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VOL. 2.
TERMS OF THE CITIZEN.
£sgf~T\vo Dollars, per annum, in ad
vance, or Two Dollars and fifty
cents if not so paid.
Advertising and Job cus
tomers allowed a discount of 10 per cent
on regular rates.
subscriptions received unless
accompanied with the cash or a respon
sible reference.
Postage must be pro-paid.
Mail Arrangements.
POST OFFICE, Macon, Ga., \
February 2, 1852. j
ON and after this date, the following will bo the Mail Ar
rangements at this Oflice, viz :
The Northern Mail w ill close at 3 o'clock, P. M.
The Savannah Mail, by the night train, will close at 3 o’clock
P. M.
The Savannah Mail, bv the day train, w ill close at 9 o’clock
I*. M.
The Charleston Mail w ill close at 3 o’clock, P. M.
The Mi Hedge ville Mail will close at 9 o’clock, P. M.
The Columbus, Mobile, Montgomery and New Orleans Mails,
will close at 9 o’clock P. M.
Tho Augusta, Gridin, Atlanta, Forsyth, Parnesville, Marietta
and Chattanooga Mails w ill close at 8 o'clock, P. M.
The Oglethorpe, Fort Valley, Perry, Albany, llawkinsville
and Americas Mail closes at 8 o’clock. I’. M.
The Florida and other South-Western Georgia Mails than
the above, will close at 5 o’clock, P. M.
Mails for Interior offices in the State and Tennessee will
cl"sc at 3 o’clock, P. M.
The Office will be opened at Hi, A. M. and from 8 to Bi, P.
M. Sundays from Si to 9, A. M. and from Bto Bi, P. M.
fc IMwinrsn Cnrbs
S. & It. P. iULL,
ATTORXEYS AT LAW,
3(aco n, (in.
times on Cotton Avenue, over I.ittle’s Drug Store, (octlli
1., N. WHITTLE,
Attorney at Law,
jin3 MACOX, 0.1. -lv
R„ L, WQQSr
DAGUERRE 0 TYPIST,
MACON, GA.
KNTP.ANCK FROM THE AVENUE.
aprl9 *f
R&IL.ROAQ HOUSE,
OPPOSITE CENTRAL R AILROAD DEPOT
EAST MACON.
, ■ ts S. M. LANIER.
1\ (J. Alt KINGTON,
Attorney at Law and Notary Public,
Oglethorpe, Macon Cos.,
dec G K OKU V . 38—ts
CITY HOTEL,
SAVANNAH,•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•■•GEORGIA.
P. CONDON.
Tati's —Transient Hoarders, per day, $1.5fl- Monthly ar.d
j-e irt> Hoarders iTrp.oportion. apr.">—y
“oisCfK-faE A. LOiOMHAklij
3ttnniq nt i'aui,
OFFICK OVER BF.LDEX ANt) ‘C®V. WAT SWR-E,
mulberry Street, m.iron, f.rorgia,
11A K! >t:M AN A HAMILTON,
Ware House and Commission 2tt®rc3iants,
.VI COX, GEORGIA.
HAMILTON’ fc IIARDEMAN,
I'A CTO IIS A COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
SAVAXX. Iff, o KOROL ?•
Will five prompt attention to all business committed to them
nt either place.
TUOJ. HARDEMAN. t 10-ts > I HAS. F. HAMILTON.
FACTORAGE AND
Savannah, 6a.
- ttji p. YONGE, N0.94 Kay street. Savannah, continues
\\ to transact a General Commission Hu.'inessand Factor
age, and respectfully solicits consignments of Cotton. Corn,
and other produce. He will also attend to receiving and for
warding Merchandise. —
April “5, 1851 ly
WINSHIP & SON,
WHOLESALE AND RET.ltt. DEVOIRS IN
Fa} cu and Staple Itry Goods nod Ready
Made Clod tiny.
COTTN AVENGE. MACON. GA.
W. D. UTITUuI ! DG?ri A Cos.,
“FACTORS COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
SAV.IXX.IIL GEORGIA.
r ri[F, undersigned having formed a Copartnership for the
1 transaction of the above business, tender their service*
to their friends and t he public generally and solicit a share of
patronage. We will pav strict attention to the sale of Cotton
or other produce consigned to our care and all orders for Uag
„ne. Rope and family supplies will be promptly attended to
and filled at the low est prices. Liberal advances will be made
.wipc.n Cotton or other produce consigned to ns,
s. r. oovg. .(gugJJ-y) . e. ETHF.mnnE.
iF ii) LT© “Nl ©oa 3
Fadoiti iV Coiiii**siou Jl*r<*liants,
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA. —Cm
SASH AND WINDOW BLIND
,S|N|IE subscriber is manufacturing the above articles by
J Steam Machinery, at very moderate prices.
TURNING and planing.
He has machinery for this business, and will promptly exe
cute anv jobs in this line. ALEX. McGREGOR.
j'Hy-’t* _ - 6w
EIRE INSURANCE
BY THE
COMMERCIAL INSURANCE COMPANY
OF CHARLESTON S. C.
CAPITAL $250,000— ALL PAID IN.
Wm. B. llkriot, Pres A. M. Luc- Sec y.
Directors :
James K. Robinson, Geo. A. Trenholm. Robert Caldwell.
A. It. Taft, Henry T. Street, Wm. Mcßurncv, J. H. ilrawley,
T. L Wragg.
subscribers having been appointed Agents for the
L above Company, are now prepared to take risks against
Fire, on favorable terms. CARHAKT, HKO. & CO,
june2l Agnus.
