Newspaper Page Text
«■
utiie ferment of a Tree, is preferable to the torpor of a despotic) Govern
meat.”
VOfi. II.
ATHENS, OEOHOIA, SEPTEMBER 21, 1833.
NO. 27.
,t/PsJSii
13 0 C11*5 .
Thoso arc beautiful lines; simple, touching, and
most true:
From Ihr AV.t Yorl; American.
Tin: consumptive.
•Twas nothing tli.it l.er simple smile was worth
A scrapli’s brightest—nothing but her eye,
Or r.dli'.t' bright < r !>rightly c.iltn, gave birth
To all the freshness of life’s morning shy ;
Tho bli"iit that desolates the household hearth
Came o’er her. and she knew that she must die.
Then bowed her gentle head beneath the hlov;
Which laid, at once, earth’s hope and mercy low.
And her pure check grew cold and darkly pale
As sno<\s by mountain caverns hid from day—
It was as if a shadow of the vale
Of death hail fallen on her living cl >y,
And waited, ere all hold on earth should fail.
To lit her soul to w ilk that gloomy way ;
And teach her breast to shudder at the doom
Which gather’d round to darken o’er her touib.
•Sometimes as if she kindled at the art
Ol him who subtly woo’d her—a warm flame
That fir’il anew each chill and pallid part
With vital lustre, glided through her frame.
Yet. drop by drop, life left her ue.iry heart.
Till, failing like a springless fount, she came
To human nothingness—a faded flower
That knew a world to bloom upon no more.
E. L.
From the Boston Courier.
THE LITTLE ATHEIST.
A sunbeam shining in a drop of dew,
Awoko a mimic multitude to life;
And called them forth to revel in the mom—
They lay embosomed in a leaf of spring,
Trembling upon oblivion’s verge—and l»ore
Perchance, the same relation to our globe
That we to others bear—to higher minds.
Our amplitude of space may seem as small,
Our chronicle of time .is trivial,
And our brave world in ly vanish with a breath.
Melting .is melts the d«w drop in the sun.
A gruh philosopher
Noth wise and willy in this pigmy realm,
Versed in the musty folios of the past
Two seconds, and the science of a mote,
Mounted the rostrum, while the welkin rang
With loud applauses from the g .ping throng—
“ Insccls and lcllow-motes—the ago of Reason
At length h;.s conic, and we must break our shac-
“kies—
Sun Worshippers! your Priests arc hypocrites,
And idle knaves who dupe you w ith a lie—
There is no sun to worship—wherefore bend
The knee, and burn your incense on the shrine ?
They say the he urns now gushing through our roof
Proclaim iiis being—every leaf ano flower,
Mo.-nt.ain and valley, and every sparkling stream
Within the empire of our giant world—
Are graven with his image—’Tis as a vision
1 .useless and Idle ! I*ct the sky Iks parted,
And this (lod descend within our dwelling,
And let ns drop a line within Ids depths
And strike the bottom of this mystery ;
Credit who will, not I. till then I know.”
They voted thereupon there vv is no sun—
A w.inner ray dissolved the bubble world,
And every fragment perished—
Yet the San
Shone on—and did nut even deign to frown.
C. C.
Miw imm m i ii , .»J-ajn»ran»«iiiaiii u ggBg
the cause of an infinite deal of trouble to her
friends! Site was always a giddy girl and
her misconduct has proved her ruin. It
would be happy if we con* 1 forget her !”—
“ What then,” said the uncle, « has she dis
honored herself? Pour creature !” “ I can
not say,” replied the niece, “ that she has in
the worst sense of the word : but she hnsdis-
••raced herself and her family, by a hasty,
foolish match with one beneath her, and it
lias ended as might h ive been expected, in
poverty and wretchedness.”
