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pS. UfKii ,—in I, APVATO; ‘’ SECOND^VEAI NO.7A wffl FiMij m umwmm, wmz mb mmm is. mb to giiiml imwMwm. K W -A \ N\ V\ \ ■ r ,-. , ]^l For R’chards* Weekly Gazeae. I LINES on Mount Yonah. BY JACQUES JOTJRNOT. were the thought to paint the scene, gazing from this height serene, to me like the laud of dreams, licit Pidcnie radiance streams. H r :,i soars above expression':* reach, cling scorns the aid of speech ; high the mountains rise, too glorious are the skies tribute verse of mine,— transcends and shames the line. ■e on forests spreading wide of their verdmt tide, uutains piled on mountains high, Hq. against the glowing sky,— H. iVwn, where, cradled in her deeps, a hee’s Vale of Beauty sleeps! T all \v of the Evening £tar,* High I have wandered near .and far, spot has blessed my eyes, now before me smiling lies. arc thy fields of waving corn, thy flowers of Summer born ; l>order*d by o'erhanging trees, blooming haunts of birds and bees, dulcet wjiridings soft and low, waters flow, many a sun-lit wave, ires of shining pebbles lave ; the golden sunlight shivers, pride of Georgia rivers, i- as lovely o'er thee bcud 1 by thy guardian hills, 1 ilion art free from common ills Bf dopings on thee, valley fair— and rocks, and mountain air! new vigor in my arm— tides of life flow swift and warm— radiance of an earlier day, shed again around my way, of the primal spring, Ht'c highland breezes seem to bring. these rocks all day to lie, watch alternate earth and sky— ho varying light and shade, ready pencil laid clitT. and forest nook— tdow green and babbling brook; when the twilight’s purple hazo, l dint the landscape from my gaze, the stars conic, one by one, cadi its glorious place has won : H"< on the earth, yet near to heaven, my gaze would then be given, such as man can novel* know', Hdh human roofs, in Tallies low. * * * * * * * Hr” mountain wdd-hirds sing to me, Hd the squirrels fast friends be ; Nature, to her temples wild, welcomes me, her wandering child! B" !,|i ‘'"'o signifies, in the expressive language of “The Evening Star.” For Richard*’ Weekly Gazette. ■MAN k WOMAN'S LORD. K BY A LADY OF GEORGIA. ■1 CHAPTER 11. jH!” :v is in Maryland a large estate. had descended from father to son. ■>uli every generation, from the first settlement of the country, till ■ the close of its colonial existence. — ■ i! was inherited by an only daughter, ■> was left an orphan at an early age.— ■ “as educated by the Catholics, who with a jealous eye upon the de- of those who had brought their ■> ‘ u this country. They cultivated her and her manners, in every way cal- Itlcd to add new beauties to her natural tins, and looked upon her as the future and of a family that would cluster around, he subservient to, their priesthood.— their plans, they endeavored to ■°’ v her, by all their inlluencc, into the ■ l|,; y of Catholic gentlemen ; but when ■ ‘"‘'it true love run in the channel mark ■"H by cold calculation ? ■'ll” came, he saw, he conquered”— ■ ‘it well he applied to the success of a ■vd'iin gentleman, who, attracted by her ■utation, sought her society. But, alas! ■ -w a Protestant, and a true Democrat ■ “ puhlican of the Revolutionary school, ■ therefore he met with opposition from ■ guardians, Iler faith and her estate ■fe both voluntarily left at her own dis ■M, by her lord elect, who loved her bet- H the “ground she walked on;'’ and ■'his tree country, it sufficed to quiet scc ■aii opposition. Their sun of happiness shone brightly for many years; but it was doomed to set amid the storms of the ocean, surrounded by the most appalling features of angry Nature. They left two sons and a daughter.— 1 he eldest, a young man of towering genius and commanding intellect, sought renown among master spirits, in the legislative halls of the country. The youngest son, loving home and domestic occupations, preferred the duties and the amusements which the country afforded. Genevra, the daughter, was left at a convent, where she trod the same path her mother did before her. Did you ever, my dear reader, feel the eastern and north-eastern winds, as they rush in their fury across the wide Atlan tic, seeming to gain strength from the tow ering waves and humidity from the briny deep ? If j'ou had, you would appreciate to their full extent, a margin of magnificent oaks, to shield your mansion from the chill ing blast. But the ocean is not always angry;. the winds are not always furious and chilling; and gentle summer breezes are often heard among the branches of the magnificent lords of the forest. The ocean slept in calm serenity—only agitated by huge, undulating billows; anil those that reached the beach, broke in qui et, monotonous murmurs along the shore. The oaks had caught the last rays of the setting sun, and the winds were sighing through their branches, as if in sympathy at his departure. They cast long shadows in ihe twilight, towards the family man sion, around which lingered many memo ries and many traces of the “olden times.' 