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JOHN H. SK \LH, Editor and T*roprietor.
I- VIRGINIA FRENCH, Literary Kditor.
Ivies' department.
BY MBS. L. VIRGINIA PBENCH.
All letters intended for Mrs. ¥rencti must be
addressed to her at McMiunville Tenn.
Chains of* Clay.
BY t,. VIRGINIA FRENCH.
Calm ihy restless wing, proud spirit;
Still thy wildly throbbing heart—
Cease to dream thm dost inherit
Kcefxioai’s high, immortal part
tSmfeatlf a hidddh *trtm
strong'captivity lmth won tlnie,
Spirit ! to thy prison cell t
bark and gloomy walls surround tlioo,
Closing out the promised day,
A nd a mighty arm hath bound theo
In the clankless Chains of Clay!
Light hath shown thy spirit-bridal
All a false and mad'ning mock—
Fate bath doomed thy bosom's idol
To the vulture and the rock.
Chill around thee, dim and slowly
Creeps a strange and deadly fear,
Whispers dread, and sounds unholy
Steal upon thy shrinking oar.
Steeped in poison, coldly paining.
Wasting heart and life away,
Clasping close, and deeply staining.
Lie thy fearfnl Chains of Clay.
Bow thy haughty heart to mingle
With the idlers of the world—
Crush “ Excelsior,” tlio single
Star within its deeps impended,
Freeze thy fire-winged emulation
Down to listless apathy;
Why should thoughts rapt adoration
Shrill thy soul to ecstacy ?
Why should’st thou thus strive to number
Treasurers snatched from dull decay ?
others, round thee calmly slumber
’Neath tlieir galling Chains of Clay.
Thou would'st sweep an angel-lyre,
Tuned to melodies sublim e.
Writing with immortal lire
On the sinking sands of time !
Thou would’st nsk the mighty Giver
What the souls He gave are—
Following on the dream forever,
l p through many a distant star.
Strive no longer, vainlv breasting
Toils and terrors in thy way—
Smile —like other slaves, when resting
Neath their claukless Chains of Clay.
Thou wouldst fathom life, deep tracing
Sources utterly Unknown-
Gaining no relief, but placing
Stronger fetters round thine own.
Thou would’st pierce the dark thereafter.
Where the disembodied soul
FI ics, when spirit-pinions waft her
To a for more, eternal good.
Strong, and proud, and self-depending,
Thou would'st seek the “ perfect day,"
With a mortal’s power rending
i
foiling
Dungeon—echoes drearily—
One above is softly calling,
Weary spirit! trust in me !
Lift thine eye so worn and faded,
Bounded by its earthloss scope,
Lon?, imprisoned, and degraded, \
Waxbin xuticncc—wait in hoj v ?'
Wait then! There is a glorious,
God-appointed, coming day,
When, o’er Life and Death victorious,
Thou shaft hurst these Chains of Clay !
.V Daughter of the People,
BY It. VIRGINIA FRENCH.
How strong, how brave, how Exalted it
makes the spirit to dwell upon the history of a
lovely, gifted, and h«roio woman !
Madame Roland was all this, and much
more. In glancing back over the records of
a mighty Past, no namo shines with fairer lus
tre than that of this master spirit of the Gir
ondists.
♦ Mademoiselle Phlippon was a “daughter of
the people”—her father an engraver, and a
“ perturbed spirit;” her mother a beautiful,
ipiiet, and devout woman. Jane was an only
child, her parents were hec playmates, and
books her greatest pleasure. She was extra
ordinary even as a child. At four years of age
she rend, and what is more, understood what
she read, and yet that ripeness of intellect
which distinguished her could not properly he
called precocity, for that conveys the idea of
something premature, while maturity of mind
in her seems to have been perfectly sound and
natural.
lu early youth she was educated at a con
vent, and imbibing the doctrines of the Church
of Romo, became, like her mother, a devout
Catholic.
