The central Georgian. (Sandersville, Ga.) 1847-1874, May 22, 1861, Image 1

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Newspaper Page TextCentral t err at an ❖ VOLUME XV. SA.NDERSVILLE, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MAY 22, 1861. NUMBER 21. J, M G. MEDL0C&. EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR The Central Georgian is published weekly, at Two Dollars per annum, payable in advance. Any person sending FIVE NEW SUB SORIBERS, accompanied with the CasU, will be furnished with a copy of the Georgian for one year FREE OF CHARGE. Remittances by mail In regist'ered letters at our risk. The Georgian is tlie organ of the Planters’ Cluh of Hancock, and will publish the proceedings bf the regular monthly meetings of the Executive Committee. It will also contain, each month, at least one original article from the pen of some tnember of the Club. Suoscribers wishing the direction of their paper Changed, will notify us from what office it is to be Vrausterred. A.D VERUSEMENT3conspicuously inserted at $1 00 per square for the first insertion, and 50 ’cents per square for eacli subsequent insertion. Those sent without a specification of the number ’of insertions, will be published until ordered out, *nd charged accordingly. Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators. Executors, or Guardians, are required bylaw to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, be tween the hours of ten in the forenoon and three L, uie afternoon, at the Court-house in the county \h which the property is situate. Notices of these ^ales must be given in a public gazette FORTY days previous to the day of sale. Notices for the sale of Persona] Property must bo given at least ten days previous to the day of N Rice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must he published weekly for twomoxtiis. Citation- for Letters of Administration must be published THIRTY days—for Dismission from Ad ministration, monthly six months—for Dismis sion from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be nub- lished monthly for f«ur months—for estab'ishing lost papers, for the full space of threemonths—for then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and then an other locust went in and carried off an other grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn.’ The king listened With unconquera ble patience six months more, and he again interrupted him with : ‘O, fiiend! lam wet-ry of your lo custs! How soen do yeu think they will have done ?’ To which the storyteller made an swer : ‘(J king, who can tell ? At. the time to which iny story has come, the lo custs have cleared away a small space, it may be a cubit, eacli way round the inside • f the hole; and the air is still dark with locusts on all sides; but let the king h ive pat'ence, and no doubt, we shall come to the end of them in time.’ '1 hus encouraged, the king listene I on for another full year, the storyteller still going on as before: ‘An then another locust wentinand cm ried off another grain of corn, and then another locust, went in and car- red off another gram o 1 'corn, and then another locust went in and carried off an ther grain of corn, add then auotli er locust, went in and carried off anoth- r grain of corn, and tnen another lo cust went in and carried off another gra.n of corn, and then another locust went in ami carried off another grain of corn,’ till at last the poor king could little so,’ observed Mrs. compelling titles from Executors or Administrators j beap jt nQ ] onger> ail J cr j c d ou t : where a bond lias been given by the deceased, the full space of three months. Publication will always be continued accoriing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered _____ Miscellaneous. The King and the Locusts- A STORY WITHOUT AN END—FOIl CHILDREN. There was a certain king who, like many Eastern kings, was very fond of hearing stories told, To this amuse ment he gave up all his time; and yet he was never satisfied. All the exer tions of all his courtiers were in vain. The more he heard the more he wanted to hear. At last he made a pr >elama- tion, that if any man would tell him a story that would last forever, he would make him his heir, and give him the princess, his daughter, in marriage ; but if any one should pretend that he had such a story, but should fa.'