The home journal., November 11, 1858, Image 1

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rinTT
Volume II.
l0nt,unl
W. J. HLiATTlilt, Hilltop.
'Tlt4 to rrt)' srMlrsry miy,
He follow Train nUcrt'ir Uc kudu die
GOOD NIGHT.
Good Night! 1 liavo to soy Good Night
To sucli a host of poerless things!
Good night unto that snowy hnnd
All queenly with its weight ofrings!
Good night to fond delicious eyes,
Good night to chestnut .braids of hair,
Good night unto the perlert mouth
And all the sweetness nestled there
The snowy hand dentins me, then
. I'll have to sny "Good Night" again
But there will como a time, my love.
When, iM read our stars o right,
I shall not linger by this porch
With my adieus, Till then, Good Night!
You wish ihe time were now? And I;
You do noi blush to wish it so
You would have blushod yourself jo death
To own so much a year ago
What both these snowy hands! nh, then,
I'll have to say "Good Night" again!
T. 15. Ai.Dincu.
Love's Sacrifice.
I .give thee all, I con no more,
Though poor the offerin).' be;
My heart and Jotoare nil the tore
Thnt I can bring lo theat
A lute whose gentle sony reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heun that leels
Much more than lute can tell.
Though love and son may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away:
At least 'twill make them lighter pass,
Or uild them if they stay.
If ever earn his discord flings
O'er life's em-hunted strain,
Let lovt'hut gently iui h the strings
'Twill nil be sweet imam. Muure.
A HEART HISTORY.
CONTINUED.
Not. A re wuril ntS" w iiffiwl one MmpMncn
In tlic llwii! Journal r.r the taut I'rldiwl Story wtitten
lor it co'unnift. Snvmii! wimr written, unit uMrra I'fiiu
Ml of each, Mahm.wik-a lliuaT lli-viouv," whs con
eidi-rcl tlm nioht .if; f n ina. I Im s-Cf l il sim,ln rl Ih-iiu.
titul, ni..l tlia all will bf lii tli I y liiturcaleil we liavo not a
(ingle duulit. Kiinoii.
Such a companion could not satis
fy the cravings of a heart like mine,
that clamored for an equal, one that
.could stand by mc in the hour of bot
tle, as well as peace, that could firm
ly and unflinchingly breast the storm
by my side, and while clinging to my
arm for support for her own frail form,
.could yet sustain, and comfort, and en
courage, by dauntless words and he
roic acts, if my own energies should
fail in the contest. One that could be
my ornament and delight in prosper
ity, my refuge and comfort in adver
sity, my wife and companion at all
times.
Such a one I had lost by my folly;
iuch a one I had not gained.
To one whose uttermost yearning,
jinked for nothing but an obedient
truthful, affectionate, conscientious
wife, Emily would have been the em
bodiment of all that was lovely, all
that was dosiral.de, but to me, whose
.exacting spirit called for something
more than those, joined to a mere pas
sive subjection of thought and action,
.she was far from it. 1 pined for some
thing 1 had not, something to satisfy
the clamorous cravings of my longing,
famishing soul. I grew restless, un
easy, gloomy and abstracted, even, I
fear, sometimes moody and irritable,
and I know not what would have been
tl result, had not an event taken
place which gave a new direction to
jny wayward fancies. A daughter
was born to mc. A tiny, little thing she
was, with, as she grew in years, soft,
brown eyes and dark curling hair, and
a very decided will of her own and
yet one which ever yielded most rea
dily to reason or affection. She was
a very precious child. Even from
lier birth, almost, she was my constant
companion, and I was never so happy
as when she was in my arms, or on
piy knee. And she, it was curious
to observe how minutely, even iu her
tabyhood, she watched every change
Jh my countenance and her own were
jjnou'ded accordingly. Did I look sad,
a tear was in her eye and the tiny,
jrcse-bud lip half quiyercd as she gnied;
did my eye brighten and a smile steal
over my face, bow joyous the express
ion upon those soul-lit, infantine fea
tures! Can you wonder that J named
er Madeleine? Her mother called
her 'Lena, but to me she was Made.
Jeine, almost my lost Madeleine come
back to me. With what delight 1
watched the unfolding of that perfect
jnind, with what joy listened to the
prattle of those precious lips, as she
iegan to walk about with me, first in
the grounds about the house and then,
. she grew stronger and older, in the
Woods, and upon the winding shores of
ihe ever changing lake, or stood be
tide roe, (for she was too earnest, too
active to it,) aa I rowed her in our
iDlli.
