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JOHN HENRY ‘SEALS,) „ rT „ *** > Editors. t. LINCOLN VEAZEY,) NEW SERIES, VOL. I. TEMPERANCE CRUSADER, * PUBLISHED EYERY SVPURDAY, EXCEPT TWO, I.V THE YEAR, BY JOHN H. SEAJ^S. TFR'fS : SI,OO, in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year. - KATES OF ADVERTISING. 1 square (twelve line s * or le.-s) first insertion,. .$1 00 continuance, 50 Prof, donal or Business Cards, not exceeding six Hires, per yenr, 5 00 Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 GO STANDING ADVEBTIPEIIEJJTS. *1 square, three months, o 00 1 square, six months, 7 00 1 square, twelvemonths, 12 00 2 squares, “ “ 18 00 3 squares, “ “ 21 00 isq Ares, “ “ 25 00 not marked with the number of Insertions, will ho continued until forbid, and ch irgt and accordingly. jNg?‘"Mf ’-cLants, Dr 1 ggists, and others, may con tra, t fur advertising by the year, on reasonable terms. LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS. Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 500 Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 325 Noti.-e to Debtors and Creditors, 8 25 X -t'cc for Leave ta’Setl, 4 00 Citation for Letters of Administration,........ 2 75 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n. 5 00 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi :tii.4iip, 3 25 LEGAL REQUIREMENTS. Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours often in the forenoon and three in the after noon, at th Court llouso in the County in which the property-is situate;. Notices of these sales must be aivc.-n in n public gaz.ttc forty days previous to the day of silo. X li * for the -.ale of Personal Property must be giv- n at leas; ten days previous to the day of sale. No’ice to Debtors and Creditors of art Estate must 1 e published forty day?. Notice that application will be mads to the Court of> ridfnnry for leave to sol! Land or Negroes, must be j,u ! k i?d wockly for tuj month*. Cif ilions for 7.otters of Administration must be pii .-med tnlrtjt day? —lbr Dismission from Admin- j i't ration, moo tidy % sic months —for Dismission from i Guardians!:p, forty days. j Rules for ’Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub- ! lishe 1 avj.hd y for four months —for compelling titles * ‘from Rxc tutors or Administrators, where a bond lias j be n given bv the deceased, the fall space of three ‘ ‘’ ; a id'*?*’ Pttblicat ons wo! always bo continued accord ing to th sc, the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered. The Law of Newspapers, •i. Subscribers who do not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscription. 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. 0. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their newspapers from the offices to which they are di r. cte l, they are held responsible until they have set tled the bills and ordered them discontinued. 4. Ts subscribers remove to other places without informing the publishers, and the newspapers are sent to the former direction, thev are held responsi- I bio. ‘ .j 5. The Courts have decided that refusing to take i newspapers from the office, or r. moving and leaving uncalled far, is prima facie evidence of inten tional fraud. *” 0. Tire United States Courts have also repeatedly ! dec!! and, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform | bis .bty of elvlng reasonable notice, as required by 1 the Poet Office Department, of the neglect of a'per- 1 son to take from too office newspapers addressed to him, renders the Pc tmc.ster liable to the publisher : for tb<>ub.seription price. JOB PRINTING, of every description, done with neatness and dispatch, i at this offi-e, ar.d at reasonable prices for cash. All orders, in this department, must be addressed to J. T. BLAIN. ! x* a o s p r, e t c s or THE TEKRffiH CRUSADER. [quondam] TEMPERANCE BANNER. j. CT’UATED bv a conscierrtiottß desire to further the cau.-e of Temperance, and experiencing grt a disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in 4 - .by t*. snndlue-s of.mn paper, for the publica ti • of Reform Arguments and P.isrionate Appeals, w have determined t" enlarge it to a more conve nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of the Let that there are existing in the minds of h large p• ‘ nos the present readers of the Banner and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties •which can never bb removed so long f<s ft retains the Haris', we venture also to nuke a change in that par ti dr*. It will henceforth bo ealbu, ‘‘TUB TEM PERANCE CRUS A DEE.” - ihsi-; okl liioacer o. the Temperauco cause is dc-s ----iir.u i vet to” chronicle the tr u;nph of its principles. It has*stood the te-t— passed through the “fiery fur nae and, Ike the “Hebrew children,” re-appeared uas .. 