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THE CORNER STONE
PPfiLISIUID JSYEUY THUBSDAY MOKNINO.
JAMES N. BETIIUNE—Editou.
W. S. REYNOLDS,
‘. PUBLISHER.
Tkriis .—Two Dollars per annum. No nam
wiil-ba antarcd upon our booka unless the money
L.paid in advance.
Pottrije
Songs for the Poultry Yard.
AlIR—“ Lesbia hath a Beaming Bye.”
Lesbia hath some Cochin Chi
na fowls of most superior breading ;
Every one too fat to fly,
So constantly she keeps them feeding.
Daily wakened by their crows,
At some precocious hour she rises,
And while their breakfast forth she throws,
Her pets she thus apostrophizes :
“O my Cochin China dear —
I mean expensive—Cochin China;
Most hens lay..
One egg a day,
But you lay rwwffny OettiUrtMna!*’
Lesbia longed to see the show *
Held lately in the street called Baker,
And so importuned me to go,
~ That lat length was glad to take her.
Curious breeds were thjro on view,
“Silver penciled,” “golden crested
I noticed toe,
“‘l’d much prefer them doubled-breasted ;)
And there were Cochin China lieie,
Vastly costly Cochin China;
Chicks we’ve heard
By Ducks are reared,
But surely geese rear Cochin China !
[Punch..
m iscelUneouSv
■*
THE BRITISH PARTISAN;
A Talc of tile Ti;uei of Old.
A PRIZE TALE,
,*T MIBS MORAONK, Os SOUTH CAROLINA.
CHAPTER X.
(Concluded.)
Why let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart uagalled, play ;
For some must watch, whilst some
must sleep;
So run the world away. Shark.
-She is won; vre are oft - , over bank, bush and
scaur:
T>/;i have fleelatea-iu that toll.>.v,’ quoth young
5 Loebtiivmr.”
It was a day of rejoicing at Vienna—
Swine part of the scattered remnant of
tire American soldiery, had returned
from Esitaw into that neighborhood.—
The victory was reearfy decided; and
the voice of exultation, which rose over j
the wail of widows and orphans, and !
drowned the groans of the dying, told |
to every surrounding echo, that, the
country was free.
What a day was that tor the small
remnant of whig mifitia—that firm, pat
r.otie band, which had withstood tempt
ations. and digress, poverty, and hard
ships of every degree—men. who left
their families in the hands of a murder
ous banditti at home, and went fort to
meet the so
•“Finn as rock of the Ocean that stems
A thousand wild waves by the shore.
end who, having now returned to wit
ness the woful devastation created in
their absence, could only clasp their few
remaining treasurers, and sa.. ‘These
are mine own !’ It was both a proud
and a bitter day for them ; but they were
conquerors. The foe was retreating from
the country; and with the natural sym
pathies of men who have been associated,
ind come safely out of some dangerous
enterprise, they met with hearts and
tongues overflowing with the dangers
they had passed.
The day was in sultry June; and the
burning sun, which luid seemed to set on
•fire thf low painted roofs of the houses
of Vienna, shed an oblique radiance up
on the western windows, which wore
pow opened to admit the cool breeze
springing up from the river. The sin
gle street, as well as the houses were
thronged with men —under the shade of
trees; —in the piazzas—sitting, standing,
walking, laughing and shouting; in ev
ery variety of rude and earless happiness.
Some stood about in groops, resting on
their guns, which from long habit, had
become necessary to their comfort;
whilst someone of the number, swelling
with the importance of fancied anvan
tage over the rest, told with a boastful
air, the tale of his ‘deeds in arms’—how
he fought in such a battle, or how he
had galled such a Tory. All of which
his auditors approved by loud laughing.
and significant gestures; but it was
observed that none laughed so loud
as those who had the most doubtful right
to sypathize with the speaker for, though
the pride of the whigs, together with the
recent wrongs they had suffered at their
hands, caused them to scorn all offers of
friendship from the crest fallen Tories,
there were yet very many among that
class, who, by prudent caution, had re
served themselves a place among the con
quering party. Many of these now min
gled with the under class of whigs who
illled the grog shops with bacchanalian
rovelrv, and it was not uncommon to see
H boasting whig, who had advanced into
that highest state of quarrelsome inter
meddling, step out and rolling up his
THE CORNER STONE.
