Newspaper Page Text
WtSCfiltSiAHt-
THE” BAG OF GOLD.
BY ALFRED CROW^UILL.
Brightly shone the moon over the lair city ol
Venice, and wherever her silvery rays kissed the
dark waters of the many canals which intersect
that mart of merchants, as the gay gondalas pass
ed and repassed, rippling the smooth surface with
their plows and lin-like oars, they appeared like
the shining scales of huge undulating
and sporting among her marble palaces.
In one of the remotest corners ol the place
dwelt the usurer Guiseppe Valdoni. Rumor re
ported him as rich as Croesus ; but he had one
gem in his possession which he valued above his
gold, his only daughter, Bianca, a jewel without
a flaw ! Serenades were nightly performed un
der the balcony of his residence, and all the gal
lants of Venice endeavored to win the attention
of the wealthy heiress ol \ aldoni.
Os all the suitors who sought the lovely Bianca,
none found favor in her eyes but Ludovico, the
gay, bold, reckless Ludovico. In person he was
eminently handsome, and in her estimation, who
had only the opportunity of judging ol a lover
bv sight, he was as far above all his competitors.
She loved him ! av, and with a fervor which is
only known in Southern climes.
Truth to sav, Ludovico was an inconstant man,
mJ ‘ # ,
a gambler and a bankrupt in every virtue.
It was midnight, and Bianca, with palpitating
heart, was watching in the balcony. Ludovico
came alone in a gondola. She threw to him a bag
of gold, and was about to descend, and to place
herself under the protection ol her suitor.
“Dearest, best-beloved Bianca,” said the de
ceiver, “ to-morrow at this hour 1 will be near and
bear you away, if I survive the disappointment
of to-night. Everything will then be ready for
my bride. Farewell! And he rowed briskly
away from the startled damsel, who for his sake
had betrayed the confidence of her father by ab
stracting the bag ol gold.
Cold and heartless as was Ludovico, he felt a
pang as he lost sight ol the confiding and affec
tionate Bianca. “But,” thought he, with plau
sible sophistry, “has she not robbed her own
father ? And shall I keep faith with one who
has proved faithless to him who gave her being?
Worthless wanton !”
The gallant having reached his destination,
hastily moored his gondola, and eagerly clutching
the bag of gold, concealed it beneath his cloak,
and hurried homewards. Passing beneath a dark
colonade, reposing in the still shadow of the moon
and calculating in his own mind the worth of the
ducats of which he had so unworthily possessed
himself, he was startled by approaching footsteps,
and, turning round, observed three men close
upon his track. They w r ere evidently bent upon
overtaking him, and, almost before he had pres
ence of mind to draw his rapier, they fell upon
him, and, encumbered with his cloak and the
weight of his treasure, he unable to repel
their sanguinary attack, and he dropped lifeless
at the feet of the brigands, pierced with many
wounds. The bag of gold clinked upon the pave
ment; they seized the weighty prize, and rush
ing from the spot, turned into the Piazza di San
Marco, thence crossing the Rialto, they encoun
tered the night-watch, who surrounded and cap
tured them.
They were searched, speedily deprived of their
newly-acquired treasure, and conducted forthwith
to the guard-house, where being recognized bv
the authorities as different characters, and being
examined separately, giving a different account
of their objects and pursuits, they were locked up,
in order to be examined the following morning
b y the magistrate.
They would willingly have relinquished their
plunder to bribe their captors; but the latter were
too numerous to act dishonestly without the fear
of detection, although, under other circumstances,
and for such a consideration, they might willingly
have refrained from pressing the charge.
The magistrate before whom the culprits were
ushered on the following morning was a stern
man, and possessed great influence in the state .of
Venice.
“Fortunately for ye,” said he, addressing the
prisoners, “there is no poof that you have obtained
this bag with violence; but we may reasonably
infer that such plunder was not filched from the
lawful possessor while he retained life. Justice,
ever associated with divine mercy, and of which
we are the unworthy dispenser, charitably gives
you the benefit of our ignorance and the w ant of
evidence. Your lives are spared,—and may you
repent of your evil deeds. We attach the pro
perty in behalf of its rightful owner; and in the
mean time consign you to imprisonment, in order
that, should any evidence hereafter arise in your
favor, you may have the benefit of it. Away with
them!”
