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VOL. I. THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL Ii published every Thursday Evening, IN COLUMBUS, GA. By WH. H. CHAMBERS, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. OJflte up stairs, Corner of Broad and Randolph sts. Terms of Subscription. Dno copy twelve months, in advance, - - - $2 50 ** ** “ “ At the end of the year, 300 “ “ “ “ After the year expires, 400 Rates of Advertising. One square, first insertion, ... - 81 oo •’ “ Each subsequent insertion, - - 50 Contracts will be made for advertising by the quarter, hr by the year, at liberal deductions from the above rates. All obituary a., notices must he accompanied V a responsible name, and where they exceed one square they will be charged as other advertisements. lo Corrf.spon dents.—All communications must be addressed (post paid) to the Proprietor at this place. Contributions mu6t he accompanied with the real name t>f the writer. COUNCIL PROCEEDINGS. Council Chamber, Jan. Gtli, 1P,50. Resolved, That contracts for crossing the Bridge will be received until the first day of February next, and that said contracts expire on the 15th of Janu ary, 1851. Resolved, That in all propositions to cross the Bridge under contract, the applicant shall’ state in writing the distances he or she resides from Coinrn bup, the number of persons composing the family, the vehicles with which crossing is to be done, and the amount proposed to be paid for such privilege. Resolved, That the Bridge Committee be author ized to receive proposals, and that no proposition for a less sum than $5 will be considered. Resolved, That the Clerk have the above publish ed in hand-bills and city papers. Adopted. JOHN A. URQUHART, ‘ S. It. ANDREWS, R. C. SHORTER, Jan. 10.—[2 3t] Bridge Committee.- Sturgis *V .Mi7/fr, ATTokIMBES AT LAW, lSitciia Vislti, .Rariou county, Ga. VCOI.I. practice in all tbe counties <*f llie Clinttnhoot bee anil adjoining counties ol the South WesternCireuit. | Tit Alt. STURGIS, E. W. MILLER. i Feb. 15,1849 7 ts . IMPORTANT | TO HILL OWNERS AND PLANTERS. PSN HE undersigned will contract for building ■ Rock Dams, or any kind of rock work and : ditching, in any part of this Mute or Georgia, in the ; must improved manner. TIMOTHY 11. COLLINS, ! Fort Mitchell, Russell,, Cos. Ala. j Dec. 6,1812. 49 6m. Notice to Travellers. THAT pleasant and well known Stand formerly’ i occupied by Janies McGuire, and known as the j half way House from Columbus to Lumpkin, lias been | taken by the subscriber, where ho will endeavor to give satisfaction to all who may favor him with their patronage. N. J. BUSSEY. Jaine.tnnu, Jan. 10,1050. 2 Ini I ANDERSON & McEI.HANY, |IESI'K(n'FUU,V info rip the ciiir.ens of Columbus i IV and adjacent countiy, that they have fitted an office over I. G. Stimtkr'b store, on Randolph street, where they are prepared to execute, in the best manner, all branch- i of the profession, according to the latest and most ap- j proved discoveries of the art. In addition to the above, they have all the facilities for MANUFACTURING TEETH, which must give them advantages over all others in (lie construction of eu- j tire Dentures, as their teeth are carved in blocks with 1 gums, which not only gives greater strength than those j put-up singly, but presents a more natural and life-like appearance. Specimens of workmanship can be seen by calling at j their office. All Operations guarantied. Terms r ery reasonable. : I)r. A. would add, that he has had more than ten year’s experience in an extensive practice in Philadelphia and vicinity, and flatters himself with being able to give eu- j tire satisfaction in every branch of the profession. Ite- j commendations of the highest order can be seen at the i * ffice. Dec. 6,1819. 49 3m j a. c. Mclntyre WOUI.D inform the citizens of Columbus, that lie I lias discovered anew process, hv w hich lie is eii- I abled to bring the DAGUERREOTYPE to a hitherto f iuconceiveahle state of perfection, and one altogether ! unattainable by any other operator. He would also take j this method of respectfully inviting the public to exam- i ine the numerous specimens at his gallery. The alien- I lion of the Ladies is particularly solicited to inspect his i fine assortment ofbeautiful cases and medallons. finish ed in an entirely new style, and just received from New j York. Columbus, Dec. 27, IS ID. 52 ts j 850 REWARD. KUNWWAN from the subscriber, about the loth I February last, a small mulatto woman, by the name of FRANCES, slip is about four feet ten or ele- j ven inches high, speaks quick and laughs loud, with ra ther a squeaking voice, her nose and nioufli project ra ther more than is common for mulattos ; she had rings in hot ears when she left, and always wears something on her head. I will pay fifty dollars for the apprehen sion and safe keeping of her so that l can get her. I will also pay a liberal reward for proof sufficient to eon- i ▼ict any person of harboring her. as 1 have reasons to be lieve she is concealed bv someone. S. T. AUSTIN. ; November 1. 