Newspaper Page Text
k lAffilT NEWSPAPER,--DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, POLITICS h GENERAL INTEEIGINCE
VOL. 3.
jf OW is the time to Subscribe!
PROSPECTUS
OF THE THIRD VOLUME OF THE
beorgia citizen.
L F w. ANDREWS,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
„ rruurl V CITIZEN is a large size Weekly N'ewspa.
N>w% Mi.cLu*mr,
L per, des° Mechanic Arts, Domestic Economy-
Polit'cs, AoRICCL be a First CLAi „ Journal for tlx
fcfi kc - ” 19 “Vi awing Room and Business Mart. Its
in all things,-Neutral
** no,h Presidential Campaign, the Citizen will as
10 7 be the advocate of such Candidates us are known
heretofore. com . )romises of th* Constitution, the rigliU or
,0 ‘I!",, and the permanency of the Union or none.
**' e s ’ j volume will commence on the lOlb day of April, 1852,
JjTrged ad othflwise improved.
thp r 3d a
$2 per ana. in Advance-$2 50 if not so paid.
iimtiilllWSs
v ariv Semi-Yearlv, Quarterly and Transient Advertxe
’ jn’serted conspicuously on the most reasonable term*.—
I 1 ’ AAvertisin® medium, the Citizen is now acknowledged
t::: l cheapest and best paper ln central
liKoK'Jl \. It* circulation at home and the region round a
bout, is increasing rapidly.
BOOK 108 PRINTING.
No. 13, Cotton Avenue.
II.VINS received a handsome assortment of New Type and
fancy Printing Material, we are prepared execute all kinds of
■plain t fDrmmifntnl printing.
•h despatch,and in the best stylo of the Art, in Gold, Sil
ver and Colored Inks, such as
CIRCULARS fcij PLACARDS,
labels, bar notices,
SILL HEADS, POSTERS,
EU OF LADING, COTTO\ RECEIPTS,
-JAel ©J!L!L3,aii'HTl¥il,ii3
VtWSY. u VIVtiX. nl
AUCTION “ PROGRAMMES,
BUSINESS CIKDS, BALL TICKETS,
wwm 44 BRIDAL 44
“ sdoe woxs,
lUrtNO also put up one of A. D. Brown's Superior STAND
IN'ii PttKSdES* all work,hereafter dune at this Ollice w ill he
finished in tho best manner. . ...
Hr adopting the Cash Principle, the Proprietor will
bt abls to do superior work at the lowest possible rate, ana at
t be shortest notice.
Notice to Agents.
Postmasters and others, sending us $lO in advance, will be
entitled to Sit copies of the Citizen, for one year.
Address, 1.. F. W. ANDREWS,
mar. 7 Macon, Ga.
I'rufrssioiii)l£ Stasinrss Curts
;">z-r— —mm “’ 1 . ~ |
S. A R. P. IIAU,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
.11 a c o n , G n .
Or mu ob Cotton ATtnue, over Little's Drug Store, (octl 1
1.. N. WHITTLE,
Attorney at Law,
jnj mjicow, o.i. -ir
LAMAR fit LOCHHANE,
Attorneys and Couuseliers at Law.
omen OTER BELLIES &. CO’. HT STORE, MACON. BA.
“11 TILL practice in the Superior Courts of the following
it counties: Bibb, Monroe, Pike, Houston, Dooly, Sum
ter, i r.vvford, Macon, Jones anil Tw iggs, anil in tlie Suprsme
court at Macon, Decatur and Columbus. j
All cases placed in our hands for collection will be punctual- ;
be attended to.
n. o. LLMAK, Oeb 58) o. A. LorußAS*. |
R. O. JEFFERSON & O.
HASCrArtCREK AND WHOLESALE DEALERS IS
CHAIRS,
West Side Broad St., first door above P. M'Larin s, •
COLUMBUS, GA.
r PKIV keep on hand an excellent supply of Office, Wood i
1 Seat, Split Bottom and Rocking Chairs; Bedsteads, Wood- i
*n Ware, Ac.
tAll Orders left as above, will meet with prompt atten- ■
tion. novl —ts
VT. N. WILLIFORD,
COMMISSION MERCHANT AND AUCTIONEER,
Macon, Ga.
All kinds of Produce and .Merchandise, (exeept liquors) ro
eeieed on consi gnnient. sep27
“r. l. wood
DAGUERREGTYPIST,
MACON. GA.
IdT ENTRANCE FROM THE AVENUE. JkS
•pti* . tr j
CITY HOTEL.
‘SAVANNAH,-.-.-.-.-. •.•.•■•.•.•.•GEORGIA.
P. CONDON.
Terms:—Transient Boarders, per day, 91,50. Monthly and
_*arly Boarders in p.oportion. apr s—v
HARDEMAN HAMILTON,
Ware Bouse and Commission KKerchantSi
Ml COW, OEOIiOI.I.
Hamilton & hardeman,
VCTORs A COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
AlPd.V.Vlff, GEOROI.I.
” ill jjve prompt attention to all business eannsitted to them
•tettarr place.
T °. lIADt M AN. ( 19—ts) CHAS. r. HAXILTO*.
WINSHIP & SOW,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN
a> rv an d Staple Dry Goods and Ready ;
Slade Clothing.
COTTN AVENUE, MACON, GA.
W. D. ETHERIDGE A Cos.,
factors a commission merchants,
S.IEJJ.YW.IN, GF.ORGr.I.
pUF. undersigned having forced a Copartnership for the
to i transattt,on of ” the above business, tender their services
friends and the public generally and solicit a gljayg of
0 * ron, S<- We will pay strict attention to ti*£ sale of Cotton
utner produce consigned to our care and all orders for Bag
aM* ail '* fami, y B,, pplies will be prottfiitiy attended to
u at the lowest prices. Liberal advances will be uaaAe
i J ll otton or other produce consigned to us.
r. oov*, (aug-23-y) w. and. etiieriddk.