At the age of twenty-five she was married
lo M. Roland; a scholar, a philosopher, and
a most worthy man, but twenty-five years her
senior. The livo years immediately subse
quent to her marriage were spent at La, Plat -
iere, the country-seat of M. Roland, near Ly
ons. These were the happiest and brightest
days of her eventful life, her husband was
proud of her, and loved her most devotedly,
and here their only child, Eudora, was born.
When the Revolution dawned upon France,
M. and Mme. Roland enthusiastically espous
ed the cause of the Republic, and removed
from La Platierc to Paris. Here he was cho
sen Minister of the Interior —he became the
bead and his lovely wife the heart of the Gir
ondist party. She devoted herself to the cause
of Liberty : her saloon was crowded with the
noble and the gifted, and she swayed those
hold spirits at her will; yet was her influence
a quiet, one for she was no Amiion, but. a
loving, modest, gifted, and diguified woman.
Robespierre was wont to linger abouther for
hours, careuflly treasuring up her eloquent
words, and bold ideas, which he would
afterwards audaciously thunder forth before
|he Convention as his own ! About this time
too she saved the life of the ingrate, who, af
terwards condemned her to the guillotine!
When Louis was no longer looked upon as
the head of the nation, the letter from his
minister, demanding his abdication was dicta
ted by Madame Roland ; and the haughty re
ply, refusing the demand, and deposing the
minister, diotnted by the noble-hearted, but
imperious and short-sighted Queen —Marin
WOT 10 TO LITERATURE, TEMPERANCE AKO MORAL EXCELLENCE,
Atlanta, Ga., Thursday Morning, November 7, 1861.
Antoinette. Who will say that the world’s
rulers are men ? They may be the th rone, but
there is a “ power behind 1 the throne”—wo
man. Aud yet, let woman not speak of her
power boastfully, or with vain-glorious thoughts
but. remember that in exact proportion to her
influence, go is her res ponsibility, and let her
the more humbly and earnestly strive that ev
ery such influence may be exerted for good,—
“ Hew many Rolands have we in our own be
loved South, ready to speak for the Right, and
die for Liborty.”
Once again, for a brief space, Madame Bo
land, will, her husband, sought the delightful
seclusion of La Pla tier e, bflt A; lot» we liyid
'ga'"' :.r*'lhtrl.v‘ r u;id at. the’
head of affairs. Louis and Maria Antoinette
were then prisoners, and the Jacobins were in
the ascendant. When the Girondist leaders
were arrested, Madame Boland assisted her
husband to escape, but she herself was torn
from her child, and dragged to prison. A few
days’subsequent to the celebrated “last ban
quet” of the Girondist leaders, aud their exe
cution, she underwent a mock trial, when she
was condemned as being the wife of her hus
band, and the friend of bis friends—and sen
enced to the guillotine by Ribespierre—at
monster of ingratitude, as well as of cruelty
and blood!
She bore her imprisomneut cheerfully, she
sustained all her misfortunes with a noble for
titude, and she met her fate in a spirit of the
loftiest heroism. A martyr, bravo and beau
tiful, her only crimes were her intellect and
her heroism. After her execution her da ugh
ter was adopted by a dear friend. But her
husband upon hearing of her death, fell upon
his own sword ; a paper being pinned to his
breast wheron he had written that lie could
not exist, now that his wife was no more!
In laying down the history of this most no
ble woman, we are conscious of one regretful
feeling—sorrow that this heroic spirit should
have had, iu its last sad hour upon earth, no
certain, triumphant, and exultant hope of
Heaven. She pauses upon the scaffold to ap
ostrophize the genious of Liberty—that grand
principle for which she died ; but oh 1 how
the heart yearns to hear her utter, in ecstatic
hope and joy, as did the martyred La Puccllo
amid the flames, “Jesus!” Madame Poland
had lived long cnougli to understand the
Church of Home, nnd to abandon its faith, but
no certain belief in “ Our Father who art in
Heaven” supported her in place of the saints
she had cast aside Iter noble nature, iu
stiuct with hope, veneration, and the love of
truth and right, formed for itself a supreme,
and merciful Being, whom she could love and
,trust, but vet her belief was only a vague aud
■WlTfrfefl 0?0 ..m piuru "tl an<3B
loving faith with which the Christian spirit
looks up to Heaven, finding there a Father, a
friend, and an eternal home. And yet Lean
feel that now her home is bright and blessed
for she walked by the lights granted to her,
and “find, our God!” is Love!
