Will he gulilished erery SATURDAY .Morning,
At the Corner of IFalnut and Fifth Streets,
IS THE CITV OF MACONj GA.
uv WX. IS. IIAI(KIMO\.
TER M S :
For tlio Pajicr, in advance, per annum,
If not paid in advance, jjkif 50, per annum.
If not paid until the enil of the Yoir $3 00.
trr Advertisements will lie inserted at the u*u il
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til forbid and charged accordingly.
(O’ Advertisers by the Year will be contracted
with upon the most favorable terms.
[O’Sales of Land by Administrators, Executors
•or Guardians, are required by Law, to be held on
the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours
of ten o’clock in the Forenoon and three in the Af
ternoon, ai the Courtllouse of the county in which
the Property is situate. .Notice oftliese Sales must
be given in a public gazette sixty days previous
to the day of sale.
O"Sales of Negroes by Administrators, Execu
tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction, on
the fi -st Tuesday in the month, between the legal
hours of stile, 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 ha vs, in one of the pub
lic gazettes of this Stale, and at the door of the
Court House where such sales are to he held.
[EENotice for the saleof Personal Property must
he given in like manner toutv days previous to
the day of sale.
TTNotiee to the Debtors and Creditors of an Es
tate must be published for forty days.
(Ej* Notice that application will be made to the
Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Ne
groes must be published in a public cazette in this
Suite fur foch months, belore any order absolute
can be given by the Court.
(Pj’i'i r atioxs for Letters of Administration on
an Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must
be published thirty days—for Letters of Dismis
sion from tlm administrationnfan Estate,monthly
for six mon ins—fir Dismission from Guardian
ship forty days.
(PTRoi.es for the foreclosure of a Mortgage,
must lie published monthly lor Font months —
for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of
three months—for compelling Titles from Ex
ecutors, Administrators or others, where a Bond
his been given by the deceased, the full space of
N. II All Business of this kind shall rcrciv
prompt attention at the SOUTH CRN MUSEUM
Office, anil strict care will he taken that all legal
Advertisements are published according to Law.
ITT All Letters directed to this Office or the
Editor on business, must he post-paid, to in
sure at ention. /'X
Tin- font’s Defiance,
ry aids. i. a visa Stoddard.
I said to Sorrow’s awful storm.
That heat against inv breast,
Page on—thou mav’st destroy this form,
And lav it low at rest;
But still the spirit, that now brooks
Thy tempest, raging high,
Undaunted, on thy fury looks
f With steadfast eye.
I said to Penury’s meagre train.
Come on- your threats I hr-ue.
My last poor life drops you may drain,
And crush me to the grave :
Yet still the spirit that endures
Shall mock your force the \»liilo,
And meet each cold, cold grasp ofyours
With hitter smile.
I said to cold Neglect and Scorn,
. Pass on —I heed you not;
Ye may pursue me till my form
And being are forgot ;
Yet still the spirit, which you see
Undaunted by your wiles,
Draws from its own nobility
Its high-born smiles.
I said to Friendship's menaced blow,
ifj strike deep—my hear shall hear ;
M Tiiou canst hut add one hitter woe
To those already there ;
Yet still the spirit, that sustains
’’ This last severe distress,
| Shall smile upon its keenest pains,
And scorn redress.
I said to Death's uplifted dart.
Aim sure—oh ! why delay ?
Thou .vill not find a fearful heart—
A weak, reluctant prey ;
For still the spirit, firm and free,
Unruffled by this hist dismay,
Wrapt in its own eternity,
►Shall smilingly pass away.
From the Boston Journal.
u The smallest planet is nearest the sun. Ye
staml nearest la God, ye li tie ones.”
Nearest to God in childhood ! It is true,
For then the heart wears not the deepened stain
That after years linar to it ;—morn's sweet dew
lias not yet sought, in the blue sky, again
Its first fair home ; —hope’s sunshine is unshaded,
Joy s opening blossoms have not drooped or faded
B-ife s verdant paths have not been sadly trod
joy weary feet; —the heart is near to God.
" 0 nro nonr to Cod, vn little ones !
