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THE jKlffie ,published trery S.lTL'RD.lY~Morniii«, .11 the Corner of lYaUrt and Fifth St. ceis, IN THE CITY OF MACON, GA. BV HABKISON & MYERS. T E 11 M S : For the Paper, in advance, per annum, f5«2. If not paid in advance, 50, par annum. If not paid until the end of the Year §3 00. TT Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rlte3 a nd when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they will be continued un til forbid and charged accordingly. dj’Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. (rj’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, at the Court House of the county in which the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must he given in a public gazette sixty days previous to the day of sale. (FpSales of Negroes by Administators, Execu tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction on the first Tuesday in the month, between the legal hours of sale, before the Court House of the county where the Letters Testamentary, or Administration or Guardianship may h ive been granted, iiist giv in r notice thereof for sixty days, in one of the pub lic gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court House where such sales are to be held. (P’Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner forty days previous to the day of sale. ! yj’Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an Es tate must be published for forty days. ('"pXotice 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 thate for four months, before any order absolute can be given by the Court. i 1 for Letters of Administration on [an Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must; l )a published thirty days— for Letters of Dismis [sionfrom the alministr.rtionofan Estate, monthly [for six months —for Dismission from Guardian ship FORTY DAYS. qj*Ri-i.F.s for the foreclosure of a Mortgage, must be puolished monthly for four months — for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of thrf.e months —for cooipelling Titles from Ex ecutors, Administrators or others, where a Bond hasheen given by the deceased, the lull spaced THREE MONTHS. N. IE All Business of this kind shill i-eceiv prompt attention at the SOI Tl! CUN MUSEI M Office, and strict care will be taken that all legal Advertisements are published according to Law. IFF All Letters directed to this Office or the Editor on business, must he post-paid, to in sure attention. ,£X r g. THE COURSE OF I, IFE. TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH. O ! let the soul its slumber break, Arouse its senses and awake, To see how soon Life with its glories glides away, And the stern footsteps of decay Come stealing on. How pleasure, like the passing wind, Blows by, and leaves us nought behind But grief at last; How still our present happiness Seems to the wayward fancy, less Than what is past. Our lives like hasting streams must ho, That into one engulfing sea Are doomed to fall ; The Sea of Death, whose waves roll on, O’er king and kingdom, crown and throne, And swallow all. Alike the river’s lordly tide, Alike the humble riv’let’s glide, To that sad wave ; Death levels poverty and pride, And rich and poor sleep side by side Within the grave. Our birth is but the starling-place, Life is the running of the race,, And death the goal: There all our steps at last are brought, That path alone, of all unsought, Is found of all. Where is the strength that mocked decay, The step that rose so light and gay, The heart’s blithe tone ? The strength is gone, the step is slow, And joy grows weariness and woe When ago comes on. Say, then, how poor and little worth Are all those glittering toys of earth That lure us here; • Dreams of asleep that death must break, Alas ! before it bids us wake, Ye disappear. CIUWCE OF DEATH. BV WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. Might I, without offending, choose The death that I might die, Id fall, as erst the Templar fell, Beneath a Syrian sky. 1. pon a glorious plain of war, The ha nners floating fair, My lance and fluttering pennoncel Should marshal heroes there ! the solemn battle-eve, With prayer to be forgiven, Id arm me for a righteous tight, Imploring peace of Heaven. High o er the thunders of the charge Should wave my sable plume, And where the day was lost or won, There should they place my tomb ! Aitond your church,” the pnrson cries ; To church each fair one goes; I lie old go there to close their eves, The young to eye their clothes. THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM. BY HARRISON k MYERS. From Godry's Lady’s Booh. THE IRISH PATRIOTS. til GRACE GREENWOOD. The rebel patrio sos Ireland, O’Brien, Meagher, McManus, O’Donobue, and others, at this present time, (November, LS4S,) and in their present position, form a spectacle of fearful interest. In the earn est, concentrated gaze of the world they stand—for them the hearts ofmillions throb with irrepressible admiration—for them tears of mournful apprehension and indig nant sorrow fall, and prayers of passionate entreaty ascend. But from no Christian country goes forth to them a more full and perfect sympathy than from our own, the land of a Washington, the asylum of an Emmett. They seem to us so much the