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voii. 9. THE GEORGIA CITIZEN every Friday morning it WJO per annum in flf**® at the regular charge will be On* Dollar > undred words or MM, tor the flrst lnser- P *l*¥V centi tor each subsequent iaaertion. AU ad- of candidatee for office to be paid tor at ?.liTm*nts *idr with county officers. Druggists, -chants, and others, who may wish to make tracts. ‘Si.^^’agatAJyg&iaßß P? tv noun of tea in the forenoon and three in the af jJJ”g mt Court-house In the county in which the prop- of Personal Property must be advertised in like “jtoSie uTlhSofs and Credltora of an Estate most be * 4 miJto*tSt S*PP-,^Uon 5 *PP- ,^Uon •** m * d * 10 *&• Ordinary tor Land and Negroea, must be published weekly for ~L for Letters of Administration, thirty days; tor . ftotc Administration, monthly, nx months; tor Si;; Jon from Guardianship, weekly, forty days. h7,li for Foreclosing of Mortgagee, monthly, tour , ’” establishing tat paper*, for the toll space of three “SJ: or compelling title* from executors or administrators , : ,'-eiW.d has been given by the deceased, the toU space of ib-,,regional sod Businewa Cards will be inserted un dittaftd! ai tk* following rates, vis: for Fivelir.es, per annum, 8 6 00 do Seven Uses, do 800 do Ten line*. do 10 00 an advertisement of this claM will be admitted, unless paid >.. I- tirnnce, nor for a less term than twelve months. Ad ents of over ten lines will be charged pro rata. Ad vetlsements not paid for In advance will be charged at the reguisr riles. ‘ ■SUM ill 818 tills LA.VIER & ANDERSON. ATTORNEYS AT LAW, Maoou, O-a., DSACTICI in the counties of the Macon Circuit, and in X ‘ne Counties of Sumter, Monroe and Jones; also in the fiderx. Courts at Savannah. LANIER A ANDERSON have also recently become the Arret* of the following Insurance Companies : “HE AUGUSTA INSURANCE AND BANKING COM PANY of which W. M. D’Antignac is President, and 0. F. McCsy !* Secretary. Asa the ALABAMA FIRE AND MARINE INSUR ANCE COMPANY, Montgomery, of which T. H. Watts Is President, and A. Williams is Secretary, lire risks and risks on slaves taken at usual rates. sPr 13—ts DR. H. A. METTAUER, - HAYING spent a portion of three successive years in this city, during which time he has limited his practice slnsest exclusively to Surgery, now respectfully cftrs his services to the cltisens of Macon and snrround tafesustry, In all the branches of his profession. Office ss the South last Corner of 8d and Cherry streets, ovsr Mr. Asher Ayres’ nsw Grocery Store. WpDT—tf 0. BJUCE,~ TUNER AND iflNl REPAIRER Or PIANO FORTBB, IS Permanently located In Macon. fiV Names may Is left at Messrs. Virgin's and at E. J. Johnston A 00. novS—tf BROWN’S jjj|H 0 T E L , Opposite the Passenger Depot, E. E. BROWN, Proprietor, |Meals ready on the srriva’ of every Train. spr!9—tf L N. WHITTLE, ATTORNEY AT LAW, MAOON, GA. OlfiCl next to Concert Hall .over Payne’s Drag Store. aalO—ly J. RD A VIS, Land Broker, Collector 8l General Af’t. laansss attended to In any county In this State. ORcecorner Jackson and Kills Street, Augusta, Ga. ssvl-tf ~ LOCHRANE & LAMAR, Attorneys at Law, MAOON, OAL. Office by the Mechanic’* Bank. QPFICE HOURS from BtoISA. MS to SP. M. and also from 7 to 10 P. M. _ ill practice in all the Counties of the Maeon Circuit andUn tie Couuie*of Jones, Monroe and Columbia, and in the Su pthe Court. 0. A. LOCHRANE. JOHN LAMAR. Ms I—lv. SPEER A HUNTER, ATTORNEYSAT LAW, Macon, Ga.< 08m Triangular Block, Conor of Cherry Street tad Cotton Atenne. ¥X hart associated ss partners In the practice of Law in the counties of the Macon uxi adjoining Circuits, and ♦Jtwiere in the State by special contract—auo, will attend ike Federal Court* at Savannah and Marietta. ALEX. M. SPEER, _fcc!My SAMUEL HUNTER THE LIVER ISVIGORATOR! PREPARED BT DR. BAKFORD, COMPOUNDED ENTIRELY FROM GUMS, I Sow of the best Purgative and Liver Medicines now before the nubite. that sets ass Cathartic, easier, milder, sad effectual than any other medicine known. It Is not on •J * Cathartic, but a Liver remedy, acting Sret on the Liver “Owl it* morbid matter, then on the Stomach and bowels to any off uaj matter, thus accomplishing two purposes ■tr tMily. without any of the painful feelings experienced in the fjeistorj ot most Cathartics. It strengthen* the system at ** tune time that it purges it; and when taken dally in mod *gk doses, will strengthen and build tt up with unusual rap- The LIVER is one of the • [principal regulators of the “ body : and when it u iierforma its functions well, *Jwersfthc?vstemar S fully developed. The Rom chUtmost entirely depea- dent on the healthy action oftkeLlver tor the proper ft oe rformance of Its functions; -tw M> stom-ach Uat fault w the bowels are at toult, and if*,. tvstem suffers In consequence of one organ— IJJ; tit—haring ceased a to do it* duty. Fortheaia ?