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& JFaroUg ilrtosim#cv : Zlrfeotclr to Elterature, tfie &rte, Science, Sericulture, JUecftuniCKS, lalmcntion, iForeisn aulr ©omeotic KtitclUsence, Rumour, sct.
BY C. R. fIANLEITER,
IP © E T R Ya
“ Much yet remains unsung .”
From die New Orleans Picayune.
INFANCY.
The sleeping babe ! O, there divinity
Is living pure within the human breast)
’ Tis innocence ! and 0 ! in it we sen
Promise and semblance of our future rest.
‘The smiling babe ! upon its mother’s knee,
With fairy mirth just raying from its eye,
‘Emblem of bright intelligence to be,
When years of infancy are all gone by.
’The balmy breathing whispers of above,
HVarm from the sky with fragrancy of love;
-And better has the heart of manhood grown,
‘When tiny infant fingers clasp’d his own.
‘O, then goes up, the mother’s heart to heaven,
For joy, delicious joy, to woman given.
© 030@Q M/&L T^\L[E o
For the “Southern Miscellany.”
THE MYSTERIOUS LOVER.
The beautiful Caroline at twenty
years of age had been a widow for more
than a year; and to say the truth she re
tained but a feeble remnant of regret for her
departed lord. Yet we must do her the jus
tice to observe that the gentleman well de
served this indifference. It was fortune
alone that had induced him to seek herhar.d,
and during the short pet iod of their union
he had managed to lose a great part of hers,
and the whole of his own, in one of the
ruinous hanking operations of the period.
But this circumstance was not generally
known, and Caroline passed with most per
sons for a rich young widow—though in
reality she possessed nothing more than a
modest competence; quite sufficient, how
ever, to satisfy her desires, if shared with
one she loved, she being at that age when
dreams of love in a cottage are in fullest
force.
Educated in the country by her father,
whose pride and pet she was, and allowed
the free range of a library richly furnished
with works of imagination, she had early
stored her mind with romantic ideas and on
ly seen the world through their golden per
spective. When therefore she discovered
that in place of a gallant and devoted lover,
she had gained a husband whose whole soul
was devoted to the acquisition of wealth,
and who regarded her as an useless cipher,
what wonder that the delicacy of her senti
ments was wounded, and that she but half
regretted a man so little worthy of her?
Caroline was of an enthusiastic tempera
ment —no one ever yielded more readily to
the caprices of imagination ; indeed she be
longed to that class of impressible ladies
\vhom novel reading has prepared for any
sort of adventure.
She had more than once remarked a fash
ionable young man in the public walks, who
looked at hes with much apparent interest.
He had one of those wasp-like forms which
distinguish the city dandy, the affected gait,
deep fringe of beard around the face, and
in fact all those peculiarities which to an
eye, experienced in these matters, points out
what is usually denominated, a lion, though
in habits and appearance the animal more
closely approaches the monkey tribe.
At length accident, or what appeared as
such, procurer! him an introduction, and his
elegancies and accomplishments were not
wasted on Caroline, whose heart was soon
touched with them. He played the guitar
with truly Spanish grace, and a few nights
passed under her windows, completed the
conquest. From that pet iod his attentions
became unceasing, for as Caroline had the
reputation of being rich, and his own affairs
were not in the most flourishing state, he
had resolved to re-establish them by the due
expedient of matrimony. Before utterly
committing himself, however, he managed
to obtain from a mutual friend an exact
statement of her finances, and although no
lover was ever more disinterested, and her
•grace and beauty were all in all to him, still,
the information thus gained proved so un
satisfactorily that he suddenly departed for
London to witness the coronation of Vic
toria, and avoid importunate creditors in his
own land.
Deeply insensed at this conduct, Caroline
had a violent attack of misanthropy, and
yielding more than ever to her love of soli
tude, she set off - with only one attendant for
a little country seat on the sea coast, where
in her childhood she had passed many hap
py days with her father.
