Will he published every SATURDAY Morning,
At the Corner of Walnut and Fifth Streets,
IN THE CITY OF MACON, GA.
by habbisok a jiiyeks.
rEK M S :
For the Paper, in advance, per annum, $2.
If not paid in advance, 50, per annum.
If not paid until the end of the Year $3 00.
gj=* Advertisements will be inserted at the usual
rates —and when the number of insertions de
sired is not specified, they wili be continued un
til forbid and charged accordingly.
(Jj 3 Advertisers by the Year will be contracted
with upon the most favorable terms.
Sales of Land by Administrators, Executors
or Guardians, are reipiired 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, at the Court House of the county in which
the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must
be given in a public gazette sixty days previous
to the day of sale.
ITT*Sales of Negroes by Administrators, Ex ec
tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction, ou
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 thereoffor sixty days, in one ofthe pub
lic gazettes of this State, and at the door ot the
Court House where such sales are to be held.
(jj*Notice for the sale of Personal Property must
begivenin like manner forty days previous to
■the day of sale.
to the Debtors and Creditors of an Es
tate must be published for forty days.
gy> 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 gazette in this
State for four months, before any order absolute
can be given by the Court.
(Lj*Cit ations for Letters of Administration on
an 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 months —for Dismission from Guardian
ship FORTY DAYS.
for the foreclosure of a Mortgage,
must he puulished monthly for four months —
for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of
three months — for compelling Titles from Ex
ecutors, Administrators or others, where a Bond
hasbeen given by the deceased, the full space ot
N. B. All Business of this kind shall rocoiv
prompt attention at the SOI Till.ltN MUSLLM
Office, and strict care will be taken that all legal
Advertisements are published according to Law.
|Ef*AII Letters directed to this Office or the
Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in
sure attention. -
ort r g .
From the Book of Pearls.
• S O X G.
BY GEORGE H. BOKER.
I sit beneath the sumbeams’ glow,
Their golden currents round me flow,
The mellow kisses warm n»v brow,
But all the world is dreary.
The vernal meadow round mo blooms,
And flings to me its soft perfumes,
Its breath is like an opening tomb’s —
I'm sick of life, I’m weary.
The mountain brook skips down to me,
Tossing its silver tresses free,
Humming like one in revery ;
But ah ! the sound is dreary.
The trilling bine birds o’er me sail,
There’s music in the faint voio and gale :
All sound to me like mourner s wail—
I’m sick of life, 1 m weary.
The night leads forth her starry train,
The ulittoring moonbeams fall like rain,
There’s not a shadow on the plain,
Yet all the scene is dreary.
The sunshine is a mockery,
The solemn moon stares moodily ;
Alike is day or night to me—
I’m sick of life, I’m weary.
I know to some the world is fair,
For them there’s music in the air,
And shapes of beauty every where;
But all to me is dreary.
I know in me the sorrows lie
That blunt my car and dim my eye;
I cannot weep, I fain would die—
I’m sick of life, Ten weary.
From the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE WEE LITTLE THING.
BY HON. R. M. CHARLTON.
There’s a wee little tiling in this world of ours,
And it moveth and movetli the livelong day,
And tho’ the sun shines, and tbo’ the storm
It chatteretb on with ceaseless lay; [lowers,
Over peasant and king,
Its spell it hath flung—
That dear little thing,
A woman’s tongue !
There’s a wee little tiling in this world of ours,
And it throbeth and tlirobeth the livelong day,
And in palace halls, and in leafy bovvers,
It iioideth alike its potent sway;
Bright joy can it bring, .
Or deep sorrow impapt—
That dear little thing,
A woman’s heart!
There s a wee little thing in this World of ours,
Ano it spnrklctli & spnrkletli the livelong day,
No dew drop that hangs on the mountain flower,
I» so beaming and bright ns its beauteous ray ;
No skill can we bring
That its shaft can defy—
That dear little thing,
A woman’s eye !
