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THE
spreiamiCs,
Will h* published entry SATURD A Y Morning ,
In the Brick Building, at Ike Corner of
Colton Avenue and First Street,
1* THE CITY OF MACO*, OA.
by HAKUISOY * MYEItS.
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O’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 AT
ternoon, at the Court House of the countym which
the Property is situate. Notice ofthese Sales must
be given in a public gazette sixty nay* previous
to the dav of sale
O’Sales of Negroes by Administatorf, Yxeeu
tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction
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.
.O’Notice for the sale of Personal Property must
*begiven in like manner torty days previous to
ithe day of sale.
7 Notice to the Debtors and Creditors ofan Es
tate must be published for forty days.
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
lean be given by the Court.
(Lj*C itatioss 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 of an Estate, monthly !
for six months —for Dismission from Guardian
ship forty days.
£j*Kolks for the foreclosure of a Mortgage,
must be puolished 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 of
three months.
N. B All Business of this kind shall receiv
prumpi attention at ihe SOUTHERN MUSEUM
Office, and strict care will be taken that all legal
Advertisements are published according to Law.
(LTAII Letters directed to this Office or the
Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in
sure attention.
33 or t r .
THE SABBATH DAY.
BY EBF.NEZER ELLIOT.
Sabbath holy !
To the lowly
Still thou art a welcome day.
When thou cometli, earth and ocean,
Shade and brightness, rest and molion,
Help the poor man's heart to pray.
Sun-walked forest,
Bird, that soarest
O’er the mute, empurpled moor,
Throstle's song, that stream-like slowest,
Wind, that e’er dew-drop gnest,
Welcome now the woe-worn poor.
Little river
Young forever!
Cloud, gold-bright with thankful glee,
Happy woodbine, gladly weeping,
Gnat, within the wild rose keeping,
Oh, that they were ble.-sed as thee !
Sabbath holy !
For the lowly
Paint with flowers the glittering sod ;
For affliction’s sons and daughters,
Bid thy mountains, woods and waters !
Pray to God, the poor man’s God !
From the fever,
(Idle never,
Where on Hope, Want bars the door)
From the gloom of airless alleys,
Lead thou to green hills and valleys,
Weary landlord's trampled poor.
Pale young mother,
Gasping brother,
Sister toiling in despair,
Grief-bowed sire, that life long diest,
White-lipped child, that sleeping sigliest,
Come and drink the light and air.
Tyrants curse ye,
While they nurse ye,
Life for deadliest wrong to pay ;
Yet, O Subbath ! bringing gladness
•Unto hearts of weary sadness,
Still art thou “The Poor Man's Day.”
From the Charleston Courier.
SLANDER.
BY MRS. MARY S. WHITAKER.
bo is the dame with ghastly stare,
" Uh snaky locks and brow of fear,
ith haggard look—with tatter'd garb—
In her right hand a thirsty barb ?
® n ander is the Fury'B name,
itli mournful voice and eyes of flume ;
Her dreadful trumpet rings aloud,
hilc silent gape the list’ ning crowd :
t each foul blast, some victim’s name
a randed with disgrace and shame,
hag! fl,_ fl> « wajr ,
hated presonce clouds the day ;
a 1 ail the fiends who on thee wait,
nil the woes thou dost create;
to some dark and secret cave,
lerc pent up whirlwind* storm and rave,
*re thunder roars, and lightning keen
"®veals the l0l)e and horrid sccnc-I
frogs and serpents dread
w *’ fei "* nd ">ar the crested head ;
iere owl* and ravens flap their wings—
• "well with these abhorred things ;
' robd P eace return once more,
And hatred, grief and ill be o’er :
>«n shall the smiling world rejoice,
* n totjcord tunc her winning voice,
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY HARRISON & MYERS.
From an Eloquent Article in the A'. A. Review.
THE SIPREME POWER.
BV EDWARD EVERETT.
“ It has been as beautifully as truly said,
that the undercut astronomer is mad.”
