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VOLUME I. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
fp ©l l UY □
“ Much yet remains unsung.”
PHILOSOPHY FOR THE TIMES.
Let those who will repine at fate,
And droop their heads with sorrow;
I laugh when cares upon me wait—
-1 know they'll leave to morrow:
Jly purse is light, but what of that ?
My heart is light ip match it;
And if I tear my only coat,
X laugh the while I patch it.
I’ve seen some elves who called tltemselves
My friends in summer weather,
Blown far away, in sorrow’s day,
As winds would blow a feather.
I never grieved to see them go,
(The rascals, who would heed ’em ?)
For what’s the use of having friends,
If false when most you need ’em?
I've seen some rich in worldly gear,
Eternally repining,
Their hearts a prey to every fear—
With gladness never shining,
I would not change my lightsome heart
For all their gold and sorrow ;
For that’s a thing that all their wealth
Can neither buy nor borrow.
And still as sorrows come to me,
(As sorrows sometimes-will come,)
I find the Way to make,them flee.
Is bidding them right w elcome-
They cannot brook a cheerful look,
THiey.’re used to sobs and sighing;
And he that meets them with a smile,
Is sure to set them flying.
M Os T.
- ■ r- ‘
From the Magnolia.
REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENTS.
THE HITE FAMILY.
Among the earliest white settlers in the
District of Greenville, was Mr. Hite,a gen
tleman of great respectability, ami of one
of the first families in Virginia. He moved
to South Carolina several years previous to
the commencement <>f the American Revo
lution, and settled with his family on the
Ennoree River. The whole country at that
time was in possess! >n of the Cherokee In
dians. They were a powerful, numerous
and warlike tribe, but friendly, and well
disposed to their neighltors, the whites, who
were moving in amongst them. Several
purchases of lamls.has been made for them,
and giants obtained for the same from the
crown of Great Britain. A grant of this
character, for ten miles square, had been
procuied by Paris, and which included
within its boundaries, the beautiful site on
which the village of Greenville now stands.
Paris was an Englishman, and a man of
fortune, who took up his abode among the
Indians, and acquired great influence over
them. He brought with him his family,
which consisted, wiih others, of two inte
resting and lovely daughters. The Indians,
seeing that encroachments were making on
their hunting grounds, retired towards the
mountains, where they could live unmolest
ed, and in the full enjoyment of their own
peculiar mode of existence. Their visits,
however, to the white settlements, were fre
quent, for the purpose of trading and re
ceiving presents.
The object of Mr. Hite was to cultivate a
friendly intercourse with the Indians, and
in this he succeeded, uutil the breaking out
of our revolutionary struggle. When that
event happened, the Cherokees were induc
ed, by the presents and agents of England,
to take sides with the King against the coun
try. To this course, too, they were no
doubt naturally inclined; from their instinc
tive love of war, and their jealousy at the
continued encroachments of the whites.
The feelings and principles of Mr. Hite
led him to espouse the cause of his country,
and learning that the Indians were about to
take up arms, he thought that they might
perhaps be induced to remain neutral; aud
in order to try what influence he could have
within them, his son was despatched to their
towns with presents and messages. This
son was a young man of education, and had
for several years been reading law with a
view to admission at the Charleston Bar.
Ho had been a good deal at his father’s, and
of course knew something of the Indian
character, and was also personally acquaint
ed with many of their chiefs. Whilst with
his father on Eronnce, lie had formed, an ac
quaintance with the family of Paris, and
was engaged to one of his daughters, who
had been educated and brought up in what
was then termed the mother country. Jacob
0 Bannon Hite (for this, we believe, was his
name,) set out alone for the Cherokee towns,
not apprehending the least danger front the
Indians, and being coufideut of his power
to influence them to remain quiet and peace
nhle in the coming struggle between Grout
Britain and the Colonies. He had not pro
ceeded far, however, in his journey into the
nation, before he met, unexpectedly ami
without the least intimation, some hundreds
°f their warriors already on their march
against the white settlements. The die had
been cast, and the chiefs had already deter
mined in council to take tip the tomahawks
and Uig we li known, that when their deter
mination is once made, nothing can alter or
change it. What passed between young
Hite and the warriors when they met, is
unknown. His body was afterwards found,
scalped and inhumanly mangled. The place
& jfaroUa IlctoopaKT ♦ Scfooteir to 2Ut?rturc, culture, JHccftjnucff, Sfcucattcw, iFovrfsu domestic KiitrUlfirwcf, &c.
where this unfortunate circumstance occur
red, was pointed out some years to
the writer, by a friend whose father assisted
in the burial of young Hite. It was on the
waters of Estotoe, in Pickens District, ‘at n
narrow pass way between two mountains.
