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From the Charleston Courier.
"THOU ABT THE SAME."
BT WILLIE LIQHTHXART.
Ah me! the music of such blessed words
Comes down upon the weary footed ones
like spring-time 'pon the bosom of the earth,
When wrapped In desolation, storm and snow.
It cometh o'er the heart?the disappointed heart?
Like the delicious gurgle of a running spring
Upon the parched, hot and desert plain,
Where quivering lips cry 'water, or we die!'
It cometh o'er the soul like the far distant shout
From life-boat, hast'ning u> the sinking wreck,
TT"a~ ilaalr a thnnund hftflrtfi he&l wilct
A thousand eyes gaze wildly through the mist
It eometh o'er the heart and thrills it with a joy,
As sweet as melody from out the glory-land ;
And kindles in the soul a fire as pure
As that which burns forever at the throne of Ood I
'Thou art the same!'?It matters not though all
The flowers of human hope are crushed and dead;
Though every star In darkness has gone out,
And the long winter night of sorrow chills the heart;
It matters not though thy warm heart is doomed,
With lacerated feet, to tread the wilderness alone;
Though loved ones love thee not as fondly as they did
In the bright summer time, the sunny long-ago;
It matters not though childhood's laugh be hushed,
Though the fair hopes and visions all are gone,
Which bloomed awhile ago, like flowers, and sung like
birds,
So sweetly and so beautifully all the livelong day.
I It matters not though friends are strangely oold,
Though faces, that were wont to smile of yore,
Now turn away, or, looking, wound thy heart
By the stern brow, the curling Up of scorn.
God has not changed (?through all thy weary Ufe,
From early boyhood, when thy lisping prayer
Went np, with "Our Father," at thy mother's knee;
Through iufkncy and boyhood, np to manhood's prime,
E'en to the tottering season of a good old age,
His voloe hath haunted thee, His loving arm
Hath zoned thee through a thousand stormy hoars,
And the sweet Invitation. 'Come to me,'
Has sounded, everlastingly, upon thine ears I
Oh! learn the soothing, blessed, changeless truth,
That man, however sunk in sin and crime,
Hath e'er a friend in heaven, whose loving heart
Yearns after him, from childhood to the verge of hell
And, when the sickened, disappointed, wounded heart,
Turning from earth, looks for a better hope and friend.
Above the throne of God, in living lines of light,
A promise ?>"?" shine oat to beacon it in peace
Into the outstreehed arms of an unchanging friend !
WRITTEN EOR THE YORXVILLE ENQUIRER.
EVAS DHC; OR JHE FOUNDLING.
BY MRS. M. RITCHIE.
' CHAPTER in.
It was early in the morning, when the
warder at Norland Castle heard the warlike
sound of bngles in the distance; an|
nonnoing the approach of straDgers, and
shortly after, a flourish of trumpets at the
great gates proclaimed the arrival of the
party, who oraved hospitality. It was soon
ascertained to be a messenger from the royal
army, that requested an audience of the
Laird; and the heavy draw-bridge was
thrown down for his admission. The retainers
were drawn up in the Court yard?rough
fellows and lawless loons?who were ready
to back their chief, sword in hand, in any
desperate emergency; and as the Southron
dignitary passed through them, leaving his
n oi/3/k fKn roulnn Ko
own guttiu UU lus uiuvi D1VJV buu laiiusj ?
was saluted with sullen looks of discontent.
Sir Robert Anstruther was seated in his
chair of state in the great hall, amid his
numerous dependents, determined to impress
the herald with a due sense of his importance
; yet he could not repress a start
when that functionary presented him with
a packet, sealed with the royal arms.
'A messenger from the King, hah!' he
said; 'we give you welcome and, prithee,
do aot stint the cheer, whilst I arrive at a
seDse of his missive. Harkee ! knaves, hurry
the repast.'
Whilst the messenger attended to the
viands, the Laird tore open the letter and
proceeded to read it with a flushed brow.
<By the holy rood,' he muttered, impatiently;
<to join the invading army in person,
and bring my followers, or pay a hundred
pounds within six days; if I fail, my
head will be forfeited and my Castle stormed.
Hun?hun?a hundred men I can
command, but I'll not be drawn from my
fastness in that simple way, to do him homage,
and if I rack the country round, I
could not get as many shillings together,
oinoo if. is forbidden to lew nrotection
M*"vv "" * r
money on the Lothians.'
With the mandate, however, oame a private
letter from Lord Cranstown, which he
next perused, informing him of what he
knew already?the King's displeasure.?
He was well aware, too, that small dependence
could be placed on those interests he
had betrayed; for the Laird had played
booty on both sides, nor could he rely on
the patriot band whose cause he had abandoned,
when fortune favored him. Harrassed
by corroding passions, vengeful and
irritable, the Laird let his chin fall on one
hand, whilst the other rested musingly on
the pommel of his claymore, unable to
form a settled purpose, which Lord Cranstown's
missal was not calculated to soothe.
Though it promised life, at the same time
it painted the frown of the monarch, as the
harbinger of death, unless he chose to
save his honor at the expense of his daughter's
hand.
Sir Robert's remonstrances and entreaties,
aggravated by his fierce suspicions,
having failed with Beatrice, now blazed
forth into threats and imprecations, which
subsided into a deliberate purpose if she refused
immediate acquiesencc He knew
Evan had fallen by his hand, and he reflected
that compulsory, steps, on his part,
were only a just punishment for her delinquency
in having married one so far below
her station, and a just expiation to her father's
anger. He, therefore, resolved to send
a portion of his armed men to join the
Southern army, excusing bis own attendance
on plea of indisposition; and invited
Lord Cranstown to an immediate interview,
with the promise that all his requirements
should be complied with.
