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THE CHEROKEE GEORGIAN,
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TIIE DREAM.
I sit in my thftir by the blazing fire,
And I doze away my life,
And the laughing flames leap higher and higher
As I dream of a little wife;
On my shoulder I feel a pressure sweety
And arms like the snow—o whiter!—
About my neck a warm clasp raeot,
And the flames flash brighter and brighter.
And of gold pour over my face,
As my head to her bosom’s pillow,
Sinks down in a cloud of perfumed lace,
That heaves like foam on the billow;
And i bear her warm heart’s quickening beat,
And her eyes glow bright as fire,
As my lips are covered with kisses sweet,
And the flames leap higher and higher.
A soft check nestles close to my own,
And sweet smiles o’er it chase*;
Like sundrops upon a calm lake thrown
Her dimples the smiles efface ;
A lute-tike laugh, and her swelling breast
Heaves joyous—higher and higher ;
How happy my lot, and how sweet my rest,
With a wife in front of the fire 1
And I dfirtk her beauty into my heart,
And the love light of her eyes;
With a crash the red brands fall apart—
My wife up the chimney flies.
Thus oft in my chair by the blazing fire
I doze away my life,
And the mocking flames laugh higher and higher
At my dream of love and a wife.— Exchange.
THE DEAD.
How multitudinous are the dead !
How populous are the silent cities
wher6 they dwell! Close, but peace
ful they rest, under shafts and spires
of marble, or perchance without even
the rudest memorial to the activities
they once here-, the pomps they once
displayed. Two hundred times more’
than all tjie generation of the living,
encamped out there ill church-vard,
cemetery, and by the wayside. Myri
riad millions, obeisant to the awful
shade, the grim spectre who rides the
pale horse. Ceaseless migration from
the halls of life—the great, the proud)
the rich, the poor, the bond, the free;
brothers and sisters all, with one God.
for their common father, one earth for
their sepulchre, one turf to hide their
dust. What history, what romance,
what tragedy, what secrets and myste
ries are locked with them in the grave.
And how soon, too, shall we all
tnarch down thither, “ where the wick
ed cease from troubling, and the wea
ry are at restdown thither where
the sleep is dreamless, until the great
day when the trumpet shall sound, bid
ding the nations of the dead to arise !
Sacred, and green, and evermore fra
grant with, the,breath of jlowqys, and
musical with the ovtmvV
foot-falls, and the songs of birds, be
the places of graves—the homes of the
dead. They were all beloved in their '
day—all fathers, or mothers, or broth-,
ers, or sisters, or friends—or if any '
were foes, their enmity lives not in the ;
tomb. Good or bad, as ran the record j
of their lives, be it ours to reverence ;
their dust—God will judge them; God, !
who is the searcher of hearts, alid who j
is wiser, and more merciful than man.
Verily, it is not well for us to be :
thoughtless of the dead* What they
were, and what they have done and
said, concern us every hour. Their ex
ample guides, their precedent governs,
their wisdom directs, their thoughts
inspire, their labor blesses, and their
riches enrich us. Benizon to the dead,
and may the good God so shape our
lives, that when the time comes, we
may lie down, obscure it may be, but
without fear and without reproach.
Home after Business Hours. —The
road along which a man of business
travels in pursuit of competence or
wealth is not a mecadamized one, or
does it ordinarily lead through pleas
ant scenes and by well-springs of de
light. On the contrary, it is a rough
and rugged path, beset by “ wait-a
bit” thorns, and full of pitfalls which
can only be avoided by watchful care.
After every days journey over this
worse than rough turnpike road, the
wayfarer needs something more than
rest; he requires solace, and he de
serves it. He is weary of the dull
prose of life, and athirst for the poetry.
Happy is the business man who can
find that solace and that poetry at
home. Warm greetings from loving
hearts, fond glances from bright eyes,
the welcome shouts of children, and
the many thousand ar .•angements for
our comfort and enjoyment that si
lently tell of thoughtful and expectant
love, the gentle ministrations that dis
encumber us into an old and easy seat
before we are aware of it; these and
like tokens of affection and sympathy
constitute the poetry which reconciles
Us to the prose of life, Think of this,
ye wives and daughters of business
men 1 Think of the toils and anxie
ties and mortifications and wear that
fathers undergo to secure for you a
Comfortable home, and compensate
them for the trials by making them
happy by their own firesides.
jggT’When a man of sense comes
io marry, it is a companion he wants,
not an artist. It is not merely a crea
ture who can paint and play, sing and
dance; it is a being who can comfort
and counsel him—one who can reason
and reflect, and feel and judge, and dis
criminate—one who can assist him in
his affairs, lighten- his sorrow's, purify
his joys, strengthen his principles, and
educate his children. Such is the wom
an who is fit for a mother and the mis
tress of a family. A woman of the
former description may occasionally
figure in*the drawing-room and attract
the attention of the companj', but is
One entirely unfit for a helpmate to a
man, or to train up a child in the wq,y
he should go.
