The McIntosh County herald, and Darien commercial register. (Darien, Ga.) 1839-1840, January 22, 1839, Image 1
ill v mm 11 wwis.
BY 11. .sti LF.S KELL.
mf'y Term* of Sub*criptiun.
fj THE Herald is printed <u a large imperial
Sheet, with new type, at S3 per year, in ml- ;
Bppce,Ur S4 at the expiration of the year.—
Pio sa ascription received for a less term than
■one year, and no paper discontinued until all
warrearages are paid, except at the option of the
tjpuhl: her.
ft ?” AdvnmsEMrNTs published at the usual
• rat's
PROM THE AUGUSTA MIRROR.
GEORGIA.
native State !—my cherish'd home !
allow’d alike by smile and tear,
tflflory o’er the build her dome,
vnd Fame her temples rear:
; I rave thee for the burning sky,
l-s.— Meath which my feet have over trod;
I love thee for the forms that lie,
• ■ , Cold, cold beneath thy sod.
Oh! gladly do I see the light,
That hovers round thy fortunes now;
The spirit, that must soon unite
The sea, and mountain’s brow;
The irou tics, that soon will bind,
In one indissoluble band.
Place unto place, and mind to mind,
Within thy wide-spread land!
In vain doth wild fanatic zeal,
Thy institutions all condemn,
Onus, be every woe or weal,
That emanates from them;
To those who would thy ways molest, >|
Who’d gladly spoil thy verdant scene,
He this response, ’What God hath blcsyfl,
That call not ye unclean.’
Art thou not blcss'd, mjl cherished home?
Thy sons are true, —thy daughter* fair;
From mountain’s crest to ocean’s foam.
Thy land is free front bare;
Wealth glitters in tlfy golden mines,
Health lives amid thv hills of blue,
Religion's light thee shines,
And Plenty smiles here too.
Aye! there are hearts within thy land
As warm, and brave, and pure and free,
As throbb’d among the Spartan band
Os old Thbrmopyi.eje ; \
And like that band, shfulri foes invade.
To seek thy rights tjpm tuee to tear,
_ Thy son- will lift the Sfieaihless blade,
And bid them come, who dare!
As cluster’d in the days of ylre,
Thy heroes ’neath the ‘sti%e* and stars,’
Unmindful of the sea of gore,
•And heedless of their scars ;
i. So evermore, that banner round,
. .In hours of peace, or sos strife,
Still be thy gallant chikjjßkfound,
To guard it with their IwR
GOT) bliss it! may its spangled wreath,
Be ne’er disgraced by sons oft thine,
Still may they cling its folds beneath.
In one unbroken line ;
And still, in ages yet untold.
As brightly beam its glory’s sheen.
As when it waved, with scanty fold,
Above the old Thirteen !
My native State! ray cherish'd home’
Hallow’d alike by smile and-teur, |
May Glory o’er thee build her dome,
And Fame her temples rear;
One hope is to my heart most dear,
One boon at Fortune's hand I crave,
Fate made me date my being Acre,
Let Fate make here my grave
■ Savannah, Gee. R. M. C.
®QQ<BQS9&fib /Q&a.aa 3
WRITTEN TOR THE lIARIEN MERAi-D.
Tle Scissors Grinder.
j i love to look upon a scissors grinder—there
L a moral coupled with his vocation. I don t
Incan your young apprentices— not I—your,
)i starts that would sharpen mankind gain no I
l.ivor with me. I mean your man of solemn
in-aril, with the wreathi* of Time upon his fore- i
Lead and the flowers of lie tomb upen his tem
“plcs—artayed in the sao and sombre livery of
jhis keen calling. I like die ancient dominion
3—your young sckssors-griidcr doth not respect
Hiis employment —he draws forth no syinpa
. thy—he would grind all the world beneath
1 him at a turn of his wheel— ie beateth no revc
*‘jen<l liken ol ine power ol meek and patient
Irirtue, like the old established grinder of forty
year* wandering, who, while he sharpens and
polishes the implements of necessity and of in
dustry, puts a keener edge upon hu self ap
plause, andexlAbits his unobtrusive merit with
a Brighter finish to mankind. Yoar dema
gP|guos and anartfii-sts in the art-, art only its
dqrttoyers. Give me your Octogenaan grin
der ; his wheel hat* given him experience in
revolutions.
