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trill *e published evert/ SATURDAY Morning ,
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oct r S _____
SONG’S OP THE LSVERS.
BY R. E. H LEVERING.
An unseen minstrel, ns the twilight hour
Suhlimelv glimmers through each fairy haunt
and bow r,
Is sadly tuning his melodious song,
As hills and vales the mel’iiig tones prolong,
As if e’en echo would his suit convey
To her who watches too the ev’tiing ray,
And, like her lover, harps the meaning strain,
Responsive o’er the separating main :
The Minstrel's Song.
I sing the song of other days
Bright shining through the past,
Replete with life's suhlimest joys,
Too richly sweet to last'.
I sing the song of happier hours,
bwift-wingert by Love’s own hand, —
Too fleet to linger in the liow’rs
Os none but Eden land !
I sing the song of purest love,
Os kindred soui to soui,—
Tint pure without a foe to prove,
Too proud for man's control.
t I sing the song of bliss and woe,
L The April ofthe heart,
. The bliss to meet with purpose true,
The woe fure’er to part!
I sing the song which winds convey,
But alt! convey in vain,—
So fragile is the minstrel's lay,
So wide the envious main !
A diff’rent song nrosefrnm different land,
As sank the Ladv with her harp in hand, —
Hope flashed her ye, and joy suffused her heart,
As if this life hud lost its gloomiest part,
As if some hov'ring spirit linger’d there
To banish Love's own gloom and bless its pray’r,
While stars shone out from azure Heaven above,
Bright harbingers of most successful love,
Still whisp'rii'g bliss as l« inkles down their ray.
To tell, like Hope, they glittered on their way,
The glorious heralds of a belter day :
The Lady's • oug.
Away the song whose ev’ry tone
But told of dark’ning days,—
I "Os doubt and fear forever gone,
Like mist at morning rays !
* Away the song that told the heart
Os answ’ring sighs of pain,—
That mourned (lie Fate that bade us part,
Bui sadly mourned in vain !
Away the song that to the eve
Poured forth its melody
No more its strains shall wildly grieve
Across the raging sea !
Away the song, another swells
Along a distant shore,
for Hope flies sea-ward as she tells
W e meet to part no more !
A BEAUTY.
Twas in the ball-room’s mazy round
A. beauteous form we saw,
T ,le sweetness of her countenance
Around did many draw.
She .-poke in silvery accents low
And with a Syren’s tongue
I heard her whisper to a friend—
“J’sl, go jt while you’re young!”
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY HARRISON & MYERS.
From Scott's Philadelphia Dollar H\ekly Paper.
THE “CHEAT MYSTERIES • OF THE
fcons of Temperance Found Out.
BY S. E. SITES.
“ I’ve jest found it all eout bout you
Sous of Temperance, ’exclaimed old Mrs.
Credulous in an ecstacy of ill concealed
de ight. “Y ou Sotiies can’t cheat me, I’m
’little tew cuunen for you. No use for
you to ell me ’Lout your Love for your
Brethren and all that soat of stuff, and nut
on y ur mysterious airs and keep your
tongues under lock and all that. I’ve
found it al eout. 1 know the hull on’t,
fmm heginnin’ to end.” And she looked
»ery knowingly as she to sed her bead
proudly. Her eyes sparkling ike coals
of fire. The old lady had just returned
from a tea pa ty given by Mrs. Jones;
where a young man, not a member of the
Order, but who affected to be one, and
well acquainted wi h ail the “ mysteries
of the tinier, 1 * and every thing appertain
ing to it, quietly fallen in with the
whimsies objections the dear old crea ure
had wisel made against the Sons of Tem
perance, and to fix them in their opinions,
and sup rstitious conjectures, had amused
himself hy favoring them with a pretended
deve opment of the secrets of the Order,
ami a full description of the ceremonies of
initiation.
