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4J o r t r b .
MV SINGS.
BY AMELIA B. WELBY.
I wandered out, one summer night ;
’Twas when my years were few ;
The breeze was singing in the light,
And I was singing too.
The moonbeams lay upon the hill,
The shadows in the vale,
And here and there a leaping rill
\V as laughing at the gale.
One fleecy cloud upon the air
Was all that met my eyes ;
It floated like an angel there,
Between me and the skies.
I clapped my hands, and warbled wild
As here and there I flew ;
For I was but a careless child,
And did as children do.
The waves came dancing o’er the sea,
In bright and glittering bands ;
Like little children wild with glee,
They linked their dimpled hands.
Thnv linked Y 1. Y..» I ~1..
nu.iu •■■•«-•* iiuSm, U.it vtv 1 Cuugtll
Their mingled drops of dew,
They kissed my feet—as quick as thought
Away the ripples flew.
The twilight hours like birds flew bv,
As lightly and as free;
Ten thousand stars were in the sky,
Ten thousand in the sea ;
For every wave, with dimpled face,
That leaped into the air,
Ilad caught a star in its embrace,
And held il trembling there.
The young moon, too, with upturned sides,
Her mirrored beauty gave ;
And as a bark at anchor rides,
She rode upon the wave.
The sea was like the sky above,
As perfect and as whole,
Save that it seemed to thrill with love,
As thrills the immortal soul.
The flowers, all folded to their dreams,
Were bowed in slumber free,
By breezy hills and murmuring streams,
Where'er they chanced to be.
No guilty tears bad they to weep,
No sins to be forgiven ;
They closed their eyes and went to sleep
Right in the face ofheaven.
No costly raiment round them shone,
No jewels from the seas ;
A et bolomon upon his throne
W as ne’er arrayed like these ;
And just a s f reo f rolß guilt and art
Were lovely human flowers,
Ere sorrow sat her bleeding heart
Dri this fair world of ours.
I heard the laughing wind behind
A playing with my hair—
The breezy fingers of the wind.
How cool and moist they were !
I beard the night-bird warbling o’er
Its soft enchanting strain,
I never heard such sounds before,
And never shall again.
3 ben wherefore weave such strains as these,
And sing them day by day,
And every bird upon the breeze
Can sing a sweeter lay ? JiLy
I '1 give the world for their sweet art,
1 be simple, the divine ;
1 <! give the world to inclt one heart,
As they have melted mine.
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY WM. B. HARRISON.
From the Young People’s Mirror.
HINTS OX BIATUK4I, HISTORY.
BV K. G. WHEELER, M. D.
“ \ es there shall he joy
Where God hath poured forth beauty ; and the
voice
Ot human love shall still he heard in praise
Over his glorious gifts ! 6 Father, Lord !
The All Beneficent! I bless thy mame,
That thou hast mantled the green earth with
flowers,
Linking our hearts to Nature. * * * *
In our first article in Vol. I. of the Mir
ror, we endeavored to set forth some of
the beauties and benefits derived from the
study of Botany and of Natural History
in general. And, since the field of Nat
ural Science is unbounded, and as the
subject can never become exhausted, —we
desire to add a few ideas in this place, in
order to urge, still further upon the young
mind especially, the importance of con
sidering both the pleasure and the profit
that may be gained by exploring those in
tellectual mines that lie in our every-day
path, rich in untarnished and imperisha
ble treasures; for it can never be too
strongly impressed upon any mind anxious
to acquire knowledge, that the commonest
things by which we are surrounded, are
deserving of minute and careful attention.
'J he most ptofound investigations of Phi
losophy are necessarily connected with the
ordinary circumstances of life and of the
world we live in. With regard to our
own existence—the beating of the pulse
—the act of breathing—the voluntary
movements of our limbs—the condition
of sleep, &c., are among the most ordina
ry operations of our nature; yet how
long were the wisest of men struggling
with dark and bewildering speculations
before they were able to offer any thing
satisfactory to themselves or others, rela
tive !o the causes of any of these natural
operations ? and even at the present day,
many things concerning our own frame
are far from being clearly understood.
