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against him. As we could no longer
fire our guns without a risk of injuring
our own people, i led the remainder of
our boarders on to the deck of the pi
rate, when, seeing Green hard pressed,
I hurried to assist him, and, with this
additional strength we soon drove most
of those who were opposing us over
board. Others jumped down below\
where Green and I followed them. A
lamp, suspended from a beam, was
burning in the centre of the cabin, its
light shedding a lustre on the silver
utensils, the jewelled arms, the glass
mirrors, and the rich damask coverings
of the furn'ture. In an instant after, it
was obscured by smoke, the mirrors
were shivered by the bullets, and the
furniture deeply stained with the blood
of the combatants. The pirates driven
to desperation, fought with the fury of
demons; they felt that they could ex
pect no mercy and sought for none.—
But our brave fellows were more than
a match for them, and few escaped the
sturdy blows of their cutlasses. Many
still stood at bay, when I heard Green’s
voice above the din, exclaim—
“ Back, men, back to the brig for
our lives; she’s on fire and sinking.’
I repeated the orders to our people,
and as 1 was making my way u > the
companion-ladder, 1 saw Green carry
ing a young girl in his arms, followed
by two men bearing between them a
female form. There was no time for
explanation; as we reached the deck
in the darkness of night, the scene ap
peared doubly terrific, and for a mo
ment the horrid thought appeared to
me that the two vessels had separated.
It was not the case, they still were fast
by the main chains; and our people
were rushing to regain the brig, fol
lowed by the pirates, some fighting,
others with the idea of prolonging their
lives for a short time.
The last of our men who had been
below had just reached the deck, when
a bright flame burst up from the hatch
of the schooner with a loud explosion.
I had reached the main rigging of my
own vessel, my men had followed me,
and two of the pirates attempted to
leap after us. One was shot dead by
one of our men, who turned round and
fired deliberately at him. The other
leaped, but the vessels were parting,
his hand missed his grasp, and, as he
fell back with a shriek of agony in the
dark gulf below, the glare fell on his
distorted countenance, his long hair
streaming in the blast, his eyes starting
from their sockets, his mouth wide
open, and his neck bent back, while his
sword still waved idly in the air. I
shall never forget the horrors of that
dreadful picture. It seems to this day
more vived than any of the scenes of
that terrific night.
“Cut away everything—get clear of
the schooner—up with the helm,” shout
ed the captain. away the
main yard—ease away the larboard
braces.”
The brig paid off before the wind.—
The men flew to cut away the lashings
which held the dangerous foe to us.
“ Huzza ! we are clear,” shouted our
crew as we tore avvaj’ from the schoon
er.
Then ascended a cry of agony, des
pair, and horror, from the survivors of
the pirates, as they stood on the deck
of their fated vessel. They knew no
mortal power could save them, and
they had provoked alone the vengeance
of heaven. The explosion had been
only partial, for the magazine was
drowned, but the schooner was on fire
fore and aft, and sinking. One or the
other of two dreadful deaths was to be
the lot of all who remained on board.
It was literally a struggle between the
two elements, which should obtain the
prey. The flames burned up brightly
and fiercely, while the raging seas rose
high above her sides, and swept over
her decks with terrific fury. The waves
were to be triumphant! On a sudden
a vast flame ascended as it were to the
sky, and some declared, though it must
have been the work of the imagination,
that they heard shrieks, and groans,
and cries, with shouts of mocking
laughter, uttered by no earthly voices.
Then there was total darkness, and the
waves danced up where the ship had
been.
The pirate schooner had sunk. We
afterwards had reason to know that the
pirates had run us on board, in conse
quence of finding their vessel in a sink
ing condition from the holes our shot
had made. It was their only resource;
they thought that they might take us
by surprise, and perhaps capture us.—
At all events, they expected to have
their revenge, by destroying us with
themselves.
Ihe events I have been describing
took place in the course of a few min
utes. How short the lapse of time
since I had seen the pirate schooner,
like an evil spirit stalking through the
night, approaching to destroy us—and
now, a blackened hulk, she was many
fathoms down in the depths of the ocean.
AN EXCITING SCENE.
[We copy the following lively ac
count of a catastrophe of which we may
say “magna pars fui,” —from the Cou
rier. Ihe writer very generously of
fered us the exclusive use of the inci
dent, but we could not do less than mag
nanimously decline it in his favour; and
we are now very well satisfied with the
result of our own self denial. For the
graphsc picture of ourself ‘the Editor
surrounded by tho disjecta membra of
his darling magazine !’ we owe him our
thanks, and our readers shall be told
that some hundreds of the Numbers
of the Schoolfellow, were destroyed in
the fire. That ‘hapless bonnet’—which
belonged to our friend Miss M —of
Augusta, was elevated ‘on the top of a
pine bush,’ by our own hands. The
narrative is certainly ‘to the life.’ Ed.
Gazette .]
