Newspapers / Southern Weekly Post (Raleigh, … / Feb. 7, 1852, edition 1 / Page 1
Part of Southern Weekly Post (Raleigh, N.C.) / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
H n f . . - , . " ' r im: "' ' ' " ' " ' " " ' ' ' ' H ftgMOTl TO ML TM fill OF MI CMOWJil, HTMATORl 1WS. BDUCATION. MM. Ti EMBKBTS, Eft " l'lfr-; ' "ff. ; ItAI.KI NOUTH t.UUOLINA'. SATt III'AY. FKl'.KI VUY 7, KO, 10. , : mm TO BE BEAD AT DUSK. BY CHARLES DICKENS. 0-k tvo,' three,? ftjur, five. There were five of them. i-i'ive .cpuriers, sitting oh a bench outside the con-' ' vent on-tJie summit of the Great St. Bernard in . Switzerland, looking at the remote heights, stain i a by the setting sun," as if a mighty quantity .'-6T red w ine had been broached upon the moun- : tarn tojyand had not yet had time to sink into the it tnovv. j- , ; ' . . r "' . I r-rThisiis not my simile. It as 'ade for the oc Mttvsioii by the stoutest courier, vho , was "a German. -5 one df the others toojc any more -notice of it than Itlity "took of'me, sitting on anotber bench on the t I "other "side of the convent door, sinpking my cigar I dike them, .arid also like them-r4ook1?ig at the jl'tIeuted-' snow,- and' at the lonely shed hardjby, h'ereJtJije- bodies .of belated " travelers, dug. out of Jf it; slowly wither away, knowing 'no .corruption in thtit cylil region." -; - ' I ,:. The wine , upon the mountain top soaked in as we looked ; the : mountain' became white 5 the sky -vei;yjd;u-k blue ; tbe wind rose, ad.the air turned 1 piercing old. The five, couriers buttoned their I TOtfgh coats. 1 Them being noafer man to imitate ' 'I in all such proceedings than a courier, I buttoned i mine. : ". .. ....' i' "...' -. .'' . fL-y: Th.fj; mountain ijT the' sunset had stopped the five. : couriers in a fconversation. It . is a sublime sight, v.lik'i-ly ,to stop conversation. The mountain being .. : now. tmt of the sunset, -they-resumed.' -Not thatJL ! ;) f;hI,-;hear4 any part of their previous discourse ; for," I Indeed, I had not then broken away from the Arheri I can gentleman, in;the travel lers'parl or of the con : '.vent, who, sitting with his face to the fire, had u'u ; J dei takcji ip realize to me the" whole progress of I evetits jhich' had led t the accumulation by ' Julie"- I&n6jabl'cAnahias -'Dodger of one of "the I larst acquisitions of dollars1 ever made in our ' 'country. '- '. I : " My God!" said the Swiss courier, speaking in I French, which I do not hold (as some authors ap ( I pear to do) to be such an albsufficierit- excuse for f a naughty word, that I have only to write it in that language Jto make it innocent ; "if you talk of ' ghosts man. . 41 Of what then ?' asked the Swiss. " ". If I knew of what then." said the German, "I ' - should" probably know a great deal more." . ;; It was a gbod; answer, I thought, and .it made irafi curious. Sj I moved my. ' position.' to that - I corner oLiny bench which was nearest -to them, I and leaning my back against the, convent-wall, heard perfect 1 without appearing to attend. I ';- " Thunder arid lightning L" said tbe German, I (warming, " ylrvn a certain man is coming to see I ;you, unexpectedly ; and without Lis own know J ' ledge, send sdme. invisible messenger, to put the iidea bC himj'n your hehd all da,' what do you, call that YTien you .walk aloncj a crowded street ,.vat Frankfort, Milan London, l4aris--and think that vl,-'a .passing sranger-is like your friend Heinrich, and x 'then 'that another passing stranger isl&e your friend Heiiirich, and so begin to have, a, strange forekhow- I ...leeiirej iuul inoseiuiv you 11 meet yyur.irw.-uu ih-ju rich winch you .do, though .you believed him at Trieste what do' you call that rf , . " It's not uncommon either," murmured the Swiss and the other three.- ' L ncommon said the German. " It s as com mon as cherries iri. the Black Forest. ' It's as co . moil as maccaroni at Naples. And Naples reminds me AYTten the old March esa Senzanima shrieks' at a card party on the Chiaia as I heard and saw her, foe it happened w a Bavarian family of mihe,' '..IT... if 1 .1 ' ,1 ,V T jiiiu a y us ovei looKing t iTie service mat evening 1 " say, when' the1 old' Marchesa- startsUp at the card- i ; 'table, white through her ipouge, and cries, ' My I ;-" sister;in Spain." and when that sister is dead ;at I';- the moment what do you call that ?'' . I . : ; " Or vft hen the blood of San Gennaro . liquefies I at the-request of the clersjv as ail . the ! world 1 -knows, that it does regularly once'ia year, in my native Htv said the Neapolitan courier," after f a-pausewth-'aijorriieajlook, 1',what do you call , that f - j .. .