Newspaper Page Text
■yol. VI.
|octri).
For the Georgia Citizen.
Advent Hymn.
BY MBS. J. OIERLOW.
I.
We’re a little band of pilgrims,
S.eking for a better land ;
We’ve forsaken all for glory.
Guided by our Savior’s hand.
11.
Though we've oft been disappointed,
Hoping soon Ids face to see ;
Yet in accents sweet he whispers:
“As thy day, thy strength shall be 1”
111.
Truly lie is ever faithful :
All our wants have been supplied !
From his all-sufficient fulness.
The good Lord wil still provide.
IV.
Soon our trials will have ended :
We shall reach that peaceful shore,
Where no sighs with joys are blended :
We shall weep and want no more.
V.
O, how joyful to be with Him ‘.
Share His honors and His throne ;
Lean upon his faithful bosom :
Feel that He is all our own!
VI.
Then the Saints, who long have waited,
With their lamps all burning bright,
Lose their Hope in glad fruition.
As they “walk with him in white.”
VII.
And the loved ones who are sleeping
111 tke cold and silent ground,
W ■ shall meet in that glad morning,
When th’ archangel’s trump shall sound.
VIII.
Fellow-pilgrim are you weary
Os the roughness of the way ?
Does your strength begin to fail you,
Or your vigor to decay ?
IX.
Keep your garment free from blemish ;
Ever be engaged in prayer :
When the “book of life” is opened,
You will be remembersd there.
X.
“Come ye Wesscd of my father ‘. ’
Hark ! it is the Savior's voice :
“Enter through the crystal porta!*.
Having made my paths your choice.
XI.
“I’ve prepared for you a city.
Fairer, brighter than the sun ;
In my preseuce live forever —
Victory’s gained and glory won'.”
Macon, Jan. W>6.
For the Oct>rgia Citizen.
An Epistle.
TO MY FRIEND T. H. OIIVERS, M. D.
W ith chtitled head, and nut of time,
T am still resolved to scribble rhyme.
Ere now I should addressed a letter,
(Perhaps like this Tor want of better)
And begged to be indulged 1,10 reason.
You have not written this cold season ;
But since ray last a fell disease,
Foe to my mind and body’s eas“,
Has preyed upon my every hour,
Palsied each sense with baneful power;
Relaxed mv nerves in every breath,
1 suffered, and I w ished for-death.
It'you retain the least esteem,
And former friendship (grateful theme)
Is not effaced by place or time,
Permit me thus in humble rhvn
To crave your favor,—pi ay excuse
This freedom of a nerveless muse !
1 beg a line, and with regard
Remain your most respectful bard.
Miens, Jail. 1356. J GIERLOW.
* Fever and ague.
For the Georgia Citizen.
A Contemplation.
Occasioned by seeing the late destruction of Ires.
BY j. GIERLOW.
Wnr.nF, O dale?! are now your flowers, say?
Thou naked forest! where thy summer wreath T
In answer rude Boreas’ voice I hear
Discoursing on the solemn flight of joy,
On sorrow’s powor,—the world’s delight is his.
Why didst thou, wood! thy verdant crown resign,
Where morning-dew with glory clad the leaf?^
Deep zephyr-sighs in mournful tones respond!
All earthly fame is wrapt in dread suspense,
Fate envies ail the glory of the earth !
I look with grief on places now laid waste.
And yet. their sterner look makes wise my thought;
A wisdom’s open book is every spot.
Where I in vain seek for the glorious sight
The glittering show, the night-frost took away.
My prayer shall not the God of Heaven annoy
With cries and sighs for fortune’s transient wealth!
1 may obtain a wreath of better joys.
Than that which in a hapless night doth fade !
Os late, in these cold winter-days, I saw
And this dread sight I shall not soon forget—
The virgin-snow fall on the leaf-clad tree:
Its clusters held the heavy burden fast,
And thus did summer’s pride despoil the branch,
Which had its foliage loved too well; for now
The crowu bent down, and broken was the branch.
I saw it as an omen to reflect,
In brighter hours, upon the darkening sky:
How quickly, without warning, it may send
Its and trkness down, to banish light away 1
I gave this wisdom’s lesson to my heart—
To love life’s better joys, as he, who soon
The cup of sorrow may be doomed to taste ;
To know, that doubly heavy is the weight
Os grief, when unprepared it finds the heart !
I prayed to God, that graciously he would
The hitter portion from my life avert;
And yet I thank him for each peril past.
Whose sterner mien gave wisdom to my soul;
For every loss that exercised my powers,
That if I should be doomed to worst of woes,
The Savior’s prayer I may with faith repeat
In my Gethseiuaue: “Thy will be done .
Macos, Jan. 1556.
The Time to Marry.
The would-be wise this council give
‘‘Letlove’s fond passion cool!
The man who early weds will live
To think himself a fool.
The galling chain that frets his limb,
Wears deeper day by day;
Experience little teaches him
Who gives the heart its way.