I said he offereth a moral. And sohe doth.
When I Ipok, upon a water’s day, at his lean
eh** k. hwtfrosty fingers, vith his dim anlanti-1
quated spectacles resting, v ifby ?r owtl, upon
biapurplc apse, and see the vater gushiig from ;
his clouded and lack-lustre eyc. When I be
held by chare as he gives th*,ks f*r his pit- j
nce, his uncovered head, w ho*, submit even
4c hairs of his life’s winter hfcv e ft ft naked, j
/iu*denoting him one of the “avientof days.” |
/when I wa'4> his steadily rertlvi ne wheel; 1
ft J turn my ev* to the earth on Which I stand, :
j and think hc4many revolutions t hath made!
1 f to bring bin 4 His latter day ; ;.jw many it |
I must tail to brig me to his hottr -np i wi-,,'. j
f I L
plysupplied even to satiety, while this poor
pale pilgrim to eternity, with an healthful
’ fra ac and contented heart, hath long and calm
ly vended his way through the world, secure
m liis virtue, and conscious that he is not forgot
ten, since “there is a special providence, even
!in ibe fall of a sparrow.” While the opulent
am; high-born are in agony for some new lux
ury or thente for pastime, his nights and his
days glide away in alternate industry and re
pose, withoit a murmur or a sigh.
It hath b en a matter of observation, and oft
of mirth, /o see how variously men carry their
; corporal part, indicative of their spiritual, in
i this valby of vicissitudes. Your man of place,
| newly dected, bath scarce sense left for vanity, j
|to support the majesty of his office. Your man
! of sullen, low-born wealth, deemeth a lack of
i fortune to be a lack of wit, and your titled lord, j
j scarce alloweth the peasant a soul. Even so is
our humble scissors grinder, in the various es-,
titrate of his calling. In that renowned com
mercial metropolis, the bustling Gotham, called
by the unlearned, by the name of New York,
your scissors grinder knoweth not his place.—
He mounteth his wheel and stone upon acar
ruwe, rtirnlshod with two other wheels like a
Tiibury, and he vainly thinks by dint of push
,!l?! rl , ft roti.i, to thrust the great world out
of his path, and roll hiutself into the lap of for
tune, or overrun her if she gainsay his will.—
But your lowly ■ ruider of the land of peaceful
Penn, ill daily humility plods his weary way,
I bearing, fiko the pilgrim, his labours on W*
back, and only disburthening hiwir when by
! dunce some rosy maid presents her radiant
! Matures at the door, asking his skill as she offers
some brilliant steel to lie subdued, thus remind-!
ing him and all, that man was made for toil.
Nor think thou, giddy rtSder, that our polish-I
er of steel hath not his sharper moments of
merriment and of qimSit remark. Haply,
some day, having received a task to perform,
the good old grandmothers of an whole neigh
bourhood will send the steel contents of the
, kitchen or the work bos to receive a more de
structive edge and brighter dress. Thus he be
-1 comes a fixture for the day, and as the varlets
between the hours *f school, (for the grand
children, if possible, should always carry the
implements, unless the Whooping-cough be
abroad) gaze in mute wonder at the swiftness of
his wheel, and the mysterious sound thereof, to
them, (as the Chess Player to our mature
mind,) a portentous and impenetrable automa
ton ; here hath the grinder ninny a wondrous
tale to tell, and many a smile to spare upon his
happy but trau-ient family, and see himself rc-1
newed, and his early life called hack by the. liv
ing, laughing, ini ages of youth around him.
Repulsive and centrifugal (if I may say it)
as is the c il mg of your grinder, unbelieving
readers! there is much of covert humour that
securely lurks beneath “the dejected haviour
of the visage” of that ancient man; as thou
shalt learn.