“*of that organ, one oft , the proprietors has made it ;•* tody, la a practice of ft more than twenty years, to ie remedy where- with to counteract the many “•segments to which It la M liable. Tojwvt that this remedy | ** is at last found, any perepn with LIVER * COMPLAINT, in any sfitt “gs, ha. but to try abot- VW tie, and conviction is certain, is. e * B Gums remove all morbid or bad matter from 5* *y**m, supplying in J their place a healthy flow of ZS avtgc rating th atom- ach, causing food to digest PCKIFYINO THE m BLOOD; glvtaf tone and t° the whole machin- cry, removing the cause ot tgSfflffiKljfe > ’SjSb.AXV.WBiTU One dose after eating is . sufficient to relieve the atom a sec prevent the food ft from rising and souring. dost taken before retiring, prevents NlGHT on* dose taken at ft nBAt, loosens the bowels Ittaj. and cures COS- ~ TIVENEBS. _ „ jGm dose taken after each ms meal will cure DYSPEP- ft spoonfuls will alwayi ie rw.Bt CK RRADACHX. b r** taken tor to 1 _ male obstruetton* removes of the disease, and ■ i makes a perfect cure, on. dose immediate-1 w | y relieves CHOLIC, while often repeated ft Is a sure cure for CHOL jAd*'RBUS. smfspre ventative of CHOLERA. one bottle is & needed to throw out of the ••ex ta. tffrets of medi _ dne after a long sickness. Guttle taker, for JAUNDICE remove* all J* or unnatural col A or from the skin. “>•* taken a short ft time before eating give* vig inSUejmi makes food digest well. F.Rfv often repeated S cures CHRONIC DIAR- SiJiJL in its worst forte,. ™ while SUMMER and J *'WLL complaints yield Mk almost to the llrst dose. h,%5,?J W 0 dsses cures ft attacks caused by WORMS gQtt.4ren;tfcerelsnosur- - er. ante, er speedier remedy ■tt* world, is it never! ft UiU. bottles cure* DROPSY, by exciting the W*ta* e pleasure in re-1 commending this medicine SUygventsttve for FEVEB AND AGUE, CHILL of s BILLIOU9 TYPE.- r°J*fte with certainty,! _ end thousands are willing to to its wondeaful vfr-| Jt toes. ft It nrv giving their nnanimons estl ™°w In lu favor. to **“Water in the mouth with the ißvtgorw ’ swallow both together. the liver invigorator MEDICAL DISCOVERY, and is daily cures, almoet too great to believe. It cures a* if by S*. ovsa tin rs< dses aivina hots tt. and seldom more bottle is required Cm! of LIVER Com grrmeathe worn Jaundict or DytpspsSn to * fgftc V. aU of which are the result oft DISEASED LTV PRICI OK* DOLLAR per bottl*. SANFORD A 00, Frowielora. ____ 346 Broadway, Sew Tort wb.oloißa.le Afonta t : T. W Dyott A Sooa, Fblladel- Er •-*-&• Burr A Cos, Bouton : M. H. Hoy A Oo,Portland; p - Part, Cinrlnnati ; Gaylord A Hammond. Cleveland; A DavU. Chk**o ;O. J. Wood A C 0 ,84. Lonla; TZ**. 4- Iw. IWrti: 8. 8. Hanot, BaManto ZTT® wwokt God Bless Ton. How sweetly fall those simple words Upon the human heart, When friends long bound by strongest ties Are doomed by fate to part. You sadly press the hand of thoee Who thus in love caress you, And soul responsive beats to soul, In breathing out “God bless you.” ‘■God bless you I” ah I long months ago, I heard the mournful phrase, When one whom I in childhood loved, Went from my dreamy gaze. Now blinding tears fall thick and fast, I mourn my long lost treasure, While echoes of the heart bring back The farewell phrase ’God bless you.” The mother sending forth her boy To scenes untried and new, Lisps not a studied stately speech, Nor murmurs out “adieu.” She sadly says between her sobs, Whene’er misfortunes press you, Come.to thy mother—boy, come back, Then sadly sigh ‘God bless you.” *God bless youl” more of love expresses Than volumes without number; Reveal we thus our trust in him, Whose eyelids never slumber. I ask in parting no longer speech, Drawled out in studied measure, I only ask the dear old words, So sweet—so sad—“ God bless you.” For the Georgia Citizen. Mrs. Everett'* Address, To the Patrons and Pupils of her School , at Union Grove Meeting House, War riour District, in the County of Bibb. There is no selfish interest that prompts the good Teacher to labor for the good of his or her scholars. The deep inter est which they will feel to advance them in their studies, surpasses every other. The high and holy motive which actu ates the Teacher is fraught with the purest feelings of benevolence. His own great heart feels for the wants of his scholars. I say “great,” for a teacher should have a great heart. The more the intellect is expanded the greater will be the soul. Applying the principles of Education enlarges the mind, and teach ing is one of the highest and noblest en terprises that ever filled the bosom of man or woman. And it is entitled to the deepest solicitude of all who desire the good of his creatures. It cannot be pondered too frequently or too deeply. It is true, there ought to be a much more enlarged and impressive views of it. — The scale of sympathy and liberality which is felt for the poor children, and the provision which lias been made by the Executive Department bears some proportion to the magnitude of the in terest involved in their salvation. Our country has grown so rapidly, and its condition and wants are changing so con stantly, that the most active zeal can hardly keep pace with its ever growing wants. Borne on a rapid current, peril ous with hidden dangers, we need to be constantly advancing. Our rapid growth, our heterogeneous population, the vari rious and conflicting forces which are at work in forming the character of our children, and the free play which is giv en to all kinds of influences, good and bad, and the intense and aimost morbid activity which these influences possess, all give a peculiarity which demands the most speedy and efficient efforts for its good, and as parents and guardians of our children, we should be in earnest in this great and good cause. Let our chil dren early drink at the fount of knowl edge. Their minds should be instilled with something that is useful, something that will benefit them after they are grown; to make them good and enter prising citizens of the State in which they live. The State of Georgia has re flected honor upon herself in making provision for the children of the poor. Our desire is to have them supplied with well qualified teachers, and the duty of parents is to see that their children are benefitted by them. Early impressions with