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—— vcmmm bbmbmbb— —— VOX ji* ftiE GEORGIA CITIZEN I** * frtoy momi*at tS.fiu per annum in Jtiernilarchar*p will be <h>t Dollar - < - f-r ti ■ Shi inacr -aeh witfijTirTit In-r*‘ -n All al -1 uto tin* 1 , will he published until ;.. A liberal discount allowed , . : ‘EJe* hv the year. * ‘j, vnu e* fewer In kite, will be charged at the I ”„,jinr nt~ of randidat** lor office to be paid for at - t.i u.a>le ’‘tb county officers, Drnrel sta, iT". __ / xL.I otherv who may wish to make ..,,1 v.isra bv Executors, Admlnistra- I . • ‘f U ” . re rured by law to be edrcrUsed in a I ; r “ IV , revioua to the day of sale, j 4 [jjij on the IratTaeaoay in the month, I ai.ll three in the af jt-house in the county in which the prop- I I’erMioal Property must be advertised in like ‘ivbp.rs and < redllora of an Estate must be I ■’ V’ >r will be made to the Ordinary for I Vr* Nsp we- must be published weekly for I ft Le‘*ers r f Administration, thirty days; for I * : i-tntion, monthly, Wt month*; for I < o„ . -hip. weekly, forty days I , . iw-Wnc of Mortitasee. monthly, fonr I tn\<* i 1 * * st papers, for the full space of three I < from executors or nondnistratore I ‘ji -ii fiiveu by the deceased, the full space of | , ,'„.I ..4 Bi'inen* Cards will be Inserted un ■ pri4e->oii fdiiowinit rates, vix: i •800 I *> ,000 I asa will be admitted, unless paid i • term than twelve months. Ad -8 aes will hr charged pro rata. Ad- I- . rin advance will be charged at the Hi m BiiEsmis liaiuel H. Washington, I lITOItAEY AT 1.1 tv. Macon, G-a, ■ sill Practice :n all the Counties of the MACOJSCIR- B* a •jieCo'inuts of Washington, Wilkinson and I ,it to force ft Hall, over Payne's Drug Store. I LANIER & ANDERSON, lITTORNEYS AT LAW, Macon, G-a., In -"Em the counties of the Macon Circuit, and in ■ •... f u-imter, Monroe and Jones; also in the ItelVuti si Savannah. | y-r. i AXOF.KSON iiave also recently Income the Hi fiiiowinv Insurance Companies : | -TA INSURANCE AND HANKINOCOM ■ ; vt. :W. M. li'Aulignac is President, and O. F. | Yi.akama fire and marine 3 NI'A.NY. Montgomery, of which T. 11. IN atU is H A Williams is Secretary. ■ risks on slaves taken at usual rates. | . -t: L. N. WHITTLE, lITTORNEY AT LAW, I MACON, GA. I’ y;o Concert Ilali.over Payne’s Drug Store. I I LOCHRANE & LAMAR, m.ttcrneys at Law, MACON, GA. I Cice bv the Mechanic’s Rank. I V ’tr lutb from Stoll A. Jl., i to3 I’. M.andalso ■ Kir. T Id 10 Y M. m -i v; •* fVranttwnf tbc Macon Circuit amlln I iroe and Columbia, and in the Su ■o Court. M. A. LOfURAXI. JOBS LAMAR. SPEER & HUNTER, ■iTTOENF.YS AT LAW, Macon., Gn., B?. *3 Triaajnlar Ulnck, Comer of Cherry I Street and Cotton Avenor. Br ... .• dx< rartnerv In th practice of Law in 11 the Mocoe and adjoining Circuits, and by j;edal contract—also, will attend m It savannah and Marietta. | ALEX. M. STEER, ■ SAMUEL HUNTER. II ,’- v nN j W. C. M. nussoK IEUTFIB & BUKSON, ■ attorneys at Xiaw. M.A- CfOIKT . GAA. ■ Ilcforenccs: * . M le,Vev!i!e: lion. NVashington Poe, . iv - 1. y :;vcv, Montgomerv. Ala.; H"d. - (j.... lion. C. J. Aiellonal.l, hiaiiet -C-. r-ii lirrker A C.i's Urdu Store. I LEONARD T. DOYAL, ■ iltorncy at Law, Gx-irfin, Ga„ . ’•ftwr. n Woodruff’s Carriage Ro arala sod Btuhsm a Kumilure Store. to ifVrence. L. T. DOYAL, f-’AMES T. ELLIOTT, B l ’ in at Law. S Ml> EX, AIiKANS AS, H *-i:-te>i I” him in South Ar I THE LIVER ImGOPiATOII! B?RIP.UIEr> BV OR. SANFORD, f : S2ED ENTIRELY FROM GUMS, B Parxitlv-f am! I.iver Mfdicine*mi* N;fore B .- a ‘ a . rtlc. easier, tuiMer. awl • -r e known. It i* Dot on r r . actio* first on the Liver B . alter, then on the Stomach and bowel* to B BpMilw two pnrpoee* effec ■ r ruunful experienced in the ■ ‘Vi attics. It strengthen* the *T*tem at B : P’l-zes it: and when taken daily in mc*l ■ * and build it up with unusual rap- B ‘• oft! -J • | principal regulators of the ■ * ‘ •# perf rtna its functions well, B ‘ r> fully developed. Theriom ■ 1 dent on the healt.iy action ■ f per ;erformanceoflt*fnnc*!on*t w Ithe bowels are at fault, and B •’ ‘ ‘eonsequer.ee of one or*an— <: teased - .to do its duty. Forttiedis- B ‘ the ppiprietor* has made It ■ *’ f dffi ‘moeethan twenty yearx.to - w>;. t.j counteract the many Ad ’liable. -dv m lisat last fonnd.ary person H” •hi. at CUM i'LAINT, in any es its ‘ r a w tle.smt conviction is certain. B _ ,**•'• h morbid or bad matter from A their place a healthy fiow of B U h. mtisinx food to dl*e!*t --US BLOOD, giving tune and nachin-i cry. r.-movies the cause of B : h„ . , r r ril ‘ Seal cure. ■ ,y h> lire cured. AND, WHAT IS B - ■ E-! ib) the occasional use of the ■ > ja. 1 1, l-nfEdentto re’deeethertom- B -from natn* and souring. **•- *!• re return*, prevents NIOIIT ~ ‘“'t v wa ii*ht, loosens the bowels ■ - - : I nrfam B • -*r esj m a.eal will cure DTSl'El’ iw ,r,_ I ■ \.Z -IK kpoor.fills will always re st Ee male obstructions removes K ‘ _ i mokrx a perfet cure. H’ ‘ “ ‘ !y relieves CHOLIC, While B, -at.,; =n i. a *,ire cure fr CHOL ventativc of CHOLERA. Bv ‘ W. reeded to throw <iut of the _ i , <v after a loc* sickneas. Bf ’• l , r t A UNDICE reiaovea all •rueoh or fron. the skin. B ; ‘ - “A -line beforeeatlnc gives vl*- * - .. ilhoddltcst well. | ! -’••d 1* cures CHRONIC DIAR ■ while SUMMER and -M alm.wt to the first dose. fj| - xw ,attacks causetl by WORMS ’ “ X' mT e |er. safer, or fipectar remedy t - aee.r m ■'h. *nrea [bl.orST, by exdtin* the h ‘ ‘- i-r n.endiri* this medicine ■ • f. ‘JE - VEK AND AC,rE.CHILL ■s” re 1 -f a BILLJOUS IYFE. land thousaiuls are wUlin*to „ ‘ , ™- W. Itues. n<iibonuiiLir wu.innuu [> ~ Ttr - • !"•- ll 1 ' ir, f\,; r * r,f •‘■'ln* ih-ir unaninicn* ***"‘i: monih wUh the Imtiorw lusfthrr. • UVER INVIGORATOR t* . nIMMVTRY. Mdtoftulv I, i ; a** to bfcleve. It cure aif *T r ~ . .. brr>rfU. mr.U wliloni a-.ura ‘■ ‘! ’ iu cure toy Wad f LIVERCum 'v .