The messenger?a devoted instrument of
Lord Cranstown?departed and brought
with him such a glowing description of Beatrice's
beauty, that her venerable admirer
resolved to put his schemes into execution
as rapidly as possible; whilst Sir Robert retired
to his private apartment, overwhelmed
in thought, to reflect on the terms which
were compulsory enough, and brought about,
as it were, with hemp and halter. Suddenly
he started up from the seat where he had
thrown himself, and a fiend-like expression
agitated the muscles of his face. 'Oh ! cursed
pride !' he exclaimed; 'wretched ambition
! how have your toils entangled my
vacillating mind, and plunged me deep in
guilt! Furies that haunt my soul! harpies
that gnaw my vitals! Oh 1 were ye embodied,
thus?thus would I crush ye !'
He stamped his ponderous feet on the
floor, and clenched his hands until the sinews
of hisarms cracked again.
Although sentiments of paternal affection
found but small space for culture iu the
chieftain's heart, yet he keenly felt the
mortification of yielding to menaces in the
bestowal of his daughter's hand, and to
one, too, in whose sharp face it was puzzling
to read the anomolous passions that
abounded within, and who might, under
the guise of these terms, meditate a fearful
and refined revenge upon her. This
stung his haughty soul with bitterness, and
there seemed to he a fitful fever in his brain;
for in the midst of violence and rage,
a tremulous perturbation, apparently arising
from some secret dread, shook his
frame to the impotence of childhood. He
paced the room with rapid motion, sometimes
in sullen silence, then as corroding
thoughts stirred up reflections on the past,
a wild unnatural laugh or expression of defiance
burst from his quivering lips. At
length reflection opened calmer prospects on
his view, and he became more tranquil,
though his lineaments still betrayed evident
marks of internal agitation.
At this juncture the door opened, and
Ronald, bis foster brother and faithful follower,
stood before him. The remotest
member of a Scottish clan invariablv stood in
some relation to bis chief which naturally
induced a sentiment of devotion, even to
death, and formed a bond of union more
binding than if they had been brothers in
reality. The question of supremacy was
never raised ; and the protective arm of the
one and self-devotion of the other equalized
the distance, so that the result was a confidence,
esteem, friendship and affection between
them, which, at the present day, it
may be found difficult by any effort to realize
to the imagination.
For an instant the Laird paused and fixed
his penetrating eyes upon his humble friend;
then, as his look of suspicious doubt subsi
ded, his features regained strong traces of
hidden agony.
'Ronald/ he said, 'I have need of your
confidence, and wish to hold some converse
with you. My daughter has refused Lord
Cranstown's hand; she is now the only
hope Heaven has left our house, since my
noble brother fell on the battle field, and
his heir perished with the nurse. Poor
child !' he continued, afifecting a look of
sorrowful sympathy, 'it caught that fatal
distemper, the small pox, and died.'
'Pardon me, my Lord/ rejoined Ronald
with solemnity, 'the boy was saved. It was
to tell you this, I intruded on your privacy.'
Language would be inadequate to paint
the sudden change in Sir Robert's face.?
Dismay and horror, sat upon his brow,
whilst conflicting passionB seemed to wither
up his faculties. He writhed his Angers in
his long black hair, and repeated to himself,
disorderedly,
'The boy was saved ! the boy was saved!'
But gathering more firmness, he continued
addressing Ronald,
'Saved, did you say ?'
'Yes, Sir Robert, and lives.'
'It is a base lie, a villainous fabrication !
I know he died?that is?yes?yes?I
know be died.'
'Indeed, indeed, my noble Sir, he lives.'
'Dare you trespass on ray patience, and
contradict me with your falsehoods ? Beware,
beware how stir up my wrath. Is
this tale your own, or is it the invention of
another ?' demanded the Laird of Norland,
impatiently.
?I am not used, Sir Robert, to practice
falsehoods to my chief,' replied Ronald,
proudly., 'My authority is now within the
Castle?the woman who was his nurse.'
'His nurse !' repeated the chieftain, as he
/)wa(it kin Vtv/vnfYi rr?ifV\
u&cvt uio uitaiu it it u icpcatcu UUU YUlSlVc
catches, which seemed to border on strangulation.
'His nurse ! What does she want
here ?'
'You shall hear, my Lord.'
'Be brief then,' exclaimed Sir Robert,
furiously; but collecting himself, he con
tinned, with an air of more serenity,
'Excuse my impatience, Ronald. Joyous
surprise well nigh overturned my reason;
yet torturing doubt weighs heavily on my
spirits, and I fear deception/
<A few words will suffice, my Lord, to
explain the tale. At the first blush of
dawn, as old David and myself were stalking
deer, we discovered in a vault beneath
the old chapel by the loch, a human being,
whose weird looks and wasted strength
bespoke the near approach of death. Humanity
prompted us to briDg her to the
Castle; and though age has sadly altered
her features, I easily recognized the daughter
of old Margaret. As soon as I made
this discovery, I had her removed apart
from the domestics; for when her speech
returned, I found her ravings were unfit
for every ear to listen to.'
'Indeed ! You did right, worthy Ronald,
but to what did her talk tend ?' he inquired,
fixing a scrutinizing gaze upon the narrator.
'Alas! her reason was sorely bewildered;
she spoke, nevertheless, of murder and Sir
ha a. >
noDert.