At first she applauded her resolution. A
sea view rarely loses its charm, and spring,
calling forth flowers and awaking the songof
birds, for a while seemed a delicious novelty
when contrasted with the artificial life of cit
ies. But after passing a month in the full
enjoyment of this rusticity, a deep melan
choly seized her—she fell ill—long walks
fatigued her perfume of flowers be
came insupportable, ah’d the singing of birds
raade her head ache. In i2<* she was pro
digiously weary of the whole’ concern, and
wondered at her former contentment.
One evening as returning from a lonfdy
and melancholy stroll, she passed through a
thick grove near her house ; she thought
ahe perceived the figure of a young man
through the trees. An elegant frock coat,
at least, she distinguished—closely buttoned
around a form much resembling that of
Frederic; but the increasing gloom pre
vented her from recognizing the features of
the gentleman who bowed toherfiom a dis
tance with all the graceful ease of a young
man of ton.
“ Can it be Frederic ?” thought Caroline,
“is it possible that he has changed his pur
pose, and come to seek me 9”
She curtsied, and paused a moment, but
the polite individual did not advance.
“ 1 cannot make the first advances,” said
she, slowly resuming her walk.
She held a book in her hand, which she
affected to be reading, although the twilight
was not at all favorable for such exercise of
the eyes, and from time to time ‘she threw
uneasy glances behind her. The figure
still followed at a considerable distance,
seeming in some measure to regulate his
pace by hers. She became alarmed. It
might be a crazy man—there was really
something strange in his conduct! She has
tened her steps, but on reaching her own
door took courage to give one more look,
and at that moment her singular admirer
sunk on his knees beneath the last tree in
the avenue, against which he leaned with
one hand, while he pressed the other on his
heart.
“ I can doubt no longer,” cried Caroline,
“it is Frederic, returned to his first affec
tion, and fearing, yet wishing, to see me
again.”
Though this adventure certainly did not
displease her—she gave her woman orders
not to admit Mr. Frederic if he came, but
to give the refusal very gently, making him
understand that although a solitary lady
could not receive evening visits from a young
man, she would not refuse to see him the
next day.
She then repaired to her chamber—ar
ranged her dress with care, and notwith
standing these directions, waited a short
time with excessive impatience ; then went
down stairs, and to pass away the time be
gan to scold her domestic, till the poor girl
exclaimed in tears,
“ It is no fault of mine that Mr. Frederic
has not called.”
“You are very impertinent, and I will
send you away,” replied Caroline.
However the hours passed on, and no
visiter approached the house; till, at length,
wearied with expectation, she reluctantly
retired to rest. But it was not till after
midnight, and she was outrageous.
That night Caroline did not sleep.
“ I was a fool to expect him,” thought
she, “ he is too well bred to make so late a
visit in the country. He will be here to
mo'trow.”
The next day she arose much earlier than
usual, and once more scolded her servant
for indolence. Soon afterwards the girl
went to a neighboring farm-house to pro
cure cream for her mistress’ breakfast, where
she heard that a young man bad been ob
served all night roaming around their house,
and that he had passed a part of the time
under, or, as some affirmed, in a tree which
overshadowed Caroline’s apartment. Os
course the faithful servant related all this
to her mistress.
“ What imprudence !” she mentally ex
claimed, “ he might as well have passed the
night in the house. It was very wrong ;”
then softened by this proof of affection, she
added, “ and so delicate as he is, too—what
a folly to risk his health thus!”
As early as she could walk out without
exciting remark, Caroline took the path to
the grove, glancing cautiously around in
every direction without discovering any
trace of her lover, till, on approaching the
tree beneath which he had kneeled on the
previous evening, she perceived a glove fas
tened into a deft of the bark. This acci
dental cavity naturally suggested the idea
of a receptacle for letters, and the thought
instantly occurred to her that Frederic wish
ing to be assured of pardon before he ven
tured to appear in her presence, had thus
ingeniously pointed her out the method of
conveying it to him. This attempt at the
pastoral was exactly to her taste, and she
instantly returned home to prepare a mis
sive which was much more severe in appea
rance than in reality. It is true, she ordered
him to return instantly to town, but so gent
ly was the command expressed, that no one
could be deceived as to her intentions.
