Is published, every Thursday afternoon, in Macon, Ga. on the follow-
If paid strictly in advance • “ 8* annum.
If not so paid - * * - 300 “
I,egal Advertisements will be made to conform to the following pro
visions of the Statute: —
Sales of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Guard
ians, are required by law to be advertised ill a i*ublic gazette, sixty
days previous to the day of sale.
These sales must be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between
the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the
Cosrt House in the county in which the property is situated.
The sales of Personal Property must be advertised in like manner for
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty
Notice that application will he made to the Court of Ordinary for
leave to sell Land and Negroes, must he published weekly for four
Citations or Letters of Administration must be published thirty days
for Dismission from Administration, monthly, six months —for Dis
mission from Guardianship, days.
Knits (or foreclosure of mortgage, must be published monthly, for
fsnr months —for establishing lost papers, for the full space us three
months —for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators where
a bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of three months.
Professional and business Cards, inserted, according to the follow
For 4 lines or less per annum - - $5 00 in advance.
“ 6 lines “ “ * - - 7 00 “ “
*lO * * . .. 310 00 “ “
JJT Transient Advertisements will be charged sl, per square of 13
hues or less, for the first and 30 cts. for each subsequent insertion.—
On thsse rates there will be a deduction of -.MI percent, on settlement,
when advertisements are continued 3 months, without alteration.
rF* All Letters except those containing remittances must be post
paid or free.
Postmasters and others who will act as Agents for the “Citizen”
aisy retahi go per cent, for their trouble, on all cash aubaaripttoiro for
OFFICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the
MLIIL AKRA XCOEATS.
Mnil for Milledgeville, Savannah, Augusta and Columbus close at 0
o’clock, I*. M.
All mails out of flie State (Tennesse and Florida excepted)
at same hour.
~ Forsyth, Bartlesville, Thonumton, Grifiin, Atlanta, Marietta
and Dalton, close; at 8 o’clock, P. M.
“ “ Tennessee 3 o’clock, P. M.
- Florida Route, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays at 3 o’-
clock, P. M.
* Via Knoxville, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturday’s at 3
o'clock. P. M.
* Via Clin . Eatouton, kc. Tuesdays, Thursilaye and Sun
days at 3 o’- is. P. M.
* Via F- rt ‘ ley, i YsVinesdayand Saturday mornings, at
Office open from rt i-* \. M. to 1 o’clk.. I* M., and from 2 to -1 P.
The Mail by Macon cv Western Itailaoad will be delivered at 3 1-2
I*6 A. M. Night Mails, Bto 8 1-2 P. M.
Z. T. CONNER, P. M.
P. O. Macon, Mar. 12, 1830.
(Tjji % ]M'j Coriirr,
SIBII2AE AAD SHADOW.
The sunshine hath a shadow,
A n*l t!l* Itullk a uln4o I
ThiTc’s no typo in art like nature,
But an antitype hath made.
The sky may all be azure,
With its canopy serene,
.Hut a cloud will come unhidden,
On the glory of the scene.
The tnoon may be of silver,
The stars of golden light ;
But a speck will dim their beauty,
In the quiet, holy night ;
And our lives are changing ever,
Like the spring-time of the year ;
Sometimes all is April sunshine,
Then again ’tis dark and drear.
We have our dreams of pleasure,
And our moments fraught with pain ;
The day may dawn all lovely,
Then put on its gloom again ;
We have our dreams of rapture —
Our bliss none else may feel,
But the mournful hue of sorrow,
O'er the highest brow will steal.
We have our dreams of gladness—
We have waking dreams of care;
There are hours of kindly greeting,
Then again no joy to share.
Sometimes life is all a sunshine,
Sometimes all a gloomy shade,
There’s no type in art like nature,
But an antitype hath made.
We have thoughts that soar far upwards,
In the free-born glorious air 5
We have spirits light as fancies,
To commune with angels there.
Sometimes tides of bitter feelings,
O’er the inmost spirit roll,
Then again some wave of rapture,
Breaks across the shadow’d soul.
