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UHWEr.iiTV MV JOHN H. SEALS, NEW SERIES, VOLUME 111. Cjje Ccntperante Cnisakr. Published every Thursday in the year, cxcay* tm- TEHJIS: Two Dollars per year* 1m a&vtuose* CSJavsaUo 3jß:3<bs3 Clubs of Ten Names, by sending the Cash, will receive the paper at - - - - slso^jicopy. Clubs of Five Names, at 180 “ Any person sending us Five new subscribers, inclo sing the money, shall receive an extra copy one year free of cost. ADVERTISING DIRECTORY: Rates of Advertising: 1 square, (twelve lines or less,) first insertion, $1 00 “ Each continuance, 50 Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six lines, per year, 5 00 Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00 Standing Advertisements: Advertisements not marked with the .number of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged accordingly. Druggists and others, may contract for advertising by the year on reasonable terms. Legal Advertisements: Rale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Ex ecutors and Guardians, per square, 5 00 Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Ex ecutors and Guardians, per square, 3 25 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25 Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00 Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n, 500 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guard’p, 3 25 Legal Requirements: 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 in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court-house door of the county in which the property is situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a pub - lic Gazette, forty days 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 sale. Notices to Debtors and Creditors of an estate, must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court oi Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be pub lished weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration, must be pub lished thirty days —for Dismission from Administration monthly, six months —for Dismission from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published monthly, for four months —for compelling titles from Ex ecutors or Administrators, where a bond has been issued by the deceased, the full space of three months. Publications will always be continued according to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise or dered JOHN A. REYNOLDS, Publisher. STATE AND FEDERAL AFFAIRS, FEDERAL GOVERNMENT. James Buchanan, of Pennsylvania, President U. States John C. Breckenridc+e, of Kentucky, Vice “ Lewis Cass, of Michigan, Secretary of State Howell Cobb, of Georgia, Secretary of the Treasury Jacob Thompson, of Mississippi, Secretary Interior John B. Floyd, of Virginia “ War Isaac Touchy, of Connecticut “ Navy Aaron V. Brown, of Tennessee, Postmaster-General Jeremiah S. Black, of Pennsylvania, Attorney General Judiciary—Supreme Court. Roger B. Taney, Baltimore, Md. Chief Justice, ap pointed 1856—Salary $5 000 John McLean, Cincinnati, Ohio, Associate Justice, appointed in 1829 —Salary $4 500 James M. Wayne, Savanrfah, Ga. Associate Justice, appointed 1839—Salary $4 500 John A. Campbell, Alf bile, Ala. Associate Justice, appointed 1853 —Salary $4 500 John Catron, Nashville, Tennessee, Associate Jus tice, appointed 1837 —Salary $1 500 Peter V. Daniel, Richmond. Virginia, Associate Jus tice, appointed 1841—Salary $4 500 Samuel Nelson, Cooperstown, New York, Associote Justice, appointed in 1845 —Salary $4 500 Nathan Clifford, Portland, Maine, Associate Justice, appointed 1857 —Salary $4 500 Robert C. Grier, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, Associate Justice, appointed 1846—Salary $4 500 Benjamin C. Howard, Baltimore, Maryland,Reporter, appointed 1843—Salary $1 300 The Supreme Court is held in the City of Washington, and has one session annually, commencing on the first Monday in December. STATE OF GEORGIA. J. E. Brown, Governor J. A. Steele, Secretary Executive Department John B. Campbelle, “ “ “ M. W.McComb, “ “ “ E. P. Watkins, Secretary of State John B. Trippe, Treasurer Peterson Thweatt, Comptroller General James A. Green, Surveyor General John F. Condon, State Librarian John E. Ward, President of the Senate W. B. Terhune, Secretary of the Senate J.W.H.Underwood,Speaker House Representatives Alex. M. Speer, Clerk House of Representatives William Turk, Principal Keeper Penitentiary Benjah S. Carswell, Assistant “ “ H. J. G. Williams, Inspector of Penitentiary Wm. A. Williams, Book-Keeper “ Dr. Tomlinson Fort,Physician “ Dr. T. Fort, B. P. Stubbs and Dr. L. Strohecker, Trustees Lunatic Asylum. Supreme Court for Correction Errors. Joseph H. Lumpkin, Judge. Term expires 1868 Charles J. McDonald, Judge. “ “ 1861 Henry L. Benning, Judge. “ “ 185 B. Y. Martin, Reporter R. E. Martin, Clerk First District. —Composed of the Eastern and Middle Judicial Circuits, at Savannah, on the second Mondays in January and June in