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THE COURIER.
BYJ.G.MnVHORTER.
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FOR THE GEORGIA COURIER.
FRAGMENT.
ADDRESSED TO "MA MIGNONE.”
Abstract from all dishonesty,
Were I a Priam, and thou the Helen
Os a Grecian King ; then wonld there be
Another Troy to sack ; another
Greece to battle led. Bur, lam no
Priam. Monarch of nought else am I.
Save the passions of my soul; the calm,
The wild memory of the past; and the
Vnenlhusiastic hope, of brighter
Scenes •' ! ! Scenes which (if they ever meet,
Life’s hours,) will be the " Prima Vista”
Os my soul. . . . . Thou too. art
No Helen, fair, yet false; and cold as
Are Medician charms. No Peri of
lonian isles. These are unsubstantial
Things. Ideas of the enthusiast’s drenm,
(I’d find the long lost Pleiad just as soon . .)
But thou’rt more. If ’tis boldness, then I must
Be bold. Thou art a fair Andromache,
The Iris of the unforgetting heart:
The Gertrude of the South.
I have a heart,
'Tis wreathed with love
(Love we know
Is like a jewel, valued, when ’(is whole
And undivided. Else, it is not worth
The last atom of a meteor's beam.)
Then t ike the heart and smile upon it. Not
The proud smile of careless triumph.—(Such
-Smiles upon a gteomy soul as light'nings
Os the'autumnal stotm. will on'y show
A faded scenery—then make “ Darkness
Palpable.”) .... Not a transient smile ;
One that will fade, before Time’s alchymy ;
But lasting in identity, as the
Loveliness of the sun-touched fantasy
In the clouds. A smile, like the Vesper star,
Slightest when the day-fire has gone to its
Paradise beyond the west—brightest when
-The hours of solitude, with evening ehades,
Shall walk the Hrarens . ... .
Thy young smile, warm fa beautiful fa flbwery
As thy South. * .
Avgusta- R.
From the N. Y. Constellation.
POVERTY.
Hail, griping Power! I bid you hail,
Who never yet have let me loose ;
A baii'fT's gripe would sooner fail,
Nur leeches cling one half so close.
You’re surely no fair weather friend,
That in the coming storm takes wing:
For 1,11 be sworn you’ll lend a hand
When fortune frowns, and closer cling.
And when the wretch is fating still,
And few their kicks or curses spare,
You’ll tumble with him down the hiil,
And not forsake him when he’s there.
_ R. A. G.
From the Free Press.
LAFITTE,
OR THE BARATARIAN CHIEF.
A T ALE,
( Continued from our last.)
“I said all these illusory dreams were
dispelled: but it was not so: There was
one from which 1 could not, from which J
did not wish to awake; with steps light.&
noiseless »s those made by fairy feet—
eyes brilliant and sparkling as any that
ever sparkled under the delightful skies
of Italy—a form, which, accustomed as
I had been to the beauties of the north,
far surpassed all that imagination had e
ver conceived—this lovely cteature
watched over my bed, and though to me
utterly unknown, manifested a sympa
thetic feeling for my welfare, a solicitude
for my recovery, which endeared her to
me,and caused my heart to flutter with an
emotion it had never before fob.
“Unable to lift my hand or utter a syl
lable without the greatest difficulty, I fay
for hours viewing with rapture tbe angel
ic creature who hung over me, as she
bathed my burning brow in the cooling
fluid, or administered the reviving cordi
al; and when 1 recovered strength enough
to make the attempt of expressing my
gratitude, she placed her while taper fin.
gers on my lips, witban accent which like
an electric shock thrilled through every
fibre of my heart,required me to be silent.
'I am your physician,* added she, smiling,
‘and if you wish restoration to health,
(heaven knows how much pleasure such
an evetlf would give!) you must follow
my directions implicitly.' 1 moved 'my
head in token of submission to her will;
pressed her hand to my lips, and the
blushing girl hastily quitted the chamber.
