Newspaper Page Text
BY JAMES W. JOXES.
The Southern Whig,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
terms.
Three dollars per annum, payable within six
months after the receipt of the fit st number, or
four dollars if not paid within the year, bub
scribers living out of the State, will be expect
ed in all cases, to pay in advance.
No subscription received for less than one year,
unless the money is paid in advance; and no
paper will be diseontinued until all arrear
ages are paid, except at the option ot the pub
lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance,
of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind,
a settement of their accounts.
I^bvertiserents xvill be inserted at the usual
rates; when the number of insertions is not
upeeifieiUhey will be continued until ordered
out.
T>- All Letters 'frs the Editor or Proprietor, on
matters connected with the establishment,
must be post paid in orderto secure attention
Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by
Administrators, Executors, or Guardians,
must be published sixty daw previous to the
day of sale.
Ths sale of personal Property, in like manner,
must be published forty days previous to
the day of sale.
Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must
be published forty days.
Notice that Application will be mr*de to the Court
of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne
g.oes, must be published four months.
Notice that Application will be made for Letters
of administration, must be published thirty .
bays and Letters of Dismission, «ix months.
For Advertising—Letters of Citation. S Z.'2
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 3 *
Four Months Notices, 4 00
Sales of Personal Property by Executors,
Administrators, or Guardians, 3 ~u
Sales of Land or Negroes by do. 4 /o
Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 hu
Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents
for every thirteen lines of sin-11 type, (or space
equivalent,) first insertion, ami 50 cents for each
weekly continuance. If published every other
week, 62 1-2 c**ts for each continuance. If
published once a month, it will be charged each
time as a new advertisement. For a single
insertion, 81 00 per square. *
JW. JONES, is now receiving and open-
. ing at his Store, his supplies of
FALL WINTER GOODS,
which combind with his former Stock, render
his assortment very complete.
English Straw Bonnets.
A ease ofhandsome English Straw and Florence
Bonnets, iust received and for sale, by
J J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,-24 ts
EfEGB-O SHOES,
200 pairs Superior Negro Shoes for sale by
‘ J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,—24—tf
LIVSHY STABLE.
MIK'
rpBE Undersigned has just opened a LIVE
RY STABLE in the Town of Athens,
immediately in the"rear of Mr. IL A. Frasers
Store, where he will keep on hand
VEHICLES OF
JS FJE« r DESCRIP TIO.V;
ALSO
GOOD
I
I
And well broke i
HARNESS HORSES ’
To Hire.
Persons wishing to travel, can be aecommo
rilatcd with Carriages and Horses nt all times
Jlis Vehicles have not yet arrived, but are ex
pected by the first of the Spring. He will also
take on Livery the horses of any one wishing to
place their horses under his charge.
P. M. WELLS.
Jan. 27 39 ts.
GEORGIA, HALL COUNTY.
’WHT'IIEREAS, Ambrose Kennedy, Adminis-
• ■ trator ofthe Estate of Edward Harrison,
deceased, applies ts me for Letters of dismission.
This is therefore to cite and admonish all. and
singular the kindred and creditors of snid de
ceased, to be and appear at my office within the
time prescribed by law, to shew cause (if any
ihey have) why said letters should not be grant
ed.
Given under mv hand, this 20th day of Octo
ber, 1837. ’ -
E. M. JOHNSON, c. c. e.
Oct. 21,—25—6m
GEORGIA. JACKSON COUNTY.
AJARY WAFFORD, of the 215th district.
J-VJ. tells before me one dark brown Mare,
supposed to be twelve years old, shod all round,
had on a bell, tied on with a hemp rope, a star
in her forehead, and appraised by Elisha Dester
and Moses Walford to Thirty Dollars
THOMAS NIB LACK, J P.
A true extract from the Estray Book,
WILLIAM COWAN, Clk.
February 3—4o—tf
Tj’OUR months after date, application will be
made to the Honorable Inferior Court of
Walton county, when sitting for ordinary pur
pcses, for leave to sell four Negroes, belonging
to the Estate of Jarrett Beall, deceased, a wo.
jiian named Letta and two children, a girl nam
ed Rachael. Sold for the benefit of the heirs
and creditors of said deceased.
ALLENS. BEALL, Ex’r.
Nov. 1,--"7—Lu
Southern Whig.
Ilan cctis.
From the Louisville Journal.
THE DYING GIRL,
The fitful breeze, that, through the sultry day,
Had tanned the fainting blossoms with its breath,
Stole through the open easement where there lay
A pale young girl upon the couch of death ;
Her glance was fixed upon the moon, that roiled
Through blue and starlight in the vaulted sky.
As ifshe knew her fleetinghours were told
And wished to take one lingering look and die,
Beside that humble cuach there droop'd one form,
The gentle mother of the dying one,
For grief had bowed her spirit, as the storai
Bends the soft rose upon its emerald throne ;
There lay her child, the beautiful, the young,
The breath just sighing on her lip of snow.
And her soft ringlets. all dishevelled, flung
Baek from the whiteness of her deathly brow.
Sadly she bent above her, though her look
Was tearless as she sought her daughter’s eye,
Yet her lip quivered like a bright leaf, shook
By the Strong tempest, as it sweeps the sky ;
Daughter, she murmured, and the maiden turned
Unto her mother'* face her mournful glancs,
In which life's flickering taper wildly burned,
For she was startled as if from a trance,
And at that voice so tliriliirg to her ear
A thousand tender thoughts her heart opprest,
’Till to her blue eye tear-drop followed tear.
