Newspaper Page Text
LITERAKY
Crusader.
PENFIELD, GEORGIA.
L. LINCOLN VEAZEY, . v . Editor.
THURSDAY MORN ING, FEBRUARY Is, 1858*
We would say to “Carrie of Memory Dell,”
seud us one of your prose productions, and we
will be able to form a more correct notion of your
powers than from a composition in rhyme. We
will no doubt be pleased to have your contribu
tions.
We have had some winter at last. On Friday
when we first looked out, the trees were covered
with ice. It contintfbd sleeting during that day
and a portion of the next, though none remained
on the ground. At the time of writing, we have
clear, beautiful weather.
We acknowledge the justness of the complaint
made by the “ National American ” in reference to
the pieces we extracted therefrom, without credit.
It was an unintentional omission. We have suffered
no little annoyance from this cause ourselves, and
are therefore always willing to make an amende
honorable for every such violation of editorial cour
tesy.
Wk commence publishing, this week, Marian
Edgely, a novellette by Mrs. M. E. Bryan, which
will be continued until complete. It is a most
charming tale; let none fail to give it a perusal.
Arthur’s Home Magazine for March contains
a beautiful picture of Neapolitan Scenery. The
, • editorial article on “ Jessie Brown,” in this num
ber, is worth the subscription price for a year,
which is only $2,00 a year for a single copy; 4
copies, so,oo.
Our Mail Carrier wishes our paper discontinued
in order that he may not have to carry it to
Greenesboro’. There is a very easy way for him
to relieve himself of the trouble. The money
which the department pays him for his services
could doubtless be more profitably invested.
The hardness of the times is much increased
by hard hearts. If .“be indulgent; with each
other” should be adopted as a motto universally,
the financial gale would blow over with but few
shipwrecks.
“ When a man shows over-anxiety to engage in
argument on some subject, you may be sure that
he professes something which he does not believe.
It is breath spent most uselessly to argue with
such a man. lie would never acknowledge him
self convicted, did a logical power greater than
Locke or Bacon mark your reasoning. He can
not be shown that his belief is erroneous, because j
he has no belief. A man who lias acquired the ■
habit of doubting everything is not happy and
still less wise.
* mm t - • ■
Peterson for March is before us. Its fashion j
plates, &c. are well gotten up, and it contains j
some good reading matter. Price, $2,00 a year; j
3 copies, $5,00.
j
flThere is an interesting history connected with \
X almost every word in our language, if it could !
be traced. Some have derivations very apparent,,
while others are quite as remote. Many of the
articles of commerce are named from the coun
tries or cities in which they were first manufac
tured. Thus, muslin is so called from Mousul, a
city of Asiatic Turkey ; calico from Calcutta, in
India; nankin from a city of that name in China,
and marseilles from Marseilles in France. So
also of leghorn hats, cashmere shawls, brussels
carpets, damascus swords, and many other things
which we might mention.
As words, so too of things; everything, however
trilling, lias some history, if it could he made
known. Apropos of this thought, we have clip- j
ped somewhere a rather romantic \
History or a Cannon Bale. —At the commence
mcnt of the action on board the President frig- ,
ate, a ball (an 18 lb. shot,) from the Belvidere j
came over the waist cloths of the President, and j
such was the force of the ball, that it actually i
cut off, without throwing them down, the muzzle :
of several of the muskets, (left there by the ilia- ;
lines,) from six to eight inches in length, killed j
one marine, took off the wrist of one midshipman,
Mr. Montgomery ; killed another, Mr. Bird, to- :
getlier with the quarter-gunner,and finally lodged
upon the deck and was taken below by the narra- ;
tor of this, and shown the lieutenant, Mr. Dallas,
who took it in his hand and wrote on it with j
chalk, “ cousin I have received your present and j
will return it again clapped it in the gun him- j
self, and fired the piece; and it is a remarkable ;
fact that it actually killed several of the officers ‘
and men on board the Belvidere, and finally j
lodged in the cabin of that vessel, and was at- j
terwards hung un in the Belvidere’s cabin as a j
globe during the war.
Burr used to say, “I. never put off till to-mor
row what I can do to-day, and I never come
to a conclusion upon anything to-day, which I can
put oft* till to-morrow.”
Late actions and hasty judgments have perhaps
done more to injure man than any two other
faults that could be named. Yet, to both of
them are men much addicted, and they are not
seldom found to exist in the same individual. Os
the dangers of delay, the world has had oft-re
peated and most solemn illustrations. A few
minute’s procrastination has often changed the
whole current of a man’s life, and perhaps en
tirely blasted his prospects of success. Some of
the greatest failures which have ever happened
to individuals or nations have resulted from this
■cause. In great military expeditions it not un
frequently occurs that the fate of an army, and
of the people for whose defence it is raised, de
pends on the proper use of a few moments.
The evils arising from hasty decisions of judg
ment are not so apparent, but are none the less
disastrous. It is a lamentable fact that very tew
persons form their opinions with deliberation on
any subject. To this cause much of the error
abroad in regard to theories and principles is to
lie attributed. Men think with precipitation,
and then adhere to their notions, be they right or
wrong. Hasty resolutions lead to hasty actions,
and these are in almost every instance imprudent.
There is a vast difference between doing a thing
at the right time and doing it in a hurry.
Fogyism in the Pulpit has been a fertile sul>-
ject for ridicule from the days of the reforma
tion up to the present. Indeed, while yet Home
held all secular and religious learning interdicted
to the common masses by the pontifical keys,
Erasmus convulsed all Europe with laughter by
* his “ Letters of obscure men.” In these, he ex
posed the gross ignorance of those who had set
themselves for lights of the world about the most
* familiar subjects. No man could be better quali
fied to make such an exposure. He had op
portunities of becoming intimately acquainted
with the weakness and follies of the priesthood,
and none could escape his scathing sarcasm.
