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NEWS & PLANTERS’ GAZETTE.
D. Cl. COTTING, Editor.
No. 51.— NEW SERIES.]
NEWS & PLANTERS’ GAZETTE.
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TIIE FOLLOWING GENTLEMEN WILL FORWARD THE
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ton, \Dr. Cain, Cambridge,
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shen, Lincoln, I South Carolina.
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” COTTING & BUTLER,
attornies,
Have taken an OFFICE over Cozart &
Woods Store.
March 11,1841.
iDlssolutlon
THE Copartnership heretofore existing be
tween Drs. WINGFIELD & PALMER,
is this day dissolved by mutual consent.
JAMES N. WINGFIELD.
GEORGE W. PALMER.
July 13,1841. 49
DOCTOR PALMER, has taken the Office
formerly occupied by him at his residence.
July 15,1841. 40
For Sale •
a a The Subscriber offers for sale, the
. premises on the Northeastern corner
• ot the Square, at present occupied by
Mr. R- H- Vickers, as a Tavern.—
From .us convenient locality, it is well suited for
either a Tavern, private Boarding-house, or a
private Residence. Any one disposed to pur
chase, can do so upon reasonable terms.
JAMES N. WINGFIELD.
July 8,1841. 45
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NEW ENGLAND’S DEAD.
“ I shall enter on no encomium upon Massa
chusetts—she needs none. There she is—be
hold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her
history. The world knows it by heart. The
past, is at least secure. There is Boston, and
Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker-Hill—and
there they will remain forever. The bones of
her sons, falling in the great, struggle for inde
pendence, now lie mingled with the soil of every
State, from New England to Georgia—and there
wiil remain forever.”— Webster's Speech.
New England’s dead ! New England’s dead !
On every hill they lie ;
On every field of strife made red
By bloody victory.
Each valley, where the battle poured
Its red and awful tide,
Beheld the brave New England sword
With slaughter deeply dyed.
Their hones are on the Northern hill,
And on the Southern plain,
By brook and river, lake and rill,
And by the roaring main.
The land is holy where they fought,
And holy where they fell;
For by their blood tiie land was bought,
Tire land they loved so well.
Then glory to that valiant band,
The honored saviours of the land !
O, few and weak their numbers were—
A handful of brave men ;
But to their God they gave their prayer,
And rushed to battio then ;
‘File God of battles heard their cry,
And sent to them the victory.
They left tiie plough-share in the mould,
Their docks and herds without a fold,
The sickle in tiie unshorn grain,
The corn, half garnered, on the plain,
And mustered, m their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress
To right those wrongs, come weal, come wo,
To perisii or o’ercome their foe.
And where are ye, O fearless men !
And where are ye to-day !
I call: —the hilts reply again
That ye have passed away ;
That on old Bunker’s lonely height,
In Trenton and in Monmouth ground,
The glass grows green, the harvest bright,
Above each sold.er’s mound.
The bugle’s wild and warlike blast
Shall muster them no more ;
An army now might thunder past,
And they heed not its roar;
Tiie starry iiag ’neatli which they fought,
In many a bloody fray,
From their old gra\es shall rouse thorn not,
For they have passed away.
MISCELLANEOUS,
From the U. S. Magazine, for August.
DEATH IN THE SCHOOL ROOM.
A FACT.
Ting-a-ling-ling !—went the little bell
on the teacher’s desk of a village-school
one morning, when the studies ofthe earli
er part of the clay were about half comple
ted. It was well understood that this was
a command for silence and attention ; and
when these had been obtained, the master
spoke, lie was a low thick-set man, and
his name was Lugare.
“ Boys,”said lie, “I have a complaint
entered that last night some of you were
stealing fruit from Mr. Nichol’s garden. I
; rather think l know the thief. Tint Dar
ker, step up here, sir.”