W u.iier than those whose bright eyes have
, _ grown dim
Wah hitter tears— to whose sad heart there comes
No day unmasked bv sobering and sin.
Ye have not louml.amid earth’s blooming bow
Shadows with sunbeams blended, thorns with
Ye sport in sinless mirth on the green sod
Neath the blue sky yes, y e are near to God.
L And near are ye to human hearts—more near
1 ban aught else can he;—for the soul will
f E’en ill the shadows of its dwelling here,
f Au f.' t Omt reminds it of its home above.
' Ye whisper to us of a sky unclouded,
nr °'i \ tUi * s dttrk mantle ne’er enshrouded,
Os paths by mortal footstep never trod ;
Blessings upon ynu-y„ are near to God.
IwXY* ° f HeaVe " ? re dark a "d intricate,
Ournn/lp" /"T*’ a " d P er P lex ' d 'vbli errors ;
Our understanding traces them in vain
Lost and bewilder’d in the fruillcs seaJch ;
Nor sees with how much art the windings run
Nor where the regular confusion ends, ° ’
From the Saturday Evening Post.
Tlic Lawyer and the Printer.
BY ANNIE J. ASHFORD.
‘No, no, sis, I can’t think of that. 1
never can consent to throw away my dear
little sister by giving her in marriage to
Charles Brown. He is not half good
enough for you.’
‘Well, Ned, it’s a great pity you can’t
find someone good enough for your dear
little sister. l)o you think l am so much
better than other people that no young
man of our acquaintance is good enough
for me ! You already begin to tease me
shout being an old maid, and if l am not
married soon, mamma will don her spec
tacles, and go to hunting out a son-in-law,
as other good mammas do ; then the world
says it is time for me to be married, as 1
am passing out of my teens; and the world
is very wise on all such topics. Now, un
der these circumstances, no one can be
found that is suitable for ine, in your esti
mation. You always have a troop of
young men here, and some of them you
exalt beyond measure, but if they mani
fest much interest in me, and begin to be
particular iu theli attentions, then the
tune is changed, forsooth, and not one of
l hem is good enough for me.’
‘Really, pet, you are zealous. Before
you get too determined in the mat’er, I
hope you will aspire to something higher
than the hand of Charles Brown. 1 should
not like to see my sis er—Madaline Gay
—become the wife of a printer. Why !
if we lived among noblemen, 1 should
think of nothing less than a coronet for
you.’ I hen Edward Gay took his little
sister in his arms, just as he would a child,
and attempted to close the conversa ion
by a volley of kisses.
But Madaline was in earnest, and she
did not intend to let Edward's aristocratic
notions, his satire or his kisses prevent
her from an expression of opinion. So
she disengaged herself, and assuming ra
ther mine dignity than washer wont, pro
‘Ned, I think you ought to be ashamed
of yourself. Y'ou talk a great deal abou
the dignity of labor; and it’s but a few
evenings since you addressed the Mechan
ics’ associa ion, and expatiated largely,
1 am told, upon the merits, the import
ance and the true nobility of the working
man ; but now that it suits your purpose,
you attempt to depreciate a truly worthy
person, because he has a practical knowl
edge of an Art. which has done more than
any other to bless and enlighten the world.
Oil, shame ! there is not a hit of democ
racy about you. If the mechanics knew
you as well as I do, they would know
that your speech was all blarney—it’s just
to get their votes, to make yourself popu
lar with the masses. Let Charles \V.
Brown’s occupation be what it rnav, I
trust he will never do an act so unworthy a
‘Brown, Brown/ that's a beauty of a
name.’ responded Edward, who began o
feel the fotce of his sister’s lemarks, but
thought it would not answer to get offend
ed. 'Mrs. Charles YV. Brown ! that
would sound nretty. With such a name
no one would ever suspect you of being
other than one of the vulgar herd.’
‘There it is again,’ cried Madaline. ‘I
don’t believe there is another such aristo
crat in ten counties. Instead of estimating
a man cy his intellectual and moral worth,
and his capacity for usefulness, as you
profess to do when you address the ‘dear
people,' you estimate him by his name, his
parentage, the length of his purse, and
tlie accident of station. I believe in your
heart you despise the working-man, and
have an abhorrence of all kinds of manual
labor, and that you place yourself very
far above all who have not enjoyed the op
portunities for improvement that you have.
