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About Weekly constitutionalist. (Augusta, Ga.) 185?-1877 | View Entire Issue (July 24, 1867)
BY STOCKTON & CO. OUR TERMS. The following are tbe rates of Subscription: Daily, one year » #lO 00 Wilt ly, one year $3 00 —..1 . M.I- I II .1,1 I ■ The Only Ornament. BY HUKBK CARY. Even as a child too well she knew Her lack of com dines* and gra e ; fck), Uke an unprized weed she grew, (he meanest flower its face. Almost with toars her sad eyes filled, Watching th* plainest birds that went About her home, to pair and build Their cunning nests in sweet content. No melody was in her words.; You thought her, as she passed along, As brown and homely ns the birds Bite envied, but without their song. Sometimes she sighed to gee bow glad Kind nature makes berfavored child ; While all the beauty that she had Was in her smile—nor oft sijy smiled. Bo se asons passed her, and were gone, She musing, with herself, apart, Till the vague longing thart is Known To woman, crept into her heart. . . That feeHnv born when fancy teems Witli all that makes this life a good, • Came to her, witlrtlic unspoken and earns That bless and trouble maidenhood. . . She would have calledit joy to sit * In any home, or great or small, , ’ Could she have hoped to brighten It For one wbo thought of her at all, t ■ At night, or In some secret place, She (lard'd to think, with tender pain, How infants love their mother’s face, And know not if ’tis fiiror plain. Bhe longed to feast her hungry dyes On anything her own could please ; - . . To sing soft, loving lullabies To children lying on her knees. And yet, beyond the world she went, * UnVrdssed as if she had not been; Wearing her only ornarhent, A meek and quiet soul within. None ever knew her heart was pained, Or that she, grieved to live unsought; They deemed her cold and self-contained ; Contented In her realm of thought! , * Her patient life, when it was o’er, Was one that all the world .approved ; Borne marvelled at, some pitied ner, But neither man nor woman loved. Even little children felt the same,. Were shy of her from awe or fear ; I wonder if she knew they came And scattered roses on her bier I [From the Round Table. “ Only Inst Sabbath,’! writes the author in his note accompanying the following lines, “I buried a young wife whose remains her husband and parents brought from the prairies of Indiana today them to rest under the Berkshire hills." Almost her last request was that she might not be buried wit bout flowers upon her coffin.” Bury Me Not. Without Sweet Flowers, Bury me not without sWeet flowers, Though ’neath the snow I’m laid to sleep, Where violets still their urn hush keep, And March winds shako the bowers!. Amid the hills, far, far away, That guard my childhood’s happy vale — I plead with breath whose puls-s fail You’ll rest my lifeless clay. . V And though the wild arbutus fling No tender flush o’er winter’s brown When in ihe wood you lay me down, Yet blossoms you must bring. Buds from the lone love-nurtured rose, And snowNvhitehyaeiTithine bells, (More meet for me than funeral knells !) And the pale lily-blows. • Those on my eoflln thickly strew, ’Till white as drifted snow it gleams, My blanehed lips more like fife, meseerhb, * Will smile pureness through. They will not die till out oflsight My faded face is put away ; And their sweet mask will change my clay To something oT delight. Fresh beauty theirs, and mine decay, Bad eyes may count them mas 1 of worth ; Vatu thought, sprung, like the flowers of earth, Like them, to pass away. For nevermore tins with ere 3 flowers Shall ope to light their sleep-sealed eyes; But the dead form they deck shall rise And bloom in .God’s own bowers. Ww O. RicftißPS. March 22, 18C7. All the While. The nights they come and the nights they go, And the rosy twilights round them lie, And the shirs are bright aud the stars ate sweet, And I sit in the silence and Watch them meet; But all the while my heart boa slew, . . For the moon is out.of my sky. The seasons come and the seasons go— -. Spring so gay apd w.ntor so drear— „ And I sit in the light of the golden, hours, And pick the blushing and beautiful flowers, But all the wh ie my heart beats lo*v, For the May is out sf my year ! • The mornings come and the mornings go— Yellow and purple, crimson and gray— " - ' - ■ And the milk-ma and sings as she calls her cows, And the farm lad whistles the while he plows; But all the while my heart heats low, For the lark, the lark is away 1 The rains descends, and the gardens grow, • And the chamomile makes green her bed, And tiie bushes are full as hushes can hold Os bells of silver and glqbos of gold; But all the while' my heart beats low, Fbr the rose, for the rose, she is dead 1 The tides they ebb and the tides they flow, And the suu shines more tt an the storm can frown, Aud the ships with their white sails flowing free, Like a forest of silver cower the sea ; And all the while my heart beats low, For the one god! ship gone dovfn ! ?what our enemies said—that we were in I nion. But there is now another question to sett" i tis still within the range of argument. 