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Is IJUB THE CORNER STONE *TAMT.'<? V f oßMifu ’ ‘yu***’ v [Foil tiik Corner Stone.] Speak Kindly, &c. BY C. J. H. SpeuU kindly to tlio sad and lone, And always cheer the friendless on; . Use gentle words and ever kind, Cheer up the grief o’erclouded mind— A gentle word, oh how it thrills 1 Tho heart which joy but seldom fills. , Speak kindly to-tliesad and lone, Although each joy ho loved hath flown ; To him who once could look on high And sec no cloud upon his sky ; For when at last it gathers there, A few kind words might banish fear. Speak kindly to’tlio sad and lone, II hen all thyir sweetest aro none, ‘When as some-loved and ohenshed flower, They wither in a single hour; For kind words then fr.ll on the-car Like sunshine bursting o’er despair. Speak kindly to the sad and lone, Who breasts life’s tempests all alone, Whose spirits unsubdued and firm, Are still erect amid the storm ; Like noble sails when wreck is there, “till bearing proudly through despair. Speak kindly to the sad and lone, Though many a joy they may have known ; Though in some past but distant hour, Their paths were strewn with many a flower; TV hen they have faded then they- need More kindness whilst their bosoniß bleed. Speak kindly to the sad lone, On whom no sunny hour hath shone; IFor though misfortune’s breath may chill, The heart can bound with feeling still; And one kind word then floods it o’er With joy it never knew before. Speak kindly to the sad and lone, Though you have not that kindress known— Though journeying on with prosperous sail, Tour barb hath never met the gale; You know not when that winds may sweep Your vessel o’er a stormy deem Aye though your friends are ’round you now— And though your hopes may brightly glow, How soon nu evil hour may blight v The joys whieh give you most delight, And leave you pining for relief, Which kiudness brings for pain and grief. Y'es, you may yet he left alone, . And yon may he the friendless one; w You know not when the sky so bright. May be o'ercast with gloom and night ; An hour e'eu iimv come and bear Its brightness ofT'aml bring tfespaie. Misfortune’s brentb, aye v ’ o can say It may not take our boprs away— The spirit, proud though it it may bravo Tlic adverse storm, tho wind nud wave, Jt-still must bend or bl eak nt last, Before the madly rushing blast. As life’s fresh morning bright, and fair, At last grows darkened by despair— ; As sweetest flower of pinmise bloom, r To full as offerings o’er the tomb; So tboso wc learn to love the best Arc stricken and we weep the lost. O ! then show kindness to the lone, And strive to cheer the friendless on; Speak kindly to him when be weeps, And o’er bis grief a vigil keeps; For when oppressed by care and pain, Kind words will cheer him ion again. And when he vainly seeks relief, p}stractcd, maddened by his grief; f Ah! then if you would know the power Os kindness shown him in that homy, Speak kindly, gently and von will Find it hath a power to Beal. wwsa—wiw——— illififfllrtncoiifi, JFrom the Boston Olive Brnneh.] ’ A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE. •‘And so you sail to-morrow, Will? I miss you.’ ‘Yes, I’m bound to see the world.— ‘l’ve been beating my wings in despara ilion against the wires of my cage these ihrpe years. I know every stick, and tstone, and stump in this odious village (by heart, as well as I do those stereotyp ed sermons of Parson Greys.’ He calls ? .ic ‘a 6cape-grace’—‘pity I should have fJIP in.me without thp game,’ said he bit terly ‘I haven’t room here to run the length of my efaaim I’ll show him what I can do jn a wiatjr held of action.’ (JhiEimw did you biaig your father ‘Oh, he rid of me; quite disgusted, uiSfmse J’ve no fancy for sggimfcorn and oais grow. The truth is, every father knows at once too much and too little about his own son; the old gentleman never understood me; he soured my temrer, which was origi nally none of the best, roused all the worst feelings of my nature, and is con stantly driving me from instead of to, the point he would have me reach.’ ‘And your mother ?’ ‘Well, there you have me ; that’s thrt (Only humanized portion of my heart— the only soft spot in it. She came to my bed-side last night, after she tboughjijf •was asleep, gently kissed my forehead, and then knelt by my bed-side. I’ve ibeen wandering round the fields all the morning, to try to get rid of that prayer. Old Parson Grey might prefich at me, till the millenium, and it wouldn’t move me any more than a m THE CO! NEK STONE ict. -J.’iSl Si L 6” VOL 1. know a person foels what he is praying about. I’m wild and reckless, and wick ed, I supposej but I shall never be an infidel while I remember my mother.