Newspaper Page Text
Vol. VI.
poctni.
For the Georgia Citizen.
To my Mother.
BY PAWKY RUSSKI.L.
I.
I’mjthinking of the time, mother,
T>.e time when I was young;
When I play’d around our humble cot
And some little song I sung.
SVhen I wander’d on those grand old shores
With heart all light and free,
And watch’d the ebbing of the tide,
The swelling of the sea.
11.
When you call’d me Ur your side, mother,
A prayer it was to learn ;
Oh. I was very happy then,
Knew not the cares that burn.
Hut the time is sadly changed, mother,
Though the day is bright as then ;
.Vow I’m ever listening for the voice
I can never hear again.
HI.
And yet methiuks I hear it eny,
In accents low and mild,
That we'll meet in that better land
Where all is uiidefiled.
They tell me I am sad, mother,
For the tears are in mv eves;
And I still keep thinking of the sea,
Where my poor father lies.
IV.
I’m very lonely now, mother,
Though the Bible is my guide ;*
Vo one is near to care for me,
Since my dear father died :
And in those hours of deepest gloom,
I ait and watch the wave—
Oil, I love the sounding ocean now,
Because it is his grave.
V.
And ever as the eve draws near,
•’ shrink from human gazr,
An l mv heart will wander to the rot .
” here I spent my youthful days :
And I ‘hiuk I am again, mother',
V here we sat by bis side,
J.re the tempest in its wrath came down,
And struck him in its pride.
VI.
1 know that you ate sad, mother,
A our brow is mark’d with grief—
That you are looking for th- time,
hen God will give relief:
And I trust we all shall meet again
In realms of joy above,
A\ here all are free from eartlilv pain,
And lire in endless love.
Written for the Georgia Ctt!zen.
Christmas.
BY LAURA EGGLESTON.
T'oiiy'i the onys of the angels have died on the air ;
And their forms gleam no more, o’er the atmosphere rare,
An I their wings, of the tint of the rainbow, are furled;
V’t loft is that message of peace to the world.
Oh no ! for the Birthday of Jesus is come :
And millions are singing, sweet anthems at home;
Tiic hearts of all peojde, are vocal, with praise;
And unto Jehovah, their pecans will ruise !
I:i high halls of State, and the low walks of life;
With anthems of praises, all spirits are rife;
The King on the throne, and the Cottager low;
f” nil join in the chorals the angels bestow.
The Birthday of Jesus lias dawned, once more;
And anthems are sounding, on Heaven’s high floor: m
Bright angels are winging; and Seraphims fly.
And shout, notes sublime, in the vaults of the sky.
A!!, glory to God, for the gift of llis Son !
The Prince of Salvation, the victory's won ;
1 de powers of death, anil of darkness, do yield,
Tor Jesus, has risen ; with life’s golden shield 1
Hail! hail! blest Redeemer ! to thee, doth belong,
Tiie homage of millions, the angelic throng:
And Kirth’s sinful notions, redeemed by thy love,
tiliallpraise thee, in time, and in Heaven, above!
A morning is coming, an era sublime ;
e dead shall be wakened, by God’s sounding ihime :
And all, rise in glory : in beauty arrayed;
And be as the angels, whose charms do not fade.
For the Georgia Citizeti.
An Hour with God.
BV 1. GIKELOW.
■Great Deity ! who in thy hands dost bear
The iron sceptre that poor mortals fear;
” ho, in thy wisdom great, regardest none,
And neither spares the laurel nor the crown.
0 Thou, whom all mankind in vain withstand,
Kiteh of whose life is ever in thy hand ;
o Thou, who every eye that sees the light
.Closest forever in the shades of night.
0 Thou, my Ood ! now harken to my grief,
To which thy power alone can givewelief!
Alas! J ask not to defer my fate,
But for my hapless life a shorter date.
Thou only cepiforter of minds epprest.
The .part where wearied spirits are at rest!
Ruler of Klv.iufli.O take my life,
•A willing though a worthless sacrifice !
Macon, December, 1553.
The Shaver’s Soliloquy.
To shave, or not to shave ! the question is,
VVhether ’tis better on the human phiz,
To let accununulation of our hair
Cover the chins and lips which now are bare;
Or to continue still to scrape away
The hirsute ornament from day to day—
To lather, shave, perchance to gash the face?
Ah. there’s the rub; for, in this case,
V hat mis’ry’s ours ! ’Tis this must give us pause,
And make us rather let alone our jaws,
Than by continuance in the bai*bar a ous use
Cut, scratch, and lacerate them like the deuce,
for if it actually were the case.
That Nature never meant the human face
To be so teased and tortured as it i9*—
If so, I say, why then what business
Have mortals virtually to cry out
That Nature knew not what she was about?
” hy, since the beard was evidently meant
To grow, should man be seemingly intent
On trying to prove Nature was a dunce,
And did not know her trade? Why not at once
1 luck out the eyebrows aud extract the nails,
And shave the heads of females and of males?