And who, among the many readers of the
M irror has ever found a perfectly satisfac
tory theory of the cause of the thunder
storm that roars and rashes over his head,
or of the earthquake that rumbles beneath
his feet, or of the tides that wash our
shores ? But, notwithstanding it may he
difficult fully to comprehend the phenom
ena we daily witness, yet everything in
nature is full of instruction. The hum
blest flower by the way-side, may seem
worthless and even contemptible to one
whose curiosity lias never been excited,
and whose understanding therefore has re
mained uninformed; yet the botanist
values it, not only in refgard to its place in
the arrangement of this portion of the
Creator’s works, hut as it leads his mind
onward to the consideration of those bea
utiful provisions for the support of vege
table life, which the phisologist loves to
study and admire.
Not only the vegetable, hut the mineral
kingdom, also,—and still more amply, per
haps, do insect tribes and the numerous
herds of more exalted animals afford us
lessons in the freshest and most delightful
parts of education. The whole animal
creation, from the gigantic elephant down
to the minutest ephemeron that flutters
away its little hour of life in summer sun
shine, teaches us our dependence upon
that Being in whose schemes of existence,
the humblest,as well as the most lofty crea
ture has its destined purposes allotted it
to fulfil. “If you speak of a stone,” says
St. Basil, one of the Fathers of the
Church, “if you speak of a fly, a gnat,
or a bee, your conversation will be a sort
of demonstration of His power whose
hand formed them ; for the wisdom of the
workman is commonly perceived in that
which is of little size. He who has
strelchedout the heavens and dug up the
bottom of the sea, is also He who has
pierced a passage through the sting of the
bee, for the ejection of its poison.”
If it he granted that making discoveries
is one of the most satisfactory of human
pleasures, then it may be affirmed, with
out hesitation, that the study of Natural
History, in any or all of its branches, is
the most delightful part of education ; for
it affords peculiar facilities for the pur
poses of the discoverer. There is, prob
ably, no situation in life, where the lover
and observer of Nature may not find op
portunities for increasinghis store of facts.
A story is told of a state prisoner under a
cruel and rigorous despotism, that when
he was excluded from all commerce with
mankind, and shut out from books, he took
a deep interest, and found great consola
tion in a spider that was an inmate of his
cell. The operations of that persecuted
little animal are among the most extraor
dinary exhibitions of mechanical ingenui
ty ; and a daily watching of the workings
of its instinct would beget admiration in
any rightly constituted mind. The poor
prisoner had abundant leisure for specu
lation in which the spider's web entranced
his senses and enchained his understand
ing. We have all of us, at one period or
other of our lives, been struck with some
singular evidence of contrivance in the
habits and operations of insects, which we
have seen with our own eyes. Waut*of
time, and -probably want of knowledge,
have prevented many from following up
the curiosity, for a moment excited, and
yet, some such accidental occurrence has
made men Naturalists, in the most exten
sive meaning of the term ; some of whom
have become truly great, and gained an
undying fame, although their labors may
have been attenled with the most discour
aging circumstances. The researches of
Monsieur lluher, a French Naturalist, ap
pear almost miraculous, when we consider
that at the early age of seventeen, he be
came totally blind. But though cut off
from the view of Nature’s works, he zeal
ously pursued the study of them. He
saw them through the eyes of the admira
; hie and adorable woman whom he marri
| ed. His philosophical reasonings pointed
I out to her all that he w anted to ascertain ;
and as she repeated to him, from time to
time, the results of his ingenious experi
ments, he was enabled to complete, by
diligent investigations, one of the most ac
curate and satisfactory accounts of the
habits of bees that has ever been produced.
The study of Nature affords a succes
sion of “ ever new delights,” always plea
sing in childhood, when everything pos
sesses the attractions of novelty and beau
ty ; and with the proper encouragement
on the part of parents and teachers, obser
vations on the various habits, instincts, and
operations of natural objects, will never
fail to become peculiarly fascinatiug at
this most interesting and important season
of life. Let parents, then, in particular,
regard these hints, thus hastily submitted
to their consideration, and who can tell
how many among them may send out,
from beneath their roof, let it be ever so
humble, a Linnaeus, a Goldsmith, a Wil
son, a Joseph Bonaparte, or perhaps, a
wonderful Audubon ? .
