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About Weekly constitutionalist. (Augusta, Ga.) 185?-1877 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 18, 1867)
(Tljc tDcchlu Constitutionalist. BY STOCKTON & CO, OUR TERNS. Tbe following are the rate* of Subscription: Daily, one year $lO 00 WIKLT, one year $3 00 ((From the Fnnday M igazine. Quiet Amid Storm. When He glveth quietness, who then can make trouble. j hey tell me that a storm is drawing nigh ; The far horizon shows :«•purple line ; Pale mes-crjg'MH fl.ait rwift y o’er the sky ; I see them hut I <l<> not care to fly, . For I am resting safely ’nea h my Vine ; It# green mid sheltering leaves will keep me dry. For early, as I lay upon my bo 1, I watch and the glory of the morning star, Its whisper see me 1 ol peaie, aud thus it said : This day a storm will Mover o’er thy head ; Yet le .r thou not, it circles wide and tar— But from thy home its fury shad be led. To-morrow I must journey all the day : They tell me i shall wait lor . rink and ijH-at; There is no hostlery the long hot wuyf? But f.oin my home I carry oread to eat, Ami wine to make my nooyi-t.de ebetter sweet ; I cannot fear, whatever they may say. They tell me it iy lonely on the world, That tliiHC is one who wails my blood to shed— The hungry woit, who nouehes h.< the foU; Bui still 1 iit.ve a i .ought which mates me bold : The Bhepneid watches o’er each wantierei’s head, My Life he prizes as more dear loan goni. lifear not though the forest way he long ; Nor though perpetual twilight shade that track, It cannot turn mo lr in my purpose hack ; And thiougu the pine irees comes the wild bird’s s rig, The sweet blue sky smiles through the shadows black, And flitting lights dance brightly all a!on s . The quiver of my fears is empty q’dte ; And do ye u>k me whence rhy confidence ? Whence the unsetth g sun which gives me light ? The sure hed e which my heipl. ssness dotli fence ; My quiet wlticli no storm disiurheth ?—whence The hopefulness no terror can I answer, that it is my Life which fills My heart with courage, as the flowing rills Live from the. crysta waters of tiie sky, Which hourly strength and joyful hope instils ; My quiet comes lion the e ern .1 hills, Which in the everlasting sunshine lies. The Ballad of the Weaver. BY A? J. ABEIINETHY COWLES. All day she sit- at her cottage door, Wiien the broa'li of the summer, sweet and warm, Wuen the sunlight flick re across the floor, And the wird bees swim in a drowsy swarm All day at her cottage door; Fair in feature and fair of form, Morning and evening—o’er and o’ r, . Weaves she in sunshine—weaves she in. storm. All day long—though the fieldsare green. And shadowy woodlands tempt the sight— With patient fingers and eyes serene, Bho weaves as she wai’» f >r her absent knight, As saw a fabric as ever w T as seen, With roses and lillics ricldy plod, And .ho crimson petals are stained, I ween, With drops of blood from her lingers white. * Whether he comes In the flush of June, When the wild flower hi..oms at the ettnge gate, Whether he come - w tli tho autumn noon, Whether ho cornea with the cuckoo’s mate: Come lie at dawning, come hi* at noon ; Come he ea ly of come he late, Little tt m.k tors, for one sweet tune, Sings she over—l wait 1 I wait! Os all that vide in that knightly train, One is uoolo and true, I k ow; Surety he will come back again Anil he >rher away at his saddlebow. All the long ng »nd all the iiaiu She wilt breathe j n whisperings soft and low, And he’ll kis > from her lingers th<* crimson stain As they pass through the evening’s tender glow. Tho dry vine swings at the rotUgc gate, The years have come and the years have flown; With lips that huuge r and eyes that wait, The weaver site at her task alone. Morning and evening, early and late, She weaves, and she ma- es no. sigh or moaD, But the we t ol ihe fabric is da k .s fate. And the grace of the vision gone.-. [From Advance copy of Every Saturday. Amaranth. O love ! the dearert theme of a'l. The oldes* of the world’s old stories, No #v \ir»r fate can e’er befall A poet than to sing thy glories. And, as Anacreon contest, Jn verses full of power and passion. His yro would alwft) s praise love best, The w rid has followed in the f.ishion. Old Horace, In the classic days Sang sweet 's-, of Love's fatal arrow ; Catullus wrote an ode n p aise Os T iesbia, and her pretty sparrow; Beramrer sang o' his Lisette ; And Burns t • Mary t»ri timed the chalice ; There’s Beatrice—Dante’s pet; The Laureate’s Adeline, and Alice. And still to love the lyre is strung, tstitl Bros rules our modern measures; There's not a maiden’s name unsung, No phase of t.ove’s eternal pleasures. Love beckons in the painter’s uream, Makes music in the poet’s metre, O’er youth and age he rules supreme : Can