And the white linen heaved above her breast;
About her mother’s neck she softly threw
Her pale thin arms, and, nestling her young head
VVhithin her sheltering bosom, dashed the dew
From her soft cheek, and in low accents said—
Mother, my hour is come,
The wing of death is o'er me, for my brow
Is damp and did!—sweet Naother, I must go
Down to the silent tomb.
Yet not for this I grieve,
It is to think that I am leaving tbse
Poor and unfriended—mother thou wilt bo
Alone at morn and eve.
And through the long, long day,
Thou'lt sit with breaking heart above thy task,
Earning thy daily bread, while others bask
In fortune’s sunny ray.
For on thy heart will press
A thousand memories of thy buried child,
And thou wilt pour thy weepings long and wild
In utter loneliness.
And in the time of sleep
Thoui’lt turn to kiss me as thou oft hast done,
But memory will whisper ‘she is gone,’
And thou wilt wake and weep.
Before my father died,
We dwelt beneath our own bright stately halls,
Round which blue streams and silver fountain-falls
Were seen to glide
There on the eveningbreeze.
In summer-time no harsher sound was heard.
Than the low flutter of some singing bird,
S.artled among th« trees.
And there beside our hearth
Thou’st often knelt, and offered up to God,
My infant spirit pure ns snow untrod,
And free from taint oi earth.
But now how charged thy lot—•
Strangers are dwelling in our once bright heme,
Whilst thou art pent within this close dark room,
Unaided and f>rg>t.
I have been like a spell.
Binding thee unto earth—but deatl hath preet
His cold and heavy hand upon my breast —
Mother, Igo—farewell!
Slowly her arms unwound their wreathing clasp,
Around he mother's neck, and her fair head
Fell heavy back, whilv alow lengthened gasp
Stirred her cold marble bosom —she was dead !
Silent that mother gazed the mighty flood
Os grief within her heart she strove to hide,
For it seemed sin to weep, while thus she stood
Above ths holy dead, and sanctified. ’
It was no time to moCrn, for she had yet
A bitter mournful duty to fulfil.
To press the eye lids o'er the blue orbs set,
To clyse the sweet lips smiling on her still;
She laid the ringlets round the lifeless face
And wiapped the loose shroud round the slender form,
That lay in mute and melancholy grace,
As if spell-bound in slumbersofi and warm.
And when the stare of nicht began to rrane,
And the warin sen had chased away the gloom.
Strange forms were seen around the lattice-pane.
That looked into that dim and dreary room.
And, as they crossed the threshold ofthe door,
They found her drooping by her daughter's bed—
Her raven tresses streaming o’er the floor.
And her dark glassy eye fixed on the dead.
Oh ! 'twas indeed a sadly touching sight,
For her white hand lay prest upon her heart.
As if to quell within the spirit's might.
And her cold purple lips were half apart ;
They raised her from the spot whore she had knelt
In the meek holy attitude of prayer,
And with the nicest touch her bosom felt
Staking for life and warmth—but death was there!
AMELIA.
From the Knickerbocker for February.
Wilson Con w orth.
NUMBER NINE.
• Adieu, adieu ! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue.
The night winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea mew.'
I have said I took passage in a vessel bound
to Ne.' -Orleans. I had never been at sea ;
and this was fortui.atc, for I required some
excitement to arouse my torpid energies. It
was a Sabbath evening, xvhen we set sail.—
i Hardlv xxere we out of the harbor, xi hen the
xvind l ose, a id drove us furiously on our course.
I The land was soon lost to xiexv, in distance
1 and darkness,
' There bei'.g danger on d< ck. I sought my
; cub ti and sleep. *l’llo noise of he winds, the
| quick, startling commatitls of the captain, and
the running here and there; the k .ockiug of
' blocks, and t.'ckl.s, and rop'.*; the groa- ing
i ofthe ship as the seas struck her. to me Hex
1 periet ced, seemed to b token inmiiueiit petti.
Every moment, fi,r I lay awake all night, 1
I expected to hear cries of alar », a d to be bu
| ried in the xvaves. I resigned myseif calmly
,to mv fate. I thought xvc must perish ; ami
lit xx'asj' l '- to tbi'k; 'but li'-J -bich h;d
EtMmF7E? <r ’3ZtZi£<*'-sr J-II'CBL* r^ ll -*> | - LI -'^Drr*~Tr,llUL JJrJ '4»~* jh 4 * ' vIP atfcaAu /rthr- -- ■ ■ —■ —
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMED J
been so tempestuous and stormy, was about t<
be closed on the wide sea, amid the conflicts oi
the elements, in solitude and darkness. I wa
thankful, too, that time was allowed me to
commend my soul to bod ; to ask forgivenes.-
for my s.ns; to pray for the happiness of my
friends, whom I had so much disregarded, and
who had so often forgiven me. This is true.
It was a blessed moment. I felt I had au im
mortal soul.