The spot is a gloomy, dismal one, and seem
ed a fit place for such a melancholy tragedy.
The Indians proceeded on their march
to the residence Os Paris, now the village
of Greenville, and made known to him their
determination aud were encouraged in the
same. They also told of the death of young
Hite, and were much provoked at the dis
tress of Paris’ daughter, to whom lie was
engaged. /This young lady, finding out that
the Indians intended visiting Hite’s father
on Ennoree; with a spirit and resolution
worthy a heroine of romance, resolved to
save, if possible, the family of her unfor
tunate and plighted lover. She secretly
left the house, unknown to tier father, anil |
traveled on foot several miles through a
wilderness, liable to be overtaken and killed
by the Indians. But although she accom
plished her journey in time to give the ne
cessary warning, yet she was heeded not
until it was too late. The Indians, after
loitering some time at Paris’, went to Hite’s,
and there killed him and two or three of his
sons. They took Mrs. Illle ami an infant
at her breast, and started.them under an es
cort to their towns. Before they had gohe
far, they took the infant, in the presence of
. its mother, and dashed its hrainsout against
some rocks on the banks of the Saluda'! Mrs.
Hite was rescued, after being detained
some time among; the Indians.
This was the commencement of those
dreadful massacies which followed, arid
which almost desolated tho upper country.
The only mode of warfare, ns is well known,
among the savages, is an indiscriminate mur
der, without regard to age or sex. For
yeais after this bloody scgiic, the inhabitants
of the frontiers of Carolina liad lketaUy to
live with arms in tlx-if hands. Not a night
passed without its dangers and appiehen- !
sions. And it may truly he said, that no !
portion of the United States experienced j
greater sufferings and privations during the
Revolution, than the upper part of South
Carolina. In other parts of the country,
there were intervals of peace find prosperi
ty ; hut in Spartanburg!), Laurens and Ab
beville, there was properly no safety or ces
sation of lwistilities, from the beginning to
the close of the war. The whig families of
those Districts, were alternately the prey of
the Indians, the tories, and the British army.
Those of the Hite family who escaped the
massacre, returned to Virginia, and some of
them are yet living in that State. South
Carolina made them a grant of lands, in con
sequence of their losses and sacrifices.
THE BATTLE OF CEDAR SPRINGS.
The battle of “ Cedar Springs,” in Spnr
tanburgh District, altliougli one of consider
able importance, both as it regards the num
ber of persons engaged, and the conse
quences which ensued, is not mentioned in
any history of the American Revolution, or
of the revolutionary war in South Carolina.
The following account of this battle, and
the interesting incidents connected with it,
are from the lips of a highly respectable and
intelligent son of Colonel White, who com
manded a battalion inthe battle of the Cow
pens, and bore a conspicuous part through
out tlie Revolutionary war in the “ uppor
country.”
Colonel Clark, of Georgia, well known
in the American Revolution as a hold, ac
tive, and useful officer, was on his march in
to North Carolina, with a regiment of re
fugee whigs, for the purpose of joining the
American army then expected from the
North. The news of his march reached the
ears of Colonel Ferguson, who immediate
ly despatched Major Dunlap, of the British
army, with a detachment of troops, consist
ing principally of tories, for the purpose of
intercepting Colonel Clark and his regiment
of militia. The Colonel not expecting an
attack from the enemy, had encamped for
the night, two or three miles from the “ Ce
dar Springs,” when he was alarmed by the
firing of a gun by one of Major Dunlap’s
soldiers. It is said that this soldier, whose
name is not at present remembered, was a
tory, who felt some compunctious vfoijings
at the idea of surprising and capturing his
countrymen, and took this opportunity of
giving them information of an approaching
enemy. He pretended, however, that his
gun went off accidentally, and he was not
suspected of treachery. Colonel Clark im
mediately decamped, and marched to the
Cedar Springs, where lie passed the night
nndisturbed. Major Dunlap, not thinking
it prudent to pursue the Americans in the
night, took possession of Colonel Clark’s
encampment, and waited for day. .Tosiah
Culverson, noted in Spartanbtirgh District
for his daring and desperate ‘courage, had
left the American camp that evening, for the
purpose of returning home, two or three
miles distant, in order to s|>eud the night.
