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A mill NEWSPAPER,--BEfOTED TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, POLITICS & GENERAL INTELLIGENCE.
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■ * LOs ANDREWS,
■ Address, Macon, Ga.
IrofrjMianol t ‘Tittsintss Curbs
IVM Kit HOUSE,
MACON, GA.
ly SCOTT &. DIBBLE,
WM. DIBBLE
Wl X. SCOTT.
m , —'y
■ jan 8 _____ -
I H, L WQQB
Elguerreotypist,
MACON, GA.
NTKANCE FltOM THE AVENUE. JtJ
SAMUEL B. PALMER,
DEALER IN
hats & CAPS,
OJiD STREET,
MACON, GEORGIA.
latest styles received weekly. nov!3—ly
fames aTknight,
) E R AM) CON T R A CTOR,
; provided competent workmen, is prepared to ex
every description of work in liis line, at short
n reasonable terms.
, on Court House Square, Macon. J°" B ~ 3 y
TmsTouver and mown,
■ ATTORNEYS at law.
n:\A VISTA, MARION COUNTY, GA.
ITlt.h practice in tha counties of Marion, Macon, llous
\ ton, Stewart, Randolph, Muscogee, I.ee, and any ad
m counties where their serxices may be required.
11. F. WILLIAMS, THADDEUB OLIVER, JACK BROWN.
an ‘-’9 ly
Warren 6t Warren,
attorneys at law,
ALBANY,GA.
[TILL practice in the following counties: Sumpter, Raker
\ Early, Thomas, Leo, Randolph, Decatur and Low tides.
,OTT WARREN P. D. WARREN.
RABUN WHITEHEAD,
!0M MIS SI O N M EII CII A NTS,
NO. 207 BAY STREET, SAVANNAH,ISA.
i*. *• p - whitehead.
tepid - btn
N. & R. P. IIALL,
attorneys at law,\
31 a c o it , G a .
rtes on Cxttori Avenue, over Little's Drug Store. fnrtl
1.. N. WHITTLE.
Attorney at Law.
jnn3 M.ICO.X , 0.1. -ly
UEJIOV IL.-n . BENSON has removed to the cor
rof Mulberry and 4th Sts , nearly opposite his former resi
ter.
Dr. It. will continue to practice Medirine and Surgery in an
lir department* both in the city and country. octO
Cord and Tassels,
’ OR hanging portraits; Gilt, Mahogany, Rose Wood and
1 Walnut Frames made to order. Also. Picture Glass, of
sire, from BXIO to 30X10. lor sale by
oct9—6tn WOOD, BRADLEY fc CO.
HVLL At CARY, ATTORNEY’S AT LAW, Macon,
.'a. Will practice in the counties of Bibb,Monroe, L'p
, Pike and Spaulding. Oilice over Dr. Little's Drug Store.
octio -iy
DR. C. A. WILBUR,
iFFiCE— Concert Hail Building, over Paytie & Nisbet's
u; Stare. <-ec t-ly *
Medical Notice.
R. R. Mc iOLHRICK ms returned and wit-
r l , nne the dut-es of his profession in the various bran
nofMe Ii cine. Surgery, Obstetrics, Stc. He has removed
ioflite and dwelling to the corner of Walnut and Bridge
nov2o
Dissolution.— The firm of payne & nisbetm
tins day dissolved by mutual consent. The business
he continued by GEORGE PA A’XE, who is alone author
w to settle the business of the firm.
Jan. 15, 18a 3. jan22
Williamson, Taylor &, Cos.
10. 73, lIARKEt’ STREET, PII'jiAD.
Importers and Jobbers,
1 FANCY & STAPLE DRY GOODS.
IVY £ constantly on hand a large and fine assortment
consisting in part of BLVNKETS. NEGRO CLOTHS
<i kr.UsiKs. lIROWN and BLEACHED SHIRTINGS and
IKETiXtJs, Ac., Ac. To which we invite the attention of
EOUfilA MERCHANTS. octlfi—ly
11 • G. LAMAR AND O. S. LOCIIRANE,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
5 Mxcox, Ga. if
ARTFORD FIRE INSUR ANCE COAIP’Y
OF HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT.
(est.bi.ishtil IN 1810.)
Fit” Risks on Cotton and Store, Merchandise, .Store Houses
‘riling, and Furniture. Gkurcbes, Ac., in the above old and
E, ‘ established Company taken al the usual rales, by
E. J. JOHNSTON,
jan22 ly Agent for Macon and Bibb count''.
the POErSjGORMERT
“HI tliy Works Praise Tlife.”
BY MARY HO WITT.
Toe moon beams on the billowy deep,
The blue waves rippling on the strand,
Tlie ocean in its peaceful sleep,
The shell that murmurs on the sand,
The clouJ that dims the bending sky,
The bow that on its bosom glows,
The sun that lights the vault on high,
T he stars at midnight's calm repoee;
These praise the power that arched the sky,
And robed the earth in beauty’s dye.
The melody of Nature’s choir,
The deep-toned anthems of the sc3,
T'ue wind that tunes a viewless lyre,
I be zephyr on its pinion* free,
The thunder with its thrilling notes,
The p e a| upon the mountain air,
T be lay that through the foliage floats,
Dr sinks in dying cadence there*
Ibeseall to thee their voices raise,
A fervent song of gushing praise.
