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mil QUITMAN BANNER, PUIiUSHED EVERY FRIDAY. rERMS OF SDBSCaifllO* i.\ ADVANCE. for one year $3 00 For aix months 200 For three months 1 00 For single copy, 10 CLUB RATES FOR SUBSCRIPTION. For a club of live $ 12.30 For a club of ten $22.30 For e. dub of twenty $10.9(1 JOB I>K.INTIIVrO. Wo have attached to mir newspaper establish ment a complete Job Office. Hand-bills of all kinds. Programmes. Cards. Blanks. Pamphlets, A*., exeeuted in the best manner. AFFLIITKD READ THIS. Kay ton’s Oleum Vitae. THIS Great Geriran Liuimeutis an almost infallible cure for Rheumatism. Nntrahfia, Rheumatic Pains in the Rack. Breast. Sitles or Joints, Xervous Headache. Toothache. Fait ache, Sprains. Bruises. Sicettirujs, Cats. Bites. Burns, dbc. Tbia threat remedy should be in every house.— Fur Horses this remedy has no equal. Ask for Kayton’a Oleum Vita*. Take no other. Sent by expresstfor SI,OO Kay ton’s Magic Cure. An Egyptian Remedy^ jFor the cure of sudden Coughs and Colds, Astli **. Acid Stomach. ll.•auburn. Sore Throat. Sea Sickweoa. Cholera. Uiarrheeo. Gnratps and IViun l‘ti *.Ue Btquiach. Seqt by «xprt».s for sl. Kaytoii’s Dyspeptic Pills, Are a sure and pleasant cure for DYSPEPSIA. 15ILUOUS DISOUDEIiS, CONSTIPATION. and all disorders of the liver, stomach and bowels, and when taken regularly will cleanse the blood. The#e are the greatest Anti-Pillions Pills ev»r placed before the public. Sent by mail for 30 cents per box. The above Medicines are prepared and sold by PROF. 11. 11. k VVTOX, SAVANNAH, GEORGIA, * To whom all orders should be addressed ;or to his Wholesale Agents, A. A. SOLOMONS A CO., Savannah. Ga. liberal discount to parties selling again. For sale in Quitman, at. Dr. J. 11. McCall’s drug •tore. February 2?, 1867. ly SPRIMGr —t —A N D SuMMM STOCK. Culpeper, Creech & C., EESPECTFULLY notify their friends and the public generally, that they have received their Spring and Summer 3m r B :■«. m> Os Merchandize of ovfcry description, embracing •all paterns, styles and qualities of LADIES' DRESS MODS, ■BKIUDKIIIIH it Ladies* and Gents’ lints ami Caps, Boots and Shoos, »nd everything generally kept in a Dry Goods Btore. Also a very complete stock of FAMILY GROCERIES HARDWARE, ETC. <Bf*~ They tender their sincere thanks to their j friends for the patronage *n liberally extended, «nd solicit » con tin u ant e of the same. We are prepared to sell at Tlie Very Lowest Prices, Quitman. April 19. 1867. 12-ts JAMES B. FINCH, QUITMAN, GA., HAS just received and opened a large and complete assortment of HIRING <fc SUMMER GOODS* REHDf MADE CLOTHING, &OOTS AND SHOES, Gents and Ladies Hats &c. Also, a genera! stock of Fnmih Grort- io*. «, TOBACCO & COFFEE. so has on hand a good supply of j Crorl-mj, Glassware, Tinware, Domestics, Yarns, Raddles, Bridles, die. Old customers and purchasers generally are respectfnlly Invited to call and examine for them selves. before purchasing elsewhere. March 29th, 18S7. Iv TO THE PUBLIC. T. F. LAWSON, Offers b’s services to the public as a Manufacturer of Plain Tinware, And Dealer in Japanned, Planished and Stamp ed Tinware. House Furnishing Goods. Ac.; and in connexion with the above, he has on hand a fine lot of Cooking Stoves, Ranges, OFFICE STOVES, &.C.," which he offers lew to the ptiblic. lie also flatters himserf that he can furnish to merchants a better and neater article of Tin ware, and as low or lower than they can pur chase elsewhere, north of south. All I ask is a chance, before buying elsewhere. I will also manufacture, at short notice, any thing yon may want, cut •’ i.... sheet-iron, cop per or zinc. Guns and Gun Locks repaired. has establish-1 himself in the two story building south of Mrs. Mclntosh's Hotel. Qintman, July 12, 1 23-fcf Ute (Qiiifman F. R. FILDES, Editor. VOL. 11. GEORGIA STATE LOTTERY! FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE MASONIC ©iMMirasEii Boyd, Wilson & Cos., Managers, Atlanta Ga. 6BSIT SCHEME. One Dollar—Full Ticket. CAPITAL PRIZE, 520,000. EXTRA CLASS A. Th s Great Lottery, for the benefit of the Mason ic Orphans’ Home, will be drawn in public at Atlanta (la., on Wednesday, the 4th day of Sep tember next, 1867. GREAT SCHEME. 1 Prize of $20,000 is $20,000 1 Prize of 5,000 is 5.000 1 Prize ot 2.000 is 2,000 1 Prize of 1,000 is 1.000 2 Prizes of . 