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SAVANNAH DAILY HERALD. VOL. I—NO. 59. The Savannah Daily Herald (MORNING AND EVENING) IS PruLISIIED BY M. W. MASON «fe CO., At 111 Bay Stbeet, Savahnah, Georgia, terms: Per Copy Five Cent*. Per Hundred $3 50. Per Year $lO 00, advertising: Two Dollars per Square of Ten Lines for first in sertion ; One Dollar for each subsequent one. Ad vertisements inserted in the morning, will, if desired, appear in the evening without extra charge. JOB PRINTING every style, neatly and promptly done. ■ i ■ 1- J-Jil'il i-Jl'U'J-J J.- WHERE THERE’S A WILL, THERE’S A WAY ! BY J. O . SAXE. It was a noble Roman, In Rome'B imperiul day, Who heard a coward croaker, Before the battle say : “ They're safe in such a fortress; There is no way to shake it—" ••On 1 on !" exclaimed the hero, “ I’ll find a way, or make it!" Is Fame your aspiration, Her path is steep and high : In vain he seeks the temple, Content to gaze and sigh! The shining tnrone is waiting. But he alone can take it, Who says with Roman firmness, •‘l’ll find a way, or make it I’ Is Learning your ambition ? There is no royal road: Alike the peer and peasant Must climb to her abode ; Who fee’s the thirst for knowledge, In Helicon may slake it. If he has still the Roman will To ’• find a way, or make it l” Are Riches worth the getting ? They must be bravely sought; With wishing and with fretting The boon can not be bought; To all the prize is open, But only he can take it Who says, with Roman courage, ‘•I'll find a way, or make it! In Love's impassioned warfare. The tale has* ever beeL That victory crowns the valiant, The brave are they who win; Though strong is Beauty’s castle A lover still may take it, Who says, with Roman daring, '• I’ll find a way, or make it»" SNOW FLAKES. BY LONGFELLOW. Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fief.s forsaken, Silent and soft, and slow Descends the snow. Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled hoart doth maKo In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels. This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood ami field. Australia’s ftmis.—The policy of Eng land towards her colonies has ever been il liberal, but the case of Australia is more marked than any other. This vast island in the South Atlantic, tor more than three-quar ters of a century, has been the liftral sink of the mother country. Hundreds of thousands of convicts, embracing all sexes, and sen tenced for all grades of crime, have been transported to that land, and from those have sprung a nation ashamed of their an cestry. With the discoveiy of gold, and settlement of the most civilized districts of the country, the Government consented some years ago to send these criminals only to the western part of the island, remofe from the settlements of the better class of citizens. , I But the people of Australia have deter mined that their country shall not be made a place of refuge for all the villains of Great Britain, and have persistently urged the Home Government to abolish the system of transportation. For many months petitions and remonstrances, private and official, have been sent forward against sending any more convicts to Western Australia. Men of all shades of opinion, and of every class, have taken a part in the agitation, and made a common cause of it. in tact the feeling is unanimous and profound, that the soil of Australia, shall no longer be polluted by the tilth ot England, and that a persistence in the policy will inevitably tend to estrange ment and final separation. An Australian journal, in contemplating the probability of separation says, “so long as we are a part of England we share in all the consequence of her policy, although we have no voice in its direction. It is not permitted us to make war or peace;, but we are involved necessa rily in whatever measures England, at the other end of the globe, may take in regard to her neighbors. If the connection were severed we would be free to take our mea sures for our own defence, or make terms with an enemy, if such we had. ” Since the discovery of gold a better class of population has emigrated to Australia and with the thrift and enterprise of its peo ple it is becoming wealthy and prosperous. Melbourne, the principal city, which had but a few thousand inhabitants ten years ago, lias more than 150,000 population.