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•IMS 111111 HUE EM. SMS If HIPUIKI. 111 Hill EMI If HI If JfllHl.
J. H. SEALS, )
ANI > > Editors.
LLVM/EY,) ‘v:-
NEW SERIES, VOL. IL
TBMPBRW CRPSADER.
PDBl.fsn ED
EVERY THURSDAY, EXCEPT TWO, M THE YEAR,
BY JOHN H. SEALS.
t'.:t,AFs :
sl,oo', in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year.
9 ratbh ok advertising.
1 square (twelve lines or le-s) first insertion,. -$1 00
Each continuance, .-.-, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six lines, per year,.— - 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
STAN'DfN'G ADVERTISEMENTS.
* l square, three
1 square, six months,. 7 oo|
1 square, twelve months, 12 00
2 squares, “ “ ..18 00
3 squares, “ h 21 00
4 squares, “ “ -.25 00
not market! 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.
LKG A L AD v EII iIS EME NTS.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,... o Os)
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors,..... 3 25
Notice for Leavo to Sell, 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adrn’n. 5 00
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi
anship, .... 3 25
LEG A L RKQUIR KMKNTS.
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 Ilouse in the County in which the
property is situate. Notices of these sales must he
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 previous to the day of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an 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 ‘mouths —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must he 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. ‘
Publications will always be continued accord
-* ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
for tlie Crusader.
To an Album,
BY JK N N V WOOI)R IN E.
Go, little book, to each kind friend,
And gather treasures while you may;
v The verses here will pleasures lend,
When youth's delights have passed away.
But Flatterj 7 must not mar thy page,
Or vows all heartless blot the sheet;
Pure words of truth in after age,
I’d have my wandering eyes to meet.
Go, little book, ‘mid the sincere,
And gather flowers to cheer my heart;
To call the smile or bring the tear,
When I with those I love shall part.
Album! thou art a sat*ed thirty ,
A place where friendship lives alone;
And pleasant memories thou wilt bring,
When youth and friends afar have flown.
“Bellevue,” Richmond Co s, Ga.
Thoughts of Heaven.
“Thoughts of Heaven, a beautiful little piece sent
from Russellville, Ky.,” says a friend, “calls to mind
the following poetry, which went the ‘ rounds ’ two
or three years since, and was much .admired by some
readers.”
No sickness there:
No weary wasting of the frame awav ;
No fearful shrinking from the midnight air;
No dread of summer’s bright and fervid ray.
No hidden grief;
No wild and cheerless visions of despair:
No vain petition for a swift relief;
No tearful eye, no broken hearts are there:
Care has no home
Within the realm of ceaseless prayer and song;
Its billows break away and melt in foam,
Far from the mansion of the spirit throng.
The storm’s black wing
Is never spread athwart celestial skies;
Its wailings blend not with the voice of spring,
As some too tender floweret fades and dies.
No night distils
Its chilling dews upon tlie tender frame;
Nr more is needed there: the light which fills
7‘he land-of glory, from its maker came.
No parted friends
O’er mournful recollections have to weep ;
No bed of death enduring love attends,
To watch the coining of a pulseless sleep.
No blasted flower
4)r withered bud celestial gardens know :
No scorching blast of fierce descending shower
Scatters destruction hke a ruthless foe.
No battle word
Startles the sacred hpst with fear atul dread;
The song of peace, creation's moating heard,
Is sung wherever angel minstfehs tread.
* Let m* depart,’
If home like this await the weary soul:
Lodi up, thou atricken one; thy wounded heart
Shall bleed no more at sorrow's stern control.
With faith our guide, -
White-robed and man ent v ttt-tead the way,
Why fear to plunge.in Jordan’s rolling tide,
And find tli&ee< of'eternal da? f /*
COMMUNICATIONS.
For tlie Cntsutler. ,
Falling in Love with “A Blue Stocking.”
BY JBNXV WOODBINE.
“Ami so you go with me Hal, (as you promis
ed.) on this country visit, I daresay we shall
have a rich time. Unele Si is a splendid speci
men of the good n;;tured country farmer; and
Aunt Mary the best woman in the world,”
“So you have t<ld me half a dozen times, Ar
thur,” said his auditor slightly yawning—“l am
fully convinced that somewhere in the woods not
far from the city of ——.(our present residence,)
is the befit. place in the world— having the best.
fruit, the best spring, and the best people.”
