The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, July 07, 1854, Image 1
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VOL 1. ' GREENVILLE, S. C.: FRIDAY MORNING, JOLY 7, 1854~ '*'" -' NO.
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^aetrij nf tlje UStart.
Jobc one ? oolbef; .
On I why should petty differences tend
To break the bond of love between us I
Then bring that little pride to bend,
And let men eoe as men have seen us.
8hould aught on earth give cause for halt
Between earlh's sons, n few years' dwelling
On this bright world, in mortal state?
Euch object round to love impelling \
"View Nature in her wildest mood?
The storm onee past, then see her smiling?
Hill, mead, and stream, "and gnv gt-oen wood,
To love, and peace, and kuianeee willing.
See! struggling for the upper-part,
Sweet Naturc-yenrningB for thy brother,
Oh. may tfoso feejings of thy heart
Ileign absolute o'er all the other!
Alas! that hole should find a home
'Mid all man's nobler God-like graces?
That spleen or malice e'er should como
To aarken sweet affection's traces.
One common tenure do we hold
Of earth and life :?then love each other!
Let one united bond enfold
Each human heurt, each man and brother.
|jtarir0 for tlje 33omt Cirtlr.
I b e ?Iresh)eir ofJbe Jhi)ube.
A Ctnnv/ UIITll A bi nn a i
a oiurw vtiin a mural.
Thkrk i? a moral in the following tale?
translated from the German?which it behooves
all who confide in fortune-tellers and
supernnturalists of all kinds, well to heed :
In the hamlet of Diva, on the banks or the
Danube, there lived once an old man called
Sunbeg, who kept himself alive by the pretended
exercise of prophetic power by means
of visions and dreams. lie would often be
seeu sitting for hours together on a bench at
the door of his* hut, with his back to the
wall, with his face looking steadily towards
the east, and the village children, when they
saw him assuming this position, would skulk
away from their games, and whisper in fearful
accents, to each other, 'Sunbeg is going
dream P He was in all the secrets of the village,
from the lowest inhabitant, to the highest,
but all regarded him, with a distant eve,
as if they doubted his means of-prophetic
information.
It happened that in the village lived a
young man named Deasein. llis fathers
*?cie vinugt-TB ueiore mm, ana ms wisnes ana
and heart went not beyond its narrow limits.
He bad followed, with considerable success,
for some time, the occupation of a carpenter,
and be was now in search of that consummation
of happiness which bis prosperity allowed
bim to anticipate. Tne innocent,
young Paulina bloomed forth in bis eyes
lovely, affectionate and virtuous. Ifiief
tbo* glad, was simplicity of the village courtship,and
already had her parents consented to
their union. Paulina's beheld Dessein, ap
proaching, and Dessein's was less delighted
when in the company of Paulina ; in short
nothing now delayed their marriage, but an
unaccountable wish which Paulina's mother
expressed, that it might take place on her
birth-day. 4 Well it is but a month,' said
Hussein, and Paulina looked as if she could
have chid biin for the word but.
The villagers were making merry one eveu
jug, vii uie green, wnen a party oi soldiers
wer? seen approaching. Tney proved to be
a recruiting, or, rather, balloting party, for
there wan war at this time. How startled
were the poor villagers, at their unwelcome
* visitors. Every heart in an instant thought
with boding on* ita near relatives. Paulina
shuddered, and turning to Dessein, *Kly, fly P
said she; while you have yet time?they are
coining on fast?eacaj>e my Dessein to the
wood.* Before Dessein bad time to answer,
the troope arrived at the green, where they
halted, and sounded the trumpet to assemble
the males of the village. It was uow too
latd; the lots were drawn, and Dessein was
made a soldier.
Months on months passed away, after his
departure, but no tidings of Dessein. Poor
Paulina's sorrow was too deep to find expression
of relief in tears, but she sunk ?r?ulually
away ^|thout apparent malady. It occur
red to her mother that vldSunbeg should
be consulted as to the fst?f(w>essein. Paulina's
dim sue brightened up at the bono of
learning theThte of h?r betrothed, an J she
walkedtrmnblingly to the but of the visionary,
her bear! beating high with the new excitement
fehad reoeivw. 'Sunbeg,' said the
SWiJgta me news of my betrothed Deesoin.
