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..- . . .. v. V . J ... ..... - - .'' - . . - r; l ' -.' k .
WILLIAM D. COOKEi
NEW SPAT EX
TWO DOLLARS FES iKSUI
VOL. IV. NO. 32.
BY MRS. A. D. BAILEY.
Olt when lovelight shines the brightest, ..;
And my heart is beating lightest
'Neath its magic beam,
Floats a little cloud of sadness,
Half prophetic to my gladness,
O'er my fondest dream.
'T was not ever thus: I mind me, ;
When an opening blossom charmed mo
Into perfect bliss, ,
And no undertone of sorrow,
Whispering, " it will fade to-morrow,"
Marred my happiness.
Song of bird, or streamlet glancing,
Sent such thrills of pleasure dancing
Through my childish heart, :
That the very memory gleaming,
: Through the tinted glass of feeling,
Still doth joy impart.
. But since then, so oft hath pleasure "...
. Paled in pain earth's richest treasure
Dimmed in sorrow's night
That my heart is always fearing
Lest the present joy is bearing
With its bloom a blight.
Once a little bud I cherished,
In its early fragrance perished
On my stricken heart ; ;v
And as other jewels cluster -Round
my home, its missing lustre
Bids the tear-drops start.
Thus my sunlight still is shaded
By the thought ot beauty faded ' '
From my earthly way
Though at times a brighter vision
Tells my heart of joys Elysian,
In love's perfect day.
And again that fresh young feeling,
Sweetly o'er my senses stealing,
Comes l:ke angel-guest,
Whispering still of thornless roses
Skies where no dark cloud reposes
Ever, ever blest.
TRUST IN GOD.
BY ESTHER B. STRATTON.
".This little fellow," said Martin Luther, of a bird going
to jest, "has chosen his shelter, and is quietly rock
ing himself to sleep, without a care for to-morrow's
lodging, calmly holding to his little twig", and leaving
... G"i to think for him." . . , .
Yes, the little birds find shelter,
And hum their evening prayer,
And close their weary eyelids,
Without a thought of care.
They droop their glossy heads,
Mid the featherson their breast, :
And leaving God to watch theik,
Thus sweetly tall to. rest.
Iar cherished little sleepers, '-
Their merry song is still -No
care for morrow's lodging,
Tlieir gentle bosoms fill.
Guadian angels round them,
Watch with a silver rod,
For they've left their every sorrow
All in the care ef God.
And if birds so trust our Father,
Who giveth them a home,
Why should our hearts murmur . ;
When evil shadows come !
If God will feed the raven,
And think for all the birds, 1 '.:"'
Will he not love his children,
And listen to their words ?
Ay, let us trust His goodness,
His promise and his lovt,
And, like the birds, be happy
With his blessing from above.
Have not a thought of trouble, -
While future paths are trod,
But keep our hearts from evil, '
And leave our care with God.
PRIEST THAT WOULDN'T STAY
VBITTEN TOR TH : SATURDAY EVENING POST.
Biddy McCan is a treasure to us, for besides
being 'an excellent housekeeper, she is full of
.'humor, and can tell a story much betier than I
can transcribe it. Among the number with
which she has amused us, is " The? Praist's
Marriage Itself," which I can never hope to give
you, as she gave it it will want tha natural
drollery of her looks and tones while relating it.
The occasion was this :
i One morning, while we were stiff at the breakfast-table,
in the cottage parlor, and the doors
and windows were opea upon the garden, a
beautiful little white lap djg straved iiit the
room, and at a very slight invitation', leaped into
nay lap. r
"Oh! what a loving little darling !nf sd the
"Gh! what a pretty creature it - is," said
their raother. While the little. fellow began in
. the- most sociable spirit to exhibit all his aceom-
pnsnments, sucn as jumping aown ana.star.cl.ng j aWav to a sUeeton. She began to think she
on his hind legs holding out his paw to shake j had 'commuted the onpardonaUe sin, in marry
hands,etc. : i "g ; a man intinded lor the howly alther l and
l wonuer, wno ne oeiongs to ? i wonder ,1
it would be "possible to buy him ?" said I.
" Faix . thin, indade, and it wouldn't ma'am,
for himself is Feyther Mory's own dog, and the
misthress wouldn't be afther taking - his weight
in gold for him." .