— With a country three millions of square miles in extent, which embraces every vari ety of climate, from torrid to temperate, with arable soil, and enriched with the gold en treasures of the earth, it is natural that the Australians should seek to remove the stigma which rests on their country as a convict land, and notwithstanding the unfor tunate past, strive for an honorable future. The rebel Secretary of the Treasury has found out that lie made a mistake in estimat ing the debt of the confederacy, reckoning it three hundred million of dollars less than it really is; but the Richmond newspapers say that “it’s of no sort of consequence,” in iact, is another “blessing in disguise.” May be, but we prefer to have our blessings out ol the other lot, if you please. Ax Italian iu London earns a livelihood by slapping the back of his head with the sole of liis foot, at a theatre. He contrives to make both ends meet in a double sense. SAVANNAH, GA., SUNDAY, MARCH 19, 1865. MASONIC. We clip from the Trowel the following: In company with Bro. Curtis, of Illinois, I sought admission into Solomon’s Lodge No. 1, and alter patiently waiting until after some hunch ed or so officers of the army (and some privates, too,) had passed through the hands of the examining committee, I was ushered into the most beautiful lodge room it has ever been my privilege to enter. The chair was filled by the master of the lodge, Richard Turner, Esq., a venerable, intelligent and worthy Mason. The room was crowded to a degree of uncomfortableness by citizens and soldiers, generals, colonels; majors, captains, and privates, mingling together as if such a thing as rank existed not in the service. The work was beautifully executed, and every thing seemed to conspire to render the even ing one of pleasure and of profit. By my side sat a rebel prisoner, who had got per mission to visit the lodge without a guard. Rebels and Union men mingled together in that throng as if no war w r as going on, and I doubt not that each one prayed that the clangor of arms might soon cease. A little incident occurred worthy of record; An officer of the Federal army brought into the lodge a “collar and apron,” both verv beauti ful, for the purpose of having them restored to the rightful owner. It seems that a party of our soldiers were pillaging the house of a rebel, carrying off, not eatables, (a soldier s lawful prize,) but everything else that struck their fancy, The lady at the sight of the de vastation of her household, exclaimed, “/<? there a Freemason here who will protect me ?" The words ran like an electric shot through the nerves of Captain , who incontinently commenced an indiscriminate booting of the mob from the premises. Pursuing his way with the column, he was informed a soldier carried off from the house alluded to sqme articles pertaining to Masonry. The soldier was forced to give up liis spoils, 1 and the brother carried them safely to Savannah, and the meeting last night, placed them in hands that will convey them to the rightful owner. I saw in this lodge a bible, presented to it by Gen. Oglethorpe, which is highly prized. Death of ax Old Mason. —Col. Levi Dar rol Judson died at Waterloo, Seneca County, N. Y., on January Bth, and was interred with masonic and military honors. He was one of the oldest Masons in the State of New York, having been made under the jurisdiction of Dewitt Clinton. During the warot 1812 he served as Colonel of a regiment of volunteers.— Since that period he was a resident ot Phila delphia, but removed to Waterloo, where for the three past years he has been afflicted with paralysis to such a degree as not to be able to leave his loom. His son is well knorfn to the reading community as E. Z. C. Judson, or “Ned Buntline”. -N. York Courier. A Venerable Chair. —The oldest Masonic Chair in Ireland was presented to Lodge No. . S, by Bro. Thomas Aldworth Cocker, P. M. No. 8, (I. C.,)and was occupied by Viscount Doneralle (Hayes St. Leger,) at Doneralle House, when the Hon. Mrs. Aldworth (then the Hon. Miss St. Leger) received the first and second degrees. The chair originally belonged to the Hon. Viscount Kingston, and was used at Michelstown Castle by him as Grand Master of the Masonic body in Ire land. The Viscount presented it to Lodge No. 25, held at Doneralle, whence it was given to Lodge No. 25, removed to Cork.— Bro. W. A. Hacket, P. M., No. 3, proposed a vote of thanks to Bro. T. A. Cocker,which was seconded by Bro. W. P. Rothwell, S. D., and entered in the minutes of the lodge by Bro. E. W. Wigmore, Sec. This highly interesting Masonic relic is finely carved in the Corinthian style, and has been complete ly renovated after a lapse of 150 years since the date of its manufacture. It may be re marked that, during the veiy troublous times from 1798 to 1828, the chair and Masonifl paraphernalia were locked up for periods of four and ten years respectively, as Masonic bodies were, by the provisions of the Limit ed Acts, prevented from assembling.—Ma sonic Mirror. Freemasonry in toe Wilds of Austra lia. —In Australia, at one place Stuart met an old man and his two sons, handsome and well armed. The native could not under stand the questions put to him about the country ; but after some time, having con ferred with his sons, he turned round and surprised me by giving me one of the ma sonic signs. I looked at him steadily; lie repeated it, which seemed to please them much, the old man patting me on the shoul der and stroking down my beard. They then took their departure, making friendly signs till they were out of sight. Act of the British Parliament on Free masonry.