The prisoners were removed, and the night
watch who had captured them were liberally re
warded. The bag ol gold remained with the
magistrate, who was too much occupied with of
ficial businesss to set on loot any inquiries re
specting the lawful possessor. He placed the
treasure in his strong chest. When the investi
gation took place, his two nephew s were present,
and contemplated the bag, which appeared to
have some talismanic influence on all who gazed
upon it, with an irresistable desire ol appropria
tion. They laughed at the idea of its being lock
ed up, and confined to the same fate as the pris
oners. In their liberal philosophy they deter
mined that distribution w r as far w iser than accu
mulation ; and with a virtue that is so uncommon
in the world they had long practiced what the}
preached. In the exercise of this moral princi
ple they had both become deeply indebted, and,
with that fervent generosity known only to the
heart of youth, they longed to liquidate then lia
bilities. “ There was no owner to the bag of gold;
therefore tliev argued that it could not be better
disbursed than in the payment of heir debts ot
honor. H aving come to this conclusion, the two
honest youths resolve to cut up this stray golden
goose, and feast themselves and their cieditors
therewith.
When sleep had sealed the eyelids of all within
the magistrate’s dwelling, Giovanni and Guiseppe
stealthily quitted their chambers, and proceeded
to the strong room, where the bag w as deposited.
The sympathy of their pursuit had compelled
them, although individually reluctant, to come to
a mutual understanding. Now Guiseppe, who
was married, contended with his cousin that he
was entitled to two-thirds of the treasure ; his lia
bilities, too, were larger than Giovanni s, and, in
his opinion, justified this division, lhey both at
last came to the determination of decamping,
should they obtain possession, and thus escape
both the ire ol their uncle and the importunities
of their creditors. Guiseppe’s wife was on a visit
to her father, and his only soil, a beautiful boy of
four years old, was left in bis care; he tuerefore
took the precaution of consigning him to the care
of a trusty gondolier, who was to row to a certain
point, where he proposed to join him.
But to return to the magistrate’s strong room,
which overlooked the canal. r l hey succeeded,
with some difficulty, in forcing open the chest con
taining the treasure, and Giovanni grasped the
coveted prize.
“’Tis mine!” cried he, exultingly.
“’Tis ours” said Guiseppe, holding out his ea
ger hand.
“Stay,” replied Giovanni, “I have had half the
danger- —surely I am entitled to half the plunder.
Nothing less wall satisfy me.”
“How! —why, did you not promise to be con
tent with one-third?” said Guiseppe.
“I had not then possession,” replied Giovanni.
Guiseppe burned with rage, and darting for
ward, snatched the bad of gold from his cousin’s
grasp, and rushing towards the balcony, exclaim
ed, “Do you persist in your demand ? Will noth
ing less satisfy you?”
Corpo di Bacco! nothing !” answered the other
savagely.
“Then thus ends the dispute,” said Guiseppe;
and opening the casement, he wfildly cast the
gold into the canal.
A piercing shriek followed, not from the dis
appointed Giovanni, but from the waters below.
Guiseppe had cast the bag of gold upon the in
nocent head of his child, and killed it.
Giovanni fled, conscious of his participation in
the robbery, and too soon the distracted farther
learned the fate of his boy, and became raving
mad.
Giovanni, the fugitive, reported to have
plundered his uncle. The gondolier, meanwhile
had cunningly concealed the bag of gold, and
produced a log of w r ood, which he asserted had
been cast from the window, and w r as the cause of
the death of Cuiseppe’s son ; and, safe in the in
sunity of the wretched father, he carried home
the treasure.
A slip of parchment was tied round the neck of
the fatal bag indicating that it contained one thou
sand golden ducats. But, through fear, or some
mysterious influence, the gondolier could not be
induced to break the seal that fastened it; learful
even of keeping it in his humble dwelling, he
carefully enclosed it in a box, and hurried it in
his little garden.
Now, the gondolier had an only daughter, Ve
ronica, who was very beautiful, and she had ma
ny suitors among her own class. The handsome,
gay, and dissipated Beppo, however, her
chosen favorite. He rowed so well, and sang so
sweetly, that the maid was charmed, notwith
standing his suspected gallantries.
An old tradesman of Venice happened to meet
Veronica one evening, as her father w r as taking
her home in the gondola, and became enamoured
of her chams. He sought her father, and offered
her his “protection.” The gondolier confessed
himself highly flattered by his notice, but declin
ed the honor.
“Take her to wife,” said the bluff gondolier,
“and she is yours. I can give her a dow T ry. —
Say the word, and the girl and a thousand gold
en ducats are yours.”
“What!” exclaimed the tradesman, whose ava
rice equalled his new passion, “you are joking.”
“By the Virgin-!” replied the father, “I speak
the truth.”
The affair was soon settled between the gon
dolier and the tradesman; but there was one
person who w T as by no means pleased by the bar
gain, Beppo, who vow r ed vengeance against the
bridegroom, although he w r as quite ignorant of
the means which had brought about the marriage.
Veronica was married, and the old man con
veyed the maid, and the bag of gold to his house.
On the following morniug he w-as found murdered,
stabbed in fifty places by a poniard. As he was
but a tradesman, the authorities took little or no
trouble in seeking ont the assassin. These affairs
were so commoiijin ffie city of merchants.
