Newspaper Page Text
VOL. I.
-jujs (smrasaa
is publishuU, every Thursday afternoon, in Macon, Ga. on the follow
ing
CONDITIONS :
If paid strictly in advance - - $2 50 per annum.
If not so j>aid - - - -3 00 ““
Legal Advertisements will be made to conform to the following pro
visions of the Statute :
Sales of I .and and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Guard
ians, are required by law to be advertised in a public 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
Court House in the county in which the property is situated.
The sales of Personal Property must be advertised in like manner for
ty days.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty
days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for
leave to sell Land and Negroes, must be published weekly for four
months.
Citations or letters of Administration must be published thirty days
—for Dismission from Administration, monthly, siz months —for Dis
mission from Guardianship, forty days.
Holes for foreclosure of mortgage, must be published monthly, for
four months —for establishing lost papers, for the full space of three
months —for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators where
a bond has been given by the deceased, tire full space of three months.
“Professional and Business Cards, inserted, according to the follow
ing scale :
For 4 lines or less per annum - - $5 00 in advance.
“ 0 lines a a . - - 7 00 “ “
“10 “ “ “ - $lO 00 “ “
Transient Advertisements will be charged sl, per square of 12
lines or less, for the first and 50 cts. for each subsequent insertion.—
On these rates there will be a deduction of 20 percent, on settlement,
when advertisements are continued 3 months, without alteration.
z:r All Letters except those containing remittances must be post
paid or free.
Postmasters and others who will act. as Agents for the “Citizen”
way retain 20 per cent, for their trouble, on all cash subscriptions for
warded.
OFFICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the
Market.
■(TV port’s Cot m,
FOR THE “ UKORUIA CITIZEN.”
L VWENT on the DEATH of -UY LITTLE CHILD.
BY T 11. CIIIVERS, M. V.
“ V"-:. Heaven is thine !”—Poe.
“1 i •<ile more—Wilson.
As fades tile \ ■ i ,:r ■ 1 vs t morning,
Whose; i . ild iiave revived therewith,
Didst thou, with r<> . health thy cheeks adorning—
Sewming most deathless in the arms of Death !
As wakes the Violet Winter Frosts have withered,
Putting on beauty new in Spring again— 4
Re-robed with fadeless splendor newly gathered—
Shalt tliou from Death to Life in Heaven to reign.
Blessed forever ! blessed be thy springing
From Death's cold W inter to immortal bloom,
As Dove-like thy pure soul to Heaven goes singing,
Borne up by Angels from the silent tomb.
ora CIIIL5)!IL\.
nr WILLIAM n. GALLAGHER.
“ The Beautiful Vanish, and Return Not.'’
They are stricken, darkly stricken;
Faint an 1 fainter grows each breath,
And the shadows round them thicken,
Os the darkness that is Death.
“We are with them —bending o'er them—
And the Soul in sorrow saith,
‘Would tha. Iliad pass’d before them,
To the darkness that is Death !’
They are sleeping, coldly sleeping,
In the grave-yard, still and lone,
W here the winds, above them sweeping,
Make a melancholy moan.
Thickly round us—darkly o'er us—
Is the pall of sorrow thrown;
And our heart-beats make the chorus
Os that melancholy moan.
They are waking, brightly waking,
Front the slumbers of the tomb,
And, enrobed in Light, forsaking
Its impenetrable gloom.
They are rising—they have risen—
And their spirit-forms illume,
la the darkness of Death’s prison,
The impenetrable gloom.
They are passing, upward passing,
Dearest beings of our love,
And their spirit-forms are classing
In the beautiful above:
There we see them—there we hear them—
Through our dreams they ever move:
And we long to “be ancar them,
In the beautiful Above.
They are going, gently going, ,
In their angel-robes to stand,
Where the river of life is flowing
In the far-off distant land.
Wo shall mourn them—we shall miss them-
From our broken little band;
But our souls shall still caress them,
In the far-off Silent land.
They are singing, sweetly singing,
Far beyond the vale of Night,
Where the angel-harps are ringing,
And the Day is ever bright.
We can love them—we can greet them—
From this land of dimmer light,
Till God takes us lienee to meet them
Where the Day is ever bright.
SHIT SOT OUT THE EIGHT.
BY E. 11. BURLINGTON.
To the Ten Commandments given
With the sign and seal of Heaven
There’s another yet to write;
For the sake of erring man,
Keep it holy ye who can,
“Shut not out the light.”
