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114 to get a sweet morsel. Some beggars act in a similar manner. They approach Christian people with an air of piety as strong as they deem necessary to reach their purses; but, if they succeed in their tricks, they throw off the mantle of reli gion at the first rum hole they come to, and enter to take a drink. The dog lying down has not a very friendly look, either—has he ? He does not even go to the trouble of begging for a morsel, as his “bigger brother” does, but evidently depends upon him for a “share of the profits;” and whilst the beggar is pleading his case, this fellow contents himself with gnawing a feather, which has fallen from the parrot’s tail. Such is low life, which we find not only among the dog race, but in greater abun dance than even high life, in the base ments and cellars of our cities, in our alms-houses and groggeries, in our gam bling houses and prisons. Shall we ask our readers what kind of life they would choose? Ho ! We do not desire that j’ou should live either a high or low life, such as we have referred to. We desire that you should choose a mid dle road to travel on. Live lives of in dustry and usefulness—lives of godliness and true righteousness—depending, by the blessing of Heaven, on yourselves for as much of this world’s goods as may be needed for your comfort and convenience, and on God alone for grace to work out your salvation. A life of sin is a low life, whatever else it may be called by giddy worldlings; but walking in the footsteps of our Sa viour will lead us to a higher life than this earth can afford. Header, you now see the way. May you have grace to walk therein, and reach that higher life. +»♦ “ Don’t Care.” Old Don’t Care is a murderer foul, And a murderer foul is he,— He beareth a halter in his hand,— And hi3 staff is the gallows tree; And slily he follows the victim on, Through high degree and low, And strangles him there, when least aware, And strikes the fatal blow— Hanging his victim high in the air, A villain strong is Old Don’t Care 1 mind so bright but drink will befool it; no fortune so ample but brandy will beggar it. The happiest it will fill with misery; the firmest health dissipa tion will shatter. No business so thriving that whisky cannot spoil. Luck lies in bed, and wishes the postman would bring him news of a lega cy. Labor turns out early, and, with busy pen or ringing hammer, lays the foundation of a competence. BURKE’B WEEKLY. Written for Burke’s Weekly. MAROONEE’S ISLAND ; OR, Dr. Gordon in Search of His Children. BY REV. F. R. GOULDING, Author of “ The Young Marooners .” CHAPTER Nl. — Concluded. HIS Doctor,” continued Jones, “used to tell a fann y stOl T hi ß once / ’lplL, having helped to eat a J|& skunk.” lUpi “ Let us hear it, by all means,” MA said Dr. Gordon, to which Jones 'HI replied: “As the story is not long and may amuse you, I will tell it, on condi tion that it does not interfere with the story that it is about time for us to hear from our friend Thompson,”—looking with a sort of pleasurable malice at his good-natured companion. Thompson very politely admonished him by word and look to attend to his own business, and Jones began : “ The old gentleman, of whom the story is told, is known as Eaton, though he was so famous throughout the neighborhood for trying to enjoy every thing which could be cooked and brought to table, that the country people knew him better as Dr. Eat all. Persons familiar with his house say that frogs and snails were as common on his table as broiled chickens and oysters were on the tables of other people, and that he said the sweetest broil, next to squirrel, was the ham of a nice fat rat, and that the best broth ever brought to his table was made from the white flesh of the rattlesnake. He is re ported to have said, too, that he had tried everything within his reach that any body else had eaten, —lizzards, spiders, wood-peckers, cranes, crows, —and found many of them delightful, but that there was one thing which he could never make palatable, and only one—it was the buz zard ; that he had tried it broiled, fried, roasted, baked, stewed with onions and without, but that it was always buzzard.* “ People say that he was not.only fond of eating new things, but of eating in strange places and in strange ways, and that this fondness for what was new com pelled him one day to feed upon a skunk. “It is said that there was an old Ca tawba chief who once dined with him, and who was mightily taken with the grandness of the doctor’s dinner, particu . *vn in i lar l tory I s currcnt,y reported of the celebrated AehiHe Murat, ex-king of Naples, during his refugee life in rionda. He is said to have declared that he had been able to eat everything except the buzzard. “ I try him ” said he, in h,s broken English ; “Itry himfry-I try him broil I try him stew-but pah ! he huizard yet.” larly with the number of courses of which the dinner was composed, and who, with true Indian pride, invited the doctor to dine some day with himself. But for i long time the invitation was all that the doctor could obtain. At last, the day was fixed and the doctor went over. The house was small and crowded, so the doc tor and the chief sat and talked together under the shade of a tree until dinner time. Then the chief invited him to a log, where they both seated themselves with a board between for a table, and on which was a pile of something covered with a deer-skin. This deer-skin was as near like as the Indian could invent to the dish covers of the doctor’s table.— There stood by an Indian whom the chief had engaged to act as waiter, and who took off the deer-skin, showing a big pile of roasted potatoes. Each took one of these and began to eat, when the chief waved his hand to the waiter, and in a very grand way said : “ ‘Set on !’ “ The waiter then w r ent to a hole in the ground where the heated air kept rising, took out something by means of a stick run through it as a spit, and set it smo king hot, stick and all, on the pile of po tatoes. The chief drew his big hunting knife, cut a nice brown piece, which he put on the board before the doctor, and urged him to eat it. After which, he cut off a piece for himself, and giving his hand a very stately wave to the Indian in waiting, he said : “ ‘Take off the skunk !’ “ This made the doctor open his eyes, for he had eaten a part of his slice, found that it tasted well, and Avas wondering whether it was a young raccoon, or some other long-tailed game. This was the chief’s first course at dinner. They sat and talked awhile, enjoying their potato and barbacue, when the chief gave anoth er grand wrnve of his hand to the waiter, and said : “ ‘Set on the skunk !’ “ This was the second course, which lasted perhaps a quarter of an hour, after which the chief waved his hand again to the waiter, saying— “ ‘Take off the skunk !’ “ This was done as many times as the plates at the doctor’s table had been changed at the time the Indian dined there. So, the chief had as many courses at his dinner as he had counted at the other’s, but as the doctor said : ‘lt was skunk every time I ” “Avery nice and believable story, said Thompson, in a serio-comic tone, as soon as Jones had concluded; “For, al though I do not know much of the North