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VOL. I. TIIE SOUTHERN SENTINEL Is published every Thursday Moruin?, IN COLUMBUS, GA. BY WH. H. CHAMBERS, EDITOR AND PKOPKIETOK. Office up stairs, Corner of Broad and Randolph sts. Terms of Subscription. One copy twelve months, in advance, ... 50 • < << “ At the end of the year, 300 Rates ot Advertising. One square, first insertion, - - - §1 00 •i “ Each subsequent insertion, - - 50 Contracts will he made for advertising by the quarter, or by the year, at liberal deductions from the above rates. All obituary and marriage notices must be accompanied t>v a responsible name, and where they exceed one square they will bo charged as other advert imim lits. To Correspondents.—All communications must be addrussed (post paid) to the Proprietor at this place. Contributions must be accompanied with the re-.l name *if the writer. Sturgis A’ .If ilter, • AYVOHNEYS AT LAY?, Rucua Vista, Marion count), <*a. \V r lEI, practice inullthecountiesol t liet.hnttnhoochee ’ ‘ and adjoining counties ol the South \\ estern t~ ircuit. Til AD. STI'RGIS, K. W. MILLER. Fab. 15,1819 7 f IMPORTANT TO MILL OWAT.RS AND PLASTERS, j THE undersigned will contract for building Rocs I)asis, or any kin and of rock work and j ditching, in any part of this State or Georgia, in thp j most improved manner. TIMOTHY n. COLLINS, ; Fort Milcktll, Jlusscil, Cos. Ala. j Dc. 6, 1349. 49 Cm. Notice to Travellers. THAT pleasant and well known Stand formerly I occupied bv James McGuire, and known as the half-way House from Columbus to Luinpkm, lias been j taken by the subscriber, where lie will endeavor to | jive satisfaction to all who may Iwvor him with ‘heir | patronage. N. J. BUSSEY, j Jdiup.ttbvvi),Jan* 10, 1850. * lw ft or ill Ci&roSisia mutual ffGfe ItiMirauce Company. LOCATED AT II At.Kl'. 11, N. C. rBXHE Clrirlrr of ibis eouipiuy gives in-.portant advati- j JL tsges tu lire usiircd, over most other companies. The husband can i mire his own life for the sole use . nd benefit of Ids wife and children, free from anv othei claims. Persons who insure for life participate in lie , protit* which are declared annually, ami when the pre- j Jui t n exceeds i), mav pay one half in a note. Staves are insure lat two thirds their value fur eacor j Dvil years. j Applications for Risks may be made in JOHN ,M CNN, Agent, Colim.hue, Ga. &F Office at Greenwood it Co.'a Warehouse. < I November 15.1319. t | Oh yes! Oh yes!! f HE nndersioned has made arrangements for n ; B regular supply, during the season,of MEXICAN GII.F OYSTERS, fresh from the Bay, which will he served up in any form, j to suit the Epicurt an or the Plebeian, at lee old stand, on ; Crawford street, u few doors west of llroud street. JAMES BOULTER. j NovoDiher 1. 18-19. ‘l4-<in ; ISags, The Rock Island Factory IB pfcpAic-d to purchase clean LINEN, HEMP or Cot , ton RAGS, and will pay tlj cents per pound for One ! Hundred Thousand pounds, delivered nt the Mills, on •the Chattahoochee river, iliree miles above Columbus,in ! u*unities of n< l less than 190 pounds. ICr“ Merchant* and Tutd-rs in the surrounding country ■would do well to draw the attention ollheir custnn.f re to : the advantage of SAYING JtAG.3, and exchanging them 1 for Goods and Wares. CASH will alwavs be paid for Rags at “Rock Island Factory.” 15 v order of the Board, GEORGE W. WINTER, Sec’v. | Columbus, Ga. March 1, 1!!J9, f* if FRUITING ATJI) WRAPPING PAPER. FIX HE Rock I liiml Factory Company, liavo now on X hand, for Ball*, n coo-l nrlicto of Wrapping Paper, of their own manufacture, ami will ia u week or two, bo able to furnish PRINTING PAPER, of any desirable quality or pile. Orders respectfully so licited. Columbus, Pec. 27, 13-19. 52 if ANDERSON &, McELIIANY, RESrECTKFI.I.Y inform the citizens of Columbus and nil)accnt cnnntiy, tliat they have fitted an office j over 1. G. Stri rtT.tt's store, on Randolph st., where they are prepared to execute, in the best manner, all brunch es of the profession, according to the latest and most ap proved discoveries of the art In ttddltiott to the above, they have all the facilities I for MASTFACTURINO TEETH, which must give them advantages over all others in the construction of en tire Dentures, as their teeth arc carved in blocks with •gums, which not only gives greater strength than those pnt up singly, but presents a more natural and life-like appearance. Specimens of workmanship can be seen by calling at their office. All Operation 9 guarantied. Termx rery reasonable. Dr. A. would add, that he has had more than ten years’ . experience in an extensive practice in Philadelphia and rVciuity, and flatters himself with bring able to give en iire satisfaction in every branch of the profession. Re commendations of the highest order can be seen at the j ffice. Dec. 6,1849. -19 3m TO PHYSICIANS, DRUGGISTS AND COI NTRY MERCHANTS. R. J. N. KEELER-W&. BRO. most respectfully solicit attention to their fresh stock of English, French, German and American Drugs. Medicines, Che micals, Paints, Ods, Dye-stuffs, Glassware, Perfumery, Patent Medicines, Ac. Having opened anew store No. 291 