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THE COUNTRYMAN
187
Responsibility of Generals.—In
the days of the Frenfeh Convention*
when a general lost a battle, the loss
of his head was soon to follow. The
unreassoning, impartial justice no
doubt eo6t the French Republic some
good generals, but it adorned her his
tory with many triumphs. The
vainest of irtcapables would hesitate to
accept a cotnn. fiid in which disaster
would extinguish, his ambition in
blood ; and presumptuous mediocrity
would avoid a path bounded by the
guillotine. The road to-fame, and to
glory, was open onlx to confident gen
ius, at a time when misfortune, and
incapacity were equally fatal. Per
haps the French Convention cairied
their retributive experiment too - far.
It was certaiuly not a way to improve
a general, to cut off his head, nor was
there strict justice in so severely pun
ishing a man for disaster which no
human forecast, or skill could have
averted. But, after all, a disaster is
a disaster, whatever cause originates
it; and as to consequences, it is just
as bad to be unlucky as to be crimi
nal. The guillotine had the effect of
saving the French armies from pre
sumptuous, and incapable comman
ders ; and this was an indisputable
benefit. If, on the other hand, the
Convention, in the latitude of its in
dulgence, had amiably overlooked de
feat, and recompensed every surren
der by promoting its author, France
might have been overrun, and con
quered bv the allied armies, in one
campaign, It seems that only this
confederacy can stand up against this
peculiar system, which consists in
carefully repressing the usefulness of
fortunate and skillful officers, and in
rewarding the failure of the incapa
ble, and unlucky. The carelessness
with which we have regarded defeat,
the charily we have so lavishl} squan
dered on our unsuccessful comman
ders, have operated as a standing
premium to incapacity, and presump
tion. It needs no argument to estab
lish the injurious consequences of such
a system. The facts of the situation,
and the events of the war are a suffi
cient commentary.—Rich. Whig.
How to Coin a Joke.—“ It is
singular that so much astonishment
has been created by a man walking
with his feet on the ceiling, when no
less a person than Her Majesty, mav
be seen with her bead on the florin.''
‘The bread of life is love ; the salt
of life is work ; the sweetness of' life,
poetry ; the water of life, faith.’
Waiting their Turn.
BY J. A. TURNER.
tJpon a bleak, and wind-lashed northern isle,
In long array, stretched out on either hand,
Stand narrow cells. But, oh I how much they
hold 1
How much of sorrow, anguish, and of wo!
Confined within each narrow dungeon, droops
A chafing soul, that wears its life away,
Lashing its prison bars, with deep unrest.
Here beauty languishes with fallen pride :
There chivalry is stri-ken to the dust.
Within each breast, the southern lervor burns,
That makes it spurn the northnian’s icy heart.
And yel have northern arms, with brutish
power,
Like that which strings the fury of the beast,
Struck down nobility they envied most.
The yankebs hate the children of the sun.
Not theirs to feel the instincts of this race :
And as they see the southron towering high,
Like his own pine, that reaches to the heavens,
The envious northern axemen cleave him down,
Hoping to make him level with themselves.
But pines are pines, though stretched along the
plain,
And weeds are weeds, though growing on the
mount.
Within each cell, where clouds and darkness
reign,
Enters one ray. Each heart is looking forth,
Stretching its eye, to see the gladsome hour,
When each, exchanged, shall find his former
home—
The home that lies beneath the southern sky—
The home embowered in roses, and the blooms,
That wait upon the southern queen of flowers.
So ’tie with man, aweary with earth’s cares.
Within a cell, the soul goes pining long,
And ever turns to take its passage home.
Sorrows surround her, and with anguish keen,
She sees her loved companions going forth,
To take their journey to the better land.
And still she hopes—and yet she doubts—
Trembling to take the way that leads to peace.
It lays across a dark, and dreary wave—
The sea ol sculls, where death high revel holds.
Joys lie unnumbered, yet beyond the sea,
And the tired heart will find repose, o’er there.
And yet the longing soul to go, still dreads.
To go is sad—to stay is sorrow’s self.
And many sqijls, hard by their narrow cells,
Thus wait the coming of the happy hour,
That gives release, and takes them to their
homes.
