The Bangkok Recorder.

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October 14th 1865.

There could scarcely be a more heartless and discouraging mission than that of an Editor in Siam. Not more so was that of the prophet Isaiah, when he was sent to preach to those who he was told would not believe. An editor has the privilege to exercise his functions, and give vent to his opinions and suggestions, but he is assured that his articles will neither be read, nor obeyed. In a translation, which appeared in our last issue, is a piece of advice to editors and others, which informs them very clearly what they have to expect. At this however we are not at all disappointed. Ingratitude is inherent in the human heart, and those who have been the best servants, and even the best advisers have oftentimes been most ungratefully treated. We how- ever, we suppose, must on the other hand be truly grateful for the privileges of ex- ercising our editorial functions unmolested. We may murmur but our murmurings will most certainly not be heeded. Some of those who are really interested in the trade and property of the country, in order to bring the matter before the public, and the government, proposed through the News- papers to import a new copper coin which would take the place of the miserable lead affairs now in use. That proposal brought out the article in question. The public are informed that some new coins are com- ing out speedily, and that no further advice or proposals upon the subject are necessary.

From the translation in question we learn one or two other little things. We learn that nations, as well as individuals, although they may be ignorant and superstitious, may get such an opinion of themselves as to feel that they know almost every thing that is worth knowing, and have no need of any further advice. We learn also the kind of articles which are most appreciated here. All those things which would be a permanent blessing and benefit to the coun-

try, and which would tend to elevate it to a position of intelligence, and enterprise, in common with the great nations of the earth, we not wanted. But all things calculated to amuse and tickle the fancy of a nation of children, and which would rather hind- er than otherwise their progress in the way of true civilisation, are wanted, and will be appreciated.

The Louvre

On the side of the Seine, the celebrated gallery of the Louvre connects that Palace with the Tuileries. I was here that, before the overthrow of Napolean the choicest treasures of art which the world had pro- duced were assembled together—A collec- tion of the spoils of all countries which could only have been accomplished by the injustice of a mighty conqueror. Those spoils have been restored to their rightful owners; in some cases only to excite a fruit- less admiration, but with the certainty that had they remained in France, they would have nurtured the most hateful feelings of national vanity, and have stimulated the taste of the people at the expense of their public integrity. The statues and pictures which now remain in the Louvre, have been honestly acquired. Many of them are valu- able and some of the highest order of ex- cellence. And though the Apollo and the Transfiguration no longer attract pilgrims from every quarter of the globe where art is venerated, the treasures which remain, are abundant and choice enough, to serve for example and instruction. One of the most remarkable pictures now preserved in the gallery of the Louvre is supposed to be the last work of the celebrated Goya, painted near the close of his life at Bordeaux and is entitled "Un Chien en arrêt devant un serpent." The artist dying bestowed it on an old and faithful attendant with the words "Vous en ferez un devant de cheminée." The "devant de cheminée" soon after passed into the hands of a broker of the Cours d'albert, and was not long after [....] chased at the Fair de saint Forte to magnificently installed in the gallery of the Louvre. An incident in the personal ex- perience of Goya is of so deep an histor- ical interest, being connected with the dark period of the Inquisition, that we cannot re- sist giving it to our readers in commencing our present sketch of the Louvre with its historical scenes and associations.

It was in the early part of the year 1816 on the return of the Royal family to Mad- rid that Goya attained the position of first painter to Ferdinand the VI of Spain. This intellectual and noble artist was not only a favorite with the king, but was universal- ly admired and esteemed, as he had already combated the enemies of the throne and of independence by the aid of his palette and brush. In fact in most of his paintings, sketches, and caricatures, Goya vividly portrayed a hatred; the most vigo- rous, energetic, and deep rooted, against the depraving influence of the barbarous in- stitutions of his country, giving at times terrific illustrations of what human nature is capable of becoming under the spur of bigotry and religious hatred. On finding that the clergy of his country, in the fana- ticism of their religious zeal, had demanded of a monarch of the nineteenth century, the reestablishment of the Inquisition, Goya with a few touches of his pencil endeavored, if possible to extinguish the courage of this so called, religious philosophy. He pre- sented a tableau or picture to his Patron and Sovereign, Ferdinand VII entitled “Crime de lese Majesty, divine et humane,” representing Ferdinand himself, seated in royal magnificence on his throne, lending a willing ear to some counsellors, who were no others than Philippe II. and the most celebrated 'of the Inquisitors of the ancient church of Spain.

Philippe was seen standing a little lower and behind the throne of the son of Charles IV. with his head slightly inclining towards the shoulder of Ferdinand, and his eye fixed on a crucifix which one of the chief of the Sacred Office bore triumphantly be- fore them. At the foot of the throne were placed the most heroic of the martyrs of the Inquisition, from every siècle of its history, snatched from oblivion by a few vigorous touches, who appeared to be disputing with the conscience of the new Sovereign. On the last step of the throne was placed a monk of the order of Saint Dominque who played the part of recorder in that solemn and terrible au- dience; writing down the names of the gulty on a long roll of parchment, with a pen the point of which terminated in a poignard. And to leave no part undone in this keen satire, Goya would have the recording monk dip his pen, or rather the point of the poignard, in the blood of one of the most illustrious female victims of the last century. The desk of the recorder was a human skeleton. The figures so a- bly reproduced by the painter appeared to be agitated by the various passions expres- sed on each face, and some bore so life-like a resemblance to many who were still fresh in the memory of the living, that one might almost imagine that a Philippe, a Valdes, and a Torquemada lived, felt, thought, spoke, and acted, once more the hideous drama of that religious period.

