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• - ,1, -Xjr-A-,.:- e .L- m VOL. IL SANDERSV.ILLE, GEORGIA, NOVEMBER 7, 1873. jt. JsEDLOCH. JETHRO ABUSE. E. L. SOEGEKS. Itv J'foiUoelk, Is*Jii!c tfcKotigers. The ITeraED is published ia Sandersville, 0:i.. nvory Friday morning. Subocuption pri" ' TWO DOLLARS per nnn-aaj. AiL rrtisements inserteR ?A the usual rates. '> . charge lor publishing marriages or deaths. POETRY. Watching' lor* Papa. She always stood upon the steps, Just by the cottage door, Writing to kiss nm when I came Rich night home from the shore. !!••:• were like, two glorious stars, Dancing in heaven’s own blue; “Pupa,'’ sin d call, like a wee bird, • L oo. in’ out for ou.” live N( me VVcie.-mo Home. arms stretch out to me, No blue eyes dancing bright Ar p. ping from the cottage door V. ': *:i I come home at night. An i yet it comforts me to think . v. ucn I’m called away, : aenes below to those of bright n- ■ rlauting day, uigel at tii ■ gate, ,t‘;t'i ,-ts divinely blue, •• j.. birdi - voice, “Papa, lootin’ out lor ou.” iliJT MISCELLANY. ANEASiA AND CLE031ENE, BY ANN E. POUTER. ‘•Slow sinks, more lovely ere her race is run, Along iloreas’hill, the setting sun;. Nol, as in the northern climes, obscurely bright, Put one unclouded blaze pf living light.’, Tims passed daylight from tiie glorious old city of Athens, and such whs the presage of a beautiful eve ning. The absence of twilight made stiil more welcome the approach of Night’s gentle queen. Moonlight, like the smile of beauty, soqji rested upon the lofty Acropolis, and bath ed with its soft radiance the temple of the virgin goddess. How pure and white seemed those pillars of Penteiic marble, and the vine and honeysuckle, carved by the hand of Phidias, twined gracefully around the cornice! The battles of the gods, the exploits of heroes, and the actions of the goddess are here com memorated by the same master hand. Ou such a night as this, one could not but desire to enter those mas sive brazen gates, walk undisturbed through the Propylea, and gaze up on those works of art which have since made the Athenians immortal. That day the great feast of Panatlie- mea had been celebrated. The sol emn procession of minstrels and priests, horsemen and victims, passed through those consecrated avenues, and performed their wonted ceremo nies before the golden statue of their favorite goddess. The music had ceased, the flow ery wreaths that adorned the lyre and the harp were withered, and the weary hands that, all day long, had drawn sweet music from their strings were now folded in sleep. Priest and soldier, citizen and slave, exhausted by . the exciting events of the day, had left the scene, and naught was heard save the monot- Gi ,i - sound of the waves of the gulf, and the heavy tread of armed watch men. Leaning against one of the marble pillars, one solitary gazer alone remained. He was wrapped in an ample cloak, which concealed his form, and seemed absorbed in <■ mtemplation of the beautiful scene 1 fore him. Par' in the distance were the dark waters of .the JEgean, on the other side smiling vineyards and olive-crowned hills; while above lam was the blue sky, from out which the full moon looked down in glad ness on a quiet world. The head of the muser was uncovered, his helmet was in his hand, and the lofty brow and noble profile were no unlit com panion for the marble bust of many a worshiped god around him. “Thou art a late wanderer, my dear teach er,'' said a voice, whose tones were musical as the harp touched by the evening wind. “Night is the time for thought, Plato; all day long I walk the throng ed and busy streets, imparting my small stock of wisdom to the youth of the republic. At night, like the flowers, i gather dew and sweetness to relieve my own wearied spirit. I have now been reviewing the past and dreaming of the future. The vain pageant of to-day, in which I joined in body, though not in heart, has ruffled the usual calm of my spirit. Now, as I gaze upon the boundless sky, that glorious moon, and stars, to me mysterious, I feel the insufficiency of our religion to satisfy the soul. - Here, here,” laying his hand upon his heart, “are wants which idle paean and useless sacrifice fail to satisfy. I feel, Plato, like a part of something infinite; that with in this deformed and shapeless body the spirit will dwell but a brief space. Farther than this I know not; but I believe that goodness here will be perfect happiness* with the gods.” “If so,” said Plato, who now drew near to his master, while both seat ed themselves on a block of marble, which lay ready for the builder’s hand, “if so, how foolish to strive for immortality here!” and he point ed to a marble statue of one of the gods, the features of which were an exact copy of those of Pericles. “Poor Pericles! ’ said the philoso pher, as he bowed his head upon his hands, while he wrapped his cloak closer about him. ‘“Poor Pericles!” gayest thou? YV hv, he is the idol of Athens, favored by the gods with wealth, beauty, and power ; why callest thou him ‘poor ?’ ” “Poor indeed is that man, Plato, who excites the pity of one so poor as myself. Alas! the mighty Per icles is learning in his old age, the lesson which I learned long since ;” and, as if bitter memories of the past thronged upon him, the philoso pher concealed his features in his mantle. “I have unwittingly,” said the gentle Plato, “recalled sad thoughts. Shall we not retrace our steps to the grove of Academus, and, amid the beautiful works of Phidias, for get all but the rich pleasure of our own friendship ?” “Not so,” answered Socrates; “you, Plato, are the mirror of my soul. Naught passes there but may be re flected. Sit down again, and I will rehearse to you a chapter in my life, known as yet to none but myself. Men call me philosopher, and fancy that no event disturbs the tranquili ty of my spirit. It is so. There is within me that which is more power ful than the lyre of Orpheus, when it charmed the savage Cerberus. - " It has lulled every passion, and led me to find more happiness in the little domain of one soul than Alcibiades or Pericles in the applause of all Athens. Men pity me that the gods gave me a deformed body; but. I have learned, while I love beauty, to prize more highly the spiritual beauty which I seek than all the fair forms which matter may assume. I have said I delighted in beauty. The sil ver moon, and her sweet attendant, mild Hesperus, have, to-night, filled my soul with rapture. Not a stray I wild flower in Attica, not a silver j brook or rushing waterfall, a viue- j clad hill or singing bird, but is a 1 source of pleasure to me. Neither j do I forget the human face and form. When this right hand carved the j Graces, my eye and heart were not j insensible to their beauty. And j when I first gazed upon the boauti- 1 ful Aspasia of Miletus, I felt a thrill j such as I have never experienced since. You saw her to-day as she rode in her chariot, richly adorned : you thought her enchanting then, and Pericles, forgetful of the sad Cleomene by his side, had eyes only j for her. She sees her power, and ; throws around him cords which will j bind his soul like bands of iron. “It is not many years since I too sat as the feet of Aspasia, and felt \ delight, yea rapture, in the thraldom, j lu my humble occupation as a statu ary, in my earlier years, I studied the j finest models; but, while I did so, I i became more acutely sensible of my j own imperfections. The sight of this defective body, and these shapeless ! feet, caused me many an hour of bit- j ter murmuring against the gods. I was happy when Gitro relieved me from what I feared was my taskwork for life, and bade me pursue the more congenial path of philosophy and literature. It was then I met her, compared with whom the ladies of Athens have no beauty. The full, deep, lustrous dark eye—the rich mass of black hair, whichjmnlike others, she braided with pearls and precious gems—the small voluptuous mouth—-and the form which since has furnished Phidias for a model for many a goddess ; all these, and more—the fascination and polish of a cultivated intellect, and the graces of a Milesian education—conspired to captivate my eye and heart. You cannot appreciate this part of my spirit’s discipline—you will attain the felicity of thejjods without the suffering through which 1 have pass ed. I have been through Hades on earth. But listen. With all the. reverence that a Greek feels for his gods did T worship this gifted wo man. Not with the pure, cold, and spiritual attachment peculiar to voiirself, Plato. Not such my nature. Men call me philosopher, and speak of the purity and simplicity of my life. They little know the effort and toil it has cost me to ascend from the mist and darknes of a lower re gion to a higher spiritual existence. And yet, I am not like the fuel con sumed to dull ashes by the intensity of the flame ; nor, like the tame beast of burden, broken and spiritless— but like the trained war-horse, whose- paces are regulated and mettle *cnrb- • od by discipine and practice. The warmed' passions of my nature are not extinguished, but burn with the steady and constant flame of a ves tal fire.” It was the evening meal in the , house of Pericles. Cleomene, with j the utmost deference and zeal, had ; attended to the wants of her illus trious husband. At the close of the j meal, as he poured a goblet