.Heat thou seen him in thy viesionst
Tell me, docs he still live?shall I see him
again ! "ftfhere is he f < Tell me, good Sunbeg.*
'Paulina,* answered the old man raising
his grey eye with an enquiring look on
the maid, 'no, my child I have not yet, boheld
thy beloved; but come to mo to-morrow,
and I will perchance give thee tidings
ojf the youth.' 'Tie a long time till to-morrow,'
said Paulina, 'but father I will come at
the time thou namest.'
Restlessly did Paulina's head lie on her
l)illf)W til At. niflfllt Hop fr.rrrt ivqu
r -*;? #*v> ,v*'"
agitated by alternate dreams of hope and
despair. Next day alio went to Sunbeg at
tfn'bw Ttppointed?dxtt he hnd sought in
vain for a vision of the youth?another day
waB she to wait. Again the vision of Sunbeg
fled before him. On tho third she came
him. lie had a sight of the youth, stretched
on tho battle-field, pale in death ; he had
heard his last words?they were of Paulina
?he saw hi in earned in a cart with other
dead for interment?and tho vision closed.
It was enough; tho only hop? which had
sustained tho heart of Paulina was now vanished?tho
last spark which was her "life of
life" was now extinguished. She screamed
not, neither spake?but she weu* forth from
the hut of Sunbeg, a broken hearted maniac.!
Two long years passed over the miserable
head of the deranged Paulina. The village
children, when she passed, would stand still
with one haud on their backs, and the fore
finger of the other on their half open mouths
and gaze with uncomprehending pity on the
mnniac maid. There was an air of dullness
in all the village?hearts beat not now so
mnrvxr oa a?oa !>? ?-?-* .ij.-t.i~.*
uvuj ??" vuv-Vj iui tuc niri i ic^t aiiU nil^lltl'M
amongst them was laid waste.
One evening in the twilight, a rap was
heard at the door of Paulina's parent. The
mother arose, 4hd Desseiu entered. Ah,
how altered; a weary, worn out wounded
soldier. No wonder that the eyes of affection
did not recognise him. lie had to introduce
himself by name. Paulina at the
sound looked up, and smiled a smile of insanity.
""You, I>e8sein," slio exclaimed, "Oh,
tis false I only knew one of that name, and
he has been dead and gone these twenty
years. Poor soul he went to the wars, and
I have beeu in mourning for him ever since.
It's a long time but I should know him?1
should know him if I saw him again." Dessein
started hack?his eyes were riveted on
her face?"Oh, my Paulina !" uttered the
mourner, "is it thou ?" and his lips quivered
in agony, and his face turned pale to death.
A ray of consciousness glimmered through the
bewildered brain of the poor maniac; she
uttered afaint scream, And sank lifeless in the
arms of her lover.
The whole village went forth to pay tta
last tribute to the memory of the dead, TJ&
sein leading the procession as chief mourner.
It was indeed a happy release for the departed
; but what said the heart of Desseiu ? He
looked down into the grave of his beloved?
he saw the coffin covered out. of hi* ?
lie would have uttered a bleating over her
virgin tomb?his lips moved, but expression
was denied them. Ilia spirit groaned in
agony, and he departed, lle'flung his knapsack
over his shoulders, went forth frSiin his
native village to the ware?and he was
heard of uo moro.
Ccciic filrctj.
A KKKTC1I OK EVERY DAY.
Alas for love, is this be all,?and naught beyond,
O earth!!I
_ " Tis a girl, sir ; my lady lias a daughter."
f
44 Heaven be praised f" said the discontented
father of six unruly boys. "Now I
shall have something gentle to love. Small
comfort to me, those boys; house to^sy-turvy
from morning till night, with their guns,
fishing-tackle, pointers, setters, hound, spanials,
and what not. Tom's college bills perfectly
ruinous?horses, wine, and segars all
lumped under the general head of et cater an ;
T mwlafutaiiil If oil AK mtf AI U..A
A UUUVWMailM MM VI IUT J/UIJTO UUUB U11L
this little gentle girl,?climbing upon my
knee, making music and sunshine in the
house with her .innocent face and silvery
laugh?this little human blossom by life s
rough thorny wayside, she'll make amends.