I be day-star, herald of the dawn,
As the dark shadows flit away,
file tint upon the clveik of morn,
Tlie dew-drop gleaming on the spray—
Ftom wild-birds in their wanderings,
b tom streamlet* leapiug to the sea,
J com all earth's fair and lovely things,
Kuth living praise ascend to Thee:
1 bi'se with their silent tongues proclaim
The varied wonders of Thy name.
Father, thy hand hath form’d the flower,
And flung it on the verdant lea;
Thou bad’st it ope at summer's hour,
Its hues of beauty speak of Tine,
Thy works ail praise Thee; snail not men
Alike attune the grateful hymn?
Shall he not join the loftier strain,
Echoed from heart of seraphim?
TV e tune to Thee our humble lays,
Thy mercy, goodness, lov*-, we praise.
■ ■ lj~ ■ HIV i M
For the Waver Jy Magazine.
The Widow’s Appeal.
BY W. H. BRISTOL.
Tempt not my boy, accursed bowl!
Tempt not my bright-eyed angel boy!
He i3ihe star that lights my soul,
Soothes my long gi ief with pride and joy.
lie is my youngest born—
The last 1 have me left;
Make not my home forlorn,
And leave it all bereft!
His father lies in yonder grave,
Two other graves are there beside;
Both sire and sons, in death's cold wave,
Now take their rest side by side;
’Twas thou, mad bowl, that slew,
And left me but this one;
Wage not thy battle through—
O, spare rny darling son!
All else to thee I'll freely give,
All sacrifice on thee bestow, —
If thou wilt the pet lambkin live,
Nor leave me joyless* here below,
Lure not his lips to taste,
Dim not his thoughtless eye,
Else soon thy scourge will waste
The victim early die.
O, save the mother's bleeding woe,
Show nierey to the widow now,
For I may bear the long ago,
And ’iu-ntli hope’s altar btnv.
But spare, O, spare mv boy,
Touch not his youthful head;
lie is a mother’s joy,
That lives when all arc dead!
O, guide ihe fearful shaft away,
Hurl not the dart with fatal aim;
I'll teach him prayers to fondly sav
in grab fui thanks unto thy name.
In virtue’s ways he’ll go,
’Tid God shall bid him come—
Ilis heart be Iree from woe,
And heaver, his final home.
i— <Q.-a3i
From the Journal of Commerce.
To the Magnetic Telegraph.
‘Harp of a thousand strings!’
Swept by a mightier minstrel than the wind,
A viewless spirit, whose unfettered wings,
Leave all, save thought, behind.
Outvying in its flight,
The fleeting footsteps of the panting Fteed,
The arrowy keel, that eleavts the billows bright,
Or the tierce engine's speed.
Thine is the magic spell
With deepest tones the human heart, to thrill ;
The po-.ver outvying feeble speech, to tell,
Tidings of good or ill.
Peace, promise, joy, or woe,
These, mystic harp, must we entrust to thee,
Ail that our weak Humanity may know,
Thy melodies shall be.
Thou, who dost herald on
T> the vast inland, stretching f.ir and wide.
Tales from the ships, whose moorings yet unwon,
Must still the wild waves ride.
We pause, and gaze on lliee,
Marking with wondering eye thy tiny chords,
Weaving perchance, our fortunes, yet to be,
Still unrevealed by words.
Telling of kings arid thrones,
A nation'* downfall, or an empire’* birth,
Revealing in thy weiid and mystic tones,
Strange histories of Earth.
Os famin n , fire, and blood,
Tiie fearful earthquake, or the whirlwind'* break,
The ocean tempest, or the Geld of blooJ,
The pestilence, and death ;
Or tidings sweet and dear,
The blissful messages of h>ve and peace,
To waiting hearts that yearn—from thee to hear
Hope, joy, return, release.
Thou who shall link, all laud?,
Thou who at last shall span the stormy sea,
Binding the nations into brother bauds—
What shall wo sing of thee?
The earth, whereon we tread,
The mighty oiiiowa roiling over thee,
Tiie lightning's flash, the sky, the clouds o’erspread
Shall yet thy minstrels be.
Thou messenger of mind,
Thy triple eliotds shall rn.ke the electric zone,
W Licit heart to heart, ns shore to shore shall bind,
When space shall be unknown.
‘llarp of a thousand strings.’
Swept by a mightier minstrel than the wind,
A viewless spirit, whose unlettered wings,
Leave all, save thought, behind !
E. G. B.
n iseeb i a ny .
From Chamber s Journal.
An Apology for Husbands*
We <lo r,ot use this word “apology” in its
legitimate sense, as a defence or vindication;
we are satisfied with the common meaning as
signed it; that is, an excuse or extenuation of an
admitted offence. Husbands as a general rule,
are to blame; there is no doubt of that; only
we think there are some small considerations
which might be urged in their favor not by
way of exalting, but merely of letting them
down easily.
The humane idea was long of occurring to ns;
for one gets so thoroughly accustomed to the
condition of affairs in society, that everyihing
seems natural and necessary, and passes on
without exciting a thought, But a week or two
ago, we had occasion to visit repeatedly a rath
er large and agieealde family, without once
chancing to meet with the offender; and this
had the effect of bringing him before our co
gitations. Jlad he been present in the room,
he would have pasted as a natural and useful
piece of furniture, and so haveexcaped all spe
cial survey; but being obstinately ataent, we
of course turned the bull’s-eye of our mind up
on him, and had him up.
