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IV CEORCIA CITIZEN
H i**"* ... ><iv *5.50 per -juiuns In
, t v f . rt: <ui*r cliane will be 0> Dollar
j „ -Y.< or io*. for the Amt Inser-
H*. “ -i!equer>t ir.*e'tb.n. All ad
‘'• , M ti time. will be pub'lalwd nntll
r a liberal discount allowed
K:> ‘ hv the iear.
3m - . it’i'uW. wiu be -L'r**-! W Lie
■vn vwfcw*
1— * late* foi ‘(Doe to je paid for at
~ . . ~ witheountTnffiem, PruiMlWa.
■ ■•■‘'"/•i-'iU't tier?. who may wish t*. nuzt
■ja-o y ’
’ “A ...1 \rjriM*. hy Executor*. Admlnlrtra
WL - ‘-"rl A -roirwl by 1., to he advertised Ui a
t - ‘ ‘ r '~l*r *T prevails ‘o the day of sale.
the sr< r-jrenay In the month.
•> -■* , v , the o.renooii and three In the af
x the ooauty lc which the pn>p
jH- t'royertV mini he adv-rtlsed In Ukc
K/”" | 7th. , N.wand * red Ito re of an Estate must be
* ‘T will U mad* to the Ordlnarr for
Hle're !' ’ \- r .- -*. r. let he published weealy for
■ , A :m!nirr-,t'oo, thirty day*; for
■ I'l&r+ym. mnathlv, r.x months; for
a ffl(J.rlUnhip “ttH'r. forty day*. I
rJrw HorMama monthly, four 1
■ftv** ‘•<• - - - r.efull -nocr nfLree |
. _ . ,rttrot ir* or ailmtni<trator I
■ _ ‘■•.>•. . a- Jrocaaru, the full apace of ‘
n.i end Ba.lne- Card, will be Inserted un- |
iffiaS. t -h W “ win * ““**■ vU • I
r- -•, ir.eaperacr.Btn. • J 00
io>
• .-twmett ‘ti's c n* l wl’l he • Jroltt-d, nnieee paid I
\. ..„ . r • r rw ten than twelve month*. Ad
. > or,- • Hue* will e chanted jwo rnto. Ad
lirn#’tj* t livtnj will be chnrjre<! at the |
l isr nl**t •
STiS!
UltlEß t ASDERSOIf,
TTOHNEYS AT LAW,!
MACon, G-n..
■*• f u tb- eonntlei “f the Macon Orcnlt, and In >
1 •,.,*>•/ am*er. Hotirt* and June*; aleo In the I
i. ju-tiai Sarir.i.ah.
4.V ES t A.V KK?” N have aleo recently become the
—win. Insurance Companiee :
• 4 or-TA !ht KA'CE A'l* BANK INACOM
r. ‘h IV M D'AntWaac Is Prealdeut, and V. Y
ate **rrrttry.
4. the a:.abava hre avt> ma*imi m*rß
Jt oiMfANY MnUnm-rr. of which T. H. Watte Is
yiatalA aiillaras la Secretary.
y.rrisks on slave* taken at usual rate*.
E H. A. METTADER,
Ti v’Nti (pm! a portion ofthree eucceseive year* iD
| it! city, .iurtae which time he has limited hie
cci nr ‘i- snivel, to Surerry, now respectfully
n:. vrr.cn io the citlsens of Macon and eurround
ewstry, in all the branches of his profession. Office
><■. 1 Kst C'.rner of 8d and Cherry streets, over
telrr Ayres’ new Grocery Store.
-1* ‘
0. BjJBICE,
.si! ‘SO EPAIRER ‘
3'PIA.ISrO FORTES,
l located iu Macon. |Jff Names may
!!*C llessrs. Virsrin’s and at E. J. Johnston A 00.
.*—tf
iIOWN’Sj§HO TEL,
Oppwitf the PaAMDffpr Drpt,
E. E. BROWN, Proprietor,
y Me; ready on the arrlva’ of eyery Train.
qr!—if
L. 5. WHITTLE,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
MACON, GA.
WCtMit to Concert Hall,over Payne’s Drug Store.
ull-ly
J. R. DAVISr
ltd Broker. Collector &■ General Ag't.
hrz-as attended to Id any county in thla State,
ifcrrorner Jackson aud Ellis Street, Augusta, Ga.
tetl-tf
LOCHRANE & LAMAR,
Attorneys at Law,
MACON, GA.
Ofiee by the Me'hanic’s Bank.
R” - t HOTRSfrom Sto 1J A. M., J toB Y. M. andalao
SwTtolOP. M.
‘-’Vi > in Li th* rmißticsof Mmcon Circuit and In
>r#?of.loteA. Mucrjc an(2 Columbim. aiid In tbt Bu
m Co-ATt.
0. i LOCHRASB. JOHN LAMAR.
liUt.
SPEER & HUNTER,’
ATT 0 RNF.YSAT LAW,
Macon, Ga.,
*s n TrltnrsUr Blurb. < oroer of Cbarry
Street tnd Cotton Atenif.
TT .i*oa:e>l u i irtner* In the practioe r f Law in
i"ton tie Macon and adiofrun* Ilrculta and
s tie State b, stecial c ntmct—alao. will attend
•* eh. Ccorts at savannah aid M arietta.
, ALEX. M. SPEER,
SAMrtL HtTNTEK.
. THE LIVER _
ISVIGOKATOR!
miPARED BY DR. SANFORD,
ENTIRELY FROM GUMS.