— You should see the way she hears my father’s impetuous temper; that’s grace not nature, Harry; but don’t let us talk about it—l only wish my parting with her was well over. Good bye God bless you Harry; you’ll hear from me, if the fishes don’t make a supper of me ;’ and Will left his friend and entered the cottage. His mother was moving nervously and restlessly about, tying up all sorts of mysterious little parcels that only moth el’s think of, in case he should be sick,’ or in case he should be this, that or the other, interrupted occasionollv by ex clamations like this from the old farmer; “Fudge —stuff—great over-grown baby —making a fool of him—never be out of leading strings?’ then turning about and facing Will as he entered, he said: ‘Well, sir, look in your sea-chest, and you’ll find gingerbread and physic, darm, ing needles and tracts, “bitters” and, Bibles, peppermint and Aid linen rajiq and opedeluoc. Pshaw \ I was more of a man than you when Ewas nine years old. Your mother always made a” fool of you and that was entirely unnecessa ry, too, for you were always short of what is called common 6ense. You needn’t tell the eajjptain, you went to sea, because yon didn’t know enough to he a landsman; or that you never did anything right in your life, except by accident. Yon are as like that ne’er do well, Jack Ilalpine, as two peas. If there is any thing in you, I.nope that salt water will fetch it out.Gome, your mother has your supper relAy, I see.’ Mrs. Low’s hand tremble#as she pass ed her boy’s cup. It was Life last meal under that roof for many a long day. She did not trust herself to speak, her heart was too full. .Shi had heard all his father so injudiciously said to him, and she knew too well from former ex perience, the effect it would have upon his iinpetndiis, fiery spirit. She had on ly to oppose to it a mother’s prayers, and teal's, and all enduring love. She never condemned, in Will’s hearing, of his father’s philippics, always excusing him with the general remark that he didn’t understand him. Alone, she mourned over it, and when with her husband, tried to place matters on a bet ter footing for both parties, Will noticed his mother's swollen eye lids.; by saw. that she had busied’ herself in wi'epfu'inif for him, and he ate and <J||Kk Jvmu site, gave, without tasting a lowed, listening for the hnnth'O'lfc tfine to his father’s account of j when a .young man. ‘Just half an hour, Will,’ said hi-Esth er, ‘before you staff 1 , run up and sßif you liaye forgotten any of your ilmls^F It was the little room he had always called his own. How many nights lie j had lain there listening to the rain pat tering on the low roofo how many'inorn ings awakened by tho chirp of the roj>- bin in the apple tree under the window. There was the little bed with its snowy, covering, and the thousand, and one litri tie comforts prepared by fois mother s, hand. He turned his was at 1 his side, and her arms aboirfe his neck/ ‘God keep my boy !’ was si Or- she could* utter. lie knelt gt her feet as in thO! days of childhood, from thope wayward lips came this tearful prayer. ‘O, (hod quire my mother, that I may look lqffHKi her face in this world.’ Oh, in a few days, when that voice had died out from under'the paternal j roof, how sacred was tlijCt spot to her who gave him birth? ‘lJiere was hope fur the Boy ? he had recognized his mother’s God. By that invisible silken cord, she still held the wiftderer, though broad seas rolled between. Letters came to Moss (sjlen—at stated intervals, then more irregularly, pictur ing only the bright spot in die sailor file, (for Will was proud,.and they were to be scanned by his fatner|i eyes.) The usual temptations of a sailorjh life, when in port were not unknown),to him—of every cup the syren Pleasure held to his lips, he drank to the dregs ; hut there j were moments in his maddest revels, tvlien that angel whisper, ‘God keep my boy,’ daring hancKqud arrest ed that half uttered oath. Disgusted with himself, he would turn aside an in stant, but only to drown again injire reck lessly that small torturing voice. ‘You’re a'stranger in these parts,’ said a rough farmer to a sun burnt trav eler. ‘Look as though ylu had been in foreign parts.’ ‘Do I?’ said Will,:Slouching his hat over his eyes. ‘Who lives in that little cottage under theliiM?’ ( 01d Farmer Low —and a rough cus tomer, lie is, too; it’s a word and a blow with him. The old lady has had a hard i tiq&e of it, good as she, is, to put up with ! hijacks and quirks. She bore it very j Wbll till the lad went away, and then she began to droop like a willow in a storm, and lose all heart, like. Doctor 1 stuff didn’t do any good, as long as she ! got no news of the boy. She’s to bej buried this afternoon, sir.’ Poor Will stayed to hear no more, but tottered in the direction of the. cot tage. He asked no leave to enter, but • cor, intu us, UEOirfaA ’ ‘ru. tut slur, auuust ji, iss*. ’ to tli e litTfo’ 1 ‘best parlor,’ and found himself alone with the dead. It was too true ! Dumb were the lips that shoutd have welcomed him; and tho arms that should have enfolded him were crossed peacefully over the heart that beat true to him till the last. Conscience did its office. Long years of mad folly passed in swift review be fore him, and over that insensible form a vow was made and registered in Heav en. ‘A our mother should have lived to see this day, Will,’ said a grey haired old nian, as he leaned on the arm of the clergyman, and passed into the village church. ‘Bless God, my dear father, there is (joy in Heaven over one sinner that re penteth;’ and of all the angel band, there is one seraph hand that sweeps more rapturously its harp to-day, for ‘the lost- that is found!’ ’ y Fanny Fkknv. * ’ BONAPARTE'S OPINION OF CHRIST. A foreign journal lately published a conversation, related by the Count, de Montholon. the faithful friend of Em peror Napoleon. “I now tell you that Jesus Christ is not a man ! The religion of Christ is a mystery which subsists by its own force, and proceeds from a mind which is not a human mind. We find it in a marked individuality, which originated a train of words and actions unknown before.— J esus b(in-owed nothing from knowledge. IJe exhibited in himself a perfect exam ple of his precepts. Jesus is not a phi losopher, for his proofs are miracles, and from the first, his principles adorned him. In fact, learning and philosophy arc of no use for salvation; and Jesus came into the world to reveal the mys teries of Heaven, and the laws of the Spirit. “Alexander, Cmsar, Charlemagne, and myself founded empires; but on what foundation did we rest the erection of our genius? Upon force. Jesus Christ alone founded his empire upon love , and at this hour millions would die for him. It, was not a day, or a battle that achieved the Christian religion in the world. No, it was a long war—a con test for three centuries—begun by the Apostles, and then continued by the Hood of Christian generations. In this war, if all the kings and potentates of „tUcjdSUth.w/:veayi one. side—on the oth "er, I see no army but nr mysterious force, some men scattered here and there in foil parts of the world, and who nsve no other rallying point than a common faith jin the mysteries of the cross. “I die before my time, and my body be given back to the earth, io be ■ Rune food forAe worms. Such is the fate of himlßfoo has been called the j great Napoleon. What an abyss be j tween my deep misery and the eternal i kingdom of Christ, which is proclaimed, : loved and adored, and which is extend over the whole earth! Call you tins dying? Is it not living, rather?— /The death of Christ is the death of God!” ppNapoleon stopped at tho last words; but pen. Bertraiid making no reply, the Em fearer added: “If you do not perceive that Jesus Christ ispod. I did wrong to appoint j you General.” SpLNE IN A BEER SHOP. ***N\fta#*merprising Dutchman who kept a porter house in New York, gave the i following account at the police, of an ! assault*:)!) Ids premises; speaking of the person commenced the row, he said: “He ccfiruri in, and asked me to sell him soiTuftSu; I told him he had more as would fl®iim goot— he called me a Dutch liarimd pegin to proke two of ray ven me and Hans Speigrer, <mu my vise and dorter Betsy, and all de odder inert and beeples apont my place, pegins to put him out —and presently he coom pact wid more shees like him, and say—M will fix dis peer concern and preak him up, and de shen i tlemens as wants to get trunk may go to ! sbumvers else, and not in this tarn Duch pisen. Den day kick nans Speigler be hind his pack, and kissed my dorter Betsy pefore her face, except de stone butcher, and spilt my vise and me and todder parrels of peer all over de celler. Hans run out der door and called for vatcli house, and my vise called for murder like de tivel, but,pefore ;le vatcb house | come, der tarn rodies proke us all to ! pieces, me and my vise, and dorter Betsy I and ter tarn pottles and tumplers and j blates and dishes, all smashed up toged | der.” Soldieksof 1812. —The following res olution was adopted at a very large | meeting of the soldiers of 1812. held in j Philadelphia lately, i Resolved, That a Convention of all \ who served in the war of ISI2, be held in the city of Philadelphia on the Bth I of January, 1854, to be composed of del | egates from the several States, to decide upon such measures as they shall deem expedient for renewing and keeping alive the records of their past history, apd doing justice to those who may have ; chums upon 6\\r common country. \ Ma H r\ vaAng t 11 fovi. SM9SS&S&}' Ini ’ lira FTprv vommonweattk makes the following extract from a pho nographic report. of a recent sermon by Lev. Ifieodor • barker, of this city. The original of tl. piesure understood to be a lng’iiiv f : ciued resident of New ton : (.'