Newspaper Page Text
VOLUM E 10.
THS GEORGIA CITIZEN
PUBLISHED VK2T FRIDAY MORNING BT
L. r. \V. ANDREWS.
o> n e —ln Horne'* Tbiilding, Cherry Street,
Tiro Door* M ur Third Street.
9S V 9 (M-r annum, h advance.
Idicrtiai th- r iir ihur*e will l>v One Dollar
u t i,iif liu nlrr'l wont* in- teg*, f r tlie fir. 4 iitvr
i V :lf ('ml* for each snii-a-qitcul inwitfcm. All ad
not willd art to time. si.l 1* published limit
K'l -rii.tu'lv. A lii’t-ral tli.-ssmnt allowed
.... nil” advertise ly the j.nr,
r , made
y,” - : . iuT.itants, amt other*. who may wish to make
null an I Hii.iin-*-. t urds will lie inserted un
. ‘ ,ii. it the following rates v!x:
l- .y v im-s per annum, ♦ r i 00
L; Hat* da *•
l T.-: !!:c* d< WOb
y I, ; meat of tola cfcev> ill l*e admitted, unlen* paid
(, ; ,j .re. nr for a least rn than twelve nn.thv. Ad
r■ a tiN ■■: over leu liaet will be ebantt-d pro rain. Ad
"rtl- met.f not paid lor in will be charged at 1 lie
tll i ‘ ary Nolle.-!* of orrr ten tine*, will be charged at the
\anmiiicement* of cuxtldstr* f r office to be paid for a
ti, jw.Lti ntes, when inserted.
-mV* of Idiifid and \i%nw.*, ly Fxecntor?. A^*n ? nlstn*
• ■* .ami t.’i tnlkuis ftre rv<4U.red by Ltw to be advertued in a
’ ji. £%jA - t•. f,,ny dajro previous to the day of sale. I hew
s* ~i>t u* held *>u the tf'st Tuesday in the 11*011’ h. between
i I,- L •- of tin in ihe forewon and three in the afternoon,
aT tiic C'”.:rt-houae iii thecounty in which the property is &tu
-lc of IVr-onal Prape rtf imirt be advertised In like
in itchKtrs and Creditorsf an Idatr nrad !e
Vniicc that apidlc-a* ion will le nude to tlie Ordinary for
t. ;i Land and Negroes, must be poWbdied weekly for
two no niha.
4'i'ati til* for Letters of Administra'ion, thirty dors; f,*
Admi'drtrtitioß, monthly, dv motnh: fu r
In-tiii-e*. ii from UnardUrship, weekly, forty da)*.
Knit* lor Force I to- iur of tlyrUarfs, monthly. f>u
„ “th ; to establish ujr I *i papers, for the full spore of Hire
i • tilth*; tr emu()t*lllM title* fr*m executor* •>r timL*i*tr
i‘ . t 1.-• .1 has n.-vu given by the deceased, the full
• of three months.
lUliffifllaii-H.
It
Bonnet*.
Os all the chtrou* dear wo:c*an wears
ui ail her many traps and nae-,
>•- rent eflbct, there’* naught coni pares,
With a truly prtty boufiet;
For a hen or wb- rever you chance to meet
One that b perfetty up <l**4l and in *!,
Vwii inae dep n i *t;* p twf complete.
That the head more m ttm%a it.
No matter whether be’* pretty or not,
N< matter win t h r h ‘b pretty or not.
How niM.h or h w little money she*? £ot*
V/fitther*he live** in a mansion or co:,
Tis a fact, (k{>eiid uj*.n it;
•The w#mitfi mate *i man happy life
f j m Ute a miKir! mother and wife.
Is or. who. scorning the mi.liner strife,
Wears a plain and t i>t fui bonnet.
Now a bonnet of genuine beauty az*l grace.
Worn on the )>ea l in Us proper pi ice,
&noih{ faintly the weare ‘i* face,
*‘ja tnirtg for a song ora i *net.”
Rut one of those rav acd g ndv thlaerx.
Made up vs mu b*w*and imltertty wings,
A mUtuivofl iwew, iibboaa and 3 tr.?i*s
Is tlnwlful, depend upon it.
A vulgar mam of “foxa and feather,**
A little of everything thrown tgo?her,
A*-if by a touch of wfeady wtaiinr,
A i**rt of cupt ) ca ch the liidr,
Luv n* the head to **go ii lttr%**
A striking example of •‘nothing to we.tr,**
I * thi.- bonnet abouiinattoa.
It makeaa womani rizen and bold,
A- i! her in cdtchiug noth Hi t*ui c ld,
I- bad *n th- >o mg. a’MUni on the old,
Aml and dorms whit it *>ug t todecc;
For Umx at h r n*> booiiet is there,
hee at the aide it iiangs by a hair.
View it behind, and you will declare.
That the creature L;i** broken hcrnid'.
No matter where yon may chance to be.
No siat cr hew many women von me.
A it inirc jouA crowd, or a certain the,
V u may fnJlv depend upon it.
That a of he very r*rc-t kind,
A thing ro *4 difficult to find,
A pet icr wh.cii we lot g haw pined,
4’ :t perfect “love of a bonnet.**
t > e;ni<*ylvaiiia
Tiii* Philadelphia Bulletin, in publi*liing
:li>‘ following, says :
**lt 4*vansh; cl> frim the Aarons’ a rff H and
lor • /% by a la*iv wh jrigns herseif ObtAbackdiewehkaor
l.tk it akei,"* who Is ••apparently” smitten with a young
luauamtrd Jobn.ai and who |**>ur* forth her longings in the
l i nil set vent dialect • f Bushwhackertlmi. in ner hands
ill iiMdcep rescurc*’!*, ail copious in it inflictions, which
mi well *ll.t i T to le line the the latgusge of passsion and of
>*xtn. are we la gttexti* .Lv*tl. Yet w:at cin te mors urt
r--• r e\.|ih>i'el) rniii ie than her pnxj in which she re
iii .il’ dchn that she had -oiiparpw* Micypc) tor ciuh ge
ocke” -baked mine pie n purp *se lor you. *
O John! 0.1 hu I was wim4 du net bev,
I.* - : bin ja • i b.K\b*n WltthaS nn frev,
Welim mehnee* v .u IhivT i w:e ai and e and ie*l
Wei:-* Uaue zu ha t.B uu sell f>rstrht.
oh John! k>h Jo’ n! why not hasten tome?
