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VOL. I. ®s©:sm srjmafl i publlihed, every Thursday afternoon, in Macon, Ga. on the follow* CONDITIONS : If paid strictly in atlrance - - $- 50 per annum. If not o paid - • * - 300 “ “ Legal Advertisements will be made to conform to the following pro visions of the Statute Saits of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Guard ians, are required by law to be advertised in a public gazette, sixty davs 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 Bales of Personal Property must l>e advertised in like manner for ty da v. ’ Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty 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 tktrtg days f or Dismission from Administration, monthly, six months —for Dis mission from Guardianship,/rty days. Rules iat 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, the full space of three months. Professional and Business Cakds, inserted, according to the iollow mg scale : . for 4 lines or less per annum - - $• 00 in advance. “ fi line* * “ * * * < 00 “ M| |J U “ $lO 00 * u j-y Transient Advertisements will be charged sl, per square of 12 lines or less, for the first and 50 rts. 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. r'if- AH letters except those containing remittances must be post paid or free. Postmaster* and others who will act ns Agents for the “Citizen” in,iy retain2o percent, for their trouble,on all cash subscriptions for warded. OFFICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the Market. .. . j£=::r: :Z >ijijc poffn Corner, FOR THE “GEORGIA CITIZEN.’’ (From a volume of unpublished poems in Manuscript.) GOOD T. BY T. 11. CHIVKItS, M. D. Now the Nighingale sits singing, By liis Rose-bud in the grove, While the I leavens above are ringing With his river-song of love. Like the wild Swan on the ocean, Circled with her Cygnets white, Star-engirdled, with soft, motion, Sails the Moon through Heaven to-night. Good night, my Love! my dearest! 1 ligh heaven of my delight! Os all things brightest, fairest! . My Beautiful —good night! Go—while thou art softly sleeping By the clear Elysiun streams, I will be awake here weeping By the “ Ivory gate of l Ireams.” Angels, like the stars in number, Watchers from their Courts of Light, Sing around thy peaceful slumber Through the beautiful good night. Good night, my Love ! my dearest! High heaven of my delight ; Os all things brightest, fairest! My Beautiful —good night 1 • While the odorous flowers are closing Their soft petals in the dew, Thou wilt be in bed reposing— I awake in mine for you. Take, Oh, take to your soft bosom! Faithful Nurse of my Delight! This sweet Lily-bell in blossom, And preserve her there, Good Night ! Good night, my Love! my dearest! High heaven of my delight! Os all things brightest, fairest! My Beautiful —good night! Here we both stand broken hearted, Loaning on each other's heart; For in parting we seem parted, dust to think that we must part. See! the pale, cold Moon is waning— Sinking softly from our sight— While our souls are here complaining For the loss of our good night! Good night, my Love! my dearest! High heaven of my delight! Os all things brightest, fairest! My Beautiful —good night! Where the Nightingale sits singing By his rose-bud in the grove, While the Heavens above are ringing With his river-song of love; While my soul is left here sighing Out its song for my Delight, I now hear her voice replying Unto mine, “My Love ! good night! ” Good night, my Love! my dearest! High heaven of my delight ! Os all things brightest, fairest! My Beautiful—good night! U —.ii —i Sketch of Jenny Lind. Berlin, March 18, 1850. It is confidently reported and credited that Jen ny Lind will visit America during the coming year. In anticipation of that event, 1 take the liberty of translating some sketches of her life, collected from the most authentic sources : —After singing in all the neighboring towns, and often approaching so that we could almost hear the warbling of her ftoice, and then disappearing in the most tantalizing manner, the Swedish Nightingale has at length sought a resting place in Berlin. \V ho hits not heard of Jenny Lind, the most remarkable appari tion in the music world; who, through the aid of natural genius, has gained a height above which no one ever ascended ? She was born in Stockholm, Oct. 6, 1821. Her mother had established there an institution tor ffirls, in which her father, a learned linguist, took Prt. As her parents were without fortune, they “ere obliged to turn their whole attention to this school. Already in her third year was awakened in ‘he child an irresistible affection for singing. Every m<-lody was seized upon with accuracy, and repeat ed with such purity that it attracted universal at tention. From year to year this passion for music increased, and Jenny’s destiny foretold itself, un known to herself and her parents, in her every word nnd action. Naturally inclined to earnest silence, and quiet thought, music appeared