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@tje YOl : X(iBLOOD \ ALE'EN, Bj||jdors. j t VOL. I. ; iritis ss/'S‘?rai°wju®!P IsPublished every Thursday Morning, in the new Town of Oglethorpe, .'llaeon County.Ga„ CHARLES B. YOUNGBLOOD, Publisher. EGBERT W. AI.LEN, TRAVELING AgENT. f TERMS—S 2 Per 1 ‘car in advance RATES OF ADVERTISING. One Dollar |w"r square (of 12 lines or less) for the first insertion, ami Fifty Cents for each insertion thereafter. A liberal deduction will be made to those who adver tise by the year. Advertisements not specified as to time, will be pub lished till ordered out atul charged accordingly. All betters on business must be addressed to the Publish er, Post Paid, in order to secure attention. Life is Real. Tell me not in mournful numbers; Life is but an empty dream! for the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seetn. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not the goal! Dust thou art, to dust rcturnest, Was not written of the sou!. Not enjoyment and not sorrow, fsour destined end and way, But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us further than to day. Art is long and time is fleeting, And our heaits, tho’stout and brave, infill, like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. / In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, 8 not like a dumb driven cattle! Bea hero in the sti ift. Trust not fortune, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead past bury its dead! Act!—act in the living present! Heart within and God o’erheard. nt then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Si ill achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor atul to wait. T IdEURPHANBOY. A TOUCHING STORY. The bustle of the fight is over ; (lie pri eoners have been secured, and the decks washed down, and (lie schooner had once more relapsed into midnit;ln’s quiet re pose. 7 sought my hammock and soon fell asleep. But my slumbers were dis turbed by wild dreams, which, like lhe vision of a feicr, agitated and unnerved me. The last stile, the harships of my early life, ami a thousand other things, mingled together as figures in a phantas, magoria. Suddenly a hand was laid on my shoulder, and starling up / beheld the surgeon’s male. . , , ‘ L 1 * I sprang front my liawTo ‘Hf. ITOt Dick was a sort of portege of mine, He was a pale, delicate child, , said lo be an orphan, and of a gentle na ture ; and from the first hour 1 joined the schooner my heart yearned towards him ; for 7, too, had once been friendless ami alone in the world. He had often talked <o me in confidenc of his mother, whose memory he regared with Indy reverence, while to the other hoys of the ship he had little to say ; for they were rude and coarse, lie delicate and sensitive- Often when they jeered him for his melanchol ly, hewould go apart by himself and weep He never complained of his lot, though his companions imposed him continually. Poor lad ! his heart was in the grave | with his lost parent. I took a strong interest in him, and had ;k lightened his task as much as possible. ; During the late fight, I had owed my life ’ to his, for lie rushed in just as a sabre ; Stroke was levelled at me ; and by inter ‘ posing his feeble cuilas he averted a dead ly blow. In the hurry and confusion since 7 had quite forgotten to inquire wjhethiu-he was hurt, though at the time r~T liadnnwardly resolved to exert all my influence to procure him a midshipman's jWarrant in requittal for his services. It ‘was with a pang of reproachful agony, f therefore, I leaped to my feet. •My God!’ I exclaimed, ‘you don’t mean it i He is not dying i) *1 fear, sir,’ said the surgeon, shaking his head sadly, ‘that he cannot live till morning.’ ‘ And l have byen laying idle here! I exclaimed with remorse. ‘ Lead me to him.’ • He is delirious, but at intervals of lu nacy be asks for you, sir,’ and as the man spoke we stood bed of the boy. The sufferer did no%t|j£ in Ids ham mock, as it was hung in ilie .very midst of the crew, and the close air&wmmd it was so stifling that he had under the open hatchway, and laid there in a little open space of about four feet square. From the sound of die ripples 1 judged the vessel was in motion, while die clear, calm blue sky, seen through the opening overhead, and doited with my liads ofstars, betokened the fog bad bro ken away. How calm had it smiled down on lhe wan face of the dying boy. Oc casionally a light current of wind—oh ! how deliciously cool in that pent-up hole —eddied down the hatchway, and lifted die dark chesnut locks of the sufferer, as with liis head reposing on the lap of an old veteran,, he lay in an unquiet slum .ber. His shirt-collar was unbuttoned and his childish bosom, white as that of a girl, was opened and exposed. The wound of which lie was dying was in< lensely painful; but within the last half hour had somewhat lulled, though even now his thin fingers lightly grasped the bed clothes, as if be suffered the greatest agony. A battle-stained and gray-haired sea man stood beside him, holding a dull lan tern in his hand and gazing sorrowfully down upon the sufferer. The surgeon knelt with bis finger on the boy’s pulse. As> I approached iliey all looked up—the veteran who held him shook his head, and would have spoken, but the tears gather ed too chokingly in his eyes. Tiie surgeon said— • He is going last —poor little fellow. Do you see this?’ And as lie spoke he lified up a rich gold locket which laid on the boy’s breast. ‘He lias seen better days.’ 7 could not answer for my heart was full ; here was the being lo whom a few hours before I owed my life, a poor, slight, unprotected child—lying before me with death already written upon his brow— and yet 7 never sought him out afier the conflict. How bitterly mv heart reproach ed me at that hour. They noticed my agitation, and his gold friend—the sea man who held bis head, said sadly, ‘ Poor little Dick ! you’ll never see the shore you have wished for so long. But ther’ll be more than one w hen your log’s out’—lie spoke with emotion— * to mourn for you.’ Suddenly the little fellow opened bis eyes and looked vacantly around. ‘ Has he come yet ?’ lie asked in a low voice. ‘Why don’t lie come?’ ‘/am here,’ said 7, taking die little fellow’s hand. ‘ Don’t you know me Dick ?’ r ; He smiled faintly in my face. He then said— * You have been kind to me, sir—kind er to me than most people are to a poor orphan buy. 7 have no way to show my gratitude—unless you w ill take the Bible you will find in my trunk. 7i’s a small offering, I know, bul it’s all that 7 now have. 7 hurst into tears. lie resumed— ‘ Doctor, 7’m dying, ain’t 7?’ said the little fellow, ‘ for my sight grows dim.— God Idess you, Mr. Worth.’ ‘ Can I do nothing for you Dick?’— said I. ‘ You saved inv life. 7 would coin my blood to save yours.’ ‘ 7 have nothing to ask—7 don't want to live—only, if it’s possible, let me be buried by tny mother—you’ll find the name of the place and all about it in my trunk.’ ‘ Anything, everything, my poor lad.’ I answered chocking. The little fellow smiled faintly—7t was an angel’s smile, but he did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the stars flicker ing in that patch of the blue sky overhead. His inind wandered. * It’s a long, long way up there, but more are bright angels among them.— Mother used to say that we should meet there. How near they come; aud 7 see sweet faces smiling on me from among them. Hark !is that music ?’ and lifting liis finger he seemed listening for a mo ment. He fell back, and the old veteran hurst into tears —the child was dead.— Did he indeed hear angel voices ? Grant it. j A young gentleman asked a young lady, the other day, what she thought of the manage slate in genreal. ‘Not knowing I can't tell,’ was the repy—‘but if you and I were to put our heads together, I could soon give yo a definite, ant war.” OGLETHORPE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MAY 29, 1851. AN AFFECTING STORY. Two gentlemen and a female traveling in a coach together, the latier in answer lo a question that had been proposed lo her said : L ‘ I never drank any spirits till about years ago, just after my youngest bom.” She uttered this reply in a suppressed tone orauiice, and with evident emotion. ‘ Ydti'ljjtve been married, then ?’ said the Euglisi&gpnilcincii. * Yes sti‘ihg replied, ‘ I was married eight years since.’ ‘ls your husband living ?’ he inquir ed. iPII ‘ I suppose he is,maid she ; / have not seen hirn fur more than |mji years, aud 1 do not know tiiat be w ill ever come back again. ‘'• -■v- At this moment the old Dutchman shook bis head; and the woman bowed down her face. Her bonnet concealed her features, but tears were falling upon her cloak. After a brief interval, the Englishman resumed bis conversation. ‘ I am fearful,’said lie, ‘ that you have a bad, perhaps intemperate husband.’ His remark seemed to summon her to the rescue; for whatever may be the nature of domestic strife, foreign interference is seldom welcomed by either parly. ‘ No sir,’ she replied, ‘ l bad as good a husband as ever lived, and he was al ways a very temperate man. He was a member of the Temperance society. My husband was a carpenter, and worked as hard as any man, but he never took strong drink of any kind ; and if I could say the same of myself, we nevei* should have parted. * How did you first contract this hab it ?’ said he. ‘ After my last child was born,’ she re plied, ‘ I bad a severe fever, and was brought very low. It seemed as though I never should recover my strength.— Our Doctor, who was a skillful old gen* tleman said nothing would raise me so soon as a little brandy. My husband asked if nothing else would do as well, and was opposed to my taking it. 7t was not pleasant at fiut; but I soon be gan to relish it with sugar, and after a month’s trial, I got mysslf into such a state, that I could not live without it.