Git Saturday, the 11th inst., the cars
going South on the Wilmington Rail
Koad were the scene of one of the
most exciting incidents which can be
lmagmet . They were crowded with
Seng ? rs ’ lhe accumulation of two
f T
eamnin / m< * at Petersburg, and
camping o Ut near Halifax; some pas
sing ‘he night in ,1,,, cai . a ’ nme
“lli n |e‘ I HoW ide a B, rb tfe
agie Hotel and others making the
T Pn t M° C n’’ Wlth u C ? nCertsat the
Lind Hall, a shelter of boards with a
dirt floor, where “Aunt Charity” did the
honours of her humble board to the
wayworn travellers. About sunrise on
the day referred to, when in the most
dismal part of a very dismal region,
while some were dozing and others try
ing to follow’ their example, the train
meanwhile running twenty miles an
hour, the monotony was suddenly bro
ken—doors were opened, then shut
again—passengers rushed in and others
rushed out. “ What’s the matter ?”
w-as the startled cry of those within—
“ What has happened ?” “Fire, Fire,
Fire /” was the ominous response. —
“ Where, where, where is the Fire /” —
“ The baggage car,” said one —“the pas
senger car ahead” cried another—“ the
car in the rear” said a third. Then
commenced a scene of indescribable
confusion. Here was seen a gentleman
with several ladies under his charge
clinging to him for protection. There
a father, with an infant in his arms, car
pet bags, &c., hanging from his elbows,
the mother of the infant following in the
rear. Here one rushes frantic to the
steps, and seems to meditate a plunge
into the swamps below'. One wildly
calls his wife, the wife calls for the chil
dren ; all rush through the doors, the
platforms are crowded, and yet no one
knows whither to turn. “ Stop the en
gine—why does not the engineer stop?”
issues from fifty voices. It is taken
up by others. Fire! fire! fire! re
sounds in tremulous tones from many
throats at once. “ Where is the bell ?
ring the bell.” “There is no bell.”—
“ Pull the cord, let the engine stop.”—
There is no cord. The engineer has
not heard. On, on goes the engine,
rushing madly through the swamps,
bellowing and blowing and hissing—
the noise of the machinery resounding
through the silent forests even above
the terrific cry of “fire, fire, fire ” —and
still the engineer has not heard —still
he presses on; profoundly ignorant
that he is followed in his mad career,
by a tail of lire, rising larger and high
er at every moment. Confusion, ter
ror prevailing in the rear, w hile on the
engine all is as undisturbed as ever—
no sound to be heard but the clank of
the machinery, to ears familiar to the
sound, No alarm felt, no cause of ter
ror known—and still on we go —the
flames grow’ brighter, the smoke and the
smell more overpowering at evey step
and still no hope of escape—
The passengers are becoming des
perate —it is impossible to say what ef
fects will follow—when a merciful
Providence interposes. The train sud
denly halts.
The engine had run three miles from
the time the flames were discovered.
And then ensued the second scene in
the drama, less terrific, but scarcely less
exciting than the first. The baggage
car next the engine was wrapped in
flame—the doors fast locked—“where
is the key ?”—no key is found—“ it
was left at Halifax” —“break the lock”
—“tear down the door”—“split open
the car.” A dozen manly fellows strive
in vain—the stout lock resists all their
efforts—the door refuses to yield—no
axe is to be had—every club or piece
of wood is shivered in the contact. For
a moment all seem to pause —hopeless
of penetrating the car —then the at
tempt is renewed, and after great ef
forts the hinges burst open and the
doors fall to the ground. With the
opening, the wind rushes in and the
flames burst out more brightly than
ever. A mass of burning trunks, band
boxes and carpet bags is blazing in the
flames. Some mount the top of the
car and cry for water. “ Hand water.”
Some rush to the engine for the need
ful element. One bold fellow (we wish
his name was known to us) rushes into
the burning car—a trunk rolling down
strikes him and sends him headlong,
from a considerable height to the ground,
to the eminent peril of his life. Anoth
ar takes his place and manfully battles
with the flames. He, too, is a stranger
from the far W est,%ve believe. One after
another followshisexample,and by their
united efforts the blazing trunks, &c.,
were dragged out and thrown to the
ground. Those on the car pour in wa
ter, deluging those within, and the
flames are arrested with a loss of per
haps one-third of the contents of the car.
Scene the Third is the farce after the
tragedy. One looks for his trunk con
taining as he says $30,000 in gold.—
Another rummages for his box in which
he has $3,000 worth of lace—one trunk
is burnt half in two —exhibiting to the
uninitiated the half consumed myste
ries of a lady’s wardrobe—the Editor
is surrounded by the scattered frag
ments ( disjecta membra ) of his* darling
magazine—and to crown the whole a
young lady from Augusta, draws from
the burning pile the remains of three
of the most captivating little bonnets
Broadway could boast. See that pret
ty Jenny Lind silk, which was to have
done so much execution —burnt just in
half, and presenting in its curtailed pro
portions, a fashion rather more unique
than any for which the great Songstress
would have risked responsibility.—
When we last saw the lady—she was
turning over her hapless bonnet in eve
ry way, for “a last fond look,” and the
last of the unfortunate object of regret
was on the top of a pine bush!! left in
the solitude, was that coquettish little
ornament, intended to be the covering
for a lovely head—the envy of the fair
—the admiration of the beaux.
