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THE SOUTHERN MHS,
AND ' HARFORD COUNTY INTELLIGENCER. gthtefc tjje |Utos of tj;e §ag, f Umtiirt, |joiilus anfc Central information. **"***"* 1 ' ■■— - ■—■'■ ■ 1 ■ 1 ig- ■ 1 ' ' ■ —-■ * " v — - * ‘ ——-- 1 : “ .n,..^.. 1 , i “LET VB CLING TO THE CONSTITUTION AS THE MARINER CLINGS TO TjBB last plank when the night and tempest CLOSE AROUND HIM” $1 PER ANNUM. BEL AIR. MD. SATURDAY MORNING. JUNE 21, 1862. VOL. VL-NO. 25. THE SOUTHERN jEGIS IB PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING, BY .A.. W- BATIBlkfcAlSr, AT OWE DOLLAR PER AWWUM, IK ADVANCE, OTHKHWBI One Dollar and Fifty Certify • * Will be charged. RATES OF ADVERTISING. One square, (twelve lines or less,) three inser tions, SI.OO. Each stibsoquent insertion 25 cts. One square three months $3.0*0; Six months $5.00; Twelve months SB.OO. Bnsioess cards of six lines or less, $5 a year. Ho subscription taken for less than a year. For the Southern JEgit. SOFTLY FALLS THE SILVERY BEAMS. BY P. L. Softly fells the silvery beams Of moonlight on the floor, Waking within my breast sad dreams Of those happy days of yore. The notes of the mournfnl whip-poor-will Float sadly on the air, And Histen to the sound until I scarce its song can bear. It minds me sadly of the past, Of those gay and festive hoars, Which were for me too bright to lust, And they faded like spring flowers. 1 love to think of those days so bright, Which have forever flown, And I ponder o’er moments of past delight, Though I feel that I’m now all alone. •Yet not alone, for there comes to me A vision of immortal love, Where the soul may dwell eternally In that beautiful home above. And methinhs as I gaze on that star-gemmed sky, And the moon in her glory sail on, How sweet ’twould be at once to die, And from sorrow forever be gone. And when I dwell in those realms of light, I'Jl watch o’er thy path with love, And hovering o’er thee make life seeip bright, As through life world’s maze you rove. I’ll watch by thy couch when silent Death Shall lay on thee his blight; I’ll catch thy last, thy faintest breath, Then bear thee to worlds of light. Abikodoh, l*n. r June 3d, 18C2. IpSftllanfflMi A STEAMioAT INCIDENT." A clergyman, giving in the Ladies' Re pository an account of some of his experi ences in a trip from his own ‘‘comfortable parsonage” to New York city, refreshes his readers with the following exhibition of practical Christianity which camo under his observation : My journey to Boston was ns monoto nous as possible, and the'two hours’ de tention there was not particularly exhilara ting. There was no lime to visit places of interest, and I felt too misanthropic and gloomy for social intercourse, althoagh other gentlemen were waiting like myself. More than once 1 nearly determined to go home in the return train, but 1 was asham ed to do that after Mary’s generous self sacrifice. We were half way to Stoning ton before I began to rouse up and look about me. I was awakened by the cries of a child, and I saw that the seat in front of me was occupied by a young lyomon, plainly, but decently dressed, but with an expression of anxiety on her face that in stantly attracted me. She had a baby in her arms, and another, just big enough to walk, on the seat by her. He was a a bright little fellow, with great flashing black eyes, and thick coils of chestnut curls clustering all over bis head; but he did wot seem to be well, and fretted con tinually far the soothing attention that he saw bestowed upon the more helpless babe in his mother’s arms. . There were several bundles and a carpet nag piled one above 4 another on the seat nett to the window, and the little boy, in his restlessness, otten displaced them, and they came rolling down upon the floor. I would like to see the man who wovild ■ -dr boy’s curly head to a pillow on her knee, and thus doubly burdened, found means i to divert his attention with a cheap pie- ! tare book. But the weather outside grew dark and < unpleasant. Thick clouds were slowly gathering their forces, and the wail of the wind was often heard "above the noise of the engine. The anxious expression of the mother's face deepened as she watched the ominous sounds that foretold a stormy night upon the Sound. There was a qnick, tremulous motion of her lip at times, as if she were repressing the incli nation to have a “hearty cry” over her troubles. I had just thought of what should have occurred to me a long time before, that it was possible for me to relieve her of a part of her burden, and was trying to drive myself out of my selfish isolation, by call ing up all the good Samaritan thoughts I had ever used in my sermons on practical benevolence, when an accession of passen gers at away station obliged me to resign my seat to a lady, who actually thanked me for my civility. Left again to myself, leaning against the door of the car, I resumed the thread of gloomy contemplation that had of late become habitual, and was soon lost in the old, weary labyrinth of conjectures in re gard to the state of my parish, its spiritu al deadness, and the measures to be used to awaken any interest in religious things. 