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A TAMILY NEWSPAPER,-DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, POLITICS k GENERAL INTELLIGENCE.
VOL. 3.
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PROSPECTUS
OF THE THIRD VOLUME OF THE
GEORGIA CITIZEN.
L, F. wTaNDKEWS,
j’DITOR VXD PROPRIETOR.
T flP ...-ORGI V CITIZEN is a large size Weekly Netvspa
'h to Choice Literati're, New*, Misckllant,
pcr ’ ariculturi£, Mechanic Arts, Domestic Economy,
PiMTics, A ed t 0 be a First Class Journal for the
fcr- tc - °D r awin<’Room and Business Mart. Its
‘‘lndependent in all things,-Neutral
in nothin?* Prcsi(lentia | Campaign, the Citizen will as
ln the com advocate 0 f suc t, Candidates ns are known
heretofore, j m promises of the Constitution, the rights of
‘"’’VC.h iiid the permanency of the Union or none.
thf y ()iuine will commence on the 10th day of April, 1832,
Inilrged and otherwise improved.
£2 p or ann. in Advance-$2 50 if not so paid.
i • semi-Ve:\rl v, Quarterly and Transient Advertise’
‘*l inserted conspicuously on the most reasonable terms.— |
V' 1 ” iavertisine medium, the Citizen is now acknowledged j
b” the CHKAPI>r AND BEST PAPER IN CENTRAL :
i'F'ISiJIL Rs circulation at home and the region round a- ‘
bout, is increasing rapidly.
book bob printing.
No. 13, Cotton Avenue.
Ihmo received a handsome assortment of New Type and
IV, A Printing Material, we are prei*ared execute all kinds of
plain tDnuuurntul printing.
th despatch,and in the best style of the Art, in Cold, Sil
ver and Colored Inks, such as
tihbuLAitS fell PbAumuS,
LABELS, ,j% NOTICES,
BILL HEADS, £CSgLPOSTIRS,
BILLS (IF LADING, COTTON RECEIPTS,
MSK. J>iilii£j, SMEOMLIiS
AUCTION “ PROGRAMMES, I
BUSINESS CWDS, BILL TICKETS,
WTATiOH “ BRIDAL _ “
66 2002£ woss,
o
Having also put up one of A. D. Brown’s Superior STAND
ING PRESSES, all work hereafter done at this Othce will be
finished in the best manner.
By adopting the Cah Principle, the Proprietor will
be able to do superior work at the lowest possible rate, and at
t he shortest notice.
Notice to Agents.
Postmasters and others, sending us $lO in advance, will be
entitled to Six copies of the Citizen, for one year.
Address, L. F. AY. ANDREWS,
mr.7 Macon, Ga.
Unainrss Curbs
S. & 11. I*. IIALL,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Maeon,Ga.
lOmcr on Cotton Avenue, over Little’s Drug Store. (ctl 1
L. N. WHITTLE,
Attorney at Law,
jail3 MACOX, 0.1. -1y
LAMAR & LOCHRANS,
Attorneys and Counsellers at Law.
orrirE over belden it co’s. iiat store, Macon, ga.
“IT riLL practice in the Superior Courts of the following
TT counties: Bibb, Monroe, Pike, Houston, Dooly, Sum
ter, I'r.iwford, Macon, Jones and Twiggs, ami in the Suprouae
court at Macon, Decatur and Columbus.
All cases placed in our hands for collection will be punctual
be attended to.
H. 0. LAMAR, (feb 28) O. A. LOCHRAME.
H. G- JEFFERSON A O.
MANCf ACTCRTM AND WHOLESALE JK
CHAIRS,
West Side Broad St., first door above P. M'Larin's,
COLUMBUS, G A.
r TMIF,Y keep on hand an excellent supply of Office, Wood
L Seat, Split Bottom and Rocking Chairs ; Bedsteads, Wood
en War* .dec.
VsT All Orders left as above, will meet with prompt atten
tion. novl —ts
W. S. WILLIFORD,
comsio.\ MERCIIOT AND AUCTIONEER.
Macon, Cn.
Ml kinds of Produce and Merchandise, (except liquors) rc
ceived on consignment. sep27
n, L, V/OUS
DAGUERREQTYPIST,
IWACON. GA
'iC-fT ENTRANCE FROM TIIE AVENUE.
*prl9 ts
CITY HOTEL,
SAYANN.VH.v.v.v.v.v.yOEOaGiA.
F. COWBON.
Verms;— Transient Boarders, per day, $ 1,50. Monthly and
* u b’ Roarders in proportion. aprs—y
HARDEMAN & HAMILTON,
Hovs# Commission merchants,
MICOX, GEORGIA.
Hamilton k hardeman,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
SAV.IXX.IH, GEORGIA.
‘'?ive prompt attention to all business committed to them
*'either place.
Tims. Hardeman. (10—ts) chas. r. Hamilton.
WIWSHIP & SOW,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN
,(Z1 r V a,l d Staple Dry Goods and Ready
Made Clothing.
COTTN avenue. MACON, CA.
W. D. ETHERIDGE fc Cos.,
factors & commission merchants,
SAVAXXAII, GEORGIA.