The widow took possession of the old mans
property, and concealed the bag of gold, which
had been the fatal cause of this unpropitious al
liance.
A few months afterwards the tearless widow
married the murderer of her husband. Guilt,
however, rarely ever goes unpunished ; and ere
a few short months elapsed, \ eronica discovered
that the she once idolized, and for
whom she had sacrificed so much, was in every
way unworthy of her love. He lavishly ex
pended the estate of her late husband in ln un
lawful pleasures, while she, deserted by him,
pined in sorrow and in solitude. I loud, over
bearing, and revengeful, Veronica’s passion of
love was soon transformed to hatred the most in
tense.
The bag of gold which she had carefully con
cealed remained untouched. Depositing it in a
place of safety, she instantly sought the presence
of the judge, and denounced her renegade and un
worthy husband as a murderer!
Beppo was seized, and the evidence she pro
duced was so conclusive that the worthless hus
band was condemned to the rack.
Veronica retired to a nunery, hoping to obtain
pardon for her sins, and presented the bag as an
offering to the convent!
The bursar or treasurer of the convent was a
certain Brother Anselmo; a thin, billious man,
severe and taciturn, who verily looked like a
skeleton clothed in parchment. He was regarded
as almost a saint by lhe good sisters, so punctili
ous was he in the performance of the religious
duties. It is true that he had been a great repro
bate in his^youth; and it is equally true that he
had become a great hypocrite. The bag of gold
was confided to his custody ; and so fearful was
he of its corrupting influence, that he resolved to
convey it far from the pure atmosphere of the
convent for fear of contamination. This was as
suredly carrying his scruple to the extreme. —
He first, probably, entertained the insane idea of
casting the “ root of all evil” beneath the blue
waves of the Adriatic; but upon mature delibera
tion he contended that it would be better to lav
it by for charitable purposes. Sinner as he was,
he might one day be in want of it; he therefore
resolved to deposit it forthwith in the hands of a
trusty friend-in-need, who had supplied his ne
cessities in the davs of his lamented extrava
gance.
Fortunately for Brother Anselom, he carried
the bag of gold to the lawful owner, who instantly
recognised and reclaimed the stolen ducats. He
possessed irrefragable proofs that the parchment
label was in his own hand-writing, and embraced
the bag of gold with the fondness of a parent
who had recovered his lost child. Brother An
selmo vainly remonstrated, and the interview con
cluded by the miserly money-dealer unceremoni
ously kicking him out, retaining possession of the
fatal treasure.
Fain would the astonished bursar have resent
ed this unseemly rebuff; but a consciousness of
his own villany made him gulp the indignity
which was put upon him ; but he vowed ven
geance. Before he could put into execution his
secret purposes his defalcation was discovered ;
he was summoned to pass the remainder of his
wretched existence in a dungeon.
The bag of gold thus returned unbroken to
the hands of its rightful owner, having been in
its travels the cause of so much crime and miserv
J
to its intermediate possessors.
Wealth, obtained by long life of toil and honesty
does not always produce happiness; ill-gotten
gold—never!
BEAUTIFUL ALLEGORY.
Night kissed the young rose and it bent to sleep.
And stars shone, and pure drops hung upon its
blushing bosom, and watched its pure slumbers.
Morning came with her dancing breezes, and they
whispered to the young rose, and it awoke joyous
and smiling. Lightly it danced to and fro, in all
the loveliness of health and youthful innocence.
Then came the ardent sun-god sweeping from
the east and he smote the young rose with his
golden shaft, and it fainted. Deserted and al
most heart-broken, it drooped to the dust in its
loveliness and despair.
Now the gentle breeze, who had been gamboling
over the sea, pushed on the light bark, sweeping
over hill and dale—by the neat cottage and still
brook —fanning the fevered brow of disease, and
tossing the curls of innocent childhood —came
tripping along on the errands of mercy and love ;
and when she hastened to kiss it, and fondly
bathed its forehead in cool refreshing showers,
the young rose revived, looked up and smiled, and
flung its ruddy arms as if in gratitude to embrace
the kind breeze ; but she hurried quickly away
when her generous task was performed —yet not
without reward, for she soon perceived that a de
licious fragrance had been poured on her wings
by the grateful rose, and the kind breeze was glad
in her heart, and went away singing through the
trees.
Thus charity, like the breeze which gathers a
fragrance from the humble flowers it refreshes un
consciously reaps a reward in the performance of
its offices of kindness and love, which steals
through the heart like a rich perfume to bless and
to cheer.
A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
SAVANNAH, THURSDAY, MARCH 25, 1849.
* Advertisements to a limited extent, vail be inserted
at the rate of 50 cents for a square of nine lines or less, for
the first insertion, and 30 cents for each subsequent insertion.
Business cards inserted for a year at a lower rate.
PR EMIUMS.
The following premiums will be awarded on the first of May
to the successful competitors.
