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Hlfiilß 0/ TiiTOHOf.
VOLUME 11.
Irlrrtrii |toctnj.
JLB ■ 11 ~ - ■ ■■
SONG OF DEATH.
Shrink not, 0 Human Spirit,
The Everlasting Arm is strong to save !
Look up, look up, frail nature, put thy trust
la Him who went down mourning tu the dust,
And overcame the grave !
Qoickly goes down the sun {
Life’s work is almost done J
Fruitless endeavor, hope deferred, and strife !
One little struggle more,
One pang anti then is o'er
All the long, mournful, weariness of life*
Kind friends, ‘tis almost past (
Come now and look your last!
Sweet children, gather near,
And his last blessing hear,
See how he loved you who deparleih now !
And, with thy trembling step and pallid brow,
O, most bdined tine,
Whose breast lie leaned upon,
Come, faithful unto death,
Receive his patting breath !
‘The fluttering spirit panteth to be free,
Hold him not back who peeds to victory !
—Th bonds are riven, the struggling suul is free!
Hail, hail, enfranchised Spirit!
’Thou that the wine-press of the field has trod 1
On, blest Immortal, on, through boundless space,
And stand wit|t thy Redeemer face to face ,
And stand before thy God !
Life’s weary work is o’er,
Th<*u art of earth no morel
No more art trammelled by the oppressive clay,
Dot trettd’st with Winged ease
The high acclivities
Os truths sfiblithe, up Heaven’s Crystalline way*
Here no bootless quest J
This city’s name is Re*t ;
Here shall no fear appul ;
Here love is all in all ;
Here shalt thou win thy anient soul’s desira 1
Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire.
Lift, lift thy wond'ring eyes !
Yonder is Paradise,
Ami this fair shining band
Are spirits of thy land !
And who throng to mjet thee are thy kin,
Who have waited thee, redeemed from sin !
—The city's gates oh ! enter in !
[ftoittehold Words.
(Drigitial €ale.
A CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF
CLAUDE CAHRYSFORTE.
BT MISS SUSAN A. STUART.
CHAP. 111.
Chri.Hrrni3*-day came with its gifts
and its wishes ; and ’twas a sight
\vorth seeing, to witness the coming
in of the slaves to receive, and to
make their little presents, and to
wish a merry Christmas.
There in the back portico, stood
the Colonel and his daughter, with
Lizzie Moore and myself, amid a
perfect crowd of vvooiy heads, dis- ,
pensing to the men caps, fiddles,
coats, &c.; whilst Mary gave with
her fair hands, gav calicoes, head
kerchiefs, bright ribbands; and re
ceiving in return, from the grateful
and loving negroes their simple and
long treasured offerings, of a fat hen,
a callabash full of eggs, or a string
fresh fish caught for the occasion.
Those who had nothing to offer
firmed into a ring and commenced
their Christmas (lance to their own
“did and monotonous music of Do
taenicks. Then the great bowl of
egg-nog was distributed, and the
loads of ginger bread carried off by
*he pick-a-ninnies—and we all re
entered the house to a late break
fast.
The afternoon had come, and the
fires went roaring and blazing
u p tne chim nies; every where around
‘ Va * the wreathing of the dark green
holly with its brilliant contrast of
* c arlet berries. But more beautiful
than anything else upon which the
pleased eye could rest was die
beaming, happy face of sweet Mary
Hazelhurst, as she welcomed her
own and her father’s guests. Some
pretty girls had come, and many
fine young men, who looked hand
some, and stylish enough, to make
me fear for the unrivalled fashion
of my own pet costume.
The temperature of the rooms
was as warm as a summers’s day,
so that the ladies were dressed very
appropriately in evening costume.
I cannot refrain from telling how
the lady of my heart looked, as she
like a Peri before me. I did
l°°k for her wings to see if she
them ; for her step was so
buoyant, as light as a fairy’s, and as
Undulating as the dip of a sea- gull.
1 hose ringlets of “ paly gold,” were
floating in soft, loose, shining curls
About her face, and kissing her fair
found shoulders; whilst her thin
*hite muslin, with its ample skirt
Dninteft tfl ITiterntmt, Irienrt onD irt, tjjf Inns nf Crntperanre, (Diiii Basonnj unit Central 3ntellignire.
was wafling like a cloud around
her. Then the dainty little white
slippers were peeping in and out,
“Like mice beneath her pettlcdilt.
