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VOLUME 10. the GEORGIA CITIZEN S PUBLISHED EVEBT FRIDAY MORNING BY L F. W. ANDREWS. Q f . yl - E —In Home’s Building, Cherry Street, T<ro Doors Mow Third Street. • teiiMV. — iwr annum, In ad\anrr. , i.fftiaawmf M th* r*mi w chaj*e will be One IHOar re “t ‘>*•■ hundred wttrd* ur lerK f r Ihe lira* ir- T r l. rs Kfte Vent* for ech tslwfanl lntrrtii.ii. Ai! u 4 K 'rt’ui t n"t tprcillnl a* t<> tim. wi.l be publiahol mull ”, , i ohar*e.l :uv.rjm*lv. A liberal tluumut ill-wed ;' r . nhoxlmtlwkgr IM i<a>. 1 I- ril trr.iiuiruiento nude witn County Officer* sfti.,ue% Merekusta, and uUtm, who may wish to lu.te ‘ . tVTcontnK.-’*. u nl i. ,i ,nal >nl ll:ilnr< Cards will be Inserted no . -ul, a til*following rates. vU: K r Fife lines per annum. * .'OO IrT n liars. 00. ......................... li>Uo \ i lvertisement of tuis clxw wtM be admitted. urile*. [aul |1 iD ..(vancr. no for n tens I mi than twelve months. A<l- iits ot over ten lines will be charicn! pro rail. Aal v sin rit* not paid lor in advance will be charged at the lMiu.ir lolien of over ten linen, will be charged at the Inwniwrflt of candidates for office to be paid fora * - cii rates a'Ueti ilis rted. nf l.tud and \ejnics. by Fi.-ulors. A<*-Vmisrx a (inardians. are re'imrvd by law to be advertued in a 1 i,ii< giaelte. firty days previ.ms to the .lay of sale. These mast t held on the Sod Tuesday in the tnoß'fc. between tre him.— of ten iii tlie foremsin and three in the afternoon. MthiCourt-hoa* m the county in which the property is *ttu saies of Personal Property rant be advertised In like - ... -. forty liays i in llebtors and Creditor* of an Estate mu* be W.Midieil fortV liav*. ’ Vaiirr ihst aniilicatioo will be made to the Ordinary for i sell Land and Negroes must be published weekly for t* > cionth*. . l ii tlioiy. for Letters of Administra ion, thirty days; for jH... . .i mm Administration, monthly, da months; for •e. .. from Guardianship, weekly, forty davs. Kultf f‘* r Eorerlia ing of llurlissiw, monthly, foil r lf ,s; ftw establishing I *t papers*. for the full space of thre „ . I „■ for compelling titles from executors or aduiuilwrs .. where a bond has been given by the deceased, the full ~r,. of three mouths. the equality of the grave. BY JAMES SHIRLEY. The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armor against Fate— Death lays his icy baud ou kings. Scepter aud crown Must tumble down, And in die dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But th*ir strong nerves at last must yield, Tue tame but one another still, Early or late, They stoop to Fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, Wuen they, pale captives, creep to Death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death’s purple altar now, See where the victory-victim bleeds! All heads must come To the cold tomb! Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the du3t. I meiicuu AiMiiiiiiia* (ions. No other civilized people, probably, are accustomed to abuse thei r stomachs so ba ily * as we Americans of the United States. Our I lood is often badly chosen, still more frequen tly spoiled in cooking, and almost always eaten in utter disregard of dietetic rules.— j We eat far too much flesh-meat (and es- | pecislly pork, its most objectionable form), and too little bread, vegetables and fruits. Uor hot, soda-raised biscuits; bot griddle cakes, saturated with butter; and the hot, black, intolerable coffee, which forms the staples of our breakfasts, are in the way in which they are taken, among the most de leterious ever put upon a table. Pies are another American abomination, and have nu small share of our ill health to answer I (or. The mince pie, as it is generally made, is the abomination of abominations. Some one describes it as ‘‘very white and indi gestible at the top, very moist and indiges tible at the bottom, and with untold horrors in the middle.” Even our bread is unwhole some. It is made of the finest of tine Hour, and either fermented till its uatural sweet ness and a large portion of its nutritive ele ments are destroyed, or raised w ith those j poisonous chemicals, soda and cream of tar- 1 tar. In either case it is unfit to be eaten. — The rich cakes which our good house keepers deem so indispensable are still ! worse, and so oil. Now add to our badly | chosen dishes and our objectionable cookery, the rapid eatiDg, imperfect mastication, aud the continually interrupted digestion which oar intense and feverish ‘life necessitates, and we have a complication of abuses which would, one must believe, long since have utterly destroyed the vital stamina of any people not originally endowed with | marvelous physical powers. —Hints towards j Physical Ptrjection, What I Begin to Believe.— “Bubbles,’’ of the California Gulden Era. furnishes that paper, under the htfad of “Note* and Cogi ■ationj,” with the following wholesome truths: ‘I begin to believe that, now-a-days, mon o.afc# the mar, and dress the gentleman. J I begin to believe that the pnrae is more fXm than the sword and pen together. 1 begin to believe that honesty is the best p .icy—to speculate with until you gain eve -1 My’* confidence, then line your pockets, K 'l Meiggs it. I begin to believe that those who sin the I - H during the week are the most devout | ea Sundays. I begin to believe in humbugging people j n f their dollars. It is neither robbing j ***‘ ; ng r.or begging; and those who are) kemlmaged hare themselves to blame. 1 ‘°jin to believe that man was But made , ’ <*njoy life; but to keep hintself miserable , 15 lb pursuit and po-sesstnn of riche?. , 1 bgin to believe that the surest remedy r bard times and a tiirht money market is •xir.iVi.gmnt ex]*enjii’ir on the part of Tiduals—to keep tno money moving. 1 Min to believe that none but knaves *’’■ duahtiod to hold .office under the govern- | • s nt — with the exception of a few natural rn foot, a nd lunatics. _ 1 begin to believe that a piar,forte is more fc-sary in a Tamil v than meat and pota- U*s. 1 begin to believe that a boy who doesn’t ?