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VOL. I. ¥23 Bis a Jim mssh h publuheJ, every'Fridajv morning, in Macon, Ga, on the follow, CONDITIONS i If paid strictly iit advance * ?2 50 per annum If not so paid * *• 1 * 300 “ “ Advertiaententa will he made to conform to the following pro- Uions of the Statute:— Unlit of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Guard ing, are required by law to be advertised in a pubiic gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. These sales must be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between h hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the tAiurt House In the county In which the property is situated. fbc sale* of Personal Property must be advertised in like manner for ty days. Nonce tn Debtor* and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary tor leave to sell Land and Negroes, must be published weekly for four Months. Citations or Letters of Administration must be published (Airty days —fcr Dismission from Administration, monthly, six months —for Dis mission from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for foreclosure of mortgage, must be published monthly, for fuur months —for establishing lost papers, for the fall space of three m „ntk, for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators where t bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of three months. Professional and iiosiness Cars*, inserted, according to the follow ing scale: For 4 lines or less per annum * 1 55 60 in advance. “ fi lines “ “ * * * * 00 “ “ ulO - - 810 00 “ “ |-y Transient Advertisements will be charged $ I, per square of 12 lines or less, for the first and 50 cts. for each subsequent insertion.— On tliese rate* there will be a deduction of 20 percent, on settlement, when advertisements are continued 3 months, without alteration. All Letters except those containing remittances must be post paid or fete. Postmasters and others who will act as Agents for the “Citizen” may retain 20 per cent, for their trouble, on all cash subscriptions for warded. DPP ICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the Markst. tfljf port's Corner, From the Chambers's Edinburgh Journal. The Necromancy of the Past. BE CALDER CAMPBELL. Fruit* seem stveotcr when the season Os their flourishing is o’er; beetles are fairer, for the reason That we ne’er may see them more. Oft amid an orchard, swelling With red, fragrant apples, I Languish fi,r that Indian dwelling Where my eager youth went by: Languish for the mangoes golden— Sweet gnagas, pink at core— Or pomegranates, in ward holding Crimson kernels in rich store! Fa way*. in the sunshine, yellow, Clustering thick ’ninth foliage broad — Plniutuins, primrose-hud and mellow— Tamarinds that shroud the road ; Cmtnrd apples, white and milky, On a tree <>f stalwart frame ; yigs, the coolest ftuit that quenches Fevered lips ’noath tropic skies; And such flowers as no dew drenches ’Neath our northern Flora’s eyes! Wherefore prize the things we have not Thus above what we possess? These were mine, yet them they gave not To tile mind content, dness 1 In those days, l do remember How I longed for British land : The verv snows of home's December Warmed ’neatli fancy's genial hand! Cowslip* from the mead, primroses Gathered from the hillside dew, Morel prized than bright*! |Hsies Gleaned ‘nentli skies of cloudless blue! When the babool’s perfumed blossoms Swung their godlike tassels near, I bethought me of kind bosoms Decked with pinks and violets dear ; And the moogra, white and fragrant, Twined ‘mid hair as black as night, Seemed to fancy's dreaming vagrant Neither half so sweet or bright As the snowy lilies, treasured In our early summer day : Ah ! how seldom things are measured J ustly, till they pass away ! For the absent ever longing 5 On the past still lieaping praise, Bitterly the present wronging With complaint’s insensate lays; We bat throw athwart the future Shadows, sure to brood when all Echo's sweetest songs are muter Than lorn Silence in her hall! Why ja this ? Why place such v.aJvte On life's vainly-squandered gold ? Why, when gentle voices call you, Turn to those now dumb and cold? Why, when evt-ning’s shadows found us Faint tliy livid* “ f youth no more, Scorn the wreaths that may have crowned us For the thorn* within their core ? Subtleties of the affections We may question, aye in vain, Making still our heart-elections decisions of the brain. God hath given us tastes and feelings; And to regulate their choice, We must look for such revealings As Ilis will alone employs! Theories that prate of reason Asa study taught by men, Are like sudden sohemos 01 tronson Planned within a lion's den: One fierce, passionate experience Proves how fallacies are crushed, Jnt as traitor-tongues, at variance, ’Neath the lion's paws are hushed 1 Love, and joy, and innocent likings, Have their laws for hearts, not heads j The spider web of metaphysics Honest feeling tears to shreds 1 Christ at the Well. Weary from the weary way, ’Neath (he sultry Syrian sky, Lab'ring for the lieav’nly sway, Toiling for humanity, Christ sat down on Sychar's well, Emblem of Himself to prove, Fountain where the pilgrims fill Cup of everlasting love! W’hen the faith'ul twelve had sped, Seeking for their daily food, He had other table spread Forahungerer after God. When they bade the ‘ Master eat /* He had feasted well before : Brethren, His my better meat Sorting Hint yki sent me here I 1 .