Doors of knowledge have been shut,
And there’s darkness in the hut,
Crime and wrong instead of right;
Ye who boast superior day,
Mingle justice with your sway!
.‘‘Shut not out the light.”
There’s a cry from kennel streets,
AV here the poisoned air completes
Social ill xmd moral blight;
If ye would not (ill our jails,
Out of crimes which such entails,
“Shut not out the Light.”
There's a cry where children pine,
In the trainway of the mine,
Slaving in a mental night;
” here th foctory or plum spins,
M car i! . and weaving sins,
“Si. fi. ne: th. Light.” ‘
Dgfi eh ; u.. n and woman,
ood lni made .he blessing common,
Soto cheer the heart and sight;
et a cry from roof to basement,
h nines from many a darkened casement,
Shut not out the Light.”
Ye who make religious seeming,
Hide the worst of worldly scheming,
Teaching wrong and shamming right;
Ye who make your power and place,
Help to blind the human race,
“Shut not out the Light.”
’Tis a caution worth your care;
Scorn it, mock it, if you dare;
Spurn it, but beware its might.
As you value trust, or love,
Man below, or God above,
“Shut not out the Light !”
ftiisrfllnmj.
Love of Fashion.
The following is related of a lady in Paris. She
was about forty, any thing but pretty, but she felt
convinced that a woman could never look ugly as
long as she followed the fashion :
“It is the fashion,” she would exclaim, “and how
can any thing be unbecoming when it is fashiona
ble ?”
“But,” someone would suggest, “fashion is so of
ten ridiculous!”
“It never is, and it never can be,” was the sure
reply.
. Jhe husband of this lady, however, who was a
sensible man, entertained a far different opinion on
tbe subject, and had resolved to cure, if he possibly
could, what he considered an intolerable folly in his
wife. So, one morning, skilfully substituting one
of bis own drawings, representing a lady, riclilv at
tired, and with her hair fantastically dressed, with
an immense carrot at the very top of the head, for
the engraving which lightly belonged to his wife’s
Journal lies inodes , he had laid the book upon her
toilet. Under the drawing he had written these
words — Hair-dress ala chinoisc—natural carrot !
As soon as she awoke, the lady observed her
Journal upon the table, and opening it, closely ex
amined the draw ing, and exclaimed—
“Oh! what a strange hair-dress! how odd! dear
me ! who could ever have thought that it would be
come fashionable to dress the hair with soup vege
tables !”
The husband shrugged his shoulders. “It is ridi
culous,” said he; “absurd. You never can think of
putting such stuff upon your head?”
“And why not, my dear ? It does not look bad
at all, and besides, it is the fashion, and that is suf
ficient. Let me have a carrot —a splendid carrot,
this moment—come, quick. We go to the opera
this evening. I must have my hair dressed in the
lastest style.”
The husband pretended to oppose—the wife in
sisted. She placed tin immense carrot on the top
of her head, and in the evening went to the opera.
Sllfi mu immense flcnr>fttion, ol’ couroc, bul
not just such a one as she had expected.
Everybody pointed at her, laughed, and so open
ly that she could not lie mistaken as to the mean
ing. The poor woman went home, sad and heart
broken, and saying to herself, “it is strange indeed.
1 dressed my hair in the latest style, and, notwith
starding, I made a most ridiculous figure.”
u Ma chere ami ” said her husband, “fashions are
not equally suitable for all. 1 have told you so a
thousand times, and carrots, especially, w ere never
becoming to blondes.”
Since that evening, the lady has been very care
ful about adopting the “latest fashions.”
Look Up. —A little boy wont to sea with his
father, to learn to be a sailor. One day his father
said to him, “Come, my boy, you will never he a
sailor if you don’t learn to climb; let me see if you
can get up the mast. The boy, who was a nimble
little fellow, soon scrambled up; but when he got
to the top and saw at what a height he was, he be
gan to be frightened, and called out, “Oh! father, I
shall fall; I am sure I shall fall; what am I to do ?”
“Look up, look up, my boy,” said his father. “If
you look down you will be giddy, but if you keep
iooking up to the flag at the top of the mast, you
will descend safely.” The boy followed his father’s
advice, and reached the bottom with ease.
