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About The Georgia Jeffersonian. (Griffin, Ga.) 18??-18?? | View Entire Issue (April 13, 1854)
VOL. XV. THE MIA JIWERSOMAH IS roclisued KVEnt TMtrnatJAt mormino BY WILLIAM CLINE, At Two Dollars and FiftySCcnts per an man, or Two Dollars paidtin advance. ADVERTISEMENTS arc iiwrted nt O.Vfc DOLLAR per square, for the first insertion, and FIFTY CENTS per square, lor cadi insertion ttieruafU-r. ... . . A r<vso'.> .* clrdoc.mn will he made to rttose who adverti^l>v Hie year. Al! e.dte.tisemcots not otherwise ordered, “in beeor : t .cd till forhid. \rr .'ALES OF LAND S by Amnmislrntors, K*nr .tors or Guardian? are required bj law t' l '* field on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hour? o’ ten in the forenoon and three in tin afternoon, at the Court-House, in the county in which the land is situated. Notice sale, inusl he inn in a public gazette FORI Y DA !•- priu'iott* to the rlav ol sale. Sis ES OF NEGROES must he made at p.ih lie auction on the first Tuesday of the month, be tween the usual hours of sale, al the place ot pub lie sales in the county where the letters testa nrntary, of Administration or Guardianship ma have been granted; first giving l OR 7I IAI notice Hereof in one of tli- public pwtUe t 111 S'a’ . and ill Ihe court house “ lie: e such salcnrsi * sale of Personal Properly must |J c >m in like manner FORTY DAYS previous l j 1 lie dav of sale. Notice t.i Debtors and Creditors of an estate ainst he published FORTY DAYS. Notice that application will lie madeto llie Court Ordinary fur i.f.ayb to ski.i. uxd must be pub is'vd for TIYO MONTHS, Notice for i.kavk to sf.i.i. negroes must he pub'is'.i ‘d TWO MONTHS before any order ab enbiie shall be made thereon by the Court. CITATIONS for Letters cf Administration mint be published thirty pais; for Dismission from Administration, monthly six months; lor Dta-nission from Guardianship, tortt day-. Rules for die Foreclosure of Mortgage must he Ollhlished .MONTIII.Y FOR FOUR MONTHS, C.stah iifvnv lost papers, lor the full of three months: for com.idling titles from Executors or * liniui aratorp,wheie a bond lias been A'i veil o I •he dec rased'be r u'l space of THREE MONTH? I For the Geo-gia JcfT-r?op : ai. THE PHILOSOPHY OF SLANDER. nr XV. T WIGIITMAN. Os nil the debased, polluted, corrupt nud rile-hearted wretches who dishonor humanity, blast the moral nature of man end outrage God liimsclf 5 of till the fiends of mischief, suffering and sorrow, whose legionary bands troop through the hidden chambers of the human heart, to poison every stream of goodness, blast every ex panding germ of promise, and mildew every blossom of purity; amidst all the wink, abandoned reprobates of earth’s God-forsaken crew of moral vipers, pro eminent ami towering high above them all, stands the grim spectral figure of the de- mon, Slander. With a leer of horrible, ghastly meaning leaping from his blood- 1 shot eyes, and a smile of malignancy, fierce, intense, hellish, wreathing his iron lip in the seemingly ’living embodiment of an unbriathed curse;’ with dilated uosiril; and breath of fire, scorching, blighting’ withering flame, jiic stands with his venom ( t ipped javelin rmnving with the heart s blood of a myriad of victims, and arm up raised to plunge the death-dart home to the vitals of some shrinking, trembling, j innocent being There! there! in the glory j •nd majesty of his Satanic royalty, upou his mountain throne of crushed and bleed ing hearts, stands thy d'mon god, thou slanderer! defamer of thy fellow’s name! destroyer of thy fellow being’s peace!— Bow down and kiss the red earth tram pled ’ucath his cloven foot, thou foul as perser of thy brother s fame! Lift up thy voice and shout an anthem to thy patron saint, thou sneaking, whining, dogfaced semblance, of si man, ‘whose mouth is filled j with lies au<l whose tongue is the fang of viper.’ Every vile attribute of fallen hu manity, every element of corruption; every principle of infernal malice; every piirao geniul quality of earth-cursing, God-defv ing sin; every crime steeped motive; every da k damning purpose; every depraved transgressive influence; every germ and bud and blossom of guilt and envy and hate; all! all of earth air and hell’s creat e l and creative pollution rolled into one | seething, putrid, sickening mass is the hot; bed whence is hatched out a creeping sli- j my brood of reptiles, a nest of asps and , scorpions to form a heart for the slander- j er; the slanderer, that abortion of a man: , that stigma upon the name of humanity; ihat foulest work of creative power; that f<otid exhalation from nature’s cess-pool, vitalized by its own innate corruption, and stalking, amid the sons of men, a walking breathing, miasma the living em- bodiment of a moral pestilence, a plague ■pot upon the face of creation, the last, the worst, the vilest at )iu of organic life. The thief robs but the purse; the mur derer aims only at his victim’s life; the liar seeks but his selfish interest to sub serve, but thou oh slanderer! thou ereepeat abroad in the dark night time, mid stoniest away the honest name of thy fellow man! thou plungest the poisoned poignard of thy secret malice and thy hidden hatred deep into the bosom of thy brother’s unspotted