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i VOLUME I.
(FRANKLIN, NORTH CAROLINA, FRIDAY,, JUNJ
E 22, 1860.
NUMBER 48.
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Lady Byron's Answer to Lord Byron's
“Farewell.”
Itt the whole range of English literature
there is not, in our opinion,,a production, eith
er in prose or Terse, that combines within it
self more expression of feeling, more real, un
spoken, earnest sentiment, than Lady Byron’s
reply to her faithless rjiusband. Byron’s
“Farewell" was an ironical bidding adieu to a
heart he : wantonly crushed. But Lady B.
has, in defending herself front his irony, “turn
ed the tables” on him most completely. Her
reply is scathing, and must have “cut” Byron
“to the quick.” We call special attention to
the proud and noble defiance expressed in the
\ last verse. The poent has doubtless been read
by all our readers—but it will repay another
perusal.—Memphis 1’nq.
Yes! farewell—farewell forevet!
Thou thyself hast fixed our doom,
Bade Hope’s fairest blossoms wither,
Nerer again for me to b'loom.
Unforgiving thou hast called me-—
Didst thou ever say forgive?
For the wretch whose wiles beguiled thee.
Thou alone didst seem to live.
Short the space which time has given
To emnplcte thy loveV decay;
By unhallowed passions driven,
Soon that heart was taught to stray.
Lived for me that feeling tender
Which thy verse so well can show,
From my arms why didst thou wander?
My endearments why forego?
Oh! too late thy breast was bared, j
Oh! too soon to me ’twas shown,
That thy love l once but shared,
And already it is flown. ;
Wrapt in dreams for joy abiding,
On thy breast my head hath lain,
In thy love and truth confiding, t
Bliss I ne’er can knbw again.
The dark hour did first discover
In thy soul the hideous stain—
Would those eyes had closed forever,
Ne’er to weep tLy crimes again.
But the impious wish, 0, heaven! ,
From the record blotted be;
Yes, I yet would live, O, Byron,
For the babe I’ve borne for thee!
In those lovely features (let me
All my weakness here confess,
Whilst the struggling tears permit me,)
, All the father’s I can trace—
He whose image never leaves me,
He whose image still I prize,
Who this bitterest feeling gives me,
Still to lore where I despise.
With regret and sorrow rather,
When our child's first accents flow,
I will teach her to say Father,
But his guilt she ne'er shall know.
Whilst to-morrow and to-morrow
Wakes me from a widowed bed;
On another’s arms, no sorrow
Wilt thou feel, no tear wilt shed.
Idie world’s Approval sought not,
When I tore myself from thee;
Of its praise or blame I thought not—
What’s its praise or blame to me?
Ho so prized—so loved—adored,
From my heart his image drove,
On my head contempt has pouredj
And preferred a wanton’s love.
Thou art proud; but mark me, Byron,
I’ve a heart proud as thine own;
Soft to love but hard as iron
When contempt is o’er it thrown;
But, farewell!—I’ll not upbraid thee,
Never, never wish thee ill;
Wretched though thy crimes have made me,
If thou canst, be happy still.
tihrowthof Memphis:—In ten years,
from 1850 to 1860, the city of Memphis
has increased in population from 5,280
to 35,000.
'-- »■«---L—
A Heavy Load of Debt.—The Pe
tersburg (Va.) Intelligencer says that
the debt of Virginia amounts to $48,000,
000, with no prospect of diminution.
M,. ■ • ' | '
■ ! ' . I _ -""1 " - -
?fa
For the Franklin Observer.
Preachers of the Holston Conference
.THE. BEAD.
