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Bay "bow looliali I was to lmainiio myself in love with my neighbor’s daughter, a simple Florida girl.” “You are not convinced of the truth of what you arc saying Helen, ion wish to soften the blow as much as pos sible, and I thank you for y.our kind attentions. You little know the strength of the love you reject. But I will an noy you no farther. Tell Frank to call and see me to-inorrow, or write me, his conclusion. Good bye,” And he seized her hand and shook it, while Helen could not repress a tear. It fell upon his hand and thrilled through him. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “could I pre serve that tear, to me it would be a gem, dearer and more valuable than the most costly which deckst o dia dem of earth’s proudest monarch.” was gone, just as Frank was re ijjlpprning, and whistling much more gaily than he had done, since Kate Morgan's departure. “W ell Helen,” lie said in a joyous .tone, “Father says he had as soon I should go now as any time, so next week I am o-p-h.” Seeing that Helen did not answer, but turned away her head, lie looked round into her face and perceived the pearly drops glistening in the moonlight upon her long drooping eye lashes, ex claimed, by Helen, w hat's the matter'?— And where’s Tom too? I’ve just missed him. t\ hat s become of him ?” “He is gone home brother, and says you must either call on him, or let him know soon, what conclusion you have come to.” “Why did he not wait? Ah I see how it is. You have driven him off Helen, and are even now repenting of it. Is it true ?” “Dear brother, I entreat you to drop the subject.” “But I cannot my sister, without knowing something more, Tom is my dearest friend on earth, and I would be perfectly willing to call him broth er-in-Jaw. Have you rejected him Helen ?” “Yes.” “I am sorry,” answered Frank. I always thought you had a kindness for Tom; but you know best, antkl will not press the subject upon vou longer, lam going to leave home for a long journey my sister, and would be glad to know all the secrets of vour heart go, as you already know mine; Ihd you dismiss poor Tom be cause you already loved another T “No brother. I have never met with anyone yet, who interested me more tbanplr. Butler.” “Then there must be hope for him yet,” said Frank. “He is true steel, Helen. But' I Said I would not urge ! you. Let us go into the house.” A few days more, and Frank and Tom did actually Bet out. Tom, gen. erally so gav, wasbflesponding as most young men would be in his situation,' and Frank, who, a few’ short days be fore had been sojfdesponding, now in fine spirits. Thl difference between them was thisJfTom had already de termined on tBS tour, arid the disap pointment Ue liad met with, took away aK the feejjfigs of pleasure and enjoy rnentw itl W which lie had at first cou temWd it: while Frank had receiv ed«fP®ovv first, and then the idea of the tour occurred afterward. lie had not been exactly rejected, but was in a. painful stare of suspense, and the bus tle of preparation for the journey rous ed him fi#n the gloomy state into which he had fallen, and, by keeping him busy, allowfd him no time for the in dulgence thoughts. Employment, stirring energetic em ploymcjflpis the best medicine in the world feelings incident to a re jectionijpFKmatfers little what the employment Rft-anything which is ex citing or intercaLig to the mind—the more ekeiti ng thejetter. I once k new .* young gentlcrMn who was sadly and seriously in Imp—just about the commencement of hunting season. He endured a rejcfmi one night be tween ..twelve and on* o’clock, rode home, nine miles, by twm went to bed, sleptsounrlly until fbmwose and went out with the hounds, aMI after a hard .day’s hunt, returned soraary and jad ed in body that he hnffno, chance to indulge in moil’d angiptb, and as lie was an incorrigable huqfsmau he kept it up during the season, End at the end ,of it was cured sound it had not been for the excitiiuMpport of fox-hunt ing, he immense ly Perfectrareness would have been the dS&tQjMpiiin. man is fond of fox-hunting then, MfThinn wait till the beginning of the Plsason. to pop the question, and have « hunt arranged before hand, so that if fc is rejected, he can plunge at once fitdit, and my word for it .he* .will’soon Jorget his troubles. f Let us leave Tom and Frank to a JLcureor aggravation of their disease, as case may be, and follow our party ftUheir Georgia trip Ajpooth two young men set out tor Europe, one or two of the party, Helen among them, stood on the colonnade of the hotel at Cotoosa.