My dear children, I want you to learn from this
little story, to look more to Jesus and less to your
selves. If you keep thinking always about your
selves, it will make you happy. Shall I tell you the
reason of this ? It is because our hearts are full of
sin, that the more we look at them, the more rea
son we shall have to fear that God will be angry
with us, and not take us to heaven; and this will
make us very unhappy. What I want you to do,
is to look to Jesus; that is, to think a great deal
about all that he has done for you, and how much
he loves you; to come to him every day, and beg
him to forgive and wash away all your sins in his
own blood; this is the way to be happy. I hope
you understand what I mean. When we look from
ourselves up to the Saviour, we are like the boy
when he kept his eyes fixed on the flag, and so get
down safely. Once more I say, “look up! look up !”
Look up, ye young, and while ye gaze,
And forget all eartldy things,
Look up, and sing the Saviour's praise,
And crown him King of Kings.
Management of Children.
Love and decision are the main springs for secu
ring that obedience in children which all parents
wish, but so few obtain. The government of the
family is generally vested in the father. This is not
as it should be. The mother, being constantly with
them, has by far the greater influence over them,
and she should be careful to maintain that dignity
and mildness which is so essential a point in the
government of the family. But, on the contrary,
how often do we see her undermining her own pow
er?, even in the eyes of her children, when she has
failed to secure the wished for obedience, pettishly
exclaim, “I’ll tell your father;” —but her pet being
over before the arrival of the father, the delinquent
is rarely informed against, except on extra occasions;
the consequence is, the children make the absence
of the father the opportunity; reasoning from analo
gy, they say, “mother won’t tell.” Children are
great reasoners. As they are treated upon one occa
sion, so they expect to be on another. Here is the
grand point of failure in mothers; they do not pro
ceed with that method and principle, so necessary;
they ar too impulsive. AVhen they are busy, or
perplexed, and the child wants anything, the moth
er carelessly and angrily exclaims, “No ! go along
and make less noise.” The child, as is invariably
the case, exhibits the same disposition manifested
by the mother, and impatiently exclaims “Yes, do
let me.” No reply. “/ will,” exclaims the now
exasperated little one. “AVell, do take it, and go
along.” Aside, as if ashamed of her imbecility,
she says, “Any way to keep ’em still.” When I
“Jtoifrpcnknt in all things—Neutral in Notljing.”
MACON, GEORGIA, THURSDAY EVENING, APRIL 18, 1850.
have been witness of such a scene, how heartily I
have responded to the sentiment of Burns which
says:
“O wad some power the giftie gie us,
To see oursels as ithers see us,
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion.”
Oh mothers! ye indeed bind the burden upon your
own shoulders, of which ye so loudly complain; for
who ever saw a family managed in this manner but
the oft-repeated exclamations met their ears, “/
don't know what to do; I never saw such acting
young ’uns in my life.” Yet for one word, or even
intimation, which reflected aught upon the mother,
you would meet with looks, at least, which seem to
say, “I guess I can manage my children as well as
some other folks.” Such mothers are generally so
conceited that expostulation is like throwing pearls
before swine. A\ hat shall you do? I answer, re
form yourselves; take a firm but mild, unvarying
course; give them your reasons for so doing, and
you will find matters assume a different and more
favorable aspect. Do not be teased into the com
pliance of anything; do not threaten with punish
ment you would be utterly unable to perform. Mo
thers of the nineteenth century, blush for that want
of refinement which leads you to use such revolting
expressions as, “I’ll flog you alive,” “I’ll shake you
to pieces,” and yet, such expressions I have actually
heard fall from the lips of those who thought them
selves intelligent, and whose had been the
“Delightful task to rear the tender thought,
And teach the Joung idea how to shoot.”
Many a one will bear me witness that these
scenes are not overdrawn; revolting as they are,
they are scenes from real life.
Let the mothers who may see themselves mirror
ed here, not shrink from a full view of the distorted
image, until each has fully determined upon a course
which shall reflect honor upon herself and her off
spring.
“ I am too poor to give up my Paper.”—a
woman in Maine recently renewed her subscription to a Port
land paper, with the remark that “ she was infinitely too poor
to do without it.” There is a great deal comprehended in this
declaration. People—even those who are in straightened cir
cumstances—can dispense with many things rather than with
a newspaper. How much has even the poorest saved by at
tentively perusing someone of the public journals which has
been liis daily or weekly visitant! It should be a universally
admitted fact, that the newspaper is one of the necessaries ,
not one of the luxuries of life. Every journalist in the coun
try, by taxing his memory a moment could easily illustrate the
truth of the position—and indeed there are very few in any
community whose experience does not enable them to bear tes
timony to it. A newspaper is a mine of wealth to millions,
who if they never saw one, would have reason to say they
wsfh name iiulcid.— Lowell Journal.
