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CHARACTER OF MOULTRIE.
Moultrie was unlike most of the
Southern officers, whose bravery is
usually of the fiery, chivalric kind, and
accompanied with intense excitement:
he was brave as man can be ; but his
courage was of that easy nonehalent
character, which always infuses a little
of the comic into the heroic. Stub
born as a rock, decided, and watchful,
he was nevertheless quiet and unexci
ted, and went into battle w ith the sang
froid he would go to bed. V hen the
Governor and privy council proposed
he should surrender up both them and
the city of Charleston to the enemy,
he did not dash off into enthusiastic
appeals, but quiel l v said, “7 will do no
such thing — we will fight it out;' 1 and
went to work with the cool and dogged
resolution of one whose arm is better
than his tongue. In his little palmetto
fort, enveloped in the blaze of nearly
two hundred cannon, he quietly lighted
his pipe, to while away the time whose
minutes were measured by peals of
thunder. Yet there was no careless
ness in all this—his calm eye surveyed
everything —took in the whole field of
danger, w hile his blow fell with the
suddenness of thought.
lie was lax in his discipline, and
easy with his men, who loved him with
devoticlp. This trait! i& character
distressed Lee exceedingly, when he
took command of the southern army,
and he feared the worst results from it
in the attack of Fort Moultrie; but
the hero knew’ his men, and knew him
self, and had not the least concern
about the way they would fight. A
fiery-hearted, enthusiastic leader will
carry soldiers in a storm, or sudden
onset, farther and fiercer than a cool
and steady one ; but for deliberate cour
age, self-confidence and strength, the
latter is by’ far the best. In that un
broken composure, and invincible will,
soldiers behold not only’ courage, but
hidden resources and strength on which
they can safely rely. They are not
roused by’ his appeals, but they are
filled with trust in his ability. This
quality of a great conimnnder, Moul
trie possessed to a remarkable degree.
W hat he would have done with a large
army, and during a long campaign, it
is impossible to tell;. but the British
officers had a high opinion of his skill.
But his noblest quality was bis pure
and exalted patriotism. His country
and liberty he loved above his life; and
no selfish ambition or sordid feelings
sullied his honourable career. While
a prisoner of war, a British officer, the
former Governor of South Carolina,
and once his intimate friend, endeav
oured, by every argument, to persuade
him to enter the English service. lie
did not ask him to turn traitor, like
Arnold, for that he knew him incapa
ble (if doing, but to leave the country
and serve in Jamaica. He was a pris
oner; and probably would remain so
till the close of the war, and hence
could be of no service to America;
while . an English officer abroad, he
could run a career of glory. But his
car was deaf to every offer that would
divide him from the land of his birth,
and from the interests of freedom ; and
he wrote the following noble reply to i
the friend who sought to corrupt him* |
“When 1 entered into this contest, I
did it with the most mature delibera
tion, and with a determined resolution
to risk my life and fortune in the cause.
The hardships 1 have gone through 1
look back upon with the greatest plea- j
sure. 1 shall continue to go oil as 1
have begun, that my example may en-:
courage the youths of America to stand j
forth in defence of their rights and lib
erties. You call upon me now, and j
tell me I have a fair opening for quit- j
ting that service with honour and rep- j
utation to myself, by going to Jamaica, j
Good God ! Is it possible that such j
an idea could arise in the breast of a j
man of honour ? 1 am sorry you should i
imagine 1 have so little regard for my
own reputation, as to listen to such ,
dishonourable proposals. Would you
wish to have that man whom you have !
honoured with your friendship play j
the traitor] Surely not. You say, j
by quitting this country for a short ,
time, 1 might avoid disagreeable con- i
versations, and might return, at my j
own leasuro, and take possession of my j
estates for myself and family. But j
you have forgot to tell me how I am j
to get rid of the feelings of an injured, |
honest heart, and where to hide myself |
from myself:—could l be guilty of so j
much baseness I should hate myself, |
and shun mankind. This would be a j
fatal exchange from my present situa- j
tion, with an easy and approved con- i
science, of having done my duty and j
conducted myself as a man of honour. J
Such were the men who planted the !
tree of liberty in this soil, and watered |
it with their blood.” — Headley.
CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.
It is not to any one striking quality ,
we are to look for a true exponent of;
Washington—it is to the harmonious
whole his character presented. Asa ,
warrior, he may be surpassed, but as
a complete man, he is without a paral- j
lei. Equal to any crisis, successful in
all he undertakes, superior to tempta
tion, faithful in every trial, and w ithout
a spot on his name, the history of the
race cannot match him. All military
men become more or less corrupted
by a life in the camp, and many of our
best officers were demoralized; but
not a stain clung to Washington.—
Committing I.is cause to (rod before
battle, and referring the victory to Di- |
vine goodness, he remained a religious •
man through a life on the tented field.
In moral elevation, no warrior of an- j
cient or modern times approaches him. I
Given to no excess himself, he sternly |
rebuked it in others. The principles !
of religion were deeply engrafted ot: j
his heart, and as there was no stain on ;
liis blade, he could go from the fierce- i
fought field to the sacramental table.