children are lasting, and I would say to mothers, (for I, too, am a mother, and know the full depth of a mother’s love,) that your children are now receiv ing that lasting impression of good or evil which time will only serve to bring out in more clear arid ineffaceable out lines. It therefore should be borne in mind by you as a striking motive for prompt and energetic efforts on your part, that your influence is needed in this sealing time. The amount of effort, which might, at another time, be almost unfelt, will now exert a power sufficient to secure this good end. While they are fostered and nurtured by your care, and restrain ed by parental authority, their minds being perfectly accessible to knowledge and easily moulded by it, O, how it sends joy and gladness to their hearts, and their countenances will eradiate and sparkle with intelligence. 1 trust there are but few mothers but desire the hap piness of their children, and are willing to deny themselves many luxuries to aid and benefit them. Napoleon Bonaparte enquired of Mad ame De Stael, a well educated and highly accomplished French lady, what would best promote the goc-dof society and com- bina the interest of the government.— MACON, GA. SEPTEMBER 10, 1858. showing that a mother’s influence is great, and if it is of the right kind, is condu cive to the happiness of her children, not only in encouraging it, but she may, by her influence, strengthen the hands of the teacher. And she can do this in va rious ways. A mother never should al low her child to tell any thing that has transpired in the school-room, by wav of a complaint against the teacher, for they, most always put on a false color ing. If she should encourage this, and sympathise with her child, she encoura ges it to be disobedient at school, and weakens the government of the teacher. If the mother should think the teacher has gone too far, and abused her children, let her go to the teacher, and if it is a a gentleman or a lady, they will make it right. A teacher’s heart has been made to bleed by such a course, and by such a course you will dishearten the teachers and cause them to leave. A mother’s influence is almost un bounded over her child. There is no one so well fitted to mould its disposition and to aid the teacher in her labors of love, as the mother. To illustrate—a lady inquired of a Wall street lawyer, in the city of New York, after he was appointed Warden of the Sing-Sing Prison, why it was that he had so much tenderness of heart towards the poor prisoners. “My mother was a Quaker,” said he, “when I was a small boy, some other little boys with myself hunted and pelted a poor little kitten with stones, so that she died. My mother, on hearing the circumstance, took me on her lap and talked to me in such a moving man ner, that I sobbed as if my heart would break, and I have never forgotten it, and even now the ghost ot that pelted little kitten will come up between me and the poor prisoners at Sing-Sing, which will ever make me to be humane and forbear ing.” Once more—the Rev. Dr. New ton, who has done so much to help the world, was once a wicked youth. While away from home, as he lays down up on the sands of Africa, he thinks of his mother, repeating to him that Infant prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” his tears fell like the summer rain in that lone resting place, and he became a Christian. Such precepts and examples should be carried out by every mother and teacher. The children are soon to take the power into their hands which is to control our legislation, shape our in stitutions and give character to the in fluences which mould a nation’s mind. And will you not put forth every effort requisite to bless and to save them, and with them the country of your love. To her Pupils. My endeared ones, who, have spent with me the past winter and so far of the present summer. The relation which we have sustained to each other, as teacher and pupil, is about to close. — While laboring with you and for you, my sympathies have been drawn towards you. It will always afford me the highest pleasure to hear from you and of your prosperity in life,and may you continue to draw from that living fountain of knowl edge which flows from the temple of science: for an enlightened and virtuous mind is the richest boon you can have. May your future be bright. I hope you will not forget that I have prayed with you and for you, and, O! do not forget to pray for yourselves. Remember there is an eye that is always looking down upon you, and knows all you do. Imi tate the virtues of the good. Love and obey your parents—cherish your moth er. As she is in the decline of life, do all you can to lighten her cares—unseen tears may weave untimely furrows on your mother’s cheek, by your wayward ness, but her hand and heart will cher ish you still; and when school opens again, do all you can to encourage your teacher by your attention to your studies, and in faithful obedience to his or her requirements. A Rich California Woman. —Mrs. Eliza Todd, who owns a ranch a mile below Weaverille, is a remarkable woman. In 1852 she walked form Shasta to Weaver ville, and, without money, began the business of washing for six dollars a dozen. An ac quaintance who lived near her domicil, says that for a long time she was bending over the wash-tub at daylight in the morning, at noon and at ten o’clock at night Buiness prospered, and after a while she bought two claims which turned out welL Then she bought chickens which laid eggs and which she sold at half a dollar a piece; then she bought a pig for $125, and sold its progeny, for an ‘ounce’ or $25, then bought cows and sold milk. Business still increased, and she began buying real estate, lending money at ten per cent a month, and speculating in claims, always was fortunate; every touch turned something to gold. Now she is one of the largest property holders in the north. A Memorable Day*- —The 16th of August, on which the first telegram was sent across the ocean, is a memorable day in American annals. On that day 1519, Cortez set out on his expedition to Mexico; in 1777, the battle of Benington, and in 1780 the battle of Camden were fought, and in 1825 the ( North Sea waa dwwvered by CapUm Prank r** The Last Devil's Walk. BY CHABLXS SIOUXS. I. From his brimstone bed at break of day, A devil has walking gone— To trample and char the fiow’rs to death, To Intest the air with his pestileht breath. And to cloud the morning sun. u. And, pray, how was this devil dress'd * Oh ! he was cased in an iron vest; Hi* scales were close and his rivets true. With never a chink for a spear to get through. m. And ever thehlll and over the dale, He walked and over the plain. And an air-gun, elegant, pollsn’d and round. That would kill mile* off with never a sound. He travel'd like a harmless cane. tv. And over the laurels of full-blown Fame. And the tender shoots of the young Good Name, He stamp'd with his merciless hoof of shame, And he left its prints on earth. And backward ana forward he wiggled his tall. Through the rose-trlmm'd garden and lily-strewn vale. Marking his course by a loathsome trail. Like a snail track over a peach. v. He spied a laborer hard at work. Early at his vocation. His prominence offered a prominent shot. “Oh!” quoth the devil, “he sees me not.” “So he shoulder'd hi* piece, and he aim'd, God wot! With terrible calculation! VI. He saw young innocent folks at play, Blameless, beautiful, wise and gay; The prospect liked not him. So a vitriol flask trom his pouch he drew, (Twaa a devilish deed!) and the liquid threw O’er the fair young group, whom he left a crew Os monsters scar'd and grim. VII. He peered in a house: ’twas a godly manse, Os time and weather nad stood the chance, And was still erect and fair. “Aha!” queth the devil, “the pile looks well. But I've nre-work* studied for nothing in hell, If 1 can’t find out when a match or shell May lead to combustion there.” vm. That Devil can creep where no other fiends can. He found an unguarded spot. Where he scraped a mine with his diligent hoof, And—his train prepared—wall, pillar and roof, Blew up in the air like shot. IX. That breach in the roof is mended now; Its whereabout few can tell. But the devil had done his work that day. So he crawl’d him back to his master’s pay. Which he royally spent in a jovial way, With the lowest devils in hell. x. “There are many devil s that walk this world, Devils great and devils small. Devils with tails, devils without;” Devils who whisper, devils who shout, Devils who mystify, devils who teach : But the CanuMßY Dxvil—as hard to reach As the snail, who, now safe on some distant beach, Is digesting the core of my favorite peach— Is the shabbiest devil of all 1 From the Atlantic Monthly, for August The Romance of a Glove. [conclusion.] ‘ W ell the rounds of rides, excursions, soirees, visits to the operas and theatres, rides on the Boulevards, and in the gal leries of the Louvre, ended at last. The evening before we were to set out for the South of France, I was at my lodgings unpacking and repacking the luggage which I had left in Joseph’s care during my absence among the Alps; I was melancholy, dissatisfied with the dissipa tions which had exhausted my time and energies, and thinking of Margaret. I had not preserved a single memento of her, and now wished 1 had one—if only a withered leaf, or a line of her writing. In this mood I chanced to cast my eye upon a stray glove in the bottom of my trunk. I snatched at it eagerly, and in the impulse of the moment —before I re flected that I was wronging Flora—pres sed it to my lips. Yes, I found the place where it had been mended, the spot Mar garet’s fingers had touched, and gave it a kiss for every stitch. Then, incensed at myself, I flung it from me, and hur ried from the room. I walked towards the Place de la Concorde, where the bril liant lamps burned like a constellation. I strolled through the Elysian Fields, and watched the lights of the carriages swarming like fire-flies up the long aven ues ; stopped by the concert gardens, and listened to the glorified girls sing under rosy and golden pavilions the last songs of the season ; wandered about the fountains—by the garden of the Tuille ries, where the trees stood so shadowy and still, and the statutes gleamed so pale—along the quays of the Seine, where the waves rolled so dark below— trying to settle my thoughts, to master myself, to put Margaret from me. ‘Weary at length, I returned to my chamber, seated myself composedly, and looked down at the glove, which lay where I had thrown it, upon the polish ed floor. Mechanically, I stooped and took up a bit of folded paper. It was written upon—l unrolled it, and read.— It was as if I had opened the record of doom. Had the apparition of Margaret herself risen suddenly before me, I could not have been more astonished. It was a note from her—and such a note!