500 are 1,000 4 Prizes of 250 are 1.000 100 Prizes of 100 are 10.000 200 Prizes of 50 arc 10,000 Prizes amounting to $50,000 50,000 in Prizes at $1 per Ticket A Package of 10 Ticfotn may drat » $30,000 ALLTHE PRIZES WILL BE DRAWN. Plan of these Great Lotteries and Explanation of Drawings* The numbers from 1 to 100,000, corresponding with the numbers on the tickets, are printed on separate slips of paper and encircled with small tubes, and placed in a glass wheel—all of the prizes in accordance with the scheme, are simi larly printed and encircled, and placed in anoth er glass wheel. The wheels are then revolved, and two boys, blindfolded, draw the numbers and prizes. One of the boys draws one number from the wheel of numbers, and at the same time the other boy draws out one prize from the wheel of prizes. The number and prize drawn out are exhibited to the amliancc, and whatever prize comes out is registered and placed to the credit of that number, ami this operation is repeawß until all the prizes are drawn, prizes are payable without discount, and the official drawing sent to each purchaser. liGY I). WILSON Jk CO. Managers, Atlanta, Geo. August 9, 1867. tdd I SpARTIAL SUFFERINGS. Ni J ther Wealth. Refinement, or Condition, are exempt. The Piiilotokkn. or Females’ Friend is expressly for the benefit of females who may be suffering from Nervous Irritability, Distressing Apprehensions, and all these troublesome com plaints that invite premature old age, and render lif e miserable The Philotoken acts like a charm in relieving pain ; and by controlling the ner vous svstevo. restores those feelings of confidence and satisfaction that insure happiness. It is a radical cure for Dyeinonorrhcea, and a treasure that should be possessed by every female who i desires to restore, improve, or preserve her 1 health, beauty and physical comfort. Descrip tive pamphlets, containing valuable information for invalids and heads of families, will be sent on receipt of postage stamp. Price $1 per bottle ; the usual discount to the trade. If AURAL, RISLEY A CO., Wholesale Druggists, HI Chambers at.., N- Y. Risleys extract btjchtt. The most efficient Diuretic and Tonic for the treatment of all complaints resulting from weakness and darangement o'* the Kidneys fc and Urinary Organs such as pains and weakness in the back and loins, gravel, dropsy, stranguary. incontinence, infiamation of the* mucus surfaces. Ac. Riser y> Buuu cun be used in all cases, for children as well as adults, with perfect safety. Physicians are finding that Rislky’s is the most uniform and reliable preparation, beside being of greater strength and in larger bottles than any others. Sold by the Druggists and Merchants fer $1.50. IIAURAL, lUSLEY A CO., Proprietors. N. 11. All officinal preparations of medicines bearing our lab**l are made according to the U. S. Pharmacopoeia. and*all goods sold by us arc warranted to be as represented, or may be re timed at our expense. Determined to maintain the reputation which «>ur houses have always enjoyed for dealing in Reliable Medicines, and to merit the continued confidence of our customers, we assure them that the same attention will be paid to orders by mail as when personally present. HARRAL, RISLEY & CO., hVholrsalr Dvufjfjisls, HI Chambers and 1 Hudson Sts., NEW YORK. to Haviland, Keese & Cos.. 1830: Huviland, Harral <fc Risley ; Harral, Risley & Kitchen ; Harral. Risley A Tompkins. August 2, 1867. 6m " 11. 31. L vM-XPORT, WITH E. S. J AFFRAY & CO.. lEY GOODS* 1 350 Broadway, New York ! Flannels, Gloves, Collars & Ties, Skirt Braids, Dress Goods, White Goods, Linen Goods, : Cloaks, Embroideries, j English Crapes, Hosiery, Dress Shirts, Ribbons, Lace Articles, Shawls, Lace, i Silks, Yankee Notions, Ac, ! August 9. 1867. 6m ' « . r- rt ? ' * . I. HERE SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE'S BIGHTS MAINTAIN, UNAWED BY FEAR AND UNBRiBED BY GAIN miscellaneous JUabitig. THi nmn Wmm. In tin' year 119—, the village of A—, lived Adolia Beaumont, •‘the Maiden of the Green Mantle,” ns she was frequent ly called ; the envy of her own sex and the admiration of ours. [She well deserv ed the high encomiums which her lovli ness received. Possessing' a sprightly, yet not superhuman form; a bright laugh ing, oval lace, shaded with locks of the deepest dye; a mild beautiful bewitching black eye, in whose smile cupid played; it was not singular that she had at one time or other held all the young men in the place subject to her power. But one by one her admirers dropped off hopeless of inspiring her with a passion equalling theirs. Min ■ seemed to be the palm in this as in every other contest in which i had ever striven to excel my companions. It was a general remark among them that there was no use striving with Al bert Mordaut to win the affections of “the maiden, of the Green Mantle,” pos sessing as 1 did wealth, talents and some persona' beauty. It was true I was more intimate and familiar