What I Saw.
BY MRS. KM IL IE 0. S. CHILTON.
Yesterday evening my eyes beheld a sight,
which I hope never to seo again. A lady
friend had left the warm fireside for a short
walk to her own home, and I accompanied her
to the steps of my little cottage to bid her
good-bye. She called my attention to two wo
men who were rapidly nearing us, screaming,
crying, and wringing their hands, apparently
in deep distress. The foremost one, especial
ly, seemed to be in great agony of mind. She
tossed her arms around bor head, wrung her
hands, and uttered piercing cries and wild ex
clamations in German—her native language—
with occasionally some broken wail in English.
Behind the women came a troop of little chil
dren, crying and slowly following the half
distracted females.
Turning our gaze up street, in the direction
they were going, was a picture, the horror of
which I fain would paint, that the boys who
read this article may take the fearful warning;
but no language can draw the scene in the vivid
light in whioh I beheld it. Coming towards
the weeping women were two boys, tho eldest
of whom could not have been more than four
teen years years of age. In his arms was the
helpless, reeling, and senseless form of n com
panion, probably two or three years younger.
The foremost woman ran to him, and taking
her unconscious son in her arms, bore him ten
derly homewards, crying and sobbing aloud,
“My boy—my boy—he was a good boy, and
now he is ruined!” And then a fresh wail of
anguish would burst forth —piercing enough to
touch the heart of any one but vender of the
demon drink. 0! I never caff forget that
scene —the agony of the mother—the reproach
ing sobs of his little sisters and brothers—the
lifelesß, senseless form of the poor little vie-,
tint, pale as if wrapped in the cold embrace of
death, the white foam falling from his lips up
on his mother’s shoulder—sympathizing gronus
of the friend and neighbor—wits a funeral
dirge—a scene of moral death—never to be
forgotten. Rack to the home which he left
innocent and free from the curse, they bore
the child-drunkard, there to bewail the degra
dation, the misery, the fearful forebodings his
fall had brought upon them.
Mothers! look on your noble boys, and
think what would be your feelings were you to
suffer the agony of this poor German women.
Boys ! look at your mothers ; they nursed and
guarded you in the purity of your infancy ;
they soothed yonr pain in sickness; they
clothed, and fed, and schooled you; they
prayed for you with all the fervency and
sweetness of a mother's love; they still cher
ish you with an affection, the depth and earn
estness of whioh you may never know ; and
how will you repay all this f Will yours be
the pale, meaningless countenance, the foam
ing lips, the reeling form of a child-drunkard ?
Will your bright, innocent eyes be closed in the
stupor of beastly intoxication-? - If you choose
not to degrade yourselves —not to wring with
misery the hearts that yearn to see your names
enrolled with the good and great—shun the li
quor seller as you would a stinging adder, and
avoid the drinking-h ousts as you would the
very gates of heft
In earnestness and prayerful hope that you
wil! be warned, I write these words ; and would
to Heaven I could trace them in ineffaceable
characters of fire: Shun the
place not your feet within tlie walls of destruc
tion. True, it is no uncommon thing to see
boys indulge in drinking in this sin-stained
city, where money finds plenty of channels to
supply the poison.
With shame find deep regret do I write this 1
wfe-witfe otf-c likV
you. Once they had a chance to bless the
world—now they arc its curse ; and why ?
Because they shunned uot the way of evil,
and feared not to enter into temptation.
Beware, lest you bring a like cry of woo !
woe ! ! from hearts now ready to bless you.
For the Cnmiuler.
Dreaming.
BY MILLIE MAYFIELD.
