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,■'.•’ ‘ 1 ‘ ■’ ‘ JOHN H, SEALS, NEW SERIES, VOLUME 111. C|e Ctmptrhntt tosher. Published every Thurlfcy in the year, except two! TEHITIS : Two Dollars per year, in advance* JOHN H. SEALS, Botw PaorKirroß. IjIONELi L. VEAZEY, EBJTOR Literary Dep’tm’t. MRS. M. E. BRYAN, bothe*. JOHN A. REYNOLDS, Publisher. Clubs of Ten Names, by sending the Cash, will receive the paper at - - $1 50 Ip copy. 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: Sates of Advertising: 1 square, (twelve lines or less,) first insertion, $1 OO “ Each continuance, . 50 Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six lines, per year, i m Announcing Candidates for Office, Standing Advertisements: Advertisements not marked with the number of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged aC^M B er>hants, Druggists and others, may contract for advertising by the year on reasonable terms. Legal Advertisements: Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Ex ecutors and Guardians, per square, Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Ex ecutors and Guardians, per square, rr Notice to Debtors and Creditors, and £> Notice for Leave to Sell, . . ~ I: Citation for Letters of Administration, and 70 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm n, 500 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guard p, 325 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 ot 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 he 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 Dismissaon from Administration monthly, six months —for Dismission from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must he 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. ’ THE WEEKLY CHRONICLE & SENTINEIa, PUBLISHED AT AUGUSTA, GA. 13 TUB LARGEST AND BEST LARGEST AND BEST LARGEST AND BEST LARGEST AND BEST PAPER IN THE STATE. PAPER IN THE STATE. PAPER IN THE STATE. PAPER IN THE STATE. IN EVERY NUMBER IN EVERY NUMBER IN EVERY NUMBER IN EVERY NUMBER WK GIVE THE READER WE GIVE THE READER WE GIVE THE READER WE GIVE THE READER THREE TO FIVE TIMES As much Reading Matter as is contained in the ordinary Weekly Papers ot the South, consisting of INTERESTING STORIES AND TALES, INTERESTING STORIES AND TALES, INTERESTING STORIES AND TALES, INTERESTING STORIES AND TALES, MARKET REPORTS, MARKET REPORTS, MARKET REPORTS, MARKET REPORTS, LATEST NEWS AT HOME AND ABROAD, LATEST NEWS AT HOME AND ABROAD, LATEST NEWS AT HOME AND ABROAD, LATEST NEWS AT HOME AND ABROAD, Ac. Ac. Ac. The Weekly Chronicle & Sentinel, devoted to POLITICS, NEWS AND MISCELLANEOUS IN TELLIGENCE,- is issued every Wednesday morning, contains the LATEST NEWS received by Mail and Telegraph up to Twelve O’clock Tuesday Night, and is mailed to subscribers by the earliest trains from this city, at TWO DOLLARS A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. TRI-WEEKLY PAPER, |4.00, DAILY PAPER, $7.00. . Letters should be addressed to * W. S. JONES, Augusta, Ga. copies sent free when desired. April 15, 1858 C23cejcidLU CALL around and take some ICED LEMON ADE with June 10 J. M. BOWLES. —532(2)2 57 c© (E2*l£iaLif>33'lsy 9 LOVERS OF GOOD THINGS, FRESH AND PURE, TTJST give ‘ <*)ld Mac’ a call—he’s always ready aJ to supply the wants of those who may favor him with their patronage. What’ll you have ? A saucer of Cream, A Lemonade, Oranges &. Bananas, Peacans & Peanuts, Candies and Cakes, Stews, Fries, Bakes, Col’ rado & Ch’roots, ’Backer & Havanas, In sun or shade, ‘Old Mac’s’ th’ team that can furnish just what you may love! at short notice. Call, examine and eat. He may still be found at his old place. Greenesboro, June 10, 1858 D. McDONALD. nß.coGr SURGEON & MECHANICAL DENTIST, TT/’OULI? inform his friends that he * will back in November and attend mj J'TLLjl7 to his engagements at White Plains, Mt. Zion, Oxford and Penfield. May 13, 1858-tfjan ~~ LOST OR STOLEN, ALL persons are forewarned against trading for 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 twenty-fifth December thereafter; one on David Phelps of Hancock county for Twenty Dollars, dated in March last and due from dat^; 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 the subscriber as guardian of free boys Jerry and Ben; and the ma kers of the same are requested to make payment to no person except myself or my order. „ THOMAS D. SANFORD. Greenesboro’, March 4, 1858. a few 80 or 150 acre LAND WARRANTS, on immediate application at this office- * • May 27 * \WHotel, ellers. All who may favor us with their pat ronage, shall receive every attention necessary 5, M ...h.r. F*. li, Lt W,UJS ’ Fropri,,ot - THE firm of COE & LATIMER is this day dis solved by mutual consent. H. A. COE, * Greenesboro, May Ist, 1858 J. S. LATIMER. The practice will be continued by § who will visit