
of death against our Saviour, with the re
mark which the journal Le Droit has collect
ed, and the knowledge of which must be
interesting in the highest degree to every
Chrisiian. Until now, lam not aware that
it has ever been made public in the German
papers. The sentence is, word for word, as
follows:
Sentence pronounced by Pontius Pilate,
intendant of the province of Lower Galilee,
that Jesus of Nazareth shall suffer death by
the err ss.
In the seventeenth year of the reign of
the Emperor Tiberius, and on the 25th day
of the month of March, in the most holy
city of Jerusalem, during the pontificate of
Annas and Caiphas.
Pontius Pilate, intendant of the province
of Lower Galilee, sitting in judgment in the
presidential seat of the pra*tor, sentences
Jesus of Nazareth to death on a cross, be
tween two robler. a3 the numerous and
notorious testimonies of the people prove —
1. Jesus is a misleader.
2. lie has excited the people to sedition.
3. He is an enemy to the laws.
4. lie calls himself the Son of God.
5. He calls himself, falsely, the King of
Israel.
6. He went into the Temple, followed by
a multitude of people, carrying palms in
their hands.
Orders the first centurion, Quirilius Corne
lius, to bring him to the place of execution.
Forbids all persons, rich or poor, to pre
vent the execution of Jesus.
The witnesses who have signed the exe
cution of Jesus.
1. Daniel Robant, Pharisee.
2. John Zorobabel.
3. Raphael Robani.
4. Capet
Jesus to be taken out of Jerusalem through
the gate of Tournes.
This sentence is engraved on a plate of
brass in the Hebrew language, and on its
sides are the following words : “ A similar
plate has been sent to each tribe.” It was
discovered in the year 1280, in the city of
Aqnila. in the Kingdom of Naples, by a
MACON, GA., FRIDAY, APRIL 22, 185.
siroh mads for the discovery of R'man an
tiquities. and remained there until it was
found by th; commissaries of the arts in the
French army of Italy. Up to the time of
the campaign in Southern Italy, it was pre
served in the sacristy of Carthusians, near
Naples, where it <vaskept in a box of ebony.
Since then the relict has been kept in the
chapel of Caserta. The Carthusians obtained
by their petitions that the plate might be
kept by them, which was an acknowledg
ment of the sacrafices which they had made
for the French army. The French transla
tion was made literally by members of the
commission of arts. Denon had a facsimile
of the plates engraved, which was bought
by Lord Howard, on the sale of his cabinet,
for 2,800 francs. There seems to bo no
historical doubt as to the authenticity of this.
The reasons of the sentence correspond ex
actly with those of the Gospel.
N Y. Journal of Commerce.
Liberal Sentiments.
George W. Curtis, Esq., delivered a lec
ture last Wednesday evening before the
Mercantile Library Association at Tremont
Temple, on “ Democracy and Education.”
It was a very fine effort, and listened to with
marked attention by a large audience. The
following are a few of the salient points
made by the speaker, as reported in the
Journal:—
“ Taking Luther as the great representa
tive of the Democratic sentiment, the lectu
rer remarked that this sturdy old defender of
individual opinion thought he was only
planting a sapling to strengthen his fence,
but it had grown to a tree which had up
rooted the fence, and now its umbrageous
tops were full of singing birds. He lit a
candle to light the room, but the blaze had
flamed and lighted up the world.
” Every race or class of men in history
which had been denied a common humanity,
had finally resented the denial and asserted
their own rights. It was not true that al
ways the voice of the people was the voice
of God. Fifty dunces knew no more than
one dunce. There was no magic in num
bers, but a thousand men would belter pro
tect their rights than one man.
“ A theocracy is the ideal system. No
one doubts that the least government is the
best one; but how shall we find the best?
The man who carries off my spoons will not
receive immunity because he claims to be a
minister, nor a governmeut to violate my
contract because it is a government.
“ The people might make wicked laws as
well as the king makes them. They may
enforce polygamy or any other wrong, but
that did not make it right. And if there
was any such a thing as a wicked law, it
was no more binding because made by a
million men than by one man. This, you
say, is striking at the foundation of civil
government Ought we not to bear and for
bear ? Was not government a matter of
compromise ? While it is a law w r e ought
to conquer our prejudices. Let us at least
be respectable while we live; just smother
the baby and have done with it. Doing
right was between my God a id me, and if
I should obey your law and kill my child to
night, I doubt if it would be a passport for
me to heaven.