We regard to the family present, it consisted
of a wife, one or two children, one or two grow
ing up, and a couple of grown up daughters.
All these were busy, from dolls and A 11 Os to
dress-making and house-keeping. One of the
daughters sang and played delightfully; anoth
er was an artist of considerable merit for an
amateur; ami both were adepts at needle work.
They boasted of makiug up all but their best
bonnets, and all but their ball-dresses. The
mother was an excellent manager. Under her
charge the business of the house went on like
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 9, 1853.
clock-work; everything was comfortable, every
thing ag eeable. everything genteel. The boys
were at school studying hard and successfully;
one intending to be a merchant-prince, another
to sit some day on the Woolsack, and the
third to lie Archbishop of Canterbury. Indeed,
they were an exemplary family; and one day
when we met the lady in thestieet, with her
two grown-up daughters by her side, and the
younger girls walking tripping behind, all nice
ly dressed and happy-loukiug, it struck us that
there was an expression of pride as well as
pleasure in her face, and that she was inwardly
assuming to herself the merit of having made
her own position. We did not grudge her the
feeling, lor her self-satisfaction had been earn
ed; if some such inward reward did not attend
good conduct, it ai 11 be all the worse for us in
tins world.
W e had visited this happy family several
times when wo began to inquire while walking
homeward in our usual meditative mood, what
it was that held them together in so enviable a
position. Tueir labors were all foi themselves,
for their own coinfort, amusement, gentility,
advancement. They purchased nothing else
with ail this outlay of time and money. There
they were with no object but that of passing
the day, of enj wing life, of rising to some con
d.tion of still higher distinction of contentment.
How did they find this possible? By what
power were they sustained immoveable in the
shocks of social life, surrounded by all the cares
and anxieties, and compulitinns and heart-burn
ing, and tear and wear, and burry and scurry
<f the world? Here we caught with our mind's
eye the absentee and immediately suspected
that he was at the bottom of it! But it was
curious to think that ho should be the sun of
this social system —that so many individuals
should lean supinely upon one without the
slightest idea of mutual support. Yet s > it
was —and is. Society is composed throughout
almo-t it* whole consistence of such circles, each
wheeling round a centre; and that centre is
the offender We have, now up.
I liis individual, let us say. is unconscious of
his own pied caaient. He knows he has a
wife and children, a house and servants to pro
vide f..r, and he and ies provide. That is all
lie takes no merit to himself, and none is due.
In supporting tais Allan tea n burden, he only
dues wliat others do. It is the rule. And so
he bends hs shoulders, and on he goes; some
times stepping out like a giant, sometimes tot
tering, sometimes standing still to bemoan his
fortune —not in having the load to bear, but
in heiug unable to bear it well. If things <jo
smoothly —if his children are well taught, if Ins
dinner and bis daugli ers are well dressed, if
ills house is tidy and genteel why, then, if he
is a piaisewortiiy person, he thanks God and
his wife. It” things go otherwise lm giumbles
at liis lull'd late, and makes himself as disagree
able as possible, or else trundles his canister
like a stoic; bm all this t me, be it observed, in
utter unconsciousness oflii> true p siiion. He
does not think that he is trave ling in bis
round oi life, with a tail after him hke a coun t.
He docs not think about it at all.- He only
knows that the thing exists, and must be borne.
If he is able ol Ir.s own strength to bear it
handsomely, so much the better; but it not, lie
never speculates on tiie possibil ty < f deriving
comfort and support from w hat is natuially a
burden, any mure than the wife and children
imagine, that th y aiu anything else than a tail
witii nothing in tiie w orld to think of, or to do,
but to stick fast lo the body to which they
chance to be at ached and make themselves as
comfortable as possible.
And this last is the cmious part of the story;
the amiable family we have described, talked
of tiie individual we have lad hold of. with the
per.ect knowledge that lie was their centre, but
Without the faintest consciousness that there
was anything but the mechanical lie between
them. They humored him when he was in
good lnmoi; called him a dear, good, old pa
pa, gut his slippers re >dy, and drew in his chair
to the hearth, fur that male the room all the
more cheerful for th*-mse.yes; but when in bad
liuiijor, they avoided or crossed him, wonder
ing how anybody could look sulky at such a
blight fires.de, and su-peeling him to be a man
lucapaideof fceliug interest in anything but his
business, or his clerks, or his banker's book. —
Was not his wife to be pitied, after all she had
done to make him happy and respectable?—
And was not this asony return to his daugh
ters. for saving him a mint of money by making
th- ir own dresses? These excellent ladies had
nothing to do with the stability of their Centre.
The iiouse might be on lire but they were only
lodgers. 1 hey had no interest iu the offender
when lie was out of their sight. They knew
m thing of bis c osses and losses, of his disap
pointments and vexatious, of his faintness and
weariness; thi-y saw nothing but discontent on
his wriiik.ing brow, nothing but approaching
age in his whitening hair, nothing but ill humor
in his querulous voice, nothing but selri-h apa
thy in Ins spiritless eye and sinking heart.—
They loved the iiu-band and tiie father when
he was agreeable enough to be loved; but they
had no sympathy with the struggling man.