Vice is progressive in its course, and whoever
falls a prey to its snare is borne away
by his evil passions, until he sinks deeper
and deeper in guilt, and finally becomes an
infatuated wretch, hurried along by his
own acts to the grave. Sir Robert felt this
as a tornado of reminiscences swept across
his memory^; yet seeing the absolute necessity
for dissimulation, he laughed aloud,
although his laugh bore no kin to merriment.
The very demons hear the terrors
of Omnipotence, and tremble?still they
laugh and exult horribly, and such was the
present feeling of Anstruther.
'She named me, did she ? She coupled
it with murder too, and you believed it ?'
he asked.
'Believe what, Sir? Did I not say that
she raved.'
'So you did, truly 1 but did she positively
mention me ?'
She did, and whilst her hand was searching
for something about her garments, that
was missing, she spoke of your lamented
brother, our dead Laird.'
'Of my brother! The plot seems to
thicken, then,' he murmured to himself.
'What did she say of him ; she could not
say much of one of whom she knew so little,'
he added, in more distinct tones.
'She exclaimed, drawing out her lean
and withered Sogers, 'I cannot find it;
'twas Robert's present torn from Sir Walter's
dying heart. Hark !?they call?they
call!' then gazing on her hands, she loudly
I i * * -.1 .i l.ri*
snrieKea, <tnese?tnese are pure; Dut, sir
Robert, yours are deeply crimsoned with
a brother's blood.'
The Laird's lineaments underwent various
changes whilst listening to Ronald, and towards
the close of the narration, he appeared
to shrink within himself, like the orouching
of a tiger, about to spring on it3 prey.
He suddenly drew a dirk from his side,
and rushing on the defenceless man, with a
voice half choked with fury, 'Villiain, you
lie; I did not murder him, he fell on the
battle field. You dare not say I murdered
him.'
Ronald stood firm and replied with composure,
<1 am no villian, my good master; but
your true and faithful servant, bound to you
through every viscissitude of life.'
The solemn composure with which these
words were uttered, re-called the distracted
senses of Sir Robert, and dropping the dagger's
point, whilst a smile of scorn, mingled
with defiance curled his lips, he said,
'Aye, I think you have told me this be
lore.
'Have I not proved myself devoted to
your interest ?'
The grim features of the chieftain relaxed;
he thrust the dirk into its scabbard, and a
look of melancholy overshadowed his brow.
The surprise of the moment, operating on a
mind, already weakened by distress, had
irritated his feelings and thrown him off
his guard. For the words of the nurse,
though a mystery to Ronald, were not to
him ; and the unconscious narrator had held
up a faithful mirror to his eyes, which time
could not obscure, though dimmed with
blood. He struck his hand upon his heart
and a heavy groan burst forth, as if the
tortured spirit were struggling to escape;
and grasping the arm of him, at whom but
a few minutes before he had pointed a na
ked weapoD, he said mournfully,
'Forgive my injustice, Ronald; I have
proved and found you faithful, and now,
you are the only being left to me, on whom
I can depend.'
'You overrate my services. Were there no
other motive, your kindness to myself and
family demands my gratitude?my life.?
Oh, good Sir, can I ever forget when your
hand snatched us from destruction ! How
my aged parents, bowed down with age and
affliction, saw the home of their early loves
enveloped in crackling flames, and the red
glare of the blazing mass, streaming on the
ghastly paleness of their cheeks, seemed to
mock the agonies of its victims. My sister?
she whose remains, now moulder into dust
beneath the turf raised mould, stood trembling
as the brutal 'sidier rhu' marked her
for their victim, whilst I, bound and bleeding,
could only look upon the spectacle with
horror and dismay. Yes, the scene is still before
me, engraven on ray memory. My venerable
sire, with his white hair streaming in
the breeze, and a look of meek piety, even
demons would have reverenced; and my
mother too, on whose neck I hune in infan
cy?she was subjected to the rude grasp of
villains. Both were bound, as marks for their
carabines. In vain my sister shrieked?they
revelled in her cries, and exulted in her
frenzy. Oh! 'twas a sight of horror, for
they stood like lambs appointed for the
siaughter?willing to die for conscience
sake !?when you, my noble master, came
like a guardian angel to our rescue?the
hoary heads of my parents weDt to the grave
in peace, and a sister's purity was saved!'
Whilst Ronald spoke, the gloom which
had hung upon Sir Robert's brow, gradually
dispersed like mist before the rising sun,
till his eye once more glistened with pride
and dignity. The retrospect just brought
before him, recalled to his memory the time
when honor and integrity swayed his mind,
and for a few moments made him forget the
intervening years?years that were stained
with villiany and bloodshed. A tear gathered
in his eye, but as existing circumstances
again rushed like a torrent on his soul, he
dashed the unwonted monitor away, and his
features resumed their frowning sternness.
'But this woman and boy,' he hastily resumed
; 'what more of them ?'
'As soon as transient recollection was restored,
I made myself known, and questioned
her. But the visions of a disordered
imagination were fading away again, and I
could obtain no other reply than 'the boy
still lives?the boy still lives !'
,o _ T> > i~: J o:_ T> i?j. ..
'Vjo .uuuiiiu, cAuiuiuicu oir nuucn, as
feverish passion flashed his cheeks ; 'prepare
this woman for an interview. I will
see her, and question her myself. Torture
shall wriog the secret from her, if other
means fail. Go, go!'
Rouald quitted the apartment, and the
Laird resumed his hasty walk; his mind
racked with anguish and suffering, the
keenest distress the poison of a guilty conscience
can inflict.