" The mistress, Biddy ?" -'
" Aye, sure, ma'am, jewel, it's Misthress Mory
itself I'm afther spaking iv." f j "
"And who is Mistress Mory! the priest's
mother!" " '
"Indade, no, ma'am, for it's the praist's wife
itself." r ' ,
" The. priest's wife! !"
, I am an ultra Protestant, yt I was shocked
I looked so, I suppose, for Biddy hastened to
3ctitctr to all tije w
" Och, sure, darlint, it's no praist he is at all'
at all, at this prisint shaking, for bye' it's afther
being tailed a praist he is !"
" What is that, Biddy ?" I inquired, feeling
quite sure that thereby hut.g a tale, and that
Biddy could tell it.
"Well, thin, for the love of Moses in the bul
rushes! honey, hev yese been rasiding in the
same thra whole years widout iver hearing spake
iv Feyther Mory's marridge ?"
"It is too true, Biddy -but enlighten me
" Is; it afther bidding me to open the shutters,
that y.e are ? Sure they're all open it's your
sight Itself, that's failing iv ye, darlint."
"No, Biddy, enlighten the darkness of my
mind j tell me the story d,f the priest's marriage."
"S$re, and arn't that always the way wid
yees ? . afiher heving me lave the work to be
telling' yees stories ? Indade, and it is to ruin
everything in this blessed house will be going?
Sure, thin, 'and I shall be afiher making short
work v the same."
- " Of the ruin, Biddy ?"
" Sure, ye'll be iver taking meself up wed ray
spach, amd heving yer own joke sure, ye
know very well it's the praist's marridge I'm. af
" Well, go on and tell about it."
"Faix, thin, honey, I'm going to do that
saiue.j Wei , thiu, ma'am, ye'll be knowing that
he the praist itself, I'm jipaking iv was a poor
boy. He enthered the satninary as a sizether,
wliieh manes a poor scholar, honey, darlint, that
is to recaive his edication fray gratis, for the
Lord's sake, besides get his taiching for nothing,
Well,;he was oh ! honey, he was a foine, hand
some, full-blooded, lusty, young fellow, as ever
you see but more becomingst the plough-tail,
nor the howly praisthood. itself! Only you see
he tobk wonderful to the laming all the time,
and npthing would serve him but a praist itself
he-would be. It was all upon the account of the
pride, and ambition that was in him, do you
see? Well, the.feythers in the saminary, seeing
he wds so set upon it forbye being so wonderful
brighi wid the Latin and the mathematters, said
he w ould be a credit to the church, so he would,
and they consinted to recaive him, bo tbey did,
and put him in the training for ihe howty praistr ,
hood.' Faix, and it must be a hard latther to
climb to rache that same ! For, first iv all,
tliey ipit Mm on a long probashun, and thin a
long hcvishinate, and tliin a weary retrait, forbye
the fasts, and vigils, and prayers, and miditat
shun4, and howly offices, before he could take
one step up the latther mailing one dagrai in
howly orthers. And thin a rapitition of the
whovi , before hef could take another step, and
so on, tiil he had worked his weary way up t3
the tnp of the latther, maning the praisthood
itself. Well, sure, betwair. one thing wid anoth
er, ,it took himself years before he gotwidin one
st.'p of the top. Faix, thin, and at last the bless
ed day itself came, whin he was to becomplated
a hojvly praist out and out enthirely. And
wasn't there the hoighest iv rejoicing among all
the family and the friends that belonged him !
all but Mary Miller, the craythur who lived on
the cither side of the road, forenist the saminary,
and iwas crying the. two pretty, eyes out iv her
head; but sure, nobudy minded her, for wasn't
the whowl town and counthry asshnbled theget
lier to be prisiut at the cirimony of the conse-
creet.ion ? and' the praists, and bishops, and the
archbishop himself to the fore ? So niver a soul
heeded. Mary Miller, piping her eyes. Only look
now what bel'el I The Lord have a hand in us !
but that 'young thafe ought to been drummed,
" What young thief Biddy ? Mary Miller ?"