He wisely weds who weddeth late
A thrifty, unimpassioned mate,”
Wien wrinkled oaks shall twining cling,
With tendrils like the vine;
When ravens, like the linnet, sing,
With melody divine ;
A hen honey drops from wither'd leaves,
And not from summer flowers;
5N heu winter brings us golden sheaves,
And suow-drift sunny hours;
” k en truth abused makes falsehood right,
Lo withering wed and find delight.
A Weekly Family Journal,...Devoted to Literature, Politics, Domestic Economy, General News, and State & National Americanism.
The trembling notes young birds awake,
Rise sweetly into tune,
As April buds expanding make
The flowery wreath of June;
So love begun iu life’s young day,
Matures with manhood’s prime—
Defies the canker of deo-av,
And stronger grows with time;
0, early quaff love’s nuptial Wine,
And all that’s best in life is thine.
From the Nashville Patriot
The Mother’s Mission.
BY L . VIRGINIA FRENCH.
A child of beauty rare
Stood on the marble threshold all alon.
Deep azure was his eye, and gold his hair,
And musical bis tone.
A slender crystal pipe he held aloft,
Through which the sunbeam sparkled bright and soft,
With rich prismatic hue,
Then lightly laughed tire boy, so young and fair,
And forth upon the summer’s morning air,
llis shining hubbies blew.’
“Mamma ! mamma !” he cries ;
His dimpled fingers hold a crimson stain,
llis shattered pipe upon the marble lies,
Like drops of summer rain ! •
With hurrying feet his mother's side he seeks,
Ttie big tears coursing down his pallid checks,
“Oh, mamma, see ! what makes
My fingers hurt ? See how the red Mood pours.
Oh ! take me up, and fold my hand in your-,
Feel, mamma, how it aches!”
The star-eyed evening wove
Her mantle of the gold and crimson cloud,
When by the river-side, and through the grove,
Ayoutli, arid maiden proud,
Came slowly straying on. Like jewel-showers
Through which in smiling April’s hopeful hour*
The amber sunlight shone,
llis passion words fell fast, he seemed to pray
That she would name the hour when he might say
“My beautiful, my own !”
Gray twilight closed. The noon
Looked wan amid her clouds as tho’ she felt
That sorrow which to mortals cotue so soon.
The youth had lowly knelt
Down by his mother’*side,his bright young head
Was pillowed ot. her bosom, and he said,
“Oli! mother to rrow wakes
Too early in my soul,—where shall it rest?
Oh! take my cast-crfheart to thy varm breast,
Feci, mother, how it aches
Out from the bras.-y sky
Upon the dusty city’s toiling mart
The noontide sun looked down with piercing eye,
And n. her secret heart
Where, goading on a host of Mammon’s slaves,
Forgetful ofliis early loves’ sweet graves,
In the wild hunt for gold,—
Forgetting God In sordid', ?rav!ng quest ;
A man iu his met dian stood ;>osresaed
Os treasuries untold.
There is an humble street
Where stands a modest cottage ; all between
Grow tall chryeantL mums and asters sweet
With shrubs of evergreen.
Here comes the bankrupt worldling now to meet
llis mother’* pitying eye : low at her ft-et
His shattered being shakes;
“All’slost, my mother —ruined now,
Oli! press your cooling hand on my burning brow,
And feel, how sad it aches ’’!
The idol of the crowd.
One stood, witli Autumn’s flush upon his soul,
Upbreakiog from his heart a thousand proud
Tumultuous throbbing? roll ;
And he has left behind him in the race
Os hot Amhition for the pride of place
The morning land of youth,
The heights of honor, manhood's noble dower,
And struggling on, still for pomp and power,
The stainless shores of Truth.
Deep in his dungeon cell,
Tiie traitor prone upon the flinty floor,
Seemed counting o’er tl.e moments as they fell.
He muttered “Nevermore
Shall morning come to cheer my fearful doom,
No little ray of hope to pierce the gloom
In which my spirit quakes :
Mother 1 forgive; hut she is dead, —thank God
She cannot feel beneath the graveyard trod,
How this wrung spirit aches?
No, no ! there’s not an hour
In which some darkened spirit doth not turn
Back (like the chalice of the sungod’s flower.)
To that o’erflowing urn,
A motiiei love, —the purest, best and first
That ever on the pilgrim's pathway burst.
Oil! happy children take
And deeply drink, for never will the gleams
Os such a fountain open cr. your dreams,
Until you sleep in death ina by the streams
Os Paradise : wake I
Forest Home, ISSC.
Rtiscdlanir.
Milly Francis, the Indian Maiden.
The story of Pocahontas is familiar to every’
American and English child who reads a book,
because of the noble deed she performed, and be
cause of the romance of her after life. But we
presume few have heard the name of Milly Francis
though she displayed the same heroism, magna
nimity and tenderness of feeling.
