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VOL. 2.
I'rufesiimnl so Slnsmrss Carte
E. L. WOOD,
DAGUERREOTYPIST,
MACON, GA.
ENTRANCE FROM THE AVENUE,
epr 19 ts
RAILROAD EOUSBr
OPPOSITE CENTRAL RAILROAD DEIOT
EAST HACOX.
if’ 4 ts S. M. I.ANIER.
JACK brown,
ATTORi\LV AT LAW,
B VEX A VISTA, MARION CO., GA. *
apr 13 lv
KELLAM & BELL,
ATTORNEY'S AT LAW & GENERAL LAND AGENTS,
ATLANTA, :::::::::::: GA.
A ill tractice in DeKulb and adjoining comities
’ and in tli> Supreme Court at Decatur.— Will also vi
sit any pirt of the country for the settlement of claims
<f-c. without suit.
Qirßouxrv Land Claims prosecuted with despatch.
Office on White Hall St., over Dr. Denny's Drug
Store.
A. R. KELLAM. M. A. BELL.
I’. G. ARRINGTON,
Attorney at Law and Notary Public,
maeou Cos.,
jef, (LO K IA • 38 — ts
CITY HOTEIT
SAVANNAH,•.•.•.•••.•.•.•.•.•.•.•GEORGIA.
P. CONDON.
Terms: —Transient Boarders, per day, $1,50. Monthly an 1
rail Hoarders iu p.oportion. ap/s—y
©9B©(iMI A. LQQWRAWS.,
Sltfornnj at IT aut,
OFFICE OVER BEI.DEN AND Co’s. HAT STORE,
Mulberry Street, Huron, Georgia.
HARDEMAN A HAMILTON,
Ware House and Commission Merchants,
MACON, GEORGIA.
HAMILTON A HARDEMAN,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
SAVAXXA IT, GEORGIA.
Will give prompt attention to all business committed to them
at either place.
THOS. HARDEMAN. (19-.tf) CHAS. F. HAMILTON.
FACTORAGE AND
©3323253319X1 ®3S2XI3BS
Savannah, Ga
“ITTM. P. YOXGE, N0.94 Bay street, Savannah, continues
, > to transact a General Commission Business and Factor
age, and respectfully solicits consignments of Cotton. Corn,
and other produce, lie will also attend to receiving and for
warding Merchandize.—•
April 5, 1951 ly
RASUDN, I?y!LY©N & 000,
Factors A <osii mission Hereliants,
aug3o SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. —Gm
FIELD A ADAMS.
FI St E-FKOOF W A It EIIOI SE,
MACON, GEORGIA.
f under.-igned will continue tha Ware-House and Com
1. mission Business, at the commodious and well known Fire
Proof Building, formerly occupied by Dyson S; Field and the
past season by us. The attention of Goth the partners will be
given to all business entrusted to their care. They respectful
lly solicit the patronage of the public generally. They are pre
pared to make liberal cash advances on all Cotton in store at
the customary rates.
ty -VH orders for Groceries, Bagging and Rope will be fill
ed at the lowest market prices. JOHN M. FIELD,
aug9 ts A. B. ADAMS.
~ SASH AND WINDOW BLIND _
Ib>_£ SALO.UU £P iS* ‘A ®
subscriber is manufacturing the atmve articles by
X Steam Machinery, at very moderate prices.
TURNING AND PLANING.
He has machinery for this business, and will promptly exe
cute any jobs in this line. ALEX. .MiGREGOR.
july26 • (ini
dtfH&bAJijTLSJ)
For the Georgia Citizen.
Dear Doctor :—W ill you have the kindness to re
publish this Poem with the following corrections.
The Moon of Mobile.
BY T. 11. CHIVERS, M. D.
The Song that she sang was all written
In rubies that sparkled like wine,
Like the Morning Star burning, new litten
By the tablets of diamond divine.
Like some ravishing sound made from divers
Sweet instruments fluting in June,
From her soul flowed those musical rivers
Os Odin called the rivers of Rune.
Then come to my bower, sweet Angel!
Love’s Fountain of Life to unseal;
You shall live in this amber Evangel,
Sweet Ellen ! the Trice of Mobile !
Svaeet Ellen ! dear Ellen ! the Maid of Mobil:!
Mytnary, mavourneen, the Moon of Mobile!
Her -soul sparkled bright through the azure
©f her violet eyes full of light,
Like young Venus, long absent from pleasure,
Y\ lien Adonis first comes in her sight.
As the Angels elomb up late at even,
From the Bethel of Jacob above; f
So, the Angels of thought go to Heaven
On the rounds of the Ladder of Love.
Then come to my bowser, sweet Angel!
Love's rountain of Life to unseal;
You shall live in this amber Evangel
Sweet Ellen the Pride of Mobile!
Sweet Ellen ! dear Ellen ! the Maid of Mobile!
My Mary, mavourneen, the Moon of Mobile!
Prester John never sent, out of duty,
From the City of Heaven; called Cansny,*
Any maiden so rich in all beauty,
To the Lord of the Isles of Cathay,f
Like the Moon in her soft silver azure,
Star-engirdled, sweet Queen of the Night!
So she 6tood in this Palace of Pleasure,
Circled round by the Swans of Delight.
Then come to my bower, sweet Angel!
