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' IrfCfli 1 - W-1 - ' } 'F t" "r 1t K57 VOL. III. .SUMTE-ItVI"L'L ."S. Co SEPTEIIIBE 19, 18 The Sumter Banner: UJBLISHlED MiVERY WEDNBsAY MORNING, BY WILL LAM J. FRANCIS. T E R M S: Two Dollars in advance, Two Dollars and Fifty-cents at the ex iration of six nonths, or Three Dollars at the end of the year. No paper discontinued until all arrearnges are paid, unless at the option of the Proprietor UrAdvertisements inserted at 75 ets. per square, (14 lines or less,) for the first and half that sum for each subsequent insertion OTThe number of insertions to be marked on all Advertisements or they will be publish ed until ordered to be discontinued, and charged accordingly. OTOne Dollar per square for a single in sertion. Quarterly and Monthly Advertise inonts will be charged the same as a single neertion, and semni-nonthly the same as new ones. All Obituary Notices exceeding six lines, and Communications recommending Cam dates for public offices or trust-or pulling Exhibitions, will be charged as Advertise ments. -TAll letters by mail must be paid to in sure punctual attendance. $&%0 14(.CI11.0. TIIE SIEGE. BY DOUGLASS JELfoTD. 'Tliis morning, Reinhold Dort, the money changer, was found dead in his bed.' 'Yesterday, Helena Ifecht, the fair young wife of Peter Iecht, the cloth ier, in the market-place, was taken from him.' 'Old Abraham, the apothecary at the Elephants, is gone too.' 'And the pretty babe of Martha Gratz.' 'And the burgomaster's page.' 'And Gottfried, the blind buggar, at the western gate.' 'Shame! shame!' cried twenty voices in according chorus, and some frowned their discontent, and some idly shook their clenched hands above their heads. 'Ye are bold citizens, to cry thus out on death, and death's works,' said a young man, who leaning against a door, listened with thoughtful face to the trag. ib gossip of the talkers. 'Death's works!' exclaimed one of the knot; anarry, yes-death and the governor.' 'And the governor? A money-rin ger of three-score and odd sleeps in death; a young wife defies the doctors; the man of rhubarb finds all physic vain; a baby dies teething; a beggar of eigh ty needs at last a grave ; and all these deeds,' cried the young mai, with a contemptuous laugh, 'ye lay upon the governor.' And On none but him,' replied one of the crowd; and a shout from his fel lows approved his answer. 'On none but him. There is no hope of relief for the city.' 'IIow do you know that?' calmly ask ed the youth. 'I-I have no hope,' said the man, doggedly. 'Happily, Simon IIolzkopf, though, as I believe, the quickest tailor of your quarter, the safety of the city rests not upon you. It may be saved, though you have lost all hope.' .And are we to behold our wires andl children fall down (lead before our fa ces!' cried Simon: 'hear ye that, my masters? we are to starve, and starve in silence, %d 'The governor, I doubt not,' cried another of the crowd, 'finds paltienice in his larde1.' 'I saw him yesterday,' said a third, 'and it made my-blood boil to see how sleek and fat he looked. IHa, Simon ! I wish that you and I and every lhon .est burgher among us, had no more than a lark for every capon swallowed by his governor-ship since the siege only one mouthful of sour wine for eve ry quart that ho has taken of the best Rhenish.' 'Ay, ay,' cried the tailor, andi he clutched his jerkin, 'our clothes would hano with bettor credit to tho makers, -oh, fvaster Caspar? for I think I have seen the day when your feathers have been finer, ay, and have shono upon plumper limbs. That's haroly the log of Martinmas last,' and Simon I Iolzopf glanced askant at the attenuated figure of the young man, who had braved the displeasure of his fellow-townsmen by advocating the policy of the determined governor. 'Never hoed the leg, Simon,' said Caspar-, airily, 'it may dwindle to a rush, still my heart shall rnot be too. heavy for it.' 'And is there no hope of a capitula tion? will the governor not relent?' ask-f ed more than one of the mob. 'Another week,:>only another week ...'tis ad unlie nm proa~u tokt.i - emy out. If, by that time, no succour comes ' 'It matters not,' cried an old man, 'what banner floats upon our* walls, since death, death will be at all our hearths.' 