The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, October 13, 1854, Image 1
A
Ml,.!. GREENVILLE, S. .: FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 13, 1854. * NO 22.
jfc inimimii in !
<&!jc fmitjirm (Ftiterjbise,
A liKFLKX OF POFULAU EVENTS.
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For tho Southern enterprise.
Jo W/j ^olhclPi
BY STXNNIJ SCtTTHItON
Last night I had a dream, mother,
. And through the hours of day,
Through housewife's toils and pleasures too,
Its spell doth with me stay.
I thought T Was again, mother,
In tnv own dear girlhood's liomc,
Just (U in dsys of yore, mother,
E'er I had learned to ronm.
And seated by your aide, mother.
Your arm around me thrown,
1 heeded not earth's joys, mother,
Kor cared fur its cold frown.
Your geptle voice I h-*nrd, mother,
It* tones fell on my heart,
soothing and so kind mother,
2Cew strength therein did start.
Ami tliongli 'twas hut a dream, mother,
Yet a* p. warm bright rny.
It huseach care and duty cheered
Throughout the hours of dny.
t " " 1 1 ? 11 11 '9
Q Cuban Slidcl).
I he Justice of*3>coii.
The following interesting story, is copied
from n late work on Cuba, hy Mr. IbUlou :
During the first year of T aeon's governorslii|t
theiw was n young Creole girl, named
Miralda Rstaloz, who kept a little cigar store
ill the Calle do mercaderas, and whose shop
was the resort of nil tho voting men of the
town, who loved a choicely inndo and superior
cigar. Miralda was only seventeen, without
mother or father living, and earned nil
litunble though sufticieut support by her in dustry
in tho manufactory we have named,
and by the sales of her little store. 8he was
a picture of ripened tropical beanty, with n
finely rounded form, a lovely face, of soft
olive tint, nihl teeth that a Tuscarora might
envy her. At times, thoro was a dash of
languor in her dreamy eye that would have
wanned an Anchorite ; and then her cheerful
jests were no delicate yet free, that she had
. unwittingly turned the heads, not to say
hearts, of half tho votinor merchants in the
Call? tie Mercaderns. But she dispensed her
favors without partiality ; uouo of tho rich
and gay ox<jiM?to8 of ilavanacould say they
had ever received any particular acknowledgement
from the fair young girl to their
warm and constant attention. For this one
s?he had a pleasant smile, for anotlier a few
words of pleasing gossip, and for a third n
snatch of a Spanish song: hut to none did
abo give bor confidence, except to young Pa<dro
ManUnea, a tine looking hoatmau, who
fdied between the Punta and Moro Castlo on
tlie opposite side of the harlior.
Pedro was a manly and courageous young
/allow, rather above his class in intelligence,
appearance and associations, and pulled his
oned with a strong arm and light heart and
loved the beAUtifui Miralda with an ardor
romantic iu Its fidelity and truth. lie was
a sort of leader among the boatman in the
harbor for reason of superior cultivation
and intelligence, ami Wis quick-wimcvl sagacity
was often turned for tlie benefit of his
Atfnradea. Many wero the noble deeds he
jhaddOM in and about tlie harbor sinco a
iboy, for ho ha<l followed bis calling of a waterman
from boyhood, as his father had done
. jbcfow him. wralda in turn ardently lovfcd
Pedro, and when he came at night and sat
in tlie back part of her Httle thop, aho had
always a neat and fragrant cigar for his lips.
Now and'then, whon she could steal away
from her shop on some holiday, Pedro
wmild lidat tinv Rnil in I)ia nmur aT l.i<
boat, and securing tho little stern awning
over Miralda'a head, would ateor out into thfe
gulf and coast along tho romantio shore.
There wax a famous roue, well known at
the time in Havana, named Count Almonte,
who frequently visited Wimlda's shop and
conceived quite a passion for tho girl, and,
: indeed, ho hod grown to be one of her most
liberal customers. With a cunning shrewdnese
and knowledge of human nature, the
Count beaeiged tho heart of his intruded
victim without appearing to do so, and
carried on his plan oi operations for many
Wf&* before the innocent girl even suapectedm*
possessinga partiality for her, until
- -i- ?: : ... . ?
one day she was surprised by a present iVon
him of so rare and costly a nature as to lea
her to suspect the dohor's intentions at onc<
and to promptly decline the offered gif
Undismayed by this, still the Count con thai
ed his profuse patronage in a way to whicl
Miralda could tind no plausible pretext t
complaint.
