THE BANNER.
[ t
(WEEKLY.]
i |
Vol. III. Abbeville C. H., S. C. August 26, 1846. No. 26.i
I
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WHO IS TRULY GREAT.
No study can present to the mind
more pleasure than the study of man,
and the peculiar features which marlc
the leading propensities of his character,
and disposition. By contemplation, it is
easilv observed that there are certain
principles in human nature, which
teach, that every man is created with
various and dissimilar forms of desire,
which move to active and persevering
exertion. That some are moved to action
from pure and laudable principles
of philanthopy, while others are inflamed
by the jealous pride of power, and
dazzled by the vain glories of aspiring
demagogues. And that also the seeds
of true and real virtue, planted by nature,
early springing up, wields at pleasure
the evil propensities of the one, and
makes him look into his own heart, and
from himself learn not alone, the weakness
of human nature, but to bound and
set limi^ to its natural wants and era
vings. Whilst the inordinate love of
Jame fires the breast of the other, arouses
his slumbering energies, paralyzes
his nobler faculties, and prepares him
for the horrors and bloody scenes
of unholy strife, and to grasp with
a hand goary with the blood of in
nocency the wreath of transitory fame.
But how fleeting are its phantoms.
Like a star on the verge of the horuzon,
they dazzle in the gaze of the world for
a moment and then sink into the abyss
o! darkness, " nven the renowned ./Eneas,
the terror of the Greeks, and whose
magnanimity of soul drove him amid
the flaming towers of boasted Troy,"
bearing upon his back " his old father
Axciijses," was " made to wander even
an exile from the land he loved ; and is
only remembered in the songs" and fictions
"of Virgil." No conqueror has
ever yet shook the world by arms, or
made nations bow suppliant at his feet
who was not indeed doomed to go down
in the great vortex of revolution. His
fame is low and poor compared with the
magnanimity of virtue." " It vanishes
before the greatness of principle." The
martyr, the patriot, and the philanthropist.
u The unshrinking adherent to
despair, of deserted truth and religion,"
without a smiling compassionate friend,
to extend to him the bairn of consolation,
" nor variety of objects to draw his
thoughts from himself, with no cheering
voice to arouse and nourish energy,"' but
yields calmly to the most powerful scurgings
of fortune, and perhaps to the
most excruciating pain which one word
retracted would remove," is as far supe*
rior to the bloody conqueror, " as heaven
above is superior to all beneath."
God then, the maker of heaven and
earth, and all things else is alone truly
great. And he who aspires to greatness,
should with the rest of his conduct,
practice christian purity and holiness
That greatness is not true, which is
gained by the sword of an ambitious
and relentless unfeeling conqueror, or
by the artful intrigues of the aspiring
politician. But he is great, and truly
great too, whose generous heart exults
with proud delight, and swells at the
sametime, with gratitude and benevolence
to humanity, for the high distinction
to which he may have promoted
himself.
True greatness is not then, what the
WOrld has alwav* annnnsprl if to lip
J ? ?
But what is it? and in what does it consist?
Now it is a subject of peculiar
difficult determination. But why is it a
subject of difficult determination ? It is
so from the fact, that the principle errors
which exist concerning it, are real errors
of the heart. We mean not, that men
have more correct notions of greatness,
than of most other subjects, or that any
man is fully competent to tell precisely
what greatness is, but this much is cer
tain, that all are competent to tell what
it is not When Simonides was asked
by the king, who God was, although
not being able to answer the question,
after several days of deep and arduous
study, considered it certain, beyond a
doubt, that God was not a rock, or a
piece of wood. So also, no one can tell
what greatness really is, but every one,
is fully competent to decide, that it is not
the child of mad ambition. That it is
not the mad and bloody conqueror, although
he may have ' scrambled up to
thrones, and sat in vestures dripping
with o-nrn n?i<1 l?ic:
?>uuu una 11 jo owuiu ui|;|jt;u ill
blood ; written his name on lands and
cites desolate." He must pass away to
the grave, leaving behind no monuments
of greatness, but a name of pity, i
and a memory profaned and despised.
The conqueror must and will be forgotton.
His victories sung in artful songs
and commemorated by proud monuments
of art, and triumphs decked by ,
the rich trophies of vanquished nations,
can never nrocure that nrecious ffcm.
* J . . . O 7
which amid the changes and vicissitudes
of revolving ages, will endure and grow
even brighter and blighter.
But men who made ambition their
only God, and fame their greatest desire,
were looked upon by the ancients, as
truly virtuous, and truly great. Valor
was the geatest of their virtues. They ,
would, by the dictates of nature, which
is to judge men great, who are mos eminent
in virtue, look upon the conquerer
as the greatest of men. But their revenrrfi
nnri vsilinnf oro *./-?*?