T lfE undersigned having formed a Copartnership for Dte
t^h' rlnsaC,ion of lhe above bnsinCß,i ’ tender their services
tneir triends and the public generally and solicit a share of
PWronage. We will pay strict attention to the sale of Cotton
“ r other produce consigned to our care and all others for Bag
a'”? ’ Enpe >ni family supplies wHI be promptly attended to
, dat the lowest prices. Liberal advances will be made
.■on Cotton or other produce consigned to us.
*• • gove, (aug23-y) w. and. etheridde.
SASH AND WINDOW BLIND
Gs. subscriher is manufacturing the above articles by
6t >-nn'. Macliinery, at very moderate prices.
turning and planing.
machinery for this business, and-will proniptly exe
anyjobs in this line. ALEX. McGREGOR.
JU| y 3 6 _€
Cm H, FREEMAN,
MANUFACTURER OT
£cn,n? k f l ndies Cordials, Syrups, &c., &c.
B‘ ht Office of the Geo. Citizen, Cotton Avenue, Macon, Ga.
VLLs, Parties and Families furnished at short notice and
uu ireasonable terms for Cash.
vi kT rderß from tlje country accompanied with the money,
*“ be Promptly att e nde d to. #C cl3-tf
■
THE POET’S COBMEB.
They Come! They Come!
BY J. W. STOItRS.
They come, they conic, the gentle months
Os beauty, song, and flowers,
Sweet mouths of Spring, which with them bring
Soft winds and gentle showers.
Blithe purling brooks an*J sprightly rills,
From Winter’B chains set free,
Now proudly leap each rocky steep,
Or wind the verdant lea.
They come, they come, and every nook
Some new-born sweet distils,
M ltile witching dreams of romance seem
Floating round distant hills;
As if your care-worn wights like me,
Enticing front their toil,
Once more to rest on the fragrant breast
Os the flowret teeming soil.
They come, they come, and through my veins
The old blood quicker plays,
As back upon these soft winds float
Bright scenes of other days;
I see the cot on the grassy slope,
And the elm whoso branches high,
In wondering ignorance I thought
Reached up against (lie sky.
The ancient mill, the spreading pond,
And the bridge, beneath whose span
I used to dream of the wondrous deeds
I’d do when a grown up man.
Ah 1 I have seen each golden dream
Its gossamer pinions fold,
leaving me as a boon, a heart too soon
In its fruitless chase grown old,
Yet *tis, O God, a gracious gift,
That I have lived to share
The glories of this vernal morn,
To breathe this balmy air ;
My soul mounts up on wings of thought,
To those celestial plains,
Where beauty dwells forevermore,
And Spring eternal reigns!
Humphreyeville, May, 1852.
For one of the best true Macaronies in our own day,
says the London Examiner, wc are indebted to the
wit of Mr. Gilbert Abbott A’Beekett. We may re
produce it as a convenient specimen, though it is doubt
less well known to many of our readers:
Qi nunc dancere vult modo,
Wants to dance in the fiwtiiun oh !
Disecre debet-ought to know,
Kickerc floor cunt heel and toe.
One, two, three,
llop with me,
Whirlgig, twirligig, rnpitle.
Polkum jungere, Virgo, vis,
Will you join the polka, Miss ?
Liberius—most willingly,
Sic agetnus —then let us try ;
Nunc vide,
Skip with rue,
Whirlabout, roundabout, celere.
Turn lajva cito, turn dextra,
First to the left, and then t'other way ;
A spice retro in vultu,
You look at her, and she looks at you.
Das pal mam,
Change hands, ma’am ;
Celere—run away, jn-t in sham.
From the New York Lantern.
Serenade.
WITH CtTiRtWI ACCOMPANIMENT.
Inspirnlcd by Diogenes while under the influence
of that etherval Boston Wrapper, railed the East
Wind.
By B ary ad 1 by Baryad !
AG, frob you burst I sever,
Do! by the hodor of a bad,
I’ll deber leave lltee. dever !
Do ! do ! do ! do !
I’ll dever leave thee, dever,
By Baryad.
The bourdful breeze abodg the trees,
Is bockidg be so clever,
It sighs ad groads ad with be boads—
I'll dever leave thee, dever !
Do! do ! do Ido !
I'll dever leave thee, dever,
By Baryad,
Though sub will say, like Bodthon Bay,
A wobad’s tickle ever,
I heed tlieb dot whate’er by lot—
I’ll dever leave thee, dever,
Do! do! do 1 do !
I’ll dever leave thee, dever,
By Baryad.
This baladeholy is bere folly,
I bust bake sub eddeavor [aittchew !
By sog I close to blow my nose^
I’ll dever fidish, de,ve- —
Do ! do ! do! do 1
I’ll dever fidish, dever—
By void’s so had !
From the Silver Creek Register.
A Pica for Eggs.
BiV XJtS. E. BOXER.
Be geigle to the new-laid egg.
For eggs are iriti'e tilings .;
They cannot fly until they’re hatched,
And have a pair of wings;
If once you break the tender shell,
TUr wrong you can’t redress —
T he yeltk ud white will all run
And make a dreadful mess.
’Tis but a little while, at best,
That liens have power to lay,
To-morrow eggs may addled be,
Although quite Cteslt to-day.
Oh ! let the touch fce very light
That takes them from the ikeg ;
‘There is no hand whose cunaing skill
Can meud a broken egg.
prosa the Philadelphia Pennsylvanian.
