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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 num, or Two Dollars paid in advance. ADVERTISEMENTS are uisrrtcd af OWE DOLLAR nor sepia re, for liie first- insertion, and FIFTY CEBITS, per’ square, for £acfi insertion thereafter. * . - * * ’ _ . A reasonable deduction will he made to those who advertise by the year. 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.