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HisctKnntons. M. S. WARD Editor &. Proprietor. A. I. HARTLEY, Publisher. VOL, 1. PANOLA COUNTY, MISS., WEDNESDAY, JULY 30, 1850. '.. . Itcmpljis. Curbs. mm NO. 27. t "THE PANOLA STAR" IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, at iA;vor,A, miss. TERMS. Fur one; year if paid in advance, $.' 00 If paid within six months ti C0 Alter six months, 3 00 Kates of Advert i.sisi. One square, first insertion, &1 00 Each subsequent insertion, fiQ For three months, f 00 For six months s 00 l:'or oui year 12 00 A liberal deduction made for larger advertisements. JOB YVOtfK Of all descriptions, from large hand bills to fancy caYds, d'no with neatness and despatch, and on reasonable terms. i 'J' All communications must be addressed to 31. S. "Ward, Ksp, Pa nola, Miss. V (1 E T !! V , J5IIOKEX TICS. Th broken ties of happier darr, How often do they s.vm To eo:ne before our mental gnzo Like a remendn'retl iream ; Around us eaeh u'i.sovt'red chain In sparkling ruin lhv, And earthlv band shall ne'er fUri'm I'nite tlu.se broken ties. T!io p.-.rfnts of our youthful home, ' 'I'hf kindred th.it we hved, Far from -our aims perchance may roam, To desert .seas removed; Or we have, watched their parting breath And closed tl.eir weary eyes, And sighed to think how Mutly death Can sever human ties. The fri -n Is. the locd ones of our youth, They too have Oiie, or changed; Or worse than all, their love and truth Are darkn"d ami otrani'M. Ta y meet us in a pUttcrin throng With co'.d averted eyes; A Mil wonder that we weep their vron Ai! 1 mourn our broken tie3. (:i ! who in su -h a world as this 'o;;Id bear his lot of pain. Did not one radiant hope of bliss I nelouded yet remain That hope: the sovereign Lord has piven, V. ho rcipni above the bkies . H"pe that unites our eouls to heaven Fy faith;' enduring ties. I'.ach care, each ill of mortal birth Is sent in pitying love To lift the linjrerin;; heart from earth And speed its f.ipht above; And every pan that wrings the breast, An t every ;j';y that dies, Tclis us to .-eek r purer rest, And trust to holier t;e. I WOULD HOT BID FARLWELL. I would not wish to bid fareffell To earth, so fair and bright, When lingers round my soul the spell Ofboautv, soft and liirht Ami when o ?ivuiv iovs are thrown From ple;iures shining hand; Like pearl-, from anpjel-linpjers strewn, Along life's beaten strand. I would not wish to fade away, Like flowers of earthly clime $ "When pleasant is the passing day, And sweet the summer time; And when around me friendship smile?, An l alcs blow smooth and free, To bear my bark to golden isles, Upon life's sunny sea, I would not wish to yield my breath, And see my bright hopes fade, And crumble, at the touch of death, Into eternal shade To be but like a fading flower, Or like a star of light, Falling from heaven in midnight hour, Forever down to night. And yet, at last, must come a time, Made up of long farewells, When on the soul will steal the chime Of heaven's vesper bells. Then would I sail out from life's sea, When all around grows dark ; And welcome would the passage be, Though in death's silent bark. '"What!" exclaimed the accom plished and fashionable Fitzwig gle to the exquisitely lovely Miss De La Sparrowgrass ; "what would you be, dearest, if I should press the stamp of love upon those sealing-wax lips V "I, responded the fairy-like creature, "should be stationery .'" "Out of darkness cometh light, as the Printer's Devil said when he peeped into the ink keg. SIMICT PIECES. LIFE-LIKE , POHTH AIT. br mANcis a. dcrivage. 0 Great was the commotion of tho little New-England village in which he lived, when Ethan Vane, the son of Widow Vane, a lad of nineteen, whose taste for art had been developed without instruction, and without models of any kind, produced his first picture, a portrait of his old mother. Everybody went to see it, and everybody pronounced it a striking likeness. Nor did they err in the decision; but when the editor of thc"Lird of Freedom," a small newspaper which appeared from time to time, as eircumstanes permitted, pronoun ced it a splendid work of art, he only evinced a desire to pervert the truth. The little paragraph, however, was'to the heart of Ethan Vane like it ray of sunshine to a prisoner's cell. Hitherto, while loathing the dreary mechanical toil to w hich his boyhood had been condemned, and while aspiring proudly to rank among the gift ed ones of earth, he had sometimes doubt ed his own powers, and it was with tremb ling distrust that he had submitted this, his first serious work, to inspection and criticism. But now it seemed to him that his wildest wishes were destined to be erowned with complete success. If he had accomplished such a marvel, without in. struct ion, with the rude materials