“I PIT Ml TRUST IW GOD.”
A TRUE STORY.
Whilst the Terrific Thirty Years’ War was raging in Ger
many, many women accompanied their husbands, who were
fighting for their country, on their campaigns, believing that
they were safer with the army than at home, as bands of rob
bers were prowling about, who met with no resistance, and
who committed the most attrocious cruelties. Poverty and
misery were often then, however, the lot of the poor women,
as they shared all the dangers and privations of their hus
band ; and when these fell in battle, they were compelled,
without means, and without hope, to wander hack to tlieir
own country.
Alter one of the many bloody battles that were fought, the
wives of a captain and of a lieutenant were reduced to this ne
cessity. Both lost their husbands, and as they had no longer
any support, they were obliged to attempt to regain their
abandoned homes, and to sock among their friends and re
lations, some alleviation of their misery. Their husbands
had served under the same colors, were intimate friends, and
had often requested their wives, in the event of their failing
in battle, to return home together, and not to separate on the
journey. Sadly, and with tears, they complied with the wish
of their husbands, and the more readily that they were both
from the same place, and their road was the same. Scarcely
had they accomplished half the journey, when their small
supply of money was exhausted, and they were compelled, as
they proceeded, to ask assistance trom charitable persons,
which they generally obtained at the castles and noblemen’s
residences, that were at no great distance from the road. The
captain's widow was of noble extraction, the lieutenant's was
the daughter of a citizen. It often happened that, in conse
quence of this, the first received more abundant alms, and
thus had it in her power to make a greater display. The
other, in order to become a participant in these charities, took
upon herself a double portion of the inconveniences of the
journey—she carried all the luggage, and did the cooking
when they stopped, while her companion reposed. As they
traveled throngh France, one day at noun they perceived a
magnificent chateau before them and made their way toward
it. They stopped at the garden wall, rested a moment, and
then undid their bundles, for the purpose of changing their
dress. AVhile this was being done, the following dialogue
took place between them :
Captain's Widow. —“ Now I put my trust and hopes in
the good nobleman to whom this castle belongs.”
Lieutenant's Widow (sighing.)—“l put my trust in
God.” __
Captain's Widow. —“ And lin the nobleman. I feel as
sured that he will give us a good dinner, and a handsome
sum to help us on our way. As for me, 1 can, as I u&ed to
do, take my place at the table in the mansion, while you will
eat with the domestics, as you have been accustomed to do
from your youth ; and if you have but enough, you are con
tented.”
Lieutenant's Widow (looking upward.)—“l put always
my trust in Him, and he has not yet altogether forsaken me.”
Captain'B Widotc. —•“ If I were not travelling with you, it
would happen to you often to fare badly.”
Lieutenant's Widow. —“ Is not that God’s providence ?
Is it not wholly his work, when lie softens your good heart,
that it may feel kindly toward me ? ”
Captain'B widow. —“ If you choose to take that view of it,
you have cause for so doing. AV liat Ido for you, Ido cheer
fully, and wiH continue to do it. (looking toward the cha
teau.) A beautiful and noble building! It does its possessor
honor, and I will wager what you will that he must be a man
of noble sentiments. I trust to his liberality, and lam sure
that my confidence in him will not go unrewarded.”
The wayfarers had stopped exactly at that part of the gar
den wall, where the lord of the castle had built a small pleas
ure house, on account of the fine view it commanded. This
he visited, generally, every fine morning, and was there,
when the two widows arrived—liad heard unseen, and in si
lence, the conversation that had taken place between them ;
and his pride was hugely flattered, that the Captain's widow
had rested her reliance so trustingly upon his liberality, lie
resolved, upon the spot, that her confidence in him should be
rewarded to the full extent of her hopes. As he found that
they were going to enter the chateau, he hastened to it,
through the garden, and was ready to deceive them, which
he did with great condescension—showed much compassion
for their melancholy situation, invited them “to dine, and
conducted them to a chamber on the first flo6r. Here he
left them to their repose, and went to the kitchen, where he
gave orders that a good dinner should be prepared for both,
and among other dishes, he ordered two tarts, in one of which
twenty pieces of gold were to be put, and when they were
ready, he ordered the servant who was to place them on the
table, that he should place the one with the gold before the
Captain's widow, and the other before her companion.
