Hlje JffeiJtTjttt cmpmuicf §|§tttstT&ct.
JOHN H. SEALS,
NEW SERIES, VOLUME 111.
TEMPERA NCE C RUSA 1) ER.
Published every Thursday in the year, except two.
TERMS t Two Dollars per year, In advance.
JOHN H. SEALS, Sols Pbopkietob.
LIONEL L. VK.VZEY, Editor Literary Department.
MRS M. K. BRYAN, Editress.
JOHN A. REYNOLDS, Publisher.
Clubs of Ten Names, by sending the Cash,
will receive the paper at .... slso^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.
I | t
Bates 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
Advertisements not marked with the number of
insertions, will be continued until forbid, and eitarged
Merchants, Druggists and others, may contract
for advertising by the year on reasonable terms.
Sale 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, 325
Sales of Land and Negroes by Administrators, Exec
mors 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,
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published
monthly, for four months —lor compelling titles from Ex
ecutors or Administrators, where a bond has been issued
by the deceased, the full space of three months.
H&C Publications will always be continued according
to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise or
g7A Q.'fatoiney j- -fhtucfciy,
TTIIfO 9c LEWIS, Attorneys at haw, Greenes
boro, Ga. The undersigned, having associated
themselves together in the practice of law, will attend
to all business intrusted to their care, with that prompt
ness and efficiency which long experience, united with
industry, can secure. Offices at Greenesboro and five
miles west of White Plains, Greene county, Ga.
Y. p. king. July 1, 1858. m. w. LEWIS.
TETHIT G. JOHNSON, Attorney at Law,
* * Augusta, Ga. will prompily attend to all business
intrusted to his professional management in Richmond
and the adjoining counties. Office on Mclntosh street,
three doors below Constitutionalist office.
Reference —Thos. R. R. Cobb, Athens, Ga.
June 14 ly
ROGER E. WIIIGHARI, Louisville, Jef
ferson county, Georgia, will give prompt attention
to any business intrusted to his care, in the following
counties : Jefferson, Burke, Richmond, Columbia, War
ren, Washington, Emanuel, Montgomery, Tatnail and
Scriven. April 26, 1856 ts
T EONARD T*. DOVAL, Attorney at Law,
McDonough, Henry county, Ga. will practice Law 1
in the following counties: Henry, Spaulding, Butts,
Newton, Fayette, Fulton, DcKalb, Pike and Monroe.
DH. SANDERS, Attorney at Law, Albany,
• Ga. will practise in the counties of Dougherty,
Sumter, Lee, Randolph, Calhoun, Early, Baker, Deca
tur and Worth. Jan 1 ly
HT. PERKINS, Attorney at Law, Greenes
• boro, Ga. will practice in the counties of Greene,
Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliaferro, Hancock,
Wilkes and Warren. Feb ly
DHILLIP B. ROBINSON, Attorney at
-t Law, Greenesboro, Ga. will practice in the coun
ties of Greene. Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliafer
ro, Hancock* Wilkes and Warren. July 5, ’56-lv
JAMES BROWN, Attorney at Law, Fancy
Hill, Murray Cos. Ga. April 30, 1857.
SIBLEY, BOGGSIc CO.
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN—
Choice Family Groceries, Cigars, &c.
276 Broad Street, Augusta, Georgia.
Feb 18,1858 ll
Mo IPo Q'm'W&Mag
Warehouse & Commission Merchant,
/CONTINUES the business in all its
I O Jltl branches, in his large and commodi
ous Fire-Proof Warehouse, on Jackson
street, near the Globe Hotel.
Orders for Goods, &c. promptly and carefully filled.
The usual cash facilities afforded customers.
July 22 6m*
Warehouse & Commission Merchants,
yr iHf TT A-VING entered into a co-part-
Ml O |sig JET ship for the purpose of carrying on
the Storage and Commission Business in
all of its branches, respectfully solicit con
signments of Cotton and other produce; also'orders for
Bagging, Rope and family supplies. Their strict, per
sonal attention will be given to the business.
All the facilities due lrom factors to patrons shall he
granted with a liberal hand.
ISAAC T. HEARD,
WM. C. DERRY.
July 22d, 1858.
WILL continue the WAREHOUSE and COM- !
MISSION BUSINESS nt their old stand on
Jackson street. Will devote their personal attention to
the Storage and sale of Cotton, Bacon, Grain, &c.
Liberal cash advances made when required ; and all
orders for Family Supplies, Bagging, Rope, &c. filled
at the lowest market price.
