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n. lamar, (feb 18) •
R. O. JEFFERSON A O.
manufacturer and wholesale dealer* in
CHAIRS,
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COLUMBUS, G A.
r PHEY keep on hand an excellent supply of Office, Wood
i Seat, Split Bottom and Rocking Chairs ; Bedsteads, A\ ood
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W. S. WILLIFORD,
COMMISSION MERCHANT AND AUCTIONEER,
Mnoon, (ia.
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jR s L. \fIJQQTb
DAGUERREOTYPIST,
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THE POET’S CORNER.
Written for the Eagle and Enquirer.
iDwritteu Music.
BY L. VIRGINIA SMITH.
Dost thou not hear it T ’Tis upon the breeze,
And by the brookside, —in the forest aisles,
And far away where cloud and sunshine meet,
In the deep azure sky. The symphonies
Os Spring are gushing fervently and free,
As early orisons from the pure hearts,
And lips of childhood. From the valley green
M here wave the slender willows, upwards steal
Ihe low, clear, tinkling of the rivulet
As though it mocked the roving zephyr’s search
tor its sweet hiding-place. The bird, and bee
Sing to the blossoms, and their minstrelsy
Calls forth the queenly rose, as erst the lay
Os bard was wont to herald the appronch
Os Beauty to the tournament. On high
Ihe sky-lark bathes his bosom in the cloud,
And every tiny drop within it thrills
To li;s glad melody, as thrill the hearts
Os some vast multitude of listeners,
\\ hen Sweden’s song-bird sings.
Around the eaves
Fits ihe young blue-bird, and tho little wren
With its low, piping note, the humming bird
Bright as a glowiug rainbow, while afar
From the deep everglade coines up the call
Os sweet-voiced dwellers in the Solitude.
Where the dark cedar flings its mossy boughs
O’er the white-crested dogwood trees, is heard
The winding of the locust’s tiny horn,
While from the beechen grove, the katy-did
Sends forth her merry challenge. At the morn
The gay grasshopper with his fairy fife
Sounds a shrill reveille, and swift at eve
The elves come trooping to the beetle’s drum,
Then when the thunder with it# organ-swell
Peals through the dome of Heaven, how softly fall
The footsteps of the rain, —like to a band
Os gentle worshippers slow entering
The tcfnple of the Lord.
Oh ! what a world
Os heaven descended music, lie# around
Our (jailv pathway; in the morning air,
The noontide glory, and the dewy fall
Os dusky twilight; in the carolings
Os bird and breeze, the murmur of the leaves,
And the low, gliding streamlet. Who shall note
Tlmir many-braided melodies? or give again
Their spells of shng to thou.anJ* ?. None, not one,
And yet the poorest slave may revel iu ‘
This music, written by the hand of God.
MISCELLANY.
The Brilliant Locket.
A STORT FROM REAL LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
It was the Autumn of the year ISOO, when the
Republican army under Nt-y, Moreau, Lamb, Cyr, and
other of its bravest generals, was pursuing its victori
ous career, and laying waste some of the most impor
tant towns in Germany, that the circumstanoes tve are
about to relate, took place.
The frequent want of stores, ammunition and mon
ey, in the Republican armies, and the hope of plunder
then so frequently held out to the French soldiers as
the reward of victory, caused no inconsiderable alarm
in the breast of the more peaceful inhabitants of those
places which were considered likely to become the
theatre of hostilities.
Among these, the inhabitants of a German town
of considerable importance, and which, for distinction,
we will call Ebriestien, had ample reason for their mis
givings; the daily, almost hourly approach of the
French being expected.
The family of Paul Kinmayer, a merchant citizen of
great wealth, was among those most agitated by the
afflicting intelligence. Ilis household consisted of his
wife and only daughter, and a few domestics in whom
he could place confidence. His daughter was the
spring which regulated every action of tho merchant’s
life. She was the apple of his eye, the sunshine of
his shady places, for he had accumulated his wealth,
that her rare beauty might win with it a station of rank
and influence, and the hope of a whole life-time might
be wrecked in a few brief hours.
Ilis wife was the first to suggest a plan of conceal
ment of their treasures. Their mansion was situated
near the extremity of the town, and from it a secret
passage communicated with a bower in the garden ad
joining ; from thence in the evening, a man might easily
steal unptreeived to the adjacent woods, and there she
proposed that the merchant should, at night time, bury
his treasure, or at any rate that lie should proceed
through the forest and deposit it with a relation who
was to be trusted, who would not be suspected of pos
sessing much wealth, and who resided about two
days journey from the place.
