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iVoiiru. w © IN THE MEADOWS. Y BAYAJID UYUM. * I li? in the summer meadows, la the meadows all alone, With the iitfluiU iky above me, . A|d the sun on ku mid-dav throne Tb# smell of the flowerin# grasses Is sweeter than any rose, A lid a million of happy insects Fiog in the warm repose. • The mother lark that ia brooding Feels the ana on her wrings, And the deep* on the noon-day glitter With the swarms of fuiry things. From the billowy green beneath me To till* tatlioink'iSA blue above, The creature* of God are happy la the w&riuih of their summer love. The infinite bliss of Nature, ! feci in every vein; Tbs life and tin* light of summer Blossom in heart and brain. Hut darker than any shadow, Than thunder—clouds unfurled, The awful truth arises, That death i in the world. And the skv mar beam a. ever, And never a cloud bo curled, And the air be living odors, Hut death is in the world! Out of the tfeep of tunshitie, The invisible host is hurled, There’s life iri the Mimmvr meadows, Hut death la in the world! [WHITTEN ma TilK COVPANION ] A WANDERS MEMORANDA V 1 t I’ II A . NO. 1 rHAmuTTvitl.it, Vm , July 6th, IPdn. Mi r. fit’ t : Two tlnv** npjo, within . tin* -mml of martial music, ami amid the a l;malion of a grateful |m*ojl, wo li ft “ Tin* Gate City*'—the jrid© of Georgia— j on a jilcajitiro tour through tin* North The day won warm and the lic it ojqr* eivc But the Iron IBim*, leaping on towards the inounUinfc, made his way thronjh the lovely vallies and pleanant town** of Cherokee Georgia, our annoy nnrrii were* forgotten in (lie exhilaration of tin* . in*. Kvery town and hamlet .‘• •eiiied alive to the memory c*f ’7*. t Vie hrntiott.H, with their display of banners, muGc, with it.*! inspiring influence, and the orators of the occasion, plainly told that it ims the amiivcrfciry of that day, on which, 84 year* aijn, was nuute the old declaration “ That (In - /moj Stott:* v't r< f by right and ought to hr J• • • “ Toward* evening we eroded tin* line of Here, away from homo, 1 t,hull h*yrfiu wjt ftltdoh* l '. TV nrrivcd at Cleveland, n rural-looking (own -at 04 I*. M. TWC iintry“T"und4f>out*is very uttr irtr. brirns a valley well adapted to the raising of grain. • For .some miles Be fore reaching this place, the eye was gr i ted. >n tin* one side with green fields of Indian corn and on the other with yellow fu Ids of grain; whilst on hoth, nroho in tin* distance the broken surface of led hills It win at the close of the harvesting season, and the yellow shocks stood like- fteutincUuv • r the plain ; ! Gut >-t asionally would he seen the grace fill motion of the scythe, as tin* reapers were leveling the l i t fields of the harvest. G.ixhllg iipoll these scenes, similar ones wore reeullcd —my child-hoods home rose up Before me ‘I he song of it* reaper.-* w.t heard, and tin m ciinii* of it* h i\ st.N flash’ and upon the mind, and swept uvi r the aoul awakening its temK iest e met; (Ills 11 i\in:; changed ears at (’lowland, we were again soon rapidly pursuing our j ‘.rm v We halted at the pictuivsoue little village of Athens, soon after sunset. A in re suitable time could not have been eh ‘ii to lii_hteii its Beaut) 1 mice It. ird t a hy who “eould'ntseen certain town for the lo'iiiws.” But wo eoiild’nt see Athens for the hills. It is emphati rally a village of hills; But they are Beautiful Bills, green with gram and shrubbery. From a distance the Male Seminary and Female College, among, other Buil lmga, were **• n, peruhml upon eounuanding eminences; from the G lb pot, one corner of the former and the top of the latter were nil. of tie -e two fine buildings that could Be <n. Such is Athens. And as female Beauty is always more winning when accompanied with a retiring disposition, so this lovely vill.i-1 BeeoiiU's more attractive by hiding behind its hills. \ tim e hmiis* ride brings us t* Knox ville, a (deasaut and pr. -peroiis city ol - in • yen or * ight thousand inhabitants. * • The I niversity of Fast Tennessee is] her* Here, also, ia the largest tnaiiii factory of window glass in the Southern | Stao Our stay in thin city was But ihiiiv minutes and that at night. 