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■ ———.l i ■ i —a . A. G. MURRAY, VOLUME IX. €\\t Sltnerintn Sttiiitr. PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING, BY A. O. MURRAY. ‘Office on Broad Street, West end the New Brick Range, (up-stairs.) TERMS: Two Dollar* ami A half In Art vni.ee or Three Dollar* at the end of si* months. No siih.-criptions ta ken for less than on* year, unless pniil in advance ; and no paper will be discontinued till all arrearages are paid-, except at the option of the publishers. advertisements Conspicuously inserted at (INK DOT.!,A R per square hr the first insertion and FIFTY G.iNTS for each subse quent continuance; A square in tho Union, is the space ’of ten lines in small type, couUieing, as it docs,one bun- sentwithout specifying tt-.e number of KnsortMs desired, will bo contiuued uutil ordered out and for accordingly. Sheriff's sales under regularexceutionsand mortgsgs tfa. on roftl ©stufcc, must l?'j puVuscctf dny5,......52,50 J Personal property tinder mortgage 8. fas. must be pnHWfid 63 days, 5,00 Citations forlcttcrsof Administration3o, days 2,75 Ta* Collector’s sales, 60 days 5,00 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 40 “ 3,00 Sales of personal property of estates-. M “ 3,00 Sales of Lend Or Negroes “ . 40“ 4,50 Applications for leave to sell Land or Negroes must be published weekly for 2 months, .5,00 Notice for Letters Dismissory by Executors or Administrators,monthly for 6 By Guardians, weekly for 40 days, 4,50 Estravs, 2 weeks, • .... .1,50 Orders of Court of Ordinary t<> make title to Land, ac companied by a copy of the band or agreement, must be published 3 months. MISCELLANEOUS. n — ■■ From the Dollm Weekly Times. THE NEW LEAF; OH TIIK NEW YEAR AT THE CROSS-ROADS TAVERN. | BY INVISIBLE QUEEN, ESQ. ~ ■les but oneo a your, boys,j out expiring into ctarnity, j :o stan’ treat all ’round.— j lier’s son of you ainN give i g drink 1” yusge of old Tim, —landlord-) ‘asliiiigton,” to a bar-room full of customers, early in the last evening of the year 1850. The 7 Head of Washington ”js an old tavern, and I might say it is firmly fixed in the memory of thousand* who have patronized it. Scores of distinguished men have eagerly sought its comforts, and gladly accepted its lic.s pitality. Wear! travellers, home slowly in the stagecoach, day and night, through a frosty at mosphere, have pailed fits glowing fires and ‘warm meals with Av. The poor traveler, with all his earthly possessions on his back, has often entered its doors downcast, and left them enli vened in heart! Ay! the “Head of Washing ton,” kept for yean iby old Tun Walker, at the cross-roads near the village of G , in the couuty of H , State of I , has comforted tnany a sorrowful heart, and afforded good cheer tomanyawearysi.nl. Nay more There, in the bar-room of mat old tavern, more than one now distinguished man has first displayed his “ lamia,” aid firs* made his maid: among his fel low men—and there, in after years, h:v#t been Compelled to mingle familiarly with those who assisted to elevate him in the scale of fame, but who had gone down, down, while he ascended. There public measures have been discussed, groat j enterprizes projected, and important movements set in motion. There, in that same bar-room, j ministers have prayed and exhorted, patriots; vented forth their devotion to their country, and ‘ travelers related thrilling adventures, to eager ears. And there —troth compels me to say it— there have hundreds of men, with noble forms, stout arms, and sound minds, imbibed feelings, *nd engendered habits, which have proved their’ total ruin. Oh I thou okl tavern at the foads! while mauy remember thee with pleasure, hundreds cilrse thee for their destruction ! Like all landlords iu rural districts, Tim a “ big man ” among his fellow-cit izens. His house, the only place of resort in the village, was visited by all, and upon holiday > i especially, the villagers assembled there, en masse. | On the occasion above alluded to, the last evening of the year 1850, the bar-room was crowded, with a merry throng, who had commenced the celebration of the new year, ere the knell of the old one had been pealed by the hand of time.