The mistery which 1 had been unable to
solve when reflecting on my fair attend
ant, as before my sickness 1 had never
seen her, was unravelled when I had so
far recovered as to be able to converse.
1 found myself under the hospitable roof
of Col. Mornton, a brother to the mer
chant op whose account I had visited
Charleston, and to whose house I had
been removed on account of its more re
tired character, and where I should be
less liable to be disturbed by the noise 4'
bustle of lite city. My fair attendant was
an only daughter of the Colonel's who
had arrived io the city from a visit to Co
lumbia during tbe first week of my sick
ness, and by devoting herself to my atten-
dance had Voluntarily deprived herself of
the charms which that season us the year
presents to youth, when all is mirth and
gaiety, and crowded theatres, brilliant as
semblies, splended parties and the facin
ating ballroom, more than compensate for
the deserted and dreary appearance of the
city, during the season when |the malaia
r compels the inhabitants to seek a teftige
in the more elevated parts of the country,
or by a journey to the north, combine the
i object of pleasure and health which are
frequently so widely seperated.
’ “My health returned slowly but never
were days more delightfully passed than
’ those which glided away in the company
of Mary Mornton; the lovely person who
1 had obtained so complete an ascendency
s over my whole soul, that the thought that
, returning heath, much as I desired it.
• would but hasten my separation from one
B whose presence I felt to be absolutely ne
cessary to my happiness, threw a chill o
' ver tny feelings, and I dismissed the un-
welcome intruder as an enemy to my
peace and happiness. 1 had now so far re
coved as to be able to sae company, and
had even attended a few select parties,
where I was introduced to a young lady,
an intimate acquaintance of ihe lovely
Mary’s, of the greatest accomplishments,
and as she fondly imagined, unrivalled
beauty. Oh the most friendly terms with
Mary, Miss Hanson was always received
with pleasure at Col. Mornton’s’and now
that the rounds of pleasure had once been
enjoyed, she became a daily visiter. In
tent only on the trancendant excellencies
of the lovely Marv, I had no time to make
comparison betweefi them,and had I un
dertaken it, would undoubtedly have been
partial. A brother of Miss Hanson’s
whose name was George, was frequent
ly a visiter at my residence, sometimes in
company wiih his sister, sometimes with
out: and although his cold,haughty,super
cilious and overbearing manner was far
from agreeable— yet his rank, his station
in society, and his prospects in life, con
tributed to give him an ascendency in all
parties, wi.ich few felt inclined to dis
pute.
“He had returned fiotn Europe but a
short time previous to my arrival at
Charleston, and the imposing superiority
which a voyage across the Atlantic ena
bles a man to assume as a judge of man
ners and men, ! concluded might not have
been wholly laid aside* As it concerned
myself personally I cared little about h im,
but there was one subject which gave me
more uneasiness than any other, and that
was themarked attention he paid to Maty.
Though I closely observed her, I coold
perceive nothing in her conduct to justify
my apprehensions, yet I confess I felt if
would be morally impossible for her to re
ject the superior advantages which a un
ion with this man presented above any I
Could offer.
‘That is the mo«t charming creature 1
over saw,’ said George to me, one even
ing as we were together silling on a sofa,
while Mary and his sister were playfully
discussing some question of fashion or
taste in another part of the room; ‘I have
visited London and Paris, tmt among all
their fashionable circles and their beau
ties I never saw a Mary Morntori. Who
could have thought that the rosebud that I
so heedlessly overlooked three years ago,
when I left Charleston for Europe, would
so soon have expanded into such a beau
tiful fl i wen”
‘Perhaps no one,’l replied, with an
air of indifference which ill accorded with
my feeling. The compliment my heart
told me was just, and I was inwardly
pleased to hear it awarded, although 1
felt fearfyl of the result, should his prefer
ence be openly avowed. ‘Mary isSndeed
a fine girl; but I must be permitted io say
ihe same of the greater part of the
Charleston fair with whom I have had
the happiness to become acquainted.'
