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\roL.
mm ifi ms pi;
BROWN’ SjsJ HOTEL,
ftpi<*site tlir Passenger Depot,
H % m 9 - •
E. K. BROWN, Proprietor,
R. V. DF'NSF;, Saperuilfwlcut.
■rjP” Jleils ready on the arrival of every Train.
iprlf* —ts
L. H. WHITTLE.
ATTORNEY at law,
MACON, GA.
amoved his Office next to Concert Hall and over
tin .Store of Mix & Hiktland.
jaol—l. v . .. - * /*• ■ r
HUNTER & ELLIS.
ATTORNEYS at law,
MACON, GA.
a v euii-.r.v St. opposite thk Georgia Truckapu
Otkiop.
%'S practice in Bibb, Monroe, Crawford. Twiggs, Hous
t, u, Ma’ “0. Dooly and Worth counties.
‘#*T be found in their Office at all hour?._3g3
j.tnti—iy- , , • ]•
LANIER & ANDERSON,
attorneys at law,
mißOl Vl Y LAM) AM) PE\SIO\ AGEYTS !
MACON, GA.
Bemdi; th - regular business of their Profession they
ivc for years past been engaged in prosecuting claims
1* uaty Land and Pension, in favor of soldiers, their
and minor children. :
fhey have also obtained the correct forms and the
rt t f ur obtaining Bounties under the Act of Congress
fetrft—tf ’ ] ‘
L.AW CAR.3D,
* p. 57C8E5, 3. HILL t F- TRACT.
STIBBS, HILL & TRACT',
attorneys at law,
MACON, GA. !
IVill practice in the Superior Courts of Bibb, Craw
, Twigtrs. Marion, Monroe, Dooly, Houston, Jones,
.gee, Talbot, M uon, Taylor, Epson, Sumter, Lee,
,i Dougherty ; and al-o in ttie Circuit Courts of the
:. -*i States, at Marietta and Savannah,
mar*;—tf - ,~U \
lIJHINSTOS TOF K. C. ORIRR.
POE & GRIER,
ATTORNEYS at law,
Office over the Merchant's Hank,
MACON, GA. i
angt—tf
DR C. J ROOSEVELT,
HOMEOPATHIC PHYSICIAN,
OFEICE AND RESIDENCE
(rser of Walnut and Third Streets Martin. t.a.
LAMER m HOUSE,
MACON, MM* 1 ! GF.O.
THE undersigned having Leased the above estabiish
ut. begs to assure the travelling public, that no eger
w.ll be spared to sustain the established reputation
oftksHous . LOGAN A UK AKA, j
jans—tf Proprietors.
REDDING jg[ HOUSE,
MACON, GEORGIA.
H. P. REDDING, Proprietor.
aog2s—tf
I>r. A. Tye,
MACON, GA.
i rrmoved to Rooms on 3d Street, between Dr.
•>i.ecker’s Drug Store and Judge Tracy’s Law Office.
- - . ‘ ■ J’
Dr. E. Fitzgerald
Sens-; permanently located in MACON, will attend
punctually all calls left at his Office,
TEXT DOOR TO FREEMAN X ROBERTS’,
Or at Fitzuerald Sc Nottingham's Drug Store.
oms over ALLEN i DUNLAP’S Store.
marSMf r . _ ; j
Dr. R. H, Nisbet.
CITY PHYSICIAN,
‘See on Cherry Street, above Freeman & Roberts’.
n..Arts—tf
A. L. Clinkscales, M. D.,
HiUSG permanently located in Macon, begs leave
his services in the practice of ii ine.
Ur 6ery atul obstetrics* to the citizens of the
-irrounding country. Having availed him
.ll the Uvant igtsof one of the best schools in the
latr y, as well as those furnished by an extensive
* e, he hopes, to be able to merit your confidence
patronage. . .’
:,e claims to be a thorough Reformer in Medi-
, Jt only such as are safe, he will avail himself r
- suvantages of the concentration of Heir pow
s* to secure potency of action and eouvenieuc’
•^imistration.
“.U1 you that are afflicted with Cancers, Fistc- .
lLCth<uf any kind, or Venereal diseases, if you
iJ. ‘!' uin vure, give him a call. J£lf
*® ‘ See at Botanic Drug Store, No. 14, Cotton Av
>‘l'l rciidence on the corner of Public Square.
’ a the (n.i Works, where he ean at all times be
engaged.
iU)i j, D< c B !iOTT , s6UA j (( M . and,
FITZGERALD & NOTTINGHAM,
*HoLE?AiE and ret vil dealerr in
MEDICINES,
’HMRALS, I)YE-STIFFS.
FFBG.MF.RY, FANCY ARTICLES, j
SHOP FURNITURE*
Paints,
GiU, VarniNhem
(j t l,ltt ' ! > , Ware,Durden Seeds,
a 1 Instruments Ac. Ac.
i. w. oarT J
CAMPBELL & GAUT,
. GENERAL
PRODUCE agents,
FOB THF ‘ |
PUR CHASE. sale, and shipment
s OF ALL At SI'S OF
US T TENNESSEE PRODUCE.
Bacon, Lard, Butter, Flour, Wheat. Corn,
Oats, Fruit, etc. etc.
KYOXVILI.E, tenn.
*r-r u, -~At the River.) ‘ ...
■ : s ~!y_ I
j C '*HART. AARON A. ROFF.
CARHART & ROFF,
w HDLESALE GROCERS.