When the heart is freest, lightest,
Like a bird on summer’s wing—
When the spirit basks in gladness,
Then it will with gladness sing ;
When upon the brow of summer,
Angry storms and tempests rim-,
Than anon uitfolcU the rainbow,
And appears the smiling skies.
The (reatioa of Woman.
She next made Woman—so the story goes—
With an improved material and art;
Gave her a form, the choicest one of those
That make aught beautiful, and to her heart
A power to soften man—and forced the rose
Its biasing tint to her soft cheek impart—
Then chopp'd the rainbow up, and with the chips
She went to work, and finished oft’ her lips 1”
The Wasted Flowers. —On the velvet hank of a riv
tiV-t sat a rosy child. Her lap was filled with flowers, and a
garland of rose-buds was twined around her neck. Her face
v>aß r; ubant as the sunshine that fell upon it: and her voice
‘as as clear as that of the bird which warbled at her side.
Tie- little stream went singing on, and with every gush of its
mus ' c the child lifted a flower in its dimpled hand, and with a
merr y l au gh, threw it upon its surface. In her glee she for
got that her treasures were growing less, and with the swift
motion of childhood, she flung them upon the sparkling tide,
haul every bud and blossom had disappeared. Then seeing
11 r loss, she sprang upon her feet, and, busrting into tears,
‘ n ’ ou d to the stream, “ Bring back my flowers !” But
|_ e s,lf:am danced along, regardless of her tears ; and, as it
r e the blooming burden away, her words came back in a
Miming echo alone its reedy margin. And, long after, amid
’- Wailing of and the fitful bursts of childish
Mer’ ‘ fr'dd s cry, “ Bring back my flowers!”
so 1’ “ nuil ’ n ‘ art idly wasting the precious moments
autifully bestowed upon thee, see, in the thoughtless,
f”'-iff 1 child, an emblem of thyself. Each moment is a
on all ” its fragments be dispensed in blessings
’ ttit n\’° Un< ‘l**’
l ' Cl ’ “hen thou hast carelessly flung them
1 \ ri I
(j! \f i|>i>rfrfr[filial (Ull titers
4# <£s *#W
from thee, secst them receding on the swift waters of time,
thou wilt cry in tones more sorrowful than those of the child,
” Bring back my flowers !” And the only answer will be
an echo from the shadowy past, “ Bring back my flowers l'’
--- • - - ~
THE I*ooll PRINTER, OR THE RRO
BY GEORGE W. BUNGAY.
“ 1 should ltko to know the name of that handsome young
fellow who accompanied you to church last Sunday,’’ re
marked Clara Mullins, toiler amiable and beautiful cousin
i hat s a pretty question to ask. Do you imagine 1
am so simple as to tell all I know in this age of secret socie
ties? The next thing, you will want an introduction; by
and by you will set your cap, and who knows but you may
steal away my gallant beau, and then leave me alone in the
glory of single blessedness.”
“ Now, Maria, stop poking fun at me, and lets know the
name of that nice young man.”
” IV ell, Clara, it it will afford you so much gratification I
to ascertain his name, I will not be so cruel to withhold it;
here is his card.”
“George Raymond. What a pretty combination of
names. George is the Greek word for farmer, and Ray
mond signifies sunlight on the mountains.”
“ So you admire the name, and think he who wears it
is personally handsome.”
\ es, Maria, 1 think he is a perfect model of a man.—
llow neatly, and yet how plainly, he dresses! What a fine
figure, broad forehead, and beautiful eyes ho h,*,. 1., i„- „
lawyer,or doctor, or professor,or merchant, or student?—
What Is he ? ”
“He is a printer.”
“-V publisher, mcap.”
“ No, he picks up types in a newspaper office.”
“ O, now I understand ; you intend to say that he is the
editor and proprietor of a newspaper.”
” No, my dear cousin, he is a journeyman printer.”
“ A ou don’t say lie is nothing but a journeyman.”
“ lie is a poor man who works fora livelihood.”
“ llow could you consent to allow him to sit in our pew,
and beau you home from church ? 1 would not permit a
mechanic to touch my arm with a pair of tongs. I think j
you ought to be ashamed of such vulgar society. I shall in
form 111a this very day, and so long as you remain under this ,
roof, I am quite sure she will not allow that plebeian printer
i to pay any attention to you.”
