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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL Is published every Thursday Morning, IN COLUMBUS, GA. BY WILLIAM H. CHAMBERS, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. To whom all communications must be directed, post paid Office on Randolph Street. Terms of Subscription. Ono copy twelve months, in advance, - - $2 50 ” •• “ “ Not in advance, -3 00 - 150 fjgT Where the subscription is not paid during the year, 15 cents will be charged for every month's delay. No subscription will be received tor less than six months,and none discontinued until all arrearages are paid, except at the option of the proprietor. To Clubs. Five copies twelve months, * 00 Ten “ .... - 16 00 £Sy* The money from Clubs must in all cases ac company the names, or the price of a single subscription Will be charged. Rates of Advertising. One Square, first insertion, - - - $1 00 <• “ Each subsequent insertion, - 50 A liberal deduction on these terms will be made in favor of those who advertise by the year. Advertisements not specified as to time, will be pub lished till forbid, and charged accordingly. Monthly Advertisements will be charged as new Ad vertisements at each insertion. Legal Advertisements. N. B.—Sales of Lands, by Administrators, Ex ecutors, or Guardians, are required by law to be held on ♦he first Tuesday in the month, between the hours ot 10 in the forenoon, and 3 in the afternoon, at the Court House in the county in which the land is situated. No ticca of these sales must be given in a public gazette sixty days previous to the day of sale. Sales of Negroes must be made at a public auction on the first Tuesday of the month, between the usual hours of sale, at the place of public sales in the county where the Letters Testamentary, ot Administration or Guardianship, may have been granted, first giving sixty Days notice thereof in one ol the public gazettes ol this £>tate, and at the door ot the Court House, where such Bales are to be held. , ~ Notice for the sale of Personal property must be given in like manner forty days previous to the day ot sale. Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an estate must be pubiiiihed forty days. . _ , Notice that application will be made to the Court ot Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published tor Notice for leave to sell Negroes must be published tor four months, before any order absolute shall lie made thereon by the Court. .... ~ . Citations for Letters of Administration, must bo pub lished thirty days—for dismission from administration, monthly six months —for dismission horn Guardianship, FORTY DAYS Rules for'the foreclosure of a Mortgage must be pub lished monthly for four months—for establishing lost papers, for the full stack ol three months pelling titles from Executors or Administrators, where a Bond has been given by the deceased, the full stage ol Publications will always bo continued according to these legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered. SOUTHERN SENTINEL Job Office. HAVING received anew and extensive assortment of Job Material, we are prepared to execute at this office,all orders for JOB WORK,in a manner winch can not be excelled in the State, on very liberal terms, and at the shortest notice. . . f We feel confident of onr ability to give entire eatistac tion in every variety ot Job Printing, including Books, Business Cards, Pamphlets, Bill Heads, Circulars, Blanks of every description, Hand Bills, Bills of Lading, Posters, 4’ r • *V r - In short, all descriptions of Printing which can be ex routed at any office in the country, will be turned out ■with elegance and despatch. Marble Works, East side Broad St. near the Market House, COLUMBUS, GA. HAVE constantly on hand all kinds of Grare Stones Monuments, Tombs and Tablets, ot American, Italian and Irish Marble. Engraving and carving done on stone in the best possible manner; and all kinds MADDEN. p. S. Plaister of Paris and Cement, always on hand for sale. Columbus, March 7, 1850, 10 “ NORTH CAROLINA Mutual Life Insurance Company. LOCATED AT RALEIGH, N. C. rpHE Charter of this company gives important advan .L tages to the assured, over most other companies. The husband can insure his own life for the sole use and benefit of his wife and children, free from any other claims. Persons who insure for life participate in the profits which are declared annually, and when the pre mium exceeds S3O, may pay one-halt in a note. Slaves are insured at two-thirds their value lor one or five years. Applications for Risks may be made to Agent. Columbus, Ga. Office at Greenwood Sc Co.’s Warehouse. Nov. 13,1819. _ TO RENT, TILL the first day of January next. The old printing office room ot the “Muscogee Democrat Apply at this office. 1® “■ County Surveyor. TIIC undersigned informs his friends and the Planters of Muscogee county, that he is prepared to make official surveys in Muscogee county. Letters addressed to Post Office,Columbus, will meet with prompt atten tion. VVM. F. SERRELL, County Surveyor. Office over E. Barnard Sc Co.’s store, Broad St. Columbus, Jan. 31,1850. 5 ly NOTICE. rpHF, firm name of “M. H. Dessau. Agent ” is changed, 1 from this date, to M. H. DESS AU. Columbus, Feb. 7, 1850. ® Williams, Flewellen & Williams, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, CO T.U MBITS, GEORGIA. May 23. 1850. 