It is a mark of good sense, I think, for
one to consider the superior advantages
from which his superiority is derived.’
‘Then you do regard me as a superior
sort of being,’ exclaimed Edward, with
one of his heartiest laughs.
‘No, no ! 1 didn't mean that. One
must be a dunce indeed, if he don’t make
something of a man, when, like yourself,
he has had every advantage—that of edu
cation, travelling, society, and good coun
sel at home. Possibly the name of Ed
ward fray might never have been known
beyond the purlieus of his own hamlet,
had he been forced to struggle with pov
erty, and pass through the adverse scenes
of an exacting world, unpitied and alone
as others have done.’
‘Speak it out, sis, say as Charlie Brown
‘Well, as Charlie Brown has done. No
fond mother hung with delight over the
cradle of hi a infancy—no gentle spirits dif
fused around him their atmosphere of love
—no watchful guardian directed his steps
in childhood ; but he was bereft of friends,
cast upon the cold charities of society,
then left like a worthless plant, uncared
for, untrained, unloved. Governed by the
noble impulses within him, and the up
ward tendencies of his energetic nature,
he rose from his humble station, and step
by step he has ascended to an eminence
that none need be ashamed to occupy.—
Oh, 1 love to see the free, truthful, ear
nest spirit, spurning the temptations that
are thrown around it, and defying even
stern necessity to crush or contaminate it.’
‘Zounds! what a preacher my sister
MACON, (GA.,) SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 30, ISIS.
would make. She would do honor to the
pulpit or the bar either. Madda, if you
were a man, you should be a lawyer and
enter our firm. Then it would be Gay &
Sons, atid you should do all the pleading,
and wouldn’t we have a reputation for elo
‘ 1 his is a subject,’ returned Madaline,
‘that is intimately connected with my hap
j piness and my future life ; and I think it
would be more brotherly in you to treat it
with a degree of consideration. If you
have any serious objections to Charles
Brown, let me know them. Are you re
ally opposed to my plans, Ned, or is it
only that you are about to be connected
with the Livingstons, and you fear they
will not think Charlie sufficiently distill
pue to belong to a family with which they
are connected 1 Perhaps it is Ada that
s’anils in my way, and is it because ofher
you object V •
‘Ada Livingston would, I daresay, be
glad to have you make a brilliant match,
as brilliant as your brother Edward is go
tug to make;’ and here he went off in a
rhapsody about the charms of his lady
love. ‘lsn’t she a magnificent creature ?
So perfectly queenly, and yet possessing
so much nalvetle! lam a lucky fellow,’
and here he surveyed himse'f in a large
mirror, with the greatest satisfaction. In
symmetry of figure, in expression of coun
tenance, and in polished manners, Ed
ward Gay had few superiors. As has al
ready been observed, he possessed a large
fund of knowledge, being highly educa
ted, travelled, familiar with tiie beau
rnondc; and having much humor, and an
unbounded flow of spirits, he was a de
lig'utfu! companion, and the very beau /-
deal in the minds of the ladies, lie had al
so a kind heart, and would not knowingly
inflict pain, hence he began to fear he had
treated the subject with too much levity.
1 ho tru;h was, he did not want Madaline
to marry Charles Brown, and having no
va id reason to urge, he hardly knew
what to say. His judgment assented to
all she said in favor of Charles, indeed lie
instinctively tendered homage to that spi
rit that had surmounted so many obsta
cles, and who e motto still was “ Upward
and Onward /” But the Livingstons—
what would they think of it l Charles
had never been invited to their parties,
though Ada had occasionally met him
elsewhere. Edward knew that such an
alliance would by no means please bis pro
spective mother-in-law, a woman, by the
way, distinguished by her hauteur and her
wealth, rather than sot any goodness or
greatness. She was not altogether satis
fied with Ada’s choice, as the Gays she
thought somewhat inferior lo themselves; !