When everything was ready, and the dinner served up,
the nobleman repaired to the room above, through the floor
of which was a hole, according to the fiishion of that day,
through which he could see and hear wliat might pass be
tween his two guests. At first they spoke but little, for they
were both very hungry, and ate with appetite. Now and
then, when a fresh dish appeared, the Captain’s widow was
delighted, and would ask her companion, in a tone of raillery,
if she bad not prophesied truly; as their noble entertainer
gave more than they could possibly have expected. “ And
be assured,” she added, “ that the present he will make us
in money will correspond with the entertainment, and we
shall not be again under the necessity of soliciting alms of
common people.”
At last the two tarts were brought in, and the servant, as
ordered, placed the one filled with gold before the Captain’s
widow, and left the room, that he might not be a restraint up
on the conversation of the travelers.
“ And tarts too,” said the Captain’s widow., filled with
astonishment; “they are my favorite dish. It is long since
I ate of them, and now I will indemnify myself for the priva
tion. Long life tq our hospitable host! ” She endeavored
to cut the tart, but found it hard and heavy. “ Oh, the
vile cook,” she exclaimed, “ he has atone blow destroyed my
pleasure and my appetite. The tart is villainously baked; it
is heavy as lead. I could d<> it hotter myself: it ought to be
u ii s ht os a leather.” (To the Lieutenant’s widow.) “ Let
me see if yours is not better done.” (She took the other
tart and weighed it in her hand.) “ Oh, yes! this is light
and nice. We will exchange. Your stomach can better re
concile itself to such diet, than mine.” And without waiting
for her companion to reply she exchanged the tarts, and had
eaten a good slice just as the other had opened hers, out of
which fell pieces of gold upon the table.
Lieutenant's Widow (astonished.) —“ Good Heavens !
what is this ? And here is yet more! ”
Captain's Widow. —“ It is gold, and so much of it!—
whence did it come ? Was it in my tart ? ”
Lieutenant's Widow. —“ Yes, it was in the tart. And
just see, there is still more of it.”
Captain's Widow. —“ Give it to me. It is all mine. The
precious, generous nobleman, has intended it as a present to
me,” (wishing to take the dish.)
The Nobleman, (speaking from above.) “No, no! The
gold belongs to the Lieute a it’s widow. Iliad, it is true, in
tended it for her who trusted so confidently in my liberality,
but God has directed otherwise; it is manifest that the re
ward-should follow the trust reposed in Ilim, and 1 will not
counteract his designs. The gold belongs entirely to the
Lieutenant’s widow.”
Cunkitios v.r >..0 ir ine hulk ot the human
race are always to remain as at present, slaves to toil, in
which they have no interest, and therefore feel no interest;
drug'mg from early morning till late at night for bare neces
saries, and with all the intellectual and moral deficiencies
which that implies; without resources either in mind or feel
ing; untaught, for they cannot be better taught than fed; sel
fish, for all their thoughts are required for themselves; with
out interest or sentiments as citizens and members of society,
and with a sense of injustice rankling in their minds, equally
for what they have not and what others have; I know not
what there is which should make a person of any capacity of
reason concern himself about the destinies of the human race.
—John Mill.
From the Lynn Pioneer.
HOME, SHEET HOME.
I am anxious to say a few words about home.—
Tbe song tells us “there is no place like it.” And
the song is right. But how few homes there are in
the world! Or how many homes which are no
homes ! It is enough to make a person sick to think
of it. Not one home in ten is deserving of the name,
and what wonder! Look at it.
A young man meets a pretty face in a ball room,
falls in love with it, “ marries it,” goes to house
keeping with it, and boasts of having a home to go
to, and a wife. The chances are, nine to ten, he has
neither. Her prety face gets to be an old story —or
becomes faded or freckled or fretted—and as that
face was all he wanted, all he paid attention to, all
he set up with, all he bargained for, all he swore to
love, honor and protect —he gets sick of his trade;
knows a dozen faces which he likes better; gives up
staying at home, evenings; consoles-himself with
cigars, oysters, whiskey punch, and politics, and
looks upon his home as a very indifferent boarding
house. A family of children grow up about him;
but neither he nor his face knows any thing about
training them; so they come up belter skelter—
made toys of when babies, dolL when boys and
drudges when young Men and women, and so passes
year after year, and not one quiet, happy, hearty
homely hour is known throughout the whole house
hold.