— Tim was a 7 jolly old soul,” an.l the sight of so many gathered together in anticipation of a hol iday, cheered his heart, and induced him to give fie invitation to “all hands” to take a drink | free of expense. A second invitation was not necessary, for in a moment “ all hands,” save a few, were at the bar, glasses in hand. And it ■was not a little amusing to observe how the va rious grades clustered arouud that bar. First and nearest to the landlord stood the ’squire of the township, with a stomach equal to FalstafTs, and a plump red nose which glistened in the cheerful light. He was the leadfitj&f the first plattoon, which embraced closely the counter, and there was something in all their looks which betrayed an eagerness to sip the inspiring liquid. Next to them, and just able to reach the glasses on the counter, wen a looking set of who, though not eager, Vet seemeffanxious indeed their chance for a drink did at one time seem rather doubtful, so eager were those who had reached the counter before them, Around tiie iuA fiulhest from the bar, were aknot of individuals who were evident ly disposed to let others do their drinking. But when old Tim said, “drink all round,” he meant it, and his dram touched not its glass, until all. in the bar-room stood liquor in hand, and awaited'a signal from him to drink all to gether. v “Now, boys,” Raid he, as he prepared his dram, “who will give the toast?” “ Bill Crawford,” shouted a dozen voices. “ Bill Crawford ’tin, then,” was his reply.— “ Come, sonny,” said ho to a tall young man, whose face seemed almost bursting with the liquor bloat, and whose scanty clothing was in *igs. “ Come sonny, get on to a chair, and sing }*. out” “ v “ 1 guess the ’squire had better do it,” replied Bill Crawford, the individual addressed, as lie j stepped up on a chair, with his glass in hand, j “ When it comes to a ’bout Bill’s in, but the ’squire’s got more lamin’ than was ever packed in the Lull family of Crawfords, and he's the chap what oughter gin the toast-.” ‘•The ’squire, the ’squire,” shouted the crowd. “ Thar it is,” continued Bill. “’Squire you] are in and this little chicken’s out. Drive on ! with your wag ui ’Squire.” This was followed by merry appeals to the ‘Squire for the toast. “ Gentlewen,” responded the “official as lie j took off his hat and wiped his face with a yellow I and tvd mixed Cotton handkerchief, “Gentlemen , and fellow citizens I fear you are reposing heavy j responsibilities upon me, forming as you do, too j stupendous opinions of my capabilities. 1(11 j however, endeavor to satisfy-yonr thirst for some thing good. This is New Year’s Eve, gentle men, and 1 will give you something appropriate. I w ill give you a verse which ••us sung at my cradle by my patriotic father, years ago. It goes “ Ready!” was the response. “ Well, then, here’s the toast ■: “ Apple pass ami ginger boor. New Year*? come? but once a year— Tvfi here’s to you—here’s to me— Merry, merry we will be.’* A shout foil iw jd tiro ‘toast, and down wen” the IrqUor. Old Tim was glad to see all so mer” ry, and lie rubbed k-s bands with glee. “ Boys make yb'jtrsclves at home,” said lie, “ for you are all welcome to the • Head of Wash ington,’ to-night.” This called forth another shout, and then the ’Squire treated, and then somebody else treated, aud so the treat went round to all those wlio were able to stand it, and, as is generally the case, to some who were not. The more liquor drank, the more jovial the company, and songs were sung, jokes pass. .1, and quite a happy feel ing prevaded. All seemed merry but Bill Craw ford. lie wars considered the most ready wit of the neighborhood, ami stood unequalled there ! in spinning yarns and singingsorgs. But this eve* j niiig he appeared sad and demure, and not a smile I passed over his generally merry countenance. ! He volunteered to assist Old Tint, and taking a ! place behind the bar, busied himself in keeping j its fixtures in order. In vain was lie called upon to sing a song or tell a story —lie invariably, ns ✓with the toast, forced someone else to do it for him. Ilis*singular conduct caused some coin-’ meat, but was soon forgotten in the hilarity of the evening. Soon the sound of music was heard in another part of the old tavern, which proved moreattrac-1 live than even the bar. The dining-room had been cleared of its immense tables, and under the direction of Mi s. Walker, a portly busy -body, arranged for the usual New Year's dance. From the day Wu bad become mistress of the “ Head of Washington,” she claimed it as a epscia! priv-! ilcg* to invite her friends to welcome the New Year in a pleasant dancing party. The fiddles proved attractive to the inmates of the bar-room, the most, of whom proceeded to join the dancers. Even Old Thn, himself, leaving the bar in the cate of Bill Crawford, proceeded thither, ns lie ; jocosely remarked, “to shake a foot with the | The dining-room of the “ Head of Washing ton,” is about thirty-five feet long by fifteen in breadth. Its walls and ceilings are as white as chalk, while its smooth floor is as unstained as the falling snow. O.i this occasion, all the looking-glasses and pictures about the tavern j were arranged on the walls of the diningroom jto give it a holiday appearance. Chairs and j i benches were placed around the room and tit lone end a pine tabled with a chair upon it was I set for the espeWflTwhtpf the fiddler. The wasHPEmd of a “free blow,” Mrs. Walker in 7 setecniig her company, having invi ted nearly every person in the neighborhood.