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xrois. ‘9.
rE georoia citizen
** i rtc r V Kr'utey mmi'-ns *t p* r uaiia la
n' T fhf r.ulrtbarxe wOJ t* o**- /Wt r
Jor ‘<**. f 'T thr Crat Insrr
■'V/L7 „i. for each MbMqoart iMrttM, All a<l
-l 1 j...* ** t< tim*. Will lie pitHAal until
-- -; tl ff ”urthvr>-- A lllwml dUoouM allowrd
‘ - u the yf.
r.,1 ‘ ,f„r lr* wEI bn *u r*ir4 at the
vro.a*'*- fatn.U<laUMif X'fflr e to !• jjald ftr at
when 'n**fted. . .
BU ar with c-naty officer*, Dmpn aU,
■'*** I, 72p7 liri t*, *wl others, who may with to mare
Vr.-roe*. !>v Executor*, Almlnl>tn
•*k ,f ‘l* ‘ l . %n rruutrv.l hv bur to be advertised in a
liar- ore iona to tiie dv of sate.
..sfltprpq. ■. Weldon the Brat Tueedav in U- month,
of tea in the ‘orer.oon and three in tie af
**••ar CBjVh"<“*in the county hi which tha prop-
J ProjertV maat be wiv-rtlsod in Uke
w£bw ad t rrdltora <rf an Zeuir mu* be
*!U >* mule to the Ordinary for
-t lelbrsof AUmii. : 4r.4’**>. thirty dajra ; for
iKsiW"V . , n; ,tr*'i m, mwjUilv. nt months; for
’ “ l */min r.uv-hanshiti. weekly, forty days.
.” t . Viuvcloeiur of Horhiaces. monthly, four
lliln for r ~ .|--r>, for th-* full /pice ofthree
’ ”, o rel liny t i ties townx-vetoes or adminhrtrluta
I ~i,a by the Aeoad, the full space of
el Irwh.nsl and Brndnnw arda will be Inserted un
tbs Mlowta* rates, rtz t
f*t flrt tost, V** * |
ViwrrnUnrs. do 800
Trr, ‘IMS, Jo 10 00
i of this ebas will be admitted, unless paid
tCTal than twelve months. Ad
J* ten Mr will be charged pro rata. Ad
rdvance will be charged at the
-ttslar nt-
umirn in inns cards
LANIER & ANDERSON,
attorneys at law,
Maoon. G-a.,
PiuiTI 1 '! i“ thr counties of the Macon Circuit, and In
•he ("osiutiea ‘f Sumter. Monroe and looes; also In the
viCTL oawts si Savannah.
UNIKR * AHt'ERSON have also recently become the
■Ht if the following Insurance Companies :
r7f iCGD-TA INSURANCE AND BANKING COM
fi jfT of which W. M. li'Antlgnac is President, and C.F.
ALaSaMA FIRE AND MARINE INSUR
A XCIi COMPANY, Montgomery, of which T. H. Watts is
1 widest,ktil A. williams is Secretary.
’ r , -< uii risks on slaves taken at usual rates.
rrS-M_
DI. H. A. METTAUER,
Hi TUG spent a portion of three successive year* In
this city, during which time he has limited his
. i- it slnsst exclusively to Surgery, now respectfully
•ia services to the citiaens of Macon and surround
tsi vsstry, in all the branches of his profession. OSflce
East Corner of 8d and Cherry streets, over
liter Ayres’ new Grocery Store.
wT-tf
0. Bj_RICE,
‘.XU AND mi REPAIRER
OfPIANO FORTES,
aFir*anently located in Macon. V9~ Namts may
■flat Messrs. Virgin’s and at I. J. Johnston A 00.
raWN’S|jHO TE L,
Opposite the Passenger Depot,
ir m.r^:imr 9 .a.•
I. %. BROWN, Proprietor,
{p” Veals retdy on the arrlv*’ of every Train.
vrllUf
L. N. WHITTLE,
attorney, at law,
MACON, GA.
JlflCt next to Concert Hall, over Payne’s Drug Store.
ult—ly
J. R. DAVIS,
la4 Broker, Collector A General Ag’t.
luumi etu&Jid to io any county in thlo State.
Mi’ttna Jeoiuoa end Eliii Street, Augueta, ob.
t*i— ti
LOCERANE & LAMAR,
Attorneys at. Law,
MACON, GAL.
Office by the Mechanic’s Bank.
AUiCE HOCUS from S to 13 A. M., J to 8 P. M. and l*o
VJSr.TtolOI>. B. .
♦ ia til tiie O .untie* of the Macon Circuit andln
t . . is ~'June*, Monroe itd Columbia, and in the Bu
.xt* ‘
o. t. COCHRANE. JOHN LAMAR.
* ‘—ir.
SPEER & HUNTER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
Maoon, G-a...
**>• n Trinjr*l*r Blotk. Corner of Cherry
Street and Cotton Avenne.
W"-*oti ad 1* ran Tier* in the practice es Law in
untie* n the Macon and adio’.r.lne Circuit*, and
‘•> e tne state by -pedal coßtnct—eieo, will attend
“’■dmiCourt**Savannah and Marietta.
ALEX. M. SPEER.
SAMUEL HUNTER.
THE LIVER
ISYIGORATOR!
