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amounting to the sum of two hundred and eighty
thousand dollars. To which, undisputed titles
will be given.
Your repentant,
1 JULIA ARDEN.
New York, April, IS~
CHAPTER VII.
It was Chrisrnas eve, and in a sumptuously fur
nished chamber, which appeared as if it lately
had been festively occupied, from the many chairs
and refreshments still visible, might be seen yet
unseparated, six persons variously grouped. —
Two young couples, whose happy looks seemed
too deep for the mere merriment of the season
were sitting on the ottomans at each side of the
fire-place, against which, with one elbow leaning
on the mantle, stood a middle aged gentleman, on
whose arm hung a matronly yet youthful lady,
who at the moment we regard them was remark
ing, whilst she ran her fingers playfully through
the clustering curls of the young gentleman
nearest her. “Poor Ira, I wish she had lived.
Dy ing so soon after her mother, and just as she
had recovered herreason —but a truce to sorrow
ing reflections. I sav, Albert! you little thought
as this night a year ago you pursued the pooi
seamstress that it was a love chase.”
“And one that took me a whole year before 1
caught my game,” responded he, drawing the
lady by his side closer by the arm he had passed
around her waist, and tenderly imprinting a kiss
upon her blushing cheek.
“Nor you mv young couple there, that seem to
think tHere’s nobody worth a thought but your
selves,” said the gentleman who was Standing,
“ihatyou were going on your first courting expedi
tion, when you so humanely braved the inclement
weather to pay a midnight visit to a suffering
woman. But my dear Miss Linton (l beg pardon,
you’ve Deen married such a few hours that I have
not yet got mv tongue fashioned to say Mrs. Ham
ilton) we must not,” and he glanced at the mag
nificent time-piece on the mantle, which pointed
out the hour to be half past eleven, “keep you
a watcher, nor the Doctor either again to night;
but before you retire 1 beg your acceptance of
this paper, as my wedding present; nay —l will
not he denied, itsvour husband’s fee ! And you,
whom 1 am now proud to call my son! who
so generously offered your hand to the, as you
supposed, poor sewing girl, receive this from
your bride as her dowry. Here Caroline,” con
tinued he, handing her a similar enclosure, “ take
this; but promise me girls before you retire that
you will not give them to your husbands until to
morrow at sunrise. They will be your Christmas
presents.”
“ We have already in their hands received our
most valued ones to-night,” responded the happy
grooms.
()n the morrow when the envelopes were opened,
each fair lady found simply written on the inside
“ Love one another,” but on picking up the slips
that fell out they were found to be checks, signed
by Charles Arden, and payable to the bearers
each, for fifty thousand dollars.
mIS9Eft & A H Y ,
A KISS.
There is n charming naivette and ingeniousness about the
following, which must coimueud itself to every lover of inno
cent simplicity:
There’s something in a k ; ss—though I cannot reveal it;
It never comes amiss—not even when you steal it.
You cannot taste a kiss, and sure you cannot view it—
But still there is a bliss communicated through it.
I am well convinced there is a certain something in it;
Though but a simple kiss—we w s?ly strive to win it.
There’s pleasure in a kiss—if nothing else would prove it,
It may be proved alone, by tint—ll honest people love it.
My mamma scoldths, 1 give so many kithes;
But thshe had better hold her noitliy clack;
Tlishe don’t contliider that we brisk young mitheths,
Wkeu’er we pleathe, can get our kithes back.
BETSEY BLAKE AND THE OPERA.
There is a vast deal of cleverness in the fol
lowing letter of Betsey Blake which, we find in
the last Home Journal. We are glad to find
room for the greater part of the Letter, the pur
purpose of which we applaud:
Boston March S, 1 S4f*.
