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THE
\J 'itiJt 3*2»Li
Ifill he published, every SATURDAY Morning t
In the Brick Building, at the Corner of
Cotton Avenue and First Street,
IS THE CITY OF MACOIT, GA.
BY WM. B. IIAItKISO.
TER M 8:
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U*Salesof Land by Administrators, Executors
or Guardians, are required by Law, to be held on
the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours
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ternoon, at the Court House of the county in which
the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must
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o*3al'es 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 thereoffor sixty days, in one ofthe pub
lic gazettes of this State, and at the door of the
Court House where such sales are to be held.
O* Notice for the sale of Personal Property must
be given in like manner forty days previous to
the day of sale.
tj*Notice to the Debtors and Creditors olan 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
S.ate for four mostiis, before any order absolute
can be given by the Court.
Lj’Citations for Letters of Administration on
an Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must
be published thirty days - for Lettersof Dismis- !
sionfrom the administration ofan Estate, monthly '
for six months —for Dismission from Guardian-!
ship forty days.
Xj*R.ulf.s for the foreclosure of a Mortgage,
must be punlished monthly for four months —
for 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 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.
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ort r ? .
LIFE’S COMPANIONS.
BY CHARLES MACKAY.
When I set sail on life’s young voyagif,
’Twas upon a stormy sea;
But to cheer me night and day
Through the perils of the way,
With me went companions three—
Three companions kind and faithful,
Dearer far than friend or bride ;
Heedless of the stormy weather,
Hand in hand they came together,
Ever smiling at my side.
One was Health, my lusty comrade,
Cherry-cheek’d, and stout of limb.
Though my board was scant ofeheer,
And my drink but water clear,
I was thankful, bless’d with him.
One was mild-eyed Peace of Spirit,
Who, though storms the welkin swept,
Waking gave mo calm reliance ;
And though tempests howl’d defiance,
Smooth'd my pillow when I slept.
One was Hope, my dearest comrade,
Never absent from my breast,
Brightest in the darkest days,
Kindes. in the roughest ways,
Dearer far than all the rest;
And though Wealth, nor Fame,nor Station
Journey’d with me o’er the sea,
Stout of heart, all danger scorning,
Nought cared I in life’s young morning
For their lordly company.
But, alas ! ere night has darken’d,
I have lost companions twain ;
And the third, with tearful eyes,
Worn and wasted, often flies,
But as oft returns again.
And, instead of those departed,
Spectres twin around me flit;
Pointing each, with shadowy finger,
Nightly at my couch they linger,
Daily at my board they sit.
Oh, that I so blindly follow’d
In the hot pursuit of wealth !
Though I’ve gained the prize of gold,
Eyes are dim, and blood is cold—
I have lost my comrade, Health.
Care instead, the wither’d beldam,
Steals th’ enjoyment from my cup—
Hugs mo, that I cannot quit her,
Makes mv choicest morsels bitter,
Seals the founts of pleasure up.
Wo is me that Fame allured me—
She so false, and I so blind !
Sweet her smiles : hut in the chase
I have lost the happy faco
Os my comrade, Peace of Mind ;
And instead, Remorse, pale phantom,
Tracks my feet where'er I go;
I t * le day I see her scowling,
n sleep I hear her howling,
w ‘l% flitting to and fro.
La , S r nP my dear companions,
r»„ ° P . e , SVVBBt Hope ! befriend me yet;
Oo not from my side depart,
uo not leave my | one|y , leart
to darkness and regret!
sa< l ' s now my voyage
O er this gloom-encompass’d sea ;
not c * lß erless altogether,
hutsoe’er the wind and weather,
* ill it seem, if blessed with thee.
l *’' nB eyes are, turning earthwards,
Shadowy pale and thin thy form.
AM r " ”*° Heaven thine eyes grow bright,
Al '‘hy form expands in light,
Soft and beautiful and warm.
Ip ! ! IBn > upwards ! lead me heavenwards!
Uuide mo o’er this darkening sea !
Ad emo , rsc sha » before me,
And the gloom shall brighten o’er me,
II I have a friend iu thee.
THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM.
BY m. B. IIARHISON.
UNCLE JOHN’S COURTSHIP.
A Capital Love Story.
BV MRS. E. M. SEYMOI'R.
“ Women are deuced creatures—l nev
er could understand them ! ” used to be
the constantexclamatiou of my uncle John,
and in relation to the fair sex, said Ellen.
“ But really, did the old gentleman nev
er think of marrying ?” inquired James.
“ Oh, yes ; he had a sweetheart once ;
did he ever tell you about it ?” 6aid Ellen
bursting into a fit of laughter. “ I can
never help laughing when 1 think of Uncle
John’s courtship,” continued she. “ I had
a dear friend—Kate Dudley—whom you
have heard me mention. She was a merry,
roguish creature, as Kates always are.
We became acquainted at school, and she
went home with me to spend a vacation.
My cousin Morns, my uncle’s namesake,
had just graduated at the same time, to
spend a few weeks, and get into my uncle’s
good graces. Well, as fate would have it,
my uncle Morris and my cousin John’ Mor
ris both fell in love with my sweet friend.
Uncle John’s passion was a perfect mira
cle ; for he had always declared that no
woman should ever rule him ; and as for
the sentiment of love, 1 think he was per
fectly innocent of ever cherishing it, but he
took a wonderful fancy to Kate. She
would talk and laugh with him, and would
make him talk and laugh with her. She
would walk and ride with him, and admire
his favorite horse—praise his taste in his
house and garden, which no one else could
praise—and all with an air of perfect art
lessness and good nature as completely
entranced Uncle John ; and he declared,
before she was the only woman he ever
saw without deceit; he could understand
her.
“ Well, in the meantime, cousin John
and Kate were talking real love to each
other, and they knew that if Uncle should
suspect it, it would entirely defeat the ob
ject of my cousin's visit, which was to in
duce the old gentleman to give him funds
to establish himself in business. Kate
was rich in expedient. She proposed to
carry on the joke with Uncle John, while
her lover was in the meantime, to accom
plish his object. Kate acted her part ad
mirably ; the old gentleman was in ecsta
cies ; and would then have been ready to
give away half of his property, and bless
at least half the women. He readily set
tled a handsome sum upon John, and as
he delivered it to him, “ signed and seal
ed,’ ‘ Now, my boy,’ said Uncle John,
• I wish you could find as good a girl as
Kate Dudley for a wife.’
‘ I wish so too,’ replied John meekly.
‘ Well, there aint another such a one in
the world,’ said my Uhcle; ’and I intend to
marry her, if she will have me, and I am
sure she will ; she loves me—l know she
does—she knows how to appreciate me.’
44 Cousin Jollll professed himself much
pleased with his Uncle’s prospects and
wished him a world of happiness with his
dear Kate.
4 I shall pop the question this very day,’
said Uncle John, ‘ and will have a wed
ding, and you must stay, my boy.’
‘1 believe I must leave town to-day. 1
am anxious to get settled in business.’
4 But you will come to Kate’s wedding V
insisted the old gentleman.
4 Yes, certainly,’ replied John, with a
scarce concealed smile. He stole an op
portunity to inform Kate of his god fortune,
and of his Uncle's intention, and to make
some airangements for themselves, and
then left us, anxious to appropriate his
money as soon as possible.
44 That evening my Uncle invited Kate
to take a walk with him by moon-light.
So, you see, the old fellow had a spark of
romance after all. 1 was sure to be in my
room when they returned, for 1 never
could have encountered lhem with a sober
face. 1 soon heard Kate ascending the
steps, but as soon as she had entered my
room and closed the door, she burst into
an immoderate fit of suppressed laughter.