1 {roportions are huge. The issues are, stat is not a difference of opinion as i] what the Constitution means, and what are ot i n ®^ ts , it; bat its object is "plainly, u gnistakably, to set aside the Constitution at premie something else. I have never doubti that we were coming to this issue. In sneee es made by me five, six, eight, and ten yea predicted this, and every page of o* pistorv since that time has verified the '•t redness of the prediction. The people oft Forth honestly love the Constitution, but t leaders there hate it, and intend to destroy and the convulsion through which we ha} passed has throws the opportunity of maklli the effort into their hands, and the preset military bills and the one which is not yet jUt foulgnted as law, are the means adopted toil their design. These billg«are jjgg fosed for-our acceptance. There is a remadl |e feature in these measures, that while ft»* ■ employed to execute them, they are yet non ■ally submitted to us for odr acceptance I Section. •TEEMIWEN GKANGE. One stormy evening in January, a week i or-two after Christmas, a filthily pasty was (fathered round a wood-fire in the drawing room of a country house in the north of England. The night was cold, and in the distance the moaning of the wind was heated among tiie trees, as it swept with a wailing sound across the moors. On such a night the im agination naturally turns to the horrible ; and as we drew our chairs closer to the fire, we began to speak of the unseen world aijd unearthly Visitants. We talked over all these things ; one after another remembered some tale which added fresh horror to those already told. But amongst us, my uncle Edward still kept silence ,** not inattentive, for he was listening patiently and with in terest, but sitting back in his easy chair, gazing dreamily into the'red glow of the fire, an expression ofpriin and sadness shad ing his usually happy countenance. “Oh, Uncle Edward,” I said, “ you have been half across the world, you must have seen a ghost during 'your Wanderings. Wlmt buccaneers have you seen in the Spanish Main, disembodied spirits Watching by their graves in lonely churchyards, or ghastly huntsmen doomed perpetually to ride in the forests of Germany ? because, of course, you have been everywhere, and must have seen something of that kind.” “ No, my dear Maggie,” said my Uncle, “ I have seen nothing of the kind you men tion.” “ Well, but you have seen a? ghoul /” cried all the eager voices. “ Yes, uncle, do tell us your story,” said I, entreatingly. “ I have traveled,” he said, “ half my life time, and slept in the most desolate places; and although I have lived at times 1 a very solitary life, I have but story to tell.— Once, and once only, in my life, was I ever consciously in tlie.presence of what I could not understand to be a living being, and' yet knew not to be certainly an appari tion.” * * “ Oh, unple, tell Us your story ! What is it ? what depends upon it ? what happened from it ?” “ Do not talk all at once,” he said ing happened, nbthing came of it. Why I should have seen anything is strange— stranger even than the sight itself.” “ But,*” we cried, “ you did see a ghost *?” “I do not know,” was the reply*; and his voicC%as solemn and distinct, “ but I saw ■'something once in my life; and from that time I never listen carelessly to what is caHed ‘ a ghost story.’ 1 ’ • “ Oh, tell us what it is !" “ Well, then,” he said, “ you shall hear You inUy judge for yourselves whether it is credible. I only know that, though it hap pened to me.mahy years ago, the impres sion on my mind is as vivid now as when-it occurred, and, at the time, it caused me a great deal of pain and perplexity.” “ When I was about thirty years old, on my return I‘ijom India, I received an invita tion to visit an old friend who had not'long been married, and wiio was living with his wife in a remote part of Cornwell, about thirty miles from*the Lahd’s End. ■“ He had come into his estate very recent ly, on- the death of an uncle, and as they were tx young collide, and much attached to each other, they did not feel the want of society, nor the loneliness of the situation. “ The country round was of the very Wildest description. The grounds opened on a long range of the cliffs, bordering the sea. There were few habitations within many miles, only a neighboring village or two, with fishermen’s huts scattered here and there. The coast itself was far too dan ! gerous to allow of very many boats putting out to sea. “ Sea-birds alone appeared to find a home among those dreary rocks; and often