Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

THE BOTPagraSS .ECOTIBTOga U-i/l fce nDAY Morning , Corner of Cotton .fWi Street, in tme crn§RJP|MIB9. v , ga. 15 V un “fMHj* 1 *o*’ 0 *’ r £ WSRPT For the Paper, in advance, per annum, $2. if not paid iu advance, $2 50, per annum. If not paid until the end of the Year $3 00. (TJ* Advertisements will he inserted at the usual Ilto3 and when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they will be continued un til forbid and charged accordingly. [FF Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. (JjpSales of Land by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are required by Law, to be held on •thefirst 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 uivs previous to the day of sale. . O’Sales of Negroes by Ad’ nistators, Execu tors or Guardians, must be at dublic 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 mav have been granted, first giv in<- notice thereof for sixty days, in one of the pub lie gazettes of this State, and at the door ol the Court House where such sales are to be held. (F3= Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner forty days previous to the dav of sale. to the Debtors and Creditors olan Es tate must be published for forty days. that application will lie 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 can he given by the Court. (FJ’Citatioss f o r 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. Ferules for the foreclosure of a Mortgage, must be puolished monthly for four months — for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of •riiRF.E 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 rnceiv prompt attentionat the SOUTHERN MUSEUM Office, and strict care will be taken that all legal Advertisements aro published according to Law. IFFAII Letters directed to this Office or the Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in sure attention. CJ Hoe t 1 g ♦ A PRISON L,IY. The following lines were written by Thomas Francis Meaohf.r in Conmel Jail, a few day s after hi? sentence : I iove, I love these grey, old wmlls ! Although a chilling shadow falls Along the iron-gated halls, And in the silent, narrow cells, Brooding darkly, ever dwells. Oh ! still I love them—for the hours, Within them spent are set with flowers That blossom, spite of wind and showers, And through that shadow dull and cold, Emit their sparks of blue and gold. Bright flowers of mirth I —that wildly spring From fresh,young hearts, and o’er them fling, Like Indian birds with sparkling w ing, Seeds of sweetness, grains all glowing, Sun-gilt leaves, with dew-drops flowing. And hopes ns brighVliiat softly gleam, Like stars which o’< r the churchyard stream A beauty un each faded dream Mingling the light they purely shed With other hopes, whose light was fled. Fond mem'ries, too, undimmed with sighs, Whose fragrant sunshine, neverdies, Whose summer song-bird never flies— These, too, are chasing, hour by hour, The clouds which round this prison lower; And thus, front hour to hour, I’ve grown To love these walls, though dark and lone, And fondly prize each gray old stone, Which fl ings the shadow, deep and chill, Across my fettered footsteps .still. Yet, let these mem’ries fall and flow Within my heart, like waves that glow Unseen in spangled caves below The foam which frets, the mists which sweep Tile changeful surface ofthe deep. Not so the many hopes that bloom Amid this voiceless waste and gloom, Strewing my pathway to the tomb As though it were a bridal bed, And not (lie prison of the dead. I would those hopes were traced in fire, Beyond these walls—above that spire— Amid yon blue and starry choir, Whose sounds play round us with the streams i W hicl, glitter in the white moon’s beams. | Id twine those hopes above our isle, ; ove the rath and ruined pile, OVe eac *' glen and rough defile— ■l he holy_ We n— t he Druid's shrine— ho\ c them all, those hopes I’d twine ! *a° S *' Uiumph o’er my fate, n teach this poor, desponding State, n signs oftenderness, not Date, to think of her old storv, Still to hope for future glory. ! in these walls, those hopes have been a -,i sweet, the light serene, 11,1 s,,i,| y o’ ft r this silent scene, • '• hke the autumn streamlets flowed, rui ,hft autumn sunshine glowed. ’'l l hits, from hour to hour, I’ve grown A l, 0 ;e walls, though dark and lone, fondly prize each gray old^tone, ‘ at fl,n S sthe shadow, deep end chill, Across tny fettered footstep^till. THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM. BY \YM, B. HARRISON. THE PRAYER OF LOVE. An Incident in tlie Life of Cromwell. Many persons may remember that in the most pretty of suburban villages, High gate there stands a mansion nearly on the brow of the hill, bearing the name of * Cromwell House,’ one of the many relics remaining of that man, whose usurpation of supreme power wrought more good in England than all the reigns of the Stuarts. This house, which was the