44 Well, Kate,” said I, as soon as we
had composed ourselves a little, 44 how did
you come off, Kate ? ”
44 Oh! ’capital!” exclaimed Kat§. *• Un
cle John commenced by a few coughs and
hems,and asked me if l would like to mar
ry 1 1 said yes, iff could find one that 1
loved. He then asked me if I thought he
was too old to marry. Oh, no, said I ;
just a good age.—He then said he had
never thought of marrying till recently,
and that there was but one woman in the
world he would ever wish to marry, and
that was Kate Dudley. I replied very
amiably, that there was but one man in
the world that I would wish to marry, and
that was Mr. John Morris. The old fellow
is in ecstacies,” continued she, 44 and I
should really pity him when the announce
ment comes, if he had any heart ; but I am
sure it will not kill him ; he will bustle
about for awhile, and then adopt his mot
to —“ Well, women are deuced queer crea
tures : 1 never could understand them.’
And now,” said Kate, laughing. I must
go home and get ready.”
'• She made Uncle John think it was
best to go home the next day. The day
was appointed for the wedding, and Kate
bade good-bye, and in four weeks, the day
before Uncle John was to have set out to
claim his bride he received a paper an
nouncing the marriage of Mr. John Morris
and Miss Kale Dudley.”
“ How did the old gentleman bear it ? ”
inquired James, eagerly.”
“ Oh, he did first as Kate said he would.
—He stormed terrible at first—declared
that that rascally John Morris should never
have a cent of his money, (forgetting that
he had already given him all that he desir
ed,) cursed the women and himself <oo,
and finally settled down into his original
habits, only repeating more often, and
with more emphasis, his favorite motto —
‘ Well, women are deuced queer crea
tures ; I never could understand them !”
44 Did he ever forgive them 1 ” inquir
ed James.
44 No ; he seldom mentions them, and
then always designates them as rascally
John Morris and his wife !”
Hurry’ and Haste.— 44 Never do any
thing in a hurry,” is the advice given to
attorneys and solicitors by Mr. Warren.
44 No one in a hurry can possibly have his
wits about him ; and remember that in the
law there is ever an opponent watching to
find you off your guaid. You may occa
sionally be in baste, but you need never
be in a hurry; take care—resolve—never
to be so. Remember always that others’
interests are occupying your attention, and
suffer by your inadvertence—by that neg
ligence which generally occasions hurry.
A man of first-rate business talents—one
who always looks so calm and tranquil,
that it makes one feel cool on a hot sum
mer’s day to look at him—once to!d me
that he had never been in a hurry but
once, and that was for an entire fortnight,
at the commencement of his career. It
nearly killed him; he spoiled every thing
he touched; he was always breathless,
and harrassed, and miserable ; but it did
him good for life; he resolved never again
to be in a hurry—and never was, no, not
once, that he could remember, during
twenty-five years’ practice ! Observe, I
speak of being hurried and flustered—not
of being in haste, for that is often inevi
table ; but then is always seen the supe
riority aud inferiority of different men.
You may indeed almost define hurry as
the condition to which an inferior man is
reduced by haste. 1 one day observed, in
a Committee of the House of Commons,
silting on a railway bill, the chief secreta
ry of the company, during several hours,
while great interests were in jeopardy,
preserve a truly admirable coolness, tran
quility and temper, conferring on him im
mense advantages. His suggestions to
counsel were masterly, and exquisitely
well-timed ; and by the close of the day
he had triumphed. “How is it that one
never sees you in a hurry ?” said I, as we
were pacing the long corridor on our way
from the committee-room. 44 Because it’s
so expensive,” he replied, with a signifi
cant smile. 1 shall never forget that ob
servation, and don’t you.— Warren on At
torneys and Solicitors..
Faith. —lt is perhaps for others rather
than ourselves, says a beautiful writer, that
the fond heart requires an hereafter. The
tranquil rest, the shadow, and the silence,
the mere pause of the wheel of life, have
no terror for the wise, who know the full
value of the world.
“ After the billows of a stormy sea,
Sweet is, at last, the heaven of repose.”
But no so when that stillness is to di
vide us eternally from others, when those
we have loved with all the passion, the de
votion the watchful sanctity of the weak
human heart,are to exist no more. When,
after long years of desertion and widow
hood on earth, there is to be no hope of
reunion in that invisible world beyond the
star; when the torch, not of life only, but
of love, is to be quenphed in the dark
fountain ; and the grave, that we should
fain hopeless—utter—interorable separa
tion ! And it is thought this sentiment,
which makes religion out of wo, and teach
eth belief to the mourning heart, that in
the gladness of united affections felt not
the necessity of a heaven! To how many
is the death of the beloved the parent of
faith!