Her sou-in-law, to whom she made the
triurap ant exclamation above quoted, was
a member of the Order, who had long ago
ceased from what he saw a vain attempt
to eradicate the good old latjy’s objections,
and now stifle ed tier to enjoy her pillions
to her heart’s content. But on this occa
sion her triumphant and emphatic man
ner, excited his curiosity, and he quietly
asked her to explain herself.
“ Oh ! Johnny, ’ said she, “ you wou dn’t
ax me to ’splain myself es you know’d
what 1 could tell you, es 1 was a mine tew.
Bui l won’t gra tfy you so much, that 1
won’t”
“ Well!” said Johnny, as he took up
his hat, and stepped towards the door.
' “ You remember that no persuasion was
p werful enough to induce Jack to eat his
supper on a particular occasion, don’t
you ! ’
“ What do you mean ?" cried J- lmtiy.
This raised the ire of the old lady, and
she declared she w uld tell it now “jest
out of spite.” She was dying all the
while to make her revelation, hut hoped
Johnny would coax her to unf Id the tale.
“ Well,” said Johnny, “I’m all atten
tion ”
“ In the first place,” began the old lady,
“ the feller that’s to bq took_ in, has got to
go with a passel of felle s in a dark room,
and when hey git him there, they 1 ck
him up in a big iron chest, with a hole in
one end for him to breathe through. And
there lie’s kept three hours, then he’s
snaked eout of that and rubbed all over
with soft soap, arid down a big holler pipe
till he hollers like a loon. Then he’s ta
ken out and tied up in a sack, and a pas
sel ot them heathenish fellers carry him
into the room where hey hold their meei
in’s. Then the lights is all put eou , and
when the room’s as dark as Egypt he’s ta
ken eout of the sack and put in a coffin.
The lit! is screwed down, and he s lugged
round he room nigh about half an hour.”
“ H w does he breathe, mother?”
“ \ evv needn’t make so strange ’bout
them holes bored in the top on’t; abeout
hall an hour, as 1 wassayiu’ and hen the
coffin is sot up on eeud.aud a dead march
is sung, and lie’s axed in tin awful solemn
voice, that sounds jest for all the world
like a ghost, es he’s willin’to proceed. Es
he’s says he is, then the lid is unscrew’d,
and he finds liiinse i slandin' with six sharp
pynted sword held close tew his breast
and neck by fellers dressed like evil spir
its. Oh! massy on us! its enough to
make a body’s blood tun c.dd tew think
on’t. And he’s told es he ever tells a
word abeout tbe secrets of the Order, he 11
be made away with jest as sartiu’ as the
death.”
“ D you believe they would murder
him if he should tell, mother T
“ To bcs/iure 1 do, I know they would.”
“ How did Tom Smith escape to tell
y u this ! ’
•’Poor creature!” exclaimed the good
old lady. “ I’m the fust one he ever told,
and l 'sped ev’ry niit.it t ■ hear that he's
missin’. But don’t enturrupt me so—yew
lul me out. \Y aI, he promises faithfully
l’m blessed if 1 don’t b’lieve he darsent
for his life do any other way lian promise
that he’ll never tell no livin’ creetur.
Then he’s told es he duz that his tounge
’ll be chopped off, utiu his mouth sew and up,
his eyes put eout, and his hands tied be
hind him, and iu that distressed condition
he’ll be put in a coffin and hurried alive in
less than no time.
“ Wall, the miserable crit er is then let
eout of the coffin and walked abeout the
room on his hands and knees, and ordered
to thank them heathanish fellers for pin
chin’, kickin’, and j uncliin’him, pullin’ his
hair, ringin’his nose, and treadin’on his
corns. You needn’t lass. It’s all true as
the Gospell an you know it. It’s shame
fu to treat human naturtha . way, and not
to be latted a nullier
" Then he’s ordered tew set on a plank
covered al! over with burgundy pitch, anti
made tew smoke opium, and sneezin stiufl
till lie’s nigh about haifded, and then they
give him the g ip and—”
” Why mother, hey have no grip.’*
"No use for you tew try lew deceive me,
1 know the hull on’t from top to bottom."