to have been given by rovidence to the pale and homely child, as a gilt, rn<l ans ot which she could gain the sympathy oid affection of mankind. An actress named Lund •Tg, chanced to hear the child’s voice, and was so surprised, with it that she besought the parents, es- pecially the mother, to dedicate her to the stage. Croelius, a well known music teacher in Stock holm, was also delighted that he was instrumental in having her placed at a school where music was taught to those who were intended for the theatre. Soon afterwards Jenny Lind appeared upon the stage, and aroused an enthusiasm which until this moment has been unknown. Moving slowly for ward, borne on by the applause which accompanied every representation, Jenny reached her 12th year, and with it the sudden end of the rosy dream which earnest life had begun to awaken in the approach ing woman. Jenny passed the age of childhood, and matured to higher tasks—appeared to have reached the termination of her career, the public forgot the sensation which she had occasioned, and only complained that such bright anticipations were swallowed up in disappointment. The young girl, whose pleasure in life was music, bore the loss of her voice with silent resignation. ebster’s Agatha had been from youth her ideal; her brighest dreams, her keenest wishes were to be able sometime to sing this part. Thus four years passed away. It chanced at a concert at which the fourth act of Meyerbeer’s ‘“Robert” was to he per formed, no one could be found to take the part of Al ice, who has to sing a short and not very well known solo. And no one would undertake such an insignificant part, the teacher bethought himself of his poor scholar and hastened to her, to ascertain if it would he possible for her to sing it. With trembling happiness and a throbbing heart, Jenny undertook, w hat seemed to her a great effort, to sing this little measure. Suddenly—with what magic ! —the long lost voice returned; the electrified audi ence recognised the tones of their former favorite, and overpowered the fortunate Jenny with endless applause. \\ ho can describe her happiness as the delighted teacher declared that now she must sing the part of Agatha ? At bist she had attained her wish. A gatlia in “Freischutz,” was the first opera part in which Jenny appeared upon the stage in Stockholm. After that time her fate was various. She sung in opera after opera, and as the public wished to hear no one else, she struggled privately, and with her teacher, with the inflexibility of her voice. All this did not conquer the obstinate talent, although she worked upon it like a sculptor upon marble. Af ter she had sung in different casts for a year and a half, and had shown wonderful perseverance, she felt that if she wished to attain perfection inartis tic skill she must lay yet another hand upon the work. An irresistable desire seized her to seek the greatest teacher of music in Europe, Garcia, in Bar is. But how carry out this wish ? Where find the means to run tlie hazard of giving up her engage ments and living two or three years in Paris ? Re fusing every proffered aid, she undertook, in her own way, and by her own talent, to accomplish the un dertaking. She employed the vacation time of the Theatre in travelling with her father through all the larger and smaller towns of Sweden and Norway; aroused everywhere the greatest enthusiasm, and returned soon to Stockholm w ith abundant means to perfect her plan. She declared to the directors her resolu tion, gave them satisfactory results and obtained the desired release. Arrived in Paris, her first vis it was to Garcia, whose threshold she sought with feverish anxiety. Now she stood before the master upon whose de cision hung her whole future. She sung; Garcia listened without token of pleasure or displeasure. — Then, as she ended, he said quietly, “My child, you have no voice,” or, correcting himself- —“You have had a voice, and are now 7 on the point to lose it. Do not sing a note for three months, and then come to me again.” With this comfortless answer she left the house of the man upon whose instruction she had built all her hopes. Three long months Jenny Lind li ved in deep solitude, with feelings ot utter diseon solation. ‘“I lived upon my tears and upon the an guish of homesickness,” said she once as she spoke of her residence in Paris. At the appointed time she went again to Garcia, who found that her voice was restored. The lessons commenced, and that she enjoyed them only nine months is a proof how great and extensive her industry must have been. Scarcely a year bad passed away since Jenny Lind hail left her home, when one of her countrymen, an ingenious composer, came on behalf of the Direc tors and the public to ask her return to her native city. Through this messenger’s agency she made the acquaintance of Meyerbeer, whose experienced eye instantly detected, under her modest and unas suming manner, her real worth, and from whom she received a request to make an engagement for Ber