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JOHN H. SEALS,
NEW SERIES, VOLUME IIL
C|t Ctntperanct (faakr.
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<3&auaaD asaiO>
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wifl receive the paper at ... - copy.
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Any person sending os Five new subscriber*, inclo
sing the money, shall receive ah extra copy one year
free of cost.
• oos
ADVERTISING DIRECTORY:
Sates of Advertising:
l square, (twelve lines or loss,) first insertion, $1 00
“ Bach continuance, 30
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six
lines, per year, 3 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, S 00
Standing Advertisements:
jEt" Advertisements not marked with the number of
insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged
accordingly.
for advertising by the year on reasonable terms.
Legal Advertisements :
Sale of Lander Negroes, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors and Guardians, per sqaare, 3 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors and Guardians, per square, 3 33
Notiee to Debtors and Creditors, 3 33
Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letter* of Dismission from Adxn’u, 500
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guard'p, 3 25
Legal Requirement!:
Sales of Land and Negroes by Administrators. Exec
utors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on
the First Tuesday in the month, between the hours of
ten ia the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the
Court-house door of the county in which the property is
•ituate. Notice* of these sales must be given in a pub
lic Ga*ette,/arty day* previous to the day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given
at least ten days previous to the day of sele.
Notices to Debtors and Creditors of an estate, must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court of ;
Ordinary, for leave to Bell Land or Negroes, must be pub
lished weekly for tiro month*.
Citations for Letters of Administration, must be pub
lished thirty days —for Dismission from Administration
monthly, eir month*- for Dismission from Guardianship.
forty day*.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published :
monthly, for four month* —for compelling titles from Ex* j
ecutora or Administrators, where a bond ba been issued
by the deceased, the full space of three month*.
Publications will always be continued according j
to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwiso or- >
dared. JOHN A. REYNOLDS,Publisher, j
OFFICERS GRAND LODGE RITIGHTB OF JERICHO, j
TERM OF OFFICE DATING FROM FTH SEPT. 183 T.
W. D. WILLIAMS, of Oxford. G W C
THOS DOUGHERTY, of Moron. G W V C
WM. G. FORSYTH, of Atlanta. G W Ret
WM. F. ROSS, of Macon. G W M
LEE STRICKLAND, of Griffin. GW S
H. C-. CARTER, of Calhoun, G W Chop {
E. M. PENDLETON, of Sparta, GWPC
■LL ."'""I I—l Li!! - ‘-l-Ui-!.. U i
A LL NOTES dr, ACCOUNTS I
HfiSfe A duo the firm of PHELPS & j
SEALS tor the rear 1856. not paid j
bv the 15th MARCH, will be sued j
INDISCRIMINATELY.
Feb 18, 1858 ■
THE
Georgia Educational Journal,
THE TEACHERS FRIEND &ud PUPIL'S ASSISTANT,
PUBLISHED WEEKLY IN QUARTO FORM,
in FORSYTH, GA. at $2 00 foroiw> year, or *1 00
for 6 ir>o.
t
Every
in Georgia ought to have this paper.
Address
‘Georgia Educational Journal,’ Forsyth, Ga.
GEO. F. WILBURN, M. D.
Editor.
Feb 18, mb ly
SIMM,
DRS. COE & LATIMER would inform their friends
and patients that one of the firm will constantly
remain in Greenesboro’, and that the other will be fauna
in the following places at the times specified below :
White Plains, from March Ist to March 14th.
Mount Zion, “ “ 15th to “ 28th.
Oxford, “ April 12th to April 25th.
Penfield, “ “ 26th to May 9th.
As this time table will be strictly adhered to, those
who call early will be most likely to receive attention.
Feb 25th, 1858
NEW BUSINESS,
<S3esnr<o
TIIE subscriber, having no engagements, is
ready to receive any offers to sell goods or keep
books for any mercantile house or houses in Georgia, or i
to receive any offers from capitalists in the line, who j
may wish an energetio man to buy and sell and attend
to the details. Any letters worthy of attention will be
replied to. Address W. S. HAGBY.
March 4-4 t
The firm of j. m. bowles & 00. is this
day dissolved by mutual consent, Wm. B. Seals
retiring. The business will be continued by J. M.
Bowles at the same stand, where he will keep, at all
times, a fall supply of Family Ch-oceriee, and will be
ready and willing to sen e his friends at very Short Pro
fit for the CASH. J. M. BOWLES,
Feb 23 WM. B. SEALS.
Greene Sheriffs Sale.
WILL be sold before the Court-house door in
the city of Greenesboro. on the Ist Tuesday in
April next, between the legal hours of sale, fltc following
property, to-wit
The store-house and lot near Union Point t Levied
o by virtue of a Justice’s Court fi.fa. issued from the
148th District, G. M. in favor of John F. Zimmerman
v*. Robert Newsome. Levied on and returned to me
by Hiram Rouzce, Constable.