‘W j’ Toe bap; Ist man I have ever known is 01 e fat enough from beiiur rich, in money, an\] who will never he very much neari to it. His calling fits him, and lie likes It), rejoices in its process as much as iulifs result. He has an active mind, wel| filled. lie reads and he thinks. IS i mils his garden before sun rise,. everv/p. in ing, then rides sundry miles by foe vail, does his ten hours work in the t • !• -nee he returns happy and cheerful ji m’ ith his own he catches the earliest siiile of the morning, plucks the first fose of hjs garden, and goes to his workwifh. the little flower in his haiftHll|fe feiffone blossoming out of his heart.’ e runs over with charity, as a cloud van rain ; and it is withfoim as wif.hjtt) cloud—what coming from ! the cloitu is.rain to the meadows, is a i rainbow of glories to the cloud that pours [ it out. Tlic happiness of the affections ! fills up the good man, and lie runs over ! with triendV'dp and love—connubial, 1 parental, filial, friendly, too, and philan thropic beanies. His life is a perpetual “trap to catch a sunbeam,” and it al- j ways “sotbigv’ and takes it in. I know n° ma.j and jA gets more out of life; and tne p /l it is that lie does his duty to to his brother, and to his God. ixiow rich men, and learned men, mei*>f great, social position; and if there is genius in, America, I know tlint, bitt man I have never known! IHI ■ * A DARING LEAP. The following account of this daring deed is tri m the Nashville Banner, of the 25th ult : v A large number of persons collected together Saturday evening to witness the leap of Air. Watkins, from the suspen sion brid<J.‘. At the hour appoints he mountedWie railing, near the centre of the the lower side, waved his hat to and boldly made the leap. AstL' descended, and whop about ten or fifitpn feet from the water, luX threw hijjrlrif back for the purpose of I striking tia’wwater feet foremost, but a little But be miscalculated the distance, owing to'the illusion caused by the canoes in the stream, whieh seemed to .shot. swiftly dpwtq nod caused him to think himself nearer them than he really was, and on reach ing the water, !ii u |body leaned more than lie intended,'€iid he struck partial ly upon Ills back, fi’lic concussion was very severe, and sent the water flying in every direction. On coming to the sur face he attempted to swim, but was too much injured to do so. He was lifted into a canoe, carried to the upper land ing, and : thence borne to his boarding house. He is not. seriously hurt, and will be able, it is thought, to be out in a few days. The height of tho bridge, at the con- j tre, above the water, is 110 feet. HEROISM AND CRUELTY. A most touching instance of heroism, and most atrocious acts of! cruelty, the truth of which is vouched for by the most respectable authority, occurred during the Columbian struggle for independence. The Spanish General, Morillo, the most bloodthirsty and treach erous tool of the Spanish King, who was created count of Carthagenia, and Marquis de la Bueria, for services which rather entitled him to the distinction of butcher or hangman, while seated in his tent one day during the campaign of Carracas, saw a boy before him drowned in tears. The chief demanded of him for what purpose he was there ? The child replied that he hail come to beg the life of his father, then a prisoner, in Morillo’s camp. “What can you do to save your fath er?” asked the General. “I can do but little, hut what I can shall be acme.” Morillo seized he little fellow’s ear, and said, “would yon suffer your ear to be taken oft’ to procure your father’s lib erty ?” “I certainly would,” was the undaunt ed reply. A soldier was accordingly called and ordered io cut oft’ the ear with a single stroke of the knife. The boy wept but did not resist while this barbarous order was executed. “Would you lose your other ear rath-’ er than fail in your purpose ?” was the I next question. “I have suffered much, hut for my fatli or I can suffer still!” was the heroic answer of the boy. fi’lie other car was taken off piecemeal without flinching on the part of the no ble ejaild.., _ - . “And now go!”