Love's Fountain of Life to unseal;
You shall live in this amber Evangel,
Sweet Ellen ! the Pride of Mobile!
Sweet Ellen ! dear Ellen ! the Maid of Mobile ’
My Mary, mavourneen, the Moon of Mobile!
Tontine Hotel , N. Haven, Conn. Aug. 20, 1851.
*Cansay, or Kin-sai, which signifies the City of
°aven. It was the capital of Southern China, un
aer the dynasty of the Song.
-Ghenhis Khan, whose palace was built of pure
gold, and ornamented with the finest of Jewels.
An editor out West has married a girl
named Church ; he says he has enjoyed more
nappmess since he joined the Church than ever
ne did in his life before.
The Fatal Concealment,
AN EXCITING NARRATIVE.
Some years after I commenced practice—but
the precise date I shall, for obvious reasons
avoid mentioning—l had a friend at whose
house I was a pretty constant visitor. lie had
a wife who was a magnet that, drew me there.
She was beautiful, but I shall not describe her.
She was more than beautiful, she was fascinat
ing, captivating. Her presence was to me like
the intoxication of opium. I was only happy
when under its influence ; and yet after every
indulgence in the fatal pleasure, I sank into the
deepest despondency. In my own justification
I must say, that I never in word or look, be
trayed my feelings: though I had some reason
to suspect that they were reciprocated ; for,
while in my company she was always gav, bril
lient and witty ; yet as I learned from others,
at times she was often sad and melancholy.
Powerful—most powerful was the temptation
to make an unreserved disclosure of my heart,
but I resisted it. That I had the firmness to do
so, has been for many years my only consola
tion.
One morning I sat alone in my chamber.—
My clerk was absent. A gentle knock was just
audible at the outer door. I shouted, “come
in !” in no very amiable humor, for I was in
dulging in a delicious reverie upon the subject
ot the lady ot my heart, and the presence of an
ordinary mortal was hateful. The door opened,
and Mrs. entered. Ido not exactly know
what I did ; but it seemed to be a long time
before I bad the power to welcome her, while
she stood there with a timid blush on her face
and that glorious smile upon her lips which
made me teel that it would be too great a hap
piness to die for.
“ 1 don’t wonder that you are surprised to see
me here,” she began with a provoking little
laugh, “but is your astonishment really too
great to allow you to say, ‘how doyou do?’ ’’
the spell was broken. I started up and took
her hand. 1 fear 1 pressed it more warmly,
and held it longer than was absolutely neces
sary.
“Perhaps your surprise will be increased,”
she continued “ when 1 inform you that I have
come upou busiuess ?”
I muttered something about not being so
ambitious as to hope that she would visit me
from any other motive.
She took notice of what I said, but I per
ceived that her face turned deadly pale, and
that her hand trembled, as she placed before
me a bundle of papers.
“You will see by these,’’ she said in a low,
hurried voice, “that some property was. left to
me by my uncle, and my grandfather, but so
strictly settled that even 1 can touch nothing
but the interest. Now, my husband is in want
of a large sum at this moment, and I wish you
to examine the affair well, and see whether by
any twisting of the law, I can place a part of
my capital at his disposal. Unintentionally, I
have done him a great w rong,’’ she added, in a
tone so low * hat no ears less jealously alive than
nine Could have caught the meaning; “and
poor as this reparation is, it is all I can make,
and I must do it if possible.”
I pretended to study the papers before me,
but the lights danced and mingled; and if, by
a great effort, I foiced my eyes to distinguish a
word, it conveyed a not the slightest meaning to
my whirling brain. Every drop of blood in
my body seemed imbued with a separate con
sciousness, and to be tingling and rushing to the
side next to her , whose presence within a short
distance wt me was the only thing of which 1
felt thoroughly ashamed.
It may well be believed that I was in no con
dition to give a professional opinion ; but I got
over the difficulty by telling her I must have
time to study the case, and promising to let her
the result.
“ Y ou are a tiresome creature,” she said, with
a little coquettish air. “ I really expected that
for once in your life, and for a friend too, you
might have got rid of the law’s delays and given
me your opinion in half an hour; so far at least
as to tell me whether there is a probability of
my being able to do what 1 desire. Hut I see
you are just like the rest of the lawyers—time!
I suppose now, you will keep about it, till I am
dead; and then it will all go to my husband in
the course of the law.’’
“ It may not require more than half an hour
to ascertain so much, when I can direct my
thoughts to it, for that space of time,” I replied,
and 1 know the words rattled like shot out of
my mouth.
“ Hut would you be so unreasonable as to re
quire an artist to draw a straight line while he
was under a fit of the delirium tremens ?”
“ You are an incomprehensible person,” she
replied rather coldly : “so I shall leave you to
your legal and lawful studies. Hut if you are
going to have an attack of delirium tremens,
perhaps I had better send in the doctor, shall
i r
“ Well, I don’t anticipate an attack this morn
ing,” I answered with a forced laugh; “sol
will not give you the trouble.” The fact is. I
had been violently agitated a >hoi t time since,
and my mind had not recovered its equilibrium.
U e talked for a few minutes longer—she,
quizzing me. in her light, playful manner, and 1,
delighted to be so teased, standing stupid and
dumb, scarcely able to say a word, though very
anxious to prolong the delightful moments by
keeping up the war of bcuiinape. At lemqh
she went to the door, and l was about to escort
her down stairs, when we heard someone speak
ing below. “Good God !” she exclaimed,cling
ing wildly to my arm ; “that is my
voice! if he finds me here lam ruined.”