This is tiie g ound of our apology. That the
husband is a bad fellow, is only too clear, but
we would suggest that there are extenuating
circumstances. The world is a hard task-mas
ter, and lie who strives with it must submit
sometimes to the hard word and hard blow.—
Ilis brow cannot always be clear or his mind
pre-ent. He cannot always be in the mood to
feel the comtort he sees; and he will sometimes
sit down even at a bl ight tires de, with bright
faces around him, and feel as if he were in a
desert. Is sympathy, dear ladies, only for the
happy? Is not iiis business yours? Is it po
litic as well as kind to protect from feeling the
rubs of the world, that intelligent and suscepti
ble machine, to which you owe your all? In
low life in ini idle life, in high life, however
the same curious arrangement prevails lmlier
to, so far as we know, undescribed or misunder
stood.
A similarity of t-.isle is doubtless, deeirab'e,
ifon one side, unobtrusive or undemonstrative;
but what is really wanted, is sympa by with
the man —consideration for the Atlas who car
ries the househol lon his shoul-lers. We readi
ly pardon the fretful ness- of the sick; we consent
without hesitation to tread lightly by the coach
of pain, but who can tell vyhat sickness of the
heart, what torture of the head, may be indica
ted in that troubled look, that gloomy eye, that
rigid lip, that, thoughtful brow? Is it more
than womanly to bear with a harsh word—to
steal round the offender with the noisless step
to soothe him with a soft word or a loving look,
to remember that to him his family owe their
comfort and tranquility—that he is like a rock,
in the lee of which they recline in safety, while
on its bald and whitened head break the thun
der and the storm.
Yes, in his case there are extenuating circum
stances. But let him beware that he does not
plume himself upon them, instead of regarding
them as merely something that would justify a
humane judge in recommending him to mercy.
Sympathy cannot long exist unanswered; and
the action and response cannot take place but
between minds that are in a state rapport. We
will take you, sir, as your own wi n-'ss. Do
you take cate to place yourself habitua ly in
this state with your family? If you do not en
ter into their feelings, do you expect them to
enter into yours? Are you content to be de
fined as merely ‘‘the gentleman who draws
cheques?’’ Or do you teach them that you are
a little community of individuals, sifted to
gether by God and nature for mutual solace and
support, with one moral being, one interest,
one love,one liope? Do not answer in a hur
ry. Think of it, dream of it; ponder over it.
There —that will do. Stand down, sir.
Forced li!os^oms.
“No danger Harry’s making himself ill with
study; and as long as he will learn, I shall let
him. He is head in all his classes, and his
teacher tells me the boy is really a genius.—
He came yesterday for permission to commence
French lessons—but as he had a long task in
Latin, I hesitated.”
“I low old is Harry, sister?”
“Nine last month; and lor a boy of his age,
I must say he is doing uncommonly well. He
has gone through Blake’s Natural Philosophy,
and now is delighted with an abridgement of
Way land’s Moral Science. I confess Ido not
understand it all myself; hut he must, for he
repeats chapter after chapter without missing a
word. There are boys in his classes seventeen
and eighteen years old. Why wliat are you
doing, Laura?”
Her sister was busily employed, and did not
look up at first. As the conversation progress
ed, she seemed quite unconscious that she had
taken a waxen bud from a rich cluster of tube
roses, that stood in a vase upon the table be
fore her—and had forced the pure petals out
ward, until the bud became a blossom.
“Is it not beautiful,” said she, giving it to her
sister; “and out so long before the rest.”
“Yes, very beautiful just now; but how long
do you think it will stay so? It droops already,
why could you not let it be until it was devel
oped naturally?”
Her remark wasjust —beautiful as it was at
first, the petals soon became brown, then shriv
eled. Its freshness and fragrance were fast
passing away. Just then a fine little fellow
came into the room, and taking a book from
the centre-table, threw himself languidly upon
the sofa, and brushing back the wavy hair from
a full pale forehead, commenced reading very
intently.
“Why do you not go and play with your
cousins, Harry?” said his mother.
“Oli, they were so rude, so noisy I mean—
l am in a hurry to finish this, too;” and the
boy’s eyes were once more fastened upon the
page before him. His mother smiled, well
pleased at bis studiousness; but his auut looked
grave and pointed to his flushed cheek, and the
peculiar brilliance of his eye.
“He needs exercise—you should insist upon
his going out,’ - said she. “I do not wish to
alarm you needlessly, but you will find the
truth of your own words;” and she held up the
fust withering blossom. “Beautiful just now —
but how long think you, it will stay so. It
droops already; why could you not let it be
until it develops, naturally.”
“Harry,” said his mother —starting as if a
new light had Hashed upon her mind, “I in
sist that you go into the air, for half an hour at
least. You can finish your book this evening.”
She had seen the justice of her sister’s delicate
reproof; and we trust that if this little para
graph falls under the notice of parents who are
given to the “forcing system,” they also may
be warned in time. Harry is not an imagina
ry example, neither is he a solitary instance,
where the mind is suffered to develop itself at
the expense of the physical powers.
From the Child's Paper.
‘The Hardest I’art of the Verse.
