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OXji* O*
THE GEORGIA CITIZEN
* * „Vr •** morning M M-W P*’ unnrun In Id
■ , . . jut thiee tooMlffl. *MO ■<* png
, “ .n will be O— Dollar
, u -j. ,>r .'**, tor the Brut lnaer
.. . ... •r *• -uhwquetit insertion All ad-
U - £j%isv&'tssnxa
! *• - { oltr J. ten Vnt*. will be charged at the
“filial” ,r ,or >*c* to t*paid tor at
!-nerted.
id with county offleen. Druggist*,
jHriu.-’-..and others, who nmy wish to make
T^ssß
s^BiswattßSfr
**” , B :h* torenoen lad Urwli tteaf
-f-l ‘ urt kcus* In the cousty to which the prop
erwaal Property xu* be adverts la Ilk*
la DeVor. and • reditoea of an EataU tcurt be
will be made to the Ordinary tor
‘ult,y,' ult,y , Nr mtut he published weekly for
“* Utttn of AdxinMregj*. thirty dan ; tor
adenawtiation, xonthlT. nx month*; tor
QwcfflaMhlp. weekly, forty day*.
*,* irTniSTwafersais
r-iairir 1 u< Baetoe*. I ard* will be nsertod ttt
and t the toiiowic* rates, via:
‘r 4 • W
t,"i-sr *> 10 *
, ■ -• emr-.’ f th’. dare wiU be admitted, nnlea* paid
‘ ror ■ ror for slew terra than twelve month*. Ad
entf of .vn ter line- will be charged jpre role. Ad
Jaent* not paid for is aivanoe will V rhnrged at the
f u nt- y *> 4
mm in hsiik cue
LilllS * ASDEEBOH,
TTORNErS AT LAW,
M*ooxt, 0a...
liUCTICI in the counties of the Maron Circuit, and in
’ “ ;• tt • b’- ter M iroe and J<m*i; also in the
get Out* at “srennai..
itrfß * ASPERSON have also recently become the
-mi, i"h fcl'.Dwirs Insurance Comnanla*:
• s 4 ; a IJ.SI KASHI AND BASKING COM
iSIPvWeh W. K. D'Ar.tignne Is President, and C, F.
j,Vr>TuHAMA FIRE ASp MARINE IMSUR
5 : t.’A.VI. M'-tgouery, oTwhldiT. H. Watt* is
Mir., JA. Tiiiiams is Snosetar*.
t-- -Ai and risks >n slaves taken at usual rate*.
E H. A. MERAEEB,
Bin*# ipent a portion of three succetelve year* in
tt i t'-ty, during which Use he ha* limited hit
I: r net et uslveiy to Surgery, now re*pectfully
TMr* esto the citiaeneof Macon and surround
wutfy. n ail the branehe* of his profeeeion. OSes
c.Jesii *'• Corner of Sd and Cherry street*, otot
ijMf kjrti’ tf Oroe*rj Itor*.
0. MICE,
IKMIIII
>fPXeA. TO FORTBS,
3Smanently located in Macon. sWUnmet may
din Messrs. Virgin’* and at 1. 3. Johnston k 00.
-sS—if
ROWH’SjfIIQTEL,
the PuMigtr Dt^
K. K. BROWN, Proprietor,
W Mssit ready on the arrival of evory Train.
apr'.g—tf 1 ‘
L. I. WHITTLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
MACON, OA.
IFCI axt to Concert Hall, over Payne’s Drag Store.
•ilO-ly
I R, DAVXB,
u i Irtkir, Collector Ai Onnl Ag*t
>—mwiil to a ay eoturty is thu lum.
OtMMnw Jackass ttl XUU Btraot, Aafoata, B*.
LOCHRAHX * LAMAR,
Utori}.ey a.*t Law,
iiaoout,
Dice by the Mechanic’* Bank.
Kmci Hunts from BU> IS A. M m 1 to• P. M. aad alao
!Tio la v w.
:*Ut .a all the Countisaof the Macon Circuit aadla
i-fjuae*, Monroe aad Colurahta, aad lath* So
t>’
: *. UK. HRANB. JOHN LAMAR.
SPEER ft HUNTER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Macon, P-a?.
'* •• Tnusalar tWk, Cenwr W Ckerry
amt sa4 Cottss liaise.
ri->7 edited * partners In Uaorecticscf Law in
” j'the Macon anti Circuit*, and
. the State by special contract—alio, will attend
* ’-loaC imt* : Savannah and Marietta.
ALIX M. SPXXR.
SAMUIL HUNTER.
THE LITER
SYIGORATOR!