-; l That!" cried-the German, kfiow a name for that;" "Well! Ltliinkl f Miracle-!'' '' said the Neapolitan, with the same J " Tlie German merely smoked and' laughed ; and I ' they all snwked and laughed. '" :'' : ;' I I : " lfab I " said'the German, presently, " I speak of tlmjgs that really do happen. TVTieu I want to . . the conjurer, I pay to see a professed one, and ' ) ; have my moriey's'.worth. Very strange things do I .'liappen: without ghosts. Ghosts ! Giovanni Bap : tistiu' tell ;ydur story of tlie English bride; There's 1 .noghWt-tinl tliat, out something full as. strange.r ' "Will any man" tell, me what 2" I -' .-.'; As there!'w:vs , a silence among .mem, I glanced' I around. He whom I took to be, Baptista, was 1 Vligh ting a fresh ejgar. ue presently went on to ' 51-7 ' "UeV was- a Genoese, as I judged?" . " The; story of the , English bride," said ha f.-.y"Basta! one ought not to call so slight a tiling a stpry. V ell, it s'.all one. But it's true. 'That which glitters is not alwavs,o-0ld but what I am going to ten is tru 11' repen tea tins more-fli-m nnro ' '. j'.eap a", I t.'x.k my creilentials to an Eng lish gentleman, at Long's -Hotel, in . Bond street,1 L6hdon, who was about to4rayel it might be for .rieyear, it might be for imr He' approved "of them ; iiKcwise ot me. Ue was pleased to make; J . inquiry. The testimony that he. received was favcr' 'ratle. He engaged me by the six months, and my. . entertainment was geuerousj t . . , v leas youn, handsome, very happy, "lie was 1 OMmoredlof a voting English lady, with a sufficient: $ . fortune and theV' were going to be-married. : It f ws' thewedding; trip, in short, that we were goinfT I rtotake. ' djor three months' rest in the hot weather (ij was early summer then) he had hired an- old . palace or! the Riviera, at an easy distance from my - fity, Genoa, on the roal to NiceJ- v Did I know I that palace ? Yes;: I told him I. knew it well. It was an old palace, with great gardens. It was a little; bare, and it was a (little dark and gloomy, lx-ing clost-ly surrounded by trees ; ' but it 'was spa- cious,, .aucieni, graua, ana ou uie auoic. . I said it had been so describexl to him exactly, and he was well1 pleased that I knew it. For its being a little bare of furniture, all such places were. For its being a little gloomy, he (had hired it principally for the gardens, and he and my" mis tress would,, i ; their ; shade.-.- ...:;:-zs-r;z '""--v'- r--- -r " So all' goes well, Baptista ?" said he. ." Indubitably, signor ; very well." We ljada traveling chariot for our journey, new ly; huiltdbr us, and in all respects complete. All we had was. complete ; we wanted for nothino-. ' The marriage took "place. They , were happy, was happy, seeing all so bright, being so well situ ated, going to my own city,- teaching my language in tne rumble to tne raaiu, la ibella Carolina, whose heart was gay with laughter : who was young and rosy. " ' " I The time flew. But I observed listen'to this, 1 1 pray !j r(and here the qourier dropped his voice) 1- observed my mistress sometimes brooding jin a manner very strange ; in a frjhgned. manner '; in an unhappy manner ; with a cloudy, uncertain alarm upon her, I think that I began to notice this when - 1 was walking" up hills by the carriage side, and master had gone on in front. At any rate, I . re member that it impressed itself upon my mind one evening in the south of France, wjjeri she called to me to call master back ; and when he came back, and walked for a long way, talking encouragingly and anectionately to her, with lus hand upon the open window, .and hers in it. Now and then he laughed" in a.' merry way, as if he' were bantering her out pf something, v By-and-by4 . she laughed, and then all werft well again. " It was curious, I asked la . bella Carolina, the pretty . little one.. "Was mistress unwel' No. Out . of spirits ! No. Fearful of bad t roads, or brigands ? No,'. And vvh at made it more mys terious was, the pretty little one would not look at me in giving answer but would look at the view. .' ' But, one day she told me the secret, f " If you must know," said Carolina, " I find, from what I have overheard, that mistress is haunted." ' v " How haunted ?" "By a'dream," t . " What dream V : ! : " By a dream of a face. For three nights before her marriage, she saw a face in a dreani-Halwaya the same face, and only one." ,." " A terrible face?" . , ' man, an Dlack, with wack hair and a grey mus tache a handsojiie'iiian, .except for a reserved '.and secret air. No jai.fape she ever saw, or at all like a face she ever . saw. Doing nothing in the dream but looking at her fixedly, out of dark ness." .' " Does the dream come back ?" "Never. The recollectiom of it, is all her trou ble." '- . .. ' " And why does it trouble her V . Carolina shopkdier head; j " That's master's, question " said la bella. . " Slie don't knowr She wonders why, herself.. But I heard her tell him, only last mgut, that she was to t find a picture of that face