“ Should the startling doctrine ever be an
nounced in this country that our govern
ment was only intended for certain kinds of
men, then let every man look after his liber
ty. It had inaugurated a despotism, and to
morrow’ the hosts of despotism were march
ing boldly into our doors. When we per
manently disfranchise a man, we have struck
a severe blow at Democracy. Every man
had an equal right to have a voice in the
government with you, or the President of
Lite United States.
The speaker eloquently vindicated the
right of individual opinion, and showed how
even the admirers of Luther to-day utterly
tailed to defend that cardinal right; how the
independent thinker was prayed against,
how tracts were written at him, and how
his soul was paralyzed with the slow, inces
saut droppings of calumny. But despite all
hindrance the race does and would sweep
on to the tropics of its dreams. The lectu
rer launched au arrow at the Pickwickian
Christianity of the day, and said that all the
devices of science and learning, unhallowed
by virtue, would return to plague the world.
True education developed the democratic
principle. Nations were but bridges over
which humanity passed in its giand march.
If its timbers were rotten, it must fall. In
fine, Liberty was but that will of God grad
ually making the world His own.
The Wisdom of Virtue.
Archbishop Tillotson, when Dean of Can
terbury, about the year 1760, was induced,
(says his biographer,) “upon being informed
that the Earl of Shrewsbury was being en
gaged in conversation which might prove
dangerous lo his virtue, as well as his char
acter, to write to him the following letter
which is a master-piece for the elegance and
politeness, as well as the force and pathos
of the remonstrance: ’
Lord: It was a great satisfaction to
me to be anyways instrumental in the gain
ing your lordship to our religion, which I am
really persuaded to be the truth. But lam
and always was more concerned that your
lordship would continue a virtuous and good
man than become a Protestant, being assur
ed that the ignorance and errors of men’s
understanding are easier forgiven by God
than the faults of the wilL I remember that
your lordship once told me that you would
endeavor to justify your change by 3 con
scientious regard to all other parts and ac
tions of your life. I am sure you cannot
more effectually condemn your own act than
by being a worse man, after your profession
to have embraced a better religion. I will
certainly be one of the last to believe any
thing oi your lordship that is not good ; but
I always feared that I should be one of the
first that should hear it The time that I
last waited upon your lordship, I had heard
something that afflicted me very sensibly ;
but I hoped it was not true, and was there
fore loth to trouble your lordship about it
But having heard the same from those who,
I believe, bear no ill-will to your lordship,
I now think it my duty to acquaint you with
it To speak plainly, I have been told that
your lordship is of late fallen into a conver
sation dangerous both to your reputation and
virtue, two of the tenderest and dearest
things in the world. I believe your lordship
to have a great command and conduct of
yourself; but lam very sensible of human
frailty, and of the dangerous temptations to
which youth is exposed in this dissolute age.
Therefore 1 earnestly beseech your lordship
to consider, besides the high provocation of
Almighty God, and the hazard of your soul,
whenever you engage in a tad course, what
a blemish you will bring upon a fair and un
spotted reputation ; what uneasiness and
trouble you will create to yourself from the
severe reflection of a guilty conscience; and
how great a violence you will offer to your
good principles, your nature, and your edu
! cation, and to a mind the best made lor vir
tuous and worthy things.
And do not imagine you can stop when
you please. Experience shows us the con
trary, and that nothing is more vain than
or men to think they can set bounds for
themselves in anything that is bad. I hope
in God no temptation has yet prevailed on
your lordship so far as to be guilty of any
loose act. If it has, as you love your soul,
let it not proceed to a habit. The retreat is
yet pasy and open, but will every day be
come more difficult and obstructed. God is
so merciful, that upon your repentance and
resolution of amendment, ho is not only
ready to forgive us what is past, but to as
sist ys hy his grace to do better for the fu
ture. But I need not enforce these consid
erations upon a mind so capable of and easy
to receive good counsel. I shall only desire
your lordship to think again and again, how
groat a point of wisdom it is, in all of our
actions, to consult the peace of our minds,
and to have no quarrel with the constant
and inseparable companion of our lives. If
others displease us, we may quit their com
pany ; but he that is displeased with himself
is unavoidably unhappy, because he has no
way of getting rid of himself.
