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A mill NEWSPAPER,--BEfOTED TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, POLITICS & GENERAL INTELLIGENCE. lor, in. I XKiniS OF THE CITIZEN. Dollars, per annum, in ad r ‘j3F* Two Dollars and fifty ■ice. or Kts if not so paid. R'-irV-ish Advertising and Job cus- I allowed a discount of 10 per cent subscriptions received unless R* pmed with the cash or a respon- Be reference. . KU- Postage must be pre-paid. ■ * 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