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but bis tenderness toward me continued un diminished. 1 thus grew up with Xarisa, for so the infant daughter of the Alcayde was called, as her own brother, nnd thought the growing passion which l felt for her, was mere fraternal affection. 1 beheld her charms un folding, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morn ing rose, each moment disclosing fresh beauty and sweetness. • At this period, I overheard a conversation between the Alcayde and his confidential do. niestic, and found myself to be the subject. 4 It is time,’ said he to apprise him of his paren tage, that he may adopt a career in lile. i have deferred the communication ns long as possible, through reluctance, to inform him that ■ he is of a proscribed and unlucky race.’ 4 This intelligence would have overwhelmed j rtie at an earlier period, but the intimation that Xarisa, was not mv sister, operated like magic, and in an instant transformed my brotherly affection into ardent love. 4 1 sought Xarisa, to impart to her the secret I had learned. I found her in the garden, in a bower of jessamines, arranging her beautiful hair by the mirror ofa crystal fountatn. The radiance of her beauty dazzled me. I ran to her with open arms, and she received me with a sister’s embraces. When we had seated ourselves beside the fountain, she began to upbraid me for leaving her so long alone. 4 In reply, I informed her of the conversation I had overheard. The recital shocked and distressed her. 4 Alas ! cried she, then is our happiness at an end !’ 4 How, exclaimed I; wilt thou cease to love me, because 1 am not thy brother V 4 Not so,’ replied she; ‘but do you not know that when it is once known we are not brother and sister, we can no longer be permitted to be thus always together ?’ 4 In fact, from that moment our intercourse took anew character. We met often at the fountain among the jessamines, but Xarisa no longer advanced with open arms to meet me. Siie became reserved and silent, and would blush, and cast down her eyes, when I seated myself beside her. My heart became a prey to the thousand doubts and fears that ever at tend upon true love. 1 was restless and uneasy, and looked back with regret to the unreserved intercourse that had existed between us, when wesupposed ourself brother and sister; yet I would not have had the relationship true, for the world. 4 While matters were in this state between us, an order came from the King of Granada for the Alcayde to take comm ind of the for tress of Coyne, which lies directly on the Chris tian frontier. Me prepared to remove, with all his family, but signified that I should re main at Cartama. I exclaimed against the separation, and declared that I could not be parted frortt Xarisa. 4 That is the very cause,’ said he, 4 why 1 leave thee behind. It is time Abencaraez, that thou shouldst know the se cret of thy birth ; that thou art no son of mine, neithei is Xarisa thv sister.’ 4 I know it all,’ exclaimed I, 4 and I love her with ten fold the affection of a brother. You have brought us up together; you have made us necessary to each other’s happiness; our hearts have entwined themselves with our growth; do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the measure of your kindness : bo indeed a father to me, by giving me Xarisa for my wife.’ 4 The brow of the Alcaydo darkened as 1 spoke. * Have I then been deceived ?’ said he.' ‘ Ilave those nurtured in my very bosom, been , conspiring against me? Is this your return j for my paternal tenderness ?—to beguile the ' affe jtions of my child, and teach her to deceive' her father? It was cause enough to refuse thee the hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a proscribed race, who can never approach the walls of Granada ; this, however, I might have passed over; but never will I give mv daughter to a man who has endeavoured to win her from me by deception.’ 4 All my attempts to vindicate myself and Xarisa were unavailing. I retired in anguish from his presence, and seeking Xarisa, told her of this blow, which was worse than death to me. 4 Xarisa,’ said I, 4 we part for ever ! I shall never see thee more ! Thy father will guard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and his wealth will soon attract some happiei rival, and | 1 shall be forgotton ! 