As if they feared the light.”
The crustiest old bachelor of you
all, would have owned himself con
quered at once, and offered at the
moment to be a candidate for matri*
ttiotly, could behave witnessed Ma
ry Hazelhurst seated at the head of
her father’s table as hostess. I could
see many a glance of love darting
slyly at her from the young men ;
and amid the bursts of gayety, and
the light echoes of her own glad
laugh 1 felt melancholy again steal
ing over me, as the feeling of de
spair anew sprang up in my soul.
‘file lights were gleaming from
the chandeliers ere the gentlemen
rejoined ihe ladies in the drawing
rooms, though many an impatient
heart had longed to go there an hour
before. Two well dressed negroes
wiih their violins, told us that .every
1 hing was prepared for the dance,
and I hastened to claim the hand of
Miss Hazelhurst, which had been
promised me some days be tore.
True indeed, as Aggv had indig
nantly told me, “ she did every thing
well,” for her dancing was the “ very
poetry of motion.*’ It was not the
mere movement of limbs that con
stituted its charm, but the spectator
felt that her innocent heart was dan
cing too in its pure and joyfuf feel
ings.
“The fourth set from this, will
you honor me again?” questioned
I of her.
“ I cannot promise you, for Pa al
ways wishes me to dance with each
one of his guests; and though I am
not asked bv any one as vet for that
particular dance, I may be, and so
will not promise. You are not
vexed ?”
“No, of course not,” replied I—-
Vet a feeling of pique was rile with
in, and 1 seated myself moodily at
the end of the dance.
I felt unhappy. Hope had been
spoiling me for the last few days, I
had begun to dream of possessing
her love from some slight encour
agement she had given me ; and it
seemed that this readiness to obey
her father’s wish had crushed the
blossom in my heat t. Mary glanced
once or twice as l thought anxiously
towards me, as I thus sat with a gloo
my brow; but soon, a Dr. Manners, a
handsome fellow to whom I had rath
er taken a prejudice from his first
appearance, led her out again. My
jealousy made me imagine that she
enjoyed this dance more than the
preceding ones; her whole face, to
my jaundiced eye, appeared radi
ant with joy, and there certainly
could not he any mistake in the Dr.’s
impassioned glances. Once too—
she was talking low and earnestly
—Mary forgot it was her time to
dance, and when reminded, ablush
palpable to all eyes coloured her
face and even throat.
1 could stand it no longer, and
scarcely knowing what I did, I
caught up my hat in the hall and
sallied forth into the night, without
being conscious—without caring—
except to escape by motion from
my troubled thoughts. 1 wandered
on, and reaching a small hammock
of cedars, sat on the ground, and
for the first time since I was a child,
wept passionately, as a woman. I
knew not how the time sped, lor it
seemed a stupor had fallen upon
rnv brain, so numbed were my lac
ulties.
At length I arose, and felt sur
prised that sitting there should have
caused me the pain and chilliness
that pervaded my frame, and the
dizziness which I could scarcely
overcome sufficiently to enable me
to reach Hazelhurst, and to ascend
the stairs to my own apartment. —
The parlors 1 have an indistinct re
membrance of seeing lighted though
the company had departed.
I know nothing farther. I have
been told since, that the servant
found me raving with delirium the
next morning, and when the I’hysi
cian arrived at the summons of the
Col., he found me attacked with a
violent inflammatory fever.
Weeks elapsed ; and through the
long dreary days, 1 was attended by
Col. Hazelhurst and an experienced
Physician and nurse.
Most constant were the inquiries
and messages from Mary and her
cousin. Oh! how anxious was I
SAVANNAH, GA„ SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 1850,
again to behold her. I had made up
my mind to leave for Washington
city, as soon as my strength was suf
ficiently recruited to enable me to
bear the journey. I told the Col.
of this determination, but he would
hear nothing of it, and persisted in
styling it all nonsense.
CHAP. IV.
March was approaching, and I
had written my friends I should
come home then. Lizzie Moore,
sent me a note of farewell about
this time, regretting that she could
not see me before her departure,
urging me in her way, to get well
immediately, and endeavor to cheer I
“ Coz,” who was as melancholy as 1
an “ unstrung lute.” Even this set
my heart hoping; and a day or so
after this, 1 managed with George’s
assistance to dress, and betook mv
self to the silting parlor, looking
very pale and interesting.