• , '*xo'lic or Duiptpma to mmon remit Jt a bisEASEI) LIV 1,5 2 DOLI.au per bottle. . SASfoitP 4k CO, Ir>pit*t/ini, _ 3tt Broadway. Sew Ytwk. L k °lcfxio Agonts: k V • *'?* : ‘*'• w DyU A S*wa. PkUadet i . “iti'. . -D*t - •. if. n. Hay A Cos., Portland; 1 AL. - ‘ * Gay-owl * H anmnc<!. dented I <L.’ :* ;c w£*-: o. J. TVood & Lot-fc: s - S- Har.ee. t fold W bolreJ. and Retail by --a Uius. hd*t * co. JUcoQ.Oa. DOCTOR, J. Dickson I^niith, Practicing Physician, Maoozi,Ga., WILL at’end pror.pHyto all Professional calls made on * b’ day or night, cnher at hi* c.iliee or tesirte ,ce. iMT lCt—Uver Menard A Burghard’s Jewelty bt re, on Cherry st-eet. At Mr. J. B. Ross’. jan. !!-. DR. A. PIERCE, HOMCEOPATH Office In Medicine Coses, and Books ou Domestic Practice for sale. Ms cox, July 9,1£53. _jy M. R. FREEMAN, M. D. Han IXO returned to Macon. < fferv I is Proieesional servi , cesw, its citireiis, and the tuirroundir g eoin try, :,nd Is prejared to treat their various dlseaies wivh inneceiit ye e tabie remeuieih and bs pesttmt in consideration ,-f the laet that he gives no potton. draws to blood, and neei-r destroys the coiiKitutions of his patients, he will be liberally cationized by the sffl.ct .l. ZW~ IMMieular attention will be given to Plantation, and other country practise. tf- 1 (Bee at the Drugstore cf Dr. Sf. S. Thomson, to whom he reters. (a n . 7 _,y DU. C. J. UOOSEYELTS HOKEPATHIC PHYSICIA>, Office ami Residence, Corner Walnut nad Urd SlrreS, Nlscob, tin. jan.Sl-Iy MEDICAL NOTICE. 13r. J. L. Large, ANNOUNCES totbe public that hehaslltted up Rooms, that are airy and convenient, to aocottmiodate Sn*gieal and fhninio fuses ot .11 kinds — white and black — (tfcecure of RUPTURE and rettet of CA.Nt'EH not exclud,si >— Blacks, latxirlng under chronic affections, wiU he bought. Price according to thelT condition. Parties whshing to consult me, can do so bv letter, with the care fully described, and I can determine the case prior to sending the patient, and save expense of sending and return ing—as circumstances render some cases Incurable. 1 have had considerable Hospital experience, which gives advantage In the care and relief of Chronic cases. Office and Residence corner of South Broad and Abercom streets, Savannah, Oa. tuly 9—ts X3r. Samuel Tarver, CtONTIXUES the practice of Medicine, frnrcrry rnd ) Obstetric* at l’aikers’ btation. No. 11), on tteOentrai Rail Road. Jefferson Oounty.Oa. His Post Office address spier's Turn Out Jeffefwin County. Particular attenlL-n prvid to the treatment c4f nr nic 1 incases. Pet* is living at n dis tance, bv riling a statement of t heir ciaee cun have prc-ciip tions and M‘siicine sent to them by Mail. Charges moderate, nov. ls.lsJß.-ly* DR. H. A. METTABER, HAVING spent a portion of three succeMive years in this city, daring which time he has limited his practice almost exclusively to Surgery, now respectfully offers his services to the citixens of Macon and surround ing country, in all the branches of his profession. Office on the South East Corner of 3d and Cherry streets, over Mr. Asher Ayres’ new Grocery Store, septfl—tf J. R. DAVIS, Land Droker, Collactor & General Ag't. Business attended to In any county in this State. Office corner Jackson and Kilts Street, Augusta, Ga. Tl—tf J. C. EDWARDS, Real Estate Broker, l\r ILL give proa.pt snd personal attention to Buying IT and re lmg Lsi.d> ami citv pru|*rty t kxstuining ’I files. ArcerUinir.g the value of Rial Istitt, Rentlrg Pr, perty, ami Ii hue u"s jertaining toageiera! I'eal khiteAivtcy. Omrt in Id story r.p stairs, in Dr. Strcheckcr's lAiildiag. dec. 10—ts Exchange on NEW YORK FOR SALE AT THE MANIFACTrSER S BASK. mar 29 —ts mm & MILLER, (Late PATTO, IHTTOS it Cos.) Commission Merchants, SAYA.WAII, GEORGIA. O. PAI TEN. A. J. MILLER. July 1 ISAS. —l* JONATHAN COLLINS, Late Patten, Collins Si Cos. Will continue the Commission Business VT the Fireproof Bu’.Mlni: bv them In Mac-n, in amrectlon with sun, W. *\. COLLINS, M 4 re spectfully the t.ualcrrs of the Pafnms f thelVe flira, aid of Planter* renerally, p!cdai their undivided attention to all buxine** taeir care. Advances made on C ot ton and other produce In store, and orders c-ri fnllv fi:ljjd* J. CULLIAS <* Macon. July 1.-d, I‘A- — 1 v INSURANCE RISKS. TAKBN FOR AUGUSTA INSURANCES BANHINGCO. AND Alabama Fire Marine Insurance Cos. by I.ANIEP. a AND ERKIN. gep 94—ts Affenta, Macotl. II (RTI OKD IHSI RiXCE cOMPA N I E S. The Hartford Incorporated ISIO. CAnT a t . ssoo.ooo The Springfield, Capital $150,000. The at Sprinjrlield, Cpltl 8130,000. With * lanre suipln* securely Invested. ... IVilidre In the a!.>ve first Ci*c* t rpaii'es iwned, and 108 ge* pruii.itly l*y E.J. JuiiNS'IUN ACO. | toe 18—ts *** , L ,JAH H. OxXXIXt. AABOM A. nor cXkHART 4 ROFF, WHOLESALE BF.GGERS. DEALERS IN WISES, LIQrORS,^^D|TOBA€CO,SKGAE?, A GROCRRXRS Os EVESV DIgOSIMIOR. Macon, ua. —ts j. r. \nmtit..T......... j. s. wi.Mtit. J. F. WINTER, A GO. ArCTIOXF.F.RS AYD CEVEEAL rOSIJIISSIOV MERCHANTS. From Its centnu position, Macon ofera rare fadl tie* for tl.e prompt oict of Fltr, frilß, Dry Grcffrirs, Ac. fVmximrafEt* *re solicited, rxrticuixr Dttcntlcn kiveo to the p ’.Nlexr.ii privatelc*of Heal Rvtatr. Mocha, llor. i*- Furnilnrc. Ac. LIBERAL ADVANCES MADE. rSP” All busieew entrusted to our care will be promptly attended to. an Rferences, Smith .t Pal rick. Oliver Wetrr.r re, E*q.. New Turk ; PelL Pr*eti* fit C j..C. A. Lamar, Eeq.. bavaatiah ;w. M. C. Hsrtln. Uhar!ton ; Harriwti i IMt*. Col'imbu*; MnlUi, Waidi A On.. Mobile. Ala.: T. P. btovall A O. Anttuda, 1 Ga.; Fari*-y, Jury A Cos.. >rwOr*Bh*, La. octM>—U Portrait 3Pa.int.mg. JT rOISI'EXTER. Portrait TaMiter. Mu.Ho Btie • THanrn'ar RT. rk. Entraim from t-ecuad Street. Atacou. dec. IT, ls&>.