I'm lathe nuuket; I'm vhdova-d free;
1 ku*w more of marri tg * than any young maid,
1 can keep Uou-c lak>and that first rate.
l*ve a house,eha’v and t*l4c, and l>e 1 to tali,
AuU tier isi'ar better than
Au Itho igh 1 ti iveoocc !een niinid UsfuW,
1 want it agdn love—yea, all the more .
Thos wh live ? n J* and m*t know how to ire.
Never a c -ui for *<ich life w uld 2 give ;
Just comeand marrv. oh, sweetest *f men !
Cent tomorrow —or now d* ar, 1 don't cue when.
Rut if you do *'•/ com®, I*l g j marry Ne*L
Tlk>ughts of him. 1 jng, love, h*vj pcss.nl thr^uch nv
h.-ad.
Rut 1 love you far better and that's a fact.
With yearning for you. soul and bjdy are rucked.
Ned i* too old. ar.d two children has he.
And ym are far healther it seems t me.
li.it it }*• ne not h re, cir, this week, withouj di.ubt, I
1 Fhxii inarry Ned,—so you*d better look out!
What U your w ill, John—crtuclet it be reen.
Lot g— ah, too long, dear, unmair cd I*%e been.
At.tl l< ng.r I Wmg not unmarried to star.
John—come and wed and we’ll urive care away !
F.om the Madison i*ionet‘r.
Anollii'r U uter-proof’ Si-rmoir.
I‘KEACBEI> BY ELDER BLOW OF WATER- i
I’ll OOF, LA.
My Dear Brethering and Sisters :—I )
appear betorc yon to day a Minister uv
the Goapei: and 1 ve no doubt that afore
the foundation of the world, ah. 1 was
predestined to preach the glad tidins uv
the Prince uv the New Jerusalem, ah. 1
believe in the doctrine uv thar final per-1
severance. An eony doctrin tint leech
es you to bidiee otherwise can't br
found within the ieds uv the Bible, ah.
I am proud to say, my bre: bring and sis
tern, th.it l am an old fashioned christun
uv the Hardshell Baptist persuashur, as
I have chosen fur my text a passage uv
scriptur that's found in the leds uv the
Bible, an l could tell you w hat it is, but
I don’t know myself, ah. But, whenever
you do find it, the words will bj these :
“Give strong drink unto him that is
reddy to perish, and wine unto those
that be uv heavy hearts.”
“Now, my brethringand sistcrn,thar's
a great many kinds uv licker in this
world, as is mentioned in the tex, and
these different sorts of sperits may be
likened to the various denominashuns uv
the christun persuashnn. ah. In the first
place we have the bright and sparklin
shampain wine that cuins from furrin
parts, ah. This is a costly licker, and is
used by them a* is troubled with the
big-head, ah. It is a inity line sperrits.
an it keeps a scissin, a poppin, an a ef
fervessin.
it is just so my brethering and eastern
with the Piscopaiians, ah. They is a
highfaluten an ’ristoeratio set of uube
leevers, ah. They have fine pews, tall
churches and monstrous orgins. 1 har is
hoss racers, gamblers and chicken liters
among ’em, ah. Tney is amity proud
people and believe iu the Postolic Ac
cession, aud they keep going up fron>
big preacher to another, until they get
apto nuthin’. Uiey resemble St. Johu’s
beest with seven heads aud ten horns,
fur in speeking uv horns the text says :
“l *ive strong drink unto him that is
reddy to peiish, and wine unto them that
of hevy hearts.”
A jain my brethnng, and sistern,thar's
another kind of iicker that depraves the
apetite, corrupts the sensibilities, nause
ates the stomach, consterpates the bow
ils, depresses ihe feelings, destroys the
health, produces sick hed-ake and vomit
ing, ah. 1 h;s kind of strong drink is
comm >n!y canid whisky. But in (Lifer
ent local.tys it has various congelations.
In llackeiiMick it is celled rvt gut; in
Finnysee it is named redeye, in lllinoys
it is dt icon nated fxitd faee ; and in Tex
as, whar I live, it is termed bust head
Now this strong drink, my Christun and
| and) in friend-, may b<: liken unto Met ho- ;
dis persuasion f>r ihey is people that
stars up things with a short stick, ah.— ,
They is death on camp meetings and
preechin up thar free grille and parden
to all. They sprinkles in place nv bap
tizen, and with th.tr shouten, and screems
and tall in frum grace, they gets obstrop
piilousand hungry with heviness of hem t
’ lor tex says :
‘ (iive strong drink unto him that’s
reddy to perish, and wine unto them that
he hevy uv hearts.”
Agin, my dying congregashun, thar is
yet another kind uv of drink which, if it
: don’t do enny good, it can’t do enny
harm. It is ginger pop, ah ; and thar is
a grate deel more water nor ginger in it,
ah. It is like the Camelite, lor thar is
more water in them than anything else.
They even carry thar doctrine so far as
to rej et glorious o’u Btirbin, ah. They,
my Christian friends, is fit subjects tor
the tiack and mishit nary societies ; but
no whar within the leds uv the Bible can
enny tex be found which tells you that
you can enter into the gate uv the New
Jerusalem on water alone for the tex
says :
‘•(iive strong drink unto him that is
reddy to perish, an wine unto them that
be hevy nv heait. ’
And yet, my heerers, thar is one pow
erful siroiig drink found in ail stores,
groceries, hotels, an pothccary thups.— |
It is Coneyac Brandy. It is made i
outen everything an bears a great
price, ah. \ our worthy speaker, my
brethering and sistein, knows it well, ah.