fame! 1 hou loudest every passing breeze with the serpent his sing whispers of thy envenomed tongue! robber of character! assassin of reputation! soulless, abominable falsifier! .Civeiy twig and bough and tree trunk in the rliady grove breathes an echo to thy black aspersions, as the falsehood laden zephyr sighs sadly through the waving tree tops, mourning for its onec pure spot less pinion, now soiled, and torn, and blackened, by its burden of shame and sor row. and death. Every storm that how Is and every tempest that shrieks through the forest is a trnnpet tongned demon evoked from his hell home by the slander- er’s mystic art to sweep away some nest of innocence and rend in twain some robe of spotless honor. Even the temple of the ‘living God’ is desecrated and profaned; its altar polluted; its sanctity violated; its holy shrine defiled; the waters of its sa cred font poisoned and the very atmosphere around its consecrated sane tainted infect ed and embued with the miasm of sland er. ‘Truth is mighty and will prevail!’ saith the book; but the slanderer’s dagger point is keener far than the scimitar of truth, and when the clods of the valley have grown gray and covered with moss upon its victim’s grave, then comes the sword of truth to lop the branches from his tree of memory when the generation a mongst whom he lived has passed away, and the living ones have forgotten him Aye! slander wins its victory, and proud-’ ly wears it laurels too; then having thrown them on the ground to rot, truth, bravo courageous truth seiwjs the tfophy and sternly pdiiits to its withered leaves find cries—‘l have prevailed! the victory is mine!’ How many tt jjute and lo¥ely htid has blussomed for a season in iife's beautiful garden, and just expanding into maturity, is nipped and destroyed by tho blighting frost of slander. Long years ago I knew a gentle little girl, whose joyous ringing laugh and bright sunshiuy smile told of nought but innocence and happiness; and a feeling of sadness came over me, as I thought that perhaps, but a few short fleeting summers would speed swiftly away when that smooth, pure, childish brow would be stamped with the signet of sor j row and the merry girlish laugh be chan )gcd, into a sigh of bitterness. Alas! I | dreamed not of the sad unhappy fate which awaited her, and the mournful des tiny which overtook that gentle being, ere” the spring of life hail blushed into the summer of womanhood. In the first flush of expanding girlhood, in the pride of her loveliness and purity, when nought but golden visions of happiness and love in the bright future danced before her, and the memory of no sorrow cast a shade over the picture of existence, the destroyer came. 1 lie slanderer breathed his Upas breath upon her fair fame, and the gentle, innocent maiden, forsaken, deserted, and left to pine in loneliness and sorrow, sunk into her grave, and no hand planted a flower on her mound, and no tear of affec tion consecrated the turf that rested onhor coffin. And will no bolt of retributive vengeance overtake and strike down the workers of these vile iniquities! Yea verily! ‘•Trull] is mighty and wii? proTii ,? (?, I knew a young man who came, poor and friendless, into a community, the fame of whose public morality and social virtue induced him to conic and seek a home in its midst. Ho claimed no lofty posi tion; he sought no exclusive association; and although possessed of a liberal educa tion und refined manners he asked no fa vors of the purse-proud nor courted the smiles of the high born. All he asked was the simple boon of re spect for character as a man, a gentle man, and a citizen Like all young men of impulsive dispositions and impetuous character, unrestrained by the restrictive influences of religion or avowed morality, he was liable to err and to infringe some times upon the limits of strict integrity.— Yet lie was not vicious, nor did the slight est stigma rest upon the fair escutcheon of his reputation. He had seen enough cf the world, and experienced enough of its heartlcssness to know that fair promises did not make fast friends, and that a smile and a hearty grasp of the hand was often the precursor of a frown and a kick. lie was engaged in no active out door employment, and his profession being of a literary character, he was confined gener ally to his room iu the performance of his various duties. His labors were severe and onerous; and, although people who had no business of their own, and insisted upon attending to that of others, shook their wise heads and wondered how lie made a living, his arduous efforts baerly procured him the pittance requisite for everyday subsistence. His honesty was unquestioned, his honor uuimpeachable and his capacities admitted. It was not long before he took position as a writer of some merit, and in fact, his pen soon became the medium for the expression of the ideas of half the community. Soon t hose envious whip-curs of society, town gossips began to whisper their little inuen does and snarl out their suspicions that he was all pretension, a humbug, &c. His originality they questioned, char ged him with plagiarism; called him proud, bombastic and vain; pointed out his iu consistonces. bewailed his immorality; shed crocodile tears over his vices, and