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AUGUSTA WASHINGTONIAN.
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Yol. II No. 3T]
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m l^l!i(DllLL^Mi(2)[L3§ o
Last Day of Eve.
It approached the evening twilight.—
The mother of mankind was placed by
her descendants in front of her tent, re
clining on a rude couch. Ihe western
wind fanned her cheek and played amidst
her grey locks. Near her sat her hits
■hand. Eve turned her eye upon him
■with a look of sadness, yet of deep affec
■tion, as she saw his wrinkled brow, bent
■form, and head of snowy whiteness, she
pseetned to call to mind other days.
Inwardly she reproached herself. “Ah,
if not thus was it I saw him, when first giv-
Ken to him by our God. Where has van
■isbed the manly form —where is the
■elastic step —where now the rich and
■mellow voice! Alas, how changed!—
■ And it was i, w ho tempted, who destruy
■cd him —I, the wife, the cherished com
■ panion—l bade him eat, and now what
■ is he, who but for me had known neither
I pain, nor sorrow, nor age.
I “And what remains of her on whose
■ beauty be then gazed with unsated de
■ iight >. A trembling, wrinkled form, just
I sinking into the grave.
“Where is now that paradise with its
I rich fruits—that balmy air which brought
I on every breath a tribute to each happy
Bgpeiwc those rays which warmed but never
■Scorched ? And sadder, sadder still—
-1 where row is that blissful intercourse with
K Him, who made us rich in the happiness
■of living? His voice is no longer in
■ our oars—driven from bliss—from scenes
■ so lovely —the earth cursed—in sin, sor-
I row.”
I ' Our mother was overcome by the rush
I of recollections. Her eyes long dry,
1 found new fountains, and her aged form
I shook with deep emotion,
ft It may be that Adam had been indulg
i ing in musing not unlike to these, for he
I started as if from a reverie by the emo
| tions of his wife. The old man placed
i jj, himself beside her. She laid her head on
iJdhe bosom which had so often soothed its
■ throbbings.
“ What moves thee,Eve?”
* “Oil, my husband, how can’st thou
I show kindness to her who has done all
Thou was young and knew only
ft happiness, and all around was formed to
ft delight our every sense; and I, who
1 should have strengthened thy virtue, fell,
I and draggbd thee with me, the partner of
S my sin, to this depth of ruin. And after
I a lew years of toil and anxiety, we <ve
I about to lay these worn out frames in the
dust.
“ But for sin we had lived in perpetual
youth, and feared no change. The threat
ened death has worked slow, but surely,
and now with us his work is nearly done.
“The first to sin, it was meet that I
should first return to dust. Had the guilt;
and curse been only mine, I might endure
it. But I see thee now, and I compare
I thee with what thou wast as it seems to
* me but yesterday.
“A few days will lay thee low. Let
our children place us side by side, in the
cold earth. I know not why it is, yet it
| seems to me there will be comfort in our
I bodies dissolving together, as if there
I were something of consciousness in the
I lifeless dust.
Little comfort as is now left in life,
I yet I cannot endure the thought that I i
shall utterly cease to be!
“Adam, tnou hast often given me words i
of consolation. Is there aught can cheer I
me, now I am to bid thee farewell ? I
“Thou see’st yonder sun—thou wilt I
again see him rise and set —he is bidding i
me a last adieu. Sense shall soon cease <
forever, and no light again enter these i
: eyes.” ,
The old man wiped the tears which ;
fell on the wrinkled brow of his partner. (
A sudden light was on his countenance, t
as if a new lamp had been lit up in his i
! soul. Eve saw it, and it brought to her
£ gleam of hope: she gazed oh his face
as*if death had lent new powers to her
faded vision.
‘‘ First of women,” said Adam, “claim
.no pre-eminence in guilt—together we
have sinned—together we have borne the
punishment.
“ But there is redemption —there is
hope.
“ Whilst thinking of the fearful change
which betokened my heart that its part
ner was about to be taken away, a heavy
light beamed on my thoughts and taught
mo to understand the visions which have
so often visited me on my couch.
“ We shall not die—there is a costly
ransom provided—we must sleep under
, the cold earth, but we shall rise again in
the freshness of that youth which we first
enjoyed; and purified from all sin, we
[shall walk in our Eden seven times more
beautiful than when we first roved amidst
’ its fruits and flowers. And there will be
thousands who inheriting our evil natures
will have found a powerful Physician.—
And there will be that mighty Physician
whose presence shall wake ten thousand
harps to melody.
“This earth too,so long, so grievously
cursed for our sin, will come forth more J
than purified from every stain, and in
more than the beauty of its pristine '
youth.
i “ Thou wilt go a little before me to the 1
■ grave, but we shall rise together with the I
1 glad shout of gratified jubilation; and
“ with us millions of our posterity ransom- j
' ed from the curse.”
