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X7 - 0 3L. 9 a
THE GEORGIA CITIZEN
* |* erer v Friday morning at $2.50 per annum in
• it there charge will be One Dollar
i words or leu, for the first inser
jgi*!V rent) for t*seh suhecquent insertion. All ad
is, t“ ‘ll. a owcified s* to time, will be published until
’ A liberal discount allowed
t&- *tl?i*rtise by the year.
olirr * °* ov<r <CTI i " l< A wlil ** at the
•a ‘ intents of eanditlates for office to be paid tor at
ti - :i U AT rents made with county officers. Druggists,
- ir w Vra- ts. and others, who may wish to make
_
is-’ ~rid Negroes. ‘ y Executors, Administra
s are requir'd by law to be advertised ia a
f- Jay. previous to the dav of sale,
f must be held on the first TuewUy in the month.
j, erf ten in the forenoon and three in the af
***-..1 in the county In which the prop-
Pr Property must be advertised In like
pA .®|£ Jar*.
lectio Deotort and Creditor* of an Estate must be
L : ;l : . , be made to the Ordinary for
Wirt ‘. Xegroea, must be published weekly for
’ u rt .L for Letters of Administration, thirty days ; for
a Administration, monthly, six months ; for
deewOwffisnshlp. weekly, forty days.
Forecl.Ndiie of tloruage*. monthly four
Wl ‘Wi *fc wt st papers, for the full space ofthree
1 - m • ;ag titles from executors or administrators
‘ ; Idas been given by the deceased, the full space of
nsl end Easiness Card* will be inserted un
fttfSdatthe foiicw'mgrates, via:
tor Pw lines, per annum, • # 00
* T-c. Uses, do 10 00
fciicrertuement of this class will be admitted, unless paid
; i’-we nor for a less term than twelve months. Ad-
L -at? of over ten lines will be charged pro rata. Ad
rucn. nts not paid for in advance will be charged at the
u: rates.
him Mmm
LAITIES & ANDERSON,
Attorne ys at law,
Misoon, G-a.,
■mCTICI is the counties of the Macon Circuit, and In
■ur -uha f bum ter. if ,aroe and Jones; also in the
H)gk courts st > j van nab.
Pivi:. i ANDERSON have also recently become the
f ..owing Insurance Companies :
PiiA -IA iNt-VRANCE AND BANKING COM
■jTrfvhSi W. M. D'Antignac is President, and C. F.
■ftr* jecrtirt.
Kl * ALABAMA FIRE AMD MARINE INSCR
■ i Mi AMT, M tgomery, of which T. H. Watts is
Pstenmd A. williams is Secretary.
P*rsßind risks on slaves taken at usual rates.
■>:-r
It H. A. METTAUER,
PlTHGtpen: s portion ofthree taccesaive years in
■ ib :.:y, during which time he has limited his
Hr'tsdssi: ci.-luiivsly to Surgery, now respectfully
Pi'je— *sto the citisens of Macon and surround-
Bup- = all the branches of his profession. Office
Pi‘:;:i Sait Corner of 8d and Cherry streets, over
■ifer lyres’ new Grocery Store.
0. |i_BICE,
Iff*! REPAIRER I
KPIAIVO FOFITEB,
■tauratiy located in Macon. HfNames may
Bfsfeori, Virgin’s and at E. J. Johnston A Cos.
jIHWN’S J§H 0 T E L,
1 Opp*ite the Passenger Depot,
mt m r;cmf
K I. E. BROWN, Proprietor,
VMtsli ready oa the arriva.’ of eyery Train.
Hr'.M!
I L N WHITTLE,
lITORNEY AT LAW,
1 MACON, GA.
- Concert Hail, over Payne’s Drug Store.
j7r. DAVIS
k Broker. Collector & General Ag’t.
Bum standed to In any county in this State.
Btircrter Jsckion and Ellis Street, Augusta, Ga.
ILOCHRANE & LAMAR,
Attorneys at Law,
MACON, GA.
ICfice by the Mechanic’s Bank.
S3 ‘RS 7:m Sto HA. M., 5 tos P. M.andalto
■ - > lea of the Macon Circuit andln
0 11 l:o and Columbia, and in toe Su
|l LOCHRANE. JOHN LAMAR.
f SPEER & HUNTERr
■ITORNEYS AT LAW,
Macon, Ga.,
h Trianzulir Biotk, Corner of Cherry
I Street and Cotton Ivenne.
■ !T ’ partner* In the practice of Law in
*ti< Mac.::, and adjoining Circuit*, and
: ’ ‘ • tv necial contract—also, will attend
: Savannah and Marietta.
■ ALEX. M. SPEER,
SAMUEL HUNTER.
THE LIVER
S'IGOR ATOR!
