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.1. li. SEALS, (
EfIITGP. & PROPRIETOR. i
NEW SERIES, VOL. 11.
TUfIIUM CftIMDIB.
PUBijl.itlEL)
EVERY THURSDAY: EXCEPT TWO. IN THE YEAR,
BY JOHN H. SEALS.
TERMS:
SI,OO, in advance; or $2,00 t 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, 3 00
STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
I square, three months, 5 00
1 square, six months, 7 GO j
1 square, twelvemonths, 12 00
2 souares, “ “ 18 00
3 squares, “ “ V 21 00
4 squares, “ “ 25 00
Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
ebarsred accordingly.
Merchants, 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,... 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 325
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.
Nutices 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 he 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, forty 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.
Publications will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
A Parody,
We find in an exchange the following parody
on McKay’s beautiful poem, ‘Tell me, ye winged
winds.” ft is certainly tbe production of some
disappointed and crusty old bachelor. Asa just
punishment, ha should he condemned to death,
by hugging, and that by the ugliest, sourest and
oldest maiden in the land ! Hear hiru “screech:”
Tell me, ye winged winds,
‘I hat round my pathway roar.
Do ye not know some spot
Where women fret no n ore?
Some lone and pleasant dell,
Some “holler” in the ground,
Where babies never yell,
And cradles arc not found?
The loud wind blew the snow into my face.
And snickered as it answered, “Ne’er.a place!”
Tell me, thou misty deep,
Whose billows round me play.
Know’st thou some favored spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary men may find
A place to smoke in peace,
Where crinoline is not,
* And hoops are out of place?
The loud waves, sounding a perpetual shout,
Stopt for a while, and spluttered “Yeou git eout!’>
Teil me, my seeretsoul—
Oh ! tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting place
From women, girls, and death?
Is there no happy spot
Where bac’n’lors at case ;
W here females never go
And man may dwell in peace?
Faith, hope, and Love—best boons to mortal
given—
Waved their bright wings, and answered, “Y-e-a-s
in Heaven !”
A Receipt Worth One Thousand Dollars. —
Take one pound sal soda and a half pound un
slacked lime, put them in a gallon of water and
boil twenty minutes ; let it stand till cool, then
drain oil’ and put it in a stone jar or jug. Soak
your dirty clothes over night, or until they are
well wet through, then wring them out and rub
on plenty of soap, and In one boiler of clothes
well covered over with water, add one teaspoon
full of the washing fluid. Boil half an hour
briskly, then wash them thoroughly through one
suds, and rinse well through. waters, and your
clothes will look better than the old wav of wash
ing twice before boiling. This is an invaluable re
ceipt, and I do want every poor tired woman to
try it. I think with a patent wash tub to do the
little rubbing, the wfah woman might- take the
last novel and compose herself on the louuge and
let the washing do itself. The woman who can
keep a secret has known this a year or two, but
her husband told it while on ap electioneering
tour. So says the Ohio Cultivator.
-Xr- -r-— *-
Mileage of Members- —Tbe late Congress,,
which paid itself so liberally, made no changes in
the outrageous mileage swindle. The bills of the
members show a great discrepancy, Mr. Bowie,
of Maryland, for instance, received at tbe late ses
sion SI(T,GO, and Mr. Hubbert, of California, $5,-
682,40. The bills of the Territorial members
were as follows : Anderson, of Washington. 85, f
890; Bemheisel, of Utah, % Chapman, <?f
Nebraska, $2,024; GaltegosUNew Mexico, s2‘-
212; Lane, of Oregon, $5,900 ; Rice, of Minnes
ota, $1,875; Whitfield, of Kansas, $2,116,^
COM MU NICATIOJNf.
For the Crusuler.
Tho Dreamer.
!.! V .1 MX X V WOODB IN K .
Heaven ti es with us as we with torches do
N t light them tor themselves.
