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THE - swffismm'ss 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 three months. 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 nose.” 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 —l. 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 very warm. “Age, Mr. Poppin ?'* “Pop-kin, if you please, sir.” “Well, your age, Mr. Popkin ?” “Forty-four.’’ “Married ?” “ No—God bless your soul! No, sir!” said Mr. P., vehemently. “ Ever had the small-pox, Mr. Pok pin V “ Never. Popkin, if you please, sir,” added tho applicant. “ Ever had any affection of the heart ?” “ No, sir! Mr. Samuel Popkin is a bachelor.” “ Have you ever met with any serious accident 1” “ Never. That is—beg your pardon” —continued Mr. P., checking himself quickly, and seeming to recollect some thing of consequence —there was a slight accident—” “ 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 alarmed. “ 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 termined. 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 mands it.” “ 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 after life. 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 milliner. Sabrina was now to be taught tlie vir tues of Arria, Portia, Cornelia; to be im bued with stoic indifference to pain and fear. 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 ing Glass. 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. DOMESTIC HAPPINESS. 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. TIME. 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 ? Rapidly, merrily, Life’s sunny hours flit l>y; Gratefully, cheerily, 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. Manfully, fearlessly, 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 horses. BOOK AND JOB PRINTING Will be executed in the most ay/erored style and on the best terms, at the Office of the “SOUTHERN MUSEUM,” -BY— 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 His name. 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.