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J. H. SEALS,
EDITOR tc PEOPEIETOE.
Niff SERIES, VOL. 11.
nmum crimm.
PUBLISHED
EVERY THURSDAY. EXCEPT TWO, IS THE YEAR,
BY JOHN . E SEALS.
TERMS :
SI,OO, In advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year.
RATES OK ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or first insertion,. .$1 00
Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six fines, per year, 5 Q®
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
BTANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
I square, three months,. v* ®
1 square, six months, 00
1 square, twelvemonths, ** oo
!= •• “ !S
4sl[nws “ “
PEP Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
ehareed 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,... 500
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, por square,— 8 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 Irw to be
hold on the first Tuesday in the month, between the
hours often 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 fotty dap 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 months —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forty days.
Rales for Foreclosure of Mortgage must bo 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
lag to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
For the Crunft<ler.
Life in Heaven.
HY MATTIE.
Life in Heaven, O! ’tis a theme,
Too grand for human Poets dream,
To picture or portray —
For in that life we hath been told,
We may for evermore behold,
The light cf endless day.
Ah, there, are seen no scenes of strife,
No pain—as in the mortal life—
To bow the spirit down,
Rat peace and joy and perfect health,
Reside the glorious dazzling wreath,
Os an immortal crown.
We there can drink in calm repose—
As from the throne of God there flows,
The everlasting stream.
There no to-morrow spreads its gloom,
Os darkness o’er a single tomb,
For death is never seen.
A life in Heaven, it hath no t de
To toss the voyager’s bark aside,
A wreck upon the shore;
Though countless years may roll along,
We still may sing the joyous song,
Os life for evermore!
The Venomous Worm.
BY DOMINIONARIAJf.
The YattW-FTOake you’e heard of, and copper-head
likewise,
Bat there is a worm more poison, which varies more
in size,
It’s of a dull lead color, and its length you cannot
guess;
It’s an enemy to man—the brutes it never molests,
Our settlements are infested with this venomous
reptile,
The effects of its poison makes many a man recoil;
And among our fellow beings who suffer from it
most
Are those who hanker round it, to receive its fatal
dose.
The bite is most terrible—producing firery eyes
Canting tho face and tongue to swell; to a prodigi
ous size;
But the victim when recovorcd from his agonies
and pain * - - -
Will seek out hts destroyer, on purpose to be bitten
again. . ‘.!s% •,
The wife will beg her husband, the parent will beg
his child
To quit lurking about that worm, that’s always in its
coil; |._£ £
The victim will net heed them, their begging he
treats with scorn,
And down the road to ruin, he st ill keeps trudging on.
Youthbs of America—wherever you may be, ~
Take warning from what you’ve seen, and from this
worm flee; ‘ t r* r .'** -* *.
■Join in hands together, and let the land be filled.
With deeds against this worm.—lns Worm or the
COMMUNICATION.
For l!-,e Croßader.
The Dreamer.
Ml’ .) KN V V .WOO DH I S *■.
[COSCI.UOED.]
Re-aveo a- e with os ss we with toreheedo
N t light them for tfieraselves.
Me*, lire for ueasure.
Put he never could tench the eagle to clip its
wings and burrow with the mole. Arthur did
not despise the pursuit in which his uncle wished
liim to engage—he looked upon it as an honora
ble calling ; but the enthusiastic boy with the fire-’
light of genius kindling in his eye, who had from
his childhood held converse with nature —learning
of her. life’s great mysteries, who saw a beauty in
the simples daisy, who made companions of the,
birds, and flowers, and learned of them their lan
guage, who delighted to listen to the ripple of (he
stream, ns it bounded along over rocks and peb
bles like a child at play, w ho watched the first ray
of sunlight streak the red chambers of the east,
and saw h glory in the sunset cloud^—his was not
the soul to chain down to?i ‘ buying and Selling”
life; and perhaps something whispered Whim,
“Warrior bird what doest thou here?
