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by GARDNER & BARROW the U published every Saturday, in Florence, .Wt county, Ga. at I’ll REE DODLAKS a V.- jr , if paid in advance, or FOUR DOLLARS, if not paid until the end of the year. \dvkrtisements will be conspicuously inserted nt One Dollar per square, (15 lines) the first, and 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. Nothing under 15 lines will be considered less than a s pure. A deduction will be made for yearly ad vertisements. All a tvertisemsnts handed in for publication wtHioui . limitation, will be published till forbid, and charged accordingly. Sos Land and Negroes by Executors, Ad ministrators and Guardians, are required by law r „ !, e advertised in a public Gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sale of Personal property must be adver -11 in like manner forty days. .Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Ne groes, must be published weekly for four months. tYT* All Letters on business must be ros j'Vio to insure attention. JOLI 1* HINTING. (1 ONNECTE1) with the office of the MIR- J ROR, is a splendid assortment of And we are enabled to excuteall kind of .Tobwovk, in the neatest manner and at the shortest notice. of every description will constantly be kept on hand, such as INDICTMENTS, DECLARATIONS, BUBBLE N AS. JURY SUMMONSES, EXECUTIONS. COST EXECUTIONS. SHERIFF’S HILLS OF SALE, do DEEDS, L VND DEEDS. JUS. SUMMONSES, do EXECUTIONS, MORTGAGES, do GUARDIANSHIP. LET. ADM I NIST R ATl< *N, do TESTAMENTARY, \.nd a great many others for Justices, of the p 1, 0. AdministTktors, Executors,&c. Jf GRU KCrAIV* \S VLE of lots in this town will take place on To - lav the 10th of October next. Terms-—On a fourth cash, the balance in three Ha ;rd instabnetiis. This tow a is beautifully situated on a high bluff of the Ever Chattahoochee, in the county of Bar ■ I j , A ■N i na, about one mile below the mouth of 'lah hr e’ t i and from twenty-five to thirty miles below ‘ambus. It possesses local advan tr.-os inf’eri tr ono place upon the river. 'I be bluff , m which it stands is a continuation of the r, . nviding the waters of the Hatchechubbee | aivi'koe '•reek«, affording the most eligible lore. ■: ;.i! an exm ile-U road into the interior of liars i uv. Rit sell ar M u on, by which the pro j duct of th •' rich a:i 1 i r;il • cotton lands of those counties can be easily e rnveye ,to market. ihe road fr.ru Columbus to Florence and Irwinion. | " ill pa s through this town. Situated below the Snake Slioalsand Woolfolk’s bar, which are the I principal obstructions in the river, it can be ap ! proached without difficulty by steam h •fa at al most all seasons of the year. Indisputable titles will be given to purchasers. For the proprietors, .1 AMES E. GLENN, Agent. N. B. The cash payment may be mads by a ! good paper,well indorsed, payable CO days, at I any Hank in Columbus. _ Aug. 16 21 ts LANI)S LOW SALK. The subscriber offers for sale the sol s lowing valuable lots of Land, lying in | vTO* a rich and prosperous part of the St;ite, on very liberal and accommodating I terms. Ns. 91 in 7th district, Randolph. 190 in 10th „ do 127 iti 10th ~ do 276 in sth „ do 149 in 2d ~ Stewart. 117 in 18th „ do 149 in 29th ~ Sumter. 215 in 29th „ do 92 in 2d „ Muscogee. 96 in 6th ~ do 34 in 17th ~ Sumter. I l ov further information apply at the office of I 'be Tirror, or to the subscriber, in Appling, Co s ‘Utabia county, Ga. WM. GLOVER. August lT 20 fit V ALU AB L K~LAN I)S FOR SALE. The Subscriber offers for sal° a val “able TRACT OF L AND whereon ’W IfW* he now lives, lying in Stewart county, one mile and a half from Florence, |oiitaining 1,000 acres, of which there is between -00 and 300 acres in cultivation. On the premi *',s there are comfortable houses, a good GIN .1(0 s E, superior GIN and GEAR. Also, a MUST RATE SWV MILL, which has only . JCCn in operation about six months; surrounded lv IHI inexhaustible quantity of pine timber, near '‘‘fal towns, situated on the Chattahoochee riv- 1 p, \ Die laud is rich and level. I have good j ■priug water, and a healthy and beautiful situa- j ''l" 1 for a residence. Any person wishing to pur ' l; * se will call and view the premises. . JOSEPH REESE. 5« JR eotf ms From ci Lady's Album . The £*ai'tiug: Kiss. BY MIRABKAU B. LAMAR. His act did not o’ertake his bad intent, And therefore must be buried as an intent That perished by the way.