One evening not long after the comple- tion of the "Crime de lese Majesté, divine et humaine," as Goya was engaged in his studio, he heard a knocking, and on open- ing his door, was greeted by one of the Judges of the Sacred Office who had come to execte on the person of the celebrated and courageous artist the decree of the Grand Inquisition of Ferdinand VII. After having taken a minute inventory of all that belonged to Goya, he attached the fatal seal to his dwelling, and conducted his prisoner to the new palace of the Sacred Office. Go- ya calmly awaited his fate. He soon found himself in a dark chamber, containing a low bed and a stool, which were dimly visible through the surrounding gloom. The re- treating sounds of foot steps and the gra- ting of the key as it turned upon him told him all the rest. He threw himself upon the conch and fell into a deep sleep. On awaking next morning he found a Familiar seated beside him, who said to him with a smile, will you please to reproduce on your can- vas, in order to follow up your first picture, such scenes as you will now be made fam- iliar with. Observe carefully, listen atten- tively, and inspire yourself. Where am I? demanded the artist. In one of the dungeons of the Sacred Office replied the Familiar: in a dungeon which has the just proportions of a sepulchre and no more. The dead do not require much room. Am I then con- demned to die? When one falls into such an abyss, it is not to live. May I have the liberty of writing and reading while await- ing my execution? No. May I not complain, nor weep, nor groan, nor sigh, nor sing? he inquired. Yes weep, groan, bewail yourself or sing at your pleasure. But I warn you, behold! a gag and a lash. Oh! now I see but too clearly that I am in the power of the Inquisition, said the unhappy artist. To which the Familiar replied by a cruel smile. But formerly did not the justice of the Sacred office send to the accused, assassins who bore at least some resem- blance to judges? Be tranquil you shall be judged, replied the Familiar. Shall I be permitted to defend myself? The best de- fence for one so guilty is the confession of his crime. But what if my conscience re- proaches me of no crime? It must be be- cause your conscience has become mute and we will perhaps find it a tongue in the chamber of torture. The chamber of torture! Yes the chamber of torture. Rise and follow me. The Familiar leading the way, Goya rose and following him across, around and through dark passages and in- extricable labyrinths of gloom, they entered a vast subterranean chamber dimly lighted by two sepulchral looking lanterns, where the eyes of the artist fell upon the most fright- ful instruments of torture, horrible panoply's which had for centuries furnished religious arms to the executive justice of the Inquisi- tion. At the same instant three or four Executioners clothed in a sort of sackcloth of deep black serge, with their heads covered with a capuchin or hood of the same stuff, en- tered the chamber, and one of them approach- ing, placed his large heavy hand on the shoulder of Goya, and made as though he would force him into a sitting posture, over a frame work called a chevelet. But at a nod from the Familier he desisted and with an air of deep disappointment kept closely regarding his prey lest he should escape. The Familier proceeded to explain to the unfortunate artist, that the Inquisition had provided three infallible means for finding a voice to mute consciences, viz: the cord, the water, and the fire. Attempt therefore to be silent when the Inquisition interro- gates, and you shall immediately be at- tached to that cord, which will then be pas- sed over yonder pulley, and at a given signal the Executioner will suspend you so high, and so well, that there will hardly remain to you time, or breath, or strength, to cry mercy, ere you are thrown back all wounded, bruised, torn, and bleeding on the damp pavement below.

Then the Physicians of the tribunal will restore you to life for a day, an hour, and a minute, and should it please you still to be silent, another torture will perhaps bring you to reason. Extended on this chevalet of wood, and garrotted between these sharp pointed spikes, you will submit, to a punish- ment which the damned themselves have hardly to endure in the infernal regions to which they are condemned. The Execution- er at distant and carefully measur'd inter- vals, will slowly drop only one drop of wat- er to moisten your burning lips. Suffocated, you will think yourself dying at each in- stant. But not so, you will still resist the pain, the fatigue, and misery of this torture, and will be resuscitated time after time to again endure new and more exquisite suf- fering.

The Physicians of the tribunal will deign again to tender to you the strength which one so guilty and culpable deserves for further and more refined suffering. And should you still persist in stifling the cries of your conscience a third torture will as- suredly put an end to your incorrigible im- piety. The Executioner will fasten together your hands and feet with strong cords and rub them briskly with "des matieres" a rough and sharp instrument until they have laid bare and bleeding every nerve in them. You will then be placed before a fire which demons lend to the Executioners of the sacred office. The heat will scorch your flesh, shrivel, convulse and harass your nerves, and you will almost hear the cracking of your own bones under the ex- cruciating process, and it will be seen how long you will hold out. In your obstinacy the Inquisition holds you but a pagan on the "gril" of the renowned Saint Laurent. After your resuscitation, there will remain to you one alternative that of passing through the flames to the honor of an Au- to-da-fe .

What, cried the unhappy artist , will not the cord, the water, and the fire yet have made an end of me! No.—The Inquisition destroys not its enemies. What then? It simply aids, helps them to die. The Inqui- sition has a horror of blood, it only seeks to curb, restrain, mortify, and punish the flesh, —'tis the justice of the king that ends life. And Spain! cried Goya, with a voice of profound horror and indignation, Spain finds amusement, pleasure, and gayety at these spectacles of her child the Inquisitions pious vengeance, and Ferdinand permits; not only permits but lends to the frightful cruelties of Philippe the programme of an Au to-da-fe! It is certainly so. And the law? The king wishes, and so wills the law. And justice, liberty, where are they? In heaven no doubt. And Equality! In the cemetery. Entomb me then and the Lord be your judge. In believing that you will be judged by your Sovereign, you must not imagine an earthly one, for in the name of your Heavenly sovereign, to whom you have just appealed, the Inquisition will judge, con- demn, torture, and burn you, once in this dungeon you have but one grace to expect, one favor to hope. Humble yourself before God and declare that you die a christian, and believe in the justice of the Inquisition; and the Executioner will not burn you till you have been first strangled.