DEALERS IN
. N Ugf SIX. IBS,
„ GROCERIES
DESCRIPTION. j
tr Macon, Ga.
JOHN CLEGHORN,
DEALER IN
[ HARNESS,LEATHER,
xil V Rl BBER BELTING,
Q Saddlery Hardware,
, ~ Etc. Etc.
nd of the late Wm. T. MIX & CO. Cotton
4r£T’° a -
■‘uperior Goshen Butter just received
f or sale by
fetU-H CIUBBLEFIELD 4 COURaON.
From the Ro*tvn Daily Courier.
Hililfb nim! Sharpe’s Kill***.
[Tlie poet copies the closing proceeding? of the Kan
sas rifle meeting in New Haven, and thus comments up
on the same.—ftk.]
Should you ask us whence this story—
Tills discreditable story,
This sad tale of do aright folly,
M itlt a shade of drunken madness,
With the odor of saltpetre,
With the murderous crack of rifles,
With the reckless epoch of outlaws.
And the ribald slang of grog shops,
W ith tire wild talk of great ninnies,
With their silly repetitions,
And accumulating nonsense,
And folly answering folly,
As, of thorns beneath the kettle,
The unmeaning, senseless crackle ?
We should answer we should tell you,
From the city of New Haven,
Front the Blue-law State’s chief city,
From the North Church of New Haven,
From tlie land of wise old Trumbull,
And that trump, Dwight reverend doctor,
Where are stiflest steeples looming
Through sweet Heaven’s peaceful sunshine,
Where the sanctuary’s droppings
Ought to fail like angel’s whispers.
Where their orthodoxy ancient
Once had common sense and reason,
And where, if their mind? were narrow.
Still they minded their own business;
On the shortest road to Heaven,
Then their eyes looked straight before them;
Oa tlie rigid was no defection,
Nor yet falling away leftward.
And their hearts, still stout and manly.
Felt some love of common country,
And where’er Hfr flag was streaming.
Os its starry constellation
.%nne Connecticut, not dimmest
In the storm, or in the battle.
Should you ask who tells this story,
This extraordinary story,
Ask who gircs this wild narration?
We should answer we should tell yon.
In the New York Times we find it }
it has spread from town to village.
It has stirred up indignation.
It has wakened honest sorrow,
It lias called unwonted blushes
Os deep shame to manly fares,
For the church’s desecration.
For the Christian name perverted,
For the scandal and the outrage,
For the neer of the world’s people,
For the jeers of all outsiders,
For the holy name of FVeedom
Made a mockery and by-word,
F'or a cause more holy, wounded
In its friends’ own house—the Gospel.
Made tlie banner cry of discord—
Peace on earth” Its once sweet message.
Now turned Into “ffet Sharpe’s Rifles •”
What a spectacle for angels!
What a spectacle for devils !
If still further you should ask us,
Saying, \\ ho lias done this mischief 1”
Tell us of tills ruffian preaeliTr,
And this Silliinan, upstirring
Civil rage and wild dissension—
Me shall answer your inquiries,
Straightway in such words as follows:
In the outskirts of Manhattan
Lurks this play house preacher, Dt rrAer,
And much rahbiement's deluded
By his helter-skelter ravings;
Hut most decent Christian people
Do a wide berth give him ;
And the Sillimun , once noted
For a person scientific,
As his head and beard grew grayer,
Must have grown himself imbecile ;
But the church’! pastor, Dutton.
And his Horeey /fall, its deacon,
And that fighting Mistress, I\ir4ee k
And the “significant” KiUam,
By our troth, we know not of them,
But a very jumbled notion
Must they have of Christian doctrine,
And of man’s subiimer spirit,
And of woman's softer graces.
Os the uses of their Bibies,
Ofthelawand of tlieir duties,
And of ail that boys in college
From their elders should be learning.
Should you still persist In ki: owing
Something more of our opinion,
M’e should make a sweeping answer,
Which we hope may prove sufficient—
That cacti Sophomore, or Freshman,
Who refused to give the rifles,
Might have told them—for such conduct.
For their wild, half craxy speeches.
F’or their braggadocio bluster,
F’or their mischievous intentions,
And tlieir actions corrcs|>oudent —
Any F’reshman might have told them,
They deserved a Jeddart Jury,
To be hung as high as Hainan,
High as Haman. tlie Agagite,
Tied around their necks “the Bibles,”
Dangling from their heels “the rifles”—
They would their desertshave gotten,
And the world have been no loser.
-2X4 a ”ff
(Jfl KiTfllnmi,
(y* I
AN ORIGINAL STORY.
F’or the Georgia Citigen.
‘Mm* llrokrti Heart.
Til one of those moments when thought 1
wings itself back to the days gone by, I had
gathered around me the little mementos of
the past, which friendship nad cherished I
and preserved, and with those golden links
wa3 lengthening out the chain of recollection.
Tii ere were fragments of mutilated toys and
defaced picture books, the treasures of mv ear
ly childhood; travels, romances, trinkets and
many oilier little things of more or less value,
dear to me because that friendship had hal
lowed the offerings.