44tf lings, lisigs! liags! The Rork Island Factory IS prepared to purchase clean LINEN, HEMP nrCof ton It V(S, and will pay 3} rents per pound for One Hundred Thousand pound's, delivered at the Mills, oil the ('liattaliooclif e rTver, three miles above Columbits,in quantities of nc t less than 100 pounds. (O’Merchants mid l’iad"rs in the surrounding country would do well to draw the attention ot their ctis!on;ers to ahe advantage ot SAY ING and axcliatiging them for Goods and Wares. CASH will always he paid for Rags at “Rock Island Factory.” Bv order of th” Board. GF.ORCK \V. WINTER, Sec’v. ! Columbus, Ga. March 1, 1E49. 9 if” TO PHYSICIANS, DRUGGISTS ASD COUNTRY MERCHANTS. T\U. J. N. KEELER &. BRO. most respectfully solicit attention to their fresh stock of English, i ranch, German and American Drugs, Medicines, Che micals, Paints, Oils, Dye-stuffs, Glassware, Perfumery, ‘ Patent Medicines, doc. Having opened anew store No. j 294 Market-st., with a full supply of Fresh Drugs and Medicines, we respectfully solicit country dealers to exa mine our stock betore purchasing elsewhere, promising one all who may be disposed to extend to us their patron age, to sell them genuine Drugs and Medicines, on as ! liberal terms as any other house in the city, and to faith fully execute all orders entrusted to us promptly and with j dispatch. One of the proprietors being a regular physi cian, affords ample guarantee of the genuine quality of all articles sold at their establishment. We especially ■ invite druggists and country merchants, who may wish to become agents for Dr. feeler’s Celebrated Family j Medicines, (standard and popular remedies.) to forward ; Soliciting the patronage of dealers, we respectfully remain, j- N. KEELER A BRO. Wholesale Druggists, j Oct. 11,1819. ]y N0.294 Markct-st, Fhil’a. I THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL. The Motherless. God help and shield the motherless, The stricken, bleeding dove— For whom there gushes no rich fount Os deep and deathless love ! The Faddest titles grief confers— For who so lone as they, Upon whose path a mother's love Sheds not its holy raj’! No gentle form above them bends To soothe the couch of pain— No voice so fond as hers, essays To calm the feverish brain. O ! other tongues may whisper love In accents soft and mild ; But none on earth so pnro as that A mother bears her child. Judge kindly of the motherless— A weary lot is theirs, And oft the heart the gayest seems, A load of sorrow bears. No faithful voice directs their steps, Or bids them onward press, “And if they gang a kennin wrung,” God help the motherless ! And when the sinful and the frail, The tempted and the tried, Unspotted one ! shall cross thy path, O, spurn them not aside. Thou knowest not what thou hast been With trials even less— And when thy lips would vent reproach, Think, they were motherless.’ A blessing on the motherless, W hcre’er they dwell on earth, W ithin the home of childhood, Or at the stranger's hearth ! Blue be the sky above their heads, And bright the sun within— O, God, protect the motherless, I And keep them free from sin! A Heart Story: OR, THE HUSBAND AND WIFE. BY EDITH CLARE. “Anti you will marry him ?” continued Ma i ria, looking scarchingly into the face of her sis- I ter. “Have you no fears, no misgivings, in so | doing ? Remember, ’tis a fearful step you are taking—a step which will bring happiness or misery forever!” and the young girl shuddered at the picture her own words had suggested. “Yes, Maria, I shall marry him. He is good, truthful and honest. Will not these in. sure happiness? And, hesidos, I love him,” added site, with a softened blush. “What more could my sister wish ?” “But, my dear Harrie, are you certain you love him? Oh, do, I beg—l entreat of you, fathom well your heart. Look to its every feeling and motive. Lay them in array before you, and, if there is one unworthy thought there, pluck it out and cast it thence. A month hence and it will he too late. Do it now, Oh ! do it now, iny sister, as you hope fjr happiness here after!” # The young girl thus addressed, turned away from the searching and earnest gaze of her sis. ter. ‘1 hat sister had ever read her heart—she read it now ; and with pain saw the wrong she was committing. She resolved that nothing should he left undone to stay the step she was contemplating. But it was of no avail; and! ere a month had passed, Frederick Cummings and Ha t rie Campbel were husband and wife. The wedding over, with all its train of travel, ing and parties and