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NEWS & PLANTERS’ GAZETTE.
D. Cl. COTTINCi, Editor.
No. 35.—NEW SERIES.]
NEWS & PLANTERS GAZETTE.
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33® There will be a three day’s
Meeting in tins place at the Methodist Episcopal
Church, commencing Thursday night the 6th
day of May next; to be protracted it circum
stances authorize. April 15,1841.
COTTING & BUTLER,
ATTORNIES,
HAVE taken an OFFICE over Cozart &
Woods Store.
March 11,1841. 28
NEW GOODS.
THE Subscriber has just received from New
fork, anew and handsome assortment of
Muslins, Calicoes, Linens, Lawns, Hosiery,
Ribbons, Fancy Shawls, Broadcloths,
Cassimers, Summer Cloths, and
Georgia Nankeens.
He also keeps, on hand, a general assortment of
Hardware, Cutlery, Crockery, Saddlery,
Hats, Shoes, Drugs and Medicines,
School Books and Stationary,
GROCERIES, See.
All of which will be sold on reasonable terms
for Cash or credit
A. A. CLEVELAND.
Anri 15, 1841. 4t 33
N-W FAMILY GROCERY.
THE Subscribers have just received and o
pened, a full supply of
Family Groceries ,
CONSISTING OF
Brown and Loaf Sugars, Coffee, Molasses,
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monds, Ginger. Pepper, best Chewing and Smo
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of washing and Shaving Soap, Salt Pickles, A
merican Jams, West-India Preserves, Brooms,
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■* ‘-tus, German and American Starch, Blacking,
iutmegs, Yeast Powders, Seidlitz and Soda
Macaboy and Scotch Snuff, Putty,
by 10 and 10 by 12, Candies, best Prin
-S.W SegiM, Lemons, &c., all of which they will
d/jll low for Cash.
MERRY & POPE.
April 15,1841- if 33
iIIIKCELLAIM LOIS.
From the London Court Journal.
BURNING THE WILL.
A TALE OF REAL LIFE.
It was dusk, as Algernon Sloper opened
the door of a sumptuous apartment, in which
was a nurse, now murmuring a prayer, and
now falling back, half asleep, in her arm
chair ; & the bed was so arranged, that any
one entering the room, could perceive the
livid face of the old man who, a few hours
before, had breathed his last. The noise
made by Algernon awoke the nurse from
her slumbers. She shook her head, and
said—
“ Good morning, sir ; you come to look
once more at your poor uncle ? See ! one
would think lie slept ; a smile is on his
countenance. Alas ! those eyes are clos
ed for evermore !”
“Yes, Margaret,” answered Algernon ;
“but vott had better go and rest yourself.
[ will watch over the corpse.”
“ But sir!—■— ’
“Go to the dining room, purse; your
breakfast is ready—go.”
And under this benevolent clause he |
gently pushed her out of the room, and sat
down on the chuir she had occupied ; after
which, casting a last glance at his dead
uncle, ho opened tho bed curtains, and got
up.
“He is dead at last! I shall be rich
now !”
No sooner had he pronounced these words,
than he withdrew a bunch of keys from un
der the pillow ; ran to the desk in which
the will was contained ; opened it; and be
gan reading—
“ I constitute my nephew, Algernon Slo
per, sole executor.”
“ It was time !” exclaimed the heir.—
“I am entitled to what the law and society
acknowledged my right.”
And Algernon, who, for more than two
years, had feared that his uncle would for
get him, continued thus :
“ I will , Sf-c., to Margaret and Joseph the
sum of 2000/, each, for the care bestowed on
me by them during thirty years.”
“ Two thousand pounds each to these
people, who are rich enough with what
they have stolen 1 What folly ! Come,
this is but an old man’s madness. Howev
er, I will pay the 4000/., as it is impossible
to do otherwise.”
“ I bequeath to Pierrot, my valet, the sum
of 500/.”
“ What! to that Pierrot, who should have
been expelled long before now— ‘ Qtie le
Diable Tern porte !’ ”
“ To Mr. Martin, my notary, 2500/.
1 wish this sum to be added to the fortune
of Mariana, his daughter, and my god
daughter.”
