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VOL. 2.
PROSPECTUS
or THE SECOND VOLUME OF
(Sf orgia Citizen.
conditions.
Tlic 2d volume of the “ Citizen ” will be published
on a larger sheet than the first, two or three more col
nmns of reading matter being given, weekly, than here
tofore, on the following terms :
One Copy per annum, in advance, $2 00.
“ “ “ not so paid, 3 00.
Eternal Justice.
BY CHARLES MACKEY.
The man is thought a knave or fool,
A bigot, plotting crime,
“Who, for the advancement of his kind,
Is wiser than his time.
For him the hemlock shall distill.
For him the axe be bared :
For him the gibbet shall be built;
For him the stake prepared ;
Him shall the storm and wrath of men
Pursue with deadly aim ;
And malice, envy, spite and lies,
Shall desecrate his name.
But truth shall conquer at the last,
For round and round we run,
And ever the right comes uppermost,
And ever is justice done.
Peace through thy cell, old Socrates,
Cheerily to and fro ;
Trust to the impulse of thy soul,
And let the poison flow.
They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay
That holds a light divine,
But they cannot quench the fire of thought
By any such deadly wine •,
They cannot blot thy spoken words
From the memory of man,
By all the poison e’er brewed
Since time its course began.
To-day abhorred, to morrow adored,
So roused and round we run,
And ever the truth comes uppormost,
And ever is justice done.
Plod in thy cave, grey Anchorite;
Be wiser than thy peers ;
Augment the range of human power,
And trust to coming years.
‘They may.s’l thee wizard, and monk accursed,
Thc< \ S-?• p five hundred years too soon
For ti. r c tfort of thy days.
But not too soon for human kind :
Time has reward in store •,
And the demons of our sires become
The saints that we adore.
The blind can see, the serf is lord ;
So round and round we run,
And ever the wrong Is proved to be wrong,
And ever is justice done.
Keep, Galileo, to thy thought;
And nerve thy soul to bear ;
They may gloat o’er thei-enseless words they wring
From the pangs of thy despair •,
They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide
The sun’s meridian glow ;
The heel of a priest may tread thee down,
And a tyrant work thee woe;
But never a truth has been destroyed ;
They may curse it and call it crime ;
Pervert and betray, or slander and slay
Its teachers for a time.
But the sunshine aye shall light the sky,
As round and round we run,
And truth shall ever come uppermost,
And justice shall be done.
And lives there now such men as these—
With thoughts like the great of old l
Many have died in their misery
And left their thoughts untold ;
And many live and are ranked as mad,
And placed in the cold world’s ban,
For sending their bright, far-seeing souls
Three centuries in the van.
They toil in pennry and grief,
• Unknown, if not maligned,
Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn
Os the meanest of mankind.
But yet the world goes round and round,
And the genial seasons run,
And ever truth comes uppermost,
And ever is justice done.
Cast in thy Mit.
The annexed stanzas are too good to be kept pa the
.other side of the Atlantic;
He who gives little from his store,
If little be his means,
Treads on as far the heavenward shore,
As he who gives ten times the more,
If ten times more he gains.
He may be useful here who would,
And walk within a zone of light;
•There is a treasury of good—
* Cast in thy mite!
Thou may’s not have one piece of gold
To bless the poor man’s pain;
But angel's will with joy behold,
If thou hast words which can be told,
His troubled heart to calm.
For kind words are as honied streams,
And he the walker of the sod
Who gives them to his brother, seems
A messenger from God.
There are abuses deep and loud,
Hoarse voices shrieking‘‘Bread !”
And there are noble spirits bow'd,
And forms that flit among the crowd
Like phantoms from the dead.
Crush but one atom of abuse,
Stay but a particle of sin,
And God will sanctify tl;e pse
Os all thy powers therein.
And if thy brother weaker be,
If folly marks his path;
And if that thou be fully free,
If knowledge clingeth unto thee,
Give not contempt or wrath;
But from the garner of thy worth,
And from thy store of truth and light,
To serve thy brother's wants on earth,
.Cast in thy mite!
Fault finders are the great pioneers of progres
sion. Things which are not censurable are never
improved. Had nobody ever attacked stage tr4>ph
ln g, railroads would never have been of.
A contented mind is very well for an individual,
Perhaps; to benefit a community, however give us
the ill-natured devil who spends hi? whplfi Hfp * n
abusing things.
Bride that dines on vanity suns as surely on con
'Cfopt.
S|® jSWjitist €!i^m
Didn’t Begin Right.
The following, if not new, is at least true—and is
worthy ot attention at this particular time, when so ma
ny “of ’em’’ are rushing incontinently into the holy
bands of matrimony, to be lost ‘‘to us” forever.
“This little fable,’’ said my uncle, “may perhaps be
of service to some poor devil, more willing than wise.
“A certain man once married a lady, whoso reputa
tion for amiability of disposition was seriously ques
tionable. At the wedding, everything went off merri
ly of course; the party gay, the supper magnificent—
the whole affair had been eminently successful, and all
parties extremely delighted.
“On retiring to his apartments, the gentleman found
himself annoyed by the mewing and purring of a cat.
“ ‘What in the devil’s name is that?’ he exclaimed.
“‘O nothing, my dear,’ replied the bride, ‘but my
favorite cat, Pussita.’
“ ‘O, hang Pussita!—l hate cats!’ and with
this he most unceremoniously threw Pussita out of the
window.