MACON, FEBRUARY 24, 1849.
“ Well then, what it the grip, mother?”
“ Why, one on ’em grabs him by the
neck, and be grabs 'totlier, and then they
give each other an all chokin’ squeeze.
Then they wltis. er the secret word iu his
lef ear.”
“ What’s the word, mother 1”
“ Bellymashazzar, to be sbure; you
know as well as I do. You needn’t to
lass agin. 'Twont do. Then they give'
him the sign - that great secret sign you
make so much fuss about.”
“ How’s that made," cried Johnny, half
convulsed with laughter, at the form of in
itiati n.
“ This way,” promptly replied the old
lady. “By shit tin’ your left eye, and ta
kin’ the eeud of your nose in* your right
hand.
“ Wall, then he’s marched up and down
the room dressed in a red gown and In k
in’ for all the world like a witch, and after
he’s taken an oath, awful enuff to make
one’s hair stand on an eend every which
way, he’s told t take a seat among the
rest of ’em, and welcomed as a Son of
Temperace.
" There you see I know the hull on’t,
and I’ll tell everybody. 1 won t do noth
in’else; for I think —as I alters said, it is
a heathanish, barharyous mummery, that
makes heathens and infidels of Christian
men, and shut! erter be put down tew
smash. How d’ye feel now, Johnny, you
begin to find tbe old wooman's ’bout right,
don’t you, ’ triumphantly exclaimed the
old lady, as she took an enormous pinch
of snuff', drew herspectacles over her eyes
and turned towards her son-in-law.
Johnny was in a convulsion oflaughter.
hut contrived to gasp his conviction that
the Order was all blown to pieces.
Mrs. Credulous belie' es to this day, that
all this mad wag Smith told her is true o
ala ter. Nor is she alone in her s range
belief. There are thousands like Mrs.
Credulous, everywhere, whose prejudices
are nursed and ke, t alive with nameless
surmises, terrible suspicions, and outland
ish stories relative to the character and
“ secrets” of the Older, not a whit less ri
diculous, and as ar removed from the truth
as the veracious developement made by
this good old lady.
Ambition. —Noambitinus man was ever
a domestic one. Imperceptibly the for
mer dries up the less vehement feelings.
Let him flatter himself in youth, as lie
may that he is capable of uniting them to
gether, of blending opposite principles of
action, he cannot, will not doit. He must
give himself wholly to the pursuit of am
bition—forget all else. I is the bane of
domestic happiness. 'I here is not, cannot
he continual excitement r und the domes
tic hearth. The light that shines there, is
a pure hut steady one. Virtues flourish
peaceably. Year after year fresh flowers
are added to the parterre blue eves and
sunny brows reflect the images of our
fathers and mothers ; sweet voices mingle
in harmonious concert; lisping words
break the silence. The mother is among
them, and gentle counsel fl ws in streams
of love around. And this pic ure, from
day to day repeated, is too quiet for the
ambitious man. It is beautiful, but still.
1 he sight that would kindle the man of
more conteti ed dis.'< sit ion into gratitude
and love to God, f Us coldly upon the
heart of the busy seeker after power. He
looks, he smiles; sometimes a struggling
ray of affection calls him among them.
But it is over in a moment. There are
things to he done ; work to be done. He
must not be fount! at home idle. Thus,
though at first he may find a certain de
gree of happiness in the consciousness of
loving an i being loved, the ambitious man
may rest assured such happiness cannot
last. He must choose between domes ic
joy and the pursuit of his favorite passion.
One or the other must be given up He
sh uld be satisfied with what yieids him
such unmixed delight, and should pass
singly th otigh the world, divested of all
ties. To live from day to day, in the dis
contented and unceasing pu suit of a dis
taut tempting pr sped, is incompatible
with homo happiness. Those who un
derstand least the pernicious influence of
the passion, laud it most earnestly.