, Great, however, as were the failings and even
vices of the Roman clergy, they presented fewer
points for tlie ridicule of the common masses than
many who succeeded them in Protestant denom
inations. In the offices which the Catholic Priest
had to perform before the people of his charge,
few opportunities w r ere given for the display of
individual peculiarities. Every act was done ac
cording to prescribed rules, which he was bound
to obey. But the Reformation, in disenthralling
the human mind from the shackles of religious
bigotry, likewise wrought a material change in
the forms of public worship. With many of the
sects which soon sprang up, every minister w r as
free to choose any style and manner he might
prefer. That by this the services of the sanctuary
lost much of their stately, impressive sublimity,
no one can for a moment doubt. About a hun
dred years after this, a sect arose in England,
characterized by a very eccentric, but to all ap
peara ices, a sincere piety. So quaint and un
couth were their language, manners and habits,
that they became a butt of ridicule for the whole
nation. For a while their numbers gave them a
political power that raised them above contempt.
But nothing could render a sect respectable which
considered all learning, not exclusively religious,
as a badge of disgrace. It was only when they
gave up these false notions and began to act like
other people that they began to gain credit for
their zeal and piety.
But our own country has been more disgraced
than any other by religious fogy ism. Here a de
nomination of Christians, respectable for number,
and in a multitude of instances not wanting in
piety, boldly advocated the doctrine that secular
learning was not only unnecessary, but a positive
crime. The first called of the Saviour were ignor
ant rustics and fishermen; and why, asked they,
should His followers of the present day aspire to
greater wisdom? They remained for many years
ice-drafts in the warming current of civilization;
but they could not resist its thawing influence.
They have now become rare relics of a departed
age of darkness.
This was religious fogyism. There are, however,
fogies in the Pulpit who are not religious fogies.
Their principles and doctrinal views may be or
thodox, but their tastes once formed in jouth
remain unchanged through all the variations of
fashion. It would be impossible to convince such
an one that anything could be done in a better
manner than that in favor of which he has be
come prejudiced. It may be uncouth and un
becoming ; but he clings to it with persevering
tenacity. If he be a man of good sense, he will
of course conform externally to the opinions of
others. Occasionally we find some headstrong
fogy who attempts to take society by the ears and
compel a compliance with their antiquated no
tions. When such persons are good natured and
well meaning, we only pity them; they seldom
escape, however, reaping a large share of obloquy.
It is to be hoped that the day is near at hand
w r hen such men will no longer be lound. Al
most every Christian sect is manifesting a lively ;
interest in the cause of ministerial education.
The absurdity of placing men in the Sacred i
Desk who are more weak and ignorant than any
of those he is appointed to teach, has become too
glaring to be longer tolerated. The church lias
been imbued with the progressive principles of
the age. Learning, secular as well theological, is
now as necessary a requisite for success in gospel
ministry as piety. The Preacher who would wield ;
an influence in a community must possess, in ad
dition to a pure, moral character, talents and at
tainments which will command respect. In such
a state of things, pulpit fogyism must soon pass
away, leaving no relic of its existence, save the
mirth-moving ridicule that it once excited.
A century may seem but a short period when
compared with the sixty that have circled
away since our first parent trod the virgin walks
of Eden ; yet, if we cast a glance over the events
which have transpired within the last hundred
years, it will seem a long time. What vast chan
ges has it wrought in almost every part of the
world ! Just one hundredjjyears ago Europe was
lighted up with the conflagration of the seven
years-war—the flames of which extended to every
part of the habitable globe. The House of Bour
bon sat securely on the throne of France, and the
reign of her privileged aristocracy seemed likely
to be eternal. Spain was then the first kingdom
of the earth in wealth and the extent of her do
mains, and third only in military prowess. The
furred Russian had then peeped little from his
northern home; but under the vigorous, though
dissolute sway of Elizabeth, was slowly consolida
ting that vast strength which he now displays.
Lord Clive had just planted the banner of British j
| conquest on the shores of India, and was laying
the foundation of that splendid Oriental empire.
America then lay an untrod wilderness, except
| a narrow slip of plantations and a few youthful
: towns along the coast.
Since that time what a multitude of stirring j
l events have taken place! The Stamp Act ; the j
: Boston Massacre; the War of Independence, with ‘
its heroic victories, and patiently-borne defeats;
the establishment of our Federal Government ;
the upheaving of the down-trodden masses of
France; the reign of terror ; the beheadment of
Louis XVI; the rise of Napoleon—his dazzling,
brilliant career; Montenotte, Austerlitz, Marengo,
Jena, Waterloo; the re-establishment of the
Bourbon dynasty; the trial of Queen Caroline;
the rapid growth and expansion of our country
into a first-rate power, and a hundred other
events pass in review before the mind’s eye. The
giants who rose, flourished and fell during that
period constitute a lengthy catalogue. The two
Pitts, Grenville, Grafton, Junius, Rockingham,
Burke, Fox, Sheridan, Castlereagh, Peel, Mira
beau, Vergniaud, Robespiere, Henry, Franklin,
Adams, Jefferson, Clay, Webster and Calhoun,
were the brilliants of the political galaxy. Os
warriors, there were the brave Wolf and the no
less gallant Montcalm, Clive, Hastings, Hyde,
Ally, Washington, Greene, Clinton, DeGrasse,
Napoleon, Murat, Nelson, Wellington, Blucher, ,
Decatur, Jackson and Scott. Os distinguished
authors, both prose and poetical, the list is almost
innumerable. There were Johnson, Goldsmith,
Boswell, Coleridge, Campbell, Southey, Scott,
Bryan, Wadsworth, Allison, DeStael, Mrs.