DRS. BANKS a- ROOSEVEL I’ tender their
professional services to the citizens of Macon and sur
rounding country.
Residence on College Hill, the house formerly occupied by
Charles Day. Ofliee on thecomer of Third and Vt alnut street.
W. H. BANKS, M. D. (sept G-y) C. J. ROOSEVELT, M. D.
R. G. JEFFERSON & CO.
Manufacturer, and wholesale dealers is
chairs,
West Sidi Broad St., first door above P. M’ Larin's,
COLUMBUS, GA.
THEY keep on hand an excellent supply of Office, Wood
Seat, Split Bottom and Rocking Chairs ; Bedsteads, Wood
en Ware, &.e.
tIF All Orders left as above, will meet with prompt atten
tion. novl—tf
w. S. WILLIFORD,
COMMISSION MERCHANT AND AUCTIONEER,
Macon, (Ja.
AH kinds of Produce and Merchandise, (except liquors) re
ceived on consignment. sep27 ’**■
Candies. 20 boxes assorted in 25 lb. cases, fresh, and
for sale by (deefl) C . A. ELLS & SON.
®i)S fo/Mil luiWJh
From the Nashville True Whig.
PRAYER OF SORROW.
bv a lady or Tennessee.
My God ! to ihee I bring
My full heart’s bursting agony. The crimsoned drops,
fjom l>airi unutterable, that have been wrung,
i he pent up groans, the smothered sighs, the crushed com
plaints,
The untold yearnings for pity’s voice — that lay
Like mountain weight, upon my struggling soul—struggling
ever
To he free—OGod, to he free from sorrow’s weight.
Those, these 1 bring to Thee. My reeds are swept away,
Or—fate still worse—have swayed and severed, till now
I heir sharp and splintered points are piercing—
Piercing through, my quivering heart.
My Father!
On bended knee, w ith streaming eyes and wounded heart
I pray ; the boon is this—forgive, forgive.
That I have learned so long, with heaviness so confiding,
L'pon these frail supportings of human trust;
That I have twined my heart's best treasures
Wealth given by thee—only to wreath the nakedness,
1 lie frailty, ol the world’s shattered, piercing reeds.
1 he world! ah me, the taintings of its sin-stained breath
Are darkening ever, our holiest thought;
Are clouding ever our brightest purposings
And crumbling the fairest fabric virtue builds.
•••*••
1 had plucked me flowers beauteous and rare,
I'o bloom near my heart—to circle my brain,
.And I strove with more than a miser’s care
To shelter the sweets from mildew and stain—
-1 bathed them in dews that were gently distilled
from the richest exotics of a Hyblxn parterre ;
I drank of the perfume, and my soul was filled
l\ 1 til joy, all earthly; my heart and my treasure if ere there.
Hut the darkening taint, the gathering mist,
Ihe moulding blight,of shadowed years has fallen —
fallen like a shroud, upon my earth born flowers.
Scentless and charred they lie—even now remorse hag swept
The blackened dust, with dark, cold wings,
Athwart my soul. Remorse, that 1 have erred
So deeply—that I have strayed so blindly
In search of Peace, sweet peace and rest.
\\ ith sorrowing eye and folded wing, I shuddering turn
And backward look, upon the path I’ve trod.
No want of light to gild my weary wanderings—
How painfully distinct shines every wayward in.rk!
Hut light,alas! from waning mm illumes the scene,
Coldly glittering w ith mock beams of human joy
And human happiness; it sheds a sickening lustre
O’er the darkened caverns yawning underneath,
\ awning for what? for the exultant hopes, the unshaken faith,
1 he buoyant aspirations that once sustained our wing 1
Low, low, they lie, stranded, and buried in the waveless doep.
f or the loved of earth, that once like heaven born ark,
Sheltered and hid us from the surging tempest
And maddening storm; soothed the dreary, aching pain,
And lulled with pitying voice and tender touch,
The keenest pangs into sweet forgetfulness!
O Cod ! they are there, the caverned darkness cannot hide
Tile stiffened turnip, the moveless lips, from mine eye—
Cannot hide them from mv heart. I see them all.
The loved of earth, as one by one they've fallen.
Pressed down with grief,
With withering pain, and suffering sore, I bend me low,
And from my anguished heart 1 pour the stain
That seeks no mortal ear—the strain that gives alone
Its joyless music to tile dead and to my God.
With throbbing brow and tearful eyes, I lay me down
Upon the dark cold earth, that’s heaped above the forms
Os those I love. The chill,damp mists of death
Are hoveringtie.tr. Father, Mother, Sister! Oit cun not be
That ye have left me, and come to moulder in this charnel
house of clay ;
That ye have left me all alone—alone
To battle with the woes of earth and bitterness of life,
The gilded allurement* of sin, which tauntingly mock
With semblance of joy, our grasping souls.
Mother mine! [ have battled long
In tiie fierce unequal strife. Long have I stood
With upborne shield, and wrestled and fought with phantoms
and irk;
•And now. with broken shield and banner trailing I mine,
I come to thee. Alas, here is the earth they heaped
Above thee— here is the stone that marks thy bead:
Here is the place, w here orphan hearts were breaking
As low they laid thy not!Boss dust.
Here is the spot, that oft I’ve sought, since thou
Hast slumbered here, and found my heart’s oblation
The bitter wail, desolate and lone.