each year. Second District. —Composed of the Macon, South Western arid Chattahoochee * Judicial Circuits at Ma con, on the 4th Monday in January and 3d Monday in June in each year. Third District. —Composed of the Flint, Coweta, Blue Ridge and Cherokee Judicial Circuits, at Atlanta, on the 4th Monday in March and 2d Monday in August in each year. Fourth District. —Composed of the Western and Nor thern Judicial Circuits, at Athens, on the 4th Mondays of May and November of each year. Fifth District. —Composed of the Ocmulgee and Sou thern Judicial Circuits, at Milledgeville, on the 2d Mon days of May and November of each year. *Note. —Thu Pataula Circuit is attached to the 2d Supreme Court District; Brunswick to the Ist; Talla poosa to the 3d. The firm of j. m. bowxes & co. 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 full supply of Family Groceries, and will be ready and willing to serve his friends at very Short Pro fits for the CASH. “J. M. BOWLES, Feb 25 WM. B. SEALS. LOST OR STOLEN, A LL persons are forewarned against trading for x the following notes: A note on Wm F Luckie for Seventeen Dollars and Forty Cents, dated in April or May last, and due the twenty fifth December thereaf ter ; one on Wm Moore for Twelve Dollars and Twen ty-five Cents, dated in May or June last, and due the tweuty-fifth December thereafter; one on David Phelps of Hancock county for Twenty Dollars, dated in March last and due from date ; and one on John Mitchell of Mount Zion for Seventeen Dollars Twelve and a-half cents, dated'in April last, and due the twenty-fifth of December thereafter. The above notes were made payable to [he subscriber as guardian of free boys Jerry and Ben ;-uid the ma kers of the name are requested to make payment to no person except myself or my order. ’ , . THOMAS D. SANFORD.. Greenesboro’, March 4, 1858. THRESH CRANBERRIES AND CURRANTS. X Maxell-25 J. M. BOWLES. ORANGES AND LEMONS. J March 25 J. M. BOWLES. IjgKyou want bright and sharp Knives, buy a BATH fSRICK of [April 22] J. M. BOWLES. . A NICE lot of CROWDER PEAS for sale by April 22 J. M. BOW'LES. 1858 SPRING TEARS. 1858 CHOICE FAMILY DRY GOODS! Augusta) Georgia. - BROOM & NORRELL would invite attention to their large and elegant stock of SPRING AND S UMMER G O ODS, which they are now displaying at tlieir comprising everything of the latest and most elegant styles in I;ADIB8’ DRESS GOODS, EMBROIDERIES, LACE MANTILLAS, Kxi k jm., ml*, am 9 HOOF SKIRTS of every style manufactured ; HOOPS of every kind ; DUSTERS —a large assortment; IRISH LINENS, of our own importation ; French, Eng. and American PRINTS, GINGHAMS, Muslins, Cluillies, Beregcs, Hosiery, Gloves, Furni ture, Brilliants, Jaconets, Cambrics, D'Beges, $-c.s-c. ALSO, All the best makes of Domestics, Housewife goods, Linen Damask, Sheetings, Pillow Linens and Cottons, Doyles, Towellings, Dimities, <fe. tj-c. making up one of the best stocks of Qhy ( -/^oocfu ever offered in this market, and embracing all of those styles most highly prized by good housekeepers. _ And as ours is the only house in the city that invari ably adheres to the so *! © S3 SO 5* S H P3 W ss we would call particular attention to this feature of our trade, and|ask all to consider its advantages: It guar antees to the BUYER the lowest market prices, because it forces the SELLER down to the smallest sum he can afford to take for his goods; and of course, BARGAINS cannot be expected from any other mode of doing busi ness. notice that we rigidly adhere to ONE PRICE —that price we guarantee to be as low as the lowest, and that we never resort to the trick of BAITING. April 15, 1858 Dr. W. L. M. HARRIS, to the good citizens of Pen field and vicinity, for the liberal confidence Gft and encouragement given him, respectfully contin ues a tender of his professional services to them. Dr. R. J. Massey, his former Plainer in the practice, will, with pleasure, attend any-J|&L*4 any time, that may be made while Dr. H. is. engaged and cannot be obtained. A Jlnrch 11,1858 HHHE SUBSCRIBER IS WOW OPENING A a nice stock of , Spring and Summer Goods, to which the attention of the citizens of Penfield and vicinity is respectfully invited. The styles of the sea son are unusually handsome and prices very reasonable. An early call will be highly appreciated. Penfield, March 25th Wm. B. SEALS. Atlanta Medical College, rspHE Fourth Course of LECTURES in J- this Institution, will commence on the Ist Monday in May next, and continue four months. Facility: fiT. W. BR O WN, M D Professor of Anatomy ; JOHN W. JONES, M D Prof of Principles and Prac tice of Medicine ; IF. F. WESTMORELAND, MD Professor of Prin ciples and Practice of Surgery ; THOMA S S. P OWELL, M D Professor of Obstetrics and Diseases of Women and Children ; ALEX. MEANS, M D Professor of Chemistry and Pharmacea ; JOSEPH P. LOGAN, MD Professor of Physiology aud General Pathology ; J. G. WESTMORELAND, MD Professor of Materia Medica and Medical Jurisprudence f T. C. H. WILSON, MD