“ 1 declare,” observed Maria, pleasantly, “ you have giv
en me a Caudle lecture. If that distinguished foreigner, j
who fell in love with you at the museum, and who has been
so assiduous in his attentions ever since he obtained an intro- ;
duetion, could have heard you, I have no doubt he would !
highly commend you for looking down ou what he calls the
1 wish you to understand that Mr. Fitzgammon is a
resit gentleman oy oinfi, and that be has uie advantage of an
ample fortune and a refined education,” continued Clara.
lam heartily sorry, my dear cousin, that you encour- j
age the address of such a fop. lam sure he does not display
much good breeding and for his education, he seldom speaks !
without murdering his mother tongue. For my part, I should
prefer the society of one who works for a living, provided
he is honest, virtuous, sober and intelligent. I have been i
acquainted with Mr. Raymond ever since he was a child— 1
indeed we were schoolmates. I knew his parents, and al- j
though they are poor, they are quite respectable, and have j
given George a good common education, and he is now occu- j
pyinghis leisure hours in acquiring a knowledge of the king- j
nages. Even you admire his personal attractions, and all
who are acquainted with him unhesitatingly acknowledge
that his intellectual endowments are far superior to his physi
“ 1 am much obliged to you for that sermon, Miss Maria
Sedgeland ; It does not require the assistance of a microscope
or a spy glass to discover the state of your feelings in regard
to tills vexed question. The truth is, you lire envious or jeal
ous, because I have made an impression on the heart of dear
Mr. Fitzgammon, while you can only pick up a poor, shiftless
fellow, who picks up letters in a printing office. Ma will ;
put a.stop to your courtship, and if you were at the altar, !
pa would rise and forbid the bans.”
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Maria was
requested to go into her aunt's room. She luul been seated
hut a few seconds, when the aristocratic old lady came into :
| the apartment, and observed, “I have been informed that, j
! without my knowledge or consent, you have accepted the
attentions of a young man employed in a printing office.”
“ Well, aunt,” remarked Maria, blushing to the temples,
“ Mr. Raymond came from my native town, and we have
been acquainted with each other, ever since we were chil
dren. lie is a respectable young inan, and a welcome guest
in some of the best circles of society.” -j
“ Well, miss, I shall put an immediate stop to such inter- I
views as yon have with him. You shall not go with him j
“lie never goes to the theatre, and he never drinks wine.
He belongs to a division of the Sons of Temperance.”
“So he is a cold water rat, is he? Now 1 hate him more
than I did before; and if he ever comes to my house, I will
drive him away with a broomstick.”
“ John,” said Mrs. Mullins to her servant man, “ take this
billet-doux to the hotel where Mr. Fitzgammon boards, and j
give it to him yourself, with my compliments.”
It was past nine o’clock, and yet Mr. Fitzgammon was
still in the embrace of Morpheus. The waiter, however, had
to awaken the sleeper and feed him, so that the dining-room
might be got in readiness for the next meal, and awoke him at
He usually spent an hour at his toilette, washing his hands,
powdering his face, unpapering his curls, lacing his stays, etc.
Whilst he was dressing, and decorating his person, John
commenced a conversation with an intelligent waiter, who
was an old chum of his.
“ I guess missus is agoin to have a party to-night, and this
| note is to ax the gentleman you have just called to attend.”
“ You do not call him a gentleman, I hope. He is as cross
; as a bear with a sore head, and is more trouble at the table
than any other six boarder* in the house. lie smells of the
soup until his moustache dips into it, and then pronounces it
unfit for pigs ; he says the beefsteak is tough as leather—the
butter strong as Sampson—and the pics and pudding not to.
be compared to such luxuries in London. We have to be as
careful in feeding him, as though he were a wild beast, gnash
ing his teeth on the keepers of the menagerie.”
“ Why, how you talk, Bob. Miss Clara takes quite a
shine to him, and she would have thrown a kettle of hot wa
ter on you, if she heard what you said just now. 1 shouldn't
wonder if they got married before long. She says he is the
son of a lord.”