— : The guests were not slow to coine either, and at : the time when the sound of the fiddle was first heard nearly all the seats were-occupied. The musician was an old negro, whose only name was Boh, and who hud been the village barber and dancing-master for years, lie almost worshipped his fiddle, and gloried in the clear, .strong manner in which lie “called the figures.” ! No monarch ever ascended a throne with more I avidity than he mounted the pine tabled that j night, and uo despot ever sat in his chair of state with more dignity than Bob did the fiddler’s chair. “Is your voice clcer to-iiifcht,” asked Mrs. Walker xlf him, as he was tuning his instrument. “Clar !” was his reply. “Cltir?* Is dar any mud in de moon-shine ? If dar is, dis nigger’s voice ain’t elar. Jus’ wait till I takes up Old j i Benjamin (his fiddle,) and den I’ll show you. wedder dis voice ain elar 1” This satisfied Mrs. Walker, and taking a sort of dignified strut through the room—such a strut as a landlady only can give—smtliug to this guest and to that one, she finally seated her self opposite the musician, and g,ve him a knowing nod of the head, which was the signal to begin. “Fardnali’s for de cotillion !”~) 7 eUe<r Bob; as he furiously run his bow over bis fiddle strings. The floor was soon filled with eager dancers, and on receiving another nod from Mrs. Walker, Tom set them in motion. And such music as came from that violin ! I have heard Ole Bull on his single string and his diamond-set fiddle, but never neard him produce the rich, full and meflodious sounds which come from old Bob’s instrument. It is an orchestra complete, and needs no’accompaniment save the “ Clar ” voice of its owner. And th it voice was musical, too, as it gave forth in merry strains the figures about as follows: “To de right and lef all four—tee-dum tee-, dum—De balance now—deedle-dum deedle-dum —Ladies will you change—high-die die-do — Promenade across de room—Lee-ye bce-jre—An’ now come back agin,” sec. People may talk as they please about the in feriority of the African race ; but if there is not music in a nigger, there is certainly none this side of heaven. At least the company no doubt; thought so as Bob beat time with his feet, pro duced such inspiring sounds from his instrument, and sung the “ figures ” so delightfully to the air he was performing. The danoe went on, and the* bar-room was deserted, except at the intervals lief ween the co tillions. While the music was going, the girls were more attractive than the decanters, but the I moment old Bob laid aside “de fiddle an’ <le, GRIFFIN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, JANUARY 10, 1651. bow,”atirmtlcnts were sought in the bar-room.! I need not relate the events of the evening—tell how “squire Higgins sat up to the widow Sprig gins—how affectionate the young married cou ple were iu public, making the girls blush and ■ the boys giggle—how Sally Scruggs got jealous |ef Molly’ Muggs, and tripped her up while she i was dancing with Bill Snipes, her beau—how j Maty Spurrs broke one of the looking-glasses in i displaying her nglv face in it—or how Mag. | Surly mistook a shadow for a seat, and sat lier j self tlat on the Hoor, right before the whole com ! |>any. j Neither need I tell how Bill Snipes suffered ‘ | with his new light bouts —what a dash Bill j Thompson cut with Li# new shirt collar —how ; Dick Murphy, having more of the •’ardent” about Lim than he could carry, fell into the fire and came near burning himself up—-how J. t: Turner pulled neariy all the hair out of his head, and wouldn't dance because he was iu love with Mrs. Doxy, and couldn’t get her, as she already had a husband, or how Dick liar dscrabble in sulted Miss Terry by asking her if the old year wouldn’t leave her an old maid. The dance went on 1 All were happy while the fiddle played, and joy seemed to reign over the festive gathering. The hour of twelve ap proached and preparations were made to welcome the New Year in a becoming manner. Mrs. Walker, the landlady, had her own notions about this ceremony, and if she was not consistent in anything