Demonstrator of Anatomy. Fees: For the Course of Lectures $lO5 00 Matriculation 5 00 Dissecting Ticket (taken once). ...10 00 Graduation 25 00 The increased facilities in the departments of Anato my, Surgery and Chemistry, afforded by ample and well adapted rooms in the New College Building, make these branches of study much more entertaining than hereto fore. The Dissecting Room, situated in the upper story of the building, and furnished with skylight, will be opened and supplied with sound and inoffensive subjects by the 15th of April. Good board can be had in the city at $3 to 4 per week. For further information address April l-st* J. G. WESTMORELAND, Dean. JUST RECEIVED! A Large Stock of Family Groceries! CONSISTING OF All Grades Sugar and Coffee; Fine Syrups and Molasses ; Good Apple Vinegar; Rice ; Nos. 1, 2 and 3 Mackerel; A large lot of Hydraulic Candles, which can be bought exceedingly low; A variety of Pickles ; Maccaroni; Sago; Currants ; Raisins and Candies ; . Table Salt; Soda; Pepper and Spices ; Chewing and Smoking Tobacco ; Pipes ; Any quality ol a Cigar; Large lot of Jar Snuff; All qualities of Soap; Drugs and Patent Medicines; Perfumery—a choice lot. By way of remark, I would say to the citizens and vi cinity of Penfield, that I am giving this business my un divided attention ; and if they will give me a liberal pa tronage, I will save them the TROUBLE and EX PENSE of going farther. Penfield, Ga. March 9, 1857. J. M. BOWLES. DItS. COE & LATIMER would inform their friends and patients that one of the firm will constantly temain in Greenesboro’, and that the other will be found in the following places at the times specified below: White Plains, from March Ist to March 14ih. Mount Zion, “ “ 15th to “ 28tb. 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 A GOOD lot of SALT in new sacks. March 18, 1858 J. M. BOWLES. ALL persons are forewarned against trading for a note of $53 00, held by Franklin Moore against myself. The considerations for which the note was given having failed, I decline paying it. April 8, 1858 W. W. DURHAM. BACON! BACON!* A fine; lot of Tennessee cured Bacon, for sale by J. M. BOWLES. ! March 18, 1858 ! “\TAILS! NAILS! Any size, for sale by | April 22 J. M.,BOWLES. A Goon ’Un.—We heard tire other day a capi tal anecdote of a witty clergyman of this city, who is said never to come off second best in a joc ular encounter: - As one day he was passing down one of the streets of a largo village in this State, where he was settled he was observed by some waggish hangers on at a public house which he was ap ! proaching. One of these fellows, knowing that I the reverend gentleman was a “ hard case” at a | joke, said that he would bet the drinks for all hands that he could head Mr. H . “ Done,” was the response from a number. As Mr. H came opposite the merry group the pr oposer of the bet called to him. Mr. ll halted and drew near, whereupon the confident chap thus addressed him: “ Mr. H —, we have a dispute of some im portance which we have agreed to leave to you as one competent to give a correct decision.” “ Ah ! what is it ?” “It is in relation to the age of the devil; will you tell us how old ho is ?” “ Gentlemen,” said the imperturbable minister, “ how can you presume me to be acquainted with matters of that sort ? You must keep’ your own family record I” The minister went about his business, and the vanquished gentleman went in and treated freely. THE ADOPTED ORGAN OF ALE THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE. FENFIELD, GEORGIA, THURS DA Y , .A PR I L 29, 1 858. “^editrels^ I V J j BIT MBS. HI. E. BRYAN. m mMm* BY MARY E. BRYAN. tftTY niece, Miss Stanly, writes me that she JIVJL intends spending some time with us this winter. We may expect her now very soon,” said my mother, looking up from the perusal of a letter she had received by the morning post. “ Oh! I’m so glad,” cried my sister Bertha, springing up from the sofa and dropping her own perfumed epistle on the floor; “then papa can not refuse us another soiree dansante, and I shall get the point lace at Madame Ricarde’s” I went on quietly cutting the leaves of Block wood's last; for, as soirees dansante had no attrac tions for me, I was quite indifferent to my moth er’s announcement, or, to tell the truth, I was a little annoyedj at the prospect of having to do double duty as escort when beaux were not over plentiful, of being made a convenience of on every occasion, and worse than all, of beijig com pelled through politeness to do my part towards entertaining a guest for an indefinite period of time—having my bachelor habits broken into for the sake of listening all day to Thalberg’s varia tions and the silly talk of two idle girls. My opinion of the sex was not a very flatter, ing one, having been drawn from my circle of fe male acquaintances, of which Bertha was a sam ple ; Bertha, who had but two ideas in her pretty little head—dress and marriage; Bertha, who came down to