of wine | for his wife, he said, “We will go toi the theatre; Aristophanes has a com edy this evening; then I wish you to accompany me to the house of As pasia, where Anaxagoras, Plato, and others sup.” The gentle Cleomene promised obedience, but the sad ex pression of her face showed that her own inclinations were sacrificed to the wishes of her husband. She arose and left the room followed by her maidens, who resumed their spin ning. She turned to her embroidery, and her delicate fingers were soon at work upon the figure of Minerva presenting the embroidered cloak to •Jason when he went in search of the golden fleece. As she plied the pol ished shaft, and twined the gold and silver threads, tears filled her eyes and fell upon the beautiful fabric. Then, as if remembering the pres ence of her maidens, she resumed the dignity of a Grecian matron, and, suppressing all outward appearances of emotion, entered gayly into con versation with the fair group. The -t feast of the Pauathensea, which ad just taken place, formed, of course, the topic of conversation for sage and maiden throughout Athens. The eyes of the young girls glistened as they rehearsed the scenes of the exhibition. The torch race on horse back, a part of the ceremony which had that year been introduced, was admired and commented on. “How well Laertes rode his noble steed!” said one. “Yes, but not more gracefully than the son of Pericles, when he turned his horse’s head, and refused a gar land from the hand of Aspasia.” At these words Cleomene started, and a look of surprise and pleasure lighted her beutiful countenance. The conversation was resumed—for so interested were the maidens that they did not notice the emotion of their lady. “And that reminds me,” said an other, “of the oak garland upon the sacred robe. I wish we could ob tain some of those rich colors for our use.” “Ho you not know,” said Calvce, “that they were imported from Mi letus bv Aspasia, and that with her own hands she wrought the garland ?” “And what right has a Milesian dame to interfere with the employ ments of Athenian maidens?” “The sacred robe should be wro’t only by such. But the men of Athens seem, now-a-daj’s. to prize beauty and learning more than modesty and the domestic virtues.” "While the maidens were thus talk ing, Cleomene glided from the room and retired to her own chamber. She sat down, and leaning her head upon her hands, gave free vent to the emotions which she had s^long concealed. But one pleasant thought, like a stray sunbeam on the cloud, mingled with her sadnsss. “Yes,” thought she, “my first-born, my be loved child, feels the insult offered to his mother in the homage which his father pays to the beautiful Mi lesian. My gossiping maidens little knew the comfort which that sen tence, so thoughtlessly spoken, has given me. But am I so faded, and are all the charms of my youth so utterly gone, that I cannot win back the early love of Pericles?” She rose, and gazed on her countenance, as reflected from the polished mirror. True, the bloom of youth was gone ; but there was the same classic head and regular profile, the mild eye, and transparent complexion. But the gaze did not wholly satis fy the wishes of the sad wife. She saw not the sweet, mild expression which usually dwelt there, or thougiit of the quiet performance of all the duties of wife and mother ; neither was there reflected in that mirror the loving glance with which she ever met the return of husband and sons. She did not remember the qualities which made her “Cleomene the belov ed," but only of the brilliant beauty and rare endowments of the fasci- ] nating Milesian, which made her ; “Aspasia ike admired.” “To-night,” j said she-, “I must' again meet liter, be j a witness to the admira .ion with | which she inspires my husband, and \ with the quick and watchful eye of j a wife, his devotion to her charms. , But I will make one more effort,” I added she, mentally, and rose from j her seat to open her casket of jew- | els. They had long lain undisturbed, i for this Athenian wife and mother j prized far more highly the treasures of her heart, the loved ones of her home, than all the precious gems which her wealthy father had lavish ed upon her. Amid the other glit tering contents of the casket, her eye fell upon a golden cicada, most inge niously and beautifully wrought. It was one of the early gifts of her husband. More than a hundred pre cious stones, of very minute size, and of various colors, were so arranged as to form a perfect resemblance to the insect inself. She remembered how Pericles had admired it as a work of art; and then, too, as a na tive Athenian, she could proudly wear it. It was an ornament v, hich