Mary, (as I could see through the
open door,) was alone, with a book
lying open upon her lap, and her
chin resting on her rosy palm appa
rently musing.
She did not raise her head, think
ing it some servant passing through
the hall, and 1 stood thus some sec
onds contemplating her. i fancied
she was paler as she thus sat, but
when 1 stood in the doorway, and
she looked up, the blood leaped
up quickly to her face, as rising
quickly she sprang impulsively for
ward with both hands extended—
whilst, oh ! joy to tell, the name of
“ Claude” in tender accents, trem
bling accents, fell from her tongue;
and with a womanly weakness un
looked for by me, she burst into tears.
I led her to her seat on the sofa,
and placing myself beside, holding
the little hand still in mine without
her making an effort to withdraw it,
then growing bolder, I ventured to
press it to my lips, as we thus sat
without speaking. I wished the si
lence unbroken for hours; ’twas so
delightful and far more eloquent than
burning words. But at length Ma
ry forcing a laugh in which a sob
struggled, said :
“Excuse me, I am so foolish to
cry,” and again those dear eyes rap
idly filling were hidden by the hand
I had left free.
“ Do not call yourself hard names
for what has given me so much hap
piness,” whispered 1, “as it shows
me that you are not so indifferent to
me as I imagined. I have been
thinking—tell me wrongfully—that
you cared but little whether I lived
or died. At least, no more than you
did for a stranger.”
“Oh ! Mr. Carrysforte !”
“ Say Claude to me again, Mary,
dearest. Mary,” whispered i. “ ’Twas
like the music of Heaven, that word
uttered from your lips as I entered,
uttered too, us i thought, in a tone
of tenderness. Sav, was it not?”
And, grown stiff bolder, 1 placed
my arm around her waist and bent
my head towards her umil her soft
hair touched my lips. But she said
not a word ; neither did she with
draw herself from my clasp.
My emotions were becoming more
than my strength could well bear;
atnl I already began to feel the dim
ness risiug before my sight that
precedes fainting. At this crisis
Mary looking up into mv face, and
seeing my exceeding palen ss, rose
in haste lo procure water, which
she placed to my lips, and assisted
me to lie back on the sofa.
“ How do you feel now, dear
Claude?” said she, and ‘his time
I could not mistake the tone.
I answered not with words: but
drew her towards me: and then
with new hope came new life ; aud
made eloquent bv mv exstatic hap
pinessf l poured forth my deep,
deep love for the beautiful, blushing
girl.
“Will you consent then to marry
me, sweet one?” was one of my
questions.
“Ask Pa.”
“ May 1 tell him that his daughter
loves me and wishes him to con
sent ? ”
Again her eyes were lit up in
mirth and coquetry, as she said,
with a light laugh : “Do you think
he will believe it?”—but seeing l
looked pained by this jest, at a mo
ment too when I wa? so serious—so
earnest —she added in a tone more
in accordance with her feelings and
min© too s
“ Yes, dear Claude, tell him if he
wishes his daughter’s happiness,
(as he has ever done,) he must con
sent; and now lie down, for 1 hear
Pa’s horse coming and I must run
off’ and leave you to meet him.”
But 1 still endeavored to detain
her; but she shook her head with a
childlike, graceful motion, that veil
ed her blushing face, with her golden
curls, and ran up stairs, stopping as
she leaned over the balustrade, to
cry out to me: “mind no Jibs , Mr.
Claude ! ”
I assure you, my readers, I lost
no time in opening the case to the
Col.; and, “may his shadow never
I be less,” I received his unqualified
consent and hearty approval; un
qualified, l say, for there was but
one condition annexed, and that
pleased me well, namely : “ I must
aot carry Mary away Irotn Hazel
hurst, but stay there in what would
finally he our own home.”
But little is to be told. When
able to travel I started for Washing
ton, to inform mv parents in form,
and to make some preparation ;
and as quick as possible retraced
my steps, accompanied by Agnesse,
who was to act as bride’s-maid,
with Lizzie Moore and others. Dr.
Manners, to whom I had in my
heart made the amende honorable,
(when Mary told me he had made
her the confident of his love for
Agnesse Carrysforte the night of
the dance) was invited to perform
the office of groom’s-man. He had
known Agge when she visited Mary
the year before.