*Ah! Moriimer,’ said Goorge, tapping
me on my shoulder, fthat maidenly b'ush
of yours gives the lie to t..e pretended
coldness of your words; but y"u had bet
ter be upon your guard, and not suffer her
to run away with your heart—for it is
well understood that Mary is to be mine.’
‘I started to my feet as he pronounced
the last words, and was in the act of de
manding an explanation, when I fortun
ately reflected that by 30 doing, I must
disclose what I most wished to conceal,
and that I had no right whatever to make
the demand: so carelessly answered him,
that I did not consider my heart in so
much danger as he supposed, and that
Mary, if he obtained her, would doubt
less make an agreeable companion.
“At this moment Mary came laughing
upto us, and taking my hand, —‘Morti-
mer, said she, Miss Hanson insists up
on our passing the afternoon with hor to
cmorrow; and I have promised von shal*
comply with her request: Mav I say you
will do soV
‘Certainly, * I answered; 'I am too
much indebted to yon to make any ob
jections to whai you propose.*
‘Then 1 propose,’ said Mary, ‘that you
invite out friend George to forget Europe
and become an American. He talks and
acts as stately as if he thought of nothing
less than Catholic Cathedrals, London
Monuments, or Egyptian Pyramids.
Now George, (continued she, peeping
archly in his face,) tell me seriously and
soberly—-did the belles of London or
Paris eclipse the stars of our western
Hemisphere!”
‘Upon my honour, Mary,* he replied,
‘the question has been fairly put,and shall
be as plainly and promply answered: it
is no! nd'
‘Such I knew would be your answer,’
replied the lovely girl:‘l gj ve yoo f u ]j
credit for the sincerity of your reply.'
'My answer was given in sober earn
est,* replied George; ‘and I again repeat
that the most fashionable circles of Lon
don or Paris cannot produce a parallel in
beauty and loveliness to Mary
‘Stop said she, iaierrupting him; not
another word of your European gallan
try; remember Mary Mormon is a plain
Americawgirl, unaccustomed to cotnpli-
meats, and upon whom all these find lay
ings are entirely thrown away.’
‘Yeu seem to speak, Mary/,he answer,
ed, ‘as if I had forgot my country, I pro
test against such a supposition.' -
‘To-morrow we will see,’replied she,
smiling, ‘whether I atji correct.’
The carriage at this moment dr..ve up
to the door, and as I handed Miss Han
son intq it, she pressed my hand and
whispefed; ‘Yon will not forget yout
promise—remember my happiness de
pends on you!’
‘Be assured I will not? I hastily re
, lied, as shedtew tier veil over her beau
tiful features—and the carriage drove off.
•Maty/ said I, after they departed,
‘you were too unmercifully severe with
our friend George: it is well you arc not
a man, or you would be called out to an
swer for your plainness?
‘I knew him well? she answered—‘at
least as well as ft person can know such a
compound of habteur and hypocricy—
and I neither fear nor love him: but 1 must
endure him;’iis adisadvantage under which
we girlssnffer, that we are obliged to lis
ten to the impertinence of fools, and we
are charged with doing so because it
pleases us?
She looked down and sighed as she
pronounced the last words; and I felt so
confoon jed at the consequences I found
myself involuntarily drawing from his as
sertion, “sAe is to be mine," and her im
plied admission, “i must endure him," that
I had no inclination to speak—and there
was a silence of a minute or two.
‘I see? said Maiy, ‘that my company,
after that which we have enjoyed this
afternoon, is tiresome to you; and with
your leave 1 will bid you good evening?
‘ You (must not,’ 1 replied eageraly
taking her by the hand and reseating her
beside me on the sofa: ‘Forgive my rude
ness—attribute it to ill health —to ill
breeding—to want us confidence—to any
thing rather than the cause you have
uamed—rather than indtffeience to your
company?
