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EENFIELD, GEORGIA*
THURSDAY MORNING, NOV. 18, 1858.
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L. LINCOLN VEAZEY - - • EDITOR.
WITH this issue closes another year of our edi
torial labors. Each week during the months
of this year, we have held converse with our rea
ders, and, in an humble way, sought to please,
interest and instruct. Whether or not we have
t succeeded in any of these aims, remains for others
to decide. We are conscious that much of weak
0. ness has characterized our efforts, and perhaps
we have not, in every instance, done as well as
the circumstances allowed. But wherever we
niay have failed or erred, we now, once for all,
crave your indulgence and forgiveness, and res
pectfully solicit you to meet us again at the open
ing of another year in what, to us, has been a
pleasant relation.
With tho beginning of the next volume, we ;
design making a variety of changes and improve- \
raents, which will render our paper still more !
worthy of public patronage. We shall continue
to devote to the Crusader our solo and undivided i
attention, and endeavor to impart to its columns |
all the literary excellence we may be able. Mrs.
Bryan, who has, during the present year, edited
a page with marked success from her far-off
home, will officiate as resident editress, and we
predict for her department a spicy and elegant
brilliance, equalled by few journals in our coun- j
try. With the rare advantages which Atlanta I
affords, we flatter ourselves that we shall be able
to get out a sheet which every man in the South
ern country may take and pay for, and still feel
himself indebted. But to do this, we need, and
must have an increased patronage. We there
fore most earnestly request each of our readers to
send us a number of new names by the opening
of our next volume. We wish the disgraceful
, stigma removed, that the Southern people will
not sustain other than political papers. Give us
a liberal support, and we will build up a journal
equal to those of the North, for which thousands
of Southern money are yearly expended.
We would most urgently request all of our
friends who have the ability and disposition to
write, to favor us with their contributions. That
standard of excellence which we try to maintain
will not permit us to admit, indiscriminately, j
everything which may be sent us. But we know j
there are many persons in the South who have
leisure, information and every requisite of good
writers, who never contribute a line to the cur
rent literature. This is the class of persons, both
male and female, whose productions we wish for
our columns. Colud they be induced to unite
their power in an earnest enthusiasm, the day
would not be far distant when we would have a
literature of our own, strong, vigorous and origi
nal.
MODESTY, though one of the rarest, is one of
the most admirable of virtues. It possesses
a charm which beautifies every other attribute
with which it is associated, whether of mind ir
person. If, as is sometimes the case, it renders
genius less brilliant and striking, it always makes
it more attractive. The modest man will never
throw all mankind into a stupor of astonish
ment by an exhibition of his parts, but will
silently win an admiration more impressive, more
lasting and far more to be desired.
Modesty is not synonymous with bashfulness or
timidity, though in common parlance it is often
confounded with these qualities. Nor does it
consist in a depreciation of self, or an undue esti
mation of others. It implies on the part of a
person a knowledge of his own merits, an acquain
tance with his position and an observance of such
conduct as that position requires. Hence, that
which may be in perfect consistence with modesty
in one man, may be veiv immodest in another*
For instance, the minister of the Gospel may be
a very modest man though lie reproves the peo
ple for their errors, and names their trausgessions
by no softening epithets. Should a private indi
vidual take it upon himself thus to array before
his fellow-men what he considers their short
comings, it would be deemed very inappropriate.
Yet, the rules of modesty are not entirely con
ventional. There are certain firmly established
principles which must remain unchanged so long
as th§-&uman mind retains its present constitu
tion.
s generally considered, that modesty is more
particularly au attribute of woman than of man,
and some even think it unmanly to bo modest.
We need not say that the idea is an erroneous
one ; lliat it is fatally so, is clearly seen in the
characters of many of our people. Too many
youth who attempt to become men by laying
aside modesty, not only do not attain their ob
ject, but sink to a lower deep from which they
never arise. Certain it is that, however great he
may become, no one can ever attain to the per
fect stature of manhood, when this ennobling
quality has been lost. The modest man alone
can present that graceful consistency of charac
ter upon which contemplation’s eye delights to
rest. lie may lose some of that satisfaction which
flattery can administer to a vulgar mind, but for
this loss he is compensated bj r the knowledge
that, whatever of praise he receives, is unsought.
By nature woman is modest, and seldom does
she voluntarily violate this principle of her con
stitution. It is to be regretted, however, that
the inexorable law of Fashion requires her to do
many things which modesty would forbid. In ;
the matter of dress, to which every woman de
votes a large share of her attention, a refined,
modest taste does not preside over the arrange
ment of the details. In the ball-room and other
places of amusement to which she is
admitted, etiquette requires a woman not to be
timid, while it allows her to be bold. Os course
we would not insinuate that every young lady
who follows the styles of dress, or engages in the
mazy rounds of the Waltz or Schottiseh, is guilty
of unbecoming boldness; but it is unfortunately
true, that these things do detract from that sweet
modesty which show! 1 characterize her every ac
tion.