^ - ? v-- ?<? ? V4VVUU V J won J
sidered, the greatness of crimes. The
freeness with which they expose themselves
to clanger, is nothing but despicable
madness. The chaste Lucretia,
was considered great in Rome, alone for
the rash defence which she made for her (
virtue, and for her honor. But suicide
is denounced, by both God and man, it
is despicable rashness.
Gentle forgiveness then, is the first ,
marks of nobleness of mind and true ,
greatness of character. Ancient histo- j
rians record ! mm trnlir nmnt
j nnuoc
career were marked by the darkness of
death and desolation. The proud usurper.
and ambitious destroyer of all human
happiness, were considered by the 1
ancients fully and justly entitled to that 1
high distinction, which in truth, but few
and very few, deserve. A. L.
Krshine College, S. C.
{To be continued.)
" I
Very Cool.?An apparently i
-1 - '
iiuowpiuoiiuaicu yoiun wcni into H I
refectory a few days since, and j
asked for something to appease
Iris hunger. The keeper gave 1
him a very good dinner, after '
which the youth said to him ;
" If you ever come up our way, !
call." '
" That won't pay. Your dinner ,
is a quarter."
" O, I hain't got no money; but (
if you'll come up to Alleghany ,
county, 1 11 give you a better din- i
ner for not hing." i
" Why," sai-1 the keeper, " you
are very cool." 1
" Why. yes, I'm a very cool chap,
SO much so that mother alvvavs
makes me si and in the pantry in !
hot weather to keep the meat !
from spoiling."
Love of Children.?Somebody
once said, beware of that man
who does not love children ; and
we have abundant proof that great
minds have always been delighted J
with the frolics of innocence.
The Duke of Wellington was re
markable tor his fondness of chil- ,
dren; and when the veteran i
Blucher beheld the children assem- j
bled at St, Paul's, the unconscious ,
tear trickled down the cheek of '
the hardy warrior. The great
Burke delighted to unbend his
mighty mind amid children's play,
and would lie his listless length
on the floor, whilst they jumped \
over him in laughing sport; and as
for the fairer portion of creation, j
Euripides hath long ago declared, j
they are " all fond of children."
From Hcadley's Napoleon & his Marshals
THE LAST DAYS OF MARSHAL
NEY.
At length a dark object was seen to
emerge from the distant wood, and soon
an army of 30,000 men deployed in the
field of Waterloo, and began to march
straight (or the scenes of conflict. Blucher
and his Prussians had come, but
no Grouchy, who had been left to keep
them in check, followed after. In a moment
Napoleon saw that he could not
Ciidun -L ?C /i
?u^u.u me iiuiuiv. 01 so many iresn
troops, if once allowed to forma j; action
with the allied forces, and so he determined
to stake his fate on one bold
cast, and endeavor >o pierce the allied
centre with a grand charge of the Old
Guard?and thus throwing himself between
the two armies, fight them separately.
For this purpose the Imperial
Guard was called up, which remained
inactive the whole day, and divided into
two immense columns, which were to
meet at the British centre. That under
Reille no sooner entered the fire than it
1 i:i? ?
uioupjiuuiuu mte misi. jl ne oincr was
placed under Ney, the " bravest of the
brave," and the order to advance given.
Napoleon accompanied them part way
down the slope, addressed them in his
fiery, impetuous manner. He told them
thai the battle rested with them, and
that he relitd on their valor. " Vive
t'Empereur'!" answered him with a
ohnnt tKot xvoo oil ^ J
.... ,.uo utaiu an uvi'l lilt; 11C1U
of battle.
He then left them to Ney, who ordered
the charge. Bonaparte has been
blamed for not heading this charge himself
; but he knew he could not carry
that guard so far or hold them so Ifng
before the artillery, as Ney. The moral
power the latter carried with him,
from the reputation he had gained of be
ing the u bravest of the brave," was
worth a whole division. Whenever a
column saw him at their head, they
knew that it was to be victory or annihilation.
With the exception of McDonald,
I do not know a general in the
Iwo armies who could hold his soldiers
?o long in the very face of destruction as
tie.
