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THE Will be published every SATURDAY Afternoons h t the Ttco-Story Wooden Building, at the I Corner of Walnut and Fifth Street, IX THE CITY 01 MACON, OA. liy WM, B. IIA Kit IS OAT ‘ TERMS: For tha Paper, in advance, per annum, $2.1 if not paid in advance, $3 00, per annum.E will be inserted at the usual* rates— and when the number of insertions dc-| aired is not specified, they will be continued un-l til forbid and charged accordingly. Jj* Advertisers by the Year will be contracted! with upon the most favorable terms. Jj*Sales of Land by Administrators,Executor | of guardians, are required by Law, to be held on! thefirSt Tuesday in the month, between the hours! es ten o'clock in the Forenoon and three in thel Afternoon, at the Court House of the county ini which the Property is situate. Notice of thesr l Sales must be given in a public gazette Sixty Dai/*] previous to the day of sale. jj*Sales of Negroes by Administators, Execu-I tors or Guardians, must be at Public Auction, onl the first Tuesday in the month, between the legal hours of sale,before the Court House of the county where the LottersTestatnentary.or Administration or Guardianship may have been granted, first giv ing notice thereof for Sixty Duos, in one of the public gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court House where such sales are to be held (FT*Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner Forty Days pre vious to the day of sale. 7Voti ca to the Debtors and Creditors oi an es tate nust 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 the tnate for Four Months, before any order absolute can be given by the Court. qJ'Citations for Letters of Administration on aa Estate, granted by the Court of Ordinary, must be published Thirty Days —for Letters of Dismis-, S ion from the administrationofan Estate,monthly for Six Months —for Dismission from Guardian ship Forty Days. i£j*liule« for the foreclosure of a Mortgage, roust be puolished 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) haiheen given by the deceased, the full space of] Three Months, N. B. All Business of this kind shall receive) prempt attontionat the SOUTJIER.X TRIBL.XEi OiHto, and strict care will be taken that all legal Advertisements are published according to Law. fj*All Letters directed to this OlKcoor the] Eliloron business, must be post-paid, to in sure attention. #olf t i c a THie French West Indies. The following curious exhibit of the working of emancipation in one of the most valuable of the French colonies, we copy from the New York Journal of Com mcrce. Os course sensible people know these results as surely before they hap pened as since. They were inevitable, tin I we do not believe that even the French statesmen who brought them about aie disappointed at the fruits of their labors. Emancipation was a bit of domestic the atricals, for the amusement of Paris, so important at that moment to the safety of the Provisional Government. The indus trial result so far, is that the colon es have furnished France during the past year, one half the am uni of produce they fur nished in 1547. This is the beginning: GuvUALOPF. NkGKOES ELECTED TO the National Assembly. — As we anti cipated, the election in his Island for me nbers of the French National Assem bly, resulted in the return of Peri non and Sclioßleher, by an immense majority ; and these Negro Representatives have gone to Paris, to increase the group of Social ists who occupy the summit of the moun tain. Perinon was Governor of Martin ique, under the Provisional Government established on the ruins of the French throne, and he is accused of having, while administering that office sought to arm the whole black population, with a view lo the extermination of the whites.— Schielcher is well known for his Socialists ideas, and for the opinion strenuously maintained in his writings, and which he aims to realize in practice, that the inter tropical regions are designed by nature for the exclusive habitation of the African race. Stiongly objective to be represent ed by tnon of such extreme views, the whites of Guadaloupe, in a spirit of com promise, proposed as candidates, Alexan der Dumas, the eminent author, equally estimable for his talents and the modera tion of his sentiments, who, by his origin, gives ample guaranties totltecolored class, and a respc table Priest of Pointea Petre who by a conciliatory spirit and a uniform manifestation evangelical viitues, has won the esteem of all classes. But universal suffrage iu Guadaloupe rejected this com bination. The municipal elections also resulted