But we have trespassed toolong upon
your columns and must forbear. We
could describe, if we had room, the
scene presented by the catastrophe—
the mutilated and burning car—the
grass and shrubbery trampled around
fragments of sticks and clubs, and
branches used as battering rams—here
a leather hat box half burnt—there a
large trunk torn off at locks and hinges
—here a double barrelled gun with
nothing left bu* the iron—a coat here
—a beautiful mantilla, a changeable
silk, left adorning a bush by the road
side—and strange to say, a good deal
of cotton amongst the other articles
(from whose trunks it came,gentleman’s
or lady’s, 1 know not.) All these to
gether presented a scene not often to
be met with. But all things must end,
and so did this. We repaired damages,
and went on our way rejoicing, many,
1 trust, with thankful hearts to the
Great Giver of all good gifts for the
mercies so signally exhibited in our de
liverance. VIATOR.
The Washington correspondent of
the New T York Tribune states that the
Hon. T. Butler King, of Georgia, has
been appointed Collector at Jan Fran
cisco, California, in place of S. li. Da
vis, of Penn., who declined the appoint
ment.
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
HSisttllamj.
A CHARACTER.
Tommy Auldjo had his queer ways,
too —a w T orld of Scotch caution peeped
through his blue specs, and a world of
Scotch rappee was continually drop
ping from his fidgety little nose.—
Nasty habit, snuffing—but with him
it was policy. A literary man was
Tommy, and like most of your “Glas
gae lityraty” he was very sentimental,
and the snuff helped it —tears are al
ways interesting, spontaneous, snuffy,
or crocodile!
And he had his canny ways too —Sir
Bouncing Buffer was cress-questioning
him before the great St. Stephen’s 801 -
Weft Committee, —“ D—n that drivel
ling old fellow,” said Sir Bouncing Buf
fer, “how dare you waste the time of
the committee ? a plain answer to my
question, sir, at once!”—“Mon,” said
Tommy taking a deliberate pinch of
Taddy—“Mon, if yere com my tee,” he
laid great stress on the tee —“if yere
commy tee will ask me weiss questions,
I’ll may be, afford ye weiss answers —
no till than—” Sharp fellow was Tom
my.
He hadn’t been often in London be
fore, I guess—When my uncle took him
home to dinner, Tommy was quite as
tounded with the din of the knocker.
“Maister Willim,” says he, with an
other pinch from that everlasting pea
green box —“Maister Willim, —di ye
preefer rappin’ tae ringin’ ?” Tommy’s
notions of propriety were shocked, for
in the North all the gentle- folks ring,
while the “serving-lassies” “chap” with
their hands on the door.
But he was undeniably alarmed one
fine morning, when he found himself
whirled along in one of the old-fash
ioned perpendicular London cabs, dan
ger around him and hard stones below'.
“ Freend,” says he, thrusting his ago
nized countenance bang up to that of the
driver —“Ma freend—a’m in nae hur
ry !”—Jehu, of course, spankled along
like a telegraph message, capsizing oys
ter-stalls at every turning.
“ We re rather proud of that in our
neighbourhood,” said my good old
aunt Mary, pointing to the newly erect
ed University College.
“ Pettikerlerly gra-and, mum ! no to
say wonderfu’,” says Mr. Tommy.—
“ Superlative faw-kaw’ that, mum !”
Tommy thought he had made a
knowing criticism, and looked very
weiss beneath his large, wide-awake,
who-stole-the-donkey hat.
Wasn’t Tommy a character ? La
dies of London, what think ye of Tom
my ? He was a great teetotal preach
ifyer—attended public meetings, and
made speeches (his speeches, by-the
bye, were never very accurately re
ported, owing to a nervous habit of
saying, “Yeh-yeh-yeh-yeh,” far quicker
than it can be written, in the middle of
each sentence). Well, this Tommy,
this teetotal Tommy, assured my dear
aunt Mary that the Glasgow ladies
were so profligate and so utterly de
bauched, that their husbands could not
trust them with the keys of the spirit
cellar. Aunt, of course; was quitedis
tressed at such an account of the Glas
gow fair, and expressed her surprise.
“ But, mum,” says Tommy, “ the
Lunding leddies is far waur!” Much he
knew about it —Eh ?
Well, and after making such a talk
about temperance and teetotal princi
ples, for him to get so notoriously
drunk after dinner, and insist on uncle
ringing up his maid servant,at ten o’clock
to hear him read prayers and sing para
phrases ! Did you ever ?
“ NO MORE OF THAT, IIAL !”
Some of our exchanges at the South
and West are poking a deal of fun at
us Bostonians, on account of the Lind
furore. They chuckle with great glee
to see our grave, staid, long-faced citi
zens thrown olf their balance, and losing
their frigidity of feeling, and nice, de
corous propriety of deportment, under
the present excitement. But wait a
bit, gentlemen, till you have been sim
ilarly tempted, and it may be our turn
to laugh. Perhaps you, too, may be
thrown “off the hooks—far more irre
coverably—by the marvellous vocaliza
tion of “the Nightingale.” If we cold,
unimpressible Yankees can be roused
to such an intense pitch of enthusiasm,
it would be no strange spectacle among
your excitable population, to see the
huzzaing throngs worked up to abso
lute frenzy by her singing—so far as
even, like the Berlin students, to take
the horses from her carriage, and de
liriously drag her home from the scene
of her triumphs. For our part, we glo
ry in the reception the Swedish song
stress has met with among us, and the
vehement enthusiasm she has awaken
ed. The triumphs of the “Joan d’Arc
of song ’ in Boston are another proof
that we are not wholly the straight-laced
people —the soulless icicles—the cold,
grubbing, utilitarian earth-worms, that
we are represented to be. It shows
that the love of lofty excellence in art,
and of unblemished purity in morals,
has not yet died out among us—that
we care for something more than the
hard, mechanical routine of our daily
vocations—that we are capable of a
higher worship than that of the “al
mighty dollar.”