1 “My daughter, does your spirit fail ? Are you willing still to sacrifice the world to the faith of your fathers'?” “Holy Father, not only the world, but myself, that those I love may be saved from the heretic’s doom. My spirit rises, I as suie you, as I imagine myself near that blessed seclusion, in which I can devote myself to prayer and penance for our rep robate house.” “ Then,” said her darf-eyed conductor, “ the twilight will cover our escape to a vessel which awaits us behind the point of that little island. Step into this skiff, my daughter, and remember, your tic to the world is now severed forever; jmur novi tiate for Heaven commences from this hour.” She said, “ Amen, Holy Father,” and raised her eyes to Heaven, as she counted her beads in prayer to the Virgin. Gcnevra had been an orphan for many years, hut her mother had instilled a de voted love of the Holy Mother into her whole nature before she died. Gcnevra was an enthusiast in feeling, and being ed ucated in a convent, by her mother’s ex press desire, and living in seclusion forthe few months since she had left it, the whole force of her feelings, aided by her devotion al nature, were exhibited in a passionate devotion to the Mother of Jesus. She had a pious nature, hut not a pious heart: she would bow her head in submissive meek ness to the Crucifixion, but her heart would melt in tenderness when contemplating the weeping Mother. She had a dignified, pure and devotional mind. Her love of learning and her love of thought had both been indulged to their full extent in the convent. Her purity had met with nothing to contaminate, nothing to awaken it, from its peaceful slumbers in her calm breast.— Her devotion rested upon a beautiful ideal —ever glowing with a radiance, reflected from her vivid imagination and high wrought feelings. The memory of her mother and the thought of the Mother of Christ, formed the basis ; then the prayers, the tears, the penances, of the church—the boundary between the world of death and the world of life—the only portal to her Heaven; then, above all, like a resplendent star, was the light shed from the holy fa thers—unmistakable ! unquestionable ! Alas! how soon her bright star was to lose its lustre! In less time than I have taken in descri bing her, the priest had, with well-timed and rapid strokes of his oar, guided the boat down a narrow creek, into a wider stream. There xvas a more rapid current, and a small island was all that separated them from the wide Atlantic. Then it was that Genevra noticed, for the first time, with what skill and strength he seemed to guide the small bark. With one dash of his oar, he would send it across the wa ter like a “thing of life,” then, to guide it while the impetus lasted, he would press the oar into the water, and standing erect and throwing it as he wished, he seemed to be independent of the clement over which he rode triumphant. Around a point of woods, in a sheltered cove, rode h small craft, light and trim in her appearance, and well formed to scud before the wind. As the boat touched the side of the ves sel, the steps were lowered, and Genevra ascended unaided to the deck. Her form was as commanding as her miiul was dig nified; and as the priest, who followed her, mounted the side of the vessel, she said to him, “ Holy father, shew me to the cabin, and to the sister you said would attend me on my voyage.” “My daughter, does your heart fail you? Do j’ou shrink from the position you wish to hold among the sisters of charity and love?” “My heart fails me not, my father. I love my brothers with an earthly love, but I shudder to think they are heretics. I will crush this earthly love, and ’when it becomes all heavenly, Holy Mary will soften their hearts and turn them to the true faith. Pray with me, father.” Here she involuntarily clasped her gold en rosary. Her eyes closed, her lips part ed, and the most heavenly calm was de picted on her features. But the holy fa ther's eyes were fixed on her, not on the distant mediation which the “world seeth not.” The Priest withdrew his admiring gaze, as she concluded her supplications— but the serpent that was in his heart lifted its head, looked upon its victim, and coiled itself again, with fresh confidence in its success. “Daughter, you see I have consulted your comfort in all the arrangements here.” “ Thank you, holy father, but m3’ king dom now is of another world; hardships and toil I have chosen ns my heritage on earth.” “I knew, m3’ daughter, that you were brought up in the midst of luxury and ease, and wished that 3’our introduction into the bosom of the Catholic Church might not seem altogether austere, or devoid of the elegancies of life. Did your feet ever tread on a softer carpet than this, which was woven in the looms of Turkey ? Did your eyes ever behold more exquisite workman ship than this silver lamp and chain, which was wrought by artists of the Celestial Em pire ? Look at those massive ebony chairs, the velvet