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lb. t. blome & CO.,
PUBLISHERS AND PROPRIETORS.
! AUGUSTA, GA., APRIL 4, 1868.
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TER M S :
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and Lieut. W. A. WRIGHT.
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indebted to this useful and valued associ a
- tion for favors received.
To be Continued.— -The editorial on
“Southern Women and Children,” will
be continued by Father Ryan in our next
number.
Southern Home Journal.—We are
pleased to welcome this Southern journal
to our list of exchanges. It is neatly
printed, well filled with interesting read
| ing, and is published weekly, at Balti
more, by J. G. Slater, at $3.00 per annum
in advance.
The Catholic Mirror.— The Mirror
is a leading journal of our Church, and is
published weekly at Baltimore’by Messrs.
M. J Kelly and Jno. B. Piet. It is the
official organ of the Most Rev. Archbishop
of Baltimore and Rt. Rev. Bishops of
Richmond and Wheeling, Ya. A capital
paper, and ably edited.
-—-
The Leader.— We invite the attention
of our readers to the Prospectus of the
; Leader, in another column. The Leader
j is to take the place of Southern Society ,
now published at Baltimore, and will, no
doubt, be as ably edited and as neatly
printed. It will be published weekly at
$3.00 per annum.
-» +
St. Patrick’s Day.— The anniversary
of Ireland’s Patron Saint was duly cele
brated in all the principal cities and towns
of the Union, and even in some of the
smaller ones. Our space will not permit
us to collate all there celebrations : but
we may say here that from all accounts
these celebrations passed off in a satisfac
tory and agreeable way.
“ The Confederate Dead”—By Miss
Carrif. Bell Sinclair. —We have re
ceived from Mr. E. H. Pughe, of the
A ationcd Republican, of this city, a copy
ot Miss Sinclair's beautiful and touching
poetical tribute to the Confederate Dead,
It is handsomely gotten up, is suitable lor
framing, and should find a place in every
Southern household.
< __
Personal. —We have had the plea
sure, during the past week, of visits from
Jas. E. Frost, Esq., Editor of the Jack*
sonville (Fla.) Mercury , and M. J. Di
vine, Esq., of the Savannah Advertiser.
Both of these gentlemen are from Au
gusta, and publish capital papers. We
!( commend both journals to the patronage
’ of the public.
THE UNSPOKEN WARNING.
I am no believer in the supernatural.
I never saw any ghosts, never heard any
noises ; none, at least, that could not be
accounted for on natural principles. I
never saw lights round the bed, or heard
knocks on the head-board which proved
to be “ forerunnei sos sicknessor death ;”
I never had even dreams “ come to pass
and to spirits, in the common acceptation
of the term, since the days of the Fox
girls, my very presence has been always
a damper. lam not one of the sort who
are always on the lookout for signs and
wonders; and if want of faith in spiritual
ism or supernaturalism is a sin, I ought
; to have been the last one to look for so
marked a you may name it what
you please, I call it divine interposition,
as the one I am about to relate, all the
witnesses in which—and they are not
a few—are still living.
One bitter cold day' in winter a merry
party of us, nestled down under furry
robes, went to meet an appointment with
a friend living a few miles distant, with
whom we were to spend the afternoon,
and in the evening to attend a concert to
be held near by. The sleighing was de
lightful, the air keen and inspiriting, the
host and hostess genial as the crackling
lircs in the grates, and the invited guests,
of whom there were many besides our
selves, in that peculiar trim, which only
oldtime friends, long parted, can enjoy.
Restraint was thrown aside; we cracked
jokes; we chatted like magpies, and not
a little of the coming concert, which pro
mised a rare treat to our unsophisticated
ears. Ail went merry as a marriage bell,
and merrier than some, till just" before
tea, when 1 was seized with a sudden and
unaccountable desire to go home, accom
panied by a dread or fear of something, 1
knew not what, which made the return
appear, not a matter of choice, but a thing
imperative. I tried to reason it away,
to revive anticipations of the concert ; I
though of the disappointment it would be
to those who came with me to give it up,
and running over in my mind the condi
tion in which things were left at home, I
could find no ground for alarm.
For many years a part of the house
had been rented to a trusty family ; our
children were often rocked in the same
cradle, and half the time ate at the same
tableq locks and bolts were things unused,
and in deed as in words ive were neigh
bors. In their care had been left a boy
of ten years, the only one of the family
remaining at home, who knew that when
he returned from school he was expected
to bring in wood and kindlings for the
morning fire, take supper alone, or with
little Clara , as he chose, and other
wise pass the time as he pleased, only
that he must not go into the street to play
or on the pond to skate. He had been
left many times in this way, and had
never given occasion for the slightest un
easiness; still, as this nameless fear grew
upon me, it took the form of a conviction
that danger of some sort threatened this
beloved child.
