Newspaper Page Text
The dormitory was a large room of a hundred
by thirty feet, with three rows of beds the entire
length. A large drum stove stood at either end,
which gave a genial warmth to the apartment.
Soon to my drowsy eyelids came “Tired nature's
sweet restorer—balmy sleep,” which continued
dreamless and unbroken until the bell aroused
me at dawn to the commencement of my first
day’s experience at a convent boarding school.
I have already entered too much into detail,
and will therefore only state that we were duly
installed in our different classes, and after the
first feeling of homesickness wore off, we were
very happy in our new situation.
Among the girls the one with whom I became
most intimate was Mary Seaton, a fair haired,
blue-eyed, delicate-looking creature, whom every
one felt almost compelled to love. Perhaps
what first attracted me towards her was her en
thusiastic admiration, expressed on all occasions,
of Sister Cecilia, whom I had loved from the
first moment that I beheld her. This affection
grew into a species of idolatry, which feeling
was fostered by the seclusion in which we lived,
never going anywhere and never seeing anyone
except the inmates of the Convent, I regarded
Cecilia with that worshipping reverence, which
a pious Catholic feels for his patron saint.
She moved amoug us, but not of us—a being
of a higher sphere. Her rapt expression, and
far-off gaze seemed, at times, to denote that her
expectant ear caught the distant murfhur of an
gel voices whispering, “Sister spirit, come
away."
One day Mary said to me, “ Gertrude, did you
know that Sister Cecilia had the consumption ?”
“ Oh, no, no,” I exclaimed, my eyes filling
with tears at the thought. “ You must be mis
taken, Mary.”
“ No I am not,” she replied , “ for she told
me so herself.”
And from that day, my love, if possible, for
this angelic being grew and strengthened. She,
too, seemed to prefer me to any of the other
girls, and when we were together, I would nes
tle closely to her side, she putting her arm af
fectionately around me, while a sense of perfect
happiness would fill my heart.
After my conversation with Mary, I noticed
that Sister Cecilia did have a cough which
seemed to be troublesome at times, and now,
with my eyes opened, I saw that, day by day,
her step grew feebler and her pale cheek thin
ner. She appeared to suffer no pain, but to fade
gently and slowly, even as the summer flowers.
She was compelled, at last, to give up her clas
ses, which was a sore trial to me, for it seemed
so much easier to study when I knew that I
would receive a smile of approval from her in
return for a well recited lesson. Finally, she
was confined altogether to the infirmary. Here
I was occasionally allowed to visit her, and she
would talk to me of God and Heaven, and the
delight that she felt at the prospect of soon bid
ding adieu to this fair but deceitful world.
One afternoon, Sister Vetoria, the disciplina
rian, came to my desk and told me that Sister
Cecilia wished to see me. I obeyed the summons
with alacrity, and was quickly beside her bed.
No sooner had I looked upon her than I perceiv
ed that a great change had taken place since I
last saw her, and even to my unpracticed eyes,
the shadow of death was visible upon her coun
tenance.
She feebly extended her thin, white hand,
which I clasped within my own, while passion
ate sobs convulsed my whole frame.
“ Weep not forme, Gertrude,” she said. “My
ransomed spirit will soon be rejoicing in its long
wished-for freedom. Already has extreme unc
tion been administered to me, and pfter fulfilling
one more task, my earth-weary soul will be
ready to obey the call of its Saviour, and its God.
You have been dearer to me, darling, than any
other human being for years. I tried to close
my heart against you, and fix it only on Heaven,
but its love could not be controlled. I wish
now to give you the history of my past life—a
life replete with human joy and human woe.
