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9 o c t r s.
THE RAINBOW.
BY AMELIA.
I sometimes have thought in my loneliest liours )
That lie on my heart like the dew on the flowers,
Os a ramble 1 took one bright afternoon,
When niy heart was as light as a blossom in June;
The green earth was moist with the late fallen
showers,
The breeze fluttered down and blew open the
flowers,
While a single white cloud in its haven of rest,
On the white wing of peace flouted ofi in the west.
As I threw back iny tresses to catch the cool
breeze,
That scattered the rain drops and dimpled the
seas,
Far up the blue sky a fair rainbow unrolled
Its soft-tinted pinions of purple and gold ;
'Tiyas born in a moment, yet, quick as its birth.
It had stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth,
And, fair as an angel, it floated all free,
With a wing on the earth and a wing on the sea.
How calm was the ocean ! how gentle its swell !
Like a woman s soft bosom it rose and it tell,
While its light sparkling waves, stealing laugh
ingly o er,
When they saw the fair rainbow knelt down to
the shore ;
No sweet I yum ascended, no murmur of prayer,
Yet I felt that tlio spirit of worship was tlieie.
And bent niv v >ung head in devotion and love,
'Neath the form of the angel that floated above
Hnw wide was the svvee - of its beautiful wings !
How boundless iis circle • liovv radiant its rings'
Isl I onked mi the sky 'twas suspended ill air,
Isl looked on the ocean the rainbow was then;
Thus f •rilling a girdle us brilliant and whole
As th-thoughts of the rainbow that circled my
soul;
Like the wing of the Deity calmly unfit I'd,
li bant from the cloud and encircled the world.
There are moments, I think, when the spirit re
ceives
Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten
leaves,
When the folds ofthe heart in a moinen uncles ,
Like the innumerable leaves fioin the heart of
the rose ;
And thus when the rainbow had passed lioni the
sky,
The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by;
It left my full soul like the wing of the dove,
All flu tering with pleasure, and flutte; ing vvitli
love.
I know that each moment of rapture or pain.
Hut shortens the links in life's mystical chain ;
I know that my form, like the bow of the wars,
Must pass from the earth and lie cold in the grav«;
Yet, o|i ; when dcatli s shadows my bosom
uneloud,
" hen 1 shrink from the thought of the coffin
and shroud,
May hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold
In her beautiful pinions of purple and gold
SPEAK KINDLY.
Ofl unknowingly the toiiguo
I ouches on a chord so aching,
That a word or accent wrong
1 a ins the heart almost to breaking ;
Many a tear of w ounded pride,
Many a fault of human blindness,
Has been soothed or turned asido
By a quiet voice of kindness
BY HARRISON & MYERS.
THE DYING VOLUNTEER,
An Incident of Mol In o del Rey.
BY 11. G. (HUMAN.
The sun had risen in all his glorious ma
jesty, and hung above the eastern horizon
like a hall of glowing fire, ts bright rays
danced merrily along the Lake of leseneo;
over the glittering domes of the city of
Mexico ; past the dark frowning battle
ments of Cbapultepec castle, and tit. in all
their glorious effulgence, u on the blood
stained field ol cletio del Key.
The conies was over, 'he sounds o the
battle had died away, save an occasional
shot from the distant artillery of the cas
tle. or the fire of some strolling ri emeu.
I was standing beside the bitterer! re
! mains of the mill do r. above which the
first to iting had been gained upon the wel
; contested wal , and azingover the plain,
now saturated vvitli the blood of my fe low
soldiers, which that morning had waved
green with (1 ivving grass, when I Iteard a
low and feeble wail, in the ditch beside
me I turned towards the spot and be
eld, with hi* right leg shattered by a can
non ball, a voltigeur lying amid the man
gled dead. He hud been passed hy in the
haste of gathering tip the wounded under
tits fire from the cast e.and the rays ofthe
burning sun beat down vvitli terrible fervor
I up n his wounded limb, causing heavy
ginans to issue ft tn Itis pallid lips, and bis
; tn tilde countenance to writhe with pain.
