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Uosli (tain ©bites. BY J. T. WHITMAN. Tinies. Published every Friday. TERMS: Four Dollars in Advance. —— -* -♦*♦♦- Advertising Rates: Dollar and Twknty-Five Cents per Square (of ten links on lkss,) lor the first in sertion, and Seventy-Five Cents for each subse quent insertion. Those sent without a specification of the num ber of insert’tm, will be published till forbid, rad charged accordingly. BdsrnesS 6* Professional Cards, of six lines or unde/, Six DollaA’s, per annum; and where they do notexeeed 12 lines, Ten Dollars. A liberal contract will be made with those who *uh to'advertisc by the year, occupying a specified space. car All advertisements not paid in advance, WILL be considered DUE in THREE MONTHS FROM DATE OF AI’I’EARAiXE. Legal Advertisements. Sale of Laud or Negroes, by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are requited by law to be held on the First Tuesday in the month between the hours of 10 in the forenoon and 2 in the afternoon, at the Court House in the County in which the property is situated. Notice of these sales must be given in a public gazette forty days previous to the day of sale. Notiiee for the sale of personal property must b'ft given in like manner ten da vs previous to sale day. Notices to the debtors and creditors of an es tate must also be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Ne groes,- must be published for two months. Citations for letter - of Administration, Guar •tiau-diip, Ac.- must be published thirty days— or dismiss on ftom administration, monthly for six moutlrf.- Fot dfemmrSsion from Guardianship, forty day. Rules for enclosure of Mortgage must be published- monthly for four months—for estab lishing lost pap*i's.- the full space of three months—foF titles from Executors’, or Administered?'!',-wheie Ixmd has been given bu the dseeasftl, the full space of three months. ' Publications will alwsvs h'r- continued accord ing to tiiese.-.HVfc UJ-iW ,(%»pWe’fKeuts, uiHessothcr r*ise or lered, nt t*h» . -.- RATES'- on leteWc? Administration &c w . .$3 00 “ Dispii.-isoi'y trinh 1 Athpr'oii, 6 00 *“ “ - Garduuishfy,.. 4 tio Lcafe to s’dl Laml'.’Sy . 6 00 Notice to debtors* and crcdi toft', . -5 00 ISalss of ->e-s«o;;a! propr rt v , t.-u dthH ?square , ! II. < a j Sale of land r:-d-;*‘ , /eees bv Executors AA •’ I so-. “ ' S’ GO 1 strayes, W-T Weeks,-. . . 4' Otf For'a man advert;:.g his M (i?.‘ atr-M'nee),’! 0 u 6 Fq? »pi.f;uueing Candidates name 7 C*J CoNi’kact Advertising. |3i<;6in.|Bt>i.|l2tn. square without change. .. . fG .y'tt. ; Cfttngdd" quarterly.. 7 i I'o, I'2] I’s' Chaiiged at will, .. 8 ■ 12; 14| 18 squares without change,.... 9 j 12 l’-j 20’ Changed qam’&ily,.-. 1 lx! l'Bi 2Q 25' Changed’will,.... | ID' 20. 25 30 squares withoiit change,... I 12j 15j 20 25 Changed quarterly .J 181 2Oj 231 3d Changed at viH.-.! 20. 25 30 35 J column without change,... 25- 30> 40 40 Changed quarterly,.. 1 28; 32; 45 45 Changed at will;-. 35| 45! 50 55 1‘ column without change,....' t>6| 70| 80 xOff Changed quarterly... j Gsi 7<] 90 110 Changed nt wi11,.,,..1. 7o' 85(100 125 JOB PIUNTiNG. In this line we are prepared to do work of al most t very description in the neatest style on short notice, ind upon reasonable terms. Our material fpt 1 printing Cards and Handbills, plain fancy and ornarnent il, is very superior, alia ena bles us to offer superior inducements to those wishing anything in that line. 'Ranks, Circulars, and all kinds of fancy vfdfk done tc order; also, Pesters to anv reasonable size. WHITMAN & CALDWELL, JVoprteforZ —ay———MUfea. >i ■»■■■■ ja iiutSi iwri' Land Agency at fialton, Georgia, /•p HE salubrity of climate, the proximity to JL valuable medicinal Springs, the picturesque geenery and fertility of the soil of the adjacent country, with the facility intercourse with the low country, given by the system of Railroads connecting at this point, and the advantages, which the establishment of good schools will give, offer such inducements that the under signed believes that it will be mutually advanta geous to those owning real estate who may wish to sell, and to those who may wish to purchase; and therefore proposes to open an agency in the city of Dalton, in which, persons having land for sale, may file description thereof, witli a statement of the prices, go that persons wishing to buy, may, with greater facility, obtain the requisite information. All communications from persons having lands for sale, or persons wishing to purchase, will l>e placed on file and receive prompt attention.