“That’s Right — Stick to jt.” —An
exchange tells the following rib-iickling
anecdote, which, we believe, has never
been in print before, hut, at all events,
will bear dressing up again. It made us
laugh “ consumedly
Old Farmer Jones, having been for
months preparing his favorite Yorkshire
for “ killing time,” sent finally for the town
butcher—a great wag, by the way—to
come and prepare the “ sassenger meat”
for use. (This was, of course, years ago,
when “ confidence” wasn’t so necessary
in eating sassengers, and dogs did not howl
and go into spasms at the sight of them,
as now r .) Old grunter was forthwith stud:,
as the brokers say, and having gone
through the usual pocess being tumbled
into scalding water, scraped, cleaned, dis
embowelled, and so forth, was hung up in
the shed for the night to dry. After the
butcher had finished his job, and was about
departing, farmer Jones says—
“ Friend, I’m in rather a bad pickle. 1
have been borrowing from difl'eient fam
ilies in the neighborhood some 200 pounds
of fresh pork, all which I’ve promised to
repay when my Yorkshire should he kill
ed and now if I pay up all of my debts, I
shall have no pork left for my own -use,
What shall I do ?—he honest, and shame
the devil, or pay my debts, and starve ?”
“ I can arrange that business nicely for
you,” replied the knight of the long knife.
“ Do you just cut up and pack your hog
early in the morning, before any of the
neighbors are stirring, and then swear that
somebody stole the critter in the night-time.”
“ Capital idea ! Firsr rate !” exclaim
farmer Jones, chuckling and clapping his
hands with delight—“ and you shali have
a spare rib for the hint.”
About the witching time of night, in the
“ wee short hours ayant the twal”—when,
according to Shakspeare, “ churchyards
yawn,” and the place with a naughty name
breathes out contagion to the world”—
the crafty “ butcher boy” might have been
seen noiselessly dragging the carcass of
the defunct porker out of farmer Jones’s
shed, and, long before old Sol was seen
perched on the distant mountain-top, the
monarch of the sty was reposing—well
packed and salted—in a barrel in the butch
er’s cellar.
Next morning, as the butcher was pas
sing the farmer’s house, on the way to the
slaughterhouse, Old Jones came running
out, crying at the top of his lungs, “ I say,
old fellow, some body has, stole that hog,
sure enough !”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the
butcher, in tones of deep surprise.
It’s a fact, by hoky! The hog is gone,
hide and skin—he is, by the livin’ Moses.”
“ Have you told any one else besides me?”
asked the butcher.
“ No—l haint seen nobody else yet ;
but it’s n fact, by thunder !”
“ That’s right,” says the butcher! stick
to it like a good fellow, and there’s no
danger.”
“ But,” protested the farmer, “ I aint
jokin’ nor nothing’ of the kind. If some
body haint actually stole that hog, I may
be frizzled, stewed, and fried into biled
scraps, and chawed up by monkeys.”
“ Never heard a story told, better in my
life !” reiterated the provoking butcher,
with a sly wink to the farmer, and bursting
into a loud horse-laugh—“ only keep a
long face on the matter, and stick to it as
you do now, and you’ll make all Christen
dom believe it true, afore long. Good
morning, farmer Jones!”
Pyramids.—Mr. J. R. Gliddon relates
in his lectures on Egyptian Aichmology.
reported in the Archcelogical Journal of
the past and present month, that “ an Arab
discovered the northern air channel of the
great pyramid to be open from top to bot
tom by placing a cat at one hole and her
kittens at the other, shutting thorn in with
stones. The mother soon found her way
down through the pyramid to them.
MACON, MARCH 31, ISIS).
From the Scientific American.
THE AXE AMD SAW.
Early one spring morning, when the sun
had scarcely melted the hoar frost from
the brown face of the wrinkled earth, an
old axe happened to fall in with a saw.
There was ‘ cutting air’ abroad that threa
tened the newly shaven chin with chaps.
“Ah ! my old blade !” said the Axe,
“ how goes it with you ? I came purpose
ly to see how you do.”
“ I really feel much obliged to you,”
said the Saw, “ but 1 am sorry to say that
my teeth are had. My master lias sent for
the doctor, who ’twixtyou and me and the
post, is nit better than “an old file.” 1
was in the work shop last night, where—”
“ Where no doubt you — saw a great
deni,” facetiously interrupted the Axe.
The Saw showed his teeth in a sort of
grin betwixt melancholly and mirth, and
resumed, —
“ Why, I may say so with truth ; and I
consider it no morj; than a duty 1 owe Mr.
Carpenter to do much as I can, in spite
of my teeth, for he is liberal in point of
board."