It makes a mans. cl his keep ins, ah, aud
when under its influence he is mity apt
to let the cat outen the hag, ah, aa con-1
less to things he olighten to tell. Tais
licker may be likened to the llomin
Catholicks; because when they gets
with thrtrpreest an under ihe influence
of spirets, they confess thar sins. A
Catholick preest my frierds, is a great
mm, as he keeps laige nunneries full uv ; :
S iict Peter it may be supposed he is
aliers ready, for the tex says :
‘■Gi\e strong drink unto him that is
reddy to perish, an wine unto them that
be hevry uv of heart.”
Thar is furthermore, my beloved fol
lerers uv the m ak and loly, another
monstrous niaa drink, outlandish in
name, abominable in smell, bitter in
taste and horrible to drink uv. It is La
ger Beer. ah. This kind of strong drink
fuddles the idee-;, upsets dijestion, obfus
ticates the understanding an leads the
drinker thereuf into the ways uv sin and
uv death. It may be likened to the
Mormons. They is wus th n the Bab
bioiii*>h idolaltirs ihat Nebicatsnez?ur the
the king had sot up. Jo Smith ** as thar
prodit, and they believes that Brigham
\ oung possess imaculist powers. T hey
has a grate number of wives, which is
kontrary to dyvtne teechin, ti>r one man
that is a true Christian can manage but
one womiii at a time without keepin his
sell in bylen woier, fir the text says :
“Give strong drink unto him that is i
reddy to perish, an wine unto them that
be uv hevy heatts.”
“An lastly my dyin friends, thir is a
glorious strong drink, ah, that will do
yer hearts good. It enlivens the feelins,
open the heart to deeds uv luv ah. You
cau drink it forever without nut km a
beest uv yourself. It is old Peech Bran- j
dy, the best uv al strong drinks. This I
speriN, my Christian hcerers may be !
compaired to the o and Hard Shell Baptists
dh. They never deviate from the old
tmek. No fallin from grase among uni.
When < nee make the eddy, they
keeps clear i.v thebieakers uv of vvhis
! ky, the quicksands uv Shampayne, the
whirlp<H>is of Jimmaky, the sholes uv
Ginocr Pop, the waves uv Coneyaok,
j and ihe sirocos uv L'ig *r Beer. But
j ihev steers right unto the havin uvold
Peech Brandy, an thar my dyin friends
the win may houl, the lighnins dash, the
thunders roll, and the yeth quake, the
old Hard Shell Baptists will set thar
megs,
but it makes no difference, my breth
ering. when we get to heaven, how we
get thar. The luvers if Shampayne
takes the’ristoeratic car uv Piecopaiion
tsn>, the disciples uv whisky prefers the
1 hgh prossur dubble b ie steeni lotc of
i Methodism, the drinkers of old Jamma
ky takes thar passage in the rrglar pa kit
uv Presbyterianism, the suckers uv Gin
ger Pop expects to wash limir way into
ife eveilastin in the cause uv Camel ism,
an whenever enny uv them gits thar,
i vou may then sirg “the Camels is com
log.”
Tlie swiggers uv old Coneyack ex
pects to make that trip to Jerusalem
Land in the motely raft uv Romin Ca
tholereism, while the swillcrs of Lager
Beer is wiilin to go to heaven in t ie flat
boot uv Mormonisra ah. But ha Bap
tists, ihe glorious old Hard Shel s, they
is willing to enter the gates uv heaven
bv faith, alone, and they intend to travil
har in the old wagon of Baptism. An
I hopes, niy Christian and dying friends,
to meet many uv you thar. But I am
afraid, 1 shant ah, fur I see that some is
reddy to leev an of gettin dry ah, an
the tex sa) s :
“Give strong drink unto them that is
reddy to perish, an wine unto them that
be uv hevvy hearts.”
Value the friendship of him who
sta ids by you in the storms* swat ms
of insects will surround you in the sun
shine. .
‘S'2jo IVoriil off ILigiit.
BT THE BEY. I>R. MI*ILZNBEfTO.
oVr Tliv footed owl here below.
Such ridiant gens are strewn.
Oh, what :cviue niiwr glow,
Mv G>d! ab nuTh v throt e !
• Ho bril limit h-re those* *ftroo of light—
There the full ocean rolls, how blight!
J! Bight's I>l tie < urtalc of tlie skv,
Wl'h thou aid g-msinwrougfit,
Hi ii iila* a roysi cd!icpv.
With Eltticrifig dlimomls fraught—
Re. Lt-r*, Thy tun } lc’s *. ut* r veil.
What splendor at ttieshriue must dwell !
TI e dazx'nig run at norntide hour.
For h from t i tUminii ve,
Flinging oVr earth the goldenshower,
I iil vale and mountain olan
Rut *hwi*, O Ford, one l enm of
What, tteiij tLe day where Thou dost triune.
Ah ! how ahull these dim eyes endure.
That *f ! ving rajs.
Or.TufW iny spiiit, ►oi-m ure,
I*V<*ri Tny glory fp.z* ?
’ Anoint, O Lord, anoint my sight.
ALd rolie me lor that \vc rui ol Ji^ht,
GERALDINE.
The following excellent story, talc
■cii from the ‘Tittle Pilgrim,’ we
hope nil of our young friends will
read:—
‘Well,’ exclaimed Geraldine, with
an impatient toss of the head—‘Well,
I was never before taxed with the
want of generosity, I am sure I
give away everything in the world.”
‘Excuse me—you do not.’
‘lndeed, aunt, I give up every
thing.’
‘Again, excuse me; there is one
thing you never give up.’
‘What, aunty V
‘ four temper.’
Geraldine pullyd at the fingers of
her gloves, one by one, and then tos
sed them on the table, while her
cheeks flushed, and her eyes grew
bright, and not w’ith pleasure.
‘I am sure 1 gave away all my j
money ; is not that being generous?’ |
‘You give away the thing, of all
others you love least, and which it
gives you the least trouble to part
with. All your wants and wishes
are supplied to you, without money.’ i
‘J give away my books and my
toys.’
