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> v and,his sons are the pests—the very outlaws of the neighborhood. I never struck J uba a blow in my life, por did an overseer ever strike him; and I shall not allow those cruel, cow ardly, low-bred dogs to do so, without goo<J and sufficient cause. I must' set -out the plantation this very motn ing.” “I wish to go with you father,” said Frank, “so let me know at what hour you will start. I should like to catch Jake or Joe Ramsey striking Juba. I intend to carry a whip, keen enough at one end to cut through a coat, and heavy enough at the other end to knock •either of them down.” “I shall start, about half past ten” answered his father; and turning to Howard he added, “I want two horses at the door at that hour—one for you and one for myself.” “And another for me,” said Frank. “Yes sir,” replied Howard. “Rut Juba is too smart to run into danger, sir. And Mr. Jones told me he intend ed to keep him at home, till you see Mr. Ramsey. He says Mr. Ramsey had as soon venture into a lion’s den, as to come on your plantation to whip a negro, without your consent. “Very likely,” was the answer, “but still, I had as well see to it now as any time.” “Go, father, by all means,"said Helen. “You would never forgive yourself if you staid away and gave those cruel wretches an opportunity’ to abuse your faithful old slave. I am afraid they will do so before you get there.” “Never fear, daughter. I taught them a lesson last year they hav’nt quite forgotten yet. If they were to catch Juba where there were no wit nesses, they might flog him; but he is too sharp to allow them to do that.” "‘And now' let us dismiss this un pleasant subject. It is an hour and a half to the time of starting, and I have ample time to read this letter, and talk to you about the visitors wc are look ing for.” Let Mr. Bentley read his letter, while we hearw'hat the rest of the fam ily have to say about their expected visitors. “Helen” said Mrs. Bently, “what young lady is that you are looking for, from Georgia?” “Miss Kate Morgan,” answered Hel en. “I formed her acquaintance in the most rommtic manuer, imaginable. We w'ere both wandering about Tal lulah, sketch book in hand, when we met, liked each other’s appearance, and sitting down on a rough seat, we com menced a conversation, which led to an intimate acquaintance. That was when you all left me for a short time under the charge of uncle Alexander. I found she was with her cousins, Miss Morton and Mr. Morton. I invited them all to visit us, you having already invited the Mortons.” “Is that the lovely, fascinating girl I saw with you?” asked Frank, “when I came by your summer retreat and stopped a day ? By George! lam glad of it. Are you sure she is coming here/ You know I had no time to cul tivate her acquaintance then ; but I’ll make up for it now.” “Why Frank” said his mother, “are you smitten, and with a pretty face you only saw about six hours, in the woods about Tallulah?” “Not exactly mother,” was the re ply. “But I wouldn’t ask for a longer time than that to fall in love, if I were so inclined.” “No” said Helen, “nor half so long.” “Well,” said Frank, “I can’t see any harm in the expression of a wish to cultivate the acquaintance of a being so lovely and interesting as ” “Hallo! master Frank,” exclaimed Mr. Bentley, just finishing his letter. “What’s all that you are talking about? ‘Being!’—‘lovely!’—and ‘interesting!’ jLThe case is far gone. Whenever a youth calls a girl a “being,” his situa tion is desperate. Your boy is in love, Mrs. Bentley.” “I don’t doubt it,” said Mrs. Bent ley- •“ Yes, bud is in love,” said Henry. “I saw a daguerreotype lying on his table ’tother day, and I saw him take -a -perfumed letter f out of the bag not y&aL “ What 'business had you in my room, young gentleman?” asked Frank. “Didn’t you ask me to bring you that book of poetry, sir? And didn’t 1 see where you, had been marking •some lines about “love,” and “bright (‘ye s” and “ruby lips?” “I yield, I yie'M,” exclaimed Frank in the midst ol' a general laugh. “It’s folly to contend against such odds.— You say Miss Morton and Billy Pitt Morten are coming too?” ‘fYessaid Mrs. Bentley, and “Mrs. Holmes will join the party also.” “And I f ” said Mr. Bentley, “got a letter from Charley Hampton, who says honor Bentwold with his presenoe, sometime before long. We murflook for Charley when we see lilmr And ah! Helen, I am looking for a gay young midshipman, Jack Harper, aspou of one of my old friends. He is an igomplished youth, I war rant. ,yqjip'o he is a sailor. He sings like a Martingale , and sketches very well. You must show yourself an ac complished lady, to fix the affections of’ such as he.” “Indeed?” j, “Indeed.