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BY H. 0. HORN AD Y.
VOL. Hl.*
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mcn.r.* """A 1
"selected articles.
S&cspoct OKI
'Tli:.re, give him all the path. Triad
Mo ,vly and reverently in his presence.—
II >{ j imt rude laughter; check that idle
s (J o you nob upon his temples the
snow’s of many winters 1 See you not the
sail lieu eve, the bowed form, the thin
hand upon whose surface the blue veins
stand out like cords ? Gone are the beauty
and the strength of manhood ; and in that
faded tve but little light is left, save that
<,f l.ve and kindness. That voice has lost
i: ; music, save the soft under*toneof kindly
flection.
Sit down, young friend, and hear that
■uorv of the olden time; and if hi looking
backwards into the mists of the past, he
sometimes forgets—-sometimes confounds
il iirs and incidents, or tells the same old j
talc for the twentieth time, think over what;
a vac field his memory wanders —ovorj
whit a checkered web of events. Thought!
t ikes her beaten track, down into the depth:
.-i yea;'?. Oil, the joys and sorrows, the :
lop.-s a.-.d disappointments, the anxieties'
and wrongs and sufferings he rouses from|
t!n ir dreamy beds, as lie fights life’s ‘battle
oh r again.' * Standing upon 4ho boundary j
!i e> between life and the untried future, his ;
I'e r would fain turn backward into the paths j
of the past. One moment he longs for
,-cv. —l’m next come back the mocking
mem ~ ics of departed joys. The thornsi
have dropped silently nwey amidst the!
)c . .of the roses he gathered in childhood ;
,and youth—-their beamy and fragrance j
..lone tv main.
Ob, you in whose bounding veins young j
lingers, and vou in the full beauty
t ‘ V A >r .4 mauhuod, respect the aged!!
l/.si.-n to the wisdom which is the voice o(
rienc;-. Cheer him with kindly words;
*uoirolo him with your strong arm, and
j e ad him a? he descends the western hill of
!Uc, the shadows deepening In night—the
fchi’o hairs upon his temple already drift
\xlr ii the cool breeze which up
from the valley of death.
Honor the aged, that he may leave you
his hi.‘ . ‘mg on the threshhold of the un-.
known lur'd. Honor him, and God will
r.'.i-e np for you friends to remove the
thorns hom the last league of your own
Ms journey, for the sake of the weary one
of the long ag *, whose bowed form never
str nr and and with a'weight of cure or grief
which you might have carried while you
a a’’ cd carelessly along, intent upon your
•wit e isn and pleasure.
41 *mvr tlu> aged, f*r U*> >iko who was
! before the world was—wh s> life is
pv’n everlasting to everlasting.
Honor Inm Unit sVeMy wotkeih
M tu uo wUMwtoiH „'
OUni will er?>e Uw wretch that movhm
Hoary Uaira, with ttgkh4 agt
'K,. n •: as faculty, bat as a produc
tion of tao mind, is a sudden association of
Intakes in an unusual and manner,
so as to produce pWasarre, ami tending u>
excite mirth.
a amb gjaam&M'x
ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 13, 1862.
Sliakspearc s a Man.
It is a nobler thing to know that such a
man as Shakspcare was created than to be
familiar with the slidv of whole libraries
of dustv tomes. The advent of a son! so
richly gifted, of a nature so intensely ideal
and so richly passionate, is an era in the
history of man. No poet ever reached a
height so lofty, described so grandly, spec
ulate and so daringly, or felt so deeply ; and
none over seemed so little conscious of an
effect. His grandest thoughts flow so nat
urally, that it is easy to see that they are
familiar and accustomed to his mind, and
his gaiety and mirth are equally character
istic of himself. Ilamlet and Mercutio,
Macbeth and Romeo, Prospero and Bene
dict, are all Shakspeare in his different
moods j and the wit, the idealist, soldier,
and sage, each and ail bear the impress of
having originated from the same mind. —
There is probably less known of Shakspeare
personally than of any man of mark in
English history. He lived in an age of
heroes, and he was a foremost man among
them. His contemporaries bowed before
ills master spirit, and the most colossal
minds of all Europe have acknowledged his
sovereignty. And yet we have a better
knowledge of men who died a thousand
years ago, before printing perpetuated tra
dition, when chroniclers were few, than of
this wondrous man. There is not, we have
reason to think, a single letter of his wri
ting preserved, and scarcely a contempora-
Iry anecdote. There are portraits, not one
of which can be proved to be authentic; a
bust which seems genuine, but can not. be
warranted.
