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The Muscogee Democrat, AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER. By Andrews & Griswold. Corner of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-stairs,') COLUMBUS, Ga. TERMS. THREE DOLLARS per annum —in advance. Two copieg for $5, “ Ten copies for S2O “ “ Two dollars for aix monlbs. “ Kj” All Letters must be free of postage, except where money is enclosed. VOI. 111. Lazarus and Mary. from the 11th chapter of the Gospel of St. John. nv it, r. WILLIS. Jesus was there but yesterday. The print Os his departing feet at the door; His 44 Peace be with you !” was yet audible in the rapt porch of Mary’s charmed ear ; And in the low rootns, ‘-twas as if the air, Hashed with his going (drill, had been the breath Os angels left on watch—so conscious still The place seemed of his presence—yet, within, The family by Jesus loved were weeping, For Lazarus lay dead. And Mary sat By the pale sleeper. He was young to die, The countenance whereon the Saviour dwelt With one benignant smile, the soft fair lines Breathing of hope, were still all eloquent, Like life well mocked in marble. That the voice, Gone from those pallid lips was heard in Heaven, Toned with unearthly sweetness—that the light, Quenched in the closing of those stirless lids, Was veiling before God its timid fire, New lit, and brightening like a star at eve— That Lazarus, her brother, was in bliss, Nor with this cold clay sleeping—Mary knew. Her heaviness of heart was not for him ! But close had been tue t:c by L'?r.!h divided. The iutertwining locks of that bright hair That wiped the licet of Jesus—the fair hands Clasped in her breathless wonder while He taught, Scarce to one pulse thrilled more in unison, Than with one soul this sister and her brother Had locked thfeir lives together. In this love, Hallowed from stain, the woman’s heart of Mary Was, with its rich affections, all bound tip. Os an unblemished beauty, us became An office by archangels tilled till now, She walked with a celestial halo clad ; And while to the Apostles’ eyes it seemed She but fulfilled her errand out of Heaven— Sharing her low roof with the Son of God— She was a woman, fond and mortal still; And the deep fervor, lost to passion's fire, Breathed through the sister’s tenderness. In vain Knew Mary, gazing on that face of clay, That it was her brother. He was there—• Swathed in that linen vesture for the grave, The same loved one, in all his comeliness— And with him to the grave her heart must go. What though he talked of her to angels ! Nay, Hovered in spirit near her ? ’Twas that arm, Palsied in death, whose fond caress she knew ! It was that lip of marble with whose kiss, Morning and eve, love beamed the sweet day in. This was the form by the Jttdean maids Praised for its palm-like stature, as he walked With her by Red ran in the eventide— flu 4etJ t—*"."t ******** The burial was over, and the night Fell upon Bethany—and morn— and noon— Anil comforters and mourners, went their way— But Death stayed on ! They had been olt alone, When Lazarus had followed Christ to hear His teachings in Jerusalem, hut this Was more than solitude. The silence now Was void of expectation. Something felt Always before, and loved without a name— Joy trom the air, hope Irani the opening door, Welcome and life from oil'the very walls — Seemed gone—and in the chamber where he ]ay There was a fearful and unbreatliing hush Stiller than night’s last hour. So fell on Mary The shadows all have known, who, from their hearts, Have released friends to Heaven. The parting soul Spreads wings betwixt the mourner and the sky, As if its path lay, from the tie last broken, Straight through the cheering the sun; And, to the eye strained after, ’tis a cloud That bars the light from all things. Now as Christ Drew near to Bethany, the Jews went forth With Martha, mourning Lazarus. But Mary Sat in the house. She knew the hour was nigh When he would go again, as lie hud said, Unto his father; and she felt that He, Who loved her brother Lazarus in life, Had chose the hour to bring him home through Death In no unkind forgetfulness. Alone— She could lift up the hitter prayer to Heaven, ” Thy will be done, O God 1” but that dear brother Had rilled the cup and broke the bread for Christ; And ever, at the morn, when slm had knelt And washed those holy feet, came Lazarus To bind his sandals on, and follow Ibrth With drooped eyes, like an angel, sad and fair— Intent upon the Master’s need alone. Indissolubly linked were they ! And now, To go to meet him—Lazarus not