else, she was in this. The New Year had always been received with a certain ceremo ny ..t her annual parties, a ceremony she had concocted the first year of her landladyship, and to which she would hear of no alterations or amendments. It was this.. At ten minutes before twelve o’clock, the eotn jfony took hold of hands and formed themselves into a circle. They were to join man and woman all the way round, and if there wore more men than women or, rice versa , the odd ones were sent out of the room as black sheep. The efr- j ole formed old Bob slowly and solemnly walked ! inside of it, and the’! all gctt'ng upon their knees, j lie played a solemn reqivcm to the expiring year upon his violin. While playing, he kept his • eyes upon tin. Dock, and the moment the large -imnd can).-.-ivauilu-one minute of twelve.!te ceas ed playing. A dread silence then prevailed un til the clock pealed the metidian of night, when the violin instantly struck up a lively air. The company then jumped to t heir feet and retaining their hold of each other, moved briskly around i the room, shouting, ‘A happy New Year !’ This 1 was a strange ceremony, but not inappropriate or uninteresting. On this occasion the circle had been formed, the company were on their knees, and Bob had just commenced the requiem, when a startling incident took place. Bill Crawford, the lively joker, the merry singer, and the never-failing drinker came slowly into tin* room upon his tip toes. Ilis face bore an ashy lute, while his large Jjiack eyes had ah unearthly, ghastly look. At each step he would place his forefinger of his right ! hand uti his lips and say in a soft wliispci. Hist!’ j II s strange appearance startled all iu the room, | and even the musician’s fiddle fell from his hands with the requiem half finished. Not a soul stir red, or scarcely breathed, as that ragged toper wiih his wild unnatural look, appr< idled the centre of the room, and sol. tuuly knelt uu his bended knees. ‘Hist! hist!’ said he, ‘the C >!d’s Year’s agoin’, and with us is on its way to h—l. The devil is after Bill Craw fin and, t lie drunkard—he is—he is— lie’s coming in the door—he knows me—lie’s got me by the hair—nsJp, murder, help,—save me from h—l!’ and thus shrieking, the poor man, his face assuming the most horrid shapes, fled to the farthest corner of the room, where he buried his face in his hands, and uttered the most agonizing groans. The utmost consternation pervaded the compa ny. Vary, alarmed at the horrible sight, fled from the house ; while all the females who remained shrieked as if ;bey thought the judgment day was at hand. The only man present who appear ed to retain his presence of mind was old Tim. the landlord. Mounting a chair he cooly said : \ “Make more noise won’t you, all ? Can’t.you see that nothin’s the matter, only Billy’s got> the inan-ai’-the poker agin ?’ This served somewhat to quiet the n-.ars of the company, and old Tim instantly turned his atten tions to the afflicted man. With two or three others he approached the crazy drunkard, for the ‘■ purpose of removing him to a more suitable place.! The moment that their bands touched him, how-1 ever, he shrunk from them as fern a viper. Ilis ] i face was still ghastly pale, while large drops ‘ of.sweat stood upon his brow. He trembled from head to foot, and fixing his glaring eyes upon the landlord, he exclaimed, “(Jo away you devil: Your hands are hot, you burn me—oh, my Bod, take the devil away! I’ll drink no more, if you don’t take me now ! Oh, murder! murder 1 I'm burning up —my head — my feet—my hands—my body, is all on fire!— Good Lord 1 water'! water! water. _ “Bill, don’t you know me?” said old Tim, “I’m the landlord.” But the suffering man heeded nothis words. The most dreadful exclamations, followed by ter rible groans, still muafe from him, while he trem bled fmm head to foot,, He wasflnallv seized by four stout men, and lit-■ ■•gh hejesistod with the -Jtvength of a.jnariiac, and. uttered the tnost pierc ing shrieks, was carried to the bar-room and laid upon the counter. An effort was made to force liquor down his throat—a good antidote for the disease when properly administered—but he re sisted with all his might. Suddenly that resis tance ceased, his jaws became fixed, his eyes ceased their rolling, and he lay motionless and still. ‘There’s no use workin’ any longer with him,’ said Tim, the landlord, “for poor Bill’s drinked his last drop— he's dead!” He spoke ilk- truth—the toper had drawn his last breath. This was his third attack of the mania /nolu, and it had hurried him away. He ! ! took his departure with the expiring