The one to whom he spoke came for
ward. He was a slight, fair-looking boy
about fourteen ; and his face had a laugh
ing, good-humored expression, which even
the charge now preferred against him, and
the stern tone and threatening look of the
teacher, had not entirely dissipated. The
countenance ofthe boy, however, was too
unearthly fair for health ; it had, notwith
standing its fleshy’, cheerful look, a singu
lar cast as if some inward disease, and that
a fearful one, was seated within. As the
strippling stood before that place of judge
ment, that place, so often made the scene
ofheartless and coarse brutality, of timid
innocence confused, helpless childhood out
raged, and gentle feelings crushed—Lu
gare looked on him with a frown which
plainly told that lie felt in no very pleasant
mood. Happily a worthier and more phi
losophical system is proving to men that
schools can be better governed, than by
lashes and tears and sighs. We arc wax
ing toward that consummation when one of
the old fashioned school masters, with his
cowhide, his heavy birch-rod, and his many
ingenious methods of child-torture, will be
gazed upon as a scorned memento of an ig
norant, cruel, and exploded doctrine. May
propitious gales speed that day !
“ Were you in Mr. Nichol’s garden
fence last night ?” said Lugare.
“ Yes, sir,” answered the boy : “ I was.”
“ Well, sir, I’m glad to find you so ready
with your confession. And so y r ou thought
you could do a little robbing, and enjoy
yourselfin a manner you ought to be a
shamed to own, without being punished, did
you ?”
“ I Lave not been robbing,” replied the
hoy quickly. His face was suffused,
whether with resentment or fright, it was
difficult to tell. “And 1 didn’t do anything
last night that I’m ashamed to own.”
“ No impudence !” exclaimed the teach
er passionately', as he grasped a long and
rfccavy rafftn : “give me none of your sharp
WASHINGTON, (WILKES COUNTY, GA.,) AUGUST SO, IS 11,
speeches,or I’ll thrash vou till you beg like
a dog.”
The youngster’s face paled a little : his
lip quivered, but lie did not speak.
“ And pray, sir,” continued Lugare, as
the outward signs of wrath disappeared
from his features ; “ what were you about
the garden idl’? Perhaps you only re
ceived the plunder, and had an accomplice
to do the more dangerous part of the job ?”
“ I went that way because it is on my
road home. I was there again afterward
to meet an acquaintance ; and—and—Rut
I did not go into the garden, nor take any’
tiling away from it. I would not steal, —
hardly to save myself from starving.”
“ You had better have stuck to that last
evening. Your were seen, Tim Baker, to
come from under Mr. Nichols’ garden fence
a little after nine o’clock, with a hag full
of something or other, over your shoulders.
The hag had every appearance of being
filled with fruit, and this morning the mel
on-beds are found to have been completely
cleared. Now sir, what was there in that
bag ?”
Like fire itself glowed the face of the de
tected lad. He spoke not a word. All the
school had their eyes directed at him. The
perspiration ran down his white forehead
like rain-drops.
“Speak, sir !” exclaimed Lugare, with a
loud strike of his ratan on thedesk.
The boy looked as though he would faint.
But the unmerciful teacher, confident of
having brought to light a criminal, and ex
ulting in the idea ofthe severe chastisement
he should now he justified in inflicting, kept
working himself up to a still greater de
gree of passion. In the mean time the
child seemed hardly to know what to do
with himself. Ilis tongue clave to the
roof of his mouth. Either he was very
much frightened, or he was actually un
well.
“ Speak, I say !” again thundered Lu
gare ; and his hand grasping iiis ratan,
towered above his head in a very significant
manner.
“ I hardly can, sir,” said the poor fellow
faintly. His voice was husky and thick.
1 “ I will tell you some—some other time.—
j Please to let me go to my seat —I ain’t well.
| “Oh yes ; that’s very likely,” and Mr.
j Lugare bulged out his nose and cheeks
| with contempt. “Do y'ou think to make
;me believe your lies ‘? I’ve found you out
i sir, plainly enough : and I am satisfied that
| you arc as precious a little villain as there
is in the -State. But l will postpone set
tling with you for an hour yet. 1 shall
then call you up again ; and if you don’t
] tell me the whole truth then, I will give
you something that’ll make you remember
Mr. Nichols’melons for many a month to
come :—go to your seat.”
Glad enougli of the ungracious permis
sion, and answering not a sound, the child
crept tremblingly to his bench. He felt very
strangely, dizzily—more than if he was in a
dream than in real life ; and laying his
arms on his desk, bowed down his face be
tween them. The pupils turned to their
accustomed studies, for during the reign of
Lugare in the village school, they had been
so used to scenes of violence and severe
chastisement, that such things made hut lit
tle interruption in the tenor of their way.