“ And do you never grow rusty ?” said
the Axe.
“ Not witherer work,” replied the saw;
—“ and indeed, I have always found that
constant employment best preserves our
polish, which, alter all, is otdy artificial.”
“ You are quite a philosopher.”
“ Not exactly so, for I sometimes grow
exceedingly hot and lose my temper"
“ And what says your master I”
“ Why he generally desists a while,
and I soon grow cool again, and then I
cut away like a razor through a piece of
mottled soap.”
“ You are a happy fellow,” said the axe.
“ How differently am 1 situated ! my mas
ter is a chopping-boy with a thick block—
which is tantamount to saying he is a fat
fool. He is vety sharp with me sometimes;
and when he finds I am inclined to be
blunt, he grinds me most cruelly.”
“Alas!” cried the saw, “it’s the way
of the world, my friend ; for I have inva
riably remarked, that the rich always grind
the poor for the sake of the ‘ chips.’ ”
“ Bravo!” exclaimed the Axe.
“ You see I’ve not lived in the world
all this time without getting a notch or
two,” said the saw.
“ Nor I either,” replied the axe ; “ al
though, in obtaining the said notches, I
have not only lost my courage, hut a por
tion of my metal too!”
“Well, I never saw!” exclaimed my
friend ; “ how you talk ! lam sure your
teeth do not give you any trouble, at any
rate.”
“ I axe your pardon, old hoy,” remon
strated the Axe; “ for although Ido not
complain of my teeth exactly, my chops
give me a pretty considerable deal of trou
ble, 1 can tell you.”
The Saw grinned approval of the Axe’s
wit.
“ Peace !” exclaimed the Axe. “ Here
comes Mr. Carpenter; so don’t show your
teeth till you can bite, I believe that is the
maxim of a relatioii of yours.”
“ Not a relation,” said the other;
“ though they are the words of a ivise old
saw."
Goon Advice.—Dr. Franklin made the
following offer to a young man :
“ Make a full estimate of all you owe,
and all that is owing to you.
Reduce the same to a note.
As fast as you can collect, pay over to
those you owe. If you cannot collect, re
new your note every year, and get the
best security you can.
Go to your business diligently and he
industrious ; waste no moment by idleness
Be very economical in all things ; discard
all pride. Be faithful in your duty to God
by regular and hearty prayer morning and
night. Attend church and meeting regu
larly every Sunday —and do unto others as
yon would have them do unto you.
If you arc too needy to give to the poor,
do whatever else lies in your power for
them cheerfully, and if you can, always
help the worthy poor and unfortunate.
Pursue this course diligently and sin
cerely, seven years, and if you are not hap
py, comfortable, and independent in your
circumstances, come to me I will pay your
debts.”
“ Young people, try it.”
Fidelity.—Never forsake a friend.—
When enemies gather around—when sick
ness fails on the heart—when the world
is dark and cheerless—-is the time to try
true frendsitip. Ihe heart that has been
touched with true gold will redouble its
efforts, when the friend is sad and in
trouble. Adversity tries real friendship.
They who turn from the scene of distress,
betray their hypocrisy and prove that
interest only moves them. It you have a
friend who loves you—who has studied
your interest and happiness—be sure to
sustain him in adversity. Let him feel
that his former kindness is appreciated—
and that his love was not thrown away.—
Real fidelity may he rare, hut it extsts in
the heart. Who has not seen and felt its
power ? They only deny its worth and
power, who have never loved or made a
friend. The kind—the affectionate and
the virtuous, see and feel the heavenly
principle. They would sacrifice wealth
and honor to secure the happiness ol
others, and in return they receive the re
ward of their love by sympathising hearts
and countless favors, when they have been
brought low by disease or adversity.
VOLUME 1-NUMBER IS.