year, and oh. how dreadful was his death ! No more mirth was witnessed in that house that night. Toper as he was—degraded as lie had been—no one was more liked about the vil lage than poor Bill Crawford. lie possessed a liberal heart, and was ever ready to oblige those who asked his services, and to discommode him- j self to render himself useful to others. But he * loved the bitter cun— : cou!d not resist its fasciua- • •Prove nllfStliiv*: fail shut trhlrli h bohl.” —Pai ;. lions—and drank hinwlf to death. Sad, indeed, J wins the entree of the New Year, at the old tav ern at the cross-roads! It brought consterna tion, fright, sadness and sorrow, ami the horrid scenes of that night will never be erased from the memory of those who witnessed them. The “terrible death of Bill < mwford affected no one mere than old Tim, the landlord. After’ surveying the corpse tilcntlr for some minutes, during which big tears rolled fast down bis checks, lie said — “ Thixniyht l turn over a Xew Leaf- —.Vo li quor can be boueiht at the 4 Head of Washington’ ■ duriti;/ the .V* re i'ur !” Old Tim was true to liis vow. But a short > ! time after poor Crawford’s body had !.‘vn laid | in its last resting place, on New Year’s day, every drop of liquor in the bar of the old tavern at the ,:;v>ss-roads was given to t c. soil to drink. The landlord became a temperance man and a tem perance advocate, and now the village of <•- , J mainlv through his exertions, statids prominent | ami'ngjemper.iuce localities. Mrs. Walker, is still alive, and since the night j of Crawford’s death, has given two more “ New j Year Welcomes;” ‘She declares that they are far more happy without the-use of ardent spirits, and that she is glad her husband abolished the bar. She often relates the circumstances of Crawford’s death to habitual drinkers, who chance j to stop at the old Tavern, and advises them to do lon thenext New Year,'if not sooner, what her husband did that evening—“ Turn over a Xrte Leaf l” From the N. Y. Musical World & Tim***. The Painter Duhobret. Among the pupils of Albert Durer, in Nurem burg, was one whom he had received out of char ity, discerning in him traces of talent which he considered worth cultivation. The cultivation was not hopeless under the eye of his master, j even rn one who had passed the age of forty, who | was poor, even to indigence, and who had hith ! erto contrived to gain a scanty subsistence by 1 | painting signs on the coarsest tapestry, at that j | time much used in Germany. The name of this ] j man, on whom fortune seemed to have wreaked ! her utmost spite, was .'umue! Duhobrct. lie was ; short in stat urc. crooked, and ugly to a proverb, j and withal had an imperfection Tn his speech ; that rendered his enunciation difficult, and at; ; times unintelligible. Ho was in consequence the 1 i butt of his fellow 1 pupils, and they were coiitin- Junlly breaking jokes upon him w hich lie bore ! iii patient silence. Still harder to endure wete j the unfeeling taunts of Madam Purer, whoocca jsiotially visited the studio, and always had some thing ftarsli say about the pupil who brought i her husband no recompense for his trouble. In I short, poor Duhobii t’s existence was joyless ! enough ; aud it would have been a burden ihtol-; • erable, with ids crust of brown bread, when he! had it home, and his lonely life abroad, but ! that lie soinet’incs found himself aide to escape) from toil and Inundation into the country. There, under the free sky,..with the smiling landscape j i around him, with the sound of streams and the I ong of birds in bis car, the heart of the desolate j ‘artist would eSjtnd. lie amused himself with I | sketching some of the bcautitid country seats in i j tin: neighborhood.of Nuremberg. In pleasing) ; occupation, and with no one near to laugh and j‘-or at him, Samuel was no longer the same man. j The abject and melancholy expression disap- j j peared from his face, which lightened and glow-; 1 ed with the strange happiness lie felt, as droop- j J ing plants revive and brighten in color under the 1 influence of sunshine. Choosing some quiet and sheltered spot, Du hobrct was accustomed to pass many hours of the day seated on the turf, with Ids portfolio oti his lap. It was then that he produced those happy touches which gave himself confidence to undertake labors of more importance, and energy to shrink from no toil or privation. When he returned to the city he carefully put aside the un finished pieces, not daring even to show his best sketches; for he knew they would bring upon him a double portion of scorn and derision. lie i applied liimself quietly to his daily tasks in the J studio, a;. 