Now, while the intervening hour is pas
sing, we will clear up the mystery of the
bag, and of young Barker being under the
garden-fence on the preceding night. The
hoy’s mother was a widow, and they both
had to live in the very narrowest limits.—
His father had died when ho was six years
old, and little Tim was left a sickly ema
ciated infant whom no one expected to live
many months. To the surprise of all,
however, the poor child kept alive, and
seemed to recover his health, as lie certain
ly did his size and good looks. This was
owing to the kind offices of an eminent
physician who had a country-seat in the
neighborhood, and who had been interested
in the widow’s little family. Tim,the phy
sician said, might possibly outgrow his dis
ease ; hut every thing was uncertain. It
was a mysterious and baffling malady ;
and it would not be wonderful if he should I
in some moment of apparent health be sud- j
denly taken away. The poor widow was
at first in a continual state of uneasiness ; ;
but several years had now elapsed, and:
none of the impending evils had fallen
upon this boy’s head. His mother seemed
to feel confident that lie would live, and
be a help and an honor to her old age : and
the two struggled on together, mutually
happy in each other, and enduring much of
poverty and discomfort without repining,
eacli for the other’s sake.
Tim’s pleasant disposition had made him
many friends in the village, and among the
rest a young farmer named Jones, who with
his elder brother, worked a large farm in
the neighborhood on shares. Jones very
frequently made Tim a present of a bag of
potatoes or corn,or some garden vegetables,
which he took from his own stock ; but as
his partner was a parsimonious, high-tem
pered man, and had often said that Tim
was an idle fellow, and ought not to be
helped because he did not work, Jones gen
erally made his in such a manner that no
one know any thing about them, except
himself and the grateful objects of his kind
ness. It might he, too, that the widow was
loath to have it understood by the neighbors
that she received food from any one ; for
there is often an excusable pride in people
of her condition which makes them shrink
from being considered as objects of “chari
ty” as they would from the severest pains.
On the night in question Tim had been told
tlmt .Tones would send them a bag of pofa
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING.
j toes, and the place at which they were to
I be waiting for him was fixed at Mr. Nich
ols’ garden-fence. It was this hag that
Tim had been seen staggering under, and
which caused the unlucky boy to be ac
cused and convicted by his teacher as a
thief. That teacher was one little fitted for !
Ins important and responsible office. I lusty
to decide, an inflexibly severe, ho was the
terror ofthe little world lie ruled so despot
ically. Punishment lie seemed to delight
in. Knowing little of those sweet foun
tains which in children’s breasts ever open ]
quickly at the call of gentleness and kind j
words, ho was feared by all for his stern
ness. and loved by none. I would that, he
were an isolated instance in his profession.
The hour of grace had drawn to its close
and the time approached at which it was
i usual for Lugare to give his school a joy
| fully-received dismission. Now and then
i one of the scholars would direct a futive
I glance at Tim, sometimes in pity, some
! times in indifference or inquiry. They
I knew that he would have no mercy shown
; him, and though most of them loved him,
| whipping was too common there to exact
! much sympathy. Every inquiring glance
however, remained unsatisfied, for at the
lend ofthe hour, Tim remained with liis
face completely hidden, and his head bowed
in his arms, precisely as he had leaned
himself when he first went to his seat.—-
Lugare looked at the boy occasionally with
a scowl which seemd to bode vengeance
for his sullenness. At length the last class
had been heard, and the last lesson recited,
and Lugare seated himself behind his desk
on the platform, with li is longest and stout
est ratan before him.
“ Now, Barker,” he said, “we’ll settle
that little business of yours. Just step up
here.”
Tim did not move. The school-room
was as still as the grave. Not a sound was
to be heard, except occasionally a long
drawn breath.
“ Mind me, sir, or it will he the worse for
you. Step up hero, and take off vour jack
et !”
The hoy did not stir any more than if he
had been of wood. Lugare shook with pas
sion. He sat still a minute, as if consider
ing the best way to wreak his vengeance.
That minute, passed in death-like silence,
was a fearful one to some of the children,
for their faces whitened with fright. It
seemed, as it slowly dropped away, like
the minute which precedes the climax of an
exquisitely-performed tragedy, when some
inightv master of the histrionic art is trea
ding the stage, and you, and the multitude
around you are waiting, with stretched
nerves and suspended breath, in expecta
tion ofthe terrible catastrophe.