Origin ok the Prairies. —Respecting
the origin of these immense fields we have
no satisfactory knowledge. It is conjec
tured, and I believe with a good degree of
probability, that their surface was once
covered with the waters of the lake, and
that these having receded, they were left
in their natural evenness of surface, to be
enriched by the deposits of ages, and thus
fitted for the most luxurious vegetation
that the world ever saw. There is some
thing imposingly gramfin the idea that the
water of the great lakes once extended to
the base of the Rocky Mountains, and that,
dammed back by these mighty barriers,
they were sent eastward, to he hurled over
the precipice of our own Niagara, and j
thence, through the fSt. Lawrence, to find ■
enlargement in the ocean. What a world
of waters rolled their tides over this quar
tet of the globe then ! and what a cataract;
was Niagara ! By what causes such a J
change has been wrought—whether it was j
by the gradual draining of the fountains,
which now send their diminished supplies :
through the beds of the western rivers, or,
by some mighty convulsion of nature—it
is utterly useless to conjecture. But that
the origin of the prairies is such as I have !
suggested, seems to be indicated by their
structure, their soil, their productions, and
the alluvial deposits which lie beneath
their surface. Who can say by what
mysterious process this garden of the
world has been preparing for the occupa
tion and enterprise of Anglo-American
civilization, or enumerate the ages which
have rolled away since they commenced ?
In vain does fancy grope among the unil
lumined labyrinths of the past, for some
thing which shall satisfy the ever-recur
ring injuries of the curious or the thought
ful mind. He only who evolved order
from the primal chaos can answer such in
quiries; and in his own time, if He so
choose, He will make the revelation.
Principle. — Never confide in the prin
ciple of a timid man. He who has no
courage cannot he suid to have principle ;
he may he disposed to virtue, and may
prefer good to evil, hat he is the sport of
chance, and the slave of circumstances.—
What avails the best inclinations if resolu
tion be wanting to put them in practice.—
A feeble and irresolute man who means
well, is more dangerous than an audacious
and confirmed villain. You know the lat
ter, and are on your guard against him ;
you rely upon the good intentions of the
former, and discover too late, like the son
of Israel, he is unstable as water and shall
not excel. A timid man can never be
come great: if he possesses talent he can
never apply it ; he is trampled upon by
the envious and awed by the swaggering ;
he is thrust from the direct path which
alone leads to honor and fame by every
aspirant who pessesses more spirit than
himself.
Selections from Foster .—Casual
thoughts are sometimes of great value.
One of these may prove to he the key to
open for us a yet unknown apartment in
the palace of truth, or a yet unexplored
tract in the paradise of sentiment that en
virons it.
When the majestic form of Truth ap
proaches, it is easier for a disingenuous
mind to start aside into a thicket till she is
past, and then re-appearing, say, “ It was
not truth,” than to meet her, and love and
obey.
When we withdraw from human inter
course into solitude, we are more peculiar
ly committed in the presence of the Di
vinity ; yet some men retire into solitude
to devise or perpetrate crimes. This is
like a m3n going to meet and brave a lion
in his own gloomy desert in the very pre
cincts of his dread abode.
Time is the greatest of tyrants. As we
go on towards age, ho taxes our health,
our limbs, our faculties, our strength and
our features.
Youth is not like anew garment which
we can keep fresh and fair by wearing J
sparingly.— Youth, while we have it, we
must wear daily, and it will last wear
away.
The retrospect of youth is too often
like visiting the grave of a friend whom
we have injured and are precluded by his
death from the possibility of making him
an atonement.
Mankind are indisposed to think ; souls
make the world a vast dormitory. Ihe
heaven-appointed destiny under which
they are placed, seems to protect them
from reflection ; there is an opium sky
stretched over all the world, which con
tinually rains soporifics.
Cold Bedrooms. —A person accustom
ed foundress in a room without a fire, and.
to seek repose, in a cold bed, will not ex
perience the least inconvenience, even in
the severest weather. The natural heat
of the body will very speedily render him
even more comfortably warm than the in
dividual who sleeps in a heated apartment,
and in a bed thus artificially warmed, and
who will be extremely liable to a sensa
tion of chilliness as soon as the artificial
heat is dissipated. But this is not all—
the constitution of the former will be ren
dered more robust, and far less susceptible
to the influence of atmospherical vicissi
tudes than that of tho latter. —Journal rs
Health.
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
Will be executed inthe most approved style,
and on the. best terms, at the Office oj the.
SCTTTHEP.it I£TJSETJK 9
-BY—
WM. Vt, HARRISON.