vol a,
sleeves from his brawny arms, chalenge ;
another man to prove himself not a tory. j
It was all a scene of noise and bustle; a !
true picture of the disorders and license
of a state of recent warfare, and a natu
ral evidence of the haughtiness with
which man assumes power. Some oth
ers of the younger men even, who had
rested their guns against the houses, and
engaged in the peaceful game of running,
wrestling, or ball playing, whenever a
man was seen passing along the road at
a distance, or skulking under the bushes,
would shout the word ‘Tory’ from one
to the other, and chase him out of sight,
with the loud laugh, and broad halloo of
childish delight. As the fox which has
long been the terror of the farm yard; af
ter having been run down and disarmed
of Us pow Ms-by bbe Jamtsmanjis crowded
%nd cackled over by the delighted fowls,
and pelted with stones, iind . dragged
about by the revengeful children: thus
these deluded beings, no longer feared,
were become the butt of the conquering
party —objects merely deserving the in
dignities of contempt. There was only
one, who by the high character of his
bold and lofty defiance, seemed to be
worthy of their resentment. lie had
baffled and evaded them. His indomi
table spirit refused to sue or submit; and
though he liad committed fewer deeds
of abhorrence than any one of the vile
class with whom he had been associated,
his countrymen hated him w'th the
deepest and most deadly hatred ; for the
tyrannical heart of man is too haughty
in the hour ol victory to suffer any defi
ance. But Ralph Cornet, bv the supe
rior firmness of his motions, had as yet
eluded their grasp. They hunted him
as the wild beasts are hunted in the woods
of Africa, with sword and spear; but
though he was known to be yet in the
neighborhood, no hand could be laid up
on him.
Thus thwarted, his enemies had but
one way of revenging themselves. It is
true they seized his broad lands on the
Savannah, by sequestration ; but they
knew that the only way to wring the
roul of Ralph, was to deprive him of his
betrothed —his beloved Anhette. And,
however strange it is no less true, that
this arbitary measure against an inno
cent and unoffending girl, was put into
rigid execution.
As the evening advanced, however, a
party of conquerors, apart from these,
were preparing {or a more refined species
of enjoyment. A large room of a house,
on tlie bank of the river was filled to
crowding with people of both sexes it
was the room in which the brave Pickens
sat, a few months before, when he gave
audience to the wily Bates. They wlTj
both gone ; the noble patriot and the vi'e
intriguer had alike —sunk into the vor
tex of the stream which deluged their
country —and there, upon the very spot
where they had concerted plans of such
vital interest, to one of them at least,
their survivors, with that strange insen
sibility to death, which always attends
times of danger, wore making merry.—
A ring was cleared in the centre of the
room for dancing, and as the fiddler en
tered, and began the tantalizing exercise
of calling into order his rebellious strings,
givingevery now and then an encourage
ing twitch of the elbow over the shrieking
catgut, the young men jumped in eager
anticipation, and capered about the room.
Some were in white stockings and pumps,
with yellow small clothes, which they
had just purchased from some itinerant,
peddling though the country ; but most
of them woref their high-heeled boots,
with yellow tops, turned over from the
tights of kersey or homespun, which had,
perhaps, borne of war. Nev
ertheless, each one thought himself irre
sistible in the eyes of the young ladies,
who—silly creatures —simpered and
whispered among each other, still casting
timid and lively glances at their invinci
ble warriors.
But there was one countenance in that
assembly, which moved not for all that
merriment, no more than .fit had fallen
on the dull cold ear of death. It was
the pale face of Annette Bruyesant who
eat in one corner, far as possible from the
revelers, in the stiff and rigid attitude
of marble. No motion betrayed ‘he vi.
tality which animated that statue —no
tear, no sigh, no glance, evinced the
sensibilities of a wounded spirit; but her
eyes were fixed on the opposite window,
in the cold glassy gaze of despair, and
her hands were folded in her lap, in the
mute eloquence of submission.