breakfast in dingy chintz wrappers and curl papers, spent the morning on the sofa, reading Dumas and the evening at Stewart’s de ciding between a solitaire and crepe de Paris; Ber tha, who kissed her dear Sue and Carrie through tlieir lace veils at the corners of the streets, called them “ my sweetest,” and then went home to criticise their bonnets and inveigh against their vanity and bad taste. And she was a fair specimen of the young la dies I had met in my life of twenty-eight years— all save one—one whose perfections might re deem her whole sex—one, the glorious type of such womanhood as poets dream of. But Oh! Beatrice, child of. genius and beauty, and alas! of misfortune also, why speak of thee? The grass of five summers has grown between thy heart and mine, and I shall never find another to fill thy place.” “Is my cousin pretty, mama?” asked my sis ter, settling herself again on the sofa. “Remember, I have not seen her since she was a child, my dear; she was a pale, shy little thing then ; I used to ruralize, occasionally at my bro ther’s southern home, near Eatonton, in the ear lier years of my marriage, before an increased family and the cares of such a large establishment confined my flittings to Newport and Saratoga. It was a beautiful, quiet spot, and your cousin was born there, and has lived in the neighbor hood ever since. Paul will like that; he is so fond of rural simplicity. Do you hear Paul ? you are to have a little rustic cousin to divert your mind from those tiresome books.” “Ah!” said I, pausing to finish the concluding sentence of an article on criticism; “from the country, is she ? red cheeks, corkscrew ringlets, thick wrists and ankles, and all that, I suppose ; belle of the neighborhood, perhaps; won the hearts of the young farmers and the village school master, and is ambitious of extending her con quests in anew field; shall have her coming among us, looking up from a forest of plumes and rustling in the brightest and newest of lilac and cinnamon silks; for commend me to the simplicity of a country belle on her first visit to the city.” \ “ Why Paul!” interposed my mother, depre catingly, “ I thought you liked all pertaining to rusticity.” “ Ah! my mother, that was in the old days, when Allan Ramsay’s pastorals were a first love, and visions of a cottage home and a blue-eyed country lassie, in white frock and straw hat, haunted my day dreams. I have outlived all such romance, my dear mother. Would I could say I was the happier, as well as the wiser, for the change! But you have not yet told me my cousin’s name. If I ever heard it, it has es caped my memory. “ It is Claire,” replied my mother. “Claire Stanly ? Not so bad a name. I had ex pected a Matilda or a Caroline —and her letter, I believe it is not the first she has written you. I have never asked to see the correspondence. She gives you all the items of village news, does she; a record of the marriages that have taken place in a ‘ twelve month,’ and of the improve ments going on in our town ; the new stores and churches that have been put up, etc. etc. ? I’ll wager I have guessed the style of her letters.” My mother replied, by putting the letter in my hands. One glance at the firm, yet delicate, clii rography sufficed to change my opinion of the writer, and before I read to the end, surprise had given place to admiration. It was not in the least pretentious. The style was simple and ele gant, and there was a quiet earnestness and inde pendence in the language that pleased and inter ested me. “ I like the letter,” I said, answering my mo ther’s look of inquiry; “and if you please, I should like to know something more of this cousin Claire.” “ You knew that she was an orphan,” said mama, softly. I bowed my head. Woman of the world,mbs I knew my mother to he—her time fully occupied in spending, in as showy a manner as possible, my father’s considerable income, she had yet preserved, through all the frivolities of life, a tender memory of the one brother of her childhood, and at his death she. had mourned sincerely. She resumed: “ Claire’s mother died first—when she was quite a child. My poor Richard was a generous, high souled man— rather wild in his youth, and I have heard that he returned to his old habits a few years after his marriage. He left, his affairs un settled, and his fine estate was sold to satisfy his creditors. It was bought by a brother of his wife, the guardian of Claire, who took her to live with him. lie was an invalid, full of odd whims and fancies. So Claire led the life of a martyr. Find ing her dependance galling to her Stanly pride, she procured a few pupils and insisted on sup porting herself. She was nurse, housekeeper and servant to the whimsical old man, until he died about a year ago, leaving her a moderate compe -1 tence. She lias been living ever ‘since in the dreary old homestead, with only the few family ants; and pitying her solitude, I wrote, urging her to pay us a visit. You know