distinguished the inhabitants of this famous eity, for believing that it sprang from the earth itself, as^ they supposed of Athens, it hence came NO. 19. to be a national ornament. Cleo mene placed it amidst the glossy braids of her hair, and then array ing herself in her richest robes, as became the wife of. Pericles, she sat down to await his coming. From the theatre they adjourned to the house of Aspasia. Here were assembled the choicest spirits of Athens—the mild Plato, the witty Aristophanes, the eloquent Anaxago ras, and the calm, philosophic Soc rates. Aspasia presided at this feast of reason—her beauty heightened by the charms of dross, as well as by the brilliancy of her conversation, and the vanity of her attainments. She could talk with the philosopher of his studies—-with Pericles of the affairs of government—with Phidias upon the proportion*-) of a statue, or the beauty of frieze and cornice ; then, with the jest of a young girl, she could discourse upon the beauty of a tunic, the fit of a sandal, or the ornament of a bodice. Cleomene, on the other hand, preferred retire ment, seeking nb admiration from the crowd. She lived for her hus band and her children. This evening Aspasia was unusu ally brilliant. Whenever Pericles left the weightier duties of his office for the gay feast and social g atlrer- ing, her greater charms were brought into requisition. Pericles could not resist her power, though lie was not then fully aware, of the strength of those silken cords which she, in soft dalliance, was winding around him. Poor Cleomene listened in silence, and a sensation of fear and heart sickness came over her as she saw the rapt attention of her husband, and marked his admiration of this accomplished woman. But one, in that company of learned Athenians, noticed the deadly paleness of her cheek, and the restlessness of her | eye. There was one who, ever for- j getful of self, and always mindful of the suffering, knew the changes of human countenance,and could thence divine each inward phase ; for he had learned his wisdom in the crowd by day, and in communion with his own spirit by night. Yes, Socrates, the wise and gentle, had watched Cleomene this evening, and knew the agony of her heart. He approached, and kindly entered into conversation. He spoke of her sons, and express ed his interest in their prosperity, and advancement- in the state. The mother’s heart was quickly won, and not many minutes elapsed before she was, all unconscious to herself, talk ing well and wisely upon the edu cation of youth. Socrates could learn even from the humblest citi zen, nor did he refuse to glean wis dom from the experience of a wife and mother; and such as Cleomene might well win his esteem and ad miration. We have seen with what feelings Socrates had formerly re garded Aspasia. These had passed away, and were known only to Plato and himself; but his own experience led him to sympathise with Pericles, and tremble for Cleomene. “Aspasia is uncommonly brilliant,” said a young man who now joined them; “the beauty and talents of Milesia are well represented in this accomplished lady.” “Are the ladies of that city, gen erally, so beautiful and charming?” asked Cleomene. “They have,” said the truthful Socrates, “more personal beauty, and are more skilled in those arts which command admiration, than our own ladies but the daughters of Athens ^re better wives and moth ers ;” and the approving glance of his (ye, as he said this, gave force to the expression. Cleomene felt and appreciated the compliment; but she replied— “I came here this eveniug at the request of my husband. It is long since I have met so many of our dis tinguished and learned men. The charms of one woman must be great to draw so many- hither.” “I confess,” said Socrates, “the learning, the wit, and eloquence of our hostess are powerful. But the incessant homage paid to one whose virtue is questionable is almost an insult to our own ladies,'and I have j resolved that this shall be my last j night at Aspasia’s.” Before Cleomene had time to re- j ply, a knot of young philosophers I came to Socrates for the solution of ! a difficult question, and Cleomene j was again left to mingle with the 1 few ladies who graced that circle. j Not once did she receive an affee- j tionate glance or kind word from j Pericles. But, as they rose to return home, he noticed, for the first i time, the ornament in her hair. “No offence,” said he, as soon as thay were together, “I trust, to our hostess in the choice of your orna ment to-night. It is, I believe, pe culiar to our Athenian ladies.” “I hoped that it would remind you of the earlier years of our mar ried life,” was the answer which f . enabled