Hut where art thou? No voice of lovo, no kind caress,
In answer to my pleading tones,
Mother, dear, mother, in life ‘t was never thus,
That tltou wert silent to thy loved one’s cry!
Is there then no hope, for thy weary, suffering child ?
Ay, rest and peace and hopa are beaming now
Amid the ruins of the grave—the quiet grave
Where sleepetli the mouldering clay, but not the spirit*
<if those we love. Angel voices are whispering softly
lit our cars. Angel hands are pointing to the skies,
The iM-nuteous skies, that hide from mortal sight
Our home. Angel pinions bear us up and give us faith
In God. our tender father, who despiseth not
The broken reed—who ever cliasteentli sore, those
Whom heloveth—who sends bright blessings
In the darkest cloud, and gilds the gloom profound
With rainbow lines.
A Goldf.n Semtimknt. —The following exquisite,
morccau is from Longfellow’s new poem, ‘The Golden
Legend :’
“There ore two angels that attend unseen
Each one of us, and in great books record
Our good and evil deeds. lie who writes down
The good ones, after every ac tion closes
Bis volume, and ascends with it to God ;
The other keeps his dreadful day-book open
Till sunset, that wc may repent; which doing
Tiie record of the action fades away,
And leaves a line of white across the page.’’
The Sounds of Industry.
BV F. D. GAGE.
I love the banging hammer,
The whirling of the plane,
The crushing of the busy saw,
The creaking of the crane,
The ringing of the anvil,
The grating of the drill.
The clattering of the turning lathe.
The whirling of the mill j
The buzzing of the spindle,
The rattling of the loom,
The puffing of the engine,
And the fan’s continuous boom—
The clipping of the tailor's shears,
The driving of (he awl-
The sounds of busy labor,
I love, I love them all.
I love the plowman’s whistle,
The reapers cheerful song,
The drover's oft-repeated shout,
As he spurs his stock along :
The bustle of the market man,
As he hies him to the town ;
The halloo from the tree-top,
As the ripened fruit comes down,
The busy sound of threshers,
As they clean the ripened gram,
And the buskers’ joke and mirth and glee,
’Neath the moonlight on the plain ;
The kind voice of the dairyman,
The shepherd’s gentle call—
These sounds of active industry
I love, I love them all.
For they tell my longipg spirit
Os the earnestness of life;
llow much of all its happiness
Comes out of toil and strife.
Not that toil and strife that fainteth
And murmuring all the way —
Not that toil au<l strife that groancth
Beneath the tyrant’s sway ;
But the toil and strife that springeth
From a free and willing heart,
A strife which ever bringeth
To the striver all his part.
Oh l there is good in labor,
If we labor but aright,
That gives vigor to the day-time
And a sweeter sleep at night.
A good that bringeth pleasure,
Even to the toiling hours—
For duty cheers the spirit
As the dew revives the flowers,
“ !Into]ttntont in, all tilings—linitrnl in nutljing/’
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 14, 1852.
Oh ! say not that Jehovah
Bade us labor as a doom 1
No, it is his richest mercy,
And will scatter half life’s gloom !
Then let us still be doing
Whate’er we find to do—
With an earnest, willing spirit,
And a strong hand firm and true.
Church Courtship.
Yes—there be things that we must dream and dare,
And execute, ere thought be hall’ aware.—Byron.
How very demure young ladies sometimes
look when they are going to Church ! One
might be almost certain that the church they
frequent has a high screen to separate the la
dies from the gentlemen, and that the clergy
man is besides, old and ugly. But we know
that no such screens are put up; so we must
imagine a moral one round such very devout
looking little puritans.
Ore tine afternoon I saw one (I mean a young
lady not a screen) who gave me much amuse
ment. 18he was short, but very well proportioned
arid like most little people extremely neat.—
She was rather pretty; but notso as to justify
the dragon-like virtue which she placed as a
sentinel in the expression of her face. I cannot
tell whether she did this from principle, deem
ing all mankind to be kept at a proper distance
by a display of excessive sanctity —or whether
it was assumed out of defence to the opinions
of the ultra-saints, avlio object to anybody being
happy and comfortable on the Sabbath. What
ever the cause may be, 1 am sure that young
ladies in general would leave off this foolish
habit they knew how much it spoils their
beauty.
Well! mv little lady was looking so prim,
that I expected to see her enter a methodist
chapel ; but instead of that she walked into a
high church. At least, that is what I suppose
they would call it for it stood upon high ground,
had a flight of very high steps to the door, and
was surmounted by a very high steeple. She
and her companion (for she was with a lady
of middle age, and dressed in widow's weeds)
went into the church and walked straight to a
comfortable pew near the pulpit. I quickly per
ceived that the elder lady was very near-sight
ed, for she held her book within two inches of
her nose to find the place; and in the mean
while the little prude, turning over the leaves
of her book (it was,like herself, a diamond edi
tion,) cast her eyes furtively round upon the
neighboring pews. Whether she saw what she
desired to see was not betrayed upon her coun
tenance, but subsequent events led me to sur
mise that she did not. A few minutes after
wards a gentleman walked up the aisle, passed
her pew, find took his place a little farther on.
just wliut.e he could see my prude without ac
tually turning roun L When people build
churches I would advise them to avoid this
-ort of arrangement. It is dangerous to sit
during 1 long, prosy sermon, with nothing to
do to keep the eyes open but to tix them upon
some handsome or interesting individual of the
opposite species (ns Buekstone says;) and lie
or she must be a very ugly or uninteresting in
dividual, indeed, in whom no charm can be dis
covered after a long period of reciprocal ga
zing.