There are many charms in this world of ours,
H'at cluster and shine over life’s long day ;
c " i alth ofthe mine, nnd the statesman’s pow
"d llie laurel’s worn in the bloody fray; [ers,
No spell can they fling
That my bosom can more,
Like that witching thing,
A woman’s love!
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY HARRISON & MYERS.
From the New York Sprit of the Tinns.
Tlie iicasou u liy Mr. Popkin did not get
lii* Life Insured.
BY THE YOUNG * U If .
Samuel Popkin, Esq., was a bachelor.
Mr Popkin wjjs well enough off in the
world—as the phrase goes—hut Mr. P.
had two maiden sisters of an ‘uncertain
age,” who feared that their dutiful and af
fectionate brother might pop off suddenly
some fine day, and leave them minus; for
though lie enjoyecTY v ery handsome in
come from his profession, as hook keeper
for the house of Makepenny & Co—it
would avail the maiden ladiesaioihing after
his death , and they urged upon him to
apply for a Life Assurance, to be made
over to them in case o accident—and so he
attended to their joint request forthwith
Mr. Popkin was growing fat. That is,
people of ordinary minds would say so—
but his sisters did’ni like ordinary phrases,
and so they said he was only getting “port
ly.” Be this as it may, however, Mr. P.
was very thick and very short in stature,
and when waddling down S ate street to
wards the scene of his daily business, he 1
very much resembled an upright diminu
tive gin-pipe, locomoted by a brace of ten
pins. His eye was small, and round, and
dark —and when excited, appeared very
like a black glass bead, half buried in a
fresh oyter. His cheeks were like two
bouncing Baldwin apples, and the distance
between his fat chin and his chest was so
brief—taking into the account a constant
habit lie had of wheezing, when over-ex
erted that it seemed doubtful whether
there was any room there for a windpipe !
Mr. Popkin always breathed “through his
But Mr. Popkin bad examined the ad
vertisement and circulars of ihe “Mutual
Prop-e’m-up Association,”and havingbag
ged a comfortable dinner, (Mr. P. never
ate any others.) be sallied forth lo wait up
on the agent, for the purpose of applying
for a life-insurance. The door of the a
gent was directly adjoining that of a bro
ker's oflice, and mistaking the entrance,
Mr. Popkin entered the latter, where two
or th;ee of the b'hoys—clerks to the bro
ker—were assembled, an hour after dinner
with no business upon their hands, and ripe
for a little fun.
Mr. Popkin made known the object of
his call, in his customary bland and artless
manner, when lie eldest of the trio wink
ed at his companions, and informed the
applicant that they were ready to wait up
on him. After turning the fat gentleman
round several times, until his head swam
like a top, the foremost of tlie rascals sud
denly jammed his hat down over bis eyes,
and begged him to be seated ; which re
quest Air. Popkin was about to comply
with, very gratefully, when the chair was
dexterously wi lulrawn from behind him,
and lie came to the floor in contact with
a:i earthen spittoon which chanced to be
near him, the concussion causing a sensa
ti n which he declared one of the most
‘cxtr’onuerry’ he ever experienced in the
whole course of his life !
But i seemed purely an accident; and
Mr. Popkin with one hand raised his hat
from over his nose, and applied tlie other
vigorously io the location of the thump he
received in his fall. In a moment after,
he had ”got to right- ,” ana drawing un the
iviiaii, ftUUuiit. gu hi uu t juuonutiuu.
“Name, residence and occupation V’
said his interrogator.
“Popkin, sir; Samuel Popkin, Esq ,
Benson street —accountant.”
“Where born 1”
“United States,” said Mr. Popkin.
“L nited States,’ echoed the question
ei, turning gravely to one of his compan
ions,—“he’s a Native American. Will
that do ?”
The other nodded his head seriously,
and Mr. Popkin began to find the room
“Age, Mr. Poppin ?'*
“Pop-kin, if you please, sir.”