incarnation of Irish freedom, that we can but fear that in their exile, or death, she shall be exiled or perish forever. But no —as God livetb, no ! Rather shall the sa crifice of their young lives, with all that made them beautiful and glorious, gift their dying country with “newness of life” —with vigor and power, and a hope grand and solemn, and eternal as the heavens. While she may number such heroic sons among her living, or her dead, she may not, she will not despair, though she clank chains on every limb—though she were bound to the earth with a thousand thongs. Whether these heroes meet the death of shame upon the scaffold, or drag out a wretched existence as the galley slaves of tyranny, their imperishable names, exalt ed and sanctified, shall pass into the watch words oft lie brave, and become the rally ing cry of liberty throughout the world— in tlie last great contest of freedom with oppression, shall lead the battle van like living heroes, and mingle in the grand an them which rings to Heaven in the hour of victory. • Oh ! immortality of love, and gratitude, and reverence ! —oh ! godlike apotheosis!—will not the assurance of this hear them up through all, while they toil through sultry days, or sigh through weary nights, where the wild wastes of Southern seas stretch around them ; or when the more terrible sea of human heads surges about the scaff’o and, in that hour when the life-blood of their brave hearts must be poured forth a mournful oblation on the ruined and desecrated shrine of their coun try’s liberty 1 Where, in all the annals of history or the records ofe oquence, may be found a nobler expression of devoted and undaunt ed heroism than the last vindication of young Meagher 1 Grand in its simplicity, beautiful in its truth, and solemn in its pro phecy, it must, live while a human heart throbs for freedom, or reverences her de fenders. llow lofty, yet how mournfully tender is the conclusion ; —his country should lay these words to her heart as dear and sacred things, to be pondered oft and treasured forever:— “ My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, and pe chanoe it may seal my ia’e ; but I am liere to speak the truth, whatever it may cost. lam here to regret nothing that I have ever done—to i-nn.-ict nothing that I have ever said. I am not here to c ave, with iying lip. the life l consecrate to the liberty of my coun try. Far from it even here, where the thic£, the libertine, the murderer, have left their foot-prints in the dust—here, in this snot, where the shadow of death surrounds me, and from which I sec an early grave in an unanointed soil open to receive me even here, encircled by these terrors, that hope which beckoned me to the peril ous sea on which I have been wrecked, still consoles, animates and enraptures me. No ! I do no; despair of my poor old coun try —her peace, her libel ty, her glory.— Fo> that country I can now do no more than bid bet hope. To lift this island up —to make her a benefactor to humanly instead of what she is—the meanest beg gar in the world—to restore to her her native powers and her ancient conslitutiqn —this has been my ambition, and this am bition has been my crime. Judged by the law of England, 1 know this crime emails the penalty of death. “ But the history of Ireland explains my crime and justifies it. Judged by that his tory, I am no criminal”—(and turning round towards his fellow-prisoner, Mc- Manus)—“you are no criminal”) —(and to O’Donohue) —“you are no criminal, and we deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, the treason of which I have been convicted, loses all its guilt—is sanc tified as a duty will be ennobled as a sa crifice. With these sentiments, my lord, l await the sentence of the court. Hav ing done what I feel to be my duty—hav ing spoken now, as I did on every occasion during my shoit life, wliat I felt to be the truth, I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion atid my death — that country whose misfortunes have invo ked my sympathies —whoso factions l sought to still—whose intellect I prompted to a lofty aim—whose freedom has been my fatal dream. 1 offer to that country, as a pledge of the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and spoke, and struggled for her freedom, the life ot a young heart; and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments of a happy and honorable home. Pronounce, ilien, my lords, the sentence which the law directs, and 1 trust I will be prepared to meet it, and to meet its execution. I trust, too, that I shall be prepared with a pure heart to appear before a higher tribunal — a tribunal where a Judge of infinite good ness, as well us of infinite justice, will pre- side ; and where, my lords, many, many of the judgments of this world will be re versed.” How dare England even condemn such men to death at this lime, when the roused elements of justice and freedom are rock ing and convulsing the world ! —the day when the whole air is filled with strange, fearful sounds and confused voices of warn ing and dismay 1— “Lo, the waking up of nations, From slavery’s fatal sleep ! The murmur of the universe, Deep calling unto deep 1” Is she not thus pouring oil on the quick flames, rather than on the roused waters of rebellion ! The