“ I am glad,” returned the uncle, “ that
it is no worse; for though I much disapprove
of improper matches, yet young girls may
fall into still greater evils, and where there is
no crime there can be no disgrace. But who
was the man, and what did my brother say to
it?” “ Why, sir, I cannot say, but it was
partly my fathers own fault; for he took a
sort of liking to trie young man, who was a
drawing master employed in the family, and
would not forbid him the house after we had
informed him of the danger of an attachment
between Amelia and him. So when it was
loo late, he fell into a violent passion about it,
which had no other effect than to drive the
girl into her lover’s arms. They married,
and soon fell into difficulties. My father, of
course, would do nothing for them : and when
he died, he not only disinherited her. but
made us promise :io longer to look upon her
as a sister.” “ And did you make that prom
ise ?” 'aid the captain, in a tone of surprise
and displeasure. “ We would not disobey
our parent,” said the other sister, “but we
have several times sent her relief in her ne
cessities, though ii w r. improper for us to see
her.” “ And pray what h is become of her
at l ist—where is she now ?” “ Really, she
and her husband have shifted their lodgings
so often, that it is sometime since we heard
any thing about them.” “ Some time! how
long?” “ Perhaps half a year, or more.”—
“ Poor outcast!” cried the captain, in a sort
of muttered half voice, “ I have made no
promise, however, to renounce thee. Be
pleased, madam,” he continued, addressing
himself gravely to the married niece, “ to fa-
vor me with the last direction you had to this
unfortunate sister.” She blushed, and look
ed confused ; and after a great deal of search
ing, presented it to her uncle. “ But, ray
dear sir,” said she, “you will not think of
leaving us to-day. My servant shall make
all the enquiries you choose, and save you
the trouble ; and to-morrow you can ride to
town, and do us you think proper.” “ My
good neice,” said the captain, “I am but ail
indifferent sleeper, and I am afraid things
would run in my head and keep me awake.
Besides I am naturally impatient, and love to
do inv business myself. You will excuse
me.” So saying, be took his hat, and with
out much ceremony went out of the house,
and t#>k the road to town on foot, leaving hi#
two nieces somewhat disconcerted.
heart would break. ** My uncle !” said she,
and fainted. He was just able to sit her
down on the only remaining chair, and take
her child from her. Two other young chil
dren came running up, and began to scream
with terror. Amelia recovered herself.—
“ Oil, Sir, what a situation you see me in!”
“ A situation, indeed! (he said) Poor forsa-
ken creature! but you have one triend left.”
He then asked what was become of her
husband. Site told him, tint having fatigued
hims df with walking every day to a great
distance for a little emplo* merit, that scarce
ly afforded them bread, he had fallen ill, and
was now in a hospital, and that after having
beau obliged to sell most of their little furni
ture and clothes for present subsistence, their
landlord hud just seized their only remaining
bed for some arrears of rent. The captain
immediately discharged the debt, and causing
the bed to be brought up again, dismissed the
man. He then entered into conversation
with his niece about the events that had be
fallen her.
“ Alas! sir,” said she, “ I am sensible I
was greatly to blame in disobeying my fa
ther, and leaving his roof as I did; but per
haps something might be alleged in my ex
cuse—at least, years of calamity and distress
may be an expiation. As to iny husband,
however, he has never given me the least
cause of complaint,he has ever been kind and
good, and what we havft suffered has been
through misfortune and not fault. To be
sure, when we married, we did not consider
how a family was to be maintained. His was
a poor employment, and sickness and other
accidents soon brought us to a state of pover
ty, front which we could never retrieve our-
se : ves. He, poor man! was never idle
when he could help it, and denied himself
every indulgence, in order to provide for
the wants of me and the children. But my
father’s unrelenting severity made me quite
heart-broken; and though my sisters two or
three times gave us a little relief in ourjpres
sing necessities, for nothing else could make
me ask it in the manner I did, yet they never
would permit me to see them, and for some
time have abandoned us. I thought heaven
had abandoned us, too. The hour of extreme
distress was come; but you have been sent
for our comfort.” “ And your comfort, please
God ! I will be,” cried the captaiu with en
ergy. “ You are toy own dear child, and
your little ones shall be mine too. Dry up
your tears—better days I hope are approach
ing
Evening was coming on, and it was too
late to think of changing lodgings. The cap
tain procured a neighbor to go out for some
provisions and other necessaries, and then
took his leave, with a promise of being with
his niece early the next morning. Indeed,
as he proposed going to pay a visit to her
husband, she was far from wishing to detaiu
him longer. He went directly to the hospi-
they had not proceeded far before the mother
tuid children were in complete new habili-
meats, decent but not tine; while the old
ones were tied up in a great bundle and des
tined for some family still poorer than they
had been.