J
littlo boat from one beautiful spot to
Another. Whatever 1 did, she did.
JShe slept upon my arm, or breast at
night, she shared my labors, recreation
or my rest by day.
Before ulio whs four years old, she
read with perfect fluency and ease,
and the sweetest music I have ever
heard was the warbling of that tune
ful voice. Whatever she heard, she
sung at once, without an effort. It
seemed us if the essence of her being
was melody and harmony. I used to
shut my ryes and fancy 'twas a ser
aph's voice.
Such was my companion, my treas
ure, for a few brief years, in rides and
walks, and wanderings on wave and
shore. Her mother seldom ever car
ed to accompany us, but Madeleine
and I, we loved the woods, the hills,
the streams, the lithe, the clouds and
azure sky, and we sometimes spent
whole days in exploring the beautiful
scenery with which the region aboun
ded. Sometimes a book, or two, fa
vorite authors, accompanied us, and
in our light carriage, or under the for
est trees, or upon the wave-washed
shore of the shelvy hike, she would
read some little tale suited to her ten
der years, and if it were of sorrow, or
suffering, how soon would the sym
pathizing voice choke with emotion
and the pitying tears gusli over that
sweet lace, and while 1 clasped the
lovely child to my breast and kissed ' successful miner in our company. In
away the flowing tears, I inwardly re-j two years 1 returned, a richer man,
joieed in my sensitive and ileinotistra-1 but that was of little consequence
live child. j compared with the complete restora-
We had been to the fairy grotto, one ! lion of my mental and physical ener
bi igbt summer day, a place under- j gies.
neatli the jutting rock, where the wa-j My mind had now recovered its
tersof the lake made a sort of eddy, curly vigor and 1 could look upon the
and where were found the loveliest,
little shells and rarest pebbles of any
where along the coast. Sue had read
me. a tttle or two, in her most winning
manner, and sung her prettiest songs,
had kis-.rd "I'apn" again and again,
with those ever-welcome lips, apply-
ing to him, as she did so, her most en- i
clearing enuliels. tnl v.eai ietl Willi
wandering from one spot to another 1 j
had seated myself, at last, upon a rock
to rest, and sir:, as was her custom at
such times, place d herself on my knee
tnd with one arm over my shoulder
soon leii asleep upon my uosom v an :
. 1 ,.!
her thus cradled against my heart, 1 I
went down to the boat and making her j
a bed of an old sail in the shade of an
awning till she should awake, return
ed and sat down near at hand, under
some over hanging rocks, drew a book
from my pocket and read till 1 w.ih
tired. Still she did not wake. It was
towards night, and 1 stepped into the
boat to go home. She lay there, as 1
had left her, her soft cheek framed in
a setting of sunny curls and resting
on the round white arm, but 1 noticed
that it was tinged with a deeper flush
than was usual for its delicate peach
like bloom. 1 bent over her to see if I
was deceived. Her breathing was
quick a nd labored, and fell hot as it
fanned my bowed face. 1 could not
endure the agony of suspense.
"Madeleine, 1 called, once, twice,
the third time, she wearily opened her
eyes and languidly enquired.
' "What; l'apa!" und then tried to
raise herself to a silting posture.
' (T.I am so sick, l'apa."
"Where, darling," said I, gently tak
ing her into my arms and laying her
fair head against my heart.
"My head a nd stomach, Papa," was
all she could utter.
now i got nouio v,.u. hit i s.a.txi,
ll Ii, ... ..!.!. 1 1 I.. I
know, but 1 remember Iter looli ol
grateful nlfection as 1 quietly laid her
on the cool, white bed in her mother's
room. The doctor came just at night
and examined her long and attentive
ly. Hollowed him as he went out.
lie did not wait for my interrogatory.
"Poor little lamb!" said he'" she will
soon be folded in the arms of the Creat
Shepherd."
iler disease was malignant scarlet
fever. They had it in the village a
mile distant, but wc had no communi
cation with the place, and conse
quently, J had no fears of the infec
tion. The third sunset after, shed its glo
ries on my darling's grave. O! how
much chastening have I needed, bow
much severe discipline, to bring me to
my Master's feet.