The Peaeork--A Saline,
Vain, glorious bird! that struts in solenua state,
In pride, in potup, ki vcfiity elate
Thy clarion notes, shrill sounding from afar,
Through day and dreary night, discorded jar.
Columbia boasts a son, to thee compared,
Who hath her glories, and thy plumage shared ;
Nor tinsej, nor the haughty mien forgot,
Behold in thee, of birds, the Winfield Scott'!
But here, with pride, see all resemblance fad,
Scott, unlike thee, has never shown his tail;
Gulping his ‘hasty plate* when danger gathers,
He swells, the Nation’s Peacock, ‘fuss in feathers!’
Quoth Smith to Jones, it really is a Bin
You do not get your pretty house fenced in ;
Quoth Jones, you're wrong ; the place is fenced, con
found it—
My wife is all the time a railing round it.
Clemency is the brightest jewel in a crown.
He that comes of a hen must scrape.
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 19, 1852.
SABBATH READING.
Calvary.
BV MRS. SOUTIIEV.
Down from the willow bough
My slumbering harp I’ll take,
And bid its silent strings
To heavenly theme awake;
Peaceful let its breathings be,
When I sing of Calvary.
Love, Love Divine, I sing ;
O, for a seraph’s lyre,
Bathed in Siloa's stream,
And touched with living fire;
Lofty, pure, the strain should be,
When l sing of Calvary.
Love, Lore, on earth appears !
The wretched throng his way;
Hebearelh all their griefs,
And wipes their tears away;
Soft and sweet the strain should be,
Saviour, when l sing to thee.
He saw me as he passed,
In hopeless sorrow lie,
Condemned and doomed to death,
Aud no salvation nigh ;
Long and loud the strain should be,
When I sing his love to me.
‘I die for thee,’ he said,
Behold the cross arise !
And lo 1 he bows his head ;
He bows his head and dies!
Soft, my harp, thy breathings he,
Let me weep on Calvary.
He lives ! again He lives !
I hear the voice of Love—
He comes to soothe my fears,
And draw my soul above ;
Joyful now the strain should be,
When I sing of Calvary.
Keeping the Sabbath.
The Creator has given us a natural restorative—
sleep; and a moral restorative—Sabbath-keeping.and
it is ruin to dispense with either. Under the pressure
of high excitement, individuals havo passed week* to
gether with little sleep, or none; but when the process
is long continued, the over-driven powers rebel, and
fever, delirium and death come on. Nor can this nat
ural amount be systematically curtailed without corres
ponding mischief. The Sabbath does not arrive like
sleep. The day of rest does not steal over us like
the hour of slumber. It does not entrance us almost
whether we will or not; but, addressing us as intelli
gent beings, our Creator assures us that vve need it, and
bids us notice its return and court its renovation. And
if, going in the face ot the Creator’s kindness, we force
ourselves to work all days alike, it is not long till we
pay the forieit. The mental worker, the man of bus
iness or the man of letters—finds his ideas corning tur
bid and slow ; thu equipoise of his faculties is upset; he
grows moody, fitful and capricious; and with his men
tal elasticity broken, should any disaster occur, he sub
sides into habitual melancholy, or in self-destruction ;
speeds his guilty exit from a gloomy world. And the
manual worker, the artisan, engineer, toiling on from
day today, and week to week, the bright intuition of
his eye gets blunted, and, forg< tful of their cunning,
his fingers no longer perform their feats of twinkling
agility, nor by a plastic and tuneful touch mould dead
matter, or wield mechanic power; but mingling his ■
life's blood in his daily drudgery, his locks are prema- j
turely gray, his genial humor sours, and slaving it t il j
he has become it morose or reckless man, for any extra
effort or any blink of bahnv feeling he must stand in
debted to opium or alcohol, To an industrious popula
tion, so essential is tlm period’s rest, that when the at
tempt was made in France to abolish the weekly Sab.
bath, it wat found necessary to issue a decree suspend
ing labor one day in every ten. Master manufacturers
have stated that they could perceive an evident deterio
ration in the quality of the goods produced, as the week
drew near a close, just because the tact, alertness and
energy of the workers bcg.an to expeiienoe inevitable
exhaustion. When a steamer on the Thames blew up,
a few months ago, the firemen and stokers laid the
blame on their broken Sabbath ; it stupefied and em
bittered them blunder at (their work, And
heedless whatkaroe these blunders might create. Aud
we Lave been informed that when the engines of an
extensive steam packet company, in the south of Eng
land, were gtttiug constantly damaged, the mischief
was instantly repaired by giving the men what the
bounty cA their Creator bad given them long before,
the refct of each seventh day. And what is 60 essen
tia! to industrial efficiency is no less indispensable to
the laborer’s health and longevity.’
A Mother’s Teaks. — There is a touching
sweetness in a iiaottihor’s tears when they foil
upon the face of Her dying babe, which no eye
can behold without imbibing its influence.—
Upon such hallowed ground the foot of pro
fanity dares not approach. Infidelity itself is
silent, and forbears its scoffings. And here
woman displays not her weakness, but her
sircHigtih ‘ it is that strength of attachment
which -can nev.er in its full intensity be realized.