SASH AWD WINDOW BLIND
r OH Cfy ‘A <£>
J subscriber is manufacturing the above articles by
* arn Machinery, at very moderate
turning and planing.
eutA n ’ i ' chlßcr y for this business, and will promptly exc
jwia* b *‘ nthi9,ine ’ alex. McGregor.
. —fJ
c. H. FREEMAN,
MAWffACTL'RER Or
fle ’‘'^A?A e 'n eS ’e C l o^ / ,ia,B ’ S y ru P &C *
B Office of the Geo . Cotton Avenue, Macon, Ga*
J;-’’ arl ' e and families furnished at short notice and
Ord * b!e ‘ ermS for Ca * h ”
be nron, r ",/ rom ,f,e countr y accompanied with the money,
■ Promptly attended to . doclS—tf
THE POET’S CORKER.
Selected for the Georgia Citizen.
Chickasaw County, Mtss. March S, 1852.
Dr. Andrews : — T>ear Sir —The following piece of poetry
1 extract from a religious periodical. I think it beautiful. It
is said to have been w ritten by a converted Jew of tbe East,
by the name of Jcrusha'eme , several years ago. who, for the
crime of embracing Christianity, was disinherited by hi,
father. It is at your disposal; perhaps, some of your nu*
merous readers might be pleased with it, if you think so,
you can give it an insertion in the Citizen.
Jerusalem.
Ancient of citities! admir’d of the nations!
Kestof Jehovah! his chosen delight!
\\ e!l may we mourn tiiee with sa'd lamentations,
Fallen thy greatness and faded thy light:
And the rainbow of promise that gleamed on thy mow,
Is hid by tbe cloud that hangs over thee now !
I-and of the Prophet! whose mystic revealing*
Dimly enlightened all tribes but thine own !
Thine are the records of wonderful dealings
Lost or unmark'd by thy children alone :
And strangers and aliens, whilst they are forlorn,
Rejoice in the birthright to which they were born!
Land of the Mini.trel! so sadly foreboding
Woe alter woe on thy children and thee;
Link’d with tbe joy, and its sweetness corroding,
Just a, the blight-worm is link'd to the tree,
Yet the poet e’en now, when he touch* his lvre,
Must wake at thine altar the spark of his fire.
Land of the M irtvr! whose seed, sown in weakness,
Is whitening the ear'll with a harvest of grace—
Thine was the v.orsliip all gorgeous with splendor,
Trumpets, and cymbals, and anthems of praise ;
Twa* in thy wide cradle Messiah was lain.
And in thee for the sins of the people was slain.
Where is the outcast tbat shared in thy glory?
Where is the lost one so favored of yore ?
Driven from thy temple, its stones lie unbuilded.
Banish'd thy vineyards, they blossom no more!
And the soil that enainell’d with verdure thy lawns,
Now he is an exile, bears briars and tborus.
Vainly the infidel plants on thv border
Com for his garner or grapes for hie cup;
Dew from the Lord is withheld that must water,
Blights are around thee, that wither it up:
And the land in her sabbath is waiting the day
When the dew shall return and the desert look gay.
Twm not for him thou wast placed in the sunlight,
Gilding t liv temples and painting thy flowers,
Lebanon's cedars have languish'd before him,
Carinel and Sharon look sere in their bowers;
And sower and reaper but labor in vain
And wealth may not purchase that splendor again.
Sadly the wanderer mourns thee, in absence,
Waking or sleeping, his home is in thee:
Feeds on the water and bread of affliction,
A proverb,a reproach,and a bye-word is he!
Poor child! and the stranger that looks on the now
Iltaiis the price of his sin in the brand on thy brow.
Weary of wand'ring and worn with oppression,
Ow n’d of no country, and favor’d by few !
Who shows thee kindness to liv-hten thine exile?
Or yields to thy sorrow the sympathy due?
In the hourof affliction mankind is thy foe,
And no brother ha.t thou but the brothei in woe!
Who could but weep to behold thee degraded?
Beauteousfo..t— tion, the joy of the earth!
If I forget thee in my exaltation,
Yea, if I hold thee not chief in my mirth— 1
Then may my right hand her cunning forget,
And my tongue in the silence of sorrow be set!
Lift up thine eyes to this burthen'd horizon.
Child of the promises, what dost thou see?
Bright golden streaks, growing w ider and brighter,
Break through the darkness and gleam upon thee!
And the shaking of nations, in nature’s last groan,
is paving the way of thy King to his throne !
He comes! O Jerusalem! wake from thy slumbers,
And shake off the dust that incumbers thy strength!
The dust o: defilement long years have roll’d o'er thee ;
The day of redemption dawns on thee at length,
Thy temple shall rise from its ruins more bright,
And the nations around thee shall walk in thy light,
lie comes! p thou daughter of mourning arid sadness,
Awake.and put on thee thy bridal anay!
He comes to restore thee to glory and glwlvrs* —
Rejoice in the message lie brines thee to-day :
‘•ln a moment of wrath thou w ert hidden from me,
But w ith love everlasting have I loved thee !”
SABBATH READING-.
He Dwelleth in Love. —But who is he that
dwelleth ill love l What is real love hut warm
and genial affections, seeking objects out of self,
ujjoii which it can bestow till that it hath ? To
dwell in love is to dwell in the exercise of good
affections.
