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JOHN HENRY SEALS,>
and > Editors.
L. LINCOLN VEAZEY, V
NEW SERIES, VOL. I.
tim Him
PUBLISHED
EVERY SATURDAY, EXCEPT TWO, 19 THE TEAR,
BY JOHN H. SEALS.
SI,OO, in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or less) first insertion,..sl 00
Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six lines, per year, 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 8 00
STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
1 square, three months, 5 00
1 square, six months, 7 00
1 square, twelvemonths, ....12 00
2 squares, “ “ 1® 0°
3 squares, “ “ ..21 00
4 squares, “ “ 25 00
J2jgp“Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
charged accordingly.
Druggists, and others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square, —3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, 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
anship, 3 25
LEGAL REQUIREMENTS.
Sales _of Land and Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be
held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the
hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in the County in which the
property is situate. Notices of these sales must be
given in a public gazette forty days previous to the
day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be
given at least ten days preyldus to tbftday of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors oHra Estate must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be published weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly, six months —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forjy days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles
from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has
been given by the deceased, the full space of three
months.
will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
The Law of Newspapers.
lit Subscribers who do not give express notice to
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.
8. If subscribersvSß|ect or refuse to take their
newspapers from to which they are di
rected, they -are held responsible until they have set
tled the bins and ordered them discontinued.
4. Ts subscribers remove to other places without
informing the publishers, and the newspapers are
sent to the former direction, they are held responsi
ble.
5. The Courts have decided that refusing to take
newspapers from the office, or removing and leaving
them uncalled for, is prima facie evidence of inten
tional fraud.
6. The United States Courts have also repeatedly
decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform
his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by
the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per
son to take from the office newspapers addressed to
him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher
for the subscription price.
JOB PRINTING,
of every description, done with neatness and dispatch,
at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All
orders, in this department, must be addressed to
J. T. BLAIN.
PKOSPECTfS
OF THE
TEMPERANCE CRUSADER,
[quondam]
TEMPERANCE BANNER.
A CTUATED by a conscientious desire to further
x3L the cause of Temperance, and experiencing
great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in
space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica
tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals,
we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve
nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of
the fact that there are existing in the minds of a
portion of the present readers of the Banner
and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties
which can never be removed so long as it retains the
name, we venture also to make a change in that par
ticular. It will henceforth be called, “THE TEM
PERANCE CRUSADER.”
This old pioneer of the Temperance cause is des
tined yet to chronicle the tr uroph of its principles.
It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fur
nace,” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re-appearyd
unscorched. It has survived the newspaper famine
which has caused, and is still causing many excel
lent journals and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex
halations in the eveninp,” to rise no more, and it has
oven heralded the “death straggles of many contem
poraries, -laboring for the same great end with itself.
It “still lives,” and “waxing bolder as it grows older,”
is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In
fernal Liquor Traffic,” standing like the “High Priest”
of the Israelites, who stood between the people and
the plague that threatened destruction. -
We entreat the friends of the Temperance Cause
to give us their influence in extending the usefulness
of the paper. We intend presenting to the public a
sheet worthy of all attention and a liberal patronage;
for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal, we shall
endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current
events throughout the country.
car Price, as heretofore, sl, strictly in advance.
JOHN H. SEALS,
Editor and Proprietor.
Fanfold, Ga., Dec. 8,1855.
Detoteir ta fffmptranct, Uloralitg, fitaaliire, (fottral Jnftlfipce, JJetos, &*•
From the Boston Olive Branch.
THE BRIDAL WINE CUP.
‘‘Pledge with wine—pledge with wjne,”
cried the*young and thoughtless Harvey
Wood; “pledge with wine,” ran through
the crowd.
The beautiful bride grew pale—the de
cisive hour had come. She pressed her
white hands together, and the leaves of her
bridal wreath trembled on her pure brow ;
her breath came quicker and her heart beat
wilder.
