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VOL. XIV.
THE GEORGIA JEFFERSONIAN
IS PUBLISHED EVERT THURSDAY MORNING
BY WILLAM CLINE,
t Two Dollars aad Fifty Cents per an
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ADVERTISEMENTS are uisrrtcd af OWE
DOLLAR nor sepia re, for liie first- insertion, and
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thereafter. * . - * * ’ _
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Ail advertisements dot otherwise ordered, wil
be continued till forbid.
iC OF LANDS by Administrators,
Executors or Guardians are required hj law to he
held on the first Tuesday in the month, between
the horns o! ten in the (orenoon and three in the
afternoon, at the Court-House, in the county in
which the land is situated. Notice of tluse snip,
must he given in a public gazette FORTY DAYS
pr”ionp to the dav of sale.
SUES OF NEGROES must he inane at pub
lic auction on the first Tuesday oft lie month, be
tween the usual hours of sale, at the place or pub
lic sales to the county where the letters Testa
nentars, of Administration or Guardianship may
have been granted; first giving FORI'Y DAYS
notice thereof in one of the public gazettes of this
State, and at the court house whe c such sales arc
to he held.
Notice for the sale of Personal Property must
be given in like manner FORTY DAYS previous
to (be day of sale,
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate
most be published FORTY DAYS.
Notice that, application will he made to the Court
of Ordinary lor leave to sell land must be pub
lished for TWO MONTHS,
Notice, for LEAVE TO SELL NF.GROF.S must he
published TWO MONTHS before any order ab
solute shall fao made thereon by the Court,
CITATIONS for Letters of Administration,
wist he published thirty dais; for Dismission
from Aeministration, monthly six moeths; for
Dismission from Guardianship, forty day - ,
Rules lor the Eon-closure of Mortgage must be
nnhlis'ied monthly lor four months, for estab
lishing' vt papers, lor the full space of three
month-• ter f'.m.i - king titles from Executors or
Aommis’ a'mV- i 1 r<-a bond has been given by
the dis- ised. !•.< foil space of three months.
<*&*&*>***•
THE .RULEJDF LIFE.
by n-QN. n. a. ciiarlton.
It was the remark of a distinguished j
poetess, “that the little tilings of life arc
the terrible.” It may seem to us to hare
been a hasty observation, but “sober se
cond thought’’ will teach us, it is founded
upon an accurate conception of human
character and feelings. The mind of man
is capable of vast effort; and though histo
ry admonishes us, that when the occasion
called for supereminent exertion, the men
tal and physical powers have gathered
strength for the performance, yet the re
verse is equally true, and trifles, light as
;ur, have been the means of overturning
kingdoms, and displacing both crowns and
heads.
Though wc live in an age that is emi
nently practical, we are too apt to disre
gard small things. Even in reference
to Providence, our faith, though it be
strong enough to receive with perfect con
fidence, the assertion and the doctrine,
that there is a superintending Power,
which controls the great destinies of mighty
nations, yet quails and becomes faint, when
it is told, that no sparrow falleth to the
ground, without the special mandate of an
Almighty mind. We swallow the camels,
while we strain at the gnats. We forget,
constantly, that the little daily events of
life, however insignificant they may sepa
rately seem, are the atoms that compose
the mountain; and that the breath of an
insect is as necessary to its existence, and
calls for as much, nay more, of Divine ef
fort (I speak it reverently) than the crea-
tion of a resplendent sun, or a brilliant
planet.
Who can say, what is a little event?—
Who can tell that it is not the first tiny
drop of the flood that will sweep away a
continent—tiie beginning of a fearful end?
If the form tow gasping beneath the fiery
hand of a terrific disease, had known when
the first gentle quivering of the pulse de
noted its commencement —if the wretched
victim of sin, now borne down to the earth
by the manacles around his form and heart,
could have detected in the first faint whis
per of hus subtle enemy, the whirlwind of
passion and of vice so soon to overwhelm
him, think you that they would have con
sidered these little things unworthy of their
attention? Xo, my hearers; and we would
do well to keep the lesson on our minds,
and never despise the warnings as well of
Holy writ, as of the daily, hourly experi
ence of us ail.
One little word! How it changes our
destiny—how it controls our feelings.—
Madame Do Stacl said, that she could
never hear the word “no more,” without
being melted into tears. A shorter, sim
pler, word than that has made many a
stouter heart writhe in agony. Oh, ye in
credulous bachelors—oh, ye men, who
crawl through life amid the darkness and
desolation of your “single blessedness,”
whose day is without a sun, and whose
night without a moon, what is it that lias
brought you to year wretched estate?