I was rising to go and ask Mr. A
to take me home, when someone said,
“ You are very pale. Are you ill ?”
“ No,” 1 answered, and dropping back
in the chair, told them how strangely 1
had been exercised for the last few
minutes, adding, “ I reallv must go
home.”
There was a perfect chorus of voices
against it, and for a little time I was si
lenced, though not convinced. Someone
laid the matter before Mr. A , who
replied, “Nonsense! Eddie is a good
boy to mind, will do nothing in our ab
sence that he would not do if we were
there, and is enjoying himself well at this
moment, I will warrant.”
This answer was brought to me in t i
umph, and I resolved to do as they said,
“ not think about it.” But at tea my
trembling hand almost refused to carry
food to my lips, and 1 found it utterly im
possible to swallow a mouthful. A death
like chill crept over me, and I knew that
every eye was on me as I left the room.
Mr. A arose, saying in a changed
voice and without ceremony, “ Make
haste—bring the horse round ; we must
go right away, I never saw in such a
state before ; there is something in it.”
He followed me to the parlor, but before
he could speak I was pleading as for dear
life that not a moment be lost in starting for
home. “I know,” said I, “it is not all
imagination, and whether it is or not, I
shall certainly die if this dreadful incubus
is not removed shortly.”
All was now confusion ; the tea-table
deserted, the meal scarce tasted ; and rny
friends alarmed as much at my looks as
at my words, were anxious to hurry me
off as they had before been to detain me.
To me those terrible moments seemed
hours, yet I am assured that not more
than half an hour elapsed from the time
niy fears first found expression before we
were on the road toward home. A horse
somewhat noted for lleetness was before
us, and with only two in the cutter—the rest
staid to the concert, and made Mr. A
promise that if nothing had happened we
would return—went over the road at a
rapid pace. I knew from the frequent
repetition of a peculiar signal that the
beast was being urged to his best, yet I
grew sick with impatience at my restraint.
1 wanted to fly. All this while my fears
had taken no definite shape. I only
knew that the child was in danger, and
felt impelled to hurry to the rescue. Only
once was the silence broken in that three
mile journey, and that was when, on
reaching an eminence from which the
house was in full view, I said, “Thank
God ! the house isn’t on fire.”
“ That was my own thought,” said Mr.
A , but there was no slacking of
speed. On nearing home a cheerful
light was glimmering from Mrs. E ’s
window’, before the vehicle had fairly
stopped we were clear of it, and, opening
the door, said in the same breath*, “Where’s
Eddie ?”
“ Eddie ?” Why he was here a little
while ago,” answered Mrs. E , pleas
antly, striving to dissipate the alarm she
saw written on our countenances. “He
ate supper with the children, and played
awhile at marbles ; then spoke of Libby
Rose having anew picture book and
that he wanted to see it. You’ll find him
over there.”
With swift steps Mr. A crossed
the street to the place mentioned, but re
turned with, “ lie lias not been there ”
Eddie was remarkably fond of skating,
and my next thought was that he hsd been
tempted to disobedience. I said calmly,
u We will go to the pond.” I was per
fectly collected ; I could have worked
all night without fatigue with the nerves
in that state of tension ; but Mr. A—
said, “No, you must go in and lie down.
Eddie is safe enough, somewheic about
the village. I’ll go and find him. But
there was nothing in the tone as in the
words to reassure me.
As he spoke he crossed the hall to our
own room, and turned the knob. The
door was locked. What could that mean ?
Eddie was either on the inside or had
taken the key away with him Mr. A
ran round to a window with a broken
spring, which could be opened from the
outside. It went up with a clang, but a
dense volume of smoke drove him back.
After an instant another attempt was
made, and this time, on a lounge directly
under the window, he stumbled on the in
sensible form of little Eddie, smothered
in smoke! Limp and''apparently lifeless,
he was borne into the fresh, cold air, and
after some rough handling, was restored
to consciousness.
From that hour I think I have known
how Abraham felt when he lifted Isaac
from the altar unharmed, in obedience
to the command of an angel of the Lord.
True, I had been subjected to no such
trial of strength and faith ; my Father
knew I would have shrunk utterly before
it ; yet, if it was not a similar messenger
that whispered to me in the midst of that
gay part}’ an hour previous, I have no
wish to be convinced of it, and were the
book placed in my hands which I knew
had power by its subtle reasonings to
rob me of this sweet belief, I would never
open it.
