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VOL. I. THE SOWSESILH' ££nSTS3£i^XC 9 Will be published erery SJITL liDJi F Morning, .'ll the Corner of IValnut and Fifth Streets, FN THE CITY OF MACON, CA. BY WM. B. IIAKItISON. r E It M S : For the Paper, in advance, per annum, $2. If not paid in advance, tjjixJ ">O, per annum. If not paid until the end of the Year !«3 00. Q"r* Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates —and when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they will be continued un til forbid and charged accordingly, Uj’Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. [fTSvilesof Land by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are. required by Law, to he held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten o’clock in the Forenoon and three in the Af ternoon, at the Court House of the county in which tiie Property is situate. Notice ofthese Hales must be given in a public gazette sixty hays previous to the day of sale. (O’Sales of Negroes by Administrators, Execu tors or Guardians, must he at Public Auction, on the first Tuesday in the month, between the legal 'hours of sale, before the Court House of the county where the Letters Testamentary, or Administration or Guardianship may have been granted, first giv ing notice thereof for sixty da vs, in one of the pub lic gazettes of this Htate, and at the door of the Court House where such sales arc to he held. UJ’Xotice fur the saleof Personal Property must be given in like manner forty days previous to the day of sale. (LT’Notice to the Debtors and Creditors olan Es tate must be published for forty days. Cj* Notice that application will he made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Ne groes must he published in a public gazette in this State for Font months, before any order absolute can be given by the Court. (LJ’Citations for Letters of Administration on ah Estate, granted by the Court "of Ordinary, must be published thirty days— for Letters of Dismis sion from the administration ofan Estate, monthly for six mom iis —for Dismission from Guardian ship forty days. djr-Ru'.KS for the foreclosure of a Mortgage, must be punlished monthly for fork months— lor establishing lost Papers, for the full space of three months —for compelling Titles from Ex ecutors, Administrators or others, where a Bond lias been given by the deceased, the full space of •THREE MONTHS. N. 15. All Business of this kind shall receiv prompt attention at the SOIJTIIEKN MUSEUM <>fli :r, and strict care will he taken that ail legal Advertisements arc published according to Law. (UTAH Letters directed to this Office or the Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in sure attention. Q> A Gem for the Season. —The I'pllow-ng may tig read at the present moment with more then ordinary relish. It is une of the most beautiful poems in the language. The imagery is chaste, natural, and altogether appropriate : Death of tile Flowers. 1!Y W. C. BRYANT. The melancholy days are come, The saddest of the year, Os wailing winds and’naked woods, And meadows brown and sere, Heaped iii the hollows of the grove, ill ! withered leaves lie dead, They r istle t . the eddying gust, And to the rabbit's tread : 1 lie robin and the wren arc flown, And from the shrub the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow, Through all the gloomy day. Y\ here are the flowers, the fair young-flowers That lately sprung and stood In brighter light and soli or airs, A beauteous sisterhood ? Alas! they nil are in their graves, The gentle care of flowers, And lying in their lowly bed, Willi the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, But cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth Thu lovely ones again. The wild flower and the violet, They perished long ago, And the wild rose and the orchis died Amid the Summer glow ; But on the hill the golden rod, Aad the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by'the brook, lii Autumn beauty stood, fill fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, As lalls the plague on men, And the brightness of tlicirsmilc was gone From upland, glade and glen. And now, when comes the calm midday, As still such davs will come, To call the squirrel and the bee From out tin ir wintry home, \\ lien the sound of dropping nuts is heard, Though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light