For a time, Paul Kinmayer resisted every importu
nity of his wife. Who would protect them should the
anticipated attack take place in his absence! The do
mestics were old and infirm, and they would bo too
much alarmed for their own safety to care much for
others not akin to them, but when his wife spoke upon
the future; when she impressed upon him that it was
wealth only that would be required of them, and that,
deprived of that, all for which they had so struggled,
which would he scattered in a moment, his resolution
gave way.
‘I go,’ said he, ‘and leave you in the trust of one
whose all-powerful hand will protect you ; unless, in
his infinite wisdom, he deems it meet that the innocent
shall fall as an example and terror to the guilty.’
Collecting all that was most valuable into a small
packet, as the evening approached, the merchant was
prepared to depart. One jewel only remained behind,
it was his ow n miniature, set in a locket, with diamonds
of great value. In was his wedding gift to Amelia,
and with it he hesitated to part, and he placed it again
around her neck with the same fervor and afFectidh
that ho feft when he first presented. To her and to
her daughter, the name sake of her mother, he gave
some necessary directions for their welfare during his
absence, and taking an affectionate farewell, he depart
ed unknown to any but themselves.
It was in the evening of the fourth day after the
merchant departed, that the roll of the drum, the shrill
voice of the trumpet among the inhabitants without,
proclaimed to the inmates of the mansion that the ene
my was Cist approaching. The tow'n was indeed filled
with the Austrian troops; but these had been so often
and lately harassed and defeated by the victorious arms
of the French, that it was not without reason the citi
zens felt strong misgivings in their prowess.
CHATTER il.
On the return of the merchant, tho French army
was evacuating the place, carrying with them the tro
pities they had wrested from the conquered Austrians,
and a large supply of stores and plunder from the de
voted town. Paul’s heart died within him as he steal
thily entered the suburbs, and proceeded towards the
place of his residence.
Within the town was confusion and dismay; here
were open store-houses rifled of their contents, the very
doors torn from their hinges; there, the trim gardens
of the richer classes broken down and trampled over;
in the market places were groups of the middle and
lower classes, loudly complaining of the excesses of
Austria and France. Still Paul stopped not to join the
outcry; his only anxiety was his own home. At length
be reached his dwelling. With what a pang of in
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 22, 1852.
tense anxiety he rushed in through the open portal.
The servants had evidently fled; the stair# before the
marks of heavy footsteps. Paul stopped not to exa
mine them, or he would have seen that they were
traced with gore.
the speed of thought he rushed into tho ac
customed sitting room, and there a horrid spectacle
awaited him. On the ground lay his wife, stabbed
through the heart; one hand had fallen back as if to
protect her from the attack of the assassin, while the
other grasped tightly a few liuks of the slight gold
chain to which had been attached the diamond mounted
portrait.
Os his daughter, there was no trace. Loudly did
he call, and wildly did he seek, first in his own house,
and then through the whole of the town, until it was
whispered that he was mad ; and so, (or a time, he was;
but anxiety brought weariness, and repose led to recol
lection.
llow deeply Paul Kinmayer reproached himself for
not taking the miniature with the other valuables, need
not be related, since he little doubted that his wife’s re
sistance to part with it had led him to the fatal catas
trophe. One redeeming thought only fltished across
his iniud, that by its agency —if, indeed, she had not
shared the late of her mother, he might be enabled to
discover the missing daughter. To this end, he re
solved to devote the whole o( his future existence ; and
after the funeral of his wife, he disposed of his house,
the wreck of his household goods, and prepared to
travel, whither, he knew riot; but anyvrlitre to fly from
the scenes where all his hopes of earthly happiness had
been blighted by the ruthless hand of the destroyer.
‘And these,’ he said, as he turned from his native
town and home, ‘are deed# perpetrated under the sa
cred banner of liberty ! —Alas! how is the divine attri
bute desecrated ! llow little but the name exists in
the blood-thirsty dynasty of France!’
chapter in.
Shall we follow the steps of Paul Kinmayer for
twelve years? Shall we relate how he travelled in
strange lands, even in the wake of the French army,
sometimes in disguise. How minute, but yet how
cautious, were his inquiries, and, alas ! how fruitless?
Shall we say how the hale man grew grey and feeble as
though half a century had passed over his head, in
scarcely more than a tithe of one ! No; for we could
relate nothing hut the patient suffering of a bereaved
man, hoping, but hopeless—seeking but finding it not;
until it almost seemed that the faculties of the wanderer
had ceased to embrace the original object of his mis
sion ; hut they did not, they only slumbered.
It was something beyond twelve years after the scene
reh.ted in our second chapter took place, that a French
officer was rating, i one of the principal cases of
1 aris, to an eager crowd of listeners, the particulars of
an inglorious retreat from Russia, of which he was one
of the few survivors. Ilis age could not have exceeded
thirty, hut the dreadful hardship of the Russian cam-*
paign had told fearfully upon Itis hardened features. —
War, however, had not tamed, but had evidently ad
ded to, a naturally ferocious disposition ; for lie was
detailing, with savage satisfaction, the horrid torments
of the enemy, already forge’.tul of the severities he had
just escaped, and to which so many of his comrade#
had fallen a sacrifice.