My old fits of abstraction and gloom
returned upon me. I seemed depreiv
ed again of all energy and volition,
and would sit for hours in the same
posture, neither hearing or heeding
anything that was passing. The lost
dead and the lost living were blended
in my thoughts.
My physician advised change of air
and scene, but how should they, rouse
me, or induce me to have interest to
get me started. I had never left my
home since my first sad trial for a
journey of more than thirty and forty
miles, a day's ride or so, seldom stay-
HOM
AVIXCIIKWTKR, TENN., NOVKMBETl 11, 1858.
ing away even one night, and I could
not bear to think of any such thing.
Just at this time catno upon us the
wonderful news of tljo discovery of
the rich, unwrought mines of gold in
California. Strange to say, 1 listened
to tho over-wrought tales of the golden
land with a curious, absorbing atten
tion. I had wealth sulfteient, and yet
I know not why, I had an unaccount
able, uncontrollable desire to see, for
myself, this land of thrilling adven
ture, this ElDoradoof untol l mines of
priceless treasure.
My poor wife was as deeply pain
ed as it was in her nature to be at any
thing, with the thought of my leaving
home for a lengthened journey of per
il and extreme danger 1 went. It
would not be interesting to you to de
tail the many adventures with which
I met, or the sufferings I had to un
dergo. That journey was my salvation.
Mind and body were alike, speedily
restored. The dangers which occupi
ed my whole attention in order to sue
cesslully avoid them, the excitement
of both travel and sojourn were what
I needed, for they diverted my mind
from dwelling on scenes and events
which were last making a wreck of
me.
1 eared not for "old when 1 reached
there, and yet I was particularly fortu
nate in obtaining il.i was the most
past with calmness, and the future
with something of my Conner hope.
My poor, patient, tineomplaiiiitig
Emily shed tears of gratitude, as she
welcomed me, and her parents weie
overjoyed at my perfect restoration to
health, such as 1 had enjoyed when
they first knew me. But my poor
wiie seemetl only to nave liven lor nei
husband's return, just to greet him and
bestow upon him her fondest blessing;
for when the Autumn sun beams east
their slant shadows upon the resting-
place of Madeleine, they hollowed her
1 t I -I 1 1-1,1 ....I.. I....
a neti uesice nor cmiu ami emi iov-
ing the green apron of her earth-
mother over her, left her there a com
panion of our cherub darling,
And now I was alone again, with
out wife or child, in the home I had
once enjoyed making so very beauti
ful, and it was beautiful. Hiirnside
cottage was renowned for its loveli
ness and no one could pass it without
his eye being closely, and lingeringly
attracted lo its beauty. And yet its
owner was a desolate man, desolate
almost before he had attained the
prime of his manhood. l!ul I had
now learned a lesson of indescribable
value, the lesson the Croat Teacher
had so lontc, by favor and affection,
been calling me to attend to and un
derstand. liy the bed-side of my dying Emily,
the early hope and faith 1 had felt in
t1(. attouements of a suffering Savior
came back to me and 1 wondered at
his patience mid forbearance with me
in my long course of estrangement i
andingratilude. Many hours of sweet
.onve.se. dill I eniov will, .he dvin-
' - ' 'I J J r-
saint, the meekly resigned invalid,
over whose path way I lelt 1 must, have
east many a heart-,hadow, not by any
,.,' ...j.;., i . I..,, i. ,t-
l!l II n':i HI UIIIVII1UIM..SS, IILIt tun-
,ailco alul coWllPJW j,, mv intercourse
with her when the fits of gloom came
over my spirit, and by failing to ap
preciate, as it deserved, her constant
and unwearied kindness to me. On
that couch of suffering, while the sha
ded night-lamp cast its flickering light
around die room, barely revealing to
me the dim outline of her pale, wan
features and wasted form.l told her
all my sad hUtory. One by one I open
ed to her inspection the folded pages
of my heart and bade her read what
was written there.
"I am glad my dear husband you
have told mc all these things. That
though you have kept them till my al
most dying hour, you have not with
held your confidence till I could no
longer hear and appreciate. I have
known there was some great, crushing
sorrow in your life, and I had partial
ly guessed it, but I had forcborne to
question you, or any other one, for I
know if it were one of the existence
f which you wished me to be in
formed, you would, yourself, reveal it
to me:
And you have done right, dear Hen
ry, in not telling it to me before. It
might have made me unhappy. I be
lieve it would. It has no power to do
so now. You will not forget me when
I am gone, though another should lie
in your bosom and answer to the name
1 may have been so unfitted to bear.