Imt Edward she liked passing well, he
being sufficiently shrewd to minister to her
vanity ; so her objections were riot very
serious. But Charles Brown! lie was
not one of the upper ten thousand; no
body knew las father or his grandfather,
consequently Mrs. Livingcton did not
know him, and Edward shrunk from the
thought of placing her in a position where
she would lie obliged to form an acquain
tance. He was ashamed to acknowledge
nie truesui e oi tne case to his sister, so
whenever the subject was referred to, it
was generally treated in a way similar lo
that already described.
_ Madaline was satisfied of the cause of
his opposition, and cared much less for it
than she would had lie himself been op.
posed. She continued to encourage the
attentions of Charles Brown, and in due
time the preliminaries were settled, and
nough remained but the sanction of Mad
altne’s parents to complete their blissful
prospects. Charles was not long obtain
ing their consent, as Mrs. Gay was a wo
man who generally referred things of im
portance to her husband, and he had suffi
cient good sense to appreciate the charac
ter of the young suitor.
‘No,’ said lie, to his wife, ‘I shall not
object. 1 have studied the young man
closely. In morals hois unexcep ionable;
then he has business tact and talent, and
has that all essential requisite—sell-reli
ance. I sometimes fear Edward is defi
cient in this.’
And Mr. Gay was right. The son had
been too fondly and injudiciously cared
for. all his wants had been supplied witli
nnt 0,.„ ..fL' if i—
~..j ouuii ui ms own—ne nau never
been taught to depend upon himself. lie
had talents of a superb order, but was'in
dolent and improvident. He knew not
the value of the many comforts and bene
fits lie had so largely shared. The father
was well prepared for the varied scenes of
life, for the rough ways of the world—he
was like the sturdy oak that withstands the
fiercest storms; the son was like the foli
age that adorns it—beautiful and grace
ful, but which may be swept away by the
first breath of the tempest.
Mr. Gay had always had a competence
in its largest sense ; his means, however,
were becoming more and more limited. —
He bad expended a great amount upon
his family ; such indulgence giving him far
more pleasure than the hoarding of wealth.
The declining income of the father acted
for awhile as a spur upon the habits of the
son, until be was quite sure of obtaining
the hand of Ada Livingston ; that union,
be believed, would place him beyond the
reach of want foiever. Her father was re
puted a millionaire, and she was an only
child. But alas ! alas ! bow soon is the
brightest sky o’erhung with clouds !
1 he world said Charles Brown was un
fortunate, for he had to grapple closely
with poverty. Gaunt poverty restrained
the joyousness ol'his childhood, and taxed
to the utmost his energy in more advanced
years. He found no benefit in the name
of family connections, no friends secured
for him places of trust and profit. Y'es,
he was unfortunate ; but inasmuch as his
circumstances taught him to rely upon his
own powers, and that he must sustain a
separate and individual character in the
great drama of life—inasmuch as they
taught him that If he ever had a name hon
orable among men, he must win it, iflie
had wealth, lie must amass it, if lie had
friends, he must make them ; he possess
ed an infinite advantage over the netted,
spoiled, and indolent child of jifliuencQ.
Not that poverty is to be desired or riches
undervalued ; but it is to be regretted
that the latter paralyses so many otherwise
energetic natures; ami it is mattar for re
| juicing, too, that the former has not al
ways power to check the ambition, to cor
rupt, the morals, and to freeze the out
gushing sympathies of the young heart.
1 lie world said Edward Gay was fortu
nate, and so he was—our readers know
something of his history. But inasmuch
as he contracted habits of idleness and ne
glected the resources widiin him, he trea
sured for himsell trials and troubles innu
merable. Ihe smooth path of our young
existence, which is strewn with flowers
by the hands of those who love us, not un-
Irequently ends in a thorny maze. The
morning of life all radiant with hope and
promise, is often the precursor to a mid
day of sorrow and of sadness.
A sho:t lime previous to his matriage
wi li Ada, a sudden revulsion in ihe com
| naercial world threw the Livingstons into
a state of the deepest dejection. The
j haughty millionaire was reduced, as ma
i ny others have been, to a mere pittance.
