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THE bg^sibwsEj, Will be published every SATURDAY Morning, In the Brick Building , at the Corner of Cotton Avenue and First Street, IN THE CITV OF MACON, GA. BV WM. It. IIA IS It ISO Y. TE RM S : 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. (TJ* 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, gyAdvertiscrs by the Year will be contracted with upon the most favorable terms. [LpSales of Land by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are required by Law, to be held on thefirst Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten o’clock in the Forenoon and three in the Af ternoon, at the Court House of the county in which the Property is situate. Notice of these Sales must be given in a public gazette sixty day? previous to the day of sale. O’Sales of Negroes by Ad mini stators, 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. (HpNoticc for the sale of Personal Property must begivenin like manner forty days previous to the day of sale. iJj’Notice to the Debtors and Creditors olan Es tate must be published for forty days. iJ o r 11* r>. : From, the Literary American. THE VALIiEI. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE. This heart is sad and wearied—ay, even with hope, . And, yielding to destiny, ceascth to pray ; Thou vale of my childhood, thy green bosom ope, And give me a home for life's unlingering day! As I follow the pathway that winds through the glade, From the hill-side o’erhanging, thick shadowy trees Cast over my head a mantle of shade, And wrap me in silence, and fill mo with peace, Half hid by the verdure o’er-arching their way, Two streams thread the valley with serpent likc course, And mingling a moment, in murmuring play, Are lost and forgotton not far from their source. Thus flows forth the curjent of joys that depart, All noiseless, and nameless, nor knows a re turn ; llut not like their clear wave this sorrowing heart, Reflecting the rays of delight where they burn. Their fresh, dewy beds, in the valley's green breast, Enchain me all day the fair streamlets beside; Like an iufant lulled softly in song to its rest, Sly soul sinks to sleep by their murmuring tide. 'Tis here that encircled with rampart of green, With hounded horizon, sufficing mine eyes, I love, while sweet Nature smiles soft on the scene, To hear but the wave, to behold but the skies. i have seen too much, felt too milch, loved too much, far, I come to taste, of Lethe’s repose ; Henceforth to forget, is the boon I implore, Felicity only Oblivion bestows. My soul is in silence, my heart is at rest; The noise of the world dies away on mine car Like a sound far remote, by the distance sup pressed, Its jar and its turbulence reach me not here. Here life flits before me as seen thro’ aelould, Enwrapt in the gloom of the shadowy past ; All fading save love, which, in solitude proud Remains on the vision unchanged to the last. Repose now, my soul 1 in this refuge of fate, Like a voyager, who, with heart hoping hath come To his own native village, and stops at its gate, To breathe for a moment the air of his home. Like him we’ll shake off the dust from our feet, Forever like his shall our wandrings cease ; Like him, at the close of our journey we’ll meet That calm which precedes an endurance of peace. Like the days of the autumn thy perishing days, Likcdhadows that fall on the hill-side in gloom > E on l’ity forsakes thcc, and Friendship betrays, l Alone thou descendest the road to the tomb. | ®fdl smiling, still loving, fond Nature is there, a Ihenflec to her bosom, which opes to cm | brace; I hough tU e world be all changing,still nature is fair, sunny the gleam on her radiant face. Dot,irhing from all that would trouble thy rest, With light and with shade she thy pathway surrounds; Adore here the echo Pythagoras blest; Like him lend an car to these heavenly sounds! ° t *" ,u follow the day in his golden-winged fl 'ght, I he shadow on earth, and the wind through the sky ; ad, minglipg thyself in the star-ray of night, l( lc thro the still woods, and mount up ward on high ! <»od speaketh in Nature; He formed her all fair, iat loving her, wc might her author revere ! '"'oicc in |,cr silence goes forth on the air, ' has not listened, and felt lie was near ? THE SOUTHERN MUSEUM. BY \m B. HARRISON. On tile Perception of the Beautiful. BY MRS. L. 11. SIGOURNEY. In most parts of our country, the system of common school education, is exclusively confined to the imparting of necessary knowledge, or the regulating of the pal pable points of moral education. The latent emotions, and principles, receive but a slight share of attention. Still their due development is highly important; links as they are in the chain which binds social beings to each other, and man to his Ma ker. Among those, for which, perhaps the poorest provision is made, especially in our .primary schools, is the perception of the beautiful, both in the works of nature, and of art. This might be