Above all she warned him against repeat
ing the extravagancies of the preceding
night, as conduct which would offend her
forever, and render all attempts of recon
ciliation ineffectual.
No sooner had she concluded this epistle,
which contained—God knows how !—four
pages of close writing, than she hastened
to deposit it in the hollow tree, and then
fled trembling away as if conscious of a
culpable action—so much had the mystery
affected her nerves. Os course she did not
fail to take her post of observation at her
chamber window, from which she soon saw
a figure gliding stealthily towards the spot,
through the surrounding coppice. He ap
peared somewhat smaller than Frederic, but
the distance probably deceived her. While
she turned to say a word to her servant who
unfortunately entered at that moment to re
ceive orders, the billet was seized and the
ravisher sprung back into the thicket; she
had scarcely time to see him, he was as
quick .as lightning. How agile !
The day advanced, but Froderic did not
appear. Caroline began to think him al
most too diffident.
“ This is the way with young men,” she
murmured, “ they are always too bold or too
shy, yet I can neither offer him my hand, op
force him to visit me.”
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 6, 1842.
In the course of the day she made a se
cond visit to the tree, to convince herself
that the letter was really gone, and half ho*
ping to find another in its place ; but in this
she was disappointed, and returning home
in bad humor, she pronounced her supper
execrable, extolled her deceased husband for
two long hours to her astonished servant,
and concluded by declaring as she retired
to herapartment, that the best of men were
of no account.
Why is she still a watcher 9 why does she
steal on tiptoe to assure herself that her ser
vant sleeps 9 Answer me, ye who under
stand the heart of woman !
Caroline having ascertained that no car
would listen, approached the casement —she
imagined that the faint tones of a guitar had
reached her ear, and opening the window
with caution, she distinguished, at the foot
of the tree, a human figure holding an in
strument. Shall we say it? The romantic
girl forgave the nocturnal hero for conceal
ing himself through the day, and prefering,
notwithstanding her prohibition, this senti
mental and musical interview.
“ He has poetry in his soul f” said she.
Advancing her head, at first only a little,
like a mouse apprehensive -of falling into
the gripe of a cat, she finally ventured even
to lean over the edge of the balcony ; when
her mysterious lover, instantly starting up,
threw himself on one knee as he had done
the evening befote, and as it is the establish
ed rule for a lover to do, in pantomine,
A feeble ray of moon-light which for a
moment illumined the elegant costume of
this devoted servant of her charms, dispell
ed every lingering doubt. She distinctly
recognised Frederic by his slendenond grace
ful figure, but more particularly by the little
circles of hair which encompassed his face,
and entering fully into the spirit of the scene,
resolved to make it a subject of much future
mirth.
She was the first to speak.
“Fie! Frederic, pray finish this buffoon
ery,” said she ; “do you forget who I am ?
or do you consider me a lady likely to be
pleased with these adventures ? Remember
that by such conduct you are exposing me
to tiie odious remarks of my country neigh
bors, who observe such things as much as
any one else, and will soon send the report
to town. If you really esteem me, and wish
me to become your wife, you must change
your manners. I do not deny that I am
touched by your repentance; but that is the
only concession which I can, which I ought
to make under present circumstances. If
you were a little older and wiser you would
be inexcusable. Cease then, I entreat you,
this masquerading—it is not in good taste,
sir ; believe me, it is not. Do you suppose
that I am going to stand here all night, like
the lady of the castle, discoursing with hei
troubadour from the top of a balcony ? I
wish you good night, sir, and strongly advise
you to retire speedily. Your palfrey prob
ably awaits you in yonder grove. Adieu,
minstrel! seek him, and depart—we may
perhaps meet aga ; n in the city.”
