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THE WASHINGTONIAN.
AUGUSTA. FEBRUARY 15th, 1845.
EDITORIAL COMMITTEE. _
Rev. W. T. Braxtly, Dr. D. Hook,
“ W. J. Haro, James llahpkr, Esq.J
" C. S. Don, A. W. Noel, Esq.
To Diitant SußtcnmeßS. —Post Masters are ati.
tbunred by law to remit money to the publishers of
newspapers and periodicals. In par ment of subscrip,
tiens. Subscribers to the can therefore
pay for their papers without subjecting themselves or
the publisher to the expense of postage, by handing the
amount to the Pott Master, with a request to remit it.
The last number of tho Protestant
Unionist contains the following notice of
our paper. It is gratifying to know that
our labors arc appreciated by so able a
sheet. We would make one correction
—Rev. W. T. Brantly, member of our
editorial committee, is not the former ed
itor of the Columbian Star. He is a son
of that gentleman:
“TAe Augusta Washingtonian. —This
is the title of a very spirited and ably
conducted weekly newspaper, devoted to
the cause of total abstinence, published
at Augusta, Georgia. It is conducted by
an editorial committee of six profession
al gentlemen, at the head of which, is
the Rev. W. T. Brantley, long known
as a distinguished minister of the Regu
lar Baptist church, having formerly edit
ed the “Columbian Star,” a leading or
gan of that body, in the city of Phila
delphia, and tilled various other impor
tant stations. We would say to our
Washingtonian friends, that if they want
a first rate total abstinence paper, one
conducted with signal ability; and which
deals heavy and effectual blows against
the monster, Intemperance, they will
find it in this paper. By calling at our
office they can see it for themselves, and
we are satisfied, that a perusal of it will
more than justify all that wc have writ
ten in regard to it. We are thus particular
in recommending it to our temperance
friends, inasmuch as the temperance pa
per formerly published here has been
discontinued, and we know they want a
good temperance sheet.”
Provisions Advancing.
Our butchers have been asking from
20 to 25 cents advance on their former
prices for beef, within a few days past.
We apprehend that there is somo reason
for an advance—but not so considerable
as has taken place. However an article
is worth as much as it will bring, and if
the public are willing to pay these high
prices wo have nothing to say.
The Columbia (S. C.) Chronicle, of
the 12th inst. says, “A fire broke out in
tho frtyne building known as the ‘Ex
change,’ kept by Messrs. Baker & Beard,
which consumed nearly the whole interior
of tho building. Great fears were en
tertained at one time for tho adjoining
property, but through the unprecedented
exertions of tho firemen the destructive
element was confined to the building in
which it originated. Doubts are enter
tained whether it was the result Jof care
lessness or the act of an incendiary.”
The Love of Scandal.
If any proof were needed that the pub
lic appetite craves nothing so much as
the knowledge of human sins and imper
fections—it is supplied by the avidity
with which the report of the Onderdonk
trial is every where sought. This trial is
replete with the most disgusting details.
It brings to the mind the most impure
images and associations; it is better cal
culated to excite licentious emotions than
the most objectionable report ever pub
lished by the famous Magdalen Society,
and yet strange to say, fifty thousand
copies have already been sold. The book
is found in the lawyer’s office and in the
ladies’ chamber; in the counting room
and in the parlor; in the city and in the
country. It is heralded by the booksel
lers; and in our larger cities, it is hawk
ed about the streets by the news-venders.
What is thus universally circulated is
universally talked about—in all circles,
rude and refined, vulgar and genteel, re
ligious and profane; the book is discuss
ed and the Bishop’s character dissected.
And readers! would you believe it ? the
works of that filthy French novelist, Eu
gene Sue, are gentility and purity them
tthim itttfrMriiiMr’iirf u iirruiiri i - r i .ri - itJfc
selves, wiien compared with some of the
doings divulged in this book. It would
seem as if the moral taste of the public
were vitiated—so that like some appetites
of which we have heard, who always
preferred spoilt eggs to sound ones—they
had a stronger relish for the vulgar and
the obscene than for the useful and the
good.