— Somehow, Fitz Warren had met them there and he stood by Helen’s side. — He had sought it on her first arrival? involuntarily and without being aware of any particular motive. As they stood in one end of the a sudden burst of music informed them that the omnibus wits arriving from the railroad, and they looked to see who were the arrivals. Helen was looking tor some friends and as the passengers descended one by one, and she recog nized none of them, she was turning away disappointed, when she was in duced, by a sudden exclamation from Fitz Warren to look again. She saw that Fitz Warren was very pale and he muttered something about “evil ge nius.” She turned to see who caused so much agitation in her companion and beheld, descending from the omnibus, a man of thirty hr thirty-five years of age.. lie was, apparently, a man of the most indisputable pretensions to gentility and position. His dress was ce-rtainly that of a gentleman, and he was what one would call handsome.— Take him all in all, he was calculated to arrest attention, and, generally, to make, a favorable impression. But just as Helen looked, he happened to turn his eyes upward, and his gaze met hers. He started with admiration-—as all did when they beheld her for the first time—and then he turned his cold, grey eye from her to Fitz Warren.— As soon as this was done, his eye as sumed an expression of sinister malig nity such as one would scarcely have believed him capable of. This expres sion was fleeting, and was replaced by one of apparent cordiality, us he bow ed low. His salutation was not return ed by Fitz Warren who gazed on him sternly and fixedly. “That gentleman seems to know you Mr. Fitz Warren,” said Helen. “Yes,” was the reply. “We have been acquainted many years.” “His appearance has excited my cu riosity. Who is he ?” “He is a lawyer and his name is Lor raine.” “Look,” said Helen. “He and fath er are also acquainted, They are shaking hands very cordially.” “He is a man of some distinction,” said Fitz Warren, “and his acquain tance is very extensive. No doubt, as I saw his gaze of admiration just now, he will seek your acquaintance, and as he seems so well acquainted with Mi\ Bentley, lie will present- him, and you will find him fluent and en tertaining.” A short time after, Helen retired from the colonnade, and Fitz Warren paced it with folded arms and abstract ed air. The sight of Lorraine seemed to change entirely the current of his feelings. Before that, he had permit ted himself to appear cheerful, and even gay. lie was a man who seldom entered a ball-room, though lie was a graceful and well-taught dancer. Since his present visit to Catoosa, he had joined the dancers frequently. In some countries they believe in the in fluence of the “evil eye j” and one, in viewing the sudden and thorough change Lorraine’s eye had effected in Fitz Warren, would have been tempt ed to give credence to the superstition. An hour or two had passed from the time the omnibus arrived and the visitors who came in it had had time to get rid of the dust of their jour ney, and come out in full force. The colonnade was crowded with promena ders—gay ladies and gallant and de voted cavaliers. Here strolled along with slow and dignified pace two of the great men of the state. Politics engaged their earnest attention, and they paid but little heed to the light talkers around them. There went some.sparkling, lively, vivacious little creature, of the Laura Banks school, exchanging graceful badinage with that dashing looking youth in brass buttons. Farther on, you behold a tall, dark, haughty looking beauty ac companied by some matured man of the world, like Charley Hampton,— They arc conversing in the grave-set tones of conventionality, and they scorn as they saunter slowly along, as if with them, the passions had no existence. Again there is our beautiful, amiable, fascinating Miss Butler. She appears more beautiful than ever this evening, because her usual joyous manner is tempered by an expression of sadness. Her cheek is rather pale, her long eye lashes drooping, and she appears scarce ly to hear the impassioned and earnest words which a handsome youth is pouring forth, What a nobledooking fellow is her cavalier! And how deep ly lie seems smitten with her charms [ Poor youtli !