At last seizing upon what ho considers
a favorable moment, Count Altnonto declat
ed his passion to Miralda, besought her t
come and be tlie mistress of his broad an*
?:?u ..i r*?!<. > - - J '
i jv i* iu vtrnu, nt'Uf uiw UIJ, llllll l?l
fared s!l the promises of wealth, favor nn<
fortuno; but in vain. The pure-minded gii
scorned hit otl'er, aud bade nim never nu?r
to insult her by visiting her shop. Abashed
but not confounded, the Count retired, bu
only to weave a new snare whereby ho couh
entangle her, for he was not one to be so c:u
ily thwarted.
Oue afternoon, not long after this, as th
twilight was setting over the town, a file r
soldiers halted just opposite the door of th
little cigar shop, when a young man, wearinj
the lieutenant's insignia, entered and asl;e<
the attendant if her nnmo was Miralda H-st.-i
Iez, to which she timidly responded.
"Then you will please to come with me.
"By what authority ?" asked the trembliiij
girl. "
"The order of the Govornor-Goncral ?"
"Then I must obey you," and she prepare
to follow him at once.
Stepping to the door with her, the younj
officer directed his men to march on, am
getting into a volante, told Maralda the;
would drive to tho guard house. But, t
the sunwise of the rrirl. she soon after dis
covered that they were rapidly passing th
city gates, and immediately after were dasli
ing oil' 011 tlio road to Ccrito. Then it wa
that she began to fear some trick had bcei
played upon her, and these fears were sooi
confirmed by the volante turning down ill
long alley of palms that led to the estate c
Count Almonte. I was in vain to exj>ostu
late now ; she felt that she was in the power
of tlio reckless nobleman, and the pretend
ed officer and soldiers were his own people
who had adopted the disguise of the Spatiisl
army uniform.
Count AhuQuto met lier at the door, tol<
her to fear no violence, that her wishes shouli
he respected in all things, save her persona
liberty ; that ho trusted, in time, to pcrsuad
her to look more favorably upon him. am
that in all things lie was her slave. Sho rc
plied contemptuously to his words, and eliarg
ed lifin with the cowardly trick by which In
had gained control of her liberty. Hut sin
was left by herself, though watched by hi
orders at all times to prevent her escape.
She know very well that the power am
will of the Count. AlmnntA wpm too slmm
for any humble friend of hers to attempt t<
athwart, and yet sho somehow felt a eonsci
ous strength in Pedro, and secretly cherishc<
the idea that ho would discover her place o
confinement, and adopt some means to deliv
cr her. The stiletto is the constant com
panion of the lower classes, and Miralda ha<
been used to wear ono even in her stor<
against contingency : hut sho now rogarde<
the tiny weapon with peculiar satisfaction
and slept with It in her bosom.
Small was the cine by which Pedro Man
tanez discovered tho trick of Count Almonte
First sho was found out, and then that cir
cu Distance, and these, being put together
they led to other results, until the indefatiga
hie lover was at last fully satisfied that In
had discovered. her place of confinement
1 >isguised as a friar of the order of San Felipe
ho sought Count Almonte's gate** at a favor
able moment, met Miralda, cheered her will
fresh hopes, and retired to arrange some cer
tain plan for her delivery. There was n<
time to think now ; heretofore ho had not per
mitted himself even an hour's sleep; bu
she was safe?that is, not in immediate dan
?cr?and he could breathe more freely, lb
uew not with whom to advise, he feared t<
speak to thoee above him in society, lest thoi
might betray his purpose to tho Count, am
his own liberty, by some means, be thui
jeopardized, lie could only consider will
hituselQ he must bo his own counsellor ii
this critical case.
Av la&L ?wo if in despair, he started to M
feet one day, and ?xclaimed?
"Why not go to head-quarters at once??
why not sec the Oov-General, and tell hhr
the truth? Ah, i*j? him I IIqw is that t<
bo effected I And then this Count Almonb
is a nobleman. They say that Taron lovfe
justice. Wo shall see; I will go the Gov
Gen.; it cannot do any harm, if it docs no
do any good. I can but try.
