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(LpSales 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
be given in a public gazette sixty days previous
(o the day of sale
jETSales 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 have been granted, first giv
ing notice thereof tor sixty days, in one o r the pub
lic gazettes of this State, and at the door of the
Court House where such sales are to be held.
(LTNotice for the sale of Personal Property must
hegiven in like manner forty days previous to
,the day of sale.
to the Debtors and Creditors d'.an Es
tate must be published for forty days.
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
Siate for four months, before any order absolute
•canbe-given by the Court.
AT’Cit ations for Letters of Administration on
an Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must,
be published thirty days -for Letters of Dismis- 1
sion from the administration ofan Estate monthly
for six months — for Dismission from Guardian
ship forty days.
(L/‘Rui.f.s for the foreclosure of a Mortgage,
must be puolished monthly for four months—
fur 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 B jsiness of this kind shall receiv
prompt attention at the SOUTHERN MUSEUM
Office, and strict care will be taken that all legal
Advertisements are published according to Law.
lUpAII Letters directed to this Office or the
Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in
sure attention. UJ‘
—MtA.AKLJ!IAi.S-IIHIIIVJ3«miMmngB
H o e tr}}.
From the Pennsylvania Inquirer.
CALIFORNIA.
Wliat tile Wife thought of It.
“ I said I would love thee,
In want or in wealth ;
Through clouds or through sunshine,
In sickness or health.” C. Neele.
There’s no use in grieving, John,
For wliat we have not got ;
It’s best to be contented, John,
Whatever be our lot.
It is not golden treasure
That happiness will bring;
All California would not buy
One draught from love’s sweet spring.
You think it dull at home, John,
Not much to do, you say ;
True, it is stormy weather now,
But it will soon be May.
Just think of darling Mary,
Dear, helpless little thing;
How could you go and leave her,
But two years old in Spring.
II or golden hair is soft as silk,
Her little heart, how gay ;
She sung so sweetly, “ Father, dear,
Oh, do not go away.”
Then let us trust in God, John,
And try to serve him too,
And lie who feeds the little birds,
Will sure take care ofyou.
Kate Coleman.
From the Charleston Mercury.
BYRON,
BY MRS MARY S. WHITAKER.
I hoar a voice, impassion’d and sublime,
Mourn, with drear pathos, o’er the wrecks of
time ;
While striking, with a lordly hand, the lyre,
Immortal Byron breathes his song of fire.
He weeps, imperial Rome ! thy fallen might,
Tells thy proud glories o’er, now set in night;
And wailing through that wild and soaring
l strain,
1 Red war he paints on Waterloo’s grim plain ;
fount, Muse-haunted now no more,
W And the lost splendors of fair Hella’s shore,
| Soft Andalusia’s vine-clad hills and sanes,
| The castled Rhine, the Switzer’s bleak domains,
L Eastern garden, with its deep-dyed rose,
i IHy moonlight, Venice ! thy sad prison woes,
j Isis mighty genius gives at once to view,
Cloth and witli its own dark grandeur, bold and
true.
In that deep lore,—the knowledge of the heart—
How skill and, let Iris soul-stirring song impart,
ature ho Icfv’d, and drew from starry night
isions inspir'd,— of more than mortal light,—
B'ant mountain, and the leafy grove,
OIT e * r *h, the soft, blue heav'n above,
i ocean s tlmnd’ring roar and waveless sleep,
Ihe su, "mer breeze, the North wind’s ruder
sweep,
... " ■ vivid flash, and twi'ightdim,
Var "‘' l ‘hemes, are nobly sung by him.
I !,| n his pale, poetic brow was wrought
P''w’r enstamp’d by majesty „f thought; .
‘"" r " 1 0,1,11 trammels—mocking schools,
•I'timing cold critics—heedless of their rules,
Mounting aloft to regions his alone
He sits supreme upon his minstrel throne.
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY HARRISON & MYERS.
[for the socthern museum.]
The First “ Wake ” over Patrick Dedman.
BY PETE.
In the I'all cf 18—, a large number of
Patricks, Murplieys, O’s anti Mac’s, fresh
from the Lmerald Isle, were employed on
a railroad .then in porcess of construction,
in a neighboring State ; and one of these,
not the least notable was Patrick Dedman.