Market-st., with a full supply of Frcsli Drugs and Medicines, we respectfully solicit country dealers to exa mine our stock before purchasing elsewhere, promising cue and all who may be disposed to extend 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 dispatch. One of the proprietors being a regular physi cian, affords ample guarantee of the genuine quality of all articles sold at their establishment. \\ e especially invite druggists and country merchants, who may wish to become agents for I)r. Keeler’s Celebrated Family Medicines, (standard and popular remedies,) to forward their address. Soliciting the patronage of dealers, we respectfully remain, J. N KEELER A BRO. Wholesale Druggists, Oct. 11, li? 19. ly No. 291 Market-st. Fhil’a. SSO REWARD RAN A WAY from the subscriber, about she 15th February last, a small mulatto woman, bv the • name of FRANCES, she is about four feet ten or ele ven inches high, speaks quick and laughs loud, with ra ther a squeaking voice, her nose and month project ra ther more than is common for mulattos : she had Tings iu her cars when she left, and always wears somethin-' : pa her head. I will pay fifty dollars for the apprehen- < sion and safe keeping of her so that I can get her. I will also pay a liberal reward for proof sufficient to con- , vtct auy person of harboring her, as I liavo reasons to fie- I lievo she is concealed bv someone & T AUSTIN November 1. ttif THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL. [From the Daily Delta. The Skeleton Hand. BY JOHN O. DCNV. Rnp, tap! rap. tap ! at the door of the heart; Rap, tap, with a loud demand ! Oh who is it raps nt the door of the heart, Crying, matter and spirit shall surely part, Tiro tme to the dust, for dust thou art, ‘Hie rest to the spirit land ? ’Tis l! bis I. who knocketh without. With a bony arin and a knuckle stout— ’Tis I of the Skeleton Hand ! Rap, tap! rap, tap!—l have startled thee up From the midst of a misty dream ! Rap, tap! rap. tap!—l have startled thee up When thy lips were fresh from the deadly cup And thy curses grew louder at every sup, And thy orbs iti frenzy gleam’d ! For tis I ! ’tis I, who knockeih without, With a bony arm and a knuckle stout— "T is 1 of. the Sickle Keen ! Rap, tap ! rap, tap! on the bony walls !! What, ho! Art thou ready within? Rap, tap ! rap, tap, on the bony walls— Rap, tap! rap, tap! Still louder it falls!! i’ll rent thee no longer these carnal halls— Thou hast made them a den of sin ! Make ready ! Make ready! ’Tis I without, With a bony arm and a knuckle stout— ’Tis 1 ol the Skeleton Grin! Rnp. tap ! rap, tap ! —But a voice of prayer Gushed forth Irom the sinful wight. Rap. tap! rap, tap!—A voice of prayer W ent trembling upward, to spare—oil! spare For another year—a year to prepare For the regions of glory and light! A year to prepare for him without, W itli the skeleton arm and the knuckle stout— For him with the breath of blight. Rap, tap—no more! The year is given— A year ol neglect and crime. Rap, lap—no more ! A year is given To light in the tields where the righteous have striv’n For their spotless robes and a home in heaven. But alas ! how fleeting is time ! ’Tis past—and again is heard without The Irony arm and the knuckle stout, I,ike a wild and deathly chime! Rnp. tap! rap, tan! on the bony walls! What, ho! Art ready within ? Rap, tap ! rap, tup ! on the bony walls— Rap, tup ! rap, tap! Like the thunder it falls! ! 1 li rent thee no longer these carnal halls, Thou monster of falsehood and sin ! In a tumult ot horror the spirit went out U er Averuus, with him ol the knuckle stout! With him of the Skeleton Grin !!! From the Yankee Blade. THE DISOWNED, IIV GRACE, OK WOOD 1)EI.I,. “Go, ingrate, go! and never again blight my eyes with your presence ! You have disgraced | your family—you broke your mother’s heart, j and have caused me to regret most bitterly that j lever had a child!” These words were addressed by a stern.faced ’ inun, to a tall, pale stripling, who stood nerv. i ously crushing a straw hat between his palms.— i He made no reply to the stern mandate, but kept ! his eyes fixed upon the hat. “Go, Charles Archer—go at once !” f'Jtill the youth stirred not,spoke not,though the i constantly changing color of his face, and the ! quivering of his white lips, revealed the emo- j tions that were struggling within. “Why do you wait, idiot ? Is money your j wish ? 