My Lord—for Gods sike and your own,
think of being happy; and resolve by all
means to save yourself from this untoward
generation. Determine rather upon a speedy
change in your youth in anything but what
is lawful and honorable; and let me have
the satisfaction to be assured from your lord
ship, either that there has been no ground
for this report, or that there shall be none
for the future, which will be the welcomest
news to me in the world. I have only to
beg of your lordship to believe that I have
not done this to satisfy the formality of my
profession ; but that it proceeds lrom the
truest affection and good will that one can
possibly bear to another. I pray God every
day for your lordship, with the same con
stancy and fervor as for myself, and do most
earnestly beg that this counsel may be ac
ceptable and effectual. I am, etc.
Presages ot Caesar s Death.
We are told there were strong signs and
presages of the death of Ciesar. Many re
port that a certain soothsayer forewarned
him of a great danger which threatened him
on the Ide3 of March, and that when the
day was come, as he was going to the senate
house, he called to the sooth-sayer, and said
laughing, “The Ides of March are come;”
to which he answered softly, “ Yes, but they
are not gone!”
The evening before, be supped with Mar
cus Lepidus, and signed, according to cus- j
tom, a number of letters as lie sat at table.
While he was thus employed, there arose a
question, “ What kind of death was the
best?” and Ciesar answering before them all
cried out “A sudden one.”
The same night as he was in bed with his
wife, the doors and windows of his room
flew open at once. Disturbed both with
the noise and light, he observed, by moon
shine, Calpurnia in a deep sleep, uttering
broken words and inarticulate groans. She
dreamed that she was weeping over him, as
she held him murdered in her arms. Be
that as it may, next morning she conjured
Ciesar not to go out that day, if he could
possibly avoid it, but to adjourn the senate
and, if he paid no regard to her dreams, to
have recourse to some other species of divi- I
nation, or to sacrifices, for information as to 1
his fate. This gave him some suspicion and 1
alarm ; for he had never known, before, in
Calpurnia, anything of the weakness or su
perstition of her sex. though she was now
so much affected.
He therefore offered a number of sacri
fices, and as the diviners found no auspicious
tokens in them, he sent Antony to dismiss
the senate. In the meantime, Decimus Bru
tus, surnamed Albinus, came in. He was a
person in whom CtC3ar placed such confi
dence that lie had appointed him his second
heir, yet he was er.gaged in the conspiracy
with the other Brutus and Cassius. This
man, fearing that if Ciesar adjourned the
senate to another day the affair might be
discovered, laughed at the diviners, and told
Ca'sar he would be highly to blame, if, by
such a slight he gave the senate occasion to
complain against him. “ For they were
met,” he said, “ at his summons, and came
prepared with one voice to honor him with
the title of king in the provinces, and to
grant that he should wear the diadem both
by land and by sea, every where out of
Italy. But if any one go and tell them, now
they have taken their places, they must go
home again, and return when Calpurnia
happens to have better dreams, what room
will your enemies have to laugh out against
you ? Or, who will hear your friends when
they attempt to show that this is not an open
servitude on the one hand, and tyranny on
the other ? If you are absolutely persuaded
that this is an unlucky day, it is certainly
better to go yourself, and tell them you have
strong reasons for putting off business till
another time.” So saying, he took Ciesar
by the hand and led him out.
He went to the senate-house, where he
was assassinated by the conspirators,
pathizing, disinterested, spirit-endowed one
Emma Uardinge, but to have been present
at one of the triumphs of our blessed faith,
in the heart of a sister woman.
Our friend, Miss Munson, whose tearful
eyes attested to her deep emotion, saw a
spirit standing by a cell, and was impressed
to speak to the prisoner within, a young wo
man, about eighteen years of age. Miss M.
asked her whether she had a sister in the
spirit-world; she appeared surprised or
alarmed, and withdrew to the other end of
the cell; our friend persevered, asking her
whether she had not a sister who was dead,
and who was named Ellen. She acknowl
edged that she had, and was then told that
the spirit,was beside her, lovingly endeavor
ing to guard her from future wrong. The
poor young creature burst iuto tears, and
said she had heard of Spiritualism; she look
ed at Miss Munson’s sympathizing face, and
said she trusted her. and told her the story of
her sad life and errors, promising that when
she would leave that place she never would
again take that which did not belong
to her; she would do better, for she believ
ed that her sister was truly there; she beg
begged to take the medium’s hand, and
vowed amendment for the future. Miss
Hardinge, too, went to the cells, gpeakmg
those words of encouragement and kind
ness, once heard from her lips, never to be
forgotten.
