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THE fivanroaniaff ffaumraiSj, Will it published tv cry SATURDAY Afternoon, In the Two-Story Wooden Building, at the Corner of IValnat and Fifth Street, IN THE CITE OF MACON, CA. By Wifi. B. llAltitlSOX. TERMS: For the Paper, in advance, per annum, §2. if not paid in advance, $3 00, per annum. CCj" Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates —and when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they will be continued un til forbid and charged accordingly, (O’Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. O’Sales of Land by Administrators,Executors or Guardians, are required by Law, to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours often o’clock in the Forenoon and three in the Afternoon, at the Court House of the county in which the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must he given in a public gazette Sixty Days previous to the day of sale. (LpSaJes of Negroes by Administators, Execu tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction, on the first Tuesday in the month, between thelegal hours of sale, before the Court House of the county where the LettersTestamentary,or Administration or Guardianship may have been granted, first giv ing notice thereof for Sixty Days, in one of'the public gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court (louse where such sales are to be held. (Jj*Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner Forty Days pre vious to the day of sale. CJ’.Vo'.ice to the Debtors and Creditors o 1 an es tate must be published for Forty Days. (Xy Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Ne groes must be published in a public gazette in the State for Four Months, before any order absolute can be given by the Court. (L/’Citations for Letters of Administration on an Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must be published Thirty Days—lor Lettersof Dismis sion from the administration of an Estate,monthly for Sit Months —for Dismission from Guardian ship Forty Days. (fjr’Rules for the foreclosure of a Mortgage, must be published monthly for Four Months— for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of Three Months —for compelling Titles from Ex ecutors, Administrators or others, where a Bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of Three Months. N. B. All Business of this kind shall receive prompt attentionat the SOUTHERN TRIBUNE Office, and strictcare will be taken that all legal Advertisements are published according to Law. TTJ’AII Letters directed to this Office or the E litoron business, must bo post-paid, to in sure attention. political. From the Cherokee Advocate. Admission of California. The Witmot Proviso is not now urged up iti Congress. Its friends are too cunning for that. The weight of authority is now becoming too strong against them. They saw that the opinion was gaining ground, that Congress has no Constitutional pow er to enact it. Besides, the whole South was committed against it, and pledged to resist it. What was then to be done/ Were they to abandon their object? By no means. They were not contending for names. Their object was to restrict and limit what they are pleased to call the slave power. The South was if possib'e, to beexcluded from the common territory, j This CQuld not be done directly, by the j enactment of the Wi'rnot Proviso, there fore Congress was to he urged to accom plish the object indirectly, by admission of California as a State. For it is not only capable of clear and conclusive demon stration, but we cannot, if we would, shut our eyes to the fa t, that the exclusion of the South from the new territories, would he made as complete and effectual by the admission of California, ns if the Wilmot Proviso had been enacted by Congress.' The enactment of the Proviso, it is ad- | luiiisd, would bo an exorcise of power at war with the spirit of the Constitution, and violative of the compact of the U nion among the States. The same end precisely would be attained by the ad mis- ! sion of California as a State. But it is urged that the inhabitants of a territory iiave the right to determine for themselves, what and whom they shall exclude. If this proposition had been announced with out any limitation whatever, as it now seems is held by some,the doctrine would have been repudiated by all parties at the j South. At what stage in the progress of the settlement and peopling of a territo ry was this doctrine to he conceded? If true absolutely, and without auy restric- ] tion, it was