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[For The 8unny South.] A SPRI\« CAROL. BY ANNIE BLOUNT PARDUE. Not yet do we see the sweet daisies come peeping— Not yet do we see the rich peach-blooms unfold, Nor the old-fashioned jonquils so slyly come creeping From their hidden retreat in the hard, frozen mould..| But soon will Spring’s harbinger, snow-drops, be coming " ith song-birds who hail from a Bunnier clime; And soon ’mid the peach-blossoms busy bees humming, l All promising hopes of the fair Summer-time. Yes, April is near us. Old Winter hath led her With courtliest grace to his vacated throne,— Has turned with a sigh from the woodland and meadow. The brooklets and fountains late chained as his own. Regretful he loosens the ice-fetters binding The rivulet longing in vain to be free Which now adown grassy slopes gracefully winding Its silvery length, seeks its haven—the sea! All Nature will wake from her long, trance-like slumber, concern at weak portions of it, Gordon, anxious to strengthen his men in their determination to hold their position, exclaimed: “General Hill, you need not fear for this portion of the line. These men are going to stay here." The men caught the spirit of the words, and the assur ance was carried along the line, “Yes, we have come to stay.” Alas ! little did the poor fellows know the dread significance of these words, and how many of them were to stay on that ground locked in death’s embrace ! And now commenced a slaughter at which the imagination recoils. Line after line of the en emy was repulsed by the gallant regiment, with a devouring fire both on its front and right flank. Only six men from the whole right wing of the regiment escaped; all the others, officers and men, were killed or wounded. Colonel Gordon was wounded twice early in the fight, two balls passing through his right leg, but he refused to leave the field. An hour later, he was shot again, a ball passing through his left have been twenty-four hundred of these (among them Major-General Barlow); and there were captured and turned over to the division-inspec tors. eighteen hundred prisoners—the aggregate result being that Gordon's little command, not over twelve hundred muskets, had put hors du combat forty-six hundred of the enemy in less than an hour! So great was his success, that the whole Federal line had retreated, and Gor don was anxious to continue the pursuit and seize the heights, which the enemy afterwards so strongly fortified. But he was halted by his superior officers. But it was not until the momentous and vital campaign of 1864 that Gordon found his name familiar to the public and conspicuous in the gazettes. It was on the stormy lines of the Rap- idan that he performed his chief part in history, and achieved his great renown. In the first day’s fight he was in a position that drew all eyes upon him. On the fifth of May, his com mand was -on the pike leading from Orange Creation be vocal with bird-hymns of praise, And myriads of insects without name or number Live out their brief lives with each separate phase In one moment of time;—yet perchance their soft heyday To them seems as long as the three-score and ten Which sums up existence—both Winter and May-Day— Allotted to us, short-lived children of men. Oh! now as the glorious Spring is approaching, And rose-footed May, with her hand-maids the flowers, Will soon on old Winter’s domains be encroaching, And fright him away with her fairy-like bowers. With sorrow too deep for mere words, I remember One ’mid all the loved ones from earth passed away— Who faded and perished ere manhood's September Had crowned with its sceptre the boyhood of May. Vain will the Spring smile for thee!—Each sweet blossom But brings back again that sad evening last year, When tender hands wreathed them above thy still bosom, And strewed love’s last offering above thy cold bier. We think of thee oft when we hear sweet birds singing, Aad watch the bare meadows grow fragrant and vernal; Y’et this one cheering thought the fair Spring-time is bringing— Thou art gone in thy youth where ’tis Summer eternal. OUR PORTRAIT UALLKRY. DISTINGUISHED GEORGIANS. General John B. Gordon was born in Upson county, Georgia, February 6, 1832. The family is descended from the Gordons of Scotland; came to America shortly before the Revolution of 1776, and made its mark in the edglit years’ war. At the beginning of the late war between the States, John B. Gordon was engaged in some mining enterprises, and was living in Jackson county, Alabama. He raised a company of cav alry end offered it to Governor Moore; but it was declined, as cavalry was not then needed. He