Strange ’tis that men should worship fashion, so
As to be willingffius to undergo
The pains of shaving, rather than permit
Moustache and beard to grow as they think fit.
How singular, that men should still delight
In torturing their faces ; when they might
Themselves their comfort, ease, and health ohtain
% vowing they will never shave again 1
Hut ‘tis the dread of ridicule and scorn
Mokes the foul fashion easy to be borne.
l ’ i’ e, tora of us all doth cowards make;
. Ai... , or th(g gava g e custonlt then, we take
. ‘ trouble and the pains our china to mow,
•H-cause iti, the fashion to do so.
th / s our will soon no more, I hope,
-ather doer with the pale suds of soap,
; OarVh m *“ iUcie once more cm all
’ chms wag merrily, in Btfee wd ha „ ,
A Weekly Family Journal,...Devoted to Literature, Politics, Domestic Economy, General Xews, and State & National Americanism.
The Closing Year.
BY GBORGK I). PRENTICC.
“ ’Tis midnight’s holy hour, and silence now
Is brooding like a gentle spirit o’er
The still and pulseless world. Hark, on the winds
The bell’s deep tones are swelling—’tis the kuell
Ot the DKPARTED TEAR. No funeral train
Is sweeping past—yet on the stream and wood
AV ith melancholy light, the moonbeams rest
Like a pale, spotless shroud—the air is stirred
As by a mourner’s sigh—and on yon cloud
Tluit Uoats so still and placidly through lleaven,
The spirit of the Seasons seems to stand ;
koung Spring, bright Summer, Autumn’s solemn form,
And Winter with his aged locks, and breathe s
In mournful cadences that come abroad
Like the fast wind harp’s wild and touching wail,
A melancholy dirge o’er the dead year ;
Gone from the earth forever.
’Tis a time
For memory and for tears. Within the deep
Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim
\V hose tones are like the wizard voice of Time,
Heard from the tomb of Ages, points its cool
And solemn finger to the beautiful
And holy visions that have passed away,
Aud left no shadow of their loveliness
On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts
The coffia-lid of Hope; and Joy, and Love,
And, bending mournfully above the pale,
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers
Over what lias passed to nothingness. The year
Has gone, and with it many a glorious thing
Os happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow—
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course
It waved its sceptre o’er the beautiful
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand
L l>on the strong man —and the haughty form
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim.
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged
The bright and joyous—and the tearful w ail
Os stricken ones is heard, where erst the suing
And reckless shout resounded. It passed o’er
The battle plain, where sword, and spfar, and shield
Flashed on the light of mid-day—aud the strength
Os serried hosts is shivered, aud the grass,
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above
The crushed and moutdering skeleton. It came
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve ;
Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air,
It heralded its millions to tl.eir home
In the dim land oT dreams.
Remorseless Time—
Fierce spirit of the glass, and scythe—what power
Can stay him hi his silent course, or melt
llis iron heart to pity ! On, still on,
He presses, and forever. The proud bird,
The candor of the Andes, that can soar
Through Heaven’s unfathomable dipth or brave
The fury of the Northern hurricane,
And bathe hi* plumage in the thunder’s home,
Fnrls his broad wing* at night fall, and sinks down
To rest upon his mountain craig—but Time
Knows not the weight of sleep and weariness.
And Night’s deep darkness has no chain to hind
His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep
O'er earth, like troubled visions o’er the breast
Os dreaming Sorrow—cities rise and sink
Like bubb'es on the water —fiery Isles
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go bavk
To their mysterious caverns—mountains rear
To Heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow
Their tall heads to the plain—new Empires rise,
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries,
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche—
Startling the nations—and the very stars
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God
Glitter a while in their eternal depth,
And like the Pleiad, loveliest of the train.
Shoot from their glorious spheres and pass away
To darkle in their trackless void—yet Time,
Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career,
Dark, stern, pitiless, and pauses not
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path,
To sit and muse, like other conquerors,
I’pou the fearful rtiip lie has wrought.
JRisffKani).
From the Wuverly Mayaiine.
The Husband’s Ruse,
BY LILLA LINWOOD,
‘My! oh, my!’ soliloqitzed Charles Seaton, ‘it
is too bad ; I never como. home but I find wife
siek and complaining; she won’t talk, read or
make any exertion for my happiness or comfort;
I am obliged to seek pleasure and enjoyment any
where bat at my own fireside; and this is onlv
the second year of our marriage. If it continues
Uni'S I wonder where it will end?—ln wishing
myself a bachelor, I expect, but let me see—ha,
ha! I have it now, and I think I will cure her.
However there is no harm in the experiment,
she is forever lying on the sofa, or sick in bed—
yet ahe is looking remarkably well for one who
eats nothing. I usually take my meals alone, as
she is too ill so come to the table, and I see she is
not coming down to tea; so when I am done I
will not go to her room this time to inquire after
her health!’