"Ko, sure it's the praist itself that was to be
maning Feyther Mory av coorse for look !
whiri all was riddy the same morning he was to
be complated a praist enthirely what do you
think but he was missed! and couldn't be found
high! no)- low ! and whin he was looked for, it
was discivered he had run away wid Mary Mil
ler ! jaid whin they found him, the spalpeen !
he was marrid enthirely, and not a sowl to
priviht it ! Howly St. Pather ! but the hour I
beard it, if the strength didn't lave me body en
thirely ! if there wasn't a row outside, among
the friends and the praists and the lave o' thim !
Ochj thin indade, honey, Donnybrook Fair was
a traty of pace to the likes of it ?"
" How did thev get on after that ?"
" Faix, thin, darlint ! it was a pithy for the
poor, craythurs so it was! The church forbid
then the communion. No sowl would look at
hiraj Her people all for sook her the bit of a
coolleen ! she was nothing but a child, and she
took; their unkindness to heart wonderful it
preyed on her mind so it did ! till it wore her
she jpined awaV-so she did ! till she was nothin
biuukin and bone
sayl iuldn't comf
e. And all tie coma ao ana
sh piado answer that the Lord had cursed her.
The j were wonderful poor, too for no one would
givjhim employment, and no frind would be a
frinji to her. So, betwane one thing wid another
thje young craythur! she wasted aw'av until.
j whin her trial came, she hadn't strength to go
uirougn wid it and she died she did ! she
and her young baby. And afterwards her frinds
all said they knew it would be so beforehand,
for ii was a just judgment, for being afther mar
rying a man intinded for the howly praisthood
"Poor girl! And he P .
" Och, darlint ! it would have made the heart
tmste of Ee Soufy, Cttcrrturc, (Sttuc
RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA, SATURDAY,
of yees sore to have seen the poor, distracted
craythur ! Sure, for days and nights, on to
weeks and months, he moaned and groaned,
and wept and wailed like a lonesome sowl in
purgatory. He said he had destroyed her sowl
and body so he did ! and that it was the
ritribution of Heaven on him. And oh ! he
prayed and fasted, and humbled himself before
the church, and did penance, and said he want
ed to be a praist before the alther so he did !
that hemight atone, for his own sin and thry
to get her sowl out i v purgatory. Well, at first
they wouldn't listen to the likes of him so
they wouldn't ! but at long last they consinted
to recaive him on trial, thinking by ihe same
token, that his graifs had been a lesson to him.
Well, thin, faix ! it was all to do over agin ! I
mane the probashun, and the novishiate and the
retrait, forbye the fastings and the vigils, and
the prayers and meditashuns, and all the howly
ciritnonies and blessed iunishiashuns, only a
great deal longer than they were before, because
of his falling off, d'ye see? Well, in the mane
time years slipped away, and the ould sore in
his heart began to heal so it did 1 Faix! they'd
better made sure iv him whin they could git
hira ! For by the time the blessed day rowled
round whin he was to be conecreeted a howly
praist before he alther, he fiad rekivered his
spirit, and was looking as well as ever. And
so whin the morning came, and the frinds and
releetions were gathered together, and the praists
and bishops and archbishop itself waiting riddy
to complaie him in the praisthood whilst,
honey ! but he turned round the villen ! so he
did and he marrid a great two-fisted Yankee
widder, wid two half-growu bhoys as big as her
self!" " ' Howly St. rathrick !' Biddy ! aud what
dip Mother-Church do to him then
Sure, she did nothing at all to him! Faix,
and what could she do wid the likes of him, at
all, at all ! Sure, she let him alone, so she did.
Troth ! wasn't it the bishop himself that said
Misther Mory had no call to the praisthood ?
and that the sperrit indade was wake but the
flesh was willing? ' Sure all mothers have a soft
place in their hearts "
" Or i'n their heads, Biddy"
" And Mother-Church was no ixciption to
that same. So Afiher kapinar him at a rispictful
distance for a while, sure she opened her arms
and recaived him back back to her bosom, and
aftherwanls provided for him like any other
moiher would. Faix, the bishop himself said
so he did ! that if Misthor Mory had no vocation
for the howly alther, he would make an illigaut
taicher itself and so they made him masther
of the parish fray school, which same he is at
the prisint spakiug."'
" And the family and friends did they re
ceive his wife ?"
" Oh ! the big-fisted widder ? Sure they all
saw it at one? tiiat, it was no use to thry to kill
the liki-s of her wid ill-traitment and they soon
diskivered her to be a wonderful foine woman
enthirely so they did ! And this is her little
dog. Aud now I must wash up the tay thing !"