He came back, about daylight, expecting,
of course, to find Colonel Clark and his
regiment. But as he redo into the camp,
he observed that the army seemed to present
a different appearance from, what it did the
evening before. Hq, nevei theless, rode on
to whgro he expected to see Colonel Clark,
before he became convinced that he was iu
the midst of the enemy’s camp. With ex
traordinary coolness and presence of mind,
he then leisurely turned, and rode very slow-
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 20, t 8&
ly out of the encampment, with His trusty
rifle lying on-the'puminel of-his saddle. As
he passed along,'he saw the dragoons catch
ing their horses, and other preparations mak
ing to strike up the line of march. When
out of sight of the British, he put spurs to
his horse, and went in the direction he-sup
posed Cojonel Clark hail gone. Whilst in
the enemy’s camp, he had doubtless been
taken for a tofy, w.l*° was a bide ahead of
the others in his preparation for marchings
He overtook Colonel Clark, aud found him
in readiness for the attack of Major Dunlap.
In*a short time, too, that officer made his
appearance, and a warm engagement en
sued. The British and tories were repulsed
with considerable loss. .The Americans
sustained very little injury. Major Dunlap
hastily fled the counfry, and by this means
the citizens vyere rid of a most dangerous
stud troublesome enemy. Colonel Clark
pursued his march into North Carolina.
During this engagement, Culverson was met
by a dragoon some distance from the main
battle,'who imperiously demanded bis sur
render, which Culverson replied to with his
rifle, and felled the dragoon from his horse.
The next day when the dead were buried",
this dragoon was thrown into a hole near
where he lay, and covered with the earth.
He Rad in bis pocket some peaches, Iron)
which a peach-tree sprung, and was known
for years afterwards to bear fruit. His grave
is yet tv> be. seen, lnit the peach-tree has
long since disappeared. The graves of
some twenty or thirty others whf> fell in this
engagement, are abo to he sc,en at this time,
GENE CAL WILLIAM prTLER.
The life, character and revolutionary ser
vices of Mqjor General William Butler, are
well known in the upper part of South Ca
rolina, although his name.does-not appear in
any history of the American Revolution.
He. entered the service of his country when
a very young man, and continued actively
and ardently engaged throughout the whole
‘of’beT struggle foi'iindependence. There’
was hd one who espoused the side of liber
ty and his country with more, zeal and devo
tion. Endowed by nature with ah ardent
and imtietuons temperament, high and hon
orable feelings, and a bold and fearless spirit,
it was impossible for him to remain inactive,
or look with indifference on the scenes
throughwhich his country was passing. In
the datkest period of her distress and sub
jection, as well as in the sunshine of her
victories and success, lie was ever found
manfully maintaining her rights, and fear
lessly fighting her enemies. He had for
several years the command of a troop of
cavalry under General Pickens, and whilst
in this.service, had frequent skirmishes with
the enemy, and many incidents are related
of him, which well deserve a page in the
history of his couutry.
On one occasion, lie fell in with the fa
mous “ Bill Cunningham,” Captain of the
“ bloody scout”—a name which always
struck terror to the hearts of the bone/t
people of the dipper country. The mur
derous deeds and shocking cruelties of
“ Bill Cunningham,” are well known in the
history of South Carolina. He command
ed a mounted company of tories, which tra
versed the whole upper country, and went
from house to house, murdering the heads
of all the families, who fell in their way.
Captain Butler, with his troop of cavalry,
was sent in search “of Cunningham. They
met, and after a slight skirmish, the tories
fled—as was their practice, when opposed
by regular troops. Cunningham was mount
ed on a blooded horse, which he had stolen
in the lower country, remarkable for its fleet
ness. Captain Butler was also riding a fine
charger. He recognised Cunningham, and
singled him out in the chase. They became
separated from thrift respective hoops, at id ,
the race through tlie Woods was a very close
one’. Whilst at full speed, and but a few
p'aces ahead of Butler,.Cunningham fired
his last pistol over his shoulder, without
turning round, but missed his object. But
ler had already discharged both big pistols,
and his only reliance was now in the fleet
ness of his horse, and the goodness of his
sword. In passing through the woods,
Cuuningham’s sword was torn from his side,
and fell into the possession of his pursuer.