‘}*, T*’ w Purmtlve and Uve Mod tones now before
- ’ . • *. !-al tos a* a Cathartic, racier, milder, aw!
i,te.tr* ft ‘-’b-r medicine known, it la not on
,***"*• *•**• Uvr remedy, actlnr 11 ret on the Liver
a— , ‘ ••“V and mattrr. then on Stomach and bowelc b
. v -liter, tr.ns acroiapllahlng two puryocee effec
i . ot *-"v “f the painflil feelings experienced in the
-a-V- ‘' !ae- f stoartic*. It strengthen# the avstem at
•toi. t firite* it • and when taken dally In mod
g, *■ •“! *nthea and build It up with unusual rap
: ‘■*, ,co nfthe | * l-rtnclpal regulators of the
hy„ “ ““rt- It a a performs IP functions well.
. nr-ve.-nare| ■ fullvdeveloped. Thestom
_ i, n • the healthy action
> ’ -tr proper • performance of it* functions;
- a’ fa”.
SrlTrn ‘uffersinl consr.inence of one organ—
Xa, ,i. fea*! * to do It* duty. For the die
ti gy, ar *vh.one of the propnetora hats ll
V prsettwot, mor* than twentv yearn, to
SVI,-’ MV wheie- 1 *ith t.. counteract the many
r '* b U 1 ** liable.
Is at laid fonnd. any pernor,
. . . V tR ; A ‘ v >MFLArXT, to any vs It*
‘At ms. -* morbid or bad matter from
Hir, m w their place a healthy flow of
h fChlkyfvjf ach. causing ftsal to digest
4 *®tta , s.c rHE ■■ RMkiD. giving U>ne ar.d
friachla-j erv. removing Ute cause ot
>'lei sure.
•rTtit pu are cured, AND. WHAT Is
ir tnrthe'toteMnoal of the
** *w ““-h* If] sufficient to relieve the atom
bo<l ■■ (ran naihM r*d
retlrtn#, pwvtfhU RIGHT
Ik’ . d** 0 ?* at r.iriit. loosens the bowel*
„-*a i C,,K c a tTvENE-HS*.
* meal will cure DYSPEP
[•voootult Will always re
*>r fe- wm raale obetnierions removes
ri.v<T’ •"•*. slid makes a perfect cure.
. i ; , o r- tt!SrtJJ *te- n ly relieve* fHOLIC. while
*LU*OK3 ™il* sure cure fnr OHOL
JT c, , J Pri’ ._ vmtatlve of CHOLERA.
’■* needed to throw out of the
* _ fAI'NI.ICE remove* aU
. ■- a>* .. i”* 1 raleol- or from the akin.
in > — J T ? short time before eating gives eig
4oenftt^ ,<louk -a food digest well,
t 2.’ repeated 3S cure* CHRONIC DIAR
5j *n. -Z’-JT. -hHe SUMMER and
k ,v * or •, ’’f’- o’* 0 ’* yield] A aim- at to the Aral dose,
i cn ' w W iattack* caused by WttßVb
t'rii IB ‘ r, I*r. wfer. er spieedler remedy
a l *” * hw”—, 1 * M f-il*.
joW ‘* ‘“t** l DROPSY, by exciting the
Uk-‘ I ’9 I
]L 1 ‘k re- leommetnllng thla medicine
&J? V* IVEK AND AOTR. CHILL
of a RILLIOI’3 TYPE,—
Wky wit. !and thousands are willingU >
K B . *'®<-vrfal vfr- JT Hues.
Ir Uj,|j r * r * kttlug i heir uiianiiuoiM ewtl
z* w,h thein^orm
>iS* l IVER invigor ator
r Trta22LH £UIOAA r (VERY, and la dally
*ct [ir J.-J EbW to be,leva It cuiw a* if by
r-’ f-*Pop _ ~*'•* fffvfo* aenrgi. and seldom mor.
lo curv y kind Os LIVER Com
p 'l‘t Dm DOLLAH P.R SOTTLS.
fiAA'Ff’KD A Cos.. : roprietors,
Vj^f*°loAlo Agents:
N, -rt ; T w Iryott a Sou*. Phl’.^lel
n hck .7*; 00 ” P"** • W.H. Hay A <so„ Portland:
•f ’ Una a r>. ’ ®*l***4 .* Han.n.o'.i Cleveland;
r*m lT n - J - Waul AOe. M. Loutas
thf Cfrat ®f thf BcmUfaL
Schtter the genr.s of the l^atrtlful!
Bv the wa wide let them -aU
That the rose may spring no bv the cottage gate.
And ttee vne mi the g,r tea wall ;
Lover the rough u . a the rude of earth
* ith a veil of h aver and low re.
And murk, wltn the openlr g bud and cup
The match of tt.e summer hour,.
Scatter the germs of the I want If ul
In the h.-Iv shrine of home;
Let th- pure, and the tair. and the graceful there
In the love'lest !utre come.
Lr%v. not a traceof defonniry
In *he t. mple o’ the h-art.
But g ther about It* .- irta the gems
Os Nature and of Art.
Scatter th germs of the beautiful
In the tem lea of our God—
The • tod who <arred the unfitted sky.
And lowered the tramp>l aod.
when he built a ‘“mole f >r himself,
A-! a home for h's nriestlv race.
He reared earh arch *n •vmme’iT,
And carved each line in grace.
