Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 9.
’ the GEORGIA CITIZEN
rv KriiUv morning at #2.00 per annum in ad-
I > , >pa.l within three months, or if not paid
• ‘ _., nW the re/ular charge will be One Dollar
tt'eru*™” irti vordt or leu, for the first Inser-
I m CenU for eaeh subsequent inaertion. All ad
br_ n* a* to time, will be published until
I A liberal discount allowed
I tf l br the year.
I >ot lrn OVtT ,en Una ’ wUi ** charged at the
Ia - : “ of candidate* for office to be paid for at
I when inserted.
I ti** Jl2enient* made with county officers, Druggi ste,
and others, who may wish to make
I rOlftJ*
W to be advertised la a
I re month
-■* iT/bn-'n of ten in the forenoon and three In the af-
I the Court-house In the county in which the prop-
I *Ij r i : .dl*erwmal Property must be advertised in like
I “ij.die and Creditors of an Estate most be
I inriication will be made to the Ordinary for
I LiSf and Negroes. must be publiahed weekly for
I *i£2L f* Letters cf Administrate thirty davs; for
■ T Administration, monthly, six months; for
nto* from Osardisnshlp, weekly, forty days.
I RaJsfor Foreclosing of MortdMee. monthly four
I H ‘. ltl ;shine lost papers, for the full space of three
” : r -ne titles from executors or administrators
I * ... : nss'been given by the deceased, the full space of
I £, fr-.ionsl end Business arda will be Inserted un-
I the following rates, vii:
I f : Fire hues, per annum, *552
jl seven lines, do 800
! A Ten Uses, do 10 00
[| S’ advertisement of this class will be admitted, unless paid
■ ‘nan twelve months. Ad
,l t* cf over ten lines wiC be charged pro rata. Ad
■ Yrtlne.-r.ents not paid for in advance will be charged at the
I ffiiar rates.
IfIIfESSIAL AliO BISIIESS CARDS
LANIER & ANDERSON,
■ ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Macon, G-a„
P™ JA TICE .l tl.ee unties of the Macon Circuit, and In
I tie Counties of Sumter, Monroe and Jones; also In the
pg :geru Courts at Savannah.
I j\;FR A AN PERSON have also recently become the
■ j: ■ She following Insurance Companies:
■ • A iV'TA INsCRANCE AND BANKING COM
■ T i>y rfwhich W. M. D’AntUnac Is President, and C. F.
■ KcCavis Secretary.
■ a:::::- AURAMA FIRE AND MARINE INSUR
■ MPANY Montgomery, of which T. H. Watts Is
H frser ’.ud A. Williams is Secretary.
§ I F.s -.us and risks on slaves taken at usual rates.
S tPr 33-tt
I BE . H A . HEBTTADI B, _
■ tTaUNG spent a portion of three successive years iff
■ □ this city, during which time he has limited his
Hraft aimtst exclusively to Surgery, now respectfully
services to the citliensof Macon and surround-
uatry, in all the branches of his profession. Office
East Corner of 3d and Cherry streets, over
bier Ayres’ new Grocery Store.
■ ie*T—tf
0. BJIICE,
IW* REPAIRER
■O'PIAIVrO FORTES,
I ently located in Macon.
Bi •*. Messrs. Virgin’s and at E. J. Johnston A Cos.
■ - ‘
lIOWN’sjjfHOTE l,
Opposite the Passenger Depet,
In ic:cßm 4rw3.-m.m
E. E. BROWN, Proprietor,
If Meals ready on the arrir a’ of every Train.
■ ipr!9—tf
L. N. WHITTLE,
■ attorney at law,
MACON, OA.
■ • ! ter. t Concert Hall, over Payne’s Drug Store.
J R. DA VIS,
Hu; Broker. Collector &. General Ag’t.
■>m!a mended to in any county In this State.
■ • “er Jack son and Ellis Street, Augusta, Ga.
I 10CHRANE & LAMAR,
Sr-ttcmeys at Law,
I macon, oa.
■ Offce by the Mechanic’* Bank.
soots from Btol2 A M., 2 toS P. M. and also
M
1 ’ ’cuntiesof the Macon Circuit andln
‘ V. tree and Columbia, and In the Su
■ C -OCHRANE. JOHN LAMAR.
I SPEER & HUNTERr
attorneys at law,
■ Macon, Oca...
V" sl Trlnsulfir Block, Corner of Cherry
Stmt and Cotton Avenue.
- -v ded o. partners In the practice of Law in
ke Macon and adjoining Circuits, and
. - ■'■U’e by special contract—also, will attend
*****Lciir'j at Savannah &lc! Marietta.
ALEX. M. SPEER,
SAMUEL HUNTER.
~ THE LIVER
“IGORATOR!