It is perennial, dependent upon no climate, no
.changes—-.out alike in storm and sunshine—it
knows a.O shadow of turning. A father when
he sees his child going down to the dark valley,
will weep when the shadow of death has fully
come over him ; and as the last parting knell
falls on his ear, he may say, l i go down to the
grave of my son mourning.'’ But the hurry of
business draws him away; the tear is wiped
from his eye, and if when he turns from his
preside, the vacancy in the family circle re
minds him of his loss, the succeeding day bliunfs
the poignancy of his grief, until at length it
finds no permanent seat in his breast. Not so
with her who lias borne and nourished the ten
der blossom. It lives in the heart it first en
twined in the dreaming hours of night. She
secs its playful mirth or hears its plaintive .cries,
she seeks it ia the mowing, and goes jto the
grave to weep there.
Among the masses of stuff that are floating
around as newspaper literature, are occasional
‘words of wisdom’ that are as precious as gold-
The following, by a quaint writer, who signs
himself ‘Charles Quill,’ is a sermon in itself,
containing ajltUe philosophy and beautiful mo
radijty of many a volume.
‘Why do you begin to do good so far off?’
This is a ruling error. Begin at the centre and
work outward. If you do not love your wife,
do not pretend to such love for the people of the
antipodes. If you let some family grudge, some
pecadillo, some iudosirable gesture, sour your
visage toward a sister or daughter, pray cease
to preach beneficence on a large scale. Begin
not at the next door, but within your own door,
with your neighbor, whether relative,servant or
superior. Account the man you meet, the roan
you are to bless. How can I make biro or her
happy ? This is the question. If a dollar will
do it, give it. If advice will do it, give advice.
If chastisement will do it, give chastisement. —
If a look, a smile, or warm pressure of the hand,
or a tear. But never forget that the happiness
of our world is a mountain of golden sands, and
that it is your part to cast some coutributary
atom every moment.
Tliiuk Twice.
‘Did Horner pay the bill? inquired Mr. Gil
bert of bis clerk, who had just come in.
The young man shook his bead.
‘Didn’t pay it ?’
‘No sir.’
‘What answer did he give?’
‘He was angry, and said that he wished you
wouldn’t send after the bill any more—that
when be was ready he would bring you the
money, and not before.’
Tie said that, did he?’ Mr. Gilbert spoke
with considerable excitement of manner.
‘Yes sir. 1 never called on him that lie
didn't get out of patience, and say something
unpleasant.’
‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Gilbert in a menacing
tone ; ‘give me the bill. I'll collect it.’
And taking up his hat he left the store.
Within two or three blocks was the office of
an alderman, and thither his steps were turned
‘Thank fortune, there’s a short way lo deal
with men in these cases.’ Thus Mr. Gilbert
talked to himself as he moved rapidly along.
‘Not send my bill, indeed. Why don’t he
come and pay, if lie’s so nice in these matters?
lie doesn't mean to pay, that’s the true reason.
But ite is dealing with the wrong man, and he
will find this out before he is twenty-four hours
older, lie can bluff of a clerk, but will find a
city bailiff a different sort of a customer.’
Horner, the offender in this case, was a poor
tailor, who had become indebted to Gilbert for
groceries. The amount of his bill was sixty
six dollars—a very largo sum for him, and far
exceeding what be had supposed it would be,
Sickness a nd the loss of a child, had, some months
previously, lessened his income, and also bur
dened him with unusual expenses. But for this,
we would not have become indebted. Honest
and sensitive, the debt worried him. Instead,
however, of going to Mr. Gilbert, and asking
him to let the obligation stand for a short time,
until lie could pay it off, gradually, he kept
away from him, and fretted himself with think
ing over the unpleasant relation he bore to the
grocer. As was to have been expected, the bill
came in. The clerk, by whose hands it was
sent, made his demands in a style that Horner
thought rude, if not insulting.
Tiiis was more in imagination than in re
ality.
T can’t pay this now,’ was the tailor’s brief
answer. He spike with a troubled voice and
countenance. The clerk interpreted his man
ner by the word anger,
‘When will you settle it?’ he inquired, with
something peremptory in his • uice.
‘1 CUD t tell,’ saiu ilo*ne, < • a oliurt quick
tone of voice.
The clerk bowed and went away. Ilis re
port did not please the grocer, who iu a few
days sent again for the money. The second
demand came upon Horner, while he was think
ing of the bill, and hopelessly casting about in
his mind for some means of paying it. Not pos
sessing a great deal of self-control be unwisely
utteied an expression of impatience the moment
he saw the clerk of Gilbert,
•Well, sir; what about that bill l’ said the
clerk.
‘lt’s no use to keep calling on ine,’ replied
Horner: as soon as I have the money, i will
see Mr. Gilbert.’
A third time the clerk called. Poor Horner
was in a very unhappy state of mind. He had
been thinking of little else beside the grocer’s
bill all the morning; in his mind, was a ner
vous presentiment that he should have a visit
that day from the collector. Jle was not in er
ror, Even as the thought troubled him, open
swung the door, and the messenger of Gilbert
entered
‘>Seo here, young roan, exclaimed Horner,
before the other had time to speak, ’just tell
Gilbert not to send that bill here again. It won’t
bring the money an hour sooner. When lam
ready 1 will pay it, and not before,’
The clerk turned oft and left the shop, with
out a word of reply.