Also, a negro girl about five years old. of blank com
plexion, bv name of Julia : Levied on by virtue of two
Justice's Court JL fax. issued from the 140th District,
G. M. in favor of William A. Colelough & Cos. r*. V.
Tuggle. Levied on bv C. B. Mitchell, Constable.
w I. MORRISON. Shff.
March 2, 1858.
LOST OR STOLEN.
A LL persons are forewarned against trading for
the following notes t A note on Wm F Luekie for
Seventeen Dollars and lorty Cents, dated in April or
May last, and due tho twenty fifth December thereaf
ter: one on Wm Moore for Twelve Dorian- and Twen
ty-five Cents, dated in May or June last, and due the
twenty-fifth December thereafter; one on David Phelps
of Hancock eounty for Twenty Dollars, dated in March
fast and due from date; and one on John Mitchell of
Mount Zion for Seventeen Dollars Twelve and a-half
cants, dated in April last, and due the twenty-fifth of
December thereafter.
The above notes were made payable to the subscriber
as guardian of free boys Jerry and Ben ; and the ma
kers of the same arc requested to make payment to no
person except myself or my order.
THOMAS D. SANFORD.
Gresnesbore’, March 4, 1858.
■ if EDITRESS' 1 \\
| (V oXPcwipaMPUaaaaamao J)
By Mn. 91. K. Bryan.
MOSS-SIDE.
THE February No. of Emerson's Magazine con
tains a review of this last work of Marion Har
j land, so crude, so unjust and sjnteful, that we think
1 it mast have been written in a fit of indigestion,
lor in the bitter spirit of Northern prejudice
j against Southern literary productions. Thecritio
condemns the book in tote —pronounces the style
\ inflated and the subject illy chosen, maintaining
[ that “ the Bphere of the domestic circle can never
ibe made artistic.” As to the first objection, all
who read the book impartially, will agree with
us that the style of narration is remarkable for
graceful simplicity, while in the easy, natural lan
guage of conversation the fair author is superior
to any of our female writers, with the exception,
perhaps, of Mrs. NeaL
But the merciless critique of Moss-side objects
jto the subject. The story is simply one of do
j raestic life, illustrating such trials and duties;
l detailing such incidents and delineating such
1 characters, as we might meet in even’ day life.
The lessons inculcated, are those of patience, self
denial, self-reliance and filial affection. There
are no startling occurrences, no improbable train
of events, no unnatural characters.
This is as we would wish it to be. We are glad
to see that a purer taste is being formed; that the
old impossibility scorning-school of romance is
becoming un popular, and that our best female
writers are beginning to devote their talents to il
lustrating the sphere of domestio lifo—weaving
deathless garlands to beautify the fireside shrine.
Such books as Moss-side have a refining and el-;
evating tendency. They engender no vain long- :
I ings, no unhallowed passions, no disoon ten ted re-;
j pinings. Their influence is healthful and purify
i ing, and they may be safely placed in the hands j
’ of youth and innocence.
— 'tmsaszm* —
A RAINY DAY’S GOSSIP.
RAIN, rain! All day the sky has been mantled j
with a gray pall of clouds, and the rain-drops :
have fallen steadily, with a low, lulling music, j
The golden goblets of the yellow jasmine, cl us- ;
; f firing near the window, are filled to overflowing !
with crystal drops, and the little brown spar- j
; rows nestle beneath the vines, dripping wet and !
| shivering with cold. A regular fast day it has I
< been to them, as well ae to all the rest of the sea- I
’ thered tribe, dependent upon their own diligence i
for their daily bread; but to us it has been a day j
|of quiet, half indolent enjoyment. Sitting here, \
‘[ with the crimson flames of a rich lightwood fire j
i sending a ruddy glow through our study, we have
; been dreaming over the pages of that delightful
compound of wit and tenderness, fancy and feel
ing, “The mid-summer night's dream.”
The most charming of all books for a rainy day,
are the “ Fairy Queen” of Spencer and the ligh
! ter and more fancifbl playa of Bhakspeare. The
mind is too indolent (thanks to the soothing mu
| sic of the rain) to follow any train of reasoning,
I or be bewildered by philosophical theories, and
i is just in the mood to deliver itself up without
• reserve to the airy magic of fancy. There are
j times, however, when the mind is so steeped in
1 dreamy langor, that even this mental process
: calls for too much exertion. It was in one of
| these mo xls that our book was thrown aside, and
| looking steadily into the glowing fire, we betook
: ourselves to idle speculation.
We wondered how many parties of pleasure!
j this continued min had broken up, how many !
pretty lips have pouted and eyes swam in tears, j
jas their owners turned away from the window i
j with the peevish exclamation, t-hat “it never j
; would stop raining;” how Fanny, who has no car-1
riage, thinks ruefully of the ball to-night, and i
! how badly muddy streets and white kid slippers j
: agree: and Nellie, who has reason to expect a ]
j visit from a certain privileged individual, fears a j
I bitter disappointment, while her little sister thanks i
her stars, that instead of getting spineache over I
puzzling sums and enigmatical lessons, she may j
arrange the paraphamalia of her dolls and play i
l>o-peep with the baby.
