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Southern miscellany. (Madison, Ga.) 1842-1849, May 14, 1842, Image 1

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— - SI iFatuilg to mterature, tnr arts, Science, agriculture, J&cclawCcs*, Emu cation, jforetuu airtr Homestic lutrUifirucr, Rumour, tct. VOLUME i. IF>©!EYKIf O MEMORY. t. When backward, through departed years On memory's wing we stray, How oft we find but founts of tears Along the wasted way ! The heart will vainly seek the light That rested there before, And sadly turn to mourn the blight Os all it loved of yore ! it. We watch for footsteps that have come To breathe the twilight vow, We listen—for the silver tone Os voices—silent now ! We gate on old familiar things, And marvel that they bear No gladness to our spirit’s wings Like what of old was there ! Even thus, when through departed years, On memory's wing we stray. We find, alasl but founts of tears Along the wasted way, it—— esmmewM rarn—na—a——i mmELL&m* From the Orion. TALLULAH. BY MISS M. E. MORAGNE. “Come on, Sir, here’s the place ; stand still: How fearful and dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eves so low !” As tlie pilgrim of nature is journeying on to the great temple of Niagara, the hoarse thunderings of its \vaters are around his path, training his mind to the high and un-„ earthly spirit of its devotion, and nerving his soul to meet the Shekinah of its pre sence ; but the visitor at Tallulah receives no premonition of his approach to grandeur. Whilst he is walking along on common ground, expecting, momently, either to. be stunned by the loud roaring of a cataract, or to hear the soft chiming of harmonious rills —he finds himself suddenly on the verge •of a tremendous precipice, and starts back •aghast at this mysterious and terrific open ing in the bosom of nature. There he be holds ■“ From the drend chasm woods climbing above woods In pomp that fades not — buthis eye is impelled with a dreadful fas-; cination to the little stream far, far below, which gambols through those solemn depths in the strange and noiseless motion of a dream. Lost in the oblivious space of ten thou sand feet, no sound comes up to warn the observer from the precipice ; but he rushes on in curious impulse, till turning the point of a rock, he stands on a little span of earth, and looks down upon a scene of seductive beauty which scarcely, unless he has been a poet and drank deeply of the well of Heli con, has arisen to bless his dreams. There, Terrora, in its silvery meanderings, half en circles a little point of land, which lies in its embrace like a fairy-isle, presenting a panoramic view of a Lilliputian forest in its richest array of “ arching bough and •dark green leaf.” In the back ground the ! -opposite wall of the chasm rises in abrupt cliffs of granite, which peep out beautifully from the pensile branches of the spruce firs that climb up the crags, and seem to emu late their ambition to meet the skies. On the right, as the opening forms an angle and turns away—losipg itself in immensity, a huge gray rock raises its solid fabric with a gentle inclination of more than a thousand feet, wearing on its bosom mosses of the most brilliant and varied hues. Distance has clad the scene in the softness of enchant ment, and its wild irregularities rest in a dreamy voluptuousness, which not even a ! bird is known to disturb. Could we yield i to the delusions of the “ olden times,” what i pretty theories might wo bet e suggest of wizard-spells, or the fairy influences of elf and sprite, those spirits that live in the earth •and air, or “ play i’ the plighted clouds.” There are rings on the moss-green stones— pearl-drops on the boughs, and high on the rocks, where mortal could not reach, hang feathery wreu’ihs, all of which we might ex plain as ‘ t ’ne phenomena of nature; but how easily could a Spenser, or any other ‘ Mid summer Night’ dreamer, prove them to be the work of ‘ moonlight revelsor with what grace declare that the little stream of Terrora, which moves and makes no noise in its rocky palace, had been caught in its inflexions, and laid asleep by magic ! Na ture reposes, but like the repose of the ’Glen-Almain, where Ossian sleeps : “ It is not quiet, is not ease, But something deeper far than these”— that reaches up into the vast solitude, and •enters the heart of the beholder, making •him—though breathing the air of the * spic ed mountain top,’ gasp for breath as if un •der the effect of suffocation. What mystery there is in. silence ! The babbling brook tells its own history. The ease ad e musically chimes its own praises, and the thunders of the cataract are not