21 M Globe Hotel, BUENA VISTA, MARION CO., GA. BY J. WILLIAMS. March 14,1850. ts Williams & Howard, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, COLUMBUS, GEORGIA. KOBT. R. HOWARD. CHAS. J. WILLIAMS. April 4,1850. 14 ts J. D. LESNARD, ATTORNEY AT LAW, TALBOTTOX, GA. WILL attend to business in Talbot and the adjacent counties. All business entrusted to his care will meet with prompt attention. „. . April 4, 1850. H ly KING & WINNEMORE, Commission Merchants, MOBILE, ALABAMA. Dec. 20,1849. [Mob. Trib.] 15 tl THIS PAPER IS MANUFACTURED BY THE Rock Island Factory, NEAR THIS CITY. Columbus, Feb. 23, 1850. 9 ts WANTED. 1A A AAA R AGS - for clean cot IUIf.UUU ton or linen rags—3l cents per pound, when delivered in quantities of 100 pounds or more ; and 3 cents when delivered in small quantities. For old hemp, bagging, and pieces of rope, 11 cents, delivered either at Hock Island Factory or at their store in Co lumbus, in the South comer Room ol Oglethorpe House. D. ADAMS, Secretaiy. Columbus, Feb.’28,1850. 9 tt WHEAT ! WAEAf ! WHEAT! ONE Dollar and fifty cents paid for strickly prime white wheat, and one dollar and 37 cents paid for strictly prime red sun dried wheat, at Winter's Palace Mills, in cash. If required, it can becleaased at the mill free of expense. JOE JEFFERSON, Miller 3!av30,1850. 22 ts YOL. I. From the Knickerbocker for May. Song—A Lesson itself Sublime. BY MRS. SARAH T. BOLTON. A lesson in itself sublime, A lesson worth enshrining, Is this : ‘I take no note of time Save when the sun is shining.’ These motto-words a dial bore, And wisdom never preaches To human hearts a better lore, Than this short sentence teaches: As life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely, Let us forget its pain and care, And note its bright hours only. There is no grove on Earth’s broad chart But has some bird to cheer it; So hope pings on in every heart; Although we may not hear it: And if to-day the heavy wing Os Sorrow is oppressing, Perchanee to-morrow's sun will bring The weaiy heart a blessing: For life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely, Then let’s forget its toil and care, And note its bright hours only. We bid the joyous moments haste, And then forget their glitter; We take the cup of life and taste No portion but the bitter; But we should teach our hearts to deem Its sweetest drops the strongest : And pleasant hours should ever seem To linger round us ‘ongust; As life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely, Let us forget its toil and care, And note its bright hours only. The darkest shadows of the night Are just before the morning, Then let us wait the coming light, All boding phantoms scorning ; And while we’re passing on the tide Os Time’s fast-ebbing river, Let’s pluck the blossoms by its side, And bless the Gracious Giver : As life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely, We should forgets its pain and care, And note its bright hours only. [From the Lady's Book.] THE SURPRISE PARTY. BY T. S. ARTHUR. Mr. nnd Mrs. Atherton, and their two daughters, Helen and Alice, were sitting one evening in January 7, enjoying anew book, which one of the latter was reading aloud, when a ring was heard. The reader paused, and, for a few moments, they remained, list ening and expectant. A servant went to the door. ‘Are the ladies at home V was heard asked, in a man’s voice. Then a movement, as of two or three per sons entering, was noticed. ‘I wonder who they are V said Alice. ‘Some one has gone up stairs/ remarked Mrs. Atherton, who had been listening. You’d better go and see who it is, Helen.’ The daughter was about rising to do as her mother had suggested, when one of the par lor doors opened, and a young gentleman, dressed with care, presented himself. ‘Mr. A ! How are you this evening ? I’m very happy to see you !’ said Mr. Ather ton, advancing to meet the young man, and welcoming him cordially. The others greeted him in return, and he then took a seat among them. ‘l’m sure some persons went up stairs/ said Mrs. Atlienton, speaking aside to Helen. ‘True. I heard them plainly/ And Hel en retired from the room. As she came to the foot of the stairway in the passage, she was a little surprised to find a light in the room which opened from the first landing, and to perceive, through the half-opened door, the figures of the three persons moving with in. She went up quickly and entered. Three young girls, intimate acquaintances, were there, all tastefully dressed, and displaying a profusion of ornament. ‘Why, Anna!—Jane!—Cordelia!’ fell from the lips of Helen, as she grasped a hand of each in succession, and exchanged saluta tions. Then there came a pause. Helen’s countenance assumed a quick, thoughtful air; while her young visitors were full of life, and every nerve quivering in anticipated pleas ure. ‘Walk down into the parlors/ said Helen. ‘Father and mother and sister are there/ As they were leaving the room, Helen’s eyes rested upon the lamp that burned upon a table. It was a small, fancy, gilt lamp, and bad never before been seen by her. She no ted the fact, but her mind was too much ex cited at the moment to reflect on so singular a circumstance. The appearance of the three rather elabo rately dressed young ladies, as an addition to the family party below, very naturally creat ed some surprise, and disturbed the mental equilibrium of those in the parlor. But the Athertons were well-bred people, and not easily drawn off their guard by anything mal-apropose. The social