what is it that lias wrapped your hearts in
the drapery of misery, and left you outcast
upon the beautiful earth? Ah, there was
a day, (perhaps it was night,) when you
knelt at the feet of some imperious beauty,
and commencing with a plaintive strain,
as soft as the moaning of Spring’s bland
est zephyr, (old her of your love, and bent
to hear her whispered answer. The liquid
lips of beauty have moved. They utter a
single word. If it had been “yes,” your
life would have been a perpetual sunshine
—every beautiful • glowing tint of love’s
blue sky would have been yours— every
year of your existence would have been
marked by diamond mile posts, each one
brighter than the last—angel eyes, cloth
ed in human drapery, would have glanced
upon you—tiny footsteps pattering upon
your floor, would have found their echoes
in your heart—prattling, lisping, voices
would have warbled for you earth’s sweetest
music—an*l when you passed away, and
the soft tears of affection had fallen upon
the green turf that covered you, the fra
grant little “forget-me-nots,” called up by
i hose tears, would have blossomed upon
your grave, and men would have written
for your epitaph, “here lies all that re
mains of a devoted hqsbawj, and an affec
tionate father 1” 13ut, alas! it was not
<‘yes” tl>at lady said,-it was a smaller
word —it was “no!” and here you are this
day, and what you arei Don’t tell me that
vou are happier —that it has saved you
from a load of misery—that itdias kept
you from the lashings of a shrewish tongue
—that it has given to you the comfort of
a quiet home—that it has preserved you
from the misery of a broken heart. If it
has done all this, it proves my theory, for
all this has been accomplished, by one of
the smallest words in the English lan
guage. But has it effected this for you?
When you lie down to rest to-night, ask
your own heart that question, apd it will
give, in % sadder and more plaintive tone,
the samc..answer that the ktfly gave you
—“AV”
Away, and away! ns the mists of the mornin",
That flee, when the day sheds its splendors a
round,
Or the fawn, when the steps of the hunter gives
warn in>r,
That rusheth away with impetuous bound.
So, when round the heart ever)- enreof life presses,
II then, dear afloction sheila o’er ns its rav,
If Love, with his brightness our pilgrimage blesses,
Away flee our sorrows, away, ad away!
Away, and away! as the winter, so hoary,
When Spring, lovely Spring, comes with blos
som and <jreen;
Or the clouds, when the sunlight streams forth in
its glorv,
‘And gladdens each bosom, and brightens each
econe.
Even so, when the frost of adversity blight nth,
Or the clouds of despair darken hope’s beaming
ray,
Ifthen love’s dear smile our fond bosoms delight
el h,
Away fl-e our sorrows, away, and away!
But again: that little syllable “life.”—
What many thoughts come thronging to
the brain as we utter it! “Oh, life! life!
Oh, death! death! How strange!” Thesfe
were among the last words of Daniel Web
ster. Hovering on the line which divides
the bounds of time from the boundless
realms of eternity—an eternity he was so
soon to enter upon—his great, philosophi
cal mind was even then engaged in the
effort to solve the problem, “what is life?”
llow strange, indeed! What is that vital
principle, that sends the red blood flowing
through our veins—that brightens our
eyes with the lustre of hope that gives
us the capacity to conceive—the energy
to accomplish almost anything—and with
out which, the giant frame falls lifeless to
the earth, and the lamp of genius goes out
in the darkness of the grave. Science has
often asked tho question, but science has
never answered it. The alchymist may
change the rock into the golden ore. The
chemist may, by his subtle skill, convert
the icy mast into the glowing flame, but
their strength is all in vain, when they
seek to restore to the body of death the
vital essence that so late dwelt within it.
What God hath taken, man cannot re
claim. What a child with a mere bodkin
can destroy, the united wisdom, and pow
er, and effort of all created beings can
never renew.
This is a self-evident proposition, and I
may not linger to illustrate it. The source
of life is beyond our knowledge, the reten
tion of life is beyond our power; but
though all this be strictly true, the much
more important questions remain—What
is the design of Omnipotence in bestowing
the gift upon us? How shall we use it?
What course of conduct, what mode of ex
istence will ensure for us the greatest
good? How shall we charm away the
fangs of disease? How shall we retain
within our bosoms the dove of peace?—
What manner of men shall we be? These
are momentous queries, involving our hap
piness in this world, aud our destiny in the
next, and to their practical consideration
I propose to devote the remainder of this
brief address.
Every man forms in his own mind his
estimate of happiness. He who delights
in the wild excitement of the flowing bowl,
can imagine no greater pleasure than its
enjoyment, surrounded by the hilarity of
his boon companions; the youth, into whose
bosom, Cupid, with his malicious roguish
ness, has cast a strong arrow, can think of
no other joy than that which flashes upon
him from the bright artillery of his lady’s
eyes; the scholar, who delves after wis
dom as if he were searching for fine gold,
constitutes for himself an intellectual Hea
ven, where he may study on unweariedly
in the pursuit of his favorite science; the
man of gentle, quiet mind, longs after the
pcacefnl vale, the bosom of whose waters
is never disturbed by a gloomy shadow,
whilst the disputatious and contentious
spirit would have lieve you wrapped him
in molten lead as to place him where he
could find no one to quarrel with. It was
to a reverend gentleman of this class, who
was about to become a missionary in a
heathen land, that the witty and sarcastic
Sidney Smith said, after a fierce argument
with him on some subject, “as you cannot
agree with any one here, I hope you will
agree with the stomachs of the cannibals
to whom you arc going, for their chiefs
always keep a little cold clergyman upon
their side table, as a lunch.” It is in vain
to multiply examples. The forms of men
arc typical of their minds in this respect,
and each one has his peculiar views in re
ference to the life which it would be his
choice to live. It is plain, therefore, that
wc could never get a satisfactory answer as
to what is happiness, by appealing to the
tests by which worldly matters arc gene
rally decided. We must look elsewhere,
or our question will remain unanswered.