to he misunderstood ; but thou, dreamlike and voiceless Tallulah 1 no sound is heard to sa tisfy the perplexed soul of thy actual exis tence. Silent and shadowy as the forms that flit over the conjuror’s mirror—like them thou art momently expected to fade away ! How and whence earnest thou ! % Didst thou burst at once into finished beau ty by supreme volition, or hast thou gather ed up th e added glories of six thousand years, thou * green old age’ of nature 7 What art thou 7 the being of convulsion 7 a °m in storms and fostered by commotion, eould nature from the cboas of her elements bring out a thing so fair 7 Or, rather, wert SJF|| ma© oesgp w U & JUi <ES& J3V JUL Ji Hi 1# jH> JU AJH nr a thou left as a witness of His skill who tried his hand in beauty and pronounced it ‘ good 7’ But, wherefore, vision of loveli ness ! wherefore art thou there 7 To teach men lowliness 7 Pride cannot soar over so dread a gulph. Ambition, though Cariute like, is lost in thee : and tnan, whate’er he may be in ‘court, camp, grove,’ here be comes the pigmy of creation. Yet thou hast other things to teach than these : high thoughts to rouse in the immortal spirit— hopes, fancies, wishes, all that glorious tribe of spiritual imaginings, “ which take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium.” Who sports with a forked lightning, or laughs at the darkened grandeur of the storm 7 He only car. jest with the purity of Tallulah ! The intellectual soul here ap proaches nigh to its God, and in that sensi ble communion the sensual being loses it self in aspirations for an immortal existence. Eternity, eternity alone can satisfy its thirst. As he looks down upon the dreamy picture, the mind extends its grasp, only to return, like the eagle that is chained to the rock, and fret itself in the limits of its mortal coil ; but thought is whispering of that time ;?hen it shall take its immaterial flight, and dip its wing in the Arcana of unrevealed knowledge. Nothing could be contrived more exqui sitely tormenting than the beauties of Tal lulah. It is not the grand and magnificent picture, taken at a coup-d’ajil, and satisfying the soul after a long and earnest survey ; but I it is a book of prints, every leaf unfolding a page more charming than the formei f : or it may be expressed— “ by many a winding ’bout Os linked sweetness long drawn out 1” The first, which, though possessing the in tangible foims of fairy land, has been faint ly shadowed forth in this description, is the ‘ Island,’ which may be designated the vig nette of the work, as there are gathered types or representations of what the others shall present ; and seemed designed, by its exquisite finish and superior beauty, to strike the beholder with an exalted sense of the splendor which is to follow. It is here that the veil of silence is spread so voluptuous ly over river, rock and wood, and still throws its soft drapery over the gorgeous tints of the cloven mountain, till it fades away into the blue ether of the sky, shrouding beau ties yet unseen save by the eye of Heaven ! The effect of this excess of beauty is ab solutely painful till the imagination is suffi-, ciently dilated for its reception ; and I have seen some turn away with almost childish , pleasure, to a little side-scene of gentler and'l more familiar aspect, wlferea tiny stream straggling through a cleft of the mountain, creeps softly along the side of the stupeti dous rock before mentioned, and lets itself down into the chasm with a suppressed tinkling. Poets have talked very prettily of the charms of solitude, “To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,” and ‘ all alone ;’ but it must be where sound has supplied the place of thought. I could steep my senses in the roar of a cataract, or I could listen forgetfully to the swelling murmurs of the sea ; but surely if “To know that the friend of our bosom is near,” is sweet at any time, it is doubly so at Tallu lah, when the awful stillness of the place presses on the spirit with such an accumu lated weight of sublimity. Give me then a band of friends. Not the thoughtless gay nor the stupidly phlegmatic ; but the min ute philosopher—him who can detect the slightest shade of coloring in a leaf, the pensively contemplative, the mild enthusiast, the Christian moralist. With such I could feel— “ How sweet it is when Mother Fancy rocks The wayward brain, lo saunter through a wood, An old place full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbors, and ground-flowers in flocks, And wild-rose tiptoe upon hawthorn stocks !” With such I would wish to wander up the cliff-side of Terrora, and descend to the rocky front of the ‘ Pulpit,’ for