I'm not the happiest husband in the
world ; my heart shall find a resting place
here. She must be highly educated and accomplished
; I shall spare no pains to effect
that. Ah, I see, after all, I shall have a happy
old age-"
Very lovely was the little Cecile. She had
her mother's soft hazel eyo and waving auburn
hair, and )^r father's Grecian profile.
There was a wintfng-sweetnet* in her smile,
and grace and poetry in every motion. It
was a pretty sight, her golden dflMes ruing
J ing with those Hilvefloclcs, as she rented her
bright head against the old man's cheek.
Even wthe Itoys" could barber no anger at
her quiet reign. She wound herself quite an
closely around their hearts. Then it wan a
new tie to bind the sundered husband and
wife together. Something of the old by gone
tenderness crept unootMciously iu their manner
into each other. It was their idol; and
they pressed her rapturously to the parental
heart, forgetting she was but clay.
Tutors fuvlljfbreraeases without limit went
and came tafore the important selection was
made. H^jrho many injunctions!
"* +A. "M
m wf
**
44 must not study so much as to spoil her fine
eyes;M Rhc 4,must draw only n few minutes
at a time, lest it should caine a stoop in her *
slioulders ;n she "must not go out in the
sun, for fear of injuring her complexion." c
She was told every hour in the day of some
rare perfection ; now her attitude?then her
eyes?then her shape. she "danced like a ii
fair)'"?"sang like a seraph"?in short, need- ii
ed wings only to make her an angel! fi
Every servant iu the house knew, that his t
or her fortune was made if Miss Cecile was t
pleased; and they Rbaped their course afe- 1
cordingly. If "the boys!* wero doubtful of s
the success of a request, Cecile was employ- <1
ed secretly to negotiate. The reins of house- (
hold government were in those little fairy t
fingeis. 3
No wonder the little Cecile thought her- ii
self omnipotent. No wonder she stood be- f!
fore her "Psyche," arranging, with a maid- .<*
en's pride, those glossy ringlets. Small mar- r
vel that she saw with exultation those round, t
polished limbs, pearly teeth, and Rtnry eyes. <i
and tossed her bright curls in triumph, ntthe t
hearts that were already laid at her feet, i
Her mirror but silently repeated the voice |
of flattery that met her at every step. Ce- c
cilc was beautiful! The temple was passing t
fair;.but, ah 1 there rose from its altar no i
holy incense to Heaven. Those bright eyes g
opened and closed like the flowers^ old like j
them drank in the dew and sunlight, regard- 1
less of the Giver. 1
It wits Ceeile's eighteenth birthday. The g
most expensive preparations had been made c
to celebrate it. 8he was to electrify the j
beau motide with her debut. A gossamer, t
robe, fit for a Peri, silvery and light, floated I
soft as a fleecy cloud around thcue metchless t
limbs. Gems and jewels would have been <
out of place beside those starry eyes. Nature's
simplest offering, the drooping lily, i
* Tl._ U-.L .L
V?vai\ivu nun UCl il TOOCO. JL IIC UOQU UI JUUU1
nnd hope was on her cheek; her step was
already on the threshold of that brillinut, uutried
world, which her beauty was to dazzle
and compter. Other sylph-like fonns there
were, and bright faces that made sunlight in
happy homes; but the peerless Ceoile quenched
their beams on that Happy birth-nighf?
The proud father looked up exultiugly.
"Beautiful as a dream!" echoed from one
end of the saloon to the other. His eyes followed
her, noted every glance of admiration,
and then lie said to himself. "Tho idol is
mine." Say you so, fond father I See, her
head drops heavily?her limbs relax?she
has fainted ! They gather round her,?they
bathe her pale face and powerless hands;
then they bear her to her dressing-room,
and she lies on that silken couch, like some
rare piece of sculpture. The revellers disperse
; the garlands droop ; darkness and silence
reign were merry feet tripped lightly.
The physician sits by the bedside of Ills fair
patient, and, with mistaken kindness, he says
to the frantic parents, "She will be easier
soon,?she will be free from paiu to-uiorrow ;
and then he leaves her with the anxious
watchers.