“ The same,” was a short, brawny-limbed,
muscular man, with the “ pug ” peculiar
to his forefathers, light gray eyes, and car
roty hair, hanging in wavy curls, and such
was the tout ensemble of our hero that a cas
ual observer would suppose, Pat bad not
been supplied with the usual decorations of
the dressing room for an indefinite period.
Dedman, at first an abstemious man
(which must be understood with some lat
itude, whensaidof a fresh Emeralder, who
had not been indoctrinated into the cold
water system of Father Matthew) by de
grees became passionately fond of a bo
som companion, which be might have been
seen pressing to his lips, not unfrequent
ly, while resting on his spade, after the
delivery, in a rich brogue, of the impas
sioned, lover-like exclamation—“ Faix,
I’ll jist taste the lip o’ me swate-heart!”
But Dedman had another less passive
sweetheart in a neighboring city,—“ me
charmin’ crathur, Kate,” as he delightedly
called her—whom he regularly visited on
Saturday after the close of his week’s toil.
At such time, his hard-earned wages would
slip through his fingers at the bar-rooms
of ihe place.
As may well be supposed, Pat’s human
frame, though made of the sternest stuff,
could not long bear the head of steam
which he put on, without exposing it to
the danger of a fatal collapse. He began
to be troubled occasionally by chattering
‘monkeys,’ “black nagers with horns” and
threatening spades, and by his ancient an
tagonist, Tim McFlan, with his goodshe
lulah, pursuing him to the death. At one
time, he fancied hirnself an opposition
train, and jumping on the road and begin
ning to puff and snort, started with mad
speed after some hand-cars just moving
off. Nearing them, he shouted out at the
lop ofhis lungs—“ Clare the tlirack—clare
the tlirack—or I’ll run over ye !” Bid
suddenly, the poor fellow tripped and
tumbled head first over the embankment
into the loose muff. below. As his head
struck, a terrific mud-explosion was heard;
and the word of Dr. O’Brien for it, “it
wur a long time afore Pat could be rason
cd out o’ this distressing concate.”
Finally the great scene in Dedman’s
mortal career approaced. After a wild
frolick, beginning early Saturday night and
terminating late Sunday night, a short
nap inside of a public square, he started
for the shantees, two miles below, before
the dawn of Monday morning. This time,
the “ lip o’ his swateheart” was left be
hind. lie had spent all his money, and
then exchanged his bottle for his last drink.
Before he had traversed a third of the dis
tance, a strange sensation seized him. His
limbs grew weak, and at length they re
fused to obey his will, and he tottered and
fell on the road.
A hand-car passed down soon after day
light, and poor Patrick Dedman was pick-
p, conveyed to the shantees, and Dr.
O’Brien called to his assistance. Now,
the Doctor had never obtained a diploma,
in conformity with the usages of the Pro
fession ; but his co-laborers conferred the
degree of M. D. upon him, because ofhis
“ gineral acquaintince wid the virthue of
medicals,” and his skill in “ taking the
tap o’ the arm,” administering calomel,
and the like. The Dr. made a critical ex
amination of his patient. He felt his
pulse, but discovered no vibration, and
then laid bis hand scientifically over the
region of the heart. There he felt a little
warmth, but the organ itself was still—
quiet as death. The Dr. then applied his
lancet to the arm, but only a very few
drops of blood slowly trickled out. After
this close scrutiny and practical test, the
philosophical Dr., folding his arms and
contemplating Pat’s senseless clay with a
mournful gazo, began a sort of colloquy
with it. “ And ye ar’ a dead man, ar’ ye
Patrick l No more than I warned ye of,
ye senseless crathur. Poor Kate Brady
willniver smackyer live lips agin. Ahone !
ahone !! ”
The reverie of the distressed medical
gentleman was interrupted by lie appear
ance of the Engineer, who had been in
formed of the dea'h of Dedman, and came
to give directions for his burial.