there— An and to His greeting answer, “It is well!” And without tears, (since grief would trouble Him Whose soul was always sorrowful,) to kneel And minister alone—her heart gave way ! She covered up her face and turned again To wait within for Jesus, But once more Came Martha, saying, “ Lo ! the Lord is here, And calletb for thee, Mary!” Then rose The mourner from the ground, w hereon she sate Shrouded in sackcloth, and bound quickly up The golden locks ol her dishevelled hair, And o’er her ashy garments drew a veil Hiding the eye she could not trust. And still, Aa she made ready to go forth, a calm A in a dream fell on her. At a fount, Hard by the sepulchre, without the wall, Jesus awaited Mary. Seated near Were the way-worn disciples in the shade; But of himself forgetful, Jesus leaned Upon his staff, and watched where she should come, To whose one sorrow—but a sparrow’s falling— The pity that redeemed a world could bleed ! And as she came, with that uncertain step, Eager, yet weak—her hand upon her breast— And they who followed her all fallen back, To leave her with tier sacred grief alone— The heart of Christ was troubled. She drew near, And the disciples rose up from the fount, Moved by her look of wo, and gathered round, And Mary, for a moment, ere she looked Upon the Saviour, stayed her faltering feet, And straightened her veiled form, and tighter drew Her clasp upon the folds across her breast; Then, with a vain strife to control her tears, She Btoggeredto their midst, and at his feet Fell prostrate, saying, “ Lord ! badst thou been here, My brother had not died!” The Saviour groaned In spirit, and stooped tenderly, and raised The monrner from the ground, and in a voice, Broke in an utterance like her own, He said, “Where have ye laid him!” Then the Jews who came Following Mary answered through their tears, “Lord! come and see !” But lo! the mighty heart That in Gethsemane sweat drops of blood, Taking for us the cup that might not pass— The heart whose breakiug cord upon the cross Made the earth tremble, and the sun afraid To look upop his agony—the heart MUSCOGEE DEMOCRAT, Os a lost world’s Redeemer—overflowed, Touched by a mourner’s sorrow ! Jesus wept. Calmed by those pitying tears, and fondly brooding Upon the thought that Christ so loved her brother, Stood Mary there : but that lost burthen now Lay on His heart who pitied her; and Christ, Following slow, and groaning in Himself, Came to the sepulchre. It was a cave, And a stone lay upou it. Jesus said, “ Take ye away the atone.” Then lifted He His moisLyicil ftyes to Heaven, and white the Jews And the discipivs’ftwht tlieir heads in awe, And trembling Mary sank upon her knees, The Son of God :\ ay ed audibly. . He ceased, And for a minute’s space there was a hush, As if the angelic watchers of the world Had stayed the pulses of all breathings, To listen to that prayer. The face of Christ Shone as he stood, and over him there came Command, as ’twere the living face of God, And with a loud voice he cried “ Lazarus! Come forth !” And instantly, bound hand and foot, And borne by unseen angels from the cave, He that was dead stood with them. At the word Os Jesus, the fear-stricken Jews unloosed The bauds from oft'the foldings of his shroud ; And Mary, with her sad veil thrown aside, Ran to him swiftly, and cried “ Lazarus! ■My brother Lazarus !” and tore away The napkin she had bound about his head. And touched the warm lips with her fearful hand, And oil his neck fell weeping. And while all Lay on their faces prostrate, Lazarus Took Mary by the hand, and they knelt down And worshipped Him who loved them. Written for the Muscogee Dcmucrut. The Rescue. BY S. B. In the town of C there was a handsome house. A noble looking house it was. Its fin ished appearance bespoke a wealthy owner. Fine damask curtains shaded the windows ; and a pleasant piazza surrounded the house on three sides. Avery pleasant place indeed to prom enade. Was this piazza put to such a use ! We will see. And now dusky Nox wraps the earth in its dun mantle. Ah! what sound of revelry is that that strikes the oar like the ocean’s murmur? It comes from the noble mansion. See how the light pours from the windows, not by flickering glimpses, but in A steady, stromr, fluma- \mv, arc trj/m mu mM ndgr, ana can hear the sound of many voices. 