with Adolia than any of my fellows had ever been able to become with all their efforts. Whenever an at tendant was required 1 was sure to bo selected, and that was not so frequent as might be supposed. She was wild as the young fawn and fearless as the young eagle. She might bo seen on a spring day among the mountains leaping from rock to rock with all the life of the an telope. Still there were very few that would have dared been rude with her, thoughtless as she seemed-—as well might they hatic provoked the lioness as tempt her anger—and there were many who would have rejoiced in resenting her wrongs. Indeed she was one whom all loved, and considered as a peculiar being—privileged beyond her sex—no otic supposed that her actions could be Wi ong so much was she respected. There was not a sick or a poor woman among the kills whom she had not assisted—all knew her, and k ew her but to bless her. Had you seen her on an evening when the bright moon walked among t hr stars and shod its soft light over hill and dale, you’d not have thought her such a being as I have described—then, she seemed calmed by the poetry that was abroad, and her heart beat with all its pureness, tenderness and beauty. Had you beheld her as her eye wandered over nature, or seen kindling in the light of heaven and burning with inspiration—how hard so ever your heart had been—whoever had held you in their toils—you must have admired—have worshipped this lovely— this inexplicable girl. It was a summer’s eve -I sat bosk! Adelia on the margin of the gentle hill ; behind ns were the setting sun, shedding a rich radiance o’er the sky, as it tipped the mellow clouds with splendor. A slight breezo from the distant oeean fanned the face of nature all looked cheerful as an infant’s smile ! Far off before its lay the tranquil sea, its un ruffled depths thing back the beauty of that heaven which seemed to charm it into stillness. Oh, it was an hour, a scene, a place f w love ! and she who sat beside me gazing in rapture on the calm beauty of that view, young in hope, unsullied by the vanities of life, pure as an angel’s dream, innocent as the brightest seraph that waits upon the throne above, was she not a being fit at such a time to till the heart with l ve— with tender, ardent affection 1 Oh! that eve with its joys—its tender ness—its deadening disappointments are registered with « pen of steel upon my h eirt 1 That was the birth day of my infamy 1 The desolation of rny dreams j of happiness! my hopes, my parents ex expectations— rny thoughts of heaven ! But, I will relate how my all was blas ted, whithered m the bud on that never to be forgotted day! It seems as ’twere but yesterday so vivid does the memory of that hour live in my bosom 1 “How sweetly,” exclaimed Adclia, “the sinking sun flings his rays across the heavens ! See, Albert, that little bark —how gracefully it cleaves the glassy sea I—-as if loth to break the stillness, it seems to kiss the waters as it moves— and its white sails—how beautifully they spread to catch the gentle breeze! Like a bird of ocean it passes o’er the sea.” “So bright and beautiful be thy course Adelia I” "Very fine, indeed! You’d compare me with yonder boat ? I assure you I have no desire to resemble it. It adds beauty to out view, but who knows where the morrows sun may find it-—l’d like my way to be more sure and not rest on such fickle things as wind and wave.” “You forbid all sympathy with your feelings tl/i), beautiful Adelia?” “Beautiful Adelia ! —thank you for your compliments--1 have a rniror at home which never flatters me—that al ways speaks the truth ; and if you do not keep a strict guard upon your tongue I shall leave you to compare me with boats, se-gulls and as many other pretty things as suits your fancy—so, unless you'd drive me away, no flattery ; you know I hate it arid can but despise the flatterer—l have too good an opinion of rny dear self to need any one for an in former—as you love me, no more—” “Love thee !” I replied—"open my bosom and you will find your imago traced upon my heart—l would not for the world displease you”—l knelt before her and poured forth the ardor of my love —I laid my heart open to the gaze—l told her my destiny was within her gui dance—to be thrown off by her was to he deprived of hope, and what my end would be I knew not. But with her I felt that my course must be glorious and worthy of my affection. Alas ! my words have proved too true—and she has known the terrors of their fulfillment ! Her head rested on my arm—and, oh God, I thought that I was blessed. Her dfr.