PRIPARIO BT DR. Sanford,
OMPDUKDEO ENTIRELY FROM GUMS,
• *.: Pnrtatlv* and Liver Medlctne*now bafor*
that acu M a Cathartic, carter, milder, aad
‘-tuy other medicine known. It la not on
; but a liver remedy, acting tot on the
’ nn.de:. then on tha SJiccAU *Od Weelite
- *'• SUt-r.-. iAu* iaomßfliin* two pttrpciee O*JC
-t t- of Ue painful feeliaca enorteacod hi the
aotit # •’attartw*. It strocAtiene toe eyrtem at
.■[. -~ r ‘-Lat pnrjfM It; and when taker, dally In mod
w, V Rre'itthen and build It up with unuenal rap-
-, • nm.cipal regulator* of the
* Art i-erfonrj Ita funcUone well. |
*rvtl. it*, mar* B fu.h> developed. Tbertotn
•'•V-- ‘ ! V rrtydepev dent on the healthy action
- ’ ‘-l- proper ® r-rfoniianeeofltefunctions:
•• ~0. - *at fault w ; the Ni well *~ at fault,
:-::.TV r, r” lairw1 ° fig oceequeote of oni--oi*^-
k *'-i"eaaed :to do it* duty. Forth* dia-
‘ r * a - ort , . the propnetoa hae made It ‘
* ysssjssurss
***& it is m .jable.
V^^ t VVS * jat laet found, any ps<
laLw, LIT Ift a COMPLAINT, In any of lit
tvU. t* try a bot- © tie, and conrlcdoc U certain,
-wirta-i renov* all _ morbid or bad matter from
, ‘ . iop; ! y. 7is J tnelr place a healthy tow of
Pwl* #ry. reran vtaltt* oauae of
‘RTTttPP>’i ar*cured, AND, WHAT IS
ci “**4 h _ lußdonttoraHorethart*-
&*£sss “ sasarttsariSto*.
S war “
1 r •'•*4Martß r e*4 i | @ meal trill bur* DIP|P
* \"*"* ™ ”•
“"^erofth*^* 11 fr f ® m ffJkle obrtraeUOß# remove*
ifcly a# Bahaa a perfect cure.
_ow,w*g. laun <ae*-l J ily relieve*CHUUC. whU*
*^ A UORRra r T *J^ i te<l to u a aure cure for CHOL-
W OafrSS: I*r’ - ventatlve of CHOLERA.
l Z needed to throw out of the
W't£ewV, 0 l m “ li ev letoe after a ion* rtckneee.
taker fbr JAUUDICX removal all
‘ O'* j -.r from the hkni. - -
’ - - v- *® r rime hef<*eeatta* rtva* vta
ti'a fooddigertwrtl. r _
? f ~ cue* W attacks caused by WORMS
• s > i<r n" o*® 0 *®- El. er - “ fcr ’ K •P iAi * T r *** 4 y
‘ “ tu ” cure* _ IvKOPST. by eadtla* the
S&. [ thoeatoSearewfl!h*to
tU r.. w-i X toes- ‘ -jJ*: “
MKk WIW
Ls nmooRATOR
n^J2'’MX DI CAL msCCVIRT, and U dally
?P. < ~ too great to believe. It cure* a* if by
PBIC-B V —a . u-b V*< •• jie’
OXE DOLUHt PER BOTTLE.
bANfoRP A 00., Protrirtora,
tie, MißertouKlw
- Woo<l * Loul*:
***** MiSraUiT
•i* MgiiTariiTAtfSr^
Fflf the Qeorgia Oil inwi
®*** tfcjrt 1 wmM lair.
r a*t Wilson.
” W* need but tutu here txlov,
-Vo r need that liutt tony.”
some things (hat I would have,
, w thoro*BtoPdoam* ;
s?£s , SCw"’
To which we all are fetter’d to,
. In our career through life 1
A reputation -. unblemlsh’d, fair—
wrft! 52 rw * y '* ““"•‘itald eow ;
V. a censure on my eoum,
From friend or carious toe.
A Mm-hat I hare done -
My duties, well and true :
*SftSCfaKt*rw
ItommtlcUrni-wltothorn IloPd.
A calm and nleasanl life-
T ® way, isseai and smooth.
Apart from 101 l or *trt|e:
A hand to giw.
And soothe afflicted syoe’
Tit these I’d have—and those ml*it
Reao-n and hiapta high—
I would not chaugemy humble lift.
Nor tor dirntncUo* sioh !
For the Oeorjla Citizgn
The Loved and Lost.
There is a Bird in the Eat, the Para
disaical beauty of whose plumage is never
discovered until after it has taken its
flight. Juat bo with many of the most
inestimable blessings bestowed upon us
by the Almighty—they are never rightly
appreciated until they have been lost to
us forever.
Os all the gifts that ever was bestow
ed upon us, by the charity of God’s love,
none can, for a moment, be compared
with that of a beautiful intellectual child
—particularly a daughter. The magni
tude of this treasure does not depend so
much upon the beauty of her physical
perfection, as upon the eternity confer
red upon the immortality of her divine
nature by the Almighty loveliness.
This leads me back, in memory, to the
Halcyon time when I first became ac
quainted with the precious loveliness of
* beautiful blue-eyed child, whose lovely
nature is now the inspiration of this pres
ent theme—of whose unsurpassing beau
ty I will now essay to speak as the
Arabians do of the most sacred things—
with perfume in my mouth.
This child, whose name was AJlegra
Florence, was the first born of her pa
rents, whose affectionate life had num
bered only six short years, but whose
intellectual preoocity seemed to prophecy
many brilliant ones to come—when she
was cut down in the Flower of her
morning, bjr the untimely Frost of Death.