1 But let us enter. Now we stand in the hospitable portal. What a pleasant picture lies before our eyes. There is a sound as of many feet engaged in the dance. See the graceful movements made to keep time with the lively music. Doesn’t the sound invite you to take part in the enjoyment ? On all sides are heard innumerable voices. Here is a belle sur rounded by her admirers, whom she keeps en gaged in continual conversation. One she ren ders happy by a bewithing smile, another is en couraged by a friendly word. All alike receive her lavors or her shafts, according as suits her. There we see two engaged in earnest conversa tion. Surely it can’t be concerning the state of the weather, the last new song or novel. Those topics have been exhausted .ong ago. What is it keeps them in such close confabulation ? Can you tell ? No. Neither can I. It always was a mystery to me, how one can carry on a splightly conversation with a young lady only a moment ago introduced to you. But what vision of love liness is that which bursts upon the view ? It is a maiden form of exquisite beauty. See how lightly she glides over the carpet. She casts her eye around as if in quest of someone. Soon she is surrounded by a crowd eager to do her homage. She looks as if perfectly accustomed to it. Does not appear at all unduely elated; neither does she cast glances of triumph towards the others of her own sex, many of whom, not so generous, bestow envious glances upon her throng of beaux. She persues her way around the room, endeavoring to make all feel at ease, and enjoy themselves as much as possible. Has my reader already guessed that she is at her home ? She approaches a pensive girl sitting by her self. • Come, Alice,’ says she, 4 this will not do; let me introduce you to Mr. Herbert. Mr. Her bert, Miss Cunningham.” Mr. Herbert, of course, bows his best, and expresses his pleas ure at making her acquaintance ; and offering her his arm they slowly saunter off. Let’s stop a moment and view the dancers as they enter upon the floor. All the setts are nearly comple ted as a noble pair arc seen to take their stand. There they remain, the cynosure of all eyes ; the admired of all admirers. In the gentleman you behold a form rarely excelled for manly beauty. The woman is our beautiful hostess. And now the dance begins. How gracefully do they seem to float along. Like the forms we sometimes see in dreams—that haunt us in our waking mo ments. Many are the exclamations of delight Especially was the remark made by a lively wid ow of thirty-nine, to a staid sister only a few years younger: ‘Ah! Dorothy, it puts me in mind of old times.’ 4 That was the time I enjoyed myself. All! how well I remember how the beaux flocked around me ! But now —hey day! surely I for got myself, to be talking of times never to re turn.’ I am not certain that in her young days Dor othy created such a sensation, for she was not thought to be preeminently beautiful. But it is a delightful compliment to some to wake up old rcminisccncies. And now the dance is tinished. They separate : some to their seats and some to the cool piazza, for the purpose of breathing the pure air. Among the lattor is the interesting couple already spoken of. As they enter the open air the gentleman enquires the cause of her forced gaiety and evident depression of spirits. 4 You know, Henry, that you are to leave us in the morning for an indefinite period.’ ‘True, Mina; but you should not burden to day with the grief of to-morrow. My departure is as much lamented by myself as by you; for, AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER. 44 AS LITTLE GOVERNMENT AS POSSIBLE ; THAT LITTLE EMANATING FROM ANf CONTROLLED BY TIIE PEOPLE, AND UNIFORM IN ITS APPLICATION TO ALL.” COLUMBUS, Georgia, Tfciirsday Evening, July 8, 1847. how can it be pleasant to me to be separated from one I love so dearly as yourself ? ’ ‘You will have change of scene and constant movement to make you forget the separation, while I will mourn in solitude, nnd call thy naim: in vain.’ 4 l’ou may be sure, Mina, only the direst ne. cessity could compel me to leave you at this time. But a sick futher demands my cure, and I must hasten to him. Os course you will hear, from me often.’ ‘That, indeed will be a sort of compensation, so you must be sure and let me hear often, for you know how impatient I will be.’ ‘Thou shall, dearest; but this night air is too dangerous tor you to remain in it too long. Let’s enter the house.’ CHAPTER 11. It is time, now, to give my readers a know ledge of the parties spoken of in the former chapter. Mina Hemphill was the only daughter of as devoted parents as ever breathed the light of heaven. They doted on her; but she was far from being a spoiled child. They trusted so much in her goodness that they let her have her j way in all things. And many there were to ; bless her name, for her bounties were neither j I few nor far between. She had no enemy in 1 either sex, for her gentleness and amiability conquered all and made them friends. Many were the suitors for her hand; but her choice fell upon Henry Stafford. Henry was every way worthy of her, both in mind and person. They loved each other and had been 4 engaged ’ several months. Henry Stafford’s residence was not at C . Being on a casual visit to a friend, he saw Mina Hemphill and that sealed his fate. He wooed and won her. The commencement of our tale opens at the time a party was given in honor of j Mina’s nineteenth birth-day. It was the day prior to the one on which Henry was to depart tor his paternal home, having received letters from home stating that his father was very ill, and required his immediate return home. He accordingly set out the morning after his conver sation with Mina. Many were the adieus and many the promises of writing often. We will now return to the narrative. It was about ten months after Henry’s depart ure. A calm, lovely day in June, it was. Si lence reigned o’er the world. All sought refuge sters neglected to sing their usual song. Man, man only, disturbed the universal repose.— Money! is the cry, and onward they press to reach the goal. No relaxation. The turmoil of a great city is heard from dewy morn till the late vesper hour. Another night is passed—still they keep on—the race slackens not. But what noise is that ? First it is heard like a horn in the distance ; nearer it swells and now it resembles the ocean's roar as it dashes against its rocky barrier. Still nearer it comes, and now it is the cataract’s thundering sound, and the awful ciy of 4 fire ! ’ bursts from a thousand throats. And then there is a trampling of many feet. Haste, haste to the battle’ ground and view the awful carnage. See the servant in rebellion. Behold how it wraps the work of man, its master, in one universal lilaze of ruin. It seems lo smile in derision on feeble mail below, as it lifts its fiery head far to the sky. Watch yon steeple. See, the smoke rolls out of the windows in thick vol umes. Now the blaze follows. Higher and higher it mounts, until with one dreadful crash all is level with the ground. The fell destroyer has seized one more victim ; a noble house ; Mi na’s father’s. All human efforts are vain to save it. The furniture lias already been removed. In vain does the strong engine throw volumes of I water on the devoted house. In vain does one set of men wear themselves out in working the engine, who are succeeded by others, and they in turn by others. All is vain. The house is wrapped in flames. One loud, piercing shriek is heard. 4 My child ! save, oh ! save my child! ’ All eyes arc now turned upon the house, where, oh, horror! Mina is seen in a window of a second story, making frantic gestures. In stantly a ladder is placed, but none are bold enough to ascend. Mina’s father woiJl have rushed into the burning bouse, but was withheld. 4 My lost child ! ’ cried he. At this moment was heard, in determined accents, 4 make way, make i way!’ A form dashes into the house. Haste, ; deliver, or all will be too late ! There was one moment of agonizing suspense ; then there ap peared the brave deliverer, bearing his burden as if it were a babe, down the half consumed lad der. The ladder creaks, but they reach the ground in safety. A shout arose ; a shout of tri umph that for an instant drowned the noise of the mighty destroyer—for they were safe. Soon [ were they borne out of the reach of the fire. ! Mina’s mother embraced her in the joy of the j moment, but remembering herself she said— ‘ 4 Oh, Sir! how can I sufficiently thank you ! for—” But the stranger was gone. None knew j whither. Oil the morrow, as Mina was sitting in the i parlor of a friend who sheltered them, a visitor j was announced. She arose and sprang in his J bosom—for it was Henry. 4 Oh, Henry ! ’ was ail that she could say. Henry wiped tears from ii his eyes, but they were tears of joy. 4 Why, Henry ! what is the matter with your ! hair ? and why this arm in a sling?’ 4 Can’t you guess ? ’ { 4 Oh ! it was you, then ? ’ and she buried her i head again in his bosom. A few days after that, ■, Mina’s father and mother, together with herself | and Henry, as bride and bridegroom, started for j their new home. i Very Good.—A gentleman residing at the j west end of this city, says the Boston Times, j who had been very much annoyed by pedlars, | has placed upon his door the followiug notice— | “Pedlars and Thieves are not requested to ring j the bell, as the occupant of this house declines i dealing with them.” [From the Philadelphia Enquirer.