I have long known, Henry, that I could
H
not bo a wifo to you in anything but
the name. 1 lacked everything which
could render mc a sharer of your in
ward life, that could bring mo to the
hearthstone of your heart, to know, to
appreciate and to participate in all its
secret workings. Nature had made
me so dilferent, so lacking in vital en
ergy, or strength of purpose, so help
less and dependent, that I could not
but know there could be no charm for
you in my companionship. Your
treatment of mo has never made me
feel this, for you have always been
kind and considerate towards me, hut,
from time to time, the conviction grew
upon mc that it was so, and continued
observation and reflection upon the
difference of our characters, forced
me at last, to the actual knowledge of
it. and yet, w hen I am gone, you will
forget all my weakness, all my short
comings, and remember mc only as
the mother of that precious child by
whose side I am so soon to slumber,
and as one, who, however many were
her faults, never added to them the
least shade of distrust, coldness, indif
ference or want of affection towards
an almost, idolized husband.
We know not the future, my dear
precious one," she added, drawing my
heiid down to the the snowy pillow and j
pressing her pure lips, which had nev
er quivered with any unholy pas
sion, to my cheek and brow. "You
may be liappy lutle.'. tuture yet, Itiope, ;
I pif.v it may be so. It it should be j
so, if you should ever meet with her,
He my, and I here is no obstacle to your
union, let no tl, ought of me cast the
slightest gloom upon your prospects. I
1 hiiveonly lived for you, and feel, then j
ill v, ,,t r , ,,.- 1 .,,...
lion it with my whole heart.
And so .she died as she had lived,
puns as a
now f3ke. gentle as the ;
tollcsl summer zephyr.
Tlmnrri, sl. Ii-.ul i,,.i-,.v rrn 1 1-,-.! mv
ideal of a higb-sonled, lol'ly-miii
I 'i j
"U1(l !
woman, yet 1 loved her most truly for j
her meekness, her gentleness, ami re- j
spected her from my veiy lit art's core,
tor her trustful, fervent, ever-living
pi. I,y.
Sin, too, was gone, my gentle, child
like Emily, and I missed her, not only
hourly, but inninenlly, at my table, by
my fireside, but most of ail w hen 1 laid
my head upon its lonely pillow and
missed the fair face and sunny curls
from their resting place upon my bo
som, j
Hut 1 no longer sunk into listlessness !
and inactivity. 1 had learned the les- j
son ol active exertion, ot constant
employment for a mind diseased.
Long bi.lbre this I should have engag
ed in political life, us a spur to my dor
mant energies and mi occupation for
my idle hours, but 1 had always b(ii
upon the wrong .side of the party ques
tions of the day for the people of that
11
district. It was whig, by a large ma
1 I 1....1 i
u i , ii i l in ru in , ii nil (iiiiji.iii
-
promising democrat, and for the sake
of political advancement, could not
change my opinions. Uut public feel-
ing had been gradually ehan-ing, ami
.. .... i
upon my return from California I found
my own parly in the ascendency, hav-
nig the winter previous elected both
a representative nnd senator to (he
l.eeisiature ,f (he Male, their i,st
" """l"'- " """ J"1
I '", ( i,'':,'(1 W"1 'l"'st was made
i i . : 4 .i ...
that my name might be made use of ; laborer will be in specie; and the mor
on the democratic ticket. 1 was well i chant, by making a deposite. can get
i .'. ... i i.. i .i. i .1.. ia bill on anv uni t of the Union.
- " '
whole district ami my party was In -
-
umphant by an almost overwhelming
majority.
CDNCI.CDKD SKXT WrFK.