'Men!' exclamed Simon IIolzof,'shall we endure this? Shall we drop into our graves whilst the pampered govern or ' 'Down with the tyrant!' shouted the mob, and Sinom, animated by the cry, proceeded in his oration. 'Whilst the pampered governor feasts upon the best? What cares lie for our shrieking babes, our weeping wives? he, gorged with the -fat of the earth, drunk with the wine of-' 'Peace, fool! cried Caspar, and, at his indignant voice, the eloquent tailor stood suddenly silent with open mouth; 'peace-this is no hour to babble false hood, foolish at any time, most base and wicked at a time like this. We have all suflered-all must suffer; not one throughout the city but has felt the fierceness of the war. In every place has hunger had its victims.' 'The nuns of St. Ursula have eaten their grey parrot,' exclaimed Hans' Potts, an idle wag, known to many of the mob; and, while some laughed at the sally, some condemned it, and call ed out for Caspar to proceed. 'Not one among us,' cried the young man, 'hath fhred more hardly than the governor. You-you, Simon Holzkopf, who know every diah upon the govern or's table, every flask of wine in the governor's cellar, tell me the dainty that he fed on yesterday. You cannot guess--no; it is too rich, too costly, for your simple apprehension-you cannot dream of such a rarity ! Fellow towns men!' and young Caspar turned for a moment from the abashed Simon to the still increasing crowd, 'you remem ber the holiday at Easter last? The governor rode through our city, and Ieasted with the merchants at their ball. The horse lie sat, a king might have backed-a beautiful, a glorious thing a creature that scarcely touched the earth-an animal of perfect frame and blood. You all remember how your eves were fixed upon it, and the brute, as conscious of its beauty, pranced to your shouts. Yesterday the governor dined off that horse; with the meanest of his men he drew lots for a choice 'norsel of that noble steed.' 'A burgomaster's wife,' cried Hans Potts, 'has made a roast of her monkey. Hard times, my masters, when the siege sends our best friends to the spit.' 'Silence, hound!' exc-aimed all old man;' is this a hour to fling about your sorry jests, when those we love are dropping dead around us? Peace, mummer! Speak you truly, Caspar, is the garrison so straitened?' '(o you to the walls, ask not of me,' replied the youth; 'go and behold the sight I've quitted; if that convince ye not, hang up the governor, and call in the toe.' 'What sight? what sight?' roared the 'Famine feeding on a thousand men. hurly soldiers shrunk almost to skele tons; their flashing, hopeful eyes deep set, and flickering with a horrid glare; their manly checks pinched in with want; their hearty', jocund voices sunk to a hoarse whisper; their gallant bear ig changed to slow decrepitude; their looks of victory to the blank stare of Cominlg dheath.' '1 lorible!' horrible.! down with the governior!' eclaimed the crowd. 'They suffer this, but suffer' nobly,' ered Casp~ar; 'not a murmur, not a look of treason to the stern will of him who rules them. Martys to the glory of their arims, the stand resolved -come what will, they have sworn with the governor to hold the citadel another week.' 'Glory! a pretty~word, i'faith. Shall wve dry our wives' eyes with it? will it fil our children's bellies?' cried onc of the crowdl. 'I trow thme've something mnre tooth. some than glory for supper,' said a sec ondl;'or does the governor's lady and lusq delicate danghter feed off the insi pidh disheS? If~ so, 'twill spoil their pretty looks.' A derisive shout follow edl this remark, and again the crowd called for vengennce on the governor. "Let's to the citadel!P eriedl fifty voics, anid 'To the citadel!' hallooed the mob. With the words, the crowd rush edl oinwards, but soon halted in their course. .Nany paused, as they avowed to re cons ideri their determination; the grea ter part slunk home; and whent, at length, the discontented1 townsmen hmal at the outer gate, few were to be seen save the half-dozen imniediato partizans and ad mirers of Simon Holzkopf and Hans Potts. Whether they demanded in stant audience of the governor, at the time surrounded by his family, gazing wistfully from the walls for expeeted succor, or whether,. Contented with his stern answer just-rendered to the civic authorities then in the garrison, they hold their peace, the archives of the city give no note, Quitting the .dis contented, self-dubbed deputies, lot us return to the hero of our story, Caspar Brandt. 