1 grew more and more sad and desponding as I meditated, and my cogitations were as fruitless as over. I did not again think of the babies and their mother till wo were about leaving the cars at Stonington.— Happening then to glance down the car getting out, I saw her looking about her in evident perplexity. The heavy rain was already pouring down, and the dark ness outside was not very attractive, even t) unencumbered travellers. I am ashamed to own that I did not offer my assistance. Mary says she will never believe it—that it is impossible for human nature to be so bearish —but the humiliating truth must be told. My own wretchedness and my sense of utter use lessness in my profession, inade me al most indifferent at the time to the claims of humanity. Still I was sensible of a feeling of surprise, which gradually be came indignation, as I saw one lady after another unconcerned pass by, and other gentlemen as heartless as myself ignoring her silent appeal to our sympathy. The car was emptied at last, though I still stood in the door, hoping to see another do the Christian duty that 1 was so reluc tant to perform. I could not leave her to her fate as the rest had done. Just then some oue entered the door at the end, and I saw the young woman look eagerly round. She had again failed in . her efforts to arrange babies and bundles i fur transportation to the bout. The new i comer was a stout looking, elderly man, < plain and almost shabbily dressed, with a • great shock of red hair nearly lifting his hat off his head, and a round, fat face, . deeply marked with small-pox. He was whistling a lively air, which seemed to . breathe a whimsical, sort of defiance to the i discomforts of the black night, but ho t stopped at once when he saw the helpless i group before him. “Going abroad, ma’am ?” i “Yes, sir, as soon as I can.’’ “Good, so am I. Let mo carry this . youngster for you. I’ve got one at home . just his size. Jehoshaphat! how nat’ral : it seems,” said the man, as he lifted the i boy to bis shoulder. The child stopped ; crying and laughed gleefully. “And , those bundles, are they yours, ma’am ?” i “Yes, sir. Thank you, I can carry . those very well. I can, indeed.” i “That depends.” He had already gath i ered them in his arms, and wrapped her i thin shawl more closely around the baby. ; “Now we’re ready. Keep close behind I mo, ma’am. It is but a few steps.” i As they passed mo in the door 1 seem .ed to awake from a horrid dream. My > anxiety and morbid melancholy vanished, j X suppose that they could not stay in the l atmosphere of that man’s blunt,-cordial f kindness. I envied him the luxqry of f doing what I ought to have done. After i all, 1 Raid to myself, there is real good in r the world—real Christian charity, loving | piety and active benevolence. 1 followed | close at the man's heels. We were jostled i a little as we pressed through the throng, but were soon safely on board, just in ■ time to avoid being left behind, i “Here we are. A nice ride you’ve bed, my little man.” There was some thing absolutely inspiring in that rough ■■ ■— l " 1 ■ -".yJjgf ..u _ man’s voice. “Now, ma’am, I’ll just take you, bug and baggage, down to the ladies’ cabin, for it rains as if it meant to free its mind. Ton had better get these damp wrappings off as soon as you can.— Come, it is but a step further.” She hesitated. “No, sir. I thank you. You have been very kind, but my ticket is only for a deck passage, and I have no money. I-—1 should not have attempted such a journey, sir, without more means,* but I have just heard from my husband, who is returning from California and is sick in New York. He did not send for me, hut 1 could not leave him, to be nurs ed by strangers.” “Of course you couldn’t. But you must not stay here. You’ll catch your death if you do. Wait till I see the Cap tain. I’ll fix matters for you, never fear.” He trudged off to the Captain’s office, I still following. The Captain glanced at the rough man and his rougher attire care lessly, and listened without much interest to his story, till begged that the poor woman might be allowed to take her ba bies into the cabin. Then he assumed a very knowing look, indeed. “Is the lady a very particular friend of yours?” ho asked. “We are importuned every trip for especial accommodation for delicate ladies with gentlemen friends on board, all as poor as Job’s turkeys. We serve them all alike, and each person gets what he pays for.” “Look here, sir, there’s no call to insult anybody. You’ve had a fair chance to act like a gentleman and a Christian, but I never quarrel with a man if he prefers acting like a heathen. How much do you charge for a cabin passage ?” “One dollar,” “There’s the money. I’ve just got sev enty cents left. It will buy them a little supper, and I can go without mine.” The Captain looked a little ashamed.