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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: For the Paper, in advance, per annum, $2. if not paid in advance, $2 50, per annum. If not paid until the end of the Year $3 00. £J* Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates —and when the number of insertions do 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. 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 of ten o'clock in the Forenoon and three in the Af ternoon, at the Court House of the county in which the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must be given in a public gazette sixty days previous to the day of sale 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. O’All Letters directed to this Office or the Editor on business, must be post-paid, to in sure attention. ."I 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,