Onc winter eve, as tlie pm was beaming his
farewell, to display his glory and impart his
warmth tootlu-r regions of the globe, my eye 1
rested on a scissors grinder, bending over his
. employment, before the door of a splendid
! mansion in the city, ffo was encompassed, as
usual, with a dlltale of the third, and haply the ,
| fourth generation, that he felt were succeeding
i him in the journey of life, unconscious of their
way and heedless of its end. There they stood,
the little urchins, like the Hope of Troy, pati
ently enduring the bitter air, shivering round
the harmless man of silver hairs, to wonder at
the feats he performed in his toil, and occasion
ally to utter a shriek of astonishment as the fire
flashed from the resisting steel, illuming the
e rly eve, in futile emulation of the splendor
of the now departed sun.
Presently there stalked from the mansion a
tall, strong m in, a son of Green Erin, who ap
! preached the wheel and holding forth between
: his enormous thumb and finger an exquistely ;
formed and beautiful pen-knife, which ovident
! ly belonged to a ladies’ work-box, as well from !
1 its size as its finish, he demanded the price of j
: restoring this hapless little knife to its pristine
kecness and beauty. Now, wc are compelled |
here, fair, gentle reader, to speak with pain of |
a lady whom wc love. For ourself, we are an
old Bachelor, and in sooth* likely to remain
j thus; and we give this as assurance that our
gallantry and love will never cool, as doth
your married man’s. For they remind the
faithful Bachelor, w ho is ever at his lady’s side
to divert and defend her, of the saying of the
Bard of Avon, which, for the ladies’ sake we
shall be daring enough in a trifling r • peet to
altar —
Oh ! liovv this time of Love resembleth,
Th’ uncertain glory of an April day ;
Which now shows all the splendor of life’s sun,
Till wedlock, like a cloud, takes all away !
This being the only instance within our
1 knowledge of a lady doing wrong, wc are, as
|wc said, the more pained in the recital, espe
cially as we love the lady ourself. Innocent
! ;md tender as the dove, who would have dared
to tell us with an air of truth, that she would
t have the heart to offer such flinty violerf'e to
so sweet and delicate a penknife ! To send :
j your murderous axe, your slaughtering Alder- j
i man’s knife to carve with on Christmas day,!
j ;>r your taiior’s yawning shears to encounter ‘
| tke silex, and be prepared to shape Mrs. Cen- j
I tury’s grandson Bob’s New Year’s Cunning j
1 Jacket—why it argue* well—’tis thrift—’tis af
, faction—’tis a grandson’s pride—an Alder
i man’s vcqmmsoul’s existence—and the wood
1 cutter’s gWy andHrength. But such a knife!
DARIEN, GEORGIA, TUESDAY MORNING, JANUARY 22, 1839.
just beaming upon, the world in gentle, early
brightness—the apt and perfect counterpart of
its lovely owner—whose smooth and polished
blade at once reflects the lustre of her charms
and resembles the perfection of her rare ac
complishments—whose exquisite edge, like
her wit, equally attracts and awes—and whom
handle of purest pearl proclaims her spotless
virtue —a gift too, from one. from whom no
sacred token of love ever came amiss—to
banish this glittering, yet, (however strange)
this faithful little knife, that had so often round
ed her sprouting ivory nails upon her fingers
of snow—so oft had cut its way, guided by her
unerring azure eye, through the sonrec visible
thread of India Mull—so oft had elipt the soft
lioss cotton when a leaf or bud was finished on
the rich and gaudy pattern that was destined
to adorn—a marble neck, arrayed by bounte
ous nature in its hundred light blue veins, to
sinker swell as Love or Fear should be the
master—this dutiful knife, that retired, when
its task was done, without a murmur to its sil
ver case of rest—to banish this tender off
spring, combining the richest and rarest quali
ties of its mother earth, warm from her ardent
hand, (O! who would not tremble with delight
just hut to press it!) and that too in the grasp
of a modern. Typhon, to brave the unpitying
air of a winter's evening, and pass the severe
ordeal of the slcaginous lingers (your tru
grinder sometimes use the oil) and the rough
abrading stone of the ruthless operator ; in
deed, fair reader, this was cruel—barbarous
inhuman—horrid ! The ingrate ! (forgive mu
ladies) aftersuch services, which, like Othello’s
should have out-tongued all complaint, tints to
| abuse her sweet little knife ! Even now we
j fancy we, hear the poor victim as the wheel
whirls round, exclaim like the banished King
Lear against iiis daughter’s ingratitude :
“In such a night to turn me out! —not you
I ‘ux, ye elements ! I never dipt your niton ;
Nor shnped your muslin—no—nor paired
your nails—
Oh ! ye arc men of stones!’’