The same remark might with equal force
and justice he app ied to the undevout ge
ologist. Os all the absurdities ever start
ed, none more extravagau can be named,
than that the grand and far-reaching re
searches and discovories of geolugv are
hostile to the spirit of religion. They
seem to us, on the very contrary, to lead
the inquirer, sep by step, into ihe more
immediate presence of that tremendous
Power, which qpuld alone produce and
can alone account for the primitive con
vulsions of the globe, of which the proofs
are graven in eternal characters, on the
side of its bare and cloud-piercing moun
tains, or are wrought into the very sub
stance of the strata that compose its sur
face, and which are also, day by day and
lmur by hour, at work, to feed the fires of
the volcano, to pour forth its molten tides,
or to compound the -alubrious elements of
the mineral fountains, which spring in a
thousand valleys. In gazing at the starry
heavens, all glorious as they are, we sink
under the awe of their magnitude, the
mystery of their secret and reciprocal influ
ences, the bewildering conceptions of their
distances. Sense and science are at war.
The sparkling gem that glitters on the
brow of night is converted by science into
a mighty orb—the source of light and heat,
the centre of attraction, the sun a system
like our own. The beautiful planet which
lingers in the western sky, when the sun
has gone down, of heralds the approach
of nmrning—whose mild and lovely beams
seem to shed a spirit of tranquility, not
unmixed with sadness, nor far removed
from devotion, in o he heart of him who
wanders forth in solitude to behold it—it
is in the contemplation of science, a cloud
wrapt sliere; a world of rugged mountains
and stormy deeps. We study, we reason,
we calculate. We climb the giddy scaffold
of induction up te the very stars. We bor
row the wings of the boldest analysis and
flee io the uppermost parts of creation ,and
then.shut ing our eyesonthe radiant points
that twinkle i:t the vault of night, the well
instructed mind sees opening before it in
mental vision, the stupendous mechanism
of the heavens. Its planetsswell into worlds.
Its crowded stars recede expand, become
central suns,and we hear the ru-h of the
mighty orbs that circle round them.
The bands of Orion are loosed, and the
sparkling rays which cross each other on
his belt, are resolved into floods of light,
streaming from system to system, across
the illimitable pathway of the outer heav
ens. The conclusions which we reach are
oppressively grand and sublime ; the ima
gination sinks under them; the truth is too
vast, and far from the premises from which
it is deducted ; and man, poor frail man,
sinks hack to the earth,and sighs to worship
again,with the innocen e ofa child or Chal
dean shepherd,the quietand beautiful stars,
as he sees them in ihe simplicity of sense.
But in the province of geology, there
are some subjects, in which the senses
seem, as it were, led up into the labora
tory of divine power. Bet a roan fix ins
eyes upon one of the marble columns in
the Capitol at Washing on. He sees there
a condition of the earth’s surface, wken
the pebbles of every size and form and
material, which compose this singular spe
cies of stone, were held suspended in the
medium in which they are now embedded,
then a liquid 6ea of marble ; which was
hardened into the solid, lustrous, and va
riegated mass before his eye, in he very
substance of which he bell Ids a record
of a convulsion of the g obe.
Let him go and stand upon the sides of
the crater of Vesuvius, in the ordinary
state of its eruptions, and contemplate the
glazy streams of molten rocks, that oozes
quietly at his feet, encasing the surface of
the mountain as it cools with a most black
and stygian c ust, or lighting up its sides
at night with streaks of lurid fire. Let
him consider the volcanic island, which
arose a few years since in the neighbor
hood of Malta, spouting flames from the
depth of the sea; or accompany one of
our own navigators from Nantucket to the
Antartic ocean, who finding the centre of
a small island, to which he was in the
habit of resorting, sunk in the interval of
two of his voyages, sailed through an
opening in its sides where the ocean had
found its way, and moored his ship in tiie
smouldering crater of a recenlly extin
guished volcano. Or finally, lei him sur
vey the striving phenomenon which our
auihor has described, and which has led
us to this train of remark, a mineral foun
tain of salubrious qualities, of a tempera
ture greatly above thai of the surface of
the earth, in the region where it is found,
compounded with numerous ingredients
in a constant proportion, and known to
have been flowing from iis recret springs,
as at the present clay, at least for eight
bunded years, unchanged, unexhausted.