Her father was denominated a prophet among
the Semmoles, tut was also a chief and warrior,
and a man of great renown among his people. In
the war of 1812, hejoined the British forces, and
was conspicuous in several engagements, and a
terror to all —ho heard his name, among Ameri
cans. lie a t tue time visited England, and a Lon
don pape r sold in noticing his arrival:
‘•The double sound of a trumpet announced the
approach cf the patriot Francis, who fought so
gloriously in our cause in America. He w’as
dressed in a most splendid suit of red and gold,
and by his side he wore a tomahawk, mounted in
gold.”
These things were of course given him by Ins
English friends,as Indians were not accustomed to
dress in among themselves; and some
thing of his princely bearing and accomplished
manners may have been acquired by his associa
tion with English officers, but his noble iorm and
fine countenance he obtained from nature her
self.
He had two daughters, who are said by Ameri
can historians to have been accomplished young
ladies, who could speak English with remarkable
fluency, as could all the family, except die moibery
who began too late in life to succeed ia learning a
foreign tongue.
During the war, all who were ranged upon one
side were of course considered enemies to all who
were upon the other side, and the country was
full of soldiers and military stations, open at all
times to attack. At one time a soldier named
Duncan M. Krimner, stationed at Fort Gadsden,
near Milledgville, Ga., went forth upon a fishing
excursion and lost his way in the woods. For
Ga. SATURDAY, JAN. 26, 1836.
several days he wandered about in tho wilderness
anil at length was found by a party of Indians who
were commanded by the prophet I-rands. He
was a soldier, and by the rules of war a prisoner
and by the Indian code of warfare, doomed to die
The ordinary preparations were made and the
victim was bound to the’stake, around which fag
gots were piled that were soon to be kindled to
consume him.
But Milly, the youngest daughter of the chief,
looked on in sadness. Why she should have been
so much more grieved at such a sight now than
ever before, we do not know. It could not ho the
first time she had witnessed death at the stake, but
there had been no recent battle, and therefore
none of the excitement which would attend the
capture of prisoners of war on ordinary’ occasions,-
so pci haps it seemed to her a more cruel deed. —
Her people had received no recent injury, and he
who was to suffer was not known to have perpe
trated any’ particular act of oppression or outrage-
It might be imagined that some particular inte
re-l had been awakened in her heart toward him, ,
but after circumstance prove this not to have
been the case. A sense of justice and sympathy
for suffering alone prompted her, when the torch
was about to be lighted, to throw herself between
the prisoner and the fatal knife which was to slay
him before the fire was kindled, and declared that
she, too, would die if he were not spared.
All were astonished at so unexpected an act,
for not a word had been before spoken to betray
her intensions, and the ‘executioner paused as it
paralyzed. Seeing there was hope, she threw her
self at her father’s feet and implored his mercy.-
The chieftain looked long and intently upon
her face, which was very beautiful, and in silence
listened to the tones of her voice, which were
full of anguish, and was melted from llis fierce an
ger to yield to the passionnie -entreaties of lus
child. The victim was release ’, and while he r •
inaiued among his <, p:o:was tr at ci wot it “
utmost kinduess, anti
proofs of the noflte 1 r
at first manifested u :i
the life of a strum
A few days alteru ai'i.s, Ai . K i\ - *
sometl by a party ol Spa nun- A<u ‘--n returned
to his friends and his duties as an American see
dier.
Soon after this the American army was rein
forced, and very efficient measures taken to de
stroy the Indian and Spanish towns along the
frontier. “They mart-heel,” says the historian,
“upon St. Mark's, a feeble town with a Spanish
garrison, which surrendered without firing a gun.
Among the prisoners who thus almost passively
fell into the hands of the enemy, were the prophet
Francis and his family. The pi inciples of honor
gratitude and humanity, would prompt, us to ex
pect that these would at least be rpar. and an igno
minious death, after the magnanimity whi eh had
been shown by them. But it is uubhishingly te
corded that “Francis and another chief were hung l
without trial and ceremony.” . They had proba
bly shed much bipod, and had long rung the war
hoop through the w ilderness, and fcark’&’y bran-’
dished the war-club, but it was in self-defence. —
It might, and probably would have been bad poli
cy to permit the proud chieftains to go on free
again, chafing with a sense of the wrongs they
had experienced, and would continue to experi
ence, but it would seem to u° that some way
1 should have been devised other than to hang the
father of Milly Francis, who had saved the life of
an American soldier, and without exacting from
him ary promise as to his future course as their
j friend or enemy, and delivered him up, to return
to his post and take up arms against them.
The Indian chief was decoyed on board an
American schooner, and his eldest daughter, sup
posing it to be a British vessel, soon came near in
her light canoe, but on discovering her mistake,
quickly changed the dip of her oar and gilded away
The younger was made prisoner with her father
and it was soon known that she was the heroic
girl who had saved the life of Duncan if. Krimner.