not necessary that the appli cation of California should he delayed un til its population reached twelve thousand. But twelve hundred had the same right to adopt a Constitution; and exclude slavery, and apply for admission as a Slate, that can be claimed for twelve thousand. And if the doctrine is adopted absolutely and without limitation, that the inhabitan's of a Territory have a right to adopt of their own motion, or at the suggestion of others a provision excluding slavery, then there 1 is no inhibition upon the first Jicndrcd squatters or gold diggers, who may enter a territory, that prevents tiicir passing in judgment upon the rights of sovereign States. But the doctrine has never been so understood. And it is matter of aston ishment, that some who have opposed the AVilmot Proviso as an open violation of the Compromises of the Constitution, should advocate such an absurd patched up contrivance as the California applica tion, for securing precisely the same end that was aimed at in the Proviso. Division at this South. —Wo could 'veep over the divisions at the South, if it Would do any good. Whigs repel Demo crats by harsh epithets, and Democrats re pel Whigs in the same way. Cod forgive ns for the mimic piety of our professions, when wo should he in dead earnest, with hearts open to brotherly sym pathy, and heating ns with the same pulse. We could fill our paper with extracts to p ho\v how Northern papers rejoice at am THE SOUTHERN TRIBUNE. NE \V SEIiIES —VOLUWE 11. pisseniions, and make them the rallying cry for their union and firmness. Extracts are made from Southern pa pers, and the resolutions ofSouthern meet ings, to portray us as a house divided against itself, which cannot stand, or built upon the sands which the storm will un dermine and destroy. The South has truth upon her side, but Heaven help us! how can we pierce the fanaticism of the North with its rays, when they are obscur ed by clouds which we foolishly create and spread in huge black masses over our own heads. Wo scarcely know what to say or how to proceed. We wish to unite the people of the South to prevent the tri umphs of discord at home, to hold up some resplendent light which will attract atten tion and unite us all, Whigs und Demo crats, as if woke up by the roll of the trum pet sound and the patriotic call to resis tance to wrongs involving independence and honor. That tongue which tells you all is right, no danger lingers around our homes, is a tongue of guilt which moves at the bidding of a heai t of gall, unless It is controlled by illusive hope or betrayin'* ignorance. Let us unite as a people unless we are prepared to submit to the scorn of the op pressor, and to be pursued by self reproach when unable to rise from the weight of his relentless power.— Augusta Republic. The Day’s Three Utiles. Tiik Duty, The Burden And The Lesson.—An old man called to him his son and pupil one morning, and said to him : “Theodore, have you prepared your mind for the three things ?” “What three things, father ?” “The three claims of the day, my son, concerning which I instructed you. We should enter on no day of life, without carefully inquiring what is before us, and what is expected of us.’’ “Now, I remember,” said Tneodore: i “they are the trlioe rules which you desir ed me to say once every morning on rising.’ “What are these rules my son ?” “They are these,” replied Theodore; “First, Do the duty of the dap; secondly, Rear the burden of the dap ; thirdly, Learn the lessen of the dap, “Yes, my son. and there is no day, to which these do not ap ply.—Each has its duty, its burden, and its lesson. Something has to he done, something to he learned. * * And lie who neglects no one ofthese three tilings, spends this day alight. Endea vor, Theodore, to apply these rules to someone day, which is fresh in remem berance, as for example yesterday.” “ I will do so,” said Theodore. “The duty of yosterday was that of making a catalogue of your hooks, and engrossing it in a volume. This 1 mean, was my grand business. There were many lesser duties, arising from my circumstances. The burden of the day was a heavy one, hull am afraid to name it lest you laugh at me.” “Out with it.” “It was a mortification of my vanity at the rejection of my verses sent to the newspaper.” “Ah ! I can believe it mortification of paide and vanity are among our heaviest burdens” “The lesson of the day,” continued Theodore, “was taught me by a lamb in the meadow, which suffered itself to be rudely pushed by my dog, without the j least sign of resentment and hereby