The truth is, these proceedings should
have been suppressed. The dirty Bishop
should have been quietly deposed and the
public should have been satisfied with
the verdict of the house of Bishops, with
out asking further questions. Or if the
trial must be published, it should have
been examined by those and those only
directly interested in the acts, (official
and inofficial) of the delinquent party.
For tlie Washingtonian.
Messrs. Editors —ln your last paper
you ask, “ Where is Rewarder? —Has he
given up in despair ?” In reply, I answer,
here am I; but not “ like Patience sitting
on a monument smiling at grief,” for the
desolations of society occasioned by the
traffic in strong drink, afford mo no feel
ings but those of the most profound sor
row. The afflictions of my fellow-men
are ever painful to me; but when to tem
poral sufferings, are added those denoun
ced alike against the Rum-seller and his
victims for eternity, language fails me to
express the anguish I experience. The
judgment of God against such impious
and daring transgressors of his laws,
stands before mo in tho vividness of
an awful reality, revealing their terror
and despair, and astounding me with
their exclamations to the mountains and
rocks to hide them from the face of the
Sin-avenging Lord.
When I turn from this sad and fearful
contemplation, and still find men, in hor
rible rebellion against their Maker and
Judge—greedily pursuing unhallowed
wealth by the seduction and ruin of their
fellow-beings, or those deluded ones, gulp
ing down that which makes them forget
God, duty and responsibility—l shudder,
and humbly conclude, that there is too
much madness and temerity in these men
for my poor skill to remedy. What can
I do but appeal to Him, who alone can
deal with thoso who will not hear his
word ? To Him I commend these (reach,
erous fowlers, and the miserable crea
tures they have ensnared. May He so
deal with them as to open their eyes, be
fore it is forever too late.
There are, however, two other reasons
why I have suspended my labors. 1.
The Ruin-sellers, instead of considering
them the best evidence I could give of
love to them personally, conclude I hate
them, because I hate and denounce their
demon-liko traffic. They consequently
hate me, and treat all my letters with
neglect. Unthinking, ungrateful men!
the time will come when the veil of self
ishness shall be torn from their eyes;
then they will appreciate the character
and labors of Rewarder and his breth
ren, and then, if it is before their fate is
forever sealed, it will not be “casting
pearls before swine” to write to them
again, in the style too, that my name de
mands.
2. Public opinion is not ripe for a
complete reformation; nor can it be
brought to this point while such papers
as yours are not generally read. This
fact is seen, in the difficulty experienced
in sustaining the Washingtonian—our
public advocates of reform—our public
meetings—our efforts to enforce the laws
against vice. But what is still more
significant of public opinion, is that the
effort made some years ago to enforce
the State law against selling liquor to
negroes, had to be abandoned, although
the community suffers incalculable injury
from this cause of vice and crime among
their slaves. It is really an up-hill work, a
rowing against wind and tide, to write
for those who will not read, and who are
in heart to the work you aim to
accomplish,
I have now explained the causes of my
silence. If- in this apology you find
what yon think, will “ show the rumsel
lers their sms,'’ or will tend to improve
the moral sense of society, it is at vour
service. Wo, wo, to him or them, who
lend no helping hand to form, or who re
tard the formation of a virtuous public
opinion. I wfsh not to be of their num
ber. Civil and religious liberty, social
and public safety, depend upon the moral
tone of society.
REWARDER.
For the Vfashingtoninn.
Mr. Editor —-These lines were suggested by
hearingyour promising young correspondent say,
that the only immortality he desired was “ a nev
er dying name.”
To Marcus.
The splendor of the poet’s lyre—
The eminence of fame—
The spirit’s intellectual fire—
Its glory and its shame,
Are all but transcripts of one truth—
Reflections of one ray,
And speak to nun and hint to youth
Os future day—decay.