PHIPARID BY DR. BASKORD,
■WOUNDED ENTIRELY FROM GUMS,
lm Purmtsv* *cd Uvr MeOicmeanow before
„*•,•*• *** *• ** Cathartic, eariar. milder, mJ
tNat v.j ou.tr mtdlclnt know*. It U not on
_ *■--<. j * Liver remedy, actin# flretontUa Liver
*VM tien on ll.e Stomach u.d l*ow li to
, thus .-icompiUhiri* two purpoeea effec
-ttour 41. y of the pniofu. feelin/s experienced in the
-i xthartJC*. It the system at
l •JJHtft :t puigst it; and when taken daily In mnd
p, *™ k.entfthen and build it up with unusual p-
T-? 1 * rrindpal regulators of the
, “: r ~ “<"K. are fi fully developed. Tl.e stem
• -w-nufv.ydepen- |denton the healthy actlou
, ; ‘.-proper A performance of its functions;
-seulsattmtt the bowels are at foult, and
yg&.!£3 H USttS,’! RSIs
.1, : ~ a ‘Uian.ane of , the proprietors hat made it
K ~V, more than twenty years, to
‘om- where with to counteract the many
.0 width it is M liable.
* is at last found, any person
Jr IV *• * COMPLAINT. In any aflta
~ y -°-’T * hot tie, and eonvk-tion is certain.
L JS” l!1 - morbid or bad matter from
>1 -fLpWytaf in 3 their place a healthy Sow of
T V HE at BLOOD, kivint tone and
, hteJn. ary. temotria* (3Le cause of
‘-yv ‘ rad- B leal curt.
“'"iV p H i.JyV tS are cured, AND. WHAT IS
‘ } br oca “ ion * i use of the
‘<- !* &L * 11 lufflcient to relieve the stom -
. .
'.r Tf.*’- 4 * ‘•‘ken *.t *5 1.U1.L loose ns the bowels
r-wSHS a iSfIISL ir
-;> : T HlUDacrj:’- poonfuls will always re
U _ c ttjtruetioM remove*
-7: . e-adl makes a perfect cure.
. ;-* ; suhed3t. a ly relieves CHOLIC, while
u .pHrf 5 ftpwued N Ut sure cure for CHOL
*■ ■fSAf’ ventatiye of CHOLERA.
_• . t ‘* u ’ i* fi needed to throw out of the
cine after a long sickness.
< *>.'rr i^" f ' ir _ IA CN DICK remove* all
- •'. ‘ ‘■* • a or from the akin.
■■-.-JT” *Borti “ time before eating gives vig
;'i is- “*** 00 food digest well
3*i'U' m curesCH KONIC DIAR
T C >,r* to*. wine SUMMER and
t £ “l-*- 14 m. almost to the first dose.
’-->t twS‘ (attack* caused bv WORMS
•cl ••ri't ** ro er. safer. #r speedier remedy
“ Br •* gas.
“ <Uo * cures . “DROPSY, by eadUng the
•, mmending this medicine
‘J& * iVERANDAOUttmUX
*wkSSS a *£ r !^ UM ~- Bd “ mwUU ** to
i*ks*S, l^,* fr ,belr unenM**®* - “ u ’
’ ‘nh? I SwSSI* w U * ,hr,D ' Worm ’
; LIVEE HfYIGORATOE
.'4‘. i’ DISCOVERY, and is dally
’ v r fteat to beileve. It cures as if by
‘•* jut]. Jo, ‘ giving Unel U. and seldom more
: > i toVS**?* w re any kind of LIVER Com
.“ v ,„.. rs< Jdur.dice or Du*ptfma to a common
““Of which are the result ofa DISEASED LIV
PaiCl oii,£ DOLLAR PER BOTTLE.
SAJiroRD A CO., I roprletois,
MS Broadway, Sew York.
‘•,kp° losa lo Agents:
* > £*■**? Y r * ■ T. W Dyott A Sons, Phlladel
L.u P u ,'S* U ” Boston ; rf.H.Hay*Oo.,Portland;
[SH Ot 4 Twi ln “‘ ti : Gaylord A TTamroo- and, heveland
8. 0. j. w.vd A Cos.. St. Louir;
• • Hance, B-ltlm-re.-
a. Drugguu. bold Whoiaaaie sad Retail by
MiicdUnj*
Singular Story or lluiuc.
A I’aris corregpoi.lcnt of ti *i Boston
Transcript relates the following singular par
ticulars t! an evening interview in Paris, be
tween Mr. Dome am] sumo assembled guests
at the bouse of a certain Countess. The sto
ry hears so ne s’.ight m irks of romance, but
as the reporter profeses to have received the
incident Ir m a credible witness who was
prt->ent on the occasion, we suppose it is all
correct:
Tiie interest in Hume, the American me
dium, has recently been revived by a singu
lar incident which I will relate to you. A
few evenings sine-*, a select company of Rus
sians an ! Parisians were assembled at Mad
ame la Countesse de Ts. The conversation
was on spiritual manifestations, when M.
Hume entered. Then foiltiwed a serious dis
cussion regarding the manifestations of Spir
its—if it were possible to obtain from them
useful service, salutary information, counsel,
advice, or even recompense or chastisement.
M. Hume declared that these manifestations
permitted by supreme power, could not be
considered as frivolous experience by aDy
one in possession of reason; that he had nev
er known a spiritual manifestation which
had not produced good results; and he was
convinced that the supreme power often
employed such supernatural agency to pun
ish the sins of men. This assertion quieted
the objections of some, but was received witli
incredulity by many of the company.
-Suddenly H. Hume arose from the couch
on which he was seated, and said—
‘ Madame la Conntesse, you are expecting
a visit this evening from a stranger?’
‘lt is true,’’ replied Madame de TANARUS.; ‘but
how came you to know it?’
‘ It matters little—you expect him ?’
‘ Yes; Lord R.. a young man of much
merit, who arrived to day in Paris. He has
uot seen any one as yet, and leaves to-mor
row morning. How, then, did you know
he wa9 coming this evening ?’
11 know only he is coming; I have never
seen him ; I did not know his name ; but it
has just been revealed to me that an extra
ordinary event has recently occurred in a cha
teau belonging to his family—au illustration
of spiritual agency. He has arrived—he tings
—let hirn relate the event.’