1. It has su vivod” tbe newspaper famin* wNicVrfTa's caused, ami is still causing many excel* 1 ,*t j •ui*;j*tls and periodiea s to sink. like “bright cx h:d'.a:., in trie evenin',” to rise no more, ami it lias even heralds ‘ th.* “death .struggles of many* content* povnries, laboring for the itarnc great end with itself. It “stiil iiv- if and “waxing bolder as it grows older,” is now .* .giiig an eternal “Crusade’ against the “Ift foriviLLjqcsor Traffic,” star*, ling like the “High Priest” oft 1? Israelites, who stood between the people and th*.* {vague that threatened-destruction. 4, ir cat the friends of the Temperance Cause to give Ui their influence in extending the usefulness of the paper. We intend presenting to the public a sheet worthy of all attention and h liberal patronage; for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal , wc shall endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current events throughout the country. Xgf'Pr ce. as heretofore, sl, strictly in advance. JOHN H. SEALS, Editor and Proprietor. Penfield, Ga., Dm. 8,1888. Jtoottir to Centpmmtc, fßoralitg, ptoratnfc, (Enrol Intelligence, ft®, fc. For the Temperance Crusader. j MR, E, EVERETT SMUGGINS. ; [Continued from the Banner of the 3d of November.] CHAPTER m. LEAP TEAR ADVENTURES. Several weeks have elapsed since two; | chapters on Mr. Smuggins’ personal affairs were communicated to the public. During that time, he has gone through many ad ventures worthy to be chronicled; but, for some unaccountable reason, the nature of them has, until lately’, been kept a profound secret, even to bis intimate friends. It ap pears, from certain confidential disclosures made by that gentleman, that his visits to Miss Crump were both lengthy and fre -1 quent after that memorable night in which, much to his satisfaction, the ice was broken. He paid assiduous court to the lady. He | teased her incessantly about every individ | ual against whom ho could imagine the faintest possible shadow of rivalship; com jdi merited her on all sorts of occasions and for unheard of excellencies; indulged in solitary walks at unseasonable hours; cul tivated bis mustache and iinperiale with so much labor and zoff?, that his face daily became thinner and paler with the pro tracted effort; and perpetrated, it is seri oiisly feared, little less than a quire of mean rhyme at the expense of her cherry lips and azure eyes. Such evidences of devotion on his part were not suffered to go unrewarded. In proportion as his rhymes, paleness and imperiale increased, did Miss Crump become more gracious to him.— She did not think it so great a plague as formerly for Mr. Smuggins to visit her; and less frequently sighed the complaint that she could enjoy no peace on account of the young men. Before a great while, “he even relented so far us to take her seat at the piano without once refusing to com ply with the request or protesting that she did not play. It must not he inferred, however, from what lias been said, that Mr. Smuggins had, as yet, declared to Miss Crump the passion that was wasting him, or that he had remotely, hinted at its ex* ii-tunee, otherwise than by sundry sighs which would not be suppressed and about which she rallied him to his great annoy ance. About this time, Mr. Smuggins conclu ded, by way of diverting his mind from the one all-absorbing thought, to call on MissEolinePlngmu. Accordingly,on Miss Plngniu he called. Now, .Miss Plug mu was the bosom-friend of Miss Ella Enplio nia Crump. Did Miss Crump long for fe ma!e society? She sought Miss Plugmn. Was site in possession of a cherished se cret which she determined to lock up in her own breast, or had there been impart ed to her important information with strict injunctions of secresy? Siie confided both I to Miss Plugmu. Did some great sorrow j overshadow her tender heart? Sim would pour her tale of woe into the oars of Miss Plugmu. In short, Misa Plugmu was the confidential friend, the adviser, the recipi ent of a large moity of the caresses and kisses, and tokens of endearment, which susceptible young ladies are wont to distribute liberally among—themselves. Oh ! beautiful picture of female friendship —so confiding, so tender, so nice, so wor thy of all praise !