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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.