Scarier the ge-ms of the beautiful
In the ‘epfh of the hitman soul ;
Thv shall bod and hlowom. and bear tlteir fruit
Whi'e the endlea* ages roil.
Plant w ; th the flower* ot charity
The portals of the tom\
And th- fa,r and nnre about thy path
In parad'ae shall bloom.
SUNDAY READING.
Prom the New York Express.
“The proper Training of Tew
Members,”
Is the theme of the Circular Letter of the
Rev. Marvin G. TTolge, of the Atlantic av
enue Church, Brooklyn, to the Hudson Riv
er Association, South. It is of so pertinent
a character to the demands of the times, and
withal, a document of such rare merit, that
we collate from it quite at lenjrth, believing
that no more suitable subject could be
presented f>r our religious column. Mr.
Hodge, from his years of service in the
Horae Mission field, knows well the wants
which crowd upon the churches, and can
eive practical advice, the result of experi
ence. Commenting upon the recent in
gathering, he says :
“ Never do the truths of cur holy religion,
need to be taught with so much clearness as
when new bora thousands are gathered into
the churches. Upon the ministers of the
Gospel, the teachers in our Sun lay Schools
and Bible Classes, and all experienced Chris
tians the great revival has rolled a great res
ponsibility. Whether the church of coming
years shall be sound in the faith, is a ques
tion to be practically settled now. If each
zealous Apollos shall find a wise Aquila and
Priscilla to expound to him the way of God
more perfectly—if our young members are
“ nourished up in the words of faith and of
good doctrine,’’ then shall there be giants
in the land in the days to come. Nor have
we anything to fear from such training, we
are firmly persuaded it would hasten the ap
proach of the latter day glory. Men must
not only see alike, but they must alike see
the trath, as God has revealed it. before the
long sought millenium will be established.
Union with all who love our common Lord
is most excellent, when regulated and con
trolled by truth, but when uniou is set up as
a divinity, and truth laid as a bound and
bleeding victim on her altars, then, O my soul,
come not thou into her secret; unto her as
sembly, mine honor, be not thou united. We
would not be understood to limit the teachers
in Israel to old forms, or generally recog
nized boundaries. It would be strange if the
descent of so much light from heaven did not
enable us to discern some truths which have
been heretofore overlooked aud neglected
and some errors too which have been held
and cherished as truths. Perhaps contro
verted points can be discussed and settled,
in the clearer light we now enjoy, as they
never could before. The dangers of the pre
sent time are not that we shall be less
able than before to discern between truth
and error, but that the vigor of our search
after the truth shall be relaxed and that
fundamental errors shall creep iu with
out being challenged or observed. Mean
time some old things must he put to a
searching test. If we are not greatly mistak
en there are usages among the disciples of
Christ, hoary with age and of giant stature,
which stand at thi9 hour a? table rock once
stood, and while the river of salvation is
wearing away their base, the showers of
heaven are dissolving their fastenings, and
when they fall, as fall they must, the won
der will be that they stood so long. But the
word of our God liveth and abideth forever
and we only need more light and melting
love from heaven to bring our creeds into
exact conformity with the living word. And
what we now ask ia, not that angry contro
versy return, but that it be seriously consid
ered whether this is not the time to fix the
boundaries of Christian doctrine, aud prac
tice too, more accurately, justly, scripturally,
than ever before. And lurther, that so far
as we attain, we should inculcate till even
ihe sons and daughters in Zion understand
more thau the fathers have known. To
voung disciples as well as old, Christ says,
“ take my yoke upon you,” and the old
prophet declares, *• It is good for a man that
he bear the yoks in his youth.’’ Converts
are brought into the churcn. not to be per
petually ministered unto, but to become fel
low-laborers. If the eagle bears her eaglet
on her wiog9, when will they use their
own ?
Spiritual gifts, like bodily powers and men
tal faculties, require culture and development,
and the teachers in Zion should be careiul to
meet that requirement. It has been remark
ed that the gift of exhortation seem to be
dying out in the churches. Perhaps a more
‘■xact statement would be that this gift, aloHg
with many others, has been bound up in a
napkin, and buried, instead ofbriDg put to use.
j 11 is painful to consider how large a propor
tion of our members are either absent th'-m
-----tr-lves wholly from the social meetings of the
j church, or bear no part in the duties of those
I nee tings when present The p. .mitive or
j !er was quite otherwise. “ When ye come
i together,” |ai4 Ful to Corin ihtaoe, ** vry
Sft** fm *Bb+ -***•*¥
MEACOrr, GA. SEPTEMBER 3, 1838.
hath a tongue, hath a revelation, hath an in
terpretation.”
If in our Christian assemblies it could be
said, every one hath somewhat to contrib
ute—one a prayer, another a song of praise,
another an exhortation, another a doctrine,
another an experience, what edifying sea
sons we might enjoy!
That will a glorious day in Zion*when the
tongues of all the dumb are loosed, and when
every spiritual gift is brought into full exer
cise; when not only in the pulpit but in the
prayer meeting, the conference room, the
Sunday-school, and all the other walks of
usefulness, there shall be found workmen
who need not be ashamed—men of might
equal to their task, and able to bring honor
to their post. An untrained membership,
borne always on the arms of a miitaken in
dulgence, and not put early and vigorously
to work, will when the fathers are dead,
present to the world the mortifying specta
cle of effeminacy and decay.