— Please address BEN. E. ORLEN, Dalton, Ga. Dalton, Sept. 12, ’6l—tf. THE HERMIT SPRING, One of the Prettiest Places in Cherokee Georgia, For Sale! I WILL sell, for Confederate money, my farm, one and a half miles f.-om Dalton, Ga., in sight of the W. & A. Railroad, known as the Hermit Spring. It is one of the finest locations in the State. I will also, sell with the premises, my Stock, Horses, Mules, Cattle,-Hogs, Sheep, Goats, Wag ons, Carriagis, Buggies and Household Furniture. Also one FINE JACK. April 3. A. FITZGERALD. . Augusta Chronicle A Sentinel, Atlan- ta intelligencer and Knoxville Register, will copy i-u » e W ' Ce hn, ‘ not > c ® editorially and forward bill to me at Dahm,, for payment. A. F. Garden Seed. S “ d ' ’ Mrs. BENDER’S. The Dying Soldier. Day faded from the hill and wood, Around, a rayless night was spread. It closed upon a scene of blood, The di ing and the dead; And science brooded o’er the field Where echoed late the trump and drum ! And where a thousand thunders pealed - Their death-knell—all was dumb’. There mid his brave but vanquished band, Upon a midnight couch of clay, With ghastly wound and broken brand, A dying warrior lay. No fond and faithful one was there To kneel her parting love beside, To stanch his death-wound with her hair, And stay life’s ebbing tide 1 He lay beside a gushing spring That from its fount in freshness burst; But helping hand was none to bring A drop to cool that thirst Which ‘ scorches on the parting breath,” Fierce as the simoon’s burning sigh; And adds to bitterness of death Its frenzied agony. E’en then on memory’s wakeful eye Wdfld f. rtns of children, wife, and friend- Fair as a vision of the sky, In rainbow beauty blend : A dream of summer, love and youth, And bowers he may ne’er see again, Bathed in the glowing tints of truth, Break o’er dying brain. While Victory sends her deafening shout Through streets that madden with the din, And all is reckless mirth without, A mourner droops w ithin. She clasps her babe with sob and sigh, Aud -sorrow’s dreary vigil keeps; Her orphans g: ze and wonder why Their widowed mother weeps. A Touching Scene. I was conversing not long sinefe with - » re ui tied “ I was’iti the hospital as nurse for a long time,” said he, “ and assisted in taking off limbs and dressing all sorts of wounds; but the hardest thing 1 ev er ditl was to take my thumb off a man’s leg.” "Ah!” said I, ‘how was that?” , Then he told me: I “It was a young man, who had a se | vere wotftid’ in the thigh. The ball I, passed* cirnpletely through, and ampu tation was necessary. The limb was cut off close up to the body,the arteries takeii' dp; d L .!T be seemed to be doing well. Subsequently one of the small arteries sloughed off. An incision was iri’a'db, add it was again taken up. “It is well it was not tl'e main artery,” said the edtgdbn as hi? jlbiToi’Clbd' the operation; be might have bled to death before we CouW’ IfaVe'taken it, up.”— But Charley get on finely, and was a favorite with us all. _ , I was' pudkinj* tui’oii’gh tiie ward one night about midnight, when suddenly us I was passing Charley’s bdd he .spoke to me: “ 11—my leg' is bleeding agaidi”. I threw back the bed clothes, and the biood spirted in the air. The main artdry bad sloughed off Fortunately, 1 knew just what to do, and in an instant P h‘ad‘ pfiessdiP my thumb on the place and stopped the bleeding. It was so close to the body tbat there was barely room soy my thumb;- but I succeeded'in keeping it there, and arousing one of the conva lescents, I sent him for the surgeon, who came in on the run. “ I am so thankful II said he as he saw irife, “that you 1 were rip, and knew what to do, for he must have bled to death before I could'have got here.” But on examination into the case he looked exceedingly serious, and sent out lor other surgeons. All came who were within reach, and a corisuitation was held over the poor fellow. One conclusion was reached by all. There was no place to work save where my thumb was placed; they could not work . under m3' thumb, and if I moved it he would bleed to death before the artery could be taken up. There was no way to save his life! Poor Charley! lie was very calm when they told biin, and requested that his brother, who was in the hospital, might becalledup. He came,sat down by the bedside, and for three hours I stood, and by the pressure of my thumb, kept up the life of Charley, while the brothers had their last conversation on earth. It was a strange place for me to be in, to feel that I had the life of a fellow mortal in iny hands, as it were, and straugei* yet to feel that an act of mine must catiSe that life to de part. Loving the poor fell as I did, it was a hard thought;- but there was nb alternative. The last words were spoken. Char ley Lad arranged all his business as- DALTON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, MAY 8, 1863; lairs, and sent tender messages to ab sent ones, who little dreamed how near their loved one stood to' the grave;— The tears filled my eyes more than once as .1 listened to those parting words.