The new comer pretended to look into the
crown of his hat, as gentlemen usually do when
they first enter a church; but I saw that his
eyes were turned sideways towards Miss Prude,
who cast hers down, and tried to look as though
she saw him not. By-the-bye, I must drop that
name, for she no longer deserves it. Perhaps the
warm air of the church has thawed the iciness of
her manner; or perhaps—but its no use guess
ing w hat it was that had wrought the change.
A change there Avas —there could be no mis
take about that, ller eyes were softened and
drooping, instead of looking defiance, as they
had done before ; her breathing was accelerat
ed, each inspiration passed with a little pant
through her parted lips, that now looked quite
beautiful, and not all like the strait, pinched up
lit’le features with which she came in, and
which looked as though it had been rolled out
by a puritanical rolling-pin, that abhorred the
vanitv of a curve or a dimple. Now, if any
of my fair readers suspect that the presence of
the aforesaid gentleman had any influence in
bringing about this change, I can only say that
I will certainly find them out, and see how they
behave in church. During the service there
was a very eloquent parleying of glances, from
the sidelong that tried to hide itself under its
own lashes, to the meditative gaze that made
believe to be staring at vacancy, or a monument
on the other side of the building. The ser
mon Avas a good, plain, solid sermon ; not so
rhetorical as to throw the ladies into hyster
ics, nor so dull as to send the gentlemen to
sleep, but substantial, wholesome articles, well
calculated to keep the conscience easy, and fa
cilitate digestion. I have some doubts that if
St. Paul himself had appeared in the pulpit,
and preached as of yore he preached to the
Athenians, these two young people would not
have paid any more attention to him than they
did to the comfortable rector. When the ser
vice. was over, there were some little arrange
ments to be made with shawls, and boss,
and books; but all was at length CQmpleted,
and the two ladies stepped out of their pew
just as the gentleman of the furtive glances
hat) P!9 me within a few paces of it.
By some mischance—or, if you like it better,
by some dexterous management—the young
lady’s shawl became at this very moment most
elaborately entangled in the catch of the door.
Mamma, with her head full of the excellent
discourse she had been hearing, moved on un
conscious of the disaster. The gentleman, as
any one with the shadow of a claim to that
character would have done under similar cir
cumstances, stooped and offered his assistance.
But he did a little more, for he gave her hand
a gentle squeeze, breathed a very audible sigli,
and uttered a wish that the same accident
might happen every Sunday : which Avas very
wrong in him, for this process often repeated
would speedily wear a hole in her beautiful
shawl. She hastened on, and was by her mam
ma’s side before she noticed her absence. For
tune was very good-natured that day, for when
they got out of the church they found that it
was raining, and all the cabs that came up on
a spec, were already engaged. The mamma
began to fret and fume about her crape, for she
had no umbrella; and while she stood irreso- 1
lute, gathering up her skirts from the anticipat
ed mud before she ventured to descend the
steps, she let fall her prayer-book. The gen
tleman darted upon it with the avidity of a
shark, wiped away the mud with his cambric
handkerchief, and restored it with a low bow.
And now the ice was fairly broken, and he
seemed determined not to let it freeze over
again.
‘Pray, ladies, don’t venture on foot in this
heavy rain,’ he sa id ; ‘allow me to call a cab for
you.’
‘I am very much obliged to you, sir,’ replied
the widow, smiling upon him amiably; ‘but
you would get wet in going for it, I fear.’
‘Don’t mention that,’ he replied, buttoning
up his coat; ‘I must get Avet ingoing home,
and, besides, ‘I hope you would not suspect me
for balancing my own ducking against the
chance of two ladies being drenched w ith rain.
‘W hat a polite young man !’ exclaimed mam
ma, as lie darted away.
Aes, he is a very civil,Exclaimed the daugh
ter, coldly.
‘Jdivil / What are you talking about ? He’s
a perfect gentleman. All! lie’s something
like what the gentlemen used to be in my voung
days.’
‘You’ll be obliged to offer him a scat in the
cab mamma, after lie has had all the trouble of
fetching it,’said the daughter in a tone which
was meant to imply that she would much have
preferred walking home in the rain to such a
disagreeable alternative.
‘Well, of coarse I shall; and what then ?’
‘Oh, it will be so odd! We know nothing
about him you know.’
‘lt is easy to see that he is a gentleman , my
dear ; and if lie accepts the seat, I'll soon find
out who he is.’
Here the younger Indy turned aside her
head to conceal the delight that sparkled in her
face, and in another moment the cab drove up.
The offer of a seat in the vehicle was at first
half declined, and then gratefully accepted.—
Not,’he said,‘that he lived in that direction,
but lie had a friend in the neighborhood with
whom he was going to pass the evening.’ Off they
went and mamma made such good useof time,
that in five minutes she had ascertained that the
name of her new acquaintance was Brandon,
and that he was a junior partner in a large
mercantile house, with the principal of which a
particular friend of hers was intimate. They
next talked of the sermon and the preacher.
‘Mr’ preaches an excellent sermon,’said
the lady ; ‘none of your high flights and fan
cies, but good plain doctrine. One always feels
better after one of bis sermons.’
‘Decidedly !’ responded the gentleman, who
was, I know, thinking of his fail’ neighbor all
the time.
‘My constitution can’t support much exer
tion,’ continued the widow, ‘or I should cer
tainly go again this evening to hear the continu
ation of tiie subject.’