Scarcely had the Familiar ended these details, when the folding doors at the fur- thest end of the chamber, noiselessly unfold- ed being drawn back by pulleys, and Goya saw entering a procession of Dominican Monks, headed by a Grand member of the Sacred Office, holding a richly ornamented golden crucifix which he planted before the "Buechee" or scaffolding, and took his place opposite the alter. Then followed the arrival of the king and his court, and lastly the Grand Inquisitors masked, and their escort. Goya horror struck saw the con- demned being dragged forth from their massive wooden cages, he heard the crack- ling of the burning fires as they sent out flames, like keen, fierce, angry, livid tongues. and amidst the suffocating cries of the vic- tims and the loud chants of the monks he dropped insensible on the floor. The Fami- iliar bore him away, and as consciousness slowly returned he opened his eyes with cries of "Dieu merci, un peu d'air, un peu de lumiere, un peu de soliel." The Familiar of the Sacred Office now said to the painter, this hall, (pointing to a lofty and spacious apartment), serves as the tribunal of the Inquisition, and wants nothing except a material souvenir of the great deeds and the great men, who have honored the Sacred Office and gives to this chamber its illust- rious pretorial characteristics. You, who have already dared to revivify on your can- vas one of the most illustrations of the jus- tifiers of God and the Inquisition, Thomas Torquemada, retake your palette and brush, inspire yourself with this great work, illustrate, glorify, immortalize for ever the history of the Inquisition of Spain. Recall into life again all the glorious phantoms hidden within the precincts of the Sacred Office. The Inquisition condemns you to resuscitate within this hall, by the enchant- ment of genius, all the Grand Inquisitors of Spain, from Torquemada and Cisneros to jose de Harce and Lorenzana. Pointing the way to liberty, he concluded with these emphatic words, the Inquisition will pardon you only at the price of several chef d oeuvres—The Inquisition will forget your crimes only when you have wasted your genius in immortalizing her order. But let neither your brush nor your pencil, at any period of time, trifle, or point, or speak of Torquemada, or of Philippe, or Valdes.

Goya on accepting these terms became free, a delay of three months having been granted him, by the Grand Inquisitor to design the Cartoons for a historical gallery— He betook himself bravely to the task— from morn till night,—through the night till its silent stags paled into day, un- wearingly he labored on. But in accepting the conditions he did not lose sight of the hatred with which the order had inspired him. Intently rapt in his novel study, he produced almost unconsciously an immense gallery of historical figures the most hid- eons and scenes the most deplorable of the Inquisition. Animated by his fierce hatred he represented each reign in the Royalty of Spain and of the Inquisition, through the horrors and crimes of the one and the other, as symbolical of the epoch it portray- ed, until he approached the reign of Philip II. This reign was represented by suspending a balance from one of the side posts of a scaffold—-in one scale was seen a female figure representing liberty—- and in the other was the sword of State—- At the foot of the scaffold Philip II. was represented in the act of throwing a cruci- fix into the scale with the sword to equalize the balance.

Goya eager to finish this historical sketch and give a synoptical view of the whole, imagined a deluge, not of water, but of fire, representing oceans of flames, and over the loftiest waves of this sea of fire he placed an immense arch surrounding Royality and Religion, and around this arch writhing in the agonies of torment were seen Jews, Turks and Heritics, divines, savants, and philosophers, sorcerers, schismatics and excommunicants, the great and the small, the aged and the young, the splendid, the fair, and the beautiful, the monks, the priest, the bishops, and popes, the people and the nobles, mendicants and kings.—All those who by birth, family, or education, by their loves, affections, fortune, spirit, or character, by their knowledge, or through their fears, had dared to give the faintest expression of their doubts and dread of the Inquisition.

Goya feared not to send this vast Cartoon to the Grand Inquisitor, General de Cas- tille. But he lingered not for the thanks or acknowledgments of the Sacred Office. Having previously made all his preparations for flight, that very night, he secretly quitted Madrid and fled to France, where he was cordially received and cherished by L. Lorente, the learned author of His- toria critique de l'enquisition Espagnolle.

Towards the close of his life he remem- bered once more the Inquisitors of Madrid which inspired his last work, before men- tioned, entitled "Le chien en arrêt devant un serpent". In the secret thoughts of the aged artist the dog represented Spain, and the serpent the Inquisition.

Petchaburi

Mr. Editor—-Has the practical and all absorbing question of the rice crop been decided yet! In this province, after hang- ing in suspense as if equally balanced for a time, the preponderance of evidence is now in favor of a fair crop. Two or three weeks since it was the all absorbing topic, swal- lowing up for a time even the lottery ma- nia. The usual rise in the river during the ninth and tenth months, did not take place till near the latter portion of the tenth, so that much anxiety and even alarm began to be felt. So much importance did the question assume that our enterprising friend the Lieut. Governor had set his wits, and men to work in preparing an artifical process of watering this vast plain.

The plan adopted was to throw a dam across the river just below the mouth of the two principal canals, which go off on each side and serve as the two grand arte- ries by which water is carried to its ut- most extremity. He first made provision for defraying its expenses without touching the royal treasury, or the pockets of the people. This was done by imposing a tax of one catty on the Lottery farmer, and a smaller one on the Po farmer, and so on, tax- ing only these things which are a nuisance in the community. Whatever were the mo- tives or the influence brought to bear on them, they all consented to the arrange- ment and the money was paid. Next came the building of the dam.