Among those who listened mo#t attentively was a
stranger, who sat almost unnoticed, smoking in an ob
scure corner of the room ; an involuntary expression
at length betrayed him, and all eyes were immediately
turned to where he sat.
‘l’ll wager a Napoleon,’said the officer,‘that the
old German never smelt powder but oil a review, and
never saw rno.e smoke tliau that which now proceed*
from his meerschaum.’
‘Bitter if others were like me, who, remembering
only that they are soldier#, forget t at they are men.’
‘llow P exclaimed the officer, starting on hi* feet;
‘such sentiments here are dangerous ; hut you Ger
mans are very mystical. However, I’ll tell you a
German adventure, so, garcon, another bottle of cotiroti,
and then . Do you happen to know the German
town of Ebriestien ?’ inquired the officer.
The dull eye of the stranger seemed suddenly lit
with a liquid fire, as he answered in the affirmative.
‘lt was my first campaign,’ continued the officer.
‘My father was one of tlie bravest (he meant one of
thc-inost blood-thirsty) leaders of the revolution. Ilis
influence obtained for me a commission ; ana, crowned
with success, I found no difficulty in earning for my
self promotion. In the action alluded to we were al
lowed hut two hours to make what pillage we could in
the town of Ebriestein, before we proceeded onward to
greater and more glorious victories. Well, there was
a jeweller of great wealth, whose house was pointed
out to me by an Austrian prisoner; we entered, but in
which neither jewels nor portable valuables could we
find. The servants fled on our first entrance ; the wife
and the daughter alone remained. The latter had
locked themselves in a room, which wesoon burst open;
we demanded of them their valuables; the trumpet
had already sounded ‘to horse,’ and I was preparing to
have the house, when a gold chain around the neck of
tho elder female attracted my attention. There was
attached to it— ’
‘A portrait!’ asked the stranger, in a tone of ill
concealed anxiety.
‘Don’t interrupt me,’ said the narrator; ‘the story
is droller than any one would imagine.’
The blood of the stranger came and went rapidly,
and putting down his pipe, he was observed, for the
moment, leefing about his pocket, as if in search of
some missing article.
‘You’re right, it was a portrait, and in a most val
uable setting. Provoked at obtaining no booty, I de
manded it of her. She should have had the worthless
miniature, but she was obstinate. I tried to force it
from her, but she resisted--nay, more, she tried to seize
a pistol from my belt, and in the heat of my passion I
stabbed her.’
‘Have you that portrait still f asked tho German.
‘I have, though it has been taken from the setting,
in which one of our own glitter#. You said you
knew Ebrienstein ?’
‘I did years ago.’
‘And probably the original of this picture ?’ said the
officer producing it.
‘Well!—well!’
‘ Ah ! is he alive ?’
‘Deis—to be the avenger!’ And beforo a move
ment was observed by the bystanders, Paul Kinmayer
had, with fatal precision, levelled a pistol at the French
officer, and shot him in the breast.
chapter rv.
Mortally wounded, but not dead, he who had braved
the heat of a hundred battles, and whom death had
spared that he might make more suitable atonement
for bis guilt, was carefully removed to a private apart
ment.
Paul, who might have escaped in the confusion, did
not attempt to do so, and he was, of course, taken into
custody and incarcerated in one of the dungeons of the
police.
The following morning he w r as led forth for exami
nation ; the wife of the fallen officer, he was told, would
be his accuser. But he walked with a firmer step and
a* lighter heart than usual. One portion pf his mission
had been accomplished ; he had avenged his wife’s
death, but Jie found no traces of his daughter.
Ou reaching the place of examination, he was com,
manded to stand ; a shriek —a long, agonizing shriek,
was heard, pud the prosecutrix fell senseless on the
floor.
Restoratives were applied, and on her recovery, the
cause of her agitation was 60on apparent.
‘lt is my father}’ she said, and breaking through the
crowd, she again feil senseless in his arms.
The impetus of her lull cawed a locket to drop from
her bosom, where it was still suspended by a chain.—
Paul Kinmayer snatched it up. Yes, it was the same,
the circlet of brilliants; but it contained the portrait
of whom ? of his daughter’s husband, the murderer
of his wife !
Passing her to one of the attendants, the old man
smote his breast, and called aloud in bis trouble:
‘Was it for this thou wert preserved, my beautiful,
my pure ?’
In consequence of the state of the witness, the ex
amination was postponed, and the same evening the
dying man requested that the prisoner together with
the chief of police, might attend him.