The Dandy an« His Turkey.— Chief
Justice Marshall was in the habit of going
to market liimsel, and ca tying home his
purchases. Frequently he would be seen
at sunrise, w th poultry in one hand and
vegetables in the other. On one of these
occasions, a fas' ionable young man from
the North, who had removed to Richmond,
Y T a. was swearing violent y because he
could find no tine to carry home his tur
key. Marshall stepped up and asked him
where he lived, and said, on being told :
“ That is my way, and I will take it for
you.” When he came to the house, he
young man inquired: “ What shall 1 pay
you ?” “ Ob, nothing, said the Chief Jus
tice, it was on my way, and no trouble.”
“ Who was that polite old man that
brought home my turkey ?’’ inquired the
young man of a bystander. “ That, ’ re
plied lie, “ is John Marsha 1, Chief Jus
tice of the IJ. S.” “ Why did lie bring
home my turkey ?” asked lie. “To give
you a severe reprimand, and teach you to
attend to your own business,” was the re
ply. True, genuine grea ness never feels
above doing anything that is useful ; hut
especially the truly great man will never
feel above helping himself.
THE LITTU HATCH-GIRL.
BY THE DANISH FONT, ANDERSEN.
It was so terribly cold—it snowed, and
the evening began to be dark ; it was. also,
the last evening in the year—New Year
Eve. On his cold, dark evening, a poor
little girl went into tbe street with bare
head and naked feet. It is true she had
shoes on when she went from home, but
of whHt use were they ? They were very
large shoes; her mother had worn them
last; they were too large, and the lit le
one lost them in hurrying over the street
as two carriages passed quickly by. One
shoe was not to lie found, and the other a
boy ranaway with, saying he cou and use it
for a cradle when he had children him
self. The little girl now went on her sma 1
naked feet, which were red and blue with
«4d. She carried a numlter of matches
iu an old apron, and held one bundle in
her hand. Novnehad bought of her the
whole day. no one had given her a farth
ing. Poor thing! She was hungry and
benumbed with cold, and looked so down
cast. The snow-flakes fell on her yell w
hair, which cu led so prettily around her
neck, but she did not heed that.
The light sh ne out from al' the win
dows, and there was such a delicious smell
of roast beef in the street —it was a New
Year Eve, and she thought of that. She
sat down in a corner between two houses,
the one stood a litte more forward in the
street than the other, and drew up her legs
under her to warm herself; but she was
still colder, and she durst not go home;
she had not sold any matches, nor got a
single farthing. Her father w< uld heat
her, and it was also cold at home; they
had only the toof directly over them and
there the wind whistled in, although straw
and rags were stuffed in the largest crevi- !
Ces.
Her little hands were almost benumbed J
with raid Ah ! - »-L —:~u. j_
win* lUiu. jxii i a, mite; iijigui utt
some good: durst she only draw one out of
the bundle, strike it on the wall, and warm
her fingers. >he drew one out—rich!—
how it burnt ! It was a warm, clear flame,
like that of a little candle, when she held
her hand around it; it was a s rangclight /
The little girl thought she sat by a large
iron stove, with brass balls on the top, the
fire burned so nicely and warmed so well.
Nay, xvliat was that? The little girl
stretched out her feet to warm them, too.
When the flame went out, the stove van
ished, and she sat with a stump of the
burnt match in her hand. Another was
struck ; it burnt, it shone ; and where the
light fell on the wall, it became as trans
parent as crape. She looked directly in
to theroom where the roasied goose, stuff
ed with apples and prunes, steamed so
charmingly on the table which was luid
out and covered with a shining white
cloth, and fine porcelain service. What
"as still mo e splended, the goose sp ung
• >ff the dish, and waddled along the floor
with knife and fork in its back ; it came
directl. up to the poor girl. Here the
match went out. and there was only the
thick, cold wall to be seen.