The relig ons of the elder world in an
early stage of civilization placed a genius
of a divinity by the side of every spring
which gushed from the rocks, or flowed
from the bosom of the earth. Surely it
would be no weakness for a thoughtful
man, who should resort for the renovation
of a wasted frame, to one of those salu
brious mineral fountains, if he drank in
their healing waters as a gift from the
outstretched, though invisible hand, of an
everywhere present and benignant Power.
A GENTLE REPROOF.
One day as Zachariah Hodgson was go
ing to his daily avocations after breakfast,
he purchased a fine large codfish, and sent
it home with directions to his wife to have
ii cooked for dinner. As no particular
mode of cooking was prescribed the good
woman well knew, that whether she boiled
it or made it into a chowder, her husband
would scold her when he came home. But
she resolved to please him once, if possi
ble, and therefore cooked portions of it in
different ways. She also, with some little
difficulty, procured an amphibious animal
from a brook back of the house and
plumped it into the pot. In due time her
husband came home, some covered dishes
were placed on the table, and with a
frowning, fault finding look, the moody
man commenced the conversation :
“ Well, wife, diJ you get the fish I
bought.”
“ Yes, my dear.”
“ I should like to know how you have
cooked it, I will bet anything that you have
spoiled it for my eating (taking off' the
cover ) l thought so. What in creation
possessed you to fry it! —1 would as lief
eat a boiled frog.”
“Why, my dear, I thought you loved it
best fried.”
“You didn’t think any such thing.—You
knew better—l never loved fried fish—why
didn’t you boil it 1”
“My dear the last time we had fresh fish,
you know I boiled it, and you said you
liked itbestfiied. But 1 have boiled some
also.”
So saying, she lifted a cover, and lothe
shoulders of a cod nicely bo led, were
neatly deposited in a dish the sight of
which would have made an epicure rejoice
hut winch only added to the ill-nature of
her husband.
“A pretty dish this!” exclaimed he.
Boiled fish ! chips and porridge ! If you
had not been one ■ f the most stupid of wo
man-kind, you would have made it into a
chowder.”
His wife, with a smile, immediately pla
ced a tureen before him containing an
excellent chowder.
“My dear,,’ said she, “I was resolved to
please you. There is your favorite dish !”
“Favori’e dish, indeed,” grumbled the
discomfited husband, “I dare say it is an
unpalatable wishy-wash mess. I would
rather have a boiled frog than the whole
of it.
This was a common expression of his,
and had been anticipated by his wife who
as soon as the preference was expressed,
uncovered a large dish near her husband,
and there was a bull-frog, of portentous
dimensions, and pugnacious aspect, stretch
ed out at full length ! Zacbarriah sprung
from his chair, not a little frightened at
the unexpected apparition.
“My dear,” said bis wife, in a kind en
treating tone’‘‘l hope you will at length
be able to make a dinner.”
Zachariah could not stand this. His
surly mood was finally overcome, and he
burst into a hearty laugh. He acknowl
edged that his wife was right, and that he
was wrong; and declared that she should
never again have occasion to give him
another lesson.
Good Advice —John H. Prentiss, in
his recent valedictory on retiring from the
editorial chair, which he had filled for
forty-one years, has the following :
“No man should be without a well
conducted newspaper; he is far behind
the spirit of the age unless he reads one ;
is not upon equal f piing with his fellow
man who enjoys such advantage, and is
disgraceful of his duty to his family, in
not affording them an opportunity of ac
quiring a knowledge of what is passing in
the world, at the cheapest possible teach
ing. Show me a family without a news
paper, and 1 venture to say that there wi 1
be manifest in that family a want of ame
nity of manners and indications of igno
rance, most strikingly in contrast with the
neighbor who allows himself such a ra
tional indulgence. Y’oung men, especial
ly, should read newspapers. If I were a
boy, even of 12 years, I would read a
newspaper weekly, though I had to work
by torch light to earn money enough to
pay for it. The boy who reads well will
learn to think and analyze, and if so, he
will be almost sure to make a man of
himself, bating vicious indulgences, which
reading is calculated to beget a distaste
for.”
