Newspaper Page Text
HI raiBIB fflP THE f AIM.
VOLUME 11.
4 frlfrtflt
* ALL THINGS IN THE WORLD
MUST CHANGE.”
Would'*! tliou have it always Spring,
Tlmugli she rometh flower-laden ?
Though sweet-throated birds do sing?
Thou would’*! weary of it, Maiden.
Dost thou never feci desire
That thy womanhood were nc-rcr?
Doth thy loving heart ne’er tire,
L tngttig yet for something dearer ?
Would’st hare Summer ever stav —
Droughty Summer—bright and burning ?
Dost thou not, oft in the day,
Long for still, cool, night’s returning ?
Do-t thou not grow weary, Youth,
Os thy pleasures, vain though pleasant—
Thinking Life has more of Truth
Than the satiating present ?
*
Would'st have Autumn never go ?
(Autumn, Winter’s wealthy neighbor,)
Stacks would rise, and wine-press flow
Vainly, did’st thou always labor.
When thy child is on thy knee
And thy heart with love’s o’erflowing,
Dost thou never long to see
W'hat is in the future’s showing ?
When old \V inter, cold and hoar,
Cometh, blowing his ten fingers,
limbing ice-drops on tin* door
Whil’st lie at the threshold lingers,
Wmdd’st thou ever vigil keep
W ith a mate so full of sorrow ?
Better to thy bed and sleep,
Nor wake till th’ Eternal morrow !
fcJrrfcir.
A CHILD’S DREAM OP A STAR.
There was once a child, and he
strolled about n good deal, arid
thought of a number of things.—
He bad a sister, who was a child
too, and his constant companion.
Thes*e two used to wonder all day
long. They wondered at the beau
ty of the flowers ; they wondered at
the height and blueness of the skv ;
thev wondered at the depth of the
bright water; they wondered at the
goodness and the power of God
who made the lovely world.
They used to say to one another,
sometimes: Supposing all the cbil
dren upon earth were to die, would
the flower?, and the water, and the
sky he sorry? They believed they
would he sorry. For, said thev,
ike buds are. the children of the
fhwers.nnd the little playful streams
that gambol down the hill-sides are
the children of the water; and the
smallest bright speck, playing at
hide and seek in the sky all night,
must surely be children of the stars;
and thev would all be grieved to see
their playmate, the children of men,
no more.
There was one clear shining star
that use to come out in the >kv be
fore the rest, near the church spire,
above the graves. It was larger
and more beautiful, they thought,
dmn all the others, and every night
they watched for it, standing hand
ln hand at a window. Whoever
saw it first, cried out, ‘ I see the
sl ar!’ And often they cried out
0()! h together, knowing so well
“■'hen it would rise, and where. Fo
•hey grew to be such friends with
*’> that before lying down in their
beds, they always looked out once
a ? a in to hid it good night; and when
’hey were turning round to sleep,
thev used to sav, ‘God bless tbe star!’
But while she was still very young
r ' !l very, very young, the sister
drooped, and came to be so weak
that she could no longer stand in
die window at night: and then tbe
c hibl looked sadly out by himself,
an< J when he saw the star, turned
r °und and said to the patient pale
foce on the bed, 4 I see the slar !’—
an, l then a smile would come upon
ltle face, and a little weak voice used
to say ‘God blessiy brother and
the star !*
And so the time came all too soon !
| tlie child looked out alone and
“hen there was no face on the bed ;
I ar, d when there was a little grave
I a &iong*the graves, not there before ;
ar >tl when the star made long rays
down towards him, as he saw it
through his tears.
Now, these rays were so bright,
and they seemed to make such a
shining way from earth to Heaven,
ihatwhcn the chdd went to his soli
tary bed, he dreatried about tbe star;
and dreamed that, lying where he
Jas, he saw a train of people taken
that sparkling road by angels.
Arj d\he star opening, showed him
71 £ rp at world of light, where many
£ J( ‘h angels waited to receive them.
Dfuntfii tu Tdruitiirf, nnh Sirt, flit J?fltts nf Crnijirninre, (Diiit /cllntnsjjtp, Jllnsanrif unit denirrnl iMflligrtirr.
All these angels, who were wai
ting,turned their beamingeyes upon
the people who were carried up in
to the star; and some came out
from the long rows in which they
stood, and fell upon the peoples
necks, and kissed them tenderly,
and went away with them down
avenues of light, and were so hap
py in their company, that lying in
his bed he wept for joy.
