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VOL. 9.
THE GEOBCIA CITIZEN
15 pohiUbed every Friday morning at 93.30 per annnm in
* IjvrrtisMMati at the regular ch*i*e will be On# Dollar
-JrZiatrt of one hundred uo-lt or less, Tot the first inser
£l iad Fifty Cents for each subsequent inaertion. All ad-
not specified as to time, will be publiabed until
and charged accordingly. A liberal diaeoont allowed
tothoae who advertise by the year.
OMraarv Notice* of over ten lines, will be charged at the
..art! rates.
t nnounccmenta of candidate* for office to be paid for at
the Seal rates, when inserted.
‘iiberi'. arrangement# made with county officers. Druggists,
Anrtlonen. Merchant*, and other*, who may wlah to make
’ n ted contracts.
Helm of Land and \ecroen. by Executors, AdminUtra
t rascd Guardian*, are required by law to be advertised In a
r: Sc gazette, forty days previous to the day of sale.
* ajes most be held on the first Tuesday in the month,
the hours of ten in the forenoon end three in the sf
ternoos. st the Court-home in the county in which the prop
ertf ‘J dtnsted.
laelet of Personal Property must be advertised in like
manner, fbrty days. _
V.ricr to Debtors and Creditor* of an Raute must be
trabSished forty days.
’ Police u.at application will be made to the Ordinary for
tore to sell Land and Negroes, most be published weekly for
two OOlltbi-
Citations for Letters of Administration, thirty days; for
Diin.wion from Administration, monthly, six months; for
ptoiiedoa from Guardianship, weekly, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosing of Mortgage*, monthly, four
months; tor establishing lost papers, for the full space of three
z , r .ou; or ci mfellingUtles from executors or administrators
Wberr a hr r. l bat been given by the deceased, the foil space of 1
three months. I
Professional and Dust news Cards will be inserted un
der this head, st the following rates, vir •
r,rFlvllnea per annum, 4 5 00
and Seven lines, do 800
Cos Ten lias*. do 10 00
hosdvertlsement of thi* class will be admitted, unless paid
for In advance, nor for s less term than twelve months. Ad
vertisements “f over ten lines will be charged pro rata. Ad
vertlseaenti not paid for in advance will be charged at the
ffill&L m BUSINESS CARDS
LANIEE & ANDERSON,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Maoou, O-a.,
SRACTICE in the counties of the Macon Circuit, and in
rhe ('. unties of Sumter, Monroe and Jones; also In the
era! Courts at Savannah.
LANIER A ANDERSON have also recently become the
Agents of the following Insurance Companies:
THE AUGUSTA INSURANCE AND BANKING COM
PANY f which W. M. D’Antignac is President, and O. T.
McCay is Secretary. .
And the ALABAMA FIRE AND MARINE INBUR-
Ast't COMPANY. Montgomery, of which T. H. Watts 1*
Prsddent, and A. Williams is Secretary,
fire risks and risk* on slaves taken at usual rates.
sPrtt-tf
DR. H. A. METTAUER,
TTAVING spent a portion of three successive years in
IT this city, during which time he ha* limited hie
incite si msst exclusively to Surgery, now respectfully
f-ri his services to the citisens of Macon and surronnd
-l esnatry, in all the branches of his profession. Office
s the South East Corner of 8d and Cherry streets, over
tr Asher Ayres’ new Grocery Store.
•ep3T—tf
O.JhRICE,
’UNER AND REPAIRER
3f PIANO FORTES,
IS Permanently located in Macon. SV Kh aay
l left at Messrs. Virgin's and at K. J. Johnston k Cos.
novS—tf
brown’s|Jhote l,
Opposite the Passenger Depet,
MALCOSf GJLe
E. E. BROWN, Proprietor,
XT’ Mealr reedy on the arrival of every Train.
aprl*-tf
— l7nT WHITTLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
MACON, GA.
QFfIOE next to Concert Hall, over Payne’s Drug Store.
aalO—ly
J. R. DAVIS,
Land Broker, Colloctor & General Ag’t.
Btdnsss attended to in any county in this State.
o*e corner Jackson and Ellis Street, Augusta, Oa.
nsvl—tf
LOCHRANE & LAMAB.T
Attorneys a/t Law,
MACON, O-A.
Office by the Mechanic’s Bank.
Amci HOURS from 8 to 13 A. M-, S toS P. M. and also
UffumTtoieP. M.
wt practice in all the Counties of the Macon Clrenlt andTn
•au. at*s us Jones. Monroe and Columbia, and in the So
0. A. LOCHRAN*. JOHN LAMAR.
Jse I—ly,
SPEER ft HUNTER,
ATTORNEYSAT LAW,
Macon, O-a.,
n Triangtlar Block, Comer of Cherry
Street and Cotton Arenas.
\Y E > lusodated u partners In the practice of Law in
_** Mata of Ue Mncon and adjomln* Circuit*, and
t***_a in the State by special contract—also, will attend
M tojiiv Court* at Savannah and Marietta.
SAM UEL H uxflk.
THE LIVER
INVIGORATOR!