any other sway be sweeter ? And still the songs of all the world Shalt celebrate . ove’s endless blisses, Whi e on » neck a tress is curled, And while a red ip pou s for kisses. In ver»e, by any poet planned, The praise ol Love the sweetest iine is, Until Fate takes the pe . in hand, Ard on the page of life writes “ Finis.” Somebody’s Son. Somebody's son was out last night, Brushing about the town ; And, if l mistake not, he was light— “ Tight as a Derby e own.” I know he’s considered a moral youth— Above saspi. ion ; t>ut that Is no reason—to tell the t'Uth— He hadn’t a “ brick in his hat” Daylight morality often takes Stranue fancies into his head, And “ t lays the d—,” or “jumns np snakes,” When the public eye is in bed. “ My son can’t dance,” somebody said, “ For never a lesson too v he -’’ But l*e danced last night when you were in bed, An 1 Twilight was there to see. . You may call it dancing, or not, as yon feel, v Though tor half an hour or more He danced or “jigged” a “tangle-foot reel,” In flout of my office door. “ My eon can’t sing,” somebody swears, But be sang last night, 1 kn >w. An rough * song as a demon dares To sing in the regions below. «« My son on’t imbibe,” somebody thinks ; Well, maybe be don’t—but then, That he acts venr much like one who drinks, Can be proved by a hundred men. Yet something was light— ye*, drunk— last night— So drunk it could hardly crawl; Perhaps ’tw ■ the brim o* acrownlea* bat That I found in my gar len wall. 80, for fear I’m wrong and somebody’* right, Mv ha ty words I recall, And say that the thins saw laat night Was nobody’s son— that’s all 1 A JOURNEY FOR A WIFE. A STORY FOR TRAVELERS. One fair morning in June, Albert Fair child selected from his wardrobe a most beautiful suit, and from his bureau a goodly supply of linen, and with a countenance glowing with joyful anticipation, com ; menced packing a capacious valise, and making other preparations for a journey. Mr. Albert Fairchild was going to visit a young lady, of whom it is necessary that we should say a few words, before proceed ing with our story. Josephine Marvin resided with her pa rents in a village which we shall call Pekin, in order not to offend the modesty of its in j habitants, by using the real name of the lo- j cality; and out of the village she had ftever j journeyed far, except on three occasions.— iSlie had made three visits to relations in | town,, with whom she had spent months at a time. Here Mr. Albert Fairchild saw her,; admired her, and ended by loving her de votedly. Satisfied with his beauty and ex cellence, Albert offered iter his hand; but she said, “You must come and see me at my home, and become acquainted with my parents, before exacting an engagement from me; for it may lie you will-not like them, and it is possible that they may not fancy you; in either case, 1 shall hesitate to accept your gracious offer.” Miss Marvin had returned to Pekin, and now, as already stated, Albert was intend ing to visit her family. Confident that Jose phine was inclined to favor his suit, aud blessed with a tolerably good opinion of himself, which told him that Marvin would not probably object to either his station in life or his personal appearance, Albert set out upon liis journey in excellent spirits. The first forty miles of his journey Albert accomplished by railway steam, in the space of two hours. At a small town in the country he found himself compelled to wait for a coach, to convey him to the village ol Pekin. Impatient to proceed, Albert became ill humored, and grumbled at the necessary delay. To while away the time, he drank a cup of coffee, ate a penny's worth of pea nuts, read a few paragraphs in a newspa per, and walked the parlor floor of the wretched inn with impatient strides. “ Are you going to Pekin ?” asked a quick voice. Albert glancerl at the speaker, who was a middle aged gentleman in a loose drab coat, a well developed waistcoat of worn and faded velvet, and a hat that had evidently been useful for years ; and who presented a rough and careless appearance altogether. Now Albert had one fault, which is a common one with travelers. He had no intention of making himself sociable, or even civil, in the company of strangers. If an unknown person asked him ;i question in the politest manner, he was sure to answer shortly, or give no answer at all.