Oxford, Penfield, White Plains, Mount Zion, S Warrenton, Elberton, v Danielsville Fort Lamar, ot which due notice will be given ™” £ Gazette. Permanent office in J. CUNNINGHAM^S BLOCK, GREENESB OR 0. . May 13, 1858 t J anl John K. Leak, A. B. Pres’t- THIS Institution is now open, with a full and able Faculty, for the reception of Students, both ! male and female. We have a commodious building, and the society, water and healthfulness of the locality are unsurpassed in the State. The course of •tudy is thorough and extensive in both departments, including all branches taught in the Male and Female Colleges. Board $8 per month—Tuition reasonable. We can and will make it to the interest of all who patronise the Institution. Students will come by railroad to New nan, Ga. thence by private conveyance to Carrollton. For further particulars address John K. Leak, Car* rollton, Ga. W. W. MERRELL, W. M. J. T. MEADOR, S. W. June 10-tey B. M LONG. J...W. qWAKRENTED to force the Moustache andn UVV Whiskers to grow strong and luxuriant in oneW wmonth, where there was none before. It will not stain® Mor injure the skin. One Dollar per bottle. Sent terj p Tdd e coun,ri ” “? pf shlldon, 2 June 10, 1858 6m New York City. Bowdon Collegiate Institute,) Bowdon, Carroll Cos. Ga- ] THE ANNUAL EXAMINATION will begin on Monday, the sth of July and end the following Wednesday. The Commencement Sermon on Sunday the 4th, by the Rev. Mr. Roberts of Marietta. Prize Declamation Class Tuesday night. Commencement Exercises on Wednesday. The friends and patrons of the School are respectfully requested to attend, June 10—tjulyS ASTOW a <C ! © ATLANTA, GEORGIA, HAVE, for six years past, been doing a heavy GROCERY,PRODUCE AND COMMISSION BUSINESS, and take this method of saying to the readers ol the Crusader that Atlanta, as a produce market, is unequalled in Georgia ; and they are still determined, by prompt and faithful attention to all or ders, to merit a continuance of the liberal patronage heretofore extended to them. Orders for Bacon, Lard, Corn, Flour, Feathers, Groceries, Factory Goods, <s-e. must be accompanied with the cash or satisfactory ref erences, [Atlanta, June 3—6 mos WHUTPIB® GRASS. THE subscriber offers for sale 25 or 30 bushels of the Winter Grass-seed, (known as the Iverson Grass —he having the reputation of introducing the same into Georgia.) Having raised three crops of this Grass, I am decidedly of the opinion that it is the best that has ever been introduced into this section, it being far preferable to rye or bi rlev for lots or grazing purpo ses. It grows luxuriantly all winter—hard freezes or heavy rains being no interference. It improves the land on which it grows ; neither does it hinder or obstruct the growth of any other crop on the sanic ground. All animals that feed on grass are very fond of it. The seed may be sown at any time from June until October and do well. I will refer the public to a perusal of the Circular of Hon. B. V. Iverson. Any person who de sires to procure the Grass-seed from me can do so _bv early application, and have it sent to any place which they may designate. D. HERRON. N. B. Any further information wanting can be ob tained by addressing me at Penfield. D. H. Penfielj, Ga. June 3, 1858 8t CERATOCHLOA BREVIARIsTATA Or, Short Awn Horn Grass. Columbus, Ga. .Sept. 29th, 1856. To the Planters, Farmers and Stock Raisers of Greene County, Ga ; Gentlemen : I take this method to bring to your notice a Foreign Winter Grass, the seed of which is now acclimated, and which I sincerely desire every Planter and Raiser to possess and cultivate. This grass grows in the fall, winter and spring, only, and is emphatically a winter grass. For the grazing of stock and making nutritious hay and restoring worn out fields, it has no superior. This grass has the following valuable qualities, which many year’s experience has abundantly demonstrated: Ist It has the largest seed of any known species of grass, being nearly as large as wheat. 2d It will grow [on very rich ground] from three to four feet high, when seasonable. 3d It is nevet injured by cold—no freeze hurts it. 4th It is never troubled by insects of any kind. sth It is never injured or retarded in growing by heavy rains, overflows or ordinary drought. 6th It grows as fast as Millet or Lucerne. 7th It is as nutritious as barley, and stock are as fond of it as they are of that. Bth If will keep horses, mules, cattle, sheep, goats, hogs and poultry fat throughout the winter and spring, from November to May. 9th It will then (the stock being withdrawn, and the ground being rich) yield from three to four tons of ex cellent hay per acre, cutting when the seed is green (in milk) each time. . ..r 10th It saves corn and fodder being fed away to slock during the winter and spring. 11th It completely protects fields from washing rains. 