**** ?nukc, chew tobacco, may be a good -j’ but naturally, very stupid. I b. gm to belive that ifthe devil Mill one half the world would be thrown out ’ employment. Horrible. —Miss Ellen M. Dresser, 1,1 beautiful young girl wjio lectured “ re a year or two since on Morraon has been ejected from a hotel in ’ >lby ville, Tenn., by the landlord. — ’ “, r a g*nt, the reverend Mr. Smith, was * *pd out at the same time. They or er*d two rooms, but the landlord dis ,T’v*red that they occupied but one— the kicking out. ?ame interesting creature, it will fr( membered, read what she called V UFe * 00 ornx>n i sm * n thia city last Ilter , in which she recounted the ; ’ n g* and persecutions she had endur • *r jo the Saints.— Sav. Xetct. From Hon. Robert Dale Owen's New Work. the rescue. Mr. Robert Rruee, originally de scended from some branch of the Scottish family of that name, was born in humble circumstances, about the close of the last century, at Tur lay, in the South of England, and : there bred up to a seafaring life. \\ hen about thirty years of age, to ‘ wit, in the year IS2B, he was first mate of a barque trading between Liverpool and St. Johns, New Bruns- j wick. On one of her voyages bound west- J ward, being then some five or six I weeks out, and having neared the i eastern portion of the banks of New-; foundland, the captain and mate had | been on deck at noort taking uii oh | servation of tlie sun, after which they both descended to calculate their day’s work. The cabin, a small one, was imme diately at the stern of the vessel, and ! the short stairway descending to it ran nth wart-ships. Immediately op- j posite this stairway, just beyond a 1 small square landing, there was the mate's state-room; and from that there were two doors, close to each other, the one opening aft into the cabin, the other, fronting the stairway, into the state-room. The desk in the state-room was in the forward part of it, close to the door ; so that one sitting at it and l<x>k ing over his shoulder could see into the cabin. The mate, absorbed in his calcula tions, which did not result as he had expected, varying considerably from the dead-reckoning ; had not noticed the captain's motions. When he had completed his calculations, he called out, without looking round, “1 make our latitude and longitude so and so. Can that be right ? How is yours ?” Receiving no reply, he repeated his question, glancing over his shoul der and perceiving,as he thought,the captain busy writing on his slate.— Still no nswer. Thereupon he rose, and as lie fronted the cabin door, the figure he had mistaken for the captain raised his head and disclosed to the astonished mate the features of an entire stranger. Bruce was no coward ; hut, as lie met that fixed gazclookingdircctly at him, in grave silence,and became as sured that it was no one whom he had ever seen before, it was too much for him ; and instead of stop ping to question the seeming intrud er, he rushed upon deck in such evi dent alarm that it instantly attracted the captain’s attention. “Why, Mr. Bruce,”said the latter, what in the world is the matter with you ?” “The matter, sir ? Who is that at your desk ? ’ “No one that I know of.” “But there is, sir ; there's a strang er there.” “A stranger! Why, man, you must be dreaming. You must have seen the steward there, or the second mate. Who else would venture down without orders ?’ “But, sir, he was sitting in your arm-chair, fronting the door, writing on your slate. Then he looked up full in my face; and if ever I saw a man plainly and distinctly in this world, 1 saw him.” “Him! Whom ?” “God knows, sir ; I don’t. I saw a man, and a mau I never seen in my life before.” “You must be going crazy, Mr. Bruce. A stranger, and we nearly six weeks out.” “I know, sir ; hut then I saw him.” “Go down and see who it is !” Bruce hesitated. “I never was a believer in ghosts,” he said, “but it I the truth must he told, sir, Id rath er not face it alone.” “Come, come, man. Go down at j once, and don’t make a fool of your self before the crew.” “I hope you’ve always found me ! willing to do what’s reasonable, I Bruce replied, changing color; “but I if it’s all the same to you, sir, I'd rath er wc should both go down togeth er.” The captain descended the stairs, and the mate followed him. Nobody lin the cabin 1 They examined the j state-rooms. Not a soul to Ite found ! “Well Mr. Bruce,” said the eap ! tain, “did I not tell you you had been I dreaming ?” “It’s all very “ell to say so, . ir; ■ but if I didn’t see that man writing | on your slate, may I never see my I home and family again I” “Ah ! writing on the slate ! I hen it should he there still. Ahd the captain took it up, “My God !” he exclaimed, “here’s something, sure enough ! Is that your writing, Mr. Bruce?” Tlie mate took the slate, and there, in plain, legible characters, stood the words “STEER To THE NOR WEST !” “Have you been trilling with me, sir?” added the captain, in a stern manner. ‘•On my word as a man and as a sailor, sir,” replied Bruce, “1 know no more of this matter than you do. I have told you the exact truth.” The captain sat down at his desk, the slate before him, in deep thought. At last, turning the slate over aud passing it to Bruce, he said, “V rite down, “Steer to the nor’west.’ ” The mate complied, and the cap tain, after narrowly comparing the two handwritings, said, “Mr. Bruce, <ro and tell the second mate to come down here.” lie came, and, at the captain’s re quest. also w rote the same words.— So did the steward. So, in succes sion, did every man of the crew who could write at all. But not one of the MACON, A„ FRIDAY, JANUARY 27, 1860. various bands resembled, in any de ! gree, the mysterious writing. When the crew retired the captain sat deep in thought. “Could anyone ; have been stowed away T’ at lust lie ‘said. “The ship must he searched ; and if I don’t find the fellow, he must he a good hand at hide and-seck.