in our Italian house (which she-, is afraid she will,) she did not know how she could ever bear it." ' ! Upon my word I was fearful 'after this (said the Genoese courier,) of our coming to the old palazzo, f lest some such ill-stared picture should happen to be there. I knew there were many there; and, as we got nearer and nearer to the place, I wished the whole gallery in the crater of Vesuvius. , To mend the matter itwas a, stormy dismal evening when we, at last, a'pproacbed that part of the Riviera. It tluindered, and the thunder of my city and its en virons, rolling, among, the high hills, is very loud. The lizards ran in . and out of the chinks in the broken ston-e wall of the garden, as if they were frightened ;. the frogs bubbled .and croaked 'their loudest ; tbi sea-wink "moaned, and tb,e wet tress dripped ; and the lightning body of Saa Lorenzo, how it lightened ! " 'We all know what an old palazzo -in or near Ge noa is how time and the sea air have blotted it how. the drapery painted on ''the outer walls has peeled off" in great rlakes of plaster how the lower windows Tare darkened with rusty bars of iron how the court-yard is over grown with grass how the outer buildings: are dilapidated how the whole pile seems "devoted to ruin.: Our palazzo was one of the true kind. . It", had been shut up close for months. Months ! years ! ; It had an, earthly smell, like a tomb. The scent of ,the orange-trees, on the broad back terrace, and of the lemon's ripen ing on the wall, and of shrubs around a broken fountain, had got into the house somehow, and had never' been able to get out again. There it was, in every room, an aged sfnell, grown' faint with con finement. It pined in all the cupbbards.and draw-pi-fe. Tf von turned a rieture to come back to the pictures there it still was, cbnging to the wall behind the frame, like a sort of hat. The lattice-blinds were close shut, all over the house. There were two ugly, gray old women in the house, to' take care of it ; one of them with a spindle, who stood winding and mumbling in the doorway, and who would as soon have let in the devil as the air.. Master, mistress, la bella Carolina and I, went all through the palazzo. I went first, though h I have named, myself last, opening the windows and the laftice-bhnds, and shaking ,down on mys,eii splashes r of rain, and scraps of mortar, ard now khd then a dozing musqui to, or a monstrous, fat, blotchy, Genoese spider. When I had let the evening light into a room, master, , mistress, and la bella Carolina entered.; Then we looked round sX all the pictures, a.nd L went forward again into another room. Mistressj secretly had great fear of meeting with the like ness of that face we all had ; but;there was no such thing! :,The Madonna arid. Bambino, San Sebastino, Venus, Santa Caterina, Angels, Bri gands. Friarsi Temples at-Sunset, " Battles, White Horses, Forests, Apostles, Doges, all my old ac quaintances' many times, repeated, yes. Dark, handsome man in' black, reserved and secret, with black hair and grey mustache, looking fixedly at mistress out of darkness I no.f At last we got through all the rooms and all the pictures, and came fout into the gardens. They were pretty well kept, being rented by a gardener, and were large and shady. , In One place, there was a rustic theatre, open to the sky ; the stage a green slope : the coulisses, three entrances upon a side, sweet-smelling leafy screens. Mistress mov- ed her bright eyes, evefl there, -es if she looked to see the face come in upon the scene t but all was well. .- . - - ".." -JL"-?, " NoVi Clara," master said, in a low yoice 4yo'a see that it ispothing jUXo.-ire- hppylf Al is tress J wai"; m uch"encb urage Sho sooir customed herself to that grim palazzo, and wooM sing, and play the harp, and copy the old picture and stroll with master under the green trees and vines, all day." ' She was beautiful. He was hapV py. He would laugh and say to me, motinl ing his horse ' for his morning , ride,' before the heat , y. . " i ;" All goes well, Baptista !" 4 " Yes, signore, thank Gbd ; very well !" ' We kept no company. I took la'belta to the Duoma and Annunciata, to the Cafe, to the Op4 ra, to the village Festa, to the Public Garden, tp the Day Theatre, to the Marionetti. The pretfy Ikjle one was charmed with all she saw. -She; learnt . Italian heavens ! miraculously ! Ws mistress quite forgetful of that dream ? I asked Carolina sometimes. Nearly, said la bella almost. it was wearing out. , . r 1 One day master received a letter, and callea me. ' I "Baptista!" : " Signore." . . ,' I " ii gentleman who is presented to me will dine here to-day. He is called the Signor Dellombra Let me dine like a Prince." j It was an old name. I did not know that name. But, there had been many noblemen and gentle men pursued by