This man, the real spiritual king of Eng
land, is in his individuality as much a myth
as Homer. But this we do know : a man
there lived whose intellectual and moral
nature was a microcosm which embraced
the ideal of humanity, and that he left be
hind a hundred representatives of his own
mind, none like each other, but all like,
himself, of whom every passing speculation J
or reasoning is best illustrated, and in
whom every emotion finds its nfiitlest and ;
•most genuine utterance.
Duelling.
If is a startling but undeniable truth, that!
duelling, as a practice under our govern-1
merit, has effected.a practical subversion of i
the litw of the land. Nay, the absolute ;
overthrow and destruction of the criminal
code would bo less offensive to our sense
of justice than the partial and unjust ad- j
(ninistratioTi of the law as it now exists.— I
It is a disgraceful fact, a reproach to our!
country, that our criminal law, while it pro- i
teases to know no man, is, in its practical i
administration, made for but one class of
our citizens, an I the se the weak, the igno- \
rant, the defenceless. There exists in our
country a privileged class: sol distant men j
of honor; who have established for them-1
selves ‘a higher law.’ They put their foot
upon the criminal code and trample it in
the dust. They may and they do commit
murder with impunity. This may sound
like plain language, but wo have sot out to
tell plain truths, and do not intend to be
balked in the work. And when we assert
that there is a privileged class in the com- !
inanity who commit murder with impunity,
we have we ghed our words; we speak ad
visedly, and challenge contradiction. And
what renders the tiling revolting to every
honest and right-thinking man, is the fact
that while such a class of men in our midst
are absolutely irresponsible to the law for;
their crimes, we are guilty of the injustice
and meanness of continuing to enforce the
law against those who have not the daring
or the power to resist. The first human j
lesson ever taught us was to despise the
leveller, to scorn the man who Would array 1
one class of society against another, and it
is one we shall never forget. We have,
then, no objection to a privileged class.— j
Whenever the country is ripe for it, we:
will submit without a murmur to an aria-'
kooraey, built upon virtue and intelligence.
But we do protest, and shall with our dying
; breath protest, against an aristocracy of j
| crime-—<n aristocracy in whose ensigns ar
! moral the antes typifies ihe hand of Cain.
■lfthe majesty of the law is so degraded
that it must bend its supple knee before
this brotherhood of blood, if public opinion
is so besotted, the public mind so degraded
that the administration of law has degen
erated into the essence .i cruelty and in
justice, then let us have a general jail
delivery—let the jail birds go free—let us
proclaim a y*ar of jubilee for the murder
! ers, and see if the very excess of crime will
not work out its own remedy. Bul let us
: hear no more of hanging Jack Cade ia his
, rugs, while the law meanly quails under the
frown of an aristocracy of crime.
A Pcs is a sudden association *>i words
it! an unnatural manner, and in unusual and
striking relations, partaking of the nature
of both wit and humor, so as to produce
surprise, joined with pleasure or pain, and
tending to excite mirth or anger.
A child beginning to read, is delighted
with a tv \ spaper, because he reads the
names of things which are familiar, and
; will make progress accordingly.
“his banner over” us is “love."
From the Southern Field find Fireside.
“ In Mcmoriam ”
i A tribute to the memory of Charles L
j Hammond, a member of the Brooks Artiflciy,
j •who fell a martyr to the cause of Southern in
j dependence, in the battle near Richmond, fought
■ on the 30th June, 1863.
He was struck by a cannon ball, and lived
! only two hours afterwards. A few moments
j before his death, lie spoke tenderly of mother,
j home, and loved ones; but said he had lost liis
] file in a holy cause, and felt willing to die, be
! lieving, as he did, that the grave was only the
; entrance gate to a blissful her- i—r.
j I have learned since his death that it was ins
| wish—should he fall in battle—that. I, liis old
I schoolmate and early friend, should comraemo
j rate it in verse. Hence this humble offering to
i the memory of one so young, so lamented.
Annie R. Blount.