—that is, if the story did come to an end—he was to have his head chopped off. For such a rich prize as a beautiful princess, and a kingdom, many candi dates appeared; and dreadfully long stories some of them told. Some last ed a week, some a mouth, some six monts; poor fellows, they ali spun them out as long as they could, you may be sure, but all in vain; sooner or later they all came to an end; and, one after another, the unlucky storytellers had their heads chopped off. At last there came a man who said that he had a story which would last forever, if his Majesty would he pleas ed to give him a trial. He was warned of his danger; they told him how many others had tried, and lost their heads; but he said he was not afraid, and so he was brought before the king. Lie was a" man of a very composed and deliberate manner of speaking; and afterall requisite stip ulations for a time for ea'ing, drinking and sleeping, he thus began his store : '(.), king! there was once a king who was a great tyrant. A d desiring to increase his riches, lie seized upon all the corn and grain in his kingdom, and put it into ai-Minmense granary, winch lie built on purpose, as high as a moun tain. ‘This he did for several years, till the granary was quite full up to the top. He then stopped up the doors and windows, and closed it up fast on all sides. ‘But the bricklayers had, by acci dent, left a very small hole near the top of the granary. An 1 there came a flight of locusts, and tried to get at th- corn; but the hole was so small that only one locust could past through at a time. So one locust went in and car ried off one grain of corn, and then an other locust went in and carried off an other grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain ■of corn, and then another locust went an -and carried off another grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carri ed off another grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of coin. and then anoth er locust went in ud errned off’ anoth er g ain of corn—’ He had gone on thus from morning to nig t (except while he was engaged at his meals) for about a month, when the king, though a very patient king, began to get rather lired of the locusts and interrupted his story with — ‘Well, well, we have had enough of the locusts; we will suppose that they have helped themselves to the corn they wanted; tell us what happened afterwards.’ To which the storyteller answered very deliberately: ‘If it pleases your Majesty, it is im possible to tell you wha. happened aft erwards before I have told you what happened first.’ And then he went on again: ‘And then another locust went in and carried oft’ another grain of corn, and then another locust went in and carried off another grain of corn, and ‘O, m;in, that is enough! Take my daughter! Take my kingdom ! Take anything! every thing! only let us h« ar no more of your abominable lo custs !’ And so the storyteller was married to the king’s daughter, and declared heir to tlie — throne; and nobody ever expressed a wish to hear the rest of his story, for he said it was impossible to come to the other end of it till he ha 1 done with the locusts. The unreason able caprice of the foolish king was thus overmatched by the ingenious de vices of the wise man.—Litters from an officer in India. Madam Scandal- f A long time ago, in the Western part of England, there lived an aged couple, whose time had past away since early youth, in every day round of hum liie, and who had never been known to have the lea t lllfeeling to ward each other since the time when good old Parson Ileriut had united them in the holy bond of wedlock twenty-fiveyears before. St well was the fact of" their conjugal happiness known, that they were spoken of far and near as the happiest pair in Eng land. N w, tue Devil (excuse Lie at)- rupr mention of Ins name) had been trying for twenty years to create what is called ‘a luss in the family,’between these old companions. But much to his mortification, he had u t been able to induce the old gentleman to grum ble about breakfast being too late, or the old woman to give a single curtain lecture. After repeated efforts the Devil be came discouraged, and had he not been a person of great determination, he would doubth-ss have given up the work in despair. 