JOHN C. REES. [Aug 12] SAM’L D. LINTON.
” POULLAIN, JENNINGS & CO.
GROCERS AND COTTON FACTORS,
Opposite the Globe Motel, Augusta* Georgia.
CONTINUE, as heretofore, in connection with
their Grocery Business, to attend to the sale of
COTTON and other produce.
They will be prepared in the Brick Fireproof Ware
house, now in process of erection in the front of their
•tore, at theintcrsection of Jackson and R'eynold streets,
to receive on storage all consignments made them.
Liberal cash advances made on Produce in store,
when requested. ANTOINE POULLAIN,
4 THOMAS J. JENNINGS,
Aug 19 —6m ISAIAH PURSE.
WAREHOUSE AND COMMISSION MERCHANT,
THE undersigned, thankful for the liberal pa
tronage extended to him for a series of years, would
inform his friends and the public that he will continue
at his same well known Brick Warehouse on Campbell
street, near Bones, Brown & Co’s. Hardware House,
where, by strict personal attention to all business en
trusted to his care, he hopes he will receive a share ol
,h Cash Rope and Family Supplies,
will be forwarded to customers as heretofore, when de
sired. [Augusta, Ga. Aug 19-6 m
! WANTED by a young lady, a graduate of
* * a Southern College, a situation as TEACHER
in a Primary and Preparatory School, or to teach Hair
Braiding, Oil, Pastille and Grecian Painting, <k.c. Re
ferences given if desired. Address L. G. S.. White
Plains, Greene county, Ga. [Aug 26—It
A Classical Teacher Wanted
r D< > take charge of PIN E GROVE ACADEMY,
-A- near Double Wells,. Warren county. Apply to
either of the undersigned.
WILLIAM B. BARKSDALE,
JOHN H. HUBERT,
Aug 26 M. H. HUBERT.
ICS. MORGAN & MeGREGOR,
Surgeon and Mechanical Dentists,
Peniield, Ga. would inform the citizens ol
Greene and adjoining counties, that they are prepared
to perform any operation pertaining to their profession,
with neatne-s and despatch.
They will insert from one to an entire set of teeth,
which, for beauty, durability, comfort and masticating,
will compare with any either in this country or in Eu
rope. It is their intention to please, and where perfect,
satisfaction is not given, they will make no charge.
Any call from the country that may be tendered them
will meet with their prompt attention.
L. W. McGREGOR.
They refer to Dr. John B. Murphey, of Rome, Ga.
Dr. C. B. Lombard, Athens, “
Sept 2, 1858.
ARE now purchasing one of the largest and
most elegant stocks of
Fall and Winter DRY GOODS
that will be brought to this market this season, which
will be bought under circumstances that will guarantee
the purchase upon the very best terms, and will there
fore enable us to sell them at such
Unprecedentedly Low Prices
that they cannot be undersold, and will
DEFY ALL COMPETITION,
QUALITY, STYLE AND PRICE.
And as our rule of business is,
no one will pay over market price, as the rule forces the
seller to ask the loirest market price, and protects the buyer.
If you wish goods at low prices,
Go to BROOME & NORRELL’S.
If you like fair and open dealing,
Go to BROOME & NORRELL’S.
If you dislike a dozen prices for the same article, and
prefer “ one price,”
Go to BROOME & NORRELL’S.
If you don’t like to be “baited” one article, and pay
doubly on another,
Go to BROOME & NORRELL’S.
In fact, if you wish to buy cheap goods, get good value
for your money, and trade where you like to deal, and
be pleased to see your friends,
Go to BROOME & NORRELL’S
ONE PRICE STORE!
August 2, 1858
SELLING OFF AT COST!
The subscriber, with a view to closing his busi
ness, is now offering his entire stock of mer
chandise at cost. Anyone in want of a bargain, ei
ther in Dry Goods, Dress Goods, Ready-made Cloth
ing, Hats, Caps, Boots,Shoes,Drugs, Medicines,Crock
ery, Hollow and Willow Wares, &.C., &.C., will do well
to call and examine my Stock, before purchasing.
Peniield, Aug. 5 WM. B. SEALS.
130-000 BRICKS WANTED^
PROPOSALS will be received until Ist September,
by the undersigned, for the delivery to them, in
Penfield, of 130,000 bricks, oil or before the 15th of No
vember next. Good clay can lie had within a quarter
of a mile of the place of delivery.
il. 11. TUCKER,
.1. E. WILLET,
W. B. SEALS,
Penfield, Green Cos. Ga. N. M. CRAWFORD.
