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JOHN HENRY SEALS,) -•* and > Editors, L. LINCOLN VEAZEY. S MX SERIES, VOL I. TIMM! CRUM. riTBLTSnED KVTCRY SATURDAY, EXCEPT TWO, IS THE YEAR, BY JOHN H. SEALS. TERMS: SI,OO, in advance; or $2,00 at the- end of the year. RATES OF ADVERTISING, i square, (twelve lines or less) first insertion,. .$1 00 Each continuance, -• • 50 Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six linos, per year, 5 00 Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00 STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS. 1 square, three months, 5 00 1 square, six months, < 1 square, twelvemonths, J 2 00 2 squares, “ “ 18 00 4 squares, “ “ ...25 00 not marked with the number of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charcred accordingly. gggT’Merchants, Druggists, ami others, may con tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms. LEG A L VDVE RTISEMENTB. Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 500 Bale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Executors, apd Guardians, per square,... 825 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, - 8 25 Notice for L°ave to Sell, A 00 Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adrn’n. 5 00 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi anship, -. 8 25 LEGAL REQUIREMENTS. gales of Land and Negroes, bv Administrators. Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be h?lrt on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the after noon, at the Court House in the County in which the property is situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a public gazette forty days previous to the day of sale. Notices for the sale of Personal Property must bo given at least ten days previous to the day of sale. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published, forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration must be published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin istration, monthly, six month* —for Dismission from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has been given by the deceased, the fall space of three ‘■lonths. will always bo continued accord ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered. The Law of Newspapers. Subscribers who do* not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscription. 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their newspapers from the offices *.'> which they are di rected, they arc held responsible until they have set tled the bills and ordered them discontinued. •1. If subscribers remove to other places without informing the publishers, and the newspapers are sent to the former direction, thev are held responsi ble. w 3. The £..uris have decided that refusing to take newspapers from the office, or removing and leaving them uncalled for, is prhna facie evidence of inten tional fraud. G. The United States Courts have also repeatedly decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per son to bike from the office newspapers addressed to him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher for the subscription price. JOB PRINTING, of every description, done with neatness and dispatch, at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All orders, in this department, must be addressed to J. T. BLAIN. puos v i: c tvs OF Tfl? nMUM’i; mm [quondam] TEMPERANCE BANNER. .4 CTUATED by a conscientious desire to further the cause of Temperance, and experiencing great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals, we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of the fact that there are existing in the minds of a large portion of the present readers of the Banner and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties which can never be removed so long as it retains the name, we venture also to make a change in that par ticular. It will henceforth be called. “THE TEM PERANCE CRUSADER.’’ This old pioneer of the Temperance cause is des tined yet to chronicle the tnurnph of its principles. It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fur nace,” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re-appeared unscorchci.l It has survived the newspaper famine which has caused, and is still causing many excel lent journals and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex halations in the evening,” to rise no more, anu it has evon heralded the “death struggles of many contem poraries, laboring for the. same great end with itself. It “still lives,” arid “waxing bolder as it grows older,” is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In fernal Liquor Traffic,” standing like tlfe “High Priest” of the Israelites, who stood between the people and the plague that threatened destruction. We entreat the friends of the Temperance Cause to give us their influence in extending the usefulness of the paper. Wo intend presenting to the public a sheet worthy of all attention and a liberal patronage; for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal , we shall endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current events throughout the country. ftSifPrice, as heretofore, sl, strict! v in advance. JOHN H. SEALS, Editor and Proprietor. Penfield, G^De0.8,1865. Ylcbottb te Centpmmte, ffioraliti), Idlmitnrc. fceraf Intelligence, &c. Setcc£icm§< THE DOLLAR. BY GEORGE LIPPARD* ; Would that George Lippard had always written as powerfully and uncxceptiouably as in the following sketch :] They brought him a dollar. He took it, clutched it in his long skin ny fingers, tried its sound against the bed- ‘ post, and then gazed at it long and intently with his dull leaden eyes. That day, in the hurry of business, Death had struck him, even in the street. IT was hurrying to collect the last month’s rent, and was on the verge of the misera ble court where liis tenants herded like beasts in their kennels—he was there with blank book in his hand, when Death laid ilia hand upon him. He was carried home to his splendid mansion. He was laid upon a bed with a satin coverlet. The lawyer, the relations, and the preacher were sent for. All day long he lay ‘without speech, moving only iris right hand, as though in the act of counting money. At midnight he spoke. He asked tor a dollar, and they brought one to him, and lean and gannt he sat up in his death bed, and clutched it with the grip of death. A shaded lamp stood on a table near the silken bed. Its light fell faintly around the splendid room, where chairs, and car pets and mirrors, silken bed and lofty ceil ing, all said, Gold ! as plainly as lips can say it. Ilis hair and eyebrows were white. His cheeks sunken, and his lips thin and sur rounded by wrinkles that indicated the pattern of Avarice, As lie sat up in bed with his neck bared and the silken coverlet wrapped about his lean frame, ids white hair and eyebrows contrasted with his wasted and wrinkled face, he looked like a ghost. And though there was life in his leaden eye —all that life was centered on the Dollar which he gripped in his clench ed fist. His wife, a pleasant-faced matronly wo man, was seated at the foot of the bed.— His son, a young man of twenty-one, dressed in the last touch of fashion, sat by the lawyer. The lawyer sat before the ta ble, pen in hand, and gold spectacles on his nose. There was a huge parchment spread before him. “Do you think he will make a will?” ask ed his son. “Hardly compos mentis yet y’ was the whispered reply. “Wait, he’ll be lucid after a while.” “My dear,” said the wife, “had I not better send for a preacher ?” She rose and took her dying husband by the hand, but he did not mind. His were m ihe dollar. ui \v.ii- v iivb. He owned palaces in Walnut and Chestnut streets, and hov els and courts on the outskirts. He had iron mines in this State; copper mines on the Lakes somewhere ; he had golden in terests in California. His name was bright upon the records of twenty banks. lit* owned stock of all kinds; he had half-a dozen papers in his pay. He knew but one crime— to he in debt without the power to pan. He knew but one virtue—-fc? get money. That crime he had never forgotten—thi<- virtue he bad never forgotten, in the long way of thirty-five years. To hunt down a debtor, to distress ate riant, to torn a few additional thousands by a sharp speculation —these were the main achievements of his life. He was a good man—his name was up on a silver piato upon the pew door of a velvet-cushioned ehureh. lie was a benevolent man--for every thousand dollars which be wrung from te nauts of his. courts, or from the debtors who writhed beneath his heels, he gave ten dollars to some benevolent institution. He was a just man—the gallows and the jail always found him a faithful and unwavering ad voeate. And now he is adv ing man—see! As he sits upon the bed of.death, with the dollar in his clenched hand. Old holy Dollar, object of his life-long pursuit, what comfort hast thou for him now in his pain of death? At length the dying man revived and dictated his will. It was strange to sca the mother and son and lawyer muttering, and sometimes wrangling, beside the heel of death. AH the while the Testator clutched the Dollar in his right hand. While the wiii was being made, the preadier came —even he who held the pas loral charge of the great church, whose pew doors bore saintly names oi silver plate, and whose seats on Sabbath days groaned beneath the weight of respecta bility, broadcloth and satin. He came and said his prayers —decorous- ly and in measured words—but never once did the dying man relax his hold on the Dollar. “Can’t you read me something, say quick, don’t you see I’m going ?” at length said the rich man, turning a frightened look toward the preacher. The preacher, whose cravat was of th whitest, took a book with golden clasps from the table. And he read: PENFIELD, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 19, 1856. “And I say unto you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needh than fora rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.” “Who