BY J. A. R. HANKS & GO.
TREASURE T&OVE EXTRAORDINARY.
A COUPLE 6f WALKERS IN THE SEWERS
OF NEW YORK-“-DIAMONDS BY THE
Bushel.
Several years ago a little German
Jew, named Schwartz, believing that
in the sewers of New York might be
found many articles of, value which
had been lost, entered them, and for
three days wandered through the
labyrinth. He was very successful,
picking up some $21,000 worth of jew
elry, spoons, forks, etc.; but having
lost his way the first day, he believed
that he might hare found much more
could lie have carried out the original
plan, which was to visit Fifth and
Madison avenues, Broadway and the
wealthy portions of the city. So great,
however, were the difficulties and dan
gers Which he encountered, that noth
ing could induce him again to visit
“ New York underground.” His ad
venture for a time created quite a lit
tle sensation, but there were none ven
turous enough to attempt a second,
until Wednesday of last week, when
an adventurous party of three entered
the sewer of Houston street, at the
ferry of East River, intending to re
main for one week, during which time
they proposed visiting every portion
of the city where there seemed to be
any chance of finding treasure trove.
The party consisted of Miss Mary
Walker, a young lady of eighteen, her
brother James, aged sixteen, and Mi
chael Grady, an old man of about fif
ty. The project originated with Miss
Walker, and the “how” of it is in this
wise: Some two years ago James Wal
ker, jr., was a merchant cioing a good
business at Bowery. He was get
ting rich fast, but in an evil hour he
was prevailed upon by friends (?) to
Use some of his money which had been
u salted down-,” in speculating in gold.
The result was easy to be foreseen.—
He lost. To recover he took money
from his business. Again he lost.—
His business bee- me embarrassed ; in
despair he committed suicide, and Miss
Walker and her brother found them
selves, six months ago, the inhabitants
of a room on the upper floor of a double
tenement, 509 Sixth str. Miss Walk
er, some months ago, in an old paper,
wrapped around a parcel which she
was taking home from a “ slop-shop,”
saw an account of Schwartz’s under
taking, and resolved to imitate it.—
Maps were obtained and-thgtoity stud
,iett.
TftrrstnTf*nei/ tmjt nor antr ■■■■*****■ 1
was formerly in her fatherV employ,
was carefully marked out. Every
preparation which limited knowledge
could prepare for was made, and the
adventurers started. I wish that I
might have room to tell the story of
the week they passed, but my manu-!
script warns me that I must condense.
Eaph day they rendezvoused several
times in the chambers at the street
corners. On Sunday they had filled
all the bags they had with them, some
fifteen in number, and Miss Walker
returned. James Walker and Grady !
continued their search, emptying six
of their bags at the corner of Twenty- j
second street and Fifth avenue. On
Wednesday morning at a very early •
hour, and before people were stirring, :
Miss Walker was at the . place with a j
wagon. On removing the iron plate, !
which at each street corner leads into j
a small chamber connecting with the j
sower, she found her brother, but not ’
Grady. He had started off on anoth
er trip, although the six bags had been
filled in Madison avenue. The loose
treasure was placed in extra bags, and
the whole driven to a Bi’oadway jewel
ler’s. The rest were taken from the
places on Thursday morning. A watch
was set for Grady, but up to this time
of writing nothing has been heard of
him, and it is feared that he has per
ished. The result of the week’s search
is roughly estimated at $1,500,000. I
saw the treasures yesterday, piled in
thre<Hieaps on the floor, and the jew
eller informed me that it must have
cost over $3,000,000; but, in conse
quence of the old-fashioned style of
setting, bruised, battered and corrod
ed condition, its value was reduced a
bout one-half. A little over a bushel
(how queer it sounds to talk of jewelry
by the bushel!) has been sorted, and
among it has been found one diamond
ring valued at $16,000, two more val
ued at $5,000, and half a dozen at $3,-
000 and upwards. The most curious
is a plain gold ring, inscribed on the
inside, in Dutch, “ Peter Stuyvesant
to wife.” It is an heir-loom of the
Stuyvesants, and was stolen, with oth
er jewelry, last March, by burglars. —
How it came in the sewer is a problem
for philosophers to speculate about.—
Miss Walker and her brother, who find
themselves thus lifted suddenly from
penury to great wealth, intend to pro
ceed to England, where they have rel
atives. This adventure is talked of
everywhere, and already there are oth
ers preparing to follow in their foot
steps.—[N. Y. Cor. Erie Dispntch.