Morning dawned. Yes, Cecile was "better,"?so
her father said ; and she sat up,
and put her fair arms abdVit his neck, and
called hiin "her own dear father!" and he
smiled through his tears, and parted the
bright damp locks from her brow, and said
"she should have another ball, gayer than
the Inst, and look lovelier than ever;" and
then her mother laid a bandeau of pearls
across her pale foreliend, and said, "they become
her passing well." Ceeile smiled taiut
ly when bIio replaced them in their case, i
and then her mother came hack again to the ]
bedside. Ah! what a fearful shadow in that i
momentary interval had crept over that I
sweet face f "Cecile! Cecile ! said the be- '
wildered woman, shivering with an indefinable
terror; "speak to inc, Cecile ! what is it?" <
44 Am I dying, mother ??O mother! you ;
never taught me how to die!" I
In the still grey dawn, at sultry noon, in i
the hushed And starry night, long after that
bright young head was covered with the vio- ,
lets, rang that plaintive reproachful voice in ,
the parental ear, "You never taught me how (
to die i" Fanny Fehn.
A turtle dove died last week of a Lrok
en heart, and aged twenty-three year*. The ,
bird, it appears, was twice mated. His first
love died about ten years 8go; and, like
many of his own and the opposite sex of the j
human species, he bethought him of another
partner. Like doves from the days of Solo- '
mon, the two preserved the reputed characteristics
of the tribe?emblems of innocence
?till a few weeks ago, when the hen was i
unfortunately killed by accident. The second
bereavemeut preyed heavily on the bird. ,
| Louely and desolate lie pined away, refused
! tA fnLo kid frvA?l ami ffKa 1.%^
I VV M??u Ml ' I JVU| nnvij lium V*IV> UU^ VI 1112) J
lose, never lifted hi* head. Gentle reader,
Gentle reader, 4ihia heart wae broken."?Ayr.
Observer.
j Love it a* natural to a woman as fragrance
is to a rose. You may lock a girl
up in a convent?you may confine her in a cell?you
may cause her to ohange her reli|
gion, or foreswear her parents?these thingr
I are possible, but never liope to make the sex
Porship, or give up their
re?for such a liope will
the Greek Slave and as
TPa r ^ ' .%
fllisrltatmi!! T\fobiiig.
[he Wale of Stoeei diiqier.
THE TURKISH LADIES OUT Or DOORS.
Friday, tho Sunday of the Mahomedans,
s also their day of recreation. We are now
n full spring, the season in which the Turks,
retjuent tho country. This is the time for
hoir excursions to enjoy the day, either on
he banks of tho sweet waters of Asia or of
Surope. Th? former is, however, more rcorted
to in the autumn,. and the latter
Iraws greater crowds in tho present season.
)n Friday last the Sultan repaired there afer
mosque, as also the ladies of his harem,
lany thousand caiques might be seen glidntr
alonir tlir> finldon IT<wn filial -
-0 -0 vw.MVfa **VI II) tiltvu ? I III llic
litniiies of the pachas, all bound for the
tune destination, the Sweet Waters of Euopo,
and tilled with the veiled beauties of
he harem. It is vain to attempt to give a
lescriptiou of this scene. It would require
he eye of an artist to deservedly appreciate
ts peculiar features, and not the humble
>en of your mattor-of-fact correspondent to
lescribe it. The scene of the Sweet Waters
>f Europe last Friday reminded one of the
\rabian Nights, and met the brilliant de-1
icription of the East only to be met in the
>oems of Moore or Byron. The waters of
Surope were sweet indeed last Friday.?.
Vfany thousand aweet creatures were there,
prcad about the green meadows in groups
>f four and five, with little children and
ruling girls in their brilliant Oriental cosumes.
In order to place this scene vividly
>efore you, it is necessary to explain the posi,ion
of the little valley in which all this oc;urred.
The valley of the SWeet Water of Europe
s at the extremity of the Golden Horn,
where two small rivulets enter the sea.?