For Fame’s proud steep, ambition’s fires,
Deep in thy bosom burns,
And with the gaze that never tires
Thy soul toward it turns,
And if perchance thy name shall live
Upon the tide of song:
A recompense will all this give
“When thou art passed and gone"?
No, Marcus, no! there’s glory far
Above the praise of men,
Whose gleamings, and whose splendors are
Beyond our human ken,
And he who bows his knee before
“ The Lamb—for sinners slain,”
Will win what Earth to give’s too poor
“ A never dying name.”
Lcils.
Augusta, January 8, 1815.
From the Massachusetts Cataract.
Only. Ous of Ten Thousand:—Or a Talc
of Wine, and of Water.
CHAPTER I.
FROM YOUTH TO MAJUIOOD.
Andrew L was the only son of
Esq. L ,of C . Heir to great
advantages, he was bread in all the ways
of wealth. His parents died just as he
was entering his seventeenth year, there
fore he was left to act according to his
own will and pleasure. He soon grew
wild, and being subjected to no control,
ho rushed into all the scenes of vice and
dissipation. At length he graduated from
college, and studied the profession of I
medicine. About this time there was a!
great celebration in his native village, |
in which Andrew took an active part. —
During the scene of rejoicing and merri
ment, he was urged to taste of the intox
icating beverage. Ho drank, and drank j
again till he was completely intoxicated, j
Thus he was carried to his home. For i
a short time after this, ho was more so
ber. Perhaps he was sensible of the
great sin, he had committed, but if so,
his feelings of contrition were not of
long duration, for in a few' weeks he had
againtasted, and it still was good. Thus j
his youth passed away. At length he
entered a neighboring town and com
menced practicing as a physician. Af
ter his removal, ’twas evident he reform
ed, either through a desire to gain the
confidence of his townsmen, or fearing
if he continued thus, he would forfeit the
esteem of a beautiful young lady to whom
he was paying his addresses.
CHAPTER If.
TIIE MARRIAGE.
Andrew was at length the enviable
husband of the beautiful and accomplish
ed Eliza T , the pride of her father’s
household and the joy of all those who
surrounded her. Never did a bride look
lovelier than did Eliza, dressed in snow
white muslin and crowned with a wreath
of orange flow ers, as her weeping moth
er imprinted a warm kiss on her delicate
brow, and said to the husband, “ Andrew,
be kind to my child, and God will bless
you.”
The happy couple left the paternal
roof, the bride being, scarcely seventeen,
and the husband could not have seen
twenty years, although there was some
thing in the proud look of his eye, and
noble brow, that told that his heart had
already cherished the fondest of mans’s
hopes, that secret thirsting after honor,
which all the world are on the race to
win. For a few years, every thing pro
ceeded smoothly, nothing seemed to im
pede his swift progress on the road to
fame. His home was happy, and “ Plen
ty sat smiling at his door.” Bye the bye
he was held up as a candidate for some
high tipolical honor; politics and party
spirit raged high then, and the young
physician became warmly interested in
the affairs of the day. Election day at
length arrived, but his opposing candi
date prevailed, and Doctor L was
defeated at the commencement of his po
litical career. His proud and ambitious
hopes were thus crushed with fortune’s
hand, in the bud.
He proceeded directly to the tavern
and resorted to the cup to drown his sor
rows. Thus is man basely deceived,
plunging himself into the deepest mis
ery, when seeking for comfort to heal
the wounded soul. That night his wife,
after the hour of midnight, beheld her
once happy and noble-spirited husband,
a wretched sot. She murmured not, al
though tears were seen coursing down
her youthful cheeks, as she endeavored
in vain, to imagine the scene now pre
sented, all a dream.
CHAPTER 111.
THE DOWNFALL.
As soon as people learned that their
physician had become unsuitable to have
the charge of his patients, they employed
him no more. His business decreased
rapidly, till at length poverty seemed the
inevitable result. Eliza his once happy
wife now smiled not. Her health was
fast failing, and her colorless cheek, and
sunken eye, told too plainly, that con
sumption was fast preying upon her wenk
and debilitated frame?. Alas ! that cup,
that infatuated cup embraced all the mis
ery of that saddened family.