It is against the prison rules to speak to
any inmate on Sunday, but the kind, philan
thropic heart of William B. Mullen, the Su
perintendent, forgave the violation. I, for
one, left the prison, thanking God for sun
shine, light and freedom, fervently hop
ing the day would come when love should
restrain all wrong.
A provincial mayor in one of tho departments
of France has come out with an epigram in the
shape of a notification: “All beggars found in
this district will be fined fifteen francs for the
i use of the poor.”
i From the Southern Literary Messenger.
Revolutionary Letters.
Stono 13 Mile House, t
June 6, 1779. )
Dear Major : —I have not had the pleas
ure of receiving one line from you, since you
reached Congress. I suppose they must have
been lost on the road, but had the pleasure
of hearing from my friend Mr. Lovell that
Congress had agreed that I should return
I thank you for the friendly part you took
iu bringing about an event so interesting to
me. Matters are in this quarter iu the same
disagreeable state as when you left us. We
attempted the beginning of May to execute
an original plan of crossing the Savannah
near Augusta, and marching down the coun
try with most of our force in expectation
that the 1000 men we left under General
Moultrie, with the force lie could collect and
the strong passes of which he could possess
himself, that if the enemy should attempt.
Charleston, he would be able to stop their
progress until we should come up, but we
were very much disappointed in our expec
tations, the militia left him in the hour of
cfaDger and he was obliged to retreat to
Charleston and throw himself within the
lines. The enemy appeared before the town,
summonded it on ye 13th, left it on ye 14th,
and are dow on John Island and on the
main at Stono ferry about six miles from us.
1 hope Major Rice will see you and give you
the particulars—accept my warmest wishes
for your happiness and the happiness of your
family.
And believe me to ba with tho wannest
Affection, esteem and regard
Your sincere friend and
most obt servant,
B. LINCOLN.
Charleston, Nov. 1, 1779.
My Dear Major: From various Causes
I have been detained here until this time.
My friends I suspect will think I have neg
lected their kindness in procuring leave for
me to return. 1 assure you, Sir, that no
person feels himself more obliged to his
friends than I do to mine, and none wishes
to return to his family more than I do, but
notwithstanding I have been detained here j
such hath been the situation of affairs since
you left us that there hath been no moment
when I could leave the department with
honor to myself, or when I could reconcile
jt to my own mind.
Count DEstang arrived off Savannah the
beginning of September, sent on shore to
ye Governor to announce his arrival and in
form us of his disposition to co-operate with
us against our common enemy; the 16th
we formed a junction before Savannah—23d
Ground was broke, the batteries were open
ed on the 5 Oct. (33 cannon and 9 mortars.)
They played on ye enemy’s works and the
town, with some intervals until the Bth,
without the wished for success. When the
Count informed us of his arrivah he also in
formed us that he would not remain on
shore but eight days, that time being far
elapsed lie could not wait to continue Ins
approaches, which might have been done
even to ye enemy’s lines, which reduced us
to the necessity of raising the siege or at
tempting the town by storm —the latter was
thought advisable—toe attempt was made
on the morning of the 9th. We failed in
tlic attempt and retired with some loss—
preparation was then made to raise the siege
the stores, <fcc., were removed and the siege
raised on the evening cf the 18tb, the 19th
we re-crossed at Lubly’s ferry without op
position ; after giving orders to remove the
sick, stores and army to Sheldon, I left camp
and came to town 21st. Thus ended a mat
ter which failed from the necessity the
Count was under to leave the coast, for could
he have remained, I see nothing which could
have prevented our success.
I expect large reinforcements from the
north and that matters will soon wear a
better face than at present.
My best regards to your dear family and
believe me to be, Dear Sir, with every mark
of respect and the greatest affection, your
as-ured friend and obt.,
Maj. Meade.* B. LINCOLN.
Greatness of Little Thing's.