said these words—who—who— who fairly shrieked the dying man, shaking the hand which clenched the Dollar, at the ’ preacher’s head. The preacher hastily turned over the leaf and did not reply. “Why did you never tell me of this be fore. ? Why did you never preach from D as I sat in your church. Why— whyV’ The preacher did not reply—but turned ever another leaf. But the dying man would not be quiet ted. “And it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for si rich man !o enter the Kingdom of God, is it? Am 1 not rich? What tenant did 1 ever spare—what debtor did I ever spare: what debtor did lever release? And you stood up Sunday after Sunday and preach ed to us, and never said one word about the camel ?” The preacher, in search of a consoling passage, turned rapidly over the leaves, and in his confusion, came to this passage, which he read : “Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseriesthat shall come upon you. Your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you; and shall eat your flesh as if it were fire; yo have heaped treasures for the lust days. Behold the li ire of the laborers who have reaped down your fields, which is of *you kept back by fraud, crieih; and the cries of them which have reaped, are en tered into the ears of the Lord ofSabaoth.” “And yet yon never preached that to me ?” shrieked the dying man. The preacher who had blundered through* the passage from James, which we have jHot quoted, knew not what to say. He was, perchance terrified by the very look of iiis dying parishioner. Then the wife drew near and strove t<> comfort him, and the son (who had been reading the will,) attempted a word or tw< of consolation. And with the Dollar in his hand he sank into death talking of stock, of rent, of cop per mine and camel, of tenant and of debt or, until the breath left his lips. Thus lit died. When he was cold, the preacher rose and asked the lawyer, whether the deceas ed had left anything to such and such a charitable society, which had been en grafted on the preacher’s church. And the wife closed his eyes and tried to wrench the Dollar from his hand, but in vain. He clutched it as though it weiv the only Saviour to light him through the *la rk n ess of etern i ty. And the son sat down with dry eyes, and thought of the hundreds of thousands which were now all his own. .Next day there was a hearse followed by a train of carriages nearly a mile in length There was a crowd around an open gravt and an elegant sermon on the virtues ol the deceased by the preacher. There was fluttering of crape badges, and rolling of carriages, and—no tears. They left the dead man and returned ti the palace, where sorrow died, even as the crape was taken from the door knob. And in the grave the dead hand still clenched the Dollar.— White Banner. POPULARITIES. liev. E. H. Chapin, in his lecture before the Mercantile Literary Association last week, upon “Practical Life,” hit off one of the popular vices of society—lying—in a very effective manner, as appears from the report in the Traveller, lrotn which we copy a couple of paragraphs : “Lies of action are blood relation to lies of speech, and oral lies constitute a small share of the falsehoods in the world. There arc lies of custom and lies of fashion; lies of padding and lies of whalebone; lies of the first- water in diamonds of paste, and unblushing blushes of lies to which a show or would give quite a different complex ion; the politician’s lies, who like a circus rider, strides two horses at once; the eo quette’s lies, who, like a professor of leg erdemain, keeps six plates dancing at a time; lies sandwiched between bargains ; lies in livery behind republican coaches, in e.i! the poinp of gold band and buttons ; lies of red tape and sealing wax; lies from the cannon’s mouth; lies in the name of glori ous principles that might make dead he roes clatter in their graves; Malakotfs of lies, standing upon sacred dust, and lifting their audacious pinnacles in the light of the eternal Heaven !•> “Need we say what an uneasy, slavish vanity was that which won’t let a man ap pear as he really is, but makes him afraid of the world and himself, and so keeps him perpetually at work with subterfuges and shams. He is dissatisfied with Nature’s charter and issues false stock. Oh, how much better for himself and the world, In man .to be brave* and true, what God and unavoidable circumstances have made him —to come out and dare say I am poor, of humble birth, of humble occupation, or don’t know much 1 What a cure this in genuousness would be for social rottenness and financial earthquakes. How much sweeter and purer these actual rills of ca pacity and possession, than this great hr tekish river of pretension, blown with babbles, and evaporating with gas—how much better than that splendid misery, these racks and thumb-screws-that belong to the inquisition of fashion, and thousands *d shabby things, the shabbiest of all being those too proud to seem just what