“Don't be alarmed,” I replied, endeavoring
to reassure her; “you came here upon busincs°,
and such business too! He could only love you
the more for it.”
“ You don't know about this so well as I do,”
sho said, shuddering convulsively. ‘He is
jealous, exceedingly, of you; and oh ! 1 fear
not without some cause. Hide me somewhere,
for mercy’s sake ?”
I do not know how it happened, but my
arm was round her, and I half carried her
across the room to a large book closet.
“ Can you stay here ?” I asked hastily, “I will
leave the door ajar for air.”
“No, shut it, lock it, take away the key, or
I shall not feel safe. There is plenty of air!”
and she sprang into the recess.
bor one moment her eyes met mine, and I
thought they beamed with deep, impassioned
love! Ihe next I had locked the door upon
my treasere, thrown the papers she had brought
iuto a drawer, and was apparently busy, pen in
band, when ray friend entered. He commenced
in a roundabout way to question me upon cer
tain points of the law, respecting marriage set
tlements, <fcc., and, after a tedious amount of
he gave me to understand that
“ UntojiMitont in nil tilings —Eenlrnl in notljing”
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 11, 1851.
all this regarded a desired transfer of some pro
perty of his wife’s into his hands. He had
come, in fact, upon the same errand as that gen
erous creature! He also had a copy of her
relative’s wills, and these I was compelled to
examine closely, for he was desperately perti
nacious, and would not be put off. I was angry
at the thought of what his poor wife must be
suffering, punt up in that narrow prison, and 1
felt that I could have kicked her husband out of
doors for keeping her there. At last he made
a move as if t 6 go. I started up and stood
ready to bow him out.
“So,” said h, tying up his papers with pro
voking deliberation, “nothing but my wife’s
death, you say, can put me in possession of this
money. I want it very much, but nobody will
suspect me of desiring her death, for the sake of
having it a little sooner.”
lie laughed at his own poor jest, and T made
a sort of hyena chorus to it that sounded strange
and hysterical even to tny own ears. He went
ut last, but stopped again on the stairs, and de
tained me there talking for full five minutes
longer. I felt by sympathy all the pangs of
suffocation. My throat seemed burning—my
forehead bursting. Great God ! will he never
be gone. Will he stand here, gossiping about
the weather and the generalities of the law,
while 1 iis lovely wife, who came to sacrifice her
individual interests for his sake, dies a terrible
and lingering death,? lie is gone ! I rush back
to my room. A step behind me makes me turn
round. It is my clerk—curses on him! I
ground my teeth in unavailing rage. I could
have stabbed him—shot him—beaten out his
brains—hurled him headlong down the stairs!
Hut mv violence would compromise her. In a
few minutes my brain was clear again.
“ Watson.” I cried, “ Mr. has just left.
He is gone up Fleet street, I think ; run after
him, and request him to leave those papers with
me. Say to him I would like to examine them
more at leisure. Run, run quickly, and jou
will overtake him!”
Watson disappeared- I turned the key of
the outer door, and sprang towards the closet.
As I unlocked it, I remembered the look she
had given me as I shut it; and I wondered,
with a beating heart, whether the same expres
sion would greet my enraptured gaze when I
opened it. There she stood with her eyes calm
ly fixed on iifine.
“ You are safe, dearest,” I murmured.
She did not rebuke me for calliug her so;
and emboldened by her silence, I took her hand
to lead her from her narrow prison. She moved
forward and fell into my arms a corpse!
I cannot recall what followed. I only know
that 1 tried every means for her restoration ;
but, alas ! without success. Os one thing too,
was firmly convinced —she had not died from
suffocation.
I had once seen the body of a man who was
killed by the falling in of the mouth of a pit.
I recollect his purple and swollen face, and his
lax, warm limbs. She was pale, rigid, cold.
The tumult of her own emotions must have
killed her the moment the door was closed upon
her. By some means I kept my secret from
the knowledge of Watson and everybody else.
All tliat night I was trying to recover her.—
Then I formed the project of shutting her up
in the closet—locking up the chambers, and
going abroad for twenty years. Next I thought
of setting tire to the place, burning all my books
and papers, making a funeral pile of them, and
thus milling myself to preserve the secret. Hut
that thought, too, was dismissed. It might
cost loss of life and property to many innocent
people, and would be but a bungling proceed
ing after all; as, if the fire was discovered ear
ly, policemen, firemen, mob. all would break in,
and finding her body there, all would be lost,
for it was more to save her reputtttien than mi
life, that I was striving and plotting.
In the meantime, 1 was a prey to the most
painful anxiety. I was sure by that time she
must have been missed and sought lor. Per
haps she had been seen to enter my chamber.
Every step that I heard, I feared might be that
of the policemen. In the morning, a stranger
called on business. This of course was nothing
extraordinary; but, when he had gone, l felt
that he was a detective officer, and had come as
a spy. I thrust a few clothes into my carpet
bag, intending to escape to France. 1 caught
up a box of matches, to set the place on fire. 1
grasped a razor and looked eagerly on its keen
edge as the surest and swiftest way of ending
my misery. Hut then all these would leave her
to the jests of the world, and my own sufferings
were uothing in comparison. At this distance
of time I can look back impartially aud coollv
upon that dreadful day; and 1 can solemnly
declare that I would rather have been hung
for murdering her, than have allowed a breath
to sully her fair fame !