“Yes Marion, yonr scruples for
this once,” said the Judge, in a low’ tone,
going towards bis daughter, ‘/the compa
ny expect it. Do not so seriously infringe
upon the rules of etiquette; in your own
home act as you please, but in mine, fur
this once, please me.”
Every eye was turned towards the bridal
pair. Marion’s principles were well known.
Henry had been a convivialist, but of late
his friends noticed the change in his man
ners, the difference of his habits—and to
night they watched to see, as they snear
ingly said, if he was tied down to a wo
man’s opinion so soon.
Pouring a brimming beaker they held
it with tempting smiles towards Marion.
She was very pale, though more composed
and her hand shook not., as smiling back,
she gracefully accepted the crystal tempt
er, and raised it to her lips. But scarce
ly had she done so, when every hand was
arrested by her piercing exclamation of
“oh ! how terrible !”
“What is it!” cried one and all, throng
ing together, for she had slowly carried
the glass at arm’s length, and was fixedly
regarding it as though it were some hide
ous object.
“What,” she answered, while an inspi
red light shone from her dark eyes, “wait
and I will tell you. I see,” she added,
slowly, pointing one jewelled finger at the
sparkling liquid, “a sight that beggars all
description, and yet listen—l will paint it
for you if I can. It is a lonely spot; tall
mountains crowned with verdure rise in
awful sublimity arouud; a river runs thro’
and bright flowers grow to the water’s
edge. There is a thick warm mist that the
sun seeks vainly to pierce. Trees, lofty
and beautiful, wave to the airy motion of
the birds; but there—a group of Indians
gather; they flit to and fro with something
like sorrow upon their dark brows; and in
their midst lies a manly form—but his dark
cheek how deathly, his ey’es wild with the
fitful fire of fever. One friend stands be
side him—l should say kneels—for see, he
is pillowing that poor head upon his
breast.
“Genius in ruins—ohl the high, holy
looking brow, why should death mark it,
and he so young. Look how he throws
back the damp curls! see* him clasp his
hands! hear his thrilling shrieks for life!
mark how he clutches at the form of his
companion, imploring to bo saved. Oh!
hear him call piteously his father’s name ;
see him twine his fingers together as he
shrieks for his sister —his only sister; the
twin of his soul, weeping for him in his
distant native land.
“See!” 6he exclaimed, while the bridal
party shrank back, the untasted wine trem
bling in their grasp, and the Judge fell
overpowered upon his seat, “see, his arms
are lifted to heaven—he prays, how wildly
for mercy! but fever rushes through'his
veins. The friend beside him is weeping;
awe-stricken, the dark men move silently
away, and leave the living and the dying
together.”
There was a hush in that princely par
lor, broken only by what seemed a smoth
ered sob from some manly bosom. The
bride stood yet upright, with quivering
lip, and tears stealing to the outward edge
of her lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost
its extension, and the glass, with its little
troubled red waves came slowly towards
the range of her vision. She spoke again;
every lip was mute. Her voice was low,
taint, yet awfully distinct. She still fixed
her sorrowful glance upon the wine cup.
It is evening now; the great white moon
is coming up, and his beams lay gently on
his forehead. He moves not —ids eyes are
set in their sockets ; dim are the piercing
glances; in vain his friends whispered the
names of father and sister—death—and no
soft hand, no gentle voice to bless and
soothe him. His head sinks back! one con
vulsive shudder! he is dead!”
A gr.mn ran through the assembly, so*
vivid was her description, so unearthly her
look, so inspired her manner, that what
she described seemed actually to have ta
ken place then and there. They noticed
also that the bridegroom hid his face in
his hands and was weeping.