SleaFure for measure.
| Violet Weiner SHUireemfogiy by an open wind
| ow—a flood of moonlight had burst-in the room,
and threw a m flow radiance over the soft carpet,
olid costly furniture. Below stairs a strain (.flow
sad music tioat-d on the passing breeze. And
near ’tier in a tree-lop a night-bird chimed in j
I plaintively —strange shadows were mirrored on
the. wall; and there was no light in the room save
an occasional ray from the lamps of Heaven,
which gave a shadowy, ctbevia! beauty to the
sad, pale faoe of the young enthusiast, as she
sat there gazing dreamily forth, revelling per
chance in the almost forgotten tales of legendary
love; or weaving rich and fanciful webs. Her
eyes, deep, <] u k violet eya s, were half closed, and
a half smile —a smife of sadness rested on the
beautiful mouth. Her dress was purely white no
other would have suited:her; and the faultless
arms, and neck were bare,, and adorned by no or
naments. Yet, the dream changes ; and a look
of anguish—anguish too deep for tears, settled on
the fair features, hke a black storm cloud darting
suddenly over a sunny sky. Then the strange,
uudellmblo emotion passed; and the dreamy,
shadowy face which changed its expression assud
denly as a kalliadoscope, resumed the ordinary,
pensive look.
•‘Violet, dreamer, enthusiast come here” scream
ed a meny voice at the top of tho stairs; “and
don’t let the fall from the clouds injure you.”
With a look of pain she arose from her re
cumbent posture —possibly the rude hand of her
matter of fact, Cousin George Clyde, lmd destroy
ed one of her most beautiful castles for she joint and
him with not a very pleasant look.
“Come Violet, be a reasonable woman, 1 want
you to play a game of chess with me. You are
too angelic for such a coinmonplace mortal as !,
but however, condescend so step down from youi
stills for once,” And the good-humored George
took her small, white hand in his, and entered the
parlor. ‘ ...
She began the long, and to her, interminable
game —yet all her movts were false, and it was
evident her thoughts were wandering far from the
chess-board, and from George.
“Violet w hat makes you so stupid ? I declare
! bad as live undertake a game with yonder mar
ble statue.”
“Do I weiry you dear George—well then I will
be more attentive now.”
j A curious expression came over the honest, plain,
j hut nut unhandsome features of .George, and he
was about to otfer that rare thing for him, an
apology, but recollecting himself he began uncon
cernedly to hum a tune, and knocked his boot
heel impatiently on the floor.
“Are you in love Violet, or what makes you
look so much like a moon-struck poetess? 1 ’
“In love !” and for a moment her voice \va9 as
merry as his own —“in love ! no Geordie not with
any living creature.”
“With some imaginary hero tbe a— some “false
creation proceeding from the heat oppressed brain.”
Violet I want to talk to you reasonably for a few
moments. You are working out for yourself fu
ture hours of misery. You live too much in the
world of tanev, for ;m inhabitant of a working
world (if, fact, and if you do not undergo a change
for the better, you are likely to degenerate into an
idle, useless member of society.”’
“Why should f not live in a world of fancy?’. 1
ssked sue earnestly. “I am sure my visions there
are richer “than any actual happiness that- ever
brightened here.” Why may 1 not roam in my
fable-laud, where are only the good, and beauti
ful ? Why should ! come down to a world, and
consort with the “Mrs. Brown” and Mr. Jones,”
who ask innocently the “price of eggs” and the
rates of cotton, thinking life has no higher aim
than the sale of these desired articles.” And she
laughed merrily.
“Yet, “Mrs. Brown” and “Mr. Jones” are of
more use to tbe world than you, my spiritual,
sentimental Cousin; who do nothing from day
to-day, but weave fancy webs of the perfection of
mankind, yet cftrnothmg to carry that plan into
effect. Not or.e seal in the world has been bene
fited by your brilliant reveries—no orphan has
been clothed—no widowed heart ccmforted—no
erring child, led astray, perha s by just such day
dreamers, reclaimed. Deeds not dreams make
their impress on the world. Now, how would
you like for your to be-*- 4 Here lies the
* dreamer, who dreamed her life away, and never
once*, done a noble deed.’ ”
His tone was so frank—his lftaoners so earnest
that Violet could not be offended; and bcgjdes,
although their natures were'so she
loved George better'than any of her relatives.