I was poring over the packages of an old
favorite, which had long since been supplant
ed by new ones and they in tlieir turn by
otlier-t, when a little rose-bud, once of snowy
whiteness, fell upon my lap. Attached to it
was a piece of pa} >er with the words inscribed
in a familiar hand, “remember Annie/’
I cannot toll the indescribable emotions
I which swept over my sonl, as my eye rested
I on that parting gift of the dearest friend of
jmy scliool-days. I had often since then re
j ocived fragrant flowers and geranium leaves
enclosed iu letters from her, buttliis oue was
associated with so many memories, that as I
gazed on its cruslied and withered form, it
seemed to bring her before iny eye as she
looked on that lovely summer eve, when she
pressed my hand for tlie last time in silence
and sadnesss, printed a fervent kiss upon
my brow*—once, twice repeated, and draw’-
mg her verl over her lace to hide her emo
i tiens. took her seat in the crowded cars,
which were bearing so many light hearts to
! their homes, to watering places and other
I fashionable resorts of the hot season.
T remembered, how 1 had turned to my
home, mv heart swelling m ith the first great
griet which I had known since in tlie old
Chapel h;d! 1 had looked on the loved faces of
’ teachers and school-mates in t/mt endeared
?pot for the List time. Some, I Mould meet
again: others, I might never on earth. What
a leeling of isolation crept over me, what a
vacuum seemed yawning around me at every
step! Annie, dear Annie was gone!
i j reached my home, and in this little room
i where I now sit among the smiling sunbeams,
|K>invd out the bitterness of my youthful sor
| row—alone.
Again, as [ gazed on that faded floweret,
came hack in memory, another greater and
! more lasting sorrow; lor Annie iu her beau
ty and innocence was forever gone. .She had
tailed like the freshness of that withered flow
er, and o’er her sail ami early grave the vio
! lets drooped tlieir young heads in grief.
W ith these sad recollections absorbing my
soul, 1 wrote her heart-history, as it lies be
i lore me now.
On a beautiful Island seen in the blue haze
1 of distance from the shores of one ol our
Southern States, dwelt Annie. Her lather, a
wealthy planter, was sole possessor ol tins lai
rv region, and hail spared no pains to make
j his Eden, torso lie called it. indeed a paradise,
i Rare flowers tilled the air with their delicious
fragrance, tropical trees end fruits grew in
rich profusion, and cool tountains played a
midst tin- perronnial verdure. Elegance and
! taste everywhere combined to heighten the
i charm!* which Nature had so lavishly scatter
. ed around.
The latherof Annie hadhisgentle Eve, who
i trained the young vim ? and tended the ever- i
j blooming flowers, as a careful mother watch
es over her children; and whose radiant
smiles constituted his Edens chief bliss; hut
’ the darling of her parents and the fuiiwst ob
ject in all that sunny isle, Mas Annie. As
j merry as the birds which M arbled around
her from morn to eve, no step mas so light, i
i no eye so bright, tio voice trilled half so musi- j
(-•ally its notes ol innocence and joy.
To have seen her airy, sylph-like form llit
; ting among the orange lenvers. you would
have imagined her some sylvan nymph, the
j -pint of the isle.
Surrounded by the beautiful from infancy, !
her soul became a reflection of the beauty
and purity without Then- was little of sin
or unhappiness to mar that almost perfect j
image of Heaven's creation —so nearly per
i tect. that I have often thought in wisdom aud ;
lm rey slie was called away to her heavenly
home, ere long acquaintance with tlie world
1 should have tarnished or destroyed the beau- 1
; til’ul pencilling.-? of her soul. Educated eutire
j ly by her parents until she had attained her 1
j fifteenth year, each dawning faculty hail beat
1 Matched by them with the tenderest eaae, ■
ami in the sunshine of their loving and en
; couragmg smiles, her mind had gradually un
, folded in strength and beauty.
Though decidedly social in her disposition, 1
her chief delight was to wander alone along
the sea-beach in search of shells, and often
times she Mould sit lor whole hours gazing \
1 upon the mighty expanse of waters before her
and watching its dashing spray.
Once, as she sat there in the sunny spring
time, a neglected book lying by her side, a
a garland of M ild flowers encircling her briny, j
ami her fair dimpled cheek resting upon her
; hand in [tensive thought, there came a M’an
! deter to her sea-girt isle. She had not heard
the noise of ours, lor tlie lioat which brought
him had floated calmly to its place of moor
age some distance above; nor did the sound
| of approaching footsteps attract her attention. ;
i She hail arisen to return to her
raising her eyes they M’cre met by such a lix- 1
ed look of silent admiration, assent thecrim
: son blushes to her face and caused the long
; lashes which shaded her eyes to droop still
lower on her velvet cheeks. The stranger
; stepped back and she glided past him to her !
|
j home.
lie Matched her retreating form until it
was wholly hidden from his view; and when
at last he reluctantly retraced his footsteps to
his pleasure boat, it was with the determina
tion of returning again, m the hope of behold
ing once more the lair vision on whom for a
lew blissful moments he had been permitted
to gaze. Often be did return and rambled
wearily along the golden sands of her thiry
isle inquest of her; but she came not to the
spot which she had before frequented, lest she
should again mint a stranger from whose
gaze she timidly shrunk. Coy as the dove,
that which iu many is accounted awkardness
or reserve but served to heighten her charms;
tor a retiring beauty is always more pleasing
than oue who displays a consciousness of lier
attractions and exults in tlieir poM’er.
It was a short time after lier rencounter
with the young strangtr, that Annie accom
panied her parents to one of our Southern ci
ties, on a visit to some relatives, by whose
jiersuasious they were induced to let lier re
main and finish her education at a Seminary
-of high standing in that place.
It was then and there that I first met An
nie.