For these reasons, it is with no un
easy twinges, but rather with a keen ap
preciation and enjoyment of the jest,
that we read such clever jeux-d ’ esprit
as the following, from the New York
Tribune :
Alas, for Boston !— The Bostoni
ans, after all their grave rebukes, their
earnest Puritanic remonstrances against
the honours paid to Mdle. Lind, in this
city, have shown very strikingly their
superior dignity and serenity of de
meanor, since the arrival of the Night
ingale among them, There is but one
theme in the Boston papers—Jenny
Lind ; but one house in the city—the
Revere ; but one man worthy of no
tice, “ Osssian E. Dodge, Vocalist.”—
Os a verity, the Boston folks are mad.
O! staid descendants of a rigid and un
smiling stock, whither has lied that
saintly decorum with which ve were
wont to be clothed? Where Is the an
cient dolour of countenance, expressive
of a satisfied soul, victorious over the
vanities of the world ? Gone, alas !
swept away by the allurements of a
woman's voice, singing songs in an un
godly tongue. — Yankee Blake.
There are now three regular lines of
steamers between San Francisco and
Panama —llowland &Aspinwall’s line,
Law’s line, and the Empire City line,
employing thirteen powerful ocean
steamers.
€})t irnntti iltar.
Lesson for Sunday, October 27.
THE NATURE OF MEDITATION.
Meditate upon these things.l Tim. iv. 15.
Such was Payl’s charge to Timothy,
but the words wffll admit of general ap
plication. The Christian is to be a man
of meditation. Let us look at this
pleasing duty in
The peculiarity of its nature. —
It does not consist in the exercise of the
memory, who know nothing about
spiritual meditation. A good memory
is a great assistance in this Christian
duty, though not always connected
with it. There is a distinction between
study and meditation. By study we
acquire learning, by meditation we turn
it to account ; by study the mind is
filled with knowledge, by meditation
the soul feasts on it: study consists
chiefly in the application of the mind,
but meditation in the excursions of the
mind. One has described meditation
as the soul being rolled into itself. —
You may be alone, and yet not engaged
in this exercise. The Christian loves
solitude, and feels that he is never less
alone than when alone- Meditation
makes the w'orld appear to him as a
shadowy arch, through which he gazes
on the bright and expansive sky be
yond. It is an exercise, which, while
it connects’ the soul with all that is
solemn and sublime, produces the most
elevating and reviving effects on the
mind. While, therefore, we delight in
seasons of social intercourse, let us
never forget the charms of solitude, but
prize its golden hours. One has beau
tifully remarked —The good man soars
to heaven in mind, though chained to
earth in body : it is thus the superb ea
gle, in the region of thunder, darts
along on majestic pinion, and seems to
say to mortals, “I was born on the earth,
but 1 live in the sky.”
PERSONAL RELIGION.
To the neglect of daily meditation
and prayer, may be mainly ascribed
the low condition to which the religion
of many professors among us is reduced.
Prayer for spiritual influence must be
frequent and habitual, as veil as fer
uent while it lasts. Necessity, it is
true, sometimes occasions much occu
pation with the world, and pievents the
desired abstraction of time for better
objects. But it is not less true that
this necessity generally comes far short
of the extent to which it is used as an
apology to conscience and to God.—
Our worldly callings must not be neg
lected : but can the excuse be admit
ted when Christians, without satisfying
themselves with food and lament, and
such things as are needful for the body
—all which things their heavenly Fa
ther has engaged to provide for them
to the last hour of their abode below',
—pursue business with an intensity,
and to an extent w hich have no object
but the procuring of luxuries for pres
ent enjoyment, or the laying up trea
sures for future years. And while it is
proper to speak with sympathy and
consideration of the condition of mo
thers of families surrounded by the calls
of domestic duty, it is exceedingly to
be lamented, in connexion more particu
larly with the interests of religion, that
their ttnxiotiea about temporal matters
too frequently overwhelm, almost en
tirely, the cares for the life which is to
come. It is often deplorable to see to
what an extent the time and thoughts
of Christian females, particularly among
the’middling and lower classes of soci
ety, are withdrawn from religious con
cerns, and to how low’ an ebb the life
of religion in the soul is reduced.—
Thus, w ith business abroad and domes
tic concerns at home, the heads of Chris
tian households conspire to drag down
each other to a condition on the bor
ders of spiritual death.— Dr. Wardlaw.
€jr t Cfflrcqift.
WORKING-MEN.