“My name, ere I became a member of this sis
terhood, was Gertrude Archer ; I was wealthy
and accomplished, and people called me beauti
ful. My home was in one of our northern cities,
where I dwelt with my parents and one only
brother. At the age of seventeen, I met Charles
Ellsworth—nay, start not, for it was indeed your
father—l soon learned to love him with all a
young heart’s first pure affection, and I had rea
son to believe that love returned. And when in
low, sweet tones, he breathed his passion, and
pleaded, oh 1 so eloquently, that I would be his
bride, I did not refuse, and for a brief interval,
we lived as in a blissful dream. But alas ! too
quickly came the rude awakening.
“ One day Edgar, my brother, said to mo:—
‘ Gertrude, I am sorry to see young Ellsworth
paying his addresses to you, and should he pro
pose, I hope that you will discard him at once,
for he is unworthy of you. Only last night, at a
convivial party, I heard him boasting to some of
his associates, of how completely the haughty
Gertrude Archer was in his power—that she
loved him so devotedly as to be completely his
slave. 1 should have resented the insult, but
he was not aware of my presence, and I did
not wish to bring you thus before the public.’
“ How all the pride of my young nature rose
in arms at these words—for I did not doubt
their truth, as my brother could have no object
in deceiving me. He sought only my good, I
thought, in thus destroying my fairest, brightest
hopes of earthly happiness.
“ Oh I the agony of that love —even now, on
the confines of eternity, I cannot recall it with
out a thrill of pain—when I discovered that he,
upou whom I had lavished all thtf wealth of a
loving heart, was undeserving. I immediately
wrote him a brief, cold note, in which I inform
ed him that all must be at an end between us,
but gave no explanation whatever. I also told
him that it would be useless to endeavor to ob
tain an interview, for I would not see him. Ho
did call, however, and whon I heard his loved
tones entreating to see me, my hoart almost
failed me, and I was upon the point of rushing
into his arms and confessing all. Well for me
would it have been had I done so, but pride,
that curse of angels, held me back.
“ The next I heard of him, lie had gone to
Mississippi, where he had an uncle and other rela
tions residing. Though my heart was well nigh
breaking, I hid my grief under a gay ffnd care
less demeanor, and plunged into every kind of
dissipation and excitement that would serve to
banish thought.
“ Edgar had a friend, Alfred Mortimer, dear
to him as his own heart's blood, for they had
been close friends at college, had travelled over
thousands of miles together, and Alfred had
once saved Edgar’s life at the imminent hazard
of his own. A few months after Charlie’s de
parture, this young mao, whom I loved as a bro
ther, offered himself to me. It is needless to
say that he was rejected, though Edgar prayed
and entreated me to wait awhile ere I decided.
I answered that no second lovo could ever fill
my heart, and that I never expected to marry.
“Edgar was highly exasperated, and for
weeks would scarcely speak to me. One night
he camo home, complaining of a severe head
ache, and the next morning found him confined
aOBSSUSBjE BXKLB ASS SUUK&XSX.
to his bed by a fever of a very malignant type.
Our family physician was at once called in, and
gravely shook his head, pronouncing his patient's
situation to be very critical. For dqys Edgar
lay balancing between life and death, but the
Allwise Providence saw fit to spare his life.
But during his illness, when he thought that the
grim king of terrors was about to claim him a 3
his own, he confessed to mo that he had de
ceived me with regard to Charles Ellsworth.
He told me, that he had never liked my betroth
ed, why he could not tell, and that he had so set
his heart on seeing me united to Alfred Morti
mer, as to stain his soul with falsehood in order
to accomplish his object.
“ With a lighter heart than I had known for
months, I hastened to my room after this inter
view, determined to put aside all false delicacy
and write to Charles, giving him the facts of the
whole case, and telling him that I still remain
ed true to him. The letter was dispatched and
for ten days I waited, finding suspense most
difficult to bear, and then came an answer
crushing out all hope and joy from my future
and leaving me groping in worse than Egyptian
darkness—the darkness of a soul whose’ only
feeling was to curse its God and die; for he
whom I had set up for the idol of my life was
no longer free. He had only a week previous
to the reception of my letter been united to your
mother—a sweet gentle girl, he described her,
with whom, though she had not succeeded in
calling forth such ardent and passionate love as
he had felt for me, he hoped to pass his future
years peacefully and happily.