Gentlemen —I was very sorry for the people who
had their seats marked “taken” at the opera last
night, and were not there. I know that the prima
donna never felt better natured, because she sung
as if she meant to please every body, and forgot
that she was going to have anything for it. And
that young lady they call Patti. Oh! Ido think
that some of her notes are as much like our cana
ry’s as if they’d taken lessons together under the
same skv. I only wished I had my plants here
when I saw them throwing bouquets to her, be
cause l thought she deserved even the very best.
1 couldn’t help clapping m v own white kid gloves
when she sung the beautiful duet with her poor
Robert, and was sorry that it always came just
before the curtain dropped, because they couldn't
sing it again.
It really appears to me as if religious people
had the most unreligious ideas that I ever knew !
Somebody here that really means to be very pious,
asked the other day how I could go to the opera
every night, and next dav bring mv mind back to
God. As it we had to go away from God everv
time we amused ourselves, and only was bv Him
when we said our prayers and went to church ! I
don’t see how any one can sit and be played and
sung to the whole evening, without making up
their minds to ha ve the strings of their hearts all
in order and bright, so there wouldn't be one bio
ken or tarnished, one that couldn t answer to t ic
beautiful sounds. People that won’t go to the op
era because its wicked, lose a sight of comfort )t
----sides a good deal of feeling as it Heaven must >e
very perfect, because there is nothing in its air but
music from good hearts and pure thoughts.
There is a good deal said about operas and
heatres tiere, but it appears to me as it minister
i hem selves might doa good deal of good, it they
would trv to make the common people love music,
so they would enjoy it better than the low talk ot
saloons where they like to meet, l wouldn t
a word against sermons and ministers tor the
world, but 1 can’t help thinking that if good, pious
people would go more to the opera and theatre,
their being there would raise the scenes and words
a. great deal higher than they are now, when man
agers have to keep things low to please those that
will come. Just imagine, Mr. Morris and Willis,
lhat all the ministers and pious people in New
York and Boston, should agree to go to the opeia
and theatre. Don’t you think there would be a
great time among the managers, to see that then
was nothing wrong in the pieces to bo played and
suno’ ? Wouldn’t they pick out the very purest and
most sensible plays they could find ? And wouldn’t
people go to work and write just such as would
be fit for ministers and good people to see and
hear; not allowing themselves to bring in a sin
gle common idea, or insinuation, as there are so
manv of now-a-days ? And then wouldn’t the
people that tv ill go to the theatre now, whether
it’s good or bad, wouldn’t they have to raise their
minds up to those of the ministers to understand
and enjoy what they saw acted out ? And wouldn’t
those who sit now in the pit and eat peanuts, be
more likely to be made fit to sit in the boxes and
taste cardomums, by this way, than to have the
ministers anil pious people stay at home and talk
against such places, without trying by going
themselves to raise them to something better’/
1 believe Mr. Fry means to make us love the
opera, and I’m sure for one I’m much obliged for
the pains lie takes. 1 know that people say that
the opera singers only think of what pay they get
and don’t really love the music they give ; so they
can’t bear to listen to the beautiful notes that are
so bargained for. But perhaps there are some
ministers that have preuy good salaries, and
change even their churches when a little more
is offered somewhere else, showing that they
think something of what they’re paid ; but yet it
wouldn’t be right on that account to talk against
them, and refuse to listen to the pure and precious
things they tell. So 1 don’t think'we ought to
stay away from tne opera because it isn’t perfect
ly pure ; for one of these days perhaps it will be
so encouraged that good amiable people will sing
in it from their heart, and will think the bouquets
thrown to die music as much as to them.
1 couldn’t help writing this, because I wanted
everybody to go to the opera, and find out how
delightful it is. Not by going once, and say, just
as most everybody does about the first olive they
eat ; “ 1 never shall like it! ” but go, and go, and
go, and go, until the delightful taste comes.
If any ministers, or pious people that think it
wicked to go to the operaand theatre, and all such
places should read this, I hope they won’t be put
out at what is said by anybody that thinks so much
of them as Betsy Blake.
SENSATIONS WHILE IN THE ACT OF DROWN
ING, BY ADMIRAL BEAUFORT.