Her beauty as well as her heroism made her the
object of attraction, and the officers denominated
her the “modern Pocahontas,’ and bestowed up
on her the most flattering attention. If she had
married an Arm Kean, and Como among her hus
band’s friends as the savior of his life, gig:, might
have become as famous in history as the Virgin
ian damsel, and her posterity have been proud to
owe their origin tc the daughter of an Indian
chief. But when the younsr soldier offered the
maiden his hand in gratitude for having saved his
.life, she refused. She did not consider this a pro
per consideration upon which to found such a
union, and she did not wish to become the wife
or daughter of a people who had murdered her
father in cold blood. She said, too, she had only
performed her duty and would have done the same
for any other. She could n®t understand the pol
icy—she only knew that she and her proud father
had been magnanimous and merciful, and that
their family were now loaded with calamity and’
disgrace. So the mother and daughter turned
mournfully away, and sought again the solitude of
the wilderness, where their names have gone out
in darkness, like so many that should, have been
preserved in brightness besides those whose only
glory was gained in then de-traction, and who
have grown rich on the soil watered by fhei r
blood,
“Printers ink.’
This is the lever of modern ptw'es* and
improvement, and the man of Im-iness win l
does not take advantage of the 100 horse pow
er it is capable of wielding, is sure to be left in
the lurch. A contemporary truly says, that “day
after day instances are cited of the beneficial aud
profitable effects of advertising. The Toledo
Blade gives the following example, which de
serves the attention aud imitation of our busi
ness men:
Some ten years since, when Detroit was very
little if any larger than Toledo, two young m-n
from the East, where the true principle of ad
vertising is better understood than at the West,
having taken a store centrally situated, they
opened with the determination of expanding
their entire profits, except rent and clerk hire,
for the first year, in advertising and printing.
They did so, expending about $1,40t), The
next year they sot apart half their profits for
the same purpose, but long before the year
expired tin* senior partner told the writer of
this article that tlu-y could not. expend as
much aw they could find noplace to put it.
Every paper in the State almost contained
their business notices, while their handbills,
circulars and cards were scatered abroad. Iu
this wav they have gone on, expending annual
ly abom/bar thousand dollars until their bus
iness has so increased that they occupy ten sale
rooms, each 100 feet in depth by 25 in width,
and give employment to one hundred cleiks.
One of tin* partners told us that their business
the past Year amounted to a trifle over a mil
lion o ral a half of dollars. leaving them a net
profit over all expenses, of fifty thousand dol
lars. •
From the Yankee Blade.
Editorial Miseries.
The editor is the most ill-starred man alive,
llis bed of roses is a high-backed chair, stuffed
with thorns. His laurel wreath is a garland of
nettles. His honors resolve them into a capital
hoax; his pleasures are heavy penalties; his pride
is the snuff of a candle; his power but volumes of.
smoke. For example: Only yesterday morning,
I had no sooner thrown myself into the high
hacked chair, than in walked a little person w ith
spectacles and a cane—an imitation gentleman ;
whom, although arrayed in new attire, I could de
tect for a vagabond and a quack by a single glance.
With a bow, which was intended! for a graceful
one, he said—
‘l presume I have the honor of addressing the
editor ?’
‘I am the editor, su;,’
‘Then, sir. I appeal to you to enlighten the
voi-hl un- n th- sebi> * -f mv •> • >• pectoral, my--
tP \ pii sy iip. It r<-
. (on : prion, c’.oup, can-
T. >M -*1 !
... 1 -i‘us, Mid is it hi r,f> ix
t: i,i- \ Ij.-m fr ad to vocalists-and public sp'-ak
ci-s. It makes the hair grow, prevents thetooth
:iobo, and removes* coins Without, the least pain.
I wish you to mention me in your paper; and al
so publish this certificate, which, I assure you, is
a voluntary thing on the part of the person by
vhom it was drawn :
‘This is to certify, that I. John Smith of the
State of Missouri, did for many years labor un
der’—
I cut him short, anu having succeeded in send
ing him about his business, T sat’ down again to
! review anew novel, v lien a fellow, about six.fee*
| high. ml< r< v a large t v hide, aml walked
| gravely up towan|| mv chair. I hastily ran over
in my memory • 1 my sativieal pieces, for 1 thought
my time had arrived.
‘Arc yo i the editor of the ?’
‘I aan, sir,’ said I, boldly.
‘Mr. U:u - de- red me to hard you this.’
‘And pray who is Mr Harris?’
‘Why, he makes fashionable canes, and wants u
lift in your paper. II says he makes the best
canes, horse-whins and cowhides in the city.’
| ‘Cowhides, fellow!’ said a strange voice, ‘what
I do’ the public want of cowhides ?*
j ‘Let me speak : I, sfr, belong,to the new sys
-1 tern. I teach oh improved principles. I not on-,
ly teach rny pupils quick and well, but I teach
them cheap. My plan is to begin at the founda
tion and ‘to proceed upwards, on such short, clear,
comprehensive, and extraordinary terms that the
natural eye and understanding are struck at tha
same moment, and study becomes an actual de
light. You sec, Mr. Editor, I’ve a natural tact.