“ My child, may you never suffer such anguish
as racked my heart throughout the live long
night after I read that letter. On bended knees
I prayed for death, but God refused to hear the
blasphemous cry. As soon as I had somewhat
recovered from the shock, I came to this con
vent where I had been educated, resolving to
abjure the world and all its vanities and dedi
cate my life henceforth to Heaven. Ah! how
little had I dreamed, when two short years be
fore I had gone forth from this peaceful retreat,
full of impatience to launch my frail bark upon
the treacherous tide of fashionable life, that so
short a time would elapse before I should return
broken-spirited and earth-weary, crying ‘ peace,
peace, give me peace 1’
“ Long and arduous was the struggle, ere I
could teach my sinful and rebellious heart to
submit to its fate. But by the grace of the
Most High I did at last succeed, and I know
that my latter years have not been uselessly
spent, in healing the sick and ministering to the
broken-hearted. Tell your father to meet me
above, where there will be no concealments, and
partings never come. You are very like your
father, Gertrude, and I am glad that my dying
gaze can rest upon the semblance of his features.
And now, my child, farewell. Endeavor to tread
carefully and holily the thorny path, that leads
to life eternal; bear the cross awhile, and you
will wear the crown through countless ages.
“ Take that book,” and she pointed to one on
a table near by, “and read to me the prayers
for the dying, for my end draweth very near and
I will soon be ‘ where the wicked cease from
troubling and the weary are at rest!’ ”
I took the book and, though in a choking
voice, continued to read for the space of fifteen
minutes, and then looking up I discovered that
only the lovely casket lay before me. The en
franchised soul had burst its bonds and soared
on angel’s wings to the realms of bliss.
Her face was placid as a sleeping infant’s; the
long dark lashes lay upon the waxen cheek, and
the attenuated hands were folded above the
pulseless bosom. Gently and without a sigh
had
“She closed her eves and stood in peace
Before a smiling God.”
There was no wild burst of grief as I looked
upon the beautiful clay, but soothingly, as falls
the summer rain, the tears dropped one by one
from my eyes, until my soul was filled with awe
not unmingled with happiness, for the heart-sore
and earth-weary pilgrim had entered upon her
rest.
Noiselessly I left the room and proceeded to
call those whose duty it was to prepare the body
for interment. I lay awake long that night,
pondering upon the sad story that had been that
day unfolded to me. I had never known for
whom I was named. While all of my brothers
had received some family name, I alone had
been called for none of my relations. Once I
had questioned my mother upon the subject and
she had answered that it was a fancy name be
stowed upon me by my father. Now I knew,
that it was in memory of the lost love of his
youth, that my sire had called me Gertrude;
perhaps, too, that was why I was so much dear
er to him than his other children.
The next day, shrouded in the same sable
costume, which she had worn in life—the rosary
and crucifix lying upon her marble bosom—the
remains of sister Cecilia were consigned to their
final resting place. The tall poplars sighed
mournfully in the breeze and all nature wore a
sadder aspect to my vision, as two and two,
both sisters and pupils slowly wended their way
to the little enclosure, where, guarded as it were
by the emblem of our redemption, the ashes of
the departed sisterhood reposed.
In the vacation, when my father came to take
me traveling until the commencement of another
terra, I carried him to this quiet spot, and point
ing out to him the plain white marble slab
bearing the inscription: “ Sister Cecilia Archer,
aged 35,” told him of the death-bed revelation
of her who slept beneath.
The strong man bowed his knee beside that
humble grave, and raising his tearful eyes to
heaven, murmured:
“ Both are gone—the wife of my bosom, the
mother of my children, and Gertrude, the first
love of my youth, both awaiting me over the
river. Now, Lord, thy servant is ready to de
part in peace.”