The workingman is the only sub
stantial citizen, all other things being
equal. The nation is strong only in
its working men. Every thing which
goes to diminish the amount of positive
performance among a people—which
goes to lessen the grand results of hu
man labor—is of necessity evil. Such
are necessarily all stock companies,
which, from being agents of social in
dustry, by the accumulation and appro
priation of capital, degenerate into pri
mary conditions, and divert from their
legitimate tasks and exercises, the
minds and energies of a population
which they thenceforth render superflu
ous. There is unhappily, in our coun
try a very universal distaste to labor.
Our labor is but too much imported
from abroad. We loathe and despise
the severer tasks of that industry which
removes mountains and fills the deserts
with fruits and blossoms. Our people,
afilieted with certain childish vanities,
prefer to fill the ranks of the profes
sions with useless recruits, who add
nothing to their dignity or character
and lessen, by just their own strength,
the number of the legitimate producers
of the country. This is to multiply
unnecessary consumers of the capital
they were intended to produce. So
ciety is very much like a bee hive.
If the drones are allowed to remain,
even where they do not propagate, the
contents of the hive will very soon
be exhausted. That dependance upon
foreign labor of which I have spoken,
seems to me one of the most fearful
signsof our degeneracy. It shows that
a morbid vanity is almost the only
thing willing to work among us. That
society which dares not grapple hear
tily with the essential tasks of field and
highway, must forbear only with daily
loss of its most wholesome character
istics. With us the cry seems ever
more for money. The want of money is
the one want which w r e every where
unite to deplore The proper subject of
complaint is want of industry. We
have money enough in proportion to
our need, our industry and our deserts.
It is only lacking in proportion to our
profligacy and vain pretension. Nay,
it is owing, in a great degree, to our
having had so much money, or so much
that put on the semblance of money
and maintained it for a time as fairy
gifts are said to do, that we are now
suffering and now complaining. Money
is one of the most dangerous of all
social possessions. It is a wondrous
power, the very use of which requires
a previous training of head and heart
which cannot be too careful or too
strict. Few’ people know properly
how to use it, keepinor moral standards
before their eyes. Most persons not
accustomed to its employment, not
trained to the use of power, become
gamblers with wealth, and the fancies
and the appetites take the control of
that w'hich can be used with safety
only by a justly judging morality and
a sage experience. The Americans, a
young and consequently a poor people,
were, of all others, the best prepared
to use it judiciously. In many res
pects, at one period in the history of
the world, the Spaniards were the
richest people in the world. But they
were previously among the poorest,
and their riches after a brief career of
recklesness, pride, lust and other pas
sions, engendered by this veiy sudden
excess of wealth, brought them to
something worse than their original
condition. The Spaniards are now r not
only the poorest and the feeblest, but
the most degraded of all the powers of
Christendom. The present is a fruit
of their immediately previous condi
tion. It was the discovery of Span
ish America and its rich possessions,
to which their poverty is due. They
were not prepared to use judiciously
their own resources, and squandered
wastefully what they had unexpectedly
acquired, but not till it had taught
them wants, habits and indulgences
w’hich they are no longer able to sup
ply. As the descendants of the ex
pelled Moors of Grenada still keeps
the keys of the ancient homestead, still
dreaming to get back; so the Spaniards,
still waits dreaming that the Provi
dence which brought him Mexico and
Peru, will again restore them to his
possession. The case of a nation is
not improperly illustrated by indi
vidual example. Take the instance of
the youthful heir of the old miser—
one w'hom the sordid passion of the
sire has, while he lived, kept within
the most contracted limits of a base
and slavish economy. Let him, while
still young, be admitted freely among
the hoards of which he has only
dreamed before, and note with what
painstaking earnestness he dissipates
them. It is his boast, indeed, that he
does so, even as expensive frivolities
and broad way life are become a boast
with us. “Its gone at last!” was the
half desponding exclamation of one of
these profligates, a few’ years ago, as he
acknowledged his ruin; but, suddenly
looking up, w ith a sort of exultation
in his manner, as if there had been
some degree of merit in the very
recklessness of his w r aste —“but may
be 1 did’nt hum it while it lasted.”
Was there ever a more perfect boy.
That his top hummed while it was go
ing, was a great consolation for its
loss. A whole people become thus
profligate at seasons, sharing the vices
of the individual, for such excesses are
%
epidemical. The American people
have presented for the last ten years,*
the melancholy spectacle of a nation
humming it, just like the silly boy;
with the simple difference, in which w'e
find a hope, that their humming is no
longer a subject of congratulatory
chuckle. For some ten years longer
we shall be prudent euough to forbear
to hum it; but there are periodical re
turns for all such maladies, and a re
turn of seeming prosperity for a longer
period than usual, unless we learn to
respect money less, and industry more,
will be sure to bring us to our sack
cloth again. Seriously, our levity of
character is a great evil in our Consti
tution. It can scarcely be otherwise
until w e honor labor more. She meth
odizes all the faculties and makes all
the securities of virtue as well as lor
tune. Mere slight of hand will not
answer. We must shut up half of our
shops at least, lop from the idle host
that throng go back
to the deserted fields, making our own
corn and cabbages, and gathering in
the harvest w ith our own hands. How
many proper farmers have the last ten
years converted into bankrupt trades
men and desperate men!
*This was written in 1836.