4 Xarisa reproached me with my want of faith, and promised me eternal constancy. I still doubted and desponded, until, moved by my anguish and despair, she agreed to a secret; union. Our espousals made, we parted, with a promise on her part to send me word from Coyne, should her lather absent himself from the fortress. The very day after our secret nuptials, I beheld the whole train of the Alcayde depart from Cartama, nor would he admit me to his presence, or permit me to bid farewell to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, somewhat pacified in spirit by the secret bond of union ; but every thing around me fed my passion, and reminded me of Xarisa. I saw the win dow’s at which I had so often beheld her. I wandered through the apartment she had in habited ; the chamber in which she had slept. I visited the bovver of jessamines, and lingered beside the fountain in which she had delighted. Every thing recalled her to my imagination, and filled my heart with tender melancholy. 4 At length a confidential servant brought me word, that her father was to depart that day for Granada, on a short absetfee, inviting mo to hasten to Coyn, describing a secret portal at which I should apply, and the signal by which I would obtain admittance. 4 If ever you have loved, most valiant Al cayde, you may judge of the transport of my bosom. That very night 1 arrayed myself in my most gallant attire, to pay due honor to my bride ; and arming myself against any casual attack, issued forth privately from Carlemn. You know the rest, and by what sad fortune of war I found myself, instead of a happy bride groom, in the nuptial bower of Coyn, vanished, wounded, and a prisoner, within the walls of Aliora. The term of absence of tlie father of Xarisa is nearly expired. Within throe days he will teturn to Coyn, and our meeting will i no longer be possible. J udge, then, whetiicr I may not well be excused for showing impa tience under confinement.' Don Hod rigo de Narvaez wa» greatly moved b y this recital ; for, though more used to rug war, than acenes of amorous softness, Ik.* was of a kind and generous nature 4 Abendaraez,’ said he, 4 1 did not seek thy confidence to gratify an idle curiosity. It grives me much that the good fortune which delivered thee into my hands, should have marred so fair an enterprise. Give me thy faith, as a true knight, to return prisoner to my castle, within three days, and I will grant thee permission to accomplish thy nuptials.’ The Abencerrage would have thrown ffim self at his feet, to pour out protestations of eternal gratitude, but the Alcayde prevented him. Calling in his cavaliers, he took the Abencerrage by the right hand, in their pre sence, exclaiming solemnly, 4 You premise, on the faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle of Allora within three days, and render your self my prisoner V And the Abencerrage said, 4 1 promise.’ Then said the Alcayde, 4 Go! and may good fortune attend you. If you require any safeguard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be your companions.’ The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the Alcayde, in grateful acknowledgement. ‘Give me,’ said he, 4 my own armor, and my steed, and I require no guard. It is not likely that I shall again meet with so valorous a foe.’ The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp of the dapple giay steed resounded over the draw.bridge, and immediately afterward the light clatter of hoofs along the road, be spoke the fleetness with which the youthful lover hastened to his bride. It was deep night, when the Moor arrived at the castle <>f Coyn. He silently and cautiously walked his panting steed under its dark walls, and having nearly passed round them, came to the portal dertoted by Xarisa. lie paused and looked round to sec that he was not observed, and then knocked three times with the hut of his lance. In a little while the portal was timidly unclosed by the duenna of Xarisa. 4 Alas! senor,’ said she, 4 what has detained vou thus long ? Every night have I watched for you ; and my lady is sick at heart with doubt and anxiety.’ The Abencerrage hung his latye, and shield, and scimitar against the wall, and then followed the duenna, with silent steps, up a winding stair-case, to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be the attempt to describe the raptures of that meeting, "Vine flew* too swiftly, and the Abep.terrago had nearly for forgotten, until too hie, his promise to return a [".'isoner to the Alcayde of Allora. The recollection of it came to him with a pang, and suddenly awoke him from his dream of bliss. Xarisa saw his altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled sighs ; but her countenance brightened, when she heard the cause. 