A child’s Answer —A father once said
playfully to his little daughter a child five
years old, “Mary, you ase not good for
anything.”
“Yes I am, dear father,’! replied she,
looking thoughtfully and tenderly into his
face.
“Why, what aro you good for, pray tell
me my dear 1”
“/ am good to love you, father,” replied
she, at the same time, throwing her tiny
armes around his neck, and giving him a
kiss of unutterable affection. Blessed
child ! may your life ever be an expression
of that early-felt instinct of love. The high
est good you or any other mortal can con
fer, is, to live in the full exercise of your
affection.
Cobbet said : “Women, so amiable in
themselves, are never so amiable as when
they arc useful: and for beauty, though
men may fall in love with girls at play,
there is nothing to make them stand to their
love like seeing them at work."
MACON, MARCH 10, 1?49.
A Robber’s Stratagem. —A freeboot
i er, taking an evening walk on a highway
in Scotland, overtook and robbed a weai
thy mercham traveller. His purpose was
not achieved without a severe struggle in
which the thief lost his bonnet, and was
obliged to escape leaving it in the road.
A respectable farmer happening to be the
next passer, and seeing the bonnet, aligh
ted, took it up, and rather imprudently
put it on his own head. At this instant the
merchant man came up with some assis
! tance, and recognising the bonne!, charged
the farmer with having robbed him, and
took him into custody. There being some
likeness between the two parties, the
merchant persisted in the charge, and
though the respectability of the farmer was
admitied, he was indicted and placed at the
bar of a Superior Court, for trial. The
Government witness, the merchant, swore
| positively as to the identity of his bonnet
I and deposed likewise to the identity of
the farmer. The case was made out by
this and other evidence, apparently against
the prisoner. But there was a man in
Court who well knew both who did and ,
who did not commit the crime. This was
the real robber, who advanced from the
crowd, and seizing the fatal bonnet, which
laid on the table before the witness,
placed it on his own head, and looking
him full in the face, said to him in a voice
of thunder. “Look at me sir, and tell
me on the oath you have sworn, am not
I the man who robbed you on the highway
The merchant replied in very great aston
ishment, “By heavens! you are the very
man!” “Ycu see,” said the robber, “what
sort of memory that gentleman has; he
swears to ihe bonnet whatever features
are under it. If the Hon. Judge were to
out if on his own he--! T -> .l—
| /ut 11 Uli 1113 ucuu , a uuig oajr mat lie
would testify that lie robbed him.” The
innocent prisoner was on this evidence at
once acquittf and, because no reliance could
he placed on such tes’imony, and yet it
was positive evidence.
The Danger of Riches.— No rich man—
I lay it down as an axiom of all expe
rience—no rich man is safe, who is not a
benevolent mam ; rjo rich man is safe but
in the imitation of that benevolent God,
who is the possessor and disposer of all
the riches of ihe universe. What else
mean the miseries of a selfish, luxurious,
and fashionable life every where ! What
mean the sighs that come up from the pur
lieus, and couches, and most secret haunts
of all splendid and indulgent opulence ?
Do not tell me that other men are suffer
ers too. Say not that the poor, and des
titute, and forlorn, aie miserable also.