On their arrival life was ebbing fast. The confession
of the officer was brief, lie admitted the murder of
Paul’s wife, and the justice of the retribution ; he fur
ther confessed that the daughter, being almost a child,
was carried away by the soldiers to the rear of the ar
my ; that she was forced from the apartment previous
to,and knew nothing of her mother’s fate; and that,
repenting of his act, he had her conveyed to Paris and
educated; her loveliness increased; and she, only
known to him as a benefactor, at last consented to mar
ry him.
This confession was attested and forwarded to the
Emperor. Meanwhile the friends of the officer came
forward as prosecutors, liis wife refusing to do so. The
murder in the latter ease was fully proved, and Paul
was sentenced to death.
On the morning appointed for his execution, he was
reprieved and suffered to enter a monastery, where he
soon sunk under a broken heart.
With his wealth, which was considerable, he foun
ded a convert for the ‘Sisters of Mercy ;’ and in the
still beautiful abbess, whose piety and benevolence have,
with justice, been lauded and admired, may be disco
vered the unfortunate daughter of Paul Kinmayer.
The Stolen Kiss.
My dear Ned, did you ever steal a kiss from
a beautiful girl, in some unguarded moment,
when she was unconscious of the close proxi
mity of your lips to her own, until the treasure
was pilfered and past redemption ?
If so, then listen, and I will give you an account
of a bit of fun in that line, when 1 was at the
mature age of fourteen. At the district school
where I attended there was a little blonde, a
classmate of mine, whose roguish eyes and
dimpled cheek played the mischief with my
studies.
Every day, after school I gallanted Kate B—
to her home ; and when there was snow on the
ground, 1 always insisted on her taking a seat
on my sled, while I, proud of my load of love
liness, would drag her up the steep hill to home.
The other boys, envious of Kate’s selecting me
as her champion, seemed determined to ridicule
us to the extent ot aheir power , and when Kate
and 1 were on our way to school, our appear
ance on the play ground was the signal for a
perfect broadside of raillery.
There comes Kate and her beau’ says one.
‘Halloo, Jack, why don't you lock arms with
your sweetheart ?
‘Oh, they ain't engaged vet,’ answered ano
ther.
And poor Kate would run blushing into the
school-room, and 1 would propose some play to
turn the conversation.
The intimacy between us grew stronger day
by day, until 1 used to call at her house for no
thing but to hear her sweet laugh and talk, un
til it was quite time forme to leave.
One tine summer evening I thought I would
walk up to Kate’s and find out what she thought
of a ling that I had sent to her the day before,
by an urchin that 1 had hired, as I had not the
courage to give it to her myself. As I neared
the house, I saw Kate reclining on a small
lounge that had been moved from the sitting
room into tho verandah. Her father was
reading a paper and smoking a large pipe, with
his feet placed upon an old chest that stood in
the corner of the kitchen, and her mother sat
in the rocking chair with her knitting in hand,
while, to complete the group, a monstrous mas
tiff dog lay under the table asleep. I crept
softly up to the lounge where she was, without
being discovered. She was gazing through the
lattice-work at the moon and humming a favor
ite song of mine. Heavens! how beautiful she
looked !
‘l'll kiss her if I have to swing for it,’ said I
to myself, while the blood rushed through my
veins like red hot lava, and my breath grew
quick and hurried.
I pressed nearer to her, and stood near enough
to catch the coveted cup of the nectar, but my
courage failed me and 1 should have given it up
as a bad job if the little witch had not at the
moment held lip to the bright moonlight an ex
quisite little hand, with the very ring ! sent her
on the third finger. She looked at the ring but
for a moment, and. then with a quick motion
pressed it to her lips. Amo, amas,amarnus! 1
could bear it no longer. In an distant I had
encircled her little waist with my arm, glued
my lips to the sweet creature’s mouth. Ye
gods and little fishes! what a scream she gave.
‘Kate ! Kate!! don’t you know’—
‘Wooh! You!’—and down flat on my back
with old Towser’s dental arrangements fas
tened in my shoulder.
‘Get out, Towser! father, father help; he’ll
kill him! cried Kate, who had recognised my
voice; and the poor girl was in agony of tears.
Out rushed Squire B , and loosed me
from the grip of the dog. Kate’s mother made
me take off my coat, that she might see the
extent of my wounds. They were not danger
ous, and after applying some ointment the pain
left me, and 1 took a chair by the side of Mrs.
B .
‘Why, what in the world made you scream
so Kate ?’
Poor Kate blushed to the tip of her fingers,
and said nothing, casting an imploring glance
at me.
‘Was it Jack?’ lie inquired.