Among the girls of a district school was one
named Lydia, a studious, obedient, serious
initideil eiiild. Lycha and the teacher went
down the same green lane on th**ii* way home,
and became well acquainted; Lydia lost her
baslifuluess, and used to ask the teacher of
many things which she did not quiie under
stand, especially about the Bible verses and
stories winch the teacher used to read and talk
about at the opening of the school.
The child's turn of mind interested the lady
very much, and she could not help hoping that
the Spirit of God was teaching her the way of
truth and duty. Sin* sat in school beside El-ie
Graham, a poor lame chi and, who was often ab
sent from school, and was quite backward in
her studi’-s. Lydia was very kind to Elsie, and*
used to help her about her lessons ; indeed,
Lydia was a great Iriend to the neglected chil
dren iu the school. If any one fell down, she
was sure to rail and pick them up; if any one
cried over a hard lesson, she was by her side,
trying to help her out of her perplexities. The
teacher of ett thought, if any b"dy was mindful
of the precept, ‘Wttp wiih them that weep,’ it
was Lydia.
It happened one day that Elsie Graham got
to the head of her class above Lydia. It was
tin* (i st time, and she wa< very happy. At
recess, the gills cried out,‘Elsie Gra mm has
got up to tiie headand all around
her except Lvdia, who kept her seat, with her
hand over her eyes, and her eyes on her book.
The rest of the day, the teacher saw that she
!o >ked very sober, and stayed at her desk.
When school was done, she overtook Lydia
trudging slowly home, with her dinner pail on
iter arm, and she asked the little girl if she did
not feel well.
‘Yes, ma'am, I feel very well,* answered Ly
dia.
‘I thought something seemed to be the mat
ter with you,’ said the teacher.
Tears came into her eyes; but after a Jit'le
kind talk from the teacher, Lydia said, in ra
ther a hesitating manner, ‘You see, I don’t
feel glad El-ie has got up to the head, and l
know I ought to; tor you know the verso you
lead to us, and what vou said. ‘Rejoice with
them that rejoice. Oh, that's the hardest part
of the verse,” and the child looked down, seem
ing quite ashamed.
Poor Lydia ‘ And is this true ! Are there
boys, who, provoked by the praises bestowed
upon a school fell'>w, ever meanly trv to lessen
his merits? Are little girls ever sorry if oth
ers have what they have not? Do children
ever seek to undervalue pleasing to
their brothers and si ters? Is not this break
ing the blessed Bible rule, to ‘rejoice with them
that rejoice ?’
And how is it with children of a larger
growth ? Does jealousy n**ver breed hard
thoughts against those more favored than our
eelves * Does envy never seek to disparage the
merits of a friend ? Are we not sometimes too
pleaded to hear our neighbor evil spoken of?
And is not all this breaking the blessed Bible
rule, to ‘rejoice with them that rejoice?’
Many, perhaps, feel so, without considering,
as Lydia did, how opposed such feelings are
to the temper of the gospel; and, in fact, this
brings .forcibly out the necessity and the beau
ty of the one grand regulating principle of the
gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is tore,
good will,” as the angel sung to the shep
herd. It is this principle, above all others,
which will enable us to exercise right feelings,
and make us ‘rejoice with them that rejoice,’
as well as ‘weep with them that weep.’
Coming Home.
G!ad words! The waters dash upon the
prow of the gallant vessel. She stands on the
deck and the winds woo her ringlets as she looks
anxiously for her head-lands of home. In
thought, there are warm kisses on her lips, soft
hands on her temples. Many arms press her
to a throbbing heart, and one voice sweeter
than all the rest whispers, *inv child !’ Corning
home ! Full to bursting is her heart, and she
seeks the cabin to give her joy vent in blessed
tears.
Corning home ! The best room is set apart
for liis chamber. Again and again have loving
hands folded away the curtains, and shook out
the snowy drapery. The vases are filled every
day with fivsh flowers, and every evening trem
ulous, loving voices whisper, ‘He will he here
to-morrow perhaps.’ At each meal, the table
is set with scrupulous care. The newly em
broidered slippers, the rich dressing down, tlie
study cap that he will like so well, are all pa
raded to meet his eye.
That student brother! lie could leap the
waters, and fly like a bird home. Though he
has seen all the splendor of olden time, there
is but one that fills his heart, and that spot he
will soon reach. ‘Sweet home.’
Coming home! What sees the sun-browned
sailor iu the darkling wateis ! He smiles!
There are pictures there of a blue-eyed babe
and its mother. lie knows that even now his
ynutig wile sings the sweet cradle-song :
‘For 1 know that the Angels will bring him to me.’
lie sees her watching from her cottage door;
he feels the beat of her heart in tiie pulse of
his own, when a familiar footfall touches only
the threshold of memory.
The bronzed sailor loves his home, as an ea
gle, whose wings seek oftenerthe tracks of the
air, loves best his mountain eyrie. Ilis trea
sures are there.
Coming home ! Sadly the worn Californian
folds his arms and sinks back upoh his fevered
pillow. Wliat to him is his yellow gold! Oli,
for one smile of kindred ! But that may not
be. L’gbtly they tread by his bedside, watch
the dim eye, moisten the parched bps.
A pleasant face bends over him—a rough
palm gently pushing back the moist hair, and
a familiar voice whispers, ‘Cheer up my triend,
we are in por*, you are going home.’