The captain then drove to the lodgings he
had taken. He led Amelia up stairs, who
knew not whither die was going. He brought
her into a handsome parlor, and seated her
in a chair. Tiiis, my dear, said he, is your
house. 1 hope you will let me now and then
corne and see you in it. Amelia turned pale
and could not speak. At length a flood of tears
came to her relief, and she suddenly threw
herself at her. uuclc’s feet, pouring out thanks
and blessings in a broken voice. He raised
her, and kindly kissing her and her children,
slipt a purse of gold into her hand and hurried
down stairs.
He next went to the hospital, and found Mr.
Bland sitting up in bed, and taking some food
with apparent pleasure. “ God bless you !
sir, (said Bland) l see row it is all a reality,
not a dream. Your figure has been haunting
me all night, and I have scarcely been able
to satisfy myself whether I had really seen and
spoken to you or whether it was a fit of deliri
um. Yet my spirits have been lightened, and
I have now been eating with a relish I have
not experienced ior many days past. But
may Y ask how is iny poor Amelia and my
little ones ?” “ They are all well and happy
my good friend, (said the captain) and I hope
you will soon be along with them.” The
apothecary came up and felt his patient’s
puls.. “ You are a lucky doctor, indeed, sir,
(said he to Captain Cornish ;)you have cured
the poor man of his fever. His pulse is us
calm as my own.” The captain consulted
him about the safety of removing him, and
the apothecary thought tiiat there would be
no hazard in doing it that very day. The
captain waited the arrival of the Piiysi-
ciun, who combined in the same opinion. A
sedan chair was procured,aud full directions be
ing obtained for the future treatment with the
physician’s promise to look after him, the cap
tain walked before the chair, to the new lod
gings. On the knock at the door, Amelia
looked out of the window and seeing the chair,
ran down and met her uncle aud husbaud in
the passage. The poor man, not knowing
where he was aud gazing wildly around him,
was carried up stairs and placed upon a good
bed, while his wife and children assembled
round it. A glass of wine brought by the
people of the house, restored him to his recol
lection, when a most tender stgrne ensued,
which the uncle closed as soon as he could,
But it is not alone in adversity^that “these is i
tio place like home.” It is attracting in pros-1
perity, and even then has charms which!
more than equal the attractions of every
other place.—Newburypori Advocate.
Crack.—Well, stranger, you can take the
rag off the bush about a leetle the cleanest I
ever heard tell. I reken you’ll beat our old
nigger Coot, who once run again a lawyer,
and has never been able to tell the truth since.
You can come a huckleberry over ray pris-
The Two Waiters. [From the New York
Constellation.] Never was there a truer say- c,mi »°n.
ing, than that “misery loves company.” ■^ iut —Well, I gess I’m not quite as slow as k
This was very pleasantly illustrated the other * P um pkui-viue or as dull as a raiuy day*—
day, in the case of Jacob and Jemmy, two “ ut J ou u PP car to be a green one in these
of the waiters of a certain hotel in this city. | porUt—how do you like the middlings of Mary-
Jacob, who feels the importance of his sta
tion as head waiter—or, as a hustler would
say of his four legged animals, feels his keep
ing—went to a barber’s to get shaved and
have his hair cut. After the operation was
finished, Jacob began to rummage in his
(rockets, as if to find the wherewithal to dis-
charge the barber’s fee. « How much do I
land ?