“And the prettiest girls, an important desidera
turn, loo,” laughed Arthur Moss, not the least mor
tilled. “1 can see them now bless their dear, lit
tle, romping souls—to them hoops ‘fearfully, and
wonderfully made’ are unknown —the roses on
iheir cheeks were placed there by the hand of na
ture, and their tiltin’ were never “fathered from a
box of ‘lily-white.’ They don’t know the mean
ng of tire word propriety; and never purse up
their lips and look demure. 01) I bless them 1
love them every one.”
“Do they squeal opera-airs, and turn up the
whites of their eyes like a calf in it’s (lyin'/ ur/o
niea ! if they do ‘count me out.”’
“No: but there’s one Piano in the neighbor
hood, and some of them sing ‘Had I never, never
known sweetly too. But I warn you
my brother Barrister to keep a lookout after your
heart, or Irene Colbert will rob you of it in less
than a day.”
“And what manner of person is she pray,” ex
claimed Hal. Clinton lazily balancing bis handsome
person on two chairs, and puffing vigorously at a
cigar—-‘a hiue-eyed wood-nymph with golden ring
lets, and alabaster neck V ”
‘Tsha, no ; she’s our authoress—writes all the
obituaries, and poetical marriage notices—”
“l hope ’iis healthy out there,”interrupted Hal.
“or iny demise might cause her to invoke the
muses. I verily believe l could not rest quietly in
my grave if I knew some poeta-ter was ‘seeking
my merits to disclose,’or dragging ‘my follies from
their dread abode’in verses a hundred lines each.’ ”
‘ *o fear of that,” said Arthur, gaily yet secret
ly piqued. “1 darosav Irene would never trouble
herself to inquire whether you were dead or not.
But Irene isonr standing toast —the ‘lady love’of
eveiy rustic in ten miles around ; and a ‘rich, rare,
and racy’contributor to several magazines.’ ”
“No danger in store for my heart then,” replied
Hal. saucily. “I detest a woman who dresses her
foot in blue —carries an ink-drop on her fore-ting
er. and a pen behind her ear like a posting clerk
wears her hair in ‘most admired disorder,’ in imi
tation of some heroine, and writes Ion” drawn out
stories about Charles Augustus Henry, and Ara
minta Euphemia Angelica, fainting at first sight,
and leaping over a precipice together. What did
you say her name was Arthur!”
A sudden thought crossed the mind of Arthur
Moss, and he remained silent.
“I say what’s fyer name—are you deaf !”
“Her name ? oh ! you’ll find that out in proper
time, but get ready new—the buggy waits.”
Without the ceremony of an introduction, read
er mine I have presented to you two of the many
‘exquisites” who graced one of our Southern cit
ies. Perhaps ihe young gentlemen deserve a bet
ter name. Arthur Mess, and Hal. Clinton had
been “chums” throughout all their collegiate course
—were admitted to the Bar at the same time, and
practised together. I know not whether they had
any clients or not—will inform you if I ever find
out. Ilal. Clinton had a frank, engaging face,
rather handsome * and prepossessing manners—
possessed a comfottable income, and ‘ had expecta
tions”—-said “expectations” founded on an old
maiden aunt. Arthur Moss was just such a young
man as you might meet almost anywhere—affa
ble, and pleasing in conversation. And—suppose
we paint his portrait at once ? He was about
the medium height—mouth small, teeth dazzlinglv
white; eyes “darkly, deeply beautifully blue,” so
the girls said ; and I guess they were judges.—
But Master Arthur we must not waste our time on
your “excellencies,” and so “adieu” for the pres
ent.