—tt Tyler, Bradley & Cos., dbaiiehs hunt OYSTERS, Shad and Black Fish, AND ALL KINDS OF GAME, eaxraiizjttli, G. ILL Otl’i.KS PROMPTLY ITTKJDF.D TO. ir Colutnlo, Enquirer. Kcc nW. plea* pabUaii weekly, two utbUi*, aedeted UU to T,e.*W. MACOTM* GA. PEBRnAIRTT 18, 1859. i-Utatcllnnn, From the K.tjlc A Enquirer. Bp tlir sins F*rffiveii. u He that is without sin among you, let him < ast the fir-t stone.”—St. Johx, ebap. H, last part of 7th verse. Sobbing through the crowd of hearers, Came a woman, lean and pale. With her golden hair dishevei'd, Stealing round her like avail; Came she, with her broken spirit Crushed by penitence and shame, Came to pray in accents humble, For a blessing on her name! Kneeling on the marble pavement, Meekly at the feet of one AVhose pure teachings, itveet and lowly, From her soul, repentance won. He, the Saviour, pure and spotless— Man of sorrows, undefiled; She the beautiful and fragile, Nature's erring, lovlv child. She had listened to His accents, Till the thoughts that o’er her fell, Os her past and present being Made her heart with sadness swell; Bitter, mournful musiugs started O'r that spirit, steeped in crime— Kcho'd then her memory faithful, “Now’ is the adapted time.” God look’d down with tender pity, On her tears of heartfelt voe; Xmr her brother murmur'd loudly, That the sinner joy should know; Crowding round the prostrate woman, Bound the Saviour’s holy form, Show’d they, by their tone's of anger, Human passion’s mighty storm. Stinging words of mad reviling Shower’d upon the quiv’ring frame, • ’Till the brow was wildly hidden— Flushed with agony and shame ! Then, above the railing tempest, Calmly rose the Saviour’s tone, Stilling, by its accents eurnest, E’n the sinner’s sutiering moan. ‘•He among you that is sinless,” Let his vengeance first be shown; Let the mortal, still unerring, “Be the fip.'t to cast a stone.” Silence fell upon their number; Conscience struck, they turned apart, Leaving her, unharmed and grateful For the change within her heart. Softly o’er the lost one bending, Spoke the “Teacher” words of love: “Woman, be thy sins forgiven!” Angels caught the strain above. E’n thus, in God’s compassion, Stronger than our boasted cares, .Vine rejects the weeping sinner; He, a home with Him prepares. Ruth. [ Kneeling and rocking the cradle. ] What is the little one thinking about? Very wonderful things, no doubt, Unwritten history! Unfathomable mystery! Yet lie laughs and cries, and eats and drink*, And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, As if his head was, full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by eolic and wet hv tears, Punctured by pins and tortured by fears, Our little brother will lose two years; And he'll never know Wh ere the summers go— n need not laugh, for he'll find it so! Who can tell what a baby thinks ? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the mannakin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone, Into the light of day ? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Tossing in pitiful agony— Os the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked witli the harks of little souls — Barks that were launched on the other side, And slipped from heaven on an ebbing tide. What does lie think of his sister’s eyes ? Whaf does he think of his mother’s hair? What of the cradle roof that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother’s breast? Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, Seeking it ever with fresh delight— Cup of his life and couch of his rest? W hat does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she can never tell, Though she murmur the words Os all the birds— Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he'll go to sleep— I can see the sliadow creep Over his eyes in soft eclipse, Over his brow and over his lips, Out to his little finger-tips! Softly sinking, down he goes ! Down he goes! Down he goes! [Rising and carefully retreating to her seat,] See! He is hu-lied in sweet repose. Important if True.—A recent number of the Milwauka True Democrat contains a statement which is of value to the medica; profession. That paper says: Some eight months ago, Mr. T. Mason, who kept a music store on Washington street, and is brother of the well known Leweil Mason, ascertained that he had a cancer on his face of the size ol a pea. It was cut out by Dr. Walcott, and the wound partially healed. Subsequently it grew again, and while he was in Cincinnati on business, it attained the size of a hickory nut. He has remained there since Christmas under treatment and has come back perfectly cur- I ed. The process is this: A piece of sticking plaster was put over the cancer, with a circular piece cut out of the centre a little larger than the cancer, so that the cancer and a small circular run of healthy skin next to it were exposed. The plaster made of cloride of zinc, blood root and wheat flower was spread on a bit of, muslin of the size of this circular opening, and applied to to the cancer for twenty-four hour?. On removing it the cancer will be found to be burned into, and appear of the color and hardness of an old shoe-sole, and the circular rim outside of it will appear white and parboiled, ns if scalded by a hot steam. The wound is now dressed, and the outside run scon suppurates and the cancer comes out a hard lump, and the place heals up. The plaster kills the cancer, so that it sloughs like dead flesh aud never grows out again. . _ This remedy was discovered by Dr. Fell, of London, and has been used by him for six or eight years with unfailing success, and not a case has been known of the reappear ance of the vancer where this remedy has been applied. It has the sanction of the mo=t eminent physicians and surgeons of London, but has not tftrril recently been used in this country, and many of the faculty with their