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ehari ters too, jtiat bv bei >’ taken umiwars.
never knowed no body to git nnthoro by per- |
■ecutin’, but if me and my wife ami children s
tn uli lose ourchuricters by it, why I s pose it
must be so ; but I shall think it mighty hard.
Gentlemen you can do as you please with
we ; and whatever you do I cunt help it.
The cry of “hurra for Anvil!” from many
voices, as Darby descended from the steps,
plainly testified that he han the sympathies and
support of tha majority, in vain did Joins
and his friends r< ason with them, upon the dit
fbroiice between exposing vieee, and pcrsecu
ting innocence. It was i i vain that th'y ar
gu«d against tho iijusticn of visiting i>ugg s
Hlllt, (if fault it was,) upon the head of his
friend Jones. The time, and the s. verity of
the attack, were sufficient to transfer Darby to
an object of persecution, in their <y< s. To
make matters worse if possible, for Jones, your
uncle Nicky undertook to reason with tin
malcontents. This was a very unfortunate
step; for though he was fully competent to
reason, and reason well, with reasonable be
ings, he was the last man on earth who, in this
way, should have undertaken to reclaim those,
who were won to Darby’s support, by what
we have seen. He was easily excited, and
utterly intolerant of folly. Irritable as he was.
however, he rarely give signs ol anger, either
in voice or countenance ; ao far from it, his
composure was always greatest just at the
fighting point.
The first that your uncle Nicky, undertook
to correct, was Jimmy Johns, who had pre
tended to have a great friendship for him, for
reasons to be found in Jimmy’s deportment to
John Reynolds.
“ Jimmy,” said Bugg, “ yon surely are ne>t
going to vote forthat tool Darby Anvil.”
“ Yes 1 is,” said Jimmy ; and the more
and the belter of it is, I mean to give him a
plumper too.”
“ What, to such a despicable character !”
“Yes; despical character, or no despical
character, I rant go agin a persecuted man,
with a wife and ten children—Miss Anvil is
“ But its no persecution to tell the truth on
a man; especially when the truth goes to
■how that he is unfit for an office to which he
is aspiring. Your way of reasoning will make
rascality a passport to office.”
“ Oh, 1 dout blame you uncle Nicky—l
know what you did was for the best: but now
you’ll confess yourself—now wont you uncle
Nicky ?■—that if he was ‘spiriu,’ and ‘pass
port,’ you augh’nt to come down on him as
you did right at the ’lection. That was rub
bin him too hard—now wa’u’t it uncle Nicky ?
’Twas enough to make any body feel sorry
for him, and Miss Anvil ”
“ What difference does it make, when or
where you expose a villain ? And what has
Miss Anvil to do with it 1 Is she a candi
date ?”
“No, but she’s mighty good woman, and
you know yourself, uncle Nicky, she a’n’t to
blame. And wouldn’t it be wrong to hurt her
charicter? now 1 leave it to yourself uncle
Nicky. Jist take it to yourself—s’pose you’d
been guilty o’ paij’ry and .Miss Bugg ”
“Stop a little Jimmy,” said Bugg, very
calmly, ‘ until your uncle Nickv tries another
argument better suited to your capacity, and
which I think will brighten your ideas.’ So
saying he ‘ fetched Jimmy a sentimental jolt'
(as one afterwards disci ibed it) in the burr of
the car, that laid bun out in sh >ri order.”
Jimmy • hollo’d’ in time to arrest uncle
Nickv’s experimental philosophy at the first
blow and the seco .d kick. Jimmy would
have fought longer with another man ; but
with uncle Nicky, he knew that iht lenger he
fought, the worse he would be flogged ; so he
acted wise for once at least.
In this way did your uncle Nicky proceed
to dispense light among the plebs, until he
raised a battle.royal in the court yard. At
one time I observed not less than eight couple,
who were engaged iu interchanging uncle
Nicky’s ethics.
The day rolled away, and it 10 o’clock at
night the state of the polls was announced.
Darby and Smith were elected. They were
both hoisted, and borne about on the shoul.
defs of their friends, with huzzas of triumph.
They then invited all who lingered about the
court yard at that lute hour to a supper ut one
of the public houses of the village. Here thev
ate, drank, sang vulgar songs, and told more
vulgar stories, untd about one o clock ; when
they, or some of them, sailed tbnh, and with
drum and rife, and yells, drove sleep from the
village, until the dawn. Au inveterate hoslil*
ity between Smith and Jones followed tins
election, the traces of wh>ch may be seen iu
their descendants to this day. Darby was
elected again a id again ; and though he die
nothing in the legislature but vote us Sindh
voted, and drink grog in the recess of the ses-
Sion, he always returned to his consume .is
with wonderful stories of what • we did,’ and
•we tried to do.’ la the mean time, things
about home began to run rapidly to decay,
Sambo und Cufly worked up immense qua- ti.
ties ofiron, for they both worked a great deal
harder, as they said themselves, when inassa
was away than when he was there ; • jist dal
white folks might see dat nigger didn’t want
no watching ; and dat inassa might know how
to truss’em,’ but then they had little or notiii..g
to show for it. A number of good customers
deserted the shop ; some from political hos
tility to the owner, and others, because Sambo
and Cuffy were always too busy to attend to
them. Mrs. Anvil grew dissatisfied with pol
itics, as soon as Darby returned the first lime
from the legislature, with no money iu his
pockets ; for she hud taken up the idea that
all who stepped into the assembly, stepped i.i.
to a fortune ; she therefore advised Darby -‘ io
quit it, us not bein’lhe thing it wascr.cked
up to be ; a -d to come homo and mind bis ow.i
business.” But Darby had become too much
enamoured of the public service to lake her
Counsel. He told her it would never do in the
world for him to take his name down— his
party, would never forgive him. This l» gic
was unsatisfactory to Nancy, at first, and it
became still more so as troubles thickened
about the house ; she therefore became crus
ty, pelulent and bois’eroiis by turns; greatly
to the disturbance of Darby’s domestic peace
und tranquility. He hid anticipated this cnier
goncy, mid took to drink privately, before
hand ; but he now began to come home drui.k,
out of spite; and Nancy gave him spite lbs
spite. Still, however, wife.like, she strug.
glcd hard to keep things together, and save her
family from ruin ; and her increased it.dus
try and economy would ptobably have balm
ced Darby’s waste from drink, and kept a sup.
port in hand till he burnt out ; but alas ! tick,
ets began to pour in upon them by the deck,
from the courts ot conscience, and other more
unco iscio nible courts, inviting Darby to ap.
pear here and appear there, to answer tor
countless debts ot his Iheu
came the officers of justice, and reduced them
to beggary. A little before matters reached
this crisis, Darby was beaten tor the legisla
ture ; and it distress.*d him beyond measure.