“Well, your age, Mr. Popkin ?”
“ No—God bless your soul! No, sir!”
said Mr. P., vehemently.
“ Ever had the small-pox, Mr. Pok
“ Never. Popkin, if you please, sir,”
added tho applicant.
“ Ever had any affection of the heart ?”
“ No, sir! Mr. Samuel Popkin is a
“ Have you ever met with any serious
“ Never. That is—beg your pardon”
—continued Mr. P., checking himself
quickly, and seeming to recollect some
thing of consequence —there was a slight
“ What was it, Mr. Pokpinl—no se
crets, if you please.”
“ Some eleven years ago.” said Mr. P.
gravely,— and he wiped the perspiration
from his glistening forehead—“ it was
eleven years this fall—”
“ Well, sir—out with it—out with it.”
“ It was no fault of ming, sir—but I
was turned out of the Boston Custom-
House ! ”
“ Turned out of the Boston Custom-
House !” exclaimed tbo querist, letting
fall bis pen in amazement, and staring at
he applicant, apparently thunder-struck.
“ 1 trust, sir, this does not render me
ineligible by tlie rules of your Associa
tion I” continued the applicant, terribly
“ Wc shall sec, Mr. Poppin.”
MACON, JAN. 13, 184».
“ Pop-xiN, sir,” chimed in the fat man,
again—and raising his handkerchief to his
fevered cheeks, once more lie wiped away
the sweat from his face, and wished him
self safely at home.
The clerks put their heads together a
few minutes, and the eldest then rose very
solemnly, and approaching Mr. P. with a
large trumpet, placed the bottom of it di
rectly against the side of his ear, and yell
ed “ fire !” as loud as bis stentorian lungs
would permit, causing tlie unsuspecting
and quiet gentleman to spring from his
chair into the centre of the room.
“ Very nervous temperament,” said the
examiner, gazing at him, while one of the
others pretended to write down the fact.
Then, as if the thought had just struck
him, his tormentor wheeled out the desk
from against the wall, and turning to Mr.
Popkin, he said—
“ Now, sir—jump.”
“ God bless me !Do what ?”
“ Jump, sir, over that desk.”
“ Impossible !”
“ You must jump clear of the top of
that desk, Mr. Popkin, or your insurance
won’t be worth a straw.”
The poor victim’s imagination was
stretched to the last tension, but determin
ed to make an effort to save whajt had cost
him so much trouble already, he nerved
himself up, and advanced to the desk—
balked—ran back—and then, with a final
desperation, sprang to the edge of the rail
ing. The boys stood by, and as he reach
ed the top, they aided his progress by a
series of thumps and jerks, when Mr. Sam
uel Popkin finally found himself panting,
and puffing, and wheezing, flat on his back,
upon ihe other side ofthe desk. The ru
bicon was passed, but Satnmy was well
nigh “ done for.”
Then was lifted the applicant up,dashed
a pitcher of iced water in his face, (by
way of relieving his lungs) and then in
formed him that lie could go, and that he
would find their decision upon his case in
the Post Office next morning.
Half dead with fright and exertion, Mr.
Popkin gladly hurried away, and in his
box, the next day, he found the following
satisfactory epistle :
“ The Government of the Mutual Prop
'em-up Association, in the case of Samuel
Ponpin, Esq., Accountant, decide that a
man once in the Boston Custom-House,
who isn’t smart enough to stay there, and
who, at forty-four, is unable, without aid,
to jump over a desk less than five feet
high, is decidedly uninsurable.
PETER SYPHAX, Sec.”
Mr. Popkin gave it up, but he chanced
to outlive both his sisters. Posterity suf
fered nothing by his demise, but to the
day of his death, his aversion to all sorts
of *• insurances ” was most bitter and de
BONAPARTE AND JOSEPHINE.