have I ' watched them before a storm, sitting on the high cliffs or skimming along the surface of the water. You may well imagine, that on such a coast shipwrecks were numerous, and many a sad tale have I listened to while sitting as we are now, around the lire at TremeWen Grange—a fire which was in that I part of the country Often composed of drift ed wood, -the remains in all probability, of some unhappy vessel. “ Tremewen Grange’ was an old-fashioned 1 country house, -which, without having the j slightest pretensions to grandeur, had about |it an- air of comfort and solidity. Solidity, Indeed, was very necessary, considering .its bleak and exposed situatlbn. It lay in a - hollow of the cliffs, protected in some de gree from the severity of the westerly gales by a plantation of stunted oak trees, vrhose gnarled and. withered branches attested their long resistance to the fierce oceaii blasts. The interior of the house was .bright and cheerful, arid had that habitable look so rarely to be met with in modern houses, as if it reflected the happiness* of those who lived in it. Altogether, it form ed a strange contrast to the wilderness and. desolation around. “ There was only one thing to Which the lftost fault-finding person could object; this was the insuperable dislike <tf Mrs. Triune wen to mdfcinff in the house. This may ap pear to you a very trifling drawback; tome (as an inveterate smoker) it was no small grievance. In all other respects she Was a most charming woman, and my friend every thing that was hospitable ami kind. “ Alice will not allow any smoking in the' house, as you know,’ said. ray Mend to me the first night of my arrival; ‘therefore I have built a retreat for myself and un friends, whe.re we can smoke in peace; but 1 now that I am kept in such subjection I only indulge in one cigar after breakfhst.’ \ “He then leothe warthrougli the garden ! and plantation to a small kind of building j or hut, which commanded an extensive! view of the sea, which now lay before us : glittering iu" the bright cold mooulight of' au evening towards the latter end of Octo-1 bpr. On one side was a door, opeuiug on j the clifts,'through which a narrow pathway led down to the rugged sands. * . “ After this, I need not tell you, I paid many a solitary visit to this retreat, and i always the-last thing at night, for at.that time I imagined I could not sleep without my accustomed sedative. uow pro longed my visit three weeks, and we had arrived at the beginning of an unusually wild and dreary November,. There had al ready been one shipwreck on the coast, aud many au hour had we watched with anx ious eye from the* windows of the hut Ifbssela driven before the gale, seeking from the violence, of the storm, fear ting every moment that they would be r dashed by the fury of the waves among [ those giant rocks, which, in spite of their . height, were uow often completely hidden | from our sight by dense masses of foam. . .4 Q Me morning, as we were all sitting at AUGUSTA, GA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, JULY 24, 1867. breakfast, my friend received a letter on 1 business Which required his immediate presence in town. After he had finished its pemsal, he returned to me and said : I ‘“I-shall have to leave Alice in your I charge during my absence, and I hope you i will take good care of her, and ’ (he con tinued smiling) ‘should any wrecks occur ; whilst I am away, do not allow her to run down the cliffs in the middle of the night, as she once attempted to do, thinking she might be of some use.’ • “ He left ns the same morning, promising not to be absent many days/ That after noon the weather, which' had been heavy and lowering during the few preceding weeks, was at. last broken up and dlsttirbed by violent gusts of wind, accompanied by frequent hail storms. Towards night it grew to be a storm, and the sea rolled in upon the shore—the great w r aves breaking far outside, and mist and foafn and mist darkening the sky. When all had retired for tire night, I lighted my lantern and went, as usual, through the plantation to ward the hut, but found it difficult work to battle against the wind. lat last reached my destination. On three sides of the building were windows, one opening to wards the sea. I sat down in my accus tomed seat and listened to the hoarse roar of the mighty waves beating against the cliffs. I had been sitting thus about 20 minutes when it suddenly occurred to me that the lantern, whiqh I had placed on the table opposite the window, might possibly deceive some unhappy vessel, and so lead to Iter destruction. The scene was certain ly a desolate one. Within the room, hang ing on the walls, were sad relics of many a gallant ship which had gone down, and Whose crews had never survived to tell the dreadful-t:Se, fragments of wreck, figure heads, other ghastly memorials