} the young victim. [ A SAD STORY OF GAMBLING. “ to young and yet so lost.” We have already given one or two illustra tions of the sad effects of gambling. Their pub lication has, we have reason to believe, not been ivithout sulutai-y effects. The vice is, generally Jjftyaking, practised in secret, and therefore it is ■x sthe rein, despair, crime find suicide which £Fe frequently caused, escape public notice—the surviving relatives and friends of the victims be ing anxious to draw the veil of oblivion over the i errors and infirmities of the tempted and the lost, j We have, however, heard of another case, which I seems to us full of admonition. It bears, too, more particularly upon the error in which so many indulge, that no harm can arise from card laying merely for amusement, or with a trifle only at stake. A few years since, Mr. Green, the reformed Rambler, took passage on board a steamboat at Louisville, bound for New Orleans. A short tjme after the boat pushed oil’, it was discovered j tptd there were not less than twenty gamblers ■ tin board, and much dissatisfaction was expressed ,i because so many had chosen the same boat. It 1 \jras soon agreed that ten or fifteen should return :ashore at the first opportunity, and w ait for ano ther boat. Shortly after, this determination was ckrried into effect, and it was while Mr. Green ‘las standing on the hurricane deck, noticing the Unding of a portion of his old friends, that his attention was arrested by a young man, looking j anxiously upon the departing gamblers. He j was pale and agitated, and a tear drop glistened j in his eye. His whole appearance was so re markable, that even Green became excited and interested. He sought the youth, and asked him j whither he was going ? He replied that 44 lie j knew not where,” and as if to shun further no- j tice, left the deck and descended into the cabin. ! Green, still more curious, followed him, and by the expression of sympathy, finally induced him to unbosom himself He said that his first reply was correct—that lie really did not know whith er he was going. He was the son of reputable parents in Boston, and had left that city a lew weeks before for the purpose of visiting Louis ville,. 44 which place,” he continued, “you per ceive, we have just passed.” The reasons for this course were sad ones. lie had a sister at Louisville, who had married and moved thither, U* •'<• u /vliilil r riuA <lzuth <-J’ tiutt AisUif’s husband had induced her to write for her brother to come on, to protect her in her widow hood, and assist in settling up the estate. His parents provided him with all the necessaries for the journey, gave him permission to tarry lor a few days at New York and Philadelphia, should he think proper, and also gave him about two hundred dollars in money. All went smoothly and pleasantly until he arrived in Philadelphia. Here he took lodgings at a loading hotel, and scon formed an acquaintance with two young men of genteel exterior, plausible manners, and captivating address. Accompanied by them, he, during the day, visited several of the leading in stitutions, and at night accepted an invitation to play a game of whist, the only game of cards with w'hich he was familiar. Several days and evenings were occupied in a similar manner. He then determined to continue his journey, which he did, by taking passage in one of the lines for Pittsburg. On appearing at the depot next morning, he was delighted to find his tw-o companions. They also had business west, and they regarded it as a pleasure to have so agree able a companion. After exhausting the ordina ry topics of the day, the game of whist was aga in thought of and renewed. They first played for the cards, then for liquor, and finally, for small sums of money. The youth became excited, and ere they reached the iron city, he had lost every dollar that belonged to him, with the ex ception of a sum just sufficient to pay his passage from Pittsburg to Louisville. But again the strangers made their appearance on board an Ohio river steamer, and in the hope of recover ing what he had lost, the deluded young man played again, when his gold watch W'as the sa crifice. On arriving at Cincinnati, he was near ly mad. He then bethought himself of a pack age which his mother had confided to him for his sister. He sough! fin- it in his trunk, found and opened it. It contained a necklace as a love gift, and an unsealed letter, in which was en sJescd a bank note