on her lips; but, suppress- i;ig her emotion, she merely said—“it is a favorite jewel of mine, and was your earliest gift.” The mildness of the Teply, and the gentle tones of her voice, caused a pang of remorse in the bosom of Per icles; but he stifled the thoughts which would have pleaded for his wife, and in his willing captivity to Aspasia bartered the peace of his own home. When Cleomene entered her own chamber, she found it occupied by Cleantli, her elder, son. He was was walking the room in quiet agita tion. On seeing his mother, he sa luted her respectfully, aud as he did so, remarked her exceeding paleness, and her wearied, melancholy expres sion. “You suffer, my mother, and you have known all, and borne it in si lence. You must have thought- me an ungrateful sou not to sympathise more in your sorrow.” “What do you mean nr. son?” said Cleomene, sinking into a chair, and gazing into his face with an ex pression of deep anguish. “You cannot be ignorant, my moth er, that your husband, my fatlier, the once illustrious Pericles, is a byword and a jest in the mouth of every citizen. Yes, his love for As pasia, and his neglect of you, are the common topics in the streets and S ublic places. He took you to her ouse to-night to silence, if possible common rumor. I came home, hop ing to be here in time to prevent your going, but I was too late. I remained in your room, and fervently have I prayed the gods to avert this calamity from our household.” Cleomene was silent; no word -of reproach against her husband es caped her lips, but her small hands were firmly clasped together, while the tears fell from her closed eyes. “And they say—” continued Cleantli ; but he looked at his moth er, and paused. “Say what?” said Cleomene ; “tell me all—I would know the worst.” “Pardon me if I give you pain, but I must tell you all: They say that the wife of Pericles is too tame j and spiritless to resist, and patiently | submits to insult and wrong. Two ! days since, at the feast of the Panthe- j on, I had an opportunity to show i this artful woman that one, at least, j in whose veins your blood runs, could ; despise aud scorn her.” During this speech, the expression j of gentleness which Cleomene usually wore passed away, and there was a j fire in her eye, and a decision in the ; small, compressed moUih. which her son had never seen before. “What/you say is new to me, my son. Tine, I must confess, I had my fears and suspicions ; but I bore the j coldness and reserve of my husband in silence, or returned it with inci eas- ; ed attention and kind words. I j hoped to win back his early love, j But prove to me that liis love is an other’s—that all my efforts are vain ; and the wife of Pericles can act as well as suffer, and can preserve the dignity of an Athenian mother.” Cleantli cast upon his mother a look of pride and love; and, with words of mutual affection, they part ed. It was at sunset, one mild even ing, that Plato wended his way to the small obscure house of Socrates. “And who,” says a beautiful writer, “can describe the beauty of that hour in Athens, when violet lights of all various tint i descend from heaven upon the-mountains, red violet upon Hyraettus, and blue violet onParnes? A soft yellow light is spread along the plain, and rests on the front of the Acropolis, and kindles into blaze upon the peak of Lycabetus; the sun, meanwhile*, sinking slowly be hind Troezene and Epidaiuus, and the bright surface of the Saronic Gulf gleaming like a golden shield.” Plato surveyed the prospect with the eye of a poet and a philosopher, aud, as he passed on amid this scene of natural beauty, heightened by those noble works of art which have made the age of Pericles immortal—the Pantheon, rising above the city like a crown of glory, with its magnificent colonade; the temple of Theseus, a model of architectural beauty; with numerous other temples and statues, still beautiful in their decay—he felt the inspiration of the hour, and, with his capacious spirit, drank in draughts of happiness, while the godlike stirred within him. In his humility he did not dream that his own name would descend to posteri ty as a no less noble specimen of mural grandeur than the works of Phidias and Praxiteles of physical ; beauty in the world of art. At the j close of his long walk, as he stopped at the humble abode of the great ! philosopher 1 he heard voices within, j “I say, Socrates, my life is a bur den to me; nothing but toil, toil, from morning till night. I have not only the whole care of the house, and providing for the table, but I must submit to all your blunders. It was only last night that you came near wearing my gown to the theatre for your own tunic; and when