Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME X.
Original
Written for the Visitor.
COME BACK TO ME.
Bright happy days, where are re gone,
Ye gay and sparkling hours !
When my young life was but a dream
Os sunshine and of flowers.
Alas! how little then I dreamed,
How transient ye would be;
How soon my heart would sigh in rain:
Come back—come back to me!
My early friends! oh, where are ye,
The dearths .true, the loved,
Who shared iiS infancy my sport,
Ha-e ye tod fleeting proved ?
No, no! that thought t’were hard to bear.
For, ob! with heartfelt glee
I cling to hope, that whispers still,
Ye will come back to me!
Susie Snowdrop.
Madison Ga.
Written for the Family Visitor.
TO A FRIEND.
When other lips, with ruby wine,
Sung praises to thy name,
And beauty’s brow, all lowly bent.
In horaAgc to the same;
Wheu eyes of age and youth, alike,
Were shadowed by a tear,
Fresh from the heart's pure fountain.
The brightest tribute there;
When manhood’s pride bowed to thy worth,
And fair hands wreathed the vine,
O ie lowly flower 1 twined among
“ Hearts’ homage to the mind .”
Accept it, as a soul’s rich prize,
Truly and proudly* given ;
Until a bright and holier crown
Is wreathed for thee in heaven !
Augusta, Go. Shana.
EVERY CLOUD HATH A SILVER
LINING.
Ho! all ye weary touts who gropo
Along the vale of tears,
Your hearts ne’er filled with bouyant hope,
But with foreboding fears;
Look upward, onward us ye go,
And cease this dull repiuiiig,—
“ There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark,
But hath a silver lining.”
ICo! all vc sad and mournful ones,
Who wamider broken-hearted,
From cherished frieuds dissevered long,
From native homes long parted ;
Raise your eyes to Heaven above,
Wuro Fiit.n this wreUh ut twining,—
04 There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark,
But hath a silver lining.”
And should misfortune drape your sky
In clouds of deepest black,
Or sorrow's rain fall thick and fast
O’er life’s uneven track,
Look upward, and these words ye’ll see.
In golden letters shining,—
4t There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark,
But hath a silver lining.”
And should the wealth which yc have gained,
Take wings and fly away,
And adverse winds blue cold, around
The tenement of clay,
Still upward look, and onward press,
Give o’er your dull repining,—
‘’There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark,
But hath a silver lining.”
LITTLE WOMEN.
In a little precious stoue what splendor meets
the eyes!
In a little lump of sugar bow much of sweatness
lies!
So in a little woman love grows and multiplies ;
You recollect the proverb says—“A word unto
the wi*e.”
A pepper-corn is very small, but seasons every
diuuer.
More than all other condiment, although ’tis
sprinkled thinner;
Just so a little woman is if lore will let you win
her—
There’s not a joy in all the world you will not
find within her.
And as within *he little rose you find the richest
dyes,
And in a little grain of gold much price and value
lies,
And from a little balsam much odor doth arise,
So in a little woman there’s a taste of paradise.
The skylark and the nightingale, though small
and light of wing,
Yet warble sweeter in the grove than all the
birds that sing;
And so a little woman, though a very little
thing,
Is sweeter far than sugar, and flowers that bloom
in Spring.
SONG.
Meet me by the running brook,
W here the drooping willows grow,
Meet me in the shady nook,
Where the silver waters flow.
Friends we lovei are broken hearted,
Smiles have flown and tears have started,
Since the time when last we parted,
In the days long ago.
Meet me when the starlight plays
O’er the wavelets bright and low;
Tell of our youthful days,
Ere the heart knew pain or woe.
Joy will come to charm or leave us,
Lingering hope will still deceive us;
Life has nothing dark to grieve u«,
In the da vs oflong ago.
£1 Soulljcrn IPrrkh) Cilevanj anil Jlliscdlanmts Journal, for i\)t l)omc Circle,
Gl Capital Sliftcl).
CHARLESTON MARKET
—ON—
SATURDAY NIGHT.
“ Laugh and get .at”—so l hare, so
I intend. It is constitutional with m
to laugh, and lam fat enough, every
body admit*. lam neither witty nor
humorous, mysell, nor have I the facul
ty of making others so. Yet, when any
thing humorous presents itself, I am as
ready to enjoy and laugh at it, as though
I possessed the qualities I admire.