—“And whereas certain societies have been long accustomed to be holden in this kingdom, under the denomination of Freemasons: Be it therefore enacted, that nothing in this act shall extend to the meet ings of any such society, or lodge, which shall, before the passing of this Act, have been usually holdeu under the said denomi nation, and in conformity to the rules pre vailing among the said societies of Freema sons. Provided, always, that this exemption shall not extend to any such society unless two of the members composing the same shall certify upon oath that such society or lodge has, before the passing of this Act, been usually held under the denomination of a lodge of Freemasons, and in conformity to the rules prevailing among the societies or lodges of Freemasons in this kingdom.”— Act of George 111, for the more effectual suppression of societies, established for* se ditious and treasonable purposes. Much curiosity is felt as to the ultimate point to which General Sherman is marching. As that point has been communicated to us in strictest confidence, we’ll whisper it in fire reader’s ear, if he’ll solemnly promise ana swear, just as a rebel does when he takes the oath ot allegiance, not to let it go any further. Well, then, it is— Washington. He will be there on the 4th of March, 18C9. What is the exact route he is to take, we are not advised, —but we guess that he will take the Richmond route, by taking Rich mond. That is pretty much all that is left for him to do, and he is the man to do it. The rebel leaders have “struck oil” in Richmond, but it is turmoil. Jones and the Writer. —One day lately when I was in a very bad humor, 1 was pas sing the palace of Jones. There was a hand some carriage waiting at the door, and pres ently Jones himselt catnc down the steps, sisted by a footman, and entered it. Jones’ hair was Rightly gray, but he had a plump, ruddy face, and looked like a person who enjoyed himself. Seeing that Jones was going out for his pleasure at three o’clock in the afternoon, I thought it probable that he had nothing else to do on the lace of the earth but enjoy himself. This man, thought Ito myself, is a sort of Fortuuatus. When ever he puts his bund in his pocket he finds money there. He is not obliged to make an effort to obtain it. He toils not, neither does he spin ; yet he is magnificent, and has all the pleasures of the world at his command. Now, the aggravating reflection about this is, that if Jones did toil and spin he wouid’nt be half so well off as he is. What encourag - ment is there for me to go home—to Hoxton —and rack my brain, when all ir.y best ef forts are not equal iu substantial result to Jones’ doing nothidg ? I write a tragedy, he has but to write a cheque. This uudistin-. guished Jones is my bloated aristocrat.— When 1 see him Idling in his carriage, chink ing the sovereigns in all his pockets, I feel ready for the barricades. I mutter between my teeth, ‘Down with the bloated Joneses!’ I ask, again, where do all these common people get their money ? How should it be such an easy'thing for them, and such a diffi cult thing for me ? How provokingly cool they are over it! But if I, after a hard struggle, obtain possession of a hundred pounds or so, I am as nervous as possible un til Lget it safely at rest. What if the band should break! If I had five thousan pounds instead of five hundred to my ac count, I feel certain I should never trouble myself about the stability of the bank. This is what I envy—not wealth itself, but its po tentiality. Wbeu I saw Tones in his carriage roll off from his door, I went my way iu a very ill humor. I don't know that I wanted any thing that day. Ail was right at Hoxton; no duns nor disagreeables of any kind. I had Sv-en my name in the papers; ‘rising young man, rapidly reaching the .top round of the ladder’ (one paper said I had reached it al ready;) it was a very fine day; I was in very good health ; I had several loose sovereigns in my pocket; and, lor that day, and several more it I choose, I had nothing to do but enjoy myself. Still, I was whipped and out of humor. When I had wondered about for many hours among the grey scenes ot the West end, seeking unalloyed pleasure and finding it not, I turned to a famous supper room, where designation is promoted by minstrelsy. I had heard to sit iu this room and eat chops and baked potatoes while a tuneful choir, iuspired by the divine Nine, sing glees and# madrigals, was to compass the very round and top of human enjoy ment. I had bethel that those chops and pa fhtoes, accompanied by the lyre, were med icine for the mind diseased ; that they were potent to raze out the written trouble of the braffi. and cleanse the stuff that weighs upon lleh art. Rememberiug these things, I said 10 m,. self, if man should need an antidote to poiconed thoughts, this should be the shod ' where he may procure it. I entered, and encountered the good apothecary. His looks were not meager; his weeds were not tattered. On the contra ry lie had a very jolly rubicund face, and wore a most unexceptionable surtout. He smiled, shook