—full of love, suffering and humility—poured out of a heart so deep and tender and true, that the shallowness of my own seemed uterly contemptible in compari son with it. 1 cannot tell you what was written, but it was more than even my most cruel and exacting pride should have asked. It was what would once have made me wild with joy—now it al most maddened me with despair. I, who had often talked fine philosophy to oth ers, had not a grain of that article left to physic my own malady. But one course seemed plain before me, and that was to go quietly and drown myself in the Seine, which I had seen flowing so swift and dark under the bridges, an hour ago, when I stood and mused upon the tragical corpses its solemn flood had swallowed. ‘ 1 am a little given to superstition, and the mystery of the note excited me. I have no doubt but there was some üb tile connection between that and the near presence of Margaret’s spirit, of which I had that night been conscious. But the note had reached me by no supernatural a method, as I was at first half inclined to believe. It was, probably, the touch, the atmosphere, the ineffably fine influ ence which surrounded it, which had pen etrated my unconscious perceptions, and brought her near. The paper, the glove were full of Margaret,—full of some thing besides what we call mental asso ciations, —full of emanations of the very love and sufferings which she had breath ed into the writing. 4 How the note came there upon the floor was a riddle which I was too much bewildered to explain by any natural means. Joseph, who burst in upon me, in my extremity of pain and difficulty, solved it at onoe. It had fallen out of *fttar4wlir it had lam feUfcd, •>. lent, unnoticed, during all this interven ing period of folly and vexation of soul. Margaret had done her duty, in time; I had only myself to blame for the tangle in which I found myself. I was thinking of Flora, upon the deck of the steamship, when, in a moment of chagrin, she had been so near throwing herself over; — wondering to what fate her passion and impetuosity would hurry her now, if she knew; cursing myself for my weakness and perfidy ; while Jo9eph kept asking me what I intended to do. ‘Do? do?’ I said, furiously,—‘l shall kill you, that is what I shall do, if you drive me mad with questions which nei ther angels nor fiends can answer !’ ‘ I know what you will do,’ said Jo seph ; ‘you will go home and marry Margaret.’ 4 You can have no conception of the effect of these words —Go home and marry Margaret. I shook as I have seen men shake with the ague. All that might have been—what might be still—the hap piness cast away, and perhaps yet with in my reach—the temptation of the Dev il, who appealed to my cowardice, to fly from Flora, break my vows, risk mv honor and her life, for Margaret—all this rushed through me tumultuously.— At length I said— -4 No, Joseph, I shall do no such thing. I can never be worthy of Margaret; it will be only by fasting and prayer that I can make myself worthy of Flora.” 4 Will you start for Italy in the morn ing V he asked, pitilessly. 4 For Italy in the morning,’ 1 groaned. Meet Flora, travel with her, play the hypocrite, with smiles on my lip and hell in my heart—or thunderstrike her at once with the truth; what was Ito do ? To some men the question would, perhaps, have presented few difficulties. But for me, Sir, who am not quite de void of conscience, whatever you may think—let me tell you, I’d rather hang by sharp hooks over a roasting fire than be again suspended as I was betwixt two alternatives, and feel the torture of both! ‘Having driven Joseph away, I lock ed myself into my room, and suffered the torments of the damned in as quiet a manner as possible, until morning. Then J oseph returned, and looked at me in dismay. ‘ For Heaven’s sake !’ he said, ‘ you ought not to let this thing kill you—-and it will, if you keep on.’ ‘So much the better,’ I said, ‘if it kills nobody but me. But don’t be alarmed. Keep cool, and attend to the commission I am going to trust to you. I can’t see Flora this morning; I must gain a little time. Go to the station of the Lyons railway, where I have engag ed to meet her party; say to her that I am detained, but that I will join her on the journey. Give her no time to ques tion you, and be sure that she does not stay behind.’ 4 I’ll manage it, —trust me !’ said Jo seph ; and off he started. At the end of two hours, which seemed twenty, he burst into my room, crying,— 4 Good news !’ she is gone ! I told her vou had lost your passport, and would have to get another from our minister.’ ‘ What! 1 exclaimed, ‘ you lied to her?’ 4 Oh! there was no other way!’ said J oseph, ingenuously,—she is so sharp ! They’re to wait for you at Marseilles. But I’ll manage that too. On their ar rival at the Hotel d’Orient they’ll find a telegraphic dispatch from me. Iwa ger a hat, they’ll leave In the first steam er for Naples. Then you can follow at your leisure.’ ‘ Thank you, Joseph.’ ‘ I felt relieved. Then came a reac tion. The next day I was attacked by fever. I know not how long I struggled against it, but it mastered me. The last thing I remember were the visits of friends, the strange talk of French phy sicians, whispers and consultations, which I knew were about me, yet took no in terest in, —and at length Joseph rushing to my bedside, in a flutter of agitation, and gasping— ‘ Flora!’ ‘ What of Flora ?’ I demanded. ‘ I telegraped, but she wouldn’t go ; she has come back; she is here!’ ‘ I was sinking back into the stupor from which 1 had been roused, when I heard a rustling which seemed afar off, yet was in my chamber ; then a vision appeared to my sickened sight,—a face which I dimly thought I had seen before —a flood of curls and a rain of kisses showering upon me, —sobs and devour ing caresses—Flora’s voice calling me passionate names; and I lying so pas sive, faintly struggling to remember, un til my soul sank whirling in darkness, and I knew no more. 4 One morning, I cannot tell you how long after, I awoke and found myself in astrange-lookingroom, filled with strange objects, not the least strange of which was the thing that seemed myself. At first I looked with vague and motionless curiosity out of the Lethe from which my mind slowly emerged; painless, and at peace ; listlessly questioning whether I was alive or dead, whether the limp weight tying in bed there was my body, —the meaning of the silence and the closed curtains. Then, with a succession of painful flashes, as if the pole of an electric battery had been applied to my brain, memory returned, —Margaret, Flo ra, Paris, delirium. I next remember hearing myself groan aloud, —then see ing Joseph at my side. I tried to speak but could not. Upon my pillow was a glove, aad he placed it against my cheek. An indescribable, excruciating thrill shot through me; still 1 could not speak.— After that came a relapse. Like Mrs. Browning’s poet, I lay 44 Twixt gloom and dream, With Death and Life at each extreme.” 4 But one morning I was better. I could talk. Joseph bent over me, weep |**fer joy. 4 The danger has past! he said. ‘ The doctors say you will get well!’ * Have I been so ill, then ?’ ‘111?’ echoed Joseph. ‘Nobody thought you could live. We all gave you up, except her’—and the, 4 She !’ I said, —‘is she here ?’ ‘ From the moment of her arrival,’ re plied J oseph, ‘ she has never left you.— Oh, if you don’t thank God for her,’ — he lowered his voice,—‘and live all the rest of your life just to reward her, you are the most ungrateful wretch! You would oertainly have died but for her. She has scarcely slept, till this morning, when they said you would recover.’ Joseph paused. Every word he spoke went down like a weight of lead into my soul. I had, indeed, been conscious of a tender hand soothing my pillow, of a lovely form flitting through my dreams, of a breath and magnetic touch of love infusing warm, sweet life into me, —but it had always seemed Margaret, never Flora. ‘The glove?’ I asked. ‘ Here it is,’ said Joseph. ‘ln your delirium you demanded it; you would not be without it; you caressed it, and addressed to it the tenderest apostro phes.’ 4 And Flora, —she heard V ‘ Flora V repeated J oseph. ‘ Don’t you know—haven’t you any idea—what has happened ? It has been terrible!’ ‘ Tell me at once’ I said. ‘ Keep noth ing back !’ ‘ Immediately on her return from Mar seilles, you remember that V ‘ Y'es, yes ! go on !’ ‘ She established herself here. No body could come between her and you ; and a brave, true girl she proved herself. Oh, but she was wild about you ! She offered the doctors extravgant sums—she would have bribed Heaven itself, if she could, not to let you die. But there came a time,—one night, when you were raring about Margaret—l tell you it was terrible ! She would have the truth, and so I told her, —everything, from the beginning. It makes me shudder to think of it, it struck her so like death ! 4 What did she say ? —what did she do V ‘ She didn’t say much, —‘ Oh, my God! my God !’—something like that. The next morning she showed me a letter which she had written to Margaret.’ 4 To Margaret V I started up, but fell back again, helpless with a groan. 4 Yes,’ said J oseph,— ‘ and it was a let ter woithy of the noblest woman. I wrote another, for I thought Margaret ought to know everything. It might save her life, and yours, too. In the mean time, I had got worse news from her still —that her health continued to decline, and that her physician saw no hope for her except in a voyage to Italy. But that she resolutely refused to undertake until she had got those letters. You know the rest.’ 4 The rest,’ I said, as a horrible suspi cion flashed uponjme- You told me some thing terrible had happened.’ 4 Yes—to Flora. But you have heard the worst. She is gone: she is by this time in Rome.’ 4 Flora gone ? But you said she was here.’ 4 She V So she is. But did you think I meant Flora ? I supposed you knew. Not Flora—but Margaret! Mar garet !’ 4 1 shrieked out ‘Margaret ?’ That’s the last I remember—at least, the last I can tell. She was there—l was in her arms —she had crossed the sea, not to save her own life, but mine. And Flora had gone, and my dreams were true; and the breath and magnetic touch of love, which infused warm sweet life into me, and seemed not Flora’s but Margaret’s, were no illusion, and what more can I tell ? KissrifQ.—Hardly any two females kiss alike. There is as mnch variety in manner of doing it, as in the faces and manners of the sex. Some delicate little creatures merely give a slight rub of the lip. This is a sad aggravation. We seem about to “have a good time,” but actually get nothing. Oth ers go into us like a hungry man into a beef steak, and seem to chew up our countenances. This, which is not a common case, is too much like Cannibal Islands, and soon drives away a delicate lover. Others struggle like hens while burying themselves in dry dirt. The kiss is won by great exertions, and is not worth as much as the trouble it costs. — Now, we are in favor of a certain shyness when a kiss is proposed, but it should not be continued too long; and, when the fair one gives in, let her administer the kiss with warmth and energy. Let there be a soul in it If she closes her eyes, and sighs deeply immediately after it, the effect is greater.