And Pedro did seek the Governor. True
,ho didf not at onco get audience of him?no
the first, nor the second, nor the third time
but he persevered, and wan admitted at lust
Hero he told his story in a free, manly voice
undisguiscdly and open in all tilings, so tlia
Tacon was pleased.
"And the girl," said tho Governor-Gen,
over whoee countenance a dark scowl hue
gathered "is she thy sister f'
"No, KxoeUencia, she is dearer still?sh<
is my betrothed." ...
Tho govomor, bidding liiin como nearer
took a golden cross from hi* tabic, and hand
ing it to the boatman, as he regarded him
searchingly said?
"$woHr that what you have related to m
Is true, as you hope for heaven*
D "I swear," said Pedro, kneeling and kisJ
sing the emblem with simple reverence.
J? The Governor turned to his table, wrote ,
b a few brief lines, and touching a bell summoned
a page from an adjoining room, whom
h he ordered to send tlie Captain of the Guard
t to hiiu.
l'lomp as were till who had any connection
J with the Governor's household, the officer
'* appeared at once, and received the written
? order, with direction to bring the Count AI-'
- montc and a younjj girl named Miralda, ita*
* mediately before bun.
' I'edro was sent to an nnte-room. and the
l business of the day passed as usual in tbc ree
ception ball of tbc Governor.
'i Less than two hours bad transpired when
" 11so VJouiit ami Miralda stood before Tacon.
1 Neither knew the nature of the business
which hud summoned them there. Almonte j
half suspected the truth, and the poor girl
p argued of herself that her fate could not but
be improved by the interference, let its na- *
c tare be what it might. ,
" "Count Almonte, you doubtless know why
L' I have ordered you to appear here."
l* "Excellcncia, I fear I have been indiscreet,"
was the reply.
"Von adopted the uniform oftho guards
S for your own private purposes upon the girl,
did you not!"
"fcxccllcncia, I cannot deny it."
il "Declare upon your honor Count Almonte,
whether sho is unharmed, whom you
? have thus kept a prisoner."
I "Excellenciu, sho is as puro as when she
)' entered beueath my roof,' was the truthful
0 reply. i
l" The Governor turned, and whispered
0 something to his page, then continued his
'* questions to the Count, while ho made some
R minutes upon paper. Pedro was now sum
| moneu to explain some matter, ami as he en"
tered, the Gov. Gen. turned his back for
0 one moment as if to seek for some papers
upon his table, w hile Miralda was pressed to '
" the boatman's arms. It was but for a mo- j
" mcnt, and tho next Pedro was bowing hum- j
* bly before Tueon. A few moments more and ;
!? tlic Governor's page returned, accompanied j
1 by a monk of the church of Santa Clara, with ,
the emblems of his ofKee."
''Holy tot Her," said Tacon, uYou will bind
' the hands of this Count Almonte and Miralda
I Estalez together in tho bonds of wedlock."
0 "Excellencia," exclaimed the Count in
* amazement.
"Not n word, Senor, it is your part to
- obey!"
0 "My nobility, Kxcellcucia I"
e "Is forfeited," said Tacon.
B Count Almonte had too many evidences
before his mind's eye of Tacon's mode of ad1
ministering justice and of enforcing his own j
? will to dare to rebel, and lie doggedly yield3
ed in silence. Poor Pedro, not daring to *
" speak, was half crazed to see the piizc he had (
1 coveted thus about to be torn from him. In j
1 a few moments the ceremony was performed, |
" the trembling and bewildered girl not daring
" to thwart the Governor's orders, and tho (
1 priest declared them husband and wife. The
13 Captain of tho guard was summoned and dis- (
1 patched with some written order, and in a
'? few auhseqncnt moments Count Almonte,
completely subdued aud broken spirited, was '
" ordered to return to his plantation. Pedro '
!. \r._I.l~ Ai 1-1
<UIU fiiiiuun -nvic UIIBUVWl U> rCTllHUl lit an
" adjoining apartment to that which hail been
'> tho seen* ot* this singular procedure. Couut
" Ahnonto mounted hid horse, and with a sin- '
c gle attendant soon passed out of the city
* gates. Hut hardly had he passed the comer ,
'? of tho Pasco, when a dozen muskets fired a
* volley upon hiin, and ho fell a corpse upon |
1 the road.