Attracted to each other from the first, we
; soon became fast friends aud our love for each
other never changed. I cannot forget the in
; nocent simplicity of her loving and (on all but
i one subject) confiding heart; the perpetual
sunshine which shone in her face, nor the
bird-like music of her ringing laugh. They
■ come back to me now in memory, like a
dream of yesternight, and haunt my heart
* in all its waking thoughts. Annie, dear, dear
l Annie!
After her return from her last vacation spent
MACO3V. OA. MAY XO, 1856.
M'ith her parents in their sun-blight isle, 1 no
ticed a change had come over her. She did
not speak of its cause; but whenever rallied
by her friends upon her sadness, or whenev
er she caught tlieir gaze of sympathy and
anxious enquiry, it caused her such embar
rassment mid pain, that I carefully a voided
i exhibiting any suspicions ol’ her grief.
At first and for sometime its elfi-ets were
gradual; and though she grew [ttder and sad
| der day by day, there Mas still a struggle at
her o and elieerfi 1 less. We often rambled in
the wood* for M ild flowers, and wopld sit for
; hours by a beautiful stream M inch M'as her
favorite resort, as it Mas almost the only
I thing which reminded her of home.
-
Annie was ambitions, yet she studied more
; tor the love of knowledge and for the pleasure !
| which it gave those dearest to her to have
her excel, than from any sellish motive. Slit
stood among the lirst of her class.
Time glided rapidly away. It Mas the
last year we should spend at school—the
! last ! and we wove together old memories,
and talked of happy hours which were gone,
and ol happier ones yet to come,- —all but An
nie. .She would smile her sweet sad smile
and say slie was no dreamer. I could guess
: why; could read in her wasted thoughtful
t lace, more etherial and lovelier than ever, a
story of untold sullering.
Sometimes the hectic glow of excitement
would mantle on her hided cheek, and for a
few’ moments the old smile would return, tin
ringing laugh sound in my ears; but its tones
were like startling echoes, unnatural and wild;
and the deeper silence which lidlowed, and
the marble stillness and palor which would
afterwards settle on her brow, told of the void
within which nought could till; of the heart
soitow m liicli no pleasures could dissipate or I
buy even lbr a short time in the oblivion of
forgetfulness.
Tims passed the springtime of her life away;
the * sweet period of her dawning womanhood.
I knew when at the close ol our scliool-days,
I Untie a last sad adieu, that she was bloom
ing for the skies and would be gathered an
early flower to the celestial gardens of Para
dise; yet 1 dreamed not that so soon life
Mould exhale its last sweetness, and the ten
der drooping form pass forever silently away.
Dreamed it not; for she never wrote of her
declining health, ami seemed more cheerful
after her return to her quiet peaceful home,
than she hail been for a long time. Her let
ters, however, caiue less frequently, and seem
ed written with a feeble, trembling hand.—
The last one was unfinished, and her mother
had added a postscript containing a pressing
invitation to come without delay and make
them a visit. I did so. The mellow light of
an autumnal sun trembled upon tlie rich green
foliage of the trees; the flowers still scented
the air with tlieir delicious odor; the birds
warbled cheerily tlieir songs of joy and the
deep voice of Ocean uttered its thundering
notes in hoarse, wild murmurs.
I approached the home of Annie. It was
beautiftll iu its stillness and repose, yet tear
fully so; for the silence of death Mas there.
They had laid her that day in her little
grave,— the loved, the beautiful and gentle
Annie; and 1 poured out my heart vvitli her
bereaved parents and friends in bitter and un
availing grief. There mas desolation in that
home —its light and joy had gone with the
folding of those thin, small hands over the
wearied la-art at rest, and the closing forever
of those mild eyes in death.
Annie slept; and ihe flowers bloomed on,
the birds sang above her heart and the Ocean
chanted his solemn requiem. At a later day,
when the first wild burst of grief had passed,
and the sweet and peaceful consolations of re
ligion had mellowed its influence in our hearts;
when the thought of Annie an aiujel now ,
had grown familiar to our minds, I heard from
her mother’s lips the heart-history which had
been confided to her alone.
Annie had returned after the first of the
three years spent from home, her cheeks ra
diant with the glow of health aud happiness,
her step as light as the soft winged zephyr’s,
and lier voice one continual flow of melody.
Idolized at home and universally beloved,
j if vanity ever lit its unholy fires in her heart. ,
they must have flickered and died suddenly, !
lbr from the purity of her fair brow beamed
a soul whose character could not be mista
ken—it bore the stamp of innocence.
Once more on her native soil, she sjtorted
gaily about from one scene of loveliness to a
nother, like a butterfly on a bright spring
niorn; and the green earth looked lovelier
and fresher wherever the light of her sunny
! smile fell
Annie had never mingled much in society,
and now the first time formed a member of
the pic-nie parties which met on a neighbor
ing island, or near the shores of the adjacent
State. Muchottenor, however, did they make
their pleasure excursions on the ocean, with
I the dashing waves around anti the blue sky
above, calm and heavenly in its serenity; or
or if the gathering storm arose, with the skill
of practised mariners they returned to land
: and moored tlieir boats in security.
It M as on one of these excursions that An
nie again met the wanderer to her home isle ; 1
and often afterwards, on similar occasions,
they were thrown into each other’s society. — ,
By many winning arts he taught her young
heart to love ; but the eloquence of his voice
and the mauly beauty of his soul-lit face, from
which the native goodness of a warm and
generous heart shone, combined to charm the
gentle, loving Annie, and she yielded uncon
-1 sciously to the chains Love was binding
around her heart.