cushions of which are stuffed with the eider down, gathered in the bright halcyon days that bless the eastern climes.” “You may value all these things, holy father, and still he pure ; but I must forget the luxuries of life, and iove the hardships which will introduce me to m3- mother in Heaven, and elevate me among those saints whose prayers and tears save those they love.” “This is all very beautiful, my daugh ter; but did you never love anything but the souls of men 1 Did you never love yourself, Genevra !” “Oh, yes, I have loved all things beauti ful in Nature: but I have never found any thing beautiful in myself; 1 have had high and holy thoughts imparted to me by the Mother of Got), which always fiil my soul with peace; but without them there is a vacuum, when I feel which, all beautiful thoughts and ideas vanish away. It is to fill this constantly, that I wish to devote ray whole being to the service of God.— Ave Maria, I pray to thee for aid!” “It is very praiseworthy in you, my daughter, to sacrifice yourself for others. Did you never think yourself beautiful, and worthy the admiration of men ?” “The sisters taught me, father, that if the soul was pure, the temple was worthy in the sight of God and the Holy Mother of Christ. I seek not the admiration of the world.” “You love to worship, daughter; how would you like to be worshipped—to be adored ?” “ God forbid, holy father, f feel naught in myself worthy of adoration. My spirit mother and the Holy Mother keep me from evil.” “Genevra, sweet daughter, would you not like to be enshrined in another’s heart, as your mother is in your heart! Would you not like to reign supreme over the destiny of one who loved you passionate ly, devotedly V’ As these words fell from his lips, he threw lus cloak from his shoulders, his cowl from his head, and stood confessed before her, a young man in the prime and vigor of early manhood. Before she could speak, he knelt and took her hand. She stepped back, and with a look of horror, and exclaimed — “No, vile monster, neither the soul, nor the temple you have ensnared, shall yield to mortal man. Who and what are you, that you have dared thus to deceive me 1” “I am your destiny, proud woman. — Born in the far sunny south —warm Span ish blood filling these veins—l desired ex citement and sought it on the 6ea. The risks of the ocean gave added charm to a free rover’s life. Thus it is I visited your coast. “One evening, about twilight, you walk ed on the sea-shore. Unobserved, I saw 3'ou count your beads, your lips move in prayer, and ever ajjd anon, the crucifix clasped in fervor to your bosom. Then I too became a Catholic. For your sake, and to win you, 1 assumed a priest's robe, a holy father’s dictatorship. Yot know the rest. Do you believe me now, when I say I am your destiny ?” “ No. God and the Tloly Mother will protect me. Behold! lam alread3’one of the sisterhood.” As Genevra said this, she laid aside the large cloak which had shrouded her figure, and displayed herself attired in the liaaili ments of the order—the coarse black dress, with large sleeves, hiding the symmetry of her beautiful form—her luxuriant hair cut close, and her features bandaged around with the black bands of her eternal doom. She had not been more astonished at his transformation, than he was at beholding hers ; and for a moment he seemed to think there was an impassable gulf between them. And so there was, proud man!— Exult 3'ou may, in 3'our fancied power! Tile serpent may arise again from your heart, look with eager exultation in the face of its victim, and coil itself again in its secure abode; but there is a power above the elements, stirring them up for the de liverance of the deceived. “Still, for all this, Genevra, lam 3'our destiny. You are alone with me in the world. Your brother at home knows, ere this, you have left clandestinely. Your brother in Washington will soon be inform ed of the fact. They will not believe that a holy ardor has impelled you to this step. In the eyes of the world, Genevra, o’ msy consider yourself already condemned.— Again I tell you, that you are alone 11 the world with me.” “And what of that?’ said Genevra. “ Yield yourself to the ardor of my af fection—consent to marry me —and to-mor row we will again land at your brother's, honorably united.” “Who and what are you, that you thus dare to speak to me of love and marriage V’ “My name is Arthur . I heard of your youth, beauty, seclusion, and wealth These combined, inspired me with a desire for conquest. Asa fortune-hunter, I sought you—fell in love with you as a beautiful enthusiast—felt certain you would never notice a common mortal, and won your confidence as a holy father.” “ Despicable man ! the vengeance of Heaven will punish you for your sin. I abhor, I detest your art, you.