at his command, what might he not achieve when a few more years had added experience, when fkilful masters had gxiided his hand, and when the masterpieces of the world had been submitted to his adoring gaze? He would visit Boston he would study the works of Copley and Allston he would go abroad he would pass years in Dresden. Dus.seldoiff, Paris, Borne, and Florence, improving himself each year, eaeh month, each day, and return at latt the Raphael, the Michael Angelo of his dear native land. And there was nothing selfish in these wild drnms of youth. He did not for a moment forgei the gray old mother who had buried so many children and a hus band, and who had lavished on him, often wayward as he was, the wealth of her price less love. He Would first Of all h. -cure her comfort. The first fruits of his success should be devoted to buying her the little eottage which was her beau ideal of com fort. Mere than half of all his golden harvests should be here:. And it seemed really as if Vis bright dreams were destined to bo verified. lie was immediately commissioned to paint a new sign for the Blue Eagle tavern. The captain of the malitia company desired to go down to posterity in regimentals. The clergyman was not destitute of vanity and charity. He gratified beth by ordering a new portrait. Other less, illvtstrious per sonages followed the example of these worthies.. At five dollars ahead the young artist found his talents engaged for some time to come, and yet, at intervals, was (nabled to dash off some landscapes and some ideal heads, for with the impetuosi ty of youth, he was already aiwiwg afthe most difficult achievements of art before he bad become familiar with its prelimi nary steps Alas ! over this golden dawn of life there en me suddenly a gloom as a thunder storm springs on us without a warning in the tidst c-T a tnidsiVmaier's day. His old mother sickened and died. The money designed to lay the foundation of fecr cot tage was expended in conveying her to her narrow home. Days and nights of agonyfol lowed this bereavment, and it was with an attenuated frame, a blanched cheek, Mid a sore spirit, that the youth again resumed his scat before his easel. His loss, however, had tho effect of widening And deepening the sympathy al ready felt for him. His fame spread, and he now became talked about, not only in his native village, but throughout the whole country. Though he painted cow mechanically, he had plenty of patrons, and numerous admirers. Among the lat ter was a young girl an orphan, like himself, of congenial tastes. Esther Har low was beautiful in the eyes of an artist beautiful with that spiritual beauty which so charms us in the Madonnas of Raphael. Friendship intimacy love followed each in rapid succession. Neith er the artist nor his mistress had near relatives to interpose with counsels of worldly prudence, and, so after the briefest courtship, they were married, and shortly afterwards Vane removed with his bride to Boston, carrying with him a few pic tures, on which he prided himself, to serve as an introduction to the people of the Athenian city. ' ' - But alas! from his first visits to the studios and galleries, he came home dis heartened, and turned all bis pictures to the wall. . , I must do something better, dear Esther" said he, "or I shall never win fame as a jainter." The next day he procured a canvass and set his pallette. "Dear Esther," said he, I can find nothing so worthy to paint, so full of in spiration, as your own sweet face. You be my model, and the world shall learn to admire your beauty, while it acknowledges my genius" " Do not ask me to sit, Ethan, con jure yOu," said the young wife, with a shudder. "I have always had a supersti tious dread of being painted. I have al ways had a fancy that my life would ebb away with each stroke of the pencil." " How absurd !" said the painter, with a laugh. "These scruples are not befit ting an artist's wife. Believe me, our very existence depends On this experiment.' Esther made no more scruples, and the work commenced. A rapid, masterly drawing was an auspicious beginning. Then came the plastic moulding of the features, as yet nearly colorless, but per meated with a slight glow, as the blood permeates the living form. Vate looked little at his model, after catchingthe form of tho features. Indeed what need had he of Esther sitting there? lie wore her i image in his heart of hearts. He had but to look inward and beheld her. So he wrought on. Now indeed he knew what it was to be a painter. Never before had he felt true inspiration. Heretofore he had dimly copied now he brightly created. It was his Esther that rose from his car essing fingers ; but how spiritualized how radiant how glorious in her high beauty. " You aro not looking at mcl" sighed the