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THE Will be published erery SAjfIjRDA V Morning y In the Brick Corner of Cotton Arenue <tmi’"'First. Street, ix THE CITV or MXCOS, GA. by vi> b. hakkison. T E RM S1 For the Paper, in advance, per annum, SSB. If not paid in advance, $2 50, per annum. If not paid until the end of the Year $3 00. Qj* Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates —and when the number of insertions de sired is not specified, they will be continued un til forbid and charged accordingly. O'Advertisers by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. (Jjf’Sales of Land bv Administrators, Executors w 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 inthc Af ternoon, at the Court House of the county in which the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must he given in a public gazette sixty days previous to the day of sale. O’Sales 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 for sixty da vs, in one of 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 •ivegivenin like manner forty days previous to the day of sale. ijjr’Notice tothe Debtors and Creditorsoian 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 State for four months, before any order absolute can be given by the Court. ijJ’Citations for Letters of Administration on an Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must be published thirty days —for Letters of Dismis sion from the administration of an Estate, monthly for six months —for Dismission from Guardian-1 ship FORTY DAYS. (Xj'Rui.f.s for the foreclosure of a Mortgage, I must be punlished monthly for four months — for establishing lost Papers, for the full space of three months —fur compelling Titles from Ex ecutors, Administrators or others, where a Bond hasbeen given by the deceased, the full space of THREE MONTHS. N. 11 All Business of this kind shall receiv prompt attentionat the SOUTHERN MUSEUM Office, and strict care will be taken that all legal Advertisements are published according to Law. lUpAll Letters directed to this Office or the Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in sure attention. ' 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.