After Mr. Seaton had taken his tea, he took a
sugar and walked through the hall, puffing, with
all his might, volumes of smoke to keep his cour
age to the sticking point, and went out in search
of company to spend the evenmg with ; but feel
ing rather uncomfortable, as it was the first time
he had shown his wife so little attention, and be
ing one who was a great advocate for domestic
happiness, he concluded to return home again and
not go the club-room. He re-entered the house
silently, and seating himself in the back parlor
where he distinctly heard his wife’s voice in the
dining room. Mrs. Seaton had come down as
soon as she heard her husband leave the house so
unceremoniously, and, entering the dining room,
wrapped in a large shawl, she seated herself at
the table in an indolent, careless manner, mur
muring in a half audible tone to the maid of all
work—
‘Betty, has Mr. Seaton gone out., and without
coming to see how I was ?’
‘Faith, indade, ma’am, I don’t know, but I
should not wonder if he had.’
‘Oh, my poor head aches wretchedly, and I feel
so miserable; I don’t know what to do with my
self,’ continued Mrs, Seaton, pressing both hands
to her temples.
‘A little tea and toast will help you, ma’am;’
said the servant maid, while she dished out a
cup.
‘Well, I think I will try a little/ drawled out
Mrs. Seaton.’
A slice of toast was quickly prepared for her,
and Betty, seeing that she relished it very much,
thought she might as well tempt her appetite a
. little more by. descanting upon the delicacies that
were set before her.
‘Have a bit of chicken,’ said Betty, ‘it is very
nice, and not a bit too rich for you, and it will
give you strength/
MACON, C3r£i. JS-A.TTJ3Ft:DA.Y, iFj&JNT. 12, 1833.
‘I believe I shall take a piece/ said invalid;
‘and.you may give me a slice of tongue, some cran
berry sauce, and a warm biscuit, for they look
very tempting indeed, and my appetite seems to
have increased very rapidly. Some chicken sal
ad, and another cup of tea, Betty, and some gra
ted cheese and soda cracker.’
The servant girl began to look aghast as she
feared the table would soon be cleared, and noth
ing left for herself.
‘Well, madam, have anything else?’ gravely in
quired Betty.
‘Yes, I think I will try a preserved orange with
a slice of jolly cake. Dear me,’ she exclaimed, as
she heard the door close, “I feel very ill, and I
shall have to lie down.
She rose from the table and tottered into the
back parlor and sank, as if exhausted, upon the
sofa, as she observed her husband, who had open
ed and closed the door as if he had but just enter
ed.
‘Well, Helen/ said Mr. Seaton, ‘are you better
this evening?’
‘Oh, no Charles/ faintly she answered. Tray
come and fix this pillow under my head, and
spread the shawl over me—l don’t know what
has come over me-—the least exertion almost kills
me; T fear I shall never be well again!’
‘lndolence and a disposition to affect the inva
lid,’ thought Mr. Seaton, as he walked to the ta
ble in search of a book to'while away the hours.
While turning over the leaves to find something
to interest him, his wife’s cousin entered to spend
the evening.
‘I am so much obliged to you, tloar Kate/ said
Mr. Seaton, as lie greeted the fair girl, ‘for com
ing; I hardly know what to do with myself, Hel
en is always so ill.’
‘But how is my fair cousin, this evening?’ con
tinued Kate, while bending over the invalid.
‘I continue to grow much worse,’ she answer
ed, with her eyes-closed.
‘Her appetite has failed,’ replied Mr. Seaton,
with a mock seriousness, ‘and medical skill seems
to avail nothing. I fear she will not recover.’
A shriek, as if in pain, announced that the bait
took well. As Mrs Seaton was anxious to im
press her husband with the idea that she was of
bail, delicate health, and vas exceedingly fond of
being considered an invalid.
‘Kate,’ saitl Mr. Seaton, ‘favor us with some
music; you are such an excellent performer, and
it has been so long since I heard good music ; Hel
en never plays now, and I often wonder how she
can give it up, for she played a great deal and al
ways tried to please and fascinate me before we
were married, and I wish she would do so now!’
‘Charles, Charles!’ cried Mrs. Beaton, ‘you
know I have been too ill !*
“I beg your pardon, Helen ; you are ill so of
ten that I sometimes forget it!’
Kate, fearing a scene, immediately seated her
self at the piano, and touching the keys with ex
quisite grace, her fine voice warbled song after
song, while Mr. Seaton bent over her, seemingly
so delighted that he quite forgot the presence of
his invalid wife.—When Kate rose from the in
strument,-he whispered!—
‘Kate, you must accede to whatever I say, as I
am about to try an effectual cure for my wife’s ill
ness.’
Kate bowed her head with a mischievous smile,
and her beautiful eyes danced with the idea of
some rich sport—for Kate was a fun loving girl—
all life and animation, with a heart that delighted
ill the happiness of Others. She had an intuitive
knowledge of the cause of Mr. Seaton’s unhappi
ness.