— She should be careful not to “spread” the kiss, but give it as a humming bird runs his bill into a honeysuckle, deep but delicately. There is much virtue in a kiss when well de livered. We have had the memory of one we received last . Atlanta Medical College.—The com mencement exercises of this institution came off at Atlanta on Thursday, and passed off (the American says) most pleasantly and and satisfactorily. The degree of M. I). was conferred upon thirty-nine young gentlemen, and the degree of Ad. Bundum on six med ical gentlemen from different sections of the State. Dr. A. M. Moor delivered the valedictory, which is higly spoken ofj and the address of Dr. C. B. Nottingliam, of Macon, was pro nounced a “choice specimen of elegant com position, classical and scientific knowlege and elevated morality.” Stop that Bot. —A cigar in his mouth, a swagger in his walk, impudence in his face, a care-for-nothingness in his manner. Judg ing from his demeanor he is older than his father, wiser than his teacher, more honored than the mayor of the town. Stop him—he is going too fast. He don't know his speed; stop him, ere tobacco shatters his nervea, ere pride ruins his character, ere the “lounger master the man, ere good ambition and man* ly strength give way to low pursuits and brutish aims.” Stop all such boys t They are legion—the shame of their families, the dis grace of their town, the —d and solemn re fMMfeMl OWMMTK Yankee Courtin’. BY JAMES BUSSELL LOWELL. Zekle crep’ up, quite unbeknown, An’ peeked in tru the winder, An’ there sot Huldy all alone, ’lth no one nigh to hinder. Agin’ the chimbly crooknecks hung, An’ in among ’em rusted The old queen’s arm that gran’ther Young Fetched backed from Concord busted. The walnut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest. bless her! An’ leetle fire danced all about The chiny on the dresser. The very room, coz she wuz in. Looked warm frum floor to cellin', An’ she looked ful ez rosy agin Ez the apples she wuz peelin.’ She heerd a foot, an’ knowed it, tu, A raspin’ on the scraper— All ways to once her feelin’s flew, Like sparks in burnt up paper. He kin’ o’ l’itered on the mat, Some doubtfle o’ the seekle; His heart kep’ goin’ pity pat, But hern went pity Zekle. An’ yet she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An’ on her apples kep’ to work Ez es a wager spurred her. “You want to see my pa, I ’spose?” “Wal, no; I come designin’—” “To see my ma ? She’s sprinklin’ clo’es Agin to-morrow’s i’nin’.’’ He stood a spell on one foot fust, Then stood a spell on t’other, An’ on which one he felt the wust He couldn’t lia’ told ye, nuther. Sez he “I’d better call agin;” Sez she, “Think likely, Mister ;” The last words pricked him like a pin, An’—wal, he up and kist her. “When ma bimeby upon ’em slips, Huldy sot, pale ez ashes, All kind o’ smily ronnd the lips An’ teary round the lashes. Her’blood riz quick, though, like the tide Down to the Bay o’ Fundy, An’ all 1 know is they wuz cried In meetin’ come next’ Sunday. For the Georgia Citizen. A SARMENT, PREACHED AT MAGNOLIA CHURCH. Taken down in Short Hand, by Fbaooletian. Breethten and Sistren :—As I will take dinner with some of you, I will state in the outset that nothin’ isn’t too good for me to eat; and when you find my tex’, you’ll find it in those words— “And there shall be whaling and smash ing of teeth.” There’s some good ole breethren on my right that has anew toon in their mows, and there’s some good ole sistren on my left that feel “all right on the goose”—ah! But—ah, you sinful boys, over there, who’re now chewin’ rotten ter backer, when you go down to Makin or ATerlum bus, beware that you isn’t taken in by j the woman with seven heads and ten horns—ah! “For there shall be whal ing and smashing of teeth.” Those begin’ methodistsremind me of a good ole wider woman, that lived down in ’Catur county, that had an ageable hen—ah! Well, this ole, blue, long legged, Shang-high hen laid from twelve to a dozen eggs, and laid from day ’till day, and finally went a-settin’—ah.— She sit and sat and set-, and the Lord know if she’d tot any longer, the chick en lice would have e’t her clean up—ah. She hatched off her little brood, as it were, and the ole lady fed them highly on dough—ah. In those days—as the Scripters say—a forked tail hawk came sailing along, as it were—ah, and he took them off one-by-one, day-by-day, ’till he got them all—ah, and this poor ole sister was left to weep and sigh—ah ! “And there shall be whaling and smash ing of teeth.” Those methodists will have a distrac ted meetin’, as it were—ah. And there they’ll take them in one-by-one—ah, day by-day, ’till they get them all—ah.— P’r’aps they’ll take in the whole settle ment on what they call probation—ah. They’ll shout and sing, preach, pray and beg—ah. Before the six months are out the devil will come along, like a roarin’ lion—ah, and took them off one-by-one, down, down to hell, like the hawk did the old woman’s chickens—ah! And there shall be whaling and smashing of teeth.” Pass the hat, brother Ev’rett. Tune—Pitch—To my ringy maroosa lam, &c. Sensible. We copy the following from the Natchez Courier: To every one his Own. — Printers and publishers have to live as well as every body else. There is no line set up for this paper, that does not cost the proprietor, a certain amount of money v Upon him therefore, certainly, there should not fall the whole burthen of in serting military and fire notices, tributes of respect, or meetings of this, that, or the other association, to pay some long deferred debt to memory of the depart ed, or some well- deserved tribute of af fection or gratitude. Asa member of the community, he has