PREPARED BY DR. BANFORD,
FROM GUMS,
>• ■* A Liver Medicine* before
■ -- act* u i Cathartic, easier, milder, and
J sther medicine known. II U no* on
.: r ’ 1 Liver remedv. acting first on the Liver
.• ‘ i xatter, then on the Stomach and bowel* to
cb- .* sccompllshing two purposes effec
- Uhe painful feeiinz* experienced in the
~ ij~ < r -’ -Arties. It strenShen* the *ystem at
*■ tees it; and when taken daily in mod
it 1 bu..i and. up with unusual rap-
n-2? 8 ;t --Mofthel • principal regulator* of the
* *4 perform* its function* well,
! *’ ■ ate m Kii'v developed. The atom
dent on the healthy action |
’ P r w performance of its functions;
w - weis are at fkult, and ,
~r; ‘ In consequence of one organ—
,. -* -* easedj ™to do lts duty. For the dls
tatj ■ , Cl ~- . Ce the proprietor* has made It
“ more than twenty year*, to
ec V witl. tr c-''interactthe many
tct ' tu ** liable.
** is at last found, any person j
u L. V EK ■ COMPLAINT, In any at 1U
.. ’ ‘ 1 tie, and conviction i* certain.
‘••• “,."L ~ i * - morbid or bad matter from
i- , .?-■* !t *5 tneir place a healthy flow of
‘• -V\ 2 ach, causing food to dlgerf
TIS
l P, b V Ul *^ on ‘ “•* ofUie
K; _ sufficient to relieve the (torn•
‘ J? 04 m from riling and aourin*.
♦t **-r*| retiring, prevent! NluHT*
„ *L *■ meal wufc'ur* DYSPEP
£ HEai.^-he’ spoonful* wUI alway* re
'‘_L fcr ?e ■* male o let ructions remove*
• . ! make* a perfect cur*.
- -."i” ‘ ly relieve* CHOUC. while
L* “ in sure cure for CHOL
r • ..‘lor entative of CHOLERA.
. -S', nee led to throw out of the
■ ■ -e - cine after a long elcknesa.
r"r ‘ _ JAUNDICE remove* aU
’ Lie r-'-faleol • , r from the skin.
’ “ r m time :-;fore eating give* vig
.‘{•“rf X DUR
while SUMMER and
’ ‘ almost to the find doae.
- cures attacks caused by WORMS
h r. er. safer, r*peedier remedy
r i “owr ih rati*
;*-< tM * • [DROPSY, by exdU&x the
1 - . ‘ , *- ‘r- mm ending thi* medicine
-c . Ft VKRANDAOUEchiII
v r : E, ER- ~f , billiocs type.-
• k and thousands are wUlingto
a *ho a I T& ’ l tu **-
L’'* tl Ih**tr unanlmou* eatl
rhin,,h” m '*uth w th the In>Uor-
TffV r r^’
S liver invigorator
[-< . MEDICAL DISCOVERY, and is dally
Sv. -J 0 to believe. It cure* as if by
;• “... .‘' l u 'U gtcing btr.tKt, and seldom more
• eit’. r >l--cure any kind of LIVERCom
- n. ‘-/rundic* or Dyspepsia to* common
aich are the result of a DISEASED LTV
WC * °* z DOLLAR PER BOTTLE.
SASFord k OO n Proprietor*,
* SASBroadwiy, New York.
Q °ijsai o Agents:
! X ’ York ; T. w Dyott * Sona. Philadel
;- rtol*Do - D'isb.n :H. H. HayAOo Portland;
S<* * • Gaylord * Hammond, Cleveland ;
Klrhard Henry Horne, es England.
trr T. B. CBIVXBB, X. D,
‘on Surricli Orbis.
I^t 0 *t ali . ta . rte *’ incend ** tuT ornnet et etudia Gloria.”
‘ f old< ;“ thoughts thou mould'* the sense
**V rapt soul in eloquence sublime -
T Rewt^2e°,V the “SHS* thln< ‘ eloquence
Reverberate through all the Courts of Time.
Tl tho*e mystic dreams
Bm , dreln e d amid this Vale of Tears •
on the rial-stream*, ’
Fxoatjag in music down the eternal years.
of man’s menui glooti
ke- D *l’ lendor * the Day from Might:
StSri^/ i ,trav . e< L 0 * he * “ “* open tom* ’
springing in splendor up the Heavens In light,
' jor s °f immortal Prose
rJ lei: Poe i ot supernal power ;
fikl h * r, D ? re love in music flows.
Like some great River, whom God’s love doth dower.
Tliouart God among all English men,
wifrl ,i °°i thelr voices all are dumb;
X™mp shall be re-biown again
By the Titanic Ups of Tears to come. -
l* damant_Uiy ink is fire-
-.''VJTo'oh thou do* indite immortal things:
Kh r l , ‘ re “ n>, ? Uofd ivine desire,
Which cannot die, bore with an Angel's wings.
After thy labor comes the Day or Kkst •
Heaven, enthroned in endless bliss,
Th. tiie Immortal blest.
The wide unfolding ofthy happiness.
Then shalt thou sit enthroned among thy Peers,
WMWill#’ ® ntr acced, to song* shall never cease,
tLroogh the jKom of tby years.
Crown thy white soul with Eider-down of peace
Viixa Allmea, Ga., Dec. Bth, 1867.