pious ly prayed that his moral and literary ex - ample might not prove baneful to others. But, although these things sometimes wor ried him a little, he moved on his way fear lessly and independently, not deigning to notice the invidious attacks of those whose pettyjanimosity was only the result of en vy and cowardice. Yet these whisperings had their effect; and some who had sought to cultivate his acquaintance began to turn the “cold shoulder” upon him. lie did not consid- er the loss of their association as a very serious matter, and therefore gave him self no trouble at all on the subject. He was not the sycophant of the wealthy nor the lickspittle of the aristocratic, and con sequently found but little favor in their eyes. He had but one friend to whom lie confided his thoughts and feelings —a no ble hearted, highmitided man, with a soul too full of genuine manliness to lend his ear to the idle reports of the malicious, and a spirit of friendship too true and faithful to permit such things to weaken its influence. N was his friend: the only one to whom he felt bound by a stronger tie than common association, and he returned N’s friendship with all the warmth and fervor of a brother’s attachment. The gossips seeing that they accomplish ed but little, changed their tactics j and, i the young man having made several en emies, iu the meantime, by refusing to employ his pen in several dirty pieces of trickery, these latter joined their forces and went to work in good earnest to put him down in the communi ty. He said but little, to any one, of his family; and this was immediately seized with avidity by the wolverine pack, who asserted that he had no family at all, and that he *.vas a modern Cain, wandering to and fro in the land. One of the pack who was accounted a great wit, darkly hinted that be was either Salathiel, the wandering Jew, or a refugee from some distant land. He spent but little money because he had but precious little to spend, and this was made capital of to his disparagement. “If he labors so,” said they; “why In the deuce dont he get better pay 1” In fact every plan that ingenuity couJil dsyise pr malignity execute was put into active by this jnalicious coterie, cither to destroy, his standing pjr drive him from the community. Said N to him, one day—“My THE GEORGIA JEFFERSONIAN. GRIFFIN, (GA.) THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 13, 1854 friend, you arc guilty of three things which this community can’t tolerate; and the more it is your misfortune, and the less it is Vour fault, flic iiiore aggravated is the offence. First, you are poor: that merits social dcathi Second, you possess a little nldrc ability than some who aspire to exclusive position: that’t wful. Third, you have some spirit and independence, and that’s prittia facie evidence of a de sign to have your own opinions and to act from tho dictates cf your own mind and judgement. I glory in independence, but I pity you from my soul. But it’s not confined to this locality: it is .so the world over.” lie, replied, “I believe that I enjoy the g*ood opinion of the bet ter class of citizens, those who will not suffer themselves to be prejudiced against me by the idle rumors which are afloat or the meddlesome busy bodies who are persecuting me; and as to the rag tag and bob-tail of the community, I neither court their good Will nor care a straw for their enmity.” These matters went on for some time, the young man pursuing the even lenor of his way regardless of the machinations of the wolverines who were plotting a gainst him. Again they changed their tactics. A plau was laid to mortify and chagrin him lie was repeatedly solicit ed to join ns association whose actions give the lie direct to their motto of Faiths, Hope and Charity. He consented at last; made application, and not only did they stigmatise his private character and reject his application, but trumpeted the eharilable deed far and wide, with faith in their power to mortify him and the hope of ridding themselves of his presence, ‘flic young man ascertained who were appoint ed to report upon his character, and he was satisfied. He felt the insult deeply at first, but he merely smiled with con tempt and scorn when he made that dis covery. Again they changed their plan; and, calling to their aid the infernal prince himself, they Set to Work to undermine his private reputation. I met him one morning w ith pale cheek and disturbed appearance; and. asking him the cause, he said to me, while his thin lip quivered with passion and his dark eye burned with mor tal intensity: “They have gone far enough; they have persecuted me until lam desperate. I have but few tics that bind me to life.