- duplicity, your profanation of a holy order, to your own vile purposes.” “ Will you, Genevra, marry me ?” “ Never, never, never,” said Genevra. “ Then you shall do worse, proud maid en. Know that this vessel is mine. 1 have haunts where you may dwell un heard-of ever again. There you shall be mine on my own terms. If you are not willing to give me your fortune, your stand ing, your influence, then you shall pay me for enjoying mine.” “Hush, proud, imperious man! hear you not the warring elements ? God and the Holy Mother will protect their child, even if it be in death.” Just then, loud cries were heard above the wailing of the tempest, which was ra ging—the rushing of angry waves across the deck—the dashing of the vessel down, down into the mighty gulf of waters. In the next moment, “ man overboard !” was heard. Arthur started to his feet, but turn ing to Genevra, said— “ I fear not a watery grave. My for tune says that ‘my star shall ascend, till a bird of the ocean lures me twice to stray.’ Remember, 1 will still be your destiny.” Thus they parted : he to his destiny, she to the protection of guardian angels; for, strange to say, the next day the vessel was found stranded—no one in her but a sister of charity, who desired no other service than to be taken to the nearest order as soon as possible. It was discovered that the vessel was a condemned rover of the seas, named the “ Sea Gull,” and as she was richly fur nished, she was quite a prize to the coast pirates, who in those days looked with ra ther too loving eyes upon wrecks. CHAPTER Thus ran the letter whiih Charles EUis ton delivered to his cousin Ellen : My Dear Cousin: I had thought, with grief, that we were to continue strangers; hut a wise, over-ruling Providence, ordains it otherwise. A mystery, which has hith erto cast the same shadow across our dif ferent paths in life, his been dispelled by a strange development of truth. My bro ther will inform 3011 of all the circum stance-. Come, my dear cousin, with your little family, and my stranger uncle, to the old roof, which sheltered our forefathers; anu here 3'ou will find loving friends to welcome you, besides Your truly attached cousin, Gexevra. “Well, Charles, what do you think of our mountain home ? lam glad that the first morning after 3’our arrival, we should be blessed with such glorious sunbeams.” “ And shedding them on a glorious coun try, Ned. What can be more splendid than the prospect now before us ? Those dis tant mountains, commencing with peaks, and running off finally in an apparently in terminable range. This valley, sleeping as it were at our feet, in the bosom of the everlasting hills, and the thin mists, that rise and float away before the sun-beams, give the last softening touch to nature.” “I have anticipated this surprise with much pleasure, Elliston ; and it was for that reason, that I did not prepare you by description.” “I assure you I am indeed surprised,” said Elliston. “Remember, I have been travelling through a dreary road, with no thing but interminable forests and only scattering indications of human life. Yes terday evening, when I arrived in the vil lage, although I was prepared to greet with a welcome the habitation of man, yet when I heard 3'ou lived but a mile be3-ond, I hesitated not to come in the darkness 0/ the night to my college chum.” “ And welcome, indeed, you are,” said Ned. “I am rejoiced that, after all 3-our skepticism with rega.d to Cherokee, Geor gia, 3-011 have been surprised into a volun tar3 r tribute of admiration.” “My tribute wilt Vx* always given to such, a scene as this, which presents one of the sublimesf features of God’s creation.— From early association, the ocean filled my idea of the sublime. To stand upon the beach, and see the waves, one after the other, with ceaseless murmur, dash upon the shore and rise to my very feet—to view the sun, rising from a bed of liquid blue, gilding the clouds with gold and silver light, and seeming to proclaim hrs nrajest3', as he ascended higher and higher into the arch of Heaven: these were the images, dear Ned, that made me sceptical on the subject of Cherokee, Georgia.” “As much as I love the mountains, Charles, your description of the ocean in spires me with a feeling of its silent majes -13-, which is indescribable.” “If 3'ou had been reared there, Ned, with your enthusiasm, you would have sjught excitement on its bosom; while 1 onty sought reflection on its shores. In truth, it is associated w ith all the sorrows of my life, and 1 am only willing to forget it when surrounded by such scenes as these before me.” Just then, Ellen approached, with the ! bloom of health upon her cheek, and true benevolence depicted in her earnest eyes. “ I know where you have been, Ellen,’’ said Ned. “l’eggy Day always makes you look sad.” “ I have been there, Edward, and I re ally have come to the conclusion that Jim my’ Day is more of a brute than a fool.” “ Does she still say, Ellen, that Jimmy does his best for her, after all, when he is sober t” said Ned; “that is, rocks the cra dle, brings water a few steps, and occa sionally lights the fire.” “ She has confessed more to me this morning than usual,” said Ellen. “She says last night he came home tolerably so ber, and she thought he really was going to do belter, lie did not quarrel with her. I or whip her for money, but when he thought her asleep, he searched everywhere, to see if he could find either money or spirits.