To the Masonic Lodge having the greatest number of sub
scribers to our paper at that time, ten copies will be given
gratuitously for one year.
To the Odd Fellows Lodge the same.
To the Division of the Sons of Temperance, the same.
CHIT CHAT.
We have to return unfeigned thanks to our friends, and the
public generally, for their liberality in subscribing to our paper,
for we can say with truth and pride that our list in this city
will outnumber any other publication, notwithstanding we
have only reached our third number, and did not solicit sub
scribers until after we had issued the first.
For the many favorable and even flattering notices, we have
received from our exchanges, we will say in the language of
Paul Pry, “ well, very well! We thank you, we owo
you one” gentlemen, and shall return the kindness when an
opportunity is afforded us.
But here comes a subscriber, and something is the matter
certain, for all his elforts to assume an indifferent and
careless expression of countenance, are vain.
Sub. “Good morning, Mr. Editor.*’
Ed. “Good morning sir, take a seat and tell us if you hear
anything new.”
Sub. “ Well the fact is, I came to enquire about the news
myself. I suppose your carriers have not get perfectly ac
quainted with their routes as yet, and have missed me; so I
thought I’d drop in and let you know.”
Ed. “ I am glad to see you my dear fellow, and hope you
will drop in often. The fact is, in regard to our paper, we
were a little delayed in the publication by an unforseen occur
rence, such as all printers are liable to, and did not get to press
until Thursday evening. As to our carriers, we have none at
present, but here is your paper, which among others, we had
just bundled up for the purpose of delivering in person. We
shall try not to be later than Thursday evening hereafter, in
the delivery of our paper.”
Sub. “ How do you get along in procuring subscribers T
Do you find many to subscribe ?”
Ed. “ Oh, yes ;we cannot complain; indeed, we have
done better than many anticipated, as we have obtained nearly
Jour hundred without going out of Savannah.
Sub, “The deuce you have! Well, success to you—l
hope you will get a thousand in the State before you stop. So
good morning to you.”
Ed. “ Good morning sir, I am much obliged for your kind
wishes, and j our hopes shall be realized if trying to get them
will produce the desired result.”
So we go. It is pleasant to receive such calls, but our read
ers must not think we meet with such generos ty from all, not
withstanding. Wait until you hear from the croakers end
fault-finders. They will be along pretty soon.
SCRIPTURAL PAINTINGS AT ARMORY HALL.
As “A Friend to the Family” we consider it fitting that we
should notice whatever transpires, possessing interest, or that
may prove beneficial to our circle. In thus acting, we shall
always endeavor to be truthful, and with all candor express
our views upon the subject matter—although we at times, as
now, find the task unpleasant.
We are lovers of the beautij'ul, and would do all we can
seduously to cultivate this taste in ourselves, and in “the fam
ily,” believing as we do, that it is the expression of good. In
this connection the Fine Arts are of inappreciable value, for
theirs is peculiarly the province of the beautiful—the good
made visible.
It is a gratifying reflection that the noblest achievements of
art have ever been consecrated to the service of religion, and
powerful are the influences they induce, when the lofty con
ceptions it inspires find Jitting realization, and the bright im
maginings of the artist stand confessed in the sublimity of tlio
temple—the sculpture, or the painting. But whilst we hail
with delight eveiy opportunity of benefitting from the study
of works of merit, especially when the Arts have proved the
handmaids of Religion ; we must be on our guard that we be
not deceived, and receive as worthy such productions as are
not entitled to this consideration.
In the present instance, our duty coerces us to designate
the paintings at the head of this article as among the latter
ones, for they certainly are possessed of but little claim upon
the patronage of the community, if that claim be founded
upon their intrinsic excellence. We are loath to do violent 1 *
to the sensibilities of any one, but since the painter of these
pictures, instead of learning “to labor and to wait” until ex
perience had ripened whatever artistic powers he may pos
sess, has seen fit to draw public attention, and claim public
support for these crude productions ; we are bound to prevent
the community from suffering in throwing away money and
time, in the supposition that by encouraging these immature
works, they are supporting paintings of acknowledged superi
ority—they do not deserve it.
ST.'PATRICK S DAY.
How pleasant is the reflection, that in this land of Freedom
—made up as it is of all nations of the earth—no nation is
prescribed, no ban is set upon one class for the elevation of an
other, happiness is free to all, and on the natal days of their
own land each nation is free to enjoy themselves as of yore.
Saturday last was celebrated by the sons and descendants of
Ireland with every manifestation of gladness. The Union and
Hibernian Societies, escorted severally by the Irish Jasper
Greens, had their orations and dinners. The address of the
Rev. J. F. O’Neill we had not the pleasure of hearing, bn l
that of Mr. Millen was both chaste and beautiful, displaying
care and study in its preparation, and delivered in a grace? 1
manner.