— For years I have toiled and struggled to b’dld up for myself a good name and an honorable character. I have asked no thing more, I have sought nothing more; and now the slanderer’s foul tongue is his- sing its venomous whispers against mv honest name, and the defamer’s breath is poisoning my reputation. I have even been accused of appropriating another man’s property, and that foul aspersion up on me is gaining credence in tho community. But woe, woe to him upou whom I can fix the slanderous accusation. Either I will perish with my good name, or, by tho Great Eternal, I will wash out the stain with his black heart’s ‘‘blood!” There was a meaning in his fierce blazing eye; a re solution upon his bloodless lip, and a flush mantling his brow which told me that one slanderer’s doom was sealed, could he be detected God speed you, young man. Search him out. Rid the community of a curse. Rid the earth of a monster, and give hell its long expected due. Gkiffiit, G.a Position of President Pierce on the Net>rasica—Kansas bill. The fallowing letter from Mr. Clemens io the Presiden', will be read with plea sure by tbe fiiemlsof the Constitution and the Union everywhe-e. All praise to our worthy President for bis firmness, integrity and patriotism. Washington, D. C. March 24th, 18 >4. Dear Sir: You have called my atten tion to a late letter of mine to N D rvis, jr., esq., and particularly to tbe follow ini sentence: “lie expressed great surprise at tbe opposition it met from ihe North, anil equal surprise that the South should be willing to rake it At the time the conversation to which that sentence alludes took place, I was walking backwards and forwards across the room, and should not have noticed it if you had not remarked that you had no concealments upon the subject, and that you were glad I was present to hear t. In my letter to Mr. Davis I did not pretend to give your language, except where quotation marks are usod; and, from subsequent conversation with you, I think it very probable that I misunder stood the purport of your remarks upon this particular point. Your surprise may have been expressed that the true men of the North should hesitate to vole for Douglas’s bill when the South were wil ling to take it; and, if I had paid attention lo the whole conversation, 1 doubt not such would have been the impression left on my mind. 1 have never sought a conversation with you upo i the subject of the Nebras ka bill; but every time I have heard you mention the subject you have uniformly expressed yourself warmly in favor of the mine! pic oi the bill, viz: the principle ol\ ihe right oi the paople of ths Territories to regulate the question of slavery for themselves, a doctrine from which I dis sented; and, as I knew we were not at all likely to agree, l sought no discussion of the question. You have assured me always that you thought it best for the whole country, and insisted that patriotic men in both sections ought to take it. I thought the South must be the losor. 1 think so now. I understood you lo place it upon the ground that the principle is right in it self, and, if it works for or against a par ticular section, no one has a right to com plain; that you were for the rights of both sections, and willing lo take any consequences that might follow the prac tical carrying out of those rights as you understood them. CLEMENS. General Frank Pierce, Proaident United Slates. A voting lady at dinner the other day, _•** ,• Man foe i hen fruit,’ meaning | askeq per -Viiai berries! eggs, \yhew! A PHYSICIAN’S STOKY TREATING A CASE ACTIVELY. I was sent for in great haste? to attend a gcutlditlan Os respectability, who had been discovered in his room lying senseless on the floor. On arriving at the house I found Mrs. H- iff gi'citt distress of mind. ‘ “What is the matter with Mr. H ?” I aslidd, dn Uldeting his lady, who was in tears and looking tho picture of distress. “I am afraid it is apoplexy,” she replied; “I found him lying upon the floor, where lie had, to all appearances, fallen sudden ly from his chair. His face is purple, and though he breathes, it is with great dif ficulty.” I went up to see my patient. He had been lifted from the floor, and was uow ly ing upon the bed. Sure enough his face was purple and breathing labored; but somehow the symptoms did not at, ail in dicate apoplexy. Every vein in his head and face was turgid, and he lay perfectly stupid; but still I saw no clear indications of any actual or approaching congestion of the brain. “Hadn’t he better be bled, doctor?” asked the anxious wife. “I don’t know that it’s necessary,” I replied. “I think if we let him alone it will pass off in the course of a few hours.” “A few hours! lie may die in half an hour,” “I don’t think the case is so dangerous, madam.”— “Apoplexy not dangerous?” “I hardly think it is apoplexy.” “Pray what do you think it is, doctor?” Mrs II looked anxiously into my face. 1 delicately hinted that it might possibly have been drinking too much brandy; but to this she indignantly object ed. “No doctor, I ought to know about that,” she said. “.Depend upon it the dis case is more deeply seated. lam sure lie had better be bled. Won’t you bleed him, doctor? A few ounces of blood taken from his arm may give life to the uow stagnant circulation of the blood.” Thils urged, I, after some reflection, or dered a bowl and a bandage, and opening a vein relieved him of about eight ounces of blood. But he lay insensible as before, much to the distress of his poor wife.