Dear Dr. Wollaston —The following circum
stances, which attended my being drowned, have
been drawn up at your desire; they had not
struck me as being so curious as you consider
them, because, from two or three persons who.
like myself, had been recovered from a similar
state, I have heard a detail of their feelings, which
resembled mine as nearly as was consistent with
our different cons itutions and dispositions.
Many years ago, when 1 was a youngster on
board one of his Majesty’s ships in Portsmouth
harbor, after sculling about in a very small boat,
I was endeavoring to fasten her alongside the
ship to one of the scuttlings; in foolish eagerness
1 stepped upon the gunwale, the boat of course
upset, and l fell into the water, and not knowing
how to swim, all mv efforts to lay hold either of
the boat or of the floating sculls were fruitless.
The transaction had not been observed bv the
sentinel on the gangway, and therefore it was not
till the tide had drifted me some distance astern of
the ship that a man in the foretop saw me splash
ing in the water, and gave the alarm. The first
lieutenant instantly and gallantly jumped over
board, the carpenter followed his example, and
the gunner hastened into a boat and pulled after
them.
With the violent, but vain, attempts to make
mvself heard, I had swallowed much water; I
was soon exhausted by my struggles, and before
any relief reached me 1 had sunk below the sur
face—all hope had fled—all exertion ceased—
and I felt that 1 was drowning.
So far these facts were either partially remem
bered after mv recovery, or supplied by those
who had latterly witnessed the scene ; for during
an interval of such agitation a drowning person
is too much occupied in catching at every passing
straw, or too much absorbed by alternate hope
and despair, to mark the succession of events
very accurately. Not so, however, with the facts
which immediately ensued ; my mind had then
undergone the sudden revolution which appealed
to you so remarkable —and all the circumstances
of which are now as vividly fresh in my memory
as if they had occurred but yesterday.
From” the moment all exertions had ceased—
which 1 imagine was the immediate consequen
ces of suffbcauon —a calm feeling of the most per
fect tranquility superseded the previous tumul
tuous sensations —it might be called apathy, cer
tainly not resignation, tor drowning no longer ap
peared to be an evil —I no longer thought ot being
rescued, nor was lin any bodily pain. On the
contrary, mv sensations were now ot rather a
pleasurable cast, partaking of that dull but con
tented sort of feeling which precedes the sleep
produced bv fatigue. Though the senses were
ihus deadened, not so the mind; its activity seem
ed to be invigoiated, in a ratio which defies all de
scription —for thought rose after thought with a
rapidity of succession that is not only indescriba
ble, but probably inconceivable by any one who
has not himself been in a similar situation. The
course of those thoughts 1 can even now in a great
measure retrace —the event which had just taken
place —the awkwardness lhat had produced it—
the bustle it must have occasioned (for I had ob
served two persons jump from the chains) —the
effect it would have on a most affectionate father
—the manner be would disclose it to the rest of
ihe family—and a thousand oilier circumstances
minutely associated with home, were the first'se
ries of reflections that occurred. They took then
a wider range—our last cruise—a former voyage,
and shipwreck —my school—the progress 1 had
made there, and time I h id mis-spent —and even
all my boyish pursuits and adventures. Thus
ravelling backwards, every past incident of my
life seemed to glance across my recollection in
retrograde succession ; not, however, in mere out
line, as here stated, but the picture filled up wish
every minute and collateral feature; in short,
the whole period of my existence seemed to be
placed before me in a kind of panoramic review,
and each act of it seemed to be accompanied by
a consciousness of right or wrong, or by some re
flection on its cause or its consequences ; indeed,
many trifling events which had been long forgot
ten then crowded into mv imagination, and with
the character of recent familiarity.
