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t \ LITERARY ; <!jjrttisa%. EENFIELD, GEORGIA* THURSDAY MORNING, NOV. 18, 1858. r : : L. LINCOLN VEAZEY - - • EDITOR. WITH this issue closes another year of our edi torial labors. Each week during the months of this year, we have held converse with our rea ders, and, in an humble way, sought to please, interest and instruct. Whether or not we have t succeeded in any of these aims, remains for others to decide. We are conscious that much of weak 0. ness has characterized our efforts, and perhaps we have not, in every instance, done as well as the circumstances allowed. But wherever we niay have failed or erred, we now, once for all, crave your indulgence and forgiveness, and res pectfully solicit you to meet us again at the open ing of another year in what, to us, has been a pleasant relation. With tho beginning of the next volume, we ; design making a variety of changes and improve- \ raents, which will render our paper still more ! worthy of public patronage. We shall continue to devote to the Crusader our solo and undivided i attention, and endeavor to impart to its columns | all the literary excellence we may be able. Mrs. Bryan, who has, during the present year, edited a page with marked success from her far-off home, will officiate as resident editress, and we predict for her department a spicy and elegant brilliance, equalled by few journals in our coun- j try. With the rare advantages which Atlanta I affords, we flatter ourselves that we shall be able to get out a sheet which every man in the South ern country may take and pay for, and still feel himself indebted. But to do this, we need, and must have an increased patronage. We there fore most earnestly request each of our readers to send us a number of new names by the opening of our next volume. We wish the disgraceful , stigma removed, that the Southern people will not sustain other than political papers. Give us a liberal support, and we will build up a journal equal to those of the North, for which thousands of Southern money are yearly expended. We would most urgently request all of our friends who have the ability and disposition to write, to favor us with their contributions. That standard of excellence which we try to maintain will not permit us to admit, indiscriminately, j everything which may be sent us. But we know j there are many persons in the South who have leisure, information and every requisite of good writers, who never contribute a line to the cur rent literature. This is the class of persons, both male and female, whose productions we wish for our columns. Colud they be induced to unite their power in an earnest enthusiasm, the day would not be far distant when we would have a literature of our own, strong, vigorous and origi nal. MODESTY, though one of the rarest, is one of the most admirable of virtues. It possesses a charm which beautifies every other attribute with which it is associated, whether of mind ir person. If, as is sometimes the case, it renders genius less brilliant and striking, it always makes it more attractive. The modest man will never throw all mankind into a stupor of astonish ment by an exhibition of his parts, but will silently win an admiration more impressive, more lasting and far more to be desired. Modesty is not synonymous with bashfulness or timidity, though in common parlance it is often confounded with these qualities. Nor does it consist in a depreciation of self, or an undue esti mation of others. It implies on the part of a person a knowledge of his own merits, an acquain tance with his position and an observance of such conduct as that position requires. Hence, that which may be in perfect consistence with modesty in one man, may be veiv immodest in another* For instance, the minister of the Gospel may be a very modest man though lie reproves the peo ple for their errors, and names their trausgessions by no softening epithets. Should a private indi vidual take it upon himself thus to array before his fellow-men what he considers their short comings, it would be deemed very inappropriate. Yet, the rules of modesty are not entirely con ventional. There are certain firmly established principles which must remain unchanged so long as th§-&uman mind retains its present constitu tion. s generally considered, that modesty is more particularly au attribute of woman than of man, and some even think it unmanly to bo modest. We need not say that the idea is an erroneous one ; lliat it is fatally so, is clearly seen in the characters of many of our people. Too many youth who attempt to become men by laying aside modesty, not only do not attain their ob ject, but sink to a lower deep from which they never arise. Certain it is that, however great he may become, no one can ever attain to the per fect stature of manhood, when this ennobling quality has been lost. The modest man alone can present that graceful consistency of charac ter upon which contemplation’s eye delights to rest. lie may lose some of that satisfaction which flattery can administer to a vulgar mind, but for this loss he is compensated bj r the knowledge that, whatever of praise he receives, is unsought. By nature woman is modest, and seldom does she voluntarily violate this principle of her con stitution. It is to be regretted, however, that the inexorable law of Fashion requires her to do many things which modesty would forbid. In ; the matter of dress, to which every woman de votes a large share of her attention, a refined, modest taste does not preside over