IIis hotly was quietly removed, and tho
8 Captain of the guard, who had witnessed tho 1
' act, made a minuto upon his order as to tho j
1 time and place, aud, mounting his horse,
* rode to the Governor's palace, entering tho J
8 presence chamber just as Pedro and Miralda
> were once more summoned before the Gov.
7 "Exeellcncia," said tho officer, returning J
1 tho order, "It is executed !"
* "la tho Count dead I"
1 "Exeellencia, yes."
1 "Proclaim in the usual manner, tho marriago
of Couut Almonte ami Miralda Esta*
.!?*, and, *!?o tliat she is lib legal widow, possessed
of his titles and estates. See that a
" proper officer attends her to tho Count's es- c
1 tates, and enforce th is decision." Then turn- r
8 ing to Pedro Mantaucz, he said,
8 "No man or woman, in this island is so
* humble but they may claim justice of Tacon!"
The *U:rv furnish#* its mvn trinral
1 Mr. Hallou cloaca his volume with a lively
picture of the benefit which would accrue to f
^ Cuba, from her annexation to the United
> State. ^ J
r Tits fellow who tried to get up a concert
? with the band of a hat, is the same genius Q
L who a few weeks since nlnycd upon tho affoc- |
lions of an np town lady. '
j J'
I God made no one absolute. Tho rich de- ''
pend on the poor, as' well the poor on the ?
n rich. The world is but a more magnificent
building; all the stones gradually cemented c
; together. There is no one subsists by him* 1
- self alor.o. c
' 3
? "Www I get into a serope, I always take
fire!" as tho lucifcr match said of itself.
c I </ *tr?L - f
I Alwats prcfof solid sci^e to wit.
I m
fttiscclltvuccms.
Ihe tj q c q n i ? c to.
O! how many are the scones that arise
in memory when we gaze upon the seat once
occupied by a dear friend. IIow quickly a
reniiniscen.se of the past burst upon our
mental vision, as we sorrow fully glance at
the empty ao.-lt. There is n blank to bo
found in aimost every family ; go where you
will, and death Iihs been there. Mother,
where is the little innocent that sat near thy
side, in its little arm chair, and held forth
the tiny arms that wont tocuciiclc thy neck?
Where is that tender tie! Ah! thou art
ilent, wliilo the linger points to that little
meant chair, and wo learn that thy treasure
lias been taken from thee.
Husband, where is she who sat in her accustomed
place at the table and partook,
with thee, of the evening repast? Does
that fair form appear, when the hour of toil
is o'er, at the little cottage gate,to greet thee
with a smile ami welcome thee to thy rural
home ? Ah ! thou too, art silent; death has
visited thee, and the falling tear is sufficient
proof that thero is an empty seat in thy
household.
ftiutow wlintv* iu l.o A 1 ?*4* *1
, .fiiv.c 10 lie M IIU Vllty hill Willi IIICC
in the school-room?tlint dear brother who
loved thee and wan ever nenr in the hour of
trial to protect thee ? Thy sol* nnswer the
questions ; he, too, is aksent from that little
circle of similar faces, and thou nrt left, perhaps,
without a single friend to console thee.
The grim monster has been with thee and
thou art left brotherleas.
Young man, dost thou remember that
old father, whose locks w^re silvered by the
frost of age?whose feeble footsteps were
supported by the staff which ho held in his
trembling hand? Dost thou remember the
upot where that dear -parent lcnelt with thee
and prayed that God would bless his little
loy? All! thou canst not reply for thy
heart, is full of emotion. Thero is a vacant
%pot in thy house; that old, grey-headed
father sleeps in the valley, and the winds
whistle above his restiug place, but his
dnmbers arc unbroken. No storm can disturb
the quiet of the grave, yet thou canst
not forget him : that old chair, which stands
in the comer of the room, almost rpeaks to
thee,?' Thy father sat here, here did thy parent
sleep, it was here thy father died."
