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MILLEDGFEVILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, MAY 24, 1850.
NUMBER 21.
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ctgag. mu. nmuK-MUflcggacEnM
yl_ 0 R M E & SON,
OR?
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A NT) PROPRIETORS.
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|shing the direction o! their paper
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i m 1 Negroes,l>y Administrators. Kxec-
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jnthe ’’“f u||tv •,... which the property is situate. No
j.i-e ; , ' : lies mast be given in a publicgazette
‘ iee,l,f linrevioiistothed&yof«aJ*. .
urn .— 1 F r< f . r personal Property must be giv-
N y ei :^V£Zprevious to .he day ofsale.
e !l ‘ 1 ' t l Q e btors and Cred
r jS .' ; V ,i! ‘ ! ..'iVLudhta i-ou will
I ri.nl Creditors of an Estate must be
ie made to the Court of
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for leave to sel
•iJeckh for TWO MONTHS.
.r'r.etters nf Administration most be pnh-
TTitr U
I thir
<br Lettersi.. --- . . . .
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iiitAs—for Dismission from Guardianship.
ffiren b;
'j Foreclosure of Mortgage mustbe publish-
\ r r,, lT monlka—for establishing lost papers.
’ ; . e of three. month* —for compelling titles
’•? or V. Imiuistrators, where a bond has
’ ‘ ' the deceased, the full space of three months.
vi'd nlwavs be continued according to
'1 r ‘ „!rements, unless otherwise ordered
tie
ine of Printing will meet with
ntion attlie Reco
iuiek Office.
h jil. GROCERIES. 1859.
SGOTr&CABAKEB,
T -t i^kj-’CL for the increased patronage of the
Vt'vear, beg leave to inform their friends
,, customers that they are still at their old stand,
r '/ j.,. the Post Office, where they would he
f : ; J5 t0 wait upon them with a full assortment
V. articles usually kept in their line of busi-
5 (which they "ill sell as low for cash, or on
!■'. ;l , the market will allow,) consisting in part
Jthe following articles:
STEWART’S A. B. & C. SUGARS.
C r |.>l,M, Powder’d and Loaf do.
JAVA, COSTA RICA and RIO COFFEE.
CCDA MOLASSES and X. O. SYRUPS.
|,f.'oX—Hams, Shoulders & Sides—LARD.
. r ; a i, Young Hyson and Oolong Teas,
yiuur, Tobacco, I Starch, Iron, Nails,
<r Mrs. Soap, i Cast & Plow Steel,
Weeding and Garden Iloes. Axes.
Tr.w and Log Chains.
L ,:r and Short Handle Shovels and Spades.
Manure Forks. Wooden and Hollow Ware.
Hardware and Cutlery.
Lhue, Piaster and Cement.
p me wines, Brandies, Whiskeys,Gin and Rum.
Paints Oils A Varnish, and various other articles.
CALL AND SEE 1!
Jli’dedgeville, May 10,1S59 19 tf
fool Manufactory.
rpiIE Miiledpv.ville Manufacturing Company
I v oittinn -s the Manufacture of tiieir Alii
WOOL FILIiXNZr EDASBYil, and
r -|. vihillv soiicit.es the future patronage of the
Mereliantsand Planters of Georgia.
W ' will, as heretofore pay particular attention
to Carding V/ool KLolls, aad ’Weaving
into Kerseys or Jeans.
Ihivii.-: recently purchased the wool Factory
friiicrlv owned by Mr. D. A Jewell we have in
ti ... ,facilities, to attend promptly to all orders
of the above description.
Wo. 1 forwarded to us, as well as orders for oth-
- kin.Is of goods of our manufacture, should be
l p, the Milledgeville Manufacturing Com
pilin', llille.lgeville, Ga.
T'. s. Wool constantly bought at full market
E. WA1TZFELDER, President.
Jhvl7,l?59 20 3t
i’OS SALS.
CHOICE lot of BACON, cheap for
. cash or approved credit.
COMPTON & CALLOWAY,
lav 17. 1359 20 tf
AGRICULTURAL
lachinery and Implements.
-
A- .. fENz, “■—. jr-- y. - • „ =
GRAIN € HA DLLS.
Hood am] Wire braced. 5 and 6 fingers. Price 34
to 5 dollars.
SCYTHE BLADES,
English Patent, American Silver Steel. Price 75c.
to §1 15.
SICKLES' REAP IIOOKS,
blades, Scythe Stones and Killes.
WHEAT FANS,
Grant’s Patent, Excelsior, &c. Trice 18 to 40
dollars.
TIinr.SHING MA CHINES,
Tr vii s Virginia, Wheeler’s and Georgia made.
Price 33 to 50 dollars.
HORSE POWERS,
; -I - '-; and Whitman’s Lever Powers, one and
1 " J horseltail Road Powers. Price $100 to $140.
STIIA IV CUTTERS,
■-“ttekand Fodder Cutters. Trice 5 to 30 dollars.
CORN SMELLERS,
sizes and Patterns Price 6.f to 15 dollars.
WEEDING HOES,
l!?' ; s Co Jlins’, Weed’s Brades’ Patent, Clement’s
p 1 And \\ ood Straw Rakes, Cultivators, Harrows,
A ,r' ni Aiills, Chumes, Wheelbarrows, &c.,
- All for sale at the lowest prices, by
Via
May 17,1 >59
TiTIIlS M EED, Macon Ga.