The danger, however, was nil in my own
imagination. It blowed hard, but we were
perfectly secure. Landsmen have no idea, of
the power of a ship, or the magnificence of a
real slorrn at sea. After once undergoing one,
we are in possession of a secret; and a stiff
gale is a source ofnleasure rather than of
pttiti. On Lind, thosame wind that unroofs
our houses, and prostrates the tall forest trees,
’ breaks not the blade of grass, nor snaps th'
{ tender vine. A goed ship yields in the Soft
I element, and bends her head to the tempest.
I The danger at sea lies in squalls and sudden
I gusts. Give a seaman sea-room enough, and
; he cares not how hard it blows, if it blow
steadily.
! The morning dawned at last, and Ih id just
! fuller) into a deep sleep, worn out with watch
ing, when the captain roused me, and said,
‘ Come, if you would see a fine sight.’
I went upon deck, and looked upon the most
majestic scene my eyes ever beheld. The
sun was just rising; not a cloud was in the
sky; the waves ran mountain high, and their
curled tops, covered with white foam, glisten
ed in the slanting sun-beams. No lin’d was
insight, but at some dist? nee we could des
cry a tall ship dancing upon the waters, as if
it were no heavier than a nut-sholl. The crew
looked fresh and animated, as they once more
regained their own element; and the captain,
whom on laud I had thought a coarse, illite
rate, clumsy, sleepy booby, now appeared to
possess a dignity and force oi character, which
awed m 3 into silent respect before him. The
moment, however, we were seated at break
fast, out of sight of tho sailots, he relapsed
again into the eas), jovial companion; and I,
in my turn, showed my superiority in the gra
cost of the table.
Tho laborer is graceful as he ploughs the
field, or sweeps the scythe; the artisan is
graceful at bis xvork ; the sailor on the sea, as
he climbs the giddy mast. Meti are only
clowns, when thry attempt that which is for
eign to their natures and habits. Dress the
laborer in rich garments, m.dsef him to xvork;
put the mechanic into a ball-room, er'the sailor
on the land, and they are axvkward and c'Jum
sy. Ease, and the mens conscia recti, is grace
fulness ; consistency is gracefulness ; to ap
pear what xve truly are, is to ba truly dignified.
As xve proceeded out to sea, and the bra.
cing uir of the ocean operated upon my health,
giving me life and gayety ; as I underwent
danger from storms, and heard our captain tell
of his ‘ hair-breadth ’scapes’on the deep ;of
shipwreck, murder, famine, and death; my
own misfortunes sank into insignificance, and
I began to fscl ashamed of myself for yielding
to despair, in the presence of men who were
happy and contented xvith the recollection of :
past misfortunes upon their minds, and the
chance of danger always hanging over them.
Confined to the narrow sphere of a village j
or family, xve are apt to acquire a force of |
character only sufficiently strong to meet trite |
and common events. We look upon little j
things as large ; xve magnify inconveniences j
into misfortunes, accidents into judgments, and i
.-ire frequently made positive!} unhappy by j
things unworthy the notice of an immortal be- I
tug. Travel, an l a larger intercourse w ith !
mat.kind, will correct this xvenkness. Our
scope ofcotnparison xvill be xx ider, and by get- ’
ting to know that difficulty attends every en- |
terprise; that all men, from the highest to the j
lowest, nre net, in any one instance, exempted !
from suffering ; xve return to the circumserib-'
ed society of the village, and are happy by :
ComparisS!!. Though our bodies move only j
over a short space of eaith, still, in our minds,
we live tn the world, in the widest sense, and
acquire that elevation, and liberality, and rea
sonableness of thought, so great a source of
happiness lo others and to its possessor.
After a verv long, but not to me tedious pas.
sago, for I was sorry w hen xve came in sight ,
of land, xve arrives at Nexv-Orleans. I am
not about to give a description of the country
or cities; but the impresston is still vivid in
my memory, ofthe feelings I experienced as
wc stemmed the tide ot the mighty river, and
dragged by the loxv marshes to the rr.ud-xvall
ed city of the South; the sink of filth; the!
palace of beauty ; the France of America ; the!
gambling depot of planters and desperadoes, |
uniting all nations, complexions, religions; all j
codes of morals, all steps to vice, all degrees ot i
virtue. Here is the gloomy fanatic, the vo- ‘
ciferating Methodist, the astute Jesuit, the self
satisfied Catholic, high-born and wealthy, de-|
voul in his observance.”, infidel in his senti
ments, and polluted in his life, all xvalking side
by side; while the calm, quiet unassuming
Quaker, emblem of meekness, Christian hu
mility, and heavenly love, glides along his
noiseless way, and impresses you w ith the be- j
lief, that true Christianity has yet her disci-1
pies on earth.
With a year’s allowance in my pocket, I ,
set out to dissipate my cares, and to make a !
bold rush at something. Not much of a tra- ,
veller, except among the moral inhabitants of
thoNoitb, I began, after observing the lati
tude of conduct here, to place myself quite
above par in the scale of virtue. Northerners
have no idea ot the utter want of principle that
characterizes tho southern man of pleasure;
of the grossness, the debauchery, the sensuali
ty, that walks in open day. and glories in its
degradation. Here is every thing to entice
the senses ; and the blood of the northerner,
warmed up by the climate ; his senses fascia
ated by novel and luxurious -Jlurements to sen
! sual pleasure; his avarice revelling in the
: heaps of gold ho may, chance, realize, and !