The door openeJ, and the servant an
nounced Lord R.
Madame T. printed M. Hume to Lord
R., and related the previous conversation
and assertion of the American medium.—
He is right; a strange and fearful event has
recently occurred in my family; but you
shall judge for yourselves.’
‘My elder brother had been married six
years to the daughter of Lord M., when ha
became acquainted with an actress of Drury
Lane theatre —Miss E The liaison of my
brother and Miss E. being soon known, did
him the greatest injury, and was a cause of
deep to his wile, Blinded by his pas
sion, my brother braved the world’s opinion,
and became indifferent to his wife’s suffer
ings : he obliged Miss E. to leave the thea
ter. gave her an elegant house in London,
and during the summer took her to Scotland
that he might not be separated from her.—
His wife died with sorrow, and in dying
committed her two sons to my care. My
brother's unhappiness at this event was com
mingled with remorse, but he refused to sep
arate himself from Miss E. A year since he
was in Scotland at his chateau in Edinburgh
Miss E. was there also. One night he had a
dream that his wife appeared to him. He
saw her tigure bending over his bed, and
beard her sobbing bitterly,
‘"Why do you weep, Anna?’ he asked in
hia dream.’
• I weep, because the actress who robbed
me of my husband’s love, will also deprive
my children of their father a affections, re
plied the spirit.
‘You are deceived, Anna; nothing can
weaken the tender affection I have for my
children.’
‘ Alas! you think so, but she will prove
stronger than your will; yet lam oome to
protect you from her arts. Here is the veil
I wore on our wedding day—keep it always
it shall save you and my children from the
snares of that woman 1’ Saying these words
she folded the veil and placed it round my
brother’s neck, then kisaing him on the
forehead, be disappeared.
‘On feeling the icy tears streaming over
his brow and face, he leaped from hia bed,
and gazed around him to assure himself he
been dreaming—but suddenly a pierc
ing cry broke from his lips —the veil was
about his neck! This vision, mingled with
the reality, touched his heart; he was rest
ing against the bed lost in thought, when
Miss E. entered the room. Seeing traces of
violent agitation on his features, she de
manded the cause.
*My dear Helen, he replied, 1 our life is
culpable, it must change—God ordains it!’
He then repeated the dream and showed her
the veil
I 9 that all ?’ said hden, laughing hearti
ly, ‘ You have indeed lost your wits! Do
you not see that this is trick placed on you
by some member of your wife’s family ?
but stay. I will destroy at once the charm
with the talisman 1’
4 She tore the veil fYorn his neck, and ran
to the fire and threw it into the flames. In
the swiftness of her movements, her dress,
which was very ample, displaced suddenly a
large volume of air, drawing tbe flames out
from the chimney into the room. A tongue
of flame swept round the young girl, i istant
ly enveloping her light, free robe, and, in
spite of immediate succor, she expired in the
most hortible sufferings. You will remem
ber the journal* of th day wnonwd tf*
MACOW, OjA. OCTOBER. 9, ISSC.
fearful death cf Mibs E.; but the singular
history connected with the event has re
mained until now a secret.’
It is needless to add that the persons pre
sent were deepiy affected and impressed by
the story of Lord R. All Paris is at present
occupied with its details. Unfortunately, I
was not present at that soiree, but as a faith
ful reporter, T repeat to you that which the
Count N. has told me, who was not only
present, but has since become a faithful dis
p!e of Mr. Hume.
‘‘Ciond Sight.” “Good Viclit,
Pupa !”
These are the words whose music has not
left our ears since the gloaming, and now it
is midnight. “Good night, darling! God
bless you ; you will have pleasaut dreams,
though I toss in fever, haunted by the de
mons of care that harass me through the dav_
Good night !” The clock on the mantel
struck twelve, and no sound was heard save
the regular breathing of those little lungs iu
the next room, heard through the door ajar,
We dropped our pen, folded our arms, and
sat gazing on the lazy fire, while the whole
panorama of a life passed before us, with
its many “good nights.” It is a great thing
to be rich, but it is a rich thing to have a
good memory—provided that memory bears
no unpleasant fruit, bitter to the taste ; aad
our memory carries us back to many a plea
sant scene—to the little arm chair by the
fireside ; to the trundle bedat the foot of the
bed ; to the lawn in front of the house, and
the orchard behind it; to the butter-cups,
and the new clover, and the chickens and
the sw’allows, and the birds’ nests, and the
strawberries, and the many things that at
tract the wondering eyes of childhood, to
say nothing of the mysteries of the starry
skies, and the weird gloom of the moaning
forest. But, then, there were the “good
nights,” and the little prayer, and the downy
bed, on which slumber fell as lightly as a
snow flake, only warmer, and such dreams
as only visit perfect innocence 1 The house
hold “Good night!” Somebody, in whose
brain its rich music still lingers, has written
his:
“Good night ?” A loud clear voice from
the stairs said that it was Tommy. “Dood
night!” murmers a little something from the
trundle bed—a little something we call Jen
ny, that filled a large place in the centre of
two pretty li.tlc hearts. “Good night!’
lisps a little fellow in a plaid rifle dress,
who w'as named Willie about six years
ago.
“Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ;
If I should die before I wake”—
and the small bundle in the trundle-bed has
dropped off to sleep, but the broken prayer
may go up sooner than many long petitions
that set out a great while before it,
And so it was “good night” all around the
home stead ; and very sweet music it made
100, in the twilight, and very pleasant melo
dy it makes now as we think of it, for it
was not yesterday nor the day before, but a
long time ago—so long that Tommy is
Thomas Somebody, Esq., and has forgotten
that he ever was a boy, and wore what the
bravest and richest of us can never wear
but once, if we try—the first pair of boots.
And go it was “good night” all around
the house ; and the children had gone
through the ivory gate, always left a little
ajar for them—through into* the land of
dreams.