Messrs J2d#6fa(4aL hgcTit in
my mind
for sometime, towrTFe a series of short articles,
for the Observer, with the view of giving its.
readers an account of the preachers! of Hol
ston Conference. I cannot think of any thing,
about which to write, that would , be more
likely to afford interest to the readers, and en
hance the prosperity of your mountain paper
more, than the one I have selected. '
A sense of incompetcncy to “do any thing
like justice to the subject which I have chosen,
has, up to this trine, kept my pen still. The
venture is now made, under a due spnse of all
that is promised, by implication, ip the an
nouncement of the subject; and your readers
are besought for their clemency. [
My recollection of the preachers of the
Holston Conference goes back spine forty
years; and I can now call up—vividly call up—
quite a number of round-breasted coats, broad
brimmed hats, white-flowing locks, &c., which
were the property, and I add, adornment of
holy and highly-gifted men of God, wpo, years
since, were gathered to th‘’r fathers, and,
since then, have rested with their; Savior.—
Of a number of these I propose to; speak in
my series, taking them as nearly inf their pr
der as I can.
Perhaps, I ought to saj', in entering upon
my work, that I do net intend to confine my
self to the traveling ministry of the Confer
ence. I honor the locality too highly, to a’
low me to do so.
SAMUEIi' WAT J ON.
Samuel Watson was a ,local preacher, but
he was only such in name, for he traveled very
extensively, over the hill country of;East Ten
ncssee, holding two days’ meetings, and attend- j
ingquarterly and campmeetings. Both preach !
ers and people, according to my recollection,
were more active, and could get farther from
home on errands of mercy, in the dajfs of which
I now speak, than they seem disposed to be or
do now-a-days. A proacher, in thosp days, was
such in fact, not inertly in name.
In calliug up things of my earliest recollec
tion, there comes up among them a man about
sixty years of age;, some five feet eight inches
bight; hair of a black color, interspersed with
frosted locks, and rather thin on the forehead;
frame well-proportioned, heavy set, ja little in
clined to corpulency; a large chest; a luscious
eye; broad face and forehead; a somewhat pro
truded, wide mouth; features rather coarse,
but evincing thought fulness .and intelligence.
I see him ascend the pulpit, in the church
where I first beard preaching. He'.bows be
fore his Maker. In deep earnestness he
pleads with the preacher's only sufficient Aid.
Now he reads his Bible lesson,—aye, he reads
it like every minister should do,—iin a manner
that makes his audience feel that God speaks
in his word of truth. The hymn isigiven out.
The audience sing—not one in ten lor twenty.
What music! No marvel, that Methodists
were called singers in those days. The pray
er is offered; and such a prayer it is;—-Heaven
seems to bend, and lift up the .audience from
its rnin. The text is announced, j All is done
in a manner that impresses the whole1 congre
gation with the belief that no ordinary man is
about to preach. The passage selected is,
“We are right well able to go up and possess
the goodly land;” or, “They that Sow in tears,
shall reap in joy;” or, “He that goeth forth,
and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall
doubtless come again with rejoicing bringing
his sheaves with him;” or one moire awful.—
“The great day of his wrath is cofnef and who
shall be able to stand?” He sets out on the
proper key*; but every word is heard distinct
ly. He rises, as he proceeds; his;soul enters
with his strong intellect into the subject.—
There are no smoothly rounded periods; no
aim is made to force Bhetoric to do what none
but God can perform; ingrammatkisms are not
wholly Wanting, but they are few, and such
as are hardly noticed in the midst of his soul
stirring sentences, which “move, and live, and
liave their being” in the Holy Ghost. His
voice is trumpet-like,—not sweet and smooth;
but, still, there is eloquence—the eloquence of
truth and heaven-inspired pathos,4~it is such
eloquence as accompanies the successive peals
of thunder, as the lightning leaps from cloud
to cloud, and the “Storm King's” voice is
heard, warning all.who are exposed to seek
for shelter. On either of the ; first texts,
named above, he encourages God’s people,
and especially His ministers. The land of
promise is spread out before you. It is gra
phically described, with its flowing1 streams of
milk and honey. The road thither is plainly
shown, as marked out in the Chart of Chris
Y 1 v
tianity. 'fjfie enemies between the traveler to
Canaan and the opening gates of Zion are not
kept hidden, nor are they represented as being
few and feeble,—far otherwise they are por
trayed as giants. But, just as the faint-heart
ed are getting ready to retreat, the God.of bat
tles is sfeo^TD^:t^|lking in the greatn^s of
Ills strength';* the blazing pillar of fire is
seen amidst the darkness; or the guiding cloudy
throwing its shadowy wing over Israel’s hosts:
the command is given, in God’s name, to move
forward, and enter the promised land; and,
ever and anon,one is seen tostep into the posses
sion of his reward.