PBRPIRgD BY DB. SANFORD,
ENTIRELY FROM GUMS,
ti Kll Liver Medicine* now before
•ksakSU **** *? 4 Cathartic, easier, milder, end
cs* A utßer medicine known. It Is not on-
K tcon * flrst onthe Liver
f ’ lt * E cn ™ Stomach and bowels to
’ lc ®PlWblii two purpose* effec-
L-j >-- ‘fi'ofu. feelings experienced In the
It strengthens the system at
it; an i when taken daily In mod
~ itsa *then and build it up with unuaual rap
c~^*alr nS i C,ft!l * * ‘Ptincipal regulators of the
* ‘.-.tj-;' 8 : M Perform* its functions well,
■. .- tm ftiliv developed. The atom
_ • the L.ultLy ucti<>ii
■ 1 • >f. I S performance of its functions:
-* r I 18 * howeUare at fruit,and
*5 am oonsequenc*of one organ—
? ’ig V ™ to ilo Its duty. For the dla
t • °J to the proprietors ha* made It
n.; “ more than twenty years, to
m 2g e toco ’“** n o‘* 0 ‘*
‘t *fc VVSSJ! -sat last found, any person
u -:tc tri\w ft GXIMPLAINT, in any of its
* V* tie, and con vision Is certain.
‘V < -Vy * V morbid or bad matter from
ki their place a healthy flow of
.ofiTTna Tut ach, causing food to digest
-** ■ ‘!JHL ™ BLOOD, Bvln* tone and
fry, cauae of
fi&r&TrKrrk ical cure.
the occasional use of the
■ ; i* _ suflldentto relieve the atom
t-wtak? vie ™ from rising and souring.
t -3etor t retiring, pre rents NIQliT
™ night, loosens the bowels
• **tetfer H TfVKNBSS.
WB ** cß m meal will cure. DYSPEP
• JSIUiiCM spoonful* will always re
■ taken f. I
. -w ■* male obstructions removes
. r - ■* liar toi!? 8 i makes a perfect cure.
’ r - 1 ’ ‘ iy relieves CHOLIC, while
’ - t * is a sure cure for CHOL
“:Vf ■ ventative of CHOLERA.
f-.-cU of ml,- *• ; needed to throw out of the
i V r- cine after a long sickness.
• . - ’ _ | IACNDIOE remove# all
‘ 2 i"r from the skin.
, I'ime before eating gives vig-
L DUB
■ tavS-H TO w hile SUMMER and
- 1 W'£ almost to the first dose.
sOackicausedbv WORMS
. -a- _• “ er. safer, er speedier remedy
- _ n *ver m fnils
cures DROPSY, by exciting the
•s “ - .' L , r f commending this medicine
-'EVvV; S* vER AND AQUA, CHILL
■ V . “fa BILLIOUS TYPK.-
t !5 an: thousand* are willing to
u “•fetor*** e,tln their unanimous eeti-
J* Wan-.
r w th lhr ,n ' l * orm ’
UVER IK VIGOR ATOR
■ ~.E itLSCOVKRY, and Is dally
> . - -I'.l j J ,* T rat to bedeve. It cures as if by
• fee. -TO- ? nn 9 bent fit and celdom moie
k V-i £■ : i c 'are any kind of LIVER Com
* WL “ or b'Apevt ia to a common
u the result of a DISEASED LIV
fßloj
iXr ®°LLAK psr dottle.
■ Afford 4 Ou., 1 roprietore,
to. Ss# Broadway, New York.
■ isf A.geuts:
-'t i n*j T - Dyott A Sons, phiUd‘l
- ; H !I -Hay *cCPortland:
g*{Lis.V'Mn A Hammond, Cleveland;
‘tw£U ° a J • w °? * Co- St. Louis;
ISiscrfkttff.
For the Georgia Citizen.
Ode to Art.
BT r. H. CHI VERS, a. p.
i?*?, the Corner-stone of Heaven,
the Cbtstal Palace of the skies—
(Stretching the firmament from Morn till Even
rr^L^ icb tbe B, *fa s loo . k llown Angel’s eye. i
(The sliver doors on golden hi nges hung
Turning the Angel’s harps to an eclipse
Hearing the creant music from His tome le.
’"dde, sounding His great A jocaiypse;—
Ihen first was born the Art that never dies —
SnAi on< !t rf '}l^ rr feasts even Angel's eyes—
Building the Cbtsial Palac* of the skies. *
With hU right hand stretched out above the sea*
y* waving pi umea on Crowns by Angels worn,
Seated on sius of tblne felicities— 4
He hung the Curtain* of tbe Courts of Morn.
.tyfUmwOks that beamed from hU bright flace.
Chaos then fled astonished at His sight;
while on her heels, through all the Abyss of space.
Followed His voice, filling the void with light i
Then first went forth the Art that never dies
u ?,£. e * v ?? ly ,£* T feast* even Anget'i eyes-
Bulldlng the Crtstal Palace of the lies.
Then, when another creant word was given.
The Stars came forth to glorify the Night;
T£ e ? un God like, on the Hills of Heaven,
Kissing his bride, the Moon, with lips of light.
l‘°*t* of Heaven together sang.
The Soxs or God shouting for i.y that Morn •
The Angels all their bells of glory rang—
But Joy ran riot after Max was bom.
Then let us hail the Art that never dies-
X“* heavenly Abt that feasts even Angel's eyes—
Filling the Crystal Palac I of the skies.
M an i.- wh, i. had lli * birtll ’■ God’ B (Treat heart.
Built this New Citstal Palace here below—
Storing its -Joarts wth ch dei st works of Art.
In likene* of that Heaven God spangled 10.
Oil aa he strives this Glory to express.