1 mlci . h i ru. Uii* ■ twt ac can gel i <ur i < i idea ot its local ion, or * e any of u* B untie*’ Its general uppouranco By I nom ulight, however, was fine and impos ing V lew miles above Km>xville, we touched upon the Bank- of the Ho Uto it and ran up it sixteen mile.. The varied SC O. i*, f this beautiful river, illumined By ti” ni"OiiV mild Beams, had an air of romance that was refreshing to behold But the cent* changes \ we neared v! * oil * where we were Ur cr the river, t - g * *tr ii; the rr v im thi k ns. THE SOUTII EK N ‘ LI iffß ARY COM PA X 1-0 X . the moon’* beam* grow pule and dim, and the motion of the care an they touch the lofty bridge slackens into a creeping pace Gradually they begin to crawl over the <tn h ; and the pas.-enger looks down in breathless silence upon the scarcely dis tinguishable waters. The hills on either side, with their dark forests, and the dim ueas of the moon, whose light shines more dimly from the density of the fog, makes it a scene, grand and terrible, from its very obscurity. But the pass has been | made, and our passenger sinks into gentle j slumbers. from his repose he is aroused, as he crosses the same river a hundred miles ! higher up. Ho is now fast nearing the line of Virginia. Bristol greets his long ing eyes with its sight, and shortly nftcr ward his keen appetite with its warm steak and hot cofTre. Breakfast over, we enter i the State of Virginia. Virginia/ What a throng of rceollection cluster around the name! What noble sons has she j given to the Republic! and what thril ling incident* have transpired within her limits! Her whole story is replete with miiMii s lor the poet and philosophy for historians W hat a web of romance j might I** woven from the record of her infancy, could some Shakcspcriun hand my one but u Thackery's) dramatize the characters of the restless Ituleigh, the gallant Smith, the jealous Bowlmttan,and the gentle Indian Princess. Again—in the days of border strife—days memora ble on account of the cruelty of the French invader and the revengeful red skin—her chronicles increase in interest; 1 I whilst \ t again, at a later period, there I opens to us, the still more thrilling and more lofty story of her mature life, in the proud deeds and grand results of j her participation in our eventful Itevolu- ; tion. Nt State has given birth to a greater j number of illustrious men than Virginia. ! IB r hoi 1 is hallowed with many sacred shrines—-the Birthplace*, the homes, and the graves of those whom the world basinet delighted to honor. Here, we may walk through the classic groves of Montieello, and view those scenes where its sago studied so profoundly and taught the world. T here, we may pause on the Beautiful lawn of Mt. Vcruoit, and ponder upon the merit* of him whose name is “ First in the hearts of his countrymen.” Not far otf, we may Bend reverently over the ashes of Madison and Monroe, | of Bee and Wirt, and of a host of others, i whose names aro inseparable from their country's history. W hilst yonder, in the , little village of Hanover, \v? can almost: . hear ILA*o burning Words of Patrick Henry, first awakened tho glowing fire of liberty in the bosoms of his coun try men. Here too, w ..six*i n ami nourished America’s gift’ and orator and * immortal -tat*'■man llcwhoo remains now sweet ly sleep far away in his adopted State, ! hem ath the green - * 1 of Ashland, im bibed those principles Acre on the soil if. I trgiina, that made him illustrious and have cm) aimed his memory in every Amiri an heart. A State born in the chivalrous age of. Kli/abcth, she has grown up a worthy • laughter ot her great parentage. So full of ioniance, so replete with historic inci dents, and so honored By the character of her i- is the State of Virginia, that no intelligent American who appreciates hi * p"*itinu as a free citizen, can enter it* limits for tin- first time, without hav ing his heart to swell and his bosom t > ■ xpaiul with the emotions of his soul. Nor is it* scenery unworthy of such a history On our rout from Bristol t’ B\io hl iirg, lin I miles, Was seen every j variety ot landscape that could please the : iy* ami gratify the ta*te At one time i wo ere- od sonic elevated table land, with , it* 1 - mtitul fields of clover in full Bloom, ! and it* yellow harvest* of grain stretch ing far off in tin* distance. At another, we d< s ended into a valley, and followed the cour.