—„ — .. —• . . He had meanwhile broke the chain From a musing damsel's heart, — He can note the spirit's pains Ere the words those pains impart! He liad led the thirsting soul To the deeper well of grace, Drinking ‘neath its sweet control Strength to run the heav’nly race! Christian! when the spirit quails, ‘Neath the thronging pains and strife, Would you joy when all else fails? Wake some struggling soul to life! Finding treasures by the way Richest gold could never buy,— Gathering gems from day to day For thy glorious crown on high ! TO HENRY CLAY. BY MRS. SARAH T BOLTON. God speed thee, noble champion of the right, To do the glorious work that Heaven assigned— The world will bless thee for the radiant light That eininates from that transcendant mind. Thou art, true benefactor of mankind, Far greater in the evening of thy days Than when thy treasured name was first enshrined, Upon the altar where our country pays To tried, true sterling worth, the meed of worth and praise. Not with the banner and the flashing steel; Not with the battle clarion's thrilling tone ; Not with fanaticism’s purblind zeal, Is thy devotion to thy country shown. But with the eloquence of truth, alone Thou hast assayed to stay the restless hand, Whose haughty bearing and imperious tone Have added fuel recklessly, and fanned The fires that madmen erst enkindled o’er the land. Speak, for thy words of wisdom, true and warm, May check fanaticism's wild career— May stay the lightning of the gathering storm That threatens all that liberty holds dear. In thy true lit art there is no craven fear; And tilt u const make the path of duty plain— Speak, for thy listening country waits to hear The thunder oi’ thy mighty voice again— Thine eloquence, thank heaven, is never heard in vain. Spare not the traitor, whose envenomed heart M ould sell the glorious birthright God has given ; Would rend our bond of brotherhood apart, And vaunt his baseness in the face of heaven. The man who slays his fellow-men is driven From man's companionship ; and future time Will well award the wretch, whose soul hath striven To crush our young republic in its prime, The ignominious shame of darker, deeper crime. Stand by the Union firm ; it is the star That God appointed to transmit the light Os freedom, and equally, as far As tyranny enshrouds the world in night. When we have mingled with our moth, r c.: y, When thrones are crushed that boasted iron might; When sceptres, crowns and empires pa. * away, Before the blessed light of full millennial day. jUki'llomj. Tiic Declaration. BY DICKENS. When I awoke next morning, I was resolute to declare ray passion to Dora, and know my fate. Happiness or misery was now the question—there was no other question that I knew of in the world, and only Dora coqld give the answer to it. 1 passed three days in luxury of wretchedness, tor turing myself by putting every conceivable variety of dis couraging construction on all that had ever taken place be tween Dora and me. At last, arrayed for the purpose at a vast expense, I went to Miss Mills’, fraught with a declara tion. llow many times I went up and down the street, and round the square——painfully aware of being a much better answer to the riddle than the original one; before I could persuade myself to go up. the steps, and knock, is no matter now. K.ven when at last, 1 had knocked, and was waiting at the door, I had some flurried thought of asking if that were Mr. Blackboy’s (in imitation of poor Barkis,) begging par don and retreating. But I kept my ground. Mr. Mills was not at home. I did not expect lie would be. Nobody wanted him. Miss Mills was at home. Miss Mills would do. I wasslvowu into a room up stairs, where Miss Mills and Dora were. Jip was there.—Miss Mills was copying music, (l recollect, it was anew song, called Affection a Dirge)and Dora was painting flowers. Y\ hat were my feelings, when I recognized my own flowera; the iudentical Convent Gar den purchase! I cannot say that they were very like, or that they particularly resembled any flowers that have ever cy iU , under my observation; but I knew from the paper round them, which was accurately copied, what the compo sition was. Miss Mills was very sorry Papa was not at home; though 1 thought we all bore that with fortitude. Miss Mills was con versational fora few minutes, and then, laying down her pen upon the Affection’s Dirge, got up and left the room. But I thought I would put it oft’ another day. ‘ I hope your poor horse was not tired, when you got home at night,’ said Dora, lifting up her beautiful eyes. ‘lt was a long way for him.’ I began to think I would do it to-day. ‘ It was along way tor him,’ said I, ‘for he had nothing to uphold him on the journey. ‘Wasn’t he fed, poor thing?’ asked Dora. I began to think I would put it oft till to-morrow. ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, ‘lie was well taken care of. I mean that he had not the unutterable happiness that I had in be ing so near you.’ Dora bent her head over her drawing, and said after a while ; I had sat, in the interval, in a burning fever, and with my legs in a very rigid state. ‘You did’nt seem to be sensible of that happiness yourself, at one time of the day.’ I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done on the spot. ‘ You did’nt care for that happiness in the least,’ and shak ing her head, ‘when you were sitting beside Miss Kitt.’ Kitt, I should observe, was tlie name of the creature in pink, with the little eyes. ‘Though certainly I don’t know why you should,’said Dora ‘or why you should call it a happiness at all. But of course you don't mean what you say. And lam sure no one doubts your being at liberty to do whatever you like, Ji P ,you naughty dog, come here!’ I don’t know how I did it. I did it in a moment. 1 inter cepted Jip. I had Dora in my arms. I was full of eloquence* l never stopped for a word—-I told her I loved her. how l should die without her. I told her I idolized an worshipped her. Jip barked madly all the time. When Dora hung her head down and cried, and trembled, my eloquence increased so much the more. If she would like me to die, she but had to say the word, and I was ready. Life without Dora’s lovo was not a thing to have on any terms. I couldn't. 1 had loved her every minute, day and “Jnhqmiiinit in all tilings—Neutral in Notljing/’ MACON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBFR J, 1850. I night, since I first saw her—l loved her at that minute to dis traction. I should always love her, every minute to distrac tion. Lovers and lovers would love again; but no lover had I ever loved, might could, would or should love, as I loved Do ra. Tho more 1 raved, the more Jip barked. Each of us, in his own way, got more mad every moment. W ell well I Dora and I were sitting on the sofa by-and-by, quiet enough, and Jip was lying in her lap, winking peaceful ly at me. It was off my mind. I was in a state of perfeet rapture, Dora and I were engaged. —David Cop. From the Yankee Blade. Sketches by Moonlight. BY MOSES, 1 left the “City of Notions” on Friday evening, and took’ passage in the steamer “ Ocean ,” at 7 o'clock. The eve ning was line, and our beautiful boat glided down the harbor, passing the Islands at a rapid rate. Nothing exciting oc curred until about nine o'clock, when Deacon I’. suddenly rushed into the cabin aiul announced to the passengers that there was a great light to be seen at a distance, and enter tained fears that a Steamboat was on fire! This was enough —all hands rushed to the deck, save a few who were com fortably stowed away in their berths—some of whom under stood that it was our boat that was on lire! The way they tumbled out of their berths was a perfect caution to persons afflicted with corns, and woefully destructive to shin bones— some run this way and others that—this one was after his valise, while another was in quest of his life preserver , and a third rushed forward to the rescue of his anxious wife, and for aught he knew, his orphan children. In a twinkling all hands were on deck—some laughing, some swearing, and others trembling with fright; while the old deacon stood wrapped in profound thought as to tlie cause of this myste rious light, which evidently grew brighter every moment— others speculated in regard to the number of lives that would doubtless be sacrificed on board this unknown but ill fated steamer. By this time Wall, the good natured clerk, who had witnessed the excitement, appeared, and with a smile which threw tho myterious light whole leagues into the shade, asked the Deacon (in a manner which could not be misunderstood,) if he knew about what time the Moon would rise'. You can bet your life there was a great deal more done than said—the fact was, the whole crowd was done, and done brown too —yet strange to say not a soul was burnt —the “mysterious light'’ being nothing more nor loss than the light of the Moon —the rays of which now threw abundant light upon the subject., to convince every individual, btyond the shadow of a doubt, that they weie so’d. The De.i con was the first to break (not silence) for bis berth, and lucky it was for him that he had a state room where he could lock himself up securely—had it been otherwise, it might have cost him as Pinch as a little affair did on another occa sion. The Deacon on riding to church one Sunday morn ing, overtook an elegantly dressed young lady, who was no torious in that “neck of timber” for her winning ways , and very politely invited her to ride—supposing of course that she was bound to some appointed place of worship.