‘My cousin sleeps/ said Kate, as she seated her
self.
ell, we will let her rest, as sleep js the only
remedy for one so ill,’ replied Mr. Seaton, draw
ing his chair near Kate, and taking her hand, he
exclaimed, ‘what a diminutive and delicately form
ed hand you have, Kate, it is even more handsome
than Helen’s ;’ and gazing upon her as if enrap
tured with her loveliness, lie continued, ‘Kate,
you are the most bewitching beauty I ever saw.
\\ hy did I not meet you before I married Hel
en ?’
‘Cease, Charles,’ exclaimed Kate, as if in anger.
‘As I live Kate, it is true—and won’t you re
main single for my sake, dear girl? as you know
Helen can’t live “much longer in her present state,
and you will be such a kind, loving wife, and use
every exertion to insure my happiness. Will you
wait for me, dear Kate ?’
‘Shame, shame, Charles, responded Kate, ‘how
can you tain so before Helen is dead; but I sup
pose I may as well promise, as I have no doubt
you are a bran ideal of perfection,’ continued Kate
with a smile of merriment.
‘Dear, noble, beautiful girl!’ exclaimed Mr. Sea
ton. In a few months ’
‘Ungrateful, inconsistent creature; dare you in
sult your wife thus?’ wildly exclaimed Helen, as
she flew between them like a young tigress; ‘and
can it be possible?’ she continued bursting into a
passion 01-tears, ‘that I have outlived your affec
tion, and you have already began to lay out plans
for one to supplant me? But I will see that you
do not get rid of me so easily. No, I will live in
spite dPyou, and frustrate your unreasonable plans.
And remember, sir, I am not always asleep when
my eyes are closed!’
‘?sor ill when you complain,’ answered her
husband, with a mischevous smile.
‘Cruel, heartless man, to care so little for my
illness,’ returned Mrs. Seaton; and turning to
Kate she exclaimed, with a frowning brow and
eyes flooded with tears, ‘foolish, misguided girl
what have you done ? But you shall pay for this'.’
‘Cease, Helen!’ cried Mr. Seaton, ‘do not get
into such a passion—you will kill yourself imme
diately : pray be calm, you are so weak from con
tinual iliness that you will injure yourself.’
‘Weak, indeed/ she continued, ‘I am not at all ;
your heartless conduct has quite restored me.’
Kate was about to explain the whole affair,
when Charles Seaton turned upon her a beseech
ing look to desist. Mrs. Seaton called a servant
boy to wait oit Kate home, as she would not jpe-r-1
mit her husband to. Poor Kate! she began to
think she had to pay rather dear for a joke ; how
ever/she concluded to let it rest until Charles saw
fit. to < xplain it to Helen. .
The cure took amazingly. Mrs. Seaton was
well enough to come down to breakfast with an
improved appetite. She pouted a little, yet that
was far more agreeable to Charles than her con
tinual complaints; and when he returned home
in the evening, she was practicing her music, aud
a work-table sat in the centre of the room, upon
which stood a lighted lamp and all the etcetera* of
a lad)- industry, together with the evening papers.
Mr. Seaton explained the farce, and whenever
her disposition to complain returned, he would
whisper lovingly in her ear:
‘Helen, dear, shall I go bring Kate to spend this
evening with us?’
‘No, no/ she answered, ‘I will be equally as
agreeable as Kate. Dear, good Kate, she spent
yesterday with me, and I owe her much for the
valuable lesson she taught me. And you my dear
Charles; if I had not changed you would have
been compelled to seek company elsewhere.’
Charles made no reply, for his risible faculties
were in full play, while lie thought hotVsuccess
he had been in the Husband’s Ruse.
A Beautiful Sentiment.
“The moon looks calmly down when man is dying
Tho earth still holds her sway;
Flowers breathe their perfume, and the winds keep
sighing;
Naught seems to pause or stay.”
Clasp the hands meekly over the still breast—
they’ve no more work to do; close the weary
eyes—they’ve no more tears to shed ; part the
damp locks—there’s no more pain to bear. Clo
sed is the year alike to loved voices, and calum
ny’s'stinging whispers. * . . •
Oh! if in that still heart you have ruthlessly
planted a thorn; if from that pleading eye you
have carelessly turned away; if your loving
glance and kindly word, and clasping hand, have
come all too late, then God forgive you! No
frown gathers on the marble brow as you gaze
no scorn curls the chiselled lip—no quick flush of
wounded feeling mounts to the blue-veined tern-
I pies.
God forgive you! for your feet, too, must shrink
apalled from death s cold river—your faltering
tongue asks, ‘Can this be death?’ Your fading
eye lingers lovingly on the sunny earth; your
clammy hand yields its last feeble flutter.
Oh, rapacious grave! yet another victim for thy
voiceless keeping! What! no words of greeting
from the household sleepers? No warm wel
come from a sister’s loving lids!—No throb of
pleasure gushing from the dear maternal bosom!