Crack.—Why I can’t zactly say, I rckon
your niggers arc about a notch, too indepen-
dish—why, it’s a fact, the vile catamounts are
so plaugy slow on their trotters when a
fellow speaks to ’em, that they might run a
race with a gourd and be distanced arter all.
I rekon you had ought to see our Georgy nig-
owe you. Mr. Barber?” said he. “ One and I gers—they’re a leetle worse than the sharp
sixpence.” “ Horn !” said he, stroking his end ot * notllin S whittled down, if they can’t
chin, and viewing himself in the glass, « cheap I dod g e a panther at three months old. I once
enough too. A man feels forty per cent bet- secd a ni SS er strick il U P tlie Savannah river,
ter for having his beard taken off and his stream and wind, middle deep in the wa-
head trimmed. One and sixpence, I think I ter> at tbe rate ten m ^ es an hour, if 1 did’nt
you said ?” Yes ?” “ Well, I declare, Mr. ma y 1 bc screwed down to u hoe-cake in a
Barber, I—I—put on iny other pantaloons c *der-press.
this morning, and faith I’ve left my pocket -ftd—Well now—do tell; you must have
book and money at home. But you need’et I a rail hulsome climate in Georgy,
be at all concerned about getting your pay, Crack.—I tell you what stranger, our cli-
for I’m head waiter to the .Hotel, and I’ll—■” mate’s got no natcr at all. In the uplands it
“ How the d—i do I know what you’re • wait- mought be the same as this ’ere one day, and
er to ?” interrupted the barber impatiently, another jist a bout hot enough to roast a com-
“ I don’t know you from Tom, Dick and the I mon sized salamander. Some folks there
—’’“But I’ll pay you, upon inv honor.” can’t couut their children, and don’t die until
Your honor? Don’t tell me about your they.are so particularly old that they can’t
honor—but get out of my shop, and never I step into their coffin. But 1 rckon you’ve
siiow your rogue’s face here again.” Thus I never been into the lower countries ? The
saying, the wrathful Knight of the Strap fell I fog is there so thick that you have to cut your
upon the waiter, and deaf to his protestations way through it with a pick-axe. A Steam-
und promises, kicked him into the street. Ja- I boat was once dashed to pieces by running
cob went home, and feeling rather sore, con ~
trived to get oue of his fellow waiters into a
-rape. For this purpose he pitched upon
Jemmy, an honest unsuspecting Irishman
“ Jim,” said he, “ you want shaving and trim
ming. **
8
barber’s afore ye spake.” “Ive jest been
myself,” said Jacob, “and I’ve overpaid the
barber,—naming him—“ one and sixpence,
because you see he could’nt make change.
Now that’ll jest pay tor shaving you and cut
ting your hair.” “ Sure enough, and so it
will,” said Jemmy, “ and I’ll pay you another
time.” “ Never mind that,” said Jacoti.
When he arrived, he went without delay to I tal, and having got access to the apothecary,
the place mentioned, which was by a street I begged to be informed of the real state of his
near Soho. The people who kept the lo'lg- patient Bland. The apothecary told him he
agin a Georgia fog.
Nut.—I swow! mister, I should like to
know what school you got your children in ?
May be you were brought up in the lying in
hospital, and fed on razors. I guess if you
ning.” “ Faith, and that’s true enough too,” I were put into a cider mill you would como
aid Jemmy, “ I was jist think of goin’ till the | out a regular built Cholera Morbus.
Crack.—Right, stranger—and you’d have
to pass through all the cotton gins in Georgy
afore you’d come out an honest man. How-
somdever, you’re a screamer, so gin us shake
o’ your corn stealer—and let’s paddle canoes
together.