“ Water, fir God’s sake, a drill of wa
ter,” he faintly articulated, as 1 bent and »vvu
beside him
Fortunately 1 had procured a carneett
of water and placing it to his lips he took
i long deep draught, and then sank back
exhausted upon the ground.
“ The sun,” he murmured ; “ It is kill
ing me by its rays, cannot you carry me
into the shade V
“ I can procure assistance, and have you
taken to the hospital ’
“ No, do it not, my sands of life are al
most out. An hour hence l shall be a dead
man. Carry tne into be sado of the mill,
an 1 then, if you have time to spare, listen
to my dying words; and if you are for
tunate enough t ever return to the United
St a'cs, hear me bick a message to my
home, and to a noth—” h-paused, and mo
tioned for me to carry him to the shade. I
did so, and the cool wind which swept a
long the spo , seemed to revive him and
he continued :
“ You, sir, are a 'ntal stranger to me,
and from your uniform, being to an the
corps, and yet l must confide this, the
great secret of all my recent actions, and
the cause of- my being here, to you.
Would to God that had reflected upon
the fatal steps Iliad taken, and 1 sit old
ha e now been tit home, enjoying the so
ciety of kind friends, instead of dying
upon a gory field, in a foreign land. Aly
father was a wealthy man in the town of
G—ch, in the state of Virginia, and moved
in the best seciety of the place. 1 had
received an excellent education, had studi
ed law, and was admitted iti the twenty
fourth year of my age to practice at the
har. I had early seen and admired a
y ung lady of the place, a daughter of an
intimate friend of my father's, and fortun
ately be feeling was reciprocal, and we
were engaged to be married. The war
with Mexico had been in existence s me
twelve months, and many were flocking to
the standard of heir country, hso hap
pened that abo t this time a recruiting of
fice had been opened it; the town, and
several of my young fiends had enlisted
to go and ry their so tune; upon the plains
of Mexico. One night there was a grand
par y in lie place, in honor of those who
were about to depart f r lie seat of war,
and b th tnyse l and Eveline were tit the
ball. Among those who were assembled
that evening,- w is Augustus I’., a talented
Young man, and ai coniplished scholar gay
a:.d lively iti his m inuets, free and cheer
ful in his disposi ion, and a universal fa
vorite with the far sex. He had been for
sometime paying his address to Eveline,
as 1 deemed, in rather too poin ed tv man
lier As the party assembled in the long |
lud an ! the dance vvasab.un to commence.
I asked iter for her hand for the first set.''
“ It is engaged ” she replied, I thought
rather tardy.
“ To w hom, if 1 may he so bold as to
inquire ?” 1 demanded.
•• To Augustus I’., ’ was the immedia e
reply.
‘ smothered my rising indignnti nas
best I could, and proudly returned the
glance of malignant joy, my rival gave me.
“ Perita s i tan engage it for the second
set.” I calmly a-k -d.
“ Mr. I’., Inis engaged it for the wdiole
evening,' she pe ishly ephetl and riising
and taking his hand, they took their sta
tion upon the floor.
*• I remained thunderstruck, and rooted
todies of, until 1 saw the eye of my hated
rival fixed upon me, and throwing off’ the
spell that bound me, I as aimed a proud
cold look, and passed nun the hall. As l
swept by the dancers. Eveline amed a
rnotnen when just beside me, and bend*
ing cose to her ear, I whispered, * Eve
line, farewell forever ”
“ She tuned slightly pale, and then an
swered, • When.’
“ To-night, 1 join the army for Mexico, ’
l firmly replied.
A deep flush passed hastily across her
brow, and then, waving her hand grac -
lull , she re lied, * Go.’ and again glided
hr ugh the mazes of the dance,
”1 rushed from the spot, and never paus-
MACON, FEBRUARY 10. 1349.
ed until I had entered the recruiting office
and offered myself a candidates >r the army.
” Are you a good, moral man, fwe I
regulated habits,'’ asked the setjennt.
“ I can give a bund ed certificates, if
necessary,” I has ily replied.