Austria on political suspicions, lately, and some names had changed. Perha)s this was one. ; Altro ! Dellombra was as good a name to me as another. i When the Signor Dellombra came to dinner (said the Genoese courier in the low voice, into which he had subsided pnee before,) I showed him into. the. reception-room, the great sala of the old I palazzo.: Master received him with cordiality, and presented him to mistress. As she rose, her lace changed, she gave a cry, and fell upon the marble floor. ' i 1 Then, I turned my head to the Signor Dellonv bra, and saw that he was dressed in black, an had a reserved and secret air, and was a dark re markable-looking man, with black hair and a gray mustache. . - " j Master raised mistress in his arms, and carried her to her own room, where I sent, la bella Cnrn-1 mistress was ' . . . . . -i .i i .... nearly terrified to death, and that she YvandSre ill li&I SlUl'jL about her dream, all night. Master was vexed and anxious almost angry, and vet full of solicitude. ' The Signor Dellombra was a tourtly gentleman, and spoke with great res pect and sympathy of mistress's being so ill. The African wind had been blowing for some days (they had told , him. at his hotel of "the Maltese Cross,) and he knew that it was often hurtful. -He hoped, the beautiful lady would recover soon. He begged permission to retire, and to renew his visit when he should have the happiness of hearing that she I was ' better. Master would not allow of this, and they dined alone. ' . . . He withdrew early. Next .day he called at the gatej on horseback, to enquire for mistress. ' He did so two or three times in that week!. ;. What I observed myself, and what) la bella Ca rolina told me, united to explain to trie that mas ter had now set his, mind on curing mistress of her fanciful terror. He was all kindness, but he was sensible and firm. - He reasoned with her, that to encourage such fancies was to invite melancholy, if not madness. That it rested with herself to be herself. That if she once resisted her strange weakness, so successfully as fo receive1 the Sig nor Dellombra as an English lady would receive any other guest, it was forever conquered. To make an end, the Signor came again, and mistress received hirn without marked distress (though with constraint and apprehension still,) and the even ing passed serenely. Master was so-delighted with this change, and so anxious to Confirm it, that the Signor Dellombra became a constant guest. He was! accomplished in pictures, books, and music ; and his society, in any grim palaz:o, w,ould have been welcome. . I used to notice, many times, that mistress was not quite recovered. She would cast down her eyes and drop her head, before the Signor Dellombra, or would look at him with a terrified and tascinated glance, as it his presence had some I evil influence or power upon hers Turning from her to him, 1 used to see him in the shaded gar dens, or the large half-lighted sala, looking, as I might say, "fixedly upon her out of darkness.' But, truly, I had not forgotten la bella Carolina's words describing the face in the dream. After his second visit I heard master say ' Now see, my dear Clara, it's over ! Dellom bra has come and gone, and your apprehension is broken like glass." " Will he will be ever come again ,1" asked mistress. " , . " Again? Why, surely, over and over again ! Are you cold ?" (She shivered.) " No, dear but lie terrifies me : are you sure that he need come again ?" "The surer for the question, Clara !" replied mas ter, eheerfully. . . v. But, he was very hopeful of her complete reco very now, and grew more and more so every day. She was beautiful. He was happy. " All goes well Baptista ?" he-would say to me agaim U " Yes, signore, thank God : very well." We were all (said the Genoese courier, constrain ing himself to speak a little louder,) we were all at Rome for the Carnival. I had been put, all day, with a Sicilian, a friend of mine and a courier, who was there Syith an English family. As I re turned at night to our hotel, I met the little .Caro lina, who never stirred from home alone, rimning distractedly along the Corso. ' " Carolina; ! What's the matter ?" " O Baptista ! Oh, for the Lord's sake ! where is my mistress !" " Mistress, Carolina ?" -t" Gone since morning told me, when master went out- on his ; day's journey, not to call her, for she was tired with not resting in the night (having been in pain,) and would lie in bed until the eveu-ino- : then ?ot ud refreshed. .She is crone ! s he is gone ! Master has come back, broken' down the door, and she -is gone ! j My beautiful, my good, my innocent mistress I . . ; Ihe pretty little one so cried, and raved, and tore.erself, that J. could not.have held, her, bnt ' for her swooning on my arm as if she had been shot, ' . .. .