ceremony, and they settled) down to the quiet routine of domestic life. Marie and Harric Campbel were only chil- ! dren of a wealthy and distinguished merchant I in the city of L , Massachusetts. They j had been well educated—tenderly anti faithful- j iy cared for and watched over by a fond and dr. | ting mother, and had come to womanhood with | more than ordinary worth. Marie, the eldest, was indeed a noble girl, and every where won love and esteem. Tall, graceful and dignified, site moved about like one born to command. Net she was loving and affectionate as a very child. She, and she alone, could ever control her more impulsive and wayward sister. Act even she could not always do it. More beauti ful—il the perfect featuie constitutes beauty more pelted and flattered by those about her, Harrie had become a little, a very little, spoil ed. She was now just eighteen—the very age, perhaps, when young ladies deem themselves most wise, most secure from evil, and most ca pable of taking care of themselves. She had met Frederick Cummings hut a short time pre vious to the opening of our story. She was j pleased, fascinated ; and when he offered her i his hand, heart and fortune, it was readily ac cepted. Net Harrie believed she loved him, else would she not have become bis wife. And she did Icve him—love him better and with a purer love than do half those who thus give themselves away. Frederick Cummings was wealthy. He owned largely in the manufacturing establish ments with which that city abounds. Em phatically he was a business man : and, as Harrie had said, good, truthful and thoroughly honest. It may not he always thus ; yet do we believe it is generally* so. Frederick was less exacting—less mean —to use a word in mer cantile parlance—than most of his brother ex tortioners. But he had his faults. lie was a straight-forward, matter-of-fact sort of a man, and had too little sympathy for all those who lived in a different atmosphere from his own. Alas ! that he should have chosen such a wife f —alas ! that she should have accepted him ! ; Maria had seen all this, and how unfitted were their hearts for each other. If ever there ] was one being on earth little fitted to live alone : —to live without sympathy—it was Harrie Campbel. Ardent in her affections, impulsive in her movements, and generous in her disposition, she constantly needed someone on whom to lean—and that a loved and trusted one. Her imagination was active, brilliant ; and her whole feelings more or less tinged with ro mance. She loved Frederick Cummings better than any other one whom she had ever met. She saw that he loved her : and, although she could COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY EVENING, JANUARY 24, 1850. not but feel that the return she gave was not the soul-engrossing passion she had ever dreamed ii must be, to ensure perfect happiness, yet she accepted him. And thousands thus give themselves away. Net, ‘hose may he called happy marriages; for so many are entered into with even less se curity for their future weal or woe. Men and women, in all things else so clear-sighted and cautious, arc here but very creatures of chance, j A couple meet—fall in love, or imagine they j do, flirt awhile, talk of mutual feeling and the iike, and end by getting married. Aye, if they I awake not to utter wretchedness, blessed are j they ? j And blessed were Frederick and Harrie. I True, he cared less, too, for flowers and books, pictures and music, than did she. But he plac od them ever at her disposal ; so how could she complain ? He wai ever ready to attend her slightest hiddmg, where care or money could obey it. What more was wanting? All ! to Harrie there was much. She want ed him to feel, to enjoy, and to suffer with her. She yearned for a heart-union. Alas ! that such a one should be so rarely found ! ’Tis an anomaly when it is met, depend upon it. lam aware that I may be censured for severity. H ell, lot it be so. I only ask every lady read, er of mine to look into her own heart, to can didly and honestly examine it, and then tell me if lam wrong. J bide the answer. 