1 think you will sink fast enough with out that to drag you down.” At the ciose of this cutting speech, the man ner of the youth changed entiielv. A crimson ; glow burned within each smooth cheek, while 1 all the rest of his face was as pale as ashes—his ! eyes flashed and he drew up his slender figure to ! its full height. “I g<>, sir but upon you. unrelenting parent, 1 ! rests my ruin—tl lam ruined ! You have nevi , or spaicd me—even in merest childhood my ‘ little faults were punished with the utmost se- : i verily—and often when a lorgiving word from you would have melted my wild spirit to repent | mice, and saved me from farther sin, you have ; i frozen my better nature By your cold, harsh treat- j ! meat, and now lam ntiaid I shall go down— ! j down to perdition.” I The excited youth paused, and removed his j 1 dark, hunting eyes from the face of his father, i | and again bent the yielding hat. ! He hud never before presumed to speak in i j reply to his parent’s reproaches, but now he was * goaded so severely that the words could not be ! : forced back ; the tongue would express the j heart’s prompting?. •‘And you were wailing in order to add insult ; to your other sins, vile reprobate !” muttered the j j t’atuer in deep hissing tones, and he regarded the j boy with an expression of hatred. Again the youth’s manner changed, and his j face became pale and paler; a mournful look ; subdued the glare of defiance which had just ! ; gleamed from his eyes, and two bright tear-drops \ fell upon the crushed hat. ‘•God knows l waited not fir that, but, sir, I— l—wish to see my mother once before I go,” I said lie, raising his face with an imploring look. ! Mr. Archer mused a moment and then said, in half relenting tones, “It is but natural, boy, j that you should wish to sec her, though grief tor j your misdemeanor has laid her upon her death- ! bed. The door of her room is slightly ajar ; | ■ you may look in, but don’t presume to speak to | ! her, or let her see you : she is now sleeping.” : | ‘ Oh, father—” “Call me not by that name! you have forfeit ed all right to address me by so endearing a ti- | tie!” was the fierce interruption. “May I not just speak to her, and ask her for- j giveness. and blessing?” humbly pleaded the j youth. “No, by the Rood ! You shall no more wring her poor hear 4 . Go, now, from this house, and j carry with you the thought that you have brought j your moth -iin sorrow lo the grave !” Charles looked in the wrathliil face darkening upon him, an J again the daring, all-defying spirit broke bounds, and casting a look of terrible • meaning at his father, turned upon his heel and left the room, •determined never again to enter it. ( Was not that unhappy parent wrong in the course he pursued towards his erring child ? Surely he was, and tlie time was at hand when he would bewail his hastiness in sackcloth and , ashes. Mr. Archer was a wealthy and educated man. j He possessed a strong sense of honor, which, j however, was often clouded by his fiery, over- j bearing spirit, that could not brook the least op- j . position. lie was a man that would not throw i the mantle of charity over the deviations of his ! , fellow beings from the pall) of rectitude, though j ho was himself frequently led into error by hi* | passionate, misguided temper. * His wife was the gentlest and most yielding COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 7, 1850. creature that ever blossomed in this world ; his will was her law, and she was much attached to him; in feed, she had never been the object of bis angry fils, because she had never thwarted him. She loved her child tenderly, though she was often grieved by his wayward course ; still the father took tbo management of the lad into his own hands and she had but little influence, though Charles entertained for his quiet mother a deep affection, which, as we have seen, did not deter him from the commission of many mis deeds. lie possessed much of his father’s im petous nature, though it was softened by some of his mothers gentle qualities. If the, boy had been properly managed, he would have been a fine, high minded fellow ; but, here was the fault ; the impulse had not been trained to take a correct morse, and in childhood he was per j petuallv erring, and perpetually repenting, till the hardening processes his father adopted for | his reformation made him thoroughly reckless. : He was sent to college, and at the age of 18 I expelled, and given over as title ly incorrigible, j i We have introduced him at the time of his re-i j turn home after liis college disgrace. This would scorn a small circumstance to i change a parent’s love to such bitter hate, but it ; i was the crown of a mountain of offences, and i : touched the pride of his father in a tender spot, J and really almost broke his mother’s heart. Iti was the spring of the year, and nearly the sunset I hour. Charles rushed down the broad stairs out lot the open door, and paused not until he found i himself beneath a favorite old tree, and flee from j observation. He flung himself upon the green | sward, and for a time terrible thoughts and re i solves held tumultuous domain over his mind.