GEORGE CORNISH.
Goorire Cornish a native of London, was
brought up to the sea. After making sev-
eri l voyages to the East Indies in the capaci
ty of mate, he obtained the command of a | name) hud been employed at a certain school,
•ship in the couutrv t ratio there, and passed • where information about him might possibly
many years of bis life in suling from one port bo obtained. Captain Cornish hastened away
int'S informed him, that the persons he inquir
ed after, had left them several months, and
they did not know what was become of them.
This threw the captain into great perplexity ;
but while he was considering whut he should
do next, the woman of the house recollected
that Mr. Bland (that was the drawing master’s
to another of the Company’s different settle
ments, and residing a: intervals on shore with
to the place, and was informed by the master
of the school, that such a man had, indeed,
the superintendence of their commercial con-; been engaged there, but had ceased to attend
cerns. Having by these means raised a | for some tunc^past. « He was a very well
moderate fortune, and being now tyeyoiid ;!,e [ behaved industrious young nnn, (added the
meridian of life, he felt a strong desire of re. j master,) but in distressed circumstances,
tiring to his native country and seeing Iiis. which prevented him making that genteel ap--j stretched out his hand, and taking that of
family and friends, concerning whom he had j pearance which we expectin all who attend j Bland, which was thrust out of the bed clothes
received no tidings for a long time. He real- onr school: so l was obliged to dismiss him. J to meet it, gave it a cordial shake. The sick
lieu his property, settled his affairs, and tak-i It was u great lorce upon my feelings, 1 as-1 mau’s eyes glistened—he grasped the captain’s
labored under a slow fever, attended with
extreme dejection of spirits; but that there
were no signs of urgent danger. “ If you
will allow me to see him,” said the captain,
“ I believe I can udministcr a cordial far
more effectual, perhaps, than all your medi-
cincs.” He was shewn up to the ward where
the poor man lay, and seated by his bad side.
“ Mr. Bland,” said he, «I am a stranger to
you, hut I come to bring you some news of
your family.” The sick man roused himself
as from a stupor, and fixed his eyes on thy
captain. He proceeded—« perhaps you may
have heard of an uncle that your wife had in
the East Indies—he is come home, and—
and—I a:n he.” Upon ibis he eagerly
A Yankee Rooster.—Soon after the late
“ You jest mention to the barber, after you’ve I war with Great Britain, which the services
got slicked up that its on niy account, and u f Major (then Capt.) Jack Downing, contri
he’ll say it’s all right” buted in no small degree to bring to a close,
. , ..... . r .. Away went Jemmy and got smoothed up he was advised hy Gen. Jackson to take a
for lear ol too much agitating the yet feeble . to the amomit Q f one an d sixpence. As foreign voyage for the recovery of his health,
organs ot tiro sick man. soon as the job was completed, “I suppose which had been much impaired by his con
By Amelia « constant attention, assisted by Misther Baruer,” said he, “ its all right isn’t stunt exertions. The schr. Two Pollies,
proper Iie.p, Mr. B.and shortly recov ered; , it ? » A11 ri ght i» exclaimed the man of suds, waa at that time loading with lumber for Sur-
andthe waole family lost their sickly eaaaCia * 1 who had scarcely got over Iiis irritation from foam, and Capt. Downing was invited by
ted appearance, and became healthy and hap- j fo 8 fo rmer casc —a what’s all right?” Why,” Capt. Jumper to a birth in his cabin. He
py. 1 he kind uncle was never long absent foe cuttin iv me beard and the shavin iv me | wus very politely treated by a partyofEn-
lrom them and was always rectved with looks ! l0 S ure.“ - ■ • - 1 J J J
of pleasure and gratitude that penetrated his
very soul. He obtained for Mr. Bland a
good situation in tho exercise of his profes
sion, and took Amelia and her children
into his special care. As to his other nieces,
though he did not entirely break off his con
nexion with them but on the coutrary, shewed
them occasional marks of the kindness of a
relation, yet he could never look upon them
with true cordiality. And as they had so
well kept their promise to their father, of nev
er treating Amelia as a sister while in her
uftlieted state, he took care not to tempt them
to breiJi it now she was in a favored con
dition.