—hbw it would mortify you to kno w that Emma scarcely hears a word you utter! llow it would over whelm you with despair, were you not and heaving bosom every time you passed that pale, refined-Jooklhg man with the folded arms and tiro knit brow. Any'd nlj this brill tan! company, and all around the immense colonnade. At length he heard some one accost him, and looking up beheld Mr Bentley, arm in arm with Lorraine. As he perceiv ed the latter, a sickening hue passed over his face, and his lips became set and firm, but no other sign of emotion was betrayed by him. “What!” exclaimed Mr. Bentley, “Mr. Fitzwarren indulging in moody revery again ? I thought this gay company, had cured you of that.” “All,” said Fitz Warren “you must permit me to indulge in my old amuse ment occasionally. I have been busi ly and distressingly gay, ever since my advent here, and it is time I should relax a little. You remember HEsop’s fable about the bow.” “Yes,” said Mr. 8., laughing, “but never heard it applied in that way be fore.' It seems that you make the bow, strung, represent the very thing which yEsop makes the bow, unstrung, represent. But let me introduce a friend—Mr. Lorraine.” “I have met Mr. Lorraine before,” was the reply, as a salutation passed between the gentlemen, freezingly dis tant upon Fitz Warren’s side, ostenta tiously cordial arid polite on the part cf Lorraine. “We knew each other a good many years ago, Mr. Fitz Warren,” spoke Lorraine. “I recognized you at first sight, but was not sure you would re collect me, and so I requested our mutual friend, Mr. Bentley, to give me an introduction. Permit me to hope that in consideration of this fact, our acquaintance may'continue this time, and not be broken off as it was Ik fore.” “That depeuds a great deal on your self, sir,” answered the’other. The three gentlemen stood a few moments in conversation, Lorraine ex erting himself to be gracious and cor dial, and to gradually grow familiar with Fitz Warren—the latter being laconic, polite and unbending. “Well,” said Mr. Bentley, finally we will resume'our stroll, Fitz Warren, and leave v t ou to your recreation.” And lie and Lorraine passed on. “I am afraid” said Mr, Bentley,” “vou think you met with rather an ungra cious reception.” “Why no,” answered Lorraine, “I am well acquainted with his ways. I never think it strange that a man should become moody, who has as much reason for it as Fitz Warren has.” “You know the reason of it then.— Is it too much for me to ask you what is the reason ?” “Oh! no,” said Lorraine. “I am perfectly willing to tell you all I know, which is but little. His bad health is almost sufficient to account for it—at least a part of it. The rest is all mystery to nearly every one, though I think I will know all about it one of these days. It is very fool ish, you know, to be repeating mere idle rumors, especially concerning so well-established a man as Fitz Warren ; and for my part I never thought that it ought to follow as a necessary con sequence) because a man is gloomy, that he has committed a crime —as some people do." “Why surely,” said Mr. Bentley,“no one can dare to insinuate any thing, of that sort against Fitz Warren.” “I can hardly say,” answered Lor raine, “J have already told you all I know. Perhaps there is the faintest shadow of a rumor, of the sort you mention.” “It must be a slander.” “I am certain of it,” was the ready reply. “I always discredited it, and took the responsibility to deny it.” “The rumor is not prevalent here ?” “I am unable to say,” answered L. “Because,” resumed Mr. B. “it would chafe Fitz Warren sorely if he were to hear of it.” “The rumor never assumed any dis tinct form,” said Lorraine. “No spe cific charge was ever brought, and it is not worth a thought any way.” “Then,” said Mr. 8., “may I request that you will not mention it to any one else here —as it might make a no ble gentleman very unhappy, and as you say, it is not worth a thought?” “I certainly shall not mention it” said L. “I never spoke as many words concerning it before, to any one,” After a pause he resumed, . ■ “I always admired Fitz Warren’s character and talent very much, in spite of his reserved manner,” That very