Saturday Evening Post.
From the Albion. ,
THE EVENTS Of A NIGHT.
When Martin Luther, conversing with a
friend, walked in the field at Eiselben, and sud
denly beheld the partner of his thoughts struck
to the earth by lightning a livid corpse, what
were his feelings ! '
Or, how excited was the mind of Michael
Angelo, w'hen in his silent chamber of the Me
die mansion, he pursued .his immortal labours
at midnight, with opened coffins and ghastly
mortal remains around him, to assist the work
ings of his genius !
You have read, moreover, of the Hebridean fish
er who descended a horrible precipice in search
of eagle's eggs ; and, swinging in mid air, was
attacked by the enraged birds a thrilling cir
cumstance which blanched his dark locks, and
deprived him, for a time, of reason.
But you have never heard the story of that
night ; and none save I can tell it. Give me,
then, your best attention, and do not doubt me,
for I do not doubt myself.
I had taken supper, and found pleasure in it
Amiable with the .finely-flavoured coffee, and
fresh Finnon haddocks, I rang my bell. " Now,
landlady," I sa"tf " suppose I turn in. And by
the way I was rather cold, last night. If you
would give me another blanket I'd thank you."
" Eh ! yes, sir : ye'll no' fash me !"
And good Mistress Wilson departed. She
was a kind Scotch soul, and therefore I had
not hesitated to prefer my request. Presently
she told me all was ready. I took my candle
stick, bade her good-night, and in a. second was
in my chamber.
Before jumping into bed, I studiously arrang
ed several little articles which I had collected
in my rambles. I had lately arrived at Leith
from Rotterdam, and being fresh from Water
loo, I naturally wished to " straighten" the va
rious relics, etc, which I had brought in my
coffre. Mrs. Wilson had loaned me a drawer,
together with guide-books, pocket compass, and
other et ccetera.
" Now I'll to bed ! ' With that thought my
outer shell was speedily cast off. I did my de
votions, and turned off the gas. The next mo
ment, I leapt into bed.
Come gentle sleep 1 ethereal mildness, come.
Exquisite warm sheets 1 I plunged my feet
down into their reeesses. How delicious ! how
T -Heavens! what was it! What com Id it
b my right foot encountered ? Frozen with
vague horror, I sprang from the bed. My brain
positively whirled ; my teeth; chattered but
not with cold. Cold! 0,1 would rather step
upon an iceberg, than again experience the
thrill whicli I then endured. There was some
object in the bed. A rude grasp, a secret rob
ber, would have chilled me less. Its mysteri
ous feel was nQt aught of human 1 f
Momentary relapse into a j&esperate mood,
and my spirit said within me, " Get in, again,
and kick it out !" " ;
Kick out what ?
Searching in the dark, I at last found a chair.
My next thought was to examine my foot. No !
it was not lacerated not even scratched. True,
I had not at the moment experienced a sense of
pain ; but so horrible a surprise would not ad
mit of it. Mental excitement often deadens
physical suffering. Yet, as I believed, there
was no laceration. I could not detect the flow
of blood and, though in the dark, I could have
With hands clasped on my forehead, I strove
to think. What were my best recollections of
the contact ? I remembered that the left foot
had touched nothing, but as the leg went down
it received a gentle rub. I recollected also, that
the sole of my right foot had been visited with
the feeling of hot breath, as though it were the
breath of an animal. But then it had not touch
ed any rough or lurry creature. At this point,
impressed with a dread of the supernatural, I
removed my chair to the most remote corner of
the room, and there pursued my train of reflec
tion. Was it a sleeping cat? Entangled in one of
the sheets, its fur might have been covered. I
called to mind many instances of cats which,
for the warmth, had crept into beds. Still, one
so rudely aroused would have extended its claws:
and bad been wounded ? No to the best
of my belief.
In the first place, I was confident that the
plunge of my feet would have awakened such
an animal. Its impulse then would be to bound
away. But no movement apparent to the ear
had taken place !
On the other hand
There ftere two married ladies staying at the
house. One of them had a small baby. Her
servant-maid liaeeTnjo1ne9 4onrnraTprer
cious infant to bed. I had heard this through
my opened door at the moment when supper
Before taking supper, I had accidentally
caught a glimpse of the servant girl en route to
her mistress's apartment, and her physiognomy
caused me to think her a stupid, blundering
lass. Now, how easily might a mistake have
occurred ! The stupidity or forgetfulness of the
moment might have led her to place the little
baby in the wrong bed. Its mamma slept in
the chamber next to mine; how facile, then to
open the wrong door!