poor little Lamprocles asked for a drachm to buy dried grapes, you gave him, instead of the money, a long lecture on the blessings of poverty., I’ll Jell you what it is, Socrates, I'll bear with your ways no longer. All Ath ens knows I have borne my lot with patience. We are so poor that I haven’t decent clothes to wear, and yet yon spend your time in the streets and market-places, and they say you do nothing but ask ques tions. I only wish you’d ask me a few. I gness you’d find it harder and the healingwatersgushed forth, healing to the bruised spirit of the wife, and like a cordial to the dying, man. W ords of love and forgiveness were spoken, one thought to their children in Elysium; then, as Cle omene saw that life was ebbing, she raised the head of her husband, that work to confound me than the young it might rest upon her bosom, and Sophists. I'd give you pretty straight i with his hand clasped in hers, he answers, I assure you.” 1 breathed his last. At this moment Plato, calm and philosophical as he was, could not repress a smile at the downcast, self- accusing look of the great Socrates. There sat the good man, in a ragged tunic, by a small table on which lay some olives and dry bread, all the provision, as Xantippe said, which the house contained. The poor wo- The Earning of Gin Houses. University of Georgia, ) October 30, 1873. ) Editors Chronicle and Sentinel: The frequent notices recently pub lished of the burning of gin houses, . . _ _ t and often of the fire originating man stood with her arms akimbo, j during the operation of ginning, has trying to awe her unoffending spouse j suggested what, in some instances at by the clouds upon her brow and the ; least, may be regarded as a probable thunder of her eloquence. j cause of the fire, and therefore worthy She paused as soon as she saw j of consideration,and of the use of Plato, and, changing her tone from j means to prevent its occurrence, the major to the minor key, began to j It is possible that ignition may be make apologies for their meagre fare caused by electricity generated by and untidy appearance. Socrates j,the continued friction of the rubber turned to his friend with a look of ! or {/>■:■■ la jvrcJta 'band. We do not humility and self-reproach. “The i mean to say this is always the case. We only regard the cause as suffi cient, and therefore infer that in someo#.-ises the true cause of ignition may be in the electricity thus gener- truth is, dear Plato, I am not as faithful a husband as becomes an Athenian citizen. In my anxiety to reform the youth of the city, I have neglected my own family; and in my love of philosophy, I have not been so attentive to the wants of “hiy wise and prudent wife, the good Xantippe as becomes a husband and father. ’ “But your wife, no doubt, forgets these foibles in the high respect and reverence with which all Athens re gards the wise Socrates.” Xantippe softened at once, assu ring her guest that “not a wife in the city took more pride in her husband’s reputation. Though poor,” she ad ded, “we have confidence in the love of each other.” “When I was in Egypt,” said Pla to, “I found an ancient book which interested me much, and among its wise maxims 1 treasured the follow ing: “Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.’ ” “And that reminds me,” said Soc rates, “of our fair friend Cleomene. How stand matters with her? If I judge rightly, she would give all her ated. It is very common in the lec ture room to ignite by electricity ether, alcohol and other inflammable substances, as raw cotton mixed with powdered rosin, kc., and it is possi ble to generate enough electricity with a few feet of gutta percha tub ing to ignite other substances. We infer, therefore, when the at mosphere is very dry, such as we have had for some weeks, the elec tricity generated by the friction of the band may become of such ten sion as to ignite, by the passage of a spark, the waste cotton near the gin. That is, when all the conditions are favorable, it is possible this may oc cur. Did we know the facts in regard to the burning of the gin houses, such as the character of the day, the when and where the fire was first discovered, etc., the amount of prob ability in favor of this supposed cause could soon be determined. There is no danger to bo appre- weaith and splendor could she v in j bended from this cause except when back the love of Pericles.” “Pericles is, T fear, umvortliv the love of such a woman. His attach ment to the noted Aspasia is a dark spot on his otherwise illustrious character. To-day his wife leaves him forev er, and returns to the home of her childhood. !She has long borne with patience his neglect, and the arro gance of