Fred. Douolass lectured the other
evening in Brooklyn, New York; The
reporter of the Eagle , of that city, re
lates the following as the most striking
incident of the occasion:
Our reporter runs the risk of being
accused of telling tales, out of school
in noticing the fact that, at the close
of Fred. Douglass’ lecture at Ply
mouth Church, last evening, a white
woman, in the exuberance of her ad
miration for the colored orator, forced
upon him a high token of appreciation,
in a ehaste Platonic kiss. The repor
ter dryly adds that the fortunate black
man received the valuation (t without
blushing/’
% Jfamilg s#nhral:~Ucbotib fa tmural fitttlligcncejjgriailhtrt, filtrate anb jJouijjtrn Interests.
DO-NOTHING YOUNG LADIES’.
At a recent social gathering a young
lady informed me that she never sew
ed ! What do you suppose was the
nature of my reflections on hearing
that declaration ? I said to myself,
either that girl speaks falsely, or else
she is very lazy. Never sews! Who
then, I queried, makes your dresses
and cloaks, your skirts and bow ?
Who repairs the rips in your pretty
gaiter-boots and darns the holes in
3’our stockings ? Is it your aged
mother, or your more industrious sis
ter? Or do you hire all your sewing
done ? Should this last supposition be
the case," may you never marry!—'
And the chances are you never will.—
Not one young man in a hundred can
afford to marry a woman who habitual
ly neglects household duties. Young
man, if it should ever be your fortune
to, hear a young woman declare that
she never sews, beware, shun her, as
you would chills and fever. Be insane
enough to make such a one your wife,
and before the honey-moon is over the
horrors of buttonless shirts and heel
less hose will be upon you; your fair
lady’s sewing would be done by oth
ers, while she moped in idleness, or ri
oted in fashionable dissipation. Then
farewell to your dreams of domestic
felicity ; they would fade as summer
flowers at the touch of frost. I have
repeatedly heard ladies, educated and
intelligent ladies, declare with actual
pride ignorance of the art of cooking.
They “ could not make a cup of coffee
to save their lives;” and as to their
making a loaf of good bred or cooking
a simple dinner, that is out of their
power. Poof, miserable unfortunates!
Doubtless, mothers are much to blame
for thus neglecting their daughters’ ed
ucation ; but surely there is no sensi
ble girl who could not, by the exercise
of a little energy, perfect hefself in
this most needful branch of domestic
knowledge. False pride, in almost ev
ery case, is the only barrier in the way.
It is not considered “ genteel”—how I
abominate that word!—to do anything
useful, and a fashionable Miss would
consider herself disgraced should she
be seen with her hands in the dough,
or caught in the act of sweeping a
room. If a young lady of the present
day can thump the piano, use a few
French phrases, dance, flirt, and do
nothing generally, her education is ac
complished—she is considered “ finish
ed.”—Aunt Susie,
ppr " ' 69(H) TFJh-MM
It la not within the doniCstid cifelc
only that good temper should be exer
cised ; it is an invaluable invention
even amongst the more distant connec
tions of social life. It is a passport
with all into their esteem and affec
tion. It gives a grace to the plain
est countenance, and to the fairest is
an ornament which neither time nor
disease will destroy. Every da}' of
life teems .with circumstances by which
it may be exercised and proved. To
ward the husband it is manifested by
forbearance, when he is irritated and
vexed ; and by soothing, comforting,
and supporting him under the pressure
of deeper and more afflicting troubles.
It is shown toward children and ser
vants, by a willingness to promote their
enjoyments, while superiority is mild
ly but steadily exerted to keep them in
! proper subjection. It is exhibited in '
! every direction by unwillingness to of-
J fend; by not opposing our own opin
ions and pleasures to the prejudices of
others; and it is, above all, demonstra
ted by the cheerful, even tenor of spir
its that dwell within the well-governed
mind, and renders it happy almost in
! spite of vexations and sorrows.