r The waters of the rill ;' I ho south wind searches for the flowers Whose fragrance late he bore,' And sighed to find them in the wood And by the stream no more. And when I think of one who m et 'youthful beauty died— "•‘t lair meek blossom that grew up A*'d laded by my side ; “ ‘ w r \ f < U moist earth we laid her, \Vl»en th e forest east the leaf, * And we wept, that „nc so lovely felioiild have a lift so brief; ' ‘ l mmCL ' t ' l that one Like that young friend of ours Ho gentle and so beautiful, Should perish with the ilowers. Let ns Hope for Brighter Hays. Let us hope for brighter days ! Wo have struggled long together, Hoping that the summer’s rays II ! g,lt *“oceed the wintry weather . ILquiig till the summer came, l hat to us seem’d winter still. Summer—winter—all the same ' J-o our hearts so cold and chill ! Let us hope for brighter days 1 * Surely they must come at last ■As we see the solar rays, ’ • « VVh ? n . l !'° s,orm !m» hurried past ■ So as, mid the storm, we know I hat the sunbeam will succeed Let us not our hope forego 1 In our darkest hour of need. The W ise Thought. A First Hate Irish Tale. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. She was sitting under the shadow of a fragrant lime tree that overhung a very an cient well, and as the water fell into her pitcher, she was mingling with its music the tones of her ‘Jew’s hup,” the only instrument upon which Norah Clary had learned to play. She was a merry maid en of “sweet seventeen;” a rustic belle, as well as a rustic beauty, and a “terrible coquette and as she had wlmt iti Scot land they call a “tocher,” in England a ‘ dowry,” and in Ireland a “pretty penny o’ money,” it is scarcely necessary to state in addition, that she had—a bachelor.— Whether the tune —which was certainly given in alia —was or was not designed as a summons to her lover, 1 cannot take up on myself to say ; but her lips and lingers had not long been occupied, before her lo ver was at her side. » “We may as well give it up, Morris Donovan,” she said, somewhat abruptly ; “look, ’twould he as easy to twist the top ofthe great hill of iiowtli, as make father and mother agree about ?ny one thing. They've been playing the rule of contra ry these twenty years, and it’s not likely they’ll take a turn now.” “It’s mighty hard, so it is,’’ replied handsome Morris, “that martied people can’t draw together. Norah, darlin; ! that’wouldn’t I o the way with us. It’s one we’d he in heart and sowl, and an ex ample of love and ” “Folly,” interrupted the maiden, laugh ing. “Morris, Morris, we’ve quarrelled a score o’ times already; and a bit of a breeze makes life ail the pleasanter. Shall 1 talk about tho metry jig I danced with I’iiil Kennedy, or repeat what Mark Doo iaii said of me to Mary Grey ! eh, Morris!” “Leave joking now, Norry; God only knows hmv 1 love you,” he said, in a voice broken by emotion ; “I’m yer equal as fai ns money goes; and no young farmer in the country can tell a belter stock to his share than mine ; yet, I don’t pretend to deserve you for all that; only 1 can’t help saying that, when we love each other, (now don’t go to contradict me, Norry, because ye’ve as good as owned it over and over again,) and yer lather agreeable and all, to think that yer mother, just for I dir-’ment, should he putting betwixt us for no reason upon earth, only to ‘spite’ her lawful husbaml, is what sets me mad entirely, and shows her to be a good for “Stop, Mister Morris,” exclaimed No-j rah, laying her hand upon his mouth so j ■:s effectually to prevent a sound escaping; j “it'- my mother ye're talking of, and it j would he ill-lilood, as well as ill-bred, to , hear ;i word said against an own parent, j Is that the pattern of ycr manner, sir ; or i did ye ever hear me turn my tongue ..gainst any one belonging to you l” ‘l ask your pardon, my own Norab,’ he replied, meekly, as in duty bound; ‘for the salvo of the lamb, we spare the sheep. \\ hy not ! and I’m not going to gainsay, but yer mother ’ ‘ihe le t.- 1 said’s the soonest mended !’ again interrupted the impatient girl. ‘Hood even, Morris, and God bless you ; they’ll be after missing me within, and it's little mother thinks where I am.’ ‘Norah, above all the girls at wake or pattern, live been true to you. We have grown together, and since we were the heigth ofa rose-bush, ye have been dear er to me than anything else on earth. Do, Norah, for the sake of your young heart’s love, do think if there’s no \vay to win yer mother over. J 1 ye and take me with out her leave, sure it's nothing I’d care for the loss of thousands, let alone what ye ve got. Dearest Norah, think; since you’ll and > nothing without her consent, do think—fur once be serious, and don't! laugh.’ ‘1 m not going to laugh, Morris, * replied tlie little maid at last, after a very long pause—‘l’ve got a wise thought in my bead for once. 11 is reverence, ■your un cle, you say, spoke to father—to speak to mother about it? I wonder (and he a priest(that he hadn’t more sense ! Sure, mother was the man ; hut I’ve got a wise thought. Good night, dear Morris —good night The last sprang lightly over the fence into her own garden, leaving her lover per ,/m at tlie other side, without possessing an idea of what her ‘wise thought’ might be. When she entered the kitchen, mat ters were going on as usual—her mother bustling in style, and as cross ‘as a bag ofi weasels.’ ‘Jack Clary,’said she, addressing her self to her husband,, who sat quietly in the chimney corner, smoking bis dodeen, ‘it’s well ye’ve got a wife who knows what’s what! God help me ! I’ve little good of a husband, b irring the name! Are yc sure Black Nell’s in the stable ?’ The spouse nodded. ‘The cow and the calf, had they fresh straw V Another nod.— ‘Bad cess to ye, can’t ye use yer tongue, and answer a civil question V continued the lady. ‘My dear,” lie replied, ‘sure one like you lias enough for ten.’ ’] his very just bservation was, like most truths, so disagreeable, that a severe storm would have followed, had not No rah stepped up and whispered in bis ear, ‘I don’t think the stable door is fastened.’ Mrs. Clary caught the sound, and in no JI VCOA, (GA.,) SATURDAY IIOKNING, DEU’E.’IBESi t>, 1848. gentle terms ordered her husband to at tend to the comforts of Black Nell. ‘l’ll go with father myself and see,’ said Norah. ‘That's like my own child, always care ful,’ observed the mother, as the father and daughter closed the door. ‘Dear father,’began Norah, ‘it isn’t al together about the stable I wanted ye, but —but —but the priest said something to you to-day about—. Morris Donovan.’ ‘Yes, darling, and about yerself, my sweet Norry.” ‘Did ye speak to mother about it ?’ ‘No, darling, she’s been so cross all day. Sure Igo through a dale for peace and quietness. If I was like other men, and got drunk and wasted, it might be in rasun ; hut . As to Morris, she was very fond of the boy till she turned like sour milk all in a minute. I’m afraid even jhe priest ’ll get no good of her.’ ‘Father, dear father, said Norah, ‘sup pose ye were to say nothing about it, good or had, and just pretend to take a sudden dislike to Morris, and let the priest speak to her himself, she’d come round.’ ‘Out of opposition to me, eh V ‘Yes.’ ‘And let her gain the day, then ?—that would he cowardly,’ replied the farmer, drawing hitnself up. ‘No, I won’t.’ ‘Father, dear, - you don’t understand,’ said the cunning lass; “sure ye’re for Morris; and when we are—that, is, if— I mean—suppose —father, you know what 1 mean,’ she continued, and luckily the twilight concealed her blushes—‘if that took place, it’s you that would have yer own way.’ ‘True for ye, Norry, my girl, tiue for ye ; I never thought of that before !’ and, pleased with the idea of tricking h s wife, the old man fairly capered for joy. ‘But stay a while— stay ; aisy, aisy !’ he re commenced, ‘how am 1 to manage ? Sure the priest himself will be here to-morrow morning early; and lie’s out upon a sta tion now, so there’s no speaking with him; lie’s no way quick, either; we’ll lie both ered entirely if he comes in a sudden/.' ‘Leave it to me, dear father—leave it all to me !’ exclaimed the animated girl ; ‘. nly prick up a spirit, and whenever Morris’name is mentioned, abuse him but not with till yer heart, father—only from the teeth out.’ When they re-entered, the fresh boiled potatoes sent a warm curling steam to the very rafters of the lofty kitchen; they were poured out into a large wicker dish, and on the top ofthe pile rested n plate of coarse w hite salt; noggins of buttermilk were filled on the dresser; and on a small round table a cloth was spread, and some delf plates awaiting the more delicate re past which the farmer's wife was herself preparing. ‘What’s for supper, mother?’ inquired Norah as site drew her wheel towards her, and employed her fairy foot in whirl ing it round. ‘Plaguy snipeats' she replied, ‘hits o’ hog chickens, that you've always such a fancy for; Barney Leary kilt them him self. ‘So 1 did,’ said Barney, grinning;‘and that stick with a hook of Morris Donovan’s is the finest thing in the world for knock ing ’em down.’ ‘lf Moiris Donovan’s stick touched them they shan't come here,’ said the farmer, striking the poor little table such a blow with his clenched hand as to make not on ly it, hut Mrs. Clary jump. ‘And why so, pray !’ asked the dame. ‘Because nothing of Morris’, let alone Morris himself, shall come into this house,’ replied Clary; lie’s not to my liking any how, and there is no good in his bother ing here after what he won't get.’ ‘Excellent !’ thought Norah. ‘Lord save us!’ ejaculated Mrs. Clary, as she placed the grilled snipes upon the table, ‘what’s coming to the man !’ With out heeding his resolution, she was pro ceeding to distribute the savory birdeens, when to her astonishment, her usually tame husband threw the dish and its con tents into the flames ; the good woman ab solutely stood for a moment aghast. The calm, however, was not of long duration. She soon rallied, and commenced hostili ties. ‘How dare you, ye spalpeen, throw away any of God’s mate after that fashion, and Ito the fore ? \Y hat do you mane, 1 say V •1 mane, that nothing touched by Mor ris Donovan shall come undor this roof; and if I catch that girl of mine looking at the same side o’ the road he walks on, I’ll tear the c-ye3 out of her head, and send her to a nunnery !’ ‘Y ott will! And dare you say that to my face, to a child o’ mine! You will, will ye ! —we’ll see, my boy ! I’ll tell ye what, if I like, Morris Donovan shall come into this house : and what’s more, be master of the houso, and that’s what you never had the heart to be yet, ye poor old snail!’ So saying, Mrs. Clary endea vored to rescue from the fire the hissing remains of the burning snipes. N orab at tempted to assist her mother; but Clary, lifting her up, somewhat after the fashion ofan eagle raising a golden wren with its claw, fairly put her out of the kitchen.— This xvas the signal for fresh hostilities. Mrs. Clary stormed and stamped, and Mr. 1 Clary persisted in abusing not only Mor ris, but Morris’ ancle, Father Donovan, until at last the father’s helpmate swore, ay, and roundly too, by cross and saint, ! that, before the next sunset Norah Clary | should be Norah Donovan. I wish you j could have seen Norry’s eye, dancing with joy and exultation, as it peeped thro the latch hole ; it sparkled more brightly than the richest diamond in our monarch’s crown, for it was filled with hope and love. Ihe next morning before the sun was fully up, he was throwing his early beams over the glowing cheeks of Norah Clary ; for her wise thought had prospered, and - she was hastening to the trysting tree, where, liy chance, either morning or eve ning, she generally met Morris Donovan. I knownot how it is, but the moment the course of love begins to run smooth, it be comes uninteresting, except to the parties concerned. So it is now left forme only to say, that the maiden, after a due and i proper time consumed in teasing and tan ! talizing her intended, told him her saucy plan, and its result. And the lover has tened upon the wings of love (which I beg my readers clearly to understand are swifter and str..ngei in Ireland than in any other country,) to tell the priest the ar rangement, well knowing that his reve rence loved his nephew and niece that was to he (to say nothing of the wedding sipper, and the profits arising therefrom) too well, nyt to aid their merry jest. YVliat hustle, what preparation, what feasting, what dancing, gave the country folk enough to talk about during the happy Christmas holydays, 1 cannot describe.— Hie bride ol course looked lovely and sheepish; and the bridegroom—but bride grooms are always uninteresting. One fi:ct, however, is worth recording. When Bather Donovan concluded the ceremony, bes ire the bridal kiss hud passed, Farmer Clary, without any reason that Ins wife could discover, most indecorously sprung up, seized a shilleluh of stout oak, and " hilling it rapidly over his head, shouted ‘Cany me out! by the powers she’s beat! we’ve won the day! ould Ireland forev er ! Success, hoys ! —she’s beat! she’s beat!’ The priest too seemed vastly to enjoy this extemporaneous effusion, and even the bride laughed outright. Wheth er the good wife discovered the plot or not, I never heard ; hut of this 1 am cer tain, that the joyous Norah never had rea son to repent her wise thought. Tun Printer.— A printer is the most curious being living. He may have a hank arid coins and not be worth a penny—have small caps, and have neither wife nor chil dren. Others may* run fust, but he gets along swifter by setting fast. He may be making impressions without eloquence, may use the lye wibout offending, and be telling the tru ll; while others cannot stand when they sit. he can set standing, and even do Doth at the same time—use furni ture, and yet have no dwelling—may make and put away pic, and never see a pie in his life—be a human and a rat tit the same time—m ap press a great deal and not ask a favor—may handle a shooting iron, and know no’hing either about a cannon, gun, or pistol; he may move the lever that moves the world, and yet be as far from moving the globe as a hog with his nose under a molehill—spread slice's without being a housewife; lie may lay bis form upon a bed,, and yet be obliged to sleep on the floor; he may use the t without shedding any blood, and from the earili he may handle the ***; he may lie of a rolling disposition, and yet lie may never desire to travel; he may have a sheep's foot, and not be deformed, never be with out a raw, and know nothing of law or physic; he always correcting his errors, and growing worse every day ; have em —s without e'er having the arms of a lass around him ; have his form locked up, and at the same time be free from jail, watch house or any other confin •meiit. How to Look Young. —An aged per son being asked how he had managed to retain his youthful appearance so well as he had done, said, “1 never ride when 1 can walk; 1 never eat more thin one dish at dinner, and never get drunk. My walking keeps my blood in circulation, my simple diet prevents indigestion, and never drinking ardent spirits my liver nev er fears being eaten up alive ! ’ But lie forgot to add one of the greatest causes of lasting youth, viz : “a kind, unenvious, contented heart.” Envy and discontent can dig as deeply in'o the human face as time it-elf! Matrimony.— From a work entitled “Family Lectures,” by Mrs. N. Sproat, we make the following beautiful extract, which we recommend to the particular at tention of our readers of both sexes : “A great proportion of the wretched ness, which has so often embittered mar ried life, lam persuaded, has originated in a negligence of trifles. Connubial hap piness is a thing of too fine a texture to be handled roughly. It is a sensitive plant, which will not hear even the touch of un kindness—u delicate flower, which indif ference will chill and suspicion blast. It must bo watered by tlie showers of tender affection—expanded by the cheering glow of attention, and guarded by the impreg nablo barrier of unshaken confidence.— Thus matured) it will bloom with fragrance in every season of life, and sweeteu even the lonelitiess of declining years.” Tile Yoiitti of tHe Heart. BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER. “Shall I over grow old ?” said a fair little girl As she stood by a fond mother's knee, And tossed from her forehead the c! ,ing . r curls, And turned up her bonny blue e’c. “Shill I ever grow old, as the beggar has done 'V ho yesterday came to our door? And nevef again look on the light of the sun, And see the sweet flowers no more I Will my face be all wrinkled with sorrow and care, And m v pretty brown tresses turn white Oh, mother, 1 in sure that 1 never could ,>ear To become such a sail looking sight On her fair little daughter the mother looked down, And her face wore a sorrowful smile, A« she smoothed back the beautiful tresses of brown And gazed in her blue eyes the while ! “Oil, yes, mv dear child !”