all now that I do of Claire Stanly.” My heart warmed with a something like affec tion for my unknown cousin. The self-abnega tion revealed in this simple history touched me, as much as the independence and self-reliance awakened any respect. But a lonely, loveless life she must have led—that little orphan, sister less and brotherless; the victim to the caprices of a peevish valetudinarian. I was pleased and interested, and I said as much to my mother. “I think,” said I, “I shall overlook the thick wrists and ankles, even if one could fancy them belonging to the writer of such a letter.” “ I hope, said my mother, that there will be nothing outre in her appearance. Thank Heaven! milliners and hair dressers are plenty in New York, and she need not be seen until she is pre sentable.” Two days afterwards my cousin arrived rather unexpectedly, for we had not looked for her so soon. We were alone in the sitting-room, my mother and I, Claire having spent the evening out. The room was dim with shadows, but it was too early to ring for lights. I lay on the lounge, absorbed in one of those dreamy reveries that come with the overshadowing wings of twilight. My mother, her cl. air drawn to the glowing an thracite, was caressing her Spanish poodle. “ Miss Stanly,” announced the servant, open ing the door; and a slender, graceful figure robed in black, glided in and threw her arms around the neck of my mother, who had risen to receive her. “ My dear girl,” said mama, you come upon us rather unexpectedly, but you are, nevertheless, very, very welcome.” A tremor passed over the form still clasped in my mother’s embrace. It was followed by a sti fled sound li£e a convulsive sob. “Nervous and hysterical,” I mentally ejacu lated ; “worse and worse; better the vulgar coun tryisms. But I did not feel inclined to sneer, when the moment after, my cousin raised her head and said, with a quiet smile, “Forgive me; I am not usually so easily agitated. But your voice, your face, your manner are so much like — like my father’s. But where are my cousins, aunt?” “ Bertha is out, but here is Paul to welcome you. I hope you will like him, Claire. Mrs. Grant says he is called odd by his acquaintances, but I think him a very good son in the main.” Claire looked rather doubtfully, as she took my proftered hand; but after a second survey, so prolonged and earnest that I smiled in spite of myself, she Baid, cordially, “I am glad to know you, cousin Paul. I have heard of you, but I think we shall be very good friends; that is,” she added, after a pause, “if you will let me.” “ With all my heart,” I replied, for there was something very winning in the sweet, earnest voice. I led her to the sofa and rang for lights. They were brought, and when the travelling cloak and bonnet were laid aside, I scrutanized my cousin more closely. The face did not belie the voice. It was a pure oval, with clear, pale complexion, relieved by lips of deepest redness and folds of dark hair, plainly banded from the broad, thoughtful brow. There were lines of strong power about that face. Intellect sat on the ample forehead, and the clear, gray eyes were deep as fathomless waters. But the expression was what rendered the fea tures so peculiarly attractive to me—the open, truthful look of the candid face, so unlike the false, shallow, simpering countenances of my sis ter’s lady friends. There was a charm, too, in the quiet manner, so free from all affectation or pre tence, and yet so graceful in its simple dignity. Bertha came home in a little while, bringing with her a couple of her dear friends —come to practice duetts, they said, and after a brief intro duction, Claire, pleading fatigue, retired to her room. I did not see her again till next morning. I was an habitual early riser. I had learned the habit in my European journeyings; hut early as it was, when I came out on the back piazza for a view of the sunrise and a breath of the late jas mine, my cousin was already there, leaning on the balustrade, watching the brightening clouds, or listening to a bird that had left its green fields in the country to mingle its sweet music with the babel sounds of the city. “Ahl my little cousin,” said I, approaching her and laying my hand upon hers,” when you have learned to waltz and flirt, and turn night into day, after the miftmer of these Gothamites, you will also learn not to keep Etonton hours in New York.” “And why should I learn all this?” she asked, with her quiet smile. “Because I chance to breathe the air of Fifth Avenue, must I necessa rily submit to Fashion ? Judging from present appearances, you do not always obey her man dates.” “Oh! but Bertha will tell you I am so old-fash ioned, she is quite ashamed of me. And apropos of her opinion, you said you had heard of me be fore—from other sources than my mother’s let ters, I suppose. I should like to hear the char acter I have abroad, or at least the one that reached you.” “Only-that you were ‘odd’—a word that