— Moreover, Albert's motto when traveling, was, “ Every one for himself,” and this lie made his invariable rule of action. A pro posal to put himself out of the Avay to ac commodate a stranger he would have ridi culed as the height of absurdity. Knowing the disposition of our hero, the reader will not be surprised when told that Albert, instead of giving a simple affirma tive answer, or even a responsive nod, re garded the rough looking man a moment, in silent disdain, and passed on without a word. But the old gentleman with the drab coat and faded velvet waistcoat, in spite of his rough appearance, evidently possessed a patient and good natured disposition, which was not easily disturbed. Without appear ing to notice Albert’s incivility he quietly remarked, as he came in his way again— “ You are going to Pekin’ I should judge?” “ What if I am ?” growled Albert. “Oh, nothing,” answered the old gentle man, with a good-natured smile—“ only I’d advise you to book your uame for a seat in the stage at once, if you have not done so; tor I have no doubt that there will be half a dozen more passengers than the coach can accommodate.” Now Albert had not booked his name, and he ought to have thanked the old gen tlemau for his suggestion. So far, how ever, from manifesting any sense of obliga tion, lie replied with an insulting “ Hem!” and abruptly turned upon his heel. In effect., Albert found that there was but one seat in the stage coach left unengaged, and that an outside one, and he had scarce ly booked his name when two otlter gentle men came up in haste, manifesting much disappointment on learning that there was not room for them in the next stage. Al bert was therefore fhlly conscious that he owed his chance to the old gentleman, whom lie had treated so rudely. Albert placed his valise on the floor in the public room, and lighting a cigar, sat down by his property to beguile his impa tience with a smoke. He had not been thus employed long when the gentleman in the velvet waistcoat came and sat down by his right hand. Albert looked at him through wreaths of smoke, as if the old gentleman had been nothing but smoke himself, of the most disagreeable quality; and puffed away without noticing him further. “ Will yoq be so good as to give me the time, sir?” civilly asked the-old gentleman, glancing at Albert’s showv fob chain. “Give you what?” muttered Albert, as if he had not understood—at the same time puffing a volume of smoke in the good hu mored face of the old gentleman. • “ The time, if you please, sir. Is it eleven o’clock ?” “ I don’t know,” replied Albert, without deigning to look at his watch. A moment after the young man moved his chair to another part of the room, and sat down with his back turned towards the drab coat and velvet waistcoat. The stage coach drove up shortly after, and having discharged its passengers aud changed horses, made ready for the return route to Pekin. Albert and another traveler occupied a seat designed to accommodate three, direct ly behind the ‘driver. Both were slender rnen, yet they managed to spread them selves, so as to give the seat the appearance of being frill. The stage was nearly ready to depart, when the old gentleman in the drab coat came oat of the tavern with a heavy carpet bag in his hand, and looked inquiringly at the outside passengers. “ Room for another up there ?” he asked, smiling at Albert. “We’re crowded now,” responded the young man sharply. “ Yon will have to get them up, sir,” ob served ihe driver, addressing the drab coat. } “ That seat ought to accooupaod&te three!” AUGUSTA, GA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 18, 1867. “ Then I suppose I must take my chance with the rest of yon,” cried the old gentle man with a good-humored laugh, as he climbed up the stage. “Sorry, youug gen tleman, to trouble you to make loom,” he added, when neither Albert nor the oth er traveler attempted to move. “ Ha! tight fit, isn’t it?” The old gentleman, who, as we have al ready intimated, was rather corpulent, ap peared. to take no notice of the young raeu’s unaccommodating manners, but set tled slowly anti deliberately upon the seat between them, compelling them, in order to afoid an unpleasant pressure, to contract their dimensions and give them his share of the room. “ This is an imposition!” cried Albert to the driver. “ What is an imposition?” “ Look for yourself. This seat is too short for three men of ordinary size, and this corpulent fellow will crush us!” “ Dear me ! I hope not!” exclaimed the old gentleman. “ I shouldn’t like to do that. I declare ! But it’s a close fit, isn't it ? Ha ! ha ! too much flesh is inconve nient to be sure.” “ Men over twenty-six inches broad should buy two seats ” muttered Albert. “ Ha ! lia !” laughed the good humored traveler, “ I don’t know but we fat fel lows ought to pay for the extra room we occupy.” “ You ought to have some regard for other travelers,” said Albert, advocating a principle, by the way, which he never con sidered' himself. “ That is a fact,' replied the proprietor of the velvet waistcoat. “We have no right to disregard the feelings of others. I believe I must diet my corpulency for the benefit of society. "But we will be obliged to get along the