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VOLUME 10. FALL GOODS! * LARGE STOCK! Cheap Prices and ELEGANT GOODS BOSS, COM & EDS’ “BAZAAR OF FASHION.” V E *°" r n **” re * I -‘ ! ■*’ rer-'v.uj tlie lar^wt >\ ittnc i* stocs of ilcb.eircaul DRESS GOODS that II lire (wen r t4***a- and pristi*** to offer to a fk>!< luukMe w*rl*t- To *>’ Lat OUR STOCK IS RICH AND GORGEOUS reread hi tenth a*i'r >nt*onli, at 1 noth u u nmlril Ikt tti- It watt <4 the LATEST GE3IS to call and see for Our tUdt of STAPLE GOODS wat i.eeer before to cof.pitte, and when we add oar CARPET DEPARTMENT, whica dbplaft tvely gru\* and style, we nrc prepared to m*J Utal OUR STOCK, u a wh'de, present* a wttt a ettr.d a. I* 5* LARGE & ATTRACTIVE. c VLL aa4 allow tit the pteaMirc to show T"U oar stuck : ROSS, CO LEM At” A* ROSS, Cotton A venae, i Sept JS-wtf. Macr.a. Gn pr “I're*..” ••Sle#eenr. r.“ard “TrVpi’ ti~ rr-r* wiak'y SIOO REWAKI)! HORSE STOLEN! CTOLKN fr*m my utr-ie, thre m Irt tr* m Mac *o, on the Hun4< R 4. on the r>t*ht us tbs I.t. iM.. a I Hark Hay !i wl:tt a biie Mtip tit h' ne. vlilt fa eye#, two # Ute feet (ft* aw nect>i!*Wti). 5 or 6 yean old. medium •u, veiyihUbtl tMly. The oU.re reward wil. he paid :#r the Uid and ht>re with tbffli.rnt to CMivte', or Taeoiy-flvc DUUri for the h** alone oct?*—4t moitt b. atapHiKomy. TO THE PLANTERS OF GEORGIA. WEST fce GODFREY, AGES rs OF THE Planters* Association of Ga., Will continue to represent their friends in tJw stile of Produce mt Sneanneih. rpiIASKt ri.KWiUe ptlroun of the srf mam. ther l take this re canton to Worm llw Flatter* of Geu;i t that they are now ready to wait uj> tb.ni it the en-aiac S,a *<>. and trust by etrtct and fa ih*i I attention to biwMit, to Civc utlvet.d aiithcii tit* all wb* may favor *bem .1 h erwtthOu*nn<eti*ofCi*tfa. *lne-. hkt, V.. r with order, for the pa-clisae us Family and Fiat.tat on u; eiiea. jt. B —C.emnL-nion on the .’e of Cotton, So cruu pr bale, ml uetoiaary rates lor other produce. DvAAO C WEFT, JAMES E GODFRKT. ‘■avaanah. A'lf. 57. !s r *F.—to J-n. 1, I SO. •ANOTHER WANDERER NEGRO.’ ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD! T WILL five fifty Pollan fur the n and xaft* J. Mvm to me of my uuii who ha* beta **ft wander*-r” for the ia.4 twelve months. and ait euttal amount f*r the coavidimt of anv white man who br -r him.— I John 1* ah eat 45 year* old. *f lark complealoti, about flee feet nine iach* hhth i and musrular. lias a very heavy ch< and rijrb pc**hahty i.-w lt: Tbeie i a artwuitrb> •i*ed irttruhr *oi wa his lock, (caaed by a full.) hut he mar lie M-!tlh**t by lfyhf tnartes in*'icatlnj’ the points fr>tu ; m ~ h ‘-y r ' i tl f* r iJv aUe*hi*rl Inf a ttMre cut! ; ele.p vrt fre*rr ca**h han*! during fe*s initcy. It U ‘ prttwMe that hy La in the vicinity of LLoAi, lut be ] mar have l*eem idP to wiiut did. nf aectbiciby a j white aaut. * ‘ bK. try* V. April 22, If. (Tairgraph copy.) The Driggs’ Patent PIANO FORTE. I.’ am now readj to *n*wtr the >•( repeated queeHon, “Who mita* the be** Ftan*.s y” 1 au.er, unqualifiedly, DRIOOS, PAKMELEK Jt CO. of Sew York. 1 have ! b* vn tubing Plano* *3 jrsar*. nhd claim to uado-rstaud the in.4rnn .nt thor*.ubtw. IJiiw Fern Xirtli tijimJy to oatbia ahna tied fb*t. t bare ion every Irt of the I rir> I‘Kno, nnd ral other crlebrwtod •nee, in ptatvmnf briif n.l The I Ftano far iicels l other* in two rery ta*i>.>rtni.t rnatknia'*, d': volume nnd •wretnow of ton-, and enpuity hr ataylnc in tune. The tone ! pnntnevd a* n. ieh *s |ow.ttde libr the V olin, there being two rounding tomU c.*uvvx outward*. The heavy, thick uinirit*, Uock* nnd brace, me d* i*e nway with, to n duniterhliirainl f<* twinl The power and *weetne**of tone in to that of the be*. Grand Finao. The capacity hr *ta> ih in lane 4>ueud* on n newly In vented Irou Ftme.or hrd-(inU*. which*i wain- dllkrkll'n and i* entirely Itw from the cibtntorr pwl o’ the Instni r.ent. There Ungreat rn.|>ruvetneLt In the-unruer of pet ting on the Suit p. they not twine liable to runt or to Ur at tb.ir Nwriuga, and in the arrangement of the damper*. The (Ungee, hammer*.!< .ah hi i, and eveiy part ot the e*!on U made in manner that cannot t eaceiied. The ftdlowing U from Thai: eie : “Mr. 8. B. Ihixi—l have tamine.l yc>or new Plano Forte, and cordlnliv apyrove of lie eyateni of coor>uc-ion . it* frmclpie* l.y which great l> crease of vihratniy power i* ol.lamed, being ten ain.j.ie and peHectiy phnn>ph cal. The lone is grai.dai.ii noh.e. It ha> erril laja- i!y for mt taiu'itgthewwic.l orrlnglrg. nnd It* volume orb ne or rower. 1 hawaneeer heard eaceiied in aeMk parity, .ltd lymiothetic •wetteear. 8 THALIIkRii.’ Similar ceWltlint.e have been recetwd from IMwtalk. Mrarkoweh, llaeoa and many other rminem ettiste. Oue oflheee Indrum ni tuny herrena’ Mi-*r* Virgin* Tt ahail be able ooa to fill onters not only with there pi ano*. but other* of a very Beat pallr-n— four large round Corner*, goth v legs, rarei.d. C Mlavrk • arr.r.ged that pi. -merer he ptai ‘ton them the HUne a* on the T •-clave pl an. < except ** the lower bare Mien. A tan, 7 c'ae piaao* of the came m ike and jwtTerti. which we will roll ci.rj.rwng y - neap. The I trig.* plain will he wdu at ata-ut the *une price, a* --tiler piuim, according to Imrh of cue. 1 have the agency forth* *ler-f lb, re plan-* -or the State Ot Georgia, l >rr!en from any part of the Spat* wii! >* Pro|t!y aUended to. O. B. HtCE. Direct to Maewn. ahrywwtL BHD IESBEHAEB. Mffß BCROHARD hv returned from Sew York with WATCHES JEWELRT and Fancy 4rtldeN ever brought to Ge -gja. and taov are now - pened and ex p-wed he axle at our HeniUiftd Store ON VSerry Street, Two doors front the Trlrgrapk tU’itdin-j, at tke Sat/* of tke 810- WATCH, T odbu w, invite at! t.l rail and ue the Uft * aovriilc.