Ah ! just Heaven ! thou hast in thy mys
terious wisdom appointed to those a lot
hard, full hard to bear. Poor houseless
wretches who “ eat the bitter bread of
p "nury, and drink the baleful cup of mise
ry ;” the winter winds blow keenly through
your ‘ looped and windowed raggedness ;’
your children wander about unshod, un
clothed, and tender ; I wonder not that
they sigh. But why should they, who are
surrounded by everything that heart can
wish, or imagination can conceive—the
very crumbs that fall from whose table of
prosperity might feed hundreds—why
shou and they sigh amidst their profusion
and splender 1 They have broken the bond,
that should conned power with usefulness
and opulence with misery. That is the rea
son. They have taken up their treasures,
and wandered away into a forbidden
world of their own, far from the sympa
thies of suffering humanity ; and the heavy
night dews are descending upon their
splendid revels, and the all-gladdening
light of heavenly beneficence is exchanged
for the sickly glare of selifish enjoyment
and happiness; (he blessed angel that
hovers over generous deeds and heroic
virtue has fled away from the world of
false gaiety and fashionable exclusion.
Dr. Dewey.
Excellencies of Knowledge. —There
are in knowledge these two excellences ;
first, that it offers to every man, the most
selfish and the most exalted, his peculiar
inducement to do good. It says to the
former, “ serve mankind and you serve
yourself ;” to the latter, “ In choosing the
best means to secure your own happiness
you will have the sublime inducement of
promoting the happiness of mankind.”
The second excellence of knowledge is,
that even the selfish man, when he has
once begun to love virtue from little mo
tives, loses the motive as he increases the
love, and at last worships the Deity, where
before he only coveted gold upon its
altar.— Bulwcr.
A beautiful oriental proverb runs thus :
“With time and patience the mulberry leaf
becomes satin. How encouraging is this
lesson to the impatient and desponding !
And what difficulty is there that man
should quail at, when a worm can accom
plish bo much from the mulberry leaf.
When Benedict Arnold was about to
die, he rose from his bed aud with difficul
ty clothed himself in an old suit of the
American uniform ; with which he had
never parted during alibis peregrinations,
and then with the name of his country
upon his lips, he expired.—Poor Arnold !
but for one false step no general officer
in the revolution would have reaped more
honor than he. A braver man never ex
isted; and his perseverance and energy in
his Canada campaigu were alone enough to
imartalize him.
VOLUME 1-NUMBER 15.
A Mother’s Responsibilities. —She
is responsible for the nursing and rearing
of her progeny, for their physical consti
tution and growth,—their exercise and
proper sustenance in early life. A child
lefi io grow up deformed or meagre, is an
object of maternal negligence. She is re
sponsible for a child’s habits, including
cleanliness, order, conversation, eating,
sleeping, and general propiiety of beha
viour. A child deficient, or untaught, in
these particulars, will prove a living mon
ument to parental disregard—because,
generally speaking, a mother can, if she
will, greatly control children in these mat
ters.
She is responsible for their deportment.
She can mako them modest or imperti
nent, ingenuous or deceitful, mean or man
ly, clownish or polite. The germ of all
these things is in childhood, and a mother
can repress or bring them forth.
She is responsible for the principles
which her childien entertain in early life.
I Fit her it is to say whether those who go
j forth from her fireside shall be imbued j
1 with sentiments of virtue, truth, honor, j
honesty, temperance, industry, benevo- [
lence and morality, or those of a contrary j
character—vice, fraud, drunkenness, idle- i
ness, covetousness. These will he found j
to be of the most natural growth,—but on !
her is devolved the daily, hourly task of
weeding her little garden, of eradicating
those odious productions, and pluming the
human heart with the lily, the rose, and
the amaranth, that fadeless flower, emblem
of truth.
She is to a very considerable extent re
sponsible for the temper and disposition
of her children. Constitutionally they
may be violent, irritable, revengeful, hut for
jjig regulation or correction of tl'e or * po°-
sions, a mothei is responsible. She is re
sponsible for the intellectual acquirements*
of her children—.hat is, she is bound to
do what she can for this object. Schools,
academies and colleges open their portals
throughout the land, —and every mother
is under heavy responsibilities to know
that her sons and daughters have all the
benefits which these afford, and which
their circumstances permit them to en
j’.v.