And yet, we must believe that there is
a proper reply to it; there must be a stan
dard of happiness. We look around us
and see nature perfect in all her works. —
Wherever onr vision extends, we see order,
and beauty, and symmetry, and when our
natural sight can go no further, by the aid
of the telescope we discover that the bright
suns above us have their proper courses,
and wander never from their glittering
pathway; and by the power of the micro
scope, we sec infinitesimal atoms starting
into view, as beautiful in their outlines, as
complete in their organization, as true to
their destiny, as the giant forms that af
fright us by their magnitude. Is man, for
whom all these things were made, the only
exception to the universal rule? Has God
so formed the flower of the field, that it
will bring forth its fragrance, with an un
erring instinct; and has he left man, his
creature, formed after his own image, no
rule to govern his conduct, no principle to
shape his course? If there be a Divinity
above us, (and what wise man will doubt
it? it was the fool that said in his heart,
“there is no God,”) if there be a Divinity
a!)ore u.s—if wo be not the mere creatures
of chance—it would be blasphemy to deny
that the source of all Power is not also the
GRIFFIN, (GA.) THURSDAY MORNING, MARCH 31, 1853.
fountain of all goodness, and that man
would never have been formed from the
dust of the earth, and had breathed into
him a living soul, if he w r ere to be left to
grope his way in darkness as to his proper
conduct, and to end a miserable life by a
still more miserable death.
But what is the standard? The soldier
answers, “glory 1” Give me the excite
ment of the battle field; give me the lau
rels of the successful chieftain; give me
the plaudits of a grateful people; gre me
the life of a gallant warrior, the novelty
of a roving career, the charms of the bi
vouac; and when I die, wrap the banner
of my country about my bier, and leave
me to my rest, and let the stone truly re
cord above me that he who sleeps beneath
lived and died in the possession of unmixed
happiness. Alas, who shall give thee ail
these things? You have conjured up an
ideal picture that the world has never seen
realized; and if you could be thoroughly
assured that they all should be yours, yon
know little of your own heart, if you do
not understand, that the certainty of suc
cess would take away all the excitement
which ever awaits on doubt and danger,
and leave you on the war plaiu, but a cold
blooded slaughterer of your fellow-men;
and if you throw back upon me my argu
ment, and say, that inasmuch as there can
be no certainty of success, the excitement
you delight in will remain to you, then, I
ask you, if success should not come, where
will be your happiness? What spell will
you have to keep off misery, when, with
tattered plume, and broken sword, and
tarnished name, you return to your native
home, amid the scorns and the scoffs of
thqse around’ you? What warrior ever
lived more powerful, more successful, more
worshipped, than Napoleon Bonaparte?—
And.ycl his. sun behind thc i ho
rizon of defeat, disgrace, and disquietude’
and his last years were spent in wrangling
with a petty Governor and his subordi
nates, about the honor and freedom of a
miserable rock in the ocean. If you think
that you can do more than he did, go on,
and pursue your phantom. If yon arc
satisfied that you cannot, then you have
your answer.
Truly he has, echoes the aspirant for
civic fame; war delights not me. I see
no pleasure in spilling upon the earth the
life blood of one who never harmed me.—
I could not think of his desolate widow,
and of his outcast orphans, without shud
dering to know, that their curse, —their
voiceless curse, was upon me. That is not
the road to happiness. I feel that I have
talent of the highest order, energy that
has an unfailing grasp, an education that
fits me for the mental arena. I ask but
the confidence of my fellows. I seek but
their helping hand to raise me to some
lofty position, and I will make for myself
a name that will ring, like the notes of a
clarion, throughout the earth: and my days
shall be happy, and my nights tranquil.—
The stream of life will glide on, and not a
ripple of sorrow shall disturb the beauty
of its unruffled surface.
Oh, thoughtless man, how many an
aching heart in this metropolis of our land,
if thou couldst but read it, if its bleeding
wounds, its blighted hopes, its sullied hon
ors, could be unveiled to thee, would give
thee an answer that you would be deafer
than the deaf adder, if you did not hear.
What avail talent, energy, education, a
gainst popular clamor —against detraction
—against envy? . If you could case your
heart in adamant, if you could fling aside
the whisperings of conscience, if you could
stride on, crushing under your relentless
heel, every kind feeling, every honest im
pulse, then might you succeed in your
highest endeavor: and then, what? Would
content and happiness then come to you?