“ Two thousand five hundred pounds to
that fellow Martin ! an old notary, retired
from business, who has got a handsome
house at Kensington ! What can be the
meaning of this ? It is a loss at cards,
perhaps, to Martin, which my uncle has
been ashamed to name. Oh, uncle ! the
story was true. This I will certainly not
pay. I will see Martin, and make him un
derstand the disgrace that would infallibly
befall him were ho to accept such a legacy;
and if he persist, we will go to law. More
still !” exclaimed the heir, turning the leaf
over.
“ I bequcatk 50007 to Miss Chesterfield,
daughter of a brave officer, killed on the
field of battle, whom I do not wish to knoiv
want.”
“To her ! Why, the cross-grained flirt
has rejected me! She shall not touch
a penny of it. Ah ! here’s another prote
gee.”
“ There is now living in London a young
barrister, whom my nephew Algernon knows
perfectly well. He is poor, but virtuous and
talented. I bequeath to the said Edioard
Ingestrie the sum of 5000/.”
“ Five thousand pounds !” exclaimed
Algernon, throwing the will on the floor.
“ Five thousand pounds to Ingestrie, my
rival —my successful rival in the affections
of Isabel Chesterfield. —Never
Algernon got up, approached the window,
opened it, notwithstanding the cold, and
overlooked a landscape of beautiful mea
dows, on which innumerable flocks were
resting. The Thames rolled his waters
through the estate ; and, further on, were
forests, forming part of the succession he
was entitled to.
“ All this is mine now ; the wool of these
flocks; these forests; the produce of these
fields ; all belong to me by right. I am
the heir, and almost the only relation, to
WASHINGTON, (WIL.KES COUNTV, GA.,) AI’KIL 29, 1841.
the late possessor. Shall I defraud myself
by paying frivolous legacies? Suppose
now,” said he, after he had shut the win
dow, and resumed his seat near the fire ;
“ suppose my uncle had not made any will
at all,to whom would all these riches come ?
To me only, to me they lawfully belong ;
and all abstracted therefrom is a theft at
my expense !”
And the evil spirits of avarice, cupidity,
and selfishness, took possession of this un
grateful nephew. He forgot that lie never
had been loving and dutiful to his uncle,
but the reverse. His disgraceful conduct
had indeed frequently irritated his rich re
lative. Interested views alone had caused
him to approach for two years past ; and
now,without any moral consideration what
ever—just listening to ascertain whether
there was any one coming—he threw the
will into the fire.
*****
In the meantime I must introduce the
reader to the young barrister, who, by tho
nefarious act just described, is left in a
state closely allied to destitution. Edward
Ingestrie was denizen of an apartment on
the second floor, in a street not far remov
ed from the locality of Scotland-yard.—
There, in the agony of defeated hopes,
heightened by the impulses of an affection
ever inel'oasing. h - paced to and fro, glanc
ing, ever and anon, al l!>e last note from his
beloved—his own Isabel. “A* length,
h ej iculated, “my soul is made up for
the worst —we cannot be united ! I will
write to that effect. The sweet dream of
years is annihilated ! All is now a blank
—a curse —darkness! This night will 1
quit England for ever !”
*****
To return to the chamber of death.
There was a knock. Algernon hasiilv
shut up the desk, replaced the keys under
his uncle’s pillow and opened the door. It
was Mr. Martin, who came to look once
more at his deceased friend, and give some
instructions to the heir.
“ I am very sorry to see you here alone,
Mr. Algernon ; ‘ but, to be sure, you are
one of the parties most interested.”
“ One of the parties?” said Algernon,
eagerly.
“Yes! One of the parties,” answered
the notary, with a piercing look. “ You
will find a will.”
“ Quite possible,” answered Algernon.
“ ’Tis certain, for Mr. Sloper told me so
last night, a few hours before his death.”
“ Then it will be found,” added the heir.
“ It is in that desk,” said the notary,
pointing, and your duty, Mr. Algernon, is
to enforce its being looked for directly.—
All the servants must be present.”
“ Do what you think proper,” rejoined
the nephew.
The people in the house were called ;
the keys were withdrawn from under the
pillow ; the desk was opened ; and the
search, of course, was of no avail whatev
er. The old notary, ordering everybody
out, remained alone with Algernon.
“ It is possible,” said he, “ that there
should be no will, for your uncle engaged
before me to make one, and he assured me,
yesterday, that he had kept his word.”
“ Do you suspect my honor, sir ?”