—And let me see—ah ! lam also looking for Col. Banks and N|_;Bs Laura Banks, from. Louisiana. — There is a chance for you Mr. Frank. Miss Laura’s father can give her a su gar plantation and all the appurte nances. Besides, although she has uot the dark hair and romantic eyes of your Tallulah dulcinea, she is gay and merry, aye, and as fascinating a young—“being” as you can wish to meet. You must look out though, she has some reputation as a flirt. And so has Mrs. Holmes, as you know your self. I tell you of these things seri ously: I mean I am serious in warning vou against flirts. But you surely have learned something of the world in this time.” “A little, I hope,” answered Frank. “Are you expecting any one else?” “Why n-n-o —not exactly, that is I am by no means certain. I saw an Englishman at Hamilton’s house, in Savannah, last winter, and as he seem ed to oe a clever, liberal, sensible sort of fellow, desirous of obtaining infor mation, I invited him to spend a week with us. He thought he would do so, but was not sure.” “I am looking for Mrs. Holmes the latter part of next week” said Mrs. Bentley. “When does you friend come Helen.” “She expects to join Mrs. Holmes and Mr. and Miss Morton. And, brother, Mr. Morton will forestall you. ” “Ah well,” said Frank, “I’ll risk every thing Billy can do.” “Our visitors will begin to arrive then, the latter part of next week,” said Mr. Bentley, rising and leaving the table. He added, “Frank we will start at exactly half past ten. How ard tell Hannah to put us up a lunch.” “Don’t do anything rash when you meet those men, Mr. Bentley,” said Mrs. Bentley. “You know they are prepared for anything.” “As to that,” replied Mr. Bentley, “they shall not be better prepared than I will be myself—and it is a long time since I committed a rash act.” “Frank you know your failing,” re sulted Mrs. Bentley. “You are young, and, I am afraid, naturally more reck less than your father.” “Oh I’ll be as cautious and prudent as a Quaker, mother,” said Frank gaily, as he left the room. Helen said nothing till Frank and her father were both gone. She then turned to her mother and in an earn est voice said, “Mother, you know more about this business than I do. Are Frank and father going into danger?” “I have no idea, Helen, that there is any danger in those men, so long as Mr. Bentley can meet them on open ground and on equal terms; but I greatly fear that they may waylay him, or meet him in numbers sufficient to overpower him, sometime when he is alone. And I believe they are the very men to become assassins.” “Oh then,” said Helen, “let us per suade father and Frank not to inter fere with them. Why can they not keep Juba at home, since they sa} 7 there is no danger of his being mistreated so long as he does not go abroad?” “We can’t persuade them, Helen. They would consider themselves dis graced, by yielding even so much to those low creatures. And, woman as I am, I can’t bear to have my hus band or son to suffer such a loss of self respect, as to allow those men to sup pose they had obtained even a partial triumph over them.” “Well,” said Helen, “if the truth must be confessed I believe I should lose a portion of my happiness, if father or brother should do anything which would look like yielding to such adversaries.” Half past ten arrived, and the horses appeared at the door. Mrs. Bentley, Helen and Henry were assembled to see the travellers off. Helen and her mother loo&ed pale and anxious, for they knew not to .what danger their loved ones would be exposed. “When shall we look for you at home, Mr. Bentley ?” asked Mrs. Bent ley. “The day after to-morrow, to dinner. The distance is only thirty miles. Wc will get to the plantation to-night, transact our business to-morrow, and start home by the break’of day, next morning.” “Recollect father,” said Helen, “that we shall be uneasy about you till you get back safe.” “Oh there’s no danger, sis,” said Frank. “Let me persuade you and mother both to lay aside your fears; for I see by mother’s countenance she is as tearful as you are. I know the Ramseys well; and although they are great bullies, they know us too well to attempt to harm us.” “I know they are not brave men, Frank,” answered his mother, “but they are assassins, in spirit, and ready to become so in act.” “I am perfectly aware, of that,” said Mr. Bentley, “and we will be on our guard.” “Henry,” he added turning to that youth and speaking gaily, “recollect you are the head of the family while we arc gone. You are the commander