— “Something else must be done, doctor,” she urged, seeing that bleeding had accom plished nothing. “If my husband is not relieved quickly he must die.” By this time several relatives and friends who had been sent for arrived, and urged upon me the adoption of some active means of restoring the sick man to con sciousness. One proposed mustard plas ters all over his body; another a blister on the head, and another his immersion in hot water. I suggested that it might be well to use a stomach pump. “Why, doctor?” asked one of his friends. “Per haps lie has taken some drug,” I replied. “Impossible, doctor,” said the wife; “he has not been from home to day, aud there is no drug in the house.” “No brandy?” I ventured this suggestion again “rfu, doctor, no spirits of any kind, not even wine iii the house,” returned Mrs II an offended tone. I was not the regular family physician, and had been cubed in to meet the alarm ing emergency became my office happened to be nearest to the dwelling of Mr. II . Feeling my position to be a difficult one, I suggested that the family phyrmian had better be called. ‘‘ But the delay, doctor,” urged the friends. “No harm will result from it, bo assured,” 1 replied. But my words did not assure them. However, as I was firm in my resolution not to do any thing more for the patient until Dr. S. came, they had to submit. I wished to make a call of importance in the neighborhood, and proposed going, to be back by the time Dr. S. arrived; but the friends of the sick man would not suf fer me to leave the room. When Dr. S. came we conversed aside for a few minutes, and I gave him my views ©f the case, and stated what I had done and why 1 had done it. We then proceeded to the bedside of our patient; there were still no signs of approaching consciousness. “Don’t you think his head must be shaved and blistered?” asked the wile anxiously. Dr. S. thought a moment, and then said, “Yes, by all means; send for a barber, and also for a fresh fly blis ter, four inches by nine.” I looked into the face of Dr. S. with surprise; it was perfectly grave and earn est. I hinted to him my doubt of the good that mode of treatment would do; but lie spoke confidently of the result, and said that it would not only cure the dis ease but he believed take away the predis position thereto, with which Mr. II was affected to a high degree. The barber came. The bead of ll— was shaved, and Dr. S. applied the blister with his own hands, which completely co vered the scalp from forehead to occiput “Let it remain on for two hours, and then make use of the ordinary dressing,” sai<l Dr. S. “If lie should not recover during the action of the blister don’t feel uneasy; sensibility will be restored soon after.” I did not call again, but I heard from Dr. S the result. After wc left the friends stood anxiously around the bed upon which the sick man lay; but though the blister began to draw, no signs of returning con sciousness showed themselves, further than ‘.til occ:ci'::i“! l.w moan or an uneasy toss ing of the arms. For full two hours the burning plaster parched the tender skin ot ll’s shorn head, and was then removed; it had done good service. Dressings were applied, repeated and repeated again, but still the sick man lay in a stupor. “It has done no good; hadn’t we better seud for the doctor?” suggested tbe wife. Just then the eyes of H- opened, and he looked with half stupid surprise from face to face of the anxious group that surrounded the bed. “What in the mis chief is the matter?” he at length said.— At the same time feeling a strange sensa* tiou about kis head, be placed his hand rather heavily thereon. “Heavens and earth 1” (ho was now fully in his senses.,’ “Heavens and earth, what ails my head?” “For mercy’s sake keep quiet,” said the wife; the glad tears gushing over her face. “You have been very ill; there, there now?’ and she spoke soothingly, “don’t say a word, but lie very still.” “But ray head! What’s the matter with my head? It feels as if scalded. Where’s ray hair? Hea ven and earth 1 Sarah, I don’t understand this. And my arm, what’s my arm tied tip in this way for?’ “Be quiet, rny dear husband, Und I’ll explain it all. Oh, be very quiet j VOtif life depends upon it.” Mr. ll——sank back upon the pillow from which he had risen, and closed his eyes to think. He put his hand to his head and felt it tenderly all over, from temple to temple, and from nape to fore head. ‘ls it A blister?’he at length ask ed. ‘Yes, dear; you have been very ill; wc feared for your life,’ said Mi's. H , affectionately; ‘there have been twd phy sicians in attendance.’ H closed his eyes; his lips moved. Those nearest were not much edified by the whispered wards that issued therefrom. They would have sounded very strangely in a church or to cars polite and refined. After this he lay for some time quiet.— ‘ Threatened with apoplexy, I suppose?’— he said interrogatively. ‘Yes, dear,’ re plied his Wife. ‘I fuiiid you lying insensi ble upon the floor, on happening to come into your room. Jt was most providential that I discovered you when I did, or you would certainly have died ’ II ■ shut his eyes and muttered some thing with an air of impatience; but its meaning was not understood. Finding him out of danger, friends and relatives retired and the sick man was left alone with his family. ‘Sarah,’ he said, ‘why in the name of goodness did yon permit the doctors to butcher tne up iu this way? lam laid up for a week or two, and all for nothing ’ Tt was to save your life, dear:’ ‘Save the devil.’ ‘ll-u-s h! there do for mercy’s sake be quiet; every thing depends upon It.’ With a gesture of impatience H— shut his eyes, teeth and hands, rtnd lay perfectly still for some minutes. Then he turned his face to the wall, muttering in a low and pctulcnt voice, ‘too bad! too bad!’ I had not erred iu my first and last im pression of it’s disease; neither hail Dr S., although he used a very extraordinary mode of treatment. The facts of the dase Were these: H. had a weakness; he could not taste wine nor strong drink without being tempted into CXCC33. Both himself and friends Were grieved and mortified at this; and they, by admonition, and he, by good resolutions, tried to bring about a reform ; but to sec was to taste, and to taste was to fall.— At last his friends urged him to shut him self up at home for a certain time, and see if total abstinence would not give him strength. He got on pretty well for a few days, particularly so, as his coachman kept a well filled bottle for him in the car riage house, to which he not untrequent ly resorted; but a too ardent devotion to litis bottle brought on the supposed apo plexy. Dr. S was right in his mode of treating the disease after all, and did not err in supposing that it would reach the pre-disposition. The cure was effectual. XI ■ —on tliv oiiLjuv+j bore his shaved head upon his shoulders with as much philosophy as he could mus ter. A wig, after the sores made by the blister had disappeared, concealed the barber’s work until his own hair grew a gain. lie never ventured upou wine or brandy again for fear of apoplexy. When the truth leaked out, as leak out silch things always will, the friends of II had many a hearty laugh; but they wise ly concealed from the object of their merri ment the fact that they knew any thing more than appeared of the cause of his supposed illness. Lost His Bunches. —Godey relates (says Jack Humphries,) that lie liked to have had an accident befall him one night, not long since, at the hippodrome, New York. Godey had been in with some friends and coming from the brdliantly lighted building into the dark and rain of the out side, “iie missed stays,” and tumbled over in toe dirt. “But,” said he, “as I never make the shortest journey without arming myself with an extra pair of breeches, I was able to repair damages-as soon as I reached the Astor House. Gfodey, you remember, is not the man to wear a bor rowed pair of unmentionables; lie is not got up on that plan which adapts him to lit ordinary sized or shaped corduroys— hence, if an accident should befall him in soiling his iio-we-never men tion ’ems, it would save a world of time and labor to make all right again. Godey says he took the invaluable hint in regard to carrying his duplicate breeches, from a little inci dent that befell a stranger in a hotel where he was putting rp once. It appears the stranger had in some Way disarranged or damaged his breeches, and observing a tailor shop opposite the hotel, lie ordered a servant to take said breeches over to the tailor after he had turned in, and get them repaired, so that he could have them ready to put on in the morning. That night a lire broke out “over the way ” Jumping from his bed, the stranger, in dismay, saw the tailor’s shop in a blaze. “Good Heaven’s!” cried he, “I’m ruin ed!” “Why?” says a voice from the next front window, “is that property yours, sir?” “My pantaloons are in that blasted shop over there, and they’ll be in tinder in les than five minutes! says he. “ Your -wits! —pooh! is that all you’ve invested? “All? By the great kingdon, stranger, if you were a man of my size, your only breeches burning up before your eyes, and no time to morrow to get anew pair made, and not ad m pair in the whole town that would fit you, 1 guess you’d feci pret ty considerable streaked as I do!” A loud laugh followed this declaration. It was no joke to the Goliah like stranger, who probably worked out of his dilemma finally, but would have a lively recollection of the affair during his natural life stimo The Amazon. —The length of the ri ver Amazon is about 4,000 miles and its navigable course in. a direct line is up wards of three thousand. It iAgaid to be entirely free, from the banks of every thing that would tend to obstruct navigation. The narrowminded E inperor of Brazil, however, still continues to deprive his own people and the rest of the world of the benefits which would accrue from its being thrown open to the vessels ot all nations. Tlie Daughters of Israeli There is td iriy mind something most touching and beautiful in tie incidental notices .vhich we find in the sacred wri tings of those pious women who are spo ken of‘'as fellow-helpers of the apostles,” as “laboring much in the Lord,” as “risk ing their lives,” “laying doW* their necks” for them. These notices afford beautiful though undesigned illustrations Os the he roic devotion and constancy of women.