! ’Tis the roll-call of honor , that list of the dead
; Which you read with a quivering frame,
j A heart wild with terror —a tremulous lip,
Lest you find there the one cherish’d name,
j Oh! eagerly, anxiously, down the long list
Your eyes travel fast —with hushed breath
You read of the many brave sons of the South
Who have sank in the slumber of death.
i It is there! —no, Ibank God, 'lwasyonr vision
deceived!
And you smile a smile sadder than tears,
Thinking how the tried heart is oft needlessly
grieved
By the horrors we paint with our fears.
Brief moment of respite! oh, cherish it well
’Tis the last that thou ever shall know ;
Turn over the leaf: there's Ms name! ves, hi* mm:
Oh ! mother, God pity thy woe!
You are stunned by the blow, and you read in
a trance
Of the charge by our gallant troops made,
i How they pre -sed on ’mid canister, grape-shot
and shell —-
i Ou, on! “Forward still!”—undismayed;
j How they silenced the battery, routed the foe, ;
While their brave comrades on every side
j Fell wounded and bleeding, cried “Never give
up,”
Blessed the cause that they fought tor - and.
died !
You hear in a dream the. l aid shd*t from die
street
01 our victory so gloriously won;
The proud banners wave and the drfims loudly
beat —
But mother, oh! ickere is your son ?
In the first flush of triumph who thinks of him
now T
Who thinks.of your pale slaughtered boy
Who fell with the sabre lie bore dyed in blood, 1
And felt thus to perish were joy ?
|
But was there no thought of the home he had (
left
While his life blood gushed forth like a stream,
As he dragged him away to the sheltering wood
And sank in delirium’s wild dream ?
Yes; a prayer passed his lips, ashy white though'
they were,
For not even lever could craze
That poor brain so much as to drive from his
thoughts
Mother, home, and bis boyhood's bright days
Swift-footed they came, those fond thoughts of
the past,
Fast, fast, ebbed his life-blood away;
Still 1 here lingered a prayer on those beautiful;
lips
For the mot in r who taught him t* pray .
And a blessing for her, the voting maiden be
loved—
Alas ! he would see her no more!
One shiver convulsive—his pulses grew still
And the dream’of the soldier was o’er!
Swift hurried the burial -no time for regrets,
The foe may be'sMll’lurking near;
So they part the fair locksjfrom his gun- dabbled
brow,
Sliding back the sad sigh and the tear,
And with reverent hands his fust stiffening limbs
They decently, kindly compose,
Then lay him to rest near the spotJwloTe he till
In a soldier’s unbroken repose.
Sleep ou, oh !young hero! for sweet is thejsleep
Of the brave ones who thus perish well;
Southern legends and songs a hundred years
hence
Of his death and his valor shall tell.
For though long is the roll call of honor,yet ne’er
Shall one name written there be forgot,
But their praise e’er he sung by the old anil tht
young,
By the inmates of pahuv and cot.
Fare well then, oh! playmate, and friend of tuy
youth;
; A young life full of prondse and worth
Was buried with the*-. Th> u wert winning a
name
'Mid the lofty aad honored of earth.
By no obstacle daunted, self poised and self made j
With honor and truth for thy shield,
Thou didst shine all the brighter, a glorious
young star,
Through the mist and she darkness revealed.
—~ ♦ •
Young ladies who are aecu'f* un and u> read
good newspapers are always observed to
more amiable dispositions, invari
ably make good wives and always select
good husbands.
Swearing.
j Of all the nauseous, complicated Jennies
| That both infest and stigmatise theltimes,
j There’s none that can with impious'oaths oom
i Pare,
; Where vice and folly have unequal share.
It is not our purpose to write a homily
jon this subject: but simply to rail atten
jtion, in a few plain remarks, to a wide
spread and pernicious evil. Sweating, like
! drinking, is confined to no one class or con
iditionof society. The young and the old,
persons of both sexes—the rich and the
poor, the learned and the ignorant, the bond
and the free, are more or less guilty of the
practice. Should the eye of a profane
swearer light upon these lines, we ask him
to pause a moment, and seriously ponder
'the following consideration.
Profane swearing is forbidden by God. —
Sw r ear not at all.” This command is pos
itive; as much so as any precept of the
Decalogue ; and for the violation of which
you are as responsible as you would be for
theft—for He who said “Thou shalt not
steal,” has also said “.Swear not at all.”—
| If, therefore, you have any regard for your
; Maker, desist from the practice of profane
1 swearing.