1 had just laid down the razor, when a hur
ried step crossed the ante-room. It was her
husband's!
Now i thought all was lost! She has been
seen to enter here, aud he lias come to claim her.
“ My dear lie began, in a nervous, un
settled way, “you remember the business that
i came about yesterday ?”
“Perfectly.”
“ And do you remember the words I used as
I was going? I mean in answer to what you
said about my not being able to touch this mon
ey till after the death of my wife?”
“ Yes, I remember them, distinctly.”
“My wife has disappeared since yesterday
morning,” lie continued, turning even paler
than before; and if anything should have hap
pened, you know, and you should repeat those
expressions, they might be laid hold of, and 1
don’t know what might be the consequences.
I might be suspected of having murdered her.”
Poor fellow ! If I had not known the truth,
1 should have suspected it myself, from his ex
cessive terror and anxiety. He wiped the per
spiration from his face, aud sank into a chair.
The sight of a person more frightened than
myself reassured me, I was calmer than I had
been since the preceding night.
“ Where did she go? How was she dressed?”
I inquired, anxious to know all I could on the
subject.
“ I don’t know. She told me she was going
out shopping and visiting; but no one saw her
leave the house, and none of the servants know
exactly how she was dressed. When I went
home to dinner, the first thiug I heard was that
she had not returned.”
“ What have you done? Have you sent to
the police and to the hospitals ?”
“ Yes, and to every friend and tradesman
where she was at all likely to call.”
“ You may depend upon it,” I replied, im
pressively, “that I will not repeat what you
said yesterday. You are right in supposing that
it might tell against you very much if she should i
be found dead under suspicious circumstances.”
He talked a little longer, and then went to
renew the search for his wife. How I preserved
my self-possession during this interview, I do
not know: so far from being really calm I could
have gnawed the flesh from off my bones in my
agony.
That night, when the doors were fastened,
and I was alone —except fur the company of
the dead—l shut myself up in that closet for !
two hours, to ascertain whether she had died
from want of air, for I distrusted my own I
knowledge of the appearance of suffocated per- \
sons. The place was well supplied with air from
several large crevices. My first idea was cor
rect, she had died from some other cause.
When I emerged from the closet, the night
was intensely dark ; it was raining in torrents, j
and the thunder and wind’ roared a terrific cho
rus, as it passed by the sullen booming of the
river, then at high tide, and already swollen by i
the rain. I sat therein the dark upon the floor,
holding the cold, stiff’ hand of the dead within
my own. 1 thought dreamingly how oft it had
welcomed me with its soft pressure, while the
sweet eyes had beamed brightly into mine, and
the full, pouting lips had wreathed into dimples
of delight. Now that hand that used to be so
plump, so full of warmth and life, was rigid
and cold! those eyes were glazed and ghastly !
those lips were clammy and hard! Tears came
to my relief. I wept as grown men seldom do,
and with that heart-easing gush came anew
idea of escape for her and me, I was ready to
believe at that moment that her spirit rested
upon mine, and inspired the thought—for it
burst upon me suddenly with the conviction
that if executed at the instant it would be
crowned with success. How.could I otherwise
have had the temerity to snatch her up in my
arms, carry her down stairs, at the risk of be
ing encountered by someone of the other in
habitants of the house, bear her through the
courts, and by a way that I knew, into the
garden!
The river was running strong and deep against
the wall. I pressed one kiss upon her cold fore
head, and threw her into the stream. Gladly,
gladly would 1 have gone with her, and held
her to my heart till death ; but the impulse was
still on me, and, without delay 1 hastened back.
No one saw me, and the beating rain had ef
faced my footprints.
A few days after I saw by the papers that
her body had been found far down the river. 1
Ihe medical evidence after a post mortem ex
amination, was that she died from the rupture !
ot the heart, and that death took place before ‘
immersion in the water. So they conjectured!
that she had been standing by the river when
the fatal attack seized her, and had fallen in nn
perceived ; and they returned a verdict of ac
cidental death, and she was buried in a pretty
country churchyard, near where they found her.
Two years later her husband married again.
He is stout and ruddy, and laughs as heartily
as ever.
I -hall die a baelit-loui Im lean and pale and
bowed and grey-liairedf and the sound of my
own laugh is strange t\me.
She Can’t he Heat.— A Pennsylvania paper
publishes the following astonishing record :
“ \\ e publish the following, giving a history
of the births in a family residing in West Branch
Valley, in this county. We believe it has not
a parallel on record and will, unquestionably
attract the attention of the medical faculty.—
ihe husband, Michael Dress, died last year, in
the 40th year of his age, having gone blind.