* * * * * * *
Irene Colbert was the orphan niece of Col. Col
bert with whom she resided. (I dares .y lie has
as much right to the title of Colonel as those who
generally claim U.) Ido not know whether she
belonged to the E. F. Oi. or not, (Georgia has
would-le aristocrats as well as Virginia,) bi|>, Ido
know that she was a lovely girl, with a very sweet
Dee, a faultless hand, and arm, large dark, ex
pressive eycS, a moderate share of talent, and the’
most musical laugh in th% world* Her cousin and
‘ bosom friend,” (all young ladies have a “bosom
friend” new-a-dayS.) Laura CoiU-rt had more
beauty than Irene, more wealth, more pretensions,
iui less tal**nt. Still she was considered “a very
glever girl,” and cpuld carry on jiq “innocent flir
tation .to perfection,” if you wOteld htdievft the
statement oDArthur Moss. * :* . 1
PENFIELD, GA., THURSDAY, APRIL 2, 1857. university of Georgia mbrmw
On the present evening, which you wilt please
remember was in “leafy June”—the two girls were
wandering arm in-ann at no great distance from
tlie paternal mansion—whioh mansion wa6 a large,
old-fashioned farm-house large, enough “for ‘all
practical purposes”—had a long piazza in frnir*,
completely covered with wood hi dc, and roses—
and quite an extensive flower garden, which could 5
boast oftwo “summer houses,” or bowers which l
suppose is more appropriate when we consider
that a real live poetess had there her “local hab
itation,” when uot wandering o’er the “vine
clad appenines” with the “immortal nine.”
Return we to the young gentlemen, whose ap
proaching vehicle has by this time attracted the
attention of the girls.
“The one on the left-side is lovely—verv,”-cred
Hal. Clinton rousing from his lethargy into some
thing like excitement. “I declare that fanciful lit
tie wreath thrown so carelessly over her dark curb,
looks exquisitely ■sweet, and coquettish ; and the
simple white dress cal's up a thousand pleasing
visions of naiades, angels, See. Is she the far fain
ed (!) authoress ?”
“Oh ! no,” said Arthur indulging in a , little
falsehood by the way —for it was Irene who was
thus attired—“thftt’9 only a cousin of our ‘Max’
ray rib’ —.why I thought you were a better phvsi
agnomist than that speech proves. Laura'Colbert
is the poetess. Bene is only a whole-souled clev
er girl, who speaks her opinions independently,
and adheres to them when spoken.”
“Come I you don’t mean to say she’s n ‘fas;’ .
young lady, do you ? that is by far worse than die
other.”
“Os that I leave you to judge,!’ was thesensibl.
reply. At this moment they passed the Misse
Colbert. Hal gave them a pa-sing look, and Ar
thur a bow, and smile of recognition ; then th.
buggy wheeled slowly on.
A week passed away. The city gents had beet,
constant visitors at the residence of Col. Colbert
Hal. still thought Laura to be the authoress ; and
so far the ruse succeeded admirably.
Twilight shadows had erept sofdy over the earth,
and the four were taking a stroll. Arthur, and
Bene in confidential conversation ; and Laura, and
Clinton maintaining a dignified silence.
“Poor Hal! ’ laughed Arthur mischievously.—
“I don’t bedieve be has spoken a word since he
started ; I guess if I continue at your side he wil
give me an invitation to pistols, and coffee before
long”. .
“Hush,” whispered Bene; “listen at Laura.”—
Laura, who was striving to keep up her reputation
as a poetess —had clasped her hands together as
it ia enthusiasm, and had her eyes intently fixed
on the evening star.
“Dear me, how lovely is everything at thi
hour,’’ she began in a tone which a stage-queen
might have envied. “Nature Hushes timidly, like
a fair young debutante—”
Here poor Laura paused—she was entirely at
loss f>r ideas.
“Ahem Ia very pretty evening,” returned Hal.
who deemed it incumbent on him to say some
thing, and secretly wishing that his cornp*nio;
would be so fired with poetical fancies, that she
would run back for her portfolio to copy them ere
they perished. But Laura had no such idea —she
burst forth into a long harangue about the moor,
(N. B. she played no part —it was perfectly natur
al for her to descaut on such- topies in tones of
high-strung sentiment, partly borrowed from “ye!
low covered literature,” and partly original)— and
quoted Moore, and L. E. L, until poor Hal was in
tortures. At last by some maneuvre. which re
fleeted great credit on bis skill, he found himself
near Irene, disentangling a brier from ber gossa
mer-like dress which he had placed there a tn >
merit before;, for which polite attention the briar
gave him a severe scratch on the hand.
“Thorns should not lie in such close proximity to
a rose,” said he smilingly.
And Irene said nothing, but blushed most be
witehingly.