Reverently and slowly we left the consecrated
place, our hearts filled with a tender sadness.
And years have passed since then, and soft
eyed little children cluster arcund my knee and
call me “ mother”; but memory, oft, with retro
spective glance, brings before me the image of
her, who with palm in hand and brow encircled
by the crown of glory, dwelleth with saints and
angels, forevermore, in “the city not made
with hands—eternal in the heavens.”
— ra -
When Dr. Franklin’s mother-in-law first dis
covered that the young man had a hankering for
her daughter, that good old lady said she did
not know so well about giving her daughter to
a printer—there were already two printing offi
ces in the United States, and she was not cer
tain the country would support them. It was
plain young Franklin would depend far his sup
port on the profits of a third, and this was rath
er a doubtful chance. If such an objection was
urged to a would-be son-in-law when there were
but two printing offices in the United States,
how can a printer hope to get a wife now, when
the recent census showed the number to be 15,-
067?
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
COMMON SCHOOLS.
Messrs. Editors : —ln two former communi
cations I think I have shown, that a general
free school system of education can offer no ad
vantages over our present common school sys
tem. I will now undertake to show, that the
latter has some very marked advantages over
the former. But before Ido so, I will use the
occasion to remove the only plausible objection,
(in my judgment,) which has been urged against
this common school system. Others have in
deed been urged, but a correct knowledge of
the facts, as they really exist, will remove them.
It has been objected that the system operates
unequally, and consequently unjustly, because
some counties having many poor children and
paying but little tax, share too largely of the
school fund. This objection may have weight,
when, and only when, it is shown that any citi
zen has a claim, founded upon right, to the taxes
which he may have paid to the State Govern
ment. But such a claim is barred, in justice and
equity, by the fact that ho has received, and is
still receiving for his tax, more than ten equi
valents from the government, in the safety and
protection of his interests, of his rights of per
son and of property. The State, then, in giving
what is clearly its own, in larger shares to the
more needy and helpless counties, does only
that which, every patriot will say, is. its duty—
and the more so, since the reflexive benefits—
the education of the poor—will result in com
mon good, in universal security to all the coun
ties. This, then, so far from being a valid ob
jection, ought to commend the system to the
public favor.
Now the advantages:
Advantage No. 1. The common school sys
tem will educate as many poor children, (all
that can be got into the schools,) with less than
one fourth of the funds, which would be re
quired under the free system to pay teachers
alone; saying nothing of one and one-half mil
lions, which that system must expend in build
ing school houses. This is a decided advantage.
No. 2. This system is successfully executed
at a very small cost. Having no salaned offi
cers, the per cent, allowed to disbursing agents,
which I believe is five per cent., covers all the
expense of its execution. I place the sum to be
distributed, at one hundred and thirty thousand
dollars. Five per cent, on this sum is six thou
sand five hundred dollars. This is the whole
cost of its execution. Can a general free sys
tem, when perfected, be executed for four times
this sum ? I think not.
No. 3. The common school system is educa
ting all the poor children that can be got into
the schools, and will go on constantly increas
ing their number. The tendency also is, to in
crease the number of schools, while the immedi
ate effects of the free system, at its very incep
tion, must be, to withdraw from the schools the
State aid, and of course, to destroy a large num
ber of them, and as a consequence inevitable,
leave a large number both of the poorer and
middle classes, for many years, totally deprived
of the means of education. This is a great ad
vantage.
No. 4. The present system has its school
houses already built, its teachers provided, its
funds invested aßd yielding regular profits, and
the people familiar with its operation. The free
system has all these things yet to be done, and in
doing them, who can say what great blunders
may not be committed ? Ido sincerely believe,
its inception will be a most egregious blunder—
one which will strike a deadly blow at educa
tion, from which our State will not recover in a
century, if ever.
