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Mi MTIBIIiLI VOLUME 11. §>tkM fnftrtj. THE LOVE OF NATURE. Where the green banners of the forest float, Where, from the Sun’s imperial domain, Armour’d in gold, attentive to the noto Os piping birds, the sturdy trees remain, Those never-angered armies; where the plain Boasts to the day its bosom ornaments Os com and fruitag •; where the low refrain Os sea*ide music song on song invents, Laden with placid thought, whereto the heart as sents, Often l wander. Nor does the light Noon, Garrulous to man’s eye, declaring a!l That Morning pale (watched by her spectre moon, Or solemn Vesper, a'ed near the pall Os Dav) holds unrevealed; nor does the fall | Os curtain on our hitman pantomime, Toe sweeping by of Day’s black funeral Through Night’s uwe-strickcn realms, with tread sublime, Chiefly delight my heart;beauty pervades all lime. Morning: the Day i< innocent, and weeps; Noon: she is wedded and enjoys the Earth ; ; Evening: wearied of the world she sleeps. Night watches till another Day has bii th. The innocence of Morning, and the mirth Os Noon, the holy calm of Eventide, The watching while Day is not. there is dearth j Os j"y within his soul who hath not cried : ‘I welcome all, O God, —share all Thou wilt pro vide!” Idcrttit Cole. j =—-—•- ■ THE POWER OF MERCY. Quiet enough, in general, is the quaint old town of Lam borough Why all this busile to day ? Along :he hedge-bound roads which lead to it, carts, chaises, vehicles of every description are jogging along filled with countrymen ; and here and there the scarlet cloak or straw bon net of some female occupying a chair, placed somewhat unsteadily behind them,contt asts gaily with the dark coats or grey smock-frocks of the front row ; from every cottage of the suburb, some individuals join the stream, which rolls on increa sing through the streets till it rea ches the castle. The ancient moat teems with idlers, and the hill op posi'e, usually the quiet domain of a score or two of peaceful sheep, partakes of the surrounding agita tion. The voice of the multitude which surrounds the court-house, sounds like the murmur of the sea, till sud denly it is raised to a sort of shout. John West, the terror of the surroun ding country, the sheep-stealer and burgler, had been found guilty. ‘What is the sentence?’ is asked by a hundred voices. The answer is, ‘Transportation fur Life.’ But there was one standing aloof on the hill, whose inquiring eye wan dered over the crowd with indescri bable anguish, whose pallid cheek grew more and more ghastly at every denunciation of the culprit, and who, when at last the sentence was pronounced, fell insensible up on the green-sward. Tt was the burgler’s son. When the boy recovered from his swoon, it was late in the afternoon; he was alone ; the faint tinkling of the sheep bell had again replaced the sound of the human chorus of expectation, and dread, and jesting ; Jill was peaceful, he could not un derstand why he lav there, feeling so weak and sick. He raised hitn seli tremulously and looked around, die turf was cut and spoilt by the trampling of many feet. All his life of the last few months floated before his memory, his residence in his father’s hovel with ruffianly com rades, the desperate schemes he heard as he pretended to sleep on his lowly bed, their expeditions at night, masked and armed, their has ty returns, the news of his father’s capture, his own removal to the house of some female in the town, the court, the trial, the condemna tion. The father had been a harsh, and brutal parent, but he had not posi tively ill-used his boy. Os the Great and Merciful Father of the fatherless he knew nothing. He deemed himself alone in the world. \Tt grief was not his prevailing feeling, nor the shame of being known as the son of a transport. — It was revenge that burned within him. He thought of the crowd which had come to feast upon his lather’s agony; he longed to tear H-D. „ Dniotcft tn literature, Incnre onjt Art, tjj t Inns nf Crtnpcrnnre, (Diiii Itllotitsjjiji, Bnsnnrtj unit feral Untdligrnrr. them to perces, and he plucked sav agely a hand full of the grass on which he leant. Oh, that he were a man ! that he could punish them all—all, the spectators first, the con stables, the judge, the jury, the wit nesses, —one of them especially, a clergyman named Levlon, who had given his evidence more positively, more clearly, than all the others.— Oh, that he could do that man some injury, but for him, his father would not have been identified and convic ted. Suddenly a thought occurred to him, his eyes sparkled with fierce delight. 