“ It is very strange that you should have
been found here alone ; but I do not sus
pect anybody’s honour,” said the notary ;
“ nevertheless, listen to me. Your youth
has been dissipated ; your uncle deemed it
vicious. Many a time you have deserved
the wrath of one, to whom, though you ex
pected a fortune, your conduct was such,
two years ago, that you were expelled his
house. lie would have disinherited you,
but I remonstrated that you were the only
son of a brother whom he loved, and of a
sister-in-law to whom he had promised to
think of your future prospects. I was but
too happy to restore you to his esteem. —
Since that time, you have behaved better,
or, at least, you have appeared so to do.—
God knows whether your conversion has
been sincere. Your uncledoubted it much.”
“ Was my uncle so unjust!” exclaimed
Algernon.
“ I have had the greatest trouble to in
stitute you his heir.”
“ The old fox has not forgotten himself,”
thought Algernon.
The notary continued. “ Another per
son was also mainly influential in promot
ing your favour with your uncle—your
friend, Edward Ingestrie.”
“ Umph !” observed the heir, surlily, “ I
thank him not /”
“ Now let us suppose that this testament
is not found, what will you do 1”
“ What shall I do?” answered the young
man ; “ I will enjoy my uncle’s fortune.”
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
“ Os course : but you cannot think that
your uncle would forget such persons as his
servants, for whom he always said that he
would provide.”
“ If he had wished that,” said Alger
non, “he would have made the necessary
provision.”
“ I must now tell you a secret, which,
most likely, is new to you. Your uncle
has a child !”
“Come, sir,” rejoined Algernon, joking
ly, “you calumniate my uncle,your friend.
How's this ?”
“ I am in earnest, sir,” replied Mr. Mar
tin, angrily. “By a private and unfortu
nate marriage he became the father of Ed
ward Ingestrie, as he has been named ; lie
is an excellent young man, though, by his
mother’s fault, banished the parental roof,
until of late. Do you not mean to fulfil at
least this portion of your uncle’s inten-
tions ?”
“Let that alone: my uncle would never
have committed himself so far ; I have too
much veneration for his memory to believe
it.”
“It is a fact ; and I can assure you that
many a time ho has thought of instituting
this son his absolute heir.”
“Nonsense ! I will hear no more, sir.”
The notary insisted upon the will being
produced.
“The will!” said he, “the will ! where
is tho will ? Perhaps, sir, you were expec
ting a legacy.”
The notary coolly replied, “No ; you are
w ell aware that lam satisfied with what I
have, and do not covet more ; but for the
sake of your uncle’s old servants, of Ed
ward, conduct yourself honouiably; sepa
rate some fragments of your rich legacy.—
Be just, my friend, and”—approaching the
deuth-bed—“don’t you make me repent of
what I promised your uncle. His inten
tion was to leave to others a fortune which
he was at liberty to dispose of as he liked ;
I have calmed him ; I have restored you to
the favour which you had lost ; now, if the
will be not found, do for others what they
would have done for you, or else J shall
be obliged to exact justice.”
Affecting to obey the notary, Algernon
opened all the drawers of the desk, in which
Mr. Martin suggest. and that the will ought to
be found.
“You see, sir,” said Algernon, “you
must have mistaken the meaning of my
uncle’s words, or he could not have been
conscious at the time.”
“You are then certain, sir, that there is
no will ?”
“So it seems ; and you must now be of
the same opinion.”
“We shall see,” said Mr. Martin, open
ing tho door to all the persons in the adjoin
ing room “Two years ago, Mr. Sloper
made a will, which he deposited iu my
hands ; therein he disinherits his nephew,
and acknowledges a young man of the name
of Edward Ingestrie as his heir; I have
directions to enforce this will, unless one of
a later date be found.”
By a mere accident the nurse opened the
window through which Algernon had just
viewed his flocks, and Mr. Martin pieceived
near it a small bit of paper, half burnt, on
which he distinguished Mr. Slooper s hand
writing.
“Ah !” remarked the good notary, “’tis
plain enough. Let someone instantly
post to town, and apprise Edward Inges
trie of his good fortune. Are you going,
Jephson ? ’Tis well ; you are an honest
fellow, & to you I will confide, also, another
charge. Here is my card ; call at ,
and present it; and bring with you at the
same time, a young lady, named Isabel
Chesterfield. Edward, if l conjecture a
right, would have no objection to her as a
companion on a much longer journey than
this /”
ILLUSTRATIONS FOR CHILDREN.