“ I rather think you'll do,” said the offt
cer with a smile, and lie enrolled me as a
soldier. * When do you wish to leave?'
“ Now, to-night— to-morrow, any time,”
I eagerly answered.
“ Promptness is a good quality, you'll
make a fine soldier. Get ready to start at
8 o'clock in the mortiitig.for Newpott Kv.”
“ 1 will be ready,” and rushing from the
room, l hastened home, parked up my
i things, ntid threw myeel down upon the
! bed to slee . But it was impossible.
Heavy thoughts were crowding through
my mind with ightning speed, and I re
solved to depart the nex dty without bid-,
ding a single soul farewell. I know you
"ill deem it stftinge fir tne to hurrv off
without bidding adieu to father or mother,
sister r brother, hut feeling the de p re
spect which held for my fuller’s advice,
would prevail, and l should be indu e l to
remain at home, 1 made the resolve, and
carried it out The next morning l wa>
at the office by seven o’clock was famish
ed Yvitb a suit of regimentals, and depar
ted tor the railroad depot, to start sot
VVltee ing As l hurried along the street. |
who should tun a corner but Eveline, and
we met for the Pst time rut eaith. lin
firmed ler of my intention, and withou
rn iin fearing any disposition of regret at
my <le ami re, she gai v said,
*• Good bye, and may good luck attend
you,” an I glided away.
“ Anew fuel was added to my desire to
hasten from uch scenes, and Is on left
the town for the (Jin . I will not weary
y>»u with fu ther details as my breath is
failing fast. Sufficient to say, 1 arrived in
Mexico, ami here I am perishing by inches
upon the ba’tle field.
“ Here,” he continued. ' is a ring '* fa
king one from his finger, and presenting
it to me, “ wli ch was given me by Eve
line as a bond of our marriage contract.
1 have worn it ever since, and, as t gaily
tol her I lieu, ‘it shall leave me but with
mv death.' '! ake it to her when you get
back, and fslie is unmarried,give it to her,
and teil her he who sent it, never forgot
her fora moment, even in his dying hour
and is lying beneath the clods of a foreign
soil. This Bible give back t my father,
and tell him 1 have studied its precepts ;
to my mo-her and sisters, say that l sent
hem a son's and brother's dying love, to
mv brothers, beware of human strife.’
He fullered in liis speech, and the mur
muring “ 1 am going,” pressed my hand
feebly, and expired. I dug alone grave
upon the field, and laid him down to rest,
and left him o “ sleep his last sleep,’ un
til that day when’all shall be summoned to
final account. -*
One year rolled on, and how checked
by passing events. Cbapultepec had fall
en, the city of Mexico was taken, and
peace, thrice glorious peace had waved
her pinions over the laud of war The
volunteers wete joyfully hasting home,
and among the rest, 1 once more trod my
native, land, a teemaii again in heart and
soul. A spell of sickness at first c nfitied
me several weeks, hut at length l r se
wearied and feeble from the bed, and my
physicians recommending a change of air,
l travelled into Virginia, and one evening
en ered the town G—ch. 1 enquired for
the family of my friend, and was directed
to a large fine-looking bui dittg upon the
principal street. 1 advanced and rung the
bell, and anxiously waited for htt answer.
At length the door opened,and an old,
gray headed man stood before me, the
lines of his furrowed face marked by
care, and his whole, appearance betoken
ing one vvlio had a secret grief at heart.
" Mr. , I presume ?” said 1 bowing,
“ I'he same, sir; won’t you walk in ? *
replied the old man politely.
“I entered the house, and was soon seat
ed in the pat lor, when the old man start
ed t leave the ro m.
” l have something of importance for
you pri ate ear,” said I hastily
He turned towards me and taking the
bihle mm my pocket, 1 held it up to view.
Quicket than thought the father sprang
t rward, caught the book in his band, and
murmured as the tears fell slowly over his
aged cheeks,
*• M y son I you bring news of him.'*
“ 1 do, but i is very bad.” I answeieil,
my voice trembling as Is oke, and 1 rela
ted to him the scene upon the battle field
\\ hen i hail finished, the old man clasp
ed liis bands in sil nt agony, and raising
bis eyes towards the ceiling, exclaimed in
(teepand fervent ones,'God's will be done.’