me by the hand, gave me snuff from a chest (box is not the word), and called me his dear boy. The pain in my temper was vanishing at the very sight of the good apothecary. Ere the medicinal crop and potato were set before me that pain departed. Yes, yes; lam willing to own it. I am becoming reconciled to Hoxton, when suddenly my eye falls upon an elderly gen tleman at one of the tables. It is Jones. He is sitting drinking claret out of a crystal gob let, smoking a very choice cigar—l know by the ash—and listening to the music with his eyes shut. * I uoticed that his clothes were fine and rich; his fingers are covered with sparkling '.rings; his cambric shirt-front is ablaze with three dazzling diamonds. He is enjoying himself at every pore. I can see it by the way he" puffs his cigar, by the gusto with which lie sips his Lafitte, by the artful and knowing way—practiced Sabarite!—in which he keeps his eyes gently closed, that his ears may not be distracted from their draft of delight . Bloated Jones! hated mem ber of a nameless but pampered class. At the very sight of Jones, Hoxton starts up before me in all its meanness and loath someness. Look at him ! how he wallows in pleasure. What a power of he has ! I feel certain that if he were to give n;e one of those choice cigars of his, I could not extract half the enjoyment from it that he does ; I could not fiud half the flavor in the Lafitte. And see how thoroughly he enjoys the music. Never opens his eyes for a mo ment ; but listens, listens, while his face beams with an expression ot the most ex quisite pleasure. By-and-by, when he has had his till of delight, he will roll home in his luxurious carriage, while I—Ah, I see he is about to go now. He has thrown away the end of his cigar, and is putting on bis gloves. A gentleman from the other end of the table conies forward with his hat and stick. The gentleman is evidently Jones’ servant, his butler or his valet’ Fancy that! The gentle man hands Jones his hat and gold headed walking stick and takes him by the arm. Bloated, pampered nobody ! The waiters are making way for him as he passes along; the gentlemen at the tables are rising to draw their chairs out of his way. ‘ls he so very distinguished a person J’uen?’ I ask. ‘Ob, no,’ is the reply, ‘but the poor old gentleman is blind.’ Blind ! Let me go to Hoxton and say my prayers.— All the Year Round. You may believe this story if you want to “A child bom recently in San Francis co had no opening for its eyes. Cuts were made and a pair of bright eyes were found underneath. What is most singular, eye lashes have commenced growing on each side of the cut, and the lids do regular ser vice.” Clerks at Richmond starve on salaries of $7,000 a year,—and no wonder, for that sum means $l4O in money. A WONDERFUL DREAM. THE SKELETON IN THE WELL. Tt was during the year 1801, in the thriving little town of Argentiere, near the foot of the Cevennes Mountains, in France. The day was charming. Many of the inhabitants were traversing the highways, enjoying the agreeableness of the weather. Among the number there was a tall young man, appa rently net more than twenty-five years of age. In liis right band he carried a cane, and in his left a small carpet-bag. His gait was quiek, and. from liis expression he appeared to be bent on some important errand. In his nervous manner he walked,occasionally glan cing around to view the surfbunding objects. He had hardly gone more than a quarter of a mile, when he came to a small street, which was in the suburbs of the town. He turned and proceeded up this. Presently, after walking a short distance he arrived at an inn. Here he hesitated; and after viewing the ex terior, ne muttered to himself the following words: “itis very singular that this is the first inn I have seen throughout my route. Howev er 1 will put up here.” So saying, he entered the building,, and having registered his name, was shown to a room. After ordering his dinner, he went into liis apartment to rest himself. His order was immediately responded to; and after earing he prepared to retire, intending to partake of a long and hearty sleep, so that early next morning he might visit the various merchants of the town. He accordingly went to bed, and was soon wrapt in slumber. While thus sleeping he had a dream that made the strongest impression on him, We will give it as from the lips of the dreamer: “I thought that I had arrived at the same town but in the middle of the eveuiug, which was really the case ; that I had put up at the same inn, and gone immediately, as an un acquainted stranger would do, in order to see whatever was worthy of observation in the place. I walked down the main street into another street, apparently leading into the country. I had gone no great distance when I came to a church, which I stopped to ex amine- After satisfying my curiosity, I ad vanced to a by-path which branched off from the main street. Obeying an impulse which I could neither account for nor control, 1 struck into this path, though it