made an ad junct in softening the rude, and refining the susceptible. It is valuable, both as a source of individual happiness, and a fea ture of national character. In ancient Greece, the spirit of beauty, and of grace, wrapped even her peasantry in its mantle. Hence, she has stood forth amid the lapse of ages, and even beneath the yoke of op pression, as the teacher of mankind. But when the young children of this re public, are transferred far from the nurse ry to those buildings, whose structure, im perfect ventilation, and contracted limits furnish too strong an idea of a prison, the little spirits which are in love with free dom, and the fair face of nature, learn to connect the rudiments ofknoweledge with keen associations of task-work, discomfort, and thraldom. Through the whole of their daily durance, are pains taken to show them anything of which they can say “ how beautiful!” to exhibit ought which might kindle the smile of admiration, or refresh the half wakened, and easily wea ried intellect ? Still, the teacher, who like a skilful lapidary, biings forth the hidden vein of beauty, imbedded in the soul, aids in polishing a column, which may hereaf ter adorn the private abodes, or give sta bility to the public institutions of his na tive land. I hope the time is coming when every isolated, village school house, shall be as an attic temple, on whose exterior, the oc cupant may study the principles of sym metry and of grace. Why need the struc tures, where the young are initiated into those virtues which make life beautiful, be divorced from taste, or devoid of comfort 1 Why should they not he erected in fine airy situations, overshadowed with trees, and embellished with shrubbery 1 Why should not the velvet turf attached to them, bo bordered with hedges, divided by grav el-walks, tufted with flowers 1 Why should not the thick mantling vine, decorate the porch I —or the woodbine and convolvu lus look in at the window, touching the heart of the young learner, with a thought of Him, ‘ whose breath perfumes them, and whose pencil paints V Why should not the interior of our school houses, aim at somewhat of the taste and elegance of a parlor 1 Might not the vase of flowers, enrich the mantle piece ?—and the walls display not only well executed maps, but historical en gravings or pictures!—and the book shelves be crowned with the bust of mor alist or sage, orator or Father of his Coun try I Is it alleged that the expense thus incurred would be thrown away I the beautiful objects defaced I—and the fair scenery desecrated l —this is not a neces sary result. I have been informed by teachers, who had made the greatest ad vances towards the appropriate and ele gant accommodation of their pupils, that it was not so. They have said that it was easier to enforce habits -of neatness and order, among objects whose taste and val ue made them worthy of care, than amid that parsimony of apparatus, whose very painful meanness operates as a temptation to waste and to destroy. Let the communities now so anxious to raise the standard of education, venture the experiment of a move liberal adorn ment of the dwellings devoted to it. Let them put more faith in that respect for the beautiful, which really exists in the young heart, and requires only to be called forth and nurtured, to become an ally of virtue and a handmaid to religion. Knowledge has a more imposing effect on the young mind, when it stands, like the Apostle with the gifts of healing, at the “ beauti ful gate of the temple.” Memory looks back to it, more joyously, from the dis tant, or desolated tracks of life, for the bright scenery of its early path. Amid our ceaseless tides of emigration, the mother turns in spirit, from the broad prairie, or the dreary wild, to the beautiful school house, where her childhood was trained, and while she feeds her babes with the manna which was there gathered, tells them how lovely was the spot, where morning after morning,she found it among the flowers, “ after the dew had gone up, a small, round thing, like the coiiander seed, whose taste was as honey.” Yet where both the external and inter nal means of embellishment, are denied, or sparingly furnished, much maybe done, to remedy this deficcncy, by the ingenious and philanthropic instuctor. He can cul tivate the perception of the beautiful a mong the works of nature. This branch of education, it would seem, might recom mend itself even to the utilitarian spirit of the times, from the cheapness with which it may be taught. It requires neither ex pensive books, nor deep scientific research. The moans of studying it, arc revealed at every footstep, and varied through every season. From the young vernal grass, to the pure fertilising stream, the tasseled corn, the grain ripening for the sickle, the wing of the bird, which like living sap phire or ruby, glances through the dark forest, the teacher may weave a pleasing and profitable lecture for his attentive au ditors. How readily may he collect a