But if this new generation of believers
are trained to habits of consecrated activity,
if the capabilities with which they are en
dowed are fully developed and faithfully
used, then, in the coming noontide of their
strength, shall the church be beautiful as
Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible a3 an
army with banners. Then shall David be
gathered to his fathers, with the assurance
that the Solomon who is to succeed him
shall build the Lord’s house, and establish his
courts, and swell the honors of the royal
line.
The sooner Christian converts can be
made familiar with God's method of work
ing, and brought to be iu the highest degree
workers together with God, the more richly
laden will their lives be with choice and
heavenly fruits. The Scriptures of truth do
more than to point out the end toward
which a consecrated life should be directed.
They are a lamp unto our feet, and a light
unto our path. They not only make the
distant goal refulgent, but they shine upon
upon the steps of to-day. And he so ad
justs the lens of Christian counsel a? to bring
the scattered rays of this light-giving Word
to a bright focus upon the special duties of
the present hour, or upon the general course
ofduty which opens b efore each individual,
renders a higher order of service, and great
lv promotes the general good.
The Empty Cradle.
Every fold counts a missing iamb, and
there are few homes where there has been
uo mourning over a vacant chair. It is
hard to part with the darling of the
nursery. Affection clings to them fond
ly, and is reluctant to loose its hold;
but the all-wise Father deals tenderly
with his children, and removes some of
their treasures to Heaven, that their af
fections may follow. Many weeping pa
rents will recognize their own experience
in the following paragraph from an ex
change :
‘•The death of a little child is to the
mother’s heart like the dew on a plant,
from which a bud has just perished.—
The plant lifts up its head in freshened
greenness to the morning light; so the
mother’s soul gathers, from the dark sor
row which she has passed, a fresh bright
ening of her heavenly hopes.
“As she bends over the empty cradle,
and fancy brings her sweet infant before
her, a ray of divine light is on her cherub
face. It is her son still, but with the
seal of immortality upon his brow. She
feels that Heaven was the only atmos
phere where her precious flower could
unfold without spot or blemish, and she
would not recall the lost. But the an
niversary of his departure seems to bring
his spiritual presence near her. She
indulges In the tender grief which soothes,
like an opiate in pain, all hard passages
and care in life. The world to her is no
longer filled with human love and hope
in the future, so glorious with heavenly
love and joy ; she has treasuies of hap
piness which the worldly, unchastened
heart never conceived. The bright, fresh
flowers with which she has decorated her
room, the apartment where her infant
died, are mementoes of the far brighter
hopes now dawning on her day dream.
She thinks of the glory and the beauty
ot the New Jerusalem, where the little
foot will never flud a thorn among the
flowers to render a shoe necessary. Nor
will a pillow be wanted for the dear head
reposing on the breast of the Saviour.
Aud she knows that her iufant is there
in that world of eternal bliss.
“She has marked one passage in that
book, to her emphatically the word of
life, now lying closed on the toilet table,
which she daily reads: “Suffer little
children to come unto me, for of such is
the kingdom of Heaven.”
A Goner. —The editor of the Home Jour
nal, Winchester, is on a visit to Philadelphia,
and in writing of thj ladies of that city, he
says:
‘ We shall also tell a little that we have
learned of the ways of the world, and the
freaks of women—o: which last article Phil
adelphia can boast any quality and they too
pretty for a susceptible young man like our
sell to look to at, and not fill in love with,
especially when they accidentally drop their
mantillas—we believe that is the name —
and make it necessary for one, as a matter
of courtesy, to pick them up and lay them o
ver their fat, smooth, and electnfyiug snow
white liitle-shoulders.”
That young man needs looking after, and
j bia friends at Winchester oucht to b-leeraph
t te have bun
A Dream of Heaven.
Lo, the seal of death ia breaking.
Ttior*e who alt-pt its sleep are waking,
Eden opens her port*!s fair!
Hrk ! the harps of God are ringing.
Hark I the serapn’s hymn is singing,
-And the living rills are ffnging
Music in th’ immortal air I
There, no more at eve declining.
Suns without a cloud are shining,
O'er the land of 1 fe and love ;
Heaven's own dreams entrance the sleeper,
Heaven’s own harvest woos the reaper,
Not a tear ig left the weeper,
To profane the flower above.
No frail lillies there are breathing—
There no thorny rose is wreathing
In the bowers of paradise;
Where the founts of life are flowing,
Flowers unknown to time are blowing,
Mid superior verdure glowing,
Than is sunned by mortal skies.
There the groves of God, that never
Fade or fall, are g-emi forever,
Mirrored in the radiant tide ;
There, along the stored waters,
Unprofaned by tears ot slaughters,
Wander earth’s immortal daughters,
Each a pure immortal bride.
There no sigh of memory swelleth,
There no tear of memory dwelleth,
Hearts will bleed or break no more;
Past is all the cold world’s scorning,
G’ >ne the night, and broke the morning,
With seraphic day adorning
Life's glad waves aud golden shore.
From the Atlantic Monthly , for August.
The Romance of a Glove.
CONTINUED.
“One day, when 1 was busy with the
books which I was to take with me, a
small package was handed in. I need
not tell you that 1 experienced a thrill,
when I saw Margaret’s handwriting upon
the wrapper. 1 tore it open—and what
think you 1 found? My glove! Noth
ing else. 1 smiled bitterly, to see how
neatly she had mended it; then I sighed,
then I said, ‘lt is finished!’ and tossed
the glove disdainfully into my trunk.