“Dead!” she repeated again, her lips
quivering faster, and her voice more bro
ken; “and there they scoop him a grave,
and there without a shroud, they lay him
down in that damp, reeking earth. The
only son of a proud father, the idolized
brother of a fond sister. And he sleeps to
day in that distant country, with no stone
to mark the spot. There lie lies—my fath
er’s son—my own twin brotberl a victim
to this deadly poison, father,” she exclaim
ed, turning suddenly, while the tears rain
ed, down her beautiful cheeks, “father shall
I drink it now ?”
The form of the old Judge was convuls
ed with agony. He raised not his head,
PENFIELD, GA, SATURDAY, JUDE 28, 1856.
mp iir a smothered, voice he faltered— “No
no, my/’hdd, in, God’s name — -no.”
She lifted-the. glittering goblet,, and let
ting it suddenly full to the floor, it was
dashed in a thousand pieces- Many a tear
ful eye watched her movement, and ’in
stantaneously-every wine-glass was trans
ferred to the marble tablemen which it had
been prepared. Then, as she looked at the
fragments of crystal,, she turned to the
company saying. “Let no,friend hereafter
who loves me, tempt, me. to peril rny soul
for wine. Not firmer are the everlasting
hills than my resolve, God helping me.
never to touch or taste that terrible poi on.
And he to whom I have gi ven my hand—
who watched over my brother’s dying
form in that last solemn hour, and buried
die dear wanderer there by the liver in
that, land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me
in that resolve. Will you not rny husband?”
liis glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smiles
wa hyr answer. The Judge left the room
and when an hour after tie returned, and
with a more subdued manner took part in
the entertainment of the bridal guests,
no one could fail to see that he, too, had de
termined to banish the enemy at once and
forever from his princely homo.
Those who were present at that wedding
can never forget the impression so solemn
ly made. Many from that hour foreswore
the social glass.
LIQUOR AND EXPERIENCE.
What does experience say ? Who can
do the most work and stand the cold and
the heal best; the man who drinks or the
one who does not? For a few hours or a
day, the man who drinks may do the most,
because he is stimulated, and the system is
not exhausted. But who can do the most
work in a year? Also, take liquor from a
man who drinks, and can ■be do as much
work in a day as one who does not ? No,
other things being equal, he cannot. And
why ? Because liquor, instead of strength
ening his constitution in order to endure
hardships, has weakened and debilitated the
man.
Objection. Well, you say, all this may be
true. But what then will you do with to
bacco, coffee, tea, &c. ? There is no nour
ishment in them, they are oqly stimulants,
and he who uses them can no more do with
out them and work, than the man can do
without his liquor.
Well, perhaps it may be so. Let us ex
amine and see. As to tobacco, we cannot,
defend it; you perhaps are right in it. But
as to coffee and tea. it is to be questioned,
and for the following reasons: It is not cer
tain that coffee and tea are only stimulants,
some learned men of late say they are ne
cessary and useful, it not to all, at least to
most men.. Our very constitution seems to
demand a stimulant, but not any and every
kind of stimulant. Our very life is like a
fire within us, which must be fed and kept
up, and it needs not only bread and meat, as
solid food, but it needs a liquid to answer as
kindlings. ‘ Well, you say water and milk
is best.’ It may be so, but does experience
say so? Are those who use water or milk
at meals—are they , according to their num
ber, generally more healthy than those who
use coffee and tea ? Perhaps they may live
longer, but in the long run, can they do
more for mankind and the giory of God ?
Very true, men may injure themselves in
drinking coffee and tea, as well as in drink
ing water or in eating bread and meat, yet
we must not reject a thing simply because it
is a stimulant, else even meat which is a
great stimulant must be rejected. God has
given us all tilings richly to enjoy. What
he has given us is good for food and useful
to us. Tie has given us meal to eat. He
has given us bread made of corn and wheat,
and lie has also given us coffee and tea;
but He has not in the same manner given us
liquor. We dry and grind our corn, wheat,
coffee and tea. and then we cook and boil
them to eat and drink. But it is not just so
with liquor. Apples dried and cooked are
good for food ; and the juice of apples for
eider, is good tor drink, and in moderate
quantities will not hurt a well man. But
with liquor and whisky, the apples and coin
are suffered to rot. and the juice must un
dergo fermentation before we have what is
called liquor and whisky. ” Apples may do
to eat before they rot, and so cider may do
to drink; but not liquor,Jor it is drawn from
rotten apples, and is poisonous, and no more
fit to drink than the rotten apples are fit to
eat.