—where can we find more sincere votaries at thy chaste shrine than Miss Plugmn and Miss Crump? We may search the annals of the world for instances of mere unreserved devotion at the altar even of a sterner friendship, and we find none. The world-renowned Damon and Pithias were not more devoted to each other than were Miss Plugmu and Miss Crump. Each of these ladies repeatedly averred herself to be ready to die for the i other, should circumstances ever require j such a sacrifice, and on one or two occa-j aions Miss Crump was hear.! to say that ! she would cheerfully all claim t< a favored lover, if she found out that “her dear Eol-ine” had taken a fancy to him.— No more proof is wanted to establish that : the friendship of these ladies was unparal leled for purity and disinterestedness.— ; After this deserved tribute to female friend | ship,—that our own sex may therefrom 1 take pattern, —we will hasten on to the in- I cidents that are to follow. Smuggins had heard glowing descrip ; lions of Miss Piugnui, but was not prepared ! to meet %Hch a paragon as 6he proved to ! be, of wit, beauty and fine garments, men j : tionahle and unmentionable. He was en- I chanted. He forgot Miss Crump, and fori ; the time, gave himself up to the pleasant I [ & utemplation of Miss .Plugmu’s manifold 1 excellencies. -She sang to him, and he wanted her to go on singing all night.— She talked to him, and he thought he. would rather hear her talk all the time. To make a long story short, Mr. Smuggins was fre quently attracted to Miss Plugmu’s house, instead of proceeding straight h-rward. as usual, to see Miss Crump. He was also seen to lower the number of his boots, to rhe great fecundity of hia feet in the pro duction of corns; to purchase and consume 1 -rge quantities of Otto of Roses and otlu r delicious aromatics; and last, though not • least in importance, to don a splendid plaid i shawl. What particular reason he had for j assuming, at that juncture, the last-men- I tioned article of apparel, it may be difficult ito discover. He was, doubtless, acting nn , der the belief that the ladies fancied ridi j wtoas looking garments; and, coniequont- FENFIELD, GA, SATURDAY; FEBRUARY Ui. 1856. ly, that the more ridiculous he made him self, the more attractive he would appear to the object of hi3 admiration. Several weeks had elapsed thus, when one fine day we met him in the street, looking sad and dispirited. His countenance brightened as he saw us. “Hallo, Corney,”—be never would say Cornelius, —“how are yon these days, old hoy? Hay’nt seen yon before in a coon’s age. Where have you kept yourself ? But, never mind explanations now; come with me to my den. I’ve a long talk for you.” Arrived at his room, we were soon com fortably ensconsed in front of a glowing fire, puffing forth volumes of fragrant smok that curled gracefully above our heads. “Well, Smuggins, tell ns all about it”— at length ventured wc. “■ “About what?” he returned suddenly, aronsed from the brown study into which he had fallen. “Didn’t you say you had something to tell me?” “Ah, yes, I remember now. The fact is I’m in ad ” “Iley, don’t swear, Smuggins,” suggest od his auditor. “Well, I’m in an awful fix —if that will suit you better.” “How so?” “Wait a minute, and I’ll, inform you j But mind, in the meantime don’t interrupt my story.” “Do you recollect, C rney,”—returned j Smuggins. after a short interval of puffing, j —“do yon recollect the night, last fall. ! when I called on Ella Crump? That wasnh ■ the last time I visited her either, by a lung | shot. I’ll tell you,Corney, stfe L u Shang hai woman. That site’s beautiful, you know. But her mind; that’s the most'im portant tiring. She is as smart ns a steel trap. You can’t raise a topic, but s*. ‘ perfectly at homo on it. The rest you can imagine. I was smitten before I had been half an hour in her company. And to toil the whole truth, I think she ielt a li ih tender towards your humble servant. I could give you many reasons why I think so, but let them puss for the present. Now. 1 I had (puff, puff) heard so much about Mbs ! Plugmu that I determined to veek an in- j trod net ion. An opportunity offered, ami. j in company with a friend, I went to her j bouse. And there’s the beginning of all 1 my troubles. I am naturally susceptible and inclined to fall in iuv-j with every pret ty face I see, but almost any man would love, in spite of himself,* such a woman ; - Eoline Plugmu. 1 suirendered at the fir t i summons, —(puff, puff, puff,)—l forgot El-, la; in short, before I left the parlor, that j night, I was again in love. I don’t think I I slept much that night, dome verses I had written for Ella were lying on un ta-; hie, and the sight of them waked me from j my trance of love. I couldn’t give up i Crump, lor I thought ihe poor girl rather i loved me. At all events, I liked her.