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BY J. P. SAWTELL. E. H. PURDY, Manufacturer of SaiMlis, Harness ani Ms, And Wholesale and Retail Dealer in 411 kinds of Sadlery Ware, Corner of Whitafcer *nd Bryan Ska., SAVANNAH, GA. | -3g~ Orders for Rubber Belting, Hose and Wcklug; also, Stretched Leather Belting,j tilled piomptly. sep!7-6m t. J , OUILMAKTIN, JOHN Ff.AN NEKT. L J. GUILMARTIN & CO., Cotton Factors, ... XnD General Commission Merchants, Bay St., Savannah) Ga. Agents for Bradley's Super Phos phate of Lime, Powell's Mills Yarns and Domestics , etc. Bagging, Rope and Iron Ties, al ways on hand. \g~ U>u cl Fm ifilies Ektetodei to Customers. ■epl7-Hm A. J. MILLER & CO., FURNITURE DEALERS, 150 Broughton Street, , «AVA»MII, GEORCiIA. WE HAVE OX HAND, and are <Cou tinually receiving, every variety of Parlor and Bedroom Sets, Bureaus, Washstands, Bedsteads, Chairs, Rockers, Wardrobes Meat Safes, Cradles, Looking Glasses, Feathers, Featherbeds, Pil lows etc. Hair. Mohs, Shuck and Excelclor Matrasses on hand, and made to order. Jobbing and Repairing neatly do: c, and with despatch. . We are fullv prepared to All orders. Country orders promptly attended to. All letters Os inquiry answered promptly. «epl7 6ui. MARIETTA MARBLE YARD. J AM PREPARED TO FURNISH Marble, Monuments, Tombs, Head and Foot Stones, Vaces, Urns, Vaults, etc,, At very reasonable terms, made Os Italian, American Mhd Georgia Al A R B L E . IRON RAILING Put Up to Order. For information or designs address me at this place, or DU. T. S. POWELL, Agent. Cnthbrrt, Ga. Address, 1, A. BISANER, •epir lini Marietta, Da. GEORGES. HART & CO., Commission merchants, And Wholesale Dealers iu Fine Bntter, Cheese, Lard, etc., 1 - 39 Pearl and 28 Bridge Sts., N. Y. .. w Bntter and Lard, Os all grades, put up ’iseveiy variety of package, for Shipment to Warm Cflimates. sepl7-fim* REED & CLARKE, Ho. 22, Old Slip, New York, DKALERB IN PROVISIONS, Onions, Potatoes, Butter, etc. septl7-6m ELY, OBERHOLSTER & CO., Importers and Jobbers in Dry Goods, JVos. 329 tfc 331 Broadway, Corner of Wortb Street. ts»pis-6m Aeiv York. WHEEL, 1/lill Gearing, Shafting Puileys >E-CBENP FORACfRCUIAPLJfe > „ GEORGE PAGE & CO. iv o. 5 V. Schtdeder St., Baltimore. *turer* of portabu ahd «T<TIUVAHY Steam Engines and Boilers I’ AT ENT IM P K'lVEn I’oKTABI.K Circular Saw Mill Gang, Mulay <end-Sash Sate Mitfa, •Grist Mills, limber Wheels, SiftojAe Hi a ‘ol'iues, &.c. U' ah-.is in Circular Saw.<, -'Beh liig’an't Mill fiippl es gt ftf»railv atnluritfutac tnrer’e for L' ffe ’s Celehraited Turi>iii« Water Wheel and every (Jea< rii*tu»n "t Wood Worldnir Machinery. At*ri,-rflttfh& Engines *a Specialty. C«t. -Bepl7 ly. CUTHBERT CTntjjliEvt g-jpal. lierms ofSubsoriptiont One Year....s3 00 j Six Months...-. 52 00 BT No attention bald to orders for the pa per uu'ess accompanied by the Cash. Rates of Advertising: One square, (ten lines or less.) $1 00 for the grst and 75 cents for each subsequent inser tion. A Kbe'fai deduction made to parties who advertise by ttft year- Persons sending advertisements should mark the number of times they desire them inser ted, or they will be continued until forbid and charged accordingly. Transient advertisements must be paid for at the tithe of insertion. Announcing names of candidates for office, f5.00. Cash, in all cases. Obitaaty notices over live Hoes, charged at regular advertising ra'es. All communications intended to promote the private ends or interests of Corporations, So cieties, or individuals, will be charged as ad vertisements. Jon Work, such as Pamphlets, Circulars, Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., will be execu ted in good style and at reasonable rates. AH letters addressed to the Proprietor will be promptly attended to. [From Andrew College Bell. “ Bury tee in the solitude where flowers, birds and rills may sing my requiem Col loquy. i TO BY ORIOLE. Oh seek not a grave in the deep solitude Where floorers are wild and e'en nature is rude ; Where beasts of the forest in sullenness roam, And the footprints of friendship never may come. The pale flower there will shed its sweet bloom And the zephyr be robbed of its breath of perfume l The breeze now so balmy be chilled by the frost, And moan o'er thy grave like a dirge for the lost. The song of the birds like the blush of the flowers, Will leave their wild hewh** ie Ike green leafy bowers ; And the Voice o's nature that sung in the rill, Will lie hushed by the spell so icy and