'And the good widow, Caspar? ask ed the old man who had rebuked the wit of Hans Potts, and who, on the flight of the crowd, walked slowly to wards the market place with the youth. 'These are sorry times for neccessities like her's; how fares she?' Caspar answered riot; strove, with manly strength, to suppress the emo tion; but a deep groan burst from his lips: he paused, and quivered like a struck reed. 'Caspar-Caspar Brandt!' cried the old man, and caught the youth in his arms. 'Blessed Virgin! what ails the boy?' 'Nothing-nothing; a sudden faint ness, nothing more; and Caspar, with a sickly smile,, pressed the old man's hand. 'By all the saints! your hand burns like heated stone. Come-come to my house; I have yet a cup of wine, that for the love of old times, for the grate ful thoughts I bear your mother, kind in the days of misery and death to me, and mine, shall be spared you. Tell me, how fares the widow?' 'Sick, Master Martin, sick almost to death,, answered Caspar. 'For two months she has kept her chamber-for two months has been almost helpless. Still her state brings this poor comfort with it: she knows not the extreme mis ery of the town-knows not the bitter suffering of her friends and neighbors.' 'And her wants, Caspar? Alas!' tried the old man, 'affliction has made me selfish-steeled my heart to old acquain tance, else I had sought you long since. Now, Heaven help mc! I can do no thing. ier wants-how are they sup plied?' 'She needs but little of the simplest kind, and that--Heaven be thanked! I have obtained, may still obtain for her. She will die--she cannot -wrestle with the sickness that consumes her; she will lie!' repeated the young - man, in a hallow, hopeless voice, and big tears started from his eyes, 'but net- not with famine;' andas he spoke, the youth clenched his hand, and trod the earth with new strength. 'Nay, her years give everything to hope,' said Martin. 'At little more than seventeen--ah, me! it seems. but yesterday--she was your mother. And still she has kept her youthful face still, in looks, has seemed no other than your eldest sister.' 'Ay, Master Martin, ay. God par don me!' exclaimed the youth, and the tears pourcd anew dlown his chieeks, 'God paridon me, and make me humble! but now, now I cannot think of losing lher, and pray for meekness.' 'Hope, should be the young man's staff, as it is the old1 man's crutch,' said Martin. 'You will not lose lher, trust me-no; the p~resent troubles piast. all will become well again--in a half cup) of poor wino,' said Martin, lowering his voice as he passed a passenger, who paused a moment, and leered with the malice of keen want at the old man talk ing too loudly of a priceless luxury; 'let us, goodl Caspar, drink to hetter times. A half cup, boy, a poor half cup, and the old man sighed as lie paused at his threshold. Drnawing the key from his pocket, lie unlocked the door-, and led eway into a house, where once com otadheaped plenty gave a constant welcome. 'Sit dlown, CJaspar: your fa thmer has sat in that chair, when the roof quiaked with the laughter of fifty throats; when Fortune herself serve'd at the hearth, and seemed my ,hand maid. Well, well, the hearth is quench od nowv: the old, old faces, have passed like mor-ning shadows; the sweet, con stant voices, are heard but in my dreams; and I sit at my old fireside, a~n old, grey-headed, solitary man. But come, my hoy; the wine.' And Mar tin took a small flash from a shelf. 'What startts you?, asked the old man, seeing Caspar start. 'Your pardon, Master; is not that bread?' and Caspar pointed to a small loaf by the flask on the shelf. At the same moment a deep blush crmsoned the young man's facn. and heat as though detected in an act of shame. Martin took the loaf, and gazing' in Caspar's face, a tear stood in the man's eye, and his voice trembled as he spoke. 'It is so, lad? God help you! it is so?' 'Forgive me, pray forgive mc!' stam mered Caspar. 