Alas, no; you would still yearn, like the
warrior of old, for other realms to conquer.
Higher ! Higher ! Excelsior ! would still
be your desire. Fame has no level ground;
ambition no horizon; and the hour that
you have reached the nc plus ultra of your
career, would prove to you that you had
pursued a butterfly, which had perished in
your grasp.
But liten to me, exclaims the scholar and
i'uc man Os science. I grant that any ca
reer that is subject to the caprices of oth
ers, or the chances of war, must necessari
ly be attended with sorrow and anxiety,- —
But what say you to my life? What can
be more harmless, what can bo more use
ful? What nobler purpose could I have
in view, than to gather from the field, that
Nature has spread before me, the flowers
of science, and distil them into living ho
ney for the benefit of mankind? What
care I for public clamor? let it roar on, it
can harm not me! Who will envy me in
ray blameless, honorable career ? Who
will molest me in my quiet, peaceful home?
Every day new secrets will open to my de
lighted vision, and when death comes to
close my peaceful labors, I will leave them
as a legacy to my grateful countrymen,
and “wrapping the drapery of my couch
about me, lie down to pleasant dreams!”
And you are dreaming now, oh pupil of
science, or else you see but as in a glass,
darkly. Doubtless you are nearer to hap
piness than the soldier or the statesman,
but if science be your only hope, if knowl
edge be your only divinity, you arc still
afar off from the true mark. One of the
greatest of your predecessors, one of the
giant minds of your species, than whom no
ono more thoroughly had the open sesame
to science of all kinds, has said, “I am but
a child, wandering by the great ocean of
knowledge, aud picking up pebbles from
its beach, whilst its vast space is spread
before me, undiscovered and unknown ”
Who docs not know that every problem
we master, brings with it the assurance
that there'are many others of which we
are ignorant—that the search after knowl
edge teaches us, that the more wc know,
the more we want to know, and that the
intellect, like the bird with the broken
wing, soars in vain to rise to those
heights it would delight in, and falls to
the earth, wearied, baffled and disheart
ened; and this Is happiness?
Now, you are coming to it, whispers
the enthusiastic lover; you have dealt
wisely with the subjects you have touch
ed; you have shown clearly that in none
of those pursuits true happiness can be
found; but now you are coming to me; I
remember your vivid description of the
evils of a bachelor’s lot; and now I see
clearly what your rule, your standard of
happiness is—it is Love; it is that beau
tiful tie that links with golden cords two
gentle hearts. It is that delightful sym
pathy which steals the thorn from misfor
tune, and gives a brighter lustre to the
beam of joy. Softly, my ardent friend;
he not so hasty in your conclusion. I
shall promulgate no such ther.y; I shall
announce no such rule. What you say
is indeed true. Earth bi-v co greater
blessing than the boon of de
voted,'undying love. ’©vwWWwWhen
in Eden’s bower, two hearts were bound
together; ever since then it has been the
jewel of life’s coronal, the halm of life’s
wounds. Oh! beauty, how much thou
hast to answer for; how many a warrior
has bent his plumed head before thee,
with wailing and with anguish. Thy
glance, more subtle than the barbed steel,
has pierced through his thick armor, and
left its shaft within his heart. Who can
look within those soft, bright eyes of
thine, and turn away unscathed, uncon
quered ? Thy tear—how often has it
fallen upon the rrftnacles of the captive;
and his chains have melted from his
limbs. Thy smile—how often has it
flung its ray upon the weary, throbbing
heart, and the blackness of despair has
changed, in an instant,Th hua of
joy? Love is indeed, most beautiful. It
was that, in a higher and nobler sense
than mortal man can ever know, that
brought down Gofl from Heaven; that
joined him to a form of flesh; that bade
him move onward, upon the earth He bad
created, an outcast and a wanderer, more
homeless than the vulture of the air—
more despised than the assassin of tho
midnight; that made him droop with ag
ony upon the accursed tree, when the
affrighted sun grew black with terror,
and the shuddering orytb l<*4acrjider,
as ‘hose greal drops of blood, (Ok, dread
ful though* —the blood of !) came
pattering down like rain upon its green
sward, while man, blaspheming man,
with heart harder than the rocks that
opened, mocked at those fierce agonies,
and with tongue set on fire of Hell, cried
out with the speech of demons, “Crucify
him ! crucify him !” Love l thou art
indeed most beautiful. It is thou which
makest the mother bend in rapture above
her idiot boy; those senseless orbs, from
which no ray of intelligence has ever
shone, are brighter to her vision than the
most resplendent jewel of Golconda’s
mine; that loud, shrilling laugh, so hide
ous to the ears t f others, is like the sound
of the sweetest music, to her own; that
distorted, ill-shaped form, that came into
this breathing world scarce half made up,
looms upon her sight with the beauty of
an angel’s lineaments. What can it be
that has made such impressions upon her?