In solemn truth we hail not thought this
would be done among the fairer part of crea
tion. We reflected on ittnany a winter nigU',
and often we are, tempted to soliloquiz .
Thou giv’st me warning, silent, hapless knife,
Though I (In love her—l’ll ne’er call her wife.
But thoughts like these never touched the
heart of tile lady, nor of the servant, nor yet
of the grinder; for they both must do their
mistress’ bidding. Ho without more, the Ili
i brrnlun giant approached, as we have said,
holding the knife betwixt his thumb and finger
—and wftll lie might—for had lie helcTit in his !
ponderous and spneious hand, St. Mary! the
grinder, spectacles and all had never seen it.—
“Old man,” quoth tlie hero of potatoes, “how
much to grind this funny little fellow." —
“Eleven penny bit.” “What! for this young
one 1” “Yes, quoth the grinder, I charge the
same, young or old—for I have always found
through life, that your young knives and scis
: sors, like your young men and women, are al
ways tlie most troublesome.” “I’ll not bar
that, Mr. Grinder,” quoth Potato, “but by the
j soul of William Orr, they seem the most ex
it ravagant the day, Mr. Grinder.” “An 1 that’s
true also Mr. Giant, responded the grinder, hut
this poor ghost of a knife, will soon have less
need of extravagance, if it be punished longer
this evening.” And in all these wc de in the
grinder in the right.
In the short afternoons of winter I often j
hear, a sound that cheers the gloom of deelin- [
ing day, and dissipates tlie sombre shadows !
that dance by the flickering fire-light on the j
wall, just before- the tea urn and the candles
; arc marshalled in. It is the tinkling of the
j muffin boy’s bell. Day after day he passes by,
with his rapid step in cadence with his lively
music by his side, speaking to none, but ring
ing at every step, rightly judging that those
j who want will call. Fair, affection ,te young
I maiden, whose years of bloom scarce number
i twelve, if, after school, while sitting at the
window in the twilight with thy work and
j needle in thy hand, watching the old grinder
! as he restores thy pretty scissors to their keen
j est edge, thou shouldst hear that little bell ;
then haste thee to thy mother by the. fire side
and beg of her two-pence. Thine eyes, thy
smile, thy voice will win it. Then run thou to
the door, and keep the secret in thy spotless
bosom. If it be the red-cheeked muffin boy,
do thou but beckon witli thy prctly finger to
him, and glad for many reasons wili he be, to
turn, and stop, and glance his eye upon thee.
Then do thou buy a brown warm intiffm, and
away to the closet with it in thy handkerchief,
and while ’tis warm, open it and tuck therein
a generous lump of sweet rose butter. Then
fly again quickly to the door lest someone spy
thee, and say to the poor scissors grinder,
“here old man of seventy winters, take this
nice muffin; ’tis warm and sweet, and covered
with fresh butter, and will do thee good and
serve thee for thy supper.” So shalt thou see
his ancient hat uplifted from his head as he
calls down blessings upon thine, and implores
long life and bliss for thee and all thou lov’st and
all who love th ;c. 8o shalt thou feel the joy
j of thy charity knocking at thy heart. Ho shalt
; thou feel thy widowed mother’s lips impressed
1 upon thy stainless brow, and her tears of rap
i ture drop upon thy glowing cheek, (the bright
i renewal of her early charms, vhile she hails
thee as the morning star of her life, just risen
in. glory to light up the quiet paradise of home
within, when all the wor’d without is darkness j
—so shall the voice of Pity, when mankind vo j
cruel, ne’er plead in Vain for thee. So shall an
Hand and Eye unseen sweeten thy dreams
with visions of unknown delight, and guard thy
couch while rapt in lovely sleep; that sleep
that shuts the eyes of only those whose bosoms
are at pence. So shall the Angel of Mercy, that
hovers ever o’er the kind and pure in heart,
breath in thy slumbering ear seraphic strains
of happiness, and call at last thy spirit, eman
cipated from the chains of earth, to a kindlier
home of welcome, beyond the world’s alarms,
beyond the wrath of man.