sim ple apparatus for his school room ; the crysta I ,the tinted shell,the branching coral, the wild flower which submitted to the action of a tiny microscope might fill with a spirit of admiration, not unallied to piety, the brief intervals of study. Thus the pinion of the butterfly, the armour of the beetle, or the lamp of the glow worm, may furnish a lesson to the rudest boy, of kindness to the inferior creation, and won dering love of Him, who has clothed it in such mysterious beauty. Such precepts have a peculiarly happy influence, when mingled with the celements of the mascu line character, they soften and refine, at a period of life, when they are often most needed. Availing himself of the liberality of na ture, the teacher will find great pleasure, in directing the eye of his pupils to a vol ume always full and always open. If the works of art are not accessible, he can point them to a picture-gallery, which is never shut, and which the poorest have a right to enter. Where is there another, whose artists are so numerous, so perfect ? Every rising and setting sun, deposites there such a picture, as the virtuoso in his cabinet, the king in his palace, cannot boast. Summer, with gorgeous landscapes; Autumn,with those mellow tintings,which the pensive beholder loves ; even hoary Winter hangs up the tracery of his colder pencil, the snow clad hillock, and the glas sy lake, covered with sportive children. Shall not those whom we lead by the hand for a little while, and profess to educate, be taught to admire this all prevailing spirit of beauty which “ Glows in the stars,and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends thro’ all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent ?” Do any reply that the perception of the beautiful, is but a luxurious sensation, arid may be dispensed with, in those systems of education, which this age of utility estab lishes 1 But is not its culture the more demanded, to throw a healthful leaven, in to the mass of society, and to serve as some counterpoise for that love of accumulation which pervades every rank, intrudes into every recess, and spreads even in conse crated places, the “ tables of the mouey changers and the seats of such as sell doves.” In ancient times, the appreciation of whatever was beautiful, in the frame of nature, was accounted salutary, by philoso phers and sages. Galen says, “he who has two cakes of bread, let him sell one, and buy some flowers; for bread is food for the body, but flowers arc food for the soul." “ I think the pure passion for flowers” said Mrs. Hemans, when near the close of life, “ is the only one, which long sickness leavesuntouched with itschillinginfluence. Often during this weary illness of mine, have 1 looked upon new books with per fect apathy, but, if a friend has sent me a few flowers my heart has leaped up to their dreamy hues and odours, with a sudden sense of renovated childhood, which seems to me, one of the mysteries of our being.” Nature, studied through her own beau ties, not only humanizes and delights, while that study is pursued, but extends an influence to the remoter periods of life. A true love of nature acquired in child hood, is like a sunbeam over the clouded parts of existence, and often grows more vivid with the lapse of years. I have seen it in the chamber of mortal sickness, allaying the pangs of anguish, by the magic of a fresh flower laid upon the pillow, by the song of the nestling bird, by the waving of the green branches at the open window ; I have seen it mingling even with delirium, and the fever dream, soomthing images of the cherished garden, the violet covered bank, the falling waters, or the favorite grove, where childhood had played, or youth wandered. I have seen it brightening the almost sightless eye of the aged man, from whose side those who began the race of life with him, had fallen, one by one. Yet he fin ished not his journey alone, for he made a living friend, of every unfolding plant, of every growing tree, of every new leaf on the trelised vine, that shadowed his sum mer seat; and in the majestic storm, walk ing forth at midnight, he heard the voice of that Almighty Farther, to whose home he was so near. “ O Unseen Spirit of Creation,” says an expressive writer, “ watching over all things, the desert and the rock, no less than the fresh water, bounding on, like a hunter, on his path, when his heart is in his step, or the valley girded by the glad woods and living with the yellow corn, to me though sad and baffled, thou has min istered, as to the happiest of thy children. Thou gavest me a music, sweeter than that of palaces, in the mountain wind; thou badest the flowers, and the common grass, smile up to me, as children in the face of their father.” If the perception of the beautiful, may be made conductive to present improve ment, and the future happiness, if it has a tendency to refine and sublimate the char acter, ought it not to receive culture throughout the whole process of