then raised an infantry company, styled “Rac coon Roughs,” the men having been raised around Raccoon Mountain. This company was accepted as one of the ten to compose the Sixth Alabama regiment, and Gordon was elected major. He was afterwards elected lieutenant- colonel, and when the regiment re-organized at Yorktown, in April, 1862, was by a unanimous vote of the men elevated to the position of colo nel. “ Seven Pines ” was the first serious engage ment of the Sixth regiment. But in this single battle it made a record of glory sufficient for all time, and achieved the bloodiest and most brilliant success of the day. More than two- tliirds of Gordon’s entire command were killed or wounded. The lieutenant-colonel, the major and the adjutant were all killed. Every horse ridden into the .fight was killed, the one on which Gordon was mounted being the last to fall under his rider. The terrible scene of death occurred when the brave Alabamians, having taken the Federal breastworks, were ordered to drive the enemy from a dense swamp, in and around which the timber had been felled, mak ing an almost impassable abattis. In this charge, through a galling fire, Colonel Cordon felt it his duty to ride at the head of his regiment; although the fact that he was left as the only mounted offi cer drew the fire of the enemy’s sharpshooters upon him. His horse had been shot in the breast, but was still able to carry him. He rode so near the enemy’s lines that officers and men distinctly heard the Federal command, “Bring down that man on horseback,” “Shoot that d d Colonel,” etc. His noble animal at last fell under him, his clothing was pierced by three bullets, but, yet unhurt, he stood at the p>ost of danger, and the men held the ground they had won. without a sign of wavering, until they were ordered to retire. His escape was almost miraculous, and he had survived in the midst of a great carnage. Out of six hundred men, three hundred and ninety-six were killed or wounded, and in one company of forty, there were only ten survivors. The men had fallen so rapidly that it was impossible to carry them to the rear, and as they fought mostly in water several feet deep, men had to be detailed to raise the heads of the badly wounded to prevent them from drowning. In this fight, General Rodes, commander of the brigade in which was the Sixth Alabama, was wounded, and although Colonel Gordon was not the senior officer present, he was placed in command during the absence of Rodes. He participated in the seven days’ battle around Richmond, and at Malvern Hill was in com mand of Rodes' brigade, and led the desperate charge upon the Federal batteries for half a mile through an open field. His brigade was first in the charge and left its dead nearer the enemy's guns than did any other Confederate troops. Nearly one-half the command were killed or wounded in the terrible onset: and the Colonel had the butt of his pistol carried away by a ball, the breast of his coat tom open by another, and his canteen at his side shot through by a third. So greatly did he expose himself, and so won derful had been his escapes, that his men began to think, and frequently said, “The ball has not been moulded that can hurt Colonel Gor- don!” In the battle of Boonsboro. or South Moun tain, Gordon again distinguished himself. Gen eral Rodes. in his official report declared, “ Col onel Gordon handled his regiment in a manner I have never seen or heard equaled during the war.” Of his conduct in the fight. General D. H. Hill reported that “Colonel Gordon, the Christian hero, excelled his former deeds at the Seven Pines and in the battles around Rich mond. Our language is not capable of express ing a higher compliment." But it was reserved for this heroic commander, on the field of Sharpsburg. to give a surpassing and sublime evidence of devotion—to show a Roman spirit such as has been scarcely equaled in any patriotic struggle of modern times. In the disposition for the battle. Gordon's regiment occupied a salient in the Confederate line. It was his habit before taking his men into action to make a few remarks, designed to act upon their imaginations and raise their enthusiasm: and indeed he was a remarkable orator, if the test of eloquence is the efleet produced. As General D. H. Hill was riding along the line ljust before the fight began, looking with evident arm and making a hideous and most painful wound, mangling the tendons and muscles, and severing a small artery. He bled rapidly; his arm was completely disabled and his whole sys tem greatly shocked. A little while and another ball penetrated his shoulder, leaving its base in