In the luxurious boudoir of her far-off city j
homo, Miss Isabella reclines on a purple
in a rather shabby dressing-gown, with hair still
in curl papers, and cheeks retaining a portion of:
last night’s artificial blushes.
What matter! There are only Papa and bro
ther Charles to see her to-day; and then she is
preparing for new conquests, as she sits there
idly holding a half-open volume of Dumas, deba
ting the delicate question of point-lace and Brus
; sols.
Madam LaMode spends the day in inventing a
; new sleeve, Mrs. Grundy puts on shawls and
rubbers, and makes it a point of duty to go over
and tell “ that poor young married thing ” that ]
her husband was overly polite to a pretty Milli- ]
ner this morning, while in our own prosperous !
Southern homes, the farmer’s rosy-cheeked, good j
j humored wife, in her neat chintz dress ar.d checked j
j apren, flies from kitchen to work-room, her great i
| bunch of keys “ making music wherever she goes,”
superintending the rainy day's work of weaving,
spinning, carding and sewing, passing through a
dozen or two pairs of busy hands.
It is T. 8. Arthur, we believe, who advises every
Ceolobs in search of a wife to pay unexpected
j visits on rainy days; but this, we think, is hardly
: fair. No one feels in the humor for being prim
and particular on a rainy day. Judging from our
own experience, we should say that company on
such days is rather a bore; at least, we find it far,
more pleasant to sit here, watohing the rain de
scending like liquid jewels, falling on the young
j leaves and springing grass like the fairy foot-falls
‘of coming spring, while the tiny rivulets hurry
• down the gravelled slope, bearing the crimson
leaves of shattered roses on their sparkling sur
face.
An Unwelcome Recognition. —On the arrival of
a company of girls at Bloomington, lowa, last
week, under the care of an agent of the women’s
emigration society of New York, a gentleman of
Bloomington came to select a girl to work in his
. family. He was carefully faces be
; fore him, when all at once he started as if sudden
: ly shots turned pale, and was about to make a sud
den retreat, when one of the young ladies walked
: up to him and said, “I’ll go with this gentleman;
j I’ve lived with him before; he’s my husband!
j My dear Thomas, what made yon leave .me five
j years age without saying and why
| did’nt you let me know you were living in such
a beautiful place as Bloomington? If I had only
known you were living here, I would have)eome.
! The “ dear Thomas ” got away and took to hi*
heels, and the unwelcome wife followed close in
I pursuit. The result of the race had not trans
pired when the Bloomington paper went to
( press.
THE ADOPTED ORGAN OF ALL THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE.
PENFIELS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 11, 1 868.
MARIAN EDGELY.
*T MART *. BRTAX. ’Cf
CHAPTER IV.
fißffias Edgely,” began Dr. Ellison, after a pre.
JVL paratory silence, “I am well aware of the
indulgence with which you are regarded, I
know that you can say and do things that would
be viewed as most astonishing in any other than
the privileged Marian Edgely; but I must say,
that a private interview of several hours’ length
with a man of Leonard's calibre, and in his own
room too, is carrying your disregard of public
opinion rather too far.‘\
“f cannot imagine, Dr. Ellison, by what right
you question the propriety of my conduct,” re
plied Marian, calmly; “I am old enough, I be
lieve, to judge for myself, and I am not conscious
of having in any manner laid ifaide the dignity
and modesty of my sex. Nay, I feel all the quiet
joy of an approving conscience; I feel that X have
performed my duty to a fellow-being, and Ido
not, and cannot believe, that any one whose opin
ion I value will attach blame to my conduct.”
“So, you call your tete-a-tete with a man of
disgraceful character a very dignified proceeding,
I suppose ? lam sorry to be compelled to differ
with you,” persisted Dr. Ellison, who was fast
losing command of his temper; but the angry
tush faded from his cheek as ho encountered
Marian’s glance of haughty superiority, and saw
the quiet dignity with which she removed her hand
from his arm. He had seen her look thus before,
and her calm indignation always subdued his
fiery temper.
“Now you are angry with me, Marian,” he
said, changing his tone to one of conciliatory ten- ’
derness. “ Nay ; do not look at me so; I did not. |
mean to wound you. It seems that you and I j
are fated to differ and disagree; and yet, Marian,
you know that I love you better than any other
I have ever met; that to alter Shakspear a little,
‘I would rather hear you chide than other woman :
woo.’ But you must acknowledge, my princess,
that you are a little—-just a little eccentrio, or
romantic is the better word—in spite of what
people say about your practical common sense.