— Shakespeare. The driver sounded his horn, and in one hour more, 1 was to depart in the stage for niy native State. The idea of visiting the home of my child hood—meet ng with iny brothers and sisters, and beholding once more my aged parents before the grave should hide them forever from my view, filled me with rapture which 1 had never experi enced before. Already transported in imagina tion over the long journey, 1 received the joyous welcome of the happy family. My good old lather inet me at the gate with the kindest demonstra tion of affection; my mother, now feeble with years, and trembling with affliction, tottered half way down the steps to grasp my hand, and unable to restrain he r feelings, burst into tears, whilst my little sister Clara ran to my arms, and folding hers about my neck, could not refrain even in the midst ol her gladness from affectionately chiding me for not answering her letters. Blessed little sister ! I kissed her pretty black eye, and promised to do better in future; and there was a joy—aye a rap ture, even in this reverie of imagination, which if it could but last, I would not barter for a world's wealth and all its honors besides. Hut every bjiss has its bane. The reflection that I had to part with Fanny Morrison, whom I so much loved, even unto adoration, soon put an end to this glow of happy feeling, and spread in my heart a corresponding poignancy of misery. This is the nature of human happiness. There is not a glad emotion of the breast which is not quickly chased by some obstrusive rare.—The visits of joy are as short as those of the votaries of fashionable life; and the bosom fnat is elated by her transitory presence, will as surely experience anequal depression at her departure. Her smiles are like the vivid flashes of lightning that play upon the brown cheek of night, but vanish in an instant and leave behind fourfold darkness. I thought of home, and my soul expanded—l thought of Fanny, and it sank in dejection. I loved this fair and excellent creature, not that the beauty of her whole sex seemed epitomized in her form and face, but more for the higher brtl liancy of her polished mind, and above all, because of her unsophisticated purify of heart. My love was reciprocated. Daily we renowned our vows of perpetual constancy, and preen eyed monster , Jealousy, never sullied our minds or disturbed our repose ; but mutually confiding, we enjoyed all (lie luxury of tenderest affection unmixed with the bitterness of doubt and distrust; and if there lie such a thing as positive happiness on earth, “it is this ; it is this.” From iny first acquain tance with Fanny, 1 had never been separated from her a week at a time—to part with her now, and possibly forever, it seemed like death. 1 had already taken leave of heron the evening of the preceding day, but now that I was about to enter upon my journey immediat lv, 1 could not resist the inclination which increased in ardor as the time of departure drew nearer, to gaze upon her innocent face, once more; once more to seize her fair soft hand, and say “good bye.” I hastened to her dwelling. She was at her piano, playing the plaintive air of “ Hoy's Wife," the very tune which of all others I most delight to hear; and she could play too with such enchanting skill—so touching to the heart! As I entered the room she erased the music but quickly resumed at my request and accompanied the instrument with a voice that breathed all the magic harmony of Nourmahal. She sang. “Fare thee well since thou must leave me, “But Oh! let not our parting grieve thee, “For l will still be thine believ e me.” And there was an applicability in these words to iny situation, such a suitableness of sentiment to the occasion, that made them sink deep into my heart; and although i cannot say t. it the music, like St. Cecelia's, “drew an \ng< 1 down,” 1 will say she sail" like an Angel, and wore ;;1! the celes tial loveliness of one. < ould the song never close and her beauty never die, who would ask for a brighter Heaven! As she finished the strain, sue closed the lid of the piano, and turning her beaming face with “bonny blue eyes,” upon me, she said “I now have a task for vou to perform.” And what is that task?” I enquired, “it is,” said she, “a compli ance with your promise, made a long time ago, to write and original piece in mv Album: the eve ning is favorable for poetry, and I insist upon your writing.” At first I thought this was merely in tended to divert mv mind from the melancholy which she perceived w ns gathering around it; for 1 was so far from ever being guilty of writing poe trv, that 1 really could not believe for a moment that she seriously thought me capable of such perpetration; but in a few moments she took from the book case a neatlv bound Album, and spread ing it on the table where pen and ink were pre viously placed, she invited me to the task with an air of*solemnity, which could not tail to con vince me that the request was made more in ear nest than through courtesy. What could I do? I had- not the heart to refuse, or the genius to comply. Mv brain was as dry, as the remainder buscuit after a voyage.” Never did I stand so much in need of mind, or deplore its wants so much as on