There is probably no scene in modern
history which has excited a m re intense
interest, than the repudiation of Josephine,
by Napoleon, in order to marry Maria
Louisa. It was so utterly cruel, that it
will forever be a stain on his memory.—
Yet bo loved her passionately—but ambi
tion still more. The following incident
from a book of memoirs, in the hour of
breaking to her his stern resolve, shows
J osephine in tho light of a Cassandra—his
star did pale, after he married the Austrian.
“ Josephine,” said he, turning bis head
from her, “it is not I, it is Fiance that de
“ Are you sure of that, my lord I” said
his wife ; “ have you probed your heart to
the bottom 1 Is it not ambition which
prompts you to seek reasons for repudia
ting me I—for think not, Napoleon, 1 mis
understand you ; are you sure it is the love
of France I”
Every word that she spoke touched him
to the quick ; and rising hastily he replied,
“ Madame, 1 have my reasons, and now
good evening ”
“ Sire, sire,” said she, taking hold of
his arm, “we must not part in anger. I
submit cheerfully. It is not my nature to
oppose your will; I love you too deeply.
Nor shall I cease to love you, Napoleon,
because I am to leave your throne and
your side. If reverses come, I will lay
down my life to comfort you. I will pray
for you morning and night, in tlie hope
that you will sometimes think of me.”
Hardened as he was, Napoleon had lov
ed his wife dearly and long ; and her sub
mission to bis stern resolve, her calm but
mournful dignity, her unshaken love mov
ed even him; and for a moment his affec
tion struggled with ambition. He turned
to embrace her again. But in that mo
ment her (ace and form had changed—
her eyes like that of insanity, and her
whole person seemed inspired. He felt
himself in the presence of a superior be
ing. She led him to the window and threw
it open. A thin mist hung upon the Seine
and over the gardens of ihe palace : all
around was calm and silent: among the
stars that were shining before them was
one brighter than the rest; she pointed to
it “ Bonaparte,” she said, “ that star is
mine ; to that, and not yours, was the
promise of an empire; through me and
my destiny you have risen—part f, om me
and you fall. The spirit of her who fore
saw my rise to royalty, even now tells you
that your fate hangs upon mine. Be ieve
me or not, if we henceforth walk asunder,
you will leave no empire behind you, and
will din yourself, in shame and sorrow,
with a broken spirit.”
A DEEP .VXD A MIGHTV SHADOW.
BY BARR Y CORNWALL.
A deep and a mighty shadow
Across my heart is thrown,
Like a cloud on a summer meadow,
Where the Thunder-wind hath blown !
The wild-rose, Fancy, dieth,
The sweet bird, Memory, llietli,
And Icavetli me alone—
Alone with my hopeless sorrow ;
No oilier mate I know :
I strive to awake To-morrow,
But the dull words will not flow !
I pray—but my prayers arc driven
Aside, by tlie angry Heaven,
And weigh me down with wo !
I call on tho Past, to lend me
Its songs, to sooth my pain ;
1 bid the dim Future send me
A light from its eyes—in vain !
Naught comes; but a shrill cry starteth
From hope, as she fast departeth—
“ I go, and come not again !”
A MARRIAGE VAGARY.
Mr. Thomas Day, the well-known au
thor of “ Sanford and Merton,” and a gen
tleman of unbounded benevolence and the
strictest honor, indulged in the wildest
ideas respecting marriage. It the time of
his facer's death, from whom he received
considerable property, he was only thir
teen months old. When he arrived at
years of discretion, he came to the deter
mination of forming his character after the
antique model of the most virtuous among
the Greeks and Romans, scorning to adopt
the prevailing fashion of wearing powder,
&c. Vet,surprising as it may be, the prin
ciples he adopted in early youth, became
the rule from which he never swerved in
Having paid his addresses, when very
young, to a somewhat flighty lady, who re
jected him, he received a strong antipathy
to the then mode of female education, and
formed the romantic resolve of training a
young damsel to his own taste. The nar
rative, she was to be simple as a mountain
girl, fearless and intrepid as the Spartan
wives and Roman heroines.