20 2 in
carpeting, FLOOR OIL CLOTHS
T“
tPHOLSTERY GOODS.
,'iber lias constantly on hand a full
*si‘irtui.jiit of the followings goods, to which
I ;< )1 (if Mil roll laarc ic in v i toil
tlu.
" rtJIJ ^ Car Pets—Hemp, Wool, Dutch, &c.
v «iA.ir». CAKPSTS—Velvet, Brussels,
J an, l Cotton—of all widths.
4 3 ^VGS2TS —Wool and Linen, from 1 to
Bordered Crumb Cloths
Ainv 00 *, CIlOTiZS —English and
v-ir : ,l "’ V:lr . v ing in width, from J of ayard to
■^^id of a!l qualities.
GOODS —Satin and
damasks, Cotton and wool do.—Broca-
8ft'^' !ICe an< ^ M,,slin Curtains.
"?&323’ COB.earless and fixtures
iiis;, ,U A'' riieck Matting of all widths, always
T - Rugs, door Mats?&.c.
•i, oil entries and rooms being giv-
: xtr H c j‘ r ^ al| d carpets will he cut. to fit, without
An pj. .
"r th e i Ucei ^ Upholsterer will cut, and prepare
aii.s ” " udow, Damask, Lace and Muslin Cur-
D. LATHROP.
Savan.,, > n 14(1 Congress st 57 tit Julian st.
lu ‘ J an, Ga., May l(), 1659 13 ii>ui
PO ETRY.
LOOK. M THE BRIfia rMoE
‘•Old man, I prithee, tell me why
You always wear a smile ;
Though others oft look wan and sad,
How do you care beguile ?
Though doomed to care and penury,
^ And bowing down with age,
Yet still light-hearted, blithe"and gay,
You tread life’s weary stage.’ ^
^,11 thee all my youthful friend,”
The good old man replied—
Whatever may ha]>^I always look
Upon the brightest side.
0 ei ail the land, there’s not a man.
How hard soe’erhis lot,
But, if he will, can often find
A bright and sunny spot.
I ve lived and toned for many a year
Beneath the summer’s sun.
And in the winter cold and drear
My labor still went on ;
And in that varied course of years
Did raiKih of ill Letide.
But still I always stove to look
Upon the brighest side.
When sickness came, and hours of pain
Dragged wearily along,
And mournings sad and murmiirings vain
Dropped from my feeble tongue?
Kind hearts were there, and kindly words
Fell softly on my ear,
And loving ones were always nigh
My fainting heart to cheer.
And through a long and wearied life
I’ve learned this lesson well—
1 hat in this world of care and strife
There’s more of good than ill ;
And even in poverty and toil,
Peace with us will abide ;
Man may be happy, if he will
But see the brightest side.
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.
Life is a race where some succeed,
W bile others are beginning ;
Tis luck at times at others speed,
That gives an early winning;—
But if you chance to fall behind,
Ne'er slacken your endeavor;
Just keep this wholesome truth in mind:
’Tis better late than never.
If you can keep ahead, ’tis well,
But never trip your neighbor ;
’Tis noble when you can excel
By honest, patient labor;—
But. if you are outstripped at last,
Press on as bold as ever,
Remember, though you are surpassed
’I is betLer late than never!
Ne’er labor for an idle boast;
01 victory o’er another ,
But, while yon strive your uttermost,
Deal tairly with a brother;
W hate’er you station, do your best,
And hold your purpose ever I
And if you fail to beat the rest,
’Tis better late than never !
Choose well the path in which you run,
■Succeed by noble daring;
Then, though the hist, when once ’tis won ;
Your crown is worth the wearing;
Then never fret if left behind,
Nor slacken your endeavor;
But ever keep this truth in mind,
’Tis better late than never.
A NIGHT IN A LIFETIME.
?Tlio following sketch is founded on a
fact which occurred in the experience of a
distinguished legal gentleman of Virginia.]
A fine summer day was dawning to a
close as Mr. r I\, after dining with a brother
lawyer, mounted his horse to ride home.—
He had been entertained with the gentle
and genial hospitality of the Old Domin
ion, and felt that agreeable stimulus of the
animal spirits which follows in the train of
a moderate dinner among genial friends.
He had delayed the moment of departure
as long as possible, though the ride home
was a long one, because he would have a
full moon to light him on his way, and the
air would he cooler after night-fall; sothatit
was with none hut the most agreeable emo
tions that he bade adieu to his friends,
loosened the bridle of bis horse, and turned
into the road which led through the forest.
To a native sense of the beauty and ex
cellence of nature, Mr. T: added that re
finement of taste, which is the result of
careful mental culture, and a bouyancy of
of feeling which excess has never dulled.