(Driginul £map.
Fortlie SouthernLiterary Gazette.
EGEIiIA:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside.
THIRD SERIES.
XLIV.
The Affections. —Did we exercise our
affections as sensibly as our passions,
we should be the more perfectly mas
ters not only of our happiness but of
our hearts. Os these, however, we
really know quite as little as we do of
those of other people, and it is only in
the ruin of our resources that we are
informe i of their extent.
XLV.
The Heart. —The heart has its own
season for maturing and for fruit. In
suffering that season to escape us, we
plant but vainly for the future.
XLVI.
Occasion. —Occasion is the accouch
eur of genius; but he su rely is no ge
nius who is content to wait for the
occasion.
XLVII.
Patience. —Are you slandered ? Be
patient; —the viper will sooner tire than
the file.
XLVIII.
Too Late. —“Too late” and“no more”
are the mournful sisters, children of a
sire whose age they never console.
XLIX.
Charity. —Men are always pleased
to entertain the worst opinion of their
neighbours. The world will never be
lieve a man to be unfortunate or a suf
ferer so long as it is possible to insist
that he is a scoundrel.
L.
Purpose —There are some men whose
purposes are so very magnificent that it
may be permitted them to attempt
nothing.
LI.
Moral Compromise. —The eompro
mises which conscience suffers between
vice and virtue deny them both the ad
vantages for which they are enticed
into; vice never wholly in possession of
the enjoyment of the present life, as
certainly baffles virtue m its posses
sions of the future. But man is so
essentially of two natures, that it may
be permitted him to hope that the
stipulations of the one may not be
suffered always to impair the condi
tions of the other.
Excuse. —Our individual philoso
phies are commonly nothing more than
the ingenious excuses which pride offers
for the wilfulness of all the other pas
sions.
LIII.
Dreams. —Dreams seem to me to
prove that the mind is always awake
and at work, and that it never partakes
of the sleep of the body. Our convic
tions, which come to us like instincts,
are thoughts which we have reached in
our meditations during sleep. That
we are conscious of our dreaming
thoughts, and that they are usually
disjointed, only proves an imperfect
condition of physical repose.
LIV.
Youth and Age. —The eyes of youth
look into the hearts of its neighbour*
while those of age must be content with
the melancholy survey of its own. The
former contemplates a palace; the lat
ter a ruin. The one sings like the
mocking bird at the dawn; the other
shrieks with the owl at the sun set.
The one may be likened to a river
when first breaking away through the
fettering rocks and leaping gladly and
triumphantly down the heights in foam
and sunshine. The other to the same
river hundreds of miles away from its
place of birth, sluggishly creeping
through marshy plains to subside
finally in the drear abysses of the
morass.
LV.
Patriotism. —He cares but little for
the defence of the city whose goods
are yet in the forest and the field.
LVI.
Equality -—God may have made all
men free and equal, but I know not
that he has ever promised to keep
them so.
LVII.
Aqiplause. —No doubt it were very
grateful always to make our exit with
applause—the awkward doubt com
monly is whether the applause is in”
tended for our playing or our de_
part ure.
lviij.
Benefits. —That boon is the most
precious which comes to us in the mo.
ment of privation. The seasonable
ness of the gift compensates for its
poverty.
LIX.
Griefs. —Great griefs consecrate their
victim in the sight of men. Even as
the lightning which was supposed in an
cient times to render sacred the tree
which it destroyed.
LX.
Tears. — Were it not for the tears that
fill our eyes.what an ocean would flood
our hearts. Were it not for the clouds
that cover our landscape, how insolent
would be our sunshine.
LXI.
Folly. —The success which increases
the fortunes of the fool, brings due in
crease to his folly also; and annoyance
makes that offensive which before was
only ridiculous. There is no animal
so impertinent, as that which shakes
its head loftily, totally unconscious of
its monstrous length of ears.
(Dur i'rttrra.
Correspondence of the Southern Liternry Gazette.
NEW YORK, Oct. 19, 1850.
The Tripler Hall was opened on
Thursday night by Madame Anna
Bishop, with the monster orchestra and
chorus, which I have before described
to you. This concert, you know had
an unusual interest from the fact that it
was understood to be an open com
mencement of hostilities against Jenny
Lind. It has been claimed for Madam
Bishop that she was not only superior
to Jenny Lind as an artist, but that
she needed only to sing to a large au
dience to putthe Swedish nightingale
in the back ground, and perhaps com
pel her to take her flight. This was
ridiculous enough, to be sure, in all
conscience, but the denouement of the
plot puts on a few additional touches.
Madame Bishop, no doubt is a sweet,
charming, and scientific vocalist. I own
she has always been a great favourite
with us ; but after you have heard her
a few times, you cool down some de
grees in your admiration ; she does not
take you out of yourself; nor do her
tones linger in the memory, or haunt
your dreams. I delight to acknowl
edge the pleasure Madame Bishop
never fails to give by her admirable
vocalization, with its wonderful va
riety from the most alaborate arias
of the Italian Opera to the sweet
simplicity of the Scotch ballad ; but
when she comes forward and de
fies Jenny Lind to competition a V ou
trance, the case is different and stirs up
the sense of justice to see that she re
ceives no more than her due. Some
thing of this kind, I have no doubt act
ed on the public feeling, and prevented
the attendance at the first concert,
which one would suppose, would be
tempted out by the programme. The
magnificent Hall was not more than
half filled, I think not over two thou
sand people at the utmost. On com
mon occasions, this would certainly
have been a good audience, but com
pared with the eclat which had preced
the concert, it was a miserable falling
off.