favorite resort of the Lord General, during those hours when he relaxed from the cares of state, has continued, in some degree, an object of curiosity up to the present day ; and they who indulge in the observation of rel ics of the olden time, may find themselves not uninterested in their notice of the Cromwell House. fn the largest room of the mansion, in the month of January, 1652, sat three per sons, dressed according to the puritanical fashion of*the day. * A large fire blazed from the antique grate, adding an air of comfort to their forms, while they discus sed the varied topics of the times. Hut they shall speak for themselves. ‘ Yea, the Lord of battles did that day grant unto us a crowning victory,’ said one, whose stern, yet marked and intellec tual visage and nose, which had so often excited the ribaldry of the Cavaliers, pro claimed the first man of his day—Oliver Cromwell. ‘ Even so,’ replied his companion, Co lonel Jeffreys, to whom he addressed him self. ‘ Hut,’ added the usurper, ‘ lie, he the son of man, hath escaped and while he yet lives .’ The speaker paused, ‘ I fear’ quivered on his lips, but he durst not let the words escape in the presence of his adherents. ‘ Yea ! v interrupted Col. Martin, who until now had continued silent, apparently wrapped in a moody reverie, ‘the malig nants are given unto the edge of the sword; they are cut down, root and branch ; root and branch are they prepared for the fire !’ and the speaker's wild look and wilder manner proclaimed him one of those stern and unyielding bigots who had contributed to hew down the obstacles in the path of their master to supreme power. ‘ Thou seemest possessed with a spirit,’ said the usurper, regarding with a kind of grim satisfaction the vehement manner of his follower. ‘ 1 had a vision,’ resumed the fanatic, his eyes gleaming almost with the fire of madness, ‘ and a voice came unto me in the watches of the night, and it said, •Smite !’ and I said, 1 Lord what shall 1 smite V and the voice answered me and said, ‘ Smite the slayers of the Lord’s peo ple, root and branch, hip and thigh ; kill and spare not!’ ‘ Yet,’ replied Colonel Jeffreys as the other sank down almost exhausted by his vehemence, ‘ methinks enough blood has been poured forth ; there is not a cavalier in England durst show his head—not a mouth dare name Charles Stuart with praise. Your prisons are full, and your headsmen are satiated.’ ‘ You are el iquent,’ said Cromwell. ‘ Atleast it is an eloquence which cometh from the heart,’ was the reply. * Accursed be they who would protect them,’ again said Martin, * Ere another week shall have passed, one more slialt yet be added to the list —ho whom the vain Call Si John Desmond.’ ‘And I say,’ retorted Jeffreys, ‘ accurs ed be they who would rejoice in the shed ding of blood, let them beware, lest by man also shall their blood be shed.’ ‘ The wife of him thou has named,’ said Cromwell, * but yesterday sought my pre sence.’ * And thou ’ ‘ Refused her,’ replied Cromwell stern ly. ‘ Better and braver men than Des mond have fallen ; nor must he be spared.’ ‘ Yet,’ continued Jeffreys, * oui cause is now secure, shall blood continue to flow forever!’ ‘ Thou searest, then,’ said Jeffreys ‘ lest her groans and supplications might win thee to grant her request V ‘ Lead us not into temptation,’ inter posed Col. Martin, in a deep reverie. ‘ Thou,’ continued Jeffreys, unheeding the speaker, as if used to his singular manner, ‘ thou who hast refused so many, feared the tears and touching eloquence of a woman.’ ‘ And dost thou think,’ said Cromwell, as with his accustomed felicity, lie changed tlie subject far less displeasing to him, ‘dost thou not think that the eloquence which floweth from reason, and is assisted by forethought, is more powerful than that which cometh on the instant, and is the offspring, perchance, of prejudice V ‘ Nay,’ replied Jeffreys. ‘ And,’ quickly interrupted Cromwell, ‘ dost thou think that I could so successful ly have led my people, had I trusted to the words which sprung on a sudden, and which are not the result of a fixed prin ciple V Col. Jeffreys smiled inwardly, for he well knew tlutt when Cromwell had been most successful, it hud been when he trus ted to the power of his feelings, anti not in any of the-o more labored discourses with which lie was wont occasionally to mystify his auditiors; but he answered with more policy than to betray his opin ion. ‘ I believe,’ was his reply, ‘ that no power of reason, no studied speech, or set praise, could match the eloquence which springs pure and fervent from the bosom of the loving pleading for the beloved.’ ‘And I,’ returned the other shortly, ‘ believe as decidedly that thou art wrong.’ ‘ What labored oration,’ pursued Jef freys, ‘ can surpass David mourning for diis son Absalom’—‘Oh! Absalom, my son, my son, would to God I had died for thee !’ ‘ Would, said Cromwell, abruptly, ‘ would it were even now in our power to test this thing!’ Suddenly the other arose, and stood up right before the general. ‘ Pardon my boldness,’ he said, * but your wishes may be granted this hour, nay, this very minute.’ ‘ What meanest thou ?’ * That this moment waiteth without the wife of him you named but now, come once more to plead for lief husband’s life.! ‘ And darest thou V said Cromwell an grily. ‘ 1 would have dared far more,’ sans Colonel Jeffreys, boldly. ‘ She is the wife of one whom in my youth I loved, but who hath been separated from me by the iron natare of the times. He loved his king, l mycouutryand its deliverer.’ There was something in the nature of this speech that won the pleased and silent attention of the hearer, and he continued— * l could not hear her tears, her agonies, and above all, her earnest despair. She is now without; admit her, and see if her eloquent feeling move not you as it did me ; try if her despair be not more touch ing than the voice of the hired advocate. ‘ Admit her not—trust not the voice of the charmer,’ exclaimed Colonel Martin. • Her husband hath drunk deep of the blood of our people ; the axe is prepared —let it be glutted with his blood.’ ‘ Peace my brother, I pray thee peace,’ said Cromwell. ‘ Thou hast done wrong,’ he added, turning to Col. Jeffreys, ‘ but she shall be admitted.’ The order was given to the attendants, and during a pause which made Colonel Jeffreys tremble for his client, Lady Des mond was admitted.—By this time, the sun had gone, and the light afforded by the red ffame of the fire, which threw its glare fitfully and uncertainly on the in mates of that ancient room, was all that remained to reveal in Elizabeth Desmond, as she entered, a woman of a sad and stately presence, and one on whom, if the lapse of years had done much, the weight of grief had done more, but neither had power to bow her form, or to quench the tire of an eye which looked mournfully but unquailingly on the group. ‘ Art thou the wife of the malignat John Desmond V said Cromwell abruptly. ‘ I am his unhappy wife.’ ‘ What vvouldst thou V ‘ Pardon for my husband.’ ‘ And wherefore should the most invet erate hater of God’s people escape his righteous doom V ‘ 1 am a poor, unlearned woman,’ was the rejdy ‘ unski led in aught save prayer to my m iker.—Weak in all save love so my husband, I can but repeat, pardon, pardon.’ ‘ls it not written,’ said Cromwell, omni ously, ‘ The shedderofthe blood of God s sain s shall surely die V ‘ In your hands rests the newer of life and deatn ; think, oh, upon the blood that has been —how the great and the good have fallen—how, by your word, they have died, and, oh ! add not another to the sad and melancholy list.’ ‘ Hast not thy husdaud drawn his sword in every town in England V ‘ It were vain to deny it V ‘ Has he not been the most determined of a daring race ? When was banner lif ted. batte of broil begun, and one of the name of Desmond away from the encoun ter 1 Away, thou hast thine answer.’ ‘ I have dreamed and prayed for this hour,’ was the earnest reply ; 'for men sav thou are just, though stern. And now that, by 'he manifest will of God, I stand face to face with thee, I will not yield. Thou hast a wife who hath lain in thy bo som, lived but on thy smile, and placed her very thoughts before thee. Picture the axe, the headsman, and gory scaffold. Could she live to see thee thus V There was no movement on tlie part of her stern judge which might betray his thoughts; but atleast, he interrupted her not, and she continued ‘ 1 hou hast children, and felt the warm, soft touch of infancy upon thy lips—hast seen them grow up in love and fondess around thcc—at morning and evening have bent before the same altar, prayed the same yrayers, knelt before the same God!’ ‘ Woman thou trouhlcst me!’ said Crom well, who, as well known, was far from happy in these domestic relations. ‘ 1 have sons, and they shall honor thee, daughters, and they shall bless thee,’ pur sued Lady Desmond. * Hath he not shed ’ ‘ Look upon these gray hairs, and on these pale and quivering lips—upon this frail form, bowed with agonizing suspense —and prty, oh pity me !’ ‘ Away, away !’ ‘ By thine hopes of heaven—by the love thou bearest to thy God —pardon, pardon for my husband!’ * Thou pleadest. in vain.’ ‘ Then, by the memory of the blood which flowed Whitehall ’ She stopped, for she felt that she had said too much ; yet the usurper’s iron face changed not; but, MACON, MARCH 21, 1849. in the wild gesture of Martin, in the fear ful and anxious stare of Jeffreys, she trem b'ed for her suit. The group was worthy a painter. For a minute Cromwell moved not, spoke not, and even scarcely breathed. It seemed an age to the agonized pleader. At last he uttered, as though the power of speech had suddenly come to him : ‘ Woman, thy prayer is granted ; go in peace 1’ Then turning to Col. Jeffreys he said : ‘ Thou wert right ; I will see the priso ner be released. This woman, in her great love, hath dared to speak to me of that which might have cost her dear. Her husband shall be set free, for verily I say unto you, I have not found such love no, not in all Israel.’ Good Night. —* Good night!’ In that expression of kindness, how sweet and soothing a sentiment is conveyed. The toils of the day are over; the fervent heat of noon is past; the maddening pursuit after gain is suspended ; and mankind seek iu the arms of sleep a temporary asylum from care of mind and enervation of body, i Even from guilt, beneficent nature with- j holds not the solace of repose, and pass- ing through the ‘ivoiy gate of dreams’ the days of youth, of happiness, of inno cence, in shadowy gloiy flit before the soul. And night, gentle night is the ten der nurse that woes the toil exhausted frame to sleep its cares iu calm forgetful ness. This wise provision of nature in dicates the season for repose, and her ben eficent laws are reverenced and obeyed by all save the being for whose comfort and happiness they were chiefly promul gated. When the sun withdraws from tho heavens, and the earth is shrouded in dark ness, the labors of insect industry ceases; the flowers closing their petals, defended from the chilling dews of evening, and that sweet watchman of the grove, the nightingale, trills forth in wild and varied cadences the parting song ‘Good Night.’ Cynthia and her glittering train of stars, robed in the grandeur of eternal light, come forth and hover above the earth and its children like fair and holy spirits keep ing vigils over mortal sleepers, and pre serving them from the influence of the powers of darkness. Charity. —There are some other ways of tlie world, in this matter of charity, which proceed, I think, upon false princi ples and feelings,—charity dinners, charity balls, charity bazaars, and so forth; de vices (not even dnee blessed) for getting r and of distress without calling out any com passionate feeling in those who give, or any grateful feeling in those who receive. God sends misery and misfortune into the world for a. purpose; they are to be a dis cipline for liis creatures who endure, and also for his creatures who behold them. In those they are to give occasion for pa tience and resignation, the spiritual hopes and aspirations which spring from pain when there comes no earthly relief, or ihe love and gratitude which earthly minis trations of relief are powerful to promote. In these they are to give occasion to pity, self sacrifice, and devout and dutiful thought, subduing for the moment at least, the light, vain and pleasure-loving motions of our nature. If distress be sent into the world for these, it is not well that it should be shuffled out of the world without any of these ends being accomplished ; and still less that it should be danced away at a ball, or feasted away at a dinner, or dis sipated at a bazaar. Better were it in my mind, that misery should run its course with nothing but the mercy of God to stay it, than that we should thus corrupt our charities. Another modern mode is to raise a sub scription by shillings or pennies,—fixing the contribution at so low a sum that no body can care whether they give it or not, and collecting it in the casual intercourse of society. This is a less vitiated mode than the others, being of a more negative character; but, if the others are corrupt charity, this no better than careless charily. Taylor's Holes of Life . Excellencies of Knowledge.— There are in knowledge these two excellencies : first, that it offers to every man, the most selfish and the most exalted, his peculiar inducement to good. Itsays totlie former, “ Serve mankind, and you serve yourself;” to the latter, ‘ - In choosing the best means to secure your own bappinesst 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 motives, loses the motive as be increases the love, and at last worships the Deity, where before lie only coveted gold upon the altar. Despondency. —lt is poor philosophy to over-estimate difficulty ; and it is folly to over-estimate it so to persuade ourselves it is insurmountable. Such a persuasion paralyzes our every energy, and, in fact, increases our troubles to what they were only in imagination. Despair is only a bad form of cowardice. True. The hoiror with which wo en tertain the thoughts of dcatli—or, indeed, of any future ovil, and tho uncertainty of its approach—till a melancholy mind with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently dispose it to the observa tion prodigies and predictions. VOLUME 1 •NUMBER 17. Praising God. —God being so good, and having shown so much goodness to us, it highly becomes us to acknowledge his goodness by all the ways we can ; espe cially by these three : praying to him, de pending upon him, and praising him. By every one of these we acknowledge the goodness of God, either directly or by con sequence ; but most of all the last, which ought, therefore, to be principally regard ed. This I