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VOL. I. Hi)t (Scurgia Citizen pntiluheU, every Saturday morning, in Macon, Ga. on the follow CONDITIONS : <f paid strictl y in advance . . #2 50 per annnm if not eo paid * - - *300““ Infal Advertise menu will be made to conform to the following pro- UioM of the Statute: — Stitt of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Gnard ins, are required by law to tie advertised in a public gazette, sixty days prtvious to the day of sale. Thess sales must be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between %* 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- Jl 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 aell Land and Negroes, must be published weekly for four Months. Citatum* e- o{ Administration must be published tk.Vty day* Dismission from Administration, monthly, tt i mtmtkt— fbr Di mission from Guardianship, forty day*- Hult* fdr foreclosure of mortgage, must be published monthly, for ■ftur month* —for establishing lost papers, for the full rptet of thra montht— for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators where t bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of three months. Professional and Dusiness Cards, Inserted, according to the follow, lag scale: ford lines or less per annum . - 00 in advance t* 6 lines “ “ • --700““ a lO u u u . . gio 00 “ “ ey Transient Advertisements will be charged 91, per square of 12 lists or less, for the first and 50 cts. for each subsequent nsertion.— ’ 0u these rates there will be a deduction of 20 percent, oil settlement when advertiseirienu are continued 3 months, without alteration, jy \n betters except those containing remittances must be post * and others who will act as Agents for the “Citizen 1 suy retain 2o percent, for their trouble,on all cash subscriptions for warded. OFFICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the Market. _ Irufrssional Curb. KELLAM & BELL, Attorneys at Law and General Land Agents, Atlanta, ,C'a., Will practice In DeKalb and adjoining counties ; and in the Supreme Court at Decatur. —Will also visit any part of the country for the settlement of claims, tfre. without suit. jj Bounty Land Claims prosecuted with despatch. Office on White Hall St., over Dr. Denny’s Drug Store. A. R. BELLA*. M. A. BELL. S. & R. P. HALL, ’ Attorneys at Law , Macon, Georgia. I'JRACTICK In Bibb, Crawford, Houston, Upson, Monroe. Macon, Doety, Twiggs,Jones and Pike counties: and in the Supreme snnrt at Macon, Dseator,Talbotton and Americas. IytiFSJCR otkr Scott, Carhart &. Co.’s Store. April *, !•- *— l y Win. K. deGRAFFENREID, Attorney & Councilor at Law. ’ MACONcGA. - I~ Us office MULBERRY steet, nearly OPPOSITE WASHINGTON HALL. Marh 21,1850. l ~ JOHFII MILLEN, ATTORNEY AT LAW, SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. time SBth, ISSO. U—ly P. G. ARRINGTON, Attorney at Law and Notary Public, Oglethorpe, Macon Cos., 6m, 4 GEORGIA. 38—ts tm mmim 9 dr. AND NOTARY PUBLIC,—MACON, GEO. (COMMISSIONER OF DEEDS, Ac., for the States of J Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, Tennessee, Virginia, North Carolina. South Carolina, T lori -4s .Missouri, New Fork, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Pnu sylvsnia, Ohio, Indiana, Arkansas, Maine, &c. Depositions taken, Accounts.plated, Deeds and Mort gspes drawn, and all documents and instruments of writing prepared and authenticated for use and record in any of the •bore States. Residence on Walnut street, near the African chjireh. ‘t p l BI IC Office adjoining Dr. M. S. Thomson’s Botan ic ‘ Macon, .1 une. 28, .ISSu • REMEMBER! ■\TTH.EN In your extremity that Dr. M. S. THOMSON I* vW uni! in Macon, Georgia, and when written to, sends Bfiiteine W isan-io any part of the country. Dnnt give up all hopa without consulting him. June 7, 1850- LL— €j)p puffs Cimifr, Tr- - ■ -■ 1 * tz For the Georgia Citizen. To a Robin in Autumn. Oh bird of the soft mellow song! Thou art leaving our Northern sky, For the haunts of a stranger throng, Where the rose and bud never die; In that land of sweet orange bloom, Thou wilt warble thy joyous lay, While we mourn thro’ winter’s dark gloom For music of summer’s bright day. How we miss thy familiar song, From the branch of our Locust tree, Winds of November, its boughs among, Have thy nest, and leaf scattered free; While our hearts since flower and leaf, Live shrouded ’neath mantle of snow, Are burdened with sorrow and grief, For beauty that fades lifce a shower. Yet bird, thy glad pinions will bear Thee, where wanders one sad and lone, Whose bosom throbs wildly to share The pleasure of loved ones at home; Oh, bear in thy soft mellow song, The soul of affection that lives Like musio the heart’s cells among, And weeps while thy message jt gives. He’ll welcome thy coming I know : The rush of thy light gentle wing, For he loved in days long ago Thy song, by