— When they arrived in the centre of the village lie waited upon her out of the carriage, leaving her to go to whichever church she chose. On the following day the Deacon As waited upon hy a delegation of church members, who in\l (for the first time) that he had been riding out in bad company —and that too on the Sabbath day. The Deacon, however, convinced the committee of his innocence, but the joke was too good to keep, and some of the “ incorrigibles ” soon got huld of it, and they, in turn, waited upon tho Deacon, and told him, if he would do the “clean thing,” they would say no more about the matter. .Suffice it to say, terms were agreed upon, and in the evening a good “time” was had; and, on that occasion, il I mistake not, the fast clerk of the fast-sailing steamer “ Ocean,” was instrumental in breaking a number of necks, (not Dea cons,) from sundry cliampanc bottles. From Arthur's Home Gazette. The Cup of Cold R ater. BY T. S. ARTHUR. Henry Green was a reformed man. lie bad been a most abandoned drunkard, and, in the years of his sad decadence, had shamefully wronged and abused his family. But, in a lucid moment, lie perceived, with startling distinctness, the precipice, upon the very brink of which he was standing, and started back therefrom. For his suffering wife and children, the waste places be came green again, and the desert blossomed as the rose. After a long, long night of weeping, the sun came forth, and his smile brought light and gladness to their spirits. The husband and father was a man once more with the heart of a man. lie turned no longer away from them in debasing self-indulgence, but toward them in thoughtful affection. How quickly is perceived a chance for the better in every thing appertaining to the inebriate’s family, when the head of it abandons bis sin and folly, and returns to bis affection and duty. All this change was apparent in the family of Henry Green. They had suffered even to the deprivation of every comfort; but of these one and another were now restored, until every part of their humble dwelling seemed to smile again, llow happy they were! And yet, the wife of tiic reformed man often felt a sense of insecurity. She understood too well that, for her husband, temptation lurked at every point. llow often did she await his return home, as evening approached, with trembling anxiety; and mark, while yet afar off, his steps, to see if they were firmly taken. It was early in the fall of the year when Henry Green took the pledge. Through tlie whiter, he had worked in dustriously; and, as he could earn good wages, his income had given them, as just mentioned, very many comforts. He had not been much tempted’ ot his old appetite during the cold weather, nor did he feel its active return at the opening spring. But, with the fervent heat of summer, the slum bering desire awoke. Active bodily labor produced free perspiration. Frequent thirst was the consequence; and, whenever this was felt, the thoughts of the reformed man dwelt upon the pleasure a cool <flass of some mixed liquor would give. M ith an effort, and often with fear at his heart, would he thrhst aside the allur ing images drawn-by his truant imagination. And yet, they would ever and anon return : and there were times when he was tempted almost beyond his strength. Green was a carpenter. Early in the spring, a gentleman offered him a good contract for putting up two or three frame buildings, which he gladly accepted; and, as the lot upon which his house stood was large, he erected a shop thereon. More cheerfully and hopefully than ever did the reformed man now work. He saw a clearer light ahead lie would, ere long, reoover all he had lost, and even get beyond the point of prosperity from which he had fallen. Time wore on. Spring passed and the summer opened. July came in with intensely hot weather. Already had llenry Green felt the cravings of his awakening appetite, and it re quired strong efforts at self-denial to refrain from indulgence. About eleven o’clock one day—it was a hotter day than usual Green’s thoughts were dwelling, as was now too often the ease, upon the “ refreshing glass,” once so Keenly en joyed. A little way from his shop, though not in view, was a tavern, the bar-room of which memory was picturing to the eyes of his mind with tempting distinctness. He had often been tliere in times past —often drank there until thought and feeling were lost. He saw, in imagination, the rows of alluring decanters, with their many colored liqnors; he heard the cold ice as it rattled in the glasses; be.