Also as regards bread and meat, coffee
and tea, the same quantity will answer a
man front day to day, through file, but it is
not so with liquor. Now does not this fact
also (in experience)'seem to speak against
liquor? The others are natural gilts of
God, good for food, and in a daily allow
ance. But with liquor you pray for more
than your yesterday’s allowance, you say it
wont do, you must have more. You ask for
your daily bread, meat, coffee-and tea, .but
vou want more than your daily liquor.
What then does God in his providence seem
to say to this question ? Is liquor like bread,
and will a daily quantity suffice? Ah. it
seems that the one is from God and suited
to the natural appetite, but the other is one
of the inventions of man to satisfy his unna
tural, acquired appetite. Does ;tnot seem
so? We may boast of liquor as one<>t the
good gifts of God—‘a goodcreature of God.
But is it so ? . Is it one of God’s gifts—-is it
a creature or thing <>f His making | You
may search the world over, and you may
not find .any liquor made directly at hand by
God. Yes, true, it, or something like it,
may Dxist, or be found in the decay of ap
ples and other things, but that is to be re
garded as the miasma from decayed vegeta
bles or low swamps—an evil to correct an
other evil. Nor is liquor in any just sense
good, as a good creature or article- Man
in. first taking liquor does not think it good,
and very few get to think it good—very few
drink-it just because they like it, but for the
effect it produces upon them. It makes
them feel great and good, when they are re
ally no better off, but often leaves them in a
much worse state. We call liquor the‘staff
of life,’ but it is the help to death.
Spirit of the Age.
THAT NOBLE BOY.
I was sitting by a window in the second
stovy of one of the large boarding houses at
. Saratoga Springs, thinking of absent friends,
when I heard shouts of children from the pi
azza beneath me.
“Oh, yes; Ihat’s capital ! so we%ill! —
Come on now ! There’s William. Hale 1”
“Come on, William, we’re going to have
a ride on the Circular Railway. Come with
us !”
“Yes, if my mother is willing. I will run
and ask her,” replied William.
“O, O! so you must run and ask your mn.
Great baby, run along to your ma! Ain’t
you ashamed ? I didn’t ask my mother.”
“Nor I, nor I,” added half a dozen voices.
“Bea man, William,” cried the first voice,
“come along with us, if you don’t want to
be called a coward as long as you live.—
Don’t you see we are all waiting!”
I leaned forward to catch a view of the
children, and saw William standing with
one foot advanced, and his hand firmly
clenched in the midst of the group. He
was a fine subject for a painter at that mo
ment. His flushed brow, flashing eye, com
pressed lip and changing cheek, all told how
that word coward was rankling in his
breast. “Will he prove himself indeed one,
by yielding to them V* thought I. It was
with breathless interest I listened for his an
swer, for I feared that the evil principle in
his heart would be stronger than the good.
But no.
“I will not go without I ask mother !” said
the noble boy, his voice trembling with emo
tion, “and lam no coward either. I prom
ised her I would not go from the house with
out her permission, and 1 should be a base
coward if I were to tell a wicked lie.” .
There was something commanding in his
tone which made the noisy children mute.
It was the power of a strong soul over the
weaker; and they involuntarily yielded him
the tribute of respect.
I saw him in the evening among the gath
ered multitude in the parlor. He was walk
ing by his mother’s side, a stately matron,
clad in widow’s weeds. Her gentle and
polished manners, and the rich, full tones of
her sweet voice, betrayed a southern birth.