— All were said, and he turned to me. “ Now, H , I guess you' had bet- ter take .off your thumb.” “ 0, Charley! how can I?” I said. “ But it must be, you know,” replied he cheerfully. “I thank you very much for your kindness; and now, gbotx bye.-” , He turned away his head, 1 rafsed my thumb, once more the life current gushed forth, and in three minutes poor Charley was dead! Napoleon and the British Sailor. Manj - years ago a British sailor was taken prisoner at Boulogne by the j French’ arfil'y. lie was not, however, ) shut up between four walls, but he was - alibied his liberty, and permitted to! roam about on the shore as lie pleased. I suppose i,t was thought that one man could not do any harm by himself. But tlie young sailor longed sadly to get back again to bis country. He used to sit and errty the birds as he SAW them winging taeir flight to dear old England; he wished that he make his escape as easily as they did. One morning lie dbserved an empty hogshead come floating toward the shore. Be eagerly seized it, and what do you think he did with it ? Why he hid it in a cave, and worked very hard, day after day, trying to make this old’" 1 barrel into a boat! Ami a't length'after some fashion, he succeeded. But such a boat was perhaps never seen before. It was not fit to venture u'p'on’ a pOlrd in, arid to think- of crossing the deep, wide sea in it! why the idea was enough to make one shqdder. And yet st)’ anxious WW the sUil’or t‘d' I’ea'dh 1 bis home, that he was actually g'oiffg to put to sea in it! The French guard caught him with it 011 the beach, and they laughed at h:m, and ridiculed him finely about his wretched fooki'ng boat. Tin? story of this young sailor’s attempted' escape iii this clumsy and dangerous manner was so talked of. that presently it reach ed the-fars of Napoleon Then Xapoleoh came and spoke to the sailor. “ Rush youth,” hfe said, “you must have hd‘d some strong mb tive to make you dream of cross ng the Channel in a tiling formed of twigs and staves. What was it? Tell me frank- The sailor answered, “ Ihaa sucti' a great longing to see my mother! It is many years since we, last met, and' 1’ wanted so much to see her once more.” “ And so you shall,” answered Napo leon quickly, “siibh ff loving and brave son must have hud a good mother.”— Then giving the Bailor a piece of gold, he commanded that He’ ehould be put on board a vessel sailing to d!H Eng land, and carried back to his native land. So the dutiful and affectionate young sailor was restored to his aged, wid owed rfibther. They lived happily to gether, although they were very poor; aiid the grateful sailor never parted with the coin which Napoleon had giv en him. , , . ■ . , Boys! do you'love and' honor your mother? What sacrifice are you’ will ing to make for Iter good? Do you re member as you ought bow many she lias made for you? Sweeter Far id HeaVeiL It was evening—bright, star-kissed evening. We were seated alone at the piano,-brealhirig a song of beauty and joy: and as our fingers glided lightly up the silver-keyed octaves, and music, “the soul of beauty,”’ gushed forth re sponsive to our touch, it seeriffed’ tHftt nowhere in tliis glad ; earth could there be hearts beating heavily, so light and joyoufe 'tVere our own. The last echo hud died away iri the distance,- aiRT turning from the iristrufrifliit/oui’ ey«s rested upon th£ silvered locks and bend ing form of one, whose countenance bespoke a pure and noble heart: We had ne’/er met before, but life: whisper ed softly, while a‘ stnilef df beauty wreathed his colorless lips: 1 “Young maiden, ’twill be «weeter far ill' heav en!” 0! how those few simple words changed the current of our though tsp and wherq iri' words of winning elo quence, he spoke of the comforts of our holy religion, and urged us to conse crate our life, our talents, our all, to the service of our Maker,- we thought no sacrifice too great, if, like him, we, too, might know the source of joy; if, like him, we, 100, might see unfolding,- before our spirit’s vision, the glories of the Celestial city. Weeks fled, and that old man, wea ried of earth, folded his thin aims, and went to sleep. They laid him to rest, away in the church-yard; but we knew that there was but the casket—that the spirit, no longer fettered, was basking iti the sunlight of the Saviour’s smile; and that his voice, no longer tremulous, mingled in the anthems of “just made perfect.” Yes, gifted one, the autumn winds are sighing mournfully around thy tomb, and faded leaves, typical of life, are scattered o’er thy pulseless heart; yet thy influence caunot die.