; and that too from the smallest begitmitigs ; all
I tend to lead him astray. Ifat home he has the
| character of a saint, here he will, most like
ly. have the character of a man ruined beyond
redemption, or fortunate, beyond the hopes of
independence. There is no medium. Hun
dreds ofyou.ig mon go annually from the north
ert) states to New-Orleans to seek their Ibr
i tunes. \bout one thira return with the a;--
; pearance ci premature old age, and pretty for
I tunes. The remainder die, or linger about the
; city, xviiiting, hoping for d< ath to come to their
i relief. Beside, the men who ba'e made their
' fortunes at the South, rarely bling home with
i them the respect tluyonce had for religion
and good morals. They are indeed geutle
! men, ns the term goes, and bear, many ol
1 them, the honorable scars of cotir ige nt twelve
paces; but they pine for Ihe freedom from re-
■ strait which the South affords j they have lo#t
' their former habits atiJ taries, and they find no
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATIiRDAY, FEBRI'ARI 94, i»3B.
sympathy for their newly-acquired substitutes.
Moralists may talk about principle as they
flease. It is god in the abstract- Men must
) ive habits of goodness, or they will fail, with
he purest intentions in the world. It is hard
o find out where habit ends, and principle be
gins. Principle! Why, it is conscience, com
mon sense, it puts us into a good path ; it
points out when we have lost the way : but
habit governs us- Habit, begets principle, and
bad principles arc sometimes only sophistry—
that is, want ot common sense. I pray God
to give me good habits! You may reason
about the excellence of virtue and temperance
till you die ; you never will become morally
pure, until )ou first are physically so. Dr.
Johnson said a very foolish thing when he
said, -A man may have good principles and
bad practice.’ A mere period! Prettily bal
anced sentence ! How many have yost sent
to the devil!
Soon after I had got establishea nt a hotel,
I formed an acquaintance With Mr. D ,
from Charleston. He was a very gentleman
ly man, whom I had seen at college, rather
disposed for frolic, but with nothing vicious in
his nature. He introduced me to a fine set,
as he thought them —acquaintances he hud |
made since his residence in the city. Alrea-1
dy he had been pigeoned to a considerable >
amount by these friends, but his large resour, j
ccs aad unsuspicious nature concealed from j
him their real character.
All young men of large fortune and inexpe
rience in the world will be subject to such
friends, upon first coming out. This kind of
friendship is a perfect game. These fallen
gentlemen who hang round our cities, more
particularly at the South, whore they can lodge
out of doors, (good policy !) get quite a com
fortable lining by initiating young men into the
world. I'hey have the exterior of gentlemen ; j
they have been gentlemen in their feelings, i
They possess the artem c iptandi, the indefin
ite agreeable, the slash look, the easy carriage,
which imposes so readily upon a young man,
fresh from his books and the dreams of the
world.
The keepers of houses of entertainment
know these men by instinct; and they are
aware that they are known. There is no
agreement but a tacit one. They have the
appearance of credit at such places; they can
order their bottle and a dinner, (the bottle al
ways comes first;) they get it not for money
but for service—a regular quid pro quo. Th?
‘qno’ is, to exert themselves for the credit of
the house, and lead their dupes there to be sa
crificed. This is the slight o’ hand of living.
Having been duped themselves, they now live
by duping others; and it is not improbable
that the fathers of their victims are the fortu
nate possessors of the w ealth acquired from
them.
At gambling houses they play with the keep
er's money, and play into his hands, and re
ceive a per centage on the profits of the night.
This is blackleg.ism. Mr. D —and my-
self played, and tn consoqueace were stripped
in a short timo of all aur means. We were
largely in debt at our hotel for the dinners and
wines we had furnished our friends. We
w era not fairly sober during the whole time of
our stay in the city. At the houses we fre
quented, we were kept under continual excite
ment. Servants were always at hand to as
suage our thirst, and give ardor to our cour
age. These rooms are very splendid; richer
than any private apti tments at the North;
more luxuri us. Sofas, couches, mirrors,
paintings, fountains of nectar, and the music of
seraphs, enchant the senses.
How many wretched forms have reclined
upon these vciy couches! How many hag
gard faces have beett ® fleeted from these mir
rers! Here, sitting w here tny form rests, the
suicide thought of his beggared wife, and the
bov—the first bom of his union—and burying
his face in his hands, formed the awful reso
lution. Here too the old a: d respectable plan
ter has sat in mute desnnir to contemplate his
bankruptcy and loss of reputation ; but he did
not think of suicide. The old love life, tho’
they know it to bo pain and sorroxv. Can
splendor, and music, and gayety, and youth,
thro xv even a gleam of joy over apartments so
accursed? The air is death. Men xvill not
grow wise by any thing buttheir own expe
rience. Though all the dead bodies ofsu cide
and all the mental pangs personified, sat by to
warn the gambler, he would not stop. Yes!
all goes on now as before. The cards that
are handled to-day, and the dice that rattle so
merrily, and the spots so well drawn, have
keen handled, and rattled.: nd seen,by finger*
and eyes that now clasp the xvorni, and furnish
a nest for the coiling reptile.