“ Son of the devil, more likely.”
“ Well, if they should pair off, after billing and cooing awhile,
I hope he will make Miss Clara stand around—for she has j
a horrid temper, and Miss Sedgeland lias to put up with her ill
humor. She is half the time scolding her, because a working
man went with her to meeting on Sunday.”
“ Are the old folks rich ? ”
“ They are well to do in the world, but they need not turn
up their noses at poor folks, for I remember the time when
• °ld Mullins couldn’t out such a swarth as he docs now. lie
1 used to keep a barber’s shop, and had some idea of taking my
! father into partnership with him, but father refused to have
“3nixpcniumt in all things —Neutral in Notljing.”
MACON, GEORGIA, THURSDAY EVENING, APRIL 11, 1850.
anything to do with the old skinflint. He held on to every
six pence until it squealed, and soon saved change eribugh to
commence brokering on a small scale. Folks used to laugh,
and say that one pole would answer for both branches of
business. Now he uses soft soap, and shaves notes and is
ashamed of the more honest and honorable calling of shaving
faces. I wish the old man would try his hand on the face of
the dandy who is after his daughter.”
“ Yes, John, I think he could improve his looks but, then,
if a man makes a beast of himself, I can see no earthly nor
heavenly reason why he shouldn’t look like one. I believe
this stranger who palms himself off as a distinguished for
eigner, is an impudent imposter, without either wit, money
or morality : and should be sorry to have him marry your
“ Bob, you talk like a book.”
“ Well, John, I read books, and study human nature;
and if I am nat vastly mistaken, the ill-looking, ill-natured
and ignorant fopling of whom we have been speaking is a
vile fellow, and ought to be exposed. I think it would be
a good idea, to get Mr. Raymond to publish him.”
“ Do you mean Raymond the printer ? ”
“ He is the very man that went to church with tlic grace
ful and lovely Miss Sedgeland last Sunday, and missus lias
vowed he shall never darken her door again.”
“ What an old goose she must be. Mr. Raymond is
loved and respected by all who know him. Several of our
oldest, most wealthy and influential citizens have clubbed and
raised fends enough to buy a press and types, and have en
gaged him to edit a newspaper they design to publish. lie
is the famous author of the thrilling sketches published over
the initials of G. R.”
“ Miss Clara says she wouldn’t touch him with a pair of
tongs, and that he is a low fellow, fit only to go with the
“Pshaw! that’s all moonshine. The time may come when
she will be glad to he in his company. There is an accom
plished and pretty young lady boarding here who gave the
mitten to Air. Fitzgammon, but she would be delighted to
have Mr. Raymond accept her hand, her heart, and her
As John surmised, that very evening there was a grand
soiree at the house owned and occupied by the haughty,
homely Mrs., and the hard-listed, dignified Mr. Mullins.
At an early hour the washed, combed, brushed, curled,
dressed, perfumed and decorated Mr. Fitzgammon might
have been seen ascending a flight of granite steps, and after
spelling out the name engraved on the silver door plate, pulled
the bell with such violence that the lap dog howled with the
ear-ache, and the servants started with alarm, and the busy
old mistress wondered wliat on earth was tlic matter.
He was escorted into a pleasant room, which was hand
somely furnished with the most fashionable furniture. Af
ter being introduced to the company present, he made a low
bow; tried to smile, scraped his feet upon the carpet, and
then awkwardly tumbled like a bale of dry goods upon the
sofa ; after which lie looked up with an air of wondrous wis
dom and great importance, which seemed to say, wliat think
ye of this imported specimen of gentility?
i vaidy - .A AL 1 j ,x. TIL iISC
hair was oiled, curled and scented. He stared at every per
son in the room through his quizzing-glass. Ile wore on his in
tellectual face, moustaches, whiskers, imperial and goatee,and
looked like an ass that had swallowed a horse and left the tail
sticking out of his mouth. His red, carrot fingers were hooped
with huge rings, and a broach large enough for a look
ing-glass stuck upon his ruffled shirt bosom.
