Newspaper Page Text
VOL. XXV.]
B V fir.lKVK & OB.HE,
EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS.
terms
The Recorder is published weekly, in the Ha-
. Hi' 1 it TlttlK Dot.uBS, per annum, payable in
'TJance or Four Dollars, if not paid before the end
c,L vear No paper, in any case, sent ontof the State,
without being first paid for I* ADVANCE ; or any new
^h crib-rtaken for a less period than one year, unless
paid for at the rate of FOUR DOLLARS per annum in
advance. , ,
AnvFRTlSEMENTS conspicuous] v inserted at the usual
* Those sent without a specification of the number
”“n,eitions. will he published until ordered out, and
rhar'red accordingly.
Caicsof Land and Negroes, bv Administrators. Exe-
J 1)r = or Guardians, are required by law to be teld on
Ih first Tuesday in the month.between the hours of ten
J the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court
House in the countv in which the property is situate.
Notices of these sales must be given in a publtc gazette
sixty DAYS previous to the day o sa e.
Notices for the sale of personal property must be given
in like manner forty o vY- previous to the day of sale.
Notice to the debtors and creditors of an estate must also
he published FORTY DAYS.
Notice that application will be made to the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be
published for FOUR MO.STHS.
CITATION'S for Letters of Administration, must be pub-
i;,V.l thirty days—for dismission from administration,
ni I'hly six months— 1 for dismission from Guardianship,
forty dayt.
Ror FS f„ r foreclosure of Mortgage must be published
month!a for four month*-for establishing lost papers for
the full space of three months—(or compelling titles from
Executors or Administrators, where a bond has been
bv the deceased, the fall spare of three months.
Publications will always be continued according to
these the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered.
All business in the line of Printing, will meet with
prompt attention at the RECORDER Office.
Letters on business must be post paid.
XT Our subscribers, in requesting the direction of
heir papers changed from one Post Office to another, are
Wed in every- instance, in making such requests, to
inform 4a as well of the name of the Post Office/rum which
Ihe.v desire it changed, as that to which they may there-
after wish it sent.
Newspaper LaW.-In case of a suit for fraud, the
fourt in this State, it is said, have decided that ref us-
to take a newspaper from the office, or going away
and leaving it uncalled for until all arrearages are paid,
is pri.na facie evidence ofimentional fraud.
MAIL ARRANGEMENT.
Pioribeiu Sc V.ist.sla Mail, via barren ton.
Due Daily, at 10 A. M.
Closes Daily, at 9 A. M.
llacon land Columbus ITVail.
Due daily (Sunday excepted) at 10 a. M.
Closes daily “ “ “ M *
Mnvaanah mail.
Due daily (Mond .y excepted) at 10 A. M.
Closes daily, (Saturday “ ) “ 12 m.
Ratsnton mail.
Di e Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7 r. m.
,, ,, ' •< “ “ 8 P. M.
Closes
iJIoiitiecJlo mail.
Due Thursday and Sunday at 8 r. M.
Closes Monday and Thursday at 8 p. m.
Florida mail.
Closes Monday, Wednesday,and Friday at 11 A. m!
SI a yvUinxville mail.
Closes Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays at tl A. «.
E. DAGGETT, P. m
December 19, 1843.
Adjonruneat of Baldwin Superior Court.
raitIK SUM; 111 OR COURT of Baldwin county
S smn Hs adjourned until the fifth Monday in April
next at 9 o’clock, A. M., at which time Grand Jurors,
Attm'neys and Suitors will give their attendance.
True extract from the minutes of said Court.
d. xi. McDonald, Clerk s. c. b.c.
Maich 30, 1844. 12 4r
Caret.
D R C A. H ARRIS. Professor of Practical Den
tistry in Ike Baltimore College of Denial Sor
cery, being on a short visit to this place, will be happy,
durinv his stay, to render his professional services to
such ?s may desire them. He is prepared to attend to
the insertion of artificial teeth, as well as to every
other branch of practice pertaining to his profession.
He may be consulted at Ins room at Mrs. Hus on s
Hotel. , . ,.
Smdents of Dental Surgery, and others wishing to
nbniu information with regard to the term*, or plan
of instruction pursued in the above named institution,
may do so, by applying to Dr. H., either in person or
by letter. , o .r
April 2, 1844. 11
Law Advertisement.
fSIHE subscriber will practice Law in the several
i counties of the Cherokee Circuit, and in the I- ED-
kp.al Courts for the District of Georgia. Office at
Cassviilb, Cass County, Ga.
ACHILLES D. SHACKLEFORD.
March 26, 1344 11 12m
WILLIAM IT. BKOOIiS,
.1'tT’rOSS.V’EY' .IT L.JIV,
TALBOTTON, GA.
V, -STILL nrar.tice in the counties of the Chattahoo-
\v cliee Circuit. All business confided to him
will meet with tl>e most prompt attention.
January 30. 1344 3 ” .
CSIAKL.ES .5. WILLIAMS
.ti'toin.j at Law's
H1LLEDGEV1LLE. GEORGIA
Office in the Darien Bank Building, Y.estofMr.
M’Comb’s Hotel.
February 7. 1343. ^
& fflcHEUBV,
ATTORNEYS AT LA W,
MADISOy, Morgan County,Ga.
April *6.1642.—15 it'
PATTESSSON & KEJJSE,
•JUorncys at JLair.
WILL practice in the counties of Curly, Lee, Ba-
' * her, Rttudolph and Decatur.
Josiak S- Patterson. Fort. Gaines, Ga.