The whole continental struggle exhibited
no sublimer spectacle than this
last effort of Napoleon to save his sink
ing empire. Europe had been put upon
the plains of Waterloo to be battled for.
rhc greatest military energy and skill
the world possessed had been tasked to
the utmost during the day. Thrones
were tottering on the ensanguined field,
ind the shadows of fugitive kings flited
through the smoke of battle. Bonaparte's
star trembled in the zenith?now
blazing out in its ancient splendor, now
1~: *
:uuui;uiy Jjuicmg UCIU1U IllJj UI1XIOUS Cye
A.t length, when the Prussians appeared
an the field, he resolved to stake Europe
Dn one bold throw. He comrriitted himself
and France to Ney, and saw his
smpire rest on a single charge. The
intense anxiety with which he watched
the advance of that colemn, and terrible
suspense he suffered when the smoke of
battle wrapped it from sight, and the utter
despair of his great heart when the
curtain lifted over a fugitive army,
and the despairing shriek runtr on everv
side, " la garde recule, La garde rccule,"
makes us for the moment forget all the
carnage in sympathy with his distress.
Ney felt the pressure of the immense
responsibility 011 his brave heart, and resolved
not to prove unworthy of the
great trust committed to his care. Nothing
could be more imposing than the
movement of that column to the assault.
That guard had never yet recoiled before
a human foe, and the allied forces
beheld with awe its firm and terrible ad
vance to the final charge. For a moment
the batteries stopped playing, and
the firing ceased along the British lines,
as, without the beating of a drum, or the
blast of a bugle, to cheer their study
courage, they moved in dead silence
over the plain. The next moment the
artillery opened, and the head of that
gallant column seemed to sink into the
earth, llank after rank went down,
yet they neither stopped nor faltered.
Dissolving squadrons, and wholo battalions
disappearing one after another in
the destructive fire, affected not their
steady courage. The ranks closed up
as before, and each treading over his
fallen comrade, pressed firmly on. The
horse which Ney rode fell under him,
and he had scarcely mounted another,
before it also sunk to the earth. Again
and again did that unflinching man feel
O # O
his stood sink down, till fire had been
shot under him. Then, with his uniform
riddled with bullets, and his face
singed and blackened with powder, lie
marched on foot with drawn sabre at
the head of his men. In vain did the artillery
hurl its storm ol fire and lead into
that living mass. Up to the very
muzzles they pressed, and driving the
artillerymen from their own pieces,
on through the English lines. But at
that moment a file of soldiers who hud
lain flat on the ground behind a low
ridge of earth, suddenly rose and poured
a volley in their very faces. Another
and another followed, till one broad
sheet of flaine rolled on their bosoms,
and such a fierce and unexpected flow,
thai human courage could noi withstand
it. They reeled, shook, staggered back,
then turned and fled. Noy was borne
back in the refluent tide, and hurried
over the field. J jut for ihe crowd of fugitives
that forced him on, he would
-.1- .. ..
siuuu iuune, anu lailen on his lootsteps.
As it was, disdaining to fly, i
though the whole army was flying, he
formed his men into two immense
squares, and endeavored to stem the terrific
current, and would have done so if
it had not been for the thirty thousand
fresh Prussians that pressed on his ex- i
hausted ranks. For a long time these j
squares stood and let the artillery plough |
through them. But the fate oi INapoleon
was*rrit, and though Ney doubtless
did wlial no other man in the army
.11 ?
couiu nave done, the decree could not
be reversed. The Star that had blazed
so brightlv over the world, went down
in blood,-and the bravest of the bravo"
had fought his last battle. It was worthy
of his great name, and the charge of
the Old Guard at Waterloo, with him at
their head, will be pointed to by remo
test generations with a shudder. !
We now come to the expiation of his
treason by a public execution. The al
lies, after they assembled in Paris, demanded
some victims to appease their
anger. Many were selected, but better
counsel prevailed, and they were saved.
Ney was a prominent exampie ; he had i
routed their armies too frequently and
too nearly wrested their crowns from
them at Waterloo, to be forgiven. It
was intended at first to try him by martial
law, but the Marshals of Fiance refused
to sit in judgement on so brave,
yuuciuus, una neroic a warrior. fcSy a
royal ordinance, the Chamber of Peers
was directed to try him. Scorning to
take advantage of any technicalities of
the law, he was speedily found guilty
and condemned to death, by a majority
of a hundred and fifty-two. Seventeen
only were found to vote in his favor.
That he was guilty of treason in the
charge^ is evident, but not to that extent
which demanded his death. No man
had done more for Fiance than he, or
loved her honor or glory with a higher
affection ; and his ignominious death is
a aisgrace to tne F rench nation. Justice
was the excuse, not the ground of condemnation.
To have carried out the principle
on which his sentence was based,
would have ended in a public massacre^
Ney and Labedoyere were the only victims
offered up to appease an unjust hatred.