they are.” IN DEBT AND OUT OF DEBT. Os what a hideous progeny of ill is debt the father ! What, meanness*what invasions on self-respect, what cares, what double dealing! How, in due season, it will carve the frank, open face into wrinkles: how, like a knife, it will stab the honest heart ! How it has been known to change a good ly face into a mask of brass; how, with the ‘•damned custom” of debt, has the man be come a callous brickster’ A freedom of debt, and what nourishing sweetness may be found in cold water; what toothsome ness in a dry crust; what ambrosial nour shrnent in a hard egg. Be sure of it. he who dine- out of debt, though his meal be a bis cuit and an onion, dines in “the Apollo.” And then for raiment —-what warmth in a thread-bare coat, if the tailor’s receipt be in vour pocket; what Tyrian purple in the fa ded waistcoat, the vest not owed for; how glossy the well-worn hat, if it cover not the aching of a debtor ! Next the home-sweets, Lie out-door recreation of the free man.— The slreet door fall not a knell on his heart; the foot on the staircase, though he live on third pair, sends no spasms through his an atomy ; at the rap of his door he can crow forth “come in,” and his pulse still beat healthfully, his heait sink not in his bowels. .See him abroad, flow he returns look for look with any passenger; how he saunters; hovy, meeting an acquaintance, he stands and gossips ! But, then, this man knows not debt-—debt, that casts a drug into the rich est wine; that makes the food of the gods unwholesome, indigestible ; lhat sprinkles the banquet of a Duculius with ashes and drops soot into the soup of an emperor; debt that like the rrot.li, makes valueless furs and velvets, enclosing the wearer rn a fes tering prison, (the shirt of Nessus was a shirt not paid for;) debt, that writes upon fres coed halls the handwriting of the attorney ; that puts a voice of terror in the knocker: that makes the heart quake at the haunted fireside; debt, that invisible demon that wdks abroad with a man, now quickening his steps, now “making him look on all sides like a hunted beast, and now bringing to his face the ashy hue of death, as the unconsci ous passenger looks glancingly upon him.— Poverty is a bitter draught, yet may—and sometimes with advantage—be gulped down. Though the drinker make wry iaces. tnere may alter ail be a wholesome good ness in the cup. But debt, however cour teously it be offered, is the cup of a syren, and the wine, spiced and delicious though it be, is poison. The man out of debt, though with a flaw in his jerkin,a crack in his shoe leather, and a hole in his hat, is still the son of liberty, free as the singing lark above him; but the debtor, though clothed in the utmost bravery, what is he but a serf out upon a holiday—a slave, to be reclaimed at any instant by his owner, the creditor ? My son, if poor, see wine in the running spring; let thy mouth water at a last week's roll ; think a threadbare coat the “only wear ;” and acknowledge a white-washed garret the finest housing-place for a gentleman. Do dus, and flee debt. So shall thy heart be at peace, and the sheriff be confounded. WHO WAS CAIN’S WIFE? How often has this enquiry been made? To a certain class of minds such a question possesses more importance than the gravest investigations in theology. Elder Weaver, of St. Louis, in answer to a correspondent, thus responds through the Herald and Era, to the inquiry, “Who was Cain’s wife?” “A subscriber asks this single question. We answer, that she was Cain’s wife.— That’s all we know about her. That is all I the account says of her, save that she was the mother of Enoch. It is said that Cain went into the land of Nod ; and vve suppose that he took his wife with him, as any good husband would. In the land of Nod, they had Enoch, and probably other children not a few, and grand children, for they built a city there. The city w.s not so large, prob ably, as St. Louis is, but it very finely was a large household, of which Cain was patri arch. It might have been his own and the fiumlies ol his children living in separate dwellings. What Cain’s wife’s name was, and who her parents were, we are not cer tified. She might have been the daughter of Adam and Eve, or some of their children. She was probably closely related to Cain, as a sister or a niece, or something nearer than cousin. Cousins many in our day. when the world is full of strangers. It wouldn’t have been so great a won der for Cain to marry his sister, when there were no other girls in the wond, and no laws of marriage, and nobody else to e aim her affections. The command was to ram ry and multiply and replenish the eai a. And we presume it was pretty vve oej * for it seems well replenished now, an * Iv to be. We know nothing about the nurn l>er ol children and grand <’ h ddren he pair had. So doubt it was a goodlv num ber. both of male and lemule ; else who in hah led Cain’s city, and who were the wives of Enoch, Irnd. Mehujael. Methusaleh, and Lameeh the bigamist ( We havn t got the whole story of those days; only a drop in the bucket, as it were. We have the de scending line of generation from Adam downward, and but little more*” THE REV. JOHN WESLEY. This eminent, and learned man, a scholar, a philanthropist and divine, thus speaks ol the ruinous rum traffic in his own day. Will his followers heed his warning and fly from the curse? Will they use ail the means in their power to banish a business which en tails so fearful a curse on tbosß engaged therein? See to it on the sixth day of No vember. “Neither may we gain by hurting our neighbor in the body. Therefore we may not seli anything that tends to impair his health. Such is, eminently, all that liquid fire called drams or spirituous liquors. It is true, they may have a place in medicine, may be used in some bodily disorders—al though there would rarely be occasion for them, were it not for the unskilfulness of the practitioner. Therefore such as prepare and aell them only for this end may keep their conscience clear. But who are they who prepare and sell them only for this end? Then excuse these. But all who sell them in the common way to any that will buy. are poisoners in general. They murder her majesty’s subjects by wholesale: neither do their eyes pity or spare. They drive them to hell like sheep. And what is their gain? Is it not the blood of these men? Who, then would envy their large estates and sumptuous palaces? A curse is in the midst of them. A curse cleaves to the stones, to the timber, to the furniture of them ! The curse of God is in their gardens, their walks, their groves, a fire that burns to the nether most Bell ! Blood, Blood is there 1 The foundation, the walls, the roof are stained with blood ; and can’st thou hope O, man ol blood, though thou ait clothed in scarlet and fine linen, and farest sumptuously every day. c-.in'st i hou hope to deliver thy fields of blood down to the third generation? Not so!— There is a God in heaven, therefore thy name shall be blotted out. Like as those whom thou hast destroyed body and soul, thy name shall perish with thee.” <4 a IT CAN’T BE HELPED. “Can’t be helped,” is one of a thousand convenient phrases wilh which men cheat and deceive themselves. It is one in which the helpless and idle take refuge as their las and only comfort—it can’t be helped ! Your energetic man is for helping everything, ll fie see-an evil he clearly discerns its eau-e and takes steps forthwith to remove it. He busies himself with ways and means, devise practical plans ana methods and will not lei the world rest until he has done something in a remedial way. This indolent man spares himself all this trouble. He will not budge. He sits with his arms folded, and is ready with Irs unvarying observation, “it can’t be helped !” as much as to say, “if it is, it ought to be, and we need not bestir our selves to alter it.” Wash your face you dirty little social boy; you are vile, and re pulsive, and vicious, by reason of neglect of cleanliness. Clear away your drains and gutters, purify your atmosphere, you indo lent corporations for t e cholera is coming. “It can’t be helped.” Educate your chil dren, train them up in virtuous habits, teach them to be industrious, obedient, frugal and thoughtful, you thoughtless communities, for they are now growing up vicious, ignorant, careless, a source of future peril to the na tion. “It can’t be helped !” But it can be helped. Every evil can be abated, every nuisance got rid of; abomination swept away: though this will never be done by the can’t be helped people. Man is not helpless, but can help both himself and oth ers. He can act individually, and against wrong and evil. He has the power to abate and eveutually uproot them, but alas! the greatest obstacle of all in the way of such beneficial action, is the feeling and disposi tion out of which arises the miserable, pu ling and ejaculation, “It can’t be helped !” TRUE PHILOSOPHY, I saw a pale mourner stand bendingover the tomb, and his tears fell fast and often. As he raised his humid eyes to heaven, he cried, “My brother I O, my brother ! ’ A sage passed that way, and said : “For whom dost thou mourn ? “One.” replied lie, “whom I did not suth ciently love while living but whose mesU “ thou do if ho were resto reThe.ne o e u,ner replied. “That he would never offend him by any unkind word, but he Would take every occasion to show his friendship, if he could but come back to Ins’ fond embrace.” . . . “Then waste no time m useless griet, said the sage, “but if thou hast friends, go and cherish the living, remembering that they will die one day also.” SPREADING HERSELF. “A certain old lady,” had a hen. She was a very small hen, but strutted and cackled among her tribe, as smartly as the biggest of them all. Well, after a while, she took it into her head to — set. Her mistress sought out her stolen nest, and there, in all her self importance, she sat, striving in vain to cover the multitude ot eggs she had from time to time, achieved. A row of the oval deposites completely outside her tiny proportions, suroundtd her nest. The old lady looked on n utt* r astonishment at the boldness of h r litt e feathered charge. Throwing up her spec- TERMS: #I.OO IN ADVANCE. JAMES T. BLAIN. PRINTER. VOL. XXII.