‘These are constantly replaced by
others, —not at your own cost, but j
by tlie liberality of those whose love
is, perhaps, injudicious.’
‘1 even giveaway my pets.’
‘When you are tired of them.’
Geraldine burst into tears. ‘I am
sure,’ she said, sobbing, “I am sure
people seem to think they have done
duty when they give money; and 1
—gave —all—mine—yesterday—and
uncle Riel lard —sa id— I —was — so —
good—l should have—plenty —more
—to-day.’
‘However necessary money is to
us,’ observed aunt Jane, gravely, ‘I
often consider giving it is but a
small evidence of generosity, partic
ularly when certain of having it re
placed, let us look at this matter
steadily, and with a gentle, yet in
quiring spirit.’
‘You gave a shilling to dame God- ;
frey, the other morning, yon did not j
want the shilling. Do you remem- I
her what she said V
‘Yes, aunt,’
‘She said, ‘thank you, my dear
young lady; but, O, how grateful I
would be if you would read to me j
just one chapter of the New Testa- i
ment.’
‘I don’t like to read to old women,’
pouted out Geraldine.
‘Your generosity did not extend to
the sacrifice of doing what you dis
liked, but Mary Collier’s did.’
•Mary Collier,’ repeated the little ;
girl, disdainfully; poor little Mary i
Collier! how can she be generous?’
‘Mary Collier’s chest is weak, and
heaves and punts when she reads
aloud, and yet I often and often find
her sitting beside Dame Godfrey’s 1
bed, and doing—what you refused to
do—though you can read and sing j
without panting. Your shilling gilt j
robbed you neither of ease or com- 1
fort; Mary Collier suer itioed both —j
that was generosity. And there is j
that poor old woman, Alice Grey;;
Alice is one of the most generous ,
women ever I knew.’
‘Alice !’ exclaimed Geraldine; ‘why
Alice would not have bad a dinner at j
Christmas, but for your kindness—
bow can she be generous?’
‘There is one great gift, among ,
many which God gives us at our
birth, Geraldine, and which remains
i with us from the cradle to the grave
—ovr time. We work it or waste it
—we sell it ami exchange it, but still
it is our own —it is the only treasure
which the working man and the J
working woman possesses ; we have j
no right to squander or abuse it, or
to lead others to do so. Now Alice I
lived by her time —mind you, she j
Jives by it —so she understands and j
appreciates its value. If she leaves !
her daily labor, even for an hour, she
knows she is depriving herself of a
certain quantity of food, or light, or
tire, or abridging the size or quantity
of her poor dress, miserably scanty
as it is ; and yet Alice gives that
hour —aye, many hours—to comfort
the fatherless and the widow; she
works for others—she deprives her
self of what to her is necessary, to
serve others. That is generosity.
•I saw a little boy, the other day,
*ro into a baker’s shop and lie was
really hungry, and he was very fond
of lmns—all Tittle boys are—but the
greater matter was, he was hungry;
he bought a large two-penny bun ;
he was so hungry that he turned all
the marble and bits of string, and
odds and ends of queer boylike
things, out of his pockets, hoping to
find another penny, to add a small
bun to the large one, but he had not
even another farthing; so he took a
great hungry bite out of his bun,
and looked with pleasure at the piece
in his hand, spotted over with black
currants —‘What a nice bun,’ said
the little boy, ‘and I am so hungry!’
When he looked up from the bun, he
saw a pair of large blue eyes, staring
MACON, GA., FRIDAY, AUGUST 5, 1859.
1 from amid a shock of wild hair.—
Alas! the nose and lids, the cheeks
of the child who gazed so eagerly at
; his bun, were pinched and yellow
; from starvation. My little friend
saw it in a moment, and not a mo
. ment did lie hesitate, but, without a
word, lie walked up to the starving
child, and placed the remainder of
; the bun in his thin hand. That was
generosity. The boy who had the
1 bun was hungry and poor, vet lie re
mained hungry rather than suffer
one poorer and more hungry than
himself to starve. Now it is not
enough for you to say, ‘well done,
fine fellow !’ But 1 want you to go
and do likewise. It is not enough
for the heart to beat and the
eyes to swim in tears, when a gen
erous action is recorded; if it makes
I a proper impression you will not j
be happy until you have done like- ;
wise.’
Geraldine looked straight on. She
hardened her heart sometimes, and
when she did, you see it in the ex
pression of eyes turned almost to j
stone—eyes hard and fearless. She
i had a long time believed that she
was very generous in giving her
I money; her aunt’s observation had
nearly convinced her that generosi
ty was something more than giving
what she did not care for or want,
and it made her very uncomfortable;
but she was too stubborn to confess
that she was wrong. God bad not
yet softened her heart. She knew
j but little of prayer, and had very sel.
dom proved how a prayer is answer- :
ed, when it is laid before the Al- I
mighty in a pure and humble spirit- !
Aunt Jane loved her dearly, and the
more dearly she loved her, the more j
anxious she became that Geraldine
should conquer the evil and cultivate !
the good of her disposition ; but that j
is a thing the young are slow to un
derstand. They think, silly things, j
that those who love them most, will j
indulge them most.
‘I will tell you,’ continued aunt !
Jane, after a pause—for she was so
wise that she paused to let one thing i
sink into Geraldine’s mind before
she spoke of another—‘l will tell you
of a hoy who had an aggravating j
temper—it was not so very violent,
but it was wilful, obstinate, unyield- j
ing; if he was told to read atone
o’clock, write at two, and do his La- j
tin exercises at three, he would ar
gue that il was better to do his Latin
at one and read at three. Half his
time was spent in contradiction, lie
was absurd enough to suppose that
he knew better than his teachers; he
did not of course say that he did, but
he would act as if he did. He knew
nothing of the generosity which
yields a will to the will of others—
he had not learned the duty .of obe
dience, and did not see its advanta
ges.’