Eva Florentine, or, the Dnped Father
in-law.
Oliver Florentine was a very rich man.
lie owned broad acres of mowing and
pasture land, and immense orchards, con
taining every variety of fruit trees in the
country, together with title deeds to sev
eral large brick blocks in the city. He
prided himself not a little on ‘looking
out for number onebut which consis
ted in niggardly schemes with all who
had the misfortune to transact any busi
ness with him. His face was as rigor
ous as a Dutch nut cracker. In his
household management Oliver was a
perfect skinflint; tradition said that he
used to soak the back-log in the cistern,
and then mix the meal with which the
pigs were fed with the water, and water
the lamp oil j and he was aided and
abetted in all his avaricious schemes by
a vinegar-faced old house-keeper, who
atiutcJ fro*w v —-▼? hub ? Oc/UJO I
would ask —meanness.
But there is another being within his
residence. How shall 1 describe her?
Now picture to the mind that gentle
eyed creature; you observe that she was
rather tall, but so finely moulded in her
form, and her muscles so nicely adapted
to their appropriate uses, that her move
ments are uncommonly graceful and easy.
Her skin is of the finest texture, disapha
nous, smooth and of a slight brunette
complexion, just enough so avoid a dark
hue on the one hand, or a paleness on the
other. Her glossy ringlets are of mid
night hue, and her eyes a deep blue,
which looked at a little distance as if
they were black, but near to, an umbrage
of rich blue is discoverable. Sweet Eva,
thou wert as dissimilar to thy papa as a
canary bird is to a bull dog. Not be
ing blessed with a son to continue his
name and inherit his fortune, he lavished
all his tenderness and care upon his
daughter. Eva had no reason to com
plain of her father’s penuriousness, as
far as she was concerned. He sent her
to the best school, and gave her a ‘carte
blanche on the fashionable milliners; and
1 may say that when when she walked out i
on a sunny day, there was no more gaily i
decked damsel to be seen in all Scrabble
town.
Now don’t think, reader, for a moment,
that the fair Eva had no idol of her
heart. Os course several very fine young
men, with one-third collar, one-s.xth pat
ent leather, one-fourth walking stick,
and the rest kid gloves and hair, fell over
head and ears in love with her, and there
was a larger number of whiskers outside
the meeting she attended, than darkened
the door of any other metropolitai. church.
Besides, Oliver was a formal rival to
his attractive daughter. Didn’t he fire
a charge of rock salt into the inexpressi
bles of Dan Smith, when he came seren
ading with a guitar 1 Didn’t he flog
that insignificant Sam Nutmeg for leav
ing a valentine at his door ? asn’t he
capable of unheard of atrocities ?
Couldn’t he squeeze bear’s grease out of
a pig’s tail ? The suiters of the pretty
Eva were all frightened off the track bv
her ogre of a father, except a young fel
low who responded to the name of Dan
iel Albro. The old gentleman really
liked Daniel; he was so staid, so calm
and so full of information. He was a
regular price current, and no man was
better acquainted with the price of eve
thing. Why Eva liked him it was very
difficult to conjecture, for he was devoid
of the small talk which generally char
acterises our young ladies, and a\ erse to
mustaches, disliked the opera, and con
sidered waltzing indelicate. Perhaps his
good looks recompensed for other imper
fections, or, perhaps, that terrible hor
ror of dying in a state of single blessed
ness, induced her to countenance the on
ly man her father was ever known to
tolerate.
One evening Albro screwed up his cour
age to the task of addressing the old
; man on the subject nearest his heart.
: ‘Hr. Florentine,’ said he, *1 have had
MACQ3V, GA. AUGUST 20, 1858.
made up a horrible face, and placed his
hand somewhere near his heart.
‘Jack, Jack,’ screamed the old man,
‘run for the doctor, for Albro is dying !’
and the old man walked the room, ener
getically.
‘Stop him, stop him,’ said Albro.
‘What, what,’ and the old man ran to
the door, screaming for Jack to come
back, which he heard, and then come
back.
‘What is the meaning of all this?’
said the old man.
‘lour daughter,’ gasped the young
man.
‘Well, what about her?’ asked Mr.
Florentine, sharply.
‘l’m in love with her,’ said Albro.
‘Humbug, humbug,’ said Mr. Floren
tine.
‘Fact,’ rejoined Albro.
‘What is your income ?’ inquired Flor-!
entine.
‘One thousand,’ answered the suppli
cant.
‘lt won’t do, my boy,’ answered Flor
entine, shaking his grim locks. “No
man on a salary shall marry my daugh
ter. Why, she is the finest girl in all
Scrabbletown; and it takes capital to
marry a fine girl. When you have thir
ty thousand dollars you can talk.”
Albro disappeared, and none knew
he bid good bye. How full of sadness
and how full of sorrow it oftentimes
sounds. It is a consecrated word.
Six months after that Miss Eva Flor
entine received a letter which ran thus:
San Jose, Cal., April, 1857.
