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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.