Hemans, Dwight, Barlow, Irving and Tennyson.
These are only a few of the scenes, events and
characters which the last hundred years have
seen. We might write on this theme for days,
weeks and even months, and yet the half would
be untold. v
The Dearest Scot on Earth. —The following
little ballad was sweetly sung, by Miss Anna
Kemp, at Thalberg’s concert, with great ap-!
plause:
The dearest spot on earth to me,
Is home, sweet home ;
The (airy land I’ve longed to see,
Is home, sweet home ; •
There how charmed the sense of hearing,
There where hearts are so endearing,
All the world is not so cheering,
As home, sweet home.
j
I've taught my heart the way to prize,
My home, sweet home ;
I’ve learned to look with lover’s eyes,
On home, sweet home;
There where vows are truly plighted,
There where hearts are so united,
All the world besides I’ve slighted,
For home, sweet home.
Daily Paper in China. —A daily newspaper, called
the Daily News, has been started at Hong Kong by Dr.
G. M. Ryder. This is the first daily paper that has
been published there.
“ Before marriage, expect great ease and little cross
es ; after marriage, greater crosses and less ease.”
The Ice Crop. —A dealer at Woburn, Mass., is cut
ting ice which is from ten to eleven inches thick, and se
curing at the rate of 1,500 tons per day. A Boston firm
has contracted for 8,000 tone at Bath, Maine.
Onward ! There is a volume of eloqyence in
that word —powerful as any strains that ever
fell from the lips of Tully. It awakens all the
inner emotions of the heart and arouses them for
action. It falls like a heated fire-ball on the
glowing zeal of the spirit and kindles it into a
wild blaze of enthusiasm. The world ceases to be
a dreary lump of marl, fitted up for the soul to
agonize and the frame to toil, and becomes a
bright scene for conquest and victory.
Onward! With what fearful grandeur it falls
upon the soldier’s ear who proudly treads the
ground that ere an hour has passed may be his
gory bed of death ! The sweet memory of the
past is swept from his mind; the bright pictures
of hope which fancy touched bright are withdrawn
from his gaze; the present, the living, active, stir
ring present only absorbs his whole thought. No
time to indulge fond reveries of departed joys or
coming glories. Onward! the voice of command
bids him to the bayonet’s point or cannon’s mouth
—to victory or to death. When the artillery’s
peal has hushed, the smoke has rolled away it*
columned wreaths—when hundreds have thought’
of their beloved Argos and died, he calmly won
ders at the strength that sustained him amid the
terrific uproar.
Onward! w T e hear it in afar different, lmt not less
inspiring, scene. The low Macedonian wail has
come across the waters and fell, like the tongue
of an angel, trumpet-toned, upon a sympathetic
ear. “Friends, connexions, happy country,” are
all resigned and laid with a cheerful smile upon
the altar of duty. The blue billows are crossed,
the soil his infant feet once trod left far behind,
and he stands an exile and a stranger on a for
eign shore. Does his heart falter and his pulse
grow still? No! his watchword still bursts from
his unblanched lips in all its eloquence.
Onward! It is the watchword of the world.
With steady, never ceasing tramp, march “the
innumerable host that move to take their cham
bers in the silent halls of death.” And thus we
all go onward to death—to the grave—to eternity.
was a fine and true remark, that they who
X will abandon a friend for one error, know but
little of human character, and prove that their
hearts are as cold as their judgments are weak.”
They who can do this have never felt oven the
first instincts of a noble and generous friendship.
This delights to meet the erring one in his course,
point out the dangers which he is likely to meet,
and softly wipe away the tear of penitence, if one
bedews his cheek. Engaged in offices like this,
friendship becomes enrobed in a vesture of mor
al beauty, which nothing of earth can surpass.
It is a Christian virtue, pure and sublime as all
must be, that claims this origin.
Abandon a friend for one error! Who then
could we claim as friends? Fallibility marks,
without a single exception, the whole human
race. “ All have gone astray ; there is none that
doeth good, no not one.” If, then, we should
blot out from our list of friends all in whom we
find an error, we should soon leave it a blank.
One who adopts this rule must cink into the des
ponding gloom ol‘ misanthropy and end his days
in an anchorite’s cell.
There are some errors of a character so heinous
that one is sufficient to break every tie of friend
ship. But to find a fault of this nature in one
wiio before was worthy of esteem, is an event of
rare occurence. Great crimes always have step
fling stones by which they are approached, and
one is seldom attained at a single leap. In almost
every case, you may forgive seven times seventy
sins ere one be committed of sufficient magnitude
to demand your condemnation.
Pardon the erring. Words of forgiveness pos
sess a sanitive power, and may lead the wander
ing spirit back to the paths of virtue and happi
ness.
