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JOHN H. SEALS, NEW SERIES, VOLUME IIL C|t Ctntperanct (faakr. Pabttds4 trery Thursday ia the year, except tare. TEBUS : Two Dollars per year, ia sdveiue. <3&auaaD asaiO> Gms or T*s Names, by sending the Cash. wifl receive the paper at ... - copy. Guns* of Fite Nambs, at 180 “ 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