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THE CHEROKEE GEORGIAN, Published every Friday\ TERMS Dollars per YesJ& A4 rated; Sit Months, Two Dollars. 4 » . } r‘W*o subscriptions will be taken fo* 4 sbort ter period than Three Months [ awl to attenjjon Will be paid tb orders for the paper, unless ac foinpanic’d frith the Cash ! t3F" Arty One sending us the names rtf ten srthsrcribeti to the paper for six months ora rear, with the ftv&ney in advance , Will receive a copy of the paper, gratis, for the same length of time. t3F* Postmasters are authorized io act as our agents 111 procuring subscribers. 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