bearing witness to the merciless nature of that fear ful coast. As these thoughts passed through my mind I extinguished the light and Wd§-left in utter darkness.' " • “ There was no moon, no light save the occasional glimmer of a solitary star as-the heavy clouds swept across the sky, and the reflection from the white mass of foam surg ing beneat h me. I tried to shake off the un comfortable feelings wiiich, in spite of myself, would steal over ine. I am not nervous or over-imaginative, as you well know; but I could not withstand the dreary influence of the place. The moaning sound of the wind and the hollow roar of the sea as 1 it thundered against the cliffs sounded in my ears like signals of distress. I had been sitting thus, dreamily smoking, for about half an hour; w r hen I became conscious, between the pauses of the liurricance, of a heavy sound of dripping water, too near and too distinct to be confounded with the roar of the sea. The wind, as I said before, was blowing furiously at the time, but the sound stuck on my ear, not above but through all. At the same time*a cold chill seemed to pervade the room, and suddenly I distinctly saw a human face. *That face I can never forget ; blue and death-like, the eyes fixed and ghastly, and the face bruised and livid, and yet illumined by an inward light. I turned faint with horror, as I felt I was in the presence of' the supernaturak \et «ny eyes were still riveted by a species rtf fascination on the dreadful' sight.. It gave me the idea of a face that had been under*water-—swollen and disfigured. My eyes were also attracted by a glittering ob ject which appeared to he suspended from the neck by a scarlet handkerchief. A second‘and a third time was that face pre sented to my vie\Y, an-unearthly light always shining through and around it; then it gradually disappeared. “A sew r moments passed, during w T hlch I wus utterly powerless ; then my immediate impulse was to get up and fling thetloor' wide open. At first I could distinguish no thing ; but-as I gazed longer into the dark ness, I saw,-where ’the horrible figure had disappeared, a flickering light shrouded in vapor, now bat a few inches above the ground, and then gradually increasing to the height of a human figure. It seemed -to float in the air with a peculiar rustling sound, like that of dead leaves when dis turbed'by the wind. “T felt impelled by a power above my own control to follow the apparition, and, climbing the tow’ fence, w'hich separated the grounds from the cliftk, kept it in sight as it' hovered before me, up to the very verge of the cliftk. Over these I-still wateli ed until it grew paler and more indistinct, find at last disappeared behind a large rock, which ’was called by the country people “The Devil's Stone.” I returned' home, agitated and bathed in a cold perspiration. That night was indeed a terrible night for me;' each moment I dreaded the re-appear ance of that face and the sound of the drip ping water. Every horrible circumstance -was so distinctly photographed upon my mind that the whole scene was constantly before me, and I vainly*tried to sleep. The morning at length broke, to my intense re lief, aijjl I arose; feeling fatut and wore, but determined if I eould to discover the cause of this midnight visitatiori. * I satd nothing on the subject to Mm, Tremewen w hen w r e met at breakfast, al though, remarking my haggard expression, she asked if ‘ I was 111*’ - ■' “ Heft the house as early as possible and rode to our nearest neighbor’s, €he clergy man of the parish, a kind, benevolent oid man, who, being strongly imbued with Oor nish superstitions, listened with great inter est to my recital. After a long discussion we went together to the spot, wishing to examine the place where the light disap peared. t felt somewhat ashamed, of myself while viewing the scene in broacl daylight, aud inclined to doubt my fearful impression of the preceding night' “ The storm had abated, and all around looked fresh aud brilliant with'that pecu liar brightness which is often observed after auy violent disturbance of the elements. It appeared as if nature was trying to make amends by her smiles for the terrbr of but a few hours before. On. reaching the beach we observed several people near the rock, to all appearance intently gazing at souk* ob ject upon the sands. As it was unusual to see so many gath ered together on that ’lonely shore, we has tened towards the group,'and heard that the body of a sailor had just been found, washed in close to the * -Devil’s Stone.’ I ielt strangely overcome at this confirma tion o S the horrors of the past night, and unable to look upon the disfigured torn that I knew lay before me, lest I should again behold what was so pamftilly impressed upon my imagination; but, with a strong effort, I at last forced nay way through the crowd, and saw, lying at my feet, a fearfully mutilated corpse, in every respect resem bling the form I had so lately seen. “ By the initials marked upon the arm in sailor-fashion, and by the silver watch, which lie had evidently knotted round his neck with his handkerchief just before the vessel sunk, the body was recognized as that of a young man belonging to a neigh boring parish, who had left about eighteen months before for India, and was returning by a homeward-bound vessel to bis friends. “ B became the sorrowtful duty of Mr. Harding, as clergyman of the parish, to in form his widowed mother of the loss of her only son, but I did not add to her grief by telling her of the more painful.circumstances attending his death. “ You will ask what could have been this .reason of his appearance to me, an utter stranger ? I can Only say it must forever remain one Qf those mysteries we cannot fathom, and as such you must be content to take it. Perhaps as long as the body 1 remained unburied the spirit jiaunted the shore where he had so often wander ed in his youth. Be that as it may, the ap parition did not again return to .rue, neither did I ever hear of its appearance* to others. Os the ship in which the poor young fellow w r as lost nothing whs ever heard." A few' planks and a figure-head,, with the name of the vessel, washed on the beach, W'ere all that was ever known of its fate. It must have perished on its homeward voyage not far from its destination, in one of those frightful gales which made many homes desolate. “I did Trot, as you may suppose, after the resume my nightly visits to the smoking room, and soon after bade adieu to the Cornislr coast, I cannot say with much re gret. I have often since then met the ‘ JTremew'ens,’ but have never been induced to revisit ‘Tremewen Grange.” — [From the Paris Pays, June 26. France and Prussia Again. The Hostile Feeling Against Prussia Revived Bismarck'’s Latest Designs—He Intends to Rebuild a Fortress more Menacing to France than Luxemburg. We read in the Precurseur of Antwerp— “ Avery serious piece of new r s has just reached Paris. In defiance of the treaty of London, M. de Bismarck, it would seem, intends to rebuild the fortiftpations of Mon louis sur Moselle, originally constructed by Vriuban, and which Louis XIY. was compelled to dismantle by the treaty of Ryswlck. Montlouis would be more threatening for France than Luxemburg.— Its reeconstruction would account for the readiness with which Prussia abandoned tire latter. It is difficult to believe that France will allow Prussia to carry out her designs without saying a word. - We entirely agree with the Precurseur. — It seems to us that w r e have carried forbear ance towards Prussia to its utmost limits. If ever a w'ish has been shown to respect the peace of Europe, never Iras it been ex hibited to such an extent as recently by r ranee. But even conciliation may be car ried too far. The cold and dignified recep tion of the King of Prussia shows the ten sion of the public mind in France. France’s a-rves have long been on the sfretch; let Prussia beware of it. We have not grant ed her an immunity for her past goings on ; w'e have only made all our reserves. Let her beware, lest by' and bravado she cause the pup to overflow. No doubt, it was a- great event and a great moral lesson to behold the King of Prussia walking, unmolested, about the streets of Paris. And yet. everything w T as known. — The public knew what respect Prussian ministers entertain for their plighted word. The promises of Compiegne, the affairs of Luxemburg were unknown to none. Yes, France is a great country; she can he hos pitable, even to her enemies. But they .should not put our management to too se vere a trial; the result might disappoint them. We are anxious for peace, no doub't; we are anxious to terminate quietly this glorious international fete of the Universal Exhibition; But less than ever, especially after the Mexican disaster, after the Lux emburg concessions, can France tolerate the least offensive movement, or a menacing attitude, however slight it may appear. Y ery Scandalous.— The scandalous as sertion is made by “ Corry O’Lamts,” of the Brooklyn Eagle , that the wives and daugh ters of that city were given to “ wetting their clay.” “ Corry ” gives a scene at a fashionable dressmaker’s, that is. positively astonishing; . (Enter Mrs. Slynip and Miss Takeadrop.) Miss T.—“ What shall your dress be ?” , Mrs. S.—“ I’ll take an alpaaca with trim mings. What is yours, my dear ?” Miss T.