-
Air-castles. —And so saying, Titbottom lay
back upon the ground, and, making a spy-glass
of his hand, surveyed the landscape through it.—
This was a marvelous book-keeper of more than
sixty. I know another man who lived in his
Spanish castle for two months, and then was tum
bled out head first. That was young Stunning,
who married old Bliul’s daughter. She was all
smiles, and mamma was all sugar, and Stunning
was all bliss for two months. He carried his head
in clouds, and felicity absolutely foamed at his
eyes. He was drowned in love—seeing, as usual,
not what really was, but what he fancied. He
lived so exclusively in his castle, that lie forgot
the office down town, and one morning there
came a fall, and Stunning was smashed. The
hills beyond the river lay, yesterday, at sunset,
lost in purple gloom : they receded into airy dis
tances of dreams and fancy ; they sank softly into
night, the peaks of the delectable mountains.—
But I knew, as I gazed, enchanted, that the hills,
so purple-soft of seeming, were hard, and gray
and barren, in the wintry twilight ; that in the
distance was the magic that made them fair. So,
beyond the river of time that flows between, walk
the brave men and the beautiful women of our
ancestry, grouped in twilight upon the shore.—
Distance smooths away defects, and with gentle
darkness, rounds every form into grace. It steak
the harshness, from their speech, and every word
becomes a song. Far across the gulf that ever
widens, they look upon us with eyes whose glance
is tender, and which light us to success. We ac
knowledge our inheritance ; we accept our birth
right; we own that their careers have
us to noble action. Every great life is an incent
ive to all other lives ; but when the brave heart
that beats for the'world loves us with the warmth
of private affection then the example of heroism
is more persuasive, because more personal. This
is the true grade of ancestry. It is founded in
the tenderness with which the child regards the
father, and in the romance that time sheds upon
history.
CLIPPED ITEMS.
A line may be remembered when a chapter is forgotten,
Mrs. Le Vert, of Mobile, has telegraphed to Rich
mond, that she has just collected one thousand dollars
for the Mount Vernon Association. Mrs. Fogg, of Ten
nessee, also telegraphs that she has collected over two
thousand dollars.
The Saw Mill belonging to Mr. D. F. Bishop, of Cass
county, was burned on Saturday last. A large quanti
ty of lumber near the mill was burned also.
Charles A. Piece, Esq., for some time past editor of
the Tuskegee, (Ala.) True Union, died in that town on
Monday night last, of consumption.
But eleven cases were returned to the February Term
of Hancock Inferior Court. So far as we have been
able to learn, the dockets in all the interior counties are
universally short. The fact is worthy of note.
It is said that there were to he a larger number of
marriages in England on the bridal day of the Princess
Royal, than were ever known to be celebrated in one
day before.
“I thought you were born on the Ist of April,” said
a Benedict to his lovely wife, who had mentioned the
21st as her birthday. “ Most persons would think so
from the choice I have made of a husband,” she replied.
Take all sorrow out of life, and you take away all
richness, and depth, and tenderness. Sorrow is the fur
nace that melts selfish hearts together in love.
It is not wisdom, hut ignorance, which teaches men
presumption. Genius may be sometimes arrogant, but
nothing is diffident ns knowledge.
Mr. H. A. Livingston, Associate editor of the Neui
nan Blade , died at his residence in Newnnn, on the sth
inst., of pulmonary consumption.
! A medical student, named Weems, was sliQt and kill
! ed at a ball in New Orleans, a few nights ago, by R,
Bond, a lawyer.
A true picture of despair, is a pig reaching through
a hole in the fence to get a cabbage that is only a few
inches beyond his reach.
The Charleston Courier, of yesterday, on the author
ity of a private telegraphic dispatch, announces the
death of Col. Wade Hampton, of Columbia, S. C. This
sad event took place on the 10th Instant, at one of his
plantations in Louisiana. The body of Col. Hampton
is now en route to Columbia.
Gov. Joseph E. Brown has appointed Clarence Y r .
Walker, of this city, (of the first brigade, of the second
division of Georgia Militia,) Aid-de-camp to tho Com
mnnder-in-Chief with the rank of Colonel.
The State of Ohio has established an asylum for idi
ots near Columbus, and has now under instruction, with
favorable progress, sixteen pupils.
THE RECOMPENSE, -
Concluded from Crusader of the \th ivr.t.
EY EMSIA EMERALD.
CHAPTER 111.
“Do not concern yourself about that lady,” he an
swered, “ only “tell me that you will place your case in
my hands.” *’ “V
She remained silent for a moment, and then turned
towards the stranger and extended her hand, while her
dark eyes were suffused with gratitude. “I will ac
cept your offer, sir ; and whether you gain my cause or
not, I— *
“Thanks, madam,” interrupted the young fnan,
raising her hand respectfully to his lips—“ thanks, and
believe me, if human agency can assist you, you shall
not suffer for the guilt of which you are innocent.
When he was gone, the lady pressed her hand to her
brow, like one awakening from a dream ; then her face
brightened ; hope was struggling with despair in her
bosom.
As the stranger, whom we may henceforth call fad
ward Gray, left the prison, and wasTiastily crossing the
street in which it was situated,, a voice called alter him
to stop; hepauspd, and glancing back, he saw approach
ing him, a stout, rosy-cheeked ntan, wearing the dress
of a clergyman.
“ Ay, Mr. O’Brien,” exclaimed the young man grasp
ing the other’s extended hand.
“Why, Edward, is it really you?” gasped the old
man, whose hasty walk had left him almost breathless
—I thought you were in the South.”
“ So I have been, my dear sir, until within the last
few days. lam here on urgent business.”
“ Stop—l am at home,” said the priest pausing be
fore a little brick dwelling—” come in and dine with me,
Edward.”
The young man had not been long in Father O’Bri
en’s cosy little parlor, ere.he became aware that some
thing was weighing upon the priest’s mind. He ap
peared dejected and absent-minded, and his once mer
ry smile had given place to a nervous, anxious expres
sion. After they had dined, Edward cofided to the
priest the nature of the business that had brought him
to N . When he had ceased speaking, he hap
pened to raise his eyes to the old man’s face, and, to
his amazement, found it strangely pale and full of strong
emotion.
“Do you know her—do you know the accused ?” ask
ed the lawyer, eagerly.