4 I know where he lives,’ he said to himself; ‘he has the farm and parsonage at Millwood. I will go there at once—it is almost dark already. I will do as as 1 have heard father say he once did to the Squire. 1 will set his barns and his house on fire. Yes, yes, he shall burn for it, he shall get no more fa ther's transported.’ To procure a box of matches was an easy task, and that was all the preparation the boy made. The autumn was far advanced. A cold wind was begining to moan amongst the almost leafless trees, and George West’s teeth chattered, and his ill-clad limbs grew numb as lie walked along the fields leading to Millwood. ‘Lucky it’s a dark night; this tine wind will fan the flame nicely,’ he repeated to him self. The clock was striking nine, but all was quiet as midnight ; not a soul was stirrring, not a light in the parsonage windows that he could see. He and a red not open the gate, lest the click of the latch should be tray him, so he softly climbed over; but scarcely had he dropped on the other side of the wall before the loud barking of a dog startled him. He cowered down behind the hay rick, scarely daring to breathe, ex pecting each instant that the dog would spring upon him. It was some time before the bov dared to stir, and as his courage cooled, his thirst for revenge somewhat subsi ded also, till he almost determined to return to Lnmborough ; but he was too tired, too cold, too hungry, besides, the woman would beat him for staying out so late. What could he do? where should he go ? and as the. sense of his lonely and forlorn position returned, so did also the affectionate remembrance of his fa ther, his hatred of his accusers, his desire to satisfy his vengeance; and once more, courageous through an ger, he rose, took the box from his pocket, and boldly drew one of them across the sand-paper. It flamed; he stuck it hastily in the stack against which he rested, —it only flickered a little and went out. In great trepidation, young West once more grasped the whole of the remaining matches in his hand and ignited them, hut at the same instant the dog barked. He hears .the gate open, a step is close to him, the matches are extinguished, the lad makes a desperate effort to escape, but a strong hand was laid on his shoulder, and a deep cahn voice in quired, ‘ What can have urged you to such a crime?* Then calling loudly, the gentleman, without re linquishing his hold, soon obtained the help of some farming men, who commenced a search with their lan terns ail about the farm. Os course they found no accomplices, nothing at all but the handful of half-con sumed matches the lad had dropped, and he all that time stood trembling and occasionally struggling beneath the firm but not rough grasp of the master who held him. At last the men were told to re turn to the house, and thither by a different path was George led till they entered a small, poorly fur nished room. The walls were cov ered with books, ns the bright flame of the fire revealed to the anxious gaze of the little culprit. The cler gyman lit a lamp and surveyed his prisoner attentively. The lad’s eyes were fixed on the ground, whilst Mr. Leyton’s wandered from his pale pinched features to his scanty ragged attire, through the tatters ot which he could discern the thin limbs quiv rering from cold or fear; and when at last impelled by curiosity at the long silence,George looked up, there was something so sadly compassion ate in the stranger’s gentle look, that the boy could scarcely believe that SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1850. lie was really the man whose evi dence had mainly contributed to transport his father. At the trial he had been unable to see his face, and nothing so kind had ever gazed up on him. His proud bad feelings were already melted. ‘ You looked half-starved,’ said Mr. Leyton, ‘ draw near to the fire you can sit down on that stool whilst question you ; and mind you answer me the truth. lam not a magis trate, but of course can easilv hand you over to justice if you will riot allow me to benefit you in my own wav.’ George still stood twisting his ragged cap in his trembling fingers and with so much emotion depicted on his face, that the good clergyman resumed, in still more soothing ac cents ; ‘ I have no wish to do you any thing but good my poor boy ; look up at me and see if you can not trust me: you need not be thus frightened. I only desire to hear the tale of misery your appearance indicates, to relieve it if 1 can.” Here the young culprit’s heart smote him. Was this the man whose house he had tried to burn ? On whom he had wished to bring ruin and perhaps death ? Was it a snare spread for him to lead to con fession ? But when he looked on that grave compassionate counte nance, he felt that it was not. ‘ Come, m v lad, tell me all.