I once saw a preacher trying to t, ach some
children that the soul would live after they
were all dead. They listened, but evident
ly did not understand it. He was too ab
stract. Snatching his watch from his pock
et, he said, “ James, what is this I hold in
my hand ?”
“ A watch, sir.”
“ A little clock,” says another.
“ You all see it ?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ How do you know it is a watch ?”
“ It ticks, sir.”
“Very well, can any of you hear it
tick ? All still now.”
“ Aftera pause—“ Yes, sir, we hear it.”
He then took off the case, and held the
case in one hand, and the watch in the
other.
“ Now, children, which is tho watch ?
you see there are two which look like
watches ?”
“The little one in your right hand, sir ?”
“ Very well, again, now I will lay the
case aside, put it away down there in my
hat. Now let us see if you can hear the
watch tick.”
“ Yes, sir, we hear it, exclaimed several
voices.
“ Well, the watch can tick, and go, and
keep time, you see, when the ease is taken
off, and put in my hat. The wutch goes
just as well. So it is with you. children.
Your body is nothing but the case, and the
soul is inside. flic case—the body—may
be taken off, and buried up in the ground,
and the soul will live and think just as well j
as the watch will go, as you see, when the
case is off.”
A CONVENIENT MEMORY.
A popular jockoy was called on one
morning by a negro man, who was mount
ed on a fine looking horse, and with whom
a conversation something like the following
ensued.
“ Good morning, Massa Sharp : my Mas
sa sent me to sell you dis horse, cause lie
so bad massa don’t want to keep him.”
“ What are the faults of the horse ?”
“ O, he got good many very bad faults; —
dre’ful bad faults.”
“What is one of them; the principal
one?”
“ Well then, Massa Sharp, you see, dis
horse all ober white ; and when massa ride
him, the white hairs all stick to massa new
black coat; spoil massa’s new coat !”
“ Well, that is rather a bad fault to b
sure ; but has the horse no other faults ?”
“ O yes massa; horse got three verv
bad faults ; two others besides dat one.”
“ What is another of the faults you speak
of?”
“ Why den massa I’ll tell you all about
it. When 1 rides dis horse to water, lie
souse he nose down in de water, and wet
massa’s new bridle.”
“ Well, what else ?”
Toder fault massa, dat todder one fault
—ah, —me cant tick on em : very bad fault,
but, —can’t tink on em.”
“And what price do you ask for the
horse ?”
“0 not much ; he so very bad, —only
ask one hundred dollars ; and massa say,
if can’t get dat, —may take seventy-five.”
“I’ll give you sixty dollars for him.”
“O no; could’nt take less den seventy
five dollars, and don’t mean to take dat.”
With that the fellow turned his horse a.-,
if to ride off, but the jocky called out to I
him “here, stop: stop, i ll take him at sev
enty-five ?”
“Well hand out de money quick den,
cause must be off’?”
Seventy-five dollars in new bank notes,
were soon tendered, and which the negro
with much apparent reluctance received,
before he would give up his seat on the
horse. The bridle was changed, and the
jocky much elated,mounted his new acqui
sition to ride into the stable door ; but be
fore he had fairly considered the propriety
of fetching up by means of the reins, the
horse struck his head with some violence
against the stable walls. The jocky, look
ing over his shoulder, and seeing sambo
industriously walking away, he called out
“Here you black son of a possum! this
horse is stark blind ?”
“O law, massa,” drawled Sambo, “dat
ere toder one fault me could nt tink of!"’
N. Y. Mechanic.
From the Baltimore Clipper.
“ INDUSTRY MUST PROSPER.”
We remember to have once purchased a
hat whose manufacturer had adopted the
foregoing as a motto. We thought it ap
propriate ; for there is nothing more certain
than that indefatigable industry, combined
with prudence, must result in prosperity.