her rival. But that patience is exhausted, and that fond heart j a rubber or gutta perchci band is used and the atmosphere is very dry, and then tiie remedy is simply to xoet the brnd. Out of abundance of cau tion I would therefore suggest when these bands are used, and the atmos- - phere is very dry, that they be wet ted three or four times in the day. This could be readily done by the driver pouring on gradually a cup of water near the band wheel. Believing the suggestion here made crushed. Her own dignity and self- j may be of value to the public, I re respect require her to act with de- j spectfuliy request that you will pub- cision, and she returns to her father, j lish the same wife with a widowed heart.” Years passed. Time had whitened the locks and bowed the frame of the ambitious and renowned Pericles. The most illustrious among the great men of his age, he had climbed to the very “topmost round of the ladder of fame.” {Scarcely a spot in the city but bore witness to the wisdom of his projects, and the magnifi cence of his designs. But there was a want unsatisfied, a void unfilled. He had lived for many years a rest less life seeking pleasure, and finding satiety and disgust. His early pas sion for Aspasia had long since con sumed itself; yet he remained bound to her by fetters which her own pow erful will, and more powerful ambi tion, had forged for him. His two sons, in whom he had garnered so many fond hopes, were dead, and he now lay in a darkened chamber, him self drawing near the grave. Aspasia was not there. The sick room suited liot the gay and brilliant, but debas ed woman. Yours, &c., W. LeRoy Broun. Important to Bankrupts. Persons who are indebted to a bankrupt estate must be very care ful how they make payments to any one who claims to represent it. Af ter commencement of proceedings in bankruptcy the title to all such debts will rest in the assignee, al though lie may not then be appoint ed, and the payment to the insolvent himself, or to any other party for him, after such time will be of no avail to protect the debtor from pay ing the samo amount over again to the assignee, who can sue for and receive it. We know of a coal deal er here, says a New York exchange, who sold all his customers their winter supply of fuel, and then became insolvent, and applied for the benefit of the bank rupt act. After the proceedings were commenced, and public notice had Sad memories thronged i been given in some obscure paper around the dying man. He thought ' not generally circulated, the dealer of the calm, quiet happiness of his | went around and collected all his former life—of his once loved and gentle wife. YV’hat would he not give could she stand by his bed and soothe his last moments ? Could he but see her, and hear forgiveness from her lips, he would be happy. A sudden thought struck him. Call ing a slave, who stood in a distant part of the room, he bade him bring his materials; then with a trembling hand, he traced a few lines on a piece of papyrus. After binding it with a fillet of ribbon, and sealing it with his signet ring, he dispatched it to Cleomene. Not an hour elapsed before the forgiving wife stood by the bedside of her dying husband. Many years had passed since they had met: time, sickness, and sorrow had ieft their traces upon both of them. Most gently had they dealt with Cleomene: her quiet spirit had bow ed in silence and submission when the storm had passed, and, like the dove, sought peace in retirement. Pericles, like the eagle, had bid it defiance, and he now lay with tom plumage and broken wing. There was little time left for the reunited, for Death was rapidly do- . . .. - - -** - - valid. ' ing his-work uponTfic iuv But bills. His customers paid him in good laith, knowing nothing of his pecuniary troubles, and took his re ceipt. Every one of them was oblig ed afterwords to pay the debt over again to the assignee, who had thr. dealer’s books, and proceeded to collect every dollar not paid to him before the proceedings were com- * menced. How few housekeepers know that the expressed juice of garlic, is an everlasting cement for broken china, glassware and the like, leaving no mark of fracture if neatly done. Mrs. Jefferson Davis has recently received an elegant album of paint ings that was “confiscated” by a fed eral soldier during the time of the The exportation of gold from Aus tralia this year, up to the 31st of August amounted in value to $31,- 078,245, an increase of more than one-third over the value of the ex ports in 1872. An ignorant old lady was asked l a minister visiting her if she had f iigion. She replied: “I have lig.. the fount of buried love was opened^ touches of it occasionally.”