Tha friends for whom he had done th ■ most,
were th > first to d< seit him ; ulledgrig as .
luaso:!, his want ot qualification, a id their
through conviction after three years refleclio >,
tile th- Virgt ii certificates were irue. Thus.
e-d,d D. rb.’s umnuth-tic Career; but hen
ended not tna cons que. ee of it. E- coura.
gad by his success, worthless •Hndidulcs
sprung up iu every country. If their presump.
tiou was rebuked, they silenced the reprover,
and repressed their own shame, v-i'h “ i
know that I am better qualified than Darby
Anvil.” Under this plea, and by such artifi
ces as Anvil had used, they made their way to
the councils of the state, where they became
the worthy progenitors ol a series of acts ex
tending through many years, which, for ex
travagance and folly, have no parallel tn the
codes of enlightened nations. Ihe penalties
of these acts are now upon our heads ; and
upon our children’s children wid they dt see d
with unmitigated vigor. I forbear to follow
rhe coos'quences fother — in charity to mV
native land I forbear. A d ,’et I am not so
sure, but that such chiiity, is treason to ihe
state,a id allegiance to her most deadly toes.
Presumptuous ignorance should be repriman
ded with a f arless tongue ; its sins should be
proclaimed abroad, in warning to toe people ;
and all good me i should unite their efforts to
redeem the state entirely from its dominion.
But I leave these offices to be performed by
persons of more skill and influence than.
BALDWIN.
The following lines “on the death of Mrs. Mary Ann
Hooker,” wife of the Rev’d. Horace Hooker, ot Hart
ford, Conn, both of whom spent the last winter in our
town, are from the pen of Mrs. Sigourney. —Ed. XV hio.
On tlie do" ll* o? Hr«. llary Ann Hooker,
THURSDAY, May 3d, 1338.
Sweet spirit, where art thou?
The joyous Spring is here,—
Flowers, with waking eye-lids peep
Brilliant, from their wintry sleep.
Fresh turf clothes the rugged steep,—
Birds are nesting on the bough,—
Natura's lover, —where art thou ?
Come to thy favorite bower,—
See —thy books in order fair.—
That charm’d thee even from childhood's hour
Await thee there
The pen, that magic wand
Still woos thy guiding hand ;
And still, the kindred niiad whose love
Lur’d thee thro' the classicg’ove,
Lingereth there, with mournful bfP w ,—
Beautiful spirit, where art thou ?
High intellect was thine,—
The gushing forth of thought,—
For other's good,—the consecrated line
W th pure religion fraught.—
There’s many a musing child, who reads
Its little book, with covers fair.
How the tuneful, shepherd-king
Was God's peculiar care ;
How rode the seer sublime,
On car of flame, o’er death and time ;
Or how the prophet friend
His mantle caught, with wondering cry;
Or how the captive Jewish boy disdain’d
Proud Chaldea’s luxury ;
There’s many a child, who on its mother’s knee,
Shall con these holy tales, and fondly ask of thee.
But ah, the wasting form, the brighten’d eye,
Consumption's fatal ministry,—
Thy fruitless flight to southern skies.
Where the rich jasmine springs,
And the long mo«s. when bleak winds rise
Like funeral-hnnnerswings,—
Thv patient heart. >ts sorrow bearing,—
Thv tender voice, for others caring—
Thv true and tested faith, that made
Death’s drear vale, a blessed shrde, —
The last farewell, —'he snble nail.—
Dear friend of early days, too well we know it all.
Green trees shall wave above thee,
That dread no wintrv snow.
Meek flowers that, learne’d to love thee
Shall round thv pillow blow,—
And faithful hearts, and tender,
Full oft shall linger nigh,
Their tribute-tear to render*
And learn of thee, to die.—
L. H. S.
The Curate’s Daughter.
A LIVERPOOL TALE
At sweet sixteen, she was a lovely maid,
At seventeen, she was tempted and misled.
And soon disease on her system prey’d
That on her nineteenth b rth day she lay—dead.
At a vein short distance, in a south west di
rection, from the new Custom House ot Liv
erpool, there formerly was .1 ciu»b r ot old,
nieanlooking buildings. Through the centre
of that cluster, a thorough! ire, called Budge
sirei t. led from Salthouse Dock to th. bring,
over '.he message or entrance into the Did Dock
which then occupit d lhe site ot the present
Custom house. Bridgo street was a dun ot
infamy, and in that place, when 1 was a you g
man, a heart rending scene <>l misery occurred,
which nev. r can be obliterated from my mem
ory. But, to let the reader have a clear idea
of the scene I will give a preliminary narra
tive of the cause am. events that ted to it.
In the autumn of the year 1569, two young
gentlemen, the heirs and hopes of certain ar
istocratic families of Liverpool, were 011 a
shooting excursion iu the adjoining country ot
Chester, when by some act of imprudence <>i
mie of the party bis fowling piece was tuvoi
m.tarily discharged, and most unfortunately,
in a direction that caused Us conle -ts 10 dan
geiously won d his companion. A simstuutv
for a tourniquet was co structed wit.i a hand
kerchief; hut previous to its application. Hie
. ffiisio 1 of blood had been so immoderate, tti.n
the 11 fortmiateymi.h fainted several limes be
fore his companion could convey him to tn-,
icarcst dwelling But «t length, with much
diffii ulty, thev reached the residence of one oi
the Church’s true ornaments a worthy, pious,
pains taking country’ curate, where assistance
was promptly rendered to the wounded youth,
surgical aid procured, and every attention offer
ed and bestowed that humanity, benevolence,
and hospitality could suggest.