‘lts advantages ?’ questioned Ger
aldine.
‘Yes, its advantages. Is it not an
advantage to have everything provi
ded, everything thought of, every
thing prepared, everything that the
experience and knowledge of age can
suggest, done for youth—the thorns
removed from the path, the whole
business of life arranged, so ns to
prepare them for the least possible
outlay of t rouble to themselves—and
all required in return being obedi
ence and attention ?’
Geraldine’s eyes were growing
less stony, and she half muttered, in
a low tone, ‘that is true.’
‘This boy, like many girls, wanted
to learn only what he liked, and it ‘
would have been difficult to teach
him on these terms, for what he lik
ed this week he did not like the next;
and such was his spirit of opposition,
that if it were wished that lie should
like this, he would be sure to rush
at the belief that he liked that.
‘lf you are so contradictory,’ said
his father, ‘no one will love yon.’
‘ I don't care tor being loved/ said
the l*oy.
‘O, very well,’ said the father.
‘The next morning when he came
down stairs, he looked around, and
then offered his mother the morning
kiss. She turned from him, and he
saw she had been weeping.
‘You do not care for being loved,’
said bis father,‘and so as you don’t
care about being loved, you must try
1 and live without love. Love has
j hitherto toiled for you, love has
I clothed you, love has fed you, love
I has educated you, love has had pa
! tieiice with you, love lias rewarded
you, love has watched over you, love
has prayed for you—from your cra
dle you have been ministered to by
love; but yon do not care for be
ing loVed —so, now live without
love.’
‘The boy’s heart was hard, and so
he thought he could live without his
father’s work, and his mother’s bless
ing; lie thought he could live with
out love. lie bad no generosity in his
nature —if he bad, lie would have
curbed his temper; he would have
yielded all he had to yield —his will
—to the will of those who loved him.
He had nothing but that to give, in
return for the years of love, of labor,
of thought, of prayer, he had cost
his parents. It never entered into
his heart to feel, that his obedience,
his docility, his curbing hiinself, would
have been generous.’
‘Aunt Jane!’ exclaimed Geraldine,
bursting into a flood of honest tears,
‘though not a boy, I am that boy.—
Pray with me—pray for me—this
New Year’s day; pray that I may
feel and practice, and believe, that
giving u]) what we most cherish is
the only true generositv.”— Mrs. S.
C. Hall
The Minstrels of Spring-*
BY JAMES .V. GEYEE.
The Minstrels of Spring have returned,
To gladden the woodland and grove,—
I To charm with a song they have learned.
As sweet as the accents “of love.
O. list to ihe carols on high,
While Hitting on gold-burnished wing:
And tell me what numbers can vie.
The warble of birds in tlie Spring.
The blue-bird, the robin, and lark,
! . Aire morning's bright glories appear.
To chase off the shadows so dark.
And dry up the dew ’s pearly tear, —
•We out on tne hill und the lawn.
’ heir wild matin anthems to sing.—
to herald the coniiiiisol'dawn,
And welcome the fairy-like Spring.
How oft have I wandered along.
Or stood ‘neatl l the blossoming trees.
And drank in the binding's wild song.
That ring on the flower-scented breeze.
| And then 1 have longed for a voice.
And pinions on which I might rise,
To sail with the birds and rejoice,
And lift my glad songs to the skies.
I love the wild minstrels of Spring,
Rapt feelings their wood-notes impart;
Their full gushing melodies bring
\ halm to the grief-stricken heart.—
Then pour out your musical strains,
Ye birdlings of fanciful plume.—
Make vocal the hill-tops and plains,
Rejoice o’er the late Winter’s tomb.
Writing: Compositions
“ Father,” said Henry K., “my
teacher says that all the boys in my
class must write a composition, and
hand it to him by next Saturday
noon. \\ hat shall I do ? 1 can’t
t hink of a single thino- to write about.
L wfish you would tell me what to
write.”
“It will be your composition, my
son, if I tell you what to write.”
“But what shall I do, father? I
am sure 1 cannot write one.”
“Let it rest for the present. I
want you should tell me, now, about
your visit to your uncle Henry’s. I
have not had leisure to ask you any
thing about it since you returned.”
“1 had a very pleasant visit, fath
er. In the morning cousin William
took me over to Mr. Greene’s garden,
to see his tulip beds. They were
beautiful. I never saw such a vari
ety of colors.”
“Mr. Green seemed pleased to see
that I admired them so much, and
asked me if I had any flowers at
home. I told him I had a small bed.
He said he wouldgive me some bulbs
in the fid!, and if I set them out, and
take good care of them, I should
have tulips of my own in the spring.
“I thought lie was very kind. I
thanked him and told him I should
he very glad to have some tulips in
my bed.
“After we returned from Mr. G.’s
I looked over cousin William’s books
tili dinner time. After dinner I
walked in the garden with aunt Ma
ry, and Lucy, and William.
“Lucy showed me her bed, in
which were some beautiful hearts
ease. She said there was a beautiful
story about heart’s ease in the Child’s
Paper, and she would tell me all she
could remember of it.
“It said ; A great king had a beau
tiful garden, filled with all kinds of
trees, fruits, and flowers. One day
the gardener came to him, and told
him that the trees and flowers were
all dying.
“The king went out to see what
was the cause. First he went to a
grand old oak tree, of which he was
very proud, and said, ‘Why, oak,
what is the matter with you ?’
“And the oak said, ‘I don’t think
lam of any use. 1 can’t bear either
fruit or flowers, and only take up
room. If I was only a rose-bush, I
could bear sweet flowers; or if 1 was
a peach or pear-tree, or even a grape
vine, I could give you fruit.’
“Then he went to his favorite rose
bush, and that said, ‘I am of no use,
because 1 cannot bear fruit.’ And
the grape-vine complained that it
was a poor weak creature, and could
not even bear up its own weight, but
must cling to a tree or post.
“As the king was feeling very sad,
to see Ids garden in such a condition,
he suddenly spied a little hourt’s-ease
with its face turned up to him, look
ing as bright and smiling us possible.