of the garrison; so demean yourself like a true hero.” “I had rather go with you father,” answered the boy. “What!” said his father laughing, “that is out of the question young gen tleman. Good bye, all of you,” he added as he swung himself into the saddle, while Frank made his adieus and followed his example. They struck a smart canter and were scon out of sight. They rode along at a pace which would have soon tired down any but fine-blooded animals, such as those on which they were mounted. There was but little conversation, for they rode too fast, for that, and were not in the humor for it, any way. At half past one o’clock, they halted at one of those large deep springs, which abound in the well watered portions of Flor* ida. A pleasant grove of natural growth stood around it, and never was a place seen where travellers could partake of a lunch more com fortably, than here. The thick foli age of the trees overhead completely screened them from the sun—the rocks, covered with their saddle blankets, afforded them comfortable seats, while the delicious, cool water of the spring, was a luxury to be prized most highly of all, in that warm cli mate. Immediately on dismounting, How ard took the heavy saddles off the horses, and allowed them to drink sparingly of the cool water of the spring; after which, he drew a curry comb and horse brush from his ample saddle-bags, and set to work to curry and rub them down. He then, they being sufficiently cool, again led them to the stream, just where it ran from the spring, and let them drink their fill. In the meantime, Mr. Bentley and Frank opened the folds of the napkin which enveloped their dinners, and proceeded to make a comfortable meal on broiled chicken, nice boiled ham, See. After dining, they gave Howard the wherewithal to satisfy his keen appetite, and Mr. Bentley drew forth a silver flask filled with pure French Cognac, of which he and Frank took just one table-spoon full each, and, cigars being produced, they fed back, their saddles answering for pillars, and made themselves comfortable, till their horses should be entirely rested and fresh. This was the case at the end of an hour and they resumed their ride.— Their route ran through vast tracts of uncleared land. Occasionally they passed the rude cabin of a squatter, having a small clearing attached, for the raising of a few pototoes and veg etables, with a little corn. At very wide intervals—from ten to twelve miles—they passed the extensive plan tation of some wealthy owner of the soil, and of course, at such places, there were broad open fields. On some one or two of these plantations, were aristocratic mansions, in which resided the owners of the soil. Gen erally, however, there were only large and comfortable negro-houses, farm buildings, and acommodious overseer’s house. While Frank and his father are pur suing their journey, let us learn some thing of the Ramseys. Old John Ram sey, and his two dissolute sons, came to the county about two years before the opening of our narrative. They brought with them a good many ne groes, and enough money, to purchase a large quantity of land, on which they located. They immediately had erected, a large, rambling house—or at least the frame of a large house which was weather-boarded and covered, and a few rooms finished, when the owner suddenly dismissed his workmen, leav ing his house, not half finished, and entirely unpainted. As soon as he was pretty well estab lished, he hired a crack overseer, put his negroes principally under his charge, and he and his sons, com menced a course of reckless dissipa tion, assisted by all the scum they could induce to join them, which soon made them notorious, and avoided by all the decent people in the neighbor hood. At first, they were admitted into all the sports of those fond of amusement horse-racing, chicken fighting, &c. It was soon discovered, however, that they were unscrupulous swindlers, with whom it was unsafe to have any dealings. They were all three sligbt-of-hand men, and could make a Jack come up whenever they pleased. They had rich pickings when they first came. The neighborhood in which they had settled, though thinly inhabited, was a sociable, hos pitable one; and wherever they went, or whenever they had visitors, a little poker or something equally amusing was proposed, and many a one bled, be fore they began to suspect their new neighbors of being light fingered. As has already been stated, though, they were found out, and soon had none to share with them their course of amusement, as they termed it, but the very worst people in the neigh borhood. The better