‘k eye moistened and the pure tear drop fell on my throbbing brow. In a tone pit ! teously melancholy, yet chillingly firm, 1 she t<dd me that she loved me as a broth- QUITMAN , GEO., AUGUST 30, 1867. er—that she was another’s—and he to i whom her plighted faith she’d given was Philip Sydney. The only person whom I had ever hated—since,ely hated was my rival ! Sydney nud myself had grown up from infancy in the same neighborhood, were ol the same age and had been rivals since we first knew the sweets of success. Until this strife, I had always triumphed over him. In school, in all our boyish sp iris, he, though nearly my equal, could never match me. By the time that we had gained the stature of manhood our enmity had grown into the most consu mate hatred, lie was ambitious and it was my greatest (pleasure to cross him in his plans, and outstrip his course. “But there wliero I hint garnered up my heart; Where cither I must live or bear no ffl’e, The (bunlaln from which my current vine, Or else dries up ; to lie discarded thence !” and thrown aside for him ! it was not in tny soul to bear it calmly. 1 left Ade lia rudely—rushed from her presence and and saw her again but once before her bridal hour 1 then I stood beside her— then I triumphed ! Yet 1 will not anticipate the story of my sufferings and my guilt, I left her, and sought among the mountains conso lation for my woo. The scene was chan ged—a dark cloud which had suddenly gathered in the south mantled the sky with gloom. The torrent of the storm eamd on 1 The thunders shook the deep foundations of the cliff on which I stood and in their strength, were like the peals ot the last judgment ! The clouds shot forth their lightnings like fiery serpents twining in the air! I called on the fury of tl c storm, the fierce lightning and the frightful thunders to strike me to the earth, and uttered blasphem es deep and piercing ! The storm had spent its strength ; the fiery flames had ceased to glow ; snd the deep mouthed bollow iugs had passed by 1 * * * * Amid tbe mad ravings, which follow ed that night’s disappointment —the des olation of my hope—a mother's care watched over me, ministered to each want and smoothed the harsh pillow of the maniac’s couch—oh there is no love on earth can match the deep solicitude which a mother feels us she hangs over the fevered frame of Ip r offspring 1 So pure, so unallo ed with self 1 How long I lay upon that bed of sick ness I knew not. But as my reason gradually returned a confused idea of something terrible — Rome unknown evil seemed to have befallen me. Suddenly like the searing lightning the full mem ory of that eve returned ! Years have fled and though many and great have been my crimes they all arc merged in the recollection of this one. What, a noiseless step hath time ? But yesterday J stood forth in the pride and strength of manhood I now, l am whitened by the blossoms of the grave 1 The bright visions which youth pictu red with an artists skill have passed a way ! the fond hope I nourished with a mother’s anxious care have fled forever ! The grim shadows of a coining world flit round my brain, and with fiendish mal ice whisper in my car the doom reserved for mo, the unavoidable consequence of my guilt 1 “Pale gliiling Ghost with Ungers dropping gore, And him' (lames dance around thy dungeon's door.” And then wdien the storm is abroad she too conies and points with her bony fingers at me—and laughs in triumph at my writhing agony. * * * * Feme weeks bad passed since 1 bad recovered from the delirium under which t bad suffuied when I met Adelia. Sbo appeared also, to be anxious for my wel fare. Flie yet loved me as a brother ! And could I blame her!- ’Tis sufficient that 1 did—l felt anew spirit rise with in me as rlig stood before me, my eyes dilated, and the fury of my passion I urst on that guiltless one—nay, start not 1 I did not slay her there ! She begged to know why my frame trembled so ? Why Ig r zed so fiercely on her? She thought the fever of my sickness had not left me —and she pitied me. I swore, and heaven knows that oath has been too faithfully adherred to, that she should never he the Bride of Philip Sydney. She laughed at my threatening ; hut as she looked again with pride and anger in her eye, she qua led before me. “Beware, beware,” said I ! “your bridal hour ! though my body is in tlio tomb my spirit shall haunt you there !” I left the place of my birth—l sought the nearest port, and found a vessel was about sailing for . I engaged my passage in her and wrote to my parents to inform them of an eternal farewell. By some accident I was left behind. News came that the ship in which I in tended sailing was wrecked on the Baha mas aud