1 hero came to I. a you ’g and talent ed lawyer, Abbot Elkins by name, who soon became well and widely known in the circles where Mr. Cummings and his wife moved. Harric and he often met. They found much in each other, and daily their intimacy increas cd. Secure in his wife’s affection, Cummings never dreamed of suspicion. Safe in her own convictions of duty, Harrie never dreamed of danger ; and thus passed they on. Ah ! that was a terrible ordeal for that young wife. Better had they never met, or met when each was single. Alike in tastes, feeling, and disposition both warm-hearted, impulsive, and imaginative—how could they otherwise than become attached ? ’Twere not in human nature —not in a lady’s nature, ai least—to | avoid it. A t both deemed the attachment | pure and innocent. And so, perhaps, it was. ‘ j But Harrie, although loving her husband, as I I we have said before, yet was not perfectly sat- \ | isfed; and Abbot’s affections were hitherto ! I bee. Aet, in justice to both be it said, had : i either seen their danger, it had been otherwise. | j Abbot was called away to attend the bedside ! jof his dying mother. Most tenderly and devo- j tedly had he loved her, and the summons had I been to him a death blow. lie had been spend- j ing the evening at Mr. Cummings’ when the I message catne. Instinctively he turned to Har- 1 rie for sympathy; and the ready tear, and has- 1 ty “God bless you,” as he pressed her hand in I parting, told one, at least, the true state of the j ,case. To Harrie, how long were the hours of j his absence ! Her music, her drawing and ! | painting, her favorite hooks, all lost their in- j 1 terest. Society even failed to amuse her; for j ; the unmeaning and senseless remarks of those about her fell on her car like mockery. Her [ husband, as was his wont, would lie discussing j tbe merits of some new piece of machinery, or the value of a water privilege, and she must mingle with the crowd. True, she had ever j mingled thus; hut when Abbot was there, he frequently gave anew tone and coloring to the whole series of conversation and amusemetfts. i So much can he accomplished by one master- j mind, when its powers are rightly wielded. ! Would there were more in society, in this re spect. at least, like Abbot Elkins. Abbot was absent three months, and duiing that period Harrie had much time for reflec tion. She was forced to acknowledge, too— tor she could deceive herself no longer—that she loved Abbot Elkins with her whole heart— while her hand was given to another. It was j a humiliating, a terrible acknowledgment, ev- j i en to herself. She felt that she had outraged | truth and honor, wronged her lawful husband, j and debased herself. Natuially conscientious ! | in the extreme, she now* suffered intensely. ! But turn which way soever she would, there ; was the fearful and guilty conviction—for guil- 1 j ty she deemed lierseif in tne sight of heaven, j Oh! how* she stood and prayed that she might , root out this love from her heart—that she . might meet him calmly as a passing friend. ; But it was of no avail. He came; and she ( had no power to check the rapid heating of her < heart, or the trembling of her fingers as they !. lay in his. Poor Ilarrie ! thy misery is but | j just commenced. , And Abbot Elkins knew and felt their situa- ! , tion ; and yet he loved, and could not tear him- | ■ self away. Day by day he lingered at her side, guiding her pencil, or diverting her ! thoughts, till it seemed they could scarce live ! apart. Immersed in business, as was Mr. i Cummings, he saw not how matters stood.— i j Lively and cheerful Abbot ever seemed i*i his i presence. He fell that his wife enjoyed his so- 1 ciety, and ever warmly welcomed him to his do- | ] mestie hearth. Warm-hearted and single, ii minded man ! he would have done anything, ! received any visitor, to give his wife pleasure : tor, with all the heart he had to spare from spin die and loom, did he love her. And Harrie i ! knew this : thereby increasing her own self condemnation. “Oh ! Harrie, doom me not to misery,” said the soft and earnest voice of Abbot Elkins, as j he stood pale, and almost breathless from emo. 1 ( tion, before her he loved—“l cannot, reill not j live without thee !” and he grasped her hand almost convulsively. Instantly she withdrew it ; and, summoning all her self-control, said calmly— “ Abbot, this is not right—it is unjust and un manly. Am I not the wife of another ? Oh ! break not again my resolution. I have said that this is the last time 1 will ever see you alone. Help me lo persevere in my resolve. ; “M hat, Harrie ! never see me more—never more let me tell you how dear you have be. come? I tell you it shall not be! Ab>u shall lie mine—you are mine in the sight of heaven, now ! “Hush, hush, Abbot. This is folly—crime. ( You know I already suffer with you ; for but too well do you know my ill concealed love. But I will not be a mark for the linger of scorn. I shudder when I think of it! And my hus- i ■ band—how lie lores me. Kind and generous I man! Has he not surrounded me with every • thing necessary for my happiness ? And is this, then, my return ? Oh! Abbot, Abbot—do not urge me to commit further wrong. Let me go to him, rather, and acknowledge the error of the past. Let me crave his forgiveness—’let me still return his love !” “And see him spurn me from his door—tram ple me under his feet, and hate me forever ! No ! Harrie, it you love me you will not doom me to this !” and he looked imploringly in her