— Order up all hands.” Every nook and corner of the ves sel, from stem to stern, was thorough ly searched, and that with all tlie eagerness of excited curiosity—for the report had gone out that a strang er had shown himself on board; hut not a living soul beyond the crew and officers was found. Returning to the cabin, after their fruitless search, “Mr. Bruce,” said the captain, “what the devil do you make of all this ?” “Can't tell, sir. I saw the man write, you seethe writing. There must he something in it. ’ “Well, it would seem so. We have the wind free, and 1 have a great mind to keep her away and see what will come of it.” “I surely would, sir, if I were in vour place. It s only a few hours lost, at the worst.” “Well, we’ll see. Go on deck and j give the course nor’west. And Mr. Bruce,” lie added, as the mate rose to go, “have a look-out aloft, and let it be a hand you can depend on.” His orders were obeyed. About three o’clock the look out reported an ice berg nearly ahead, and, short ly after, what he thought was a ves sel of some kind (dose to it. As they approached, the captain’s glass disclosed the fact that it was a dismantled ship, apparently frozen to the ice, and with a good many hu man beings on it. Shortly after they hove to, and sent out the boats to the relief of the sufferers. It proved to be a vessel from Que bec, hound to Liverpool, with pas sengers on board. She had got en tangled in the ice, and finally frozen fast, and had passed several weeks in a most critical situation. She was stove, her decks swept; in fact, a mere wreck; all her provisions and almost all her water gone, ller | crew ami passengers had lost all i hopes, of being saved, and their grat- | itude for the unexpected rescue was ‘ proportionately great. As one of the men who had been brought away in the third boat that had reached the wreck was ascending the ship’s side, the mate, catching a glimpse of his face, started hack in consternation. It was the very face lie had seen, three or four hours be fore. looking up at him from tlie cap tain’s desk. At first he tried to pursuado him self it might he fancy; hut tlie more he examined tlie man the more sure he became that lie was right. Not only the face, hut the person and the dress, exactly corresponded. As soon as the exhausted crew and famished passengers were cared for, and the barque on her course again, j tlie mate called the captain aside. — j “It seems that was not a ghost I saw to-day, sir, the man's alive.” “What do you mean? Who's alive!” j “Whv, sir, one of the passengers | we have just saved is tlie same man I saw writing on your slate at noon, i I would swear to it in a court of jus j tiee.” “Upon my word, Mr. Bruce,” re. plied the cajitain, “this gets more and and more. singular. Let us go and see this man.” They found him in conversation with the captain of the rescued ship, j They both came forward, and expres-! sed, in the warmest terms, their grat-1 it u de for deliverance from a horrible t f :l te—slow-coming death by expos-j ure and starvation. j The captain replied that lie had . hut done what he was certain they would have done for him under tlie -mne circumstances, and a>icetl them i both to step down into the cabin.— j Then, turning to the passenger, he i said, “I hope, sir, you will not think lain trifling with you; hut T would he much obliged to you if you would I write a few words on this slate.” —■ I Ami he handed him the slate, with that side upon which the mysterious j writing was not. “I will do anything you ask, replied the passenger; “but what shall l write ?” “A few words are all I want. Sup- j pose you write, ‘Steer to the nor'-, * ~ to west. The passenger, evidently puzzled to make out the motive for such a request, complied, however, with a 1 -anile. The captain took up the slate and examined it close; then, stepping aside so as to conceal tlie slate from the passenger, ho turned it over, and <*aveit to him again with the other side up. “You sav that is your handw.rit ill,r ?” said be. “I need not say so,” rejoined the other, looking at it, “for vou saw me write it. ’ “ “And this ?” saiq the captain, turn ing the slate over. The man looked first at one writ ini;, then at the other, quite con* I founded. At last— “ What is the meaning of this?” | g a id he. “I only wrote one of these. J Who wrote the other ?’’ “That’s more than J can toll you, j s i r . My mate here says you wrote it, sitting at this desk, at noon to day.” The captain of tlie wreck and the passenger looked at each other, ex changing glances of intelligence and surprise ; and the former asked the latter, — “Did you dream that you wrote on this slate ?” “No, sir, not that 1 remember.” “You speak of dreaming,” said the captain of tlie barque. “What was this gentleman about at noon to day ?’ “Captain,” rejoined the other, “the whole tiling is most mysterious and extraordinary, and 1 had intemlefl to speak to you about it as soon as we get a little quiet. This gentle man,” (pointing to the passengerH “being much exhausted, fHI into 7r heavy sleep, or what seemed such, some time before noon. After an hour or more he awoke and said to me, ‘captain, we shall he relieved tiiis very day.’” “ When I asked him what reason he had for saying so, he replied, that he had dreamed that he was on board a barque, and that she was coming to our rescue, lie described her ap pearance and rig, and, to our utter astonishment, when your vessel hove in sight, she corresponded exactly to Ins description of her. We had not put much faith in what lie said; yet still we hoped there might he something in it, for drowning men, you know, will catch at straws. As it lias turned out, I cannot doubt that it was all arranged, in some in comprehensible way, by an overrul ing i'rovidence,so that we might he saved. ‘L’o Him bo all thanks for his goodness to us.” “There is not a doubt,” rejoined the other captain, “that the writing on the slate, let it have come there as it may, saved all your lives. 