Adam paused, his eye fell on the face *
■ of his wife—a smile seemed to play in >
■ the brightness of hope on her pale lip, hut 1
1 the heart had ceased to heat, and that 1
r sleep had fallen on her which the trump (
of the archangel only shall disturb.
»
Family Education.
t Everyone knows that Cohbett’s large
family of energetic, well informed chil
> dren never went to school, or received ;
; what is called regular teaching. The J
means and implements of learning were
• scattered freely around them, and they
■ were taught what curiosity or occasion ,
i induced them to desire to learn. This '
> system, or no system, produced, however, .
i all the results which the best education |
> aims at, the fullest power to perceive, to
• compare and to decide—the ability to
think and act justly and efficiently in the ,
i business of fife.
In a retired neighborhood of an interior j
i town of our republic, a large family re- ,
ceivetl not only a useful, hut what the
world called a brilliant education in the [
: same manner. The mother was unedu- j
■ cated beyond the ability to read and write |
ha very little, and an invalid. The father j
i was a well read man, and fond of books. f
i “The children were taught to read by
their mother, and their slates, journals, v
Rees’ Encyclopaedia, and the newspppers, „
did the rest,” said the father one day, in f
(reply to an enquiry as to how he had
(managed, in that out-of-the-way spot to €
' educate his children so well. (
1 They have won their way—both sons
and daughters—to distinguished places f
in society, and the graceful readiness t
with which every one of them can meet
any subject, has in the best informed cir- t
cles been commented upon and admired. a
From the moment they could read a j
newspaper, these children were in the
habit of doing so daily. If a place was .
named in it, the map and gazetteer were j
referred to at once, and henceforth it was r
not an idle word, but a familiar acquaint- ;
(ance. So too of historical names—so r
too of the terms, in science and in art. r
It was but to turn to the word in its al- s
phabetic order, and with simple and dis- t
tinct accuracy its properties became at
once and forever a part of the young
child’s knowledge. As soon as' each
child could make its letters, in emulation
oi its father and elder companions, it r
commenced a journal. The crabbed d
illegible entry of half a line soon grew to ii
a page a day of clear and beautiful wri- b
ting ornamented with occasional draw- d
tags- c
These journals were often referred to
in the family circle, for as they were u
faithful transcripts of the writers observa- c<
tions and opinions, they were very valua- ir
ble records of the changes and improve- pi
ments going on around them. At all ii
events, with their journals and library of T
reference, these children entered the v;
world, to all intents better fitted to shine oi
and to influence, than many collegians, th
01 any half a dozen young persons of ol
similar capacity, let one devote twenty th
minutes a clay to keeping a journal, adopt- at
- AUGUSTA, GA. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1844.
1 ing a regular habit of turning to a map,
dictionary, or encyclopedia for every <
place or word not clearly understood, as I
it occurs, and in one year that person I
will be astonished to find how far the (
others are left behind. By this means, t
the perceptive and reasoning powers of i
the mind will be developed. A library I
of reference is indispensably necessary <
in every family and school. ;
■ <
Which will you Do.
One of two things must be done in this ,
country. Parents must expend money (
to educate their children, or they must
pay taxes to build penitentiaries and to -
punish crime.—There is a great mistake
about what is called education. Some •
suppose every learned man is an educa- |
ted man. No such thing. That man is <
educated who knows himself, and who !
takes accurate, common sense views of i
men and things around him. Some very '
learned men are the greatest fools in the <
world ; the reason is, they are not educa
ted men. Learning is only the means. I
not the end ; its value consists in giving I
the means of acquiring the discipline
which, when properly managed, it gives
the mind. Some of the greatest men in
the world were not overstocked with :
learning, hut their actions proved they
were thoroughly educated. Washington, i
Franklin and Sherman, were of this class; <
and similar, though less striking instances :
may now be found in all countries. To
he educated, a man must he able to think,
reason, compare and decide accurately.
He may study metaphysics till he is gray,
and languages till he is a walking poly
got, and if he is nothing more, he is an
uneducated man. There is no class in
the country who have a stronger interest
in the proper education of children than
farmers; and the subject should receive
from them the attention it deserves.
Delays are Dangerous.
“Good morning, uncle Isaac.”
“Good morning, boys. Have you
just come from school ?”
“Yes, sir; sec, we have finished our
writing books.”
“ Really, boys, I think you have made
good progress. Well, here’s a copy,
which, I remember, I had forty years
ago, when 1 was one of the scholars in
that old school-house on the hil—
'Delays are dangerous .’
“ I can tell you, my boys, there is a
great deal of truth and wisdom in that
line. You know the place where you
have such fine fun when you go into the
water in the summer ?
“ Well, twenty years ago, if you had
been then alive, you could not have gone
into water there. It was then all dry
land ; and for a great distance beyond it
too. It was quite a valuable strip of land,
and belonged to the town.