circle widened with graceful ease, and the unexpected visi tors of the evening were quickly made at home. In about a quarter of an hour the bell rang again when two more elegant-dressed young ladies, with a male attendant, appeared. They were also intimate acquaintances, and joined the company in the parlor in that familiar, ‘of course’ kind of way, that mystified the Ather tons, who, by this time, began to fear that some misunderstanding had Liken place, like ly to produce unpleasant and mortifying re sults. But, as before said, they were well bred people, and manifested no signs of dis comfiture or surprise. A third addition of this kind caused Alice and Helen to retreat to their chamber, in or der to give some little attention to their toilet; and Mrs. Atherten soon followed their exam ple. While this was going on, the bell con tinued to ring, and company to arrive every few moments; and, by the time they descend ed again to the parlors, a party of between twenty and thirty were assembled there, most of them particular acquaintances, and all perfectly at home. Additional lights w 7 ere now ordered, and things made to correspond as perfectly as possible with the suddenly changed order of affairs, and with little appar ent hurry and no apologies. A family council, composed of Mr. and Mrs. Atherton, and Helen, was now 7 called, in order to fix upon some concerted action in so strange an emergency. ‘What does it mean?’ said Mr. Atherton, in a whisper, so soon as they were alone. ‘There is some mistake/ remarked Mr. Atherton, gravely. ‘A very strange kind of a mistake. We’ve sent out no invitations to a party/ Mr. Atherton shook his head, and com pressed his lips. vTIlc Soutljcrn .Sentinel. ‘Somebody has taken a very unwarranta ble liberty with us. I fear/ he remarked. ‘No doubt all of these persons have received regular invitations to attend a party at our house to-night, and are here, as they believe, at our instance/ ‘ls it possible any one could do a thing like that V said Mrs. Atherton. ‘les. There are persons who take a strange pleasure in annoying others who with practical jokes, and the greater the annoyance they can produce, the higher is their gratifi cation. To someone of our friends, who seeks enjoyment in this ungenerous mode, we are no doubt indebted for the affair on our hands this evening. I can only say, that I have particular reasons for regretting the mode he has chosen to annoy us. But as our friends are here, innocently, we must not on ly do our best to entertain them, but avoid the slightest intimation that they were not ex pected.’ In this all agreed. While conversing, the bell was kept constantly ringing, and party after party of guests arriving. ‘I wonder how many more are coming?’ remarked Mrs. Atherton, as she listened to a mingling of several voices in the passage, af ter the street door had been again opened. ‘lt w ill be a large party, without doubt/ replied Mr. Atherton ; for when an affair of this kind is gotten up, it is rarely a halfway piece of work/ ‘We will have to procure refreshment/ said Hellen. ‘Certainly. The company are here upon our invitation, as they suppose, and we must give them a suitable entertainment/ ‘lt is too late to provide a regular supper,’ suggested Mrs. Atherton. ‘Yes; that is now out of the question. We shall have to confine ourselves principally to cake, wine, fruit, and confectionary/ ‘And make a pretty liberal order for that, if the company continues to assemble much longer at the present rate/ said Mrs. Ather ton. Her husband did not answer to the remark, but suppressed a sigh that was throwing it self involuntarily from his bosom. ‘We must decide this mattersoon/ suggest ed Mrs. Atherton. ‘Yes. In half an hour or so we will be able to make some estimate of what will be wanted. Then I will send round an order to Parkinson for ice-cream, cake, confection ary, &c., for a party of a given number ; and to our grocery for wine and fruits/ This and other little matters pertaining to the entertainment being settled, they returned to the parlors and rejoined the company. As Mr. Atherton was entering the rooms, noxv pretty w r ell filled, he was still more surprised than he had y 7 et been, to hear the movement of a bow across the strings of a violin. This w 7 as repeated three or four times, and then a familiar air came from the instrument, and there w r as a movement in concert on the floor. In other words, a cotillion had been formed ; and w r hen Mr. Atherton w 7 as able to take a survey of the rooms, he discovered a grinning negro fiddling aw 7 ay in one corner, and the obedient dancers threading their mazy circles in harmony with the strains he was drawing forth. Here w r as a new 7 and not so easily explain ed feature in the affair. Who had ordered the music ? That puzzled him. But, as he dwelt upon it, light came in. It was one of the harmonious parts in the practical joke. The individual who had amused himself with sending invitations, in the name of the fami ly, had, in the name of the family, ordered a fiddler. So that, after a little reflection, was explained. Self-composed, affable and attentive, the Athertons moved amid their company with an easy familiarity, so well amused that few could have detected, even with close obser vation, the restless surprise that lay beneath all. About nine o’clock, and just as the} 7 were about sending an order for refreshments, tw r o colored men entered and bore a large basket between them through the passage into the dining-room. Here they made themselves perfectly at home. The tables in the room w r ere set out, and covered with clothes which they had brought with them. Upon these were arranged elegant china dishes, plates, saucers, etc., w ith knives, forks, and spoons. ‘Well, I am confounded !’ exclaimed Mrs. Atherton to her husband, as the two met in one of the chambers above for further consul tation. ‘I don’t know wliat to make of it.’ ‘Nor do 1/ returned the husband. I con fess to being entirely puzzled/ ‘lt is plain that a supper has been ordered by someone/ ‘Yes, that is evident enough/ ‘Wouldn’t it be well to ask some questions of these colored waiters who have taken pos session of the dining-room, without so much as saying by your leave/ ‘No—no,’replied Mr. Atherton; ‘w r e will ask no questions; that w 7 ould betray our ig norance and surprise too much/ ‘There is no need of our sending for refresh ments/ ‘None at all. Instead of considering our selves entertaners, w 7 e may as w 7 ell place our selves among the entertained, and have no further care for anything/ And so the Athertons acted from that time. It was in vain that efforts w r ere made, through the most careful observation, to detect the master of ceremonies in this affair. No one appeared more forw r ard than the others ; but all acted in such perfect concert, that it was plain to Mr. Atherton, at length, that some general understanding existed among the w r hole party. At eleven o’clock, one of the strange wai ters came up to Mr. Atherton and announced to him that supper w 7 as ready. ‘Very well/ replied Mr. Atherton, as nat urally as if he had ordered the supper himself, and then gave notice to the company to pass into the dining-room for refreshments. A splendid entertainment had been provided, consisting of all the delicacies served up on such occasions, both light and substantial, with an abundance of choice wines and rare and delicicious fruits. It can hardly be a matter of wonder, that the continued surprise of the Athertons took away all appetite for the dainties set forth in such tempting profusion. They were active and attentive to all during the gay repast, but took of little themselves. After supper the company went back to the parlors. Asew 7 more cotillions w 7 ere danc ed, and then they all retired. At half-past twelve o’clock the Athertons were alone. The waiters who brought in the supper had reraov- COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, JULY 18, 1850. ed everything, leaving scarcely a trace behind them. ‘lt’ this isn’t a dream, it’s the strangest wak ing adventure in social life that I have ever heard of/ said Mr. Atherton. ‘l’m puzzled entirely/ added Helen. ‘I can’t understand it at all. I never heard of such a thing. Like father, I’m half inclined to think we are dreaming/ ‘Who could have gotten up the affair, and carried it through so adroitly?’ said Mr. Ather ton. ‘I tried, all the evening, to detect some one a little more officious than the rest, but was not able to do so/ ‘lt was well managed, to say the least of it/ remarked Mr. Atherton; ‘but, being a practical joke, the enjoyment was all on the side of the jokers —1 say jokers, for it seems to me, now, that it was a concerted thing; and that all present understood each other perfectly.’ ‘Do 3 7 0 u think so?’ exclaimed Alice, strik ing her hands together in sudden surprise. ‘So it presents it&lf to me/ ‘You’ve guessed right, without doubt,’ said Helen, as a light went over her face. ‘Now I can understand a good deal that puzzled me. Well, as you say, it was handsomely managed/ ‘But, as I said still further, the enjoyment was all on one side. We had some of it, I believe.’ ‘lt was no pleasure to me/ remarked Mrs. Atherton, seriously. ‘M3 7 heart was in a flut ter all the evening, and it required quite a struggle to keep my real feelings from coming into manifestation/ ‘That was my own case/ added Helen. ‘Surprise took away all my pleasure. There has been a pressure on my bosom all the evening, and I am still unable to breathe freely/ Alice tried to express what she felt on the occasion, but her lips quivered and tears came into her e3’es. Mr. Atherton, seeing this, re marked : ‘Ah, well, my children ; let us tr3 7 and for get the whole affair, or think of it with as lit tle feeling as possible. If it has given others pleasure, let us be content with that/ ‘I have felt a sense of humiliation all the evening/ said Alice, who recovered immedi ate^ 7 her self-possession. ‘No one who had a proper respect for us could have committed a social outrage like this—l call it by its real name/ ‘lt was certainly an indelicate invasion of a man’s household—an intrusion within the famil3 7 ciicle that nothing can justify/ replied Mr. Atherton, seriously. ‘And Allice sug gests truly 7, that, in the minds of the author or authors of the affair, there must have been a want of a proper respect for our characters and position. This is self-evident. I have felt it all the evening/ ‘And so have I, most keenly,’ remarked Mrs. Atherton. ‘ Suppose,’ she added, ‘that we had just received intelligence of the death of a near relative, or were in some serious trouble? How much deeper would our af fliction or trouble have been felt/ ‘Or suppose/ said Mr. Atherton, ‘I were embarrassed in business, and a creditor hap pened to go b3 7 and discover that I was en tertaining a large and gay company, would it not prejudice him against me, and put me in great danger ?’ Mr.Atherton spoke freely. ‘lt was wrong, viewed in any light/ re marked Mrs Atherton. ‘Wrong—wrong. Pleasure is well enough in its place; but when it conies an intruder, and boldly invades the famil3 7 circle, the act is nothing less than an outrage/ Such was tne state of mind produced in the family upon which had been played off the practical “oke of a compulsory party 7 , for the amusement of a set of thoughtless 3 7 oung men and women, whose knowledge of hu man nature was too limited to teach them a decent respect for the sacred seclusion of the home circle. On the evening of thepart3 7 , a middle aged man was passing slowly along the street in the neighborhood of Atherton’s residence. The sound of music and gay voices fell upon his ears, and he paused to listen. ‘Ah, ha 1 ’ he muttered to himself, as he moved on again. ‘A party! Yes—yes. Well, I thought he had something else to think of besides parties. And I suppose he has. But extravagant wife and daughters. Yes, that’s the secret. Hum—m—m Well, if this is the game to be played, a ceck mate had been better come now, than w hen there are 01113 7 a few pawns on the board/ And thus he went muttering on his w r ay. On the next morning, when Mr. Atherton w 7 ent to his store, he found a note on his desk. It w 7 as in these words : Dear Sir: I find, on reflection, that I can not make the arrangement about which we conversed a day or two ago. ‘Yours, &c., D. ADAMS/ Mr. Atherton immediately become agitat ed. The reason is soon explained. Two or three heav3 7 losses had crippled him in bus iness, so far as present resources w r ere con cerned, and he had applied to this Adams for aid in his extremity. Adams had the fullest confidence in Mr. Atherton, and at once de termined to ‘put him through/ as he express ed it. He was himself a large creditor, and had already 7 partly agreed to extend his own notes, as w 7 ell as to make liberl loans. But he had suddenly 7 , and, to Mr. Atherton, unac countably changed his mind. The promis ed arrangement could not be made. Fully confiding in Adagis, Mr. Atherton had sought aid in no other quarter. No won der that he w r as agitated w'hen it is know r n that he had nothing in bank, w r hile notices for the payment of over five thousand dollars in drafts and bills, due that day, were lying on his desk. It took nearly an hour for the al most paralysed mind of Mr. Atherton to come back to its usual state of vigor and activity. At first all become dark and hopeless ; for he had no borrowing facilities, having in the con duct of his business alway 7 s preferred keep ing it within his own control. But bis ex tremity w r as great, and it w 7 ould not do to fold his hands in inactivity and let swift detection fall upon him. So, after a deal of earnest thought, he w 7 ent to work with some spirit, and before one o’olock was in possession of the required amount of money. In obtaining it, however, he had been compelled to make some heavy 7 sacrifices. But this w r as over coming only the first dfficulty in a way crowd ed w 7 ith impediments; and, with each suc ceeding day, he found himself more embar rassed and crippled. About a week subsequent to the party which w r e have described, a young man nam ed Bonnel, who had only a short time before commenced business, came into the store of Mr. Adams, and, w'ith much concern in his face, said: ‘Have you heard about Mr. Atherton ?’ ‘Nothing very particular. What’s the mat ter V ‘l’m told that this paper was laid over to day/ ‘All! F."i sorry/ replied Mr. Adams, evinc ing much regret. ‘But it is wdiat I have ex pected/ ‘lt is ! I never dreamed of such a thing. I thought him one of our soundest men/ ‘So he has been. But lie’s met with heavy losses of late.’ ‘I wish I had knowrn that/ said Bonnel, look ing very grave. ‘ Why ? Does he owe you ?’ ‘Yes. I sold him a pretty heavy bill w 7 eek before last/ ‘I am sorry for that/ ‘Do you think it will be a bad Failure ?’ ‘I cannot tell. I have always had great confidenee in him; but that has become slight ly 7 impaired. I know he w 7 as in deffiulties, and was about helping him through them, when a circumstance occurred that made me decline doing so. I felt there w 7 ould be too much risk. The fact is, his family are too gay and extravagant/ ‘I never heard that charged upon them/ said Bonnel; ‘and I know them intimately/ ‘lt’s no good sign/ replied Adams, ‘for a merchant, w 7 ho is crippled in his business through heavy losses, to indulge in large and costly parties/ ‘Atherton has not done so/ ‘Beg your pardon. I happen to know that a large party w r as given at his house not over a w 7 eek since. I was about affording him all the assistance he needed; but, when I saw that, felt bound, in justice td myself, to de cline an arrangement that might involve me in loss. ‘And was that your only reason for refus ing aid ?’ said Bonnel, in surprise. ‘lt caused a train of reflections in my mind, that led naturally to the decision formed/ ‘You were unjust to him, Mr. Adams/ said Bonnel, firmly. ‘Show me my error/ w 7 as calmly repli ed/ ‘Mr. Atherton did not give that part/ ‘lt w r as at his house/ ‘No matter. He had no more to do with getting it up than you had. It w 7 as a sur prise party/ ‘And pray what is that V ‘Did you never hear of a surprise party ?’ ‘Never/ ‘lndeed ! They’re quite the rage this win ter. The particular friends of some family arrange to give them, or rather, compel them to give a party. They fix upon the night— the family being kept in total ignorance of the fact—and go, with their own music and refreshments, and take them by surprise. The greater the astonishment and confusion of the family, the greater the enjoyment of those w'lio go. I planned the party at Ather ton’s ; and, I can assure you, it w r as a most delightful affair/ ‘lt may 7 have been fun to you; but, like the frogs in the fable, it w 7 as death to them,’ said Mr. Adams, seriously. ‘How so?’ asked Bonnel. ‘You placed them in a false position, and forced upon them the disadvantage of a wrong judgment. On that very 7 day I had made up my 7 mind to put Mr. Atherton through. He had fully confined to me his difficulties, and I had resolved to help him over them. But, in passing his house at night, I was surprised to find him giving a large party 7 . For a man in his position to indulge in a party-giving, w r as not the thing, in my estimation. It did’nt look very well. Something is wrong there, said I to my 7 self. And my final conclusion, upon which I acted, was to risk nothing with him/ ‘Can this be possible ?’ exclaimed Bonnel, exhibiting much distress. ‘lt is true, as I tell .you/ ‘I did not dream of such a consequence. It was but a piece of innocent sport on our part/ said Bonnel. ‘lt was a liberty/ replied the merchant, se verely, ‘for which there is no excuse on any ground. I can scarcely conceive of a great er social outrage than the one yoa have in dulged. Suppose intelligence had been that day received of the death of a near relative; or some family trouble was oppressing the minds of all; how greatly would your un timely sport have increased the pain they were suffering. Knowing, as I do, the state of Mr. Atherton’s mind on that occasion, I can well understand how rudely jarred it must have been. But that is nothing to the disastrous consequences which have followed. Ruin has been the result. An honest man has been stricken down in the midst of his busi ness career. It is some statisfaction/ added Adams, bitterly, ‘that you, who confess your self the author of this wrong, are involved in some of the consequences. I will teach you a lesson that may 7 be useful to y 7 ou hereaf ter/ As he said this, he turned partly away from Bonnel, who, feeling offended, left his store. The struggle upon which Mr. Atherton en tered, proved too much for him. Alone, he could not contend successfully with his diffi culties. After a day of anxious effort, he found himself unable to meet the notes and drafts which fell due, and the hour of three came with his obligations still in bank. Up to that time he had been in a st ate of deep distress and agitation. But, when three strokes upon the clock sounded the knell of bis bro ken fortunes, and further effort was vain, a calmness fell upon his mind; and he awaited, with a sort of stoicism, the appearance of the notary 7 , into whose hands his dishonored pa per would be given for protest. The notary came and went That ordeal, a deeply try ing one, was passed. His reputation as a merchant was not blasted. Hie apple of his eye had been touched. But he had borne the pain with a heroism that surprised even himself. This trial past, visions of future meeting with creditors began to form themselves in his mind, and his sensitive feelings were already beginning to shrink painfully in anticipation, when he saw Mr. Adams enter his store. ‘I am told that your paper has laid over to day,’ said the latter, as he took the hand of Atherton. ‘You’ve heard aright. The notary left me but a little while ago/ ‘For what amount have you been noted. ?’ ‘Three thousand dollars,’ ‘How much more will you need to carry you through V ‘Not less than ten thousand dollars/ ‘You shall have it, Mr. Atherton. I labor ed under a false impression regarding you, when I declined the arrangement you wished to make a week ago. Here is the money you need to-day/ And he drew forth his pocket-book as he spoke. ‘Get your paper out of the hands of the notary before he can protest it. To-morrow I M ill see you and ar range the rest/ Before Mr. Atherton could recover from his surprise, and express his grateful feelings, Adams had turned from him and was leaving the store. On the next day all was arrang ed as had been promised; and the merchant, who had been on the very brink of ruin, and actually falling over, w'as saved. This W’as the last affair of the kind in M’hich Bonnel ever engaged ; and the last intlicted on the Athertons. It had like to have proved more than a simple Surprise Party to them. Scholastics of Kerry. B. Here’s a fine, fat, bold-looking, bounc ing B. Say Bee! Terry.—Bee! No, not Bay; try again, * Terry—Bee! Capital! That’ll do. Mind, its not a fly ing bee, nor a humming-bee, nor ahuble-bee, that sports yellow’ satin breeches, and wears the point of a needle in its tail. It’s abetter B than the B’s in your father’s garden, and you may touch this bee over and over again, and he’ll never sting you as the other B’s do; but I’ll be after stinging you, maybe, to-mor row, if you don’t remember him again; and I’d wish you to observe that he stands for the Baker, and Barber, and for Ballyheigh, and Ballyclare, and Ballycleave, all noted towns for fairs in our counthry, and maybe you’ll be fighting at them yet, as your father and grand father have done before you—(Terry grins) —and don’t forget that B stands for beef, and bacon, and butter, (if w r e could get at them,) and for blarney, our renowned castle, besieg ed by that thief o’ the night, Crow'nwell, who thought to stop our mouths with his gunpow’- dcr and cannon balls, but was very much mis taken. I think you’ll know him W’ell now, so move your finger down to O, Oh! Did you ever seethe full moon rounder than that ? Only the Kerry pippins are round enough, every way, till ye begin to bite them; and this poor fellow’ is as flat as a pancake. Look at it, Terry, and just think what sort of a noise you’d make, if I tuk a fancy to give your ear a little bit of a pinch, so. (Terry gets frightened, and roars out ‘O!’) There, didn’t I tell you so, my dear boy ? And you’ll never forget it, now it’s w'anst been pinched into you ? 