this occasion. True, the evening was serene and beautiful, and might have warmed the breast that had the least sp3rk of poetic feefing about it; but mine had no dormant energies of this nature to awaken, and neither the kindling influ ence of fine-went her, nor the more inspiring power of Fanny’s presence, could remove my constitu tional inability to rhyme. To attempt it, I knew very well that the failure would be so completely shameful that I should lose rnurh of her esteem, and yet not to do it must inevitably incur her most serious displeasure. I determined however to risk the attempt; and seating myself by the table. FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, IS3S. I seized the pen in despair, dipped it in the stand, and turning my eyes upwards, but not in ■'Jiue frenzy rolling," 1 began cogitating on what sub ject i should fix for my fanciful effusion. 1 had remained in this attitude but a short time before my musing* appeared to be unceremon iously interrupted. The whole family were in busy oproar. The servants were running in every direction, from room to room, all actively engaged in cleaning and decorating the mansion. Some were hanging new damask curtains over the win dows—some regulating the glasses on a well loaded sideboard—others replenishing the flower pots with water and fresh roses, whilst Fanny’s youngest sister was fantastically ornamenting a pair of large candlesticks with paper leaves. The Turkey carpet was moved and the floor dry-rub bed—indeed all the preparations usually made for a dancing party were going on, and apparently for that purpose. Presently a servant girl entered the room with a bundle of evergreens, with which she commenced decorating the mantle piece, and then proceeded to a large mirror, that hung on the wall opposite to me in such a position that it reflected to my view the image of Fanny as she lay reclining on the sofa in a thoughtful and pensive manner. Her countenance is frequently tinged with a slight melancholy; but now, it seemed to wear a deep gloom. I certainly had never seen her face so clouded by sadness before; her mind ap peared to be abstracted, for she took no notice cl what was going on until the servant maid asked her if she designed to have the walls of the par lor festooned with the vines. “Do as you please,” she replied, and rising from the sofa she left the room with a tear, as I thought, quivering in her soft bine eye. NY hat was the meaning of all this ? 1 could form no possible conjecture. 1 enquired of the servaut—her words were as a dagger to my heart. “Why, have you not heard,” said she “that this is Miss Fanny’s wedding night?” I could hear no more; the maid would have pro ceeded, but my brain reeled, and I fell upon the floor in a state of insensibility. How long 1 re mained in that situation, 1 know not; but was awakened from it by the entrance of a tall young gentleman of handsome deportment and splendid ly attired, with a “broad felicity of face” bespeak ing a light mind "and a happy heart. It was for his coming that all tlmse preparations were made, for lie was iny happy rival, who was that very night to be married to the fair Fanny. Prompted !>v desperation I flew at the. villain’s throat, lie was my friend ; we were born in the same village, educated at the same school, had been intimate from our boyish days, 1 wore him in my “heart's core,” and not a circumstance had ever transpired until the present occurrence, to weaken the bond of brotherhood that bound ns together. Os all niy acquaintances, lie was tin only one to whom 1 had communicated the secret of my attachment to Fanny. He abused that confidence to supplant me in her affections. And shall i bow in degrad ing humiliation Eo the wrong? No—-rather let me perish first. Cursed be the coward arm that falters in a just revenge. With imprecations on mv rival’s head, 1 fled the habitation. All idea of my journey was now banished from my mind, my every thought was devoted to re venge ; my heart was a furnace of exasperated passions ; my very' blood boiled for vengeance.— Retiring to my room, 1 w hetted my dagger and re loaded my pistol. “I will mar his mirth,” said l to myself “1 will burst upon him in the midst of his anticipated heaven, like an unexpected Albc lino." And let not mistaken piety denounce all human vengeance as unrighteous. The serpent was crushed in the earth because of his guile which converted the bloom of Eden to a wilder ness of woe, and so should the demon still be crushed, when, forsaking his reptile shape, he as sumes the human form, and spreads over the pa radise of the heart a wintry desolation. Reader, when yon shall love as T have loved, and be sup planted by a wretch calling himself your friend, but whose smiles are iim very ‘fiend’s arch monk,’ then will von be re My toexcla. i v