'Is the hour of retributive justice then
arrived ?' he muttered. 'The tempest gathers
about my head; yet I will dare the
storm and boldly live, or bravely die. To
die?and what if there should be an hereafter?
Phsaw ! away with the thought, I'll
not believe it; 'tis but an idle tale, the
base invention of some babbling monk,
to scare the credulous, into giving support
to his monastrey. Still, what is this that
struggles in my thoughts?down, down
thou hissing serpent, that coils about my
heart.'
He continued his rapid strides in unison
with his feelings, unconscious that a panel
had been pulled back*t the far side of the
apartment, and that Evan stood at the entrance
of a dark, winding passage, watching
his movements. The Laird at length stoped,
and seating himself, leaned his head on
the table, with his back to Evan, who cautiously
and silently entered the room.
'My daughter/ he continued; 'she too,
has betrayed me by leaguing with a base
born wretch, whom my bounty cherished.
'Tis true, he towered above his fellows, was
brave and generous, and when I fell overpowered
by numbers in battle, he rushed
to my rescue, and kept the foe at bay, till
succor came, though his own flesh was
scored with gaping wounds. I loved the
boy, for he saved my life; but his ambitious
i i* 111
spirit soared aoove control, ne woma nave
incited my vassal 3 to rebellion?and it is
well I crashed the viper?my dirk drank
his '
'Blood,' said Evan, placing himself erect
with stiffened limbs and rigid eyes, right in
front of Sir Robert.
The chief fixed his gaze upon the figure
with desperate energy, then shuddering
hysterically, he uttered with a demoniac expression,
worthy of a fiend, covering his
face with his hands.
'Spectre, forbear 1?those bones are marrowless
! Why does he appear again !?to
curse me?fiends, fiends, ye have done this 1'
and he fell prostrate and senseless to the
floor.
Evan gazed upon the fallen man reproachfully
; then, remembering that be was the
father of his beloved, he took a dirk from
his bosom, and laying it upon the table,
silently withdrew.
Sir Robert remained insensible upon the
floor when Ronald returned to announce the
result of his mission, and immediately raising
the head of his prostrate master, he
shouted lustily for help, and the domestics
hastening in, the Laird was laid upon a
couch. The stragglings of natare were
short, and in a brief space reoollection resumed
her sway, whilst convulsive throbs
rent his surcharged bosom with fearful ag
ooy. Ronald spcke to him, bat he heeded
him Dot; next there was a gurgling in the
throat, spasmodic twitchings of the body,
and he opened his eyes and looking round
with bewildering surprise, as he stretched
forth his hands and screamed,
'Spectre approach not?wretches ! blood
will have blood. Stand back, miscreants.'
'Compose yourself, Sir,' said Ronald,
soothingly.
'All, Ronald ! is it you ? I have had a
strange dream. I thought?but, can the
spirits of the dead return to testify on earth
against their foes f
A misty vapor came before bis eyes and
he would have fallen again, if Ronald had
not been at band to catch him in his arms,
which only increased his terror, for not being
aware his retainer was near, his bewilI
1 - 1 f ! J 1_ .M!_ xL.
aerea iancy lmagioea ne was wnmu uie
grasp of the demon, and glaring timidly
aronnd, he cried, pointing to the spot where
Evan had stood,
'I saw it there.'
'Saw it there?' enquired Ronald, whilst
the panic spread to the rest of the servants,
who, unacquainted with the cause of alarm,
crowded together for mutual safety. 'Saw
what, ray good master ? Do not trust to
dreams, but think upon realities !'
'By heaven, you echo my words. What!
would you probe my soul ? I fear neither
the living nor the dead?those untenanted
shells from whom the spirits have fled for
ever. Drive these varlets hence. The fit
is over,' he added rushing amongst the domestics,
who made a simultaneous movement
to the door, glad to escape from their
haughty and conscience-stricken lord.
'Oh ! Ronald,' he exclaimed, when they
were alone, 'how weak, even in his best
strength is man.'
'Pardon me, Sir Robert,' replied his humble
friend, 'you suffer an overheated imagination
to effect your brain, and thus fancy
embodies thought!'
'Was it so? Did you see nothing?hear
nothing? Yes, yes, it must have been imagination,
and this heart, that never shrank
in battle, trembles at an air-drawn shadow.4
'Is the woman prepared ?'
She is; though at times, reason wavers.'
Then lead on, and see that we have no
intrusion.'
Ronald again quitted the apartment, and
j Sir Robert prepared to follow, but seeing
the weapon which had been left behind, he
stretched forth his hand, mistaking it for
his own, and whilst secreting it about his
person, he murmured in a low voice to himself,
My dirk; perhaps I shall have need of
thee,' adding in a shriller tone, <now then,
ye smiling fiends, Oh ! steel my heart and
nerve my arm to plan and execute vengeance.'
' Vengeance,' repeated a hollow voice
from behind the sliding door, where Evan
had disappeared, just at the moment when
Ronald re-entered the room ; and the start
led Laird rushing at him, demanded in a
voice of fury,
'Villain ! Why do you mock me.'
'I spoke not, Sir, but thought you called
on me to return.'
'Did you not speak ?'
'No, by my troth, my good Laird j have
you heard a voice V
'A voice!' cried the chief, with despe|
rate energy. 'Ay, a voice sounding from
the grave, that called for vengeance. Vengeance
!' he continued, bursting into a wild
manaical laugh, ' 1'es, and it shall be mine.'