The stranger now became a frequent and
j familiar visitor at her island home and finally
an accepted lover. I will not attempt to pic
ture the bliss of the few happy days which
they spent together. It was a communion of
heart with heart, which ouly those can uu
deisUiod who have realized the aiiughug ol
soul M’ith soul, and who have found a kindred
s pirif an-owring to theirs in unity of thought
and feeling.
A few Weeks M’inged with pk-usur?, passed
like a happy, heavenly dream; like those
dreams from M hicli we sigh to M ake and find
that the beautiful visions which ravished our
eyes Mere only the unsubstantial, fleeting
shadows of dreamland; the friends mlio
clasped our hands and looked earnestly, lov
ingly upon us, but spirit-? of the gone.
Y he time ol parting came, and with many
protestations ol love and eternal fidelity, the
lovers parted. Annie returned to school and
her betrothed embarked lbr Europe to re
main there several years at a university ol
celebrity.
Near tlie close of this, the second year ol
my acquaintance m ith Annie, anew member
m as added to her father’s family—an orphan
cousin who bore her own name. As but a
tew weeks would elapse before her return,
Annie M as not informed of her cousin’s arri
val and a pleasant surprise awaited her. They
’ met for the first time, and widely different as
they M ere in disposition, a strong attachment
soon sprung up between them. Perhaps tiiis
attachment M'as strengthened by the union
of tlie orphan with an intimate friend of the
family, who had long been regarded by An
nie with a sister's affection, lit- had sought
to iiM aken a deeper emotion in her heart, but (
convinced of the hopelessness of his cllbrts,
had yielded at last to his destiny, and strove
to content himself with but asei-ondarv place
, iu the affections of the one to m lioiu he had
■ consecrated his heart’s first homage, lake j
tlie majority of mankind, this first latter dis- I
appointment did not utterly sear his heart.—
finie, with its ever healing halm bound up
the wound, —lie loved again !
U ell it is that hearts ran thus change,
learn to Ibrget or remembering, dwell not in
despair upon the vanished dreams of memory.
Tis better than to pass through life M'ith a
heavy shadow forever darkening the soul’s
sunlight; Wetter than “to wear a gilded sor
roM’ and fi-el its deceitful mockeries. And
yet. M'e admire eternal constancy, and enroll
iu the calendar of our earthly saints the name
of the person who perished a martyr to that
virtue.
The discouraged suitor loved again; loved,
wood anti m*ou the cousin of his first love.
It Mas a happy bridal party of which Annie
aud her patents formed members, winch left
the hot sunshine and teeming luxuriance of
a Southern clime for the cooler breezes of
the North. I will not folfow them through
the gay scenes in which they mingled, nor
picture the varied scenery through which they
passed,—the pastoral, the picturesque and the
sublime.
Society, and the many objects of interest
M'ith which they met in tlieir tour, cheated
the long hot summer months of tlieir dull mo
notony, and imparted life to the lazy, linger
ing hours ; yet still, Annie at heart M'as impa
tient to return home. Though she strove to
conceal it from her friends, she could not
counterfeit her usual undisturbed serenity, and
tlie shades ol anxious, troubled thought would \
linger upon her broM\ Divining tlie cause of !
their daughter’s unhappiness and it being
near the time for her to resume her scholastic
duties, the parents of Annie hastened their
departure.
The indefinable fear wliich hail oppressed j
her heart, deepened into mute despair when j
slie found that neither at her home did auv I
letter from her soul’s friend await her. True,
she had been a little remiss at the close ol the
past term and immediately before her cous
in's marriage; but the long letter wliich she af
terwards wrote, —M as it not a sufficient atone
ment ? would hr not receive her contrite conies- j
gionsaiid promises of future faithfulness? She j
waited in vain for an answer, and finally tri- i
umphing over her woman's pride resolved to
write and ascertain the cause of her friend’s |
silence. Days, M eeks and months again pass- i
ed, and the sickness of “hope-deferred” prey- I
ed upon her heart; for still no answer came |
—she never heard from him again.
I have told of the sail decline, the early
death of the friend of my school-days. She
died a sacrifice at the altar of affection and !
proved that woman may be constant.
Ere tin-tnrf above her little grave had be- j
come smooth, ere the tears had dried on the :
faces of her bereaved parents, —lie, the wan
derer, returned ; but oh ! so changed they |
knew him not.
There was a faint gleam of hope in his care- i
M’orii face, but it quickly vanished and a j
death-like palor stole over his features, as his 1
eye rested on the stricken forms before him
and on the habiliments of woe with which i
they Mere clad. His voice sank to a low,
hoarse udiisper as he murmured “Annie!"—
They [minted to the new made grave where
the weary crushed heart restiil, and their
bowed heads and convulsive sobs Mere a suf- :
tieient reply.
They knew him then, when he lay pros
trate before them, and when in the long days
I of liis fatal delirium he wildly raved of An
nie, sometimes calling her faithless and u[>-
bradiug her for her cruelty, andatother times
addressing by every endearing epithet and
condemning liimself as a monster for doubting
her. Often lie M’ould beckon toMard- the
distant skies lbr her to come to him, saying ■
that she M’as an angel and had never di*d,
and that Heaven would restore her to him a
gain. He had always believed her of angel
purity, a being fit lbr Heaven; and M'lien 1
this belief was suddenly and fearfully shaken, ‘
it M as as though some destroying breath had
! swept over his soul and’ blighted its blossoms 1
of faith; as though some burning sunbeams
had dried up the gushing founts of hope and
j left his heart one arid M’aste.