“The people saw that the sea was
wearing their land away, and how neces
sary it was for them to make an embank
ment.
“There were some difficulties, how
ever, in the way of doing this; still most
of the inhabitants determined that it must ,
and should be done ; but the misfortune
of it was, they could not agree to have it
done at once.
“The consequence was, that before i
they decided on going to work immedi- i
ately, every particle of the whole strip of i
land was washed into the sea. (
“Now, boys, take a little advice from j
your old uncle Isaac. Whenever you i
have any thing to do which requires im- I
mediate attention, determine to set about |
it, not next year, not next month, nor |
next week, nor next day after to-morrow, i
nor to-morrow; —but to-day;—that is, t
set about it at once. Those who mean 1
to do so may hold up their hands !”— S. t
S. Advocate. i
Fisher Ames.
The following passage from the Biog- l
raphy of Fisher Ames, by the late Presi- j
dent Kirkland, is worthy of being printed [
in letters of gold. Would that it could y
be read and regarded, as its importance
demands, by every young man in our j
country :— Southern Chronicle.
“ When vice approaches the youthful
inind, in the seductive form of a beloved t
companion, the ordeal becomes threaten- v
ng and dangerous in the extreme. Few ( |
possess the prudence and unyielding
irmness, requisite to pass it in safety.
Phose who have been accurately obser
vant of the dependence of one part oflife
>n another, will readily concur with us,
hat Ames’ future character derived much fa
>f its lustre, and his fortunes much of ai
heir elevation, from the untainted purity w
md irrcproachableness of his youth.— sc
Masculine virtue is as to real
eminence, as a powerful inteliefct. lie
that is deficient in either, will never, un
less from the influence of fortuitous cir
cumstances, be able to place and main
tain himself at the head of society. He
may rise and flourish for a time, but his
fall is as certain as his decent to the
grave. He who holds parley with vice
and dishonor is sure to become their
slave and victim. That heart is more
than half corrupted, that does not burn
with indignation at the slightest attempt
to seduce it.”
Ail hour durins tue French Revolution.
At a very late hour, in the room ofthe
Jacobins, surrounded by a dozen other
patriots, as remorseless as himself, sat a
colossal man—his harsh features, dilated
by the wine he had taken, and his aspect
rude as a Breton peasant’s. The glass
was lifted in his hands, and with a voice
of thunder he gave the toast:
“ May the body of the last King be burnt
to ashes on the funeral pile made with the
body of the last priest.”
It was the terrific Danton. The words
were repeated w ith shouts and clamor by
the party around him. At that moment
a dwarfish man, with a huge head, a
mouth marked by the hardness of a vin
dictive temper, and an eye in which in
cipient madness already glared—without
stockings, and a waistcoat already dab
bled with blood, sat in a cellar under the
very Place du Carousal, which afterwards
beheld his drunken apotheosis, and wri
ting a recommendation that France mas
sacre two hundred thousand men to the
manes of her strangled freedom, with an
exact calculation of the time requisite for
such a purpose. Merciful ideal 1 It was
the sanguinary Maratt.
At that very moment, two members of
the assembly were perfecting a plan for
the destruction of the monarchy, and the
establishment of a dictatorship. The
one was Maximilian Isadora Robespierre.
He himself was to be a dictator. At that
moment, in a chamber of the Palace, at
Versailles, sat a kingly looking old man
—weeping. The father was weeping
! over the backslidings of his children, and
\ the King over the treason of his people.
’lt was the unfortunate Louis XVI. At
1 that moment, in a gaily illuminated sa
loon of the same paiace, two females w’ere
playing at ecartc; the one was lovely
1 and still youthful. She lost, and the
three hundred louis were passed to her
fair antagonist, who murmured many
apologies, but yet took the notes proffer
ed her. The loser was Marie Antoinette.
At the same moment, a beggar lay starv
ing, for lack of bread, in the garden of
the Tuilleries, while her wasted child,
pressed to her shrunken nipple, had tried
the hreast in vain. At that very mo.
ment, a monk was unfrocking himself,
never to resume the cowl of the Bene
dictions. A maiden dressed in far too
Cyprian a style, was sitting near him;
and wine and glasses were on the table—
he had discovered a better profession.
And this was Talleyrand—the man of
the people.
Napoleon’s Deart.
When Bonaparte died at St. Helena,
it is well known that his heart was ex
tracted, with the design of being preserv
ed. The British physician who had
charge of that wondrous organ, had de
posited it in a silver basin, in water, and
retired to rest, leaving two tapers burning
beside it in his chamber. He often con
fesses to his friends, while narrating the
particulars, that he felt nervously anxious,
as the custodier of such a deposit; and
thought he reclined he did not sleep.