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
/\ rt n tt -i
URIGIN OF oAEBATH-oCHOOLS IN U.S.
!?In a recent address, Charlton T. Henry,
Esq., brought forward the following interesting
historical facts : On the 19th of
December, 1790, a meeting of eight or ten
; persons was held in Philadelphia, of whioh
; the late venerable Bishop White was Chairj
man. At that meeting measures were adopted
which resulted in the organization known
| by the name of the Society for the Institui
tion and support of First-day or Sunday|
sohools, in the city of Philadelphia and the
districts of Soathwark and the Northern
Liberties. On the first of February, 1791,
the first school was opened for forty female
pupils, and the teacher was allowed $80 per
annum for tuition and room Tent. Other
sohools for the same object were organized
daring the years whioh succeeded this. But
it was not until the year 1811 that there
was any school established with voluntary
teachers. About this time the Rev. Robert
May, a missionary from London, on his way
to India, remained in Philadelphia for a
year, ana during nis stay succeeded in establishing
a Sabbath-school upon the present
plaa
Original papers..
For the Yorkville Enquirer.
A Tnr.MAPTTATtT.TB DREAM.
In the month of May, several years ago,
I had the following singular dream. I
thought the sun had gone down, and in the
early twilight of the beautiful evening, I
was walking alone, in the bosom of a dense
and tall forest growth, that skirted the
south-eastern side of the farm on whioh I
had been brought up. A few rods from
the part of the path where I fancied I was
then sauntering with slow and musing pace,
a bold spring of pure water gushed from
the crevice of a rock at the foot of a bill,
and sped away in a rippling rivulet over
its pebbly channel, towards the east. The
birds were filling the forest over and around
me, with the strains of a melody, the rich
sweetness of which is, perhaps, peculiar to
the luxuriant woodlands of our upper Districts,
when reposing in the still tranquility
of a May-evening sunset.
My path was conducting me from a
somewhat low and level part of the woodland,
to the foot of an ascent which rose
before me, and swelled into a hill towards
the west. I had advanced within a few
paces of the bill, up and over which the
little pathway before me seemed to be
olimbing, when in the contemplative mu
sings of my mind, I paused, and turning
partially round, beheld, a step or two behind
me on the path over which I had passed,
a young man of most lovely appearance.
He was tall; his mien, graceful and majestio;
his hair dark; his forehead, high, full
and smooth; his brilliant blue eye radiated
with intelligence; the rose of health bloomed
on bis cheek; and a smile mingled with
solemnity, graced every feature of the most
intellectual and amiable countenance I had
ever beheld. I stood in motionless admiration
of the extraordinary excellence and
dignity of the youthful stranger, and felt
all my faculties subdued into the posture
of an inquiring attentiveness, as to who,
and whence he was, and for what purpose
V? a Vio/1 nmaolooaln onv\i>AnnVin/) m n wnfVi
uc uuu uviobi^ooij UJJ ^aiu j
and taken bis position so near me.- As I
thus stood gazing upon him in silence, and
intently making these inquiries of myself,
he raised his hand, and pointing up toward
the heavens, he said to me, do you
see yon star? I instantly looked up in the
direction to which he pointed, and through
| a space between the tops of the trees that
grew around us, I saw a large and brilliant
star speeding its course through the sky,
with a velocity I had never before witnessed
in any of the stellar train, and which,
I thought, must of necessity in a very lit^
tie time bring it below the western horizon.
In answer to the young man's question
I replied in the affirmative, expressing
my astonishment at the swiftness of its
flight. Then dropping his hand to his
aiito hp t.nrned fnward thp hill thnr. rr><jp
?
just before us, and observed, you see that
hill before you; now mark well what 1 say,
for your future destiny depends on the attention,
or the neglect with which you regard
the information and instructions I give
you Your fate, young man, continued he,
is connected with the two objects to which
I have turned your attention?the star and
the hill. You know from the speed of yon
star that it must soon set; the hill before
you is steep; but you must reach its summit
before the swift star goes down; or you
are lost forever. Now start, and with all
your might speed your way up this path to
the top of the hill; your life depends upon
the issue of a few moments. Having ut
tered these words, 1 saw him no more. My
energies seemed to be aroused at once, as
if by an electric touch, and the next instant
I found myself at the top of my speed,
rushing up the hill, which now wore an
importance in my estimation, vastly beyond
the magnitude of a thousand worlds. A
few moments more, and I stood on the level
land which stretched away from the hill
invt r\ TTT n ll AtMA rt C ?nr? o ? J
tup lurvuiu tuu uuluc ui Lujr uijiiuiiuuu ttUU,
with trembling anxiety, raised my eyes iD
search of the twinkling symbol of my life's
careering stages. To my unspeakable joy,
the fleet running star, holding its onward
course through the heavens, again met my
eye, having passed over a space, from the
moment I first saw it, incomparably less
than my fearful apprehensions had led me
to anticipate, and was at such a height
above the horizon as completely quieted
my fears, and filled my mind with gladness,
and my lips with praises to God.?
With a heart overflowing with gratitude to
the Benefactor who had found and instructed
me at the foot of the hill, and with expressions
of thankfulness and love to my
Creator, who had sustained and sped me id
my race to its summit, I again set forward,
as I thought, with a nimble step and cheerful
spirit, along the path which seemed to
lead across a beautiful and level field in
the direction of home. I had not proceeded
far, as it seemed in my dream, when I
discovered near the edge of my path, at a
short distance before me, the most fierce
and hideous monster my eyes had ever
looked upon, or my imagination pictured ;
and as I approached, he glared upon me
with eyes of fire, growled and snapped his
teeth, threatening, as I thought, my instant
destruction, should I advance a 6tep farther.