Eddie said on returning from school
he made a good fire, and, as the wood
was snowy, thought he would put it in
the oven to dry—something he had never
done before. Then on leaving Mrs.
E ’s room, he went in for an apple
before going to see Libby Rose’s picture
book, and it seemed so nice and warm he
thought he would lie down awhile. He
could give no explanation as to who
prompted him to turn the key—it was the
first and last time ; but this could have
made no difference in the result, for no
one would have discovered the smoke in
time to save his life. The wood in the
oven was burned to ashes, but as the
dock’s were closed, there was no danger of
falling embers setting the house on fire ;
and had we staid to the concert every
thing would have been as when we left,
except that little Eddie’s voice would
never more have made music for our ears.
Every one said that with a delay of five
or even three minutes, we should have
been too late.
Many years have passed since then,
yet now, when the lamp of Faith burns
dim, and God and His promises seem a
great way off, I have only to go back to
this—the first, the last, the only mani
festation of thisnatuie—to feel that, “ as a
father careth for his children, so careth
He for us.” “Deliver us from evil for
Thine is the power” is no mere formality,
but words pregnant with meaning.
*«•**
Slander. —A man who will stab at
another's reputation by insinuation and
iuuendo is far worse than a thief. Goods
you may replace, but character, once lost,
is all but redeemable, and, as a great
writer has said, a word is enough to ruin
a man.
QUEEN SEMIRAMIS AND HER WARS.
The city, and temple of Babylon was
first begun by Nimrod, “the mighty
hunter before the Lord,” of which"" the
Bible, speaks. But various other persons
contributed to its grandeur, the most cele
brated of which was a woman named
Semiram is, the wife of Ninus, King of
Assyria, who, when her husband died,
became the sole ruler of the empire. She
was a very ambitious woman, and did not
care so long as she could make herself
great; and so she determined to conquer
as much of the then known world as she
could.
She was also a very courageous woman ;
and, one night, word having been brought
to her of a tumult having taken place in
the city, she immediately mounted on
horseback in her undress, and did not
return till she had restored all the refrac
tory to obedience. You see it is of no
use tar people to be ambitious unless they
are very courageous, and ready to hazard
their lives at all times.
Soon after this she set off with a pow
erful army, and conquered a great part
ot Ethiopia, Here she visited the temple
of Jupiter Ammon and inquired of the
oracle how long she had to live. You
see, although she wished to subdue so
much, she knew death would subdue her,
and she could not have been very happy,
without, indeed, she had the hope of a
future life and a good conscience, which
few great conrjuerors have.
Her greatest and last expeditions was
against India; and tor the conquest of
this country she raised an immense army
from every part ot her empire, and ap
pointed Bactria for the rendezvous.
When the King of India had notice of
her approach he immediately dispatched
some ambassadors to inquire what right
she had to molest him, who was living
peacefully in his own dominions, and who
had never troubled himself about her.
She is said to have replied that when she
came over to him lie would know what
right she had—meaning that she would
make her might her right, as all unprin
cipled people do.
The principal reliance of Scmiramis
was upon the great numbers of her army,
and the chief thing she feared were the
elephants of the Indian king, which, of
course, were at that time very formidable
in battle. To make herself equal to this
point, and to inspire the Indians with
terror, she ordered a large number of
camels to be disguised as elephants, in
hopes of deceiving her enemy, and at a
distance they looked very 'well.
She had now to pass the river Indus.
A number of boats were prepared, and a
part of the army entered them. On the
other side of the river the Indians pre
pared to oppose her, and entered their
boats. Thus a tierce conflict began on
the water between the two parties.—
Semiramis, however, had the advantage,
and after sinking a thousand of their boats,
put them to flight. She also took one
hundred thousand prisoners.
Encouraged by this success, she march
ed the whole of her army quite into the
heart of the country, leaving sixty thousand
men behind to guard a bridge of boats
she had built across the river that she
might get back agaiu should she be forced
to run away It is easy to get yourself
into difficulty, but not so easy to get out
of it. Recollect this, rny young friends—
always secure your retreat.
The Indian king, however, was quite
as cunning as Queen Semiramie; he
wished to draw her into the heart of his
kingdom, and, no doubt, suffered himself
to be beaten. He lied ; she followed
with the elephants in tier train. When
the king thought she had gone far enough
for his purpose, he turned his army lound
and faced her, and a second engagement
ensued, more bloody than the first.