Women made no small part of our amuse
ment, There is a refinement in vice ; but so
' far from ‘robbing it of half its evil,’ it only
makes it more damnable in its effects. How
I much sophistry is concealed under great names j
' and rich language ! (
Ballsand evening parties arc established. I
where only those xvh'; have gold can find ad
mission, and where women are found, xvho
look like angels, with all the enticements of
j dress, and passion, and complexion, and xvin-
I ning smiles, to waylay tho imprudent. And
j what is strange civugh> many ot tb se women
■ are strictly chaste, and, in scenes of riot and
| debauchery, wear brows adorned xvith the vir
( gio wreath. In point of moral dignity, they
1 rank with Ihe tur'le that crawls about in the
yards of eating houses. They are to be bought
and consumed. Those who hove been bought,
and used, resemble tho same turtle, xvhen he
has been cook«d, turd served up, and warmed
over, for so much a boxvl.
No man can look upon these young girls,
panting to be bought, (for they are to be sold
by thair parents,) xvith indifference. They
have been educated for the market—taught all
the graceful movements the female body is ca
pable of. They sing, they converge, divinely.
With their black flushing eyes, swimming in
passion ; their luxurious poi sons, adorned xvith
consummate taste ; with limb- to enchant the
statuary; but fifteen years of age, and yet
blooming in nil the richness of womanhood ;
they certainly, though not es full blood, are the
most beautiful xvomcn in the world.
It is a xvreiched trade ! There certainly is
a hell. lam convinced of it, though all tny
life inclined to skepticism. These children
ire traiticd as we firt our cattle for market.
They bring an immense price sometimes ; and
after a few months or years, as it may be, of
servitude to their masters, moving iti the high
er circles of whoredom, that is, a'tending balls,
wearing expensive dresses, anil drinking
chatnpaigne, they are removed step bv step
down to the herd xvho walk the streets, and
seek subsistence and pleusute in filthy vice
and drunkenness.
It is very philanthrophic and sounding to
dtscotirse about abolition. I lie very affect
ing to S'-n teur* sherd At the ‘poet negroes,
chained and tasked.’ Men get a vast deal of
credit by these means ; but we may as well
hope to drain the ocean by a pump, placed at
one of our wharves, as to attempt the project
of emancipation of slaves al once. There are
certain intermediate steps to this result. I ut
ter not atrude opinion, when I say, that if we
hope to do any permanent good, we must be
gin at the foundation ofopinion and conduct ;
that when education is generally encouraged
in all parts of our country, and there is not a
child destitute ofschool instruction, and a well
informed mother, that then slavery will die—
go out, as a candle goes out When there is no
oil to nourish it. Public sentiment produces
reform, and not societies. Societies influence
the intelligent part of the community, but not
men who are steeled against them by their
ignorance and their interests. If the money
expended «n presses, and papers, and mission
aries, and preachers, and in the purchasing of
slaves to colonize Liberia, were to be devoted
to building school houses, buying books, and
paying teachers, perhaps we might not do so
much for one, two, c.r ten years, but in fifty
years we should do more than will be done by
present means.
Certainly the society of these beautiful quad
j ro?us was very charming to us young men,
I and we did not stop to reason very profoundly
j about vies and virtue, but gave ourselves up
jto the fascination of the senses. Young men
are apt to form very strong sensual attach
meats. I remember—-it is too weak a Word—
her image is fixed in my heart—one young
girl gave herself to me of her own accord.—
She slid she loved me, and I was very well
pleased with the adventure I believe it was
the delicacy of my treatment of her which
gained her feelings. I never can treat a fe
male coarsely, be she ever so bad. To talk of
I the affections of a prostitute, may seem quite
I ridiculous to some; but they know very little
I of human nature, who deny that a female may
lose her virtue, ?nd yet retain pure affections.
For my part, I know they carl. Let us state
a case. A young girl in the country, ignorant
of the wmrld and its vices, with no arrang’ d
armor against temptation, which women wbo
live much in society always carry about them,
is seduced by some young villain well versed
hi the art. He could only succeed by gaining
her affections. She loves him, and in the
madness of our shamefully excitable nature, in
both sexes, she yields to his passion and her
own, and is bereft ot all that gives her honor.
She becomes a mother—she is scorned by so
ciety—her betrayer deserts her—she loses all
confidence and respect —she esteems herself
worse than she really is ; she gives up in des
pair. The bad gather around her; she is lur
ed by some procuress to the city. She is in- ;
itiated into the art of getting her bread by the
sacrifice of her person, and becomes what, is
called a prostitute. Does the fault in the first
instance deprive her of all goodness? We go
with the multitude in our opinions, too often,
anti esteem that xvhieh is viexved as bad, for
the sake of general principles, as bad in itself.
The laxvs of society require us to frown upon
such cases, upon the principle of general good.
This is like the case ofthe man who commits
murder m a fit of drunkenness, and yet xve do
not attribute that crime to him, in a moral
point of view, for he xvas insane. We punish
him xvith death, because xve have no alterna
tive ; his execution is for the sake ofthe va
lidity of the laxv. So tile woman xvho loses
her virtue, her physical virtue, in a moment of
imprudence or mad passion, is punished; and
she is made lower every day ; for she cannot
rise ; and she gradually gets to be what she
at first was falsely called, a prostitute, in body
and soal. The mind will accommodate itself
to circumstances, and to appearance she seems
reconciled to her lot. But has this female no
affections? Is she incapable of loving? Is
her moral sense blunted? May she not. fe< 1
constant r< gret for past errors, a id disgust at
her life 7 Is the door of salvation closed to
her? If she may reform, if she may becom
a pure xvotnan, in the sight of God, why not
in your sight? Women, it: this respect, play
a very unequal game xvith men. This may
appear all nonsense to the man of the world.