But, there were many angels who
did not go with them, and among
them one lie knew. The patient
face that once had lain upon the bed
was glorified and radiant, but bis
heart found out his sister among all
the host.
His sister’s angel lingered near
the entrance of the star, and said
to the leader among those who had
brought the people thither:
4 Is my brother come?’
And he said 4 No.’
£he was turning hopefully away,
when the child stretched out his
arms, and cried, ‘O, sister, lam
here ! Take me!’ and then she
turned her beaming eyes upon him,
and it was night; and the star was
shining into the room, making long
rays and >wn towards him as he saw
it through his tears.
From that hour forth, the child
looked out upon the star as on the
Home he was to go to, when his
time should come; and he thought
lhat he did not belong to the earth
alone; but to the btar too, because
of his sister’s angel gone before.
J here was a baby born to be a
brother to the child ; and while lie
was so lit lie that he never vet had
spoken word, he stretched his tiny
form out on his bed, and died.
Again the child dreamed of the
opened star, arid of the company
of angels, and ihe train of people,
and the rows of angels with their
beaming eyes all turned upon those
people’s faces.
Said his sister’s angel to the lea
der :
4 Is my brother come ?’
And lie said,‘Not that one, but
another.’
As the child beheld his brother’s
angel in her arms, he cried, ‘O, sis
ter, lam here! Take me?’ And
she turned and smiled upon him,
and the slar was shining.
He grew to be a young man, and
was busy at his books, when an old
servant came to him and said :
‘Thy mother is no more. 1 bring
her blessing on her darling son!’
O O
Again at night he saw the star,
and all that* former company. Said
his sister’s angel to the leader:
‘Js my brother crne ?’
And he said, 4 Thy mother!’
•j
A tnightv cry of joy went forth
through ail the star, because the
mother was re-united to her two
children. And he stretched out his
arms arid cried, 4 O, mother, s'ster,
and brother, lam here ! Take me !’
And lhey answered him 4 Not yet,’
and the star was shining.
He grew to be a man, whose hair
was turning grey, and he was sitting
in his chair by the fireside, heavy
with grief, and with his face be
dewed with tears, when the star
opened once again.
Said his sister’s an gel to the leader
* Is my brother come V
And he said, * Nay, but his mai
den daughter.’
O
And tlie man who had been the
child saw his daughter, newlv lost
tu him, a celestial creature among
three, and he said, ‘My daughter’s
head is on my sister’s bosom, and
her arm is round my mother’s neck,
and at her feet there is the baby of
old time, and 1 can bear the par
ting from her, God be praised !*
And !fie star was shining.
Thus the child came to be. an
old man, and his once smooth face
was wrinkled, and his steps were
slow and feeble, and his hack was
bent. And one night as he lay up
on his bed, his children standing
round, he cried as he had cried so
long ago :
4 I see the star !’
They whispered one another ‘ He
is and ving.’
And he said, * I am. INIy age is
falling from me like a garment, and
1 move towards the star as a child.
And (), my Father, now I thank
thee tha’ it has so often opened to
receive those dear ones who await
me!’
And the star was shining; and
it shines upon his grave.
SAVANNAH, GA.. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1850.
From the Literary World.
ABOUT JENNY LIND.
Between now and the Ist day of
September next, it is generally ex
pected that the whole body of
American poets and poetesses, not
only those “innumerable caravans”
of them on 1 heir way to immortali
tv, under the special guidance of
Dr. Griswold, but also all the Phaz
mas, Straws, Grace Greenwoods,
and Susan Strawberries of the
newspapers, will be, to borrow a
popular and significant expression,
“ in a box ;” i. e. in Box No. 2743
General Post Office, the depositorv
of all the efforts of genius which
Barn urn’s tempting offer of S2OO
for the best “ Welcome Song” will
evoke from the votaries of the
American Muse. What a world of
forces does Jenny Lind set in mo
tion weeks and months before the
loe of her slipper touches the soil of
Freedom! First we had the ex
pectation and speculation of all cir
cles aroused by the news of her in
tended visit; then the press groaned
under reprints of her biography;
the newspapers teemed with de
tails of her career, the print shops
lined their windows with her por
traits ; then, the builders broke
ground mysteriously behind Broad
way, and the huge fabric of the
new Hall, destined to echo at its
first opening to no lesser tones than
those of the Swedish Nightingale,
rose swiftly upon our view ; now
the notes of preparation come
faster and louder, and by way of
fairly enlisting all hands in the bu
siness of preparing the way for
Jenny Lind, that energetic Barnum
wakes up all the lazy song-singers
with his portentous announcement
of a S2OU prize, Tis startling as the
sound of a gong under the ears of
the Seven Sleepers.
