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THE COLUMBI AN FOUNTAIN
= Pledged to the cause of Temperance. \ TRIWEEKLY. ( Containing Articles, original and selected, on e*erjr subject ( calculated to interest, instruct, and benefit its readers. VOLUME I. PUBLISHED BY THE COMMITTEE, EVERY TUESDAY, THURSDAY, AND SATURDAY MORN INQ. WASHINUTOJ?, D. C. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 11. 1843. THE COLUMBIAN FOUNTAIN, Three limes a week, on a super-royal slieel. It will be delivered to subscribers in the District, at two cents per number, payable weekly. To distant subscribers it will be mailed at Two Dollars and fifty cents per year, pay able in advance. TERMS Of ADVERTISING. One square of 14 lines, one insertion, 37 two insertions 60 three 75 two weeks 1 25 one month ] 50 two months 2 50 three " 3 00 six months 5 00 twelve " 7 50 Professional cards of five lines, or under, 3 00 per year. While the "Columbian Fountain" will be devoted to the cause of Temperance, its columns will be enriched by original articles on subjects calculated to interest, instruct, and benefit its lenders. It is intended so to bland vaiety, amusement, and instruction, as thai the various tastes of its patrons may I)h ^as far as ii is practicable) gratified. Commerce, Literature, and Science, and every other subject of interest, not inconsis tent with Temperance and morality, will re ceive the earnest attention of the publishers. Nothing of a sectarian, political, or personal character will be admitted. I POETRY, From the Boston Olive Branch. MY HOME. In the dear old ccttagc where I was born, That stood 'neath the wide spreading trec3, Where I passed the hours of life's young morn, Oh?there is no home for me. They have razed the foundation, firm and bold, Of the cottage that stood 'neath the trees And within its wa Is so loved, so old, Is no longer a home for me. t I loved the ancient architrave Of the cottage that stood 'neath the troes, I loved its clumsy cornices, Its rich old fashioned frieze. I loved the sun and the shaliness, Of the cottage that stood 'neath the ?rees, And the birds who, in glad happiness, There warbled their summer glees. I loved the dear ones that I found, In the cottage that stood 'neath the trees; I had brothers there and sisters kind, And happy and blithe were we. My dear old father there was born, In the cottage that stood 'neath the trees ; There he pass'd the hours of his sunny morn, And in prayer he there bent his knees. ? 'Twas there my gentle mother died, In the cottage that stood 'neath the trees, When the sunbeams paled at even tide She left us alone to grieve. I know there's :i%)ansion that ne'er decays Like the cottage that stood 'neath the trees, And there dwell a host in shining array, Who are wash'd from their sins, and are free. And tho' I have never a home again Like the cottage that stood 'neath the trees, I'll seek, and psay admittance to gain In heaven?there's room there for me. MISCELLANEOUS. THE RUINED FAMILY. BY T. S. ARTHUR. "How beautiful!" ejaculated Mary Gra ham, as she fixed her eyes intently on the western sky, rich with the many-coloured clouds of a brilliant sunset in June. "Beautiful indeed!" responded her sister Anna. "I could gaze on it for ever!" Ellen, a younger and more enthusiastic sister remar ked, with fervent admiration. "Look, Ma! was ever anything more gorgeous than thai ^purc white cloud, fringed with brilliant gold, and relieved by the translucent and spark ling sky beyond ?" " It is indeed very beautiful, Ellen," Mrs. Graham replied. But there was an abstrac tion in her manner, that indicated, too plain ly, that something weighed upon her mind. "You don't sq(in io enjoy a rich sunset a-5 much as you u?ed to do, Ma," Anna said, lbi she felt th? tone and manner in whit h hir mother ha.I expressed her admiration of the j scene. " )t on only think so, perhaps," Mrs. Gra-1 ham rejoihed, endeavouring to arouse her-! 8?lf, and to feel interested innhe brilliant ex- j hibition oi nature to Which her daughter had i alluded. k* The Pcenef is, Indeed, very beau-1 tiful, Anna, and reminds nie stongly of some j of Wordsworth's exquisite deamptions, eo full of power to awaken the heart's deepest and purest emotions, Yon all reinemboi this:? " 1 Calm is the evening a.r, anc". loth to iosc Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling I dews. Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none ; Look up a second time, and, one by one, You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, And wouder how they could elude the sight.' " " And this :? 