the arrange ment of the details. In the ball-room and other places of amusement to which she is admitted, etiquette requires a woman not to be timid, while it allows her to be bold. Os course we would not insinuate that every young lady who follows the styles of dress, or engages in the mazy rounds of the Waltz or Schottiseh, is guilty of unbecoming boldness; but it is unfortunately true, that these things do detract from that sweet modesty which show! 1 characterize her every ac tion. But egotism is a quality quite as inimical to \ true modesty as boldness. Boldness makes a i man thrust himself forward by his acts; egotism j causes him to present liis claims for public no-! tice by his words. The egotist, whether ‘ man or woman, can find no theme of conversation half Ikb attractive as eulogies upon themselves. They are always the heroes of their own stories, or con trive, in some way, Jo let it be known that they entertain no unfavorable opinion of their abili ties and attachments. To do this, they not only disregard ah feelings of modesty, but outrage the patience of their hearers and violate the plainest principles nfotruthfulness. Those are anxiously pushing themselves forward in the /world and striving to win its re gard, are oftensurprised to find themselves out- WTtript by the unassuming. Thus it will ever bo j ■ “ Life gives nothing to mortals without labor | but that labor which would win much, must be rightly employed. Not he who is always sound i ing aloud his own praises and proclaiming his own ; merits will be most likely to win. Let him work ! humbly,. patiently, steadily, and eventually sue-! m ‘ ¥E must speak a word of farewell to the peo ple of Penfield upon our departure from them, and while we feel that custom requires it should’be done, our'heart shrinks from the per formance of a task so sad. Seven happy years have we spent in this quiet spot, until it has be : come more sacredly enshrined in our affections than the home of our birth. During all this time kindness has strewn our way, and memory can call up but few events around which lingers a re gret. To leavo a place hallowed by so many ten der associations, must cost us many a pang; still, more bitter is it to part from friends whose en couraging appreciation has lightened our labors and made it a pleasure to toil. But duly calls ! us hence away, and her behests must bo obeyed. Yet, though we go to mingle in new scenes, i and form new attachments and associations, ! Memory will still fondly linger here, for “The last rays of life must depart, Ere the bloom of this village shall fade from our heart.” j Love for our Alma Mater, and for those amid whose homes she is located, will continue as long as life, and be “ a ruling passion strong in death.” We hope, too, to carry with us your kind regards and warm sympathies; for, though we may not, as now, daily see your forms and hear your voices, we can hold pleasant converse with your minds, advocate your interests and promote your welfare in whatever manner we may be able. Ye will not, then, say farewell, lor it is a word too seleinn | and sad for those who, in parting, hope to meet , again. Which Way will you Take, the Right oh the Left? These words stood in gilded letters | upon the back of a book which wo once saw upon j a merchant's shelf. The title is suggestive. How often, in the experience of every one, does that question become a practical ono, demanding a direct and decided answer. Life has been com pared to a journey until it has become trite and pointless ; yet, we never can too fully point out the marks of resemblance. From both there are paths constantly diverging, which, if taken, will carry us from our course. At each of these the question recurs, which shall we take, the right or the left? All have read accounts of travelers who have lost their way in the wilderness, and many may have pictured to themselves the horrors of such a situation. The directions by which the route was indicated, have been forgotten. No needle with magnetic power is at hand to point out the ! course. The day’s close is announced by the drooping shadows, but no human habitation is near, where food and rest may be obtained. Per haps thunder, with deep-toned mutterings, and heavily-drifting clouds presage a coming storm. A maddening rush of thought crowd upon tho traveler’s mind as death, in its most appalling form, seems to stare him in the face. All the pangs of the stake, the rack or the wheel are tri fling, compared with those which he now endures. Phrensied and almost hopeless, he speeds him on, determined, if die he must, it shall be only when all the efforts of desperate energy have proved fruitless. But if such horrors attend him who treads the wilderness without guide or compass, how is it with those who are morally lost? They are still traveling on, some at fearfully accelerated speed, and are going, they know not whither. A young man took the left in an early stage of his journey, and it led him into the companionship of the lewd, vicious and profane. Soon he learned their habits and became a leader in their nightly scenes of debauch. The dram-shop, the gambling saloon and all the other courts of vice which she throws open to her devotees are places of constant, re sort. His constitution gives way under continual dissipation, he sinks to his grave and finds the end of that left hand way which he took. Here is an old man with bowed form and hoary locks. He passed that diverging path which led to the drunkard’s grave, and listened not to the voices which called him