ALFRED.
Darien , Geo., January , 1 HU'.).
TEN MINUTES AT TltE POST OFFICE.
People talk of going abroad to study so
ciety, as if this city alone whory not a vol
ume of humanity large enough for the in
vestigation of any reasonable life time—a
city where every eorneV has its event, ev
ery square its history, and every street its
study. The man who goes abroad to ob
serve, wiwtld find it impossible to tread its
remotest street, when its wretched inhabi
tants arc astir, or to cross Brodway, when
the sunshine of bright eyes and beautiful
faces is gliding by like ripples on the sur
face of a river, without finding objects of
interest and of study—tilings to awaken
his sympathy mid ids philosophy. He will
find something to regret, something to he
ashamed of, and something to glory in. Af
ter all, the best paijes for human study,
are the faces and the scenes one meets with
in the streets.—There is not a hook or cor
ner of our city hut contains objects for
thought to those who can think. Let us
prove the truth of this assertion. Wc will
push aside this pile of newspapers, A (ling
the old patriarch of a pen oil the desk for a
moment, while we step across the street A
see what is going on at the Post Office. In
ten minutes time, our word for it, wc shall
find something worth looking at.
The sunshine is abroad among the leaf
less blanches of the Park, which begins to<
look respectable, since that hideous mass
of iniquity, old Bridewell, has been remov
ed from its bosom. The panorama of hu
man lift’ is just visible through the distant
palings, as it glides down Broadway, far c
uough from tiie eye to leave the imagina
tion free to enhance the lovliness of each
object as it passes in review. A slight turn
of the body, and Chatham street, that av
enue of pawnbrokers, auctioneers, hatters,
shoemakers, shopkeepers, and of every
thing, in short, stretches before us.—What
a world for thought lies in that street ; But
wc have nothing to do that at present
—Our business is with the Post Office.
Now that we have taken our stand with
in range of the Post Office avenues, wo arc
at leisure to observe what is going forward,
and to guess and conjecture to our heart’s
content. Here comes a man with an open
letter in his hand, one of those beings so
full of his own alliirs, that he seems as much
alone in this crowd ns if he were in tlie
green depths of a western wilderness.
There is something in that letter that dis
pleases him ; a frown lowers on his fore
head, and his lips are set firmly together
as he moves. Now if that man would hut
take friendly advice, his letters would lie
read only in the counting room. The cred
it of a merchant is, sometimes, a eoquettjsh
possesion. If the times were hard now,
that clenched hand and the muttered words
about lands and eastern timber might do
mischief. Many a poor fellow has bedome
bankrupt by allowing his empty pockets
to speak through his face. Let him pass
on—we won’t trouble him with advise, but
if he will read his letters in the street, he
must excuse us if we make our owii obser
vations.
’ What have we here. A poor woman,
with a thin cloak and a cottage bonnet,
! which has withered more than one season.
1 She taps modestly at the ladies’ window—
a clerk (lings it up with a force that makes
her start —the anxious question is breathed
—her lips quiver, and her eyes are full of
apprehension. She watches the clerk shuf
fle the handful of letters carelessly, as if
the heart of that poor being were not throb
bing to every slight motion—and the look
which she fixes on him contains a history
of sorrow—of adverse fortune—of orphan
age and widowhood, perhaps. No ? the
last bereavement has come now. The let
ter is flung carelessly on the window cill—
she grasps it, when lo ! it hears a seal !