But that is of no consequence, though I foresee I
shall have to put a slight curb on your quixotic
propensities when we are married. And this is
what I wished to speak to you about, Marian,”
he continued, without giving her time to reply;
“ you have never said in so many words, that you
would marry me, but your manner has justified
me in believing so. Your uncle is anxious for
our union to take place shortly, and so am I.
When shall it be, Marian?”
“ Never, Dr. Ellison,” said Marian, quietly.
The Doctor laughed. “How emphatic you
are!” he exclaimed, gaily; “ but I see how it is:
you are a little vexed with me still. How exact*
ing you ladies are! Well, I will even confess
that I was hasty and unjust, and request you to
pardon me. What say you now, my fair Zenobia?”
“That I cannot marry you, because I do not
now, and never will, love you well enough to be
come your wife.”
He turned to her almost fiercely—“ Heartless
coquette!” he said, “ you have lured me on to
this by every art in your power; you cannot deny
that you have; but I know the cause of your sud
den ohange. This miserable sot, whose worthless
life I have preserved, has dared to stand between
me and the woman who was all but my affianced
wife. Ah! you change color, and well may your
cheek redden with shame at this disgraceful
infatuation; but you oannot deny it.”
“Nor will I,” replied Marian, struggling to re
tain her composure. “ I will not deny that I
love Askly Leonard, and that I hope one day to
be proud to own it before the world. I will ac
knowledge, too, that I once thought it possible
in time to esteem you sufficiently well to many
you, especially as it was the urgent wish of my
unele. I love you still, os a friend, Dr. Ellison,
and I wish alwayß to do so. You have known me
almost from childhood, and I have confided in
you as in an elder brother. I wish our friendly
intercourse still to continue, for I should greatly
regret to lose the esteem of so old and valued a
friend. See I we are at the gate; will you walk
in, Dootor?”
“ No,” returned Dr. Ellison, shortly; “ 1 have
dene with being so silly as to seek the society of
your treacherous sex.”
“I think you had better come in,” persisted
Marian, good-humoredly. “ The mail yesterday
brought us a letter from Kate, written on the eve
of her return. We expect her to-night, and she
bade mo tell you that you must be here to receive
her, for her welcome would not be complete un
less you oocupied your favorite arm-chair in the
corner, which, you remember, she oalls your Sen
ator’s seat. Will you not walk in now?” opening
the gate and looking up archly into the Doctor’s
face.
“Yes, if it is Miss Kate’s request. It will be
really cheering to see her sunny face and hear
her clear, joyous laugh again—the little, flutter
ing, April-hearted creature. She is worth a dozen
of your independant, strong-minded females with
their * grand, gloomy and peculiar ways.’ ”
“ Certainly she is,” oried Marian, laughingly.
* And this is man’s philosophy,
When woman is untrue.
The loss of one but teaches him
To make another do,’ ”
Site half said, half sang to him as he handed her
up the steps. Hearts are often caught in the re
bound, and Dr. Ellfoon turned for consolation to
the charming little fairy, who blushed with de
light at seeing him again, and sat on the low otto
man at his feet in her pretty, child-like way, clap
ping her hands and laughing merrily at his witty
anecdotes and playful sallies.
One year from the time of Kate’s return, the
young moon ushered in her bridal eve, and the
specie us halls of Beverly place were thrown open
to a large party of guests, including all the res
pectability of Somerton and the surrounding
neighborhood, to witness her marriage with Dr.
Ellison. The hospitality of the host was prover
bial; and besides, Judge Beverly was a candidate
for Governor, and well knew the value of lus
genial smiles and the heart-warming influence ot
the generous old Madeira that graced his cellars.
So in all the dignity of his portly figure, the Judge
stood among his numerous guests, bowing and
smiling blandly, and suffering his glance to rest
occasionally with pardonable pride upon his only
daughter, who looked a veritable angel in the
floating cloud of lace enveloping her ti iy figure.
Marian, too, was there, unaltered in appearance;
for dress never changed Marian Edgely, and she
looked not more queenly in her rich satin and
pearls than she did in the gray serge dress and
gypsy hat, in which she visited her uncle’s char
ity-school, nursed the siek of Somerton and
wwd.4 tk bkkM girtu te tf* \
cabbages she had obtained a prise at the yearly
agricultural fair. And there, too, in immaculate
satin vest and closely fitting white kills, was Au
gustus Fits Allan, whose late European tour had,
in Us opinion, greatly improved his appear
ance, inasmuch aa it had imparted a rather sav
age curl to his moustache, and given him the
” foreign air,” so irresistible to young ladies just
emerged from the bread-and-butter age.
“Mith Edgely,” he exclaimed, sauntering up
to Marian and interrupting her conversation with
a distinguished but plainly dressed lady, “don’t
you feel very thad to thee all yqur friendth mar
rying in thith way and leaving you behind ?”
“ Not at all,” replied Marian : “ I am neither
selfish nor envious, and believing the marriage
state to be generally a happy one, I am pleased
to see the good fortune of my friends.”
