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«■ 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'