In six lessons I teach drawing; in six more, throe
or four styles of painting, including botany ; I
perfect a boy in English grammar in twelve, and
in a fortnight he ts completely competent to write
a poem superior to Longfellow’S “llTawathaa
few more lessons, and he understands elocution,?
singing, playing on the piano, guitar, harp, flute,
and violineello; and by a few lectures I commu
nicate the art of r hirography. so that no one can
fail to write a neat, rapid, and beautiful hand.
The tyro is instructed in geography by the aid of a
machine, wherein the ocean l , seas and lakes are
represented by real water; where litt-e mountains
are erected, and continents and islands resemble
the real world. Now, sir, I have written an edi
torial article, which I wish you to print as your
own, and’
At this point of his story, I dismissed my ped
agogue, and resumed my criticism—when the ‘dev
il’ broke ill with the awful cry of‘eopv.’
‘Copy? You have enough—take the critique
on the theatres, last night.’
‘Yes, sir. but the play was changed, and we
thought you'd wish .to wait till some other lime.’
‘The deuce: and the notice of Prescott’s His
tory?’
“It’s lost, sir. We looked in all the drawers,
and it's no where to be found.’
‘And how is the State of Society?’
‘Set up, sir, and they are waiting for more.’
T was prevented relieving the devil, by a boy
who came running 1 -eathVss bite the mom.
‘Well, sir, what now ? Have yon come to an
no'ini e invDteu “ r a plan t k ep fast popp’e 1
t’-o*n tret>. <- . “i Li esi h f
‘M . Bat son t >‘d me trrgive yon this as soon as
possible. 1
‘Mr. Babsnn was one of our most valued corres
pondents: ho had written an article in which the
word, ‘communication’ occurred three times in
four lines, and. to obviate the tautology, we bad
Liken the great liberty of substituting ‘information’
in the place of one which did not at all interfere
with the sense. This note informed ns that we
had spoiled the article; he wished the press stop
ped, and the piece taken out. He would write for
us no more. It was our privilege to reject what
did not please us—but never to alter.
Before we had finished his epistle, another was
handed to U3 from a young poet. The note ran
thus: *
‘Sir—lf you refuse my poetry, which has been
pronounced bv competent judges to be apiece of
superior merit. I should like to .know why you
pubiish'fatcbf stupid trash as you do every- week
in Aour stupid paper?’
‘What shall I give the men for copy ?’ said the
devil, as soon as he again had a chance to slip in I
a word edgewise.
My friend Brown dropped in at this crisis. He
is a professional lounger, and an interminable talk- ,
er. He entered puffing a long whiff’of blue smoke
from his lips, with the air of ono who,luxuriates in
the enjoyment of the real ‘Concha,’ and a
stretched himself out on three chairs, he exclaim
ed— .
‘llow d’ye do? What an.ea-y time you editors j
have. Nothing to do but scribble a little. No
responsibilities, no tears, never offend anybody,
never get offended: who would not be an odi- ’
tor?
——
Tlie Broken Window.
A STORY FOR CTITLDIIFV.
Carrie was .spending a few -weeks at,her grand
father’s. Iler mother, and brother,- and sister, j
were there. Children always love to visit their !
grand-parents. Carrie was having a nice time; j
till one morning, iu her play, she broke a pane of
glass in the bedroom window.
‘Oh, dear!’ she exclaimed, bursting in tears, ‘it's |
grandpa’s window ! What will he say?’ i
Grandpa was away that day. He had gone to j
the city, early in the morning, and would not re
turn till night. Carrie sought her grand-mother,
and confided her trouble to her.
‘Oli, grandma!’ she said, Tve broken grand
pa’s window ! I’m sorry. Don’t tell him I did
it!’
‘How did vbu break it?’ inquired grandma, qui
etly.
‘I was running round the room,’ Carrie answer
ed, ‘an ! my fo< t sipped and T caught at the.rock
ing clmir to ke< p me from falling. The chair
Ha ted, and the back went against the window.
Don t tell grandpa, will you?’
‘Hut grandpa must know it,’ was the reply J
‘there must be a lteW pane of glass self .
‘Well don’t tell him I did it,’ urged Carrie.
. ‘What shall we tell him?* said grandma.
‘Tell him tbe chair rocked against ii,’ Carrie
answered.
‘But he will want to know what made the chair
rock.’ said grandma. i
‘Tell him one of the children did it,’ said Car- i
lie, ‘let him think it was Albert or Emma; don't
tell him T did if.’
‘But. don’t you see, my child,’ interposed Car
tie’s mother, who had Hot yet spoken, ‘don’t you
: ?<*# that this would nbt he honest ’* You do not
j ‘want to throw thy blame of breaking the window
j upon your brother or .siator, when you broke it*
i yourself, do yon?’