She is responsible for their religious ed
ucation. The beginning of all wisdom is
the fear of God, —and this every mother
is cajiable, to a greater or less degree, of
infusing into the minds of her offspring.
Beautiful Ankcootc —ln Mr.lvilpin’s
school were two brothers from eleven
to twelve years old. One of jbese children
had,after repeated ad monition ns, manifest
ed a determined obstinacy and sulky resis
tance. Mr Kilpin told him that the result
of such conduct would be a chastisement
that would not easily be forgo ten. He
was preparing to inflict ii on the still hard
end child, when his brother (Paul) came
forward and entreated that he might bear
the punishment in the place of his broth
er. Mr. Kilpin remarked, “My dear
Paul, you are one of my best boys ; you
have never needed a chastisement ; your
mind is tender : I could not be so unjust as
to give you pain, my precious child.” The
ueai boy said, “1 shall endure more pstn to
witness his disgrace and suffering, than any
thing you can inflict on me ; he is a little
boy, and younger and weaker than 1 am ;
pray, sir, allow me to take all the punish
ment ; I will bear anything from you. Oh,
do sir, take me in exchange for my naughty
brother !” “Well, James, what say you to
this noble offer of Paul’s /” He looked at
his brother, but made no reply. Mr. K.
st od silent. Paul still entreated for the
punishment, that it might be finished, and
wept. Mr. K. said, “did you ever hear of
any who bore stripes and insults to shield
offenders, Paul ?” "Oh yes, sir, the Lord
Jesus Christ gave his back to the smiters
for us poor little sinners, and by his stripes
ye are healed and pardoned. Oh, sir, pai
don James, foe my sake, and let me endure
the pain. 1 can bear it better than he.’
“But yourbrother does not seek pardon for
himself; why should you feel this anxiety
my dear Paul; does he not deserve collec
tion 1” “Oh yes, sir, he has broken the
laws of the school, after repeated warnings;
you have said he must suffer ; therefore, as
I knowyou wouldnotspeak an untruth, and
the laws must be kept,and he is sullen and
will not repent, what can be done, sir 1 —
please to take me, because 1 am stronger
than he.” The boy then threw his arms
around his brother’s neck, and wetted his
sulky hardend face with tears of tenderness
This was rather more than poor James
could stand firmly. His tears began to flow
and his neart melted; he sought for forgive
ness, and embraced his brother. Mr. K.
clasped both in his arms, and prayed for a
blessing on them from Him, of whom it
was said, “He was wounded for our trans
gressions.”
An Honest Beggar. —A gentleman
reading a paper in an Albany hotel, on
Wednesday morning, was accosted by a
little half naked girl, who asked him for a
penney. He handed her half a dollar by a
mistake. The girl went out, was absent a
saw minutes, and returned with forty-nine
cents, which she handed the astonished man
saying, “hero is the change, 6ir.” The
gentleman immediately took measures to
have the little inocent clothed and provi
ded for.
(ttr Three essentials to a false storytell
er—a good memory, a bold face, and
fools for an audience.
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
Will be executed inthe most approved-style,
tend on the best terms, at the Office of the
“ SOUTHERN MUSEUM.” ~
-BY—
HARRISON & M\*ERS.
Honesty. —What is honesty ? “To
pay one’s debts.” Exactly so. No defi
nition could be nearer correctness. Al
ways minding, however, that there are
other ledgers than the trader’s ; - that a
man’s debts are not calculated in pounds,
j shillings and pence. It is not honest for
a man to deteriorate his own nature, to
blight his own heart,to eufoeble his mind,
or even to neglect his physical culture.—
It is not honest in a woman to swear to
love a man when 3he only loves his house
and equipage; nor any honester for a man
to purchase a woman as he would pur
chase a beast. For everything has its
certain value; and to pay that which is
fairly due is the prerogative of honesty.