face. Abbot, hear me this once. 7 lore you —how well, God only knows. Had we met earlier— met when I was free. I dare hardly think what might have been our happiness. But now I arn a wife. \\ ou!d >ou see me a scorned and de spised outcast among men? No, no, you will not,” added she, entreating!)', “llnlher will you suffer with me— away from me, rather than see me this. Tell me, will you not ?” Abbot gazed on her pale and suffering cheek. I hat very suffering he had helped to cause, j Should lie deepen it ? Should he, indeed, ren- i der the thing so to lie despised 1 Could he j do it with one he loved ? His better nature i was aroused—passion xvas stilled, and again ! taking her hand, more gently than before, lie added, “pardon mo, Harrie, I will no longer ! cause you unnecessary suffering. Forget the past —let us bo friends /” “But friends only in name,” replied she, ror rowfully. “We, who have become all the world to each other—pardon me this once, if 1 speak the whole truth—cannot meet as do oth ers. All our resolves would crumble to the j dust. No, we must part forever!” and she shudd erod as she said it. Again her companion’s impetuosity returned. | He would have spoken, but she silenced him with a look. “Nay, Abbot, it must tint be so, at least, for the present. Perhaps when time shall have I wrought a change—as though such hearts could change—we may again meet as in for mer days. But not now, oh, not now !” Abbot Hinted away in sorrow. He fell her words were right ; but it was hard to yield— j yet again his better nature triumphed; and, ; turning to her once more, he replied, “I will do |as you bid me, Harrie—l will leave you. In | other lands and other scenes I will seek for- I giveness and forgetfulness. But oh,” and his voice trembled as he spoke it, “should you ev. i er need assistance, should you ever again crave I affection, remember Abbot Elkins will serve j you ever with all his life. And now, Harrie, i farewell !” Once more he pressed her hand | convulsively, and was gone. And now Harrie was alone. No longer she ; needed the partial veil she had assumed, and ! she gave full vent to the emotions of her crush !ed and bleeding heart. Oh, God ! whaf ago. ny was hers ! * What a life of misery was be ; tore ! She had bid farewell to the being dear | est to her on earth—henceforth she must live j alone. Alone! Oh, the fearful import of that | one word when it forces itself upon the heart ! Better death—aye, a thousand times better, than life to the loving heart alone! Vet, Harrie had chosen the right ; and when the violence of her first emotion had passed away, she felt a sort of conscientious pride in having been enabled thus to choose. The world knew not of her wrong doing ; for so delicate and thoughtful had Abbot’s attentions ever been, that none heeded them. Her hus band even was not aware of the strength which their affection had acquired. He. knew they enjoyed each other’s society—lie saw Harrie was happy iri his presence, and he was satis fied. Should she incur the risk of his displea sure ? He might never know—it might he never known save to themselves. But Har rie’s nature was noble—candid and sincere, even to a fault. She would lay her head on liis loving and faithful breast, and in all humili ty and confidence, beg his pardon. Does my reader think Harrie’s resolution was needless, useless ? that she might as well have been silent ? I tell them nay. There Ire natures that cannot brook concealment ol any kind, Ifthey have wronged, even though it be but in thought, they cannot rest until ac knowledgment has been made and forgive ness obtained. That sweet natures are not among the happiest, is but too true. Aet they are noble and we ran but admire them. Sin cerity is a jewel to be highly prized, come un der what form soever it will. It one has such a hea.rt confided to his keeping, let him see to it that he guards it well. A word, a breath ev on, may chi'l it. Let him see that it cometb not. And did Mr. Cummings cast his wife aside ? Did he bid her go and return no more ? We shall see. “And now can you, will you forgive me ?” sobbed the sweet low voice of Harrie Cum mings, as she threw herself upon her husband’s j bosom. One moment she was pressed there convul- \ sively. The strong man was deeply, painfully | moved. Could he forgive his wife that she | loved another better limn himself? At this I thought he pushed her quickly from him. But j as he did so, she looked up with such an ex- j pression of sorrow, of heartfelt agony on her i pale countenance, that he drew her to him once j more, and relaying her hand upon his bosom,’ said, “Harrie, my wife, I forgive you. It is I ) who have been-partly in the wrong. 