Aug. 12, 1858
TIIE firm of COE & LATIMER is this day dis
solved by mutual consent. 11. A. COE,
Greenesboro, May Ist, 1858 J. S. LATIMER.
The practice will be continued by
who will visit
oi which due notice will he given intlie Crusader and
Gazette. Permanent office in J. CUNNINGHAM'S
May 13, 1858 tjanl
YOU can at all times find a fine assortment of
TIN, exceedingly low for the Cash, with
July 1, 1858 J. M. BOWLES.
A SERMON AND ITS APPLICATION.
The Reverend J. S. has attained a high distinc
tion as a very forcible, though somewhat eccen
tric preacher. He was at one time preaching in
the city where he still labors, and has in his con
gregation a rough but kind-hearted butcher, who
was a little given to dividing the sermon audibly
among the congregation —fearing, perhaps, that
; some of the hearers might not understand that
the preacher meant them. On this occasion, Mr.
S. had undertaken to point, out some of the faults
of his people in relation to the observance of the
Sabbath, and proceeded somewhat after this fash
“ Even when you come to the house of God, my
brethren, your thoughts are not on His Word or
on heavenly and divine things. One of you, for
instance, will he thinking of yourwhalesliips (the
town was a whaling port) and reckoning how
much money yon will make out of it.”
“That’s you, Deacon W.” interposed the butch
er, in a voice audible all over the house,
t “Another,” pursued the minister, “will be
I thinking of the house he is building, and contriving
how he can slight his work, so as to make it pro
“That's you, Deacon L.” again broke in the
“Another,” continued Mr. S. “will be occupied
with the thoughts of his goods, and with planning
how he can sell more of them, and at a better
“That’s you, brother B.” said the butcher.
“ Another will be counting his gains from bis
; fisheries, and wishing he could catch larger quan
tities or sell them faster,”
j “That’s you, brother II.” interrupted the
j “Another,” said the pastor, “and he the worst
| of all, because he breaks the Sabbath worse than
| the-, rest, will rise on the Sabbath morning and
) kill a beef and dress it, so a3 to have it ready for
i market on Monday morning.”
“And that’s me !” roared the butcher, and ever
j after held his peace.
Happy is the man who lias health, competence
| and contentment.
Happy is the man who feareth not the sheriff—
-1 who turn etli not aside from the constable—has
i complied with the injunction of the Apostle: owe
I no man anything.
THE ADOPTED ORGAN OF ALL THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE.
PENFIELD, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 18 58.
vL© IE IP A Elf M EIYIT iJJ
BY MRS. M. E. BRYAN.
HOME again, after a three weeks’ delightful
holiday in the fair land of flowers; but a bas
ket overflowing with unanswered letters and llie
consciousness that afar off, mv esteemed associates
are looking black at the non-appearance of my
weekly packages, subtract considerably from the
pleasure of being in the accustomed seat, donning
the comfortable dressing gown, hearing the sweet
home voices and breathing the perfumed airs
that float in at my study window. Nothing of
mine in the last number of the Crusader, and the
literary editor compelled to throw aside his pen
and make selections to “fillup.” lam sorry;
but never mind! I rather think this constant
strain on the mental powers is weakening, and
perhaps the mind will be all the better and
fresher for this little relaxing of the tension.
Twice, during my absence, I resumed “the
mighty instrument of little men,” but all in vain.
The grey goose quill was no longer the wand of
the magician, and not a thought or a fancy rose
at its bidding. Not an idea nestled among my
braids, that it was not chased away by the mirth
ful voices below stairs, and then, when I left the
town for a week’s visit to the country—the green,
beautiful, bewitching country —it was an utter
impossibility to tie down roving inclinations to
pen and paper, when blue skies and flowery
woods, and children’s witching voices were woo
ing me away. I did write to our home paper a
hurried letter of four pages, about my visit to
Quincy—a pleasant visit truly, but the country
| was most delightful. “ God made the country,
I and man made the town the feeling will never
become stale if the quotation is so, and certainly
none but the hand of the Architect divine could
have made “ Vaucluse” so lovely as when it met
my eyes on that stilly summer evening one week
ago. Fancy a grove of oaks—a bird’s nest cottage
—the gateway overarched with old-fashioned En
glish honeysuckle ; the walk shaded by cedars ;
pink and blue China astors blooming in boxes
ranged beneath the trees; the interior a temple
of purity and neatness, and without, a winding
footpath, leading down the hill to a spring at its
foot, where the bright waters gush from a high
bank, overhung by a shading tree and green with
cool mosses, fern leaves, and the trailing, red
fruited vines of the partridge berry.