We envy those five committee
men their opportunities. By the
2d of September the whole field of
American poetry will bespread out
before them like the city of New
York from the top of the Museum.
It will be like having Parnassus on
their own premises. They will live
in an atmosphere of patriotic songs.
They will begin to wonder how
they ever put up with “Hail Co
lumbia,” “The Star-Spangled Ban
ner,” and all lhat sort of thing.
The remainder of their lives will be
solaced by perpetual rhythmical
recollections of their conntrv’s
glory, and their memories will be
visited forever whh sciaps and
snatches of melody compared to
which Y ankee Doodle is discord.
Rumors are afloat that this Com
mittee, after all, will disappoint
expectation, and instead of making
an impartial selection after a care
ful perusal of all the songs offered,
will adopt some short method of
saving themselves the trouble of too
many “hours with the poets,” and
somehow or other, in effect, break
the promise to the hope, while they
keep it lo the car.
A correspondent intimates that a
principle may be adopted similar
to that of the minor theatre mana
gers in selecting the prize conun
drum for which a silver cup was
offered. Six hundred came in, but
only the first hundred were over
hauled in the search for the needle
of wit in this haystack ol conun
drums. So goes the story ; and,
moreover that when the name of
the successful punster was an
nounced, lie was there in the pit,
all ready for his triumph, and was
passed up to the stage with a
surprisingly bright polish on his
boots, just as if the good turn which
Fortune was going to serve him
had mysteriously urine to his know
ledge, a trifle before the time of
nominal disclosure
No such evasions as this, however,
will be practised by the highly re
spectable committee to whom Mr.
Barnum has entrusted the delicate
task of selecting a song for Jenny
Lind. We are sure that they will
a “ true verdict render according to
the” — songs. So, poets and poet
esses, drop your lines to the Com
mittee. They will be read over in
the cool of the evening by Messrs,
i’utnam and his confreres , and some
one of you will wake up, on one of
these’ September mornings, and
find yourself famous.
A rare instance of magnanimity,
connecting itself with this competi
tion, must be announced. General 1
George P. Morris, in the Home
Journal of last week, informs the
privates in the ranks of the Muses
(through his partner,) that he does
not mean this time to walk over the
course, as the “ acknowledged best
song writer in the country,” but
intends to spare the Hesperian tree
on which Mr. Barn urn’s golden ap
ples are growing, and not to touch
a single bough. Mr. Willis also
declines standing in the way of the
lesser lights. Thus Captain Sword
and Captain Pen need, neither of
them, be bugbears in the eyes of
the aspirants, We hope that
Messrs. Longfellow, Holmes, and
our other Eastern poets will profit
bv this instance of New York gene
rosity.
In the meantime the newspapers
are discussing the relative rights of
manager and public in respect to
prices and places at the approach
ing concerts. Various plans are
proposed, such as selling the tick
ets at auction, selling them at a
uniform rate, strictly on the princi
ples of first come first served, kc.
All this we are willing to leave to
Mr. Barnum, who understands that !
liberality and a regard for the pub- i
lie convenience will, by no means, i
interfere with his expected and well
deserved profits. We are expect
ing some original and novel plan of
seating all the world, and satisfying
everybody! and, until its announce
ment, have nothing further to sug
•°, o
gest. It is a conceded fact, that
every one wants to hear Jenny
Lind once, and a great many re
peatedly ; but the hall is capacious,
and there will be concerts enough j
to enable all to have the opportuni- !
lies they desire. The real rush j
will be for the first few nights, and
care should be taken to prevent un
fair advantages on the part of those
who are specially anxious for the
first cut into this delectable pate of j
veritable Nightingale tongue.