“But what shall Ido Geordie—where shall I
begin? There is no pat!*o{^ ? lbf me.” •’* ■
“None so bfind as those \v%o nuti*eee.”~—
there are many paths open for you,* HbwtflApy
PEN FI nil. GA, THURSDAY, MAY 21, 1857.
hours had you been dreaming when I interrupted
you this evening?”
She colored slightly—-“about three Ifotrre.”
“Three hours! welt you might have done much
in those thiee hours. You are a good musician.”
She nodded assent
“Little Mattie Gray has an excellent Voice, and
a fine ear for musk*. Her mother wishes to edu
cate her for a music teacher, so'she’ may earn an
honorable living, and support her in her old age,
but is unable to allow hr to-take lessons. Now
in those three hours whieh you have wasted, you
might have allowed her the use of your Piano,
and have given her a lesson. Then there is old
Mrs. Hobbs, a poor old lady who has gone sud
denly blind. She has no one to road the Bible
for her, and is deeply interested jii religious af
fairs. Suppose a certain fair lady ot my ncqusih
tance had spent the evening with her, reading to
her, and conso ! ing her under her affliction. Again
here under this very roof sits a fair, young girl
whom God made as lovely as yourself vet chsrin
tied for a lower position. Me thinks I heard you
say you were very anxious to wear your tie'W robe
next Sabbath ; and to my certain knowledge this
poor little sewing-girl, upon whom consumptin hV
set his fatal mark sits up until a late hour to grat
ify your whim. Suppose the three hours devoted
to reverie, had been occupied in assisting for, your
dress would have been finished, and her night
labor spared. I might cite a dozen other instan
ces, but my little cousin, who is sensible despite
her fancies is already satisfied that the three hours
might have beep more profitably, aud usefully
employed.”-
Tears stood in the violet eyes, as he ceased, and
she arose, and quickly left the room, George fol
lowed her with his eyes, and guessed her purpose.
Seeking a retired room Violet gently opened
the door. The work I fad fallen firm the wearied
.young dress-makers hands, and her slight fingers
were pressed to her forehead as in pain.
“I ask your pardon lady,” she said, gathering
up her work, and beginning the weary stlch, stich
—“my head ached so bad.”
Violet removed the work quietly from her hand-*,
and putting one around her neck, said gently!
“Never mind the work—-I have charged tny mind
about the dress. Gome, take a walk in tho open
air—this room is healed, and l am wearied of the
house.” The sewing-girl looked up grateliflly, and
murmuring softly “God bless yon.” The two left
the.room. They bent their way towards the
dwelling of Mrs. Hooks, and walked in without
the ceremony of knocking. The old lady whs
seated in a high-backed arm,chair; and a little*
grand-child— -ft curly headed, blue eyed elf of
about five years, knelt hi her feet. A stranger
was in conversation with the good old dame,
and our two friends after bowing to him, and
speaking to Mrs. Hobbs seated themselves.
“Can she sit for me to morrow.” The voice of
the Stranger was low, and musical, and Violet
was involuntarily attracted to a closer observation
of his person, lie a youth apparently about
twenty years of ago, slender,, and well-formed—
with a face fair, and delicate as a girls—dark,
dreamy, blue eyes, and a high, pale fore-head
from which the hair was thrown carelessly back,
The face was familiar to her—she had often met
such an on© in dreamland, hut never on earth.
Little Rose had stolen to Violet’s feet and was
playing with a truant curl.
‘‘Mias Violet, I am to have a picture, and its
going to be just like me,”
“You are an artist then,” said Violet addressing
the “’young man, yet scarcely raising her eyes
“Such is fnv profession, and it i3 A glorious task
to paint on canvass the ‘hum tin fiice divine.”,*--
Then as if afraid that he had spoken more than
the occasion warranted, a rosy hue stole over the
pah? cheeks.
“Have you any specimens of your art with you ?”
“None! I only called to entreat this little girl’s
face for a study? My studies are in LNO , I
have some collections there, will you call and ex
amine them?”
“Thankyou, I will do so.”
Violet and her companion spent several min
uteadn conversation with Mrs. Hobbs —the artist
too lingering. At length starting up, Violet .said
“good-evening” and turned to the door.