soon forgot the injury and healed the wound.” “I perceive,” said the old man, “that you have observed rny precept, in recall ing to your memory these three things, on closing your eyes for sleep. But suppose i you go further, and endeavor to apply them to the future. We have hut just be gun anew day, how do these rules apply to what it is likely to bring you ?” Theodore paused a little, and then re plied, “The duty of the day is to goon in my studies, especially to perfect myself in what remains of geometry; audit is well you have called it to my mind, for 1 have to row myself across the river to get tny book. The burden of the day, is in great part unknown to me. I can how ever, foresee samething of it in these se vere studies, added to the knowledge that my companions will he keeping it as a holiday. The lesson of the day, so far as not included in the geometry lesson aforesaid, cannot he foreseen. But 1 shall he more on the watch for it, in conse quence of your reminding.” “My son,” said the old man, “it is im possible for me to tel! you the advantage I have derived from the habits of looking forward every morning and backwards every evening, upon the passing day, with these three little words in my mind : the Duty—the Burden—the Lesson.” W OMAN. RY 'VII.LIAM LEGGETT. No star in yonder sky that shines Can light like woman’s eye imparl ; The earth holds not in all its mines A gem so rich as woman's heart; Her voice is like the music sweet Poured out from airy harp alone ; Like that when storms more loudly beat, It yields a clearer, richer tone. And woman’s love’s holy light, That brighter burns for aye ; Years cannot dim its radiance bright, Nor even falsehood quench its ray : But like the star of Bethlehem, Os old to Israel’s shepherds given^ It marshals with its steady flame The erring soul of man to Heaven MACON, (GA.,) SATURDAY AFTERNOON, MARCH 30, 1850. From the New Monthly Magazine. PIKST LOVE; OR Constancy in the Nineteenth Century. The assertion that ‘ What is every body’s business is nobody’s,’ is true en ough ; but the assertion that ‘ What is nobody’s business is everybody’s,’ is still tiucr. Now, a love afluir, for example, is, of all others, a tiling apart—an enchan ted dream, where ‘common griefs and cares come not.’ It is like a matrimonial quarrel—never to bo benefited by the in terference of others ; it is a sweet and sub tle language, ‘that none understand but the speakers,’ and yqt this fine and delicate spirit is most especially the object of cu riosity. It is often supposed before it ex ists ; it is taken for granted, commented upon, continued and ended, without the consent of the parties themselves ; though a casual observer might suppose that they were the most interested in the business. All love aflairs excite the greatest pos sible attention ; but never was so much attention bestowed as in the little town of Allertion, upon that progressing between Mr. Edward Rainsforth and Miss Emily Worthington. They had been a charming couple from their birth—were called the little lovers from their cradle ; and even when Edward was sent to school, his letter home once a quarter always contained his love to his little wife. Their course of true love seemed likely to run terribly smooth, their fathers having maintained a friendship as regular as their accounts. — Mr. Worthington’s death, howevr, when Emily was just sixteen, led to the discovery that his aflairs were on the verge of bank ruptcy. Mr. Rainsforth now proved him selt a ti ue friend: he said lit tie, but did every thing. Out of his own pocket lie secured a small annuity to the orphan girl, placed her in a respectable family, and asked her to dine every Sunday. With hisfullsanc tion,‘the little’ became ‘the young lovers ;’ and the town of Allerton, for the first time in its life, had on fault to find with the con duct of one of its own inhabitants. The two friends were not destined to he long paried, and a few months saw Mr. Rainsforth carried to the same churchyard whither he had so recently followed the ! companion of his boyhood. A year pass ed away, and Edward announced his in tention of (pray let us use the phrase ap propriated to such occasions) becoming a votary of the saffron god. The whole town was touched by his constancy, and felt itself elevated into poetry by being the scene of such disinterested affection. But, for the first time in his life, Edward found j there was another will to he consulted than his own. His trustees would not hear of his marrying till he was two-and-t wenty, the time that lii.s father’s