The Sultan has a kiosque on the border of
hese streams. The valley is not more than
lalf a mile wide, with green hills rising at
;ach side. It is almost entirely meadow,
utersporsed with trees here and there, and
i little wood on the leftside. It is not cultivated,
neither is much care taken of it. At
\ny time but spring or autumn it is indeed
Darren, and towards the centre swampy, and
luring the winter months frequently under
water. At present jj is, however, in its full
DOauty and verdure. On Friday it was peopled
by many thousand persons. I never
?ajv it so full before. The way was blocked
up by carriages full of Turkish ladies, and
the river was literally so full of caiques that
you could not pass. The fair natives <?f far
Armenia and Georgia were there, spread
about on the grass, whilst black eunuchs on
white Arabians whirled about with jealous
syes, watching over the property of their
masters. The Turkish veil (the Yashmak)
hides the greater part of the face from view,
but those fair Orientals have of late years
iliarged the texture of this covering, so that
you can well distinguished the finely chiseled
nose, and rosy lips beneath it. What
beauty was not there assembled! I had
never seen such an assemblage of Turkish
ladies before, or rather of ladies belonging to
Turks, ami had often thought the accounts
and description of Oriental beauty exaggerated.
They aro not. If there was one, there
were a hundred young women there of the
highest class of beauty, with tho straight
Grecian nose, and that clear, soft, dark, almond-shaped
eve. What eyes, and also
what looks! They seemed very huppy?
seated in little groups, picnicking. They
hud all brought their dinners with theni,
and sweet-meats, which they wen enjoying,
listening to the most discordant nuinbruin
Turkish music, which was bcinaj porformed
hy parties of foil.* or five men with a species
of guitar, not unfrequently accompanied by
a gutcral cliaunt, the only excuse the Turks
have for singing. I am not an admirer of
Oriental minstrelsy. They have no car for
music.
Picture to yourself these thousand damsels
spread about tho green, in blue, pink, purple,
orange, scarlet, green, and yellow costumes;
children in scarlet velvet, with gold plaited
through tho hair, and intermixed with long
leeks falling over their shoulders (there was
one little Turkish boy, the sen of some pacha,
lreased in red velvet, prancing about on a
pony in every direction;) Turkish soldiers;
great carta, silt and decorated, drawn by bullock,
and tuled with woman; negroes on
white horses, galloping about oil every side ;
iuiiuj Billing truwrirj^gwi, BlIlUKIIlg llHrglllieS
mid chibouk*, in silence, enjoying their kief;
Armenians, Persians, in their peaked fur-cap*,
the Persian Ambassador in his carriage in
full costume, followed by the moat extraordinary
looking men on horseback, dressed
up in Cash mere shawls; Circassians, in yellow
pointed caps, (almost all the embassies
were theie;) mix with these some British
otRoers of every uniform, and. his Royal
Highness the Duke of (JambrKlj|^, with his
statr. all mounted nn minorK Arnt.i-.n
the property of the Sultan, with purple velvet
saddlea richly embroidered iu gold, and
you have some idea of the brilliant scene
the Sweet Waters of Europe prated tod on
Friday last.
ilia Royal Highness walked and rode
about a good deal, and seemed to enjoy the
scene anfttngly. Lord de Redcliffe. who I
regret to aay is indisposed, did not aecoujf
' Wf '
^ M &
paoy him. Oar officers strolled uupd the
rq^adows looked at the Turkish "Beauties;
and they stand fire very well I assure you.?
Many a glancdVUl exchanged between them
and the Inglia Askier tho3e**mart young fellows
in the red jackets; indeed I am told
that, one Vurkish lady presented her handkerchief
to a handsome ensign of the 88th;
but this I can nOtr vouch for, as I did not see
it. Several got flowers from them, I know
for one young gentleman very navishly asked,
can one take flowers if they give them to
youl I have no doubt many a boquet was
given them. It is to be. hoped none of this
wilLenrTin a sack and the Bospliorus. The
black guardians of the fair were all eyes, or
rather scowls; they were on the qui-vive but
had they seen anything, they dare not touch
an English officer for smiling at a lady. I
saw one of these fellows shake an unfortu
i 1 I ?1 Si .
u?vo rayaii uy uie ceuar mosi unmercitully,
because'he did not get out of the way quick
enough. He had better not try the same
trick on an Englishman.
efoirhiqiio" of J.Uilliqh) 3JUiirf.