Eagle this is not thy sphere,”
He left the home dear to him no longer, and in
boyhood became a wanderer. Ho felt that
“To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood, and fell
To slowly race the foveftt’s shady scene,
Where things that own not roan’s dominion dwell |
And mortal font hath ne'er or rarely btefi;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o’er steeps, and foaming falls to lean ;
This is not solitude ; ’tis but to hold
Converse with nature’s charms, and view her
stores unrolled.” ‘ *
Memories of the past, and virion* of a future
crowned with honor, occupied not his mind ns
with folded arms he stood silently waiting her
approval of the picture. And when at last she
sought his side timidly, her eyes speaking the elo
queued her icmgue refused to utter, his self*
possession deserted him. and lie turned away
closing his eyes— m coin, he could not shut out
the visions of the lovely girl in the simple white
dress ornamented with a few of Spring’s sweetest
flowers; arid who with a tasteful wreath fan ifully
woven, and thrown negligently over her soft curls
looked more Ike a shepherdess, or flower-girl
than the daughter of wealth— the last of a long
line of aristocracy. lie could not shut out that
vision—a vision, dearer to him than any cf com
ing honor—a vision once seen, forgotten never.?
He had somi more beanti-ul women—he had
g>ize 1 spdl-hound on the Circassian maids, and
dark-eyed beauties, of La v. Yet, he had for the
first time found that twin spirit—that soul ideal
for which h had so often looked in vain ; about
whom he had dreamed as he Wanderer,l the track
less wild holding communion withih his own soul
—whose voices had often haunted him, in slumber,
and whose sweet face had gladdened the student,
at his studies, and urged him onward to fame
when wearriej nature would fain have saughl
rest. She ions before kim now—note they must
part!
The three weeks which had rolled so rappidly
away, had been the brightest of bis existence.—
How anxiously he had listened for the light foots
tep on the stairs—with what delight he had can
vassed that face, watching each varying emotion,
and wondering to himself which was mast beauti
ful. Then afer the day’s ‘si tug” was over, tmd
the magnificent carriage bore her awrty, the steeds
prancing proudly as if con--pious of the lovely
burthen they were bearing, he would sit for hours
in that lonely stud'o—now dark, and black since
she was no longer ther.% and count the very mo
ments until her return. It was all over now—
she had cmne her last—lienceforib, but for the
&weet memory and the aching pang at his heart
which time might vainly endeavor to destroy, life
would be as if they had never met I
Did she guess bis thoughts—did she— his heart
throbbed quickly at the thoughts—share in them ?
or was he nothing more to her than tbe nameless
artist ?
She offerel li in her baud—what a tiny,loving,
little hand it was. He took if unconsciously.
“I am going now—-will you not say goodbye P
“Yen! goodbye.” His voice was forced and
unnatural.
“You leave our shores soon—when to return P
“Never lady i eVer!”
Her hand wa on the door-knob. Never to see
his face again—never to look in those soft, dreamy,
eyes more—never more to hear tho low, sad voice
s we-ter to h* r than the most delicious music!—
She looked back. He stood h moment in the
position she.bad let him—then snatching up a.
withered rose-bud which had fallen from her lisir
he pressed it madly to his- Ups. He loved her
then—Arihur -Vernon loved hei!
Some lift Dili ty caused him to glance towards the
door, whence lie had seen her glide, thinking she
was gone forever, and their eve* met!
“You know it aiy’ he began in a broken voice
“there is no longer use for concealment—my wild
mad presumption is discovered fV ’
“Call it eot present ptidto Were l the wearer
PENFIELD, GA„ THURSDAY, MAY 28,1857.
of a coronet there would be no presumption i > the
love of Arthur Vernon.”
“What! do you not tcorn my suit.” His eyes
kindled. “Tell me can you love the unknown
stronger —tell me, and the next roerrreut —-
die”
The sodden entrance of George Clyde ended
the conversation. He saw by the confusion of
both that something more than the ordinary in
tercourse between the artist mid his fair cousin
had taken place. The Lot blood rush#! to his
forehead, for a moment that odious feeling family
pride held ite- sway, and perhaps another of which
more anon.
