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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