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?qI ■ - - a, ■-ihX""''- ' THE COUNTRYMAN. By J. A. TURNER. “INDEPENDENT IN EVERYTHING NEUTRAL IN NOTHING ” $5 lor Three Months. VOL, XX. TURNWOLD (NEAR EATONTON) GA., TUESDAY, JANUARY 3, 1865. NO 1. Volume XI. This is the 20th year since we began to write for the public, and this year will, if we live, present our readers with the 20th volume of The Countryman. Since we began to write, we have not sacrificed truth to popularity, nor honesty to success. ’For nearly a score of years, our writings have been marked by distinctive southern sentiment, and antipathy to everything that is anti-southern. During that time, we have been reviled, persecuted, and cruelly entreated for our attachment to our section. Notwithstanding this, we love the south still, and are determined, if fate so ordains it, to die by her. Now, in the day of her adversity, and the hour of her imminent peril, wheD treason aims a blow at her bleeding heart, and despotic power sorely presses her down, now, more than ever, we love her more and more. Faults she may have had—wrongs she may have committed, but we know noth ing else but to love her. “We know not, we ask not if guilt be in thy heart, We but know that we love thee, whatever thou art.” And this being the case, we shall still la- bor for our country. Whatever fate be tides her, that fate shall be ours. If she must die the death, we cannot—we will not survive her.—But die, the South will not. She may be, as she has been, trod den in the dust. She may, and probably will be compelled to quaff the chalice to its bitter dregs. But after all, she will arise, and shine forth. The darkness which surrounds her, will break, and roll away : and, at last, with one grand ho sanna to the Lord.of Lords, and King of Kings, she will stand forth in her might, and the nations shall know, and feel her power. This will be so, if the sons of the south will be but true to her. Many of them must bite, as many have bitten the dust: the homes of many of them will still be made desolate: the blood of our braves will yet water the earth. But by and by, peace will come with healing in her wings, and with earth’s immortal sons shall be written the names of Lee, and Beauregard, and Jackson, and Johnston, and Forrest, and Hood, and thousands of others, as brave, though not so distinguished as they. The sons of the south must work for ber, and among the laborers in the holy cause, in our humble sphere, we shall work on, and work ever. The press is a mighty lever in the holy cause of liberty : it cannot be dispensed with, in this revo lution. As an humble member of the fraternity of the press, we shall still labor for the south. Every effort on our part shall be directed to the achievement of her independence. And not only will we urge the separate nationality of the south, as a political community, but we shall go on, in the fu ture, as in the past, to endeavor to ad- vance her productive, and manufacturing independence. We mean to produce all we can, and manufacture all we can : and we mean to uphold, with our pen, all oth er producers, and manufacturers, both against the yankees who would consume them with the torch, and those worse than yankees—the demagogues among us, who, with the specious cry of speculation and extortion, would crush them out with popular indignation. In our own efforts for the success of our country, we have survived, so far, the sword and flame of the open enemy, and the slanders, and calumnies of the secret foe. With our crest still erect, our colors still streaming defiance in the breeze, we trim our sails for another year’s voyage, and never felt safer and more buoyant, since we began the passage of life’s sea. Not because the apparent dangers which surround us aie not now more imminent than ever, but because we become more fully persuaded, as we grow older, that the same Hand that raises the storm, guides it. And the Head that rules that Hand has said, that not even a sparrow falls to the ground without his will. What is it to us, then, that the rains descend, and the winds 'blow, and the timbers creak aloud—the timbers in the good ship upon which we hold our onward course—what matters it, we say, if those timbers creak aloud in the whistling storm ? If the Great Pilot wills it, we shall safely ride the whirlwind to the port we seek : and if be wills it oth erwise, we shall only find the moorings he desires. With faith in our hearts then, and courage in our bands, come, brother mariners aboard the southern ship, and let us bieast the winds and the waves, another twelve-month. . “ Those who fish for compliments, gen erally get a bite.” Literary Men.—“We often hear of the charms of literary society. We copy this very graphic summary of the conversation of literary men : Tasso’s conversation was neither gay nor brilliant. Dante was neither taciturn nor satirical. Butler was sul len,.or biting. Gray seldom talked, or smiled. Hogarth, and Swift were very absent-minded in company. Mil- ton was very unsociable, and even irritable, when pressed into conversa tion. Kirwan, though copious and eloquent in public addresses, was mea gre, and dull, in colloquial discourse. Virgil was heavy in conversation. LaFontaine appeared heavy, coarse, and stupid ; he coaid not speak and describe what he had just seen ; but then he was the model of poetry. Chaucer’s silence was more agreeable than his conversation. Dry den’s con versation was slow, and dull—his hu mor saturnine and reserved. Cor neille, in conversation, was bo unin spired that he never failed in weary ing ; he did uot even speak correctly that language of which he was such a master. Ben Jonson use to sit silent in company, and suck his wine, and their humors. Southey was stiff, se date, and wrapped up in asceticism. Addison was good company, with his intimate friends, but, in mixed com pany, he preserved his dignity by a stiff and reserved silence. Fox, in conversation, never flagged ; his ani mation and variety were inexhausti ble. Dr. Bently was loquacious—so, also, was Grotius. Goldsmith ‘wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll.’ Burke was entertaining, en thusiastic, and interesting in convern sation. Ourran was a couvivial deity. Leigh Hunt is ‘ like a pleasant stream’ in conversation. Carlyle doubts, ob jects, and constantly demurs." London Post Office.—The mails are closed in such manner as to give the greatest possible facilities to the public. The general evening mails close, in the first instance, at 6 o’clock; but additional letters may be put in until 7, on payment of an additional penny ; aud until 7£, for an additional sixpence. This arrangemeut brings in the great bulk of the man n time for easy making up. It st cures to the public, likewise, the opportunity of sending off important lette.s, up to the latest possible moment.— British Almanac, J864.