then I should think that human sympathy relieved, by sharing my emotion. Here, however, the grotesque mingles with the beautiful, and the overcharged heart, though appalled by additional grandeur, feels sensibly the re lief from too much splendor. The rocky! ramparts lift their craggy sides higher, more j abrupt, and clothed in thinner vesture ; but the vale below displays all the beauty of en chantment. From behind a cluster of fairy | trees, the lowest of the falls comes rushing ‘ down in a sparkling cascade of uncertain height, fritting itself against the base of the i perpendicular tower of rock, which is here! amber-colored and decked with creeping plants, forming, especially when the arc of the prism floats upon its Surface, what I have imagined to be an embodiment of the geni us of Tivoli or Terni, dr any other such ‘spirit of the waters.’ From this picture we turn away with Hint sorrowful feeling of inability to carry about us the definite impressions of what lias so much pleased us. It is like the soul of man which no pencil is adequate to portray, and we feel that these things “ are of the sky ; And from our earthly memory fade away.” But there are the Falls, glistening away a mong the trees of the dell, “ Like Hope presenting some far distant good”— 1 the bower of our wishes. Yet as we wind along the narrow path-way, which following the precipice here makes a circular bend, we cannot choose but stop to admire the stern beauty of the ‘ Eagle’s nest,’ raising its front so majestically bold and bare. A PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY C. R. HANLEITER, AT TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY 14, 1842. i few feet from the top of this pinnacle is a I square window or entrance, where the eagle might have fed her young in days of yore, but the only human access to it is by means of shelving steps from above, slippery with the gray tassels of the pine. Savjng these, the descent is petpendicular a thousand feet, and would seem to mock at adventure, yet the feat was once attempted by a gentle man, whose daring spirit, afterwards led him to offer up his life with the heroes of San Jacinto. Above the gray parapet of this elevated tower, the blue sky may be caught at inter vals through some skeleton pines, giving but shadowy notions of the world which ap pears thus cut off from us. It is the very spot to sit down and imagine deeds of ‘high emprise,’ indeed the very Alma-mater of the marvellous. “A little farther lend thy guiding hand To these rough steps—a little farther on.” Such will he the ejaculation of all who, ris ing over the mountain ledge, prepare to descend some hundred feet to the top of the Falls. ‘ The roar of waters !’ Now how sweetly and gratefully cornea up the sound, muffled as it is below there, into the softest bass of an organ-choir. The spell of the Syren is on us, and in a few minutes we find ourselves within a few feet of the spot where the collected waters of the basin Strike on the rim of the rock and are dash ed into fragments ; then bounding upward it- glittering, delicious exultation, fall(over— a graceful shower of diamond drops. Farth er we know not, for there is enough of climb ing toil, and ‘ slippery peril,’ to forbear the winding descent, even at the certain loss of seeing the boiling ‘ Phlethegon’ below. But it is delightful to sit here wim eyes bound to the leap of the wave-worn precipice ! Forgetting all its adjuncts of terror and magnificence, with the compound emotions which they have produced, we may 4 think down hours to moments,’ in the contempla tion of this unique beauty, so simple, pure and splendid ! Guarded here froni the eye of the world, in a fastness almost impregnable, how hal lowed it seems ! Yet fate has woven into the golden chain of its association, one dark thread of earthly remembrance ! As we look down into the basin of green water, collected in its rocky chalice, we think of thee, poor Hawthorne ! and wonder what were the emotions of thy soul, as thou sank est to rise no more beneath that deceitful calm. That was a strange destiny, child of the North ! which brought thee here, an offering to the genius of this wotld. Yet it is not unblest, for thy memory is laid up in archives of ever-during fame, and whilst there are worshippers at that shrine of beau ty, there will be tears to weep for thee ! It may be too Some wandering bard who knew and loved thee well, Pome minstrel Irom thy Scandinavian halls, Shall come to make a brother’s wail for thee Then as the echoes of his Harp are raised, Rolling it3 numbers down the stream of Time— Its sad lament shall fill the deathless song To thee, and 10 Taixulah 1 SATURDAY