Arthur Vernon, and Violet parted—how they
know not; and the artist was left nl roe. Anguish
rested on the fair, boyish brow. He wandered
listlessly, about, And the art which had been his
passion failed to calm him. Poor, orphan boy
boy yet in years, but so old in the world’s misery!
Yet hope which lingers in the human heart untb
the life-artry ceased to beat, and and not <h @ft him.
A different scene Was going on in the 1* welly
mansion of Mr. Clyde. Mr. Clide with the bon
hommie countenance,-but Iron heart, Vi let bad
told him all
“And so my fair niece you are in the trap,”
questioned that gentleman with a good-humored
smile; “and the artist paiufcing you has painted
his otvn face on your heart.” He rubbed hi*
hands together complecently, and Violet looked
I up wondefiiigly, for she had prepared herself for
a dom&tlo storm. “Nay I my child I trust you
are not surprised that I decile in your favor—l
have not forgotten my own youthful days. b<-
haste my modern “Julie’,” and despatch an an
swer to your impatient “Romeo,” 1 will m-o d>*j
it is speedily delivered.”
Kissing her baud gratefully, she retired, and
soon sent him a little note neatly folded,and sealed.
The seal was soon broken by the kind-hearted, m -
ele, and he mndo himself master of the contents.
Ho knit his brows together, and walked the floor.
“Utnph, umph! by my life a most lady-Jiko epis
tle'-*he gives her heart a wav to the find man
who asks for it, and tells the unknown scoundrel
that she love3 him, as freely as I would order a
Servant to bring roe a bottle of Champagne. And
so this fellow is to ally himself to the family of
which 1 have the honor to l>e a member, t must
resign all. my brilliant schemes of a marriage bt>
tween herself and George! the blockhead George
who has not the sense to woo her, thus securing
the fortune ? VVe shall see. Farewell little note”
and he held it to a candle which stood near until
It was cousuraed, H we ourselves will who one
which suits better,”
The note was hastily penned, nod i buckling at
his success he read it aloud:
“Arthur Veanon:— Sir. —At the request of
my niece, and ward, 1 reply to your presumption
of this evening. She declines further intercourse
with’ you, and gives Forfher answer, that she is
already betrothed to another.
R. M. Clyde.
The worthy gentleman rang the bell —a servant
appeared,
“Here Sam, you see the direction—deliver the
note, and remember no answer.” The servant
bowed and retired.
!n the morning radiant mill happiness, Violet
saught her Uncle in the library, He was writing.
“Good morning niece -sorry to disappoint you
—t sent the tiote, but the gentleman has already
left town, atid given no cine to hi* whereabouts.
Dear it bravely, child you are nos the first who
has been trifled with by a villian.”
Trifled with by a villian —his wards were ap
propriate. With a low, despairing cry Violet fill
senslos3 on tbe floor.
• Where are those fair dreams that mad*,
Life so beautiful at first?
Where the many fantasies
That young hope so fondly nurst ?
Love with motto like a knight
“Faithful even to the tomb,”
Fortune following the wish;
Pleasure with a folded plume Y
Gone, gone—-they are all gone?-
Miss Lasdun.
A year is but a short period of time; and vet
much of good or evil can be done in a yeas. A
year—aye, and much less then a year, may snatch
the loved one from love’s embrace—steel the roses
from beautie'a cheek—make the beggar a milfion
naire, and the milltonair ft beggar.
In the “land of the free”—the land of the mag
nolia, and orange blossom —the beairiful sunny
South, at a retired watering s place we again met o
with Violet and George C ydc, both clad in deep
est mourning, for the father of George who rest a
in the ancestral tomb. They were seated near t
little Stream in the woods, having Wandered from
the hotel which quiet fts it.was, wa* P*p gw for
them. ‘ -■ ■, •’
“Violet ore you a dreamer attil, that yoti gaze
so saddly on that withered flower which some
thoughtless belle has lost from her bo^uet!”
f>h turned her Urge, sad eyes upon him,—>
a drs%ow *UW, Hie eoloring of toy
dream* is changed—can you see no beauty in this
fnded flower D
“Yts, but I love not tq look at it—it reminds
me too much—he paused abruptly.