That brow which would have awed a
Roman Senate in its proudest days,
bent in the dust before his Maker. In
the darkest night of adversity he lean
ed on Him who is “mightier than the
mightiest.” As 1 see him moving
through the wretched hovels of Valley
Forge, his heart wrung at the destitu
tion and suti'ering that meet liis eye at
every step, slowly making his way to
the silent forest, and there kneel in
prayer in behalf of his bleeding coun
try—that voice which was never know n
to falter in the wildest of the conflict,
choked with emotion —I seem to behold
one on whom God has laid his conse-
! crated hand, and all doubts and fears
of ultimate success vanish like morning
mist before the uprisen sun. There is
no slavish fear of the Deity—which
formed so large a part of Cromwell’s
religion—mingled in that devotion, but
an unshaken belief in truth, and a firm
reliance on heaven.
A Brutus in justice, he did not allow
personal friendship to sway his deci
sion, or influence him in the bestovv
rnent of favours. Tearing neither the
| carnage of battle nor the hatred of
men, threats moved him no more than
flatteries: and what is stranger still,
the strong aversion to give pain to his
friends never swerved him from the
path of duty. Sincere in all his decia
! rations, his word was never doubted and
j his promise never broken. Intrusted,
finally, with almost supreme power,
he never abused it, and laid it down at
last more cheerfully than when he had
taken it up. Buonaparte vaulting to
supreme command, seized it with avid
ity , and wielded it without restraint.
The Directory obstructing his plans,
he broke it up with the bayonet.—
Cromwell did the same with the Rump
Parliament, and installed himself Pro
tector of England, and even hesitated
long about the title of king. Wash
ington, fettered worse than both, sub
mitted to disgrace and defeat without
using even a disrespectful word to
Congress, and rejected the offered
cftiwn with a stenuwss and indignation
that, forever crushed the hopes of those
who presented it. Calm and strong in
council, untiring in effort, wise in poli
cy, terrible as a storm in battle, un
conquered in defeat, and incorruptible
in virtue, he rises in moral grandeur so
far above the Alexanders, and Caesars,
| and Napoleons of the world, that even
comparison seems injustice.— Headley.
deatytrioga liij tljr ‘itfnijsik.
DECISIVE INTEGRITY.
The man who is so conscious of the
rectitude of his intentions, as to be wil
ling to open his bosom to the inspec
tion of the world, is in possession of
1 one of the strongest pillars of a deci
ded character. The course of such a
1 man will be firm and steady, because
he has nothing to tear from the world,
and is sure of the approbation and sup
port of heaven. While he, who is con
scious of secret and dark designs w hich,
if known, would blast him, is perpetu
| ally shrinking and dodging from public
i observation, and is afraid of all around
i and much more of all above him.
The clear unclouded brow, the open
countenance, the brilliant eye which
can look an honest man steadfastly,
yet courteously in the face, the health
fully beating heart, and the firm clas
tic step, belong to him whose bosom
1 is free from guile, and who knows that
all his motives and purposes are pure
and right.
Why should such a mail falter in his
course ! He may be be slandered ;he
may be deserted by the world; but he
has that within which will keep him
erect, and enable him to move onward
in his course, with bis eyes fixed on
heaven, which he knows will not desert
him.— Wirt.
VALUE OF KNOWLEDGE.
What is it that unfolds the struc
ture of the human frame, showing in
deed, how fearfully and wonderfully it |
; is made, or has invested Surgery with
| the admirable precision and dexterity
which it now exhibits, or that enables
! Medicine to conquer all the maladies j
| to which mankind is subject, those j
plagues and pestilences alone excepted,
1 which seem destined by Providence to
perform the office of special judgments,
and to remain incurable scourges of
the human race?
W hat is it that disarms the light
ning of its power, elevates vallies and
1 depresses nills, cleaves the ocean and
| ascends the sky ! What is it that we
behold in every elegant and useful art,
in the diversified hues that attract the
eye, in the dresses and decorations of j
’ our persons and our houses, in every >
, implement of husbandry or war, in the j
i subterraneous aequeduct, or the heaven |
kissing monument, in the animated !
j canvass, or the speaking marble! — i
j What arc all these but the varied tri
i umphs of the human mind !
Science is, indeed, to the moral,
what the great orb of day is to the
! natural world, and as the extinction of
: the latter would necessarily be foilow
j ed by universal darkness and decay, so,
were art and science lost, society would
inevitably relapse into the savagism
from which it is their proud boast to
have elevated and redeemed it.
[77. L. Pinckney.
HOBBORS OF FAMINE.*
11l battle, in the fulness of his pride
and strength, little recks the soldier
w hether the hissing bullet sing his sud
den requiem, or tiie cords of life are
severed by the sharp steel. But he
who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day
after day, with his grim and unrelent
ing enemy. He lias no friends to cheer
him in the terrible conflict; for it’ he
1 had friends, how could he die of hun
ger? He has not the hot blood of the
soldier to maintain him ; for his foe,
vampire-like, has exhausted his veins.
Famine comes not up like a brave ene
my, storming, by a sudden onset, the
fortress that resist. Famine besieges;
lie draws his lines around the doomed
garrison; he cuts off all supplies; he
never summons to surrender, for he
gives no quarters. Alas ! for poor hu
man nature, how can it sustain this
fearful warfare? Day by day the blood
recedes; the flesh deserts; the muscles
relax, and the sinews grow powerless.