Or the scediuan is seen, it may be, sowing
his seed under many discouragements, while
tears, like rain-drops, water the precious de
posit. Soon the waving harvest is shown, as
it bends to the sickle; and the man who
went out in the mourner’s garb is seen “re
turning,” “bearing his sheaves with him.”
If the last text named be the subject, the
day of judgment is brought right before the
audience. We not only see the final close
of time, but also a living universe, in conster
nation assembled, and, as the preacher culls
out the sinners—unable to stand,—you fear
none will pass the ordeal. Sinners shriek^
saints even look sad, till ho, at the close,
throws the promises, as food, to the faithful.—
Such was Samuel Watson. He sleeps in East
Tennessee. Peace to his dust.
TRAVELER.
lhe Marriage of the First Bern.
The hell.founded. Adieus were has
tily exchanged and loving kisses imprin
ted on rosy lips, and still fonder parting
words trembled on other tongues, which
must not, could not he spoken, and she
was left, the bride of an hour, to be hur
ried—whither?
The gay party of attendants were driv
en through the crowded streets, tho la
dies escorted to their homes by their
gallant cavaliers, and they in tum con
ducted to their respective place of busi
ness, each wondering, and perhaps wish
ing that the next to be united bv Hy
men’s silken tie may be himself and the
fair being who so lately leaned blushing
ly on his supporting arm. Happy they
who in the act ot plighting behold only
the reflection of their own joys, and hear
only the echo of their golden marriage
bells!
Turn we now from the careless specta
tor who, in offering his congratulations,
forgets the parties, and returns to his
home and accustomed duties, to contem
plate another home from which the light
has departed, in the marriage of the first
born. How desolate uow appears the old
homestead as the family returns from the
nuptials to wander through the halls and
chambers where her footfall once re-,
sounded! and how silent as contrasted
witlr the hurry of preparation which pre
ceded the bridal! Then there were
smiles and tender words, and swift feet,
and ready hands, .to do the bidding of
the bride elect. How each vies with the
other in those delicate attentions, inten
sified by the thought that soon the ser
vices it is his privilege to render, will no
longer be required at his hands ! that
she who lias grown up in their midst,
will soon leave them, to gladden the
heart of another ! Now, what has been
but an anticipation, has become a reali
ty, and the silence which seals the lips,
and the sadness which sits on the faces,
and lowers still more heavily in the
chambers of (he soul, testifies to the
men auu me nvw.
The marriage of the first born! How
the mother’s heart swells with emotion,
as she realizes, as only a mother can, the
recently assumed responsibilities of her
chihl. She knows what it is to go from
the paternal protection to the sheltering
wings of another, and can we wonder she
.has misgivings as to her darling's future?
that fears lest the clouds of adversity
should obscure, should mingle with her
hopes, that the sunshine of prosperity
may ever illume her pathway through
life? she feels the import of the words
“in sickness and in health,” and has
been taught by experience how much
the bitter and the sweet- commingle in
the life portion. Can we censure her
that he: eyes are surcharged with tears
and her heart burned with sorrow?
The father returns to his noonday
meal and misses the kindly voice which
was woDt to greet him. At the table,
the vacant seat speaks eloquently in praise
of the absent, and the manly heart can
scarce repress a sigh as he remembers
that his home is her’s no more.
How oft do the words, “till death do
us part,” floated carelessly on the sister’s
ears in season of festivity and rejoicing,
awakening no emotion in their bosoms.