“ Tim’s asleep, sir,” at length said otic
ofthe boys who sat near him.
Lugare, at this intelligence, allowed his
features to relax from their expression of
savage anger into a smile, but that smile
looked more malignant, if possible, than bis
former scowls. It might be that he felt a
mused at the horror depicted on the faces
of those about him ; or it might be that he
was gloating in pleasure on the way in
which he intended to wake the poor little
slurnberer.
| “ Asleep ! arc you my young gentle
man !” said he ; “let us see if we can’t
find something to tickle your cybs open.—
There’s nothin'; like making the best of a
bad case, boys. Tim, here, is determined
not to he worried in his mind about a little
flogging, for the thought of it can’t even
keep the little scoundrel awake.”
Lugare smiled again as he made the last
observation. He grasped bis ratan firmly,
and descended from his seat. With light
and stealthy steps he crossed the room, and
stood by the unlucky sleeper. The boy
was still as unconscious of his impend
ing punishment as ever. He might bo
dreaming some golden dream of youth and
pleasure ; perhaps he was far away in the
world of fancy, seeing scenes, and feeling
delights, which cold reality never can bc
i stow. Lugare lifted his ratan high over
his head, and with the true and expert aim
which he had acquired by long practice,
t brought it down on Tim’s hack with a force
and whacking sound which seemed suffi
cient to awake a freezing man in his last
lethargy. Quick and fast, blow followed
blow. Without waiting to sec the effect of |
the first cut, the brutal wretch plied his in- I
strument of torture first to one side of the
boy’s back, and then on the other, and only
stopped at the end of two or three minutes
from very weariness. Butstill Tim showed
no sign of motion ; and as Lugare, provoked
at his torpidity, jerked away one of the
child’s arms, on which he had been leaning
over on thedesk, his head dropped down on
the board with a dull sound, and his face
lay turned up and exposed to view. When
Lugare saw it, he stood like one transfixed
by a basilisk. His countenance turned to
a leaden whiteness ; the ratan dropped from
his grasp ; and his eyes, stretched wide
open, glared as at some monstrous specta
cle of horror and death. The sw’eat star
ted in sreat globules seemingly from everv
pore in his face; his skinny lips contracted,
and showed his teeth ; and when lie at
length stretched forth his arm, and with tiie
end of one of his fingers touched the child’s
cheek, eacli limb quivered like the longue
of a snake ; and his strength seemed as
though it would momentarily fail him.—
The boy was dead. He had probably been
so for some time, for his eyes was turned
up, and his body was quite cold. The
widow w’as now childless too. Death was
in the school-room, and Lugare had been
flogging a corpse W • W.
v- C -T>
TIIE LEGAL PROFESSION.
We made some selections in yesterday’s |
Gazette, from the addresses of two respec- |
table and able judges who had lately with- j
drawn Irom the bench, in which they speak
in becoming terms ofthe Legal Profession ;
and these selections were published because
first, they pay a high but deserved compli
ment to the lawyers of this country, as a
class ; and secondly, because we wish at
least to set our face against an attempt
which has been made for years past, and
insidiously cherished by party demagogues
of a certain kidney, to get up a mad dog cry
against every man who practices in a court
of law or hangs out his tin sign, lettered
“ Attorney.” There arc in the legal, as in
every other profession, or occupation, good
and bad—and, as the flour dealers say, from
superfine to middling ; but so far from there
being any thing either in the study or the
practice of law, to render those engaged in
it obnoxious in their principles or pursuits. S
directly the reverse is true. That other
senseless notion, 100, that lawyers are sep
arate, apart and distinct from the mass ofthe
people, ought, also, to be exploded.
We contend that a good lawyer devoted
to his profession and actively engaged in it.
is a working man to all intents and purposes.