— My husband was greatly distressed about it, and said he would not have it in his house” I then got it privately, and the habit got so strong upon me that 1 used to lie awake very olten thinking how good it would taste in the morning. 1 have often said, and say now, that / would give the world if it were mine, lo be cured of this hankering after strong drink. At last my poor children ” ‘Poor leetle children!’ cried ilia Dutchman, as he brushed away a tear from his eye. ‘ My poor children,’continued the wo man, ‘ began to suffer, and my husband become desperate. At one time he would coax me, and after 7 had kept myself clear from it a week or so, he would make me a present, though he could poor ly afford it. At another time, when I could out no longer; and lie returned and found nothing ready for dinner, or sup per, and the children crying, and his wife unfilled for every thing, he would talk very harshly and threaten to leave me. 1 deserved ii all.’ said she weeping bitter ly ; ‘ and I have thought if lie should come back, l would try to do better and leave off) though I am afraid I should not be able to. 7 never thought really lie would go away. He seemed al last, to be giving the matter up. He let me go on pretiy much as I pleased. He used to take lhe two elder children, upon a Sun day, to meeting, and leave me at home, for I was ashamed to go there, as folks had begun to take notice of ine. A few days before lie went off, he said very lit tle to me, but seemed to lie busy packing bis chest. I thought all this was done to scare me ; so I took no notice of it.— He finally put his chest upon a wheelbar row, and wheeled it away. ‘ Good bye John,’ said I, thinking lie was not in earns est, and I was sure lie was not when I saw him coming back in about an hour with out it. I told him he had made a short voyage of it. He said nothing—not a word—hut betook the children on his lap and kissed them and cried over them as if his heart would break. His silence and bis taking on so, worried me more than nil his threats. Next morning lie asked me lo take the children and go with him to see bis mother, who lived about a mile off. So I got ready. We | had nn old dog that watched around the OUR COUNTRY'S GOOD IS OURS. house, my husband patted the dog— ‘Good bye, Ctesar,’ said he, and sobbed aloud as he said it. 1 then began to fear lie was going; and as I thought how kindly lie always used me, and what a miserable wife I had been to him, 1 could not help shedding tears. But I said noth ing. for I still thought he only wanted to try me. When we got to his mother’s I saw his chest outside of the gate. We went in, and the old woman began to shed tears, but said not a word. / thought lie meant to leave me, be look ed at the clock, and said it was about time fortlie stage to conic, and turning to me, lie took my hand, but it was some time before lie could speak—At last, mastering liis feelings, ‘Fanny!’ said lie, J ‘ there is but one way to convince you that I am in earnest, and that is to leave you. 1 took you for better or for worse, but I did not take you for a drunkard, and I cannot live with yon as such. You have often said you were willing to part, and could support yourself if I would the and you have agreed that they should live with their grandmother. I have sold my tools and some other mat ters, and have raised a few dollars, which I have placed in her care for that use ; and if God spares my life they shall uev* er want. When she writes me word that you have kept clear from this habit for six months, I will gladly come back, but nev er till then. While lie was speaking the stage arrived, and I saw him lashing on liis chest. 7 then had no longer to doubt. He kissed the children and his mother, and rushed out ol the house. I followed him to the door. ‘O, dear John,’ said I, ‘ do not go, John—try me once more,’ but lie never JqoU back ; and the stage was soon out of sight. ‘He is a cruel, cold hearted man,’ said I, as I sat down Qn the threslihold of the door. • Fanny,’ said liis mother as she sat wiping her eyes’ ‘ will you abide by these words at the great judgment day ?’ • No.’ said 7, after a short pause, ‘ he is the kindest and best of husbands and fathers.’ ‘ Then try to kill the sinful habit, and win back your happy fire side.’ ‘ I will try,’ said I. And I have tried, but how poorly have 1 succeeded, every person acquain ted with me knows too well. When the poor creature had finished her narative, which bore irresistable marks of truth in the very manner of its delivery, the Englishman gave her the most admirable counsel. The old Dutch man turned round and gazed upon her, while the tears trickled down his weather beaten features. ‘ Mine Got,’ taking off liis hat with an air of deepest reverence, while lie spake. ‘ Veil vii (her he an end of dish ? Oh! it is by leaving the trade. Ven vil a body leave off selling the fires of hell to his neighbor in exchange for do poor leetle children’s pread ?’ Gelling into Bed with a Corpse. A few months since a son of Erin, a bonl nine o’clock one evening, called in the Western part of Pennsylvania, and demanding lodgings for the night. It was evident from his appearance and ac tions that lie and liquor had been quite jolly companions throughout the day.— The landlord was a lazy good -natured soul, and had imbibed rather freely that day himself. ‘ If I give you a light can you find the place,’ said the landlord. ‘ 0< h, ain’t it's meself that car. do that most elegantly. Jist show me the way an’ 7-’ll find it azy, rejoined the Irishman. The directions were given him, and al so a candle. He was directed to go to a room in second story of the house. Bv the lime he had reached the top of the stairs his light had become extinguished and he forgotten in what direction he was to go, but seeing rays of light issuing from a room, the door of which stood slightly ajar, he reconnoitred the inside of the room, and found it to contain a bed, in which lay a man, and a stand with a small lighted lamp upon it. Feeling disinclined to make any fur ther search for the room to which lie had been directed, lie divested himself of liis clothing and quietly crept into the back part of the bed. He bad been in bed but a few minutes, when a young lady and gentleman entered the room. The irishman eyed them closely.— They seated themselves onchairs inclose proximity to each other, and after chat* ting merely for a short time, the young man threw his arms around tier waist in a cousinly like manner, and imprinted a kiss upon her tempting lips. There was a witchery in it which demanded a repetition” The scene amused the Irish man vastly, and being free from selfish ness, he concluded that his sleeping corns panion should be a participant with him in lhe enjoyment of die scene, and to this end lie nudged him ; but bis companion stirred not. He then put bis baud upon him, and found that lie was tightly lock ed in the cold embrace ofdeath. Synon ymous with his discovery be bounded out of bed, exclaiming— ‘ Murlher! murther! Ilowly saints ov hi veil, perfect me !’ He had scarcely touched the floor with liis feet, before die young lady and gen tleman were making rapid strides towards the stairway, terror being depicted on their countenances. They had just reached the lop of the stairs when the 7i ish man came dashing along as though al! the friends of Erebus were close heels, intent on making him their prey, and the whole three went tumbling down stairs* and it is bard to determine which of the three reached die fool of the stairs first. The landlord stood aghast as the irish man rushed into the bar-room with noth ing on between him and nudity but a gar ment vulgarly styled a shirt, the hair on his head standing upon end, his eve-halls ready to leap from their sockets, and he gasping for breath, it was a sight that would have made a man laugh who bad a vinegar face from die day of his hirdu Nothing could induce him to v seeing bed that night again. W!ien t.||e young lady and gentleman, found that it tvas not die corpse that bad so unceremoniously boun ded from die bed, they returned to the room, (diey being the watchers for the night,) and, doubtless, commenced their courting at the point where it w as so sud denly broken off. Potts’ Brecnlici. ‘You remember Dr. Potts, don’t you?’ said Jones to me yesterday, over our tod dy. ‘To be sure 7 do; lie sued me for a doctor’s bill. Do you think 1 can ever forget that?’ •No, certainly not,’ said Jones, ‘Well did you ever hear how lie was separated from liis wife?’ ‘Yes; lie heat her once.’ ‘But do you know for wliasJ’ ‘No, I suppose lie was jealous.’ ‘Not a hit of it. It was all about his breeches!’ ‘What, she wore them?’ cried f. ‘No, she sent them to him one day at a lecture. It happened thus: Yon know old Potts was dismally eccentric. He was the most absent-minded man of my acquaintance, especially when lie was called upon to pay anything. Well, he thought nothing of going without liis dinner or his gloves. He was a very stingy man, aud never had but one suit of clothes at the same time. However, meeting liis tailor one day, lie gave an order for a pair of breeches, which were sent home unknown to the doctors wife. Having to lecture that morning, he put his new ones on, aud left Ins old ones on liis library chair. Soon after he had gone out Mrs. P. entered the library; she saw the breeches and at once conclu ded the doctor bad gone to lecture sans cullotles. Putting the breeches up in a parcel, she to prevent the possibility of a mistake took it herself to the lecture room. Giving the parcel to the porter, she told the man to give it to the doctor immedi ately. SI e herself then went home. The doctor was lecturing to a fashionable assembly on the wonders of chemistry, when the parcel was pul into liis hand. As his wile was often in the habit of send ing him diagrams, &r., which lie had left behind him, the doctor concluded this was something connected with his lecture which he had forgotten. He therefore opened it before the audience, and to liis astonishment and indignation, bisplayed to them all his castroff unmentionables. The roar of laughter which followed, compelled him to conclude liis lecture im mediately. Rushing out, he went home and beat bis wife.’ ‘I can tell a belter story than that, said the captain. ‘I felt pretty'considerablo frisky one day, and I went up the lightning rod, hand over hand, as high as die vane. I had a first rate prospect up (here—hut that ain’t all. A thun der cloud came ovei, thinks I to myself, if it hits me I’m done up. So I got ready, and when the crack came I gave one leap up, leL the lightning strike mi ’ run down, and Caught hold again.’ s’ | TERMS: $2 iii Advance. VARIETIES. A ministerial acquaintance of ours, who had lost his wife and had become wearied of liis second edition of the single state, was once instructing a congrega tion from the passage, ‘use this world as not abusing it.’ &tc. In the course of his remarks he took occasion to mention some things which a Christian could dis pense with in this world. In this catego ry he placed a wife. He had, however scarcely said, ‘A man may do without a wife,’ when bis own experience stoutly protested, and lie finished this branch of the subject by saying in the simplicity of liis heart, ‘hut, my brethren, it’s mighty hard.’ ‘Gold and Cod. —There is some thing forcible in the anecdote told of a distinguished preacher who, not being able in make any impression upon a man’s understanding, wrote lhe word God on a piece of paper. ‘Do you see that said lie lo the individu al. ‘Yes.’ He then coverd the word with a piece of gold. ‘Do you see it now?’ The effect was startling. The man saw at once wliat had shut liis eves to all that was true and beautiful in the world, and most worthy of his devotion. ‘John, I'd like to bet three lo one* that I can spell barrel with one letler.”#*f| ‘Weil /’ll takctgu/ ‘Now tlieu?*John, if kpn vyere to write the word yourself, and had but little room So do it in, woidd'iit you think a bare In would he enough. /I*you make love to a widow who has a daughter twenty three years younger than herself, begin by declaring that you really thought they were sisters. The following is a copy of the sign up on an Academy for teaching youth, in on? of the western stales: ‘Freeman and Hoggs, School Tearhets. Freeman teaches lhe Boys and Iluggs the Girls. ‘My son,’ said Mr. Spriggin* to Ids little bov, who was devouring an egg— it was Mr. Sprigging desire to instruct liis boy—‘my son, do you know that chickens come out of egg*?’ ‘Ab, do they father?’ said the young hopeful, ‘I thought that eggs come out of i hickens?’ The elder Spriggins drew back from the table sadly, and gazed on liis sun, then put on his hat and went to work. ‘Ah, Eliza,’ cried a puritan preacher to a young lady who had just been ma king her hair into beautiful ringlets. ‘All, Eliza, bad God intended your locks to be curled, lie would have curled them for you.’ ‘When I was an infant,’ replied the diinsel, ‘so lie did, hut now I am grown up, lie thinks I am able to do it myself.’ Always be good natured if you can; a few drops of oil will do more to start the most stubborn piece of machinery, than rivers of vinegar. We have often heard that Love per vades the whole human race, but we were not aware that the finny tribe ever fell its influence until we came upon an effusion of a western poet, who says that ‘Love assails and warms ’mid seas of ire, the melting whales, cools crimped cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts, shrinks shriveled Sniveled shrimps, and opens oyster’* hearts.’ A boy was sent to inquire bow an old lady named Wilkins, was, in health, ask ed her servant, ‘Please marni misses wants to know how old Mrs. Wilkins is to-day, ’ to which the latter replied, ‘Sho is just seventy-four to-day.’ Tiie Man wiio Fiddled Himsfle Into Congress. —Major Cochran who is now or was quite recently, living in Oswego, New York and who was a member of the Homo of Representatives during this ho fiddled him self into Congress- A short time previous to his election, a vessel was to be launched into Seneca lake, at genera, and it being an unusual event, people came from afar it. The dance at night. A fiddle cured, hut a fiddler was waiitinjavas an Cochran, then quite a young pcs were dc a male in performer, and liisjfd gratified tho niunded on iho occasijydf supper table one joyous company, ajyifked ir. touimendaiion of lhe was fit lor Congress.” of his by the company, the The iin d ho was minima- to Congress lor the district the whole State of New York Ct of SUenectady. The incident.. related Loosing a Field Book of the Revolt* l **. NO 7