Scientific research iterates and reiterates
one moral—the greatness of little things
and the importance not only of the minute
study of facts, but of the study of minute
facts. One can imagine the contempt with
which the “ practical men ” of the last cen
tury listened to the news that a bitter con
troveisy was raging between two Italian
philosophers as to the reason why a frog’s
leg twitches order certain circumstances :
and yet therein lay the bud of the electric
telegraph, and Elkinton’s plate, and numer
ous other undei takings, in which the practi
cal man of the present day, though as averse j
as his aucestois to every investigation whose
fruits are not immediately visible, is very
happy to invest his money. The study of
snow-balls, pie-crust and squeezed wax, has
led the physical philosopher to comprehend
two of the greatest natural phenomena—the
cleavage of rocks and the structure of gla
ciers. A century ago, the collecting of fos
sils was regarded as an occupation of about
the same dignity as the accumulation of old j
china. Now. the coal-miner risks his capital
upon the strength of the evidence they af
ford. and the landed proprietors of some of
our eastern counties, pocket many thousand
pounds every year by selling the phosphatic
fossils whose nature was first pointed out to
them by a country clergyman, who happen
ed to be a man of science. And not only
does the gradual widening and perfecting of j
our view of nature bring with it a respect
for the influence of the study of minute facts 1
on the advancement of knowledge and the j
bettering man’s estate, but it tells us that,
apart from all consideration of man and his
1 wants, minute and seemingly insignifi- I
cant agents have played a mighty part in |
the history of our globe.
OUR PRIZE POEM.
A NODE TO SPRING.
BY A EVnTGNINT FARMER.
W ell, spring, youv come at last, hev you 1
The poit sez youv been sittin in Old Win
ter’s
Lap—now aint you ashamed of yourself?
I suppose the old feller's bin a buesin you.
I should think he had from your bretli
A bein so cold—but that's the way them
Old fellers hev a doin.
Well, as I was savin,
Youv come at last with your “bamy
Bretli,” a blowin from the northwes—
Westeonstant or Nebrasky, I Bpose,
Grate Kuntries for bam l rekin !
Now youv cum wen
Everybodi’s feed, an Korn, an things,
Hev all been fed out! Now luk at
Our Kritters, will ye? See our Katel!
: On the lift, a hevin to be steddied by
Thur tales when they gits up a mornings!
Luk at our hossis wats all rejoiced
To skeletons a weepin over a troft;
A hull troft full of kobs!
A hull troft full of bitter rekeleckshnns!
Luk at them sliepe a lien in
The fens korners a waiting for grass !
Yis! an thev bin a waitin sum uv
Them for weex I—An if they wasnt
Paid theyd a bin “ahakin their lox
At you, and sed U dun it!” (That thur
Iz from Hamlet, wun of SUakspur’s plays.)
As another poit sez—"Gras ditfared maks
The stumak ake.” So tho<e shepe will
Never open thur ii onto gras agin—No!
Now luk at them hogs, as has bin
A follering them Katel wat hav bin
Stuff; with ha ! Se cm will ye a crepin
Round as if thevs tetched with Korns,
Luk at thur eres will ye—bigur than
Env cabbitch lefe
See the shotes
A lonin outer the fens to squele !
Luk at them mity eres a “hangin pendent”
Onto sich little hogs! See a hundried
Gud shoats rejuiced down to a even
Korn basket ful!
Y r es, that thurs ol yer doins, U
Tardi loiterin Spring!—a hangin bak
Az youv bin a doin.
But now you’ve cum
We fele yer eheerin presenz wen wo
Git round unto the south side ov the barn !
We hear the hens a kaklin when they’ve
Laid an egg! We see the horseradish
A startin up a long side the garding
Fens ! The wimmin is a lookin into
The old tepot arter garding sede.s !
All these things make me think youv cum!
Es so be Iv riled
Y>, Spring, a showin up uv yer short cum
mins,
Jes set it down to bavin a poit’s lisens.
[Tho I hain't taken wun out yet, l low to.]
Old Hundred.
The following tribute to that noble old re
ligious melody, “Old Hundred,” is as true
as it is eloquent and beautiful:
If it be true that Luther composed that
tune, and if the worship of mortals is carried
on the wings of angels to Heaven, how often
has been heard the declaration, “ Tlmv are
singing ‘Old Hundred ’ now !” The solemn
strains carries us back to the time of the
Reformers—Luther and his devoted band.