-r-.JL. .Master came up in manner, face, or voice, no more the master that I knew, than I was he. He took me (I laid the little one; upon her bed in the hotel, and left her with the chamber woman,), in a carriage, furiously through the darkness, across the desolate Campagna. ' VV hen it was day, and we stopped at a miserable post house, all the horses had been hired twelve hours ago, and sent away in different directions. Mark me ! bv the Siarnor Dellombra, who had passed there in a carriage, with a frightened English lady crouching in one corner. ' i. I never heard (said the Genoese courier, draw ing a long breath) that she was ever traced beyond that spot. All I know is, that she vanished into infamous oblivion, with the dreaded face beside her that she had seen.in her dream. " What do you call that, said the German courier, triumphantly ; " Ghosts ! There, are no ghosts there! What do you call this, that I am going to tell you f Ghosts ? j There are no ghosts here " j r took an engagement once (pursued the Ger man courier) .with an English gentleman, elderly and a bachelor, to travel through my countryKmy Fatherland. He was a merchant who traded with my country and knew the language, but who had never been there since he was a boy as I judge, some sixty years before. His name was James, and he had a twin-brother John, also a bachelor. Between these brothers there was a great affection.; They were in busi ness together at Goodman's Field's, but they did not live together. Mr. James dwelt in Poland st., turning out of Oxford st., London. Mr. John re sided by Epping Forest. ' ., Mr. James and I were to start for Germany in about a week. The exact day depended on busi ness. Mr. John came to Poland st., (where I was staying in the house,) to pass that week with Mr. James. But, he said to his brother on the second Iday, " I don't feel very well, James. There's not ?much the matter with me;; but I think l am a little gouty. I'll go homeland put myself under the care of my old housekeeper, who understands mv wavs. . If I firet Quite better. I 1 11 come back .. i T ' -. i i enough to resume my visit wher' why you willce and se me before you go." Mr. James, of course, said he would, and they shook hands both hands,! as they always did and Mr. John ordered out his old-fashioned chariot and' rumbled home. It was on the second night after that that is to say, the fourth in the week when I was awoke out of my sound sleep by Mr. James coming into my bedroom in hi flannel gown, with a lighted candle. He sat upon, the side of my bed, and look ing at me, said ' Wilhelm, I have reason to think I have got some strange illness upon me." I then perceived there was a very unusual ex pression in his face. " Wilhelm," said he, " I am not afraid or asham ed to tell you, what I might be. afraid of or asham ed to tell another man. You come from a sensible country, where mysterious things are. inquired into, and are not settled to haveibeen weighed and mea sured or to have been unweighable and unmea sureable -or in either case to have been complete ly disposed of, for all the time ever so many years ago. I have just now seen the . phantom of my brother." i I confess (said the German courier) that it gave me a little tingling of the blood to hear it. "I have just now seen,?' Mr. James repeated, looking full at me, "that I might see how collected he was, "the phantom of my brother John. .1 was sitting up in bed, unable to, sleep, when it came into my room, in a white dress, and, regard ing me earnestly, passed up to the end of the room, glanced at some papers on my writing desk, turn ed, and, still looking earnestly at me as it passed the bed, went out at the door. Now, I am not in the least mad, . and am not' in the least disposed to invest that phantom with an external existence out of myself. I think it is a warning to me that I am ill, and I think I had better be bled." I got out of bed directly (said the German courier) and began to get on my clothes, begging mm not to be alarmed, and telling him that l would go myself to the doctor. I was just ready,' when we heard a loud knocking and ringing at the street door. My room being an attic at: the back, and Mr. James's being the second floor room in the front, we went down to his room and put Tip the window, to see what was the matter. ' "Is that Mr. James ?" said a man below, fall ing back to the opposite side of the way to look up. - "It is," said Mr. James ; " and you are my bro ther's man, Robert." " Yevsir. I am sorry to say sir, that Mr. John is ill. "He is very bad, sir. It is even feared that be may be lying on the point of death. He wants to see you, sir. I have a chaise here. Pray come to him. Pray, lose no time." '. Mr. James arid I looked at one another. " Wil helm," said he, " this is strange. I wish you