ins his passage lor England, arrived in the | sure you, sir, to do so, but you know the
Downs after an absence of sixteen years. j thing could not bc helped.” The captain
lie immediately repaired to London, and ' eyed him with indignant contempt, and said,
went to the bouse of an only brother whom he
had left possessed of a genteel plr.ee in a
public office. He found that bis brother was
dead and the family broken up; and he was
directed to die house of one of his nieces, who
was married and settled at a small distance
from town. On making himself known he
was received with great respect and n(Faction
bv the married niece and a single sister who
resided with her, to which the idea of his
bringing back with 1 im a large fortune, did
not a little contribute. They pressed him in
the most urgent manner to take up his abode
there, and omitted nothing that could testify
their dutiful regard to so near a relation. On
his pert he was very glad to sec them, and
presented them with some very valuable In
dian commodities which he had brought with
him. They soon fell into conversation con
cerning the fanuly events that had taken
place during his long absence. Mutual con
dolences passed on the death of the fa
ther; the mother had been dead long before.
The captain, in the warmth of his heart,
declared his intention of befriending the sur
vivors of the lamiiy, and his wishes of see-
ing the second sister as comfortably settled
in the world as the first seemed to be.
But, said he, are you two the o.dy ones
left ? What has become of my little smiling
Amelia? I remember her as it were yester
day, coming behind my chair, and giving me
a slight pull; and then running away that I
might follow her for a kiss. I should be sor
ry if any thing had happened to her.” “Alas,
sir,” said the eldest neice, “she has been
‘1 suppose then, sir, your feelings never suf
fered you to enquire where this poor crea
ture lodged, or what became of him after
wards !” «As to that replied the master,
“ every mau knows his business best, and mv
time ; 3 fully taken up with my own concerns;
hut I believe I have a note of the lodging he
then occupied—here it is.” The captain took
it, and turning on his heel, withdrew in si
lence. He posted away to the place, hut
there too had the mortification of learning
that lie was too late. The people, however,
told him that they believed, tiiat he might rind
the family he was seeking, in a neighboring
alley, at a lodging up three pair of stairs.
The captain’s heart sunk withiu him; bow
er, taking a boy as a guide, he proceeded
immediately to the spot. Or. going up the
narrow creaking staircase, he rnct a man
coming down with a bed on his shoulders.
At the top of the landing stood another, with
a bundle of blankets and sheets. A woman
with a child iu her arms was expostulating
with him, and he heard her exclaim, “ Cruel!
not to leave mu one bed for myself aud my
poor children !” “Stop,” said the captain
to the man, “ set down those things.” The
man hesitated. The captain renewed his
command in a peremptory tone; apd then
dvanced towards the woman. Through her
pale and emaciated features, he saw some
thing of his little smilcr: and at length in a
fuint voice, he addressed her, “Are you
Amelia Cornish?” ‘That. u>as my name,’
she replied. «I am your unde,” he cried,
clasping hpr in his arms, and sobbing as if his
hand with ail his remaining strength, and
drawing it to his mouth, kissed it with fervor.
AH he could say, was “ God bless you!—be
kind to poor Amelia!” “ 1 will—I will,”
cried the eaptain, “ I will be a father to you
all. Cheer up—keep up your spirits—all will
be well! He then with a kind look and ano
ther shake of the hand, wished him a good
night, aud (eft the poor man lightened at once
of half his disease.