Who sot to Makkv. Mairy no
woman who lias never learned domes
tic economy. The prosperity of a
man depends very much on the skill i
and judgment ol the wife, in the ex
penditure for the comforts and luxu
ries of the family. The man spends
his money earned by his toil and care,
for the expenditure of his family, but
the amount of comfort and jdeasure
which a given expenditure will afford,
depends on the skill und cares of the
wife. It is not in human nature to
respect or love those, through whose
carelessness, we fail to get the amount
of comfort to which our labor and
money entitles us; in short a wife,
ignorant and careless in domestic
economy, is not loved long. Colter
not get her, young man I
A tolciiiso I.ncidext. One of the
saddest stories that we ever read was
that of a little child in Switzerland, a
pet boy, juit as yours is,eadcr, whom
his mother one bright morning dressed
in a beautiful jacket all shining with
gilt and buttons, and gay as a mother t
love could make it, and then permitted
him to go out to play. He had scarce,
ly stepped from ihe door of the Swiss
cottage, when an enormous eagle
snatched him from the earth, and bore
him high trp among tho mountain,
and yet within sight of the house of
which he hnd been the pride and the
joy. There ho was killed and devour
ed, the eyrie being at a point which
was inaccessible to man, so that no
relief could be afforded. In destroying
the child, tho eagle so placed his gay
jacket in the nest, that it became a
fixture there and when the wind blew
it would flutter, nnd the sun would
shine upon its love trimmings and orna
ments. For jours it was visible from
the lowland, long after the eagle had
abandoned the nest. What a sight it.
must have been to tho parents ot the
victim !
GENERAL JACKSON.
We desire to call the attention of tho
Democracy to the following letter from
General Jackson to his friend Moses
Dawson. It has been reported that the
old Hero was in favor of banking by
the Slates. This letter puts an end to
that fabrication:
lluu.MiTAUn, November 21. 1 8-13.
"Mv l)i:.ii Sin: Your letter of the
18th iuet. has just been received in
which you ask permission to publish
my letter, or extracts from it, to which
you refer. 1 have no copy of that
letter, and when written had no idea
of its being published, and as 1 wrote
in haste, there may be errors both in
grammar and in .spelling, which may :
net tl correction;. still, asyou say it may I
be uselul lor lulortnalion lo the public,
having the greatest eonlidenee in your
judgment, the permisMon you ask is I
ireely given lo yoe. 1 never put to
paper anything but what are my ina-
lured opinions.
"As lo the allusions
lnade. to mv
message to Congress, had 1 strength, I i
project, if Congress had made the call
MWUIU nl,( llll lllll . U I I 1 1 1. O ... Ll!tl.
on me. 15ul while tne ca
made upon me, Congress
was not
made upon me, Congress was wen
aware of my opinion of the constitu
tional power ol Congress in their
legislation for the District, and the
Slates, with regard to chartering
banks. I will give you a conei.se and
liaslv view of the oiiinion. That the
power of Congress over the District
M l. C , I lo ll, Ml ,,1'llir. Nil. I... ,.v,.,.
, j,,,,.,., imi,.s ', ,hlll ,),,yMr
auisliliilioiinl jmwtr lo charter
bunks of puwr issues that the only
: lw'' m mis respeei, was io enartei
banks based upon a specie basis, and
of deposile on exchange. The States
hove resigned to the Ceneral Covern
nient the sovreigu power to coin mon
ey, regulate the value thereof, iSr:., and
prohibited themselves from issuing bills
of credit, or to make anythiiiga tender
in payment ol drills but goltl and silver
coin hence Ihe. l eserreil rights of the
Xlrttcsa contained no jmicer to charter
hanks with jmwer to issue bills of credit.
1 ask, what is a bank bill but a bill of
credit? The charter allows them to
issue three dollars in paper for one of
specie three five dollar bills are
issued I go to the bank with one of
them 1 draw out five dollars in spe
cie I ask what the other two lives
represent? They answer, nothing but
credit. These were well known
by Congress lo be my opinions; there
fore, my project was not called for
j Many committees representing banks
ii , t.:i .. :.. .1 .. i.i
eoiieil upon ine hi.ii.si. in uir r.et:u
live chair, to know if I would not np-
i . . ,i , .i
ni .ivi. n i'li :n- cr nit n o icr 1 1' 'ins I nan
,)HM.j npoll (l s.j(. ,ilsiK; my answer
always was that 1 would of no other
charter; therefore, none other was
presented to me.
"1 am, and ever have been, opposed
(j ()( (;mn,im,llt cur.
m.yt ,.t j, . . derived from exchequer
j or otherwise. "If the paper is the real
i representative of specie, why not pay
"He Ue.i.s in sp.M-e, mm let ine speeu
i - -
eirctiian
i ll,.. I, nr.. I -.1 ill., 1 . 1.