The Mother’s Law. —“ Forsake not
the law of thy mother,” is the text of a
printed sermon, preached by the Rev.
Chandler Robbins, and occasioned by the
recent death of the mother of the late
Judge Story. It is an appropriate and
beautiful dircouse as may be inferred from
the following passage :
“ It is told to the honor of the great
Lord Bacon, that he felt he could never
repay his obligations to her who had di
rected his studies as well as nourished his
virtues ; that he delighted to speak of her
through life and in his will left the injunc
tion, ‘ Bury me in St. Mitchael’s church,
for there was my mother buried.’
Let it also be told of the great Ameri
can Jurist, whose fame is as pure and
will be as enduring as that of England’s
renowned Chancellor, that it was his re
quest also, that the remains of his mother
should be laid close to his own at Mount
Auburn, that their dust might mingle in
the grave, whose spirits should be as one
in heaven.
Happy mother, who enjoyed the faith
ful obedience and abiding love of such a
son ! Happy son, who enjoyed the disci
pline and received the blessing of such a
mother ! Like the good and the creat of
every age he kept his mother’s law, and it
led him to honor. She, by her fidelity
through the quiet years of his domestic
education, helped to weave the crown of
his mature and public life, and he by his
manly virtues, twined a parennial wreath
to adorn her memory.”
ft
MACON, APRIL 7, 1949.
From the Xeic Orleans Delta.
Bob Owen.: Or, the Man In Debt.
Yesterday morning the Recorder heav
ed a deep sigh, bit the shaggy end off the
nail of the forefinger on his right hand and
as if struck by a sudden thought, called
out, "Bob Owens!" —lnstantly a tall, bo
ny man, in a thread-bare suit of rusty
black, arose, and, resting the edge of a
sharp chin on what had once been a green
velvet stock, he thrust both hands in his
breeches pockets, and answered, 44 pres
ent.”
“ Owens, you were taken up last night
for roving about the streets.”
44 No, sir,” said Owens, “you’re mista
ken ; I was not roving but raving about
the streets.”
“ Have you any home—any place of
residence ?”
“ Yes, I have a home in town and a re
sidence in the country; but a friend of
mine hires out my country-house in the
summer, and I make it a point never to
live in my house in town in the winter.”
44 Well, do you reside any place in par
ticular?”
“ No, sir, I reside everywhere in gener
al, and that is the reason why 1 was trying
to locate myself for the night when 1 was
found raving about the streets by an ami
able gentleman with a very bad cold and
a short club.”
“ What do you mean by raving ?”
44 Rave, sir, means mad —raven means a
dove like bird, of negro color, that is al
ways particularly hungry, aud raving,
when applied to humanity, meuns a man
with a strong appetite, no money in his
pocket, and a paradise of a restaurat,
glowing with angelic pieces of cold baked
pork, seraphic siiloins of roast beef, di
rectly under his nose.”
“ Explain yourself, for surely a man
who speaks as well as you do cannot be in
want of food,”
44 You’re right, sir ; I am not in want of
food, on the contrary, food is in want of
me. Yes. sir I repeated it, there are thou
sands of famishing graveworms that are
in eager expectation of enjoying a ban
quet at my decease; but, sir, they’ll be
disappointed, for I’ve eaten nothing but
pickled onions and dusty crackers for a
week past. I appeal to you, your Honor,
if pickled onions and dusty crackers are
calculated as a general diet to fill a man’s
muscles with strength or his ribs with fat ?”
44 You talk very strangely and yet ra
tionally ; tell me, how was it you became
so poor ?”
44 Your Honor, I commenced business
in life with a gieat many large weights on
a very small scale, aud the consequence
was, the beam of prosperity went up and
that of misfortune came down. 1 gradua
ted as an M. D. when 1 hadn’t even as
much as a homeopathic dose of medical
KliOWieUge in my whole blaill. I never
had but oue patient, and she was a widow,
of a very dropsical habit. I tapped and
tapped her, but the more I tapped, the
more that woman swelled, until one day
her watery spirit burst its fleshy prison,
and, for aught I know, plunged into an
ocean of bliss. Finding that I had no luck
as a dropsy doctor, I dropped that pait of
the profession, and took to pulling teeth.