—anu the tears ga thered fast, As she spoke in the mother’s dark eye “The charms we so prize in our youth cannot last, And wrinkles and age will draw nigh ! This beautiful forehead, so placid and white, This cheek ofthe carnation bloom, Must yield up the delicate tints to the blight— The precursor that points to the tomb ! To wrinkles these dimples at length will give place, These locks will he sprinkled with grnv, And who is there, then, could discover a trace Os the beauty my child wears to-day ! “But the youtli of the heart”—and the mother’s dark eye Grew soft as tho eve of a fawnp— “Mo y live in its greenness when age has come j nigh. And the rose and the lily arc gone ! That youth ! ’tis an evergreen—nourish it well With the dews of affection and love, And still in thy bosom unfading ’twill dwell, When the spirit ascendeth above ! Oh, the youth of the heart ! —’tis more precious than gold, For it cheers e’en decrepitude’s wav, And makes the world bright to us when wo are old, As it was in life’s earliest day ! Then grieve not, my child, though thy cheeks should grow pale, And thy beautiful tresses turn gray— But guard well the youth of thy heart, that it fail Nor die with thy beauty away !” A Touch of Nature.—A letter writer wbo strolled into a pawnbroker's shop in New York, describes a scene as follows : We noticed among tlie group an inter esting girl, about seventeen years of age, in faded, yet deep mourning. There was an expression of anxious melancholy ni t on her pale and beautiful countenance which riveted out attention. She was not among those that were bidding, bur was undoubtedly waiting untilsome article was offered weich she was desirou* of possess ing. At length the actioneer offered a miniature and locket. The pale girl start ed, and rushing towards the counter, ex claimed in a voice of deep anguish— “Oh! don’t sell them, sir, for mercy’s sake keep them a little while longer. 1 shall bo able to redeem them. 1 shall in deed.” “\Y 7 hat is bid for them continued the auctioneer. “Do not bid !” almost shrieked tho girl. “1 had to pawn them to get bread for rny little sister ; it is my mother’s miniature and my mother’s hair which that locket contains—my poor dear mother,’who gave it to me when she was dying. Oh! do not sell it—pray don’t.” It is impossible to describe the sensa tion produced by this appeal among the assemblage. There was not a solitary bid for the articles: but we saw an elderly gentleman in the simple garb ot a Quaker, go to the desk, and in a few minutes af terwards wc saw that pule giri press his hand to her lips, and after eagerly kissing something which he handed to her, she rushed from the room. Scene ix a School-Room.— “First cla-s iu philosophy, como up. Well, Ichabod, what are the properties of heat ?” “The properties of beat, sir, are to bake bread, boil water, cook eggs, and’—“Stop—Next What arc the properties of heat l “The properties of heat is to warm your toes, when they gets cold, by holding ’em to the fire, and so forth.’ “Next— What are the properties of heat Solon V “The chief properties of heat is that it expands bo- ( dies, while cold contracts them.’ “Very good, Solon. Can you give me an exam ple V “\ r es sir :In summer, when it is hot, the day is long; in winter, when it is cold, it gets to be very short.” “Go head. Solon ; boys take your seats ;’ and the learned pedagogue was lost in wonder, that so familiar an instance of illustration should have escaped his philosophic mind. A Beautiful Superstition. —Among the superstitions of the Senecas is one re markable for its singular beauty. When a maiden dies, they imprison a young bird, until it first begins to try its powers of song, and then loading it with kisses and caresses, they loose its bonds o ver her grave, in the belief that it will not close its eyes or fold its wings until it has flown to the spirit land, and delivered its pre-* cious burden of affection to the loved and the lost. A Russian VVedoixg. —The marriage ceremony, however solemn it may he ac counted, as one ofthe offices of the church, is so cloaked with theatrical effect as tx> lose much of its spiritual sanctity. It i would seem that the external senses rather than the feelings of the heart or mind were to lie wrought upou ; or perhaps it is con sidered that the feelings are only impress ed by the agency of the senses. Be this as it may, marriage is a drawing-room scene, under priestly auspices ; lay frivol ities are inter-mingled with ecclesiastical pageantry ; and the theatrical effect is en hanced By its being an evening perform ance. The exterior of the church is illu minated ; but the brilliancy outside is eclipsed by the blaze ofthe interior, which s'added with candles