1, while he improved in the mechani cal part of his art, nourished conceptions that gave him ;i World of !,!s own creation. Every day its a general rule, Samuel came car-, ly to the studio of I finer, and remained until evening. Then he retired to the comfort less cell :in which lie lodged, and worked in the silent hours of night t<> transfer to his canvas tie dream* of beauty lie bad brought from the coun try. He submitted to incredible privations to j obtain the means of procuring pencils, colors, ifce., nay, so arden* was his longing for progress without obstacle, that bo is said, by the historian of his life, (o have been only withheld by stern principle from stealing those indispensable arti cles fioin his companion?. , . -■ Thus passed three years; and during that time neither Albert Hurer nor anv of hispupiU knew of the nocturnal labors t>f thihobret. How the powers cf his physical nature were sustained Un der the incessant tasking of their energies, it hi impossible to imagine. - But nature at way, the painter was seized with a fever mc’i rapidly reduced the lit* tie strength that him, ff© one c*mc to see what bad became of podeMwfat Wptoougli for a week he had slot appeared at the studio. No one had the humanity to supply his wants, though he bad not for many days tasted food, merely moistening his lips with water that stood in a sWne pitcher by bis bedside. As the fevor •bated, the wild dreams of delirum vanished, and Samuel thought himself near to death. For tlie first time a bitterness entered his soul. He felt a desire to preserve the life which seemed so worthless to all the world. He must procure food, and adopted a desperate resolution. Having risen from his miserable couch, lie i took under his arm thejast picture he had fin-; lishedan 1 went out, taking his way tjwards the j i shop of a vender of pic!area. The piece was otic I ion which he had bestowed great pains; but lie! 1 resolved to sell it for whatever price was offered, i if only enough to purchase a single meal. As he dragged himself with difficulty along tlie 1 street, he passed a house iu front of which a crowd had assembled. On inquiring the cause Duhobret learned that a great sale was to take place. Various works of art, collected .during | 30 years, by an amateur, whose gallery was thiej j admiration of all Muremberg, were to be sold at’ ’ public auction, the death or the owner having i 1 occurred. Struck with the hope of here finding a mar ket for his painting, Samuel pro*cd through the crowd to the salesman, and by dint of entreaties, and tie I clings of compassion awakened by bis wretched aspect, prevailed on him to allow the piece to b<- offered at auction. The price at which lie estimated its worth was three thalers. “ la-t i it g<>,” said the artist to himself; “the money will procure me bread for a week—if a purchaser can to found.” The picture was examined and criticised bv many persons. The exhausted and anxious artist stood apart. At last it Was set tip for sale. The j monotonous voice of the auctioneer repeated “at J three thaler*—who will buy it I At three tha >. *s I, I here was no response. The strtken Sam lid groaned and buried bis tace in his hands. It was his best work! The salesman called attention to its lieauties, “Does it not seem.” be said, ’’that the wind is really : stirring the foliage of those trees, and that the * leaves l nd as they glitter in the sun ? How pure and cy stat line is the water ! what life breathes in the animal that come to drink at that stream; and the Abhy of Nuremhurg, with its fine buildings, and the village in the distance,” Ac. “Twenty-five thalers,” said a dry, weak voice, and the sound startled Duhobrct from the stupor of despair. He raised himself on liis feet to see whose lips itlcred the blessed words. It was the picture vender to whom he had first thought, of offering his work; “ Fifty thalers!” cried another sonorions voice. The speaker was n larcre nmti, dressed in black. “A hundred !” responded tlie picture dealer, evidently in a considerable vexatiou. liis ad versary was equally prompt. “Two hundred thalers!” “Three hundred!” “Four hundred!” “A thousand !” There whs silence among the spectators, and the crowd pressed eagerly around the opposing bidders, who, like two combatants, stood in the centre. The countenance of the picture-dealer allowed his agitation in spite of his forced calmness. Af ter a moment’s hesitation he cried, “Two thou sand thalers * “Ten thousand !” responded the tall man quick ly, while liis face glowed with anger. “Tweir. v thousand !” The picture