He asked the heart’s-ease how it
came to be so blooming, when every
thing around it was wilting away.
“Why,” said the hearts-ease, “I
thought you wanted me here. If
you bad wanted an oak, you would
have planted an acorn ; if you bad
wanted roses, you would have set
out a rose-bush; and if you had
wanted grapes, you would have put
in a grape-vine. But I knew that
what you wanted of me was to lie a
heart’s-ease ; and so I thought I
would try and be the very best little
heart’s-ease that ever I can.’
“I liked the story very much, and
thought to myself, if I am only a
boy, I will try to be the very best
son and brother ‘that ever I can.’
“When we came into the house, lit
tle Edward wanted me to play horse
with him.
“I was just going to tell him that
I did not wish to play, when I tho’t
of the heart’s-ease and said to myself,
I will try to he the kindest cousin to
little Edward ‘that ever lean.’
“Just before I started for home,
Edward came and climbed upon my
knees,” and looking into my face
with his bright, black eyes, said,
‘Henry will come again soon, won’t
:he?’
“I felt that I had tried to be a good
cousin to him IThele Henry brought
me home in his buggy, and so I end
, ed a pleasant visit with a pleasant
ride.”
In a little while after Henry had
finished his story, his father said to
him, “I have a composition here, for
j*ou to carry to your teacher next
Saturday.”
I Henry looked surprised, and ask
ed what it was.
“Shall I read it to you ?” said his
father.”
“If you please, tather.”
He then read from a paper before
him the story of Henry’s visit to his
uncle’s just us he had related it.
“Why, father, you don’t call that
a composition.”
“Certainly I do, and a very good
one for a boy of your years.”
“But I should not think of writing
a composition in that way, just as I
would talk.”
“Why not ? Can yon tell me what is
the difference between composition
and conversation ?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well it is this : In conversation
you speak your thoughts, in compo
sition you write them. Did you
think it any hardship to sit down
and tell one about your visit ?”
“No father. It was no hardship at
all, but a pleasure.”
“If I had requested you to write
me an account of it, would you have
found this as easy ?”
“No father, I think not.”
“This is because you are not in the
habit of writing them. We cannot j
do anything with ease, which we are {
not in the habit of doing.
“Your teacher requires you to
! write compositions, because he wish
es you to form the habit of writing
your thoughts. You will often find
it very convenient to be able to write,
as well as to speak your thoughts.—
Practice will make it easy for you
to do this.
“The next time you have a com
position to write, remember it is on
ly thinking, or expressing your
thoughts on paper. This would have
been strictly your composition, and
a very good one, if you had written
down your thoughts instead of my
doing it for you.”
“I believe I have had a wrong
idea about writing compositions,”
said Henry. “I think 1 shall not
dread it quite so much again. I have
a good many times thought about
different things, and 1 think 1 can
manage to write some of them on !
paper.”
Life.
Tho days of infancy tire all a dream.
How fair, hut oh! how short they seetn —
’Tis life's sweet opening Spring!
The days of Youth advance:
The hounding limb, the ardent glance.
The kindling sou! they bring—
It is life's burning Summertime.
Manhood—matured with wisdom's fruit,
Reward of Learning’s deep pursuit—
Succeeds as Autumn follows Summer time.
And that, and that, alas! goes by;
And what ensues? The languid eye,
The failing frame, the soul d'ercast:
’Tis Winter's sickening, withering blast,
Life's blessed season—for it is the last.
—Robert Southey.
A Touching Scene.
A French paper says that Lucille
Rome, a pretty girl with blue eyes
and fair hair, poorly but neatly clad,
was brought before the Sixth Court
of Correction, under the charge of
vagrancy.
“Does any one claim you?” asked
the magistrate.
“Ah! my good sir,” said she, 1
have no longer any friends; my fath
er and mother are dead—l have on
ly mv brother James, but he is as
young as 1 am. Oh, sir! what can
lie do for me ?”
The Court must send you to the
House of Correction.”
“Here I am sister—here I am! do
not fear!” cried a childish voice from
the other end of the Court. And at
the same instant, a little hoy with a
lovely countenance, started forth
amidst the crowd, and stood before
the Judge.
“Who are you ?” said he.
“James Rome, the brother of this
poor little girl.”
“Your age ?”
“Thirteen.”
“And what do you want?”
“I come to claim my Lucille.”
“But have you the means of pro
viding for her ?”
“Yesterday I had none, but now I
have. Don’t be afraid, Lucille.”
“Oh, how good you are, Janies!”
“Well let us see, my boy,” said the
magistrate; “tlie Court is disposed
♦qdo all it can for your sister. But
yoll must give us some explanation.”
“About a fortnight ago, sir,” con
tinued the boy, my mother died of a
bad cough, for it was very cold at
home. We were in great trouble.—
Then I said to myself, I will become
an artizan, and when I know a good
trade, I will support my sister. I
went apprentice to a brush maker.
Every day I used to carry her half
my dinner, and at night I took her
secretly to my room, and she slept on
my bed while I slept on the floor.—
But it appears she had not enough to
eat. One day she begged on the
Boulevard, and was taken up. Winn
I heard that, I said to myself: Come
mv hoy, things cannot last so; you
must find something better. I soon
found a good place where I am lodg
ed, fed and clothed, and have twenty
francs a month. I have also found a
good woman, who, for these twenty
francs will take care of Lucille, and
teach her needle work. I claim my
sister.”
“My boy,” said the Judge, “your
conduct is very honorable. Howev
er your sister cannot be set at liber
ty till to-morrow.”
“Never mind, Lucille,” said tlie boy,
“I will come and fetch you to-mor
row.” Then turning to the magis
trate, he said, “I may kiss her, may
I not, sir ?”
lie then threw himself into the
arms of his sister, and both wept
warm tears of affection.
A western editor on hearing it re
marked that persons in drowning
conditions suddenly recollected all
the transactions of their lives, wish
ed that a few of his delinguent sub
scribers would take to bathing in
deep water.