May not all this be some indication of the almost
infinite power of memory with which we may
awaken in another world, and thus be compelled
to contemplate our past lives'/ Or might it not in
some degree warrant the inference, that death is
onlv a change or modification of our existence, in
C #
which there is no real pause or interruption'/
But, however that maybe, one circumstance was
highlv remarkable; that the innumerable ideas
which flashed into my mind were all retrospec
tive; yet l had been religiously brought up—my
hopes and tears of the next world had lost nothing
of their early strength, and at any other period in
tense interest and awful anxiety would have been
excited by the mere probability that I was float
ing on the threshold of eternity; vet at that inex
plicable moment when I had a full conviction
that I had already crossed that threshold, not a
single thought wandered into the future —1 was
wrapt entirely in the past.
The length of time that was occupied by this
deluge of ideas, or rather the shortness of time
into which they were condensed, I cannot now
state with precision, yet certainly two minutes
could not have elapsed from the moment of suffo
cation to that of mv being hauled up.
The strength of the flood-tide made it expe
dient to pull the boat at once to another ship,
where 1 underwent the usual vulgar process of
emptying the water by letting my head hang
downwards, then bleeding, chafing, and even ad
ministering gin ; but my submersion had been real
ly so brief, that according to the accounts of the
lookers-on, I was very quickly restored to ani
mation.
My feelings while life was returning were the
reverse in every point of those which have been
described above. One single but confused idea
—a miserable belief that 1 was drowning—dwelt
upon my mind, instead of the multitude of clear
and definite ideas which had rushed through it—
a helpless anxiety—a kind of continuous night
mare seemed to press heavily on every sense,
and to prevent the formation of any one distinct
thought—and it was with difficulty that 1 became
convinced lhat I was really alive. Again, instead
of being absolutely free from bodily pain, as in
mv drowning state, I was now tortured by pain
all over me ; and though 1 have been since wound
ed in several places, and have often submitted to
severe surgical discipline, yet m v sufferings were
at that time far greater, at least in general distress.
On one occasion I was shot in the lungs, and after
lying on the deck at night for some hours bleeding
from other wounds, lat length fainted. Now as l
felt sure that the wound in the lungs was mortal,
it will appear obvious that, the overwhelming
sensation which accompanies fainting must have
produced a perfect conviction that I was in the
act of dying. Yet nothing in the least resembling
the operations of my mind when drowning then
took place , and when I began to recover l re
turned to a clear conception of mv real state.
If these involuntary experiments on the opera
tion of death afford any satisfaction or interest to
you, they will uot have been suffered in vain by
Yours, very truly, F. Beaufort.
A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
SAVANNAH, THURSDAY APRIL 19,1849.
PREMIUMS.
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.
senbers to our paper at that time, ten copies will bo gi Ves
gratuitously for one year.
To the Odd Fellows Lodge, the same.
To the Division of Sons of Temperance, the samo.
tF Mr. J. M. Boardman is our Agent for Macon.
JACK FROST.
The fifteenth of April wdl be remembered by the gardnen
in this vicinity for many years to come. On Saturday last w,
saw squashes in the market, grown in Mr. Woolf’s, and Irish
Potatoes in Mr. Ilmen’s gardens; and the day before saw
water melons in bloom. But now, alas ! “ our hopes are nip.
ped in the bud,” a killing frost has come and laid them | o \v._
We apprehend much damage has been done to the cotton and
corn crops in the interior.
THE SAVANNAH BRASS BAND.
On Monday afternoon this Band performed for about two
hours in Monument Square, where, we understand, it is their
intention, if properly supported, to play every Monday and
Thursday. This will bo delightful jjj the summer months, and
w:ll afford to those who have not the means and inclination to
jgo to the interior or north for recreation, a taste of enjoyment
at home. We hope that our City Council will provide seat*
in the Square, and that some enterprising citizen will establish
an ice cream depot in the neighborhood, so that the taste &a
well as the ear may be gratified.
TEMPERANCE.
An address will be delivered in the Mariners’ Church, on
Friday evening, by the Rev. L. L. Allen, of St. Louis, Mo.