So soon as he became of age, be visited
the hospital for foundling girls at Shrews
bury, and having given ample testimonials
of his moral conduct, and the most satis
factory security for their future provision,
he was permitted to select two little girls,
with the intention of educating them after
his own fashion, and marrying the one who
should prove the most successful in gain
ing his esteem and affection. They were
both beautiful; tlie one be called Lucre
tia,—the brunette, Sabrina. 'The more
quietly to pursue bis own plans, he re
moved to France, where, during their
sickness, and, in consequence of his not
haring taken an English servant with him,
he was frequently compelled to perform
the part of a nurse or a domestic (o his
young charge. His courage shortly be
gan to cool, so that he returned to England,
and was glad enough to rid himself of Lu
cretia, by placing her under the care of a
Sabrina was now to be taught tlie vir
tues of Arria, Portia, Cornelia; to be im
bued with stoic indifference to pain and
But. nine i the bud of promise broke
under the trial. When melted wax was
dropped upon her naked arms, she flinch
ed and wept; when she was fired at with
pistols, she started and screamed.
Yet, the worst remains to be told. She
conceived a strong dislike to study, and
was utterly incapable of keeping a secret.
All the private matters entrusted to her
confidence, by way of trial, were revealed
as inviolable secrets by her to her play
mates, and, as might be supposed, rapidly
found their way back again to the ear of
amiable, but fanatical, patron. lie was
now, therefore, as happy to part with Sa
brina, as be had previously been to dispos
sess himself of Lueretia. After other se
vere disappointments, he met with a lady
of rank, fortune, age and education, simi
lar to his own. She pardoned his eccen
tricities for the sake of his sterling virtues;
and so great was their conjugal happiness,
that after his premature death, the result
of a kick from a colt, which he was train
ing in a style similar to the discipline he
practiced upon Sabrina, his lady refused
again to behold the light. At midnight,
when the gloom was congenial to her sor
rows, she rambled about her neglected
grounds, and at the expiration of two years,
died of a broken heart. — Marriage Look
Myriads of Anamulccl.es. —In the
Arctic seas, where the water is of a pure
transparent ultra-marine color, parts of
twenty or thirty square miles, 1,500 feet
deep, are green and turbid, from the vast
numbers of minute animalcules. Captain
Scoresby calculated it would require 80,-
000 persons, working unceasingly from
the creation of man to the present day, to
count the number of insects contained in
two miles of the green water. What then
must be the amount of animal life in tlie
Polar regions, where one-fourth part ol
the Greenland sea, for ten degrees of lati
tude, consists of that water !
Old English undefiled. —How re
freshing, how de'icious, is a draft of pure
home-drawn English, from a spring a lit
tle sheltered and shaded but not entangled
in the path to it, by antiquity !
VOLUME 1-NUMBER 7.
All! what so refreshing, so soothing, so
satisfying, as the placid joys of borne !
See the traveller—Docs duty call him for
a season to leave bis beloved circle I The
image of his earthly happiness continues
vivid iu his rememberance, it quickens
him to diligence, it makes him bail the
hour which sees his purpose accomplish
ed, ami his fate turned towards home ; it
communes with him as he journeys, and
he hears the promise which causes him to
hope,— * Thou shalt know also that thy
tabernacle shall be in peace ; and thou
shalt visit thy tabernacle, and not sin.’—
Oh the joyful reunion of a divided family
—the pleasure of renewed interview and
conversation after days of absence ! Be
hold the man of science—he drops the la
borious and painful research—closes his
volume—smooths his wrinkled brow.—
leaves his study, and unbending himself,
stoops to the capacities, yields to the wish
es, and mingles with the diversions of his
children. Take the man of trade—u hat
reconciles him to the toif of business ?
what enables him to endure the fastidious
ness and impertinence of customers! —
what rewards him for so many hours of te
dious confinement I By and by the sea
son of intercourse will behold the desire
of his eyes and the children of his love, for
whom he resigns his ease ; and in thqir
welfare and smiles he will find his recom
pense. Yonder comes the laborer—he
has borne the burden and beat of the day
—the descending sun lies released him of
bis toil, and be is hastening home to enjoy
repose. Half way down the lane, by the
side of which stands his cottage, his chil
dren run to meet him. One lie carries,
and one he leads. The companion of his
humble life is ready to furnish him with
his plaiij repast, fcsee his toil-worn coun
tenance assume an air of cheerfulness !