Waiting their turn, the weary prisoners stand,
Each longing, trembling, sad to be exchanged.
The bending sire, whose loved have gone before,
Strains his dull eye, to see the coming flag.
The mother, weeping for her infant, stands,
And bends her gaze toward the far off shore.
The strong man, bowed with grief, his bosom
crushed,
Prays his may be an early day to go.
The bridegroom of an hour lifts up his hands,
And beckons to the boat that rides the tide.
The bride, with widowed, withered bridal
wreaths,
Stands weeping, on the sandy beach, to go.
The maiden, with disheveled hair, bowed down
Beneath the crushing of a nameless blow,
Flings her frail form upon the maddened main,
And buffets wind, and tide, to reach the deck.
The infant, finding earthly life not sweet,
But bitter as the wormwood to his taste—
He, too, is tottering towards the coming ship.
And thus they—a caravan of wo—
A throng of millions, wait on the prison shore,
Each in his turn, to take hisjourney home.
Their cells, innumerable as the sauds, *
Do darken all the beach. And so they stand
Waiting their turn, each longing lor his hotre
One of these prisoners, reader, think, art thou !
A few more days will land the mourner hou e!
A Convention op Editors.—If ever there was
a time, when the weekly press should assemble
in convention, to take care of. their interests,
that time is now. There is not an office in
Georgia that can buy paper, short of $ 150 per
ream. The same paper cost, before the war,
$2 50. Two dollars and fifty cents a ream—
neatly filly times as much ! Yet our advertis
ing is only five times as much as it was before
the war, and our subscription only six times as
much.
Daily papers take care of themselves. They
are still far below all others, in charges, as
compared with any other business. Why is it
so? Why should it be so? Will the people do
without newspapers, sooner than they will with
out whiskey, or any other non-essential. But
they cannot do without newspapers. Legal ad
vertisements must be published, according to
law, and government, and people, can no more
do without newspapers, than they can do with
out air. Let the ‘starving fraternity’ come up,
and counsel together, and provide lor their fu
ture security. Brother Turner will soon have
hats for us all, and we shall be headed, if not
booted, and spurred.—Confederate Union.
Gov. Brown’s Message—Reconstruc
tion.—“ Wm. F. Samford, Esq., in a let
ter to the Columbus Times, writes :
The country will be slow to credit the
governor’s imputations against the patriot
ism of the president. The best antidote,
perhaps, to the tendency of the message,
is its evident malice.
It is most difficult not to believe that
Gov. Brown intends to drive the people
into reconstruction. The tone of the
message is one of utter despair—he finds
ample excuse for the desertions in the ar
my—ho proposes the wildest schemes of
disorganization, at the moment when, all
depends upon present action. He under
values ‘independence.’ My own opinion
is, that the governor has lost faith in the
capacity of the administration to carry us
successfully through the struggle. He
certainly knows that we cannot venture
now, on the work of re-organization.
With his views, the 1 convention ’ he pro
poses, would infallibly submit. He is
thoroughly whipped, and loiks to recon
struction as the only escape from annihi
lation.
He must excuse us for a little doubt, as
to his entire sincerity. He is a wise man,
and responsible for the effect of bis policy.
He tells us himself, that he is capable of
an ambidextrous diplomacy f that, with
all his abhorrence of the president, and
his policy, he would give it ‘ an earnest
support,’ if he favored reconstruction.
The whole thing, in a nut-shell is, ‘ I am
opposed to reconstruction—but—it—is*-—
inevitable. Pr. Davis is responsible—that
mad Cataline, who binds his fellow-con
spirators to him, by the horrid bowl of
sacrificial wine, and blood,”
Thr Mastai Family.—“It is stal
ed, in a late number of Once a Week,
that the present pope is the youngest
of three living brothers. His oldest
brother, Count Gabriel, is eighty-four
years of age, and the next, Count
Gaetan, is eighty, He has one sister,
the Countess Benigni, a vigorous old
lady, seventy-seven years of age*
Count Jerome, his father, died at four
score, and four years ; and the Coun
tess Catharine, his mother, at four
score, and two. Finally, Count Her
cules, his grandfather, lived to the
patriarchal age of four-score, and six
teen.”
‘.Judge well before friendship, then con
fide till death.’