for SIOO. Still tempted by ijpOeinon of gambling, and still anxious to re gain what he had lost, he returned to his vile companions and whist. He played hour after hour, lost the money, then staked and lost the necklace. At this point, the horror of his situa tion was indiscribable. Louisville was at hand, but how could he meet his sister? How could he explain his folly, his infatuation and his crime ? He had left homo with a good name, on a mis- j sion of sacred duty, and he was now a thief and a robber. He bad misemployed funds given i under liallow'ed circumstances, and his condition was indeed desperate. Confused and perplexed, lie at last determined to rush from the boat, leave i the rifled package at tho house of his sister, re turn and follow the fortunes of the gamblers, who ! had tempted and betrayed him, in the hope that j they would not bo so heartless as to throw him ; oft’. But this hope was of short duration, for \ they were among the party that left the boat as ! above described, in consequence of there being j too many of the fraternity on board. It was j while they were retiring that he was noticed by Green, and that hence a tear forced itself to his j eye, when he realized the loneliness and wretch edness of his condition. He was an outcast and \ a robber—had become so in a few days, from j having ventured upon what he called an innocent game of whist, and thus he truly said, in reply to the question that had been put to him—that he knew not whither he was going. Green ad vised him to return to his sister and make a frank confession—but his heart failed him—he had not the moral nerve. He could not meet the being he had so bitterly wronged. He grate, fully accepted a small loan from Green and soon after departed. Two years rolled by. Green was again on the Mississippi, a passenger on lie steamer Mediterranean, on her way from Orleans to Louisville. An accident happenedby which he was induced to stop near Plaquenilne. While there, a fellow.passenger reinarken that he had j just witnessed a horrible sight upon the forward | deck of the boat. “Alii” exclaimed Green, and immediately proceeded to the spot designated. .lie there be-! held live men in chains—convicts, ’r n their way j from New Orleans to Galon Rouge',,where the i State Penitentiary of Louisiana is located.— ! Among them was young Melmon'-t— (the name is of course fictitious) — the wretched youth whose unfortunate journey from Boston to Louisville, tec have here so hastily described ! lie had but a few days before been convicted of forgery and sentenced to the State Prison for five years ! This, gentle reader, is no fiction, but a true sto ry, and the moral it conveys as to the danger of gambling, cannot be mistaken. MACHINE FOR TURNING STATUARY. One of the most remarkable inventions of the age, is that of Mr. Thomas Blanchard of Boston, for turning busts, in a lathe. The art of turning cylinders, balls, and anything of uniform circular form, in the common lathe, has long been prac- I tised by ordinary turners, and is familiar to every j body. But the idea of turning in a lathe, articles ! deviating from circular forms, appears, at first ! blush, preposterous and absurd. And yet pre i cisely such a machine has been invented for turn ing forms of various irregular shapes, such as gun barrels, and gun stocks, spokes for wheels and shoe lasts, wig blocks, tackle blocks, and last, though not least in importance, busts of the hu man head! Machines for all these purposes have been invented by Mr. Blanchard, and one of the latter description is now in full and sue j cessful operation in Boston. The process of casting busts in a mould, after I l a model, has long been practised, and they may j be produced of lead, brass, iron, bronze, or any \ other maleable substance, as readily as pewter j spoons, or bullets, may be cast in a mould. But; the idea of turning out busts from beautiful mar- j ble, by machinery and steam power, in any quan-1 titics and of various sizes, and with the most per- j feet accuracy, after a single model, is truly aston- 1 ishing, and never would have been dreamed of I but by a creative genius like that of Thomas’ Blanchard. Imagine, gentle reader, a steam engine, in rapid motion, whirling round, and 1 turnina-ont the. lurnun ami fate divine, with [ nose, chin, lips, forehead, eyes, ears, rtjrcft,’ icvaUt i and shoulders, of perfect proportion and accuracy j to nature ! Ifhagine such an eccentric machine, j and you will have some idea of the wonderful ! stretch of invention which conceived and com- j pleted such a faculty. Such a wonderful machine is now in success- j ful operation in Boston, and if any patron of ge- j nius, or any inquiring mind, or any person, will i take the trouble to search, he can see a bust of { Daniel Webster rapidly revolving in one end of j a lathe, and at the other he will see sac simile j heads of the great expounder, of any desired I sizes, turned out from marble, by machinery. When one of these heads was presented to Mr. Webster, and he was informed by what pro cess it was produced, he exclaimed, in astonish-’ ment, that it was the ‘ most wonderful invention 1 of the age.’ Well he might; for who can ima-1 gine such a curious art ? Description is out of the question. He who doubts, or would under stand it, must sec for himself. I have seen it, and there it is, open to the inspection of any re spectable inquirer. Such an art was reserved for the inventive genius of America, in the nine-! tcenth century. Busts ofhis liorior Judge Woodbury, of the su |>renic court of the United States, have also been turned from the same lathe, and those who are familiar with the face of the learned Judge, can attest the accuracy of the likeness. What is j equally curious, busts and cameos may be turned ; after one and the same model, into imitations of j any sizes, from a colossal bust, to a miniature j face suitable for a lady’s brooch.— Host. Courier. ■ Beautiful Answer. —What wonderful ques tions children often ask, and what equally won- j derful answers do they sometimes give : What ! can be more touching than the following anec-1 dote, which we find in the N. Y. Organ ? A friend of ours, while dressing a young child j a few days ago said—in rather an impatient | tone—“ You arc such a lump ofa shape, if is im- 1 possible to make anything fit you !” The lips of the child quivered, and, looking up, it said in a depreciating tone, “ God made me.” Our friend was rebuked ; and the little lump was’ kissed a dozen times. “ God made me !” Had the wise men of the world pondered on a fitting answer to such a careless remark, for a century, they could not have found a better than flowed naturally and spontaneously from the wounded heart of the child. “ God made me, mother ; it is not mv I fault that lam what you thus seem not to like— | such a little lump ; God made me!” Bless-! irigs on thy innocent heart, sweet child—“ of! such arc the kingdom of heaven.”— U. S. Post. \ The Mormon Temple.— This celebrated ed- 1 ifico has been sold to a committee of the Cath olic church, for $75,000. The community have also purchased other property at Nauvoo.— ’File building is to he appropriated to education al purposes, connected with the church into j whose hands it has passed. The contract re-; quires only the sanction of the Bishop to com-’ plctc it. The last of the Mormons in Nauvoo, consisting of thirty or forty familids under charge of Daniel H. Wells, have left Nauvoo to join the California expedition. Babcitt & Cos. still remain at Nauvoo, to close up the al fairs of the Mormons. These facts are stated in the Warsaw (111.) Signal.. A spruce looking Lieutenant, under the ten Regiment bill, asking a friend what lie would be taken for without his epauletts, was answer ed that he would bo 4 Taken for Debt.’ Book & Job Printing Office. By Andrews A, Griswold, corner of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-stairs.) PLAIN and OPsiEQOy PRINTING, such as Bill Heads, Post Bills, Handbills, Circulars, Curdy, Pamphlets, Checks, Bills of Lading, Bills <f Exchange, Minutes, aml Blanks of every description, e wcu led in the ucalesl st>le of the .Art, in vtniouis colored Inks, or in gold, silver and Bronie, ID* at the very lowest rates. XI From the Delta July 2c l. Later from Mexico. We yesterday received files of Mexican pa pers irom the Capital, to and of the 12th ult., dates three days later than any previously re ceived. We make from them a series of ex tracts which are given below. We find in them no evidences of that formidable, fearful opposition to the advance of Gen. .Scott, the ap prehensions of which for the lust day or two s<> alarmed the nerves ofso/ne of the more sen sitive of our contemporaries. The same unset, tied, indecisive, neutralizing policy, seems to prevail at the capital, which has so long been characteristic of Mexican policy. We hear no thing of those thirty thousand of an army, which, with a valor equalled only by that evin ced by the troops of a celebrated King of France, who marched up and down an emin ence —were inarching out to attack and annihi late Gen. Scott in his quarters at Puebla. Santa