the wound. This was a terrible and almost fatal shock to his already-weakened powers; but he yet persisted in remaining on the field, and hag gard and bloody, turned to his men and waved them on to the fight. Even in their own peril, the troops were more anxious about their com mander: they saw his gray uniform almost crimson from the blood of so many wounds, and they heard him declare that he would not leave them as long as he had strength to utter a word of command. He had taken the idea that all his men were to be killed or wounded, and he de termined to share the patriotic sacrifice. At last the fifth ball struck him, passed entirely through the left cheek, and brought him senseless to the ground. Besides the five balls which seriously wounded him, two had cut his clothes, one pass ing through his cap, one through his pocket, in denting the steel clasp of his purse; and a third one had struck him on the breast, making a se vere bruise.' The courage that had defied death and kept the field with five unstaunched wounds was sublime; and the characters of heroic reso lution were written, clear and stern to the last, in the pale face stained with blood. He fell near the lines of the enemy, but when consciousness returned, he scrambled back to wards his s men, and was carried to the rear by some of them. For several months his life hung by a thread. He had been conveyed to Winchester, where his devoted wife, who hovered near him like a guar dian angel throughout the entire war, was soon by his bedside to administer to his comfort, and with her own hands to bathe and dress his many wounds. His friends and surgeons had hut little hope of his recovery, but he never de spaired. He studied to be cheerful, and when so weak that he could not speak above a whisper, he was making playful remarks to cheer his anxious wife, who could ill-conceal the agony of mind she was suffering on his account. It was his unfailing spirits, with the assiduous nursing of tender and affectionate hands, that effected his recovery and restored him to his country’s service. In his report of the battle of Sharpsburg. Gen eral D. H. Hill characterized Colonel Gordon as the “ Chevalier Bayard of the army.” His gal lantry did not escape the notice of the govern ment, and he was made a Brigadier-General after his recovery, in April, 1863, and placed in com mand of the Georgia brigade formerly com manded by General A. R. Lawton. The effect of his fine discipline was soon recognized and noticed in the reports of inspectors. In little more than a month from the time he took com mand. he fought at Marye’s Hill in front of Fred ericksburg. and retook the heights by a brilliant charge. In the outset of the Pennsylvania campaign. General Gordon was with Ewell at the capture of Milroy's forces in Winchester. He crossed into Maryland and moved in front of the Con federate army on the Gettysburg, Yorkville, and Wrightsville pike. Entering York with his troops, he found the population in great alarm, dreading all manner of outrages, and the women and children making preparations for flight. But he quieted their fears by a touching little speech, telling them that the Confederates were there to fight their armies, and not their women and children, and passed on. He soon returned to Y'ork. and thence to Gettysburg, to take part in the great battles fought there. On the arrival of Early's division, he was sent to support Rodes, whose left was being turned. He saw his oppor tunity. and by a bold and rapid charge, broke the line guarding the right flank of the Federal army, after an almost hand-to-hand conflict, and then struck the flank, pressed heavily forward, broke everything in his front, and turned the tide of battle. “ It was a most brilliant charge." as officially reported: and the results showed an amount of execution greater, perhaps, than was ever accomplished in similar circumstances of the war by the same number of men. Gordon left on the field, counted by the inspectors, more than four hundred dead of the enemy. Taking the rate of wounded as six to one. there must Court-House to Fredericksburg. The Confed erate troops in his front had been engaged some time, when they were overpowered and forced to retreat rapidly. General Ewell rode up to Gordon, who was quietly moving down the pike at the head of his column, and said: “General Gordon, they are driving us; the fate of the day depends on you.” Gordon replied: “We will 1 save it, General;” and immediately wheeling ! into line, he told his men what was expected of : them, and ordered them forward, riding in their j front. The charge was successful. He broke j the Federal