It is not honest to make a poet an excise--
officer, any more than it is to steal a leg
islator's robes to throw them over tho
shoulders of a fool. It is not honest to
preach one thing and practice another.—
It is not honest to impoverish one man to
I enrich another. For honesty has the ut
most respect for the rights of all. It is
i not honest to feel one thing and say an
j other. Alas, for our daily custom ! Do
we not continually, hiibed with the hopes
of some paltry gain or fearful of oflense
giving, put on a pleasant smirk, and giasp
with friendly zeal the hand we despise '!
This is not honest. Do we not He daily
for the sake of a half pence, and so pick
men’s pockets; and look lies for the sake
of empty smiles and compliments. This
is not honest. Do not some of us go a
bout with cold, sneering lips, as if wo
were of custom’s frost-work, when our
hearts are burning within us; making con
ventional grimaces, and repeating formal
catechisms, when our inmost thoughts aro
sti uggling for utterance! But we should
displease this friend, give advantage to
some foe, be laughed at by some fool, ho
deemed rude by the world ; and so wo
sell our hearts for the reward of worldli
ness and live, not like true men made in
God’s image, but ra her like automata
manufactured by custom’s patent.
The Lower Classes—who arl They?
—The toiling millions, the laboring man
and woman, the farmer, the mechanic, tho
artizan, the inventor, the producer 1 Far
from it I—These are nature’s nobility—
God’s favorites—the salt of the earth. No
matter whether they are high or low in
station, rich or poor in pelf, conspicuous
or humble in position, they are surely the
-“uppercircles” in the order of nature,
wha’ever the fictitious distinctions of soci
ety, fashionable, or unfashionahlo, decree.
It is not low—it is the duty, privileges,
and pleasure, for the great man and the
whole-souled woman, to earn what they
possess, to work their own way through
life, to be tho architect of their own for
tunes, Some may rank the classes we
have alluded to as only relatively low, and
in fact the midliug classes. We insist
are absolutely the very highest. If there
is a class of human beings on earth, who
may be properly denominated low, it is
those who spend without earning, who
consume without producing, who dissipate
on the earnings of their fathers or relatives
without doing anything in aid of themselves.
Frankness. —Be frank with the world.
Frankness is the child of honesty and cour
age. Say just what you mean to do on
every occasion ; and take for granted you
mean to do what is right. If a friend asks a
favor, you should grant it, if it is reasona
ble; if to make a friend, nor to keep one;
the man who requires you to do so dearly
purchased at a sacrifice. Deal kindly but
firmly with all men ; you will find it best;
ifnot.iell him plainly why you cannot. You
will wrong him and yourself by equivoca
tion of any kind. Never do a wrong thing.
Honesty ever wears best. Above all, do
not appear to others what you are not. IF
you have any fault to find with any one
tell him, not others, of what you complaiu
There is no more dangerous experiment.
than that of undertaking to be one thing to
a man’s face, another behind his back. Wo
should live, act and speak out of doors, as
the phrase is. and say and do what we aro
willing should be known and read by men.
It is not only best as a matter of principle,
but a3 a matter of policy.
Wiiat is Law like. ? —Law is like a
a country dance; people are led up and
down in it till they are tired cut. Law is
like a book of surgrry —there are a great
many terrible cases iu it. Ii is like physic
too, they that lake the least of it are the best
off. It is like a homely gentleman, “very
well to follow.” and a scolding wife, very
bad when it follow us. Law is like a newr
fashion, people are bewitched to get into it;
“and like bad weather,” most people are
glad to get out of it.
Keep Your Temper. —This is a good
maxim. It is well enough to have temper,
if you can keep it—hold on to it, and never
let it gain the mastery. Never let others
see you angry, for it is a marked weakness,
and they will despise it in you. If you wish
to make them respect you, keep cool. Tho
power of controlling passion displays truo
courage —command universal respect.
great comprehensive truths,
said President Quincy, are these: Humau
happiness has no perfect security but free
dom ; freedom nono but virtue; virtue,
none but knowledge : and neither freedom
nor virtue, nor knowledge, has any vigor
or immortal hope, except in the principles
of the Christian faith, and in tho sanctions
of the Christian Religion.