This beautiful creature was not only
worshipped by her parents as a being
far above all earthly things, but they
never once dreamed that it was possible
for her to die—proving how much the
heavenly Cherub had inspired them with
the belief in the immortality of Beauty,
making them akin to the Angels in
Heaven.
Wadsworth tells us that‘‘Heaven lies
•bout us in our infancy!” Then how
mud) of Heaven was there in this beautU
ful little child! the delight of her parents
—the glory of the world, and the enchant
ment of the Angels m Heaven. No won
der, then, that her parents believed her
immortal. But is not this the character
of all true love—the power to bestow
on ita own subject the gift of immortality !
Then bow infinite the loss, how more
than infinite the sorrow!
She was truly the Incarnation of love
—full of all the tender delicacies of deli
cious innocence, as lpr parents 1 hearts
were with affection—every lineament
betokening a Cherub from Heaven, rath
er than an inhabitant of this world.—
Not only was the artlessness of her na
ture far above all the graces of artfulness;
but she was a perpetual c^arm— r a living
Hymn of Beauty, sung to the glory of
God.
One day while ahe was walking out ;
with her fiuher, (which she did every day ,
for her health,) ?be complained of being
tired. On ascending the stairs, she said,
“Father, lam too heavy!” That night
she was taken ill, and died the next
morning! The last word that she said
to her fitther was, “Father, sv n# ?ORie
water!” (n a fe\f afterwards
she was in the land of the Immortals —
wafted gently on the wings of Angels up
to the golden Eden-trees of God, where
she now sings among the enraptured
hosts of Heaven,
When tpe 4ajf broke it was still night.
Presently the noon came on, but brought
no day! Afterwards came the evening
which still brought on night—which has
been night ever since ! For (hut father,
there was \o be ao more light ip this
world! AU u h°W dftrkflWS—the
universe itself is on* eternal grave!—
There is no more Sun, no Moon, but the
blackness of midnight has usurped the
whiteness of Day !—all but one little
Star, which 1 shining op the
Mountain Morning. Lancia of Heaven.
?. CHIVEHS.
SfSAToa Pp-ifacw.—The olsotio*
for p. & Ssn*to? ia ifew Hampshire, resulted
is the re-eleeuoo of Senator Hale by a vote es
i 185 againat 111 for Hon. John 8. Well*, the
A. A-r- rrf tbs There wees
Longing for Heat
•T na. SVKMIB L. uiirau.
Com* to my syelld*. h*hny lists.
Come give my tired spirit rest;
LM m* to dreamt fsgmt to torn
For*t lint I ae SMfe u& bleSt.
Kregs* ••£>>'• pUgrtmaac of years,
Forget (he dark rough path I'vs trod,
t orgsd life's sorrows sad (ft tears.
And lean my trusting heart on God.
Come tr >m the fount of love on high. , ’
hM<ler days,
Let • herlel.ee ones te ever nlgn
To eheer me through life's rough wey*.
Com* from thy paiac** abo vs.
Immortal spirits, pure and blest.
Smile In mute token of thy love
As once you amlled upon my tread,
Oto com* ana crown my hutod brow.
With Bowen bright a* pl-tb wear,
Nrfrtbe on my saddened spirit now.
And Ilise's future Ut* may bear.
Come sweet repose, and let me bathe
in mirrored streams, the fountain of Kl ‘—
Forgetting there the sn.rms that rev* ‘
Around my loyiees home In thla.
Nsw Onleans April *s.
Tbe Wife’s Mistake.
The carriage stopped at the door, and ia
s few minutes Margaret Hale entered the
apartment where her husband sat wholly
absorbed in poring over day-books and ledg
ers.
‘‘Those tiresome accounts still,” she ex
claimed. “JTill you ever find time for any
thing but business, Ralph ? Have you no
taste for anything beyond figures ?”
“Margaretbut tbe sadness in the tone
wss unheeded, as she continued—
"We had such a charming evening at Mrs.
C. s. Capt Hill related many interesting in
cidents of his residence in Egypt, and Mr.
Warren, the famous young poet, read ‘Maud’
and some of the most beautiful passages in
Aurora Leigh.’ I must read to you some of
Romney’s ‘Great Thoughts oo Duty.’”
She went hastily to her chamber for the
volume. When she returned, her quiet en
trance was unheard by her husband, whose
pen was rapidly moving over the almost in
terminable columns of figures. With an ex
pression of impatience, almost of scorn,
resting on her face, she hastily turned
away.
“And this is the end of all my dreams of
marriage,” said she, as she reached her room.
“He has a taste for drudgery. His pursuits
and tastes are all commonplace, and I must
go from home to find the sympathy I need,
to find those who will appreciate with me
the books I love, and the beautiful in art, for
which he has neither eye nor ear. Why
did he not marry a woman who had neither
heart nor mind to be continually unsatis
fied!”
In the room which she had left, Ralph
Hale sat hour after hour, till his brain was
weary and his eyelids drooped. Then lay
ing aside his books, he remained for a long
time in deep thought
“God bless my Margaret,’’ be prayed,
“and give me strength to bear all things.—
Give me power to make her happy.”