“ If you think tho, why don’t you follow their
example ? You thall not'have it for an excuthe
that yon can’t, for I will marry you mythelf at a
moraenthe notithe,” and he looked back with
a enrt~etted simper for the admiring smile of his
teady.
“ Thank you,” said Marian, scarcely knowing
whether to be amused or angry at his imperti
nence ; “ but I hardly think I am capable of
taking charge of you,” and she measured him
cap-a-pie with a cold, contemptious air.
He was slightly abashed at first, but he rallied
again, and meditating a revenge, he asked Marian
her age, insinuating that if she wished to marry,
a little haste would be expedient.
“ I am ‘on the sunny side of thirty, I believe,”
replied Marian, briefly, and calling the lady’s
attention to an exquisite statuette that adorned a
niche at a little distance, she turned away ab
: ruptly from the amazed Augustus, who, next
j morning, reported through Somerton that Miss
! Edgely had acknowledged to him that she was
j thirty years old.
! A little later, Marian was leaning upon the arm
j of Prof. Somers, earnestly discussing the proper
j ties of anew gas he was sure he had been first to
j discover.
” ’Pon honor,” exclaimed a young gentleman
neap her, levelling his lorgnette at the open door,
” If there isn't Ashly Leonard 1 Wonder to what
new caprice we owe the honor of his presenoe?”
“ Ashly Leonard !” exclaimed an enthusiastic
young lady, fresh from boarding school. “ Oh,
how glad I ami Is that he shaking hands with
Judge Beverly? Oh! mama look at him—Ashly
Leonard, the author of that charming book—‘The
Marveilles', you know. How noble he looks!
just as I had imagined him. Oh! Mr. St. Clair,
won’t you introduce me ? I'm dying to tell him
what I think of Jacqueline, and how I cried over
that self-sacrificing Isabella.”
Marian looked up. It had been long since she
had met Ashly, and now his social position was
greatly changed. Whenever he appeared in
society, he was lionized and admired as the au
thor of a popular work and a young man of tal
ent and professional ability; but Marian had per
fect faith in Ashly’s love, and she felt no fear
thata shadow would ever rise between their hearts.
In that crowded assembly they had little oppor
tunity for conversation, but their eyes met in
silent language and they lingered while over the
engravings on the centre table, till Col. Weldon,
her uncle’s gentlemanly, political opponent led
her to the piano, where an admired musical pro
ficient hod just executed a difficult aria of Mas
singhi’s. Marian chose something in a different
style, and sang with muoh taste and sweetness a
song to which she had herself composed the
music:
My brother, go not baok;
The spell is broken now;
I know it by the healthfnl glow
That mantles on thy brow;
I know it by the clear, calm light.
That sparkles in thine eyes ;
I know it by the pleasant smile
That on thy red lip Lcs.
Thoa hast thrown off the syren spell,
The temptei’s power is o’er;
The chain that bound thy glorious mind
Shall fetter thee no more.
And onward, upward lies the path
Thy eager feet shall tread,
And fame her brightest bays shall wreath*
To crown thy youthful head.
Men grasp thy hand end speak thy praise,
Ana woman’s smiles are thine;
But Oh ! thou knovo'tt the grateful joy
That thrills this heart of mine.
I have stood by thee in thine hour
Os loneliness and shame ;
I did not love thee less than now,
When glory gilds thy name.
Then, brother, go not back;
Turn from the tempting wine ;
Thy guerdon shall be wealth and fame,
And love and joy be mine.
Every heart in the assembly thrilled to the
touching, pleading sweetness of the song, but
Marian’s eyes sought only one countenance and
rested there a moment with an expression of
infinite tenderness. As she arose from the piano,
she encountered the laughing eyes of Dr. Ellison.
“ I understand it, Marian,” he whispered. “You
were right in refusing me after all. What a no
ble fellow ho is proving himself to be I But who
would have supposed it then t So much for your
researches in physiognomy, Marian.”
“And phrenology, Doctor,” she added, laugh
ing, as she accepted his profered arm.
“ And so, Marian Edgely is really married,”
said Fanny Ellis to her cousin Anna Somers, as
she threw aside her straw flat for a long morning
visit.
“Yes, it took place very quietly at her unde’s
this morning, and the bridal pair have accompa
nied Judge Beverly to Charleston.”
” And to marry young Leonard, of all men!”
“ And why not, co*?”
“Oh 1 because when I left Somerton two years
ago, he was only a common street-drunkard, and
I can think of him aa nothing else.”
“Oh 1 but you have heard of his reform?” in
terposed Anna, eargerly. “He stands high in
his profession, papa says; and he is spoken of
as a writer of genius and ability. There is a little
romance connected with their engagement. You
remember how kind Bhe was to him daring his
illness just before you left ; and it has eome out
since, that she had him taken up from the street,
where he had fallen one stormy night through
intoxication. It seems that she influenced him
to reform, and they have betrothed ever since.