While lying thus awake, he heard, during
the silence of the night, first a rustling
noise then a plunge among the water in
the basin, and then the sound of an ob
ject falling with a rebound on the floor,
all occurring with the quickness of
thought. Dr. A , sprang from
his bed, and the cause of the intrusion on
his repose was soon explained; it was
an enormous rat dragging the heart of
Bonaparte to its hole. A few moments '
more, and that which before had been too ■
vast in its ambition to be satisfied with'
the sovereignty of continental Europe, c
would have been found even in a more t
degrading position than the dust ofCmsar I'
stopping a beer barrel— it would have
been devoured as the supper of a rat. —
Napoleon and his Son. u
Whether seated by the chimney on his a
avorite sofa, he was engaged in reading tl
in important document, or whether he h
vent to the bureau to sign a despatch, his fi
ion seated on his knees, or pressed to his ci
[o>'E Dollar a Year.
I bosom, was never,a moment from him*
i Sometimes he would lie down on the
floor beside his beloved son, playing with
him like another child, attentive to every
thing that could please or amuse him.
The Emperor had a sort of apparatus tor
trying military manoeuvres; it consisted
of pieces of wood fashioned to represent
battalions, regiments and divisions.—
W hen he wanted to try some new combi
nations of troops, he used to arrange
these pieces on the carpet. While he
was occupied with the disposition of these
pieces working out some skilful manoeu
vre which might insure the success of a
battle, the child lying by his side, would
often overthrow his troops ; and put into
confusion his order of battle perhaps at
some critical moment. But the Empe
ror would recommence arranging his men
with the utmost good humor.— MenevaVs
Recollections.
Comical.
We saw a man who stole a hundred
thousand dollars, act, on Friday, as coun
sel tor a poor fellow locked up in the
: Tombs on the charge of stealing an old
pair ot breeches from a gentleman’s base
ment. The great villain—the villain clad
in purple and fine linen—robbed from
principle, the small rascal in tatters, for
feited his liberty from self-preservation—
because he was hungry. The former is
honored and caressed by the world—the
■ latter spurned by all society. And yet a
i Providence, and vigilant public function
aries watch over all!— Noah's Sunday
. Times.
, It is somewhat remarkable that so
. little attention is paid to the clearness of
s expression. Every body remembers the
geographer, who, in describing ancient
f Albany, represented it as having “ two
. thousand houses, and ten thousand in
, habitants, all standing irilh ihcir gable
, ends to the street /” A similar error was
made not long since by a Western jour
. nalist, who in publishing a clever poem,
, remarked that “it was written by an es
-1 teemed friend, who had lain in the grave
r many years, merely for his own amuse.-
j ment!" A scarcely less ludicrous inis
statement occurred very lately in one of
j our popular daily journals. In describing
the explosion of a brig near the Narrows,
, and certain accidents which resulted from
the disaster, the editor among other items
> had the ensuing : “ The only passengers
. were T. B. Nathan, who owneu three
r thousand dollars’ worth of the cargo, and
the Captain's wife!" — Knickerbocker.
• Here is a clever and characteristic an
' ecdote of “ Randolph of Roanoke,” rela
ted by Mr. Harvey, a spirited (and he
» must allow us to add improved) raconteur:
' Robert Owen told John Randolph that he
should see the day when mankind would
1 discover the principle of vitality, and of
course learn to live forever. “Are vou
1 not aware,” said he, “ that in by
artificial heat, the people create thou
sands of chickens ?” “ Yes,” replied
Randolph ; “ but you forget to tell us who
furnishes the eggs." Show me the man
who can lay an egg and I’ll agree to your
“parallell case.” The proposition was a
poser!— Knickerbocker.
Scarlet Fever.
This dreadful foe to parental hopes, it
would seem from the January number
of the American Journal of the Medical
Sciences, may be warded oft’ from our
families by an easy precaution. Two
grains of the recent alcoholic extract of
Belladonna are to be dissolved in an
ounce of any aromatic infusion, and of
this mixture turn drops should be given
daily to a child of one year old for nine
or ten days. An additional drop for
every additional year of age; not exceed
ing twelve drops in any case. The evi
dence of the efficacy of this antidote du
ring the prevalence of the scourge, ap
pears conclusive; but we refer our
readers to the Journal for the particulars.
[Phil. Sun.
Cure for Quincy. —Simmer hops in
vinegar a few minutes until their strength
is extracted; strain the liquid, sweeten it
with sugar, and give it frequently to the
child, or patient, in small quantifies, un
til relieved. This is said to be an excel
lent medicine.
Bulwer’s mother, who lately died, was
princely in her charities, which she al
ways gave unostentatiously. A thous
ind guineas in aid of the propagation of
he Gospel in foreign parts, was one of
ver recent donations, and an alms house
or poor widows she just lived to see it
:ompleted.