My son is to-night, Nellie,
Dreaming under the stars--
And a wondrous strain of delight, Nellie,
Floats down thro’ the silver bars.
And over the grand sea afar
There cometh the solemn calls
Os deep unto deep—and the echoes
Os musical waterfalls.
Ked were the eyes of Day, Nellie,
ID*:, as she went to rest;
Foi .e laid sweet summer away, Nellie.
M• f 1 faded rose on her breast,
And folded her up in a fleecey nest—
While, his crown of gold to hide.
The Kingly sun sank—mourning
His beautiful lost young bride.
Hut not of that crown of gold, Nellie,
And not of the summer gone
Do I dream, in the star-light old, Nellie,
And catch the monotone
Os Rilvory dropping founts and rills.
Like thoso enchanted streams
That spoke to the fairy—yen, I hear
Them whispering in my dreams !
From the mountain's purple heart, Nellie.
Cometh a gladsome voice,
Whero mighty rivers Rtnrt Neftie,
Saying, rejoice! rejoice I *
And the pulsing arteries leep and run
To the great arms of the sea
Singing the song of Life!—so you hear
The wonderful melody?
You tell me, I but dream, Nellie—
And what is life hut a droam ?
To some, less tangible, my Nellie.
Than yonder Ringing stream.
Hut still, ‘tis much to live, tin.’ life
May ho not what it seems.
And wo be only “ made of such stulV
As dreams,” my Nellie, .k cann! r~ -
A ~' b
Os the real ends of *
Woro his tones not drowned in the swell, Nellie,
The harsher roar of striw—
For every leaf in the forest glade,
Each lilado of grass by the stream
Holds a psalm, which ho reads by the mystical light
That comes to him in a dream.
Creation's a beautiful dream, Nellie,
Lighting an Infinite mind,,
And Love Divine is the theme, Nellie,
That its spirit hath enshrined ;
And talking waters and whispering trees
But echo the holy strain
That floats for ay thro’ the wavelfss depth*
Os that omniscient brain.
Then.leave me to my dreams Nellie,
My soul hath a lesson to learn
From the wonderftil singing streams, Nellie.
That man in his prido would spurn.
T love to read great Nature’s book
Ry the light of tho shining ntars,
And harken the wondrous melody
Floating down thro' tho silver bars 1
Xow Orleans.
DeHtrnction Railroad.
The Directors take pleasure in reassuring
their numerous friends and patrons that the
Road to Buin is now in good order. Within
the last three months it has carried more than
three hundred thousand passengers clear through
from the town of Temperance to the city of
Destruction, while the number of way passen.
gers is encouraging. An enormous amount of
freight, such as machanic’s tools, household
furniture, and oven whole farms, have gone
forward ; and the receipts of the year have
been so large that the Directors have resolved
to declare a dividend of five-hundred per cent.
The track lias been much improved, and relaid
with Messrs. Diabolus & Co’s patent rail. The
grades are reduced to a dead level, and the
switches brought to such perfection all along the
route, as to jerk the cars in a moment from tho
main track, to avoid collision with the Total
Abstinence engine and the Temperance trains
which have recently occasioned so much trou
ble. In short, wc have spared no expense to
make it superior to any other Road to Ruin
ever established. It gives us great pleasure
to call the attention of the public to the im
provements iu our engines and cars. The old
favorite — Alcohol —has a fire-chamber of dou.
ble capacity, and patent driving-wheels' after
the fashion of old Juggernaut. Our wine cars
are models of luxurious conveyance, after the
pattern of tho far-famed London Gin-Palaces,
where ladies and children and gentlemen of
the first water can have all attention. To keep
up with the spirit of the times, our whisky,
rum, and brandy cars havo been greatly enlar
ged, and fare reduced to half price. Our ci
der, porter, and beer cars arc exciting great
attention among the ohildrcn. Our experien
ced engineer, Mr. Belial, and our polito and
gentlemanly conductor, Mr. Mix, havo boentoo
long known to the traveling public to need
commendation. Indeed, so swift and spark
ling are our trains through all our towns and
villages, that some have called it “ The flying
artillery of hell let loose on the earth.” Tick
ets must always be procured of Mr. Mix, at
tbc Drinker’s Hotel, where you may see the
following extract from our charter from the
government:
** Licensed to make a stroug nmn weak ;
Licensetf to lay a wise man low;
Licensed a wife’s foud heart to break,
And make her children’s tears to flow.