12th It ennables farmers to have an abundance of l rick milk, cream and butter, with fat beef, mutton, &,c. for the table. 13th It will (if followed with our cornfield pea or bean) give to farmers the cheapest, simplest, the surest and the most paying plan to reclaim worn out fields, and fertilize those not yet so, which the ingenuity of man can devise. 14th It will sow its own seeds after the first time, without expense or trouble, thereby re-producing itself (through its seeds) on the same ground ad infinitum. 15th It does not spread or take possession of a field, so as to be difficult to get rid of, but can be effectually destroyed at any stage before the seed ripen and fallout, by being plowed up or under. This grass having the above enumerated properties, will be found, by all who cultivate it, far superior to any other species ever introduced, or which can be in troduced, lor the climate and soil of our country. B. V. IVERSON. . , jm. ALL persons are hereby warned not to run horse races over any of the public highways of this county ; and any persons so offending, will be presented to the next Grand Jury. By us, JOHN G. HOLTZCLAW,) _t: © JOHN F. ZIMMERMAN, | g 2 “ L. B. JACKSON, i’gPf A. L. WILLIS, I £ June 10-2 t W. G. JOHNSON, J/’LSS THe copartnership business in the STEAM SAW MILLS at Woodville, heretofore existing between Bowling &. Haley, was dissolved, by mutual consent, on the first day of January last. All persons indebted to said firm, either by note or oook account, for the year 1857, are hereby notified to make payment to Jas. A. Haley, who is authorized jo receipt forthesame. June 10—lm JAMES A. HALEY- BY a member of the present Graduating Class of Mercer University, a situation as TEACHER for the remainder of the year. Address A. B. C. -Pen field, Ga. care of editors of Temperance Crusader. May 27th 4t POWDER and SHOT ! J. M. BOWLES. April 22 - 1 ■ 1 ‘ *“ r s you want an article superior to Potash for making Soap, buy the CONCENTRATED LEY. Marsh & /. M. fiWLM. THE ADOPTED ORGAN OF ALL THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE. BIT MRS. IS. E. BRI AN. PHASES IN A HUMAN LIFE. CHAPTER I. ASPIRATIONS. BY MARY B. BRYAN. THE study was dim with the shadows of a No vember evening. The few pictures, mostly by Vandyke, that looked down from their mas sive frames, grew life-like as the faint light sof tened their outlines, and upon one, Luther and his family, the eyes of the professor rested with dreamy fixedness. The fossils, minerals and crystals arranged in a cabinet of carved wood, and the jars of preserved reptiles and insects, re vealed the labors of the naturalist, while the chemical apparatus near the couch of the profes sor told that the room was used also as a labora tory. But the fire had died out in the furnace, the metal was cold in the crucible, smelted down to its black, elementary ore. Alas! it was a type of the man who reclined pale and motionless as a statue upon the pillows of the settee beside it. Even thus, had he cast into the crucible of science life, youth, health and all the sweet domestic charities that make existence so dear, and the flame, the insatiable thirst for knowledge, con sumed them all. The fire of the altar had drank eagerly the incense of the worshipper, and now, the oil of life all wasted, the pitcher broken at the fountain, the professor stood looking calmly forward for the solution of the great problem of death and eternity calmly, though his soul still clung fondly to the earth that to him had seemed such a revelation of wisdom and harmony. Alas! to be called away in the midst of his labors before he had passed the vestibule to the great temple of Science, and while yet a score of years was needed to complete man’s allotted number; a score of years that might be devoted to his cher ished studies; a score of years that might open to him the door to the holy of holies of that ma jestic temple, that might realize the hopes and dreams of his youth. Was it of this that the professor was thinking, as he lay with his fair hair, threaded with silver, pushed back from his broad forehead, and his bright eyes fixed upon that picture of the stern old reformer, in the bosom of his family unbend ing his grave brow before the smiles of household love? It may be that solitude and gloom and the shadow of death’s o’er brooding wing had brought tenderer memories and feelings to the heart of the professor, for there gathered an unwonted misti ness in his large, deep eyes. There was a knock at the door of the study, “Come in,” said Heinrich, drawing his dressing gown about him, dashing his hand hurriedly across his eyes, and then folding his arms upon his shrunken chest. Th 9 door opened and Claude St. Clair, the fair-haired pupil of Heinrich, en tered, and seating himself on a low Ottoman