“On the day before that fixed for the
sailing of the steamer, I made farewell
calis upon many of my friends—among
others, upon Margaret. But through the
perversity of pride and will, I did not
go alone— l took with me Joseph, a mu
tual acquaintance, who was to be my
compagnon de voyage. 1 felt some mis
givings, to see how Margaret had chang
ed, she was so softened, so pale!
The interview was a painful one, and I
cut it short. As we were going out, she
gently detained me and said,
“ ‘Did you receive—your glove ?’
“‘Oh, yes,’ I said, and thanked her for
mending it.
“ ‘And is that all—all you have to
say 1 she asked.
“ ‘1 have nothing more to say—except
good-bye.’
“She held my hand. ‘Nothing else V
“ *No—it is useless to talk of the past,
Margaret; and the future—may you be
happy ! Good-bye!’
“1 thought she would speak ; I could
not believe she would let me go; but
she did ! 1 bore up well until night.—
Then came a revulsion. I walked three
times past the house, wofully tempted,
ray love and my will at cruel warfare;
but I did not go in. At midnight I saw
the ligh; in her room extinguished ; 1
knew she had retired, but whether to
sleep, weep or pray—how could I tell ?
1 went home. I did not close my eyes
that night. I was glad to see the morn
ing come, after such a night!
“The steamer was to sail at ten. The
bustle of embarkation; strange scenes
and strange faces; parting from their
friends; the ringing of the bell; last
adieus—some, who were to go with us,
hurrying aboard, others, who were to
stay behind, as hastily going ashore;
the withdrawal cf the plank—sad sight
to many eyes ! casting off the lines, the
steamer swinging heavily around, the
rushing, irregular motion of the great,
slow paddles; the waving of handker
chiefs from the decks, and the responsive
signals from the crowd lining the wharf,
off at last—the faces of friends, the
crowd, the piers, and, lastly, the city it
self, fading from sight; the dash of spray,
the freshining breeze, the novel sight of
our little world detaching itself and float
ing away ; the feeling that America was
past, and Europe was next: —all this
filled my mind with animation and ex
citement, which shut out thoughts of Mar
garet. Could 1 have looked with clair
voyant vision, and beheld her then, look
ed in her chamber, should I have been so
happy? Oh, what fools vanity and
pride make of us ! Even then, with my
heart high-strung with hope and courage,
had 1 known the truth, I should have
abandoned my friends, the voyage, and
Europe, and returned in the pilot boat,
to find something more precious than all
the continents and countries of the globe,
in the love of that heart which 1 was
carelessly flinging away.”
Here Westwood took breath. The
prairie was still and oool; and the heavy
dews were beginning to fall ; the shad
ows of the green and flowered undula
tions filled the hollows like a rising
tide, the headland, seen at first so far and
small, was growing gradually large and
near; and the horses moved at a quioker
pace. Weetwood lighted his oigar, drew
• Ott f^nruArd
“We had a voyage of eleven days.
But to me an immense amount of expe
rience was crowded into that brief peri
od. The fine exhileration of the start—
the breeze gradually increasing to be a
gale, then horrible sea-sickness, home
sickness, love-sickness, after which the
weather which sailors love, games, gaye
ty and flirtation. There is no such so
cial freedom to be enjoyed anvwhere a9
on boa-d an ocean steamer. The break
age up of old associations, the opening
of fresh existence, the necessity of new
relationships—this fusfes the crust of con
ventionality, quickens the spring of
and renders character sympathetic and
fluent. The past is easily put away ; we
become plastic to new influences; weare
delighted at the discovery of unexpected
affinities, and astonished to find in our
selves so much wit, eloquence and fine
susceptibility, which we did not before
dream we possessed.
“This freedom is equally provocative of
flirtation. We see each fair brow touched
with a halo, whose colors are the reflec
tion of our own beautiful dreams.—
Loveliness is ten-fold more lovely, bath
ed in this atmosphere of romance, and
manhood is invested with ideal graces.
The love with us rushes, with swift,
sweet heart-beats, to meet the love re
sponsive in some other. Don’t think I
am now artfully preparing your mind to
excuse what I am about to confess.—
Take this thing into consideration, if you
will ; then think a9 you please of the
weakness and wild impulses with which
I fell in love with
“We will call her Flora. The most
superb, captivating creature that ever
ensnared the hearts of the sons of Adam.
A fine olive complexion; magnificent
dark auburn hair ; eyes full of fire, and
soften-lips that pout or smile with in
comparable fascination ; a figure of sur
prising symmetry, just voluptuous @
nough. But, after all, her great power
lay in her freedom from all affectation
and conventionality, in her spontaneous,
her free,spaikling and vivacious manners.
She was the most daring and dazzling of
women, without appearing immodest or
repulsive. She walked with such proud,
secure step over the commonly accepted
barriers of social intercourse, that even
those who blamed her and pretended to
be shocked, were compelled to admire.
She was the belle, the Juno of the saloon,
the supreme ornament of the upper deck.
Just twenty, not without wit and cul
ture—full of poetry and enthusiasm.—
Do you blame me ?”
“Not a whit,” I said; “but for Mar
garet”—
“Ah, Margaret!” said Westwood, with
a sigh. ‘ But you see, 1 had given her
up. And when one love is lost, there
sink such awful chasms into the soul, that
though they cannot be filled, we must at
least bridge them over with new affec
tions. The number of marriages built
in this way, upon false foundations of
hollowness and despair, is incomputable.