She struck another match. Then she
sat under 'he most charming Christmas
tree—it was still larger and more orna
mental than that she had seen hrough the
glass door at the rich merchant’s, the
last Chris mas ; a thousand candles burn
ed on the green branches, and motley
picture, like those which ornament the
shop windows, looked down at her. The
li tie girl lifted up both her hands—then
the match whs extinguished—the many
Christmas candles rose higher and higher;
she saw hat they were bright stars—one
of them fell and made a fiery stripe in the
sky. “ Now ine dies, said the poor girl;
for old grandmother, who alone had been
kind to her, but who was now dead, had
told her that when a star falls, a soul goes
up to God !
She again struck a match against tbe
wall; i shone all around, and her old
grandmother stood in the lusti e, so shining,
so mild and blissful. ** Gratidm ther,” ex
claimed tbe little girl. “ oh ! take me with
you! 1 know you will be gone away when
the matches go out—like ha warm s ove,
the delicious roas g use, and the delight
ful Christmas tree ’—and she struck in
haste the whole remainder of matches that
was in the bundle -she would not 1 se
sight of grandtno her. and the matches
shone with such brillancy, that it was clear
er than in broad day-light. Grandmother
had never before looked so pretty, so great;
she lifted the poor li tie girl up in her
arms, and they flew so high, in splendor
and joy; there was no cold, no hunger,
n • anxiety.— hey were with God !
Bu the little girl sat iu the corner, by
the house, in the cold morning hour, with
red cheeks, and with a smile round her
mouth—dead—frozen to death, the last
evening of the old year.
New Year morning rose over the little
corpse, as it sal with the matches, of which
a bundle was burnt. “ She had heen try
ing to warm herself,” said they. But no
one knew what beautiful things she had
seen—in what splendor and gladness she
had entered with her old grandmother in
to New Year's joys.
Asinine Juno A young lawyer hav
ing been asked by a judge whether in the
transmigration of souls he would prefer
being turned into ahorse or an ass ?”
“ An ass,” quickly replied the lawyer.
*• Why ?” says the judge.
“ Because I have heard of an aas being
a judge, but never a horse.”
VOLUME 1-NUMBER 13.
THE DEATH OP THE DOMIXIK.
BY THOMAS HOOD.
“ Take him up,” says the master.
[Uld Spelling Book.
My old schoolmaster is dead. He “di
ed of a stroke and wonder none of his
pupils ever done tbe same. I have been
flogged by many masteis, butjiis rod,like
Aaron’s swallowed op all the rest. We
have often wished that he whipped on
the principle of Italian penmanship—up
strokes heavy, downlstrokes light; but be
did it in English round, and we used to
think with a very hard pen Such was
his love of flogging, that for some failure
in English composition, after having been
well corrected, I have been ordered to be
revised 1 have heard of a road to learn
ing, and he did justice to it; we certain
ly never went a stage in education, with
out being well horsed. The mantle • f
Hr. Bushy descended on his shoulders
and on ours. I here Was hut one tree on
the play ground—a birch, but it never had
a twig or a leaf upon it. Spring or sum
mer, it always looked bare as if the weath
er had been cutting at the latter end of
the year. Pictures, they say, are good
incentives to learning, and certainly, we
never got through a page without cuts ;
for instance, I do not recollect a La in ar
ticle without a tail piece —All the Latin
at that school might be comprised in one
lino—
i “ Arma-virumque cano."
An arm, a man, and a cane. It was Eng
lished to me one day in school hours, when
1 was studying Robinson Crusoe instead
of Virgil by a storm of bamb o that real
ly carried on the illusion, and made me
think for a time that I was assaulted by a
set of savages. He seemed to consider a
boy a bear’s cub, and set himself literally
to lick him into shape. ;
He was so particularly fond of striking
u* with a leather strap un the nuts of out
hands that be never allowed .hem a day’s
rest. There was no such thing as Palm
Sunday in our Calendar. In one word,
he was ui tinterestedly cruel, utid used a6
industriously to strike for nothing, as oth- I
ers strike for wages. Some of the elder !
boys who had read Smollett, christened
him Roderick, from his hitting like Ran
dom, and being so partial to Strap.