best way we can to-day, for my substance is rather solid. Ah ! I’m sorry to discommode you. I ouly wish, for your sake, I was smaller.” This last remark was followed by a good natural laugh from all the outside passen gers, except Albert, who had become most decidedly sullen. The stage coach now rolled heavily off with its load, the driver cracking his long whip,-and urging the horses into a rapid pace. For some time neither of the out siders spoke, each*appearing busy with his own thoughts. At length, the old gentle man in the drab coat, whose patience, it seemed, nothing could exhaust, and whose even temper nothing could ruflie, remarked, addressing himself to Albert: “This is really a fine day, sir. Were you ever in this part of the country before?” “ No,” was the abrupt reply. “ Don’t yon think it is a fine region ? Observe those hills, which the spring lias spread with green carpets ; and remark how beautiful yonder forest looks in the sun shine ! Tins is an excellent soil for a variety of agricultural purposes—well watered, as you perceive by a river, which you may see glimmering through yonder clump of fine peach trees.” The only reply that Albert gave to these observations was—we are sorry to Say—a real piggish sort of grunt! “You may travel the country through,” pursued the velvet waistcoat; “ and you will not find a more beautiful and fertile district than this.” “ —grim ted Albert. “ The character of the inhabitants, too, stands high. They are plain, common sense class of people, but they are distin guished for their hospitality aud genuine politeness.” “ !” grunted Albert. “We are now in Pekin,” pursued the old gentleman, after a long pause. “ There is a line tavern over the hill.” * These remarks caused Albert to start, but too proud to betray an iuterest in anything 1 the old gentleman said, he maintained a studied silence. Thus Albert accomplished his journey. Like too many travelers, he disdained to ap pear sociable towards strangers, little knowing how much useful information is sometimes gained, how much one’s insight into human nature is improved, how much good feeling may be cultivated by the use of common and familiar politeness among people met in stage coaches and hotels. . Arrived at the tavern, Albert, little car ing what became of his excellent friend of the velvet waistcoat and drab coat, leaped off the coach, and ordered the carriage to his new apartments. While dressing him self with great care, the young man forgot liis ill humor in the glowing anticipation he entertained of a speedy and happy meeting with Josephine. Having partaken of a slight repast, he engaged a buggy to trans port him to Marvin’s residence. The boy, who went with the buggy, drove up before a spacious and elegant white house, which had a remarkable neat and comfortable appearance. “ This is Marvin’s,” said the boy; the big gate is locked, or I would drive in, but you can pass up the right hand path, which will take you to the door.” Albert gave the boy a shilling, and leaped lightly to the earth, entered the grounds by a smaller gate, and with a beating heart hastened to meet his Josephine. As Albert was passing up the avenue, a circumstance occurred which occasioned considerable mortification. A laboring man, in a slouched hat and tow frock, who was at work round some young pear trees near the house, turned as the young man approached, and discovered the familiar features of his old friend, the corpulent gen tleman of velvet waistcoat renown. “ Such, thought Albert,” passing on with out deigning to notice the good natured man, “ such is the impudence of the people in the country! This common serving man, having by some means got permission to leave his work for a few hours, gets into respectable company away from home, and endeavors to establish himself on a friendly, and sociable footing with gentlemen ? Now, suppose I had been familiar with him —what a fine thing it would be to meet him in his true capacity ! I wonder if I shall suffer from his impertinence in Mr. Marvin’s house ?” With these thoughts running through his brain, Albert struck the heavy knocker, and brought an Irish girl to the door. He was shown into a neat parlor immediately, where he had not long to wait for Jose phine. To describe the meeting of the lovers l fvrite a great many things which it is well enough to say, but whioh do not sound quite so well repeated to less passionate ears. Suffice in that both Albert j and Josephine were very happy to meet again, and that the former took great de light in prating Mr. Marvin’s residence, while the latter was quite as well nleased at having it praised. v lou have really a lovely home— so quiet and tastefhl, Josephine,” said Albert; “and my heart sinks within me when I think ol my audacity to hope you may