She staggers hark against tlie building—
the letter with its death sign, is in her hand,
and that hand shakes like a ripe leaf in the
autumn wind. Her fingers quivered over
the Wax a minute, and now they fall help
lessly down outside of her threadbare cloak
She dares not open it—she cannot —poor
thing—her lips arc white as marble, A her
eyes are hard and tearless. There is some
thing sublime in that woman’s sorrow.
Her husband went to the west, perhaps, to
prepare a home for his wife in the wilder
ness, nnd perished in the attempt. Or, he
may have left her for the South, to obtain
the employment which he could not git
here, and that letter comes to tell her that
he died of a yellow fever, where there were
none to consecrate his death-hed with a
look of affection. Whatever the history
may he, its fatal termination is written on
that woman’s face. She is a widow A her
last shilling was given in exchange for that
letter. The purse was empty which she
thrust bark into her bosom with one hand,’
while she grasped the letter with the other.
She has broken the seal at last. One can
almost see her heart swell beneath her scant
garments. Her sobs come thick and fast, |
and the letter is covered with tears as she
reads. She has no idea that any one is
looking on her ; the image of the departed
stands between her and the world. The
park is scattered over with human beings,
, but she is alone shrouded in the. afli|cltwg
| egotism of her sorrow. Let her pass on- j
i orphans and famine are waiting hcrat home, j
it needs little imagination to conjecture
I that! While we have been occupied by
[ that forlorn'woman, the crowd has thicken
-led around the post-office window: mcr
; chants, lawyers, doctors, divines, clerks A
| women, all have been shifting and elbowing
i their way to the’ windows. One turns n
| way with looks of sullen disappointment ,-
another thrusts his letters in ms porket,
and hurries aeross the Park iu double quick
time. He intends to enjoy his correspon
dence quietly by a coal tire, with his chair
balanced on two legs nnd his feet over the
grate—a sensiUU, fellow that 1
But our ten minutes are up. Wc should
have forgotten it in our speculations, had
not our brother of the ‘■ hurried by with
an armful of papers, and a face as full of
rare ns a lemon is of acid. We could ex
pend a little sympathy on that fellow, but
what rigliit has he to an easier life than
his neighbors, pray ? One mouthful of fresh
air, and then we will take our bundle and
| make our way aeross the street again, grat
ified that, at least, wc have found where
withal tomakc a paragraph.—N. Y. Exp.
Counsel for Ladies.—Let every mar
ried woman he persuaded that there are
two ways of governing a family. The
first is, by the expression’ of that which
threatens force. ‘ The second is, by the
power of love, to which cvffh strength will
yield. Over the mind of the Tm.sband,’ a
wife Should never employ any other power
than gentleness. When a woman accus
toms herself to say, 4 I will,’ she deserves
to loose her empire. Avoid contradicting
your husband. When wc smell a rose,
0 expect to imbibe the sweetness of its
odour, —so we look for every thing amia
ble in woman. Whoever is often contra
dicted, feels insensible an aversion for the
person who contradicts, which
strength by- time. Employ yourself ip
household affairs. Wait till your husband
confides to you those of a higher inipor-
4 mice, and not give your advice til! he
sks it. Never take upon yourself to lira
censor of your husband’s morals, lo pend
lectures to him. Let your preaching be a
good example. Tractice virtue yourself,
to make him ill love with it. Command
his attention, by being always attentive to
him. Never exact anything, nnd you will
obtain much. Appear always flattered by
the little he does for you, which will ex
cite him to perform more. Men as well
ns women are vain. Never wound his
vanity, not even in the most trilling in
stances. jV wife may have more sense
than her husband, hut she should never
seem to know it. When a man gives
wrong counsel, never make him feel that
he has done so, but lead him on by degrees
to what is rational, with mildness and
gentleness. When he is convinced, leave
him all the merit of having found out what
is reasonable nnd just,- when a husband is
out of temper, behave obligingly to him.
If he is abusive, never retort, ami never
prevail on him to humble himself,; but
enter thy closet, and pour out thy com
plaints in prayer to (rod in his behalf.