night, sure enough, as Helen was in the. midst of a gay con versation, her father brought up Lor raine and said, “Miss Bentley, allow me to intro duce Mr. Lorraine.” With an easy and assured manner, Lorraine made his salutation and took his place among the group of beaux by whom Helen was surrounded and waitgei an opportunity of joining in the conversation. This he soon found, and such wets his powers that the rest of the beaux were soon silenc ed, and he had the conversation en tirely,to himself. He crcrted him self to pleas', .and most girls would have boon pleased ; but. there was an edged to herseif that she had hardly ever met with a better informed or more entertaining conversationist. — lie remained with her until the next set was called, and then resigned her to lier partner, after engaging her hand for the set after this. When he had danced with her he procured a seat by her. He had been conversing, during the dance, concer ning amusements and especially waltz ing and fancy dances. He was a man who always felt his way cau tiously, and he wished to find out whether she objected to waltzing.— He had failed to elicit from her any re mark by which he could judge of her sentiments, and concluding she was in the luibit of waltzing, when the band struck up a waltz and the couples com menced their fascinating amusement, lie asked her if she would join them. “No sir,” was the reply. “I never waltz in a public ball-room—least of all with a stranger” So freezing were her words and so haughty their intonation, that it would have abashed or offended any com )non man ; and so unlooked for was the reply, that it abashed, for a mo ment, Lorraine, who was an uncom mon man. He was too much a man of the world to suffer himself to re main so long, however, and as to be coming offended, he never thought of it. He had an object in view, and Ito accomplish it, he had to ingratiate himself with the Bentleys. He re plied, “I honor you for your sentiments Mis; Bentley. If I had a sister, I should wish her to think the same way. At the same time ; I know there are many ladies who do waltz, who are moilest and lady-like as one could wish. Habit—custom, with them, does away with the impropriety of the thing. I did not know but that you were one of these, which must be my apology for making the proposition I did.” “Is it not rather singular,” asked Helen “that gentlemen should waltz with ladies when they say they would dis approve of waltzing in their own sis ters ?” “I confess,'” answered Lorraine, “it does appear rather singular, but al tough we had rather our sisters would not waltz, I have already said that custom does away with the impropriety of the thing, and such is the fascination attendant on it, that we cannot resist it when we find ladies who indulge in it.” Helen was forced to admit the apology. “ How do you like your acquain tance Helen ?” asked her father later in the evening. “I hardly know,” said Helen. “He is very talented and fluent and well informed, but I do not like the expres sion of his eye, and some how, I have no confidence in his sincerity, even when he is making Protestations of his respect for honesty, probity, and tiie like.” “Well” said her father, “he has made the same impression on you that he made at first on me and although a great deal of that impression has been removed from my mind some little of it still lingers. He did me a service once, and his standing is perfectly good. In short lie is considered a and I know of nothing which would goto prove that lie is not one; so when he requested an introduction to you I was bound to give it.” TO BE CONTINUED. miscellaneous. From tlie Home Journal. Irving’s Recollections of Jtloore, We chanced to be present the other day, when Washington Irving took up the defence of the memory of Tom Moore. So note-worthy an outpouring as it was of a generous and genial na ture—properly eloquent in defence of the friend with whom he had ex changed cordialities, and over whose grave he would not, therefore, see an ill weed grow unplucked—we wished at the time, that the Summer wind would play reporter, and tell the whole world of it. The subject was started by Irving being rallied on hav ing been such a Brummel, while in London, as to have served Moore for a model in dress —as appeared by a pas sage in one of his letters, giving direc tions to his