But egotism is a quality quite as inimical to \
true modesty as boldness. Boldness makes a i
man thrust himself forward by his acts; egotism j
causes him to present liis claims for public no-!
tice by his words. The egotist, whether ‘ man or
woman, can find no theme of conversation half
Ikb attractive as eulogies upon themselves. They
are always the heroes of their own stories, or con
trive, in some way, Jo let it be known that they
entertain no unfavorable opinion of their abili
ties and attachments. To do this, they not only
disregard ah feelings of modesty, but outrage the
patience of their hearers and violate the plainest
principles nfotruthfulness.
Those are anxiously pushing themselves
forward in the /world and striving to win its re
gard, are oftensurprised to find themselves out-
WTtript by the unassuming. Thus it will ever bo j
■ “ Life gives nothing to mortals without labor
| but that labor which would win much, must be
rightly employed. Not he who is always sound
i ing aloud his own praises and proclaiming his own ;
merits will be most likely to win. Let him work !
humbly,. patiently, steadily, and eventually sue-!
m ‘
¥E must speak a word of farewell to the peo
ple of Penfield upon our departure from
them, and while we feel that custom requires it
should’be done, our'heart shrinks from the per
formance of a task so sad. Seven happy years
have we spent in this quiet spot, until it has be
: come more sacredly enshrined in our affections
than the home of our birth. During all this time
kindness has strewn our way, and memory can
call up but few events around which lingers a re
gret. To leavo a place hallowed by so many ten
der associations, must cost us many a pang; still,
more bitter is it to part from friends whose en
couraging appreciation has lightened our labors
and made it a pleasure to toil. But duly calls
! us hence away, and her behests must bo obeyed.
Yet, though we go to mingle in new scenes,
i and form new attachments and associations,
! Memory will still fondly linger here, for
“The last rays of life must depart,
Ere the bloom of this village shall fade from our heart.”
j Love for our Alma Mater, and for those amid
whose homes she is located, will continue as long
as life, and be “ a ruling passion strong in death.”
We hope, too, to carry with us your kind regards
and warm sympathies; for, though we may not,
as now, daily see your forms and hear your voices,
we can hold pleasant converse with your minds,
advocate your interests and promote your welfare
in whatever manner we may be able. Ye will
not, then, say farewell, lor it is a word too seleinn |
and sad for those who, in parting, hope to meet ,
again.
Which Way will you Take, the Right oh the
Left? These words stood in gilded letters
| upon the back of a book which wo once saw upon
j a merchant's shelf. The title is suggestive. How
often, in the experience of every one, does that
question become a practical ono, demanding a
direct and decided answer. Life has been com
pared to a journey until it has become trite and
pointless ; yet, we never can too fully point out
the marks of resemblance. From both there are
paths constantly diverging, which, if taken, will
carry us from our course. At each of these the
question recurs, which shall we take, the right
or the left?
All have read accounts of travelers who have
lost their way in the wilderness, and many may
have pictured to themselves the horrors of such
a situation. The directions by which the route
was indicated, have been forgotten. No needle
with magnetic power is at hand to point out the
! course. The day’s close is announced by the
drooping shadows, but no human habitation is
near, where food and rest may be obtained. Per
haps thunder, with deep-toned mutterings, and
heavily-drifting clouds presage a coming storm.
A maddening rush of thought crowd upon tho
traveler’s mind as death, in its most appalling
form, seems to stare him in the face. All the
pangs of the stake, the rack or the wheel are tri
fling, compared with those which he now endures.
Phrensied and almost hopeless, he speeds him on,
determined, if die he must, it shall be only when
all the efforts of desperate energy have proved
fruitless.
But if such horrors attend him who treads the
wilderness without guide or compass, how is it
with those who are morally lost? They are still
traveling on, some at fearfully accelerated speed,
and are going, they know not whither. A young
man took the left in an early stage of his journey,
and it led him into the companionship of the
lewd, vicious and profane. Soon he learned their
habits and became a leader in their nightly scenes
of debauch. The dram-shop, the gambling saloon
and all the other courts of vice which she throws
open to her devotees are places of constant, re
sort. His constitution gives way under continual
dissipation, he sinks to his grave and finds the
end of that left hand way which he took.
Here is an old man with bowed form and hoary
locks. He passed that diverging path which led
to the drunkard’s grave, and listened not to the
voices which called him to the haunts of pleas
ure. But another left hand way, all glittering
with golden dust, presented itself, and that he
hastened to tread. As he journeyed on, his heart
became harder, his feelings colder, his nature
more selfish and his misery more confirmed.
Finally he will attain the end, fall unpitied and
uncared for into the precipice of death, with one
hand desperately clutching his hoarded treasures,
while with the other ho strives to retain his en
feebled hold on life.
But why attempt to name all the left ways, or
describe those who follow them ? They occur
almost at every step, oflering illurements of every
conceivable form. Care, constant and vigilant,
must be exercised to avoid these paths of the de
stroyer and the snares by which they are beset.
Move, then, young man, with calm, sober consid
eration. There is a right and left before you.