Horticulture. —We cannot hut con
sider the attention recently awakened to
■ this branch of the fine arts, as marking an
an era in the civilization of our city. Wo
have been behind half the Union in this
respect until now; and there scented hut
l little hope that, in the rage fur business,
i and the wild race for gay and expensive
' pleasure, a tnste so natural, simple and
true, should have its gentle claim acknowl
| edged. The results of the recent pro
ceedings of the Horticultural Society,
show that there arc at least a few cultiva
ted people among us, to whom Nature's
lead seems worth following. Under such
auspices, we may expect soon to see an
elegant emulation in floriculture, taking
the place of less refined and refining pur
suits. Especially is it pleasant to observe
that the gentlemen to whose taste and en
terprise we owe the new movement, have
invited ladies to share with them the plea
sant duty of awatding certain of the pre
miums. This is drawing the t ight sort of
influence about the undertaking. The
title of “ Japonica dum,” will he peculiar
ly appropiatc when every lady raises her
own Japonicas, and when the emulation
is, who shall produce the most exquisite
varieties.— Mrs. Kirk land.
French Sewing Machine. —This ma
chine is the invention of a humble artisan,
who has great mechanical genius, and who
has been engaged for thirty years in the
perfection of his invention. He received
a patent for it in France a few years ago,
and it is said that fur more than twenty
five years, he sought in vain to make it
work, and that the thought flashed all at
once upon his mind regarding its truth
and perfect principle. The machine was
inttoduced into London some time last
V6ftV, uutl liS5 attracted TTiUcli SttvpilCls It*
that city. It is very cheap ; some are sold
for twenty dollars, and the price varies
from that to thirty. The machinfc is fixed
on a table, and is a very small box. It is
worked by a treadle, and every movement
of the foot produces a corresponding ac
tion in the needle ; so that three hundred
stitches can easily be made in a minute.
The hands are merely used to guide the
material being sown, and by turning a
screw, the sticli is easily varied. The ma
chine will sew, stitch, and form cords and
plaits. The stitch is the tambour or
crotchet stitch. The whole value of the
invention consists in making machinery do
what was hitherto done with the fingers,
and thus resolving a problem supposed
impracticable. ’J he beauty ot this ma
chine is, that it can work button-holes and
embroider. M. Magnen, tvho, exhibited
it in London, wore an entire suit worked
by if, consisting of coat, pants, vest, and
all their appurtenances. To France be
longs the credit of this invention. M.
Thimonnier is the name of the inventor,
and his fame will go down to posterity
with that of Jacquaid.
True Riches— The listeners to gut
wealth by rushing after tho golden phan
tom on the shores of tho Pacific, would do
well to ponder the following sober lan
guage of Mr. Henry Coleman in the last
No. of his excellent work on European
Agriculture :—" The true wealth of a com
munity, is its labor, its productive labor.
A man is not tho richer for houses, which
he cannot occupy ; lands, which he cannot
use ; money that lie cannot spend. He
m'mht own a continent in the moon, hut
what would that avail him. He might die
of starvation in the vaults of the Bank of
England, or in tho undisturbed possession
of the riches of the mines of Peru. Labor is
the great source and instrument of subsis
tance and wealth.” And he might have
added, of happiness.
Marriage. —Wherever woman plights
her troth under the sky of heaven, at the
domestic hearth, or in consecrated aisles,
the ground is holy, the spirit of the hour
is.sacramental. 1 hat it is thus felt, even
by the most trivial; may he observed at
every wedding ceremony. Though tho
mirth may he fast and furious before or
after the irrevocable formula is spoken,
vet at that point of time, there is a shad
ow on the most laughing lip—a moisture
on the firmest eye. Wedlock, indissolu
ble, except by act of God—a sacramett
whose solemnity reaches to eternity—will
always hold its rank in life as well as liter
ature, as the most impressive fact of hu
man experience. He is a slight observer
who sneers at its prominence in dramatic
writings, whether of the stage or the closet,
the play or tho novel. It must always
he so. * If government with all its usur
pations or aggressions, has appropriated
history; let the less ambitious portions of
our literature he sacred to the affections
to the family, based on conjugal and
parental love as that institution is, and less
the state which hitherto in the world’s
annals has been liltle less than the sad ex
ponent of human ambition.
My soul,” says Lamartine,” is like
a sieve in which the Mexicans wash their
<_rold ore—the sand falls to the ground, the
pure metal remains. What is the use of
charging our memory with anything that
doesliot'charm or console our existence.?”
All pleasure must be bought at the price
of pain; the difference between false
pleasure and true is just this for the true.
the price is paid before you enjoy it j—for
ithe false, after you enjoy it.