It is a useless 'practice. We have heard
| men attempt to justify the use of strong
! drink on the grounds of its utility: they
jtell us it warms them in winter, and cools
them in summer—and they are firmly per
jsuaded that all this is so ! But whoever
; heard a just or even a sensible plea /or an
oath? Who will pretend to say that the!
use of profane language is profitable in any
j way ? The swearer himself knows that it!
is not. It makes him neither wiser, nor
: richer, nor more respectable. It increases
in no degree'his influence; and it is very !
1 far from]recommending’ him to the favora-1
ble notice and regards of the good and up- ;
right. Besides all this, il is a well known !
fact that but little confidence is placed in j
the statements of a man who bucks what!
hesa\sbya hard oath. His veracity is
most commonly suspected by men of strict
integrity ; and if believed at all, it is be
cause what'hejstates is knownOo be true,
independently of his testimony. In short,
not one single advantage can be shown to]
result from the practice. Why, then, per
sist in*it ?
It is no mark of a gentleman to swear.
We do not say that he who swears is no
gentleman—we leave others to determine
this. But we do say that profane swearing
is no mark of good breeding—ofgentleman-'
ly character. What are the facts of the
case ? Why, the most worthless and vile,
the refuse of mankind, and the drunkard, j
swear as well as the bestjdressed and best j
educated ‘gentleman.’ It requires no par
ticular smartness, no special intellectual
endowment to acquire proficiency in this
art. The of mankind
swear with as much tact and skill as the j
most refined. To say the least, then, the !
common swearer cannon this accountably
no claim to being a gentleman ; the practice i
adds nothing to his respectability.
The most weighty consideration against 1
sh earing is, (rod will not hold yon guiltless, j
One of the ten commandments is specially |
directed against this practice : “ Thou shalt j
not take the’namelof the Lord thv God in j
vain.” No man so frequently and so wan
tonly takes j lie name of God in vain as the I
profane swearer. He never uses it but \
with profane lips; he never uses it but in j
invoking imprecations either on liis own;
head or on others. Eor such wanton, im j
pious use of His name—a Name before!
w hich all„hol v intelligerices“prostrate them !
selves—God has solemnly declared "1 j
will not hold him guiltless that taketb my i
name in vain.” Let the swearer seriously j
think of it, and letAiim'abandotTa practice
which is’not only wholly unprofitable, but J
which, if not repented of, must finally ex- j
pose him to the malediction of his oflended
Maker.
The Providential Bullet. — When Uli
\er < Yomwell entered upon the command
of the Parliament’s army against Charles I, i
he ordered that every soldier should carry j
a Bible in his pocket. Among the rest]
there was a wild, w icked young fellow, w ho i
ran away from his apprenticeship in Lon-;
don for the sake of plunder and dissipation, j
Being one day ordered out on a skirmishing !
expedition, cr to attH k some fortress, he
returned t> his quarters in the evening ‘
without hurt. When he was going to bed,
pulling his Bible out of his pocket he ob
served a bullet-hole in it, the depth of which
he traced till he found the bullet had stop- \
ped at Ecclesiastes xi, 0: “Rejoice, O
young man, in thy youth, and let thy heari
cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and
walk thou in the ways of thy heart and it
the sight of thine eyes, btit t kaowqthou that
jfor all these things God will bring thee into
I judgment.” The words were sent home
: upon his heart by the Divine Spirit, so that :
he became a sincere believer-in the Lord
Jeus Christ. He lived in London man}
years after the civil war was over.
- * -
The liar is the greatest fbol; but the next
greatest fool is he w ho tells ail he knows. —
A prudent silence is the highest practical
! wisdom. Silence has made more fortunes
than the most gifted eloquence.
TEKM S Three Dollars a-year.
Saturday T^i^iu.