That, sir, was glorious for a while, and
I’ll venture that none of my patients, even
at this time, know whose teeth they have
got in their mouths. But, sir, 4 a change
came o’er the spirit of my dream,’ and
when mineral teeth were invented, with
a holy horror lbade dental operations and
operators avaunt, for I bad been brought
up in the vegetable school ofmedicine, and
the Thompsonian system we all know is
opposed to minerals.”
“ Avery praiseworthy conclusion ; but
what fruit did your prolific genius bear
after you had dropped dentisry ?”
“ Sir, to tell the truth, 1 went no further
in the sciences, but devoted my entire at
tention to the art of borrowing.”
" The art of borrowing—what is that?”
" It is that delicate tact, sir gained only
by experience and observation, by which
men who fail getting along easily in the
world manage to live oft’ their fellows.
There are some men who ask you for the
loan of a V with such acbaminggrace that
it is impossible for you to refuse them;
but I, sir, I commenced gradually ?”
“ How was that, Mr. Owens ?”
“ I, sir, commenced on the fifty cent
principle, and since then, to my shame be
it said, 1 have descended to that minuite
coin, a five cent piece. Well, sir, to make
a long story short which, I take it, means
to change the subject, I soon bad a hornet’s
nest about my cars. I forgot men’s names
and only knew them by the amount I ow
ed them. For instance—short, fat men
and half dollars were always synonymous
in my mind, there are but two tall men,
with long legs, of all my acquaintance, to
whom Ido not owe two dimes. The bar
keepers got to kuow me, and whenever I
asked for liquor, they would always hold
the decanter by the neck, as if they were
going to strangle it, until I had pulled out
my money. I went down in caste at the
* dime houses,’ my bony elbow’s looked
through the sleeves of my last coat, and I
was forced to patronize picayune grogge*
ries on the Levee. At all political meet
ings I was in my glory, and for a time was
particuiarly attentive to the interests of
the 4 poorer classes of the community;’
but this, like the liquor, didn.t go down
long. At last l found myself without
either board, lodging, clothing, or credit.
All of the principal streets I have ‘block-
VOLUME 1-NUMBER 19.
ed up’’—that is to say, I owe so many
small debts in them tliat I am ashamed to
walk in their vicinity. For the last five
days 1 have managed to pick up a scanty
subsistence by mingling with the crowds
that cluster around the eleven o’clock
lunches at the bar-rooms on the Levee.
There is always a huge pewter plate of
smoking roast pork on the centre of the 1
counter, and on either side innumerable
dishes of all sorts of eatables, but at the 1
extretne ends of the counter you are al
ways sure to find pickled onions and dus-.
ty crackers. On these two last mentioned
dishes I have managed to live for the last
five days, anft if your Honor refuses to
seud me to the Work-house, I’ll be d—d
if I don’t exhibit myself in public as the
original, resurrected Calvin Edson." |
Bob Owens looked de!ermined, and
fearing that he would put his threat into j
execution, the Recorder sent him I
for sixty days.
Exhum .tion of Ancient Nineveh.—
There seems no doubt from Mr. Layard’s !