deplorably. The very lees and dregs of the Colonial society were exalted and ele vated to the head of the various communes. The town of Pointe a l’e're, tirst in pop illation and commerce, has for its chief magistrate, a man called Jean Joseph, surnamed tete a clou, (English, Nail-head,) a black carman, once a slave ; its munici pal council is composed wholly of colored men, of about the same condition andcali ber. Basterre, the seat of government, has for i's Mayor, a black fellow named Macaque, (English, Monkey) who had been once at the galleys for his exploits ; and the counsellors associated with him in the government, are described as “birds of the same feather.” The other twenty eight communes of (juadaloup have met with no better experience of universal suffrage. It is true that to some of the municipal councils, a suHraient number of whites are elected to instruct their associ utea in the art of government; but these, almost to a man have since resigned.— buch is the incapacity of the parties chos cn, that it is believed the ColonialGovcrn- Uvut will be uiiie* the uecewity of sus- THE SOUTHERN TRIBUNE. NE W SE HIES —VOLUME 11. pending the effect of the elections, and ofl committing the administration of munici I pal aflfairsto provisional committees, pend! ing the result of representatives to thel National Assembly, and of the applica I tion to that body for such a modification! of the electoral law—in view of the com-J position of colonial society, and of thel mad passions which have been engendered! [by the too sudden elevation of an ignorant! [and degraded race, to a position in which,! [by the force of numbers, they are per-j [mitted to exercise political domination over] [their former masters ; as will exclude un-j [worthy persons from office, at least during! S he brief period requisite to impart to the! newly affranchised the first elements ofi political knowledge. We have depicted the state of affairs' in this unhappy island, more minutely than its own intrinsic importance may seem to require, because, during the ex-, citement which prevails among ourselves in refeience to the slavery question, it presents an instructive field of contem plation to those who occupy themselves with that grave matter, and foreshadows, perhaps, in some degree, thatfuture which emancipation may provide for our fellow citizens of the Soui h; and hence.it may legi’mate the unyielding attitude of resis tance, which possibly the instinct of self preservation has caused the South to us asume. 1 Guadalotip is gradually becoming des verted by the whites. So rapid is the emi- Igi ation, chiefly to the United States, that lit is believed, that before any distribution |is made of the paltiy sum voted by the ■ National Assembly to indemnify the for jjjmer proprietors for the loss of their slaves, St here will he none left to receive it,except ■ those who are forced to remain for want |of means to get away—forced thus to en ■dure the yoke of ignorance and stupidity, Ipethaps to consent to conditions still Imo re revolting. Many whites have al lready, through bi-colored marriages, com smenced the degradation of their race.— iHistory teaches that the subduers have Sever given to the vanquished their man ; Jtiers and their usages. So, while the. jblacks were in servitude, under the influ genceofthe whites they were gradually! [making such advances in civilization os' [their condition and capacities admitted of; Ibut now that by institutions, and nuiner-l [ical preponderance, they have become [rulers in the French Colonies, the white' [race whoramain in their midst, will of ne- j 'cessity uudeigo, in process of time, a rnor-j [ul and physical absorpiion, which will cause! jit to lose alike the fair type and the beau-j [ty ofiutelligence which God has assigned] [to the Caucassian family. [ Fat’s .notion of Lqnal j Many years ago, when the State of] [Georgia was thinly inhabited and the In jdians occupied a large poitiouof her terri-j jtory, undisturbed by tbe white man, a souj [of the Emerald isle, weary and hungry, [about mid day, presented himself ai the: [door of a wealthy farmer and asked so. i [wotk. The Irishman told the farmer that) [he had 'raveled far and was entirely out of [money, and unless he gave him a bit of a fjob he would not be able to make “a da ycenl living.” The farmer told him be had [nothing par irular for him to do, but that [ifhe really wanted work, bethought he [might be able toliunt him up a job. “Let’s [see,” said the farmer, “1 believe, as I have [a large stock of poultry and plenty of corn, that I will gel you to take care of them; but mind, you must see that every one