“Gracious! where is Cousin Reuben ? he has
returned and left us aione.”
“You have no escort,” said the stranger politely
—“well-then, allow me to accompany you to your
dwelling.” .
Hardly knowing what.sbe did, Violet consent*
ed, and the trio departed together, nyi®i to the
astonishment of good Mr*. ‘Hobbs. Few words
were spoken, and they soon reached the gate.
“To whom am 1 indebted for this kindness?”
a&kyd Violet at parting* .
“My name is Arthur Vernon, btit you owe me
nothing lady. The pleasure of duing.you * ser
vice would compensate fuMl** greatest sacrifice,
and I have done nothin?.”
“Hi, met by moonlight proud Sitnnia/’ lauglud
George <ylyde, meeting Violet half way the yard.
c> Where have you beemwandering to ?” (the little
dressmaker J*nd disappeared.) If the days of
kuight errantry not over, I aftotdd fiuwjy llfttf
a second Countess Breah.lda, you had been on a
crusade, By the way who .purled with 3on a;
the gate,”
“Mr. Vernon—a stranger—a young artist.”
“Where was that little scamp Reuben T
“He deserted ye.”
“Shame on bim, to leave his Cousin -to be es
corted through the streets by a strolling adven
turer— Pil take hirn to task,”
There was much in this speech offensive to
Violet, but she said nothing, only complained of
the dampness of the air.
“Don’t go,ftp stairs yet Violet—come in tin
parlof, I want to talk with you. I have been
readingene of your silly novels, and see a glow
ing description of love marked by your delicate,
female character. I wish to ask you if you believe
in the man’s nonsense.”
By this time they were seated.
“How do I know anything al>out love George
—my knowledge is only gleaned from book?, and
from Observation.”
“Is this trite ?”
“ft is.”
“Then you have never loved I”
‘‘Never!”
“Hell, all l have to say is if you continue to
read such books as this, (throwing it down on the
table,) and dream about “spirit mates” and re
Cognizing “kindred souls at first sight” and all
that sort of stuff, when you do love, it wifi be one
of the wildest, madest fove dreams human heart
ever conceived, and will blast all your future hap
piness. Ten to one, yoti foil in love with one who
has a handsome face, afid nothing else to recom
mend bim, your busy imagination will add all the
rest —you will tie your fate with his—and—heaven
help the consequences. Love is 5 humbug —a
vaptr which exists in tbe novelist’s brain alone, or
that equally useless, worthless character the poet.”
“Poets, useless, worthless 1”
‘ I did not mean to shock you-—I mean these
silly sentimental rhymers. Now 1 never in all
tny life had an affaire de comre Almost all boys
hat e their school sweet-hearts—l was an ex cep
t'-ort* — but I intend to marry, and I expect to fovr
my vrife. For the last year I have been a disin
terested observer of her character,
“I’vc Scanned tho actions of hci’daily lift,
With all the industrious malic© of a foe,”
Studied her disposition calmly, coolly, as I would
the good, and bad points of a hors© which f wish
to buy. Yet, without on© particle of sentiment;
and now having ascertained the quality—”
‘‘Of Vonr chattel ” interrupted Violet with an
unusual bitterness, “I sappoSeyou wish, to buy it
as soon hb pn&ble*— take it home, and lay it on
the shelf! Georg© from my heart I believe you
lack a ayui—I would sooner die than be your wife
were I the 1 rely. You will break her heart, uniepv
it is made out of rock like yours, in less than a
week. You are worse than the mast of whom it
is is said—-
“A primrose by the rivet’s brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And nothing more,”
Her garments swept by him as she left the
room, George looked after her until the white
robed figure was lost in the dark entry; and there
was an expression on his honest matter-of fact
face whieh had never been there before. The
Words “I had sooner die than be your wife” rang
in his ears. He repeated them over once to-him
self—once aloud, then snatching a huge, antiqua
ted volume*—literally busied himself in itscoi
tents.
“And then my soul’s last hope, its lingering beam,
Then the gcod angsl of each brighter dream,
Wert alb-the bafreness of life possess^
To mate© one soft affection in roy breast!