— He looked at the beautifully tinted clouds that ! were furled in the west like thousands of han ; ners, but their beauties only made him more des | perate. A river bounded through the fields a short distance from him, and as the sound of the j murmuring wafers fell softly upon his car, an I | evil pr< mptcr whispered him to go finish his ex- j i istence. He started up, and strode to the river’s j ! bank ; there was a precipitous rocky bank, the ! i sides of which were overgrown with dwarfish | shrubs of moss; a little distance from him, and at j the foot of that the water flowed fifteen or twen | ty feet deep. I “A fine place to plunge in,” thought he, and iha climbed the steep hill side. As his head ! | came above the hill, a fair face rose upon tlie j | opposite side. | “Mary Gray !” exclaimed he. lowering his 1 | eyes in deep abasement; for he thought how | j unworthy he was even to speak her name, and ; she, too, was embarrassed, but they were old ac- j ; qtiaiulauces, and Mary smiled, and greeted him ’ j with a cordiality, which evidently, to bis sensi- : j live spirit was forced. She had heard of his col- • liege disgrace, but she knew not that he was j i now an outcast. With a sorrowful smile he ex tended his hand and said : | “ Mary, good-bye, forever and ever.” | “Ah, where are you going, Charles Archer?” ! she inquired, with no small degree of interest. “I know not, but you are here iu season to see j tnc take passage for that mysterious place, ‘from | whence no traveller returns.’ Oh, Mary, would j I were better for your sake, but I am lost—!” In another moment he had disappeared over j the steep bank, and rushed to the verge; she ; saw the dark wafer close over him. She ran shrieking down she hill for assist | ance that, alas ! was not at hand. She reached ; Mr. Archer’s residence, when she saw that grn- I tleman traversing the garden walks. She hur | ried up to him, an 1 with bloodless lips related ! the scene she had just witnessed. Then that j unhappy parent was awakened to an almost | overwhelming sense of his loss. Rousing his | servants, they hurried to the streahi. and some 1 plunged in at once, while others ran along the i bank. Poor Mary ran to and fro, her hair | floating wildly in the wind, and wringing her I hands in much anguish ; for though scarcely I sixteen, she had cherished more than a sisterly | regard for the unfortunate boy. Her father had | suspected the attachment, and strongly forbade lit; for they were but little more than children, i and he determined to cheek it in the bud, for he i saw an*ailiancc with Archer would bring noth-! I ing but sorrow and misery upon his child. But with that perverseness said to be a char- ! ! acteristic of her sex, she had fostered an attach-1 ! nienf for him, and had even gone so far as to so- j J cretiy plight him her troth to untutored imag- j I illations, ‘wild’ appeared as rather creditable, | * and she sagely told an elder sister that the most 1 ! dissipated young men frequently became the re- i ’ ry best old men. ; But now she thought of nothing but Charles | j perishing in the dangerous element. She could j j not see him, neither could the men. They } swam about the stream till about exhausted, in j i search of the body, but it could not be found, and i I it was supposed that the rapid current had car- j } ried it down the river. It was searched for day after day by Mr. Ar- j cber, who bitterly mourned the untimely death ; !of his child. As soon as lie was beyond his ] : ryach he saw how ho might have managed to i : reform him ; but it was now too lute, and at the i j close of the tenth day he returned home, accorn- I panied by Li; neighbors, who had manfully aided I ; in l lie search, and gave jp all hopes of recover- i ; ing the boy. lie entered the room where his I ; wife was daily wasting away. She raised her i | eyes iu his weary, haggard face, with an eager look. | “No success, Margaret, our poor hoy can nev- ! i er l>e permitted a Christian burial.” Mrs. Archer made no reply, but turned her I ! face towards the wall and tears rolled down her ; : sunken checks like rain. | “May God forgive me for every harsh word I ; : ever gave that lost child,” cried the wretched ; man, dioppmg upon his knees. A low, soft voice, responded a fervent amen, 1 It was Mrs- Archer, who could not conceal ! ; from herself the truth. She feit that her bus- j ; band was in a measure the cause of their child's j | fearful cud, though she knew not of that las : meeting in the library, or how her son plead in vain lo see her once more, and it was well that j she did not —she could not have survived the • knowledge. Mr. Archer did not forget it ; the “still small ; voice” goaded him almost to madness, and 1 wrought a great change in his hard heart. He j was no longer that imperious, exacting man of j former limes, but mild and forbearing. He had j tver been a money making man ; but now that < i object was foigotten, and impelled by his newly | | awakened spirit, he. strove to lay up treasure iu j | Heaven. He prayed constantly that his gentle i companion might be *pased to him yet a little ; j longer and a merciful Father heeded the puti- i 1 tion. I Ten years passed away, and the memory of Charles Archer was like a dream of the past, with all save his father and mother, and Mary Grey. She had never married. There are many who denounce a!! womankind as false and changeful creatures ! they are most sincere in their denunciations, and doubtless think them richly merited ; hut these persons look no deep er than the surface, and do not even know that they are so unjust as to condemn the whole, for the short comings of a few. Our Mary Grey did not belong to the changeable class. She stiii cheiished the remembrance of her lost love, but it was