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-gg.fl." ■ i 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-