Certainty, I had not felt anything of the shape
or substance of a baby. But, in that horrible
moment my mind had been completely unhing
ed ; and could I now sag what I had felt ?
Thought beats the electria telegraph. These
reflections occurred in les time than I take to
My first vague horror had given way to a
feeling of calm fright. By this time my body
was benumbed, for in one's shirt the cold strikes
in with effect.
Huddling myself together and still impress
ed by the supernatural I resumed ray chain
of analysis. Thus, for some minutes, but you
shall not be troubled with more detail. After
turning over every horrible probability, and
glancing in the dark towards the bed (as I be
lieved), I went into the committee (all alone)
on ways and means what to do !
Should I awaken the landlady? By nd
means : even though the circumstances war
ranted it, I would not. After the first horror,
as I have told you, a calm fright succeeded ; and
I felt that fearful as was the position I would
have to brave it alone.
No ! I would light the gas, and look ! '
Slowly I quitted my chair, but at this mo
ment a strange, unearthly, hissing sound came
from the bed. It mio-bt be the hissing of a
serpent, (and Mr. Wilson was, I had heard, an
amateur collector of such creatures,) or the sup
pressed breathing of a dog. It was a sound as
though blood were letting! Saint Bartholo
mew, flayed to death as thou wast! how my
hair stood up as I thought of sickening passages
in Frankesteiu ! Shaking with the palsy, as it
seemed, I tottered to my chair.
But something must done ! Screwing up my
courage to the sticking point, and murmuring
a prayer, I again rose, found my trousers, and
searched for my box of congreves (which, as a
smoker, I invariably carry.) It was barren!
not a single match remained ! What should I
do? To cross the spacious landing, and to
reach the kitchen, was an' early thought. The
fire would perhaps be smouldering ; I might
perchance obtain what I required. Mrs! "Wil
son's matches I could notliopcSind ; I knew
not their locality. But an old newspaper
(which I had put into the drawer loaned me,
as mentioned) would do. Could not I carry it,
blazing, from the kitchen embers? Yes, I
covdd ; but what then ! The glare of the light
would arouse the sleepers ; and then the se-
cond married lady was, I had beard Mrs. Wil
son say, fearful of fire; and I felt persuaded that,
after the manner of others whom I know, she
slept with her door ajar !
I felt for my cane, the one which I had
bVouglit from Hougoumont. . Desperate, I
ntton, ricttltutc, ftes, tljc Warftcts,
JULY 7, 1855.
tho't of striking the coverlet until that object
moved. But suppose it were an infant ! Ah I
I could pass my cane gently over the surface,
and do no harm.
I approached the bed, and did so. Then?
starting back, my summoned resolution left me ;
I knew, I felt, that the object was still there !
With a beatiug heart, I dressed myself as I
could; and cautiously feeling my way to the
sittfng room, lay down on the sofa, and drew
my coat over me.
For a time I was unable to sleep ; my nerves
were too much strained ; at length I dropped
off into an uneasy slumber.
The clock of an adjacent church struck four.
I awoke. Morning had come ; golden and sil
ver rays were flashing through the crevices of
the shutters. I arose with a perfect memory
of last night's occurrences shook myself, and
(reassured by the day) proceeded to my cham
ber. I was not at ease when I entered. I stopped
on the threshold, but at last I slowly went in.
With bated breath approached the bed. Oh !
shall I ever erase from memory that revelatiou ?
Ghoul ! vampire ! monsters misshapen, and
creatures charged to freeze the blood! No
marvel that I had thought of ye !
My tenor had been acutely excited ; my
nerves awfully startled ; aud I discovered the
cause at the bottom of the bed, in the shape of
a ''foot-bottle!" Mrs. Wilson, pray for the fu
ture, inform your guests when you give them a
bedfellowTwhich a bad conscience or active im
agination can conjure into a frightful and mys
ANECDOTES OF HOLBEIN,
THE CELEBRATED PAINTER.