-r-“ Give me a moire antique, plain.” , ? * ... sv . Dressmaker produces sample of the above hi a liquid form and serves them out in glass thimbles. Ladies empty thimbles and dressmaker enters iuto bill as gimp and bugles. The business is' carried on quite profes sionally. .. . - - ~ . Mixed, drinks are distinguishable in the style of trimmings. A “ giugham flounced,”, means Bourbon sour. • • . | A “ spotted silk ”is a minted julep, i A “ poplin gored ” Ls synon3 r mous with \ half whisky, etc. The So-called "Shanks. —Mr. Shanks, of | Indiana, was guilty of a very brilliant thing I when, iu the resolution which he intro duced to Congress the other day, he spoke 1 scornfully of the “ self-styled Prince Maxi -1 milian ” and the “so-called royal House of Hapsbnrg.” The “ self-styled ” Mister ! Shanks, or the “ so-called ” Honorable Mis ! ter ShankS,’ lives so far out West that prob ably the news has not yet reached him that •the House of Hapsburg has been decidedly ! and definitively “royal,” or rather imperial, : for something like six centuries', and that it | traces its genealogy and power back to the seventh century of the Christian era. If a 1 person cannot be blamed for not having heard this, he certainly cannot be blamed for not having heard that Maximilian was’ actually by birth a “ Prince,” and that he is no more to blame for this than Mr. Shanks is responsible for being born a free and :n --■ dependent citizen of the great T)emapratic ■ Republic, whose gigantic bird, standing on ; the Rocky Mountains, slaps its! wings over , the entire continent, and keeps the whole human race in a constant state of terror. 1 [Ny> York Times. [F;om Uie Chronicle * Sentlue!. Notes on the Situation. # ~~ BY H. HILL. ... number “ Never despali Republic” was a much landed Roman maxim. But maxims never saved a country, and this one did not Save Rome. She was very great. The com bined world was dfco wealcto harm her.— But she tell—; fell ho lier own hands— and for centuries has-remained fallen. If good liberty-loving Americans almost despair of their country, the events of tbe last thirteen years would seem to be suffi cient to save them from reproach. From the repeal of the Missouri Compromise Un til now, no period in human annals of thrice the duration exhibits suoh deception of the leaders, such credulity among the people, such treachery by the rulers and such ener getic sell-destruction by the nation. The--United (States-. have done more in these years to weaken confidence in free in stitutions, and have inflicted riiore injury upon their x>wn people, and *ercated heavier burdens tor their children and children’s children, than the united armies and navies of the earth could have accomplished in fifty years. Before tliese notes close I may undertake to show the real causes us these evils. It is sufficient now to say that from *854 a.spirit which is enmity to the rife of the Constitution has been dominant. The Government has been in the keeping of its enemies. Wc read of a great mail wbo, w hile an infant, was nursed by a wolf. This may have lieen and may again be possible ( but it never has been and never will be‘pos sible for men of extreme temper and opin ions to nurse a Constitution w'hose only life is mutual concession for the common good. Tlie Southern people, greatly provoked and misguided, abandoned the Union to preserve the Constitution. YVhile the North ern people, less provoked but equally mis guided, made war to preserve the Union, placing themselves under the lead of men w r ho w'ere the bitter, implacable enemies of the Constitution, and who were fore-deter mined to destroy or reform it. Alter four years of heroic struggle the Southern people laid dow r n their arms be cause tliey w'ere assured by their enemies, and taught by long trusted and faithless counsellors and office holders among them selves that, by so doing, they would be again in the L nion as before. The many believed this and withdrew their support and deserted their colors. Tlfe few who disbelieved w r ere overpowered. But ‘more than two years have pask&l—-more than half the period of thy actual conflict—and the Southern people, novT thrice deluded, have not enjoyed the blessjngs of the , Why ? Because tfifese "leaders of the -North—true to their original hatred, and perfectly logical in that hatred—de clare the Union shall not be restored ex cept upon terms w'hich practically destroy the Constitution, and whicli certainly leave no Union except one founded on force.— And thus far the Northern people either have faded to comprehend, or have consent ed to sustain their treachery ; and to give the last development of their most remark able history, we see some of our Southern counsellors, w r ho urged us into secession as the only ■ peaceful method of semiring our rights, who afterward led us* to subjuga tion as the ortty method of escaping mili tary despotism , now boasting of the great confidence heretofore reposed in tlieir coun sel, advising us to accept the proposed terms for anew Union. With such experience fresh and still in creasing, how.shall we wonder if true men doubt, if brave men fear and if good ’men despair ? For thirteen years the actual revolution has been right onward, and is still onward. He is stupidly blind who does not see that the evils before us are far greater than the evils present and behind us. Our people have drank, bitter cups, but they are as honey when compared with the cups they, must drink rs the child is not taken from the wolf, if the Constitution is not taken from the nursing care of those who hate it, if the Government shall oon tiiiue to be administered by its enemies. If anything I may say'shall tend, how ever slightly, to avert the evils which threaten the country, I shall not only be satisfied but happy.’ I have no party to serve add no personal ends*to aeeomplish. I frankly admit •my opinions heretofore have not been accepted by a majority of the people. I have never thought that what the majority believed was, therefore, right. My political life has been but a struggle against- prevailing* opinions and policies. When policies have been adopted and fixed in spite of my opposition, I have labored to tfork good results in spite of my convic tions that the policies were unwise. And when I see the ruin which has been wrought I can but rejoice in the recollections that I was not one of the Chosen architects. Ido believe the people have mourned and still mourn only because wicked men have ruled and still rule ; and I believe wicked men have been chosen to rule only because they have made political issues to foment popu lar passions and have suited their conduct and opinions to the popular passions so fomented. These notes are, therefore, given to the public, claiming no title to consideration, except that they are written, not to please that public, but to aid in arresting the fur ther progress of a revolution which has been so prolific of ruin in the past, anti which is so pregnant with ruin for the fu ture. It may turn out that no man—that no human power—can arrest this revolu tion. It may be that a change of govern ment, through an ordeal of anarchy, is in evitable. But this much every man can do: He can see to it that, if this destruction must come, it shall not owe its coming to his consent. If the Constitution must be violated,, it shall not be. by him. If the Government must -be subverted, it shall lie -the work of others. This, therefore, patri otic reader, is all the promise I exact in advance; that, whatever others may do, i you will support the Constitution, and op ! pose whateveris contrary thereto—for, j mark this: Whatever else people and rulers : may do, they cannot support or preserve j the' Government by violating its fundamen j tat l!uv. NUMBER 11. j While these, or similar notes may* ulti ! uaately take a wider range, the immediate i purpose is. to examine the pending feature lof the revolution—the military bills em bracing wlfat is called the Congressional plan of reconstruction. I have given these 1 measures still, fair and mature considera VOL. 25. NO. 30 • t tion. I entertain not the slightest doubt that the conclusions I have reached arecor | reet, and, that if those proposed measures I shall become laws, the ftiture development will most abundantly prove this correctness. Before proceeding with the analysis of The character of rae bills, their effects, and the a P°logies offered for them, I desire to an nounce the conclusions which the reasoning w ill establish and the events will confirm, as tlie certain results of their acceptance aiuiot the incorporation of the plan and -r- P -proposed to lie incorporated intfr the Federal Constitution and State const!- fcutions of the ten States : 1. They will consummate HhC subversion of the republic; the destruction of the Con stitution; the annihilation of individual htierty, and *the ultimate but; complete change of all American government, from theprindplc of consent to the rule of force. And tliese results will become permanent and absolute and irremediable. 2. 'Before this final consummation is reached the country will pass through an ordeal of anarchy. This ordeal Will - be prolonged, and the most bitter of any in* history—because anarchy in a republic is like fever w ith an individual, most violent with the most Vigorous, will not cease un til strength is reduced or destroyed, and no people ever had such strength and material prosperity for tlie prey of anarchy as- have the people of the United States* Besides, in the transition, two races will struggle for the mastery, greatly increasing the hor ror of these writhings of liberty in her pass age td death. • . 