He enjoyed the serene silence ot evening
in the forest—the varied lights and shades
on rock and tree and stream, and the pecu
liar air of majestic repose which nature
wears in the recesses ot her woodland soli
tudes. The silence was interrupted only
by the sound of his horse’s feet over the
even road, and the occasional note of a
bird or the croak of a frog—a prelude of
the evening’s concert. The scent of the
evening air was delicious and refreshing,
after the heat of the day. In short, so
pleasurable were bis emotions tliat Mr. T.
rode along at a very easy pace, and it was
only when the rapid increase of the dark
ness warned him of the approach of night,
that he began to urge his horse to a greater
swiftness. Absorbed in pleasant thought,
amd shut out by the loftiness of the trees
from an}’ but a very partial view of the
sky, he had not observed a heavy battalion
of clouds, which, after lying lazily along
the horizon for some hours, now began to
lift themselves towards the zenith, and emit
an occasional angry flash—sure tokens of a
coming stonn. It was indeed approaching
with a rapidity which mocked every effort
he could make to reach a place of shelter
before its outbust. He rode rapidly, but
each flash of lightning was followed by a
nearer and nearer peal of thunder, and soon
the darkness became intense,the wind began
to raise and the rain to deccnd so heavily
that our traveller was glad to remember he
mustnowhave nearly reached a large church
which stood on his homeward way, in the
large, old fashioned entrance to which he
hoped to find a temporary shelter. IV ith
this view, lie urged his horse to the utmost
speed, and so violent did the tempest be
come, so close and incessant were the
flashes of lightning, so heavy the rain, and
so numerous the branches torn from the
trqps by the wind, that he began to feel no
small anxiety to reach a place of safety.
At length the lightning showed the old
church near at hand. He rode up to it,
dismounted, and placing his horse so as to
protect him as much as possible from the
storm, entered the deep and spacious door
way, As ho leaned for support against the
heavy folding door, to his surprise it Yield
ed to the pressure; he opened it and en
tered the church, glad to find himself in so
secure a situation. He walked up the aisle
and sat down iu one of the pews near the
middle of the church.
It was not posiblc for a man of the sensi
bility and unaffected piety of Mr. T. to
find himself alone, in such a station, and
amidst sucli a manifestation of Almighty
power as this furious tempest afforded, not
to feel some degree of solemnity and awe.
He sat down, and gave way to the many
solemn reflections called up by the scene
and the hour. He thought of the many
who had once worshipped there who were
now lying in their last, long sleep in the
church-yard without. Once, upon their
beds of down, how slight an obstacle, how
small a vexation had been sufficient to ban
ish slumber. Now—all the artillery of
heaven, all the pelting of the pitiless storm,
moved them not a jot. Imagination called
up many a form once as familiar as the
pews and pillars of the old church known
from infancy. In thought he strove to fol
low some of these in that strange realm.—
At this moment a slight noise, in a momen
tary lull of the tempest, made itself lic-ard
apparently behind and above him. It was
not strange, that at such a moment it sent
a thrill of inexplicable emotion through his
frame. In a moment the feeling passed
away, and he turned, resolved to see, if
possible, by the illumination of the next
flash of lightning, what had caused the
sound which had startled him. It came—
broad, fierce, red, and revealed to him in
the choir a form, a something that had life
and motion, but a shape so undefined, so
hideous that, w ith involuntary terror, he
covered his eyes with his hands.
The place, the hour, the darkness, inter
rupted only by the glare of the lightning—
the sounds of the tempest raging without—
the soliutudo and this vague consciousness
of unsuspected companionship, had, it must
be confessed, a powerful effect on the inind
of a man, naturally of the firmest courage,
and nurtured in society where cowardice
is disgrace. A thousand wild conjectures
rushed through his mind in that first mo
mentary but irresistible onset of terror.—
Then liis welVtutorcd reason and lesolute
will contrived to make themselves heard
over the tumult of undefined fears and
crowding fancies. And, at length, the most
powerful of all ideas to soothe the mind,
entered with its elevating and consoling
train. The thought of the great Being to
whom that place was dedicated—of His
serene supremacy above all the wo and tu
mult of earth, above all the forces of nature
and the spirit of man himself, gave him a
degree of composure in his present situa
tion, which, he afterwards owned, he
should, without this aid have wanted.
With restored calmness he removed his
hands from his eyes and looked up once
more, hoping he had been the subject" of
some strange delusions of the senses. No—
there; another flash showed it nearer,
plainer than before—during those brief
moments it had decended the gallery stair
with unheard lightness and swiftness, and
was soon on the same floor with himself.—
By this time the violence of the storm was
somewhat abated. The flashes of light
ning came at longer intervals. He had to
wait some seconds, straining his eyes upon
the darkness. The lightning came at last
—dazzling and white—it showed nearer
yet. Still undistinguishable, vague—a
tangled mass of dark draperies and elf-iike
looks and white gleams of face and hands
human, and yet not—ichat was this? thus
wild in form, thus stealthy in its approach
es? Could it indeed be a being from an
other world ? He listened, with ear strain
ed to its utmost capacity, hut there was no
sound, except that of the storm without.
To leave the church and encounter all
the fury of the elements without, now ap
peared to him as a blessed relief. But to
do so, he must pass this unearthly figure.