Be certain to take the right, for when once left,
it is difficult to be regained.
The Home Journoi copies from a Paris paper the
following amusing and characteristic French
story:
That the French word for who and which (qui) is
the same, is a poverty of that brilliant language
which sometimes occasions grave inconvenience.
Monsieur X lately took leave of his family
for a journey by railroad ; and, in passing a bridge
over the Seine, on his way to the station, his hat
was blown off by the high wind. Fearing to lose
the train, he spoke to the proprietor of the swim
ming-school near by, and requesting him to re
cover the hat and send it to his residence, he
hurried on, purchasing a temporary travelling-cap
at the first stopping-place.
The hat was recovered, and the servant of the
swimming establishment was duly sent with it to
the gentleman’s residence. On arriving at the
door, he handed it in with the words: “ Void le
chapeau dc M. X , qui est tombed I’eau; ’or
which, literally translated into English, might
be: “ Here is the hat of M. X——, who has tum
bled into the river.” Saying which, the unknown
messenger disappeared.
But, on receiving the hat with these ominous
words, the family of M. X were thrown into
the greatest possible state of alarm. From un-
certainty as to the route taken by the husband
and father to whom it had belonged, no inquiries
could be made, and for several days they were
under the full belief that he was drowned, and
that, save this chance relic, they might never
hear of him more. Somewhat delayed, acciden
tally, in his return, they were about going into
mourning, widow and orphans as they suppos
edly were, before he re-appeared to reclaim the
blown-away hat and their affections.
The error, and its cause in that calamitously
poverty-stricken pronoun, was, of course, soon
explained; but so disgusted was the family with
a language that could subject them to such dis
tressing inconvenience, that they made, from
that day, a solemn and formal abandonment of
the French, adopting the German as henceforth the
language for themselves and their descendants!
The Albany Knickerbocker gives the following re
ceipt to destroy flies: “Take a boarding-house
pie, cut it into thin slices, and lay it where the
flies can have free access to it. In less than fif
teen minutes the whole of them will be dead with
the cholic.”
Prof. Prat, who has for sixteen years been the
principal of the Philadelphia High School, has
resigned his position for the purpose of accepting
the editorship of the publications issued by the
American Sunday School Union.
The following verse contains every letter in
the English alphabet except “e.” It is aquestion
whether any other in English rhyme may be pro
duced (in print) without the letter “e/ ; which is
a letter more used than any other:
“A jovial swain may rack his brain,
And tax hiß fancy’s might;
To quiz in vain, tor ’tis mors plain
That what I say is right.”
The follies of the rich produce the miseries of
the poor. Many a young man has been tempted
; to debt and ruin by the extravagances of their
associates, who happened to be blessed with su
j perior fortune.
—’
Owing to the run of her matter, we have been
compelled to place two of Mrs. Bryan's articles
on our page. We regret having to insert them
out of their proper connection, but under tho cir
cumstances, it was unavoidable.
On our fourth page will be found Prospectuses
of The Georgia Educational Journal and The Law
renccvitle News. Both of these papers are well con
ducted, and commend themselves to a liberal
patronage.
The Atlanta Medical & Surgical Journal for No
vember is on our table. It contains two original
j papers, besides tho able contributions of its edi
j tors. It is a handsome periodical, and deserves
a liberal support by the medical fraternity.
The* Westminster Review for October contains—
France under Louis Napoleon; Indian Heroes;
F. W. Newman and his Evangelical Critics; Tra
vel during tho last Half Century; The Calas Tra
gedy ; Realism in Art: Recent German Fiction 5
Outbreak of the English Revolution. 1642.
Contemporary Literature; Note to Art. 1. Re
published by L. Scott & Cos. New York, at $3 a
ycar; Blackwood and ono of the Reviews $5 ; Black
wood and all of the Reviews, $lO.
i
Watch chain charms aro being manufactured
out of the rope which surrounded the ring in
which Keenan and Morrissey fought. If the rope
were used in hanging the ruffians, it would lie
much better applied.
So think we. But wc think, too, that the news
paper press, even when it has cundemned these
pugilists, has given them a notoriety which they
do not deserve, and which will be very deleteri
ous in its moral influence. Wlxen men act like
beasts or savages, they ought to be treated as
such, and the less said about them is better for
all parties.
A few days since, a neat little billet came to
our address, directed in a delicate, feminine hand.
We hastened to open it, supposing there was
within some nicely worded compliment, or per
haps a dainty scrap of poetry. But when the seal
1 had been broken, and the paper unfolded, it dis
-1 closed only a little roll of scorched cotton.
What does it mean ? We have exercised our
wits in the vain attempt to unravel its signifi
cance, but it still remains unexplained.
Will some of our lady friends drop us a hint
j whereby this mystery may be solved ? Do, if you
please, for our curiosty is excited.