-e of a meandering stream through its fertile mead ; and then we entered the m aintain*, wound around their craggy *uß - ami looked upon their duiy bights. The Beautiful village of \Bl.iiigton, overlooked By the towering walls of Martha Washington ! nstitute, has scarce ly receded from the view, when our eyes ale gi.rted with a sight, of the clasic halls of r.inorv and 11 1^ -nry and, its delight ful vi< mag* 1 hit the velocity •! B K speed hurries us onward to the Blue Kid e At the Allegliany llousi*. ivc pause fßr a moment t*i catch a glimpse of: the wonders we are üßout to enter. All ‘around rise ih* craggy “ides and t)u* heet ; lino eliltftofd.uk mountains \ tunnel I i* passed, a gorge fearful to look upon is crossed; still we elin ; to the mounl iiil* We make our way along the side of one jof the two ridges that encloses a valley Between tin in Far Below, lie* the valley of the r*amak, apparently about a halt ‘ mile wide, and sleeping :t> quietly an the . passion* in uii infant* Breast. On the opposiu* side, ri -i s tin* bold front utid lofty peaks of one ridge, whilst the steep preci : ’ pices and rugged eli/B of the other over ; hung our heads. To add to the suhblimi j - ty of the fiecuc, the clouds grow dark, and their muttering thunder* are rover’herated above our heads Ami this scene becomes more interesting for a time, from the vc • •*n t, i’.-d * w!:* ’ rind ita course through yon valley, though Hmall and far from ita mouth, ia neverthe lean the very same that onoe rolled it* flood by tho home of Virginia’s strange but gifted non—John Randolph, of Koan oak. After having proceeded about three miles along the aide of the mountain, we de scended into the valley. Here, the valley widens and stretches over a distance of thirty miles up the IBmnoak. And surely a lovelier luiwcape was never seen by the eye of man. The numerous villas peeping through their shady groves, intcrsperoed with weeping willow. The oak forests, and the meadow land under cultivation ; j the extended line of mountains on cither side, and the lofty peaks of Otter that rise in the distance are o arranged as to give the valley an indescribable beauty. The valley of Wyoming ha* been made classic by the pen of (’ampbell, but it may justly be said of the valley of Boan j oak— ‘ Nature hath made thee lovelier than the power i Kven of Carapheir* pen cma picture.” Vet there arc sumr /Mings (I won’t say won) that can ride through this valley apparently indifferent to itsbeauties. A* j we had nearly finished our passage across, I asked a Boniftiunian how he liked Vir ginia? From which question he began, | and made it out the poorest country he ever saw. ” “ But waving the question of its fertility, what do you think of the scenery wa have just passed through?” 1 ** <)h it’ll do well enough to look ot, j but flint won’t Imi/ tlo baby a coat.” The first clause, with the exception of the last two words, were spoken iua very iudifler- j cut manner, but he threw much peculiar emphasis upon the last expression, as caused me to believe he had exposed to A view the inmost rccessos of his heart. I saw in him the person of whom the poet ] said - “ A cowslip by tho river’s Grim A yellow cowslip it was to him, And it was nothing more.'’ Or if brevity and significance he allowed to supercede elegance, he might he ap propriately characterized by the word-*- 1 //,,/. Having arrived at Binehhurg, wc cross ed the James river in a canal boat, and took the cars for this place where we ar rived on last evening at 11 o'clock. (TmJottville i> an attractive place, and the Central Hotel an excellent house. But as my business is sight-seeing and not scribbling, I will quit the latter for the present and get at the former. NO 2 IVasiiixiiton, l>. C July in. Mr. Kilitor: On tlic morning upon i wllich HIV lust WHS (Inti'll, I visited till’ tomb of .KllVrson. Having procured n 1 ’ p""l saddle horse, 1 started for Monti-j cello. After riding some mile anil a half, j along a l ine with a stone fence on either side, my road crossed a creek anil then wound romantically around the mountains: and up to