The walk ended at last as must all things earth
ly. And Arthur Moss remarked that his friend
was unusually silent as they walked homeward. —
“Uncle Si,” too, noticed it, arid drew his own eou-
elusion?. Possibly be remembered bis youthful
days. * .
Days, aye, weeks passed away, and Arthur, and
Flal seemed mutually to Lave forgotten that a lit
tie dingy law office in claimed their attend
a nee. It was perfectly natural for Arthur” tp tarry
with his relatives, and The friends of his cbildhoodi
.but Hal-—what magnet kepi .him 4ii au obscure
country place \. The friends bad just taken u long
ramble over old ‘‘Uriel# Si’s” broad plantation,
and uearned -with their stroll had seated them
selves in the shade.
‘‘flow speeds your wooing with the poetess ?”
began Arthur with a mischievous smile.
‘lWhi’i speak of her,” said Hal petulantly; “I
him completely ‘done up,’ but I expected no bet
>cr. Now Miss Irene is a sensible young ladv.-- ■
Subjects dull, and eti interesting before gfruw Josiu .
terest with every word she utters. I never heaid
hes make a fitly speech in all toy life- She is not
witbout feelin<j\ tor I was reading lt obride Harold,”
last evemg* andc-Vt *r ~
vP *
Here Hal, the matter-of-fact Hat,actually blush
ed. ‘ - , , k.
“Here’s a miracle,” exclaimed Arthur with a
laugh which made the old hills ring, and st irtled
some little birds on a neighboring limb. “Tln‘
fassHftous. Henry .Clinton e >nd ■•spending to read
verses with a country yirl. VV.dl ‘wonder wil!
never cease.’ I should not be surprised if you
ended by falling in love with the poetess after
all?”
“’Why do you always bring her up ? I’m sure
if Laura Colbert was the only daughter of Eve
living, she would never win my heart.”
“Nq; poor Laura will ‘waste her sweetness on
die desert air,’ I fear, for the dreaded ‘blue slock
ing’ lias already eclipsed her.”
“What! is Bene the ! the ?—”
“\‘es ; Bene is the object of your detestation—
the dabbler in ink-—the writer who hands down
to posterity, ilia entereotiag story of ‘Charles Au
gustus Henry and Angelica.”
‘ tv> more of that, and you love me.” Arthur,
“1 have been a great fool, and—and—l believe
wc will go home now.” t
“Not so fast my good friend. I think some ex
planation is necessary before you Ui*e your flight.
Here have you been for the last moth, dangling
after Col. Colbert’s daughter, and nieee, and now
to leave without asking one or the other to share
your late! The thought is preposterous!”
“Be kind enough to mind your owm .affairs,”
said Hal crossly, as hecrueliy trampled down sev
eral violets which stood in the way. Then ebang
mg bis tone, he exclaimed with his natural warmth:
“Arthur, old boy, you are a sad dog—hut I for
give you. But what made you deceive me so T
“Because 1 wished you to see Irene as she is di
vetb'd of those evils which your prejudice has
placed upon tha toritiny-porliori of our ladies. I
wished you to know that a woman does not neces
sarily leave her proper 6phere even if she does
‘wield her pen ;’ and that modesty, and artlessness
remain although her feeble productions meet the
-public gaze. Anew era is dawning for depressed
woman—the world is beginning to discover that
she was created for a nobler dealing than to be the
mere ‘toy’ or slave of her ‘Lord and Master;’ and
only those who are under the dominion of hope
less ‘old fogyism’ speak tlie word authoress with
sneers—your pardon Ha!.”
“Granted,” said Hal drily. “But see herd,'!
what will she think of me! I have ridiculed lit
erary women in her presence often, all unconscious
that she belonged to the class.”
“Oil! I guess she will forgive you, inasmuch as
she is to he married soon.”
“Married soon ! to whom ?” Hal’s cheek was
very pa'e.
‘To a gentleman who deserves her—priceless
gem though she be. To one who can, I think, ap
preciate her worth—one whom I trust will make
her what she so richly merits to be—happv.”
Hal’s fine lip quivered. “His name Arthur ?”
“Henry Clinton, Attorney at Law , Ga.,
provided that gentleman will take the trouble to
ask her.”