It is given to every man to have a selfhood,
but the man whose love is from the Lord dwells
not in his selfhood ; not that self is destroyed,
but it is i>ut in its proper place. Every man
knows and feels that every act of pure benevo
lence returns back to him in refreshing streams J
of reciprocated kindness, or it infuses an inte
rior jov and satisfaction to himself; yet it i>
not this end that he loves and seeks to benefit
bis fellow-creatures ; be delights in seeing and
making others happy; he feels, springing up
in his inmost soul, an interior blessedness in
aiding and witnessing the joys of others. His
Life is Love,and he dwells in the heaven of love,
and thus he ‘dwelleth in God.’ And ‘God
dwelleth in him.’ Like all other men, he is an
organ of life, but the recipient vessels of his
spirit are in order; they point upwards towards
Heaven, and the inflowing life of the Lord is
received in its purity and fullness. He knows
and feels, every moment of his life, that ‘God
is Love, 1 and he feels that love continually
warming and expanding his own affections, and
impelling him to action. His outer life may
not be unlike that of other men —he may sow,
and plant, and build—but bis ends are essen
tially different. Self and the world are notdis
regarded, but they are not his love; be dwells
not in them. He knows and confesses that he
is but a stranger, and a pilgrim here—that all
things of earth will fade away —that they have
no foundation but the shifting sands of the sea.
Wherefore he seeks a city which hath founda
tions, whose builder and maker is God.
This is home —he dwells in Heaven here, and
will dwell in Heaven to eternity. Love is his
life—it is the very man himself, his inmost, his
real being. Oil earth he is a man -angel, wheth
er he be in or out of the external church. All
the excommunications of all the priests that
ever lived cannot send him to hell, any more
than they can send a man-devil to heaven. If
churches produce no change in the man him
self. their influence is not worth a straw in af
fecting his future destiny.
How plain the# the truth, that man is his
own Love; or, in other words, that every man’s
Love is his Life. And thus it becomes a truth,
written clear as with a su nr beam, that all the
destinies of man are governed solely by his
love. Ail else are but aids to develope and to
perfect his real life. Reading the Word, prayer,
public worship and instruction, sacraments and
cburch fellowship, all are but so many instru
mental means by which heavenly life may be
brought out, cherished and perfected.
‘He that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in Go 4,
and God in liirj}.’ What though everlasting
hills he moved—the rocks rent —the whole earth
upheaved with one mighty universal earth
quake- air,earth a4ocean mingling in the war
of contending elements—threatening the disso
lotion of the universe—turning the moon into
j darkness, an 4 bjojttipg out the sun from mortal
vision-—what though all this happen in the na
i ttiral religious world, it will not disturb his
life, for his dwelling is with the ever bjessed
God.
And O, what is the world to him ; and what
cares he, other than to mourn over human fol
ly • w hat cares he for the smile* or ife-e frowns
of men ? They touch him not, for he is safe
protected by the panoply of Divine Love.
And what is mortal life to him, and what
are mortal fears and hopes to him, and what
men call death and the dreaded horrors of a
death-bed—what are all these to him ? As the
sun sinks on his crimsoned couch at close of
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 15, 1852.
day, but to rise oil other lands and gladden
brighter sikes with his ruddy morning beams,
so the couch on which his weaiied body sinks
to rest, becomes to his liberated spiiit a chariot
and horses ot fire, bearing him to a sunnier
clime—his own heaven. —Rev Henry Weller.
Trust in Rod.
One beautiful evening in summer a carriage
drove up to a village. A stranger stepped out
and directed the landlord to prej are him a sup
per, and also feed his horses. The last rays of
the setting sun were visible on tbe tieecy clouds,
and on the vane of an antiquated church, which
stood on the opposite side of the way. The
stranger looked about him for a few moments,
and then directed his steps to the church, that
he might meditate while the landlord was fulfill
ing his directions.
He entered the gate which opened into the
grave-yard, and walking around, he, viewed the
grassy beds, beneath which the sons of other
years lay silently resting from want and toil and
pain. While lie was reading the various in
scriptions on the tombstones, his attention was
drawn to a corner of the yard by the sobs of a
child. He- went immediately to ihe spot, where
two ragged children sat weeping upon a newly
made grave. A piece of bard bread was be
tween them. The stranger, being sensible to
tbe sorrows of others, sat down upon tbe grave,
and inquired into the cause of their distress.
The little boy, whose name was Henry, began
to tell him that his sister Mary was naughty, and
would not eat the piece of bread which he had
begged for her. She interrupted her brother
here, and told the man that she had eaten some
bread yesterday, but her brother had eaten none
since the day before, and she wanted him to eat
this.
The boy then proceeded to tell the stranger that
about a year ago bis father left the village and
went to sea, and that in a storm lie was drowned.
And poor mother cried so hard and said that
she must soon die, too; but that we must love
each other, and God would be our Father. She
called us to her bedside, kissed us both and then
died. Now we have no mother; but we have
come to her grave to see if we can find our
Father. Mother said he was in Heaven. Can
you tell us, sir, where our Heavenly Father can
be found ?
The stranger listened to the tale of sorrow
until his eyes were tilled with tears, and he was
moved with compulsion for tbe wanderers. He
exclaimed, as lie arose from the grave. ‘Come
with me, my children. God will be your Fath
er. He has, no doubt, sent me hero twi* night
to befriend you.’
lie took them to the inn, and had them pro
vided for until be returned home. Then they
were received into the bosom of bis family,
where they were well fed, clothed and instruct
ed ; and tbe stranger, in his declining years,
witnessed them useful and pious members of
society. Ilis hospitality was rewarded a hun
dred fold.
Let all the children who may hear about
Ileury and Mary put their trust in God, and be
will raise up friends for ihem when their fath
ers and mothers die. Let parents instruct their
children in the knowledge of Christ, that w hen
death shall make them orphans they tray find
a Father in Heaven.— Presbyterian.