to the haunts of pleas ure. But another left hand way, all glittering with golden dust, presented itself, and that he hastened to tread. As he journeyed on, his heart became harder, his feelings colder, his nature more selfish and his misery more confirmed. Finally he will attain the end, fall unpitied and uncared for into the precipice of death, with one hand desperately clutching his hoarded treasures, while with the other ho strives to retain his en feebled hold on life. But why attempt to name all the left ways, or describe those who follow them ? They occur almost at every step, oflering illurements of every conceivable form. Care, constant and vigilant, must be exercised to avoid these paths of the de stroyer and the snares by which they are beset. Move, then, young man, with calm, sober consid eration. There is a right and left before you. Be certain to take the right, for when once left, it is difficult to be regained. The Home Journoi copies from a Paris paper the following amusing and characteristic French story: That the French word for who and which (qui) is the same, is a poverty of that brilliant language which sometimes occasions grave inconvenience. Monsieur X lately took leave of his family for a journey by railroad ; and, in passing a bridge over the Seine, on his way to the station, his hat was blown off by the high wind. Fearing to lose the train, he spoke to the proprietor of the swim ming-school near by, and requesting him to re cover the hat and send it to his residence, he hurried on, purchasing a temporary travelling-cap at the first stopping-place. The hat was recovered, and the servant of the swimming establishment was duly sent with it to the gentleman’s residence. On arriving at the door, he handed it in with the words: “ Void le chapeau dc M. X , qui est tombed I’eau; ’or which, literally translated into English, might be: “ Here is the hat of M. X——, who has tum bled into the river.” Saying which, the unknown messenger disappeared. But, on receiving the hat with these ominous words, the family of M. X were thrown into the greatest possible state of alarm. From un- certainty as to the route taken by the husband and father to whom it had belonged, no inquiries could be made, and for several days they were under the full belief that he was drowned, and that, save this chance relic, they might never hear of him more. Somewhat delayed, acciden tally, in his return, they were about going into mourning, widow and orphans as they suppos edly were, before he re-appeared to reclaim the blown-away hat and their affections. The error, and its cause in that calamitously poverty-stricken pronoun, was, of course, soon explained; but so disgusted was the family with a language that could subject them to such dis tressing inconvenience, that they made, from that day, a solemn and formal abandonment of the French, adopting the German as henceforth the language for themselves and their descendants! The Albany Knickerbocker gives the following re ceipt to destroy flies: “Take a boarding-house pie, cut it into thin slices, and lay it where the flies can have free access to it. In less than fif teen minutes the whole of them will be dead with the cholic.” Prof. Prat, who has for sixteen years been the principal of the Philadelphia High School, has resigned his position for the purpose of accepting the editorship of the publications issued by the American Sunday School Union. The following verse contains every letter in the English alphabet except “e.” It is aquestion whether any other in English rhyme may be pro duced (in print) without the letter “e/ ; which is a letter more used than any other: “A jovial swain may rack his brain, And tax hiß fancy’s might; To quiz in vain, tor ’tis mors plain That what I say is right.” The follies of the rich produce the miseries of the poor. Many a young man has been tempted ; to debt and ruin by the extravagances of their associates, who happened to be blessed with su j perior fortune. —’ Owing to the run of her matter, we have been compelled to place two of Mrs. Bryan's articles on our page. We regret having to insert them out of their proper connection, but under tho cir cumstances, it was unavoidable. On our fourth page will be found Prospectuses of The Georgia Educational Journal and The Law renccvitle News. Both of these papers are well con ducted, and commend themselves to a liberal patronage. The Atlanta Medical & Surgical Journal for No vember is on our table. It contains two original j papers, besides tho able contributions of its edi j tors. It is a handsome periodical, and deserves a liberal support by the medical fraternity. The* Westminster Review for October contains— France under Louis Napoleon; Indian Heroes; F. W. Newman and his Evangelical Critics; Tra vel during tho last Half Century; The Calas Tra gedy ; Realism in Art: Recent German Fiction 5 Outbreak of the English Revolution. 