And then the lover’s “Good night,” and
the parting kiss! They are as piodigal of
the hours as the spendthrift of his coin, and
the minutes depart in golden showers, and
fall in dying sparks at their feet “Good
night”— K Y. Atlas.
Real Life Romance.
The Chenango Telegraph relates a roman
tic story of a young man who engaged, in
1845, to work for a farmei in that county
how he won the good will of every body,
and the heart of the farmer’s eldest daughter,
but being poor, he determined to seek his
fortune in the gold region before taking a
wife. He took the overland route, and his
letters from Jefferson barracks were the last
ever received from him. He was, years ago,
given up for dead, and all who had known
him supposed his bones were bleaching on
the western plains. About three weeks ago,
says the Telegraph, a carriage stopped in
front of the old farm-house, and a well-dres
sed young appearing man descended from it
and advanced to the house. Mary herself
answered his summons for admission, and at
the sight of her the stranger cut short his
question as to who lived there, and stepped
withinjthe plain, neat sitting-room. To her
he was as any other stranger. He was
“ bearded like the pard, ’ and her short,
quick glance at his face as he entered, de
tected no resemblance there to any man she
had ever seen.
What, then, was her surprise at his excla
mation of—“ Mary, don’t you know me—
your Thomas of long ago ?” That voice—
that old familiar name—each called up from
the buried past a memory that found in the
face before her a counterpart of that one
which had been to her girlhood the perfection
of manly beauty, and her first emotion was
one of fear thstthe unknown prairie grave had
given up its tenant, that he might bring to
her confirmation of a death that she had
striven to believe not real. This feeling gave
way, however, as she felt the grasp of strong
arms thrown around her, and unutter
able joy burned in her heart as tbe convic
tion that Thomas was alive before her, came
uppermost to every other thought She
and dn’t faint, nor scream, nor make herself in
any way ridiculous. She simply welcomed
him with a caress as hearty as his own, and
thm the called the old folk*- A happy group
they made that night—the old couple and
the young—as they sat to hear from Thomas
a history of his wanderings.
It was soou told. WhiU crDsajp# ibe
plains he had dropped behind his compan
ions, and while toiling through a snukeu wa
ter course, had been seized by a party of
strolling Indians and borne oft’a prisoner.—
He was detained as a captive among them
for a long time, and finally escaped.
From the New Orleans Picayune, August 22.
‘The World owes Sle a lAi ing.’
‘ The world owes me a living,” cries the
lazy profligate, too indolent to work, too
proud to beg, but not too conscientious to
disregard all ideas of individual property
“ The world owes me a living, and if I can
not get it otherwise, I will obtain it by my
wits,” in other words, prey upon the sim
plicity of tho incautious, and take advan
tage of the want of vigilance over honest ac
cumulations.
It is not true that a living is due on any
other terms than that of industry, economy
and prudence. For idleness there is no
guarantee of bread. But it is rare that in
dustry fails to furnish a supply for human
wants. And the means of industry are so
varied that it is one’s own fault if he can find
nothing to do. He who floats a useless waif
upon the surface of society, doing nothing
and finding nothing to do, is defective by
nature, in some of her intellectual gifts, or
unless he has been crippled by accident, so
as to be physically incapable of labor, he is
morally put of time.
We have an illustration of the fact that it
is not impossible to find employment even
when no demand for labor exists—employ
ment that the feeblest might perform, yet ob
tained only by an exercise of all the faculties
of thought and observation.
A few .! iys s-inev. in onr peregrinations
about town, we met a young man whom we
knew years ago as connected with the daily
pr*‘ss of this city. Having acquired a little
hoard by liis steady attention to business,
he had visited ;he North, mastered a profes
sion, married him a wife, bought a farm in
lowa, and settled down, as he supposed, in
a position where money would come in as
regularly as harvest time. But he fount h-is
crops did not pay for their culture, that oth
ers had the control of the business of his pro
fession, and that the real estate he had pur
chased, investing in a partial payment all
his means, would be lost unless he could re
alize an additional sum of money to obtain
a clear title. He therefore, returned with
hi? family to New Orleans, where he had
made h.is first start in the word. We met
him embrowned with toil and on the look
out for labor—cheerful and determined,
whether capitalists would employ him or
not, to make money.
For a week or two almost daily we cross
ed in different parts of the city, this enter
prising mao, and inquired if he had yet ob
tained a lucrative situation. As cheerful
as ever, he answered no! but he was at
work. He always carried a small, black va
lise, and appeared to be about to take a trip
across tho lake elsewhere. This black va
lise haunted us; we saw it in the morning,
at noon, at night; always in the hand of our
hero, who appeared to be always traveling.
At last we must know the secret, ‘where
was he always going, yet never gone?—
Why always seen with the black valise ?’
Our friend placed his valise on a granite
door step, opened it, and lo! it was filled
with note paper of every quality, letter pa
per, cap paper, pens, bottles of ink, and en
velopes. “ This,” said he, “is my stock in
trade. Igo from house to house, and :sk
the ladies to buy ray wares. I sell cheaper
tlan the stationers, yet buy of them at New
York prices, and I make from two to three
dollars per day clear profits.’’ The myste
ry of the black valise was solved, and a use
ful lesson learned. The world owed this
man a living, because he labored intelligent
ly for it And he was and will be success
ful, because he devotes his intellect to hon
est acquisition, using his faculties of observa
tion to discover the wants of the communi
ty in which he lives.
One of the Sermons.
The True Delta hasa sketch, whether orig
inal or selected, we do not know, of a Flori
da preacher’s sermon, that is justly entitled
to its place in the same volume with Harp
of a thousand strings and the Whang Doo
dle discourse. The reporter says :
He preached from the text—
“ The voice of the turtle shall be heard in
the land.’’