A Bill has been introduced into the Legislature
to appropriate $200,000 to Franklin College, and
$50,000 to each of the three Denominational Col
leges, on the condition that they board and edu
cate one young man for every S2OO of interest
accruing from these sums. This would be really
giving the nothing, and for this very
reason we think the movement injudicious. We
wish to see something done to render our colleges
less dependent on patronage for support. If the
State designs giving them material aid in order
to increase their usefulness, let these bequeath
ments he made uncoupled with any conditions.
Morris & Willis’ Home Journal offers numerous
and varied attractions for the forthcoming vol
ume in 1859. With the January number will be
gin the publication of a series of beautiful origi
nal works of fact and fiction. The first of these
is from the pen of a gifted lady, entitled “Two
Ways to Wedlock,” and is pronounct and a work of
sterling merit. This will be followed by “A Tale
of the South.” called “The Avenger,” and this
by “ The Young Wife’s Diary.” All the former
peculiar features of the paper, which have given
it a world-wide reputation, will be continued, white
the several new ones will give an infinite variety
to its ever diversified pages.
The Home Journal is purely a literary paper,
not in the slightest tinctured by politics or any
{ of the m ultitude of isms which disgrace so many
s Northern publications. We consider it decidedly
the best and cheapest family newspaper in our
country, and so far as we know, in the world.
Terms: Fbr one copy, $2 ; for three copies, $5 —
or one copy for three years, $5; for a club of
seven copies, $10; for a club of fifteen copies,
S2O; and at that rate for a larger club —always
in advance. Address, Morris & Willis,
Editors and Proprietors, 107 Fulton-street, New- York.
•
A llenerv. —A Mr. DeSora, of Paris, having
discovered the secret of making hens lay every
day in the year, by feeding them with horse flesh,
raw and minced, bethought him of going into the
fresh egg business on a very large scale. He be
gan his experiment with three hundred hens,
and found that they averaged the first year some
twenty-five dozen eggs each. Last season he had
100,000 hens at work, with a fair proportion of
male birds, and the proportionate result was the
same. To supply the great consumption of meat,
the numerous disabled and worn-out horses in
and around Paris are depended on. They are
neatly an l scientifically slaughtered at M. De-
Sora’s own abattoir. Tho blood is sold for art pur
poses. The tanners buy tho skins. The glue
makers and manufacturers buy the larger bones.
The average consumption of horses per day is
twenty-two, and so well arranged is the system,
that the proceeds of the sale of the hides, bones,
&c. make a profit on the original cost of the horses.
Another item of profit is the manure from the
fowl yards, which is eagerly sought for by the
gardeners In the neighborhood.
About one hundred persons, mostly females,
are employed in tho various departments of the
her ery. The expenses of the establishment, in
cluding repairs, interest, &c. amount to about
$75,000 per annum. Tho sales of eggs, last win
ter, were 40,000 dozen a week, at four francs for
six dozen, or $5,000 per week, which is $250,000
per annum. So that Mr. DeSora can both cluck
and crow over his hens, that bring him a clear
1 revenue of nearly $175,000 per annum.
A Quarter of an noun with a Bad Book.—
About twenty-five years ago, I formed a most in
timate acquaintance with a young man of fine
education and commanding talents, and we soon
became bosom friends. One morning after school,
at a street corner, he handed me which
lie said he cou.d loan me only for one quarter of
an hour. We stood at that corner for a few mo
ments, while I looked at the obscene pictures and
read a few pages in that polluting’volume. <*
handed it back to him and never saw it again ;
but the poison took effect—“the sin loft its
mark.” I cannot erase the effect of the impure
thoughts which, in that short quarter of an hour,
that vile book lodged in my heart, and which,
may God forgive me, 1 harbored there. I can and
do pray against the sin, and I trust, by God’s j
grace, yet to conquer it. But it is a thorn in my i
flesh, and still causes me great bitterness and an- j
guish.
Young men, as a lover of your souls, I tell you j
in all sincerity that there is nothing which 1 j
would not willingly give to have tho veil of obli
vion cast over the scenes and sentiments of that
corrupt volume, which still haunts me like spec
tres during my private dovotion, in the sanctuary
and at the communion table. Oh, what sad work
did that quarter of an hour make upon a human
soul. Young men, beware of bad books, and be
ware also of evil companions.
My early friend, after well nigh accomplishing
my ruin, became a dissolute man, imbibed infidel
sentiments, and at last, as I greatly fear, died by
hia own hands. “Let him that thinketh he
standeth, take heed lest he fall.”
A man who was sentenced to be hung was visi
| ted by his wife, who said: “My dear, would you
! like the children to see you executed ?” “No,”
j replied he. “That’s just like you,” said she, “for
j you never wanted the children to have any en
i joyment.”
[Written for the Georgia Temperance Crusader.]
THE DEATH ASCEL IN PRISON.
BT WM. St. M.
DEATH, at all times, places, and under all cir
cumstances, is truly • “Kingof Terrors,” and
constitutes a theme on which the human mind
cannot dwell without tho deepest emotions of
awe; but no where else does such chilling horrors
cluster around the “ Death Angel” as those that
wait upon his coming, and mark his presence
within the cheerless walls of a “State Prison.”