publisher to look up Ir ving’s tailor to make him a coat. ■“All,” said Geoffrey, with one of his genial lightings-up of the face still handsome, “that was owing to the mere chance of Moore’s having been with me one morning when I went to Nugce’s. And I have often thought of it since, by the way, as a curious instance of the bringing together of op posite classes in England. We were strolling down St. James street, and Moore just stepped in with me while I ordered a coat. Seeing-that Nugce did not know him, I Stepped between the two, and said, Tieally, gentlemen, two such distinguished men ought to know each other ! Mr. Nugee, this’ is Mr. Thdmas Moore -Mr. Moore, Mr. Nugee !’ Upon which, Nugee, who was worth one hundred,and liily thou i sand pounds ,*t .come forward, bowing almost to the ground in hisex-1 cessive humility, and epuld not fhict j words enough to express Iris sense off the honor of such an introduction.— j He was delighted with it, too, and thanked me warmly for it afterward. ‘Good creature !’ he said of Moore, ‘good creature !’ using the phrase ve ry popular in London at that time, to express great admiration. Yes (con tinued Irving musingly), there was that tailor, worth a magnificent for tune, and he would come to your lodg ings, with the coat he had made, to try it on ! I remember his flattering way of looking at me, and expressing his interest when I called upon him on my return from the continent to or der something. ‘Not looking quite so well, my dear sir, not quite so wel ! Take care of yourself dear Mr. Ir ving ? pray, take care of yourself 1 \Ve I can’t spare you yet !’ And his look was full of the tenderest sympathy. “But they do Moore the greatest injustice in denying him a sincere af fection for his wife. lie really loved her and was proud of her— l know it,” continued Irving, very emphatically.— “When we were in Paris together, I used to go out and breakfast with him, and most delightful those breakfasts were. And I remember being with Moore when his friends, Lord and Lady Holland, had just arrived ; and Lady Holland told Tom they were coming out the next day to breakfast, and she wished particularly to see little Bessy. They shall have the breakfast,’ said his wife, when he told her, ‘ out they tvoril see little Bessy /’ She said it very archly, but with the positiveness of an habitual independence, for she would not be patronized by great folks! — Moore admired this, though, he used to say it was quite beyond what he was capable of himself. But she did yield to him occasionally, and go with him to parties —once, particularly, exciting her husband’s greatest admiration by the way her quiet and self-possessed manner completely baffled the condes cension of Lady Lansdowne. Her Ladyship had intended to be excessive ly cordial ; but the simple way in. which ‘little Bessy’ took it as a matter of course, turned the balance of digni ty altogether. Moore spoke of it de lightedly afterward. Oh, they have cruelly misrepresented that man ! lie was an honorable high-minded fellow, and in some trying money matters par ticularly, he showed the greatest dis interestedness and liberality, lie has been shamefully wronged since his death.” Thus vindicatorily of his friend spoke the just and kind Geoffrey Cray on, a day of two since ; and we are glad to record it, while the dark wing of the poet’s renown is upppermost. For, says Milton, “ Fame has tivo wings, one black, the other white— She waves them both in her unequal flight.” N. 1\ Willis. ! Graves of Shelley and Keats, FROM “THE BUCKEYE ABROAD.” We should not forget to visit the temple of Bacchus, which was a pre face to our tenth day’s experience in Rottie. While looking at the strung: wine-jugs and mosaics, we were om pelled to listen to th * clucking of frightened chickens and rhe gobble of unromantic turkeys. We saw where the Iforatii and Curatii fought, and we threaded the great halls of Car acalla’s baths, in which large numbers of peasants were making hay, amid ruined walls. Here Shelley used to wander and clamber, while he com posed his “Prometheus.” That noble poem was chiefly writen upon what he called, from its magnitude, the mountainous ruins of Caracalla, and among the flow cry glades and thickets of oderiferous blossoming trees, which were extended in every winding laby rinth upon its immense platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air.