I stood still and hesitated; and looking
on each hand for a way to pass round
and escape, discovered, what I had not before
observed, that on each aide of the path
and paralel with it, a hedge or fence
stretched along, and completely forbade my
diverging in either direction. I thought
of turning back, but the remembrance of
what I had been told at the foot of the hill,
and of the indescribable comfort and joy,
with which the discovery on reaching the
summit had, hut a few moments ago, filled
my mind, rebuked the idea, and drove the
thought iDto banishment from me. I felt
that to turn away from the path, 1 could
not, and to turn and go back, I dare not;
I therefore resolved to go on, and to commit
the issue to the Almighty. On form!n<?
>li!o ?an1nl!nn T fi&If atronffalv norufld
lug WlilO tVUUlUVIVU^ JL 4vl? ubiuugvij MW? ? V-J
and, as I imagined, began again to proceed.
As I advanced to the spot where the terrible
looking creature was couohed, apparently
infuriate with rage, he rushed to his
feet, vaulting and bounding to light on his
prey; but with all his efforts, seemed unable
to throw himself into my path, or to
touch me with his frightful paw as I passed.
When a few yards beyond the perilous
spot, reassured from the marvellous
security with which I had passed the ferocious
beast, I turned my eye back to inquire
why I had not been torn in pieces,
and discovered a massive chain fastened
upon him, and so secured, that it was impossible
for him to obstruct the path, or to
reach those who should chance to be pasnamra
n 1 nn /? if TKio nQTTT /i i Qrtl AQIIVO Voof AW.
siu^ aiuu^ iv* jluio ucw uiovtuauio icowi - i
ed tranquility to my mind, and filled me
with adoring wonder at the mysterious arrangements
of an invisible Power for my
security and happiness, and melted my
heart once more in gratitude and praise.?
Elated with these delightful emotions, I
again, as I thought, sped along the path
across the plain homeward, ruminating with
delight upon the strange incidents of the
evening, and praising the Most High, for
what I had learned, for what I had gained,
and for what I had yet to hope for, when I
awoke and found it a dream.
At the time I had the dream which I
have briefly but accurately, as to its incidents,
narrated above, I was but a youth;
and although by no means a stranger to
thoughts and impressions of a religious
character, 1 had, nevertheless, no experimental
acquaintance with that great and
radical change which the Bible calls Regeneration,
but which, as I trust, was
wrought in my soul by the power of Divine
grace, in the course of the three years that
immediately followed this dream of the
night. Whether the reader may regard it
as a premonition of what God was about to
do fur me, or as nothing more than the
mere random flights of the sleeper's wild
and lawless fancy, there was to me at the
time?and the lapse of years has not eradicated
the conviction?a strong persuasion,
that something more was wrapped up in
the imagery of this dream, than the simple
pencilling of an unguided imagination.?
Should the reader be versed in his Bible,
and himself acquainted with the commencement
and progress of a work of saving grace
upon his dVn heart, it strikes me, he will
observe several of the leading features of
the above dream; illustrative of scripture
truth, and of the dealings of God, in conducting
a sinner from a careless sauntering
life of sin and pleasure in the valley of
spiritual darkness and death, to the top of
the hill, where faith reveals the star of
hope, and the believer's pathway home is
guarded and secured bv the Dower of God.
O */ 1 /
in fulfilment of the promises of the everlasting
covenant. L.
For the Yorkvillo Enquirer.
PUBLIC"ROADS.
Messrs. Editors :?Permit me through
your columns to lay before the public my
views on keeping up country Roads, as well
as the bearing the late legislative enactment
will have towards attaining that end; and
whether its bearing will be equal or one
qual upon the people, required by it to do
the work or pay the tax. If my views
should have no other good effect than to
bring abler minds to discuss the subject, so
important to all, I shall feel amply repaid.
As much money or labor is contemplafrwl
nnrlnr thfe nAtr nr?f. tn Ko on
?.? w"- -v- ?- ? -ruuvu wu
Roads, tbe question with me is, how it is
to be applied. If in banking upon tbe
roads from ditches &c., to make them good,
I think it will, in whole or part, be a failure
; and much road that is usually good,
spoiled. For by throwing up beds of
clay, be they ever so deep, packed and
rounded to the ditches, they will cut down
in wet times. Although no water be permitted
to run on them, what falls is fully
sufficient for wheels and hoofs to make impressions
which will fill with the falling
rain. Ever; additional traok cuts deeper
and deeper, in search of firm bottom; and,
it follows, the deeper the cla;, the deeper
the mud will be, and the worse the roads.
Be the ditches ever so deep and good, the
water cannot pass through the miry clay
into them, and has to dry by evaporation.
Hence clay roads, where much throwing
up has been done, are almost impassable
throughout the winter and spring. A hard
freeze only makes it worse, as that throws
up the mud in frightful, dangerous blooks,
when cut into by wagon wheels. I think
those who have traveled the hills near Yorkville
(which have been worked in this way)
during winter and spring months, will agree
with me that piling up roads only
makes bad matters worse, unless done with
gravel or sand. This is the case, also, on
the flat black-jack roads, which are one
. i? J .1 _i_ n _ i . .. l * i
continued Biusn or mua ana water during
winter; yet they are never so bad as when
the under-layer of pipe-clay is thrown up.