And indeed there is no class of men, more
hound by interest to the people, whose busi
ness in all its ramifications, they are called
upon sometimes to lake hold of in the way
of adjustment or settlement. Besides, uT
would appeal to history, to the records of
the past, and to the experience of all, to
show that Lawyers have always been the;
friends of liberty, and the championsof pop- |
ular rights—of liberty regulated so as to
confer the greatest happiness upon the great
est number, and ofthose rights which secure
the enjoyment of life, liberty, and the pur
suit of happiness. And this too, not as fol
lowers in the train of adventurous spirits,
hut as leaders themselves in the great work
of melioration and improvement. In what
we have here said, of course, we are far
from including the men of principle in pro- i
portion to their interest, and the pettifog- j
gers who hang on the skirts of the profes
sion and disgrace it, as far as they can do
so, by their connexion.— Alexandria Ga
zette.’
We iiave seen it stated in one of the
Western papers, that Joe Smith, the Mor
mon, once paid a visit to Keokuek, the In-
I dian Chief, and attempted to persuade him
;to embrace the Mormon creed, lie told the
| Indian that Mormonism would prevent the
bullets from injuring him, and that he had
! himself been shot three times, and not hurt.
| Keokuek then requested Joe to stand sixty
j paces off, at which distance he would shoot
| at him three times with his riile, and if he
| remained unharmed, the Indian promised
Ito embrace Mormonism. This was rather
j too much for Joe, and he accordingly back
ed out, refusing to take him on “ those con-
J ditions.” Hartford Times.
Burglary, and Burglar Browned. —The
Cuhawba (Ala.) Democrat, relates a sin
gular incident, in which the following are
the particulars : On the night of the 20 th of
June, the store of Messrs. I. Colo & Cos, of
Cahawba, was entered, with a design to rob \
the same. The burglar was frustrated by j
the unexpected arrival of one of the clerks
at the store. On finding himself detected,!
he passed through a window, got on the top ;
of the shed, from which he jumped to the
ground, a heigtli of about 12 feet. The a
larm was soon given, and he was pursued
by several persons, when to prevent being
taken, he ran into the river, and being un
able to swim, was drowned. Ilis body was
found a day or two afterwards, about half a
mile below the spot, and evidences found on
his person to identify him as the individual
who had committed the burglary. lie was
recognized as a negro belonging to the plan
tation of Mr. Hobsor., in the vicinity, lie
bad obtained possession of a large sum of
money,(besides valuable goods, all of which j
were left behind in his flight.
A Fat Joke. —Dixon 11. Lewis, a mem
ber of Congress from Alabama,weighs some
thing less than halfa ton. A wag in Wash
ington said liis epitaph has already been;
written by Byron. The proper inscription i
for his tombstone would be—
“ Tis grease but livinggrea.se no more !"’
PRIVATE SCENE.
“ Mrs. Squiggins, what is that thing?” !
“ Thing ! Mr. Squiggings?— do you call
my bustle a thing ?”
“ Bustle ! Good Heavens ! (with horror
in every feature,) yet; wear a bustle Mrs.
Squiggings ?”
“ /— wear — a — hustle ?—to be sure I do
—Mr. Squiggings—to be sure I do, wear a
bustle.”
“ Well, well—the next thing I suppose
will be false teeth.”
“Yes Sir—yes, Air. Squiggings, (pulling
out, as it seemed to the shocked Squiggings
her entire jaw,) yes—there sir, there !”
“ Gracious Heavens !” groaned Squig
gins—“two days married, and my fashion
able wife a mere patch and batch.—Here
Tom ”
“ Sir !”
“ Order up my horse !”
Extract from the “ Texas Gazelle.
Arrived this day, the distinguished Jon
athan Squiggings, Esq., from the U. States.
P. S. We are pained to state that Mr.
Jonathan Squiggins blew out his brains
shortly after his arrival. Cause, domestic
1 rntih* .
IS. .. li APPEL, Printer.
From the Knickerbocker.
FUNERAL CEREMONIES OF MOD
ERN GREECE.
A sick man has just breathed his last;
his wife, mother, daughters, sisters, in a
word, sucli of liis nearest female relatives
as are at hand, close his eyes am mouth,
each giving free course to the grief inflict
ed by the calamity, according to her dispo
sition and the strength of her attachment.
The first duty discharged, they all with
draw to the house of some relation or friend
in the vicinity, where they change their
garments and array themselves in white,
and as for the nuptial ceremony, except
that their heads are uncovered and their
hair unbound and pendant. While they
are thus occupied, other women are attend
ing to the corpse ; they clothe it from head
to foot in the best apparel, and in this state
lay it upon a very low bed, with the face
uncovered and turned towards the east, and
the arms crossed upon the breast.