0, that’s a great letter entirely. What would Ibe with out it ? or any of the ould O’Sullivans ? or even the new branches—(but I’m of the real stock) —or the O’Connells, or O’Tooles, or O’Callaghans, or O’Byrens, or O’Gradys, or O’Donnels, or O’Shaughnessys, or O’Far theys, or O’Brines, and w hole regiments and armies of O’s, that sprung out of our ancient nobility ? Sure they might as well lose their eyes or their ears, (that some of them did lose, and could never get back again,) or their very noses oc their faces, as lose their their O’s. Then think of the round of a cart w-heel, and of that big blackguard, Oliver Cromwell, with Omedaw’s and Orthograph ies, and cannonballs, and the pinch of the ear, (Terry feelshis ear,) and I’ll go bail you’ll never forget the O. But it’s time w'e’re los ing. 8. Here, now—isn’t this a lovely letter, Terry ? Did you ever see a sw'an in full sail ? That’s him to the life, if there was only a sup of w'ater under him. You must call out ‘Ess/ Terry.—Ess! Ye have it nate. See how stately he is ’ a mighty elegant, stout, clever-looking letter, and one of the best in the w'hole alphabet, be ing the father and grandfather, and great grandfather of all the Saints in the blessed calendar—there would be no Saints at all, but for his introduction. So you must rivirince the S beyant all other letters ; and remimber that he stands for Sunday, and soap wanst a week, before going to overtake the mass ; and salt w’ith the potatoes that day, anyhow; and Saxons, (bad scran to them!) that driv us in to h oles and comers, (myself, of the raal old stock, that say that;) and school, where yer getting into great learning already, and will soon come to the history of Scipio, king of the ould Romans, and Solomon, that built the biggest chapel in the W'orld ; and Sampson, that pulled it dow'n again over his shoulders And now, Terry dear, don’t forget S stands for straw; and remind yer father of the holes there in the roof, that he promised to mend up agin witer—and that it’s for an O’Sullivan! T. Down you pop to T—a rale nate let ter, balanced as true as a rope-dancer at the Fair. Ball out ‘Tee ’ Terry.— Tay ! No, that’s tay what the quality do be drink ing w'ith crame and lumps ofsugarinit. Try again—‘Tee!’ Terry—Tee! That’s right, my dear—and you’ll know him again when you’ll see Mick Holloran coming up from the river, w'ith the two pig gings of watlier hanging acrass the lift over his shoulders. You must know he stands for the tutor—and I being your tutor, he stands for me—and likewise for turf and two pence, (the regulations of his flourishing Ac ademy,) and Tiber, the great river that runs through Rome, and Throy, a big city in the Aste, that was taken by the Phenishons, just before they came to settle in ould Ireland. It also stands for Tara, in the country Meath, the capital of the counthry in ancient time, and twice the size of Dublin—that’s only a new city, and them that lives in it none of the raal Irish at all, but mostly new’ comers, an’ very troublesome people, and hard to plase. My hand t’ye, I wouldn’t give a stone out of ould Thrinity for all the burnt brickß and smokey chirnbiys in Dublin, that were never heard tell of in ould times! Move along now! — Dublin University Magazine. “ Tommy,” said a toping father, a little “tight,” to his son—“ Tommy, hie —my boy, mind your daddy, and never walk in his—hie —footsteps.” “That might do, perhaps,” replied the juvenile,” “if 1 wanted to go into the corkscrew or Virginia fence business.”— The paternal guardian raised his cane, but Tommy dodged it. A married lady found her two sons quar reling, and in hope of putting an end to their difference, uttered the following threat:- “You young rascals, if you don’t desist di rectly, Ml tell both your fathers.” Eating Ice-Cream Raw. On a very sultry evening during the sum mer of ’4B, as Dr. B and myself were seated in a fashionable saloon of our tow n, indulging in the cool luxuries which the pro prietors of the establishment know so well to prepare, and chatting the whole while up on such objects as fancy and caprice sug gested—a tall, limber-looking individual of about 23, made his appearance, and after looking about him for some time in bewilder ment and doubt, seated himself at a table close by the one at which w’e were sitting. The young man w r as apparently a strang er, and from the country; and the illu minated sign, with “Ice-cream,” “Confection aries,” &c., blazoned thereon, had evidently taken him in. Knowing the Doctor to have a good propensity for practical joking, I turned to see what effect it would have upon him; and one glance at his restless, twinkling eye, satisfied me that there W'ould be sport — the tiger was