It is seldom I visit the great city of
Charleston, feeling that lam too much
ol a countryman to make myself agree
able to my city acquaintances. The
fact is, lam a modest man, and can sel
dom get beyond a bow to.the dames of
the ton and per consequence, I suspect
they vote me a stupid fellow. N'im
porte. Let that pass I have a vote too,
\et I have visited Charleston occatohally,
and looked upon and laughed at all the fun
ny things I could find, from a book auc
tion, down to Madame Salvo, the for
tune teller. By the by, Madame told
me my fortune. She said I had been
in love seven years before—that my la
d} -love was sorry tor having rejected me,
and that if I renewed my suit, she would
have me—that I should he rich and dis
tinguished, and soon and so on. Well,
niadame, said I, I am a profound believ-.
er in your sublime art, but some how,
the cards have deceived you this time,
as my lady-love, instead of rejecting
actually married me, more than seven
years since. I bolted from her look of
indignation, saying the wealih and dis
tinction may come hereafter, but, truth
to say, I am getting very tired of wait
ing for them.
Os all the funny fellows I met with,
my quizzical friend, Jack Walthong, was
tlie funniest. Had I permitted him, lie
would have led me into all manner of
scrapes. As it was, he kept me laugh
ing for the three weeks I pa.sed in the
city, seemingly never at a loss for a sub
ject of mtrimerrt.
“Coin-,” said Jack, “this is Saturday
night—let us take a stroll through the
market.”
"What for?” I asked. “What fun
is there in that f”
“ Oh, upon my honor,” replied he, “ it
is the most delicious promenade in the
whole city. Cufty is in his glory, to
night.”
‘ In what way, I pray you ?”
“Tis the negro’s jul.iiee on Saturday
night. If you want to see our city ne
groes in a quasi state of freedom, indttlg
; ing a disposition always joyous, or aping
! the manners and language of the whites,
; come with me. As I have said, (Juffy
and Dinah ate in their glory to-nighl.”
I consented, of course, and we started
on our Saturday night’s stroll through
the market.
“Stop!” said Jack, as be rang the
bell of a large brick house in King street.
A servant ojiened the door.
“Is your master at home?” inquired
Jack.
“No massa.”
“ When will he be in ?”
“At eight o’clock, massa.”
“ Say to him that a gentleman of his
acquaintance will call on him at half
past eight.”
“ Will young massa leave his card?”
“No, it matters not.”
“ Who lives there, Jack ?” I asked.
“H.rng mi- if l know.”
“Why then did you leave such a
message ?”
“Oh. just to let the old codger, who
ever lie may be, fret and fume about his
professed visitor’s want of punctuality.”
“ Indeed! Then permit rne to say.
you must play no more of your pranks
whilst I am in your company, or your
fun may get me into a scrape.”
“ Well, don’t be angry, and I promise
to behave myself. Good evening, cousin
Julia,” he cried, catching a lady by the
hand, and -shaking jt most warmly.—
“ Permit me to present my friend, Gen
era! Woodcock.
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1856
“Sir,” said the lady, drawing back,
“ sir, you are mistaken.”
“Ami! Then do I beg a thousand
pardons. I was never so deceived in
my life. I thought you were my cousin
Julia. Pray forgive the rudeness I would
not have willingly been guilty of for the
world ”
The rascal looked the very picture of
humbleness and distress, and seemed,
almost in agony, to deprecate the lady’s
displeasure.- She could not but believe
him. W ith the sweetest smile that po
uts ever feigned, she slightly inclined
her head and passed on.
"Now, sir,” said I, “give me your
word of honor that you will ho guilty
of no more impeitinence to any one
man or woman, whilst we are walking
together, or I will not walk witli you
another foot.”
•Twill, I do. lam cured for this
time. What a heavenly countenance
that young girl has.”
“ And wliat nil impudent fellow you
i must be, and graceless as impudent, in
thus addressing her.”
“ How are you, Mr. Van Boskin,”
said Jack, addressing a little old fellow,
just as we reached the first entrance to
the market, whose dutch ligure and fac u
could not he mistaken.
“Pretty well, I gib you tanks.”
“ How have you been.”
“ Pretty well, l gib you tanks.”
“How are all with you?”