From the Daily Orleanian.
Sketch from Life.
When first I knew Margaret M , she was
| but a petted, lovely child, the darling of her
grand parents, to whose protection she had been
consigned on the death of her mother. A fa
ther's love she had never known—the fiat which
had summoned him to the realms ot bliss had
gone forth before her infant eyes had opened
on this world. Yet though these deepest of
all afflictions had thus early fallen on her young
spirit, they had suddened and shaded, but not
w holly obscured its light. True, she was rarely
seen to laugh. l>ut then her smiles were so beau
tiful, so full of truthfulness and love, it almost
made one imagine a seraph from on high, in the
fulfilment of some heavenly mission, had for a
brief space animated her lovely form. At times
she was sportive a.i the mountain roe, and would
bound over the hills and through the valleys of
her native home, here stopping at one cottage
| t > g ve old Betsey the bouquet of violets gath
ered in lmr rambles, expressly for her, know
ing her fondness for flowers; next at the hut
! situate by the old chesnut tree ‘down in the
| valley, to leave the basket of eggs and fruit’ a
present to her pretty little namesake, the wood
cutter's daughter; then taking the ruined mill
on her way home, an hour would be spent in
reading the Bible to poor old John, who had
grown so blind that he knew not day from night;
then trip home to be ready to place the cush
ioned stool for grand mamma's feet, and hand
grandpa bis spectacles. Thus early both at
home and abroad, were her kindness and atten
tions bestowed on the aged and weary. Dear
lv did I love her, young as I was, but years
rolled on and I departed to a foreign dime,
w here, amid the turmoils and cares of business,
Margaret passed not before my mind's eye ; but
when the depai ting sunbeams, tinted with gor
geous colors the western sky, aud my spirit be
came infused with the might and majesty of
beauty, of when some of the loveliest concep
tions of genius were presented to my sight in
forms of rare sculpture or glorious paintings,
whose depth of coloring and life like tints caus
ed my heart to thrill with rapture, then blest
memory restored the past —the ‘happy, happy
hours of childhood’ were again enacted over,
and Margaret was unforgotten.
Once more I trod the halls of my fathers;
the embraces of relatives the congratulations of
friends scarce over, before I hastened to visit
my little playmate. She had grown to woman
hood, but a fearful change had pome over Iper;
the Angel of Death had o’ershadowed her with
his dark wing, his herald Consumption, in its
loveliest form, had visited her. As I smoothed
back from her high brovy the bright glos
sy ringlets of anbyrn hair, and looked into the
clear depths of her dark eyes, I murmured at
the decree; I cried aloud in the fulness of mv
heart’s agony, she was too lovely, too pure—
oh, my God, to die, too beautiful to lie in the
cold, dark tomb!
Day by day I was her side. Oscar, her
; brother, was at home from West Point, where he
: had been for about a year —he, and her young
; sister Josephine, and myself alternately, read
t.Q her during the long dreary hours of August.
Terrible was Oscar’s grief if one but hinted at
the possibility of his sister* death; he dung to
her with more than a brother’s love; every feel
ing of his soul seemed centered in that soul
wasted almost to transparency; the very thought
of laying her in the earth w as fraught with mad
ness. Often at the evening hour she would re
cline on acouch, her head pillowed on his breast;
Josephine at her feet, seated on a low ottoman,
her harp before her drawing forth low, clear and
ravishing notes pf melody, til! the tears would
glisten in tbe soft eyes of Margaret, and she
won Id bid her repeat again the enchanting
strain. Hours have so passed, and as we watched
the smile flit over her flushed cheek, Oscar would
whisper—'Margaret is better; she will yet be
spared to us: Death cannot touch with his ser
pent fangs a creature so fair.’ But even while
the words were on his lip, she would turn on
him her eyes, glittering with bright unearthly
rays, and shudder with pain; lie sickened and
lost a’l hope, for he felt he had indeed been
cheating himself with delusive dreams.
’Twas a tranquil evening in autumn ; the sun
was rapidly sinking to rest, not a cloud marred
the soft light of the sky, not a leaf stirred on
the still branches. I had wheeled tbe couch,
fiom which Margaret now seldom rose, clo*e to
the open window ; I gazed on her wasted fea
tures,and tbe desolating certainty that we must
soon part, for the first time was fully under
stood by me in all its anguish and misery. The
rose I had given her in the morning had fallen
from her hair; its leaves were withered and scat
tered over the floor, I gathered them up and
passionately pressed them to my lips. I knelt
beside her, and whispered, ‘Margaret beloved,
you will not leave me? You will not die?’
A smile of ineffable sweetness passed over
her countenance. She extended to me her hand
and replied—‘Mourn not dearest, that I cannot
live, tny fate has been w isely ordered. I have
suffered much and acutely. See the flower you
gave me, it was beautiful, yet is is dead. Is it
not a type of me ?
‘Though with a fond and gentle care
Its bright leaves were shaded,
Decay was stjH there.’
And look, dearest, the sun has nearly sunk be
hind the hill. Pray with me, that the light may
linger yet a little w liile to guide me to my home,
for I feel lam dying—yet am happy, with your
hand clasped in mine—words of love ’ Her
voice failed. I caught her sinking in my arms;
her eyes closed. Oh, God, was this death ?
What would I not have given to have been able
to restore animation to that frail form ? Bitter,
bitter tears, wrung from tbe heart, which sel
dem course over the cheek of manhood, sprung
to my eyes. O but for one more glance, one
other word! In vain. There she lay, cold
and pale alike unconscious of my misery, and
the deep, enduring grief of Oscar and Jose
phine, who had been summoned by my cries.