PRXPARID BY DR. SANFORD,
tOViPOUNOED ENTIRELY FROM GUMS,
pasafthebeat Purfative and Liver Medicine*now before
* tMnnbUc, that act* a* a Cathartic, easier, milder, and
rJVSKtuaI than any other medicine known. It 1* not on
jT‘chrtle. but a liver remedy, acting flret on the Liver
*otaMd matter, then on the Stomach and bowel* to
. ®at , Jf.thu* accompiUhlng two purpose* effec
"lthcut any of the painful feelings experienced in the
It strengthens the system at
It purges It; and when taken dally in mod
lfity *“* •trengthen and build It up with unusual imp-
J f ,D * °l lh * • I principal regulators of the
/"Viand when it rwrfonn* its functions well.
k-.C,^ r, * f ' v *y , te , ar* S fully developed. The stem
cfthi “. dent on the healthy action
•tjf.V'i', - ur the proper ft performance of its functions;
11 fllQlt W | the bowels are at fault, and
fce LTV riffer > 1® Lm I coniequence of one organ—
LtJ ra-haeing ceased “ to do it* duty. For the dla
: j ga<?¥ -Jfan,one of . the proprietor* ha* made It
ltd more than twenty yeara, to
“Taer-.-i*. I.T here ‘ with to counteract the many
-rau to which it U M liable.
*t l*t found, any person
LI V CR* COMPLAINT, In any of 1U
bot- ur , tie, and conviction is certain.
U* m-l- “move all morbid or bad matter from
* ssaffiLsa’s’stf
- ®S3j4. , s-“s
am TANARUS, a rad- leal cun.
are cured. AND. WHAT IS
HSRBBBI K by the occasional use of the
*t _ suficlentto relieve the Mom-
J*-Icct'hl^. t w Ui4 w fZ?* m from riling and souring.
RaHR - “Xlxta before retiring, prevent* NIGHT
lett ***“ V ““ night, loosens the bowel*
Oti InZT - Car£4 COS ‘ r- tTvENKSS.
RA 4 -a*en after each *i* meal will cure DYBPEP-
Headache! *po<fuU will always re
®sati£ t V!;, t *£*®tor *► ■ male obetructlon* removes
Only oj.* make* a perfect cure.
Jlae S S™***>i J !y relieves CHOLIC, while
tRs Hi “Plated *■ la a sure cure tor CHOL
B‘iiS ventative of CHOLERA.
is t. needed to throw out of the
ofmedi due after a long slcknees.
v L JAUNDICE removes all
J** ft >r from the skin.
51 a * b ,? rt * time before eating glvee vlg
'J* a* food digest well
|HCU repeated flj cures CHRONIC DlAß
*'*rt forn “- while SUMMER and
0e or tw^'s* 101 * ft almost to the drat dose.
?'-'--drm ~ Cttr ** attacks caused by WORMS
a Jht w, r ii L ' r * -r, er, safer, ar speedier remedy
*- . & .“I 1 never, lit fail*.
Bretts U * W ** cnres DROPSY, by exciting the
in re- commending this medicine
*4 VERANDAOUEjCHILL
of a BILLIOUB TYPE—
and thousands are willing to
AU WMA ftl vSr-1 * tuea.
‘SyWU* o ffv£.* rf •**■ U*<*lw unanimous ead
*uJ? E ihvigorator
S? 51 * rww I J1 < L, Ml:dical DISCOVERY, and U dally
p* l *- t'CTii .2°* *?° X”* l to believe. It cure# as if by
ObebotuTu l*°? oiving benefit, and seldom more
“° any kind of LIVER Com
/““mtte* or Du4fepma to a common
*R. ■“ °J which are the result of a DISKASED LIV
?aicg 05 * dollar per bottle.
SANFORD A CO., I roprietoia,
MS Broadway, New York.
Vn° lo ® a l© A.(ents i
Hi* Tyg ; T. w Dyott * Sons. Philadel-
D. P 4r t^^ Co -.. Bo * on •• H. H. Hay * 00., Portland;
c£ td **'>ck ft ; G*y lonl A Hammond, CWrted;
H. J- Woo 4 A Louia;
“^•^SiSSS^^iijS^JSSSK
** L* LEILLS, h'.RthOO^
sffiisfiHiuig.
For the Georgia Citizen.
The Here es Switrerland.
BY H. A. CARR.
Brave William Tell, the patriot,
Reared in his mountain-home,
J® nursed in freedom's lap and taught,
O’er nature’s wilds to roam.
\ oung did he learn to look above,
And view “Creator” there;
By native taught his God to love,
To him direct hie pray’r.
In ev’ry thing he freedom saw—
The bird which scared on high—
The mountain's crag, he viewed in awe,
Heaven's deep blue skv.
He loved his arrows and his bow,
Great skill did he command;
He loved o’er frozen tracks to go—
He loved his Switzerland.
His proud free spirit would not bend
And stoop to tyrant’s pow’r;
He freedom for his country gained,
All patriots hail the hour.