Francis M. Keese, Blakely* Early Go., Ga.
Nov. 28, 1843 4(5 tf
AUGUSTUS C. W.1ITJES,
•f t tor nr y at JLatc,
W ILL practice in the Counties of the Cherokee
Ciicuit, and tenders his legal services to his
friend* arid the public. All business confided to him
will be attended to with promptness and fidelity.
Office at Spring Place, Murray County.
July 4, 1843. 25 12m
WM. A. BE ALL’S
Fire-Proof W;iHit* Mouse
Broad Street.
Augusta. Ga., September 1, 1843.
fp HE subscriber, grateful for the patronage hereto-
L fore received, informs his friends and the pub
lic ;-nerally, that he still continues at his old stand,
na Broad stieet, and wiil devote his personal attention
to the storage and sale of Cotton, receiving and for-
wardiiig Goods, and the transaction of a General
1 ii-'torage and Comriiissimi Business.
Liberal advances made on cotton m store.
■Messrs. .1. Robson & Co. will continue as heretofore
to act as his agents at Madison, and when desiied will
tnak*' advances on cotton consigned to him per Rail
Road. WM. A. BEALL.
September 5. 1843. 3 4 tf
HAMILTON^ HABDEMAI &. Co.
9"
Fadois 1 General Commission Merchants,
SSSiL
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
Savannah, July 25, 1343. 28 tf
K. II. SMITH,
Factor k Commission Merchant,
No. 1S5, Bay Street, Savannah, Ga.
T HE undersigned informs his friends and the public
generally, that he will continue to transact the
an a-e business, and respectfully solicits a share of their
patronage. Having located permanently in Savatmah,
ar ‘d intending to bestow lii» entire personal attention
to the business, in which he has had considerable ex
perience, he indulges the belief that those who favor
turn aid! their business will have no cause to regiet it.
Rioerai cash advances will be made on cotton in store
"hen required, and orders for Bagging, Family sup-
I' tes, &c. promptly attended to, and in strict compli
ance with directions
„ RANSOM H. SMITH.
Savannah, July 18.1843. 27 tf
r«i-4 x4 A Cl
HgSI, i silt If
if U ri ■ • -It
MILLEDGEVILLE. GEORGIA, TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1 844.
[NO. 15
MISCELLANEOUS
The black hose that I saw at tailor Cut-
bay’s, I must leave unpurchased, although
l need them sorely. They are indeed
pretty well worn, yet still in good condi
tion, and the pi ice is reasonable. But Jen
ny needs a cloak a great deal more. I pity
the dear child when I see her shivering in
that thin camlet. Polly must be satisfied
with the cloak which her sister has made
for her so nicely out of her old one.
I must give up my share of the news
paper which neighbor Westburn and I took
together. It goes hard with me. Here, in
C -, without a newspaper, one knows
nothing of the course of affairs. At the
horse-races at New Market, the Duke of
Cumberland won =£5000 of the Duke of
Giafton. It is wonderful how literally the
words of Scripture are always fulfilled,
‘To him who hath, shall be given;’ and
those othet words, too, ‘ From him who
hath not, shall be taken away.’ 1 must lose
=£5 of even my poor salary. Fy, Thom
as, already murmuring again! and where
fore ? For a newspaper which thou art
no longer able to take ? Shame on thee !
Thou mayst easily learn from others, whe
ther General Paoli succeeds in maintaining
the freedom of Corsica. The French have
indeed promised assistance to the Genoese ;
but Paoli has twenty thousand veterans.
Pec. 18.—Ah ! how happy are we poor
people still ! Jenny has got a grand cloak
at the slop-shop for a mere song, and now
she is sitting there with Polly, ripping if
so pieces, in order to make it up anew.
Jenny understands how to trade and bar
gain better than I. But they let her have
things at her own price,hervoiceisso gentle.
We have now joy upon joy. Jenny wants
to appear in the new cloak, for the first
time, on New Year’s day. Polly has a
hundred comments and predictions about
it. I wager, the Dey of Algiers had not
greater pleasure in the costly present,
which the Venetians made him, the two dia
mond rings, the two watches set with bril
liants. the pistols inlaid with gold, the cost
ly'carpets, the rich housings, and the twen
ty thousand sequins in cash.
Jenny says we must save the cloak in
eatables. Until New Year’s, we must buy
no meat. This as it should be.
Neighbor Westburn is a noble man. 1
told him yesterday I must discontinue my
The following Journal, which we copy from
“The Gift for 1844,’’ is translated from the Ger
man of Tschokke, who intimates that it is taken
from ihe English, and that it ptobably gave Gold
smith the first hint towatd his Vicar of Wake
field. ll it were originally English, it is not easy
to understand why it was allowed to die, and our
readers, we trust, will not consider it unwor
thy of being restored to our mother language.
[Neiv Mirror.
JOURNAL OF A~P0 0R VICAR,
IX WILTSHIRE.
Dec. 15. 1761.—Received to-day from
Dr. Snarl, =£10 sterling, being my half
year’s salary. The receipt even of this
hardly earned sum, was attended with ma
ny uncomfortable circumstances.
Not until I had waited one hour and a
half in the cold ante-room, was 1 admitted
to the presence of his reverence. He was
seated in an easy chairathis writing desk
My money was lying by him ready count
ed. My low bow he returned by a lofty
side nod, while he slightly pushed back bis
beautiful black silk cap, and immediately
drew it on again. Really lie is a man of
much dignity. I can never approach him
without awe. I do not believe 1 should
enter the King’s presence with less compn-
• ure.