“ Licensed to do thy neighbor harm;
Licensed to liate and strife;
. licensed to nerve the robber’s aim;
Licensed to whet the murderous knife:
[■ Licensed, where peace and quiet dwell.
To bring disease and want and woe:
Licensed to make tin's world a hell.
And fit man for a hell below.*’
Regulation's. —The down ‘rain leaves Cidet-
A. M. ; Portertown at 7A. M. ;
Beervillo at HA. M.; Wineville at!) A. M. ;
Brandy Borough at 10 A. M. ; and Whiskey
City at 12 M.
The speed of tho train will be greatly increas
ed as it proceeds,* stopping, however, to land
pn“soj^ars^ | |jf
Prisohburg, Gallowsville, etc.
On Sunday, cars will be ready as usual,
especially for way passengers, until further
notice.
N. B. All baggage at the risk of the owners
and widows and orphans are particularly re
quested not to inquire after persons or proper
ty at Buin Depot, as in no case will the Direc
tore hold themselves liable for accidents to pas
sengers.
W.n. Wholesale, President.
Robert Retail, Vice President.
For the Crusader.
Our Army.
As N. .l\ Willis has described our soldiers as
worthless and reckless adventurers, &e., while
he says the Northern soldiers are the very op
posite, 1 take this opportunity to tell him it
is as false as his slander on the Palmetto lady
who he prentended asked him to write for
her amusement about his Northern army.
. i be Northern army is made up of mercenaries
aud hirelings taken from the gutters nnd alleys
of the streets of their large cities. 'The vol
unteer privates of the Southern states are the
very flower of the whole land. The Southern
soldiers are gentlemen who have taken up
arms front the purest sentiments of patriot
ism. We honor and admire the volunteer sol
diers of the South above all men in this Nine
teenth century. We honor and respect tho
military chieftains and other officers in the
army. ThcJ private volunteers being where
they are show what they are—men, true men
pure gold—no military pretenders, but true
patriots and heroes, to whom you may take off
your hat and do homage to sincerity and brave
ry in the most perfect shape.. The South has
an army on the field tiiat surpasses any the
world lias ever seen in aucicnt or modern times.
Europe has bad larger armies like that of the.
North, made up of mercenaries of the very
drugs of the earth while our army—with few
exceptions of reckless adventurers—is made up
t l . Uj,S cream of intelligence, virtue aud honor
- hi ateer ,iuen (jfyeco nor, • ■■c
same Age a rfooiw-^, - ,whose
names will befimmortal as history.
VIOLA.
Sultla^alion—Where “
If Lincoln and his supporters really suppose
that the Southern people will ever pass under
the yoke of his despotism, they are criminally
blind, not only to the dictates of reason and
the teachings of history, but to current even's
and facts, nsTibvious as the sun in tho heavens.
But we believe they uow expect no such thing.
The purpose and temper of tho Southern pco
plo', their sprit, their strenth and their prow
ess, have been evidenced on the battle field,
and displayed before the world, until Europe
has learned the lesson to which Lincoln labors
to be but which lie is constrained to
understand.
The South; rn people have, indeed, never
tolerated the bare-idea of being conquered and
bound as tho prey of Northern avarice nnd
tyrnnny. Men, women and children have
vowed the irrevocable vow, and would die be
fore they w(iuhl yield.
When Kossuth sought refuge in the Turkish
dominions from the blood-hounds of tyranni
cal power, the Tuvks proposed to him protec
tion on condition that he would embrace the
Mahommedan religion. The noble Magyar
rising to the full dignity of his proportions at
onee answered: “ I decline ; between death
and dishonor the choico is neither dubious nor
difficult.” So answer now the united South
ern people to the proffers and the throats op
the boasted eighteen millions of John Hichman.