dealer grew pale as death, and clenched his hands violently,! The tall man, in increased excitement, hid forty j thousand. The look of triumph he cast upon j his ad- ersary was too much for the picture deal- j er; and his eyes flushing rage, he bid titty thou- j sand. llow was it meanwhile with poor Samuel ? ; lie thought all that passed a dream, and strove ’ to awaken himself, rubbing bis eyes and pressing i Ids hand ter his forehead, while the contest for j his picture went. ou. i “One hundred thousand !” sounded a voice in accents of desperation.. “< file hundred and twenty thousand ! and the | devjl take thee, dog of a picture dealer, j The discornfitted bidder disap|>-ared in the crowd; and tlie tall man, who Tiairproved victo rious, was bearing away the prize, when a lean, crooked, emaciated, squalid being presented him self before him. Taking him for a beggar, the purchaser offered him a small piece of mon i ‘■>’■ I “If it please you,” faltered Samuel. “I am the j ’ painter of that picture.” The tall nutn.was count Ifiinkulsbacli, one of the richest noblemen in Germany. He tore out a leaf from his pocket-book, wrote on it a few lines, and handed it to the artist. “Here, friend,” hy said, “is the order for the amount, which thou mayest receive at once.— Adieu.” And he passed oil;, Samuel finally persuaded himself that all was not a dream. lie became the owner of an estate, ami laid many plans for living at his ease, and cultivating his favorite Art as a pastime, when an indigestion ended his Jays. The picture that had brought fortune in so singular a manner re mained long iu f|e iHissoKsion of Count I >udals bach, and is now in the collection of the King of Bavaria. . - ■ ♦ .. r. From the Nationftl intelligencer. William Chambers’s View of the United States. The vi'u-irnM,’ Edinburg publisher and author, William Chamber’s, Esq., who recently made a brief tour in the northern and eastern States, has on the eve of his return to Europe, published a tetter, in which he nys:— “I leave the United States with much regret. I carry with me the conviction that a great and Splendid future }s before them. Contrary to the opinion of most traveller* froi lt England, I see here a young but rapidly-growing nation offer ing an example to the oldest communities in Europe. It is far from my wish to flatter: hat what do I not feel fast delight In seeing I lam overcome with the stupendous pggporttoas jrifil oowtry—its frr~ iflyflriiSjjd fleUbftwJpAu sßbsigtancc and hMMMPw] the Am'Mrnn ]Jsople. so little undgßgbjM and often mi-represonled t candidly OMwHrM- j markable love of older, their unaljHMiid j verance, their love mHB MMHPTtHei r respect of even the hunflHttjjpWs among them, their striking sobriety, their admirable education al systems, their many excellent libraries and universal fondness for reading ; their press, free from fiscal exaction; their flourishing institutions, j untamperod by civil polity ; their economically and spiritedly got-up ‘■ailways, oow pushed half ! way to the Pacific; the neatness of their dwell jings ; their wonderful, and to an Englishman I alarming, progress in the mechanical arts ; the j marvellous growth of their chics, and, f xtllf add, their civilty to strangers—l say all this gives me unqualified pleasure. And When I contrast their cities, free from pauperism and vice in its m ist loathsome forms, with what meets the eye in London, Edinburg, Glasgow, and other large ; cities in Britain; f feel that travellers from the oW | country have really little reason to speak dis dainfully of America, or to exaggerate faults which at most are only partial and of no sort of account. , ’ “Such being my impressions, it wilL.be my. j duty to represent, in ray own poor way at home, ■ thing* -rt they deserve to be spoken of. Nov shall I fail to speak of the advantages to be derived i by an emigration of the laboring classes general ly to this country—fleeihg, m they will do, froai a perishable and unimprovable condition to • state of comfort and boundless prospects of w#B- doing.” “Who Maob ¥ool”— tine of the ladies 000- neeted with the ‘Methodist Five Foiots MiaNgf who has under her charge some thirty ifUl* J boys, called them together on the morning at Christmas, toj>erfccl them in their answer* (0 ■> questions she intended to pul tothera before the D visitors during the afternoon. After them properly, tic first boy on the right, is ever to the question, “w ho made you f” was la ‘ say “God.” The next, “Os what were von HHH reply, “The dost of the earth,” and so on throagli 4 the Catechism, The albitnportant moment han J tug arrived, the tittle “shavers” were told to (taarii.