A turtle dove being a “critter” that the
good man wasn't posted upon, he m’stook
the bird for the fourfooted reptile, aud went
on to say :
“Our ‘turkles,’ my brethren have no voice
can't say nor sing anything, but with the
Almighty it is possible. If he should com
mand it, the turkles, tarrapins, and gophers,
would set on the fence corners and sing
songs sweeter than the lark and rnocking
bird —for Hit voice of Hie turkle shall be heard
in the land! ‘
‘•The voice of the turkle shall be heard in
the land to cheer the heart of the poor, the
widow and the fatherless, whose hearts are
sad for want of food, and that re
minds me, my brethren, of something that I
read in a newsp.tpsr this morning,” and the
reverend gentleman pulled a paper from his
pocket, affixed his spectacles and read an ar
ticle upon thegrain crops in the west, which
enued with the word*, “so that there is ev
ery probability that there will be a scarcity
of provisions.” Llying down the paper the
preacher continued—“A sca’city of provis
ons, my brethren! That reminds me that
provisions are mighty sca'ce in this section,
but I’ve got about a hundred bushels of them
fine tati-rs left yet which I’il sell for the srme
old price of fifty cents a bushel—‘/or the voice
of the turkle shall he heard in the land.
, T* Ay 4t*Urron even in our day and gen
eration, the voice of the turkle may be heard
in the land—providing the water’s not high.
Tire other day I was a goin’ down by Red
Clay Crick, which you know rnns through
the fur eend of roy r plantation, and I went
to cross it by that old pine Lag which fell over
it about five year ago, when jest as I set foot
into it, I saw rght in the middle of that log
the aimightiest great big suappin’ turkle with
a tail about a foot long! When the varmint
seed me a cornin’ he jest turned himself loose
off’u that log, and dowu he went into the
crick, ker-hang! —For the voice of the turkle
shall he heard in the land.”
Mctliftd of Avoiding a Dun.
A compositor in one of the daily newspa
per offices, though a good fellow, like many
of the Faustian profession, suffers from re
peated attacks ofliinited fiuanies, or reve
nue disproportional to his disbursements.—
He has nas no o jection to paying his debts
to the last penny, when he has the money ;
but when he is “short,” he abhors the idea
of meeting one of his creditors, for he hates
a dun as he does the devil ora dirty “proof.”
On one of the not few occasions of the pres
sure upon the typo’s monetary market, he
was descending fnun the news-room to the
street, when he met a collector who asked
him if James 11. Smith, (giving the printer’s
real name) worked in that office.
“Why do you wi hto see hirn ?” asked
Smith.
“I have a little bill against him (producing
the same) for S9O,$ 9 0, If-ft by a Dr. . who,
you remember, recently died, and who e ac
counts have heen placed in my hands for col
lection.”
“James TI. Smith,” replied the compositor
repeating his own name slowly, as if it had a
mysteriously famiiliar sound and he were
endeavenng to recall it. “I have heard that
name before surely, James H. Smith, J lines
Jain s H.—Oh! yes, (as with a sudden re
membrance) he used to be employed here,
Certainly he d;d. I remember now ; he
worked next to my case, poor fellow ! ’ and
ihe speaker paused and looked sad, and
breathed a ?igh.
“Did anything happen to him?” question
ed tlie collector, sympathetically.
“Yes; although as good a fellow as ever
lived, he died suddenly one morning of the
cholera after he had been attending the -ick
bed of a friend.”
“Did he leave anything ?” asked the man
of bills.
“Oh no. The boys had to bury him. I
remember giving $5 myself to put the gen
erous creature under the sod, and it wa*. one
of the best actions of my Use. With all his
noble qualities, he died hundreds of doi'ars
worse than nothing.”
“Then there’s no use keeping this b.ll 1
suppose?”
“Not a bit, my frienl,” hastily rejoined
the printer, with a kind of comic solemnity
“for I assure you that neither Jim Smith nor
any one of bis friends ever was or ever will
be worth a d—n.”
“Well, good morning, then.”
“Good morning; and as the, collector de
parted, “I guess I've got rid of that old bore.
It wasn’t perhaps so much of a story that I
was telling. Probably I was only anticipa
ting a little, after all.”
Tempted by Satan. — It is an easy matter
to knock a crotchet out of a crazy man’s
head, if you only hit him right. An old
gentleman, whose brain was a little turned,
called out to his son, one night:
“Abel! Abell Satan has been tempting
me all night to go and drown myself in the
horse-trough.”
“Well, he must be a fool,” said Abel,
“ for there hasn’t been a drop of water in it
for six weeks.”
The old gentleman turned over and went
to sleep, thinking no more of evil spirits.
-
“Scratch the green rind of a sapling, or
wantonly twist it in the soil, and the Beam'd
and crooked o>k will tell of thee for centu
ries to come.’ llow forcible does this beau
tiful figure teach the lesson of giving right
instead of wrong tendencies to the young
mind.
a e
An attorney before a bench of magistrates,
a short time ago, tobi the bench, with gieat
gravity, “that he had two witnesses in court,
in behalf of his client, and they would be
sure to speak the truth, for he had no op
portunity to couinmuic ite with them!
A cat even if she be friendly, never ap
proaches thee by a direct course. No more
do-s truth. O friend; but winding abound thy
stupidities, and rubbing up against thy pre
judices. it. reaches thee gently, and then, per
haps, scratches.
A ihree-cent customer who persisted,
though warned several times by the Post
master of the place, in using postage stamps
a second time, has been arrested at Earlville,
111. The penalty of this oflence is a fine of
fifty dollars.
Found ms Crowd.— A young man, clad in
home-pun, was standing in Court street a
(evr days since devouring a doughnut, when
be was accosted by one of half dozen gen- |
teel dressed city idlers with —
“Just come down?”