As nimbly from the boat he sprang,
And up the crags did start,
His quill, like lightning, sped along,
And pierced the tyrant's heart.
Brave Tell! whilst all the poets sing,
• The hero of the free.”
With patriot shouts the heavens ring
Switzerland’s liberty.
Thy name with Washington’s shall live,
Though centuries may fly,
Shall all terrestrial things survive,
And never, never die.
From the Atlantic Monthly, for August
The Romance of a Glove.
“Halt,” cried my traveling companion.
“Property overboard!”
The driver pulled up his horses, and
before I could prevent him, Westwood
leaped down from the vehicle, and ran
back for the article that had been drop
ped.
It was a glove—my glove—which I
had inadvertently thrown out, in taking
my handkerchief from my pocket.
“Go on, driver !** and he tossed it into
my hand as he resume-1 his seat in the
open stage.
“Take your reward,” said I, offering
him a segar; “but beware of rendering
me another such service!”
“If it had been your hat or your hand
kerchief, be sure I should let it lie where
it fell. But a glove—that is different.
I once found a romance in a glove.”—
And Westwood gravely bit off the end
of his segar.
“A romance ? Tell me of that. lam
tired of this endless stretch of sea like
country, these regular ground swells;
and it’s a good two hours’ ride yet to
yonder headland, which juts out into the
prairie between us and the setting sun.
Meanwhile, your romance.”
“Did I say romance ? I fear you
would hardly think it worth the name,’
said my companion.
“Every life has its romantic episodes,
or, at least, incidents wh:ch appear such
to him who experiences them. But these
tender little histories are usually inspir
ed enough when told. 1 have a maiden
aunt who came so near having an offer
from a pale stripling, with dark hair,
seven years her junior, that to this day
she often alludes to the circumstance,
with the remark that she wishes she
knew some competent novel writer, in
whom she could confide, feeling sure
that the story of that period of her life
would make the groundwork of a magni
ficent work of fiction. Probably 1 in
herit my aunt’s tendency to magnify into
extraordinary proportions trifles which I
looked at through the double convex of
a personal interest. So don’t expect too
much of my romance, and you shall
hear it.”
I said I found it in a glove. It was by
no means a remarkable glove —middle-
sized, straw-colored, and a neat fit for
this hand, in which I now hold your very
excellent segar. Os course there was a
foung lady in the case—let me see—l
don’t believe 1 can tell you the story,”
said Westwood, “after all.”
I gently urged him to proceed.
“Pshaw!” said he, after kindling his
segar with a few vigorous puffs, “what’s
the use of being foolish ? My aunt was
never diffident about telling her story,
and why should I hesitate about telling
roiDe. The young lady’s name —we’ll
call her simply Margaret. She was a
blonde, with hazel eyes and dark hair.
Perhaps you never heard of a blonde
with hazel eyes and dark hair ? She
was the only one I ever saw; and there
was the finest contrast imaginable be
tween her fair, fresh complexion, and
her superb tresses and delicately-traced
eyebrows. She was certainly lovely, if
not handsome ; and —such eyes! It was
an event in one’s life, sir, just to look
through those luminous windows into her
soul. That could not happen every day,
be sure ! Sometimes for weeks she kept
them turned from me, the ivory shutters
half-closed, or the mystic curtains of re
served rawn within. Again, when I was
tortured with unsatisfied yearnings, and
almost ready to despair, she would turn
them upon me, the shutters thrown wide,
the curtains away, and a fWd of radi
ance streaming forth, that filled roe so i
; full of light and gladness, that I had no
+*owf MofcfcA tarn for *
MACON, GA. AUGUST 37, 1830.
| hide in. She must have been conscious
lof this power of expression. She used
it so sparingly, and, it seemed to me,
artfully! But I always forgave her
when she did use, and cherished resent
ment only when she did not.
“Margaret was shy and proud; I could
never completely win her confidence;
but I knew well at last that her heart
was mine. And a deep, tender, woman’s
heart it was, too, despite her reserve, and
so Pshaw!” said Westwood, “my
segar is out!”
“On with the story ”
“Well, we had our lover’s quarrels, of
course. Singular, what foolish chil
dren love makes us ! rendering us sen
sitive, jealous, exacting in the superla
tive degree. lam sure we were both
amiable and forbearing towards all the
world besides ; but, for the powerful rea
son that we loved, we were bound to mis
interpret words, looks and actions, and
wound each other on every convenient oc
casion. I was pained by her attentions to
them or, perhaps, by an apparent prefer
ence of a book or bouquet to me. Retalia
tion on my part and quiet persistence on
hers continued to estrange us, until I
generally ended by conceding everything,
and pleading for one word of kndness to
end my misery.
“I was wrong—too quick to resent,
too quick to concede. No doubt it was
a secret gratification to exercise her pow
er over me ; and at last I was convinced
that she wounded me purposely, in order
to provoke a temporary estrangement,
and enjoy a repetition of her triumph.
“It was at a party ; the thing she did
was to waltz with a man whom she knew
I detested, I knew she could not respect
and whose half embrace, as he whirled
her in the dance, almost put murder into
my thoughts.