to come with me !" I'. helped him to dress, partly there and partly in the chaise ; and no grass grew under the horses' iron shoes between Poland st, and the Forest. ' I Now, mind ! (said the German courier). I went with Mr. James into his brother's room, and I saw and heard myself what follows : His brother lay upon his bed, at the upper end of a long bed-chamber. His old housekeeper was there, and others were there ; I think three' others were there, if not four, and; they had been with him since early in the afternoon. He was in white like the figure necessarily so, because he had his night dress on. ' He looked like the figure necessarily so, because he looked earnestly at his brother when he saw him come into thei' rPom. " . But, when his brother Reached the bed side, he slowly raised himself in bid, and looking full upon him, said these words j ' : " James, voc have seen me before, to-sight, AND TOP KNOW IT !" j And so died ! ' I 1 I waited, when the German courier ceased, to hear something said of this strange story. The si lence was unbroken. I looked round, and the five couriers .were gone; so lioiselessly that the ghostly mountain might have absorbed them intoits eter nal snows. By this tim6, 1 was by no means in a f-'iii.o sit alone in that awful scene, with the chill air coming solemnly upon me or, if I may 4- tell the truth, to sit alone any where. So i went back into the convent-parlor, and, finding the American gentleman still disposed to ralate the biography of the Honorable Ananias Dodger, heard it all out. MUSIC. The grandest office of music is. that in which, no doubt, it originated that in which, early, it had its first culture ; in which; latest, it had its best I mean its office in religion.' In the sanctuary it was born, and in the service of God it arose with a sublimity with which it could never have been inspired in the "service of pleasure.. More assimilat ed than any other art to the spiritual nature of man, it affords a, medium of expression the most congenial to that nature. Compared with tones that breathe out from a profound, .a spiritually musical soul,, how poor is any allegory which painting can present, or that symbol can indicate. The soul is invisible ; its emotions admit no more than itself of shapee or limitation. The religious emotions cannot always have even yerbal utterance. They often seek an utterance yet nearer to the in1 finite ; and such they find in music. You cannot. delineate a feeling at most you can but suggest it by delineation, but in music you can by intonation direct! v give the feeling. Thus related to the un seen soul, music is a voice for faith, which is itself the realization ot things not seen. And waiting as the soul is' amidst troubles and Joils, looking up ward from the earth, and onward out of time, for a bettor world or a purer life, in its believing and glad expectancy, music is the voice of its hope. . In the depression: despondency of Conviction ; in the strug gles of repentance ; in the "consolations and. rejoic ing of forgiveness ; in the wordless calm of interna peace, music answers to the mood, and soothingly breaks the dumbness of the heart.: r or every chart ty that can sanctify and bless humanity, lmiaic has its sacred measures; and well does goodness merit the richest harmony of sound, that is itself the richest harmony of heaven. Sorrow, also, has its consecrated melody. The wounded spirit and the broken heart are tempered and assuaged by . the i ....... -.. - -K-i-u y fi- Taintive hymn aodtries the departing loulr "limmgles w ith -weey ing in the house of death. It befits the solemn ritual of the grave. The last supper was closed with a hymn, and many a martyr for Him who went from that supper to' his agony, made their torture jubilant in songs of praise. ' ; An essay equal to the subject on the vicissitudes and varieties of sacred musip, would be one of the most interesting passages in the history of art. In their long wanderings to-the land of promise, sacred music was among the hosts of Israel ; and in that great temple of nature, floored by the desert, and roofed by the sky, they chanted the song of Miriam and of Moses. It was in their Sabbath meetings it .resounded with the rejoicings of their feasts and with the gladness of their jubilees. When Solomon built a house to the Lord, it was consecrated with symbols, and psalteries, and harps, with the sounds of trumpets, and the swell of voices. As long as the temple stood, music hallowed its services ; and that music must have been supremely grand which suited the divine poetry of the inspired and kingly lyrist. Israel was scattered the temple was no more. Silence and desolation dwelt in the place of the sanctuary. 