to bear his bur then as any other, as a proprietor of a journal, he is no more bound to give up his oolumns gratis to private grief or glori fication, than the merchant is bound to offer his wares and merchandize gratis when asked for, for the funeral or Fourth of July occasions. Irti jit gwllwi wto Mrs to as wo. as. sociate for certain purposes, to do honor to the memory of one who died years since, or pay respect to someone still living, meet, pass half a column of reso lutions, and gravely resolve— “ That the proceedings of this meeting be published in the Daily and Weekly Courier and Free Trader”—without even providing one dollar for the expense of such publication, or considering for the moment that an insertion in the oolumns of either paper, costs something to the proprietor, and that he is not called up on to contribute to the expense, more than any other individual. The evil practice complained of has grown so great, of late, that it is but common honesty and right to speak of it. If gentlemen composing meetings, desire to have their proceedings published ; if they think them of sufficient consequence to blazen them to the world; if they griev§ or rejoice sufficiently to induce them to seek an utterance through the public press; they ought to be willing to bear the expense, and not stealthily and without asking, impose that expense on the printers. Words cost but little. It is empty hypocricy to resolve on words and depend on the charity of the press to give those words vitality. This grieving or rejoicing at other peoples’s cost, does not suit our notion of common propriety. We are happy to give place, as mat ters of news, to reports of any move ments, political or religious, or of any occasions of rejoicing or of mourning but where others desire to vent their feelings in reports, resolutions, or pro ceedings, and think them incomplete without publication, we think, if they are sincere, they can afford it at the ex pense of their own, and not at the prin ter’s pockets. As an individual, we are ever ready to contribute over and above our means. As conductor of a public journal, we desire to give notice that hereafter all obituaries, tributes of res pect, proceedings appertaining to indi viduals, and the like, will not be insert ed in the Natchez Courier, unless they are engaged to be paid for by responsi ble parties. The Chairman and Secretaries of those meetings whose resolutions (“ ordered to be published”) do not appear, will un derstand the reason who, and also the terms upon which we shall be glad to make public their wishes and views. The Early Loss of Purity of Character. We find the following very beautiful ex tract going thß rounds of the papers credit ed to no paper—no author. Its exceeding great beauty leads us to call special attention to it by these brief prefato ry remarks. Let the young read and treas ure up the moral it would illustrate and in culcate in their heart of hearts. “Over the beauty of.the plum and the apricot there grows a bloom and beauty more exquisite than the fruit itself—a soft, delicate plush that overspreads its blushing cheek. Now, if you strike your hand over that, and it is once gone, it is gone forever; for it never grows but once. Take the flow er that hangs in the morning impearled with dew—arrayed as no queenly woman ever was arrayed with jewels. Once shake it so that the beads roll oft, and you may sprin kle water on it as carefully as you please, yet it can never be made again what it was when the dew fell silently upon it from hea en! On a frosty morning you may see the panes of glass covered with landscape— mountains, lakes, trees, blended in a beauti ful, fantastic picture. Now lay your hand upon the glass, and by the scratch of your finger, or by tbe warmth of your palm, all the delicate tracery will be obliterated ! So there is in youth a beauty and purity of character, which, when once touched and defiled, can never be restored; a fringe more delicate than frost work, and which, when torn and broken, will never be re-embroid ered. A man who has spotted and spoiled his garments in youth, though he may seek to make them white again, can never wholly do it, even were he to wash them with his tears. When man leaves his father’s house, with the blessings of his mother’s tears still wet upon his forehead, if he once loses that early purity of character, it is a loss that he can never make, whole again. Such is the consequence of crime. Its effect cannot be eradicated, it can only be forgiven. It is a stain of blood that we can never make white, and which can be washed away only in the blood of Christ, that cleanseth from all sin l” Doing Away with the Lawyers.— The Youg men’s Christian Association, of Pitts burg, have adopted a policy which must be alarming to the lawyers of that oity. At a recent meeting, resolutions were adopted for the appointment of a committee of arbitra tion, before whom the members of the As sociation, and all others who may wish to have their personal differences settled, in obedience to Christian rules, may bring their matters of controversy. A Pittsburg cor respondent of a religious paper, writing on the subject says; The object of this movement is to open the way for a more general observation of the injunctions plainly given by Paul, in the sixth chapter of his first epistle to the Corin thians. It has long been a disgrace to those calling themselves Christians, that in stead of an attempt amicably to settle their differences, as those who have renounced the world and become brethren in Christ, they each other, and that