“ ‘Margaret,’ said I, ‘one last word !
If you care for me, beware!’
“That was a foolish speech, perhaps.
It was certainly ineffectual. She persis
ted, looking so calm and composed, that
a great weight fell upon my heart. I
walked away; I wandered about the sa
loons ; I tried to gossip and be gay, but
the wound was too deep.
I accompanied her home late in the
evening. We scarcely spoke by the
way. At the door she looked me steadi
ly in the face—she gave me her hand, I
thought it trembled.
“ ‘Goood-night!’ said she, in a low
voice.
“ ‘Good-bye !’ I answered, coldly, and
hurried away from the house.
“It was some consolation to hear her
close the door after I had reached the
corner of the street, and to know that
she had been listening to my footsteps.
But I was very angry. I made stern
resolutions; I vowed to myself, that I
would wring her heart, and never swerve
from my purpose until I had wrung out
of it abundant drops of sorrow and con
trition. How I succeeded, you shall
hear.
“I had previously engaged her to at
tend a series of concerts with me, an ar
rangement which I did not now regret,
and for good reasons. Once a week,
with famous punctuality, I called for her,
escorted her to the concert-room,and care
fully re-conducted her home—letting no
opportunity pass to show her a true
gentlemah’s deference and respect —con-
versing with her, freely, about music,
books, anything, in short, except what
we both knew to be the deepest in each
other’s thoughts. Upon other occasions,
I avoided her, and even refrained from
going to places where she was expected,
—especially *hen she knew I that I knew
she was expected.
“Well,” continued Westwood, “my
design upon her heart, which I was going
to wring so unmercifully, did not meet
with very brilliant success. To confess
the humiliating truth, I soon found I was
torturing her. Asa last and desperate
resort, what do you think I did ?”
“You probably asked her to ask your
forgiveness-”
“Not I! I have a will of adamant,
as people find, who tear away the amia
ble flowers and light soil that cover it;
and she had reached the impenetrable,
firm rock. I neither made any advances
towards a reconciliation nor invited any.
But I’ll tell you what I did do, as a final
trial of her heart. 1 had, for some time,
been meditating a European tour, and
my interest in her had alone kept me at
home. Some friends of mine were to
sail early in the spring, and I now re
solved to accompany them. I don’t know
how much pride and spirit there was in
the resolution —probably a good deal.
I confess I wished to make her suffer —to
show her that she had calculated too
much upon my weakness—that I could
be strong and happy without her. Tet,
with all this bitter and vindictive feeling,
I listened to a very sweet and tender
1 whisper in my heart, which said, ‘Now,
if her love speaks out —now, if she says
to me one true, kini, womanly wotd-
she shall go with me!’ The thought of
what might be, if she would only say the
word, and of what must be, irrevocably,
if her pride held out, shook roe mightily.
But my resolution was taken ; I would
trust the rest to fate.
“On the day of the last concert, I im
parted the secret of my intended jour
ney to a person, who, I felt tolerably
sure, would rush at once to Margaret
with the news. Then in the evening I
went for her. I was conscious that my
manner towards her was a little more
tender, or rather a little less coldly cour
teous, that night, than it had usually
been of late ; for my feelings were sof
tened, and I never had seen her so lovely.
I had never before known what a treas
ure I was about to lose. The subject of
my voyage was not mentioned, and
if she had heard of it, she accepted
the fact without the least visible concern.
Her quietness, under the circumstances,
chilled me —dishear’em-d me quite. I
am not one of those who can give much
superflous love, or cli-ig with unreasona
ble, blind passion to an object that yields
no affection in return A quick and ef
fectual mothod of curing a fancy in per
sons of my temperament, is to teach
them that it is not reciprocated. Then
it expires like a flame cut off from the
air, or plant removed from the soil.
Th* LuV-.n. y e, the up rooting, is the
painful thing; but when the heart is
thoroughly convinced that its love is
misplaced, it gives up, with one last
®igh as big as fate, sheds a few tears,
says a prayer or two, thanks God for the
experience, and becomes a wiser, calmer
—yes, and a happier heart than before.”
“True,” I said, “but our hearts are not
thus easily convinced.”
“Ay, there’s the rub. It is for want
of a true perception. There cannot, be
true love without true perception. Love
is for the soul to know, from its own in
tuition—not for the understanding to
believe, from the testimony of those
very unreasonable witnesses, called eyes
and ears. This seem to have been my
case—my soul wa9 aware of her love,
and all the evidence of m) external sense
could not altogether destroy that inte
rior faith. But that evening I said—‘l be
lieve you know my senses! I doubt you
know my soul!—she never loved me!
So I was really very cold towards her
for about twenty minutes.
“I walked home wilh her—we were
both silent; and at the door she asked
me to go in. Here my calmness desert
ed me, and I could hardly hold my heart
while I replied—
“ ‘lf you particularly wish it.’
“ ‘lf I did not, I should not ask you,’
she said ; and I went in.
“I was ashamed and vexed at myself
for trembling so—for I was in a tremor
from head to foot. There was company
in the parlors, some of Margaret’s friends.