enshrined in her heart of hearts, and none, not even her own family, suspected its ex istence. She had given a true account to Mr. Archer of her last interview with Charles, and the attachment of the son to the sweet girl was perpetuated by the father, who loved her as his own child. These ten years had wrought many changes. Mrs. Grey had died, and her husband had placed a ,-tep mother over the children; the eldest daughter had married ; and the youngest had been laid in a lowly grave by the side of its mother, and Mary was the only remaining child at home. Mr. Archer had long wished to adopt | ner, and now for the first time Mr. Grey con-, | seated to go with her to him, and .Mary went to ! cheer the home, of the childless friends. ; She was twenty-six, and possessed a cultiva : ted intellect find a well-balanced mind. She i had always paid her new mother much respect, I but Mrs. Grey did nut love Mary, for hers was i a narrow soul, and she looked upon her step daughter with her superior mind and judgment, w *th a jealous eye, aud was secretly glad when she went away. Mary had been much perse, euted since the death of Charles. She had re ceived several very eligible offers of marriage ; and her father,'instigated by bis wife, had insist ed upon her accepting each one as it was pro posed but she remained steadfast in her refu sals, determined that her hand should.never be given without her heart. Weeks, months, and years rolled on, and Mary Grey was thirty— an old maid, s the I world calls those, who, from choice or necessi | tv, remain single. About this time, a gentle j man from a far distant ci y, passing through the place, took a fancy to a beautiful farm adjoining -di. Archer’s and purchased it of the proprietor j ai a high price. The gossips said he was en- j amored of Mary Grey’s fair face, and graceful, j polished manners; but then the most observing j gossips are sometimes deceived, and Mary cer- ! tainly knew -nothing of it, for she had never j even spoken with him. A few days after, she met Mr. Ashmead— j the new proprietor of Hazel Lodge—-at a small j party, and was more interested in him than she dared Lr own, even in her strict self-examina tions. Ihero was something in the deep, dark eves of Ashmead that stirred up long buried sen sations, for they bore a strange resemblance to those of poor Charles Archer. J he morning after the party, when they were assembled at Die cheerful breakfast table, Mr. Archer enquired of Ma>y how she enjoyed the evening. “Oh, extremely well,” was the simple replv. “And the new neighbor of Hazel Lodge— how did you like him {” was the next enquiry, j tb fair hand that was pouring the coffee} wavered go as to send the rich, arnbar liquid in j a stream over the Snowy cloth, and Mary’s face ; and neck were suddenly crimsoned by blushes, probably in consequence of the awkward acci dent, but she replied with much composure, “ 1 litvo him much, ho seemed to be a man of sound, common sense. “ He will be quite an acquisition to the socie ty of the place ifh e is intelligent, refined and so- i ciai, remarked Mr. Archer. “ Well, he is all that and more too,” said Ma-j ry, with an earnestness which caused her to j bush again. j ! “ i’JI extend neighborly courtesies to him this ; vl r y day,"’ said Air. Archer, with emphasis. ! “ * ui sure be merits them, or you, who are so j good a judge of character, my dear Alary, would m t be so mud) prepossessed iu his favor.” But little more was said ; and during ihe morn ing Air. Archer rode over to Hazel Lodge.— When lie returned Mary wus in llie ligrary, which was a favorite haunt, and her heart beat a quick tattoo as she heard his well-known step I ascending the stairs. | “Alary dear, do you know I’m delighted with I this Mr. Ashmead. I do nut know why, but lie ! reminds me of poor Charles. Air. Archer sighed j deeply ami was aroused by the entrance of his ! wile, and whose first question was of the new neighbor. “ l was much interested in his ap- I pearance, Margaret; l invited him to dine with us to-morrow and you will have an opportunity !of seeing him. lam strangely impressed by ! that stranger, and 1 know we shall make turnons friends, though lie isn’t more than thirty.two or three, but there is something in his manner so | cordial ami ash c ionate, yet respectful, that he | has won my s.l.y old heart. “ And mine too,” thought Mary, and then she ! silently endured the pangs of self abasement and I maiden shame lor having given so much uuscr- ( iicited. “ Well, I hope I shall like this paragon, who i has so run away with you and Alary,” said Mis. Archer with a smile, “but I am rather prejudiced ; against him, for I dread a rival.” “A woman’s natural prophecy,” remarked Mr. Archer with affected seriousness; ‘now a man j would not conceive such a selfish thought.” The following day Mr. Archer sat reading iu : | the verandah and was iiitertupted by the sound! !of horses hoofs clattering up the avenue. It i was the neighbor ot Hazel Lodge, who dis- j i mounted bom his steed and grasped the extend-1 ied hand of Ids host in a friendly pressure. Mr. Archer led him to