He, doubtless, was the first to strike the
grand old chords in the public sanctuary of
his own Germany. From his stentorian
lungs it rolled, vibrio g, not through the
vaulted cathedral roof, but along a grander
arch—the etem 1 heavens. He wrought
into each note bis own sublime faith, and
stuinpel with that faith’s immortality. Hence
it cannot die. Neither men nor angels will
let it pass into oblivion.
Can you find a tomb in the land where
sealed lips lay, that have not sang that t”ne?
If they were gray old men they have heard
or sung “Old Hundred if they were babies
they smiled as their mother rocked them to
sleep, singing “Old Hundred.” Sinner and
saint have joined with endless congregations
where it ha--, with and without the pealing
organ, souuded on the sacred air.
The dear little children, looking with won
dering eyes on this strange world, have lisp
ed it. The sweet young girl, whose tomb
stone told of sixteen summers—she whose
pure, innocent face haunted you with its
mild beauty—loved “Old Hundred,” and she
sang it, closed her eyes, and seemed com
muning with the angels, who were soon to
claim it. He whose manhood was devoted
to the service of God, and he who, with the
white hand placed over his laboring breast, j
loved ’ Old Hundredand though some- ,
times his lips only move way down iu his ‘
heart, so soon to cease its throbs, the holy
melody was sounding. The dear white
haired old father, with his tremulous voice,
how he loved “Old Hundred.” Do you not
see him now, sitting in the venerable arm
chair, his hands crossed over the head of hi? ■
cane, his silvery locks floating off from his
hollowed temples, and a tear stealing down
his care-worn, furrowed cheeks, that thin,
quivering, faltering sound, now bursting
forth, now listening for in vain ? If you do
not. we do; and from such lips, hallowed
by four score years’ service in the Master's
cause, “Old Hundred ” sound? indeed, a sa
cred melody.
You may fill your choirs with Sabbath
prirna donnas, whose daring notes emulate
the steeple, and cost about as much—but
give us the spirit tones of the Lutheran
Hymn, sung by old and young together.
Martyrs have hallowed it; it has gone up
from the band of the saints. The old
churches, where generation after generatu n
have worshipped, and where many scores
of the dear dead have been carried and laid
before the altar, where they gave themselves
to God, seem to breathe of “Old Hundred”
from vestibule to tower top: the air is haun
ted with its spirit
Think a moment of the assembled compa
ny. who have at different times and in dif
ferent places, joined in the familiar tune.
Throng upon throng—the strong, the gentle,
the brave, the beautiful, the rapt face?, all
beaming with inspiration of the heavenly
sounds.
“Old Hundred 1” kiDg of the sacred band
1 of “sacred airs!” Never shall our ears grow
weary of hearing, or our tongues of singing
thee I And when we get to Heaven, who
knows but what the first triumphal strain
that welcomes us may be ‘-Old Hundred.”
Artesian Water a Curative.— The Louis
ville Journal of the 19ih says:
The artesian well water still continues to
work its wenderlul cures, and is daily receiving
the highest encomiums frem the medical pro
fession as the most effectual remedy in many
cases.
It is related that Dr. R. , of Boston, was
• once invited by a friend to visit the theater aud
see anew play. The friend proposed taking
seats near the orchestra. “Oh, no, said the
1 Doctor, “I have a slight cold, and uoubt the
i propriety of sitting near those wind mstru
, mente.”
NUMBER 4.
WASHINGTON MEMORIALS.
The following is a copy of a letter
Washington addressed to Bishop White,
respecting his contribution to aid poor
families that had suffered during the rav
ages of the yellow fever in Philadelphia:
( Privatt .)
PmunEirHi A, 31st December, 1793.
T>pnr Sir: It has been my intention
ever since my return to the city, to con
tribute my mite towards the relief of the
most needy Inhabitants of it. The pres
sure of public business hitherto has sus
pended, but not altered my resolution.
1 am at a loss, however, for whose bene
fit to apply the little 1 can give, into
whose hands to place it:—whether for
the use of the fatherless children & wid
ows (made so by the late calamity), who
may lind it difficult, whilst provision?,
wood 6i other necessaries are so dear, to
support themselves; —or to other and
better purposes (if any), I know not;
and therefore ha\e taken the liberty of
asking your advice.