4 " No sound is uttered,?but a deep And solemn harmony pervades The hollow vale from steep to steep, And pcneUutes the glades. Far distant images draw nigh, Called forth by wondrous potency Of beamy radiance, that imbues Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues! j In vision exquisitely clear, Herds range along the mountain-side j And glistening antlers are descried; , I And gilded flocks appear. Thine is the tranquil hour, .purpureal Eve. But long as god-like wish, or hope divine, Informs my spirit, ne'er can 1 believe That this magnificence is wholly thine! From worlds not quickened by the sun A portion of the gift is won.' " " How calm and elevating to the heart, like the hour he describes," Ellen said, in a musing tone, as she sat with her eyes fixed intently on the slow-fading glories of the many-col oured clouds. The inflmncn of th2 tranquil hour gradu ally subdued them into silence; and as the twilight began to fall, each sat in the enjoy ment of a pure and refined pleasure, conse quent upon a true appreciation of the beau tiful in nature, combined with highly culti vated tastes, and innocent and elevated thoughts. " There com2s Pa, I believe," Anna re marked, breaking the silence, as the hall door opened and then closed with a heavy jar; and the well-known sound of her father's foot-steps was heard along th3 passa?3 and on the stairs. None of her children observed the hush ed intensity with which Mrs. Graham listen ed, as their father ascended to the chamber. But they noticed that she became silent and more thoughtful than at first. In about ten minutes she arose and left the room. "Something seems to trouble Ma, of late," Ellen observed, as soon as their mother had retired. " So I have thought. She is certainly^ to all appearance, le3s cheerful," Ma-y replied. " What can be the cause of it ?" " I ha-dly think theiecan be any very se rious cause. Wi a*e none of us always in the same state of mind. 41 Bat 1 have noticed a change, in Ma, for some months past?and particularly in the last few weeks," Anna said. "She is not happy." " I remember, now, that I overheard her, about six weeks ago, talking to Alfred about something?the company he kept, I believe ?and that he seemed angry, and spoke to her, 1 thought, unkindly. Since that time she has not seemed so cheerful ;" Ellen said. " That may be the cause; but still I hard ly think that it is," Anna replied. "Al fred's principal associates are William Gray and Charles Williams ; and they belong to our first families. Pa, you know, is very in timate with both Mr. Gray and Mr. Wil liams." " It was to William Gray and Charles Williams, 1 believe, however, that Ma par ticularly objected. " Upon what ground ?" " Upon the ground of their habits, I think, she said." " Their habits ? What of their habits, I wonder ?" " I do not know, I am sure. I only re member having heard Ma object to them on that account." M That is strange!" was the remark of Anna. " I am sure that I have never seen anything out of the way, in either of them ; and, as to William Gray, I have always esteemed him very highly." " So have I," Mary said. " Both of them are intelligent, agreeable young men; and such, as it seems to me, are in every way fitted to be companions for our brother," But Mrs. Graham had seen more of the world than her daughters, and knew how to judge from appearances far better than they. Some recent circumstances, likewise, hud quickened her perceptions of danger, and made them doubly acute. In the two young men alluded to, now about the ages of eigh teen an:l twenty, sli2 hadboen pained to ob serve strong indications of a growing want of strict moral restraints, combined with a ten dency towards dissipation; and, what was I still more painful, an exhibition of like per- ; versions in lier only son, now on the ve.'go ol ; manhood.?that deeply responsible and dan- I gerous period, whe.i parental authority and i control subside in a degree, and the individ ual, inexpe.ienced yei s.lf-confident, assumes j ?he task of guiding himself. When Mrs. G/ahani left ihe room, she ; proceeded fclow lv up to the chamber into 1 which her husband had gone, where aU hud been silent sines his entrance. She found l..a, i lying upon the bed, and already in a sound s'leen. Th2 moment s!i? b2nt over him, she j perceived the truth to be tha' which her' trembling and sinking hearts j much dreadjd.; He was intoxicated ! Shrinking away from the bed-side, she re-1 tired to a far corner of the room, whe-c she j seated herself by a table, and burying her j face in herarms, gave'way to the most gloomy, heart-aching thoughts and f.