It was a beautiful and costly weapon, which
was ever afterwards worn by General But
ler, in all of his military excursion; not
only dot ing the Revolution,- but in the latter
part of his life, whilst a Major General pt
the militia. On his death, he gave the sword
to his son, tho Hon. W illium Butler, now a
member of Congress from the Districts of
Pendleton and Greenville, and in whose
possession it still remains. Ctinnipghanval
so lost his pocket-book iu the chase, which
fell into the hands of Captain Butler, and is
still in the possession of a member of bis
family. After going some distance through
the woods, they struck a road, and Cunning
ham, knowing the speed of his horse on a
fair turf, tauntingly said to Butler, “ I now
have you” —and was, in a few minutes, out
of danger and beyond pursuit.
After the close of the Revolution, and
whilst the circuit court of law was sitting at
Cambridge, for tlie district of “ Ninety-Six,”
there was a fellow by the name of Loveless,
brought before the .colirt on a charge of
horse-stealing. He had been a noted tory
and plunderer during the Revolution, and
was one of a murderous band which had
killed General Butler's father and uncles.
On this trial, it was discovered that the tea
-tirnony was insufficient to establish his guilt,
and the jury were compelled, as a matter of
course, to bring in a verdict of “.not guilty.”
But no sooner was the verdict pronounced,
than tlie crowd determined that Loveless’
had oilier and higher offences to atone for,
tbap tbat of taking his neighbor’s lior.?e;
and that, although lie had escaped punish
ment ip the one case, he should not be so
fortunate in the otlier. Jite blood qf the
Butlers, and other whigs; \yho bod been
murdered by this lawless ruffian, cried out
for revenge; and their descendants deter
mined it should beJigd-ina very summary
way. “With a file of men, General -Butler
went into the court liouse, and in the pre
sence of Judge and Jury, seized the prisoner
before lie could be released from rhe bar,
carried him out into the court-yard, and
there hung him on a tree which grew in
front of the court-house. Tlie spectator Sr,
composing an immense erowd, did not at
tempt to interfere. The presiding Judge
was the Hon. iEdanns Burke, a man of high
talents and great legal acquirements, and
afterwards Senator in Congress from South
Carolina. Judge Burke was an Irishman
by birth, and educated in Europe. He came
to South Carolina during the Revolution, as
an amateur of war, and tlie friend of liber
ty. He was very little acquainted with the
manners and customs of the people in the
“ upper ciTuirtiy.” Though a bold and conn
ogeous man, lie ivas not q little startled arid
shocked at seeing a prisoner, who had been
pronounced i/inoawtby the verdict iff n Ju
ry, carried out of court in defiance ot the’
Judge and the Law,, and immediately exe
cuted in contempt of the trail through which
he bad just passed. Judge Burke was. a
man of unbounded humor, and loVed a good
joke most dearly. Heonc.e ordered a Jury
to acquit a prisoner of a charge of horse
stealing, leeausc it appeared from the tes
timony that he was intoxicated with corn
whiskey, when he stole the horse. “I kuow,”
said his Honor to the Jury, “ that this vile
stuff you call corn whaeley.g ryes a man-pro
pensity to stael. I once got drunk on it my
self, and canto very near taking, without
tare, a fine ltorse.” But although his Honor
loved a jest, this notion of hanging a man
on a verdict of “ netgiril/y,” was pressing
the figure a little too far for bis Irish humor.
He was unable, however, to interpose his
judicial authority. The wile of Loveless,
with shrieks, tears and dishevelled hair,
rushed into the couit-holiso apd implored
. fbti Judge to sj)re her husband. “ Before
God, my good woman, I dare not, or they
will hang me”—was his Honor’s reply. In
stead of attempting to save tl)e prisoner,
the Judge thought it best for the. Court to
take care of itself, and immediately ordered
his horses and set out for Charleston. Tlie
tree bn which Loveless was hung, stood for
many years after the court had ceased to lie
hoklen at Cambridge, and was ens down by
an old African slave, to whom tlie tree was
J minted out as one on which peojde were
tanged. ‘ „
General Butler lived and died in Edge
field District. He was successively a mem
ber of the Legislature, a member of tlie
State Convention which adopted tlje Feder
al Constitution, and for many years a mem
ber of Congress from the Districts of Edge
field und Barnwclf.- He left, at his death,
some seven or eight sons, who have filled
the highest offices within the gift of South
Carolina—-the Executive Chair, a seat on
the Bench, and in Congress.
