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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.