some day leave it for me ! But your parents—l am anxious to see them.” “ Oh, you shall soon be gratified. I am proud of my parents, Albert. They are plain people, but so good 1” “ Just the sort of people to suit me!” said the enthusiastic lover.” Mrs. Marvin entered presently, and Albert was disappointed. He immediately set her down as the paragon of elderly ladies, and was admiring her genial countenance and unaffected manners, when Josephine an nounced her father. • Albert arose suddenly, and turned to greet the father of his beloved with becom ing reverence and civility. Reader, O, rea der. can 3'ou imagine the youug man’s con sternation and despair, when he saw com ing into the door the drab coat, velvet waistcoat, and familiar countenance of his corpulent stage coach acquaintance? , * r - Fairchild, father,” said Josephine. Albert felt himself about sinking though the floor. u I I believe—“ he shimmered, “ w T e have —met before.” u -Ah! my young friend of the stage coach * exclaimed the old gentleman, giv ing Albert’s hand a hospitable shake. “Cer*. tainly, we have met before.” This was like heaping coals of fire upou Albert s head. His face burned with shame and his tongue stammered with con fusion. Making a very awkward and in effectual attempt to .say something civil he sank upon a chair with sick and ghastly looks. Which .frightened Josephine. Indeed,” pursued the old gentleman, as if he remarked nothing of Albert’s rude ness—“ I little anticipated meeting you again so soon. How do you like the ap pearance of Pekin ?” “ Oh, we—well!”—stammered Albert. “Olad to hear it! And the appearance of the inhabitants!” “ Oh, very—very well!” “ Indeed! I was afraid you would have no fancy for us plain people.” Thus the old gentleman went on, conver sing in the most easy and amiable manner, as if it was his only study to entertain his guest. Albert listened with a faint heart and upbraiding conscience, feeling keenly the contrast between the old gentleman’s excellent nature and genuine politeness and his own ill temper and incivility. In a short time Josephine’s parents with drew, and she was left alone with her mis erable lover. Albert threw himself at her feet, and there, refusing to rise, he confess ed his ill treatment of her venerable parent, and besought her both to forgive him aud intercede with her father for liis pardon.— Astonished and shocked at first, Josephine knew not what to think or say ; but to re lieve the agony of her repentant lover, she took pity on his wretchedness and promised all h’s asked. Indescribable was Albert’s anxiety of mind until Josephine had seen h£;r father, and the old gentleman came walking into the room -where the young man was alone. Mr. Marvin’s countenance wore the same good-natured smile, which even the inso lent treatment h_e had received at Albert’s hands could not banish, and frankly extend ing his hand he advanced towards his pros pective son-indaw. “ Well, well,” lie exclaimed, before Albert covfld speak, “the past cannot be recalled, and I suppose the less said about it the better. For my own part I freely forgive the rather uugentlemauly manner you used towards me. In fact I care nothing for it now ; yet I must say that it gives me pain to think that yon are in the habit of giving way to ill-natured feeling while traveling. Don’t speak! I know what you would say. You are not always uncivil. I readily be lieve it. But like so many young people, you think that while traveling you owe no man politeness, and ought neither to grant nor receive favors.” “ Oh! but after this lesson, sir—” “ You will act more like a sensible man. I beiieve it. But now 1 confess that lam i little to blame in this matter. I knew you at the first from Josephine’s descrip tion. You can perhaps imagine my motive for persecuting you with my unwelcomed society.” “Oh ! my dear sir !” cried the tortured Albert. “ Ah! ha ! It isn’t a very bad joke after all!” cried the old gentleman, his velvet waistcoat undulating with his peculiar hap py laugh. “ Come! come! don’t look gloomy now. I tell yon the past is for given—but mind ye musn’t forget it. You must learn not to turn the cold shoulder to corpulent old gentlemen you meet in strange places, even though always as disagreeable as the one you met to-day. Ha ! ha! Let’s have a gooa hearty laugh at the affair, and say no more about it.” In his gratitude for the kindness with which the old gentleman paid his ill treat ment, Albert kissed his hand with tears glistening in his eyes. Josephine entered presently, followed by her mother, and in half an hour Mr. Marvin was showing Al bert about his farm, and all were as happy as if no unpleasant occurrence had ever troubled their minds. In a week Albert returned to town, a hap pier, wiser, better man. He had gained the consent of Josephine’s parents to his mar riage 'with the girl of his choice, and the wedding day was appointed. For this and other good reasons Albert’s heart was over flowing with joy. In conclusion, we may remark that on his journey home Albert attracted general at tention and won the good will and esteem of everybody by the respect and civility of his deportment towards his fellow travel ers. German Immigration.