Mary Hazelhurst is now Mary
Carrysforte, and I love her even
better, if possible, than when I
asked her from the Col., with whom
we still reside. We are expecting
daily to go on to Washington to
attend the marriage of Agnesse and
Dr. Edward Manners. So adieu.
August , 1850.
Tm no for Powder and Ball. — The
celebrated Dr. Chalmers, when a
boy, was very fotul of’ play, but not
mischief. He was often the leader
when school-boy expeditions were
planned and executed, but those
plans never tended to mischief or
rendered any one unhappy. To
him there was no fun in anything
which made any one uncomforta
ble. He always discountenanced
unfairness, falsehood, and swearing
among the boys with whom he was
at play.
He had great personal strength,
and employed it in defending those
who were oppressed. The weak
and the injured looked to him as
their natural protector. He would
never engage in any quarrel. On
a certain occasion when I lie group
of boys with whom he was at play
got in a passion, and began to as
sault one another with sticks and
stones, young Chalmers ran into a
house, saying, “I’m no for powder
and ball.”—meaning that he would
have nothing to do with a real
quarrel.
His conduct in this respect is
most worthy of limitation bv the
•*
young. It was one of the elements
of greatness in after life.
Many are drawn into quarrels in
opposition to their better feelings,
through fear and the charge of cow
ardice. it requires more true cour
age to keep out of a quarrel than
to fight. Remember the example
of one who became one of the
greatest men in the world. Chal
mers was not afraid of the charge
of cowardice. He was no for pow
der and ball.” Be as courageous as
he was. —A r . Y. Observer.
The component parts of an Editor. —
The constitution of a horse, obsti
nacy of a mule, independence of a
wood-sawyer, pertinacity of a dun,
endurance of a starving anaconda,
imprudence of a beggar, and entire
resignation lo the most confounded
of all earthly tread mills; and he
must be a moving target tor every
body to shoot at, and is expected to
know everything, and to assist
“busvbodies”lopry into the business
of their neighbors. Jt he does not
come up to this description, he can
not be thought a “good editor.”
If yon wish to be truly polite, ex
hibit real kindness in the kindest
manner. Do this, and you will pass
at par in any society wrthoqt study
ingTUles of etiquette.
Too Big a Booh! —A man being
about to purchase a young horse,
was fearlul he might prove skittish,
as the phrase is; and in order to test
his soundness, or strength of nerve,
directed his boy to go a little way off',
behind the next corner, and he
would ride the colt down opposite to
him, when he should start suddenly
out, and erv‘vbooh!” and if the coll
could stand that, it would be proof
enough of his !>eing firm and well
broke. The boy took his station,
and the man mounted and rode
along; but when lie came opposite
the cornet, and the boy jumped out
and cried “ booh !” the colt threw
him off'. The rider picked himself
up soon, however, and rubbing his
shoulder and shirts, asked the boy
what he did so for. *• Why, lather,”
said the hoy, “you told me to sav
booh.” “ Yes,” said the old man
“but there was no need of saving
such a big booh to such a little
horse.”
‘I am now an old fellow,’ says
Cowper in one of his letters, ‘but 1
had once my dancing days as you
have now ;yet I could not find that I
could learn half so much of a wo
man’s character by dancing with
her as conversing with her at home,
when I could observe her behavior
at the table, or at the fire-side, and
in all the trying scenes of domestic
life. We are all good when pleas
ed ; —but she is a good woman who
wants not the fiddle to sweeten her.’
The attention of a little girl being
called to a rose bush, on whose top
most stem the oldest rose was fa
ding, but below and around which
three beautiful crimson buds were
just unfolding their charms, she art
lessly exclaimed to her brother—
‘See, Willie, these little buds have
just awaked to kiss their mother be
fore she dies.’
What a Stupid. —A spruce young
buck was boasting of his success
with the fair, and among other
things declared that he might have
sparked it with a lady whom he
named.
‘Why then,’ said his friend, ‘did
you neglect such a golden opportu
nity?’
‘Because,’ answered he, ‘she beg
ged to be excused, and 1 was such a
deuced fool that I excused her!’
Convci'sation. —There must in the
first place be knowledge, there
must be materials : in the second
place there must be imagination to
place things in such views as they
are not commonly seen in ; and, in
the fourth place, there must be a
presence of mind, and a resolution
that is not to be over come by fail
ures—this last is an essential requis
ite; for want of it, many people do
not excel in conversation.