^ling^. i sa 's brought he: no relief from these ; for some thing of hopelessness in her sorrow, gave no room for the blessing of tears. Mr. Graham was a merchant of high stand ing in Philadelphia, where, for many years, he had been engaged extensively in the East India trade. Six beautiful ships floated for years upon the ocean, returniug at regular intervals, freighted with the rich produce of the East, and tilling his coffers, until they overflowed, with accumulating wealth. But it was not wealth alone that gave to Mr. Graham the elevated social position that he held. His strong intelligence, and the high moral tone of Ids character, gave him an estimation far above what he derived from his great riches. In the education of his children, four in number, he had been gov erned by a wise regard to the effect which that education would have, upon them as members of society. lie early instilled into their minds a desire to be useful to others, and taught them the difference between an estimation of individuals, founded upon their wealth and position in society, and an esti mation derived from intrinsic excellence of character. The consequence of all this was, to make him beloved by his family purely and tenderly beloved, because there was added to the natural affection for one in his position, the power of a deep respect for his character and principles. At the time of his introduction to the reader, Mr. Graham was forty-five years old. Alfred, his oldest child, was twenty-one; Mary, nineteen; Ellen eighteen ?, and Anna just en tering her sixteenth year. Up to this time, or nearly to this time, a happier family cir cled ro hearth in the city. But now an evil wing was hovering over them, the shadow from which had already been perceived by the mother's heart, as it fell coldly and darkly upon it, causing it to shrink and tremble with gloomy apprehensions. From early manhood up, it had been the custom of Mr. G.aham to use wines and brandies as liberally as he desired, without the most remote suspi cion once crossing his mind that any danger to him could attend the indulgence. But to the eye of his wife, whose suspicions had of lats been aroused, and her perceptions ren dered, in consequence, doubly acute, it had beqome apparent that the habit was gaining a fatal predominance ovsr him. S.ie noted, with painful emotions, that aa eaeh evening returned, there we.e to her eye too evident indications that he had been indulging so freely in the use of liquors, as to have his m.nd greatly obscured. His disposition, too, was changing ; and he was becoming less cheerful in his family, and less interested in the pleasures and pursuits ot his children. Alfrfcd, whom he had, up to this time, regar ded with an earnest and carelul solicitudc, was now almost entirely left to his own guidance, ut an age, too, when he needed more than ever the direction of his father's matured experience. All these exhibitions of a charge so un looked for, and so terrible for a wife and mother to contemplate, might well depress the spirits of Mrs. Graham, and till her with deep and anxious solicitude. For sopie weeks previous to the evening on which our story opens, Mr. Graham had shown strong symptoms almost every day?symptoms ap parent, however, in the family, only to the eve of his wife?of drunkenness. Towards the close of each day, as the hour for his return from business drew near, her feelings woifld become oppressed under the fearful apprehension, that when he came home, it would be 111 a 3tate of intoxication. This she dreaded on many accounts. Particular ly was she anxious to conceal the lather s aberrations from his children. She could not bear the thought tiiat respect for one now so i deeply honoured by them, should be dimin ished in their bosoms. She felt, too keenly, the reproach that would rest upon his name, should the vice that was now entangling, obtain full possession of him, and entirely destroy his manly, rational freedom of ac j tion. Of consequence* to herself and chil dren, resulting from changed external cir I cumstances, she did not dream. Her bus hand's wealth was immense ; and, therefore, even if he should so far abandon himself as to have to relinquish business, there would be enough, and more than enough, to sustain them in any position in society they might choose to occupy. On the occasion to which we have already referred her heart was throbbing with suspense as the hour drew nigh for his return, when, sooner than she expected him, Mr. Graham opened the hall-door, and instead of entering the p.' rlour, as usual, proceeded at once to his chamber. The quick ear of his wife de tected something wrong in the sound of his footsteps?the cavse she knew too well., Oh, how deeply she fell, while she strove all in her power to seem unmoved while in the presence of her children ! Anxious to know the worst, she soon retired, as has been seen, from the parlours, and wen. up to the eham h above. Alus! how sadly were her worst fears realized! The loved and honoured pr-tner of many happv vears, the fither of her children, lay before h>r <1 umbering, heevily, in the ehep of intoxication. It seemed, fo." a lime, a > if sh ' could not bear up under tne trial. W ile seated, tar f.'om the bed-side,brooding in cad desponden* I cv over the evil that had fallen upon them I an evil of such a character that it had never been lea red?it seemed to her that she could not endure it. Her thoughts grew bewilder ed, and reason for a