I The concluding sentence of Fene
; lon’s “ Telemachus” is worth storing
;in our memory: “ Above all things
be on your guard against your temper;
It is an enemy that will accompany
you everywhere to the last hour of
your life. If you listen to it, it will
I frustrate all your designs. It will
make you lose the important opportu
i nities, and will inspire you with the in
j clination and aversions of a child, to
: the prejudice of your gravest interests,
j Temper causes the greatest affairs to
j be decided by the most paltry reasons;
it obscures every talent, paralyses ev
ery energj', and renders its victim-*
unequal, weak, vile, and insupporta
ble.”
A Lament over the Good Old
Days. —The time was when the honest
old darkie got up and went to work at
break of day, with a full stomach, good
comfortable clothing on his back, good
shoes on his feet, a heart as light and
happy as the lark, and making the
welkin ring with his merry songs.—
When the day’s work was over he
“ laid down the shovel and the hoe,” |
went to his comfortable log cabin, ate
the wholesome supper furnished him
by his kind old master and then light
ed his pipe, took down his banjo, and
played, sung and danced until the bell
rang for him to go to bed Good,kind
old master furnished him with every
thing necessai-y for his comfort, and
as he had no cares he could sleep
soundly. Alas! he cannot sing and
dance with the same zest now. He
has no oid master to furnish him with
food and raiment; no kind mistress to
take care of him when he gets sick; no
comfortable cabin to live in ; no thick
clothing to shield him from storms;
no banjo to pick, and his heart is so
heavy he cannot sing and dance.—
Candidly, wo have not heard of a real
old-fashioned .negro frolic since the
| poor darkey was set free. —Brandon
j (Miss.) Republican j
DALTON, GEORGIA, J AMI ARY 11, 1867.
Miseries of a baldheK
One who know.* sends thtfollowing
experiences to the
as a warning tb yoUttg meijfnot to let
the barbers manipulate the hke to much
and advising them to marr| before a
“ shining pate” is seen.
ing the many and repeated efofts made
to cover up the baid spot, final
ly compelled to wear a wigWhieh he
was always opposed to foi j>ersonal
reasons: “A wig wearer sfaOrffl con
stant dread of losing
the presence of c/.y yiial||
think of pullilig __ f or*-
ally. In fact, I have desperately re
volved that whoever it dies—
either on the spot or at somf subsequent
period. Yet there are accidents, such
as the playfulness of a friiliid who is
ignorant that you wear a, wig. [The
more natural it is, the n|£rS(Nlanger
there is of its being pulled; off in that
way.] One icy Sabbath in January,
meeting a crowd coming frojn church,
my feet slid from beneath*, lae. and
massa! I was on the 6old, cold ground.
M3’ hat flew off—also tt*y wig. The
air was keen and piercing . upon my
bald and shining pate, b.ut X felt the
hot blood mount to the of it
as I saw a smile run aloqgithat Tong
line of church-going faces.; A small
boy handed me m3 T wig with a grin,
sa3 r ing: “ I sa3 r , Misfer**jtou’ve lost
3 r our head.” I could hay# Heroded
the bo3’ With fiendish satisihction.
lam a bachelor, 3 T et foinljof the sex,
and desirous of producing a good im
pression ; hence I studiously conceal
the fact that I wear another gentlemen’s
haif. I once courted a widow w r ho had
a mischieveous boy. f?he evidently
TaVored me until one dawthe little ras
cal climbed up the backrn the sofa on
which I was sitting in a somewhat ten
der way with his motfiff &nd pulled
m3’ wig off. The widow jointed at the
apafition I presented) an<T%ished fran
ticalty from the house.. Another time
I was seated at a card table with some
ladies. My partner was a charming
girl whom I fondly believed was ir
love w r ith me. We wiere playing whist
which never fails to excfte me greatly
particularly if m3 r partner makes £
wrong play. As the game progressed
I noticed all eyes upon me, some witl
wonder, and others with ill-suppresscc
merriment. l east a glance into a mir
ror opposite, and was IfA-frfoed to per
ceive that in the exei dment and ah
- ! ~ i.L _ ICI 1„ _/I 1. _ .
partner, the “ rare and neauteous maid
en,” has looked coldly upon me ever
since, except When I have caught her
laughing in her sleeve, and theii I know r
she is recalling the ridiculous figure I
cut at the card table. I could fill a
volume with the story of my miseries
and annoyances, but I think I have
told you enough to satisfy you that a
very unhappy individual is the man
with a balcl head who wears a wig.”