, producing classes?' Then the
, M.tw,.,. the. merchant and
Wh( tll(.n; ; ' th(J ust! of a ,.
I '.. v..:.i... i.,.
currency? Neither merchant nor
laborer wants it. 1 lie merchant
wants a bill not a bank or exchequer
bill but upon a banker w here he buys
his goods as in Cermany.
"It is one of the greatest humbugs
ever attempted to be imposed upon a
people, that there is not specie enough
in the world to answer all the neces
sary wants of the community. Look
at Cuba; there is no paper there.
Shut mil from circulation all paper,
and specie will flow in upon us as the
tide; lint will never How to any country
that has a paper currency, which will
a ways ( cnroeiate. A national rmpor
currency is a great curse to any people
and a particular curse to tho laborer
of the country; for its depreciation
always falls upon the laborer. Hut
with these hints, I must close, being
exhausted. 1 am greatly debilitated,
and remain vour friend.
AXDIIEWJACKSOX.-
Josh was brought before a country
squire for stealing a hog, and three
witnesses being examined swore that
they saw him steal it. A wag having
volunteered as counsel for Josh, know
ing the scope of tho squire's brain,
arose and addressed him thus: May
it please your honor, I can establish
this man's honesty bcyound the shad
ow of a doubt; for I have twelve wit
nesses ready to swear that they did
not see him steal it. The squire res
ted his bead tor a few moments upon
his hand, as if in deep thought, and
then with great dignitj arose, and I after admiring him for some time,
brushing back his hair, said, "if there I a(jw him, "when carved work comes
are i twelve who did not see him steal it,lJn fiishion u the hamest
and only three that did, I discharge the
prisoner. Ulear the roomr j
A
REMARKABLE VERIFICATION
OF A DREAM.
A lady from the South, sojourning at
the house of Mr. John Elite!, No. 30
East Fifth street, for soiw weeks, drea
med night before last that a favorite
sister, to whom she was much attach
ed, and whom she had left at Mobile
in tho enjoyment of perfect health,
had died, and so greatly wasshogriev
ed that she awoke at once, and oould
, .1 .
not uleep again. She was in great
distress, and walked about her room,
wringing her hand, and weeping as
if her heart would break. Several per-
sons in the house, among them Mr. E.
himself, endeavord to comfort her, assu
ring her of tho folly of mourning over
an idle dream. The tody, however,
insisted upon the truth thereof, declar
ing that she knew her sister was no
more. She had supposed herself at
her bed side, she said, and had suppor
ted her sister in her arms. She had
seen every lineament and expression
of the face of her relative, who grew
paler and paler, and her breath shor
ter and shorter, and asking to be lif
ted up, pointed to a clock in the apart
ment where the narrator imagined she
was, and as it struck tho hour of two,
the su during patient fell back and cx-
PIR'11
During the remainder of tho night
the distracted woman paced the floor
a lno ngony of bereavement. It
n.u , ... to
seek to assuage her sorrow. Morning
came, and the breakfast hour, but she
could not touch a morsel of food.
Stij ,Ue stonn 0fWoe swept across her
SO II I.
About, ten o'clock a messenger from
the telegraph oliice entered and deliv
ered a dispatch addressed to the laly.
It was delivered she tore open the
envelope with trembling hands, and
her eye glanced over these words:
Monn.K, Alabama, Oct. 13
Mrs. : Your sister died of yellow
fever at two o'clock this morning.
The poor woman simply said: "I
knew it!" and fell fainting to the floor.
For more than fifteen minutes she lay
ina profound swoon, and when she
recovered, it was but to weep and ag
onise anew. Via Kmj.
Little Female Gaiter Boots.
A little lovo stirs up my heart, as tides
Mir up the ocean,
A fiiow white muslin, when it flies,
wakes niiwiv a curious notion,
All sorts of lady fixings thrill my spirit,
as they orter,
But little female gaiter boots arcdealh and
nothing shorter!
Written for the WlnchMter Home Journal,
LIFE.
11V O. I). MAUTiV.
Life has n pleasing smilo lor youth,
And lines his pulli with flowers,
And as ho strays with Hopeiind Trulh,
For ninny sunny hours,
lie cannot sre the piercing (horn,
Which linn amid ths roses,
He knows no night, for all is morn,
Until his summer closes.