At the instant when she concluded this
address, and stepped back as if to retire, her
mute adorer sprung with astonishing agility
into the tree, from there upon the balcony,
and a third bound brought him into hercham
ber. Caroline gave but one glance at the
intruder, felt his hairy cheek pressed to her
own—gave a piercing shriek, and fainted.
The servant, although sound asleep, heard
her mistress’ scream and hastened to her.
She was soon restored to consciousness, but
appeared so suffocated with feverish agita
tion that she could scaicely speak. To the
eager inquiries as to her cause of alarm,
she only replied that a vision had terrified
her—she thought she saw the ghost of her
husband. The servant said nothing, per
ceiving that her mistress would give no farth
er explanation. She knew not what to
think, but her suspicions turned rather on
the living than the dead.
The next day at breakfast, in hopes of
driving the cloud from her mistress’ brow,
she related to her an event which then oc
cupied the attention of every one around
them. A few days before the leader of a
band of trained monkeys had landed his
company in their neighborhood, and soon
aftei lost his best performer; the one who
was called the guitarist, or lover. This in
teresting animal, a very large monkey, had
escaped in full costume just after a perfor
mance, and being pursued into the country
where this LoCt-luce of anew species had
amused himself by frightening the country
girls—he had been that morning recaptured
iu the grove back of their house.
The delighted girl declared that he look
ed as well as any other dandy, and that even
Mr. Frederic might have envied his man
ners. She hr nghed i 1 11 liioderstely while re
lating the story, which however failed of
drawing a smilefrom Caroline who petulent
ly commanded silence, and ordered her to
make ready for their return to town —which
she promptly obeyed, being quite as weary
of the country as her mistress.
A few months after the incidents above
related, the same unlucky animal again mnde
his escape, and was shot by a jealous hus
band while scaling a garden wall.
This history furnishes a striking lesson to
monkeys in geucrol, and romantic ladies in
particular.
Macon, Georgia,
“ Deeply read,” as the schoolmaster said
to his nose, after a night’s debauch.
© IE IL £ © J E © □
General Houston's remarkable prophecy . —
The following from the St. Louis Reporter
has a kind of wild romance about it which
may tell in these days of excitement.
One evening during the winter of 1834,
ns Booth, the celebrated tragedian, was walk
ing up Pennsylvania Avenue, in the city of
Washington, he accrosted an old friend from
the West whom ho had not seen for many
years. After mutual expressions of surprise
and salutation, these two singular men walk
ed arm-in-arm to Brown’s hotel, where both
had taken lodgings. In the whole country,
perhaps there could not be found two others
more passionately fond of excitement, more
remarkable in their habits, or more noted
for their eccentricities. Retiring io a pri
vate room, they sat down to recount the
story of their past lives, and as they indus
triously circulated the bottle, many a loud
shout echoed through that hall, and started
the watchmen in the street as they went
their silent rounds. As the night wore on,
their excitement increased, until at the close
of a thrilling story relating to his strange
career, his companion exclaimed—
“ Now, Booth, let’s have a speech to lil>-
erty —one of those apostrophies to Old Ro
man freedom with which you startle audien
ces!”
Had Booth been inclined to refuse, he
knew that his friend, when the mood was
on him, would not be denied any request,
however absurd or difficult the performance.
But the tragedian had himself entered into
the spirit of his companion, and nothing
loath, he rehearsed with magic power many
of those electric passages in defence of lib
erty with which the English drama abounds.
His friend, whose memory as well ashabits,
partook of the Indian character, caught up
by the words, and with equal force, clear
ness and accuracy, went through each speech
inregularsuccession. Thus they proceeded
for a time, and then again sat down on the
floor of that chamber to renew their pota
tions and their personal adventures. Booth
drank and listened, whilst the other told of
his own elevation in his native State, of his
disgust at civic honors, of his home in the
distant forest, of the uncontrolled freedom
of the red men, of their stoic fortitude and
matchless heroism. Warmed by the recol
lection of hose thrilling scenes, he sprang
at last, to lus feet, and in the tone of one
amid the bittle’s din, fighting against featful
odds, he exclaimed,
“ Now, Booth, once more for liberty!”