! ‘No,’ said Carrie, ‘but grandpa will scold at me
j if lifCknew T broke ff’
‘I don’t think 1m wiil,’ grandma remmked, ‘I
think the best way will be for you to tell him the
truth yourself, as soon as he comes home.’
Oil, 1 can't tell him T Carrie exclaimed.
‘But he will see that the window is broken,
| when he goes into the bedroom.’ said Carrie’s
mother; he will inquire how it was done, and
Iwo shall have to tell him. It will be much better
! for you to tell him yourself, before he knows any
-1 thing about it.’
Carrie saw that this was reasonable, but it was
a long time before she could make up her mind to j
do what her mother and grandmother thought
was bf'st. At Inst, after a long crying spell, and a
great many earnest endeavors to find some other
way of getting out of trie difficulty, Carrie said,
‘Well, mother, I'll tell grandpa myself, when he
comes home.’
‘That, will be the best way,’ said her mother,
smiling.
That smile encouraged Carrie wonderfully. She
wished that grandpa would come then, so that
I she might tell him at once and have it over with.
But he would not be home before sunset.. He
“ did not. come that evening ‘till after dark. Carrie
drew her little chair closer to grandma's when she
heard the carriage drive into the yard.
‘He's come,’ she whispered, and her hand trem
bled, as she laid it in grandma's lap.
‘Yes, dear,’ grandma answered, ‘and his little
grand-daughter need not be afraid to tell him the
truth.’ Grandpa went to the barn and took carp
of his horses: then he came in and sat iown in
the corner near the fire.
‘And you’re up vet, my little-girl,’ he%id kind
ly. addressintr Carrie.
The tears earne into Carrie’s eyes.
‘Tell him now, dear,’ whispered grandma.
‘Yes, grandpa,’ Carrie said, ‘I—I sat up to see
you.’
The ehild hurst into tears.
‘Why, Carrie, what’s the matter?’ inquired
grandpa, in surprise.
‘Grandpa,’ sobbed the child, ‘l've broken your
j bedroom window.’
And Carrie hid her face in crandma's lap.
‘Broken mv bedroom window!’ aid grandpa.
‘Ah. bow did you manaer to do that T
Carrie exp’ained the matter ns well as she e.rmld
for ervin?. Grandpa listened Attentively and said,
when she had eonehided :
‘I am sre-i-v yen met with with sueh an aeei
•L-nt, mv eli’ld; I tpust set anew pane of glass
there to-morrow.’
And “ran ‘pa drew a ehnir to the table, and sat
down to eat his supper. How poor Carrie s heart
was lightened.
‘Grandpa didn’t blame me a bit. lie only pit
ied me,’ she thought.
And ten minutes after she was sound asleep in
her bed.
The next morning was clear and frosty, but
Carrie was so anxious to see wuth her own eyes
the mischief she had done remedied, that grand
ma bundled her up in a warm hood and shawl and
; sent her up into the bedroom where grandpa was
■ setting a pane of glass. She came out again
i when the work was done, with spwiMtfg eyes
i aud glow mg ciiCvki,
‘Telling the truth was the best Way after all,
’ wasn’t it Carrie?’
‘Oh, much the best,’ Carrie ansv.o led. ‘I moan
I to tell the truth always.’
Leap Year—The Ladies.
1 The Editor of the Philadelphia Bulletin, who
has been the author of many goodfilings, publish
es the following at the opening of the new year.
, lie says:
Leap year has come again, when, by long es
tablished custom, ladies are privileged to ‘pop the
! qnesriofr.’ Crn=fy old bachelors go about in ter
-1 lfT, giving a wide berth to every pretty girl they
, meet, aud heaven for the invention ol‘
; hoops, which prevents the fair creatures seizing
: them vi et arrm's. Sweet little creatures, for whom
cov swains have long sighed in vain, pluck up
| courage, and by a few gentle* hints, which are no
longer milady-like, firing the modest youths to
the point. Manocoveriug mammas, thanking their
stars that leap year comes once every four years,
but secretly wishfihg also that it came every yen ,
i look for a fine harvest ot:t of Bashful lovers, and
| hurry their daughters “into society” that they
I may take.auvautage of the blessed time. Even
| papas, rubbing their hands in glee, rejoice over
i the privileges of leap year, as they calculate the!
i annual cost of their daughters and the cent per
I cent, they could make out of that money if saved.
Lucky leap year. Propitious leap year! The in
ventor of the happy custom ought to have a sta
i lue taised to him by tho ladies. Or, if the inven
tor was a woman—for we doubt our sex having
sagacity enough for sueh a splendid coup de main
—they should honor her by a leap year festival, as
“the ancients honored Ceres.