The special occasion that called it forth demanded greater haste, probably, than was consistent with a thorough preparation for such an undertaking. But to the persever- ing and enterprising undertaker, no obsta- cles seemed insurmountable. He had suc- ceeded in building a bridge across the same river that would be an honor to its con- structor in any place or country, notwith- standing the Siamese officials predicted a failure. That was a grand success, and he was confident of his own power to accom- plish this also. So the largest and strong- est posts that could be obtained in the place were procured. These were driven deep down into the ground, about four feet apart, while cross timbers were extended in three parallel lines cross-wise, one at the top against the middle, and another at the bottom. This was to be the frame work which was to support the body of the water. Between these posts the filling up was to be of bamboo. The river was all life for a week. Besides those engaged in it, the citizens of the place, and the rice farmers, especially, congregated on the river bank, to see the result of the experiment. And so intensely did the Phra Palat be- come interested in it himself, that he came down by daylight and examined the whole foundation in person, to see if the work of the previous day was all firm.

The frame was all finished and the filling in commenced, when a sudden rise in the river, before the buttresses were put up below it, at once made a breach in the wall and rendered it unnecessary. He was almost regretting that the river had risen that he might see the success of his plans. But however successful they might have been, I suppose there is no doubt that: na- ture's water pot is after all the best. What it could have done at best but partially, has been done thoroughly. The fields are watered, and they have shown their grati- tude to the kind providence that has visited the earth and watered it, that has "greatly enriched it with the river of God which is full of water," by putting on their finest dress.

Those of your readers who have taken a view at this season of the year from the summit of the Kings mountain, as it is com- monly called, need not be told that it is probably one of most lovely prospects that the eye of man is permitted to behold. Every thing conspires to make the prospect one of surpassing loveliness. The parallel ranges of mountains, as well as the single peaks, which rise in the west and seem to receive the setting sun, as he passes from the kingdom of the white Elephant, to Her Britannic Majesty's pos- sessions and the nations of the west; and the beautiful azure blue of the gulf to the E. and S.E. and the two natural bounderies which inclose this beautiful plain. Nor is the filling up less touching than the grand outlines. The city of Petchaburee with its long row of market buildings, and beautiful roads, and a few tall steeples from the tem- ples around lies at your feet; the river winds along in a wandering course through the city and plain till it empties into the gulf. Beyond the river towards the bay seems to be one vast palm forest, the pride and ornament of eastern plains, though they really conceal one of the largest and finest sections of the rice fields, lying on each side of the large canal going towards Ban Keeo and Ban Taloo. To the left of K'ow kadai it is a broad expanse of rice fields, whose monotony is sufficiently broken by the regular and irregular little enbancements sur- rounding them and the various shades of green to make a pleasing variety to the eye. While towards K'ow Hluang is another broad extent embracing His Majesty's own fields ornamented with beautiful clusters of palm in every conceivable variety of combination, affording a pleasing relief if the eye ever tires at beholding such a beautiful green. To the west again the fields that begin near the mountains are soon lost amid what ap- pears to be another palm forest extending to the western mountains. Taken together the whole affords one of those scenes which seen once will never be forgotten, and loses but little of its power to please when gazed on for one hundred times. Nor is it a scene of mere beauty. The plain is one of the large granaries that supply this kingdom with the staff of life, the failure of which last year has prestrated all the branches of trade in your large metropolis, and most of the palm sugar consumed in the country comes from the same fields.

But with all its natural advantages the place has some serious drawbacks to its prosperity and growth. The greatest is probably the shallowness of the river which makes the city difficult of access even by small boats during a considerable part of the year. The building of the temporary dam referred to above, suggests a question worthy of consideration which had already occupied the attention of the intelligent and public spirited Phra Palat. That is, whether or not it is possible by means of a few per- manant dams and locks, such as the western nations use in their canals, to counteract this great obstacle to the prosperity of the place. He thinks that it is possible and has mentioned it to the authorities, but they are slow to adopt any thing which is new for fear of a failure. An experienced and scientific engineer could soon decide whether it were practicable. If it could be done it would be a great improvement to the place, while the permanant dams would, even in the case of the lowest water ever known, afford the means of watering the rice fields, and thus secure a crop except for excess of water as was the case last year. Even the suggestion of such improve ments is some- thing neither very gracefully nor gratefully received by the Siamese, but as nothing is charged for this it is offered as cheap as it will probably be lightly esteemed.

But to return to the rice. The river rose almost to its highest mark sufficiently long to water the above plain, and then subsid- ed. It is now (Oct. 5th) rising again. If it continues for a few days more the crops will be very great, though not so heavy as they would have been had there been more water during the ninth and tenth months.

His Excellency the Prime Minister and Chaw Phya Montree and suit, left yesterday, having had, I suppose, a very pleasant lit- tle visit in this place.

The Brothers Leinhardt.