Silent all!
Oh ! if these broken lambs were never gather
ed up—if beyond death’s swelling flood there
were no.eternal shore—if for the struggling bark
there were no port of peace—if athwart that low
ering cloud sprang no bright bow of promise!
“Alas, for love, if this be all,
And nought beyond, on earth t”
How Brother Clarke Got in the Tobacco
Juice.
A few years ago, wlien Parson Bgcon, a comi
cal old gentleman from Penn Yan, N. Y., who oc
casionally warned the sinner of his doom, was so
journing in the great lumbering region of Pine
creek, in Lycoming county, he wtls invited to de
liver a discourse one evening at an old school
house. The Parson was always ready to attend
to an invitation of this kind, and as he was to
preach to the sturdy lumber men, he was doubly
anxious, and readily assented. The evening for
the engagement soon arrived, and on repairing to
the school house he found a large audience al
ready assembled.
The service was opened in the usual manner,
and the Parson was very eloquent, and dwelt for
some time upon the necessity for speedy repent
ance on the part of the sinner if he wished to en
joy salvation. Nothing unusual occurred till near
the close of the exercises, when he observed bro
ther Clark (the same man that had the adventure
with the bears in Potter county, recently) seated
near a sturdy Vermonter, clad in a red shirt, furi
ously chewing an enormous quid of tobacco, and
squirting the juice all around, until the floor was
completely flooded. Immediately on this discov
ery the idea—some.may.call it wicked—entered
his head to perpetrate a joke on brother Clark,
and lie called on him to close the meeting with
prayer, knowing very well that he would be com
pelled to kneel down in the sea of tobacco juice.
He looked around mournfully for a moment, but
there was no other alternative, and then slowly
unfolding his clean handkerchief, placed it under
his knees, and then offered up a prayer remarka
ble for its brevity. During its delivery the Parson
was quietly watching him from behind the desk
and smiling at the joke. • 1
After’the meeting was dismissed and they were
passing out, Parson Bacon sidled up to brother
Clark and .innocently observed :
‘‘lt is too bad that'these dirty fellows should
come here, and squirt their tobacco juice around
in such a vulgar manner, making it impossible for
the sisters to pass out without spoiling their
dresses/’
“Yes,” replied brother Clark, in a pitiful tone,
it is indeed ridiculous. Just look how my pocket
handkerchief ts ruined , at the same time drawing
it from his pocket, completely saturated with the
filthy fluid.
The Parson was one ahead this time and was
obliged to turn aside and enjoy a sly laugh at the
expense of brother Clark. He is more careful
where he sits in meeting now.
John of Lancaster.
Relationshiip. — A Hoosier girlstepped on board a
steamboat as site was laying at a certain town or the
Ohio river* and brawled out—“ls the captain aboard !’’
The captain who was standing among the crowd res
ponded. “Yes, what do you want with him?”
“Oli, noihing particular, he’s a distant relation of
mine, and I’d like to see him.”
“A relation of yours?” inquired he, somewhat sur
prised.
I -J o 9 a sUgllt relation - the father of my fi, m
Vou’d better believe the capmln sloped, while th„
i cl enjoyed jpeu to ih*m—-- v
* ‘ .. s content.
State Aid to Railroads.
We condense from a recent article ia the Amer
ican Railway Times the following statement of the
position of other States upon the important ques
tion of State Ai t ro railroads — a matter which
cannot fail of interest, at this time, to our own
citizens. The policy, it appears, has hitherto been
confined to the Southern Stales. Os those, Vir
ginia contributes to the construction of the fol
lowing roads as stockholders:
Alexandria, Loudon, and Hampshire; Frede
ricksburg and Gordonsville; Manassas Gap; Nor
folk and Petersburg; Orange and Alexandria;
Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac; Rich
mond and Petersburg; Richmond and Danville;
Richmond and York River; Roanoake Valley;
South Side; Virginia Central; Virginia and Ten
nessee.
It has also constructed, on its own account, the
Covington and Ohio Railroad, as a grand avenue
between the Ohio and the seaboard. The State
subscribes to the amount of ihree-fiths to the capi
tal stock of most of the roads aided by her.
The Tennessee Legislature, by an act passed in
the session of 1851-2, authorized a loan by the
State of eight thousand dollars (afterwards in
creased to ten thousand dollars) per mile, to be
applied exclusively to the ironing and equipping
the roads mentioned in said act. Under the pro
visions of this act, and the one amendatory passed
at the next session., nineteen different railroads
are entitled to the aid of the State. A bona fide
subscription, sufficient to grade them and provide
the cross tics, is required before the loan'can be
obtained; and a section of thirty miles must be
ready for the iron before the delivery of the first
installment. The bonds constitute the first mort
gage on the road, and upon failure to pay the in
terest it is sold, and the State remunerated from
the proceeds.