That vision ended—-fh,to hath naug ht in store
Os joy or sorrow o’er to touch me more—
HiratAjrs.
Three weeks fled swiftly, and we find Violet tn
tbe artisfft study.
“Is the picture finished at last?”
“It is! How like you my delineation of your 1
self?”
Without pausing for a reply the young artist
fo’di-d his arms on his bosom, and walked to the
window. Persons widely different in their ap
pearance were hurrying along the crowded street
Arthur Vernon looked out. upon the moving
throng, Little had he in e.on)tion with them—be
a stranger poor, and unknown. Young as he
was, there was bitterness iu his bosom. He had
early taken lessohs in the school of adversity
had found hypocrisy and meanness, where be
had looked for.nobility, and affection* When a
child he lost his m• i>~>*his olf and wasentrust
ed td the-guardianship of a miserly old relative,
whose couplet was
“ Dimes and dollars—-dollars and dimes
And empty pockets the worst of crimes.
[coNcr.nnet) NKxr \vij;aK.]
“Ms, dindT the minister wiy last Simday, tttat the
sparks ttew upwsrdsf” •‘Vos ray dear; how came
you to think of it?” Because yesterday I saw cou>
Sally’a spark stacgrrrinj along the street, and frilling
downward.” “Bridget, put this child to bed—must
be-slcepy.”
...I.ti. I . 4 4| .1—
i£#* I hare huard a woman of the “world _ say,
‘‘That the state of widowhood is inconvenient;
for one must assume all the modesty of a yotfpg
gftT, without being afcl* to feign her
Extract from a Speech by John Geugh.
In the following passage, by this extraordinary
temperance orator, he speaks much of children,
and in a way which must touch, the hearts of the
old as well as the young f
there is 110 power on earth will make a man a
fiend like the power of the drink. Owe circum
stance in my own rciqiniseeuce 1 will give to von.
I was asked by an individual to go and see the
hardest case then in town. L said:
“I havo mi fight to go and* see him ; ho will
say to me, ‘Who sent you to me? who told yau
I was a drunkard ? sou mind your business and
l will mine; you wait till you are sc t for; and
when 1 want you i will send for- 3 r 6u.’ I have no
right,” j said, “to go to him.”
“Well,” said he, “he is a hard case; lie beat a
daughter iff his, fourteen years ofage, with a shoe
maker’s strap, so that she will carry the (harks to
the-grave.”
I, “He’s a brute,”
“His with.is very ill now with a fever, and the
doctor saj-s he thinks she cannot g. t over it; the
man has not been drinking for some days, and if
you can get him now, I think you might do him
good.
I thought f would go. I knocked at the door ;
became to open it. He had been to one or two
of our meetings. The moment he saw me he
knew me. Lie said :
“Mr, Gough, I believe ?”
“Yes, th-d is my name; would you be good
enough to give me a glass of Water, if you please ?”
“Certainly,” said he; “come in.”
So I go - hi. I sat on one side of the table and
he at on the other. There were two children in
the room playing together, and a door half-way
open that led imo the room where the wife was
ill. I sat and talked with him about every thing
1 could think of bat the subject. I talked of
trade, and crops, and railroads.'and money mat
ters, and then 1 got on to the-public houses, and
then drinking, though 1 saw a malicious twinkle
in his eye, as much as to*say, Young man, you
are not up to your business yew
1 was about to give it up ; but, I think provi
dentially, I saw the children. I said to him :
“You’ve got two bright-looking children there,
sir.”
“O, yes, yes, bright litrie tilings!”
Said I, “You love your children, do you not ?”
“Bless the children, to be sure I love them.”
Said f, “Wouldn’t you do anything to benefit
your children P
He looked at, me as if he thought something
else was coining after.
“Well, to be slire, sir,” said he, “a man ought
to love and do everything to benefit his children.”
Then 1 stood tip. so that I might get out of the
door as speedily as possible, and said :
“Don’t be angry with me; lam going to ask
you a plain and simple question. You know who
1 am, therefore, you won’t be angry. Suppose you
never use any more intoxicating liquor, don’t you
think your children would be better off?”
“Well, well,” said he, “you have got me ibis
time.”