gets enough,and that no one gets moie than bis share; this you must a tend to twice a day morning and evening.” Pat pledged his word that ho would strictly carry out his ordet'3. The necessary ar rangements having been made, as regards wages, board, &c., Pat was duly installed in his new vocation. Pat performed his duty well, and the poultry, under his good management, were kept in the best of order. For some timo, however, Pat’s discerning eye perceived that an old drake was getting more than his share of corn; this could not be allow ed, for lie was strictly cnarged to see that everyone got enough but no one was to get more tbuu his share. Now Pat had no idea of disobeying the commands of the farmer, so be was resolved, by some means or other, to put a stop to it. One evening, as usual, while Pat was distributing corn to his fowls, he commen ced soliloquising in the following manner: I ‘Arrali, bejabers, an’ hero ye are agon, ye greedy spoonbill quadruped ! ye lay in the barn all day, an when I say citi-ky, cbi-ky, be St. Patiick, ye are the first one here, and, bejabers, you pick up thra grains o’ corn to a chicken’s one; now, be jabers, an’ I’ll fix ye for that, an’ so I will.” Sure enough Pat tolled the old drake close up to him, raado a grab and nabbed him. An’ its welcome ye are, blast yer ugly picture, whin I’m done with ye, to pick up more than your share.” W ith that Pat. pulled out his knife and trimmed the drake's bill off short and slim, like a chicken’s and then bo excitingly threw him down, say ing: “Now, he jabers, ye can pickup corn longside that hob tail rooster!” OCrSeven American mechanics were lately induced, by an offer ol high pay , to stop at Chagres and put up a building. Before the building was completed, six of the number were dead. ’1 ho "lb took passage in the Empire City, and breathed his last the moment she dropped her au thor in New York harbor. MACON, (UA.,) SATURDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL G, 1850 From Holden's Magazine for April. Children of Impulse. BV THE AUTHOR OF SUSY L ’s DIARY. What a host of chrildren has this Ma dame Impulse ! and how unlike they are, if we except this one thing, the almost uni versal pride and boast of parentage ! Hero, one skips, and laughs, uud claps Ihcr little hands from morning till night. I fro m one year to another; and if you askl her why alio laughs incessantly, when she [ought sometimes to he weeping over hei folly, she laughs in your face at the ‘fun !ny question.’ iShc actually dances around [you in her glee, telling you that she must •laugh, she is such a child of impulse ! ) Another sits within her chamber when ; the sun is shining, when the birds are [caroling, and when no creature on earth •has a greater cause for happiness thanj herself; still she sits and weeps. And, in you drag her hand away from her eyes.j and strive to drag her out into the good uir.J she buries her face yet deeper, weeps yetj more convulsively; and to your eager ques-J tionings, answers, that she does not know] : herself why she weeps ; that she often iI weeps without knowing why, she is such a rchild of impulse! Tims the mercury (’must be sent down, down in your own : heart—which, it may be, only the hour ’.before, you brought to cheerfulness by a f mighty effort—you must lose ail interest] ■ in the projected ramble over tbe hills, and) ffoiget that the sun is shining, that it ere? j [[shines, in your sympathy for this weak] “child ofimpulse. | Yet another is often anrgy with you] j without a cause. Still, is it not as clear] fas day to you, that you must forgive, and] [ keep forgiving her, since she is such a] jpChild ofimpulse, that she really has no con-j ,trol over herself l a Well, well! although, no doubt, much’ [of this vaunted impulsiveness is a poor! [kind of affection, much of ii, imputation: To a dimly understood characteristic, that! [which, in reality, belongs to giddiness,:: Tempered by no serious, just views of life ;t he morbid melancholy engendered in truth| jby selfish indulgences, by an unwise course* [of leading and reverie, and by neglect of] [wholesome exercise abroad in the air; to] [unregulated temper and wilfulness, which? fare left to go on unmended, because they j [are so charmingly resolvable into the sash ; [ionahle trait, impulsiveness; still true chil-jj [dren of impulse there are in the world,: j who are quick to err and quick to repent 'quick to weep if die wrong, or suffering'; ■come into their sight, and quick to smile,,? When it is scon that they have passed ;| 'glad as a bird over every beautiful, every! 