Sweet places to dream in were there at Vau
cluse—their quiet, all the more acceptable, from
its contrast to the gayety of the previous week ;
one in the shade of the Magnolias, near where the
bee hives were ranged and the busy workers hum
med all day among the fragrant hop vines, whose
clusters hung over the paling.
Time himself might have fallen asleep in that
soft, soporific atmosphere, and his rugged brow
been smoothed by the kisses of golden dreams.
Lad.us in umbra. Dumque thy mo pascentur apes.
Such fragments of Virgil’s musical idyls floated
dreamily through my brain as the hours went by,
and the thyme fragrance of Mantua breathed
around me and the tenuis arena of the shepherd
piped from the hills.
Rides and rambles through the summer woods
were also the order of the day, and there were
children, whose merry voices and gay laughter
were refreshing as iced sherbet. It was such
happiness to forget one’s self for a few brief,
blessed hours and be a child with them again—
to go with them beyond the waste field, covered
with May apples, to the brook that wound
through a natural vineyard, and fish with bent
pins and elder stalks for the minnows that lurked
beneath the overhanging water-flags. And then
the delicious summer twilights, with the moon
floating like a golden island in the grey, blue sky,
and the stars faltering forth, like “first word of ‘
love from a maiden’s lips;” how delightful, then, j
to tell fairy stories and sing elfin songs to little |
brown heads lying in my lap; to hear the trem
bling voice of the breeze whispering among the
magnolias; to inhale the rare breathings of jas
mine and rose, and to look up at the bright stars !
with such a sense of unutterable joy—of deep
thankfulness—and murmur softly, “My father,
l thank thee for all this beauty.” These are
among the memories that cluster around those
fleeting weeks—memories that make the heart
purer and better; that are worth any dry disser
tation on morality ever contained between cloth
or morocco bindings.
Ah well! if I give memory therein, she will
wander all night among the groves of Vaucluse;
and here are these unanswered letters. How in
the world am I ever to “ catchup” again with my
correspondence? I have broken the seals of
most of the envelopes, and fortunate it is, that
four of the letters are from editors—a class of
men that rarely judge harshly ; that have learned
patience in the school of experience, and there
fore will not allow 7 their equanimity to be disturb
ed by an occasional delay. Here is one from a
new correspondent—of Jefferson, Georgia—dated
nearly a month ago. You shall not go unan
swered, my complimentary friend; but don’t you
really think now that I have a poetry machine
in my possession, and can grind out verses when
ever I please, and on any given subject ? “ Natlie
less” your request shall be complied with, though ;
I wish you had been a little more explicit about i
the lady. Has she blue eyes or brown ? is she !
sylplilike in appearance, or does she look as j
though devoted to beans and bacon ?
Yet another, from an esteemed correspondent i
in Apalachicola, telling of busy labors through j
the day, and lonely watchings and soul coimnun- 1
ings at midnight, with the silence only broken
by the voice of waves breaking on the moonlit j
shore. How unlike this letter, with its heart re- j
vealiugs, to the easy, gossipping or deeply pliilo
sophidal style of the writer, when he uses his pen
for the public eye.
Another—a business-like epistle—dated from
the office of the Lumpkin Palladium. Ah! an
editor again. Well; his patience hasstood severer
tests before, I dare say. Ife will bear with me a
A dainty little envelope, a sheet of perfumed
note paper and two pages of delicate chirography,
[ signed “ A Bride.” A bride! well, that is some
• thing rare, indeed, and yet l might almost have
guessed it; for the very envelope is redolent df
• orange blossoms, and the paper is stampped in
the corner with a pair of turtles, encircled by a
s This makes the third time, 1 believe, that I
have received such anonymous letters from la
- dies, and each time I have answered them through
i the paper; for I supposed it was their wish I
s should do so, else why not give me their real names ?
This letter is really a charming one, and I can
| scarcely resist the temptation of giving it entire.
| She has been married just three months: con
j sequently, the honeymoon is at its zenith, and
■ everything cofev.r de rose; but even turtles cannot
always be billing and cooing; Fred lias employ
ment up town, and the little “ Bride” confesses |
to a feeling of loneliness in, his absence, which
•she fears will deepen into positive ennui.
Listen to her pathetic account:
“ Fred has business that takes him away at least
seven hours in the day, and I do have such a. time
passing these long mornings. 1 practise until my
fingers ache, and then I embroider awhile, (1 am
working Fred such a nice shirt bosom,) but 1 get
tired of this, and I want something else to do.