But winter with his icy form,
liesiows his cold caresses,
On many a youth whose heart is warm,
To rack him with distresses,
And night conies on. and lifeisdark,
And coldly blow the breezes,
Until at last tho vital spark
Within his bosom freezes.
Written Mr the Wiwi.VMor Hume Jnuriiiil.
To Miss S., of Winchester.
Lady, I've seen thee ana droam,
Which Fancy wakos at morning hour,
l'uro and bright as morning's beam
And lovely as its loveliest flower,
Indeed, indeed, thou art La Helle,
The beautiful, and full of mirlh,
As a young fawn or wild gazelle
Bounding along the funny earth.
Thou art o being one mirjr love,
So kind, so gentle and so true,
Innocent as a dear young dove,
When from its mother first ilflow.
1 love iheo for 'that bright, brows tresi,
Which ripples with such lovely grac;
And for lliv heart and noblenoss,
And chiefly for ihy beauteous face
SllKI.BWII.I.E, Oct. 20.
X.
Kkitoriai. Lifb. Uut few ever think
of tliu labor devolving upon an editor,
one who is faithful to his high calling.
It is not so much what is printed as
wli.it is not printed that makes paper
valuable, dipt. Manyatt evinced a
proper appreciation of an editorial
life when he wrote tho following
remarks: "I know how a periodical
will wear down one's existence.
One day's paper is no sooner corrected
nnd prdnted than on comes another.
It is the stone of bisyplius, an endless
repetition of toil, and constant weight
upon the mind, a continual wearing
upon the intellect and spirits.uemanu
ing all the exertions of your faculties,
at the same time that you are com,
pelted to do tho selerest drudgery
To write for a papnr is very well but
to edit one, ia to eoudemn yourself to
slavery."
A young gentleman, very conemted
and vain ofbimselfi but who.by-the-hv.
,. raiher fpid, wuh a face
much pitted by th small pox, was,
not Ions inee addressed by a chap,
Villi UVMSUtr.UX HVKtN , . ,
, Fur the (iiycotuiiioc'uliini of tliu pulilic who,
ri'tili in visit Jjershfchti tipi-j.njr via AleMiini
ilia or Tracy City, the StufciM will run lo run
ruin llmse p umiH, ilnily, enimecliiig with iris
urrt ni em' i iluiii usIuIIiivvh ;
Lnavo Alc.Vliiinvlilo every morning at 7
.'clock, mill urrivo lit lierohubu Spring ll.o
"omc duy t !i o'clock.
Leave Bewhubu Springs every morning' at
I o'clock, und nrrivo at AIcAhnimllo at 11
- Velovk, n. ii .
l.euve Tracy City every evening at 4 o'ciocic
md urrivo at tiarslivba Sprintf lliesmne eve
ling nt it o'clock.
Leave IJormieUa spring every morning .
I o'cU-k, ami nrrivo at Tncy City at 11 o
luclitlioaiinisdov, triviriff puecenijerB In: e to
ukedi.nner tit each placo before I do depart
ire. I'aHdf iifTcru will be curried to and from
lie sars at each iUca.
M. A. PRICE.
July 15 fly J. '), Maiishaix, Ag.
iWO.M:! MOSEY!
Anv oornon i-end 1 0(f me $1 will revolve bv
ctiiru mini a receipt by which 1 in-iiie iht ni
. -I... '. H'l All l R 1 .11 n.,,1 in n.i ...
O I IIIIIU IH'IU flW 'JW IV- W MUM w .. LIV.
J;J, (ir t ,eU!)l ume lll01,t)g in U)0 yeir
frircely no cnpitul at ull. The public wed
tSLT" T"
juneil tf t'eii'.roville, Leon Co., Texn
Vultinhle Town Lots and dcsiratln
Family Residences near the public tqusre
for falo or exchange for young Negroes,
or in part for good Mules, Milch Coue,
Slieco mid HogH. Four lots with im
provement, fill in ono uiock, Kurrounueo
!y streets runnir.g in every direction.
Fifty acres of LhikI on Little Hurricane
Creek, with water-power w here there was
formerly a cotton factory in operation
. i . i . .nt -I - ..
iil.o, Utie nail l wo-norffi i nresners mm
Sqiaraiors, made by G. Westinghomo &
Co, of Schenectady, N. V., whidh the)
inMirn, Call nnd tco one operate in
thri!liins any kind of j;rain, and see ihetr
bilU, certificates, ike, CiC. BsJrT A gooi.
i a i u a 1 1 1 may oe nun uy chihuk mun j"
.1 l i 1... ..ll:
the uiitk'rsiynod, who ipniilliorizc.l to sol
ionic. I to son.