3. I need not and I cannot—it is beyond the power of the pen—enumerate the terri ble evils that will spread over all the land during tills reign of disorder, discord and decay. Among them will be the prostra-» tioir of commerce, the paralysis of all in dustrial agencies and pursuits, the repudia-. tioii of all debts—national, State and in dividual ; the disregard of all legal sanc tions ; the removal of aH restraints upon tlie wicked; the withdrawal of protection from the helpless and the*good; the demor alization of men; the prostitution of wo man ; the starvation of children; the rise and fall of factions; the burning and sack ing of cities, and the general devastation of the country. Robbers will, fill our moun tains and forests; assassins will come bold ly from all hiding places; civil w r afs and insurrections will multiply; leaders and followers w'ill slay and lie slain; clans of burglars and thieves hunt the rich as herds of buffalo hunt the green pastures, and insatiated wickedness will rend and tear all that is pure and good as the hungry lidn w hen fleshing his tooth in the young and tender fawn. 4. But there is one feature of this ordeal o' 1 anarchy—pne result 0f thisdevHish choice to destroy the Constitution by those who take solemn oaths," and make saintly pre tensions to preserve it, which is- distinct from all others, involving hypocrisy without example, delusion without limit, and cruelty without parallel, and whieh I cannot con template without feelings of peculiar sad ness. I mean, of course, the effect upon the African race. ,* \ separate note must elaborate this point, but as I am announcing general conclu sions, I must not omit the Result which will be, must be, the most certain ancl inevitable -of all. A war of races will come, and come early, iufnis hideous programme of ruin.— This war will be produced by throb chief causes.:. l. # The ignorant*.vicious, imagina tive aiul exceedingly credulous habits and passions of the negro. 2. The •practiced upon this imaginative and cre . dulous nature by emissaries from the North, aided by bad meu at -the South, some of wliome will act from mistaken liQtkms of some with wicked purjmses of selfishness, but the most dangerous, with views of party ascendancy. *6. The protec tion to the white race,and to every interest of person and property, and life, which this nature, thus deluded, slmllTender absolutely necessary. The result of this war will lje the substantial extermination of the negro race in the United States; or its exclusion therefrom and final barbarism; or its prac tical re-enslavement under the government of force which I have, indicated. The'giddy and the foolish will say tins picture of result is overdrawn. Such crea tures never believe horrors wdll come till they are felt and are past remedy. Some thoughtless good people will say God will interfere and spare us such evils, as though God ever interposed to save a people who persisted in destroying themselves. The ambitious politician who Ims deter mined to support these measures, because they arc proposed by the strong party, will close his ears and pass on. lie cares not for the sufferings of the ]>eople, or the sub version of the government, so lie may reap and rule. He was a traitor to the Union, a traitdr to the Confederacy, ami would sell the honor of the people who trusted him — all for greed and for place—first, from his own -people, then from Ids people's ‘‘oppress ors.” How can such a man be moved by the voice of lion or or be made to listen to the appeals of patriotism V How can lie, whose ambition seeks only liis own good, be turned from his purpose by the exhibi tion of wrongs to others ? The fiery flames of sulphurous hell could not burn the lusts of jxjwer aud pelf from the minds of ambi tious Lucifer and his fallen followers. HoyVj then, can truth, though naked stripped—or sarcasm though born in gall—or wooing appeals, though they come from millions wronged—be expected to open the mind, or reach the conscience or shake the purpose of the hardened wretch—this political. Lu cifer—who is willing to make a Pandemo nium of his country, because • “To r ign ir worth ambition though in hell.” But the wise, the good, the patriotic and the truly brave will take warning. These alone can save the country. The thought less, the selfish, the fanatical and the ambi tious are its destroyed. This mad attempt by military measures to force .an unresist ing people into self-degradatiou for no pur pose but party aggrandizement, must pro duce fearful calamities which no pen can de scribe. Actual events will shame roy lan guage lor very weakness in this feeble at tempt to forecast the future. But from all these horrors the re.is a way .of escape.— There is but one way. Trust to no party ; listen no longer to men who have deceived you; who have been false to every promise ; faithless to every principle, and treacherous to every government. Return, oh, my de luded and prostrate countrymen, return to the Constitution! It alone is safe- ** is safe tor all colors and safe from all danger.-?. Every blessing comes from its observance, every w#e ftwm its violation, bet us all resolve to accept whatever is according to its provisions, and reject everything that is