“ ’Tis Saturday night ” says the man who
depends for his daily bread upon his daily
labor, “an 1 glad am I that Saturday night
lias come. 1 have been toiling hard during
jail the week, and my weary limbs need
I rest. To morrow they will have that rest;
|so that on Monday, with bodily strength
i recruited, and with spirits refreshed, 1 shall
jgo forth again to my work. I shall also
have washed from me for twenty-four hours
i fhe sweat and.dust which, in thv labor du
] ring the week, have been contracted ; shall
: have been clothed in garrnen's whole and
!clean; shall have enjoyed the society of
i my good wife and children, and shall have
I been furnished an opportunity of reading
land hearing what will improve my mind
and heart. I have read and read again
j Burns’ ‘ Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ and, like
j that humble cottager in Scotland, poor as
j myself, I am glad when ’(isSaturday night.”
“’Tis Saturday night,” says the man of
the world—the pleasure-lover, the pleasure
seeker—“ and to-morrow comes another of
those tedious days ! To me Sunday is
longer than any three days put to-gether.—
There is nothing going on with which 1 have
j any particular concern; no stir, no parties,
no diversions of any kind. 1 once heard a
* Take a Sabbath and extend
it on forever, and it would give a pretty,
good idea of Heaven.’ If so, Heaven has
!no charms for me, thaj’s certain. Unless
: my present views and feelings are changed,
! I Shall never go there.”
fc>
“ ’Tis Saturday night,” says the Christian,
“ and joyfully do I anticipate the morrow—
‘ Day of all the week the best,
Kniblem of eternal rest?
With such a treacherous heart as 1 have,
and encompassed by such noxious influences
as those with which 1 am surrounded, badly
I off indeed should I be without the Sabbath.
Truly was it ‘made for man,’and as a frail,
tempted, depraved creature I need it. 1
need L to break the force of a vain world
upon'-Ay own mind ; 1 need it as a relief
from business and cares; I need it for the
study of divine things, and for self-examina
don; 1 need It for public and private de
votion. How attractive the sanctuary —
j the assembly within it, and its services!—
! Flow inspiring the songs of Zion ! How
interesting, elevating, and comforting the
sermons of my dear pastor ! How pleas
ant to meditate upon an ascended, glorified
Saviour, and a finished redemption ! Yes,
I love to see Saturday night, because then I
know that the blessed Sabbath is nigh at
hand.
Effect nil Prayer.
I was struck by a remark which 1 read
some years ago, to the effect that wc make
prayers too much as soldiers fire their mus
kets on a field of battle, each man deliver
mg liis ball according to certain iules, and
not troubling himself about its effect; —
whereas, our prayers ought rather to n
semble the aim of an American liflernan,
who is confident in all ordinary eases of
hitting his mark ; because there can he no
such thing as itu Ifectftal prayer of the tight
sort. Prayers are not as bullets, whereof
one hits and a hundred miss, but it is writ
ten, ‘ Whatsoever ye shall ask the Lather
in my name, he shall give it you.’ And
if we consider seriatim the details of the
patlern set before us in the Lord’s Prayer,
we find that the several petitions are all
arrows which can not miss the mark ; they
are not liable to the contingencies of more
private requests, doubtful as to the answer
given them, but there arc no doubts as to
the expediency that the Father’s name
should be hallowed, that His kingdom
should come, and His will be done—there
fore it -cents to me that these things must
be the staple commodity of all our prayers,
and, that He who knows our condition knew
that we should best consult ogr ow n private
and personal interests bv seeking first the
glory of liis name. And the reason why
the Lord’s prayer is repeated so many mil
lions of times with no effect is, that the
matter of the petition is commonly the very
Inst thing desired by those who utter it.—
It can not he learned bqj from the Lord
himself.
Sllkc.—T he nnwiaest of all economies is
time saved from necessary sleep, for it be
gets a nervous irritability which masters
the body and destroys the mind. When a
person becomes sleepless, the intellect is in
danger. A restored lunatic of superior
mental endowments,said : “ The first symp
tom <-i insanity, in my own case, was a want >
of sleep; and from the time I began to
sleep soundly, mv recovery was sure.”
Let this be a warning to all who arc ac
quiring an education. Every young person
at school should have eight hours for sleep
out of the twenty-four; for as the brain is
highly stimulated at the time, in the prose
cution of study, it will break down, just as
•toy other part of the frame, unless it have
time for recuperation. Better a thousand
times to give another year t> the com ple
tion of specified studies lhan, f>v eurtniiin/
sleep, to endeavor togetfilroiigh that much
soonpr, at the risk of madness,
I Our own happiness ia best promoted by
seeking the welfare of others.
NO. 43.