1642. Contemporary Literature; Note to Art. 1. Re published by L. Scott & Cos. New York, at $3 a ycar; Blackwood and ono of the Reviews $5 ; Black wood and all of the Reviews, $lO. i Watch chain charms aro being manufactured out of the rope which surrounded the ring in which Keenan and Morrissey fought. If the rope were used in hanging the ruffians, it would lie much better applied. So think we. But wc think, too, that the news paper press, even when it has cundemned these pugilists, has given them a notoriety which they do not deserve, and which will be very deleteri ous in its moral influence. Wlxen men act like beasts or savages, they ought to be treated as such, and the less said about them is better for all parties. A few days since, a neat little billet came to our address, directed in a delicate, feminine hand. We hastened to open it, supposing there was within some nicely worded compliment, or per haps a dainty scrap of poetry. But when the seal 1 had been broken, and the paper unfolded, it dis -1 closed only a little roll of scorched cotton. What does it mean ? We have exercised our wits in the vain attempt to unravel its signifi cance, but it still remains unexplained. Will some of our lady friends drop us a hint j whereby this mystery may be solved ? Do, if you please, for our curiosty is excited. A Bill has been introduced into the Legislature to appropriate $200,000 to Franklin College, and $50,000 to each of the three Denominational Col leges, on the condition that they board and edu cate one young man for every S2OO of interest accruing from these sums. This would be really giving the nothing, and for this very reason we think the movement injudicious. We wish to see something done to render our colleges less dependent on patronage for support. If the State designs giving them material aid in order to increase their usefulness, let these bequeath ments he made uncoupled with any conditions. Morris & Willis’ Home Journal offers numerous and varied attractions for the forthcoming vol ume in 1859. With the January number will be gin the publication of a series of beautiful origi nal works of fact and fiction. The first of these is from the pen of a gifted lady, entitled “Two Ways to Wedlock,” and is pronounct and a work of sterling merit. This will be followed by “A Tale of the South.” called “The Avenger,” and this by “ The Young Wife’s Diary.” All the former peculiar features of the paper, which have given it a world-wide reputation, will be continued, white the several new ones will give an infinite variety to its ever diversified pages. The Home Journal is purely a literary paper, not in the slightest tinctured by politics or any { of the m ultitude of isms which disgrace so many s Northern publications. We consider it decidedly the best and cheapest family newspaper in our country, and so far as we know, in the world. Terms: Fbr one copy, $2 ; for three copies, $5 — or one copy for three years, $5; for a club of seven copies, $10; for a club of fifteen copies, S2O; and at that rate for a larger club —always in advance. Address, Morris & Willis, Editors and Proprietors, 107 Fulton-street, New- York. • A llenerv. —A Mr. DeSora, of Paris, having discovered the secret of making hens lay every day in the year, by feeding them with horse flesh, raw and minced, bethought him of going into the fresh egg business on a very large scale. He be gan his experiment with three hundred hens, and found that they averaged the first year some twenty-five dozen eggs each. Last season he had 100,000 hens at work, with a fair proportion of male birds, and the proportionate result was the same. To supply the great consumption of meat, the numerous disabled and worn-out horses in and around Paris are depended on. They are neatly an l scientifically slaughtered at M. De- Sora’s own abattoir. Tho blood is sold for art pur poses. The tanners buy tho skins. The glue makers and manufacturers buy the larger bones. The average consumption of horses per day is twenty-two, and so well arranged is the system, that the proceeds of the sale of the hides, bones, &c. make a profit on the original cost of the horses. Another item of profit is the manure from the fowl yards, which is eagerly sought for by the gardeners In the neighborhood. About one hundred persons, mostly females, are employed in tho various departments of the her ery. The expenses of the establishment, in cluding repairs, interest, &c. amount to about $75,000 per annum. Tho sales of eggs, last win ter, were 40,000 dozen a week, at four francs for six dozen, or $5,000 per week, which is $250,000 per annum. So that Mr. DeSora can both cluck and crow over his hens, that bring him a clear 1 revenue of nearly $175,000 per annum. A Quarter of an noun with a Bad Book.— About twenty-five years ago, I formed a most in timate acquaintance with a young man of fine education and commanding talents, and we soon became bosom friends. One morning after school, at a street corner, he handed me which lie said he cou.d loan me only for one quarter of an hour. We stood at that corner for a few mo ments, while I looked at the obscene pictures and read a few pages in that polluting’volume. <* handed it back to him and never saw it again ; but the poison took effect—“the sin loft its mark.” I cannot erase the effect of the impure thoughts which, in that short quarter of an hour, that vile book lodged in my heart, and which, may God forgive me, 1 harbored there. I can and do pray against the sin, and I trust, by God’s j grace, yet to conquer it. But it is a thorn in my i flesh, and still causes me great bitterness and an- j guish. Young men, as a lover of your souls, I tell you j in all sincerity that there is nothing which 1 j would not willingly give to have tho veil of obli vion cast over the scenes and sentiments of that corrupt volume, which still haunts me like spec tres during my private dovotion, in the sanctuary and at the communion table. Oh, what sad work did that quarter of an hour make upon a human soul. Young men, beware of bad books, and be ware also of evil companions. My early friend, after well nigh accomplishing my ruin, became a dissolute man, imbibed infidel sentiments, and