The tragedian dared not disobey. He
ran through with all his usual energy the tale
of Mexican thraldom, of the Spanish con
quest of that land, the dangers incurred by
the invading army, their commander’s ex
hortation before the battle, and the stubborn
bravery of the native chief.
Before him stood at that lone hour, listen
ing with an intensity of thought and feeling
which shone through his eyes, lightened
o’er his face, strained every muscle and
started the sweat in great drops from his
lofty brow, one who bad all the spirit of a
Cortes and ambition of a Pizzarro. Quick
os thought, he took up the task and repeated
the words just uttered by Booth, with the
most critical precision of tone and manner.
The scene was one of no small moment, it
may he, to a nation’s history. As he be
came excited in the recitation, his spirit
seemed to take fire; and with an air so de
termined, 60 frightful, that it seemed the
voice of one inspired, he exclaimed at the
close of a masterly extemporaneous rhapso
dy, “Yes! lam made to revel yet in the
Halls of the Montezumas!”
Reader, Booth’s companion on that night
is now President of Texas—the hero of San
Jacinto. And who can say that the words
uttered by him in that hour of excitement
are destined never to be fulfilled ? Samuel
Houston, if ever “ coming events cast their
shadows before,” will yet revel in the Halls
of the Montezumas.
The above is a description of a scene
which actually occurred, and which recent
events have called up with great distinct
ness. History has shown many instances
of declarations, like that of Houston’s which
subsequent events have induced men to re
gard as prophetic. We have ever looked
upon strong and passionate words, as indi
cative of a spirit possessed of the requisite
determination and energy of character to
work out the wonderous changes predicted.
Such is the character of Houston—and such
may be the consummation of his singular
career.
llow to choose a Husband. —Girls, when
you see a-young man who would “take a
wife for the value of herself, for the beauty
of her mind, purity of her heart, and not
for the dazzle of wealth ; that man will
make a good husband, for his affection will
never lessen, and years will but serve to
strengthen his attachment, and open new
fountains in the heart, which shall murmur
sweetly on the ocean of happiness. When
you see t young man who is tender and af
fectionate, and endowed with happy intel
lect, no matter what his circumstances in
life are, he is really worth winning; take
him who can, girls, far be will make a good
husband,
I wonder this child don’t go to sleep, said
an anxious mother to a female friend. Well,
I don’t, replied the lady, its face is so dirty,
jt ctmnot shut its eyes.
From the Spanish.
GIVING AND TAKING.
Since for kissing you, my mother
E'-.mcs and scolda me all the day,
Let me have it quickly—quickly
Give me back my kiss, I pray.
Do—she keeps so great a tumult,
Chides so sharply—looks so grave—
Do my love, to please my mother,
Give me back the kiss I gave.
. Out upon you—out upon you—
One you give but two you take;
Give me hack tho two my darling l ,
Give them for my nv'tlier’s sake.
Kentucky Orators — John Rowan. —The
Editor of tho Louisville Sun, referring to
the very interesting trial in which old John
Rowan took his leave of the bar, gives the
following eloquent detail of the impression
produced on his mind:
It was the case of Duparcque vs. Rice—
a case in which the Catholics and Presbyte
rians were much concerned—the former be
ing a priest of the Catholic, and Rice a min
ister of the Presbyterian church. The ablest
counsel were engaged on both sides, and
Rowan, and Ben Hardin, end Cliapcze, for
the prosecution, were arrayed against Crit
tenden, Charles A. Wickliffe, the present
Post Master General of the United States,
and others, for the defence. This was the
first legal trial we had ever witnessed, and
we shall never forget it. There was the
polished, the graceful delivery of Critten
den—the energetic and forcible reasoning
of Wickliffe—the rich, and learned, and el
oquent argument of Rowan—the sunlit il
lustrations of Hardin. In that single case,
were collected the flower of the Kentucky
bar. John Rowan, who had retired, was
prevailed upon to engage in this as his last
case. Omitting all other incidents, we shall
only notice his speech. Every foot of ground,
every point of evidence, was disputed and
argued by him, the Anrhises, who seemed
to imbibe new spirit and life from the ex
citement around him. Old age, however,
was unable to bear up under the tedium of
a long trial, and when he rose, we thought
there was something in liis manner which
told of conscious declining strength. He
spoke for nearly three hours for the prose
cution; he spoke lucidly, eloquently, ably;
but that feeling he could not shake off. If
judge and jury were not convinced, they at
least were made to doubt. He wiped the
perspiration from his brow—the memories
of forty years seemed to be flitting through
his mind. He recurred to his early history
—bis early associates—to Daiviess, to Allen
—all were gone—he left, almost alone, upon
the theatre where they bad met in mental
combat—where he had won all his laurels.