She fini-hed tlie sentence calmly “of my life
you would say. Poor flower ii was worn a mo
n cast aside—tramp! and underfoot !”
“Violet, forget that villian ” She started at the
term, yet, neither herself, or George knew of the
deception which s had beeu practiced, and which
had succeeded but too well. “Yes! forget him
—he is unworthy of even a single thought. Be
inv wife —L offer you ft lienrt which has known
no other love—like Othe 10, ‘rude ain t in my
speech.”
“And therefore, little shall I grace my cause
I’m pleading for myself.”
We have known each other from childhood—l
loved you ftlwaj-s, though I would not acknowl
edge it even to myself. When I saw you arouse
from your lethargy, nnd though still a dreamer
labor actively to benefit the suffering, while your
heart wras breaking, I loved yon still more fondly.
Will yon be mine?”
“I cannot” said she mournfully, “T have no
heart f ogive. Kind, and generous George, my
only friend, wirold that this had never happened.
The ashes of a former love I have not even to be
stow. The memory of the past is more dear to
me than ftfivthing in the future can be.” She l
then repeated sadly as if forgetful of his presence.
“First love, will the heart remain
When its hopes are 411 gone by ;
As frail rose blossom’s Rtili retain
Their fragrance thnngh they die,
And joys first dreams will haunt the mind
With the shades ’mid Which they sprung
And Summer, loaves the stems behind
On which Spring’s blossoms hung.”
“t wbl not strive to alter your decision, though
it costs me many a pang” said George in a voice
which he forced to be calm. “We will still be
friends—forget this scene.”
Tie walked rapidly away, and Vjo'et manner
ed, “good, r.oble, soul, why eon not I love him!—
Oh! Arthur Vernon!” *
A stranger unotaerved had witnessed <he whole
scene. Tn a moment he knelt at feet, Strange
things do happen sometimes. “You called for
Arthur Vernon lady, he is here.”
We will not attempt to describe the explanation,
or the happiness which followed.
Arthur Vernon was thinner and more delicate,
yet his cheek was flushed if not with rosy hne of
health.
We repeat their concluding words.
*-Do 4on then consent to yred a consumptive,
Vio’el? Although I have hope that in this geni*
al cHm? will he eventually restored. Is it
right for you to bind yonr young heart to one
whoso life is so uncertain that a brea-h, a zephyr:
may deprive me of it f’
*ln life Os death lam thine.” Vet the f-tir gtfl
shuddered At her own words. “I)o not apeak of
death now Arthur. I cannot bear to think of it” J
“-To-morrow then, shall witness onr nuptial.”
A faint du4l brightened her cheek. “Yes! to
morrow if yon desire it—l have no will but thine,”
The morrow dawned and Violet was a bride.
George Clyde, her only living kindsman gave her
his blessing, and his face was so composed, and
h : 8 voice so calm, that none, not even Violet
gussed how deeply he felt*
“We will spend iho Summer here” said Violet
to her husband a few days after their marriage,
and the winter too unfefe Jott are better.—
Then when yon are entirely recovered T will,
carry you to mv house—the house of inv birth.
“On bleak New England’s Shore”
and I wll rob you of your easel of which I am
already jealous, and we will be earth’s two hap
piest children,” lie pressed her hand si’ently,
and smile! fondly upon her—how could he darken
the sunshine of her young heart by his own sad,
forebodings ***<*
There was a wild commotion, and bustle in
the fashionable hotel. Beautiful feces were pale
—some with terror, some sympathy and others
were cold and expressionless —'for there are n few
in whoso heart “the milk of human kindness”
has never found it# way. The giddy dance had
been suddenly suspended—the gay conversation
hushed ; fer Violet the dark eyed, happy bride
of a moment, had rushed in the parlor with hair
dishevelled, and face bloodless, and white m the
snowy dress she wore screaming : “ttun doctor
for your life—the hemorrhage again—the hem*
orrhage.” And half maddened she followed him,
“I am hear dear Arthur”
Unable to speak be smiled and placed bis Thin
emaciated hand on her shoulder.