He did not urge me to be seated, although
he well knew that I had this very morn
ing walked eleven miles in the bad weath
er, and that the hour and a half’s standing
in the ante-room had not much helped to
rest my wearied limbs. He pointed me to
the money.
My heart beat violently when I attempt
ed to introduce the subject, which I had so
long thought over, of a little increase of my
salary. I shall never he able to conquer
my timidity, even in the most righteous
cause. Twice, with an agony as if l were
about to commit a crime, I endeavored to
break ground. Memory, words, and voice
failed me. The sweat started in great
drops on my forehead.
‘ YVhat do you wish V said the rector,
very politely.
‘ 1 am—every thing is so dear—scarcely
able to get along in these hard times, with
this small salary.’
‘ Small salary, Mr. Vicar ! How can you
think so ! I can at any time procure a vi-j subscription for the newspaper, because l
am not sure of my present salary, nor even
car for £15 sterling a year.
‘For =£15! Without a family, one
might indeed get along with thafsum.’
‘ Your family, Mr. Vicar,’ said the rec
tor, inquiringly, ‘ has not received any ad
dition, 1 trust. You have only two daugh
ters ?
‘ Only two, your reverence ; but they are
growing up. My Jenny, the eldest, is now
eighteen, and Polly, the younger, will soon
be twelve.’
‘ So much the better. Can’t your girls
W R* . i i i . i I so that people stopped in the street.
1 was about toreply, when he cut me short, , , , ^ ,,
. . . , , 1 , declared that he would not sell upon tr
by rising and observing, while he went to
the window anddrummed with bis fingers on
the pane, that he had no time to talk with
me to-day ‘ Think it over,’ he concluded,
‘ whether you will retain your place at =£15
a-year, and let me know. If you relinquish
it, I hope you will havp a better situation
for a New Year's present.’
He bowed very politely, and again touch
ed his cap. I swept up the money and took
my leave. I was thunderstruck. He had
never received nor dismissed me so coldly
before. Without doubt, some body had
been speaking ill of me. He did not once
invite me to dinner, as had always before
been his custom. I had depended upon it,
for 1 came from home without breaking my
fast. I bought a loaf in the outskirts of the
town, at a baker’s shop, which I had observ
ed in passing, and took my way home.
How cast down was I as I trudged
along ! I cried like a child. The bread
I was eating, was wet with my tears.
But fie, Thomas ! Shame upon thy faint
heart! Lives not the gracious God still!
What if thou hadst lost the place entirely ?
And it is only =£5 less! It is indeed a
quarter of my whole little yearly stipend,
and it leaves barely lOd a-day, to feed
arid clothe three of us. What is there left
for us 1 He who clothes the lillies of the
field! He who feeds the young ravens
of my place. He shook my hand and said,
‘ Very well, then, I will take the paper, and
you shall still read it with me/
One must never despair. There are
more good men in the world than one
thinks, especially among the poor.
The same day. Eve.—The baker is a
crabbed man. Although I owe him noth
ing, yet when Polly went to fetch a loaf,
and found it very small and badly risen or
half burnt, he struck up a quarrel with her.
He
upon trust,
j that we must go elsewhere for our bread.—
I pitied Polly.
I wonder how the people here know
everything. Eveiy one in the village is
! telling how the rector is going to put anoth-
ei curate in my place. It will be the death
of me.
The butcher even must have got a hint
of it. It certainly was not without design
that he sent his wife to roe wilh complaints
about the hard times, and the impossibility
of selling any longer for any thing hut
cash. She was indeed very polite, and
could not find words to express her love
and respect for us. She advised us to go
to Closvvood and buy ihe little meat we
want of him, as he is a richer man, and is
able to wait for his money. 1 caied not to
tell the good woman how that usurer treat
ed us a year ago, when he charged us a
penny a pound more than others, for his
meat, and when his oaths and curses could
not help him out, and be could not deny it,
how he declared roundly that he must 're
ceive a little interest when he was kept out
of his money a whole year, and then show
ed us the door.
I still have in ready money <£2 Is. 3d.—
Whac shall I do, if no one will trust me, so
that I may pay my bills quarterly ? And
if Dr. Snarl appoints another curate, then
Per. 16.—I do believe Jenny’s an angel.
Her soul is even more beautiful than her
body. I am almost ashamed of being her
father. She is so much better and pious
than 1.
I had not the courage yesterday to tell my
girls the bad news. When I mentioned it
to-day, Jenny at first looked very serious,
hut suddenly she brightened up and said,
‘ Thou art disquieted, father!’
‘ Should I not he so V
‘No, thou shouldst not.’
‘ Dear child, we shall never he free from
debt and trouble. I do not know how we
can stand it. Our need is sore, sfilo hard
ly suffice for the bare necessaries of life.
Who will assist ‘us V
Instead of answering, Jenny gently pas
sed one arm around my neck, and pointed
upwards with the other, ‘ He, there !’ said
she.
T , „ .it re i .. i I have preached the word of (
Polly seated herself on my lap, patted “ , . . .
~ J , .j ... ll. l purity; I have heard no complai
y face, and said, I want to tell thee some- 1 • j • , t
my
thing.
New
to C
show.
I dreamed last night that it was
Year’s day ; and that the king came
. There was a splendid
The kirnt dismounted from his
W H. C. HILLS,
Commission Hcrchant,
(at his old stand,)
c Savannah, Georgia.
September 5, 1343. 34 t f
, , r i must 1 and my poor children be turned up-
We must deny ourselves some ot our lux- , , * r
J j on the street!