As the dancing went on, she was left
alone; no one'was sufficiently hard-heart
ed to insult her misery ; she had only
been forced to attend her guardians
there; for fear some effort should be
made for her escape in their absence.
The time was past when that sweet
girl coulfi make any resistance, aud she
was now perfectly passive in the hands
of her persecutors. If she felt, she
showed no resentment towards them.—
She might, perhaps, have approved the
justice of Ralph Cornet’s condemnation;
she never for a moment, thought of for
saking him. No, the more wretched
and outcast he became, the more did
that faithful girl believe it her duty to
cling to him ; and, as she sat in that ap
parently appathetic posture, her thoughts
were bound up in a painful dream—of
his griefs, and loneliness, arid dangers.
Could she have thrown herself in his
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 1854.
arms at that moment, the language of
her heart would have been :
“Thou hast called me thine angel, in moments
of bliss,
S'.ill thine angel I’ll be ’mid the horrors of
this !”
But despair of ever -seeing him was do
ing its dreadful work there, and her
heart continued to weejw its drops of
blood. * In this sitnnt nn she did not
perceive that any on** approached her,
until she felt'her o ; •<] -lightly, on
the shoulder .mg round, she
met the <* >;!’ AO ItVw Morrison tor
the first rime -in ■ her .captivity, who,
with a cautions look ;irou\id them, drop
pi and a piece of paper ji> her. hand. ’An>
” rtcSTnstinotivety ot> uie- company.. .- A
fearful change came over her face as she
devoured the scrawl. It merely con
tained the words in rude characters: ‘Be
at the window an hour hence—l shall
be there.’ The blood rushed -into An
nette’s face until it. became lurid, and
her veins swelelled until they became
visible on the surface of her beautiful
forehead—then again, she became ghast
ly pale, and gasped for breath. As she
turned to speak to the old man, the
words died away with a choking noise in
her throat; but Andrew Morrison had
left her side. That wary old man knew
suspicion already’ rested on him, and up
on his caution now, depended the suc
cess of his undertaking.
At this time a very different scene
was acting in a house opposite to that in
which the ball was going on. There a
wounded man lay upon a pallet on the
floor, to get the cool air of evening, and
his head rested on the bosom of a hand
some woman, who was putting back the
thick masses of raven hair from his brow.
Asshedidso, the tears fell from her
heavy eyelids on the worn and wasted
features of the dying man
‘My own Ellen’— lie as he wiped
the tears from his face—klont weep so
—you will kill rue before ray time by
your grief.’
‘O James,’ said she in a voice which
was racked witli anguish, ‘how can I
help it—to hear all this noise and rejoic
ing, and you lying here.’
‘Do not let that disturb yon, my love,’
replied her husband with a faint attempt
at smiling; ‘it is the nature of man to
forget in prosperity tile means by which
lie gained it. Why shoud I think to be
remembered more than the thousands
who lie on the field of battle?’
‘O, bnt James, they might respect you, |
while you are living; you are dyii g for
them, as I may say,’ and she burst into j
a fresh agony of tears.
‘No, Ellen, no,’ answered the dying j
man with fervor--‘i die for the cause, j
the glorious cause—an ’ —he continued, j
his faded eyes spaikling with some of
their wonted brilliancy—‘and we are j
free, thank heaven! we are free!’
As the glow of enthusiasm died away
from the hollow cheek nf the soldier, lie
sunk back exhans'ed, and lay for some
time silent. It was evident his hour
was fast approaching; his breath at
times came thick and gaspingly, and his
eyes i oiled upward ; but the sobs of his j
wife seemed again to disturb him.
‘Ellen,’ said lie, almost in a whisper,
‘my good Ellen, on have been always
kind t. me. I) • so, if you
would fiav- „ ; ,cd. I could i
have w. ..i and ■u no matter —it is God’s j
will, and i haw. but one wish on earth; j
it is to sec my poor Ralph before l die; |
but you said that Annette Bruyesant was I
here; send for her, that I may tell her;
—-tel 1 her I forgive him.’