It being deemed dangerous to attempt an
immediate lemova 1 oi the youth, a couch was
prepared, mid he became domicile m the hum
bit:; but happy dwelling of the worthy pastor,
than whom 110 bishop in the laud c>>uld, or
would have acted the part ot a good Samari
tan ; —though the exemplary sou ot the Chuicli
received not the fifteenth part annual income
of th,- bishop of his diocese.
Some wise man has said, that, of all reme
dies, the best is a good nuise,’ and* in this re.
Lpccf. it h ippened most fortunately lor the
wounded youth, and angel (in his estimation
at least) hovered about his sick couch. Her
mo erne ts wi re noiseless, her attentions in
cessant, and taken for all in all. she appeared
to be a being who had borrowed pity’s blan
dest attributes, and had been taught by charity
how to administer kind aid in a million sooth,
ing ways. In personal appearance she Was
beautiful and elegant, her age was sixteen—
iho very May of woman’s life, and—if ever
innocence had 11 temple on earth, it might al
that time have been found in the bosom of
Louisa Mayson. who young, beautiful, cheer
ful and happy, revelbd in all the joys of health,
.md innocence, was the delight and adinira
tion of her friends, and the idolized obj et of
her doati g father's earthly adoration. Ti
er the world s emed a pi elect Paradise, and.
so far as h r own knowledge of il went, its in
ti .bit ;nts were al! as guileless as angels.
The youth soon recovered, a d prep -md to
depart, but during the intimacy that had been
established in the short period of his confine
ment at the parsonage, Love had planted one of
his sharpest darts in Louisa’s bosom, what
passion predominated in the breast of the youth
the sequal of this narrative will disclose.
Some twelve months after the period at
which the above occurrence took place, I was
induced to visit my worthy friend, the Rev.
Mr Mayson, and it ao chanced, that I arrived
at his parsonage at most remarkable epoch of
the old man’s life. I stood on such terms < f
t.'lunacy with my friend as to render ceremo
ny unnecessary, and therefore, finding ihe out
ward porch door open, I at once entered the
place, a d proceeded, unushered, into the good
man’s little study, but not finding him there. I
proceeded to several other apartments in th
house, all of which were vacant am: indeed,
on closer investigation, I discovered that the
I house was altogether tenantless, though th. re
w. re many things that indicated the late occu
pants had not very recently quitted the place.
1 hid taken my station at the di-i.g room
window, and was deeply abstracted in a pain
ful fit of musing on what could have caused
the family to quit the house, when my atten
tion was drawn to a group of people advancing
towards the parsonage, in as solemn a manner
as though they formed a funeral procession.
In the midst of the crowd I perceived my rev
erend friend borne in the arms, of his servants
and parishioners, who carried him lo hissiu Iv '
and carefully seated him in his arm chair I
perceived that the good old man was in a
grievous state of deep distress and soon gath
ered from one of the crowd, that Miss Miyso.;
had eloped with the youth, who when woun
ded had been so hospitably received, and kind
ly treated during his sojourn at the parsonage.
1 afterwaids burnt that Miss Mayson had been
inveigled from home under a b .sely decep
tions promise of marriage. Po ir Louisa !
thine was indeed a sad fall from the highest
pitiacle of peace, innocence and happiness, to
the lowest depth of sorrow, sin and shame.
It is umtessary to continue a description ol
the shameful scenes that occurred on this oc
casion at the parsonage or to proceed on other
matters connected with this narrative, step Ly
step with, but overtake him some two years
after Louisa’s elopement -
At the last mentioned period, the Rev. Mr.
Mayson visited Liverpool—but how changed !
his shru ken body, and melancholy mi nd show-
I e.'l that he hyi become a mere wreck of the
i - ni.' ,n ihi A known in former times,
''when th t ' b "'-' !,ess " hicl ‘ Cilled Mr ’ ’ Ma - V ’
T - ; wa s completed, I accomp i-
son to Liverpool . 1 ~ , ~
• ~ ■ . 1 - .. • mi-' ot tne river i»ler
med him towards the r><- ( p or
scy, where he intended to cr>. Ja ‘ ' -i-.^' so mb
ire ; but as we were proceeding ‘ *' *
side of the Old D ick, my reverend frietw. v ‘
accosted by an aged female, who urged him,
lor the love of Heaven ! if he was a clergy
man, to accompany her to a house near by,
to perform the last offices of religion to the
living, to a poor dying, peni'ent, sinful crea
ture, who lay most earnestly imploring to have
her last moments cheered with spiritual aid.
The house to which the old woman pc.mted
was in Bridge street, but no fistidious scruple?
could ever deter my worthy triend from the
pei fonnance of his duty to sick, or dying mor
tals—He therefore promptly obeyed the old
woman’ call.by fol owing her io a mean dwell-
i g, on entering which, we were led, bv our
ancient guide, until we reached a wretched
apartment, the veritable abode of squalid pov.
erty and disease. The cliamb rwe hud en
tered was without table chair, or bed. but in a
remote corner of the place ; there was spread
a truss of straw, over which some ragged fe
rn.lie garments were strewed, v hilst a tatter
ed sheet ( us an apology for a curtain) screen
ed ihe light’s glare from some ooor distressed
creature, whose presence was betokened only
by deep, low and hollow moans, for the suffer
er’s body was buried in straw, and the visage
hid from sight by a course rug, or covering—
a blaket of the foulest description. Never shall
I outlive the remembrance of that wretched
scene of want, woe, misery and disease ! Thus
fir, not a word had been uttered by any one
of the party in tin* apartment, but at length the
■dd woman who hud brought us to the place,
said. * There she it, sir, lying at her last
gasp O! pray for h'-r salvatio-i, sirand mav
Heaven reward your labor!, Then pointing
to the bed of straw, she continued, *K.etl
down by her, sir, a d speak comfort to her in
the List hour. Thus called on my worthy friend
m.ide the n -edful preparations to enter on h s
'.piriiu -I duties, but the eld, woman has ilv left
us, Alas! I fear her soul was too much se
ared by si.l, to permit it to have any yearnings
to joi 1 us in prayer.