that all lives w re lost. The failure of my intentions was of course unknown to rr.y friends ; they supposed me among the dead aad mourned me as such They would have wished me in the grave had they known their son and friend was the mad Bandit of the moun tains—tlio terror of the peaceful villa gers 1 * * * * Nea" the end of the second year, after the events I have previously related, as I wandered in the disguise I frequently took when in towns and villages, I learn ed from an old peasant that the nuptials of Adelia were to take place on the sue ceeding day. My course was fixed—l was to he an unwelcome guest at that festival ! On a bright June morning, the bell of our village church rung forth its merriest peals to call the villagers to witness the j bridals of Adelia Beaumont, ‘(The maid of j the Green Mantle.” and Phillip Sydney. The peasantry from The mountains .came in crowds to behold their benefactress wedded to the man she loved. There was merry makings that day and many a heart heat with joy, .33 they saw the old carriage of Major Beauine.et wheel up the street as it wound its.V/ay to the 1 antique chapel which my ancestors, in | days long goue by had founded. Then i came a long procession of friends and 1 relatives. Adelia shining in all her beau- ty descended from the carriage and vyjth her maids entered the etiureh. She was m re beautiful tliap when I last saw her —I lef t her a bud just blossoming, ;ipd now beheld her full blown; like rtßllnitnel' flower rich and fragant, With the crowd of peasdhlry a he] ser vants that had assembled to witness the bridals of their adored mistress and friend, I readily gained admittance. As Adelia walked up the long Isle of that eluipel, I thought I saw a melancholy shadow pass over her lace ; and that her color came and went. Not discovering the person, whom, though she deemed him dead, she yet feared she would behold, the calmness of her counteance was restored, and a sweet iinearlh'y beauty settled on her features. Then, yes, even then 1 adored her, I loved her so deeply and so ardent ly 1 would not for nil eternity of bliss, that she had been another's bride ! The bridegroom with his smiles soon came. The bridal pair stood by the al tar of their religion. The aged father was beside his y< ung and angelic daugh ter; he seemed like an aged oak, she his pride and hope, the young sapling nour ished ai his feet, o’er whom his branches hung and protected flow the wild win ter’s Blast. The Holy man lifted the book—Adelia raised her eyes and “a moment o'er tier face, A tablet of unutterable thoughts Was traced and then laded as it came.” and her soft eyes beaming with love and tenderness, rested on him whom she gl - tied. ‘ Adelia, thy bridal hour has come !” I whispered in her ear. A piercing shriek—a fiendish laugh echoed among the deep arches ol that venerable pile. "Oh, Albert! not now !”■—a dagger glistened in the nir—“help my husband —father—l am murdered,” the victim of my love and vengeance sank, her life blood flowing at that altar’s foot. “Oh, cruel obdurate Mordauut i But 1 forgive thee my death, as I pray heaven may.” “Sidney, thy bride is dead 1 Remem ber Albert Mordannt to thy grave.” The menials that should have stopped me stood back aghast, as they beheld the bloody weapon and my countenance gleamed with hellish malice. Some few attempted to stay my flight, as well might they have stemmed the mountain torrent in its wrath—l hurled them from my grasp arid casting them on that floor, now consecrated by a pure and noble victim; another cold laugh of triumph burst from me, which made each listener pale with fright, as I turned upon them from the portals. The courage which all in that assem bly for a moment lost, 1 knew would soon return and seek the murderer of their joy—the dcsolator of that old man’s hearth—the rival of that bridegroom. I joined my brave band on the hills and found them ready for their labor. And a fit welcome did they give the mis tress of justice ! My pursuers came and at their head was Sydney 1 raging like a wild boar and swearing venge ance on my head. • The hands of persanli v who had hurried to tl OiO mountains in their zeal to avenge the death of their mistress were but ill prepared tor tbe task they’d undertaken —my brave fellows scattered them with a breath 1 I leaped upon a rock to watch their flying hands; beneath me 1 heard the clash of arms and beheld my deadliest foe fighting like a fury with two of my freebooters. An instant and 1 was at his side. “Leave him to me, my brave hoys ! this is my task ; he fights for a lost mate and must have tho boar that wrenched it from him.” “Come Sydney, thou shaft he wedded to thy bride to-day and 1 will he thy Priest 1” "Thou fiend in human shape 1” lie ex claimed, and rushed like a madman on my weapon’s point. The strife was nei ther long nor difficult—my arm had strengthend in the wild life I’d lately led, and my passion lay cool and power less under my will His frame, though invigorated hy the deadliness of his re venge, quailed before the stout,mountain eer and the deep bitterness of my ha tred. lfis blood and hers were wedded on that blade. The bride and bride groom fell hy the same hand, on the same day, and the same weapon drank their blood 1 * * * * How I found this dungeon thou know est and the fate which awaits me.