Ihe winds and the waves destroyed his
shipping, fires consumed his houses and
his merchandise, and the sudden fall in
stocks completed his ruin. We need not
detail this series of misfortunes—all who
are acquainted with the railroad speed of
die American speculator, know that his
track is often short, whe her it be upward
Ada was, of course, still die adored <»f
Edward, but somehow a great change
had passed over the spirit of his dream
He was sure he had never thought of
wealth in seeking the alliance—he was no
fortune hunter, not he; but this change
had made a wonderful diflerouce in his
prospecs. She was still the stately, the
elegant, the beautiful woman; but the
solid charms were wanting, and these had
liiid mote to do itii fascinating the accom
plished Gay than he was aware o‘i In
due time, however, the marriage rites
were solemnized, and they commenced
living on a moderate scale, though in fur
msbing then establishment they went to
the utmost limit <>f their means. They
made a great effort to keep up appearan
ces, and maintain a style resembling that
to which Ada had been accustomed.
Time passed on, but it effected no
change for the better. Instead of rising
to eminence in his profession, Edward
proved to be merely a second rate lawyer.
He was often involved in pecuniary diffi
culties from which he knew not how to
extricate himself. He suffered mortifica
tion when abroad, and chagrin when at
home, for Ada was not backward in re
minding him ol'his inefficiency. She had
been accustomed to every indulgence that
could be procured—well trained servants
had ever stood ready to do her bidding,
hence she could not bear to he cur ailed j
in her resources, or minister to her own I
wants. They were both unprepared for
the duties of life ; and were we to take our !
readers to a home of contentment and j
peace —to a place where the fond heart!
finds its chief delight in making happy the i
object of its love, we would not take them '
to the home of Edward Gay.
Charles and Madaline understood far
better the philosophy of living, and ma
king home happy. Neither had been go
verned by mercenary motives in thechnice j
ofa companion—neither had been dazzled
by a polished exterior, but both had been
attracted hv the qualities of mind and
heart. They made no effort to appear
other than they were, and deemed it no j
disgrace to use the powers God had given ;
them, to promote the comfort and happi- j
ness of themselves and all around therm i
Possessing the confidence of the com
muniiy, Charles found it no difficult mat
ter to engage in a lucrative business; and,
to make short a long story, many years
bad not elapsed before he was known as
the owner of the largest mercantile es
tablishment in the city of C .
He filled with great credit several offi
ces of honor and emolument, and among
others, that of Mayor of the city.
Mrs. Charles W. Brown was known as
the charming little woman that gave such
delightful soirees, and rode in such a pret
ty carriage, and dressed so simply though
with exquisite taste. And above all was
Mrs. Brown known as a friend to the
friendless, as a patroness of the arts, as a
promoter and liberal re warder of industry.
Old Mr. Livingston began*to die with
his dying fortune. The efforts of his wife
to rouse him were for some time ail in
vain— neither reproach, nor entreaty, nor
fear of want could move him to action, of
induce him to engage in any business.—
He brooded over his misfortunes till life
itself became almost insupportable.
One cold winter morning a visitor was
announced at Mr. Brown’s, and on enter
ing the drawing-rom.whom should Charles
and Madeline meet but Mrs. Living
ston—the formerly everbearing, distin
guished Mrs. Livingston ! They both
received her with great kindness aud cor
diality, and after some preliminary con
versation, she said, —
‘I have called this morning, Mr. Brown,
to inquire if there is any vacant situation
in your counting-house or office, that Mr.
Livingston could obtain. He is so spirit
less and dejected, and dwells so constaut-
ly upon his misfortunes, that it is necessa
ry he should engage in something to divert
his attention, and save his mind from the
total wreck which threatens it. Then we
must depend in future upon his labor for
our support;’ and here she half suppress
ed a heavy sigh as she recollected to whom
she was speaking.
Let no one suppose this Avas an hour of
triumph to Charles Brown. He sincerely
grieved at the distress of any person, even
though that person had treated him with
scorn and contempt. He was above the
indulgence of a spirit of revenge, he was
too noble and too benevolent not to desire
the happiness ofall. .