Love! that most beautiful of all earthlv
affection, a mother’s love! VVe read, in
the fairy tales, of one who changed with
her wand the briars into and the
serpents into doves. Love b the wand
that can effect these miracles. Love is
the tie which Providence Lilh twined
around the mother’s heart and her help- j
less offspring, and life has no scimetar
that can ever sever it.
A mother’s love! Oh! who shall sound
its depths? How our hearts bow in sor
row at the thought of her, though alto
gether unknown to us, from whose hap
py side the darling child, the idolized
boy, the onl}’ son of his mother, was
recently snatched, and hurled in an in
stant to a bloody death. Old who shall
tell the unutterable weight of anguish
that fell, in that moment, upon the child
less heart; the concentrated sorrow of a
thousand years could do no more. “Oh,
Absalom, my son! my son!” was the
wail which the king of Israel sent forth,
when the messenger of victory came to
tell him that his own life was secure, his
kingdom restored, and his rebellious child
slain. Though that son was a traitor,
and though many oihers remained to him;
the affection which the Father of us all
has entwined within our hearts, started
into pre-eminence. The shouts of victo
ry were hushed by those plaintive strains
of the aged monarch, and the silence of
the grave prevailed, save when it was
broken by that agonized cry, “Would
that I had died for the, OTT Absalom, my
son! my son!” But hero it was a mother
weop’"g above her only, darling, dutiful
boy!
Oh life! how quickly upon the li?ft!sof
thy most brilliant success, cams Ihe wing
ged mesenger of thy deep despair! H-w
startling are thy vicissitudes! How fear
ful it is to reflect that whso the sunshine
is at the brightest, the storm is at th*
nearest! How many hopes has that sin
gle moment of time crushed! What a
pall of black despair (dark as midnight
as to earth, but still, illumined by the
flashes of an eternal light,) has it flung
upon those parents’ life! It is the voice
of God that hath spoken in this calamity,
and it alone can give the message of
peace- Let us gaze upon the bright ones
around our own firesides and ha thank
ful. Let us look into the depths of our
bosoms and be still!
So perished all the joy* that clung,
When Lite wa? “lad and
So from our hearts the iinks are flung,
That bind us Earth, to thee!
Oh, rainbow hopes ! Oh, Love’s bright chain!
Ye are all vain! Ye are all vain!
And so’ we pass, and one by imio,
Like withered leaves in Autumn's day,
Our goal unreacbod, onr task undone,
VVe vanish from tlic world away.
Some tear3 around our graves are ahecL
Some loving hearts arc in twain,
And then oblivion’s gloom is spread,
Above the dust where we rcinam!
Oh wise physician, h a’ thyself!
Oh, lawyer, in thine own cause plead !
Oh, merchant, change thy earthly pelf,
For riches that are gain indeed !
S > when thy troubled dream is o’er,
And denilr l>:itli opeM his portals wide,
Tin feet inav find the golden shore.
Where life’# eternal waters glide !
Oh, love, thou-, art indeed most
bcaulilul! Bowed down with guilt and
crime, earth’s fugitive may have the
mark of (Jain upon his brow, to all, save
ono, to all save her, tho of his
toil, his feelings, and his fame. The
child, shielded by his arms, in the help
lessness of infancy, may lift his heel up
on his parent’s heart and grind it to dust,
l’lie friend who lived upon his bounty,
may load him with curses; but she, the
angel of his happiness, will be his angel
still in his misery; and in the midnight
blackness of his ignominy and his de
spair, will be heard the gentle, consoling,
reclaiming accents of his devoted wife,
“I know nt, [ adt not, if* gnUl’a in that heart ,
But 1 know that 1 love thee, whatever thou art
Love is indeed a great blessing; but
nevertheless, it is not the practical rule
we are looking fort Apart from the
difficulty, my ardent friend, that even it
he the rule, it is not all of us that can
obtain iheLlessing, fmwevor diligently ttd
may strive for it. Beauty is a fickle phan
tom, hard to catch, and still harder to
hold; and when caught and held, tho
flower which, afar off, seemed a rose,
with blushing hue and verdent leaves,
will ha found oiltimes, to have a hidden
thorn, which shall pierce thy own bosom
and transfer its blush to thine own silly
heart.
But isl may be permitted to borrow
from my own fugitive poetry, I will give
you warning in verse.
Maiden of the blooming aac,
O’er tvhose path the sunlight lingers,
O’er whose brow despair and rage,
Ne’er have swept, their loathsome fingers;
Virgin ! pure in heart and mind,
Slum the spot where love reposes;
Oh, beware, or you will find
Sharpest ttiorns among tho roses.
Damsel! thou whom Time hath kissed,
Slightly, on thy lips of coral;
By the charms that, thou hast missed,
Learn, Oh learn my pimple moral.
Time may seem to thee unkind,
Love, a brighter fate discloses;
Oh, beware, or you will find
Sharpest thorns among the roses.
Warrior from the battle field,
With thy laurel wreath around thee,
Arm thvself with sword and shield,
Fly, ere yet the foe hath found thee.