gallant spirit of old Ireland can no more be crushed by Eng lish law, or frowned down by English judg es, than it can be starred out by English extortion. There is a volcanic element at work in Ireland still—darkly and silent ly at work,but which shall yet Break on the darkness of her thick despair, Like Aina on deep midnight—lighting up, With lurid glow, oppression’s pall-like clouds; And pouring madly forth a lava tide ■ To scathe and whelm the scats of ancient wrong Let England bewere ! Patriotism is an immortal spirit—heroism an eternal truth. The political as well as the reli gious martyr but gives a higher beauty, a more solemn grandeur to the cause for which he dies. Eighteen hundred years ago, on Calvary’s sacred mount,was taught a sublime lesson of self-sacrifice, which is but repeated whenever and wherever man dies for man. It is vain to say that the sacrificed life of the patriot is ever thrown away. His blood, when poured upon the battle field, or reeking from the scaffold, is not drauk up by the insensible earth and then forgot ten ; hut from every drop may be said to spring an armed defender, or a fervid a postle of the faith he taught ; or it is ex haled to heaven and descends in a dew of terrible vengeance upon his enemies.— His death quickens the life of nations. His memory fills the spirit of youth with grand aspirations, kindles a quenchless fire in his heart, puts an invincible strength into his arm ;—it becomes to the brave almost an object of adoration ; they turn to it iri the darkness of strife for high hopes and heroic promptings, and in the brightness of suc cess with grateful joy and pride—it is writ ten on their heavens, at night in stars, at noonday in rainbows. But, as when we contemplate the cruci fied one and the martyred saints of old, we see them with their majestic glories round them, wearing their “crowns of re joicing,” encircled with the haloes of di vinity, and behold not the wreath of thorns, the scourge, the piercing spear, the rack, the fire, the flood, and all the infernal in ventions and varieties of torture —so now, as we fix our wrapt gaze on Erin’s heroes, we speak of them in words of triumph, for the motal height on which they stand seems a very “mount of transfiguration,” and wrapped about in its glory they seem ex alted above earth, its weakness, ties, and transient associations. Ah ! we see not the mocking and scourging of their degra dation, the crucifixion of their manhood, the racking of the spirit, the tiger-fangs at the breast, the molten lead drops slowly burning into the brain, all, all the fearful tortures of their human natures—intensely human—for from their peifect humanity their heroism took its life. Could we look into the depths of their hearts, and behold how dear to them is the life they are about to resign for the mur derer’s fate, or the slow death of exile— could we remember with them its early promise, and romance, and ideal beauty, or the grand aspirations and splendid dreams, and manly struggles of its prime— could we know all the hopes, the honors, the endearments “which made that life beloved,” and all the sorrows, buried loves and vain, sweet visions that hallowed it, then we might measure the height and depth of their sacrifice. Could we look into the cell of the con demned, in the deep midnight, when the gaze of curiosity and enmity was excluded —when the tide of outward life was still ed, or heat against the prison-walls with faint murmurs, then could we behold the mighty spirit of vitality, the unconquerable love of life tugging at the heart-strings of the and omed patriot; —could we witness his vain efforts to crush it down by the power of heroic endurance—could we see the convulsive quiver of the lips, the sweat drops oozing from the brow, 3s the stern conflict goes on ; and, oh ! could we hear him, as thoughts of deeper and more whelming agmiy beat at his heart, groan forth the names of his dear ones, or whis per them in a tone like that of dying ten derness, in a love stronger than death, a love overcoming all the fears and sufferings of self; or see him lift his eyes heaven ward, with a gaze so burningly intense it might almost pierce the stony roof of his dungeon, and breathe for those loved ones the prayer of a breaking heart; —could we see all this, we might measure the height and depth of their sorrow. Could we look into the darkened homes of those who hold them dear—could w e mark the gray-haired sire, bowed towards the earth, as though impatient for its grave rest—could we mark how, at morning and evening prayer, his lip trembles and his voice falters at the sacred words, “ Thy will be done —could we look into the face of the mother, and see by its pallor and its tears, that the heart was breaking MACON, JANUARY 27, 1849. within her—could we mark the sister’s an guish, the brother s ag-mized sympathy, the hitler wailing cl the child, the fainting, the despair, the unutterable grief of the wife—the lonely weeping, and frightful visions, and wild prayers of her nights, and the sick gaze she opens on the dawn which brings no hope to her worn spirit;—could we contemplate the fair, younsr life of the betrothed maiden, so suddenly laid deso late, struck down and broken like a rare vase once filled with bloom and