It was with evideht pride she looked on her
graceful boy, whose face was one of the
finest I ever say, fairly radiant with anima
tion and intelligence/ Well might she be
proud of such a son, one who could dare to
do right, when all were tempting to the
wrong. I shall probably never see the
brave, beautiful boy again, but my heart
breathed a prayer that the spirit, now so
strong in its integrity, might never be sul
lied by worldliness and sin—never, in com
ing years, be tempted by the multitude to
evil. Then will he indeed be a joy to the
widow’s heart. Our country needs such
stout, brave hearts, that can stand fast when
*be whirlwinds of temptation gather thick
and strong around them; she needs men
who from infancy upward have scorned to
be false and recreant to duty.
Would vou, little boy, be a brave man.
and a blessing to your country, be truthful
n-.w. Never, never tell a lie, or deceive in
any manner, and then, if God spares your
life, you will be a stout-hearted man, a
strong and tearless champion of the truth.
THE USE OF MIRTH. *
There is no faculty of the human mind
more necessary to its healthy action than
the sense of the laughable. The complete
man, in all other mental qualities, complete
as man may be in our broken and disjoint
ed state, lacking this sense, lacks the mel
lowing element of all—the sunny ray that
softens austere wisdom, and tempers tearful
pity, that makes love no weakness, and hate
itself less ferocious.
There is enough of woe and pain in the
world to drive a benevolent man to an in
sanity of griefi if the relieving spirit of laugh
ter came not to his rescue, throwing in thfe
insinuating sense of the comic as a mild
emollient, and finding in the ungainly atti
tudes of tragedy itself something ludicrous
to weaken its horror.
There is folly enough, even in the centres
of learning and schools of philosophy, to
make a wise man morose, and savage as a
lone bear on his solitary iceberg, if it were
not that the very gravity of solemn folly in
duces fun, and excites the laughter of men,
who, lacking so genial an expression, had
dealt in bitter contempt.
There is more than enough that is hateful
and exciting to wrath in this mingled med
ley of bewildered and bewitched humanity,
to make the just continually angry if they
could not sometimes exchange the sword of
the blind goddess. for the rod of Momus, and
n their verdict of condemnation write
slaughter with the .
A French Red Republican, in the days of
the last Republic, delivered himself of a most
blood-thirsty and exciting harangue, against
the upper classes, demanding the decapita
tion of thousands as the only safeguard of
liberty. A slv wag arose, and after a few
words of well-disguised ironic applause,
begged a lock of ihe gentleman’s hair as a
sacred memorial of a true patriot. Oh, cer
tainly, he would comply with great pleas
ure. The precioui keepsake was passed
along so its and stination, ami the enthusias
tic vines of the spectators. Another and
another-begged to be permitted to share in
the same honor. Lock after lock was shorn
away from.the head of the unsuspecting can
didate for glory, till he stood bald ais the first
Csesar, before the upburst of irrepiessihle
laughter betrayed to him that he had be
come the victim of a subtle waggery.
The blood-thirst was completely quench
ed, and the lucky nobilitv were suffered to
wear their beards by virtue of a vicarious
decapitation of their enemy’s head of hair.
No grave rejoinder would have so wholly
annihilated the impression of that fierce ha
rangue, as the ludicrous image he present
ed.
LeV men not only laugh and be fat, but
laugh'and be wise, laugh and be kind, laugn
and be better every way for it.
THE COLPORTEUR AND MAN WITH A
JUG.
About six years ago a Colporteur of the
American Tract Society was travelling on
horseback through one of the most moun
tainous portions of Cherokee Georgia, la
den with books for distribution and sale.
When passing through a narrow gorge be
tween two hills, where was scarcely room
for more than one person to pass, he met a
man with a jug. The jug had no handle but
was held by an old, greasy, leathern string,
tied around the neck. The Colporteur ac
costed him :
“Good morning, sir, can I sell you a
book ?.”