Holbein, the celebrated painter, not unfre
quently, when his purse was low, condescended
to paint figures upon the houses of the gentry
of Basle, as was the custom in those times, and
by this means earned a few guilders,, which ena
bled him to pay his score for a day or two at the
tavern. . On one occasion he had bargained with
a merchant to dosome work of. this kind upon
the wall between the second and third fstory of
his house. The scaffold for Holbein to sit upon
was prepared, and he had already worked a whole
dayu when the drinking fit seized him, and quite
extinguished all relish for labor. He thereupon
begged the merchant to advance him a small
nart of the price ot his work, in order, as lie
1 ., ... ,1.1 i n-,
said, u Qiscnarge a ueoi ne oweu. me mei-
chant, -aw? re of his unsteady habits, gave him
the mcney, resolving at the same time to keep
a strict eye upon him, and that he .should by no
means escape. All next day, accordingly, he
kept coming, from time to time, out of hi shop,
and looking up to see whether the painter was
there at his work, and always observed him sit
ting there ; his legs and feet hanging down from
the scaffold. At length, however, he became
alarmed to observe that the man never budged
from the spot, but hour after hour continued in
the self-same position ; and going up stairs, he
looked out from the window of one of the upper
rooms; but, far or near, no Holbein was to be
seen. He had, in fact, gone straight to the tav
ern, to drink away his money, and in order that
his employer should never suspect that he was
absent from his work, he had painted bis legs
upon the wall. Of course the merchant iustantly
laid hold of the wayward artist, and compelled
him to finish the task he had undertaken.
Not long after, an English nobleman arrived
at Basle, and having heard of the celebrated
Holbein, engaged him to go toLondor,and
execute some paintings at his house, during his.
absence on a journey he was about to make to
Greece. He promised to pay him a large yearly
salaty, furnished plenty of money for his trav
elling expenses, and gave him the address at
which he was to inquire in London. Holbein
accepted the offer, and agreed to depart without
delay. No sooner, however, had the nobleman
left the town than he returned to the tavern,
where he soou forgot all about England, and his
engagement, and his art. Nor did he stop
until he bad squandered the last farthing of the
sum which should have paid the expenses of his
journey. He then recollected the promise he
had made to go to England, and selling the lit
tle furniture hepossessed, realized enough mo
ney to take him to Holland. His funds were,
however, all spent by the time he reached Am
sterdam. In this town the great Dutch painter,
Lucas Van Leyden, was then living. On him
Holbein waited, and inquired if he did not want
a persou to grind his colors. " What is your
name 2" asked Lucas. Holbein gave a fictitious
one. " Well, I shall try your skill." Holbein
accordingly took his place at the grindstone as
if he had never done anything else in his life
time. He soon won the confidence of his mas
ter, and during his absence on a journey which
he was obliged to make, was appointed to take
the oversight of the painting-room. Having
just finished a large and beatiful portrait of one
of the magistrates, or at least chief citizens oi
Rotterdam, Lucas covered it with a cloth, and
said to his grinder : " Take particular care of this
picture. Let it receive no injury, I make you
responsible for its safety." Holbein promised to
pay the greatest attention to his orders ; but on
the second day after Lucas' departure he took a
brush and painted a fly on the counsellor's face.
He then shut the painting-room, embarked in a
vessel, and sailed for London.
On Master Lucas' return home, he was alarm
ed to hear that his grinder had decamped. The
first, thing he thought of was his picture, which
he hastened to inspect On raising the cloth he
discovered the fly upon the face. Taking pat
his handkerchief, he attempted to drive it away
but the flyj would not move. He repeated the
attempt, saving, " Begone, little imp !" The fly
stillquietiy kept its place. Master Lucas now
examined the creature somewhat more narrowly,
and discovered, to his surprise, that it was paint
ed ; upon which he dropped the cover and ex
claimed, "Either the devil or Holbein has been
here at work !" He knew that he was the only
one of all his contemporaries capable of paint
ing a fly so inimitably as to deceive an able
painter like himself. Holbein arrived safely in
Londo : but he had lost his lordship's address,
and had quite forgotten even his name. In so
great a town, how was he ever to discover it?