At this moment, a young ady of pale,
atm careworn countetpnco entered die
palor, and rising, I said,
“ Miss Eve ine ———, l bel eve.
“ '1 he same sir,” she calmly replied.
I ptesenteil the ring, and as her eyes fell
upon it. she sire cited forth her hand to
grasp it, and barely did so; then sunk
slowly back upon the floor. I sprang to
her assis ance. but a- 1 raised Iter head
from the carpet,streams of blood were fall
ing from it, and mining o ei the floor
Site lntd burst a blood vessel, and neve re
covered
He sleeps upon the hatt’e field heneatl
the bloody soil, and she lies in the churcl
yard grave of fhq town of G— b, wit
the simple w id,’ “ Eve ine ” upon he
tombstone. Peace rest with the dead.—
Franklin in tiif. Sochl Circle.—
Never hud 1 known such a fireside com
panion as lie was both as a state-man and
t philsopher; he never shone in a light
n re winning than when he was seen in
die and imcstic circle. It was nuce my good
tortiine to pass tw i or three weeks with
aim at the house of a gen letnait in Penn
syl vania. and yy’c were confined to the house
during the whole of that time bvtlie unre
mitted constancy and depth of the sn yv.
But confinement could not he felt where
Dr. Fr nkliii was an inmate. His cheer
fulness and his colloquial powers spread
around him a perpetual spring. O Frank
litt no one ever became tired There Yvas
n ainbi t nos eloquence, no off >rt to shine
in anything Yvhich came from him. There
Yvas nothing Y\hich m-.de ativ demand,
either upon your al egiance or your admir
ation. His manner was just ns unaffected
as infancy. It was nature’s spell. He
talked like an Id patriarch, and hi* plain
ness and sim licitv put your at rce at your
e ise, and gave you full and free possession
ami use of all your faculties.
His thoughts were of a cha ncter to
shine by their oyvh light, without :my ad
veil iti us aid. Tney requi ed only a me
iliutn of vision, like liis pure anti simple
sly e, to exlitbit to the highest advantage
their native radiance and beauty, liis
cheerfulness yysis unrenmting. It scents
to be as much the uiiinl as of its superior
organization. IPs wit was oftlte first
order. It did not show itstlf merely in
occasional corruscation, but without any
effort or force on his part, it shed a con
slant stream of the pu-.esr light over the
while of his discourses, Yvhethe in the
company of commons or nobles, lie Yvas al
ways most perfectly at his ease, his facul
ties in full play, and the full orbit of Itis
genius forever clear and unclouded. And
then the stores of his mind tvere inexhaus
tilde. He had commenced life with an
attention so vigilant that nothing had escap
ed his observation, and every incident was
turned to advantage. His youth had not
been wasted in idleness, nor ovetcasl by
intemperance. He had been all his life a
close and deep euder, as yvcll as thinker,
and by the force of his own power h :d
wrought up the mv m iteri ds Yvhich he
had gathered from books Yvitli vuc i ex
quisi e skill and felicity, that he had added
an hundred fold to their origin il value,
and ju tly made hem his oyvii.— Wirt.
Exm yl'sti in op Tai.u. —How long the
lamp of conversation holds out to bum be
tween two persons only, is curiously set
down in lie following passage from Count
Gonfaiioiiet ’s account nt his imprisonment.
“I am tin old man now; y t by fifteen
years niy soul is v linger than lijV body !
Fifteen years I exis ed.for I did not li\e
—it was not life - in the self same dun
geou ten feet square. During six years I
had a companion ; during nine I was alone!
I never could l ightly distinguish the face
of him who shared my captivity in the
eternal twilight of our cell. The first
ye r we talked incessantly together; vve
related our past lives our joys forever
gone, over and over again. The next we
communicated to each other our thoughts
and ideas on all subje ts. Tht third year
vve had no ideas to communicate ; we were
beginning to lose the power o reflection.