* George had for years heard little but oaths, and curses, and ribald jests, or the thief's jargon of liis fa ther’s associates, and had been con stantly cuffed and punished; but the better part of his nature was no: extinguished; and at those words from the mouth of his enemy, he dropped on his knees, and clasp ing his hands, tried to speak; but could only sob. He had not wept before during that day of anguish ; and now his tears gushed forth so freely, his grief was so passionate as lie half knelt, halt rested on the floor, that the good questioner saw that sorrow must have its course ere calm could be restored. The young penitent still wept, when a knock was heard at the door and a lady entered. It was the cler gyman’s wife, he kissed her as she asked how he had succeeded with the wicked man in die jail? ‘He told me,’ replied Mr. Ley ton, that he had a son whose fate tormented him more than his pun ishment. Indeed his mind was so distracted respecting the youth that he was scarcely able to understand mv exhortations. He entreated me with agonizing energy to save his son from such a life as he had led, and gave me the address of a wo man in whose house he lodged. I was, however, unable to find the boy in spite of many earnest inqui ries.’ ‘ Did vou hear his name ?’ asked the wile. ‘ George West,’ was the reply. At the mention of his name, the boy ceased to sob. Breathless he heard theaccunt of his father’s last request, of the benevolent clergy man’s wish to fulfil it. He started up, ran towards the door and endea vored to open it; Mr. Leyton calm ly restrained him,‘You must not escape,* he said ‘I cannot stop here. I cannot bear to look at you. Let me go !’ The lad said this wildly, and shook him self away. ‘ Why, I intend you nothing but kindness,’ Anew flood of tears gushed forth ; and George West said be tween Ids sobs, ‘ Whilst you were searching for me to help me, I was trying to burn vou in your house. I cannot bear it.’ He sunk on his knees and cov ered his face with both hands. There was a long silence, for Mr. and Mrs. Leyton were as much moved as the boy, who was bowed down with shame and penitence, to which hitherto he had been a stran ger. At last the clergyman asked, — ‘ What could have induced you to commit such a crime?’ Rising suddenly in the excite ment of remorse, gratitude, and many feelings new to him, he hesi tated for a moment, and then told his story ; he related his trials his sorrows, his supposed wrongs, his burning anger at the terrible fate of his only parent, and bis rage at the exultation of the crowd: his desolation on recovering from his swoon, his thirst for vengeance, the attempt to satisfy it. He spoke with untaught, child-like simplicity, without attempiing to suppress the emotions which successively over came him. When he ceased, the lady has tened to the crouching boy, and soothed him with gentle words The very tones of her voice were new to him. They pierced his heart more acutely than the fiercest of the upbraidings and denuncia tions of his old companions. He looked on his mercitul benefactors with bewildered tenderness. He kissed Mrs. Leyton’s hand then gently laid it on his shoulder. He became faint and staggered. He was laid gentle on a sofa, and Mr. ancl Mrs. Leyton left him. Food was shortly administered to him, and after a lime, when his senses had become sufficiently col lected, Mr. Levton returned to the study, and explained holy and beau tiful things, which were new to the neglected boy: of the great yet lov ing Father; of Him who loved the poor, forlorn wretch, equally with the richest, and noblest, and happi est ; of the force and efficacy of the sweet beatitude, ‘Blessed are the Merciful for they shall obtain Mer cy.’ I heard this story from Mr. Ley ton, during a visit to him in May.— George West was then head plough man to a neighboring farmer one of the cleanest, best behaved,and most respected labourers in the parish. Already, writes the Paris corres pondent of the London Literary Ga zette, is the full effect of the new law on the Press beginning to make itself felt, although it has only been in operation a very few days. A semi-literary, semi-quizzical weekly publication, called La, Silhouette, has had the extreme good luck, by neglecting to have its sheets duly stamped, to incur penalties to the tune of 6000/. sterling— not a farth ••. , i ing less. Being a non-political and very harmless journal, it thought that it need not get stamps put on a poor romance, published piecemeal in the fcuiUeton form. Judge, then, of the dismav into wffch unforLu nate editors and proprietors were plunged, when the tax-office crew presented a ‘little account’ for six thousand pounds penalty. The immediate annihilation of the jour nal was, of course the consequence. Other literary, quasi-literary, and theatrical journals, are also in the agony of death ; and a whole host of scientific periodicals, deeming it impossible to live under the law, have ‘not stood on the order of their going, but gone at once.’ As for the political papers, they are bear ing up as well as they can ; but the best of them are awfully discourag ed ; the second best, feeling the ground rickety, are trying to bribe the public to subscribe by offering bv wholesale what they call premi ums of books;’ and the third best never very stout on their legs, are turning their faces to the wall, as the preliminary to giving up the ghost as decently as possible. The | poor provincial journals are, howev er. it! the most pitiable plight, —they arc literall y dropping off like rotten sheep. The extra stamp placed on journals which publish romances in their feullletons \3 making news paper proprietors exercise all their ingenuity to evade it, without letting their readers perceive it. Thus some of them give biographies, couched in as dramatic a form as possible ; others give travels ; others fall back on reviews, written in sprightly style ; some give the text of popular comedies, and so on. But sooner or later this sUpercherie will be seen through ; and it will remain to be ascertained whether that somewhat cross and always very exacting animal, the subscrib er, will be content at being deprived of his usual daily feed of trashy ro mance. Kossu'h's Habits in Exile. —Kos- suth is said to divert the hours of his captivity by educating his children, laboring in a little garden within the walls of the fortress, and by in dulging in an occasional game of kittles with the companions of bis political and military struggles. A Column from Arthurs Home Gazette. FRAd-MENTS OF THOUGHT, Br Carleto.v SsYMotft McKks. How fearfully wretched must he be, who, oppressed and unfortunate in this world, has no higher hope, no expectation of the enjoyment which the good shall have in abet ter! T here is much in life oppressive, there is much delightful; they are the happiest who can smile at its disappointments and enjoy its true pleasures, forgetting the painful, re membering the blissful hours of the past, while they look even among the storm-clouds for the rainbow of peace. When thou beholdest a miserable outcast, struggling with destitution and degradation, thou lookest upon a fellow-immortal, whom the Crea tor has endowed with a priceless spirit and an unceasing being. When an object is to he attained, stop not when one obstacle has been surmounted, or one purpose accom plished. Let not a single advan tage suffice, but pursue unwaver ingly each succeeding passage as it opens and promises a nearer ap proach to success. What pleasure we feel when we meet with those who know how to appreciate us, who can sympathise with our earnest desires and cheer us onward to the accomplishment of our true destiny. To undying fame and unfading honor, the passage is not often by a single stride, hut by successive gradations, on a rugged, and per chance a stormy way. Day suc ceeding day, and night following night, must the aspirant struggle for a name, a place, a remembrance. He who has genius to project great works, should have also ener gy to attempt their execution. No ble actions are the productions of firmness, energy, ancl exalted thoughts. The greatest beauties of this world must be but faint shadows of the glories of Heaven. It is in the temple we look for the most noble attractions rather than in the portico. Envy and discord would destroy the most joyful paradise. Love and harmony, are they not the essential elements of Heaven ? There are many loud in their ex pressions of sympathy, whose hearts are almost untouched by feeling, while there are others whose si lence betokens the depth of their sensibililies. Pain, disquiet, persecution or sor row, cannot daunt the noble mind, bent upon fulfiling a noble purpose. Live to make some impression, to act some part well, to increase the happinessof some being, to improve thy own mind, to win thy own sal vation. When we see all around us fad ing. falling, passing, it seems strange that we do not ofiener direct our gaze to the glories which are unfad ing, the habitations which never fall to ruin, the beauties .which never pass away. What unsuspected thoughts, what unforeseen words, what un looked-for actions, crowd upon the pathway of our existence in a single day! THOUGHT3 AND SENTIMENTS. Nothin? is more frightful than ac tive ignorance. The man who likes