At last the mind, which at first had
bravely nerved itself for the contest,
gives way under the mysterious influ
ences which govern its union with the
body. Then he begins to doubt the
existence of an overruling Providence;
he hates his fellow-men, and glares up
on them with the longings of a canni
bal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming!
[Prentiss.
* Extract from a speech delivered at New
Orleans, Feb. 4th, 1H47, at a meeting held (or
the Relief of the Poor of Ireland.
There is nothing purer than
honesty—nothing sweeter t han charity
—nothing warmer than love—nothing
richer than wisdom —nothing brighter
than virtue—and nothing more stead
fast than faith. These united in one
mind, forms the purest, the sweetest,
the warmest, the richest, the brightest
and the most steadfast happiness.
SOUTHERN UTERARY GAZETTE.
Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE FLIT CORRESPONDENCE.
SECOND SERIES-NO. 18.
Out of Town, Oct, 28.
The melancholy days have come, my
dear Editors, when the many voiced
city discourses pleasanter music than
the harsh chorus of mountain winds.
Not only, too, is it now quite orthodox
to be again in Union Square, or Fifth
Avenue, with your window-blinds hon
estly open, your bell-handle and door
plate polished, and your steps weeded
and swept, but a longer stay in the
country may expose you to the fearful
suspicion of a leaning towards retrench
ment, or even of the unsocial humour
of blighted hopes and broken heart.
While the chill airs of coming winter
are laying low the charms of Nature
and breaking her harp-strings, they are
sending their warm blood again through
the veins of the social world. The ab
sent Gothamite hears now, with a sigh,
of the Syren of Erin ; wishes that the
Wizard of the Nortli would wisk him,
with a wave of his magic wand,
Astor Place; wanders in fancy through
the crowded and daily-decked halls of
the Art Union; grasps the hand of the
painter Leutze, as he congratulates him
upon his triumph in the great picture of
“ Washington Crossing the Delaware;”
listens to the Senatorial eloquence of
“ Webster replying to Hayne,” in the
production of Ilealy ; or greets again
his old friends at the Dusseldorf Gal
lery ; forgets the leaping waters of the
brook and river, in reading of the new
Croton fountains, rising up here and
therein the city parks; wonders how
much stouter and taller Broadway has
grown during the summer; hopes to be
back soon enongh to welcome the pa
triot Kossuth, and remembers kindly
even his ancient friends, at the Pair of
the American Institute —rhe whole ca
talogue, from the steam engines and
omnibusses, down to the patent dou
ble-action washing tubs and the myriad
pieced quilts. Under these circum
stances, my dear gossips, I will but pay
my parting compliments to the wood
lands, and hasten back to Gotham, from
whence I shall hope to write you my
next letter, in the latest Jenny Lind
cravat and the most elastic Hayes
gaiters.
The rugged State of Vermont has
heretofore fallen so little in the great
channel of business travel, that thous
ands who will freely’ praise you the
wonders of all the surrounding region,
are lost here, as in a terra incognita.
From the summits of the White Moun
tains, on the one side, and from the
waters of Lake Champlain on the other,
they have caught vague glimpses of
the land, w ithout over thinking of turn
ing aside to realize the promises of
beauty. These promises are as truth
| ful as they are many and great. From
| one extremity to the other, noble hills
l and pleasant vales alternate. Rugged
j and often stern, as are the features of
this brave old State, they are ever
comely. The country is too mountain
ous for a dense population, affording
but narrow strips of tillable laud, ex
cepting along the shores of Lake Cham
plain and Connecticut river. The val
ley of the Lake, ranging in width from
ten to twenty five miles, is exceedingly
fertile, and contains many farms,justly
the pride of Vermonters and the ad
miration of all tourists. In every part
of this great and rich valley, the farmer
may gaze over his productive fields,
upon ever varying pictures of moun
tain, lake and river.
Vermont is well threaded with post
roads and rail-ways, which open a ready
access to all points of attraction. From
the busy town of Burlington, on the
Lake, a line of rail-way makes South
ward to Rutland, forming a link in a
great chain of roads from Boston and
New York to the Canadian capitals.
This route traverses the valley of Lake
Champlain, and commands, through its
whole stretch, rare glimpses, on the one
hand, of the waters of the Lake and
the distant peaks of the Adirondack
hills, and on the other side, ever stifling
views of the Green Mountains, with
the towering summit of Camel’s Hump.