Choose carefully your female friends. —
Have but a few, and be backward to fol
low advice—particularly, if inimical to the
foregoing instruction. Cherish greatness
without luxury, and pleasure ex
cess. Dress with taste, and j; irliculnrly
with modesty-. 4 Whose adorning, let it
not be an outward adorning of plaining
the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of put
ting on of apparel.’ Vary the fashions of
your dress in regard to colors. It gives
a change to ideas, and recalls pleasing re
collections. Such things appear trifling ,-
but they are of more importance than
imagined. 4 Likewise, ye wives, be in
subjection to your own husbands.’ ‘ Hus
bands, love your wives, even ns Christ
also loved the Church and gave himself
for it.’ 4 Submit yourselves to one ano
ther in the fear of God.’— Ladies Garland.
Love and Marriage.— A case was re
cently tried in Rutland, Vermont, in which
a Miss Munson recovered SI 125 of a Mr.
Hastings, for a breach of a marriage eon
tract. The curiosity of the tilings is, that
the Vermont Judge carged the jury 44 that
no explicit promise was necessary to hind
the parties to a marriage contract, hut that
long continued attentions or intimacy with
a female, was as good evidence of intended
matrimony ns a special contract.” The
principle of the. case undoubtedly is, that
if Hastings did not promise, he aught to
have done it ! nnd so the law holds him re
sponsible for the non-performance of his
duty. A most excellent decision : a most
excellent judge, compared with whom
Haniel would appear but a common ’squire.
We have no idea of a tfoung fellow dang
ling about a woman for a year or two,
without being able to screw hi* courage’
up to the sticking point, and then going
off - leaving his sweetheart half courted ;
we hate this everlasting nibble and never
a bite : this heating the hush and never
starting the game : this standing to the
rack without touching the corn ; it is the
crying sin of the age. There is not one
girl in twenty can tell whether she is
courted or not.
The Rest Way to Conquer a Coun
try.—lt is a singular fact that since Na
poleon’s unfortunate expedition to Mos
cow, the city of the Czars has been inun
dated with French artist, dancing masters,
music masters, brokers, and tradesmen
and shop-keepers of every possible de
scription. Mr. Stephens, in alluding to
! this fact says : “ Foiled in their attempt!
with the bayonet, they arc now adiiAite* I
ing, with apparently more feeble, tnHMfatj
more insidious arid fatal, weapons,- TEtof j
the rugged Russian, whom Frcnchntfe|
could not (in 1K12) conquer, bows to
supremacy of French modistes* and af-lj
l tistrs, and quietly wears the liv’a|p t)f mM
great ma- 1 ’ r * of fashion.”
VOL. 1. NO. I.
\ Printer's Anecdote. —lt user to
be related of Corporal Nymm, a printer,
well known for many years in this town
as being more rm arkabjo for his odd hu
“iflor than the length of his purse} ‘that
wlule he was travelling from Lowol to
Boston, he was met by n highwayman,
who politely, ns is the’ ciistomof these
gentry, demanded his purse. “ JJy dear
sir,” quoth the corporal, “ I perceive you
don’t know me.” “That is nothing to
the purpose, sir, give up your purse im
mediately,” demanded the highwayman.
The corporal repeated, with an carncst
-IH/NS which could not he misunderstood,
‘ Positively you don’t know me.”—
“Well,” said the highwayman, somewhat
surprised at the manner of the corporal,
“ who the devil are you?” “ Why, I’m a
printer.” “A printer, did yousav?
Whew ! I’m off, d— and dry picking.”
[l.owel Paper.