Ten .years from the time at which our
story commences, the haughty aristocrat
became a clerk for the humble printer.—
If we are prosperous to-day, how foolish
to give ourselves up to a foolish pride
the tide may not set in our favor to-mor
From the Charleston .Mercury.
Dark Winlor has his joy*—the snowy waste
Awake* the merry sleigh-bells' stirring tune,
And ice-locked streams that lack their Hummer
Call forth the skater’s soul exciting shout ;
And dreary as the night conies on, the blasts,
Howling and booming through the sounding
Burst on the plains, and drive the willing feet
To cheerful hearth and happy board within.
Thus,e’en on desolation pleasure sits,
And dreary though it be, the lee King’s reign
lias some of joy —hut joy that leaves untouched
YVithin the soul its saddest, sweetest string.
Let Spring, with her young promise, deck the
And spread her garb of freshness on the hills ;
Let her soft touch unseal the springs of Hong,
And thrilled through Nature's frame, her gentle
Wake the old wood to smiles. Her reign is
Though brief, and scarce shall prompt the sigh.
When she, with all her youthful laughter fades,
And yields Iter sceptre to the lull-robed Summer.
Lo ! now she comes with all her burningtrain,
Yv'itii ripeness in her path, and plenty in her
But as abroad she spreads her ardent reign,
Beneath its fervor prostrate as we lie,
Though for her bounty glad, and not ingrate,
We pray her linger not.
But Autumn, when thy solemn beauty comes,
The sober heart shail know and hail thee kin.
The type of truth, because the type of death,
Thou hi ingest yet with thee a glorious fall,
And death in thee comes wrapt in robes of beauty.
Thou heapestup thy dying gifts to man,
And with them comes thy gentle warning too,
That he must die.
Now spread retiring suns
Their broad, calm light on plains where all looks
Spring’s promise is fulfilled, and overflows,
And fields, by hand ofGod all bounteous blest,
Ripe from their bosoms send tlie smiling crops
Yon lowing herds with bellotvings prolonged,
And distant tinklings echoing through the vale,
A music to the ear give forth, uncouth,
But welcome too. Far still, but striding on
With rapid pace, old ice-mailed Winter comes,
And at his distant call the foliage droops,
And dying, dolphin like, with gorgeous hues
Bright clothes the brunches ofits parent tree.
Borne on the winds, subdued and strangely
Swells the far cadence of the harvest song,
While mid the lofty crests of giant pines
Low walls October’s breeze.
An Autumn eve ! Ilow walks the spirit forth,
And with itselfwould hold communion lone ;
It yearns afar where yon calm holy sky
Its many-tinted haloes spreads above,
Whe re flame capped lulls of blue majestic rise,
And purpled vales, and paths of light between,
Stretch into airy lands.
An Anlljmn CVO !
How hath its mild and mellowed ray adorned
bach fading yearadovvn the distant ages,
At each bright coining, sung in varied strains,
By hearts of praise. Fit time for thought
To free the heart from passion's baleful sway,
And view with heedful eye each solemn change,
That shadows forth a coining change in us.
O hallowed season ! all thy lessons lead
Unerring to the certain silent tomb,
The steps of him who heeds. But if thy scenes
Stand forth the emblems of that final one,
Through which, when nigh the gloomy port
Our tattering feet shall tread, then might the soul
Rebuke its sombre fears, and storms subside,
And we amid its sacred glory move,
Chastened and solemn, to the untried verge,
And there, 'mid dying sunlight deep as this,
Bid earth farewell, and peaceful sink to rest.
1.0 ! now where Western waters ceaselass roll
The Sun hath hid his form, and one by one
Calls glory after glory from the scene.
I heard one singing as his orb went down,
And as its softened round the horizon veiled,
Thus came the closing burden of his song, —
“Thus calm, O King of day, may 1 seek rest;
And as yon gentle tributary beam,
Last lingerer of the bright and gorgeous line,
Fiitsfroin the landscape in thy glorious train,
And bids farewell to earth, to its Great Light,
When all grows dim, and death's dark shades
So let my spirit fade,
U onum'i Love.