We knelt, and there was that iu the see <-
which l would also h ive brought ttie soeeri g
sceptic, and the most hardened sinner to a sup
phut t posture.
My pions friend—ever so prepared—drew
from his pocket the book of Common Prayer,
aid turned to the service of the sick. Bv this
time the loud moans of the aflicted one had
ceased, hut her breathings continu d quick a.id
gutteral, & she attempted to utter some sou -ds
w hich I interpreted into pious that.ks, at ha
ving been indulged by Heaven sendi g her a
holy minister of the Church to give ber the
last consolations of religion.
The good old man began to read, but had no
•sooner pronounced “ P -ace be to this house
and all that dwell therein”—when a fearfully
wild, and appalling shriek, burst from the lips
of the sick woman, but when that shrill and
heart rending sound subsided, all became agai .
is silent as death ; the guttural gasping of the
breath h d Ceas d, the rustle of a feather might
have b-c i heard, the silence of the sepulchre
prevailed, or rather was exc cd. <l, for the in.
cess i.'it crawling of the maggots, to and from
their feasts, disturbs the regia of silence in the
tomb. When the transient shudder, with
which the stiff-rer’s shriek hid shaken our
frames, h. d passed away I raised the homely
covering, and beheld a sad object of departing ;
beauty : 1 saw death’s effigy strikingly im
pressed on the features of a young, und, but
too evidently, a once lovely female.
I made a sign to myoid friend to announce
that death had reliev d tho sufferer from her
wordly woes, but with the movement of my
arms, the temporary curtain was thrown to tho I
ground, leaving a strong gleam of light to fall
on the lived features of the corpse and thus
were they to the view ofthe pious clergyman,
us he arose from his praying posture. The
sight greatly agitated him—fie bent forward
and strained the organs of vision iritil they had
well nigh Gust from their sockots—anr.lher, i
and still another g!an»’e, he cast at the depar. !
ted obji-ct, over which he learned, unwilling to '
believe, yet unable to doubt, until at length the !
sad truth b -came indeliby impressed upon his
mind,and again he sank on his knees, and
made an effort topray, but his tongue un
able to perform its duty, he threw himself on
the dead body, and iu convulsive agony, ex. ;
churned “my child ! —my God, thy will be
done!” and then with one of grief’s most bit
ter sighs, he also gave up the ghost.—Again
all was silent as the tomb, I remained awe
struck at having witnessed two vital sparks
'hus suddenly summoned from this world of ;
woe. Tho bodies of a broken hearted father ,
a-id sinful daughter lay before me, sad moments
ofthe u icertiunty of life, and, alas I—-of the de;
pr ivity of human nature.
I caused the bodies to b ■ removed, and in
1 b'ief space of time the retrains of the once
lovely Louisa Mayson, nd '• ose of he meek,
b -iK-vole.it, and truly pi' u f- ther, were con
signed to h 0 same grave. May a better lot be
thcir’e tu a better world ’
SSI it t S ♦
From Alexander's Weekly Messenger.
THE GRAVE YARD. ‘
What singular feelings lush upon us, when ,
engaged in a silent, serious contemplation ol |
that home of the dead—the grave yard. Ihe j
subjects solemn, in itself-—the thought connec
ted w ith it, more solemn still. A feeling ot
horror and superstitious dread comes o'*m"us ; ,
we fear we know not what; the memory ol .
the past* is brought before ; we seem to hold j
communion with the spirits of the departed ,
The warrior, the hero, the statesman, the poli
tician, seem to rise io al! their glory before us.
We view them through the vista of retros
pection. Feme echoes their deeds —we lis
ten, and feel, convinced they yet exist; we
cast our eyes upon their tcinb, and find them
living only in our remembrance It. is there,
surrounded by solitude, we can give full scope
to the imagination, let loose the vet -s of fancy,
think of the past, the presan*, and the future.
We look around us—we behold nought but.
the marble slab erected to the memory of him
whose remains, once unimated with lite—with
buoyant spirits, and through whose Veins once I
men d -rod the crimson tide—have long ago !
crumbled, uniting dust wit.ii dust. We hear
nought but the murmuiino flow of the rivulet
—the gentle breathing of a thousand z-phyrs.
I The moon shines sweetly over oqr heads ; the
i:vem :g s.ar, orignt i > its cveri.isu.ig oeuu y,
looks down upon us, from its home of blue. On j
the waving grass, glim r the dewy globub sold
the night, seeming, by th: ir brilliancy,to mim
ic the more respleudacl lustre of the flies of
he iven. “A sweet and soothing tnfiuei.ee
breathes arcu :d the dwellings of the dead.”
How lovely is their rest. Beside th;.- tomb of
the venerable old man, you see reposing in its
everlasting sliiuib- r. the smiling infant w hich,
but lately, formed tho mother’s joy—the fa
ther’s pride. The eye, from winch sparkli d
| celestial fire, is dim ; the lip, from which flow.
led irresistible eloquence is closed for ever.
| The thoughts which came fast crowding on
the brain of the philosopher sleeps the sleep oi
forgetfulness. No conflicting passions agit
ate him ; he is dead alike to annihilation, to
glory, ami to ho ior. Thus we are obliged to
render to that great a d glorious being, who
first endowed us w.th them, our talents, our
' capacities; our good and noble, us well as >ur
i inferior qualiti s Millions, “since first tin
j flight ot years began," have, duri g each sue
! cessive hour, nay, during each minute been
I culled upon <o turreudi-r them, and as many
■ millions more, may, perhaps have the same
I summons before tlie final dissolution of the
! world. 1 iius, “as the long train ofages gli <■
j away,"’ all that breathe will share the same
J’-stiuy—the man in the prime of life—tin
matro' 1 41t ’ a^ vanc «<J years and the child oi
beauty anJ i'“ lltlce,lCG » "HI each "take his
place'in the Slier..’ h?il3jof death.” The grave
yard has long been niv '' or \ te reSolt Hie ter
mination of all my walks, tu. * I '* c, fi aus jhe time
is not far distant’when it will t>< "*? " :i “ 1 *’ es ’
ting place, after my short but tediou.’ P*’ srln5 rlnl ‘
age.—
How peaceful the grave 1 its quite how deep ;
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flowers yerfume it with cither.