“Yeas, guess I have; great place this, ain t j
it ypou?” said ltie country tuan. J
“Tis so ; huh, l ow’s your inarm ? asked the I
city buck, bent on sport with “greeny.”
“Wei', she’s putty well: she sent me down
here on business.”
“She did ? What kind of business are you
on?
‘•Why, she wanted me to come down to
Boston, and to look reound and find half a
! dozen of the biggest fules to odieate ’em,
I a nd I rather guess I’v got my eye on them
neow,” said the stranger, taking in the whole
j crowd at a glanc\
The next moment he had the pavement to
himself, wher he quietly finished Lis dough-
I nut.
Asa aod lra.
Asa and Ira were Yr?o brothers, wUos
farms lay side by side in a fei tile vale.
.When flic corn, t!n/~tkf.barley
were springing np, ihe M,cods tjuM.-advau
tage of the i;ich soil, apd, camimSp with
them. , . 4 |-. i •
“Do you see, ’ said Asa, ’* wh.ts hoki die
weeds are taking ? Tuere 0 danger of their
choking ou; crops entirely.
“.Well, well, wo must be nsijbtd,” re
plied Ira; “ weeds as well as grain wore a
part of the Creator s plan, and there is no
use i l run muring about them. ’
And he laid down for his usual afternoon
doze.
“ I oau only-be resigned to what I cannot
help,” said Asa. So he went to work and ,
plowed and hoed until his fields were clear *
of weeds. j
“ The army worms are in the neighbor- J
hood,” said Asa to Ira one day. “They J
have eaten through (be adjoining meadows, j
and are moving l rapidly toxvards us.”
“Ah, exclaimed Ira, “tl.ey will pivrely :■
destroy what the weeds have not choked j
Out. I will immediately retire and pray that i
their course .may be stopped or turned l
aside.” - , t
But Asa ropl'erf, “ T pray betimes every ]
morning for strength to do the work of the ;
day.” (
And he hastened to dig a trench round
his land—^while Tra returned only ip season
to save a small portion of his crops from
the ; r ravnees.
“ Do you see, Tra, said Asa, another morn
ing, “the river is rising very fast. There is
but a slender chance of preventing our farms
from being overflowed.”
“ Alas, it is a judgment upon us for our
sins, and what can we do?” cried Ira, throw
ing himself in de.pair upon the ground.
“There are no judgments so severe as
those which our own sloth brings upon us,”
said Asa.
And he went quickly and hired workmen,
with whose help he raised an embankment
that withstood the flood, while Ira v/itnessed
with blank looks and folded hands the de
struction of his harvest.
“There is one consolation,”said he, “ my
children at h ast are left me.”
But while Asa’-* s ins erew up pud
virtuous men, amonglra's there was a drunk
ard. a gambler, and a suicide.
“The ways of the Lord are not equal,’’
complained Ira to his brother. “ Why are
you always prospered, whil- I am afflicted,
and my old age disgraced?
“I only know this,” replied Aso, “that
heaven has always helped me to treat the
faults <f my children, as I did the weeds,
the caterpillars and the fl -od ; and that I
have never presumed to send a petition up
ward without making my toil, my right hand
servant, a messenger ol my prayer.”
4 Merchant.
I am a merchant, having oimmmw]
im career a* an adventurer from the
farm, on a : aiary of £BO per year, and
having passed through half yent inde—
sant toil to reach the point where de
pendence ceases and “ dinner ahead” be-,
gins. 1 filled a clerkship rti several mer
cantile house*, and was associated with
a very considerable number of salesmen
accountants, and clerks generally. Near
ly thirty years have passed since my
city clerkship began, and the retrospect
has developed the following results:
All mercantile houses by whom I
employed have since failed—one, after
aa eminently creditable career of fifteen
years, was cariied into a hopeless bank
ruptey by outside speculation ; and an
other, after thirty five years of unbound
ed success and credit, was a few m >nths
since in inextricable difficulties—r-the.re
sult of a single dash of the pen —and has
forever closed his mercantile existence.
Os all the clerks with whom ! have been
associated, not one ha* achieved perma
nent success equal to the value of a wt 11
stocked hundred acre farm ; while from
the most brilliant of the number, the
penitentiary, the hospital, and the drunk
ard's grave have claimed their victims.
Some embarked in business with lofty
anticipations of sin cess, but as soon pass and
away in disaster, and the career of not a
few would fill ihrillingly illustrated
chapters in the unwritten history < f city
merchants'clerks, and prove beyond a
question that —
“ Vice is a monster, of such frightful mein,
That to be hated needs but to-be seen ;
But, too oft, familiar with its face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.”
Some sanguine youth may ask wheie
the successful men originate. I answer
they are one in one hundred of those
who seek clerkships, with anticipations
of fortune in prospect.
Personally, by a rare combination of
favorable circumstances, those “wonder
flowers” that bloom but once :n a life
time, lam meeting what is callfd suc
cess. The way l*> it was paved by years
of incessant labor of 10 to 18 hours per
day, and such da>s and nights of toil as
no farmer's boy that 1 h ive rn-t, with
j dr amed of in rural labors, arid, winch, it
‘ applied to cultivation oi a hundred acre
! farm, w mid have devi l. jWd-lo>tden trea
sures not dreamed,<>f by the reluctant
plowman.
But, as years pa*s and develop, along
with the vanities of life, the grey hair
which are stealing upon me, my thoughts
often, reycrX iu Uio home fccucs of my
childhood in the country, nJ:d I feel
tempted to sh.uk*> off tfiis artifieiid life,
and seek for my aecnntnff years that, re
pose and quid which l.uupgiqc might he
found in it rural iile, auwmg au iulci.il
gent and open luaLfted population devo
ted to agrrenliiHfViuftl sei tn* t< my fan)
ily those health'giving influences, both
mental mid pHjKleal, which cheerful’’
cAuntry life must supply to genial minds.