epito mizes the whole; that you were cold and cynical; that you laughed at things other people admired; that you preferred other countries to your own, and remained abroad nearly all your time; that you were talented without being ambitious or turning your gifts into use; and worse than all, that you professed little faith in man, and less in woman.” “Horrible!” I exclaimed, laughing; “no won der you looked at me so inquiringly; I dare say you expected me to make my appearance in green spectacles with the smile sardonic on my countenance. Pray, who was it that had studied my character so minutely ?” “My informant was a lady acquaintance of yours, whom I met in Charleston.” “Ah! then, this is not your first experience of city life? my mother said you had never before left the neighborhood of Etonton.” “ She was probably not aware that I resided for a year in Charleston as assistant in a seminary there. But you have not plead guilty to the truth of the character given you. Shall I accept it as a correct one?” . “ Instead of answering your question, I will ask another. Do you think it true? Your sex are instinctive judges of human nature.” She fixed her clear, searching eyes upon my faoe. “I hardly know,” she said, after a pause; “I believe that much of your cynicism is assumed; tfiat there is a warm under-current in your na ture which you endeavor to conceal. But it is true, that you are wasting your talents in leading an aimless, and, pardon me, an indolent life.” “You are right; my existence is indeed aim less, objectless; lam a drone in the great life of humanity; but how cant-, be otherwise? I have no occasion to labor; I have wealth sufficient to supply my wants.” “ And are there no channels of usefulness which that affluence opens to you? Do you owe noth ing to your fellow-men ? Believe me, cousin, you would be happier were you to put that wealth to worthy purposes and call your talents into use to acquire more. Employment is the only cure for restlessness of spirits; we are always happier when we are most useful. Do you not think so?” “ J do not know; there is nothing I dislike so dry details of business; I may take but not now. lam jaded and sick f this painted Jezabel; this gilded hum bug called Yew York, and I must have some res pite befor I plunge into the whirlpool of cheat ing and money-making. I must dream again in the forest of Fontainebleau, or upon the banks of the Rhine, or, better still, on the sunny hill sides of Italy, listening to the songs of the vine dressers an l the sweet laughter of the peasant girls, or heiping them gather the vintage in the golden harvest days.” “Why do you love Italy so much?” asked Claire, abrubtly. “Oh ’. because of its beauty and its poetic asso ciations; and,” I continued, as her eyes seemed to read my thoughts, “because of a green grave on one of those vine-hung hills and a low cottage, where I am welcomed as a son for the dear sake of one who lived and died there. But let us not speak of thisand continuing our promenade, I turned the conversation upon other themes, and on all, my cousin spoke with the earnestness of one who had thought much and felt deeply. After that, our conversations were frequent. We left Bertha to her novel, or her harp exercise, while we traversed fields of thought or read alotid to each other. There was not a subject that her far-reaching intellect did not grasp and compre hend. She gave me new view life and human duties, and inspired me with portion of her own quiet energy and self-reliance. A week after my cousin's arrival, the soiree dan sante was decided upon, and mama and Bertha were in their element. My services were called into requisition to make out a list of names for invitation. “Shall I write Frank Dashwood?” I asked of mama. “ Certainly; affairs of this kind always pass off so much better, with Frank Dashwood to put people at their ease. He is such a brilliant talker, and then his music is really charming, although Professor Hoffman says it is in the highest degree incorrect.” “ Who is Mr. Dashwood?” inquired Claire, looking up from the trimming she was altering on Bertha’s dress, which, on its return from her mantua maker’s, had thrown that amiable young lady into a paroxysm of rage and hysterics. “ Mr. Dashwood is the original of Orso,” I said; “ the author of that beautiful poem you admired so much in the Magazine yesterday.” “ Indeed!” cried my cousin with sparkling eyes and more enthusiasm than she usually mani fested ; “ I shall be glad to have the privilege of knowing the writer of such noble sentiments. He must he something above common mortals. I smiled, but forbore comment, for I was pleased with Claire’s interest in one who, despite his faults, was the only friend I acknowledged in the great wilderness of New York; and after the list was completed, 1 strolled down to Dashwood’s rooms, for I was by no means sure that he could accept an invitation. His circumstances were, as he affirmed, “ precarious,” and