— The bright blue sky of Rome, and the effect of the vigorous awakening spring, and the new life with which it drenches the spirit even to intoxication, he says, were the inspiration of the drama. Alas for poor Shelley! Rome was to him the scene of a sadder drama, in thelast act of which, the drapery of the life he so earnestly dedicated to Beau ty, was dropped forever. We visited his burial-place in the old English § rave-yard. We found the “cors cor ium” engraven with his name, and the verses which symbolised his change “into something rich and st range”--up on a plain, flat, almost black marble slab. A few tall cypresses wave above it, while near and almost covering it, is an old ruin above the wall. The snails aud caterpillars lazily crawl over the memorial. Near it, is a proud monument to some Englishman, kill ed in hunting over the Campagna. Around, are graceful stones and ele gant monuments to the unknown, as far eclipsing the humble slab of Shel ley, as his name does theirs. None on his. No flowers decorate the spot, where the heart of Shelley sleeps from its fitful throbbing. The win'd moans piteously in the funeral cypress above him. Joy seems to hover over every other grave. Neat box-wood hedges surround other stones. Even a great pyramid of'CaiusCestusupon the right, is decorated with green and flowers. But the narrow home of Shelly’s heart is bare and flowerless, black and gloom y. Can it be that this appaaent neg lect springs from prejudice against the young skeptic Shelley ?Is the grave of him who wrote “Queen Mali” to be slighted, and shall no flower grow over that heart that sang the ‘hymn to intel lectual beauty?” Ye birds that charm ed so sweetly the soul of poetry in Shelley living, have ye no carols for his repose? Yes, yes—before we can leave the spot, or brush the tear from the eye, a bright spirit, bird-shaped-- but “ Bird thou never wort — with the gush of melody such as Shel ley’&ownsky lark carried up to the gates of heaven from her dell of dew, began a song of rare music from the heart ol the cypress, relieved the sombre gloom of; his tomb and kindled rap ture in the soul! ■ a of cy pes?! ? ’,ye par cel into the other grave-yard, where the body of John Keats lies. The yai;d is grassy, surrounded by and sur mounting old Roman streets.. No trees shade the small upright marble which tells .so sadly ofhiin, whose name was not writ in water. A tow poppies and yellow flowers, emblematic of his “Sleep’ and Rocsy,” grow from the sunken mould. A F l,orl bisenption told of the bitterness of his critics and tljesensibility of his heart. Lot we feel lhatthe line Greocian soul of lveats lingers not about. this 4 resting-place of his mortal r mains. Doth it not burn where Slid ley saw it through the in most vale of heaven ? nonl of Aden -- '•"<' •> Beficoiis iVojn the ab‘o‘l6 where the eternal are. We leave the grave of Shelley and Keats with a morunful step. 'l’lie place of th. ir repos*, amidst the relics of Roman glory; the similarity of their genius and destiny, and the companion ship they bear in the neglect of their countrymen, make their rosting-place the most interesting tombs in the world. Immortality more fadeless than marble, has placed their image in its Pantheon of poetry ! Party Prejudice. —An anecdote j is told of a countyman from New York I who was visiting the Senate at the time ; Mr. Van. Buren was Vice President.— Our friend was a redhot Democrat, and of course held Mr. Van Buren in great reverence. He sat in th • cireu- j lar gallery of the Senate, gazing at the 1 Vice President with a mingled feeling of awe and State pride, when sudden ly a tall and majestic form appeared at the side of the hall and beckoned to Mr. Van Buren. There was little business doing, and the Vice Presi dent, calling a Senator to the Chair, joined the person mentioned, when both seated themselves on a sofa, both snutfed from the same box, the hand of the Vice President was playfully laid on the knee of his companion, and every now and then a laugh wo,uld es cape them, showing that whatever might be the topic they were discussing it was Giie which was agreeable to both. “ Is that Mr. Calhoun with the Vice President ?” asked our country friend, turning to a person near him.