still. Oh seek the dear spot where your kindred are laid. Where the footprints of friendship a pathway have made ; And the dews affection will nourish the flower, Ai they silently fall at eve's pensive hour. Let the loved on<* in sadness and sorrow re pair, To that place ot all -ether? most sacred and dear ; For the tears that they shed in tenderness there, May be gems in -the crowns which those lov ed ones may wear. Oh sweet be the wreath that love shall en twine, And warm be tho hearts that tby virtues en shrine ; 'Tin these that will last like an amaranth bloom. And lose naught of sweetness tho' laid on the tomb. Death. Death has reaped a heavy* harvest during 1870. It swept many celeb rities from the world. Among statesmen : Burling, Pi erre Soul, Count and« Moutalembsrt, Baroche, Salnave, Earl Mayo, Duke de Brogne, Lord Clarendon. In literature: Charles Dickens, Alexander Dumas, Mark Lemon, George D. Prentice, Wm. Gilmore Sims, John E Read, E. T. Blan chard, John P. Kennedy, Brough, Viltomain, Paul de Cassenuc, Anna Cora Mo watt Ritchie. Artists: Balfe, Wilson, Moschel les, Straus, Deßeriot, Mozier, Launitz, Maolise. Soldiers; Robert E Leo, Brant ley, Sandford Thomas, Granger, Liddell, Mower, Hitchcock, Ripley, Count de Flahault, Evans, Hess, Jean D. Augdy, Loweslive, Duogy, Farragut, Gardner, &o. Lawyers : Justice Grier, Lord Chief Baron Pollock, Lord Justice Garfard. Doctors: Sir James Y„ Simpson, Professor Srnye, Sir James Clark, Sir Wm. C. Hood, Dr. Bright, Dr. Copland, Cabarrus, Von Graefe. Actors: Mrs. Rechie, Lavasser, Leigh, Murray, Lo Martre, Tagli oni. Preachers: Albert Barnes, Dr. Rowland Williams, Bishop Calvin, Bishop Kingsley, Bishop Thomp son, Bishop Chase, Dr. McClintock. Genera! celebrities : Jerome Bo naparte, Baron Rothschilds,Richard Tatt*ersal, the horse dealer; Roeder, the Champagne mam; Green, the: balloonist. L'pez, Sultan of Zan zibar, Dowager, Queen of the Sand wich Islands ; Prim) Leopold H. of Tuscany, Duchess of Berry, Duchess of Saxony, Frederick Wurtemburg, Henry of Bourbon Constitution^ Last Year's Crop. —We learn from a -summary of the latent agri cultural news for December, furnish ed by the Agricultural Department, that the present corn crop is the largest crop sitoce IS6O, the aver age per acre being estimated at twenty eight bushels, The pro duct of sorghum is larger than last year ; the tobacco crop is corn para tively la*!ge; hay is less by aboHt fifteen per cent, than that of 1869, And dhe potato crop is little more thim four-fifths of what it was last year-. _ “Mistus tomus brown, (presi dent of nashurual bftnk) l fe&k?Pdelf'y, f ’ was the stijierscriptioti on a letter that passed through the Boston post-office recently-, CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, JANUARY 20, 1871. Published by Request. A Dream, Which is not all a Dream. Having been a physician for a long, well, say timo out of- mind, and served the people with all the fervor, zeal, earnestness and fidelity my natnre was capable of, and now being broken in health, fortune and a cripple; and even right here where all my efforts, life and lamp oil have been spent—pennytess, and almost forsaken and forgotten— wondering where my next month’s board was to come from, and how, under these embarrassing circum stances I should find the means wherewith to “ settle,” that talis manic word that would make even a valley of dry bones shake, I fell to sleep and had the follow ing dream, revery or vision : I fancied that “ mine ancient” companion in arms, misery, medicine and misfortune, pills, powders and portions) was re ported to be sick unto death. 1 hurried) I thought) With all the sj eed that my poor shattered frame was capable of supporting, to his bed-side. Being somewhat “blow ed ” I sat down immediately in front of a fire) glowing with red-hot coals, whose grateful warmth pene trated every fibre and set my imagina tion all aglow, adding strength and rapidity to the fevered dreams that were the culmination of an unhap py train of sad reflections. I fixed my eyes while in this melancholy aud sombre mood, upon tho glow ing coals before me, when directly 1 saw, or so fancied, weird and gro tesque figures tracing themselves there upon. First in this great panorama came a long procession of men, women and children, “some a loot aud some a running—dressed in every imaginable kind of fashion, comfort and discomfort, und many who could not be said to have been dressed at all; men, with bloody noses and