These preparations being over, tiie rela
tives return in their mourning-dress to the
; house, leaving the doors open, so that all
the women of the place, friends, neighbors,
or strangers, may enter after them. A cir
cle is formed around the corpse, and their
grief breaks out anew, and, as before, with
out measure or restraint, in tears, shrieks
or words. These irrepressible and simul
taneous plaints are soon followed by lamen
tations of a different .nature, that is to sa\ .
by myriologous. Ordinarily that of the
nearest relative comes first ; after her, the
remaining relatives, friends, or mere neigh
| hors ; in a word, all the women on the spot.
| who possess the ability, bestow this last tri
j bute of affection, one after another, and
I sometimes numbers together. Not unfre
-1 quently there art; found in the circle of a.
! sistants, women who have recently lost one
; of their own kindred, whose hearts are yet
| overflowing with sorrow, and who have
j some communication to make him. In the
j dead before them, they behold a messenger
who will convey to the dead for whom they
j mourn, fresh testimony of their recollection
i and regret, and in consequence a inyrio
logue destined for the latter, is delivered to
the former. Others content themselves
with throwing on the deceased bouquets of
flowers, or various little articles, which
1 they implore him to be so good as to trans
| mit to their friends in the other world.
: The delivery ofthe myriologues is not in
! terrupted until the arrival ofthe priests to
accompany the corpse to the place of inter
j ment, and is still prolonged until the funeral
procession has reached the church. They
ccasc while the priests are engaged in
prayer and singing, but recommence as the
body is about to be lowered into the grave.
Nor do they end with the rites of sepulture,
but are renewed on fixed occasions for an
indefinite space of time. First, for a whole
year from the day on which the death has
taken place, the females ofthe family are
permitted to sing myriologues only ; every
j other song, however melancholy, however
1 befitting the most serious impressions w hich
j the idea of death, the grave, and last fare
■ well can produce, would he reputed a di
! version incompatible with the reverence
{ due to the dead. Nor is this all ; whenev
j er they go to church, the women seldom o-
I mit, either before or after diviue.serviee, to
| meet at tiie temb and reiterate the adieu of
| the burial-day.
When one of their relatives dies in a for
i eign land, an image of the person is laid
j upon the funeral bed, partially clad in the
| garments ofthe individual whom it repre
| sonts, and is then addressed with the samo
i lamentations as if it were a real body.—
These myriologues arc still more full of
sadness than others, as the inability to de
posit and preserve in consecrated ground
the remains of the beloved object is regard
ed as adding to the weight ofthe affliction.
Mothers also compose for their deceased
infants myriologues which are often exqui
sitely pathetic. The child is bewailed un
der the emblem of.*, flower, a bird, or any
thing in nature sufficiently beautiful for
a mother’s fancy to experience pleasure ill
conceiving a resemblance between it and
her lost darling.
MATRIMONY.
Thomas Bestad, Esq., fellow of tiie New
College, 1588, wrote the following Epi
gram on three wives :
Though marriage by some is reckoned a curse.
Three wives did I marry, for better or for worse ;
‘l’lie first for her person—the next for her purse,
The third for a warming-pan, doctress and nurse.
The above reminds us of a clergyman
whose first wife was immensely rich, his
second exquisitely beautiful, and his third,
whom lie married in liis old age to nurse
and comfort him in the decline of life, prov
ed to have a most ungovernable temper.—
Ho observed to one of liis friends, that he
had three wives—the world, the flesh, and
the devil. N. Y. Atlas.
A Sailor's notion of a Funeral on shore 1
“ Why, what d'ye think they does with the
dead ashore ?” said an old tar who had
spent nearly all his days on board of her
Majesty’s ships, and happened to see for the
first time a funeral on shore. “ How should
1 know,” said his shipmate. “ Why then,
Bill, may I never stir,” replied Jack, “ but
they puts ’em in boxes and directs ’em. ’
All men are masked ; the world is one
universal disguise, each individual endea
voring to fathom liis neighbor’s intentions,
at the same time wishing to hide his own,
and. above all, striving to secure a reputft
|,ln character rather bv words than deed®
[VOLUME XXVI.