lin. But her longings towards her father land and her promised word bore her back to Stockholm, where she now appeared as a finished artist, and at ouce became the pride of her native city. In the midst of her triumphs, she received an invitation to he present at the opening of anew opera house in Ber lin. Jenny Lind thought with pain upon this sec ond departure from her home, —still she accepted the invitation, and after aiding with her talents at the coronation of the King of Sweden, she took leave at a representation which eye witnesses de clare to have been a feast of joy and sadness, — was more weeping than applause; it was as when a dearly loved child leaves the bosom of his family.” Thousands of men filled the streets at her departure. Every one wished to see her once more, and never has a public so sincerely mourned the loss of a favorite as Stockholm the departure of Jenny Lind. In October, 1844, Jenny Lind came to Berlin where she appeared first in Norma, and subsequent ly enjoyed a triumph w ithout parallel in the history of the stage. It is one of the anecdotes related in this city, that, at the rekersal on the occasion of her first appearance in Berlin, the orchestra were so de lighted that they stopped in the midst of one of the songs, and throwing down their instruments, ap plauded her for several minutes. The world has heard more of Jenny Lind during the last few years than of any other artist, and it is unnecessary for me to pursue her history further. She sings no longer in the theatre, and frequenters of the opera are loud in their lamentations over what seems to them overstrained consciousness. A vast majority in America, however, will honor her for it, and greater demonstrations and more enthu siastic applause await her there than she has e\ ei experienced in Europe. Jenny Lind is by no means homely, she is neither too tall nor too short; foi m and figure faultless; hair dark auburn; eyes as elo quent as her voice—and her manner, that is inde scribable. She is so sweetly unaffected and natu ral in every movement, and her great goodness so clearly manifests itself, that von will yield at once, and acknowledge that all you have previously read “3nhtpcnhcnt in all things—Neutral in Notljing.” MACON, GEORGIA, THURSDAY EVENING, APRIL 25, 1850. and heard of her was but a faint tribute to her real worth. Her concerts in this city, and I believe all she lias given during the last four months, have been for the benefit of various charitable institutions.— She seems to regard her talent as a gift from Hea ven, to be used only for the good of her fellow-crea tures, and it is difficult to say whether she has been more blest in her voice than in her heart. For once we can gratify our taste for music—can hear the greatest singer, and feel at the same time that what we bestow goes to enrich one of the best and kind est of women. It is not known when Jenny Lind intends to take her departure for America: you will probably hear of her determination before it is made known in Europe. The most extravagant stories are in circu lation in refer ence to the immense sum which some American has agreed to give her before she leaves this country; it affords conclusive proof to the Ger mans that ours is indeed a land of gold, and that the Americans are the most astounding people on the globe. The curious notions, and at the same time exalted opinions entertained by the Germans of our country, I will endeavor to give you in some future letter. Kindness (he best Punishment, A Quaker, of exemplary character, was disturbed at night by footsteps around his dwelling; and he arose from his bed, and cautiously opened a back door to reeonoitre. Close by was an out-house and under it a cellar, near a window of which was a man busily engaged in receiving the contents of his pork barrel from another within the cellar. The old man approached, and the man outside fled. He step ped to the cellar window and received the pieces of pork from the thief within, who, after a little while, asked his supposed accomplice, in a whisper, “Shall we take it all i ” The ow ner of the pork said softly, “ Yes, take it all”—and the thief industriously hand ed up the remainder through the window, and then came up himself. Imagine his consternation when instead of greeting his companion in crime, he was confronted by the Quaker. Both were astonished ; for the thief proved to be a near neighbor, whom none would have suspected of such conduct. He pleaded for mercy, begged the old man not to ex pose him, spoke of the necessities of poverty, and promised faithfully never to steal again. “ If thou hadst asked mo for meat,” said the old man, “it would have been given thee. I pity thy poverty and thy weakness, and esteem thy family. Thou art forgiven.” The thief was greatlv rejoiced, and was about to depart, when the old man said, “ Take the pork, neighbor.” “No, no,” said the thief, “ I don’t want the pork.” “ Thy necessity was so great that it led thee to steal. One half of the pork thou must take with