wife. " I o.ni looking at you, dearest," an swered the painter, fixing his gaze on the canvass. You arc mirrcred here, as in my heart. Look yourself. Is it not my 'life, my Esther, that smiles back on you V" Esther gazed, atid as she gazed she sighed. There was more than mortal beauty in the picture, and she wondered not that Ethan could not withdraw his eyes from it for a moment. Dave wore on, and the painter was Still enamored of his task. He now no lunger needed his model. She stole nietly into the room at times but always unbidden, and then to bring him that refreshment, without which he would have fainted at the severity o? his toik At last his work was completed. The rejected sunlight was fading awav from fhc east-, as he drew aside his window-enrtain, aedga-zed upon his consummate Work. " It is done," said he, with an almost haughty exclamation. "They will now no longer deny me a place among the great ones of the earth. I can say to the spirits of Angelo, and Ilaphael, and Paolo I too am a brother. A slight noise at his side roused him from his reverie. Esther had entered un perceived, and had sunk, fainting, at his feet, like a lilly bowed down by a ram storm. He bore her to the window, and he sprinkled her face With Water. She slowly opened ber eyes. My Esther," said the painter. What is this V what has -caused this illness 5" " The picture," she murmured faintly. "Cherish it Tcr my sake. It will soon be all you have to rewind you of mo. As the work went cn, I felt my life passing awav from me to that canvass. As its colors warmed beneath your touch, so my heart grew cold. It is finished and so is my lifts But no matter it was neces sary to your glory." Her words were prophetic. She did not long survive the completion of the picture Vane stood beside her coflun, and gazed in agony upon the 'last of earth." "Fatal art!" he murmured. "The gray old mother the fair young bride both gone and for what ? That I might be a painter. Is it not written, that he who demands success mxist be wedded to his art alone? What have I to do with domestic ties? I have poured my life blood into the crucible, and if fame be not the result, I shall know how to rejoin the lost on earth." "No man can do anything a gainsthis will,' said a metaphysi cian." "Faix," said Pat, "I had a brother who went to Botony Bay agiliust his will, he did sure. A dog, which lost the whole of its interesting family, was seen trying to poke a piece of crape through the handle on a door of one of the Broadway sausage shops. The precocious lad who had in vented the following conundrum has had ice on his head for some days, and is. thought will recover if kept quiet during the dog-days: "Why is an elephant unlike a tree?" "Because a tree leaves in the springi and the elephant leaves when the menagerie does." Row On. "For tho first five years of profess ional life, once said a gentleman to us, "I had to row against tho wind, and stream and tide." "And what did you do?" was our. question. "Do!" re plied he, "do! why, I rowed on to be sure." And he did row on, and to a good purpose, too, until he came to the sea, took favorable breezes and brought his voyage to a most favorable termi nation, leaving behind him' a most en viable reputation for wealth and wis dom, impressing the stamp of his vig orous mind and excellent character deep and (dear on the community in which he lived, and c-btaining an im mortality worth more than a regal crown in the respectful memory of thousand. His remarks deserve 1o be remembered as a motto. 'Flic rreat business of all now is to "row on" with unflinching courage and tsteady perse verance. All trades and professions have their difficulties, and almost eve ry individual meets with diM-op.rage-lnent5. The only wav, therefore, to go ahead, is to "row on." Derision of character, determination of will, the resolution to press on, when sure we are on the right track, or in pursuit, of a good and honorable end this is Ihe secret id living: so as to come out at bust safe and sxmnd. There are "lious." in every path, and they must be met and conquered, or the hope of ultimate success must be abandoned. A poor man, with a tribe of children, finding work hard toiad, and hard when it is got, sometimes will almost despair: everything- will scorn to be Against him ; but let him not be cast down let him "row on," and by and by matters v.' ill very likely grow brighter. As with the poor man, so with all men. J lead winds are to be expected; contrary currents will come; the tide does not run with us, but never mind, "row on" pull the harder till oars bend again, and Victory will wait upon and reward patient endeavors.