excavation in the mound of Kouyunjik—
one of the mounds opposite to Mosul—as
well those made by him at Nimround, and
by M. Botta at Khorsabad, that each or all
ofthese places, and others adjacent or in
termediate, where the same great mounds
appear, were if not parts of one vast city,
the successive localities occupied or com
prehended by Nineveh under its successive
dynasties. As (though unquestionably in
a very much more extensive period of time)
Babylon, Seleucia, Ctesiphon, Bagdad,
succeeded each other on sites at no con
siderable distance, so as to be loosely des
cribed as the same city ; in like manner,
from that imperial caprice which seems
almost to be a characteristic of great eas
tern sovreigns, each proud of being the
founder of his own capital, the temples,
or palaces which it is manifest stood on
every one of these cites, differing as they
upjjiiinmj uu in unit ii certain ex
tent in the character of their art, may each
have been the Nineveh of its day, the chief
dwelling-place and centre of worship of
the kings and of the gods of Assyria ; and
so no one of these being absolutely des
troyed, but deserted only, and, if we may
so speak, gone out of fashion, this aggre
gate of cities—this cluster of almost con
terminous capitals— may have then gone
by the proverbial name, the City of Three
Days’ Journey, just like Thebes of the
Hundred Gates; or the poetic hyperbole
of the Book of Jonah may be taken to the
strict letter ; and the Prophet’s first day’s
slow and interrupted pilgrimage through
the streets may not have led him to the
palace of the king. In‘this conjecture,
which occurred to us on reading the ear
lier part of this work, [“ Nineveh and its
Remains ,”J we rejoice to find that we
have anticipated the conclusion of Mr.
Layard. The hypothesis, in fact, seems
to us the only one that can account for the
vast number of magnificent edifices which
unquestionably existed within a circuit too
extensive for a single city, but not for a
capital which had thus grown up out of
many cities.— London Quarterly.
Self-Conceit. — Theophratus, an anci
ent Greek writer, says that “ the proud
man regards the whole human rnco with
contempt, himself excepted. If he has
rendered a service to any man he will re
mind him of it as he meets him in the
streets, and with a loud voice goad him
with the obligation.— He is never the fiist
to accost any man ; he returns the salute
of no one in the public ways.” This, as
the reader sees, is a sweeping condemna
tion of that pride which is full of dross,
and expressive of a mean mind. Mostly,
pride of persons or dress creates vanity—
one of the most contemptible of those nu
merous failings which besiege a frail hu
man nature and one into which the young
may fall into soonest of any. If a vulgar
man have this exaggerated sentiment with
in him, nothing can be more clearly evinc
ed, for his own person bears always the
marks of it. You will find it in the re
dundant watcli-cuahi— in *he inordinately
blue and extensive cravat, in the coat ela
borated out of intensely bad taste, in
smoking cigars out of place, in his con
versation, in his manner; in every thing,
in fact, this puerility betrays itself. Be
sides that it is ridicilous, it is also a dan
gerous sentiment. A self-love that has
grown into a vauity of this kind easily
breaks the slender bulwarks of moral ob
ligations, and stickles at no means,howev
er questionable, in order to support it.
The Pure in heart. —The springs of
everlasting life arc within. There areclear
streams gushing up from the depths of the
soul, and flowing out to enliven the
3phere of outward existence. But like
the waters of Siloath, they “go softly.’
You must listen tp catch the silver tones
of the little rill as it glides from its moun
tain home : you may not witness its silent
march through the green vale, but its
course will be seen in the fresh verdue and
the opening flowers ; its presence will be
know n by the forms of life and beauty
which gather around it. It is ever thus
with the pure. You may not hear the
44 still small voice,” or heed the silent as
piration ; but there is a moral influence
and a holy power which you will feel.
The wilderness is made to smile, flowers
of new life and beauty spring up and
flourish, while an invisible presence
braethes immortal fragrance through the
spiritual atmosphere.
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING,
Will be executed in the most approved style,
and on the best terms,at the Office of the
SCTJTHEE.IT mtjsetjm,
-BY—
WM. B. HARRISON.
THE MODEL SISTER.
Punch gives the following true and
graphic description of a “ Model Sister
There is one in every home ; the very
worst brother that ever refused to take li s
sisters out walking, must recollect a Mod
el Sister.
It was she who mended all his gloves,
and used to practice waltzing with him in
the drawingroom, and ran over “ The
Maid of Langollen,” at least fifty times,
before he caught the right air.
It was she who was the confidant of all
his boyish loves, and wrote his first at
tempts at love letters, and curled his hair,
when he wanted to be 44 very smart.”