‘Oli ! mamma, shall you not be able to go V
exclaimed her daughter, in tones of deep dis
appointment, though, I verily believe, that till
that moment she was ignorant that the subject
teas to be continued. 1
‘that need not Fanny ; you can
take tie oinuiUu- thJi-c arid you know,
love; and as Mrs. Tuitrbull said she “would look
in this evening 1 shall not be lonely.’
‘Very well, mamma, then if she comes I’ll
go.’
The cab now stopped, and Mr. Brandon hand
ed the ladies out squeezing Fanny’s little hand
more warmly than before. Mrs. Maynard, for
such she had informed him was her name, in
vited him to enter; but he declined, as his
friend would be expecting him. I was curious
to see this friend, so 1 followed him. He left
the cab in the next street, then walked on a lit
tle further, and entered a house with a glass
door. ‘Good gracious !’ I mentally exclaimed,
‘what would Mrs. Maynard think of her perfect
gentleman, if she knew that his friend kept a
coffeehouse?’ But I soon found that I was
mistaken. His friend was merely a fiction,
whose imaginary existence in the vicinity of
Mrs. Maynard's abode, had afforded an excuse
for taking a seat in the cab.
He called for a cup of coffee, which lie sipped,
and read the papers till church bells began to
toll, when lie sallied forsli again, and took up
his post at the end of the street where Miss
Fanny must pass on her way to church. In a
few minutes she came out, alone, and looking
as demure as ever. He thereupon retreated a
few yards, and then came back again to the
corner, walking briskly, and with a thoughtful
air, just in time to meet her quite by accident,
as was testified by a well arranged start, and
exclamation of surprise. She looked astonish
ed too; but I don't think she felt so.
AN ill you allow me to offer you my arm to
the omnibus ?’ said Mr. Brandon, and after a
little shilly shallying, off they walked arm in
arm.
1 What a fine evening it is now 1’ observed
Fanny.
Aes,’he replied, taking the hint, ‘you will
have plenty of time to walk, and if you get into
the omnibus you will be sure to have vour dress
spoilt by the people’s dirty boots. Don't vou
think you had better walk V he added, look
ing under her bonnet, and pressing her arm to
his side.
‘1 prefer walking,’ she answered, evasively;
and the pressure was repeated, more warmly
thau before. During the remainder of the walk
he gave her a detailed account of his birth, par
entage and education—present position in life,
and future prospects, By the time this was
ended, they had reached tlje phurch. He hand
ed Fanny into her pew and then followed.—
Ihere was nobody else there to crowd them np,
so I could not see the necessity there Avas for
him to sit so close to her. Then he said he had
forgotten his book, (it was in his pocket all the
while, and borrowed half hers. Then he took
hold of her hand by mistake—not the one that
held the book, but the left hand, that was near
est to him; and he made a thousand apologies,
but forgot to let it go again. Then in a tit of
abstraction, lie drew oft her glove, and held
the small soft hand in his, and all the time lie
was looking intently on tjje prayer book. They
both looked very earnestly at the book, though
neither of them seemed aware that it was open
ed at the morning service where indeed it re
mained till the sermon began. If anybody wish
es to know all about this sermon, I have no
doubt that Mr. Brandon or Fanny could give
them the text and all the various heads, they
both appeared so intent upon w hat was going
on. But whether they were intent upon what
was going on in the pulpit, or upon what was
going on in their own minds, I, Avho have not
the faculty of reading thoughts, cannot possibly
tell. hen it was over, he produced her glove
from his waitscoat pocket, but dropped it, and in
stooping so pick it up he contrived to kiss the
hand before releasing it. Fanny said nothing;
perhaps she did not feel the kiss.
They left the church in silence, and Mr.
Brandon immediately branched off into a quiet
street, saying it ivas a short cut —honestly, it
was not above half a mile out of the way.
‘Fanny,’ he said, suddenly breaking silence,
‘you know what I am going to ask, do you
not.’
‘Oh, yes!’she answered readily, while her
heart beat so loud that he must have heard it,
you are going to ask if I wish to go home in
an omnibus.’
‘You know better,’ he said, looking under
her bonnet again ; you know that, for the last
six months, I have only waited for this oppor
tunity to ask you this question ? and now, what
do you say to it V
‘How can I answer a question before it has
been asked V she replied in alow voice.
‘lt lias been asked and answered a hundred
times. Do not eyes ask questions ? And do not
eyes—O Fanny ! especially such eyes as yours
—answer them most eloquently ?’
‘Where is the use of speaking, then ?’
‘My darling ! would you not have been rath
er astonished if you had heard our banns pub
lished before I spoke ? What is your answer,
Fanny ? Come, tell me, what is it ?’
‘You say my eyes have answered already,
and my tongue shall not disown what they have
said.
‘That’s my own darling! I was sure you would
say so. But you have not directly answered my
question. When, Fanny —when ?’
‘Oh, you’re in such a hurry ! Besides, mam
ma must be consulted first; perhaps she may
object.’
‘I am very certain that she will not, just be
cause I can satisfy her mind on those very
points concerning which mammas and papas
are generally most anxious; I mean character,
and the certainty of worldly comfort.’
‘I don’t think mamma would oppose any
thing in which she saw that my happiness was
concerned,’ said Fanny, with one of her de
murest glances.
‘And you own, then, my dearest, that your
happiness is concerned in this event?’
little!’ she answered, with provoking in-
CHTOrcnce.