“‘Well! if you haven’t got a temper!’
“ ‘ Yes, my dear, you’d better believe it!’
“Everything” continued my uncle, “went on well in
that establishment—even to a warm dinner on Sun
day,”
Now it so happened that a friend of the above men
tioned gentleman, who had some months before ‘com
mitted the error’ of marrying ‘an angel,’ took occa
sion to inquire of him—
“ ‘llow it was, that with him everything went mer
ry as the marriage bell, while on the contrary, he (his
friend) had almost given up the idea of wearing pan
taloons at all.’
“Whereupon he related the story of Pussita and the
second story window, without,” said uncle, “fully im
pressing upon his mind the important moral —that it
was necessary to begin right. Nevertheless, there
was that in his eye when he started for home, ‘that told
of treason.’
“‘Well!’ said his wife, ‘you’ve come home at last,
have you—after keeping me silting up for you—and
what’s the matter?—you haven’t been drinking , have
you ? You look very strange.’
“ ‘Not in the least, my dear—but I hate cats , lovey.’
ou do, do you ?—well, I like ‘em, that's all the
difference.’
“Hereupon the unfortunate husband made a dash at
poor Tabby—who was quietly snoosing on the sofa—
and rushed impetuously to the window.
“ ‘You have been drinking. W hat arc you going to
do, monster ?’
“ ‘Throw her out of the window !’
“ ‘You better try it—l’d like to see you do it—l'd
break every bone in your body——why don t you throw
her out ? I dare you to do it ?’
“He put the cat softly down on the sofa, hung his
hat on a peg in the entry, his manliness and his panta
loons on an easy chair, and exclaimed —
“‘Go in, ducky darling, and win—l didn't begin
right.’
“ ‘I rather think you didn’t —you better take a fresh
start —but don’t try that game again, or you’ll catch
it—come to bed.’ He went.
“ Wrong from the beginning said uncle. “Oh,
.dear me!’’
What is Faith?
A kind and tender-hearted clergyman, a “good
shepherd” of his flock, was one day speaking of that
active, living faith, which should at all times cheer the
sincere followers of Jesus, related to me an illustration
that had just occurred in his family.
He had gone into the cellar, which in winter was
quite dark, and entered by a trap-door. A little
daughter, only four years old, was trying to find him,
and cainc to the trap-door, but on looking down all
was dark, and she called :
“Are you down in the cellar, father?”
“Yes! would j-ou like to come, Mary ?”
“It is dark; I can’t come down, father.”
“Well, my daughter, lain right below you, and I
can see you, though you cannot see me, and if you
drop yourself I will catch you.”
“Ob. I shall fall; I can’t see you, papa,”
“I know it,” he answered, “but I am really here,
and you shall not fall and hurt yourself. If you will
jump, I will catch you safely.”
Little Mary strained her eye to the utmost; but
could catch no glimpse of her father. She hesitated,
then advance a little further, then summoning all her
resolution, she threw herself forward and was received
safely in her father’s arms. A few days after, she
discovered the cellar door open, and supposing her fath
er to be there she called :
“Shall I come again, papa?”
“Yes, my dear, in a minute,” he replied, and had
just time to reach his arms towards her, when, in her
childish glee, she fell shouting into his arms; and clasp
ing his neck, said :
“I knew, dear father, I should not fall.’*
You Will be WaDted.
Take courage, young man. Y\ hat if you are but an
humble and obscure appreniice—a poor neglected or
phan—a scoff and a by-word to the gay and thought
less, who despise virtue and rags because of its tatters?
Have you an intelligent mind, al! untutored though it
be ? Have you a virtuous aim, a pure desire, and hon
est heart ? Depend upon it, one of these days you
will be wanted.
The time may be long deferred. lou may grow to
manhood, and you may eventually reach your prime,
ere the call is made; but virtuous aims, pure desires
and honest hearts are too few and sacred not to be ap
preciated—not to be wanted.
Your virtues shall not always be hidden —your pover
ty shall not always wrap you about as with a mantle
obscurity shall not always veil you from the multitude
Be chivalric in your combat with circustances.
Be ever active, however small may be your sphere
of action. It will surely enlarge with every move
ment, and your influence will have double incite
ment.
“In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life.
Be not like dumb driven cattle,
Bea hero In the strife.”
Work on, for surely you will be wanted, and then
comes your reward, Lean upon the sacred verity ’ I have
never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging
bread.” Never despair, for the live? of good men a
bundantly show that often when the clouds are blackest,
and the tempest is fiercest, and hope is faintest, a ‘ still
small voice” will be heard saying, ‘ Come hither ---y° u
are wanted,” and all your powers will find employment.
Therefore, take heart young man, for ere long “you will
be wanted,
Home, Sweet Home. — Maangwuflaus, the In
dian chief, is lecturing at Roohester, N. Y. Asa
specimen of Chippeway rhetoric, the editor of the A
njcrican there, published the following extract of
“Maungwudaus’s” memoranda:
i‘ [ have seen much of the Old World. I have been
in the company of Kings and Queens in their Palaces.
I have dined with Lords and other great men with
their golden plates, gold knives and gold forks. But
after all, I love my natiye oountry best, the land of my
forefathers. I love the Wigwam ip tl)e forest fjest. I
love the American Indian best—and were it that I
“ Mejmiknt in all filings —lifutral iu not jpg.”