One evening the broken hearted wife
was sitting by her humble fireside, re
flecting on the events of that day. All
their furniture had been sold, save enough
to furnish too small rooms; they now
resided in a small, miserable house, hard
ly comfortable. What a contrast from
the manner they lived eight years previ
ous, at the commencement of their mar
riage, then they were blessed with the
luxuries of life, and enough to contrib
ute to their neighboring destitute. Since :
that time what a revolution ! All their
great estate had been squandered, and
they had lost the dearest of all earthly •
gifts,—the husbands reputation. Thus i
she reflected, while two lovely children i
sat at her side, with their innocent heads
resting upon her lap. Their eyes were j
sufl’used with tears though they were j
sleeping; for fhey had been listening to
a recital of their sufferings from their
mother but a few minutes before.
CHAPTER IV.
RESTORED.
Ten yenrs have elapsed since the tran
saction of the last chapter. Dr. L
is again an altered nmn. He is no more j
the miserable drunkard, but he is now a j
man of respectability and esteem. But!
the star of hope is not visible. It has;
set, yea forever. In the midst of his in- !
toxicated career his wife died with a
broken heart. And when the penitent
Doctor gazed for the last time on the re
mains of his sweet wife, with an aching
heart, and tearful eyes, he said to him- j
self “I will no more taste of that bitter j
dreg which has thus proved my enerny, |
and deprived me of the summon bonum
of my life.” And he kept that vow, ami j
prosperity once more predominated over |
his varied fortunes. And all this mighty
change must be attributed to the pious
example ot his wife, and the good influ
ence of the Temperance lecturers. Loud
should he the acclamation from every
tongue in praise of those who go about,
restoring the degraded sot, to the respec
table member of society.
E. T. 11.
Shrewsbury, Mass.
A Good Example.
The good ship Charles W. Morgan,
owned by Charles W. Morgan of New
Bedford, and commanded by Thomas A.
Norton of Edgartown, recently arrived
at that port, with a full cargo of oil, af
ter an abscence of between three and |
four years. The pilots, when they board
a ship, take with them the temperance
pledge, and thus give every sailor and op
portunity to record his determination to
become a temperance man, to the confu
sion of all grog-shop landlords and sharks.
The pilot on boarding the Charles W.
Morgan produced the teetotal pledge, and
it was promptly signed by every one
on board, from the captain to the cabin
boy!
Tho strictest discipline and good order
prevailed on board the ship during the
passage. Captain Norton proved him
self truly the sailor’s friend, and nineteen
or twenty of the seamen, who, when they
shipped, knew nothing of navigation,
came home well instructed in the theory
and practice of the art, and able to nav- ;
igate and sail a vessel to any part of the
world. Twenty-three of the crew and
officers belonged to Martha’s Vineyard,
and of course were true-blue seamen,
and native Americans. This speaks well
for the good people of that island.
What Education should be.
Education, unaccompanied by moral
training, is like a sword in the hands of a
madman—and yet grieved am I to utter
it, much of the education of the country
is ot this sort. The schools of most rep
utation are eagerly sought—the colleges
of richest endowments are greedily vis
ited—knowledge, knowledge, is the cry,
while not a thought is spent upon the
moral education which may be going on
during the acquisition of that knowledge
—of the poison that our children may be
drinking in—the poison of immorality,
of licentiousness, of infidelity. My
friends, rather let your children lack the
accomplishments of life—rather let them
be behind the knowledge of the day, than
' procure them at such a cost. But no
! schools, however well conducted, no col
leges, however strict the moral discipline,
can achieve any thiDg for your children,
• until you yourselves train' them in the
I homestead of obedience, self government,
:to courtesy, to virtue. It must be «line
»P on Hne, precept upon precept, here a
' little and there a little”—it must he dai
ly instruction in the word cf God it
must be a constant watchfulness over
faults and habits—it must be earnest
prayer for them and with them; and ac-
I companving all this, must be a free use
•of the rod of correction, for “ folly is
| bound up in the heart of a child and
: nothing else can fetch it out.” This is
education, and it is the want of this
which has made our schools and colleges
; rather engines of evil than instruments
of good.— Bishop Elliot.