line in front, and then designating certain troops to guard the front, wheeled his right and left and swept down upon the enemy’s j flanks in both directions, capturing many pris oners and one regiment entire. After the battle was over and the pursuit ended by the darkness, General Gordon, accompanied by a courier, rode to the front to look after his picket lines. Passing these in the darkness, he rode into the Federal lines, which were in great i confusion, exhibiting no organization whatever. ! He had proceeded some distance, when his cou- j rier said in a low tone: “ General, these are Yan kees." Paying no attention to the remark, Gen eral Gordon rode on, when the courier said again: “General, I tell you these are Y'ankees— i their clothes are too dark for our men.” At this j moment the General heard calls around him, : “Rail) here, Pennsylvania regiment.” The | critical position did not deprive him of his pres ence of mind; he whispered to his courier: I “ Follow me quietly, Beasley, and say not a word.” He had not gone far when the color of I his uniform, or some other suspicious circum stance, attracted the attention of the Federals, and suddenly there were calls. “Who are you? Halt! halt!" Instantly the General threw him self down on the side of his horse, giving him j the reins, and shouting, “Come on, courier,” the two dashed through the brush and into the woods, escaping without hurt to horse or rider, though a shower of minie-balls whistled around them. At Spottsylvania Court-House, Gordon was a conspicuous actor in one of the most memorable ! and dramatic passages of the war. It was here that, put in command of Early’s division (Early taking command of A. P. Hill’s corps), he gave the first cheek to the enemy advancing after tak ing the salient held by General Johnson; and it was here occurred the affecting and nohle scene when he seized the bridle of General Lee’s horse and refused to let him lead the Georgians and Yirginians, placed in line for a desperate coun ter-charge upon the enemy. In the dark and misty morning, Gordon had been guided to the point of danger by the volume of fire. Checking the enemy and throwing his little command against the heavy tide of his numbers, he after wards re-captured all the Confederate line to the right of the salient, some of the artillery lost in the morning, and held during the day "the sali ent, and all to the right of it to A. P. Hill’s line. After this battle, marked by its monument of carnage, and illuminated with so much glory to the Southern arms. Gordon took part in"the" va rious engagements between the two armies until the thirteenth of June, when he was sent with Early to Lynchburg to meet Hunter, and after wards to the Valley of Virginia and into Mary land. Returning to the Army of Northern Virginia, in front of Petersbug, General Gordon found but little opportunity to gather additional laurels in the declining fortunes of the Confederacy; and it only remained for him to share the fate which, from overwhelming numbers of the enemy, had now become inevitable to that army which his courage, chivalry and good generalship had so greatly adorned. His part was heroic to the last. It was Gordon's command chiefly engaged in the battle of Hares Hill (March 25, I860), where the troops "fought with a vigor and bril liancy that reminded one of Lee's old campaigns:” it was Gordon's command that held the last lines in front of Petersburg; and it was Gordon's command that in Lee's final and fatal retreat was at the front, and gilded the last scene of surren der with the spectacle of two thousand men pre pared to cut through Sheridan's lines at Appo mattox Court-House, and were only stayed in the desperate enterprise by the flag of truce that concluded the hostilities of that day and sig naled the close of the war. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH or GENERAL JOHN B. GO BOON. After the cessation of hostilities. General Gor don retired to the pursuits of private life, but his grateful countrymen were ever anxious to bestow upon him some evidence of their appre ciation of his services on the tented field, and in 1868 he was nominated for the position of Gov ernor of Georgia, and ran against the Republi can candidate, R. B. Bullock. The campaign was a warm one, and it was generally thought, and in many quarters positively asserted that he was elected by some six or seven thousand ma jority, but was “counted out" in the consolida tion of the polls. He then devoted himself mainly to the inter ests of the Southern Life Insurance Company; j but in 1873, when the Legislature came to elect a United States Senator, he was put