‘Well?she replied, ‘I forget it all I
forget it all: but you must remember
that as I am stillyour physician, y<»u have
no right to indulge in reflections which
would injure your health by being pur
sued, and of which lam ignorant. I see
(continued she, smiling archly ininy face)
you are afflcled with that awful disorder,
the jealousy! You are afraid of George
—and well you may be; for he is a dan
gerous fellow?
‘I am not without apprehension on his
account? I answered. ‘You admit that
you did not love him; and yet you are to
be his’
‘To be hist Mary Mornton tn be hisl’
interrupted the lovely girl, rising from
the sofa,her countenance fl ished with ani
niationr ‘Who told you so! George has
not dared to intimate any thing of the
kind—yet why should he no?. He has no
idea that any person could differ with
him on this sot jeci; but he is mistaken;
Nover, never will Mary Mornton con
sent to receive that man fora nusband
death-would be a preferable bridegroom!’
‘But who will blame George for en
deavouring to possess such excellence?
I replied; ‘for desiring the happiness of
calling such a treasure his own! Yes, Ma
ry, you will believe me when I tell you,
that though I would rather die a thousand
deaths than witness such an event, yet his
feelings are so far in union with my own,
that I feel more disposed to pity than to
blame him?
•No more, Mortiinerjno mon : So far I
will believe that you are io earnest—that
you do not intend what you have said to
be merely complimentary: yet let me en
treat you to become cautious; Should
George become apprehensive on my ac
count, his suspicions might full on you—
and remember the consequences would be
fatal?
‘Only say, Mary,’ I replied, ‘that you
would feel an 'nterest in my happiness;
and forgive me foi doubting it after he
proofs I have already icceived; only say
that the most ardent attahment of a per
son as unworthy as I am would not be
viewed with indifference by you, and I
could venture the displeasure of a world.*
‘You are becoming too serious for a
sick man,* said Mary, smiling; ‘but if it
would.be any pleasure to know that I felt
interested in your happiness,or willing to
contribute to it, (since I never have been
in the habit of dissembling my sentiments,)
I shall tell you frankly, that if the sincer
est wishes for your welfare will be the
means of averting evil, you will long be
happy.*
1 was in the act of attempting to express
the emotions of my throbbing heart, w hen
M try again placed her finger on her lips,
and blushing in all tbe loveliness of innn
cense, half returned my embrace as 1
clasped her to my bosom.
“The next day came, and, accompan
ied by the lovely Mary, we repaired to
the mansion of General Ganett, with
whom George and Miss Hanson resided.
We were received with all that attention,
that ease and courtly politeness, «hich
distinguish the well bred in all countries.
Miss Hanson received the compliments
that were paid her without embarrassment
and George almost forgot the air of a man
who had seen vastly fine things in his
day.”
He soon seated himself by me. “ Mor
timer,” said he, “J vow I would be sick
half a year myself, if by that means 1
could secure the company of Mary as you
have done.*
‘There is little pleasure in sickness,* I
replied, ‘yet 1 acknowledge it m'ght be
something of a temptation to suffer, if we
could be certain of having the hours cheer
ed by attendance of such girls as Miss
Hanson and Mary.*'
•But every one,* he continued, 'would
not be noticed in the manner you have
been; It is I believe natural for the fe.
male sex to bestow their sympathy and
their love on s'rangers with whom they
are unacquainted, sic of whose characters
they can know nothing.*
There was an ill-natured emphasis given
to this last^eiilenco,which T suspect High 1 *
<ly crimsoned riiy countenance; but, in
stantly regaining my composure, without
appearing to riotifce the manner in which
the words were spoken, 1 replied ‘I be
lieved he must be mistaken; for although
I was a stranger,andfclt most sensibly the
favours which had been conferred upon
me by the polite attention of the Charles
ton fair, yet I could never believe that a
man wha conducted himself as became a
gentleman, would suffer in their esteem
by time and acquaintance?