— At last he became very angry, dragged her j out of bed, and threatened to kill her, un- j less she gave him either dimes or liquor. To save herself and child, she was obliged to quiet him by giving him all the money she had made last.” “Wretched woman!” said Charles “Is it possible, that even here there are such monsters'? I had forgotten to tell you, that man was my guide here last night, and his vile mutterings by the way filled me with disgust and horror.” “That accounts,” said Ned, “for his re turning home tolerably sober.” “ Edward, 1 have proposed to Peggy to enter our service again,” said Ellen, “un less Jimmy will promise to let her have ail she makes to support herself and child.” “ He might make that promise to her a thousand times, my constant Ellen,” said Edward,” and yet it would not bind him one moment. A voluntary obligation is only binding, when there is a principle of justice in the soul. Do you suppose that a man, whose selfishness has grown with | bis growth and strengthened with his j strength, would lay it aside for one whom ihe has lorded it over for v'ears ? A man who sees not the image of the Creator in the friend of his choice, hut the image of himself, only of a lower order of being, commences with deception, goes on with tyranny, and ends with sacrifice—for, at last, the silver cord of the bow of life must break.” “ Well, what remedy is there, my dear Edward, for this state of things? l’eggy has sacrificed her own comfort and happi ness; we must not allow her to sacrifice her life.” “ You are a constant friend, my Ellen, and I honor you for it,” said iS’ed. “Would that all these poor women had such friends; there would be anew era for this country.” “Do you mean,” said Ellen, “ that we would run the women off from their hus bands, in our ardor to promote their happi ness ?” “ Oh, no; I was not thinking of your expedient,” said Ned, “but merely of your earnest feeling on the subject. 1 have thought much on this subject, dear Ellen. They are a degraded and suffering class, and nothing hut the laws of the country can elevate them.” “Explain yourself, Edward, fori car.not ‘ imagine what you mean. These people marry, often, wlien they do not own a cent in the world. In such a case, a settlement would he absurd—and unless I am very much mistaken, a settlement is seldom thought of by them. For instance, Betsey Brown, who married two years ago, had made bj her needle and by weaving, suffi cient to buy a servant, a small cottage, and besides, had several hundred dollars at in- J terest. She married without thinking of a ■ settlement, arid now where is it all V’ “In the hands of strangers,” sq,id Ed ward, “and they beggared. No, Ellen, settlements will not remedy this wide-spread evil; that protection is for the favored or ders—those who have experienced the com forts ar.d the luxuries of life, and prize them too well to trust a loss of them either to themselves or their children. They are more calculating. These people are im pulsive; they have very little, and too of ten care for nothing more than their daily bread. Starving children and personal suf fering waken up their energies.” “ You speak truly, Edward,” said Ellen; “and how many instances we could name, where the woman is up early and late, delving at home and driving from home, to support her family, while the man folds his arms, eats the bread she provides, or, if he does go to market, spends all he gets for her labor, and comes home diunk. llut I am anxious to hear your remedy.” “ It is to be found,” said Edward, “only in the laws of our country. Settlements do not reach their case, and never can, hut the law extending her protecting arm around them, at once gives them the importance they ought to have, as mothers of future generations. The mother could then feed her children in safety and in peace—and why ? Because she then would not be serving a master, but one with whom she has equal domestic rights. If he chose to get drunk, he would receive her services as from a friend ; he could not exact it as an imperious tyrant. The lash would never be heard of, because he would know that the law could not be whipped into submis sion.” “Do you not think, also.” said Ellen, “that the children would be better edu cated ?” “1 have no doubt of it,” said Edward. “All women who have energy enough to support their children, have ambition to see them rise in the world. It would be the best free school appropriation that could be made, because the funds would he in vested in every family, and in the hands of those who would feel a jealous interest in its success.” “ I like your idea very much,” said El len, “ and wish it could be carried into ef fect.” “It our legislators would only give to these people those privileges, which add brilliancy