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 12, 1851.
were alone on the earth of the American Indians, I
would take up the form of an American Indian, and
go up to the highest peak of the Rocky Mountains,
and there stand in the gaze of the whole world, and
say—Behold! the image otjiim that made us.
MAUNGWUDAUS,
the Chippewa Indian.”
Elder Ointment for Burns, &c.— After peeling
off the outside bark of the elder, scrape off the green
bark that is under, and stew it in lard till it is crisp;
then strain it in ajar, and put it away to heal a blister
or a burn, or an old sore.— Mrs. Lea's Doemstic
Cookery.
A kiss on Demand.
3Y THE ‘OLD UN.’
It was a very peculiar sound, something like the
popping of a champagne cork, something like the re
port of a small pocket pistol, but exactly like nothing
but itself, it was a kiss.
A kiss implies two parties—unless it be one of those
symbolical kisses produced by one pair of lips, and
w afted through the air in token of affection or admir
ation. But this particular kiss was genuine. The
parties in the case were Mrs. Phebe Mayflower, the
newly married wife of honest Tom Mayflower, garden
er to Mr. Augustus Scatteriy, and that young gentleman
himself. Augustus was a good hearted, rattle brain
ed spendthrift, who had employed the two or three
years which had elapsed since his majority in making
‘ducks and drakes’ of the pretty little fortune left him
by his defunct sire. There was nothing very bad about
hint, except his prodigal habits, and by these he was
the severest sufferer. Tom, his gardener, had been
married a few weeks, and Gus, who had failed to be at
the wedding, and missed the opportunity of ‘saluting
the bride,’ took it into his head that it was both proper
and polite that he should do so on the the first occa
sion of his meeting her subsequently to that interesting
ceremony. Mrs. Mayflower, the other party inter
ested in the case, differed from him in opinion, and the
young landlord kissed her in spite of herself. But she
was not without a champion, for at the precise moment
when Scatteriy placed his audacious lips in contact with
the blooming cheek of Mrs. M., Tom entered the gar
den and beheld the outrage.
‘What are you doing, Mr. Scatteriy,’ he roared.
‘O’ nothing, Tom, but asserting my rights ! I W’as
only saluting the bride.’
‘Against my will, Tommy,’ said the poor bride, blush
ing like a peony, and wiping the offended cheek with
iter checkered apron.
‘And I’ll make you pay for it, if there’s law in the
land,’ said Tom.
‘Pooh! pooh! don’t make a fool of yourself,’ said
Scatteriy.
‘ I don’t mean to,’ answered the gardener, dryly.
‘You’re not seriously offended at the innocent
liberty I took?’
‘ Yes I be,’ said Tom.
‘Well, if you view it in that light,’ answered Scattcr
ly’ ‘I shall feel bound to make you reparation. You
shall have a kiss from my bride when I’m married.’
‘That you will never be.’
‘I must confess,’ said Scatteriy, laughing, ‘the prospect
of repayment spems rather distant. But who knows
what will happen? I may not die a bachelor after all.
And if I marry —I repeat it, my dear fellow—you
shall have a kiss from my wife.’
‘No he shan’t,’ said Phebe. ‘lie shall kiss nobody
but me.’
‘Yes he shall,’ said Scatteriy. ‘Have you got pen,
ink and paper, Tom?’
‘To be sure,’ answered Tom. ‘Here they be, all
handy.’
Scatteriy sat down and wrote as follows:
The Willows, Aug.—, 18 — .
‘Value received I promise to pay Thus. Mayflower,
or order, one kiss on demand.
Augustus Scatterly.
‘There you have a legal document,’ said the young
man, as ho handed the paper to the grinning gardener.
‘And now, good folks, good by.’
‘Mistakes will happen in the best regulated families,’
and it so chanced that in the autumn of the same year,
our bachelor met at the springs a charming belle of
Baltimore, to whom he lost his heart incontinently. Ilis
person and address were attractive, and though his
prodigality had impaired his fortune, still a rich old
maiden aunt, who-doted on him, Miss Parsimmon \ er
juice, promised to do the handsome thing by him on
condition es his marrying and settling quietly to the
management of his estate. So, under these circum
stances, he proposed, was accepted, and was married,
and brought home his beautiful young bride to reside
with Miss Verjuice at the Willows.
In the early days of the honeymoon, one fine morn
ing, when Mr. and Mrs. Scatteriy and the maiden aunt
were talking together in the garden, Tom Mayflower
dressed in his best, made his appearance, wearing a
smile of most peculiar meaning.
‘Julia,’said Augustus, carelessly to his young bride,
‘this s my gardener, come to pay his respects to you
—honest Tom Mayflower, a very worthy fellow, I as
sure you.’
Mrs. Scatteriy nodded condescendingly to the gar
dener, who gazed upon her with open eyes of admira
tion. She spoke a few words to him, inquired about
his wife, his flowers, &c., and then turned away with
the aunt, as if to terminate the interview.
But Tom could not take his eyes off her, and he
stood, gazing and admiring, and every now and then
passing the back of his hand across his lips.
‘What do you think of my choice, Tom?’ asked Scat
teriy, confidentially.
‘Oh! splendiferous!’ said the gardener.
‘Roses and lillies in her cheeks —eh?’ said Scat
teriy.
‘Her lips are red as carnations, and her eyes as blue
as larkspurs,’ said the gardener.