Romance of real life. —Some years ago,
says a foreign journal, the captain of a Cor
sair carried off the wife of a poor v&ood-cut
ter, residing in the neighboihood of Messi
na. After detaining her for several months
onboard his Vessel, he Ended her on. un
island in the South Peas, wholly regardless
of Vliat might bofal her. Jt happened that
the woman wlis presented to the spvage
monarch of the island, who became enam
ored of her. He made her his wife, placed
her on the throne, aud at his death left her j
sole sovereign of his domains. By a.Euro
pean vessel, which recently touched at jljo
island, the poor wood-cutter lias received
intelligence of his Wife. She sent him pre
sents of such vast value, that he will prolra
bly be one of the wealthiest individuals in
Sicily, until It shall please her majesty, his
august spouse, to ■sumfnoii him to her court.
To-Morrow. —Who can tell how rauchis
embraced'in this expression 1 Though a few
Honrs intervene between it and its—-though
it will soon commence its course—who is
there that ettn rend a single page and pro
nounce the diameter of its events'?
To-morrow! Those who are gav may he
sad. Those who ate now Walking’ the ave
nues of pleasure, led by the hand of hope,
may be the subject of intense sorrow. I’ros
periiy maybe changed into adversity.
Those who are now on the mountain sum
mit may Ire in the valley. The rosy check
may he overspread with paleness.—llie t strong
step may falter. Death may have overtaken
us.
To-mot t'ovv ! It may have entirely chan
ged the course, of our lives. It may form a
new eta in our existence. What we four
j may not happen:
To-morrow! nvyay with anxiety. Let ns
! lean on Frovidence. Tlicrcr is u be ip gto
• whom all the distinctions of time are the
! same,” and Who is nhle to dispose of every
! thing for our wise improvement.
A Journey Down East. —We Wave heard
of journeying through the Red Sea—drea
ry wanderings In interminable deserts—long
travels round the world, and even of a run
to Ohio through mud that’ covered both poney
and rider up to the shirr collar, hut never in
our lives have we beard of any thing to
match a late journey of a gentleman, whom
we shall denominate Dickey 1 Delver down
east. • , , . , .
Dickey was a famous wolf digger some
where in the western part of tlie gpod State
of Mqine, and undertook, as.lie supposed,
at a most advantageous bargain, to .dig a
well for forty-five dollars. Haying labored
with much assiduity till be arrived at the
depth of nearly fifty feet with the prospect,
of soon completing his job, DickgJ ascend
ed in these upper regions tr> look irvr a little
“ leven o'clock,” and had just effected his
escape, when, alas! in caved the sides of
his well and filled it fifteen feet with anoth
er solid trulls. Dickey loolcedover the edgt*.
groaned, scratched his head, and for a mo
ment pondereiFin the bitterness of bis hentf,
half murmuring a curse on liis'crucl stars,
for thus doubling his heavy task ; hut, prob
ably, never once thought of feeling grateful
to kind providence for his almost miraculous
escape from instant death. Looking around,
however, he “saw his coat and hat lying near
the margin of the well, anti a thought stt uck
him that if lie should clear out, xis the say*
ing is, his friends mid neighbors, would soon
discover the situation of the well, nod See
ing his coat and hat where he s bad left them
when.be descended, would no doubt consi
der him buried under the mass that had
latlen, and \yifh one consent would join to
dig hhn out, and thus clear the well. So
thought, so determined, and away goes
Dickey, without coat of hat, n6t to another
world but to another part of this. Tlie gs
fair of the well’s caving iu was soon known
iri the neighborhood, and as might be ex
pected all were soon gathered around the
iearfbl gulpli, that, as they supposed, had
closed upon poor Dickey wjtli a dreadful
vengeance. After the first surprise bud si
lence were past, one and another- ventured
an ohseivation upon poor Dickey’s lot.