There, to some extent, it may be said, the victim
meets his ruthless foe alone; a stranger in a
strange land, he is doomed to close his eyes for
the last time, and forever, upon this beautiful
world, as a degraded felon; yet, he was not all
depraved, but possessed many kind and generous
impulses; and while may be true that he did
abuse the precious, priceless jewel of time—for
which he received the severest condemnation of
his fellow-men—it may be equally true that, in
the unerring counsels of God’s Eternal YYjsdom,
the Recording Angel has written of him, “ more
sinned against than sinning”—who can tell ?
But what matters it now ? he must die; the un
alterable fiat of Heaven has been issued ; the in- j
exorable messenger is waiting; the physician lias I
pronounced his case beyond the reach of medical
skill or human aid, and his faithful chaplain has I
borne him the last message of a Saviour’s dying 1
love and infinite mercy, and whispered in his ear
the sweet consolations of an after hope; his pale,
wan features, alreedy livid with the huos of ap
proaching dissolution, bear the unmistakable im
press of mental agony. ’Tis the last “ fiery ordeal”
of earth ; memory, faithful to her office, is arran.
ing in panoramic view all the varied transactions
of the past, whether good or bad ; and, casting
one long, regretful look at this portrait of life
events, the mind, still trammeled with mortality,
reverts to the absence of “ loved ones at home,”
and oh! what a desolate loneliness must steal
over his being aB he realizes the true character of
of his isolated condition! No fond mother’s tire
less vigils keep their holy watch beside the dying
couch of her erring outcast child; no sister’s hand
to wipe off with sublime tenderness the cold dews
of death fast gathering upon her brother’s brow;
no familiar voice, in sweet remembrared tones, ;
mingle their melody with the murmuring waters i
of death’s dark and stormy Jordan, on which he ;
is about to become a, voyager for another world; j
for scenes of eternal folicity, or regions of unut- j
terable woe, and he feels—withering reflection—
that no tear of affection will flow from the foun
tain of human love to mingle with the clay that
shall cover its kindred dust—a thought, to the
sensitive mind and refined intellect, over which
the power of association still sheds its hallowed
light and gentle influence, scarcely less appalling
than that of annihilation to the Christian’s hope;
and were it possible for shades of sorrow to min
gle with, or linger in the sunshino of Heaven—
even there, with countless gems of joy forever
crowding upon and satisfying the immortal de
sires, I have imagined that those who leave this
world uncared, unwept, would sometimes bo sad;
but alas! such is often the fate of the poor con
vict, but not so with others. The traveler over j
earth may suddenly be swept off by some fatal
epidemic, or fall by the hand of violence, but his
name, which he has not’ disgraced, is garnered
up in the “ store-house of memory”'at home; the
brave sailor, who perils life in a thousand forms
upon the “ briny deep,” may find a watery grave
beneath its wild, restless waves, far from the
“ land of his love,” but he leaves behind him an
untarnished reputation ; the gallant soldier may
fall upon the field of battle, and “’mid
scenery of blood and carnage,” but his memory
belongs to his country.
How different with the felon! he dies “ un
wept, uncared, unhonored ;” the sexton, solitary
and alone, deposits his senseless form in a “ Pot
ter’s field,” where shame, like a thing of doom,
stands “perpetual sentinel over his neglected,
dishonored grave.
DARK BOSALEES)
(From~tS^lrish.)
BT i. C. MANGAN.
[This impassioned ballad, entitled in the original
Roisin Duh (or the Black Little Rosejwas written in
the reign of Elizabeth by one of the poetsoLUiecelebra
ted Tirconnellian chieftain, Hugh the ReJJO’Donnel.
It purports to be an allegorical address from Hugh to
Ireland, on the subject ot his love and struggles for her,
and his resolve to raise her again to the glorious posi
sition she held as a nation before the irruption of the
Saxon and Norman spoilers. The true character and
meaning of the figurative allusions with which it abounds
and to two only of which we need refer here, viz : the
“Roman wine” and “Spanish ale” mentioned in the
first stanza—the intelligent reader will, of course, find
no difficulty in understanding.]
O, my dark Rosaleen,
Do not sigh, do not weep! ‘
The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There’s wine from the royal Pope,
Upon the ocean green,
And Spanish Ale shall give you hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
Shall glad your heart,'shall givo you hope,
Shall give you health, and help, and hope,
My Dark Rosaleen!
Over hills, and through dales,
Have I roamed for your sake ;
All yesterday I sailed with sails
On river and on lake.
The Erne, at its highest flood,
Idashed across unseen,
For there was lightning in my blood,
. My Dark Rosaleen! m
My own Rosaleen!
O ! there was lightning in my blood,
Red lightning lightened through my blood,
My Dark Rosaleen!
All day long, in unrest,
To and fro do I more.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart in my bosom faint 9
To think of you, my queen,
My life of life, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints.
My life, my love, my saint of saints,]gg
My Dark Rosaleen !