already in imagination gloating over h is prey. After sitting sometime as if uncertain how to proceed, the young man plucked up suffi cient courage to address us, and inquiry w hether he could “get some ice cream and a couple of confectionariesstating at the same time, that he had ‘never been at the canawd afore, and didn’t know’ how’ people acted at sich places/ He w'as informed bv the Doctor that if he W'ould ring the small bell which stood upon the table, his wishes w’ould be gratified. The green ’un did as he w’as directed, and in due time w as served with the ice-cream and confectionaries. After eyeing for a few moments the articles before him, he took the spoon from the glass, took a small quantity of the cream and put it to the tip of his tongue, and then looked about the room with an air of satisfaction and delight. Soon, however, another idea seemed to strike him, he rammed the spoon deep into the glass, took it out heaped full, and in a mo ment its contents had disappeared. At this instant, 1 felt a tw itch at my side—the next, the Doctor w'as on his feet—and clutch ed mv arm convulsively, and with one hand pointing toward the victim, almost screamed: ‘My God ! that youmg man is eating his ice-cream raw!’ Down went ice-cream, spoon, confection aries, and table, upon the floor; out leaped the victim at least ten feet tow’ard the middle of the room, gasping for breath—eyes pro truding from their sockets —and countenance exhibiting marks of the greatest terror and helplessness. In a moment the doctor was by his side—felt his pulse—unbuttoned hi* coat,-w’aistcoat, and shirt-collar, as if to ad mit fresh air; then fanning him w'ith the skirt ot his coat. It w’as then that the victim’s tongue first became loosed, and with imploring look—‘Oh, kin I live V Upon this, the Doctor looked mysterious, felt his pulse again, examined his tongue, and then in a solemn tone, replied: ‘lt may be, young man, by implicitly fol lowing my directions, you can yet escape the consequences of your rash folly. I would advise you to’— ‘Anything, I’ll do anything you tell me, so as I can git over this spell, and find my way home again/ ‘Well, then, sir, take off your coat/ The young man did so—‘tie a handkerchief about you,’he was obeyed. And now, sir, go to the door, run three times around this square, with all the might that is in you, and then come back to me, and I will tell you what further to do/ The young man vanished and we resumed our seats; in a few minutes, how'ever, he re turned ; puffing and blowing, and apparently in better spirits. ‘Now',’ said the Doctor, ‘do you put on your coat, button it up close to your chin ; go to your lodging place, and turn into bed im mediately ; and let me advise y’ou, young man, that hereafter, that before you under take to eat ice-cream, see that it is properly prepared; and let me particularly charge you, (and here he assumed a very serious air,) nev er again do you attempt to eat ire-cream raw / Theyoung man stammered forth his thanks for the service, and then left, we following soon after. Jonathan’s Hunting Excursion. “Did you ever hear of the scrape that 1 and uncle Zekiel had duckin’ on’t the Connecti cut?” asked Jonathan Timbertoes, W'hile a musing his old Dutch hostess, who had agreed to entertain him under the roof of her log cottage, for and in consideration of a bran new milk pan. “No, I never did—do tell it,” was the re ply* “Well—you must know that I and uncle Zeke took it into our heads one Saturday af ternoon to go a gunning arter ducks, in fath er’s skiff; so in w r e got and skulled down the river. A proper sight of ducks flew back wards and forwards, I tell ye—and bimeby a few’ on ’em lit down by the marsh, and went to feeding on muscles. I catched up my peauderhorn to prime, and it slipped right out my’ hand and sunk to the bottom of the river. The w'ater w’as amazingly clear, and I could see it on the bottom. Now I couldn’t swim a jot, so I sez to uncle Zeke, “you’re a pretty clever fellow—jest let me take your peauder horn to prime,” and don’t you think the stingy critter wouldn’t. “Well,” says 1, “you’re a pretty good diver, an’ if you’ll dive and git it, I’ll givey'ou a pritnin.” I thought he’d leave his peauder horn, but he didn’t; but stuck it in his pocket and down he went —and there he staid.” Here the old lady opened her eyes with w'onder and surprise, and a pause of some minutes ensued, when Jonathan added* “I looked down, and what do you think the critter was doin’?” “Lord!” exclaimed the old lady’, “I’m sure I don’t know.” “There he was,” said our hero, “settin’ right on the bottom of the river, pourin’ the peauder out of my horn into hizen.” A New Drama. —The following is an extract from a forthcoming Drama: “You come from—” “Yes.” “And you go to—” “Yes.” “And you had a father and mother ?” “I did.” “And y’ou had a sister?” “I did.” “And that sister’s name was—” “It was,” “And y’ou name is—” “The same as my father’s.” “I knew’ it. Rush to my arms.” Again I clasp my long lost brother!’—Again I do! —Again !—Again!—Again ! Ha! Ha! Ha!” [Faints, falls on the stage, rolls over and “shoots” a pistol at the prompter.} “Mine fren, have you seen von little poo die dog, with his tail slit and hisears cut short off behind, w hat I did lose next week, as I w’as walking up de river in de steamboat?” “I did not Monsieur, but expect to every minute.” “Begar, if he be drow-n I will kill him six several times in two plates.” NO. 29.