Be it so ; God is in the street also !
Dec. 19, early, A. M.—I awoke very ear
ly to-day, and pondered what I shall do in
my difficult situation. I thought of Mas
ter Sitting, my rich cousin at Cambridge ;
only poor people have no cousins, only the
rich. Were New’Year’s day to bring me
a bishop’s mitre, according to Polly’s
dream, then I should have half England for
my relations.
I have written and sent by post the fol
lowing letter to the Rev. Dr. Snarl.
“ I write with an anxiousheart. It is said
that your reverence intends to appoint ano
ther curate in my stead. I know not whether
the report has any' foundation, or whether
it has arisen merely fiom my having men
tioned to some persons the interview I had
with you.
“ The office with which you entrusted
me I have discharged with Zealand fidelity;
of God in aU
nts. Even
my inward monitor condemns me not. I
humbly requested for a little increase of my
small salary. Your reverence spoke of re
ducing the small stipend, which scarcely
suffices to procure me and my family the
; hare necessaries of life. Let your humane
! heart decide.
“ I have labored sixteen years under
your reverence’s pious predecessors, and
a year and a half under yourself. I am
now fifty years old. My hair begins to
grow gray. Without acquaintances, with
out patrons, without the prospect of another
living, without the means of earning tny
bread in any other way, mine and my chil
dren’s fate depends upon your compassion.
If you fail us, there remains no support for
us but the beggar’s staff.
“ My daughters, gradually grown up,
occasion, with the closest economy, increas
ed expenses. My eldest daughter. Jenny,
supplies the place of a mother to her sister,
and conducts our domestic concerns. We
keen no maid ; my daughter is maid, cook,
washerwoman, tailoress, and even shoe
maker, while I am the carpenter, mason,
chimney-sweeper, woodcutter, gardener,
farmer, and wood-carrier of the household.
“ God’s mercy has attended us hitherto.
We have had no sickness. We could not
have paid for medicines. C is a little
place.
“ My daughters have in vain offered to
do other work, such as washing, mending,
and sewing. They very rarely get any.—
Herein the country everyone does’her
own housework , none are rich.
“ It will be a hard task to carry me and
horse before our front door, and came in.
We had nothing to set before him, arid he
commanded some of his own dainties to be
brought in dishes of gold and silver. The
kettle-drums and trumpets sounded outside,
arid only think, with the sound of the mu
sic, in came some people with a bishop’s 1
mitre upon a satin cushion, a New Year’s
present for thee ! It looked very funny,
like the pointed caps of the bishops in the
old picture book. But it became thee light
grandly. Yet I laughed myself almost out
of breath ; and then Jenny waked me up,
which made me quite angry. This dream
has certainly something to do with a New
Yeai’s present. It is only fourteen days to
New Year’s.
I said to Polly, 4 Dreams are but Seems ,’
but she said, ‘ Dreams come from God/
I believe no such thing. Still I write
the dream down, to see whether it be not
a comforting hint from heaven. A New
Year’s present would be acceptable to
all of us.
All day I have been at my accounts. I
do not like accounts. Reckoning and mo
ney matters distract my head, and make
my heart empty and heavy.
Dec. 17—My debts, God be praised, are
all now paid, but one. At five different
places, I paid off <£7 11s. sterling. I have
therefore left in ready money, <£2 9s.—
This must last a half year. God help us!
mine through the year upon «£20; but it
will be harder still if I am to attempt it up
on <£15. But I throw myself on your com
passion and on God, and pray your rever
ence at least to relieve me of this anxiety.”
After I had finished this letter I threw
myself upon my knees, (while Polly carri
ed it to the post office) and prayed for a
happy issue. 1 then became wonderfully
clear and calm ia my mind. Ah ! a word
to God is always a word from God—so
cheerfully came I from my little chamber,
which I had entered with a heavy heart,
Jenny sate at work at the window. She
sate there with the repose and grace of an
angel. Light seemed to stream from her
looks. A slender sun-beam came through
the window, and transfigured the whole
place. 1 was in a heavenly state. 1 seat
ed myself at my desk, and, wrote my ser
mon “ On the joys of poverty.”
I preach in the pulpit as much to myself
as to my hearers ; and I come from chuich
edified, if no one else does. If others do
not receive consolation from my words, I
find it myself. It is with the clergyman as
with the physician. He knows the power
of his medicines, but not always their ef
fect upon the constitution of every patient.
'The same day, A. M.—This morning 1
received a note from a stranger who had
tarried over night at the inn. He begs
me, on account, of urgent affairs, to come to
him.
I have been to him. 1 found him a hand
some young man of about six-and-twenty,
with noble features and a graceful carriage.
He had on an old well-worn surtout, and
boots, which still bore the marks of yes
terday’s travel. His round hat, although
oiiginally of a finer material than mine,
was still far more defaced and shabby.—
The young man appeared notwithstanding
the derangement ofhis chess, to beof^ood
family. He had on at least a clean shirt of
the finest linen, which perhaps had just
been given him by some charitable hand.
He let! me into a private room, begged
pardon a thousand times for having troub
led me, and proceeded to inform me in a
very humble manner, that he found himself
inmost painful circumstances, that he knew
nobody in this place, where he had arrived
last evening, aud had therefore had re
course to me as a clergyman. He was, he
added, by profession an actor, but without
employment, and intending to proceed to
Manchester. He had expended nearly all
his money and had not enough to pay his
fare at the inn—to say nothing of the ex
pense of proceeding on his journey. Ac
cordingly he turned in his despair to me.—
Twelve shillings would be a great assis
tance to him. He promised, if I would fa
vour him with that advance, that he would
honorably and thankfully repay it, so soon
as he was again connected with any thea
tre. His name is John Fleetman.