We talk of jilted lovers and disappoint
ed girls marrying ‘out of spite.’ No
doubt sach petty feelings hurries for
ward many premature matches. But it
is the heart, left shaken, unsupported,
wretchedly sinking, which reaches out its
feelers for sympathy, catches at the first
penetrable point, and clings, like a help
less vine, to the sunny sided wall of the
nearest consolation. If you want to
marry a girl and can’t, and are weak
enough to marry her still, this is what
you should and some capable man
to jilt her. Then seize your chance. All
the affections which have gone out to
him, unmet, ready to drop, quivering
with the painful, hungry instinct to grasp
some object, may possibly lay hold of
you. Let the world sneer; but God
pity such natures, which lack the faith
and fortitude to live and die true to their
best love.
Out of my own mouth do I condemn
myself! Very well, I condemn myself,
peccavi! If I ever loved Margaret, then
I did not love Flora. The same heart
cannot find its counterpart indifferently
in two such opposites. What charmed
me in one was her purity, softness and
depth of soul. What facinated me in
the other was her bloom, beauty and pas
sion. Which was the true sympathy ?
“I did not stop to ask that question
when it was most important that it
should be seriously considered. I rush
ed into the crowd of competitors for
Flora’s smiies, and distanced them all.
I was pleased and proud to perceive that
she took no pains to conceal her prefer
ence for me. We played chess; we
read poetry out of the same book ; we
ate at the same table; we sat and watch
ed the sea together for hours, in those
clear, bright days; we promenaded the
deck at sunset, her hand upon my arm,
her lips forever turning up tenderly to
wards me, her eyes pouring their pas
sion into me. Then those glorious nights,
when the ocean was a vast, wild fluctua
the ship, spanned with a quivering hri ’ga
of splendor on one side, and rolling into
awful darkness and mvsteryonthe other ;
when the moon seemed swinging among
the shrouds like a ball of white fire ;
when the few ships went by like silent
ghosts; and Flora and I, in a long trance
of happiness, kept the deck, heedless of
the throng of promenaders, forgetful of
our own romance, and the richness of the
preient hour.
“Six mortal hours were exhausted in
making the steamer fast—in sending off
her Majesty ’9 mails, of which the cockney
speaks with a tone of reverence altogeth
er disgusting to us free-minded Yankees,
and in entertaining the custom-house in
spectors, who pa;d a long and tedious
visit to the saloon and our luggage.—
Then we were suffered to land, and en
ter the noisy, solid streets of Liverpool,
amid the donkey sand beggars and quaint
scenes which strike the American so
oddly upon a first visit. All this delay,
the weariness and impatience, the con
trast between the morning and the hard,
grim reality of mid-day brought me
down from my elevation. I felt alarm
ed to think of what had passed. I seem
ed to have been doing some wild, unad.
vised act in a fit of intoxication. Mar
garet came up before me, sad, silent, re
proachful ; and as I gazed upon Flora’s
bedimmed face, 1 wondered how I had
been so charmed.
“We took the first train for London,
where we arrived at midnight. Two
weeks in that vast Babel—then, ho! for
Paris. Twelve hours by rail and steam
er carried us out of John Bull’s domin
ions, into the brilliant metropolis of his
French neighbor. Joseph accompanied
us, and wrote letters home; filled with
gossip, which I knew, or hoped, would
make Margaret writhe. I had not found
it so easy to forget her as I had suppos
ed it would be. Flora’s power over me
was sovereign ! but when weary of the
dazzle and whirl of life she led me—
when 1 looked into the depths of mv
heart, and saw what the thin film of
passion and pleasure concealed—in those
serious moments which would come, and
my soul put stern questions to me—then.
Sir—then—Margaret had her revenge.
“A month, crowded and glittering
with novelty and incident, preceded our
departure for Switzerland. I accompan
ied Flora’s party; Joseph remained be
hind. We left Paris aboat the middle
of June, and returned in September. I
I have no words to speak of that era In
my life. I saw, enjoyed, suffered, learn
ed so much! Flora was always glad,
magnificent, irresistible. But, as I knew
her longer, my moments of misgivings
became more frequent and profound. If
I had aspired to nothing higher than a
life of sensuous delights, she would have
been all I could wish. But—
“W e were to spend the winter in Italy.
Meanwhile, we had another month in
Paris. Here I had found Joseph again,
who troubled me a great deal with cer
tain rumors he had received concerning
Margaret. According to these, she had
been in feeble health ever since we left
and her increasing delicacy was begin
•ng to alarm her friends. ‘But,’ added
another of Joseph’s correspondents ‘don’t
let Westwood flatter himself that he is
the cause, for she is cured of him; and
1 here is talk of an engagement between
her and a young clergyman, who is both
eloquent and fascinating.’
“This piece of gossip made me very
bitter and angry. ‘Forget me so soon ?’
I said ; ‘and receive the attentions of an
other man ?’ You see how very consis
tent I was, to condemn her for the very
fault I had myself been so eager to com
mit!
[concluded next week.]
Thf First Native Wine.—R. Buchanan
reports in the Horticulturist the following
incident concerning the first experiment in
Wine making at the West:
My friend, Dr. S. told me that about thir
ty years ago, when our native wines were
much talked of, but sc ireely known, he was
invited by a hospitable farmer of a neighbor
ing State to dine with him ; and, amongst
other inducement®, was promised a glass ot
native wine—the “pure juice of the grape.”
At dinner the wine was produced; it was
of a fine red color, like claret or Burguudy.