Most persons could have seen at a glance, that lie was
one of those nondescript creatures, who know but little of
themselves externally, except what they learn from the look
ing-glass, and who know nothing of themselves internally,
except what they feel from the liquor-glass. The following
conversation between the parties will afford ail idea of the
mental calibre of the distinguished gentleman.
“It is a beautiful evening, sir,” remarked one of the com
“ Very foine.”
“ 1 low do you like our climate; sir ? ”
“ Very foine.”
“ Wliat do you think of American scenery ? ”
“ It is very foine.”
“ You have seen the falls of Niagara, I am told. TV hat
do you think of that sublime and beautiful water wonder ? ”
“ It is very foine.”
“ I think I saw you at the meeting which was recently
addressed by the Hon. Daniel Webster ; what did you think
of liis eloquent and magnificent speech ? ”
“ It was very foine.”
“ How do yon feel, sir, when’excited by tlic thrilling, elec
trifying eloquence of our Demosthenes?”
“ Very foine.”
“The sensation must be akin to that occasioned by the
trumpeting of the storm when the winds and waves do bat
tle. What arc your sensations during a storm at sea.
“I am sick at the stomach, at such times; but when wc
have a smooth sea and fair wind I feel very foine.”
The conversation was just then interrupted by the appear
ance of Mrs. Mullins and her daughter. They were dressed
and gorgeously bejewelled, and Clara, notv ‘thstanding the
unmistakcable lines which ill-temper had traced upon her
countenance, was beautiful to look upon. The moment they
entered the room Mr. Fitzgammon arose from his scat—and
squeezed the hand of Miss Clara and told her she looked
very foine. In the course of the evening, he ventured to
say to her that she was a charming girl, fit to be the wife of a
lord, and that he meant all he said, upon honor.
Maria was present at the party, and her aunt availed her
solf of an early opportunity to ask her how she would like
| the attention of such a man as Air. Fitzgammon.
Lest at a distance, said she: “1 could not endure such
a band-box dandy, whose head is as empty as his hat.”
I ou rude thing, how dare you speak so disparagingly
of my company in my own house ! ”
“ W hy, aunt, he has been winking at me most imperti
nently through his quizzing-glass. He is not a gentleman,
and ought to be requested to leave the house. If he does
not leave, with your permission, 1 will retire to my room.”
I suppose }ou are anxious to see the journeyman prin
ter, hut if he dares to show his face within the reach of a
poker, I will drive him into the street. I have a will and
wa\ to punish upstarts who do not know their own place,
and have no regard for the higher Order of society.”
At a late hour that night, or rather an early hour the
next morning, tbe party broke up; but the unfortunate Mr.
litzgannnon had partaken too freely of wine, and sober John
was nominated and appointed a committee of one to lead the
eminent stranger to his lodgings.
The next day it was rumored in different parts of the city
that a lord, duke, knight, baronet, or ear], or something else,
had fallen in love with Miss Mullins, the broker’s daughter’
Maria received a severe caudleing from her aunt, and ditto
from her oonsin, because she spoke so contemptuously of
Miss Muffin’s jealousy induced her to believe that several
young ladies were not only smitten, but dead in love with
the golden calf she worshipped, and in order to make sure
of the idol of her affections, she and her parents went to
work in good earnest to bring about a match and have the
parties united in matrimony,
‘file landlord to whom Mr. Fitzgammon was indebted
for board and borrowed money did not press liis claims for fear
he might lose a customer.
In a short time arrangements were made for the wadding.
Milliners, tailors, shoemakers, and confectioners were bu
sily at work. The day was selected, the guest 6 were invited.
and all the interested parties were on tiptoe of anticipation,
when an event occurred which is related as follows :
“ Wife did you see this new paper ? ”
“ Yes, I saw it, but vou know as well I do, that I have
no time to read newspapers. Clara is to be married next
Monday, and I shall have to be as busy as a dress maker, or
cut a sorry figure at the wedding.”
“ But here is a fist pointing to a paragraph about Mr.
Fitzgammon, the distinguished foreigner.”