The immaculate old mmd, xvho has forgotten
her early indiscretions, shielded by chance
from the obloquy of the world, may pucker up
her lips, and grin a horrible smile of incredu
lity. How unjust and uncharitable women
are toward one another! How lenient th«y
are to ward the vices of mon ! So that it seems,
after all, th it their detestation of vice only ex
tends to the vice of their oxvn sex, and is, i:>
fact, a kind of jealousy or malice, rather than
a principle of virtue. I think that in a number
of the British Essayist, (I cannot specify
xvhieh,) xve have a story of a girl restored to
her father from the pollution of a Loudon
street.walker’s life; and she is given back, in
a short time, ‘ pure inspirit,’ as the writer says.
Noxv what is phyric.il impurity, compared
! xvith prostitution of mind? If the mind can
bu brought back to virtue, why not respect the
bodv that bears it? lam not advocating the
reception of such women into society, even
after reformation ; butl wish to establish their
capacity for forming attachments, a id feeling
gratitude and love lo God ; sentiments their
oxvn sex deny them.
The origin of making the sin of women
more culpable than the same sin in men, can
be traced to the nature of the English laxv of
inheritence ir. that country ; and I would, in
! our country, where no such reason exists, be
in favor of viexv't.g it equal in both sexes. If
infidelity excludes the wife, let it also exc'ude
the guilty husband.
This young quadroon was evident'y attach
ed to me, and I con'd not injure het. She
xvouki xvillingly have given me all she possess
ed. She xvould have left the city with me.
and i i tny neeessitiy which foiloxved my gam
bling speculations, and xvhen thrown into pri
son, she came to me. She found me out,
and clung to me as if her xvhole life xvas at
stake. She xvis'k dto heap money upon tne,
for she had money from some source. She
xvouki have purchased my release by the pros
titution of her person to one she loathed ; and
I hardly know how I should have escaped this
humiliation, had not Mr. D. furnished me
a supply for present exigencies. She knexv
and lamented the lot to xxhich sha xvas born,
but could find no xvay of escape.
I xvas in that city ten years after tho events
here recorded, and found her tn the lowest
grade of wretchedness and vice. She knexx
me too ; and never to my dying day shall I
forget the mingh d lo >k of joy. despair, and
shame, that passed over her still beautiful form
and features, as she recognised me. There
are some facts in life that put invention entire
!ly out. of countenance. There are some tn
; consistencies in our nature, xvhieh toll the st j
dent of mankind that he is in pursuit of anoth
;er philosopher's stone. Manis past findiuj
j out; and. ccrtarulv, woman.
f From the London' Book of Beiaty.
NURSERY STORY.
RY THE LADY CHARLOTTE BURY.
When we are provoked by the folien, or
, even vices of those with whom we are in con.
tinual and trying contact and with whose in
firmatives it is our duty to bear, we should say
■ to ourselves w-hat an old nurse once said to m<-
in the disguise of a fable—“ However bad
things are at home, one may go further and
fare worse.”
There was once upon a time a weaver, who
was very poor; and what distressed him still
more than his poverty, was being tied to a
very foolish tiresome wife, who hourly tor
mented him by unreasonable silly complaints
which she lengthened out with those long u i
meaning adjuncts which flow from idleness
and peevishness, but are often mistaken b\
the plaintiffs themselves for reasoning. Ii
chanced that the poor weaver, who had but
one room.‘which served him for parlour, for
kitchen, & hall,’be>ngearly at work at his loom,
while bis wife lay grumbling in bed, that the
shuttle accidentally flew out of his h ind wi h
some violence, and, passing close by her head,
knocked against the wall with considerable
force, without, however, injuring her in th<
least : where at she began to roar and cry.
calling him by every opprobrious name she
could think of, and accused him of h iving en
tertained a d sign against her lite. “Oh ! you
blojd thirsty and most cruel of men !” (he was
the tenderest hearted creature in the world,)
“ you will never rest till you have murder-;d
me !” And, having ran through a long siring
of supposed grievances, with much ingenuity
and liveliness of imagination (gifts that peev
vish women are often endowed with,) brought
her eloquent harangue to a conclusion by say
ing—“ And if there had been a child in the
bed, it must have been killed.”
Now, the good woman had never had a
child ; but, having wrought up her fancy to
this climax of supposed and possible wro g,
she set up such a howling and sobbing, by Wax
ofaccornpuniment to her words, that even the
poor patient weaver could bear it no longer,
and, telling her “ that the pitcher which goes
often to the well is broken at last,” declared
that his forbearance was at an end, and that
nhe should never see him more, unless he could
fi ,d three as great fools in ths world as she
had proved herself to be. Having made this
gallant ••esidutio >, he set off fool.hunting, and
hardly knew whether he wished to be success
ful or not; for, like many a man who has a bad
wife, he loved her more than she deserved.
It is strange, but true, bad wives are generally
best loved.