— When I reflect on the outward condition of the ajjostltis at that troubled period of the churchc’s history—hafrassed, perse cuted aiid defamed; the defenders of a cause “every where spoken against;” the propagators of a creed despised and hated; opposed by all parties in tlie stale, by the rulers, by tlie priests, and by the people I cannot but admire that devotion and courage which could induce those lioble minded women to take part with them, to give their time, talents, labor, subsistence, to their service. Perhaps no feelings, if they were analysed, would be found to be of a higher and purer and more ctherial cast than those which impelled the strong minded and noble-hearted women to de vote themselves to the strengthening of the hands of those soldiers of the cross, and to alleviating the burthen of their toils and cares. Ah, whai fervent piety d’d such feelings evince? what deep and heart felt devotion to the cause of Christ!— What a high and conscientious sense of duty! what a fervent admiration of apos tolic zeal, and piety, and faith! llow su perior does woman ajrpcaf when viewed under the influence of such feelings, to any other aspect under which she can be viewed! Ilef Constancy, her devotion and w j y courage, have often been the theme of ar dent eulogy. Often has she, in the most trying emergencies in the most perilous crisis of a nation's history, sustained a part which has given a moral sublimity to her character But it is when strengfclteftiug the hands of the heatCti inspired apostles find teachers;’ when ministering to their temporal necessities; when made rnstfit mental in cheering tlteitf under their in credible hardships and conflicts; when sympathising in tlieir sorrows and exult ing in their triumphs, intfcntifying tlrc’ir selves boldly, fearlessly, nobly, With their cause—'it is under these circumstances that the constancy, courage, devotion of woman awakens our unmingled admiration. And well it may be; for it calls for the praise and admiration of the angels of light them selves.—Rev. Dennis Kelley. What they won’t own to.— Punch says, in his Pocket-Book for 1854: “there are several things which you never can by any accident get a lady—be she young or old, to confess to.” Here are some of them: “That she laces tight. That her shoes arc too small for her. That she is ever LhV.l and.% she is as old as she looks. That she has been more than five minute's dressing.- That she kept you waiting. That she bfushed when a certain person’s name Was rtfen tioned. That She ever says a thing she doesn’t mean. That she is fond of scandal. That she can’t keep a secret. That she _she of all persons irt the World —is in love. That she doesn’t want anew bon net, That she can do with one single thing less when she is about to travel. That she hasn’t the disposition of an angel or the temper of a saint—or how else could she go through with one-half of what she does? That she doesn’t know better than every one else what is best for her. That she is a flirt or coquette. That she is ev er in the wrong.” Capital fd* tJie Young. It is consolation for all right minded young men in this country that though they rnav not be able to command as much pecu niary capital as they wish to commence business with themselves, yet there is a moral capita! which they can have, which will weigh as much as money with those people whose opinion is worth having.— And it does not take a great while to ac cumulate a respectable amount of the cap ital. It consists in truth, honesty and in tegrity, to which may be added decision, firmness, courage and preseverance. With these qualities, there arc few obstacles which cannot be overcome Friends spring up and surround such a young man, almost as if by magic. Confidence flows out to him, aud business accumulates on his hand faster than he can ask it. And in a few short years such a young man is far iu advance of many who started with him, having equal talents and large pecu niary means; ere long our young friend stands foremost, the honest, trusted and loved. Would that we could induce every young reader to commence life on the principle that moral capital is the thing after all.— Yankee Blade. Lost in taf. woods. —A Western pa per contains an account of three German quarry-men, in the employ ot the Lake Superior Saut Ship Canal Company, who left their quarries for a short excursion on the 13th Dec. and did not return. A large number of their fellow woikmeu turned out and searcheJ the woods in the vicinity for several da’s in succession, but without being able t® find the !os ! ones; and soon after the steamers came to take off the men for the winier. O.tt he 20th Jan. Ebenezer Warner, who re sided with his family on the mai l ‘and opposite Drummond’s Island, discovered a fire on the island, and men about it.— He hastened to the spot in a boat, aud found two of the men who had been lost weeks before. They were so much ex hausted that they could barely stand ot talk. Their clothes were nearly all gone and their limbs frozen and bare. They had wandered for fifteen days about the Island, with no other food than one par tridge and a few beechnuts, which they had picked up in their wanderings.— They at last succeeded, by a knife and flint, in making a fire, the smoke of which led to their deliverance. Their companions had left them on the eighth | day, and undoubtedly perished with hun ger and cold. The two who were rescued were well ca**q for, but willsuf fer for soma monl' u9 f tom the effects ol their exposure^ Editors, ami %frlitlt i Expected if them Without Chance. There is many a journalist now lan guishing ill poverty, while doxens !** I whose success in life he gave the first impulse, roll by him in their carriages, and have forgotten his very existence.