Dearest Eva :—Enclosed you will find
a specimen of California gold, which
please hand your father, and oblige. I
shall return as soon as July. Please in
form your father that I have made fifty
thousand dollars, and shall call upon him
to see about the matter which I alluded to
while at his house. Yours, truly,
rLva tun
who was overjoyed. Some weeks elaps
ed, and the return of the steamer to
New York was telegraphed. Floren
tine was off in a hurry to see his future
son-in-law. On the day of his expected
arrival he met with a Californian.
‘Has he been lucky ?’ He enquired.
“Yes, fifty thousand, at the lowest fig
ure. But he’s going to try a game over
you. He means to tell you that he has
been robbed of all on his way home, to see
if you will have any generosity or dis
interestedness—to see whether you would
give him your daughter, gold or no gold.’
‘Sly dog,’said Florentine. “I’m much
obliged to you for the hint. I’ll act ac
cordingly.”
Now it happened that the Californian
was a good friend to Albro, and that the
storyjof Albro’s fortune was true, he hav
ing been robbed of every ounce of his
hard earned gold dust on his way home.
So it may be supposed that he called on
Florentine with a very lugubrious and
woe-begone air.
‘My dear boy,’ said Florentine, ‘l’m
delighted to see you, and pleased to hear
of your luck. I welcome you as my
son-in-law. But what the duce is the
matter with you ?’
‘I am the most unfortunate man living,’
said Albro. ‘I made fifty thousand dol
lars at the —’
‘Very hard luck,’ interupted the old
man.
‘But on my way home I was robbed
of every ounce, and now how can 1 claim
your daughter’s hand V
‘You shall have my daughter, and the
marriage shall be celebrated to-morrow
night,’ said Florentine, cunningly. ‘ln
anticipation of your return, I have had
you published. And while you’re talk
ing with Eva, I’ll draw a check for forty
thousand dollars, so that you may go
into business with a capital.’
‘My dear sir, how can I thank you 1’
‘By making my girl a good husband.
There, go, go and tell Eva the news.’
They were married. He went into
business on the forty thousand furnish
ed by his father-in-law, and was very
prosperous, so that Florentine was more
convinced than ever that the story was
a regular Munchausen. Once or twice
he tried to repeat It, but the old gentle
man always cut him short with,
‘I know all about it. Had it put in
the papers too, eh 1 Poor fellow ! Well,
I made it up to you.”
When Mr. Florentine departed this
life, his immediate property was equally
divided between his daughter and his
son-in-law. The old miser had died in
the full belief that Albro never lost the
dust.
Newspaper Scscribers. —One of our cotem
poraries classifies his subscribers under five
different heads—those who pay in advance—
those who pay when their bills are presen
ted—those who pay after some dunning
those who pay if they have the money—
and those who have conscientious scruples
against paying at all. Thislast class, unfortu
nately, is a large one, and its members are
scattered aU over the Whet an ill
1 ed OMBfto* printer fc
Life is like the Sommer Rose.
WILDE.
My life ia like the summer rose,
That opena to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground to die.
Yet on that rose’s humble bed,
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
Ah if she wept such waste to see;
But none shall weep a tear for me.
LADY.
The dews of night may fall from heaven
Upon the withered rose’s bed,
And tears of fond regret be given
To mourn the virtues of the dead.
Yet morning’s sun the dews will dry
And tears will fade from sorrow's eye,
Affection’s pangs be lulled to sleep,
And even love forget to weep.
WILDE.
My life is like the autumn’s leaf
That trembles in the moon’s pale ray—
Its hold is frail, its date is brief,
Restless, and Boon to pass away.
Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree shall mourn its shade;
The winds bewail the leafless tree,
But none shall breath a sigh for mo.
LADY.
The tree may mourn its fallen leaf
And autumn winds bewail its bloom,
And friends may heave a sigh of grief
O’er those who sleep within the tomb.
Yet soon will spring renew the flowere,
And time will bring more smiling hours;
In friendship’s heart all grief will die,
And even love forget to sigh.
WILDE.
My life is like the prints which feet
Have left on Tempo’s desert strand—
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
All trace will vanish from the sand.
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race
On that lone shore, loud moans the sea,
But none, alas! shall mourn for me.
LADY.
The sea may on the desert shore
Lament each trace it bears away:
The lonly heart its grief may pour
O'r cherished friendship’s fast deeay.
Yet when all track is lost and gone,
The waves dance bright and gaily on;
Thus soon affection’s bonds are torn,
And even love forgets to mourn.
My Life Is like the Scattered Wreck.
BY R. EMMETT HOOE.
“My life Is like the summer rose.”—R. H. Wnn.
My life is like the sea tterea wreck
Cast by the waves upon the shore;
The broken masts, the rifted deck,
Tell of the shipwreck that is o’er:
fiicu iuV3t UIM I Alt
Again to tempt the faithless ,
But hope rebuilds no bark for me.
My life is like the blighted oak.
That lifts its seer and withered form,
Scathed by the lightning’s sudden stroke,
Sternly to meet the coming storm;
Yet round that sapless trunk entwine
The curling tendrils of the vine,
And life and freshness there impart—
Not to the passion-blighted heart.