The tilm falls from the sick man’s eye. Home,
is it near? Can he be most there ? A thrill
sends the blood circulating through his limbs.
What! Shall he see those dear eves before the
night of darkness settles down forever! Will
his babes fold their little arms aliout him and
press their cherry lips to his? What wonder if
new vigor gathers in that manly chest? lie
feels strength in every nerve, stiengtli to reach
home—strength to bear the overwhelming joy
of meeting those dear ones.
Coining home! Tiie very words are raptu
rous. They bear import of everything sweet
and holy in the domestic life—nay, more, they
are stamped with tlie seal of leaven, for the
angels say of the dying saint, ‘lie is coining
home.’
Tho Stories.
A friend sends us the following story, which, (.hough
old, is good, and will bear repetition :
One of our packets (which we will not say) was
hailed on her downward trip to this city by an old
lady, ttoidiug near a convenient landing, who gave
the u-ual signal to round to and take a passenger. -
The boat was accordingly headed to shore, the engine
slopped, the plank was run out, and the ancient mai
den, with many signs of trepidation, tottered aboard.
Her first query was, ‘You haint none on ye seen any
thing o’ the eap’n round here, have ye ?’ Thu ‘cap’ll’
was pointed out to her. She hobbled up towards
him, gave him a deeply reverential look over the rims
of her silver-bowed spectacles, and the following dia- .
logue ensued :
‘Be you thecnp’n of this boat?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Be you gwiue down to Orleans?’
‘That is our present intention, madam.’
‘Well, eap’n,’ (producing a small bundle from un- ,
der her shawl,) ‘here’s eleving eggs, and I want you
to trade ’em off fur me in Orleans, and git me one
spool of thread, one skein of silk, ami the rest in bees
wax. And cap’ll, would ye be kind enough to wait a •
leetle minute. You see the old hen i on the nest;
now, and I want orfully to git another egg to make
up the dozen.’
This is hardly better than the following, we declare
upon affidavit to be strictly true :
All old fellow way up in ‘ Varmount’ had long been
importuned by his wife to buy a pound of white loal
sugar, just for company. He had uniformly refused
on the ground that it was sheer extravagance, and he
could not tolerate it. At length, however, he so far
relented as to consent to the measure, provided his
‘better half would scratch round and find a dozen
eggs —he having previously ascertained the precise
iate* of value between the two commodities. Out
went the good w ife, and soon returned with eleven
eggs, and the intelligence that the old hen was ‘on.’
The farmer was impatient. Dobbin stood harnessed
at the door, and he wanted to be off. So, going to the
barn, lie took a bushel basket, clapped it over the lien,
took up the nest, hen ami basket,and started for town.
It is unnecessary to state that the last egg wa* laid on
the way.
Ff.male Women. —We respect, admire, and
love a female woman. We admire her in the
beauty of her person, and her moral presence,
and her position; we respect her simple truth
fulness and innocence, and we love her as the
embodiment of the highest charms and sweet
est attributes of humanity. But a male woman,
who can bear?” We cannot read of monster
meetings in which women perform the leading
parts; of lectures on the subject ot marriage,
to promiscuous audiences, by female tongues;
and of the perambulating female spouters who
go about the country, without an involuntary
emotion of disgust. Many of these women are
mothers, who “have families of tender age at
home, and husbands who should have tender
heads. Home duties are forsaken, and the
misguided mistresses go about teaching other
people their duties. What comfortable wives
they must be! What kind and assiduous moth
ers! How they must hallow a home that is
too small to hold them! Gods of war. We
would as soon live with a hyena, or a steam
engine. Don’t come this wajt, we beg of ybn.
The Liltle Outcast.
‘Mayn’t I stay, ma'am? 11l do anything
you give me—cut wood, go after water, and do
all your errands.”
The troubled eves of the speaker were filled
with tears. It was a lad that stood at the outer
door, pleading with a kindly-looking woman
who still seemed to doubt the realty of liis good
intentions.
The cottage sat by itself on a bleak moor,
or what in Scotland would have been called
such. The time was near the niter end of
November, and a fierce wind rattled the boughs
of the two only naked trees near the house,
and lied with a shivering sound into the nar
row door way, as if seeking for warmth at the
blazing fire “within.
Now and then a snow-flake touched with its
soft chill the cheek of the listener, or whitened
the angry redness of the poor boy's benumbed
hands.
The woman was evidently lo’h to grant the
boy’s request, and the peculiar look stamj>ed
upon liis features, would have suggested to
many minds an idea of depravity far beyond
bis years.
Bui her woman's heart could not resist the
sorrow in those large, but by no means hand
some gray eyes.
‘Come in, at any rate, till the good man
comes home; there,sit down by the fire; you
look perished with cold.’
And as she drew a rude chair up to the
warmest corner, then, suspiciously glancing at
the child from the corners ot her eyes, she
continued setting the table for supper.
.Presently came the tramp oi heavy shoes;
the door swung open with a quick jerk, and
the good man piesented liimselt, wearied with
labor.
A look of intelligence passed between his
wife and himself; he, too, scanned the boy’s
face with an expression not evincing satislac
liun, but nevertheless, made him come to the
table, and then enjoyed the zest with which he
dispatched his supper.