-i up. The little head boy, it seems, was i but the fact being unnoticed by the teacher, M . ; [iroceeded with the question, ‘Who made yoaf* “ hielt elicited the followirg laughable answer! “I wits made out of de dirt of the ’ert; bahdM J little feller what God made has got the belly ache j and gone home.”— a V. K. Mirror. Alli .T. —The most, beautiful flowers are thaM il, which arc double, such as double pinks ; doubwi . roses and double dahlia. What an jis this agaiti.st the chilling deformity tn ei i toadstools! “<o marry,” is written on every- | thing beautiful that the eye rests upon— begins tilng with tile birds of paradise, auu leaving off* with apple blossoms. Fr’ iu the .Southern Recorder. List of Acts Das sod by the G-gistature aud signed by the Governor, |irevious to the recess : No. 1. To alter and change the time of hold ing the Inferior Coilrts of the county of Patti ding. No. 2. T<> authorise the State Treasurer to make certain advance, . r No. 3. Amendatory of the several laws incor porating the* City of Millcdgeville, so for a* relates to the election of oificera by tha peo ple. j No. 4. To appropriate money from the Treas ury as a contingent fund for die political years 1854 and 1 Hos. —No. ft. TW-}ay-wt- ai -w aoaaty from the counties of Cherokee and Gilmer. I No. 6. To lay out and form a now county out l of the counties of Walker and Whitfield, and to ! add a portion of Walker to \\ bitfield, and to or : ganize said new county. , No. 7. To incorporate Mai.'hall College in the j Ciiv of Griffin. j No. 8. To Ikv cut and organise anew county from the counties of Franklin and Elbert nod to provide for the organization of the same. No. 0. To amend the several acts relating id the Court o! Common Ideas and’ of Oyer nod Terminer of the City of Savannah, and for other pur|M>ses. . . No. 10. To incorporate tlie McDonough Celt h'giate Seminary, and to give the Commissioners of the incorporation pf the town of that shall hereafter be elected, foil uower and authority to pass and enforce all such by-latm mid ordinances us they, in their jttdgnienttSMgr believe necessary to guard the internet* ©f tbd citizens residing in ne corporate limits of iiid tow nos McDonough, and to instlte the perms* ueut prosperity of said institution. No. 11. To indemnify Henry M. Burkhalter tat j loss suataitu and by him in onasequeooeoftbnSHkt# | selling to him a fractional lot of land to which ft? ! had no title ; also, to indemnify Wm. Toney sot a lot purchased by him under similar circum stances. •••■. - r ~~r~7 * No 12. For tlie pardon of Elijah Bird of county of De Kalb, now under senterfbe of deMtH for the crime of nitfrdfeh , No. iff. To lay off and orgfcniseatww coaa/tf from the county of Baker, and to Mttmfc tka same to a judicial, congressional and’ imilitary district. No. 14. For the relief of Nancy S, Header* No. 15. To lay out and organise new aomfoty ; from the county of Stewart and to provide fol the organization of the same. • v - ■ No. 16. To allow certain citizens of the State of Alabama to obtain letters llistthueleij iii? for other purposes; and to autboriie M©Nii Kennedy, administrator, to •eB land. *li* State.. , No. 17. To authorize the treasurer of tfcii Agtf to make- to the members of the . ‘ Assembly and its officers, oeftMM|M|fl££i|g|r Tax Returns and Tax Collsctur of AMpr, Gwinnett aud Pulaski. No. 19. To add a portion ofllabenliaAj)|6ljpl ty to the county of Lumpkin:, aaqflMßalNNatt 3 act to add theiraet of land knotfa m wood’s null tract in Uu|l county, to of Gwinnett, approved January .. No. 20. .For the relief of the tdS|3|it|Sfe Ruckmvilfo Pahkintf r."„ty, general laws of thtf Plate in *i?£sw N0,'92. To provide for tbs payment tain census takers of this State therein frjgaJ and.. , \ No. 23. To abolish, change and establish rise* tain election precincts in the counties hereinafter, named. No. 24. To anthorhse the MfaVor ajfcS CboncsT of Macon to lease a iwrtiotLof the Citj Common; known a? Naper’s old field. - ; . A No. 23. For tlic relief of Samuel Pasooe. No. 26. To remove, abolish and qajajißf olection precincts in certafrt coantied >nr thkt State. ’ No. 27. To lay out and oqptnTss anew coun ty front th* county of ItoKalb'aud toi otfrey war. poses therein specified. * No. 3#. To lay out and organise a now eofflftdC from the counties of Dooly and lVwin, find sfhgjF the same to a Judicial and Congressional dist *nd for other purposes. Assented to 20th ‘ jaggfc To Swasaair van Bxa rH4JTdhßavurOis> loss.—Chew- a little paiOarjdlr. W=r|Mr awv the offensive smell.* ‘JgRv JPI^L RillUrAi PropiDlar NtMBER 8