How lovely, how sweet the ref nse es the tomb <’
No tempests are there ; but the nig,, ’ ,a S l *- CM come
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss
The traveller outworn with life’s pilgrimage dry a ry.
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary.
And sweetly reposes for ever.
From the New-Yorker.
'i’O THE Mtio v.
Pale goddess—Evening’s sentinel!
Slow, grand and solemn is thy march
O’er the high roof of Earth*s blue arch,
Surveying mountain, stream and deli—
Waking from Day’s short slumbers, down the verge
Os vast creation—rising when the night
Shuts-from the earth the sun’s departing light,
And ghosts do wail, and spectres sing their dirge !
First, slily, on the mountain sleep,
Thou putteston thy night-dress and thy hood
Os fleecy cloud ;
And, scanning Day's departure, erst dost peep
Through the sere branches of the distant wood. ’
Now thou art up, and stars do crown
The boundless, the cerulean blue;
Those precious founts from which the dew
So sweet comes kindly down,
Stealing along grass-top, leaf and flower,
The loose-wrought arbor creeping underneath.
Yoked to the zephyr with his ruffling breath ;
These dew-drops are thy mirror in that bower
Where friends reciprocally sigh,
And call thee witness to their mutual vow,
Spotless as those—
Meet thy deep gaze with full though frenzied eye,
And bare to thee the young impassion'd brow.
Midnight—and thou arthigh in heaven,
And imaged in each rivulet
That doth through tangling mosses fret
Onward, and where high rocks are riven,
Time-worn and bleached, their white opposing peaks
Are stamped with grandeur from thy loveliness;
Wild Nature worships thee from each recess;
The wolf doth howl, and the grim panther shrieks
In icy valleys at their base;
The lone owl murmurs in his dismal home,
With dreary dome
Os gloomy hemlocks—and in thy fair face
The cataract leaps and misty shadows come.
The murderer stareth to his deed,
And shudders from his shodow e’en,
As fearing by it to be seen :
Diana! high in heaven, now heed
His hurrying steps—his wild, dark look to thee,
E’en in that dreadful gazing of despair,
His breast will cherish though it connot bear,
When looking on the disk of destiny ;
He stops —there stirred a rustling leaf—
His heart throbs back its thunders—loud thev speak’
And fancies seek
Forms in thy shades, and though ha thinks of grief,
Its tears fast freeze on Ha red’s icy cheek.
‘Man hates mo—let him take his rest,
And slumber o’er my ruin now ;
Gone are nij hopes, and pale my brow,
And lone the chambers of my breast;
If I am friendless, social beings arc
A hell around me—all my friends arc- here,
The woods, the hills, and Nature’s wakening tear,
And my proud will that buoys above despair!
A hopeless fondness and wild love
Are mine for Night’s mysterious solitude,
Though sorrows brood;
But thou I worship in thy sphere above —
Propitious look on what in me is rude!’
I see a soft, light in the East,
Rising like joy o'er hearts foriern,
The gentle prelude of sweet morn;
But thou art paler on tliy breast,
Half wropp’d in IFestern clouds—the rousing cock
From farm-yard hails*—last evening's rosy dew
Sparkles in f -ost— be dove begins to coo—
The lark from meadow springs, and from ths rock
Th whipoorwill, and M rn’s purr- star
Twinkles and fades—.the whistling ploughboy htes
A Sol doth rise
O’re the broad earth : Pale Phcabe, now afar
Next eve I’ll hail thee in the Eastern skies.
AHngtan Fa. .Yarn,, 123®. H V>’. N-
Female Conversation.— For readiness, tact,
and discrimination, elegance and address, for
the acquirement of all these good qualities there
is no school like that of female society. The
lesser virtues, too, those of complaisance,
kindness, and good-will, with many others al
lied to lhem, are hardly to be got elsewhere.
But. with those I have no business at present.
1 am now on the talent of conversation, and
that too I may safely add to the catalogue
above enumerated. The mind of woman, ta
ken in the abstract, and without reference to
individuals, when we. compare it with that ot
mini, is much whnt the graver or penknife is
to the axe. Il is a thing of no great force, it
can achieve no stupendous work—scarcely
anv thing sublime was ever compassed by it;
but in matters of minute detail, of ready in ven
lioi), .if nice adjustment, of elegant though su
perficial execution, it. is your only instrument.
To hear a woman talk polities is to be sicken
ed of ihem for days, or weeks, ormornhs after,
according to circumstances. This is an un
failing rule. Then, to listen to her religion
is usually, though not so generally, to be re
minded of ths hasty euriousness of Eve—
j Their vivacity is too prompt and sparkling,
i Thcv nil their measure with the first out
break of their forth, and when we have wait
ed lonir enough <<>r it to subside, we look a
gain, and b. hold ! all is emptiness. Their
ra ige. then, is a circumscribed one ; but in it
ihev are like fairies within their ring-—crea-
I tu es of infinite grace and power. To be. much
| conversant with them is a thing ofus much ad
vantage for the learned man as the lessons ot
the fencing-master would be to the raw big
honed recruit. They would not, perhaps, add
mate: tally to his strength, but by teaching him
its full use, they would incomparably heighten
its utility. ' Self Formation.
The following beautiful extract is from an
exchange paper.