A TRUE INCIDENT IN HI8 HISTORY.
The distinguished Wm. Wirt, within six
or seven months after his first marriage, becamo
addicted to intemperance, the etfect of
which operated strongly on the mind mid
health of his wife, and in a few months
more she was numbered with the dead.?
Her death led him to leave tho country in
which he resided, and he moved to Richmond,
where he soon rose to distinction.?
But his habits hung about him and occasionally
he was found with jolly and frolicsome
spirts in bacchanalian revelry. Ilis
true friends-expostulated with him to convince
him of the injury he was doin^ hitnsclf.?
But he still persisted. His practice began to
fall off, and many looked on him as 011 the
sure road to ruin. He was advised to tret
married with a view of correcting his habits.
This he consented to do, if the right person
offered. He accordingly paid his addresses
to Miss Gamble. After some months attention,
he asked her hand in marriage. She
replied :?
| "Mr. Wirt, I have been well aware of your
attentions some time back, and should have
given you to understand that your visits and
attentions were not acceptable, had I not reciprocated
the affections you evinced for ine.
But I cannot yield ascent until you make me
a pledge never to taste, touch, or handle any
intoxicating drink."
. This reply to Wirt was as unexpected as
it was novel. His reply was, that he regarded
the proposition as a bar to all further
consideration on the subject, and he left
her. Iler course toward him was the same
?his, resentment and neglect.
In the course of a few weeks he went again
| and solicited her hand. He became indignant,
and regarded the terms she proposed
as an insult to his honor, and vowed it should
be the last meeting they should ever have.
He took to drinking worse and worse, and
seemed to run headlong to ruin.
Oue day,' while lying in the outskirts of
| the city, near a little grocery or grogshop,
: deaa drunk, a young lady whom it is not
necessary to name, was passing that way to
her home, not far oft', and beheld him with
his face turned up to the rays of the scorching
sun. She took her handkerchief, with
her own name marked upon it, and placed it
over his face. After he had remained in
that way for some hours he was awakened,
and his thirst being so great, he went into
the little grocery or grog-shop to get a drink,
when he discovered the handkerchief, at
which he looked, and the name was on it.
After pausing a few minutes he exclaimed;
"Great God ! who left this with me ??
Who placed this on my face?"
No one knew. lie dropped the glass exclaiming?
"Enough! enough 1"
He retired instantly from the store, forgeting
his thirst, but not his debauch, the handkerchief!
or the lady, vowing, if God gave
him strength, never to touch, taste, or handle
intoxicating drinks.
To meet Miss Gamble was the hardest effort
of his life. If he met her carriage or on
foot he popped round the nearest comer.?
She at hist addressed him a note under her
? A. i i ?1 1
| unu iinuu, iuviiiiig mill iaj ner nuutn, WHICH
he finally gathered courage to accept. He
told her if she still bore affection to hirn he
would agree to her own terms. Her reply
was:
"My conditions are now what they ever
have been."
"Then," said Wirt, I accept them.
They wore soon married, and from that
dAy he kept his word and his affairs brightened,
while honors nnd glory gathered thick
upon his brow. His name haa been enrolled
high in the temple of fame; while patriotism
and rannwn live attar him with imnar
ishable lustre.
llow many noble minds might the young '
ladies save, if they would follow the exam-1
pie of the heroine-hearted Miss Gamble, the
friend of humanity^,of her country, end the
relation of Lafayette !
New Thing* Attempted, and Bad Things
Produced.?A desire to say things which
90 one ever *i<L makes some people say
things which no one ought to say.
It - l|pr
I i i
. ^ohhattj Urnimtg.
Ihe t Nyeir-ljJee 1 i pg. v
A dark cloud of sorrow was overhanging
a happy home, for a beloved one seemed to
be drawing near the gates of death. Oiift
who had wept, and prayed, and labored for
the heathen, seemed about to exchange hiaf
sighs and prayers for joy and pence. With
a heart full of anguish, she who is ever the
stricken one in such scenes at tin* ftmifrht
the dear orphan, under hor charge, to tell
them of her sorrows." Sobs and tears were
the only answer to the few hurried words in
which she acquainted them with lier husband's
danger. And well might those young
heads he bowed in grief; for one who had
watched over them with a father's tender solicitude
was about to be taken from their
midst. Silently and sadly passed their evening
meal, and then, of their own accord, they
gathered to releive their full hearts by prayer.