THE LOSS Os EARLY PIIRJTY OF CHARAC
TER.'
Over the beauty of the plum and the
apricot, there grows a bloom and beau
ty more exquisite than the fruit itself;
—a soft, delicate plush that overspreads
its blushing cheek. New if you strike
your hand over that, and it is once
gone, it is gone forever, for it never
grows but once. Take the flower that
hangs in the morning, impearled with
dew—arrayed as no qheenly woman
ever was arrayed with jewels. Once
shake it, so the beads roll off, and you
may sprinkle water over it as careful
ly as you please, yet it can never be
made again what it was when the dew
fell silently upon it from heaven! On
a frosty morning, you may see the
panes of glass eovered with landscapes
‘-“fantastic pictures. Now lay your
hand upon the glass, and by the scratch
of your finger, or by the warmth of
your palm, all the delicate tracery will
be obliterated! So there is in youth
a beauty and purity of character,
which, when once touched and defiled,
can never be restored ; a fringe more
delicate than frost-work, and which,
when torn and broken, will never be
re-embroidered. . A man who has spot
ted and soiled his garments in youth,
though he may seek to make them
white again, can never wholly do it,
even were he to wash them with his
tears. When a youngTnan leaves, ills
father’s house, with thtlhlessiiig of His?
mother's tears still wet‘upon his fore
head, he once lose that early purity of
character, it is a loss that, he can nev
er make whole again. Such is the con
sequence of crime. Its effects cannot
be eradicated; it can only be forgiven.
It is a stain of blood that we can nev
er make white and which can be washed
away only by the blood of Christ, that
“ cleanseth from all sinl”
Great Truth. —No greater, truth
was ever uttered than the following
from the Springfield (jtfass.) Republi
can :
The men put down the rebell
ion do not join in the demand for the
future punishment of the rebels, but if
there is a General who never won a
battle, a soldier who invariably skulk
ed when fighting was to be' done, a
camp follower who was ever on hand
to plunder towns, some treasury agent
or his pimp, who has epriched himself
by levying black mail on traders or
citizens of the South, a civilian who
was ready to pour out the blood of ev
ery body else to save the nation—these
are now eager to kick the prostrate
foe and confiscate his valuables—these
are the men who are continually mak
ing abortive attempts to arouse old
hatreds and stir the popular heart to
revenge^
A MAN IN A MILLION,
Mr. Beecher related the following
incident in one of his recent sermons :
Not long ago a gentleman who was
engaged in the oil business had made
some twelve or fifteen thousand dol
lars, and he concluded that he had
made enough, singular as it ma3 r seem,
and that he would wind up his affairs
ahd come home. Ido not believe one
of you would have done it. Fifteen
thousand dollars 1 Why it is just en
ough To bait the trap of mammon.—
Well, hefwound up Ms affairs, and was
OifTrre'Yjoint of leaving, when he was
met b3’- a 3’oung man of his acquain
tance, (jlfbelieve thej r both reside in
New York,) who bad invested six
thousand dollars, all he had, in an ex
perimental well, and had been boring
and boring until he had given out in
discouragement. And coming to this
man, he said, “I shall lose sixthousand
dollars if I am obliged to* give Up m3*
interest in that well,” and begged him
to take it off his hands. “I am sell
iUg'out and not taking oh,” says the
man. But the 3*oung man pleaded
with him, and out of personal kindness
he said, “Ycvy well, I will take it.”
In tV< v o da3’s they struck a vein in
this well, and it was an immensely
fruitfid well, and he sold his share for
two hundred thousand dollars. The
young mail Vvas present when the check
was drawn on New York for the a-'
mount, and he felt like death and
mourned, and said, “It is alwa3 r s my
luck; I am always a little too late.”—
And the man said, “ You ma3* take
ten thousand of it, if 3’ou want.” The
young man thought he was jesting, but
he assured him he was not, and said,
“ I will make it twenty thousand if it
will do 3 r ou an3 r good. Or,” said ne,
“ I will make it fifty tnousand. Well,”
said he, “take the whole of it; I do
not want it. Give me the six thousand,
and 3 T ou ma3* have the advantage of
the good luck.” And so he gave the
two hundred- thousand. All of you
that would have done that may rise up.
“LiffLE things.”
The preciousness of little things
was never more beautifully expressed
than in the following morceau by 13. E.