“Do read it, pa,” said Clara, smilingly. “I knew he
would make a noise in the world. A man of his rank in
society, having such a princely fortune, and a variety ot ac
complishments, such fascinating manners, and such superb
talents, cannot fail to make a great sensation among a people
competent to appreciate his genius. Let us hear it, pa.”
“ We have received the London Times”
“ Hear this, ma, the news is from England. Now I sup
pose my envious, jealous saint of a cousin, who told me she
believed somebody was an impostor, will see her mistake.”
“Do let me read without further interruption, if you
“ We received by best night’s mail a copy of the London
Times, which contained the following startling and unex
pected announcement: —‘John Gammon, who was a groom
in the service of William Fitz, Esq., has robbed his master of
considerable jewelry and clothing, and it is supjiosed has
sailed for America. He is about thirty years of age, of me
dium size, has dark eyes, and coarse curly hair, and a sear
on his left cheek, which he received from a watchmen who
arrested him in the act of whipping his wife. One hundred
pounds shall be given to the person who will secure the
thief.’ Early this morning one of our efficient police officers
read the announcement, and at once put the Fitz and the
Gammon together, went to the hotel, where he found a
sleeping beauty with a scar on hia loft clioek, and the name
of Fitz on some silver spoons in his trunk. Ho awoke
and arrested Mr. Gammon, alias Fitzgammon, and es
corted him to jail.”
Clara fainted when she heard the sad tidings, and after
she came to her senses,’she exclaimed: “O, ma! O, pa!—
wliat shall I do? My dresses are made, our friends are in
vited, every body will laugh at me! I wish I could be shut
up in a nunnery ! ”
“ What a villain he must be,” said Mr. Mullins. “ lie
has a wife now living. He lias been stealing spoons. I
shouldn’t wonder if he stole that silver cup off the mantle
piece, for I missed it the day after he first called here. I
hope the authorities will hang him by the neck until lie is
choked to death.”
“ Mr. Mullins, who is the editor of that paper ? ”
Mr. George Raymoud.”
“ 1 wonder if that is the young man who gallanted Maria
to meeting that Sunday ? ”
“ I suppose it is,” said Mr. Mullins.
Well, go and ask him concerning the particulars of this
singular and most unhappy affair.”
Mr. Mullins went to the office and inquired if Mr. Ray
mond was in.
“ No, sir,” was the answer; “he has gone to the State
House ll* liu recently been elected to the Senate, and
consequently site** 1 - -- •* *-> •*
“ Is this Mr. Raymond the young man who used to work
in the brick block across the way ? ”
“ Yes, Sir.”
“ When he returns give my compliments to him, .and say
that my name is Mullins, and that all the members of my
family would be happy to see him.”
Mr. Mullins returned and informed the family that the
journeyman printer had become, not only an editor, but also
a prominent member of the Senate, and that the news re-*
speeding Mr. Fitzgammon was, alas, too true.
The intelligence spread like wildfire through the city, and
afli “ded a rich feast for tale-bearers and scandal-mongers;
and those who carry the devil’s mail-bag from door to door,
had their hands, hearts and mouths full for a fortnight.
The Hon. Mr. Raymond—the low born journeyman—the
plebian printer, who belonged to the vulgar herd—called fre
quently to see the charming and beautiful Maria Sedgeland ;
and although Clara set her cap for him, and tried all the skill
of an experienced coquette, she failed to win the heart of
the printer who became the happy husband of Maria Sedge
land. Clara improved in wisdom as she increased in years,
and finally became the contented wife of a worthy and re
spectable man who worked as pressman in Mr. Raymond's
Thoughts for the Thoughtful.
The world is looking glass, and gives forth to every man
a reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn
look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it. and it is a jolly
kind companion; and so let all young persons take their choice.
In all waters there are fish which love to swim against the
stream; and in every community persons are to be found who
delight in being opposed to everybody else.
As there is innocence in babes, and imbecility in old ago;
even so there is envy in poverty, and arrogance in opulence.
A letter timely written is a rivet to tle chain of affection;
and a letter untimely delayed, is as rust to the soldier’s mail.
Fortune is more equally balanced, after all, than half the
world think it; to the rich it gives fear—to the poor, hope.