— The hearts wooed by thee from patliri of sin, arc weaving garlands of aflection- Ctte gratitude to twitie axound tby metnory; and when at twilight hours we breathe a song of the “olden time,” beautiful, indeed, through the vista of. the past, comes the remembrance of those joy inspiring words; “’Twill be sweeter far in heaven !” Married Life. Oh ye husbands and wives, deceive not one another in small things nor in great. One little single lie has, before now, disturbed a whole married life—a small cause l,ias often great conse quen'ces. Fold not the-arms together and sit idle •“ Laziness is the devil’s cushion.” Do not run much from home. One’s own hearth is’ of iri'ere worth'than gold. Many a marriage begins like a rosy morning, and then falls away like a snow-wreath. And tfb'y? Because tfie married pair neglect to be as well pleasing to'each' other after marriage as before. Endeavor always to please one another; but at the same time keep God in you'r thoughts Lavish not all your love oh to-day, for remember that marriage has its to-morrow likewise, and its day after to morrow, too.. Spare one may, fuel for winter. Consider, ye daughters, what the word wile ex presses. The married woman is the husband’s domestic faith; in her hand he must be able to intrust the key of his heart, as well as the key of his eating-room. His honor and bis home are under her keeping—his well-being in her hand. Think of this! And you. ye sons, be faithful husbands, and good fathers of families. Act so that your wives shall esteem and love you. »— Beautiful Extract. Men seldom think of the great event of death until the shadows fall across their path, h’ding forever from their eyes thetraces’ of loved ones whose lov ing smile was the sunlight of their ex istence. Death is the great. antagon ist of fife, nnd the thought o’the tomb •0- iLf-jhcl’cfc/n' of all Uasts: We <l<- not V7?r|'t to go thiongh tlie dark val ley, although its passage may lead to paradise; and with Charles Lamb,' we do not want to* lie dDW'i ill'the muddy grav’e even with kings and princes for out bed-fellows. But the fiat of nature is infexhorable. There’is ri'o appeal for relief from the great law which dbonis 113 to'dust. We flourish'and we fade as the leaves of the forest, and the flow ers that blossom and wither in a day,' has not a frailer hold upon life than the mightiest monarch that ever shook the earth with his footstepk. Generations of rnc-n appear and vanish as the grass, and the countless multitude that throng the world to-day, will to morrow dis appear as the footsteps in the caEl! on tfie shore. I was Once Young; It is an,excellent thing for all who are engaged in giving instruction to young people, frequently to to mind what they were themselves when young.— This practice is one which is most like ly to impart patience and forbearance,- and to correct unreasonable expecta tions. At one period of my life, when instructing two or three young people 'to write, I found them, as I thought,- unusually stupid. I happened about this time to look over the contents of an old copy book, written by me when 1 was a boy. The thick up-strokes, the crooked down-strokes, the awkwatd jointing of letters, and the blots in the book, made ine completely ashamed of myself, and I could at the moment have hurled the ’book in the fire. The worse, however, I thought* of rriysfelf, the bet ter I thought of backward scholars. I was cured of my unreasonable expec tations, and became in future doubly patient and forbearing. In teaching youth, remember that you once Were young, and in reproving their youthful errors, endeavor to call to your mind your own! Young Meq,. The most anxious moment in the his tory of a youtig riian is that moment when he forsakes the parental roof and goes forth in the wide world to ask a livelihood? The interests of" life are crowded irito that period. The tears of a mother, tile counsels of a father, consecrate that eventful moment.— Away from home, old associations, and settled in some new home,-how apt the fornler restraints'are tb be cast off!