History does not inform us what reply that gen
'email thought proper to make; but late the
same evening when the moon was shining bright
ly in her midnight home; and the stars fending
the;; feebler light, Hal Clinton proposed to Irene
Coibort the real authoress, and was accepted
Laura w -s slightly disappointed, and regretted all
her wasted smiles, but consoled herself with the
thought of being bridesmaid, and having a quiet
flirtation with her mad-cap friend—Arthur Moss.
For tlie Crusader.
The Drop of Bitterness.
“I have seen the end of all perfection.”
The bees of Trebezodn, it is said, extract poison
from the sunniest flowers. 1 have seen people
who continually reminded me of these winged
plunderers—like them they ever managed to pass
by all tlie sweetness and excellence in a human
character and find only “a drop of bitterness” at
the heart.
Ido not believe it-is the part of wisdom to do
this—certain I am it is not the part of Christian
philanthropy and love.
Doctor Luiher was one of these expert poison
finders—all virtues were latent to his inquiring
eyeball faults were easily detected and he busied
himself continually in diving deeply and bringing
them up with a triumphant air to the gaze of the
world, The consequence was he lost a thriving
practice—became poor when he might have
grown rich—inspired dread where he might have
won affection—was shunned when he might have
been sought after—was a useless drone in society
when he might have been an ornament and a bless
ing. life medical knowledge was deep and accu
rate —his person was attractive—his family was
high!? respectable but he was dreaded like the
plague and shunned like a sei-peiit.
Yes, we are all imperfect, human b mgs. No
angels waik among ns in mortal guise—there are
spots of sin upou tire purest soul—droj>s of poison
at liter heart of every earthly flower-—thorns eneir
ding the stem of the whitest rose—pitches of black
Vvea upon the sun’s disk over out'freaus. v
But must all that is good, and true, and gener
ous, and noble ib ns be passed carelessly by, while
our faults are hunted up and dwelt upon—inu.-e
drops of bitterness alone be sought af er in the
human soul ? C. W. B.
Refinement and Frugality.
The question is often asked how clergymen ami
teachers, and families reduced from affluence to
poverty, maintain a respectable position on limited
incomes. live fatter class, particularly including
people of refined tastes and delicacy, both of bndv
and mind, are a marvel to the uuinitiaLd. There
is not a reader of this article but may recall to m ml
some widow living in opulence till the examination
ct her deceased husband’s estaie reveals that In
was insolvent, who is then compelled to retrench
to the extremest limit; or some fimity ofdaugh
ters, who wake from the first grief of orphanage to
fine themselves destitute. ‘ Yet they preserve the
quiet elegance of manner, and respectability of ap
pearance, which enforces respect and ensures kmd
attention. The thoughtless and the vulgar call
them poor atrd proud; but realty they are vi h in
the elements oft rue independence', and vmat seems
p.ide, is hof.est consciousness of their wealth. —
They are not dependent, but self surtaining. It is
a great mistake to suppose that such persons live
on presents from their more fortunate relatives.—
No doubt they often receive assistance; but it is
the cheerful offering of affection, tendered as a
graceful compliment, and accepted without any
humiliating servility of gratitude. Tlie main re
fiance, both of clergymen and other educated peo
pie of limited means, is in a frugality in expendi
tore. Ladies reduced to poverty, remain ladies
still; and, in their retirement, find the means of
thrifty occupation, and of inexpensive pleasure, in
the accomplishments which once imt swelled their
expenses. They live on the past; and if that past
lias been well occupied, its memories are uot the
themes of repining, but of mett'al support and em
ployment. All honor, we say, to the graceful, re
fined and elegant poor, cast down, but uot destroy
ed. Those who sneer at them, if there are any
such, must be the merest vulgarians, incapable of
understanding any thing but money value, or of
enjoying any pleasure but the grossest kind of pui
chased glitter, huge feeding or drinking, or barba
ric dressing. Those are true ladies and gentlemen
who have within them treasures of mind and spirit,
which no wealth can confer, and of which no re
verse can deprive them.
And as to the clergy, they have, or should have,
the first constituent of wealth—the lesson which
an apostle was thankful he had learned, and which
any man or woman of sense may well be grateful
for. They have been taught, having food and
raiment, therewith to be content. It is not the
absolute cost of subsistence which consumes large
incomes, but superfluiiies, luxuries, fashionnb'e
prodigality, and imitative extravagance. Let auv
family which has free use of money or iinlim te 1
credit, compare their necessary expenses with their
whole outlay, and they will be astonished at the
paucity of the one, contrasted with the extrava
gance of the other. It is a pennyworth of breat to
i an intolerable deal of sack.