Entering a coffee-house, which he heard was the
resort of numbers of the nobility, he inquired if
any of those present knew the mansion of the
lord who had sent him to London ; and in order
to give them some idea of his personal appear
ance, took a coal from the hearth and sketched
his figure on the wall. The instaut it was done,
they exclaimed " Oh ! it is Lord S ." He
was now directed to his lordship's house, and
there labored for some time ; but ere long he
was promoted to the office of court painter to
the King of England, and in this situation he
died in London in the vear 1554.
Mysteries of Memory. There is, moreover,
proof of a very decisive character, that no experi
ences of which the mind takes the slightest cosr
nizance, from earliest infancy to the most ex
treme old age ever become obliterated from the
internal structure of the soul, however impossible
it may be to recall some of those experiences
during our ordinary states of body and mind.
This proposition, which is rendered extreme!'
probable by an interior contemplation of the
conscious nature of the soul, is confirmed aud es
tablished by the numerous instances which
might bi cited, in which all the experiences of a
whole life, however minute or long forgotten,
have been suddenly and almost simultaneously
revived by some accident or other occurrence
which brought soul and body to the brink of a
A fact of this kind, which cannot be other
wise than intensely interesting to the psycholo
gist, was not long since published in the Home
(N. Y.) Daily Sentinel, whose editor vouches
for its truth. It is to the effect, that several
r . r . .. .
; hundred dollars, having some time
some time to run.
When the bond became due, A made diligent
search for it among his papers, but it was not
to be found. Knowing to a certainty that the
bond had not been paid or otherwise legally
disposed of, A concluded to frankly inform his
neighbor B of its loss, and to rely upon his
sense of justice for its payment. But to his sur
prise, when he informed him of the loss, B den
ied ever having given him such a bond, and
strongly int:mated a fraudulent design on his
part, in asserting tJiat such a transaction had
taken place between them. Being unable to
prove his claim, A was compelled to submit to
the loss of the debt, and also to the charge of
dishonorable intentions in urging the demand.
Years passed away, and the affair almost
ceased 19 be thought of, when, one day while A
was bathing in Charles River, he was seized
with cramp, and came near drowning. After
sinking and rising several times, he was seized
by a friend and drawu to the shore, and carried
home apparently lifeless. By the application of
the usual remedies, however, he was restored ;
and as soon as he gained sufficient strength, he
went to his book-case, took out a book, and
from between its leaves took out the identical
bond which had been so iong missing. He
then stated that while drowning, and sinking as
he supposed to rise no more, there suddenly
stood out before him, as it were in a picture,
every act of his life, from his childhood to the
moment that he sank beneath the waters, and
that among other acts was that of his placing
that bond in a book aud laying it away in his
book-case. Armed with the long-lost document
found in this marvelous manner, the gentleman
recovered his debt with interest.
How Statues are Made. Dick Tinto, the
Florence correspondent of the New York Times,
writes that the inducements for American sculp
tors to remain in Italy, Powers, Hart, Crawford
and others, are that they have constantly on
hand more orders than they can execute, and
employ numerous workmen at cheap wages.
We quote :
These workmen, who actually perform the
whole or nine-tenths of the chiselling, cutting
in marble what their employer sets before them
in plaster, receive Italian wages a small daily
pittance. If taken to New York they would at
once triple and quadruple their Italian earnings,
and would probably set up for themselves as
carvers, in a small way, or as decorators and
ornamentors in churches and public buildings.
The chisel is no longer the tool of the master
sculptor his instrument is an odd bit of a
stick, with which he scoops away at the fire in
clay, or " at the mud," as he will tell you him
self. When finished, as nearly as such a mate
rial can be, a mould is taken, and from that
mould a cast in plaster. If necessary, this cast
is still further finished and sand papered, and it
is then handed over to the cutter, whose duty it
is to make an exact fac simile in marble.
The sculptor proper may never touch this
matble, and when he is told it is done, he is
ready to deliver it to its owner. The workmen
in Mr. Power's studio have executed not far
from 40 Prosperines from the Plaster originally
WHOLES NO. 187
composed by the master, and tne Greek Slave
has in the same way been produced three or
four times. The best bust maker in Italy never
touches the marble. He may suggest or order
hair strokes here and there, but he doea sot
handle the scraper himself. In all this the work
man, though he may execute uriassistedly the
statue, the head, or the group, is no more tne
author of his work than is the clerk who copies
the Prime' Minister's rough draft or the calli- "
graphist who engrosses a set of resolutions.