Frornthe LaGranye Reporter, Extra, July SO.
Letter from lion. SI. 13. Hill.
LaGrange, Ga., July 25th. 1559.
Mr Dear Brother: —Excuse me for de
i laying so long an answer to your letter.
Candor requires me to admit that much of
this delay is owing to an indisposition on my
part to write politics. Tt is not necessary for
me to say to you , that this delay is not in the
least attributable to a want of respect for
yourseli ; for I can truly say, if there exists
a class of men for whom, as citizens, I enter
tain the highest respect, it is the class to
which you belong—men whose lives evince
i that their only connection with politics is to
| aid in the establishment of correct princi
ples, and in securing a proper and honest ad
ministration of tlie laws of the land. With
such men law and principle, rather that par
ty and orjice, constitute the great object of
i desire.
“What shall we of the South now do?” is
your question.
After the discussions of nearly half a cen
i tury on the various issues presented by the
institution of slavery in its relations to the
Federal aud State Governments, the coun
try, it seems to me, has arrived at a point
where these discussions, with all their dan
! gerous tendencies, may be terminated on a
correct and safe basis, honorable to all men
and to every section of the Union—if, in
deed, a settlement and peace on any basis
whatever be possible.
Whatever may have been open questions
on this subject heretofore, every honest
thinker is compelled now to see, that there
is no ground for difference of opinion or ac
tion among those who seek the truth, and
realiy desire to obey the laws, and let the
country have peace. If this be true, and
agitators still continue to distract us, we may
know that truth is not their object, law is not
their rule, and with such agreement is impos- i
sible, and all further labor to secure it would
be idle. With all so bent, argument is sim
ply folly.
The Supreme Judicial Tribunal of the
United States has solemnly decided that our
Southern citizens are co-equal owm rs of
the Territories, and that to these Territories
tiie Southern man has a right to carry his
slaves and there hold them with precisely the
same rights belonging to any other citizen
from aDy other section with any other prop
erty ; and that the General Government has
no pow'er to destroy, or abridge, or in any
manner render ineffectual the enjoyment of ,
this right and this property. In so deciding,
the Court but declared simple and plain ele- ,
mentary principles of Constitutional law,
which with mauy of us, were never consid
ered doubtful. Whatever of honesty, char
ity may have accorded to those who pro
fessed to think otherwise, heretofore, cer
tainly do man has even a right to think
otherwise now, since obedience to law is a !
duty.
The Court not only decided that the Gen
eral Government could not exclude us from
the territories, but with equal emphasis has
also declared that this power to exclude, not
being possessed, could not be delegated to
any Territorial Government or power.
Since writing the foregoing, I have re
; examined the decision, and cannot refrain
lrom extracting the following sentence :
‘And no words cau be found in the Con
stitution which gives Congress a erreater
power over slave property, or which en
titles property of that kind to less protection
than property of any other description. The
only ] >ower conferred is the power coupled with
the duty of guarding and protecting the owner
in his rights.”
We then perceive that the whole question j
of right, power and duly, in relation to !
slavery in ihe Territories has been settled ; \
and settled too, not by a party platform to
be changed or violated as policy, or caprice,
or bad faith might dictate; not by the Kan
sas bill, nor by any Congressional act, sub
ject to double constructions to suit latitudes,
and repeals to suit prejudices; but settled by
the Supreme Court, aud settled as the law
of the Constitution plainly and distinctly de
clared, and thus lifted high above the clamor
ot the politician, and the designing trickery
of [tarty conventions.
The people, then, my dear sir, have noth
ing to do but to demand that this law shall
be respected as hw, and that the rights thus
secured shall no longer be the wind whistles
for demagogues at the hustings, nor the sub
ject for Delphic sentences of platform com
mentators. Herd lies the rock of safety
to the Sou th— peace to the Union—prosper
ity to the country —and of death to small
men.
What ought the people now; to do to make
sure this settlement, or rather respected
this law. To determine this question let
us look for a moment at the obstacles in the
way.
No man who fairly observes the current
of political events, can fail to see that two
dangerous assaults are now being made upon
these wise and correct decisions, and the
rights they involve. The one assault openly
attacks aud seeks to overturn the decisions;
the other, while pretending to admit, adroitly
evades and seeks to render them nugatory
in effect.
The first of these assaults is made by the
Northern Republican party. This party
openly declares that the decisions in the Dred
Scott and Amy cases are wrong and shall
be reversed. To accomplish this result they
propose, through their greater population, at
I the baliot box, to take into their own hands
the entire administration of the Government,
and thus procure and enforce a construction
of the Constitution favorable to their views.
After mature deliberation I can see but
one reply for this people, and that is war—
| war in every sense by which the term is de
fined, or definable. Can argument reach
them? It is exhausted. Can law bind
them ? It is ihe law they are organized to
dely—to violate. Can appeals for justice
move them? It is justice to one half the
Union which they seek to destroy. Can we
hope for peace through some fancied com
promise or compact in the future ? Can we
make a better, a more solemn compact, than
the present Constitution? Have we better,
or wiser, or purer men than its authors, to
i make another? Made in the freshness and
; purity of the morning ol our history—made
by patriots who had struggled through com
mon dangers, consecrated by the presiding
! spirit of the great leader of the revolution,
and hallowed by every recollection that can
endear, and strong in every promise that
can inspire hope—if our present Constitution
cannot command the respect of fanaticism, 1
can confide in no other agreement with the
fanatic short of an absolute surrender.
Formerly the powers of the General Gov
ernment on this subject might be regarded, in
charity, as an open question, and resistance
to the mere election of a person entertaining
different views from ourselves, might not
have been so easily defended; but to resist
the success of such a party, with such pur
poses, now, can no longer be regarded as
other than a right and a duty; because,
since these decisions by the Court, such a
party is seeking nothing but a plain, open
and defiant violation of the laws—the law
NUMBER 19.