Another flash of lightning, which showed
liis fearful companion so near as to he al
most within read), quickened his lingering
resolution. With a sudden summons of all
his remaining courage, he rushed from the
spot on which he had hitherto stood rooted,
ran with liis utmost speed down the long
aise, and gave a long gasp of relief as he
felt the damp night-air, and heard the door
shut behind him. To untie the bridle of
his horse was the work of a moment; he
sprang into the saddle—at that very mo
ment he heard the church door shut vio
lently—the horse gave a wild leap—4ut a
wilder one had landed the fearful form
safe behind the rider, and hrs waste was
clutched by arms which held it like an
iron vise.
The horse, seemed to share the terror of
his rider, reared and plunged, and then
started at liis greatest speed. He instinc
tively took the right road towards home,
and went at such a rate as promised soon
to terminate this terrible journey. With
the strengtli of desperation, Mr. T. tried to
undo the rigid clasp about his waist, but
the feeling of hands cold as ice, and bony
as those of a skeleton, was such an addi
tional touch of horror, he dared not repeat
the attempt. He spoke, and adjured his
companion to tell its name and nature, but
there was no answer, no movement, not
even, as it seemed, to him, the drawing of
the breath; and thus they sped with wild
swiftness, through the dark forest path, il
luminated only by the fitful lightning. He
could never afterwards give any clear ac
count of his sensations during a ride which
naturally seemed to him interminable.
That he retained his reason and his life
under the long continued stress of such
mortal terror, was a matter of surprise to
himself and his friends. It was over at
last. Homo at hand. .He saw its friendly
lights, and with a sense of relief and thank
fulness never before experienced, lie stop
ped at his own gate. It was opened by a
faithful servant who had sat up with the
anxious wife of Mr. T. to await liis return.
But the frightened horse did not give Peter
time even for an exclamation of surprise
at seeing liis master return thus accompa
nied—he shot past the gate, flew across
the lawn, and only stopped finally at the
hall-door with a shock as sudden as almost
unseated both his riders.
The next day it was discovered that the
companion of Air. T’s. night-ride was an
insane woman, who had escaped from her
keepers and after hiding in the woods, had
taken refuge from the storm in the church
just before he entered it. When Mr. T,
discovered the real nature ot the being who
had caused him so much suffering, he was
surprised at liis own panic, and was willing
to attribute it to an unaccountable depres
sion of nervous energy, such as is some
times experienced by those who boast the
most robust physical and moral health.
Boys!
Where are you ? We go up and down
the streets now-a-days and no where see a
bov—a real, good, hearty, ohl fashioned
boil ! Are there no boys in the city ? yon
ask. There may be ; there doubtless are
some ; but then they do not coine forward
into the light. We have youths enough,
from five years up to fifteen, hut what are
they ? "Young gentlemen,” of course ; or, if
not that, then young vagabonds. Five
years suffice, now, to give the hoy the air
and graces of the man, and we therefore
have a little piece of conceit and impudence
instead of au honest, modest lad. At ten
years of age, the youth is expected to know
all about everything—to sport a cigar—to
talk in slang—to call his father “old man”
—to attend theaters occasionally, and to he
up to all the highways and byways of the
city. At fifteen the now full-fledged
“young men” is a frequenter of lager bier
saloons, drives his father's horses, goes out
with the girls to theaters aud balls, be
comes a member of a military or fire com
pany, knows good from bad liquors, etc.—
Of course all city boys are not such speci
mens of humanity ; but those we meet on
the street, at places of public resort, are
chiefly of this type, and they impress us so
unpleasantly that wc wonder it parents are
crazy, or fools, or designingly vicious, that
they should bring up such children. Good,
true hoys, of hearty natures and unvitiated
tastes are a blessing, but these modern
“young gentlemen,”— ball !
A man who sees things as they arc, puts
in this exclamation :—“Show me a boy
who thinks he knows more than his par
ents, and wishes it to be understood at
school and among his comrades that he is
above obeying them—who speaks light
ly of liis. sisters, and is ashamed to be seen
out as their escort, or to admit their influ
ence over or value to him—a boy whose
special boast it is that no woman ever did
or couid govern him—who thinks that a
cigar, late hours, and an insolent swagger
ing air make him almost, if not quite, a
man ; and who, despite the remonstrances
of his mother, and the mortification and
annoyance to his sisters, persists in the use
of those mean, vulgar, and slang phrases
wliich trench so closely upon profanity ;
thinks more of his eating, drinking, and
physical comforts than of liis mother’s con
venience or his own mental improvement ;
is lazy, morose, selfish, and deceitful—and
I will show you a boy for whom the future
stands waiting with no rich, true, and glo
rious manhood. No ! for such a hoy there
is in store, if lie lives to reach it, a blotted,
disfigured, and ill-proportioned one, proba
bly replete with moral failures or disasters
and bankrupt in the best affections of life.”
And yet the manufacturer of such is going
on from day to day, with wonderful suc
cess ; beautiful little ones soon being chan
ged by the social process of gradual de
moralization. What a refoim it would
prove if a means could be adopted to pre
vent such sacrilege !— U. S. Journal,
The First State Prisoner.
I landed in New York, June, 17S4, by
trade a rough nailmaker, in the 22d year
of my age. In October following, (at that
time the Park was out of*town, and only
50,000 inhabitants,) with ten thousand
fools, sonic bigger and some smaller than
myself, we stood watching the vibrations
of the rope and iron hook, during two
longhonrs. Then the Sheriff stood on the
scaffold and read a reprieve. I confess I
was much disappointed, I expected to see
a hanging, hut no hanging was there.