1 was steering at the time considerably south of west, and 1 altered my course to nor’west, and 1 had a look out aloft, to see what would come of it. But you say,” he added, turn ini’- to the passenger, “that you did not dream of writing on the slate. “No sir. 1 have no recollection whatever of doing so. I got the im pression that the barque 1 saw in my dream was coming to rescue us; but how that impression came 1 cannot tell. There is another very strange thing about it, he added. “Every t King here on board seems tom cquite familiar ; yet 1 am very sure I never was in your vessel before. It is till a puzzle to me. M hat didy our mate see ?” Thereupon Mr. Bruce related to them all the circumstances above de tailed. Tlie conclusion they finally arrived at was, that it wash special interposition of Providence, to save them from what seemed a hopeless fate. The above narrative was comma- j moated tofne by ('apt..!. S. Clarke, of the schooner Julia Halloek, who had it directly from Mr. Bruce himself. They sailed .together for seventeen months, in tlie years lsfft) and ; so that Captain Clarke had the story from the mate about eight years at- j ter the occurrence. He has since lost sight of him, and ; docs not know whether he is yei > alive. All he lias heard ofhim since j they were shipmates is, that he con- , tinned to trade to New Brunswick ; that he became the master of tlie brig Comet, aud that she was lost. 1 asked Captain Clarke if lie knew Bruce well, and wliat sort of a man he was. ! “As truthful and straight forward I a man,” he replied, “as ever I met in I all my life. We were as intimate as brothers; and two men can't be to gether, shut up for seventeen months in the same ship, without getting to j know whether they can trust one j another's word or not. He always spoke of the circumstances in terms j of reverence, as an incident that seemed to bring him'nearer to God and to another world, I'd stake my life on it he told me no lie.” I)K. FRANKLIN ABROAD. A CURIOUS LETTER, HITHERTO UNPUBLISH ED, FROM BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. The following letter, which we be lieve has never been published hitherto, reives some very curious notes of ;he ob servations and reflection* of Dr. Frank lin upon his first visit to France. Lis addressed to his wife : Paris, Sept. 14,17<>7. Dear Polly : —l am always pleased with a letter from you, and I flatter my self that you may be sometimes pleased ‘ with one from mthough it should be ! of little importance, such as this, which 1 l is to consist of a few occasional remarks I made here and on my journey hither. Sjou after 1 left you in that agreea- ! 111 society, at Bromley, 1 took the reso lution of making a trip \sith Sir John Pringle into France. We set out on the past. All the way to Dover we- were furnished wiih post chaises hung sous to lean forward, the top com ing down over one’s eyes like a hood, as if to prevent one’.? seeing the country, which being one of my greatest pleas ures, I was engaged in perpetual disputes with the innkeepers and postilions about I getting the straps taken up, a hole or tvo before, avid let down as much be hind, they insisting the chaise leaning i forward was an ease to the horses, aud . that the contrary would kill them. They added their reasons for thi--, which were , no reasons at all, and made me, as upon a hundred other almost, wish that mankind had not been endowed ; with a reasoning faculty, since they know so little how to make use of it, and so often mislead themselves by it, and that they had been fun..shed with agoodsen -1 sible instinct instead ofit. At Dover, ihe next morning, weem barked for Calais with a number of pas sengers who had not been before at sea. They would previously make a hearty breakfast, because if the wind should fail we might not get over till supper time. Doubtless they thought that when they had paid lor their breakfast they had a right to it, and that when they had swal lowed it they w ere sure of it. But they were obliged to deliver it up. If you, my dear friend, ever go to jea, take my advice, and live sparingly a day or two beforehand ; the sickness, if anv, will be lighter, and sooner river. Got to Calais that day. Various impositions are u*T red from boatmen, porters, etc., on both sides.of the water. I know not which .are most rapacious, the English or the French ; Tint the taster have, with their kiiaverv, the most politeness. The roads, we found equally good with ours in England. But then the p ( >or pea--ants complained to us *ad!y that they were obliged to work upon th.’ roads full two months in the year, with out being paid for their labor; whether this is true or no, or whether, like En gii-htnun, they grumbio, cause or no c.iUsC, 1 h ivenot been able fully to inform myself. Tlie women we saw on the road to B mlogue, and in the inns and villages, were generally of dark com plexion ; but arriving at Abbeville, vve found a sudden change—a multitude of women in that place appearing remark ably fair. As soon as we left Abbeville, the swarthiness returned. 1 speak general-’ ly ; for here are. some as fa ; r women as at Paris, who, I think, are not whitened by art. As to rouge, they don’t pre tend to imitate natiiie by laying it on.— There is no gradual diminution of color from the full bloom on the middle of the cheek to the faint tint near the sides; nor does it show itself differently in dif ferent faces. 1 have not yet, had the hon or of being at a lady’s toilet, to see how it it is laid on ; but I fancy 1 # couid tell you how it is done. Cut a hole of three inches’ diameter in a piece of paper; place it on the side of your face in such a manner as that the top of the hole may be just under your eye; then, with a brush dipped in the color, paint your face and paper together; so when the! paper is taken off, there will remain a patch of exactly the form of the hole.