—- The trial of virtue now comes. The test of the principle is now applied. If he holds fast in bis integrity the pray ers of his rimther and father, rising up when the still dews arc falling, will bring blessings thick as manna that fell around the camp of the Israelites, down upon his path. But if he proves faithless, then will his memory embit ter his life, then will his parents wel come the grave, that they may hide their dishonor in the dust. “Don’t Stay Long.” it is rarely indeed that we have read anything more truthfully pathetic than the subjoined waife, which we fjml floating among our exchanges. Would that every husband might read and profit by it: “ Don’t stay long, husband,” said d young wife tenderly one evening, as her husband was preparing to go out. lhe words themselves were insigni 1 Cant, but the look of melting fondness with Which they were accompanied, spoke volmn'es. It tohl all the whole vast depths of a woman’s love—of her grief, When the light of his smile, the source o's all ter joy, beamed not bright ly upon her. Don’t stay long, husband,” and I fancied I saw'the loving-, gentle wife, sitting alone, anxiously counting the moments of her husband’s absence, ev ery few moments running to the door to see if he was in sight, and finding that be was not, I thought 1 could hear her exclaiming in disappointed tones, “ not yet.” ‘ “Don’t stay long, husband,” and I'.e thought I could see the young wife rocking nervously in the great arm chair, and weep as though her heart Would break,, as her thoughtless “lord and master” prolonged his stay to a wearisome length of time. 0, you that have wives to say — “Don’t stay long,” when you go forth, think of her kindly when you are mingling in the busy hive of life, and try, just a little, to make their homes aud heart happy, for they a're gems too seldom replaced. You cannot find, amid the pleasures of the world, the peace and joy that a quiet home, bless ed with such a woman’s pi'esCnce, will afford. “Don’t stay long, husband,” and the young wife’s look seemed to say, “ for here in your own sweet home is a lov ing heart, whose music is bushed when you are absent; here is a soft breast for yon to lay your heart upon, aud here pure lips, unsoiled by sin, that will pay .you Vith kisses for coming back soon.” The Marriage Fee. r ll;e late Dr Boynton was once dis I afnrninr about ‘the #acc witl: Whiclr a minister earned money. “ Now,” said the farmer, “when you a?e called on to marry a couple, you never expect a less sum than three dol lars, and yoff sometimes get ten dollars —this ipi-’a few mi,nates service.” “ Pooh!” replied the doctor, “I would agree to give half of my next marriage fee for a bushel of potatoes.” “ Very well,” said the farmer, “ I’ll take your offer, and send you’ the pota toes.” A few days afterwards, the doctor was called on to splice a loving Couple at Dogtown, a place about four miles from where he lived. When the cero mony was over the bridegroom said to the worthy minister. “ Well, parson, 1 suppose I must fork over something for your trouble. What say you to one of ray terrier pups? The best breed, I tell you, in the country. Shocking nice to have in a barn.— Worth five dollars—and I suppose a figure 2 would do for the splice, eh? The doctor took tlie pup with joy.— the joke was too good; he hastened to the farmer, saying: “Now, friend, here is my fee—-how shall we divide?” The farmer relished the joke so well, that he increased the potatoes to half a dozen bushels. The Progress of Life. Men rejoice when the sun has risen —they rejoice also wit- n the sun goes down—while they are unconscious of the decay of their own lives. Men re joice on seeing the face of a new sea son, as at the arrival of one greatly desired. Nevertheless the revolution of one season is the decay of man.— Fragments' of driftwood meeting in the wide ocean continue together a little space; thus parents, wives, children, friends and riches remain with us a ghort time, then separate—the {separa tion is inevitable. No mrirtal can es cape the common lot; he who mourns for departed relatives, has no power to cause them to return: Ohe standing on the road would readily say to a number of persons passing I?y, “I will follow you;” why, then, should a per son grieve when journeying the same road which has been assuredly travelled by'all our fore fatliers. Life resembles a cataract running down with irresis tible impetuosity. Rowing that the end of life is death, every right-minded man ought to pursue that which is connected with happiness and ultimate bliss. . . I we would turn a deaf ear to the .tale of scandal, breathe the spirit of charity from our lips and from our hearts, let the rich gushings of human kindness swell up as a lounftiin, the ' “golden age would