will appointed for his coming of age. The rage and de spair of the lover were only to be equaled by the rage and dispiur of the whole town nt Allertion. Everybody said that it was the crudest thing in the world ; and some went so far as to prophesy that Emily Worthington would dieof consumption be fore the time came of her lovet’s majority. The trustees were declared to litr e no feeling, and the young people were uni versally pitied. The trustees would not abate one atom of their brief authority ; they had said that their ward ought to see a little of the world, and they were both of them men of their word. Accordingly it was settled that Edward should go to London for the next three months, and see how he liked studying the law. He certainly did not like the prospect at all; and his only consolation was, that be should not leave his adored Emily exposed to the dissipations of Al lertion. She had agreed to go and stay with an aunt, some forty miles distant, where there was not even a youno curate in the neighborhood. The town of Aller tion was touched to the heart by the whole proceeding ; no one spoke of them hut as that romantic and that devoted young cou ple. I own that L have known greater misfortunes in life than that a young gen tleman and lady of twenty should have to wait a twelve-month before they were married ; hut every person considers their own the worst that ever happened, and Edward and Emily were miserable to their hearts’ content. They changed locks of hair ; and Emily gave him a portfolio, embroidered by herself, to hold the letters that she was to write. H e saw her oft'first, under the care of an old servant, to the village where she was to stay. She wa ved her while handkerchief from the win dow as long as she could see her lover, and a little longer, and then sank back in a Hood of “falling pearls, which men call tears.’ Edward was as wretched, and he was also exceedingly uncomfortable, which helps wretchedness on very much. It was a thorough wet day—all his things were packed up—for lie himself was to start in the afternoon when the mail passed through —and never was a young gentleman more utterly at a loss vvliat to do with himself. — In such a case an affair of the heart is a great resource ; and young Rainsforth got upon the coach box looking quite unhappy enough to satisfy the people of Alleriion. It must he owned that he and the weather equally brightened up in the course of sta ges. To he sure a cigar has a gift of pla cidity peculairly its own. If l were a wo man 1 should insist upon my lover’s smo king; if not of much consequence before, it willin' an invaluable qualification after, the happiest day of one’s life. In these days roads have no adventurers —they might exclaim; with the knife-grind er. ‘Story ! Lord bless you, 1 have none to tell!’—we will therefore take our hero after he was four days in London. Hois happy in a lover’s good conscience, for that very morning he had written a long letter to his beloved Emily—the three first days having been ‘like a teetotum all in a twirl,’ he had been forced to neglect that duty so sweet and so imlespensihle to an absent lover. He had, however, found time to become quite domesticated in Mr. Alford's family. Mr. Alford was of the first emi nence in his profession, and had two or three other young men under his charge ; hut it was soon evident that Edward was a first-rate favorite with the mother and two daughters at all events. They were fine looking girls, and who understood how to look their best. They were well dressed, and it is wonderful how much tlie hair ‘done to a turn,’ ribands which make a complexion, and an exquisite chaus sure, set offayoung woman. Laura taught him to waltz, and Julia began to sing duets with him. Now, these are dangerous em ployments for a youth of one-and-twenty. The heart turns round, as well as the head sometimes, in a sautcusc, and then it, is diffi cult to ask these questions appropriated to duets, such as ‘Tell me, my heart, why wildly heating ?’ ‘Canst thou teach me to forget ?’ etc., without some emotion. A week passed by, and the genet al post man’s knock, bringing with it letters from his trustee, who, as an item in his accounts, mentioned that he had just heard that Miss Emily Worthington was quite well, put him in mind that lie had not heard from her himself. Oh ! how ill-used he felt ; lie had some thoughts of writing to over whelm her with reproaches for her neg lect ; hut, on second thoughts, he resolved to treat her with silent disdain. To be sure, such a method of showing his con tempt took less time and trouble than writing four pages to expiess it would iiave done. That evening he was a little out of spirits, but Julia showed so much gentle sympathy with his sadness, and Laura rallied him so pleasantly upon it, that they pursued the subject long after there was any occasion for it. The week became weeks—there was not a drawback to the enjoyment of the trio,excepting now and then ‘some old fiiends of papa, to whom we must he civil ; not,’ said Laura, ‘hut that I would put up with one and all, excepting that odious Sir John Belmore.’ Edward had been intown months and a fortnight when one evening Julia —she had been siging ‘Meet me by moonlight alone’ —asked him to breakfast with them.— ‘ I have,’ said she, ‘ some commissions, and papa will trust mo with you.’ He break fasted, and attended the blue-eyed Julia to Swan and Edgar’s, ‘Now 1 have some conscience !’ exclaimed she, with one of her owe sweet languid smiles. Julia had an especially charming smite—it so flat tered the person to whom it. was addressed. It was that sort of smile which it is im possible to help taking as a personal compliment. ‘ 1 iiave a little world of shopping to do—bargains to buy netting silks to choose; and you will never have patience to wait. Leave me here for an hour, and then come hack—now punc tual. Let me look at your watch—it is just eleven. Good-bye, I snail expect you exactly at twelve.’ Siie turned into the shop with a most becoming blush, so pret ty, that Edward had half a mind to have followed her in, and quoted Moore’s lines— ‘Oil ! let me only breathe tiic air, The blessed air that’s breathed by thee !’ But a man has a natural antipathy to shopping,and even the attraction of a blush and a blush especially of that attractive sort, one on your own account —even that was lost in the formidable array of ribands, silks, and bargains— ‘Bought because they may be wanted, Wanted because they may be had.’ Accordingly, he lounged into his club, and the hour was almost gone before ho arrived at Swan and Edgai’s. Julia told him she had waited, and he thought—what a sweet temper she must have not to show the leastsymptom of dissatisfaction ! on the contrary, her blue eyes were even softer than usual. By the time they arrived at herfalher’s door, he had also arrived at the agreeable conclusion, that he could do no wrong. They parted hastiy, for lie had a tires me business appointment ; however, they were to meet in the evening, and a thousand little tender things which he intended to say occupied him till the end of his walk. When the evening came, and after a toilet of that particular attention which in nine cases out of ten one finds leisure to bestow cm oneself, he arrived at Mr. Alford’s house. The first object that caught his attention was Laura looking, as the Amer icans say, ‘dreadful beautiful.’ She had on a pink dress, direct from Paris, that flung around its own atmosphere rlc rose, and nothing could ho more finished than her whole ensemble. Not that Edward noted the exquisite perfection of all the feminie and Parisian items which com pleted her attire, hut ho was struck by the general effect. He soon found himself, he scarcely knew how quite devoted to her ; and his vanity was flattered, for she was the belle of the evening. It is amazing how much our admiration takes its tone from the admiration of ci thers; and when to that is added an ob vious admiration ot ourselves, the charm is irresistable. ‘Be sure,” said Laura, in that low, confidential whisper, which im plies that only to one could it he address ed, ‘if y>u see me bored by that weariful Sir John Belmore, to come and make me waltz. Really, papa’s old friends make me quite undutiful!’ There was a smile accompanying the words which seem to ; say. that it was not only to avoid Sir John that she desired to dance with himself. The evening went off most brilliantly; and Edward went home with the full in tention of throwing himself at the facina ting Laura’s feet the following morning ; and, what is much more, he got up with the same resolution. He hurried to Har ley found the dame dcsespcnsccs alone. An offer is certainly a desperate act*.— The cavalier— ‘Longa to speak, and yet shrinks back, As from a stream in winter, though the chill Be but a moment.” Edward certainly felt as little fear as a gentlmati well could do, under the circum stances. He, therefore, lost no time in telling Miss Alford that his happiness was in her hands. She received the intelli gence with a pretty look of surprise. ‘Really,’ exclaimed she,‘l never thought of you hut as a friend ; and last night I accepted Sir John Belmore! As that is his cabriolet, I must go down to the libra ry to receive him ; we should be so inter rupted here w ith morning visitors !’ She disappeared, and at that moment Edward heard Julia’s voice singing on the stairs. It was the last duet that they had sung together. ‘Who shall school the heart's affection, Who shall banish its regret? If you blame my deep dejection, Teach, oil, teach me to forget !’ She entered, looking very pretty, hut pale. ‘All,’ thought Edward, ‘she is vexed that I allowed myself to he so engrossed by her sister last night.’ ‘So you are alone,’ exclaimed she, ‘J have such a piece of news to tell you ! Laura is going to he married to Sir John Belmore. llovv can she marry a man she positively despises ?, ‘lt is very heartless,’repied Edward with great emphasis. ‘Nay,’ replied Julia, “hut Laura could not live without gayety. Moreover, she is ambitious. 1 cannot pretend to judge for her; wo never had a taste in com mon.’ ‘You,’ said Edward, ‘would not have so thrown yourself away !’ ‘Ah ! no,’ answered she, looking down, ‘the heart is my world.’ And Edward thought lie had never seen anything so lovely as the deep blue eyes that now looked up full of tears. ‘Ah ! too convincing, dangerously dear, In woman's eye, tb’ unanswerable tear.’ Whither Edward might have floated on the tears of the ‘dove-eyed Julia’ must re main a question ; for at that moment—a most unusual occurrence in a morning— Mr. Alford came into his own drawing room. ‘So, Madam,’ lie exclaimed in a voice almost inarticulate from anger. ‘ I know it all. You were married to Captain Da cre yesterday; and you, Sir,’ turning to Edward, ‘made yourself a party to the shameful deception.’ ‘No,’ interrupted Julia; ‘Mr. Rainsforth believed me to he in Swan and Edgar’s shop the whole time. The fact was, I only passed through it.’ Edward stood aghast. So the lady, in stead of silks and ribands, was buying per haps, the nearest bargan of her life. A few moments convinced him that he was dc trop; and he left the father storming,and the daughter in hysterics. On his arrival at his lodgings, he f mnd a letter from his guardains, in which lie found the following entered among oilier items: ‘Miss Emily Worthington has beer very ill, hut is now recovering.’ Ed m ! cared, at this moment very little a houl the health or sickness of any woman in the world. Indeed, he rather thought Emily’s illness was a judgment upon her. If,she liad answered his letter, he would have been saved all his recent mortilica lion. Ho dicided on abjuring the flatter ing and fickle sex for ever, and turned to his desk to look over some accounts to which he was referred by his guardians. While tossing the papers about, half-list less, half-fretful, what should catch his eye but a letter with the seal not broken ! lie started from his seat in consternation. Why, it was his own epistle to Miss Worthington! No wonder that she had I not written; she did not even know his add:ess. All the honors of iiis conduct now stared him full in the face. Poor, clear, deserlcd Emily, what must her feel ings have been ! He could not bear to think of them. lie snatched up a pen, wrote to his guardains, declaring that the illness of his beloved Emily would, if they did not yield, induce him to take any measure, however desperate; and that he insisted on being allowed permis sion to visit her. Nothing hut his own eyes could satisfy him of her recovery. — He also wrote to Emily, enclosed the truant letter, and the following day set off’ for Allerton. In the mean time what had become of the fair disconsolate ? Emily had cer tainly quite fulfilled her duty of being mis erable enough in the first instance. No thing could he duller than the little vil lage to which was consigned the Ariadne BOOK AND JOB PRINTING, Will be executed in the most approved stpl* and on the best ter ms,at the Office of the SCTTTHEIUT THI3TJITE, —BY— WM. B. HARRISON*. of Allerton. Day after day she roamed —not along the beach, hut along the fields toward the post-office, for the letter which, like the breeze in Lord Byron’s calm, ‘came not.’ A fortnight elapsed, when one morning, as she was crossing the grounds of a fine but deserted place in the neighborhood, she was so much struck by the beauty of some pink May, that she stooped to gather it; —alas! like most o ther pleasures, it was out of her reacli.