1 see it j —I feel it. Henceforth it shall be the study ! of my life to correct it.” “Oh, no, it was I, only I,” murmured Harric, j as she threw her arms caressingly about him. | “Aou have ever been good, ever kind and lov. ing. Alas ! that I should so illy have repaid you !” “I have been kind,” continued the husband musingly, “but have I been sufficiently thought ful ot her feelings, her extreme sensitiveness ? | Have I fully returned the love site had to give ? j No, I hive nol—l feel that i have not. Har-1 rie, my wife, we have both been wrong. In the first place, I ought not to have taken such an angel to my home. I was too worldly, too earthly-minded to appreciate her. While I have been giving my affections to my business, my wife has been pining at home. And this is j a fault with our sex. We take you from your homes, it may be, where you have livpd in a very atmosphere of love, and place you, often it is so, among entire 6trangcrs. What if we do surround you with luxuries—what it’ every expressed wish is gratified ? May not the heart hunger and thirst still ! Aye, does it not hut too often do this ? Men love, hut not as women. With us his a passion—a link in the great chain of existence. With you his existence itself. Is it not thus, my wife? Have you not felt it hut too keenly ? //arrie shuddered. She could not answer him ; for her own heart told her that there was one gentleman who loved, even as she did. But that she must shut out from her heart. She must not think of it. Mr. Cummings was, ns/fame had said, be fore marrying him, good, truthful and honest. He saw how his young and loving wife had been lelt to herself. He wondered not that she haa loved when love was offered her ; and though he felt her estrangement from him — keenly felt it, he could not condemn. Noble man that he was ! Were more like unto him less wives would linger long astray. But men j are too severe ; aye. and women too, are thus. , How little mercy is shown an erring sister! ; //ow we proudly and confidently “pass by on j the other side !” He aven grant their blood l may not be required of us. Mr. Cummings made every reparation in his power for the errors of the past. More of his time, more of his affection, if so it could he, were given unto his wife. He made her his companion, his confidant. To her, even the intricacies of business became a pleasure ; and her keen perceptions oftentimes saw where his own lagged. 7/e, too, took more interest in her favorite pursuits and pleasures. Grad ually they came to be more like each other. Their happiness increased, and //arrie forgot, partially, that she had ever gone astray. I say I partially, for it was too deeply woven with her nature to be ever entirely obliterated. “Are you sure, //arrie,” asked her sister, “that you can meet him unmoved ? If not, let me entreat you to shun him. Break not again your own and your husband’s happiness. Al ready has he suffered enough. Now let him see that his wife is strong.” “7/e shall ! ’ answered 7/arrie, in a low, hut 1 firm voice. Whatever feelings might have l is- j en in her heart when fiist she learned the re- i turn of Abbot Elkins, no one knew. Note she | was calm. She would meet him thus—would show to her husband that his love and kindness j were not unappreciated—not abused. And they met—those two who had ijot “loved wisely but too well.” It was at a party given by a mutual friend. Abbot, of course, seeing be had just returned from a three years’ resi dence abroad, was the lion of the evening. 7/arrie and he were frequently side by side ; but though she listened with evident pleasure to his pictures of other lands, her heart was strong. Once, and once only, was there a mo ment of danger. She had been led to the pi ano and asked for a song. It was one written by herself and set to music by Abbot during their days of mutual affection. The one who j requested the song knew nothing of its history, j it being merely a favorite piece of bis. For a j moment she hesitated. It was hut'Tor a mo. I ment ; and then, though her voice trembled a j little, a very little, it soon became clear and j firm. Once she caught Abbot’s eye fixed on j j her, as though to read her inmost thoughts, and I | the color rose to her cheek. It passed, and ‘ | she finished to the satisfaction of all. As she j | was led to a seat, Abbot moved to one beside ; her. “And may I ask if Mrs. Cummings retains, unchanged, those sentiments still ?” he said, with some emotion. “Yes, but purified, exalted,” was her ready answer, as she turned to him her calm and spiritual eyes. “Those were the longings and aspirations of youth. They are now replaced by the calmer but more reasonable realities of riper years. May I ask if Mr. Elkins has not also grown wiser with the passing of tune?” “Wiser, perhaps ; but not so happy,” an swered he, with a sigh. “I would give worlds to recall the bliss, the ecstasy of former