at last, as I greatly fear, died by hia own hands. “Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.” A man who was sentenced to be hung was visi | ted by his wife, who said: “My dear, would you ! like the children to see you executed ?” “No,” j replied he. “That’s just like you,” said she, “for j you never wanted the children to have any en i joyment.” [Written for the Georgia Temperance Crusader.] THE DEATH ASCEL IN PRISON. BT WM. St. M. DEATH, at all times, places, and under all cir cumstances, is truly • “Kingof Terrors,” and constitutes a theme on which the human mind cannot dwell without tho deepest emotions of awe; but no where else does such chilling horrors cluster around the “ Death Angel” as those that wait upon his coming, and mark his presence within the cheerless walls of a “State Prison.” There, to some extent, it may be said, the victim meets his ruthless foe alone; a stranger in a strange land, he is doomed to close his eyes for the last time, and forever, upon this beautiful world, as a degraded felon; yet, he was not all depraved, but possessed many kind and generous impulses; and while may be true that he did abuse the precious, priceless jewel of time—for which he received the severest condemnation of his fellow-men—it may be equally true that, in the unerring counsels of God’s Eternal YYjsdom, the Recording Angel has written of him, “ more sinned against than sinning”—who can tell ? But what matters it now ? he must die; the un alterable fiat of Heaven has been issued ; the in- j exorable messenger is waiting; the physician lias I pronounced his case beyond the reach of medical skill or human aid, and his faithful chaplain has I borne him the last message of a Saviour’s dying 1 love and infinite mercy, and whispered in his ear the sweet consolations of an after hope; his pale, wan features, alreedy livid with the huos of ap proaching dissolution, bear the unmistakable im press of mental agony. ’Tis the last “ fiery ordeal” of earth ; memory, faithful to her office, is arran. ing in panoramic view all the varied transactions of the past, whether good or bad ; and, casting one long, regretful look at this portrait of life events, the mind, still trammeled with mortality, reverts to the absence of “ loved ones at home,” and oh! what a desolate loneliness must steal over his being aB he realizes the true character of of his isolated condition! No fond mother’s tire less vigils keep their holy watch beside the dying couch of her erring outcast child; no sister’s hand to wipe off with sublime tenderness the cold dews of death fast gathering upon her brother’s brow; no familiar voice, in sweet remembrared tones, ; mingle their melody with the murmuring waters i of death’s dark and stormy Jordan, on which he ; is about to become a, voyager for another world; j for scenes of eternal folicity, or regions of unut- j terable woe, and he feels—withering reflection— that no tear of affection will flow from the foun tain of human love to mingle with the clay that shall cover its kindred dust—a thought, to the sensitive mind and refined intellect, over which the power of association still sheds its hallowed light and gentle influence, scarcely less appalling than that of annihilation to the Christian’s hope; and were it possible for shades of sorrow to min gle with, or linger in the sunshino of Heaven— even there, with countless gems of joy forever crowding upon and satisfying the immortal de sires, I have imagined that those who leave this world uncared, unwept, would sometimes bo sad; but alas! such is often the fate of the poor con vict, but not so with others. The traveler over j earth may suddenly be swept off by some fatal epidemic, or fall by the hand of violence, but his name, which he has not’ disgraced, is garnered up in the “ store-house of memory”'at home; the brave sailor, who perils life in a thousand forms upon the “ briny deep,” may find a watery grave beneath its wild, restless waves, far from the “ land of his love,” but he leaves behind him an untarnished reputation ; the gallant soldier may fall upon the field of battle, and “’mid scenery of blood and carnage,” but his memory belongs to his country. How different with the felon! he dies “ un wept, uncared, unhonored ;” the sexton, solitary and alone, deposits his senseless form in a “ Pot ter’s field,” where shame, like a thing of doom, stands “perpetual sentinel over his neglected, dishonored grave. DARK BOSALEES) (From~tS^lrish.) BT i. C. MANGAN. [This impassioned ballad, entitled in the original Roisin Duh (or the Black Little Rosejwas written in the reign of Elizabeth by one of the poetsoLUiecelebra ted Tirconnellian chieftain, Hugh the ReJJO’Donnel. It purports to be an allegorical address from Hugh to Ireland, on the subject ot his love and struggles for her, and his resolve to raise her again to the glorious posi sition she held as a nation before the irruption of the Saxon and Norman spoilers. The true character and meaning of the figurative allusions with which it abounds and to two only of which we need refer here, viz : the “Roman wine” and “Spanish ale” mentioned in the first stanza—the intelligent reader will, of course, find no difficulty in understanding.] O, my dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep! ‘ The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There’s wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green, And Spanish Ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart,'shall givo you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills, and through dales, Have I roamed for your sake ; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake. The Erne, at its highest flood, Idashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood, . My Dark Rosaleen! m My own Rosaleen! O ! there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened through my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! All day long, in unrest, To and fro do I more. The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you, love! The heart in my bosom faint 9 To think of you, my queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints. My life, my love, my saint of saints,]gg My Dark Rosaleen ! Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen ; ’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! w My own Rosaleen ! ’Tis you shall hare tho golden throne, ’Tis you shall reign and reign atone, My Dark Rosaleen ! Over dews, over sands, Will I fly for your weal; Your holy delicate white hands Shall girdle me with steel. At home, in your emerald bowers, From morning’s dawn till e’en, You’l pray for me, my flower of flowcis, My Dark Rosaleen! My lond Rosaleen! You’l think of me through daylight’s hours, My'virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen ! I could scale tho bluo air, I could plough the high hills, O, I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ilk! And one beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and mo, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give roe lifo and soul anew A second lifo, a soul anew, My Dark rosaleen 1 O ! the Erne shall run rod With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, And flames wrap hill and wood ; And gun-peal, and slogan cry, Wake many a glen serene, Ere |mu shall fade, ere you shall die, BEST. Oil! ye who toil, and ye who Weep In this dark world of pain and tear* ; \ j Look up, there above Where life is free from cares; No pain, no grief, can reach you there ; No sighing for affection fled ; No weeping for the changed and gone ; No mourning for the dead; No farewell words are spoken there ; No last fond look of love is given— Ah ! earth is full of clouds ana tears, But all is bright in Heaven ! AH that ve love and cherish here Fades like the light of parting day, But there are crowns of joy above That never fade away; Friends ye have loved and lost are there, Forever circling round the throne, And voices ye have missed so long Will answer to your own; And God will hind in one again The hearts by deaths’ cold fingers riven : Ye sorrowing ones, dry up your tears, There’s rest for you in Heaven. George Sand is writing a play for the Paris the atres which will introduce a flock of sheep. It is reported that a pardon will shortly be is sued by the British Government to Thomas F. Meagher, the Irish exile. j There are now in the United States about 29,- | 000 post offices. If potticoat government is not more oppressive now than formerly, it is certainly double in ex : tent. Charles Dickens has two brothers who are sep ated from their wives. It must run in the fam ily. The lady who made a dash, has since brought her husband to a full stop. A gentleman in New Haven, Conn., picked ripe strawberries in his garden on the 27th of Oo tober. Philip Lynch, a Printer from Berks eounty, Pennsylvania, has been elected a member of the California Legislature. * The Rev. Mr Smith is on trial, at Shawmut, Mass., for being “a cold, distant man/’ | Os all mistakes the greatest is to live, and think j life of no consequence. Hon. Samuel F. Rice has resigned his seat upon j the Supreme Bench of Alabama, to tako effect in ! January next. The citizens of Tuscumbia, Ala. have raised ! $3,000, by subscriptions, to establish a County Agricultural Society. Sixteen States have appointed Thursday, the 25th inst. as a day of thanksgiving. The Richmond Smith is to be removed to Wash ington city, and united with the States. In the town of Crockett, Texas, it is said there is not a marriageable female. Anew Baptist paper is soon to be started in Nashville, to be under the control of the friends of the Rev. R. B. C. Howell. The Legislature of Florida convenes on the 22d of the present month. Some action on the com mon school system of the State is anticipated and urged. Mount Washington is now covered with a coat of snow which seems deep enough to resist the influence of the sun for the caning six months. An old bachelor defines love in this manner: “A littlo singing, a little crying, a little dying, and a great deal of lying.” Mrs. Lydia Studley, a woman sixty-five years of age, has been convicted at Providence of the murder of her husband by the administration of poison. Only one of the children at the Orphan house in Charleston, where there are over 300 domi ciled, died of yellow fever this season, of terrible epi lemic in that city. The poorest church-living in London is that of Woburn Church, Tavistock Place, St. Pancred’s. It has decreased so as to amount to only between £5 & £6. Men consume as a general thing, too little air and too much food. A little reform would make them better every way. If atmosphere cost fifty cents a gallon, there would be an immense rush for it. ? Five young Christian Chinese have arrived at Suez, on their way to France, to be educated. They are accompanied by a Chinese Catholic j Priest, who speaks French and English fluently t , \ The London Times says that an average duration of a ship of war in a seaworthy state, built of British oak, is only thirteen years of active ser vice. It takes seventy acres of ground eighty years to