it!' me. “who'll sleep in safety that hath done tin . rung ?” I know not how tlic time passed off, but nightfall had come on. Dressing myself in apparel suited for the wedding, f ifhm I went, went, sternly ile - termined to “sp< a'; ;!a. j r-.” to the bri le, and to use them on the ire ache reus • of my niis forfune.. The guo sts had assembled and the nup tial hour was almost arrived ; the In placing the last flower in the bridal wreath, and as she twined it in the sliming curl. I heard her dis tinctly sin.mg the beautifdl lines of Mrs. ile mans, “Bring flow’rs, bring fiow’rs for the bride to wear, They were born to blush in the sinning hair, She i* leaving the scenes of her childish m rtli, She has bid farewell to ljer father's hearth, Her place is now by anothei’s side, Bring flow’rs for the locks of the i,iiryoung hrido. The long parlor was splendidly illuminated. Ihe chandelier suspended i:i the centre, threw around a brilliant light which the mirrors augmented by reflection, whilst the warm flashes from the spark ling eves of the laughing girls added to the blaze and made the room glow' with toe lustre ot the skies, the light of heaven was there. And merri ment was there. The young voices, mingling in sprightly conversation, were so many separate tones of melody ; and mirth was in all all was gladness; and to one whose heart had not been rendered impenetrable to joy, it was sweet to look upon the innocent laces and to witness the unaf fected vivacity that prevailed. Once I could have enjoved the scene; but the chord in my bosom that might have vibrated in unison, was now snapped asunder; and amidst all this gaiety and joy and beauty, my heart retained its inhlniglit darkness, j still brooding over its ruin and nourishing its gloo my wrath. I mixed not with the joyous compa ny, but retiring to the remotest corner of the room, I folded my arms, and waited impatiently the coming of the bridegroom and his bride, where 1 might take, even at the altar of Hymen, that sanguinary vengeance which dispair prompt ed and my wrongs justified. They soon came. There was a sudden silence i in the hall; I raised my eyes, and beheld the hap- . py couple standing on the floor, their attendants | ranged on either side. The whole company pres sed forward to look upon the fair bride. Never bad Fanny appeared so lovely to my eyes as then. A long white veil feli lightly over her forehead, like a milk w hite cloud floating before the evening star; she blushed, and the carnation on her cheek shone like the glancing sunbeam on the “Hill of Benlomon.” Her tresses were darker than the raven’s wing—they rolled in glossy curls down her neck and ivoty shoulders. Her form was the per fection of human symmetry; she was a statue of Medici animated to life by the wannest, brightest fire of Heaven, exhibiting a constellation of beau ty where every ebann mingled its light in one un bounded blaze. I gazed upon her, and the recol lection of former times came rushing on my soul. 1 thought of the many evenings l had spent with her in this same hall under happier circumstan ces; of the many protestations of eternal love ex changed between us as w e walked arm in aim to church of Sabbath mornings, and of the times we had loitered on the banks of a neighboring river, and sitting beneath the umbrageous oaks, would talk of the fair prospect of happiness when we should be united in marriage as we were in affec tion. Heaven had designed us for each other, 1 for her and she for me; and little did I dream that I should ever behold her flic bride of another. I could not behold it. A thousand times would 1 have rather gone with a sprig of rosemary in niy T fingers to view her in the ruins of death. And here let me beg the reader to forgive iny weakness. Mock not my misery. If you cannot sympathise with the atHicted. let us part. I write for those of softer mould, with more of the “milk of human kindness” in their nature, who can feel another’s woe, who love to bind the broken spirit, and to pour the balm of consolation into the agonized bo som of despair. There are such ; and ye gener ous few, l thank you in the name of the afflicted, whose sorrows you delight to soothe; 1 thank you in the name of all who have experienced the blight of ruined affection. Cheer them by thy kindness if thou canst, for their hearts have become deso late, and they stand in need of al! the consolation 1,0 be derived from tenderest sympathies of friend ship—the virtuous will ever extend it; the vicious have none to bestow. But to returnrio iny story. The venerable min ister who was to unite the happy couple in wed lock, now assumed his station on the floor, and in a moment all was silence. Whilst he was ad dressing to them a few prefatory admonitions 1 suddenly made my way through the crowd and planted mv. ell'at my rival’s back. I