cduca- MACON, APRIL 28, 1849. tion ? It takes root most naturally and deeply in the simple and loving heart, and is therefore peculiarly fitted to the early years ot life, when to borrow the language ot a German writer, “ every sweet sound takes a sweet ordour by the hand, and walks in through the open door of the child’s heart.” Why has a Being of perfect wisdom, implanted within us a strong perception of the beautiful, and spread the means of its sustenance with an unsparing hand throughout his Universe I Why, from the depths of ocean, where the pearl sleeps, and the coral effloresces, to the fixed star on its burning throne, in the far, blue vault of heaven, has he shed abroad that beauty which speaks of Ilim ? That we should walk with our eyes shut, through these ever changing scenes of loveliness and glory ?—or that we should neglectto teach our children through “ the things that are seen,” the power and goodness of their invisible untiring Benefactor ? “ All how can we renounce the boundless store Os charms which Nature to her votary yields ? The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The poinp of groves, and garniture of fields, AH that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all the echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain sheltering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of heaven, Ah! how can wc renounce,and hope to be forgiven? “ IP WE ONLY HID A PIANO. ** BV MRS. HELEN C. KNIGHT. ” This is pleasant,” exclaimed the young husband, taking his seat cosily in the rock ing-chair, as the tea-things were removed. The fire glowed in the grate, revealing a prettily and neatly furnished sitting-room, with all the appliances of comfort. The fatiguing business of day was over, and he sat enjoying, what he had all day been an ticipating, the delights of his fireside. His pretty wife Esther took her work, and sat down by the table. “ It is pleasant to have a home of one’s own,” he said, again taking a satisfactory survey of his snug little quarters. The cold rain beat against the windows, and he felt really grateful for all his present en joyments. ‘‘Now, if we only had a piano!” said the wife. “ Give me the music of your sweet voice before all the pianos in creation,” he de clared, complimentarily, despite a certain secret disappointment that his wifes thank fulness did not happily chime with his own. “ Well, hut we want one for our friends,’ said Esther. “ Let our friends come and see us, and not to hear a piano !” exclaimed the hus band. “ But, George, everybody has a piano, now-a-days; we don’t go anywhere with out seeing a piano,” persisted the wife. “ And yet 1 don’t know what we want one for ; you will have no time to play on one, and I don’t like to hear it.” “ Why, they are so fashionable—l think our room looks really naked without one.” “ I think it looks just right.” “ I think it looks very naked—we want a piano shockingly,” protested Esther, em phatically. The husband rocked violently. “ \ our lamp smokes, my dear,” he said, after a long pause. “ When are you going to get a solar lamp ? I have told you a dozen times how much we need one,” said Esther, pettishly. “ Those will do.” “ But you know, everybody, now-a-days, wants solar lamps. “ Those lamps are the prettiest of the kind I ever saw; they xvere bought at Boston.” “ But, George, I do not think our room is complete without a solar lamp,” said the wife, sharply—they are so fashionable : why, the D s, C s, and A s, all have them. lam sure we ought to.” “We ought to, if we take pattern by other people’s expenses, and I don’t see any reason for that.” The husband moved uneasily in his chair. “We want to live within our means, Esther,” exclaimed George. “ I am sure I should think we could af ford it as well as the B sand L s, and many others we might mention ; we do not wish to appear mean.” George’s cheek crimsoned. “ Mean !—I am not mean !” he cried, angrily. “ Then you do not wish to appear so,” said the wife. “To complete this room, and make it like others, we want a piano and a solar lamp.” “ Wc want —we want!”—muttered the husband ; “ there is no satisfying woman’s wants, do what you may !” and ho abrupt ly left the room. How many husbands are in a similar dilemma! How many homes and hus bands are rendered uncomfortable by the constant dissatisfaction of a wife with pre sent comforts and present provisions! How many bright prospects for business have ended in bankruptcy and ruin, in or der to satisfy this secret hankering after fashionable necessaries ! If the real cause of many a failure could be made known, it would be found to result from useless expenditure at home—expenses to answer the demands of fashion and “ what will people say of us V’ “ My wife has made my fortune,’! said a gentleman of great possessions, “ by her thrift, prudence, and cheerfulness, when 1 was just beginning.” VOLUME 1-SUMBER 22. “ And mine has lost my fortune,” an swered his companion, bitterly, “ by use less extravagance, and repining