0 e day, as he w .Ik ed in a very surly mood, after another attempt to get the oid lady to quarn 1 a'iout the pigs getting into the yard, he met an old woman, a near neighbor of the aged couple. As Mr. Devil and the neighbor were very particular friends, Lhey must needs stop on the way and chat a little. ‘Good mo- ning, sir,’ said she, ‘and pray whai on earth makes you look so bad this morning; isn’t the controversy between the churches doing good service ?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Isn’t Deacon W. making plenty of bad WhGky?’ * iVs.’ ‘Well, what is the matter, my high ly honored master.’ ‘Everythingis go ng on well enough,’ replied tlie devil, ‘but,’ and he looked as sour as a monkey on a crab apple tree, ‘old Bluford and Ins wife over here are injuring the cause terribly fry their bad examp.e, and after trying f ir yea s to induce them to do rignt, I inu-t say, I consider them hopeless.’ The hag stood a moment in deep thought. ‘Are you sure that you have tried every way ?’ ‘Everything I can think of.’ ‘Are you certain?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well,’she replied, ‘if you will pro mise to make me a preseut of a new pair of shoes, in case I succeed, I vyill make an attempt myself and see if I euu’t raise a quarrel between them.’ To this reasonable request the devil gladly assented. The hag we t her way to old B uford’s house, and found Mrs. Bluford busily engag 'd m getting things ready for hei husbands com fort <>n h s return from work. After the usual compliments had passed, the following dialogue took place: ‘Well friend B., you and Mr. B. have lived together a iong time ?’ ‘Five and twen v years, come No vember,’ replied Mrs. B. ‘And all this time you have never had a quarrel.’ ‘Not one.’ ‘I am truly glad to hear it,’ contin ued the hag; 'I considered it my duty to warn you, though this is tlie case, you must not expect it to be always. Have you not observed that of late Mr. B. has grown grown peevish and sullen at times?’ Picking Ur a Pin.—A young man once went with letters of recom nenda- tiou to a large banking establishment. He called on the gentleman who sat at the head of it, full of hope and confi dence tnat lie should obtain employ ment. Tue geutieman heard what lie had to sac, looke over his lette s lias- lilv, handed them back to him : ‘We have nothing for you to do sir ’ The young man felt liis heart sink within him. He was ready to burst into tears. But there w-is no Uiolp for it, sb he made a how and retired. As he was pissing in front of the building, there was a pin lying on the pavement. He stooped down ami picked it up, and then stuck i careful.y under his coat. The gentleman with whom he had just. ..een speaking was standing at the window, and saw what took place. In an instant tiie thought occurred to him that the young man who had such habits of carefulness as to stop in such a moment of disappointment and pick up a pm, woud make a useful man. He sent immediately and called him back. He gave him an humble situa Lon in his establishment. From that he rose by degrees, till he became the principle partner in the coiieern, and eventually a man of immense wealth, and tlie chief banker in Paris. So much for good, careful h bits. Coming Home —One may be very happy while away from home, but he is verv glad to return to it. Tue plain est old familiar dish is better than the daintiest epicurean bill of fare abroad. Onejs own little room, with its handy, compact belonging, is preferable to alt the marble halls swept through by silk-clad dames. ‘Home!’ one is more tuan ever impressed by the insignifi cance of that word when in the rough est hamlet and most desolate looking hut, but it may mean much to those who were horn in it. It is a beautiful trait, this clinging t) the very soil of One’s own birth place, sterile and un attractive as it may be to those who have no such associations. ‘A Very Bluford. ‘I knew it,’ continued the hag, ‘and let me warn you to be on your guard.’ Mrs. B. did think she had better do so, and asked advice as to how she should manage the case, ‘Have vou not notic -d,’ said the hag, ‘your husband had a bunch of long harsh hair growing on a mole under his chin on the side of his throat ?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘These are the cause of the trouble, and as long as they remain you had better look out. Now, as a friend, I would advise you to cut them off the first, time you get a chance, and thus end the trouble.’ Soon i.fier this the hag started for home and made it conv nient to meet Mr. B. on the way. Much the same talk in relation to his domestic happi ness passed between him and the old woman. ‘But friend Bluford,’ said she, ‘I think it my duty as a Christian, fo warn you to be on your guard, for I tell you your wife intends your ruin.’ 01 I Mr. B. was very in ch aston ished, vet hecould not whollv discredit her word*. When he reached home lie threw himself'on a bed in perplexi ty, and feigning himself to sleep, stud ied the matter over in his mind. Ills wife, thinking this a good opportunity for cutting off the obnoxious hair took h r hu-bami’s razor and crept softly to liis side. Now ilie old la y was very much frightened at holding a razor so close to her husband’s neck, and ner hand was not so steady as it once was; so between the two, she went to work very awkwardly, ami pulled the hairs instead of cutting them off. Mr. B. opened h.s eyes, and there stood his wife with a razor at his throat. After what had been told him, and seeing this, he could not doubt she in tended to murder him. He sprang from the bed in horror, and no expla nation or entre ty could convince him to the contrary; so from that tirm there was jaw, jaw, quarrel and wrangling all tue ti ne. With delight the devil heard of the faithful emissary, anil sent her word that if she would tn et him at the • nd of the lane,“lie would pay her the shoes. At the appointed time she repaired to the spot, and found the devil at the place. He put the shoes on the end of a pole, and standing on the opposite j side of the fence, ban led them over to ! her. Sue was much pleased with them, they were exactly the article. ‘But there is one thing. Mr. Devil, that 1 wo dd like to have explained ; that is, why did you hand them to me on a stick ?’ ‘Veiyiasv to explain,’ replied he. ‘Any one who has the cunning ami meanm ss to do as you have done, don’t get nearer than twenty feet of me.’ So saying he fled in terror. "After a while die old wmnan died, and w hen she applied for admittance to the lower regions the devil would not let ner in for fear she might de throne him, as she was much liis supe- n r. So the old woman is condemned to wander over the world, creating quarrels and strife in peaceful families and neighborhoods. Would you know her name? It is Madam Scan al. W hen she died, the young Scandals were left or phans, but the devil, in consideiation of uast services done by the mother, adopted them, and so you see he is father to that respectable class called scandal mongers. R aler, don’t you know some of the family ? A Mother’s Love- Who is there who does not acknowl edge and bow in reverence to a moth er’s love? What is it that causes the eve to fill? that refuses utterance to speech, and overwhelms with utter loneliness in the midst of life ? Deny it not, truant heart; it is the sacred ness ofa mother’s love—feit through long years, it mav be, yet always pure, ever sacred blessing and refreshing! Gen tle mother! tenderest, truest, and the best of friends! constant in love, ih weal and woe—in deformity or health, in honor or shame, through evil and good report—thy affections know no change nor the shadow of turning! Blessings on thee! Earli est memories link together and throw holiness on thy name. Sacred to tlie heart is the memory of a mother’s love! Such were the reflections suggested by an incident in the great drama of life. A poor victim of intemperance was staggering horn-ward—no, he knew not whither—when ne fell heavi ly to ihe earth. Stunned and bruised by the fall, he lay for a moment insen sible, but as'isiance soon restored him to consciousness, and to a sense of his degradation. ‘I thank you gentlemen,’ said he falieringly, ‘it was a hard fall, but I am better now. I’ve had many such. It is nothing alter you get used to it,’ and be biugl ed as he prepared to start again on his way. ‘What a pity,’ remarked a spectator, ‘that you should tlius debase your manhood by such selfish indulgence in strong drink.’ ‘You are a lemperance lecturer, I suppose,’ sneered tlie inebriate. “No, f iend,’ replied the gentleman, ‘I am not a temperance lecturer—at least not otie profess-dly; but I neglect no opportunity to speak a word in la- vor of that honest cause.’ ‘You are a preacher then, mav be.’ ‘No.’ ‘Well, whatever you are, I want none of your advice.’ ‘I merely meant it for your good,’ mildly answered the geutieman. ‘Are vou married ?’ ‘No.’ ‘You have sisters and brothers ?’ ‘Yes—but tiiey don't know me now.’ ‘Have you a father T ‘No, he died long since.’ ‘A mother?’ 'There was a deep silence. ‘You do not answer; have you a mother?’ The silence that ensued was broken by the sobs of the wretched man “•On, God! oh, God!’ he exclaimed, ‘she too is dead! I broke her li art many years since bv my conduct. My poor, poor mother! So good, kind—so gentle and forgiving!’ and he smote his breast m tlie bitterness of his anguish. Unhappy man—oh, how unhappy at that moment. Through all the vicis situdes of life, a mother’s love had fol lowed him, entreating, uiging, implo ring him to forsake evil, and cling only to that which is right. In vain had she striven—he had gone on blindly, perversely, recklessly, till now he was broken down in health, fortune and re putation, an outcast from society, dis owue . by his own flesh and b ood! Yet, in the midst of this accumulation of wretchedness, there came repioaeli- f i 1/ though full of lot e across the wi a- ry waste of year , a mother’s voice, sweet and sad, and the heart bowed in grief to its appeal. Honor to woman! Without her smiles the woild would lose its bright ness, society’s charm would exist no longer—(Juris iarmy would languish without her aid or approval. ‘In whose principles,’ said the dying daughter of Eihau Allen, to her skep tical father, ‘in.whose principles shall I die—your’sor those »f iny Christian mother?’ The stern old hero of Ti eonderoga brushed a tear from his eve as he turned away, and with the same rough voice that summoned the British to surrender, now tremulous with deep emuton, said—‘lu your mother’s child in your mother’s.’ Pure Pleasure. Religion is rich with pure influen ces—for it is a principle infinitely va ried—it presides over the different pha ses of human life, and sanctions and hallows them all. Religion forbids folly, forbids an empty, frivolous liv ing-—and who wishes to live so? Re ligion bids us have a time for all things, and wisely live for a higher and purer destiny than any of this earth. It bids us not to be profane or indolent, or li centions, or wasteful. Who wishes to be so ? But it does not stop us of one true joy. It forbids not one innocent amusement. L >ok up at the sky—is not a-1 expression of cheerfulness and jov there, blended with purity ? L ok abroad upon the earth—is not nature glad? Has not God dimpled the valleys into smiles and thrown sunlight over the water, and crowned the bids with Breakfast Table Talk- BY THE BEV. JOHN TODD, D. D. On a verv cold wintrv morning, the Home Light.—Even as the sun beam is composed of millions of miu- uie .ays, tne home ligut must be con stituted of little tendernesses, kindly looks, sweet laughter, gentle words, loving counsels; it must not be like the torch-blaze of natural excitement, which is easily quenched, but like tlie serene, chastened light which burns as safely in the dry east wind as in tlie stillest atmosphere. Let each bear the other’s burden the while—leteaeli cul tivate the mutual confidence, which is a gift capable of increase and improve ment—and soon it will be found that kindness will spring up on every side, displacing constitutional unsuitability, want of mutual knowledge, even as we have seen sweet violets and primroses dispelling the gloom of the gray sea- rocks. Anything but That.—Dip the Mississippi dry with a teaspoon, twist your heel into the toe of your boot; make postmasters perform their prom ises; send up fishing hooks with bal lo.ms and bob for stars; when a ran* storm is coming like the cataract of Niagara, remember where you left your umbrella; choke a musquito with a bri.k-bat; in short, prove all things heretofore considered impossible, but never attempt to coax a woman to say she will, when she has made up her mind to say she won’t. The plague in Europe Asia, and Africa, commencing iu the year 588, lasted for fifty years. rejoicing? It is true, life has many and grave* duties; different spheres in life have different measures of duty— and the true conscience must always consult circumstances without, ami the great law within; but pleasure and amusement—religion forbidsthem not; it gives them a more genuine and de lightful ministry than anything else can. But not only this: It sows within us the seeds of an undying joy that fails not when outward means of hap pi ness fail—when animal spirits grow feeble and low, when sorrows