* exclaimed Morillo,; untouched by his sublime courage, “the father of such a son must die.” In the presence of his agonized and vainly suffering son, the patriot father was then executed. Never did a file picture exhibit such truthful lights and shades in national character, such deep treachercas villainy-—such lofty enthu siastic heroism. AMF WE ALL HONEST ? | The truth is,’ tlit it fa difficult to take a | deliberate survey of all that, is going on around us, or even to look into the mir ror of conscience, without arriving at the conclusion that, on some points, all :of us are but indifferently honest. Do j not be offended, dear reader—we may not include you in the catagory of the ‘ Fitzartluirs. Wc admit that you are jro ! swindler ; and believe that in cash mat ters von are as punctual as a lnim-baliff. But, if you never have in the course of your life commit ted an act which may, without any stretch, be denominated a j I false pretence, you are indeed a pattern ! i of purity, and faultless as an unfathered phoenix. Let me ask you a few ques | tions. Have you not, over and over again, attempted to pass yourself off in aociety M'wa much clover a fclhnv than you re ally are ? Have you not aftecUd to ’ know a great deal upon subjects olj which J you are utterly ignorant—to havefead J books where absolutely unknown tofi by name—and to recognize and appre i ciate quotations in foreign languages whereof you knew no more than the Modes did of malt liquor? Have you not,’ in order to suit yourself to your company, feigned to hav e a horror for things which, in private yen enjoy with die keenest relish ? Hypocrite that yon are ! why did yon, when dining with the Marquis of Tokay, join in the general denunciation of beer as brutal, at the time your whole being was possessed with an intense craving for stingo? With our own ears wo heard you, in one circle, avow your admiration of the opera as the grandest of intellectual de lights; and not an hour afterwards, at tin Durcow’s Head, you gave it as your deliberate opinion that a lino British spectacle at Astev’s was worth all tjie foreign catterwauling in the universes— Dare you go up to that dowager and tell her that you smoke six cigars every day of your life, or that you are addicted to brandy and water? Not you. You wish her to suppose, and do your utmost, to encourage the delusion, that you are a most agreeable, amiable, faultless young man, without any of the vices which are unfortunately too common, ynd that you never are otherwise than j you seem when discoursing uielliiluous :ly upon the poetry £>f art; Heaven and earth! ts she could only see you after wards in the club smoking-room. Well, we don’t blame you for wishing to main* tainra •gvitJ Hmaatea# .•->i\<i*My keeping flic cloven foot concealed in the tidiest of possible boots. Only be charitable, and let the senses of your own weakness teach you not to press over hard upon others. In this ago of ours, there is a good deal j of the Pharasaical spirits abroad, which we take to he somewhat akin to the cruel impulse which leads animals to attack the wounded of their kind.— Blackwood's Magazine. HOW A MAN FEELS WITH HIS HEAD OFF. It is considcrod on all sides that the body j does not feel one instant after deeupiia-! tion; for the brain being the seat of sen- j sation to the whole frame, through the medium of the spinal marrow, every part of the body being beneath the joint at which the latter may be divided, must be deprived of feeling. Bat it by no means follows that the head is deprived of sensation immediately after decapita tion, nor that it may not retain its con sciousness, and, like the head of the Irish Knight who was killed hy Saladin in the Holy War, get up and declare that it was never cut off by so sweet a scim itar before, nor like that of the assassin Lo gare, swear roundly at the executioner for not keeping a keener axe; bun it is quite possible that it may be troubled with very serious reflections upo® the irrevocability of its fate, and the awful ness of its deprivation. In support of this unpleasant theory, many facj are adduced, with grave vouchers for their authenticity. Among others is thd&Sttni* fortunate Queen of Scotts, wlmse lips continued to move in prayer fofat least a quarter of an hour after the ej&cution ef had” performed Ins Wftidt states that, having put his 100111$ to the ear of a decapitated criminal's head, and called him byname, the eyes turned to the side from whence tho voiqfc came; and this fact is attested by Foateuello, Mogoric, Gullotine, And Aldi ni. On the word murder being called, in the case of a criminal executed for that crime at Goblentz, the'half closed , eyes opened wide with an expression of tune 2, 1853. jj. t. ©iy)iMiMAiNi fl o. ©= ©., Surgical A. Mechanical Dentist, COLUMBUS, GEORGIA. a FOSTER * FEBPLe’s JEWELRY STORE, 69, BROAD ST. 3£lumbus, Feb. 8, 1858. 