the summit of the one upon ■ which stands the beautiful residence, now: owned by ('apt. Levy of the United States Navy. The ('apt. with hi* family were absent, hut I was shown within mid saw many pieces ol furniture used by Jeffer son. [wltlTTrs Foil Ml I. COWI'AMOS.J .AversTA, (In , July 28lh, IBC.O. Ui:A It “(’ W. H —“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.” You have aroused me from my “ enchanted sleep,” by your gentle rebuke. \\ bile I, calling and feeling mvsrlf a fn'ruil to the “ blind man,” and : his paper, have been sitting and reclin-: ing in luxurious idleness, through these I long, enervating, summer days, you have . been iriihiuj for him, and thus proving 1 tho xiitmity of your friendship,—not 1 content like some of us idlers to “ with him trill.'* Hut. perhaps you do not live in tlic crowded city, dear “('. \Y. ]}.,” a martyr to dust, lmt weather, red, staring brick 1 houses, and the noise of drays and hiuutt. Oh! there is very little to inspire one w ho belonging to the won't go-away club, resolutely determines to “weather though” July ami August ill the city home, rather than join (lie victimised race of pleasure-seekers, who forsake comfort at home, for the sake, of paying a very high price Ihr discomfort abroad. Mi! 1 have a /flint/ remembrance of the /m m;o.< found at a watering place— ‘ the narrow rooms, where one's bed, and j one's “Saratoga Trunk ” scarcely leave j : breathing space— the nmu.sejncnt of wateli : ing the failed belle angle for a golden fish, and all that sort of thing. Hut, 1 ; w ill not grow bitter, Here in l}iy little j room til /nolle with everything in its I place, where I can turn around in my 1 Belle of the South ” without a chair or table, with plenty of ice-water | in the refrigerator, plenty of iliac, large i watermelons, and ripe, juicy pearlies, not i to mention mellow pears, and early grapes, j ! sent by country friends with compliments 1 can laugh defiance at those jaded, j worn-out pleasure seekers, who Would ‘ rather “ die in the cause” than he enij ■iderej unj\mlihnitihlt*. Heard,yjTu (TP*^ <>f that family, who being unable to leave tiiwii because “ papa” had jailed in soinu dangerous speeulution, closed their trout ‘ doors, and blinds, and lived in the back rooms shut out from society, to convince M ulam tlrundy that they had “ gone ! pleasuring?” Oh! fa.|iion what a tyrant! thy devotees, wlat slates! But, have 1 been in town ” all ihr lime f Nay, dear friend, I spent one pleasant month, the month of roses, in dear old Madison, emkared to you and I by so many pleasant memories—and while there, witnessed CrTe of life's sharp con trasts. ()n the iftitwnitniit, when a class mate, fair and well beloved, resigned her hand to tho warm olasp of a lover-hus band, another, no less young and beautiful gave hers to the grasp of one cold and icy, and the bridegroom wlm led her away ■ was—Death ! The one was borne to a home made bright and beautiful by youth, and love—the other, clad in white gar ments emblematic of her Tirgin purity, was consigned to the “ narrow house of the dead.” No lover’s clasp for those cold hands Mute-folded on licr breast; No lover's kiss on those still lips In tenderness is pressed. Foul worms must feast upon those charms. Beneath it grave-stone hid, — A veil between life’s joys and her— That veil—m cn/Jtit lid. But s-lu.il’ wc V’ for the young who die ? Nay ! for they escape very much of unhappiness—with hope still bright, i with faith undimtned, with a love for all tilings beautiful and good still unsullied, with life yet new atul joyous, they go out with a smile to “ die land of thu Hore ; after.” ’ Can you fancy how 1 have entertained , myself this warm, sultry morning ? Too buy to write, too stuped to read, I wan dered about from room to room, teasing father (usjiile with idle ipieations, watch pay visits to ‘Miehni'l flying off to where tho “ queens of the kitchen ” wore mak ing preserves and other delicacies for j winter use. “Seeking rest and finding none,” at last “ some spirit in my feet led me who kaowa"fc(W9 r - old closet, where 1 I'olnpl a hag (excuse the plebiun word which truth compels ijjg to use,j of J old letters written in the “language.” j In a moment the conti