The fourth, at the interval fa month or
wo, vve would open our lips to ask each
o her f it were indent! possible that the
world went on as gay and hustling as when
we formed a portion f mankind. Ihe
fifdi we were silent. The sixth he was
taken away, I ne er knew where, to exe
cuti it or to libe ty; but 1 was glad when
he vvgs g ne; even solitude was better
than the thin vision of that pale vacant
face. After that I was stone, only one
event broke in upon my nine years’ va
cancy. One day, it must have been a year
r two a ter rm companion le t me, he
dungeon door was opened, and a voice,
whence proceeding 1 knew not, uttered
these vv rds— * By order of his imperial
maj -sty, I int'mate to you that your wife
died a year ago ’ Then the door was
shut, anil I heard no mo e; they had flung
this great agony in upon me and lef me
alone with it again ’
What is it to he Pul te !—Polite
ness is a trail which every tie admires,
tind which confers upon its ossessora
charm that does much to pave he way of
life with success Put i is very much
misunderstood. Politeness does not con
sist in wearing a silk glove, and in grace
fully lifbng your ha l when you meet an
ncquain mice it does not consist in arti
ficial smile and flatlet ing speech hut in
sincere and honest desires t<> ptomote the
hap iness of hose around yu; in the
teadiness to sacrifice your own ease and
comfort to add t-. the enjoyment of othe s.
I he man who lays aside ali selfishness in
regard to the Happiness of others, wh - is
ever ready to confer favors, who speaks in
the language f kindness and conciliation,
and who studies to manifest those little at
tentions which grati y the heart, is a polite
man, though he may wear a homespun
coat, and make a very ungraceful b w.
And many a fashionable, who dresses gen
teelly, and enteis the Gantt crowded apart
ments with assurance and ease, is a per
fect compound f rudeness and incivility.
He who lias a heart flowing with kindness
itid good will towards his fellow men, and
vho is g tided in the exercise of those
eelings by go.xi common en;e, is the
iruly polite man—-and he alwue. |
VOLUME 1-NUMBER 11.
Faith, Hope, y\d Cii.y jty.— Faith .
What uncouute 1 consorts lie hidden ii
lha one little word ! A shield for the un
protected, strength for the feeble, and jov
to the care-worn and grief stri ken. Let
thy saving and cheering influence descend
upon every s ml.
Hope! —Thou hast a throne in every
bosom, a shrin •in every beat t what were
the joys of life without thy cheering light'?
Beneath thy bril iant beams its the rays of
the morning s ars, the frown Hi s away
from the despairiifg hr vv. Who could
dwell upon the arid deser of life did not
thy tot ch gleams point the road to bliss?
When sorrow plows up the heart with
deep furrows, and the ties of life are sun
dered one by one. Let the beacon blaze
of celestial glory shine on its unclouded
splendor till every darkened path be light
ed by its cheer ng rays.
< hart y ! Greatest of all—the crown
ed queen among the virtues, the brightest
handmaid of religion and 1.-ve. Mav 'll
steps never wax feeble, or thy heart grow
cold. Let tts mark the splendor of thy
presence hy every desolate heart and
nioutnet s couch Teach us t • throw thy
mantle of compassion over the gtiorant,
the e ring, and the guil y. Le thy influ
ence sofeii every ohdtira e heart and re
c a.in every vicious mind.
Pcrit ym M. Curly e, in his singular
wo'k on " Heroes, ’ pp. i29, 129, has the
following quaint and striking passage,
Give a tiling time; if it can succeed, it
is a right thing. Look now at American
S tXntulom; and at that little Fact of the
sailing of the Mayflower, two hundred
years ago, from Deist Haven, in Holland !
Wete vve of open sense as the Greeks
wete, we had found a poem here; one of
nature’s own poems, such as she vvri es in
broad facts over great continents. For it
was properly the beginning of America :
there wete straggling sett ets in America
before, some material as •fa body there,
but he soul of it was fi st this.—Hah !