1 I Decidedly cool.” 1 JRT G. STRUPPER’S ICE CREAM SESS * JL, SALOON will be open to thOC. blic THIS DAY. Lovers of Strawberries 1 Cream, will make tliciv arrangemer ts ac !£& l - G - STRUPPER > April 81, 1833—12 ts. Randolph Street. BATES OF MVERTlsiNlijjf Advi'tkvmeiit lawrtod at Ok* iv...,y ----tesasj&as? *•” Ali tier til deiiietiou -Hill made f.. ..-.fet advei-tit<emeiilß. # • Advert ittemeuts inilArtccl at, the uatiil ! Ad without limitation, w j[| du!>- | Hsiu and llitlir torhid, and charged aeeorjjfcty 1 \ NO. 28. THE wflPffc’ Tim (’nous jx Viiftimr a.—Tim win- it harvest being now over, we are enabled • to sav that the crop in Frederick and the , adjoining counties is a full average one j ~ tlie loss 011 some farms by the fly and joint-worm being loss serious than was anticipated, and far from sufficient to al - the general result. The wheat ripen* ed very rapidly, and those who had a nug’o breadth to get in will, of course, lose something by shattering. In Shenandoah, the Tenth Legion sa vs; “The crop is a much heavier one than j was anticipated a few weeks ago. It is | true, in many instances, the late sown wheat, and particularly the smooth varie ties, were very much injured; yet the crop, as a whole, taking into considera tion the superior quantity of the grain, will not fall far short of an average one.” The Martinsbijrg Republican states that “the crop of the county is a full av erage, and the wheat is of superior quality.” * The Martinshurg Gazette says: “The wheat harvest is ended, and the .expectations of the husbandmen aro more than realized. The quantity is, we are glad to learn, fully equal to “that, of last, year, and the quality first rate. The prospect for a good crop of corn is fair. The Romney Intelligencer thus speaks for Ilamshire: “Along the Branch, in this county the wheat crop is remarkably good, and in the other portions of the county, we be lieve, u much more plentiful crop has been reaped than was hoped for early in the spring. “The corn, though it lias suffered severely for the want of rain, Is very capable of resuscitation. Several show ers on Sunday last, and a very line one during the same night, have broken up —we hope finally—the long drought.” Detroit, July B.—l arrived here last night from the interior. Fanner* aro busy now cutting wheat. They have had eooi, comfortable weather to begin with. The crop will turn out fine from the threshing machine. The straw is short, hut that is of no value here. With vour Jersey and Long Island farmers it forms an important item. The.price will prob ably range from 75 to 9u cents. Good crops for several had an effect upon the price of land. Lfxixoto.n>, July ‘9.—The best crop of . wheat ever grown in Kentucky has bean housed. The season has- been exactly suited to that crop. Some Australian ■ wheat grown by John L. Elbert, 1 Is-much talked of. ,Ciiicagot, July 8. —Such a good crop of wheat never grew before in this great wheat region. The yield per acre is great and quality excellent. Corn is everywhere backward, and Hay short: Oats do, Ottawa, 111., July 9.—This is a year of abundance among farmers. They are now busy cutting AVlieat. The crop is bettor than it has beeii in years. Oats arc just heading —the straw is short, Recent rains have improved Com and Rota toes. Paris, 111., July 7. —The Wheat liar vest is over; the yield is beyond prece dent; the berry good and uninjured by flies. Corn never looked better. Oats are short but head well. Grass light. AND WIIAT NEXT? A gentleman riding near the city, overtook ft well dressed young man., and invited him to a seat in his carriage. “And what (said tlio gentleman totho young stranger) are your plans leg the future f” “I am a clerk,” replied the young man, “and my hope is to succeed, and get into business for myself.” “Ami what next f asked the gentle man, “W hy, I intend to, marry, and set up au establishment of my own,” said the youth. •. “And what next?” continued the in terrogator. “Why, to continue in business and ac cumulate wealth.” . “Amfwhat next?*’ “It is the lot of all to die, and I, of course, cannot escape,” replied the young | man, “And what next/” once more asked the gentleman ; but the young man had j no answer to make—he bad no purposes that reached beyond the present life ! llow many young men are in precise ly the same condition ! Their plans em brace only this life—what pertains to the world to come has no plaee in all tlieir plans,— Traveler. * Corn Meal,’ ~ -’ - - - OO ctslmsb. yr The highest eash prices paid forOornami ‘Wheat. D. A. IVIW. City Mill, June 16, 1853. 20 tf^ Billiard Table lor Sale. ONE of WIN A NTS splendid MAKBLS BED BILLIARD TABLES, with fixtures complete, for sale low, by F.. E. BROWN, Macon, <'h, 1 Columbus, Feb. 8. FOR SALE AT THIS^JCJL^ SUCH a. CA. SA. BONDS, aI-ABAMA^P^