— Our retcctiou* embrace RICH, RARE AND GORGEOUS STVLET or ohxaxerts, PIN'S. RINGS, BRACELETS. CHAIN'S. LADIjNp LXAMFJXEU A DIAMOND WATt HE-S DIAMOND. PE.VKL. ORAI-C.tR BCN'CLE and other full and half wtn of Jewelry, , mnoe of new deetfen jovt a °af desire la call aaittcu or sttmtlcn to owr of Walcb -7 ’tb m %kcr". Cowderuy, Hodtlei. Modalsrt, i * ***** to order fv as. Wr bare also oa Ihtt m valttoUe JurttkmiQ aim Nanila Ouo&wax( A WT|fu Tauricty of cl> cks—lslc* atexiicc Silver aod Ktjdcd Tea Setu,ntdMrs, GobteUjfle, Musical Instruments *f every dncripUon. fail and knife at our varied stock o \ IIHJNM. *"€01*0 call the attention of the trade to our Mock of ooljid r* £jn s , *** ‘tn* and beet reliction ever ‘rough! to thi* market KKPII HIM, Prtßptl} Door and Warraatrd. v era ri* a bcrghard. “K 4 * fp of the Big Walch. Wluablt Plantation for Sale. I ** ••• offering farreie my ptanUdioa in Jtmee County * r **^ above Macon, oa the (tcmuigee River, con reran eelwad. Attached to the place ia * acres diver bottom!. Term, ooe and two yrere’ ?* o pure hare valuahi* Land*, will do well Ba ..* xu>tlM hbort re lam determined to Mil. ROBERT LUKDI DEt. LITTLE’S VERMIFUGE. In LARGE Dottles and Vials. Nothin? e’** iv repaired to relieve children of Worm.*; and bexide* being one of the cheapest and beat Vermifuge* ever offered to the public. It* fro j qnent u* iu f*mt'ie* will nave much trouble and [ expi nve m well a* tbe live* of many children—for I eight out of every ten cue* generally require it. LITTLE’S ANODYNE COUGH DROPS. A certain cure fur Cold*, Cough*, bronchitis, Atthmo. Pnin in the Breast ; also Croup, Whooping Cough*. Ac., Ac , amongst Children. This i* a pleuhant medicine to take, producing im mediate relief, and in nine oat of ten raxes a prompt care It exerri-e* the inert controlling influence over Coughs nnd Irritntiou of the Langs of any re medy known, often stopping the most violent ia a few hoar*, or at m >xt in a day or two. Many cases thought to be decidedly consumptive, have been promptly cured by using a few bottles. As aaodyee expectorant, without axlringing the bowel*, it stauds paramount to nil cough mixtures. LITTLE’S FRENCH MIXTURE. This i* prepared from a French Recipe (In the form* of So. 1 and 2; the ffrrt for the acute, and No. 2 for the chronic stage, and from it* uuexampled success is likely to supersede every other remedy for the cure of disease* of the Kidney* and Bladder, Goeorrhoral, Bleanorrhceal, and Leuchorrhiesi or Fluor Albas affections. This extensive compound combine* properties totally different in taste and character from any thing to be fouud in the Cnited State* Pharmacopoeia ; and in point of safety and effi ciency ia not rivalled in America. LITTLE’S RINGWORM & TETTER OINTMENT. FORTIS, No. *. Hundreds of cases of Chronic Tetters, Scald Heads, and dinea.es of the skin generally, have been cured by this remedy ; and since tbe introduction of the No. 2 preparation ibeing stronger scarcely a case has been found that it will not eif- -easily eradicate In a short time For the cure of Cancerous Sore* and ClrerwU i* applied in the form of piasters, and is almost infallible. In more tune, twe hundred places in Georgia, and In the Soothers States, they are to be had ; and a* there are scamps about who are counterfeiting his remedire, by palming off their own or something else, by Using the name or similar names (for no pa tent i* wanted or secured amid tbe absurd patent* of the day.) let all be eautioued to look well for the [ signature of the Proprietor, thus:— nod also hi* name blown into the glass of each bottle JH~ All order* and letters to be addressed to LITTLE & BRO., Wholesale Druggists, Macon, Ga For sal by E. L. Stmhecker, Monnnl & Castien, Macon,and by Mervhantsand Drug gist* everywhere. Sept 23 FOR NEW YORK. FAKE REDUCED, Preigld and Passage as Lena as by any other ST33A.IVI33TIS. Cabin Passage. :::: sls. b) ti e splendid and commodious Side itltpol Steamer!* AUGUSTA. I-Sno tons Capt. M.S. Woodhull, FLORIDA, !-• ** *’ Isaac Orowell, i ALA LAM A I,‘kiO “ ** Geo. R. ftcLeuck. And fir* class Propeller STAR OF THE SOUTH Muu Capt. Thomas Lyon. . j. These steamship# belong *tbe old established and rejpbefr . .a’ - r.tc l.ne. known as the ! Os “W’ -■’ S A ’‘New York and Savannah JhA f “’n \ Stea-n Navigating Cotnpa- By.".nul in qmtfort. are.-m ma ided by experienced, I killful. careful and po'He - -ffleers ■ JOHN It. WILDER A GALUF. Agci ts, Savar nah. SAMUEL L. MITCHII.L A BON, July?—tf Agent*. New York. MARBLE WORKS! iff J. B. ABTOPEtSOV, Manufacturers of and Dealers in FOKliUn AID DOIISTIC MARBLE MUX U M HNTS, TtMB STONES, MANTLES. FU KNIT IT HE. SLABS, &c., Corner of :frd and I'luiiiD Sl*. MACON , OA. apj 11—ts. ‘IKIOH S.HDliaai Oh the Europe*n Piau, CITY OF NFW YORK. Single Hoohis 50 Cents jier Dny. City Eall Square, corner of Frakfort Street, , ; (Oppoutie City I!*!l.) Meak. aa they may is oni-red in the vjrci.mi Rcf.-c levy. There is a and Lath Ki* iii attaclted , to the Dote!. X. k- Be ware of lluunrrt and Ilarkuieu, who say we are lull. K. FKKMH, Proprietor. Angu#t 9, 1859. SAVE FREIGHT AND COMMISSIONS fpr Carhart & Curd. /\§\ * SOLI AGEXS FOR FAIRBANK S SCALES. A FULL A re-wt it 4 of Flaltorm and Counter Seale# now I #V ta store at and for sale at their price*. NO FREIGHT j aUI'KD t)riler*Uen for Rail-Oid Ware-h-use and other large hcaiea. We wul see Utvci properly put up. trey tl—'f. DR. ABBETT’S VEGETABLE LIVER AND DYSPEPTIC Moclicino. A CAFE and effectusl remedy for all kinds of Liver Dis- A. e*ea aadtadtatseiiions that oriir.aa'c tnjm a diseased ■taL- r in-.etlvity n" tte Liver; also, nls Bio. and Hit, can be bad efZciiia A Hunt, Pruggi. - a, corner of 2d A Cbeiry- Sta., Macon. Ga, and of J. N. Ooff. E*q, rear Fowerevllle. Hoos n, Cos, L. B. ABDKTT, Proprietor, oct W wA,w —1 Thmnaxtnn. Ga. JUST RECEIVED. AT R. P. MeKVOkt*. a large lot of 8 ELF-S EALING , CAN>. Ki.ive.and Fork , Jartot* and Teat Aets. Also M R PtTt HKIUs. may 1-ts Gas Fixtures. rrHANDAURR.