“No, no,” replied the priest in an agitated voice—
“ but my God!”
“ What is it, Father O’Brien ?” exclaimed the young
man. springing to his feet.
“Oh Heaven! that 1 might, speak,” groaned the
priest.
“ What do you know ? In Heaven’s name speak,”
said the young man, in a state of terrible excitement.
• “ Impossible,” replied the priest, who was no less
agitated, “I cannot betray the secrets of the confes
sional.”
“ Father O’Brien,” exclaimed Edward Gray, grasp
ing the priest’s hands convulsively, “FatherO’Brien,
you know that which would save my innocent client—
you know, and you will not speake I charge you in the
name of the God you serve, to tell meall—to save her. ’
The young man poured forth these words in the most
rapid, and intensely excited manner, without heeding
the attempts the other had made to intercept him; when
lie paused, from want of brgatli to proceed, the old man
who had regained his composure, spoke.
“Ido know that, my son, which would clear the
poor lady who is accused. I “cannot reveal it to you
myff'lf, but I will exert all the influence 1 possess with
those who can, to persuade them to speak.”
The young man, finding that entreaties were vain
was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance.
The priest, when Edward left him, remained for some
time absorbed in thought. The striking of the little
clock over the mantle aroused him; he arose from his
chair, muttering to himself, “I must see him,” and
wrapping his cloak around him, left his warm parlor to
encounter the chill evening air. He directed his steps
to a portion of the city, where unswept streets and di
lapidated buildings, marked it as the abode of poverty.
The priest seemed to be acquainted with the inhabi
tants as well as the locality ; he would pause now and
then, to stroke the tangled curls of some bare-foot ur
chin, or to quiet the barking of a noisy cur, by a pat on
the head ; then his mellow voice would answer with a
benediction, the warm greetings of one and another of
his poor parishioners, all of whom had cause to be
grateful to the good priest. Father O’Brien at length
paused before a small, nertly white-washed house.—
His gentle rap was answered by a young and pretty
Irish woman, whose dress, like her dwelling, was su
perior in cleanliness to those of her neighbors.
“ How is James ?” asked the priest eagerly, after her
cordial welcoming was over.
“No better, your honor—but it is not the fever that
is ailing Janies ; the trouble is here,” she said, placing
her hand on her heart, and shaking her head sadly.
The priest followed her into the house, and was ush
ered into a small, low-ceiled room, containing a bed, a
chair and a table, over which htfng the highly colored
sketch of the Madonna and child, enwreathed with a
garland of artificial flowers, the humble Christmas of
fering of the poor woman to the holy ones, whom the
sad*picture represented. On the bed lay a man; he
was young, and there was a manly beauty about his
bronzed face ; but the expression of his handsomely cut
mouth, was greatly wanting in firmness. He lay with
his eyes closed, but he was not sleeping ; for as the door
opened to admit the priest and his wife, he started up,
and placed his wild haggard eyes upon them with a gaze
that was startling in its intensity.
“ I hope you are better, James,” said the priest, scat
“ing himself by the bed.
“Your honor knows that I will never be better,” groan
ed the man, burying his face in the coverlid.
“ Oh, James, don’t say that,” sobbed his young wife,
kneeling by his side and putting her arms tenderly
around him.
“Ican,t bear your kisses, Mary,” said the poor fellow
shrinking from her; “if you knew all, you would not
be the devoted wife that'you are—you would hate me,
Mary.”
“ Hate you, James,” exclaimed Mary, raising her
head and opening her blue eyes wide with astonishment.
“ Oh. Father O’Brien, she continued, appealing beseech
ingly to the priest, “ what does he mean ?”
“You had better leave us my daughter,” answered the
priest gravely.
“Yes, go Mary,” said James gently, unclasping her
arm? from his neck. With a lingering, wistful gaze
on James’s face, Mary left him alone with his priest.
“Well, James,” said the priest when she had gone,
“I have come again to urge upon you to do your duty.”
“You know why I cannot do it,” answered the man
in a broken voice. “ I do not fear for myself, Father
O’Brien, but my poor Mary and her innocent child—
they too, would suffer for my crime; they would be left
alone anduucared for.”
“James, the woman who is accused, and who, if you
remain silent, will be punished for the crime, is as in
nocent as Mary and Dermont,” answered the old man
sternly.
“Oh God?” groaned the other, covering his face
with his hands.
“You haveerredgreatly, James,” resumed the priest
less sternly ; “yet, in the opinion of the world, there (
may be many excuses found for you ; you were offered
a large bribe, and you w'ere poor and ignorant, and ,
in feeble health, with a family to support, you were
greatly tempted; and the man who tempted you, had ,
placed you under a lasting obligation, ‘while he whom ,
you sent to his long home had wronged you by suspi
cion and unkindness ; all this will work in your favor;
and the consequense to you may not be so serious as
you imagine; yet, you will not escape unpunished ;
there may be in store for y>u some years ofamprison- j
mont ; yet that will be easily borne in comparison with ,
the remorse that would haunt you, it a good and inno- j
cent woman suffered for your fault; the law may not (
doom her to death; her sentence would probably be im
prisonment for life ; but frnil and delicate ns she is, al- ,
ready crushed by sorrow and unmerited disgrace, death
would soon free her ; and you, James, would you not
feel yourself a second time, a murderer?”
“Oh, Heaven! you will madden me, ’ shrieked the ,
sick man half springing from his bed, and throwing his
arms wildly about him.