Quite romantic, iS’ntit?” ‘io s
- Very; but would you not hesitate to trust a
reformed inebriate ? What say you, uncle?” as
she raised her head, and observed that the old
chemist had dosed his Liebig and was listening
to the conversation.
“That all woman are not like Marian Edgely,
and all reformed drunkards not to be relied upon
like young Leonard,” said the Professor senten
tiously, as he gathered up a handful of fossils
and iwtiredtp his laboratory. ; u . v ‘ 1 ’
. . .. i-v . tii _
WOMAJf.
What highest prize hath woman won
In science or in art Y
What mightiest work by woman done,
Loet city, field or mart f
“ She hath no Raphiel {” Painting saiih ;
** No Newton!” Learning cries;
“ Show us her steamship! her Mcßeth !
Her thought-won victories!”
Wait, boastful man ! Though worthy are
Thy deeds, when thou art true,
Things worthier still, and holier far,
Our sister yet will do;
For this the worth of woman shows,
On every peopled shore,
That still as man in wisdom grows,
He honors her the more.
Oh, not for wealth, or fame, or power,
Hath man’s inoek angel striven,
But, silent as the growing flower,
To make of earth a heaven !
And in her garden of the sun
Heaven’s brightest rose shall bloom ;
For woman’s best is unbegun ;
Her advent yet to come !
[Ebenezek Elliott.
BEAUTY OF WOMAN.
Is there not beauty and a charm in that vener
ble and venerated woman who sits in the “ maj
esty of age” beside the fireside of her son; she
who nursed him in his infancy, tended him in
his youth, counselled in manhood, who now
dwells as the tutelary goddess of his household ?
What a host of blessed memories are linked
with that mother, even in her reverential “ arm
chair days ?” what a multitude of sanctifying asso
ciations surround her and make her lovely, even
on the verge of the grave 1 Is there not a beauty
and a charm in that matronly woman who sits
looking fondly at the child in her lap? Is there
not a holy influence around her, and does not
the observer at onoe pronounce her lovely ? What
though the lines and lineamets of youth are fled ?
Time has given far more than he has taken
away. And is there not a beauty and a charm
in a fair girl kneeling before that matron—her
own womanly sypathies just opening into active
life as 6he folds that youthful infant to her bosom ?
All are beautiful—the opening blossoms, the ma
ture flower, and the ripened fruit; and the cal
lous heartand sensual mind, that gropes for love
liness as a stimulant for passion, only shows that
it has no correct sense of beauty or refined taste.
18 IT NECESSARY TO HANG WOMEN ?
The subject of capilal punishment has been
extensively discussed of late years, but it may be
doubted if any good has resulted from it or
whether the public mind has been enlightened
on the subject by tills discussion. The truth is
the actual question has scarcely been touched
upon at all, and therefore the elaborate essays and
arguments advanced by the contending parties
have been of little or no Importance to the publio.
One party, and, strange, indeed, including the
clergy of all the sects of the day, and almost to
a man, held to the abstract justice of hanging—
of blood for blood, an eye for an eye and a tooth
for a tooth, thus clinging to the traditions and
habitudes of semi civilized and savage communi
ties who lived and flourished thousands of years
ago. The other side took opposite ground, and
held that it was abstractly wrong to hang a man,
or for society to take the life of an indiviual,
though such individual had destroyed the life of
another.
Right andwrong are abstractions that are rarely
capable of definitions, and to argue this matter
on metaphysical ground is absurd, and might be
indulgea in for a thousand years without reach
ing *ny practical result or without getting any
nearer to the question whether men should or
should not resort to capital punishment in the
case of murder. The whole question is resolved
into the simple enquiry, is it necessary to the
safety of society to hang men for murder ? That
is all. It is a duty as well as a right for a man to
secure his own safety, and when the individual
transfers this to the aggregate or to society, the
latter has only to determine what is expedient
in the premises. If the safety of the community
demand capital punishment, then capital punish
ment is right; but if society can protect itself
without resorting to this extreme and certainly
abhorrent method of preservation, then capital
punishment is wrong. The whole question we
repeat is therefore a matter of expediency, and
that which may be right in California or Kansas
may be wrong in New York or New Jersey.
But whether expedient or not in respect to men,
we cannot conceive of a viler or more cowardly
act than that of hanging women in our day, and in
the old and well established societies of the elder
States oT the Union. A few days since a number
of men got together in Pennsylvania, called out
the miltia, and, with charged bayonets and an
immense display of physical force, hung by the
neck and put to death a poor, weak, fragile, help
less woman! What a spectacle in this Republi
can land! What brave and manly fellows, who
thus acknowledge their incapacity to protect them
selves from the violence of one poor feeble wo
men, and therefore having her in their power,
unite their forces together and kill her, actually
choke her to death like a dog.
FLUNKEYISM.