Lincoln and Seward cannot now fail to see
that a re-union is impossible. The idea on
which they commenced the war is forever dis
sipated. They press on in their mad work be
cause they do not know how to Btop. Wc do
not believe that they have a very defiimte un
derstanding of their own movements. They
aredrifting or driving, they know not whither.
They hare missed the port for which they set
sail, and arc now on the unknown ocean. By
what policy wifi they steer ? Their despotic
courses conclusively show that our old Gov
ernment was incompatible with tlieir notions
of power. Constitutions and laws,judges and
law-makers, are mocked and set nt naught by
their men of war.
In one thing only are they consistent They
set out to subjugate a free people, and deprive
them of their liberties. They arc likely to
succeed, with one qualification. The yoke was
prepared for the necks of one people—it is
falling on the necks of another. The South
escapes ; but the people who lent themselves
as the agents of the scheme, and became par
ties to the effort to enslave us, are themselves |
the victims. The pit which (hey digged for j
us, they themselves have fallen into. Hainan
is hanged on his own gallows. The South has
not been subjugated, and will not.Jbe. But the
North has been. They havo passed there un
der the yoke of a despotism such as men nev
er before groaned under on America’s shmes.
They dare not do as the laws allow them.—
There is no law— everything is what Lincoln
wills. Men dare not speak as they please.—
They dare not think as they please. They dare
not have a conscience of their own. They
must affirm what, perhaps, they do not believe;
must swear to that against which tbeir souls
revolt; must applaud the tyranny which their
souls execrate ; must join in the clamor for in
nocent blood. All this they must do, or sc-
VOT. XXVI-NEW SERIES VOL. VI. NO. -Jo
TERMS ; t>t> i>eie annum, in advance
ccpt as their portion, prisons and dungeons in
distant States or on gloomy isles, where friends
may not sec them, where wives may not hear
from them, where trials arc not to be bad, aud
where they dwell in such cells as Lincoln may
be pleaded to assign, aud until lie shall be
pleased to discharge tliSin. This has ended :
the free government, the free speech, the free !
press, and the free conscience of the North! ■
Ended in utter, abject subjugation ! The pall
of political night has settled over their land,
and the silence is unbroken save by the insen
sate laugh of such asl ove to rattle their chains.
. But the South, still free!
t nsubjugated, unawevg xnn (e rr iFi
A people have been subjugated, but, a thousand '
times, thank Heaven, it was not by us, nor is
it we !
Mat rim oily.
“ Shall 1 get Married?” is it questisn which
a man often puts to himself in the present day.
Nothing can be wiser than to make it a ques
tion : but when a man does so, he should ex
amine ami weigh the thing fairly and fully
and not tonsider that he has found a solution
to it the moment he meets with an objection to
contravene his wishes. It is not his father or
his mother, his friend, or his books, that he
should yield to, in a case that is really too
great for their decision. Hear them, or read
them be may, to gather their opinions ; but if
his own conscience proves stronger than their
arguments, and that his spirit still cries out
“ marry,” why marry he should, with all due
deference to so many sapient advisers.
Is marriage a desirable state! This' is the
fust question. Almost every man and woman
will answer in the affirmative. When should
it be entered into ? is the next question. To
this, the reply is, as soon as a man, having
reached the proper age, say twenty-five, is able
to support a wife. Then comes the question of
children ; a man, by pinching a little here, and
a good deal there, can support a wife ; but the
poor fellow is afraid of having a family to feed,
to bear the additional expense. This is the
rub. We believe few young men would be
such fools as to remain in a state of single
blessedness if the image of coming children
did not haunt and bewilder them. But this
apprehension is quite as groundless ns the oth
er. Children have hands to work with, and
may be rendered a source of profit to a pru
dent father, who knows how to rear them up.