The great attraction of the evening
was Beethoven’s magnificent Sympho
ny in C minor, which was rendered by
the whole orchestra with admirable ef
fect, Such a noble display of instru
mental music was never before heard
in New York. The critic on the look
out for faults, I dare say, detected some
inaccuracies, some want of proportion,
some imperfections in the drill of such
an immense band of musicians; but
the whole effect on the audience was
wonderful. It did some justice, if not
full justice, to Beethoven. It was fit
that those glorious strains should be the
first to consecrate the opening of the
new Temple of the Muses.
Madame Biship sang with her usual
sweetness and accuracy. She fully sus
tained her reputation. She added noth
ing to it. She was listened to with
pleasure, but there w f as no enthusiasm.
Her reception was friendly, kind, geni
al, but the heart did not leap forth as
at the first sight of Jenny Lind on the
stage at Castle Garden.
The same concert was repeated last
night, but to a still more attenuated au
dience. lam sorry for this. The plan
ofßochsa, musically cons : dered is first
rate —it is a pity it was so mixed up
with professional jealousy,—placed on
its own merits, it might have succeeded
with the public. So far, it must have
been quite a losing concern. Anew
programme is announced for this even
ing, but it will probably have no better
luck. lam told it is contemplated,
should the concerts be continued to put
down the price to fifty cents, a plan
that would hardly do more at the best
than to pay expenses. Barnum takes
possession of the Hall on Monday, and
Jenny Lind’s first concert will be given
on Wednesday evening. His surren
der of the Hall for Madam Anna Bish
op was entirely voluntary. Mr. Trip
ler was bound by his contract to give
him the use of it from its first opening,
but Barnum consented to wave his
claims, —an arrangement to which Jen
ny Lind fully and freely acceded.
Maretzek brings out the Freyschutz
at the Astor Place on Monday night.
Great success is confidently expected.—
It is now stated on authority that Sig
norina Parodi had engaged to sail for
New York in the Pacific, which was to
leave Liverpool last Wednesday. The
story of her intended marriage to an
English duke is said to be all gammon.
She will arrive here before the close of
the month, and will appear at once at
Astor Place. She is reported to be a
magnificent woman, just turned of
twenty, with great tragic powers, and
as a singer not inferior to Pasta or Cat
alini. So prepare for another New
York furor, for which the materials are
always ready.
Our friend John Timon has brought
to a close his racy sketches of society
and matters and things in general,
which he has set forth with so much
effect in “ The Lorgnette.” I believe
that work is not discontinued from anv
lack of patronage, but from the atten
tion of the author being diverted to
other projects. However, the fine per
fume of his wit will not evaporate from
the bound volume. Timon has made a
mark with his diamond pen, and is not
the man to be easily forgetten. It is
now said that the author is Mr. D. G.
Mitchell better known as Ik. Marvel.
I presume he will not deny the frater
nity.
De Trobriand’s Revue du Nou
veau Monde has gone by the board.—
It was one of the most truly spicy things
we have ever had—not a wooden nut
meg concern but redolent of cinnamon,*
spikenard, myrrh, cayanne pepper, and
all other fragrant and pungent condi
ments. The editor is a man of un
rivalled taste in all aesthetic affairs,
besides writing in a style of gay and
sparkling humour. T.
Mr. A formerly a member of the
Constituent Assembly, has just died at
Avignon. He ascended the Tribune
but once. “Gentlemen,” said he, “Man
is an animal;” awed by the imposing as
pect of the Assembly, he stopped short
A member exclaimed: “I move that
the speech be printed, with the portrait
of the Orator prefixed.”
The Missourians are getting up quite
a fever in behalf of a Pacific railroad.
A public meeting in Lafayette county
calls on the county to subscribe $150,-
000; and in other parts of the State,
the enthusiasm is equally great.
(©bitars’ Dtprtmtnt.
WM. C. RICHARDS, Editor.
D. H. JACOUES, Associate Editor
Clinrlfsta, #.
SATURDAY MORNING. OCT 2fi t-
D > *oso
THE SOUTH-CAROLINAmDUSTR,^
FAIR. A1
The anniversary of the South-Caroli na
stitute is at hand, and its second pnblic n .,
tion is looked forward to with no common •
gree of interest and expectation. The
festival of last November, so far exceeds
its variety of objects, and in the degree of
terest it awakened at home and abroad
most sanguine anticipations of its f oun j.
that they were instantly animated with f r
zeal and new energy for the prosecution ‘!
their important labours.Theiruunweariedn wwearieddand
gence, and the more general diffusion, ihron
out the past year, of information concerning
objects of the Institute in holding this
leave us no ground to doubt that the
ing exhibition will greatly transcend the fi r ,,
W e have heretofore expressed our viewsverv
fully as to the influence which the South-Can
lina Institute will, by means of their Industry
Jubilees,exert upon the prosperity of the South
We look upon its organization as the beginnir,
of anew era in our history, the era of Progrt.
