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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