In thought, word, act, or deed, or song of love.
He emulates, on earth. His mightiness.
And lives the life the Angels live above.
Then, h&i 1, ail hail the abt that never dies—
™ *****“sr dkht that feasts even Angel's eyes-
Bullt like the Cbtstal Palace of the*sk ee.
Steatfobd, Cm. June 10th, 1364.
For the Georgia Citizen.
Sigh for Rest.
BT T. H. CHIVBBS, M. t>.
Out of the calm sweet peace of death.
Wake me not up to f iture pain ;
Fill me no more with murtai breath.
That 1 may sigh on earth again.
But let me Ue low in the dust.
Beneath the ever peaceful sod,
TUI I shall wake up with the lust.
From my last silent sleep In God.
Villa Allboba, Ga., April 7th, 1867.
The Diamond Breast-Pin.
BY T. 9. ARTHUR.
‘ It will co9t two hundred dollars, An
na!’ said George Blakeley to young,
proud, extravagant wife. The tone in
which he said this, showed that hei re
quest had startled him.
‘I know it will. But what are two
hundred dollars for a diamond pin V
Mrs. Blakeley’s voice was half contemp
tuous. ‘ Mary Edgar’s diamonds cost
over a thousand dollars.’
‘Just one thousand dollars more than
her husband could afford to pay for them ?
said Blakely.
4 He’s the best judge of that, I pre
sume, retorted his wife. ‘ But that does
’nt signify. You can afford to purchase
this diamond pin.’
‘ I cannot, Anna.’
‘ What do ycu do with your money,
pray V
The young wife turned sharply upon
her husband, and her words and tone stung
him into a rather harsh reply. But this
only aroused her anger, and made her
more unreasonably persistent.
* O, very well.’ said her too yielding
husband, at last, *go to Cramneld’s to
morrow and get the pin. Tell him to
send his account on the first of January,
and it will be paid.’
Mrs. Blakely was in earnest. There
was not one of her fashionable acquain
tances but had a diamond ring or breast
pin, and until she was the owner of one
or both, she could no longer hold up her
head in society. Her husband was re
ceiving teller in a bank at a salary of
fifteen hundred'per annum, when he mar
ried, which was about a year before, and
he still occupied the same post, and at
the same income. For a young man in
his position, he had not married wisely.
The handsome face and captivating man
ner of a dashing belle bewildered his fan
cy. He proposed in haste, was prompt
ly accepted, and led to the marriage al
tar, not a true woman, to be transformed
into a true wife, but a weak, capricious,
vain creature, incapable of genuine love
and too selfish and narrow-thought
ed to feel the influence of honorable prin
ciple.
An extravagant love of dress and or
nament characterized her from the be
ginning, and she would hearken to none
of her husband’s gently offered remon
strances. Nearly half of his income she
spent during the first year of their mar
riage, in dress and jewelry.
The demand for a two hundred dollar
breast-pin, coming upon young Blakely,
as it did, at a time when he had just
made the unpleasant discovery of a defi
cit in his income, when compared with
his expenses of several hundred dollars,
sadly disheartened him. But he was
not brave enough to meet the exigency,
and, therefore, weakly yielded to a de
mand that should have been met by un
flinching refusal.
The first of January found Blakely
short of funds by considerably more than
the price to be paid for the diam* >nd pin.
Camfield’s bill came in and must be set
tled. It would not do for him to hold
back in the matter of payment, for the
jeweler was an acquaintance of more
than one of the directors of the bank,
and questions might be asked, and infer
ences drawn prejudicial to his standing.
In an evil hour under distress of mind
i and strong temptation, the young man
made a false entry, which enabled him
to abstract two hundred dollars from the
funds of the bank.
That was only the beginning of a se-
Iriesof defalcations, which ran through
[wy
MACOXV, GA. AUGUST” 13, 1858.
which always follows such a course of
crime. It was easier now to supply the
extravagant demands of his wife, whose
annual wardrobe and bills for jewelry,
for which she had that passion which is
characteristic of weak minds, reached the
full amount of his salary.
But the end came at last. One morn
ing, seven years from the day of their
marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Blakely were
about leaving for the opera, when their
bell was rang violently. Mr. Blakely
started and turned pale with a sudden
presentiment of evil.
4 What is the matter V asked his wife,
who saw the singular in his coun
tenance.
Mr. Blakely did not answer, but
stood listening towards the door. Men’s
voices were now heard, and tread of
heavy feet in the passage. There was
a start and a hurried movement by
Blakely; then he stood still, as if riv
eted to the spot.
‘Who are they? What is meaning
of this this ?’ asked Mrs. Blakely in
alarm. At the same moment two men
entered the room.
‘ You are arrested, said one of them,
‘ on a charge of defalcation.’
Mrs. Blakely shrieked, but her hus
band stood still and statue like, his face
an ashen hue.
4 George! George ! This is false !’ ex
claimed Mrs. Blakely, recovering her
self. ‘You could not stoop to crime!’
4 It is true,’ he answered, in a low, sad.
despairing voice. Then, laying onp. of
his fingers on the diamond pin that glit
tered on her bosom, he added, speaking
to her ear alone.
4 You gained that at the price of your
husband’s dishonor ! You demanded it.