proverbial opposition to innova tions, look upon it with distrust, JLAAY IKYIYk. George Le.iox was clerk in the whole sale grocery of Messrs. Moore <!c lleese, in one of our Eastern cities. George was an ambitious young man, had many bright hopes of the future, and was gen erally in good spirits, though sometimes the great highway of life seemed dark ened, and the star of hope shone feebly on his path. But George was honest, and Messrs. Moore & Reese had long since come to the conclusion that he was just the clerk for them. Some distance from Messrs. Moore & Reese’s, away down street —a quarter of a mile, perhaps, and nearly opposite George’s boarding-place, was a milliner’s shop—a real fancy shop, with a hand some Sign, large windows, with splendid curtains on the inside, and displaying a beautiful array of those dear treasures that so delight the fair, viz,: dear little beauties of bonnets of all styles trimmed in every imaginable way, with bright ribbons and delicate flowers, formed with exquisite taste by the fair hands of blooming maidens. Were not these attractions? Yes, George never passed the door of Mad ame Josephine Lavelle, from Paris, with out easting a glance at the window, or through those beautiful plate-glass doors. George did so often, for he often pass ed on his way to and from his boarding house ; but it w’as not for the sake of catching a sight of the bonnets or rib bons of Madame Josephine, for he could see them equally as fine at other millin ery shops in the neighborhood, but it was to steal a glance and get a good look as often as possible, at Madame’s little Jenny Irving, or “queen of beau ty,” a3 she was called. Yes, Jenny Irving, the orphan, or “ poor orphan,” as some termed her, was Madame Lavelle’s favorite apprentice, and possessed the first love of George Lenox. She had caught a prize without angling for it. In our hero’s estimation she was the most bewitching of maidens. Her tiny, but faultless form, golden hair, bright blue eyes, dimpled cheeks and dainty mouth, offered attractions which he couM not resist; and then her voice, sweet and musical, was melody itself, and her al most baby hands, so fair and soft; and her fairy feet that seemed scarcely to touch the ground on which she trod, act ually charmed him and completed the conquest which Cupid—little knave— had so artfully planned and so success, fully carried forward. After having se cretly admired Jenny for months, George one day became acquainted with her— no matter how—though, of course in the sam? way that all young people get ac quainted who are struck with each oth ers’ appearance ; first an introduction at some party or social gathering, with an “ I’m happy to make your acquaintance,” on the lady’s part, and “ allow me to see you home,” on the gentleman’s, then a moonlight walk, with a great many silly, foolish remarks made on both sides, con cludes the first day’s ceremonies. Os course this mode of proceeding soon makes fast friends. George continued to attend to his business closely, but his evenings were generally his own, and then when Jenny was not busy, of course he had delight ful times. Jenny was not by any means without other admirers. Many a young man in the neighborhood would discommode himself to accommodate her, and consid er himself well paid if he could thus win a smile or “ thank you ” from her sweet lips. But George was the favorite lover, and he sedulously improved his opportu nities, until finally it was whispered around, and pretty freely too, that he and Jenny were engaged. Such reports always spread like wildfire, and this one was not long in reaching the cars of Mr. Moore, one of his employers. Now Mr. Moore had a daughter who took quite a fancy to our friend, and he w r as aware of it, but could not recipro cate the compliment. Her father also knew it, and knew that George was a smart fellow and would, as he often said, “ make a star in the world.” lie thought that George and his daughter would make a good match, and that the latter w’ould feel highly complimented by the proposal. Therefore, soon after Mr. Moore first heard the foregoing report, he called George one side and “ opened the case” to him, concluding by hinting at a partnership in case matters turned out favorably. The old proposal took George somewhat by surprise ; but as a young man of principle, he felt in duty bound to give an immediate and decided answer. “ I feci flattered by your preference. Mr. Moore,’’ said he in reply, “and it is very gratifying io me to know that you hold me in such high esteem; but 1 can not accede to your proposal —1 am en gaged to another.” “Will, sir, as you please,” said Mr. Moore, with a suddenly assumed stern ness of demeanor; “but you will lose much by your decision. Allow me to ask who your intended is?” “ Miss Jenny Irving.” “ Miss Irving!” said Mr. Moore, with feigned astonishment; “ Miss Imng! a penniless girl ?” “ Yes, sir, and an orphan,” was George’s quick reply. “ Indeed ! an orphan ? ” said Mr. Moore. “ Well, I pity her, then, as Ido all orphans; but really, George, you’re throwing yourself away—you’ll not get a cent by her.” “ 1 know it, sir, and I do not wish it,” replied our hero, with spirit. “ I marry her for herself, not her money.” “ Very well, sjr,” said Mr. Moore; and turning away, he soon left the room. “ Ah, ha! my lad ! in love with Mad ame Lavelle’s queen, the little milliner,” said young Tom Moore, addressing George, as the former came rushing into his fatht r’s store, one afternoon, soon after G< urge’s conversation with Mr. Moore. “ Ah, ha! in love, eh ?” “ Well, yes, I suppose I might s well own up first as last,” said George, with a smile. “ Os course you might.,” said the for mer. “ Well, man, what’s her dower?” “ Truth, beauty, and a youthful, con tented mind is her dower,” replied George, “ and