Young lady, where is that dear mother,
who loved to smooth thy hair or wreath its
[flossy cirls about ber linger, who watched
near thy pillow when thou wcrt scorched
with fever, and administered the cooling
2ordial to quench thy raging thirst?who
knelt by thy bod side and prayed for thy
qxsedy restoration to health?who listened,
with pleasing emotion, while thy lips rejjeatiil
the little prayer she taught thee f \V hero
s she? O! thy heart has felt the cruel
blow and we know that thou hast lost the
tendercst tie a child ever knew. Can'st
thou forget thy mother ? Ah! no, go to
the spot far away in yon church yard anil
llicro her ashes reposo. The will w weeps
abovo her silent dust, and the gentle zephyr
as it stirs the branches of that drooping tree,
weins to whisper in thine ear, "remember
thy mother, thou art mortal and must die."
And do'st thou remember her? It* not thy
heart must be cold indeed; tho old rocking
chair is before thee, there thy mother sat and
tliou can'at not forget her, no, never!
Reader, is their n vacant seat in your
family ? If so, you know what feelings are
produced by gazing thereon. I have not
been guilty of penning fiction, for my soul
lias felt tho pangs of sorrow, and 1, too, can
ice the vacant chair and exclaim, ns my eyes
est upon that old relic, "My father, my
fcther, where art thou ?" There is a vacant
pow in the house of God. The members of
;ho church assemble eveiy Sabbath, and the
tongs of devotion arise to Heaven, while the
iraycra of the pastor ascend, as sweet incep.se,
leforo the Lord of Hosts. The word of God
s dispensed, but there is one who hears it
lot. I look at that apot near the pulpit;
he old pew is there, but, alas I it is vacant;
he occupant has gone to his reward. I saw
ho coffin brought into the church and
ratcnod the old man us he gazcu ti|K>u that
otfin. It was a solemn scene, and' one
icrer to be forgotten ;
"Friend after friend departs,
AVbo hnth not lost n friend f
There is 110 union here of hearts,
That fiuda not hero an end."
Life is short, bnt a brittle thread; it is
ven as the bubble upon the ocean, that
nirsts, almost at its formation. Hast thou
een the vnpof ujion the mountain's brow
nd beheld it vanishing before the rising sun?
iMvii in %u<o |nviui ? wi mvi o yivriijr, 11IC
iine will come when other hand* shall close
>ur eye* and kind friend* will perform tho
sat otlieo for the dead ; yea, the tear will
fide, perhaps, from the eyes of those who
oved us nnd our vacant chair will lie looked
ipon as a record of tho past
Header, let u? learn a lesson from the. vawit
pew, and "Ho also ready for in such an
tour as we think not, tho Son of Man
K>meth.?Olive Branch.
j. M. MC. F.
Wathington, 3. C.
Secrecy Is the soul of all great affairs.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmammammmm manm
I be Eqi'hrei''? li jugbfeir
There's n world of buxom beauty flourishing
in the shades of the country. As you
are thinking only of sheep or of curds you
may suddenly be shot through by a pair of
, bright eyes, and mMtcd away in a bowitchI
ing smile that yon never drenmpt of till tho
: mischief was done. In towns and theatres,
and thronged assemblies of tho rich and tij
tied fair, yoli arc on your guard; you know
I what ynn are exposed to, and put on your
j breast-plate, and pass through the most dendj
ly onslaught of beauty, safe and sound. But
in those sylvan retreats, dreaming of nightingales
and hearing only the lowing of oxens,
you arc taken by surprise. Outsteps a fair
creature?crosses a glade?leaps a stile. You
Rtart, you stand lost in wonder and astonished
admiration ! You take out your tablets
to write a sonnet on the return of the
Nymphs and Dryads to earth, when upeomos
John Tompkins, and says, "it's only thofarj
mer's daughter." "What! have farmer's such
daughters now-a days ? Yes ; I tell you they
have such daughters. Those farm houses
arc dangerous places. T.ct no man with a
poetical imagination, which is only another j
name for a very tender heart, flatter himself
with fancies of the calm delights of the country?with
the serene idea of sitting with the
farmer in his old-fashioned chimney-corner,
and hearing him talk of corn and mutton?i
of joining him in the pensive pleasure of a
pipe and jug of brown O^ohcr?of listening
to the gossip of the comfortable fanner's wife,
of the parson and his family, of his sermons
and his pig?over a fragrant cup of younghyson,
or rapt in the delicious 'nxuries of custards
or whipt creams?in wanes a fairy, vission
of wondrous witchery, and with a cur-j
tesey and a smile of winning and mysteri-i
ous magic, takes her seat just opposite. It j
is the farmer's daughter, a lively- creature of I
eighteen, fair as the lily, fresh as tho May (
dew, rosy ns the rose, itself, graceful as the;
peacock perched on tho pales thereby thei
window; sweet as a pos}- of violets and clover
gillivcrs, modest ns early niorn, and amiable
as your own imagination of Desdemona
or Gertrude of Wyoming. You are lost
It's all over with you. 1 wonld'nt give an
empty filbert or a frog-bitten straw-berry for
your peaecof mind if that glittering creature
be not as pitiful as she is fair. And that j
comes of going in the country, out of the
way of vanity and temptation, nud fancying j
farm houses nice old-fashioned places of old- j
fashioned contentment.?"The Hull and
t... T.ir rr.? :ii
Jjiuuuij vy ?r
dO e q 1.11).