‘That wasu’t right,’ John said the tailor’s
wife, in tone of gentle reproof, after the lajtse
of five minutes. The wisely forbore to speak
until time enough had elapsed for her irritable
husband to regain a degree of self-composure,
‘I know it wasn’t,’ answered Horner pausing
in his work, and giving vent to his feelings in a
heavy sigh. ‘1 know it wasn’t. But this constant
dunning is hard to bear. He knows, as well
as 1 do, that he will get his money as soon as
I can possibly earn it.’
‘No, John, not as well as you do,’ said the
wife mildly. ‘He cannot see your thoughts.’
There was a brief siieuce.
‘Have you seen Mr. Gilbert, John ?’ inquired
Mrs. Horner.
‘No. But— ’
The tailor hesitated. He saw what was in
the tnind of Jus wife, and felt its force.
‘Don't you think it would be better to see him
and explain just how it is with you? I don’t
believe he would give you any trouble it you
were to go, There is no telling what kind of
messages his clerk takes to him. If he gives
simply your words to-day, Mr. Gilbert will be
angry, there is no knowing what be might be
tempted to do.’
‘1 don’t want to see him,’ replied Horner.
‘I can't bear to look into a man’s face if I owe
him money.’
The wife sighed but di,4 not answer. Both
remained silent for some time. Horner's own
mind soon suggested all that his wife wished
but hesitated to say. It was but right for him
to see the grocer, explain to him fully bis posi
tion, and alter assuring him of his honest inten
tion to pay every dollar of the debt, ask of him
a liberal extension of time.
‘I wil) see him,’ said he at length, pausing
suddenly in his own work, and getting down
from his shop board. In a little while he was ready
to go out, when he started forth to %ee biscredi*
tor.
In the meantime Gilbert had kept on his
way toward the alderman’s, fully resolved to
hand his debtor over to the tender mercies of
.the Jaw. He was within a few doors of the of
fice when lie met a friend,
‘What’s the matter?’ inquired this individu
al, ‘you look as if you were going to sue some
body.’
‘Just what I am about doing,’ replied the
grocer. ’
‘Ah, indeed ! Who is the hard case that re
quires such a stringent measure ?’
‘Horner, the tailor. You know him, I be
lieye.’
‘Yes, very well- But you are not going to
sue him ?’
‘lndeed I am.’
‘How much does he owe you ?’
‘Sixty odd dollars.’
‘pd think twice before I troubled poor Hor
ner,’ said the other shaking his head.
‘He sends me only insulting answers,’ replied
Gilbert.’
‘l’ve dunned him for his indebtedness until I
ain tired.
‘Perhaps you have dunned him too hard.—
He is sensitive and irritable.’
‘No, I’ve only sent three or four times. This
morning he returned for an answer that he
would pay me when he was ready and not be
fore.’
‘And on tbe spur of the moment you have de
termined to put the account in an alderman’s
hands.’
‘I have.’
‘Too hasty, friend Gilbert. In all matters
of this kind it is better to think twice. Remem
ber that Horner has had sickness and death in
his family. These 1 know have thrown him back.
Here lies the cause of slowness in paying. But
surely these things ought to entitle him to
consideration. lie is honest; lam certain of
this.’
‘I didn’t, think about his sickness and the loss
of bis child,’ said Gilbert, in a modified tone.
But this is no justification for the rude, un
satisfactory answer he sent to my application
for money.’
‘Of course not. But every man cannot, at all
times, control his feelings. A honest mind of
ten feels a quick sense of indignation when a
demand is made for a debt where present ina
bility to pay exists. This is no doubt the case
with Horner. Honest in his intention, he felt
your repeated applications as questioning that
honesty, and he could not bear the imputation
with becoming patience.’
The two men separated. Gilbert had thought
twice; and instead of going to the magistrate's
office, returned to his store. There, a little to
his surprise, he found the tailor waiting him. —
They met with some reserve and embarrass
ment, but Horner said in a moment or two, and
in a subdued voice—
‘l am sorry, Mr. Gilbert, to have kept you
out of your money so long; nothing has pre
vented my paying you but inability. 1 have
had sickness and trouble, or it would not be
with me as it is. I felt worried when your clerk
called to-day, and sent you an improper mes
sage, Let me recall that. And now, I will
tel! you the best I can do. Ifyou will take from
me five dollars a month until the whole bill is
settled, I will faithfully pay you that much, and
more if it is possible.’
‘Perfectly satisfactory,’ replied Gilbert, in a
voice so cordial that it sent the blo"d bound
ing through the veins of the unhappy tailor.—
“If you had only made this proposition before,
it would have been cheerfully accepted.’
When the two men separated, each was wiser
and each felt happier. The tailor kept liisen
gffgeinent, and the grocer not only received ItL
money, but retained a good customer. So much
for sober second thoughts .
Providence Prospers Honesty.
A BEAUTIFUL’ STORY.
BV. .WRs'. ST. SIMOV.
A poor boy, about ten years of age entered
the warehouse of the rich merchant, Samuel
Richter, in Dantzic, and asked lhe book-keeper
for alms. ‘You will get nothing here,’grum
bled the man without raising liis head from his
book, ‘be oil.’
W eeping bitterly, tbe boy glided towards the
door, at the moment that Herr Rioter etored.