NIGHT. How many association sweet and hallow ed crowd around that short sentence “ Sa turday night.” It is indeed but the prelude to more holy, more heavenly associations, which the tired fratrie and thankful soul hails with new and renewed joy at each suc ceeding return. ’Tis then the din of busy life ceases—that cares and anxieties are forgotten—that the worn out frame seeks its needed repose, and the mind its relaxations from earth and its concerns—with joy looking to the coming day of rest, so wisely and beneficially set apart for man’s peace and happiness by the great Creator. * The tired laborer seeks now his own neat cottage, to which he has been a stranger j perhaps, the past week, where a loving wife ! and smiling children meet him with smiles and caresses. Here he realizes the bliss of hard earned comforts ; and at this time, per haps, more than any other, the happiness of domestic life and attendant blessings. Released from the distracting cares of the week, the professional man gladly beholds the return of “ Saturday night,” and as glad ly seeks in the clustering vines nourished by his parental care, the reality of those joys ! which are only his to know at these peculiar ! seasons and under these congenial circum stances —so faithfully evinced by this peri odical achme of enjoyment and repose. The lone widow, too, who has toiled on day after day to support her little charge— how gratefully does she resign her cares at i the return of “Saturday night,” and thank her God for these kind resting places in the way of life by which she is encouraged from week to week to hold on her way. But on whose ear does the sound of “ Sa turday night” strike more pleasantly than i the devoted Christian 7 He looks up amid the blessings showered upon him and thanks : God with humble reverence for their con ; tinuance; His waiting soul looks forward ’ to that morn when sweetly smiling, the great Redeemer burst death’s portals and completed man’s redemption. His willing soul expands a.t the thought of waiting on God in the Sanctuary on the coming day ; and gladly forgets the narrow bounds of time and its concerns, save spiritual—that he may feast on joys ever new, ever heauti i ful, ever glorious, ever sufficient to satiate the joy-fraught soul that rightly seeks its aid. David Hume declared he would rather , possess a cheerful disposition, inclined al i ways to look on the bright side, than, with a ; i gloomy mind, be master of an estate of ten . thousand a-year. THE GOLD WATCH. ‘ Father, ? said Cornelia Woodley, one night at tea, ‘Rachael Ashley has goto gold watch.’ ‘ Well; what inference do you draw from that fact V * Why, the very natural one, that I ought to be equally well provided for!’ ‘ Exactly so. But what shall we do with your cousin Emily 7 Surely she ought to have a watch also. It would not look well for you to sport one and she destitute.’ Cornelia looked disconcerted, hut her cousin Emily Layton, a retired and amiable girl, interposed and begged that Cornelia might be gratified without regard to herself. ‘Well,’ continued Mr. “Woodley, ‘how shall we manage this affair 7 I am ill able to purchase one watch, without doing injus tice to my creditors.’ Tears were the only response of Corne lia. The night passed gloomy away, but ere the family retired to repose, Emily and her uncle had an interesting conference. The following evening there was to be a grand patty to which Cornelia and Emily were in vited. The gay and fashionable were there, but Cornelia, neither saw or thought of hut one. Thaddeus Lacy was her ‘bright and particular star’ and well worthy was he of his preference. It was to attract his atten tion that the gold watch was wanted. It was for his eye that Cornelia displayed all her charms. The next day found Thaddeus a visitor of Mr. Woodley’s. Cornelia exulted in the conquest. Every day found him whom she was proud to have conquered, a guest at her father’s. Attention, so particu lar, demanded an explanation of its object. It was made, most unexpectedly to some concerned, if not all, by a declaration of love to the unpretending Emily Layton in stead of the expecting Cornelia Woodley ! A scene followed, readily imagined by the reader. The worst. being known, a few weeks served to blunt the edge of disap pointment sufficiently to make the annuncia tion of the wedding day less hazardous than might have been expected from the first outpourings of Miss Woodley’s grief. The day came that was to convert Miss Layton to Mrs. Lacey% when lo and # behold she wore the identical watch that her cousin had ex hibited at the party. Was it a present? Far from it. It was the gift of a departed mother to