Woe and pain, pain and woe,
Are my lot night and noon,
To see your bright face clouded so,
Like to the mournful moon.
But yet will I rear your throne
Again in golden sheen ;
’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,
My Dark Rosaleen!
w My own Rosaleen !
’Tis you shall hare tho golden throne,
’Tis you shall reign and reign atone,
My Dark Rosaleen !
Over dews, over sands,
Will I fly for your weal;
Your holy delicate white hands
Shall girdle me with steel.
At home, in your emerald bowers,
From morning’s dawn till e’en,
You’l pray for me, my flower of flowcis,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My lond Rosaleen!
You’l think of me through daylight’s hours,
My'virgin flower, my flower of flowers,
My Dark Rosaleen !
I could scale tho bluo air,
I could plough the high hills,
O, I could kneel all night in prayer,
To heal your many ilk!
And one beamy smile from you
Would float like light between
My toils and mo, my own, my true,
My Dark Rosaleen!
My fond Rosaleen!
Would give roe lifo and soul anew
A second lifo, a soul anew,
My Dark rosaleen 1
O ! the Erne shall run rod
With redundance of blood,
The earth shall rock beneath our tread,
And flames wrap hill and wood ;
And gun-peal, and slogan cry,
Wake many a glen serene,
Ere |mu shall fade, ere you shall die,
BEST.
Oil! ye who toil, and ye who Weep
In this dark world of pain and tear* ; \
j Look up, there above
Where life is free from cares;
No pain, no grief, can reach you there ;
No sighing for affection fled ;
No weeping for the changed and gone ;
No mourning for the dead;
No farewell words are spoken there ;
No last fond look of love is given—
Ah ! earth is full of clouds ana tears,
But all is bright in Heaven !
AH that ve love and cherish here
Fades like the light of parting day,
But there are crowns of joy above
That never fade away;
Friends ye have loved and lost are there,
Forever circling round the throne,
And voices ye have missed so long
Will answer to your own;
And God will hind in one again
The hearts by deaths’ cold fingers riven :
Ye sorrowing ones, dry up your tears,
There’s rest for you in Heaven.
George Sand is writing a play for the Paris the
atres which will introduce a flock of sheep.
It is reported that a pardon will shortly be is
sued by the British Government to Thomas F.
Meagher, the Irish exile.
j There are now in the United States about 29,-
| 000 post offices.
If potticoat government is not more oppressive
now than formerly, it is certainly double in ex
: tent.
Charles Dickens has two brothers who are sep
ated from their wives. It must run in the fam
ily.
The lady who made a dash, has since brought
her husband to a full stop.
A gentleman in New Haven, Conn., picked
ripe strawberries in his garden on the 27th of Oo
tober.
Philip Lynch, a Printer from Berks eounty,
Pennsylvania, has been elected a member of the
California Legislature.
* The Rev. Mr Smith is on trial, at Shawmut,
Mass., for being “a cold, distant man/’
| Os all mistakes the greatest is to live, and think
j life of no consequence.
Hon. Samuel F. Rice has resigned his seat upon
j the Supreme Bench of Alabama, to tako effect in
! January next.
The citizens of Tuscumbia, Ala. have raised
! $3,000, by subscriptions, to establish a County
Agricultural Society.
Sixteen States have appointed Thursday, the
25th inst. as a day of thanksgiving.
The Richmond Smith is to be removed to Wash
ington city, and united with the States.
In the town of Crockett, Texas, it is said there
is not a marriageable female.
Anew Baptist paper is soon to be started in
Nashville, to be under the control of the friends
of the Rev. R. B. C. Howell.
The Legislature of Florida convenes on the 22d
of the present month. Some action on the com
mon school system of the State is anticipated and
urged.
Mount Washington is now covered with a coat
of snow which seems deep enough to resist the
influence of the sun for the caning six months.
An old bachelor defines love in this manner:
“A littlo singing, a little crying, a little dying,
and a great deal of lying.”
Mrs. Lydia Studley, a woman sixty-five years
of age, has been convicted at Providence of the
murder of her husband by the administration of
poison.
Only one of the children at the Orphan house
in Charleston, where there are over 300 domi
ciled, died of yellow fever this season, of terrible
epi lemic in that city.
The poorest church-living in London is that of
Woburn Church, Tavistock Place, St. Pancred’s.
It has decreased so as to amount to only between
£5 & £6.
Men consume as a general thing, too little air
and too much food. A little reform would make
them better every way. If atmosphere cost fifty
cents a gallon, there would be an immense rush
for it. ?
Five young Christian Chinese have arrived at
Suez, on their way to France, to be educated.
They are accompanied by a Chinese Catholic j
Priest, who speaks French and English fluently
t , \
The London Times says that an average duration
of a ship of war in a seaworthy state, built of
British oak, is only thirteen years of active ser
vice. It takes seventy acres of ground eighty
years to produce the timber.
Dr. Stone, a celobrated physician in New Or
leans, on being asked how many yellow fever pa
tients he had lost, replied “about twenty-jive hun
dred,” as that number remains still unaccounted
for after the other physicians made their reports.