‘Why, the truth is, Mr. B. when I came
to the verandah, I saw Kate on the lounge
looking so bewitching, that I could not help
taking a kiss, and I took it without her leave;
it started her somewhat.’
Squire B roared with laughter while
Mrs. B looked at Kate with such an expres
sion, that she slipped out of doors to hide her
confusion.
I went out a moment after, and found her in
a little qrbor, in the rear of the house.
‘Dear Kate,’ said I, ‘forgive me, and I will
give you back that kiss I stole.’
She looked at me a moment, and then turned
her head away ; but she did not struggle vio
lently when I repaid her the kiss l had stolen
on the verandah. I have kissed beautiful girls
since, but never found the ?est of that stolen
kiss. Ah, Kate.
00~ Alas! it is not till time, with reckless
hands, has torn out half the leaves from the
book of human life, to light the fires of passion
with from day to day, that man begins to see
that the leaves which remain are few in num
ber, and to remember faintly at first, and then
more clearly, that upon the earlier pages of that
book was written a story of happy innocence,
which he would fain read over again. Then
comes listless irresolutions, and the inevitable
inaction of despair; or else the firm resolve to
record upon the leaves that still remain a more
noble history than the child’s story, with which
the book began .—Longfellow.
Mrs. Amelia B. Wciby.
The Louisville Journal accompanies the an
nouncement of Mrs. Welbv’s death, with the
following notice, and none know her better than
the editor of that paper:
‘Mrs. Welby was a woman of true genius.
Indeed we never knew one to w horn nature had
been more partial in the gift of song. At a very
early period of her life—a period when the
mind is generally very immature—she produced
poems that have everywhere been received with
delight, and which will never fade from our
country’s literature. It is now about fifteen
years since the public first became acquainted
with her name and her productions. Poem fol
lowed poem in bright succession, each one
teeming with fresh wild thoughts,expressed in
verse of the most delicious harmony. These
poems came from the heart of the gifted girl
and were all verv beautiful —so beautiful and so
perfect indeed, that they have scarcely been
equalled by the productions of any other Ame
rican poetess.
Such an extraordinary series of poems, all
expressive of unworn feelings and glowing with
genius could not fail to attract attention.—
‘Amelia’ became a great favorite with all the
lovers of poetry throughout the Urfion. As
poem followed poem, they were eagerly caught
up by the conductors of the public press in all
sections and published until every reader in the
Union became familiar with them. Nor was
their fame confined to the United States, for
many of them were republished in England,
and created in that country a deep interest in
the welfare of the young minstrel girl from
whose harp-strings fioated harmonies of thought
and expression that charmed all hearts.
Such an intellectual phenomenon was regard
ed with strange interest in every State in the
Union. Tributes of admiration in verse and
prose flowed in upon her in abundance. The
list of her admirers included many of the most
distinguished in our literature. All strangers
on reaching our city desired to see the poetess,
the enchantment of whose verse they had so
often felt. And when they saw her, a most
artless, shrinking, ‘April-hearted thing,’ with
the flowery hues of sixteen summers on her joy
ous brow and the light of genius in her deep
L>i-iglit oyc, they could scarcely believe that the
mere girl before them could possibly have pro
duced those poems of such great wealth of feel
ing and such imperishable beauty. But she
was a mystery to herself and a mystery to her
friends, for, ‘genius is ever a mystery to itself
and toothers.’ Those superb poems which are
equal to the best of their class in the language,
came in all their exquisite brightness and per
fection from her mind almost without an effort.
Alas! that wildly sensitive heart has ceased
to beat, and those harp-strings will be heard no
more on earth ! She has gone from amid things
perishable to the home of the immortal and the
unfading. That bright star which shone so
lustrously in the heaven of song is eclipsed to
our vision, and we shall see it no more among
the bright sisterhood.
One of the most gifted women of the age has
fallen, and the places which have known her here
shall know her no more forever. She is gone in
the spring-time of her life, and the spring sea
son of the year; that season which she loved so
well because of its birds and blossoms, and visi
ble poetry gushing out from hill-side and val
ley, and her eye is now dim to this world’s my
riad beauties, and her ear is cold to the warblings
of happy birds, sounding like the echoes of her
ow n sweet melodies.
“ Along the blessed heaven
Her spirit holds its way,
In the starry radiance of the night
And the golden light of day
Its pinions flashing back the sheen
Or those unclouded spheres,
And its own wild music mingling
With the angel notes it hears.”
The Call to Prayer. —Among the man}’
beautiful allusions to the solemn and soothing
sound of the ‘church-going bell,’ as it rings out
on the clear morning air of the Sabbath, com
mend us to the following quaint, yet surpassing
ly effective homily, from the pen of the gifted
Jerrold, the well known author of ‘St. Giles and
St. James.’