'joyous thiiig, but troubled, longing lo go* ‘and hide their heads and weep, if deform-3 lit V ui till umic near tin m * ootno of - hem understanding well all the springs') [and movements of their peculiar attribute,! and striving to turn it euto good ; others’ [holding on upon it, folding it about tliemT [selves, as a mantle, to cover the whole]] jmultilude oftheir sins. Os this class was!' Janus Mason ; of the other, Harriet Gor-i [doll. I j James Mason was a child of impulse,® [unrestrained, with all his impetuosity iiaug-| ing loose about him. He was aware of 5 this ;he often said it of himself. He was? often doing some mad thing, or other, and? as of en he claimed absolution, because he* was a mere crealure of impulse. He al-S ways got it from those who knew him best,* he was, in reality, so kind, so simple heur-f ted. so intelligent. He got it and some-? tiling more from Harriet Gordon. To those who looked on awhile and then! passed by, Harriet appeared anything] rather than the child of impulse, that she! was. ‘Bless us !’said they, ‘how cold and 8 slow ! She speaks like a cathedral bell,! with just as much roundness and senten tiousness. She measures herself, her words and her ways. She walks like a spleiuled aut maton of supple shafts and ductile wires jsoshe is graceful, dignified, proper; but, then, measured, weighed, studied, drilled. She a creature of impulse, for sooth !’ To this it was answered by those who knew her, knew just what was itr lieu—‘Well! she is measured, studied, and so on, because she is a creature ofim pulse. She would go bounding thither and hither, clapping her hands, singing in very love and delight over every bird that hops across her way. She would even fol low after it, calling it, and longing to clasp it to her bosom. She would go on her knees before all the dear little wild flow ers in the highways and byways; and weep and laugh alternately through all time, i "she didn’t measures herself, andl set a guard over her ways. But she has a nice sense of propriety, large self esteem and approbativeness. These keep her from acting what she is, the child of im pulse, the crazyhead. She has troubles enough being trammeled as she is by‘the laws of good usage,’ by the thought of what people will think and say of her, if she acts out the impulsiveness of her na ture. She never dares do this! She dreads, above all, those things which we mathematical people put down as ridlc.u sous. The ground rule of the artificial Monmouth is here also. ‘Above all other things avoid making yourself ridiculous.' Poor child! she looks this way and that way, as if she were saying—‘Who will [help me lake care of myself !’ Ah, well for Slier, well for e\cry genuine child ofim jpnlse like her, that abroad in the earth is [the good God f lie takes her to Him if [she asks it, if she yearns for it, and leads [her beside the still waters ; and gives her to eat and to drink of the bread and water,! of which, if one taste, one shall hunger! and thirst no more. Thus is she satisfied.! Thus are her impulses purified, turned up-! waul for perfection, for rest, for the fore § tas'e here of the beauties, the joys, the holiness ot Heaven. Thus it is with Har riet, and she is st’ll. We see her eye fill often, and the color come and go in her check, but this is all. She is cold, we say ; a real iceberg; but it is because there is One who knows her better than we.’ It is true that Harriet was graceful, splendid, that she was habitually cold and collected abroad in tbe crowd. She spent a year in our town. She dressed with simplicity,hut wore rich fabrics; and al-f ways carried with her a leaf, ora bud, or* ali tie flower. Many were they who cop-| ied her dress, and as far as they were able,! [her ways. Every now and then it wusi [said by one, that the next enpensive gown! jshe had should he a rich black silk ; and it! (always peeped out in the end, that it was* [because Harriet Gordon was so magnifi-l “cent in hers; and when winter came and! there were so many sleigh rides, chiefly, on Harriet’s account, all struggled over' the matter of hoods awhile; Harriet’s, ofj drab satin and blue, was such a blandish ment. fcjhe was a noble creature! Hero was that purest, most beautiful of all char acters, where successful struggle with pas ision, with a natural impetuosity, has re (suited in strength, in repose, in confidence (in herself and in the good one who has [helped her through. I Large parties were given to her, and! [on a scale of taste and liberality of expeu-J iditure hitherto unknown ; and she walked] [slowly through the rooms, speaking to one? [and another who wore not of the train [she took with hoi wherever she moved. — f : sin summer there were picnic gatherings,-I [and there she was stiller than ever ; her] [eyes were larger and fuller of the tender) lyearr.itig one always saw in them, more or; Less. She leaned against the tall trees;] [she bent her ear, and listened breathlessly? to the breeze going through the leaves,) [and to the hum of many voices. She. (looked through the green tracery so the’ [blue sky above, and to the fiickciing sun-1 [light and shade below. | Now, all this while, James Mason wor-j jshipped afar off; his whole air and his ex ? pressive face say ing—“l would approach,? 