No. s. This system leaves tho education of
children in the hands of those who are best qual
ified and most interested to see to it, that they
are well and economically educated—l mean, in
the hands of parents and guardians; while the
free system must take it from parents, and place
it in the hands of the State or its irresponsible
teachers, who might feel no responsibilities to,
and no dependence on, those whose children are
intrusted to their care; and, in all likelihood,
would care quite as little about their moral and
literary advancement. This should bo well con
sidered, for it is of vast import.
No. 6. The common school system deprives
no man of any right, destroys no school, nor as
sumes even the shadow of a questionable pow
er for the government. It simply offers a gratu
ity to the indigent, and leaves them free to ac
cept or reject the offer. If they accept, they en
joy a great benefit. If they reject it, their con
dition is no worse than it was before the gratuity
was offered. Very different, in these respects,
is the system of general free schools, by which
some are seekiug to supercede this admirable
system. Under the present free system the
Government assumes tho power to lay its hands
upOn the private property of a citizen, for the
purpose of educating his children. This, in re
gard to these children and the State, does appear
to me to be a private purpose, and if so, is clear
ly unconstitutional. It is true that a general
good may result to the State, but this public
benefit is reflexive and incidental. The exer
cise of this power, to say the least against it,
involves an assumption of a very questionable
power—one, at least, from which the govern
ment is, and of right ought to be, restrained.
However this may be, there is another feature
in this general free system, which is clearer.—
I suppose that, if the government should pass a
law that every citizen should educate his child
ren in these State schools, no matter under what
kind of school government, possibly the exclu
sion of the Bible even on “ the teacher’s desk,”
and affix a severe penalty to each failure, our
State government would fairly deserve to bo
classed with the most arbitrary powers of Eu
rope. A burst of universal indignation would
be aroused, w'hich would lash the government
back to a better observance of the constitution.
Well, the State Government, by introducing the
general free system, does not do this directly,
but would do it indirectly, and quite as effectu
ally as the most stringent law could do it. The
system, if adopted, would put down all other
schools, and the people be compelled, under tho
penalty of the loss of education for their child- •
ren, (a most grievous penalty, truly,) to educate
their children in the State schools. Now, what
matters it to us, if we" are to suffer an evil,
whether it come directly or indirectly? This
system, then, has all the evils that can be found
in the law described above, and is therefore un
constitutional. The system takes from the pa
rent the right to educate his children as he plea
ses, thus depriving him of a right derived from
a power higher than the constitution. These
rights are too important to be surrendered even
upon the condition that the system would edu
cate every child in the State. Many of our rights
are priceless, and these are of that class. The
system is presented to us under very plausible
colorings. Promises have been made for it, of
great good, to the people, it would accomplish.
Let these promises not be relied on; they are
false and deceitful—just such as are always held
out to the people, whenever a government de
sires to exercise unconstitutional powers. Let
the people look well to the price they are to pay
for the system, and if they believe them right,
and the constitution of less value than the sys
tem, why then, let it be adopted. If not, then
let a system which seeks to supplant one of the
best systems, if not the very best in the world,
and which seeks to do so by depriving the peo
ple of some of those dearest rights, be crushed
at once; —let the head of the viper be severed.
J. C. P.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.] *
ABORT MEN’S KISSING.
BY LOUISE lUNUIEM.
To Americans with whom any thiug approach
ing a caress, even between the closest of rela
tives, is rare, the idea of two men embracing is
not in the least touching. On the contrary, it
has in it, to many, something of the ridiculous.
But this should not be so—it is far from being
so. Education taught me the same prejudice,
tho’ often as a child, I have wondered why men
and boys did not love each other, as women and
girls, and thought it sad indeed. Later on in
life, I found this subject matter for much mirth,
mostly in teasing my brother, a man past forty,
who blushed like a girl on being kissed, before a
crowd, on both cheeks, by an old German school
teacher at Geneva, with whom he had placed
his son, and who professed a furious attachment
for both of them.