The moti.er, Kale Dress, is quite a buxom look
ing woman, in the 39th year of her age, and
now supports her family as well as she can, by
her own exertions, washing and sewing. They
were married in January, 1829, and had the
following children :
1. William, born in 1829
14 mos’ interval, 2. Edw and Chas. in Aug. 1832
19 “ “ 2. W. and Jackson May. 1830
19 “ “ 2. Ann and Sarah, Feb. 1834
20 “ “ 2.Car'line andLo’isa Mar. 1836
32 “ “ 1. Michael, Nov. 1838
25 “ “ 1. Lewis, Dec. 1840
23 “ “ 1. Catharine, Nov. 1842
14 “ “ l.Lavina, Feb. 1844
21 “ “ 1. Lewis, Sep. 1840
24“ “ 4at a birth, Feb. 1848
1? “ “ 2at a birth, Feb. 1850
“Making 21 children in 21 years—and six
children born in the space of eighteen months.
Ihe four children at a birth, were apparently
healthy and well formed. One died aged about
four weeks, another 11 months, the third a lit
tie over a year, and the fourth, a fine boy is
still living. The three died with the dysentery.
Ihere are now 12 of the whole number living,
seven boys and five girls.
“ We saw Mrs. Dress some days ago, at our
office. She appeared in sound health, and
seemed to hav eas many hopes, as most folks,
of living to a good old age. She has certainly
done her share towards fulfiliug the divine in
junction to “multiply and replenish the earth.”
I he case is a remarkable one, such as our know
ledge of the history of the world furnishes no
parallel to, and such as we imagine will be “few
and far between” in future generations.”
I ll call around and pay. —What a world
of woe is contained in these few words to the
poor artizan and mechanic ! “I ll call around j
and pay,” says the rich man to avoid the trouble I
ot going to his desk to get the necessary funds, !
and the poor mechanic is obliged to go home to j
disappoint his workmen and all who depend
upon him for their due. It is an easy matter to ;
work—the only real glory in this life is an in- ;
dependent idea to be able to sustain yourself by
the labor ot your own hands, and it may be
imagined what crushing force there is in “I’ll
call around and pay” to the laboring man who
depends upon that pay for subsistence. If those (
who could pay would pay at once, it would j
place hundreds and thousands in a condition to I
do likewise, and prevent much misery and dis
tress.— Cleveland Herald.
0 An association for the emancipation of
forty millions of serfs in Russia has never been
thought of in Great Britain or America, and
the philanthrophy ot both countries L solely
and intensely directed toward three millions
and a half of American negroes, whose condi
tion, as it regards intelligence and comfort, is at
least equal to g that of the white bondmen of
Russia. The misfortune of the serfs is their I
white color. It they had been black, all Europe
would have resounded with denunciations of
Russian cruelty. Providence Herald.
A woman renewed her subscription to a Portland
paper’ saving “?he was too poor to do without it.”
The Encouragement of Home Industry,
(well and wisely says the Nashville True
Whig.) is the “pillar of cloud by day, and pil
lar ot tire by night,” that must guide the South
ern states of this Union safely through the wild
and hazardous strife for sectional supremacy
which ever and anon convulses and agitates
the country. Time has come when the South
ern people must act for the development of
their boundless industrial resources, or pay
the hated penalty of conscious inferiority and
degradation in the scale of empire. The dan
ger may be remote—it is at the worst only
contingent—but by this means only can it be
certainly averted. All history proves that the
best security for vested rights, social, political,
or pecuniary, is the power, as well as the will
and determination to protect them. How is this
to be best done ? Gasconading resolutions and
frothy declamation are as powerless to repel the
theatening tide of northern encroachment, as
the idle command of the inflated monarch to
the sea “ to stay its proud waves.” The sword
! might destroy the North-it could not build up the
South. Let us appeal from its destructive agen
cy to the arts of peace, and creative industry.
Let us improve our navigable streams—build
up our own railroads, schools and academies
—fuse and work our own minerals—spin
and weave as well as grow, our own wool and
cotton: in a word, render the south indepen
dent ol the North, and the North dependent in
turn upon the South ; and make ourselves nu
merically powerful in the halls of Congress, by
giving profitable employment to the largest
population our prolific soil and genial climate
can be made to support.
The Life of an Editor.—There are few readers of
newspapers who have any adequate idea of the inces
sant toil required in their publication. Capt. Maryatt,
who in his lifetime had much bitter experience, held
the following language on the subject:
“Newspaper literature is a link in the great chain
of miracles, which ptove the greatness of England,
and every support should be given to newspapers. The
editors of these papers perform a most enormous task.
It is not the writing of the leading articles every week,
whether inclined or not, in sickness or health, in afflic
tion, disease of mind, winter or summer, year after year,
tied down to a task remaining in one spot. It is like
the walking of a thousand miles in a thousand hours.
In itself it appears nothing. The labor is not manifest,
I nor is it the continued attention which it requires.—
Your life becomes, as it were, the publication. One
paper is no sooner corrected and printed, than another
comes. It is the stone of Sisyphus, an endless repeti-
J tion of toil, a constant weight upon the mind, a eon-
I tinual wearing upon the intellect and spirits, demanding
all the exertion of your faculties at the same time that
i you are compelled to do the severest drudgery. To
write for a paper is very well, but to edit one is to con
demn yourself to slavery.”
Peace Sentiments. —Some of the finest
sayings of this kind come from military men.