Another young man becomes enamored of a “for
tune.” He waits upon it to parties, dances the polka
with it, exchanges billet doux with it, pops the ques
tion to it, get “yes” from it, is published to it, takes it
to the parson’s, weds it, calls it wife, carries it home,
sets up an establishment with it, introduces it to his
friend!*, and says (poor fellow !) and he, too, is mar
ried and he has got a home. It’s a lie. lie is not
married ;he has no home. And he soon finds it out.
He is in the wrong box, but it is too late to get out
of it. lie might as well hope to escape from his
coffin. Friends congratulate him, and he has to
grin and bear it. They praise the house, the furni
ture, the cradle, the new Bible, the newer baby, and
then bid the furniture and him who husbands it
good morning. Good morning !asif he had known
a good morning since he and that gilded fortune
were falsely declared to be one.
Take another case. A young woman is smitten
with a pair of whiskers. Curled hair never before
had such charms. She sets her cap for them. They
take. The delighted whiskers makes an offer, first
one, then the other, proffering themselves both in
exchange for her her heart. The dear miss is over
come with magnanimity, closes the bargain, carries
home the prize, shows it to pa and ma, calls herself
engaged to it, thinks there never was such a pair
(of whiskers) before, and in a few weeks they are
married. Married! yes, the world calls it so, and
we will. What is the result ? A short honey-moon,
and then the unlucky discovery that they are as un
like as chalk and cheese, and not to be made one,
though all the priests in Christendom pronounced
them so.
There are many other kinds of ill-assorted mar
riages and they all result in unhappy homes. What
else could be expected? Young folks get their
ideas of the holiest relation in life, from the novel.
Or when this is not the case, they in most instances,
have no idea at all of it, but are governed in thier
choice and conduct by their feelings, their passibns,
their imagined interests. Thus the marriage union
is prostituted throughout the civilized world, and
the terrible retribution is seen in myriads of discor
dant and disordered households. Home, which
should be the most beautiful of places, is shunned
by thousands as a pest house. Children finding no
enjoyment beneath the parental roof, seek for it in
places of public resort, become corrupted in their
manners and morals, and are ruined. To this cause,
more than to almost any other can be traced the
immorality of our youth. Look at this town?—
see the hundreds of dirty faced brats which swarm
our streets, and insult every passer by with impu
nity! Have they homes which are homes? No!
They have places where they stay o’nights, eat, get
scolded and whipped; but as for the purifying in
fluence of home, they are strangers to it. Their
fathers and mothers are no more than light and
darkness, or fire and powder. It is so in all our
towns ; it is so everywhere.
O, what a delight it is—if it were only for the
rarity of the thing—to enter a house where hus
band and wife are one, and the whole family are
united together in the bonds of love! There al
ways is peace, there always is heaven itself. Sor
row there will be of course, for shade is every where
as inevitable as sunshine; but alike in sorrow and
in joy—possibly more in sorrow than in joy—the
true home, the home which is home, is a scene of
the utmost beauty. It is the pure domestic influ
ence which the world mainly needs for its purifica
tion. These noisy sects, these swelling parties, con
ceited orators, may all do a required work, but the
one thing needful is the calm, serene, yet resistless
influence of home. Show me a family of children
brought up in the pure atmosphere of such a place,
led into the paths of light and love bv a kind
mother, directed to scenes of honorable ambition
by a wise father, disciplined in all pure affections
by the sweet intercourse of brother and sister, and
the offices of good neighborhood, and you show me
a family whose characters will do more towards
elevating the moral sentiments of the community,
and unloosing its bands of w ickedness, than could
be effected by all the organizations into which poor
human nature ever has been dove-tailed.
Dfjiarhtmit.
The Stick of Sealing M ax.
“There now, I have finished my letter,” said Al
fred’s little sister, as she folded up a neatly w ritten
sheet; “will you seal it for me, papa ?”
“Oh, let me seal it, do let me seal it for Fanny,”
said Alfred, taking up some sealing-wax that lav
on the table, “I am so fond of sealing letters.”
44 Ii* it rrill atfor<i ynn any YOU nifty,
certainly,” said his father, “shall I lend you mv
seal.”
“No, I thank you, papa, the letter is to be sealed
w ith my own little seal, if you please,” said Fanny,
“because of the motto that is upon it —‘Ropendez
vite,’ reply quickly. I am writing to mamma, to
tell her that I hope she will come home next week,
and that I w ish her to write to me before she
comes home. There, now I have lighted the little
wax taper, and there is my seal, brother, the seal
that papa bought for us when we were at Chelten
ham last summer.”