I remonstrated, and said I could not af
ford so costly an ornament You r-
r ,auj jour demand, and I, weak fool
that I was, permitted the contraction of
a debt that could only be canceled by
dishonest means. I thought, when I mar
ried you, that I bad obtained a wife
whose virtues might help me upward on
the way to Heaven, but you have prov
ed only a tempting fiend, dragging me
daily nearer and nearer the brink of
destruction, over which I now fall to
hopeless ruin. I have robbed the bank,
but it was for you !’
Then turning to officers, he said, in a
calm voice—
-41 am at your service.’
The words of her husband had stun
ned Mrs. Blakely. Ere she recovered
herself, he was gone. She never saw
him afterwards. That night he passed
to His account before a higher tribunal
then an earthly one, and she was left in
poverty and disgrace.
The story is one of every day life. —
George Blakely is the representative of
a class. Not all of them rob banks or
defraud. their employers. But all of
them, to support idle, extravagant
wives in costly establishments—costly
in comparison with their means—who
spend more than their earnings or prof
its, and fail in the end to pay their just
obligations.
Pretty Women. —If we have a weak
ness or foible incident to human nature,
it is our admiration of pretty women.
The following correct description of one
of ’em must bave been written by one
who was similarly affected :
“A pretty woman is one of the insti
tutions of the country —an angel in dry
goods and glory. She makes sunshine,
blue sky, Fourth of July and happiness
wherever she goes. Her path is one of
delicious roses, perfume and beauty.—
She is a sweet poem, written in rare
curls, choice calico, and good principles.
Men stand up before her as so many ad
miration points, to melt into cream and
then butter. Her words float around
the ear like music, birds of Paradise, or
the chimes of Sabbath bells. ithout
her, society would lose its truest attrac
tion, the church its fittest reliance, and
young men the very best of company.
Her influence and generosity restrain
the vicious, strengthen the weak, raise
the lowly, flannel-shirt the heathen, and
encourage the faint hearted. Whenever
you find the virtuous woman, you find
also pleasant firesides, bouquets, clean
clothes, order, good living, gentle hearts,
piety, music, light and model institutions
generally. She is the flower of human
ity. a very Venus in dimity, and her in
spiration is the breath of heaven. ’
Christianity. —Christianity is distinguished
by nothing more strikingly than by the
force and tenderness of its sympathies; and
those who are united to the same holy Head,
ought surely to be ever ready both to weep
and rejoice in its unison. If forbearance,
gentleness and courtesy are due to all men,
how plainly ought they to mark our conduct
towards those who are of the household o?
faith! If that charity,which shuns all rashness,
and unseemliness, is ever ready to look upon
others with a favorable eye, must he exer
cised towards our neighbors, generally , how
ought it to live and abound towards the
Lord's flock and family l If the tongue of
detraction is unlawful, even when aimed
against his enemies, how shameful does it
| become wb it inflict* anno jury on a Chri#-
The Dying Wife.
. i.u n u Wt t iat 1 dving. love, the dew is on n,y brow :
, The hectic flush is on my cheek so thin and sunken now ;
There is a trembling at mv he irt that whimpers of decay.
And the light within my eye, baloved. Is fading fast away.
The hand which thou art clasping, love, will soon he cold and
chill;
The heart so faintly throbbing now forevrn#re b* s*ill •
And none lingering, long farewell, will die away the tone
Os this faint voice that long hath loved to echo back thine
own.
It’minds me of the day. beloved, when gentle ones and fair
Were twining orange buds among the tresses of my hair—
When in mv snowy robe I stood all blushing by thy side,
w Ith quivering lip and love lit eye a hopeful, trusting bride.
And now long years have rolled away, but ever kind and true
Thy love has been the sweetest thing that e’er fond woman
knew;
But death Is drawing near me now, and life hath well n'gh
down,
One heart must now be parted, love, and one must throb alone.
thy burning teals are falling on my cheek :
They tell me of the deathless love thy white lips esnnot speak,
weep not, my own. a few brief years, and od a happier shore,
Our hearts that have the same sweet trust shall meet to part
no more. v
} * r l eve 10 leave the babe that nestles on my breast:
Twdll miss the mother's clasping arms that lulled It oft to rest;
Ana dimmed will be the sunny smile around young Ups that
When I have bid them all farewell, from earth
away.
And shouldst thou win another bride, to smile away the gloom
That soon may fling Its dreary pall around my lonely home,
Oh. may she teach my UtUe one* their hearts with hereto
twine.
And ever may her love to thee be warm and true as mine.
But sometimes wilt thou steal away to where the willows
wave.
And think of her whose faithful heart lies in the lonely grave?
But oh. the throes of death, beloved, within ray bosom swell.
1 Is sweet to die upon thy breast—farewell, my own—farewell:
Parlor Daughters.
BY A. BACHELOR.
Girls, young ladies, and, if you please,
mothers too, just listen a moment, for I
have a short story to tell you ; and per
haps at the close of it we will find a
44 moral,” and perhaps a sermon.
