The Bangkok Recorder.

A Semi-monthly Journal, will be issued from the
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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.'