Patting far away aQ thoughts of her hus
band's real nobleness of character, jealously
preserving the memory of every slight dif
ference in their tastes and pursuits, Marga
ret cherished the spirit of discontent till it
embittered every hour of her life, and sent
suffering she never dreamed of to the heart
of her husband, who would gladly have
sacrificed every earthly good for her happi
ness. ; . ■
A sudden and severe sickness came to her
while Ralph was in a distant city. One day
during her slow recovery, the aged minister
who had baptised her in infancy, was sitting
by her 9ide.
“Margaret,” he said, after steadfastly watch
ing her troubled face, “you are very unhap
py. I have seen it for a long time. I should
not recognise in you my once cheerful, hap
py child. May I know what great sorrow
has cornu to you?”
Then with sobs and tears, ahe told him all
her unhappiness.
After a short silence, the old man spoke
again; and there was sadness, almost sterc*
nssa in his voioe: “Years ago, Margaret, a
New York merchant became involved in a
speculation, whose failure suddenly took from
him the accumulated wealth of his years of
commercial enterprise. There were a few
years of weary, vain struggling to regain
what he had lost; then deep despondency,
a lingering disease, and death. His wife
and four chiMren were left penniless. The
child, a boy of sixteen, had finished his pre
paratory studies, and was about to enter col
lege. By this stroke he found his prospects
for the future clouded; but with a noble
Self-forgetfulness, ho turned oheerfully into
the way that fate marked out for him, and
walked resolutely in it
“He obtained a situation with a merchant,
who bad known bis father, where his faith
fulness and untiring deyptiftn to tua duties,
iron the confidence of aU *hq knew him.
Pturing the first years of hsr widowhood,
his mother had taught a private school for
young ladies; and it was the boy's highest
ambition to relieve her of this necessity,
and give her the rest her feeblp ret
ouired. ] cannot teu you ail his privations,
hig frilling sacrifice of every reoreetion, his
continued self-denial, that he might lighten
the burdens of those so dear to him.
“Year after year success crowned his ef
forts. In the village where his had
passed the of her childhood and the
first years of her married life, he purchased
a pleasant residence for her, and then, a lu
crative business being offered to him in the
West, he came here.
“At the time of his removal here, accident
revealed to him the fact that the widow and
invalid daughter of one irfyjse fivrtuu e WWI
Ipy his 4thpr’f adyice, risked ip that unfor
tunate speculation which had so changed his
oyrn life, were fifing in enueme poverty.—
Yo h*W they are indebted for the pleasant
home that now shelters them, and for the
delicate, thoughtful ministration to their dai
ly comfort
“Now, when the commercial world la
clouded, ao4 disasters crowded thick aod
foes upea him, aa apes other* hie amri—a
HZACOWr, €3-A. JU3VB 23, 1838.
thoughts turn to the mother and suffering
sister, in the little village home, whose com
fort depends upon him, to the other lonely
fireside, to which his constant thoughtfulness
imparts its only light, and to bis only home,
and to the young wife whose happiness is
dearer to him than life. For this, Margaret,
Ralph Hale gives his days to incessant toil,
and willingly sacrifices the social pleasures
he ia so eminently fitted to enjoy.
* I have been in these three homes. With
a love that is almost reverence, hts mother
and sister speaks his name, and with full
heart* thank God for his life—that life so
filled with the beauty of self-renunciation.
The widow and daughter, whose hearts he
has made glad, tell of his numterless acts
of kindness, of his delicate and unceasing
watchfulness, and daily they ask God's bles
sings on him whose life is a blessing toothera.
“In his own home, the wife whose love
should bless him, whose gentle ministry
should comfort and strengthen him, turns
coldly from him because he prefers the hap
piness of others to his.own gratification, be
cause the pressing duties of life claim all his
waking hours, leaving him little leisure for
the claims of society, or for the high intellec
tual culture which few attain whose lives are
not wholly devoted to it”
“Ob, Ralph, I have never known you I I
have so cruelly misjudged you,” said the
weeping wife.*
The old man continued :
“Some men talk poetry, some write it in
words, and some write it in their lives. The
true heroism which poets have sung, the
beauty of self-abnegation and of ceaseless
devotion to duty which have been their in
spiration, Ralph Hale has lived. The woman
who has won the deepest love of such a
heart should reverently and gratefully cher
ish it as the richest blessing of her lifs.”
In the twilight of that day, Margaret was
awaiting her husband’s return. Amid the
bitter self-reproachings that darkened the
hour, gleamed anew and holy light High
er purposes were aroused within her. In
the future she would make divinely real in
her life the beautiful ideals which had filled
her heart with unsatisfied longings. She,
too, would live for others, and first of all for
him whom she had so misunderstood.
A hurried step in the entrance hall, then
on the stairs, and the next moment she was
clasped in her husband's arms.
Anecdote of Henry Clay .
The anniversary of the birth of Hen
ry Clay was celebrated by a festival at
the Commercial Hotel, Memphis, on the
evening of the 12th ult. Hon. H. S.