A few days since I called upon a young
lady. I may as well say that, having
been considerably ‘ impressed’ by her
beauty and brilliant conversation at sev
eral evening social parties, I had resolv
ed to prosecute the acquaintance. I will
not affirm that there hadnotfioated vague
ly about in my brain ceitain pleasing
ro>e-colored ‘ Bachelor’s reveries,* in
wh’ch figured conspicuously tin !• ,i 4l
ing face and elegant <d Mi s E
Be that as it may, I called ; and, be
ing ushered into the parlor. 1 sat down,
and awaited with some impatience the
appearance of the lady.
\f>/ woa eAi ,n 1 i*n fj J
voices in an adjoining apartment, and
ihe door being ajar, I was perforce a lis
tener.
‘ Ok, Carrie,’ said a very weak voice,
‘if you would only have assisted me
three hours a day, this attack might have
been averted; but now ’tis too late. 1
know that weeks, if not months of illness
are before me. lam all tired ouu.’
‘Why, mother, 1 replied a voice, al
most petulantly, (I had # admired it the
evening previous for its spirited yet amia
ble tone) ‘ why, mother, nobody does
kitchen-work now ; at least, nobody.—
Just think of Mrs. Smy the, or Miss
Brown, or Mrs. Soule’ associating with
your kitchen-girl, with her dingy hands.
Why, the idea is absurd; and besides,
I hate house work.’
‘ Well,* replied the invalid voice. ‘ 1
don’t know what would have been thought
of your assisting me about the house a
few hours each day, but I do know for
the want of this help I am now ill. Yes,
Carrie, for the want of yGur help I have
been obliged to overtask myself.’
Miss E. soon made her appearance,
with her winning smile, gay laugh, and
brilliant repartee; but, somehow, the
image of her over tasked mother con
stantly came between h?r and my previ
ous admiration; so, after a few ill-at
ease attempts at conversation, I took my
leave.
As I slowly walked away, musing, ‘ a
change came over the spirit of my
dreams.’ A daughter who ‘ hateth house
work’ to such a degree as to allow her
mother to get 4 all tired out,’ and ill from
being 4 overtasked’ —could such a daugh
ter become that most inestimable boon
this side of Heaven, a good wife?
What if her husband had wealth, and
filled his house with troops of servants ;
could he have a quiet, neat, well ordered
home? Would his children have a true
mother ? No. A parlor daughter will
make a parlor wife. Brilliant, fascinat
ing—a rare and costly ornament —chal-
lenging the admiration of the world it
may be, but never the holy source and
centre of the comfort and peace of her
family.
As thus rudely my rose-colored reve
ries were changed to sombre hued reali
ries, I queried, was Miss E. an excep
tion to this rule 1 How many young
ladies of my acquaintance were really
‘ helps to their mothers’ in domestic af
fairs? llow many would not blush with
hame at being seen making bread—not
cake, but bread ? How many could cook
auJ get on the table a good dinner, or
superintend and direct such an under
taking? How many to whom the old
fashioned 4 dishcloth’ is not a 4 horrid
thing ?’ Ilow many could starch and
iron a or color, so it would
l<x)k respectably ? Alas! how few could
I recall who would not properly be num
bered in the long list of those to whom
these things wt-re not only mysteries.
ut absolutely disagreeables and undesi
rables ? I say ‘ alas !’ for it is a .-ai
thing, not only for us young men, the
future husbands of these frail 4 lillies of
the field,’ w’ho 4 toil not, neither do they
spin,’ but to the daughters themselves.
Leek *t them, look at yourseive*,
young ladies. Where is the round,
plump, solid arm and cheek of yonr
grandmothers at your age ? Where is
her power of endurance, her exuberant
spirit, depressed by no circumstances ;
her energy and self-reliance, equal to her
emergency; and where, in the future,
are you to obtain strength to pass un
scathed through the perils of maternity,
as did 9he ?
Look around you at the young wives
and mothers; what pitiable specimens
of feminine humanity ; what discourag
ed, disheartened objects of commisera
tion ; what traces of pain and illness are
written upon their shrunken visages be
fore the fifth anniversary of the 4 honey a
moon.’ i
Look at the unhappy countenances of
half the young husbands you meet. Do
they not speak of pleasing anticipations,
followed by unpleasant realities ? How
many a husband, who in his bachelor
days fondly dreamed of a blithe, cheer
ful, neat housewife, whose lark-like song
should testify each morning that house- j
hold duties were a wellspring of plea
sure has found, by sad experience, the •
wide difference between romance and re- I
ality ? And how many a young man of
marriageable age and fine prospects,
seeing the rude dispelling of this or that
companion’s dream of domestic enjoy
ment, takes warning, and holds himself
sternly aloof from all the matrimonial
entanglements ? I assure you, ladies, I
know many a young man, considered by
calculating mammas and amiable daugh
ters decidedly a good match, who, in
confidential conversation does not hesi
tat* to say that he does not dare to get
married.