5ion heard no longeEjije anthems of her Levites. A new word that was spoken first in Jerusalem had gone forth among 'the nations ; and that too had its music. At first it was a whisper among the lowly in the dwellings of. the poor. Stealthily it afterward w;as murmured in the palace of the Caisars. In the dead night, in the depths of the catacombs, it trembled in subdued melodies filled with the love of Jesus. , At length the grand cathedral arose,, and the stately spire ; courts and arches echoed, and pillars shook with the thunder of the majestic organ, and choirs, sweetly attuned, joined their voices iri all the moods and measures of the religious heart, in its most exalted, most profound, most, intense, experience put into lyrical expression. I know that piety may reject, may repel this form of expression, still these sublime ritual harmonies cannot but give the spirit that sympathizes with them, the sense of a mightier being. ' But sacred music has power without a ri tual.' In 'the rugged hymn, which connects itself, not alone, with immortality, but also with the mem-, ory of brave saints, there is power, There is power in the hymn in which our father's joined. Grand were those ruae psaims wnicn once arose amiust thesolitudes of the Alps. Grand were those reli gious songs, sung in brave devotion by the perse cuted Scotch, iri the depths of their moors and their glens. The hundredth psalm, rising in the fulness, of three thousand voices up .into the clear sky, broken among rocks, prolonged and modulated through valleys, softened over the surface of mountain-guarded lakes, had a grandeur and a majesty, contrasted with-which mere art is poverty and mean ness. And while thus reflecting on sacred music, we think with wonder on the Christian Church on its power and on its compass. Less than nineteen centuries ago, its first hymn was sung in an upper chamber of Jerusalem ; and those who sung it were . quickly scattered. And now the Christian hymn is one that never ceases one that is heard m every tongue ; and the whisper of that upper chamber is now a chorus that fills the world. Rev. Henry Giles. . . i The Power of Kindness. The Jacksonville (III.) Journal says that when the superintendent of the asylum for the poor in" that county first took charge of it, he found an insane man who had been loaded with heavy chains for years. Believing his cruelty kept the man insane he took the res ponsibility of taking them off, and gradually resto ring him to liberty. The man at first raved, ex pecting fresh torture; then he doubted, and finally realized that he was , free. He was overpowered with delight, exclaiming constantly, as he looked upon the outer world of sunshine, "Oh, how beauti ful f Then gratitude to his liberator prevailed. At length he voluntarily went to work in the gar den, though he had nearly lost all his power of locomotion, and became entirely recPvered. He is now working o'n a farm. aJI 's well that ends well. BEAR WITH ONE ANOTHER. Rev. Dr. Boardman, in his admirable book " the Bible in the Family," well remarks: That bouse wuL.be kept in a turmoil wher there is no to'errnce of each other's errors, no lenity shown to failing no meek submission to icjorfat. no sou answers tp turn away wrath. II you lay a single stick of vood upon the andirons and apply fire to it, it will go out ; put on another stick, and, they will burn ; add a half dbzen, and you will have a grand conflagration. There are other fires sub ject to the same conditions. If one member of a tamily gets, into a passion and is let alone, he will cool down, and possibly be ashamed, and repent. But oppose temper to temper ; pile on the iuel ; lraw in the other members of the group, and let one harsh answer be followed bv another : and. there will soon be a blaze which will enwrap them all in its lurid splendors; The venerable Philip Henry understood! this well, and when his son Matthew, the Commentator, w as married, he. 6ent these lines to the wedded pair : ' " Love one another, pray oft together and see.- togett jry be: You never both together ane It one speaK tore, t other with water come : ' , .- , Is one provoked ? be t'other soft or dumb." ! So thought the excellent Bishop Cowper, of whom" this remarkable anecdote is related. The wife -of this good mau was afraid he would injure his health by close confinement. So, one day, like a kind-hearted, officious wife, she went into his library in his absence, and gathering up all the manuscript , notes he had been eight years in collecting tor his dictionary, threw them into the fire. When he came home, she told him what she had done. As sured of the. kind motive which had prompted her to this .act of Vandalism, his only reply to her was, " Woman, thou Jtast put me to tight years study more This it must be confessed, is carrying meekness . flesh and blood can ordinarily be But even a less measure of this ' be considered a great