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TUB wfswns^ Will he published every SjVßtUMk* V Morning, In the Brick Building , of Cotton .Icenue and Fin r Street, IS THE CITT OP MACON, CA. UV IIABKISOW A MVEHB. TERMS: For tho Paper, in advance, per annum, #2. if not paid in advance, $2 50, per annum. If not paid until the end of the Year $3 00. {Tp Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates —and when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they wili be coutinued un til forbid and charged accordingly. Jj* Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. (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.