I persuade myself justice will be done
to my motives for giving you this trou
ble. To obtain information, and to ren
der the little l can afford without osten
tation or mention of my name are the
sole objects of these queries—with great
and sincere esteem and regard,
1 am. l>iar Sir,
Your most obed’t and
affccto serv't,
GO. WASHINGTON.
The Right Rev’d Hoot'a White.
The following was found among the
papers of the late Gen. Wade Ilainp
| ton:
He\T> 4 jCABTKRS, BlCKl* CotJTTY, )
Aug. 21, 1777. /
Sir: 1 have the honor to intioduce to
you Count Pulaski, of Foland, who will
visit Philadelphia to solicit of Congress
a command in our army.
I some timo ago had a letter from our
mutual friend, Mr. Deane, speaking in
terms equally favorable to the character
and military abilities of this gentleman
—thus doubly recommended to your no
tice, you will be pleased, I am sure, to
show him all courtesy, and promote his
views to the extent of your power.
With great respect and esteem,
I have the honor to tie,
Sir,
Your most obed. serv't.
GO. WASHINGTON.
Geo roe Oltmer, Esq.
The following is a copy of a letter
written by Gen. Washington to Gen.
Knox, on the occasion of the death of his
(Gen. Knox’s) son. The original is in
possession of the Bangor Mechanics 1 As
sociation :
Philadelphia, Sep. 8111, 1791.
My dear Sir: I have heard of the
j death of your promising sou with great
concern ; and sincerely condole with you
and Mrs. Knox on the melancholy occa
sion. Parental feelings are too much
alive in the moment these misfortunes
happen to admit the consolations of reli
gion or Philosophy, bat 1 am persuaded
reason will call one or both of them to
your aid, as soon as the keenness of your
anguish is abated.
He that giveth, you know, has a right
to take away. His ways are wise—they
are inscrutable and irresistible.
I am ever your sincere &
affectionate friend,
GO. WASHINGTON,
j Maj. Gen. Knox.
ORIGINAL LETTER FROM COLONEL JAMESON
TO GENERAL WASHINGTON.
Wright's Tavern, Feb. 2, 1778.
Sir: I received yours of yesterday,
and shall execute your commands as soon
as possible. I have not been able to
see Gen. Lacy these several days. The
militia on this and the Ridge Road have
abandoned their posts since Saturday,
and are cot yet replaced. 1 shall go in
search of Gen. Lacy tomorrow, and fix
on a day to do the business you have
ordered. The mills on the Pennypaek
and Frankford have furnished a great
quantity of flour, which it has not been
in my power to prevent with the men on
this side of the river, unless J could be
with them day and night, as they are a
set of the greatest villains 1 ever heard
of. Many of them, I believe, have re
ceive I bribes to let the inhabitants pass,
but no pio<f against any hut one Hood
and one Reade, both of whom deserted
last w eek upon my ordering the officers
to collect all the men to this place. Oth
ers have robbed people on the road, two
of which I have tbund out, but have not
as yet confined them, as there are not
three of the men that I could, with auy
degree of safety, trust my life with ; am
therefore w liting for the relief I am ev
ery day expecting before I do anything
with ihem, as 1 am not certain but what
many of them u’ould desert if they knew
! any inquiry making into their conduct.
The mills on the YVissahickon 1 do not
believe have furnished any quantity of
flour to the city, as there are none of
them that have their bolting cloths ex
cept Vanderon’s, Mathar’s, and Mere
dith, all of whom have promised not to
sell any to the inhabitants of the town.
Shall execute your orders as soon as i
can find Gen 1 Lacy, if not countermand
ed. Cap’n Howard took about 100 peo
ple going to market la-t week, mostly
women. There are about 10 tolerable
horses, which I shall send to the quarter
master-general. There is one lyson, a
notorious villain, that I shall send as
soon as I get him and the witnesses. I
have not bejn able to write since the
20lh of last month, owing to my having
received a wound in my lore-finger that
day. I received a letter of the loth of
last month from Count Pulaski, to re
pair to the w r est side of the Schuylkill,
and to take command of all the horse on
the lines ou both sides the river, in con
sequence of which 1 repaired to Cap'n
Lee’s quarters to see what was to be
done, and also to know what sum of
money he might want for the expenses
of his party, and intended waiting on
your excellency, but hearing that you
had sent an express to this side of the