The McIntosh County herald, and Darien commercial register. (Darien, Ga.) 1839-1840, January 22, 1839, Image 1

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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