With sinking hearts the parents watched
over him, who as the intended husband of
tlieir child, had occupied a son’s place in their
bwifts. They learae4 froaitoiiafrpitfeQaied,
li.tli coin rent titterings, that he hud received
troin some American friend a paper contain
ing a notice of the marriage ol—lie thought
his betrothed; as he had never heard of the
cousin who bore Annie’s name. The circum
stances of the marriage; viz: on Eden isle
and to one who had long sought the hand of
j Annie, together with her unusual silence,
seemed to confirm the truth of her desertion.
Ihe strong man was bowed low; vanish
ed were his bright winged liojtes, buried ibr
ever his ambitious dreams. Abandoning his
studies which had now become tasteless, he
wandered almost aimlessly over the Europe
an continent, vainly seeking to stifle the
i painful recollections of the past which poisoii
led his jM-aee and happiness. Time honored
I ruins with their historic and poetic assoria
j dons, imposing palaces and temples with their
i rich treasures oi art ami science; and the still
more thrilling creation of Earth’s Great Art
ist, had lost to him iheir magic attractions.—
He hore a haunted heart.
The j iromptiugs of filial affection occasion
ed his return home; for since his departure
from the University, he had received no
communications from any of his friends, (lbr
in the madness of his grief he had left no or
ders for the forwarding of his letters;) nor
laid he written to any of them himself It
was thus, that the letters of Annie had never
been received.
1 he accidental discovery of his life’s great
mistake, awoke a trembling hop<—he came
too late to realize it; fertile hand was still
which would kindly have gvasp<*d his own,
and the fond lips which would gladly have
pronounced his forgiveness were hushed for
ever ill death.
They sleep where the orange trees and cy
press bloom; the wooing breezes touch light
ly the flowers which droop o’er the verdant
turf; the wild waves of Ocean lower their
voices to a lulling plaintive melody as they
glide gently by, and alx>ve the dancing sun
light softens to a mellow radiance, and the
calm blue heavens smile the benediction of
their God. RUTH.
A mil Una's Sunshine.
‘And what is your name ?’ said I ; as the
children of a friend whom I had just come
to visit, passed before ine.
‘Use Aunt Lina’s Sunshine,’ was the pleas
ant answer. I looked down into her soft
blue eyes, and their darkening depths seem
ed to bo the home of such quiet earnest feel
ing. that I could not doubt hut she was in
deed a beam of sunshine upon the paths of
tl:ose around her; but I was anxious to know
the child’s thoughts on the subject.
‘That is a queer name,’ said I ‘why do
they call you so ?’
Shaking back her long ringlets and look- i
ing up to me with those earnest speaking
eyes, she said.
‘Aunt Lina is papa’s sister, she is blind and
can’t see anything, not the pretty flowers*
nor the soft white clouds nor the little birds.
She hears the birds sing though, but she
can’t see their pretty colors. She feels the
warm sunshine too, but she can’t see how
beautiful it makes the meadows hx>k after
the rain. But sometimes when she is sad
and lonely she calls me to her, and I sit on
my little stool by her side and say the pret
ty verses to her that f learn in Sabbath
school; and I have learned some hymns, too,
and I repeat those to her, and then she calls
me her sunshine. Don’t you thiukit’s very
nice, to be Aunt Lina’s Sunshine.
‘Yes, inded I do. You are a real little
missionary.’
‘No, I ain’t a missionary, I know who the
missionaries are; they are people who go a
great way olf to the poor heathen that don’t
know anything about Jesus, and tell them
all about him.
‘What made you say I was a missionary ?’
Because missionaries do good and you, do !
good to Aunt Lina, don’t you ?’
‘I don’t tell her about Jesus, because she
knows all about him, and she tells me pret
ty stories about him ; and the child stopped
and thought a moment, and then looked up
and added.
‘No I ain’t a missionary ; I’se only Aunt
Lina’s Sunshine.’
I kissed her broad white brow, but said
no more to her. I did not wish to destroy
that beautiful simplicity of mind by praising
her goodness. But although I was silent 1
didn’t stop thinking; no, my thoughts were
very busy with all the little girls and boys
of my acquaintance.
I wondered how many of them were ‘sun
beams’ in their homes. How many of them
made themselves the light of sad hearts, by
their cheerful endeavors to make others hap
py. All have not an ‘Aunt Lina,’ blind to all
beautiful things, and whose heart may be
gladdened by the love of a little child, but
many have a sick friend or acquaintance to
whom kind attentions would corue like sun
light, making an otherwise dreary home
bright and cheerful; and all have friends who
are sometimes ‘sad and lonely,’ and to whom
a word ol love, or a smile, or a glance of
sympathy would be more precious than the
sunshine. A great poet has said, ‘A child
in a house is a well-spring of joy,’ but I
would rather compare good little children to
the joyous sunbeams that come down from ,
heaven and dance in at the windows, and on
the floor and make everything look sunny i
and bright.
Fellow Citizens!—You might just as well
try to pry up the Atlantic ocean with a
broom straw, or draw this ’ere stump from
under my feet with a harnessed gad ilv, as
to convince me that I aint a gwine to be
elected this heat. My opponent don’t stand
a chance, not a bit of a chance—not a sniff.
Fellers, I am a hull team, with two bull-dogs
under the wagon and a tar-bucket—l am.