‘l’m glad you like your new mistress ; notv go to
work, Tom.’
‘I beg pardon Mr. Scatteriy : hut I called to see you
on business.’
‘Well—out with it.’
‘Do you remember anything about saluting the
bride*’
‘I remember I paid the customary homage to Mrs.
Mayflower.’
‘Well don’t you remember what you promised in
case of your marriage ?’
‘No!’
Tom produced the promissory note with a grin of
triumph. ‘lt's my turn now, Mr. Scatteriy.’
‘What you mean?’
‘I mean to kiss Mrs. Scatteriy.’
‘Go to the deuce, you rascal.’
‘O! what is the matter?’ exclaimed both the ladies,
started by Sc&tterly's exclamation, and turning back to
learn the cause.
The fellow has preferred a demand against me,’ said
Scatteriy,
‘A legal demand,’ said the gardener sturdily, ‘and
here’s the document.’
‘Give it to me,’ said the old maiden aunt. Tom
handed her the paper with an air of triumph.
‘Am I right’ said he?
‘Perfectly young man,’ replied Miss Verjuioe; ‘only,
when my nephew married, I assumed all his debts;
and 1 am now ready myself to pay your claim.’
‘Fairly trapped, by Jupiter!’ exolairaed Scatteriy, in
an extacy of delight.
‘Stop—stop,’ cried the unhappy gardener, recoiling
rom the withered face, bearded lip and sharp nose of
the ancient spinster; ‘I relinquish my claim—l’ll write
a receipt in full.’
‘No, sir,’ said Scatteriy; ‘you pressed me for pay
ment this moment —and you shall take your pay or
I discharge you from my employ.’
‘I am ready ’ said the spinster, meekly.
Tom shuddered —crawled up to the old lady—shut
his eyes—made up a horrible face, and kissed her while
Mr. and Mrs. S. stood by convulsed with laughter.
Five minutes afterwards Tom entered the gardener’s
dodge, pale, weak and trembling, and sunk into a
chair.
‘Give me a glass of water, Fhebe !’ lie gasped.
‘Dear! what has happened ?’asked the little woman.
‘Happened! why, that cussed Miss Verjuice is pay
ing Mr. Scatteriy’s debts!’
‘Well ?’
‘Well I presented my promissory note —he handed
it to her—and—and—O’, n/urder, I've been kissing
the old woman!’ p
Phebe put her arfhs about his neek and pressed her
lips to his, and Thomas Mhyflower then and there so
lemnly promised that he would never more have any
thing to do with kisses on demand.
Never too Old to Learn.
The following well authenticated facts will illustrate
the principle that man is never too old to learn :
Socrates , at an extreme old age, learnt to play on
musical instruments. This would look ridiculous for
some of the rich old men in our city, especiajly if they
should take it into their heads to thrum a guitar under
a lady’s window, which Socrates did not do but only
learnt to play upon some instrument of his time, not a
guitar, for the purpose of resisting the wear and tear
of old age.
Cato , at eighty years of age, thought proper to learn
the Greek language. Many of our young men of thirty
and forty, have forgotten even the alphabet of a langu
age, the knowledge of which was necessary to enter
college, and which was made a daily exercise through
college. A finecomment upon love of letters, truly.
Plutarch, when betwween seventy and eighty, com
menced the study of the Latin. Many of our
young lawyers, not thirty years of age, think that
nisi prius, scire facias , <fco., arc English expres
sions; and if you tell them that a knowledge of the
Latin would make them appear alitte more respectable
in their professions, they will reply that they are too old
to think of learning Latin.
Baceacio was thirty-five years of age when he com
menced his studies in polite literature. Yet he became
one of three great masters of the Tuscan dialect,
Dante and Petrarch being the other two. There are
many among us ten years younger than Boccacio,
who are dying of ennui , and regret that they were
not educated to a taste for literature, but now they are
too old.
Sir Henry Spelman neglected the sciences in his
youth, but commenced the study of them when he
was between fifty and sixty years of age. After this
time he became the most learned antiquarian and law
yer. Our young men begin to think of laying their
seniors on the shelf when they have reached sixty
years of age. llow different the present estimate put
upon experience from that which characterised a cer
tain period of W u Orrieian repul , n a man was
not allowed to ®pen lys mouth in os or political
meetings, who was under forty
Culbert , *he famous FrtSich f sixty years
of age, returned to his Latin
many of our college-learnt men have overlooked into
their classics since their graduation?
Dr. Johnson applied himself to the Dutch language
but a few years before his death. Most of our merch
ants and lawyers of twenty-five, thirty and forty years
of .age, are obliged to apply to a teacher to translate a
business letter written in the Freneh language, which
might be learnt in the tenth part of the time required
for the study of the Dutch; and all because they are
too old to learn.
Ludovico Monaldesco, at the great age of one hun
dred & fifteen, wrote the memoirs of his own times —a
singular exertion, noticed by Voltaire, who was himself
one of the most remarkable instances of the progress of
age in new studies.
Ogilby , the translator of Horner and \ irgil, was
unacquainted with Latin and Greek till he was past
fifty.
Franklin did not fully commence his philosophical
pursuits till he had reached liis fiftieth year. llow
many among us of thirty, forty, and fifty, who read
Vothing but newspapers for want of a taste for na
tural philosophy? But they are too old to learn.