by the couch of the professor, he took his thin hand and kissed it with respectful tenderness. The act showed the affectionate relations existing be tween teacher and pupil, and betrayed also the boyish ingenuousness of the youth who, reared in the solitude of his retired home, with no society save the companionship, refined, thoughtful and pure of his mother and his tutor, still retained the simplicity and fearless innocence of child hood, although he had seen his seventeenth sum mer. “You are better to-day, my dear tutor,” said the boy with affectionate solicitude. “Much better,” replied the professor, “or I should not have sent for you, Claude, to have a long talk with you this evening—the last we shall have before I leave you forever.” “Oh! say not so,” cried Claude, earnestly. “ Leave off at least that doleful —* forever.’ You will go to your dear Germany, my good teacher, and the fresh air from your native hills, and the pure wine from the Rhine-land vintages will bring back health and vigor to your frame, and you will return to us, or if not, I will go to you, and we will resume our old studies in the shade of your castle-crowned hills. Think of it, dear Heinrich—only think what the future has in store for you—for us 1” The professor smiled a grave, sweet smile, and laid his hand caressingly upon the boy’s brown curls. “We will not talk of that now,” he said; “it is of you I wish to speak. You are standing on the threshhold of manhood, Claude; life lies before you; which of its many paths will you choose to tread? Society has claims upon you; you must not he, as I have been, the isolated student, with no thought or care of the outer world—the idle enthusiast, as men are pleased to call me.” “And why may I not?” asked Claude; “life is brief, and you tell me all its object is happiness. What if I bound my world by the walls of a lib rary? Shall Ibe les3 happy than if I mingled in the hurrying tide of men, of business and pleas ure? Shall I have lost much by never knowing the turbulent passions, the stormy joys and griefs that agitate the outer current of life ?” Heinrich passed his hand thoughtfully across his brow. With all his great learning and deep research, human duty was .an unsolved mystery to the man of science; still, he had a dim per ception of its existence. “I have inquired little into such things,” he said, “but I think we should live for others—not for ourselves alone. Moral philosophers tell us that a merely passive exis tence does not fulfill the great object of our be ing ; that we owe duties to our fellow-men, and that upon their observance depends, in a great measure, our happiness for eternity. I confess I have neglected mine; I have had but one object in life—the pursuit of knowledge. “ Yet, after all,” continued the professor, “metkinks that it is in solitude, in commune with itself, with the spirits of the mighty dead and the mysteries of the great universe, that the mind, theßoiJ, if you will, attains its fullest strength and majesty, be comes best fitted to wield an elevating influence over the inferior minds of the mass vvith which it does not mingle, and is best capacitated for the high, intellectual pursuits and enjoyments that await the soul in that future existence we all ac knowledge.” “Master,” cried the boy abruptly, breaking the silence that had followed Heinrich’s words, “you have studied all sciences; the volume of knowl edge is a familiar book to you. I, too, would know the delights that lie clasped within its pages; but I may not aspire to your extended scope. Tell me, to what branch, of science shall I oonfine my pursuit?” “ Boy,” said the professor, “ I have scarcely read the epeuiug page* night? yelnnt PENFIELD, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 17, 1858. you speak of; life is not long enough for its peru sal; and I, alas!” and the professor held up his wasted hand and looked regretfully at the blue veins that threaded its transparency.” “And yet,” he added, raising his head proudly, “I have studied all that men know of the various scien ces, and I will tell you, Claude, that had I your young years before me, there is one on which I should concentrate all my powers; one that, fal len as it is from its high estate, dimmed by the transitory blaze of new sciences, is yet worth them all. Metaphysics is unsatisfactory and shadowy, Philosophy vain, Urania a delusion, Hermes alone is thought, Alchemy, that in ages gone was con sidered the keystone to the arch of science. Were but a few move years granted me to per fect my partial discoveries, to pursue the intri cate paths. I have found, I would ask nothing more of Heaven.” The tremor was gone from the professor’s voice, and his tones rang clear arid high through the room, while the flush deepened upon his cheek. “But master,” said his pupil