Another rail-way, the “Vermont Cen
tral,” runs Eastward from Burlington,
and at length connects with the great
line, uniting the Canadas and the At
lantic. The route of this road is the
most picturesque part of the State.—
From Burlington to Montpelier a dis
tance of forty miles, the entire journey
is through the heart of the W inneoski
or Onion river, ever following the
capricious windings of that lovely
stream; now speeding through the cen
tre of a wide st retch of meadow, dotted
with cottage and spire, and anon, lost
I to view, in the doubling of some frown
ing bluff or the passage of a rocky
gorge. The crowning features of the
green hills, seen from this region as
from the various points on the south,
ern road, is still the fantastic summit
of Camel’s Hump. Midway between
Burlington and Montpelier, is the lit
tle hamlet of Jonesville, perhaps the
most interesting locale of the region,
and certainly a very convenient centre
from which to explore the windings of
the Winneoski, throughout its whole
course. For tourists, and especially
for families, seeking the country in the
true spirit, I know of no more attrac
tive house than the elegant and luxuri
ous, and yet quiet and humble inn at
this point; one finds here the rare
union of an intelligent and liberal
management, with convenient cost and
the largest liberty. Seen from Jones
ville, is a noble peak, (in the absence
of the Camel’s Hump, ihe proudest of
the region,) which the good people call
Mount Durand, in con&iiment to
the distinguished Landscapest. In the
search for the beautiful in Nature, one
will be sorely tempted to linger in the
sweet valley of the \\ as at
many other points crossed in the jour
ney thence to New V To pass
either the wild vicinage Bellows’
Falls, the hill-girded village of Brat
tleboro, or the garden landscape of
North Hampton,’without a# few days
halt at each, will require much philoso
phy and self-denial. FLIT.
Original. (Bsaijjjs...
. t .
For the Sout)ierrreiterary Gazette.
LACONICS.
XII.
It is the feminine featurvin tho' con ”
stitution of Genius, that ittarg> Jes by
intuition—as if the mind ci i°£ e d im
pulses totally the body
—ratli^ ** ary reason
ing faSIK ‘ conclu
■rflohs ratVfei u\ a ‘
of the thought and feeling, than by the
slow processes of induction. There is
| certainly a very curious harmony be
tween the thoughts and the sympathies,
in the constitution of Genius ; and this
is perhaps the sufficient reason why its
utterances are usually so full of equal
j energy and beauty—why it speaks with
I such confidence and power—its voice
i being like the flight upward of a great
J bird, conscious of strength, confident of
wing, glorying in the sun-light, and
! with its great, clear eye always sing
ling out the eminence it would reach,
before it darts, for its attainment, into
the wide blue deeps of air.
XIII.
Remorse is but too frequently felt,
not so much for past errors and of
fences, as for tile loss of hose opportu
nities aud powers by which we might
still continue to offend. We lament
rather the decline of the passions than
their misdirection; and weep, not so
much for the sins we have committed,
as for the sins we can commit no longer.
XIV.
The best key to success is the provi
dence of Time. After all, the most
valuable of our human possessions is
Time, since that is always limited in
duration. It follows, that he who is
the best economist of this possession,
has the largest capital for business of
any of his competitors. But Time, of
course, implies health, strength, cour
age, resolution, temperance, without
which, perhaps, there can be no econo
my in any thing.
XV.
Thought can no more realize the idea
of nothingness than of creation. Both
must depend upon revelation, and this,
which tells us of the one, says nothing
of the other. Could we regard Time
as not a part of Eternity, it might be
easy to conceive this fear. But 1 con
fess, for my own part. I think that
nothing dies. lam half of the opinion
of the red man—
“ Who thinks, translated to his native sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.”
XVI.
Magnanimity is, perhaps, more ini-!
portant as a domestic virtue than in any
other relation. If the love, supposed
to be the permeating essence, pervad
ing the domestic circle, lias not learned
promptly to forgive, it has failed to
acquire the very first lesson upon which
depend the securities of household hap
piness.
XVII.
One great charm in the landscape,
which is never spoken of, lies in the
fact that our sight of it embodies a
discovery. We find pleasure, it is true,
from frequently beholding the beauti
ful ; but when the beautiful aud the
new are found together, the enjoyment
becomes two-fold, and the freshness of
the picture always heightens its loveli
ness.
XVIII.
The idea] is necessari y significant
of the individual. It is my, or your,
conception of the highest moral within
our reach. It is peculiar to one or other
of us, until we convey oui conceptions,
convictions and impressions, intoother
minds. As soon as our discovery be
comes genera], it becomes real, and
ceases to be ideal.
XIX.
No man w rites good morals w ho has
not had wicked thoughts. It is only by
a knowledge of the evil, that we can
understand or appreciate the good.—
Vice is the natural antagonist of Vir
tue, through which she achieves her
own superiority. Were there no vice
there would be no virtue; and a mere
eulogy upon virtue in any volume,
would be excessively tedious. You
must show the two in contrast and op
position, if you would illustrate justly
the beauties of the one and the deform
ities of the other. That inane exist
ence, which has no secret consciousness
of evil—which never suffers; from temp
tation—never suffers fron any goad
ings of the secret adversary in our na
ture—is perfectly incapable of conceiv
ing the high nature and the necessities
of virtue. Such persons only escape
sin from their deficient impulses of
every sort. They are persons who stag
nate, rather than forbear—with whom
apathy is the sole security against pas
sion. Their serenity is not in the su
periority of their virtue, but in the
sluggishness of their blood. It is in
the absence of animation, not in the
triumph of conscience, that they find
repose. Stagnation is never purity;
and it is a sad blindness of heart that [
fancies, because of the sterility of its
passions, that its chastity is positive.
XX.
Did we pray usually for that which
we need, rather than that which we
want, the Deity would find it much
more easy to answer our prayers, and
we should prove in better condition to
deserve his gifts. After ,11, it is a God
only that we ieed, since it is through
him onl*,- ” , we may command all
the pj£>ssesS9* 9 of Eternity.