Foote presided. There was a good time
generally. Among those who made
speeches were the President and R. H.
Stanton of Kentucky. Mr. Foote rela
ted an interesting incident, as follows :
“ I shall never forget a scene which
occurred in the city of Annapolis, in
Maryland, during the Summer of 1850.
Mr. Clay had become greatly exhausted
with the severe labors through which he
had been passing ; those labors, a con
tinuation of which was so soon after
wards to terminate his valuable life. An
old and valued schoolmate of my own—
Senator Pratt of Maryland—invited Mr.
Clay and a few others of his friends to
spend a day or two at his hospitable
mansion. Mr. Clay accepted the invi
tation, and proceeded to Annapolis, at
tended by several gentlemen quite well
known to the country. Mr. Dickinson
of New York was among the invited
guests, Mr. Bright of Indiana, and Mr.
Dawson of Georgia, whom you all know
•o well, and valued so highly. I had
the honor of being in company also.
The day after we got to Senator Pratt's,
it was proposed that we should take a
short walk through the the city, and
viait that anoient, time honored building,
within the precincts of which the Revo
lutionary Congress held its session at
the close of the War of Independence.
We went thither accordingly; aad
entered the venerated room where Wash
ington performed one of the most stri
king acts of his life. I allude to the sur
render of his sword to the Continental
Congress. When Mr. Clay entered the
fiqll fie inquired for the spot where Wash
ington stood when this scene was enacted.
It was pointed out to him. He stepped
forward and occupied it for a moment,
gating solemnly and earnestly around
the room, which is precisely in the con
dition ft was in when occupied by Con
gress. A crowd of oitiiens gathered
about him. I never saw him when his
appearance and bearing were
so majestio and iipposing. He seemed
really to be for the moment the grand
personage upon whose glories his mind
was meditating. The multitude assem
bled and demanded to hear his august
voice. He addressed them. The speech
was short, but impressive beyond any
oratorial effort 1 tave ever witneaaed.
U took a rapid view of the condition
of the country; the oomrootion existing ;
the danger of the hour; the expedients
neoeasary to b restored to in order to
reecue the Republic from destruction.
He especially enlarged upon the danger
of showing too much respect at such a
moment to party and its behests; do
sing with the memorable declaration—
► ‘ That party tbuH in future he my party
which shall prove most faithful to the
i Unto*.'*
Matrimony.
. . t £ e 10tth ult - ltt Kneheckport. Maine, Mr.
A. R. Nett to Miss Amanda Mann, all of the short place.
The MMoytog poetical eorretpoedenee U said to have sctu
jflly nassedhrt won the shore named couple, and • hare been
the bona /We “proaosaT sad “refly.” The feet that they
were known to he Inveterate punsters makes the statement
more pronahie. The but stanza, we presume, was added by
our eonespoudeut.
NOTT TO AMANDA.
Oh. that I could prevail, my fair.
That wa unite our lot!
Oh, take a man, Amanda Mann,
And u* a double “knot.”
Tour coldness drives me to despair—
What shall Ido ? ah what ? v
Far you I’m growing thin and spars-
For you I'm a “pine .VoM.”
If I should bear that you had died,
’Twould kill ms on the ipst:
Tat oo'y yesterd y I eritd.
“Ah ! I with that the were Nett 1”
The “chords” and tendrils of my heart
Arou* and the* fondly “twine"—
Am r.da, heal this aching .mart!
Amanda, oh bs mint!
Let 1 * He, then, dear, the “cords” and “twU.e,'’
Into hymenial knot*.
MISS AMAKDA~MANN'S JIXrLY.
This life, ws know. It but a span,
■<M* I have beta afraid
That I thauld Mil remain 4. Maaa,
And (Me at luu* maid.
Aad often to myself I say
On looking round, I Bad
There’s Noth a man In every way
Just suited to my mind.
I fain would whisper him, apart.
Us'd maka me blsat for life—
U h* would take me to his heart
Aad make A. Mann a wife.
Love not, my mother often says.
And so, too, *ayt the song—
I'll heed the blot to future days,
Aad love .Voii well aad long.
Then, oh, let Hymen on the spot.
His chain around ms throw—
And bind me In a lasting knot
With a single beau.
And no w I give myself to you,
And thus untte our lots—
Then tie those “chords and twine” Into
A dozen little Notts.
Out-Door Preaching,
BY B. F. TAYLOR.
This sermon was reported twelve
months ago, but as nature has seen fit to
preach the same sermon again, we do not
hesitate to revive the record that was
made of it:
The miracle of Spring is beginning.
Leafiest, indeed, stand the great woods,
and shivering in the cool wind. The
joints of rheumatic oaks creak dismally,
and there is a moan in the maples ;• the
skeleton orchards are brown and gray
upon the southern slopes, but the sun is
shining, and the clock of time ticks in
the heart of April.
A January fire rolls and roars up the
chimney’s capacious throat, in the eve
nings, but the birds are abroad, and their
songs are in all the air.