“No, nty son, 1 hope to bring you to reason,” an
swered the old man mildly ; “and James,” he continued
with h. sorrowful earnestness, “I tell you that Mary 1
and her child will not be more surely left unfurnished 1
for if you confess than if you do not; the weight of sin 1
and-remorse that is resting on your mind, will make i
her ft widow and Dermont fatherless.”
“I know it—Oh, God! I know it,” muttered the \
wretched husband disparingly. ’
“Then, James, do your duty,’* urged the priest; “save
the guiltless lady who is accused, and come what may i
I will provide for your wife and boy ; they shall never |
want a home; while John O’Btien has one to give
them.” .
“ God bless you for that promise,” exclaimed James,
• grasping the old man’s hand, and bursting into tears;
“now I will do my duty.”
•CHAPTER IV.
The day of the trial at length arrived; the court
room was densely crowded with men, women, and even
children. Many of those women who looked on with
such chilling indifference, were former friends of the
prisoner; and the men who dared to gaze so rudely
and insolently on her uncovered face, had once bowed
before her with the servility of slaves. She was calm
and composed; and now that her dress was attended to
and her hair neatly arranged, appeared as beautiful as
ever, although intensely pale. Her’swas indeed a try
ing situation for one of a sex that always needs support
and protection; on all sides of her, were cold frowning
faces that seemed eager for her condemnation. She
had no relations; and now that she was disgraced and
deprived of her wealth, she was without friends also.
Alter she was seated, and her eye encountered this
mass of threatening glances, for a moment her lip quiv
ered like a frightened child ; but the emotion passed
quickly, and was succeded by a smile of calm disdain.
Not far from her were seated the relatives of the de
ceased, a legion that surrounded her like so many fe
rocious hounds thirsting for the blood of a wounded
deer. Among them was a dark sinister man with a
most lugubrious visage ; this was Mr. Joseph Lynton
the eldest brother-in-law of Mr. Le Strange, and the
one whose family had been most highly favored by the
will. The death of his n lative had been so great a
shock to his sensitive perstnage, that it had caused him
a lit of illness, from which he had just arisen to hear
the condemnation of his prisoner ; of this, he felt as
sured, for he had employed an able lawyer, whose efforts,
joined with the evidence he had summed up, he hop
ed would secure the friends of the deceased the satis
faction of having this murderess punished. The trial
commenced; the evidence, which was indeed over
whelming, was given in, and the prosecuting attorney
arose, and labored hard for an hour, in attempting to
prove the pale, shrinking woman before him, without
claims to mercy; and finally closed with an eulogy on
the departed,'forgetting to mention, however, that he
had embittered the existence of all connected with him
by his harsh and domineering character; that his good
was gold; that he ground the poor, and scoffed at reli
gion ; in fact, that he was an old scamp that deserved to
be hung instead of poisoned. “ It was only remember
ed,” to use the words of the learned lawyer, “that his
gray hairs had been brought to an untimely grave by
the foul machination of a wicked and heartless woman
who had outraged the laws of God and man.”
“ The indignation excited against the prisoner was
so intense, that ’twas almost impossible to keep it with
in bounds, when, at length Edward Gray arose and an
nounced himself as defendant for the accused. His
voice was drowned by groans and murmurs; whenthese
were hushed, the young stranger went on in a clear,
calm voice, that attracted the attention of all. Head
dressed the court but for ten minutes, in a few able con
cise words. t
“ Gentlemen,” he said in conclusion, “ I think you
will thank God for my appearence here to-day, for it
will prevent you visiting the crime of the guilty, upon
the head of the innocent.” He then sat down, saying
“let William Brown and James M’Makin be called as
witnesses.”
At this, a loud exclamation burst from Mr. Joseph
Lynton, that drew all eyes upon him, and he was found
to be ghastly pale. The two men were placed on the
witness’ stand and sworn. William Brown’s deposi
tion was as follows:
“He was in the employment of Mr. Joseph Lynton
in his store on the wharf on the second of December;
the day before the death of Mr. Le Strange, his employ
er had placed in his hands a small sum of money, and
desired him to go to a druggists, and bring him a quan
tity of strychnine, to poison rats with, as he said; but i
that on the way, he (William Brown,) forgot the name
of the article mentioned by Mr. Lynton, and merely
asked for rat poison, and arsenic was given him instead.
The brother-in-law appeared displeased at this, and at
first wanted him to carry it back ; but finally changed
his mind and put the package in his pocket. Mr. May,
the druggist, testified to the truth of William Brown’s
assertion, and he sat down.
James M’Makin was then called; he appeared ex
tremely agitated, and trembled so much as scarcely to
be able to stand. He had been employed in the office ot
Mr. Le Strange ; his voice was almost inaudible as he
proceeded to state, that on the morning of the third of
December, as lie was in the office by himself, Mr. Lyn
ton had entered and fallen into conversation with him,
as he had very often done of late; on this morning, as
usual, the topic was the harsh, domineering conduct of
Mr. Le Strange. In the course of their talk, Mr. Lyn
ton touched upon a subject that he had discussed very
often, and that he (James M’Makin) had always shrunk
from with horror until this morning.”
At this, Joseph Lynton called out in a loud voice, that
the man was a false witness, and had been hired for the
purpose of ruining him.
He was called to order, and the man continued to say,
that being that morning incensed against his employer
for his harsh treatment the day before, and that per
suaded and tempted with a large bribe, by Joseph Lyu
ton, who had once done him a kindness, he consented
to his proposal, which was to mingle poison with Mr.
Le Strange’s toddy, which he, (James M’Makin) pre
pared for him at twelve every day. This confession
created a great sensation ; the court adjourned in much
excitement and confusion, and Joseph Lynton and Jas.
M’Makin were taken into custody.