4 Let not thy spirit be cast down,’ said she, throwing her white arms around him. 1 1 have the keys ot my father's treasure ! send ransom more than enough to satisfy the Christian, and re main with me.’ 4 No,’ said Abendaraez, 4 1 have given my word to return in person, and like a true knight must fulfil my promise. After that, fortune must do with me as it pleases.’ ‘ Then,’said Xarisa, 4 1 will accompany thee. Never shall you return a prisoner, and I re main at liberty.* The Abencerrage was transported with jov at this new proof of devotion in Ids beautiful bride. All preparations were speedily made for their departure. Xarisa mounted behind the Moor, on his powerful steed ; they left the castle walls before day-break, nor did they pause, until they arrived at the gate of the cas tle of Allora, which was flung wide to receive them. Allighting in the court, the Abencerrage supported the steps of his trembling bride, who remained closely veiled, into the presence of Rodrigo de Narvaez. ‘Behold, valiant Al cayde !’ said he, ‘ the way in which an Aben cerrage keeps his word. I promised to return to thee a prisoner, but I deliver two captives into your power. Behold Xarisa, and judge whether 1 grieved without reason, over the loss of such a treasure. Receive us as your own, for I confide my life and her honor to your hand. The Alcayde was lost in admiration of the beauty of the lady, and the noble spirit of the Moor. * I know not,’ said he, ‘ which of you surpasses the other; but I know that my cas tle is graced and honored by your presence. Enter into it, and consider it your own, while you deign to reside with me.’ For several days, the lovers remained at Allora, happy in each other’s love, and in the friendship of the brave Alcayde. The latter wrote a letter, full of courtesy, to the Moorish king of Granada, relating the whole event, extolling the valor and good faith of the Aben cerrage, and craving for him the. royal coun tenancy. 1 lie king was moved by the story, and was pleased with an opportunity of showing at tention to the wishes of a gallant and chival rous enemy ; for though lie had often suffer ed from the prowess of Don Rodrigo de Nar vaez, he admired the heroic character lie had gained throughout the land. Calling the Al cayde of Coyn into his presence, he gave him the letter to read. The Alcayde turned pale, and trembled with rage, on the perusal. 4 Re strain thine anger,’said the king; ‘there is nothing that the Alcayde of Aliora could ask, that 1 would not giant, if in my power. Go thou to Aliora; pardon thy children; take them to thy home. 1 receive this Abencer rage into my favor, and it will be my delight to heap benefits upon you all.’ The kindling ire of the Alcayde was sud. denly appeasf and. He hastened to Aliora ; and folded his children to his bosom, who would have fallen at his feet. The gallant Rodrigo de Narvaez gave liberty to bis prisoner with, out ransom, demanding merely a promise of his friendship. He accompanied the youthful couple and their father to Coyn, where their nuptials were celebrated with great rejoicings, j When the festivities were over, Don Rodrigo de Narvaez returned to his fortress of Aliora. ! After his departure, the Alcayde of Coyn addressed his childien: ‘To your hands,’ said he, * I confide the disposition of mv wealth. One of the first things I charge you, is not to’ forget the ransom you owe to the Alcayde of Aliora. His mugnanimity you can never re pay, but you can prevent it from wronging him of his just dues. Give him, moreover,; your entire friendship, for lie merits it fully, 1 though of a different faith.' ! Ik A bennerrage thanked him for Ins gene THE SOUTHERN POST. rous prepositions, which so :ruly accorded with his own wishes. He took a large sum of gold, and enclosed it in a rich coffer ; and, on his own part, sent six beautiful horses, superb, ly caparisoned; with six shields and lances, mounted and embossed with gold. The beau tiful Xarisa, at the same time, wrote u letter to the Alcayde, filled with expressions of grati tude and friendship, and sent him a box of fra grant cypress wood, containing linen, of the finest quality, for his person. The valiant Alcayde disposed of the present in a charac teristic manner. The horses and armor he shared among the cavaliers who had accom panied him on the night of the skirmish. The box of cypress wood and its contents, he re- j tained for the sake of the beautiful Xarisa; and sent her, by the hands of the messenger, the sum of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to receive it as a wedding present. This cour tesy and magnanimity raised the character of the Alcayde Rodrigo de Narvaez still higher in the estimation of the Moors, who