Do not listen, therefore young man, to those !
frivolous objections. Do your friends advise
you against marriage ! Look at their own ca-!
scs. Voit will find that most of them got niar
-th%
post their position and beconuT'poor sinen-rwaj;
Slaving taken unto themselves a wife, in njpe
cases out of ten, you will find, by sifting
the matter, that it was not the wife and cEjl
dren who brought them down, but their Ayn
covetousness, vanity and ambition. For, Jf a
man will risk upon a card or a die, or upA a
speculation equally hazardous, all ho posK es
so's, jn order to double liia fi»rtmu>- r b/b-- i tmars
the consequences ; and should
serve to deter you agaimn such ventures, but
not against matriroon^
t.oovt Night. ,
There is something sadly sweet in a gcntlo
“ good night!” from tho lips of one wc love.—
We are pleased and tilled with a quiet joy—a
holy feeling of tenderness ; and yet the soul
hushed in calm melancholy, wo can almost
hear tho breathings of low plaintive melodies,
and it may be that tears steal into the move
less eyes. Good night !
<£ All, Barely nothing dire tut something mourns.”
And when the little one, robetl in wMte,
comes with his innocent upturned eyes to kiss
your cheek and lisp, in baby tones, “ Good
night!” how your voice softens, and your
tones are instinctively' modulated to musical
whisper as “Good night!” like a holy bene
diction follows your gentle kiss on the beam
ing forehead ; And then you fall to musing
on the uncertain future of the trusting child,
and wonder if its life w ! ll linvo as many dark
shadows and as few bright spots as yours—and
it may not be that you forget the sweet sun
shine that the little face has just showered up
on your soul, and thus caused it to moodily
muse as the light recedes and the darkness
gathers over it again, to be dispelled for a mo
ment when another “ Good night !” makes
low sweet music in your ear. Aud then you
think of the last “ Good night to life and love’’
on earth, a slumbering dream of peace steals
into your mind, and you seem to hear the poet
whisper.
The Dentil of friends.
There is something very sad in the death of
friends. We seem to provide for our own
mortality, and to make up our minds to die.—
Wc arc warned by sickness—fever and ague,
and sleepless nights, nnd a hundred dull in
firmities ; but when our friends pass away, we
lament them as thougu wc had considered them
immortal. It is wise—we suppose it is wise
we should attach eurselvcs to things which are
transient; eise wc should say that it is a peril
ous trust when a man ties his hopes to so frail
a thing as woman. They arc so gentle, so af
fectionate, so true in sorrow, so unlired and
untiring—but the fear withers not sooner, the
tropic lights fade not more abruptly into' dark
ness. They die and are taken from us ; and
we weep ; and our friends tell us that it is not
wise to grieve, for that all which is mortal per
ishetli. They do not know that
W'r grhsvc tho moro because we grieve iu vain !
If our grief could bring back the dead, it
would bo stormy and loud—we should disturb
; the quiet of day—wc should startle the dull
i night from her repose. But our hearts would
not grieve as they grieve now, when hope is
dead within us.
Nothing remains so long in the memory as
I wrong deeds. They nre nettles which cannot
j be plowed out of sight, but will spring up with
i fresh stings every disturbance. »
For the Crusader.
[Of tue ‘hree following beautiful lyrics—
No 11. was written expressly for the “ Crusa
der.” The gifted author has our thanks for
the trio, which cannot fail to be appreciated
by every true Southron among our readers :j
Rallads of tile South.
BY JOHN IV. OVERALL.
Tile Hcsiau of Liberty.
raffy, iaßy,'riiliy ,^ J ”
From tho mountain, plain an.l valley—
iioa.l tho lesßon hwtory tells;
Infidels in Palestine,
With Saracenic splendor shine,
Flood the land with banner’d lino,
From Euphrates and Dardanelles.
Down with every emblem cross;
Christian’s gain and Moslem’s loss!
Drive the Giaour iu the sea.'
Wrongly taught tho Nazarino!
On these Judean hilla so green,
Mosque and minaret must be seen—
Prophets, teach by Gallilee ;
Such was then the Kosleui song—
Kiglit went down before the Wrong.