nts were spread at my feet, and 1 began tho herculean task “f looking over about one thousand missives,- .In not exaggerate penned by all manner of people. What varied emotions of sadness, merriment, and pleasure were excited ! Now and then a tear trotthl fall as 1 beheld a paquet tied with Win/; ribbon, telling me that he or she wlm had loved me once—aye loves me note else life is a mockery, a vanity was numbered with the pale sleepers, whose spirits have gone 1 ’ over the river’—.the idln fancies of an hour surviving tho lose MTTtTiil that penciled them. lit re, hio, were-unique love letters which provoked the smile—letters from disconsolate swains, who vowed that unless a favorable response was speedily given, they would either “go to Texas,” or “commit suicide,” the usual resorts of disappointed Wooers; One, who had been most vehement in his vows, I met last evening on Broadway, walking proudly with his new-made bride. Is it not as tonishing how soon they console them selves with u “ uewMovo.” The change is made with such rapidity, that one might almost fancy constant love an idle chimera of the poet dreamer's brain. But w ith tin: thermometer at —oh ! I don’t know where,this seems tonic the /tuttest day 1 ever experienced. I cannot speculate or morulito about tho grantl passion, or grow pathetic over paquets of old letters, so l will hurry on. My “ city by the river ” is insufferably dull just now—the streets are deserted— ” everybody ” being gone to Europe, “the North,” or the springs and moun tains of our own Asa natural consequence, we have no amusements on hand. Who coithl be amused where extra fans arc a necessity to prevent suffocation ? .Some weeks ago, we rfu/ have The Bunyan Tableau—a panoramic representation of the inspired dreamer's vision. 1 wish you could have seen this magnificent painting—4iL is the most superior work of the sort it has ever been my good fortune to behold. The enter taining Lecturer by well-timed comments increases the interest, and for a wonder does not grow diffuse, and tire one as is ! too often the case with 11)<.sc who exhibit Panoramic views. As the hour is late, and 1 have promts- I cd before night-fall to walk “ down town” with some friends who are anxious to il.-it the Artliallery of Tucker A Perkin ; almost the only attractive place in Augusta, w here one can spend nn’ idle hour or so, I must close these hasty, j disjointed remarks. Sotuo day I hope to ’ walk with you through the handsome rooms above mentioned, where you can see almost any variety of the “human t face divine ’ — spk’n^jiife-fiix'il rat ilJi • i •’ ‘*>’ ?- i'i. .. 1 -.. i j'ieiijf*. -i” lr.i“-].l.irit v ‘i “ land you mat to ‘ ‘ in .-lit yu are ;e N . ;.ra I in Italy But n.y p.tge : filh-d. and so n -lIAM \VOO’I * IM An Appeal, in In half of Jon nic T. ('amp, one of (he jntpifs at the Georgia Asylum for the Blind, at Macon , Ga. BY CAMIiIK BULL SINCLAIR. During a short stay in Macon a few weeks ago, I visited the Asylum for tin* Blind. Among tho pupils there my at j ten tion was particularly arrested by n beautiful little boy of some eight or niui* j years of age. Little Jounie is the pot* and favorite of every one who visits the Asylum. His sweet, gentle voice cannot | fail to wiu the love of every one. It is to melt any heart that has one spark of | pity in it, to see this blind boy, a* his fingers glide over page after page, and to watch his Bright, animated countenance . a* ho reads some passages from the Holy Bible; or to soe the shade of sorrow that gathers on that fair young brow, as he reads some touching tale of pity. Bong will I remember the story of the “ Little Lamb,” a* read by Johnnie T. Camp. The blush of shauic would mantle the cheek of many a boy to whom God has given eyesight, could he listen to this blind hoy, who is already far advanced in I hi* studies ; although he has never been j where he could be taught, until within I the last year. Johnnie is a sweet, in telligent child, and jiossosses a mind rarely to be found in one so young, and if he lives t< be a man, will be both a great ami good one. The story of little Johnnie is a sad one of itself, yet we are told that lie has two . sisters, who, like himself, have been blind from