We are living with liis mother, so that all the
housekeeping is taken off my hands. 1 used to
write, when I was a girl. I wrote two pieces of
poetry for the “ Ladies’ Companion,” signed
“Anna.” I will cut them out and send them to
you. I think of taking up the pen again as a
dernier resortc, and Fred wishes me to do it. He
says he should be so proud, if I could win a lite
rary reputation. What do you say to it?”
That I would bite my finger nails awhile yet,
before trying that “ dernier resorte,” “ Little Bride.”
Names are not so easily won, when the applicants
are legion. The market is already overstocked,
and manuscripts besiege every editor’s office,
thick as leaves in Vallambrosa. The mania for
authorship is fast approaching its climax. Then,
there will come a re-action. Literature will be
come so common that it will cease to command
fame or pay, and then the “unordained ones”
(for many are called, but few are chosen) will
leave the field to those whom genius prompts to
make authorship their profession. That the ma
jority of these will be females, none who have no
ted the “ signs of the times” will gainsay. But
they will not be such as you are, dear lady—you,
sheltered under the wing of love—rocked in the
softly-lined nest of plenty. They will be women
who have been tried in the fiery furnace of want,
whose latent capabilities and energies have been
developed by strong, forcing circumstances —wo-
men who write for dear life’s sake, to keep the
wolf from their door, and who look for inspirx
tion into the hungry eyes of the dear ones de
pendent on them for bread. And that other
class—who write from the dictates of their own
restless, dissatisfied hearts, that thwarted in wo
man's natural destiny—to love and to bo loved—
debarred forever from all the “sweet, domestic
charities that make life dear,” forbid by fate to
wear the blest name of wife, or know the holy joy
of sheltering, household affection—turn for con
solation to the genius that would else have
served but to enliven the domestic hearth. And
think you that the thoughts which flow from their
pens will be colored by their own sombre expe
riences? Ah ! little do you know of true genius,
if you fancy that it is dependent upon outward
influences, personal feelings or real experiences.
It is as high above all these as the stars are above
the clouds that sometimes veil them.
But how 1 have enlarged upon a subject of
such little importance! Surely it would not
matter much, fair “bride,” if you should, write
verses for the newspapers; only it will hardly re
pay you for wasting foolscap, inking your pretty
fingers and neglecting your hair, to have the edi
tor of the Gem call you “our fair correspondent,”
or the Despatch copy your affecting lines “on the
death of a lady.” I think I should rather have
Fred’s mother show me how to make citron pud
dings, (of which I venture to say he is fond, if he
is like other men,) or read to the old lady while
she is sewing, or work Freddy himselt a pair of
slippers after that “ national pattern,” which J
think the prettiest Godey has given ; or else get
Fred to bring you a pair of Canaries to pet and
talk to until other bird lings shall seek your
please nt nest—tender, winsome, heaven-sent
fledgelings, human and immortal, that shall man
age to occupy your time and effectually banish
1 However, here are my best wishes for your hap
piness and success in whatever you undertake,
whether it be the manufacture of poetry or pina
And now, no farther peep into the letter bas
l ket to-night. I merely meant to plead an excuse
to subscribers and associates for my delinquency,
and 1 have gossipped away, in a style more enter
taining to me, perhaps, than to my readers.
M. E. B.
, ELEANOR LEE.
BY MARY E. BUYAN.
The vines are torn from the drooping bowers,
And lie strewn and withered around,
And the rain has beat the crimson flowers
Deep into the gray, wet ground ;
And the mottled leaflets fall, frail things,
Like wounded birds with their blood-stained wings.
Mournfully, over wood and heath
Are wandering the restless winds,
And there’s that in their voice that tells ol death,
As they sing to the gloomy pines ;
While the dull, gray face of the moaning sea
Is the saddest sight on earth to me.
Eleanor Lee, pale Eleanor Lee,
Why lie ’mid these mouldering stones?
I can bear no longer your tears to see,
Or list to your pitilul moans.
Put the dark, damp locks away from your lace,
And go with me from this burial place.
Come, walk with me on this lone sea side,
Where the rushes bend to the wave;
Where we wandered, long ere you were a bride,
Or wept o’er your baby’s grave.
! ’Tis of those old days that I now would speak—
j Even now—with those tears on your cold, white cheek.
| Y r on knew that I loved you, Eleanor Lee ;
That 1 lived for you alone;
i That your smile was as sun and star to me.