become a fiction, I and the island of the blessed bloom in more than Hesperian beauty.” VOL. 14— NO. 17. I (Kohuinr for Siitk /olhs. The Crown of Tears. . The last rays of the setting sun rest ed orown-iike on the tops of the forest trees, leaving in the deepening shad ows of twilight a little child, wh j sat weeping by the wayside. Her tears fell through her clasped hands upon a few withered roses in her lap. Sud denly, by i-. magnetic influence, whose | mystery is eternal, she felt that she | was not alone. Looking up she beheld ■ stendiag txrf her an aged .a. a Up on itis shoulders fell his white hair, • and his form was bent with the burden I of years, but his eyes still retained the ! fire of youth, and the sorrowing child | felt their glow irradiate her inmost I soul. As she looked up the old man I spoke; “Child, why do you weep ?” “ Because,” said the child, her tears I flowing afresh, “'my little brother is dead. ’ “ And should you weep at death ?” asked the stranger.’ “Do you look be i neath the brown earth only, for your little brother ? Child, he is not there ?” “ Yes, he is,” said the litjde girl, mournfully. “ I saw him lying white rind’ still in his little shroud; he would not look at me when I called his name, nor even when' I brought my pretty | white rose aridplaced it in his hand.— Then imrtna told me he was dead, and I I should never see him again after they I laid him in the ground; it is for that I i weep.” | “ Child, your brother still lives,” said ! the old man solemnly. She looked eag i erly in his face. “Have you seen him ? Oh! let me j run' and tell my mother.” “ I have not seen him,” replied the stranger, “ but I know that’he lives.— Not here—not in this world again,” continued he, raising his cyetf heaven ward, “ but there is a beautiful land where weeping is unknown, where sor row and death never enter—and yet, death is the shining portal to that lands” The little girl looked wondcringly him , 3NW “ And is he there I” she asked; “ die may 1 see him again ?” 5 V.;... !S t!'." IIS\S “ AuU Uicru j ou win f uel the tecers have wept Here, transfoi'mcd crown of light and life. . See! even now thy work has begun.” She looked, as indicated'by his hand, and lo! her roses, brightened and re freshed by her many falling tears, smil ed up into Iter face. The Boy at the Dyke. A little boy in Holland was return ing one night from a village to which he had been sent by his father on an er rand, when he noticed the water trick ling through a narrow opening in the dyke. lie stopped and thought what the consequences would be if the hole was not closed, lie knew, for he bad often heard bis father tell, the sad dis asters which happened from such small beginnings; bow, in a few hours, the opening would become larger, and let in the mighty mass of waters pressing ! on the dyke,"until, the whole defence being washed away, the rolling, dash ing, angry waters vvould sweep on to the next village, destroying life and property, and everything in its way. Should he'iun home ani-alarm the villagers, it would be dark before they could arri - .e, and the hole might then be so large as to defy all attempts to close it. Prompted by these thoughts he seated'himself on the banks of the canal, stopped the opening with his han Is, and patiently awaited the ap proach of some villager: But no one came. Hour after hour rolled slowly by, yet there sat the heoric boy, in cold and darkness, shivering, wet and tired, but stoutly pressing his hand against the dangerous breech. All. night he stayed at his post. At last the morn ing broke. A clergymen, walking up the canal, heard a groan, and looked around to see where it came from.— “ Why are you there, my-child?” he asked, seeing the boy and surprised at his strange position. “I am keeping back the water, sir, and saving the vil lage from being drowned,” answered the child, with lips so benumbed with j cold that he could scarcely _ speak.— ! The astonished minister relieved the I b.oy. The dyke was closed, and the ' danger which threatenjned hundreds of lives was prevented. Insects must lead a truly jovial , life. Think what it must be to lodge 'in alii}’. Imagine a palt.ee ol ivoij ' and pearl, with pillars ol silvet and i capitals of gold, all exhaling such a ; ; erfumo as never arose from a human Fancy again the fun of tilck i ing yourself up for the night iii the ' folds of a rose, rocked to sleep by the ■ gentle sighs of the summer air, noth- ; ing to do when you awake? but towash’ ; yourself in a dew drop, aud fall to and eat your bed-clothes! Our own happiness is best pro moted by seeking the welfare of others.