extolled him as a’perfect mirror of chivalric virtue; and from that time forward, there was a con tinual exclumge of good offices between them. From the New York Mirror ABDUL ORRINDEC. That fickle minister of Allah, whom the Franks call fortune, nnd picture as a blind fold goddess, seemed resolved in heaping her favors on Abdul Orrindec, to show that her hand is not always unsteady nor her eye blind ed. He was one of those instances which she delights some times to set before the sons of men, to convince them that inconstancy is no necessary part of her nature —that she can pour forth unmingled sweets, and crown with an unfading garland. Or perhaps she has consigned Abdul’s earthly lot to the ministra traiion of those houris who are now attending him in the seventh heaven, and who had fallen in love with him before he left this world for his native seat. Be this as it may—his lot was well seen to. lie was a fortunate and a hajvpy youth. Sor. of the prime vizer of our greatest sultan—a wise though indulgent father—he saw smiling around him all the luxuries which wealth and influence could procure. As he bounded through his spacious palace or fairy gardens on the banks of the Tigris, moving every limb with the agility of an antelope—his neck curving more proudly than the desert serpent’s, his eyes sparkling above his cheeks like two stars above the redness of the northern dawn, enchanted the fair girls who had forgotten their native vales in his delicious grottos; and he saw through the scented foliage the glance of their beckoning arms. lie had a frame at once healthy and deli cate. His pure blood, cxquisitivcly sens tive to every delight, sported like quicksilver thro’ his veins. And Abdul failed not to partake of all the good which Allah had spread around him. Tlie nimble courser, the dancing boat, the cooling sherbet, and the rich, red wi ic ; the maiden’s bower, and the fresh zephyrs laden with music and perfume floating through it— he joyed in all. But Abdul’s soul was large. His eigh teenth summer had not flown over him when he was found often alone. No : Hafiz was with him ; he conversed with the sweet bards jof the days that are gone. His boat often i lay still, midway on the broad, calm, sunset flushed bosom of the Tigris, and their strains were in his ear. Anew power woke within him; and he sighed with joy when he found that it could conjure up richer scenes than anv within the blue mountains of Bagdad’s hori zon. He imagined. And in his palace lie gazed often and long on a marble head, such as the Franks have about their stairways and halls. It was one which his father lmd seized at the sack of An tioch—a head of the Greek dervi.se, Plato. And Abdul gazed upon it till Hiadce and gen tle Liiua grew jealous of its broad, still fore- j head. And ere long the books of the Greeks! were in Abdul’s palace, and in his choisestj ; shades, and in his boat; and a Greek captive ! taught him to read them. Abdul thought. , His days were now days of labour. Plea ! sure was no longer his business. His thoughts j ; were with things afar, and with things past,and j with things to come. One evening, as he was! gazing from his window upon a noble palm— “ Three years ago,” he exclaimed, 44 how was I happier than thou art ? I luxurated in mv health and vigor, and comeliness, living on outward influences; and so dost thou. But now”—His eye glanced to heaven, first with pride and then with gratitude. He had sounded all the joys of sense ; but thought and knowledge spread before him an ocean, on which he might sail for ever and dis cover neither bottom nor shore. He saw the merry together in their merri ment, and the thinker alone in his thoughtful ness ; and he sighed not, but smileckas he re flected that he now found that happiness in himself which he was once obliged to seek in companions. He loved his present pleasure the better that it was his own—that its spring was unkown and uutasted by those about him. He did not envy the gay their smiling and laughing; for he knew from experience that these were the tokens of mere bodily exhilara tion. “When I smiled and laughed like the best of you, it was my body, I remember, that rejoiced ; but now that my spirit is taking its pleasures, look into that, if you can, and you shall see it smile.” Thus thought Abdul. Would lie have thought, and felt, and been all this, had lie grown up in labor and restriction ? Or would he not, when he grew old and rich, have look ed murmuringlv upon his body, as not having afforded him all the enjoyment it could pro- ; duce ? Disgusted with that application of which he knew only the