‘Perhaps not,’ answeied he, c *olly;
but, —
‘Gentlemen? said Mary, interurpting'
him, ‘1 take the liberty of protesting in
Miss Hanson's name aud in my own, a
gainst your having all the conversation to
yourselves; we must be permitted to as*
sist;’ aud her eyes met mine with an ex
pression which said remember—beware!
‘Certainly/ said 1: And she took hei
seat between us on the sofa, while Miss
! Hanson placed herself beside me, and,
with her usual gayety and com
menced a conversation. But a few min
utes elasped, before a servant entered
with a message,requesting Marv to return
immediately, as her mother had been ta
; ken seriously ill since we had left home.
' The carriage was immediately ordered;
1 and Mary took the advantage of the mo
mentary absence~of Mr. Hanson to re
quest me to spend the af'ernoon where I
then was.
‘I shall obey you,’ I replied, ‘though
unwillingly?
‘1 know it, I feel it,’ answered she,
smiling; still, you must obey. Retnem
ber I am to be your gu.udian angel.—
Come, George, (who at that moment en
tered the room,) you shall be my beau;
Mortimer I shall leave to make your sis
ter amends for my absence?
George bowed assent, and with a little
abatement of his customary hauteur, hand
ed Mary into the carriage, who kis ed her
had to me as the cairiage drove i ff; and I
found myself alone with thn accomplish
ed nod beautiful Miss Hanson.
‘Ab! Mortimer,’ said she as we seated
ourselves on the sofa, ‘how happy am I
to have this opportunity*of convincing
you how much I am interested in your
welfare; any thing that my foriune can
command or my influence accomplish, is
at your disposal?
'! fully estimate the value and kindness
of your offer, I replied; ‘and should cir
cumstances make it necessary, shall not
hesitate to avail myself of its advantages;
now, however, 1 must think of nothing but
my return to my friends at the north,
from whom 1 have been so'long absent?
‘Then,’ said she, ‘you intend to leave
us—but, when among your friends at the
north, you must remember that there are
some at the south by whom you will never
be.forgotten?
‘And there are some,’ I replied, ‘who,
while this heart shall continue to beat,
will be remembered with feelings of the
purest delight; and, though I am compel
led to leave them now, they will never be
effaced from my recollection?
I spoke with an earnestness and warmth
of which I was insensible, till I perceiv
ed the cheek of my fair companion suflus
ed with blushes; and I hastened to cor
rect the impression which I found I had
made by saying, ‘that the kindness and
tenderness with which I had been treated
since I had Arrived in Chai lesion, could
nop but leave the most favourable impres
sions on my mind with regard to its in
habitants, and would ever be remembered
with gratitude?
•Is that the only emotion which will be
excited by a remembrance of ihe south?’
asked she, with a look and manner that
left no room to mistake the meaning.
‘I can hardly say,’ 1 replied,‘what feel
ings will predominate when reason shall
be left to her sway; for here 1 feel that I
am n<ojo under the influence of my pas
sion than my judgement?
‘You appear determined,' said she,
smiling,' to remain ignorant of the subject
on which I feel a trembling anxiety to
know your opinion; but whatever indiffer
ence you may manifest, my feelings will
not permit me to remain in suspence.
Perhaps what I have to say will lessen me
in your estimation—perhaps will by you
be viewed as a violation of female propri
ety and decorum; but I throw myself on
your compassion—l fling myself on your
mercy for forgiveness:—Moitimer, I love
you!— cannot live without you—you will
love me—you will make me yours: then
my whole life should be spent in making
you happy!’