Day atter day passed, and yet the boy beg
ged tube kept'only till to-morrow;’ so the good
couple, after due consideration, concluded that
as long us he xvas docile and worked so hearti
ly, they would retain him.
One day in the middle of winter, a peddler,
long accustomed to trade at the cotiege, made
his appearance, and disposed of liis goods
readily, as he had been waited for.
‘You have a boy out there splitting wood, I
see,’ said he. pointing to the yard.
•Yes, do you know him ?’
‘1 have seen him,’ replied the peddler, eva
sively.
‘And where? —who is he?—what is he? she
asked.
‘A jail-bird!’ and the peddler swung his
pack over his shoulder; ‘that bov.young as he
looks, 1 saw in couit; and heard bis sentence —
‘ten months;’ lie’s a hard one —you and do well
to look keeifully after him.’
Ob ! there was something so horrible in the
word jail ; the poor woman trembled as she
laid awav her purchases, nor couid she. be easy
till site called the boy in, and assured biiu that
she knew that part of his history.
Ashamed, distressed, the child hung down
his head; his cheeks seemed bursting with his
hot blood; bis lips quivered,and anguish was
painted as vividly upon his foreheau, as it the
words were branded in his flesh.
‘Well,’ he muttered, his whole frame relaxing
as if a burden of guilt or joy iiad suddenly
rolled off. ‘1 may as well go to ruin at once,
there’s no use in my trying to do better —every-
body hates and despises me —nobody cares
about me. 1 may as well go to ruin at once.’
‘Tell me,’ said the woman, who stoo.l off far
enough for flight if that should be uecessaiy—
‘Low came you to go so young to that dreadful
place ? Vv here was your mother J—w here V
‘Oh !’ exclaimed the boy with a burst ot grief
that was terrible to lie hold, ‘oh ! I haint got no
moilier—oh ! I haint had no mother ever since
I was a baby. If Id only had a mother,’ he
continued, liis anguish growing vehement, and
tiie tears gushing out from his strange looking
gray eyes,‘l wouldn’t a been found out, and
kicked and ctitfed, and laid on to with whips.
I wouldn't ’a’been saucy, and got knocked
down and then run away, and stole because 1
was hungry. Oh! I haint got no mother —I
haint got no mother—l bavu’t had no mother
since 1 was a baby.’
The strength was all gone from the poor boy,
and lie sank on his knees sobbing great, chok
ing sobs, and rubbing the but tears away with
his knuckles. And did that woman stand there
unmoved ! Did she coldly bid him pack up
and be off—the jail-bird !
No, no; she had been a mother, and though
all her chddien slept under the cold sod in the
churchyard, slid was a mother still.
She went up to that poor boy, not to hasten
him away, but lay her fingers kindly, softly on
his head—to tell him to look up, and from
henceforth find in her a mother. \es, she
even put her arm about the neck of that forsa
ken, deserted child—she poured from her mo
ther’s heart sweet, womanly words, words ot
counsel, and tenderness.
Oh ! how sweet was her sleep that night—
how soft was her pillow. Site had linked a
poor suffering heart to hers, by the most sil
ken, the strongest band of love. She had
plucked some thorns from the path of a little,
sinning but stiiving mortal. None but the
angels could witness her holy jov, and not envy.
Did the boy leave her ?
Never—he is with her still; a vigorous, man
ly promising youth. The low character of liis
countenance has given place loan open, pleas
ing expression, with depth enough to make it
an interesting study. His foster-lather is dead,
liis good foster-mother, aged and sickly, but
she knows no want. The poor outcast is her
only dependence, and nobly does he repay that
trust.
‘He that saveth a soul from death, hideth a
multitude of sins.’
Sensible Doctor. —A handsome young
widow applied to a physician to relieve her of
three distressing complaints, with xvhich she
was afflicted.
“In the first place,” said she, I have little or
no appetite. “W hat shall I take for that?”
“For that, madam, you should take air and
exercise.”
“And, Doctor, I am quite fidgety at night,
am afraid to lie alone. What shall I take for
that?”
“For that, madam, I can only recommend
that you take —a —husband 1 ,”
“Fie! Doctor. But I have the blues terribly.
What shall I take for that?”
“For that, madam, you have, besides taking
air, exercise, and a husband, to take--the
Georgia Citizen.”
When you grind your eorn, give not the flur to
the devil, and the bran to Gcxl,
Col. Jack Kays.
“Jstuiaiae scourge ot F ranee?
In liiis the Talbot so much fear'd abroad!
That with his name the mother * still their babes?
I see, report is fabulous and false:
1 thought I should hare seen some Hercules,
A Second Hector, for his grim aspect,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.”