He wondered at himself, for he had done no new thing; hard and selfish actions con- stituted his life, but never before had their memory given him one moment’s uneasiness. He piled the great logs upon the fire, refil- led his pipe, and strove to banish such thoughts, but his efforts were vain; that heart-broken woman haunted him, and her last words passed and repassed monoton- omously through his brain, till at length, being unable to forget, Franz suffered his thoughts to dwell upon them patiently. He soon be- gan to calculate how much gold would so weigh down a soul, and he wished, wicked wretch that he was, that some demon would give him a trial; not that he was more willing to lose his soul than another, but being very shrewd, he could think of fifty ways to keep the gold, and cheat the devil. In such thoughts as these, time slip- ped away, the fire smouldered down to glowing coals, and shadows crept across the floor. Amid the deep silence the wheels of the clock began to whir, and forth from his retreat darted the little man in the red nightcap, clanking his bags together twelve times. This Franz expected, but his astonish- ment was extreme when, instead of return- ing modestly to his den in the old clock, as he had done every hour for years; the gob- lin, demon, or whatever he was, seated himself on the mantle shelf, nodding and winking at Franz as if there was some deep secret between them. Franz rubbed his bewildered eyes and stared with all his might-—there sat the little mannikin, knock- ing his tiny heels together, and eying him with a look of malicious intelligence. "I can do it for you, Leinhardt," said he at length with a knowing wink;" look at these, "shaking his little bags triumphantly, "they are full of gold." Franz laughed a- loud. Ten thousand of such Lilliputian bags would not have been a drop in the great ocean of his avarice. "Don't laugh, Franz Leinhardt," said the goblin with an angry frown, "I could shake gold enough from those bags to bury you, if I wished; lie down and place your strong box upon your breast, and I will give you gold as long as you can bear its weight; but have a care you don't take more than you can lift, for though I can give, I cannot take away." Franz felt inclined to laugh, but did as he was bid, stretching himself on the floor with his strong box on his breast, and the little goblin perching himself upon the side, be- gan to pour a small but steady stream of glittering gold from his two little bags. The weight increased slowly; at first Franz tried to move it frequently, but as the box grew heavier his exertion knew no bounds, and so loath was he to lose one grain of the precious yellow dust, that it was not till a sense of suffocation oppressed him, and he found his strength barely sufficient to move the box that he cried "stop!" "Oh, you are not allowing for my weight," said the goblin briskly, and Franz easily persuaded, permitted him to pour in a lit- tle more. The gold seemed to flow much faster than before, and again he cried "stop! stop!" for the weight was crushing him. With a shrill laugh, the goblin disap- peared, yet the box was not a whit lighter for his absence, and Franz strove in agony to move it, but in vain. Poor Franz, he had now what he hoped and longed and toiled for-—gold, heavy yellow gold, more than he could, though he struggled ever so hard: yet it was with loving clasp that he wrestled his arms around it, his heart loathed its former idol as he groaned and writhed beneath the weight which pin- ned him to the perishing earth: and every grain of shining dust would he have given for the memory of one act of loving charity that might win from the cloud-shrouded Prince of the poor and needy the welcome sentence-—"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Days, months and years rol- led on till ages had passed in this unutter-able agony, when he perceived a strange commotion all around him, and knew in- tuitively that the end of all things earthly was at hand. Suddenly a bright light shone around, and a crowd of people entered the room and gathered sadly about him. Look- ing from face to face, he recognized friends, acquaintances and servants, and foremost among them his brother, with his wife and children. Then was heard a voice saying—- "This soul has been suffering for ages and he has learned to hate the gold he worship- ped, therefore any of you his kindred, friends or servants, whom he has helped, may aid him to remove the awful load that binds him to the earth." A cry of hopeless despair burst from Franz's lips as his eyes wandered from face to face, and only the memory of harsh words and selfish actions rose up before him. One person turning to his brother Flemming, said, "You were a poor-sickly creature, with many children often in need of daily bread, surely he has given you of his abundance and you can help him!" but Flemming sadly shook his head, and Christina, whose heart was always pitiful, wept as she turned away, her face reminding Franz of that stormy winter night, long, long ago when he had driven her from his door cold, hungry and sore. One by one they passed away with sad, re- gretful looks; and a solemn voice like a distant echo was heard.—

"The gold that so hardened his heart has bound him to the earth, he can never mount to glory."

At his friends departed, the light faded away, and he was left to his doom alone and in darkness; he suffered an eternity of anguish. With all the wild energy of des- pair he struggled, shrieking for mercy, when suddenly the earth gave way beneath him; and, oh horrors! he felt himself falling—fail- ling—until his head come down with a dreadful thump on the broad stone hearth, and opening his eyes, he found himself ly- ing among the dead embers. He sat up and rubbed his eyes; daylight was glim- mering through the window; but every trace of box, or gold, or goblin had disap- peared. He looked fearfully and shuddered, as the little man in the red nightcap pop- ped out and nodding his head knowingly, clanked his tiny bags together. Back he darted again as usual, and his master sat down in deep thought. The servants were just up and stirring when Franz appeared among them, not a hard taskmaster to urge on their labors, but to issue such or- ders, that they declared to each other there was no saying what would happen next. Such a bustle arose in the little brown house as he had not seen for many a long, long day, and before an hour had passed, old Franz was driving his wagon towards his brother's house laden with good things for the sick and hungry. It was his first errand of mercy, and very queer and be- wildered he felt driving along through the sharp mooring air not to increase his wealth, but to give a part to the poor and needy; and many old-fashioned texts grew bright and fresh in his memory which he had well nigh forgotten, such as—"He that hath pity upon the poor, lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him again." "Blessed be the man that provideth for the sick and needy, the Lord shall deliver him in time of trouble."

When poor Christina was so rudely re- pulsed from her brother-in-law's door, she took herself with swift foot and heavy heart to her weary homeward road. The night was dark, the way long and rough. and the wind wild and piercing. Hope, that can lighten the heaviest load, was dead; and love, man's choicest blessing, seemed a bitter curse since the sufferings of each loved one wrung her heart with anguish. When she reached her home, Flemming raised his languid head and gazed at her with questioning eyes; and the little child-

ren seized her gown, and crowded round with their clamorous "What did Uncle Franz give you, mother?" "Nothing, noth- ing, my children. Ah me! yes, a few hard words." Flemming lay down and closed his eyes, and the eager little questioners went supperless to bed, and wept themselves to sleep. God help the mother who hears her children cry in vain for bread! But where will they find help who hear such cries without pity when Christ shall say: "I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat; I was naked, and ye clothed me not."