Emily, but her straightened cir cumstances had prevented her fromever ex hibiting it in public. She had pressed it on her kind uncle knowing his inability to grati fy her cousin without seriously incommod ing himself. This act of generosity had been communicate! to Cornelia, who, though deeply chagrined it first, finally insisted on restoring the watch to the owner. This she did with much grace, declaring to her cou sin that she had learned that however de sirable a gold watih might be, it required something else to lead captive an intelligent and worthy man. That in future she should endeavor to deserve respect, rather by an amiable and correct deportment, than by the glitter of a gold time keeper, and even that borrowed ! The pledge wa3 redeemed. The vanity of Cornelia departed, and long before she approached a certain age, she was worthily and happily married. She often reverts to her young days, but never without marvel ling at the folly that induced the hope of catching an admired and sensible man by the pompous display of a gold watch. If there are any who read this, troubled with the watch fever, it is hoped they will so profit by the relation, as not to imagine that external decorations can complete suc cessfully with the gems that encircle a well cultivated mind. These will ever bear a way the palm with discreet and sensible men, and it should be a source of high*con sideration to the comparatively poor, to re flect that these embellishments of the mind are within their reach although the tinsel or naments of the body may greatly transcend their limited means. Let all such remem ber the ‘ gold watch,’ and strive to deserve the good fortune of Emily Layton. LIFE. The object of life is not life merely. Were this the case, the baker and the butcher would he always the most important per sons in the community. It is net the future, for every state has its own conditions. It is not the present, for that would leave us im provident and like the brute, having no care for the morrow. Nor is it the past, for no man looks behind him as he walks forward. Life is it condition of equal preparation end performance. That it is a condition of pre paration proves the immortality of the soul —that it is a condition of performance proves that the business of immortality is begun. Our exultation in success is legiti mate, because our present performances are in obedience to present laws—our hope is the prescience of that yearning which looks naturally with doubt, desire and apprehen sion to those future laws which are yet to operate upon us. Lifeis an ordeal, in which our powers of endurance, end our capaci ties of achievement are to be tested, in or der that our future rank may be determined. True religion which regards it in this light, does not task us, so to regard our possible future, as to make us heedless and indiffer ent to the positive present. The desire of martyrdom is mere insanity. It is the heed ful, and first performance of present duties, and humble adherence to present laws which can alone fit us certainly and beneficially for the condition which is to come. What does the present file—the absolute day on which we entered—require at <>ur hands 7 Ascer tain that, and do it, and all the rest is easy.. The future is the unborn child of the pre sent, whose mother was the post 1 THE AFFECTIONS. The very first lesson which you should teach your child, should be the just value of your affections, since it is through their me dium, chiefly, that you can hope properly to influence his obedience ; and, without se curing his obedience, it is idle to expect that you can train him properly in his way of life. You are to teach hint this lesson, by a care ful discrimination between right and wrong, in your consideration of his conduct. You are to permit no misconduct, however tri fling in itself, to pass without due notice : it must be promptly checked to be effectually conquered. Error is like that Genius in the Arabian Tale, who, though his bulk, when unconfined, reached from Earth to Heaven, could yet squeeze himself into the compass of a quart pot. It is surprising from what small beginnings most monsters) grow. The first lesson which the boy learns from this observant discrimination is the value which you yourself set upon your af fections. He soon sees that they are and for a certain consideration. You have noth ing valuable—only to be acquired upon cer tain terms, to do but-to prescribe the terms; to declare the conditions. You may make yoar affections cheap or dear, at your own pleasure. If too cheap, he will not value them—if too dear, he will despair of pro curing them. The true principle by which* to