Like a diamond in the sun,
Or a wreath by honor won ;
Like the bright effulgent light
Bursting from the stars of night;
Boundless as the ocean—yet
Gentle ns the rivulet—
Such is woman's love.
Like the lustre of the dawn.
Or the dew of early morn ;
Like the firmament on high—
Ardent as its changeless dye ;
Faithful as the Polar gem,
Peerless as the diadem—
Such is woman’s love.
Affection. —We sometimes meet with
men who think that any indulgence in an
affectionate feeling is weakness. They
will return from a journey aud greet their
families with a distant dignity, and move
among their children with the cold and
lofty splendor of an iceberg surrounded
by its broken fragments. There is hardly
a more unnatural sight on earth than one
of those families without a heart. A fa
ther had better extinguish his boy’s eyes
than take away his heart, who that has ex
perienced the joys offriendship, and value
of sympathy and affection, would not ra
ther lose all that is beautiful in nature’*
scenery, than be robbed of the hidden
treasure of his heart I Who would not
rather bury his wife than bury bis love for
her ? Who would not rather follow his
child to the grave, than entomb his paren
tal affections? Cherish, then, your heart’s
best affections. Indulge in the warm and
gushing emotions of filial, parental and
fraternal love. Think it not a weakness,
God is love. Love God, love every body,
and every thing that is lovely. Teach
your children to love the rose—the robin
—their parents—their God. Let it be the
studied object of their domestic culture to
give them warm hearts, ardent affections.
Bind your whole family together by these
strong cords. \ r ou cannot make them too
strong. Religion is love—love to God—
love to man.— Chalmers' Journal.
Gentle Woril* and Laving Smile*.
The sun may warm the grass to life,
Tlie dew the drooping flower,
And eyes grow bright and watch the light
Os autumn's opening hour—
But words that breathe of tenderness,
And smiles we know are true,
Are warmer than the summer time,
And brighter than the dew.
It is not much the world can give,
With all its subtile art,
And gold or geins are not the things
To satisfy the heart;
But oh, if those who cluster round
The altar and the hearth,
Have gentle words and loving smiles,
How beautiful is earth.
Dutch Advertisement. —Rund away
from mine house, more as three veeks
hence, von leetle black boss all over mit
von vite sphot. He’s planted on bis left
off shoulder mlt a shtrip up his hindleg,
just like Han’s mare. Any body pick him
up and fotch him pan top mine house, I
makes fordy shillings pon his pocket.—
Blame if I don’t.
Gen. George Washington, when
quite young, was about to go to sea as a
midshipman. Every thing was arranged,
the vessel lay opposite his father’s house,
the little boat had come on shore to take
him off, and his whole heart was bent on
going. After his trunk had been earned
down to the boat, he went to bid his mo
ther farewell, and saw the tears bursting
from her eyes. However he said nothing
to her; but he saw that his mother would
bo distressed if he went, and perhaps nev
er be happy again. He just turned round
to the servant and said, ‘Go and tell them
to fetch my trunk back—l will not go
away to break my mother’s heart.’ His
mother was struck with his decision, and
sho said to him, ‘George, God has pro
mised to bless the children that honor
their parents, and I believe he will bless
Hints to Girls.—A wise girl would
win a lover by practising those virtues
which secure admiration when personal
charms have faded.
A simple girl endeavors to recommend
herself by the exhibition of frivolous ac
complishments and mawkish sentiment,
which are as shallow as her mind.
A good girl always respects herself, and
therefore always possesses tho respect of
0?*‘01i ! mother! a bee has stung me!’
said a beautiful little girl, as she came
running in from the garden. ‘Never
mind, child,’ replied the mother, ‘it mis
took thee for a flower.’
fcjp’ ‘I come to steel,’ as the rat observ
ed to the trap.
‘And I spring to embrace you,l as the
steel trap replied to the rat.
IIP An Irishman being asked to de
scribe the personal appearance of a noted
‘Och, an’ is it his parson that ye want 1
Sure, an’ lie was an ixtremely small man,
for his trowsers were strapped down to
the hale o’ his hoots, and he was as blind
as a post in both ears, and could see the
sound of a gun !’
fools give dinners, and wise men cat