A lew minutes aft< r Annette had read j
the paper and resumed ln-r seat with ap
parent calmness, a little hoy made his
way through the crowd and threw him
self on her lap crying bitterly. All that
could be extracted from him was that
his father was dying, and wished to see
Annette Bruyesant. It was a sight to
have melted a heart of stone, and those
hearts, already softened by the sweet
ness of Annette’s temper, could not re
fuse her this sad duty. She followed
the child across the street, almost surpri
sed at the liberty granted her.
So soon as she was gone, Andrew Mor
rison also left the room, but there was
no heed given to bis actions —the amuse-?
ments went on unabated.
By the time Annette reached the house
some of his friends were gathered round
the pallet of the dying soldier; but he
paid them no attention —his gaze was
fixed on Annette, as she knelt beside
him, her eyes, before so cold and mo
tionless, now streaming with tears. He
clasped her hand with ail bis remaining
strength, and bis lips moved, bnt An
nette heard no sound until she leaned her
ear close to his face.
‘You will see him,’ said lie, in broken
sentences; tell him—my brother—that
—I loved him to the last.’
He now struggled for utterance—a low
gurgling sound was heard in his throat,
and his wife threw herself in distraction
on his breast. But he opened his eyes:
‘Ellen—my boy—where is Willie?’
The child crept up and put his little
hand into that of his father. ‘Make him
a soldier —you hear that, Ellen—and—
and—raise me a little higher, love—it is
dark here—and -do not—let him be—
a—traitor—to—to—to’ his voice failed
him, and his head sunk on his breast.
In a minutes, the soldier’s children
wore brphans.; for James Cornet lay
there®!stiffened corpse, one of tli'e 110-
to the battle es Eutaw.
Anijettefflirew her arms around that
widowed mother* the kind soother oflfer
own and wept long with
her. At length alio arose and walked
out upOn tlie piazza.. The street wasstill
busy vwth its crowd, and the sohnd of
that nrnsic, with the heavy tramp of the
dancer, came .to] her ear.. Her heart
sickened, and she leaned against a col
umn for support. Then the thought of*
her own uncertain destiny came over her
mind with agonizing force; and she en
vied the man, who in that chamber of.
death, was released so easily and happi
ly n o:'aw&atjd which appeared
to tier; “Aoufiff rrT6HT4nt,.'S “TiorTemun
was seen ascending the hill of that thron
ged street, in full view of the windows
of the hall room. He was riding a horse
of prodigious size and beauty, which
seemed to yield to every motion of the
rider, as his graceful, swan-like neck,
obeyed tlie impulse of the rein.
Annette raised her clasped hands to
heaven, and stood with her lips apart,
and her blood curdling with surprise and
terror. She remembered the paper she
had received. It was the appointed hour
arid it could be no other than Ralph
Cornet —but would even he dare thus
much? #
The men who filled the streets, stood
regarding tlie approaching stranger with
a surpgse greater thafi hers. The hand
of every man dropped on his gun, but
remained there motionless; and a death
like silence prevailed where all before
was confusion—so great was the curiosi
ty and awe which that majestic horse
man excited, as lie galloped fearlessly a6
it were, against the very bayonets of his
enemies. Tlie keen eye of Ralph had
descried that well known form, and in
an instant he stood by the door, all un
conscious how nearly he was connected
with the painful scene within. ‘Haste,
haste, Annette!’ said he; and lie pulled
tlie fainting form of the poor girl into tlie
saddle bow—one touch of the rein, and
the proud animal, a6 if conscious of his
master’s triumph, arched liis high neck,
and with a bound flew towards tlie riv
er bank. Then, as if some spell of eri
! chantment had been loosed, the men
moored from every part of the village—
every gun was raised, and curses rang
on the name of Ralph Cornet—but by
ilut tuno. they reached the river’s side,
the noble horse was beating the wafers
with his broad breast, far into the mid
dle of the current. Why did not those
men ffoe ? There was no one but knew,
from the first, that it was Ralph Cornet.
