The Evansville daily journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ia. [i.e. Ind.]) 1848-1862, 1850-02-23

lay in the look, full of savage fre-ferocious,
murderous, 1t was in the reddish-yelow
eye-balls with arrowy, pupils, that seemed to
flash jets oflurid flames: in the thin sneering
lips with their everlasting icy smile. As to
the rest, he was tall, athletic, very power
full man. His train, dozen armed despera-
does, followed him.
Foeman spoke in voice, sharp, piercing,
as the point of dagger: Eth Brinson, where
is the new missionary? We want to give
him plumed coat n'
He has not yet arriverd, "replied the
planter.
"Wen, suppose we must wait for him
but put the barbecue on the boards, am hun
CRY as a starved wolf"
IL cannot till the missionary comes; the
barbecue is his property"
| A fearful light blazed in Foeman's eyes, as
he took three steps towards Brinson, and
fairly shouted, ''Fetch the meat instantly, or
! I'll fill your own stomach with dinner of
lead and steel ~
This was the uItimatum of one whose au-
thority was the only law, and the planter
obeyed without q murmur. The smoking
viands were arranged on the tables, by a
score of slaves. and the throng prepared to
commence the sumptuous meal, when voice
pealed from the pulpit, loud as the blast of
q trumpet in battle. "Stay, gentlemen and
ladies', till the giver of the barbecue asks
Gods blessing"
Every heart started, every eye was direct
ed to the speaker; and whisperless silence
ensued, for all alike were struck by his re-
markable appearance. He was almost a
giant in statue, though scarcely twenty years
of age: his hair dark as the ravens wing,
flowed down his immense shoulders in masses
riy
ever wreathed around the ieweled brow of a
queen by the labored achievements of human
art; his eyes, black as midnight, beamed like
stars over face pale as Parian marble, calm,
passionless, spiritual and wearing singular
lindetinable expression, such as might have
been shed by the light of dream from Par
adise, or the luminous shadow of an angels
wing. The heterogeneous crowd, hunters,
gamblers, homicides, gazed IN mute astonish-
ment.
The missionary prayed; but it sounded
like no other prayer ever addressed TO the
throne Of the Almighty. 1t contained no en-
comiums on the splendor Of the divine attrib
utes; no petitions in the tone of commands
no prisons for distant places, times, or objects;
and no implied instructions as to the admins
tration ofthe government of the universe
1t related exclusively to the present people
and the present hour; it was the cry Of ma
ked soul, and that soul a beggar for the bread
and the water of heavenly life.
He ceased, and not till then did become
conscious ofweeping. looked around through
my tears, and saw hundred faces wet as
with rain
FNow, my friends" SAID the missionary,
''partake of Code gifts Mt the table. and then
come sit down and listen to his Gospel"
1t would be impossible to describe the sweet
tone OF kindness in which these simple words
were uttered, that made him on the instant
five hundred friends. One heart, however, IN
the assembly. was maddened by the evidences
of the preachers wonderful power Col.
= Watt Foeman, excaime in a sneering voice:
mr. Paul Denton, your reverence has lied.
You promised us not only good barbecue.
but better liquor. Where is the liquor ?"
There!" answered the missionary, in
tones Of thunder and pointing his motionless
finger at the matchless Double Spring, gush-
ing up in two strong columns, with sound
like a shout Of Joy from the bosom of the
earth. "There!" he repeated with look
terrible as lightning while his enemy actu-
ally trembled on his feet; "there is the liquor,
which God, the Eternal, brews for all his
children!'
''Not in the simmering still, over smoky
fires, choked with poisonous gases, and sur
rounded with the stencil of sickening odors
and rank corruption, doth your Father in
heaven prepare the precious essence of life
the pure, cold water. But in the green glade
and grassy dell where the red deer wanders,
and the child loves to play there God himself
brews it and down, low down in the deepest
valleys, where the fountains murmur and the
rills sing; and high up on the tall mountain
tops where the naked granite glitters like gold
in the sun, where the storm-cloud broods, and
the thunderstones crash; and away far out
on the wide, wild sea, where the hurricane
bowls music, and big waves roar the chorus,
sweeping the march of God'-there He
brews it, that beverage, health-giving water.
And every where it is a thing of beauty
cleaning in the dew-drop; singing in the
summer rain; shining in the ice-gem, till the
trees all seem turned TO living jewels
spreading a golden veil over the setting sun,
or white gauze around the midnight moon
sporting in the cataract; sleeping Ia the gla- /
cier; dancing in the hail-shower; folding its
bright snow-curtains softly about the wintry
world ard weaving the many-colored iris,
that seraph's zone ofthe sky, whose harp is
the rain-drop of earth, whose roof is the sun
beam of heaven all checked DER with celes-
tial flowers, by the mystic hand of refraction.
Still always it is beautful-that blessed life
water! No poison bubbles on its brink its
4 foam brings not madness and murder; no
blood stains its liquid glass; pale widows and
I starving orphans weep not burning tears in
its clear depths; no drunkard's shrieking
ghost from the grave, curses it in words of
eternal despair Speak out, my friends