— Then, on the other hand, tiieie was Miss i Plugmu to he left. The thought was mad- ; I couldn't for a moment entertain it. j However, I, at last, compromised the mat ter by coming to the conclusion to vffit both. Things went on in tlijs way until j the now year came in, and, unluckily t -i ; me, it is Leap Year. By this time, I haef | botii girls look in g pieuseu. ami iiattere ; when I entered their presence, blm-hing j and dropping their eyes whenever tlu*y en ! countered mine, ami s mo how speaking ir. a soft, tremulous tone when they address ed me. I can’t exactly describe my own looks and actions, but am confi lent that my feelings were unusually queer. For several visits previous to the last, I noticed that t-ach of the girls looked as if expect ing some important communication from me, or declaration I may as well term it. I didn’t suspect the cause of their evident disappointment at my departure. I attri buted it to —to —I don't know what. But the other night the denoument occrfi red.— Had a bomb fallen at my feet, I couldiPt have i>een more c nfounded than by a •speech of Ella Crump : “Did yon know, Mr. Smuggins, that this was Leap Year?” “Leaf- year? Yes, hut I hidn’t thought of it. Why do you ask?’’ “Oh, —for nothing in particular. I was j onlv thinking of the privileges it gives the i <riils.” “Do they ever use th ■nit” “Sometimes, I reckon. At lcistlam! going to avail mysejf of th opportunity o- j —to ad—address a —a young gentleman,” she at last stammered out. “To do what?” said I; my eyes and j mouth open with amazement. “To address a young gentleman? Why then, of course j he will accept you. But win* is h t Tcii me his name.” 1 began to feel uncomfortable, ihe- p r epiration was starting from tny brow. 1 conldn’t imagine who in the —the mischief it could he, that had been paying attention to Ella. Iu fact, I was mystified. “If-—if yon think he will ac-ae-cept, I will tel! yon his name”—returned the now blushing and confused lady, in -tremulous tones, and with downcast eyes. “If is Leap year, Mr. Smuggins, ami I—I—lo—like you,—and offer myself to yon. Will .you take ine?” I sprang fioin my seat. I seized her band. “Will I take you? Os course I will. Heaven bless you” —I was about to say, and Heaven only knows what would Lave followed; but, just then, the image of Eo- •Hfe Plugmu fl fa and ; r- mr mind. 1 Iropt her ban I, :-m: rushed from :!u* Imu- • torn In- confiding -motions. A night .*r tw- fr. i wards, I called on Miss Pingmu I < : i n’t know what- better to r do with myself. What answer 1 was to give Ella when In -xt saw her, it was i-n d.K* to tell. But, to speak the truth. L felt incline t- accept uer proposal after i had seen once ; gain the : rautiful Miss Piny mu. V\ ith such th r.irhts I met her. And now, Corney, comes the strangest part <l To whole affair. That inyi.t. If dine Pln r : ptiv offered m her /• •-</ 1 1 and hand. — What could I do? I couldn’t marry both; Ella spoke first; she undoubtedly had the ’ est right—the right of priority. But, then •.gain, how could I euiu-r Miss Pingmu's heijrt to break, when I emrid make : t leap oi* joy? As before, I abruptly I;MY h -;. with my head spinning like a top, from very intensity of thought and emotion.— Si;ice that time, I have been supremely uiserable. I can't tell which to accept; .n 1 Mk-d I half decide in favor of one. the pale, sad taco cd the oilier rises before tn* s b< seeciiingly that it (pike unmans me. Whoever a f.llow in such a quandary ns I am in?” He cease-i. and th •• w’ng the remains of hls cigar into tiia fire, sank back into his tdiair, while tlie Mm . s X deep desponder jy and perplexity gathered darkly on tiM j brow. Cornelius. Pen field, Ga. \ J. o l/’ con clodetf newt e'-.-.vvh. j I Setecttmts, * THE SUGAR IS"¥S tOI)DY GLASST , ••O, Pa, give rnc the ■ug.rr. will you ? I do love it so,” said ah: ig: ‘-eyed, curly-la: red little boy, looking up into his fathers face . one morning ns he was taking Ids accustom-1 ed toddy before breakfist. Little Mem;, had been in the habit occasionally of receiv ing the sugar that was left in the tumbler, and, with the sugar, some of the toddy it- 1 self, and he looked with anxious eyes every i aiming for the liquor botrie. j * Henry never thought that this practice; j. would ire the menus of his forming the foibli ; | oj drinking spiri; nous liquors which it-wonld 1 j be next toimpossli.de for him to gore up, and j which, in the end, would le -d him to pov j erty and di-grace, and to adrttnkard's grave. This was Henry’s first step in this wrong way. He was too young to see where it would lead him,and his