the elegant suit in which he charmed the elite in the saloon last night, might next day be in the possession of the pawn-broker. Brilliant, witty and handsome, Frank Dash wood was the idol of club-rooms, the pet of the ladies, admired by all, loved and pittied only by the few who had looked into his heart. “ Enjoy the present, and let the future take care of itself,” was his motto, and so well did he follow it, that he lived one day, ignorant and careless how he should manage the next —spending ffeely, lend ing recklessly, getting deeply into debt; and then, when haunted by creditors and threatened with arrest, dipping his pen into the ink and dashing off page after page of brilliant thoughts, which the newspaper and magazine editors were too glad to pay for and publish under his pseudonym of ‘ Orso.’ One day you found him in handsomely furnished apartments, dressed like a prince, drinking costly wines and giving costly dinners, that liis associates might “drink them too; the next he had vanished into some out-of-the-way garret, and was wooing the muses under the in spiration of brandy and water. The reputation he had won as an author, and his inimitable pow ers of conversation, proenred for him the right of entree into the best society. Young ladies, charmed with his dark eyes and delicate compliments, smiled their sweetest when they met him in Broadway, and mamas were exceedingly polite to the poet who might immortalize Arabella in a sonnet for the Ladies’ Magazine. The case might have been different had Frank Dashwood been a “marrying man”; but while professing himself open to the tender influences of Love, he had too frequently disclaimed all ma trimonial intentions. To Mrs. Grant, who advised him to marry as the only hope of his ‘ settling down” in lite, he replied with a sigh that excited the old lady’s tenderest sympathy, that it was a bliss beyond his ambition —that he would wish any woman a better fate than to be linked with him—while over sandwiches and sherry at Delmonicas, he laughed at the idear—spoke of marriage as an al ternative to suicide; and m reply to the sugges tions of his companions as to the probability of drawing a rich prize in the matrimonial lottery, he would exclaim—“ Give me my crust of bread and liberty.” He laughed at fame, affirmed that he wrote only for the pleasure of composition and for bread and butter; and when pressed by necessity, would accept literary employment of almost any kind. It was perfectly indifferent to him whether he penned a political squib for the columns of the Democrat, or a religious essay for the Presbyterian; and he wrote upon each subject with equal fa cility. Yet, there were times when Genius would assert its independence. Frank Dashwood would disappear from his accustomed haunts, and lea ving behind him the noisome city and the faces of men, would seek the green banks of a stream beyond the suburbs, whose voice was as musical, and whose violets as fragrant, as though the great tide of human life flowed not almost within sound of the fair retreat; and there, wandering beneath the murmurous boughs, with skies above and singing birds around him, the sweet spirit of po esy baptised his soul anew, and thoughts rich with feeling and fancy, w#uld flow from bis pen, and EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. VOL. XXIV. NUMBER 16 the pages of the magazine glow with some exqui site -poem like that I had read to Claire. Who shall tell in such moments of softenep feeling, what holy of his childhood; what regrets for wasted intellect; what aspira tions towards a higher life, visited the soul of Frank Dashwood 1 They were all banished, when at the next club supper the president of the nigh sneered at his long face, and asked him to favor them by saying grace. Yet, something noble in the mind of this gifted man. Notwithstanding his reckless habits, there was nothing mean —nothing sensua in his nature. From these, his genius preserved him—genius which, even in the error of the senses, seeks to escape from the gross and debas ing into the realm of fancy and ideality; genius, whose eagle wings may sometimes trail upon earth, but whose aspirations are ever upward; whose eyes are ever fixed upon the sun. I found Dashwood in very good lodgings, on a quiet but respectable street. He was earnestly engaged in writing, seated at a handsome desk of inlaid wood; but he rose immediately on my entrance, and came forward to receive me, look ing quite the dignified man of letters* in his cash mere dressing-gown and embroirdered slippers. He could not long support the dignity, however. Pushing off his tasselled lounging-cap, he ran his fingers through his long, light curls and threw himself upon the sofa. “ Quito flush now,” I said, looking around at the elegant disorder of the room. “Yes, appearances rather different from the crazy attic in which you saw me last. But to con fess the truth, I don’t believe I can write as well here as in my garret.” The