Here then is found the secret. The enjoyments
and luxuries of the classes to which we have refer
red are free of charge. Educated people are not
driven to expensive follies for amusement and era
ployment of their time, ff they have a large in
come, it savts them the trouble of devising wnv
and means to gratify their tastes. They have on
iy to desire, and the wish is gratified. But de
prive them of the means of gratify ing costly incli
nations, aud they shape their desires to their posi
lion,. They have resources which place them
above a slavish dependence upon money. The
man or woman of good taste, fortified by correct
principles, can find intellectual pleasures almost
without money and without price.
So is it with students, whether for the eternal
or any other profession. So is it with those men of
happy mind, who pursue handicraft or commerce as
a business, and find their pleasure in art, or fitera
ture, or science. They are never at loss for amuse
ment. Education is wealth to them. It places
them above the need of the costly foliie3 which at
tract unfurnished minds, and gives them in then
intellectual resources a never failing supply of the
means of enlightened pleasure,
And in this, we take it, may be placed the great
economic value of education—education for the
masses. A reading machine, laborer or manufac
turer, seldom becomes a charge to the public; nev
er, we may stv, except by sickne-s or calamity.—
Tlie simple aud noble tastes which he cultivates
save for him the money which others squander in
the gratifiieatiun of baser appetites Such men live
happily on incomes which would starve people
without their mental riches. We are fully per
suaded that every enlargement of the opportunity of
the whole to acquire learning and every measure
taken to improve tlie popular tastes is a preventive
of pauperism, by the influence education exerts in
enforcing frugality. The hone-t pride which leads
to true independence protects those who possess it
from poverty. Chambers’ Journal, to which We
are indebted for tlie hint of these suggestions,
(though the Journal pursues a train of thought
somewhat different from ours,) does no more than
justice to the “poor and proud” in the following
■ remarks :
Ihe genteel poor! name of pity aud ridicule to
many, a favorite tlrerne of sarcasm among novelists
and dramatists ever since moderti fiction arose.
And yet we do seriously believe that the genteel
spirit is often not merely a softener of poverty, but
a redemption from it. When the educated person
oft the middle classes is reduced to pennilessr.ess,
as often happens in this variable world, what is it
Dial keeps him from sinking into and being lost
in the obscure multitude fort this spirit? wbat but
this gives biirf the desire to struggle agaiu up the
slippery rounds of fortune. 9
*r w r dkliTt like our minister’s sermon last
Sunday,” sahl a deacon who had slept all the time,
“You didn’t like it !” replied a brother deacon,
“why? T saw you nodding assent to all the patson
said.”’
TERMS-r'G
$1 in adv.incp; or, $2 at the end of the year.
.* - ■?*£*!'*
JAMES T. BIjAIN,
•’lillvrEß. . . Y,-.
VOL. XXnt-MJlfßSfi 11
From the Waverly Magazine.
Mother is Dead!
“Mother is dead !” What a Volume of thought
do these sad words express ? • What pen can bring
to view the agony of the mind when this sad truth
is realized ( The heart shrinks back, and denies
to intruding expression a knowledge of its inward
woes. the imagination of another fails to picture
them; and when we, ourselves, who have sustain
ed this loss; turn our eyes inward and for a mo
ment glance at the naked reality, we are wont to
make ourselves disbelieve it, ami repel the over
whelming flood of sorrow which, ever and anon,
like the waves of the ocean, flow to and fro upon
our hearts, until exhausted we sink into a lethar
gy, from which, when we awaken, it seems as if
we, ourselves had passed iuto another world, in
which everything seems tinged with an unnatural
gloom.
It is sad, — it is very sail to know that mother is
no more.
The sun will shine, the birds will sing, the flow
ers will bloom in seeming mockery, the same as
before , but there is a void in the family, her seat
is vacant; and as we gather around the family
board we seem'to deny Ihotrudi to ourselves, and
listen as though we heard her coming footsteps.