*. FRXDANTB and BRACKRTSofaI V/aty:•-* i oat received uvd Icr mle by •iyll-S B, F. ROBS * Cos. MACON, GA., FRIDAY, DECEMBER ), 1 Ss!>. THE GEORGIA CITIZEN IS PUBLISHED EVLRV FRIDAY MORNING BY L. F. W. ANDREWS. Office —ln Hornes Bnildincf , Cherry Street , Two D ors below Third Street. TERUM:|2ySO jier annum, in atl\an<‘<. Ad%erli<emrul ut th- regular charge will i>e One Dollar **f on< hundred word* or U**, f r the first inser tion. aud Fifty Cents ffr each •ulmequeiit iiuertion. *\il ad vertiseni ut’s nut n>edfled to tli&ie, will (mbllalied until forl'id. an i charged accordingly. A liberal diHcnuut allowed to those who advertise by the year. Li!"ml arrangements made with County (MBcers. DruggLstn, A ilotb/iieers. Merchant*, aud others, who may wish to make limited Contracts. l*rnf *<4ioiial and Ituaineiw t'ards will be Inserted un der this jieokJ, t the foilowtug rates, viz: For Five lines, j>er annum, ♦ 5 00 For *even lines, do gn) For Ten lines, do 10 (HI N< advertisement of tula class will i*e admitted, unless paid for in advance, lior for a less t rm than twelve nio-ths. Ad vertisements ot over ten line < will be charged prorata. Ad vertisements not paid lor in advanoe will be charged at the regular rates. Oliitimry Voticcs of over ten line*, will be charged at the U!u *| rat- s. liinoiiiiremeiifs of candidates for office to Ik- paid for a the usual rates, when inserted. *ales of La iit| and Megrors. by Executors. t-rs and UaardiauM. an* n.*qu:red by law t te advertued in a puMic gnaette. forty flays pre\ ‘urns to the day <f sale. ‘J hese ■ales must t e held on the tirst Tuesday in the mmrh, Mvretn ttie hours of ten in (he foreii<M>n ami three in the afternoon, at the Court-house m tiie county iu which the projKiiy is situ ated. Kalr-4 of IVraonal Prfflertv niust be advertised In like Scanner, forty days l l)‘)tora and Uredltora of an Estate must be puidislicd forty days. \ofiee auplicatlon will Ik* made to the Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Negroes, must t*e published weekly for two months. 4'Ration* for Letters of Administra ion, thirty days; for Dismission rom Administration, monthly, six months; for l)Uuii!wi”ii from Guardianship, weekly, forty da>s. ituie* for Furrclssim f Mortgages, monthly, sou month- ; for estabiisiong I -t papers, fjr the full space of Hire months; for compe iling titles from executors or administra <rs where a bond has beii given I %y the deceased, the full puce of three months. i ; Ht3ui(fim]. Tin* Errliiii. BY JULIA A. FLETCHER. Think gently of the erring ! Yc know not of the power With which the dark temptation came, In some unguarded hour. Ye may not know how earnestly They struggled, or bow well, Until the hour of weakness came, And sadly thus they fell. Think gently of the erring ! Oh ! do not thou forget, However darkly stained by sin, He is thy brother yet. Heir of the seif-came heritage ! Child of the self-sume God ! He hath hut stumbled in the path Thou hast in weakness trod. Spe tk kindly to the erring ! For is it not enough That innocence aud peace are gone Without the censure rough ! It sure must he a weary lot That tin-crushed heart to bear. And they who share a happier fate, Their findings well may spare. Speak kindly to the erring ! Thou yet may’at lead them hack, With holy words and tones of love, From misery’s thorny track. Forget not thou hast often sinned, Aud sinful yet must Ik? ; Deal gently with the erring on e As God has dealt with thee ! Ah 01l Slory in a lew Dross. Avery long time ago, in the West ern part of England, there lived an aged couple, whose time had passed away since early youth, in the every day round of farm life, and who had never been known to have the least ill-feeling toward each other since the time when good old Parson lieroit had united them in the holy bonds of wedlock, twenty-live years before. Sowell was the fact of their conjugal happiness known, that they were spoken of far and near, as the happiest pair known. Now the Devil (excuse the abrupt mention of the name,) had been trying for twen ty years to create what is so called “a fuss in the family',” between those old companions. But much to his mortification, he had not been able to induce the old gentleman to grumble about breakfast being late once, or the old lady to give a single curtain lecture. After repeated of forts the Devil become discouraged, and had he not been a person of great determination he- would doubtless have given up the work in despair. One day as he walked along, in a very surely mood, after another at tempt to get the old lady’ to quarrel about the pigs getting into the yard, lie met an old woman, a near neigh bor of the agreed couple. As Mr. Devil and tlie neighbor were very particular friends, they must needs stop on the way to chat a little. “Good morning, sir,” said she, “and pray what on earth makes you look so badly this beautiful morning isn’t tbe controversy between the churches doing good service ?” “Yes.” “Isn’t Deacon W. making plenty of bad whiskey.” “Yes.” “Well, what is the matter, my highly’ honored master ?” “Everything else is going on well