Hardly a wisp of hay remains in the
broad, deep “ bay” of the barn, and the
cows decline “to give down,” and the
lambs are going where the good lambs
go, though the lilacs are budding, and the
willows have fringed the streams with
green.
How full of the dear old music of
summer are wood, and orchard, and field.
Even the great empty bam yard, with
its ribs of oak, is a-twitter with swal
lows, who dart in and out of the dia
mond doors in the gable, and the mud
plastered cottages that are built along
the rafters.
The robins are singing the self-same
songs they sang a thousand years ago,
and the finches are untarnished and gold
en as ever. Down by the marsh, the
bobolinks are ringing their little bells,
and swinging to and fro upon the little
bushes that sway in the wind.
The brown thrushes have built their
nests in the fence corners and the heaps
of brush; a Baltimore oriole flickered
like a lake of fire through the garden
this morning, and drifted away behind
the barn; we frightened up a poor whip
poor-will yesterday from among thedmd
leaves; and we found a blue-bird'-, nest
begun in a hollow stump in the pasture.
A little gray couple are busy building
in a cleft of the door post; and a small
Trojan in speckled jacket is about to be
gin hosekeeping on the loaded end of
the well-sweep, that goes up forty times
a day, and comes down with a bang.
Why did’nt the little idiot take up his
quarters in the bucket! The other day
John hung his jacket upon the fence, and
this morning he shook out a nest from
one of the pocket#.
There is singing everywhere; from the
tuft of grey grass there comes a email
tune of two note# and a rest, and then
two more; from the second rail of the
fence, a gush of melody ; from the roof
ridge, a solo ; from the depths of the air,
as of angel oaliing unto angel. The
birds and the buds make it April, and
April it shall be.
Last Sunday was as clear and as 000 l
as charity in our rural latitude, and last
Sunday we got into good company, for
once in way, and went to church in the
woods.
The gray temple that God built, look
ed dull and empty as we approached, but
as we entered the birds were singing an
anthem, and nature had begun to work
a miracle.
Last winter, we floundered to the
January service, and the drifts—how
huge they were ! and the white arms of
the forest were stretched out in silent
benediction, stern and cold, like the
i blessing of old Puritans. Now, the
earth is strewn with the withered leaves
of a gone summer, that rustled articu
lately beneath the thoughtful foot, and
said, as words can never say it: “In
the midst of life, we are in death,” and
thus the sermon began.
And tfiso the birds all around began
to sing, and the wood-dove to mourn
with her mate, and so this passage of
Scripture was read out: “ The winter is
over and gone j the time of the singing
of birds haa come, and the voice of the
turtle if heard in the land.”
And after that, two sparrows that
were blown away last autumn, by the
keen northeaster, and that nobody
thought to see again, sang a simple song,
the burden whereof was : “ Not a spar
row falleih to the ground without Him.”
A delicate white flower that had lifted
away a counterpane of damp gray leaves,
stood up in Its place, at the foot of a
| great tree, and what did we have then,
I but, “ That which thou sowest is not
quickened except it die. Behold, I show
you a mystery ; we ehall not all sleep,
but we shall all be changedand the lit
tle stars of pink and white flowers, that
were clustered in a dim constellation
about the mossy rock, lifted up their
voices and sang, even as they did in
time’s morning : “ One glory there is of
the sun, and another of the moon, and
another glory of the stars ; for star differ
ed from star in glory ; so also is the
resurrection of the deadand thus the
doctrine was demonstrated, and a robin
that mintute, began to sing.
Then, there went nbiselessly over the
dead leaves as they lay, and over the
preachers, and over them that prayed, a
small shadow, and looking up, a white
fleece of cloud was drifting by, and it
was said, as It went: “ thus passeth life,”
and ihe wind breathed a low sigh, and
the service went on.
And all the while, the birds were busy
as busy could be, carrying timbers and
tapestry and couches of down for the
homes they were building, and one sang
as she wrought, “the better the deed,”
and her mate took it up, with “ the bet
ter the deed,” and the Sabbath, unbro
ken, shone on.
A few bees, brave as their fellows that
dared the dead lion of old Sampson’s
time, went bugling along the neighbor
ing fields, a feeble charge against the
living lion of the North.
Walking along the grand, old aisles,
upon whose floor last summer’s dead
were lying, we recalled the time ere the
first snow flakes fell, and the relenting
year looked back and smiled so sad and
sweet a smile, even as our dead who
stand sometimes upon the holy threshold
of a dream; the time when the last
breath of those dead leaves went heaving
onward like a prayer, and Indian sum*
mer charmed the drowsy earth and gold
en air.
But there is no dying now. The
graves are opened: 10, the Violet comes;
the Lady Slippers soon will dance upon
the air, white wild Sweet Williams stand
admiring by.
Grand sermons preached they all, of
faith and hope, and beauty yet to be; and
as we turned away, lo ! there in the field,
a passage from the “ Sermon on the
Mount,” wrapped in green silk, was ly
ing ; and what could it have been but,
“ Behold the lillies of the field, how they
grow; they toil not, neither do they spin,
snd yet Solomon in all his glory was not
arrayed like one of these.”