— Captain Melcbers writes Irom Oldenburg, 19th August, that a number of emigrants are getliug ready to sail on the Ist October. The bark Gauss, Captain Wieting, will possitively leave on that day, and Messrs. Delius <fc Cos. have promised that should a sufficient number of emigrants off.-r. they will send another vessel to Charleston in November or December. Some of the papers and ship brokers are totally opposed to our scheme ; others are in our favor, especially the Bremen Morgenpest , a large daily, and among the brokers Mr. G. F. Eheling, office Nine Bourse, Bremen, whom I would cordially recommend to such of our friends in Charleston as may have occasion to send lor any ot their relatives and acquaintances. If the Btate of South Caro lina will guarantee five per cent, interest for five years on a capital of from 400,000 to 500.000 dollars, this sum might be raised in Bremen for the purpose of establishing a line of steamers to Charleston. I have seen several Bremen mer chants who have made this proposal. It would ■no doubt insure* a current of emigration, to Charleston.— Mereury. Agassiz and Pierce. The Hartford Courant presents well writ ten sketches of some of the leading men who participated in the’meetings of the Academy of Science in that city. PROFESSOR AGASSIZ is physically, as well as mentally, the “ heavy weight ” of the assemblage. He belongs certainly to Oken’s *‘ solid’ rrarae ” class of which he told the academy the other day. A person of average height, having a well developed physique and a massive Frauklinian head, with a broad high forehead, an eye not large but bright, a pleasant smile, a kindly voice and man ner he is still a man of handsome presence, and must have been in youth in the eves o the other sex, A pro. er man as ore sha’l fee on a summer’s day He is partially baht, and has just the slight est possible stoop—these being the only in dications of advancing years. He speaks with a noticeable French accent, not strong enough to prevent his being easily and dis tinctly understood- His mastery of the English grammar is sp perfect that he is never guilty of the smallest sin against prosody. We may, indeed, use a more for cible phrase, and say that his choice of words would be remarkable even in one born to the English tongue. On this ac count, and by reason of a certain populari ty in his illustrations, he is always listened to with enjoyment by the less erudite spec tators on the back seats —men who are only just sufficiently learned to occupy the fifty first chair of the academy. Agassiz pos sesses, too, that art—the result of broad, thorough aud perpetual reading—of in stinctively knowing a novel idea from an old one. When a thought strikesJiim his familiarity with the labors of his .predeces sors enables him to judge at oiufe whether it be a fresh thought—a discovery, in fact —and in that case to make the most of it. It is this art which is lacking in all but the younger class of our scientists, but which is characteristic of our European investi gators. No one can hear one of Agassiz's papers without ceasing to wonder —if he ever did wonder—that for. the possession of such a man two hemispheres should con tend, nor without rejoicing that in that contest our hemisphere was successnil. PROFESSOR PEIRCE! If any one were called upon to select the man of the academy who best embodied the popular idea of genius, he would certainly point out the new superintendent <3f the coast survey. His long, iron-grey hair boats loosely about his head ; his beard, of the same hue, is suffered to grow unrestrain ed to its full length ; and his eye, also grey ish, has a look of line frenzy, such as be longs to the poet. And far apart as, in general estimation, are the domains of poet ry and mathematics, Professor Peirce man ages to bring them together. As he is talk ing in his earnest but occasionally hesita ting way about algebras, and factors, and equations, and co efficients, aud parabolas, ami quaternions* there sometimes weßs up through all this rocky erudition a spring of poetry which is almost Miltonic. On sticJi an occasion tiie speaker leaves the black board and turns to the audience with an impulsive motion which«seems to say, “It will out,” and then proceeds for or three minutes in a strain which needs only rhythm to make it verse. It is at this time that he tells how the laws of