in nonrina- ! tion for that exalted and responsible position, j Hon. Alexander H. Stephens, Benjamin H. Hill : and others were also candidates, and the excite ment in the General Assembly ran high as to the probable result. But after a number of ballot- ings. Gordon was chosen amid the plaudits of the vast and excited multitude. In the Senate Chamber he soon attracted gen eral attention, and demonstrated the fact that in the forum as well as in the field, he was a foe- man worthy of any man’s steel. His recent able defense of the South against the malicious at tacks of Northern politicians has called forth from the entire South one universal expression of gratitude, and he doubtless occupies to-day the first place in the hearts of his countrymen. “ Glorious Gordon ” is now the title which the people everywhere apply to him; and no man perhaps ever so completely deserved the enthu siastic admiration with which he is regarded. His name is now being mentioned in some quarters in connection with the Vice-Presidency of the United States. [For The Sunny Sonth.] PEASANT POETS OF SCOTLAND, ROBERT BURNS. BY PICCIOLA. In a rickety little cottage on the banks of “Bonnie Doon,” near Ayr, Robert Bums was born on the twenty-fifth of January, 1759. The poet is born of nature and of her Creator— God. By nature’s hand alone are the genuine seeds of poesy planted in the heart, which, when germinated by the sunshine and dew of inspira tion, blossom into the poet's rhyme. What was it that first awakened the genius of song in the Ayrshire plowman ? It was the voice of Nature, thrilling his poet’s soul as she spoke to him in the murmuring streams, the singing birds, and the breath of flowers. Perhaps, as he followed the plow or watched the springing of the grain, the delightful emotions were kindled in the peas ant’s heart, from which his immortal songs after wards emanated. There was music to him in the “chanting linnet” and in the “deep-ton'd plover's gray, wild whistling o’er the hill.” There was beauty to him in the flower of the field, the mountain-daisy,— “Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower;’’ the “little hare-bell o’er the lee;” the simple rose bud “in a’ its crimson glory spread;” and the deep impression which these made on his mind is poetically expressed in a letter to his friend, Mrs. Dunlop. He wrote: “I have some favorite flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the wild-brier rose, the budding-birch, and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight. I never hear the loud, soli tary whistle of the curlew on a summer noon, or the wild, mixing cadence of a troop of gray plo vers on an autumnal morning, without feeling 1 an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm of devo- | tion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to i what can this be owing? Are we a piece of ma- ' chinery which, like the TEolian harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident? Or do these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod ? I am myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important re alities,—a God that made all things; man’s im material and immortal nature, and a world of weal or woe beyond death and the grave.” It was this glorious feeling of enthusiasm, J this intense love of the beautiful, which enabled , man to gaze with a poet’s eye “abroad on all na- | ture, and through nature up to nature’s God.” At the early age of fifteen began the era of love | and poetry in Burns’ life. There was a Scottish j custom of coupling a man and woman together [ in the labors of harvest. Burns was thrown with | a girl one year his junior, whom he describes as | “a bonnie, sweet, sousie lass.” He says, “In- j deed, I did not know myself why I liked so j much to loiter behind with her when returning in the evening from our labor; why the tones of her voice made my heart-strings thrill like an .Eolian harp; and, particularly, why my pulse | beat at such a furious rate when I looked and j fingered over the little hand to pick out the j cruel nettle-stings and thistles.” It was the dawn j of Love's young dream, and about this time he first “committed the sin of rhyme.” Woman, as well as nature, was an inspiration to the peas ant poet, and we are indebted to female influ ence for many of his sweetest songs. He wrote to a friend: “ Whenever I want to be more than j ordinary in song—to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs, do you imagine I fast and i pray for the celestial emanation ? Tout an con- \ traire, I have a glorious recipe. - I put myself in the regimen of admiring a fine