drudgery, and allured by that gaiety and boisterous mirth of which he knew not tlie shallowness, might he not have resolved to mnkc amends for a youth void of pleasure, by becoming that most loath, some of living things, a sensual and profligate old limn ? How little knowest thou, O mortal, of thine i own good! It may be well for tliee, even to hove been born a prince. w. it. s. Blessed ore they who expect nothing, for ■they shall not be disappointed. Editors in this country are far in advance of the penny-a-liners of Great Britain, in marvellous inventions, and they have the pe-j culiar merit of tinging their erratic creations with the ludicrous rather than the terrible. Readers of American newspapers are quite familiar with the history of machines for do ing wondrous things, such as throwing into the hopper live bogs and birch trees, and by simply putting the machinery into operation by a crank, producing cured bacon, and brush es ready for the handles, &c. The latest of these invention is anew Musical Instrument, called the Porkoforte. The Cincinnati Sun thus describes it as an invention of the queen city of the west: —“ The instrument is a large, long box, fitted up with as many compart ments as there are notes in the scale. Holes arc then board in the side of the box, and within each compartment a pig is placed, with his tail extending through the hole. Outside, ! the instrument seems only a curiously shaped piece of furniture, while the tails stuck through ! all in a row, and properly straightened, resem i hie very much the keys of a piano. The in strument requires very little trouble in tuning j since if the pigs arc carefully selected, thev will last for three years, and the intervals al ways be found correct. The effect produced :by this instrument is perfectly unlike that of any other; the crescendo and the clearness of the high not.os especially, are almost electri ! cal, “When the Porkoforte is played on, the J performer seats himself in front of it, and pro | duces his notes by pulling more or less gently, ! the various tails before him. Some pieces seem peculiarly adapted to this instrument. Such are most of Rusell’s songs, mid very many of the celebrated Strauss’ waltzes. The only defect is, that the semi-tones in wet weath er, are apt to get a comma too high, and re quire great delicacy in pulling the tails. “The Porkoforte is very much on the same principle as the Catharmenican, and the idea was undoubtedly taken from that instrument. The only difference is, that the latter is com posed of seven live cals instead of pigs, and has a puppy dog in addition, to flat and sharp Baltimore Monument. INFLUENCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. Great men are those who have felt much, lived much ; who, in a few years, have lived many lives. The tallest pines grow only m the regions of storms. Athens, the city of tumult, was the mother of a thousand great men; Sparta, the city of order, boasted but one Lycurgus ; and Lycurgus was born before his laws. Thus, we see that great men most frequently appear in the midst of popular agi tations. Homei, in the midst of the heroic ages of Greece ; Virgil, under the triumvi ra'e; Ossian, on the wreck of his country and her gods; Dante, Ariosto nnd Tasso, in the midst of the reviving convulsions of Italy ; Corneille nnd Racine, in the ago of the Fron de ; and Milton, chnunting the first rebellion at the foot of the bloody seaflold of Whitehall. And if we examine the individual destinv of these great men, wo eliull find tliem harassed by an agitated and miserable life. Cnmoens cleaves the waves, his poems in his hand.— D’Ercilla writes his verses on the skins of beasts, in tlio forests of Mexico. Those of them, whom bodily suffering does not divert from suffering of mind, lead a stormy life, de voured by an irritability of disposition, which renders them a burden to themselves and to those who surround them. Happy they who do not die before their time, consumed by the ardour of their own genius, like Pascal ; by grief, like Moliere and Racine—or victims to the terrors of their own imagination, like the miserable Tasso ! N. Y. Mirror. AARON BURR. Small in person, butYemarkably well form ed, with an eye as quick and as brilliant as an eagle’s, and a brow furrowed by care far more than time, he seemed very different from the! archtraitor and murderer, I bad been accus-! turned to consider him. llis voice was one' of the finest I ever heard, and the skill with which he modulated it, the variety of its tones, and the melody of its cadences, were inimita ble. But there was one peculiarity