His hardships are forgotten—fatigue van
ishes—he eats, and is satisfied. The eve
ning fair, he walks with uncovered head
around his garden—enters again, and re
tires to rest; and ‘ the rest of a laboring
man is sweet, whether he eat little or
muck.’ Inhabitant of this lowly dwelling,
who can be indifferent to thy comfort [—
Peace be to this house !— llcv. !U. Jay.
From Graham's Magazine.
B Y C V R r. R BELL.
Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say ;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall ?
Life’s sunny hours flit l>y;
Enjoy them as they fl) !
What though Death at times steps in
And calls our best away ?
What though sorrow seems to win
O’er hope a heavy sway ?
\et hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell :
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair !
From the Southern Cultivator.
Bots.— Mr. Editor — ln the Fourth
y olume, pnge 129, of the Southern Cul
tivator, is “The natural history of the Cot
and Horse Bee,” written by the Rev. R.
Green, in which he gives the result of
several experiments, in hatching the egg
or nit ot the fly or bee. Tlie shortest time
iu which he succeeded was about 8 days.
It seems lie was not aware that he could
have ha'ched out eight bunded in
minutes, with more ease than he did tbo
one in eight days, if a person (that does
not use tobacco) will take fifty or a hun
dred eggs, and place them in one hand,
covering them with spittle, then place a
finger ofthe other hand upon them, and
shut the hand so as to exclude the atmos
phere, ami create warmth,and a slight pres
sure, and hold it thus for the space of two
minutes, he will have as bcactiful a family
of blue creepers as be may desire to see.
This may be known to you and many
others, but I have seen many who were
ignorant of the fact, and would scarcely
believe it. I have batched out many in
one minute, and some in less time.
The nit causes itching, this causes the
horse to bite parts where they are situated
and if the horse should be shedding, or
any of the nits should be loose, he gets
them in his mouth, and in two minutes at
farthest they are alive and on their way to
his stomach. All will see Low to prevent
their ravages —share.
Sixty grains of red precipitate cured a
bad case of bots in a horse of mine last
summer. I gave it as the last resort.
I am, &c. PUNY FACE.
Remarks hy the Editor.— Our cor
respondent lias called attention to an inte
resting fact in entomology. It lias long
been our practice to wash off with warm
water and a cloth,all nits from the legs and
other parts of our horses every day during
the season when the fly prevails and depo
sits its eggs. This hint may bo worth
something to the owners of valuable
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING
Will be executed in the most ay/erored style
and on the best terms, at the Office of the
HARRISON & MYERS.
From the Boston Cultivator.
The Happy Man.
In walking down second street on my
way to the Arsenal, I found a crack in my
boot, and recollecting the old, adage, “a
stich in time saves nine,” I popped into
the first cobbler’s shop I met to get it
mended. Uulooked fyr pleasures are gen
erally nios' relished. Iliad no idea if
meeting with a philosophical cobbler.—
Pulling oil' my boot, 1 looked at the man.
What an expansive forehead ! What an
expressive eye ! There is truth in Physi
ognomy, I exclaimed to myself. That ft-’,
low’s brains are not made of green peas !
As he was fixing the boot, 1 thought of a
man born with capacities for intellectual
pleasures and improvement, “lusty, lord
ly,” wasting bis entire existence, pent up
in a small loom, knocking away with his
hammer, and bending from morning ti I
night over a lapstone and a piece of leath
er. I took another look at the man, and
while the glorious sun, was rolling in
his golden course and all nature smiling
in her gorgeous and superb scenery, mov
ing tho gaze, and filling the beholder With
sublime feelings, “here,” said I to myself,
“sits a man pi rpetually straining his eye
to poke a hog’s bristle through a little hole.