Love for thee a spell ha h twined,
- Where the eye of beauty c ! O3- 9 ;
Ob, beware, or you yr:U ft.id ,
Sharpest thorns amongst the rose*.
Father j tiidil whose juMeriog gait.
Tells of legtgbened years a fid sorrow#,
Tells what soon will be thy late,
Ere the sun biings many morrow*,
Love will seek e’en thee to bind,
Ere death’s portal o’er Mien closes;
Oh, beware, or you will find
Sharpest thorns among his roses.
Maiden! Damsel! Warrior! Sire!
Shun the wand of this enchanter;
Come not near the hidden fire.
Heed ye not his idle banter;
lie is faithless, fickle, blind,
tie the source of all onr woe is,
And beware, or yon will find
Sharpes! thorns amongst his roses.
Besides all this, I repeat, what we are
seeking for is a practical rule of conduct.
Love may bless every condition. Nay,
I am not sure it is not oftener found in
the dungeon, than in the palace; but love
is not a profession, or a calling. What
rule of life shall we follow to insure our
happiness? That is the question 1 have
asked, and you answer me, “Love!”
But the answer is dictated by your heart,
not by your mind. You would not think
of living by love. Your most cherished
poet has told you that even Love cannot
live on flowers. And, therefore, we have
i not yet arrived ai the answer ivc-artt
seeking.
Then, what is ihe standard ? What is*
the rule? It belongs to no profession in
particular; the monarch upon his throne
can secure it; the captive in his loathsome
cell may retain it. There is no station,
there is no condition, where it is not to
be found; and it is this: It is the faithful
and conscientious discharge of every duty
which may be allotted to you. no matter
how minute, for if the little things of life
are the terrible, they are also <'ne beauti
ful—the unwavering attention to the sug
gestions of the monitor wthin your breast.
No man, though surrounded by fame, by
wealth, by science, by love, can be happy,
who feels that he has turned a deaf ear to
his bosom’s lord. No one, however de
graded, trodden down, at first, hungry,
wounded, can he miserable, who knows
that he has been true to the warnings of
conscience, that ho has been earnest
in his search after truth, and unfaltering”
in his devotion to principle.
“Honor and shame from no cosn.iilion* rise;
Act well your part, there ail the honor lies!”
It is the memory of our past life to
which we must always look for comfort
or for reproach; the present we are too
busy with; the future has tco much of
Hope’s brightest hues. It is the stern
reality of the past, that must be our trea
suro h “toe of grateful recollection, or our
char.; * ; ~‘*ousa of perished joys and per
verted-hour;}. Memory is the most prom
inent attribute of the mind, it is the gol
den thread that connect* tbs jewels to
gether, and if it break, th® £ema W’d! fall
to the ground and lie scattered it; useless
profusion. It is said, and I have no doubt I
of it, that what we have once learned we
can never forget. Tho trifling incident
of boyhood’s years, the passing event,
which seemed to float by upon the
stream of Time,'almost unobserved, will,
in more mature life, flash back upon our
mental vision, with a startling vividness;
it may be true, that we apparently lorgel
much that we have witnessed; it may be,
that we cannot recall each scene at plea
sure; but in the lodgments of the brain
they are hidden, and memory, when we
least expect it, will reproduce them, and
ofiimes make our cheek grow pale, or
our brow crimson, at the unwished for re
collection. And time is like the skilful
workman who is about to take down some
ancient mansion : he begins with the roof,
and after he has demolished that, then he
takes down the higher story, and so on
in an inverse order to their erection, un
til he reaches the foundation, which last
of all, he removes: and such is Times’
attack upon the memory. He begins up
on the last event, the top stone of our
decaying tabernacle. The old man, tot
tering in his second, childhood, will for
get the scene that he has just witnessed
—and yet remember well the incidont of
a score of years ago, and, as hs advances
nearer and nearer to the grave of nil his
faculties, and as a gloom more horrible
than death is settling upon his worn-out
mind, whilst the present is dark before
him, his garrulous tongue will still prate
to you of his childhood’s visions, and tell
you truly, tho events of his early life.—
What a warning does this give us; wt
are now laying up fur ourselves blissfu
dreams, or we are heaping up layers ol
i each deed wa now commit, each
thought wo now harbor, whether it be of
evi! or of good, we artrputtiog up in store
tor the retrospection of life’s last hours!
Oh let ns see to it, that when we draw
nigli \o our final rest, when the clews of
death are gathering upon our brow, and
the hand of the destroyer is uplifted to
sirike us down, we may look back upon
the long avenues of years throughwhich
we have trodden, and see there the smi
ling countenances of those whose hearts
weiiave^,<rladd^en4 T _whaa* fivesa4t^* p
cheered, beaching upon us their giati
tude; and that we may look forward with
joy, and humble hope, to those bright
and beautiful mansions prepared for us
in Heaven, whose maker and builder is
God!
I have recently met with a beautiful
little Poem, the author of which I am
ignorant of, which gives the rule, in a
few practical words, and with the recita
tion of which, I will conclude this lecture
“There ere three lessons l would write, —
Three words—as with a burning pen,
In tracings of eternal light,
Upon the hearts of men.