In your late paper there was one by Colonel
Ferguson of the British army. Speaking of
Washington, who was once in his power, but
was not known by him to be Washington : “I
ordered (says he) three good shots to steal
near and tire at him; but the idea disgusted
me—l recalled the order.” Again, when near
er, Ferguson levelled his own piece at him,
! but says, “it was not pleasant to fire at the
back ot an unoffending individual who was
very cooly acqtiiting himself of his duty—so I
let him alone.” And when he afterwards
found out whom he had spared, he says, “I am
not sorry that l did not know at the time who
it was.” Was it not a pity that this noble
fellow was killed in the next battle ? Why
should such spirits as he and Washington
meet together in deadly strife? And why
should it be less “disgusting” or more “pleas- j
ant to fire on a thousand men than to fire on |
ono ? War has its glare and glitter—but strip
them off, and we “sup full of horrors.’’—Ports
mouth Journal.
A Commercial Love Letter.—Business
and a Beating Heart. —ln France, women
take an active part in the business of life, which,
however, does not prevent their being objects
of love and adoration, as much as the idlest of
their sex. The combination of romance and i
reality is curiously illustrated by the following
letter, found in a rail way carriage.
Paris, 29th June, 1851.
“Madam: In reply to yours of the 20th June
last, which duly came to hand, I beg to say
that I have forwarded the samples you asked
for, together with the price current of the artic
le in question. And now I return to the object
of my former letter—indeed I cannot take your
answer as a definite one—indeed you will
listen to my devoted love. At your age you
connot long remain a widow—you have no
thingto fear from so easy a temper and devoted
love as mine. The house of Chartier & Cos.,
heave asked for six months credit; are you dis
posed to grant it ? Answer by the return of
post, this question, and the one which concerns
the happiness of my life. You are the reali
zation of my dreams. The affection, respect,
and esteeb? I feel for yon, are sincere, and
profound. The u..ion of our two houses would
give an extension to business on both sides,;
which would be incalculable, i have accepted ;
your paper on the house of Bernard & Cos.,
I Colsa oil is at twenty-one francs.
Hoping for a reply by the return of post, 1
oloso this letter with a beating heart- Yours!
I respeotfully, M-
The house of Eritz has stopped. How ir;y
heart heals as I write to you. Oils are decided’
1 ly increasing in price.’’
Winters in Oregon.
The following description of the scenery in Oregon |
during the season of Winter has been taken from the ■
‘Preaolier.’ It was written by a minister in the Asso
ciate Reformed Church, and is no doubt worthy of cr*4*
it. If the picture is not too highly colored, Qregcm
must be a delightful place. Sure it must be pleasaut,
to spend the months of winter amid scenery so enchant
ing, with a climate so genial. Emigrants will soon be
attracted in large numbers, to a country possessing so
many advantages ; and a high destiny beyond all ques
; tion awaits that portion of our Republic, lying on the
shores of the Pacific. — Tenneses Organ.
“ The whiter which has just closed has been one of
remarkable mildness. It has throughout appeared
more like the genial months of spring than those of cold
winter’s reign. Since early in February, flowers have
been blooming, and constantly increasing in their num
ber, variety, and beauty. Could you for a moment en
joy our privileges you might cast your eyes over a beau
tiful landscape almost literally covered with a variegated
form. Think of this in the first week of Maroh! The
cherry, gooseberry, and some other shrubs bloomed
about tho middle of February. Indeed there has been
but,.- a few weeks during the entire winter that our
neighbors have not been actually engaged in sowing
grain.
The winter scenery in Oregon is possessed of re
markable beauty. All the circumstances surrounding
you serve to lend a strange enchantment to the scene.
Let me lead you to the summit of yonder green hill.
Imagine now that you are breathing the air of the first
week of February, and cast your eye abroad on the
landscape. The prairies, broad and smooth, in all di
rections and generally the south sides of the hills are
covered with a rich and verdant sward of grass clover.
The forest trees —the pine, fir, yew, laurel, &c., arc all
clothed with a foliage of perpetual verdure. With this
fresh green world round ; the deep azure of a cloudless
sky above, and soft balmy breeze fanning your brow, tell
me is this not beautiful, glorious winter ?
Looking eastward, the eye rests on the western slope
of the Cascades, penetrated at frequent intervals by
sweet little vallies. To the westward, and far to the
north and south lies the valley of the Williamette, in
terspersed with lines and clamps of timber. And in the
distance beyond, reared aloft, are the undulating sum
mits of the Coast Mountains. AH around this scene
of verdure, and marking a brilliant and lofty line be
tween earth and heaven, the snow re.-ts on the moun
tains’ brow. See that white speck glittering in the
sunlight, in the edge of that dark forest to the north
west! That is the residence of Friend Montieth at
Albany, some 25 miles distant. So pure is the atmos
phere, that objects arc visible to the naked eye at a very
great distance.
This is not a mere indulgence of fancy, but a feeble
attempt to describe what has been the object of admir
ing observation during the past winter. But alas ! this
is, after all, not a paradise. It is truly a portion of a
world of labor, sin and trouble, affording an ample field
for prayerful efforts in the cause in Christ.
Praying that this territory may enjoy a still larger
share of the church’s sympathy, I ant as ever your
brother in Christ.
WILSON BLAIN.”
——tiVM—
“ Why don’t you put on a clean shirt ?” said
a swell the other night to his companion, “ then
the girls will smile on vou as they do upon me.”
“ Everybody can’t afford to wear a clean
shirt everyday, as you can,” was the reply.
“ Why not ?” said white collar.
Because,” said soiled collar, “ etery bo
dy’s mother ain’t a wash-woman.”