-•! most felt the cooling beverage upon his Ups. So absorbed Ahe at length become, that lie paused in liis work, and leaned over liis bench, his eyes half closed, like one in a dreamy reverie. It was a moment upon which bis future, for good or for evil, hung, trembling in an even balance that a hair might turn. For as long a time as five minutes did Henry Green stand leaning over liis work- bench, a picture of the neighboring bar room distinctly before his mind, while he was conscious of an intense thirst—that it seemed as if nothing but a glass of mixed and iced liquor could possibly assuage. With a deeply drawn breath he at length raised himself, the struggle that was going on in his mind more than- half decided in favor of self-indulgence. “ Papa!” spoke a low, familiar voice by his side. Green started and turned suddenly. A child, not over four years old, stood by him—a fair child, with a counte nance full of innocence and affection. She held a tin cup in both her little hands. “Have a drink of colij water, papa!” “ Yes, dear,” replied the father, in a low voice that was unsteady from the rush of a sudden emotion, and he caught the eup from the child’s hands, and raising it to his lips, drank it eagerly. Instantly the picture of the bar room, with all its allure ments, faded from the mind of Green. He was a man again, in the integrity of a firm purpose, liis child, led to him by the hand of a good Providence, had saved him. The cup of cold water had fully assuaged the violence of his burning thirst; and lie was no longer under temptation. “ Thank you, dear !” he murmured, as he lifted his child in his arms, and kissed her tenderly. , “ Shall I bring you another cool drink after awhile ?” asked the little one, as she pressed her father's cheeks with both her hands. “Did any one tell you to bring me the cup of water?” asked Mr. Green. “ No, sir. But I thought you would like a cool drink,” innocently replied the child. !, “ Yes, dear, bring me another drink after awhile.” Then kissing, the litfle angel who had been tlie means of saving him wlflui abmitfto fall in temptation, lip her upon the ground, and once mAe turned to his work ; and as he bent his body in labor, lie mused tbus--- “ I did not think of the water when I felt that intense desire for a glass of liquor-—it did not seem to be what I wanted. But, the cooling draught sent me (by Heaven, I will say,) so op portunely, has quenched the morbid appetite, and I feel H no longer. Water, pure, health-giving water, you are all I need to give entire strength to my good resolutions ! When the old desire comes again, I will drown it in clear, cold water. I feel safer now. There is a medicine for the inebriate’s craving appetite, and it is—water. Freely will I use it: Thank God for water!” Yes, water is tlie medicine that cures the sickly craving for strong drink. Let the reformed man keep this ever in his thoughts, and, the moment lie feels tho old desire, drown it, as did Henry Green, in pure cold water. Let him do this, and he is safe. Ile should watch the beginnings of thirst, and be quick to allay the uneasy sensation, lest lie fall unawares into dan ger. _____ . So We Go. —The American Mechanic, ptrbfished at ‘'Poughkeepsie, justly remarks: A man growls at p;. Inga shilling for a loaf of broad, thinking he ought to get it for elev en pence, and the same evening takes his family to witness the feats of a magician, for the purpose of being humbugged, knowing they will be humbugged, and willingly pays a dol lar for the privilege! Another is too poor to pay for a newspaper, but can spend a half or quarter for every puppet show or other foolish exhibition that travels the country, and not miss it. Another is too poor to pay a few dollars, but can attend all concerts and negro performances that come along. Another wants a mechanic to work for nine and sixpence, when lie wants ten shillings, and watches him too see that, he ; labors faithfully, and the next day hires a horse and wagon, i at the expense of two dollars, to travel ten miles to see a horse ! race. Another ‘ beats down ’ an old woman a penny on a bunch of radishes, and before getting home spends two or three shillings in treating liis friends. A Honey Moon Scene. —A correspondent thus de scribes a scene that took place at Saratoga, a short time since between a newly married couple, who were there spending the lioney-moon; A bridal party came down a few days since. I never saw a more houcy-moonish looking set in my life. The bride and groom looked, walked, talked and acted love to the life. They were sitting in the parlor one morning, when I accidentally overheard tlie husband say, with a melting tenderness of voice and manner— “ Did you speak dearest?” “ No, pu, 1 did not—l was thinking,” replied the bride, looking as angelic as possible. “Os what were you thinking, my love?” “ 1 hardy dare toll you, pet.” “ What, loveliest of your sex, distrust your adoration so soon ?’’ “ Pardon, a thousand pardons, dear Edgar, if I have even seemed to wrong so noble a being.” “ Spoken like your own true self—like my fond and dearly loved wife.” “ Oh, Edgar, Edgar, you arc a flatterer—you are, I know you are.” “ No, no—you wrong me—indeed you do—l could not flatter you, the cherished idol of my soul.” “ Oh, you naughty man! You know how dear you are to me.” “ Y r ou will tell me, then, good angel, that you arc—you will tell me ?” “I will—hut first give me assurance that you will not frown on your too fond Rebecca. A frown Edgar—nay, even a reproving look from your sweet eyes, would break my now too happy heart. Say, then, you will not frown.” “ Foolish child ! Do tho stars frown when the poet looks up to them for inspiration ? Does the fond mother frown when her first born looks up to her eyes as he nestles still closer to her bosom ? Does love—fond, true, pure love— ever frown ?” “ Oh, say no more, dear Edgar. I fuel, I know you are the best, the kindest, the most devoted of men.” “ Tell me, then, love, of what were you thinking ?” “Os you—only of you, Edgar, on my truth.” “ And what of me, my own Rebecca ?” “ -Vlas! what shall I say ? llow shall I extricate myself from this perilous dilemma ?” “ Speak, loved one, I charge you V* “Dear Edgar,you know—” “ Y’es, sweet Rebecca—” “ That-—oh, how shall I say it?” “ Any how—go on, dear Rebec--” “ That if you continue—” “ Yes—continue—” “ To eat—” “ Cabbage—” “ Cabbage—what then ?’’ “ You may catch the cholera, (sobbing) and (sob) I may (sob) be left (sob) a widow (sob) before (sob) the season (hysterical sob) is over 1” I didn’t, I couldn’t wait to hear any more of this com cr eation. Ido wonder if all “just married” folks go on after this fashion ! Self-made Men. —Columbus was a weaver. Franklin a journeyman printer. Sextus V. was em ployed in herding swine. Ferguson and Burns i were ploughmen. ri\sop was a slave, Hogarth an engraver on pew ter pots*. Ben Johnson was a brick layer. Porsoo was the son ot’ a parish clerk. A keuside was the son ot” a butcher —so was \\ olsey. Cervantes was a common soldier. Halley was the son ot a soap boiler. Arkwright was a barber. Belzoni the son of a barber. Blackstone and South ey were the sons of linen drapers. Crabbc a .fisber ; man’s son. Keats the son of a livery stable keeper. I Buchanan was a farmer* Panova the son of a mason. | Captain Cook began his career as a cabin boy. I . * I The Widow.*- -Is there any cliaracter in life so iuteres ting as a young and beautiful widow ? Not a flirty, coquet- ; tish one, who, even auiid her sorrows, has an eye to future wedded happiness with another ; but one of genuine heart, wedded to her husband’s urn, pensive, but not sad, her grief softened to a placid uess “ dev oat and pure, > Sober, steadfast and demure.” I met one of this fashion last week. Her sorrows had served only to soften her charms, as age mellows a picture. Her brilliant eyes, which 1 have oft-time seen dance with joy, had lost none of their power, but they were more sub dued—-they seemed to be looking beyond the grave, longing to join her liege lord in one eternal bliss of wedded love 1 a “ W hen your good husband! died,” said I, “earth lost a bright ornament, but heaven gained a saint.” A tear <>f sorrow stood in the widow's eye, but a gleam of religions hope and resignation melted it away. “ 1 need not tell you,” continued I,,“that, search the wide world, you cannot find his fellow —you already know that full well.” The fair bereaved one clutched my hand convulsively ; I had touched the right cord—nature burst forth-—a very tor rent of tears gushed from her eyes—-like unto an earthquake heaved her breast—even the “ counterfeit presentment ‘ of Niobe upon her cameo seemed to catch the “soft infection,” and rain alabaster tears 1 and in sweet and broken accents the beautiful mourner thus sobbed out—“ I'll bet 1 do!” # i . * Tiic’Cfdltlon Rule. * ** “Daily sifVg one cheerful song,. From the bosom's fiery throng, Daily do oue uuble deed, Daily sow one blessing’s seed.” “Daily sow one Blessing's seed.” A simple pre cept, fraught with a priceless harvest of content — vet in the soil of selli>hness how seldom is that seed planted 1 HoW seldom is it, that the germ of good ness, even when developing itself, is not premature ly parched within the bosom, or blighted after wards by the kindless blasts ot an arid world. It is not man’s natural impulse to do evil; as little would it seem, sometimes, his natural tendency to do good ! lie is as clay in the hands of the potter; and in his modelling, thrice happy, it the golden rule —applying it to earthern-w arc instead of garden plants —has been so consulted that he shall l>e known as a vessel without a flaw. Y\ e are afraid that most rarertai crockery is deficient in a good sound ring 1 Few articles turning ns, when tried, but betray imperfection —and for our own poor pot, we are free to confess, thai we are puttied up very sadly ! This may have been our own tauit or it may not; man’s degree of accountability depends upon circumstances; at any rate, we are all anxious to attribute our cracks and weaknesses to causes be yond ourselves ; yet there is one thing, the neglect of which, under any circumstances, we are not tube forgiven fur, and that is the endeavor “daily to sow one blessing’s seed.” The negative virtue of “doing no barm,” is in fact humiliating to man’s nature, for he is made for action, and such a plea is nothing more nor less than a claim of consideration for be ing a nincompoop ! AYe must act, and under the guiding principle to act rightly ; thus, in .however small a way, w e shall act well —and thus, though it be denied to our means to scatter blessings “broad cast,” yet shall we sing our “cheerful song” in the observance of the Golden Rile. political. Letter of Jndge