I XXL
‘sfhe same people who appeal toEor
tu frie every da ; , would suppose their re- |
jngion monstrorsly outraged, if you
should insist ano upon a Fate. Yet
fortune, to be ot any use to the sup
plicant, must bo Fice also. It is a very
common infirmity anting men, to con
found these with the Ddty.
XXII.
The extravagance of our demands is
continually mocked by our necessities,
absurd that hq who lacks even
his daily bread, and is at no time sure s
of it for three days together, will yet j
indulge in dreams of quail showered :
from the heavens! —and yet, the very 1
virtue of Hope, is to be found in this ,
very sort of illusion; and poverty is
solaced, feeding upon a dream, in the
absehce of any more solid viands.
XXIII.
The very vagueness of the opening
of Gjenesis is full of significance. “In
the Beginning,” is pregnant with mys
tery and meaning. “In the Beginning.”
“Yes, but when I” “Still in the Be
ginning.” Tlie mind fails to grasp any
thing farther, though conscious of a
wonderful history in reserve. The idea ;
of a beginning is quite as difficult as 1
that of an ending, so far as concerns
the question of creation. The difficulty I
with us lies in the simple fact that all j
our standards of judgment are based j
upon tilings and objects of Time. Now,
Time had a beginning, and will have an
ending; while Eternity is now. always
was, and always will be. Time is only
an episode in the drama, which was
never begun, neverwill end, and is al
ways in progress. Eternity is a circle
gradually w idening for us, and which
we can only penetrate when we escape
from Time—a circle complete from the
beginning, always a beginning—to us
a be-coming, to employ a foreign idiom,
and which we shall probably under
stand only when we come to Be !
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
FRIENDSHIP.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul,
And solder of society, I owe ihee much—
Far more than I can ever pay. [Blair.
Friendship is one of the beautiful
links that brightens, and binds to
gether, the great human family. With
out the ties of Friendship, the sweet
bands that knit together, in families
and connexions, in neighbourhoods and
coteries, in communities and States, in
Republics and Kingdoms, we should
see the world one universal wreck —
every man’s hand, like that of Ishmael,
against that of his brother man.
The law of Kindness, of Love, was
written on man’s heart, when he was
created. It was an universal law. But
Sin has made fearful inroads into its
own happy mansion. Where this hea
venly feeling once dwelt, the dark and
shadowy visage of Anger, Revenge,
Hatred, with all their painful and un
seemly associations, have entered in,
and changed the smile of innocence, the
generous impulse, the open look, the
kindlier influences, and their kindred
impulses, into the deep and dark frown,
the contracted brow, the compressed
lip, the flashing eye, and the bitter
gibe; and with them, too, their kindred
sympathies in external nature. Where
the open lawn smiled, the cataract
and the rock-piled mountain frowns.—
Where the fields and orchards blushed
into fruitfulness and productive useful
ness, the wastes lie in uncultivated
ruin. Where rivers flowed and mea
dows smiled, the scene is changed to
one of desolation and wide-spread de
struction. We make to ourselves our
own external as well as internal world.
“ The mind is its own place, and of itself,
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.’’
If these things be true, and are they
not ? how deeply does it concern us, in
all our relations of life, to carry with
us the spirit of Love, of Sympathy, of
Generosity, that we may gather round
us the regards and the blessings of our
fellow men ; and above all, that we
may secure the favour and loving kind
ness of our Creator.
Swept Friendship! thine the healing power,
To cheer the heart when troubles lower,
To chase the shades of life away,
And cast around a perfect day.
’Tis thine, when flattering fortune smiles.
To guard us from its fateful wiles.
And keep our feet from sorrow’s snare,
When darkly hid, it gathers there.
Then, lovely Friendship! be thy smile
My morning light, my evening wile,
While on this fateful ball I stray,
To make to Life a purer day ! P.
Young ladies who are accus
tomed to read newspapers are always
observed to possess most winning
ways, most amiable dispositions, inva
riably make good wives, and always
select good husbands. A fact.
jqg”Miss Fantadling says, the first
time she locked arms with a young 1
man felt like hope leaning on an an-,
chor. Poetic young woman, that. |
iijjr Mii'ii’ Colnmn,
IDEA OF A PERFECT WOMAN.
I intend to give an idea of a woman.
If it at all answers any original, I shall
be pleased ; for if such a person as 1
would describe really exists, she must
be far superior to my description, and
such as I must love too well to be able
to paint as I ought.
She is handsome, but is a beauty not
arising from features,from complexion,
or from shape; she has all three in a
high degree, but it is not by these she
touches a heart: it is all that sweetness
of temper, benevolence, innocence, and
sensibility, which a face can express,
that forms her beauty.
She has a face that just raises your
attention at first sight; it grows on you
every moment, and you wonder it did
no more than raise your attention at
first.
Her eyes have a mild light, but they
awe you when she pleases; they com
mand, like a good man out ot office,
not by authority, but by virtue.
Her features are not perfectly regu
lar: that sort of exactness is more to
be praised than to be loved; for it is
never animated.
Her stature is not tall. She is not
made to be the admiration of every
body, but the happiness of one.
She has all the firmness tnat does
not exclude delicacy : she has all the
softness time dues not !n-ipljwcidtrti>a.