even to the ‘lone star’ of the West, it would be crowning our prosperity with jewels, which would shine in the fu ture history of our beloved Georgia. The law r , with her magic touch, would at once create in every family a little capital, which, like a rock of safety, would give a place of rest, amid the storms of life.” “ You really impress me deeply with your ideas,” said Ellen, “and I feel assur ed that your plan would emancipate that class from moral and mental ignorance.” “It would, in course of time,” said Eld ward, “work its own reward. There would be many exceptions at first, because there are many idle, good-for-nothing wo men—many now that are broken down with exertions already made : hut as one or two generations passed away, vve wool I feel, through every part of our happy State the benefit and the wisdom of protecting the weak.” “ You would make the weak strong, Ed ward,” said Ellen, “and that is not desire,’, by many of 3'our sex.” “ It would make them strong,” said Ed ward, “only in the consciousness of being appreciated. They would become then what they should ever be—the ministering angels of home. Like vines clinging a round the trunk and branches, each of it owti dear tree, they would form the loving bond of union, and even though fallen, would still retain the same loving em brace.” “ What do you think, cousin Charles,” said Ellen, “of this Utopian prospect ? Edward and I have inflicted silence on 3'ou by nnr ‘much talking.’” “ 1 have been a willing listener, I assure j ou,” said Charles, “ for that is one part of the subject I have never thought of. 1 have been obliged, by circumstances, to know something of marriage settlements, and have found, to my cost, that they are often of no avail whatever.” “ I cannot conceive,” said Edward, “how you could have had any experience about marriage settlements. I know that 3'ou were altogether in favor of them ; hut how they could have cost you anything, is to me an enigma.” “And neither do you know, I suppose,” said Charles, “that I served one year faithfully at a mechanics’ school, with the positive intention of making machinery a profession I” “Well,” said Edward, “youare certain ly the prince of mysteries. A student of Franklin College, and just within reach of the first honor, you suddenly fly off in a tangent. A young man of fortune and standing, you go to a mechanic’s school to learn how to make a living; devoted to your friend, you leave him suddenly, just on the eve of his marriage—of course, im pressing him with the idea that you only half sympathized in his happiness.” “I can soon explain that to you, Ned,” and said Charles, “without leaving on your mind a shadow with regard lo my feelings. The same cause robbed me of the distinc tions of Franklin College and the pleasure of attending your wedding, which wascon ; sunimated near Athens soon after Com mencement. My sister’s property, which was on the sea-board of Georgia, was to be sold togratify some wild speculative whims of her husband. This l wished to per suade her to oppose, hut I arrived too late to prevent it. She, like many other weak women, forgot the welfare of her family, in 1 the persuasions of one she loved ; and as i soon as the sale was made known, the proceeds were seized upon by many claim ants, and they were left with nothing.” “Now I know,” said Edward, “what your generous nature prompted you to do. You sacrificed your property, to save your sister from want.” “ Not exactly,” said Charles: “my prop- ‘ erty lay in the tipper part of Alabama, a State where the wife is doubly protected. But notwithstanding, 1 had no idea of pay ing a fortune-hunter for playing the fool. They removed there, enjoying the whole proceeds: but I retained the principal in my own right.” “ And for that reason,” said Edward, “you went to a mechanics’ sctiool, tojearn how to make a living TANARUS” “ Exactly so, my dear Ned. Have I ex plained to your satisfaction 1” “ Most fully, I assure you, my noble ! hearted EUiston,” said Edward ; “and now j that I know you could not have done oth erwise than leave us, at the mo>t interest : ing time of our lives, Ellen and I are more i anxious than ever to hear those devclopc ments which your sister says you will make to us. Our hearts have yearned for kindred as well as congenial friends, to share with us our happiness.” [To be continue*! J t&“ A Yankee writes from San Fran cisco to a New Haven paper: “ A Spanish girl is the best grammar in the world : and, since my arrival in town, 1 have been— studying grammar.” We suppose he’ll conjugate soon, if the girl don’t decline. Love is the great instrument and engine of nature, the bud and cement of society, the spring and spirit of the uni verse.—Dr. South. 6 gjy- A machine has been invented en titled a “fire annihflator,” which, by a powerful application of vapor, extinguish es a most intense lire in a fiew seconds. The passions, like heavy bo,tie down steep hills, once in motion, movo themselves, and know no ground hut th, bottom,— Fuller.