'I have another,' said Martin; 'your mother was the playmate of Margaret my own bright girl-tended her in, sickness and would, with the love of early girlhood, watch her in death; I tell you, boy, I have another,' cried the old man with vehemence! 'take it, and God in crease it to you!' 'Never! I am not that sordid, selfish wretch to rob old age,' cried Caspar, and he sought to reach the door. 'I tell you, boy, I have another,' ex claimed Martin; 'you hear? I have ano ther,' and he placed himself before the youth. 'Where is it?' asked Caspar; 'make yne see it; and so bitterly has the time wrung us, that, for her sake, I will, I must despoil you.' 'The loaf-'tis locked up-the key is in my chamber; I have wine-have feasted twice to ay,' said Martin; but Caspar mounful shook his head, and, hurriedly embracing the old man, at tempted to depart. 'You do not quit me thus,' cried Martin, holding the youth. 'Ileaven forgive me! 1 knew not that things had gone so hardly with you. Hear me; to-morrow I have a new supply-a friend, an old, old friend has promised me. If, bov,you would see your mother live, cast not away her life upon an idle form. Caspar Brandt, in the name of your dead father whose spirit at this moment lingers at this hearth, share this with your father's friend.' Saying this, old Martin forced the loaf,into Caspar's hand and broke it. 'Now, boy, get you home,' said Martin, seating himself; bear my good wishes to your mother, and leave me to my supper.' Again Caspar embraced the old man, and, swallowing a half cup of wine, for ced upon him by the hospitable host-for surely hospitality was in that broken bread, that meagre vintage and hastened from the house. Martin, for the first time, tasted food that day, but he sat not in solitude at his deserted fireside, for he ate his crust, and drank his hum ble draught, with the spirits of the dead gathered about his board; and the dry bread became manna, and the wine a draught for saints. Caspar hurried to a distant quarter of the city, where, at the commence ment of the siege, he had secured an asylum for his sick mother; where, day and night, he had watched her sinking health. The rent of three small houses { bequeathed to her by her itther, most frugally applied, had enabled the wid ow to support herself and child; but since the war had closed about the city, all trade had ceased, debts were no longer paid, social obligations no longer respec ted or acknowledged. It had been the chief care of Caspar to disguise from his mother the extent of the calamities that pressed around them; and though, dleceired lby his filial tenderness, she knew not half the misery that threaten ed themi-hmalf the horrnors raging in the city-she i-cad with a mother's eye the haggard story written in her soni's face; it was plain that he was sinking b eneathi the task of administering to her comfort and her repose, ie had, on the day on which cur story opens, been many hours from home; and the widow sat with a beating heart, and with a thou sand thoughts of undefined danger busy in her brain, watching the declining rays of a spring sun. Every sound .smoto her soul with dlisappointment, for it was not Ciaspar's footstep. Thus sheo sat, until ~speCnse beccame, a torture. uun til, she fil her chamber with hantLoms of terror, until she was surrounded by a host of iears. 'Caspar! Casp~ar!, she shrieked, and sprang from her chair- as the youth en tered the house. 'Mather!' exclaimed the boy, and in a moment he stood ini the chamber em bracing his parent. [To linE CoNTiNUED.] We once heared of a traveller at a hotel, who rose from his lhed at night to examine the weather, but ins tead of looking out at the sky, thurst his head through a glass window of a cupboard. Landlord, eried thme astonished man, this is very' singular wveather the night is as dark as Egypt, andermell oft ceee. Lord! said Mrs. Partington, 'what monstor-s them cotton planters must be. I'm told one of'em has as many as a hun drod hands.' From the Boston Evening Post. FREE PASSES FOR EDITORS, ON RAILROADS, ETC. The community were somewhat star tied, a few weeks since, by an announce ment made that editors were not allow ed to pass over a certain railroad free --and still more so, when some heroic gent-leman started up at that meeting and with courage