time seemed trembling. Then her mind settled into a gloomy calm ness that was even more terrible, for it had about it something approaching the hopeless ness of despair. Thought* of her children aroused her, as the gathering night darkened the chamber in which she Hat, and she endeavoured to rally herself, and to assume a calmness that she was far from feeling. A reason would have to be given for the father's non-appearance at the tea-table. That could easily ll'OTte.' Fatigue and a slight indisposition had caused him to lie down : and as he had fallen asleep, it was thought best not to awaken him. Such a tale was readily told, and as readily received. The hardest task was to school her feelings into submission, and so control the expression of her lace, and the tone oi her voice, as to cause none to suspect that there was anything wrdng. To do this fully, however, was impossible. Her manner was too evidently changed ; and her face wore too dreamy and sad an ex pression to deceive her daughters, who in quired, with much tenderness and solicitude, whether she was not well, or whether any thing troubled her. "1 am only a little indisposed," was hei evasive reply to her children's kind interro gatories. " Can't I do something for you ?" inquired Ellen, with an earnest affection in her manner. " No, dear," was her mother's brief re sponse; and then followed a silence, oppres sive to all, which remained unbroken until the tea things were removed. " Alfred is again away at tea-time," Mrs. Graham at length said, as theydll arose from the table. " He went out this afternoon with Charles Williams," Mary replied. " Did he ?" the mother rejoined quickly, and with something of displeasure in her tone. " Yes. Charles called for him in his bug gy about four o'clock, and they rode out together. I thought you knew it." kt No. I was lying down about that time/' " You do not seem to like Charbs Wil liams much." " ( certainly do not, Anna, as a compan ion for Alfred. He is too fond of pleasure and sporting, and 1 am very much afraid will lead your brother astray." " I never saw anything wrong about him, Ma." " Perhaps not. But I have learned to be a much closer observer in these matters than you, Alary. I have seen too many young men at Alfred's age led away, not to feel a deep and careful solicitude for him." As the subject seemed to give their mother pain, her daughters did not reply \ and then another, and still more troubled silence fol lowed. A chill being thrown thus over the feelings of all, the family separated at an early hour. But Mrs. Graham did not retire to bed. She could not, for she wus strangely uneasy about her son. It was about twelve o'clook when Alfred came in. His mother opened her door as he passed it, to speak to him?but her tongue refused to give utterance to the words that trembled upon it. He, too, was intoxi cated ! Brief were the hours given to sleep thai night, and troubled the slumber that locked her senses in forgetfulness. On the next morning, the trembling hand of her husband, as he lifted his cup to his lips, and the unre freshed and jaded appearance of her son, told but too plainly their abuse of nature's best energies. With her husband, Mrs. Graham could not brimf herself to speak upon the subject. But she felt that her duty as a mo ther was involved in regard to her son. and therefore she early took occasion to draw him aside, and remoustrate against the course of folly upon which he whs entering. " Y ou were out late last night, Allred, she said, in a mild tone. u I was in at twelve, Ma." " But that was too late, Alfred." " I don't know, Ma. Other young men are out as late, ami even later, evcrv night, the voung man said, in a respectful tone. " I rode out with Charles Williams in theat ternoon, and then went with him to a wine partv at night." , , "1 must tell you frankly, Alfred, that 1 like neither your companion in the afltrnoon, nor your company in the evening." " You certainly do not object to Charles Williams. He stands as high in society as 1 I do." " His family is one of respectability and standing. But his habits, 1 tear, Alfred, are i such as will, ere long, destroy ell his title i to respcctful estimation." | " Y ou judge harshly," the young man said, I coloring deeply. " I believe not, Alfred. And what is more. j 1 am convinced that you stand in imminent i danger from your association wnh him.1 ' "How r" v as the quick interrogatory. U Through him, for i isumqe, you' were in i duce.l to go to a wine party last night.'"' " Well ?" And there induced to drink too much." u Mother!" ? 