$•, with fragments of sermons and
snatch? of songs strewn along the way,
wo left the temple of the Lord, and bore
away with us some of the preachers and
some of the singers, and some of the
beauties of the great congregation in that
mighty minster. We dismantled a fall
en tree of one of nature’s studies—a
broad green mat of moss; a piece of
velvet from the very loom that wove, the
glory of the morning, and bore it home
for Sunday reading.
How earnest Nature is, in all she does;
how finished is her work, from moss to
mountain. And so that mat of moss
“ reads like a book ;*’ and so in that
small landscape we look upon the pro
gramme of what earth shall be; the fin
ished miracle of Spring.
Take Nature at her word, even as the
birds that trust her, and so toil and sing
though snows may drift even into the
heart of May. No telescopic ray shall
e’er descry time’s brown October; but
when the birds forget to build their sum
mer homes and bless the woods; when
roses lose their fragrance and their flush;
when on just such another scroll of mossy
landscape as we are reading now, no
promises are made; then know that
earnest Nature has wearied of hsr work,
and seeks a holiday at last.
Gold Product or California and Austra
lia. —The total product of California up to the
Ist January, was $338,712,467, and of Austra
lia $269,697,750. This gives a total of over
$600,000,000 added to the gold in circulation
in the last seven years.
The product of 1857, in California, was $68,-
976,207, a alight increase of about SIOO,OOO
over 1866, but Ism by $6,300,000 than the moat
productive year, 1863.
The product of Australia, in 1867, was $49,-
673,820, a falling off from 1860, which wae the
moot productive year, of $8,299,900.
From the Selma (Ala.) Sentinel.
in old Negro—A Servant of
Washington.
While in Talladega county, a few
weeks ago, we spent an evening at the
residence of Major Benjamin Smoot, near
Mardisville and there found a relic of
the revolutionary war, in the shape of an
old negro man, whose name was Jerry,
and who informed us that he was one
hundred and seven years old. We found
the old negro a great talker, relating
the incident* and scenes of the Revolu
tionary war with great zeal and feeling.
H° gave us the following account of
himself, which we were subsequently in
formed was true r
That he was born the property of Col.
Fanteroy, of Rappehannock county, Va.,
in the year 1751, and while General
Washington was in Philadelphia, atten
ding the Continental Congress, he pur
chased him from his master, giving thir
ty pounds for him. Soon after he be
came the property of Washington, Gen.
Washington took command of the army
—taking Jerry with him as his body ser
vant —which position Jerry oocupied un
til the close of the great struggle for A
merican independence, taking an active
part in all the battles in which Washing
ton was engaged. Jerry recounts with
great accuracy the prominent incidents
of many of the battles, and sheds tears
while relating the hardships experien
ced by the soldiers of the American for
ce* —especially of the hardships in the
Jersey colony.
After the close of the war, Jerry was
taken to Mount Vernon, where he re
mained until the year before the death of
Gen. Washington, when, becoming dis
contented in consequence of his wife mov
ing to a distant neighborhood, he was
sold to the owner of his wife. A
few years after, Jerry’s w ; fe died. He
again becoming dissatisfied with his mas
ter, was again sold, and finally was car
ried to Richmond and placed in the pub
lic market, where he was purchased by
the father ofCol. Hugh P. Watson, now of
Montgomery, Ala. Mr. Watson kept Jer
ry until his death, when he fell into the
hands of his young master—Col. Hugh
Watson.
When the war with Mexico took place
and there was a call for volunteers to
fight the battles of the country, Col.
Watson was one of those who volunteer
ed. As soon as Jerry heard that his
young master was going to war, he de
clared his master should not go unless he
too went with him. Jerry true to his de
termination, induced by a faithful attach-
ment to his master went wi th the Talladega
volunteers, and many are the jokes told
on Jerry by the Talladega boys. Jer
ry would not only take every opportuni
ty he could to kill a Mexican, but would
when he could not shoot one, win their
money from the “yallow devils,” (a very
popular phrase of Jerry’s when speaking
of the Mexicans.) Jerry declares that
he and one more of the Talladega volun
teers (the name Jerry uses freely) were
the only Americans that could beat the
Mexicans at Monte and such other games
as they played, and as a proof of it, Jerry
brought home quite a number of lumps
of gold, which he took great delight in
showing as specimens of Mexican curren
cy.
When the service of the Alabama vol
teers expired in Mexico, Jerry returned
with his young master.
Major Smoet finally purchased Jerry’s
wife and Col. Watson gave Jerry per
mission to go where and when he plea
ses. He stays most of his time at Ma
jor Smoot’s, feeding pigs, working in the
garden and doing such little work as he
fbala disposed to do.
Until within the last year or two, Jer
ry was quite active, very industrious,
and made money for himself; but with
in the last year or so he has become
quiet decrepid, and it is only with the
use of his crutch and stick that he can
move about.
Jerry told us that he at one time, felt
very religious, but when he went to
Mexico and found he could beat the Mex
icans to easy playing cards he lost all his
religion.
Jerry is very popular with every mem
ber of the company that went to Mexico
and will fight quick if he hears one of
them spoken of wrongfully.