If there’s anybody this side of whar the sun
begins to blister the earth that can wallop
nae, let him show himself—l’m ready. Boys, ;
I go ifi tortlie Aawioa e*glo—qlawv,
stripes and all; and may I burst my ever
lastin’ buttonholes, if 1 don’t knock down,
drag out, ami gouge everybody as denies it.
Kelineiueiitii oT Language.
Among all the improvements of the age
uone are perhaps more striking than those
which have recently been made, and iudeed
are present making, in the language of ordi
nary life. Who, in these days, ever read ol
.boarding-schools ? Nobody—They are trans
formed into academies for boys, and semina
ries for girls; the higher classes are ‘establish
ments.’ A coaehmaker's shop is a reposito
ry for carriages ; a Milliner’s shop, a ‘depot;
a threadscller s, an ‘emporium.’ One buys
drugs at a ‘medical hall.;’ wines of a ‘compa
ny ;’ and shoes at a ‘mart.’ Blacking is dis
pensed from an ‘institution;’ and meat from
a ‘purveyor.’ One would imagine that the
word shop had become not only contempti
ble, but had been discovered not to belong
to English language. Now-a-days, all the
shops are‘warehouses,’ or ‘places of business;
and you will hardly find a tradesman hav
ing the honest hardihood to call himself a
shop keeper. There is now no such word as
that of tailor , that is to say among speakers
polite. ‘Clothier’ has been discovered to be
more elegant, although, for our part, the
term tailor is every bit as respectable. This
new mode of paraphrasing the language ol
ordinary life, however ridiculous it may in
some instances be, is not half so absurd as i
the newspaper fashion of using high-flown
terms in speaking most extravagantly of
very common-place occurrences. For in
stance, instead of reading that, after a hall the
company did not go away till daylight, we
are told that the joyous groups continued
tripping on the light fantastic t<>e until Sol
gave them warning to depart. If one of the
company happened on his way to tumble
into a ditch, we should he informed that ‘his
foot slipped, and he was immersed in the
liquid element.’ A good supper is described
as making the ‘tables groan with every deli
cacy of the season.’ A crowd of briefless j
lawyers, unbeneficed clergymen, and half
pay officers are enumerated as a ‘host of fash
ion’ at a watering-place, where we are also
informed that ladies, instead of taking a dip
before breakliist, ‘plung themselves fearless- 1
!y into the bosom of Neptune.’
A sheep killed by lightning is a thing nn- j
heard of; the animal may be destroyed by
the electric fluid, but, e.ven then, we should j
not be told that it was dead; we should be
informed that, ‘the vital spark had fled for- j
‘ever.’ If the carcass was picked up by a
carpenter or shoemaker, we never should
hear that a journeyman tradesman had found
it; we should be told that the remains had
been discovered by an ‘operative artisan.’ All \
little girls, be their faces ever so plain, pitted
or pitiable, if they appear at a public office to
complain of robbery or ill-treatment, are in
variably ‘intelligent and interesting.’ If they
have proceeded very far in crime, they are
called ‘unfortunate females.’ Child murder
is elegantly termed ‘infanticide;’ and when I
it is punished capitally, we hear, not that the
unnatural mother was hanged, but the ‘un
fortunate eulprit underwent the last sentence
of the law, and was launched into eternity.
No person reads in the newspapers that a
house has been burned down ; lie perhaps
will find ‘that the house fell a sacrifice to the
flames.’ In an account of the launch, not
that the ship went oft’the slips without any
accident, but that she ‘glided securely and
majestically into her native element;’ the
said native element being one in which the
said ship never was before. To send for a sur
geon, if one’s leg is broken, is out of the
question; a man indeed may be ‘dispatched
for medical aid.’ There are now no public
singers at tavern dinners; they are the ‘pro
fessional gentlemen and actors are all ‘pro
fessors of the histrionic art.’ Widows are 1
scarce, they are all ‘interesting relicts;’ and
as for nursery-maids, they are now-a-days
universally transformed into young persons
who superintend the junior branches of the
famliy.’
“Soniebody Trod upon it.**
“I guess somebody trod on it when it was
a little fellow.”
So said a little child when asked if lit*
could tell why a full grown vigorous tree
grew crooked. How painfully suggestive
the reply, trodden upon when it was a little
fellow. The dew and the sunshine lent their j
aid to beauty, the rain and the fruitful earth
to strengthen, but it availed not; when it
was a “little fellow’ somebody trod upon it;
its glossy, green stem grew curved, itsjuic< s
turned into new channels, deformity claimed
the young tree and bowed its princely li-ad.
We thought of the tall old man, bent,
shriveled and hoarding a button that he
might coin its gold, locking his head in iron,
putting his very smiles out at interest. Once
iie was a generous, trusting boy ; once be
nevolence was his crowning virtue. What
shriveled his vitals into premature avarice ?
Alas! when it was a little follow somebody
tnxl upon it. The sweet little germ had
hardily expanded its leaves to the light of
day before cold calculation lifted its leaden
toot and crushed it out of all beauty. The
tree grew crooked until its deformity shamed
the heavens—and the generous child became
the man of adamant.
A little girl with very winning grace of
childhood looked from her stately home upon
groups of happy children, and begged to join
them. She saw them chase the butterfly and
bury their hands in the clover blossoms,
She saw their ringlets toss upon their sun
burnt shoulders, and sliook sighingly her
own curls of satin gloss. She saw them
stain their hands with berries, dance to the
music ot their own voices, hunt the sward for
moss, and she begged to put off her finery
and go in a white frock that would leave her
limbs free, that she might laugh and shout
and dance with them. But false pride and
stern prejudices said no. Years after a wo
man trod the halls of fashion. Crowds fol
lowed her for she was beautiful. It was she
who iu her childhood longed to be a child.