“Have Hope I Tho’ clouds environ now,
And gladness hides her face, with scorn,
Put thou the shadows from thy brow, —
No night but hath its rnern.
“Have Faith ! where’er thy bark is drivcn, s -*-
T|ic calm’s disport--the tempest’s mirth, —
Know tins'—God rules the hosts of Heaven,
Th’ inhabitants of earth.
“ Have Love! Not love alone for one,
But man,ns man, thy brother call,—
And scatter, like the circling sun,
Thy charities on all.
“Thus grave these lessons on thy Soul—
Hope, Faith, and Love—and thou shall find,
Strength, when life’s surges wildest roll, —
•Light, when thou else wert blind!”
The Pacific Railroad.
Promises to be the most engrossing sub
ject of Gen. Pierce’s administration.—
“Old Bullion,” we see, is already in the
field, having addressed a letter to his-con
stituents on the subject. It advocates the
Cen'ral route, for which Col. Fremont
has long expressed a preference, and
which has “remained unnoticed for three
years, while the Southern (Memphis)
route has monopolized attention.”
Col. Benton is in favor of making this
highway on a grand scale, reserving a
tract, a mile wide, for all sorts of roads,
rail and macadamised, and a plain old
English road, and two margins, one hun
dred feet wide, for independent and rival
telegraph lines. lie is opposed to making
tlis highway by any mixture of public
and private means, or by giving lands to
companies, but holds that the United
Slates should build the road and the fix
tures, and let out the use of it for a term
of seven or ten years to the highest bid
der. The present system of railways
from the Mississippi to the Atlantic he
regards as an expanded fan; the spokes
of which converge at St. Louis, the han
dle extending tlier.ee to San Francisco.
The unprecedented rapidity with which
our territory on the Pacific has been set
tled, and Tne importance of having a
more direct and quick communication
‘with our auriferous sisler State, has
brought this stupendous enterprise into
prominent notice; and wa trust that it
will he thoroughly examined by the peo
ple before any particular route is adopt
ed. But, so numerous and so widely dif
ferent are all the projects and routes ad
vocated, and such is the feeling exhibited
by the various sections for the termini,
that it is somewhat problematical wheth
er Lite arrangements will be completed for
some years to come. Besides, the dis
cordant materials of which both Houses
are composed is likely enough to jeopard
ize any enterprise of such vast importance
as the Pacific Railroad promises to be. —
We shall take occasion, ere long, to ex
amine further into the merits of the pro
posed great highway.— Sav. Republican.
Strange Mirage.—The following,
from the correspondent of the Freeman’s
Journal, would appear to be almost suf
ficient to stagger belief, yet well authen
ticated cases of the kind have been fre
quently recorded :
On Wednesday night about 11 30 atari
elevation of about five hundred feet in
the sky, a large steamer was visible for
about five minutes in an upright position,
steaming for the South, her s?ffls all set,
and evidently at full speed. The illusion
was so complete that I could observe the
mainsail flapping with the wind. The
sky, in the immediate locale, was clear,
the outline of this atrial steamer being in
darkness. I have just heard that the
American mail steamer left Liverpool on
| ih? day before, and it is possible that she
wft3 reflected.
This piietiPmetioth we are told, was
frequently witnessed by out* army, when
in Mexico, and it is not of unfrequent
occurrence on the deserts of AsiU and
Africa. When Baron Humboldt was at
Cumana, he frequently saw the Islands
of Pecuita and Borach, apparently sus
pended in the air, and sometimes with
inverted images During the march of
the French army over the sandy plains
of Egypt, it is said many similar instan
ces of mirage occurred. “The villages
situated upon small eminences, were suc
cessively seen, like so many islands in
the midst of an extensive lake, and be
neath each village appeared its inverted
image; in the same direction an image of
the blue sky was seen clothing the sand
with its own bright hues, and causing
the wilderness to appear like a rich and
luxuriant country. So complete was the
deception that the troops hastened for
ward to refresh themselvos amid those
cool retreats; ftut as they advanced the
illusion vanished, only to reappear at the
villages beyond.”
The seemingly miraculous appearances
of a red cross, at the height of two hun
dred feet in the heavens, while the wor
shippers in the Parish of Migtie, in
France, were engaged in the exercises-of
ihe Jubilee, was clearly attributed to the
law of refraction of light. A largo and
red cross had been planted by the side
•of the church, as a part of the religious
ceremony.
Frequent instances of mirage or loom
ing, have also occurred on our own lakes,
but none so striking as we have recorded.
Cleveland Democrat.
Itinerant Preachers in California
•— 7'heir Trials and Labors. —From a
number < f Dr. Bo i.igL Christian Obser
ver, published in San Francisco, wp re
gret to notiee that the health of.the Doc*
tor is/in the decline, and that hereafter
he will he able to issue his paper only
twice a month, instead Jf weekly. His
numerous friends and acquaintances in
this section will read this intelligence
with many feelings of regret that one so
useful in hi* church -end la tbe csqae of
religion should be thus compelled to re
linquish any portion of his labors. The
paper will, however, be continued regu
larly on a firm and sure basis.