“ Ah ! Mr. G exclaimed the Dr.
totho Engineer, “friend Patrick hasdrunk
the last dhrop o’ the crathur, which wur
the death o’ him. Sir, he wur one o’ the
greathest men in all Ireland. From Lon
donderry to ould Cork, no man could stand
afore his shelalah. No, sir, there wur on
ly one mar. living, in his day, that could
touch him three in nine time; and that
wur Tim McFlan, who bate all Ireland
besides—pace to his dear sowl. Yes, sir,
Patrick Dedman was proud man the
brighth day whin he give poor Tim the
tap o’ the crown that made him cry quar
thur. But poor Pat will niver cross his
shelalah wid anifher enimy. He wur one
o’ the cliverist hearts, too—tlirue he would
give his last saxpince to a frind in dis
thress—and, sure”
“ Never rnind, Mr. O’Brien,” interrup
ted the Engineer, who began to grow
weary of this long history of the great and
noble qualities of Pat, “ never mind the
rest of your friend’s history ; let’s attend
now to his decent but ial. I’ll send Mur
phy up and have a coffin made, and order
two of the men to assist you in dressing
and laying out the corpse.”
The Engineer then left the Dr. to re
peat ihe balance of the history to Pat’s
dead body, or to the two negroes when
they arrived.
Long before night Kate Brady, who
was informed of the sad death of her lov
er by good Murphy, had made her way,
with all haste, to the shantees, and wept
herself tearless, and talked herself speech
less, over his corpse.
At night-fall Dedman’s friends gathered
into his shanty from all quarters. There
was scarcely room to admit of one’s turn
inground comfortably, although the corpse
had taken its familiar position in Pat’s
bunk to make room.
When informed that the coffin had ar
rived, the Engineer stepped over to su
perintend the consignment of the body to
it. He cleared the shanty sufficiently for
the purpose, and was in the act of nailing
it up, when Kate interposed :
“ O, sir, ye would not be so hard hear
ted,” said she, grasping his arm, “as to
shet out the blessed face o’ of me darlin’
Patrick from me beholdin.”
“ Yes,” said the unfeeling man, shaking
off her hand, and hammering away, “he
might get up to-night and frighten you to
death, if he isn’t fastened down well.”
Ihe kind Dr. interposed in a whisper
in behalf of the sobbing Kate, and his ar
gument was cogent enough to light a smile
upon the features of the Engineer, as well
as to make him desist before securing the
four corners of the coffin-lid.
The Engineer left, and the mourners,
in order to make themselves as comforta
ble as possible, hoisted the coffin into the
bunk, and then prepared themselves for
their wild lamentation. This was a
“ wake” accompanied by the usual liba
tions ; for notwithstanding the “ crathur
wur the death o’ Pat,” an Irish wake
would be a sleepy affair without it.
The Dr. joined at once by every voice
in the room, began and continued in a
solemn chant, a succinct history of the
mighty deeds of Pat’s ancestors, all heroes
of the shelalah. So goodly was the num
ber of heroes and so brilliant was the host
of mighty deeds which each had perform
ed, that the solemn hour of midnight was
drawing near before the wallers reached
the far-famed feats of Patrick Dedman
himself. Their eyelids would sometimes
droop and their tones grow solemnly in
distinct, until a kiss at the bottle would
return their heroic measure. When they
had concluded the history of Dedman’s im
mediate predecessor, they paused a mo
ment to gather breath to recount his own
deeds in a manner befitting the subject,
and then proceeded with a minute narra
tive. Reaching his far-famed fight with
Tim McFlan, aroused by the peculiar
brilliancy of the history, the circumstances
surrounding them, and the awe produced
by the midnight hour, their voices began
to swell louder. Just as they had given
the blow that made Tim cry “ quarther,”
a strange thump—thump—thump—was
distinctly heard in the neighborhood of
Pat’s bunk, and a moment after a clear
voice sang out—“ Faix ! that wur the right
sort o’ tap !”—The indentical words Pat
had exultingly uttered at the moment he
dealt the masterly stroke which settled
that memorable shindy in his own favor.
The “ wakers ” were mute for a moment,
and there was no more n ise about he
coffin. They then concluded that the
ghost had departed, and began the histor
ical dirge, where they had been so singu
larly interrupted. But scarcely had the
MACON, MARCH 17, 1849.
Dr. pitched the. tune, when the same
voice, louder still, as if fear had given it
energy, shouted— “ Hillo, thar’, frinds,
who’s dead I”
The good Doctor’s professional reputa
tion appeared now to be running the
gauntlet. He was quick to perceive his
danger, and it is not wonderful that his self
importance, under such circumstances,
should get the mastery of his feat. In a
low tone, he suggested to the company
that it was a strange countryman just out
side the shanty; which quieted their ap
prehensions, and emboldened the discon
solate Kate to answer the stranger’s in
quiry—“ An’ it’s me own love, Patrick
Dedntan, that’s dead, it is.”