hesitatingly, “ you have not spoken of the study of human nature— of the heart, the great master-work of Deity. Surely it is well worth the time to study its phil osophy ?” “I leave that to the poets;” said Heinrich, with a gesture of contempt. “ Let them throw the veil of fancy over its weakness, its littleness, its vile ness. No; you might as well study the philoso phy of a weather vane, as to seek to apply fixed rules to that absurd, inconsistent and incompre hensible thing—the human heart. I speak not ignorantly, boy. Though immured half my life in the walls of a German university, there are years that I never speak of, that I look back upon now as wasted, which I spent mingling with men in the busiest city of the old world, and all I brought back from my vain search was a con tempt for the mass of my fellow-beings, and a skepticism as regards the vaunted nobility of ‘ God’s noblest work.’ ” “You speak disparagingly of the office of the poets,” said Claude. “From all that I can learn, their influence over mankind, in all ages of the world, has been greater than that of philosophers or sages. You remember it has been said, ‘ Let me write the songs of a people, and I cave not who writes its laws.’ ” The professor smiled. “ Perhaps you are right,” he said, looking earnestly at the boy’s animate, countenance; “ I acknowledge I have paid little attention to poetry; there is no romance in my nature, and but little sympathy with those who possess it.” No poetry in his nature! Ah! why was it, then, that the one hope, burning with feverish warmth at his heart, was, that he might reach his native land in time to die there ? Why the yearning once more to look upon the blue sky of Germany, the “sweet river Rhine,” the ruined home where his young life began and the graves of the loved and lost of his youtn ? And why had that picture of family love and domestic happi ness brought tears to the eyes of the lonely man; and the angel face of his dead sister—why looked it through his twilight reveries, growing bright and yet brighter as the veil of mortality grew thinner between his soul and hers? Ah! why belie our natures! Deep in every heart there wells the fountain of romance, fertilizing the waste desert of life, and over its bright waters poetry hangs her enchanted lyre. Philosophy may chill the fountain to ice, the weeds of sensu ality and vice may choke the 3tream and the ivy of age muffle the strings of the lyre, but it is still there, and often some sudden influence—a mem ory, a hope, a word of tenderness it may be, breaks the icy seal, clears away the weeds and the ivy, and the fountain overflows in sweet thoughts or holy tears. “And so,” said Heinrich, still regarding with a smile the fair face that had so suddenly clouded at his words; “so you sympathise with the poets ; you prefer the temple of the muse to the labora tory of Hermes; and my examples and teach ings have been vain; I have failed to inspire you with a love for science ; you would be a poet yourself, perhaps ?” The eloquent blood dyed the forehead of the youth, but his eyes did not fall before his tutor’s half contemptuous smile. “ I would,” he said; “ I covet the gift of poesy above all others ; I would have the power to send forth from my lonely study, thoughts that should sway the hearts of thousands; that should thrill them like a pulse of electricity. I would have the power to interpret the voiceless oracles of the heart—the great, living heart of humanity—with its world of thoughts and feelings; its stern pas sions ; its joys and griefs and hoj es ;. its tempta tions; its-lonely wrestlings, and its longings for higher life. “This,” continued the boy with flashing eyes, “ this is indeed power; and tell me, oh! my dear tutor, if your researches into tb stract sciences, if the gratification which knowl edge brings its possessor and the appreciation of a few learned minds, can equal the deep joy of the poet who feels that his home is in the hearts of a nation; that his magic wand has found the hidden fountains in many souls, and his genius awakened the high and noble thoughts that lay dormant in many a bosom.” The boy had been carried away by the inten sity of his feelings. Never before had he spoken thus; but this hour of confidence and parting tenderness had melted away the diffidence of young genius, and he expressed longings and as pirations never before uttered, save to his sympa thising mother, for he feared the cold criticism of the man of science. But the teacher’s look ot surprise deepened into one of admiration. “We have all our mission,” he said, thought fully. “ If, after the opposite tendency that has been given your mind you still turn to the pur suit of literature, it is proof that for this you were designed. I had hoped to leave behind me one who, following in my footsteps, would