There is often more of the coquette
shown in an affected plainness than in
a tawdry finery. She is always clean,
without preciseness or affectation. Her
gravity is a gentle thoughtfulness, that
softens*the features without discompos
ing them: she is usually grave.
Her smiles are inexpressible.
Her voice is a low, soft music, not
formed to rule in public assemblies, but
to charm those who can distinguish a
company from a crowd. It has this
advantage —you must come close to
her to hear it.
To describe her body describes her
mind; one is the transcript of the oth
er. Her understanding is not shown
in the variety ot matters it exerts itself
on, but in the goodness of the choice
she makes.
She does not display it so much, in
saying or doing striking things, as in
avoiding such as she ought not to say
or do.
She discovers the right and wrong of
things, not by reasoning, but by saga
city. Most women, and many good
ones, have a closeness and something
selfish in their dispositions: she has a
true generosity of temper: the most
extravagant cannot be more unbound
ed in their liberality; the most covet
ous not more cautious in the distribu
tion.
No person, of so few years, can
know the world better; no person was
ever less corrupted by that knowledge.
Her politeness seems to flow rather
from a natural disposition to oblige
than from any rules on that subject, and
therefore never fails to strike those
who understand good breeding and
those who do not.
She does not run with a girlish ea
gerness into new friendships, which, as
they have no foundation in reason,
serve only to multiply and imbitter
disputes. It is long before she chooses,
but then it is fixed forever; and the
first hours of romantic friendships are
not warmer than hers after the lapse of
years. As she never disgraces her j
good nature, by severe reflections on
any body, so she never degrades her
judgment by immoderate or ill-placed
praises; for every thing violent is con
trary to her gentleness of disposition
and the evenness of her virtue. She j
has a steady and firm mind, which ;
takes no more from the female char
acter than the solidity of marble does
from its polish and lustre. She has
such virtues as make us value the truly
great of our own sex ; she has all the
winning graces, that make us love even
the faults we see in the weak and beau
tiful of hers.— Burke.
FREDF.RIKA BREMER ON MARRIED MEN.
The Benedicts should make the ac
complished Swede their best bow, and
give her a piece of plate in token of
their thanks for the following hearty
testimony in their favour at a class.— j
Moreover they should all join fervent- \
Jy in the wish that her time may come
soon, to enjoy what she appears so
soulfully to appreciate—the value of a ■
good married man. She says—
“l confess, then, that 1 never find, !
and never have found a man more
loveable, more captivating, than when
he is a married man., A man is never
so handsome, never so perfect, in my
eyes, as when he is married—as when
he is a husband, and the father of a
family —supporting in his manly arms
wife and children, and the whole do
mestic circle, which in Ins entrance in
to the married state, closed around
him, and constitute a part of his home
and his world. He is not merely en
nobled by this position, but he is ac
tually beautified by it. Then he ap
pears to me the crown of creation;
and it is only such a man as this who
is dangerous to me, and with whom I
am inclined to fall in love! But then
propriety forbids it. And Moses and
all European legislators, declare it to
be sinful, and all married women would
consider it a sacred duty to stone
me! Nevertheless, I cannot prevent
the thing. It is so and cannot be oth
erwise, and my only hope of appeasing
those who are excited against me, is
in my farther confession, that no love
affects me so pleasantly ; the contem
plation of no happiness makes me so
happy, as tiiat between married people.
It seems to me that 1, living unmairied
or mateless, have with that happiness
little to do—but it is so, and it always
was so.”
I SEE A LIGHT i’m ALMOST HOME.
The following is related of a young
girl, whose journey of life was near its
end.
About her chamber glided gently the
loved forms of her parents, and an only
sister. She silently noted their move
ments with a mild expression of her
dying eye, turning it from side to side.
Arrested by her peculiar look, so ex
pressive of affliction and patient suf
fering, they paused to look upon her
whom they only saw now but dimly
through their tears, and so soon should
see no more.
A feeble effort to speak, a quivering,
voiceless movement of the lips, drew
closely around her the loving hearts of
that sorrowing circle.
Mother, father, sister, all came close
to her side. A playful smile lit up her
countenance. She “laid her little pulse
less hand within her mother's palm,
then closed her eyelids to the light of
earth, and sank away. The cold, damp
air of death’s shadowy valley seemed
circling over her. Slowly sinking down,
she glided towards that river’s shore
which, like a narrow stream, divides
the spirit-land, from ours. But see!
the quivering lips essay to speak !
“Mother!” O! how each heart throbed
now, and then each pulse stood still.
They listen. “Mother!” the dying girt
breathes forth—“l—see—a light—l’m
almost home!”
(T’lji’ ?nrrrii Slltnr.
Front the Louisville Journal.
CHARITY.
BY JAMES K. BAKRIOK.
Tell me, ye who dwell in splendor—
Ye whom fortune's smiles adorn.
Hast thou not, ’mid all thy treasure,
Means lo wake some joy unborn !
Heaves there not for ihee the sorrows
Os some stricken heart to heal!
Breaks there not on thy sweet slumbers
Some lorn sufferer’s appeal 1
Tell rne.tbo’ all pale and withered,
Now their flowers of feeling lie;
Tho’ the autumn storm be gathered
On their summer’s fairer sky ;
Tell me, tho’ their youth be faded
In the winter of old age;
And their brows with sorrow shaded,
Ye may still their cares assuage.