the parlor, ami presented Ash. ! mead to Mrs. Archer. She at once noted the ■stiikiiig similarity of his eyes, to those ot her j lamented son. Stic grasped, tottered, and sank j back in her chair. Mr. Archer was in the • ; gicutest alarm. “it is nothing—nothing but a momentary j faintness,” said she, swallowing the water | which Alary had instantly brought, and she was I soon much better. She, could not keep her eyes ; fom the face of the guest, and she critically | sur ed his finely chiselled features as he was ! | conversing with Mr. Archer and Mary Grey, j , It was impossible to deceive a mother’s scrutiny. ; I tShe suddenly spoke out with startling car- i neatness. “John Archer! our boy is not dead but I lives; and that is he!” and she pointed to the guest, who became much agitated and regarded | ; the excited family with breathless interest. “Come to me, my darling boy,” pleaded the ; mother, extending her arms with touching en : tiouty ; in another moment they were about his ! ; neck, and she was covering his face with kisses j j and tears. Mr. Archer was not Jong in doubt, I he was convinced that it was indeed his child,) but he stood aloof, ashamed to speak to the son I whom ho had so cruelly cast of}'. “ Father, will you not agi in love your child I” ‘ said AshmcaJ pleadingly. “ I h'-D’o striven hard to merit .the tenderness, which in infancy you accorded me.” The father seized the proffered hand, and tears, the first that had gemmed his eyes for years, coursed down his furrowed cheeks. But where was Mary during this ufiicting scene? She had turned her face to the wall and was weeping like a veiy infant. “Oh! he has forgotten the heart that Ins withered in remembrance of him!” was the first bitter thought, and she did not look around until a hand was laid lightly upon her arm, and a voice trembling with emotion asked— “ Mary, do you still remember the wild worth less boy, to whom, in earliest girlhood, you plighted your troth ?” “ God knows I do,” she said with unaffected truthfulness. “ I have come back to claim the hand which a blessed Providence has preserved for me,” said Ashmead solemnly. It is impossible to touch more fully upon this ; welcoming of one who had risen from the dead. The feeble powers of pen and ink cannot paint j the reunited fhrnjlv. Charles Ashmead Archer, such was his name, ! | related his history since the lime of his leaving j | home. When he sank into the water, he was | determined to die, though for a lew moments he ! unconsciously exerted himself to koep his head j above ihe surface. A rich burst of bird music j in an over-hanging tree caused him to raise his i head and look around him. The orb of day was sinking to rest beneath a mantle ol glorious clouds; the cool water exerted a subduing influ ence, and involuntarily Charles lifted his soul in | prayer, and then the lovo of life grsxv strung I within his breast. i “ Why cannot I live in praise, and reverence the beneficent Creator instead of sending my un called soul into his presence; theie ate other places in the wide world where I can live as I ought.” When he swam vigorously for the shore, and crept under a thicket of young wa ter willows, and remained concealed there until the darkness of night had settled around him. j lie then set off at a rapid pace, and resolutely : banished the oft-returning wish to go back and I iet his mother and Mary Grey know he was not dead. “A homeless wanderer,” muttered he, almost despairingly—and then inspiied by sudden hope he cried, “but I u-ill be somebody yet!” and this determination sustained him as hungry, wet, and weary he measured the sandy road. And as years progressed he became somebody. He diligently cultivated the talents entrusted to his care, and among men of brilliant abilities rank ed as equal, and was respected for high princi ples and purposes. A laige portion of earth’s wealth was lent him tor a space, and this procured,obsequious at tention from those smiiler branches of ihe hu man family, who estimate perishable gold above the undying treasures of the mind. Thus the once reckless youth was saved, and permitted to till the lofty place to which his tal ents entitled him. Would to Heaven that many others who arc on the very verge of ruin might see their danger and retreat before it is too lute. Habits of Various Authors. —Horner, it is said, had suet) an aversion to natural music, tliat he couifl never be prevailed On to walk along the banks of a murmuring brook; nevertheless, lie sang his own ballads, though not in the character of a mendicant, as recorded by Zorins. Virgil was so fond of salt, that lie seldom went without a box full in his pocket, which lie made use of from time to time, as men of tiie present day use tobacco. Zoroaster, it is said, though the most profound pliiloso her of his time, theoretically, was very easi ly put out of temper. He once carried his irritabili ty so far as to break a marble table to pieces with a hammer, because he chanced to stumble over it in the dark. Shakspearo, though one of % the most gorgeous ot men, was a great higgler. He was often known to dispute