4 Why,’ said a young man of wealth
and position to me, but last week, 4 when
I marry 1 want a home ; and 1 have been
i'(,Rin K for the last five yeai’s for a wife,
calculated by nature and education, to
make a home for me, and a true mother
for my children, but in vain, so far. Is
not health needed ? But how can the
frail lounger and drawler, to whom the
midnight glare of the chandelier is far
more familiar than the morning sun, have
hcaith for herself, or to bequeath to her
children ? Is not a cheerful disposi
tion needed ? but how can this be ac
quired or kept, by those whose lives are
but one constant round of selfish frivoli
ty ? How can one gam habits of care
and application, without ever having even
the care of her own room ? How can
one superintend the detail of house
keeping, so as to minister to the comfort
of the household to whom every item of
that housekeeping is not only unknown,
but positively hateful V No, I tell you,
Fred, although I may be’able to support
an animated parlor ornament, yet my
taste does not run that way ; and as I
choose to remain a bachelor, untiL I find
an intelligent girl, with domestic accom
plishments.’
Is not this a common sense conclusion,
ladies ? Whether it is or not, many of
the most desirable young men for hus
bands are thus resolved, and more are
coming to think so.
moral.
Young lady, if you wish your moth
er’s life prolonged, help her about the
house. If you wish health and lasting
beauty, do house work. If you wish a
good husband, and wish to make him
happy, don’t 4 hate housework.’
83T We find the following verses in an ob
scure corner of an exchange. They have a
merit and tenderness that a father or mother
can only appreciate:
THE BABE.
Nae shoou to hide her tiny tae,
Nae stocking on her feet.
Her supple ankle white as snow.
Or early blossoms sweet.
Her simple dress of sprinkled pink,
Her double, dimpled chin,
Her puckered lip and baumy mou,
With na one tooth between.
Her een sae like her mlther’s esn.
Twa gentle liquid things:
Her fisce la like an angels face—
We’re glad she has na wings.
She la the budding o’ onr love,
A giftle Ood gi’ed us:
We munna love the gift ow’er well,
T wad bs nae blessing thus.
Unwritten Poetry. —Far down in
the depths of the human heart, there is
a fountain of pure and hallowed feeling,
from which at times, swell up a tide of
emotion which, words are powerless to
express —which the soul alone can ap
preciate. Full many hearts, overflow
ing with sublime thoughts and holy im
aginings, needs but the “pen of fire” to
hold enraptured thousands in its spells.
‘‘The thoughts that breathe” are there,
but cot the “words that burn.” Nature’s
own inspiration fills the heart with emo
tion too deep for utterance, and with the
p..etry of the heart, lies forever conceal
ed in its own mysterious shrine.
Unwritten poetry! It is stamped upon
the broad blue sky ; it twinkles in every
star. It mingles in the ocean’s surge,
and glitters in the dew-drop that gems
the 1i! v* - U glows in the gorge
ous color of the decline of day, and
rest- in the blackened crest of the gath
enng storm cloud. It is on the moun
tain’s height, and in the cataract’s roar—
in the towering oak, and in the tiny
flower, where we can see the hand of
God, there beauty finds her dwelling
| place.
Five Eras in a Maiden’s Life.
BY PROF.ALLEN M. SCOTT.
I first met Lucy B. in the village of
I 1 , where she was attending a Fe
male Seminary. She was then in her
sixteenth year—young, fair and lovely.
Her hair was as black as the raven’s glos
sy plume, and it fell in wavy ringlets up
on her snowy neck and shoulders. Her
eye seemed so bright that one would im
agine no tear of sorrow could ever stain
its heavenly blue. Lucy was happy then.
I pon inquiry concerning her studies,
she showed me her lesson in Philosophy
and also in Astronomy.
Two years elapsed, and again I saw
the lovely maiden. Her school girl days
were over, and she had left the academic
shade forever. I heard her hearty laugh
as it rang through the old Hall, in her
father’s mansion ; I saw her when she
vied with her little sisters in pursuing
the painted butterfly, as it flitted from
flower to flower in the garden. Lucy
was happy. Smile on, frail, happy one,
there is a dark future before thee ! Smile
on now—by and by smiles must give
place to tears of bitter anguish ! But I
anticipate.
Two annual circuits more had our
globe made round her central sun, when
I again saw Lucy. The days of love
had come ! At her father’s house in a
richly furnished parlor, in the midst o
cherished friends, before the man of God,
she murmured with white lips, a vow as
lasting as life itself, and gave away her
yielding heart to him who was the idol
of her life. She hoped for long years
ot wedded love, and still she was happy.
Two years more were numbered with
the past, and I again saw Lucy. She
was in her own house. Wealth poured
UDOn her its Ablirwtor.* st'.Tßu
stood around to exscute her every wish
—her husbaud was all that is implied in
that endearing term—her beautiful boy
was just learning to lisp her name—her
home was girdled around with love and
affection. Lucy was still happy.
Long years now elapsed ! My adven
turous footsteps had borne me far to
wards the setting sun. Event had fol
lowed event—circumstance had crowded
upon circumstance —until I had well nigh
forgotten Lucy, the lovely maiden of oth
er days. Returning through a portion
of the country but sparsely settled, one
cloudy evening I lost my way on the
slope of a mountain, and night overtook
me. I wandered for hours in the wild
woods, over rugged rocks, and fallen
trees, and brambles, when weary with
travel and hunger, and in despair of
reaching human habitation, I was prepar
ing to lie down on ray overcoat and sad
dlebags, at the root of a tree, when the
glimmering of a light arrested my eye.