“Pretty well, I gib you tanks, except
mine wile.” “All! What’s the matter
with Mrs. Vail Boskin ?”
“ She pes te id, I gib you tanks.”
“ You don’t say so. How Jong has
she been dead ?’’
“ Well, if she hail lifted till next
Tuesday, she would have pin tead about
tree weeks.”
“Indeed! Mr. Van Boskin. Well,
I pity you, and hope you may find con
solation in your state of widowhood.—
Good by.”
“ Goot |y. I hopes tat tis I lif till
I tie, 1s! all me t mine old wife agin
one of tese avs."
“ Massa Jack, how you do? How
your (♦orporosily sagatiate des times?”
“Why, very well most learned Cato.
llow is Miss Amy ?”
“ She be gone out to do plantashun.
“ What for ?”
I “ Ky, you know jes to deplore the ex
plodoments among do leetle niggers.—
Old Mass taut it good for Miss Amy’s
appregotioti.
We kept on. Jack amusing himself
with a jest or a jibe with as many as lie
could possibly speak to in our slow ad
vance.
“ Broom, broom, who want to buy a
broom, as do song sav ? Brootn, broom
Missy Clar Fisher sing dat tip top.”
“ Here, you young blackey with the
brooms; I have come to the market on
purpose to buy half a dozen and I see
you have but five. What do you ask
tor them.”
“Cheap as dirt, mossa, only quarter
dollar apiece.”
“ You cheating gongola, you know
that’s not cheap,” said Jack. “If you
will take them home for me, I’ll give you
a dollar for the five.”
“ Bargain Mossa. Where you lib ?”
“Number 342, right opposite ti e big
draw. Tell my clerk I sent you, and he
will pay for them.”
“Yes. Mossa,” and off marched Sam
bo, laughing exultingly at his friends,
less fortunate, as he supposed, in dispos
ing of their stock in trade. Poor Sain
bo! it was a wild-goose chase for him-
He did not kuow uiy friend Jack Wal
thong.
“ Korsets, korsets. I wonder if dere
is no lady, black nor brown, dat wants
to buy dese mighty nice fine korsets.—
Dey fine enough for any white lady in
Shar-les-town, and yit dese poor niggers
aint got de music to see him. Korsets,
korsets. I gib de black and de brown
lady de prefer, and dey don’t by urn
purty soon afore long, I take um up street
and sell um to de old Missy Mill’ner.”
“Confound your bawling,’said .Tack.—
“ Cant you stop and let me look at your
corsets. If they are as fine as you pre
tend, I’ll buy them all.”
" Look at ’em. Print , aint de mossa.”
“ They’ll do. What do you ask for
them ?”
“ Take um all leven for tree dollar."
“ Well you kuow the sign of the
Golden ball ?”
“Know him like a hook, mossa.”
“Take them there, and inquire for
Miss Amy ICoon. Tell her that her
cousin William has bought your corsets
for her, as she requested. She will pay
you for them.”
“Shaw mossa, what Miss Amy want so
many for ? hey !”
“ Why she lives in the country, nnd has
got thirteen sisters, and wants to buy for
them all.”
“Do she, dat’s spectable. I take um
mossa.” And otf trudged the corset
seller.
Our advance was slow, for the crowd
was great, and v e were disposed to see
and hear all that was going on.
“ Bnnlder Paul ! Brudder Paul!’’
cried out a brisk youngster, to n vener
able grey headed negro—" Bruddcr
Paul, how you do dis longtime?”
"Ah ! brudder Peter, I no see before
yoll holier so loud. Tank God, Ise
pooty well. How is you brudder ?”
" Why, I is us well as could be spect
“And how is sister Judy, brudder
Paul, mid all the pickininnies ?’’
“ Tank God dey is all sponsible for
dere hominy, Why you no come to
last claiae-ineetin brudder Peter?”
“Caiseold mossa want me to drive
him to Icmpran :e siety.”
“Old mossa going turi tetot’ler, brud
der Peter ?”
“Ky ! I guess you link not, you see
him clii ik brandy when he git home—
lie say, ‘Peter, speech deal ion mighty
dry work, make me nikldi r toddy ;’ and
moss slick to him till can.or run dry.”
“ Gib you any Pea r ?’’
“Jess leetle bit; dal is, I take him on
de sly.”