My life is like the desert rock,
In the mid-ocean lone and drear;
Worn by the wild-wave’s ceaseless shock,
That round its base their surges roar:
Yet there the sea-moss still will cling—
Some flower will find a cleft to spring,
And breathe e’en there, a sweet perfume:
For me, life’s flowers no more will bloom.
BIADAY READING.
Speaking of the five great objects of life
Sir Wm. Temple says ; The greatest pleas
ure of life is love ; the greatest treasure is
contentment; the greatest possession is
health ; the greatest ease is sleep ; and the
greatest medicine is a true friend.
Christianity. —ls ever Christianity ap
pears in its power, it is when it erects its
trophies on the tomb ; when it takes up its
votaries where the world leaves them, and
fills the breast with immortal hope in dying
moments.
Life is what we make it. Let us call back
images of joy and gladness, rather than
those of grief and care. The latter may
sometimes be our guests to sup and dine, but
let them never be permitted to lodge with
us.
“No Man Liveth Unto Himself,” — God
has written on the flowers that sweeten the
air—upon the breeze that rocks the flowers
upon the stem —upon the rain-drops that re
fresh the sprig of moss that lifts its head in
the forest—upon its deep chamber—upon
every penciled sheet that sleeps in the cav
erns of the deep no less than upon the
mighty sun that warms and cheers millions
of creatures which live in its light—upon all
His work He has written, ‘‘None liveth for
himself.”
Anticipation. —Never anticipate misfor
tune. Troubles come soon enough without
looking for them beforehand: and, moreover,
by constantly expecting sorrow and disap
pointment, we destroy the happiness of the
present, which it is our bounden duty to en
joy to the full extent; and troubles that
come unexpected are often the least severe;
The present evil is often the husk in which
Providence has enclosed the germ of future
prosperity.
Longfellow has beautifully remarked, that
“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds to
gether the volume of the week.”
A wise man ought to hope for the best,
be prepared for the worst, and bear with
equanimity whatever may happen.
Good Advice. —To give brilliancy to the
eyes, shut them early at night and open
them early in the morning and let the mind
be constantly intent on the acquisition of
useful knowledge and the exercise of benev
olent feelings. .
Resignation to the W ill of God. —A good
Christian always submits his will to the prov
idence of God, which orders all things for
the best, howmuchsoever it goes against the
grain of his own inclination ; for God loves
those who trust in and obey Him, and will
ever choose better for us than we can do for
ourselves.
Wisdom and Happiness.— He is indeed
the wisest and happiest man, who, by con
stant attention of thought, discovers the
greatest opportunities of doing good, and,
with ardent and animated resolution breaks
through every opposition, that he may im
yfff# tit m WrtaaitMjfefcirfe*.
Bad Habits--Sound Advice to
a Young Man.
Every young person, male and female,
should get and read and preserve care
fully “Timothy Titcomb’s Letters.”—
Nothing like them for sense, earnestness
and strength, have appeared since the
days of Solomon. Take a sample of
what they are, this talk on bad habits :
It is entirely natural for people to
form habits, so that if bad habits be
avoided, the good one9 will generally
take care of themselves. I had no inten
tion when I commenced the letters of say
ing anything upon dogmatic theology, but
I take the liberty of suggesting to those
who are interested in this kind of thing
that if there be anything that demon
strates total depravity, it is the readiness
with which young men imbibe bad hab
its. I have seen original sin in the
shape of “ a short six” sticking out of
the mouth of a lad of ten years. It is
strange what particular pains boys and
young men will take to learn to do that
which will make them miserable, ruin
their health, render them disgusting to
their friends, and damage their reputa
tion.
Some of the fashionable bad habits of
the day are connected with the use of
tobacco. Here is a drug that a young
man is obliged to become accustomed to
before he can tolerate either the taste
or the effect of it. It is a rank vegeta
ble poison ; and in the unaccustomed an
imal produces vertigo, faintness, and
horrible sickness. Yet young men per
severe in the use of it, until they can en
dure it, and then until they love it.—
They go about the streets with cigars in
their mouths, or into society with breath
sufficiently offensive to drive all„ unper
verted nostrils before them. They chew
tobacco—roll up huge wads of the vile
drug and stuff* their cheeks with them.
ejaculate, their, turn lb PwSidfti
become incorporate stenches, in dark
corners of railroad cars to stain the white
skirts of unsuspecting women, lecture
rooms and churches, upon fences, and
into stoves that hiss with anger at the
insult. And the quids after they are
ejected ! They are to be found in odd
corners, in out of the way places—
great boulders, bolueses, bulbs! Horses
stumble over them, dogs bark at them ;
they poison young shade trees, and break
down the constitutions of sweepers.—
This may be any exaggeration of the
facts, but not of the disgust with which
one writes of them.
Now, young men, just think of this
thing. You are born into the world
with a sweet breath. At a proper age,
you acquire a good set of teeth. Why
will you make of one a putrescent ex
halation, and the other a set of yellow
pegs ? A proper description of the hab
it of chewing tobacco would exhaust the
filthy adjectives of the language, and
spoil the adjectives themselves for fur
ther use; and yet, you will acquire the
habit, and persist in it after it is acquir
ed !