Soon the aged grandparents, who had so idol
ized her, aunts and uncles, were all standing
round the low couch; and as the wail of sor
row ascended to the the throne of the Most
High the old pastor who had held Margaret at
iLo Ln j>t' ia >Ti:il fount slowly entered the apart
ment. With faltering step* t/c approachf*a the
lifeless form; in silence lie pressed each trem
bling band, then bade them join with #kiin in
prayer. Never shall t forget the soul stirring
eloquence of that devout man. With humility
and fervor, he besought God that the spirit
which had animated the stiffening clay, might
not depart from its earthly tenement till it had
vouchsafed some sign, some token to mourn
ing frien ls that her faith had been built on tbe
‘Rock of Agrs.‘ TruAing this prayer to the
intercession of Ilis glorious Son, lie rose front
liis knees. A moment scarce elapsed before
Margaret opened her eyes; entire consciousness
returned; >he’recognized the good Mr L ,
spoke of her w illingness to die, of her faith and
trust in Christ's redeeming love, whose arm
then sustained her; again bade us all farewell,
and her pure spirit took its flight to God.
M l SC E L b A N Y.
Captive aud Empress;
OR PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF CATHERINE, Os
RUSSIA.
From Mary llenvett's ‘Heroines of History,’
just published by Cornisii, Lamport A Cos.
On the morning of the 2uih of August, 1702,
the Russian cannon began to batter in the
breach of the old ramparts of Marienburg.—
Shermetoff commanded the besieging army.
He had been sent by Peter the Great to avenge
the humiliations inflicted upon the Russians,
during the preceeding year, at Marva, and in
Poland ; and about a month before the period
at which this narrative commences, he had de
feated the Swecdish army under the command
of Shippenbaeh. M&rien berg surrendered at
discretion in a few hours, and the Russians, ex
asperated at the store-houses and magazines hav
ing been set on fire, put the Swedish garrison
to the sword, and made the inhabitants priso
ners—a lot much worse in those days than death;
for it was a condition of slavery. Among the
captives, all of whom were casting a lingering
look at the homes from which they were now
driven, was a Lutheran minister, attended by
three young girls. One of these wasstrikingly
handsome. She had just been discovered by
the Russian soldiers concealed in an oven, in
which her fright had led her to seek refuge. The
family was brought before General Bauer, Sher
metoti’s lieutenant, who was surprised at the
beauty of the eldest girl.
‘Thy name V said lie, in a harsh voice to the
minister.
‘Gluck.’
‘Thy religion V
‘Lutheran. 1
‘Why did thy daughter hide herself? Think
est thou that we refuse our protect),qp tq tjie
weak and innocent V
‘The young girl of whom you speak,’the
trembling minister replied, ‘is not a member of
my family. I love her as my child ; but she is
a stronger to my blood.’
‘Oh ! oh V muttered the general, with Rn ex
pressive look. ‘Who is she then ?’
‘The daughter of poor peasants, who dwelt in
the neighborhood of Derpt, in Livonia. I took
charge of her when her mqpjer died, and have
taught her the little I know. Her name is
Martha Alfeodey.’
‘ ’Tis well! you may retire. As for you,’ said
tl;c geceral, addressing £he young girl, ‘remain
here.’
Instead of obeying this command, she clung
to the arm of her protector.
‘General,’said the minister,‘Martha was mar
ried this morning; the ceremony had just been
performed when the firing began.®
Bauer laughed, and repeated his order. Re
sistance was impossible. The pastor withdrew,
and the poor girl remained with her future
| master; for she was now r a slave, and the slave
too of r man whq iq a few years was to become
her subject.
This young female, as the reader may have
already anticipated, w%s Catherine—a name she
afterwards assumed, together with that of A!-
exDnna, when she embraced the tenets of the
Greek Church. In the presept narrative I shall
give her no other.
Catharine was eminently beautiful; and there
was an extreme fascination in her look and smile.
After a short period of service, Bauer thought
he might advauee bh> ow n interests by making
a present of /.is fair slave to Shermetoff. He
accordingly dressed her after the Russian fash
ion, and presented her to the marshal, with
whom she remained some time. But Menzi
coft’, then all powerful with the Czar, having
seen her by chance, offered to purchase her; and
Shermetoff, whether from indifference, or be
cause be was desirous of making a merit of his
compliance, sent her as a free offering to the
prince. Thus, iu less than three vears, Catha
rine became the property of three different mas
ters.
Menzicoff, one day, had to entertain the Czar.
Peter loved to give such marks of his royal fa
vor; that cost him nothing, and, in a country
like Russia, were highly prized. Seated at a
table loaded with a profusion of gold plate,
sparkling crystal, and the finest linen of Holland
and Saxony, trimmed with Brussels lace, the
Czar was in that joyous mood to which he some
times yielded when the thorns of his diadem
tore his brow or the weight of his sceptre tired
his arm. He wore on that day a coat of very
coarse cloth, cut after his own fashion; for he
affected a simplicity of attire very much out of
keeping with tho oriental magnificence he was
fond of displaying. His mirth was always
boisterous; and in the midst of a loud peal of
laughter he suddenly stopped, replaced upon
the table the chased goblet he held in bis band,
and followed with his eyes a young, beautiful,
and elegantly dressed female who had just
poured wine into his cup, smiling with respect
ful modesty as she performed the office. Pe
ter thought he never beheld so fascinating a
creature.
‘Who is that woman V said he to the favorite.
‘My slave, dread lord,’ replied the trembling
prince.
‘Thy slave !’ cried Peter in a voice of thun
der ; then in a milder tone, almost in a whisper,
he added, ‘I will purchase thy slave. What is
her price?’