widely for the most part, likes truty. It is always safer to err in favor of others than of ourselves. Sown thoughts grow to things, and fili that field, the world. Mere art perverts taste, just as mere theology depraves religion. The beautiful in art is the beauti ful in nature moulded by humanity. Alcohol—a clothes-brush cele brated for destroying the coats of the stomach. Every man ought to aim at emi nence, not by pulling others down, but .by raising himself. Martyr—that which all “religions have furnished in about equal pro portions so much easier is it to die for religion than to live for it. He who is left to himself has many difficulties to struggle with ; but he who is saved every struggle is in a still more unfortunate posi tion. Epitaph —giving a good charac ter to parties on their going into a . # ir j new pface, who sometimes had a very bad one in the place they have just left. Man dies, but not one of his ac lions ever dies. Each is perpetua ted and prolonged for ever by inter minable results, affecting some be ings in every age to come. The desire to be loved is human nature in its purity. It is the first impulse of the opening heart, and it lives and breathes in tire bosom of all until the hour ofdeath. Affectation cannot excite sympa thy. How can you feel for him who cannot feel for himself? How can he leel for himself who exhibit# the artificial graces of studied lati tude. Revenge.—a momentary triumph of which the satisfaction dies ul once, and is succeeded bv remorse ? whereas forgiveness, which is tho noblest of all revenges, entails a perpetual pleasure. It is, indeed, at home that everv man must be known by those who would make a just estimate either of his virtue or felicity; for smiles and embroidery are alike occasion al, and the mind is often dressed for show in painted honor, and tic* ti i ‘us benevolence. A despotic government is an in verted cone resting upon a point, and liable to lie toppled dowu bv* the smallest movement. A popu lar government is a pyramid, the firmest and most enduring of all forms. The North British Review, in an article on the Literary Profession, has these reflections on an econo mical use of vitality among writers l ‘ Literary men are sad spendthrifts, not only of their money, but of themselves. At an age when oilier men are in the possession of vigo rous faculties of mind and strength of body, they are often used-up, en feebled, and only capable of effort under the influence of strong stimu lants. If a man lias the distribu tion of his own time—if his literary avocations are of that nature that they can be followed at home——if they demand only continuous effort, there is no reason why the waste of vital energy should be greater in his case than in that of ilie follower of any other learned profession. A-. man soon discovers to what extent he can safely and profitably tax his powers. To do well in the world ho must economize himself no less than money. Resi is often a good investment. A writer at one time is competent to do twice as well as at. another ; and if his leisure be well employed, the few hours of labor will be more productive than the many, at I lie time ; and the faculty of labor will remain with him twice as long. Rest and recreation, fresh air and bodily exercise are essen tial to the author, and he will do well never to neglect them. But there are professional writers who cannot regulate their hours of labor, and whose condition of life it is to tp;’ at iiregular times anil in an irregular manner. It difficult, we know, for them to abstain from uling themselves up prematurely. Ue peated paroxysms of fevet wear down the strongest frames; and many a literary man is compelled to live a life of fever, between ex citement and exhaustion of die mind. We would counsel all public writers to think well of the best mean so f econom izin g t hem selves— the bes* means of spending their time off duty. Rest and recreation, properly applied, will do much to counteract the destroying influences of spasmodic labor rtt unseason able hours, and to ward off prema ture decay. But if they apply ex citement of one kitld to repair the ravages of excitement of another kind, they must be content to live a life of nervous irritability, and ta grow old before their time.” In the warerooms of a celebrated Parisian goldsmith there are now exhibited a crown, a sceptre, a wand of justice, anil a sword of state, manufactured expressly for the Em peror of Havti, at a cost of nearly £20,000. If Barnum could man age to catch him! A young fop, about starting to New Orleans, proposedta purchase a life-preserver. “Oh, you don’t want it,” said the clerk, “a hag of wind won’t sink.” NUMBER 29.