Heavens! what a moment!—Her beau
tiful countenance, flushed with the pur
ple glow of love, reposed on my bosom,
and when she threw her arms around my
neck as she finished speaking, her snowy
bosom throbbed against my beating heart
with electric effect; her coral lips almost
touched mine, and he most have been
more or less than man who could have re
frained from invading their vermillion
sanctuary! But the hallucination was but
momentary; reason assumed her station as
umpire, and the passions, victorious as
they had been for a moment, now bowed
in quiet submission to her sceptre. A
single recollection of Mary, lovely, artless
and unassuming, would have sufficed to
have broken the chain which a thousand
such females might have woven around
me;-—but though 1 could not love, most
sin erely did 1 pity her.
‘My dear Miss Hanson,* I replied, as
soon as 1 could summon resolution en
ough to trust my voice, ‘most readily de
I torgive you : > know full well the emo
tions of the heart are uncontrollable ; and
you must forgive me for saying that you
have addressed me on a subject of which
I as yet know nothing, and therefore can
say nothing, except that I shall always re
member with pleasure the happy hours I
have spent in your company ; and that in
the important affairs of love I must be
guided by the wishes of that man who has
been to me in a second father, and on
whom I am dependent.*
‘And rs it money then that influences
you io your decision? she replied, with
earnestness; you shall have it to the ex
tent of your wishes: Why continue to
be dependent on him, when it is so easy
to be entirely independent?’
‘Ah, my dear Annette,’ I answered,
‘the warmth of your feelings 'makes you
overlook the consequences that tvould
flow from my acceptance of vour propo
sals: you have forgotten that I am young,
unsettled in business, destitute of propri
ety, without powerful friends, and depen
dent for everything: What would the win Id
say; what would her parents say, should
the rich, the gay, and the accomplished
Annette Hanson throw herself away on a
stanger, friendless and hohieless.”
‘Say not, said she, ‘that you are friend
less; that will never be! All your excuses
only show that you do not, that you will
not love me: but I deserve to be niisrable.
Some more fortunate, but not mote faith
ful girl, will be blessed with that affection
that love for which 1 in vain have sued.
Be (hat as it may 1 trufft you will be
itappy? She burst into tears and sobbed
aloud:
‘Lovely girl,’said t,‘rtty heart bleeds
for you: O, cease those tears— 1 am un
worthy of you—forget me—let some
more deserving vouth share that worth
which kings might be proud to possess?
My feelings at that rhomeot were indes
cribable. Mot sincerely did 1 sympathize
with her—l Could hardly forbear weep
ing. At this instant George entered the
room: he looked at us with the greatest
surprise.
‘! perceive,’ said he, ‘ that I have in
truded?
‘Not at all,’ I replied; ‘your presence
will be a relief to 0$ both. With your
leave, Annette, I will retire and Call a
gain to mot row, when. I shall hope 10 find
you in belter health and spirits?
‘Never,’ she answered ; ‘ but go—l
shall expect yon to-morrow?
(To be continued.)
THE MUD PEDLAR.
Some years ago, a cote fellow,in Con
necticut, had a few'pounds of honey to sell,
on which he was desirous of making a large
sum of money. But how to do it, that
was the question. lie revolved the mat
ter iu liis mind for some days, and at last
hit upon tho following expedient. He
took n number of tubs, of the kind used
for packing batter, which are smallest at
the upper end. These he filled nearly
full of mud. from a neighboring ditch;
leaving, however, space enol gh for a thin
covering of honey.
With these he embarked fur New
York, wheie he exposed his goods in the
market. He asked nobod vto purchase ;
but took care, both by his dress and beha
vior, to appear very much like a fool.
‘What have you got in those tubs?”
said a man to him.
‘Why, no.bin but mud,” said the Yan
kee, rolling up his eyes and lulling out
his tongue like an idiot.
‘Modi’ said the.man, ‘what do you do
with mud here. You‘vn come to the
wrong market with it, fellow. We have
mud enough of our own in this ci
ty.”
‘Yes, but it aint sich n>ud as we have
in Connecticut though,” said the proten
ded fool—“I fetched this all the way
from Connecticut. Jest look at it, and
see how nice ‘tis?
‘P<>x take your mod !’ said the man, ‘I
don’t want to see it? And he went his
way.