birth. Truly this is a sal! tale, and should arouse the sympathy of every ony ! who may chance to hear it. Now, how I many boys and girls in our midst, who I are surrounded By so many blessings, and . who spend their money for trifling things, i will save it to aid these little blind child ( ren ? We understand that two or three j gentlemen residing in Savannah, that generous city we are proud to call our ! home, have already given several hundred dollars to the support of little Johnnie j Camp. How many others will do as they : have done? The following poem is an Appeal to all who have it in their power to contribute i something to tho relief of this child of affliction, and we hope it will be cheer fully responded to by all. JOHN NIK T. CAMP. A little hoy with gentle voice, And font ii res fair and mild ; With sunny locks, ami nolde brow, A fair and lovely child. Tis seldom that we see a child, With such i gifted mind, , Ami yet I wonder why it is That lillc Johnnie’* Mind ? This little boy has never seen The beauteous light of day ; He never saw the summer birds, That siitg so blithe and gay ; He never looked iqion the sky, So beautiful and bright ; For little Johnnie was born blind, And never saw the light ! They tell me he has sisters, two— Hath young and very fair— . Who share his fatej Oh. life for each, Must seem so dark and drear ; Three children of one mother blind! Oh ! pity drop u tear For them, nod her whose lot it is, To guide their footsteps here ! Oh! ye whose wicked heart repine, Mid all the blessings here, Turn to that darkened home awhile, Then murmur if you dare 1 And you to whom a God of love, In mercy has been kind, Os your vast store of riches give A mit to aid thu blind. 1 know full many a generous heart, We have in this fair land, Am! pity some kind deed will prompt, To aid a suffering hand. Kind hearts said 1, on yonder hill, Stand Georgia’s greatest pride !* A home for those to whom kind heaven Has blessed sight denied. I seo around me marble halls f Proud columns towering high ; Vet not a nobler monument, Stands ’neath our sunny sky, Than this—a home that has been reared ( Hv noble hearts and kind ; Well Georgia * greatest pride may be j Her refuge for the bliud I Near by this spot a building stands, J Where hundreds yearly go ; A place of learning for the rich, Tho rb h, but not the poor! How vast the contrast! Book and see, The pride ami fashion here, Then turn to vondor walls And view The wretched inmah * then* ! Gaze on them, and your very smil Will sit ken at the sight, These sons and daughters of our land, Shut out from all things bright! (Hi! ye who yearly give to pomp, Vour hundreds, yes, and more, You would not miss a trifling sum, Yet it would bless the poor ! ♦Georgia Asylum for the Hlind. flte.-idcncu of Mr.__Jtjjpi.mnj and the file•-! ijfcriirn (fompanion. | WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 8. * Our Contributors. Wo give below the names of some of the Contributors for the Companion: * Fini.ky Johnson, Prof. M. 11. Boonby, Pr. A. Mkaxs, “ J. M. Richard-on, J. M TnoMDhoN. Col. O. A. Bochkasr, N. M. Crawford, ft. 0., Rev. C. !> Mallory, Warren Woodvillr, Willie Wakk, B. Lincoln Vpazey. Rev. J. 11. Kilpatrick, ’ J. 11. Hall, A. J. Smith, Go!. B. n. Hill, Mrs. Kate TRirrr, J. Ft. Dkßow, “ M. A. MuOhimmon, ! i Rev. E. P. Birch, *• A. T. I>. Chapman. J. <\ Brown, Miss (\ W. Baubku, Martin Arnold, “ IJ. B. Docohkrty, 1 Prof. (\ IB McDaniel, “ Annie It. Blount, j “ M. P. Kellogg, 4 * Mary K. Keen, “ I M Go mi no, “ M. A. Gampbkll, ! “ I. N. Loomis, “ V. A. Jrnninuh, * u J. II Hammond, li Sai.uk A. Reedy. —. gkyif* A. M. Jett is authorized to receive and receipt for subscriptions to the “Gomims i ION.” A. A. Green, K j.. of BaFayctte, Ala., j is likewise empowered. w* W. A. Smith, Esq., of Wedowee, Ain.. ! ; is also our ageut. Cheerfulness Arc you in tlic habit, kind reader, of indulging in sadness and moroseness ? j Do you constantly look upon the gloomy side of the picture of life, and gtieve and mourn over your misfortunes? If yea, will you take the advice of one who has tried the experiment and knows it to be valuable. Presuming that you will we j offer you tho following advice. Put on the habiliments of cheerfulness