and consequently of Achievement Hencefor.
ward we are to realize the benefits of well and,.
veloped physical energies, the wealth which
springs from the infinite processes of Art, the
power which a well organized system of man.
ufactures and a liberal international commerce
must inevitably create. Henceforward,our popu.
lation will increase in a ratio never known to
the palmiest days of our Agricultural era, and
our towns will multiply in number and ex
pand in magnitude with a rapidity almost nia
gieaL The strong heart of that wonderful
agent of power—the Steam Engine—will be
heard to beat in now solitary places, and every
pulsation will send the vital flood of prosperity,
by a thousand channels, throughout the sur
rounding regions. It is unnecessary to pursue
this strain of reflection in words. The mind
of the reader, seizing the idea, will anticipate
the speed of the pen, and grasp the great result
to which it points.
But we have been somewhat beguiled from
the immediate object with which we commen
ced this article—simply to call the attention of
our readers to the Second Annual Fair, an
nounced to open on the 19th proximo. Itwill
be held, as before, at the spacious Military
Hall, and the note of preparation has already
sounded loudly and far. Are all the Mechan
ics and producers of the South awake, and ma
king ready for the Exposition ? We fear not,
and we would fain send our humble voice into
their hiding places, and arouse them from their
inaction—perhaps we might say with truth,
their indifference. The generous rivalry
among artisans which the Fair is designed to
excite, is precisely what is needed to create the
highest possible excellence in the various pro
ducts of their Art, and to suggest new forms
and new combinations for its further develop
ments.
We hope that none will allow themselves to
be deterred from competition at the approaching
Fair, by any apprehensions that the award of
prizes will be influenced by local or any other
unfair considerations. We have no hesitation
in declaring our conviction that the most open
handed justice will be done to all parties. The
mechanics of Charleston will have no undue
advantage over those of the interior towns, and
those of South-Carolina, generally, none over
those of Georgia, or any other Southern Stale
We regard it as no unimportant feature of
the proposed exhibition, that the articles to
which first premiums may be awarded, will be
sent by the Institute, to the great Exposition of
Industry, to be held in London next Spring,
there to compete with the congregated talent
and ingenuity of the whole civilized world.
The Annual Address will be delivered on
the night preceeding the opening of the Fair.
We consider it a happy omen of the Catholic
spirit and design of the Festival and of the In
stitute which fosters it, that Georgia sends us
this year, the orator whose voice is to commem
orate the return of Art's Jubilee. That orator
is the Hon. Joseph Henry Lumpkin, whose
name is proudly identified with the civil, po
litical and moral greatness of our Sister State,
and if his mission to us but half fulfils the prom
ise which our anticipations find in the prestige
of his reputation, it cannot fail of proving at
once a triumph to him, and a benefaction to us.
The industrial movements of the present day
are among the most cheering indications of the
“good time coming” which all the world seems
to be looking for, though not as the result of one
common agency or as a reward of a common
sympathy. While philosophers and sectarians
of different systems and creeds are loudly pro
claiming the speedy advent of an ideal millen
ium, to crown their peculiar anticipations, we
are content to “labour and to wait,” —trushug
to the blessings of an indulgent Providence
upon earnest and honest effort, for a social mil
leiiium, and to the richer blessings of Divine
Grace upon humble repentance and faith for
that spiritual reign of Peace, which the Bible
foretells.
THE GREAT FAIR IN NEW-YORK-
Upon the eve of our departure from the
Manhattan City, we visited the Fair ot the
American Institute, and lingered there long
enough to have our head set n-whir/mg by
the ten thousand objects that were there
grouped together, within the Amphitheatre of
Castle Garden ! Such an “omnium gatherum
we never saw elsewhere, though it is probably
a “ small assortment,” compared with that
which the World’s Fair will present to view in
London.
We have visited the New-York Fair, to.
many successive years, and this may account)
perhaps for the impression that the present ex
hibition made upon our minds of a lack
novelty, not of variety, certainly, but ot “
things under the sun.” We encountered th<-
same monster telescope that pointed heaven
ward last year—the same diving apparatus-”
the same sewing machines—the same spei
mens of tapestry —the same dogs in worsted”
the same daguerreotypes, paintings, and wood
cuts—the same quilts that we saw in Octol”
1849. For a while, we felt as if the l-‘
might merit the motto, Semper Eadent I J
however, we will not u rge in seriousness, f>
there were certainly a good share ot tainJ ia ’
things in new shapes and combinations, c° u
spicuous among which were the multitut 11 -’
objects bearing the charmed name of J' ll,
Lind, from a bottle of hair gloss, up to a trU ‘-
magnificent chandelier! There were -h’
Lind bonnets, hats, gloves, shoes, capes. ali
kerchiefs, sacks, and vve had almost • u 'd l
he*
pantaloons. Cigars there certainly wen
shrew the foul taste which could desec re l
name so pure, by connecting it with the
weed ! and blacking, and ink, and tooth ]
der—but the list is too formidable to bed
ted in full, and we forbear.
We might enumerate many things tb al
warded our visit, but our limits will aU° w