I sloops on Rioaiiuay Sislj
Tears 4 go.
Fftjfrr the Philadelphia Evening !}ul
letm, we extract the loljpvviug p. refer
ence to Mra. Hubert Morris, and dress
fashions sixty years .since :,- . • -
1 An old gentlentarr, whose mempyy is
I’vhW"'"Hear, informs us that, in 179$,.the
| ladies each., wore a single hoop, which
j was as large a* the lower one now worn.
: The huop was worn as high as the hips,
i and below it depended’ft train, often five
‘ or six yards long, that swept’ the sido
! walks,'or was carried by waiting maids
!or boys. The. old gentleman recollects
[seeing Mrs. Robert Morris walk along
j Broadway, New York, in company w'ith
Aaron Burr, while her train was bbrne
! ■
r hy •‘ix French rmisfee women, richly
dressed, and with turbans.on tbeir heads.
The women all wore stays, and shoes
with heels two or three inches high, im
mense silver buckles being on the shoes.
Silk dresses were not common, and mus
lin ones worn were admired according
to the size of the flowers on them, roses
as large as one’s hat being considered
most elegant arid tasteful. At times
enormous head dresses were worn tow
ering far above the head of the wearer.
The head gear for the street was a sort
of cap. which was placed npon the top
of the head-dress with a curtain or cape,
at the sidas and back, which hung down
nearly to the shoulders. The ladies *-f
the present ti mu differ firoih those -sixtyi
yearsiigd in several respects. The waist;
of their dresses are not as neat the arm
pits as of old, and instead of wearing the
capes upon their shoulders, they wear
their bonnets there, but crinoline is
spreading fist, skirts are growing long
ger, and hepl arp ,;graibia!ly .work
ing their way up to the last century pitch.
Gcniua and Velvet*
Mademoiselle Mars was performing
an eririismoent at. Lyons, w.hee, one
morning a manufacturer of thv famous
city of ri- h strfF*, asked for an audience.
On entering he proceeded to spread out,
b f ire the astonish** 1 actress, at length
<*r>ed fold of costly- veNow velvet.
“Will von please* a*c oyflf fhis, and
make niv f ct.ime.” said the g ntlennan,
E\pbm.it!i,n-s over,, it w,as y.*on. under
stood that it was to be a b*sine*w-- nffiirr
aJ#iH?ether. The sajj ieiortS ttorlc hnilse
man knew verv well th v the superb wo
man hes ire him set the fashion, a* to cat
and material of dress,/or jdi Paris.-
Yellow velvet was what, be best knew
how to make, and nobody wore it—but.
it would at once be the mge,'sf seen “Up
on her!
It was doubtful. The color was try
ing ! But, by the entreaties of the e.Or
quent pleader of his cause, the kind heart
of the actress was overcome. The vel
vet was handed over to her dress maker,
and made up. for .the tragedy, whlch-ahe
was to plav with Taj ma, the week after.
But, on . yeeing. herself-in the full
length mirror of the, preen-room, before,
the drawing up of the cuFtaiih Marsh
heart save way! “I look really too
ridiculous/’ she exclaimed-—“ justLke a
huge ratrary bird—and Peart not appear.
Call the manager, and postpone the per
formance.”
And, with this sudden intelligence.
Talma rushed fronjh-ks dressing room.
“Is that all l” he exclaimed, as he
surveyed the magnificent woman ; ‘ why
you never looked so superbly in your
life! Chance has favored you. The
toilet is a miracle of effective beauty !”
The play went on. .
In hn days after **>rd’* v ihe*ftlooiv* *>f
Pari* were perfectly golden with yellow
! velvet. Everv woman of fa-hion must
i appear in that, and no other.
! And this was the reason f>r the grand
fete given by the wealthiest rnamifaetu
! rer to Mademoiselle Marion her return,
years after, to play again at Lyon*. It
was at a superb ootiu try-house on the
hank of the Saone, and he had p'uroha--*-
and it with thi fortune on. yellojo
j velvet! ; ;
TiisA]#>kl Banp.—Uriah Rmmdy of
Snafibrd, N. Y„ relates.. rn mtcresting.
fi. t e-n ‘ cti and w ith. the. dca’h of
Bive_
w< t• v v n.h'c!v vt)ar, old, and had
1 >.- ii ‘ bid t . (iV-r y sirs, U u.st before
h r *-\ r, sii- ~:y a i< r:j: M;rw> it* n s-tVa of
torper r n-.r'iv. ‘A'lip” • i’e -\i
raised h ;• wi .a. j&a Lie and
1 p-e.:- : , od, “You v ‘J Laurens (her son)
I i-inc- wait ;viy brig; th-re comes a
1 bund ■ f angels, wi h iny r..other at the
2vo. as.
I'her.xf, and I must go F* She fell tick
and he' 1 spirit ip&tantly departed in peace.
Clarion. 1 ‘*
A Aalid. I*cJ>ucc* r y
Sutokpole was one, day imftign
ed before* a country court in Kentucky,
on n charge ofhorse stealing, arid “knitters
went hard against hint, his dfifencesTin
_ that'line havttig.steelecl the hearts of jdl
ag ui?t http* find the proof of . his? guilt,
iu thi* one particular instance, liemg
both strong -and manifold. Many ah in
gry and unpityhig eye was bent upoh the
poor fellow, when his counsel rose.,ta, at
tempt ad he did in the fol
lowing tenivM ‘*’.rr
‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ said the man
of law, * here is a man, old Captain Ralph
; Stack.pole, . indicted before von on the
charge of stealin 1 a horse, ands the affair
is purty well proved on him.* Here
there was a murmur heard throughout
the court, evuicing much approbation at
the counsel s frankness.