It was she who always ran and opened
the door for him when it was raining, and
fetched whatever he wanted out of his bed
room, and always had “ some silver” when
he was going out, and was positive “ she
Mfeuld spare it.” These loans occurred
pretty often, and yet did she ever allude
to them, or get tired of lending ? Brothers
have short memories—but you know it
was a fact.
If “ papa was angry at you being out
so late,” wasn’t she in the passage to
warn you. and to ask you “how could you
be so foolish ?” If she was fearful of a
disturbance, didn’t she wait outside, and
rush in, and, with her arms round her fath
er’s neck, beg of him " not to speak so
harsh to you ?” If she knew you had no
dinner, wasn’t the cloth always laid for you
in a private room : whilst, by some means,
she got you a glass of wine, and came iu
and out to see if there was anything you
wanted ? Again, if ycu had been “ out,”
and complained of being hungry, didn t
she steal down stall’s, and when they were
all in bed, smuggle a tray of cold meat
into your room, and never forget the pick
les ? And if any harsh voice called out
loudly, “ Whose that up staii’9 ?” didn’t
she put her hand over your mouth,and call
out, 44 It’s only I papa?”
Besides, who in illness nursed you ?
Who was it that brought you up your tea,
and gave you your medicine, and would
tempt you with delicate puddings, sago,
and 44 such nice watergruel,” and would
sit up with you all night, and bathe your
temples, and kiss you, and be on her feet
if you only turned, and ask you a thou
sand times if you felt better, and half cry
ing call you “ dear brother,” —words, yon
know, that never sound so touching as in
a sick room. More than this, have you no
recollection when you were very, very ill,
waking up and finding her keeling at your
bedside ? You have felt this—you must
every nno liob UTkI Jim liavo lnvod her
with all your soul, though perhaps you
were too weak at the time to say it. Sho
was always kind—always repaying a broth
er's roughness with a sister’s gentleness—
and thinking herself more than rewarded
if you only walked out with her, or spar
ed an evening not more than one in a
year, to take her to the concert. How
grateful she was, too, if you read to her
of an evening whilst she was working—
knitting, probably, a beautiful steel purse,
the destination of which was only learnt
on your next birthday! You have not
forgotten either her coming to see you at
school, and bringing you large bags of
ginger-bread and oranges, and a plum
cake made with her own hands; and her
walking with you, hand in hand, round the
play ground, or through the neighboring
fields, making you all the while display,
by the affectionate questions, your won
derful store of half-year’s learning, whilst
mamma listened and admired by your
happy side ? Wlm was it too, that atten
ded to your linen both when you were a
boy, and when you were at that neutral
age, vibrating between manhood and
childhood, which is called ( no one can tell
why) hobbe-de-hoy hood ; and when ask
ed, replaced all stray buttons, sewed mis
sing strings on to collars, hemmed you}:
scarfs, was the first to teach you the diffb l
cult art of tying your neck handkerchieF,
trimmed your nails, packed your box when
you were going anywhere, and even ac
companied you, taking courage from your
own cowardice, to the dentist’s ?—Who
was the companion of all your romps, and
used to pull your sprouting w’hiskeis, and
rnako you quizzical presents of bear's
grease, and bring you home all the fine
things she had heard the young ladies say
about her 44 darling brother ?” Whoever
took such pains to mako that “darling
brother” smart, or admired him more, and
danced only with him when she wouldn’t
dance with anybody else? And When
there was “ a little disagreement” at home,
and you were hiding in a garret, nursing
your pride, which had been hurt by some
harsh word, or try to cure your young
man’s dignity that had been sadly wounded
by an angry blow, who came to see you
oftener, bringing you always “ a few things
that mother had put up for you,” and, by
her kindness, gradually led you home,
where she knew too well your father was
only waiting to receive you with open
arms ? You were angry at the time with
the artifice, hut soon lost your anger in
the depths ofyour affection, and the quick
joy of the reconciliation. Who did all
this? You must remember—if ever you
had a childhood —your heart tells you it
was your sister. If not sensible, then, of
all the love which was being daily forced
with such mildness on you, you must feel
it now, and will turn back with me, and in
your brother’s heaTt, try to thank, as I now
thank, with a life’s pent-up gratitude, that
Model Sister,