—- When my life shall have sped, which now lingers on my lips, and perchance will not wait the executioner—convey my body to that place and let me rest in the same graveyard with my victims Thou wast once my friend and this is my last request. The dying prisoner ended his days within his dungeon walls—his bones sleep in the churchyard of A , near the tombs of the victims of his hatred aud of his love. 11. The Most Beautiful Hand. —Two char ming women were discussing one day what it is which constitutes beauty in the hand, —They differed in opinion as much as the shape of tho beautiful mem ber whose merits they were discussing. A gentleman friend presented himself, and hy common consent the question was referred to him. It was a delicate mat ter. He thought of Parts and the three goddesses. Glancing from one to tho other of the beautiful white hands pre sented for Ids examination, he replied at last: “I give it up, the question is too hard for me: but ask the poor, and they will tell you the most beautiful hand in ! the world, is the hand t.hat gives.” She Always M/tTE Hows Happy.—Such j was the brief but impressive sentiment which a friend wished, to add to an obit inary notice of “one who had gone, bc ! fore.” What bctter tnbiite could he of fered to the memory of. the lost? Elo quence, with her loftiest eulogy; poetry, with her utmost thrilling dirge, could af i ford nothing eo s'.vcet, so touching, so. ! suggestive of the virtues of the dead, as i those simple words: “She always made home happy.” [53.00 per Annum. NO. 30. Joan of Alt-; Joan of Arc, culled the Maid of Or leans, was the daughter of a peasant V,t Dotntunii;, ill Utu jiki.Vihke bf LiH'Uipj, Fldlitlb; Wheli) slip, Vrfta both in 1402. lYhefl, she was quite young she was em ployed as a servant, at a little inn, ns well as groom in the stable, and she liked looking after tbe horses better than wait ing on the guests. The misfortune of the Dauphin of France was all the talk of her master’s customers, and being a religions enthusiast, she fancied that Heaven had inspired her in his cause. In 1428 she had an interview ivitli the governor of Toneouleiirs who sent her to the French Court; and she there told them that God had ordered her to raise tlm siege of Orleans, to conduct the Dau phin of Rheims, and there annoiiit him King. Her services were accepted. Armed cap-a pie, the beauty of her per son, the grace with which she rode her milk-white steed, and the holy banner carried before her, convinced the people that she was fighting by the command of God. Prodigies of valor were performed by Joan, and when wounded in tbe neck by an arrow, she drew it. out, saying, “it is glory, not blood which flows from tbe wound;’’ the English lied Lief no her, and she was hailed as the saviour of Franco. Having raised the siege iff Orleans, insisted upon crowning Charles at Rheim, and the maid clothed in armour, and dis playing her victorious haulier, took her place by the king’s side amid the shouts of the people. A medal was struck in her honor, bearing on one side her por trait, and on the other the motto “sustain ed by the aid of Godl” and Charles enno bled her family by the name of Du Eys, from the lillics on her banner, and gave them an estate. Our heroine next went to the relief of Conipiegne, besieged by the Duke ol Burgundy and the English, but on mak ing a sally she was captured by the Bur gundians, who basely sold her to the English for ten thousand livres. The Duke of Bedford commenced a prosecu tion against her, and accused her of sor cery and impiety, the clergy and the University of Paris, to their eternal dis grace, joined in the accusation. She was brought in irons before a priestly tribunal at Rouen, and being asked why she assisted at the coronation of Charles, replied “Because the person who shared in the danger might share in the glory.” Charged with heresy, she appealed to t..e Pope, but her appeal was disallowed, and she was condemned to death as a sorceress. The fortitude of the Maid of Orleans now forsook her, and to avoid punish ment. she Confessed that she had been misled by illusii n; her sentence was then altered to imprisonment for life, but her enemies placed in her dungeon a suit of men’s olotnes, and because, tempted by the view of a dress in which she had gained so much glory, she put it on, she was condemned to be burnt alive at the stake. In 1432 she was burned by her brutal persecutors in the market place of Rouen, .'