“ Patrick Dedman ar’nt dead, ye mouth
in jade ! ’ denied the voice, as sundry
additional thumps were applied apparent
ly to the boards of the shanty near the
head of the coffin.
“ An’ did ye iver hear the likes o’ that ?
An did nt the docthur feel o’ his pulse,
an’ his cowld, cowld heart 1 An’ did’nt
helhry to bleed him, an’not a single dhrop
o’ blood would run I An’ isn’t his poor,
dead body alyin’ in the sight o’ our own
eyes?” queried a dozen voices at once.
“ \elie, all o’ ye, ye blatherin’, blatin’
fools ! Pat Dedman is a live man yit,
though that’s his natlieral name. Be ja
bers, he’ll ondecave ye derectbly be the
tap o’ his shelalah !” thundered the voice.
In proportion as the Doctor’s profes
sional confidence began to grow restless
under this assault, so his wonder and in
dignation rose, and the latter was now
near explosive heat. His senses could
not have deceived him.—He knew that
Pat was a dead man, as dead as St. Pat
rick whose august name he bore. It oc
cupied but a moment to convince liim, that
some wicked fellow was attempting to
play a prank upon them. He whispered
this plausible suspicion to those immedi
ately around, three or four of the braver
of whom ventured to catch up their sticks
and slip noiselessly out, determined to give
the intruder a good cudgeling—but not
without trembling lest their antagonist
should prove one of mortal shape, but not
of tangible consistence. The leader of
the reconnoitering party peered around
the corner of the shanty, with eyes wide
open and mouth agape, from fear, while
the others stood close behind, their knees
smiting and their slicks held by the centre
with a convulsive grasp.
“D’ye behowld the blackguard, Dennis?’’
inquired the second man, in a choked
whisper.
“ St. Patrick phrotect us all!” replied
Denuis, in an almost inarticulate whisper,
“ I clarely behowld nothin’!”
Hardly had he replied when the same
voice was heard, inside of the shanty, and
most unquestionably proceeding from the
region of Pat’s bunlr, now softened to sot
to voce, addressing its possessor—“ An’ is
it tlirue. jist, that it’s verself is dead, poor
Patrick Dedman ? Will, that must come
o’ the honest, christhian name yer ould
father giv’ ye whin a child. Sure, Patrick
Dedman must of coorse be a dead man.
But I’m s’posin’ tbar’s a great blundther
about this matther. Some pranky has
axed his name, and it wur sich a quare
one, he’s playin’ his dirthy thricks wid
hint. Hillo! Irinds, jist be so clivernow
as to let Patrick Dedman out o’ this box !”
Ihe address of the voice delivered in
behalf of Pat’s release from close confin
ment, at once settled the conviction upon
the minds of all the insiders that this was
some lover of sport trying to frighten them.
No one was more confident of the fact
than the Doctor. He even saw the intru
der’s eyes shining through a large crack at
the head of the coffiu ; and, chuckling at
the idea that the reconnoitering party
were just waiting a good opportunity to
surround and capture him, bawled out—
“ Clare yerself off, you night-prowlin’, on
dacent, onchristian skulk!”
But the Dr. had mistaken his man, as
he was soon practically convinced. The
coffin shook with great violence, the lid
rose, the nails snapped at the foot, and
Pat, in full life, lashed into fury by the
abusive language applied to him, with
shelalah in hand, (for the considerate Dr.
had placed this deserving implement in the
arms of the corpse,) sprang into the midst
of the crowd of weeping friends before
'hey could clear the room, arid laid sever
al of them to the floor, and among them
his kind-hearted friend, Dr. O’Brien. But
Pat alio .ved them all to escape without
further injury ; for his eye, opportunely
* for them, happened to fall upon the black
VOLUME 1-NUMBER t(>.
coffin—a real coffin, and not a box as he
bad imagined—which, in his resurrection,
he had throw n close upon his heels into
the middle of the floor. lie, for a mo
ment doubted the reality of hisexistence.