Till Europe heard the strain;
Christian warriors, mighty men.
Hose from every hill and glen.
Fearful was the war cry then.
Sounding o'er the main.
God defend the glorious Right!
God reward tho Christian’s fight!
Drivo the Moslem iu the sea !
Justly taught the Na/.arine—
On Jiulea’s hills so green,
Cross, rise whero the Crescent’s seen !
Christ shall teach by Gallilee!
Christ shall rise reglorified,
Speak ia spirit at your side—
All tho world will bend to hoar ;
To arms! to arms 1 each gallaut knighl,
G;d will still defend the Right,
Make your good swords keen and bright—
Ho, for the holy Sepulchre!
Where Potomac's waters gleam.
Silvery as a poet’s dream,
Mount Vernon stauds to-day;
Reneath the over-arching skies
Our Holy Sepulchre yet li« s,
Remembered not when glory dies
And earth lias passed away.
Each northern hivo pours down its men.
To deluge plain, aud hill, and glen,
As Moslem to Moriah ;
With taunt, and lie, and wild hurrahs.
Rase infidels to glory’s cause
To honor, justice, sacred laws,
And Lihertyis Messiah!
Rally, rally, rally, rally ! -
every mountain, plain
Smite the foo with
11.
Seventy-Six anti Sixty-one.
Ye spirits of the gloriours dead!
Ye watchers in the sky !
Who sought the patriot’s crimson bed
With holy trust and high—
Come lend your inspiration now,
Come lire each southern son,
Who nobly fights, for freemen’s lights.
And shouts for sixty-one.
Come teach them how on hill, in glade,
Quick leaping from your side,
The lightning flash of sabres made
A rod and flowing tide;
How well ye fought, how bravely fell,
Beneath our burning sun,
And let the lyre, in strains of fire,
50 speak of sixty-one.
There’s many a grave iu all the land,
And many a crucifix,
Which tell how that heroic band
Stood firm in seveuty-six—
Ye heroes of the deathless past,
Your glorious race is run,
But from your dust, springs freemon's trust.
And blows for sixty-one.
We build our altars where you lie
On many a vordaut sod,
With sabres pointing to the sky
And sanctified of God—
The smoke shall rise from every pile,
Till freedom’s fight is done,
And every mouth through tout the south,
51 1 all shout for sixty-one.
111.
The March.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!
Go tho southern braves to battle,
llow they shine, eaoh gleaming line !
Flashing sabres! how they rattle,
Every lip is now compressed,
Every heart now yearns for glory,
Every eye with patriot fire
Burns for battle fierce and gory!
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp !
Death is in each hidden sabre,
Reaper of the fitdds of Time,
Look ye for a giant's labor!
How’ sublime! When patriots foot,
~AII the strength of self-reliance.
Marching on to meet the foe
With a stern and grim defiance.
Sec how proudly floats our flag!
White 1 our cause is pure and grand man,
Red! a living tide shall flow
From every foe now in the land man.
Blue! aye, heaven’s stars are thero!
Sparkling iu there azure beauty!
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp!
Go tho messengers of duty !
A Beautiful ParngrapU.
The following lines are taken from Sir Hum
phrey Davy’s Salmonia :
I euvy no quality of the miud or intelleot
in others —but be it genius, power, wit, fano7
—if I could choose what would be most de
lightful, and I believe most useful to me, I
should prefer a firm religious belief to any
other blessing; for it makes life a discipline
of goodness; breathes new hopes, varnishes
and throws over the decay, the destruction of
existence, tho most gorgeous of all light; awa
kens life even in death, and from corruption
and decay calls up beauty divinity, makes an
instrument of torture and shame the ladder of
ascent to Taradise; and far above all combin
ation of earthly hopes, calls up the most de
lightful visions of psalms aud amaranths, the
gardens of the blest, and security of overlaat
ing joys, where the sensualist and skeptic
view only gloom, decay, annihilation and des
pair.l’