His death «as characteristic. After
making his will he sent for Mr. Taddy, the
head usher, and addressed him in the fol
lowing words:— ‘lt is all over Mr. Tad
dy—l am sinking fast—l am going from
the terrestial globe—to the celestial—and
have pr mised Tompkins a flogging—
mind has it, and don’t let him pick off’ the
buds—l have asked Aristotle,” —( here
his head wandered,) “ and he says, I can
not live an hour 1 don t like that black
horse grinning at me—cane him soundly
for not knowing his verbs—Oan ego to,
non qnod odio habeam—O, Mr. Taddy, it’s
breaking up with me—the vacation’s com
ing—there is tha black horse again— l)ul
cir moren’s reminicisitur—we are short of
of canes—Mr Taddy, don’t let lie school
get into disorder when lam gone—l am
afraid through my illness—the boys have j
gone back iu their flogging—l feel a I
strange feeling all over me—is the new
pupil come ? I trust l have done my du
ty—and have made my will—and have
left all,” (here his head wandered again)
— “ to Mr. Soutcr, school bookseller—Mr. J
Taddy, I invite you to my funeral—make
the boys walk in good order—and take t
care of the crossings. VVri eto Mrs. B.
at Margate—and inform her—we break j
up on the 21st. The door is left open—
lam very cold— where is my ruler gone
1 feel—John, light the school larnj s*—l
cannot see aline—O, Mr. Taddy—venit
hora- my hour is come—l am dying—
thou art dying—he—is dying. We—arc
—-dying-you are dy—. ’ The voice ceas- 1
ed.— He made a feeble motion with his
hands as if in the act of ruling a copy
book—the ruling passion in death,”—and
expiried.
An epitaph, composed hy himself, was
discovered in his dusk—with an unpub
lished pamphlet against Tom Paine. The
epitaph was so stuffed with quotations
from Homer ami Virgil, and almost every
Greek and Latin author beside, that the
mason who was consulted by the widow
declined to lithograph it under a hundred
pounds.—The Dominie consequently re
poses under no more Latin than Hie Ja
cet; and without a single particle of
Greek, though he is himself a Long Ho
mer.
A Valuable and Rare Recipe. —We
commend ihe following receipe to house
kee, ers : To make potatoes very mealy,
take and wash them well just before you
wish to use them, .and then, without dry
ing or wiping, put them in— an old meal
bag.
A Complication of Disorders.— “ What
did die of?” asked a simple neigh
bor. “Os a complication of disorders,”
replied hisfriend. “ How do you describe
this comp ication ?” “He died,” ansvvei
ed the other, “ of two physicians, an apo
thecary, and a surgeon !”
Extremely Polite. —There is a man
in tliiscity extremely punctilious. Oneday
liemeta ady acquaintance in the street
and nodded. Remembering afterwards
that he hadn't touched his hat, lie retraced
his steps, overtook the lady after a chase
of several squares, and performed that es
sential ceremony.— Cm. Com/rtcrnal.
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
Will be executed inthe most approved style,
and oh the best terms,'at the Office of the
“SOUTHERN MUSEUM/’
-BY—
HARRISON & MYERS.
Now I lay me down to Sleet— There
are probably no feur lines in the English
language that are repeated so many times
daily as the following
•» Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ;
If I before I wake,
I pray the Lord my aoul to teke.”>'
And it is not only children ana youth
that repeat them. .Many whose heads are
“ silvered over with age” have beon ac*
j customed to repeat them as their last pray
er beforo closing theft eyes in sleep, eve
ry night since they Were taught them in
infancy.—The late ex-President of the
| United States, John Quincy Adams, was
among that number. A Bishop of tbe
; Methodist Church, in addressing a Sab
bath School, told the children that be had
been accustomed to say that little prayer
every nighi since his mother taught it to
him when he was a little boy.