Taylor :
Litt’e martin boxes of homes are
generally the most happy and cozy ;
little villages are'nearer to being atoms
of a shattered paradise than anything
and little fortunes bring
ffie ittJS* c-it, iiUj-nuK trot , + !u.
least disappointments.
Little words are the subfiles to hear;
little charities fly futhest, and stay
longbst on the wing; little lakes fire
the stillest, little hearts the fullest, and
little farms the best tilled. Little
books are the most read, and little
songs the most loved. And when na
ture would make anything especial’y
rare and beautiful, she makes it little
—little pearls, little diamonds, little
d'cprs. ,
Everybody calls that little tliatrthey
love best on earth. We once heard a
good sort of a man speak of his little
wife, and we fancied that she must be
a perfect little bijou of a wife. We
saw her, and she weighed 210; we were
surprised. But then it was no joke ;
the man meant it. He could put his
wife in his hea’’t and have room Ibr
other things beside; and what was she
but precious, and what was she but lit
tle ?
Mult urn in Parvo—much in little—
is the great beauty of all we love best,
hope for most, and remember the long
est*
* «►— ♦ *
ONE’S MOTHER.
Afound the idea of one’s mother the
mind of a man clings with fond affec
tion. It is the first dear thought
stamped upon our infant hearts, when
yet soft and capable of receiving the
most profound impressions, and all the
after feelings are more or less light in
comparison. Our passions and our
wilfulness may lead us far from the ob
ject of our filial love; we may become
wild, headstrong and angry at her
councils or opposition; but when death
has stilled her monitory voice, and
nothing but calm memory remains to
recapitulate her virtues and good deeds;
affection, like a flower beaten to the
ground by a rude storm, raises up her
head, and smiles amidst our tears.—
feb'uhd that idea* as we have said, the
triitid clings with foiid affection; and
even when the earlier period of our
loss forces memory to bfc silent, fancy
takes the place of remembrance, and
twines the immage of our departed
parent with a garland of graces, and
beauties, and virtues, which we doubt
not that she possessed.
Learn a Trade The New York
Sun very sensibly recommends that ev
ery boy, whether rich or poor, high or
low, ought to learn a trade—not that
he should always work at it, but that
he may have it as reserve capital: to
gether with its influence.in forming his
character. Nothing but an absurd,
false pride prevents many parents from
adopting such sensible council. There
haVe been instances of royal person
ages training their children to mechan
ical employments, and thereby render
ing them competent to grapple with
any change of fortune, but such good
sense is beneath the dignity of some
of our American sovereigns.
Where are you going so fast,
Mr. Smith?” demanded Mr. Jones.—
“Home, sir; home; don’t detain me;
I have just bought my wife anew bon
net, and I must deliver it before the
fashion changes.”
VOL: Irt. 1.
After dimer speeches*
A MfigfiMe Mis tlie following on
Daniel Webster, while sneaking under
the influence of convival potdtioue:
At a public dinner, where W’ebstbf
was to speak, he had to be prompted
b} T a friend; and, on his making a pause;
the friend behind insinuated “National
debt.” Webster at once fired up:—r
“And, gentlemen, there’s the National
debt—it should be paid; and, if it
shan’t be, I’ll pay It myself! llow
muciji is it ?” And as he made this
query, with apparent seriousness, of a
gentleman near him, taking out his
pocket bodk, which was always noto
riously empty, the absurdity was too
much for the audience.
Another of his speeches is reported
in full as follows:
“ Men of Rochester, I am glad to
see you, and I am glad to see your
noble city. Gentlemen, I saw your
falls, which I am told are one hundred
and fifty feet high. That is a very in
teresting fact. Gentlemen, Rome had
her Cmsar, her Scipio, her Brutus; but
Rome, in her proudest days, had never
a Waterfall a hundred and fifty feet
high! Gentlemen, Greece had her
Pericles, her Demosthenes and her So
crates; but Greece, in her palmiest
days, never had a waterfall a hundred
and fifty feet high! Men of Rochester,
go on. No people ever lost their lib
erties who had a waterfall a hundred
and fifty feet high!”
OLD bachelors.
If our Maker thought it was wrong
for Adam to live single, when there
was not a woman upon the earth, how
criminally guilty are old bachelors,
with the world full of pretty gals. So
says an exchange. Ever since the
days of Adam, old bachelors have
been the butt’ of everybody’s ridicu’e.