From the Philadelphia inquirer.
Concealment at Home.
HUSBA2VD AND WIFE.
.4 Case from Real Life. —We heard
| of a case of pecuniary ruin a few days
since, which the narrator attributed to a
disposition on the part of the husband, to
conceal the real state of his financial af
fairs from his “better half.” The par
ties had been married only a few years.
The fair one was young, lovely and fas
: cinating—the ornament of a gay circle,
; fond of display, of society, and' of ma
i king a figure in the world.’ Her husband
! floated upon her, and at the time cf her
marriage, believed himself, and was gen-
I erally regarded as rich. He purchased
I fine house, furnished it in splendid style,
and started forward in a dashing manner.
His wife dressed, not only with elegance,
but in the most expensive style. She
was ambitious to move in the best circles,
and believing that her husband could af
ford it, she lived at the rate of several
thousand dollars a year. Shortly after
they were married the husband met with
several serious losses; but they were in
the way of business, and although they
alarmed him for the moment, they pro
duced no serious effect upon his mind.
He was naturally cheerful and sanguine,
and he could not muster courage enough
even to inform his wife of his pecuniary
disasters. His view was that she could
not mend the matter—that it was a pity
to annoy and disturb her her by the dis
closure, and that in the end, he would re
cover. But his affairs continued to grow
worse; and seeing this he often deter
mined in his thoughtful moments, to tell
the whole story to his wife, and thus to
induce her to be more economical asjivell
as to make less display in the eye of the
world. But he still lacked the nerve
His wife had formed many new associ
ates in the fashionable circles, was re
garded as quite a leader in the gay
sphere in which she moved, was every
where admired, and her mistaken hus
band could not or would not wound her
pride and pain her heart, by disclosing
the condition of his falling fortunes.—
The worse his affairs grew, the more stu
died were his efforts to conceal them at
home. \Y ith this object, he resorted to
many new expedients to obtain funds,
borrowed money at high rates of inter
est, disposed of his goods and his proper
ty at a sacrifice, and finally found him.
self in the hands of the Sheriff. The blow
then fell upon his young wife, with fear
ful effect. She had never imagined such
a result. True, at times, when she felt
that she was rather extravagant, she had
ventured to apologise to her husband, and
to ask, rather indirectly than otherwise, as
to the condition of his business. But the
subject was a painful one to him, and be
avoided it with a singular delusion. Ho
had married her as a rich man ; he had
commenced life in liberal style; he had
in a measure induced his wife to become
gay and extravagant; and thus he per
sisted in the weakness of deceiving her,
and concealing his gradually depreciating
fortunes, until too late. Then she was
all agony and remorse. The true wo
man, and her fidelity in his hours of
gloom, were exhibited in all their beauty
and truth. She reproached him, it is
true, for his concealment; but did so in
any but an unkind spirit. She had been
misled; the gaieties of the world had
tempted her on, and thus, while mingling
in the fashions and frivolities of life, she
had overlooked the real state of her hus
band’s finances, and disregarded a thou
sand indications of change, which now
flashed upon her with vivid truth and
warning. The young merchant, in tell
ing the story of 'his reverses to a friend,
admitted his folly, confessed the madness
that induced him to conceal the real
state of his fortunes, but acquitted his
wife of all censure, at the same time re
marking that she had, in their adversity,
exhibited qualities which had endeared
him to her far more than those which
she had displayed in the gay, dashiDg
and extravagant portion of her life.—
“ The lesson,” he added, “ has been a
bitter one, in a momentary point of
view, but it has had its uses. It has
taught me to appreciate the true enjoy-