brokeu heads, some ou crutches, minus one pedestal extrem ity, others in every extremity, save extremes desirable; some large aud protruding in abominable regions, ruby cheeks and blossoming noses) “ Dr. mighty slow, mighty slow ” and themselves a great deal slower when pay-day came, and many of them like the immortal Fox post poning that day until the day of the final judgment; woman in every condition of mortal ailment, scold ing, fretting, frothing and frowning at the tooth ache or a delinquent husband; fashionable belles with hot spots on their heads and an iu supportable sense of immediate dissolution from choking and smoth ering, yet pronouncing anathemas in unmeasured terms upon the poor devoted son of Esculapius who had the intemerity of coming to the rescue with assafoetida and black cohosh! Then came a long procession of poor children, barefooted and hat less, thin thread-bare covering hang ing in tatters, and flaunting in the bitter breath of Boreas as though each oue was trying to exhibit a miniature flag of every nation un der heaven, although he had never heard of any nation but his own, and thought that one even, bounded by the horizon. They were little, their, pinched feature*, their long skinny fingers looked more like the claws of animals than any resem blance they ought to have had to the fleshy, tapering and dimpled ones of their wealthier neighbors, faces with a cadaverous expression, cheeks with a hectic flush, eyes duli, leaden and heavy as if they were already prematurely world-weary, hastening on, as it were, willing, wishing and waiting for their little graves in potter’s field, for oh ! how quiet and silently they moved along without a s@Hnd or song, or sym pathising, encouraging word or look from any passer-by left to •struggle alone, tender and inexpe rienced as they were, With gaunt famine and disease. What, thought I, can all this mean ! Are all these suffering mortals thrown out upon a vast tera incognita -to suffer, pine away in anguish and die, without a benefactor—without meeting, at least)One heart to commisserate, oue benevolent aud kindly disposed hu man being -endowed with the bet ter instincts of our nature, a heart of flesh, softened and subdued, made tender and feeling by our ho ly religion, with so much of the Master’s spirit as to say, “ Suffer them to come unto me and forbid them not”—with a mind richly stored with known and occult sci ence to euable him to become the good Samaritan to all this vast ar ray of human suffering aud misery? Just at this juncture the panera -mic wheel made another turn, creaking and crying for a little more “ patent axle grease,” (as the wheels of creation are supposed to have creaked when the globe was rolled upon the stage) when all of a sudden the vision changed, when to my happy disappointment, and confident expectation, it was not the pale horse and hit rider, but a high-headed bay with a grass rope ’round his neck, wholly above and unenvious of, and in whose seeming opinion, the notorious Bucephalus would have been, when compared to him, reckoned to a garrow.— Drawn by the said bay was a yel low buggy, high in the back, but minus a dash, containing a solitary individual, on whose head sat a little round crowned hat, spectacles on nose, cleanly shaved UroUnd the mouth, with a pair of gray whis kers, and dressed in a greenish yel low suit, much defaced by a too great familiarity and long acquaint ance v ith grease and dirt, and the wearing and tearing effects of time. This individual had the appear ance of having lived always, never taking any rest, never stopping,nev er dying—one on whom time seem' ed to have had no power ; always on the alert, ever active and vigi lant, never considering his own comfort, or that anything would be comforting to him at all; and like the “ Wandering Jew,” forever go ing and perpetually revolving, yet with all this toil and vigilance, his eye had a youthful and mischievous twinkle, and while it beamed with love for all God’s creatures, there was still a lurking devil-sort-of spice aud humor about it. His head was far too small immediate ly under the band of the aforesaid round hat to admit of much love for bloated purses or steaming pots, and showed a total disregard to the wants of the inner or decorations of the outer man ; or whether the said buggy had a dash or was dashed to pieces, but with large, full grown head above the ears, full in coronal region, and tapering back until there was just enough left behind to drive the ponderous hurricane deck forward against every oppos ing element that would be likely to impede the progress of the high trot by which his little dashless bark was carried along. On ! on, and ever onward he went, after this wretched army of human suffering, with straining eyes and outstretch ed arms, without hope of reward.