In conversing recently with a shipmas
ter, ove. seventy years of age, and who
has been for many years a deacon in the
Chuch, he said that when he followed the
seas, and even before he indulged a hop©
that be was a Christian, he never lay down
in his berth at night without saying with
great seriousness, and he thought sinceri
ty.
“ Now I lay me down to sleep.”
He felt so strongly his need of religion,
and his danger without it, that he used al
ways to read his Bible, and place that pre
cious book under Iris pillow at night, and
often to kiss the sacred volume, trusting,
no doubt, in this reverence for tbe word
of God, instead of trusting alone in tbe
Saviour.
Let reader learn, and every night
repeat that little prayer—
“ Now I lay mo down to sleep,” dbe.
QcaßEr Anecdote. —There is a good
StOl*y tolu O** u jliirintr tjiA
last war with England, owned a vessel, in
which he had taken passage for home,
having been to a feriegn port on business.
On the passage the vessel was overhauled
by a privateer. The friend was of course
anxious to save his property, and at the
same time desirous of avoiding a partici
pation in fighting. He said to the cap
tain.
*• I do not approve of fighting; but the©
must get the vessel to port safely.”
He then wont below. The enemy ra
pidly approached, and having fired a few
times, came near with the intention of
boarding.— As she got along side, our
Quaker friend came upon deck with a
hatchet in his hand. One of the enemy
had seized a rope which happened to be
hanging over the side of the vessel, and
was climbing upon deck. Approaching
him, the Quaker said :
“ Friend if thee wants that piece of
rope thee i 1”
And suiting the action to the word, he
cut off the rope, and down went the poor
fellow into the ocean. It is needlens'to
add, that the privateer hauled off, and her
in ended prize arrived safely, at its port.
Tiie Eldest Daughter.— The deport
ment of the eldest children of the family is
of great imp nance te the younger. Their
obedience or insubordination operates
throughout the whole circle. Especially
is the situation of the eldest daughter one
of cmir.cr.cc. She drank the first draught
of the mother’s love. She usually enjoys
much <>f her counsel and companionship.
In her absence she is the natural viceroy.
Let the mother take double pains to form
her on a correct model: to make her amia
ble, diligent, domestic, pious ; trusting that
the image «.f those virtues may leave an
impression on the soft waven hearts of the
younger ones, to whom she may, In the
providence of God, be called to fill the place
of maternal guide.
Not Bad.— General Shields was shot
through the breast at Cerro Gordo, and
reported “ mortally wounded,” yet re
covered, and now takes the place of Judge
Breese in the United States Senate. This
has given rise to the following good thing
by a Sucker wag;
Sonic men have ‘ lost their heads ” and lived,
But stranger far than these ;
The shot that pass’d through Shield’s breast,
Instead of him, killed Breese.
|C7“ Think on the following, querulous,
envious, or passionate reader, and if you
have children, see that the better “ mo
tions of the spirit” impress the mould of
the face while the lineaments are pliable
and tender:—“Every passion gives a
particular cast to the countenance, and is
apt to discover itself in some feature or
other. I have seen an eye curse for half
an hour together, and an eye-brow call a
man a scoundrel. The air of the whole
face is much more expressive than the
lines of it. The air is nothing else but the
inward disposition of the mind made visi
ble.” _____
A man who is able to employ himself
innocently is never miserable. It is tho
idle who are wretched. If I wanted to
inflict the greatest punishment on a fellow
creature. I would shut him alone in a
dark room, without employment.
An Irishman angling in the rain, was ob
served to keep his line under the arch of a
bridge, and on being asked the reason, be
gave the following answer : “ To be sure,
tho fishes will be after crowding there,
order to keep out ofthe wet.”