~ O O
Well! We recollect, as though 1
it were only yesterday, the enthusi- :
asm with which we went from Bath, j
in England, lo Exeter, some seventy
niiles distant, for the sake of hear- j
ing Jenny Lind a single night. :
Her last concert in England was to j
be given in Exeter, and for Exeter
we started in the Express train, |
blessing the invention of Railroads, 1
which was enabling us, as one of
its results, to sec and hear the di
vine cantatriee. Jenny was in the j
same train, ensconced in a private
car, like a Duchess of the blood
royal. Happy thought! the same
locomotive was dragging us over
the firm rails of the Great Western
Road, and for two bo’urs our fate
and Jenny’s hung suspended on a
single thread. We found the old
fashioned town as crowded as if it
had been the day of a fair ; the
inns lull, and the whole population
on the qui vivc of expectation and
suspense. The hotel where the
fair and famous songstress lodged
was surrounded by a very anxious
crowd, who stretched their necks
and strained their eyes up to the
second story, with an expression of
curiosity worthy of the veriest Down
Easters whom John Bull ever
laughed at for inquisitiveness.
Every face seemed to say most im
ploringly,
Jenny Lind, oli! Jenny Lind, oh !
Come to the window !
But no Jenny Lind came, and the
Exeters were obliged to moderate
their enthusiasm.
Such a jam as there was at the j
doors of the Concert room, w r e trust |
we may never see at the new Hall i
in this city. First, an hour and a
half of painful patience outside,
then a premature and spasmodic
effort of the crowd to force itselt
within, then the final throes and
agonies of its actual entrance, and
the fierce scramble for seats.
But she sang, and that night, for
the first and last time hitherto, those
clear, unfaltering, bird-like tones
and cadence fell on our senses with
a surprise like that which might
gladden the eyes of a blind man
when he first looks out upon the
beauties of nature, conjectured, but
never known before. .
It was then lhat we were able to
appreciate that story which Hans
Christian Andersen tells so delight
fully, somewhere, of his brother
Dane, a poor poet whom he en
countered at Berlin or Leipsic, du-
I ring a season when Jenny Lind
was winning her brightest laurels.
The good-natured novelist was
charmed to recognise the poor
devil verse writer. _ He instant I v
; began to think what he could do
j for him. A bright thought struck
j him ; it cost some ten dollars to
• hear the great songstress, and An
; dersen forthwith told his friend that
j he would take him to hear Jenuv
Bind. 41 I hat is what I hav® made
jail my journey for,” said the p.ct,
i‘*and l have heard Iter alreadv!”
i “ How so ?” asked Andersen ; “ it
| costs a fortune.” “1, will tell you.
I went to the Theatre and got my
self hired for a couple of nights as
| a supernumerary for a few kreut
; zers ; they sent me on the stage as
; a hussar, with a huge gun. 1 got
in the front ranks, close by Jenny
Lind, but alas, no sooner had she
begun to sing than I forgot where
| I was, dropped my musket and
i burst into tears. 1 was expelled
from the supernumeraries in dis-
I grace!”
|°
WINGED TELEGRAPHS.
Magne ic Electricity for tele
graphic purposes has nearly super-
I seded pigeons. Till very recently
j a regular “ service” of Carrier Pi
geons existed between London and
Paris, for the quick conveyance of
such intelligence as was likely to
affect the funds. The French capi
tal was the focus of the system, in
exemplification of the adage that
“ail roads lead to Paris,” and pi
geon expresses branched off in all
directions from that city even to St.
Petersburg. Relays of them are
still kept up between Paris and
Madrid, besides a few other places.
The most celebrated relays of
winged messengers were those
which bore intelligence between
Antwerp, Brussels and Paris. In
the former eity r a society of pigeon
fanciers, for amusement and emu
lation, keeps up art establishment
of them. Their doings are amu
singly chronicled in Kohl’s last
book of Travels, Reiscn in den Nci
derhinden.
Having been invited to join some
i members of the Society of Antwerp
Pigeon Fanciers, he wended his
; way, about five o’clock one morn
| ing, through the silent streets of the
ancient city. A few members of
the association, he says, who di
rected the expedition, were followed*
by servants, carrying two flat bas
kets, in wh:ch the pigeons, about to
be dispatched, were carefully de
posited. As we proceeded along,
my com [mnions related to me some
particulars concerning the carrier
pigeons, or “pigeons voyageur* as
these winged messengers are de
signated. The carriers are a pe
culiar race of pigeons, endowed
with powers of memory and obser
vation which enable them to find
their way to any place, by a course
along which they have once flown.
Every kind of pigeon js not capable
of being taught lo do this. Os the
methods adopted by the Antwerp
association for training and teach
ing these carriers, I learned the fol
lowing particulars.