Louisiana. —By an act passed in 185.3, provi
sion is made for assisting internal improvement
within the State in the following manner, viz :
When a company shall have received a special
charter granting State aid, it is made the duty of
the State Treasurer to subscribe to the amount of
one-fifth of their capital; then are other provisions
and restrictions, not necessary here to be men
tioned. Several railroads in the State have availed
themselves-of the provisions of this.aet.
North Carolina —Has of late began to en
courage several works of internal improvement,
by subscription to their stock or endorsing their
bonds to a certain amount.
Delaware. —This State has recently contributed
a small sum to a road in progress in her bounds.
South Carolina. —This State lias aided to a
considerable extent the various railroads in her
limits, but not in accordance with any gene - al
plan or system. The work to which she has ex
tended the greatest amount of aid is the Blue
Ridge Railroad, now in progress, to which she
has subscribed, we believe, $2,000,000. — Atlanta
Intelligencer.
An Editor’s Likes and Dislikes.
The arrival of mails is the great event oftheed
itorial day. An editor likes a ‘fat mail,’ that i ?
plenty of letters with money in them. He is a
mercenary dog.
Ho likes to receive communications which save
him labor, such as may fill a place in his columns
without being shortened or ‘fixed up.’ He is a
lazy fellow.
His detestation of a long badly written manu
script, which may have a grain of interest lurjring
under its blots and scratches, and which therefore,
lie feels it his duty to read, has never been ex
pressed in words, and never can be. He is an
irascible person, rather.
He likes to receive a letter from a remote place :
telling him that his paper is the best in the world.
He is a modest man.
He likes (that is the young editor,) to go into a
handsome apartment in the house of ‘one of the
first families,’ and see a lovely woman sitting on a
magnificent sofa, under a resplendent astral lamp,
so deeply absorbed in the perusal of the last num
ber that she does not notice his entrance for five
minutes.—How he blushes. Forms a high opin
iou of her moral, social and intellectual worth.
He likes, when two hundred miles from home
to see a backwoodsman sitting on a stump in front
ol bis log cabin on a fine Sunday morning, lost in
the columns of his incomparable sheet—say for
example, the Enquirer! This gives him an idea
of the universality of his genius.
He likes all those exchanges which have the
discrimination to copy anything from bis columns,
particularly if the article is preceeded by some
commendatory observation. But lie abhors an
exchange which copies without credit. He has a
good mind to cease exchanging with such a fel
low. But magnanimity forbids.
He likes excessively to see an article of his in
the London Times , credited to an American pa
per.
Why couldn’t they put the credit properly ? is
what lie would like to know.
lie likes to see himself copied into John
O'Groat’s journal, Oregonian, or the Melbourne
Argus. He is making himself felt at the anti
podes! His voice has gone forth to the ends of
the earth.
He likes to be the first to announce anything.
If in his eagerness to do so, lie lias made a man
dead who is only sick, and is ignominiously cor
rected by a rival, and obliged himself to acknow
ledge the error, he don’t like it
lie likes—Oh haw he likes it! to get out the
best number he ever issued. He has this happen
very frequently.
He likes— Oh how he dislikes a typographical
error in the best phrase of the best sentence of
the best article iu the paper. Typographical er-.
rors generally occur in that very place.
One of our exchanges, hi noticing the present of a
B 'b; er cud to St contemporary, says >
‘‘He nee*B no cup., He can drink from any vessel
that contains liquor—whether the lies'* of St bottle, the
iuouth of a demijohn, the spile o 7 T U '““‘ W
of a barrel.”
Newspaper Collecting.
I have just returned from a tour through the
State, and proceed to furnish you with an account
of my labors and their success. I have been gone
for three months, and assure yon, in all sincerity
that I am fnHy satisfied. You furnished me with a
list of one hundred and seventeen owing subscri
bers, as you will recollect. I have called upon
one hundred and four of them, and have the hon
or of paying over to your order, three dollars and
twelve and a half cents, being the amount to ‘
which you are entitled. I return you the list num
bered to 1 to 117, and now give the reply of each.
No. I—ls a minister. He says, in the first
place, he never got one half of the numbers, and
in the next place, your joker’s column was too
scurrilous. , lie can’t think of aiding to sustain a
paper that advertises horse races and gander pul
lings. Besides he knows from the tone of your
editorials that you drink, and paying you would
only be the means of you ending your days in the
kennel. lie wonders at your impudence in send
ing him his bill after publishing the account of the
great prize fight.
No. 2—ls in jail for debt. He has not seen a
half dollar for a year. Says he would pav with
the utmost cheerfulness, if he only had the money,
but he had to borrow a shirt to put on last Sun
day. Admires your paper wonderfully, and hopes
you will continue sending it to him. If you send
i him any more papers, he hopes you will see that
the postage is paid.
No. 3—ls a young doctor. Says your paper is
beneath the notice of a gentleman. ‘Wouldn’t
give a for a cart load of them. Says you in
serted an article reflecting on the profession.—
Cursed your bill, and says you may collect it the j
best way you can.