Omm’s Mother. —Around the idea of one s
mother, the mind of man clings with tend at
f etion. It is the first dear thought stamped
upon our infant hearts, when yetsott and capa.
ble of receiving the most profound itrpresaion,
and all the after feelings are more or less light
in comparison. Our passions ami our wiliiil
ess may lead us far from the object of our
fi inl l-ove, we may biicome wild, head strong,
and ungry at her counsels or opposition ; but
when death Ins stilled her monitory voice, and
nothin" but calm memorv remains to recapitu
late her virtues and good deeds, affection, like
a flower beaten to the ground by a rude storm,
risesuf her head and smiles amidst hear tears.
Round that idea, as we have s id, tne mind
clings with fond affection; and even when
the earlier period ofour loss forces memory to
be silent, farcy takes the place ol remem
braiice, and twines the image of our departed
parent, with a garland ot graces, and beauties,
and virtues, which we doubt not that she pos
sessed.
A YANKEE WAY OF TELLING A
STORY.
[a scene in covet.]
_, .<.«*!: Well, what do you know of this
"’-usestate to the Jury what you
matter.—-t> j was nojujr along thr* road
saw. Witness. - J , „ hoi . e DH . k ,.,. v
with my team, and <-•- < f bar
and Grab wore taking C. <jul
stopp< d and asked Grab a qn • wi]h
come Marm Jones, out of he «■ ,
rolling-pin and hit Dickery a dig tu
Counsel: What was the cause of her su ’■ s
him? Witness; I do’no unlt-ss it was’cattsv
1 > was gifting down ihe bars. Counsel :
bat took place then ? goon with your
Well, w.. - Rs . When she hit him, Dicku
story. llfftm-.,. lounger right in thv tr Uus,
ry up and give her a . by ;l WO n>an no
for says he, 1 do’tit be lies. ( >c puckerstop
how ; well says she, I do’m Counsel— ~
pled in that way, I can tell ye. Tffit-
What’s that word ? 1 don’t uncerstand. -I;
ness—Puckerstopplcd (a laugh.) Counse,
What does that mean ? Witness : W hy, con- j
uiiuk’d, (a louder laugh.) Counsel: Please to
explain vourself, what does that mean ; W it
ness : TFhv as I understand it. she did’i.t like
the feelin of that dab iu the chops so she gen
him a piece of her mi:idot; the subject. Coun
sel Go on.
il’ituess Arter that they slat round for a
considerable spell. Then tney stopped a min
ute, arid begun to jaw—says she, I ai’nt goiii j
to be skeert. After they stood and jawed a 1
spell, Joe Hines come up and axed Dickery;
wh-.t he;was doin to Marm Jones. Lie said j
he wsis-only f -ndin off her darned old r<'>Mi g
piti, then the old woman said it want a rolling
pin, that she could subslanche. And then
1h *y snarled a spell and did up a considerable
talk among urn, but they did’nt tackle agin—
and that’s all I know about it.
Sl3t*irultural
ss'L-JP aawmii. x - Z-Z*
CULTIVATION OF THE DAHLIA.
This flower has lately been called the Geor
gina, but without good reason, as there is no
other called the dahlia. It is a native of
Mexico, but has been brought to such perfec
tion in Eigland, that it is more indebted to
that country than to the land of its birth.
The climate of th;* United States is strikingly
congenial to its habits, and it grows with great
luxuriance: the difference existing in that
particular, between growing here and in E ig
laud, is very remarkable. In a respectable
English catalogue, the height of the Alexati.
dritia Victoria is stated to be three feet ;
while in this country one of the same flower
have often exce ded twelve feet. If there is
110 error in the E iglish stiteme. t, the differ
ence appears to be almost incredible. It has
become quite fashiontitle, its many flue quali
ties and striking beauties having brought it in
to deserved estimation. When the weather
gets warm, about tho end of Aptil and b gin
ning of May, you will observe th • young shoots
which have forced their way through the old
stem which is left with the root; split this
down, so that, a shoot mat remain with each
piece. Plant iu a rich soil in the borders
three feet apart, or in clumps, selecting a va
riety of colors, and placing the tallest growing
kinds in the center. Put the root two inches
below the surface, and if it has but one good
eye it will make a prettier plant than when it
lias more. After it has grown about three
feet, take some day when the ground has been
softened by ram. and drive in a stout stick,
from six ts> ten feet long, about eighteen inches
into the ground, near each plant; but take |
care not to let it be so close as to injure io
or the sticks may* be put in at the liny- of plan
ting. Let the stick be yiade from f 1.2 ‘inch
plank, planed smooth, with « poi ted and
notched head, and painted green. The bran,
ches of the dahlia aru extremely brittle; and
ii your garden is exposed to the sweeping i
winds which often occur in the fall, you must ■
tie every branch very carefully to the stick ; (
this will alwav be the safest plan; otherwise j
the expectations of a year may be laid pros--
trate in an instant! Sometimes a few forward
buds will open their premature beauties to the
burning beams ot a July or August sun, but
their lustre is quickly dimmed. The latter
end of September, some seasons all October,
and some times part of November, witness the
dahiiu in all its glory. The briliancy of the
flowers may be preserved for several days, by
shading them Some of the kinds are incon.
ccivably splendid, and no flower exhibits such
a variety of all that is rich and magnificent
in colors. What a pity it is, that with all its
desirable properties, it should be so toiler.
The frost operates upon it like a pestilence,
and when that lias taken place, the stem must
ba cut. oft’t wo or three inches from the grou .d,
and after a few days the root taken up and ex
posed to dry for some time, then cover it well
in dry sand, and put it away in the cellar to
remain through the winter. A few very dwarf
kinds may be planted in pots; but generally
ihcy Iw-dt unsightly, and do not thrive so well
as in the open ground.
Cut Worm.— l n some years these larvoe are
very destructive to the Indian corn, and of all
the contrivances for destroying them, which
we have seen, tint of Parke Shoe, of Dela
ware county, in Pennsylvania, is the most ex
peditions. A pair o! old wheels from a cart
or wagon, arc fitted with several projections
like the cogs of a spur w heel i i a mill, w hich
are so formed ns to impress in the earth a hole
four inches deep. The smooth track which
the wheel mi kes on the soft ground, induces
the worm in its nocturnal wanderings to follow |
on till it tumbles into the pit: It cannot climb’
out, and the hot sun destroys it.— Farmer.