■'ho met her fate with resolution, ascend ing t e funeral pile amid the insults of the mob. “Blessed be God!’’ were the last words she littered. Her ashes were scattered to the wind, and thus treacher ously died in the thirtieth year of her age, the woman to whose memory altars | ought to have been erected as a martyr to her religion, her country and her i king. •Since her death she has been celebrat- j ed by historians, poets, painters Mid sciiptors of various countries; and most of our readers have no doubt seen copies of the beautiful statute by one of the daughters of Louis Phillippe, the late King of France, in which she appears clad in armour, her sword by her side, her head bare, and her hands crossed on her bosom—a graceful tribute to the memory of Joan of Are, the heroic amt ill-fated Maid of Orleans. The Immortal Philosopher “.I. IV V Theory Illustrated. Most of our readers remember the ec centric individual who styles himself “J. N.,” the great philosopher, who attempt ed at one time to lift the pressure here, and was lifted from the Custom-house steps by a policeman. The “immortal philosopher” illustrates his theory, so says the Richmond Dispatch, by the fol lowing story. Wo hope the minds of our people will now he relieved on the subject. As the anuecdotc is a good one we give it: Being at dinner Johnny passed his plate for turnip. “Spell turnip, Johnny, and I will serve yon.” “T u r n o p,” shouted die youngster hope! ul. “0, fy! my son, that is not right; ’old up your head and hear how 1 spell it, t u r ii a p” (turnip.) “Sakcs alive!” ejaculated madam from the head of the table. “I should like to know if I am married to a man that can’t spell his own vegetables!” Mr. Smith’s dignity was wounded.— He had been a scholar down-East, apd he thougW he knew how to spell turi ip. “Spell it yourself, iny dear,” cried Mr. j Smith, wiping his moustache with uiiu - , ual care, while ho glanced knowingly j around the table j “Well, I gues lam able to,” jerked ! i out Mrs. Smith, with a subline toss of i her cap border—t nrn e p (turnip.) — Words are generally spelt as they are pronounced.” “1 say it’s pronounced lornop,” shouted Johnny. “It is pronounced turn-ep,” reiterated i madam. j After much wrangling, the: family re membered that there was a dictionary in , the house, which was called for, and as we left we, had the pleasure of hearing them spell it in concert with evident sur prise—t nrn ip. “That is,” said J N. “an illustration of my theory of the late war. Both were attempting to solve the mystery; TERMS FOR ROVER LvVAUIAULjr l.\ aDVANCK. *1 One Uriel or leo*.) first inserttea $2.00 ; ouch follovv'lng innertiou, $1 00. When adVerttonenti are coirtlnutl for oft* month or longer, thq rharyc be ftg follor* li Months. ! 6 Kwthi. 3 Months. Number N Os Sqnprem. 1 $ 5 IHI $lO 00 1$ 15 (JO S2C 00 2 -8 00 13 00 ! 26 00 $6 00 31! 00 18 00 35 00 46 00 I lil 00 24 00 1 40 00 63 00 6 20 00 3fi 00 I 45 BO 60 00 IColnill 33 00 66 00 I 30 00 12 0 00 l “ nn no fn oo | iso oo 200 oo 1 OUltmii.v !■ ni v;. Tvilmteunf It fHpeet,WMHMI Ki-tieles nla personal character, charged for M ailvertim+.ieutn. For mmouncmg cr ntHdutti* for office, SIO.OO - '.'■".'■Mill both claiming to be right, {lucli front their nvu view wua.pa riotn./l’lie North, Iron) the Southern r.titb'dpcini, were in* vntfoni. fibe South, from tbe Northern, rebeUt. When truly there was no rebel* lion nor invasion, only an isapprohen* sion, which, if corrected, will ’lift tlio veil'that now eißshromls the nation, dot ing justice to tin wounded, living amt gallant dead of both aides—thus rcliev* ingall.” ...... ■ This is about us clear ae mud. 1 have mo time to rend. i The idea about the want of tiino is a mere phantom.' Franklin found time in the midst of all his labors to dive intiA the hidden recesses -of philosophy, and to explore the untrodden paths of science. The grout Frederick, with an empire at his direction, in the midst of war, on tlid eve of the battles which were to decidu the fate of his kingdom, fotfnd time to revel in the charms of philosophy and ini tellectual pleasdrcß. Bonaparte, with all Europe at his disposal/ with kings in hiq niit - diamber begging f r vacant thrones, with thousands ol men whose destinies were suspended by tbe brittle thread of his arbitrary pleasure, bad time to con vulse with books, (,'sesar, when be bad curbed the spirit of the Roman people, and was thro: gea with visitors from the remotest kingdoms, fl und time for intel lectual conversation. Every man has time; if he is careful to improvei it ad well as lie might, he can reap a threefold reward. I.ct'all make use of the hours at their disposal, if they want to obtain, a proper influence in society, They cany if they please, hold in their hands the destinies of our Republic. Itatlier Eiiitmi'rassltig. The Mobile Tribune tells the following; A few days since .Smith gut in tho street ear, which was very much crowded, and seeing no immediate prospect to ol*. tain a seat, he pushed on tip the ear to the front, and caught hold if a strap, and commenced an inspection of the pas-, sengers, a majority ol whom were ladies) One young lady, whose countenance and dress plainly indicated that she was some rustic beauty, upon her first visit to the grand city of Mobile, attracted his special attention, lie was gazing hi ad miration at bor rosy cheeks, and Wonder ing how she would manage to get her barrel hoop in its proper shape alter sue): a jam, when the conductor,started thro’ the car to collect the fare. Hr at last reached the rustic beauty, who was decked out in a gorgeous manner with fantastically arranged red rihlmns, and who seemed to he attempting to reach down as if to get something she had dropped ort the ffoor, and in a polite torn* requested her to, lay In his palm a dime note. What was his- surprise w lien tlio following words issued from her rosy lips: “Look a here, mistei, 1 allers, when I travels, carries my money in my stocking, for you secs nothing can get at it thar; and I'd thank yon jist (o reach it for mo as I’m so jammed 1 can’t at it.” Tlio conductor who is a young niaii and quite modest withal, looked at the other passengers, some if whom were. laughing at Ids predicament; two young ladies blushed scarlet, put'the r hands t<» their faces, peeped through their fingers and commenced giggling. The young man stood still 1 ut, a moment and rushed to the rear platform, muttering some thing about a passenger wanting to get on. lie concludeiijto stand the loss rath er than to iE. it ’h that manner—-before so many people. Piuttoiuiai'liv. - The London Intellec tual Observer says: “No place is now free from the, incur sion of photographers. Who would have supposed that they could carry on their oppefations under water? Yet such is the case, as M Biixiq lias proved. His photographic/stttdio consists of a sheet; iron chest, perfectly water-tight, with water-tight windows that (Ire in the form, of lenses The electric- light is used, and renders distinctly vissilde any oh jocf lying at the bottom of the set),. so that they may be photographed, and thus their pontine may he accurately marked. M Baxin has tegutined nt tins depths pf three hundred feet for about ten minutes., This application of photo graphy promises to facilitate the recov ery of lost objects and the raising of sun ken ships. The Iri>:t Bab. —Here is a good lesson from an iron.bjtn Rend it hoys: A bur of iron worth five dollars, work** ed ir.fo horse-slincs, is worlli $lO sQ;tnnde into needles, it is worth 3,285; made into balance springs of watches, it is worth $25000. ’ , ■ i Wh at a drilling the poor bar must un4 dergo to reach all this; let hammered and beaten and pounded and rolled and polished, ho;v has its value increased? It might well have quivered and com plained tinder the haul knocks it got; hut were they, not all necessary to draw out its fine qualities, and fit it for higher offices? ■ ’ . i And so, my children, all tl o drilling" and training; which yon ate subject to in youth, and which often seem so hard to you, serve to bring oat yotir nobler qual ities, and tit you for more responsible posts and greater usefulness in the world. A Dutchman who in a fit of passion, . was swearing, terribly, was p proved by ; a church deacon, who chanced to over hear him. 1 “Why do you swear so, nars?” said the deacon, “don’t you know that it is very wicked?” “Yaw, I know it peso wicked.” “Do yon know,” said the deacon, »«*♦. i ms io sound the depth of his r'clip out* teaching, “do you know who died to save sinners!” “Yaw,” said Ilans, "Cot died to save ’ ’em.” ... Li "Not. God, exactly, Ilans, but the son j of God.” ... ; ”So!” exclaimed Hans, anew light | breaking in upon him, “vos it one ot dc ( poys? 1 tinks all do vile it *'o6 do old : maii.”