— “No sir.” " “Is it Mr. Benton ?” “ No sir.” “ Is it Gen. Wall ?” “ No sir.” “May L ask who it is ?” “Why, that is Mr. Clay.” Mr. Clay !” exclaimed the man. — “And does Mr. Vanburen speak to him ? Rot me if ever I vote for him again !” and the fellow stalked from the hall firmly believing that the country was lost. •Answer to « Challenge. The eccentric A. 11. Breckenridge, one of the Judge of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, when a young man was challenged to fight a duel, by an English officer, whom lie answered as fid lows: “I have objection; to this duel mat ter —the one is lest I should hurt y a; and the other is lest you should hurt j me. I don’t see any good it would I be to me. to put a ball through your body. 1 could make no use of you when dead for any culinary purpt.se, as I would a rabbit or turkey. 1 am no cannibal to feed upon the flesh of men. Why then shoot- down a human mature, of whom J could make no use? A buffalo would make better meat. For though your flesh might be delicate and tender, yet, it wants the firmness and consistency, which take and retain salt. At any rate it would not do for a long sea voy age. “You might make a good barbecue it is true, being of the nature of rac coon or possum; but people are not in the habit of barbecuing anything that is human now. And as to your hide, it is not worth taking off/being a little better than a year old colt’s So much, for you. As to myself I do not like to stand in the way of any thing that is hurtful. I am under the impresssion that you might hit me. This being the case, 1 think it most advisable to stay in the distance. If you mean to try your pistols, take some object, a tree, or a barn door about my dimen sions. If you hit that send me word, and I xvill acknowledge that if I had been in the same place, yon might also have hit me.” The following good hit is from the Cheshire (Mass.) Republican. It seems as if it was dictated by the spirit of Elder Leiand, win* lived and died in that region. —Exchange paper. TIIE NEBRASKA BILL This-wonderful Nebraska bill lias wrought A miracle that ne’er was seen or thought Three thousand priests of pure New England breed tV ho never in one point of faith agreed, And never will again—that I’ll bo sworn— Till the last leaf from Time's old book is torn, Have tuned their throats to one luirmonioT\s strain, And draw together both by bit and rein. Religion could ne’er hind them in one tether, But polities have brought these saints together And knit them, not by Christian love of others, But Christain hatred oftheir southern brothers! We have seen these lines variouslv oredted, and we ourselves gave the au thorship, by mistake, a few davs ago, to the Boston Post. But they originated in the columns of the Inion, and were the production of our distinguished cor respondent who wrote over the nom de pinmc of “ An Old Fogy.’ 1 [II ash. Union ‘‘ Mr. Jones, have you got a match ?’ “ * °‘ s » sir— -a match lor the devil— there she is mixing up dough.” Jones pointed to his will, and then put for the front yard. The last, we saw of min he was pulling down the road close pui sued by a rod headed ladv and a cistern pole, A man with pnormousicot was meas ured for a pair of bools, and inquired ot the mail when he would have them finished ? ' “By Wednesday, if it does not rain,’was the rephv ‘lf it does notrain! IV hat Ims rain to do with boots r,'\\ by, do you suppose I could build a pair of boats for vour fectmtlmho’!'* ' V ."y. • V.*® f* ■ » v.V.V t. * is*. \ / .< ... t New York Liberate ferers at Savannah. have a I ready re ceived over twelve thousand < Ifojn this city to relieve their distress. In aid of the Now Orleans sfifferers wo contributed something like sixty' thou sand dollars. Misery al! over thJcoun try receives 'aid from New York; and, we may proudly say it never meets with a rebuff. 'lreland, Madeira, Af rica, our own country, can all testily to the liberality with which we dispense our dollars. Muon sarcasm is levell ed at New York by country ioik, who are pleased to cl nominate us a nest of plunderers, and to exercise their wit upon Wad street and its peccadil loes: foreigners .too are fend of talking about our <l. votion to the almighty dollar, and painting New Yorkers as mere ' money getting machines. The charities of our city ought to cover a multitude of sins.