He is certs.inly an extraordinary old
negro—bass most minute and distinct
recollection of all the scenes of the revo
lution—reoollects all the prominent offi
cers, and can give an excellent descrip
tion of their appearance —the color of
the hair, eyes, complexion, and every
thing in connection with them. He
thinks General Washington was a super
natural man—that all his acts and deeds
were under the supervision and directed
by Providence. He loves Washington
and hates Arnold. Jerry says he al
ways hated Arnold from the first time
he ever saw him at Trenton, when dining
with General Washington.
We don’t know that we ever found a
person in whose conversation we were
more interested in than this old negro,
and to one who is fond of hearing mirac
ulous tales, Jerry would prove most in-
Mwiag.
NO. 14.
Haw we Act 5 Not how we Look.
“Oh, Tommy, what a funny little
woman ! come and see 1” cried Harry
W ilde as he stood at the window of his
father’s house in a pleasant English town.
Tommy ran to the window and looked
out, and laughed louder than his brother.
It was, indeed, a funny sight to see. In
the midst of a pelting rain, through mud
and running water, their waddling along
the queerest, quaintest little roly-poly
figure you can Imagine. It was a dwarf
woman, who, though not taller than a
child seven or eight years, wore an enor
mous bonnet, and carried an overgrown
umbrella. Her clothes were tucked up
about her in a queer way, and, altogeth*
er, she was a very laugh-auable little
creature. As she passed she looked up,
tad such an old lace as she bad 1 The
nose was large and long, as though it
had kept on growing after the other fea
tures had gave out. indeed, it was so
big that the eyes had got into a way of
looking at it constantly, which did not
improve their beauty. The hair was
busby, and of a lively red, but the mouth
was quite sweet and good humored, and
the little crossed eyes had a merry,
kindly twinkle in them.
“ W r ell, ’ said Harry, “if I were such
an absurd looking body as that,l would’nt
show myself—l’d hide by day and only
came out by night, like an owl—would’nt
you Tommy ?”
“ Yea,” said the little boy, and then
asked : “ Did God make her, Harry V*
“Why, yea, he made what there is of
aer, and then, I suppose, he concluded
it wasn’t worth while to go on with
her r
“ Harry, Harry !” cried th? mother
of the little boys, “ you muct not talk
so ;it is wicked. That poor little dwarf
may be of much use in the world, and
do a great deal of good, if she has a kind
heart; and she looks as if she had.”
“ I should like to know use such a
poor wee thing can be,” said Harry,
shruggling his shoulders.
“God knows,” said Mrs. Wilde, “and
He did not make her in vain.”
The next day was Christmas. The
rain was over, and it was clear and cold.
“Hurrah!” cried Harry from the
window, “ here’s our wee bit of a wom
an again. Her hair is *•> fiery us ever.
I wonder the rain didn't jut it out. She
might warm her hands in it, >! it cren’t
for carrying that big basket.”
Mrs. Wilde looked out. The dwarf
was trudging slowly along, bearing a
heavy basket. The good lady was seiz
ed with a strong desire to know more
about the strange little creature; so she
hurried to her room, put on a bonnet
and cloak, and went out and followed
after her quietly. She had to go a long
way before her curiosity was satisfied ;
but at last she saw the dwarf enter a
miserable house in the suburbs of the
town. Mrs. Wilde stole up to the win
dow, and ventured to look in. She
saw the dwarf surrounded by a crowd
of shouting children, to whom she was
giving Chrismas-cake, toys and clothes
from her basket. She saw her give food
and medicine to a poor woman, who lay
on a bed in the corner. She heard her
say: “ Yes, and the blankets—God bless
you !” You saw her take up the baby,
feed it, and play with it—so big a baby,
that Mrs. W ilde thought it ought to take
turns in tending with the good little
dwarf. Then the lady turned away in
tears, and went home. When she told
Harry what she had seen, he blushed
deeply, and Tommy said:
“ God knew better than brother what
the funny little woman was good lor—
did’nt he ?”— Qrac< QrMnvwod't lAttU
Pilgrim.
CRAPE CULTURE*
The following are the statements of a
grape-grower of large experience before
the New York Farmers’ Club:
James C. Provost, of Green Point,
L. L., detailed his method of cultivating
the grape, which is certainly quite origi
nal, and different from any other describ
ed in works on this subject. His lapfl
is loam, with water only a few feet un
derneath the surface. His are
trained on trellises eight feet high; .
one vine trained on the end of a house,
he had made twenty-two gallons of wine.
The singular part of his method of cul
tivation is to allow the vines to fall over
the trelliees, reach down to the ground,
and take root at their extremities in the
soil. Some of his vines yield so richly
thst they appear like a mass of fruit in
the fall, from the ground to the top. He
trims very sparingly, spreads the man
ure on the surface, never disturbs the
old roots, and keeps the soil very loose.
From three-quarters of au acre of vines,
he stated that he bad made more than a
thousand gallons of wine. The grapes
be crushed in a roller sugar-mill, and to
every gallon of jute** one pound of sugar
was added —nothing else. It lakes five
gallons of the pure juice of the grape to
make one of brandy.