Supposing a dispatch of pigeons
is to be sent off’ from Antwerp to
Brussels or Paris, the birds are
kept for some time at the place of
arrival or terminus, and during that
interval are plentifully fed and care
fully tended. By little excursive
flights, taken day by day, they are
j gradually familiarised with differ
ent parts of the town in which they
have been nurtured, and with places
in its vicinity. When sufficiently
practised in finding their way to
slfort distances, the pigeons are
conveyed to a station some
leagues from their dove cot. Here
they are kept for a time without
food, and then set to flight. On
taking wing, they rapidly soar to a
vast height, scanning the line of the
horizon to discern the church spires,
or other lofty points which enable
thefti to distinguish their home.
Some of the less intelligent birds
lose their way, and are seen no
more. Those who return home (to
Paris, or wherever else it may be.)
j are again plentifully fed. Then,
after a little space of time, they are
carried in baskets some miles fur
j ther, in the direction of Antwerp ;
j again they are put on a short al
, lowance of food, and negligently
1 tended. When the pigeons depart
|on their next flight, the Parisian
church spires have sunk far be
neath the horizon ; however, they
so<n succeed in combining that
portion of tlie route with which they
are acquainted, with the part as
yet unknown to them. They hover
round and round in the air, seeking
to catch one or other thread that is
to guide them through the labyrinth.
•Some find it; others do not.
in this manner the carrier pi
geons are practised bit by bit, along
the whole distance between Paris
and Antwerp. Thev attentively
observe, or study, and learn bv
heart, each conspicuous object
which serves them as a land mark
on the way. it is usual to exercise
particular pigeons between the two
cities, which it is wished to connect
by this sort ol postal communica
tion ; and it is necessary to have a
certain number tor going, and
others for returning. Alter the
birds have been accustomed to in
habit a certain district, and to travel
by a particular route, it is not found
easy to divert them from their
wonted course, and to make them
available in auv other direction.
My friends, the members of tin*
Antwerp Society, assured me that
iheir pigeons had frequently flown
from Paris to Antwerp in six or
seven hours; consequently in a
much shorter time than that in
which the samejourney is performed
by the railway train 13v bird's
flight, the distance between the two
cities is forty miles (German,*) and
therefore it follows that these ear
ner pigeons must travel at the rate
of from twenty to thirty English
mil< san hour. It is scarcely con
ceivable tout they should possess
the strength of wing and vigor of*
lungs requisite for such a flight;
and it is no unfiequent occurrence
lor several of them iodic on arriving
at theirjoun.ey’s end. In stormy
weather the loss of two-thirds of the
birds dispatched on such a long
flight, is a disaster always to he
counted on. It is, therefore, usual
to send off a whole flock, all bear
ing the same intelligence, so as to
ensure the chance of one, at least,
reaching iis destination.
The pigeon expedition which 1
saw dispatched from Antwerp, con
sisted of about thirty birds. The
point of departure was a somewhat
elevated site in the outskirts of tin?
city. A spot like* this is* always
made choice of, lest the pigeons, on
first taking flight, should lose them
selves amidst the house-’ops and
church-spires of the city with which
they are acquainted; and by having
the open country before them, they
are enabled to trace out their own
land-marks. When the pigeons
are to he sent off on lengthened
journeys, it is usual to convey them
to the point of departure at a very
early hour in the morning :-*-bv this
means they are dispatched in
quietude, unmolested by au assem
blage of curious gazers, and they
have the light of a whole day be
fore them for their journey. Car
rier pigeons do not pursue their
flight after night-fall, being then
precluded by the darkness from
seeing the surrounding country with
sufficient distinctness to enable
them to discern their resting-places,
or stations. In the obscurity of
night the whole Hock might light on
o o o
strange dove-cotes, and be cap
lured ; an accident which would
•occasion the total failure of a postal
expedition, for the fe v pigeons who
might escape capture, would,on the
return of morning, he bewildered,
and unable to recombine their plan
of route.
Pigeons are not suited for postal
communication between places so
remote one from another that the
journey cannot be completed in a
single day. If it can be accom
plished in one flight, so much the
better. Antwerp and Paris are, 1
believe, the extreme points of dis
tance within which carrier pigeons
are capable of journeying with cer
tainty.
Herr Kohl gives no account of
these stations or stages. We once
saw one at Montricul, the first sta
tion beyond Dover, towards Paris-
The town stands on a high eim**
nence, and well adapted for tho
purpose. The cote was on the
root of a cnfS. It was a square
apartment, with a flat ceiling, in
* The German mile includes rrcarly thn?o sr*|
a half E.ig’lith miles.
NUMBER 28.