“Mus’rit do dat Peter; bad nigger
gets toxicated. Wliat old mossa talk
bout”
“ He say brudder Paul, dat de artli
turn über ebor twenty four hours.”
“ Pshaw, eber nigger in de city no
better dan dat. Your old mossa, Peter,
be no wiser dan a free nigger if he talk
dat way. Don’t bliove any of dat sort.
If old Moss wanter go to do devil, lot
him go he own gate. You come to
next el-use meelin, Peter, and be good
nigger, an dats nntf for you. Good by
now, Brudder Peter.”
“Good by, Brudder Paul—spects to
sisty Judy.”
A noise at some little distance ahead,
attracted our attention. It was a quar
| rel between two gentlemen of color.—
One was a gigantic black, in the rough
dress of a fisherman—the other, a gen
teel looking mulatto, handsomely dress
ed, and apparently the body servant of
some gentleman of di-tinction, for his
manner was as cool and contemptuous
to the big black, as if he felt himself
•ailed uporrto sustain his master’s dig
nity in his own person. The quarrel
had evidently made some progress when
we reached the scene of action.
“ I tell you,” said big blacky, “ I tell
you sur, mu latter nigger, you half-aud
lialfer, vou cant kunger contraptions
over Ugly Sampson —I’m well known
in dis same market for dis last hundred
years.”
“ Who cares for that,” said the Mulat
to, with much dignity. “If you is well
known, that’s no rea-on you should force
your acquaintance on a gentleman.—
Please to clear out, or big as you are,
you may get a thrashing.”
“ Where’s de nigger to do dat ting,
Mr. Copper-color pole-cat. You link to
make Ugly Sampson slope on his own
groun. Try dat, you poor man’s nig
ger. Try if Ugly Sampson is feard.—
Fuss try if you make ded nigger speak
—fuss try if you squeeze hlood out of
one big- turnip—den try if you make
Ugly Sampson slope. My mossa is a
gentleman, who your mossa, you lasses
looking nigger? I spect you got no
mossa. I spect you one poor free nig
ger.”
This latter taunt seemed too much for
the Mulatto’s temper and dignity. To
be accused of having no mossa, was an
insult that stirred his proud blood, and
he seemed to bo disposed to peril all in a
fight with the giant. But at this mo
ment, a pretty brown girl stepped for
ward as a peace-maker.
“ You Mr. Sampson Sawyer,” said she.
“ Why you no ’have like a brack gen
tilinan ought to’have, to the extinguish
ed stranger, you liasde honor of suiting
in my face.
“Oh brack fish and wliitin. Miss
Dinah Brantue, is de gentilmau a fren of
yourti? Den I axes pardon wid all my
sole.
“ He’s dat wery ting. I hab de groat
pleasure in sayin : an side dat lie’s de
Gubtier’s man Sex, kutn to town wid him,
to tend the great review of de tnilenta
ry."
“ You don’t say so, Miss Dinah !
What! de Gubner’s man Sex! Ugly
Sampson is one big fool den for one time
—Gubner, I begs pardon, an hopes you
ee’seuse me—if I’d none you had de
Gubner for a mossa, I’d sloped widout
sayin one word.”
The excuse was received as satisfaclo
ry—amity was restored. Ugly Samp
son—‘de Gubner,’ and Miss Dinah, shook
hands, and parted with mutual protesta
tions of respect. We strolled on till we
reached the fish market. Such a crowd
ed scene of bustle nnd confusion, shining
happy faces, obstreperous mirth, nnd un
restrained laughter, I had seldom cr
never before witnessed. All kinds of
fish were announced for sale, in all kinds
of tones and voicos. It was the noisiest
part of the market—a perfect Babel to
the uninitiated.
“Brackfish, brack fish, goin for notin
and cheaper too—only seben pence a
string. Plenty of money, an no poor
kin. Gib um away to eny body dat
wants at seben pence a string!—old mis
sus licli as Jue!—Tank you massa.—
Brack fish mighty good tor Sunda !
Old missus rich as Jue ! —Plenty inuntiy
—no poor kin ! —Gib away de brack fish
for notton, cept seben pence a string!
—You cat fish Joe, you lazy shark !
why you no holler—let do Buckras
know how wo gib away de brack fish !”
Joe, a boy of fourteen, to whom this
latter objurgation was addressed, began
immediately to spin round like a top,
and in a shrill voice, took up the burden
of the woman’s song of—“ Brack fish—
no poor kin—rich as a Jue—gib ’em
away.”