All the long night Christian sat by her cold hearth, almost too despairing to pray; but when the day broke, its cold, bleak comfortless light making the desola- tion of her home seem yet more drear— wonder of all wonders! Franz's wagon drew up at the door, and the little man, nervous and fidgety as one will be in a novel posi- tion, jumped out, shook hands with Flem- ming and his wife, and hastened to deliver his load of comfort.

After yesterday's repulse, Christian could not have been more astonished had a flock of ravens appeared with bread and meat in their beaks to minister to her necessities. Franz would hear some of their thanks or wonderment (which latter feeling greatly predominated in their minds); but as he lifted out jar after jar, packing after pack- age, urging all around to quick despatch, and the brightened faces of the poor parents, and the eager enjoyments of the half-finished children, a pure happiness that he had never felt before thrilled his heart, and he felt that even in this life mer- cy has a rich reward. To Christian, it seemed- that Heaven had wrought a miracle in answer to her prayers for succor; and many a trouble-trod son did she cheer with the wondrous story. Though he pondered it long and deeply, Franz never told the strange dream that had roused his slum- bering conscience; but from that night he was a different man-—his hand was now open to the suffering and needy; the way- faring man no longer trudged wearily past the little brown house; the children of the poor joyfully gathered the droppings of his harvests; and though frugal, he was no longer miserly. His astonished neighbors shook their heads, saying such sudden changes boded death; but the event proved them wrong: Franz lived to a good old age; and what seemed at one time much less likely, when he did die there were many who sincerely regretted him; for he had learned that "to know the art of alms," is greater than to be crowned with the dia- jem of kings."

Drinking Our Debt.

In the able argument of Mr. Jay Cooke the purpose of which is to demonstrate, that our National debt, if rightly managed, will prove a national blessing, a fact is in- cidentally stated which is of itself a start- ling one. Not less than a hundred million gallons of whiskey were distilled last year in the loyal States! Some portion of this was of course properly used in various arts and manufactures; but for the larger part, we may safely assume, will find its way to the bar-rooms and saloons that meet us on ev ery hand. From other statistics we learn that a still larger quantity of ale, beer, and cider was brewed in the same time; whilst of domestic wines the manufacturing no doubt, amounted to several million of gallons; as in 1860 it reached nearly two millions, hav- ing increased at the astonishing rate of seven hundred and forty per cent during the pre- ceding ten years.

But Mr. Cooke takes into account sim- ply the consumption of whiskers; and of this he treats only upon financial grounds. On our National debt of three thousand million dollars, the annual interest is one hundred and sixty-five million dollars. The revenue tax upon whiskey is two dollars a gallon. It is easy therefore to see that this single tax if successfully collected, and if the manufac- ture continue undiminished, would pay the entire interest upon our enormous debt, with a handsome surplus besides. Or if devoted exclusively to the payment of the debt itself, it would extinguish that formidable sum in the brief space of fifteen years! Indeed, should the consumption of whiskey continue to increase as it has done for the past few years, and if we embrace in the calculation the entire Union, ten years would probably suffice!

It is a curious circumstance, dwell upon by Mr. Cook, that six tenths of all that whis- key eludes the vigilance of revenue asses- sors and collectors. How it happens, that so large a proportion of distillers should at- tempt to defend the Government, and the attempt be so largely successful, we will not stop to conjecture. The secular papers have contained numerous accounts of similar at- tempts, not always successful, on the part of various brewers, to escape their portion of the public burden. Whether the manufac- ture of spirits and malt liquors has a ten- dency to demoralize those engaged in it, will be an interesting question to discuss with the aid now furnished by revenue sta- tistics.

But our present object is to obtain some adequate conception of the imperial mag- nitude of our whiskey potation. We have mentioned only the tax upon whiskey; but it to this we add the marketable value of the article itself, and estimate the entire cost, tax included, at the low average rate of two and a half dollars a gallon, we have the start- ling sum of two hundred and fifty millions of dollars, as our present annual consump- tion of whiskey in the loyal States. It would be within bounds to say that the recovered States would easily swell this amount to three hundred millions. Is it not a start- ling fact that every ten years sum of mon- ey, equivalent to the whole war-debt under which the nation labors, goes down our throats in the shape of whiskey! It it has excited the astonishment of the world that in four years we would be willing to contri- bute this amount to sustain our Govern- ment, is it not a most astounding fact that in ten years we would voluntarily swallow an equally enormous amount from the worm of the still!

Take another illustration. The distance from Baltimore to San Francisco is about three thousand miles. The cost of railroad construction was commonly estimated a few years ago at twenty-five thousand dollars a mile. Estimating the present cost at double that rate, though this is probably beyond the fact, we have one hundred and fifty millions as the cost of this iron band to rivet our wide domain. When a railroad to the Pa- cific was first proposed, its projector was ridiculed for advancing a visionary scheme.

The Government alone, it was affirmed, could undertake so colossal a work, and na- tional bankruptcy would be the result of so Utopian an enterprise. Yet it would now appear that every six months we swallow, in liquid fire, the means that would construct this grand improvement. Each year, it may be safely said, a trans-continental railroad with double track throughout, amply sup- plied with rolling stock of the best descrip- tion, and with a parallel line of telegraph in complete working order, is offered up a voluntary sacrifice, upon the counter of the dram-seller!