'but dare not move.’ Gradually lie came: nearer and nearer; and when at last he reached her side, and stood there like a! .culprit, she smiled as she smiled on no one] else. She put her hand out quickly after-? ! wards, when they met ; and a slight quick 'flash of pleasure passed over her face.—J ! And so it went on, until at last he was al-| [ways near her. always looking as if on the] • point of kneeling to her. His voice grew] [soft and rich when he spoke to her, and] • hers the same. It was beautiful to sett i jtliem —she so stately and quiet, he so rest-? iless and ardent! becoming to her wi ll all* jhis faults, all bis discouragements, she ad-; 1 ministering precious words of healing and : [strength ! This was meet for them both.S [She was in her place iu the chair of the? :confessor; he in his, on the footstool ofj [the penitent. J Meanwhile she went on to love him* [more and n re, v. ith all tho purity andi [unselfish -of a mother for her wayward? land * son. He looked up to her* (with i! tbe .'ef.Tence and yearning iovev [of the s<>n for a bTty, yet supremely teu (der mother. -*>t length they could lioH liven art. They could never endure life,! if they must be parted they both said. —jj This came of it. Harriet Gordon, thel goddess-like, rich, learned, with high con-S ncctions, she whom the first in the land might well have been proud to make his bride, consented —in greatful soy consen ted—to mai ry the poor, dispeptic, undis ciplined Janies Mason. At last Harriet went to her city home. For many weeks James retained the quiet a dignity and self-respect, with which a con-|j ciousness of being beloved by such a n<>-H bio creature, had inspired him. Ho wasj still, and kept mostly by his books. Buts this habit passed, day by day. He was a j child of impulse yet, in all its untrained waywardness; and soon he began again his eccentricities, —playing by the way side with the flowers ; going, as if life were at stake, to see this lake, that mountain; to hunt with his professor’s new pointer; to angle with young Damon, who was giv en up to the same aimless life as himself; to dream away alone whole summer days in the wood, on the mossy bank at the clea-, sparkling brook ; and to follow out sly paths ; and the more remote, the more dimly discerned the belter the more ea ger the pursuit. As will be seen, all this idleness, this whimsical self indulgence was carrying him afar off from the good, industrious Harriet;—but not her from him She knew all his aberrations; for he honestly wrote them all; but she only loved him with a tenderer love. She lon ged more than ever to take him in lietl arms, lo her heart, and there to hold him! in true peace and safety. My readers can conjecture liow it etid-l ed, to what conclusions ho came. He I could never bind himself to any one, crca-l turo of impulse that ho was! lie couldj] never walk regularly enough for a husband, and father. He must go here and there ‘ lie could never be stately and quiet enough! for Harriet Gordon ; not he. So at last.j without a meoting, it was all over between! them ; and his mighty plea was, that hej was such a crcaturo if impulse . NUMBER 13. I Harriet almost died. Hertrue woman’s ■heart had fixed itself so firmly, so undoubt gingly ; her sympathies were all iuterwo- Iven so closely with the feelings and fate i>f James, that it was tearing her life into shreds relinquishing him and her care for him. But struggle was no untried thing to her. She tried it anew, and came off a loftier, and even a happier being than before. She learned by having felt it, that 'sorrow is a sacred thing,’ he its cause what it may ; and from the healing and strength she found in kind friends, in the endearments of home, in the felt presence and support of Jesus, there came new sympathies for her race, new efforts to ■bless them !