thee.” The thief insisted he could never eat a morsel of it. The thoughts of the crime would make it choke him. He begged the privilege of letting it alone. — But the old man was inexorable, and furnishing the thief with a bag had half the pork put therein and laving it on his back sent him home with it. He met his neighbor daily, for many years afterwards ; and their families visited together, but the matter was kept a secret; and though in after times the circumstance was mentioned, the name of the delin quent was never known. The punishment was se vere and effectual. It was probably the first, it was certainly the last attempt made by him to steal. Had the man been arraigned before a court of justice, and imprisoned for the petty theft, how different might have been the result! His family disgraced, their peace destroyed, their character ruined, and his spirits broken. Revenge, n<>t peni tence, would have swayed his heart, the scorn of the world would have darkened his future; and in all probability lie would have entered upon a course of crime at w’hich, w hen the first offence was committed, his soul would have shuddered. And what would the owner of the pork have gained ! Absolutely nothing. Kindness was the best punishment, for it saved while it punished. ■■■pmimbm——i—gawaanat Hi'juirhitfiit. NUMERATION. Tutor. Well boys, to-day we are to begin Arith metic. 1 hope you are come determined to learn it. Charles. I wish to understand it above all tilings; but they say it is very difficult, and that some nev er can understand it. Tutor. I know it is said so; but do not believe it. It is only an excuse invented by indolence, to palliate ignorance. Every body can learn arithme tic, who gives his attention to it. Only give me your whole attention, and I will engage to teach you, not only how to perform the operations of arithmetic, but why they are so performed. George. If that is all I long to begin; you may depend upon my attention. Tutor. I like your ardor, and will begin the lesson at once. The first thing is to learn to write numbers. This is called Numeration. We have but nine figures to express all possible numbers. I will write them on the slate, and see if you can tell what they are. Look Charles, 1,2, 3,4, 5,6, 7, 8, 0. Charles. I have learned them already: They are one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. George. So have I: but I cannot see how these few figures can express all the numbers in the world. Tutor. That is just w hat I was going to explain. The reason is, because we only count up to ten, and then repeat. Charles. But you have not shown us how to write ten. Tutor. I write it thus: 10. But here is no new figure. The oon the right, is called a cipher or voucjht. The other nine are called significant fig ures, to distinguish them from this, which, by itself, has no signification. You will see the use of it by and by. But first let me explain what I mean by saying w r e repeat after every ten. You have always done it in counting, though perhaps you have never thought of it. Reflect a moment. When you have counted ten, you go hack to one, and take in all the figures up to nine;thus, ten and one, are eleven; ten and two, are twelve ; ten and three, are thirteen; ten and four, are fourteen; and so on up to twenty, which is twice ten. There you begin again with one ; thus, twenty-one, or twice ten and one ; and so on to thirty, or three tens, you call it a hundred; and then repeat the hundred ufttil you come to ten hundreds, or a thousand. George. I understand, now, perfectly well what you mean by repeating after every ten ; but why would not any number, eight for instance, do just as well ? Tutor. lam glad you are inquisitive. I will tell you. Eight would have done just as well if all men had agreed to use it. But the reason why ten was selected, is, that when men first began to count, they made use of their fingers and thumbs, which are ten. When they wanted to go beyond ten, they began and counted over again. This is the reason why we now repeat after every ten. Charles. That is a very good reason, I almost wonder I never thought of it before. But, are you not jesting ? Was there really a time when men were so ignorant that they had to use their fingers in counting ? Tutor. O yes! Did you never hear that the savages of this continent could not reckon above five, and when they wished to express more, were in the habit of pointing to the hairs of their head? Nor is it wonderful; for simple as our system of nota tion may now seem to you, the invention of it, is one of the most wonderful productions of the hu man mind. If all the philosophers of the world, were to meet together, and do their utmost, they could not invent a system different from this, which would be as good as this is. They could not devise any method which would be so simple in its ele ments, and yet so infinite in its combinations. For as 1 have already said, there is no end to the values which these nine simple characters may be made to express ; and the