I confess to a little tightness at my throat at
this feat of the old man. and if I had had more
faith in the sincerity of a friendship of two
weeks growth, I should perhaps have been more
touched; and then P.’s crimson blush and intense
annoyance was too good a thing to let pass, and
I teased and exposed him pitilessly, whenever I
could, in payment of the many tortures he was
ever inflicting on me.
However, I got usfd to seeing men kiss while
I was in Europe, and looked upon it indifferent
ly, till once travelling with my youngest sister,
the two children, and two other young ladies,
under the protection of a very gallant and distin
gue American gentleman, who was to meet at
the end of the voyage a dearly beloved friend.
So romantic was the attachment between these
gentlemen, both having no superior in the States
for birth, wealth, good looks, talents, and chival
rous nature, that it was become the subject of
remark in their city of adoption. The girls
teased M a good deal about his friend, and
I fancy were a little jealous (he was a good
catch) and one of them tauntingly laughed out,
“ I should not be the least surprised to see them
rush into each other’s arms and kiss.”
“ Kiss him 1 indeed you may expect it. Frank
and I never parted, or met yet without it, and,
please God, never will."
The girls thought him quizzing them, but at
any rate promised themselves some fun at see
ing the elegant, the dignified, the cold and sar
castic Mr. , kissing the brilliant, talented,
handsome Frank .
We entered the port. The girls and children
clustered outside in the saloon of tho great steam
er, in a fever of delight and expectation of friends,
novelties and the arrival of Mr. . I, older
and sadder, sat in my state room—and—l fear
me—crying 1 not from envy of those gay care
less things outside, but alas 1 I was not eighteen,
and had come to give up the little children—not
little now, whom I had loved, protected, and
taught for seven long years, give them up to
another!—would they find the friend, the moth
er I had been to them? Alast I feared not.
Suddenly I heard a flutter and excitement in
the little crowd gathered at my door, then a rush,
then a kiss, —yes, a loud hearty kiss I—it went
through my heart like a knife—then a passion
ate —
“Frank 1”
“Guy!”
I could not help it 1 I rushed to the door, and
beheld the young men holding each other at arm’s
length and gazing eagerly into each other’s face.
Never can I forget that spectacle!
Tears were in the eyes of both. I turned and
looked at the girls. They were almost pale, quite
still, and subdued; tears were in their eyes too,
and a look on their faces which said, “ Oh, will
I ever be loved like this!" /knew they never
would, for all their youth, beauty and brightness,
and I shrunk silently back, closed my door, sat
down on my trunk and cried—Oh, how bitterly
I cried 1
Since that time I like to see men kiss each
other, if there exists a real sincere attachment,
and for fathers not to kiss their sons, and broth
ers each other, on occasions of meeting or patt
ing for a length of time, I think is—well—bru
tal. And when I hear people laugh and make
fun about men’s kissing, I can’t help getting in
a passion; and as I can’t always explain, for a
certain little choking at the memory of that
scene, I just get up and walk off, as I did from
tho tea-table the other night, when the subject
was jested upon; or, I say something sharp and
bitter, which make people set me down as de
mented, for I am not in the least given to cares
sing myself, and then to expect it of men 1 So
they shrug their shoulders and “ one of her
crochets ’’ is all the response I get.
—
The First Steamer that Crossed tiie At
lantic. —We published a paragraph yesterday,
mentioning the arrival at New York, Boston and
Quebec, during the month of May, of twenty-two
steamers from Europe, and stated that it was on
ly twenty-one years ago since the Sirius, the first
steamer to cross the Atlantic, arrived at New
York. A subscriber desires to know whether
the steamer Savannah did not cross tho ocean
several years before the Sirius. There is no
doubt that she did, and we made the mention of
the Sirius because that vessel was the first steam
er to arrive in this country from Europe, and is
generally considered the pioneer of ocean steam
navigation. The Sirius arrived at New York on
the 22dof April, 1838, from Cork, Ireland. The
Savannah, commanded by Capt. Moses Taylor,
sailed from Savannah on the 25th of May, 1819,
nineteen years before the Sirius made her passage
and arrived at Liverpool in twenty-two days.—
This steamer was built in New York in 1818,
but was owned by parties in Savannah, and was
a paddle wheel steamer, of 350 tons and 90 horse
power. She was a full rigged ship, and a fast sail
or; on her voyage to Liverpool she had steam
up fourteen days, and by steam alone could make
eight knots an hour.—[iV. 0. Bulletin, June 11.