“ Poor man, lie is no doubt dead !” “ llow.
he icas'. have felt when he saw the whole
earth” above falling in upon him.” But it is
ail over now. The relatives seemed to be
quite calm, and it was at length very,serious
ly agitated vvhether-tfiey-should dig out the
body/ Some were in favor of that measure,
but by. a suggestion of a relative that it was
rio use for he was already well buried, they
finally determined to leave him to his lot,
and allow his hones to mingla with the gloo
my depths in which they were confined.
The particulars of the ca-e soon traveled in
the shape of news to the place of Dickey’s
retreat, who was so mollified at tlie* result
that lie kept him out of hearing half the
year being ashamed to return home. At
last he thought of an answer to the enqui
ries which plied thickly-to liis ears on his
first appearance above ground, and with that
he resolved to make a venture, Dickey ac
cordingly returned, and after a little sur
prise excited in liis neighbors by the unex
pected arrival, they began to inquire liow
he managed to -get our, informing him of
their conclusion to let him remain where he
had buried himself. “Aye, aye,” says
Dickey, “ I know, all that very well for 1
waited till I found you had abamlfrticd me,
and then went to work to dig “"myself out,
but missing’niy direction I had a long job
of it; arid lately came out in SomerseLcoun
fy about fifty miles from the stalling point.
— Bostonian.
JTappiaess.~- Mankind are ever ih pursuit
of happiness. And in a thousand different
wavs do they seek it, mid in as many ways
are they disappointed in Obtaining tho pre
cious boon, so lunch sought afteEyetso sel
dom found. Tho man of ambition seeks it
iii tlie schemes and golden visions of the
future ; t)ie politician in the political contro
i versy ; and the popV m;Ai in the prospect
‘of amassing wealth anti bring at ease. But
in the end they find that tlie object of their
pursuit is as fat from their grasp as when
they commenced at first. This is not a world
of happiness and ease. He who is nursed
in a lap of luxury, and reared in tilt? plea
sures of the gnv, must meet in his pathway I
through life, crosses and niisfovtunes as well i
ns hq who is t<o>n m the evils of poverty,
and reared amid tlie vicissitudes of want.
Alike vain are their pursuits of happiness.
The’ Student, toftiijg ct the midnight,lamp,
and exploring the.regions of science .gnd
knowledge, sees before him happiness aud
fame; and Hope, as she stands beckoning
“ upon the sunny Idll of tlie future” leads
him on in the path of scientific ..research.
He labors with an utidiminished zeal; but
disease lays his hand upon him ; his form is
wasted hud reason is lost.
Tlie devotee of fashion seeks it among
liis gav companions and in the revels of
notings; but at last fie learns that he has
sown the seeds of rem>n sc and unhappiness;
and that the road which he had fancied led
to the olysian fields,, lends but to shame nhd
misery. So it is'; whether we seek happi
ness in the busy throng, or in tho solitary
wild; Whether in the giddy whirl of folly,
nr In ;be career of artTbition. ir is not to be.
Search for it where we may, we cannot pos
sess it; hke a phantom it. ever eludes our
g''3 s P- . .V.b
1 Despise life, that thou mftVcs*. enjoy it,
\ NUMBER SI.
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
\ Aristocracy.A man ehotild be respected
for flie good qualities of his heart along.
When a selection is aliout to he made for a
persoti to fill any distinguished office in rhe
gift of his countrymen, the first question
should not be. “Is he a men of extraordi
nary talents 1” but “ Is he a man of honor
able principles—a good member of society,
who performs his dory to hid God, and to
his fellow creatures 1” It by m) means fob
laws, that if a person posisipS a liberal
r.ution, and is endowed tyith a strong men
tal capacity, lie is to be selected as a proper
person to w atcb over the properties Or mo
rals of his fellow chizens, or the fjherfieß of
ids count ry. Such a . person may possess
immense power to -do good, or to d,o eril.
His influence, in high station, whatever his
private character may be, must necessarily
be very great. And although his principles
may not lie-correct ; although he toay be a
stranger to -probity**find a hyppmte and a
liat, the dark hues of his diameter mav he
Hhilniriotria’ by the reflected light of his
genius, arid thus rendered invisible. If we
must have any kirjd of Aristocracy, Jet it
nbt.be the Aristocracy of Wealth, the Aris
tocracy but Birth* or the Aristocracy of
Worth.