Hut, alas! she comes not. Mother is dead!—
Away from our home they have laid her in the
cold ground, the dam my dew damp of death upon
her blow, she is shut out from our sight forever,
f.-rever! No, not forever. The light, of heaven
flings a briili mt hope ovt-r all our sorrows. With
its aid we can penetrate the darkest clouds of grief,
and look forward to the bright future with confi
dence that we shall meet her again. With its
aid death is not death, it hath not the sting the
world would have.us think, it is but the transfer
of the soul from this, fs transitory home, to ever
lasting bliss ; it is but the passage of the storm
which leaves the rainbow of hope to cheer its
blighted subjects.
We love to linger aroiind mother’s grave, and
muse upon the happy past when she was with us.
JYe love to think of the Merrv Christmas and
other holytlays ; although with the semblance of
them is linked the sad truth tiiat they can never
come again, although, yet we are willing to suffer
these pangs that we tnay keep ever fresh in our
memories that happy past, now forever gone.
A Beautiful Illustration
the watch; ikon moke csefci.than oold.
“1 have now in my hand,” said Edward Everett,
“a gold w*teh, which combines embellishment
and utility in happy proportions, and is often con
sidered a very valuable appendage to the person
of a gentleman. Its hands, lace, chain, and case
are of chased and burnished gold. Its gold seals
sparkle with the ruby, topaz, sapphire emerald. I
open it, and find that the works, without which
this elegantly furnished case would be a mere shell
—those hands motionless, and those figures with
out meaning—are made of brass. Investigating
further, and asking what is the spring, by which
all these are put in motion, made of, I aro told it
is made of steel ! I ask what is steel! The re
ply is that it is iron which has undergone a certain
process. So then, I find the mainspring, without
which the watch would always be motionless, and
its hands, figures, and embellishments but toys, is
not o? gold (that k not sufficiently good.) nor of
brass (that would not do,) but of iron. Iron, there
fore, is the only precious metal! and this watch
an emblem of society 1 Its hands and figures,
which tell the hour, resemble the master spirits of
the age, to whose movement every eye is directed.
Its useless but sparkling seals, sapphires, rubies, and
top; zes, and embellishments are the aristocracy.—
Its works of brass are the middle class, by the in
creasing intelligence and power of which the mas
ter spirits of the age are moved; and itß iron
mainspring, shut up in a box, always at work, but
never thought of, except when it is disorderlv, broke,
or wants winding up, symbolizes the laboring class,
which, iike the mainspring, we wind up by the
payment of wages, ami which classes are shut*up
in obscurity, and though constantly at work, and
absolutely necessary to the government of society,
as the iron mainspring is to the gold watch, are
never thought of, except when they require their
wages, or are in some want or disorder of some
kind or other.”
The political and industrial rights and privileges
of the tailoring classes should not be lost sight of
by legislators. Educate and develop them, and
they, in return, will bring iron out of the mountains
in greater abundance; and by their superior in
telligence, invent machinery, by which most of the
labor of life may he performed ; “make two blades
of grass grow where lut one grew before and
thus, as in all other things,’ set the world ahead. —
The locomotive, .steam engine, ‘telegraph, printng
press, sewing-machines, mowers, reapers, seed
planters, harvesters, and so-forth, will continue to
be invented and improved just in proportion to the
education and development of our pev]He % and es
jKcially of the working claescs. — Life Illustrated.
jCITAIas! little does the world know how
many a broken heart is hidden Under a cold and
stern di mean or of the face ; little does it dream of
the anguish that is stifled by the rigid lip of pride,
or what feelings lie buried, but alive forever in
the hearts of those whom it looks at daily, as
monuments of hard, unsympathizing selfishness. —
It is written, “Every heart knowelh its own bitter
ness;” and that concealment has been ordained
by the same wisdom which has given to us tho
knowledge of the fact.
Misunderstanding. —The other day, the con
ductor of train on’ a New York Railroad discov
ered an Irishman in the car, soon after starting
from Rome, and demanded his fare. Fat deeiar
ed he had no money. The conductor, after lec
turing him, told him to leave at the first, stopping
place not far distant. Accordingly, Fat was once
of the first to get off at the next station. Bat,
judge of the conductor’* surprise .and wrath, to
fiud him aboard when fairly under way.
Did I not tel! you to get off?
And sure I did. t
Why then are you here again ?
And sure did you not say,