The man was Noah Gardner. 11c kept
a large shoe store in New York ; lie com
mitted forgery, which, at that time, was
death, by the laws of these United States.
r Fhe State prison of New York was in the
course of erection at this time; this was the
first prison erected in the world for reform,
instead of hanging. The Society of
Friends were the chief promoters of this
humane system. One room in the prison
was near ready to receive criminals. The
Friends procured from the Governor a
commutation from death to State prison for
life.
Being a shoemaker by trade, they gave
him a stool, wax, lasts, and awls, and here
commenced the State prison shoe manu
factory. Next court, six vagabonds were
scut to keep him company, whom lie learn
ed to make shoos. I visited the prison
three years after this. In one large room
sat three hundred shoemakers—Noah was
provost marshall, walking through the
ranks with cane in hand, punishing evil
doers and praising them that did well.—
Seven years having passed over him, the
Friends waited on the Governor, “Friend,”
said they, “seven years ago you would
have hung this man—now here is a reform
ed member saved to society.”
Ife received an unconditional pardon,
and came out. The Friends found him a
store on Pearl street, found him money, en
dorsed bis notes, and gave him their cus
tom. Immediately he was in a thriving
way. Hejoincd the Society of Friends,
and said thee and thou with the best -of
them. lie had a wife, and children ar
ved at maturity.
His journeymen were chiefly men of
family, and wrought at their own houses.
One day lie gave to a man a pair of boots.
"Now, friend,” said lie, “thee must bring
home these boots on tho evening of the
fourth day.” Says lie, “You shall have
them.”
The boots did not come home until the
evening of the fifth day. Noah was wroth,
lie gave the man a long lecture on the
evils of disappointment and want of punc
tuality. When he drew up to breathe, the
man replied:
“Sir, I am a poor man—have three chil
dren— the youngest forty-eight hours old.
1 had to attend to my wife and cook for my
children. It was not in my power to fin
ish the boots sooner.” Noah still contin
ued to magnify the horrors of disappoint
ment. The man grew angry ; the Scotch
blood boiled in bis veins ; he struck the
counter with his list like a sledgehammer,
and answered :
“I know,” said he, “it's a terrible thing
to be disappointed. I remember going up
to the Park to see you hung, and I never
was so disappointed in my life as when I
saw the reprieve.”
Now this was a knock down argument as
an Irishman would say. It was a case in
point, as they would say in court ; and a
fact beyond all controversy, as thoy say
in Congress. Noah was dumb, he opened
not liis mouth. He gave tho man another
pair to make, kept him in Iris employment,
treated him kindly, but as the man said, lie
never heard the word disappointment diop
from his lips thereafter.
Noah went on prospering and to pros
per. _One day he borrowed various sums
of money, and obtained a number of en
dorsements. The bills he changed for
gold ; the endorsements lie got shaved in
Wall street. That night ho was off for
parts unknown, taking with him a dear
sister, the wife of a young friend, to cheer
liim on the way. The story is true to the
letter, and being the first subject of State
prison reform, the (lay dreamers of the
present time may settlethequestion, wheth
er hanging or State prison reform is the
surest way of curing a villain. His family
and friends never heard from him.
Not a Drop More ’lliont its SweclrnrH
We meet this tale on its rounds. We are
not sure wc have not seen it before. But
it will bear repetition if it is old.
Twenty years ago, it was the custom in
north-western Georgia, as indeed it was
throughout the southwest, for dry goods
dealers to keep a barrel of “spirits,’ in the
back-room, and to treat liberal customers
to a glass whenever desired.
Filieus and Dewberry were such deal
ers in one of the small towns indicated ;
and they had for a customer a clever,
frollicking old fellow, named Joe Denny,
who drank whiskey in preference tp water
always, and whose wife was “flesh of Iris
flesh” in that particular. The old couple
would come to town, trade quite freely, and
as freely imbibed the spirits in the back
room of the dealers we have named.
0:i one occasion both old man and old wo
man continued their potations inordinate
Aberrations op a Crazv King.—It
would appear, from the following extract
from the Italian correspondence of thePlril-
adelphia Bulletin,that the demented King
of Prussia lias not been permanently im
proved by Iris residence at Nice :
The King, before coming to Italy, for
about three Lours every day was quite era-
zy> hut since Iris arrival he has much im
proved, and there were great hopes that
the pristine vigor of intellect for which lie
had previously been celebrated, Would be
quite restored. Every day the aberrations
were less decided, and finally lie was so
much better that the doctors allowed a
small dinner party. The royal patient
vtas perfectly sane all day, received his
guests, chatted, laughed, and was quite
jolly ; the dinner was announced, the com
pany marched in. The King of course
took his place at the head of the table,and
everybody waited for him to set the exam-
ly ; and ns Fillen observed that liis goods’ pic to put their spoons in their months.—
went better tlift drunker the old womau be
came, be pressed her to drink
At last she refused unless he would sweet-
en it with a little store “sugar.” Fillens j
indulged her, and when tho old people
started homo in the evening late, the old
man could scarcely mount Iris horse, and
the. good wife had actually be to lifted and ’
placed on the pillion behind him. Happi
ly, she leaned one side and her husband the
other, so that the gravitating point was be-
ween them; as she clung to him instictivcly,
they passed out of the village safely.