laid my hand upon mv dagger—"twas strange my heart began to falter in its steadiness. Then it was that the enormity of the act which 1 was about to perpe trate, flashed across my mind in all its horror. He still looked like the friend of my youth—to imbrue my hands in his blood—to murder him— it seemed too horrid; I trembled in every joint, and a cold perspiration bedewed my forehead. And yet must he triumph in my ruin—hath lie not wronged me—is not vengeance mine, and shall 1 shrink from (tie meditated blow? There was a might v conflict in niy bosom, between its gentle im pulses (V aturrv passions. But vengeance triumphed I thought mv riv I beheld me, and in the look which lie bestow ,1* there see,med to be an air of exult ation and hangi:ty defiance that reinvigor ited my nerve—re-r-nimated my resentment. Again he stood before me m all tiie blackness of his guilt, a perfidious demon, who had mercilessly robbed me of mv “life’s life” The aged minister pro ceeded in the marriage ceremony, 4 if any know a lawful reason why this couple should not Le join el in the holy state ot matrimony, let them speak,” Ha pa-,r:ed as if for a reply. Now was my rime. 1 touched the bride upon the shoulder: sin* turn ed. “B - not alarmed,” 1 cried, “for. I meditate no injury to you. O Fanny, when T admired the diamond brightness :f your beauty, 1 did not think your bosom had the diamond’s hardness too I '•oidd say no more: utterance forsook me; and in tfie frenzy of despo t”. twisting my fingers in the locks of th- bewildered bridegroom, at one convul sive effort 1 felled him on the floor, and planted ,uy knee upon his breast. 'I lie whole company were pefrified to marble.--Before they could sufficient! v recover from their panic, to render as sistance to the imploring victim at my feet, i snatched my pistol i oiti the licit and cocked it at his throbbing temple. At tlrs moment the fail Fannv caught me by the hand and giving it a and affectionate pressure she said, “come, come, a v u not going to write in iny album ? It has been b mist an hour since yon sat do wn for that pur <> ;e.”—“Write in your album fair crea ture,” said I, why yes. I will write in your al bum;” and so saving I aroused from the reverie into wlrch l had fallen from the time l took my seat by the table, and was much relieved on find ing the above dreadful circumstances existed on lv in a dream of imagination. Again 1 dipped mv pen in the stand and having nothing poetic a bout me, I [leaned the above, i lie hoin summoned me as I finished, and I .just had time to print on Fanny’s lip the Furling Hiss. COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. The difference between courtship and matri mony was never more forcibly explained than in the following “Charcoal sketch.” “What made you get married if you didn't like it ?” “Why, I was deluded into it—fairly deluded. 1 had nothing to do ot evenings, and so I went a courting: now courting's fun enough—l havti t got a word to say again courting ; its about as good a way of killing an evening as I know of.— Wash your face, put on a clean dicky, and go and talk as sweet as nugey or molasses candy, an hour or two—to say nothing of a few’ kisses behind the door, as your*sweet-heart goes to the steps with “When I was a single man the world wagged along well enough. It was just liks an omnibus: I was a passenger, paid rny levy, and hadn’t noth in" more to do with it, but to sit down and not care a button. S’posing the omnibus got upset; _ well I walks off. and leaves the men to pick up the nieces. But then I must take a wife, and be handed to me. It’s all very well for a while; but Vol. I.—No. 22. afterwards it’s plaguy like owning an upset omni bus." “Nan!” queried Montazuma, “what’s all that about omnibuses ?” “What did I get by it?” continued Gamaliel, regardless of the interruption. ‘‘How much tuu ? why, a jawing old woman, and three squalleis— mighty different from courting, this is. W hat's the fun of buy ing things to eat, and things to wear for them, and wasting good spreeing money on such nonsense for other people ? And then, as for doing what vou like, there’s no such thing.— Von can’t clear out when people’s owing you so much money—you can’t stay convenient: no, the nabbers must have yotf» You can’t go on a spree, for when you come home, missus kicks up the devil’s delight. Nou can t teach her better manners, for constables are as thick as blackber ries. In short, you can't do nothing. Instead of ‘yes my duck,’ no my dear,’ ‘us you please rny honey,’ and ‘when you like lovely,’ like it was in courting times, it's ‘darning’ nnd ‘mending,’ and nothing ever darned or mended. If it wasn’t that I’m partic’lar sober, I’d be inclined to drink—it’s excuse enough. It’s heart-breaking, and it s all owing to that, I’ve such a pain in my gizzard ol mornings. I’m so miserable 1 must sit uown ou the steps.” “Wliat’s the matter now ?” “I’m getting aggravated. My wife's a saven critter—a sword ot sharpness —cuts the throat of my fidelity, stabs my happiness, crops my com forts, and snips all my .Sunday go-to-meetings to make jackets for the boys—she gives all the wit ties to the children to make inc spry, and jump about like a lamp-lighter.