sort began to in quire something about their antece dents, and it became whispered abroad, that their real name was not Ramsey, and that they had fled from justice, which threatened them in Virginia, for the commission of forgery, and al so for being accessory to a murder. How this rumor originated, no one could say, and consequently, no one could vouch for its truth. Still, its mere existence, added to their reckless disregard of public opinion, and theii undisguised villainy, rendered them more odious than ever. They were not only known to be swindlers, but they were overbearing and bullying in theii’ disposition, and had induced many people to believe they were recklessly brave. For this reason, they were the objects of fear with a good many, although others saw through their pretensions. Tney were cruel in the extreme to those whom they could induce to believe in their courage. There was always a crowd of low company at Ramsey’s and they committed all sorts of extrav agances. Mr. Bentley, in his visits to his plantation, had always held himself entirely aloof from the Ramseys and their associates. About a year before the time we now speak of, he happen ed to be at his plantation one night when Jake and Joe Ramsey, and two or three others of like kind, got into a drunken frolic, and started out patrol ing. They had no commission, but went merely for the fun of the thing.— Among other plantations, they went to Blue Spring Place. They did not know that Mr. Bentley was there, or they would not have gone ; for, al though the Ramseys knew but little of him, having never exchanged a word with him in their lives, their compan ions were far too well acquainted with him to venture on his plantation in a drunken spree, while he was present. They rode up to the negro houses, shouting and cursing, and, dismounting, went into oue of the cabins. Here they found no negro, except those be longing to the place, and proceeded to bully them, swearing and yelling in such a manner as to reach Mr. Bent ley’s ears. The latter, who was giving an audi ence to Juba, at the time, asked him if he could tell what noise that was.— Listening a moment, Juba answer ed : “It is nobody butdem drunken Ram seys. Dey are always gwine about af ter poor niggers.” “What sir !” said Juba’s master, “are they in the habit of coming on my plantation and disturbing it in this way? Why hav'nt you told me of this before?” “Dcy neber come here before. Dey go to ’tother plantations but been ’/raid to come here ’fore now—fools for doin it now, too,” Juba added, sotto voce , as he saw Mr. Bentley rise and seize a double barrel gun standing in a corner. In addition to the gun, he took up a heavy club and started for the ne gro houses. He ran, directed by the noise, to a door, and reached it, just as Jake Ramsey had seized an old negro by the hair, and was flourishing an immense whip over his head, with the most fearful imprecations. Without waiting to see whether or not he would strike the negro, Mr. Bentley rushed in, and with one .heavy blow laid the ruffian senseless and bleeding on the floor. So sudden was the act, that the first intimation the drunken crew had of Mr. Bentley’s presence, was the heavy fall of their comrade. When they recovered from their astonishment, Joe Ramsey, supposing that his companions would support him, shouted to them to knock the man down, rushed upon him, with a drawn knife. Mr. Bentley cooly pre sented his gun, and cocking it, told them to do their worst. Joe, seeing his friends did not stir, also came to a halt, when his adversary suddenly turning the butt of his gun, sent it with the force of a battering ram, full in his face, felling him to the floor, and bruising his features terribly. He then disarmed him, took his own whip and administered a severe castigation; finishing his work, just as Jake reviv ed and raised himself on his elbow. Threatening to shoot whichever one of them ever ventured on his planta tion again, Mr. Bentley drove them out of the house, and off the premises. This was the lesson Mr. Bentley spoke of, as having given the Ramseys. We will describe the appearance of the house of old Ramsey, as it present ed itself to our travellers on the after noon of their ride to the plantation.