Old Customs.-A Yonng girls in the days
preceding the Revolution, used to save a
portion of their annual allowance, to furnish
ed linen, silver spoons and spinning wffeels!
the piano is substituted for the latter
instrument.
■ It wras-usual in 17G0, wlien an aip>al|MV-’
dv or heifest was married, to announce in
the gazettes of that rfay-, themarflagr some
what’ after this fashion: “ Miss
Snow, a most agreeable and amiable lady.”
or “ Jtyiss Dolly Duifipy, with a large hand
some-fortune.” • - ‘
When people were married, they kept
open housd for two days, dufitig which time
pnnch wgs dealt out in profusion. But that
was riot the worst of if. The” bride was
compelled to summit to be kissed by all the
guests, even to tbc number of one hundred
1 each day. It wes considered a delicious Te
j past by the gentlemen.
| Dentists were not common before the
| Revolution. In 1754 a French dentisgcanie
( to Philadelphia, and earned a large omoent
( of money by lire practice. Artificial teeth
I werti unknown. i|e offered publicly to buy
| teeth at two guineas foj- sbuud onea.
Toothbrushes were unknown, arid, the
ladies W’ere accustomed to use chalk or snuff
upon a rag. It was considered in those
days the height of clle mi nancy furagemle
| man to wash his teeth, even with wute|\,
4 lidniglitl —The clock is striking twelve.
How finely tfiefull tones sweep p3stthrough
the air, as if theytfotfld take up ourthought
arid carry it miles away to the very friend
you are thinking of {it the moment. How
many htfuntrf of. wretchedness hidden 4irom
human eye, in tbe depths, of human hearts,
have these cold vibrations ‘reached whila
they are dying iso carelessly upon our ears?
Wjmt tales might they tell of secret misery,
sickness nnwatched, and preying sorrow,
and fear, arid carr, and the thousand hitter
cankers that He and feed at thowery heart
strings, beyond all reach of medicine, per
haps of sympathy- Many n wife 6?ti watch
mg W ith a broken liearf for her husband’s
step —-many a mother for her child’s; aod
fnany a venturous merchant ties baunredby
Ibprs of shipwreck and Crfc—many on un
detected defaulter fancies voices at the door
“—many a. young girl just finding oiit that
love is only a heaviness and ri tear, ‘mu&ri-J
bitterly over the caprice of a moment of-qn
unmeant trifle. And tliese are tlie only
•watchers.. —for tho happy fire asleep—save
the bride on her daintily wrought pillow,
murmuring in a low tone to the ear that will
soon'tire of its monotony—<or the, fervent
poof building up his dream into
with his eyes straining into the darkness, and
bis jiulsc mounting with the leaping free
dom of an angel’s, forgetting the world will
trample ogt his fiery Bpiut.to ashes, and
laugh to scorn the fine work of his towering
fancy.
Immortality of Man, —It cannot be that
earth is man’s'only abiding place. It cin
not he that our lifjj isa bubtde castoff by tfie
ocean of to, float a
its wave?}, and sink into darkness. Rise
why is it, that the’ high and glorious aspira
tions, which leap like angels from the tem
ple of our hearts', are 4oreVer wandering
abroad unsatisfied 1 Wby is it that tberain*
bow and the cloud come over ns with a begu
ty that is uot of earth, and then pass off, and
leave us tbmuse upon their feded loveliness!
Why i? it diet;he stars which lipid their fes
tivals around the midnight throne, are set
above the grasp of our limited faculties, for
ever mocking us with their unopproachabhs
glory 1 And why is it that bright form? of
human beauty are presentedtoour view and
thep taken from us, leyivin” the thousand
streams of our affections fp fjbw bacjipwjqw
alpine torrent upon our hearte;! We arc
bora for a higher destiny tfjan ftiat of; earth.
There is a realm where the raiubaw never
fudes, where the stars will be spread erut be
fore us like Islands that slipnber
ocean, and where the beautiful beings that
here pass before 119 like visions, will sUiy.iu
our presence forever.
“ Taku care ofsthe paint/’ ?s tlie.gril raid
wlfen Bill was kiesing her.