the rather lake notice of, be cause it is a thing wherein we are gener ally defective, for we are apt to be more zealously affected in our petitionary pray ers than our giving thanks; and the rea son I suppose is, because our prayers are for ouiselves, but giving thanks is to God. But certainly this is a great fault, and pro ceeds from that root of all evil, self-love. We ought rather to address ourselves to God with more application and devotion in our praises than in our prayers ; for he that praiseih glorifies God more than he lhat prays. lie that prays does only hope that God will be good 10 him ; but he that praises does actually acknowledge that he is already so. There is more excellence in praise than we are commonly aware of. To believe, work and pray is the work of earth ; hut to adore and praise is the work of heaven ; but not so as to be reserved till we come thither. No, we must begin it here, or we shall never do it hereafter. It is the only retribution God expects from us for all his goodness, to be blessed for his blessings. God is love. 71 is more according to the will of so good a Being to be heartily loved than servilely feared. It is love, and not fear, that has the honor to fulfil the whole law.— Harris. Beautiful Extract. —God has writ ten upon the flowers that sweeten the air; on the breeze that rocks the flowers on the stem; upon the rain drops that refresh ed the sprig of moss that lifts its head in the desert; upon the ocean that rocks ev ery swimmei in its deep chamber ; upon every penciled shell that sleeps in the cav erns of the deep, no less than upon the migh’y sun that warms and cheers millions of creatures that live in its light, —upon these he has written, “xoNfc of us livetii to iumself.” And if we are wise enough to understand these works, we shall find that there is nothing, from the cold stone in the earth, or the minutest creature lhat breathes, which may not, in some way or other, ministet to the happiness of some living creature. We admire and praise the flower that best answers the end for which it was cre ated, and the tree which bears fruit the most rich and abundant; the star that is the most useful in the heavens we admire the most. Is it not reasonable that man, to whom the whole creation, from the flowers to the spangled heavens all minister, should live for tlie noble end of living, not for himself, but others. Rules to govern Children. — 1. Exer cise your authority as seldom as possible ; instead of it employ kind persuasion and deliberative reasoning but when you e& ercise it, make it irresistible. 2. Be careful how you threaten, but never lie. Threaten seldom but never fail to execute. The parent who is open mouthed to threaten, and threatens hastily, is irresolute to punish, and when the child is not subdued by the first threat repeats it half ad >zen times with a voice of increas ing violence, and with many shakes and twitches ofthe little culprit, will certainly possess authority. 3. Avoid tones and gestures expressive of agitation for trivial matters, indicative of no depravity, and exhibiting only heed lessness or forgetfulness, as nothing is more common to all young animals, than to love to use their limbs. In such cases the tones should be kind and persuasive, lather than authoritative, and even the gravity of authority should bo reserved exclusively for cases of disobedience or de pravity or for the preventing of serious evil. A perpetual fretting at children for little things will inevitably harden their hearts, &. totally destroy parental influence and authority. There never was a fretting parent, who often threatened and seldom performed that hud a particle of efficient government. Printing Presses, Pulpits and Wo men.—These are the three great levers that govern the movements of the world. Without them the bottom would fall out, and society would become chaos again. The press makes people patriotic, the pul pit religious, but women answereth all things. There would be no going to church if there were no girls there—neither would there be any going to war were the soldiers to meet with no applause except from the masculines. Without the sun shine shed by women, the rosebuds of affection would never blow, nor the flower of eloquence germinate. In short she is the steam engine of delight, and the great motive power of love, valor and civiliza tion.—Pittsburg Chronicle. L'ITA gentleman who had been succes sively engaged in three professions, those of minister, physician and lawyer, was ask ed the comparative advantages of them for acquiring property. He replied—“ The man who will give but a fourpenco to save bis soul, will give twenty-five cents for re lief from sickness, and a dollar to have his own will.” BOOK AND JOB PRINTING, Will be executed inthc most approved style, and on the best terms, at the Office of the SCTTTEII?*IT MTJSfi-JM, —BY— WM. B HARRISON. Married and Unmarried Ladies.