— This is the mode from the actress on the stage upwards, through all the ranks of ladies to the princesses of the blood; but it stops here, the Queen not using it, having in the serenity, complacency and benignity that shine so eminently in (or rather through) her countenance suffi cient beauty, though now anold woman, to do extremely well without it. You s-.e 1 speak of the. Queen as isl hid seen her, and so I have; for you icust know I have, been to Court. We .vent to Versailles last Sunday, and had the honor of being presented to the King. He spoke to us both very gra cousiy and cheerfully ; is a handsome man, has a very lively look,and ajipears younger than he is. In the evening we were at the Grand Concert, when the family sun in public. The table, you see, was half a hollow square, the service gold. When either made a sign fur drink, the word was giv en by one of the waiters, “ A hutfe pour lc Hoi,” “H Loire pour la Heine,” etc. Then two persons within the square ap proached, one with wine and the other with water, in the carasfes ; each drank ;l little gh-s of what they brought, and then putbofli the carasfes, with a iitt.le glass on a ‘-alver, and presented it. The distance from each other was such as that tluee other chairs might have been placed between any'two of them. — An officer of the court brought us up through the crowd of spectators, and placs l Sir John so as to stand between tiie Ivug and Madame Adelaide, and in ■ between the Queen and Madqrpe Victo rie. The King talked a good deal to Sir John, a-king many qne-tion 1 - about cur roval family ; and did mo ihe honor of taking some notice of me. That’s saying enough, for I would not have you think me so much ploa-ed with this King and Queen, as to have a whitiess regard than 1 need to have for ours. No F enchman shall go beyond me in thinking of my own King and Queen the very best in the world, and the most am able. The civilities we everywhere receive give us the strongest impressions of po liteness. It seems to be a point settled here, universally, that stiangers arc to be treated with respect; and one has ju-it the same deference shown one here, by being a stranger, as in England by being u lady. The custom house officers at Port St. Denis, as wo entered Paris were about to seize two dozen of excel-’ lent Bordeaux wine, given us at Boulo gne, and which we brought with us, but as soon as ihey found that we were stran gers, it was immediately remitted to us on account. At the church of Notre Dame, where we went to see a magnificent illumina tion, with figures, etc., for the deceased Duuphiness, we found an immense crowd who were kept out by the guard; but the officer being told we werostru’ gers from England, he immediately admitted u', accompanied and showed ns every thing. Why don't we practice this ur banity to Frenchmen? Why should they be allowed to out do us in any thing? Travelling is one way cf lengthening lives, at least in appearance. it is only af ninight since 1 left London, but the variety of scenes.we have gone through makes it equal to six months’ living m one place. Perhaps I have, suffered a greater change too, in my 1 own person than I could have done in six years at home. 1 had not been here six days be fore my tailor and peruquier had trans formed me in into a Frenchman. Only think what a figure I make in a little bag-wig ami naked cars. They told me 1 had become twenty years younger, and looked very gallant; so being in Paris where the mode is sa-< credly to be followed, 1 was once very near making love to my friend's wife. This letter will eo&t you a shilling ; and you may consider itcheap when you consider that it cost me fifty guineas to get into the situation that enables me to write it. Resides, I might, if I h.ad staid at home, perhaps, have won two shillings of you at cribbage. By the w ay, now I mention cards, let ine tell you that ‘tpiad- drille’ is quite out of fashion here ; and English whist all the mode at Paris and at court. And pray look upon.it as no small matter, that surrounded as 1 am by the glories of the world and by dissipations aud aniU’ meins of all sorts, I remember you and Doiiy, and all the dear folks at Bromley, ft is true 1 can not help it. bat mu-1 and ever sha’l remember you all with pleasure. Need I acid that j in particularly, my dear, good friend. Yours, most affectionately, - BEN. FRANKLIN. Hop Villa. I have not eeu Luke .iwuitou fur thirty years and so long ago we were classmates and sworn chum 1 ?. In the interim I had bst-n knocked about, the very simtil -cock of fortune, until at last tue capricious gave nie the means of coming home —that is, to England—with the prospect of ending n v days there. I said l had not seen Luke Swinton for thirty years, aud yet when he and I accidentally j Atled < ach other “on ’Change” soon after my arrival, there was enough ot the oid iace left for me to recog- , it. “You arc Luke Swinton,” I said, and held out my hand. “An 1 you are—.” He looked inquir ingly, aud his palm, slowly extended, touch ed mine with a doubtful clasp til! I filled up the sentence: “James Ashburton.” No want of cordiality when those words ( fell upon his ear. , I “To think I did not know you,’’ said he. “But thirty years make many changes, and i yours has been a roving life, hy a ! ! accounts. I You shall tell me everything by-and-by.” j I shook my head. “Miuo oe too long a story m detail; but you may nil it up from the outline. I weTit awry poor; I! have not returned rich, though with-enough to supply a bachelor s wants. ( “I am sorry you are a bachelor, dear fellow,” said my old mate, eyeing me com- ; pa-sionateiy. “But there is a bright side j to everything, and you can go home with ( me to dinner without its befnt? neces-sry to ask permission ; moreover, you can give or ders for your baggage to be forwarded to j Hop Villa—my little place out of town— without fear that your other half will lod;e a detainer. Depend on it, I shall not soon , part with you.’ . . | “ Aud can you really give such an inv.ta- j tiou without the coguizauce of the Lily that j owns you ? 0, happy Benedict! contmu- cd I, laughing; “tell me where I may linu such a partner, aud I wall forthwith join your fraternity.” i “Do’nt talk rashly, James; but rather . make all the prepafaiions you .need for a long visit, and join rue two hours hence. j lie named the, place of meeting. Both j were punctual, aud vve duly arrived at Hop Villa. J did not expect to see such a love.y do main as that which eilled my oid irieiui master; and its extent as far exceeded my anticipations as did its beauty. ‘ b.) this is your home l ’ I asked, my face expressing ■ both surprise aud pleasure. i “Y. s ad is really mins these boundaries j enclose.’ I see you wonder how it came to be so; but I do not like to begin a 1 mg s*o- y . before dinner, so be patient a little while j longer.” Wc were near the house when we came i upon the gardener, who wes exr.niring the < withered remains of an o and hop vine. ! “Is it quite dead, Scott V’a>ked ray friend, j “Quite, sir. Shall I remove it ! “1 suppose vou must: but I feei sorry to : give the order. Remember,• you procure and plant another in its place immediately, j I must not have Hop Villa without one vine.” “1 have been wondering,” said TANARUS, “what, induced you to give lift? charming place the 1 name it bears—if, indeed, yob acted as its sponsor.” 1 “An! thereby hangs a—or rather the— I talc ; but wait till after dinner.” | I mn-t say I felt very forlorn, in coif,pari- ( son with my iifbnd, when I saw the joy- j oos .-f ■tines h received from a handsome j matron, and haU-a-dozen boys aud girls, | varying in age from s.x to eig'uteep. In spite of his mook-lugubripus expression of J face, when he informed me that these form ed on'v a portion of tor one olive branch was at college, and tue youngest tendrils ol his household vine would come in with the desert, one might ! see that liis home deserved the name. It ’ was pleasant to receive a sort of reflected euition of all their cordiality, and I ie!t my heart warm iu return, though I knew their . welcome was for Luke’s safe, not from per- j sonal friendship towards the. “Sc >tt is just grubbing up the old hop- j vine, Nelly,” said my friend to his wife. This rein irk called forth quite a cuotus of regretful expressions, and made me ask for information as to the cause oi such univer : sai interest. “Patience, James,’ said Swinton; and i “Dinner,’ said a servant, f.t tlie same rao ruent; so I was fain to marshal my hostess Ito tb- dining-room, and endu r e uucom -1 plainingljr several jocose remarks on thesnb i ject of “hops,” which w ere evidently gen erally understood, though I could not com . prehend their meaning. ; Much as I admired my .host’s charming ! family, I felt glad when he and I had the 1 dining-room to ourselves, with the prospect , of an unrestrained chat “.My wife was a very fali-iu-lave-wiih able person seven and twenty years ago,” I said Luke, after the floor had been closed ! upon that lady. * “You need not tell me what she was, old I fejjow,” I replied; • she is charming still; and I would soon let her kno w my opinion ! ifshe was a widow.” “Thank you. I have'no wish to test you sincerity in the mode you so feelingly hin at. Bit take my word for it, iu th se by i gone days, Nelly would have been bad to ! match. I was intended for the cb :rch, as ! yon arc aware, and went to college with that profession in view : but during my very irst vacation I met Nelly at a Christmas j party, and she changed everything.” “Did Nelly object to parsons, then ?” 1 ‘ “No ; but her lather did. The old man was very rich, and had amassed his wealth ! by trade; so he was determined to have at j merchant, and no other, for a son-in-law. — I Nelly was dutiful, and though she owned her regard for me, would enter into no en gagement unsanctioned by her father. So 1 the end ohit was, that I never went back to Cambridge, but entersJ the old mer j chant’s office a3 a cletk.” “Very chivalrous, lam sure: but I pre sume you would have resigned ertwns as well as a miter—iu prospective —to win ; Nelly.” “Say a3 you will, it requires some self denial to give-up such fair prospects as I had, and take to plodding and quill driving ; with no yery definite notions of any reward. Old Stanley—Nelly's faffier—woqld oidy say that, if through ray own unaided efforts I “shoifid win a good position in the mer cantile world, l.e would not refuse met when I asked lor bis daughter. In the mean while, I was allowed free communication with my bslaved, and we were both young enough to wait a few years; for I wu3 only twenty when wo fir. t met, and. she was i twelve months jouhger.” j “For three ycafs I toffal like a galley i slave in my new vocation; Old Stanl y smiled approvingly, and advanced me (airly enough; but stiil there was nn a waff hill to climb before I should daie to soy a word about claiming Nelly, or, indeed, before cir cumstances would permit me to marry with out pecuniary aid from her father. My whole capital amounted to X3OOO ; it was a ’legacy from a maiden aunt of mine; and many times during those three probationary I years lmd I been tempted-to speculate with if, irf the hope of taking fortune by storm a3 it were, instead of winning it bit by bit.” “I cannot tancy you a speculator, Luke,” ! said I, “though I always considered yon a particulatly wide awake individual. Do vou r member your school nick-name, ‘All; Eyes?’” “To be sure I do, and I deserved it. Still j as vou say. I am not naturally speculative. ; I make the most of things in a regular way } of busini s->, but run no needless risks.