Accorso, a great lawyer, being asked why he began
the study of law so late, answered that indeed he be
gan late, but he should therefore master it the sooner.
This agrees with our theory, that healthy old age gives
a man the power of accomplishing a difficult study in
much less time than would be necessary to one of half
his years.
Dryden , in his sixty-eighth year commenced the
translation of the Iliad; and his most pleasing produc
tions were written in his old age.
We could go on and cite thousands of examples of
men who commenced anew study and struck out into
an entirely new pursuit, either for livelihood or amuse
ment, at an advanced age. But every one familiar with
the biography of distinguished men, will recollect indi
vidual cases enough to convince him that none but
the sick and indolent will ever say, I am too old to
study.
Music.
The late profound musical theorist, Baumgartcn,
remarking on the incessant fluctuation of musical taste,
justly observed, that the strongest possible test of ge
nius in some of the old compositions, is their surviving
the age in which they were produced, and becoming
the admiration of future masters. Handel’s music
has received this honor in a more eminent degree than
that of Purcell. By Boyce ami Battishill the memory
of the great German was adored; Mozart was enthu
siastic in his praise; Haydn could not listen to his “Mes
siah” without weeping; and Beethoven has been
heard to declare that, were he ever to come to England,
he should uncover his head, and kneel down at his
tomb. This seems to prove that Handel, like Shakes
peare, was born for all ages, and in despite of the ver
satility of taste, will never be modern.
It is commonly asserted, and we incline to think cor
rectly, says the Nortli American Review, that there is
less of good music in Boston than in the Southern ci
ties. In its churches and drawing rooms we hear less
remarkable performances than in New York and
Philadelphia. The young ladies do not play and sing so
well as their sisters further South. Few hereabouts
can sing Italian airs in such a manner as to be recog
nized. even could the composer himself hear him; and
drawing-room music consists pretty much of the de
funct remains of operas, whieh have been murdered to
make conire-dances of, or the hum-drum English songs
brought out by the last popular concert-giver. But
when we turn from such forlorn music as this to the
grand ponoerts of the Academy of Music or the Han
del and Haydn Society, and witness the crowds from
all classes who flocked to hear them, we feel assured
that music is established on a firm basis in Boston.
The mqsioal performances of amateurs in genoral so
ciety is frequently nothing more or less than what Car
lyle would call “an enormous sham,” a “monstrous
piece of flunkeydom.” But supposing, after a morecau
de concert, with a few wrong notes added, has been
performed, a young lady begins a simple song; let her
have only a tolerable voice, under perfect control, and
the power of accompanying herself with false harmo
nies, and I will engage she has plenty of silent, grati
fied listeners, immediately. If her voice is very sweet,
her expression fine, and her song well-chosen, she will
have even an enthusiastic audience. Now, what is
the lesson amateur pianoforte-players should learn from
this ? Why, that neither noise nor rapidity are music,
and that nothing short of the perfect execution and pow
erful expression of a great pianiste, aided by the rich
tone of a first-rate instrument, will make any impres
sion on the hearers of a modern piano forte piece in
general society.
Music requires the careful cultivation of a young la
dy’s mind, fancy, taste, feeling, and memory, as well as
of her manual strength and agility. If proper time be
not allowed forgetting over the fundamental part of the
art in childhood, it will be found out too late that the
old proverb, “Most haste, worst speed” has been veri
fied. Parents are often so impatient to hear their chil
dren play “ pvrtty pieces,” and grown up young ladies
so anxious to shine in company, that masters have no
chance of getting time and labor bestowed on what
they well know to be indispensable to attaining good
execution and taste; and then people complain that a
teacher does not bring on their children, when they
themselves put most effectual obstacles iu the way of
the pupil’s improvement.
A Happy Home,
A happy home is a glorious and instructive sight ;
one which it does the heart good to sec, and once be
held, leaves an ineffaceable impression on the mind.—
But, alas, how rarely is such a home to be met with !
Every day we enter family circles, that, to our unac
customed eyes, seem brimming over with mutual love
and happiness. But, how much of it is real ? Do we
not too often find that it is nothing more than a holiday
garb put on for the observation and vanishing with the
guests in whose honor it was donned ? This fact will
not seem strange, when we recollect how easy it is to
destroy the peace and unanimity of home. One un
just spirit, one restless and unruly soul, will transform
the calmest circle into a place of torment. A family
circle resembles an electrical one. As long as all are
similar in disposition, as long as all are actuated by the
same motives of mutual love, the current of affection
will flow freely and undisturbed; but, introduce one
foreign nature, one impenetrable member, and the cir
cle is immediately broken, the current is disturbed, and
where before all was harmony and peace, is now chaos
and confusion. Still, even under its worst aspect, there
is a charm in home. Which of us is it, that, wander
ing in the stormy path of the world, does not look back
with a certain degree of reverential affection on that old
familiar spot, even though its memories may be linked
with many an unhappy thought? The oak-trees, be
neath whose shadow we rested our weary limbs in the
sultry days of summer; the old garden, the theater of
many a daring exploit; the small bed room, where in
the long winter nights we wept ourselves to sleep, and
there slumbered soundly until the broad sunshine woke
us again with all our cares forgotten, and cast off with
the joyous indifference of childhood —all these coipes
refreshingly back upon our niemortes, when, amid the
war and turmoil of the world, we sigh over the che
quered days of our youth; when we begin to discover
the age and independence of manhood has not brought
that happiness we once imagined; and that, after all, the
careless boy, even with the rod in the back ground,
map be a fairer picture than the worldly calculating
man.— Raleigh Times.
mm
Beat at his own Game.