There was no necessity of his painting
his distress to me so at large. His features
expressed more trouble than his words.—
He probably read something of the same
kind in my face, fur, as he turned his eyes
upon me, lie seemed struck with alarm, and
exclaimed, “ Will you leave me then with
out help V’
I stated to him that my own situation
was full of embarrassment, that he had
asked of me nothing less than the fourth
part of all the money 1 had in the world,
ami that I was in great uncertainty as to
the further continuance of my office.
He immediately became cold in his
ma.nner, and, as it were, drew back into
himself, while he remarked, “You com
fort the unfortunate witii the story of your
own misfortunes. I ask nothing of you.—
Is there no one in C who has pity, if
he has no wealth V’
1! cast an embarrassed look at Mr. Fleet-
ma.n.andwas ashamed to have represent
ed my distressed situation to him as a rea
son for my refusal to assist him. 1 instant
ly thought over all my townsmen, and
coaid not trust myself to name one. I did
not perhaps know their hearts well enough.
I approached him and laid my hand upon
his shoulder, and said, “ Mr. Fleetman,
you grieve me. Have a little patience.—
Yoa see lam poor. I will help you if I
can-. T will give you an answer in an hour.”
I went home. On the way I thought to
myself, “ How odd , the stranger always
comes first to me, and an actor to a clergy
man ! There must be something in my
nature that attracts the wretched and the
needly, like a magnet. Whoever is in
need comes to me who has the least to
■give. When I sit at table with strangers,
•one of the company is sure to have a dog
who looks steadily at what I am eating, and
comes and lays his cold nose directly on
my knee.”
When at home, I told the children who
the stranger was, and what he wanted. I
wished for Jenny's advice. She said ten
derly, ”1 know, father, what thou thinkest,
and therefore l have nothing to advise.”
“ And what do I think ?”
“ Why, that thou wilt do unto this poor
actor as thou hopest God and Dr. Snarl
will do unto thee.”
I had thought no such thing, but I wished
I had. I got the twelve shillings, and gave
them to Jenny to carry to the traveller. I
did not care tolisten to his thanks. Ithum-
bles me. Ingratitude stirs my spirit up.—
And, besides, I had my sermon to prepare.
The same day, Eve.—The actor is cer
tainly a worthy man. When Jenny return
ed from the inn she had much to tell about
him, and also about the landlady. This
woman had found out that her guest had
an empty pocket, and Jenny could not. deny
that she had brought him some money. So
.Jenny had to listen to a long sermon upon
t.he folly of giving, when one has nothing
himself, and the danger ofhelping vagrants,
when one has not the wherewithal to clothe
his own children. “ The shirtis nearerthan
the coat.” “ To feed one’s own maketh
.rat.” See. &c.
I had just turned to my sermon again,
when Mr. Fleetman entered. He could
not, he said, leave C without thanking
his benefactor, by whose means he had
been delivered from the greatestembarrass-
ment. Jenny was just setting the table.—
We bad an emelet and some turnips. I
i nvited the traveller to dine with ns. He
t iccepted the invitation. It was veiy time-
1 y, he intimated, fot he had eaten a very
t .canty breakfast. Polly brought some
i teer. We had not for a long time fared
s o well.
Mr. Fleetman seemed to enjoy himself
■> adth us. He had quite lost that anxious
1 00k he had, yet there was the shy, reserv
ed manner about him. which is peculiar
t o the unfortunate. He inferred that we
\ vere very happy, aftd of that we assured
1 lira. He supposed also that I was richer
a nd better to do in the world than I desired
t 0 appear. There he was mistaken. With
out doubt the order and cleanliness of our
parlor dazzled the good man, the clearness
of the windows, the neatness of the cur
tains, of the dinnei table, the floor, and the
brightness of our tables and chairs. One
usually finds a great lack of cleanliness in
the dwellings of the poor, because they
do not know how to save. But order and
neatness, as I always preached to my saint
ed wife and to my daughters, are great
save-alls. Jenny is a perfect mistress
therein. She almost surpasses her mother,
and she is bringing up her sister Polly in
the same way. Her shaip eyes not a fly-
mark can escape.
Our guest soon became quite familiar
and intimate with us. He spoke more,
however, of our situation than of his own.
The poor man must have some trouble on
his heart, I hope uot upon his conscience.
I remarked that he often broke off sudden
ly in conversation, and became depressed,
then again he would exert himself to be
cheerful. God comfoit him !
As he was quitting us after dinner, I gave
him much friendly counsel. Actors, I know,
are rather a light-minded folk. He prom
ised me sacredly as soon as he should have
money, to send back my loan. He must
be sincere in that, for he looked very holi
est, and several times asked, how long I
thought I should be able with the remain
der of myready money to meet the neces
sartes of my household.
His last words were, “ It is impossible it
should go ill with you in the world. You
have heaven in your breast, and two an
gels of God at your side.” With these
words he pointed to Jenny and Polly.
Dec. 20.—The day has passed very qui
etly, but I cannot say very agreeably, for
the grocer Jones sent me his hill for the
year. Considering what we had of him,
it was larger than we had expected, al
though we had nothing of which we did not
ourselves keep an account. Only he had
raised the price of all his articles. Other
wise, his account agreed honestly with
ours.
The worst is the arrears of my last year’s
bill. He begged for the payment of the
same, as he is in great need of money.—
The whole what 1 owe him amounts to
eighteen shillings.