I took my seat upon the sofa, and soon
she came and sat by my side.
“‘I suppose,’ said one, ‘Mr. West
wood has been telling Margaret all
about it.’
“ ‘About what V Margaret inquired—
and here the truth flashed upon me—the
news of my proposed voyage had not yet
reached her! She looked at me with a
troubled, questioning expression and
said—
“‘l felt that something was going to
happen. Tell me what it is.’
“I answered —‘Your friend can best
explain what she means.’
“Then out came the secret. A shock
of surprise sent the color from Marga
ret’s face; and raising her asked,
quite calmly, but in a low and unnatural
tone —
“ ‘ls this so V
“I said, ‘I suppose I cannot deny it.*
“ ‘You are really going ?’
“ ‘I am really going.’
“She could not hide her agitation.—
Her white face betrayed her. Then 1
was g!:d, tediy glad in my heart—
and vhiii enough to be gratified that oth
ers should behold and know I held a
power over her. Well, but I suffered
for that folly.
“‘I feel hurt,’ she said, after a little
while, ‘because you have not told me
this. You have no sister,’ this was spo
ken very quietly, ‘and it would have been
a privilege for me to take a sister’s place
and do for you those little things which
sisters do for brothers who are going on
long journeys.’
“I was choked ; it was a minute before
I could speak. Then I said that I saw
no reason why she should tax her time
or thoughts to do anything for me.
“ ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, ‘you have
been kind to me—so much kinder than I
, have deserved !’
“It was unendurable—the pathos of
the words ! I was blinded, stifled—l al
most groaned aloud. If we had been
alone, there our trial would have ended.
I should have snatched her to my soul.
But the eyes of other -a upon us, and
i storied myself.
“ ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘I know of nothing
that you can do for me.’
“ ‘Thera must be many little things ;
to begin with, there is your glove, which
you are tearing to pieces.’
“True, I was tearing my glove—she
was calm enough to observe it. That
made me angry.
“ ‘Give it to me, I will mend it for
you. Haven’t you other gloves that
need mending
“I, who had’triumphed, wasjiurabled.
My heart was breaking—and she talked
of mending
thank her. I coldly arose to go.
“Well, I felt now that it was all over.
The next day I secured my passage in
the steamer in which my friends were to
sail. 1 took pains that Margaret should
hear of that, too. Then came the pre
parations to travel—arranging affairs,
writing letters, providing myself with a
compact and comfortable outfit. Europe
was in prospect—Paris, Switzerland, Ita
ly, lands to which my dreams had long
since gone before me, and to which I
now turned my eyes with reawakening
aspirations. Anew glory arose upon
my life, in the light of which Margaret
became a fading star. It was so much
easier than I had thought, to give her up,
to part from her ! I found that I could
forget her, in the excitement of a fresh
and novel experience; while she—could
she forget me 1 When lovers part, hap
py is he who goes ! alas, for the one that
is left behind !”
[to be continued.]
An Instrument of Two Strings.
‘ Try grandmother,’ said my uncle To
by, addressing himself to young Arabella
just from London, and who was playing the
battle of Marengo on the piano; ‘thy grand
mother, child,’ said he, ‘ used to play on a
much better instrument than thine.’
‘Tiidewa,* said Arabella, ‘how could it
have been better; you know it is the most
fashionable instrument, and it is used by eve
rybody that is anything.’
‘ Your grandmother was something, yet
she never saw a piano forte.’
1 But what was the name of the instru
mert ? Had it strings, and was it played
by keys ?’
‘ You must give me time to recollect the
name, it was indeed a stringed instrument,
but was played by the hands alone.’
‘By the hands alone ? How vulgar; but
I protest I should like to see one, and papa
shall buy me one when I return to London,
Do you think we can obtain one ?’
‘No, you will not probably find one in all
London, but doubtless they may be found in
someone of the country towns.’
‘ How many strings had it ? Must one
play with both hands ? and could one play
the double bass ?’
* I know net whether it would play the
double bass, as you call it, but it was played
by both hands and it had strings.’
‘ Two strings only ? surely you arejesting;
how could good music be produced by such
an instrument when the piano has two or
three hundred ?’
‘Oh, the strings were very long, one of
them about fourteen feet, and the other
might be lengthened at pleasure, even to
fifty or more.’
‘ What a prodigious deal of room it must
have taken up ; but no matter, I will have
mine in the old hall, and papa may have an
addition built to it, for he says I shall never
want for any thing, and so does mamma. —
Were the strings struck with little mallets
like the piano, or were they snapped like a
harpsichord ?’
‘ Like neither of those instruments, as I
recollect, but it produced a soft kind of hum
ming music, and was peculiarly agreeable to
the husband and relations of the performer.’
‘ O, as to pleasing one’s husband of rela
tions, that is all Dicky, in the Hautton, you
know ; but I am determined to have one at
any rate. Was it easily learnt, and was it
taught by French or Italian masters ?’
’ It was easily learnt, but Frenchmen and
Italians scarcely dared to show their heads
in our country in those times.’