Hoping to find a resting place, 1 kept
my eye upon it, and wa9 attracted in
that direction. There was a lowly hut,
solitary and alone, overhung by great
mountain oaks, and seemed to be the re
treat of mountain hunters, and not the
home of civilized and lovely woman.
A faint light was gleaming through the
cracks. I approached and saw a woman,
pale and sorrowful, sitting on a wooden
stool, holding in her lap a child, wrap
ped in a ragged quilt. s Twas Lucy !
Oh! how changed. Time and sorrow
had made her old—her beauty had de
parted—her riches had taken wings—
her children, save this one, had been re
moved, one after another, to the spirit
world, and naught was left to her but
her husband and this poor child, that was
moai ing, and, in the delirium of fever,
calling for its father; but it called in
vain! The father was not there ! He
was drunk at a neighboring grocery I
The wine cup hAd estranged him from
home and all its enchantments. He was
a sot —a very brute. He had beggared
hi 9 fond wife, broken her heart, and cov
ered her with rags! Lucy was a drunk
ard's wife!
Before the sweet birds began to 9ing the
advent of morning, I assisted her to close
the eyes of her last child, and, at an
early hour, on the next day, sought out
a few neighbors, and with their aid a
rude grave was prepared, and Lucy’s
babe was interred upon the brink of a
little stream. Soon after, Lucy herself
was placed by its side, and now, after
life’s pilgrimage is over, she rests in si
lence, and sleeps in unbroken peace far
away in a western forest! A drunkard’s
wife! Fearful words! Reader, art thou
a young lady ? Consider well the im
port of this term, before you consent to
wed a tippler. Thiuk of poor Lucy’s fate,
and may a happier lot be thine !
Queer Feat fob a Woman. —One of the
most indefatigable creatures, a female book
agent, went up the inside of a tall chimney
at Charleston, over one huudred feet, to get
subscriptions from bricklayers. They told
her jokingly that if she would come up they
would subscribe, and she took them at their
word, and they very handsomely gave her
eight subscriptions
Woman’s Rights In the Seven
teenth Century.
The following is a letter written by
Lady Compton to her husband, in the
beginning of the seventeenth century. —
In it she gives a list of what she suppos
es necessary for a woman of her posi
tion. Whether these things werec>nsid
ered necessaries in a legal point of
view does not appear. In justice to La
dy Compton, however, it should be said
that she brought her husband a large for
tune :
Mv Bweet Life :—Now that I have
declared to you my mind for the settling
of your state, I supposed it were best for
me to bethink or consider with myself
what allowance were meetest for me, for,
considering what care I have had of your
estate, and how respectfully I dealt with
those which, both by the laws of God, of
nature, and of civil polity,"wit, religion,
government, and honesty, you, my dear,
are bound to, I pray and 4 beseech you to
grant me £I6OO per annum, quarterly to
be paid.
Also, I would (besides that allowance
for apparel) have £6OO added yearly
(quarterly to be paid) for the perform
ance of charitable works: and those
things I would not, neither will be, ac
countable for.
Also, 1 will have three horses for my
own saddle, that none shall dare to lend
or borrow ; none lend but I, none bor
row but you.
Also, I would have two gentlewomen
lest one should be 9iek or have some
other lett j also, believe it is an indecent
thing for a gentlewoman to stand mum
ping alone when God has blessed her
Lord and Lady with a good estate.
Also, when I ride a hunting or hawk
ing, or travel from one house to another
i win hate them unending, so, for either
of those said women, 1 must and will
have for either of them a horse.
Also, I will have six or eight gentle
men ; and 1 have my two coaches, one
lined with velvet to myself with four
very fair horses, and a coach for my wo
men lined with sweet cloth ; one laced
with gold, the other with Scarlet, and
laced with watch lace and silver, with
four good horses.
Also, I will have two coachmen ; one
for my own coach, the other for my wo
men.
Also, at any time when I travel, I will
b>- allowed not only carroches and spare
hor-u-s for me and my women, but I will
have such arriages as shall befitting
for all, orderly, not pestering my things
with my women’s nor theirs with cham
bermaid’, uor iheir> with washmaids’.
Also, for laundresses when travel, I
will have them sent away before with
the carriages to see all safe; and the
chambermaids I will have go before with
the greens, that the chambermaids may
be ready, sweet and clean.
Also, for that it is indecent to crowd
up myself with my gentleman usher in
my coach, I will have him to have a con
venient horse, to attend me either in the
city or in the country. And I must have
two footmen. And my desire is that
you defray all the charges for me.
And for myself, besides my yearly al
lowance, I would have twenty gowns of
apparel, six of them excellent good ones;
eight of them for the country, and six
other of them very excellent good ones.
Also, I would have to put in my purse
£2OOO and £2OO, and also for you to
pay my debts.
Also, I would have £6OOO to buy me
jewels, and £4OOO to buy me a pearl
chain.
Now, seeing 1 am so reasonable unto
you, 1 pray you find my children appa
rel, and their schooling; and also my
servants (men and women) their wages.
Also, I would have my house furnish
ed, and all my chambers to be suited
with such furniture as is fit, as beds,
stools, chairs, suitable cushions, carpets,
silver warming pans, cupboards of plate,
fair hanging, and such like; so for my
drawing chambers in all houses, I will
have them delicately furnished, both
with hangings, couch canopy, glass, car
pets, chairs, cushions, and all things
thereunto belonging.