I went to see Mr. Jones. He is a very
polite and reasonable man. 1 hoped to
satisfy him by paying him in part, and prom
ising to pay the remainder by Easter. But
he was not to he moved, and he regretted
that he should be forced to proceed
Could ihey have only had for a Christmas | Polly has again recovered her usual
feast what the farmer’s dogs received of j cheerfulness. fcsiie brings out again her
the fiagments of our meal ! Ihey did, dream about the bishop’s mitre, and gives
have some cake, and they are feasting on it 1 us much amusement. She counts almost
now while I write. It was lucky that I j too superstitious])’upon a new year’s pres
had courage, when the farmer and his wife | ent. I have sometimes thought much of
pressed me to eat more, to say that, with i dreams, but I do not believe in them,
their leave, I would carry a little slice of j As soon as the new vicar, my successor,
the cake home to my daughters. 1 he good j shall have arrived and is able to assume be
hearted people packed me a little bag lull, | office, I shall hand over to him the parish-
and besides, as it rained pitifully, sent me i books, and take my way in search of
home in their wagon. j bread elsewhere, in the meantime I will
Eating and drinking are indeed of little j write to a couple of old friends at Salisbury
importance, if one has enough to satisfy | and Warminster, to request them to find
his hunger and thirst. Yet it may not be good places for my daughters, as cooks,
denied that a comfortable provision for the
body is an agreeable thing. One’s thoughts
are clearer. One feels with more vivacity.
Iam very tired. My conversation witii
Farmer Hurst was noteworthy. I will write
it off to-morrow.
, Dec. 27.— We have lived to know vvliat
perfect joy is. But one must be moderate
in his joys. The girls must learn self-re
straint. and practise themselves therein.
Theiefore 1 lay aside the packet of money
which Mr. Fleetman has sent. I will not
break the seal until after dinner. My
daughters are Eve’s daughters. They are J
dying of curiosity to know what Mr. Fleet- j
seamstresses, or chambermaids.- Jenny
would be an excellent governess' for little
children.
I will riot, leave my daughters here. The
place is poor, the people unsocial, proud,
and have the narrow ways of a small town.
They talk now of nothing but the new vi
car. Some are sorry that 1 must leave, but
1 know not who takes ir to heart.
Dec. 29.— I have written to-day to my
Lord Bishop of Salisbury, and laid before
him in lively terms, the sad, helpless situa-
ation of myjchildren, and my long and faith
ful services in the vineyard of the Lord.—
He must be a humane, pious man. May
God touch his heart ! Among the three
man writes. They are examining the let- , _
ter, and the packet is passing fiom one to 1 bundled and four parishes of the county of
the other three times in a minute. J ^ iltshite, there mu>t. certainly he found
Indeed 1 am more disturbed than rejoic- ^ f>r me a4 l eas t some little corner ! I do
ed. I lent Mr. Fleetman only twelve shill- 1 not as ^ much.
' Dec. 30.—The bishop’s mitre that Polly
lugs, and he sends me hack <=£5. God he
praised ! He must have been very suc
cessful.
How joy and sorrow interchange! I
went early this morning to the alderman,
Mr. Fieldson, for I was told yesterday that
the wagoner, Brook, at the Walton Basset
had, on account of his embarrassments, des
troyed himself. Some eleven or twelve
years ago I went security for him to the
amount of =£100. He was distantly related
to my sainted wife. The bond has never
been cancelled. The man lias latterly had
much trouble, and given himself up !o drink
ing.
The alderman comforted me not a little.
He said he had heard the report, but I fiat
it was very doubtful whether Brook had
destroyed himself. There had been no au
thentic intelligence. So l returned home
comforted, and prayed by the way that God
would be gracious to me.
I had hardly reached the house when
Polly ran to meet me, exclaiming almost
breatldess, “ A letter ! a letter from Mr.
to extremities. If he could, lie would glad- j Fleetman, father, wilh =£5 ! But the pack-
ly wait ; but only within three days he l et has cost seven pence.” Jenny, with
would have to pay a note which had just, blushing looks, handed it to me before 1
been presented to him. With a mexchant, : had laid down my hat and staff. The
credit is every thing. < children were half out their wits with joy.
I o all this there was nothing to be said * So l pushed aside their scissors, and said,
in leply, after my repeated requests for de- * “ Do you not see, children, that it is harder
lay had proved vain. Should 1 have let him j to bear a great joy with composure liian a
' go to law, against me as he threatened 1 1 | great evil l 1 have often admired
sent him the money, and paid off the whole
debt. But now my whole property has
y f
melted down to eleven shillings. Heaven
grant that the actor may soon return what J
I loaned him. Otherwise I know not what I
help there is for us.
Now go to, thou man of little faith ; if '
thou knowest not, God knovveth. Why is
thy heart cast down? What evil hast thou j
done ? Poverty is no crime.
Dec. 24.—One may be right happy after |
all, even at the poorest. We have a" thou- j
sand pleasures in Jenny’s new cloak. She j
looks as beautiful in it as a bride. But sin j
wishes to wear it the first time abroad ai :
church on New-Year’s day.
Every thing she reckons up, and show, j
me with how little expense she has go! f
through the day. We are all in the bed j
by seven o’clock, to save oil and coals.— j
That is no great hardship. The girls !
are so much the more industrious in the day, j
and they chat in bed togetbei until midnighf !
cheerfulness when we were in the greatest
want, and knew not where to find food for
the next day. But now the first smile of
fortune puts you beside yourselves. T<>
punish you, I shall not open the letter nor
the packet of money until after dinner.”