"Give me neither poverty nor riches," is,
n prayer which is seldom offered in sincerity.
\Vith the first branch of it there is no
difficult}'. Every one is ready to deprecate
poverty; but who are they who fervently
plead with God to withhold from them
! wealth 1 And yet poverty is a safer cotidi1
tion than affluence. The highest authority .
I has assured its that the soul of a rich man is'
peculiarly imperilled; whilo it 'would l>o
, difficult to find in (rod's word any sentence
| like this?"how hardly shall they that arc
1 poor enter into the kingdom of heaven ?
Poverty certainly has its evils-?wealth has
its dangerous seductions. Many happy
families have been hopelessly ruined by the
sudden accession of fortune. Simple habits,
most favorable to the cultivation of tlio!
Christian virtues, have undergone an alarm- j
ing change; contentment with hoine-enjoy-j
mcnts has been superseded by a restless ami ]
dissatisfied feeling prompting the desire for]
pleasures beyond the domestic circle ; alien-'
at ions spring up to disturb a hitherto delightful
harmony; extravagance discards the
spirit of economy; selfishness usurps the
place of benevolence ; fashion excludes devotion
; and alas! how often does profligacy,
with its riotous spirit, break up the
pcaco of the once happy household.?
Wealth, iu some rare cases, may prove a
blessing; but in most instances it proves a j
curse. The most fruitful delusion by which
Satan entraps tlio souls of men is by persuading
them that they could resist the tendencies
of wealth and use it without abusing
it. Tt may appear to be an extravagant as-1
sertion, ami yet it will bo difficult to disprove
it, that no one can be safely entrusted
with wealth who lias not find learned heartily
to pray, "Give mo not riches."
A Weak Stomaciie.?On ono occasion
tlio Vice-Chancellor, Dean Miller, said to me
very abruptly. "You have been looking at
me some time, I know what you arc thinking
on; yon think that I eat a confounded
deal 1 "No sir," I said ; "I am surprised
that you eat of such a variety of disliea."?
1 The truth is," said he, "I have a very weak
stomach, and when it ha* digested as much
as it can of 0110 kind of food , it will get to
work and digest some other." I observed to
him, "That the weakness of his atomach
resembled that of Dr. Toppong, a physician
at Colchester, who, when a gentleman with
whom he was dining expressed some dissatisfaction
at his not taking clarat, which had
i?eon provided expressly for him, answered,
'I havo no objection to tako a bottle, or a
conpl e, of claret, but I have so weak a stomach,
T am obliged to drink a bottle of port
first I"?Gunning* Ji minitccnc:t.
1 ^ W??
Xobe of Country. i
It scarcely matters where a man is born, *
whether amid the frost and snow of Polar "
regions, in Southern ctimoa, where the verdure
of earth is perennial, he loves, and to
the latest hour of his life will love, his na
tive land. It may ho bleak and inhospita*
blc; its government may bo oppr<?dre;
still he clings to the soil on which he was
born with an unfaltering nH'cction, and
whithersoever lie may go iuto other and
more beautiful countries, his memory in
waking hours and in dreams wander to his
AiMkl.-it. t i-i .... - -
timuuuuu r uuuie?110 iovcs it tliough it
exile* him, and is proud of its namo and
fsunc, while its voko sits galling on his neck.