Toils there not, in tho wide desert
Os life’ sad unvarying sesne,
Some p-‘or, weak, and fainting spirit,
Where no joy may intervene I
Oft in the dim vale of sorrow
Thou may’st find some heart to bless;
Thou may’st gild its bright to-morrow,
And relieve it of distress.
Lone and weary toil the lonely
Up misfortune’s rugged steep,
And their hearts, tho’ beating slowly,
Watchword still with progress keep;
And when in the gloomy shadow
Dark misfoitune o’er them throws,
Then some kindly hand to rescue
May relieve them of their woes.
Oft when darkness dim is stealing
Like a death pall o’er their hearts,
Then have felt some strange revealing,
When their lighter hope departs;
And their lives, tho’ e’er retiring,
Virtue yields a constant home;
And their thoughts, tho’ unaspiring,
In a higher sphere would roam.
Then to ye on whom kind fortune
Hath bestowed her glittering stores;
It is thine to raise their burden
And relieve them of their woe3.
Thine,a holy mission, given
To exalt their being here ;
Thine, to point their path to heaven,
And their drooping hearts to cheer.
God has filled thy store-house freely
With the treasured things ot earth,
And by all the hopes that cheer thee,
Fill a i lace of lasting worth;
Then while life is lightly beaming,
And the light of earth is thine,
While the heaven above is glowing,
May thy hearts to love incline.
Lesson forSuwlay. Nov. 2.
SETTING THE LOUD ALWAYS BE
FORE US.
*’ 1 have set the Lord always before me: because he is at
my right hand, I shall not be moved.”—Psalm xvi. 8.
These words have a threefold refer
ence. and may be viewed as applying
literally to David, typically to Christ,
and spiritually to the believer. \\ e
shall consider them in the latter sense.
Note
The course adopted. Setting the
Lord before us implies
Recognition. As if he had said. 1
will cherish an abiding sense of the
! divine presence. It is well when the
j mind is duly affected with this; we
cannot indulge in levity ; the tone of
our feelings will he raised, and we
shall be constrained to seriousness.
Admiration. The sinner sets God
| behind him, and the world before him;
j but it is just the reverse with the be
j liever; God is the supreme object of
| his regard, and every thing else is of
secondary consideration.
Imitation. We are to set the Lord
before us, as the scholar does the copy
for his direction. Though there is much
in the Divine character that is inimita
ble, yet there are many things in his
natural perfections in which we may
be followers of him.
Duration. This is to be done “al
ways.” In retirement, by spiritual
meditation ; in the social circle, by re
j iigious conversation; in relative duties,
| devotional engagements, commercial
l transactions, and in all that concerns
us. We are to set his will before us
as the rule of our faith and practice, his
I perfections for our imitation, his promi
-1 ses for our encouragement, his suffi
! ciency for our support, and his glory
for our end.
The confidence expressed. This
may be noticed in
Its nature. “I shall not be moved.”
His faith should not be destroyed,
| though it might be shaken. He should
I remain firm amidst the storms and
tempests that gather around him. In
the same sense Paul said, “None of
these things move me.”
Its ground. “Because he is at my :
right hand;” near to strengthens and
support me, to enliven my hopes and
dispel my fears.
Labour and Prayer.—Adam had
tilled the ground, and made unto him
self a garden full of trees and plants.
The ears of his ripe corn-field wavered
in the light of the setting sun, and his
trees were covered with blossoms and
with fruit, the father of mankind,
with Eve his wife, and iheir children,
reclined upon a hill, and contemplated
the beauties ot the field and the glory
of the sunset. The cherub who guard
ed Eden now stood among them, with
out his flaming sword, and his counte
nance was mild and friendly. And he
unto them, and said—“ Behold,
the fruits of the earth no longer spring
forth of themselves as in time past,
hut ye must labour in the sweat of
your brow, in order to gain your daily
bread. But after toil ye enjoy the re
ward of your industry, and the full
ripe ears present a pleasant sight. The
merciful Jehovah has provided you
with the means of creating an Eden for
j yourselves.” “Os a truth,” said Adam,
“his goodness is very great, even when
he chasteneth. But Jehovah was form
erly nearer to us, and blessed us, and
caused his face to shine upon us—what
have we to compensate for this?”—
“Prayer!” answered the cherub. “By
labour he bestows upou you earthly
gilts, by prayer heavenly blessings.”
Then Adam, with Eve his wife, and
their children, lifted up their faces, and
thanked God and prayed, and his eye
glistened, and his countenance shone,
and he said—“ The Lord is gracious,
and his mercy endureth forever!”
f From the German.
Or IJatafrial tOiil
the electric telegraph.