Jenny would have it that it was not the
money, but Mr. Fleetman’s honesty and
giatituile that delighted her, and that she
only wanted to know what he wrote and
how he was ; but I adhered to my deter
mination. This little curiosity must learn
to practice patience.
The same day. Ere—Our joy is turned
into sorrow. The letter wilh the money
came not from Mr. Fleetman, but from the
Rev. Dr. Snarl. He gives me notice that
our engagement will terminate at Easter,
and he informs me that until that time 1
may look about for another situation, arid
that he has accordingly not only paid me
up my salniy in advance, that I may bear
, - „ - . any travelling expenses I may be at, but
We nave a beautiful supply of turn ids afttT i 1 r , , .1
,, T .lit “ I also directed the new vicar my successor.
to attend to the caie of the parish.
Thus the talk of the people here in town
vegetables. Jenny thinks we can ge-.
through six or eight weeks, without running
in debt. That were a stroke of manage
ment without parallel. And until then w«,
all hope that Mr. Fleetman will keep his
word like an honest man, and pay us back
the loan. Iff appear to distrust him, U
awakens all Jenny’s zeal. She will allow
no evil of the comedian.
He is our constant topic. The mrls es
pecially make a great deal out of him. His
appearance interrupted the uniformity of
our life. He will supply us with conver
sation for a full half year. Pleasant is Jen
ny’s anger when the mischievous Polly e>fr
claims, “ But he is an actor 1” Then Jen*
riy tells of the celebrated actors in London
who are invited to dine with the princes!
of the royal family; and she is ready to provn
that Fleetman will become one of the first
actors in the world, for he has fine talents,
and a graceful addie«s and well-chosen
phrases. “ Yes indeed !’ said the sly Polly
to-dav veiy wittily, “beautiful phrases ! ho
called thee an angel.” “ And thee too/*
cried Jenny, somewhat vexed. “ But I was
only thrown into the bargain,” rejoined
Polly, “he looked only at thee.”
This chat and childish raillery of my
children awakened my anxiety. Polly i*s
growing up ;—Jenny is eighteen. What
prospect have I of seeing these poor chil
dren provided for ? Jenny is a well-bred,
modest, handsome maiden ; but all C
knows our poverty. We are therefore
little regarded, and it will be difficult to
find a husband for Jenny. An angel vvith-
was not. wholly without foundation, and i
may also be true, what is said, that the
new vicar had received his appointment
thus readily, because lit- has married a near
relative to his reverence, a lady of doubt
ful reputation. So I must lose my office
dreamt of must soon make his appearance,
otherwise 1 shall have to go to jail. I see
now very plainly that the jail is inevitable.
I am very weak, and in vain do I exert
myself to practice my old heroism. Even
strength fails me for fervent prayer. My
distiess is too much for me.
Yes, the jail is unavoidable- I will say
it to myse'f plainly, that I may become ac
customed to the prospect.
The All-merciful have mercy on my
dear children ! I may not—1 cannot tell
them.
Perhaps a speedy death will sav mefrom
the disgiace. I feel as if my very bones
would crumble away ; fever shivering in ev
ery limb,— 1 cannot write for trembling.
Some hours after.—Already 1 feel more
composed. I would have thrown myself
into the arms of God and prayed. But I
was not well. I lay down on my bed. I
believe 1 have slept, perhaps also I faint
ed. Some three hours have passed. My
I daughters have covered my feet with pil-
j lows. I am weak in body, but my heart is
again fresh. Every thing which has hap
pened, which I have heard, flits before me
like a dream.
So the wagoner Brook lias indeed made
away with himself. Alderman Fieldson
lias called and given me the intelligence.—
He had the coroner’s account* tr gether with
the notice of my bond. Brook’s debts are
very heavy. 1 must account to Wit hell, a
woolen-drapei of Trowbridge, for the hun
dred pounds sterling.
Mr. Fieldson had good cause to commis
erate me heartily. Good God ! a hundred
pounds sterling ! How shall l ever obtain
it ? All that 1 and my children have in the
world would riot bring a bundled shillings.
Brook used to be esteemed an upright and
wealthy man. I never thought that he
would come to such an end. The property
of my wife was consumed in her long sick
ness, and 1 had to sacrifice the few acres at
Bradford which she iniKJiited. Now I am
a beggar. Ah! if 1 were only a free beg-
gai ! 1 must go to piison if Mr. Withell
is not merciful. It is impossible for me
even to think of paying him.
Same day—Ere.—1 am ashamed of my
weakness. \\ hat! to faint ! to despair!—
Fy ! And yet believe in a Providence !—
Arid a priest of the Lord ! Fy, Thomas !
1 have recovered my composure, and
done what 1 should. 1 have just enriied to
the post office a letter to Mr. Withell at
Trowbridge, in which I have stated my
utter inability to pay the bond, and confess
ed myself ready to go to jail. If he has
any human feeline, lie will have pity on me ;
if not, he may drag me away, whithersoev
er he will.
So I must lose my office I When 1 came from ihe office, 1 put the
and my bread for the sale of such a poison, co,ii a ” e ct ’ n, - v children to the proof. I
and to be turned into the street with m y | wished to prepare them for the worst. Ah!
pool’ children, because a man can be found ' maidens were more of men than the
to buy my place at the price of his own | man ’ more of Christians than the priest.
nonor.
