Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.