A Kansas correspondent says is no doubt
of the existence of Gold in Western Kansas, but
to get it will require “labor the same as build
ing canals and turnpike roads, and that it is all
i folly for men who are disposed to labor to flock
to the mines.
A small lad asked permission of his mother to
go to a ball. She told him it was a bad place for
the little boys. “Why, mother, didn’t you and
father use to go to balls when you was young ?”
“Yes, but we have seen the folly of it,” answered
the mother. “Well, mother,” excllaimed the
sonJß‘l want to see the folly of it too.”
In an advertisement offering an estate irTWor
cestershire, England, for sale, the auctioneer an
nounces, in a line of capitel letters, as one of the
tempting inducements to purchase “political in
fluence over twelve hundred honest yeomen.”
THE WORD FAREWELL. .
Farewell, said a youthful lover, as he pressed
his lips to the white brow of a youthful maiden;
for it had been decreed that he must go far hence
—that ho must win a name, and fill with shining
gold his empty purse, ere he might call that spot
less one his bride. ***
Farewell, said an old man with snowy locks and
furrowed brow, as fondly to his bosom he pressed
his children’s little ones; for he was starting on
his journey to that land from whence no traveler
returns. <
Farewell, said the man of wealth, as his vast i
possessions flew from his grasp, like a meteor i
from the brow of night. ft’
Farewell, said the little child, as she folded the ’
white wings of her dead dove, and laid it down
within a tiny grave which her own hand had
made, beneath a rose tree.
Farewell, said a noble youth, as he left his na
tive land to gaze upon the grandeur of distant
nations.
Farewell, said a broken hearted widow, as she.
plumed her spirit wings for heaven.
Farewell, said a stricken mother, as she closed
the eyes of her sweet darling, and pressed one
long, last kiss upon its baby brow, then laid it in
the silent churchyard.
What means that word farewell blending in
harmony, sweetness and melancholy ? Why does
it fall with such crushing weight upon the listen
er’s oars ? Why do bright eyes grow dim, and
rosy cheeks rival the lily’s whiteness as this mo
mentous word falls from the lips of some cher
ished one ?
Alas! it tells to the lone heart tv tale of weary
years, while a loved one is telling in a distant land
—of a vacant chair in the old man’s dwelling—of ‘
poverty, and mighty struggles with the cold j
world—of childhood weeping in its firet sorrow—
of leaving homo and country to seek more joy—
of blighted hopes and broken vows—of beauty :
fled from earth while a lonely mourner waters a
tiny grave with burning tears. Ah! farewell is 1
the language of the earth.
In tho bright, glad morning, I have gazed upon
a beautiful flower, but ere the even tide it passed ,
away forever. In tho calm hours of night my I
spirits have been lulled by BOtne bright dream,
but with the dark, still night, the vision has de
parted.
Methinks that thus it is in life. In youth’s fair
| morn we clasp some gentle one within our fond
j embrace, but ere we are aware Death’s solemn
i angel has wooed the loved ones to his own cold
; bosom.
Bright, gorgeously bright, are the dreams with
j which we have decked the future, but when the
! time approaches in which to test their reality, we
] behold that, vidon-likellhfijLhamjiflMfted.
“ If ignorance is bliss,
‘Tis folly to be wise.”
IS ignorance bliss ? If so, then, indeed, it is
folly to be wise; then, indeed, wo may envy
the swine their stupidity and filthy sty ; then,
indeed, we may make an auto de /c of books, and
diligently proceed to stultify ourselves, as a pre
paratory step to the social millenium. But ignor
ance is not bliss. Mental cultivation opens anew
and wider range of pleasures to man. It adds
the delicate golden strings that are needed to
complete the harmony of the harp of life, calling
into action anew set of emotions, whose devel
opment is necessary to perfect existence.
But philosophers tell us that, with cultivation*
comes a train of attendant evils unknown to ig
norance : sensibility, discontent, sensitiveness and
others that are the offspring of refinement. Well,
let them come. The brighter the light the plainer
the shadow; but who for this would forego the
blessed and beautiful sunlight?
And is it not better to suffer and enjoy acutely
than negatively ; better to wear out than to rust
out; better to climb the ladder of the ange’s than
to sleep at its foot? And then, every thorn has
its attendant rose. If discordant things jar pain
fully upon the delicately-strung chords of sensi
bility at times, they compensate us at others, by
giving forth the sweetest and purest of melody.
And is not that noble discontent —which is only
the yearning of the spirit after the perfection to
which it aspires—is it not better than sordid, bes
tial satisfaction? But it is untrue, that content
ment exists in simple minds, as some poets would
have us believe. It is not a plant of earthly
growth.