— It stood about one hundred yards from the road side, and about three miles from Blue Spring Place. The paling around the yard was broken in several places, and cows and hogs were con tinually intruding. The yard was completely grown up in weeds. This also was the case with a garden, laid out oil the left of the house. Numer ous panes of glas3 were broken out of the windows, and many of the blinds were hanging by one hinge. The door steps were nearly broken down, and the whole establishment wore an air of extreme unthriftiness and neg lect. On that particular afternoon, there was a pine table set out in the broad front piazza, round which sat old John Ramsey, his two sons, and three oth ers of like appearance and character. Several bottles, and a half dozen glas ses stood on the table, and it was evi dent, from the noise made by the par ty, that they had been drinking deep ly. A game of cards was going on, and the most profane imprecations were indulged in by each one who fancied luck to be against him. Old John Itamsey himself, saw our travellers, before the}' got opposite the house. The sight seemed to madden him, and throwing down the cards, he exclaimed, “Boys, yonder comes the damned rascal who has been in your way and my way so long. I’ve got just enough of hell in me now to do anything; and if you are not up to the mark, each of you take a tumbler of brandy, and, by God, that will set you right. Men, he added, turning to bis visitors, while his sons were swallowing the brandy, “do you intend to stand by us, or are you such damned cowards as to be afraid of this damned aristocrat and his whelps ?” “Why we «int afraid,” replied one of the men, “but we’d rather not have any fuss." “You are liars! you cowards!” shouted the infuriated Ramsey. “And so are Jake and Joe, the cursed fools! They let that chap beat them both, and two of their friends stood by and saw it. If you don’t revenge your selves now,” he said, scowling furious ly upon his sons as he spoke, “if you dont revenge yourselves now, you whelps, I’ll turn you out of doors.” “Oh by God,” answered Jake, “you needn’t ride such a high horse ; for we can turn state’s evidence if you fall out with us.” At this the old man turned pale, on seeing which Joe put in with, “But we needn’t fall out. We are just as ready to have revenge as you can be. But you’d better not threat en us, for I’ll be damned if yon dont get a lofty fall, whenever you attempt to turn us out.” “Ai‘C you going to help us or not ?” again asked the old man of his guests. “No we arc not,” answered one of the three, a small, hard, wiry-looking man, much the soberest of the party. “No we are not; and you’d better take my advice, and not molest these men. For even if you kill them, we have heard you say enough to convict you of murder. “Go to hell! you croaking son of a b h,’’ was the thundering an swer. “If you ever turn informer against me, I’ll cut your damned in fernal throat and send you to hell where you belong !” Seeing the turn matters were taking, Jake Ramsey, who seemed to have some little reason about him, interpos ed and said, winking at the same time to his father, “We dont want to kill Bentley, we only want to give him a good flog ging, for the knock down he gave us when he had the advantage of us.” “Well,” answered the guest who spoke before, “do as you please ; but mark me ; if you don’t kill Mr. Bent ley and Frank mighty quick, you’ll come off second best, if you are three to two.” “Yes,” said another of the three. — “I know them well, and they are game to the back-bone.” “Damn you, clear out of my house,” broke in the old man. ou are no friends of mine ! You may look on me as an enemy, from this time, you miserable, damned cowards ! ” Whereupon, the guests quickly with drew, just as Mr. Bentley and Frank were corning opposite the house. The latter were riding slowly by, when they were hailed by the owner of the house, with, “Hallo, sir, I want a word with you.” Our travellers halted, and the three drunken wretches went out to the road. Mr. Bentley’s surprise at their being so anxious to »e j him was very great, as he imagined they would rather avoid him; and he himself would have to seek an interview. lie and Frank sat per fectly unmoved on their horses, and when the Ramseys came up to them, despite the brandy they had drank ? they were completely unnerved by the stern, unmoved, and haughty glance which they encountered. The two parties regarded each other for some time in silence, and the party on foot at length seemed to be considering how they could best beat a retreat, when Mr. Bentley asked, in a sharp tone, “What will you have, sir ?” Upon this, Ramsey mustered suf ficient courage to answer, in as big a voice as he could command, v “Why we understood you.was com ing down to whip us and we thought, by God, we’d give you the chance now.” “You lie! you damned hound!” “Come that won’t do,” said Jake Ramsey, “you musn’teall the old man a lie, or we’ll give you a taste of what you gave