— Shall I say it? No, not entirely so, for no man, no matter how much devoted to science he may ever be come, with all the self-sacrificing devotion he may ever pursue his calling, if he be a physician, with all his kindness and sympathy, ten derness and pity, prayers aud heart yearnings for the suffering, sinking and dying, when he thinks of his own poor wife and children at home, lacking many of the necessa ries and all of the luxuries of life, cannot wholly divest himself of a sufficient of human nature to pre vent him from deploring the fact, that many, very many, should be so' utterly devoid of the moral obliga tion they owe to him. And so it proved in the present instance, as the sequel will show. But I am an ticipaliug. From the contemplation of these sad pictures, ray disordered fancy had been conjuring up in a hob goblin kind ot phantasmagora, I turned, I thought, to my dying friend and told him that the public wished to offer some tribute, some testimonial of their appreciation of his labors, by building a suitable monument over Ms remains, and had sent me to inquire the kind and style most pleasing to him without regard, whatsoever, t© cost. He turned those eyes—the light of which had often cheered and made glad my desponding moments —up on me, and smiled faintly, at what I feared he thought was vanity, and especially of all posthumous honors (which are always doubtful at best) aud remarked : “ That he had always been a plain, blunt man, sad wished to lie in the last sleep, the sleep of death, with the same disregard of all things seemingly ostentatious as he had lived, and that if the dear pubiio, of whom I had been speaking, and ; for whose opinion and welfare he had ever felt the deepest regaid, and for whom he noio felt very grateful for their consideration in wishing a suitable mausoleum to cover his remains and keep his memory green, wished to evince their appreciat ion of his labors, that a more suitable acknowledgement could not be offered than by coming forward and paying their medical bills, (some of which,” said he, “ are of over thirty year’s standing,)' for the benefit of the heirs and creditors.” I had, ere this, heen a Tittle .puff ed by “ the divine afflatus,” and had cogitated the greater portion of what I thought would be a suitable inscription, (to be surmounted of course by a mortar and pestle,) but his common sensed, -practical view es the matter so ‘crippled niy Pe- gassus that he limped away and I awoke—and no way yet offering it self, whereby I should be enabled tc discharge my board bill, I slunk off to bed, to dream in earnest of—oth er days and downier beds, and of lands in sunnier climes beyond the blue horizon, where in the dreams of childhood aud maturer hope, im agination clothes the vast landscape with flowering shrubs and trees of immortal verdue, and birds on overhanging boughs sing sweet lul labies to world-worn pilgrims as they recline on mossy banks beside the river of life. There may we at last meet., all but the horse and yel low buggy / . “ llyoscYaSus.” The Shadow of Life. We have rarely met with any thing more beautiful than the fol lowing, which we find iu an old New York Mirror; ‘‘All that lives must die, Passing from nature to eternity.” Men seldom think of the great event of death until the dark shad ows fall across their own path, hid ing forever from their eyes the faces of the loved ones, whose lov ing smile was the sunlight of their existence. Death is the great an tagonist of life, aud the cold thought of the tomb is the skeleton iu all our feasts. We do not VfAnt to go through the dark valley, although its pas sage may lead to Paradise; and witli Charles Lamb, we do not wish to lie down in the muddy grave, oven with kings and princes for our bed fel'ows. But the fiat of nature is inexora ble. There is no appeal from the great law that dooms us all to the dust. We flourish aud fade like the leaves of the forest, and the frailest flower that blooms and with ers in a day, has not a frailer hold on life than the mightiest monarch that ever shook the earth by his footsteps. Generations of men ap pear and vanish like the grass, and the countless multitude that swarms the world to-day, will to-morrow disappear like toot-prints on the shore: “Soon as the rising tide shall beat Each trace will vanish from the sand.” Iu the beautiful drama .of lon, the instinct of immortality, so elo quently uttered by the death devo ted Greek, finds a deep response in every thoughtful soul. It is na ture’s prophesy of life to come.