No. 4—ls an old maid. Says you are always !
taking a fling at single ladies of an uncertain age j
ouldn’t pay you if she was rolling in wealth
and you hadn’t as much cash as would buv a crust
of bread. Sent all the papers back a month
ago, and says, now that she sent them back,
she don’t owe you anything. Says she is
even with you, and intends to keep so till the last j
day of her life.
No. s—ls a gambler—a sporting gentleman.— i
Says he got completely cleaned out last week at
the races. Couldn’t accommodate his grand-mo- i
tiler with a half dime if she was starving. Likes
your paper tolerably—would like it better if you
published more races, and would occasionally give
an account of a chicken-fight. Liked the descrip- i
tion of the prize fight amazingly—it redeemed a
multitude of your faults. He is after a rich young
green horn who arrived here last week. Will pay
your hill out of the pluckings.
No. 6 —ls an old drunkard. Hasn’t got any
thing, and never expects to have. Gathered up j
all the papers that he had and sold them for a half j
pint of rum to the doggery keeper to wrap groce- j
ries in. Wished you would send him a pile.—
Winked at me when I presented your bill, and
enquired if I wasn’t a distant relation of the man
that butted the bull off the bridge.
No. 7—ls a magistrate. Swore he never awed
you a cent, and told me I was a low rascal for
trying to swindle him in such a bare-faced man- j
ner. Advised me to make tracks in a little loss ]
than no time, or lie would get out a warrant against
me as a common cheat, and have me sent to pri- -
son. Took his advice.
No. B—ls a politician. Meant to have told you
a year ago to stop his paper, but forgot it. Tells
you to do so now, and thinks you are getting off
very cheaply in not losing any more by him. Be
lieves you to be a rascal, and is too honorable to
have anything to do with you, as it might compro
mise him and injure his prospects.
No. 9—Paid up like a man! The only one.—
Likes you paper first rate, means to take and pay
for it as long as you publish it or he lives 1 Asked
me to dinner, and treated me like a king. An
oasis in the desert I
No. 10—Is a merchant. Expects to break
shortly—must save all his small change. Offered
mo a pair of breeches and a cotton handkerchief
for the debt. Refused him with scorn. Threat
ened to break my head.
Nos. 11 to 117—Had no money—wouldn't pay
—said didn’t owe.
I have not succeeded a whit better with the
patrons of the other publications for which 1 am
agent. I have expended two hundred and ten
dollars, travelling, and my entile commissions
amount to eighty-two dollars and twenty-five
cents. This business don’t exactly suit me.
Please accept my resignation from your list o
agents. I admire your paper very much myself,'*
but it would be a queer looking sort of a concern
that would come up to the requirements of every
body. One wants independence in an editor—
another don’t want anything. One wants all
slang—another wouldn’t touch a journal that con
tained an irreverent line with a ten foot pole. One
sentimental, lackadaisical miss, in pantalettes,
wanted nothing but love-poetry—another never
read anything but the marriages.
All kinds of abuse I have to bear. too. I would
not mind it so much if they only cursed you and
your paper, but they curse me, too! Swindler;
rascal! blood-sucker!—these are some of the names
they think proper to bestow upon me. I tried
fighting for awhile, and threshed several of your
patrons like blazes, but occasionally I got licked
like thunder myself. Once I was put in jail for
assault and battery, and only escaped by breaking
out.
Send me a receipt for the three dollars twelve
and a half cents, and believe me, yours in des
pair-
Woman's Right to Shawls.
ATV eStern lady thus vigoriously asserts tlie exclu
sive right ot her sex to wear shawls. We advise those
for whom her diatribe is intended, not to read it, aa its
person) is not likely to minister to their vanity. Others,
however, iuay enjoy iv—so here goes.’
I want to tell you what a woman thinks of the shawl
wearing rage just now possesing so many of our mex.
i Talk of a woman wearing breeches. The truth is,
I we will soon have nothing else to wear from present
j appearances. The next innovation will be to don our
j petticoats and shifts. Now young gentlemen—imita
| lions the Beechers and other great fops—do .’t you
* lasi m(omAv4 kurse blanket?, or m th d£et*r
INTO. 30
m
old shawls of your mothers? The fools are not all dead
yet; ands believe if you were brayed iu a mortar the
dust will be fool’s powder still.
For niv part I hate these gawky hybrids;—neither
man or woman. I cannot see what God designed
them for unless to make the goekns and country gou
gers s:are at the unHirstakable evidence of a saphvad
era snob.
Throw away your shawls, young gentlemen. Hare
a little thought iu your brains and independence in your
lives, and don’t go about looking so silly, trying to be
what Nature never made you for. Your mothers need
their shawls this wintry weather. You can show your
folly in some other way than by setting a whole con
gregation to stare on the holy Sabbath day at worship,
and theieby destroying the devotional feelings of the
fidgettv old women; or by turning the eyes of all you
chance to meet during the week upon yourselves, as if
you were some great shanghai escaped from Baruuiu’a
animal show. Mary J .