Also, my desire is, that you would pay
nil my debts, build Ashby house, and
purchase lands: and lend no money (as
you love God) to Lord Chamberlaiu,
who would have all, perhaps your life,
from you. Remember his son, my Lord
Walden, what entertainments he gave
me when you were at Tilt-yard. If you
were dead, he said he would be a hus
band, a father, a brother; and he said
he would marry me. I protest I grieve
to see the poor man have so little wit
and honesty, to use his friend so vilely.
Also, he fed me with untruths concern
ing the Charter house, but that is the
least; he wished roe much harm; you
know him. God keep you and me from
such as he i9 !
So now that I have declared to you
what L would have, and what that ia that
NO. ai.
I would not have, I pray that when you
be an earl, to allow me £IOOO more than
I now desire, and double attendance.
Your l oving wife,
ELIZ \ COMPTON.
[From the Memphis Appeal.]
Two Sides f<> a Picture.
SOLILOQUY OF a NEWSPAPER READER!
\Y hat a happy set of dogs editors are,
to be sure! Nothing under the heavens
to do bnt to read papers, hunt up news, %
and write scraps of editorials, now aud
then. They exemplify the truth of the
adage, “There’s but a penny’s difference
between those who work and those who
play—and those who play gei it.” They
take their ease and live on the cream of
the land. Hoes anybody get married ?
Away goes a box of the nicest, whitest
cake, champagne, nuts, candies, etc., to
the editor to pay him for telling it to the
world. Does anybody raise any extra
large, or extra early fruit, vegetable or
berries ? It is sure to find its way to the
editor’s table. Does a person make a
delicious bottle of wine, brandy, cider, or
cordial ? It’s sure to find its way to the
head of the paper. Jerusalem ! how I’d
like to board with an editor.
But that’s not half the favors they re
ceive. If there’s a concert, a show, or
circus in town, the editor is sure to have
a ticket, free gratis for nothing, besides
being presented with a season ticket to
the theatre. They have all the maga
zines, newspapers, Congress documents,
telegraphic dispatches, and so forth, be
fore anybody else ; and most generally
for nothing. If anybody writes a book,
a copy is always laid on the editor’s ta
ble. Wonder if he eats it? He some
times digests it, I know. Editors have
whole libraries given to them every year
not to mention hats, gloves, umbrellas,
pocket knives, cigars, walking canes, and
dry goods generally—enough to set up
a country merchant.
And, besides, when every bod else
is curious to know the real names of
writers over fictitious signature, editors
—sly fellows—laugh at their curiosity ;
and, when solicited to let out the secret,
answer with a puff—(editors understand
puffing to a charm !) —“ I promised not
to tell.' 1 By the beard of Brigham
Y oung ! I wish I was an editor !
SOLILOQUY OF AN EDITOR.
I wish to heaven Job had willed me
his patience when he died. 1 am sure no
man ever had a greater need for it. It is
hot enough, up here to singe my eye
brows, and my head’s aching and throb
bing as if there was an earthquake brew
ing in it. I feel for all the world, like
somebody had introduced a churn-dasher
churned my brains until they were as
soft as butter. Jim Lane and Kansas!
what ahurly burly there is on this street.
I believe every carriage, buggy, hack,
omnibus, cart, dray, and wheelbarrow,
in the whole length and breadth of the
city, have done nothing all day, but rat
tle up and down the pavement, throwing
as much dust into my eyes, as I do into
the eyes of the public. I’ve read over
exchanges until I’m nearly blind, for
something to fill up my paper, and have
found nothing, after all, worth a bauble.
Wonder what the duce those editors
were about, that they got up such horri
bly dull papers this week ! I’m as hun
gry as a wolf, but before I can take a
homeward step, I’ve four columns of
proof to correct, besides those dull books
to review, complimentary notices to
write of 1 them, a leader to that speech,
and that huge letter to goodness
gracious and gracious goodness ! Is my
head going to burst open ? There’s on®
man complaining that he don’t get his
paper regularly—wants me to have it
corrected; as if I was post master and
mail carrier, as well as editor! And
what’s this blotched, crumped affair ?
“ Meester Editor : pies change my
papir to our nu postoffice, as its more
handy to me than the ole wun, and oblige
A Pool.”
A pool! I’ll apply to the Legislature
to have your name changed to a A Fool.
Here’s another:
“Messrs. Editors: Permit a friend
to make a suggestion. We like your
paper in this section. We regard it as
the standard organ of our party, but
there is an objection which I frequently
hear urged against it; there’s not enough
variety in it. We like politics, but you
know the old adagej “You can choke a
dog on pudding.” Many of your sub
scribers can’t afford to take more than
one paper, and therefore wish a variety.
“ A hint to the wise is sufficient.”
Let’s see what this man, who writes
such a thunder and lightning hand, says
for himself:
“ Mr. Editor : 1 take your paper be
cause it is a political journal, and I would
respectfully say, that I wish to heaven
you’d keep stories, poetry, anecdotes,
and so forth, out of it. When I wish to
read such stuff, I’ll take the New York,
Lbdger, the Tribune, the Saturday. Eve
ning Post, or some such trash. Yon