Swimming Horses.— During seasons of high
water, men, —in tiavers ng the p’a ns, —often
encounter rivers which rise above a fording
stage, and remain in that condition for many
days, and to await the falling of the water might
involve a great loss of time. If the traveller be
alone, his only way is to swim his horse; but if
ho retains the seat on hil saddle, his weight pres
ses tho animal down into the water, and cramps
his movements very sensibly. It is a much bet
ter plan to attach a cord to the bridle-bit, and
drive him into the stream; then, seizing his tail,
allow him to tow you across. If he turns out of
the course, or attempts to turn back, he can be
checked with the cord, or by splashing water at
his head. If the rider remains in the saddle, he
should allow the horse to have a loose rein, and
never pull upon it except wheu necessary to
guide.
, CHILDREN’S COLUMN.
[For.the Southern Field and Fireside.]
Mr. Editor: I notice a new feature in your
valuable paper, which, I humbly think, should
commend it to the heads of Southern families
I allude to the column for children. I love chil
dren, and for six years have devoted my whole
time and talent (little though it be) to the pro
motion of what I conceived to be their best in
terests. I respectfully offer for the little folks,
the following
PROBLEM.
What number is that, whose | multiplied by
itsi, is equal to five times the number?
This is to be solved by Analysis, without the
aid of Algebra, Position or Supposition.
Those who have advanced as far as multipli
cation in \ ulgar Fractions, can easily solve it
Come now, my little fellows, who speaks first?
Truly yours, “James.”
A Story for Boys. —lt is related of a Persian
mother, that on giving her son forty pieces of
silver as lus portion, she made him swear never
to tell a lie, and said: “Go, my son; I consign
thee to God, and we shall not meet again here
till the day of judgment.”
The youth went away, and the party ho trav
eled with were assaulted by robbers.
One fellow' asked the boy what he had, and
he answered:
“Forty dinars are sewed up in my garments.”
The robber laughed, thinking that the boy
J6St€U.
Another asked the same question, and re
ceived the same answer.
At last, the chief called him, and asked him
what he had. The boy replied:
tl \ h ,*' e to ! d two of y° ur People already that
I had forty dinars sewed up in my clothes.”
The chief ordered the clothes to be ripped
open, and the money was found.
“ And how came you to tell this?”
“ Because,” replied the boy, “ I would not be
false to my mother, to whom I promised never to
tell a lie.”
“Child,” said the robber, "art thou so mind
ful of thy duty to thy mother at thy years, and
am I insensible at my age of the duty I owe to
God? Give me thy hand, that I may swear re
pentance on it.”
He did so, and his fellows were struck with
the scene.
“ You have been our leader in guilt,” they
said to the chief—“be the same in the path of
virtue,” and taking the boy’s hand, they took
the oath of repentance on it.
There is a moral in this story, which goes be
yond the direct influence of the mother on the
child. The sentiment infused into the breast of
a child is again transferred from breast to
breast.