Dat Old lifger Dickson.
Mr. Dickson, a colored barber in a large new Eng
land town, was shaving one of his customers, a re*•
pec table citizen, one morning, when a conversation ©c
cured between them respecting Mr. Dickson’s former
connection with a colored church in that place.
“I believe you are connected with the church in
Kim street, are you not, Mr. Dickson?” said the custo
mer.
| “No sah, not at all.”
; “What, are you not a member of the African church?”
“Not this year, sah.”
“But why did you leave their comtnpnion, Mr. Dick
•on, rs I may be permitted to ask ?”
“TV ell, I’IJ tel! you sah,”said Mr. Dickson, strapping
a concave razor on the palm of his hand; “It was just
like dis; I joined the church in good faith ; I give t.n
dollars towards de stated gospel dc fust year, and do
church people called me ‘Brudder Dickson;’ the sec
ond year iny business not so good, and I give only
five dollars, I)at year the people call nte llr. Dickson. ’
Dis razor hurt you, sah ?”
“No, the razor gges tolerably well.”
“Well, sah, the third year I berry poor; had sick
ness in my family, and didn’t gib iiuffin’ for preaching.’
Well, sah, arter dat dey called me dat old nigger Dick
son, and I left cm.”
ABSTRACT OF THE MESSAGE.
This long delayed document was sent into Con
gress yesterday, notwithstanding tlie disorgani
zation of the lower House. It was immediately
afterwards communicated to the public in th
leading cities of the country, and we present oar
readers with it this morning. It commences with
1 the remark that it has been customary for the
! President to make no communication of a public
| character to Congress until after the complete or-
I ganization of both branches but having deferred
;to this usage until the dose of the first month of
the he can no longer postpone the dis
: charge of his constitutional duty.
After an unusually brief reference to the tran
j quility, prosperity and peace enjoyed by the re
public, the message proceeds to treat of our for
eigh relations, beginning with Central America
With some foreign powers we have grave ques
tions pending, which may require the considera
tion of Congress, and of these the most important
I is that arising out of the negotiations with Great
Britain in reference to Central America.
It was the understanding of the United
’ in making the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty, that it
bound both parties to relinquish all territorial
claims or pretensions in Central America, except
i the Belize. But, since then, Great Britain lias
: colonized the Bay Islands, revived her pretensions
; on the Mosquito Coast, and annexed a large part
of Honduras to the Belize. The U. S. Minister
j' a London has been holdings correspondence with
the British Government on this subject, copies o
! which are sent to Congress with the message. By
1 this, it appears that the two governments differ
! widely and irreconcileably in the construction of
the treaty, and its effect on Central America.—
Great Britain has refused to withdraw from Cen
tral America, affirming that the treaty was pros
pective only, and did not require her to abandon
or contract any possesions held by her at the date
;of its conclusion. The United States deny that,
at the date of the treaty, Great Britain had any
j actual possessions there, but maintains that if she
bad, they were surrendered by it In its last com
| munication, the British Governments still declares
that it sees no reason why a conciliatory spirit
may not enable the two governments to overcome
1 all obstacles to a satisfactory adjustment, and the
President docs not consider an amicable solution
1 hopeless; but be adds that there is reason to ap
■ prebend that this international difficulty cannot
i long remain undetermined without involving in
j serious danger the friendly relations of the two
‘ countries.
The complications arising out of the recruiting
in the L nited States for the British army are dwelt
upon with much emphasis. Our citizens have, aa
our laws permit, continued to sell and carry for
hranee and England, arms, munitions of war, etc.,
and our ships are engaged in acting as French and
British transports for the war. All the fears of
Privateering from our ports have proved futile.
But while thus enjoying the benefit of. our laws
and poliey, Great Britain has not scrupled to in
fringe them, by enlisting men for her armies here
in our own territory, contrary to our neutrality
statute. While the legal trial of some of the par
ties was going on, with a view to their punish
ment, a correspondence was opened on the sub
ject with the British Government, which latter ad
mitted its approval and previous sanction of tho
act, bnt urged that its agents were instructed not
to violate our laws. The President does not unr
derstand that such a thing would have been pos
sible, as to enlist the men without violating
laws. Meantime, the recruiting was still contin
ued upon a regular systematic plan devised by of
ficial authority. The complicity of British officers,
civil and military, in these doings, was fully plow
ed on tbe trial of their agents, but some o£thear
are of high official position, and some of them be
yond our jurisdiction, so that legal proceedings
ooukl not reach the souroe of the mischief. As
this design waa a deliberate one, entered upon by
responsible publio functionaries, the case has been
presented to the British Government to procure
reparation for tho injury, as well as a cessation of
the wrong. The subject is still, under discus
sion.
The President again recommends that provision
be made for the adjustment, by survey, of our dis
puted boundary between the territory of Oregon
and the British Possessions, as there has been im
minent darker of a colli sicq there cq the niUecv
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