about him that reminded me of the depth of darkness; which lay beneath that fair surface. You will smile when I tell you, that the only thing I disliked was his step. He glided rather than walked ; his foot had that quiet, stealthy move ment, which involuntary makes one think of, treachery, and in the course of a long life, I have never met with a frank and honorable 1 man to whom such a step was habitual. Ladies’ Companion. Certain young men think that they exhibit' rare wit when they sneer at woman. Their conduct is not only unbecoming, hut all sensi b!e people esteem them as weik in the head,! or bad in the heart. Do these ever reflect that their mothers were of the sex they affect to despise? Shame, shame upon all such! who pretend to he wiser than their fathers. Show me a young man who lets no opportu nity pass for casting unkind reflections upon the other sex, and I will show you one of overweening self-esteem, or one of an evj) h° art- Baltimore Monument. LITERARY OPINIONS. Wordsworth said of Dryden, that 4 he had neither a tender heart, nor a lofty sense of moral dignity. There is not a single image from Nature,, in the whole body of his works.’ Southey says, in a letter to Scott— * Great poets have no envy; little ones are full of it. I doubt whetherany man ever criticised a ooodj poem maliciously, who had not written a had one himself.’ Did not the poet lauieat have Byron in view, when he wrote that sentence? , Dr. Johnson says, in his life of Sydenham— • There is no instance of any man, whose history bus been minutely related, that tlkl not. in every port of his life, discover llie same pro. portion of intellectual vigor.’ —— I here weie racenily no less than six eon. certs given at Poston in one evening. .Some ' of them were attended by a 44 plentiful I ty” of numbars. THE FIRST OF MAY IN SAVANNAH. ‘ How oft the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ; While many a pastime circled in the shade, I he young contending, as the old surveyed ; And still as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired.’ 4 How different is'our celebration of May-day trom yours ! While your streets are lumber ed with old bedsteads, bureaus, and side-boards, ours is bright and gay with music and military parades. While your pretty lasses shut them- \ selves up, or run away from the city, to escape the general sacking, ours are bedecking their! fair brows with flowers, for the due celebra tion ot the great day. The morning is passed in a general parade of nil the volunteer com panies, followed in the afternoon by a pic-nie, in the woods, surrounding the city. About three o’clock, the whole population of the town was in motion, toward 4 the common,’ an im mense lawn, near the southern suburbs, stretching away for a mile along the citv, and fringed on all sides by a forest oi evergreens/ Just were the town agd the forest meet, our two quoit-clubs nave erected small white buil dit’.gs, for the accommodation of the members, which peep pretily out from the green trees, the undergrowth from which Ims been cleared away and levelled, so as to give the surround ing groves a park-like appearance. In the rear of these, are woods, filled with roses, and jessamines, and wild flowers innumerable. This was the scene of the rural festivities. During the preceding night, some kind fairies had erected a sylvan palace; and about a stone’s throw in front of the portal, the same liberal elves had erected a May-pole, adorned in the most fantastic guise, with garlands and flowers of every shade and hue. Around this, stakes were driven into the sod, and surrounded with a cord, to keep oft’the pressure of the crowd from the fair inmates. The citizens now began to pour in from every avenue of the city, in carriages, gigs, ‘buggie?,’ arid on foot, all eager to arrive in season for the grand election. ‘ The fair candidates, too, now began to as sume their places within the circle, while their mothers, scarcely less eager, sat in their car-! ringes, awaiting the decision. One could al-| most see the hearts of the gny, brilliant, and! beautiful creatures within the ring, fluttering through their gossamer dresses, as they prome- j naded around, in front of the immense throng. - I have seen many assemblages of beauty in my ‘ time, but never has it been my lot to see so many beautiful creatures, and the oldest not over fourteen. They looked like sylphs, vvithj their long hair floating in the breeze, streaming with gay ribbons,and gayer, flowers, while their eyes fairly blazed with the, unwonted excite ment. The interest was yet too intense for the merry laugh; but