‘I shall consider myself most fortunate,’ Men
zicoff replied, ‘if your majesty will vouchsafe
to accept her.’
The same day, Catherine was taken to a house
in a remote part of Moscow. Menzicoff was in
hopes the Czar would take but little notice of
his new acquisition, and that his slave would
ultimately be sent back to him; but the fair
captive had caught a glimpse of her future great
ness, and soon brought into play that energv
of genius which ultimately placed the imperial
crown upon her head. The powers of her mind
and her extraordinary talents became known
throughout liussia, long before she appeared as
the savior, not only of the Empire, but of the
honor of Peter’s throne. At first the Czar visi
ted htr only occasionally; soon, however, not a
day passed without his seeing her; and ulti
mately he took his ministers to her house, and
transacted all the businesss of the State in her
presence, frequently consulting her and taking
her advice upon the most Jcnotty difficulties.—
Her cheerfulness, her mildness of temper, and
especially her energy of mind, so congenial with
his own, filled up the void left in his heart by
his former disappointments. His first wife,
Eudocia Lsponkin, had proved faithless, and he
had repudiated her. He afterwards wished to
wed tiie beautiful Anna Moens, who refused the
proffered honor, because she still considered him
the husband of another. In his intercourse
with Catherine, he therefore yielded to a deep
and overwhelming passion, which seemed likely
to compensate for former sufferings. It was not
long before he contracted a secret marriage with
his lovely slave, and in the enjoyment of her af
section his heart recovered its tone, and he was
happy.
In this almost unknown retreat, Catherine
bore him two daughters—Anna, burn in 1708,
and Elizabeth, horn in 1709. From this time
the power of the fair captive of Marienburg was
acknowledged throughout the Empire, and she
found herself strong enough to show Russia that
she was indeed its sovereign.
From Dickens’ Household Words.
Keep Him Out
‘What noise is that?’ saida judge disturb
ed in the hearing of a case.
‘lt’s a man, my lord,’ was the answer of the
doorkeeper.
‘What does ho want ?’
‘He wants to get in, juy lord.’
‘Well, keep him out!’
The audience is comfortably seated ; the case
is going forward; to make room for the new
comer, some must shift their seats, and perhaps
be jostled about a little ; so they are all perfect
ly satisfied with the judge's dictum of ‘keep
him out.’
You have yourself been in an omnibus when
a stout passenger has presented himself to the
conductor, and petitioned for a place. You are
all snugly seated—why should you be disturb
ed ? ‘The seats ats full!’ ‘Keep him out!’ —
But the intruder is in, he presses forward to
the inner corner, perhaps treading on some testy
gentleman's toes. llow you litpe tl);jt new com
er, until you gef, fairly ‘shook down* and set
tled again in your places! The door opens
again—another passenger! ‘Keep him out.’
cry the company, and, strange to say, the loud
est vociferator of the whole, is the very passen
ger whp last came in. He in his turn becomes
conservative, after having fairly got a place in
side.
It is the same through life. There is a knock
ing from time to time tpL tfce d®or of the con
stitution.
‘What’s that noise ?’ask the men in power.
‘it’s a lot of men, my lords and gentlemen?’
‘What do they xyqqt ?’
‘They want to come in.’
‘Well, keep them out!*
And those who are comfortably seated with
in the pole, re-echo the cry of ‘Keep him out.’
Why should they be disturbed in their seats,
and made uncomfortable ?
But somehow, by dint of loud knocking, the
men, a rush of them ‘4t lepgth do contrive to
get in ; and after sundry shovings and jostlings,
they get seated, and begin to feel comfortable,
when there is another knocking louder than
before. Would you believe it ? the last accom
modated are now J,h most eager of all to keep
the door closed against the new comers; and
‘Keep them out!’ is their vociferous cry.
Here is a batch of learned men debating the
good of thej. r order. They are considering
how their profession maybe advanced. What
is the gist of their decisions ? the enactment of
laws against all intruders qpon their comfort and
quiet. They make their calling a snug monopo
ly, and contrive matters so that as few as pos
sible are admitted to a share of the good
things of their class. ‘Keep them out!’ is the
cry of all the learned professions.
‘Keep them out! cry the barristers, when
the attorneys claim to be admitted to plead be
fore courts. ‘Keep them out!’ cry the attor
neys, when ordinary illegal men claim to argue
a case before the county court. ‘Keep her out!’
cry both barristers an<J attorneys, when }{.rs.
1 Cobbett claims to be heard in her imprisoned
husband’s cause. ‘What! a Woman plead in
the courts! If such a thing be allowed, who
knows where such license is to end ?’ And she
is kept out accordingly.
‘Keep them om !’ cry the apothecaries, when
a surgeon from beyond the Tweed or the Irish
Channel claims to prescribe and dispense medi
cine to Eng!i-h subjects. ‘Keep them out!’
cry the doctors, when the homcepathists offer the
public their millionth-grain doses. ‘Keep them
j out!’ cry physicians, and surgeons, and apothe-
I caries, of all ranks, when it is proposed to throw
! open the profession to the female sex.
But you find the same cry among the work
ing classes of every grade. Mechanics and
tradesmen insist on all applicants for admission
to their calling serving long apprenticeships. If
the apprenticeships are not served, then ‘Keep
them out?’ is the word. Shoulder to shoulder
they exclude the applicants for leave to toil.
! ‘Knobsticks’ are pelted. They must join the
union—must be free of the craft —must con
form to the rules—subscribe to the funds—pay
the footings, and so on ; otherwise they are kept
out with a vengeance.