Me have always thought it cruel to our sex,
that they had to take the initiative in that terri
iMe process ‘popping theqnestion.’ It is said that
Henry the Fourth, when he carried Cuhors by
assault, was fn such, a tremor of affright, it being
, hi,s first conflict, that he tairiy dropped his battle
axe at the gate of the town. But, with all his
physical fear, he had a brave soul ; so, picking the
: weapon tip, he turned it to his troops, and cry
| ing ‘Cfthors,’ struck manfully at the solid door. At
j every strokehis knees trembled, but still cried‘Ca
j Wor,‘ to stimulate his men, still rained his blows
jon the iron ribbed auk. Many a poor fellow in
j popping the question, has had as hard a strilgg’e
to keep up his-COttrag'*. What shaking knew,
i wliftt chattering tec'h, what fluttering hearts,
what “choking in the throat, a peculiar and inde
scribable “all overiahness” seizes on the bravest,
when lie attempts, in cool blood, to pop the ques
tion to some angelic miss, who is, perhaps, secret
ly as frightened as Himself. It is only crying to
one’3 self, now or never, go it, old boy, just as
the great hero cried, ‘Cuhors, Cahoi'3,'’ that one
can must er pluck to make the assault at all. Bless
ed, therefore beyond all other mundane blessings,
are pic-nics, moon-light rambles, and especially j
cozy sleigh rides, for somehow, or such occasions,
the question often pops itself. Yes, out it comes, ;
like a champagne cork, that cannot stand it ay
louger. He is a lucky dog begets kito this high
pressure condition. Ham, or beef, or even pud
ding, may be taken cold, but popping the ques
tion never. We would as liefjun p into the Del
aware, when ice was making, as pop the question
in set form and by deliberate urpose. T
whole thing is monstrous. The women, wh
have twice the tact of our sex. ought to do thi
: business for us. They’ll do it, we hope, this lea;
j year. If we were a bachelor, it would make our
very mouth water to think of sitting tip in state j
and have lots of pretty girls popping the question ,
to us. Ah, the “good time is coming.”
Don’t be prudish ladies, we beseech you, anj
longer. Matrimony is the best condition for us
brutes of men, as well as for yourcharming selves;
and you will really be doing a service by seizing
all stray bachelors of this leap year, and impound
ing them in matrimony. Someold rogue once said
that marriage was like those wire rat-traps, where
a hollow cone, the big end out, invites the victim
to enter, by the smell and sight of toasted cheese
within ; but where, when he attempts to leave,
the sharp wires of the little end of the cone hint
pointedly at the impossibility. The story is a
wicked libel on matrimony, ladies, which is not a
rat trap, any more than you are toasted cheese.
The tnan who don’t knew that matrimony is
good for him, is so far forth demented, and the
sooner he is put put into the husband’s straight
jacket the better for him. You have a prescrip
tive right to civilize our rougher natures. Frank
lin aptly said that the sexes were halves of a pair
of scissors, and neither was good for much with
out the other. Children don’t know what is good
for them, neither do we men always. So as leap
year is here, make an onslaught, one and all, on
the bachelors, and let it be as fierce as as a farm
wife makes on her poultry at Christmas. It’s the
destiny of turkeys to be eaten, and of men to
marry the girls. Forward march ! 0
Alexander Hamilton was only twenty years
of age when he was appointed a Lieutenant
Colonel in. the Army of the revolution, and Aid
de-Canap to Wushingtou.—At twenty-five In
was a member ot the coutineutai Congress; at
tbit tv he was one ot the ablest members of the
Convention which framed lh© Constitution of
tile United States. At thirty-two he was Sec
ertarv, and organized that branch of the Gov
ernment oii so complete and comprehensive a
plan, that no great ehangft or improvement has
since been made upon it.
The Wife. — That wife merits not a husband’s
generous love who will uot greet him wiri
smiles as he returns from the labors of the cbn
—who will not try to chain him to Ids home 1
the sweet enchantment of a cheerful liea
There is not one in a thousand that t.- s< u
feeling as to withstand such influence hu<l bieak
away from such a home.
Truk.—Pietise out this out aud paste it up.
A sensible man says: ‘Mv confidence in the pow
er of advertising is such that if engaged iu the
wood trade, I would advertise the superiority of
wy lj|Milm a wood over that of any other, Ii i
3XTo. 41.
you have an article to sell, let the people know
it and you will find a customer.
From ttie Amerlcau Democrat.
Description of “Sam.”
The following eloquent and beautiful descrip
tion of Sam was given by the Rev. Geo. W. Mitch
ell, of Washington city, in an argumentative and
most able speech, which lie recently delivered at
Jtoekville, Md. At a point when the minds of his
audience were stirred by the power of argument
and force of truth, he spoke as follows :
EXTRACT.