the amiable lasses smiled as brightly as their own chosen day of the year. Expectation was now on tip-toe, and the throng outside manifested symptoms of impatience, while all eyes within the consecra ted circle were bent with eager expectation toward the town. Presently a cloud of dust in that direction, foretold to the fair expectants Ihe art vent of their little beaux; and such a cavalcade as it turned out to be, beggars all description. Twenty or thirty youth, between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, mounted on line steeds, mid dressed in something like Byron’s Grecian costume, in one of his por traits, each with a light blue cap, bound round with silver, and two broad white feathers, falling back from the loop, and each wearing a polished dagger, in a black shining belt, buckled tight round bis waist: all together formed one of the most beautiful and imposing spectacles imaginable. These juvenile knights dismounted and entered the enclosure; and after paying their devoirs to ihe fluttering and expecting little beauties, proceeded at once to the grand election of the day. It was con ducted upon republican principles, notwithstan ding that it was the election ofa queen. The The majority of votes wore told in favor of httle Miss F- , who was crowned with all due ceremony, and conducted to her sylvan palace ; thence she was escorted to the dance, by the gay cavalcade. The inspiring music struck up, and the partners 1 paired off’ upon the green. It was a charming sight to see so many youthful hearts joyous and happy. Your sacked city would have stopped still, bag and baggage, to have beheld such a scene. Before night closed in, the whole green was covered with parties of dancers and waltzers ; nor was it wholly confined to the ‘juvenile portion of the community.’ Their elders soon caught the infection, and many a fair bel’e seemed glad to live over again her own girlish days, in a frolic upon the sward. Ices and refreshments, of every sort, circulated asfreely as smiles, which were neither few nor far be tween. Where the comfits came from, 1 could never learn. The fairies seemed to have prepared every thing. The entire lawn was literally strewed vvitl) flowers, and the very trees seemed to have partaken of the univeral gayety ; for they too were hung with bright blossoms, and fragrant with the richest per fumes. ‘These May-day celebrations form little j eras in the lives of these lovelv, budding crea tures, to which they can recur with pleasure, thiough along life time. Few of our enjoy ments are of the present tense ; they are most ly retrospective or prospective, and are after a certain period, for the most part, ‘pleasures of memory.’ Is it not wise, then, to strew those flowers plentifully along the path of life, that their brilliant hues may be occasionally caught, ns we look back over the scene? Long mnv the beautiful ones who celebrated the first (if Mav. 1839. i n Savannah, live to look back upon it as one of the gayest and happiest days oil heir lives!’ Knickerbocker. HARD CUSTOMERS. “ Sc\eml Merchants in Worcpstcr nrr annoyed by the fervor of tl e friendship of rer tarn young ladies for their clerks. They have issued notices, saying that “ it is not conve nicnt to accommodate loafers of the female sex, who come courting our boys, when we ore absent.” LINES a wmi’ rrATi’i or ai*ou>o cbowniwq mxmt. Merit, if ihou art blent with riche*. For God's ukr buy * pair of brerdua! And yi v« them to thy risked broilier. For out good turn deem. »not her. NEWSPAPER ADVERTISING. We are often asked why we fiil so much of our space with medical and other advertise, meats. Perhaps a better reason than the o„« given in the following article could not bt found ; and we think that the editor of thf Berks and Schuylkill Journal has hit the nail on the head in putting forth the followino f„ r u is much the case with us, and we suppose with others also : ’ “ While every editor must be thankful to a» ceitam portion of Ins subscribers, for uniform punctuality in their payments, and f or ,i ip k ind interest which they tuke in the success the paper, yet it is seldom, we believe, that ire ready experiences any feeling of extraordinary gratitude. The papers received by each subscriber in the course ofa year, cost annually mors than the price of subscription, m the mere expense of material and manual labor - arid if the editor finds after settling his accounts’ that lie has any thing left for his tiouble, iff must come from the advertising columns* I ersons who are so much surprised to find long advertisements of quack medicines, &c., will