key to the whole secret is their ten fold increase in value at every step, as you go from right to left. The first on the right, we call units, the second, tens, the third, hundreds; these three make the first period. Thus, 333, is read three hundred and thirty-three : where you see the sec ond 3 is worth ten times as much as the first, and the third 3 is worth ten times ten, or a hundred times as much as the first. George. But suppose I wished to write exactly three hundred, could I do it with one figure ? Tutor. Yes —but then you must show that the 3 occupies the third place, and that there are no tens or units ; and for this purpose, you make use of ciphers. This, indeed, is all ciphers are good for ; they merely show the absence of significant figures: thus, 300 is the expression you wanted. Charles. Now 1 understand the use of these in significant things. So, then if I wanted to write three hundred and three, 1 should express it thus, 303 ; putting the cipher between, to show that there are no tens. Tutor. Exactly so; and 330 implies that there are hundreds and tens, but no units. If you under stand this period well, you can understand all the rest: for the next period is formed of three figures, in the same way. The first right hand figure in this period, is thousands; the second, tens of thous ands—just as before, the first was units, the second, tens, and the third, hundreds : thus, 333,000, is read three hundred and thirty-three thousand. You know what the ciphers mean, George ? George. Yes: they show the absence of the first period by keeping its place. But nuppoae it’ l [iut the two periods together, thus, 333,333, it would read three hundred and thirty-three thous and three hundred and thirty-three : but what is the third period ? tell us that; and then I think I can put the three together. Tutor. It is just like the other, only the first fig ure to the right is called millions. George. Os course, then the second is tens of millions; and 333,000,000, is three hundred and thirty-three millions. Tutor. You are right. Now tell me if nume ration is not very simple, and if it is not truly won derful that such vast and various values can be ex pressed, bv the combinations of these few characters. George. It is indeed. I wonder that those who invented languages, had not done the same : Would it not be possible ? Tutor. It is said that the Chinese language does resemble our arithmetical numbers in its for mation. There are, however, strong objections to such a language. But you could not understand them yet, if 1 should state them: beside, the hour is out. To-morrow I shall explain addition. Mean time you must practice writing numbers until you become perfectly familiar with it. Nothing but practice can make you expert. We have only made use of the figure three and ciphers: but what is true of that, is true of every other. To-morrow, then, I shall expect to find you perfect in Numeration. Little Red Riding Hood. Once upon a time, a country girl lived in a village, who was the sweetest little creature that ever was seen; her mother naturally loved her with exces sive fondness, and her grandmother doated on her still more. The good woman had made for her a pretty little red colored hood, which so much be came the little girl, that every one called her Little Red Riding Hood. One day, her mother having made some cheese cakes, said to her, “Go my child, and see how grandmother does, for I fear she is ill; carry her some of these cakes and a little pot of but ter.” Little Red Riding Hood strait set out with a basket tilled with the cakes and the pot of butter, for her grandmother’s house,* which was in a village a little way off the town that her mother lived in.— As she was crossing a wood, which lay in her road, she met a large wolf, which had a great mind to eat her up, but dared not, for fear of some woodcutters, who were at work near them in the forest. Yet he spoke to her, and asked her whither she was going. The little girl, who did not know the danger of talk ing to a wolf, replied: I am going to see my grand mama, and carry these cakes and a pot of butter.” “Does she live far oft ? ” said the wolf. “Oh, yes!” answered Little Red Riding Hood; “ beyond the mill you see yonder, at the first house in the village.” “ Well” said the wolf, “ I will take this way, and you take that, and see which will be there the soonest.” The wolf set out full speed, running as fast as he Could, and taking the nearest way, while the little girl took the longest; and as she went along began to gather nuts, run after butterflies, and make nose gays of such flowers as she found within her reach. The wolf got to the dwelling of the grandmother first, and knocked at the door. “Who is there?” said some voice in the house. “It is your grand child, Little Red Riding Hood,” said the wolf, speak ing like the little girl as well as he could. “I have brought you some cheesecakes, and a little pot of butter, that mama has sent you.” The good old woman, who was ill in bed, called