parents never warn ed him ofitsevij consequences; or if they i did tell him to. hew me of beconvng a (I link ! ard, his father set him a bad example by ! drinking himself and by giving it ;o his son. ; Henry, from tasting the liquor left in the j glass with trie sugar, became fond of the ; toddy without knowing how greativ he lov !ed it ; but the taste* for liquors had been formed, and he had cause to be sorry that j he ever asked for, or that bh father ever I gave him, the sugat in the toddy ±Jass. As Henry beg: nt : > visit young ladies, he | required no persuasion, when wine was j handed round,.to take a glass ; and, by the j example of his young ternale friends, lie was I encouraged to indulge hi taste for these ex { citing and pernicious drinks, j li the young lad.es who read this paper I have had the misfortune t > have a drunken j hither or brother, they have had much cause | mr sorrow and anguish of heart, and have j open seen their mother weeping hitter tears over her unhappy condition —over her mis erable husband, or hoi unhappy and grate ful son. If vou have not been so unfortu nate. many children have been, and you have heard of their suffering —how cruelly thev have been treated by their unfeeling fathers : how they have been hungry and had nothing to eat; c-ld. and no ike to warm themselves by; and ragged* and no | .money to buy-clothes to wear. Never I then, he induced to countenance this prac-1 ti'-e of drinking wine that leads to such ev.i ; results. Henry, from learning to drink in his fa- I liter’s house, and in tne soe’etv ot young ia- ; dies, isnext induced to visit the oyster-houses | with his young companions, for the pprp>e 1 not only of eating, hut also ol dr.nk ng. — | Henry, unfortunately, like many youths.! thought, it, looked exceedingly m mly to tie ; j een at the-e places, smok.ng, and dr.nk ng. 1 • and swearing. He was greatly m Tis opinion. If he had looked around him; | while there, whom would he have seen ? ; Would he have -een his m nister tiiere. or i the pious members ot the Church, or Ir.s i Sunday school teacher? No! he would j have seen none of lhe-e. He might see : some there who were gamblers, swearers,J ! drunkards, and other immoral persons ; and | he would hear much to shock tlie feelings of i the virtuous and the moral, but nothing to teacii him lo be good, wise, or useful. Without tracing his downward course of j dissipation and vice, Henry, after going on from one step to another, is at last *seen reel ! ing about tlie streets without decent clothes, ! without friends, with character blasted and j ’ ruined, a homeless outcast upon society. “Sir.” said he. addre sing n gentleman passing, “will you give me a shilling 1o get a night’s lodging ?” “My man/’said the stranger, “if you will qun drinking and join the temperance soci ety, you need not beg for a night’s lodging or a loaf of bread !” “O, sir,” said he. “I can’t give it up! I can’t do without it P Will my young readers think of this poor | man, unable to keep the liquor bottle from j Ins mouth, ragged and a beggar, and then of j that sweet hoy innocently asking Iris father -: for the sugar in the toddvtumbler, and then ! tlnnk of the youth s pping his glass of wine. ! and then of the young man at the oyster j houses and grogshops, and see how Henrv | has become, step by s’ep, a drunkard and *a | vagabond. If he had nev r drank of the iti ; ebriat ng cup irs-faG.cr offered him he might ! have lived respected and beloved by his j friends, an ornament to society, a useful cit hzen, and an inirnhle and devoted Christian. | “ f ouch not, ’nste not, handle not,” for “No : drunkard shall inherit the kingdon ofhea j veil.”—N. S. Advocate. “WHEN I AM DEAD” In the dim Crypts of the heart, where de ; snair abideth, these words seem written.— A strange meaning—a solemn intimation j unfolds itself at their utterance. Four sim : pe litre monosyllable—how much of gloom ye convey. How ye speak in funeral tones S rtf the exi Dgifshrnen! of earthly hope—i! j the spirit that has struggled in vain, and is ; painfully quiet now ! ••When I am dead I” is uttered calmly; ! but what a calm I —such as the tornado | leaves when silence broods over desolation j The voice pronouncing that despairing 1 phrase, has not Ml its mournfulness from it ! self. Tlie listening ears hear nothing more: | for from those words the groan of high as j piratfons quenched, and hopes pale and bleeding upon the sharp rocks of adversity, j come up, phantom-like, amid the ghastly scenes of the buried past. ••When 1 am dead !” we have heard it of- I ten. like the pealing bell that tolls the body of