Was it a sympathy with the beautiful
and fearless boldness of theacti n which
deterred them? Or was it the native hor
ror which man has of interfering with
any tiling already in the hands of God ?
Certain it is, that they saw those two
beings who had suffered so long, pite
ously struggling there in the midst of
that wide river, and not a gun was dis
charged. But, when that noble animal
bounded, drippingly, on the opposite
shore, with his brave and beautiful bur
den, a low and suppressed murmur of
j admiration and astonishment ran along
I that crowd of men,which,only a few mo
ments before were breathing curses.
For a moment did Ralph Cornet
pause, and turn his gaze upon tlie 6pot
j lie had left behind. Annette lay, with
j her ariwaronud him, and he bent over
! and kissed her cheek, as it were in defi
ance. A wild—a joyous—a triumphant
laugh rang over the waters, as tlie lovers
wheeled round, and was seen bounding
j along, for some distance, under the
I dark shadowy trees, extending out from
the high grassy bank. Ralph Cornet
had turned his back forever on his coun
try.
In a sweet sequestered spot, where a
little stream wound along through gras
sy banks, and where a little rustic bridge
was half overhung with a canopy of pen
dant vines, Andrew Morrison, that faith
ful friend, was awaiting them with the
French Minister. Tlie sun was just sink
ing below the trees, and the sweet birds,
lifting up their voices in tlie chorus of
evening, sang the marriage hymn of
Ralph Cornet and his Annette. After
so much of suffering and trial, he felt
himself amply compensated when lie
clasped her to his bosom—his own !
They then bid those last and dear
friends adieu; and were turning to de
part, when a strange and somewhat lu
dicrous figure started up from against a
tree, exclaiming in an humble but re
proachful accent; ‘Massaßalph,nolebe
ole digger stay here—eh?’
No, my good Juba, no!’ said Ralph,
•yon shall go, if you wisli it.’
‘Ha Mfha!’ laughed the African, ‘Ole
nigger go for true —no stay here for dam
tory gun. whip lash, Juba follow his
massa to end eb de worl;’ and slinging
his huge bundle on a stick across hi*
shoulder, old Juba trudged on after the
only being he loved on earth.
The whole of Ralph Cornet’s acquain
tance was lost in conjecture. Even his
enemies would have given up their re
sentment for some knowledge of that
bold and extraordinary man; but the
old Scotchman was the only depository
of that secret, and to his dying day lie
never revealed the place whore the Brit
ish Partisan carried his bride.
MOLDS OF WISDOM.
The vulgar mind fancies that jqVlgft
mentis implied chiefly intbe capacity twj
censure; and yet tliere is no j ndgerneps
to exquisite as that which knows prop*
erly how to approve.. • ]
It is easier to forgive au ancient ene
rgy than the friend we have offen<}pd.—•’
Our resentment grows with onr undjltf
serf, and we feel vindictive 4n due de
gree with our doubts pf'pltance of find
ing forgiveness. ■.<
Better that we should err in action
than wholly refuse to perform. The storm 4
is so much better than the calm, as ir
dares thc'presence ot a living
Stagnation is something worse, tliap.
death. Tt is irruption also.
The hi ill i (ti a, child is the
in on tot a soul. The soul mnqt work its
way'out o£ prison, arid, in doing so, pro
vide itself with wrings for a future journey
It is for each of us to determine whether
our wings shall be thoseof an angel or a
grub.
Poverty is necessarily feeble; but it
does not follow that riches afl'o< and
strength. We may, if we please make
wings of them, which will carry us to
heaven; but we may also as certainly
make them oppressive burdens, which
would sink the most hopeiul soul into the
deepest perdition.
A Goon Excuse.' —There is a society
in existence, which, like most other asso
ciations of the kind, has a standing rule,
that all members who come late, or ab- ‘
sent themselves, shall ha fined a certain
sum, unless they are able t, give suffi- i
cient excuse for their tardiness or ab
sence. On one occasion a member came ,
in after hours, and the chairman asked
him his excuse for being late.