— When about to yield his young ex istence as a sacrifice to fate, his be trothed Clemanthe asks if they shall not meet again ; to which he re plies : “1 have asked that dreadful question of the hills that look eter nal ; of the flowing streams that flow forever; of the stars, among whose fields my raised spirit hath walked in glory. All were dumb. But while I gaze upon thy living face, I feel there’s something in that love which mantles through its beauty that cannot wholly perish. We shall meet again, Olemantbe.” A Bold Hand at the Helm, or Helmhol©.— A paragraph has heen going the rounds of the press quite recently, stating that llembold, tho celebrated New York Druggist, pays the Tribune of that city over SIO,OOO a year for advertising.— Ilembold’s business must be im mense to enable him to pay such a sum of money to one paper out of sixteen hundred in which he adver tises. By his judicious, but at the same time extensive advertising.— Hembokl has made his “Buchu” and other proprietary compounds standard remedies in almost every household in the land; while the medical faculty, whose approbation is never gained for a nostrum, not only recommended Ilembold’s prep arations, but quite extensively use them, in their private practice. If some thousand of business men, who have been content to plod along in the old fogy footsteps of their ancestors, who looked upon news' paper advertising as money thrown away, had hut possessed Hembold’s sagacity and courage, they might, perhaps, figure quite as largely in the Income-Tax return?.—[JVeio York Times.~\ Attention —Reeipß for Making Tat tlers. Take a handful of the weed called Run-about, the same qfiaatky of; root called Nimble-tongue, a sprig of the herb Backbite, (either before or after dog days,) a table spoonful of Don’t-you-tell it, six drachms of Malice, a few drops of Envy, which can bo purchased in any quantity at the shops of Miss Tabitha Tea-table, and Mis* Nancy Night-walker.— Stir them well together, and sim mer them half an hour over the fire of Discontent, kindled with a little Jealousy; then strain it through the rag of Misconception, aud cork it up iu the bottle of Ma levolence, and hang upon a skein of Street Yarn ; shake it occasionally for a few days, and it will be fit for use. Let a few drops be taken be fore walking out, and the subject will be able to speak all manner of evil, and that continually. ISaP- Some of the colored men of Washington, have addressed a let ter to Colonel John W. Forney, re gretting that he is going away.— They fell him shat he -has treated some of them like a father, that re publics are ungrateful, but colored children are-not-. Forney replies, that though he is going away, he will still be among them and watch them. APPEAL. Twenty-Five Cents. “Please, sir, will you buy my chestnuts?” “Chestnuts! No,” returned Ralph Moore, looking carelessly down on the upturned face, whose large brown eyes, shadowed by tangled curls of flaxen hair, were appealing so pitifully to his own. “What do I want with chestnuts?” “But, please sir, buy’ em,” plead ed tbe little one, reassured by the rough kindness of his tone. “No body seems to care for them, and— and—” She fairly burst into tears, and Moore, who had been on the point of brushing carelessly past her, stopped instinctively. “Are you very much in want of the money.” “Indeed, sir, we are,” sobbed the child; “mother sent me out, and— ” “Nay, little one, don’t cry in such a heart-broken way,” said Ralph, smoothing down her hair with care-! less gentleness. “I dont want your chestnuts, but here’s a quarter for you, if that will do you any good.” He did not Btop to hear the de lighted, incoherent ibauks the child poured out through a rainbow ot smiles aud tears, but strode on his way, muttering between his teeth; “That cut off my supply of ci gars for the next twenty-four hours, -i don’t care though; the browu eyed object really lid cry as if she hadn’t a friend iu the world. Hang it! I wish I was rich enough to help every poor creature out of tue slough of despond.” VV bile Ralph Moore was