But remembering the many pranks played
off on him when drunk, by the boys of the
city, he concluded this to be the iatest im
provement upon all the rest, and indig
nantly pitched his ominous receptacle af
ter his retiring friends. Then picking up
a pipe from the number promiscuously
scattered over the floor, he seated himself
quietly, and smoked away with great ve
hemence endeavoring as he afterwards
said, to “ remimber himself.” In this
laudable endeavor be was hugely assisted
by the contents of a bottle, which lie very
shortly scented out, and the day-light found
his friends, consoling themselves for the
interruption of their “wake” overadead
man, by drinking the health of a live Ded
man.
Health of Children.— Early rising is a
habit of high importance to fix in children
and in forming it, there is far greater fa
cility than in others cases. There is a nat
ural propensity in children, generally, to
early rising, which needs only to be grat
ified and encouraged. They usually retire
to bed some h iurs before their parents,
and at daylight, or at least at sunrise, are
generally awake, and anxious to rise. Many
of them are actually bred up with difficulty
to the habit of taking morning naps, which,
when once formed, geneially prevail
through life. Let the father deny himself
so far as to retire early and become an
early riser also. His health, enjoyments,
and usefulness, lie may depend upon it,
will be perceptibly benefitted. Long
lived persons have been found, after an
extensive inquiry, to resemble each other
only in this important practice. And this
may be connected with another preven
tion of disease—active, employment. The
morning is the season for activity, the
frame is invigorated by repose, is prepared
for exertion, and motion gives pleasure.
The pure atmosphere, so much more
bracing than at other hours, so much
sweeter and exhilerating than the air of a
confined chamber, has beea prepared to
be breathed, and like all of nature’s medi
cines, it is superior to any which science
can produce. Early rising and early exer
cise, might more properly be called food
than medicine, as they are designed for
daily use, and to protect us front diseases
rather than to remove it, Every thhig
except mere sloth invites us, nay, requires
of us, to train up our children to use them.
The morning is the most favorable season
for exercising the frame, as well as for
making useful impressions in the mind and
heart, of important facts, moral principles,
or religious feelings, and whoever tries to
conduct the education of his child inde
pendently of this practice, will lose some
of the most favorable oppoitunities.
Dicight's Father'e Book.
The wit of Sarcasm. —To be sarcastic
is thought by some people a proof of abil
ity. Such individuals are like a pack of
Chinese crackers thrown into a crowd,
continually exploding in every direction,
hut w ith greater noise than injury. There
is more ill-breeding than wit in a sarcasm ;
and more ill-nature than either. True
wit does not consist in abuse, but in pro
found wisdom tersely expressed. Nothing
therefore can be further from wit than
sarcasm, and where they go together, one
is pressed into the service, and is not a
legitimate ally.
Nevertheless, we know many, mostly
young persons, who set up for wits on the
score of sarcasm. They are usually very
able inviduals, and by no means the terror
to others they imagine. Persons of sense
are no more affected by their sarcasm than
mastiffs are by the yelp of a lap-docr. A
real wit never condescends to reply to
them. We have known many of such sar
castic persons in our experience, and al
ways found they cured themselves of this
childish habit as soon as they grew up ; or
if they did not, that they remained chil
dren in their tempers to the end of their
career. It is a mean sort of revenge that
seeks to gall another’s feelings by sarcasm ;
for where it chances to be successful, it is
like the copper shot of the Mexicans,
which gangrenes the wound.
Dying in Vain. —Rembrandt being in
want of money, and finding his work went
off’heavy, put into the newspapers that he
was dead, and advertised a public sale of
the finished and unfinished paintings in his
bouse.
Crowds flocked to the auction, eager to
possess one of the last efforts of so great a
master. The meanest sketch sold at a
price which entirepictures had nevet fetch
ed before. After collecting the proceeds,
Rembrandt came to life again ; but the
Dutch, who resent improbity even in gen
ius, never would employ him after Iris res
urrection
LSrlt has been suggested by a wag,
says the Salem Observer, that it would be
well for some of those who talk of making
a settlement in California, to make a set
tlement at homo before they go.
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
II 'ill be executed inthe most approved style,
and on the best ter ms,at the Office ojtlie
SCTTTHEEIT I^TJSE’JK,
-BY—
HARRISON & MYERS.