From its columns we extract the fol
lowing paragraph, to show our readers
nearer home the way in which missiona
ries and preachers are compelled to labor, -
in older to preach the gospel to the mass
of the people of that far off land. The
editor says :
Those of our friends and brethren in
the Atlantic States, have and must have,
very inadequate conceptions of the life of
an itinerant preacher’ and his labors in
California. It is hard for them to con
ceive the idea, so as to realize it, of trav
eling an extensive circuit on foot, with
blankets and saddlebags on the back, and
preacning in barrooms, gambling saloons,
hotels, postoffices, &c.; and yet these are
familiar facts with us. We have, at
this very time, a number of missionaries
travelling on foot, climbing hilis and
mountains, preaching the Word of Life
to listening multitudes in almost every
description of situation. They toil hard
to reach theirappointments, preach hard,
sleep hard, and, in many other respects,
pass through what is little thought of by
others, fcuch are the facts in connection
with itinerancy in this country, as to de
mand a firmness and patience of endu
rance which can only be found resulting
from suong faith in God. 3he present
extraordinary winter is poweifully con
tributing to the already seeming sufficient
trials and hardships of these men. They
have already suffered much, and must of
necessity suffer yet much more. If any
men on earth need and deserve the sym
pathies and prayers of the whole Church,
these are they. VA ill not the people of
God, especially those of the other States,
bear them constantly before the Throne
of Grace? May God protect and sustain
them and richly rewatd their labors.”
for the Savannah Courier.
Capt. Samuel Butta.
Mr. Editor, —You asx ice to give you
my recollections Capt. Samuel Butts,
after whom the county of Butts is called.
I knew him well. He was my intimate
friend. He was the son of Capt. James
Butts, a revolutionary soldier of Virginia.
When the Indian depredations became
so ag-gravated that it was deemed necessa
ry to oppose them by arms, Capt. Bntts
was among the first who responded to the
call of his country. He entered the army
’ as a private 5 but upon the arrival of his
company at Camp Hope, oirthe Gemulgce,
he was elected Captain.
His company was destined to unite
with Gen. Floyd against the savages. At
the battle of the Auttossee he Was posted
in the rear. The battle commenced an
hour and a half before day. He received
a wound in the lower part of the abdomen
and lingered for six hours, during which
he exhibited great powers of endurance.
lie was buried with military honors,
and for the purpose of concealing his body
it was deposited under ground, in a place
upon which the soldiers had their camp’
fire. I was near him when he died.
Just before the breath left his body, he
expressed to me a wish to see one of the
red devils, as he called the Indians. To
gratify him I ordered a file of men to
bring to his tent the body of a lusty In
dian, six feet in length, and having a hole
bored through his head with a canister shot.
Capt. Butts looked at him, and then ex
pressed himself satisfied.
He was remarkable for truth, hospitality
and bravery—a capital specimen of the
stalwart, hardy emigrants, who have done
honor to Georgia and the Old Dominion.
EARLY.
A Very Strong Cat —Capt. Owtfn, of
the Sallie Carson, (a most pleasant craft
at present nosing out the sinuosities of
the Bigbee,) tells a good story of one of
his subordinates who “took a position”
on a steam-boat, for the first time, some
months ago. The “Sallie” was running
up the Alabama and made a landing to
put out some freight, iu the neighborhood
of Claiborne. Our new hand thought
the chance for fish was fine, aud having
heard a good deal of large cat-fish, threw
out, as the boat swung down stream, a
hook and line sufficient for the eaptura
of a half-grown shark. His position
was on deck, forward of the wheel-house;
and almost as soon as his bait was out
of sight, the line was taken with some
rapidity down Stream, Waiting a little
for the cat to get a “ranker hold” our
hero at length gave a terrific jerk—but
was unable to pui! out his victim. Now,
“the new one” was a short man and cor
pulent, and facing as rapidly as hs might
up the river, he placed his line over his
shoulder, and swinging his whol®*weight
against the fish, he shouted,
“Here, John, quick—l’ve got act! of .
about my own weight—juick.”
About that time, the lina snapped and
the angler “brought up’ 7 amongst the
ropes inT’th'e neighborhood of the capstan.
On that day week, exactly, our sport
ing friend, at the s-ame place. swung up,
with a much stronger ho >k and line, a
gaiost the very same pul!; and it was
thon discovered that he had caught the
starboard wheel of the steamer which
the current was causing slowly to revolve.
He didn’t cook it, however.
Chambers Tribune.
There are now in the port of New
York twenty-five or thirty ships up for
California, and eight for Australia; all ta-’
king on board valuable cargoes.
Peace ‘l3 the evening star of tha soul, 1
a? virtue is its sun, and'the two are never
far apart.
The Penalty is sbo for using Postage
Stamps the second tiirie.
No. 13.