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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.