‘You little rogue!’ he exclaimed, stopping sud
denly, and looking about in all directions, ‘you
deserve chastisement, and you shall have it at
once, as there’s nobody within sight.’
‘Would you chastise me, sir?’ said Fanny,
looking at him indignantly.
‘Yes—so!’ he replied, suiting the action to
the word ; by which I mean of course, that he
kissed her.
They went on in this stupid way till they
reached Mrs. Maynard’s door. Mr. Brandon
knocked and ran away, and Fanny walked in
to the parlor, expecting a rebuke for being so
late. She was agreeably disappointed.
‘Well, Fanny, dear,’ said Mrs. Maynard,
cheerfully, ‘Mrs. Turnbull is only just gone.—
I’ve had such a pleasant evening with her. I
was quite surprised; for, do you knoiA\ she
could tell me such a deal about this Mr. Bran
don. I wish I had pressed him more to come
in; and so I would if I’d known what a highly
respectable young man he is. Why, Mrs Turn
bull says, lie'll he rolling in riches—actually
rolling in riches—in a few years. lam so \-exed
to think I didn't make him come in to tea. But
it was all your fault, you stupid girl; you hadn’t
a word to say for yourself. Now, if you see
him in church again do, pray, mind what I say,
and bow to him. He was so very polite this
morning, you know. Mrs. Turnbull says he
bears a most excellent character. She has a
nephew who is one of the head clerks to the
firm.
Mrs. Maynard was sitting in an easy chair,
with her feet on the fender, and her back turned
towards her daughter, avlio stood in the mid
dle of the room, with her bonnet in her hand,
speechless with amazement, while her mother
thus poured forth the resuit of her e\'eniug‘s
gossip with Mrs. Turnbull.
‘Who knows what might happen?’ she con
tinued ; ‘he was certainly wry polite and agree
able this morning ; but men require a little en
couragement, my dear, and I dare say he didn't
quite like to come in on my invitation, while
jou looked so stiff and formal. Not that I
should like you to be in the least degree bold or
informal, my dear Fanny; but it would have
been so easy for to have said, when I asked him
to walk in—‘Oh ! pray do, Mr. Thingamy.”
‘ Brandon , mammal’ interposed Fanny, a lit
tle piqued.
‘Yes, Brandon —It's a very good name. Mrs.
Turnbull says; when an oldgerat-uncle of his
dies, he will come in for an estate in Ilamshire
worth two thousand a year. These chances are
not to be met with e\ery day.’
‘Whatchances mamma?’
‘Why, the chance of becoming Mrs. Bran
don, child, with a City fortune, and an estate
in Hampshire ?’
‘But I don’t think there is any chance in the
matter, mamma.’
‘Why not ? Why shouldn’t you have as good
a chance as anybody else ? I’m sure any girl
but you would have wade something of the at
tentions this afternoon.’
‘I have 6een him in church every Sunday
for the last seven months. Don’t you think
lie would have made our acquaintance before,
if he had any thoughts of me V
‘Why, really, I don’t know. Men are strange
creatures; and perhaps he has never had an op
portunity before.’
‘And would you really like him for a son-in
law, mamma?’ asked Fanny, leaning over the
back of her mother's chair.
‘My dear child ! what a question, after all
that Mrs. Turnbull has told me about him !’
‘Then, if he should make me an offer, you
would wish tne to accept it ?’
‘Well, it is rather premature to say that just
at present, love. We shall see how matters go
on, and then ’
‘Oh, no! mamma,’ interrupted Fanny,‘it is
not so premature as you think. He walked to
church with me this evening, and brought me
home again, and lie’s coming to-morrow to ask
your consent.’
‘lie made you an offer!’ cried Mrs. Maynard,
starting up.
‘Yes, mamma.’
‘Andyou accepted him?’
‘Yes, mamma.’
‘Oh ! my darling Fanny !’ cried the delight
ed mother, clasping her daughter in her arms
—‘what a clever girl you are !’
Fanny’s cleverness consisted in her goodness,
and merited the happiness she seemed likely to
enjoy. M. A. B.
Truth cannot be found without some labor
and attention of the mind, and the thoughts
dwelling a considerable time upon the survey
and discussion of each particular.
Beware of mental intoxication, and phanta
sies. 1
Witchcraft of Women. —l want to tell
you a secret. The way to make yourself pleas
ing to others is to show that you care for them.
The whole work is like the Miller at Mansfield,
“w ho cares for nobody—no, not lie—because no
body cared for him.” And the whole tvorld
will serve you so if you give them the same
cause. Let every one, therefore, see that vo,u
do care for them, by showing them what Sterne
so happily calls “the small, sweet courtesies in
which there is no parade, whose voice is too still
to tease, and which manifest themselves by ten
der and affectionate looks, and little acts and
atttentions—giving others the preference in
every little enjoyment at the table, in the field,
Wi lki ig, sitting or standing.’’ This is the spirit
that gives to your time of life and to you sex
their sweetest charms. It constitutes the sum
total of all the witchcraft of women. Let the
world see that your first care is for yourself, and
you will rear the solitude of the Upas tree
around you, in the same way, by the emanation
of a poison which kills all the juice of affection
in its neighborhood. Such a girl may be ad
mired for her understanding and accomplish
ments, but she will never be beloved. The seed
of love can never grow but under the warm
and gentle influence of kind feelings and affec
tionate manners. Vivacity goes a great way in
young persons. It calis attention to her who
displays it; and if it then be found associated
with a generous sensibility, its execution is ir
resistible. On the contrary, if it be found in
alliance with a cold, haughty, selfish heart, it
produces no further effect except an adverse
one. Attend to this my daughter. It flows
from a heart that feels for you all a parent can
feel, and not without the hope which constitutes
the parent’s highest happiness. May God pro
tect and bless you.— IVm. Wirt to his daughter.