sweetness, shattered and lying in beautiful fragments before us, with all its morning flowers trampled in the dust:—could we see all this, we might measure the height and depth of the enormity of that condemna tion which rends so many clinging ties, immolates so many loves, fills so many homes with the voice of weeping, and flings upon so many paths thick shadows from the wing of death. lo perish “upon the gallows high,” or endure a life long exile, what a fate for those proud spirits who so lately saw in their enraptured visions, a career of heroic struggle and glory before them, and their beloved country redeemed and disenthrall ed, taking her old tilace among the nations! Oh, God ! can these things he ! Alas ! we know that they are now, but how. long shall they endure ! Yet let us still the impatient voices of our hearts, for wc know that the Author of liberty, the Divine source ofiightand justice,livctli and ruleth and that all will yet be well. Oh! royal England, may not tliy great heart be even yet touched with compassion and thou be constrained to offer a full and perfect forgiveness to those who have so bravely, perchance madly, rebelled against thy dominion ! But, if thou wilt show no relenting, but continue fierce and merci less to the end, as Heaven is above thee, the day of thine own fall, the day that shall see thee utterly overwhelmed, shall come at last! And not by thy glory then, By armed hosts arrayed, By pomp, and power, and mighty men, Can God’s right arm be stajed ! Then slialt thou feel the earth heaved beneath, and the shies darkened above thee ! Then shall thy foes exult, and thine allies tremble ;—then, from the warm South, lind the chill North, and the golden East, shall ring shouts of derisive triumph—from the isles of the sea shall go up peans of rejoicing; and then shall the angel of freedom appear, and roll away the stone from the sepulchre of Ireland’s national spirit, bidding it arise to a glorious resurrection—while the armed watchers over a sleep they deemed eternal, stand aghast, drop the swords from their palsied hands, arid faint in their armor. When thus Ireland, thy freed sister, be gins anew her national existence, may she be warned by thy fall against pride, cruelty, oppression, extortion, and that de fiant forgetfulness of God which is the soul of all tyranny! Childhood. —lt is a beautiful and won drous subject, altogether worthy of a deeper investigation than any with which it has yet been honored by philosophy, the awakening of a young Spirit, from its slumbers in the arms of Eternity, amid the dreamy music which drops from the golden lingers of Nature, in the dim, religious temple of Time! This Spirit, also incarnate in anew form through which, as an instru ment, it is one day to preach there—in that solemn temple—is, indeed, matter enough for thought. To my mind, Child hood is a condition of lmppy obedience and abandonment. It implies, and dimly shadows forth,, the last bight of the soul. It is a miniature pictnre of innocence of man ; a type, also, of that possible perfec tion predicted by Prophets and Poets of the elder world. How great and noble a Being might be made out of the materials of Childhood ! How gentle and confiding it is! How joyous and rapturous —how exultant in the happy life which the good God lias given it! It lives with the Angels all day long, and closes its sweet eyes at night to their soft singing, meeting them again in visions of the peaceful heaven ! As yet it belongs to Nature, and feels safe and happy in her loving arms. Its com panions are the flowers and the trees—the birds and the brooks—and the green grass of the sunny meadows : and its little flut tering spirit is so bathed in the element of love, that all creatures and things partake of its beauty, and the child and them be come one and the same being. It is this mystic union with Nature—which we all feel to have been ours in Childhood—that makes us cing so fondly to the associations of that happy state. It is because we have experienced the deep unutterable joy of communion with surrounding intelligences without let or hindrance from sin, that we all desire in some moment of our lives to he once more a child! Ah ! happy Childhood ! sweet spring time oft to a dreary summer, and an un blest winter. Knowledge is the Bible of the soul, intended to comfort man in all his ways, nnd conduct him to immortality. Insensibly doos an unseen band trace ciphers on the mystic leaves. There they lie in beautiful illumination even now, for childhood itself to read. Not forever in sunny dreams must the young Spirit be wasted ! It must try its wings—and soar —and burn —and fall—and rise again. Cast, by-and-by,iuto the depths of Thought —it must struggle there for life—it must solve the enigma of its own existence. VOLUME 1 NUMBER 9. FIRESIDE AFFECTIONS. BY MARY LEMAN GILLIES. The man who sits down in a virtuous home, however humble, in which his own industry enables him to breathe the atmos phere of independence, and his wife’s management to enjoy cleanliness and com fort, has a vast scope fer the creation of happinesA. The minds of his children of his wife—his own mind, are so many microcosms, which only ask to be inquired into and developed, to reveal hoards of wealth, which may be coined into current enjoyment. We are ever too little sensi ble of tlie good immediately within our grasp ; too ready to cavil at difficulties and declare them impossibilities. A great man ! once said there were no such things, and all proverbs have their foundation in prac tical truth, this idea may receive con firmation from the common phrase:— “ Where there is a will there is a way.’