O^7”A downeaster advertises for a wife in
some-thing like the following manner:
“Any gal what’s got a cow, a good feather
bed, with comfortable fixens, five hundied dol
lars in hard pewter, one that has had the mett
sels, understands tending children, can have a
customer for life by writing a small beilet dux
addressing Z. R., and stick on uncle Ebenezer’s
barn, back, jiuin the hog pen.”
A gentleman at a hotel called for a bottle of
hock, but the waiter not hearing distinctly
asked him to repeat the order.
“ A bottle of hock, was the reply, ‘ hie,
haec, hoc.”
After waiting for some time, no wine appear
ing, he again summoned the waiter :
“ Did I not oider some hock, you rascal ;
! why is it not brought ?”
“ Because,” said the garcon, (wbo had been
taught the Latin grammar,)“ you afterwards
declined it!”
As little of Marriage as possible.—
We copy the following marriage notice from
a North Carolina paper:
“Married in Ashe County on Wednesday,
the 15th August, Mr William Waters, (a
dwarf about 23 years old, and not more than
30 inches tall, and weighs 25 pounds.) to Miss
Elizabeth Sawyer, (a full grown woman,) ail
ot Wythe County, Va.”
A Happy Turn. —“ Why do you wink at
me, sir ? said a beautiful young lady angrily,
to a stranger at a party an evening or two
since. “I beg your pardon, madam,” replied
i the wit, “I winked as men do when looking at
the sun—your splendor dazzled my eyes.’’
Crops in Carolina.—A letter from St.
Lukes’ parish, dated Sept. 24th, says :
“To give you some idea of the effects of the
storm in August, I referred to-day to my cotton
book of last year, and find that 1 had in, last
’ year this day, 9(J bales of Cotton ; to-day 1 have
in 35 bales. My whole crop looks as if it had
been visited by a November frost. We are
now'suffering lor want of rain. I have planted
three hundred and twenty.ffYe acres ofCow
Peas; unless we have rain in a few days, they
won t be worth picking. I shall make a very
short crop.”
The Randolph Negroes.—A writer in the
Baltimore Patriot, who is traveling in Ohio,
gives this account of the ‘Randolph negroes,
w'ho, it will be remembered, were driven from
their homes which had been procured lor them
by the whiles:
“Troy, about twenty miles from Dayton, is a
small and rather dilapidated town, between
this place and Piqua. Along the canal the ma
jority of the Randolph negroes are located. It
was in the adjoining county of Mercer that the
large tract of land was purchased for their set
tlement, from which they were forcibly ejected
by the white inhabitants, l’he condition of
thesejjoor creatures is a sad commentary on the
miserable policy ofenancipating negroes, and
allowing them to remain in this country The
majority of these once invaluable servants are
worthless pesiJ upon the community among
whom they are locaied, and often want tor the
common necessaries ot life. I heard several
express ardent wish to return to the shores
i of Iloanoke again., where they once bad plen
j ty, and did not know what it was to suffer for
want.”
_____
Wives or the Scarlet Degree. —At the last meet
ing of the I. 0.0. F., Grand Lodge of the United
States, prior to that which lias just adjourned in Balti
more, a select committee was appointed, of which Mr.
Colfax, of Indiana, was President, to prepare an appro
priate honorary degree to bo conferred on wives of Scar
let Degree mothers in good standing. Such a degree
was reported hy Mr. Colfax last week, aud is under
stood to have caused considerable debate. The repre
sentatives of the Grand Lodge and Grand Encamp
ment of Northern New York were unanimously for it.
Those from Southern New York were against it. A
majority of those from the North west were for it. It
was, however, on Saturday, finally adopted by a vote
of 47 to 37. We understand that those receiving it
will be known as “ The Daughters of Rebecca.” The
badge proposed will be green and scarlet.
py Tennyson says woman's highest glory is at
tained—
“ When, at the last, she sets herself to man,
Like perfect music unto noble words.' 1
Corirspoitilim
LETTERS FROM THE i\’ORTH-.\o. 21.
East Haven, Sept. 2, 1851.
Dear Doctor: —The London Examiner contains
extracts from a New Play, recently published in Eng
land, entitled the Fool's Tragedy, supposed to be the
production of the Author of the Bride's Tragedy,
Mr. Thomas laiv.ll Beddoes. 1 have read the extracts,
and find that they possess all the strength of Mr. Dai
ly's Festus without his rudeness of expression. In fact %
I should have attributed the play to the author ot Festus,
had it not been asserted by the Examiner that it was
the production of another person—not precisely be
ceause Mr. Baily could have written the Play at all,
but beeaurse no other Englishman could write in just
the same style. It i the rough marble of Festus chisel
ed down into the charming and seductive graces of
Polite Art. I shall not attempt to give an outline of
the plot, as I have not the Play before me, but merely
notice some of the most prominent passages.
•
The following passage is the Soliloquy wherein a cer
tain Duke meditates the murder of liis friend—the na
turalness of which consists in the superstitious lan
guage which the auther puts iuto his mouth—the off- •
spring of these very thoughts which ever did and ever
will haunt the soul of one who acts under the same
motives:
‘Oft the faltering spirit
OVreome by the fascinating Fiend,
Gives her eternal heritage of life
For one caress, for one triumphant crime.’