A person being asked what was meant by
the ‘realities of life,” answered, real estate,
real money, and a real good dinner.”
FEEDING BEES.
Sometimes bees need feeding even as late as
ito the first of May, when the weather is cold.
’ By lifting a hive it may be judged by its weight
! wheiherit contains any honey of consequence;
if every light, bore a bob- into the side near
j the top with a small gimblet. then run in a
very small stick or k.lining needle; in this
; manner you can learn whether there is honey
I enough or not. If there be very little or no
’ honey, the bees should be fed until the weather
I becomes warmer. We once fed two swarms
lof bees for several weeks, until the first of
May ; we then ihought that they could collect
1 their food, as the flowers were in bloom, and
I took no more care of them, hut at the close ot
! a week’s cold weather, must of the time stor
i my, we looked to them, and found that they
| had starved. But few persons consider how
I much bees are affected by the weather and
; the state of vegetation. We have weighed
; hives of bees most every week during the
i warm season, and every month iu thqcold sea
i son, and from these experiments we have
| gained m ich valuable information in managing
■ them. We have had bees gain 12 lbs. per
■ week to the hive in the first of April, and the
• same hives lost 5 or 6 lbs. in a week, about the
| 20th of May, when the apple trees were in
. I full bloom. In the first case the weather was
! I very warm and pleasant, and the -willow and
I I the red flowering maple (in some places call
,i ed soft or white maple) were in bloom. In
I ! May the wea'her was so cold that scarcely a
t bee lefthe hive. We have known bees to eat
t up the hom y and starve in August, on account
of a severe drought, there being b it few flow
, ers, and those having but little honey. Whet.
it was very dry, a hive would lose as much in
, *yoek in August as they would in the sum
time xvmf? r -
THE SCOURS IN L’pRSES.
Mr. L. Tucker —Having been a subscriber
j for your Monthly Farmer since its c<mEi' ,;1! , C!? '
! mentj and been gratified with the perusal o. • 3
) pages, I wish you success in your efforts to
- promote the farming interest of our country.
Ting more used to the practice of farming
v >e theory, or the use o<"the pen, I will ou
tha . t:>. -*»u of oric experiment, and asked a
ly inform y>- Lust fall there wqre several
few questions. '<-scsin our place. One
cases of scours in li " , d with it, and had be.
of my horses was atlac*. *> to my knowl
come very weak before it cm. ' 1 «iavc him
edge. I put him on diy hay, atw- - ’’th a
a small mess of carrot tops, cut fine ». . ■*
knife, and mixed with ground oatsand salt, .
make it palatable. I was induced to try the
above, from th-* astringent taste of the carrot
tups. 1 gave two messes and saw no more ot
the scours ; but as it was the only easel had.
I cannot say the cariot tops cured him, but
think ii. was.
There was something said in a former ittm
ber ofthe Farm r, of the artichoke. From
the remarks, I thought it diflerent from wlat
we call by that mime. TFe have a root we
cull artichoke, which I intend to try some ex
periments with.-—lt is a great producer,
and cattle, sheep and hogs, are very fond of
them. The only objec’ion to them is, that
they cannot be eradicated when once admitted
into the soil. The only use they have been
recomme ded for is pickles. They remain
in the ground where they grow, all winter,
without being injured by frost.
I tried my hand at roots last seas r n, nud
bad a complete failure by planting when the
ground was to-> wet, followed soon by a severe
drought; but I intend to try again. My car
rots did the best.
DAVID SWICK.
months after date, application will be
made to the Honorable, Inferior Court ot
.l/adison County, for leave to sell all the Land
and Negroes, belonging to the Estate of Allen
Daniel, late of said county deceased.
ELISHA WARE. Adm’r.
April—2B—s2—4m.
GEORGIA. CLARK COUNTY.
WHEREAS., James L. Thomas Adminis
trator ofthe JEstjite of Levin AV. Thomas,
deceased, applies for Letters of dismission.
This is therefore to cite and admonish all; and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
ceased, to be and appear at my office, within the
I time prescribed by law, to shew cause (if any
! they have) why said letters should not be
i granted.
j Given undei my hand, this 7tli day of
May, 11-38.
DAVID J FENN, d. c. c. o.
Miv 12—2—6 m
i Administrator’s sale.
ILL be sold on the first Tuesday in June
* * next, at the Court-house door in the town
of CovingtioH, Newton county, within the usual
hours of sale, viz : Lot of Laud, No. 268 in th**
9th district, containing 170 Acres, more or
also 66 Acres of Lot No. 192. th** 10th dis’
triet of originally Henry, now Newton county,
a< joining land* ot .1. B. Bagby, and others.—
Also at the same au d place, a Negro man
n ' l, " r “ y 11 ’ ’’, all sold by an order of the honor
ahle hi(,.rtor Court of Newton county, for the
‘’. iicfitof the heirs and creditors of Elizabeth
i Bagby, late of Newton county deceased. Terms
on the day of sale.
WM.R. BAGBY, ) .
DANIEL N. BAKER, \ A ’ dmr s -
Feb. 3,—4o—ids
FOUR months after date, I will apnlv to Jack
son lnf.TCourt.lor leave to sell the Real Es
| <>f L»onidas Few, dec’d. fertile benefi ofthe
heirs rand creditors.
JN’O. J, M’CULLOCK, Adm’r. ;
May 12,—3--3m
Madison Superior Court, March Term, 1838.
Clement C. Faust, 1
vs. z Libel for Divorce.
Christina Faust, )
It appearing to the Court by the rrtnrn of the
Sheriff, tliat'Christina W. Faust, is not to be
found in the county of Madison, and that she is
without the limits of this State.
On motion of Harden and Harden, prosecu
tors for the libelant. It is ordered that the said
Christina W. Faust, do appear on or before the
first day of the next Term of this Court, afld
make her answer or defensive allegation m
writing, otherwise that judgement by default b«
entered agaiiisi her. And it is further ordered,
that a copy of this Rule be published in the
Southern VVhig. once a mon h, until the next
term of this Court.