Before reaching there home however,'
But instead of doing what was expected of
him, his Majesty deliberately washed his
face in the soup, and then sat complacently
smiling on his friends, the long strings of
vermicelli hanging down over his eyes and
nose, and in liis hair aud moustache. You
may imagine the effect; no one dared to
laugh, however, and they had to sit out
the dinner with this ridiculous figure-head
covered with gravy (for be sternly refused
towels) talking to them *all the while.—
Some Central African traveler relates that
the dandies in an Abyssinian (I think it
was) town used to put a pound of butter on
they had to cross a small creek, and when , their heads, and then walk in the sun ; but
their horse stepped in to drink, the old I think my story is the best.
lady, having reached unconsciousness,
released her hold, and quietly lapsed into
the stream below.
Occupied with his thoughts, tho oil
man did not perceive his loss, but jogged ’
slowly homeward. Arrived there, the
children inquired anxiously for “mammy.”
but the old man could only say that she
had been on the “critter,” and “the critter 1
hadn’t kicked up nary time; so he couldn’t
tell where she rnout be and threw" him
self stupid on the lied. i
Girls and boys fleiv along the road the'
old man had come, yelling mammy ! mam- :
my ! hut of course no mammy responded.
When they arrived at the creek, the old
est- girl shouted,
“Yonder she is, sitting down in tiic
creek l”
And there she was, seated comfortable
in the water, which came nearly up to her .
month. As she swayed back and forth,
now yielding to the impetuosity of the
stream, and now resisting it with some,
success, the muddy fluid would sometimes,
wet her lips, and each time it did so, she •
would faintly exclaim, with a grim effort
to smile :
“Not a drop more, Mr. Fillens, ’thout
it’s sweetened.” |
And it is to this romantic litfc incident
in the life of the venerable Mr. Joe Denny, 1
that we arc indebted for one of our most.
popular colloquial phrases.
m i
Anecdote of M’Donald Clarke, the
mad Poet.—Everybody remembers M’Don- 1
aid Clarke who was well known in New
York, a few years since, as the “Mad Po ,
et.” During the last years of his life,
Clarke was made free of the Astor House
table, and oftentimes this errant man of
genius could he seen accepting its hospi- '
talities, when other doors were closed on
his fallen fortunes. Every one knew j
Clarke by sight; and one day while quiet
ly taking Iris dinner, two travellers, seating
themselves opposite, commenced a con
versation intended for the ears of Clarke.
One said :
“Well I have been in New York two
months, and have seen all I want to see
with one exception.”
“Ah !” said the other, “what is that ?”
“M'Donaid Clarke, the great poet,” res
ponded No. 1, with a strong emphasis.
Clarke, raised liis eves slowly from Iris
plate, and seeing the attention of the table
was on him, stood up, placing his hand
over liis heart, and bowing with great grav
ity to the strangers, said.
“I am M’Donaid Clarke, the great poet.”
Thu traveler started in mock surprise,
gazed at him in silence for a few moments
and then amidst an audible titter of the
company, drew from liis pocket a quar
ter dollar, and laying it before Clarke,
still looking at him without a smile, Clarke
raised the quarter in silence and dignity,
bestowed it in his pocket, drew thence a
shilling, which lie deposited before the
traveler with these words:
“Children half price.”
The titter changed to a roar, and the
travelers were missing instanter.
An Honest Lawyer.—In tho course of
a lecture delivered in the hall of the Law
Society, and chancery-lanes, London, ‘On
the moral, social, and professional duties
of attorneys and solicitors.’ Mr Warren.
M. I*., narrated the following incident :—
‘A short time ago, a gentleman of large
fortune, a man, in fact, worth Iris J 10,000.
was indignant with his only child a daugh
ter, for marrying against his wishes. He
quarrelled with her, disenherited her. and
left his whole property, c£40,000, to his
attorney and two other gentlemen, all of
of whom were residing in Yorkshire. The
attorney went to his co-legatees, got them
to sign their respective claims over to
himself, find then made every sixpence
of the amount to the daughter aud her
children.’ The above circumstance is
literally true. This gentleman of fortune
was a retired solicitor in the town of Barn
sley, and the disinterested attorney is now
the senior practising attorney in Yorkshire
with a miml undimmed by the burden of
more thau fourscore years—genial in spirit
and deservedly held in respect us an hon
est lawyer.’ It is right to add that the
testator was a most singular recluse, and
that the Lutliario of his daughter’s choice
was an officer of repute, and the marraige
of a suitable character.
Probability of Marrying.—A table in
serted in a paper iu the London Insurance
Magazine exhibits results ot a rather start
ling character. In the first two quinque-
nial periods, 20-25 and 25-30, the proba
bility of a widower pnarrying in a year is
nearly three times as great as that of a
bachelor. At 30 it is nearly four times as
great; from 30 to 45 it is five times as
great, and it increases, until at 60 the
chances of a widower marrying in a year
is 11 times as great as that of a bachelor.