—.V. Y. Herald. The eccentric and once famous Ann' Royal died at Washington on Sunday last. The Washington Star says: “Sin* must have been well nigh 90 years of age. Ever since the publication of the famous history of her peregrinations throughout the country, fighting the- Presbyterians, she has made her resi dence here, first editing the Huntress, and subsequently living on its proceeds published bv others in her name. For thelast four or five years site ha* been out and about very little owing |to her increasing infirmities. When j about however, her tongue went as be fore—always so as to attract a crowed of wonderars around her.—-Vehement and violent in her antipathies, and the expression of them, she was equally warm in her Iriendshp for those she* fa vored, though from her peculiar way of manifesting her likings, few indeed courted her affectionate regaid. To the hour of her death she preserbed all the pecularities of thought, temper and manners, which at one time rend#red l her so famous throughout the land. Our readers will read the article from the London Times, with surprise and indignation. It reveals the feeling with which the Allies regard our coun try, and shows plainly what wc may expect at the end of the present war, if they are succesfnl. We remember not long ago reading some wise man’s ad vice to his son, “Always taken hull bv the horns.” It is our bus-; interest to no so in this case. There is an antago ism beeween our country and England especially, which will some day or oth er have to be settled by the chances of the sword. The millenium has no: come yet. The world w* are sorry t>< say, is as' far from universal brothei hood as ever, the Saints of New Eng* j land notwithstanding, and opposition of interests will produce collision. If there a “is Western question to be set tled,” let it be settled now while the Eastern is mi the tapis. Otherwise the threats of#ie Times may become sad realities. — Albany Courier. Not at Home. —ls Mr. Bluster within ?” ‘No, he is out of town,’ i said the servant. “When can I sec i him !” I don’t know ; have you any sepeial business with Mr. Bluster? ‘Yes then- is a small bill I want to settle.’ ‘Well said the servant, * 1 don’t know whether he will be home this week or not.” ‘But I wish to pay the bill as I am to leave immedi ately. ‘Ob, you wish to pay him some money—he is upstairs. I’m thinking I will call him. Please walk into the drawingroom ; take a chair, sir ; your hat if you pi use, Mr. Blaster will be with you in a mom- nt. Georgia • VullificatioH . W e see that some of our exchanges are heading a notice of the opinion of Judge Benning, in tlie case of Mayor of Savanah, vs. Pad'elford & Go. with the above caption. This is calculat ed to communicate the impression that the opinion was a decision of the Court, of which Judge B. is a member. Such is not the case. It is merely the Judge’s opinion, and while we ad mit his great ability as a common law yer, we do not suppose a Judge in the-State agrees with the political te nets of that decision.— Albany Courier. Messrs. William Hodges and 1\ C. Pendleton, have purchased the. CVr tral Georgian office at Sandcrsvilie, (Ga.) an will continue the publication of that paper; Dr. Jas. R. Smith, as we before stated, having associated himself m the publication of the At lanta Republican. From the number of conum idea tions and tickets in tie- Charleston p pers for the past few days, we shmiM judge that the Congressional a' ll * State election which came oil’ in that city on Monday and Tuesday, was a' l exciting one. The total number <>t votes polled on the first day was I;AS7 against 916 polled at the State election iu that city in 1852. The pel ' l4 were kept open two days. Aunt Rosy was dividing a mince M' among the boys, and when Jim. had wickedly pulled the cat’s t. ' • asked for his share, s e rep! ie< i— “No Jim, vour are a wicke.! bey and the Bible says thorn is no " the wicked.” When Nicholas Biddle— called Nick Biddle—was .connects with the IT.l T . S. Bank, there was an oa negro named Ilarry wlio used 10 ’ loading around the premises. .. - One day, in social mood, Biddle sai l to the darkey, , “ Well, what is your name, m)’ 01 friend?” * . . V Ilarry, sir j old Harry,” said ta- Other, touching his sleepy hat. “ Old Ilarry,” said Middle “'yX that is the name they give to the dey'.i. is it not ?” “ Yes, ; sir,” said the colored man sometimb's ole Harry and some tin s oV Nick.”