darken and care appall. This it gives us. shedding abroad a holy serenity ou tlie hear., and imparting a calm instre to the brow. It is a principle of truth, and therefore it allows us nothing that is treacherous; all that is grateful and good it opens for us in abundant mea sure. It reveals new sources of hap piness. It makes the spire of grass and the star beautiful ministers of delight. And do we think that we must sacri fice pleasure by choosing religion as our guide and our end? It is a sad mistake, as they well know who cling to the chalice • f sin, and drink the bit terness .of its dregs. Do not hesitate to follow Christ, because you think your pleasure will be lost. Every real- source of enjoyment, every truly plea sant thing it sanctions, and depnves-us only of the evil, and even for this it far more than repays us. It may check a boisterous folly, it bestows enduring peace of mind. It may" put back the hand that reaches out after clustering deceits, but it lights the pale cold face with a smile in death. Nothing that is lawful now, will be less a pleasure then—it- will be deeper aud more ben eficial. A Miserable xxcuse- I once heard a careless fellow say that he ‘professed nothing, aud lived up to it;’ but ‘professing nothing’ does not exonerate a man at all, so far as relates to the personal maintenance of honor, purity and truth. The man „ h , would excuse a lapse from virtue, or any o diqmty of conduct, ou the ground that he did not profess any thing, simply announces to me the ex ecrable proposition that every man has a kind or degree of right to be a rascal until he pledges himself to bj some thing better. There are altogether too many men in the world who are keep ing themselves easy With tue tliougut that if tney are not very good they never professed to be—as if tins failure uubiicly to pronounce themselves on the side cf the highest morality were a sufficient apology for minor delin quencies! It seems to be a poultice of poppies to some sensitively inflamed cons.lences that, whatever they may have done, they have never broken promises voluntarily made to do rignt, as it there were a release from the ob ligations to do right in failing to make the promise! It it will help a mail to do right, publicly to profess to do right, and do good to other men by placing his influence on the right side, then the first duty a man ow.es to his race is to make this declaration. - But I will not linger here, because iny words have led me to tiie discussion of the obligation of those who nave made a profession of Christianity, a.id taken upon themselves the vows of Christian Cuureh membership. \V hen a man joins a Christian church he becomes related to that Cnuroh in the same way that nature makes him related to humanity. Trie reputation of tue Cuureh is placed in his keeping He cannot do an unchristian tiling without injury to the Cuureh, or with out depreciating, in the eyes of the world, every other member. Tuink. what a blow is inflicted upon the Church of Jesus Christ by such seau- dalous immoralities as some of its most prominent members have been guilty of—by forgeries, and adulteries, and drunkenness! Tuese case%^are not common, but when they ocimr they are blows under which the Church reels. The outside world looks on and scoffs. ‘Ah! That’s your Christianity is it.’ —l\mothy Tiicomb. At an evening party, lately, ayoung mail from Englatid was boasting of the pedigiee, wealth and importance of his ancestors. ‘O yes said Sam H., your father and mine spent part of their lives to gether.’ ‘Where was that?’ sharply inquired the oilier. ‘In the Bloomingdale poor-house,’ was the stinging reply. Idleness is hard work for those who are not used to if; and dull work for thos- who are. Nothing is so bard to do, as to do nothing. boys who had come to keep New Year with their uncle, came down to break-" fast the moment the bell rang. The winds nowied over the fields, murmur ed through the limbs of the bare trees, and where they could, whistled thro’ the key hole. Every f w moments a heavy gust would beat agninst the old house, but it stood firm. It was very plain there would be no going out to play on that day; and it was just as plain that the boys had come down to breakfast with sharp appetites. ‘Bays,’ said the uncle, when all were seated at the table, ‘what were you disputing about so early this morn ing? Perhaps I can help one or both of you.’ ‘Wuy,’ said John, about twelve years of age, ‘we were wondering why God is so often c tiled Providence. Why should He have such a name I said it was because He provides things, an l J i nes says that can’t be the reason, because He also guards us, and yet we don’t call Him Guar dence 1’ ‘You have both studied Latin?’ ‘A little, uncle.’ ‘ What does pro video mean ?’ ‘It means to see before, does it not?’ ‘Yes. Now tell me how long it has taken to get this br akfest ready ?’ ‘How long? Way, sir, it may be an hour.’ ‘Why, it has taken thousands of years to get this breakfast ready for y ur eating!’ ‘0 i uncle ! how can that be ?’ ‘Let us see. Wnut fish is that be fore you ?’ “Salmon, sir.’ ‘Very well, ne probably wns hatch ed up some river in Greenland several years ago, and has been kept to grow, till he was a large fish. But it took years and years for the trees to grow out of which the vessel was built that went to Gj^eeulan I after him. That tea which your aunt is pouring out, most likely, grew at the f mt of the hilis in Ch n.t, hundreds of miles from the ship that brought it here. Tn it coffee, many years ago, for I have had it in my keeping ton years, grew in Java; a long while ago t at mutton chop grew in Canada, and the sheep were driven to us here. Tue salt was rrade from the waters of the ocean at one of the West India islands. The wheat, that our bread was made of, grew in Missouri. That butter was made in Vermont. Thatsugar, in your coffee, was made in the island of Cuba. That pepper, which I sprinkle on my meat, grew in Ceylon. Those cups were made in France. Tiiat tin coffee pot had to be dug out of the mines in England. That cream is the grass and hay of our own fields turned into milk. Now, don’t you see, my boys, how muen time, and c ire, and labor, and seeing before, (pro video) it has cost to get one comfortable breakfast ready for my hungry nephews? God done all this; He foresees, provides it all, brings all things together, at the right time and c ie right place, and thus He is called Providence or the Foreseer.’ ‘But, uncle, you said it had taken thousands - f years to get this breakfast ready. We can’t see that ?’ ‘What was our breakfast cooked with ?’ ‘Cooked with? Why, with the fire, sir 1* ‘Yes, and what was the fire made of?’ ‘Made of coal.’ ‘To be sure. And that coal was made under the ground thousands of years ago; provided for this very pur pose. And thus G-»d goes before us, years and ages before we are born ; foresees what we shall need, and get ting it all ready. This is providing— foreseeing. And thus He is called Providence, or the Foreseer. Do you now understand?’ ‘Thank you uncle, it’s all plain now.’ Virtue.—The ereationsof the sculp tor may moulder in tlie dust—the wealth of the bard may wither—the throne of the conqueror may be shiv ered by an opposing power into atoms —the fame of the warrior inav no long- ar be hymned by the recording min strels; but Virtue, that which hallows the cottage and sheds a gloiy around the palace, shall never-decay. It is cel ebrated by angels of' God—it is writ ten on the pillows of heaven and re flected down to earth. The rock- breaker who possesses it is more noble than the intriguing statesman. I would rather have the inward glory with which the poor man is crowned, than overshadow the world with martial banners. I would not exchange his lot for the reputation of a Raphael— the inspiration of a Byron—the elo quence of a Mirabeau, or the intellect of a Bacon. I may be despised here— but if I possess it, then shall I tower above them all when the guilty shall tremble in their secret places, as they behold the heavens rolled together as a scroll. True religion is not a routine of cer emonies, nor yet the essence of any special creed. Tne religious sentiment is inherent in every nation of the hu man race. It gives a heautyof its own to all the external forms of creatii n, and every thing that is true and noble in man’s soul springs' from its source. The average coinage of the mint of Great Britain for the last ihnty years is eighteen million pounds sterling per annum. Telegraphic Despatches Office of the Mouth : at one end of the line. Office of the Stomach : at the other end of it. DESPATCH. Inquiry—Mouth to stomach : ‘Are you ready for breakfast?’ Stomach—‘Yes. W hat are you go ing to send ?’ Mcuth—‘You will see. Prepare !’ The table bell rings. Body hurries— drops into a chair. Mouth opens, and down goes, a3 quickly as possible, a cup of coffee at a temperature of one hundred and forty-five degreesFarren- heit. It burns the whole xEsophageal track as it passes it, und when it goes into the Stomach, burns it, and the stomach contracts and shrivels* and finally scr eches - and the Mouth says—‘Hallo I What is the matter ?’ Stomach—‘Matter? Enough, I should think. Do you not know that I cannot endure slush at one hundred and forty to one hundred *nd sixty d grees of heat ?’ Mouth—-‘Oh, never mind 1 Here comes some beef-steak with hot fried potaioes, hot rolls, and poor butter— some salad With vinegar, some buck wheat cakes and molasses. These will heal it.’ Stomach—‘Stop! What earthly use is there in sending t ese down here, ail at a time? Tney’ll make a hodge podge. ’ Mouth—‘Here comes some more cof fee !’ Stomach—‘Hold on ! Wait! Give me some water!’ Mouth—‘Water! Water! Water, when you can get coffee? You must be crazv—water ha9 no nourishment, in it. One wants water only when one is dry.’ Stomach—‘I am thirsty. Give me some water.’ Mouth—‘Cannot do it—they haven’t any water up here. If they have, it is hot, and I doubt if they have any of that. Persons do not like water, and vou, O stomach, are eccentric; so stop complaining, and get ready for some more f od—‘take the good the gods pr vide vou, and be content. \re you ready ? I am in a hurry. Up here, time is money. I have to furnish you with material out of which strength i3 to.be gotten for the body’s use to d iy, and I have ten minutes al'owed me for this purpose. Now, the afterpart is your lookout, not mine. Take notice ! Are you ready? Here comes apple- pie, fried chickens, tripe, tomato cat sup, boiled ham, minute pudding, corn bread and cucumbers; pepper; salt, gravy, mince pie, another cup of cof fee—so look out I Stomach—‘Look out! Oh, murder! What am I to do ? Do ! I must grind away at it, like a horse in a bark-mill, till i am worn out. Under such a con dition of things as this, I shall break down in a fourth, part of the time which I might work; but then the mouth— and for that matter, the heart, too, will be still, and I shall beat peace!’— Prairie Farmer. Since the rage for distress and fine-, rysetin—since extravagance became a womanly beauty, and to live beyond one’s m. ans a social requirement— since the loom and the workshop have taken tlie p ace of birth and rtfinment, and the moneyed vulgarian is counted higher than the penniless aristocrat— since woman have been ranked by what they wear and not by what they are, and a becoming toilette is account ed equal to a personal grace--since none but a remnant of the faithful, dare to hold themselves aloof from lux ury aud fashion—more families have been ruined than has ever been known bi fore, and the boasted happiness of the English home is fast becoming a fable aud a myth. It is a remarkable circumstance that nine tenths of the slanders uttered are aimed at individuals the least deserv ing of it, and who have given the least cause. If' we were to trace the venom to its original source, we should gensr- ally find that the human reptile from whom it sprang was so utterly worth less, and so far beneath anger, as to occasion to sensible men more aston^ isipnent tnan any other feeling. A clear unblemished character com prehends, not only the integrity that will n t offer, but the spirit that will not submit to an injury; and whether it belongs to an individual or toa com munity, it is the foundation of peaCe of i ndependence, and of safety. We can conceive of nothing so little or ridiculous as pride. It is a mixtuie of in ensibility, and ill-nature, in which it is hard to say which has the largest share. The man everybodv likes is gener al I v a fi d. The man nobody likes is us sally a knave. The mm who has friends who vtovld die for him, and foes who would love to see him broiled alive; is usually a man of some worth aud force. The graatest pleasure of life is love; the greatest treasure, contentment; the greatest possession, health; the great est ease, sleep; and the beat medicine, a true friend. Kindnesses are are slowed away in the heart, like rose leaves in a drawer, to sweeten every object mound them. When men will not listen to us, they are not, therefore, necessarily devoid of wisdom.

Georgia Historic Newspapers

The central Georgian. (Sandersville, Ga.) 1847-1874, May 22, 1861, Image 1