-NUMBEK 15. facie 8 over her cap border and lifting up both hands, in her amazement, she ex claimed. “Well, Mrs. Hen, it strikes me that if you are intending to get chickens from all these eggs, you have got to spread yourself considerable .” TAKE A PAPER FOR YOUR WIFE. A friend, says an exchange, not long since, told us a story in relation to one of our subscribers which contains a good mor al for husbands, and also furnishes an ex ample for wives which is not unworthy of imitation tinder similar circumstances : The subscriber referred to, says our friend in presence of his wife, said that it had been his intention to call at the office, pay up his arrears, and discontinue his paper. Ilis wife very promptly asked : “Why do yon intend to discontinue the paper?” “Because,” said the husband, ‘I am so much away from home on business, and have so little time to read, there seems lit tle use of my taking a paper.’ “Yes,’ replied site, ‘it may be of little use to you, but it is of great use to me. I remain at home while you are gone. I wish to know what is going on in the world. If yon discontinue the paper I will go straight to town and subscribe myself.” As the paper has not been discontinued, we suppose the wife’s reasoning was con clusive. The moral of this incident must not be overlooked. THE POLITE CHILD. Mrs. Leslie was writing at her table. It was evening. The three boys were in. George’s room, and the two elder were reading. Eddy was looking at the pictures m George’s magazine. Pretty soon he came to his mother, and laid his book on her table. In a moment he raised his eyes to hers, and inquired : “Do I disturb you, mother?” “Not at all,” the replied. Occasionally he asked questions about the pictures, and Mrs. Leslie herself be came so much interested, that she laid down her pen and read to him. This de lighted him, for he cannot read rapidly irmself in any book more difficult than “Susy’s S.x Birthdays.” “I am going to bed now,” said Eddy. He then closed the book, and seated him -elf for a few minutes in his mother's lap. He put hie arms around ht rmck, and gave ler such a loving embrace that I fear her collar did not look quite as smooth after wards as it did before. Mrs. Leslie was particularly happy to hold Eddy and talk with him, because he iiad been so.truly polite in inquiring if he disturbed her. No one ever loses anything by politeness. Even little children are great gainers when they treat others with courtesy. Eddy’s mother loved him more than ever that evening, and kissed him with increasing affection when she bade him “good night.” He was very happy too, for he had been mindful of his moth er’s convenience. True politeness is be nevolence in small things. If Eddy had been 6elfish he would not have feared he should disturb hie mother, but would have thought only of his own pleasure. — N. T. Evangelist. MUSICAL AUTOMATON. The Boston papers describe as now in that city a most ingenious piece of mech; n ism, constructed by a native of Holland, in the island of Java. It is the full length figure of a man, well proportioned, who holds in his hands a musical instrument, from which he discourses music, in exact time, and with most superhuman skill. The instrument used at times is a clarionet, but the figure also plays upon a cornet and an organ, in which latter case the feet rre used as well as the hands. In can be seen the complex mechanism, which inflating the lungs, as it weie, sends the breath into the instrument, wliHi controls the finger moving the keys, and serves as the nerves and muscles of the automaton. When this machinery is wound up the head bows, the eyes move in the most nat ural manner, and the lip 9 seem to count the measure, and the clarionet may begin at the exact moment required to accord with the accompaniment of the piano. Several musical gentlemen, present at a private exhibition, expressed themselves delighted with the ingenuity of the contri vanco. INDUSTRY. All exertion is in itself delightful, and active amusement seldom tires. Ilelve tius owns that he could hardly listen to a concert for two hours, though he could play on an instrument all day long. In all pursuits, efforts, it must not be forgotten, are as indispensable as desires. The globe is not to be circumnavigated by one wind. We should never do nothing. “It is bet ter to wear out than to rust out,” says Bishop Cumberland. “There will be time enough for repose in the grave,” said Ar naud to Nicole. In truth, the proper rest for man is change of occupation. lO*During a great storm on the Pacific Ocean, a vessel was once wrecked, an 1 a Quaker, tossing to and fro on a plni.k ex elamed, over the crest of a wave, to an other who was drift ng by on a bar.el, “Fr.end, dost thou call th.s Pacific?”