That they were pleading for their boloved
friend, we knew ; and as the earnest
tones of supplication, and the plaintive subdued
strains of their hymns of praise fell upon
the ear, they seemed sweeter far thail
. Eolian music. And now their season of
prayer was over. They had cast their burden
of grief on an Almighty arm, and their
hearts were lighter, and their tcnos more
cheerful than before. .A hope was inspired
that Ciod had heard their prayers, and that
even then the work of healing had commenced.
Quietly tho doors were opened
which communicated with the apartment
where he for whom their petition had just
been ascending was reclining on his couch.
Noiselessly, and, as they thought, unobserved
one by one they stole through the passage,
that thev might obtain ono glance of iiis dear
face. When they saw his animated countenance,
and beard the cheerful tones of his
voice, (for he spoke of Jesus and of heaven,
although in a language foreign to them,)
they were satisfied, and left as quietly, as
they came.
The danger seemed for the present to have
passed, but the angel of death was hovering
near, although wo knew it not. Another
day was passed in sweet intercourse with a
soul just on the confines of heaven^ once
more was he permitted to gather the children
of his love around him and speak to
them of death, and preparation for it, and
then, as if our desires and prayers could 110
longer detain that immortal spirit struggling
to be free, he-was taken to his home above.
Who cau say that their day was not added
to his life, in answer to the united supplication
of our dear orphan girls ??Foreign
Missionary.
Bo ?ben 1 ng I bought.Who
does not love to watch a sun set or
to linger at the open door, or beside the
window, as the retiring orb bids good night,
to us first, and then to the tree-tops, und
lastly to those blue hills whose summits hold
his purple light as if it were hard to part ?
It is A lirtlv hour tvhon /lntr-coiin/la <!!?
?T r "vv. ?J v,,o?
and night begins. An hour for thought.?
A time to ask ourselves if we, in g;iily life,
are fillfngour allotted sphere as faithfully asr
God's insensible crtfhturcs fill theirs.
The sunlight comes with a gift for all.?
There is a golden shower for the forest, a
warm glow for the quictT vale, a kiss for tho
brooks and rivers, and a bright blaze in
ocean's depths, and in all the world there is
found no spot so utteily desolate as not to
receive a share of his life-giving power.
Not thus selfishly do liunian hrmds bestow
their bounties. Too often we give tho
glad smile and wann hands to those who
would be happy without them, 'while we
withhold them when, if proffered, they might
strike a spring of feeling in tho hearts d?fc
sert.
Do not wait for opportunities to do good 1
They are before us. They meet us wherever
we turn. They come, not of mi in loud calls
thnt cannot be resisted, but in silent appeals
to which it would bo well to teach our hearts
to listen. * #
Every tear is an appeal to, our sympathy.
Every struggling smiie thai would fain cover
a secret ^rrow, speaks still moro earnestly.
Every look of lovo asks for a retarn ;
and even the burning words of tpgor and
reproach should appeal to our Christianity,
and lead us to pity and forgive.
Earth la full of suffering. There are trials
in the life of the young that wither tho
spirit's freshness, ?nd leave a.bliglit for alter
years. The old have careworn chanels
whose hollowness might bo filled frofb tho
fountain of love and affection. Are all
around us fed and clothed 1 It is* not
| enough. There in another nature whose
wanttt, unsupplied, pour in the ear of Heaven
a tale oiagony.
Then let each, ancf^ more especially we
who bear the name of Christians, at eye
consider: Have I this dav followed Ills example
who said. Ask, ana it shall be given
yout If, not, then, in the spirit of repentance,
let us resolve that if the morrow's sun
comes tons again, we, like hiiu, will unlock
our treasure-house for all, and ask God's
blessing and each bestow ment.? Chrhli<iri\
Initlliftnetri .
I , v ' ? . ' ' "V * } ** ' - -*
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