‘ Can you not possibly remember the
name? How shall we know what to en
quire for ?’
‘Yes, I do now remember the name, and
you will have to enquire for a Spinning
Wheel.’
The Truest Thing we have heard for ma
ny a day came from the lips of the minister
who says “just what he pleases.” His words
were to this effect: “There are many pro
fessing Christians who are secretly vexed on
account of the charity they have to bestow
and the self-denial they have to use. If in
stead of the smooth prayers which they do
pray, they should speak out the things which
they really feel, they would say, when they
go home at night, ‘O Lord, I met a poor
wretch of yours to day, a miserable, unwash
ed brat, and I gave him a sixpence, and I
have been sorry for it ever sinceor, ‘0
Lord, if I had not signed those articles of
faith I might have gone to the theatre this
evening. Your religion deprives me of a
great deal of enjoyment, but I mean to stick
to it. There is no other way of getting into
heaven, I suppose.’” The minister added,
“the sooner such men are out of the church
the better.” Very true; but sift the con
gregations of such, and of those who, as
stock-brokers, bankers, merchants, lawyers,
speculators in notes and property, do unto
others i they ar<- very careful others shall
antoUmio, and how meoy empty
pews some of our “fashionable’ churches
would have! Indeed, the church itself be
ing built as a joint-stock operation, out of
which money is made, it a pretty hard mat
er to “turn out” the very owners of the buil
ding.
Duties of an Editor.
There is much truth and sound sen 1 --*
in the following article, which we dip
from the Philadelphia Evening Bulle
tin :
“ There is no class of people more
frequently sneered at than editors. It
is the easiest thing in the world to charge
them with being mercenary ; to say that
such an article was paid for; that any
body can have anything praised or abus
ed in a paper, if he will pay for it; and
says a wiseacre, every n and then, *if
I had a newsp er •• -re. vniiiuln’t I pitch
into this <*t tin. , and ... dn’t I show
the Phii.a -inri. s.wh oan independent
paper t-? \’ !! • friend and pitch
er, why ti i ~>tper and pitch
into evt-ry thing ad everybody ? No
body can object to your doing so. The
papers that are in the habit of pitching
into everything are the easiest edited in
the world. It is only well practiced and
matured editors that possess that wis
dom and that true independence which
consists in refusing to ‘ pitch in that
manliness which can withstand a public
clamor, that scorn personalities, and that
can treat public questions with the dig
nity and soberness tha* can alone secure
respect for the pres-.
‘We have had frequent illustrations
of the mode uud!v adopted by these
gentlemen wh< k > <> much better
than professional *i: or- h<w a paper
ought to be conducted. They write us
articles every now and then, and think
they are doing us a fnvor They send
them anonymously, ami n they do not
wish to be held re -pi to the public,
but think editors, being such brainless
and soulless wretches, can be responsi
ble for anything. They may have a rail
road, or a manufacturing or a financial
speculation to promote by the publica
tion of their articles, and because the ed
itor refuses to advertise it gratuitously
and help it along by recommending it to
the public through his editorial columns,
they think he is a poor, mean-spirited
creature, totally wanting in indepen
dence ! There never was an article re
jected by an editor, without the writer’s
declaring that the editor was a misera
ble wretch, who had no independence,
and only wanted to be paid, to make
him publish anything.’
Billy Dobbs.
Some folks ft’e born wit; he devil in eui,
and you can’t drive it out, either; you might
as well try to make a pair of patent leather
boot** out of a pi-ce of corned beef, or crowd
a soda-fountain through the touch-hole of a
cannon. Billy Dobbs was one of this kind;
he was as big a devil as ever ate string
beans. When he graduated from school, he
left through the window, pursued by the
teacher and three assistants. One thing Bil
ly would do, he would sometimes tell the
trutn. He told me confidentially that when
he was traveling upon the >Ji i ‘:*■** !uv ••h
a storm came up one nigiu *nu m t. -
ing they found the tow-line had thru; k so
that it had drawn both horses on board the
boat. It proved to be providential thing
for them, for the captain hadn’t ta
ken an observation or a ging-cocktailin three
days, and they were three latitudes and
most a longitude out oft! -ir fiurae, and in
fifteen minutes nao - ... - would have run
afoul of the front . of aim house and
foundered in a o>, bin. I sincerely hope
that when tuev *a<e Billy outto be hung by
his neck till he i* dead three times, and
God have mercy on his soul, the rope may
shrink so they can’t tie a knot in it. I went
over to Billy's house one night, sad his old
man had a prayer meeting. Billy says,
“Jack, let’s go up and peep. So we went
up. The good brothers and sisters were
kneeling upon the floor, and we stood look
ing on ; and first I knew Billy darted into
the room shouting “leap-frog, by thunder!’’