There is something beautiful in the church
bells. Beautiful and hopeful. They talk to
high and low, rich and poor, in the same voice;
there is a sound in them that should scare pride
and envy, and meanness of all sorts from the
heart of man; that should make him look on
the world with kind, forgiving eyes; thatshould
make the earth seem to him,at least for a time,
a holy place. Yes; there is a whole sermon in
the very sound of the church bells, if we only
have the ears to understand it; there is a preach
er in every belfry that cries—‘Poor, weary,
struggling, fighting creatures —poor human
things, take rest, be quiet. Forget your vani
ties, your follies, your week-day craft.’
And you, ye human vessels, gilt and painted,
believe the iron tongue that tells ye that, for all
your gilding, all your colors, ye are the same
Adam’s earth, with the beggars in your gates.
Come away, come, cries the church bell, and
learn to be humble: learn that, however daubed
and stained about, with jewels,you are butgrave
clay! Come, Dives, come, and be taught that
all your glory, as you wear it, is not half so
beautiful in the eye of Heaven, as the sores of
the uncomplaining Lazarus; and ye, poor crea
tures, livid and faint, stained and crushed by the
pride and hardships of the world—come, come,
cries the bell, with the voice of an angel—come
and learn what is laid up for ye. And learn
ing, take heart, and walk amidst the wickedness,
the cruelties of the world, calmly as Daniel
walked among the lions.
Female Beauty.
Nature, in many of her works, has scattered
her beauty with an unsparing hand, but none of
them impress so strongly upon the mind the idea
of beauty as the female countenance. The flow
er may be more delicate in its formation, and
may show a more exquisite color, the wide
spread meadow may display its beauty, and
tfelds, aud groves, and winding streams may
variegate the scene; yet all that is here presen
ted, fades before the female countenance.
In the countenance of man, there is a certain
majesty of look, if we might so term it, which
is not found in the other sex; yet where is that
softness, that sweet heavenly smile that plays
upon the countenance of a female, where is that
splendor that dazzles the eye of the beholder ;
that expression that baffles all description. The
’ more we compare the female countenance with
any other object, the more shall we be inclined
to give the former the palm for loveliness and
the more ready to exclaim with nature’s sweet
poet:
here is any author in the world,
Teaches such beauty as a woman’# eye.’
As among females there are some which are
superior to others, so there are also some sea
sons when the female countenance excels iu love
liness. I hare seen her shine at the ball-room,
and in all the vivacity and splendor of the as
sembly, partaking in the common gayety and
enjoying the pleasures of the scene, with all
the liveliness of youthful spirits. I have seen
her at the fireside, attending to the management
of domestic concerns, while her presence seem
ed to banish care and her converse enlightened
the fitmily circle. 1 have seen her reposing in
gentle sleep, when her eye was unconscious of
my look, when the gentleness of her slumbers
told that innocence was seated in her breast;
but never yet did I see female so lovely as when
affliction had rent her bosom, and had chased
the smile from her cheek. Affliction, however,
though it had deprived her countenance of its
vivacity, had giving a softening expression to
her loveliness. Her eyes were uplifted, in calm
resignation, as if imploring help from Him,
who is the father of the fatherless, and the com
forter of the afflicted.
Marriage of Miss Sutter.
A letter from California, dated April Ist,
says:
Miss Sutter, daughter of the celebrated
Qipt. Sutter, on whose premises the first dis
covery of gold in California was made, was mar
ried a few days ago to a Mr. Engler. The wed
ding was a grand affair. As Capt. Sutter has
figured extensively in history, and is probably
as well known as Gen. Scott, the following ac
count of this great wedding will, no doubt, be
read with considerable interest. A gentleman
from Sacramento says: ‘At an early hour in
the afternoon the invited guests from'Sacra
mento and Marysville approached the Hook
Homestead about the same time, and were
received with a welcome that made both earth
and air tremble with the vibrations of gladness.
As the boats were making the bend in the river
which completely concealed the farm, the
roaring of cannon, rapidly fired, and ringing of
oells, announced that they were in the neigh
borhood of that cordial and comprehensive
hospitality which Captain John A. Sutter has
made so prominent a part of the history of this
country. After the parties had landed from the
Bragdon and from the Marysville boat, they
proceeded to the Captain’s mansion, where they
were warmly greeted, and where the ladies and
gentlemen made special preparations for the
anticipated ceremony. Having waited at this
place a couple of hours in vain for the Gamali
el) e, they formed a procession and inarched to
the chapel which the Captain had erected for
the benefit of the Indians upon and about his
ranch. Everything about the premises had
been put in the finest Older, the buildings orna
mented and festooned with flowers and ever
greens, and every prominent point surmounted
with flags and streamers.