Now we may notice the stoDy, gravelly
or sandy roads, which are seldom very bad
unless neglected, by letting water run on
and wash them into gullies; in a word, for
want of breakers and drainage. But if,
for further improvement, deep side ditches
should be cut and the under clay thrown
upon them, then we should have muddy
and bad roads of them also; and the more
put ou the worse. The reader, no doubt, is
ready tosay, yea condemn the only practi- ,
cable way of making oar bad roada good, |
as graveliog or caose^-waying all oar roads,
would be an intolerable bnrdln?bow can
it be done ? That,' friend reader, is jast1
what I want to know myself; and wonld
be thankful for Buch information. How
can a large amount of labor and money be
benefioially expended On them In any other
way, than by making an eotire under-layer
of stone, gravel or wood? .1 wonld only
venture to suggest that, if the same amount
of labor as has heretofore been performed,
was done, not at one time bat at different
times of the year; if the roads were overlooked
so that whenever a breaker is oat
l.t. _.l .1.1 3 L. _ I
tnrougu or a cutcn cnosea, it migut im iustantly
repaired; it would be easily done,
and perhaps as well under the former method
of overseers as any way. It would f>e
well, however, to shorten the Road Sections,
so that overseers and hands would be
nearer the work, when needing their attention.
For better surveillance, the overseer
might apportion his part to each of his
neighbors; for, then, it would be better
watched, each feeling interested in his own
part, lest by neglect be should have the
more work to do on it.
I doubt whether the late enactment can
accomplish the object contemplated, folly.
Should the commissioners levy a tax to the
extent of their power, all will pay who possibly
can, rather than do the work themselves,
for many reasons: such as the uncertainty
of the time and extent of the
work; of - its distance from their homes;
and of the character of the contractor, who
might be tyrannical to the hands ander
hiin. 'A large fund would thus be put into
the hands of commissioners; but how can
it be applied on the roads, so as to make
them good at the least expense ? In other
words, how can commissioners lay down
specific rales for letting out eaoh portion
of every road to a contractor, so that he
may have a fair understanding of what
work has to be done, and oontraots may be
bid down to their value? Otherwise bidders
would be cautious, and competition
scarce, giving speculators a chance of getting
oontraots at far beyoud their real value
Even then, to make the best of a good
bargain, contractors will do as little work,
and that as poorly, as the commisioners will
receive?their object being to make money,
and not to improve the roads. This,
? v *.i . " 1 m o i t .
coupiea who treasurer s tees <xo, leaves out
little doubt that a considerable amount of
the funds will not be applied in labor on
the roads, if indeed what is done shall^uro
out to he of permanent utility. Besides it
would seem to me to be patting more work
on the commissioners; a class compelled to
be public servants and do much laborious
service, without fee or reward.
Now let us consider whether the raising
and disbursement of this fund will be equal
on the people. The fund is to be raised by
a general tax ; but the more numerous the
the roads and the worse their condition, in
any given seetion, the greater is to be the
outlay, without regard to the question
whether most of the tax was levied in that
particular section or not. The law thus
makes one end of the District keep up the
roads of tbe other, at a distance of sixty
miles, while neither receives much if any
benefit from the road travel, except to their
Court House which is in the center. I
thick this would be putting public benefit
on an extensive scale, and uneqnal in its
bearing. Many will agree that Congress
street of Yorkville being Macadamized is a
public benefit; yet, few will say that the
whole District should have been equally
taxed to have done it. It does seem to me
more equitable and just, that each one
should as nearly as possible have the fall
benefit of the tax laid upon him; and this
can only be done by appropriating tbe money
raised in each section -to tbe road within the
same, or by each road division keeping up
the road within its bounds. Other instances
of the unequal bearing of this law might
De adduced, out 1 trust enougn nas Deen
said by your fellow citizen, J. R.
Hints to Youno Gentlemen.?Don't
give up your seat iu the cars, when you are
tired out with your day's work, to a pert
youDg miss who has been amusing herself
with a little shopping?she won't even
thank you for it and if a man is going to
sacrifice his comfort, he has a reasonable
right to expect, at least a little gratitude.
No use being polite some ladies?there's
an old proverb about casting the pearls before?what's
their name ?
Don't submit to be crowded off the pavement
into a muddy gutter by too advancing
balloons of silk and whalebone. Haven't
your newly blacked boots as good a claim to
respect as their skirts ? Look straight before
you, and stand upon your own rights
like a man?the ladies can contract themselves
a little if they see there's no help
for it!
Don't talk literature and fine arts to the
nroffr tyirln nf vrrnr n<*nn&intannA nnfcil vnn
f?"V B J ?1 J
are sore they know the difference between
Thomson's Seasons and Thomson's Arithmetic.
And if they look particularly sentimental,
then you may know they don't understand
what you are talking about!
Don't ask a nice little girl about her doll
unless you are very certain she has'nt 'come
out,' and been engaged in two or three
flirtations already.
Don't say complimentary things to a
young lady at a party, without first making
sure that her 'intended' is not standing behind
you the whole time.
Don't accept a lady's invitation to go
shopping with her, unless you have previously
measured the length of your purse.
Don't stay later than eleven o'clock when
you spend the evening with a pretty friend
?the wisest man in Christendom becomes
a bore after that hour.
Don't believe any woman to be an angel.
If you feel any symptoms of that disease,
take a dose of sage tea and go to bed?it
is as much a malady as the small pox, and
it is your business to get over it as quiokly
as possible. An angel, indeed! If you
doo't find oat pretty soon tbst sbe laoks
considerably more than the wings, we. are
mistaken! v
Don't make up yonr mind aboat any
creature in a belt ribbon and velvet rose ties,
with oat first uking your sister's advioe.