far outstrip me in progress; but follow your own inclination, Claude ; the earnest spirit will not be deterred from working out its own destiny. And you, , strange boy, with ft depth of thought and feeling so far beyond your years, should be born for a glorious destiny.” “Would that I could believe so!” exclaimed Claude, eagerly; “would that I could look into |he future; that I had some faint idea of what fate coming years will shape. You have studied the astrology of the ancients,” . he continued, turning to the tutor with a look half earnest, half playful on his face. “Do the stars reveal nothing of the future ? Is the science all a delusion “A poetic fable,” said the professor.;, “ ‘Fate is the Isis whose veil no mortal may raise, but our destiny is partly i** our own hands; genius and talent are indeed gifts of nature, but art and in, dustry, though they may not create, .can improve, and dureet them. If yu ihsuld •kto* literature as a vocation, do not waste your time and talents in desultory attempts; do not weary the wing of the eagle by erratic flights; concen trate your powers, and subject them to stern dis cipline ; study human nature; (for this, if you take poetry for your profession, you cannot es cape;) mingle much with men, and learn to sym pathise with all that moves them. When you aim to acquire power over the heart, and not over the intellect alone, you cannot confine yourself to the mute world of a library.” “ But if 1 fail?” interposed the boy, who had listened with eager interest to every word of his instructor. “ With your delicate mental organization and sensitive nature, the ordeal may be a trying one; but be earnest, patient and faithful in the Cru sade you have undertaken. Dr. Arnold, with his large experience in the miniature world of a school, tells us that the difference in men is not mere ability: it is energy. It is this you poets need. You prefer dreaming on violet banks to toiling up steeps, at whose summit gush the springs of thought and inspiration. There!” ad ded the tutor, smiling, “ that is in your own fig urative style; but see ! our conference must end,” and he pointed to the western sky, where the. star of evening was walking, a solitary sentry, on the cloudy parapet of Heaven. “My last sunset in America!” he said, mus ingly. The light faded from the eyes of Claude. “Master,” said the boy in tremulous accents, “ when you stand on your native soil and find there, perchance, only old memories and silent graves to welcome you, you will not forget that on this western shore there are true hearts beat ing for you, and hands ready and eager to greet your return?” “No, boy,” said the professor, drawing the bowed head to his heart, in the first embrace he had ever given; and when you, in the glory of your manhood, seek inspiration in the land of legends and traditionary beauty, should you chance, in your wanderings on the Rhine, to see in the lonely burial-ground of Mentz the name of ‘Heinrich’ on an humble grave-stone, you will pause awhile and think of one whose cold, love less life caught its only beam of gladness from the Bunny light of your young spirit.” When the morning built her amber pillars on ‘he sunken night, the professor trod the deck of an outward bound vessel, and watched the fast receding shores of the western empire, while Claude turned away from the strand and went back to the old homestead to sit in the dreary study alone—alone with his young dreams and shadowy aspirations, to which the professor’s words had given form and substance. “ Oh ! give me new faces, new faces, new faces ; I’ve gazed on the present a fortnight or more. Some persons grow weary ol things or of places, But features to me is a much greater bore.” A VERY frank oonfession of fickleness cer tainly; but to'understand and feel the force of the assertion, one must be oompelled to sit for a length of time w&a-vig with tiresome, blank or disagreeable countenances; for there are (and I leave it to my candid readers if there are not) faces pretty enough, so far as mere flesh and blood beauty is concerned, that it would be perfect pur gatory to be condemned *to look at daily for a year or a month. As children weary of their dolls, and we tire of looking at the same features in a picture or a statue. ch changeless, expressionless faces soon lose all their attractions, and we would wel come plainness as a relief. The symmetry of fea tures ceases to challenge admiration; the stereo typed smile palls upon the sense; the eyes, bright though they may be, when there is no soul in their depths, no change on their surface, are tire some to look at as the unruffled lake in June; for even beauty must cloy when, like the “long, ‘Sunny lapse of a summer day’s light” “ Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, ’Till love falls asleep in the