The chapel was decorated with special taste,
and surrounded by about fifty Indians dressed
in an array of colors not more brilliant than an
amalously blended. As the procession entered
the chapel, a large band filled the iron walls of
the building with the richest echoes of musical
melody, and welcomed the special votaries of
Hymen to the application of the congenial tram
mels of a long-life bondage. This ceremony
having been very elegantly performed by some
gentleman from Marysville, the party returned
again to the mansion. Soon afterwards the
Caiuanche arrived with a fresh delegation, and
instead of the re-performance of the nuptial
ceremony for the benefit of the new comers, the
whole party were seated at a table, which was
perfectly overwhelmed with viands and wines.
Toasts, speeches, exhilaration and dancing ter
minated an entertainment which marked the
loss of a lovely daughter, and the finding of a
charming wife.’
Effects of the Imagination.
A singular case was reported many years ago,
of some I’ittsfield medical students trying an
odd sort of experiment on a good natured coun
tryman. It appears that the man was in the
habit of bringing fruit to the college for sale
on certain days of the week. One day when
within three miles of the town, he met a couple
of students on the road. They stopped and
bought some fruit.
‘Why, John,’ said one, ‘what is the matter
with you ? You look so queer about the eyes.’
‘\es,’ said the other student, ‘I noticed that
John looked uncommonly pale when I first saw
him. Is there any thing the mattsr, my boy ?’
‘Well, l guess not,’ said John, ‘I never felt
better in my life.’
‘You’ve been unwell, then, and got over it,
perhaps,’ suggested the first student.
‘Not in the least—l’m all right, and in some
thing of a hurry—so good bve, and John con
tinued his journey.
About a mile further towards the town he
met three more students, and the same scene
was repeated as with the first two. Poor John,
not suspecting the plot, began to imagine that
he was a little ill, so replied, ‘I do feel a little
queerish about the head.’
‘I thought something must be the matter,’
said one of the second party, ‘your eyes have
such a languid and singular look—it is my opin
ion the premonitory symptoms of an intermit
tent fever. If I were in your place, I would a
bandou my journey to town, go straight home,
and take a couple of blue pills.’
But Johu was determined to sell his fruit.
‘No,’sai i he, ‘I thiuk I shall be able to stand it
till I sell out.’
Just as he entered the village he met, solita
ry and alone, a grave and sedate young man,
whose term of study had nearly expired. This
was a student for whom John had the great
est respect and consideration. He was difter
entfrom his fellows, inasmuch as he never joined
them in their numerous jollifications and sprees,
but was constantly occupied with his books.—
When this young man began to talk to John a
bout the singular appearance of his eyes—pre
monitory symptoms of fever, <kc, he became
really alarmed—and frankly acknowledged that
he did not feel well. However, lie still persbt
ed in his journey, say he would start home
within an hour. The sedate student advised
him to turn back at once, as he might become
seriously ill sooner than he expected. But John
nevertheless continued his journey. After ar
riving at the town, his fruit was sold off with
in an hour, the medical students and some of
the town people crowding around his vehicle,
and buying freely. But each one took pains
to repeat the same opinion relaiive to John’s sin
gular looks about the eyes, and probable cause
thereof, vizpremonitory symptoms of an at
tack of fever.
To shorten the story, we will add that in less
than two hours’ time, poor John was put to
bed in the tavern, and by Dine o’clock at night,
he was really and truly in a raging fever. His
illness was beyond a doubt purely the effect of
imagination ; and established a theory wUicli
had previously been in dispute between mauy
of the old professors of the College.
A case the opposite of this, viz: a cure by
the imagination has lately occurred in Geruia
uy. An old woman of the work-house of Yeo
vit, who had long been a cripple, and made use
of crutches, was strongly inclined to drink of the
mineral waters of Baden, which she was assur
ed would cure her lameness. The master of the
work house procured her several buttles of wa
ter, which had such an effect upon her, that she
soon laid aside one crutch, and not long after
the other. This was extolled as a most miracu
lous cure ; but the man protested to his friends
that he had imposed upon her, and had got the
water from an ordinary spring. As soon as tas
patient found out the cheat, she was very aa
gry; but nevertheless her cure was perma
nent.
Translated from the German for the New York Organ.
The Good Mail’s Revenge!
BY MRS. ST. 81M0.V.
With a bundle of dry sticks upon his should
ers, almost benumbed w ith cold. Sera non, an old
fisherman, returned from the leafless grove.—
Toiling laboriously along upon the snow cover
| ed path, he passed the house of lihamar, the
I forester, and was about t” cross the bridge that
led over the stream to his cottage.
‘Stop old man !’ cried the forester as he rush
ed furiously from his dwelling, where did you
get that wood ? The wood is not yours; you
have stolen it from me.’
‘Master Forester, I have not stoleu it!’ statu
j mered Semnon.