A true extract from the minutes of said Court/
ISAAC N. CULBERSON, Clk.
March 31, 48—tc
GEORGIA, CLARK COUNTY.
'V^T’HERE AS, Joseph Hester, Administrator
* ’ De Bonis Non with the will annexed of
Stephen Hester, dec’d. applies for Letters of
Dismission.
This is therefore tn cite and admonish all, and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
ceased, to be and appear nt my office within the
time prescribed by law, to shew cause, (if anv
they have) why said letters should not be
granted.
JOSEPH LIGON, o. c. o.
Feb. 10,—41—Sm
GE OR GIA ~TIIIDISON CO UNTY. ’
Inferior Court silting for ordinary purposes.
I lUM/’IIEREAS Jacob Strickland, Administra-
* * tor of Hardy Strick'and deceased applies
for letters of dismission from the Estate of said
deceased.
It is therefore ordered by ths Court that six
months publication of this notice be given in
one of the public Gazettes of this State—and it
no legal objection is made Letters of Dismis
sion will be « ranted to the said Jacob Strick
land, administrator as afoie.-aid—of which all
concerned are hereby notified.
A true copy taken from the minutes of said
Court this 9ih day of January 1838.
WILLIAM SANDERS, c. e. o.
Jan 13 37 Cm.
GEO-RGLI. CLAUK COUNTY.
H®*RE \S, Isma M . Wooldridge, and
w “ Nicholas Osborn, Executors of John
Osborn, deceased, apply for Letters of Dismis
sion.
This is therefore to cite and admonish all, and
singular the kindred and crediiors of said da
ceased, to tie and appear at my office, within the
time prescribed by iaw, to shew cause (if any
they have) why said letters should not be
granted.
G. B. H AYGCOD, d. c. c. o.
Feb. 10,--41 —Gm
GEORGIA. CLARK COUNTY,
V<7’HEREAS, Joseph Hester, Administrator
’ ’ of Elizabeth He: ter, deceased, applies for
Letters of Dismission.
This is therefore to cite and admonish all, and
singular the kindred and creditors of said de
ceased, to be and appear at my office within the
time prescribed by law, to shew cause (if any
they have) why said letters should not be
granted.
JOSEPH LIGON, c. c. o.
Feb. 10, —41—6 m
GEORGIA, JACKSON COUNTY,
■ Superior Court, February Term, 1838.
Eltile Nisi*-
IT appearing to the Coufg, that the original
will of James Barr, deceased, is lost or de
stroyed.
It is on motion ordered that the annexed and
foregoing copy be established in lieu ofthe said
original so lost or destroyed, unless cause be
shewn to the contrary on the first day of the
next Term of this Court, or so soon thereafter
as counsel can be heard, and that a copy of this
rule be served on Boley IVilson, who has sued
out administration on the estate oi said James
'•arr, deceased, at least three months before ihe
s-'id Term, ano that a copy of said rule be
also puCin sontepifblic Gazette, of this
an<-e st month tor three months, previous
to the said <>f said Court.
A true extract tbe m-’nutes of smd
Court ’ WILLI.C* COWAN CJk.
April—2B—s2 m3m.
Notice to Sebtcrs &
A LL persons having demands against :*;«*«■»-
z>- tate of Daniel Walker, late of Walton couri
-<eceased, will present, them for payment in
ty ' prescribed by law, anti all persons in
the tim fc ; d deceased, are required to make
debted to sa.- “nt to
immediate paying. J Ex’r.
B. M. c. 1-
JEx’rx.
MARTHA WALi-
March 21,-47-40d
to Debtors &, Credited*
ALL persons indebted to the Estate of Eliza
beth Wall, dec’d., are hereby notified Iu
make immediate payment, and those having
cisims against said estate, will present them in
termsol i.he Law.
JN’O. N. WILLIAM«ON, Adm’r.
March 31,-—^8 —Rkl
Executor’s Sale
TN obediance to the last will and TestarnenG
J. of Thomas Branch, Decesssd, wifi be stda
on the first Tuesday in October next, to the
highest bidder between the usual hours of sale,
at Dunean Court House, Nine Hundred Afres
of Land, more or less situated lying and being
in SMd County, of Duncan, on Gray Creek,
being a (‘art the real Estate, of said Dec’d.,
terms made snownon the Dav of Sale. .
WILLIAM I .'S BR ANCH.
Qualified Executor.
March 17—46 ids.
fc.y- The Georgia lournal, '7‘U P| ea ’®
the above two insertions, and forwit— ac
count to this office, tor payment.
Ezecutor’s Salo.
WILL be sold on the first Tuesday in June
next, bef'oie the Court House door in
Monticello, Jasper county, between site usuni
hours of sale, part of two Lots of Land,numbers;
not known, it being the place whereon John*
White, deceased, formerly resided, containing:
one hundred and seventy-five .Acres, more cutr
less, adjoining Daniel Saflbld, and others,
ISHAM GUNTER, Ex’r.
March 24,—47—tds
GEORGIA, CLA RK CO Üb'TY.
Rule Xis i.
Injerioi Court, sitting for ordi l
March
I T the Court, that Howel Elder,
h ', n -, S " ,e t * rrl8 < made and delivered to Abra-
u,u '-ueriord, bearing date24th September,
conditioned to make or cause to be madb
to your petitioner, good and lawful titles to Lot
Number ninety one, in the 19th district, former
ly Lee, now Stewart, and it appearing to the
Court, that the said Howel Elder, departed this
lite in testate, and without making and execu
ting titles to the-aloresaid lot of Land, agreeable
to said Bond, therefore your petitioner prays
that the admimst ator of the said Howel Elder,
deceased, maybe ordered to make titles to th«
said lot of Land, in the terms of the statute, such
case made and provided, and that a copyof the
putition be published three months in oneof the
peblic Gazetts of this county.
A true extract from the minutes of .said Court*
BOWLIN CONNOR c. c. o.
March 10,-—15 —3ni
I.AW BLANKS
For Sale at this Office.