and straddling his legs, he bounded one af
ter another of the good people, and got half
way round the room, and was stopped by
pitching head first into the apron of his
grandmother. There was a kinder “laying
on of hands” just then, and Billy was taken
to the woodhouse, laid a cross a back-log,
and his “sitting down” whs pounded till
they broke up kindling wch.kl enough to last
all winter. Win • me oe I
ran up stars. knocKeu p util. - .-udwise
dashed into Sally Dobbs’ chamber, ran
around a hooped skirt, knocked an old hat
out of the window, took an observation and
saw Billy licked. I jump-d out of the win
dow upon a shed, rolled off, hung upon the
eaves a minute, and dropped—where?—
Echo answers—in the swill barrel. I touch-
ed bottom, came up and crawled out I
was troubled with a sour stomach. By gra
vy, that was the worst vegetable soup I ev
er swallowed. I shook the coffee grounds
and egg-shells out of my hair, and made,
tracks for home, scattering turnip-tops, fish
bones, potatoe-pearings, apple-skins and
grease, as I went My old man thrashed
me for spoiling my clothes, and Billy’s old
man sued my old man for spoiling his swill
The hogs were taken sick, an- 1 th y hid to
be killed to be cured. 1 haven’t used any
hair-oil tinee.
Alone With God.
The Home Journal says: “ The enclosed de
vout utterance, entitled ‘ Alone with God,’ by
Mary Clenraer Ames, is the sweet heart-breath
of a young woman, formerly of this city, now in
the far West: the devoted wife of a Christian
minister.”
Alone with God I day’s craven cares
H<*ve crowded onward unwares;
TLe soul is left to breathe her prayers.
Alone w. Ci . .! I bare my breast,
Com*:* ■ : C >O,O holy guest,
Give rest—ttiy rest, of rest the best!
Alone with God I how calm a calm
Steals o’er me, sweet • music’* ’• •! , n.
When seraph sing a seraph’* psalm
Alone with God I no human eye
Is here, with eager look to pry
Into the meaning of each sigh.
Alone with God I no jealous glare
Now stings me with its torturing stare;
No human malice says—beware!
Alone with God! from earth’s rude crowd,
With jostling steps, and laughter loud,
My better soul I need not shroud.
Alone with God 1 He only knows,
If sorrow’s ocean overflows
The silent spring from whence it rose.
Alone witn God ! He mercy lends ;
Life’s fainting hope life’s meagre ends,
Life's dwarfing pain he comprehends.
Alone with God! He feeleth well
The soul’s pent life that will o’erwell ;
The life-long want no words may tell!
Alone with God! still nearer bend;
Oh. tender Faihor, condescend
In this my need, to be my friend.
Alone with God ! with suppliant mien,
Upon thy pitying brersll lean.
Nor less because thou art unseen.
Alone with God I safe in thine arms
0 shield me from life’s wild alarms,
0 save me from life’s fearful harm.
Alone with God 1 my Father, bless
With thy celestial promises;
The soul that needs thy tenderness.
Alone with God! 0, sweet to me
This convert to whose nhao- 1 flee,
To breathe repose in the-. thee I
Tbe Cable and Scripture.
The success in lay i • \flahtic ca
ble has impressed m .. -h the idea
that the year 1858 • r remain a
memorable era in th. h \ f the
world; but, a little, overhauling of >he
Scriptures will show that the idea, so far
from being new or original, is simply a
fulfilment of prophecy, and carrying out
of suggestions made by the inspired wri
ters. We append a few extracts to con
vince the sceptical
Psalms, xix.: 14.—Their line is gone
out though all the earth, and their words
to the end of the world.
Job, xxxviii.: 36. —Canst thou send
lightnings, that they may go, and say
unto thee here we are ?
Revelations, x. : 1. —And I saw an
other mighty angel come down from
heaven, clothed with a cloud ; and a rain
bow was upon his head, and his face was
as it were the sun, and his feet as pillars
of fire :
2. And he had in his hand a little
book open; and he set his right foot
upon the sea and his left foot upon the
earth:
3. And cried with a loud voice, as
when a lion roareth; and when he had
cried, seven thunders uttered their voi
ces.
4. And when the seven thunders had
uttered their voices I was about to write,
and I heard a voice from heaven, saying
unto me, Seal up these things which the
seven thunders uttered, and write them
not.
5. And the angel which I saw stand
upon the sea and upon the earth lifted
up his hand to heaven.
6. And awear by Him that liveth for
ever and ever, who created heaves and
the th ngs that therein are, and the *■ ir* v
and the thing-- that therein are, ami ‘he
-ca and the thir.tr- *hich are therein,
that there should be time no longer.
Job, xxxvii.: 3. —He directeth it (his
voice) under the whole heavens, and his
lightning to the ends of the earth.
Job, xxvii.: 25.—When he made a
decree for the rain, and a way for the
‘lightning and the thunder.
J ob, xxxviii.: 25.—Who hath divid
ed a watercourse for the overflowing of
waters, or a way for the lightning of
thunder.
Proverbs, viii.: 29—When he gave
to the sea his decree that s he waters
should not pass his command.