Depend upon it, one woman can read anoth-r
or better in five minutes than you can in
five years!
And, above all, don't imagine that yon
must keep ycur lady-talk and gentleman
talk in separate budgets, labelled and sort-^
ed, unless you want the girls to laagh at >
yoar wishy-washy sentiments. Talk to them
in a frank, manly style, as you would to an
I intallimanf /?a*itl amn n T\aw'f onnn/viA Vva
lUWUIgOUV gCUVlOUiQUc JL/VU V OU^/^VCVJ WVcause
they are women, they don't know
anything.
Remember all this advice, an & may
make rather lass of a fool of yourself than
you would otherwise.?Mrt. George Washington
tyyUy$.
'Worms' on thk Face.?An English
editor informs a correspondent-?who signs
himself 'A Troubled Ooe'?,?s follows :
Little black specks are occasionally observed
upon the nose and forehead of Same
individuals. These spooks, when tbey fti*
ist in any number, are a cause of mnefc an*
sightliness. They *fe. minntecorks, if we
may use the term, of ooegnlated lymphj
which close the orifices of the pores or estbaleut
vessels of the skin. On the skin, immediately
adjacent to them, being pressed
with the finger naila,.these bits of coadgulated
lymph will come from it in venuonlsr
form. They are vulgarly: called 'fleshworms/
many persons fancying them to be
living creatures. These may be got rid of,
and prevented from returning, by washing
with tepid water; by proper friction with'a
? . 1 m
towel, ana by tbe application of a little
cold cream. The longer these* little biles
are permitted to remain in the akin, the more
firmly they becomed fixed; and after a time,
when they lose their moisture, they are
converted into little bony spines, as dense
as bristles, and having much of that character.
They should be thoroughly but cautiously
squeezed, says another author, and on
retiring to rest, a paste should be applied to, f
the part affected. Recipe tor the past
Take one ounce of powdered hitter almonds,
and one ounce of barley flour, and enough \
honey to make the above ingredients into
paste. There is another and still mote aim?la
* ?asv MM/-t si Milti nit M?M VMAM Pnths
pic roujcuy wuiuu jruu ujojt pioict.
the spots several titles a day with lufc*
warm water and a sponge; rubbing the
sponge over a piece of yellow soap. There
is a healing power in soap distinct from Its
cleansing properties. *
The Tomb o* Juliet.-*-Verona is the
most important town in Veoetia, after the
pity of Venice. It is now little .mora than
a fortified oamp of Austrian*; and. bean all
the marks of Austrian desolation. Thetown
is one of great interest, fine cbmebes,
Roman remains, &o. Among thedntiqaities
is an amphitheatre after the style of
the Coliseum at Rome, in a good state of
preservation, which is still used, and will
accommodate 60,000 persons. Here, too,
is the tomb of Juliet, so immortalised by
Shakspeare?it is a melancholy reliot of the
past, and well calculated to teaoh a moral.
Juliet was buried io au. old convent,
which, after many vicissitudes, has become
a stable ; a poor Italian family live iu a little
shaoty adjoining, and one of tbe-liiWM
boys unlocked the door of the stable and
showed us round. In one corner. of the
room is a dilapidated sarcophagus, rtfuch
covers the remains of Juliet. In the oppot-:
site corner of the same room, and not mote '
than twenty-five feet off, standing
dirt floor, tied by the trough, was an innocent
looking donkey with ears like elk horna.-^Oo
one of theataccoedwails is still seen/iwifc.
pretty good preservation, a fresooe of tbe"^" *
Virgin, and on the opposite, another of the * '?
crucifixion.
I confess that this scene will leave with
me a paioiui reminiscence, mougn it.may
teach to the reflecting mind a pointed moral.?Dr.
Nott.
If fl
Speed op Light?Immensity op the
Universe.?Light traverses space at the
rate of a million mires a minute, yet the
light from the nearest star requires ten
years to reach the earth, and Hersohel's
telescope revealed stars two thousand three
bnndred times farther distant. The great
telescope of Lord Boss pursued these creations
of God still deeper into space, and
having resolved the nebulaaof the milky way
into the stars, discovered their systems of
stare?beautiful diamond points glittering
through the black darkness beyond. When
he beheld this amazing abyss?when he
saw these systems scattered profusely tbrughout
space?when he reflected upon their - .
immense distanoe, their enormous magnitude,
and the countless millions of worlds
that belonged to them, it seemed to him as
though the wild dream of the German poet
was more than realized/'
Land Measure.?Every farmer should
have a rod measure?a light, stiff pole, just
16$ feet long?for measuring land. By a
little practice, he can learn to step just a
rod in five steps, which answers very welt?
for farm work. Ascertain the number/# k.
rods in the length and width of the lot you
wish to measure, and multiply one number
by the other, and divide by 160, and you
have the number of acres, as 160 sqnare
rods make one square aore. If you wish
to lay off one square acre, measure thirteen
rods on one side, by twelve and a half on
the other. This gives two and a halt rods
over a fall aore.
Don't yon remember the story of the
Frenchman, who, for twenty years, loved a
lady, and never missed passing his evenings
at her hoaae. She became a widow. 'I
wish yoa joy,' cried his friend ; 'you may
now marry the woman yon have so long
adored.' 'Alas!' said the poor Frenchman,
profoundly dejected; 'and if so, where shall
11 spend my evenings ?'