See Advertisement. The Sons on the occasion of the anni
versary of the introduction of the order into this Stato, (the
13th inst.) made a large turn out. Wes are happy to state
that the order is in a prosperous condition at this time.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
“ The Gold Mines of the Gila.” a Sequel to Old Hicks the
Guide, by Charles W. Webber —2 vote.. Brno., New York,
Dewitt &: Davenport, Tribune Buildings. Through the
politeness of Mr. John M. Cooper, who has it for sale, and
the publishers, we are in possession of a copy. If the work
is equal to Old H.cks, and for our own enjoyment we hope it
is, we shall cull some of its sweets for the ed.fication of our
readers, next week.
STOCKWELL'S PANORAMA OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.
In the absence of a sight of ties great work we append i
notice from the “ New Orleans Son of Temperance"' —
“ We v s ted this mammoth painting on Tuesday evening
lastand s > much were we gratified with the view we 1m l of it,
that no cons deration could prevent us from visiting it again.—
Indeed, it is a truthful and beautiful representation of all it
purports to sketch. There is little left for the imagination to
supply. So faithful is every wreck, tree, house, plantation
and bend pourtrayed, that one would almost imagine himself
floating down tile “great Father of Waters.”
The N. O. Picayune says, “as a test of its faithfulness,
when at the point where the burning of the steamer Clarkes
v lie is depicted, Professor Shaw, who was one of the parsen*
iters saved from the wreck, rose quite unexpectedly and testi
fied to the accuracy of the scene.”
For our own part we are convinced by the multiplicity of
testimony of the press that has come under our observation,
that it is a correct delineation, and a work of great merit.
SODA WATER AND ORATORY.
We’ve a friend, rather of the genius “odd-fish” by the way
—who relieves himself occasionally of quaint fancies, decided
ly original, here's one of them :
Upon confessing ourselves stultified as to the mode soda
water taught Elocution, he replied, “Why Ned, aint it pal
pable that an Oration should, at its introduction, catch the
fancy—should be graceful, sparkling, tittilating, but air—all
airy—like the foam on the water, only tempting us into the
substantial. Then coines tlie sol and, the refreshing, the satis
fying substance, and wind up, Ned! wth the poetry, the
syrup at the bottom, the exqu s tely del clous portion that
lingers on the tongue so ravishingly sweet —so, soda water
teaches oratory.* ”
We publish, with much pleasure, by request of the
passengers who came over frim the Green Isle in the noble
ship United Kingdom, (which, by the h}-, we believe is the
largest vessel ever in our port, being over 1300 tons burthen.)
the following card, wh ch is an expression of gratitude to her
estimable commander for his kindness on their passage out:
A CARD:
We, the undersigned, Irish I migrants, beg leave through
the medium of your paper, to inform our friends of out safe
arrival, after a passage of fifty-three days. We encountered
head winds and severe gales with very little interm ssion du
ring tli:; passage, mmy of us, through fear of being drowned,
sea-sickness, &c., were in a deplorable state; but Captain
McMullain always took the earliest opportunity to console ui
and to administer something for our good. We take this op
portunity thus publicly to convey to him our most sincere
thanks for his kindness, and to testify to his skdl in the
management of his ship, and to the promptness with which
his orders were obeyed by those under his command. We
also return him our thanks for his generosity in supplying our
wants when our stores were exhausted. We also return our
thanks to the other officers and men for the many acts of kind
ness for wh'ch we are indebted. We commend to all our
friends in Ireland who wish to imigrate, Capt. McMulW®
and the good ship United Kingdom, of Belfast:
Charles O’Neill, Andrew Deteny,
Francis Anderson, Daniel Ryan,
M’chael Darcy, Michael O’Brien,
W iliam Corcoran, Patrick Mera,
John Adams, Moses Foley,
Thomas Foley, Edmard Cloney,
Nathan Cloney, Andy Gearing,
Silverty Roach, N cholas Talbert,
John Coy leu