The letter, being quite completed, was presently
sealed with Fanny’s favorite seal.
“See how cleverly Alfred has done it!” said she
holding it toward her father. But her father was
engaged in looking in his writing desk for some
thing else; he presently turned to Alfred and desi
red him to rub the stick of sealing wax as quickly
as he could upon the sleeve of his coat.
Alfred laughed and did as his father had desired.
“I do so, because you desire me to do so, papa,”
said he, “and because I always like to do wliat you
desire me to do, but what reason you can possibly
have for wishing me to rub this sealing-wax upon
the sleeve of my coat, I cannot imagine.
“Now hold it toward these little bits of paper
which are spread out on the table,” said Mr. A.
without noticing his remark.
Alfred did so, and the pieces of pajier were, to
the astonishment of the children, immediately
drawn toward it, raised on an end, and otherwise
put in motion.
“I never saw pieces of paper jump before, papa,”
said little Fanny, laughing at the novelty of such an
appearance.
“ Jump /” said Alfred, laughing still more, “you
would not say they jumped, would you, papa ?
though, to tell the truth, I can scarcely say what
word should be used in its place.”
, “They are attracted ,” said his father—“attracted
toward the sealing-wax.”
“But what can possibly have produced this ef
fect ? Perhaps the sealing-wax was not quite cold,
for you know I had just been sealing Fanny’s letter
with it; and this might make it attract the paper.”
“But the paper does not stick to it, as it would
do if the wax had been warmed in the candle,” said
his father, “you may easily shake it off, if you
please. There, warm it again in the flame of the
taper, and try the effect.”
“Alfred did so, and the little bits of paper of
course stuck firmly to it, so firmly, that he could
not take them oft’.
“Now rub the other end of the sealing-wax once
more upon your coat, and convince yourself that
the effects produced by friction and by the heat of
the candle are different, very different,” said his
father.
Alfred complied with his father’s desire, and the
little bits of [taper were affected just in the'same
manner as they had been at first.
“Here is an empty glass bottle,” said Mr. A.,
“rub it on the sleeve of your coat in the same man
ner, and then hold it over the bits of paper.”
The effect produced was similar to that produced
by the sealing-wax; the bits of paper were attracted,
toward the glass, and Mr. A. said that if the expe
riment had been made in the dark, the glass and
the wax would have exhibited faint sign ot light.
It now remained to seek the cause of so curious
an effeet. Alfred appealed, as usual, to his father.
“The power thus excited,” said Mr. A., “is called
electric , and the the little light which I have just
told you might be perceived emanating from the
wax had the experiment been made in the dark, is
called the electrical fire, or fluid. I have often told
you that we must cultivate habits of observation
and reflection, in order to aid us in the acquisition
of knowledge. Mr. Boyle was the first who had a
glimpse of the electric fluid; as he remarked, after
rubbing some diamonds, that they afforded light in
the dark. This observation led to reflection, and
the various electric properties of bodies became an
object of curiosity-”
This electrical fire or fluid is one of the most
wonderful in nature, and the earth, and almost all
bodies with which we are acquainted, are supposed
to contain a certain quantity of it, though it seems
to lie dormant until put in action by rubbing or
friction, and then, as 1 have already said, it appears
like lire. The bodies over which it passes freely
are all metals, and most animal and vegetable sub
stances, all of which are called conductors of electri
city, as air and water are conductors of sound. But
this peculiar fluid will not pass over glass, sulphur,
charcoal, silk, baked woods, or dry woolen substan
ces; all these bodies, therefore, are called non-con
ductors.
“Is sealing-wax a conductor, father ?”
“No, my dear, I was going to tell you that heat,
produced by friction and moisture, renders all sub
stances conductors, and that it was in consequence
of the heat produced by the friction on the woolen
cloth, of which your coat is made, that the sealing
wax became one. Here is a piece of amber,” con
tinued he, opening a little drawer in his escritoire,
‘this contains the same properties as sealing-wax;
I mean, that on being rubbed, it acquires electric
powers. The ancients were well acquainted with
them, and the name electricity is derived from a
Greek word, electron , signifying amber.”
Two Scenes from Real Life.
TIIF BOOT-BLACK AND THE COLLEGE PRESIDENT.
Some score of years since, the Fresideut of a w ell
known College in Kentucky, was one morning,
while sitting in his study, astonished by the en
trance of a singular visitor.