out, “ Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up.” The wolf pulled the bobbin, and the door went open: the wolf then jumped upon the poor old grandmother, and ate her up in a moment, for it was three days since he had tasted any food. The wolf then shut the door, and laid himself down in the bed, and waited for the Little Red Riding Hood, who very soon after reached the house. Tap! tap! “ Who is there ?” cried he. She was at first a little afraid at hearing the gruff voice of the wolf, but she thought that perhaps her grandmother had got a cold, so she answered: “It is your grand child, Little Red Riding Hood: mama has sent you some cheesecakes, and a little pot of butter.” The wolf cried out in a softer voice, “ Pull the bobbin, and the latch will go up.” Little Red Riding Hood pulled the bobbin, and the door went open. When she came into the room, the wolf hid himself under the bedclothes, and said to her, trying all he could to speak in a feeble voice : “Put the basket on the stool, my dear, and take off’ your clothes, and come into bed.” Little Red Riding Hood, who always used to do what she was told, straight undressed her self, and stepped into bed; but she thought it strange to see how her grandmother looked in her nightclothes, so she said to her: “Dear me, grand- what great arms you have got! ” “ They are so much the better to hug you, my child,” re plied the wolf. “But, grandmama,” said the little girl, “ what great ears you have got!” “ They are so much the better to hear you my child,” replied the wolf. “ But then, grandmama, what great eyes you have got,” said the little girl. “They are so much the better to see you, my child,” replied the wolf.— “And, grandmama, what great teeth you have got!” said the little girl, who now began to be rather afraid. “ They are to eat you up,” said the wolf; and saying these words the wicked creature fell up on Little Riding Hood, and ate her up in a moment. The Boy’s Monitorial School. There is a school so called in Boston, which had an exhibition at “ the Temple,” (a beautiful build ’ ing so named,) on the thirty-first day of last Decem ber. Although the room of “ the Temple” was quite large, such was the interest entertained for this exhibition that it was not large enough to hold the crowd of persons, who went,to see the performances. ()ne great charm of these exhibitions, is that the audience came to be pleased and amused rather than to sit as critics. The teacher warned the audience at the outset that the prevalent colds had kept away some of his best speakers, and several were present who ought to have been at home. But still the interest was kept up for three horn's, and the lads and young gentlemen aequited themselves well, every one of them. The speaking of the little boys was so natu ral, that it won the hearts of every one. The per formance spoke well for the discipline of the school, the good fellowship of the pupils, and the talent of the instructor, for he has no assistant in teaching this “ art of arts.” Several of the pieces spoken were original. We were amused with a funny piece spoken by a droll little fellow with a bad cold. THE FISHES’ TOILET. ’Tis said, a gallant bark that bore The cast off fashions of the day From la belle France to tills fair shore, Was stranded on the way, And all the stock of toilet ware, To mend the coarse or deck the fair, To the bottom went, and every fish That owned a whim, or felt a wish To imitate the lords of air, Rushed to the spot to get her share. The Lumpfish seized a pair of stays And squeezed the blood into her face ; The Eel , too lank on every side, A Bishop to her back applied ; The Frog-fish thrust her flippers wet Into a ruffled Pantalette ; The Flounder and her cousin Plaice , Put on a Frill of Brussels-Lace; The Chub while saying fie upon it, Tried on a pretty Cottage Bonnet; The Shark, to enlarge his mighty maw, Tied a large Pocket on before. The Carp to rail at those who pass, Hung round her neck a Quizzing Glass ; The Sculpins on their thorny heads, Tore ruffled Night-caps into shreds; The Whiting found of Rouge a box; The Graphng seized some Auburn locks: The Gold-fish on her interest bent, Seized on some Musk and made a Scent ; The Sun-fish seized a Parasol: The Seal a box of Wafers stole ; The Ale-wife , for her cask was low, Secured a bottle of Noyau ; A Cologne bottle pleased a Smelt; The Porpoise fat about the smelt, Sported a Fan; a sulky Pout Applied Rose Ointment to her snout; The Swell-fish finding it afloat, Put on a large Hooped Petticoat; The Lobster found some Pic-nic mita For his red claws no bad mis-fits : In fine, the fish around that shore Beat all that fish e’er did before; And if you don't believe it, with My word for’t—Go ask Dr. Smith. (Driginnl GLEANINGS FROM THE MEXICAN WAR, Or selected sketches from an unpublished work, written by one of the “ rank and file” during a twelve months’ campaign in 181 C-7. “O, spirit gay, and kindly heart! Precious the blessings ye impart.” We hope to show you, attentive