—- Suddenly, a very elegant looking young man emerged from one of the winding paths, and insisted on gathering it for her. 1 lie flowers were so beautiful, when gath ered, that it was impossible not to say something in their praise, and flowers lead to many other subjects. Emily dis covered that she was talking to the pro prietor of the place. Lord Elmsley, and of course apologized fur her intrusion,— He equally, of course, declared that his grounds were only too happy in having so fair a guest. Next they met by chance again, and, at last, the only thing that made Emily re lapse into her former langour was— a wet day ; for then there was no chance of see ing Lord Elmsly. The weather,however, was, generally speaking, delightful—and they met, and talked about Lord Byron— nay, read him together—and Lord Ehn 3 * ley confessed that he had never understood his beauties before. They talked also of the heartlesssness of the world ; and the delights of solitude in a way that would have charmed Zimmerman. One morn ing, however, brought. Lord Elmsley a let ter. It was from his uncle, short and sweet, and ran thus : NUMBER 12. ‘Mp dear George. — Miss Smith’s guar dains have at last listened to reason—and allow that yotir rank is fairly worth her gold. Come up, therefore, as soon as you’ can and preserve your interest with the lady. What a lucky fellow you are to have fine eyes—for they have carried the prize for you ! However, I advise you to lose no time in securing the heiress. ‘Your affectionate uncle. E.’ ‘Tell them,’ said the Earl, ‘to order post horses immediately. I must he off to London in the course of half an hour.’ During this half hour he dispatched his luncheon, and—-for Lord Emsly was a perfectly well-bred man—dispatched the following note to Miss Worthington, whom he was to have met that morning to show her the remains of the heronry : 'Mp dear Miss Worthington. —Hurried as l am, I do not forget to return the vol ume of Lord Byron you so obligingly len me. How I envy you the power of re maining iri the country this delightful seat son—while I am forced to immure myself in hurried and noisy London. Allow me to offer the best compliments of ‘\our devoted servant, Elmsly. No wonder that Emily tore the note which she received with smiles and blushes into twenty pieces, and did not get up to breakfast the next day. The next week she had a had cold, and was seated in a most disconsolate-looking attitude and shawl, when a letter was brought in. It contained the first epistle of Edward’s and the following words in the envelope 'Mp adored Emily. —You may forgive me—l cannot forgive myself. Only ima gine iimt the unclosed letter has by some strange chance remained in my desk, and I never discovered the error till this morn ing. You would pardon me if you knew all L have suffered. How I have reproach ed you ! 1 hope to see you to-morrow, for 1 cannot rest till I hear from your own lips that you have forgiven ‘Your faithful and unhappy Edward/ That morning Emily left oft'her shawl, and discovered that a walk would do her good. The lovers met the next day, each looking a little pale, which each set down to their own account. Emily returned to Allerton, and the town was touched to the very heart by a constancy that had stood such a test. ‘Three months’ absence,’ as an old lady observed, ‘ : s a terrible trial.’ The guar dains thought so too —and the marriage of Emily Worthington to Edward Rains forth soon completed the satisfaction of the town of Allerton. During the bridal trip, the young couple were one wet day at an inn looking over anevvspaper togeth er, and they saw—the marriage of Miss Smith with the Earl of Elmsly—and of Miss Alford with Sir John Belmore. 1 never heard that the readers made either of them any remark as they read. They returned to Allerton, lived very happily, j and weie always held up as touching in stances of first love and constancy—in the nineteenth century. Smoking Chimney. —Col. William Mason, of London, in a letter to the Builder, says—l have bullt many chimneys, in all possible situa tions, and have found one simple rnlc always succeeded, the secret being to construct the throat of the chimney, or that part of it just above the (irc-placc, so small that a man or a boy Can hard ly pass through it. Secondly—immediately a bove this, the chimney should he enlarged to double its width to the extent ol about two feet in height, arrd then dininish again to its usual proportions. No chimney that 1 ever eostructed thus, smoked. Thirty thousand landlords own all eight thousand own all Scotland,6ooo own all Ireland, leaving more than 25,000,000 inhabit, ants of those countries without » foot of GoJ s creation.