indulg ing in these very natural reflections, the dark-eyed little damsel whom he had comforted was dashing down tile street) with quick elastic foot steps, utterly regardless of the bas ket of unsold nuts that still dangled on her arm. Down au obscure lane she darted, between tall aud ruinous rows of houses, and up a narrow wooden staircase, to a room where a pale, neat looking woman, with large brown eyes like her own was sewing as busily as if the breath of life depended upon every stitch, aud two littie ones were eouteated ly playing in the sunshine tuut tem porarily supplied the place of fire. “Mary ! back already ? Surely yuu have not sold your chestnuts so soon?” “Oh, mother ! mother, sec 1”, ejaculated the almost breathless child, “a gentleman gave me a whole quarter. Only think, mother, a whole quarter!” If Moore could have only seen the rapture which his tiny gift diffused around it iu the poor wid ow’s poverty stricken home, he would have urged still less the temporary privation of cigars to which his generosity had subjected him. Years came and went. The lit tle chestnut girl passed as entirely out of Ralph Moore’s memory as it pleading eyes had never touched the soft spot in liis heart; but Mary Lee never forgot the stranger who had given her the silver piece. The crimson window curtains were-closely drawn to shut out the storm and tempest of ttie bleak De cember night; the fire was glow ing cheerily in the weii-filled grate and the dinner table, in a glitter with cut glass, rare china and pol ished silver, was only waiting tor the presence of Mr. Audley. “What can it be that detains papa?” said Mrs. Audley, a lair, handsome matron of about thirty, as she glanced at the dial ol a tiny enameled watch. “Six o’clock, and he does not make his appearance. “There’s a man with him in the study, mamma—come on business,” said Robert Audley, a preity boy, eleven years old, who was reading by the fire. “I’ll call him again,” said Mrs . Audley, stepping to the door. But as she opened it, the brilliant gas light fell full on the face of an hum ble looking man, in worn and thread bare garments who was leaving the house, while her husband stood in the doorway of _his study, apparent ly relieved to be rid of his visitor. “Charles,” said Mrs, Audley, whose cheek had paled and flushed, “who is that man, and what does he want ?’* “His name is Moore, 1 believe, and he came to see if I would be stow upon him that vacant messen gership in tire bank.” “And will you ?” “I don’t know, Mary, I must think about it.” “Charles, give him the situation.” “Why, my love?” “Because I ask it of you as a fa vor, and you have said a thousand times you would never deny me anything.” “And I will keep my word, Mary,” said the lover husband, with au af fectionate kiss. “I’ll write the fel low a note this very evening. I be lieve I’ve got his address about me somewhere.” An hour later, when Bobbie, Frank and Eugenie were snugly tucked in bed, in the spacious nur sery upstairs, Mrs. Audley told her husband why she was so interested in the fate of a man whom she had not «een for twenty years. ■“That’-a right, my li-t-tle wife,” re plied her husband, folding her fond ly to his breast, when the simple tale was concluded:; “never’ fe*rget one who was kind ; to you in the days when you needed kindness ■most.” Ralph Moore was sitting in hrs poor lodgings beside his ailing wife’s sick bed, when a liveried ser vant brought a note from the rich and prosperous bank director, Charles Audley. “Good news, Bertha!” ho ex claimed, as he read the brief words. “We shall not starve $ Mr. Audley promises me the vacant situation.” “You have dropped something from the note, Ralph,” said Mrs. Moore, pointing to a slip of paper on the floor. Moore stooped to recover the es tray. It was a fifty dollar bill neat ly folded in a piece of paper, on which was written t “In grateful remembrance of a silver quarter that a kind stranger bestowed on a little chestnut girl over twenty years ago.” Ralph Moore had thrown his mor sel of bread upon the waters, aud after many days it had returned to him. How to Succeed iu Business. It is well-known that, of the many thousands who enter upon business, those who succeed are few in comparison with the thousands who fail utterly, or are successful only iu part. Much which goes to secure success is natural to tbe mau himself. Much more is the result of circumstances which he did not create*) and which he could not con trol ; but much more