Ihe a isitor was a boy of some seventeen voars,
rough and uncouth in his appearance ; dros.'ed in
coarse homespun, with thick clumsy shoes on his
< et, an old tattered felt hat on his head, surmount
ing a mass of uncombed hair, which relieved swarthy
and sunburt features, marked by eyes quick and
sparkling, but vacant and inexpressive from the
want of education. The whole appearance of the
ymith was that of an untaught—uncultivated plough-
The President, an affable and venerable man, in
quired into the business .of the person who stood
before him.
“If you please, sir,” said the ploughbov, with all
the hesitancy of an uneducated rustic, “if you
please sir, 1 and like to get some larnin. I heard you
had a college in these parts, and I thought if I
would work a spell for you, you would help me now
and then in gettin’ an education.”
ell, my young friend,’ replied the President,
“ I scarely can see any way in which you might be
useful to us. The request is something singular—”
U J>v, I can bring water, cut wood, black your
boots,” interrupted the boy, his eyes brightening in
Ins earnestness. “ I want to get an education—l
want to make something of myself. I don’t keer
how hard I work only so as to git an education. I
want ”
He paused at a loss for words to express his ideas,
j there was a language in the expressive lip, and
the glancing eye; there was a language in his man
ner, in the tone in which the words were spoken,
that appealed at once to the Professor’s feelings.
He determined to try the sincerity of the youth.
” I am afraid, my young friend, that f can do nothing
tor you. I would like to assist you, but I can see
no way in which you may be useful to us at pres
ent.” • 1
The President resumed his book. In a moment
he glanced his eye at the ploughbov, who, silent
•and mute, stood holding the handle of the door.—
lie fingered his rough hat confusedly with’ one
hand—lns eyes were downcast, and his upper lip
quivered and trembled as though he were endeav
oring to repress strong and sudden feelings of in
tense disappointment. The effort was but half suc
cessful. A tear emerging from the downcast eye
lid, rolled over the sunburnt cheek, and w ith a quick
and nervous action, the ploughboy raised his toil
hardened hand, and brushed away the of re
gret.
He made a well meant but awkward mark of
obeisance, and opened the door, had one foot across
the threshold, when the President called him back.
The ploughboy was in a few minutes hired as
inan-of-all-work, and bootblack to the Colletro
* * * * * *
Ihe next scene which we give the reader was in
anew and magnificent church, rich with the beau
ties ot architecture, and tlironged with an immense
crowd, who listened in deatli-like stillness to the
burning eloquence of the minister of Heaven, who
delivered the mission of his Master from the altar.
Ihe speaker was a man in the full glow of mid
dle age,. of striking and impressive appearance,
piercing intellectual eye, and high intellectual fore
head.
Every eye is fixed upon him—every lip is hushed,
and every ear, with nervous intensity, drinks in the
eloquent teachings of the orator.
in all that throng would recognise, in the
famed, the learned, the eloquent President of
College, Pennsylvania, the humble bootblack of
College, in Kentucky !
is your Name ?—Three wild mudlarks,
were recently captured by a voung divine and
brought into Sunday School in New York.
“ What is your name, my boy ? ”
“ Dan,” replied the untaught one, who was first
interrogated.
“ Oh, no, your name is Daniel, say it now ”
“ Daniel.”
“ Yes: well, Daniel, take that seat.”
“ And what is your name \ ” was interrogated
of number two.
“ Sam,” ejaculated the nrchin.
“Oh dear, no, it is Samuel; sit down, Samuel;
sit down, Samuel, and now let us hear what your
name is, my bright little fellow i ” said he, turning
to the third. b
With a grin of self satisfaction, and a shake of
the l head that would have done honor to Lord
Burleigh, the yonng eacthumen, boldly replied:
Jim-ual, be Jabers! ’ —Afcw York Sjvril of the
Times.
A Slip Up.—An Irishman slipped up and came
down “ broadside” upon his back, recently, which
stilled his breath a minute or two, besides bruising
his head considerably. Recovering, he jumped
threw himself into a fighting attitude, shook his fists
at the ice, as it he was about to take summary’ ven
geance upon the slippery substance, and, with violent
gestures and threatening voice, exclaimed,—“ Faith,
and ye’ll take a sweat for this before Jnne, sure !
Alb. Knickerbocker.
A negro once gave the following toast:—De Croh
ernor ob de State—he come in wid berry little op
position—he go out wid none at all.”
NO. 4.