From the Boston Inkstand.
Certificate for the Cure of Broken-down
Merchants.
READ TIIE DOCUMENTS.
We have often tried, in our feeble way, to make the
people of this city understand the benefits to be de
rived from giving publicity to their business, through
the medium of the press, It will cure more broken
down, weak, sickly business men—save more lives than
were ever saved by all the medicine ever sold, taking
the certificates of doctors and druggists for true ; but
read the documents :
HEAR THE TESTIMONY.
In the year IS4O I started business in the city pf
Boston with a cash capital of SSOOO, and a good fair
credit. I hired me a good store at a moderate rent,
and applied myself industriously to my business. In
1842 took an account of stock, and found that I was
S3OOO worse off than when I began—more than half
of my capital had been sunk in expenses and bad debts.
This rather discouraged me, but as it was the first year
of my business, and I was but little known, 1 thought
I would try if another year. My creditors and friends
recommended that I join a church or an engine compa
ny—both of which 1 did ; and in 1543 1 again took
an account of my affairs, and found that if I could
stop all my expenses, and sell my stock out at the
marked prices, I should lack just SISOO of having
money enough to pay my debts. I bad a note against
one of the brothers in church for S2OO, which some
said was good, this would reduce my indebtedness that
amount, but he never paid it.
To make a long story short; I failed—burst up—
went to smash, and all iny friends and creditors pro
nounced me a ruined man, to make it sure, they
turned me out of the church. In 1545 I oontrived to
get a little money, with which, 1 bought a few goods. ;
I got some small Bills and Cards printed, and sent
them to every body I could think of—the consequence
was, they began to come in and trade with me a little.
I continued to push the Cards and Bills, and also to
advertise in the newspapers, and customers came in
from all parts of the country. I soon had to enlarge
my store, and I now do a bigger business than any
man on the street, I keep up my advertising, and my
business keeps increasing.
I have got $15,000 invested in good stocks, I own
the house I live in, and it is worth $7,500 ; my goods
are all paid for, as I buy for cash, and I have paid all
my old debts of 1843. This I attribute to your inval
uable remedy to an unhealthy business, of letting the
public know what you are doing and what you want
to do, through the press. If this certificate will be the
means of saving one poor man situated as 1 was seven
years ago, my object is accomplished.
(Signed,) C. SHARP, Jr.
“jjpaimMfl*
Mr. Madison on Secession.
In Mr. Everett’s biography of the HOll. Daniel j
Webster, the following letter, now first published,
from Mr. Madison to Mr. Webster, soon after the cele
brated discussion between him and Mr. Calhoun, on
the resolutions of the latter, is introduced :
‘Montpelier, March 15, 1833.
‘My Dear Sir :—I return my thanks for the copy
of your late very powerful speech in the Senate of
the United States. It crushes ‘nullification,’ and must |
hasten an abandonment of ’seccssioD.’ But this dodg- j
es the blow, by confounding the claim to secede at will ]
with the right of seceding from intolerable oppression.
The former answers itself, being a violation, without
cause, of a faith solemnly pledged. Ihe latter is
another name only for revolution, about which there
is no theoretic controversy. Its double aspect, never- ,
theless, with the countenance received from certain
quarters, is giving it a popular currency here, which
may influence the approaching elections both for Con
gress and for the State Legislature. It Jias gained
some advantage, also, by mixing itself with the ques- I
tion whether the Constitution of the United States
was formed by the people or by the States, now under
a theoretic JisKission by animated patriotism.
‘lt is fortunate when disputed theories can be deeid- !
ed by undisputed facts; and bere the undisputed fact
is, that the Constitution was made by the people, but j
as embodied into the several States who were parties •
to it, and, therefore, made by the States in their highest ;
authoritive capacity. They might, by the same au
thority and by thje same process, have converted the
confederacy into a mere league or treaty, or continued j
it with enlarged or abridged powers, or have embodied I
the people of their respective States in jo one people, ■
nation or sovereignty, or, as they did, by a mixed
form, make them one people, natioD, or sovereignty, |
for certain purposes, and not so for others.
’The Constitution of tho United States bciog estab
lished by a competent authority— by that of the sover- |
egn people of the several States who were parties to 1
it it remains only to enquire what the constitution is,
and here it speaks for itself- It orgauizes a govern-1
ment into the usual legislative, executive and judicia
ry departments; invests it with specified powers, leav
ing others to the parties to the constitution. It makes !
the government like other governments, to operate di- |
rectly on the people, places at its command the need
ful physical means of executing its powers, and finally
proclaims its supremacy, and that of the laws made in
I pursuance of it, over the constitutions and laws of the
Stales, the powers of the government being exercise 1
as in other elective and responsible governments, un
der the control of its constituents, the people and the
legislatures of the Stales, and subject to the revolu
tionary rights of the people, in extreme cases.
‘Such is the constitution of the 17. S. de jure and
de facto; and the name whatever it be, tlißt may b
given to it can make it nothing more or less than what
rt is.
‘Pardon this hasty effusion, which, whether pre
cisely according or not with your ideas, presents, I anx
aware, none that will be new to you.
‘With great esteem and cordial salutations.