‘Why, the fellow’s a fool? said a
bystander, ‘to fetch mud here?
‘Not’s you know on? said the Yankee,
putting on a more stolid appearance than
ever.—'l’m the cutest fellei, every body
allows, in all our town—haw ! haw 1 haw !
—you’ll have to git op airly to cheat mo,
that you will—haw I haw ! haw I’
•What’s your name?’ said another.
‘My name I What’s that to you wheth
er I’ve got any name or no. I won’t tell
you nothin about it I wont, I fags.—
My name is Tommy Doodle, and my fa
ther, his name is Tommy Doodle, and
my uncle’s name is Joshua Doodle. D<»
you know my uncle Josh 1 ha !’
‘Your uncle Josh? no—how should I
know him ?’
‘Dont you know mv uncle Josh !’
‘No?
‘Then you’re a greater fool than I
Why, 1 know him jest as well as 1 know
the way to our barn.*
‘What have you got io your tubs ?’ ask
ed another one.
‘Mud—haw! Jiaw ! haw !—nothin but
•mud. Shall I show it to you.”
‘No, I don’t want to see any of your
mud.*
‘Well, you needn’t speak so cross about
i«. Tant none o’yoo common mud—it’s
rale Connecticut—look here.”
‘Mud do you call this!* said a mar
ketman.
‘Rale Connecticut mud,* said the Yan
kee, with a foolish grin.
•Whv this is honey,* said another.
‘Say nothing about it,* said the market,
man, aside—‘and I’ll get a bargain out
of the fellow.’ Then speaking to the
apparent fool, he asked'ltim what he would
take for his mud I
‘Why, I don’t know,’ said the fellow,
lolling out his tongue, and looking with a
vacant stare about him.
‘Don’t know!* what do you come here
for then ?*
‘Why I cpme to ’stonish the Yorkers,
that’s all—haw! haw ! haw !*
‘You do astonish them, sure enough.
But what’ll you take for your mud?’
‘I don’t know—l’ll take a shillin a
pound, may be.’
‘A shilling a pound for mud ! why, that’s
a pretty price. We can get it here in the city
for notbingjand get paid,for carrying it a
way into the bargain.’
‘But it aint like our Connecticut mud
though.*
‘Are all your tubs filled with this kind
of mud ?’
‘Why yas,’ said the Yankee, carelessly
uncovering »hem—‘they’re el! chock full
o’ mud.’
‘What’ll you take for ihe whole lump?
‘Five hundred dollars—haw! haw!
haw !’
'Oh, nonsense !” said the marketman,
dipping his finger in the honey, tasting
from each of the tubs, and smacking bis
lips, in anticipation of the bargain he was
going to make. Believing the whole to
be pure honev,&that he bad afool to deal
with, he at first offered twenty dollais for
the lot?
‘Four hundred,’ said the owner, "give
me four hundred dollars, and the mud is
all your’n, tubs and all by hoky?
, ‘No—l’ll give sou fifty,’ said the deal
er in marketables.
I ‘Three hundred,’ said the Yankee ‘and
it’s all your’n, tubs and all, by gings?
’I won’t give you a cent over seventy
five?
‘Haw I haw ! haw ! then you may have
it for two hundred?
‘I don’t care if I give one, for old ac .
quaijitance Sake?
‘Haw I haw ! haw I well take it then,
seein it’s you.’’
The money was presently paid over,
and each party was well pleased with the
bargain—the New Yorker, that he had
cheated the foolish Yankee—and the cute
Yankee, that he bad overreached the
New Yorker. But if such was mutual
satisfaction, it did not continue long, for
the marketman soon discoveted the cheat.
He swore, and raved,hnd tore, like «
madman. But this dot mending the (hat
ter, he weilt in pdrSoH of the Yankeft,
whom he at length found sitting snug by
his own fireside.