One illustration more. The daily average of our whiskey consumption is about eight hundred thousand dollars. The endowment of a College, or Theological Seminary, is ordinarily put at one hundred thousand dollars. Let us, however, double this sum, as being more near the minimum that should be devoted to this purpose. And again we have the startling fact that every twenty- four hours that pass over us, we distil into alcohol a sum that would endow four noble institutions, with magnificent appliances, for the education of our sons and daughters! May we not well stand aghast at these frightful revelations of our revenue assessors?

But we might multiply illustrations with- out end. Suffice it to say that the money we devote to whiskey would in a few years pay off our colossal debt, it would interlace the States and belt the continent with rail- road bands, it would cover the Union with a telegraphic spider-web, it would illumin- ate our coast with lighthouses and improve our harbors for a commerce such as the world has never before witnessed, it would connect with a ship canal our unsurpassed lake and river system, it would dot our land with churches and schools, with colleges seminaries, with asylums and hospitals, it would make provision for the widows and orphans, the maimed and the destitute, whom the war has left as its sad legacy, it would-—but where shall we stop in enumer- ating the blessings which three hundred millions a year, properly applied, might diffuse over the whole land! Succeeding centuries have wondered at the folly of the Egyptian queen, in dissolving her costly jewels to purchase the luxury of one expen- sive draught. But the extravagance of CLEOPATRA sinks into insignificance, when compared with the wealth which we annu- ally waste, into baleful draughts, by the fatal alchemy of the distillier, and which might have been transmuted into so much public and private advantage.

Nor have we touched upon the worst fea- ture of the case. Were this money simply lost, and nothing more, such a waste of magnificent resources would be sad enough. But no arithmetic can compute the fearful aggregate of wretchedness and woe, of pov- erty and disease, of misery and crime, of tears and blood, which are comprehended in these brief statistics-—one hundred mil- lion gallons of whiskey per annum! The blessings lost we almost forget, when we come to contemplate the actual suffering and shame which have spread over the land in this deluge from the still. The records of our courts and prisons, the revelations of the cellars and garrets, in the crowded abodes of want, might afford some faint pic- ture of the wrecks that strew the whole course of this fiery stream. But how many immortal spirits have sunk to endless ruin under this fearful tide of death, eternity alone can disclose. From its dreadful sta- tistics, could he not see them, the distiller would shrink back appalled at the view of the destruction he had wrought.

And yet we hear it suggested that efforts will be made to induce the next Congress to moderate the tax on whiskey, that the tide of rain may flow more profusely. Should such efforts be made, we trust the people will express, in unmistakable ways, their wishes that if any change be permitted, the tax should be increased, and that its exac- tion be rigidly enforced. Could the excise on whiskey be placed so high as to confine its use to medicine and the arts, gladly might we forego the revenue which would thus be lost, and with renewed courage take up the burden of our national debt, with national resources not impaired, but invigorated, by the cessation of the poison- ous stream that flows from the still.

Carlyle's Prophecy.—Perhaps the disfavor with which our national cause is regarded in England is partly explained by the remark recently attributed to Carlyle, viz, "Let America succeed, and England goes to Democracy by express train."

Notice

There will be preaching in the English language every Sabbath at 4 P. M., in the New Protestant Chapel, situated upon the river bank, adjoining the premises of the "Borneo Company Limited," and J. Gunn & Co.

All are cordially invited to attend.

This is the only union service in the city, and is the continuation of one commenced about thirty years ago.

There is also a meeting there every Saturday at 4 P. M., under the supervision of Prof. C. Hewesoon for the purpose of practising Church music.

All interested are cordially invited to attend.

History is made up of epochs or points of time fixed by grant and remarkable ev- ents. There are dynastic epochs or eras, such as the Roman, Byzantine, Pagan, Christian or Mohammedan; and also per- iods in the world's history which have been established by historic events. The chro- nology of history has principally been the result of military achievements with a single exception—-the Christian era. These have been effected by extraordinary men of gen- ius, whose deeds of prowess or sagacity have given new impetus and a marked character to their times. In the earliest chronology, during the Assyrian war, Belus was vanquished by Haikus, King of Arm- enia; then Semiramis conquered Armenia, and Tygraenes in turn led many Asiatic monarchs before him as hostages. The feats of Xerxes, with his immense hosts, against the Greeks mark a period in history. Al- exander and Caesar also stand out in the boldest relief; and the fame of many war- riors in the struggle of nations is imperish- able, although they have not constituted distinctive eras in history. Constantine, Charlemagne and Mohammed have stum- ped with their own names the eras in which they fought and flourished. The Thirty Years' War of Germany, the Magna Charta of England and the American Revolution are all fixed epochs, and a "Petit Corporal" has made his distinguishing mark and trans- mitted to posterity the lasting remem- brance of Waterloo, a mausoleum as endur- ing as the pyramids of Cheops.

We of the nineteenth century, looking with awe and amazement into the retro- spect of the mighty past, have ourselves enacted a more wonderful epoch in the world's history than any which has hither- to transpired. There never was such a bat- tle field as this continent of North Ameri- ca; nor was there ever such a rush to arms. The hordes of Xerxes, whose arrows bedim- med the sun, could not have numbered more than three hundred thousand men, undisciplined and accoutred with the rudest implements of warfare; and the whole com- bined forces which figured on the battle fields of Europe in the Napoleonic era scar- cely exceeded one million. The American rebellion has called out three million of soldiers from a population enjoying all the benefits of civilization; men of intelligence, education and the highest moral culture; men from every rank of life, of whom our lamented ruler nobly said, "Each one is fit to be a President," thus attesting the man- hood of each patriot.