A sense of desolation almost oppressed and
choked bis utterance. He turned to the au
dience, many of whom remembered him in
his palmydays, when courts and juries hung
entraced upon the eloquence of his tongue,
and in a tone whose melancholy notes we
shall never forget, concluded with those
beautiful lines of the poet: —
—‘l am not what I have been—and my visions flit
Leas palpably before me—and the glow
That in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering faint and low.
A mist seemed to gather before the eyes
of the old Orator. Like the Gladiator of
Byron, the arena swam around him. He
sank into his seat, his grey head hanging
upon his breast. Judge, jury, audience were
in tears. It was then we first feltthe power
of eloquence.
Wonderful Feat of a Dog. —The follow
ing feat of a dog was yesterday communi
cated to us by one who was an eye witness
to it: A setter dog belonging to one of the
workmen engaged in plastering the ceiling
of the portico to the Treasury building, es
sayed to mount the scaffold by the ladder,
which was nearly perpendicular, in pursuit
of his master. He gradually ascended be
tween forty and fifty rounds, and was within
eight or ten feet of reaching his destined
spot. By this time he evidently became
much fatigued, and held on with great dif
ficulty. The officers in the building, and
numerous passers-by in the street, looked
on with deep interest, expecting every mo
ment that the poor dog would tumble from
his lofty height and be dashed to pieces. To
return by the way he had ascended, was im
possible. As if sensible of his dangerous
situation, lie seemingly gathered up all bis
remaining strength fora last desperate effort
to save himself, and to the astonishment of
the lookers-on, leaped through the rounds of
the ladder towards a window in the second
story of the building, which was at a dis
tance of about twelve feet from him. The
dog, being somewhat above the window,
jumped at a slightly descending angle, which
enabled him to catch with his fore feet the
sill, when a gentleman, who was standing
at the window watching his movements,
seized him by the neck and rescued him
from his impending fate.— Nat. Intel.
Temperance.— “ Mr. Snub you say you are
a temperance man, yet you chaws terbar
ker.”
“Hem! yes num, but num, I duzn’t
squeeze my gizzard out with stays, nor si ick
my back up with bags of meal—Mrs, Slob,
1 dont.”
Why, said a cockney to his friend, has
Dickens written better than Shakspeare-or
Milton? Give it up? Because, although
both wrote well, Boz has written Weller.
VOLUME I. NUMBER 19.
Beauty. —Beauty is a captivating, but fa
ding flower, which often leads its youthful
possessor into many dangers, many distress
es. Happy is it for those who are distin
guished for their outward charms, that they
are sheltered under the parental roof. Hap
py for them that the watchful eye regards
them with rigid circumspection. Few in
the early periods of life are insensible to
flattery, or deaf to the voice of adoration.
Beware of the flatterer; be not deceived by
fair speeches. Be assured the man who
wishes to render you vain of your outward
charms, has a mean opinion of your sense
and mental qualifications. Remember, too,
that a young girl, whose chief study and em
ployment is in the decoration of her person,
is a most contemptible character, and that
the more you are distinguished for the
charms of your face and the graces of your
form, the more you are exposed to danger.