We protest agaijjist’it. There is a vast
difference between Adam and the bach
elors of our uay* Adam could afford
to marry—many*bachelors now a-days
cannot. What with crinolines, five
hundred dollar shawls, diamond brace
lets and pin-money, it is no small un
dertaking at this age of the world.—
Eve had no choice—it was Adam or
nobody. She had no chance to get up
a flirtation, for there was no one to flirt
with. Seeing no other means of tanta
lizing her husband—a feminine pecu
liarity from that day to this—she got
him into a scrape by eating forbiden
fruit. “ Old bachelors criminall guilty,”
for it, majority of them will put on mat
rimony in no time. —Lijnchburg ( Va .)
News.
MARRIAGE.
The importance attached to the in
stitution of marriage is not at all an ex
aggerated one. To select one from
the mass of mortals with whom you
are henceforth to share the good and
ill of life in common/, one whose taste,
pleasures interest, and affections are to
be yours, whether your twin journey
be along the pleasant and flowery val
leys of existence or up its steep and
precipitous path; one whose morning
and evening prayers are to ascend w r ith
your own to God ; one whose unclos
ing eyes are to greet the morning sun
when j’ours do; one who is to eat at
the same table, to drink of the same
cup, and to be, in a word,like the “ lamb”
which Nathan’s beautiful parable de
scribed as “ lying on the poor man’s
bosom;” and all this not for a few j’ears
only, but till death part you. To se*
lect a partner like this, ought, indeed,
to be a grave, almost an awful task.—
Exchange.
Tiif. Man Without an Enemy.—
Heavdh help the man who imagines
he can dodge enemies, by trying to
please everybody 1 If such an* indi
vidual even succeeded we should be
glad to know it—not that we believe
fn a man’s going through the world
trying to find beams to knock his head
against; disputing every man’s opinion,
fighting and elbowing and crowding
ail who differ with him. That, again,
is another extreme. Other people have
a right to their opinion, so have you;
don’t fall into the errSr of supposing
they will respect you less for maintain
ing it, or respect you more for turning
your coat every day to match the color
of theirs. Wear your own colors spite
of wind and weather, storms or sun
shine. It costs the vacillating and ir
resolute ten times the trouble to wind
and shuffle and twist, than it does hon
est, manly independence to stand its
ground. _
Second Love. —lt is said, says the
Richmond Examiner , that the atten
tions of Louis NapOleOC to hi 6 wife are
more marked than at any other time
since their marriage. This revives
the theory of metaphysicians, that
men love their wives with anew devo
tion when advanced in years, hardly
less ardent and romantic than the at
tachment of their youth, dhe} also
contend that this second love is very ar
dent but of short duration. We are giv
en to understand that second love is
close upon the heels of second childhood
and from this it is insolently pretend
ed that the second, like the first, has
its origin in a period notorious for
folly and verdancy.
si*e Scarcest.— At a recent rail
road dinner, in compliment to the fra
ternity, 4he toast was given: “An
honest lawyer, the noblest work of
God.” But an old farmer in the back
part of the house rather spoiled the ef
fect by adding, in a loud voice, “ and
about the scarcest.”
ADVERTISING RATTO:
Ok* Dollar Mid FrrtT Cucr* per 9§«»re (of
ten Unit, or leas,) for the first insertion, and
Srresxx-Fivs Curas for eaoh subsequent inser
tion. Contract advertising as follows:
One square for twelve months, 15
One square for six montha, 10 00
One square for thrao'mor.ths, ~ ?00
Two squares, months,., M 00
Three squares, twelve months, 86 00
Hiflf column, twelve months, 70 00
One column, twelve monthap . .I*o CO
Rates «f Legal Advertising!