reader, if you follow these sketches, tliat amidst life's most unpromising duties and hard ships, there are always presented aspects of human char acter, upon which the most depressed in spirit under the un toward circumstances, may dwell with pleasure. We should always carry with us “ a spirit gay,” and the very errors of our associates may furnish material for profitable reflection. The true practical philosopher is he, who taking the world in all its multiform aspects, just as he finds it, in his own cir cles, performs his part as a relative, social being, in accurate conformity with the dictates of an enlightened judgment and experience, without overweening respect for others who may never have observed human action under the influences at work in his particular community. We like bold and origin al thinkers ; and still more, the man who recognising the di rection which the head of the Universe stamps upon all sub lunary things, and the demand which this superinducing cause makes upon their own exertions and reasoning faculties, prepare themselves to meet with contented spirit the circum stances of their own lot in life. With these general views we have entered upon the priva tions of war-life ; and if it shall appear that we have gleaned many phases of human character overlooked by ordinary reapers in the field, or discarded by book-writers, it will not be difficult to determine the motives which enhance the value of our own humble reapings. In many of the leaves of these cursory sketches the same common sense view “ and kindly heart” will appear to liave had eontroling influence. We shall write our own impressions of men, and places, and things, as they come in our review before us. As to de tails and execution, our plan for these sketches is not fully de- fiued in our own mnd. Each number of the papers may bo expected to be distinct and unconnected with others. Asa whole, they will be discursive, and embrace m a brief view, many topics. Our plan may occasionally lead us into tho field of romance, but we hope to leave the line between truth and fiction so clear and a nd: it.inct that every reader may readily determine the character of each particular record. We shall animadvert or praise; and sketch scenes and character, genera! and personal, with a free pen. And if the record is not occasionally spicy and piquant, we have seen many good things to very little purpose ourselves. Tills is our preface, and all the promises we have to make have been indicated. It is important that we aver two ‘‘sav ing clausesthe first relating to ourselves particularly • and this we do by advertising all compeers in tlie campaign, that we enter upon this task of entertaining the patrons of the good “ Citizen” without the remotest purpose of wounding the feelings of any person ; and that if any issue so untoward should result from these pleasant reminiscences, and we are summoned before a “ court of honor,” we claim the privilege warranted by the numerous examples of recent affirrs , to adjust the difficulty in foro cjnscientier , or no where. Se condly, as to the reader, so often abused by trusting in tho promises of an author, he shall reserve the right, if a partic ular picture does not interest or amuse him, of withholding his unqualified condemnation until he seeks in the next, diver sion more to his taste. Do not in any e;'je blame tlie literary caterer, our good friend tho Editor, for he, like you, must take many effusions upon dubious recommendations, when he accepts papers upon an humble name, but seldom if ever whispered in coteriei of intelligent men. Much chaff must be winnowed before you find the wheat, if you apply the aphorism to the multifarious issues of the modern press; and to elevate the standard in this connexion, if you can fill the space occupied in the “ Cit izen” by those sketches, it is your duty, instead of wasting time in impotent imprecations upon one who offers a well meant effort, to give the aid of your own intellect and pen. SKETCH No. 1. MU RITZ METTERCII, A 3IAX OF MARK; OR THE SOLDIER WHO FOUND CAUSE TO REGRET 1118 ENLIST MENT. u Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt; And every grin so merry, draws one out.” Tlie subject of the following sketch, will be recognised by many who personally witnessed the incidents to be reviewed. The erratic habits of the man, together with his peculiar ro pugnance to the arduous duties of camp life in Mexico, stamp ed him an object of mark, not soon to be forgotten. Many a merry joke has been enjoyed at bis expense. In all that we have to say of Mauritz, it must be understood that we delineate the character of tlie man ; and although in the progress of the general plan, we may often be inclined to introduce the type of a class, it is not so to be understood in this case. The author who should attempt to detract one iota from the well merited praise of hundreds of our adopted cit izens, who followed the “ stars and stripes” through the nu merous ensanguined fields over which they were ultimately unfurled, would deserve the reprehension of all “ good men and true.” This sketch and its hero stands *ui generig : for whatever judgment we may award Mauritz, looking sole ly to his conduct and motives, we sliall in due time render full justice to his self-sacrificing countrymen who filled up thu chasms made in our regular and volunteer armies. Mauritz Metterch, as the name clearly Imports, was a Gor man by birth; and but a few years a resident of our Repub lic, when, on the commencement of hostilities with Mexico, he exchanged the needle (the emblem of his vocation) for the musket of the infantry service. Mauritz was emphatically a small man in every respect.