What an employment for a man capable
if properly instructed, of measuring the
distance to Mercury! It is impossible
that he can be happy—lie is out of liis
sphere.” Just as he had got the third
hole, I spoke lo him and said, “Your room
is very small, arc you happy here !” Ho
answen l with some energy, “Happy as
the day is long, and would not exchange sit
uations with the President. Ido not inter
fere with politics,but I know all üboutthem.’
“But are you happy in your employ
ment, confined all day in this small room'!”
Yes, certainly. The fact is half of the
world don’t know bow to be happy. I
was for a time humbugged about happi
ness ; but sitting on my bench, and reflect
ing seriously one day, I got the secret. I
thought to be happy you must be rich and
great, and have au inconveniently largo
house, and more furniture by far than ne
cessary, and a table groaning with every
thing. But I soon found out all that was
stuff. lam happier here with my last and
hammer, than thousands with their fine
houses and splendid equipage, and have a
great deal of enjoymeut in looking out of
my little cabin, and laughing at tlie follies
of tlie world. They don’t see me and it
does them no harm. Between you and
me, the world are vveaiy pursuing mere
shadows; one wants to be rich, another
to get into office—never satisfied ; but
here am I, mending old shoes, contented
with my lot and situation and happier bv
far than a King! Indeed I am thankful
that heaven iu its wrath never made me a
King, for it is a poor business.”
By tliis time my boot was ready, and
wishing to prolong the conversation with a
man who displayed so much real practical
philosophy 1 said.
“Have you no distressing cares to vex
you, no anxieties, no sleepless nights, no
bills to meet, no pangs for yesterday, no
fears for to-morrow V’
lie scared at ine a moment and said,
“No, none. The only cares which I have
are comfmts. I have a wife, the best in
the world, and two children who are com
forts for any man to enjoy. As to bills, I
have none to meet. I never buy on credit
and never buy what I do not really need.
As to the fears of to morrow, 1 have no
fears, but. trust in a kind and overruling
Providence* believing that sufficient unto
the day is the evil thereof, and resignation
to Providence to be the truest philosophy.”
What a noble fellow, said l to mend a
brack in a boot! Himself a piece of no
ble workmanship! 1 felt inwardly the
truth of the saying, “contentment is a king
dom,” and after 1 left my philosophical
cobbler, I thought much about him, and am
satisfied that his philosophy was sound,
and that mankind in general have yet lo
learn the secret to be happy. His situa
tion in life io obscure, but
Honor and fame from no condition rise,
Act well your part, there all the honor lies.”
“Contentment is a kingdom;” would
that the whole human family realized this
sentiment moic fully and practiced
of the maxims of the cobbler — such as nev
er to buy what they do not need, and trust
more to our Heavenly Father, who has
promised to give us whatsoever we ask in
A Petrified Forest. —M. Blast, of
Bombay, has discovered, in the neighbor
hood of Cairo, an entire forest converted
into silex; the vessels, medullary rays, and
even tlie most slender fibres, are distinct
ly visible. The petrified trees are from
sixteen to eighteen metres in length. This
phenomenon extends over a surface of
many hundred miles. The whole desert
which is crossed by the road from Cairo
to Suez, is strewed with these trees, which
seem to have been petrified on the spot,
and in tho existing era. At least, this for
est is covered by nothing more than sand
and gravels. The latter, and the trees im
bedded in them, rest on calcarious lime
stones, which contain oysters, with then
texture and color so little altered, that one
would believe them to have been left but
recently by the waters of the sea. It is
therefore probable that these substances
belong to our own era ; and we may ad
duce this interesting fact as tending to
prove the transformation of living shells
into new calcareous carbonate.