‘ Gentlemen of the jury,’continued the
orator, elevating his voice, ‘ what 1 have
to say iu reply is, that the man thar, old
Giptain Ralph Stackpole, 1 in the year
seventeen seventy ntd# wh£rf this old
State of Kentucky, find particularly those
parts adjacent to Bear’s Grass, and to the
mouth thereof, where now stands the
town of Louisville, wur overrun with
yelpin’ Injun 1 say, gentle
men meet two Injun savages in the woods
on Bear’s Grass, and took thnr scalps
single handed—a feat, gentlemen of the
jury, that ain’t to be performed every
day in Kentucky 1’ Here there was con
siderable tumult in the court, and seve
ral persons began to swear.
‘ Secondly, gentlemen of the jury,’ ex
claimed the attorney at law, with a still
louder voice, ‘ what I have, to say sec
ondly. gentlemen of the jury, is that this
same identical prisoner at the bar did, in
the year seventeen eighty-two, meet an
o'her Injun savage in the woods—a sav
age armed with rifle, knife and tomahawk
—and met him—what do you suppose,
gentlemen—with gun, axe and scalper,
in like manner? No, gentlemen of the
jury ! —w ith his fists, and,’ with a voice
of thunder. 4 licked him frt death in the
natural wav’! Gentlemen of the “jury,
pass upon the prisoner—guilty or not
guiltv. V
The attorney resumed his seat; his
argument, was irresistible The jurows
tart“J up in the box, and roared out to
a man, “Not Guilty !’ a
4 Good Retort. -
Tlon. Alexander TX. St ph-rs, of Georgia,
once running for Congress with an opr
nonrnt of unusually large statore, and 6&
the stumpion© day the 4ew9KU became ex*
qeedit'glv warm, ~.Vf hereupon the large man
“■rd to S'epheiis, who. is.small and,dsisfctfc
“Why, T could button vour pars back and
swaFbw* you whole, sir!” “To which’ rude
re‘<Mk<S f *pH*ro* retorted, “And if yon did,
v.ou. would then have more brains in your
stomach t.he;i you jvcr bad in your head!’’-jr
The’ laughter which followed, effectually 4is
;hitVt<*Y th“ i’l hhmor which was gaining
gnawid. • • -
We. have s<‘eo the above going* thorounds
iof ; the papers, in which there qomft a slight
mistake, as to the facts intended to be giv
ett.'’ t’> “ • ■’
In the Lenjalature of Georflha'. ‘ nt The <?£3-
dou 0f.1836, .which was the time Mr.
Stephen^represented Toliii’y-’Ocounty iothat
body : and his tone,of voice and personal apt,
ipearartce was more hke abov of fifteen than
a man of twenty-five —.Julius C. Alford,
then a Representative from Troup county,
.was warmly enlbted in some matteis before
the House—Mr. Stephens was on the oppo
site side, and it turned out, that the burden
of the discussion devolved upon these two.*,
Alford’ wh : o was consi fercd an old ‘‘war
hOree” in debate, finding himself rather
more or.tanked by the ofhisop
oon-nt than he had been accustomed to, in
oraler to,gain his p ant. addressed the Speak
er of the House in la-half o! his pmposaiborf, i
and clos'd hi j spee-h with wht he. suppos
<-d would be a.cni a her
sir. who rs thi, that’ venture s to oppose
sahitary measure ?'* and pointing to Mr*’
Stephen-’, continued, “why sir. I dom'd pits
his oars back, gr. ase his head, and an-inWal-*
low him, whole 1” . e-i *
Mr. S'ephenj immediately from, his
jsear, nd in his shrill rempted; iMfc
?*p aker, I bag leave to *ugg;St to the
t'ernnn, that sh-nild lie do oj he would then
have Tuoie brains in his b dlv than dm now
ius in his ltead. — Griffin. Onion, 27th.
A Goldm Thought. Set'in ‘p*nx\— Jti
speaking of marriages for money, M'S3 Mu-.
I.ich the eminent wliter, observes, and we
Iriink tV*vi.ik*lvr ‘AfArrisge oUyhVaTvvays
f, > be- a quxston mtt-ot reCe--i'y. bnt Chnicer.
Kvcr,.-ir-d out;..'-to-te Saw gilt that a hasty,
loye'.i *t u j ou ant'iqiaujxn he r.#u dkj-n
honor as. ’ me >A tho-y co w hich 5
nnut the legal ceremony altogether—and
that, however pale, dreary and to : ’sorre a
singlerlifdtnvy f>L unhappy married life must
be teutokJ vor**. an ever haunting tempt
• uiu, an inourabk* regret, a tomlent from
w’hich there ia no escape but death. •>
•* - r ••
A Romantic J^arriage,— Quite a romantic
wedding I’>ok place at Muzoqianis. in this
county. H.-rst * w*ning. The groom was a
returned XJ.s’ifbrrtian. who lefrh’S'wifb for the
aoritve.a;laud about yet;rs ago, and
t’nc hriu.l’, lks,,\vUr tiiat was left: Some tme
after he .Cal f^mi —s year or more
—his vwh> received intelligence nThis death, .
Two or three y'i&rs laf-’f she ncarl that the
story was untrue, bnf'hd he intend
ed to r. turn. WtHTw P iyu-e of
frieivb. she obt'dmH’ ft divorce. Two or
th-t-e and tv* si- <■> the wander; r tsu-irneend
. >n hs { rmer w-f’. ,‘’.? rl9 ‘
f, v vc t. l>:ith ulivhN’d anew, bnt? tnst
avet in ‘ h : led Ur. a- ****” U bride, to the
altar for the ?eu- 4 n-. i time-. Tr.c bappjt parr,
: - ■ • -ceded fprt. l '.-vo_h ce- i;
pot, andTA k A- tMaK s
four.—‘zfddv'tm