hours. Oh,//arrie—Mrs. Cummings, I mean—have: you forgotten the past—the happy past?” “Not. forgotten,” answered she, as before. “But it is remembered only in sorrow and hu miliation. Mr. Elkins himself would not wish it otherwise ;” and she turned upon other sub jects, and Harrie’s hour of trial was over. “And may you ever thus feel, my most loved Harrie,” said Maria, as she drew her to her side, and imprinted a kiss upon her clear and open brow. “And may I ask if you are not happier—far happier than while yielding to wrong ?” “//appier sister? you know lain ; Oh, I have such a treasure in ny husband! Tie loves me so devotedly ! How can Ibe other wise than happy?” and her lace lighted up with enthusiasm. “Ah, ha ! a tete-a-tete I have interrupted, I j see,” said Mr. Cummings, entering at that mo- j ment. “But so Ido not mar my wife’s happi-1 ness,” added he, playfully caressing her, 1 care not. But come, here are some drawings from which i wish you to select. You see,” he con tinued, turning to Maria. “I am just learning to i play the lover, by trying to assimilate my tastes to //arrio’s. ’Tis wonderful how she has changed trie, the fairy !”— Peterson s Ladies’ National Magazine. Southern Women.— A letter in the Boston Chro notvpe contains the following just tribute to our lair citizens. As we but rarely see the truth so prompt ly expressed relative to any thing belonging to the •South —in that region particularly—we copy it in compliment to all concerned : The first thing that struck me in regard to the women at the South was their beauty of form— their symmetrical and harmonious tiuiires. In this, and in the ease and grace of their motions, they ex cel Northern women. Many ol them dress with exquisite taste—olten very richly, but seldom gaudi ly, or with any display of tinsel. The proverbial affability and urbanity of the Southern character finds iho fullest development in the women. The South ern lady is naturally and necessarily easy, unembar rassed and polite. You may go into the country j where you please; you mav go as far as yon please Irorn town, village, and post-olSce ; you may call at the poorest house you can find, and whether you ac cost maid or matron, you will be answered with the same pohtesse, and treated with tiic same spontane ous courtesy’. “This is really the smallest Imrse I ever saw,” said a countryman on viewing a Shetland pony. “In dade, now.” replied his Irish companion, “but I’ve seen one as small as two of him 1 A Landlord Gratified, OH, A YAtVKKE TRICK. Dear Blade ; A Yankee— but whether he was a trader or not, 1 can’t say—stopped at a tavern “away up north” in the State of New York, called for supper and “fixins,” and after swallowing a pretty darned considerable bill, re tired. Meanwhile the landlord and interloper* were busily engaged in conversation. By and by, Yankees and Yankee tricks were discussed. Ihe landlord informed his barrooin company that there was a live \ankee in the house, and if two re possible he would have a trick or two out of him before he left, while the aforesaid “hang, ers-on” or “lingerers” were to be witnesses.— After a “pleasant smile” all round at the land lord’s expense. they mizzled. Next morning landlord nnd company were ready to snap at Mr. Yankee as soon as he should make his appearance. Breakfast being over, in walks Jonathan, with an air peculiar to folks “deoun east,” paid his bill, and was about tods, part, when the landlord accosted him with, “A ou, it’s plain to be seen that you’re a Yan kee. Can or will you oblige us with a trick or twq ? for I can assure you we are ready to bo tricked if you can do it.” “Wall dunuo’ ’bout that. Hev dun a flew in my time ; but dunno’ as I kin dew anythin’ smart this mornin,” “Oh do. Let’s have a trick,” exclaimed the eager crowd. ‘Wal, seem’ its yeou, I’ll dew it jest to pleaae yeou, but I swon you musu’t git mad/’ “Oh no, not at all,” says landlord. “I’ll go his s’curity,” chimed in old Rumnose. “I reckon,” says Jonathan, “yew xell a pro* digious sight of licker in these parts, and good at that. Yeou have a pipe of wine in the cel* lar, eh ?” “Oh yes, ral stuff, too, I tell you.” “Wal,” says Jonathan, “come along all yeou that want tew behold the miracle performed and down they went into the cellar. The said pipe was pointed out. “Now,” says Yankee, “ycuv sec that pipe of wine, dewy ou ?” A nod of assent went the rounds of the crowd. “Do it, and you can take my head for a foot ball.” exclaimed the landlord, j Jonathan coolly drew from his pocket a small gimlet and bored a small hole in one end ofthe ] pipe, which hole the landlord was requested to i cover with his thumb. He did so, and soon a | hole was bored-in “tother end.” Jonathan kept : a sober phiz during the operation, and requested j die landlord to stop up tother 1 o'e while he went | after something to put the darned stuff in. The j landlord complied with his request, and stretched j across the pipe resembled a man of irar about . to receive a dozen with the cat. Jonathan mean | while decamped, he did. The landlord’s hack began to ache, and ho began to think the. Yan kee was a long time getting wials to put licker in. Soon the wials of his wrath began to bilo over, and words too deep for human ears were struggling for utterance, and he, holding on, en deavored to keep the wine from leaking out. Soon the hoax began to hah into the heads of the “out-sklers.” By and by, one gave a laugh, and guessed the landlord was done a leetle the brownest of anything he’d ever seen ; and didn’t the walls of the old cellar ring and ring again with bursts of laughter? Well, they did. The landlord raved and swore almost ; he was a deacon of the church ! and at last he broke forth with, “Dog my eternal cats, if I haint tricked by that confounded Yankee.” He tried to get someone of the crowd to sup ply iiis place, but old Ruinnosc thought “he ner. er let a good opportunity slip;” ’iwould be well, inasmuch as landlord had allowed himself to be tricked by Mr. Yankee Doodle, that he (the landlord) should treat all hands, which landlord did, and was released from his tiresome position after losing his patience and some of his wine. No more are to be seen in his bar, No. 1 F. Brandy, and 11. Gin, but other “lickers” in any quantity. The Yankee is now in California. [ Yankee Blade . Gukssino at //aud Words.— A missiona ry of 1849 stepped ashore from a flat boat on the Kennebec, with some tracts, to speak to an old woman who was knitting under a low tree, by a shanty. It was the height of the cholera panic. “My good woman,” said the rvingelist, as he offered her a tiact, “have you the gospel here ?” “No, sir, we havn't,” replied the old crone, “but they ve got it aw’ully down to Bangor/’ The Prvver or Hxuakku*.— lt is said of Dr. Franklin, that. during Ins long residence in Paris, being invited to a party of the nobility, where most of the court and courtiers were present, lie produced a great sensation hv one of his bold movements, and gained great upnlause tor his ingenuity. According to the custom of that age ami country, the nobles, after the usual ceremonies of die evening were over, sat down to a free and promiscuous con versation. Christianity was then the great topic.— The ehurclt was always ridiculed and the Bible was treated with unsparing severity. Growing warmer and warmer in their sarcastic remarks, one great lord commanded, for a moment, universal attention, by his asserting in a round voice, that the Bible wa not only a piece of arrant deception, bnt totally de void of literary merit. Although the entire compa ny of Frenchmen nodded a hearty assent to the sen tence. Franklin gave no signs of approval. Being at that time a court favorite, iiis companions could not bear even a tacit reproof Ircmi a man of his weight of influence. They all appealed to him for life opinion. Franklin, in one of bis peculiar ways, replied that he was hardly prepared to give him a suitable answer, as his mint! had been running on the merits of anew book of rare excellence, which he liad just happened to tall in with at one of the city book stores ; and as they had pleased to make allusion to the literary char acter o! the Bible, perhaps it might interest them to compare with that old volume the merits of his new prize. It so, he would read them a short section.— All were eager to have tlie Doctor read a portion of liis rare book. In a very grave and sincere manner, he took an old book from liis coat pocket, and with propriety of utterance read to them a poem. The poem had its effect. The admiring listeners pronounced it the best they had ever heard read. — “That is pretty,” said one. “That is sublimity,” said another. “It has not its superior in the world,’ wm the unanimous opinion. They wished to know the name ol the new work, anti whether that was a spec imen of its contents. “Certainly, gentlemen,”, said I lie* Doctor, smiling nt his triumph, “my book is full of such passages. It is no other than your good-for nothing Bible” 1 have read to you the prayer of the 1 prophet Hahakknk.” i Let every reader learn wisdom from this incident, I and learn to appreciate the unequalled sublimities of the Bible. A Double Mukdek. —A most brutal murder was perpetrated near Patterson, N. J.. on the Bth instant. A drunkpn wretch, by the name of Johnson, pntered the house of Mr. John S. Van Winkle in the night, and with a knife and hatchet, murdered both him and his wife, while sleeping in their bed. Mr. Van Winkle was a man of great wealth, and it id sup posed that the object of the murderer was money. He was tracked troin the house in the enow, and r. e^ted. NO. i.