Most of our exchanges are filled with the par
ticulars of the nuptials of a couple of youngsters
across the water, which came oft a short time ago,
for the purpose of showing, we suppose, the differ
ence between a wedding in free and Democratic
America, and in monarchical and aristocratic Eng
land. The most trivial and insignificant circum
stances are minutely described, with as much
gusto and eloquence, as if the fate of the universe
depended upon their being known by the world
at large. The bride’s dress, the bridegroom’s
bearing, the royal parents’ emotions and heroics,
the ceremony, and a thousand and one other lit
tle things are dwelt on in a two column article
of some of the largest papers, with an eloquence
worthy of a better cause, and just as though the
newly wedded pair were any better or less hu
man than the thousand ana one John Smiths
and Jemima Dobbses thatannully get married in
our own country. What sort of interest all this
can be to an independent American is more than
we oan see; and therefore we have Btudiously re
frained from insulting the refined taste of our in
telligent readers by publishing anything in con
nection with the transaction, further than simply
to anuounce, as a matter of news, the marriage of
the royal couple. The fact is wo are disgusted at
the flunkeyism of the American press, in aping
foriegn journals in flaunting before the public
every little private affair of the wealthy and
opulent, because we believe it breeds a bad moral
sentiment, and corrupts the Republican tastes of
our citizens.— Columbus Sun.
Prbtty Good.—A very good charming daughter
of one of the “solid men of Boston,” being at a
belli a few evenings since, was solicited by a com
bination of moustache, starch, and broadcloth,
for the honor of her hand in a dance, to which
solicitation she returned an affirmation, the afore
said combination inquired her father’s business.
“Heis a wood sawyer” she replied. The fellow
sloped, felling that he had let himself down afoot
or two by the association. The lady’s father was
a wealthy dealer in mahogany, which occasion
ally had to be sawed by himself, orunderhia own
supervision.
Manchester, England, papers
teresting statistics of the condition of factory’ope
rations in that city. The figures show thirty-two
cotton mills on full time, forty on short time or
partly still, sixteen stopped, 11,371 hands on full
time, 9,400 0n short time, 4,193 idle. The returns
from the manufacturing and mechanical estab
lishments together show 66 on full time, 147 on
short time, os partly still 24 stopped, 18694 hands
working full tSne, 19,078 short time, 8,733 idle.
Compared with the last week, there is a decrease
of 649 in the number out of work, and of 1,688
in those working full time. In Salford there are
9i729 bands on roll tSnse, 5,94© ea ekert tine and
3,U6 ewt es werk. j*
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
MOTH AND RUST DOTH CORRUPT.
The blue sky is bending over us; dear and
balmy is the air. The blue sky—how much of
beauty and of our Lord’s protecting love do wo
see in this glorious firmament! But we forget
to look at it; hurrying day by day, making and
spending money, and in pursuit of the gold of
earth, we heed not the gold of the heavens.. Wo
marvel at those frail ones of old who worshipped
the golden calf; but where is the home, in city
or country, that has not the same idol, nor does
it lack homage ? But ought we not to like gold ?
Is not its correspondence good? Surely we
should like it, but not worship it; therein do we
err. Many good things our kind father giveth
us to love, to use—none to worship. Him alone,
our Creator, Redeemer, crucified for us, should
we worship. Herein alone is our peace. But to
sigh, toil, almost to Bin, for natural gold, while
for celestial treasure we hardly waste a thought;
while we ask ourselves each day how much richer,
not how much better are we; how shall we invest
so as to add to our treasure, not so as to nip the
buds of vioe, to stay the floods of evil—this iB to
leave our souls all unrobed for our spiritual home
—our coffers all empty for that journey which
| cometh soon or late.
j Oh, how insane to rob heart and soul for the
pocket; to waste those priceless riches, opportu
nities to become good and do good, in the mad
dening race for worldly gain—gain which, unless
sanctified by being held as the Lord’s and used
to promote his blessed kingdom of peace and
love, is but a canker to eat joy from the soul. The
rich, we are taught, are in heaven, but not those
who have bowed to the shining dust—not those
who have worshiped the golden collar, and bar
tered the soul’s wealth for the treasure of a day,
LIVING IN HEARTS.
It is better to live in hearts than in houses. A
change of circumstances or a disobliging land
lord may turn one out of a house to which he has
formed many attachments. Removing from
SI ace to place is with many an unavoidable inoi
ent of life. But one cannot be expelled from a
true and loving heart save by his own fault, nor
yet always by that, for affection clings tenaciously
to its object in spite of illdesert; but go where he
will, his home remains in the hearts which have
learnt to love him; the roots of affection are not
turned out or destroyed by such removals; but
they remain fixed deep in the heart, clinging
still to the image—that object which they are
more earger to clasp. When one re-visits the
home of his childhood, or the place of his happy
abode in his life’s spring time, pleasant as it is to
survey each familiar spot, the house, the garden,
the trees planted by himself or by kindred now
sleeping in the dust, there is in the warm grasp
of the hand, in the melting- of the eye, in the
kind and earnest salutation, in the tender solici
tude for the comfort and pleasure of his visits, a
delight that no more local objects of nature or
art, no beautiful cottage, or shady rill, or quiet
grove can possibly bestow. To be remembered,
to be loved in hearts—that is one solace amid
earthly changes—this is a joy above all the pleas
ure of scene and place. We love this spiritual
home-feeling—the union of hearts which death
cannot destroy; for it augurs, if there be heart
purity as well as heart-affection, an unchanging
and imperishable abode in hearts now dear.—
Christian Treasury.