when 1 was doing well.” What a world this open of the influence xfhieh a wife posses ses over the future prosperity of her fami ly ! Let the wife know her influence, and try to use it wisely and well. Be satisfied to commence small. It is too common for young house keepers to begin where their mothers ended. Buy all that is necessary to work skillfully with; adorn your house with all that will render it comfortable. Do not look at richer homes, and covet their costly furniture. If secret dissatisfaction is ready to spring up, go a step further, and visit the homes of the poor and suffering: behold dark, cheeriest apartments, insufficient clothing, an absence of the comforts and refresh ments of social life, then return to your own with a joyful spirit. You will then he prepared to meet your husband with a grateful heart, and be ready to appreciate that toil and self-denial which he has endur ed in his business world to surround you with all the delights of home; then you will be ready to co-operate cheerfully with him in so arranging your expenses, that his mind will not he constantly harrassed with fears lest family expenditures may encroach upon public payments. Be independent. A young housekeep er never needed greater moral courage than she does to resist that arrogance of fashion. Do not let the A sand B s decide what you must have, neith er let ihem hold the strings of your purse. You know best what you can and ought to afford; then decide with strict integrity according to your means. Let not the censures or approval of the world ever tempt you to buy what you hardly think you can afford. It matters little what they think, provided you are true to yourself and family. Thus pursuing an independent, straight forward, consistent course of action, there will spring up peace and joy all around you. Satisfied and happy yourself, you will make your husband so, and your chil dren will feel the warm and sunny influ ence. Happy at home, your husband can go out into the world with a clear head and self-relying spirit; domestic bickering will not sour his heart, and he will return to you again with a confiding and unceas ing love. Depend upon it, beauty, grace, wit, accomplishments, have far less to do with faimly comfort, than prudence, econ omy, and good sense. A husband may get tired of admiring, but never with u comfortable consciousness that his receipts exceed his demands. Anecdote of Mr. Astor. —“ Do you ever trust, Mr. Astor 1” inquired Mr. K. “ I do not trust strangers, sir,” was, the reply , “ unless they furnish satisfactory city reference.” “Then,” quoth Mr. K., ‘‘the skins I have selected must suffice for this time,” and paying for the same he departed. In the afternoon of he same day, just before the sailing of the New Bedford pac ket, the young trader returned for his lot of furs. Throwing the whole pack, on his back, he left the store, but had not gone a dozen yards, when Mr. A. call ed his name, bidding him come back. “ Sir,” said Mr. A., “ you may have credit for any amount of goods you re quire, provided they are to be found in my store.” “ But,” stammerd Mr. Iv., “ but my dear sir, I can give you no city references 1 am a stranger here.” “ I ask no other recommendation,” res ponded the rich merchant, “ than that al ready furnished by yourself. The tnan who is not above his business need never hesitate to apply to John Jacob Astor for credit.” Thus commenced a trade between two merchants which was continued to the mutual satisfaction and advantage of both for a long term of years. Help one Another. —lt is said that as the E mperor Augustus was passing through the baths at Rome on one occasion, he saw a veteran, who had fought with him, rub bing himself after bathing, against one of the columns. The emperor inquired why he had not a b boy to do this ? And beitig told that he was poor, ordered him the means of paying one. On his next visit he saw at every column an old man rub bing himself, and on making the same in quiry he received the same reply. His rejoinder, however, was not what they ex pected ; for he said, “ Well, gentlemen, as there are so many of you, I should ad vise you to rub one another.” Augustus here taught them sound wisdom ; he taught them not to depend on the caprice of a patron, but to help one another. What She Said. —“ Cousin William,” said a merry, mischievous young girl, ‘ what do you think I heard a pretty lass say of you ?” “ I dont’t know—srmething good, I hope. Who was it, coz 1” “ Sha’n’t tell! but it’s the truth—a very pretty girls did say something about you.” “ Well, tell me what it was.” “ I slia’nt—unless you will give me the annual that you bought.” “ Well, agreed—you shall have it—now tell me.” “ Well, now—don’t blush so—she said you were the ugliest looking man, she ever laid eyes on /” BOOKANDJOB PRINTING, Will be executed in the most approved style and on the best terms, at the Office of the SCTJTHEPwN MTJSSTJM, -BY— WM. B. HARRISON. From a Wisconsin Paper. t An Incident in Real Lift, A gentleman has furnished us with the following interesting narrative of one of those real struggles of the young, to assi.