G. Andrews on the Califor nia and Territorial questions. Washington, Ga. August 3-1, 1850. , Messrs. Hopkins llolsky, Albon Chase, AYm. U. Hill. Gentlemen : Yours of the 10th inst. has been received in which you say “We desire to elicit from you an ex pression of your opinions on the several questions growing out of the present posture of public affairs, i and particularly the following: Whether, if the State of California, as at present organized, shall be admitted into the Union, and the remaining territory acquired from Mexico placed under terrrorial gov ernments,without restriction on the subject of sla very —would that state of facts present a proper oc casion for measures of resistance, revolutionary or otlierw ise, on the part of tho slave-holding states.” Ido not know that 1 can add one new view to the question you have presented, or influence one voice on the subject; hut like a voter at the ballot box,! am, not only willing, but anxious to give my approbation to the cause of truth and right. In answering your question in the negative, I but say what all Georgia, nay, alh Vae South, said twelve months ago. I but assert tlie right ot sell-govern ment. And however desirable it might be to have California and New Mexico slave States, 1 am too much of a democrat, to wish to impose on a people a government repugnant to their w ishes. Califor nia has chosen to prohibit slavery, and 1 presume, no owe doubt# that if the question was repeated to her, annually, during the balance of the century, her answer would he the same. 1 apprehend* if we were to belie our republican professions so far, as to trv to force on her the institutions of slavery, that j we could not. Let no man, who w ishes to perpe- 1 trate such a tyranny, tell me that he loves self-gov ernment, on principle. lie may,from selfish mo tives, like to live under it, but is ready to i>2y the j tyrant when it may be to his interest and iu his power. Some are willing to admit California, north of 36 30, but not south of that line unless Congress shall recognise, below that line, slavery. I o satisfy such, if afcy thing would satisfy them, I would have no objection tosuch arrangement, though 1 doubt much, whether it would not weaken tlie slave pow er. The chances are, that south of that line w ould become a free state, aud then we should have two instead of one California, four instead of two Sen ators representing free States. For who would car ry slaves into so small a territory, surrounded by free States i I believe that many of those who are determined to accept nothing but that line, do not insist on it so much, because they believe that it would benefit the slave interest, as that it is an im pmcticable line, and will give pretext for a dissolu- ! tion of the Union. Such object to Mr. Clay’s Com . promise, which was the most perfect non-interven . tin, not only south, but north of that line. For it ! provided, and so does the territorial bill for Utah which has passed the Senate, that when admitted i as a State, the said territory or any portion of the same, shall be received into the Union with or with out slavery as the constitution of sneh Str’te may prescribe at the tunc ot admission. And what is im j portant to be observed, Utah had already applied | for admission into the Union, tinder a constitution ! without any prohibition of slavery; which was as muon a slave constitution as Georgia—the Georgirv constitution being silent on the subject of slavery.— | Ihe n here are a people who, so far as their consti i tution is concerned, have manifested themselves, as i much in favor ot slavery as the Georgians, occupy ing a large and isolated territory, with perfect liber ty, to form another constitution of like character. Now would it not be a poor bargain tO‘ prohibit sla- 1 very, in such a country as Utah, for the chance, I i may say the remote chance, of having this small traction ot California a slave ‘■state. I ilo not deem it necessary to use this argument to show that thero are disunionists in the land. I here are numbers who are proclaiming it, as it were, on the house-tops; but to show that this line of .30 30 is made the ulti matum, not tor the goodot “'Southern rights.” ‘ihe argument, sometimes used, is, that Califor | niashould, not be admitted, because her eonstitu j tion was not fairly made ; that foreigners voted for | members to the convention that formed it. This is the complaint that lias always been, and always ” iU •, made by the party defeated at an election.’ I i lnue no doubt that ioivigu. and other illegal votes I were [lulled, and would again be polled, if the es , iuit were made a hundred times. 1 apprehend, j there never has been, and never will be, an election, in tae United States, ot any size, in which illegal j votes have not been, and will not lie, polled.- There I can, however, be no doubt that the large body of vo i ters, and Aurora mi voters too, were legal, ‘and al most unanimous, in the prohibition of slavery, and would be the same.again, no matter how often the question may be submitted.