that’s enough for me.” “Enough! that’ll support you, ch?” said young Moore, provokingly. “ No, but will make me happy,” said George. “Happiness and poverty are two ex act opponents, in my opinion,” replied Tom, “and such as you will find hard work, I’m thinking, to reconcile to each other.” “ I’ll try it,” said George. “Well, do, if you please,” replied Tom, sneerirgly, “ and by and by report progress. I fancied that girl myself, but I’m sure 1 can’t afford to marry a beg gar. A wife without money is a poor prize, in my estimation ” “Jenny is no beggar,” was on George’s lips in reply ; but ere he had time to speak he was summoned to at tend to a customer. “Jenny will show them her value yet,” said a low, musical voice behind him, and turning, he saw Jenny, wh v hid glided in noiselessly to bring him an invitation to a party which she had just received for him, holding another also in her hand on which her own name was distinctly written. She had unintentionally heard young Tom Moore’s last remark, and well un derstood its meaning, much better, in fact, than George understood the hidden meaning of her’s, when she said, with unusual emphasis, “Jenny will show them her value yet.” But a few days elapsed ere the story got around that George had been offered the hand of the rich Mr Moore’s daugh ter in marriage, and had declined it for that of Jenny Irving. Some wondered at his choice, while others considered it one of true love, and consequently of true wisdom. Time wore away, and a year brought around the day fixed for George and Jenny’s wedding. One evening, but a few days previous to the time appointed, they were Con versing together at Jenny’s aunt’s where she boaraod. “ \Ve shall be obliged to have a plain wedding I suppose, dear,” said George, “ and commence life in a snug way, for my income is not very large, you know.” “ As you please, George,” was the re ply ; any w r ay that is the most agreeable to you and in which wc can live the happiest. But,” sapid she, with a light, ringing laugh, “are you not going to take me to church in your carriage?” “ in a carriage, perhaps,” said George, “ though probably not in my carriage, as I have not yet the pleasure of owning one.” “Just so,” said Jenny; “well, then, suppose I send mine after you ?” “ Yours! that would be a joke for a milliner girl, hardly out of her appren ticeship, to set up a carriage of her own, and send it otf after her intended, on the morning of her wedding.” “ Stranger things have happened.” “ Yes, maybe, but the thing does not seein possible, or at least probable, in our case. You were not born to a for tune.” “Indeed!” replied Jenny, “your re marks are not calculated to give me a very exalted opinion of life; but I will fiirgivc my future husband this time, as he has not yet very closely investigated my personal history. Os one thing I am now certain, however, and that af fords me no little gratification ; you did not marry me for my money, ‘ Jittle beg gar’ as 1 am, or at least, as Mr. Tom Moore sees fit to designate me.” Nothing more was said about fortunes then, but George had a sudden surprise in store for him, somew hat startling, and as unexpected as any event that could happen to any mortal. On his bridal morning, as he was dressing at his boarding house, an ele gant carriage with a span of milk-white horses stopped before the door, and the driver, springing from his seat, rang the door-bell and inquired for Mr. George Lenox. “ What does this mean?” was George’s first thought. “ 1 engaged a carriage, not near as elegant one as this. There’s something wrong here.” “ You’ve made some mistake in the name,” said he to the driver. “ I think not-, sir,” replied the driver. “Then, who sent you here?” asked George. “Miss Jenny Irving.” “ Miss Jenny ] Impossible !” “Yes, sir, that’s her name, and this is her carriage and horses.” “Jenny Irving,” said George, to him self, musingly, striving to unravel the mystery —“ W hat street does she live on V’ “ Rand street, No. 30, sir.” “ The same; ah, dear girl,” thought he, “ she is trying to mystify me a little by sending round a carriage at her own expense; for no doubt she pays for it out of her own hard earnings. Well, I will gratify her, and take a ride down to her aunt’s, in her carriage, as the driver callo it. It is hers, f suppose, while she hires it.” So in jumped our hero, and was soon [Jenny’s door. “ How do you like my travelling es tablishment? ’ said she, as George en tered her room. “Oh, first rate,” was his reply; “it is splendid. 1 see you practice ‘wo man's rights,’ and hire your own car riage. Welt, there’s no harm in that; ■ it will answer admirably for to-day, and then the owner will have it, I suppose.’ “ Undoubtedly,” said Jenny, with a smile. After their marriage at the church they returned to Jenny’s aunt’s, and sat down to await the arrival of some friends whom they were going to treat to a few viands prepared for the occasion. “ Why don’t the driver take that car riage home ?” “ Perhaps he is awaiting the order of its owner,” replied Jenny. “ Its owner ? where is he?” “Ilis name is George Lenox, and he occupies the very place where you now sit,” said Jenny ; “ is any farther explan ation necessary ?” “George Lenox! not me?” said George, fairly starting from his seat. “ Yes, you 1 ” was the reply ; “it was my carriage, and I have now made you the owner of it.” “Your carriage! why, Jenny, you surprise me,” said George; “ how came you by such an expensive establish ment ?” “ I bought it and paid my own money for it.” “ Bought it —and—paid—your —own —money —for—it ?” said George, slow ly, and pausing slightly before each word, as if weighing their meaning, for he was profoundly perplexed. “ Y"es, my dear,” continued Jenny, “ it was mine; it is now yours. You are its owner, and there it stands, subject