The captain went home to the coffee house
where lie lodged, got a light supper, and wcut
early to bed. After meditating some time
with heart felt satisf iction on the work of the
d , e fell into a 3wcet‘ sleep, which lasted till
day break. The next morning early he arose
and s.d ; ed forth in search of furnished lodg
ings. After some inquiry he met with a com
modious §et in a pleasant airy situation, for
which he agreed. He then drove to Amelia,
and found her aud her children neat and clean,
and as well drest as their poor wardrobe
would admit. He ambraced them with the
utmost affection, and rejoiced Amelia’s heart
with the most favorablp account of her husband.
He then told them to prepare for a ride wiihhim.
The children were overjoyed at this proposal,
and they accompanied him down to the coach
in high spirits. Amelia scarcely knew what
to think or expect. They drove first to a
warehouse for linen, where tha can . .in made
Amelia furnish herself with a complete set
of every thing necessary for herself and chil
dren, uot forgetting some shirts for her hus
band. Thence to a clothes shop, where the
little boy was supplied with a jacket and trow-
sers, &c. and the girl with a great coat and
bonnet—both were made as happy as could
be. Then furnished'with shoes. In short,
“There is no place like home”.—While
passing through a certain street in this town,
a few evenings since, our attention was ar
rested by a sweet female voice, reiterating
the above sentiment. For a moment we
were comparatively chained to the spo(, not
only by the sentiment of the song, but by the
sweetness, taste, beauty, and peculiar expres
sion of the manner of singing. Before we
had heard the completion of a single verse of
tho song of which the above quotation is a
part, the thought suggested itself to us “that
iistuers never hear any good of themselves.”
And we stepped along with as much speed as
possible. We could not help reflecting how.
ever upon the eloquence and peculiar cx.
pression of the sentiment of this song.
Home, if surrounded with all the evils and if you’ll jist untwist that, and say it over
contaminations of life, possess attractions af- I’ll gin you'an answer.
“ Right! yes, I suppose g(j s h gentlemen then at the Island, who re-
it’s right, if your’e satisfied with it.” “ Tuank quested him one day to witness a cock fight
ye, IListher Barber, I’m perfectly satisfied, which was contested on either side with great
and I’ll bid ye good mornin.” With that, spirit, and which lasted an hour. Oue of
Jemmy was leaving the shop, when the bar- t | ie p ur ty asked Capt. Downing how he liked
her seized him by the collar, and demanded I such sport, and if there were any game cocks
his one and sixpeuce. “ Aint that, a pretty I fo Downingville. No, said he, we have no
story, now!” exclaimed the Irishman, with I such birds as them, and I like to see such bu-
uttcV astonishment, “ to be after axin one J siness done at once. I brought out a large
and sixpence iv me, secin as hoiv the head I clumsy duag hill rooster with me, to make
waiter of the Hotel paid that same for chicken broath of, and he is now in the hen
me not an hour ago.” At hearing the head CO(>p on bop; 1 the Tho Pollies, and I’ll bate
waiter named again, the barber felt all his you a beaver th'.t he’ll kill any game cock
former passion reviving, together with a good j n Surinam, in less tiian three minutes time,
deal of additional fury; and letting out the if you will bet a hogshead of sugar, said the
whole up'iti poor Jemmy, he gave him such gentleman, I will take you up—we never bet
a beating as scarcely left a sound bit of flesh fo a3 than that here. Done, said Capt. Down-
in his whole body. Jemmy went .home and | fog^ an j p|) g 0 aboard to-morrow, and bring
complained bitterly of tho ill us^gc. “ What!” him up, and he’ll, thrash all the cocks you
said the head waiter, “ did the barber use you can bring before him, just as I and Gen.
ill ?” “ Faith, and that’s what he did?” said J ac ksan, thrashed the british atNew-Orleans,
Jemmy; “ he bate me almost until a jelly.” Next day, the finest game cock on the Island
“ Confound the rascal!” said Jacob, « he I was carried to the pit, where a large comp?..
treated me in the same way ; and I’m satis- n y was assembled to witness the fight bc-
fied—” “ Satisfied of what, are ye ?” asked | tween the Creole cock and Yankee rooster,
the Irishman, “ Of nothing, only youv’e got
as bad a dressing as I—that’s all.”
ter all, superior to any other place on earth.