woman;" and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in j proportion you are delighted with my verses. | The lightning of her eye is the god-head of Par- ! nassus, andlthe witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon.” When Burns was twenty-five years old, he en tered upon the farm at Mossgiel with his brother Gilbert, and determined to devote himself assid- i uously to farming; but instead of becoming a : great farmer he became a noted poet; for it was there he wrote “The Cotter’s Saturday Night,” | “Halloween,” and other pieces which widely : extended his fame in the world of literature. It \ was also there that he became acquainted with ; Mary Campbell, a Highland girl, who was a ser- i vant on a neighboring farm. Burns frequently ! imagined himself in love, but, undoubtedly, the master-passion of his soul was his deep and last ing affection for “Highland Mary.” What can be more romantic and touching than their sad 1 parting on the banks of the Ayr? “We met,” j says the poet, “by appointment on the second Sunday in May, on a sequestered spot by the I banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in tak ing a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life.” How rapidly does imagination picture the scene, as the rustic lovers sat side by side be neath the sweet-scented hawthorn, looking into each others eyes and breathing in low tones love’s eloquent language! The river seems to murmur a sad refrain as they sit in the sweet, vernal gloamin’, whispering a fond farewell which they little dreamed would be their last. Burns touchingly commemorated this event in his exquisite lines to “ Highland Mary:” “How sweetly bloom'd the gay greenfiirk, How rich the hawthorn blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o’er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life ft'as my sweet Highland Mary.*’ Several months after they had parted, he heard of her death, and the shock which his strong, passionate nature received left an impression on his heart which time could never efface. Years after, even when the love of “Bonnie Jean ” had j warmed his heart, he was still true to the mem ory of his lost Mary: and on the anniversary of the day he heard of her death, he wrote that soul-thrilling, immortal poem. “To Mary in Heaven.” The circumstances under which it was written will always touch a chord of tender emotion in every human heart. As twilight deepened, his wife (“Bonnie Jean") said that “he appeared to grow very sad about some thing." and at length went alone into the barn yard, where he walked slowly, looking up thoughtfully to the starry skies. Mrs. Burns re peatedly urged him to come in to the fireside, as he was suffering from a cold, and though he promised to do so, he did not comply with the request. At length she found him lying on a heap of straw, gazing dreamily upon a brilliant planet; and when she had finally prevailed on him to come in, he wrote down the elegy, “ To Mary in Heaven.” In imagination we can see him stretched upon the pile of straw, his dark eyes fixed mournfully upon the gleaming star “that shone like another moon,” while from his full, bleeding heart flowed out those thoughts so replete with sorrow and tenderness: “Thon lingering star with less’ning ray. That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher’st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. Still o’er these, scenes my mem’ry wakes. And fondly broods with miser care; 'Since but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.” The poets attachment to Jean Armour was an earthly passion, but his devotion to Mary Camp bell was of a spiritual nature, and like Dante's love for the sainted Beatrice, it drew his thoughts away from earth. As he gazed on that star, the earthly was swallowed up in the eternal; and the love which was the pole-star of his life shone as a beacon-light from heaven, lifting his soul from its prison-house of clay to the world beyond the stars. Bums was a genius, and his poetry evinces genuine originality, humor and pathos. There is no telling how high he would have soared into the ideal had the pinions of his fancy not \ been fettered by care and poverty, which so often bound him to the cold, hard world of re ality. As a song-writer, the world has acknowl edged him a king, and down the corridors of time the music of his lays will continue to re verberate with unabated sweetness. “Bonnie Doon,” “Afton Water,” and “O, Wert Thou in the Could Blast” will be warbled by prima don 't nas of future ages, thrilling the hearts of thou sands and causing their eyes to glisten with tears of ready sympathy. Carlyle, his gifted countryman has