.10
r. i. cluli;.
A(lu3siiili;.lrt notice.
All I'eiwiiH having claims ngoinril tho cstn'.o
nl' 11. F. Knliertsor, due, will pleai-e resent
them In tho iiinlersignrtl duly iiiit!iei;Uenu il.
Ami all I'.rvsnns loilelncd lo seal caitr tiro re
quired lu euiiie forward anil u.til.e pny nirnN
i.r Ihe Mime will ho placed in the hiiiitla uf
iirneer persons tor eolleetion.
11 11. II. SMITH, Aibn'r,
Miireh ll.lS'i?. tf
'Latest oln-intl
FALL A D WINTER
GOODS,
The undersigned uro now receiving their
i-toel; uf Fall and inter Imo. s,
lOS-l-TIS'i in r,i:r OF
Silks, Ktitinults. (.'iissiineres, Merinos, JV.
I.iunes, (iiii'.lmins, Chillis, .leans. Tvre(s,
SiiitrtU, Shee'ings, .li,rling.-. blankets, Finn
nels, 1 loop Mir!s. Wniilleii nnil Merino Ut;-ilei-e,ir
tor gentlemen iind huliis, Heiul)'
iriule (.'hulling, Hati
jj-nfcesit Styles,
I'ups, I outs. Shoe-, hardware, Cuilery, lihs
Ware, I. iiecnsw a I e, ni.d a variety ol :irliries
Inn leiliiius to name, nil ul' w lucli are uiU-rni
fur Miie ut
Hcaaoiiablo prices fur Cash.
All p r.-i'ii aie ii, wild lo cull und examine
lur llieinsidve.-.
MARTIN & SCN.
All kimls of geml Imrier lultrii iii exrliiinge
I'ur giu'iis ut Mirli pnens us we can sell al n
L l 1 ii. M- i
For fz-rti e.
"Love Is Liki:" On a topic kindred
to the above, Dmiglas Jcrold litis tho
following beautiful remark. "The.
human heart has, of course its pouting
fits, it determines to live alone, to tlco
into desert places, to have no employ
ment that is to love nothing, but to
keep on sullenly beating, beating, tin
till dentil lays liislittlo finger on tho
silky thing anil all is still. It goes a
way from the world, and straightway,
shut from human company, it falls in
love with a plant, a stone yea, it
dandles a cut or dog. and calls the crea
tiirn darling. Yes, it is the beautiful
necessity of our nature to love some
thing. To Spoil a Daughter. -Uj always
telling her how very pretty she is.
Instill into her young mind an un
due love for dress.
Allow her to read nothing but works
of fiction.
Teach her all the accomplishments,
but none of theutillities of life.
Keep her in tho darkest ignorance
of the mysteries of housekeeping.
Initiate her into the principle that it
is vulgar to do anything for herself.
To strenthen the latter let her have
a lady's maid.
Teach her to think that she is better
than anybody else.
Make her think that she is sick when
she is not, und let her lie in bed taking
medicines when half an hour's out-of-door
exercise would completely euro
her of her laziness.
And, lastly, having her such an ed
ucation, marry her to a moustached
gentleman who is a clerk with a salary
of SiiOO.
Scene at the Gate or Paradise. A
poor tailor being released from this
troublesome world and a scolding wife,
appears at the gate of Paradise.
"Peter asked if he had ever been to
purgatory?"
"No" saiJ the poor tailor, "but I have
been married!"
0,"ad Peter, "that s all the same.
The tailor had scarcely got in he
fore a fat turtle-eating alderman camo
pulling and blowing.
"Hallow! you fellow," said he, "open
the door quick."
"Not so fast, said Peter, "have you
been to purgatory?"
"ISo, said the alderman; "but what
is that to the purpose? You let in
that poor half-starved tailor, and he
had been no more in purgatory than If
"But he has been married," said
Peter.
"Married!" exclaimed the alder
man,"why I have been married twie"
"Then please go back gaWf?
Peter, "Paradise is not th pb ,or
fools!"
i