Nowit brings a strain of reflection which
unseals tbe fountain of
pent up feelings so long
t ortft4fpa88ionft t e sobs.
reeaU^tlie hc*uis ot chili
lov&iSsprppBnicmbtn, l
smile, and lightens the burden of The
other by a cheering word. They realize,
as they could not before, “the wealth and
worth' of that love she has pledged, and
the stability of that truth she lias plight
ed to the husband of her youth, “till
death do us part,” and with the solemn
words, a prayer is wafted heavenward,
that when the hour of separation does
come, apd the toils of life are ended,
they may be accounted worthy to enter
upon “tie rest that remains,’ and lie re
united,
“W^crc marriage vows are i ever spoken,”
to part no more, no more forever!
There's an unwonted tenderness in
the ton^s of the little brothers ns they
speak ol their “sister,” Their cadences
are soft and low, as if it were a profana
tion to litter that lelovrd name in a
scarce audible voice. They miss her
caresses and sisterly offices as they return
home from school or from their Btreet
sports, and their mirth is chastened by
the thoight that they hear no more her
words otWelcome.
Yes, !ih spite of all cur effort's, the
shadow! will creep around our hearts
and the darkness will gather over our
borne, although we-know our' loved one
is basking'in the radiapee of an affection
purer and holier lhan parents, “sisters or
brothers can bestow. Nature has doned
her mo$t gorgeous robes in honor of the
bridal, but over the enchanted circle of
heme breeds “the spirit of heaviness.”—
The sun is pouring his beams over the
earth, but they linger not on the dar
kened threshold. The voice of music is
eloquent without", l>ut jours are tuneless,
and there is no heart response to the
echoes that they awake. Oh! there is a
sadness in the marriage cf the first born.
But there is joy also in the marriage
of the first borr. Imagination portrays
anothej house in which she is the presi
ding genius—another chamber to be
lighted by the sunshine of her presence
—another manly heart to be encour
aged and strengthened for the battle of
life by her loving sympathy. And oh !
is there not joy unspeakable in this, that
all through the vicissitudes of life, a
warm, noble heart has pledged to her
protection the ajgb of ljis luve?
Keeping the Teeth Clean— Microsco
pical examinations, says the Scientific
American, have been made of the mat
ter deposited on the teeth and gum's of
more than forty individuals from all classes
of society, in every variety of bodily con
dition, and in nearly every instance ani
mal and vegelable parasites have been
found. In fact, the only persons whose
mouths were found to be completely free
of them, cleansed their teeth tour times
daily, using soap. One or two of these
individuals also passed a thread between
the teeth to cleanse them more effectu
ally. In all cases the number of para
sites was greater in proportion to the
neglect of cleanliness. The effect of the
application of various agents was also
noticed. Tobaccojuice and smoke did
not injure their vitality in the least.—
Xhe same was true of the chlorine tooth
wash, of pulverized bark, of soda, am
monia, and various other popular deter
gents. The application of soap, howevfer,
appears to destroy them instantly. We
may hence infer that this is the best and
most specific remedy for teeth. In all
cases the number of parasites was greater
in proportion to the neglect, of cleanli
ness. It may be proper toadd that none
but the purest white Castile soap should
be used.
Not at Leisure.—I have read of one that
presented Antipator, King of Macedou, with a
book that treated of happiness; he refused it,
saying, “I ana not at leisure.” Many have the
book by them—yea, presented to them by
Christ—that treats of everlasting happiness,
but they slight the present; “I am not at
leisure,’ say they. They have opportunity of
hearing the Word opened on week days, as
well as Sabbath days, but they are not at lei
sure. They have motgis of knowledge for
hearing the same Word, put they are not at
leisure. They take leisure to their own work,
their worldly work—yea; for idle conversa
tion ; but they have no leisure for God’s work,
—their bouI’s work, eternal work! Reader,
have you leisure to be saved? or are you will
ing to continue in the bustle of the World,
neglect saltation, and bo damned ?—Ralph
Ershne. ! j
CLEAXIXG THE UPS.