sameness of splendor.” But there are faces that we could gaze on for ever witjiout weariness—faces whose beauty de pends not upon the classic regularity of feature, but upon the soul shining through them like light within a vase. There are cheeks that can flush or pale with varying emotions; eyes that can dar ken and deepen ; that can flash with indignation or melt with tenderness ; lips that can quiver with passion or compress with pride. Who cares if such a face has not the symmetry of a statue? it has a beauty more enduring —a beauty of which neither time nor disease can de prive its possessor. The most fascinating face I ever saw, was one whose exceeding beauty depended mostly upon this mystic charm of expression. Ah ! that face, with its changeful play of light and shadow; the moonlight softness of its smile ; the twilight of its sadness: the lightning of its scorn! It was to me an unwritten poem, or page of beauty that the eye never wearied of reading ; for it was the soul within—the soul of strong passions, of deep thoughts and bright fancies that threw its reflec tion across the features and “ Touched every line with glory of that animated face.” _ E. B. A STRAY SUNBEAM.. THERE is no spot on earth so dark but that some ray of the blessed sunshine of beauty and goodness streams through to illumine it. On the stagnant pool blooms the water lily in its purity, and the convolvulus throws its starry blossoms over noisome ditches, its white cups, fair as though moulded of the snows of Mount Blanc, and in the frozen regions of Arctic deso lation, the Boreal light sheds its roseate splendor on the sunless plains. It is even so in human life. Near the house of a friend, in a pleasant vil lage where I spent a few weeks, was a wretched, dilapidated, comfortless cabin—the abode of pov erty, of intemperance and, for aught I know, of shame. Nothing but coarse, loud voices, threats, imprecations and drunken merriment came from its walls. No flower bloomed around its doorwaj, no bird found in its weedy yard room for his nest or inspiration for his song. Thereavas noth ing of beauty around it, and I, who so worship beauty, avoided passing it in m$ walks. But oven here, the breath of God had trans ported the winged seed of his love. Even in this waste blossomed the white lily of purity. Chanc ing to pass near the house on returning home one evening, I saw a pale little child—a girl of five or six summers —Bitting upon the low doorstep. She raised her eyes as I passed, and what eyes they were! So strangely gentle and beautiful; yet, with Buch a world of unutterable sadness in their blue depths! And the face! It would have reminded you of one of Raphael's, angels, if the leek es earthly serfew kM everikadewed its ■’ - A v < •/* . f- ‘ EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. VOL. XXIV. NOMBSa W innocent beauty. She was holding ip hos arms a little, half-starved kitten, pressing it to her heart and caressing it with her thin fingers. Per haps it was all she had on earth to love. I saw her often afterwards, for I no longer avoided passing the house in my evening ram bles; and though I never stopped, and.seldom spoke to the lonely child, I think she learned te watch for my coming and answer my look of rec ognition with one of her sweet, grave smile*. I gave her a flower one day—a magnificent rose, it* stem bending with the weight of bursting buda— and I think by the bright look in her wondering eyes, that she had never seen anything half so beautiful. The evening before I left, it woe grow ing late, as I returned from a long stroll, and I was hurrying past the cabin, when a child’s timid voice arrested my steps, and a little hand was thrust through the paling and dropped a few ber ries into mine. “ Little girl,” said I, touched by the mute of fering, “is the woman living in that ouse your mother ?” She shook her head. “Whoso child are you, then?” I continued, “ What is your mother’s name?” “ I have’nt got any,” she said, sorrowfully ; “ 1 never had any that I knows of,” and the long lashes drooped down over her eyes. A loud, harsh voice called her na m g from the window, and she ran away before I could bid her good-bye. I never saw her again. I do not think I ever shall, for such eyes and such a face as hers belong to the early doomed. There are some “children whose mission on this sinful earth is but a brief one. They have God’B own name written on their foreheads; their words and thoughts are all peculiar, as though they had learned them of th® angels they so lately left; and there is a strange mystery and sweetness dreaming far down in their eyes, while an atmosphere of purity seem® to surround them and prevent the contaminating influence of evil. There are such children, but their names are soon written upon toombstones; not long does the pitying Father