The rose is torn from its parent stem in the
pride of beauty; the jessamine is scarcely
permitted to blossom before it is plucked;
and no sooner arc the beauties faced, thau
the merciless hand which was eager to obtain
them, throws them away with contempt;
whilst the primrose, the violet, the lily of
the valley, and the snow-drop, less exposed
to observation, escape unhurt and uninjured
hy the spoiler’s hahd.
Learn, fair daughters of beauty, from the
primrose, that your best security can be
found in retirement. If you wish to be ad
mired, be seldom seen; and if you are de
sirous of having a sincere lover in your train,
let virtue, modesty, sweetness, be the only
lures you make use of to ensnare.
You may then, perhaps, by your good
qualities, retain the heart, which was at first
captive to your beauties, and when timo has
robbed you of the graces and the innocent
cheerfulness of youth, secure a sincere and
tender friend, to console you in the hours of
affliction, and watch over you when depriv
ed of those charms that first made him soli
citous to obtain your love.
Repine not,’ my young readers, though
your virtues be concealed in a homely form.
If you have secured the virtues of the mind,
you need not envy others the beauties of
the face. And ye who are decorated
with outward grace, be not vain of such
fading externals, but tremble lest they
should tempt the designing to lead you into
error.
Neglect not, then, in the giddy hours of
youth to make your mind a fit companion sos
the most lovely. Personal charms may
please for a moment; but the more lasting
beauties of an improved understanding can
nevei tire. We are soon weary of looking
at a picture, though executed in a masterly
style; and she who has only beauty to re
commend her, has but little chance of meet
ing a lover who will not grow indifferent to
a mere portrait, particularly when its colors
ore faded by the subduing hand of time.
Then it is that modesty and sweetness of
temper particularly observed; and the loss
of beauty will not be regretted by him it first
made captive.
A sldm-miiJced Cheese. —Up at tire west
end of the city, there is a good-natured, fun
making negro, named Barsis, who hovers
around tho grocery stores in that neighbor
hood rather more than is desirable. Like
many other gentlemen of color, he prides
himself upon the thickness of his skull, and
he is always up for a bet upon bis butting
powers, and well he may be, for his head is
hard enough -for a battering ram. The
other day he made a bet in a store that he
could butt in the head of a flour barrel, and
be succeeded. He then took up a bet to
drive it through a very large cheese, which
was to be covered with a crash cloth to keep
his wool clear of cheese crumbs. The
cheese thus enveloped, was placed in a pro
per position, and Parsis, starting off like a
locomotive, buried his head up to his cars in
the inviting target. Parsis now began to
feel himself irresistible, and talked up “pur
ty considerable.”
A plan, however, was soon contrived to
take the conceit out of him. There being
some grindstones in the store for sale, one
of them was privately taken up, and wrap
ped up in the same manner as the cheese
had been, and looked precisely as if it were
a second cheese, and Parsis readily took an
other let for a ninepenco, that he would butt
his head through it as easy as he sent it
through the first. The interest of the spec
tators in the operation became intense.—
Every thing was carefully adjusted, and
upon the word being given, Parsis darted
of! like an arrow at the ambushed grind*
stone: he struck it fair in the centre, and
the next instant lay sprawling in the middle
of the floor upon which he recoiled. For
some minutes he laid speechless, and then
raised himself slowly upon his knees, and
scratching bis head, said, with a squirming
face—“Very hard cheese, dat, massa. Dey
skim de milk too much altogedder before
(ley make him; dat ! safac.” $
Suhlitr.e Extract. —“lt is a terrible thought,
at an hour like this, to remember nothing
can be forgotten. 1 have somewhere read
that not an oath is uttered that does not con
tinue to vibrate through all time, in the wide
spreading currents of sound } not a prayer
lisped, that its record is not able to be found
stamped on the laws of nature by the in
delible seal of the Almighty’s will.”— Coop
t r's “ Two Adm rah