— He handed back half a dollar. “I’ve no doubt it’s all cheat and hum bug,” he said; “but if you are not telling the truth, you lie so naturally that it’s worth fifty pents to hear you.” “Thank you all the same,” as the coin so ungraciously offered was accepted. I never saw a more grateful creature than the Moor young woman when she found that her friend nad secured a shel ter for her. She cried with pleasure, and kissed his great freckled hand in a trans port of thankfulness. He helped her to a comfortable seat, waited till a tray of re freshments was brought to her, then giv ing the stewardess a trifle to secure all ne cessary attention, be left her to enjoy the comforts he had provided. His berth. in the cabin was just above mine, and though he kept me awake half the night whistling softly to himself, or humming tunes when ever he was not snoring, I forgave him with all my heart. I wrote ,to Mary in the morning that I bad found a curiosity —a man with a soul as big as a cathedral. A Gale on she Sea.—Anything grander and more exciting than the sight of the sea under these circumstances, says a writer, you cannot imagine. The vessel herself remains very steady; when you are below you scarcely know you are not in port. But on raising your head above the companion way, the first sight that meets your eye is an upright wall of black water, towering you hardly knowhow many feet into the air over the stern. Like a lion walking on its hind legs, it comes straight at yon, roaring and shaking its white mane with fury; it overtakes the vessel; the dpright shiny face curves in wards ; the white mane seems to hang over your very head; but ere it topples’ over, the nimble little ship has already slipped from underneath. Ytm hear the Sin ted jaws of the sea monster snap together; the ship disdainfully j> her heels; raging and bubbling on either side the quarter, the nopausiog wave sweeps on, and you see its round back far ahead, gradually swelling upwards, as it gathers strength and volume for a new effort. , S —t In a jolly company each one was to ask a question. If it was answered, the pro poser paid a forfeit. Pat’s question was: “How does the little ground squirrel dig his hole without showing any dtrt at the entrance ?” When they all gave It up, Pat said, “Sure, it’s because he begins at the other end of the hole.” a ♦‘Ah,” .aid Pat, “that’s your question —can yon answer it yourself ?” * From the Catholic Mirror. MARYLAND. Our lawgivers seem to be fast losing sight, not only of the landmarks of the constitution, but of the first principles which should guide a legislature id promo ting the objects and ends for which it is instituted. Government, under whatever form administered, is a concession of the governed—a creation of the people—inten ded for the protection and happiness of all. Security of life and property are its de clared object. Any fixed policy, there fore, on the part of those appointed to con duct the affairs of a nation, which directly or indirectly imperils.or destroys the vest ed rights of its citizens, vitiates the com pact between the governors and the gov erned. The plea of public necessity may at times be sufficient to put in abeyance the strongest claims of justice and right, bat certainly there is nothing in the pres ent nocture of our national affairs to excuse the bad faith towards Maryland and the other border States which Congress mani fested in its recent proceedings, abolish ing slavery in the District of Columbia.— It could hardly be credited that this eman cipation act was believed by its congres sional advocates to be an honest one, when they had before their eyes an enactment of their own of an opposite character, pas sed by themselves only a short time before, and couched in the following language : “No amendment shall bo made to the con stitution which will authorize or give to Congress the power to abolish or interfere within any State with the domestic insti tutions thereof, including that of persons held to labor or service by the laws of said State.” To turn away from a proposition like this, and initate a system. which invades the vested rights which that proposition meant to cover, looks very much like tri fling with the border States! and a design on the part of Congress only to play them along until all the non-slave-States could be made to work in unison against the rights' and interests of the others. The limits of oppression, it would seem, are only to be circumscribed by the extent to which the popular mind will suffer them to be carried. Nothing could be more unjust to Maryland than the course which the slavery agitation has been suffered to take. It is true, there was a lawless pop ular outbreak within her borders on the 19th of April, 1861. But many depreca ted it at the time, and her legislature made every atonement in its power for the un happy occurrence. Let any one read the proceedings and acts of her last General Assembly, and then say if he can, what further explanation coaid have been made. Maryland is still one of the United States, entitled to demand the enforcement of the constitutional guaranteesmade in her behalf and to protest against their Her legislature, penitent as it proved to be for the misdeeds of the 19th of April, was not willing to sacrifice an institution of vi lal importance to her prosperity,orseeit in terfered with by outside influences. Ants* slavery abstractions, though harmless in New England, were elements of ruin when transplanted in Maryland. The idealism of the Negro-phijist