Amid the countless multitude attracted to
Washington, from curiosity, business or pleas
ure, during the last few weeks; in the throng of
distinguished and remarkable men, of whom
undoubtedly there were many to be seen, pro
bably no loan was the object of deeper interest
than OoJ. Jack llays,the world renowned Tex
an ranger. He was indeed, the observed of all
observers. It may be safely asserted that so
man in America, since the great John Smith
exploied the primeval forests of Virginia, and
held commumon with the “noble savage” Pow
hatan, has run a career of such boldness, dar
ing and adventure. His frontier defence of the
Texan Republic, constitutes one of the most re
markable pages in the history of the American
character. For importance of results, brought
about by apparently utterly inadequate means,
his services stand pre-eminent; for daring and
endurance, for privation, suffering and hard
lighting, this soldier, with his little band of fol
lowers, stands without a parallel scarcely in the
history of warfare. It will hardly be credited
by later times that this man, with forty follow
ers, was required and did successfully defend
from the ravages of a most powerful savage
horde, an exposed and defenceless frontier coun
try of hundreds of miles in extent. That ho
accomplished still more than a simple defence
of the frontier, and, carrying the terror of his
name far across the border country, drove the
terrible Camanche to interpose, for his own safe
ty, forests and prairies, rivers and plains, between
him and the unerring revolver of his relentless
pursuer. But the story of his warfare, even,
amongst his own countrymen appears almost
fabulous, when we remember that, superadded
to the border defence against the Indians, was
also imposed upon this little band, the duty of
keeping watch upon the wily Mexican foe, of
meeting and fighting them in all numbers and
under all circumstances, whenever they crossed,
the borders—assisted only by such hardy fron
tier men as could be collected from their fields
and firesides upon an emergency. This cam
paigning was continued, and ran through a pe
riod, if we remember rightly, of nearly eight
years.
There was no well appointed commissariat to
supply this devoted little band with the ne
cessaries even which pertained to a common life
of drudgery; no marquees, no camp equipage, no
ordinance, no waggons, no grooms —none of
the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious
war-garnished the return of the daring frontier
man and his brothers in arms. Their covering
was the firmament, and their beds the earth—
the food was such game as they killed upon
their march, and as for bread they had none.
Not even the ammunition which they used was
at all times furnished by the government; they
purchased it with the skins of the wild beast*
which they killed for their food. And amid all
this were perpetually recurring desperate and
bloody conflicts with the foe. And seldom did
that grim array return from “a scout” without
an empty saddle or so told the tale of their
daring and their dangers.
The world is familiar with the services of
Col. Hays in the war with Mexico. Every body
remembers the praises bestowed upon him as
the Murat of the array by the glorious and la
mented Gen. Worth. But an opinion express
ed by that gallant officer relative to Col. Hays
is certainly calculate to mislead. Worth said
that Hays, when in front of the enemy, w as tho
tallest man in the saddle belonging to the
American army. Far otherwise is it with him,
when seen amongst a crowd of his country
men. If you expect to see “a second Hector
from liis grim aspect,” you will be disappointed
—you will only see a slender, well-proportioned,
tightly knit man, of scarcely middle size, re
markable, certainly, for the formation of his
head, and the quiet, penetrating tire of his eya
—but modest to an extent truly surprising for
any one, certainly for one who has not only seen
the Elephant, but has for a great part of his
life, lived with him.— Richmond Examiner ,
‘7 (an’!/’
\ polio! what a face! doleful as a liearse; fold
ed hands; hollow chest; whining voice; the very
picture of cowardly irresolution. Spring to your
feet, hold up your head, set your teeth together,
draw that fine form of yours up to the height
that God made it; draw along breath, and look
about you. What do you see? Why, all cre
ation taking care of number one—pushing
ahead like the car of Juggernaut, over live vic
tims. There it goes; and you can't stop it.—
Are you going to lay down and be crushed?
By all that’s manly, no! dash ahead! You’ve
as good a right to mount the triumphal car as
your neighbor. Snap your fingers at eroakers;
if you can't get round a stump, leap over it,
high and dry. Have nerves of steel, a will of
iron; never mind sideacbesor heartaches; work
away without stopping to repine, or to notice
envy or malice. Set your target in the clouds
and aim at it. If your arrow falls short of the
mark, what of that? Pick it up ar.d fire again.
If you should never reach it, you’ll shoot higher
than if you only aim at a bush. Don’t whine,
if your friends fall off. At the first stroke of
good luck, by Mammon! they’ll swarm arouud
yon like a hive of bees.
“/ cant.” Oh, pshaw! I throw my gb ves
in your face, if I am a woman! you are a dis
grace to corduroys. What! a man lack cour
age? A man want independence? A man to
be discouraged at obstacles? A man afraid to
face anything save his Maker?—Why! I’ve the
most unmitigated contempt for you! you pusil
lanimous little pussy cat! There’s nothing man
ly about you, except your whiskers.
Fanny Fsnx.
jtW An amusing colloquy came off recently
at the supper-table, on beard one of our Eastern
steamboats, between a Boston exquisite, reek
ing with hair-oil,and Cologne, who was ‘dem-
the waiters, and otherwise assuming very
consequential airs, and a raw Jonathan, who
sat by his side dressed in homespun. Turning
to his “vulgah” friend, the former pointed his
jeweled finger, and said:
“Butter, sah!”
“I see it is,” cooly replied Jonathan,
“ Butler , sah, I say!” fiercely repeated the
dandy,
“I know it—very good—a first-rate article,”
provokingly reiterated homespun.
“Butter, I tell you!” thundered the exquisite,
in still louder tones, pointing with slow unmov
ing finger, like scorn’s and scowling upon his
neighbor as if he would annihilate him.
“Well, gosh-all-Jerusalem, what qf i!? 3 now
yelled the downeaster, petting his and and riff up
in turn—“Yer didn't thiuk I took it for lard*
Tearner*
NO. 52