At the end of the weaver’s first day’s jour
ney, he came to a sorry hov. 1, on a moor, ;
which seemed to produce a plentiful crop ot
«to ies. but I ttle else; and by the side of ihis
desolate abode stood a small lean cow, her
hones almost piercing her skin, with her head
looking up to the roof of the cottng ’, on which j.
some rank grass was growing. These melan
choly objects were not favourable prognostics
to a hungry, weary traveller —Nevertheless, ;
as night was closing in, and no other habitn
tion was in sight, he craved a lodging within
its shelter. Two eldeily persons, a man and
his wife, the owners of the cottage, readily
granted his request; at the same time making <
it a condition that, in return f>rsuch hospitali
ty he would assist them in their evening l.i-
Oour, which they assured him hall an hour
would suffice them to complete.
The weary weaver, happy to rest himself
for the moment on any terms, and conceiving
io great haidship could accrue to him tiom
his acquiescence, agreed to the bargain. He
had scarcely seated, and began to reflect on
Ins forlorn condition, when some cotnpu ’ctious
visiti.,gs (for it bus beet) said he was a tend, r
hearted man ) came over him, thinking of what
grief be might have been the occasion of to his
poor forsaken wife, by leaving her alone and
unprovided for, when he was suddenly aroused ;
from his reverie by strange noises from with. ,
mt, and cries for assistance. Iwo skipsand I
a jump brought the weaver to the scene of ac
tion ; and there, to his infi ite asto nshn.ent, ,
he perceived his host seated on ihe roof ot the (
cottage, hauling the cow upon it, by means of i
a rope, while the woman attempted to lilt the {
animal by the hind legs, in order to give her i
the power of reaching its summit. To this ■
most unintelligible operation our weaver was ,
called to lend his aid. i
“Yo ho I softly,” cried the man. “ There
now, Lord love’e don’t kick, there be a good
beast,” cried the woman. i
“ What are you about ; what can yc u be
about ?” vns answered by, “You see, sir, we ,
h ve a tolerable crop of grass grows up here
on your root', and our poor Maud depends upon
that for her supper. She has not had a bit ot
fresh victuals since ibis time yesterday. Do
lend us a helping hand to bring her mouth to
the food ; it will not give you much trouble,
for the noor beast be used to clamber up
here.”
The weaver trembl’d from head to foot, fo~
he remembered his wife.
“ What fools you are,” he seid ; “ cannot
you pull off the grass with your hands, and
toss it down to her ! Wo is me I wo is me !
Wife ! wife ! I fear I shall see thee s-o er
again than I thought for. since I haw already
found two greater fools than thyself.”
The gratitude of the weaver’s hosts did not
detain him longer than he could help, for hav.
ing thus enlightened th' ir minds : he set off to
renew his search for fools with haavy heart,
as he began tosuspact they were not so rare
a commodity as he had supposed.
This day’he travelled through a fine rich
country: every house he passed seemed smi
ting with plenty, the effects, he concladed of
good house.wifery and diligence. “ Ah. if tnx
wife had notb.eii such a fool, so idle, so pee
vish.oiir house might have been even as one of
these ?”
Again, ns evening cam • on, he sought n re
fuge, and readily found one in a nice, comforta
ble, clean abode, the very reverse of his pre
ceding night’s lodging. All seemed to goon
in an orderly, cheering course : a tidy landla
dv. clean, well clothed children. “Ah!”
thought he, “ if I had such, 1 should not now
be a houseless wanderer!”
With these, and such thoughts as th ’se, of
mingled good and bad, he fell a sleep : bn'
when the first dawn peeped, he was awoke bx
I a tremendous noise, as of some one rumiiin.
anil leaping, and then r great xveight se» nu'd
to fall down.—He turned and closed his eve*,
endeavouring not to mind this, but in vain : ai.d
finding it impossible tn rest, he arose to a*ccr
tain the cans.' of this tormenting disturbin'- .
Folloxvi >g the dire tion from whence the nois
proceeded, he xvent up stairs, an < p shi. g (
"pea a door that yielded to his touch, he be-
Vwi. V—Ao.
iieid, m bis asioi.ishn.eut, u man i-* bis shirt,
ru icing, nt- ih iuuh he w ere n»ad, and ende v
miring to jump into a pair of breeches, which
were held uy his wife, who x»ua e couraging
Inin in his attempt, crying out in the Scottish
’ dial ct. “ Well done. John—try again, but st
length John fell sprawling on the floor. Tb«
weaver could hardly believe h:s senses ; ho
thought himself still in u dream. At length ho
inquired ihe reason of tins unaccountable pas
time. •• Why, since I settled in these parts, I
am b hoved to lay by my philabeg. seeing ii
gives off mice to some ; and this is <he first
day I have g< ttcu my new gear Ob hose •.
bst that br eches are no cam y.”
When the words of the Scotch jumpef were
made intelligible to the English weaver, he
could not help laugliing,altho >gh he xvns aware
that the result of hiving discovered 'hree fools
must send him back from whence he had set
out.
In two days,he exclaimed, - 1 have found
four greater fools than my own wife.”
Thus snyi g, he returned hotus, related hie
adventures to his part er, who was so pleased
xvith her husband’s disappointment, th H she
took a good resolutio i, to amend her temper ;
whilst he acknoxvledged that he h id been him
self a fool, in not having been master in his
own house. Fiom this time forward, they
lived contented with their f.te ; m d gave the
fallowing advice to all who would receive it t
“ —However bad affairs may be at heme, on®
may g'o further and fare Worse.”