No feature in the face of a child i8
lovelier than the lips, with rows of peat*
Jy teeth playing hide and seek behind
thei
vain, say what is coarse and impure,
forgetting that this, also, is sin.
We knew a dear old lady who many
years ago taught a little private school
in a New-England town. Her heart was
pure, and therefore her words were sweet.
She loved the blessed Saviour, and cared
most tenderly for the lambs of his fold.
She seemed to live iu the little children’s
world^rejoicing and suffering with them.
She hud always something pleasant to
say, and a flower or kiss to give; so that
the scholars loved the school house next
best to “mother’s room” at home.
They never had to be sent to school,
But ran oil cheerfully before nine o’clock
that they might speak to her before the'
little bell rang. She believed what Sol
omon said about the “rod of correction;”
but, in some way, she got along with
out using it very often. Once her heart
was deeply wounded by hearing that a
little fellow had spoken unclean words
when out at play. When forced to pun
ish very little ones, she used to take
them oh her lap; but as Master Charlie
was nine years old, she called him to
stand before her. Taking both his hands
between her own, and looking into his
blue eyes she tsltd, “Have you been
using wicked words to-day, mv dear?”
“I didn’t siccarwhimpered Char
lie, ' 5
“Are you willing to go home, and re
peat all you have said in your mother’s
presence?”
Charlie hung his head and colored
deeply, and whispered, “No ma'am, be
cause it would grieve her.”
. “And have yon forgotten my dear boy
that one who is far holier than she, has
heard in heaven- the naughty words
which came from those little lips to-day?
I am afraid there is something unclean
in your heart; but, as I cannot reach
lhat myself, I will abk Jesus to do. it; I
can reach your lips; and as I’m sure
they are not fit to give your mother the
good night kiss, nor to say your prayers
I will cleanse them for you. She then
took from her desk a bowl of water, a
tiny hit of soap, ar.d a small sponge,
and, bidding Charlie open his mouth,
she washed it well—teeth, tongue, lips
and all! She then wiped them dry with
a soft napkin, and bathed his tear stain
ed face, on which she pressed the kiss of
forgiveness. This simple punishment
and the real sorrow of her who inflicted
itj made a deeper impression on the
minds of -her scholars. . Charlie is now
almost a man but never, since that day,
has an impure word escaped his lips.
At the very thought of such a word, he
fancies that he tfisies soap; and that lie
hears again the gentle rebuke of his first
teacher.
Children “Fashionably” Dressed.—
The absurd fashion af exposing children
of tender yeais to the keen out-door air
with but half the necessary protection
which their little arms and legs require,
is still so prevalent as to require a word
of comment. It is true, fond mother,
that your chubby three-j’ear old boy is
finely modelled as the Cupid of Canova
is, but the pleasure yon darivc in know
ing that other people admire the grace
fur round ness of those limbs will never
compensate you for the anguish and
watchings which yon will experience
when he is attacked with croup or the
terrific scarlet fever. Strong ipen find it
impossible to spend half their time in
the heated houses of civilized society, and
then go out of doors with thinly .clad ex
tremities without catching allthecrampr
that flesh is heir to. No one but a high
landed used to the sky for a canopy and
the heather for a bed, can go barelegged
with impunity in northern {attitudes and
changeful Bpring and fall seasons. Yet
we daily see little boys and girls dressed
in the shortest ofclothes, with bare knees
and arms reddened and chapped by the
cold. Hundreds of innocents die j’early
from this very cause*alone.
A Sad Tale.—A. five dollar note came
into the possession of a citizen of Wash
ington, on Monday, with the following
endorsement:—“This is the last of $20,
000 spent in gambling in the fashiona
ble bells" of Washington. Yonng men
into whose hands this may fall, beware
of dissipation, drunker ness, and i gamb
ling.” \
ANCIENT RCINS IN THE UNITED STATES.