Not many years ago there was, and perhaps there
is yet, a law in the State of Connecticut, which set forth
that any person driving a wagon upon the highway on
Sunday should be fined ten dollars, the complainant to
receive half the penalty.
Now, there never was a law devised, planned or
laid down, but what some cute individual will find a
hole or flaw to crawl through it, whatever may be its
‘tight fits,’ or intricate details. But somebody must be
caught, of course, and sometimes it does happen that
the most wary and wakeful get caught in the very steel
trap set by themselves to allure or trip the unwary—
hence my story.
It is now no longer. I believe, an unsolved question,
but a fixed fact, that Yankees do know a hawk from a
hand-saw, and can be cute if occasion requires it.—
There is no question of it. When the Connecticut
Sunday-traveling law, the summum bonum of which I
have set forth, was in the flower of its bloom —one
rainy, dirty, muddy Sunday, just such a day as makes
man and beast feel a strong inclination to lay back in
some quiet, dry place, and chew the sweet or bitter
cud of fancy,as it may be—a live and veritable speci
men of genus yengese (the later phrase is aboriginal, 1
believe, was to be seen, without charge, in the very act
of violating th.e King's law , or that of the Common
wealth of Connecticut, driving a wagon and old gray
mare upon the highway ! If he d.d not know the law,
he was not long learning it, for a Connecticut man,
who perhaps not having the fear of God before his
eyes so clearly as he had in his heart the idea of ma
king five dollars out of the lone traveler, ran out of his
dry domicil by the roadside, and shouted—
“ Hallo! there Mister!”
“Certain, squire,” said the Yankee Jehu, woo, Sook,
lieold on, yeo fool yeo, woo. Mornin’ Squire, what’s
the neuse ? Hal n't got the collery deown this way I
hope? Dien’ like sixty in York with it!”
“No friend,” said the man, “we hain’t got no colle
ry here, “but I guess you don't know we've got a law
what fines folks that drive on the king’s highway on
the Lord’s day ?’’
’‘Dew tell” said he in the little tight wagon—“well,
I should'nt wonder now if you had an—’’
“And 1 shall arrest you, friend, for breaking the
law.”
“I want to know, now ? M ell, squire, I can’t help
it; and you see in fact I am in the all firedest hurry to
get hum; I have been tliar in New \ork bout ten
weeks among the dead and dyen —
“What? with the—,”
‘Collery, collery, squire; it'searryin’ ’em off by hull
wagon loads—(the squire s eye dilated.) I got a good
job at haulin’ the dead in my wagon to rotter’s
Field ”
“What! this wagon?”
“Zackly, squire; it paid well, (the squire’s cheek
grew a little pater,) and l held out until a day ’fore yes
terday; I felt it cummin’ on me and I started for hum.”
‘‘Friend,’’ said the squire, “it's only seven ffiiles to
M town, and ”
“But I say, squire; Pm desprit ill, sick as a dog;
can’t you let me put up with you until
“No, no, no; go on; goon; you'll soon get to M
and ”
“But you ain't agoin’ to let a feller die in the road in
this kind o’ way ?”
‘Drive on, drive on, friend, don t stop a minute, and
the old fellow stepped off as fast as he could toddle from
the peddler’s pest wagon. ’
‘Hallo ! squire !’ roared the man of notice, “heow
about the fine V
‘Da ! blast you and the flue too; drive off!’
shouted the old follow,and on went the Yankee, show- !
• ing a set of ivories to the drizzly day, enough to set c
dentist in ecstacies.
‘Go ahead, Sook; guess that feller won’t stop trading
folks soon again; lioo! hoo! hoo! gin him a feg'lai
ager fit.’
But the peddler had not made many miles before h(
was again hailed, and by an absolute constable, whe
ex officio , soon brought up the old mare and her dri
vor to a dead halt. It won'd not go down, perhaps,
so well with this customer, thought the peddler, to try
the cholera game with him; so the Yankee thoughl
he'd try anew dodge.
“Well, hain’t no objection to pay the fine, for I was
determined to get into M to-day, rain or shine,
and my old mare is nigh ’bout giving eout.’
‘Well,’ said the officer,‘drive ahead; its only three
miles to M ; I’ll go down with you.’
‘Thank yeou. ’Spose you ride a bit, mister. I’m
pesky tired sitting, so if yeou’fl just get in and drive a
long I'll walk a spell.’ And out gut the cute chap intc
the road.
The constable got in, glad to quit the mud ami rain
for so comfortable a place, and on they went. As you
get near M , there are plenty of houses along the
road, and many persons ran out to see who on earth
was profaning the Sabbath and breaking the law by
driving a yellow covered peddler's wagon in the very
face of open day. Seeing it was their constable, the
folks were at a dead loss to comprehend the matter,
and let him drive on without interruption. The roads
being heavy, and the old marc in the last stages of
done-out, the wagon was propelled rather tediously
along, while the bona fide owner, long-limbed, winded,
and light of foot, reached M some twenty minutes
before the officer and the proscribed wagon came up.
Pushing into the first tavern at hand, the peddler cal
led for the landlord, and wanted to know if it was not
against the law to drive a wagon on Sunday. Being
well assured by Boniface of the fact, he requested him
to step out and see a man in the very act.