After tho age of 30 the probability of a
bachelor marrying in a year diminishes
in a most rapid rate. The probability at
35 is not much more than half that at 30,
and nearly tho same proportion exists be
tween each quinquenial period afterwards.
Pictures.—A room with pictures in it
and a room without pictures differ nearly
as much as a room with windows and a room
without windows. Nothing, we think, is
more melancholy, particularly to a person
who has to pass much time in las room,
than blank walls with nothing on them ;
for pictures are loopholes of visions to the
soul, leading it to other scenes and other
spheres. It is such inexpressible relief to
a person engaged in writing, or even read
ing, on looking up, not to have Iris line of
vision chopped off'by an odious white wall,
but to find his soul escaping, ns it were,
through the frame of an exquisite picture
toother beautiful and perhaps heavenly
scenes, where the fancy for a moment may
revel, refreshed and delighted. Thus pic
tiircs are consolers of loneliness ; they are
a sweet flattery* to the soul; they are a re
lief to the jaded mind ; they are books ;
they are histories and sermons, which we
can read without the trouble of turning
over the leaves-
Marrying for Money.—A woman who
professes to speak from experience writes
thus of marrying for money :
I was married for money. This was
fen years ago, aud they have been ten
years of purgatory. I have had bad luck
as a wife, for my husband and I have
scarcely* one taste in common. He wishes
to live in the country, which I hate. I
like the thermometer at seventy-five de
grees, which he hates. He likes to have
the children brought up at home instead
of at school, which 1 hate. I like music,
and wish to go to concerts, which he bates.
He likes roast pork, which I hate; and I
like minced veal, which he hates. There
is one thing which we both like, and is
what wc both cannot have, though we are
always trying for it—the last word. I
have had bad luck as a mother, for two
such huge, selfish, passionate, unmanage
able hoys never tormented a feeble woman
since boys began. I wish I had called
them both Cain. At this moment they 7
have just been quarrelling over their mar
bles. Mortimer has torn off Orville’s col
lar and Orville has applied his colt-like
hands upon Mortimer’s ribs; while the baby
Zenoba, in tny lap, who never sleeps more
than half an hour at a time, and cries all
the. time she is awake, lias been aroused
by their din to scream in chorus. I have
had had luck as a housekeeper, for I never
keep a chambermaid more than three
weeks. And to cooks, I look hack bewil
dered on the long pliantasmagora of faces
flitting through my kitchen, as a mariner
remembers a rapid succession of thunder
gusts and hurricanes iu the Gulf of Mexi
co. My new chambermaid bounced into
the room, yesterday, flirting her dusters
and muttering, “Heal old maid after all!”
just because I showed her a table on which
I could write “slut” with my finger in the
dust. T never see my plump, iiappy sis
ters, and then glance in the mirror at my
own cadaverosu, long, doleful visage, with
out wishing myself an old maid. Yet half
of my sex marry as I did—not for love
but tor fear—for fear of dying old maids.
Addresses by Hon. Rout. C Winthrop.
On Thursday, 5th, the Hon. Robt. C.
WiNTiiitop of Massachusetts, addressed, by
invitation, the Young men's Christian As
sociation of Richmond, Virginia. The ad
dress, from the reports given of it, such as
may have been expected from the well
known patriotic, conservative, and Chris
tian character of the speaker. His prin
ciple topic was the nature and objects of
Christian Associations, the necessity for
the establishment of some corrective for
the dangers and temptations of city life,
and the aid which Christain principle,
apart from the sectarian strife, derives from
ail association in which all sects and par
ties equally participate. lie took the op
portunity to express bis censure of pulpit
politics, and deemed the introduction of
the slavery topic in the pulpit as fraught
with danger to the church itself. Jle con
cluded by reference to the connexion of
science and religion. Religion had noth
ing to fear train science ; bat at the same
time science was no substitute for religion.
A magnificent passage from Milton’s Far-
adisc Lost, of singular applicability to
the whole subject, concluded the address.
A few evenings previously Mr. Winthrop
addressed the Young Men’s Christain As
sociation in Baltimore.
From the Baltimore Clipper.
Weakness of Hie Demotracy.
Some of the locofoco organs of the South
piteously deplore the dissensions and di
visions in the ranks of the democracy, and
earnestly invoke a iinien of the democrat
ic party “to meet and put down the coali
tion which the abolitionist and Know
Nothings are striving to effect.” It is in
vain that these sentinels of locofocoism
cry “IVace! peace!” when there is no
peace. * Thcdiseord in the democratic par
ty is not ephemeral. It is the growth of
years of double dealing and political
hypocrisy. It pervades the whole party
organization, wliieb in no two States of the
Union, and hardly in any two counties of
a State, stands upon the same platform or
supports the same principles. It is in vain
that these blind leaders of the blind now
eall upon the people to decide “whether
it is not safer and wiser to trust the go , -
eminent of the country in the bands of
Democrats than in the hands of abolition
fanatics.” This is not the question before
the country. There is no party in tho
South proposing a coalition with the aboli
tion fanatics of the North. So far as the
question of slavery is concerned the whole
South is a unit, and the Southern Know
Nothings are farther even than the inten-
sest proslavery democracy from contem
plating any “coalition” wi»h abolitionism
in any shape or form whatever. They
have proposed no such union, and those
who proclaim it know that they utter false
hoods, and wantonly pervert the facts.—
The Americans of Maryland, and of the
other Southern States, have called upon
the conservative men in those States to
unite in opposition to democracy, and they
have invoked the co-operation of the con
servative men throughout the whole coun
try in the formation of a party which shall
advocate strictly national principles and
shall bitterly oppose sectionalism of all
kinds. They are striving to erect a suc
cessful national party which shall “meet
and put down” sectional democracy attlie
South, and sectional Republicanism at tho
North, aad, concluding by thesenseless and
dangerous agitation by which the country
lias been sadly and ruinously distracted,
to restore some resemblance of nationality
and patriotism to the politics aud parties
of the Union.