is the result of a wise use of those mcaus which lie open to all, but which are seized up on and made available only by the few. The newspapef) ft* a medium of communication, stands first among all the agencies now known. It tells the business man more as to what is being done in his line in ten minutes time in the morning before business begins, than he could find out in other ways were he to give the whole day to it. It tells a man what is doing in his own neighborhood, puts him in commu nication with other countries, and gives him the earliest and most ac curate information concerning com merce or trade. Take away from business the in formation and stimulation which it gives) and it would become impos sible to succeed, and would tail back into the narrow channels of half a century ago. Books have their place and their influence. The daily mail is of great benefit und cannot be dis pensed with. But the daily and, weekly press exeits au influence, wields a power, and produces re sults which surpass all other influ ences united. It goes everywhere for information, and then carries it everywhere. Tlie opinions of men are often reflected, but more fre quently created by the press tliau is generally supposed. It makes and unmakes men. It elects and de poses Presidents. It creates or ob structs trade. The merchant buys and sells by its aud the commerce of the world steers by it, as the single ship is steered by the chart which lies spread out upon its cabin table. The consumer of any given ai ti cle goes to its columns to learn where to buy best and cheapest.— The retail merchant goes to the same source to find the state of the market, and where to get his sup plies, and so on through all grades till the producer is reached, and his accumulated stock finds market. This is not only the surest aud best way, but it is almost the only way. Millions of dollars are expended ev ery mouth iu advertising, without which half of the productions of the earth aud of human history iu vari ous forms would fail to find a mar ket. Especially is this true of all new things. Trade has its channels al ready dug, and sowethings find more ready purchasers than others. But new tilings, new productions, new inventions especially, must be made known. Who knows, who can know, that some ingeuious man has found out a quicker, safer, surer way of doing a certain kind of work, than the way it has always been done, unless they are told of it. But information travels slowly where one person on ly tells the story. Let him com mit his story to the press, and if it is the matter of real public interest, the press will give it wings, and in ten days time millions of people will know what he is doing, and the desire to possess it wffl be‘ awakened in a thousand minds. The press has many tongues, and the story once told flies over moun tain, valley and ocean,and what was but yesterday a hidden thought or a crude conception, now becomes a perfect machine known aud desired in all lands. This is the power of the press. Let every man who has an invention which he does not know how to set to work for his own good, and for the benefit of: others, proclaim it through th§ press and ere he is aware, someone will be found who will show him how to turn the sweat of his brain into food for his family and cloth ing for his -children) and gold for his purse. A peach tree .growing on a battle-field near Vicksburg boars blood-red fruit, and the leaves are said to look and even smell like blood. The cause of this phenom enon is romantically ascribed to the fact that during the battle men tioned a Gen. Tighlman was killed, and that his blood drenched the soil. Alluding to chignons, Mrs. Cleaver said “A girl now' seems all head.” “Yes, till you talk to her,” replied Mr. Cleave a YOL. V-NO. 4 New Year Resolution Every new year, aR it come!