- Those who have risen from obscurity to eminence ; those who, from being poor have become wealthy those who, born in the midst of igwirance, have fouml their way a mong 'the learned ; those who have made themselves, have generally been those who nnderstood the importance of "rowing oiu" "Faint heart never won fair lady," iror anything; cdso. WANTS OF THE AGES. It is a man's -destiny still to be longing for some-thing, and the gratification of one set of wishes but prepares the unsatisfied soul for the conception of another. The child of -a vear wants little but food and sleep, and no sooner is he supplied with a sufficient al lowun'ce ofeitlrer of those excellent things, than he begins whimper ing, vr yelling it may be, for the other. At three, the young ur chin becomes enamored of sugar plums, apple-pies and confection ary. At six his imagination runs upon kites, marbles, and play time. At ten the boy wants to leave school and have nothing to do but go bird-nesting and blackberry hunting. At fifteen he wants a beard; u watch, and a pair of Well ington boots. At twenty he wisbes to cut 4 figure and rides horses; sometimes his thirst for display breaks out in dandyism, anil sometimes in poetry ; he wants sadly to be in love, and takes it for granted all the ladies are dying for him. The young man of twenty-five wants a wife ; and at thirty he longs to be single, again. From thirty to forty he wants to be rich, and thinks more of making money than spending it. At fifty he wants excellent dinners and capital wine, and a nap in the af ternoon. The respectable old gentleman of sixty wants to retire from business with a sling inde pendence of three or four hundred thousand, to marry his daughters, set up his sons, and live in the country ; and then for the rest of his life he wants to be young again. Portfolio. If the show of anything be good for anything, I am sure sincerity is better ; for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is . not, but because he thinks it good to have such "a quality as ne pretends to ? Nature has concealed at the bottom of our minds talents and abilities of which wTe are not aware. The passions alone have the privilege of bringing them to light, and of giving us sometimes views more certain and more per fect than art could possibly pro duce. ' THE T11TJE WOMAN. The true woman, for whose ambition a husband's love and her children's adoration are sufficient, who applies her military instincts to the discipline ot her household, and whose legislative faculties ex ercise themselves in making laws for her nurse; whose intellect has field enough for her in commun ion with her husband, and whose heart asks no other honors than his love and admiration ; a woman who does not think it a weakness to attend to her toilet and who does not disdain to be beautiful, who believes in the virtue of glossy hair and well-fitting gowns, and who eschews rents and ravelled edges, slipshod shoes and audacious make-ups ; a woman who speaks low, and does not speak much ; who is patient and gentle, and in tellectual and industrious; who loves more than she reasons, and yet does not love blindly ; who never scolds and rarely argues, but adjusts with a smile ; such a woman is the wife we have all dreamed of once in our lives, and is the mother we still worship in the backward distance. Dickens A SUNBEAM ON THE STAGE. I once saw a sunbeam stealing through a crevice in the roof, and glancing upon the darkened stage, at a rehearsal. That single streak of golden liglitl falling upon the dust, and paint, and faded scenery, and glaring imitations of nature, spoke to me, in a thrilling tone, of green, murmuring foliage ; of air vidceful with rural sounds; of the flower-studded earth; of na tur's rich store-house of vernal treasures; of all that sunbeam shone upon, far away from this mockery and drudgery, this mi micry and misery As I watched the beam illuminating the sur rounding gloom, my minfld was filled with fresh and strenghening aspirations that belonged not to this life of representation, that had no affinity with the place and the hour. It is years ago, yet I have never forgotten that one ray of light, and the sensations and re flections which it called into ex istence. Anna Cora llitchic. It is not the least advantage of friendship, that by communicat ing our thoughts to another, we render them jlistiuct to ourselves, and reduce the subjects of our sorrow and anxiety to their just magnitude for our own contempla tion. . He is the most mischievous of incendiaries who inflames the heart against" the judgment ; and he is the most ferocious of schis matics who divides the judgment from the heart. If you light upon an imperti nent talker, that sticks to you like a bur, to the disappointment of your important occasions, deal freely with him, break oft' the dis course, and pursue your business. Wisdom consisteth not in know" ing many things, nor even in knowing them