Pure as an angel, lovely in all her attribu- !
tes, humility had then lifted its pale blossoms
in her little heart, when somebody trod up
on it, and it grew neither straight, uor frh,
aertiil foww
wo. s.
Origin of Plant*.
Madder came from the E:.st.
| Celery came from Germany.
The chestnut came from Italy.
The onion originated in Egypt,
i Tobacco is a native of Virginia.
The nettle is a native of Europe.
The citron Is a native of Greece.
1 The pine is a native of America.
Oats originated iu North Africa.
The poppy originated in the East.
Rye came, originally, from Siberia.
Parsley was first known in Sardinia.
The pear and apple are from Europe.
Spinach was first cultivated in Arabia,
j The sun flower was brought from Peru.
The mulberry tree originated in Persia,
i The gourd is probably an Eastern plant.
The walnut and peach came from Persia.
Tne horse chestnut is a native of Thibet,
The cucumber came from the East Indies.
The quince came from the Island of Crete,
i The raOisli is a native ofChina and Japan.
Peas are supposed to he of Egyptian ori-
I gin-
The garden cress is from Egypt and the
i East.
Horse-radish came from the South of Eu
! rope.
The Zealand flax shows its origin by its
| name.
Weal tier Proverb*.
The following cutting from one oftheGlas
i gow “Penny Almanacs” for this year, will
j fie found generally so true and u efulinitsob
; serrations, an not unworthy of being copied:
“weather wisdom.”
A rainbow in the morning gives the shep
| pherd warning. That is if the wind be eas
! terly; because it shows that the rain cloud is
j approaching the observer.
A rainbow at night is the shepherd’s He
ight. This is also a good sign, provided the
wind be westerly, as it shows that the rain
doudsare passing away.
Evening red and next morning gray are
certainly signs of a beautiful day.
When the glow-worm lig ts her lamp, the
air is always damp.
If the cock goes crowing to bed, he’ll cer
tainly get up with a watery head.
When you see gossamer flying, be sure the
air is drying.
When black snails cross your path, black
| clouds much moisture hath.
When the peacock loudly bawls, soon we ll
iiave both rams and squalls.
When ducks are driving thro’ the burn,
! that night the weather takes a turn.
It the moon shows like a silver shield, be
| not afraid to reap your fit Id.
But if she rises haloed round, soon we ll
tread on deluged ground.
When rooks fly sporting high in air, it
-hows that windy storms are near.
If at sun rising or setting the clouds ap
pear of a lurid red color, extending nearly
to the zenith, it is a sure sign of storms and
gales and winds.”—A otes oral Queries.
The China Tree or “Pride of
India.“
A correspondent of the ‘Soil of the South.’
writes as follows:
I wish to call your attention to the value
of the China Tree. Few persons know its
value. It is generally known that it makes
excellent furniture, and is susceptible of a
fine polish. Its durability is not known
generally. Gov. Quitman, of Mississippi,
i several years since, informed me that he
found a post o the China Tree in one of the
oldest settlements in Louisiana, and found
tracing back its history that it had been in
the groumksome 70 years, and it was then
only partially decayed. I have*seeu a fence
made of pok-s three and four inches in diame
ter of that tree, fifteen years after it was
made, and it had very little appearance of
decay, other than the washing by the rainf^
I discovered that the insects would not har
bor in the tree, and neither ants nor worms
appeared fond of the wood. I concluded
from this fact, that the sea worm would not
destroy it.—l got a friend who lived on the
sea co st to try it. He put a post oak, a ce
dar post and a China post into the bay at the
same time. When the oak post and the ce
dar post were entirely destroyed by worms,
the China post was untouched even by bar
nacles. He then hewed out a piece of plank
of each kind of wood and put in the bottom
of his schooner. When he overhauled the
vessel and found the cedar and oak planks
destroyed by the worms, the piece of China
plank was untouched by them.
In th South, the China tree grows rapidly;
and if planted close together will grow
straight, a length of sufficient for two rail
road ties. I have no doubt but ties 9 inches
in diameter, made of China tree, would last
half a century. The wood is solid and close >
aud will hold the nails better than any other
wood.
By planting them on each side of the rail
road, ia the South, they will make a fine
shade, a beautiful appearance, by the time
the ties of which the road is made shall have
rotted, their place can be supplied by them,
and be ready to supply any other road or
to make fences or wharves.
Every one who lias paid the least attention
to the growth of the China free, knows how
rapid it grows and what, an immense num
ber can grow on a small quantity of bottom
land. If attention were directed to the
growing of this tree, wharves might be made,
at the some cost they are now made with
ordinary timber that would last ten times as
long. So durable is this wood that the small
limbs used for sticking peas, that are half
piths, will last for that purpose three years.
“I understand you are engaged to be mar
ried,” said a “satirical rogue” to a young
man who was known to have no other idea
of a proper “qualification” for a wile than
that she had money. “Is your intended a
young lady of good moral character?”
“Well, tolerably fair; she has forty
thousand dollars in her own right’ note.”
“Is she accomplished ?”
A “We i, not exactly yet, but she will be.
’’ “ en l °hl man dies’ she will have thirty
thousand more. You know there are only
three children, and the old man is as rich as
Job was when he came to his last property.”
A WtsE Lady has said, “Isa woman would
have the world respect her husband she
ttutiMttbea&Ußpie.”