Besides, Ney's person was sacred
under a sftlemn treaty that Wellington
had himself made. One of the articles
of that treaty, expressly declared that
U ~ -I 1.1 ?-- l r 1
mu puisun wiouia uu muiusiuu ior nis
political conduct during the hundred
days." On such conditions was Paris
surrendered, and there never was a more
flagrant violation ol' national honor than
the trial of Ney. The whole afiair,
from beginning to endj was a deliberate
murder, committed from feelings of revenge
alone. Napoleon never did so
ua?e an act in nil nis iite?and on Wellingtons
forehead is a spot that shall
grow darker with time, and cause many
a curse to be uttered over his grave.
Me should have interfered to have saved
so gallant an enemy at the hazzard of
his life, but he let his honor go down
before the clamor of vindictive enemies,
and become a murderer in ihe sight of
the world. Nep was publicly shot as a
traitor. ,
His last moments did not disgrace his
life. He was called from his bed and a
tranquil sleep to hear his sentence read
As the preamble went on enumerating
his many titles, he hastily broke in?
" why cannot you simply call me Michael
Ney,?now a French soldier and
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| soon a heap of dust?" The last interview
with his wife and children shook
his stern heart more than all the battles
he had passed through, or his approaching
death. In reply to one of his sentinels,
who said, " Marshal, you should
think of death," he replied, u Do you
suppose any one should teach me to
die?" 13ul recollecting himself, he added
in a milder tone, " Comrade, you are
right, send for the Curate of St. Sulpice;
I will die as becomes a Christian !" As
he alighed from the coach, he advanced
towards the file of soldiers drawn tip as
executioners, with the same calm mein
he was wont to exhibit on the field of
battle. >An officer stepping forward to
i bandage, his eyes, he stopped him with
I the proud interrogation, " Are you ignorant
that for twenty-five years 1 have
been accustomed to face both ball and bullets?"
lie then took off his hat, and
with his eagle eye, now subdued and
solemn, turned towards heaven, said
with the same calm and decided voice
that had turned the tide of so many battles,
" /1Man: before Hod ami man, that
T /
i nave never betrayed my country ; may
my (Icalk render fu r happy, vive la
France. !u lie then turned to the soldiers.
and gazing on them a moment,
struck one hand upon his heart and said,
:t my comrades, Jlre. on me P Ten halls
entered him; and he fell dead. Shame
upon his judges that lor a single act
could condemn one braver and nobler
than they all, to so base a death. A
sterner warrior never trod a battle field
?a kinder heart never beat iu a human
bosom, and a truer patriot never shed
his blood lor his country. If France
never had a worse traitor, and if she has
]. r 1 i 1
uu wufsu ueienuer, uisgrace will never
visit her armies. Says Colonel Napier,
in speaking of his death, " thus ho who
had fought Jive hundred battles for
France?not one against her?was shot
as a traitor.
?1 is wife was on her knees before the
king praying for his pardon when the
fatal news was brought to her, and immediately
fainted away, then went into
convulsions, which well nigh added
another victim to this base murder. I lis
father, who loved him tenderly as the
son of his pride and the srlorv of his
I name, was never told of his ignominious
death. He was at this time eightyeight
year his age, and lived to be a
hundred years old. He saw by the
mourning weeds on his family that some
catastrophe had happened,and his father's
heart told him but too well where the
bolt had struck ; but he made no inquiries,
and though he lived twelve years
after, never mentioned his son's name,
and was never told of his fate. He
knew he was dead, but he asked not
how nor where he died.
Habits of Industry.?There is
one thing of vital importance iu
the education of the young, which
is very far from being attended to
as it ought. It is training them to
habits of useful industry, as exercises
to the body, while it interests
the mind; Active exertion is essential
to health and comfort,
10very physician will tell you so.
Indolence begets disease, while it
destroys enjoyment. The oil of
gladness, says one, " glistens 011
#v? r' 1 ?v. 1-- " "
uu; iatu u? lauui' Ulliy. DIH IlOt
only so; idleness is a positive vice,
and of a very heinous kind. God
has created every thing to be useful
; and every faculty of body and
mind is a talent conferred under
the injunction," occupy till i come."
lie who arrives at manhood, without
having acquired a habit of
industry, lacks a most essential
part of education.
It is said that a bird suspended
near the top of a curtained bedstead,
in which people sleep, will
generally be found dead in the
morning, from impure air. Small
close rooms in the habitations of
the poor are as ill ventilated as the
curtained bedstead.
Expenses of War.?According
to a statement in the St. Louis
New Era, the cost of 500 barrels
of pork, with expense of transportation
from that city to Santa Fe,
is twenty-five thousand doilars,