The Electric Telegraph stand- H
among the trophies of scientific dim. I
erv with a glory and distinctness tt,H
equal, if they do not excel, the rcu fl
of any event in past annals. Its fa A
will extend with the progress ojt T,i A
A century hence, telegraphic * -mnA
nication may, and in all profcabiFijM
will, be established in every quarter ■
the globe, and the girdle whieh*aA
“gentle Puck” proposed to put uloA
the earth in forty minutes, may tuA
out lo be no ideal cestus, but a tauA
ble circlet of copper wire—a highnaj
for the flight of Thought! Then til
occurrence ot a startling event !
literally electrify the world , for tl
lightnings will tell the tale, from J
to sea, from island to island, front c- -
tiuent to continent ! How subl.,
tho thought that within a humid
years, the whole human race will j
linked together, by the agency ot tiij
Electric Telegraph. What tremendJ
barriers will it not overleap—whatvd
distances will it not annihilate ! Ti
vibrations of the pen of this wondei
ful instrument will eventually quit-,
the pulsation of the heart of the woi.:
“Then ‘Thought’s highway’ from sea tojJ
And o’er their trackless wastes shall rem ■
Till all the human race shall lie
One in a universal speech !”
HONOURABLE EMPLOYMENT.
Let the young men remember, tin A
is nothing derogatory in any emp I
meat which ministers to the well-bil
of our race. It is the spirit that isul
ried into an employment that elevn-1
or degrades it. The ploughman il l
turns the clod may be a Cincinnatu- 1
a Washington, or he may be a brotlul
to the clod he turns. It is very crediH
table to handle the vard-stick and tl
measure tape; the only discredit ivl
sists in having a soul whose range I
thought is as narrow as the tape.-B
There is no glory in the act of atfixinig
a signature by which the treasures I
commerce are transferred, or treat: l
between nations are ratified; the giorj
consists in the rectitude of purpoJ
that approves the one and thegrandesl
of the philanthropy that sanctifies tha
other. The time is soon coming, whd
by the common consent of mankind]
it will be esteemed more ItonourablJ
to have been John Pounds, putting iieJ
and beautiful souls into the ragged ehil
dren of tho neighbourhood while In
mended their father’s shoes, than tu
have sat on the British Throne. Tha
time now is when if Queen Victoria,
in one of her magnificent “Progresses’
through her realms, were to meet tha
more than American Queen, Miss i)ix
ill her “circumnavigation’ of charity
among the insane, the former would
kneel and kiss-the hand of the latter
and the ruler over a hundred million!
of people should pay homage to thf
angel whom God has sent to the ma
niac.
MONTGOMERY MANUFACTURING COMPANY,
Most of our readers, doubtless, ai
not aware that there is an establish
ment of Iron Works, in our city, whitt
gives employment to nearly one hull
dred and fifty hands. But such is tl. I
fact. The establishment of the Moii:J
gomery M inufacturing Company, u: J
der the control and management i j
Messrs. Gindrat & Cos., is now notonl l
one of the largest of the kind, in tl 1
South, but is turning out machinery]
the style, beauty of finish, and strengl j
of which, are second to none.
In taking a stroll through their ex-1
tensive shops a few days since, we wen
shown by Mr. J. S. Winter, (one <1
the proprietors of the establishmenu
an engine, the general appearance >
which we will not attempt to descril
—hut merely affirm that it was—al
though yet unfinished, the handsome-:
piece of machinery we ever saw. We
knew not before that iron could he
brought to so fine a polish. It will well
pay any one for the trouble to go an:
examine it.
This establishment commenced the
construction of steam engines abou:
eighteen months since, and have turne-1
out over eighty since that time. Sue!
establishments us this amon us ci”
...
away with the necessity of sending t
Northern markets for machinery.
[Montgomery [Ala.) Atlas.
A friend in Hanover has sent us
a specimen of a shingle, the production
of female labour. It is of the he-:
quality, regularly drawn, and
straight as a shingle.” It appears tl*i
the Virginia women in that region
having found that the men are no
quick enough in establishing home in
dustry, have determined to set then
an example, and two of them in llun
over —young, of handsome figure, and
full of spirit—having been reduced by
necessity to self-dependence, have taken
hold ot the saw, axe, and drawing-knilu
and get, upon an average, 6,oooshingles
a week. We are desired to say, that
if there be any bachelors in this city
who desire their houses covered, (“ba
chelor editors not excepted,”) they can
be furnished with any quantity by for
warding their orders to the Misses
Christian, near the Slash Cottage, Han
over. J ust think of being shingled by
the ladies, and that too of the land of
Clay, Henry, and other worthies.
[Richmond Republican.
SUPERIOR NORTH CAROLINA BLACKIKO.
W e were on Tueseay last presented
by the Manufacturer w ith a box of the
best shoe blacking that has fallen un
der our observation. The article is m>
humbug and is prepared in Fayetteville
by one of our own citizens, which of
itselt should recommend it to the pub
lic favour. \\ e have heard of some
things taking the shine oil - of other
things, but this blacking of A. J.
W oodard’s, puts the shine on shoes
and no mistake. We heartily com
mend it and its gentlemanly inventor
and vender, to the favourable notice of
North Carolinians.— Goldsboro’ Pat.
RAIL ROAD DUST.
To prevent the continuance of this
great annoyance in our country, the
Northern papers counsel that the track
be covered with gravel or oyster shell,
at a cost of s.~>oo to SI,OOO per mile.
The New York Company have tried
the plan for several miles and found it
successful. Another plan is to exclude
the dust from the cars which is said to
be fully achieved by simple invention.
The air is forced into an opening at
the top of the car through boxes into
which a strong ourrent is driven by