1 saw vou when you came in, Alfred. J You were in a sad condition.'' For a few moments the young man look ed his mother in the face, while an expres sion of grief and mortification passed over his own. u It is true," he at length said, in a sub dued tone, u that I did drink to excess, last evening. But do not be alarmed on that ac count. I will be more guarded, in future. And let me now assure you, most earnestly, that I am in uo danger: that 1 am not fond of wine. 1 was led to drink too much, last evening, from being in a company where . wine was circulated as freely as water. I thought you looked troubled, this morning, $>Ht ?hd-not dream that it was on my account. Let me, then, urge you to banish from your mind all fears in regard to me" " 1 cannot banish such fears, my son, so long as I know that you have dangerous as sociates. No one is led oflj no one is cor rupted suddenly." " But 1 do not think that 1 have dangerous associates." " I am sure you have, Alfred. If they had not been such, you would not have been led astray, last night. Go not into the way of temptation. Shun the very beginnings of evil. Bemember Pope's warning declara , tion;? .i " ' Vice to he hated, needs but to be seen,' fitc," " Indeed, indeed, Ma, you are for too se . rious about this matter." " N o, my son, I cannot be!" " Well, perhaps not. But as I know the nature of my associations far better than you possibly can, you must pardon me for think ing that tl*y involve no danger. I have ar rived to years of discretion, and certainly think that I am, or at least ought to be, able to judge for myself." ~ j There was that in the words and tone of the young man, that made the mother feel conscious that it would be no use for her to urge the matter further, at that time. She merely replied? "For your mother's cake, Alfred, guard yourself more carefully, in future." It is wonderful, sometimes, how rapidly a downward courseis run. The barrier,agarvn which the waters have been driven for years, is rapidly washed away, so scon as even the smallest breach is made. A breach had been made in Mr. G.ahain's resolution to be only a sober drinker of intoxicating liquors, and the consequence was, that he had less pow er to resist the strong inclination to drink, that had become almost like a second nature to him. A few weeks only elapsed, before he came home so drunk as to expose him self in the street, and before his children and servants, in a most disgusting and degrading manner. Terrible indeed was the shock to his chil dren?especially to Mary, Ellen and Anna. His sudden death could not have been a more fearful affliction. Then, they would have sorrowed in filial respect and esteem, made sacred by an event that would embalm the ^emory of their father in the permanent re gard of a whole community; now, he siood degraded in their eyes ; and they felt that he was degraded in the eyes of all. In his pre sence they experienced restraint, and they . looked for his coining with a shrinking fear. . It was, indeed, an awful affliction?such as few can realize in imagination; and espe . cially for them, as they occupied a conspicu ous position in society, and were conscious t that all eyes were upon them, and that all | tongues would be busy with the story of their father^ degradation. It is wonderful, we have said, how rapidlv , a downward course is sometimes run. In the case of Mr. Graham, many circumstances combined to hasten his ruin. It was nearly a year after he had given away to the regular indulgence of drink, so far as to be kept al most constantly in a state of half-intoxica tion through the business hours of almost every day, that he received news of the loss of a vessel richly laden with teas from China. At the proper time he presented the requisite documents to his underwriters, and claimed the loss, amounting, on ship and cargo to one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. On account of alleged improper conduct on the part of the captain, united with informality in the papers, the underwriters refused to pay the loss. A suit at law was the consequence, in which the underwriters were sustained. An appeal was made, but the same result fol i lowed ?thiis sweeping away,at a single blow. J property to the amount of over one hundred i thousand dollars. During the progress of : the trial, Mr. Graham was much excited, and drank more freely than ever. When the re j suit was finally ascertained, he sank down | into a kind of mororse inactivity for some months, neglecting his large and important ' business,and indulging, during the time, more deeply than ever in his favorite potations, i It was in vain that his distressed family en | deavored to rouse him into activity. All their efforts were met by an irritability and a moroseness of temper, so unlike what he had been used to exhibit towards them, that they 2ave up all idea of influencing him in despair. [ To bt cmjinved] \ shrewd farmer in the Vermont legisla ; tare declined pnswenng the speech of a I member who was remarkable for ncrhinpbnt | his frothv nnd pugnacious impudence and self-conceit, thus: %k M-. S;>eake.-, I can't re I ply to that speech, for i: always wrenches m? ' terribly to kick a' no'.hing."