‘Really sir,’ said lie, ‘I was not able to
get here before. Domestic troubles—
perplexities of mind—l cannot tell which
will die first, my wife or my daughter!’
‘Ah!’ said the chairman, expressing
much commiseration for the husband and
father, ‘I was not aware of that.. Remit 1
the fine, Mr. Secretary; the excuse is a
good one.’
The member consequently took his
seat. Next morning another member
met him, and with much feeling, asked
him how his wife and daughter were ?
‘ln excellent health,’ he replied.
‘How? I thought you said last niglr
that you did not know which one would
die first.’
‘I did; and atn still in a quandary. —
Time, however, will decide the ques
tion.’
AN AMERICAN LADY'S WIT.
We heard a good anecdote the other
day of Mrs. Patterson, of Baltimore, the
.American lady connected with the Bo
naparte family by marriage.
Being in Italy, at an evening party, it
fell to her lot to be handed in to the sup
per table by a young English nobleman,
who, unlike most of the patricians of
England, had a good share of the puppy j
in his composition. Thinking to quiz
the old lady, he said :
‘You are acquainted with the Ameri
cans, I believe?’
‘Very well.’
‘A monstrously vulgar people, aren’t j
they V j
‘Yes; but what could you expect when i
you consider that they descended from j
the English ? Had their progenitors,j
now, been Italians or Spaniards, )ve,
might look for some good breeding a
mong them.’
The nobleman did not venture to tread
on Mrs. Patterson’s toes again that eve
ning- m
Ethiopian Philosophy. —‘Mr. Crow,
can von explain to do subscriber why
dat ’lieious wegctable called do nutmeg,
neber comes to maturity ?’
‘Never conies to maturity ?’
‘Yes; why dey am always small po
tatoes ?’
‘Why <iey always small ’taters?’
‘Yesj Mr. Crow. Why dey neber get
to be some punkins V
‘Why dey neber’
‘Yes, yes, Mr. Crow. Why don’t de
nutmegs, as a clasg, grow large instead
of always growin’ small?’
‘No, Julius Caesar, I don’t know nuf
fin about it. You inns ax some garde
ner man about wegitables.’
‘Well, Mr. Crow, I kin tell you why
nutmegs, as a class, don’t grow large.—
It’s because ebry indiwidual nutmeg
knows dat de largest nutmeg in de
world am liable to coine across a (/ra
ter /’
A Good One.— A day or two since a
white man met a negro followed by a
dog, and proposed to purchase the ani
mal, telling the negro he would give
him a dollar Virginia note for it.
The negro took the money and dispo
sed of the dog. On coming to town bo
ascertained that the one dollar Virginia
note was on the celebrated ‘Bank of the
Union,’ and therefore worth nothing.
O, I doesn’t lose any thing,’ said the
negro; the dog was worth noffin too.’
‘Mv son,’ said an old ladv, ‘how must
Jonah have felt when the whale swallow
him.’ ‘Down in the month,’ was the
I y ung hopeful’s reply.
’ RATES OF ADVERTISING.
AdTartisamanU inserted at t>,v* Be*”
aquae* £ur the tiraf iiuertiau, aud Fi>tt Cjutu (t
Mdi quent inaeitiun. ■ *,& ‘ 5 • ..
A litoral deduction will to wad* fr
. Jtverli**menU iuaerted at tto steal rU*
hr A %gp* en . , S ntl ‘ > without I imitation,’trill biKb
Hhf4 ntitiiCorhid, aud charged acvtftoiugl* K^^g r ’
Ao. 03 Broad . B tree-1, next
df At/er r s. 4 iSstik
Noi 10.