— The situation of married and unmarried females, it must be confessed, is very un equal ; the former having greatly the ad vantage in the scale of earthly happiness ; and the world makes the distinction still more unequal than nature intended it. At thirty-five the married woman is consider ed in the noon of life, while the single wo man is looked upon as passed. Again, the wife has less necessity to de pend on intellectual pleasures as resources against the lassitude of ennui. She has duties to perform, let her station in life be what it may, to which the single woman ednnot turn to vary the monotony of her existence. The matron, if she be a mo ther, will find a sufficient stimulous to keep up or revive, in the early instruction, which it is one of woman’s sweetest privileges to give her offspring, the knowledge and ac complishments which she learned in her youth. What pleasure can be higher or more unalloyed to the besiower—what sight more enduring to the beholder—than a matron, o’er whose brow the shadow of time, like that on the dial, has passed, yet left much of the sunny light of life be hind, leading her fair daughter to emulate the grace, of which she herself is so fair a pattern ? Or to mark a son, in all he pride of youthful manhood, paying back with love little short of adoration, the cares of her whose gentle instruction first lured Him to seek the wide paths of knowledge, and at whose knee his infant prayer was firsj. breathed 1 Other feelings grow cold; other memories pass away ; hut the gentle image of the mother who has watched our childhood—her love, her unwearied devo tion, arc forever mirrored in the human heart. ’ Business First and then Pleasure. A man who is very rich, was verv tioor when ahoy. When asked how he got his riches, he replied, ‘My father taught me never to play till all my work for the day was finished, and never to spend my mon ey till 1 had earned it. If I had but half an hour’s work to do in a day, I must do that the first thiug, and in a half an hour. After this was done, 1 was allowed to play ; and I could then play with much more pleasue than if I had the thoughts of an unfinished task before my mind. I early formed the habit of doing every thing in its time, and it soon became perfectly ea sy to do so. It is to this habit that 1 owe my prosperity.’ Let every boy who reads this go and do likewise, and he will meet a similar reward.— Auccdotes for Boys. French Politeness. —A young gen tleman, lodging in a narrow street of Paris* lately conceived himself enamored of a lady who appeared occasionally at an op posite window. With the freedom of mod ern Lovelaces, he enclosed a copper coin in a billctdoux, to give it the necessary weight, and threw it with sufficient force against the closed sash to break the pane of glass arid go through. His own win dow was left open, and, in a few minutes after, a cold roast chicken entered from the opposite side, to the leg of which was tied the following note : “ Monsieur —You take advantage of a means of correspond ing with my wife which proves you to have read the Spanish romances to some profit. While I allow your ingenuity, however, allow me to express a wish that, in your future love-letters to her, by the same post, you will let the enclosed weight be of silver instead of copper, that I may be able to re pair the broken pane of glass at your ex pense. “ Your humble servant, X.” Idleness. —Nine tenths of the miseries and vice of manhood proceed frum idlenes ; with men of quick minds, to whom it is especially pernicious, this habit is common ly the fruit of many disappointments and schemes oft baffled ; and men fail in their schemes not so much for the want of strength, as from the ill direction of it. The weakest living creature, by concen trating his powers on a single object, can accomplish something ; the strongest, by dispersing his over many, may fail to ac complish anythimg. The drop, by contin ued falling, bores its passage through’ the hardest rock—the hasty torrent Tushes over it with hideous uproar and leaves no trace behind.— Carlyle. Think. —Thought engendeis thought. Place one idea upon paper —another wilL follow, till you have written a page. You cannot fathom your mind. There is a well of thought there which has no bottom- The more you draw from it, the more clear and fruitful it will be. Learn to thin]-, and you will soon learn to write; and tho more you think, the better you will «£.- press your ideas. Scandal. —Dr. Johnson being once in company with some scancal-moiigcrs, ono of whom accused an absent friend of re sorting to rouge, he observed, ‘‘lt is, per haps, after all, much better for a lady to retlden her own cheeks, than to blacken, other people’s character.” A courteous Frenchman, in reply to the question why women were not admit ted into the Chamber of Deputies, said that to ho a member it was requisite to bo forty years old, and it was impossible to suppose that any lady could reach that unseemly age.