enough,” replied the Devil, “but,” and here lie looked as sour as a mon key on a crab apple tree, ‘old Blue ford and his wit’s,’ over here, are in juring the cause terribly by their had example, and after trying for years to induce them to do better, 1 must say I consider them hopeless.” The old hag stood for a moment in deep thought. “Are you sure then you have tried every’ way ?” -Everyone that I can think of.” “Are you certain ?” “Yes.” “Well,” replied she, “if you will promise to make me a present of a new pair of shoes, iu ease 1 succeed, I will make the attempt myself, and sec if I can’t raise a quarrel between them.” To this reasonable request the Devil gladly consented. The old hag went her way to neighbor Blue ford’s house, and found old Mrs. Blue ford very busily engaged in getting things ready for her husband’s com fort on his return from work. After tbe usual compliments had passed, the following dialogue took place : “Well friend 8., you and Mr. B. have lived a long time together.” “Five aud twentv years come next November/’ replied Mrs. B. “And in this time you never had the least quarrel ’l” “Not one.” “I am truly glad to hear it,” con tinued the hag, “I consider it my duty to warm you, that though this is the ease, yet you must not expect it to he so always. Have you not not observed of late Mr. B. has grown peevish and sullen at times.’ “Avery little so,” observed Mrs, Hlneford. “I know it,” continued the hag, “and let me warm you in time to he on your guard.” Mrs. 11. did think she had better do so, and asked advice as to how she ought to manage the case. ‘•Have you not noticed,” said the hag, “that your husband has a bunch of long, soarse hair growing on a mole under Ins chin, on the side of his throat?” “Yes.” “They are the cause of his troub les, and as long as they remain you had hotter look out. Now as a friend, I would advise you to cut them otf the iirst time you get a chance, and finis end the trouble.” “Ts you say do so, I will,” repeat ed tbe credulous old lady. Soon after this the bag started for home, and made it convenient to meet Mr. 11. on the way. Much the same talk, in relation to his domestic happiness, passed between them as did-between her and the old woman. “But, friend Blneford,” said she, “I think it my duty, as a Christian, to warn you to he on your guard, for 1 tell you that you wife intends your ruin.” Old Mr. B. was very much aston ished ; yet he could not wholly dis credit her words. When he reached home he threw himself upon abed in great perplexity, and, feigning sleep studied over the matter in his mind. II is wife, thinking this a good opportunity for cutting off the ob noxious hair, took her husband’s raz or and crept softly to his side. Now the old lady was very much frigh tened at holding a razor so close to her husband’s neck, and her hand was not so steady as it once was ; so between the two she went to work very awkwardly, and pulled the hairs instead of cutting them otf. 31 r. B. opened his eyes, and there stood his wife with a razor at his throat ! After what had been told him, and seeing this, he could not doubt that she intended to murder him. Ho sprang from the bed in horror ; and no explanation or en treaty could convince him to the contrary. So from that time forth, there was no more peace for that house. It was jaw, jaw, quarrel and wrangling all the time. With delight the Devil heard of the success of the faithful emissary and sent her word that if she would meet him at the end of the lawn, at a certain time, he would pay her the shoes. At the appointed time she repaiaed to the spot, and found the Devil at the place. He put the shoes on the end of a long pole, and standing on the opposite side of the fence, hand ed them over to her. She was very much pleased with them ; they’ were exactly the article. “But there is one thing, Mr. Dev il, that I would like to have explain ed—that is, why you hand them to me on that stick t” “Very easy to explain,” replied he, “any one who lias the cunning and meanness to do as y'ou have done, don’t get nearer than twenty feet of me.” So saying he fled in terror. After awhile the old woman died ; and when she applied for admittance to the lower regions the Devil would not let her in, for fear she might de throne him, as she was so much his superior. So the woman is yet com pelled to wander over world, creat ing quarrels and strife in peaceful families and neighbors. Would you know her name ? It is Madam Scandal. When she died, her children, the young Scan* dalizers, were left orphans : but the Devil, in consideration of past ser vice done by the mother, adopted, them ; and so you see, be is the fath er of that respectable class called scandal mongers. The Northern Labor System. The cruelties practiced under the system of while slavery in vogue in the Northern States, are strikingly portrayed in the follow ing paragraph from a paper published in Ohio, the State in which occurred the inci dent related. In the rnidddle and eastern States, there are regular organizations for im porting white boys and girls to the West, to lie sold into slavery, or apprenticeship as it is mildly called. Thousands of orphan children are thus annually doomed to a condition of servitude which involves hardships and cru elties of unparallelled enormity. To the negro whose nature is adapted to no other condition but slavery, and who is unhappy out of it, the lot of servitude under the pro fessional “freedom-sbriekers,” to whom these poor children aru condemned, would be hard indeed—hut how indescribably severe it is when the victims are helpless creatures, whose every instinct is for liberty: “A pious political preacher, on the Re serve, who mingles his religion and politics, as an old toper does his water aud whiskey, the latter greatly predominating, and who every Sabbath remembers to treat his hear ers to a piteous account of the cruelty of slave owners, was fined, last week, five dol lars, for inhumanly cowhidiDg a little orphan boy he had taken from New York to raise. The boy, it seems, had loaned a neighbor a whip— a single leather string tied to a stick —on the discovery of which, the kind-heart ed, generous soul, who weeps at the cruel ties practiced on slaves, took the lad to the baru and whipped him with a raw hide till his back and legs were completely raw.