Love of country is a life-implanted sentiment
belonging Alike to the rudest savage
and the most polished civilized man.
And it is a beautiful ordinance in our nature
that we are all pervaded by this sentiment.
From this springs the fraternity of
race and nation; the cohesion of individuals
into communities, and the inclinations of
communities to a "local habitation and a
name." From this, too, springs the strongest
manifestation of brotherhood?man caring
first for himself, family and kindred;
then for the community and nation to which
he belongs. Through this isolate fraternity,
man, rising in intelligence, extends the brotherhood
of communities to the human race.
From this, too, springs patriotism, which,
without w country endeared by peculiar associations
to love and defend, would not exist.
If man was bound in heart and mind
to no peculiar spot on earth ; if tlio birthplace,
the hearths, the altars, and the graves
of kindred were 110 bond, his sentiment, from
11 > ' ?
...ot, ivj. iuob, nuum ue unmitigated scmslinesH,
and instead of meeting and defying danger
by his hearth and altar, he would fly to other
spaces of earth, lie would be continually
a wanderer?a nomad?careless where he
pitched his tent, or where his grave was
scooped.
And since this sentiment is so strong, so
essential, and so beautiful for the development
and brotherhood of our common race,
how steadily intelligent people and nations
should strive to render their native lands?
their countries?worthy of their love and
and praise. The ltoman of to-day is abject
and bowed down, because bis country is described
and shorn of the beauty and glory
which inspired the conquering legions of tlio
Cicsars. He may love his country as devotedly
as did a Fabius or a llrutus, but it is
not the lovo which springs from pride in her
power, her virtue and her greatness; it is
rather a love compounded of grief and pity
that she has so degenerated. The virtue and
patriotism of a people depend much upou
the condition of the country to which they
belong. Jt may he easy to-day to imposo
fetters upou tfic inheritors of the "eternal
city," but the world could not enslave a ltoman
in the age <>f Ooriolanua.
Hut the love of country simply is not
enough to inspire the noblest patriotism ; it
must, to stimulate the loftiest virtue and
heroism, be a love, born of a just pride. It
must be a love that will not permit a people
to forego the guardianship of their own soil,
institutions and laws. A love that will make
them eternally vigilant in the defence of
their own hearths, altars and graves. A
lovo, jealous its devoted, and relying upon
native hands and hearts ?nd not upon foreign
auxiliaries?upou I'r&Hoiinu Guards.?
A people .nay be hospitable and givo shelter
as they will, but tho sword, the treasure
aim ine laws ot tUeir land must not bo
placed in the hands of strangers. All tt*>
tory, in ineradicable lines, is graven ^Rn
warning to this end.?New York Mirror^
S c f\ ti f i c 3 o f ?ij o f I) c to if c o ir (j.
Those will have a groat deal to Answer
for that obstruct the course ol necessary justice,
and strengthen the hands of tho wicked,
by saying, "Oli! wicked man, thou shalt
not surely die."
We must never l>e overawed, either by
mnjeatv'or multitude to do a sinful tiling, or
to go against our conscience.
Let us all l?o convinced how religiously wo
ought to perform our promises and make
good our bargains, and what conscience wo w
ought to make of our words when once given.
If the frnud of others will not. justify or
excuse our falsehood, certainly the honesty
of others in dealing with us will aggravate
and condemn our dishonesty in dealing with
thcin.
Under the greatest provocations it is our
duty to keep our temper and to bridle our
passions ; a just causo needs not anger to defend
it, and a bad one is made never the better
by it.
Everv SGrvieft Kjvnm<-> hnnnruKlA
? ...^? .... ??VM >
is done tor the house ot' God and tho offices
thereof.
Let every one of us submit to lh$ Lord Jesus
and refer ourselves to him, saying, wo
arc in thy hand, do unto us as seemed good
and right unto thcc ; only save our souls and
we shall not rejietit it. If lie appoints us to
bear I lis cross and draw in His yoke, serve at
His altar, that t-hall bo afteiwards neither
shame nor grief L) us; while tho meanest
office in God's service will entitle ns to a dwelling
in the house of the Lord all tho days of
our life.