-t their parents, which sparkle like diamonds alpn'g the pathway of human life. In traits like these, there is a moral heroism mani fested, which marks the pure gold of hu man character:— “ Business caTlefl me to the United States Land Office—while there awaiting the completion of my business, a lad, ap parently about 16 or 17 years old, came, in, and presented to the Receiver a Cfertb ficate of purchase for 40 acres of land. 1 was struck with the countenance and gen eral appearance ofthe lad, and inquired of him for whom he was purchasing the land ; the reply was, ‘ for myself, sir.’ I then inquired where he got money; he answered ‘ I earned it by my labor.’ Then said I, ‘ you richly deserve the land.’ I then in quired, 1 where did you come from 1 ?’ ‘New York,’ said he. Feeling an increased de sire to know comething more of this lad, I asked him whether he had parents, and where they lived ; on this question he took a seat, and gave me the following narra tive : “ 1 am from New York Stat6—have there living a father, mother and five brothers and sisters—l am the oldest eftild. Father is a drinking man, and often would return home from his day’s work drunk,- and not a cent in his pocket to buy food for the family, having spent all his day’s earnings in liquor with his drinking com panions. The family had to depend cheifty on mother and myself for bread ; this dis tressed mother very much, and had a pow erful effect on my feelings. Finding fa ther would not abstain from liquor, I re solved to make an effort in some way to relieve mother, sister and brothers from want. After revolving things over in my mind, and consulting mother, I got all the information I could about the Far West, and started from home for Wisconsin with three dollars in my pocket. I left home on foot; after spending my three dollars, I worked occasionally a day, and renewd my travel so long as money lasted. By labor occasionally, and the charitable treat ment I got on the road, 1 landed in Wis consin. Here I got an axe, set to work and cleared land by the job—earned mon ey, saved it till I gathered SSO, which money I now pay for this 40 acres of land.’ ‘ Well, my good lad,’ for by this time I became much interested in his history, ‘ what are you now going to do with the land?’ ‘ Why, sir, I will continue to work and earn money, and, when I have spare time perpared, will write to father and mother, brothers and sisters, to come to Wisconsin and enjoy this home. This land now bought by me, I design for my moth er, which will secure her from want in her declining years.’— ‘ What,’ said I, ‘ will you do with your father if he continues to drink ardent spirits to excess V ‘ Oh, sir, when we get him on the farm he will feel at home, will work at home, keep no li quor in the house, and in a short time he will be a sober man.’ I then replied, ‘ young man, these being your principles so young, I reccommendcd you to improve on them, and the blessing of God will be attend you. I shall not be surprised to hear of your advancement to the highest post of honor in the State. With such principlec as you have, you are deserv ing of the noblest commendation.’ By this time the Receiver handed him his duplicate receipt for his forty acres of land. Rising from his seat on leaving the office, he said, *At last 1 have a home for my Mother." A Mistake—“ It is all very true, Mr. Knickerbottom,” said Mrs. Partington, as she read in the last Knickerbocker some thing concerning brevity and simplicity of expression : “ it’s true as you say ; and how many mistakes does happen when folks don’t understand each other ! why, last summer I told a dress-maker to make me a long visite, to wear, and would you believe it she came and staid a fortnight with me I Since then I've made it a pint l always to speak just what I say.” Her mouth grew down to a determined pucker at the end of the sentence, and the snuff box was tapped energetically,, as if the fortnight of unrequited bread and butter was laying heavy on her memory. How to Do It. —A gentleman, being forced to sell a pair of his oxen to pay his servant his wages, told his servant be could keep him no longer, not knowing how to pay him the next year. The servant ans wered him, he would serve him for more of his cattle. “ But what shall I do,” said the master, “ when all my cattle are gone 1” The servant replied, “ You shall then serve me, and so you will get your cattle again.” What do you drive such a pitiful looking carcass as that for ? Why don’t you put a good heavy coat of flesh on-him V asked John Van Buren of an Irish carman, about his horse. “ A heavy coat of flesh 1 ma vourneen ! Be all the blessed powers, now when the poor creatuie can scarce ly carry the little flesh there is on, him already !” three most difficult things are. to keep a secret —to forget an injury—and to make good use of leisure time.