with a shopkeeper tor ball an hour on u quarter of a penny. He gives Hotspur credit for a portion of his own disposition, when he makes him sav, “l would cavil on the ninth part of a iiair.” Peter Corneille, the greatest wit of his time, so far as concerns his works, was remarkably stupid in conversation, as .vas also Addison, who L acknowl edged to have been one of the most elegant writer* ’ tliat ever lived. I Samuel Rogers is an inveterate punster, albeit I from his poetry, one might suppose him to be the greatest writer iu Christendom. He lias one pecu : liarity that distinguishes him from all poets, past, pre i sent, and to come, i. c. three hundred thousand ! pounds. ! Young wrote bis ‘Night Thoughts’ with a skull and ! a candle in it before him. His own skull was luckil) in the room, or vary little aid would have bee*yielded ! by the other. Dryden, it is said, was always cupped and phys , ickcd previous to a grand effort at tragedy jßeinbo had a desk of forty divisions, through which ; his sonnets passed in succession, before they wen ! published. j Milton used to sit. leaning back obliquely in an | easy chair, with his legs flung over the elbow of it. : He lrequently composed lying in bed in the morning ; i but when he could not sleep, and was awake whole | nights, not one verse could tic mike; at other times his unprecedented effusions were easy, with certain impetus and test rum, as tie himself used to believe. Then, whatever the hour, tie rang for his daughter to comm t them to paper, lie would sometimes die- ; late iorty lines in u breath, and then reduce them to \ 1 half that number. These may appear trifles ; but j j such trifles assume a sort of greatness, when related i ol wliat is great. ! Dk. Franklin’s Moral Code.—Our great Ameri j can philosopher aim statesman, Bonjamin Franklin. ; drew up ilie following list of moral virtues, to w hich he paid constant and earnest attention, and thereby made himself a bolter and a happier man : Temperance. —Eat not to fullness; drink not to t location. SHcncc .■—Speak not but what may benefit others or yoursell; avoid trifling conversation. Order. —Let ail your things have their places; let , each part o! your business have ils time. Jicftilulion. —Resolve to perform what you ought,; ] perform without fail what yon resolve. Frugality. Make no e.\,-eiise but to do good to others or yoursell ; cut off all unnecessary actions. ) Sincerity. — Use rm hurtful deceit; think innocent- 1 ly and justly ; ami it” you speak, speak accordingly \ Justice. — W rong none by doing injuries, or omit- : • tir.'T the benefits tliat are your duty. Moderation.— A void extremes; forbear resenting] ] injuries. . Cleanliness.— Suffer no undeanliuess in body. | clothes, or habitation. Tranquility. —Be not distorted about trifles, or ; accidents common and unavoidable. IJutiiilily. —imitate Jesus Christ. Firmness of Character.—There is no trait in | the human character so potential for weal or woe as ; firmness of purpose. If is wonderful to see what t miracles a resolute and undying spirit will achieve- j ; Before its irresistible energy the most formidable qb- j j stacles become as cobweb barriers in its path- UR ; | ticidiics, the terror of which causes t<m pampered I sons of luxury to shrink back with dismay, provoke j ! troni the rnau of lofty determination only a stniie. | ! The whole historv of our race—a! 1 nature, indeed— ! teems with examples to show what wonders may he | accomplished by resolute perseverance and patient , toil. Hebrew Lkoknd.— “You teach,” said the Emperor Trojan to a famous Rabbi, “ihat your God is everywhere, and boast that be resides among your nation. I should like, to see him.” “God's presence is indeed even where,” the Rabbi replied ; “hut ho cannot bn seen, for no m.ittal eye. can look upon his splendor,” 1 lie emperor had the obstinacy of power, and persisted in his demand. “Weil,” answered the Rabbi, “supposo wo begin by endeavoring to gaze at oue of his ambassadors.” Trajan assented, and the Rabbi leading him into the open air, for it was the noon of the day* bade him raise his eyes to the sun, then shining down upon the world in its meridian glory, Tho omporormade the attempi, but relinquished it. “I cannot,” he said ; “the light dazzles me.’” “If, then,” exclaimed the triumphant Rabbi, “thou art unable to endure the light of one of his creatures, how canst thou expert to behold tbo unclouded glory of the Creator ?” Borbu— I should like to write a chapter on bores. There aro distinct classes of them, and it requires a philosophical mind to furnish prop er analyses of the varying genus. The man, for instance, who meets yon going to bank, or to dinner, and begins to talk to you of matters and things in general, whernunto you are, for po liteness’ sake, compelled to listen, what a plague he his, to be sure ! He has no heart. He list ens to the loquacity of your diaphragm with per feet composure, though it speaks of wants un satisfied, and viands in expectancy. He holdetlx converse with nonentity; he keepeth you in sus pense, by leaving his sentences untinised; and ho taxeili your imagination with wonder as te what the devil he will have to say next. You go home to a late and cold dinner, with yow whole body in a state of grumbling dissatisfac tion. You feel as if you could knock down your grandfather. In short, you feel as every man does, when he has been bored. It is an awful sensation. Sea sickness is pleasure to it.