‘Do not lie old man!’ replied Ithamar. I
j felled wood only yesterday, it lies in the forest
1 yonder; You have taken it from that heap.—
Give it up!’
‘No, Forester,’ replied Semnon, ’I gathered
it stick by stick, honestly and fairly.’
‘Thou liest, old gray beard !’ cried Ithamar.
‘Give it up !’
‘But look!’ rejoined Semnon, ‘they are all
small dry twigs, which I picked up as found
them, scattered beneath the trees, aud half bu
ried in the snow.’
‘They are stolen, I say !* With these words
Ithamar tore the bundle furiously from the old
man’s back, and threw it over the bridge into
the stream. ‘Now the dispute is at an end,’ he
said, with a scornful laugh, and hurrii and M giily
into his house.
Semnon gazed after him sorrowfully, and
then staggered toward his cottage, his eyes
filled with tears.
After some days the air grew warmer. The
ice upon the river was broken up, and came
crashing down the current, piling itself again -t
the wooden buttresses of the bridge.- Huge
masses of ice and broken timbers hemmed the
course of the stream and swelled its rushiinr
i waters.
Then Chalisson, Itbamar’s son, came from
the city and wished to cross the bridge. But
he started backward, irresolute and terrified,
as lie gazed upon the feaiful spectacle. Sem
nou himself, w ho was near by, advised him not
to risk bis life in the attempt. Ithamar saw
this. ‘Come boldly across !’ he cried, ‘the
bridge will not break just yet. Heaven knows
what the old grumbler will put into your head
next. Come over!’ Chalisson ran across.
A crashing sound was now heard; and the
bridge tottered ; another crash, and it sank into
the water,carrying with it the unfortunate Ik>v.
An angry malediction broke from the lips of
the father, a cry of lamentation from the old
man Semnon; both heard above the tuuiulta
of she waters!
The boy cried fearfully in the stream, and
screamed for help. Clinging to a beam, half
crushed with ice, the current bore him onward.
The despairing Forester ran along the bank,
stamped upon the ground, and called, and
wrung his hands helplessly. How could be
hope that the old fisherman would risk his life
to rescue his unhappy child !
But, Semnon, with the snow white hair,
sprang boldly into the boat, impelled it bravely
through the broken ice, drifting timbers of the
bridge, tore ihe bov from the wild torrent, and
brought him safely to his father on the shore.
‘I here bring thee thy son,’ he said, mildly,
and in a tone which would have tamed even a
wolf. ‘See, he is safe and well, only a little
frightened.’
Ithamar did not venture to lift his eyes from
; the ground, but stood long abashed and silent.
‘Forgive me, worthy old man,’ he 6aid, at last,
while a stream of tears coursed involuntarily
down his rude cheeks, ‘forgive my inhuman
conduct.’
‘For what have Ito forgive thee ?’ ‘Have l
not just taken ample vengeance upon thee?’
‘So then,’ cried Ithamar, ‘an act of benevo
lence was thv revenge, much injured man !
Is it thus indeed, that the upright revenue an
injury ?’
ii—
TV eights and Measures.—The follow ing table of
the number of pounds of various articles to the bushel,
will be of interest to many of our farming friends :
Os W heat, sixty pounds.
Os Shelled Com, fifty-six pound*.
Os Corn on the cob, seventy pounds.
Os Rye, fifty-six pounds.
Os Oats, thirty-five pounds.
Os Barley, forty-eight pounds.
Os Potatoes, sixty pounds.
Os Beans, sixty pounds.
Os Bran, twenty pounds.
Os Clover Seed, sixty pounds.
Os Timothy Seed, forty-five pounds.
Os Flax Seed, fifty-eight pounds.
Os Hemp Seed, foity-four pounds.
Os Buck Wheat, fifty-two pounds.
Os Blue Grass Seed, fourteen pounds.
Os Castor Beans, forty-six pounds.
Os Dried Peaches, thirty-three pounds.
Os Dried Apples, twenty-four pounds.
Os Onions, fifiy-seven pounds.
Os Salt, fifty pounds.
New’ Motive Power —'l he Baltimore cor*
respondnent of the Washington Telegraph
says that there is a young man named Forcb
now residing In that city who has invented and
patented a new’ motive pow'er which bids fair
to supersede both steam and water. It is stated
that a model of his machine is already in exls
tance. and that it has been patented with an
injunction of secresy for a certain time. So
eaulious has he been to avoid infringement,
that he had one partofthe machinery, necessa
ry to the completion of his engine, made in
New’-Orleans, another part in Baltimore, an*
other in Philadephia, and another in New-York
The seperate parts thus constructed were, in
due time, collected in Baltimore and put togeth
er by the inventor a room into which
NO. 7.