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The Southern museum. (Macon, Ga.) 1848-1850, December 30, 1848, Image 1

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YOL. I. THE 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 totes—and when the number of insertions de sired is not specitied, they will he continued un 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. ( 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 THREE MONTHS. 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. Little Cllildl'cil. 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 ers, a Shadows with sunbeams blended, thorns with flowers ; 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 I love, 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. Providence. 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 ceeded— ‘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 man.' ‘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 has (lone.’ ‘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 quence ?’ ‘ 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 oi downward. 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 row ! From the Charleston .Mercury. Autumn. Dark Winlor has his joy*—the snowy waste Awake* the merry sleigh-bells' stirring tune, And ice-locked streams that lack their Hummer glow Call forth the skater’s soul exciting shout ; And dreary as the night conies on, the blasts, Howling and booming through the sounding woods, 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 tread, 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 call, Wake the old wood to smiles. Her reign is bright, 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 song ; 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 pence. 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 sweet 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 expands, 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 come on, 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 you.’ 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 others. 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 impostor, said— ‘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 them. NO. 5.