It is very singular that young men
will adopt a habit of which every man
who is its victim is ashamed. There is,
probably, no tobacco chewer in the
world who would advise a young man to
commence this habit. I have never seen
a slave of tobacco who did not regret his
bondage; yet, against all advice, against
nausea and disgust, against cleanliness,
against every consideration of health and
comfort, thousands every year bow the
neck to this drug, and consent to wear
its repulsive yoke. They will chew it;
they will smoke it in cigars and pipes
until their and shops cannot
be breathed in, and until their breath is
as rank as the breath of a foul beast,
and their clothes have the odor of a sew
er. Some of them take snuff; cram the
fiery weed up their nostrols to irritate
that subtle sense which rarest flowers
were made to feed—in all this working
against God, abusing nature, perverting
sense, injuring health, planting the seeds
of disease, and insulting the decencies of
life and the noses of the world.
So much for the nature of the habit,
and I would stop here, but for the fact
that 1 am in earnest, and which to pre
sent every motive in my power to pre
vent young men from forming the habit,
or persuade them to abandon it. The
habit of using tobacco is expensive.—
A clerk on a modest salary has no right
to be seen with a cigar in his mouth.—
Three cigars a day, at five cents a piece,
amount to more than fifty dbllars a year.
Can you afford it ? You know you can
not. You know that to do this you
have either got to run in debt or steal.
Therefore I say that you have no busi
ness to be seen with a cigar in your
mouth. It is presumptive evidence
against your moral character.
Did it ever occur to you of what you
are, what you are made for, whither you
(are going 7 That beautiful body of
yours, in whose construction infinite wis
dom exhausted the sources of its ingenu
ity, is temple of a soul that shall live
for ever, a companion for angels, a
searcher into the deep things of God, a
being allied in essence to the divine. I
say the body is the temple, or the taber
nacle, of such a being as this ; and what
do you think of stuffiing the front door
of such a building full of the most dis
gusting weeds that you can find, or set*
ting a slow match to it, or filling the
chimneys with snuff? It looks to me
much like an endeavor to smoke out the
tenant, or to insult him in such a manner
as to induce him to quit the premises.
You really ought to be ashamed of such
behavior. A clean mouth, a sweet breath,
unstained teeth, and inoffensive—are not
these treasures worth preserving ? Then
throw away tobacco, and all thoughts of
it, at once and forever. Bea man. Be
decent, and thankful tome for talking so
plainly to you.
But there are other bad habits be
sides the use of tobacco. There is the
habit of using strong drink, —not the
habit of getting drunk, with most young
men, but the habit of taking drink occa
sionally in its milder forms—of playing
with a small appetite that only needs suf
ficient playing with to make you a de
mon or a dolt. You think you are safe.
I know you are not safe, if you drink at
all; and when you get offended with
the good friends who warn you of your
danger, 1 know you are a fool. I know
that the grave swallows daily, by scores,
drunkards, every one of whom thought
he was safe while he was forming his ap
petite. But this is old talk. A young
man in this age who forms the habit of
drinking, or puts hi.nself in danger of
forming the habit, is usually so weak that
it doesn’t pay to save him.
I ytvoo profonitjr. That, lo too offon
in. I pass by this, I say, to come to a
habit more destructive than any I have
contemplated.
Young man, you who are so modest
in the presence of women —so polite and
amiable; you who are invited into lamil
ies where there are pure and virtuous
girls ; you who go to church, and seem
to be such a pattern young man; you
who very possibly neither smoke, nor
chew, nor snuff, nor swear,, nor drink—
you have one habit ten times worse than
all these put together—a habit that
makes you a whited sepulchre, fair with
out, but within full of dead men’s bones
and all uncleanness. You have a habit
of impure thought, that poisons the very
springs of your life. It may lead you
into lawless indulgences or it may not.
So far as your character is concerned, it
makes little difference. A young man
who cherishes impure images, and indul
ges in impure conversations with his as
sociates, is poisoned. There is rotten
ness in him. He is not to be trusted.
Hundreds of thousands of men are liv
ing in unhappiness and degradation to
day who owe their unhappy lives to an
early habit of impure thought. To a
•young man who has become poisoned in
this way, women all appear to be vicious
and weak; and when a young man loses
his respect for the sex made sacred
by the relations of mother and sis
ter, he stands upon the crumbling edge
of ruin. I believe it to be true that a
man who has lost his belief in woman,
has, as a general thing, lost his faith in
God.
The only proper way to treat such a
habit as this is to fly from it—discard it
—expel it—fight it to the death. Im
pure thought is a moral drug quite as se
ductive and poisonous to the soul as to
bacco is to the body. It perverts the
tone of every fibre of the soul. One
should have more respect for his body
than to make it the abode of toads and
lizards and unclean reptiles of all sorts.