to your orders. If you wish,*we will drive to our country house, just out of the city, this afternoon.” “ Country house just out of the city ! I believe you are crazy, Jenny,” ex claimed George. “ No, I am not.” “Well, then, what do you mean?” said he. “ Explain yourself. There is some mystery that I don’t understand.” “ I know you don’t understand it, dear,” replied Jenny ; “ and now that I have mystified you a little, I will solve the riddle.” And then Jenny, with sparkling eyes and m her happiest mood, told him how that her parents had died when she was quite young, and left her penniless, and in the care of her aunt, and that four years before, a wealthy uncle in Eng land—her father’s brother—had died, leaving her his large property amount ing to seventy-five thousand dollars, and that, as there was so much courting heir esses for their money, she had resolved to keep the matter a secret, and pass among people as dependent for support upon her own exertions from day to day, so that if she was wooed at all it might be for herself and not for her money; and that for this reason she had served an apprenticeship in a milliner’s shop. “ Am 1 dreaming?” exclaimed George, amazed at a revelation from Jenny’s lips so astounding and unexpected, and which increased, if possible, the esteem he al ready had for her who could conceive so noble a project and so ellectually carry it out. “ No, George, it is not a dream, but a pleasing reality. You know 1 said Jen ny would show her value yet. 1 then referred to my fortune. Os my value aside from that is not for me to speak. And now,” said she, looking confidingly in the face of him whose love she prized higher than all earthly treasures, “ Jen ny entrusts to you herself und her for tune, without any fears for their future safe keeping.” George’s income was now amply suffi cient foa his and J#nny’s wants, but be ing one who abhoried idleness, he in a few weeks opened a wholesale grocery in the city, and was soon engaged in an extensive and flourishing business. The Rose and the Nettle. In a country somewhere in the world—no matter where—-at the North Pole, probably, or may be at the South —or percliauee between the two— there rose a large flourishing city. Its manufactories were noted for their extent; and the merchant princes of that place revelled in the wealth those manufactories produced. On the outskirts of the town were built two houses alike in form, iu extent, iu value. “Two peas,” or “two nms,” or “two pins,” had frequently described their similarity: Now, in these two houses lived two brothers—twins —ths only son* of the builder of those two houses. It had been a fancy of the old mamo have “the boys,” as he called them, lodged alike, and his means being ample, he had the power of indulging his fancy. “The boys” married, and on the wed ding day the first stone of their homes was laid. “Time enough to get them finished,” said the old man, as he rubbed hishaudsinglee; “won’t want a nursery for a twelve month,at any rate. Small house do till then.” The young brides were present when that re mark was made. One blushed—and smiled; the other blushed and frowned. It was the nettle and the rose again standing side by side. Six months passed, and the houses were half up—the old gentleman himself directed all the arrangements of the building. “It is good indeed of your father, now an old man, to take an interest in our comfort,” said oneof the young wives to her husband. “Ralph” —that was the husband’s name—“you can nev er repay him for his kind leeliug and his gener osity to U3.” “It was absurdity for your father to play the a rchitect, and almost bricklayer,” remarked ihe °ther wife to her spouse, Boya<.ll—his name. “You should tell him that it is inconsistent with his calling and his station. ‘•lt is consistent with his pleasure,” remark ed the husband, “and therefore I am content.” Twelvemonths and the houses were finished. “Nursery ready in time,” said the good old man—“ready in time —ready in time.” The houses were occupied; in the course of twelve months thenureenes were occupied also. “There are unceasiug anxieties in a mother’s lot,” said the good wife of Ralph, “but unceas ing pleasures, too.” And she smiled at the in nocent face of her sleeping babe. * “llow women can like the bore of children, I cannot imagine,” remarked her sister-in-law, as her child was hastily given to its nurse. Years passed on —as they always do—and the young wives became middle aged women. Sons and daughters clustered round them, and the grandfather, old and feeble, now lent on these young things for support. Time had worked a wondrous change in two brothers— Ralph told of his home stock of hap pinesss, from which he drew, largely, while Boydell looked as it content and happiness were not in the world at all. At the time, when the famiiles of each were springing up, and needed money to be spent on Urcoi, iu educauop, maiawnauce, ft&d the differ- ent adjuncts of their station, one of those panics of the commercial world, which ruins thousands, took place. Unfortunately, Raiph aud hi* Uroth er had entered into large speculations, which failing, they were involved in the prevailing ru in, and found themselves verging on baukrupt cy. ... “Be of good heart, Ralph,” said his wife, “there is bread in the world for all. Our fine large house, our servants and our carriages, are not absolutely necessary to our happiness; we can do as others and without them; and the children, Ralph! this lesson of adversity may be for their welfare. Take comfort Ralph! there is plenty of that left for us in the world, if our wealth has flown away.” “Yes,” answered the husband, as he clasped her hand, and drew her to him, “yes I there is never failing comfort here, Lucy. God be prais ed for having given me one so ‘meet to help me both in joy