Genius —While speaking of Genius, l
am reminded of a splendid definition of the
properties belonging to, and the rightful
occupation of this principle of mind. It
is derived from one of the admirable essays
of Lord Brougham, but where its exact
place is, in his voluminous writings, I can
not explain. He says To diffuse useful
information, to further intellectual refine
ment, sure forerunners of moral improve
ment, to hasten the coming of that bright
day when the dawn of general knowledge
shall chase away the lazy, lingering mists
even from the base of the great social
pyramid ; this indeed is a high calling, iu
w hich the most splendid talents and con-
summate virtue may well press onward,
eager to bear a part.” Yet how seldom do
we find Genius so employing the gifts with
which it has been endowed by Providence.
Instead of aiding in the great moral enter
! prise, to the carrying out of which it is
bound by every law of mental equity, we
! generally find its possessor sporting a’child,
who forms a bubble with his breath, and
then rejoices to see it mount for a moment
in the air, then dissolve ; so with those
among us who possess rich mental gifts.
J hey toy with them, and foppishly amuse
their idle hours with light literary creations
that dazzle for a moment on the eye of
society and then pass away to he no more
remembered. They care not for the sub
stantial enjoyment granted by conscience
to all who use artful the abilities they pos
sess. Selfishly devoted to the gratification
of their idle whims, a fancy can usurp the
throne of duty, and a frivolous regard for
the opinion of those around them make
them forget what they owe to the gieat
family of man, and the interest of another
generation. They live for the present not
posterity, and so that their names are in
men’s mouths they have no thought for the
, iacr.ption that may point out their graves.
Anonymous.
Education is not confined to the
school house. —Education is not the lim
ited object which it is generally conceit ed
to he ; confined to the few years spent at
school, and the small portion of element
ary knowledge acquired there : but it com
prehends the dispositions that a child is
permitted to indulge, the habits that it
forms, the examples which it imitates,
and the companions with whom it associ
ates : a truth that strikes home to the
hearts of patents, and makes much more
serious demands upon their affections and
self-denial, than all the most costly school,
would require ; for it calls upon them to
begin first with the discipline of their ow n
hearts and tempers. It requires that they
should first of all learn to govern them
selves. This is a truth that calls for so
uiuuii, anu, in must instances, would de
mand so coaiplcte a revolution of charac
ter, and the telinquishment of so many
darling habits and long nourished propen
sities, that few are willing to acknowl
edge, even to themselves, its importance
in the attainment of the object which they
profess to have more at heart than any
other in life.
* Queries for Scientific Men. —ln
what manner does Diamond act upon
Glass so as to cut it ? That it does not
penetrate its substance is obvious to any
one who attends to its operations, for it
only divides the exceedingly attenuated
pellicle on the surface, and penetrates no
deeper. The best cut of a diamond is
when it makes the least noise in passing
the line, and it cuts in the same manner the
thickest as well as the thinest plates of
glass. The Encyelopsedia Americana
says : “That it is very remarkable that only
the point of a natural crystal can be used ;
cut or split diamonds scratch, but the glass
will not break along the scratch as it does
when a natural crystal is used.” Again
the crack is often found to follow the dia
mond after it has passed several inches. .
That it does not cut it by pellicles is clear,
because a piece ofquartz will do the same
line repeatedly, yet it will not break true.
Then how does the diamond act ? Is it
by electricity or galvanism, or the carbon
acting upon the compound of which glass
is composed 1”
John Hancock’s Signature.— Here is
the reason why the famous John Hancock
wrote his signatnre to the Declaration of
Independence in so large and hold a hand.
It is known that the British Government
offered $3,500 for his head, and according,
to the Maine Cultivator, when he appen
ded his name to the “ Declaration,” he
did it as though he wished to dash his
whole soul in it, and rising from his seat,
he exclaimed : “ There, John Bull can
read my name without spectaeles-he may
double his reward, and 1 will set him at
defiance.”
For the Ladies. —The ladies are very
fond of keeping the door knobs, spoons,
plates, &c. In brilliant order. Now, if in
stead of water and chalk, and such prepar
ations, ladies will use camphine and rot
ten stone, a far brighter, quicker, and
more durable polish can be obtained than
in any other way. Camphine is the arti
cle used for producing the exquisite polish
of daguerreotype plates ; and nothing has
yet been found to equal it.
Industry.^— Wliat busies the mind with
out corrupting it, has, at least, this use,
that it rescues the day from idleness ; anti
he that is never idle, will not often be vi
cious.