And your voice was music’s own.
: The heart matures long ere brain and brow,
And I loved you then as I love you now.
I What parted us then, God only knows,
And I shall not ask you now.
j Let Oblivion’s tomb o’er the dead past, elose
Broken troth and bridal vow —
But I wandered away, over land and sea,
And left you a bride, oh! Eleanor Lee.
And still, ’mid Araby’s deserts bare,
And’neath tropic skies ol blue
To my soul, like the voice of the wandering an,
Caine there haunting thoughts ot you;
And the pale, sad face of Eleanor Lee
Was the sweetest thing under Heaven to me.
I came to my native home at last,
And found—well it matters not—
I cannot speak of thy wrongs that are past
li is best that they bo forgot;
But thou had’st suffered—Heaven knows how deep—
And thine eyes had learned what it was to weep.
; There arc loves that change with the changing moon— j
That wax and wane in an hour—
An idle gift—a pultry boon—
Scarcely worth a laded flower.
And there are hearts that all change defy,
And a love that never can dim or die.
Look up, look up, my Eleanor Lee—
Cold the sea and the sky above;
But here is a warm, true heart for thee,
And freighted with living love;
For the heart, that in youth was all thine own,
’ Is true to thee still, though its youth has flown.
THE TREASURED ROSE BUD.
inscribe <* R^Tw7 m , of Jefferson, (fa.
! Tlier< ; Driglit blossoms blooming in garden and
i ( ( glade
i Their red peluls curled like the lip of i maid—
Their cups filled with dew and all fraught with perfume ;
Vet, not lor their freshness of fragrance and bloom,
Wou'd I give this pale flower, now withered and dead :
for a spell o’er it hangs, though its beauty has fled,
And not all the roses that bloomed in Cashmere
Would he prized half so highly, or held half so dear.
For thy white fingers, love, have my paleflowret press
l'erchance it had smiled on thy brow or thy breast,
And thy dear hand bestowed the sweet treasure on me,
Prized, cherished and loved, because given by thee;
A sol! fragrance floats round its dead petals still,
Like the memories of thee, that my lone bosom fill;
And no pearl from the ocean, nor gem from the mine,
f ould tempi me to part with this token of thine.
(, h ! sad is the heart that turns to t.hce to-night;
t‘or sorrow has thrown o’er my spirit its blight;
Hut some flower will bloom on the loneliest grave;
Some starbeam will shine on the gloomiest wave ;
Some dieam to the captive’s lone heart will be given;
Some pitying angel look on him from Heaven;
And thy smile is the light on my life’s dark stream—
My flower and my angel—mv star and my dream.
“SWEET ARB THE USES OF ADVERSITY.”
MIS f OR'l UNE crushes some natures; others it
exalts. There are delicate wayside blossoms,
made for nothing but sun and dew, that yield to
the first storm that sweeps over them; but there
are hardier plants that bend to the blast but to
rebound again, stronger and more firmly rooted
than before. There are natures, God be thanked!
that not even the iron wheel of penury and wrong
can ever crush to earth ; and there is no courage
so all-conquering, no strength so omnipotent as
that born of sorrow. Ah! astern, but a potent
teacher, is misfortune. “ Want is a great thing,”
says a well known writer—“a parent ol great
things.” Aye; and so is injustice. Let the
world hut turn fiercely against a man of strong,
j hut dormant, capabilities, and you will soon see
what is.in him. Like Macbeth, when he cannot
fly he will fight. Hand to hand, he will contend
with the great Gorgon—the world—and ten to
one hut he comes out a victor. For it is a hum
bug—this hydra-headed society— about which
they talk so much.
It cannot look you in the eyes. Face it steadily,
with a hold, defiant countenance and a firmly
planted foot, and it is your obedient servant ever
tfter. The battle is always to the strongest, pro
vided the shield of a clear conscience be worn by
the combatant. And there is a pleasure in thus
winning, in despite of fate, the joy which a strong
swimmer feels in dashing aside the opposing
waves with his sturdy arms.
Difficulties in the path of fortune give zest and
variety to lile, and incite hold minds to loftier
ambition. Ignoble natures find their mistake
when they torture such spirits into desperation
by their injustice. The courage of despair is
| strong as death. The lamb hows to the knife of
the butcher, hut the caged lion will break his
iron bars if goaded into madness; and the oak,
if rent in twain, will, as in the fable of old, crush
its destroyer by the rebound that follows.