The coincidence of the s#>ven thunders
and seven voice- ii th- Evangelist’s vi
sion, with the -vm ’vires of the cable;
the several allusions to the “ way for the
lightning the inquiry whether the
lightning can be made to speak; and
the direct reference to the insulation of
the cable by giving a decree to the sea,
that “ the waters should not pass his
command,” ought at once to settle the
question of priority of the idea, concern
ing which there is now much wrangling
in the newspapers. Ven.y, “ there is
nothing new under the -nn.”
N Y Herald.
Jefferson’s Ten Rut ••• i -4 ver put
off till to-morrow what you ilu to-day.
2. Never trouble another for what you
pan do yourself.
3. Never spend your money before you
have it
4. Never buy what you do not want be
cause it is cheap.
5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst
and cold.
6. We seldom repent of having eaten too
little.
7. Nothing is troublesome that we do
willingly.
8. How much pain the evils cost us which
have never happened.
9. Take everything always by the smooth
handle.
10. When angry, count ten before yon
speak; if very angry, a hundred-
3VO. 23.
The President at the Relay-
House.
Familiar as our people are generally
with the unostentatious habits of the
chief officers of our government, one can
not witness them, with the knowledge of
the pomp and show of royalty, to invite
the contract without involuntarily in
dulging it. •: Saturday last, Preai
dentßuc . t the Relay House
or Wv lion, as it is more
mv,r * en route for Washing.
* whs a rumor abroad
irriv- md the visitort
had conseq ,- - about the
house when th 1 *.:• i.r • We
soon perc iv. ■ rh-. f V ;
from th“
hearty, but th. roughly travel-soiled,
smiling and cheerful. By his side, and
evidently <>! nsig. with gentlemanly de
ference, the courtesy of attention, was a
rather rough looking individual, whom
we took for ac . nducu ■ or brakesman
—the gentleman -vill r ;xc.use our blun
dering in such a matter—but upon in
quiry we were nformr-d was Sir Wil
liam George Ousley.
On passing into th ;■ r -tm the
President threw off hi m l his
white neck cloth, carele— 1 Itching
them over a chair, opened h : i>t. col
lar, and tucked up his shov • wash
conveniences frr fh's pernor being in
the apartment. At ?hc time, however,
both basins were occupied by two young
men, neither of whom seemed to be aware
that the President was about. He wait
ed patiently some time, when someone
spoke and invited him up stairs. He
declined, however, quietly remarking
that he would “ wait for his turn.” And
as soon as the basins were vacated, he
” took his turn” in a jolly good wash in
the public bar room. This done, he
seemed rather perplexed about the ar
rangement of his neckcloth, and seemed
likely to tie his nose and mouth up in it.
Somebody just then offered assistance,
and the President was briefly equipped.
About this time a person who had oome
into the room, sang out pretty near to
him, “ Look here, I thought the old
Pres, was to be here to-day—.” The
speech was cut short by a nudge, while
a momentary comical expression passed
across the face of the same old “ Pres.”
A cigar was handed him by a friend;
he took a good satisfying drink of—
not “ old rye,” which he is said to affect,
when prime—but ice-water, had barely
fired up the cigar, when the bell rung,
and “ all aboard,” summoned the Chief
Magistrate of the United States to his
seat in the cars, and away they went to
Washington.
We took our admiration of this scene
of republican simplicity quietly with us
into the cars for Baltimore, and mused
with some complacency over the ster
ling honor of being an American citizen.
Baltimore Sun, 16/A inst.
How Vicfov t*# Daughter Man
a;: ai r Household.
Th Be: in * despondent of the Dai
<’/ Telegraph writes as follows : the re
serve maintained at the royal palace ha
given rise to varjf • rumors, which have
caused much del.* . pood people
here. The he i, I
fer to is Pr
‘know that on £r.ue ootnsioiis therein
comparatively Jit - ceremony observed
here, while the e very -:ay lif of the roy
al family seen t regulated more
strictly on the pr: tip; .of etiquette than
that of Queen V tv is A P> s-ian
Princess, for insta. e. -d by
her Mistress of the R : * ikv up a
chair, and, after havi-.. i t fh/vugh
the whole breadth id • to put it
down in another com- as while
committing suoh an act inn Piincess
Victoria was lately caugbr . C in tea*
Perponcher. The venerah • dy re
monstrated, with a consider -’. (/ree
of official earnestness. If you
what, ’ replied, noi ... dam . i, the roy
al heroine of tins story * I’ll tell you
what my dear Countess, you are proba
bly aware of the fact of mother being
the Queen of England ?” The Countess
bowed in assent. “ Well,” resumed the
bold Princess, “ then I must reveal to
you another fact. Her Majesty the
Queen of Great Britain and Ireland has
not once, but very often, so far forgot
ten herself as to take up a chair. Nay,
if I am not greatly deceived, I noticed
one day my mother carrying a chair in
each hand, in order to set them for her
children. Do you really think that my
dignity forbids anything which is fre
quently done by the Queen of England?”
The Countess bowed again and retired,
perhaps not without a little astonish
ment at the biographical information she
had heard. However, she knew her of
fice, and resolved to prove not less
staunch to her duties than the Prinoess
to her principles. A scene similar to
one narrated recently happened, when
Countess Perponchsr, os sntsriag cue