exclaimed:-'Glad of it.' For our part we see no particular cause for rejoicing, and the gertleman who thus spoke must not look deeper in to the subject than we have as yet. Eli zur Wright at the time wrote a short article upon the system of free passes, and concluded by promising not only to iide over the rails and pay his fare, but to becume a stockholder, if the companies would pay a fair price for the hundreds of articles which directly or indirectly tend to improve railroad stock, and which editors insert daily and weekly, gratuitously. Let us look for a moment into this subject, and see how much newspapers have to to with the formation of railroads. A few men meet and talk over a route for a rail road. The resources of the country are looked at, the amount of travel is reck oned, and then the public pulse is touch ed through the medimn of the newspa par. The editor is called upon and be. comes interested in the plan, and he is employed, to portray the advantages which must accrue. Other editors copy the articles, the community is awakened, and then comes a cull for a public meet ing, and the newspaper again len d gratuitously its services to induce the people to be present. The work goes on! the new.spaper records its progress. The annual meeting is holden---a repor ter is dispatched, and the absent stock holders, ere twenty-four hours have elapsed. are posted up; and finally conies the opening, when two columns in the newspaper announce to the world that there is such a road in existence, refers to its prospects, alludes to the beauties of Nature which can be seen during a ride over the road, and estab lishes in the minds of the people a con fidence in the stock. What pecuniary reward is reeeived for this? An adver tisement at a low price is obtained, and the money received for this is paid out in recording the success of the road. This is what the newspaper does for railroads. What should be the reward of those who spend time and money in improving the stock of railroads? What does a free pass amount to? It costs the i ailroads no more to convey one hundred and one passenger than it does one hundred. Editors are not general ly migratory in their habits, but when an opportunity offers they sometimes avail themselves of it. An invitation is sent perhaps to an editor to pass over a road at his own convenience. A lei sure day presents itself, and away he flies over the road, noticing everything he sees, and giving a sketch of his trip in his paper which is read by thousands and thousands. Perhaps a few only may be induced to follow his example. They go and see, and these few speak of it to others, and so the ball is set in mot ion. What does the corporation lose? T1heire is a policy in fewv passes---there is economy in well directed liberality, and sonme roads have stud ied the s yste'mi and have been gainers, while others have pursued a narrow contracted courso and the result is seen. Look at the flourishing v'illages wvhiceh have sprung up on some of the roads, con trasting strongly with the deserted ham lets on other routes, wvhere hiigh lhres have not only driven people aw~ay, but kept others fromi settling, and where the meaniness of the president and~ directors has become prov'erbial along the route. F"or our part, we care little or noth ing about free passes, we are tiedl to the oar, and cannot avail ourselves of comi plimecntary and unsolicited invitations to ride on a rail, which have been kindly extended to us; but we do like to seo the Press treated with some little r~e. spect, and if any class in the comumuni ty doerve to travel without expense, in consideration of services rendered, it is that, whiceh belongs to the Press. We do iiot include in this list a set .of half fledged reporters, belonginig tot no par. ticular paper, representing no establish ed journal, who float round the country, living by their wits, andl their power of eloquence in persuading conductors and landlords that they are correspondents for some fourteen different papors-for thyare merely leeches, amd are enti tieu1 to no courtesy. Punch says he knows a man ~so fat that they greowaggon wheels vith his shadow, -AP'PINESS OF OLD AGE.