Then it was that the queen had to dis
cover the difference between a real ele
phant and a counterfeit, for the sham ele
phat could not stand the shock of the real
ones. These routed her army, tossing
the soldiers about with their high trunks,
goring them with their tusks, and tramp
ing them to death by hundreds beneath
their feet.
The queen, finding the day against her,
was nearly made with rage, and rushed
into the fight as if she did not care
whether she lived or died. The king ad
vanced towards her and wounded her in
two places, and would either have slain or
taken her prisoner, but the switness ot her
horse saved her.
She, with all her army that had not
been stain or taken prisoners, immediate
ly rushed towards the bridge, to repass
the river ; but, through the confusion and
disorder, many ol her soldiers perished.
When she arid a great part of her army
got safely over, she destroyed the bridge,
and left a great number to be slain by the
Indians. She did not care for them, al
though they devoted themselves to her
srrviee.
The Indian king would not pursue her
any farther; he thought he might not
get back again to his own dominions. It
would have been quite right had he fol
lowed her up to the very gates of Baby
lon, which she reached in a very sad con
dition, quite crest-fallen and covered with
confusion.
Babylon was no longer a place of en
joyment for her, and her wicked design of
doing evil to a peaceable person met with
its reward.
During her absence her own son was
plotting against her, and after her return
she was obliged to abdicate her throne
and withdraw herself to the temple, where
she lived several years, dying at the age
of sixty-two years. After her death divine
honors were paid her—l cannot tell for
what. lam sure she had not learned to
“do to others as she would that they
should do unto her.”
GEMS OF PROSE AND POETRY.
He is not poor who hath little, but he
that desireth much. lie is rich enough
who wants nothing.
To things which you bear with impa
tience you should accustom yourself, and
by habit you will bear them well.
the barefooted boy.
Blessings cn thee, little man.
Barefoot boy •with cheeks of tan.
With thy turned up pantaloons.
And thy merry whistled tunes ;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ;
With the sunshine on thy face
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace ;
From my heart I give thee joy—
I was once a barefoot boy !
Prince thou art—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride ;
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye—
Outward sushine, inward joy—
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
A man’s character is frequently treated
like a grate—blackened all over first, to
come the brighter afterward.
Read not books alone, but men, and
among them chiefly thyself; if thou find
anything questionable there, use the com
mentary of a severe friend.— Enchiridion .
HAPPY WOMEN.
Impatient women, as you wait
In cheerful homes to-night to hear
Tlu* Round of steps, that soon or late.
Shall come as music to your ear,
Forget yourselves a little while,
And think in pity ot the pair.
Os women who will never smile
To hear a coming step again.
With babes that in their cradle sleep,
Or ding to you lu perfect trust ;
Think of the mothers left to weep
Their babies lying in the dust.
And when the step you wait for cornea,
And all your world is full of light,
O! women, safe in happy homes,
Pray for all lonesome souls to-night!
[ Fhcebc Cary.
The true felicity of life is to be free
from perturbations, to understand our
duties toward heaven agd man, to enjoy
the present without any anxious de
pendence upon the future ; not to amuse
ourselves with either hopes or fears, but
to rest satisfied with what we have.
THE HOUSEHOLD LAMP.
When suns decline and crickets sing,
And wandering mists from seaward roam.
When nights no heavenly beacons bring,
Then brightest shines the shir of home!
When the brown brooks, with music low,
Watch Summers die and Autumns come,
When stately golden rods must bow,
What cheer is in that light of homo!
When Winter strips the shuddering trees.
And chills the wavelet’s wanton foam.
When in the world’s cold grasj> we freeze.
How blest is then that star of home !
[Atlantic Monthly for March.
Prayer.— A writer very correctly re
marks, God looks not at the oratory of
your prayers, how elegant they may be ;
nor at the geometry of your prayers, how
long they may be ; nor at the arithmetic
of your prayers, how many they may be ;
nor at the logic of your prayers, how
methodical they may be ; but the sincerity
of them he looks at.
Too much reservedness or affectation
in our manners toward others (and this
applies equally to others of the opposite
sex), is equally reprehensible with too
much confidential intimacy, or becoming
openuess. The great point, in securing
a happy and useful social life, is to care
fully and fully develop those functions of
our being which give symmetry, beauty,
and b'iss to the whole of our immortal
existence.
•-♦*
A famous judge came late to court one
day in a busy season, whereat his clerk,
in great surprise, inquired of him the
reason. “A child was born,” said his
honor, “and I’m the happy sire.” “An
infant Judge?” “Oh, no,” said he, “as
yet lie’s but a crier.”
5