mathematics apply to the operations of the l human mind as well as to the great phenomena of the universe ; that a single mathematical idea often runs through ftiany sciences; that logic and chemistry are really governed by mathematical rules, and that even this ex act science has its inexactness—its roman tic points where fact vanishes into fable, the certain into the ideal, the known to the unknown. The surroundings- of Professor Pierce, as lie is speaking, might suggest to the unlearned spectator a "Scene of magic. The diagrams of circles, and triangles, and quadratures, the Greek letters, and the queer looking symbols, strengthen the suggestion and the mind inevitably recurs to the days of the Rosicruciaus and the other modern magii. With a robe and skull—he uses a cane as a wand —the chief of the coast sur vey wouid not make a bad representative of a wizard. For is nofthe wizard a pro phet, and is not the prophet a poet ? The ancient vates must have based his poetical vaticinations on the profoundest calcula tions that can be deduced from the single, double, triple and quadruple algabras. Female Boarding School, Education in Bos ton and New York. Dr. Holmes draws the following accurate pictures of the girls of Boston and New York—boarding school girls : “ Don’t you think she’s vurry good look in’ ?’ said a Boston girl to a New York girl. ‘ I think she’s real pooty.’ “ I dew indeed. I didn’t think she was half so handsome the fee-eet time I saw her,” answered the New York girl. “ What a pity she hadn’t been bawn in Bawston!” “ Yes, and moved very young to Ne Yook !’ r “ And married a sarsaparilla man, and lived in Fiff Avenoo, and moved in fust so ciety.” “ Better dew that than be strong minded,' and dew your own cookin’ and Hve in your own kitchen.” “ And don’t forget to send your card when you are Mrs. Old Dr. Jacob!” *• Indeed, I shaunt. What the name of the alley, and which bell ?” The New York gill took out a memoran dum book .as if to put it down. Had you not better to.let me write it for you, dear ?” said the Boston girl. “It is just as well to have it legible, you know.” il Take it,” said the New York girl. “ There’s tew York shill’ns in it when I hand it to you.” “ Your whole quarter’s allowance, I bul lieve—ain’t it ?” said the Boston girl. “ Elegant manners, correct deportment, will be strictly attended in this institution. The most correct standard of pronunciation will be inculcated by precept and example. It will be the special aim of the teachers to educate their pupils out of all provincial isms, so they may be recognized as well bred English scholars wherever the lan guage is spoken in its purity.” Extract irom the Prospectus of Madame Delacoste’s Boarding Bchool. The city of Havana has recently discovered a new sonree of revenue. Some 21,000 cock fights take place there every year, and by im posing * license of SIOO per day on the fighters a neat little snin will be obtained. There is $840,000 invested in that business in Havana. VOL. 25. NO. 35 Dickens’ Desolate Hove.—After Uric* ▼ery happily, indee 1, for many years with one whom he wed niter the first full burst of lite rary applause hid come up from all of Eng land, ns “The Sketches by Bor” and “The Pickwick Papers ” appeared, Charles Dickens and wife separated. This was nine years ago when they parted; and speaking of the sad event, some* one (we know not whom) has written: “ Nine years ago this Home was destroyed. Its heads went lorth from its shelter in differ ent directions each surrounded by s*me ol the chfidren—each holding tightly together lip* which, fts If closed by iron bands, then aud since steadily refuse to gratify the public curi osity as to the causes of that separation.— Whatever were the elements which contributed .to the sad termination of a union which stretched through twenty years, none who have partaken of ihe hospitalities of that Home can feel aught but tbe keenest sorrow and grief. No wreck of empire, no field of ruined-col umns covered with friezes, capital and plinths, with emptied shrines and broken altars, is so touchingly, overwhelmingly sad. A home when deuthj&rawa some of its members to*the silent church-yard;, only .lends new attractions lor those who remain, toward the heavenly Home, and only shells a more teuder sympathy and a deeper love among the survivors. But a Home whence the inmates go—all living—with laces sternly averted, and at whose portals the angel paints-the flaming sword, gather around it all the gloom of a pagan liuriul; for the pae( is not aud there is uo lulure.” Once upon a time there liyed in a eertain little village a priest, who knew about as much Latin as a fish. One day they brought him an iufaut, just born, to be baptized. Instead of looking into his book he attempt ed to recite from memory