“No, sir ; I have no money,” was the
reply.
“Whete are you going, my friend, with
your jug?”
“To the still house, sir.”
“Suppose you fake the money with
which you propose to buy the whisky, and
buy a good book, and go home without the
whisky, and read the book, and I promise
it will be far better for you.”
“But, sir, I have no money—l am to
get the whiskv on credit.”
“Well, ray friend, I will make another
proposition—l will buy your jug and give
you a book for it. You can then go home
and read your book, and do without the li
quor. What do you say to that ?”
The man with the jug hesitated a while,
and then replied, “I will let you have the
jug”
The colporteur took the jug and gave
him a copy of the Temperance Manual,
and hanging his new purchase on his arm,
journeyed on till night, when he gave
to the jug to the lady of the house at
which he spent the night. He visited sev
eral familes before night, however, carry
ing the jug, which was a great matter of
astonishment and wonder to all who saw
him, and the question was frequently ask
ed, “What are you doing with that jug?”
The colporteur heard nothing more of
the man from whom he bad bought the
jug until this year, during the sitting of
the Supreme Court in the county of C
six years having elapsed. Being at Court,
still engaged in the colporteurage for the
Tract Society, he was accosted by a gen
tlernan with the inquiry:
“Du you remember trading for a jug,
several years ago, in the hills about here?”
“I do, sir,’.’ replied the colporteur.
“YoiiUer,” said the gentleman, pointing
to a sober-iooking man, “is the man from
whom you bougtit it.. He was at the time
you met hi .a drunkard—a pest to socie
ty. Now he is a sober man, and has been
ever since the day you took the jug away
from him. He is now an orderly and con
sisteiit member of the Church and enjoys
religion. He is industrious and supports
his family well; whereas, while he owne
ihe jug, he did little else than make hw
visits to the still house, and till and empty
his jug.”
The colporteur, feeling some interest, in
quired of the man how the change was so
suddenly wrought on him. “Was it the
tract ?” “No,” said he, “it was your de
termination, and the interest that you
seemed to manifest in my welfare; and be
sides this , you took my jug, and that set me
thinking; then I went home and read the
tract, and determined, by the help of God,
1 would never drink another drop, and 1
have been enabled to keep that promise.
This is a plain, unvarnished tale, and
shows how much may be done by strong
personal efforts. “Cast thy bread upon the
waters, for thou shalt find it after many
days.”
DCr* Time is the most undefineable, yet
paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the
future is not come, and the present becomes
the past even while we attempt to define it;
and, like the flash of the lightning, at once
exists and expires. Time is the measurer
of all things, but is itself immeasurable, and
the grand di&closurer of all things, but is it
self undisclosed. Like space, it is incom
prebensi le, because it has no limit—it
would be still more so if it had. It is more
TERMS: SI,OO IN ADVANCE.
JAMES T. BLAIN,
PRINTER.
VOL. XXII.-NUMBER 25.
mysterious in its source than the Nile, and
in its termination than the Miger, and ad
vances like the slowest tide, but retreats
like the swiftest torrent. It gives wino-s of
lightning to pleasure, but feet of lead to pain,
and lends expectation a curb, but enjoy
•ment a spur. It robs beauty of her charms,
to bestow them on her picture; and builds
a monument to merit, but denies it a house;
it is the transient and deceitful flatterer of
falsehood, but the fried and final friend of
truth.. Time is the most subtle, yet the most
insatiable of depredators, and by appearing
to take nothing. i.s permitted to take all;-n o*
can it be satisfied until it has stolen the
world from us, and us from the world.
It constantly flies yet overcomes all
things by flight; and though it is the present
dly, it will be ft,e future -onquerer of death.