The whole matter resolves itself into
this: A young man is not fit for life un
til he is clean—clean and healthy, body
and soul, with no tobacco in his mouth,
no liquor in his stomach, no oath on his
tongue, no snuff in his nose, and no
thought in his heart which, if exposed,
would send him sneaking into darkness
from the presence of good women.
Scarcity of Southerners an North
drn Watering Places.—A correspon
dent of the Charleston Mercury, writing
from Salisbury, N. C., says: As an item
of news, I write to mention that a North
ern gentleman engaged in business in
this place, has just returned from Sara
toga, N. Y., and reports but a single
Southerner at that place. He further
reports our Northern friends as rather
disturbed at this absence of many of
their best customers.
As I came over the Railroad an im
mense flood of travellers were on their
way to the Virginia Springs. I hope
this straw shows that the wind is setting
for a steady blow to tho ngkt dirwttoo.
Blessed ke thy Nine Forever.
Blessed be thy name forever,
Thou of life the guard and giver;
Thou eanst guard thy creatures sleeping;
Heal the heart long broke with weeping.
God of stillness and of motion,
Os the desert and the ocean,
Os the mountain, rock and river,
Blessed be thy name forever.
Thou, who slumberest not. nor sleepeth,
Blase’d are they thou kindly keepest;
God of evening’s parting ray,
Os midnight’s gloom and dawning day,
That rises from the azure sea,
Like breathings of eternity;
God of life; that fade shall never,
Blessed be thy name forever.
A Double Divorce.
The Bucyrus Journal is responsible for the
following. That paper is remarkably rich
in romances of this character. Probably it
has some person to get them up to order.—
But then it might have happened, which is
the most important consideration in the pre
mises :
In one of the townships of this county, a
little north of Bucyrus, dwelt a well to do
man, a widower of about fifty, with an only
son of twenty two or three. Mr.— (we with
hold the names for obvisous reasons) had been
a widower for many years, and became wea
ry of that mode of living, and accordingly
determined to marry again. The determin
ation once formed, the next thing was to
find the woman necessary, which in this
country is not at all difficult. Fortunately for
him, a widow lady resided near him, who
had daughter possessing all the requirements.
She was a beautiful girl of twenty years, ac
complished and sprightly, just the one want
ed. To be sure she was rather young, but
Mr. was young looking also. Some
times his mind would wander to the moth
er, who was quite as handsome as the daugh
ter, and almost as young in appearance, but
he had made up his mind to marry the
daughter, and he set about it with a good
will. He did not mention his determina
tion to his son, fearing that the idea of mar
rying one so much younger than himself
might expose him to his ridicule.
In the meantime, his son had become des
perately enamored of the widow, and had
i,w~"*-- . r her.—
er for the same reason that actuated tne oia
gentleman—fear of exciting ridicule by mar
rying a woman so much older than him
self.
They both commenced calling at the house
of the widow, and very frequently met each
other there. This circumstance annoyed
them both immensely. The old gentleman
thought, very naturally, that the young man
was there for the young lady, and the young
gentleman, quite as naturally, supposed that
the old one was there for the widow. As
the matter progressed, the meeting of the
father and son at that one place became
frequent, and the more often it occurred the
more intolerable it became. Finally, Mr.
determined to speak to his son on the
subject.
‘ Cearles,’ said he, ‘ I have determined, af
ter much consideration, to marry again.’
‘ H’m,’ thought Charles, ‘ now there’ll be
a fight about the widow.’
‘ I thought it but right and proper to
make you acquainted with the determina
tion.’
‘Very good,’ replied Charles. ‘I consid
er it very proper that you should do so.—
And, speaking of marrying, I have conclud
ed to marry, myself.’
‘ I approve of the idea,’ returned the old
gentleman; “ you are of suitable age to set
tle down. May I ask the name of your in
tended ?’
‘ Mrs. ,’ replied Charles, bracing up
and assuming a defiant look.
‘Phew,’ whistled the old gentleman, ‘fine
woman, Charles, but isn’t she a trifle too far
advanced in years ?’
‘‘l think not,’ said Charles, ‘ but who have
you decided upon ?’
‘ Why, Charles, it is a very curious circum
stance, but I had determined to marry her
daughter.’
‘Daughter?’ exclaimed Charles, ‘why
you are at least twice as old as she is, but I
don’t object’
The matter was thus happily settled, and
in the course of a few weeks it was satisfac
torily arranged with the widow and daugh
ter, and the parties were married.
Very soon after the marriage was con
summated, they all discovered they had made
a grand mistake. The son found that the
widow was altogether too motherly for the
wife of a young man of twenty-three, and
the old gentleman found that young lady of
twenty was too volatile for a sober minded
man of fifty. Disagreements followed, then
neglect, and finally the thousand little quar
rels and snubbings, and bickerings, simmered
down into a grand fight, which was kept
up with slight venations for three months.
Finally they agreed permanently to disagree
and availing themselves of the ease with
which divorces are obtained in Indiana, the
whole party removed to Indianpolis, where
in due time, the divorces were obtained.