The democratic party is confessedly
useless for this purpose. It can, under no
circumstances, rise above a mere sectional
Organization. Those who urge the people
of the South to enter its ranks and sustain
democratic candidates are madly advising
them to bring on a purely sectional contest
in which the South will inevitably be de
feated. There is no chance, no glimmer
of the hope for the success of the democrat
ic party in another national contest. It
would be sheer madness, the supremest fol
ly for the friends of Southern institutions
to invite such a contest. The success of
tho democratic candidates in the elections
soon to be held in the Southern States will
unquestionably precipitate such an event
and all hope of the election of a nationnl
administration will be gene. If the peo
ple of the South were all democrats, if'they
were all honestly in favor of democratic
principles, it w 7 ould be their interest iu the
present emergency to separate from tho
democratic leaders and invite the co-oper
ation of conservative men of the North to
avoid and prevent another purely sectional
struggle. A national party is needed for
the preservation of the Union and the mnin-
tainance of the free institutions of the
country. The masses of the people North
and South appreciate this necessity. In
the North they have been missed by the
Republicans and Abolition demagogues.
In the South, they have been betrayed by
the. selfish leaders of the democratic party.
The scales have fallen from their eyes.—
They arc awakening to a sense of the per
ils of the position and in l oth sections, the
true friends of the Union are putting aside
(Iris silly and unprofitable sectional non
sense and are rallying to the defense of the
Union and the constitution in the forma
tion of a great and successful national aar-
ty which shall give to the country an ad
ministration pledged to correct the abuses
of democratic misrule and to restore to the
government patriotism and real national
ity.
Those in the South who are invoking
the people to support the democratic can
didates are counselling them to rush upon
their own ruin. They are working literal
ly for the success of the Abolition-Republi
can party in I860. They are, in fact, the
most useful co ad jutors of Wm. H. Seward,
and Wendell Phillips, and Wm. Loyd Gar
rison, and the whole crowd of abolition
fanatics. They are putting into the hands
of these Northern sectional agitators the
weapons they need and cannot otherwise
obtain, with which to crusli and degrade,
and overcome the South, or to force her
ojit of the Union. They are, unwittingly,
perhaps, the, South's worst enemies. Let
the people beware of their dangerous coun
sels, and shun them as they would the arch
traitors and betrayers of their true inter
ests.
Pretty Good.—J. R. Stevens, in reply
to a call made upon him by ‘Many Voters’
of Rockingham, avows his willingness to
serve them if elected, if the Democracy of
the county cannot procure a suitable man,
but says; “I wish it distinctly understood,
however, that I must be elected by spon
taneous combustion, as I canp.ot conde
scend to electioneer. If any of the sove
reigns wish to shake my hand they can do
so by calling at Conrad’s Store, and their
^children will be kissed when presented to
me with clean faces.— Virginia Sentinel.
• With what “net” is a lady soonest
caught? In this country, net profits; in
England a coroael.
National Dcmocrary—A Portrait.
The following graphic portrait of the
National Democracy is drawn b^ the mas
ter hand of the Charleston Mercury, one
of the ablest and most uncompromising or
gans of the Southern wing of the Democrat
ic party. The Mercury seems te be pretty
well convinced now, that the “National
Democracy” is a hnmbng—a cheat—a im
position. Hear wliat it says :
■‘We have seen nothing in National Democracy
of late yeara which challenges our admiration, to
sav nothing of our allegiance.
ft has Tkiflf.d with the Constitutional provi
sions, Disrf.garueo Constitutional Restrictions,
and set at nought positive Constitutional injunc-
t ons.
It has Aideo in the passage of unjust and une
qual Laws.
It has Sruasderep the public money, Robbf.d
the common Treasury, and to Fcreigs Paupers
given tire Public Lands.
Its Promisks have been Brokf.x,
Its Plf.ges disregarded, and
Its Professions Falsefier.
To conclude the whole matter, National Democ
racy is Corrupt vacciliiating. and false it wears
the garb of Sancity that its hideous Deformites
may be concealed ; it Woos but to ruin, and Wins
but to Deceived.’’
Now, there’s the life like portrait, nor is
it drawn by a Whig or Know-Nothing, but
by an experienced anil skillful Democrat
ic hand. Let the people bear tho fact in
mind, and say whether the Whigs of Vir
ginia and of the Union are not right in
condemning, and denouncing, and repudi
ating. the fraudulent and destructive thing
called National Democracy. And if the
Mercury's description of it be true, as it un
doubtedly is, should not every man of
every party spurn and reject it ?