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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