Said I, “YoU have got a good wife, haven't
you ?”
“Yes, sir, as good a woman as ever a good man
had for a wife.”
“And you love your wife ?”
“To be sure I do; it’s natural that a man
should love his wife?”
“And you would do anything you could to
please your wife?”
.“Well, I ought to.”
“Suppose you were to sign a temperance pledge,
would that please her ?”
“By thunder, I rather think it would —I could
not do anything that would please my wife like
that. If I were to put my name down there, why,
the old woman would be up and about her busi
ness in two weeks.”
“As she is sick,” said I, “then you will do it 1”
“Yes, I guess I will do it.”
And lie at once opened a closet, took out pen
and ink, and I spread out the pledge, and he wrote
his name.
The children had been listening with eyes, cars,
and mouths wide open while we were talking about
temperance, ’t hey knew what a drunken father
was; they knew what the principle of abstinence
would do for him ;’ and when ho had signed, one
eaid to the other :
“Father has signed the pledge I”
“O, my,” said the other; “now I’ll go and tell
my mother” —and away she ran into the other
room.
But-the mother had heard it-; and I listened to
her calling:
“Luke! Luke! come in here a moment.”
Said lie, “Come in here along with me; — come
in and see my wife.”
I went and stood by her bed-side. The face
was ghastly pale', the eye large and sunk deep rin
its socket; and with her long, thin, and bony fin
<*ers she griped my hand, arid with the otnei took
the hand"of her husband, and began to tell me
what n good husband she had.
“Luke, said she, “is a kind husband and a good
father ; he takes care of the children, and is very
kind to them. Bus* the drink—O! the drink
makes terrible difficulty.”
That difficulty! God only and tho crushed
wife of the intemperate man know anything about
it.
The man shook like a leaf; he snatched the
hand from the grasp of his wife, tore down her
night-dress from her shoulders,’ and said :
“Look at that!”
And on her white, thin neck, close to her shoul
der, was a bad mark. Said he :
“Look at that!”
And when I saw the mark of a bruised folt my
flesh creep. Said he ;
“Look at that, sir ! I did it three days before
she was taken down upon the bed: and ahe ha©
told you that she has a good husband. Am I—-
am Ia good husband to her ? God Almighty
forgive me 1”
And he bowed over that woman and wept like
a ohild, gripped, tha bed-clothes In hia hands, apd
( TERMS:
J $1 in advance 5 or, $2 at the end of tlie year.
) JOHN hTSeaLS
v sniopicitTou.
VOL. XXIII.-IUMBER 2L
niu 1 iis face in taem. And she laid her ihm
hand upon his head, and said :
j >on i cry, Luke; don’t, please doh’t; you
wouldn’t have struck me if it bad not been for the
drink. Mr. Gough, don’t believe him, he is as
good amafl as ever lived. Don't cry, Luke!’’
•’ ** “O’ • - f— *
Gar Foreign Drink,
Among the tables spread before us by tije Sec
retary of the Treasury in. his report, is one oft ome
volume and detail, telling liow much wine, spirits,
and ‘ malt liquor have been imported into fhfe
country for a series of years. We have not room
tor the whole of it, but we give- in a compact
shape the number of gallons, and their vaiue. im
ported during the year ending- ,1 une 30,1850* It
is as follows:
Gallons Valve
Madeira 44,303 $32,031
Sheny Wins ....398,392 27u,317
Sicily W me 184,104 61 954
Port Wine 204,81(5 158 729
Claret Wine 1,5r6,018 158J29
Other Red Wine 097,334 285,111
Other White Wine 517,135 180d96
Brandy 1,715,717 £,85^342
Grain Spirits 1,582,134 772.270
Other Spinte 771,604 258,494
English Ale, &o 792,153 504.140
Scotch Ale, &e 859,480 193,000
Total 8,843,370 $0,176,939
This is a snug little table for brother Johnathan
to sit down to otji winter evening. How the glass
es sparkle on the board, and how comfortable the
old gentleman feels as he stretches Ids legs under
the mahogany, groaning with its 8,843,370 gal
lons, while his purse is groaning at the little bpi of
over six millions of dollars, charged against him
by his foreign cousins for the fluids they furnished
to him. We begin to tear that he is a pretty hard
drinker, for besides all these wines, spirits and ales
reported on his Custom House he distils a
fearful quantity of Monongakela and Bourbon,
manufactures k dreadful laige supply of “French
Brandy,” brews bees, ale and porter enough to
fill every day any quantity of great tuns of Hei
delburg, and lias lately taken to growing his own
grapes and making his own champagne and other
wines, so that lie may soon be able to say that his
country is a well liquored as well as a well water*
ed country.