—l Can’t stand it- my troubles are overpowering when 1 add ’em up.” “Oil, nonsense! behave nice—don't make a noise in the street-—be a man “How can 1 be a man, when I belong to some body else ? My hours ain n—m ain’t my own—l belong to lour peopie be ides myself—the old woman, and them three children. I’m a partnership concern, and so mahy lias got their finders in the till, that 1 must bmst. i>l break, and sign over the stock in trade to you. r pj, e \ ouv (r 11 "ife .—A woman runs a nskofbc ing spoiled by the flattering period that [ recede.-; marriage. She is. of necessity, then, a first ob ject; and custom lias added to the homage which love would willingly render. An individual of a family, who may before have been but little con sidered, rises at once into importance; and the person she most values is ready to execute the slightest expression of her w ill. The sooner that a woman can divest herself of any unreasonable expectations w hich the devotion of the lover may have excited, the greater the prob ability of her securing permanent attachment. Courtship is a dream, from which it is better to awake, voluntarily, than to be reluctantly roused. It is better to return to our ordinary habits to the sober and calm fulfilment of our daily business, in the place assigned by duty—tuan to cherish an artificial excitement, and cling to a false position. It is proof of judgment in a woman, when she bestows attention on her husbands character ; w hen she sets herself to study his peculiarities, and to consult them to the utmost of her power. This is the management which is not only allowable, but praiseworthy ; for its object is not the obtain ing of sway, hut the promotion of mutual felicity. It is certainly much to bo lamented when a young wife yields to a timidity of listlessness, which pre vent, us from making independent efforts, when she nurses the nervousness which unfits her for all useful services; when, whatever be the call up on her, she is m need of aid : nnd, fioni never hav ing thought of exerting herself, is incapable of do ing so when the emergency arrives. Incidents daTlv occur which mark either the helplessness or capability of every woman, buddcti alarms, tri flin r incidents throw oik into uncontrolable ag itation ; whilst another calmly avoids or relieves the mischief. One is unable to put forth a hand to help herself; the other, without appearance of effort, is ready to help all besides. One cannot stir without support; the other is continually em ployed in some' useful or benevolent purposes. One reclines upon a sofa, establishing no claim on others but her own incapacity ; the otliei by her perpetual good offices, lays up a debt which is will ingly paid on demand and thus provides in the best vvay, for her future exigencies. It not unfrcquently happens that a young mar ried woman is oftener alone than she has previ ously been accustomed to be ; and that she misses the family circle with which she has hither to been surrounded. Let not this, however, depress her spirits, or render her too dependent on her hus band for entertainment. Let it least of all, lead her to seek, too frequently, relief in company. One of the first things she should learn, is to he happy in solitude; to find there, occupation for herself; and to prove to her husband, that howev er she may cujoy social intercouise, a.id especi ally desire’his presence, she needs not either a sis ter or a friend to entertain her when he is away. Female Improvement.- Moral effects of Marriage.— The statistics of the Eastern Penitentiary of Pennsylvania are curious in the great inequality, which they exhibit be tween married and unmaried convicts. Jt the one hundred and sixty prisoners received the last year, one hundred and ten yvere unmarried. Six were widowers, and forty five only were married I have never seen a stronger illustration of the moral in fluence of marriage. It is too late to eulogize the marriage institution, after the worlds experience of its ameliorating influence upon tu e human condition for six thousand years. But ve may take this instance as an evidence of its effects in premoting good habits, moiality and vutue a mongst the lowest classes of society. “Massa one ob your oxens is dead—fodder too. I was afraid to tell of era bof at one, ’fraid you couldn’t bore it. k The sun has some spots on its surface, and th« best and brighiest characters are not without their faults and frailties.