It is unnecessary for me to enter into the details of
the case; law proceedings are tedious; besides, I do
not understand them sufficiently. I will merely state
the result. Mrs. LeStrange was, of course, acquitted,
and had her property restored to her; for the will found,
was proven to be a forgery by Mr. Lynton. James
M’Makin was tried for the murder, and the verdict
rendered was, “ guilty.” He was condemned to death,
but a pardon was procured from the Governor, through
the influence and exertions of Edward Gray. Joseph
Lynton was sentenced to ten years labor in the Peni
tentiary. r
Let me describe a scene that was enacted some two
years after the events related:
The climate into which I shall introduce you, is that
of the South ; the sweet and subtle odors that enrich the
genial atmosphere, and the balmy softness of the air,
proclaim the presence of summer. In the centre of a
fine and noble park stood a stately mansion, its white
gleaming walls formed a fair and pleasan* contrast to
the dark, green foliage of the trees that surrounded it.
The front parlor of this dwelling was a lofty chamber
fitted up with the lavish hand of wealth, and in a style
that betrayed a love of the beautiful and a zeal for the
fine arts. On the walls were soft and mellow paint
ings, and in every nook an exquisite cast of some fa
mous statue. There were engravings, too, and richly
gilt books, and rare shells scattered on tables and stands.
On a marble slab stood an alabaster vase of Grecian
form, containing a starry blossom of the Magnolia ;
from blossom of this single flower, there breath
ed an odor that filled the languid air with a rich and in
toxicating perfume. A silver lamp of strange form and
foreign make, hung by a silken cord from the ceiling,
diffusing a soft, yet brilliant light throughout the ap
partment. And last, though not least, on a sofa near
one of the open windows sat a lady and gentleman.—
Both had passed the first period of youth, and not with
out having tasted the cares of life, for there were lines
on both brows, and a sadness around each mouth that
spoke of some sorrow that, though passed, could never
be effaced from memory’s tablet. The lady was very
beautiful, though, perchance, there had been a time
when her cheek wore a deeper bloom, and her smile
had been brighter. The gentleman was not, strictly
speaking, handsome, but intelligence was written on
his broad brow, and a noble spirit shone in his blue
eyes.
“Edward,” said the lady to the gentleman, whose
arm encircled her waist, “Edward, you have never ex
plained to me how you came so opportunely, like my
guardian angel, to save me from a dark and
fate. Do you know that I almost looked upon you as
a supernatural being, half expecting that when you
had achieved my deliverance from * durance vile,’ you
would vanish and never be heard of more?”
The gentleman remained silent for a moment, and
tflen spoke in an embarrassed and hesitating voice:
“Ceeile,” he said, “ I should have made this explana
tion before; it was a foolish and false pride that de
tered me from it, and prevented my expressing in words
the gratitude I always cherished in my heart.”
“Gratitude!” repeated Ceeile. V I remember that
once before in the prison of N you spoke of grat
itude; explain yourself Edward.”
“ Well, Ceeile,” continued the gentleman, with the
same reluctant air, “ do you remember that as you were
passing into the the theatre, some seven years ago, a
i young man begged alms of your father, and was rude
ly repulsed?”
, “Yes,” answered the lady, after a little
reflection, wondering what tin’s could have to do’wrtt
the promised explanation.
“And do you remember that you turned back and be
stowed on the beggar the charity he had asked in vain
of your father ?”
“ Yes, I remember that also.”
“I was that beggar, Ceeile, and the money you gave
me then, saved my mother frorh starvation, and laid the
foundation of my own future happiness in life, for it
enabled me to return to my native place, where my name
was known and respected, and where I received the aid
and influence of my father’s friends. lat length achiev
ed a fortune, Ceeile, and now a high place in the profes
sion I had chosen ; but I did not forget my benefactress;
and when I learned that you, to whom I virtually owed
all of power and wealth and happiness { possessed,
were, in your turn, reduced to wretchedness and mistrjr
and in need of aid, I felt that the long delayed
had arrived for me to repay your noble charity and —”
“And you did repay it Well and nobly,” interrupted
the lady, throwing her arms around his neck and ini
printing a passionate kiss upon his brow. “ But, Ed
ward,” she continued, regarding him with an incredu
lous air, “ can it be that you— you were the beggar to
whom I gave alms that winter night ?”
“ It is too true, Ceeile; but do you already regret that
you have married a eidevant beggar ?” he said, in a jest
ing tone, though the glance he fixed upon her face was
full of anxiety.
“Oh! not that,” she answered eagerly, “my grai
itude”—
“ Your gratitude,” he repeated, with an exclamation
of pain. “ Ceeile, then, is it gratitude only that you
feel for me ?’ ’
“Edward,” she replied, taking his hand in both of
her’s, “Edward, since with your doubts you will bring
from me a confession that must appear ridiculous from
a woman of my age, I will confess that I am romantic
enough to be in love, and with my own husband.”
Au revoir reader.
Augusta, Jan. 10.
FARMER’S COLUMN.
COMMERCIAL,.
augusta, Tuesday, Feb. 16.
Cotton. —Sales Monday afternoon, 16 bales : 3 at 9;
lat ;2 at 10; lat 11, and 9 bales at 12 cents.
Sales to-day, 138 bales; sat 10J ; 3at 11; 90 at 12,
and 20 at 121 cents.
We heard this monflng of the sale of 152 bales at life.
Savannah, Feb. 15.
Cotton.— The sales foot up 238 bales : 112 at Hi ;
125 at 12, and 1 bale nankin at 15c.
Augusta Prices Current.
WHOLESALE PRICES.