These men, 1 think, had a work The
thing, weaker than tt child, becomes strong
one day, if it be a true thing. Puritanism
was only despicaple, laughable llteii; but
nobody can manage to laugh at it now
Puritanism has got weapons and sinews;
it has got cunning in its ten fingers,
strength in its tight arm ; it lias fire-arms;
war navies ; it can steer ships, fell f rests,
remove mountains; —it is one of the
strongest things under this sun at ptesent.
Last Words ok Blum. —The following
is acopy of the letter written by the un
fortunate Robert Blum, to his wife, an
holt' before his execution ; -
My dear good Wife, Farewell, fare
well for the time men call eternity but
wh ch will not be so. Bring up ou —now
only your—children to be honest men; so
they will never disgrace their father's
name. Sell our little property with the
aiil of our friends. God and all good men
will help you also. All I feel ami would
say at this moment escapes me in tears ;
only once more, then, farewell, my dear
est. Consider our children a treasure of
which you must make the best uso and
honor thus the memory of your faithful
husband. Farewell, farevvel ; receive the
last kisses of vour Robert. Vienna, Nov.,
IS4S, at 5 o’clock in the morning; at 6 aii
will be over. P. ri —1 It id forgotten the
rings ; tut that of our betrothal I press for
you a las kiss; my seal ring is for Hans,
the watch for b'i hard, the diamond stud
for Ida, the ch lin for Allred, as mem ri
als. All the rest divide as you please.
They are coming; farewell.”
t r\in ng Children.— The instruction
of your children cannot commence too
early. Every mother is capable of teach
ing her children obedience, humility,clean
liness and propriety of deportment, and
it is a deliglt ful circumstance th t the first
instruction should thus he communicated
by so gett lea teacher It is by combin
ing affectionate gentleness in granting
what is right, with judicious firmness in
refusing ivhat is impropn, that the happi
ness of children is promoted, and that good
and orderly habits ate established. If
children are early trained to docile and
obedient, the future task of guiding them
aright Yvill be comparatively easy.— Nick
oils.
Advantage of Habit. — Bulwer work
ed his way to eminence, worked it through
failure, through ridicule. His facility is
only the result of practice and study. Me
wrote at first slowly ami wiili great diffi
cul y. hut he resolved o master the stub
born instrument of thought ; and he mas
tered it l.e has practiced writing as an
art, and has re-written some of his essays
(unpublished) nine or ten times over. An
other habit will s iovv the advantage of con
tinuous application. He only works about
three hours a day - from ten in the morn
ing till one—seld m later. The evenings,
when alone, are devoted to reading,
scarcely ever to writing. Yet what an a
mouut of good hard labor has resulted
from these hours ! He writes very rapid
ly averaging twenty pages a day of novel
print.— Bentley's M>sc llaiy.
tcy~ Louis Napoleon wrote the follow
ing lines in an album, a few days before
his elec ion “When revolution moves
in the path oftruth.it produce- great men
an t great deeds ; when i is in the path o
error, L j reduces only uproar and tears.”
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
IVi l be t x -.u ed in the most approved side,
and on the best terms, at the Office of the
“SOUTHERN MUSEUM”
-BY—.
HARRISON & MYERS.
A Poor Scholar —Otto of our sorao
'Y’lia' famed scientific and literary men of
B st >n was recently called upon by a very
steady looking man, a broken down speci
men < f gentility, whose outward show, in
deed, gave strong indication of poetic and
an boric destiny. After greeting Profes
sor 8., the shabby geuiteman went tn state
he was in great destitution, and heat it g
tlia the Professor was n f ietid to t lie cause
of educatiion Arc., had called upon him,
as a poor scholar for elief.
“ Poor scholar? Ah! walk in, sir ; walk
into the library, I atn a friend to literature,
and shall be proud to assist the struggling
effort of the poor sholar, always.”
Reaching the library, the Professor p
pened with a Latin display of his profi
ciency in letters, but finding thnt the al nut
seeker seemed not to comprehend the drift
of it, asked him in considerable irritation ;
“ Wh . , sir, don’t you understand the
classics !”