— The noise of the whip and the shrieks of the little sufferer brought the neighbors to his assistance. Evening Piayer. I come to Thee, to-night. In my lone closet where no eyes can see, Ainl dare to crave an interview with Thee, Father of love and light! Softly the moonbeam* shine On the still brunches of the shadowy trees. While all sweet sounds of evening on the breeze Steal through the shimtiering vine. Thou gav’ts the calm repose That rests on all—the air, the birds, the flower, The human spirit in its weary hour, Now iit the bright day’s close. Tis Nature's time for prayer; The silent praise of the glorious sky, The earth's orisons, profound and high, To heaven their breathings bear. With them my soul would liend In humble reverence at thy holy throne, Trusting the merits of the Son alone Thy Sceptre to extend. If I this day have striven With Thy blest spirit, or have bowed the knee To aught of earth, in weak idolatry, I pray to be forgiven. If in my heart has been An unforgiving thought, or word, or look. Though deep the malice which l scarce could brooke Wash me from the dark sin. If I have turned away From grief or guttering which I might relieve, Careless the cup of water e'en to give, Forgive me, Lord, 1 pray. And teach me how to feel My sinful wandciugs, with a deeper smart, Aiid more of mercy and of grace impart, My sinfulness to heal. Father ! my soul would be Pure as the drops of eve’s unsullied dew, And a* the stars w hose nightly course is true, So would I be to Thee. Not for myself alone Would I these blessings of thy love implore, But for each penitent tne wild world o'er, Whom thou hast called thine own. And for my li -art's l-st friends, Whose steadfast kindness o'er my painful years Has watched to soothe afflictions, griefs, and tears, My warmest prayer ascends. Should o'er their path decline The light of gladness, or of hope or health. Be Thou their solace, and their joy and w ealth, As “hey have long been mine. And now, 0 Father take The heart cast w ith humble faith on Thee, And cleanse its depths from each impurity. For my Redeemer's sake, [tlymus of Ages. The Schoolmaster's Promise. A correspondent ot the Germantown Telegraph tells the following anecdote of his old schoolmaster, old Haskins : “Boys,” said he, smiling one day. What’s up, thought we, and we were all attention. Jt was like a sun peep through a heavy storm-cloud, when “Oid Haskins” smiled, and the unusual phe nomenon was unaccountable. “Boys,” said he, “1 am about to bar gain with you for good behaviour,” (a change of tactics verily) “I desire that you will conduct yourselves with deco rum for one week, and I will promise to show you a curiosity— what no man has ever seen ; and having shown it to you, what no man will ever see again. “Yes sir!” “Agreed !” and various oth er expressions of aequiesence came from every quarter of the room ; aud as a pre sage to the new state of things, the school was dismissed at an early hour, leaving the boys to gaze in each other’s eyes in astonishment, as if to divine in each oth ers intuition the answer to the riddle which had stolen upon them as a pleas ant dream. An anxious week followed—a week of curiosity, bewilderment, hope and pleas ure in embryo. Out of school it was all the talk—“what no man saw, and what none ever shall see again!”—not even the terrible author of the compromise. What could the curiosity be? Another and another day, until at last the identical named one dawned upon the gladdened young hearts. Nine o’clock came—every urchin was at his post —books and slates all in read iness for the day’s battle with the de- j monos darkness and ignorance—every task fully committed to memory. Al together a charming state of affairs ! An active mind, not too closely wedded to orthodox ideas, would have divined at once the great advantage of rewards and kindness, oppression and cruelty.— But our old tutor was invincible ! Un make him ? Never. You could not al ter his plans an iota. “Tingle! Tingle!” sounded the little bell—that bell had a voice as well as a tongue. Boys all attention ! eyes, ears, mouthes all agape ! momentous epoch ! j Old Haskins raised the lid of his desk, j and drew the wonderful thing forth—ad justed his ominous looking spectacles, astraddle his nasal protuberance, and ‘ proceeded to the ceremony. “Attention, school!” roared the tutor. A single order was all that was neces sary —you might hear a pin drop. “The hour has at length arrived ; be hold in my fir.gers a single almond,” (ter rible suspense,) “In this almond is a ker nel”— ceremoniously breaks the shell! and exposes the tiny thing. “This no man ever saw !” Then open- ; ing his capacious jaws, exposing an in ternal ’array of decaying ivory and raw flesh, that reminded us of the mouth of a i Ben fc aHiger, he thrust in the mysterious kernel—crushed and swallowed it. “Boys.” exclaimed he, with great em- you will never—l will never—no man will ever see that kernel , again? Go to your lessons, you rascals, every young dog of you !” Allen A. Hall editor of the Nashville News, killed G. G Poindexter, the editor of the Union and American, yesterday, in a street rencontre. It was an editorial quarrel. It has been but a very short time since Mr. Poindexter had a difficulty with the editor of the Nashville Banner, in which the latter received a slight wound. Nashville editors cannot possi bly get along for any length of time without a fight. The chaplain of the jail at Rochester has been implicated ir. aiding in the es cape of the thirteen prisoners who left that institution last week. It is said that the reverend gentleman exhorted the prisoners so frequently “to flee from the wrath to come,” that they followed the scripture injunction literally. Kit Carson.