the departed to its final rest. The lari word “dead” lingers -strangely and echoes sa-iiy in the ear and t;.rough the portal-; off the sympathizing soul Dead—dead—dead j —and the world grows gray and the heart j • stills and die eve moistens, to that niysten- j :>us sound. The spirit trembles before ihe i j rushing flood of conflicting emo’icms which i folio v‘he dark echo, and essay to glance i I through its import. But the -echo fades j foim dst enci;cling mist, and the spirit turns j | back confused with blindness. Kvert the j echo oi death cannot -be penetrated. The’ few feet of mould t h ,t composed ihe grave ; are wider than the globe, higher than the ! j stars. Not the imnd’s eye. not the anxious ; soul can glance through the barrier—the j boundary between Time and Eternity. “When lam dead moraor less signifies ; resignation, or indepeiident o, a fulfilment j ot nature, or a pervasion of iis end may these j ; words express, though sad they are at best j ! When the aged man. whose steps have i ; grown feeble in the walks of goodness, and j j whose hands tremble with the fruits of Ids; ; jit given charity, Vittel's these words they ; I fall from the lips as a prayer to heaven. In ! them his will harmonizes with his destiny, i ! and the tear starts for a superior soul about ito leave its civ.. glistens in the light of hap- 1 piness gleams, out of the heart at the pros ; pcctivereward ot the future. The lips. too. that never pressed the rim of the fount of Nature’s Poesy, may murmur, “When 1 am : dead !*’ but death to such an one is better perhaps, than life. His heart holds to no music, chiming in cadences to weal or Wo; his inward existence is void, and the rough surface of ins being, checkered though not | brightened by the half stray thoughts, dark | ens but hi tie with the pauoply of the tomb. How different, when youth, glowing with beauty of soul and heart, rich with the trea- , sures of mind and warm with sympathy for j ail of liveliness-, sighs, like the south wind, J “When lam dead i” A spirit seems to wail j its anthem, and an eclipse of noontide sun to j fall upon the picture o's a high nature check j ed in it> purpose—turned from dulcet waves upon a coral reef, against the rocks of a de : struciive shore ••When lam dead !” It is as mournful as I the plain of'a gito.-i on t lie tempest and mid ‘ night wind. But we must all say it some j time; for the grave lies at hand yawning ! through a bed of thorn- or gleaming like a j i white avenue of hope leaning against the j I stars. ’ _ | -U .sen Im dead !” Strange and fear j ful import hath it to’ the utterer, but it is a j i weak phra.-e to othersi the great world.— | , W;u> speaks it may think the single going j ! forth ol a soul will move none—all will be ias before. When lie. and you. and we, gen ; lie reader, are-folded in our shrouds, fr ends - deare-t and those who love us best, will dry I their tear.-’ ere they have all fit-gun to flow. : fire heart that beats with rapture against our own will freeze above our memory in ! . a brief time —briefer than woman's trust or j l man’s period of goodness. But it is’ well thu;, Tis the world’s custom i ‘ and nature's law. We weep not for the I dead,'but while they die, We shall soon ihe with them; and it may be good to go ieariv to their narrow homes. * ii lit ■fr EARLY LOVE AND LATE'MARRIAGE. The Cincinnati Columbian relates the fol i lowing: “A couple, each of whom were over i seventy years of age, were a night or two ago, united in the bonds of wedlock, at one iof our principle hotels. They hpd been lov- J ers in the spr ng time of lite—but cir.cum- I stauce’ parted them. I’.ach married, raised j a family, lost a mate, and then remarried f ! and, finally, having lost the second mate, and met their firri love, they concluded to •travel down the hill of life together at its foot.’ They were both fraii, totieifhg anil white-headed—but the fire of love still burnt brightly in their heat ta.” TERMS: >9I.OOMX ADVANCE. ] ‘JAMES T. BLADi, f PH IXTEB. VOL. XHI.-SUMBSR 6. THE OCEAN. “VTbfit ic the chime of a t'ny belt, That came so sweet to iny dreaming ear— Like tue silvery tones of a fairy shell That winds on (he .