* It is certain that the difference between I what zeal aiid energy will accomplish with ! small means, compared with what power,! ill applied or feebly applied, will long leave unachieved, is most astounding.— Few are those who have not to reproach themselves with supineness, or a prodigal waste of lime and resources ; few, when they look back upon the field of past expe perience, but feel how barren they have left the track which might have been richly cultivated. Let us instantly reform. The present will become the future ; let us re solve that it shall be rich in fruit, delicious to the reverting spirit of review, and yield ing good seed for the progressive path be fore us. The traveller rarely begins with his own country ; in like manner the .searcher after enjoyment too often looks beyond liome too late in life’s journey, when little of either strength or time re mains, this is regretted. lit the case of home, the early neglect is usually irre- 1 trievahle, where we may be certain, if flowers are not cultivated, weeds will spring—where the violet and the rose might have charmed our senses, the nettle and night-shade will offend them. Fene lon was accustomed to say, “T love my family better than myself; my country better than my family, and mankind better than my country; for lam more a French man’ than a Feneloti, and more man than a Frenchman.” This is an instance of reasoning more beautiful in theory than reducible to practice ; I should be satisfied with the man who proceeded almost in versely and invested his first funds in the domestic, treasury ; these once established and yielding interest, he may at once en joy and dispense at will. Many spirits are moving on the stream of society, and the rising waters are attesting their influ ence. Religion has ils preachers, science and- politics their lecturers, but there seems to he a dearth of moral teachers— Apostles of the Religion of Home, who would show warmly and eloquently to as sembled congregations the beauty and the benefits of the home affections—the dread ful blank and ruinous bankruptcy attend ant on their want of violation—who would send aw«y their dispersing auditors with awakened hearts, each saying in the se cret chamber of its individual breast, — “ I will be a better wife, a better husband, a better parent, a better child, than I have ever been.” Those who should make tiiis resolve and act up to it might count upon an exceeding great reward—the harvest of present happiness, and the solace of fu ture consolation. Os the* latter need, let it ever be remembered, none will be spar ed : the wedded will he the widowed— the parented will he th<* ophaned. The links of life are not more sumly cemented than they are struck asunder, and happy is he in whose living hand is left the frag ment of the chain ; if, when the heart that loved him is cold, lie can lay his hand up on his own, and sa*y—“ I never neglected her—l was never unkind ; we suffered, but I ever sought to make her share of suf fering the least.” As happy she who can recollect habits of devotion and endurance, that she kept ever present to her mind how he has toiled and tried in the conflict ing struggles of the world abroad, and had i sedulously sought, as much as in her lay, to create for him a recompense at home— sweet will be this drop in her bitter cup of bereavement. Without risking the charge of partiality, I may say this con solatory consciousness of self-abnegation falls more often to the lot of woman than to man. Many affecting instances in the most unfortunate walks of life are often recorded in the public prints, where a wife, to shield a savage assailant from pun ishment, has pleaded guilty to self-vio lence. These revolting circumstances will disappear with the class in which alone they are found, as temperance and intelli gence advance ; for hearts, hundreds of hearts, that were originally capable of ten derness have been defrauded of the bless ed privileges of loving and dispensing kindness, because unhappy circumstances denied the current of affection permission to flow forth, and gentleness and sweet ness to become the habit of behaviour.