M. E. 15.
ffT)0OII!” said my aunt, “romantic indeed j
JL What nonsense you are talking, child. If
ever 1 was so foolish in my youth, i have out
lived it long ago,” and she smoothed her lace cap
border, glanced up at the old-fashioned oval
mirror that hung opposite, and then, smothering
a half sigh, turned to her knitting again. Ah
that sigh! it betrayed her; for what else had
awakened it hut the brief glance backward to the
youthtime she had alluded to? And was not
that regret a token of the romance she disci limed?
Ah! aunt Addie, do you think that any one ever
wholly outlives all romance? Js there not a
fountain of sentiment in every heart, and does it
not keep the flowers of feeling fresh and green
forever? And when the- incrustings of selfish
ness, of distrust, of worldliness and hitter experi
ence gather over it, and the moss of f time man
tles it around, can we not hear the murmur of its
waters far beneath, in the dim twilight time, or
haunted midnight, when the voices of earth are
silent, and the soul turns hack upon itself? And
are there not times when the slightest thing on
earth—the soft touch of a child, the voice of a bird,
the fragrance of a flower, a word or tone of music,
a memory or a dream, may break through the
incrustings of years and unlock the fountain cnee
Do we ever lose all sympathy with youth, with
its joys, its loves, its hopes, its aspirations? When
I came a guest to your pleasant home in the days
long gone by, dear auntie, and made you confi
dant of my little love experiences, in the vine
hung porch beneath the summer moonlight, you
did not repulse me then: you were not cold and
calculating; you did not sneer at my romance;
hut you gave mo true, heart-warm sympathy and
kindly counsel. And 1 remember once when you
lay in your darkened room, and I bathing your
temples for the pain that throbbed there like a
living thing, you would not let me hush the mer
riment of Jennie and Addie in the passage, be
cause you liked to hear their ringing laughter,
and know that they were happy. You did not
believe in abridging the joys of childhood. And
you still keep the anniversary of little Addie’s
death, and you love all the flowers she loved and
hoard her pretty playthings to look at and weep
over when you are alone. And I know, too
auntie, why you always speak so kindly to poor
inebriates, and will not suffer them to ho ridi.
culed: It is for the sake of one you loved long
ago in your early girlhood—one loved hut never
wedded —who to the wine cup
“ flowed his haughty manhood down,
And made its glories dim.”
What is all this hut a relic of that romance
which the worldly wise ones would have us be
lieve belongs to the season of youth alone? I
know that individuals—elderly ones especially—
are fond of talking of their “common sense” and
“ matter-of-fact” proclivities, and would have us
think that the iron ploughshare of Time has des
troyed every profitless flower in the garden of the
heart, and sown it with useful grain instead; but
believe mo, a few blossoms still lurk beneath the
ripening wheat; the fountain is not yet adry,
though the moss hangs over it a hoary veil.
And why deny tho possession of sentiment ?
Romance is a beautiful, purifying influence—just
enough of it to slightly tinge the harsh realities
of life with colour dr, rose, to keep warm a little
corner of the heart, as a shrine for love and hope
and—religion. Yes, religion; for is not romance
beautifully blended with our Christian faith?
Else, why its touching ceremonies and observan
ces —the last supper; the solemn baptismal; the
lonely fastings; the festival of the Advent?
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
VOL. XXIV. NUMBER 35
I *” ‘ - ’ - ’■ ‘•
Truth was veiled in fiction in the apostolic
age; the sea of Gallilee, the brook of Kedron, and
the willowy hanks of Jordan witnessed the Mes
siah’s lonely musings. Mary wiped his feet, un
rebuked, with her flowing hair, and “ Jesus” him
selt “wept” at the grave of a mortal.
Then let not philosophy or experience sneer at
romance. It is as necessary to the harmony of
life as the softening clouds are to the summer
sky, or the flowers to the beauty of earth. There
may, perchance, be natures that a long course of
mercenary selfishness, or of sternest wrong and
sorrow, have converted into a desert waste —vis-
ited by no sweet breath of tenderness—freshened
by no dews of feeling: hut such are rare, indeed,
and we cannot hut believe that somewhere in the
wide world there exists for such hearts the magic
rod of the prophet of old, which, if found, might
smite the sterile rock and call forth the hidden
A sprightly, amusing Paris correspondent of
one of the papers thus describes the rage so
kissing in “ La Belle France:”
“The almost universal custom of kissing in
Paris seems at first singular to a stranger coming
from the country where the proprieties of life
rarely permit you to take a lady’s hand—much
less to salute her. In France to kiss a lady with
whom you are not intimate, is very common; es
pecially is this the ease if she is a married lady.