You can see hr.w impossible it would be for
sculptors, occupying and' requiriig in this way'
the work of many men, to transport their studios
From the Columbia S. C. Banner.
We are permitted to publish the following in
teresting letter, which we lately received from
President Swain, of the University of North
Carolina. . In a recent interview with this dis
tinguished gentleman, who is j engaged in the
kindred pursuit of Documentary History in our
sister State, he very kindly promised to aid us
in our labors. We trust our States will be mu
tually benefited, and would be 'much pleased if
the Legislature would follow thje worthy exam-i
pie of the North State, in appointing an agent
to collect and arrange such material. We are
pleased to find an interest in our collection, and
to acknowledge the receipt of j valuable papers
from several parts of the State, the due acknowlr
edgement of w hich will Te made 'in the proper
place. Such of our friends '$A intend to send
us others, will oblige us by doing so at once, as
we are about going to press.. Documents relat
ing to the period from 1764 to 1780, will be in
cluded in the proposed volume,! and it is proba
ble that a third will immediately follow.
Chapel lIiLL, J:tine 18, 1855.
Dear Sir: I have availed iriyself of my ear
liest leisure, siuce my return from New York, to
look into your Documentary) History of the
Revolution in South Carolina! and am much
pleased with it. These letters daguerreotypes,
of the ' times which tried meiv's souls,' present
history in its most authentic;, and not unfre
quently in its most attractive fcrttHrs-Sorrja. of
them are important to the jhistorian of the
Union, and many of them arej as interesting to
the people of North a of South Carolina.
I wiH be glad to hear of the early completion
of your work, and am particularly anxious to
see the details of the Snow-iCamp campaign,
and General Williamson's account of the expe
dition against the Cherokees iii 1776. General
Rutherford, at the head of 2500 militia from
this State, co-operated with Williamson in the
expedition against the Cherokees. We were
fully represented in the SnowrCamp campaign,
and subsequently, indeed, in Jail, your principal
.Revolutionary battle fields. j
In connection with your book, I have spent a
few hours in turning over the leaves of Gov.
Caswell's Letter Books, twq folios of 640 and
350 pages, which are at present in my posses-1
sion, by the courtesy of our j Governor. Gqv
Caswell was called to the Execjutive chair on the
18th of December, 1776, and Remained in office
until about the beginning of Miay, 1780. These
volumes contain numerous letters from Govern
or Rutledge, Henry Laurens President of the
Continental Congress, Rawlins Lowndes, Gens.
Ash, Howe, and LillingtonHwhich will serve
quite as effectually to illustrate your annals as
ours. j j
To one incident I beg leave! to call your at
tention. On the 20th September, 1778, Corne
lius Harnett, one of our delegates to Congress,
writes to Gov. Caswell as follows: "The South
Carolina and Georgia delegates are so incensed
against Gen. Robert Howe, taat he is directed
immediately to join Gen.r Washington at head
quarters, and Gen. Lincoln j is to command in
the Southern department. Ttis gentleman is a
valuable and experienced officer he is ordered
to repair immediately to ChaTleston."
"By the resolve of Congress, enclosed to you
by his Excellency the President, you will find it
is the desire Of South Carolina that you shoiild
take the command of the North Carolina troops,
with the rank and pay of aj Major General in
continental service." !
On the 29th September ! John Penn writes :
" The high opinion entertained of your Excel
lency here, and the very great desire that the
delegates of that State (Sotth Carolina) had
that you would accept the command, was the
reason of the resolve relativejtlo you ; but in this
you will no doubt consider tho interest of North
Carolina, and the propriety cf being absent from
Governor Caswell, it seems, declined the com
mand at that time, and ca led John Ashe as
Major General, Bryan, Butler, Lillington and
Rutherford, as Brigadiers,- into sendee. In
1780, immediately upon tb expiration of his
gubernatorial term, he went to the head of our
troops, with the rank and promised pay of a
Continental Major General, ajnd served as such
under General Gates in the 101.8381x008 defeat at
To return to Howe on the 24th November,
Harnett again writes to Caswell, complaining in
general terms, that Howe's jcall had been pro
duced by small and unworthy motives, personal
and perhaps, feminine intrigues, and that al
though Congress had yielded to these influen
ces, his abilities were admitted, and a fair oDnor-
tunity'' would in doe. time be afford'ed for their