produce the timber. Dr. Stone, a celobrated physician in New Or leans, on being asked how many yellow fever pa tients he had lost, replied “about twenty-jive hun dred,” as that number remains still unaccounted for after the other physicians made their reports. A Kansas correspondent says is no doubt of the existence of Gold in Western Kansas, but to get it will require “labor the same as build ing canals and turnpike roads, and that it is all i folly for men who are disposed to labor to flock to the mines. A small lad asked permission of his mother to go to a ball. She told him it was a bad place for the little boys. “Why, mother, didn’t you and father use to go to balls when you was young ?” “Yes, but we have seen the folly of it,” answered the mother. “Well, mother,” excllaimed the sonJß‘l want to see the folly of it too.” In an advertisement offering an estate irTWor cestershire, England, for sale, the auctioneer an nounces, in a line of capitel letters, as one of the tempting inducements to purchase “political in fluence over twelve hundred honest yeomen.” THE WORD FAREWELL. . Farewell, said a youthful lover, as he pressed his lips to the white brow of a youthful maiden; for it had been decreed that he must go far hence —that ho must win a name, and fill with shining gold his empty purse, ere he might call that spot less one his bride. *** Farewell, said an old man with snowy locks and furrowed brow, as fondly to his bosom he pressed his children’s little ones; for he was starting on his journey to that land from whence no traveler returns. < Farewell, said the man of wealth, as his vast i possessions flew from his grasp, like a meteor i from the brow of night. ft’ Farewell, said the little child, as she folded the ’ white wings of her dead dove, and laid it down within a tiny grave which her own hand had made, beneath a rose tree. Farewell, said a noble youth, as he left his na tive land to gaze upon the grandeur of distant nations. Farewell, said a broken hearted widow, as she. plumed her spirit wings for heaven. Farewell, said a stricken mother, as she closed the eyes of her sweet darling, and pressed one long, last kiss upon its baby brow, then laid it in the silent churchyard. What means that word farewell blending in harmony, sweetness and melancholy ? Why does it fall with such crushing weight upon the listen er’s oars ? Why do bright eyes grow dim, and rosy cheeks rival the lily’s whiteness as this mo mentous word falls from the lips of some cher ished one ? Alas! it tells to the lone heart tv tale of weary years, while a loved one is telling in a distant land —of a vacant chair in the old man’s dwelling—of ‘ poverty, and mighty struggles with the cold j world—of childhood weeping in its firet sorrow— of leaving homo and country to seek more joy— of blighted hopes and broken vows—of beauty : fled from earth while a lonely mourner waters a tiny grave with burning tears. Ah! farewell is 1 the language of the earth. In tho bright, glad morning, I have gazed upon a beautiful flower, but ere the even tide it passed , away forever. In tho calm hours of night my I spirits have been lulled by BOtne bright dream, but with the dark, still night, the vision has de parted. Methinks that thus it is in life. In youth’s fair | morn we clasp some gentle one within our fond j embrace, but ere we are aware Death’s solemn i angel has wooed the loved ones to his own cold ; bosom. Bright, gorgeously bright, are the dreams with j which we have decked the future, but when the ! time approaches in which to test their reality, we ] behold that, vidon-likellhfijLhamjiflMfted. “ If ignorance is bliss, ‘Tis folly to be wise.” IS ignorance bliss ? If so, then, indeed, it is folly to be wise; then, indeed, wo may envy the swine their stupidity and filthy sty ; then, indeed, we may make an auto de /c of books, and diligently proceed to stultify ourselves, as a pre paratory step to the social millenium. But ignor ance is not bliss. Mental cultivation opens anew and wider range of pleasures to man. It adds the delicate golden strings that are needed to complete the harmony of the harp of life, calling into action anew set of emotions, whose devel opment is necessary to perfect existence. But philosophers tell us that, with cultivation* comes a train of attendant evils unknown to ig norance : sensibility, discontent, sensitiveness and others that are the offspring of refinement. Well, let them come. The brighter the light the plainer the shadow; but who for this would forego the blessed and beautiful sunlight? And is it not better to suffer and enjoy acutely than negatively ; better to wear out than to rust out; better to climb the ladder of the ange’s than to sleep at its foot? And then, every thorn has its attendant rose. If discordant things jar pain fully upon the delicately-strung chords of sensi bility at times, they compensate us at others, by giving forth the sweetest and purest of melody. And is not that noble discontent —which is only the yearning of the spirit after the perfection to which it aspires—is it not better than sordid, bes tial satisfaction? But it is untrue, that content ment exists in simple minds, as some poets would have us believe. It is not a plant of earthly growth. We, who have the seed of immortality implan ted in our natures, cannot wholly stifle its growth with the things of time and sense. It will reach upward its tendrils and aspire to purer air and brighter light. Even across the most illiterate minds there sometimes flashes a consciousness of latent capabilities which have never been called forth—a conviction that they are not all they might have been, and vague discontent ensues.