Not only the members of the family, but all the
guests expect invariably to salute the lady of the
house, on coming down in the morning. But
though the modest American may, perhaps, es
cape the ceremony on ordinary occasions, yet, on
New Year’s morning it is imperative. On that
morning I came down to my coffee about 9 o’clock.
I sat down quietly, bidding Madame bonjour, as
on ordinary occasions. In a few moments she
was at my elbow, with—
“ Mons. B. I am angry with you.”
I expressed a regret and annoyance of having
given her any reason.
“Ah,” said she, “ you know very well the rea
son. It is because you did not embrace me this
morning when you came down.”
Madame was a lady of perhaps twenty-eight,
with jet black, glossy hair, and a clear, fair com
plexion. She ws very beautiful; had she been
plain, I should have felt less embarrassed. She
waited as though expecting me to atone for my
neglect; but how could Ido it before the whole
table ? I sat all this time trembling in my seat.
At length Madame said:
“ Mons. 15. embrasez moi.”
The worst had come. I arose, trembling, put
my bloodless lips, all greasy with butter and wet
with coffee, (for in my embarrassment I had drop
ped my napkin,) to those of Madame. This was
my first French kiss.”
A FA CT.
Shortly after the explosion on hoard the Vir
ginia, an accomplished young lady (twenty
years of age or thereabouts) was coming across
the lake on one of the mail boats, and was very
apprehensive that a like disaster might befall the
steamer to which was committed the transporta
tion of her fair —very fair person. Calling an in
telligent looking waiter to her, she asked him,
confidentially—“ls it usual for the mail boats to
explode, waiter ?”
“ No ma’am ; these boats never explodes.”
“ Well, but it might explode, mightn’t it?
You know the Virginia never exploded before
she did the other day,” continued the lady.
“ Yes ma’am, the boat might explode, though
the mail boats never explodes,” asseverated the
waiter, and sticking to the last assertion, though
yielding a possibility concession to the fair ques
“ Well, waiter, could you tell if the boat was
going to explode?”
The waiter considered a moment, and would
have been no true steamboat waiter if, in that
brief moment, villainy had not got the upper
hand in him:
“Oh, yes, ma’am! I’ve been on the Hudson
River boats, I have; 1 can tell when a boat’s ago
ing to explode—can tell a half an hour before
she blows up, but I has to watch mighty close to
The apprehensive young lady was delighted,
and at once secured the valuable alliance of the
far-seeing and sea-faring waiter by the donation
of a-half a dollar, accompanying it with strict in
junctions that she should be called at least a-half
an hour before an explosion occurred, that she
might take measures to get out of danger in time.
— N. 0. True Delta.
Good deeds, however humble the doer, are
more enduring than the proudest structures of
wealth. A word may live when marble has was
ted in the dust. The temple long since ceased
to be, yet the two mites of the widow—all that
she had—are remembered. The world cares not
for the jewelled baubles in the Vatican, or how
looked they on a Caesar’s brow. But it weeps in
memory of a crown of thorns. How many con
querors, with their deeds and fame, are buried
under the debris of the past. The heroism of
a Howard receives the grateful homage of a Chris
tian world. A Bonaparte desolated homes and
nations. The philanthropist sought only the pri
son house, and watered with silent tears the
parched soul of the inmates. The laurels of the
one are faded. Those of the other are blooming
on in heaven, and his memory green on earth.
The heroism of a trail English woman at Scutari,
will be remembered when that of Balaklava and
Inkerman is never thought of. Florence Nightin
gale will live longer in history than the veteran
who led the deadly storming of the Malakoffand
Redan. Ah! there is something worthier-and
grander than the name of the hero ; deeds more
enduring than those of arms. The gentle foot
fall in the hospital will echo through time and
eternity. The belching thunders of Sebastopol,
long sinco died out upon the air, and heavy
tread of the storming columns. Peace hath its
victories as well as war.
In Sunday-school, in a central part of New
York, an eminent divine was addressing the
scholars, and in the course of his remarks, said
that he hoped that none present had ever diso
beyed their parents, lied, or taken God’s name
in vain. Here he was interrupted by a little boy,
of seven years, triumphantly exclaiming, ‘Pve
done ’em all at once.’
It is generally observed that persons of about
forty years, especially of young ladies of that age,
are very forgetful of those with who they were ac
quainted in childhood. This remarkable dimness
*of memory has been very appropriately styled
“The darkness of the middle ages.”