determine the conditions for securing them, is the simple one of always doing jus tice. If he deserves praise, praise him ;if he merits blame, do not withhold it. In neither case be immoderate, for a boy sel dom deserves any great degree either of praise or blame. The terms of your favor you are to unfold to him, not by set lessons, hut by your habitual conduct; and he will find it easy to comply with reasonable con ditions in order to secure those affections, which, moved as they are by inflexible jus tice, he will soon discern are beyond all price. This principle is one of the most obvious of every-day experience. We see it in “the public thoroughfare, at all hours at every turning. Affections are moral rewards —they are to be given, like money, very sparingly, and not ’till you have carefully in quired whether they he due or not. They are to he given to justice not to partiality. The ill-advised and lavish affection of the parent, like indiscriminate charity in the high-ways, soon makes the receiver waste ful. GENTILITY. True gentility has been said to consist in good sense, under the direction of good feel ing, and perhaps a better definition could not have been found, although it may ap pear to some too general in its character. It is much more easy to tell what gentility is nnt, than what it is. In the opinion of some, it consists in being fashionably dressed, but if such were the case, every idle coxcomb would be termed a gentleman, an applica tion of the name clearly at variance with all experience and correct observation. Others would have us to believe that gentility is made of holiday phrases, newly cut and dried and softly lisped forth by bipeds wear ing white kid gloves, queerly cut coats, stain ed mustachios and soap locks, studiously ar ranged to hide the ears of the wearers. To admit the correctness of such a notion, would be to place all sensible people under the bati, and exclude from good society any approach to propriety and good sense. An other portion of mankind would tell us, that to be genteel, we must think ourselves better than any body else, because our an cestors happened to ride in carriages when their neighbors walked, and were never cap able of any exertion, physical, moral, or in tellectual, whereby the happiness or com fort of their kind was in the slightest de gree promoted. How far this view of the matter is correct, we will leave to be decid ed by the histories of those who have found ed empires, and left behind them everlasting renown for works of benevolence. There are some who say-that gentility shows itself in eating oranges with a silver knife and fork, sipping water ices, diluting on the bit ter part of a pheasant, and supping on a cucumber. If this be correct, the quality can alone attach to young misses, petits ma tree, cooks and cattle. As we cannot agree to any of these definitions, we will venture one of our own, and say that gentility con sists in doing unto others, as we would they should do unto us.— Madisonian. A Wife's Influence. —C01.V., of the Uni ted States Army, was stationed for some years at Little Rock, while his family resid ed still in their home in New England. Mrs. V. was a religious professor; the Colo nel was not. Asa means of beguiling the tedium of his often lonely hours, he once sent to his wife in 8., for a quantity of no vels. Mrs. V. was pained that the works specified should have been those of her hus band’s exclusive choice. She hesitated as to her duty in this case ; but, after prayer ful deliberation, concluded to send the books desired, with an accompaniment of religious tracts, and the following message in a post script to her letter : “ As an obedient wife, I send the books for, which you wrote, and as an affectionate friend, I send also the accom panying tracts, begging your perusal of them.” The delicate and judicious expedient touched the Colonel’s heart. The tracts were perused. The result was the reader’s conversation to God. He has since become an ornament to the Church, as he still is to his military profession. Happiness and virtue are the twin sisters of religion. The Star visible 5 y Day lAght. —Venus —the star of lore and beauty—the emblem of ancient worship, and the symbol, of all things bright and lovely—remains undimr.ed by the cloud of years which has swept across her brow; and even with increasing radi ance, her celestial light not only beautifies the starry night with its unwonted brillian cy, but throws her beauty over the day beams of the morning. She is to be seen | in the early blush of dawn, stealing, like a conscious and happy bride, to her couch in the sweet south, and casting shadows of the joyful light