From the statistics furnished by Mr. Guthrie it
does not appear that our importation of all liquors
is increasing. We get scarcely one fourth as
much Madeira wine as we used to; but this isow
ing to the failure of the wines in Madeira. The
supply of Sicily wine is less than it was ten years
ago. The Port has fallen off materially, and
would appear still less if none but the genuine
article were reported. The Claret is below the
average of the past eight years. The other “Red
wines” are scarcely half what they used to be.—
Brandy lias fallen oft* in quantity more than one
half what it was in 1850, but it has cost us much
more. The other “Grain Spirits” are increasing,
and so are the English and Scotch malt liquors,
notwithstanding that we make such amazing
quantities of lager beer, ale and porter, and not
withstanding that our liquors of this kind are of
ten as good and always far cheaper than the best
we can import. The great increase of liquors
imported is in {Sherry wine, which has been stead*
i!v advancing, from 4(>85 gallons in 1843, up to
about 400,000 gallons in 1856. It is plain, indeed
■that 1n spite of temperance societies, liquor laws,
and moral reforms of all kinds, we are still a hard
drinking people, and likely to continue so. The
only encouraging thing that we see in Mr. Guth
rie’s figures is, that there seems to be a growing
taste for malt liquors and light wine in preference
to the pernicious spirits which we used to consume
so lavishly.— Philadelphia Bulletin'.
Who Writes the Negro Songs ?—Tbe princi
pal write- of our national music is said to he Ste
phen 0. Foster, the author of “Unc ! e fted,” “O
Susannah, 1 * <fce. Mr. Foster resides near Pittsburg,
where he occupies a moderate clerkship, upon
which, tfiid a per centage on the sale of his
songs, he depends for a living. He writes the
poetry as well as the music of his songs. These
are sung wherever tlie English language is spok
en, while the music is heard wherever men sing.
In the cotton fields of the Sotrth. among the
mine* of California and Australia, in sea coast
cities of China, in Paris, in tbe London prison
everywhere, in fact, his melodies are heard.—
“Uncle Ned” was the-first. This was published
in 1845, and reached a sale tmknown, till then,
in the music publishing business. Os “The 0®
Folks at Home,” 100,000 copies have been sold
in this country, and .as many more in England.
“My Kentucky Home”
each had a sale of about 70,000. AH his oth
er songs had a great run. All his compositions
are simple, but they are natural, and find their
way to the popular heart and link themselves
indissolubly with its best associations.
The End of the Drunkard.* — A member of ji
temperance society was lately called to tlie bed
side of a dying victim of intemperance, who had
been a great opnoser of temperance measures. Oa
his way to the nouse, he teil in with another op
poser of the Cruise, to whom he said, “Come
along with me, and see the end of a drunkard.”—
Unwilling to witness the anticipated scene, he
made an excuse, and passed along. The dying
man,on seeing hi? neighbor enter, upbraided him
self, for his oppssition to the cause ot temperance,
which, with a corresponding practice, bafi brought
him to the verge of an untimely grava. He won
dered that a man he had ao much abused, ‘ahouid
be eo kind as to call on him in his last momenta,
when bis old companion avoided hie presence.—
He died. Uis friend, who dared not witness tha
death of * dmskard, was, however, unable to ban
ish the set ne from his thoughts. “See the end of
the drunkard,’ 5 was continually ringing in his ears,
whether at home or abroad. The next time hr
attempted to drink ardent spirits, a voice seemed
to say “see the eud of a drunkard, 1 ’ He set down
the glass, determiued to drink no more, and is ndtr
an advert* C>f t*mp*r*n.