us that night at your planta tion, when you knew you had the ad vantage over us with your double bar .” “ Hold you tongue! you insolent scoundrel!” shouted Frank, drawing a pistol half way out of the holsters with which lie was provided. “Don’t be in a hurry to use those persuasions Frank,” said his father, smiling, even at that moment. “Time enough for that yet.” And turning again to Ramsey he began, in the calmest tones, “I had heard that you had threaten ed to flog one of my slaves for, what I consider, doing his duty. I am on my way to enquire of my overseer, the truth of the matter, and after that, I intended seeking an interview with j you.” “But by God sir ! you didn’t have to seek one,” answered Ramsey, now recovering something of his usual bul lying tone. “I’m here ready to give you any satisfaction you want. I did say I would whip old Juba, and I will do it, in spite of his master, and be damned to him.” “Look you sir;” said Mr. Bentley. “If I were not now intent on investi gating this case of the negro, my an swear to your language would be a cut in your face with my riding-whip. As it is, I must wait till I am through with this investigation. Why do you wish to whip Juba?” “Because he almost killed my steers.” “Were not your steers in my cot ton field ?” “Yes. But what neighbor would let his negroes beat steers for doing what any of them will do when they get a chance?” “You, sir, for one. Did not Juba carry your steers home once, and tell you of their mischievous propensities, before he abused them?” “It makes no difference sir,” roar ed the other. “I’ll flog him like he did the steers. If I don’t, I hope God may damn me, to all eternity!” By this time he seemed to have lost all fear or prudence, and shouted out again, “You are armed are you? Well, so are we. Lets pay him off boys. ’ “And with these words lie drew a revolver and presented it at Mr. Bent ley. His sons, rather slowly, tollow ed his example, for they retained a lively recollection of their former en gagement. Before the old man had entirely drawn his pistol, Mr. Bentley had one out of his holster and present ing it, was just pressing the trigger when he heard a report, and saw the old man’s right arm, drop, and short ly after, he sunk slowly to the earth. The shot was fired by Frank, who had been watching every movement of Ramsey’s, and was ready with his pistol, before either of the others. He had been able to take a good aim, and hit him, where he chose, while his father, although quicker than his an tagonist, would have been forced to fire quickly, and merely at the body of his foe. As soon as Joe and Jake Ramsey saw their father fall, they fired away at random; upon which Mr. Bentley and Frank leaped from their horses, and rushed upon them, pistol in hand. At the first rush, they turned and fled, the body of their father on the ground. [to be continued.] FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS. Thoughts Worthy the reflection of those ‘who are about to enter on the staye of life, and ivho have not yet made a fatal leap!' Man was born a social being, and be must do violence to his nature, before he can shake off those tics that bind him to his kind. But universal phi lanthropy, lovely as it is, must be founded on partial and particular at tachments, to operate with efficient force. The heart that is not warmed by individual love and select friend ships, is incapable of expanding to very great and exalted sentiments. It may feign, but it cannot feel, the gen erous glow of affection, the ardour of patriotism, or the throb of benevo lence. Private attachments being then the foundation of happiness or misery the criterion of worth, and the source of all that is valuable or dreadful in life, can too much care be employed in forming them, in extracting their sweets, and avoiding their pains? Few are the pleasures that* we can sincerely and honorably enjoy, without the par ticipation of others; but, on the other hand, solitary misery is not worth a thought compared to that which the mind feels, when it is unfortunate through the want of love or duty in those in whom it has reposed its con fidence ; or when its distresses involve the objects of its fondest regard, A man may bear tho sting of ingratitude or the infliction of wrongs, from such as he never loved; he may wrap him self up in self-consciousness of recti tude, and dispise the opinion he never courted; but if the friend on whom he lias relied is treacherous; if the bosom on which he has leaned is false or regardless of his peace, humanity can meet with no severer trial; and such poignant wo can scarcely admit of