suffer them to remain in this world of sin and blight. They have their mission. Their little life is breathed out in fragrance, and their death is a lesson to crime-haruenod souls. M. E. B. THE SUMMER RAIN. BY MARY E. BIiYAX. It comes at last, the sweet, refreshing rain, And earth iu her deep gladness hushes all Her busy sounds to listen to its voice, And feel its baptism blessed upon her brow. Long with her dry parched iipe has she implored The blessing God withheld, and the strong sea Has held his breath to list if qn the hills Come not the sound of its approaching feet. Low drooped the fruit’s bright clusters, the faint ffui Paled on the roses’ cheek, the lily frail Folded her white hands meekly and bowed down Resigned beneath the sun’s relentless gaze. The little naiads of the willowy brook Mourned their impoverished urns, and pole and thin Flowed the soft tresses of the Indian maize. The farmer passed his fingers through its. threads, And sighing, turned away. Within the field, The wild flowers lifted all their thirsting cups To be replenished by the nectarean draught— All, save the helianthus that alone With starry eye undimmed, gazed on its god, Moving in burning majesty through spac®. Last night I swept my curtain back and looked, Hoping the spirit of the rain had sent Some fleecy herald o’er the sky, but vain ! The stars shone down in mockery, and seres* The moon rode high, with not the thinnest mist Veiling her haughty splendor. Morning came ; I saw her rise above the eastern hills, Shaking the dew-drops from her golden looks; And to her opal ear, lo! there were yoked, Like unto Juno’s swans, two fleecy clouds. They braved the day-god’s frown, and ere the n*on They mounted to the zenith and dissolved In liquid sweetness oh the thirsting plain. It was as though the pitying angels leaned O’er the edges and from their full urns Poured down the crystal tide. The lily Sower Bends now its brimming cup, the tiny stream Has found its voice again, and the sweet lake Is dimpled with the glad ratn’s dancing feet, While from the leafy covert of yon tree The young birds peer from the maternal wing, And in their nest secure, look wondering up At the bright drops that fall, and on the leave® Hang like to liquid jewels. Ne’er before In their short life of days, or weeks at best, Have those young fledglings heard the sound es rain. ’Tis anew leaf to them in Nature’s book, Whose living poetry these songsters set To sweetest music, and all summer long Weave into loveliest ballads that alone The poet’s heart and his inspired sense Can e’er translate in words. Thomas ville. TIIE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES. THERE is music, deep and harmonious, sound ing through space’forever; for the spheres are the golden harps of God, and for unnumbered centuries their melody has echoed through Hea ven, while in the “shadow of His own splendor” sets the eternal Harpist, end the angels bow be fore Him, mute with adoring love. Our owe earth, unit as it is amid the bright myriads of worlds that surround it; yet, what deathleae sounds, what living music it sends up to the throne of the Almighty! the sweet soprano of love; the ringing contralto of passion ; the clar ion blast of war; the chime of marriage bells; the song of praise; the wail of anguish; the thrilling npte of joy; the plaint of the oppressed and the triumphant cry of the oppressor; and through all, there sounds the eternal refrain, the knell of death, “ That everlasting underbnse Os our afflicted race.” Discordant to our limited sense seems the musie of earth; but we catch not the strain entire; we peroeive not the blending of notes whioh, when sounded separately, jar painfully upon; the ear; but God and His angels, to whom roll3 the full tide of music, the apparent discords are perfect harmony, and not a chord of the mighty instru ment but is attuned to melody. The groat scroll whereon the hand of tho Un erring has written the music of the spheres shall one day be unrolled before us, and we shall M knowledge its beauty and harmony, and the wi*- dom of Ilim who holds in His hand the golden reins of innumerable worlds. M. & B. \’ _ THE RETORT. Says Delia to a reverend dean, “ What reason can be given, Since marriage is a holy theme, That there are none in Heaven 1” “There are no women there,” he sriadt Shequick returned the jest, ” Wbmen there are; but I’m afriAd They cannot find a priest.” A SERIOUS QUSSTIO*. Said Lady Bab to Lady - “ I wish I were as blest aa you ; Your husband is polite and kind, Os gentle manners, gen’rous mind, Obliging, gay—in friendship warm, With every quality to charm.” “Pray, Lady Bab, oried Lady Sue, “How came my husband— entre noua** So intimately known to you t' 1 Joy, Temperance and Iteposa, Slam the door on the doctor’s nest. “A list! list! *y laUfdm so alke JM*