AUTOMATON VOCALIST.
Ga’ignani’s Messenger published at Paris,
furnishes the following interesting account of
a uexv musical wonder, in the shape of Mon
sieur Mareppe’sautomaton violin player, which
was not long since exhibited before the Royal
Causervatory at Paris—and caused much
admiration.
“O i enteri g the saloon, I saw n well dref.
sed handsom figure ot a man. appueiitlv be
txvee.i 40 and 50, standing xvitb s violin in his
hand, as if contemplating a -piece of music,
whish lay on a desk before him ; and had I
not gone to see an automation, 1 should have
be’ieved the object before me to have been
e >dowed with lie and reason, so perfectly
natural and easy xvere the attitudes and ex
pression of countenance of the figure. I bud
little time for observation before ihe orchestra
was fill -d by musicians, and the leader taking
his seat, the figure instantly n*is®d itself erect,
bowed xvith much elegance two or three times,
arid then turning to the leader nodded, as if to
say, he Was ready, and placed his violin to hia
-shoulder. At ti>e given signal he raised hi®
bow. and applying it to the instrument produ
c'd a la Pagarr i, oneof the most thrilling and
extraordinary flourishes I ever heard, in which
scarcely a semi-tone within the c. mpassofth®
instrument was omitted, and tins executed
xvith a degree of rapidity and clean est per
fectly astonishi g. The orchestra then plaxed
a short symphony, in xvhieh the automaton
occasio tally joined in beautiful style ;he then
played a must brilliant fantasia in E. natural
with uccompanymeuts. includingn movement
allegro mollo on ihe founhstring solo, which
w. s perft clly desirab e, The tones produced
w> re like any thing but a vjuli i, the expression
beyond conception. 1 felt as if lifted from
my seat, and burst into tears, in w hich pre
dicament I saw most persons ii; the room.
Suddenly he struck into a cadenza, in which
the harmonies, double and siugls arpeggios on
ihe four strings, and saltoeg, for which Pagani
ni xvas so just 1 v celebrated, were introduced
xvith the geatest effect; and after a close shak®
of eight bais duration, comme iced the coda, •
prentissina movement played in three part®
throughout.
This part of the petf. irmancu va« perfectly
magical. 1 have heard the great Italian, I
have heard the still greater Norwegin, I have
heard the best of music, bntl have never heard
such sounds as then saluted my ear. ft coaa
m need p p p, rising by gradual crescendo to a
pitch almost beyond belief; and then by a
gradual montendo sud caleudo died away
leaving the audience absolutely enchanted.
Monsieur Maroppe. who is a player of no mean
order, then came forward amidst the moat
deate. mg acclamations, aud stated that emula
ted bvthe example at Vaucanson’a flute player,
he had conceived the project of constructing
this figure, which had cost him many years of
study and labor before he could bring it to
completion. He then showed the compaay
the interior of the figure, which was complete
ly filled with small cranks, by which th® mo.
lions are given to th® several parts of th®
automaton nt the will of rhe conductor, who
has the machine so perfectly under control,
that Merna. Mareppe proposes that the automa
ton shall peiform any piece of music that shall
be laid before him within a fortnight. H®
also showed that to a certain extent thefigur®
was self acti g. as on winding up a string,
several ofthe m >st beautiful airs xvere played,
among which were ‘Nel eorpin.’ ’Partant
pomr la Syrie,’ ‘Weber’s last Waltx,’ and
• Ca cid’arem la mana.’ all xvith brilliant em
bel'ishments. But the chief d’oevre is th®
manner in which the figure is m. do to obey
th direeti t>s «f the conductor, whereby it i®
endowed with a sort rfsemi reaaou.
ETIQI ETTE.
The Inst Lot don Qu irterly Review contain®
a capital article.evidently by the writer who*
reviewed the Original’s “Art of Dining.”
From it we s- lect the following:
Salutation.—ln some courtries they ruh
■ •oses ;in <>th rs, th pull one another's ears ;
the Franks piu< ked out a hair and presented
it; the Japanese take off their slipper when
they meet. In some of the South Sea Islands*
they spit in their hands, a id th n rubywur face
for yon ; in others, it is the height of politeness
to fling a jar o» water over your fri nd. In
Europe, we nod, bow, curtsov, shake binds*
ake off our hats, or kiss ; aid the science con
sists m k -oxx i g on what occasions, and with
what persons, these respective mod of sal uta.
tion are to be pursued.
It is related of George IV. when Prines of
Wales, that he was once obs rved to bow t'V
verv one in the street who saluted him, till b®
came to the man xvho swept th« crossing, whom
he passed without notice. The question wheth
r he xvas right iti making this exception, has
been gravely discussed by one ofth< s<- law giv-
Pl . s — w ho finally decides in the prince’s fa
vor . —" To salute abi gger giving him
auv thi"g would ne a mockery, and to stop for
ihe purpose of beitowtng a sixpence would
w ar the semblance of ostentation in ■ prince.’*
acquaintance —Never say ‘How wyour
■-» if-, your husb?nd, ynnrmother, your grand,
nether ?’&c. but ‘ How is Mr. or Mrs.—,
Lord or Ladx T’&c. The worst offender®
against this rule were Nolleket s the sculptor,
and Delpiui th® clown. Nxleki is idvdriiiy®