Citations on letters of A'din’r., Ac.,.... $• 00
Citations on letters, did. from Ad mV., Ac., 6 00
For leave to sell 1and,.... 6 0O
Notice to debtors and creditors, 6 OO
Sales of personal property, 10 da) 9, 1 sqr. *OO
Sale of land by F.xecutors, Ac.. 1 square, 7 00
Sheriff's Sales, per square, each insertion, 75
ivSSx is IBTSffiS
Itqiiifiii ishdiild be move trusted anti
cojifided iH As vriVes; mothers*; and sis
tela. „Tkfcy lifive a quick, perception
of right |Afid wrong, and, without al
ways klibwifig why; reftfL the, present
fliid futbfeii react characters i,nd acts,
dbslgils and probabilities, where man
sees no letter or sign. What else do
we mean by the adage “mother wit,”
save that womafi has a quicker*per
cqption ands readier .invention thari
man ? IIow? often; tflien man aban
dons the helm in despair, Wbman seised
it, and carries the home-ship through
the storm! Man often flies from home
and family, to avoid impending pov-
erty or ruin. Woman seldom if ever
forsook home thus. Woman never
evaded mere temporal calamity by su
icide or desertion. The proud banker,
rather than live to see his poverty ga
zetted, may blow out his brains, and
leave wife,children to want, protector
less. Loving woman would have coun
seled him to accept poverty, and livo
to cherish his famity, and retrieve his
fortune. Woman should be counseled
and confided in. It is the beauty and
glory of her nature, that it instinctive
ly grasps at and clings to the truth and
right. Reason,man’s greatest faculty,
takes time to hesitate before it de
cides ; but woman’s instinct never hes
itates in its decision, and is scarcely
ever wrong where it has even chances
with reason. Woman feels where man
thinks, acts where he deliberates, hopes
where he despairs, and triumphs where
he falls.
POOR PEOPLE AM) POOR MONEY.
In a sermon on the disadvantages of
being poor, preached b.y Henry Ward
Beecher last week; occiilTed the fdlloW
ing:
“In all the troubles and mischiefs
that arise from false weights and spu
rious currency, it is usually the poor
that sutler the most. Here is a spu
rious qfiarter of a dollar. The mer
chant in whose hands it chances to be,
thoughtlessly of course, (for merchants
are always honest!) passes |it to the
trader; and he, seeing that it docs not
look quite right, but not thinking it
worth while to scrutinize it too closely,
passes it to the grocer; and he, glanc
ing at it, and not liking the looks of it
exactly, but not wishing to be over
particular, and saying, ‘I took it, and
must get rid of it,’ passes it to the mar
ket man; and he, saying, ‘lt might as
yvell be traveling,’ passed was
knowing thaPTt wnswit J^!
liking to say anything to says
td liiniself, ‘I will keep it and give it
to somebody else,’ and passes to the
sewing woman. She is poor, and a
person that is poor is
and when she offers it, it is discovered
to be spurious, and it is refused. Sad
ly she looks at it, and says, ‘lt is nearly
my whole day’s wages, but it is coun
terfeit, and of course I must not pass
it,’ and she burns it up, and so is the
only honest one among them all. Bad
bills, spurious currency, almost always
settle on the poor at last.”
MARRIAGE.
This is to a woman the happiest and
saddest event of her life; it is the prom
ise of future bliss raised on the death
of present enjoj’ment* She leaves her
home and her parents, her amusements,
everything on which she has hitherto
depended for conifoTt, for affection, for
kindness, and for pleasure* The pa
rents by whose advice she has been
guided; the sister to Whom she has
dared to impart the embryo thought
and feeling; the bfother Who has play
ed with her by turns the Counselor];
and the younger children to whom she
has hitherto been the mother and play
mate, are all to be forsaken at one fell
stroke; every former* tie is loosened,
the spring of action is changed, and
she flies w ith joy in the untrodden path
before her. Bouycd up by the confi
dence of requited lore, she bids a fond
and grateful adieu to the life that is
past, and turnes with excited hoped
and joyous anticipation to the happi
ness to come. Then woe to the man
who can blight such fair hopes; Who
can treacherously allure such a heart
from its peaceful enjoyments and the
watchful protection of home; who can
coward like break the illusions which •
have won her, and destroy the confi
dence love has inspired.
Resist the reginnino. —The Arabs
have a fable of a miller, who was one
day startled by a camel’s nose thrust
in the window of the room where ho
was sleeping. “It is very cold Out
side,” said the carried., li l oflly want
to get rriy hose id.” The nose was let
in," then the heck, and finally the whole
body. Presently the miller began to
be extremely inconvenienced at the un
gainly companion lie had obtained, in
a room certainly not large enough for
both. “If you are inconvenienced, you
may leave,” said the camel, “as for
myself, I shall stay where I am.”
The moral of the fable concerns all.
When temptation occurs, we must not
yield to it: WOirtust hot allow so much
as its “ nose” to come in. Every thing
like sin is to be turned awity from.—
He who yields even in the smallest de
gree will soon be entirely overcome ;
and the last state of that man is worse
than the first*
A boarder at one of our city board}-
ing houses, says an exchange, on being
asked how they lived there replied, that
the hash was rather doubtful, but the.
beef was bully.” The dubious endorser
roent failed to attract anew boarder.
j ■ IfS
*' c