The Sumter banner. [volume] (Sumterville, S.C.) 1846-1855, 1849-04-18
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Ea My father, ourSworksi lis fat iguing to-.
l'daYs the spade rebouuds upon the parcht
ed earth; tie sun darts rays Of fire; the
dust raised by. the south wind blows in
whirlwinds over the plain. 43jsEs
My son, He who sends the burning
gales sends also bed dewing cloudle cts - 80.
10 each belong gs it's pain and its hope,
and after labor comes 5repose.4 81
My father do yous;see these poor
plants, how they langnish, and how
their yellowl leaves dreop down their ex-
Lhaustedt stalk! sst@i
They Will rise up again, my son; no
Ebladeof grass is forgotten; fruitful rains
and fresh dews are always. provided for
| it amidst the celestial treasures.
I My father, the birds are silent in the
foliage; the quail, immovable in the fur
row, does not even recall its companions.
1.-the heifer seeks the shade; and the OK,
with his limbs folded beneath his heavy
body, his neck stretched out, dilates his
large nostrils. in order to respire tho air
which he is in need of. 3.lt, s;.t
God, my son, will restore tho birds to
their voices, and the oxen their strength
exhausted by the extreme heat. The
breeze which will reanimate them al
ready glides over thesseay. 3 4 s;eS
Let us seat ourselves, my father, up
on the fern thatborders the pond, near
the old oak whose hanging branches SO
gently touch the surface Of the water.
How calm and transparent it is! How
gaily the fishes play there! Some pur-
sue their winged prey, poor gnats just
entered into being; others, raising their
heads, with their mouths half open, ap-
pear to be softly kissing the air.
He who has made oil things, my son,
has every where bestowed his inexhaus-
table gifts, life, and the Joy of life.-
Evil consists only in appearance, .'tis
a the dark side of love, the similitude Of
good, its shadow.
! And yet, my father, you suffer-
| What labour, what fatigue, you endure,
| in order to provide for our wants! Are
you not poor? Is not my mother poor?
4 1t is the sweat of your brow which has
given me food; have you ever for one
single day had the morrow provided
for! y 81 i.
| What signifies the morrow to us, my
son? The morrow belongs to God; let
us confide in Him. Whose rises in the
morning knows not whether he shall see
the evening. Why, then, trouble and
disquiet ones self about time which
will perhaps never arrive? We live.
here below like the swallow, seeking
from day to day the bread of each day,
and like her, when the winter approach
es, amysterious power draws US to mil
der climes. .-s-.---
What is this my father?: Tt resem-
bles corpse wrapped in its shroud, or
an infant rolled in swaddling clothes.
My son, it was crawling worm, it
will soon be living flower, an aerial
form, which, deckel in its brightest
colours, will rise towards heaven.
AUTHORSHIP Mr.. Macaulay's
"History" is out ofprint. Three thou.
sand copies-the number of the first
cdition-are already sold; and second
edition-it is said an Improved one-is
already in the press. The rumor runs
that the author has sold his two vol.
umes for ten years to the Mes ;rs. Long
man, for an annuity of G6UO for that
period. If poetry be down in market
value, history is, it seems, up. .'The
Row" and Albermarlc street would
now probably return paradise LOST
without looking atit-s SO that Simmons
10 was, after all, liberal sum for an
epic poem, when we contrast 1S4S with
1907. Hume made very little bv his
History but Smollett made & 900
in very short timc--and his work is
SAID to have sold to the then amazing
extent oil 10000 copies. It was time
thas history should have turn.
Mr.. Hallam's historical works have.
1t is true, sold we'll; but Carter strug.
gled hopelessly against want-and SIR
Harris Nicolas, whose whole life was
dedicated unremittingly to the illustra-
ton OF English history, had just passed
from amongst us in circumstances too
painful to describe. Our writers shoald
learn, however, (and there are exam
pies enough already to have taught
tbem) that the mere heaping together
CT facts, the dry display, as it we're, of
antiquarian diligence, has but slender
charms for the general reader. The
labors of Carte and Nicolas arc-like
the drawings of great mastcrs-of use
only to students. The multitude look