“How much a string?”asked Jack,
picking up one and examining it.
“ Quarter of a dollar,” young mossa.
“Why, Motna didn’t you cry them at
sevenpence.”
“No massa, no—quarter dollar a
tring.”
“ Why, you want to cheat me—l
wont have them.”
“ Yaw ! Yaw! Yaw! Massa Jack
Walthong, you link I neber seed you
afore! - Can’t play your tricks on old
Cic-ily, young Buckra—lgib h.m to you
dis time.”
At this moment, I caught a pair of
burning eyes intently fixed upon us—
the gaze was but for a moment, and the
owner sunk into the gloom—but Jack>
who was ever on the alert, and saw
everything, detected the glance, and re
cognized the person.
“Ah! Mr. Lieutenant of the guard,’’
said Jauk, in a whisper, “you wa’ut
quick enough that time. I will find
out your quarry, before you pounce upon
it, and be it petty thief or bold burglar
will give him a hint of your charitable
intentions.”
“ Wbat mean you ?” I asked.
“ Why, that our lieutenant of the
guard, the most astute police officer in
the South, is on the qui vive for some
poor devil of a fellow, who is now pro
bablv some where in the market. At-
lons, and I shall be able if such be the
fact to guess at him.”
We sauntered on slowly in the direc
tion of King Street, Jack noticing as
closely as though he had been an officer
of the police himself. About half way
up the market we came in sight of a
foreign looking gentleman, with mus
taches and whiskers of enormous ex
tent, wearing goggles, and carrying a
gold headed cane. Jack pinched my
arm.
“ Watch close,” ho said, "I suspect
goggles is the man.”
Our gentleman s gait was too slow,
and his manner too self-possessed for me
to join in the suspicion. Passing the
stall of n young aud pretty brown girl,
the stranger made a hasty signal, wh'ch
she evidently understood and answered.
“Now I know you,’ said Jack.—
“ He is the forger of whom yon have
heard so much since you have been in
the city. He boarded at our house,
and did me the honor to make my per
sonal acquaintance. Right or wrong, I’ll
give him a warning, and a chance for
his life. Let us pass him.”
As we did so, Jack whispered in his
ear, “Fool idiot. Is your life of so lit
tle value that you would throw it away.
Mark me, the eyes of the hawk are upon
you. Fly if it be yet possible.”
But it was too late. The burning
eyes were in front of us. Soldiers of
the guard were around us.
“You are my prisoner,” said the lieu
tenant. coolly. A pistol was half drawn.
“Look around you,” said the lieuten
ant, con tern ptuouslv.
The prisoner saw at a glance bis fate
was sealed, and surrendered himself pas
sively into his captor’s hands.
I had no inclination for continuing
my stroll, and returned to my lodging
to droant of the felon forger—widowed
Dutchman—Peter aud Paul—broom
and corset sellers, and brack fish at seben
pence a tring, th.. t somehow had no poor
kin.
Anocdotos of Mr. Webster.
Wlieu Daniel Webster was a law stil
deu’, he helped to support his brother
Ezekiel, at college, by copying deeds,
•fee., while the latter occasional!} re
cruited his finances by school teaching.
Under date of Salisbury, N. H. Nov, 4,
1802, Daniel wrote to Ezekiel as follows:
“ I have now by me two cents in lawful
federal currency. Next week I will
*end them, if they ;be all. They will
buy a pipe—with a pipe you can smoke
—smoking implies wisdom—wisdom is
allied to fortitude—from fortitude it is
but one step to stoicism, and stoicism
never pants for this world’s goods. So,
perhaps, my two cents, by this process,
may put you quite at ease about cash.”
After having declined a comfortable
office, in order to pursue his profession,
Daniel wrote from Salisbury, (on the
10th of June, 1804) to his brother, in
this wise:“Zeke, I don’t believe but
what Providence will do well for us yet.
We shall live, aud live comfortably. I
have this week come within an ace of
being appointed Clerk of the Court of
Common Pleas, for Hillsborough county.
Well, you will say, you are no bet
ter off tbati if you had not come withiu
an ace. Perhaps I am—say nothing,
but think a good deal, do not 4 distrust
the gods.’ ”
After Daniel had taken np bis resi
dence at Portsmouth, and commenced
practising as a young lawyer, he also
soon commenced practicing as a young
lover, by visiting Miss Grace Fletcher.