-INor ar - advancing years marked always with unpleasing qualities. The eye that ir growing gradually dim, may yet beas " with the soft light of joy, as well as be como heavy with the tear of affliction..: Age often, displays gentle and holy af feetions, deep as the foundations of the soul, that. ditTuse benignant sunshine throughout the circle of their i' radiant, celestial hope sometimes eh , the declining path, and creates a de rY, lightful composure of tho heart, alto gether unlike "comfortless despair;" deserved honors crown a useful life, and attract veneration and love; for not al ways is transcendant merit, though re tiring from high stations in the. world, made the sport of "bitter scorn and grinning infamy." Manhood has mag nanmous virtues, as well as degrading vice; victories nobler than war's grand est triumphs, as well as tempestuous temptations; worthy, as well as ignoble ambition. What sight is more beauti ful, and it nay be seen, of friendship, whose corner-stone was laid by the band of youth, growing upward in majestic simplicity, as every year adds materials: to the enduring fabric, until at last the sunset of age gilds the structure with a grace like that of Paradise? Yes,it is true, that age may moot the smile of faithful regard, as welles the "altered eye of hard unkindness." "Amid se verest woe" a hopeful, quiet uncom plaining temper, alive to the keenness of sorrow, yet wearing the look of heaven- , ly patience, is sometimes seen, as well as well as "moody madness laughing wild." And, fina!ly,. age, though "slow consuming," often reaps the carn: est of immortal life, and ripens for thof skies. -Literaryi World. A IE L P To ENERGY.-To-day I found myself compelled to do something,which was very disagreeable to me, and which. I had long deferred; I was obliged to resor t to my 'grant expedient' in order to conquer my aversion. You will laugh when I tell you what this is; but I find it a powerful in one great things as well as small. The truth is1 there are few men who are not sometimes ca pricious, and yet oftener vacillating. Finding that I am no better than others in this respect, I invented a remedy of - my own, a sort of articificial rosolation respecting things which are difficult to perfor-m-a means of securing that firm ness in myself which I might otherwise want, and which man is generally ob liged to sustain by some external prop. Mly device, then, is this: I give my word of honor most solemnly to myself to do or to leave undone this or that. I of course am exceedingly cautious and discreet in the use of this expedient, and exercise great deliberation before I re solve upon it; but when once itis done, even if I afterwards think I have been precipate or mistaken, I hold it to be ir revocable, whatever inconveniences I foresee likely to result, and I feel great satisfaction and tranquility in being sub ject to such an immutable law. If I were capale~ of breaking it after -such wmature consider ation, I should lose all respeet for myvself;, and what man of senIse would not prefer death to such an alternative? Rmtruao.----Bright as the morning star. dr-ess-ed ini the radiance of the sun-beams, cometh tho seraph of immor-' She approachethi in nhite robes, her eye is fixed on the heavens, her knee is humbled in the dust, she giveth laws,t. the dlaught ers of women. She teacheth the way of virtue, her p~rceptsc nare simplieity and truth. I1er profession is pure and undefiled, her temple is not filled with priests. The duties shre enjoineth are plain and easy; she dcaleth not in the system of speculative and vain philosphy. She perplexeth not the mind with the - .~ hypothesis of scepticism, neither the cavillers nor the sophists are the teach- A ers of her precepts. .. A ttend to her counsel and abide by her instructions; so shall peacee~bktbo c-ompan ion of thy retleotions,andshappi ness the partner of thy contemplations. Ini the practice of piety there is sat. isfaiction on earth, anid its reward is on high, in the regions of bliss and immor tality.* 2 An Irishman riding to market with a. sneck of potatoes before him, discovered. that his horse was getting tired, where upon he (dismnounted, put the potatoes ' upon his own shoulder, aid again mount edl saying, that it wad'better that ho should carry thme paties, as he was.4~* fresher thyr. the poor basto.