Shall I dream my soul is bathing
In his reviving blood,yet lose my rigftV,
My only health, my sole delight on earth,
For fear of shadows on a Chapel Wall,
In some pale painted Ilell?’
The following passage is quite Festusian :
‘lt is this infinite invisible
Which we must learn to know, and yet to scorn,
And from the scorn of that, regard the world
As from the edge of a far star.’
The critic of Peterson's Magazine says that Ru
ly’s blank verse is the best of any writer of this day;
but it is far inferior to that of this Piay.
The following are two beautiful lines :
‘To that divines* hope, which none can know of,
IWio hare not laid their dearest in the grave ”
The following Dialogue between Wol ram and Sy
billa is very beautiful:
WOLFRAM.
‘Will you with me to the [dace where sighs are
A shore of blessings, which disease doth beat, y’
Sea-like, and dashes those whom he would ttvcck
Into the arms of peace? 1
STBILLA.
‘Thoo art come to fetch me t
It is, indeed, a proof of boundless love,
That thou hadsl need of me even iu thy blis A.
I go with thee.’
The following is the beautiful description w hich tlub
Duke gives of Sybilla :
4 Whom first 1 met her in the Egyptian Prison,
She was the rosy morning of a woman ;
Beauty was rising but the starry grace
Os a calm childhood might be seen in her.’
In another place he calls Amalia a
‘Joyous creature,
Whose life's first leaf is hardly yet uncurled, y
Bridism says to Amalia:
‘Take this flower from me,
( A white rose fitting for a bridal gift,)
And lay it on your pillow’. Pray to live-
So fair and innocently; pray to die,
LEAF AFTER LEAF, SO SILENTLY.
This is perfect. There is nothing either in Tenny
son or Baily to be compared with it.
The follow langnage which the author puts mtothe/l
mouth of isbrand is truly sublime : r
‘Lbrand ! thou tragic fool!
Cheer up! Art thou alone ? Why, so should bo
Creators and destroyers!’
God was alone in the creation of the Universe.
He wit! be alone in its destruction.’
Upon the whole, these extracts cannot be equaled, in’
ideal beauty and natural passionate expression, by %ny
writer since the days of Shelley.
Mr. Poc on the Poetic Principle , as may be seenr
in Rufus W. Griswold's third Volume of his works,
has the following very beautiful passage :
‘lie recognizes the ambrosia, which nourishes ms
soul, in the bright orbs that shine in Heaven—in the
waving of the green fields—in the blue distance of
mountains—in the grouping of clouds—in the twink
ling of the half-hidden brooks—in the glowing of sil
ver rivers—in the repose of sequestered lakes—in tiro
star mirroring depths of lonely wells : He perceives
it in the songs of birds —in the sighing of the winds
—inthefnsh breat! of the woods.’
Unfortunately for that most remarkably erratic gen
tleman, the whole of the above was stolen, or, surrep
tiously taken , from the following part of one of my
own I-ectures on the ‘ Beauties of Poetry ,’ publish
ed years before: ‘There is Poetry pi music of tho
birds—in the Diamond-radiance of Star—
in the suntinged w hiteness of the fleecy clouds—i
the open frankness of the verdant fields—in tW
soft retiring mystery of the Vales —in the cloud-sus
taining grandeur of tho many folded hills—in the re
volutions of the spheres—in the roll of rivers—and
the run of rills.’
‘Look on this picture, and on that’
In his reply to Outis, he says that his Haven is oc
tameter aeatalectic, alternating with heptameter cata
lec’.ic, repeated in the Refrain of the fifth verse, and
terminating with tetrameter catalectic. This is pre
cisely the same as my Poem I To Allegro Florence
in Heaven,’ with the exception of the Refrain, from
which the style of his Poem was stolen. But how can
he call the Retrain ‘ Of never — never more,’ tetra
meter catalectie, when it is tetrameter aeatalectic ?■ j
T. 11. C.
East llavev, Sept. 4, ISSL-
Dear Doctor :—*l have jost returned from takings'\
a long walk among the Tombs in the old Cemetery in f
East Haven. The first Tomb Stone which engaged
my attention was one erected to the memory of Mw, ,
Muuson, on which is sculptured a very beautiful female !
figure in a sitting posture, with her right hand point- j
jug up towards Heaven at the Sun of righteousness,* I
which appears bursting, in all his noon-tide glory,
through the dissolving clouds, and her left resting on a
laurel wreathed pillar against which leans a ponder l -1
ous anchor. This figure, which represents Faith, is j
cut out of the most beautiful white marble, in alto re *
lei to, aud has a very serene yet mdjestic countenance. 1
This is, by far, the finest Tomb Stone in the Cemetery. 1
On another Tomb Stone, not very la’ from this, 1
erected to the memory of Elizabeth Ann, wifeot Thos. %
Barnes, I saw another very beautiful emblem of * *]
Weeping Willow broken down by a storm and lying’
prostrate on the earth, while above, in the Heavens,''?
may be seen a milk white Dove descending through jt
the clouds, beyond which the divine glory appears burn- U
ing in ail his heavenly splendor ppn the Celestial J
Hills. At the root of this Sorrowful Tree, may be s
seen the immortal Amaranth flourishing in perennial |
freshness.
On an old Tomb Jjj£lpe erected to the memory off
Abrahamu?arues. cu is sculptured, in basso |
NO. 28.