-beach, :-o mellow and clear, ’ When the winds and the waves lie togetkw asleep, And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,” “ “That is the roar of the ocean which you hear,” s-nidbtir hostess ns we lifted from the centre-table a beautiful shell and placed it to our ear. It is true there was a low mur mur, like the*far-off roar of the sea, rising and failing, as if borne to the ear upon waves of air; now clear and distinct ns the dash on the beach, and again iow and tremulous as the dying night-winds. We closed our eyes and listened to the murmur of the >hell. As we listened we dreamed We stood on ■ the beach a:- it stretched away, the restless | swells curling with loam and dash'ng wea rily upon the sands. Solemn, almost sad was the murmuring anthem which sobbed on the still air. It is a sublime scene—the ocean. Ihe throbb ng pulse of the mighty element heats slowly at vottr feet. “Ten thousand fleets have swept o’er thee n vain,” for as far as the eye can see, the e s not a track where their keels have been. It is a trackless wa-te. Not even a cro-s is seen to mark the spot where crime has been. There are no monuments where thou ands have been laid down in the yield ng waves. Where are the gallant fabrics which have sunk in"the “deep, deep sea V’ Where did the gloomy billows open to the ill-fated Pres ident ? • There was the gallant Arctic, steaming homeward undpr full ail. and warm hearts healing faster under her neck-; at the thought of green lulls soon to rise from the vva'ers. But fhe’shock came, and fast the remoise ics- wa'ers rushed in'o the ill-fated steamer, ••■dowl;, Ike the march of late, the huge fa bric sank. One wail went up to God. and downward went the Arctic with her living freight, with every sail set. Secure from | storm and decay, she is anchored beneath the sullen wa • ers !1 er sails are filled by the dark green wave as they ebb and flow.— No smoke curls from her chimney tops, for her great iron heart has ceased to tin oh.— Uadi an bed, the dead ones soli re si upon the si pperv deck. Holland is Mill by -he j side ol his grn, match in hand. The wo i manly locks float out in the waters, and the ! damp cheek rests cold and still in ihe cl i.p |ed hands. Aiany faces look up sternly : among the shrouds The str.pes and stars wand.the cross of St. George lift wearily in [the ebb and flow of the tide. And wherev i er there is a heart which longs for the loved j ones under the wave, - the shell will bring ; sobbing murmurs to sadden the heart. ; Thickly strewn are the dweller- on the ocean bed. lis steps, and vales, and deep, dark glens, are ail peopled. But they dwell in peace. The march or fall of empires is : not heard. Rust has gathered upon blade | and in the cannon’s mouth. The* inhabit ■ ants of the deep gambol unharmed about the ! battle craft whose oaken ribs have shivered t with deadly broadsides. j No monuments on the ocean ! Man has piled the earth with the structures of bis ge -1 nius and ambition. Earth’s greatness is | commemorated in marble and uponcanvass. But the sea has no tale to teli. Far down | and unseen are the monument builder-, the | coral, and the waves, as they throb to the j shore, bear no record of the dead, | Neither has- the shell a word from tiie l ocean sleepers. It murmurs only of the ! whispering winds and waves.— Cayuga Chief* UNWRITTEN POETRY. Far down in the depths of the human heart there is a fountain of pure ad hallow ed feeling, from which, at times, swells up a tide of emotions which words are powerless to express—which the soul alone can appre ciate. Full many hearts overflowing with sublime thoughts.and holy imaginings, but the “pen of fire” so hold enraptured thou sands- in its spell. The “thoughts that breathe” are there, but not the “words that burn.” Nature’s own insp ration fill- the heart with emo.ions too deep for utterance, and with the poetry of the heart lies forever concealed in.its own mysterious shrine. Unwritten poetry ! It is stamped upon the broad blue sky.it twinkles in every star. It mingles in the ocean’s surge, and glitters in the dew-drop that gems the lily's bell. It , glowsan the gorgeous colors of the West at the decline of day, and rests in the blacken ed crest of the gathering storm cloud, it is on tiie mountain’s height, and in the cata ract’s r at* —in the towering oak, and in the tiny flower. Were we to sea the hand of God, there beauty finds Her dwelling place. CONSCIENCE, Conscience is the inborn mediator in ev ery man. It vicegerent upon earth, and is therefore regarded by many ns the highest and the’ fa t. Conscience ; s a man’s mo t proper essence completely transfigur ed—the celestial, aborig rinl man. It is not that, or this, it commands in general propo sition.-; it consist not ot angle virtues. * There s but ope virtue—the pure earnest will which in moments of decsion resolves and .(j^raofHfcrTinmed. ;=tely. In living and peculiar ‘ndividb.lfty it inhabits and ani mates the delicate symbol of the human bod v. and avails to call the spiritual mem bers into truest activity-