— The kindlier feelings, checked in their outset, errow stagnaut, or take a congeal ed or sluggish course, never yielding suf ficient evidence of vitality. Thus many whom self-culture has redeemed mentally from the bondage of early bad habits, have failed to attain moral emancipation from the thraldom in which want of genial man ners principa'ly contributes to hold them. I have noticed even a false shame evinced i at giving any evidence of susceptibility to BOOK AND JOB PRINTING, Will be executed inthe most approved stylet and on the best terms, at the Office of the “ SOUTHERN MUSEUM.” —BY— HARRISON & MYERS. the loveable emotions, and rudeness af fected to hide the tenderness that was yearning to ,To these I would say in the beautiful language of a popular song : Love now ! ere the heart feels o sorrow, Or the bright sunny moments are flown: Love now ! for the dawn of to-morrow May find thee unloved and alone. Oh ! alone,—alone in the house of mourn ing ! What would you not then give lo I recall the time when you suffered your 1 best feelings to lie in unprofitable silence 1 i What would you not give to recall to con ! sciou6ness—consciousness of your love, your contrition, the heart you bad often j hurt by apparent indifference I By a magic peculiar to death, all that was beau tiful, was amiable in the departed, rises on the stricken heart of the survivor with re newed beauty ;—his own demerits are magnified. Spare thyself this bitter con ; dition to a bitter draught—the cup may I not pass from thee ! Let not the sun of j affection go down while it is yet day, or the night of thy morning will be dark in deed. It seems strange that mental im provement should be more easy than moral amelioration—but so it is ; the mind’s pre judices fall before that silent monitor a book, and the faculties assert their fiee dom ; but it requires more effort to effect a change of manner, and modes of expres sion—if the amenities have not grown with our growth, and strengthened with our strength, they rarely take kindly to the soil. Gentleness and tenderness then must be among the first and most constant of the influences exerted over the infant mind. The general increase of kindliness and urbanity, in the classes in which the graces of society have been least regarded, are among the best advances that have long been making. The history of private life in past times exhibits a severity of conduct towards the young, from a mistaken notion of its utility, nay, of its necessity, that it is painful to recall. The sceptre was not deemed more essential to the king, the mace to the keeper of his conscience, than the rial of the school-master ; and if the portraits of these birch loving pedagogues could be presented to us, no doubt the ste reotyped frown would be found on every face. Lady Jane Grey records that she never sat in her mother’s presence, and severe study was a sweet shelter from such severe austerity. Joy to the young spirits of the nineteenth century; everywhere he their hearts opened by kindness and en couragement. Let us not be niggauls of the moral comfit—praise. Credit to a dawning or dormant capacity is often vvhat an advance of capital is to a struggling trader ; it assists, perhaps inspires, the ex ertion that enables him to realize fortune and repay the loan with interest. I would present to every, parent, the following beautiful lines by Coleridge, and even sug gest their being committed to memory O’er wayward childhood would’st thou hold firm rule, And sun tnee in the light of happy faces,. Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces, And in thine own heart let them first keep school, For as old Atlas on his broad neck places Heaven’s starry globe, and there sustains it—so Do these upbear the little world below Os Education —Patience, Love and Hops. Mf.tliinks I sec thsii! grouped in show The straitened arms upraised, the palms aslope, And robes that, touching as down they flow, Distinctly blind like snow embossed in snow. O part them never ! If Hope prostrate lie, Love too will sink and die. I’ut love is subtle, and doth proof derive From her own life that Hope is yet alive ; And bending o’er with soul transfusing eyes, And the soft murmurs of the molher dove, Won* back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies : Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love. Yet haply there will come a weary day*. When overtasked at length Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way,- Then with a statue’s smile, a statue’s strength, Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth, And both supporting does the work of both. Who are the truly valuable in Society.— The value set upon a member of society should be, not according to the fineness or intensity of his feelings, in the acuteness of his sensibility, or his readiness to weep for, or deplore the misery he may meet with in the world*; but in proportion to the sacrifice lie is ready to make,and to the knowledge,and talents which he is able and willingto contribute towards removing the misery. Tobenefit mankind is a much more difficult task than some seem imagine it is not quite so easy as to make a disulav of amiable sensibility: the first requiaes long study and painful abstinence from the various alluring pleasures by which we are surrounded; the second in most, cases demands only a little acting, and even when sincere,is utterly useless to the public. — Weitminster Review. Charities the best Robberies.— A mail’s self is often his worst robber. — He steals from his own bosom and heart what God has there deposited, and he hides it out of his way as dogs and foxes do with bones. But the robberies we commit on the body of cur superfluities, and store up in vacant places, in places of po.verty and sorrow, these, whether in the dark or in the daylight, leave us neither in nakedness nor in fear, are marked by no burn.ngiron of conscience, are followed by no scourge of reproach : they never deflower prosperity, they never distemper sleep.— Landor.