— His ancestry were scarcely worthy his own memory, and in this connection who will forget the sentiment of Horace, For teg creantur fortibus. It will be seen tliat our hero did not reverse the aphorism. It is extremely questionable whether his own exertions would have ever raised him above driveling mediocrity among journeymen. Some men seem, ju Iging from all the mental exhibition., of strength developed in their lives, to have been born for the drudgery of mechanical pur suits. They seem never to comprehend liberty, even in a land in which the grand charter of human rights pronounces “ all men free and equal.” These persons make the best sol diers, for they are very easily incorporated into the human machine which only moves with the will of the master ma chinist. Your bold, self-willed, native born freeman is too fre quently refractory under tlie despotic rule of the military head ship of this machine. Standing .as erect as his physical conformation would allow, Mauritz was scarcely five feet high in his heavy brogans, and certainly did not weigh any great number of stone. His features face were not at all prepossessing, and emitted, accurately speaking, near about as many and as effulgent scintillations of intellect, as yon would rationally expect from the face of a white-washed monkey. After he had yielded to the persuasive blandishments of the stories of the recruiting sergeant, the mustering officer had many doubts about admitting his name upon the “muster roll,” on the ground of radical mal-conformation ; but eight dollars a month and “rations,” contrasted with the insignificant re - muneration of a very indifferent journeyman, incited Mauntx to unyielding importunities, until much in the spirit of the unjust Judge of the gospel, the officer consented to “ book him.” It will appear that Mauritz was not a man of muc h moral firmness or physical courage—not at all belligerently inclined, though entering the w ar-serviee. The phrenologist who should desire people to confirm his chart, would have pronounced the development of caution and timidity much more decided and full in the cranium of our hero than any other. However, on this point the reader of the sketch may be able to decide without calling in tlie aid of Fowler or any one of his erudite disciples. As we have intimated, Mauritz was rather wearied of the needle and goose, and cloths and coarse satinetts, whin tlie first inciting note of “the ear-piereing fife” and recruiting drum indicated anew field for the employment of his valua ble efforts. In connection with the aspect in which we have presented his character, it may not be a fruitless inquiry to search for the eontroling motives which induced the solicitude of our hero to enlist for Mexico and “glorious war.” There were other and distinct inducements eontroling his motives, than those already assigned. He had listened with breathlew interest to the florid descriptions of the salubrious and soft Italian climate of the %-alleys of Mexico, and while his fancy was captivated by these pictures, his mind was darkened as to the real hazard fingrantig belli. Ashe treasured up the disjointed chart of the country, gleaned from recruiting ser geants, the prominent {mints of observation, upon which his mental vision was ravished, were numermeus areas of fairy land, shaded by perennial groves of the most luscious fruits of the tropics. In certain quarters there was not a very forcible array of the onerous duties of camp life. It was a perspec tive picture that was presented to Mauritz, and w hile the fas cinating objects were prominent,the casualties of war-life were either greatly obscured by the adroit coloring of the main points of attraction, or greatly blurred in the remote back ground. Tlie man that had to win his position in the army with the number he could place upon its “muster roll,” soon learned how to draw and exhibit these pictures with the greatest effect. The German fradesfolks, by the way, Lave evinced, at home, a eommendabfo spirit for perfecting themselves in their voca tions and journey ings. It is not unfrequcntly the case, that the journeyman Las a practical acquaintance with moet of the cities of his own country, and it is not strange that they do not always remain contented at one place on this continent “No pent-up Utica contracts their powers"—and T. Bu!r NO. 5.