— The Constitution says; Judge W atts, of New Mexico, stated at the Office of Indian Affairs that he was direct from the Territory, and that he saw Kit Carson in excellent health im mediately preceding his departure. He say 9, emphatically, that there is no foun dation for the report of Carson’s death. THE PORTRAIT. “Mother, was that our house once?” “Yes, dear,” replied the pale woman, easting a long look at the splendid dwelling, “you were born in that front chamber. But hurry on, dear, it is ours no longer, 1Io!g your shawl about your chest—the wind is very cold.” Thpy were meanly dad, both mother and daughter. The former was past forty a few years, and the daughter was not yet seventeen. Annie Bently was not beautiful, nevertheless her ftce was a rare blending of amiability and intel lect. They passed quickly along over the well-trodden snow, and wended their way towards one of the lower quarters of the city. There they traversed the long, ill-looking street, till they stopped before a narrow shop door and entered. “Any work yet, Mr. Mostly?” asked the widow, in a quiet tone. “Oh, yes, madam/’ said the man be hind the counter, “we have plcifty of shirts now. Shill 1 give you a bundle?” And he cast a glance, half impertinence, half admiration, towards the young girl. “What are your prices?” asked Mrs. Bartlet. “Well, you know we generally give a shilling a shirt to common customers, but as it is you, you know, why I think we’ll pay two shillings. Shan’t I take it home for you ? it’s a heavy bundle— too much for you to carry.” The widow hesitated. She had done sewing lor that man before, but she did not like the way in which he looked at her daughter. A mother’s heart takes alarm at a hint, a question or a glance. Annie was too precious to be exposed to rudeness; she was the one, the only lair child of a widowed heart. But the bundle was too weighty for either moth er or daughter, so she concluded to Jet it be brought. “You can send it by,” she said.” “Oh, can’t get any body to take it—l must go myself. No inconvenience, I assure you—right on my way to supper. Miss, I wish I could offer you one of my arms,” he said, courteously, “but they happen to be bo h full.’ They walked on till they came to a very ordinary looking house, whose steps were covered with children The man smiled to himself as they ascended. “I will take the bundle now,” said the widow with dignity. “Oh, no, couldn’t consent to let you carry it,” said the man, “1 11 take it to your room.” “Put the bundle down, sir !” said the widow, with flashing eyes. The man started, and had nearly let it drop. However, he threw it with an impatient jerk on the lower stair, and muttering a curse, turned and left the hall. “What made you speak so cross ly, mother ?” a*ked Annie. “Never mind, my child, help me up stairs with it,” said the widow, recover ing her equanimity. She had seen the tailor wink across the entry to a vulgar looking man near by, w hose reputation was none of the best. “Oh, dear.” It w'as said very bitter ly, and with a heart-ache, as mother and daughter entered their own neat little room, an attic chamber lighted from the ceiling. “It seems strange, doesn’t it?” mused Annie, looking around. “What seems strange, dear ?” “That you should have lived and I been born in that beautiful great house, and after al! be reduced to the garret of such a placets this,” replied Anuie.— “Who I ives there now, mother ?” “\ou have heard me say before, child,” replied her mother—“your uncle Harry and your cousin Eugenie. Your uncle i Harry, >onr father’s brother, married my sister —poor Annie,you were named after her, she died before your father did, or we should not now be suffering penury, or be forced to take insults from our inferiors.” ‘Well, it is home,’ said the young girl, gazing aronnd, ‘and not so bad a one ei ther. Now, if we get those shirts done —why, we can buy a beautiful thick shawl to wear between us. Shall I make tea to-night?’ ‘\es, if you please/ said the mother, sitting wearily down; ‘l’ll undo the bundle and sort the woik.’ ‘Robert Soutliy, you are always standing before that picture!’ So cried the beautiful high’ bred girl, as she entered the splendid reception room where stood the young man ga zing upon a sylph like figure enclosed within a massive frame. Young Southy turned around hastily, a rarely intellectual face was his—and greeted the beautiful girl with a smile. “I cannot help aoroiriog that picture/ he said: ‘it has a fascination for me which 1 cannot explain to myself. Is that an original, or is it one of those gentle dream faces that artists sometimes fash ion when under the inspiration of heav en V ‘Oh, it is no dream face,’ said Euge nie, lightly, ‘but a cousin of mine, I be lieve—that is, I heard papa say so.