Parental Consistency.— Parents, asks an
exchange, how many of you consider what ob
servant little eyes and ears are noting all you
say and do? This saying and doing of yours,
is training your children in the way they should
or should not go, more powerfully than any oth
er influence. What a blessing it would be to
every child born into this sinful world, if parents
regulated their words and actions as if they re
alized this fact; and likewise, that it operates
more effectually when the mind is tender, and
uncontaminated by the deepest hypocrisy, and
deluding opinions of society as it exists, than it
can ever afterwards. The infant mind imbibes
the ptrong impressions by precept and example
from loving parents, and thus they become their
guides, whether right or wrong. It seems that
st. nn onrly ago, they possess almost an intuitive
perception of right and its opposite, and it is
surprising oft-times, how correctly they judge of
the words and acts of their seniors—a convinc
ing truth that too much circumspection cannot
be called into requisition, in our intercourse with
the little ones, as they are sitting in judgment
on all they see and hear.
An instance in proof of this, now presents it
self to my recollection. A bright, active little
boy, (who, in after life, became a clergyman,)
was very urgent, while frequently teasing his
mother for a coat like his brother’s (who was
several years older) with “pockets behind,” ap
pearing to believe that thereby his manliness
would be greatly increased. To his often and
urgent importunity for it, his mother generally
replied: “You are a little boy —they don't wear
such coats; it would not be proper; when you
get to be a man, then you will wear them with
“pockets behind.” Abaut this time it became
necessary to visit a mineral spring on his be
half, that ho might drink of, and bathe in its
waters; the baths were more formidable than
he had ever entered at home, and he manifested
some considerable fear, flinching with dread.—
His mother said: “ R—, you are a man, you
should not be afraid.” The retort was instanta
neous : “ When I ask for pockets behind, you
say I am a little boy, now you say 1 am a man.”
That mother received a lesson from the circum
stance that was never forgotten.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
ENIGMA, NO Vn.
I am composed of nineteen letters:
My 8,4, 6,1T —is what we should always be.
“ 1,10, 12, B—is an animal.
“ 2,6, 5, 7—is a title of nobility. .
“ 1,18,8, 2,19,12, 7—is a military title.
“ 9,10,15,14, 4—is a residence.
“ 12,15,17, 15,16,8 —is a season of the year.
18,11,15,1.1, 7,18, s—is one who breaks the revenue
“ 9,10,19,13, 2—is an animal.
“ 1, 8,12,17 —is an insect
“ 5,15. 11—is a liquor.
“4, 6, B—is what we all do.
“ 10,19, 6, 8,1,18 —is a fruit.
My whole is a distinguished Officer of the American
Revolution.
Answer next week.
Charleston, 8. C. Natalie B.
ENIGMA, NO. VIII.
I am composed of twenty letters:
My 1, 6,11,15, 9, 20— was a brave soldier.
“ 1,9,8 —is an interjection.
“7, 14, Id, 12—is a girl's name.
“ 2,lß—is a verb.
“ 13, 17, 4, B—is an elevation.
“ 10,19,1 —is an adverb.
“ s—is a vowel.
My whole was a President of the Union.
Answer next week.
Richmond Factory, Ga. J. W. R.
CP”Answer to Enigma, No. V.: “ Trust in God, and
keep your powder dry.’’
Answer to Enigma, No. VI.: Dr. Daniel Lee.
Correct solutions have been received from Stephanie
of Charleston; Ccbiositt, of Augusta; J.
A. H. T., of Macon; J. W. R., of Richmond Factory ;
Fanny, of Washington, Ga; Frank Farleigh, of Edge
field, 9. C.
t3?“The “Extraordinary Enigma” sent by J. B„ (a
whole, composed of only eighty-four parts,) is respect
fully declined. His desire 9>r promoting the ingenuity
and amusement of all who take an interest in the Enigma
department, is duly appreciated—but the space allotted
this feature of the Field and Fireside, will forbid the
publication of Enigmas containing more than a square
(fourteen lines.)
Standing Rcle. —Enigmas sent Jor publication
must be accompanied by the real name of the writers,
as well as the solutions.
Poisons of any description which have been
intentionally or accidentally swallowed, may be
renderod almost harmless by simply swallowing
two gills of sweet oil.
203