An hour passed, the good doctor afoae from hw
seat, and walked to the couch. What a rceno
met his. view— the arms of the young bride en
folded a corpse 1 Horror-stricken he raised her
gently, and said “she sleeps.” Yes! she slept. God
in mercy had sent her the “dreamless” sleep that
she might never awaken to a sense of her misery.
The impulsive, ill-fated, and beautiful dreamer was
st rest~)j*r dwkm bf Ijfe was over 1
MISCELLANEOUS. _
Home, Sweet Home.
Though the trite old song, “Home, Sweet
Home,” has been sung within the home circle of
almost every household, yet how few persons of
all who have heard its sweet strain*, know who
was the author of those beautiful words
“MW pleasures ainl palaces, though we may roam,
Be it vver so humble thcix-’s no place like home.”
It, perhaps, has never occurred to the mind of
any one unacquainted with the circumstance, that
the writer of u song w hich has found an echo in
so many hearts, could be other than one who had
experienced all the pleasures of a happy home;
but sad as is the reflection, it is nevertheless true,
that John Howard Payne, the author of “Home,
Sweet Home,” though he has contributed to the
happiness of many homes, never had a home of kU
own.
We clip the article below, suggesting that a
monument be erected to tbe memory of Pavt.e,
from the Boston Olive Branch, and give it a place
in our columns, believing that it v ill find a re
sponse in the hearts of our readers:
The, Author of ‘'Home, Sweet limns.''— As 1
sit in my garret here in Washington, watching
the course of great men, and the destiny of
party, 1 meet often with strange contradictions in
ihis eventful life. The most remarkable was that
of Johq Howard Payne, author of “Sweet Home.”
I knew him personally. He occupied the rooms
under me for some time, and his conversation
was so captivating that t often spent whole days
in his apartments. He was an applicant for office
at the time consul at Tunis—from which he had
been removed. What a sad thing it tvas to see
the poet subjected to all the humiliation of office
seeking? Os aft evening We would walk along
the si feet, Ohce in avdiile we could see some
family circle so happy, and forming so beautiful a,
group, that we would stop, and then pftss silent
ly on.
On such occasions ho would give a history of
hia wanderings, his trials, and all his cares ir.ci
dentto his sensitive nature ml poverty. “How
often,’’said he once, “have I been in the heart of
Paris, Berlin, London, or some Other city, and
heard persons singing, or the had-organ playing
“Sweet Home,'’ without n shilling to buy the next
meal, or a place to lay my head. The world
literally sung my song, until every heart is famil
iar with its melody. Yet I have been a wander
er from my boyhood. My country has turned me
ruthless from office; and in old age I have to sub
mit to humiliation for bread. I lius he would
complain of his hapless lot. Ilis only wish was
to die in n foreign land, to be buried bv strangers,
and sleep in obscurity.
I met him one day looking unusually sad.—-
“Have you got your consulate ?” said f.
“Yes, and leave in n week for Tunis; 1 shall
never return.”
The last expression was not a political faith.—
Far from it. Poor Payne! his wish was realized;
he died at Tunis Whether his remains have
been brought to this country, t know not. They
should be; and if none others would do it, let the
homeless throughout the world give a penny for
a monument to Payne. I knew him and will give
my penny for n inscription like the following :
11EUB LIRE
J. HOWARD PAYNE.
The Author of u Sioeet Home,”
A wanderer in life; he whose songs were sung
inevery tongue, and found an echo
in every heart,
NEVER HAT) A HOME.
DIED
In a Foreign Land.
-
From the Joorn*'.
Insanity.