sedative to about as far as expected to go. quality would those ebullitions of passion ' which ruffle the! sere nity of households. Allied with a sound judgment. " and with true affection, it would aim at shutting" out from the circle such topics of conversation aa were' known to produce an irritating efl'ect upon any of the group." The same spirit would restrain a family from pushing a question, on which they differed, to the point o a peremptory decision. . It would admonish them when the ice was beginning tp quiver and crackle, and show them where they -must" stop, unless they mean to break through, There are too many who refuse to see, or at 'least'; to heed, these indications, and whom nothing will arrest but an actual plunge into the wintry wave. They will insist upon their point with such pertin acity as to bring down at length that terrific M You shall, or " You shall no?," which in conjugal life is as freezing as a ;bath in December. 'Happy -are those families, whenr discussions never j -reach this crisis. It is said that in the' business irneetirigs-of that exemplary Christian Society, the j "Friends," there is no voting, The clerk gathers he views of the members from their observations, and frames a corresponding minute, w hich, unless fexcepted-to, stands, without a" vote, as the act of the body. This rs a safe principle for households, j The opin ions.of those who wear the purple can usually be. got at without a vote ; and voting sometimes" create a difference of feeling, where there was simply a diversity of sentiment. ' Fashion at the North Pole. The way the ladies indulge fancy among the Esquimaux may be -worth comparing with our w ays in more temperate latitudes : j " The dress of a married lady is composed of a -pair oi snort seai-skm pants, lur outside, extending nearly to the knee joint, where it meets the legs of the boots, made of the same material or pf deer skin. The' upper part of the person is covered with a "jumper," or a. kind of sack, with a hood for the head, and sleeves, made whoe, with the. exception of a placeor face and arms. JThis also i made of seal-skin, and in the. warmer; weather is' covered with a fancy -colored cotton cloth sack. In . . the coldest and w'et weather the cloth sack is remof -ed and a seal-skin covering, without fur, placed in' its stead. This composes their, whole dress. The dress of an unmarried lady is distinguished by a broad band made of fancy figured webbing, about . tw o and a half inches wide, sewed on each 6ide of the front of their-pants, extending nearly the whole length of them. j A married woman can be distinguished from an" unmarried one by the hair, which, in both cases, is- 1 tied upon the top of the head, and the; ends of that of the married are colored blue, and' of the, un- i married red. This enables a gallant to act the a miable without danger of making advances to some one already married, and getting a stray shot from an injured husband. The boots are; made very neatly, slender and well proportioned,; The UPP?' leather is colored. They tan deer-s,kin with urine, arid their seal-skins are dressed in a beautiful manner, simply by drying and rubbing them with a smooth stone. A pair of slippers completes tbe wardrobe . of a lady in the Esquimaux country ; these are mada of deer-skin, and neatly fringed round the tops with white rabbits' fuv The clothing which was shown us was made in a very tasty and 6trong manner, every thread used being made of the sinews of the deer, and, of course very durable. The dresses of ) the males are very similar to the married ladies, j with the exception that they are longer and rather ; heavier. The Danes are scattered about among the Esquimaux, and furnish them with what few foreign articles they 'may want, which are hmited - J to steel for their spears, and some few ornaments for their dresses and coloring for their hair and la dies' boots." The Chief Jcstice. A very goo4 story is told of Chief Justice Taney : When the Library in the Capitol was in flames, and clouds of smoke werei rolling out and enveloping the building, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court appeared in his seat at the usual hour, looking quite tranquil and undi-1 turbed. ljuay it please your Honor, , said an officer ' of the Court, "will the Court sit tb-dayf The Chief Justice looked up, and coolly and significant ly asked, Ls the court-room real ly on fire f " no, not yet," was the answer. " T- -Oh it is," added the Chjefl A- ' uen we'll sit till transacted business ' the Court did sit, and about it .as usual, amid all the confusion r rv r . ft y. 1 " )" -;: . - - -: - ' 1 - ; y . J -
Southern Weekly Post (Raleigh, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Feb. 7, 1852, edition 1
1
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75