+ ——
An American in Russia.—Mr. Ste
phens, in his “ Ineidrtps Q f ‘l'ravel in
(I,cere, Russia, and Pound,” states that
be found in the ucighbohood of Ojfessc,
an American who had ben twenty years
in Russia, and has gone through all the
routine of offices and ho. ors 0 rs U p to the
grade of grand counsellor ,f tlte empire,
which gives him** the title i* “his excel**
loncy.” He is a native of Philadelphia,
first enlisted in our navy, atf served as
sailing master on board the Yosp after
wards herame dissatisfied, anti mitered the
Russian navy, and fame roti<| to the
Black Sea as captain of a fi'igte—was
transferred to the lit and service, ti,j j ri ||, c
icampnign of 1814, entered Paris <jth the
allied army as colonel of the raiment,
lie left the army with the rank of ibrin-n
---dier general, and was appointed
of the port of Odessa, an office nfit in
rank to the Governor of (irimea. IHing
the absence of Count Woronzow, thcg () .
vernor, lie lived in the palace, and c?> r .
cUcd the duties of the office for
inoftlqj, ( 11c married a lady of rank, wi'j
an csnfte and several hundred slaves ncA
Moscow, but resides mostly on his farm’,
a short distance from Odessa, which con-,
.‘pins six hundred acres, principally laid
down in wheat, and is cultivated by white
slaves. The value of the farm is esti
mated at #(10,000. The name of this indi
vidual is said- to he Sontag, and he is the
son of a Revolutionary soldier.
One of the late linglisli pupers mentions
the performance of an extraordinary pedes
trian feat by a man named Molloy, who ac
complished the uruuotis undertaking of
walking 1,290 miiesin six weeks, perform
ing the distance of on&ttile A a quarter for „
every successive hour, on Rloomlv com
mon. ’I lie restrictions where, that Molloy
should not partake of arty beverage during
the performance of the match stronger than
tea and coffee, which he srrictlv ndhcoied
to. It is stated that his legs and iOklcs were
much swollen, and he appeared to suffer
much from fatigue.
(>R*d breeding, like charity, not only
covers a multitude of faults, hut to a cer
tain degree supplies the want of some vir
tues ; for in the common intercourse of
life, it acts like good nature, andgbften
does what good nature cannot do—it keeps
both wits and fools within those hounds of
decency which the former are too apt to
forget and the latter never knew.
A PRISON SCKNK.
As one of our citizens was recently
eying homeward from the commercial me
tropolis, he stopped, lorn hour or two, at
Auburn, Impelled by motives ofeuriu-ity,
lie repaired to the State Prison, & went the
usual rounds, and with the view of contem
plating, in his “low estate,” one whom he
bad known und moved with in palmy days
of proud and golden prosperity, Init who
was now within those gloomy walls, rcon
vict felon, condemned to years of silent toil,
side by side with villains of every hue of
crime. In a secluded pint of the immense
building, he found the object of his search,
attired in the coarse particolored convict
dress, soiled A dirty, his hair cropped close
ly toheade, A his small, yet dignified form,
bent painfully over His counte
nance was deadly pale, save where, upon
each check, a small deep hectic spot told the
troubled workings of his unquiet mind,
while his unshaven chin, with a beard of ri
week’s growth, contrasted strangely with
bis high inarldo-like forehead, and altered
features,imparting a wildness to his appear
ance, which befitted the gloomgy scene a
round. It was Benjamin hathkitn, the I'mo
-er. ll’ was occupied in shaping the beefflpi
unblock of which joiner’* planesa*e tirade,
and steadily wrought at Inti new empltu
u.ent, bis delicate hands unused to
labor, plying busily and dexteriourlw thm
tools of his work-bench. * As the visiter as/:
zed upon the spectacle, through the p*rjpw
openings of the dark passage from kigflJeTf
the convicts are watchedhv the g'uirdsfjf
the pri-i.ii. in,-et n l,\ the prisoner&JUioft
**r isit ■■ r sin (I ! \ . similarly orefiponiTu In
had been employed by the man they wife
contemplating, ;n one of the auperinten
dents of his two theumtid laborers, when
1 ill'll;? ed ill carry in:* on Ids gigantic, ope ran
lions. ‘l’hc latter stood Jsitcittfy hitent'Qia
the scene, until he burst itfto tegfit, and turn-/
ed away. The irrcpr#*jWMfeiMtat.hicj
which arise in the bntha4E|KfiHprißkrainda|
decisions of