The complete equipment and mainten- ance of this immense army, which has elicited the admiration of the civilized world, has displayed the unbounded resources of the country. The bounties to volunteers and the liberal pay of the soldiers have never been equalled. No history records such exploits as will be told of us, such in- stances of individual heroism, such selfim- nfolation on the altar of patriotism. It did not suffice that thousands of families were called to mourn the loss of their kinsmen; but the sacrifice of the head of the nation was also needed to complete the tragedy. The purse strings of the nation have been opened and the treasure lavishly bestowed. The people have borne the severest taxation without murmuring, and now it is not im- probable that our immense national debt of three thousand ?millions of dollars will be entirely assumed and cancelled by our wealthy citizens, an idea emanating from the same spirit of pure patriotism which has maintained the war.

The record of the achievements of our military men will be more brilliant than any which has hitherto marked the pages of history. The cutting of the canal around Island No. 10, on the Mississippi, and the successful transportation of steamers through the woods was a wonderful feat of engineer- ing, excelling the transportation of artillery over the Alps. The capture of New Or- leans is equal if not superior to the engag- ement at Trafalgar or the battle of Aboukir. The conflict between the Monitor and the rebel ram Merrimac, in Hampton Roads, and the engagement and sinking of the Al- abama excited the wonder and the admira- tion of the whole world. The passage of the entire Army of the Potomac, by Grant, across the James, in the very presence of the enemy, without loss; the raid of Sher- man through Georgia, South and North Carolina, and Sheridan's cavalry maneuv- ers, causing the fall of Richmond-—the Ma- lakoff of the rebellion-—with the surrender of Lee, are grand exploits hitherto unsurpas- sed.

The glory of these achievements is en- hanced by the fact that this struggle has not been between superior and inferior races, nor to repel foreign aggression; but but between father and son, brother and brot- her—of one race, one blood, one culture and one ability. If the arms of the Union have been victorious it was not merely by force of numbers, for the rebellion had the advan- tage by being indigenous to the soil and standing on the defensive: also, without doubt, aided and abetted by enemies of the republic. It was the moral rectitude of the cause, the ultimate liberty and union of both North and South, the rescue of so many millions of the human race from slav- ery which, like Aaron and Hur, stayed up our hands until this Amalek was utterly discomfited. If the military men of our country have been equal if not superior to any of their predecessors, it is because there is a stamina in the American people equal to any emergency. For, when was Ameri- can ingenuity ever at fault? Colton was crowned king by the sagacity of Whitney; the exuberance of our prairies has been garnered by McCormick; a girdle has been put around the earth by Morse, and print- ing has been accelerated to lightning speed by Hoe, Colt, Spencer, Dahlgren and a host of others have combined to make the artillery of war more terrible, and Parrott's swamp angels have annihilated distance.

Our recent struggle has developed the military genius of the hour, and our armies and navies have been led on to battle and victory by men whose names will be hand- ed down to posterity. Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Farragut, Porter and a host of others, have made this age and this land illustrious. Our battle fields are sacred ground, consecrated by the blood of patriot soldiers, and the footprints of the veterans who have fought for union, liberty and equality. Two hundred thousand of these veterans have just been on review at the national capital—the most imposing milit- ray spectacles the world ever witnessed. One million of these brave men yesterday re- ceived ovations all over a grateful nation. The great Napoleon observed that "with French infantry and Mameluke cavalry he could conquer the world," and General Grant, with better justice, may say, with Sherman's veterans and Sheriden's cavalry he could go from pole to pole, conquering and to conquer.

Henceforth the republic of the United States stands before the world the greatest of nations, and the American era will be the most distinguished in the annals of his- tory.New York Herald.

We have been quite gratified on per- ceiving that His Majesty the Supreme King of Siam, has taken encouraging notice of an article in our last issue of the Siam- ese Recorder concerning the great Bazar of the city. In that article we felt it due to His Majesty to praise him for the great improvement that had been made in the street of the Bazar, and the thorough pro- tection of it by the royal Police Force. But as we found a few places in the street that had been broken up and become quite muddy and unpleasant, the thought occur- red to us that if His Majesty could be respectfully informed of it by our paper he would very likely cause those breaks to be repaired. And so it has proved. We are informed that His Majesty, having noticed our remark, has ordered that he would this season visit temple Koh and temple Samp'eng by a procession through the Bazar, instead of going by the river, which has ever been the custom. This was sufficient hint to inform the officers in charge of the Bazar, that the street must previous- ly be well repaired. And we were happy in walking it on the 12th, a day after the procession to find that the work had really been done.

It being now the season for the annual visitation, of the temples, of Buddh by the king, His Majesty the Supreme King is now daily devoted to this work.

On the 11th inst, the wife of Mr. Charles Howarth, of a son.

A NEW JOKE of OUR PRESIDENT.—Bishop Simpson recently delivered his great lecture in Wesley Chapel, Washington, to a large audience, among whom we remarked Pre- sident Lincoln and Secretary Stanton. The Bishop was very eloquent, and everybody seemed completely carried away. He told an anecdote during the course of his speech, about a Kentuckian, who was asked by an Englishman what were the boundaries of our country. The Kentuckian replied that the United States were "bounded on the east by the rising sun, on the west by the procession of the equinoxes, on the north by the Aurora Borealis, and on the south by the day of judgment." This reminded the facetious President of the following story, which he told us once to those around him, in the midst of the Bishop's eloquence: "John Bull met with a North American Indian, and, in the course of conversation, was very anxious to impress him with the greatness of the British em- pire. 'The sun,' said Mr. Bull, 'never sets on English dominion. Do you understand how that is?' 'O yes,' said the Indian, 'that is because God is afraid to trust them in the dark.'