was winding, rough and unfrequented, and presently readi ed a miserable cottage, in trout of which was a garden lull of weeds I bad no great diffi culty iu getting into the garden, for the hedge had several wide gaps in it. I approaches rm old well that stood solitary ana gloomy in a distant corner ; and looking down into it, I beheld, without any possibility of mis take, a corpse which had been sUfooed in several places. I counted the deep wounds and gashes. There wi re six.” At this moment he awoke with his hair on end, trembling in every limb, and cold drops of perspiration -bedewing his forehead— awoke to find himself comfortably iu bed— "he dressed himselt, and, as it was-yet early, sought an appetite for breakfast by a morn ing walk. He went accordingly into tiie street, and strolled along. The farther he went, the stronger became the confused re collection of the objects that presented them selves to hits view r . “Itis very strange,” said ho to himself, “I have never been in this place before, and I could swear that. I’ve seen this house, and the next, and that other on the left. On he went, till he came to the corner of a street crossing the one down which he had come. Before long lie arrived at the church with the architectural features which had at tracted his notice in the dream ; and then the high-road along which he had pursued his way, coming at length to the same by path which had presented itself to his imagi nation a few' hours before ! There was no possibility of doubt or mistake. Every tree and every turn was familiar to him. lie hur ried forward, no longer doubting that the next moment would bring him to the cottage; and this was really the case. Indeed, all its exterior appearances corresponded with w'hat he had seen in his dream. Who then, could wonder that he determined to ascertain whether the coincidence would hold good in every point ? He entered the garden, and went directly to the spot where he had seen the well; but here the resemblance failed ; there was none. He looked in every direc tion, examined the whole garden and then went round to the cottage, which seemed to be inhabited ; but nowhere could he find any signs of a well. He then hastened Crack to the inn in a state of excitement hard to des cribe. He could not make up his mind to allow such extraordinary coincidences to pass unnoticed. But how was be to obtain a clue to the awful mystery ? He went to the landlord and asked him directly to whom the cottage belouged that was on the by-road, near to him. “I wouder, sir,” said he, “wbat causes you to take such particular notice ot that wretch ed little hovel ? It i3 inhabited by an old man and his wife who have the character ot being very uusocial. They scarcely ever leave the house, see nobody, and nobody goes to see them. Os la.te, their very exis tence appears to have been forgotten, and I believe you are the first, who, for years, has turned your steps to the lonely spot.” These details, instead of satisfying his cu riosity, only roused it the more. Breakfast was served, but he could eat none; and he felt that if he presented himself to the mer chants in sucli a state of excitement they might think him mad. He walked up and down the room and looked out of the window, endeavoring to interest himself in a quarrel between two men in the street; but the gar den and cottage pre-occupicd his mind ; and at last snatching up his hat, he made his way to the street. Hastening to the nearest mag istrate, he related the whole circumstance briefly and clearly. “It is very strange," said the officer, “ and after what has happened, 1 don’t think it would be right to leave the matter without further investigation. I will place two of the police at your command; you can then go once more to the hovel, and search every part of it. You may, perhaps, make some important discoveiy.” • He allowed but a few minutes to elapse be fore he was on his way, accompanied by the two officers. After knocking at the door, and waiting for some time, the old man opened the door. Ho received them some- PRICE. 5 CENTS. what uncivilly, but showed no mark of sus picion when they told him they wished to search the house. “Very well; as fa9t and as soon as you please,” was the reply. “ Have you a well here ?’’ “ No, Sir; we are obliged to get our water from a spring-about a quarter of a mile dis tant.” “A well ?” said she, “Is it a well you are looking for ? That has been gone these thirty years. I remember it as if it were yesterday; how I used to throw stones into it, just to hear the splash in the water." “Do you remember where that well used to be ?” asked the gentleman. “As near as I can recollect,".replied the woman, “it is on the very spot where you now stand.” He suddenly started as it he had trodden upon a serpent. They at once commenced digging up the ground. At about twenty inches deep, they came to a layer of bricks, which being broken up concealed some rot ten boards. They were easily removed, when they beheld the dark mouth of the well. They searched the house, but discovered nothing of any consequence. Meanwhile the old man gazed upon them with an im penetrable vacancy of look, as if he could not understand why they were intruding on his property. Finally, they forsook the cot tage, without finding anyttdng to corrobo rate their suspicious. They, however, re solved to inspect the garden. By this time a nuipber of persons had collected together outside, having been drawn to the spot by the sight of a stranger with two policemen.