Jenny and Polly turned deadly pale,
when they found that the letter came not
I from Mr. Fleetman, but from the rector;
and that the money, instead of being the
generous return of the grateful heart, was
i the last wretched gratuity for my long and
i laborious services. Polly threw herself
i sobbing into a chair, and Jenny left the
, loom. My hand trembled as l held the
! letter containing my formal dismissal.—
1 But I went into my little chamber, locked
myself in, and fell upon my knees and
prayed while Polly wepf aloud.
1 rose from my knees refreshed and com
forted, and took my Bible; and the first
words upon which my eyesfell were, 11 Fear
not, for I have redeemed thee, I have call-
tliee by thy name; thou art mine.”
Then all fear vanished out of my heart.
1 looked up, and said, “ Yea, Lord, I am
thine.”
As Polly appeared to have ceased weep
ing, i went hack into the parlor; hut when
I saw her upon her knees praying, with her
out money is not thought half so much of clasped hands resting on a chair, I drew
now-a-days as a devil with a hag full ofi
guineas. Jenny’s only wealth is her gen
tle face. That every body looks kindlv 011.
Even the grocer Jones, when she carried
him his money, gave her a pound of almonds J
and raisins for a present, and told her how '
he was grieved to take my money, and that,
1! I bought of him, he would give me cred
it till Easter. He has never once said so
to me.
When I die, who will take care of mv i
desolate children? Who! the God of I
Heaven
I told them of Brook’s death, of mv debt
and of the possible consequences. They
listened earnestly and in erreat soriow.
“ To prison !” said Jenny silently weep
ing, while she threw her aims around me.
“ Ah, tliou good, p ior fathei, thou hast
done no wrong, and yet hast to bear so
much ! I will go to Trowbiidge; I will
throw myself at Withell’s feet; I will not
rise until lie releases thee !”
“ No,” cried Polly, sobbing, “ do not
think of such a thing. Tradesmen are
tradesmen. They will not for all thy tears
give up a farthing of father’s debt. I will
go to the woolen draper, and hind myself
to live upon bread and water, and be his
slave, until I have paid him with my labor
vvliat father owes.”
In forming such plans, they gradually
grew more composed. But they saw also
the vanity of their hopes. At la>t said Jen
ny, “ Why all these useless plans 1 Let us
wait for Mr. Withell’s answer. If he will
he cruel, let him he so. God is also in the
jail. Father, go to jail. Perhaps thou wilt
be better there than with us in our poverty.
Go, for tliou guest without guilt. There
is no disgrace in it for thee. M e will both
go to service, and our wages will procure
thee every thing needful. 1 will not be
hack anti shut the door very softly, that the
dear soul might not be disturbed.
After some time l heard Jenny come in,
I then returned to my daughters. They
were sitting at the window. 1 saw by Jen- ( ashamed even to beg. To go a begging
ny’s eyes that she had been giving relief to j f°* a father has something honorable and
her anguish in solitude. They both look- I holy in it. \\ e will come and visit thee
ed timidly at me. I believe they feared lest I from time to time. Thou shalt be well ta-
tliey should see despair depicted on my j ken care of. We will fear no more,
countenance. But when they saw that ij “Jenny, thou art right,” said Polly;
wm quite composed, and that I addres-ed , “ whoever fears, does not believe in God.—
T1 . .._ ; them with cheejfulness, they were evident-1 I am not afraid—1 will be cheerful—as
to service any where.** / wfiTnot ^istre^s ' ' y ,e!ie ': ed ' 1 took the Ie "f r an,1 . the j 1 can be. separated from father and thee/'
myself about the future.
Dec, 26.—Two hard days these have
been. I have never had so laborious a 1 lence in them was owing to a tender con- ; f) er oj The year is ended. Thanks
sideration for me—with me it was fear lest j be to Heaven, it has been, with the excep-
I should expose my weakness before my j lion of some st0 rros, a right beautiful and
chil ren. happy year! ltistrue, we often had scarcely
Dec. 28.—It is good to let the first storm ' enough to eat—still we have had enough. My
go by without looking one’s troubles too j poor sttlary has often occasioned me bitter
closely in the face. We have all had a i cares, still our cares have had their pleas-
good night’s sleep. We talk freely now ofiures. And now I scarcely possess the
Dr. Snarl s letter, and of my loss of office, i means of supporting myself and my chil-
as of old affairs. We propose all kinds of! dren a half year longer. But how many have
plans for the future. The bitterest thing not even as much, and know uot where to
is that we must be separated- We can : get another day’s subsistence ! My place,
think of nothing better than that Jenny and have I lost. In my old age I im without
Polly should go to service in respectable office or bread. It is possihi.*- that I shall
families, while I betake myself to my tra-; spend the next year in jnr}, £» -.m ated from
ney, and humming a tune, threw them into i Such conversation cheered my heart.—
my desk. They did not allude to what had j Fleetman was light when he said that I had
happened during the whole day. This si- ' two angels of the Lord at my side.
Christmas. I preached my two sermons
in two days five times in four different
churches. The road was very bad, and
the wind and we ither fearful. Age is be
ginning to make itself felt. I have not the
freshness and activity I once bad. Indeed
cabbage and turnips, scantily buttered,
with only a glass of fresh water, do not af
ford much nourishment.
I have dined both days with farmer
Hurst. The people in the country are
more hospitable by far than here iu the
town, where nobody has thought of in
viting me to dinner these six months. Ah 1
could I have only had my daughters with
me at the table ! Whatprofusion was there!
velstoseek somewhere a place and bread jmy good daughters. Still Jenny is right;
for myself and children
. * God is there also in the jail !