Time, the cradle of hope, but the grave of
iTnbition, is the sfern corrector “of fools, but
the salutary counseller bfthe wise, bringing
all they dread to the me, and all thev de
sire to the other; but like Cassandra, it,
warns ns with a voice that even the sagest
discredit too long, and the silliest believe too
late. Wisdom walketh before it. opportu
nity with it, and repentance behind it: he
that has made it his friend, will have but lit
tle to fear from his enemies; but he that
hath made it his enemy, will have little to
hope lrom his friends.
PERSONAL APPEARANCE of AMERICAN
AUTHORESSES.
I was seated upon a sofa which command
ed a view of the suit of apartments, when I
saw a lady advance who looked so decided
ly odd. that in spite of my will I smiled
She came into the room in which I sat, and
soon became the center of a group. It
seemed as if one of the spinsters whom I had
seen so often paring apples and knitting
stockings, in the chimney corner of a New
England farm house, had suddenly appear
ed in a New York drawing-room. She was
very tall and veiy angular. She appeared
to have no shoulders, and the upper part of
her form geemed to consist entirely of neck.
Her face I shall not describe, for I would
not seem to ridicule any one for what they
cannot help. To me, it appears mean and
wrong to make the physical defects ol per
sons the object of public laughter. But this
lady’s very evident contempt of the fitness
of attire, the harmony of colors, justifies me
in speaking of her dress. It was made of
silk and covered with violet, red and white
stripes. It was neither long nor flowing ;
made low on the neck, over which was fold
ed a black lace cape. Her whole appear
ance was decidedly funny. And I was
somewhat surprised when introduced, to be
presented to the author of the “Wide, Wide
World,” a work which has been translated
into a number of foreign languages, and has
a wider circulation in Europe, than perhaps
any other American book. It is the young
er Miss Warner, who is the author of “Dol
lars and Cents,” “My Brother’s Keeper,”
and not the one who wrote “Queechy,” and
the “Wide Wide World.” These sisters, as
they perambulate Broadway, make a most
marked appearance. Enveloped in large
beaver cloth cloaks, which can neither boast
of form nor comeliness ; with huge shawls
twisted round their throats; wearing upon
each head a brown antique bonnet—upon
the top of whose crown dances a fantastic
bow; arm-in-arm, engaged in earnest con
versations —-on and on they go, apparently
oblivious to the hurrying crowds, the fash
ion, the misery, and beauty of Broadway.
Miss Mclntosh is a noble-looking woman,
somewhere on the hither side of forty. She
has a fair,open face; a smile bright as the
April sunshine, those who love her books,
would love them all the more, could they
see and know the author. In early life she
was engaged to be married to a gentleman,
who,- before their union could be consum
mated, became deranged. His insanity
proved incurable. H.s noble hive, turning
from every other offer, took upon herself
the burden of his support through life. She
has exhausted her fortune and her earnings
n alleviating the sorrows of his painful lot.
To him she has consecrated her whole life.
Is not that a fine instance of womanly de
votion ?
To my partial eyes, in all this brilliant
company, no woman looked belter than Al
ice Carey. She wore no flowers in her
hair, no jewels on tier arms; but a pale, grey,
lustrous satin dress, the sleeves and skirts of
which were trimmed with broad folds of
crimson velvet. I believe that the habitual
colors which a person wears are indicative
of their character; and I thought this dress
ot Alice Carey’s was like her heart, with its
pale, sad ground, and brilliant bordering of
gorgeous dreams. Her portraits do her no
manner of justice. She is not old and home
ly as they would make us believe. She has
one of those sad, sweet faces, at which I
love to look. Her face is a history, not a
prophecy. There I read the records of suf
fering—there I beheld the lingering light of
many a departing dream. Sorrow’s touch
has not frosted her waving hair; and though ,
its shadow lingers in the depths of her clear j
brown eyes, they still are lustrous with a .
poet’s inspiration. All literary women are
not frights ; all are not pedants; all are not i
these charming character
istics are often ascribed.to them as a class.f
Any one who knows Alice Caiey, will
er dislike a literary woman because she is
literary.— Utica Herald.