‘Mr. Webster.’ JAMES MADISON.
Letter o i Hon. .Ur. Clemens, of Alabama.
Washington*, Jan. 28tli, 1852.
To Major William Fleming.
My Dear Major Your letter of tie 21sfc
instant reached me last night, and I shall pro
ceed to answer it in the same kind spirit in which
it was written. \ou and I have Veen something
more than ordinary friends, aud it would not
become either of us to withhold from the other
any opinions we may entertain. You sav that
I have been appointed an elector for the’State
at large by the Union convention recently held
|in Montgomery, and ask if this was doue with
my consent. I never heard of any such purpose
| until after it had been executed, and I doubt if
any member of the convention had thought of
• it previous to the meeting in Montgomery. You
ask also if I intend to accept it. I answer, that
depends upon circumstances. I have not seen
the resolutions, and do not know what kind of
platform they have erected. Moreover, it is im
possible to tell at this time what course circum
stances will render it proper for the Union men
in Alabama to pursue. To be effective, what
ever we do should be done in, conjunction with
Georgia and Misssssippi. United, these three
\ States can control the Presidential electiou ; and
| I doubt not this fact will soon become so appa
j rent as to induce attempts to eflect an orgauiza
; tion upon a common basis. We will them be in
a position to secure J\ny jqst demand made by
j the South, without war, without bloodshed, ail’d
without disuniou; for no party dare nominate a
candidate with thecertaintv of having our votes
cast against him. In that case I shall certaiuly
accept the nomination for elector, and devote
whatever energy I possess to the cause.
i'nere are other contingencies in which you
will wish to know what my action will be.’ If
General Cass, or any other Democrat untarmsh
ed by freesoil or secession heresies, receives tho
| nomination at Baltimore. I shall support him,
; and so, I believe, will the Union Whigs of the
South, uuless, indeed, they have presented to
them a man of their own party equally
jectionable. If any man who owes his selection
to freesoil or secession influences, i3 nominated,
I shall not support him, no, matter what personal
sacrifice it may entail.
I have now slated to you my position freely
J aQ d frankly. Let me refer as frankly to your
own. You are an old Jackson Democrat—-a
believer in the doctrines of his proclamation— a
; warm admirer of his farewell address. Has it,
| not occurred to you that you have already been;
I found in strange company ?
In the resolutions ot the so-called Democratic
convention, especial pains were taken to omit
ail mention even of the name of the Sage of the
Hermitage. Not one of his acts is mentioned
with approbation: not one of his opinions k ea
| dorsed. If you should be at any loss to account
| for the omission, you have only* to look to tho
constitution of the body of which, to my regret,
you were a member. In the first district they
selected as a Democratic elector a gentleman,
who opposed the removal of the deposites, op
posed the sub-treasury, and at the Last election,
refused to rote fir General Cass.
Os the three delegates to the National Con
vention, all are believers in the right of seces
sion, In the second district a, secessionist is
made elector, and three secessionists arp the
delegates. In the third district the same thing
has been done. In the fourth district a seces”
sionist is an elector, two of the delegates are
secessionists ; and so I believe is the other, but
Ido not know his opinions. In the sixth dis
trict there is one secession delegate. In the
seventh district the elector and al! the delegates
are secessionists. When I use the word seces
sionist, I mean a believer in the right of seces
sion—a right which yon and I deny, and which
all the sages of the republic have denied before
us. It is not surprising that such a bodv should
have avoided all mention of the name’ of An
drew Jackson with as much care as they would
j v 'oid the fangs of the rattlesnake. I observe
also that you were not without a small
of whiggery—secession Whigs of course—that
being the orily mantle which, in the opinion of
the cu;.'"otion, was broad enough to cover eve
ry sin. 4du.;rible exponents these of Jackson
democracy ]
I have no wish to deny that the convention
contained many good and true Democrats,
i well as warm aod decided friends of the Union
but they were in a lean minority, and gave’ no.
color to its proceedings. It was’never intended
they should. The thing originated under seces
sion auspices, and its fruits are such as might
have been conjectured.
Aou say that the Democratic party is
completely reorganized. I did not know that
the Democratic party proper had beien disorgan
ized. A few restless spirits during the last sum
mer set up fa'se gods, and tried to compel the
rest cf us to worship them. When the August
elections dissipated the pjenlal mist by which
they were surrounded, they found it their in
terest to indulge in lamentations over toe dis
tracted state of the Democratic party, and tried
to obtain credit for patriotism by loud profes
sion* of anxiety for the welfare of a party which,
no one had injured but themselves. It was thus
that you and others were drawn into this rro,~
ganizertion scheme, which means, in plain Eng
lish. giving the control of the State to the seces
sionist*. The action of that convention has
done more to destroy the Democratic party than
all other causes combined. The people were
not represented. Its action does not reflect the
popular s ? il{and when an appeal is taken to
them, as it will and sha}i be, the cobweb bands
woven by the small wire pullers about Mont
gomery will be snapped into a thousand pieces
Do you doubt this i Take your own case, and
let me ask you, in all kindness, what right did
you have to pledge Madison county to abide the
action of such a body ? None. You did not
reflect the sentiments of one fifth of your con
stituents. lam willing to believe—l do believe
—that you and other Union men acted from the
best motives. I know you sought only the gcod
of the party to which you are attached; but.
take my word for it, you will soon find yon have
only gnen strength to a desparate faction, and
warmed atiper m .vour bosom. Fnr
NO. 46