And now*, hi this our day of alarm and danger
where should we turn our eyes for help, but to
the patriotic sons of American soil! And if we
have any respect for things sacred, any regard for 1 .
the dearest treasures on earth, any pride of na
tionality. any love cf country, any of the burning
faith of our American fathers, and would not be
despised by the world, let us have a reform—
deep, thorough , national and complete. And, thanks
be to Him who rules the destinies of nations, al
ready the howl of the tempest which threatened
to drive from its moorings the sacred ark of our
common safety, and endanger the gallant ship a
niid ti e furv of contending elements, has greatly
subsided, and over the platform of principles laid
down by the Americans we see in the distance
once more the star ofhope flashing upon our view.
And this new American light; notv coursing its
way across the bright heavens, attracting riig ga*e
of millions of freemen, is destined, we sincerely
and religioirsl/believe, under the kind providence
of God, to conduct our country through all her
dangers to final deliverance and re-
That noble and mysterious personage Sain,
with sound head and a pure heart coming up from
the first of the Revolution, sliakinghis hoary locks
of wisdom, and cleaving'to the doctrine of our
fathers, is seated upon his war horse, and with
sword in hand, is flying over the plains of tLis
new world, bearing down all opposition, with a
purpose as firm as the eternal granite that sup
ports the earth, ‘that Americans shall rule Amer
ica.” But who is Sam?
Sam sir, is the embodiment ofliberjy. He has
the soul of a lion, and carries the American Re
public in that sotil. When he speaks he is heard,
possessing great iogic, set on fire by the elements
and torch of freedom. His words burn the A
meriean demagogue, and lash the black heart of
political corruption, like the sting of an adder.—
He has wounded both* the old parties, and left an
eating ulcer hi the wound that breeds* death, but
lie lias established another, a national and Amer
ican party, that will live forever. Ordinarily his
min 1-glides along in limpid and glowing abun
dance, throwing up from the clear sparkling cur
rent ot his unadulterated patriotism, an imago
far mere lovely than a sleeping Yenus; T mean
bams own bride, the smiling goddess of Ameri
can liberty. .
Demosthenes, when thundering his patriotism#
over the land of his birth, under the encroach
ments of a foreign and merciless usurper, mtfle
Philip ol Macodon quake to the very centre of his
iron heart; but Sam, with an impetuosity yet un
equalled, has swept over our land, taken captive
the popular unud, and thrilled the beating heart
of the greatest nation on earth.
Now all master minds, you know, arc discip
lined in storms. Sam was born in a revolution
ary earthquake, on the fourth day of July, 177 G
—born in a ballot-box, swaddled in magnet charter,
i placed in toe craihe of liberty, and opened his eyes
j first ;n Faneuil Hall. But, unlike other beings,
| he soon burst the bands of infancy', and stepped
; right out upon this rew world, and with hands
upraised, openly and most solemnly swore that he
would die if his countrymen could not live free
men. And, in tins consecration, pledged his life,
his fortune, and his sacred honor. And, as the
i storm thickened and the awful crisis arrived, this
brave youth, ri.-iing in the full majesty, of his
itrength, and straightening his manly form, buck
led on Ins armor, and bared his own bosom to the
fiercest blows and scars of thunder. And rush
ing on with flushed cheeks, and a throbbing heart,
he snuffed the hot breath of battle, and rushed in
to the deadliest conflict; and, amid this scene of
blood and carnage, snatched our stripes and stars,
and waving them aloft, raised his clarion voice and
led on his noble band of patriots from victory to
conquest and conquest to vict. ry. He was the
great moviug spirit of the Revolution—the men
tal gladiator who guided in the councils of our
hoary headed sages on their blood-shod march to ’
glorious victory. Aud with his own hands, in
scribed oh the banners unfurled from every rock
and wild ravine in letters of lire, ‘'resistance to
tyrants ii obedience to God.”
He was tue c-ousiant and daily companion of
the venerated Washington, born of the same mo
ther—nursed at the same breast, two beams from
the same sun, two thunder bolts, twin-born, de
signed by order of heaven to break the iron arm
of Britaiu and set the American continent free.—
It was here, then, that Sam had his early educa
tion, in open field and hard fight against tyranny,
and amid the clash of steel and roar of cannon, the
grouns of the dying, and mangled bodies of the
slain, he learned the price and full value of liberty.
Aud now finding tins liberty openly and daring
ly assailed, his country put up to the highest bid
der, and the office of Chief Magistrate of the na
tion dragged into market and there prostituted to
the vilest purposes, placed under the influence and
controlling power of a Catholic Bishop, his indig
nation lias been thoroughly aroused, and bis soul
all on fire for the rights ol’ the American people,
>. has resolved upon a reform.
*• nnre principles that now fall burning
f.vm ii,- iip* and his deep toned voice make up,
upon the whole, the most overwhelming appeal
that has ever fallen npen the ear of this nation;
spontaneous and prolific— clothed with power
strong in reasoning—stern in education grand
in outline —rich and national in tone, it has gone
out like the stirring strains of music, and aroused
the people of every town, every city, and every
hamlet throughout this wide-spread douulry—ii