Rapid talkers are generally men of few ideas, jugt as a bot
tle with a little liquid empties itself foster than one that is full.
Coriolanus, pardoning his ungrateful country, is greater
than Regulus suffering martyrdom for his grateful country. j
Sweet arc the uses of adversity, which, like the toad, ugly !
and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
Common minds are hardened by ingratitude; but to supe
rior natures it is an occasion for new acts of kindness.
I here are some mortals whose bodies are but as the orna
mented sepulchre of their dead hearts.
Never lean on the world, for if you do, the world will j
jump aside and you will get a tumble.
Many people drop a tear at the sight of distress who would
do better to drop a sixpence.
Great men lose somewhat of their greatness by being near :
us; ordinary men gain much.
Taciturnity is best learned among men who have none, and i
loquacity among the taciturn.
Promises made in time of affliction require a better memory
than people commonly possess.
Teach your children well; then, though you leave them lit
tle, you give them much.
Truth overcomes falsehood, and suspicion cannot live be
fore perfect frankness.
II your means suit not your ends, pursue those ends which
suit your means.
The good man is just in little things, the wicked man is lit
tle in great ones.
He is richest who is contented; content is the riches of na
Love, like the plague, is often communicated by clothing
He who gives for the sake of thanks, knows not the plea
sure of givircr.
Let us know the world as we may, it has always a day and
, Never carry a sword in your tongue to injure the reputa
tion of any man.
Make not the sail ton big for the vessel, lest you sink it.
All men are idolaters, some of riches, others of honor.
Make other men's shipwrecks seamarks to yourself.
Selt-esteem is often punished by universal contempt.
At the gate which suspicion enters, love goes out.
Misfortunes are a kind of discipline of humanity.
If a jewel be genuine, care not who says it is not.
Forget others’ faults by remembering your own.
We do not want precepts as much as patterns.
He who enlarges his heart restricts liis tongue.
A friend's help is not to be bought at a fair.
. Idleness is tlic sepulchre of a living man.
Use soft words and hard arguments. *
An author is as much honored in his enemies ashisfriem
A miser gets rich by seemipg poor; an extravagant m
gets poor by seeming rich.
A great deal of pride obscures or blemishes a thousanJ go
Be at peace with all mankind, but at war with their vie.
Poverty wants some, luxury many, and avarice all thing
One of the seve.est struggles in life is that between a proi
spirit and an empty purse.
Jealousy is always born with love, but does not always dj
He must have a long spoon, that would cat with the devi
A little wrong done to another is a great wrong done t
Cato says, ‘the best way to keep good facts in memory is t
renew them with new.’
A civil answer to a rude speech costs not much, and
worth a great deal.
A spare and simple diet contributes to the prolongation <
A great fortune is a great slaver}', and thrones are but ur
lie’s the best physician that knows the wortlilessness of tl
Virtue is made for difficulties, and grows stronger an
brighter for such trials.
When a man is not liked, whatever he dix-s is amiss.
The extremes of hatred, love and virtue are alike silent.
The fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
A wise man makes more opportunities than he finds.
There never was a hypocrite so disguised, but he hady<
some mark or other to be known by.
A lie has no legs, but scandal has wings.
God and eternity are the two pillars that uphold the un
Pleasure is like a cordial—a little does not injure, butte
The family of fools is ancient.
Necessity never made a good bargain.
Dead men open the eyes of the living. 1
The useful and the beautiful are never far asunder.
It is better to be alone than in bad company.
Speaking without thinking is Tike shooting before takin
Model SchOOt System.—The State of Wisconsin In
the noblest basis for a school fund of any Suite of equal mean!
in the Union. It consists of a domain of 2,281 square mile*
embracing 1,500 townships, one square mile each, besides 78
square mile sections, given by Congress on the admission
the State into the Union, making in all 1,600,000 acres, wliie
is valued at 81 70 per acre, giving a fund of 2,482,000. In ai 1
diton to this, all property that may accrue to tlio Stut* k>-^M
cheat or forfeiture, and the money received for fines, arev*4M|
aaixu 10 tlic uutu. me Const;tHtJßH*unrftUlt rcquiH
that eaeli township shall raise for the support of eoimrn
schools an annual tax of not less than half the amount reee
ed from the fund.