‘\\ hat is tlie matter here?’ he asked, turning
to the book keeper.
‘A worthless beggar boy,’ was the man’s an
swer, and he scarcely looked up from his work.
In the mean time Herr Richter glanced to
wards the boy, and remarked that, when close
to the door, he picked up something from the
ground. ‘Ha! my little lad, what is that you
picked uj ?’ he cried- The weeping boy turned
and showed him a needle.
‘And what will you do witli it?’ asked the
other.
‘My jacket has holes in it,’ was the answer,
‘I will sew up the big ones.’
llerr Richter was pleased with this reply,
and still more with the boy's innocent, hand
some face. ‘But are you not ashamed,’ he said,
in a kind, though series tone, ‘you, so young am)
hearty, to beg ? Can you not work ?’
‘All, my dear sir,’ replied the boy, ‘I do not
know bow, and I am too little yet to thresh, or
fell wood. My father died three weeks ago,
and my mother and my little brothers have eat
en nothing these two days. Then I ran out
in anguish, and begged for alms. But alas! a
single peasant only gave me a piece of bread;
since then 1 have not eaten a morsel.’
It is quite customary for beggars by trade to
contrive tales like this, and this hardens many
a heart against the claims of genuine want.—
But this time the merchant trusted the boy's
honest face. He thrust his hand into his pock
et, and drew forth a piece of money, and said :
‘There is half a dollar; goto the baker’s, and
with half tiro money buy bread for yourself,
your mother, and vov;r brothers, but bring back
tbe other half to me.’
The boy took the money, and ran joyfully
away.
‘Well,’ “-aid the surly book keeper, lie will
laugh in his sleeve, and never conro back again.’
‘Who knows?’ replied Herr Richter. And
as he spoke he beheld the boy returning, run
ning with a large loaf ot black bread in one
hand, and some money in the other.
‘There good sir!’ he cried, almost breathless,
‘there is the rest of the money.’ Then, being
very hungry, he begged a knife, to cut off a
piece of bread. The book keeper reached him
in silence a pocket knife.
The lad cut off a slice in great haste, and was
about Lo biite ypo-n it. But suddenly he be
thought himself, laid the bread aside, and fold
ing his hands, rehearsed a silent prayer. Then
he fell to his meal with alroarty appetite.
The merchant was moved by the boy’s unaf
fected piety. He inquired after his family and
home, and learned from his simple narrative
that his father had lived in >a village, about four
miles distant from Uantzic, where he owned a
small house and farm. But bis bouse had been
burned to the ground, and much sickness in the
family had compelled him to sell his farm. He
had tbeu hired himself out to a rich neighbor
but before three weeks were at an end, he died,
broken down by grief and excessive toil. And
now his mother, whom sorrow had thrown upon
a bed of sickness, was with her four young chil
dren, suffering the bitterest poverty. He—the
eldest—had resolved to seek for assistance, and
had gone at first, from village to village, then
had struck into the high road, and, at last, hav
ing begged everywhere i,n vain, had conro to
Dantzic.
The merchant’s heart was touched. He had
but one child, and the boy appeared to him as
a draft at sight, which Providence had drawn
upon him as a test of his gratitude. ‘Listen, my
son !’ he begau, ‘have you then really a wish to
learn V
‘Oh,yes, I have indeed!’ cried the boy,‘l
have read the catechism already, and, I should
know a good deal more, but at home 1 had al
ways my little brother to carry, for mother was
sick in bed.’
Herr Richter suddenly formed his resolution.
‘W ell, then,’ he said, ’if you are good and j
honest, and industrious, I will take care of you.
\ ou shall learn, have meat, and drink and cloth
ing, and in time, earn something besides. Then
you can support, your mother and brothers also.’
lhe boy’s eyes flashed with joy. But in a
moment he ca>t them to the ground again, and
said sadly, ‘My mother all this while has nothing
to eat.’ ‘
At this instant, as if sent by Providence, an
inhabitant of the boy’s native village entered
Herr Richter’s house. This man confirmed the
lad’s story, aud willingly consented to carry the
mother tidings of her son Gottleib, and “food,
and a small sum of money from the merchant.
At the same time Herr Richter directed 1 is
book keeper to write a letter to the pastor of the
village, commending the widow to his care, with
an additional suin enclosed for the poor family,
and promising further assistance.
As soon as this was done, Herr Richter at
once furnished the boy with decent clothes, at
noon led him to bis wife, whom he accurately
informed of little Gottleib’s story and of the
plans which he had formed for him. The good
woman readily promised her best assistance in
the latter, and she faithfully kept her word.
During the next four years, Gottleib attended
the schools of the great commercial city ; then
his faithful foster-father took him into hi-count
ing room, in order to educate him for business.
Here, as well there at the writing desk, as on
the school bench, the ripening youth distin
guished himself by the faithful industry with
which he exercised both. With all tiiis, bis
heart retained his native innocence. Os his
weekly allowance, he sent the half regularly to
his mother until she died, after .
vived two of his brothers. She had passed the
last years of her life, not in wealth, it is true,
but by the aid of the noble Richter and her faith
ful son, in a condition above want.