The following extract is tsken from the Report;
of Dr. Kirkbride, of the Pent eylvanfa Hospital for
the Insane, for the year 1850. Dr. Kirkbride has:
had charge of this* Institution for sixteen years
since its commencement —Ims bad under his eftrej
nearly three thousand cases of Insanity—is regard
ed m the first authority in this continent on this
subject, and as high as any in the world.
Os thirty-five ascertained causes for the insanity
of those who have been inmates of this institution. ?
“illness of various kinds,” ranks firs*: next in thii
catalogue stands intemperance. Here is tbe ex
tract ; what a tale it tells:
“The next most prominent cause is intemper
ance —182 cases being clearly attributable to this
vice—the parent of so many others ; and Urge as
the number is, it is but a small portion of wbat is
due indirectly ito the same source. The ruined
health of many of its victims, the entire loss of
property, tbe blasted hopes of whole” families, the
domestic difficulties, so generally following to its
train, the ill treatment of wives and children—these,
and thousands of other sources of mental anxiety,
are often among the sad results of the vicious hab
it, so prevalent in this country, and the spread ors
which all the efforts of philanthropists have thus,
far, only to a small extent been able to repress,
and, to this grand original cause, they might, with
entire justice, he ascribed.”
Thus does science join in its voice to all else that
is true in eoitdemdAtioii (sod what a terrible con
demnation it is) of this terrible vice “so prevalent
in this country,” and which has nothing to excuse
it even, trot debased appetite.
TEMPERANCE.
Fathei’ Mathew's Monument. —A Cork paper
says “A letter has beeu received from Hogan,
tbe sculptor, in reply to a communication request
ing hhn to suggest a Mutable design for a testi
monial to Father Mathew, and also to state the
cost at which it couid be carried out. The design
which Ilogan forwards i for a bronze staue —mar-
ble being too perishable for our climate —size two
feet over life, to be placed on a suitable pedestal.
The height of the entire will be about twelve feet.
Although one-third over, life-size, it will appear to
the eye merely of the natural proportions, from
being supervised on a pedestal. The cost of (be
testimonial is stated to be one thousand two hun
dred pounds sterling.”
C TERMS:
1 $1 In advance ft, $H at the end St tlie ye*f<
\ ‘-Qfi W ‘
J JOHN H. SISALS
V PROPKIKTOU.
VOL. XXHI.-liUMBER 22.
Every Jackass Wants an o£lca.
A number of politicians, all of whom were seek
ing offii'e under government, were scattered on the
porch talking, when nn old toper came up asd
was solicited to toll tliem a story, and be told them
the following:
A certain king—don’t recollect his name—bad
a p 1 i!ow*pher npbn whose judgment he
Now it so happened lhat one day the king to t;
it into his head to go hunting, and after summon
ing his nobles and making ail necessary prepara
tions, he summoned his philosopher and ashe ! if
it would rain. The philosopher told Mm it would
not, and he and his nobles departed. While
journeying along they met a cootryman mounted
on a jackass; he advised them to teturn, “for,”
said he, “it will <tertainly rain.” They smiled con
temtuously upon him, and passed on. Before
they had gone many miles, however, they had
a reason to regret not ha;in i taken tbe rustb.V
advice, as, a heavy shower coming op, they were
drinched to the skin.
i When they had returned to ‘the palace, the
King reprimanded tbe philosopher severely for
telling him it would be clear when it was not.—
“l met a countryman,” ft .id he, “and he knows a
great deal more than you do, for be told me it
—-woald ram, whereas you uld me it would not
rain.”
The King then gave the philosopher his walk
ing papers, and seut for the ecfintryman, who
made his appearance. “Tell me,” .said the King,
how you knew it would rain. “I did’nt know,”
said the rustic, “my jackass told.” “And how,
pray, did he tell you ?” said tbe King, in asi crush
mehr. ‘By pricking up his ears, your majesty. 1 -
Flie King now sent the couutiyinßo away ; and
procuring the jackasr, he placed him in the office
the philosopher had tilled. “Add observed
D ■——, looking wise, ‘here is where the King
made his mistake.” “How so ?” inquired tbe
auditors- “Why ever since that time,” said
i) -— —r- with a grin on his phiz, “every jackass
wants an office.”