*, marking the milestones in the path of life, naturally brings up the well worn yet ever fresh subject of good resolutions. To the well disposed youth this topic is full of peculiar attractions. It appeal* to thei* natural zeal and enthusiasm in tbe future, and With a faith in their own powers that past failures have not yet had time to dim, they hail the approach especially of the ne# year, to make various * resolves their own improvement, or for oth ers good, which they desiro to coinplish. As wb grow* cider, how ever, many of us feel if ml less disposed to mark tho natural divis ions of time in this manner. The broken resolutions of tho past loom up . reproachfully, and warn us against multiplying their number; and the many defeated good inten tions, and the miaspeot time which memory recalls, bring with them A dejection of spirit utterly at vari ance with the hopeful enthusiasm that looks joyfully into the future) and lays plans ahd forms resolves never to be frustrated. It ia not surprising that those who say with Lord Byron, “ I make a vow of reformation eVerjr year, But soon relapse again-, trtfllre the year fa out,” gradually cease to pttt ftfah fe the value of these broken Vows, And nally discontinue them altogether* It is natural that youth having so little of the past for memory to re call, should rathe? ignore the sor rowful reflections which it might induce, and press on hopefully to the future ; while as life’s past in creases, and its future contracts, the mind involuntarily looks back at what is floating away like a cloud into the distance of time gone hy- It may seem at first sight as if tmi effect of increasing years was in creased wisdom, and that the enthu siastic resolutions of youth can on ly he made through an over esti mate of our powers, and an igno rance of our inability to cope with the many and severe temptations which surround us. In truth it f* the young, and those who, though older, still retain enough of youth’s zeal and hope to continue making fresh resolutions, who are on the right side in this. A good resolve shows, first of all, that the heart U in the right place ; that the inten tions, at least, are excellent, and the desires pure, as far as that re solve is concerned. This spirit of mind leads us more than half way in the paths of virtue, and ittdeed) without it we could not take a sin gle step. The desire for improve ment and goodness must ever pre* cede attainments in either, and If we feel these desires growing faint from any cause, we may well leaf that we are retrograding, instead ot advancing. Then, too, the very act of making a good resolution strengthens within us the power of keeping it. With the earnest de sire for a worthy object co&ea a determination, more or less strong ly felt, to work tor it) «od in pro portion to the strength Os this de termination will he the success we shall meet, and the progress we shall make in our own character.— The expression of such resolves, whether to others or ourselves, helps to fortify us against the temp tations which a sail us ; its memo ry constantly arises te check wrong impulses; and the feeling of tho bond that it creates eterriaes a wholesome influence over the pass ing inclinations, which might other wise lead us astray. What then, it may be said is to become of all the broken vows, the unkept resolves, the forfeited jmr poses of life, that even the young are in measure conscious of, and that every year serve to depress and discoura e so maayof us? An© we to go on forever satisfied with worthy intentions, though they fail to produce like results ? By no means. The great mistake that tho framers of good resolutions are apt to fall into, is that of expecting too much from them. Though most excellent and useful, their power is limited. We must not look for per fect conformity to them, in our selves or in others, but only for an increasing tendency to be guided by their spirit. A young man, for instance, makes a resolution at the commencement of anew year against some vice or indulgence whieh he desires to overcome. For a time he succeeds in resisting the impulse, hut at length some peonl lar temptations subdues his better nature, and he yields. Should ho then be discouraged, regret having made the resolve, and discontinue his efforts? Not at all. He should rather rejoice that he had so long been enabled to persevere and tak ing fresh courage, renew his resolu tion with enhanced «cal. Thus the habit of doing right will, by in creasing power, overcome the habit of doing wrong, until at length the breaking of a resolution will be come the rare exception. Let none of us ifeen overlook the deep sig nificance that adheres to these land marks-of time, or refuse to open the new year with good resolutions, irire wisdom is to preserve the en thusiasm of youth, adding to it the lessons which experience brings— taking new hints at the close of the year, and taming -over anew leaf •at the beginning of another. Suck reformation, gradually but steadily carried out, will bring with k a re «ewed lease of life and happiness, and will give to all of us a Hap py New ¥eac^ ,,,