In the circles of fashion tho same cry is fre
quent. Anew man appears in society. ‘Who
is he?’ ‘Only so and so!’ He is a retired gro
cer, or, as Cobbett called Sadler, a ‘linen draper;’
and the exclusive class immediately club togeth
er for the purpose of ‘keeping him out.’ He is
‘cut.’ Even the new man of high sounding ti
tle is accounted as nothing among the old fami
lies who boast of their ‘blue blood.’ Wealth
goes a great way, but still that does not com
pensate for tbe accideut of birth connexions a
inong these classes.
Every class has its own standard. The mo
ney classes have theirs, too. Even tho trades
men and their wives go in sets, and there is al
ways some class outside their own set, which
they contrive to ’keep out.’ Tho aristocratic
contagion thus extends from the highest to the
verge of the lowest class of society in England.
Is not monopoly the rule among us, whenever
we can find an opportunity of establishing it?
Monopoly or exclusiveisin in art, iu theology, in
trade, in literature, in $• ciolygV. Look at the
fortv Royal Academicians setting their backs
up against every newcomer in art, and combin
ing with one accord to ‘Keep him out.’ ihat is
the monopoly of art; and people at large call it
a humbug; but they are not more tolerant or
wise when their own craft comes to be dealt
with. Eeacli in his turn is found ready to com
bine with somebody else, to‘keep out’ all intru
ders on their special preserves. The ‘Flaming
Tinman,’ in Lavengro, pummels and puts to
flight tbe poor tinker who intrudes upon hi?
beat, the esters combine to keep out freshmen
from theirs; English navies band together to
keep out Irish navies.
LAWS OF HEALTH.
Children should he taught to uso the left
hand as well as the right.
Coarse bread is much better for children than
fine.
Children should sleep in separate beds, and
should not wear night caps.
Children under seven years of age should
not he confined over sis or seven hours in the
house—and that time should be broken by fre
quent recesses.
Children and young people must he made to
hold their heads up and their shoulders hack
while sitting, standing or walking. The best
beds for children are of hair, or, io wiuler, of
hair and cotton.
From one to one pound and a half of solid
food a day is sufficient fora person in the ordi
nary vocation of hqsines*, Persons in seden,
tarv employment should drop one-'hird of their
food and they will est ape dyspepsia.
Young persons should walk at least two
hours a day in the open air.
Young ladies shovld be prevented from ban
daging the chest. We have known three cases
of insanity terminating in death, which begun
in this practice.
Every person, great and small, should wash
all over in cold water ever} morning.
Reading aloud is conductive to health.
The more clothing we wear, other things be
ing equal, the less food we need.
Sleeping-rooms should have a fire place, or
some mode of ventilation besides the windows.
Young people and others cannot study much
by lamp light with impunity.
The remedy for eyes weakened by night use,
is a fine stream of cold water frequentl} applied
to them.— London Lancet.
The Pin and tiie Needle. A pin and nee
dle, says the American Fontaine, being neigh
bors in a work basket, both being idle, began to
quarrel, as idle folks are apt to do.
‘I should like to know.’ said the pin, ‘what
you are good for, and how do you expect to get
through the world without a head?’ ‘What is
the use of your head,’ replied the needle, rather
sharply, ‘if you have no eye?’ ‘What’s the use
of an eye,’ said the pin, ‘if there is always some
thing in it ?’ ‘I am more active and can go
through more work than you can,’ said the nee
dle. ’Yes. but you will not live long.’ ‘Why
not V ‘Because you have always a stitch in your
side,’ said the pin. ‘You are a poor crooked
creature,’ said the needle. ‘And you are so
proud that you can’t bend without breaking
your neck. ‘l’ll pull your head off if you insult
meagain.’ ‘lll pull out your eyeifvou touch
me, remember your life hangs by a single thread’
said the pin.
While they were thus conversing a little girl
entered, and undertaking to sew. she soon
broke pff tl;e needle at the eye. Then sho tied -
the thread around the nepk of the pin, and. at
tempting to sew with it, she soon pulled its
head off, and threw it into the dirt by the side of
the broken needle.
‘Well, here we are,* said the needle.
‘We have nothing to fight about now,’ said
Ihe pin.
‘lt seems misfortune has brought us to our
senses.’
‘A pity we had Dot come to them sooner,’ said
the needle.
‘How much we resemble human beings who
quarrel about their blessings till they lose them,
and never find out they are brothers till they lie
down in the dust together, as we do.
School Scdne.—“ Boy, you seem to be
quite smart; altogether too smart for this school!
Can you tell me how many six black beans
are?”
“ Yes, sir; half a dozen.”
“Well, how many are half a dozen white
beans ?”
“Si*.”
“ Tremendous smart boy! Now tell me
how many white beans there are in six black
ones?”
“Half a dozen— ls you skin.'em!'’
In consequence of this answer, the scholar
’ came pear bein°; skipped himself.
A Yankee at a Modern Hotel.
Some weeks ago. a very long, brown Down-
Easier, attired in one of those oostumes which
are nowhere to be met with except on the stage,
a tall, beiherowned white hat, sbort-waisted
blue coat, with enormous pewter buttons, a
vest as “ yalfer ’ as a harhary blosotn, and a
paii corduroys whose highest ambition seemed
to be to maintain their ascendant y over a pair
of enormous cowhides that had trodden many
a hundred miles of logging paths, ‘might huva
been seen,’ jack-kni.'e and shingle in hand,
wending his way up Long Wharf, in the reali
zation of his lite-long anticipation of ‘seem’
Boston. At the corner of Merchants’ Rmv his
progiess was arrested by the lumbering transit
of a two story house on wheels, diawu by a
half a dozen yoke of oxen, with the people in
side purusing their usual avocations
“ What on airth is that ’ere ?” he asked of a
bystander.