A new stimulus is likefy to be given
to American archaeology by a discovery
recently made some ninety miles north
east of Fort Stanton, a long account of
‘ “ appeared in the;Fdrt
cent halls, slopes gradually eas
wards the river Pescos, and is very fer
tile, crossed by a gurgling stream of the
purest water, that cot only sustains ft
rich vegetation, but perhaps furnished
with this necessary clement the thou
sands who onco inhabited this present
wilderness. The city was probably built
by a warlike race, as it is quadrangular
and arranged with skill to afford (lie
highest buildings on the outer line being
pierced with loop holes, as though calcu
lated for the use of weapons.
Several of the buildings are of vast
size, and built of massive blocks of dark
granite rock, which could only have
been wrought to their present condition
by a vast amount of labor. There are
the ruins of three noble edifices, each
presenting a front of three hundred feet
made of ponderous blocks of stone; and
the dilapidated walls; are even now thir
ty-five feet high. Tjiere are no parti
tions in the apex of the middle (suppos
ed) temple, so that room must have
been vast; and there are also carvings in
bas-relief and fresco work. Appearances
justify the conclusion that these silent
ruins could once boast of halls as gor
geously decorated by the artist,s hand
as those of Thebes and Palmyra.
The buildings are all loop-holed in
each side, much resembling that found
iu the old feudal castles of Europe, de
signed for Che use of archers. The
blocks Qf which these edifices are com
posed are cemented together by a spe
cies of mortar of a bituminous charac
ter, which has such tenacity that vest
masses of wall have fallen down with
out the block#- beisg detached by the
shock. We hope ere long to be favored
with full and descriptive particulars,
as it is probable that vitits> and examin
ations will be made turn ngst such inter
esting relics of the unknown past, by
some of the United States officers at
tached to the nearest fort;
A Gay Lothario.—John iVerson, was
recently arrested and imprisoned tit the
South, for aggravated polygamy; He had
thirteen wives. The daughter of the
jailor whose hospitality this insatiable
polygamist wras enjoying while awaiting
trial believed him innocent, pitied him,
opened the prison doors, fled With him,
and became his fourteenth Wife: After
eight days of dtmeBtic bliss the husband
disappeared, and left neither trace tfor
money bihind. A reward Was offered
for his capture; a description of his fas*
cinatipg person was circulated; he Was
recognized in a village tavern by a man
who thought of the reward offered, and
set about preparing bis toils for the Vic*
tim. '
In order to instil confidence into his
breast, he made his acquaintance* invi*
ted him to his mansion, and then went
(ff to procure legal assistance. When
he returned, his home was deserted alike
by his intended prey.and his own wife,
whom Iverson, had led astray. A wretch
ed man suggests that a proper-, though a
terribly severe punishment Wotild Ire to
compel this polygamist to live With his
fifteen wives at once.
An Unexampled Railroad Feat.—Mr.
Haughlin, foreman of the machine Shops
of the Michigan Central Railroad, ac*
complished a feat at Michigan city with
the trkin carrying delegates to the Chi
cago Convention, which is Well deserving
of mention.. At Michigah fiity it is ne
cessary to change engihes, and in order
not to lose time the train was run up*
Hr track at fifteen miles an hour, the
engine then being uncoupled and run at *
a faster speed on to a siding, the switch
was replaced in time, and the cars dash
ed along up the main lino to the engine
waiting to take it to Chicago. Moving
at nearly the same speed as the cars, it
was coupled to the tra|n, and plunged,1
along with its load. Uncoupling and
switching a locomotive, and coupling on
another at fifteen miles an hour, is cer
tainly a very remarkable engineering ac
complishment,
“Have you any traveling inkstands?"
asked a lady of a young stationer. “No
Ma'am, we have them with feet and legs,
but they are not old enough to travel
yet.”
Do good with what thou hast, or it
will do thee no good.