We, who have the seed of immortality implan
ted in our natures, cannot wholly stifle its growth
with the things of time and sense. It will reach
upward its tendrils and aspire to purer air and
brighter light. Even across the most illiterate
minds there sometimes flashes a consciousness of
latent capabilities which have never been called
forth—a conviction that they are not all they
might have been, and vague discontent ensues.*
Besides, such unenlightened natures are like
Martha—troubled with little things. Household
cares and petty trials and disappointments affect
them more than they do minds that have other
resources of enjoyment. A burnt pudding, an
unbecoming ribbon, an ill-fitting vest or a cup of
muddy coffee is a source of great mental disqui
etude to those whose thoughts are confined to
such narrow limits, and would serve to upset their
equanimity of mind for the entire day.
And then the pleasures of ignorance: how far
are they removed above those of the brutes ?
Plenty to eat and to wear, and the gratification of
instinctive social propensities are all the pleasures
that lie within the bounded range of ignorance ;
and what are these in comparison to the high en
joyments of intellect ?
Is the stolid, unctuous churl,
“ Who holds it heresy to think,
And loves no music bul the dollar’s clink
who would not believe that the world revolved
upon its axis, were you to reason about it until
you turned gray ; whose obese face has no mot e
expression than his
“ Fair, round stomach, with fat capon lined,”
and whose ideas of the outer world extend no
farther than his cotton and tobacco field : is this
man happier than he whose soul has been stirred
by the divine breath of knowledge; to whom the
broad volume of nature has been unclasped, with
all the sacred writing of its stars upon the sap
phire walls of Heaven, and all the sublime truths
and eloquent poems written by the hand of the
Creator upon the fair pago of the universe, who, if
confined within the four walls of his library, can
hold commune with the mighty spirits of the
past; to whom solitude is no terror, and whose
thoughts are his fitting companions ? Or does
the little frivolous Miss, whose ideas rise no
higher than her bonnet, and whose knowl
edge of the science of numbers hardly enables her
to count her beaux upon her fingers, enjoy life as
fully as she whose mind has been expanded by
5 cultivation ; whose sense of the beautiful is so ex
quisitely developed, that nature and art are for
\ her a source of purest delight; whose truest
pleasures are derived from her books and her
music; to whom a walk is something more than
a promenade, and the voices of stream and bird;
of dancing rains and silvery waves, peferable to
the honeyed whisperings of a brainless fop ?
I know that there exists individuals who would
prefer the savory steam of roast beef, to the fra
grance of “ Araby the blest,” and the music of
the dinner bell to all the glorious harmony that
ever thrilled and trembled beneath the fingers
of Listz or Beethoven, and they call such feelings
a proof of their common sense! Heaven help us,
it is common indeed! so much so that they share
it in common with brutes and insects. This life
is but a preparation for another and eternal one;
but in that spiritual existence, there is (unfortu
nately for those who have learned nothing else)
neither eating nor drinking, dressing nor gossip
ping, and so “Othello's occupation will begone.”
Is it not, then, absurd and sinful for refinea
and intellectual minds, sometimes in their dark
moods, when goaded by discontent, or their sen
sitiveness wounded by malice, to covet the “ bliss
of ignorance ?” For the pleasures of sense are
finite, and soon produce a surfeit, but the intel
lect is infinite in its capacities for enjoyment.
Next to the cultivation of his moral nature, the
highest duty of man is mental improvement; for
the more fully the soul is enlarged and expanded
here, the farther it will have advanced in the de
velopment that goes on and on through the count
| less ages of eternity. M. F. B.
! A good-looking fellow was arraigned before the
| police court, charged with having stolen a watch.
The judge asked him what induced him to com
mit the theft. The young man replied that, hav
ing been unwell for sometime, the doctor advised
him to take something, which he accordingly did.
The judge asked him what had induced him to
select a watch. “Why,” said the prisoner, “I
thought if I only had the time, that Nature would
work a cure.”
*
f‘l say, Phil, who was that pretty girl I
saw you walking with last Sunday evening ?”
.. “Miss Hogges!”
“Hogges! Well, she’s to be pitied for having
such a name.”
“So I think .Toe,” rejoined Phil; “I pitied her
so much that I offered her mine, and she’s going
to take it soon.”
<<*
Amos J. Williamson, proprietor of the New
York Sunday Dispatch, and ex-candidate for Con
gress, has been arrested for violating the law
against lotteries, by publishing one of Swann and
Co’s Georgia advertisements. Ilewas held to an
swer in the sum of SSOO. *•
A meeting of all the leading members of the
‘ house ot Rothchild has just taken place at Paris
to regulate their individual positions, and to fix
the conduct of the house for the next year. The
Paris member, the Baron James Rothehilds, is
i now the the recognized head of the house.
; Landlord. —“Mr. Editor, I’ll thank you to say
: I keep the best table in the city. ”
Editor—-“ I’ll thank you to supply my family
with board gratia.”
Landlord—“l thought you were glad to get
something to fill up your paper.”
Editor—“l thought you were glad to feed men
for nothing.”
Its a poor rule that won't work both ways.
Exit landlord in a rage, threatened to have
nothing more to do with the office.
* r
Sir Walter Scott and Daniel O’Connell, at a late
period of their lives, ascribed their success in the
world principally to their wives. Were th^ruth