1 which makes us equals—and to submit to
them is to submit to traitors, aud by thesub
; mission, ourselves would become accesso
ries to the crime of treason, and that too
against a Government which the rebels seek
to destroy only because it protects our fire
sides, our property and our all. This states
| the conclusion strongly, but logic never lead
to a truer conclusion, nor patriotism wanned
to a nobler one.
The second assault comes from the Demo
cratic Party, or at least the wiug of that
party lead by Senator Douglas.
These enemies set out by admitting that
l the Dred Scott decission is law—that the
Southern man has the right to take his slave
to the common territory, and that Congress
shall not prohibit him from doing so. This
is a long way on the road to right, but if it
lead, by a crook, to the same goal as the first,
it is all the more dangerous, since honest
men may be seduced to travel it.
What else does Mr. Douglas and his fol
lowers say ? They say we have the right to
carry our slaves to the territories, but the
right or power to hold them there is a different
thing, and this shall depend upon the will of
a majority of the territorial settlns. That we
have the right to carry our slaves to the ter
ritories, and hold them if ive can, but that if,
after we get there, the Territorial Legisla
ture, or the people, or the mob, shall discrim
inate against us, or refuse to protect us by
the enforcement of law, or shall take our
property iu slaves, or shall otherwise render
them useless—way, the Government must
not interfere, but we must submit, or help
ourselves as best we cun! This is a fair
statement of ‘‘Popular Sovereignty,” falsly
so-called, and it does seem to me its very
statement is enough to enlist every honest
man against it.
The naked doctrine is that while we have
a right to our property in slaves in a terri
tory, yet, if the powers in the territory
choose to invaue or destroy that right, or
render useless that properly, we have no
remedy ! To a lawyer no proposition could
be more absurd, to a citizen none more
| shocking, and to a candid statesman none
more disgusting.
To sustain this doctrine of Senator Doug
las and his followers, we have to admit at
least (bur positions or assumptions, each of
which is a fatal and palpable error, and all of
which are neither more nor less than aboli
tion dogmas.
Ist. Ihis doctrine assumes that the tenure
by which we hold property in slaves, is dif
ferent from that by which we hold other
chattel property. But in fact our title to a
slave is precisely the same everywhere, and
especially as members of the Federal Gov
ernment, as the title to our horse, and the
law ot the L nited States, which makes it
larceny in the teuitories to steal a thing of
value, makes it larceny to steai my slave.
2nd. It assumes that special legislation is
necessary to create, or at least to preserve
property in slaves, and that more especially
are we m the power of Territorial Legislation
on this subject. I am aware that one or
two party leaders of notoriety from the
South have admitted that slavery is an insti
tution which depends solely upon the muni
cipal law of the place where it exists; but
this position is contrary to all the authori
ties on the subject, and contrary to the di
rect decisions of the United States Courts
Besides, it must be remembered iu this
connection, that these same party leaders,
have at some period, managed to admit al
most. if not altogether, ever y dogma of Free
soilism. I write this in no spirit of crimina
tion, but only because it is the truth of his
tory, and is in the line of my argument.
Property in slaves is in no sense the crea
ture of municipal laws. So far from it I do
not know of a single old State in thi3 Union
which has ever created the right of property
in slaves by legislation. Certainly slaves
were brought into Georgia, not only without
law, but against law, and so the matter as far
as creating statutes are concerned, stands to
this day. We have regulating statutes, and
that is all; precisely as the United States
have, and must have regulating statutes in all
the territories. Besides, if a man convert
my slave to his own use even in Georgia, my
remedy for his recovery, is by the old Eng
lish action of Trover. Why ? Because a
negro is a chattel , and the actions of Detinue
and Trover are remedies for the recovery of
chattels. When a Southern man emigrates
with his slaves to the common Territories,
by what law is he protected? By the Con
stitution and laws of the United States, in
cluding the remedy for the recovery of chat
tels, and the law for the punishment of lar
ceny.
By the laws of the United States, he who
steals my slave in a territory is guilty of lar
ceny, and he who converts my slave is lia
ble to me in damages, for the same reason in
both cases—the slave is by the law of the
same power, property of value. The Courts
of the United States are open in. the Terri
tory, for the administration of these laws.
The Slaveholder is not dependent on the
Territorial Legislature tor his title, or his
remedy, but is altogether independent of
it in both points, because both are recog
nized and protected by a Constitution and
a law which Territoiial Legislatures can
not repeal. The national flag is the Slave
holder s power and protection wherever it
floats.
But suppose the Territorial Legislature
should pass a law against you any how: or
suppose the Courts and juries, and people
should refuse to enforce the law in your fa
vor, but by force execute an unconstitutional
act against you ? What then ? The answer
is easy, for
3rd. Thi3 doctrine ot Mr. Douglas assumes
that there can be such a thiDg as a Govern
ment w hich does not protect the citizen, and
cannot execute its own laws. Is the Gov
ernment to look on idly, and see its own of
ficers violate its own laws to the injury of its
own citizens ? Has it no power to protect ?
Then it is no Government, but a farce. Ha3
it no will to protect ? Then it is mean and
oppressive, aud entitled to neither respect
nor obedience. Efas it the power and the
will, but fails to execute either because th*
polity or platform of a dominant parly for
bids it ? Then such a party is meaner and
more oppressive still, is unfit to administer
any Government, and the very salvation of
both the Government and the citizen de
mands that such a party be repudiated by
all honest men. Obedience and protection
are i eciprocal, and the first is only due by
the citizen when the latter is accorded by
the Government. Protection to the person
and property of the citizen is the very ob
ject of Government, and it is only on this
condition that obedience is a virtue or diso
bedience a crime.
4th. But again, this doctrine of Mr. Doug
las allows to the Territorial Legislature and
people what it denies to Congress. But
how? for the Territorial Legislature is the
creature of Congress, and is actually created
by Congress for no other purpose, than to
observe the law and protect the citizens—till
the citizens in person and property—and
when it fails or refuses to do this, it has de
feated the only object of its organization, and
the General Government —each department