and chandeliers, looks more like a saloon of pleasure than a place of worship. The guests and friends invited to be present appear in full dress, and are mar shalled to tlie respective sides of the build ing appropriated to them by a master of ceremonies for the occasion : the friends of each of the contracting parties being grouped together on each side, leaving ;he centre free ; for there are neither pews nor seats of any kind in the Russian ehurelies. The entrance of the bride groom is welcomed by a chant from the choristers, who take a leading part in the ceremony, no itistrumerual music being allowed in the Greek churches; and a bridesman immediately hurries to tell the bride her intended is awaiting her. This is often intimated gracefully and silently by the presentation of a boquet of flowers.— On the bride’s arrival, the choristers again chant a welcome, and she lakes her place among her friends. The dress of the bride is as sumptuous as jewels and the most costly articles can make it, if the means of the family admit of such a display. She is ushered into the assembly by a kind of procession, headed by one of her own family, bearing before him the richly ornamented picture of her saint, which is destined to occupy a cor- - tier of her future apartment, and which, during the ceremony, is placed on the high altar, or reading desk, covered with rose-colored silk, and ornamented with silver fringe and lace, is placed in the cen tre ofthe parquette, at which the priest officiates. The service is long, and con sists in reading the lives of Abraham and and Sarah, an exhortation to the new cou ple, and much singing. The rings are ex changed at the betrothal, and therefore that symbol forms no part ofthe service. The pair, bearing lighted tapers in tlieir hands, and having large gilt crowns held over their heads, walk twice round the al tar, grasping the priest’s robes, and, du ring tho exhortation, they stand on a largo piece of rich si: k, which becomes the per quisite ol the priest. This portion of tho c* remony being concluded, the sacrament is administered, and the new married couple proceed to the grand altar, where they prostrate themselves, with forehead to the ground, before the various pictures of tlie saiuts, atul kiss them, with many crossings and genuflections. The con gra' ulations of tlie friends now follow; tho line of demarcation is broken through, and all parties assembled, both men and wo men, kiss each other. A brilliant upper awaits the whole par ty at the house (generally) of the parents of the bride ; dancing is kept up to a late hour, and nut unfrequently the pleasures ofthe table degenerate into excesses. Su perstition permits only of certain days for the performance ofthe marriage ceremo ny, care being taken to avoid the eve of a feast or particular prayer day. Previous to tlie marriage the betrothed parties are naturally subject to the quizzings and sly jokes of their friends, including one singu lar custom, to which they are expected to conform. At the dinner table, if any one in filling his glass cries, “Garkoe, garkoe,” (bitter, bitter,) the bridegroom elected is considered bound to remedy the alleged evil by kissing his intended.— Thompson s Life in Russia. Irish Help.— ‘YY'hy, Bridget, you have baked this bread to a crisp.’ ‘An’ su c, my lady, I only baked it three hours?, according to the resaite.’ ‘Three hours t YYDty, the recipe said but one.’ ‘Yes, mem ! one hour for a large loaf, and I iiad three small ones, and so I baked cm three hours, jist.’ The Age or Women. —Nothing is more vain than for a woman to deny her age ; for she cannot deceive the only per son that cares about it, herself. If a man dislikes a woman because he thinks her of the age she is, he will only dislike her the more for being told she is younger than she seems to be, and consequently looks older than she ought to do. Tho appear ance of her face will weigh more than that of her register. OCf For men to resolve to be of no re ligion tilPall are agreed in one, is just as wise and rational as if they should deter mine not to go to dinner until all the clocks pi town strike twelve together. OP Always speak the truth. A falso assertion, or one breach of trust is suffi cient to destroy confidence forever. |C7* A man’s soul and the sole of his boot, are often used the same way—trod den under foot. NO. 2.