alleviation. To be cautions in foi ming connexions is only common prudence, to be firm in maintaining them, w hen once formed, is a duty in whicn you cannot be defiicicnt without suffering as much as you inflict. Sud den attachments are always indiscreet, and often fatal. Try those in whom you wish to repose trust, with the nicest regard to their real and not to their specious qualities. Found every affection of the mind on principle. — Let not beauty pass for merit, the affec ted smile of complacency for good humour, nor levity for wit. Never give way to injurious opinions against any one, without the fullest conviction that they are deserved ; but above all,, take care never to form too partial an opinion until you have had an oppor tunity of ascertaining its propriety. “Young persons are apt to imagine that the convivial companion, whose professions of regard rise with the ab sence of his reason, is firmly to be re lied on—and that the partaker in folly will be the consoler in distress.” Do-- lusive expectations ! True friendships must be grafted in virtuous pursuits, and cemented by rational endearments. A similarity in vicious taste can form no lasting tie; it cannot bear the test of reflection. Thought will despise, or make you despised, if your union is that of infamy; on the contrary, a congenial disposition for what is laud able, will reciprocally endear. Such a friendship will gain stability from the storm, and the gales of adversity will root it the deeper. Without a friend, indeed, it is impossible to know hap piness ; but how much misery has aris en from the prostitution of this sacred name! There are, however, ties still dearer than friendship; and of more important operation on our lives.— Love, balm of wo, as it is of the first consequence to our enjoyment, so it is frequently the origin of our deepest distress. If it is placed on an unwor thy object, and this discovery mad* too late the heart can never more know peace. Every hour increases the torments of reflection : and hope,, that soothes the severest ills is here turned into despair; for stron'T must that mind be which can reconcile itself to the greatest of all human disap pointments ; or unfeeling it must be to disregard them ! “In the tender con nexions, mind must assimilate to mind, to give a reasonable prospect of felicity; and, after they are irrevocably fixed, the wish to oblige should anticipate the request; views, interest, pursuits— all should be mutual, and spring from a sense of duty, prompted by a prin ciple of love: else tnat state which might be productive of the purest pleasures and the highest satisfaction, would be converted to a bane and a curse.” Here negative happiness can not exist, as far as regards cultivated minds; the brutal or the insensate may repose in the shade of indifference; but in proportion as the soul is formed for enjoyment, it will be awake to all the misery of its fate; and every neg lect of the duty it has a right to ex pect, every perverse word, every ac tion of stubborn contempt, will leave an impression indelible and agonizing. Even the sullen look will dim the eye of love; and the frown sink into the heart of sensibility. In a friend, vir tue is an indispensable qualification; but in love, virtue must be adorned by an amiable disposition and a good tem per, or it can neither deserve nor en dure regard. The qualities that most endear, are frequently the least daz zling; the smile of good humor is more impressive than the force of wit. “Beauty, though we all approve, Cammands our wonder more than love, "While the agreeable strikes sure, Aud gives them wounds wo cannot cure.” Amatok. Eatonton, Aug., 1854. Popping the Question. —“Sally,”' said a green youth, in a venerable white hat and gray pants, through which his legs projected half a foot, perhaps more—“ Sally, before we go into this museum to see the Serenaders, I want to ax you somtUin.” “Well, Ichabod, what is it?” “Why you see this ’ere business is aw me to cost a hull quarter apiece, and I can’t afford to spend so much for nuthin. Now, of you’ll say you’ll hav me, darn’d if I don’t pay the whole ou’t myself. I will I” ‘You had better ask for manners than for money,’ said a finely dressed gentleman to a beggar boy, who asked him for a penny. ‘I asked you tor what I thought you had the most o&’ replied the boy. In a biographical sketoh of a lately deceased Professor, we arc told that he held his chair, for nearly fifty years. This i3 evidently a mistake, far it must be obvious that, instead of the Pro fessor having held his chair for half a centurv, his chair must have held him, - [■Punch,