paid this high tribute to the character and writings of Burns: “He appears not only as a true British poet, but as one of the most considerable British men of the eighteenth century. Pure and genial as his poetry must appear, it is not chiefly as a poet but as a man that he interests and affects us. He was often advised to write a tragedy: time and means were not lent him for this; but through life he enacted a tragedy, and one of the deepest. ; We question whether the world has ever since witnessed so utterly sad a scene; whether Napo- pleon himself, left to brawl with Sir Hudson Lowe, and perish on his rock ‘ amid the melan- 1 choly main,’ presented to the reflecting mind such ‘ a spectacle of pity and fear’ as did this in- t trinsically nobler, gentler, and perhaps greater soul, wasting itself away in a hopeless struggle with love entanglements which coiled closer and closer around him, till only death opened him an outlet.” He was received into the literary world with enthusiastic admiration, and mingled with the ! highest; but the conduct of the peasant-poet J under these circumstances proved the true no- ; bility of his character. He was one of the few who ever stood upon the pinnacle of Fame unsul lied by earthly pride and vanity. It is said that his address to the females was extremely defer ential, with a turn either to the pathetic or hu morous, which possessed a peculiar fascination for the fair sex. Robert Burns died in Dumfries on the twenty- first of July, 1796, in the thirty-eighth year of his age. At his grave critics laid down their weapons; his faults, which were but human, were forgotten, and his name will always be ranked among the great ones of earth. His freed spirit, so burdened with sorrow while here, no doubt found rest at last with his Mary in heaven. PERSONALS. General Toombs has been seriously ill with pneumonia, but is now convalescent. Judge Strozier will contest General Wright’s claim to the Judgeship of the Pataula Circuit. General Longstreet has not removed to Georgia, as announced, but is still in Louisiana. Mr. Alfred Grant, agent of the Georgia rail road at Athens, died on the fifth instant. Judge Henry W. Thomas, of Fairfax, has been elected Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia by a large majority. Mrs. Gerritt Smith has followed her husband to the land beyond the river. Her death oc curred last Saturday. Miss Anna E. Dickinson proposes to deliver a lecture in Savannah, before a great while, on a subject not yet announced. Archbishop John McCloskey, of New York, has been elevated to the dignity of Cardinal by the Pope. He is the first American to wear the Cardinal’s hat. Miss Lou Atkinson, an accomplished daugh ter of Mr. S. A. Atkinson, of New Y'ork, commit ted suicide in Madison, Georgia, recently, by shooting herself with a pistol. Sir Charles Lyell, the great English geolo gist (who visited Milledgeville in 1846), was bur ied with great pomp in Westminster Abbey last week by the side of “rare Ben. Jonson.” Rev. David Wills, D.D., of Atlanta, has ac cepted a call to the pastoral charge of the West ern Presbyterian church in Washington City, and will enter upon his duties on the first of April. The day fixed for the installation of the Prince of Wales as Grand Master of the Free Masons is the twenty-eighth of April. The inauguration will take place either in the Albert Hall, Crystal Palace, or Alexandria Palace. Rev. M. B. Wharton, formerly pastor of the Baptist church at Eufaula, Alabama, but more recently pastor of a church in Louisville, Ken- tuck)’, has accepted a call from, and is now in charge of the Green Street Baptist church, in Augusta. The portrait of the Hon. Jefferson Davis has been added to the gallery in the office of the war department at Washington, under the law of Congress authorizing the collection of .the por traits of all who have filled the position of secre tary since the organization of the government. The venerable matron, Mrs. John B. Floyd, the widow of one Governor of Virginia and Uni ted States Secretary of War, the daughter-in-law of another, the sister-in-law of a third, and re lated to or connected with some half dozen oth ers, visited the Capitol and Executive Mansion last week, accompanied by two daughters of ex- Governor James McDowell. Ann Eliza Young, the nineteenth wife of Brig ham Young, now a convert to Christianity, is drawing large houses to her lecture exposing the polygamous life in Utah. She says Brigham is governed absolutely by Amelia Folsom, his favor ite wife. He supports his numerous wives and thirty-six children on a paltry income of forty 3 thousand dollars per month. * •