therefore understand that they are not in.’ serted from a beliel that nothing more interes ting to readers could be found, but for other reasons equally important.” A GRATIFYING SIGHT. One of the most gratifying spectacles ex hibited inf the New York celebration, was the assemblage of twelve thousand Sunday School Children on Staten Island, with two thousand teachers. .No less than nine tow-boats and four steamboats were engaged to take them across the river. Upwards of two thousand loaves ot bread were consumed, and about as many pounds of beef. A more hcart-touch. ing spectacle could scarcely be conceived. It was witnessed bv a large number of benevo. lent citizens, and our correspondent well re. marks, will be remembered with feelings of pleasure by hundreds, for many years to come. . Philadelphia Enquirer. INDOLENCE OF GENIUS. It was said of the great Dr. Johnson, who was accustomed to read in bed, that rather than get up and blow his light out, he would frequently throw his hoot at it. Thompson the poet, was found with both his hands in his pockets eating apples from a tree ! SINGING BASS. An Ohio paper tells the story of a man who was found of a Sunday morning without a hat, sitting on a block of granite with his Lure feet in a brook trying to catch a cold, so as to sing bass at.church. NEW DISEASE. What did your son in the citv die with ? said one old lady in the country to her neigh. Ur. “ 1 expect it was with Morns Multicau /is. They say the disease rages there ties putly.” •\ Spanish proverb says—the Jews ruin themselves at their passovers, the Moors at their marriages, and the Christians in their lawsuits. “ What in all creation hurts more than a kick from a pretty girl ? Mich. Democrat. , That’s more than we can say, ns we have never been kicked by one yet. We got kick ed over by a horse once—that hurt most con founded!}'. N 0 . PiCi Conscientiousness —Rending your neigh bor’s paper, and not subscribing yourself. T eneration. —Sleeping in church and snor ing during the sermon. MAIL ARRANGEMENTS. EASTERN MAIL. _ , DUE 1 CLOSES Daily, at 4 o’clock, P. M. | Daily, at 9 o’clock, P. M. WESTERN MAIL. Daily, at 7 o’clock, P. M. | Daily, at 2 o’clock, P. M. SAVANNAH—DIRECT. Mondays, Wednesdays Mondays, Thursdays and 2 n , ? at . llr l a -'at Saturdays, at 9,'P. M. 6 o clock, P. M. Also, on Tuesdays, via. Augusta, at 9, P. M. DARIEN MAIL. Same as the Savannah. | Same as the Savannah. FORSYTH MAIL. T uesdays, Thursdays and I Sundays, Tuesdays and Saturdays, at 6, P. M. | Thursdays, at 6, P. M. HAWKINSVILLE AND FLORIDA MAILS. Mondays, Wednesdays & I Mondays, Wednesdays & Saturdays, at 12, P. M. | Saturdays, at 6, P. M. FEIDMONT, ATHENS AND CHEROKEE MAILS. Close Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, at 6 o clock, P. M. K. TYNER, r. m. a WANTED TO RENT, A HOUSE of four or more rooms, wiih a Gar den attached to the premises, in a central part of the city. Apply at this office. _ June 25 36 M TO RENT, , A comfortable DWELLING HOUSE, on Cherry street, convenient to business, and in good repair. Apply to JOHN J. BENNETT. July 6 37rp Georgia Female College. It HE Examination of the Pupils of this Institution will commence the 22d and close the 26th July next. Parents, guardinns, and the friends of Female Education, are respectfully invited to attend. June 15 DR. RANDOLPH, of this City, and DR. W. C FULL WOOD, late of the Army, have connected themselves in the practice of medicine, &c. and prot fer their serv ices to the citizens of Macon and vicinity* June 21). 96p_ Fire Engine, Tender, Hose, &c. EIIHE Phoenix Company offer to sell their entire ap -M paratus, lor fifteen hundred dollars cash. 'l™ Engine, w hich w as built and received die prize of the American Institute, in New York, in 1830, has been* within a year, repaired and handsomely repainted, is <>! n convenient size, and very compact; the handles be ing on the sides, requires from if to 16 men to '', or ' 1 her, and is completely furnished with Pipes, Torches, Spanners, &c. Original cost $2,300, . .. . The Tender or Hose Reel is 18 months old, built >" 'I is ci'y, of the lest materials, patent boxes, &r„ ana is capable of holding 600 feet Hose. It now contains 400 feet of the best double riveiied leuding Ho*®’ poried from Philadelphia, in 1837. In point “ m ss and beauty, the engine, for one of her class, not be surpassed, and is only sold on account of too small for the present purposes of ths Cotnpa y* Apply to E. C. BTONEY, or , R. W. HA COT, Charleston. A. ALVAREZ. Ht. July 8 * !- POTANIIT EMRST HORT.jUSt received sod fesj&M, * HARVEY HHtiTWELL CppasMs tba Onus! H»'<L June f