‘Why, bless my soul! that's Mr. ■, our consta
ble ”
‘ ’Tis?’ said the peddler. ‘Well, now, I’d call him
a purty feller, tew; the constable breaking your laws
all tew smash on a Sunday. But he is at it, ain't he
landlord ?’
‘lt's a fact; here he comes sure enough.’
‘Well, I reckon there’s something to be made here,’
said the peddler, ‘so I’ll just shear the fine with yeou
landlord, ifyeou’ll show me where the’squire lives.’
‘O ! I’m justice here myself,’ said the landlord.
Dew tell ? Well, then, we'll soon fix that consta
ble.’
Up drove the officer, and jumping ont, grinning, he
handed the lines to the ostler, and told him to put the
mare up.
‘Why, you beat me here, friend,’ said he.
‘Guess I her,’ said the peddler.
‘Well, as it is Sunday,’ said the officer, ‘and near
night, “we'll let the mare lay over until morning; I’ll
take care of the mare and wagon.
The peddler had no objections; so it did lay over un
til morning, when bright and early the constable found
himself fined ten dollars and costs for violating the
Sunday traveling law! The officer grinned and
squirmed , but as the case was made out as clear as
day, there was no dodging it, and that community (es
pecially the constable) learned that Yankee peddlers,
like edged tools, must be handled carefully,
How to do it ! There is good sound
sense in the following advice to young men
and women, who are thinking of matrimony,
It is from an article by Grant Tborburn, in the
last number of the Home Journal :
“There is nothing to be gained in dang
ling for a twelvemonth after a sensible woman,
talking unmeaning stuff—words without wis
dom. Tell her your wish, like a man, and
not like a blubering school-boy. She will
never trifle with your affections; and if there
are three gtains of common sense in your
muckle carcass, she will be your own before
one month has passed. See the history ot Re
becca, in Genesis, 24th chapter, 57th verse :
VVhen Abraham’s servant had concluded the
preliminary contract with Mrs. Laban, on the
part of her daughter, to become the wife of
Isaac, the old man was anxious to get home,
to show his young master the bonny I tss he
had brought him: the mother wished him to
remain a few days, to recruit himself and his
camels. He persisting, it was finally referred
to the daughter. *We will call the damsel and
inquire at her mouth,’ said the mother. \\ hen
Rebecca appeared, her mother asked, ‘wilt
thou go with this man?’ Rebecca replied,‘l
will go.’
There was a noble girl for you. No tear
starting from her black eyes ; no whining, nor
simpering make-believe, nor mock-modesty :
but what her heart wished, her lips uttered.—
Like an honest maiden, she replied, ‘I will go.’
Now, young ladies, go thou and do likewise.—
When the man whom you prefer above all
others in the world, says, ‘Will you go with
me V answer ‘I will go.’
By the-bye, Judies, when you wish to read
a true, simple and unsophisticated love-story,
just read over the twenty-fourth chapter of
Genesis.”
A Doctor in Trouble. is about
making its appearance, clad in green robes be
sprinkled with Butter-cups and violets, and the
little birds are making preparations for matri
mony and house-keeping. VV hether any such
ideas entered the noddle of our friend Dr. E
*, is past our judgment to determine ; but
thaughts of spring time must have crossed his
mind without doubt, for on Saturday night, he
procured a spade, rake and hoe, and started
with them lor home. He strode along Mar
ket street lastly, exhibiting a specimen of his
usually tall walking, and dreamed of holly
hocks and daisies, snap dragons and johnny
juinps-ups, grown from seed sown by his own
hands. Thus immersed in cogitations on his
coming floricultural pursuits, he was suddenly
awakened by a summons to stop, and like Un
cle Ned, of serenader memory, to
“I.ay down the shubble and the hoe !”
Felix McFadyen was the watchman on the
beat, and it was the voice ol Felix which now
hailed the Doctor, commanding him to stand,
in the name of the law, and gave an account
of himself. “VYbcre did ye get then) things, ye
vaggebone?” inquired Felix, “Upon my word,”
replied the Doctor, “it strikes me that that is
an impertinent question.” “Don’t be spaken
in that style to me,' 1 cried Felix “for I’m the
law’s officer, and whoeyer insults me insults
the commonwealth.. D’ye mine that ! How
did yees come by them musical instruments,
ye benefactor!” “Suppose you take me be.
fore the Mayor,” replied the Doctor, “and have
the affair investigated.” By this time howev.
er, Felix discovered that his adventure was in
FELIX, and beat a retreat, determined to look a
little closer before he denounced his near
neighbor as a robber. As for the Doctor, he
takes it in high dudgeon. “Had the fellow ac
cused me of murder, robbery, or even of an
i assault and battery,” said he, “I might, have
borne it, with patience ; but to be suspected
; of petit larceny would try even the saint-like
• patience of Thomas, the rhym£r.”-*-PHix,AO.