BACON.—Hams, & 11* @ i 2
Canvassed Hams, slb 13 to 14
Shoulders, ft 9 @ 10
Western Sides, ft ft 104 @ 11
Clear Sides, Tenn., slb . 114 to 00
Ribbed Sides, 3a ft 11 to 00
Hog Round, new, 38 ft ioj to n
FLOUR.—Country ft bbl 500 to 600
Tennessee $ bbl 475 to 560
City Mills $t bbl 550 to 750
Etowah $ bbl 500 to 750
Denmead’s 38 bbl 500 to 700
Extra $ bbl 700 g 750
GRAIN.—Corn in sack ft bush 60 to 65
Wheat, white ft bush 1 10 to 1 *0
E ed ft lb 100 to 1 05
Oats bush 45 @ 50
Eye ft bush 70 to 75
Pea s 38 bush 75 @ 8#
TT Corn Meal ft bush 70 (and 75
IRON.—Swedes ft 1b 5) 5f
English, Common, 38 ft 3J | _
“ Refined, ft ft 31 to
LARD.— ft ft 10 to 11
MOLASSES.—Cuba 3ft gal 25 kt 28
St. Croix gal 40
Sugar House Syrup 38 gal 42 45
Chinese Syrup 38 gal 40 to 50
SUGARS.—N. Orleans 3@ lb 8 to 9
Porto Rico ft 1b 84 @ 9
Muscovado ft 1b 8 to 84
Refined C 38 lb 10 @ 11
Refined B tp ft ioj @ 11
Refined A 3jt 1b 11 & 114
Powdered ft ft 12 © 13
Crushed 38 ft 12 to 13
SALT.— 38 sack 1 00 to 1 10
COFFEE.—Rio 3a ft lli to 124
Laguira ft 13 ® 14
Java 38 ft 16 @ 18
To Keep Tires Tight on Wheels. — A corres
pondent of the Southern Planter furnishes the
following valuable information on this interest
ing subject :
I ironed a wagon some years ago for my own
use, and before putttng on the tires, I filled the
felloes with linseed oil, and the tires have worn
out and were never loose. I ironed a buggy’ for
my’ own use, seven years ago, and the tires are
now as tight as when put on. My method of fill
ing the felloes with oil is as follows: I use a long
cast iron oil heater, made for the purpose ; the
oil is brought to boiling heat, the wheel is placed
on a stick, so as to hang in the oil each felloe one
hour for a common sized felloe. The ’ timber
should be dry, as green timber would not receive
oil. Care should be taken that the oil be made
no hotter than a boiling heat in order that the
timber be not burnt. Timber filled with oil is
not susceptible of water and the timber is much
more durable.
The Jerusalem Artichoke. —The Editor of the
Maine Farmer says — “In regard to a substitute for
the potato as a cattle and pig feed, we have long
had a favorable opinion of the common Jerusalem
artichoke as it is called. It does not contain so
much farinaceous matter as a potato. If roasted
it will not crack open so mealy, as first rate pota
toes will, but otherwise its ingredients are very
much like the potato, and we think it vastly
better than soggy half diseased potatoes. The
tubers will soon obtain complete possesion of the
ground where they are planted on a piece of waste
ground not needed for any other purpose, and be
come valuble on this account.”
Planting a Walnut Grove. —As near as I can
recollect, about twelve years ago I planted a row
of these nuts south of my house, in the edge of
the plowed land. I planted in the fall soon after
the nuts fell, four feet apart, with a hoe, about
two inches deep, as we used to plant corn down
east. The next spring they came up with the
other plants. I kept the stock from them for
four or five years. The most of them grew rapid
ly ; but they were too thick, and some are now
dwarf trees, four to six feet high, while those that
got the start went right up, and in six or seven
years from the planting they bore walnuts, and
they continue to bear and grow so that this fall
I had several bushels of nuts, and have planted a
¥iece of two acres west of my house with them.
hese I put ten or twelve feet apart. I think it
would be better to plow your land as deep as you
can before planting. I think it will make little
difference whether you plant this winter or as
soon as the ground opens in the spring. Keep
the weeds down and the stock from them, and
there is no danger i.ut you wity have a grove far
more beautiful than the locust ; besides the
advantage of timber and the nuts. —[ Cor. of Pra
irie Farmer.
*** m i iii m %
Java Coffee in New York. —The New York
Post of Thursday says:
All the Java coffee in this market held in first
hands, embracing 1,000 mats, was sold this morn
ing at 16 cents, four months. The stock of this
description of coffee is now entirely exhausted at
all the ports in the United States,* and the pros
pective arrivals are exceedingly small. We only
know of one invoice expected in March, which, at
13 cents per pound, would scarcely cover the cost
laid down here.
Corn and Hogs. —From carefully conducted ex
periments by different persons, it lias been ascer
tained that one bushel of corn will make a little
over IOJ pounds of pork—gross. Taking the re
sult as a basis, the following deductions are made
which all our farmers will do well to lay by for a
convenient reference—That:
When corn costs 12J cents per bushel, pork costs
1J cents per pound.
When corn costs 17 cents per bushel, pork costs
2 cents per pound.
When corn costs 25 cents per bushel, pork costs
3 cents per pound.
When corn costs 33 cents per V -shel, pork cost*
4 cents per pound.
When corn costs 50 cents per bushel, pork costs
5 cents per pound.
The following statements show what the far
mer realizes in his corn when sold in the form of
pork:
When pork sells for 3 cents per pound, it brings
25 cents per bushel in corn.
When pork sells for four cents per pound, it
brings 33 cents per bushel in corn.
When pork sells for 5 cents per pound, it
brings 50 cents per bushel in com.