“There,” said his host, “is something that
I am proud of, for I made it myself, and
know it to be a pure article—none of your
foreign mix*-d stuff.” The Doctor took a
good tAste of it, made a wry face, and set
his glass down, remarking “that it was un
like any wine he had ever tasted.” “I fear,”
said his friend, “you don’t like it; but you
need not be afraid to drink it, for it is a gen
uine native wine, and I pledge you my
word it is the ‘pure juice of the grape,’ with
out a particle of sugar, or a drop of water in
it. I assisted myself to gather the erapes.
of the best varieties, from the woods, had
the bunches packed up carefully in new,
clean barrel, and filled it t oith whiskey —the
best old Bourbon I could find —lo extract
the grape juice. If that is not the native,
I don’t know what ia’’ The D->ctor sug
gested that “it might be native enough,
but was not wine.” Nonsense, ’ said his
friend, “have I not made ‘peach cordial’ that
way many a time; and why not wine ?”
It was & long time before the Doctor ven
tured to taste another glass cf native wine
Ring Solomon's B'acksmlth.
And it, came to pass when Solomon,
the son of David, had finih°d the Temple
of Jerusalem, that he called unto him
the chief architects, the head artificers,
and cunning workers in silver and gold,
and in wood, and in ivory, and atone —
yea, all who had aided in rearing the
Temple of the Lord, and he said unto
them ;
‘Sit ye down at my table ; I have pre
pared a feast for all mv chief workers
and cunning artificers, stretch forth your
hands, therefore, and eat and dank, and
be mrry. Is not the laborer worthy of
j his hire? Is not the skillful artificer de
ceiving of honor ? Muzzle not the ox
that treadeth out the oorn.’
j And when Solomon and the chief
workmen were seated, and the fatness
of the land and the oil thereof were set
upon the table, there came one who
knocked loudly at the door, and forced
himself even into the festal chamber.—
Then Solomon,, the King, was wroth, and
said :
‘What manner of man art thou ?’
And the man answered, and said:
‘W hen men wish to honor me, they
call me Son of the Forge; but when
they desire to mock me, they call me
blacksmith; and seeing that the toiling
of working in fire covers me with sweat
and smut, the latter name, O King, is
not inapt, and in truth, thy servant de
sire* no better.*
‘But,’ said Solomon, ‘why came you
thus rudely and unbidden to the feast,
where none save the chief workmen of
the Temple are invited ?’
‘Please ye, mv lord, I came rudely,’
replied the man, ‘because thv servant
obliged me to fiuv-e mv way ; but I came
not unbidden. Was it not proclaimed
♦ hat the chief workmen of the Temple
were invited to dine with the King of
Israel ?’
Then he who carved the cherubim said:
‘This fellow is no sculptor,’ and he
who inlaid the roof with pure gold said;
•Neither i* he a workman in fine metal*.’
And he who raised the walls said : ‘He
is not a cutter of stone.’
And he who made the roof cried out;
‘He is not cunning in cedar wood ; neith
er knowe’h he the mystery of uniting
pieces of Bt r ange timber together.’
‘Then said Solomon : ‘What ha* thou
to say. Son of the Forge, why I should
not order thee to 1 e plucked by the
beard, scourged, and stoned to death
with stones ?’
And when*the Son of the Forge heard
this, he was in no sort dismaved, but
advanced to the table, snatched up and
swallowed a cup of wine, and t-aid ;
‘O King, live forever! The chief
men of the workers in wood, and gold,
and stone have said that I am not of
them, and they have said truly. lam
their superior; before they lived was I
created. I am their master and they
are all my servants.’ And he turned
him round, and said to the chief of the
carvers in stone:
‘Who made the tools with which you
carve ?’
And he said : ‘The blacksmith.’
And he said to the chief of the mason*:
‘Who made the chisels with which the
•tones of the Temple were squared V
And he said : ‘The blacksmith.’
And he said to the chief of the work
ers in wood:
‘Who made the tools with which you
hewed trees on Lebanon, and formed them
into the pillars and roof of the Temple?’
And he said ; ‘The blacksmith.’
Then said he to the artificer in gold
and ivory:
‘Who makes the instrument* by which
you work beautiful things for my lor *,
the King?’
And he said : ‘The blacksmith.’
‘Enough, enough, good fellow,’ said
Solomon, ‘thou hast proved that I have
invited tbee, and thou art all men’s father
in art. Go wash the smut of the forge
from thy face, and come and sit at my
right hand. The chief of my workmen
are but men—thou art more.*
So it happened at the feast of Solomon,
and blacksmiths have been honored ever
since.— London Magazine.
Off the Track. —Under this head the fol
lowing card, signed “Wm. L. Hart, ’’appears
in the North Alabamian. The writer is ev
idently a sensible as well as good-humored
man:
Please to allow me to say through your
paper that I am off the Sher.fftlty course, or,
in other words, I “back down’ fram the
race, and withdraw from the canvass for sher
iff of Frauklrag county at the August elec
tion. My r-asons for this are various one
of which I will mention—and that is, I am
afrai I cannot get quite enough votes to e
lect Such being my oonvicMon, after ma
ture reflection, I have concluded to make
mv I est bow to the public and voluntarily
re'ire from the contest.
Those of my fellow-citizens who intended
to Vote for me, will p'ease receive my thanks,
and those who intended to vote otherwise,
can go to—the grocery at somebody ela*-’
expense: while I go to work mernly singing
that ancient ballad called “ Root Hog or Die.’