The estimated amount of distribution in 1851 is set do
at $106,000, and there being about 100,000 children, \
give one dollar for each scholar. Teachers’ Institutes h!
been established in every county in the State save one. Tin
are 25 organized counties, and 316 towns, in which there 1
1,430 school districts, and in 50 towns not reported, 350 <
tricts. The season of teaching averages over nine months
The average wages of teachers is, males sls 23; feina
$6 02. The valuation of the school-houses is $75,810 75
number of brick 26, stone 26, frame 204. log 350. Die Ilia
est valuation of any school house is $5,000, and the lowest
cents. N umber of select and private schools 04, and of
corporated academies 2. All this is the glorious beginning
a Suite which twenty years ago was a wilderness, almost u
broken.— New-York Sun.
Froin 4 “ Andrews’ Life in New York.”
BY A LAKY. A
Those ladies who are desirous of preserving their persoi
charms from a premature decay, must, in the first place, p
especial attention to thd state of their general health. AN’ it
out this, no artificial means will preserve that bloom and fres
ness which possess so irresistible a charm for the mind 11
fined with genuine taste, judgment, or feeling. To the mai
tenancc of good health, regular habits, an even and cheer
temper, a due attention to diet, with bathing or frequent ab!
tion of the whole body in water, and above all, early risii
To preserve a fair and bright complexion, is one of t
surest indications of a rightly directed mind. The nobler pa
of woman is a jewel of inestimable price, and it argues b
little sensibility as to its real value, to be indifferent to tile a
pearauee or perfection of the casket in which, for the presei
the Creator has enshrined it. In a healthy person, inoistu
is continually evolved; and this is generally united with
oily secretion, especially under the arms, Ac.; this aris
from the unctuous parts of the flesh, and is frequently four
to emit an unpleasant odor ; but this, with most other ineo
veniencies, may be removed usually by daily ablutions
clean water, cold or tepid, according to the season, and 1
the moderate use of perfumery.
It may lx* improper to remind the fair, that the healthy at
delicate tints of the complexion are liable to be seriously ii
jnred by too much exposure to the sun and air, though t<
much careful concealment from these is almost as fatal
beauty. A moderate exposure to the influence of the lig
and mild air of the mornings, in summer and autumn, ripe
beauty, and gives to it an appearance of more delicate lust
and heightened charms.
Brilliant Complexion. —Take of the second water
barley one pint, and strain it through a piece of fine linei
add twelve drops of the balm of Mecca; shake it well togetl
er, until the balm is thoroughly incorporated with the watt
which will be effected when the water assumes a whitish a
pearance. Before applying, wash the face with soft wate
if used once a day, it will beautify the face, preserve the fres
ness of youth, and give a surprising brilliancy to the skin.
Freckles.— Freckles are occasioned by exposure to t
heat, and give to the complexion a very disagreeable appea
ance. They are removed by the following applications, tl
surfaces of the skin having been previously softened by a litt
mild balsam or emollient paste:
Freckle Paste. —One ounce of bitter almonds: ot
ounce of barley flour. Mix with a sufficient quantity of ho
ey to make the whole into a smooth paste, with \vhi<
the face, particularly where the freckles appear, is to be anoi
tod at night, and the paste washed off in the morning.
Tiie Teeth.— The beauty of even and well-set rows
teeth, is universally admitted. Indeed, it is an ornament I
no means to be neglected ; and no lady desirous of pleasii
will fail to give her teeth due care and attention. They shou
be washed and brushed at least twice a day, with soft wate
and rinsed after every meal, to have the breath as “ sweet 1
Fragrant Breath. —Take two ounces of powder of myrrh
eight ounces of Peruvian bark ; thirty-two drops of oil
cinnamon ; thirty-two drops of oil of cloves; twenty-foi
ounces of prepared chalk ; eight ounces of orris powder,
three ounces of rose pink. Mix well together, and use tl
Take eight drops of muriatic acid, in half a H