thoroughly; but in choosing and in following what conduces the most certainly to our lasting happiness and true gl ory. Four Points of a Case. An eastern editor says that a man in New York got himself into trouble by marrying two wives. A western editor replies by as suring his cotemperary that a good many men in that section have done the same thing by mar rying only one. A northern editor reports that quite a number of his acquaint ances found trouble enough by barely promising. to marry, with out going any further. A southern editor says that a friend of his was bothered enough when simply found in the bed room of another man's wife. What is stronger in death than in life ? An old yellow-legged hen. , If you don't believe it, try to dissect one after boiling. They dress cool out West. A young lady being asked if she should wear that bonnet to chucrh, replied that she should not wear any thing else .' , . Speech of Zachariah Spicer, On the question, "which enjoys the great est amount of happiness j the Bachelor or tho Married Man f Mr President and Gentlemen I raise to advocate the cause of the mar ried man. And why should I not ? I claim to know something about tho institution. I do. Will any gentle man say I do not? Let him accom pany mo home. Let me confront him withmywifo and seventeen children and decide, High as the Rocky Monntains tower above the valley of the Mississippi does the character of the married man tower above that of the bachelor! What was Adam before he got acquainted with Eve What but a Door, shiftless creature No more to be compared wim tns aiter-seit than a milldam to the greatest roaring cataract of Ni agara. (Great applause. gentlemen, there was a time when, I blush to say it, I too was a bachelor : and a more miserable creature vou could hardly expect to find. Every day I toiled hard ; and at night I camo home to iny comfortless crarret : no fire, no carpet, no nothing. Every thing was in a clatter, and in the lan guage of the poet : 'Confusion was monarch of all I surveyed. Here lav a rair of old nants. ther a dirty pair of boots: there a dirtv play-bill, and here a pile ot dirty clothes. What wonder that I took refuse at the eramincr table and bar room. I found it would never "do, gentlemen, and in a lucky moment I vowed to reform. Scarcely had tho promise passed my lips, when a knock t l 1 j 1 1 -mm was neara at tne uoor, ami in camo Susan Simpkins after my dirty clothes. "Mr. Spicer," savs she. "I've wash ed for you months, and I havn't seen tne nrst reu cent m tho way of pay ment. Now I'd like to know what you are going to do about it." I felt in my pocket book. There was nothing in it, and I knew it well enough." "Miss Simnkins' said I. ."it's nr use .denying it, I hav'nt got the pewter, I wish for your sake I had." - "Then," said she promptly, I don't wash another rag for you." "Stop," said I, -Susan, I will do what I can for yon. Silver and gold I have none ; but if my heart and hand will do, they are at your service." "Are you in earnest?" said she, looking a little suspicious. Never more so," says I. "Then," says she, "as there seems to be no prospect of getting my pay any other way, I guess I'll take up with your offer." Enough said. Wo were married in a week ; and what's more, we havn't had cause to repent it. No more at tics for me, gentlemen, I live in a good house, and have somebody to mend my clothes. When I was a poor miserable bachelor, gentlemen, I used tojbe as thin as a weasel. Now I am as plump as a porker. "My dear," said an affection ate wife, "what shall we have for dinner to day?" "One of your smiles," replied the husband, "I can dine on that every day." 'But I can't,' replied the wife. "Then take this," kissing her, and he went to his business. He returned to his dinner. "This is an excellent steak, said he, "what did you pay for it? "Why what you gave mo this morning," replied the wife. "The deuce you did ! exclaim ed he, "then you shall have the money next time you go to mark et." A Candid Reply. "Is that clean butter?" asked a grocer of a boy, who had brought a quanti ty to market. "I should think it ought to be, replied the boy, "for marm and Sal were more than two hours in pickincr the hairs and mntnc rmr rt if- loc-f mrrl-.4- . v, u .uo, ix5xio. A man who was very fat being accosted, one day, by a man to whom he owed money, with "how d'ye do ? an answered : "Pretty well, thank you : you find I hold my own." "Yes, sir," rejoined the man, and mine too, to my Borrow." VERY.--The last instance of modesty is that of a young lady who refused to wear a watch m her bosom because it had hands on it. . ' . " . To undertake to reason a yoiing lady out of love is as absurd as would be the attempt to extin guish Vesuvius with -a gla3 c water, , rt i-i in 1 r-5 ; i Hi i I I IV J.