and sorrow, wealth or poverty.” ‘You should have foreseen this crisis,” re marked the wife of Boydell, “and not allowed your children to be brought to beggary at tbeir age, when just entering on life. Expenses are unavoidable,unless indeed, they be educated as the laboring classes —which idea may be worth your wise consideration.” She ceased with a sneer on her face. “Other men would not havebeen so venture some with their money,” she remarked. “The Brownings, for instance, and the Smiths, with drew in time. Lionel Blagdon told me that your children might thank you only if starvation were their fate.” “In mercy cease,” replied the husband, “or you will drive me mad.” “I must put your conduct fairly before your eyes—it is my duty,” she replied. “Then reserve it until I am likely to appreci ate your effort at the performance of the duty,” he answered bitterly. Poor “Duty!’/ how dreadfully is she mishan dled by these ascetic dames. “It is a duty!” and under that plea many a harsh truth is utter ed. “It is a duty!”—so says the ever-strict disc'plinari'n, and cold, stern words are driven forth to tremble on an over-worked and wearied brain. “It is a duty I” covers the cruel rebuke and the severe rejoinder. It may be a “duty” to speak plainly and boldly sometimes —but it is a duty to choose the opportunity when the speech may be acceptable, and cot fret and chafe the wounded heart by a repetition of the very truths which, silently recognized, are gall ing it already. Boydell knew quite well that he might have foreseen and partially have provided fortlie mel ancholy event which had taken place. His conscience reproached him bitterly for careless ness and his wife’s words were not needed to add to the self-reprosch which, left to itself, might have worked some good producing a qui et determination to abide by the more sober councils of Ralph in future, for Ralph’s voice had been lifted against the very speculation which had caused the joint failure of the broth ers. Fretted and galled, and wearied of life and life's struggles, Boydell knew not whither to turn for comfort and consolation. His father had been gathered to the dead; his brother? Boydell was two proud to betray his lack of domestic peace to him; his children, imitating the bad example of the mother, turned against him instead of clustering round him, in the hour of woe, openly blamed him for the course he had adopted. At last his mind, torn by a tbousad conflict ing sorrows, gave way; a lunatic asylum became his home, while his wife and children dragged on a life of misery, supported by the mere char ity of relations. Far different shared Ralph. In the humble cottage on the outskirts of the town where he now dwelt a smile always welcomed him when he came home from the city's toil and dm, tired with the business of the day, heart-sick with it disappointments—rest and peace and happiness awaited him in that little home. His children drawing their tone fram that good wife and mother—thought only how they could soothe the tired wanderer who had returned to them, and make him forget in the placid joy of the present the misery of the past. “Ralph,” says his wife, one day, “I would scarcely exchange our present lot for the one we field when first I become your wife. There is an earnestness in this quiet life of strict utili ty which is lost in the gilded days of wealthy splen dor. lam as happy here, Ralph, as if you had placed me in a palace—happier indeed.” He stopped her as he looked lovingly into her gentle face. “Not happier, Lucy,” he added, “not happi er, dear wife. Your nature would carry bliss as perfect as this world can bestow into any phase of life —not ‘happier,’ Lucy, but as happy either here, or there, or anywhere on earth —as happy as such a kindly heart as yours can and should, and will be anywhere.” But sorrow, deep sorrow, fell on Ralph. Lu cy died; and as be saw the mould fall on the lowered coffin, until it was hidden from his view, ho whispered, as if to her who lay there—“l know what ‘loss’ is now, dear wife —I never felt its meaning belore.” Boydell also lived to an old age. A partial recovery enabled him to return to his home— but he was no welcome gue3t there. Unkind ness and want of care had the result which might have been expected—he returned to the asylum, hopelessly mad, and died there some years afterwards, to the very evident relief of his wife and children. Now in human probability, these two women worked the sequel to the fate of their husbands. The one by her gentleness soothed the woun ded spirit, and in seeking to bless him, sowed a fall harvest of blessing for herself. And the other! as truly did she “cast her seed upon the waters” and “truely did she find it after many days.” It was likepoisoned Upas berry, taking root and springing till the deadly tree cast its destructive influence on those poor wretches who sat beneath its branches. “1 WILL TRY.” A STORY FOR BOYS. There is a society in London known as the Society of Arts. Its object is the encourage ment of talent in the various departments ot art. Prizes are awarded by the society, some times to the painters for their pictures, and some* times to humbler artisans for improvements in weaving, or in the manufacture of bonnets, lace, or artificial flowers. More than half a century ago, a little fellow, named William Ross, not twelve years of age ,vas talking with his mother about an exhibi tion of painting at the Society’s rooms. Wil liam was very fond of paintings, and could him self paint with remarkable skill. “Look you, William,” said his mother; “I saw some paintings in the exhibition which did not seem to be half so good as yours. ” “Do you really think so, mother?” asked he. “I am sure of it,” she replied. “I saw some paintings inferior, both in color and drawing, to some that are hanging in your little chamber.” William knew that his mother was noflatteren and he said, “I have a mind to ask permission to hang one or two of my paintings on the walls at the next exhibition. “Why not try for one of the prizes ?” asked his mother. “0! mother, dear, do you think I should stand any chance of success ?’’ “Nothing venture, nothing have,” said his mother; “you can but try.” “And I will try, mother, dear,” said William. “I have a historical subject in my head, out of which I think I can make • picture.” 3VO. 49 f . • What is it. William?” “The death of Wat Tyler. Ton bars heard of him; he led a mob in the time of Richard the Second. Having behaved insolently before the king at Southfield, Tyler was struck down by Walworth, Mayor of London, and then dis patched by the king’s attendants.” “ It is a bold subject, William, but I will say nothing to deter you from trying it.” “If I fail, mother, where will be the harm ? I can try again.” “To be sure you can, William! So we will not be disappointed, should you not succeed in winningjtho silver palleite offered by the Socie ty for the best historical paint’ng.” Without more ado, little William went to work. He first acquainted himself with the va rious costumes of the year 1381; he learned how the king and noblemen used to dress, and what sort of clothes were worn by the poor people and laborers, to which class Wat Tyler belonged. He also learned what sort of weap ons were carried in those days. After having given some time to the study of these things, he acquainted himself thoroughly with the historical incidents attending the death of the bold orater. He grouped in imagination the persons who were present at the scene—the king and his attendants Walworth, the mayor, Wat Tyler himself, and in the back ground some of his ruffianly companions. William’s mother was present, of course. She sat waiting the result with a beating heart. What a proud mother she was, when, after the trans action of some uninteresting business, it was announced that the prize of a silver pallette for the best historical picture was awarded to the painter of the piece entitled ‘The Death ofWat Tyler.” When it was found that little William Ross was the successful artist, the applause of the audience broke forth with enthusiasm. To see such a little fellow gain a prize over compe ditora of mature age, was a novelty and surprse. William was summoned, with his picture, to the Duke’s chair, and there he received, such counsel and encouragement as were of great service to him in his future career. He is now Sir William Hops, miniature painter to the Queen, having risen to fortune and to fame by carrying out, with determination and persever ance, his simple promise to his mother “I will try.” An English Woman’s Opinions of American Ladies. Madame Bodiehon, who has recently published a tract on “ Women and Work,” expresses her opinion that the life of most women is a practical denial of their duties to God. While on a visit to this country, she was struck by the utter idleness of the “ lady class” in so ciety. “ There is,” she says, “in Amer ica a large class of ladies who do abso lutely nothing. In every large town in the United States there are large hotels or boarding-houses, containing several hundred inhabitants each. This hotel population mainly consists of families who live altogether in hotels; and the ladies having no housekeeping whatever to do—have few of the usual duties of wo men in Europe, and are more thorough ly given up to idleness and vanity than any women, I believe, in the w r orld.— These ladies have not the cultivation which glosses over the lives of so many women in Europe, and gives them solid value in society as upholders of the arts and literature ; but are generally full of the strangest affectations and preten sions. The young ladies, especially, re minded me of certain women I have seen in seraglios, whose whole time was taken up in dressing and painting their faces; with this difference—the ladies of the East spend their days in adorning them selves to please one lord and master; the ladies of the West to please all the lords of creation. Which is the noblest ambition?” She also notices the fact that there is in this country as strong a public opin ion against women working for a liveli hood as in England. We never hear of a father in independent circumstances giving his daughters a professional edu cation. “If he can live in some style, he counts on his daughters marrying; and if he cannot, he probably sends them to some relative in a city, who receives them for a long visit, in the hope of ‘ get ting them off.’ Many thousands of young girls come to the cities to stay with bro thers, uncles, or friends, for this purpose. A worse preparation for any serious life cannot be conceived. Years of idleness are often passed in this way; years spent in nothing but dressing and dissi pation ; and what does it lead to 1 Mar riage, probably ; but what sort of mar riages can be formed by young girls looking at the world from such a false position 1 With such a beginning to life, it is almost impossible the girl can ever become a noble human being.”— “In America—in that noble, free, new country —it is grievous to see the old, false, snobbish ideas of ‘ respectability * eating at the heart of society—making generations of women idle and corrupt, and retarding the onward progress of the Great Republic.” Rot Bad !—A Buffalo lady who claims to know “what’s what,” proposes that young men and women be set up in house keeping before they are allowed to be engag ed ; that the young woman shall wash and mend and dust, and that a new bom infant be procured from the hospital, and that she have charge of him in addition to her other duties. She is of opinion that this process would “disenchant’’ the young people.