Anna, however ambituous he may be, to play the dictator, is rather shy in proclaiming his preferences ; lie appears to think that as ho can get along, though minus half his “under standing,” he can keep the government moving though resting on a fraction of a ministry. The files before us contain full reviews of the opinions of the different newspapers throughout the Mexican country, which number about twenty, and with but one single exception (in Durango) they are all fully in favor of tho war. FA Monitor Republicano, of the 12th ult., contains a lengthy article- on the subject oftho Dictatorship. Up to that date Santa Anna was not proclaimed, nor had he proclaimed himself Dictator. Indeed, the Monitor ridiculed the idea that he designed to become one. The ru mor to that effect which prevailed in the Capi tai is alleged to have been originated with and been propogated by bis enemies and the ene mies of the country. The Monitor asserts that the, new Cabinet is not to be entirely formed of Puros, (Detrio. crats,) us stated in some of the journals, and that the new Ministers will carry out the po'iey of their predecessors. Santa Anna thinks that without a full Ministry—with the Ministers of War and Finance, together with the Clerks in in the Bureau of Foreign Relations—he will be able, tbx the time being, to carry on the government. In an article published in the same paper of the 10th, we find the following paragraph : There is no doubt but that the ma jority of the nation is in favor of carrying on the war, and we arc, consequently, convinced that it is im possible to enter into any arrangement for peace : were it to be concluded, it would prove fatal to the nationality of Mexico, The de. fenders of the nation are, therefore, encouraged with brilliant hopes of final success, as it is un doubted that the position in which the United States finds itself must, in the end, secure ustri umphant success, notwithstanding our former ! disasters. All of us who sincerely wish the | continuation of the war, look upon an equivocal I policy as dangerous, and all overtures’ of peace a perilous means to secure it ; for this reason we are opposed to any change in the politics which may give it a pacific appearance.” Congress met at the Capital at last on tho 10th, and the proposition of declaring a recess, j was lost by one vote. j El Republicano, of the 12th, in a leader of [ great length, recommends that the forces which I are intended to defend the Capital, should he well and properly instructed and drilled, as they i have plenty of time before the American •army j arrives there. Being chiefly recruits, tbo i Generals commanding them, he says, should ’ take great pains in their drill. The editor says I that the chieftains should bear in mind that that |is to be their last effort, and consequently no I exertion to have it successful should be spared. El Razonador, the peace paper, says that it has recommended peace only because it is con vinced that the government would not or could not carry on the war ; but at the same time ap proves Santa Anna’s withdrawal of his resigna tion, and praises him very much, saying that he is the only man in the country who caii keep alive the war spirit. The Legislature of Aguascalientes had given its vote to Gen. Almonte. A letter from Oaja. ca says that Santa Anna has been unanimously nominated President by the Legislature of that State. Gen. Baneneli died on the evening of the Uth. Gen. Valencia had reported having arrived :at San Luis Potosi on the sth June, where ho took immediate command of the army. Gen. I Salas had also arrived there and taken charge j ofhis post. Gen. Bustamentc was at Irnpuatoon the sth, : where lie was to begin immediately to raise i forces from the State of Guiinajuate. It was i thought that Gen. Alcorta had issued an order bv which Bustamente would be obliged logo as far as Sinaloa, in order to take command of the forces there—-which, according to El Monitor, are none. It seems, from what we see in the Monitor of the 11th, that Santa Anna and Canalize had “made friends” once more, and, consequently, the examination o! the latter for his conduct at Cerro Gordo was dropped. Although it was reported that he had been appointed Governor of the State of Vera Cruz, he was to bo em ployed in the defence of the Capital. El Estandarte de los Chinacutcs published at Sail Luis Potosi, says that a large body ot guerrillas has been organized at Bocas, about 12 leagues from San Luis, and that they were all well armed and equipped, G'cn. Alvarez sent an express from Ameca, Ufo. *76