At one of these visits, probably with a
view of combining utility and enjoy
ment, he had been holding skeins of
silk thread for Miss Fletcher, when he
suddenly stopped, saying, “Grace, we
have been thus engaged in untying
knots; let us see if we can tie a knot—
one which will not untie for a lifetime.”
He then took a piece of tape, and, after
lieginning a knot of a peculiar kind gave
it to her complete. This was the cere
mony and ratification of their engage- j
rnent. And now in a little box, marked ;
NUMBER 31
by him with the words “Precious Doc
uments,” containing the letters of hie
early courtslrp, this unique memorial is
still to be found. The kuot has never
been untied.
Soon after Mr. Webster came to
the bar, he was retained in a suit
between two neighbors. It seemed that
they had got to logger heudsabout a dis
puted line, out of which had grown tres
pass suits and all sorts of controversies,
and that the more malicious and artful
of the two had so plied the other with
law in one shape or another, that he
had nearly ruined him. The latter nt
last became aroused, and brought an
action against the other for malicious
prosecution, and retained Mr. Webster
to manage it. On the trial, proof of
malice was clear and convincing, and it
was evident that the day of reckoning
had at last come. In summing up for
the plaintiff Mr. Webster, after making
a strong argument against the defendant;
showing that he had ngain and again
instituted suits against his client, merely
to perplex and annoy him, closed as fol
lows: “In a word, gentlemen, Ido not
see how I can better conclude than in
the words of the good old psalm.” Then
looking at the jury but pointing to the
defendant lie repeated from bis favorite
authors, Sternhold and Hopkins:
He digged a pit, he digged it deep.
Ho digged it fur hie brother, 1
Uy hie great sin, he did full in
The pit he digged fur ’totlier.
And so it proved. The verdict was
heavy against the “digger.”
In 1802 when the Whig- Convention
was in session, first came news that Gen.
Scott, who was supposed to be a little
prone to display, particularly in plumage,
was nominated for the presidency. Then
came news that william A. Graham,of
North Carolina, the land of tar, pitch,
and turpentine, was nominated to the
vice presidency. When the latter piece
of intelligence was conveyed to Mr. W.
ho wasengaged in shaving himself. He
stopped, and, having heard the news, ro
marked in his slow, emphatic manner,
as he deliberately wiped his razor : “Well
I do not see, then, but that the Whig
party have tarred and feathered them
selves.”
It is related of Mr. Webster and'
Mr. Mason that they were once riding
the circuit together in the winter season.
The snow was deep and the weather
cold, and both were well muffled in buf
faloes. Mr. Mason was an uncommonly
tall man, and Mr. Webster, it is well
known, had a very deep voice, amount
ing at times almost to a growl. On the
road, where it was not very easy turning
out they met a bluff countryman, with
his ox team, who shook his goad at them
and sang out ‘ turn out there—turn out?"
They gave him half the track, but ha
insisted upon the wholo, anti began to
threaten, when Mr. Mason began to
rise, and rise until lie had got up six feet
and more, and to the astonished view of tha
teamster, seemed to lie going higher, w ben
Mr. Webster growled out. in his most
bearish manner, “ Turn out yourself, sir I”
“Gee, gee,” cried the teamster, “why
don’t you gee ?" putting the brad into
his oxen as be cleared the track for
wbat to his astonished vision, appeared a
brace of giants.
This latter anecdote reminds me of
the case of the gentleman who was rj.
ding with a span-new turn-out, when he
was saluted by a teamster he was about
meeting with an imperative order
“.Turn ont, there ! turn out! or I will
serve you as I did a man the other day.”
Our owner of tire gay equipage, not
caring to risk his carriage in an encount
er with an ox-cart, took up a position on
the extreme right and waited patientlv
for the horrid dospoiler of vehicles to
pass. JJe could not, howerer, resist his.
ouriosity to know what dreadful thing
the cartman did do ; and so, leaning his
bead out of the carriage, be accosted
him with the inquiry, “ How did you
serve the man the other day f” “ How
did I serve him ?” replied the teamster. - 1
“ why, be wouldn’t turn o'jt, so T tinned
<rut nmolf.’*