There are few, except those who have been
deprived of its pleasures, that know how fully
to appreciate ifs value. It can never be
done until a person has been called to brook
the insults of a cold-hearted and uufceliug
world, to wander *amid the persecution of en
emies and be saddened by the trriffic frowns
of some relentless foe ; to be held at the ca
price and pleasure of some smooth tongued
but designing friends, and to live in such per.
petual slavishness to fear, as to be afraid
to hazard an opinion upon any subject, lest
such a course should jeopardize his pecunia
ry interest. It is under such circumstances
that a person is, enabled to appreciate the
real value of iioxe ; for it is there alone,
that he can find relief from nil these difficul
ties. It is there, he can find a friend, who will
sympathise in all his sorrows and pour the oil
of cansolatiou into his troubled bosom. It is
there, he may find a mother, whose very
glanfce will light up and animate his counte
nance, whose soothing and complaisant look
will pluck the thorn from his pillow and sof.
ten his bed of sorrow.
GEORGIA vs. DOWN EAST.
BAR ROOM OF A TAVERN.
Nutmeg.—(Addressing Cracker, a Georgi
an you
Nut.—Now—do tell; I guess you are
about as snappish as Daacoa Homes’s new
invented sheep shears, they not ouly took the
wool clean off, but shaved the ears and tail
with it.
Crack. You’re a screamer! come figure
in with me in a mint-julep, if you know what
that is! Mints all the go South—and if you
want to git the first chop, go - to the grave ot
any Southern nullifyer, who mought have re-
cently died, and there you’ll find the mint as
they say, shooting up spontaneously.
jVid.—No ? you don’t say so ? Well now,
that’s a good one. Howsomever, mister, 1
guess you never drinked no blackstrap, did
you ? Sposo you hav’nt. Why bless your
tarnal soul, its the sweetest dink, that ever
streaked it down a common size gullet. ’Las
ses and rum with a little dash o’ water. Why
do you know, when Deacon Snooks died he
was buried in farmer Grog’s old lot, just be-
hind Major stakes’e grocery and liquor store ;
you know where it is ? Well, ever since he
was laid there—which may be, I guess, about
twelve' months ago, there’s been a spring of
blackstrap runnin.
The first had, in addition to tremendous
spurs, a first rate pair of gaffs attached to
them. The gentleman asked Capt. Down
ing, if his^ rooster fought with gaffs, because,
said he, it is fair that both should be equipped
alike. Never mind that, said Downing, my
’s
d
take
the trouble to unstrap your cock, I’d just
as leaves he’d fight with gaffs as not, and ra
ther too. The two birds were accordingly
pitted against each other in presence of a nu
merous company. The Creole cock inline,
diatcly commenced a furious attack, wounding
the sides, head, and neck, of the other, with
out any opposition on his part. Bets ran ten
to one in favor of the Creole. The rooster
did nothing but cock bis eye, this way and
that, to watch the motions of his adversary.—
When the fourth onset was about to bet made;
the rooster rested himself on his left leg, rfli*
sin^ his right, and before he could be reach
ed by the Creole, the rooster mode a sudden
dtirt with his right claw, which penetrated
through his bones, then threw him underfoot,
and aie him up alive! *
Captain Downing took home the hogshead
of sugar, and his aunt Keziahhas used up
about half of it in making appte dumplings,
Indian puddings, and pumpkin pies.
N. B. We forgot to mention that the
rooster of Captain Downing was no less a
bird than the American Eagle, hatched on an
oak tree, in the woods, just back of hia Unclo
Joshua’s orchari, in Dtowningvifle.
; ‘ l iii i i 1 w w > t>r r * t'