which thrills her, over the wak ing world. What lover of nature in her most divine aspect will forego the exquisite pleasure of witnessing this rare phenome non 1 Up with the early lark, and the bree zy zephyr, ye whose souls thrill with the higher aspirations of our grovelling nature; and, as ye contemplate the spectacle, min gle with your admiration of the golden har monies of heaven, a prayer for the preva lence of love and beauty upon the earth. Aristocracy. —What a glorious satire could be mide from the materials furnished in every city and village in the country, to be entitled “the Rise and Progress of Mush room Aristocracy.” We have had several instances lately un der our own observation. A certain Cele brated Commodore’s family were pointed out to us as being so wealthy and aristocrat ic, that we began to think that he must have had a long ancestry of nobles, when we were informed by a venerable retired skip per that the Commodore formerly sailed as a cabin boy, in a New Haven schooher, and rose to be master before he entered the Na vy. And yet his family are so very aristo cratic. We know a wealthy merchant, whose sons and daughters will not assbciate with “ base plebians,” whose father’s only occupation consisted of pegging shoes and mending boots. We know of another, who ,is on the topmost round of aristocracy, whose mother sold “ cakes and small beer,” whilst his father dressed hides. True, it was fifty years ago, and it is generally un known. We might multiply cases ad infi nitum but cui lono / In a country like ours, thanks be to God, and the noble spirits of the Revolution, a boy who peddles apples to-day, may in a few years be possessor of wealth, and hold sotne important station. It is not the meant by which people rise that we complain of, but it is that when once up they forget from whence they sprung, and kick down the ladder by which thdy came up—-education, industry, sobriety, and strict integrity. The bigger Fool the better Lvck:^- 1 have seen men, merely by noise and fluency, lead the conversation in companies, where there was taste, talent, and learning; though they possessed neither of the three. I have known lawyers to gain their cases, by impudence and vociferation, when neith er themselves nor the jury knew their drift. I have frequently seen men take their seats in the lagislature, who begged suf frages, and gave away whiskey, while those who disdained to stoop to such measures were left at home. 1 have seen a brainless fop mafty & fine girl, and break her heait before the end of the first year, though her hand had been solicited in vain by the wealthy, the wise, and the honorable. I have seen stupid creatures, who scarce ly knew the top of a tobacco hill from the bottom, plod on and get rich, while men of real intellect and industry, baVe pined in poverty. Did you never see a part, or all of those things 1 If you did not, I congratnlate you on your prospects of good luck— for you possess the qualities to which it is promised by the adage. Who is able to standagainst Envy ?—The rabbins have a curious story on the subject, and it has been formed by the moderns into a fable. There were two persons, one cove tous and the other envious, to whom a cer tain person promised to graiit whatever they should ask : but double to him who should ask last. The covetous man would not<eak first, because lie wished to get the double portion, and the envious man would not make the first request because he could not bear the thought of thus benefiting his neigh bor. However at last he requested that one of his eyes should be taken out in order that his neighbor might lose both. I Won’t. —“l won’t,” said a child to hie kind parent, when he had been requested to do a little favor. That child is now des pised by his associates, and shunned by the virtuous and the good. “ I won’t,” was the exclamation of a scho lar, whose teacher had labored faithfully with him, when he was csked to be punctu al at school, and to commit his lessons more perfectly. That scholar is now employed as otife of the lowest servants in an extensive establishment. “ I won’t,” said a youth to his father, when requested to learn some honest trade. That youth has now scarcely a coat to his back. Enthusiasm is a beneficent enchantress who never exerts her magic but to our ad vantage, and deals out her friendly spells ‘ in order to raise imaginary, beauties or to improve real ones. The worst that can be said of her is, that she is a kind deceiver and an obliging flatterer. The most important principle, perhaps, in life is to have a pursuit—an useful one if ! possible—but at all events an innocent one, —Sir Humphrey Davy. NUMBER 7.