-A-LITTLE FAIII.M
‘1 Idkswrord <.f the warriur was .taken
’^ lteM I D had not long lieeti
’iitt of i lse . The gust was rublied off, bnt
•tliertf wverie spots that would nos go-they
v J rerc It was on tWtable,'t>fcar
ol tl.e secrAafty. took ad
vantage o 1 die first breafli m air t® mere
“ farther off. jk .” f u *,
‘Thou art right,’ said the sword, ‘I am
.a bad neighbor.’
tjs®e not,’ replied tha pen, ‘lam
art,hut I like
iiiiiniteyVsawrftjo swtrrd.
perpetuate,’ apswered th ixien.
‘f I Record Uicut
<lr6 glory them M^kcst,
sen, shaTtone day fie—in the Lake of
Oblivion.’ -
The sword Jwas silent..
.A I oetical Genius.— ln a well known
city, a poetical genius was hauled up be
tore a magistrate lor kissing i <*jrl jind
kicking up a dust and the following dia
logue ensued:
Magistrate —ls your name John Jays ‘
Prisoner—l es, so the people saw
M. VVas it.you that kissed the girl and
raised the alarm?
P. Yes, your honor, but I thought it
was no harm.
M. You rascal! did you come hero to
make rhymes ? •
P. ±vo, your honor, but it will happen
sometimes.
M. Be off, you scamp, get out of inr
sight.
P. Thank’ee, your honor, then I’ll bid.
you good night.
A visitor calling at the house of Mr..
Gideon Swallowswamp in the Ninth
ward, and wishing to see the proprietor
about a small hill, chose t > appeal from
the decision of the servant who infored
him Gideon was not in, to a
ed Miss at.an upper window.
‘My dear, is your father at home.’
‘What did Mary say, s r?’ inquii ed tlio
young lady.
‘Oh, she says he aint at’ home, but I
don’t believe her.’
‘ls your name Bill V
‘Well, yes,’ said the man, ‘they call
me that.’
‘llien he is not at home; I heard him>
tell Mary if any. bill came here to remem
ber he was out. Besides I always be
lieved wbarcvrfJMitry says, sir.
The Thief and the Di ke, —The great
Duke of Darborough, passing the gate of
the Tower after having inspected that
fortress, was accosted by an ill-looking
fellow with.
‘llow do you do my Lord duke? I
believe you. grace and I have now been
in every prison in the Kingdom :
T believe, friend,’ replied the duko,
with not a little supprise, ‘this is the on--
lv goal I have ever visited
‘Very like ; replied the other, ‘but I
have been in all the rest!’
Mr. Twiss, a romancing traveller, was
talking of a church he had seen in Spain
a mile and a half long.
‘Bless me!’ said Garrick, how broad
was it?’
‘About ten yards,’ said Twiss.
‘This is, you’ll observe, gentleinou,’
said Garrick t<> the company, ‘not a
round lie, but differs from his other sto
ries, which generally are as broad as
they are long.’
A young woman on alighting from a
stage, dropped her ribbon from her bon
net in the bottom of the coach. ‘You
have left your bow behind,’ said a lady
passenger. ‘No I havn’t; lie’s gone
a fishing,’ innocently replied the dam
sel.
‘Well, sir,’said one person to another,
to whom he had, in a matter of business,
made a very absurd offer, ‘do you en
tertain my proposition?’ ‘No,sir,’ replied
the other, ‘but you proposition entertains
me.’
‘Nothing sets so wide a mark between
a vulgar and noble soul, as the respect
and reverential l<>ve of woman-kind.—
A man who is always sneering at wo
man is generally a coarse profligate or a
coarser bigot.
Some Snakes. —We learn that upon
the plantation of Col. John B. Lamar, in
Lee county, a log was split open, a few
days since, and twenty eight full grown
rattlesnakes found within, Sum snaix to
be sure.
‘The human mind,’ says an Italian,
‘walks in England, it skips in France, it
plots and gropes in Germany, in Italy
it soars.’ In the United States it
spreads.
A man of talent is lost, it he does not
join to talent energy of character. With
the lantern of Diogenese you should also
have his stick.
A man attempted to seize a favora
ble apportunity, a few days since, bat
his hold slipped, and he foil to the
ground.