—Uisunion papers ad mit that three-fourths ot the convention are from the United States. If, however, the people of Cal itornia want slavery, or shall hereafter desire it, they can, and no doubt, will, alter their constitution and permit it. Her admission, as a state, does not, in the least, prevent her adopting slavery. twelve months ago, no one thought of asking for the territory of New Mexico, any thing put non intervention. Or in the language of your letter, that it be placed under territorial government with out restriction on the subject of slaverv.” Os course 1 wish to see New Mexico a slave State if it would strengthen the slave power—which I will directly show, is duubttul. But lam unwilling to dissolve the L n.on, it Congress shall not recognise, or establish slavery- in that portion of the .Territory south, and prohibit it north of the line 36 30; which I under stand, is the question made by the Nashville con vention. Should it be questionable’ whether non-’ intervention is better than the line of 36 30, with recognition south, and prohibition north, there can be no doubt that if the principle of non-intervention should be put into operation in this matter it would be uo cause for dissolution of the Union. Accord ing to disunionists, twelve months ago, all those vylio held the principle of non-intervention were right, and ail the rest of the world wrong. iVo#, by the same party, those who hold to intervention by Congress, are right, and all the rest of the world Vi long. As ldo not choose to change my opinions, so radically, in so short a time, I will proceed to snou, both practically', and on principle, that it is light and best, mr the to hold to uon-inter tion. lucre can be no difierenco between a tion ot slavery, to be of any practical use, and the establishment of it, by actual enactment. To re cognise slavery is to authorise, bv law, the enjoy ment ot property by- the owner in his slave. To pe l miL the owner to carry lus slave to Mexico, is of no u.-e, unless the law, when there, will authorise property in him.—i lie-re is no half-way ground. He must be a slave by law, as in Georgia, or a free man, as in Massachusetts, (we know of no denizen ship in slavery). Now we have been Contending, .ill the while, that Congress had no right to inter fere with slavery, either to mate or unmake it. The North hold that the power “to make” slavery, ne cessarily involves the power, to unmake it,—This, principle is constantly recognised in the slave states; all of them hold, and have occasionally exercised, the power to manumit slaves.—They say, if a slate, or congress, can enact a law, they can repeal it. Hence the South has always held the principle of non-intervention important. For if congress should ever seek to interfere with slavery in the territories,’ it will quote our own principle against us. And for what are we asked to sacrilice this great principle ? —By the doctrine of the disunionists, there is no law prohibiting slavery in New Mexico, and tho non-intervention principle will permit it, without re cognition. If, however, slavery is there prohibited by Mexican laws, are not the chances altogether a gainst such a population, in such a country, suffer ing it under the constitution they shall adopt, when they shall form a State government ? Why, there fore, would sanction the dangerous principle of in tervention by congress, tnd prohibit slavery in U tah, for so remote and improbable a benefit, except an enemy to the South, or one who is willing to gratify his hatred at her expense? There is no principle violated,, if a law shall not be passed, authorising slavery in this Territory. Though an act of Congress may be unconstitution al —which is the forlorn hepo of those wishing to. oppose the general government, I do not think it will be held unconstitutional not to’ act. The con quest and acquisition of New Mexico, was emphati cally a southern and democratic measure. We ac quired it as free territory, if indeed it be free—not only by our consent’ bttt at our earnest desire. It was not imposed on us. I here is no principle in the Constitution requiring it to be made free terri tory. So far from their being any implied agree ment that the laws concerning slaves should be al tered, the implication was the other way. The South held before, at the time of, and after the acquisition, that Congress had no right to interfere with slavery in the territories ; and the North, at the same time, by the Missouri compromise, the ordinance of 1787 and the Wilmot proviso, that Congress had the right to prohibit its extension in all Territories. If, therefore, tho North has any advantage over us, it is not only fairly acquired, according to the compact of theconstitution, but agreeably to our implied com pact as above noticed. Suppose that Cuba should be annexed, and the Nortli should insist, that the Ter ritory should be divided, and slavery abolished in one so that her citizens could there live with-’ out being compelled to live in slave territory. I think the arguments above used would them be NO. 28.