real Tempo of the Poets is the garret. Shakspeare and Goldsmith wrote best in garrets, and glorious old Beranger sighs for his ‘attic cell. But I think I shall not soon be compelled to re turn to mine. I have my hands full of business just now.” • “ So I see,” I replied, taking up the manuscript from the table. “Yes, that black-head Derby of the * Constitu tionalist’ has undertaken a political contest with Johnson, who is more than a match for him, and ha 6 employed me to write his editorials.” “ But Dashwood, you might surely find better employment. You gain no reputation by this lending of your brains to another.” “ A fig for reputation,” he cried, with his mu sical laugh. “ I am writing for bread. Don't look so grave, Paul. I shall not quite sink into a newspaper dvudge, or a manufacturer of acci dents and coarse puns. I intend to be respecta ble. I mean to make a fortune first, and a repu tation afterwards. In a word, lam going to re form.” “So I have heard you say a hundred times be fore, my dear fellow. What are you doing with that?” pointing to a half-emptied decanter of wine on the table beside him. “ Oh! that is the fount of Helicon; real Bur gundy I assure you. It is impossible to write without an occasional draught from the spring of inspiration, but you look as though you had some thing to communicate.” I have; here is a card of invitation from my mother. I know such affairs are great bores, but you must go. A little country cousin of mine from the South is anxious to know the Poet * Orso.’ “Ah! charming creature in white muslin and coral necklace, susceptible heart, poetic sensibili ties—eh Paul ?” “ She is the noblest woman I have met with in years,” I said with unwonted earnestness. *• By Jove!” exclaimed Dashwood, drawing a deep breath and regarding me with surprise, “Smitten yourself, Ido believe. Now,” he con tinued, putting on a look of tender solicitude, so like Mrs. Grant, that I could not repress a smile, “ let me give you a bit of advice. You are two years older than I am. It is quite time you were ‘settled in life.’ Allow me to say to you, as the pretty widow Bruges said last night to me, ‘mar riage will be your salvation.’” “ Nothing is farther from my thoughts; and yet, how our feelings change. Ten years ago* the very sight of a bonnet made my heart flutter with emotions indescribable. But that,” I continued musingly, “ was in the transition state between boyhood and manhood; not till years after, when experience had chastened, without destroying, youthful romance, were those fleeting shadows upon tremulous waters banished to make way for an image, pure and bright as it was, lasting.” “ But that love was also a boyish dream,” said Frank Dashwood. “A dream, then, whose memory will haunt me forever;” and my voice trembled with concentra ted feeling, and my grasp lightened upon his arm, until he looked up surprised into my face. “Forgive me, Paul,” lie said, “you have not al luded to this for years, and I thought not that you still remembered it with feeling— you who are usually so cold—and so long ago as it was.” “Frank,” said I “I would as soon cease to re member my youth, as to forget her at whoso death all its brightness vanished. Her memory has outlived all else that belonged to that halcyon time of life—youthful enthusiasm, generous con fidence, young hopes and aspirations, outlived them ail. Her memory! the memory of the vic tim to family pride—of the woman who loved me, and who died for me, Frank. But enough of this. I never speak of it save to you.” He did not reply immediately, but sat looking dreamily out of the window at the far blue sky. Suddenly, he laid his hand on mine. “Paul Leslie,” he said, “I would give all my earthly hopes—the genius which is my only birth right—to love anything as you loved that woman. Worthless dog as I am, I believo it would be my redemption. And if I could be loved in return— but pshaw lit is folly. What would our club-fel lows say to hear such sentiments from me, except they were on paper, and that you know is profes sion? One who writes to quiet the gnawing ofhls gastric juice, must cater for the public tastes, and sentiment is the rage jus.t now in this money-ma king, grasping, working-day world. It is an anti dote to the practical, I suppose, acting on the prin ciple of counter-poisons;” and Dashwood laughed lightly, and drained another glass of Burgundy. “ Have a cigar; you’ll find one between the leaves of that Encyclopedia. Blest solace of life 1” he continued, placing the “fragrant weed” between his lips. “Essence of happiness, dried and rolled, and capable of being carried in a vest pocket! Real Havana—precious cigar* Sweet as manna—bright as a star.” Now, Paul, for a stroll on the Battery; and throwing off his dressing-gown, Dashwood linked his am in mine* and for the next hour was the gay. good humored, yet satirical wit, in which character alone he was known to his admiring circle of acquaintances. [to ws eesTlifWD.l