News. ,
1 Mrs. Partington on Wind.— “ Cease
rude Bolus, clustering railer,” said Mrs, Part
ington, as she reached out into the storm to se
cure a refractory shutter and the wind rushed
in and extinguished her light, ajid shammed
to the door, and fanned the fire in the gre te
and rustled the calico flounce upon the quilt
and peeped into the closets and under the bed,
and contemptuously shook Mrs. Partington’s
night jacket as it hung airing on the chair by
the fire, and flirted her cap borde-rjaa she look
ed out upon the night. It was a saucy gust,
“How it blows!” said she, as she snut down
the window ; “I hope heaven will keep the
poor sailors safe, who go down on the sea ia
vessels ; and the poor, God bless ’em! the
poor indignant creeturs that have none of the
comforts of iife as we have, the poor crcetu**
who are forced to live in one room, and have
a bed in the very place where they sleep, how
I hope, they may be comfortable this bluster
ing night. This must be the noxious storm,”
continued she, “where the sun crosses the Pe
nobscot,” She donned her specs, and at
down to consult Dudley Lpavitt about the feet,
and she found she was right; while the wiad
howled round the house most dismally.
■ n i- .'■a
Shifting the Responsibility,
A HARD SHELL STORY.
BY HOOPER.
While attending Court, recently, in the ad
joining county ol Randolph, a friend who i*
fond of jokes of all sorts, and who relates them
almost as humorously as “ liis Honor,” gave
us the following, vouching for the substantial,
sub-lunar existence of the parties and their
present residence “in the county aforesaid
Brethren Crump and Noel were both mem
bers of the Primitive Baptist Church, and both
clever, honest men who paid their taxes and
debts as the same annually accrued, with a
at once Christian and commenda
ble- If when settling day came round*—
Brother Noel was short,” Brother Crump was
sure to be in fuuds ; and on the other hand it
ai'msot seemed providential how, if Brother
Crump fell “ behind,”* Brother Noel always
had a surplus- Thus borrowing from
lending to each other, worshiping at the same
church, and living only a mile apart, an iati,
macy gradually ripened between them; so
that at last they did not hesitate to speak in the
freest and most familiar manner to each other,
even in regard to their respective foibles.
Now, it came to pass, that Brother Crump,
during the liveliest period of the cotton season,
drove into Wetumka apddkpn&ed ofhis “crap”
of ten bales, at the very fair price of l|| cents
per pound. It was more than he expected, and
as the world v.*aaeasy with him, he determin
ed to invest and did actually invent a portion of
the proceeds of the sale of his cotton, in a bar
rel of western whiskey ; paying therefore, at
rate of, precisely, two pounds of middling cot
ton for one gallon “ ditto” whiskey,
Os course it was “norated in the settlement”
that old man Crump had bought a whole bar
rel, and after a few weeks people began to ob
serve that his nose grew redder and his eyes
more moist. The idea that Brother Crump
was “drinking too diffused itself in the
neighborhood, until, as one might say, it be
came epidemical. People talked and talked—
more especially “ what few” of other denomi
nations ofehristians dwelt thereabouts.
Brother Noel was “sore troubled” at the
scandal which circulated about his brother and
friend, and especially regretted the injury it
brought to the ciety” at Sharon. So one
morning, he stepped over to Brother Crump's
and found the old man in a half-doze in his lit
tle porch.
VVon’t yon take a dram ?” asked Brother
Crump, as soon as be was aware of the pre,
ence ofhis neighbor.
“ Why yes. Pm not agin a dram when a
body wants it.”
Brother Crump got his bottle, and the friends
took a dram apiece,
“ Don’t you think, brother Noel,’ said
Crump, “that sperits is a hlessin.”
“Y-e-s*” responded Noel; “sperits is a
hlessin’, but accordin’ to my notion, its a Ulea
sin’ that some of us abuses.”
“ Well now, brother Noel, who do you
think abuses the tdessin’
“ Well, its hard to say,—-but people talk —-
dont you think you drink too much, Brother
Crump ?’*
“Its hard to say-=-*its hard to say;” re
sponded Crump. “Sometime* I’ve thought I
was a drinking too agin I’d think
may be not. What is man? A weak wur
rum of the dust! What the Lord saith, that
shall be done ! So l left it to the Lord to say
whether I was goin* too fur in sperits, I put
the whole responsibility on him; I prayedta
him, es I was drinkin’ too much, to take away
my apetite for sperits.”
Here Brother Noel groaned piously, and
asked—“ What then, Brother Crump?”
“And”-—-replied Crump—“l’ve prayed that
prayer three times, and he uainH done it’
So I’m clear of the ’sponstbilily any way.”
“ The Lord’s will be done !” ejaculated
Noel, and after taking another dram he went,
home thinking all the way, how cleverly Bro
ther Crump had shifted the responsibility !
Chambers Tribune.
A “California widow” publishes the follow
ing in a San Francisco paper- Julia appear*
to be quite particular in filling her vacancy:
Husband Wanted.- Whereas my husband
has lately left my bed and board without provo
cation on my part, l hereby advertise for a
suitable person to fill the vacancy. Ihe gen
tleman applying must have blue eves, light
colored moustache, (my husband had black,)
an attractive goatee, and a genteel figure,
He must not be over twenty-five years of age,
well educated, of unexceptionable morals, and
agreerble redress. It is requisite that his per*
sonal incumbrances should be limited, and hi*
prospective fortunes flattering-
No gambler need apply. Address Julia.
At the desk of this office,
“Os all trades and arts in repute oroppression
Humbugging is held the most ancient profes
sion.
’Twijt nations and parties, and State politi
cians,
Prim sh°P keepers, jobbers, smooth Lawyer*,
physicians,
Os w’orth and of wisdom, the trial and test
Is, mark ye, friends, who shall humbug the
beat.”
NO. 2.