— They were asked if they knew anything of a well in those p*arls. They replied they did not; the idea seemed to perplex them. At length an old woman came forward, leaning on a crutch. “I was quite certain that was the spot,” said the old woman. “What a fool you were to stop it up, and then have to travel so far for water!" A sounding line, furnished with hooks, was now let down into the well—the crowd hard-pressing around him breathlessly bend ing over the black and fetid hole, the secrets of which seemed hidden in impenetrable ob scurity. This was repeated several times without any result. At length, penetrating below the mud, the hooks caught in some thing of considerable weight; and after much time and effort they succeeded in rais ing it from the obscure hole. It was an old chest. The sides and lid were decayed, and it needed no locksmith to open it. Within it they found what they were sure they would find, and which filled the spectators w.th horror—the remains of a human bocjy. The police officers now rushed into the house and secured the old man. As to his wife, /he at first could not be found. But after a fat iguing search she Was discovered beneath a pile ot wood, being much bruised by the heavy logs above her. By this time nearly the whole population of the town had collected around the spot. Tlie old couple were brought before the proper authorities and separately examined. The man persisted in his denial motft obstin ately, but bis wife at once confessed that she and her husband, a very long time ago, had murdered a peddler, who possessed a large sum of money. He had passed the nigh* at their house, and they, taking advantage of the heavy sleep that encompassed him, had strangled him, after which they placed liis body in a chest. The chest was then thrown into the well and the well stopped up. The two criminals had reason to believe them selves free from detection, as there were no witnesses of the crime, and its traces had been carefully concealed. Nevertheless, they had not been able to hush the voice of conscience. They fled from their fellow men. They were intimidated at the slightest noise, and silence thrilled them with leaf.— They had often thought of flying to some distant land; but some inexplicable influence kept them near the remains of their victim. Terrified by the deposition of his wife, the old man at length made a similar confession; and six weeks after the guilty couple ex pired on the scaffold. Relations with France. —Diplomatic in tercourse between this countnnand France is well nigh at an end. Mr. Mercier left this country long ago, and the gentleman appoint ed to succeed him has never arrived in Amer ica. Mr. Dayton, our Minister at Paris, is dead and buried, and Mr. Bigelow is Charge there. We are told that Napoleon 111. does not mean to send a Minister to Washington until our government shall recognize the new government that he has set up in Mexico. Suppose that they never should recognize Maximilian at Washington, what then? Would there never be a French Minister sent to our capital ? At this moment it does not seem very likely that our President is to “see” the Mexican Emperor; for not only are the Republicans of Mexico doing toler. bly well, but our own successes are so great that we do not care a fig for France and her Em peror. Let him keep his envoys at home, if that’s to his taste. We shan’t suffer for the non-appearance of any one of their number at Washington. The last one who was there was our enemy, and he served his master badly by reporting to him that the secession ists were sure to succeed. Oqr statement re specting relations between the two countrica is, that no French Minister will be sent to Washington until our government shall have sent a successor to Mr. Dayton charged with satisfactory explanations of threats made in this country against Mexico.— Bost. Traveller. A young man named Clarke, who deserted from the Third New Hampshire,- confesses that he jumped five bounties in a single day in the city of New York, and that he has se cured in all about SII,OOO in bounties. It that fellow had turned his attention to politics and municipal affairs in New York he would have attained high distinction in the common council “ring.” A copperhead member of the Ohio Legis lature offered a resolution, which was prompt ly kicked out by a vote of 50 to 8, thanking the Legislature of New Jersey for defeating the constitutional amendment. * Don't be in a hurry Buckeye—it is soon enc ugh to thank a man for doing a mean thing, when he has done it.