* Besides, such unenlightened natures are like Martha—troubled with little things. Household cares and petty trials and disappointments affect them more than they do minds that have other resources of enjoyment. A burnt pudding, an unbecoming ribbon, an ill-fitting vest or a cup of muddy coffee is a source of great mental disqui etude to those whose thoughts are confined to such narrow limits, and would serve to upset their equanimity of mind for the entire day. And then the pleasures of ignorance: how far are they removed above those of the brutes ? Plenty to eat and to wear, and the gratification of instinctive social propensities are all the pleasures that lie within the bounded range of ignorance ; and what are these in comparison to the high en joyments of intellect ? Is the stolid, unctuous churl, “ Who holds it heresy to think, And loves no music bul the dollar’s clink who would not believe that the world revolved upon its axis, were you to reason about it until you turned gray ; whose obese face has no mot e expression than his “ Fair, round stomach, with fat capon lined,” and whose ideas of the outer world extend no farther than his cotton and tobacco field : is this man happier than he whose soul has been stirred by the divine breath of knowledge; to whom the broad volume of nature has been unclasped, with all the sacred writing of its stars upon the sap phire walls of Heaven, and all the sublime truths and eloquent poems written by the hand of the Creator upon the fair pago of the universe, who, if confined within the four walls of his library, can hold commune with the mighty spirits of the past; to whom solitude is no terror, and whose thoughts are his fitting companions ? Or does the little frivolous Miss, whose ideas rise no higher than her bonnet, and whose knowl edge of the science of numbers hardly enables her to count her beaux upon her fingers, enjoy life as fully as she whose mind has been expanded by 5 cultivation ; whose sense of the beautiful is so ex quisitely developed, that nature and art are for \ her a source of purest delight; whose truest pleasures are derived from her books and her music; to whom a walk is something more than a promenade, and the voices of stream and bird; of dancing rains and silvery waves, peferable to the honeyed whisperings of a brainless fop ? I know that there exists individuals who would prefer the savory steam of roast beef, to the fra grance of “ Araby the blest,” and the music of the dinner bell to all the glorious harmony that ever thrilled and trembled beneath the fingers of Listz or Beethoven, and they call such feelings a proof of their common sense! Heaven help us, it is common indeed! so much so that they share it in common with brutes and insects. This life is but a preparation for another and eternal one; but in that spiritual existence, there is (unfortu nately for those who have learned nothing else) neither eating nor drinking, dressing nor gossip ping, and so “Othello's occupation will begone.” Is it not, then, absurd and sinful for refinea and intellectual minds, sometimes in their dark moods, when goaded by discontent, or their sen sitiveness wounded by malice, to covet the “ bliss of ignorance ?” For the pleasures of sense are finite, and soon produce a surfeit, but the intel lect is infinite in its capacities for enjoyment. Next to the cultivation of his moral nature, the highest duty of man is mental improvement; for the more fully the soul is enlarged and expanded here, the farther it will have advanced in the de velopment that goes on and on through the count | less ages of eternity. M. F. B. ! A good-looking fellow was arraigned before the | police court, charged with having stolen a watch. The judge asked him what induced him to com mit the theft. The young man replied that, hav ing been unwell for sometime, the doctor advised him to take something, which he accordingly did. The judge asked him what had induced him to select a watch. “Why,” said the prisoner, “I thought if I only had the time, that Nature would work a cure.” * f‘l say, Phil, who was that pretty girl I saw you walking with last Sunday evening ?” .. “Miss Hogges!” “Hogges! Well, she’s to be pitied for having such a name.” “So I think .Toe,” rejoined Phil; “I pitied her so much that I offered her mine, and she’s going to take it soon.” <<* Amos J. Williamson, proprietor of the New York Sunday Dispatch, and ex-candidate for Con gress, has been arrested for violating the law against lotteries, by publishing one of Swann and Co’s Georgia advertisements. Ilewas held to an swer in the sum of SSOO. *• A meeting of all the leading members of the ‘ house ot Rothchild has just taken place at Paris to regulate their individual positions, and to fix the conduct of the house for the next year. The Paris member, the Baron James Rothehilds, is i now the the recognized head of the house. ; Landlord. —“Mr. Editor, I’ll thank you to say : I keep the best table in the city. ” Editor—-“ I’ll thank you to supply my family with board gratia.” Landlord—“l thought you were glad to get something to fill up your paper.” Editor—“l thought you were glad to feed men for nothing.” Its a poor rule that won't work both ways. Exit landlord in a rage, threatened to have nothing more to do with the office. * r Sir Walter Scott and Daniel O’Connell, at a late period of their lives, ascribed their success in the world principally to their wives. Were th^ruth