— i Above ail, I hold that lie who endangets a j pound more than he actually possesses, com- 1 mits a breach of tlie command, ‘Thou shaft not steal.’ Yet I have speculated desperate -1 ly : and it is of my one gambl nc transac- . j tion lam going to speak. I had made such -atisiactory progress under old Stanley's i tuition, that at length he proposed I should I | invest my iittle capita!, arid become h s partner to the amount I have named above. ! | “Well do I remember leaving home on the morning of the day on which he made this | ! proposition. As I passed through the gate J ‘which led into the htfle shrubbery—you recollect the place, James, tor you spent ; mauy a jovial day at our house when we ( were lads I was attracted by the beautiful j i appearance of a hop-vine which twined lightly round a saplinar hard by. I had watched its growth, and now, as its flowers , trembled in the soft wiyd, I paused to ad- | i mire it before I passed on iny way. Before I returned in the evening, I had made ar j.angeinents for becoming a partner in the , I reat house of Stanley A Cos., and my little was, I may say, in my hands ready | o re-in vest. “Any person won’d suppose that, under : ! such circumstances, I should be too much ! absorbed iu meditating on mv commercial prospects to notice small externa! objects.— , But such was not the case. As u-ual l I was ‘all eyes;’ and when I reaohed the little I I shrubbery gate -I noticed that the plans i which, in the morning looked so beautiful, was now shrunken, and appeared as though scorched and whithered. Curious to know i the cause, I went immediately to the library, ad took down a work which would, I thought, enlighten me. In it 1 found a ; description of what I ter med the‘hop blight;’ and on comparing my own sniali expert- I ei.ee with it, I could scarcely doubt that, i my favorite plant had been thus suddenly i struck with the disease. Still, I was not 1 quite satisfied; °o I consulted the gardener, j who happened to be r.t work on the lawn. He shook his head when he saw the vine. ! ‘lt is the blight, sure enough,’ said he.— , ‘Tory few hops will fhere be this year. I I ! comes in this way, and covers a great extent I of country a!T at once, just as though a llame ’ had passed over it.’ “Then, you think,” said I, “the crop will ’ be spoiled.” “Not a bit of doubt of that, sir.” I ‘“That will do; thank you. I felt anxious i to know vviiat bad spoiled my vine so std ! denly.” I “The man returned to his work, and I, | I never w-aiting ior dinner, hurried back to | town to purchase every pocket of hop? I , | could-lay bands on. It was a desperate game,’for I risked every birthing J possess ed, but no more. Hops Were then partial- ! > Drly bhe;!p, for the p reeding year had been ; I one qf nmarkabie plenty, arid a lew hours : ! before I began to buy there was a good [ pro-pegt for .the coming season. Thanks to | my being ‘ail eyes,’ I was first in the field. , i I made no confidant —I did not even tell i Nelly wuat I was doing. Whan oid Stan icy alluded to the partnership, I quietly re quested permission to reconsider the mat- ! ter. His iace told that he deemed me a ‘ fool, for his ofLr was certainly a thing to ‘ jump af, and he informed Nelly in my pres- I ence, and with a perceptible sneer, that I was considering whether a partn -rship with him w it’d or woo and not be avisa’ole. The i dear girl hers- l! seem and almost hurt about it; but I whispered to her tint she must; trus’ me entkclv. and she said no m re. — ! : Nelly had wonderful faith in my infallibility I then. It would have been a great enrifritt I to me to ti.fi all about that venture of | mine, for I grew quite ha/gard wifirkeVp- I I ins it to inv< If. And how I w atclie 1 that solitary plant! If I saw the least signs of improvement in its appearance 1 trembled; and .the more the leaves drooped the race did my spirit rie. I was like a fellow by the sick bed of on° from whom he expects a rich legacy. You see 1 embarked not only my cash, but all my future prospects in this one venture. Isl lost the money, I know I should be sure to lose Nciiy also. Tlie successful speculator is feted as a shrewd mau, an i his fellows talk of his talent for business ; the unlucky one ij stigmatised as a gsmbler and a madman. , “But iny:anxi< ty did not las’ long. Ti e : Certainty of a failure in the crop of haps be came known, and there was an outcry in the market. Nobod7 ‘knew where a'.l th - hops | wore g*nu to. The brewers, caleu'at'iii? on | diminished prices, had*bit few in Land when the blight catn?; and now they eager ly soncht to increase’ their stock. You will guess how 1 held back, and 1 Hon sent iu my precious commodityiri small quantities, anl how my capital was quadrupled by the transaction.” “I see it all now,” interrupted I; “you”— “Stop, and let me finish. Don’t be rude, and spoil my story; it is nearly doae.—• When I had “parted with rpy last parcel of ‘ hops, and found myself , the possessor of twelve, instead of three thousand pounds, I j marched boldly into old Stanley’s office.— ! “I want to speak to you-about the partner- I ship yon were good enough to propose,” ! said I. “So you think of trusting yoixe fortune in the concern 1” .- >■ +.* ■ a*** I took no notice of the implied taunts, but merely answered: “ Not exactly the amount at first proposed.” I quite enjoyed the misunderstanding, for T saw he thought I only wished to venture a part of my cash, siuce he told me very coldly I had better retain the whole, as he should object to hav ing anything to do with such a very triiliog matter. “Your are nnder a mistake, Mr. Stanley,” I answered. “I wish to add a larger, cot a smaller amount to the capital of the firm. I have nine thousand pounds, the result ot my first mercantile venture, to add to the three 1 possessed a short time hack; and ihea NUMBER 42* I tc-ld him all. I wish yo i could have seen the old fedow's face. Id was tot the money he cared for, after all, but the fact of my having peeved myself wide awake. He ! said—and he could not marine a greater ! compliment—‘Swinton, you deserve to be I my sen-in-law.’ I wens home with him 1 tint diy, ’ and after dinner, when Nelly— she had no mother —was going to withdraw, hfj said : ‘Take Swinton with yoil and fix the wedding day.” And so she did, like a dear, dutiful daughter, as she always was.— Old Stanley behaved very handsomely.— This pretty home of ours was Ins wedding pr, si nt, and cost more than all my for Lune. I need not say now why it is called Hop Villa; and when I tell you that the old vine we lamented the death of, to-day, is a veri i tab'e Scion of the one which laid the founda i tion of my happiness, you will not wonder at our regret at losing it.” “Just one question more before we join the ladies, Swinton. Was this your only ; gambling transaction ?” “Really and truly, yes. Remember, I ran the risk of losing money to win a home and a bride, and having gained these, would I endanger them for money only, think you? ’ ‘•True ; you need not enlarge upon it.— Now, let us go to the mistress of LLup \ ilia. ’ Carsar Crosses tlie Rubicon. On the ever memorable night when Julius Cte-iar had resolved to take the first step (and in such a case the first step, as regarded the power of retreat i ing, was also the final step) which placed him in arms against the state, it hap pened that his head quarters were at some distance from the little river Rubi con, which formed the boundary of his province. With his usual caution, that no news of his motions might run before himself, on this night, Cmsar gave an en tertainment to his friends, in the midst of which ho slipped away unobserved, and with a small retinue proceeded through the woods to the point of the river at which he designed to cross. The night was stormy, and by the violence of the wind all the torches of his escort were blown out, so that the whole party lost their road, having probably at first intentionally deviated from the main road, and wandered about through the whole night, until the early dawn ena bled them to recover their true course. The light was still grey and uncertain, as Caesar and his retinue rode down upon, the banks of the fatal liver —to cross w hich, with arms in hands, since the fur ther bank lay wit hin the territory of the Republic, ipso facto proclaimed any Ro man a rebel and a traitor. No man, the firmest or most obtuse, could be other wise than deeply agitated when looking down upon this little brook—so insigni ficant in itself, but invested by law with a sanctity so awful, and so dire a conse cration. The whole course of future his tory, and the fate of every nation, would necessarily be determined by the irretri evable act of the next half hour. In these moments, and with this spec tacle before him, and contemplating these immeasurable consequences consciously for the last time that could allow him a retreat—impressed also by the solemni ty and deep tranquility of the silent dawn, whilst the exhaustion of his night- . wanderings predisposed him to nervous irritation—Ctesar, we may be sure, was profoundly agitated. The whole clc | rnents of the scene were almost scenical ly disposed ; the law of antagonism hav ing perhaps never been employed with so much effect; the little quiet brook presenting a direct antithesis to its grand political character; and the innocent dawn, with it pure, untroubled repose, contrasting potently, to a man of any in tellectural sensibility, with the long chas os of bloodshed, darkness, and anarchy, which was to take Its rise from the ap parently trifling acts of this one moraine. So prepared, we need not much wonder at what followed. Caesar was yet lin gering on the hither bank, when sudden ly at a point, not far distant from him self, an apparition was descried, in a sitting pasture, holding in its hand what seemed a flute. This phantom was of unusual size, and of beanty more than human, so lar as its lineaments eould be traced in the early dawn. ‘’A hat is sin gular, however, in the story, on any hy pothesis which would explain it out of Caisar’s individual condition, is, that 1 others saw it as well as he ; both pasto ral labourers (who were present, proba bly in the character of guides,) and some of the sentinels stationed at the passage of the river. • * These men fancied even that a strain of music issued from this aerial flute.— And some, both of the shepherds. and the Roman soldiers, who. were bolder than the rest, advanced towards the fig ure. Amongst this party, it happened that therofwereja few Roman trumpets. ; From one of these, the phantom, rising as they advanced nearer, suddenly caught a trumpet, and blowing through it a blast of superhuman strength, plunged into the Rubicon, passed to the other bank, and disappeared in the dusky twilight of the dawn. Upon which Clear exclaim ed : —“lt is finished—the die is cast—let bs follow whither the guiding portents from Tleaven, and the malice from our enemy, alike summon us to go.” So say ing, he crossed the river with impetuos ity ; and, in a.sudden rapture of passion ate and vindictive ambition, placed him self and his retinue upon the Italian soil; and, as if by inspiration from Heaven, in one moment involved himself and his followers in treason, raised the standard of revolt, put his foot upon the neck of the invincible republic which had hum bled all tho kings of the earth, and found ed an empire which was to last for a thousand and a half thousand years.— In what manner this spectral appearance whs managed —whether Ctesjr was its mihor or its dupe—will remain unknown forever. — l*e (/vlncey. A Yankee editor, noticing the decease of a rich subscriber, observes, that “He has died regretted by a numerous circle of friends and leaving a widow as disconsolate as any widow need be, wfip has obtained the un cqptrolable pos g ssion of twenty thousand dollars per annnrt.” About twenty young men have sent letters of condolence to her,