After the death of his beloved mother, there
was no dear fiieud left to Gottleib in the world,
except his benefactor. Out of love for him, he
became an active, zealous merchant. He be
gan by applying the superfluity of his allow
ance, which ho could now dispose of at his
pleasure, to a trade in Hamburg qaills. When
by care and prudence, he had gained over a
hundred dollars, it happened that found in
his native v Huge a considerable quantity of
hemp and flax, which was very good, and stili
to be had at a reasonable price. He asked hist
foster father to advance him two hundred dol
lars which tiro latter did with great readiness.
And the business prospered so well that in the
third year ot his clerkship, Gottleib had already
acquired the surn of five hundred dollars. With
out giving up his trade in flax, he now trafficked
also in linen goods,and the two combined, made
him in a couple of years, about a thousand dol
lars richer.
lliis happened during the customary five
years of clerkship. At the end of this period,
Gottleib continued to serve his benefactor five
years more with industry, skill and fidelity;
then he took the place of the book keeper, who
died about this time, and three years after
wards he was taken by Herr Richter as a part
ner into his business, with a third part of the
profits.
But it was not God's will this pleasant part
nership should be of long duration. An insidi
ous disease cast Herr Richter upon a bed of
sickness, and kept him for two years confined
to his couch. All that love and gratitude could
suggest, Gottleib now did to repay his bene
factor's kindness. Redoubling his exertions he
became the soul of the whole business, and
still lie watched long nights at the old man’s
bedside, with his grieving wife, until, in the six
ty-fifth year ot his life, Herr Richter closed his
life in death.
Before his decease, he placed the hand of his
only daughter, a sweet girl of two and twenty
years, in that ot his beloved foster son. He
had long looked upon them as bis children.—
They understood him; they loved each other,
and in silence, yet affectionately and earnestly
they solemnized their betrothal at the bedside
of their dying father.
In the year 1828, ten years after Herr Rich
ter's death, the house of Gottleib Bern, late
Samuel Richter, was one of the most respecta
ble in all Dantzic. It owned three large ships,
employed in navigating tiro Baltic and North
Seas, and the care of Providence seemed espe
cially to watch over the interests of their worthy
owner; for worthy he remained in Itis prosperi
ty* He honored his mother-in-law like a son,
and cherished her declining years with the ten
derest affection, until, in her two and seventieth
year, she died iu liis arms.
As his own marriage proved childless, lie took
the eluest son of each of his two remaining
brothers, now substantial farmers, into his house,
and destined them to be his heirs. And in or
der to confirm them in their humility, lie often
showed the needle which had proved sue!) a
source of blessing to ltim, and bequeathed it
as a perpetual legacy to the eldest son iu the
family.
It is but a few years since this child of pover
ty, of fortune and of honest industry, passed in
peace from this world.
Psalms xxxvii., v. 37 : Mark the perfect man,
and behold the upright, for the end of that njan
is peace.
College Examination’.—B . who has
since made quite a noise in the world, while at
College, was called upon to undergo an exami
nation in Astronomy. On emerging from the
ordeal, one of his companions asked him how he
got off. ’First rate,’ said B ; ‘they only
asked me two questions, and I answered them
both promptly and correctly.’ ‘What were
the questions ?’ ‘the first was, ‘What is a Pa
rallax ?’ and I told them I did'nt know ! and the
second was, ‘Can you calculate an Eclipse ?’ to
which I said no! I’d like to see any body an
swer two questions more correctly ihai that!’
‘The voice of woman, gentlemen,’ said a ro
mautic individual, in a late argument at the
rooms, ‘the voice of woman, no matter how
much some of you may be inclined to sneer at
the sentiment, exercises a soothing and inspir
ing. a hallowing influence upon tlie ear of man,
comforts him in affliction, encourages him in dis
may, and banishes from his mind all those trou
bles which, when she is absent, conspire to sink
him into depths of despondency.’
‘Tom ! you rascal,’ exclaimed his wife at this
instant, bursting into the room, ‘conro home,
your loitering scamp, and leave these worthless
fellows to themselves. O! when I get you at
home, won’t you catch it? Well. I guess you
will V Here Tom left the room abruptly, with
his enraged spouse, evidently satisfied of the in
spiring influence of the ‘voice qf woman.’
t ouditious of Sale by Anciiou in Ireland’
I. The highest bidder to be the purchaser,
unless some gentleman bids more.
11. If any dispute arises as to who was the
highest bidder, the sale is to stop until the par
ties have fought it out; but if either combatant
is killed, lie shall be allowed to amend his bid
ding, for the sake of liis bereaved family.
111. If after a piece of land has been sold, it
cannot be found in the estate to which it belongs,
it shall be takeu from the estate that lies most
convenient to it; but the purchaser of said land
shall pay to the owner of the latter the full price
of the piece thus taken ; but this purchase mon
ey shall be laid out in improving the same. —
Any how, they must settle it between them.
IV. If a lot has been wrongly described, such
misdescription shall not \ itiate the sale, but such
compensation shall be granted as may be just,
It a piece of land lms been described as a hot: .
the auctioneer shall be bound to build a house*
thereon with the money paid for the same; and
if it is not convenient for the purchaser to pay
for his purchase, the money may be borrowed
out of the poor rates. If the poor complain of
this, they must write to the newspapers; and if
they can’t write, more shame for them.