A good mechanic is throwing away hia time
ia running for a petty office, especially W^eu
rrr**
IVO. 24.
The OarN Wirkol'a Little
Zephyr.
A little aw >k* one morning from
itsVlinthe g'men c>rn leaves, and said
softly to itself, “t W'H see how much suoh a
little a* T. can do toward* making
this dav pVa*nter.”
He did not v iwn and loiter, b’tt started at
once on his mission. And first, he kissed
gently the sleeping flowers, and woke them
up to see the sun rise. In doing so he scat
tered down some bright boa Is of dew on the
old lark’s hack, who instaotly raised her
head, then plumed her wings and flew away;
recalling p-actictlly, at least, the maxim,
“the early bird catches the wnrm.”
When he reached the farm-house, he found
its inmates drowsy and languid, the sultry
morning air declining them from labor. But
he played about their heads in his merriest
mood, fanning first one and then another
until all were quite refreshed. “Oh, what
a pleasant breeze,” they exclaimed; and
Zephyr felt well repaid.
Next he entered the chamber of a poor
sick boy, who had been tossing all night on
a sleepless couch. There was no cooling in
the air that entered the open window, and
the thin white curtain crossed before it h mg
idle and motionless. Zephyr swept by the
airy gauze, and entered the room with a low
sweet raurraer. He came laden with the
breath of June roses, and the little sufferer
turned his head eagerly toward the case
ment, to watch the cool flutter of the cur*
tain and catch again the delicious odor of
the flowers. “Oh, how lovely!” he mur
mured : “how grateful to my poor, burning
head.” Zephyr lifted his soft hair gently,
and kissed the fair brow once more. Just
then the old lark lighted on the top branch
, of the big Bpple trep, poured forth auch a
gush of melody, the s/hole orchard seemed
vocal with fairy music. It toad* the child’s
eve hriehten, and his heart throb with ex
quisite pleasure. Soon the old bird hopped
down and picked up a big worm to take
home for her young lark’s breakfast, and
then the weary little boy turned his head
on his pillow and sank into a peaceful slum
ber. .
Thus Z°phyr spent. h>B day scattering bles
sings wherever he went. More than once
he strengthened the weary-footed traveler,
giving him fresh energy and courage ; he
fanned the flushed cheeks of the sleeping
b<*he, thus prolonging his slumber, and ena
bling its mother to toil on uninterrupted.—
H** saw a little bov trudging along the road
side, crying bitterly because his favorite toy
was mired. “Poor little frllow,” thought
Zephyr; “I will try to amuse him.” So he
commenced a gay waltz in the road before
him, and directly the dust, sticks, bita of pa
per and grasses were whirling around at a
mad rate, causing the little boy to open his
wide with wonder, and as it retreated
along the road he gave chase, running and
laughing, as gay as the wind, His childish
sorrow was forgotten ; and when the little
breeze went up, with a laugh, into the tree
tops, he pattered off to tell his companions
about its strange performance.
An old man sat in his wide arm-chair,
trying to read of the “Saint’s Rest;” but the
hot air caused his head to droop with faint
ness, and the book was laid aside. Gently
Zephyr sighed through the whispering vine
leaves, and fanned the thin temples, softly
caressing the silvery hair. With a grateful
blessing on the Heaven-sent breeze, the old
man fell asleep, and through his dreams a
breath of Elen floated.
Evening shadows fell at length, and a
cool night-wind sprang up. Zephyr’s work
f>r the day was done, and, very happy he
sank to rest in the arms of the waving corn.
Always; my little friend, you will find that
the surest way to be happy yourself, is to try
and make others so; and remember that
you can do far more toward making every
day pleasanter to those about you, than a
hundred little zephyrs could.
Copying a Blot. —“ Mother, who, of all
the big boys, should you like for me to pat
tern after?” asked a little boy who waa
looking around for a good example.
“Who should you think ?” asked his
mother; “you know the big boys better
than I do.”
The little boy thought, then he said.—
‘“There’s Dan Parker, he smokes; there’s
Biil Parker, he swears ; Tom Jones, he’s got
a horrid temper ; Jim Wood, he hates study.
Joe B 1 ike, he’s cross; Charley Doe, he
goes fishing on Sunday ; Gus Tyng he tells
whappers. Mother there isn’t one, that if I
copy, I shouldn’t copy a blot from. ”
O, bow the ugly blots in onr character
stand out. “Well,” said his mother, “there
is one perfect pattern.” “Who ?” asked the
boy ; eagerly; “I should love to know him.”
“The Son of God,” answered she, who did
no sin, neither was guile found in his mouth
and who left us an example that we should
follow his steps.” O, children, God knew
you would need a perfect pattern to copy
from. You could not copy God, because he
is a Spirit; therefore he sent his Son to be
come a child in this world, to show you the
pattern of a heavenly boy ; and he wishes
von to begin when a child to grow into bis
likeness. In hia character there is no blot to
copy. He is pure.— Evangelist
W hiskey Fever !— Shun ;.t as you would
‘he bprosy. Beware of it as you would a
Hon in your path. Avoid it as you would
d-ath itself Look around yon and mark its
viciims. How many can yon number?—
It rages like a volcano —ita burning lava is
to be feared and shunned. Its victims are
numbered by millions, are still being arait
tea daily by this awful epidemic, sh? WjBS
-Ipp Hmvms 1 fljnritwnrt lirntm.