—— Should I hereafter''describe this class, I fear 1 shall give them a Rombrundt coloring ; for I ant confident, from the wrongs they have done me, that I could not speak of them with my custom*, ary coolness and impartiality.— W. G. Clark. Soceatic3 and ms PuML —A young man.wljG was a great talker, was sent to Socrates to learn oratory. On being presented to Socrates, th lad spoke so incessantly that he was out of alt patience. When the bargain came to be struck, Socrates asked him double prico. “Why charge me double /’’said the young fel low. “Because,” said the orator, “I must teach you two sciences ; the one to hold your tongue, and the other how to speak.” A Frenchman in Trouble,— “Y’t a *er cotnmielc language de Anglais is ! ” said & French gentleman the other evening, at table. “Do you think so?” 4 Oui, very droll ; I tell you. I arrived at Dovers. I was very much hungry*. I looked in my dictionarie for “pottage ;” pottage, soup*— sope. “Madame,” said I, “I will take some sope, if you please.” In one minute dm lady beckoned me. I vent vie her to the chamber* “Dis is soap,” said she, “and de water.” “Par don, Madame, not savon, but sope.” “Dis ia soap,” said she. “No, no, mudatnr, not dat. pot tage sope.” “Well, sate, dis is soup,” “Parbleau, Madame ! de sop* —sope, eompre. uez vons ? ’ “This is soap.” * Dat sope ! dat pot tage ! .Madame, I am not one imbecile, one fool t 1 want de sope—not one lump savon sope, Mad ame.” Bot she vou.’dn't understand, and so, sure, I ‘ashed my hands vid de savon and vent to bed. Do hands ware ver clean—but for want of dc sope d<* stomach was ver empty !” The bi.uitNT Dutchmen.—A lew years ago it couple of Dutchmen, Von Vamp! and Van Bones, lived on friendly terms on the high lulls of L'u.estone. At last they tell out over a dog. Von Vauipt killed Van Bones’ canine companion. Bones, choosing to assume the killing to have been inten- tional, sued Vampt I’or damages. ‘J'hev were in due time called into court, when the defendant in the i-aso was asked l>y the Judge whether lie killed the dog. ‘Te sure I kilt him,” said Vampt. “hut let Bones prove it.” This being quite satisfactory, the plaintiff in the action was called on to answer a few quostions, and among other*, he was asked by the Judge at what amount he estimated the damage*, ile dul not .veil understand the question, and so, to ue a little plainer, the Judge inquired what ho thought the dog to be worth? “Pc sure,” replied Bones, “the dee is worth nothing, hut since he was so mean as to kill him. he shall pay de full value of him.” flow many suits have occupied the attention of court, how many contests have engaged the time ol the pub lic. and have been waged with virulence and mvec i five, having no more worthy difference than that of i Von Vampt and Van Bones. Tiib Dandy and ms Tuhkky.— Chief Jus. t tice Marshall was in the habit if going to mar j ket himself, and carrying home, his purchases. I Frequently he would bit seen at sunrise, with | poultry in one hand and vegetables in the j other. On one of these occasions a fashionable young man from flic Noitli who had removed t | Richmond, was sweating violently because ho J could find no one to carry home his tuikey.— Marshall stepped up and asked him where ha lived, and said, on being told, “that is on my way, and I will take it for you.” When ho i ante to the house, the young man iuqftiiied*. ‘•What shall 1 pay you?” “Oh, nothing,'”' said the Chief Justice, “you are welcome ; ip was on my way, and no trouble.” “Who was that polite old man that brought home my turkey for me?” inquired the young man of a bystander. “That,” replied he, “is | John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United ! States.” “W by did he bring home my turkey ?’* I “Togive you a severe reprimand, and teach you, ] o attend to yout own business,” was the teply. l'rtie greatness never feels alivc doing any thing that is useful ; but especially the true great man will never feel above helping himselfl liisown independence of character depends on : his being able to help himself. Dr. Franklin* ; when he first established himself in business in j Philadelphia, wheeled home the paper w hich ka ; purchased for the printing office, upon a W’hcel* I barrow with his own hands. Some people a. ways have a but, which they I put in the way of everything. Enquiring of I such a one the character of his neighbor, he re. plied: f “Why, he is a ]>o arty fair, clever soil of man, bul —hem 1” “Hut what ?” “Why-—a—hem—why, he feeds bis darned I old horse on pumpkins.” “I don't wish to say any thing against the indi vidual hi question, ’’ sail a very polite gentleman, ! - but I would merely remark, in the language of the poet, that t3 him, ‘truth is strange, stranger than 1 fiction.”’ no, a