the lone mountain spring, When his step was youthful and fleet, His soul’s visions joyous and high— Ere care scattered far the golden wheat, And left but the chaff and the sigh. Oh! bird as thy wing* bear thee on O’er mountains and valleys of earth, Dost thou mark while thus sweeping on The changes ’round each-loving hearth ? Forms that like summer flowers fled, Too pure and too lovely to stay— They sleep ’mid the host of the dead, From earth’s frost and mildew away. * S nt I„ ,f 1M MJM [Qlrri|ltif! (Mil IfHSMI N 5wW 4 2H W Wilt thou miss the loss of thy home, Whan thou comest with spring’s soft air ? W lit thou yearn for some loving tone, That comes not with the throng met there t Dost thou bear oh, bird ! in thy breast Pleasure and pain that mem’ry brings ? Doth high visions fill with unrest, Thy soul, whence melody springs 1 Oh bird !we know not—but tho thought That thou like the wild human heart, By food love, and long sorrow brought To tho shrine, where tears hath apart— Doth bear from that altar the lyre, That wakes the sad beauty of song—— Till quouched in tho mind's burning Are, It awakes ’mid Heaven's bright throng. Marietta llydk Olmstead. Otego, New Yoak. From Fisher’s Drawing-Room tkrap-Book. The Foolish Quarrel, “ Hush, Juana! ’tis quite certain That tho coffee was not strong; Own your error—l’ll forgive you— Why so stubborn in tho wrong?” “ You'll forgive me I Sir, I hate you! You hare used mo like a churl; Have my senses ceased to guidome? Do you think I am a girl ?” “ Oh, no! you’re a girl no longer, But a woman, formed to plqase; And it’s time you should abandon Childish follies such as these.” “ Oh, I hate you! But why vex me ? If I’m old, you’re older still 5 I’ll no longer be your victim, And the creature of your will.” “ But, Juana, why this pother 1 It might happen I was wrong; But, if common sense inspire me, Still, that coffee was not strong.” “Common sense! You never had it! Oh, that ever I was bom To be wedded to a monster, M ho repays my love with scorn.” “ Well, Juana, we’ll not quarrel,” What's the use of bitter strife? But I'm sorry I am married 5 I was mad to take a wife.” “Mad, indeed ! I’m rlad you know it ; But if there be lav in Spain, I’ll be tied to you no longer, I am weary of the chain.” “ Hush Juana ! Shall the servants Hear you argue, ever wrong? Can you hare not done with folly ? jDwn ihe ee/Feo-reaa rnystrv;rtg.” “Oh, you goad me past endurance, Trifling with my woman's heart; But I loathe you, and detest you,— Villain! Monster! Let us part!” Long this foolish quarrel lasted, Till Juana, half afraid That her Empire was in peril, Summon’d never-failing aid: Summon’d tears in copious torrents, Tears, and nobs, and piteous sighs; Well she knew the potent practice, The artillery of the eyes. And it chanc'd as she imagin'd,— Beautiful in grief was she. — Beautiful, to best advantage ; And a tender heart had he. Kneeling at her side he sooth’d her, “ Dear J uana, I was wrong; Never more I'll contradict you, — But , oh, make my coffee strong /” The Buskers. BY JOHN a. VYIUTTIER. It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain Had left tho summer harvest-fields all green with grass again; The shqrp .frosts had fallen, leaving all tho woodland gay With tjic.hpes.pfsummer’s rainbow, or the meadow-flowers of May. Through a thin, dcy ipist, tjiat morning, the sun rose broad pad re j disc of fire, he brightened as he sped : Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued, On the corn-fields and the orchards, and the softly-pictured wood. And all that quiet nfteFboon, siow sloping to the niglit, He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow-light: Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill; And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still. And shouting boys in woodland haunts, caught glimpses of that sky, Flecked by tho many-tinted leaves, and laughed they know not why; And school-girls, gay with astor-flowers, besides tho meadow brooks, Mingled the glow of autumn with tbesnns'nine of sweet looks. From spire and barn, looked westerly the patient weather cocks; But even the benches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. No soiuid was in the woodlands, save the squirrel’s dropping shell, And the yellow leaves among tho boughs, low rustling as they fc)|. The summer grains were harvested; the stubble fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale-green waves of rye; But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood, Ungathering, bleaching in the sun, the’ heavy corn crop stood. Bent low, by autumn’s wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere, Unfolded from their ripened charge, shown out the yellow ear; Beneath the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold, And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold. There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain Boro slowly to the lapg tytrq floor Its load o,f fisks and swain; Till broad and red, as wficp the rose, tjje sun last. And like a merry guests farewell, the day in brightness passed. And lo! as through the western pines, on meadpw, stream and pond, Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set a fire beyond, Slowly o’er the Easteru sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, And the sunsentard the moonrise were mingled into one ! As thus iqto the quiet night the twilight passed away, And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil tlutdqwa lay; From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name, Their milking and their home tasks done, the merry buskers came. “3n&rpcnbtnt in all lljings—Neutral in Notying.” MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JANUARY 25, 1851. Swung oer the heaped-up harvest,from pitchforks in the mow, Shown dimly down tho lanterns on the pleasant scene below ; The growing pile of husks behind, the golden years before, And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glim mering o’er. Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart. Talking their old times o’er again, the old men sat apart; M bile up and down tho unhusked pile, or nestling iii its shade, At hide-and-seek, with laugli and shout, the happy children played. Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair, The master of the vHlago school, sleek of hair and smooth cjf tongue, To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking-ballad song: THE CORN SONO. Heap high the farmer's wintry board ? Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from tho pino, The orange from its glossy green, Tho cluster from the vino. We better love tho hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when tho storm shall drift Our harvest fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hill the sun and showers Os changeful April played. We dropped the seed o’er hill and plain. Beneath the sun of May, And Iriglitened from our sprouting grain Tho robber crows away. All through tho long, bright days of June, Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer’s noon Its soft and yellow hair. And now, and Autumn’s moonlit eves, Its harvest time has come, Wo pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home. There richer than the fabled gifts Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers 101 l in silk, Around their costly board 5 Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured! Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls, Who ‘.* r lll not thank the kindly earth, And bless our farmer girls ! I Thgn >luu>m .QP-ftU wtlif prott ami xyin, _ Jj. Whoso folly laughs to scorn _ The blessing of our hardy grain, Our wealth of golden corn ! Let the earth withhold her good! Let mildew blight the rye, / > "> r Give to tho worm the orchard's frV 0 t '/ ; The wheat field to the fly. But let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod ; Still let us for his golden corn, Send up our thanks to God ! 3Ekellant(. Topping the Question. There is nothing more appalling to a moderate and sensitive young man, than asking the girl he loves to marry him, and there are few who do not find their moral eourago tasked to the utmost. Many a man who would lead a forlorn hope, mount a breach, and “ seek the bubble reputation even at the cannon’s mouth,” will tremble at the idea of asking a woman the question which is to decide his fate. Ladies may congratulate themselves that na ture ana custom have made them the responding party. In a matter which men have always found so ter rible, yet which, in one way or the other, they have always contrived in some awkward way to accom plish, it is not easy to give instructions suitable to every emergency. A man naturally conforms to the disposition of tho woman ho admires. If she be serious, he will approach the awful subject with due solemnity—if gay <fc lively, he will make it an excellent joke; if soft ly sentimental, lie must woo her in strain of high wrought romance., and if severely practical, he relies on straight forward common sense. There is one maxim of universal application. — Never lose an opportunity. What can ji woman think of a lover who neglects one ? Woman can not make direct advances, but they use infinite tact in giving men occasions to make them. In every case it is fair to presume that w hen a woman gives a man an opportunity she expects him to improve it; and though he may tremble, and feel bis pulse throbbing and tingling through every limb; though his heart tills up his throat, and his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth, yet the awful question must be asked —the fearful task accomplished. In tho country, the lover is taking a romantic walk by moonlight, with the lady of his love—talks of the beauties of the scenery, the harmony of na ture and exclaims ! Ah 1 Julia, how happy would existence prove, if I always had such a companion. “My dearest Julia, be mine forever!” This is a settler, and the answer, ever so inaudible, makes or undoes him quite. lake pity on a Toil*.yr. ie ] ie j or ,’* sa y S another, in 0 manner which maybe either in jest or earnest —“Marry me at once and put me out of misery.” “M Rh all my heart, whenever you are ready,” replies the laughing fair. A joke carried thus far is easily made earnest. A point is often carried by taking a thing for granted. A gentleman who has been paying at tention to a lady says; “ Well, Mary, when is the happy day ?” “ What day, pray she ask# with a blgsh. “M hy every body knows we are going to get married, and it might as well be one time as an other; so when shall it be ?” Cornered in (,his fashion, there is no retreat “ Jane I love you ! Will you marry me ?” would be somewhat abrupt, and frankly given. “Yes” would be short and sweet for an answer. “ pen, oqe word from you woul4 make me the happiest man in the universe,” “ I should be cruel not to speak it, then, unless it is a very hard one.” “It is a word of three letters, and answers the question —Will yott have me ?” The lady of course says “ Yes,” unless she hap- pens to prefer a word of only two letters, and an swers, “ No.” And so this interesting and terrible process, in practice as simplo as it is in theory, is varied in a hundred ways, according to circumstances aud tho various dispositions. One timid gentleman asks. “Have you any ob jections to changing your name ?’’ and follow this up with another which clenches its significance, “ How will mine suit you ?” Another#ay: “can you tell me what I most wish to know.” ¥ JP‘Yjps, if I can.” “ The happy day when we shall be marriod.” Another says r “My Eliza, wo must do what all tho world evidently expects wo shall.” All tho world is very impertinent.” “ I know it, but it can’t be helped. W”hen shall I tell tho parsou to be ready I” Asa general thing, a gentleman need never be refused. Every woman except a heartless coquette, finds tho means of dis couraging a man whom she does not intend to have before tlie matter conies to a point of declaration. From Arthur's Homo Cnzetto. Who are Happiest f “ lUliat troubles you, William ?” said Mrs. Aik en, speaking in a tone of kind concern to her hus band, who sat silent and moody, with his eyes now fixed upon the floor, and now following tho forms of his plainly-clad children as they sported,full of health atid spirits, about the room. It was evening, and Mr. Aiken, a man who earned his bread by tho sweat of his brow, had, a little while before, returned from his daily labor. No answer was made to the w ife’s question. A few minutes went by, and then she spoke again. ‘ls anything wrong with you, William V ‘Nothing more than usual,’ was replied. ‘There’s always something wrong. The fact is, I’m out of heart?’ ‘ William ?’ Mrs Aiken came and stood beside her husband, and laid her hand gently upon his shoulder. Tho evil spirit of envy and discontent was at tho poor man’s heart, —this his wife understood right well. She had often before seen him in this frame of mind. ‘ I’m as good as Freeman; am I not?’ ‘ Yes, and a great deal better’ I hope,’ replied Mrs. Aiken. 1 ‘And yet, he is rolling in wealth, while I, thougli compelled to toil early and Into, can scarcely keep soul and body together. 4 Hush, William ! does you no good. We have a with food and raiment, —let us therewith be contented and thankful.’ 4 ‘ Thankful for this moan hut! Thankful for hard >arso clothing 1’ l'Nc.xC are ,as those who labor; none e 1 better heal 4 they who have only the plainest food. F 1 w>u ever go hungry to bed, William ?’ 3^ ‘No,of course x>t.’ ‘Do you or children shiver in tho cold of winter for Lick of warm clothing V ‘No; but— ‘ William ! Do not look past your real comforts in envy of the blessings God lias given to others. Depend upon it, we receive all of this world’s goods the kind Father above sees it best for us to have.— With more, we might not be so happy as we are.’ I’ll take all that risk,’ said Aiken. ‘Give me plen ty of money, and I’ll find a way to largely increase the bounds of enjoyment.’ ‘The largest amount of happiness, I believe, is ever to be found in that external condition in which God has placed us.’ ‘ Then every poor man should willingly remain poor.’ ‘ ‘I did not say that, William; I think every man should seek earnestly to improve his worldly affairs —yet, be contented with his lot at all times: for only in contentment is there happiness, and that is a blessing the poor may share equally with the rich. Indeed, I believe the poor have this blessing in larger store. You, for instance, are a happier man than Mr. Freeman.’ ‘ I’m not so sure of that.’ ‘ I am, then. Look at his face. Doesn’t that tell the story. Would you exchange with him in eve ry respect.’ ‘ No, not in every respect I would like to have his money.’ ‘Ah, William! William!’ Mrs. Aiken shook her head. ‘ You arc giving place in your heart for the entrance of bad spirits, Try to enjoy l fully, what you l,ave, and you will be a far happier man than Mr. Freeman. Your sleep is sound at night.’ ‘I know*. A man who labors as hard as Ido, can’t help sleeping soundly.’ ‘Then labor is a blessing, if for nothing else. I took home to-day, a couple of aprons made for Mrs. Freeman. She looked pale and troubled, and I asked her if she were not well.’ ‘Not very,’ she replied. ‘l’ve lost so much rest of late, that I’m almost worn out’ ‘I did notask why this was; but, after remain ing sileut for a few moments, she said— “‘Mr. Freeman has got himself so excited about business, that lie sleeps scarcely three hours in the twenty-four. lie cares neither for eating nor drink ing ; and, if I did not watch him, would scarcely ap pear abroad in decent apparel. Hardly a day pas ses that something does not go wrong. Workmen fail in their contracts, prices fall below what he ex expected them to be, agents prove unfaithful; in fact, a hundred things occur to interfere with his ex pectations, and to cloud his mind with disappoint ment. We were far happier when we were poor, Ml". A'ken. There was a time when we enjoyed this life. Bright days! how we!! ftr<? they remem- j bered! Mr. Freeman’s iucome was twelve dollars a week; we lived in two rooms, and I did all our own work. I had fewer wants then than I have ever had since, and was far happier than I ever expect to be again on this side of the grave.’ *’ Just then aery was heard in the street ‘Hark !’ exclaimed Mr. Aiken. ‘Firo! Fire!’ The startling sound rose clear and shril 1 upon the air. Aiken sprang to the window and threw .’t open. ‘Mr. Freeman’s new building, as I live !’ Aiken dropped the window, and catching up his hat, hurriedly left t];e house. It was an hour ere he returned- Meanwhile, the fire raged fqriously, and from her window, where she was safe fvarn harm, Mrs. Aiken saw the large new faqfcory, which the rick man had just erected* entirely consumed by the fierce, devouring element, All in vain w as it that the intrepid firemen wrought almost miracles of daring, in their efforts to save the build ing. Story after story was successively wrapped in flames, until, at length, over fifty tfiousaud dollars worth of property lay a lxerrp of black and smoulder ing ruins. Met to the skin, and covered with cinders, was Mr. Aiken when ho returned to his humble nlxxle, after having worked manfully, in his unselfish efforts to rescue a portion of his neighbor’s property from destruction. ‘Poor Freeman ! I pity him from my very heart” was his generous, sympathising exclamation, as soon as he met his wife, ‘ He*is iih-wredf, is Iro not V enquired Mrs, Aikew. ‘ Partially. But even a full insurance would be a poor compensation for such a loss. In less than two weeks, this new factory, w ith all its perfect and beau tiful machinery, would have beer* iu operation. The prices of goods is now high, and Mr. Freean would Lave cleared a handsome sum of money on the first season’s product of his mill. It is a terrible disap pointment for him. I never saw a man so much disturbed.’ ‘ Poor man! His sleep will not be so sound as yours to-night, William.’ 4 Indeed it w ill not.’ 4 Nor, rich m he is, will lie be as happy as you, to-morrow.’ ‘lf I were as rich as he is,’ said Aiken, ‘I would not fret myself to death for this loss. I would, rath er, be thankful for the wealth still left in my posses sion.’ Mrs. Aiken shook her head. ‘ No, William, the samo spirit that makes jo* rest less and discontented now, would bo with you, no matter how greatly improved might be your exter nal condition. Mr. Freeman was once as poor as you are. Da you think him happier for his riches ? Does 110 enjoy life more ? lias wealth brought a greater freedom from care ? Has it made his sleep sweeter? Far, very far from it. Riches have but increased the sources of discontent.’ 4 This is not a necessary consequence. If Mr. Freeman turns a blessing into a curse, that is a defect iu his particular case.’ 4 And few, in this fallen and evil world, are free from this same defect, William. If wealth were sought from unselfish ends, then it would make its possessor happy. But, how few so seek riches. It is here, believe me, that the evil lies.’ Mrs. Aiken spoke earnestly, and something of the truth that was in Iter mind, shed its beams upon the mind of her husband.’ ‘ You remember,’said she, smiling,‘the anecdote of the rich man in New York, who asked a person who gave utterance to words of envy towards him self— ‘Would you,’ said he, ‘take all the care and anxiety attendant upon the management of my large estate and extensive bnsiness operations, merely for your victuals and clothes ?’ ‘No, indeed, I would not,’ was the quick answer. ‘7 yet no more’ said the rich man, gravely. And it was the truth, IFilliam. They who get rich in this world, pass up through in cessant toil and anxiety; . and, w hile they seem to 1 enjoy all tlxe good ililirfg>f**ot life, - ’ in reulitv, enjoy but littlo. They get only their victuals and clothes. I have worked tor many rich ladies, and I do not remember one who appeared to be happier than I am. And I am mistaken if your experience is not ve ry much like my own. A few days alter this time, Aiken came home from his work one evening. As he entered the room where his wife and children sat, the former looked up to hhn with a cheerful 6mile of welcome, and the lat ter gathered around him, filling his ears with the music of their happy voices. The father drew an arm around one and another, and, as ho sat iu their midst, his heart swelled in his bosom, and warmed with a glow of happiness. Soon the evening meal was served—served by the hands of his wife—the good angel of his humble home. IFilliam Aiken, as he looked around upon his smiling children, and their true-hearted, even tempered, cheerful mother, felt that lie had many blessings for which he should be thankful. ‘ I saw something a little w hile ago, that I shall not soon forget,’ said he, when alone with his wife. * What was that, IFilliam ?’ 4 1 had occasion to call at the house of Mr. Elder on some business, as I came home this evening. Mr. Elder is rich, and I have often envied him; but I shall do so no more. I found him in his sitting room a lone, walking the floor with a troubled look on his face. He glanced at me with an impatient expres sion as I entered. I mentioned my business, when he said abruptly and rudely— “ ‘l’ve no time to think of that now.’ \ As I was turning away, a door of the room open ed, and Mrs. Elder and two children entered. 44 ‘I wish you w’ould send them children up to the nursery,’ he exclaimed, in a fretful, half anerry voice. ‘l’m in no humor to be troubled with them now.’ “The look cast upon their lather by those two in nocent little children, as their mother them from the room, I shall not soon forget. I remember ed, as I left *he house, that there had .been a large failure in market street, and that Mr. Elder was said to be the loser by some ten thousand dollars —less than a twentieth part of what he is worth. lam happier than he is to-night, Mary.” “ And happier you may ever be, William.” re turned his wife, ‘if you but stoop to the humble flowers that spring up along your pathway, and like the bee, take the honey they contain. God knows what, in external things, is best for us; and he will make either poverty or riches, whichever comes, a blessing, if we are humble, patient and contented.” „T. S. A. Match Making We know not how it happens, but it is notorious, that most people take pleasure in making matches, either thinking matrimony a state of bliss, into which they would charitably call all friends and acquaint ances ; or perhaps struggling in tho toils, they are desirous of drawing others into the net that ensnar ed thebb Many matches have been brought about between two persons, atisolute strangers to each oth er, through this kind meditation of friends, who are always ready to take upon them the office of an honorabl* go-between. As we cannot insure happiness to our friends, at the same time we help them to husbands and wives, one would imagine that few would care to run the hazard of bestowing misery where they meant a kindness. “We know a good-natured lady, who has officiously brought upon herself the ill-will and the c -rs es of lZ’ftuy her dearest and most intimate friends 0 n that ? *J7 account. She has a sister, for whom she iiaJ provided an excellent husband, who has shown his affect,‘l>n for her’ by spending his whole fortune upon his mistre&sG?* another pear relation, having by her means snatched up a r ’ c h oW > bridegroom was arrested for her debts within a few weeks after marriage ; and it cost her ’<* .0 e twelvemonth to bring the two doting lovers of her acquaintance together, who parted before the houey- j atoou had expired. M itli some ladies match-making is a passion—it being to them what wine is to ‘‘the gentleman of leisure”—a species of excitement, without which they would die of yawning and mildew. Asa gen eral thing, your ‘match-maker’ is well to do in the world—idleness being one of the component parts of their characters. They are also women of lively parte—qaick perception*, awes never-tiring invention. For getting a young <na*>V ‘foot in it,’ tliey have more love-trapa and figurey fours set about tho or bit iw wlik.4* ho revolves, than will meet in a rabbit swamp. To play the character well, however, re quires artifices worthy of a prime minister. To get people married who love, is ‘as easy as lying,’ but to ’ get those to love who never each ether, requires as much plot and poetry m does a Spanish comedy. For tins parties are given and compliments which were never uttered, are made to pass from the ears of one of the ‘predestined* to the other. Miss Julia is informed that ‘Mr. Smithers, who is comitg to the ‘ party to-morrow night,’ is head over heels in love, not only with her beauty, but her accomplishments; while Smithers is scarcely permitted to pass beyond the threshold ere he is informed, Sn confidence,’ that the young lady at tho rpper end of the room, ‘with blue eyes and pink bodice,’ has been wasting herself to a ‘thadder’ ever since she had heard his name whispered ‘at Mrs. Billamay’s.’ The effect of this diplomacy is to kindle a fire in the bosom of poor Julia, and Smithers, that nothing but the waters of Hymen can extinguish. By the way, one half of the love in the market is of this second-hand descrip tion, while two thirds of the weddings are brought about not by Cupid aud poetry but by some inter esting middle-aged lady, who delights in sighs, and sets a premium on babies and loose gowns. of them, Diana.’ . A Tete-a-Tete Game. We were much amused, a few evenrega since, by the following game of questions and answers, which, when played upon one as yet uninitiated into the mysteries,, is well calculated to afford “endless laugh ter.” A kidy may be supposed to request a gen tleman to- write down this list: Set down a lady’s name. ; Set down some time past. * Write the name of a place. Write either yen or no. Yes ornoagaiu. A lady's name. Some time to come. Yes or no. Yes or no again. Name of a city. Some colour. Any number not exceeding six. Name of a colour. Yet or No. A lady’s name. A gentlemen’s name. Na to of a clergyman. A s® m of money. Name oY a place. Any number at all. When these conditions have been complied with,’ tho gentleman is requested to read off the list thus prepared, as answers to the following series of ques tions : To whom did you make vour first offer f When ? In what place ? Does she love you? Did you love her? Whom will you marry ? Flow soon I Does she love you ? Do you love her ? Where does she reside ? What is the colour of 1 er hair l What is her height ? What is the colour of hor eyes ? Is she pretty ? Who is to be the bridesmaid ? Who is to be the groomsman ? Who is your eonfidantel Who is your rival / What clergyman is to marry you? llow much is she worth ? Where will you reside ? llow many servants will you keep? Drawing Room Journal. • The Columbines and Pantaloons. —The English papere inform us that an attempt is to be made at the World’s Fair to effect some important changes in dress. We now begin to understand the motive of the recent eloquent and touching appeals of pretty Miss Weber, of Belgium, and her disciples in Paris, against that clause of the double-barreled garment. These women’s rights’ people are at the bottom of the whole affair, which is neither more nor less than a conspiracy to strip from man the tubular appendages # and place them on the anti-masculines. We pro test against any such breeches of decorum. If Miss Weber chooses to gallop into Frankfort with a pant aloonedleg on each side of her saddle, and the Ger mans have no laws against ladies going without petticoats, so be it; but the innovation ujon one of the dearest privileges of manhood must not be made a precedent. The ladies who covet the ‘bifurcated garment’ say that they aspire to higher positions than woman has yet occupied. Can’t help it; if thev„- will climb higher than decency and pantalets will warrant, they must take their chance. As we don't intend to hold the ladder for them to go up, St’s of no consequence.’ We trust that the delegates to the World’s Fair will look to the rights of our sex, and permit no delicate* in pants to influence their pro ceedings. If, however, the change should be effected —if the proud emblem of sexual supremacy should be torn from raau, and he should be compelled to retreat from the contest with discomfitted front and unpro tected rear—there is still one consolation left us; we can turn tailor. If the women will ’ v ear the breech es, it will be some consolation to have the pleasure of measuring them. Miss Weber, we see from a recent letter from Par is, does not insist upon matrons wearing the forked continuations. Considerate young woman ! She seems to have taken a comprehensive view of the whole subject. May her shadow never be less!— Should it become larger, she will probably drop tir pantaloons. In the spring (so she writes to J is) Miss W. will visit the United States. She >u * to bring letters of introduction to all our le4> women reformers, not forgetting old and may, if there is sufficient enoouragerur r . T*’ course of lectures under tbeir auspices, 0Q a cation and its acquirements. Miss _; s re _ to be a person of masculine mind w> and aUainrrn * so that if we are to have our fcetb'jr interim * usurped, they could, pot be left in ablet band* ° * NO. 44.