‘What the devil did you mean/ said he
‘by cheating me so in that honev V
‘Honey ?’ said the Yankee, who by
this lime had thrown off his stolid appear
ance—‘l sold you no honey?
‘The dtvil you didn’t!’ said tjie New
Yorker—‘what did I pay you a bundled
dollars for?”
‘Mud, nothing but mud,” returned the
Yankee—‘and it’s vour own fault that
you wouldn’t take my word f>r it—l told
you ’twas nothing but mud,”
AUGUSTA.
MOXDAY, SEPT. 2, 1833.
lUMPKITSf ~
AND
RATIFICATION.
(ET Ihe absence of the Editor will account
for the deficiency of original matter to-day.
Owing to the completion of the Petersburg
Roanoke Rail Road, we shall have the Northern
Mail iu Augusta Bor 10 hours earlier—sav by
10 o'clock, A M.
SMALL BILLS.
IVe are pleased <o notice the accommodation
offered to the public by the Brokers in tbischy
in taking op the small Notes of solvent Banks,
and that they give, in exchange, Silvei for all
sums under Five Dollars.
Earthquake.— A alight shock ofan Earthquake
was felt in Raleigh, N. C. on the 27th ult.
The President of the United States returned
to Washington Ciiy on the 23d till, ftom his visit
to the Rip Raps. The Intelligencer says that
his health has been completely restoted by the
salubrious air of the Bay-
LATEST FROM EUR ? OPE.
' The packet ship Canada, C»j>t. Britton, arrive
ed at New-York on the 21th, bringing London
papers to July 31st inclusive, containing Liver
pool dates to the 29th.
'1 he Irish Church Tempotalities Bill was read
a third lifne in the House of Lords on the 30th,
by a maj >rity of fifty-fi tir.
The discussi* ou (he details of the Slavery
Abolition Bi I was going forward with’ every
prospect that it Would pass without material al
teration.
There is nothing further from Portugal, of an
authentic character, except byway of Madiid.
These accounts represent the Pedroite army to
have reached Stotubal, on the left bank of the
1 ngus, opposite Lisbon. A rumor indeed pre
vailed; that Lisbon had been captured,—but
appears to have been w ithout foundation.
The markets for Cotton were in a more fa- j
vorable condition than during any previous
dates ; the rates higher and sales more extensive.
On the 26ih July, some prime Upland Cotton
sold at 1 If. and NeW-Orleans nt 12fd. Sales
during the past week 30,000 bates.
It is fashionable in Georg a to abuse the Fortt
Bill, as they call it, as if every bill or law did not
test on the power es the community to-enforce .
its provisions. Le£ us see what used to be the
fashion, in those grot! old times when folks pos
sessed common sense and political honesty.—
Hear Mr. Randolph and Gov. Troup at t*e peri
od when the law was passed for Mr. Jefferson, '
of which the clauses, most objected to by modern,
politicians, are literal transcripts in the Enfor
cing Bill Thus said Mr. Randolph :
“While I deprecate the existence of
the Embargo, 1 trust there exists,and that
there will always exist, a Disposition to
enforce the laws of the General Govern
ment. I will be one among the first, sir,
to resist a contrary doctrine. If the laws
cannot be enforced, to what purpose are
we a confederated people ? and why have
we organized a national government 1 -I
will nut believe that tho citixens of any
portion of this country, will rise in resist,
ance to the laws of the land, until the fact
has actually .occurred, and in this point of
view I regret the introduction of the re- >
port and resolutions, as they lead to sug
gestions of a different nature. When th©
case does occur, I would apply the prop
er remedv. I would have recourse, Sir,
to the knife and the cautery."
Thus said Gov. Troup “We hear
of what is called constitutional opposition
to the laws; of constitutional and uncon
stitutional bodies for the express purpose
of declaring the unconstitutionally es the
laws, and encouraging violent resistance
and opposition to them; and yet, Sir, you "
determine to repeal your embargo! It i$
not, therefore, at tbe foreign hostility