There are too many who expect to prosper
in this life without requisite means. This
is contrary to all experience. Industry is
necessary in all stations, if wc would move
successfully through life. Men who are
too indolent to exert themselves, and sit idle
under the hope that Providence will provide
for them, are like the wagoner in the fa
ble, who called upon Hercules to extricate
his wagon from the rut without putting his
shoulder to the wheel ; and arc likely to
have thesame response. And yet, notwith
standing the misery which is daily experi
enced by those who are either too proud or
too lazy to put their hands to honest labor
the disposition generally prevails to ra ; so
children in idleness. Parents i- a this not
only “sin against the lights,” ’ uut i n fli ct the
most serious injury uoop *'neir offspring, bv
*l. j. KAPPEL, Printer.
throwing them in ’-kc “ & y temptation--
which thev find impossible <o resist. Mat;
was created to be active and industrious,
and not go yawning and lounging through
existence. Exertion improves the individ
ual physically and mentally, whilst inac
tivity enervates the body and weakens tho
mind, and loads to destructive habits. We
would not be understood as insisting upon
manual labor to the exclusion of intellec
tual culture—they ate not incompatible ;
on the contrary, energy of mind is increas
ed by physical vigor. Tit,.’ man who has
labored throughout the day finds study a
relaxation at night ; ho has no ah.nui, no
listnessuess. All his faculties are in full
play and susceptible of improvement.-*■
j There is no industrious and frugal men who
cannot earn sufficient for his support, and,
spare time to improve his mind ; and such
a man should never admit the impossibility
of accomplishing any thing within the com
pass of the human intellect. We have an
evidence of what can be effected in the
blacksmith, who, whilst laboring at his
trade, has acquired a knowledge of fifty-
two languages. It is by a systematic di
vision of time this bus been accomplished
—and to be successful, system will be
found as essential as industry. Not only
the hours, but the moments must be appro
priated : for it is by the neglect of the lat
ter that the former are rendered useless.—
Suppose that all the time that is unnecessa
rily, if not viciously spent by young men
in taverns, oyster cellars and such places,
were devoted to mechanical or menial im
provement, can it be doubted that it would
be productive of great and beneficial re
sults ? But then it will be said that men
must have amusements. —This is true ;
but these recreations should be rational,
and might be so regulated as not to inter
pose an obstacle to more important pursuits.
Ten minutes spent at a game of dominoes
in an oyster-cellarto-day, will produce dou
ble the consumption of time to-morrow :
I and the progressive loss will be so rapid,
as in a short lime to substitute play for
work. The sinner asked of the Saviour,
“ what shall I do to be saved ?” and the
new testament abounds in injunctions to do
the work —not at intervals, admitting times
for trifling and unconcern —but to labor in
cessantly. And this is equally required in
temporal as in spiritual concerns, il we
would attain the desired reward. We are
taught that “industry must prosper” by
Holy writ and by daily experience—and lie
who regards tho one or the other, will not
j bring up his child in idleness, under the er
roneous and ruinous notion, that labor is
| discreditable. But do we not see hundreds
of young men sauntering through our
streets, who have been, by this misjudged
policy of their parents, cast into the world
with pride in their heads, and nothing in
their pockets ? who cannot stoop to work,
and yet are almost compelled to beg ?
Wore they industrious m chanics, they
might become serviceable to themselves
and respectable members of the communi
ty, instead of being excrescences which
hang upon but to disfigure society. Il is
lamentable that this folly is so prevalent.
Is it incurable ? To apply an effectual
remedy there, must be a change in the con
ventional rules of society, and fashion, idle
ness and folly, cease to be considered sy
notiimous in meaning. It is in the power
of the industrious to effect this alteration,
by invariably preferring for public office
and private companionship, those who ap
ply themselves to some profession or trade.
Make it unfashionable to he idle, and in
dustry will be promoted—and above all let
the ridiculous idea be relinquished that it is
impossible for a mechanic to be a gentle
man. This absurd notion has produced
great injury by crowding the various pro
fessions with individuals, who might have
occupied another sphere with usefulness
and credit, but are now destined to move in
obscurity, or to render their unfitness and
disqualification for the station they have as
suimd more conspicuous. “Pride goes
before and destruction followeth.” It is
false pride that produces such a gener
al disposition to parents to thrust their
sons into professions instead of binding
them to trades—or to pr e f er t p at they
should be idle, gcntlew cn industrious
mechanics. This aspiration after what
is supposed to be gentility, has giv
en use to another classification of soci
ety, and we have now “ genteel loafers” as
a d'f.iinct cast. It was the same description
oi pride which Goldsmith so admirably rid
icules when h” make a poor mother exclaim
to her child, “Anna Maria Juliana Wil
heimina Skeggs, come out of that gutter
you and and b h.” High sounding
[VOLUME XXVI.