The Sumter banner. [volume] (Sumterville, S.C.) 1846-1855, 1849-10-24

No tongue 30 vile but finds kindted ear; = o,il
Swift flies ench tale Of fiauglter, shame or folly:
Caught by Paul Pry au.i carried home 10 Polly;
On this each foul caIuminis.ur leans, ~.
And nods aud hints the villany he means; y 20
Full well he knows what lulent wildfirc lies
In the cose whisper and the da,k surmsa;
A mutiled word, IL wordess wink has woke
A warmer throb Than II Dexter spoke; y g
Aud he, DER Everett's periods who would nodj 7
TO track secret half The towii has trod. 3
0rig [Sprague. al
4 DON'T KNOW, 1 DON'T KNOW ABoUP
THAT. of course you don't endless
croaker. No one ever knew you to be
quite satisfied with anything, except,
perhaps your own opinion. There new
er was plan proposed to which you
did not object; nor an enterprise under
taken of which you did not complain; il
it failed, you knew it would; and if it
succeeded, it was more by hit than by
wit in the protector. No line can be
drawn so straight that your squint eye
cannot detect curve in it; no web can
be woven SO closely that your sharp
eyes cannot see through it; no wall
built 80 compactly that you cannot pick
a flaw in it. You have indeed wet
cloth to lay on every body and every
thing that comes within your reach. It
never rains when it should, and as it
should; it is always too wet or too dry;
it is too hot; or it is too cold. You fret
yourself, and you fret all around you,
and that continually. In word, you
are poor unhappy croaker. Now,
such characters, more or less fully de-
veloped, are to be found in every COM
munity, ever surrounded by an atrnos-
phere peculiarly their own, in which
neither the lungs nor the heart Of any
one but themselves can freely play-an
atmosphere like that in which the poor
needle.grinder labors full of sharp and
and deadly particles. Il
THoUGHTs ON MusIc.--Singing is
happiness. Why all the foolish specu-.
lations about the happiness principle?
singing Is happiness! From all ages
the old men eloquent Of whom We have
read Of, We're men who loved O good
song, or good psalm--go as far back
even as that prince of Israel, the venera.
bic David. Often, when his duties of
command were over, joyously, to his
stately hall walked he, touching to lofty
measures the sounding harp, till inspi-
ration came like cloud of fire over his
heart and brain-joy, like madness,
poured out its sparklcs from the clear
depths of his eyes, and the aged king
leapt up and sung the measure of his
own dance. What, without singing, is.
love? How glowingly burns the eye,
and how passlonately trembles the lip
of the listening lover. when, reclining
on the messy bank among the woods in
the calm of evening, the beloved Of his
affections singeth to him the Joy of her
hcart---and of all the birds Of that Wild
forest, there is not one that hath such
tones Of pathos, and passion, and de-
light, as those, which love pours
out from its altar in that rnaiden's
breast!-- What, without singing, id
friendship?-.Fame? stupid, sickening,
barren, and unbearable. And jollity?
a dead letter! How in the name of the
sa,,ctnm sanctoru,n, can dozen friends
sit round the table, with tho sparkling
wine before them, and feel the joy of
q new delight and no song? Black:
agood.
THE ROAD OF AMBITION The high.
or it ascends the more difficult it be:
comes, till at last it terminates in somo
elevation too narrow for friendship, too
steep for safety, too sharp for repose,
and where the occupant, above the sym.
pathy of man, and below the friendship
of angels, resembles in the solitude, if
not the depth of his suiferings q Pros
metheus chained to tho Caucasian rock.
The Corn trade, with abundant crops