>j her kindness, new thankful "ncss to Heaven. She was, as it were, horn ■again. Old things passed away, and all ■things became new to her. She utider- Kstood better her own heart, and the heart ■of the universe; and thus her existence ■acquired a richer, an intenser character. I "Those great truth.s of duty and salvation for which the Saviour lived and died, and which hitherto had held only shadowy i places in her heart, now came forward in to the light. Sho looked at them; she comprehended their infinite worth to the struggling, suffering world; and • raising tearful eyes, a trembling heart up hvard, in the true spirit of tho martyr she [said —‘Thou dear, dear Saviour, strength ?cn me ! Prepare me to bear the cross, (which, all thy earthly life-time, thou didst sbcar! and, thou great Father, help me to |be the true follower of thy only, thy well. S beloved Son. yTlie Flower that Looks Upward. S A group of young light-hearted girls |*sat together in the twilight, busily arrang iiiog the flowers they had been gathering in stlie pleasant woods and fields. *4 “U’hat beautiful things flowers are ! ' ■said one, “and what a pleasant amusement would be, now that we are all sitting v here so quietly, if each were to choose * which flower she would rather he like.” | “dust as if there couid be any choice,” Laura Bennet, a little proudly— a“Among all the flowers that grow, there is ’none to view in beauty with the rose. Let •jme be the queen of flowers or none!” I “For my part,” observed her sister He glen, “I should like to resemble the luxu oriant rhododendron, s » beautifully describ |ed in our book of flowers. When any done, in passsing, shakes it roughly, it scat inters, as we are to.d, a shower of honey jdew from its roseate cups, arid immediate fly begins to fill its chalices anew with trail f.sparent ambrosia; teaching us to showerj even upon the hands that disturb] _?us, and to fill again with pure honey drops] ptbe chalices of our inward thoughts. Ob !: >wbo would not wish to be mceTt and for-' f’give like the rhododendron, if they c uld ? VBut it is very difficult.’” added poor He-! qlen, with tears in her eyes. J “It is indeed,” said Lucy Neville, gon i|tly, “if we trust only to our own strength. 3 And who is there to help us? It is only J when my father looks at me in his grave, 'kind manner, that I have the slightest con jjrol over myself. What a pity it is,” said | Lucy, simply, “that we cannot always re §memher that the eye of our heavenly |Father is upon us!” | “1 wish 1 could,” said Helen. | “I have heard my mother say,” observ ed 1 •...<• “ll,n» I.iovinrr lir.f lorl Ii an wL>h ..... •••o -- | "Now, Clara,” interrupted Laura Ben Suet, turning impudently towarad a f.dr (genteel looking girl by her side, “we are (waiting for you. I Clara smiled, and immediately chose Ithe palo convolvulus, or bindweed, wind ling so carelessly in and out among the [bushes, and flinging over them a graceful [covering, an emblem of meek beauty and |loving tenderness. “Tho only pity is,’ (said sho, “that it should su soon close up £and fade.” I “But what says our dear Lucy?” ex j Helen. § “1 think that I can guess,” said Clara| “Seymour, “either a violet or heart’s case| —am 1 right ?” “Not quite,” repliad Lucy, with a deepj blush; “although both the flowers lhatj you have mentioned are great favorites ofj mine. But I should like to resemble thej daisy most, because it is always looking\ upward !” “Dq tell me,” ssid Helen, as thevj walked home togetlior, carrying the flow-| ers which they had gathered to adornj their several dwellings ; “do tell nie why you wish, just now, to be always looking upward like the daisy.” “Oh Helen, can you ask ? What more do we require for happiness than to be able, let the cloud be ever sodark, to look upward with the eye ol faith, and suy, ‘lt is the Lord's will and therefore it is best ?” “Do you always think thus?” asked Helen. “Alas, no,” replied poor Lucy, while Ithe tears fell fast. But lam trying and |praying to God to leach mo.” I 03“ The Poplar or Aspen,whoso tremu llous leaves vibrate to every undulation of Jtlio atmosphere, according to a snper- Istiiious tradition in the Higlandsof Scot land, is tho tree from which the Saviour’s ■ cross was made, and on this account its lleavoss were smitten with perpetual ■ restlessness. 9 Why is the Polka like bitier beer? ■ Because there are so many hops in it. BOOK AND JOB PRiNTiNG, IVill be executed in the most approred tty l and on the lest terms, at the Office of the SOtTTHEP.IT TPctSTJITS, -BY WM. B. HARRISON. What is the Golden Afitf In every age there is a class of individu als who are continually mourning over the present— whose affections are all with the past. riic viitues of their fathers, and the vices of their descendants, are themes upon which they harp alternately. To some men, the middle ages alone, were golden uitli great mm, glorious and gcoi timis. In the present they see nothing lo admire, but with every new race, an in* crease of corruption end degeneiacy. A .treat number of people imagine that the world is always growing more wicked, and every succeeding generation more miserable in comfort and all that can ren ler life desircable. They see poverty where there should be plentyjthey see suf fering where there should be cnjojmcnt.if the times were but like The good old times.’ I here arc authors who write pompous and thrilling paragraphs, and spoutcra who eloquently depict the miseries that have increased with our boasted civiliza tion, and they sigh with tearful cadence over the blessings enjoyed in the golden age gone by. They would endeavor to make us believe that our advancement in education, improvements in tho Arts and Sciences, instead of benefiting mankind, had only been the means (to use their own words) “of making the lich richer and i lie poor poorer,”—to elevate one class to the third heavens, and to sink the other deeper and deeper into the pit of suffering and degradation. We are among the number of those who believe that education has a moral elevating tendency, and that improvements in the Arts and Sciences, have made the [majority of mtltikfinl more comfortable, [and placed within their reach, the meai» jof more, and u higher state of enjoyment, [at tho present day; than during any pre ceding age of the world’s history. In tracing up tho literature of senti [inental moralists, for a few centuries back, jwe find that every new race rightly views [the vices of the past mellowed in distant [Tiadows, while they look upon existing evils in the ful! vertical of the noon day sun. But when we look to the past, wo behold that land which originated common schools, and which since then has bocomo famous for her wisdom, genius and learn ing, steeped in ignorance and crime. Wo see her patrician wearing the privilege of stringing up some of our good forefathers for some pretended offence, or streaching him lifeless with Iris dagger, tho penalty at most being the fine of a few pieces of silver. The timo is not long past, when [die turf hut of the feudal serf was to bo [seen in many places of Britannia’s Isle, [and where, without a chimney, the smoko [from the rough lire places on the floor, among tho sooty rafters until it ([made its elopement through the open roof. J'l here arc many old men yet living among us, who remember the luxuiy of good oiled paper windows, and when but few ot the common houses of our forefathers, in now lavored Arneiica, were lathed aud plastered, to shelter theiV inmates from the w inter’s icy breath. It is not many years sinco the man was more than ciftnmon in this world’s wealth, who could flourish a fancy calico handkerchief-—a thing which is now the property of the poorest of the poor. \V fierin has the world gone back ward in one point, but in the imagination 1 dark-minded grumblers. So far as wo can judge, in looking upon the experience "f our life in the world, our opinion is fa vorable to tbe now being the golden age.— The necessaries of life arc as easily ob tained by every person now, as ever they w'ere, and the luxuries far easier. Yet while there is misfortune and unholy pas sions in the world, there will always bo suffering, and of a truth, we may justly sav, “the poor shall never cease out of the land.” But there never was a time when more was placed in the hands of mankind [to render all comfortable—there is enough and to spare; and we certainly look upon [our advancement in civilization nod our improvements in science and art, as things [which make the present generation moro responsible than any preceding one, fer all that can render mankind virtuous and happy. In saying this much for tho bles- Lings we enjoy, we cannot shut our eyes [to the great amount of misery that is still [in the world, especially in large cities, and in favored America as well as in suffering Europe. ExcEurs.—Poverty is tho tnotbor of many arts. This accounts for tho fact that so many arts are very “poor ones”—they “take after their mother.” There aie some mortals whose bodies are but as the ornamented sepulchre of their dead hearts. Commend us for an amiable eight to * cheerful old gentleman! At the gate which suspicion enters, love goes out. Misfortunes are a kind of discipline of humanity. If a jewel bo genuine, care not who says it is not. Forget others’ faults by remembering your own. Wo do not want pfccopts as much as patterns. Talent without tact has been said to be like a fiddle without a bow. (“Stocks are firm,” as the rogue said whim hr had bis foct in thorn.