— Tnere is no country save ours, in th world, where journalists are expected to do so much work for the special benefit of others without recompense. General ly, out of this country, editors are inac cessible, if not anonymous; they may let you know what they think, but not who thinkk it. You cannot walk into an edi tor’s room in London or Paris, and ask him to devote his time nnd his columns to your own advancement oi profit. Here this is done every day, even by utter stran ger*. Half an editor’s time, sometimes his whole day, throwing over his proper work into the night, is given up to receiv ing the calls, listening to the stories and obeying the requests, of one good natur ed friend after another; who drops in to try’ his chance of getting ten times as val uable an advertisement out of him for no thing, for he has plenty of brass lefi; if ho succeeds, he has used bis tim todecid eJ advantage. And thus is civility abus ed—thus is good feeling imposed upon. Rfany an fiditor receives several letters in the day, requesting him to do this or that to documents, for the benefit of ut ter strangers or mere acquaintances, who have nn shadow of claim to tax him.— Kew York Tribune, A Midnight Wedding. —The Boston ibwald Mates this romantic ineidnwt which occurred in that city last month. A young and talented Episcopal clergy man of Montreal was waiting in Boston for the arrival of bis betrothed from En gland, in the sleanter Niagara, ami had made arrangements to have the matrimo nial knot tied without delay. The steam er di I not come until eleven o’clock in tire evening, ami the lovprs, who had not seen each other in three years, repaired to the church of the Advent, in Green street, as soon as practicable. The Rex ton lighted a couple of tapers, the Bishop dressed iu his canonicals, came in, and the ceremony was pcrloitned in the pre sence of the seiton and superintendent of the Kevcre House, who gave away the bride.- The twain were made one flesh just as the clock stiuck 12. It was an impressive scene, the dimly lighted church the trusting bride, who had a few minutes before arrived aloTts in a strange land, at nvdnight, was pronouncing those solemn vows which we* - © to plaee her under the protection of her only ffiend on this side of the Atlantic. The Sacredness of TeaAS.—There is anorori r\oc*o i*x ° ** n ** / '**^*“ mark of weakness, nor of power. Iney are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of dircrp cfontrUicm, of Unspeakable love.— If there were any arguments to prove that man is not mortal, I wotrfd look for it iu the strong convulsive emotions of the breast, when the soul has been deeply agi tated, when the fountains of feeling atti arising, and when the tears are gushing forth in costal steams. Oh, speak not harshly to the stricken one weeping in si lence; break not the deep solemnity by rude laughter, or iutrusire steps. Despise not woman’s tears—they ore what made her an arfgO’l. Scoff not if’ the stern heart of manhood is sometimes nielted to tears of sympathy—they tire what elevate him above the brute. I loV'e to see tears of affection —they are painful tokens but still most holy. There is a pleasure in tears, an awful pfdasWe. If there were none ou earth to shed for me, I should be loath to live; and if no one to weep over my grave, I could never die in peace. Cost of a Daily Pater. Times and Transcript, of San Francisco, esti mate the w’eekfy cost of a daily paper in that city, at $2,100 Or f 40,000 per an num. There are some twelve of these daily newspapers and some ten weeklies so that we may safely estimate the cost of S m Francisco newspaper literature at $1,500,030 per annum. Quandnrica. Knocking at the wrong door, and hesi tating whether you shall run away and say nothing about it r or stay aud apolo gise. Paying your addresses to a penniless fair one, under the impression that she is an heiress, and on discovering your error, to have the option of marrying the lady or being shot by her brother. Dining at a friend’s house, where you must either drink Wtnc till you become in toxicated, or refrain till you become disa greeable. Coming to four cross-roads, one of which you must take at random, or walk back a mile or two to inquire the way. Being blandly informed by a surgeon that you caa cither have your leg ampu tated, or let it alone and die in a few days. Finding yourself “called out”—fighting, and being called an ass—or declining, and being stigmatised as a coward. Sceiug a man by your bedside in the middle of the night, so that you may ei ther smother yourself with the bedclothes, or let him do it with a plastor.— Diogemt. •Mr. Jones, you said that you once offi ciated in a pulpit—do yon mean by that that you preached?’ ‘No, sir, I held a light for the man what did.’ People go according to their brains. If these lay in their head they study, if in the belly they eat, in the liecls they dance. False happiness renders men stern and proud, and that happiness is never com municated. True happiness renders them kind and sensible, and that happiness is I always shared.. A Silver 1 Mine’ has been disco veT'edf in Gwinnett county, thought to be valuable. A specimen of the ore has been forwarded to the editor qt the Augusta Chronicle. No. 15.
