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imu it sun wt ins n ninnm, m tmi uiti: it iifflf if mid -'-J- - X- 1 ..- -- - --- ■ ——■ll” 1111 II .1 ——■————, f “■ 1 *”'**’ -- —■ • y ■-■■■ —r-r-vr- r-:-.. 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.