" Class ics ? ' replied the fellow, “ Lord
bless you, sir, what be they V’
“ Heavens !” ejaculated the nowcewcrZ
Professor; did you not say that you wero
a poor S' ho!a /”
“ Yes, sir, so 1 bo n mighty poor schol
ar ; 'taint niy fault th ugh, sir, tcein liter, r
had any sch tJin /”
Slipping a few shillings into the poor
scholar's iis, the Professor told him to
side
Parental TcAciitNC.—lfparen s wouhl
not trust a child upon the hack of a wild
horse with ut bit or bridle, let them not
permit him to gc forth into the world un
skilled in self-gove timeiit. if a child is
passionate, teach him by gentle and pa
tient means, to curb bis tem cr If lie is
greedy, cultivate liberality in him. It he
is selfish, promote generosity. If he is
sulky, charm him out of it. by encourag
ing frank good limn r. If he is indolent,
ficcus nit) him To exertion, am! train h m ao
as t perform even onerous dutie i with
a aerify. If pride comes in to make his
obedience reluctant, subdue him either by
ctiuu-el or discipline. In short, give yottr
children he habit of overcoming their be
setting sins. Let them acquire from e.x.
| periettce that confidence in them elves
I which gives security t the practiced horse-
I man, even on the back of u liigh spiti ed
steed, and they will triumph over the dif
ficul iea and dangers which beset them in
the path of life.
j A Vouches.— A man once wentfopur
chase tt horse of a Quaker.
“ id he draw well ?" asked the buyer.
“Thee will be pleased to see him draw,”
said Nehemiah. x
The bargain was closed, and the f r mer
tried his horse, but he vvi u and not stir, lie
re timed.
“ That horse will not draw an inch ?*
‘ I did no tell thee he would draw,
friend,’ said the Quaker, “ 1 only remark
ed thntthee would he pleased to see him
draw ; and soalmuld I, but he would never
gratify me iti that respect.”
Discipline. —The school-room is tho
place where the disposition is in a great
degree moulded. All possible care should
therefore he taken, rt t to retide it sullen
and morose. While every pupil should
be taught to fee! hat her teacher’s word is
her law while in school, yet that law should
always he so administered as to make tho
scltool-r.) m a place of agreeable resort.
While discipline is strict, it should a w ays
be mild. Severity and harshness on the
part of teachers have often I een the <• use
of ruining whit w- uld • therwise have been
gentle and amiable disposition*. There
is nothing, according to my opinion, whic h
speaks mo e high I fora school, than to
see every pupil ready to greet her teach
ers vvi h a pleasant, though respect fi. I
smile, w henever she meets them. If the
pupils of a school manifest a high degree
of res ect, and even attachment for their
instructors, so far from being a proof of
any w’ant of strictness, it is on the other,
hand, one of the strotige.-t proofs of firm
and steady Discipline. For experience
lias long since shown, that where there is
least control exercised, there is least re
spect felt toward both the teacher and pa
rent.
Irresolution. — In met ersofgreat con
cern, and which must be done, there is no
surer argument of a weak mind than irres
olution ; to he undetermined where the
case is so plain and the necessity so urgent;
to be always intending to lead anew life,
but never find time to set about it; this is
as if a man should put off eating, and drink
ing and sleeping, from one day and night
to another, till he is starved and destroyed.
TiUobson.
Vei.ouitv of Cannon Shot. —From an
extended reries of experiments made at
the Washington Arsenal with the ballistic
pendulum, by Captain Mordecai. of the
Ordnance Department, it has been deter
mined that the velocity of a thirty-two
pound shot varies from twelve to nineteen
hundred feet per second, or nearly tweuty
miles per minute.
SC7“ Their is no virtue that adds so no
ble a charm to the finest traits of beau y
as that which exerts itsse f in watching
over the tranquility of an aged parent.
Tbero a e no tears which give so trhbb- a
lustre to tho cheek *if ituoteuce, as the
,ea. a of fi.iul sorrow.