Why arc Mothers not Educators? —
Towns and countries have female
names, and are represented as fe
males ; and, in truth, the mothers
who educate for the future the first
five years of their children’s life, do
found cities and countries. Who
can replace a mother? Not even a
father. Will you, then, neglect the
fairest lime for working purely and
deeply on posterity, si ice the
stronger sex and the state will soon
step in, and bring pulleys and grap
pling irons instead of your leading
strings and genily raising levers,
and therewith move them harshly
and roughly. — The Doctrine of Ed
ucation, by J. P. Richter.
The great objection to smart chil
dren is, that when they commence
they generally leave off* having
brains. Boys that are philosophers
at six years of age, are generally
asses at twenty-one. By forcing
children, you get so much into their
heads that they become cracked in
order to hold it.
Dr. Channing says : ‘The great
est man is he who chooses the right
with invincible resolution, who re
sists the sorest temptations from
within and without, whe bears the
heaviest burdens cheerfully, who
is calmest in storms, and most fear
less under menace and frowns,
whose reliance on truth, on virtue,
on God, is most unfaltering.
Where merit appears, do justice
to it without scruple.
“You’re a pretty fellow,” said the
owner of a wood pile to a thief, “to
come here and steal my wood while
1 sleep.”
“Yes,” replied the thief, “and 1
suppose you’d stay up there and see
me break my back lifting, before you
would offer to come down and help
me.”
“1 suppose,” said a quack, while
feeling the pulse of a patient, ’“that
you think me a fool!”
“Sir,” replied the sick man, “I
perceive you can discover a man’s
thoughts bv his pulse.” VVe think
he got into the Doctor about a feet,
a feet and a half, or two feet.
A Dutchman wishing to relate
the cause of his wife’s death, which
was the breaking of a blood vessel,
and forgetting the precise term by
which to express his meaning, said:
“ Mine frow git mat one tay, and
preak a skip in her breast. I' 1
Among the curiosities on exhibi
tion at the Troy Museum, is a peck
of potatoes, the whole of them cross
eyed. Hough intends to run them
till the educated pig arrives.
Do tell us why a lady is like a
stage driver? Becauses he likes to
secure the male.
When is a fiddle like a leak in a
ship? When it sets the immps a
gufilg-
A Long Nose. —A Paisley manu
facturer, having got, by accident, a
severe cut across the nose, and hav
ing no court plaster at hand, stuck
on his unfortunate proboscis one of
his gum tickets, on which was the
usual intimation —“Warranted 350
yards long.”
Argument and Assertion. —Asser-
tion is like an anew shot from a
long bow; the force with which it
strikes depends upon the strength
of the arm that draws it. But ar
gument is like an arrow from a
cross bow, which has equal force
whether shot by a boy or a giant.
Quite Encouraging. —Our senior
D. says he had like to have got us
a subscriber the other day. We
enquired how near he came m it.
‘Why,* said he, ‘I asked a man to
subscribe, and he said he believed
he wouldn’t do it.’
Rules to be Observed in a Printing
Off ‘ice. —Don’t touch any thing.—
Don’t smoke. Don’t ask what’s the
news or if there’s any in the paper.
Hands off the paper. Eyes off the
manuscript and coev. — If you are
not a suberiber, don’t come here
regularly and read our paper and
pocket a number, then go off and
swear it’s not worth subscribing for.
Religion is a thing of accomoda
tion. When the interests of the
world do not press too hard upon
us, and the opportunity lessens to
make money, it is convenient then
to attend to the obligations of Chris
tianity. Many, at least, seem to
think so — BuJ. Ad .
Why is it so much harder for us to
submit to the future, than to the
past ?
The ‘high-flyers’—Those that fly
on the wings of wraith, pierce the
clouds of spend-thrifiCN , wet their
pinions, and finally fall into the
slough of poverty.
The ‘Upper Ten Thousand’—
Those that place their feet on the
heads of the common millions, and
trample upon honest mediocrity.
The ‘Upper Crust’—The upper
portion—not of the bread of life—
but that of society, raised by the
yeast of selfishness and baked in
the oven of pride.
In all waters there are fish that
love to swim against the stream ;
and in every community persons are
to be found who delight in being
opposed to everybody else.
Xenophon tells us of an Egyptian,
who beingsent bv his wife to pur
chase perfumes, brought her a jar
of fresh water.
The public is abodv very rritich
like that which assembles round a
dinner-table, and the will
cater for all.
NUMBER 25.