The four came home as they went, to
gether, the son taking the daughter under
his especial charge, and the father doing the
agreeable to the widow, bong before they
arrived at Bucyrus, they had arranged mat
rimonial matters on an entirely different basis
jugt as it should have been done to begin
with, to wit: The father and the widow
made up a match, an*! the son and daugh
ter ditto. The re-marrying was performed
immediately on their arrival at Bucyrus.—
Up to date they all appear well satisfied with
each other, and it is to be hoped they will
long continue so.
Always doubt the sincerity of a girl, when
yon see be* tripe her mouth when you kise
wo. aa.
Terrtbt.e Heath of a Child bv Hy
drophobia.—The Peoria (111.) Transcript
gives an account of the death, by hvdro
phobia. of a very interesting child, the
daughter of Mr. Henry S. Wooder of
Mount Hawlev, six miles from that city,
between eight and nine rears of age. on
Friday morning last. The following are
the particulars:
On Tuesday of laat week. Sarah Ellen
returned from school, and complained of
being unwell, 90 much so that she did
not attend on the following day, although
still able to be about the’house. Thurs
day she was no better. nd her parents
thinking she was threatened with typhoid
fever, sent for Dr. Murphy of this city.
The doctor arrived about two o’clock in
the afternoon, and found her sitting upon
the sofa at the side of her mother, to all
appearances in perfect health; her pulse,
however, was very irregular, with an
occasional wildness in the eye, and pla
cing her hand upon her throat, exclaimed,
“It troubles me to breathe, mother.”—
Minute inquiries were now instituted,
when the fact was elicited, which had not
been previously thought of, that some
five weeks since she had*been bitten by
a domesticated cat on the outside of her
foot. A glass of water was ordered to
be brought to her, when the sight of it
at once threw her into terrible convul
sions.
This was at 2 o’clock in the afternoon,
and was the first intimation had bv her
distracted parents, of the Wrfbi- js
with which their daughter W na •’ *d.
Her agony and struggle ; n the snasms
were awful to behold, and in one
she bit her mother severely in the shoul
der, and at another time scratched her
father badly in the hand. In her spas
modic efforts, the saliva from her mouth
was at times ejected across the room,
and the only relief experienced was by
seeiueu u> lose an emcafcy. cue remain
ed all the time in perfect possession of
her faculties, and at 3 o’clock on Friday
morning, exactly twelve hours from the
attack of the first spasm, her spirit de
parted to the God who gave it.
And now comes the most remarkable
incident connected with this affair. Some
four hours previous to her death, and
soon after one of her most violent spasms,
she told her mother that 9he had been
visited by the spirit of her sister, fthe
family are believers in Spiritualism,)
who left this earth for the better land
about one year since, and that the rister
had informed her of certain remedies
which, if applied, would coo- h<>r >Air
ings and smooth her pas®*"''’ *n the tomb.
The remedies were applied as soon as
possible, and strange to relate, the desired
effect was produced. She was free from
her convulsive fits,was enabled to breathe
easier, converse freely with her parents
and friends, occasionally drink a little
water and finally falling into her last
sleep as gently as an infant reposing in
her slumber.
Success or Failure—A Contrast.
Many wise and witty things have been
said and written in all ages, to show the dif
ference with which the same enterprise is
viewed when it results in failure. We have
never had any better illustration of this than
we now have in connection with the great
enterprise of the age. After the first and
second attempts to lay the Atlantic cable
had failed, wiseacres shook their heads in
sympathetic disapprobation of Mr. Field, and
said, “ What a fool he was.” It was evi
dent to them all along that the thing could
never succeed, and they could not under
stand why a sensible clear beaded man like
Field would risk his whole fortune in such a
railroad-to-the-moon undertaking. If he
had ventured a third of it or a half, there
might be some excuse for him, but to have
placed it all on the hazard of a die where the
chances were a hundred to one against him
—worse even than the Wall street lottery,
conducted under the name of the Stodc Ex
change—was an evidence of folly and ab
surdity which they could not overlook and
for which he deserved to suffer.
Now all that is changed. Midnight has
given place to noon. The sun shines bright
ly in the heavens, and the shadows <">f the
night have passed away and are forgotten
Failures have be6n only the stepping nep
to success the most brilliant The cable is
laid; and now the most honored name in
the world is that of Cyrus W. Field, although
but yesterday there were
None so poor to him reverence.
The wiseacres who shook their heads the
other day, and pitied while they condemned
him, are now among the foremost in his
praise, and help te make his name a house
hold word. Bells are rung and guns are fir
ed, and buildings are illuminated in his hon
or throughout the length and breadth of this
land; and prominent among all devices, and
first on every tongue, and uppermost in eve
ry heart, is his name. Had he not like the
great Bruce, persevered in the face of repeat
ed failures until his efforts were at length
crowned with success, he would have been
held up to the growing generation as an il
lustration of the danger of allowing our minds
to be absorbed bv an impracticable idea, and
his history would have been served up in
play and romance, and used
To point a moral or adorn a tale.
As it is, the nation is proud of him. the
world knows him, sad stt mankind is his