i and never doff them, until you have ■smothered out the last spark or inclina tion to sadness and dejection. You may habituate yourself to sadness or clicer j fulness until your mind will naturally ! court one or the other of these conditions i and you will be happy or miserable accord ing to choice. There is no greater every day virtue than cheerfulness. This quality in man, or among men, is like’ sunshine to the day, or gentle renewing 1 moisture to parched herbs. ‘J lie light of a cheerful face diffuses itself, and com-! municalcs the happy spirit that inspires! it. The sourest temper must sweeten in 1 , the atmosphere of continuous good humor. : As well might fog, and cloud, and vapor, hope to cling to the suu-illumed land scape, as the blues and morosem ss to combat jovial speech and exhilarating laughter. Be cheerful, always. There is no path but will be easier travelled, no ; 1 I load but will be lighter, no shadow on ! ! heart or brain but wall lift sooner in the presence of a determind ch,/t i follies-, j It may ut times seem difficult for the happiest temperd to keep the countenance of peace and content, but the difficulty will vanish when we truly consider that sullen gloom and passionate despair do nothing but multiply thorns and thivkcu sorrows. 11l comes to us as providentially as good—and is a good, if we rightly apply its lessons; why not, then, chcer ! fully accept the ill, and thus blunt its | apparent sting? Cheerfulness ought to I be tho fruit of philosophy—much more j jof Christianity. What is gained by ’ peevishness and fretful ness.. —by perverse I sadness and sullenness? If we are ill, | let us be cheered by the trust that we j shall soon be in health—if misfortune be ■ fall us, let us be cheered by hopeful j visions of better fortune—if death robs us of-the dear ones, let us be cheered by the thought that they are only gone be fore, to the blissful bowers where we j shall all meet, to part uo more. Cultivate cheerfulness, it only for per sonal profit. You will do and bear every I duty and.burthen bettor by being cheer ful. It will he your consoler in solitude, your passport and commendator in society. You will be more sought after, more trusted ami esteemed for your steady cheerfulness. The bad, the vicious, may be boisterously gay and vulgarly liumcrous, 1 but seldom or never truly cheerful. Gen- 1 nine cliuy&llness is ail almost Certain *l..■ i.■ \oi a and a pun- >j j heart. Do Your Best and be Content. Many who possess energy arc not sat isfied with the result of their efforts, bqt they are constantly complaining because I they have not been'able to mpli-l their utmost wish. You should do ynuji ; best and then be content with the result, for it is great fully to lose the | tion of what you have, by a longing after | what you have not. Never faint, halt, or despair because you cannot realize your ideal and do the thing yu would. Only do the best you can, and no autboritive judgment shall condemn you. Your will may be equal to your ideal, while circuui j stances may raise all insuperable bar, for the time being, at least. llow many I “sons make wreck of talent, in sighing opportunities to do other and more ‘ in their eircuuistanc . warrant. They dain tho low rounds of the ladder, ich most surely load to the high, j ey have a notion of what is perfect I jowplishtuent, and tiro unwilling to ,e any half way preliminary step. They ve no faith in the proverb, “ Half u f, is better than no bread.” If they uld study the record, they would >n learn that the most famous winners whale loaves, were at. tho start willing and ready to take any slice they could get. Our true business in life, is to make the most of the means and oppor tunities we have—not to neglect small advantages, because we cannot have largo ’ ones. By cultivating the littles, we make it easier to compass the greats. There never was a master builder, who did not first serve an apprenticeship. The field | marshal, was at the out-set, most likely a soldier in ranks. \Ye must pass through tho grades before wc can reach the sum mit. Our own consciences, if well bal anced, must approve our doing the best we can. Belter a thousand times, work out the lesser possible, than to stand