Disclosures of a Liquor Dealer.
Mr. Delevan, President of N. Y. State Temper
ance Society, in his recent address in the capital
at Albany, dwelt mainly on the new prevalent
adulteration of liquors.
“Within a few weeks,” he said, “it has come to
my knowledge, that a person whose conscience
revolted at his employment, in a large liquor ea
tablishmcnt, has left it for a more innocent and
credit at le business, lie stated that it only took
ten (some say four,) gallons of pure whisky to
make a barrel of the wbmky of commerce. To
these Are added fain water, cam phene, arsenic, the
latter to restore the bead destroyed by water. lie
stated also, that brandy made to imitate the real
French brandy, aiid of materials of most poison
ous character, was sold at #4,00 a gallon, costing
only 22 cents. That alt kinds of Wines were imi
tated so closely, that the best judges could not
discriminate; costing but a trifle, and sold at
prices to suit customers. Tbe higher standing of
a customer, and the more particular as to his wines,
the higher the price to satisfy him as to quality.*—
The mo t celebrated brands were made use of, and
the names of the mod celebrated European deal
ers given as the source ot supply ; and European
dealers, ta it known, are not much behind, but
not much advantage of the American trader in their
adulteration*”
lie quotes an advertisement from a chemist in
New York, Who is now, “prepared to furnish fla
voring of every kiwi ofliquvrf and tbe best Cog
nac brandy, ect., eei., ? s produced.
What Art Can Do.
Leger, the well known hair dresser, of the Opera
at Paris, died recently. He was so modest a mac,
■*hys Jievne dn Treaires, that it not unfrequenfcly
-poke of the sublime inspirations which be had io
his art. One evening he was called io to dress the
hair of a very beautiful woman, then tench ad
mired in Paris. He found a quantity of flowers,
ribbons, and wreaths on the table to choose from,
and, by chance, near them a pair of silk stocking*,
which that lady was to wear. Lager cast a glance
of contempt at the ordinary articles prepared* for
him, and, seizing on the stockings, declared that
he would drees her hnjr with them. The lady,
who had full eoofidenoa in his taste, made no ob
jection, and the same night she appeared with an
incomprehensible chej-d spuvre ori her .head,,pro
ducing an admirable effect. The next morning
thelHdy received several applications from persons
whom she knew, requesting to know where (hqy
coaid obtain a head-dress of similar btauly, and
inquiring whether it could not be lent for an hour.
The lady rephed lhat the principal material was
a web of the Tarantula spider, which never lasted
but one night, and that consequently lefiding was
out of the question. Strange to say, not one of
them was ever Able to find tbe material mentioned
by the lady.
y“~ ‘
Robber’s Cave—Great Wealth Pound.
A discovery of great weabb has been—
made in the interior of Kentucky, on the lino of
tlie Louisville and Nashville Rail Road Mp a poor
family who formerly lived *in this city. The dis
covery was made by a young man while plowing
the held about six months since. As he was plow
ing leisurely along, the earth suddenly capitated
into an immense cavero. Much injured by the
fall, the young man in casting about for means
where with to get out, discovered numbers of iron
safes and strong, boxes, which upntV myestigatiou,
were found to contain gold and silver com, jewel
ry and otfw*r valuables to a fabulous amount.—
The plantation upon which all this, treasure was
found doe* noj lreiong to the fortunate discovered
who only h*** 1 the properly,.-and from motives of
security who Have kept the secret of their good
fortune to themselyts. An emihentlegal gentle-’
man of thiK city is about interesting himself to se
cure the for oriftte family ip ownership of these
great treason s, the iea.uk of whose labors in con
nection with other particulars in relation to this
strange discovery of this long huldeu wealth, we
will givs iu t few Paper.