— She is living now, I believe, but dear me, they’re dreadful common sort of people.’ ‘They ?’ queried Robert Soutby. ‘I mean my aunt and cousin. They are in reduced circumstances, and I un derstand Annie has got so far down that she takes work at the shops. You smile, and I suppose you ought to know more about them, but 1 assure you that it is not my fault. Ever since they would not consent to make it their home, papa has forbidden me to have anything to do with them/ ‘But why did they not stay?’asked Robert. ‘Oh, they had some foolish notions of independence —said they would not live on the bounty of, those who robbed them, and many other impertinent things. I w'onder papa was so patient with them ! —l’m sure he could not help it if it was their home once, you know, if his brother willed it to him/ ‘S->, so,’ said Robert Southy. And his fine eyes roved again to the portrait. The noble lace seemed lighted up with a trusting smile, as he gazed, and yet it was but a child’s face—a child of only seven years. ‘How old is that cousin by this time?’ he asked, carelessly. ‘Oh, about my age. I assure you she’s a very plain-looking girl. The painter idealized that face.’ Eugenie Bartlet was both vain and heartless, and had not even wit enough to conceal either defect. She had fan cied that she loved more than once, but never till the poet face of Robert Sou thy met her vision, had she in reality known the true meaning of the word used, much abused word. She fancied that her beauty was irresistable; it was to some men, but not to him. lie liked to call there because he had often met Mr. Bartlet, who was a liberal patron of the arts, a good scholar, and interes ting conversationist, but for the beauti ful daughter, he had nothing more than friendship—scarcely that. She, however, fancied that he was in terested in her—nay, that he was des- perately enamored of her charms, and did not dream that he sought for heart, not befuty, for mind, not wealth. ‘ITow long did they occupy here V asked Robert Southy. ‘Oh, till she was seven—in fact, that picture was taken the year my uncle died. There was a great time about the will, and when she really found it was in my father’s favor, the widow left the house and went out west, where she res ided till within a few years. W hen they j came back again, father offered them a home, but they refused. To tell the truth, I was not sorry, for I thought my cousin was a gawky. How could it be j otherwise ? No boarding-school privi leges. 1 suppose her mother has been teaching her, but dear me, she can’t do much.’ Robert Southy glanced at the speaker with a look she could not have relished, had she noticed it. Fortunately, her ! eyes were cast down. ‘Do let us change the subject,’ said Eugenie, with a little start of impa 1 tience —“what did you th.nk of Gaurda line last week ? Was not he superb?— I positively adore him—for the time, I mean.’ Robert Southy seemed quite indiffer ent whether she adored him for the time, 1 or for all time, and replied to her arch look with a quiet, almost a contemptuous i smile. i ‘The ‘Barber of Seville,’ is, I think, the most charming of operas,’ continued Eugenie, ‘don’t you ?’ ‘On the contrary, I dislike it the most,’ replied Robert Sonthy. ‘< Ih, is it possible ? Why, everybody goes int > rapture ever it,’ replied Eu j genie. ‘1 don’t agree with everybody then,’ he said quietly. ‘I have but little sym pathy with everybody/ She looked as if she did not know how to take this declaration, and it an noyed her to see his eyes again wander ing to the portrait. Tiitakeit down and burn it/ she angrily ejaculated to herself. After a few commonplace remarks, Robert Southy took his leave. lie walked about until it was quite twilight, and then remembering an er rand in another part of the city, he re traced his steps. Was it his guardian angel that prompted him ? Jle had nearly reached the place to wards which his steps were bent, when he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked down. There was the face of the portrait, only more natural—much sweeter in expression. His heart beat as it never beat before. ‘May I ask your protection ?’ said a sweet voice—‘some one has followed me and spoken to me more than once, and I—,’ the lip trembled, the eloquent eyes swam with tears. ‘Certainly, 1 will protect you,’ said Robert, drawing her hand within his arm—‘and as to that scoundrel over there, I know him—he should be chasti sed as he deserves. He will be before long if he is not careful.’ The man met his eye and skulked i along a back street. Il was Mosely, ’ the keeper of the shop. ‘I should not have been out alone at such an hour, but my mother needed medicine/ she said, as they walked along. Tne fair girl trembled excessively. They moved rapidly away, till they j came to the miserable building where lived Annie and her mother. Annie’s ! cheek burned as the young man ascend ed the steps and opened the door for her. There were loud and disagreeable sounds up stairs, the entry was dark, and poor Annie stood hesitating. ‘They are very noisy and quarrel some, some of the families iu the rooms,’ she said, timidly. ‘Stop a moment,’ ejaculated Robert Southy, as he knocked quickly at one of the doors. ‘Lend me a light to show this young lady up stairs/ he said to the woman who appeared. The occupant of the room hurried to light another candle. As she gave it to him he placed a piece of money in her hand, which she was nothing loth to take, and desiring Annie to follow him, the young man went as far as she direct ed. The door of the great garret stood open, and Annie’s mother, with a strange gladness in her face, looked out toward Annie, as she came up stairs. ‘Thank this gentleman, mother, for his kindness in protecting me from insult, said Annie, gently. ‘But 1 left you sick/ ‘1 am well, now,’ exclaimed the exci ted widow, ‘and here is what has cured me.’ She held a folded paper in her hand. ‘The will that was lost !—the will that lawyer Crandall and other witnesses knew he made, is here in my hand! It ia dated a year later than the NUMBER 30* (ne his brother has ! Annie, my child, thank God with me—thank God!’ They had gone into the neat little gar ret room, Annie and Robert ?outhy ft 1- iowing. The latter made no apology, he felt acquainted with the circumstan ces, and told them so. Annie’s face was radiant, it was a picture quickened into beautiful life, the same innocence of ex pression, the same spiritual loveliness. ‘Annie, you know how sacredly 1 have kept this little bible since your father’s death,’ said Mrs. Bartlet, ‘only in times of peculiar joy or aflliction reading from ‘its pages, because it was the one your father used in his private devotions. — (hie day when he was ill, but not yet sick enough to be confined to his bed, he asked me for a piece of green baize. I brought it to him, and went somewhere —1 forget where. When I returned the bible was covered. 1 asked him what he had covered it for, and he replied with a smile, ‘for you.’ I thought he referred to the possible event of his death, and it made me sad. After that he was struck with paralysis, and neith er spoke nor moved. Once before, when thought to be very sick, and under the influence of his brother’s stronger mind, he made the will in which Mr. I’artlet now holds our lawful rights.— lie had a strange fear of his brother—l never knew why he could always control my poor husband. To-day after Annie went out, I got this bible, and read it, lying upon the bed. As I opened it I thought the cover felt strangely slippes ry, and curiosity led me to push it hither and thither, until I felt sure there was a paper underneath it. I unpasted the baize, and there folded carefully across the back of the sacred word was the will! Oh, praise heaven ! We are poor no longer!’ ‘Will you allow me to transact this business for you?’ asked Robert Southy, turning to the mother. Tam a lawyer, and it would give me peculiar pleasure to serve you, as I am acquainted with your relatives.’ One glance at the noble face before her decided the widow. She accepted the offer with thanks. ‘I will find you a better home than this, to-morrow,’ said the young man. — ‘An uncle of mine is on the point of visiting England; you shall immediately be put in possession of a part of his house. This is no home for you.’ Annie blushed, for the look he di rected toward her was full of meaning. She felt as he did, that their meeting was no chance circumstance, but a di rect Providence, and his apperaance won insensibly upon her heart. Coaxing ip an Expression.— A brace of i lovers” anxious to secure each other’s shadow ere the substan tial faded, stepped into the Ambro type Car of our friend Williams, one day last week, to sit for their “pic tures.” The lady gave precedence to her swain, who, she said, “had got tp be tuck fust, and real natural.” He brushed up his tow head of hair, gave a twist or two to his handker chief, asked his girl if hisshirt collar looked about X, and planted himself in the operator’s chair, where he a - the physiognomical charac teristics of a poor mortal in a den tist’s hands, and about to part with ono of his eye teeth. “Now, dew look purty !” begged the lady, cast ing at him one of her most languish ing glances. The picture was taken and when produced it reminded the girl, as she expressed it, “jist how Josh looked when he got over the measles! and as this was not an era in her suitor’s history particularly worthy of her commemoration, she insisted that he should stand again.’* lie obeyed and she attended him to the chair. The poor follow tried to follow the indefinite injunction. “La,” she said, “why, you look all puckered up !” One direction followed another, but with as little success. At last, growing impatient, and becoming desperate, she resolved to trj’ an ex pedient which she considered infalli ble, and exclaimed : “1 don’t keer if there is folks around !” She enjoined the operator to stand at his camera ; she then sat in her feller’s lap, placing her arms around his neck, managed to cast a shower of flaxen ringlets as a screen between the operator and her proceedings, which however, were betrayed by a succession of amorous sounds, which revealed her expedient.— When this “billing and cooing” had lasted a few minutes, the cunning gal juntped from Josh’s lap, and clapping her hands, cried to the astonished artist : “ Now you have got him ! put him through !” [ Ado Lisbon Buckeye. Hope. —l lope is peculiar to all men. It is the support of the disappointed, the encourager of the unfortunate, the rest of the weary, and the firm friend of all mankind. Many an unhappy person has been enabled to support himself in the trying moments of affliction, by the in dulgence of a hope that the dark hour would not last forever, but that the time would eoon arrive when he should once more be happy. Hope will spring up in the mind of man until faith is lost in sight, and mortality is swallowed up in life. Chiltidood is like a mirror, catching and reflecting images from it. Remem ber that an impious or profane thought, uttered by a parent’s lips, may operate on the young heart like a careless spray of water thrown upon polished steel, staining it with rust which no afler scouring can eflace.