How to Prevent Colds.— A bad oeld, like mea
sles or mumps, or any other similar ailment, will
run its course of about ten days, in spite of what
may be done for it, unless remedial means are
employed within forty-eight hours of its incep
tion. Many a useful life may be spared, to be
increasingly useful, by cutting a cold off in the
following safe but simple manner: On the first
day of taking cold, there is a very unpleasant
sensation of chillness. The moment you observe
this, go to your roo.u, and stay there. Keep it
at such a temperature as it will entirely prevent
this chilly feeling, even if it requires 100 degrees
of Fahrenheit.
In addition to this, put your feet in water half
leg deep, as hot as you can bear it, adding hot wa
ter from time to time for a quarter of an hour, so
that the water shall be hotter when you take
your feet out, than when you put them in. Then
dry them thoroughly, ana put on thick woollen
stockings, even if it be summer—for summer
colds are more dangerous—and for twenty-four
hours eat notan atom of food, but drink as large
ly as you desire of any kind of warm tea, and at
the end of that time the cold will be entirely
broken without any medicine whatever. Efficient
as the above means are, not one in a thousand at
tends to them, led on as most men are, by the
hope that a oold will pass away itself. Neverthe
less, this article will now and then pass under the
eye of a wise man who does not choose to run the
double risk of taking physio and dying too.—Med
tool Journal.
Left those who are often afflicted with colds,
ministers, students, consumptives generally, cut
out the above directions and preserve them; if
faithfully followed, they will do you more good
than ell the pulmonaries, oold cordials, and other
hurtfal nostrums, which now load your shelves.
Indian Sommer.
There is always a second summer in the Amer
ican year. When the September galea have
swept over the woods, and shaken the first leaves
of autumn to the ground ; when from the gardens
the more delicate buds and fragrant blossoms
have passed away ; when the earlier fruits have
ripened and been gathered; when evening begins
sooner to draw the curtains of the day, and the
sun’s horses start later on their morning courses;
when the pleasure parties of the season are break
ing up, and words of farewell are being said, and
over the most buoyant mind a certain pensive
ness steals, and regrets fall upon it if as from out
the autumnal air, then the year, which had begun
to withdraw its face, turns again with a parung
Bmilo, and kisses its hand to us. Then comes a
succession of golden days, when the air is still,
and the heavens, slightly veiled with purple haze,
are without a cloud. The autumnal flowers are
arrayed in all their glory. The orchards yield
up their red-sided, gold-colored apples for the
winter’s store. The grapes are turned to purple.
The latest pears melt upon the devouring lips,
and the last drops of sweetness are being dis
tilled into the yet unplucked peaches. Now the
diligent housewife gathers from out the leaves,
still green, the yellow, shining quince, and, cor
recting its tart juices with melted sugar, lays
it by for winter tea-drinkings. The farmer husks
his corn, making the green sward shine with the
the long, broad line of glittering ears. He piles
up, also, the yellow pumpkins, or hangs the
squashes against the wall, by their necks. His
boys bring home at night the cows from still
green ana thickly-matted meadows, with udders
wide distended. The poultry-yards are full of
cackling, and youthful attempts at chanticleer
ing. Fleets of geese and ducks float down the
brooks, or lie moored on the ponds,, and the
half-grown turkey-cocks gabble and spread their
tails over vast spaoes of yard and pasture. This
season is the mellowing of the year. In sunny
European lands, and beneath sacred oriental
skieef the grapes are now tiodden in the wine
press, and even in our own prosaic New Jersey,
the bounty of nature runs to sweet cider. The
earth has put forth her great productive power,
and rejoices as a woman after child-bearing; the
sun has done his year’s work, and ripened all
seeds and grainß; there is food garnered up for
man and beast; and the great God seems to look
down out of heaven upon what He hath wrought,
and pronounce it good.
Rev. Dh. Nott or Union College. —A corres
pondent of one of the daily papers, sayß;
“ Dr. Nott is now nearly eighty-seven yean of
age, and has been President of Union College
since 1804, when he succeeded Jonathan Maxcy,
who had filled the post two years. He has grad
uated nearly four thousand young men, ana has
contributed more tothe cause of education than any
other man in the United States. He still exyoya
pretty good health, and is doubtless destined to
ao even more yet in the noble and patriotic work
in whioh be has been cogag*4 fwmrt 6m half
a e*tnry/’ /
VOL. XXIV. NUMBER 8