“O, nothing.” replied the “ towney ‘the.
folks are only moving, that’s all. When we
move down here, we do it house and all.”
“Je-riisehn! Wall! that beats all natur
Wall, cap’n, what’s that’ere bigstuu house over
the left ?”
“That’s the new Custom-House. Its a
mighty bad location, but they're going to mova
it next week.’
“ Thunder and molasses! It’ll lake all the
oxen in creation to start her!
*‘ Oh, they use elephants for moving such
large buildings.”
“And how many elephants will it take?”
“Upwards of a bundled. ’’
The yankee cut a deep gash in his shingle
and walked on.
He next inquired for the Adams House, for
he had “heaidtell” ofthatand wasdetermined
to progress during his juvenility, aware of the
irnpossfbillity of doing so at a more advanced
age.
He soon found the “ tavern” and the dea
con,’’ and ordered accommodations, liberally
* darning the expense.’ Having slicked up a lit
littie, he witnessed some amazement the opera
tions of a servant on the gong, simply remark
ing that “ he know’d what sheet lightning was,
but this was the first time he’d ever heard of
sheet thunder.’’ He followed the crowd into
the dining-hall, and was ushered to a seat,
where he quietly ensconced himself tucking
his towel under his chin with a sort of desper
ation, as he was going to he shaved or scalp
ed-
The sight of the covered dishes added to his
amazement: “ Dod darn it?” he exclaimed,
“ efi ever heard of cookin’ on the table but
here they’ve gone and sot tin-kitchens all over
the lot. Whar’s the fire to come from—that’s
what I’d’like to know ?’’
He got along with the soup very well, and
was pausing for breath, before be finished it,
when a waiter snafrhed bis plate away and
was running off with it.
“Hello, you, sir! vociferated the Yankee, “ I
see you.” Fetch that ’ere back quicker’u iight
nin,’’ or else you’ll Lev your head punched.
His plate was returned, and he finished his
souj) with dignity. Alter wailing a moment,
he raised his voice again, and sumtnoutd the
offending waiter sternly.
“ Kalkalate to starve me !”
“ No sir.’’
“ Wall—why don’t ye fetch on some fresh fod
der, darn ye?’’
‘‘'There’s the carte, sir.”
“ Where’s the cart ? And what in thunder
am I to do with the cart when I’ve got it?
Look out, von pesky sarpint, or you’ll catch
it.”
‘♦The hill oftVe.”
** I don'i pay my hill til Pve had my fodder.”
The waiter humbly explained his meaning,
“ What’s all these crack-jaw names mean?
Give me something plain and hearty—hiled
corn beef —and letch it about the quickest,
while I look over the paper and see what else
I'll have.”
The moat was brought Mm.
“Hold on!” was the next order: “What’s
this here ? M-a-c-c a—read if, won’t you
sir?”
“.Maccaroni, sir.’’
“ All right cap’n. Hurry it up.”
The dish was brought.
“ You eternal cuss !” roared the Down Eas
ter, ‘ef I haint as great a mind as ever I bad to
ker-wollop yer, and make an example of ye
on the spot. \\ hat do you mean by running
your rigs on me jest because I’m a stranger iq
these parts? ‘Take away yer hiled pipe-stems
and fetch us some cabbage.—That’s right.
And now, squire, some, vinegar.’’
“Vinegar's in the castor, sir,” replied the
waiter, and made £Q<#i bis retreat.
“In the castor, is if—hey?” soliloquised the
Yankee; “aqd qhere in thunder is the cas
tor?”
|he gentlctqap opposite pushed it towards
him. He looked at it took tiu* stopper out of
the vinegar, and taking up the castor by the bot
tom, turned it up. But all the cruets manifes
ted a desire to illustrate the law of gravity, and
leaped from their locations, and the Yankee was
compelled to set it down again.
“Jerusalem ?’’he exclaimed. “This jiere
is a curious contrivance, and no mistake.—
How on airth am I to get at the tarnal vinegar ?
I’ll try it once more.” Again he canted the
castor, but this time all of the stopples tumbled
out.
“ Thunderation” he roared, “here’s a pret
ty mess. Darn, it all, iere I’ve got the darn
ed castor into my gravy, and the darned red
lead on my cabbage, and (he yaller on my ’ta
ter. Darn the thing, I say !”
My friend,’ said the gentleman opposite,
with a strong control over his risible muscles,
” appears to me that if I were in want ofyine
gar, that 1 should take tl}e yisegar oyt of
the stand and by that means I should avoid all
trouble.”
Here the whole company waiters and all
hurst into a convulsive fit of laughter. The
Yankee rose in a rage, upsetting hi* chair, and
glaring defiance on his neighbors.
“ How in the name ot alj t*rual cusses in
creation, be yelled,“ sh uld I know anything
about the way the darned thing worked when
I never seed one of ’em afore? You’ve hatched
ed this up agin me ; I know it. Whar’s the land
lord ? Fetch your bill on—l’ll g*t out of this.
1 haint eat ten cents worth, but I’ll pay up like
a book, and cuss and quit. And it ever 1 set
out to eat a meal ofvittles in Boston town agaiq,
you may take my h.de and tan it. Dura your
castors, and your castor-ile, and you, too, on®
and all!” And flinging down a doliar on the ta
ble, he seized his white bell-top from tbe hand
of a trembling waiter and vamoosed. Down
Washington and Slate streets he streaked it
like a comet, and never slackened his pac.e till
he pulled upon board tfce Kennebec.
“ Capn’n,’’ said he to the commander, “ cast
off your line jest as quick as you’re a mind to.
Andes ever you catch me wanting tef see Bag-
NO. 6.