bewailing our inability to do the greater impossible. Os all lessons, this most needs wide application in the world. .Thousands have lived and died without having accomplished any thing great, for the reason that they sacrificed each little that they did accomplish, for that which they desired and were not able to master. Integrity of Character Always be honest, and you will find that when misfortunes come, with sullen gloom, it will draw around you friends w hose aid will boa sure guarantee of success, l’ruuklin attributed his success a- a public man, not to bis talents or his powers of speaking—for these were but moderate—but to his known integrity of ; character. “Hence it was,” lie says, that I had so much weight with my follow citizens. I was but a bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to much hesita tion in my choice of words, hardly correct in language, and yet I generally carried my point.” Character creates confidence in men in high station as well as in humble life. It was said of the first Emperor \lexander of Russia, that his personal character was equivalent to a : constitution. During the wars of the Fnmde, Montaigne was the only man among the French gentry who kept his , castle gates unbared ; and it was said of him, that his personal character was worth more to him than a regiment of horse. That character is power, is true in a much higher sense than that knowledge is power. Mind without heart, intelli gence without conduct, cleverness without ! goodness, are powers in their way, but they may be powers only for mischief. \Ye may be instructed or amused by them ; but it is sometimes as difficult to admire them as it would be to admire : the dexterity of a pick-pocket, or the | lens- mam hip of a highwayman; Truth ! fiyltiess, integrity, and go- ■■ •; i!/t hang not on any man’s breißli -Ufowu the essence of manly character, or, as one of our old writers has it, “,that inbred loyalty unto Yiritk which can serve her without a livery. When .''tephen, of Colonna, fell into the hands of his base assailants, and tlu-y a-ked him, in derision, “ Where is now your fortress?” “Here,” was his bold reply, placing his hand upon his heart. It is in misfortune that the character of the upright man shines forth with tho itc-i lustn ; and when all else fails, he takes stand upoq his integrity and courage. Education of Children. Tile following paragraph is worthy the attention of parents, teachers and philan thropist : Thousands of children, says the (\n trnl II are injured for life, in body and mind and character, by, tho ignor ance and vanity of their parents. They are not dressed right, fed right, or taught right. The wisti and effort is to make them appear pretty and smart, to treat them like little men and women, while they are rather young animals who want plenty of light, air, exercise and plain nourishing food. The character may be formed—the heart trained in the love oi truth and goodness, right princi ples may be planted in the fresh warm soil. Nay this sh ttilj be done. Youth is a mellow season on purpose that it may be a seed time in this respect. But to : confine the child with its restless impulses, for hours in the close school room ; to i eo-erce it to study and try to understand subjects beyond its capacities; to load the memory with masses of crude facts, fifird teach the tongue to repeat them like a parrot ; to try to make the child reason ivlo u bo is fitted only, as yet, to feci, to wonder and to believe- this is the too prevalent idea of our age. It fills our cemeteries with little graves, and gives the world hundreds of liicii and women, who have intelligence without principle, mental activity without judgment, un sound minds in unsound bodies. Ill'llK K. B> O ‘ The Southern ‘Cultivator for Au gust has reached us, and we know of no ag icultural in iitlily, North or South that i | superior to this sterling Journal; espeei ! ally a lien we remember that it may be i bad for o nr t/ollttc a year. W. S. Junks I’roprietor, Augusta, (ia. \V >• ai - pleased to announce the name of our worthy fellow-townsman, M. Kkniiiih k, Esq., as a candidate for the office of Solicitor General, at the ensuing January election. See card in anothet column.