may be beautiful afar off, but becomes extremely hurtful when brought to our doors. The most ardent Unionists in Maryland are pretty much of one mind on the subject of abolition ism. The Governor of Maryland, whose devo tion to the Union no one will question, in sisted in his inaugural address, upon the indisputable right of Maryland to regulate slavery for herself. The last legislature of Maryland, which was not behind any. other in the Union in evidences of its at tachment, passed numerous resolutions indicative of its sensitiveness as to all ex traneous intermeddling in her domestic institutions. Resolution No. 3 deprecates tbe agitation of the slavery question: in Congress. Resolution No. 9 calls for a cessation of such agitation on the part of Congress. Resolution No. 13 is denun ciatory of the efforts of Abolitionists to emancipate the slaves of the District of Columbia. Resolution No. 15 protests against any Interference, with the subject of slavery by Congress and any attempt to make this war a pretext for tbe aboli tion of slavery or servile insnneetioo. ** Subsequent action in Congress has shown with bow little respect that body wan disposed to treat the of Me ftr resolutions 9 they have turned onl to be so more in Washington than so much “bnrtam fml eelved H quietus, the only response there beiDg the pwwgc of .he eakadptkm bill for the District of Colombia. As to resolution No. 15, the debate on Mr. Lovejoy’s bill to exclude slavery forever from all places where the United States shall have exclusive jurisdiction, proves very conclusively that the border States have but little sympathy in Congress. In deed if Lovejoy’s policy should be adopted/ it may well be doubted, if before another month rolls around, the recorded slavery sentiments of Qov. Bradford’s inaugural, and the resolutions of the late Uniunlegis lature of Maryland should not be discov ered to be flat treason. At all events,, it will be hard if, after rendering valueless the labor of Maryland, her people should be expected for tbe next half century to be able to fulfil their duties as tax-pay ers. To ns it appears that the free States in Congress are taking a very poor way of convincing the worn that the South was wrong, when it charged them with aggres sive intentions upon its institutions; at alt events they never had such an opportnni- * ty of showing their sincerity on the slave question as now, when tbe power is all in their own hands. Have they availed themselves of it? Let the record an swer. So far, the slave States have bad little more to do in Congress than look on and! see the ruin preparing for them. Their labors for a peaceful settlement of the na* tion’s difficulties failed and with them their influence with the angry extremes. Tet in times like these, we love to con template the cost of arms of oar beloved State, and study the lesson it inculcates. Upon it stands Justice, with the even bal ance in her hand, emblematic of our good old State’s proud position in the outbreak Of the national difficulty; while the hardy fisherman and the honest plowman graven upon her broad seal, are fitting represen tatives of the pacific character of her peo ple. ’ ~ 9 Sticking to One's Rights.— “ How is it, John, that you bring tbe wagon home in such a condition ?’’ “I broke it driving over a stump.” “Where ?” “Back in the woods, half a mile or so.” “But why did you run against the stump? Couldn’t you see how to drive straight f” “I did drive straight, and that is the reason I drove over it. The stump was directly in the middle of the road.” “Why then did you not go around it ?” “Because, sir, tbe stump bad no right in tbe middle of the road', and I bad a right in it.” “True, John, the stump ought not to ' have been in the road, but I wonder you were so foolish as not to consider it was stronger than your wagon.” , ' “Why, father, do you think that lam always going to yield up my rights ? For I-I am determined to stick up to them, come what will.’’ “But what’s the use, John, of standing up for rights, when you only get a greater wrong for doing so ?” “I shall stand up for them at all haz ards.” “Well, John, all. 1 have to say is this— hereafter you most furnish your own wagon.” <■§ Tbe following lines, found written in a hymn took, which the owner had incau tiously left in her pew, explains the cause which impels many of our young ladies to attend church: I look hi rain— he dess not come; Dear, dear, what shall I dot I cannot listen as 1 ought, Unless he listens too. Re might have corne as well as not! What plagues these fellows are, ■'“<afistr*? ■ E fc. A Good Win—A good wife is Hoav en’slast best gift to man; an angel of mercy; minister of graces innumerable; his gem of jewels; her voice, his sweetest music • her smiles his briohlest da* • Imp •uuasv| uv> nssstsw ••* wiinissupi f nfewsl > kite, the guardian of innooenoe $ the pale r of his gamy, the balm of his health, balsam of hia life; her industry, his rarest wealth 1 4 r economy, Iris safest steward; blessing on his hend.- 4 -/<srenfy Taylor. , ■■ ■ •• ' • a,tnr ■ ■ ■ 'HI ray, ly, step tto e*.” “Ihavn’k ft llWflU 1 Oil* y i i o him. ym veil , 9 ’ (jfoed f* v v ... ; • ' ’ss'