V. The auctioneer shall not be liable to be
called out upon an} - pretense whatever connect
ed with the sale now to take place; but this con
dition shall in no wise prevent his giving satis
faction in regard to any other sale, or his con
duct in knocking down other lots or bidders.
VL In icgard to its being insulting to ask a
gentleman to show his dirty pmchinents, and
make out titles and all that bother, no tide shall
be required beyond the sellers giving bis word
and honor that the title is as good as possible,
and better. After this, if there's any awkward
ness, its a case for the Phoenix Park.
VII. If what the lawyers call ‘outstanding
terms’can’t be‘got in,’ they must step out.
VIII. If it shall turn out that the seller lias
sold property to which he was nol entitled, and
which belongs to some other person, and the
right owner upon proper application, unreason
ably refuses to give up possession, the trouble
and expense of bringing him to a sense of what
is gentlemanly conduct shall be equally divided
between tile seller and the buyer.
IX. If the purchaser thinks he has paid too
much, the balance shall be handed back to the
auctioneer, to be treated as liqipda’ed damages,
tnat is laid out in claret, to be drunk by all the
bona fide bidders at the sale.
X. The Auction Du v shall not be paid at
all, as it only helps to maintain English ascen
dancy.
XI. Should there be much starvation on the
estate, or much difficulty in getting rent enough
out of the tenants, part of the purchase money
shall be laid out m publishing in the English
papers, an appeal to ihe charitable.
XII. That none of these conditions shall be
binding on any body who disapproves of them-
From th N, 0. Crescent.
A M *dH nun
Ed. Crescent :—Enoch M lived up on
Pearl river, Hancock county, Miss, and wi-hmg
to take his family to Alabama to see his father
in-law and attend the Methodist Conference,
(for Enoch was a strict Methodist,) he went
down to Pearliugton, where Judge A had
a large store, at that time, and succeeded in pur
chasing a horse and a lot of provisions from tho
Judge, ‘on tick,’ promising to pay as soon as ha
brought his hogs to market. The Judge wailed
patiently for a year —he then visited the house
cf Enoch, but not finding him at home, he re
turned to P and wrote the following
‘model dun,’ a copy of which was duly forward
ed, Ac Judge A is since dead, and as I
think this is too good to be lost, I enclo.-e it,
and hope you will give it a place in your paper.
Rcbe.
Pearlington, Miss. June 18, 1835
Friend Enoch.—W hy O ! friend Enoch, has
thy soul turned against ihy servant, and why
can thy servant never see thy face in peace ?
I lune, 0! Enoch, furnished thee raiment for
thy household; yea, also tor thy man servant
and thy maid servant—nor have I withheld from
thee the collee of the Indies nor the sweets of
the lands ot Louisaua. Moreover, I have fur
nished thee with a beast of burden, that tho,
thy wife and thy ofispijrtgs might travel more
than one thousand furlongs, to the laud of their
nativity—even to the sepulchre of their fathers,
Two days are nor yet quite passed, 0! Enoch,
since I made a long journey of eighty furlongs,
es en to the threshold of thv dwelling, to receive
of thee either gold or silver, jewels or raiment,
and to see thy face in peace, and to satisfy my
soul with bread. But lo ! thou hadst gone out
into the wilderness, so that If und time n*t.—
Truly 1 met thee on the way, like unto Saul, the
son ot Kish, (as thy servant supposed,) seeking
tor asses . \et thou wouldst not return with
me to thy dwelling to administer unto me.
V herefoie, O . Enoch, my soul is weary of
longsuffering, and as the Lord liveth, unless
thou come and speak kindly unto me, and de
liver unto me gold and silver, jewels or raiment,
to the value ot four score pieces of silver—
therefore, I say unto thee, 0! Enoch, ‘agree
with thine adversary quickly, whilst thou art in
the way with him, lest thine adversary deliver
thee to the Judge, and the Judge deliver thee
to the Officer,’ •veiily, then thou will have to
pay tlte ut-.wrcijcsi farthing, \V. H. A
Woman’s Rights’ Convention. This im
portant body held its session during the past
month at Worcester, Massachusetts. It was at
tended by a goodly number of women, but by
few men. The speeches of the women folks
were rich ic thejr way. Mrs. Foster, in her
speech said, ‘Let woman not marry till she is
able to maintain herself and her partner.’ To
this we say araeu! What say you, young gen
tlemen l
Mrs. Mech Haskijl, an elderly lady, said
‘she had groaned for fifty years under the pres
sure ot men.’ She then burst into tears aud re
sumed her seat. Sensible woman that.
Editors. The life of an editor is compara
tively short. He wears out before his time.
The exacting toil he pursues, which is rarely or
never broken by a solitary day of relaxation,
shatters his nerves, exhausts his vital energies,
and making him gray haired almost in middle
age. To him the course of nature is reversed,
and night is turned into dsy. He labors when
other men sleep. Nothing tells sooner on the
constitution than this. The close room in which
be usuidiy sits, the stifling odorsof the damp
newspapers from the mail, and, the blinding
glare of the gas lights increase the wear and
tear upon his system, so he gives out entirely
before he is fifty years old. Nothing but dis
tinguished success and theconsequent ability to
lighten his toil by employing substitutes, can
save him from this irresistible doom.
[The above taken from the Boston Museum,
is a true picture of an editor’s life. Who covets,
it.— Scientific American.
NO. 11.