the formula of the exorcism: . Abi, said he, nbi male spirits. But the Devil, who invented grammar, was not in the humor to suffer himself to be driven off by a solecism. * Pessime grammrUice, cried he, to the grant terror of the assistants. The priest saw that he had made a blun der, but he took his courage in both hands, so to speak, and said, with a trembling voice: Abi, male spiritu ! To this the devil, still on liis gain'd, re plied coolly, Male.pelii*, nunc pejus. The priest furiously shouted, Abi male spiritu*. the debuesti dicere prim , responded the devil, and he quietly took his departure. They tell the same story iu another way in Germany: Exi tn ex corpo, said the priest proudly. Noluo, replied the devil. (Air to nohi* f Quia, answeied the devil, insolently, quia tu nude linqui*. Hoc est ediud rent, said the priest majesti cally, and he retired with dignity, leaving the solemn pedant very much discomfited. “Stick to Your Color.” Thud. Stevens Sends a Black Radioed Emissa ry to South Carolina — Extraordinary Ex citement Among the Negroes—They Want u Land or Death." [Marlboro (S. C.) Correspondence Charleston Mer cury.] # A negro, calling himself the Rev. Nick Wil liams, and hailing from Oberlin, Ohio, made his appearance in the upper part ot this dis trict about twelve days ago, and has created the most intense excitement among our negro population, lie has told the writer of this communication that he, with forty ytlier mis sionaries, entered this State together, and were seut on their mission by Thud. Stevens and Fred. Douglass. He seems to be ignorant, but is undoubtedly keen aud felly alive to his im<~ portance. He has made many speeches, at which not only large crowds of negroes, but many white persons, were present. He urges the negroes to vote lor no one for office hut persons ol their own color, and to stick close ly together; tells them that they are the moat “ powerful nation on earth,” that “ they and they alone whipped the rebels;” abuses the Yankees more than our Southern people, de nounces the Freedmen’s Bureau, and says any of its agents can be bought lor two dollars and fifty cents. He is especially severe upon the Rev. Mr. Whittemore, whom he says he knew fifteen years ago in Boston as a black-leg, and i whom he denounces as a thief. At first the negroes were very sliy of him and charged him with being a “ Democracker ,” but be has gained upon their until now be is almost worshipped as God. He threatens them with arrest and ptmish*- mentjif they dispute his word or deny his doc trine. He says that Abe Lincoln promised them forty acres of land, one hundred dollars in money, and six months’ rations to eommeoce operations upon, and that on his death-bed he swore Andrew Johnson to cany out bis pledge, and it will be carried out. He saye, “land we must have, or we will die.” He tells his au •diences that “we (tho negroes) whipped Ibo rebels, and we will uow whip the blue-bellied, blistered-iip Yankees.” About fiity ex-reba were present when this last expression wa» made, and while it was received with shouts ot acclamations by the negroes, the ex-rebs were ! silent, and seemed to think Chat, as they bad had enough of fighting, they would prefer to be excused from taking any part in the opera* tion, and wonid simply ask to be allowed to ' look on. He says the Yankees treat the ne groes at the North worse than they art: treated here, no privileges being allowed them, and proposes to bring the negro population of the North to occupy the ten conquered States, and. to make them a negro nation. Hjc asks the negroes why should they vote for reconstruction ? “ Will it put muskets in your bands or mine ?” “If you go into recon* structiou you will be cheated out of your rights. No! stiek to your color!” He denounces the- Southerner as having just as mneb right still to claim the negro as his slave as be has to claim a right to his land. No one can imagine, unless he was present among us, the extent aud character of the excitement among the negroes. All labor is suspended ; our fodder withers in the field; whilst crowds attend the reverend gentleman everywhere be goes. He is partial to young, girls and has a troop waiting on his every want. So great is the fear of him by tho negroes generally, that more than one have lost their reason in virtue of some of his threats of punishment. One, a favorite servant for years of a gentleman in the neighborhood, is u>» “ e .* raving maniac, and a gentleman tells me iwttty has seen auother on bis knees to him imply ing his mercy. Gentlemen, when is this to end* aud what is to be the result t Does not this immigration of negroes from the North to our conquered land seem fall of untold pjy I The htXMTft letter le from e K entle«o«" "“o j* kh l o™ to a. «and rn whom w. here
