Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME I. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER.
P®HT K ¥ a
“ Much yet remains unsung .”
FUNERAL ODE. >
[The following beautiful ode, by Thus. D. Rice, Esq.
was sung at the celebration of the obsequies of the
late Duke of Orleans, by the French citizens of Sa
vannah.]
Air —“ Bruce's Address to his Army.”
Mourn France, astarhas set,
That would have graced thy coronet i
Oh! may its parting radiance yet,
Give tranquil light to thee.
Mourn France, thy lustrous shield,
Has lost a lotos from its field ;
May thy remaining lilies yield,
A soothing balm to thee.
Mourn, gay and gallant France,
For braver heart, or brighter lance,
Ne’er led thy laurel’d guard’s advance,
To deeds of chivalry.
Mourn, that his life is done,
Thy patriot prince, thy noble son,
Thy monarch’s heir, thy chosen one,
To guide thy destiny.
Rich frankincense perfumes the aisle,
Devotion fills the sacred pile,
And sadden’d hearts invoke the while,
Kind Heaven’s clemency.
Oh! what is wealth, or what is fame,
Or life, an evanescent dream,
Without religion’s lambcut flame,
There's no felicity.
We meet to sympathize with thee;
We pray, that God may strengthen thee;
Fair France,still may’st thou be free,
From teuds and anarchy.
And may it be our God’s behest,
Who took thy ‘Orleans to his rest;
That he, thy Prince, may with the bless’d,
Have peace eternally.
0© 0 A L TAL I
For the “Southern Miscellany.”
“ INTRIGUE,”
OR THE BITERS BITTEN.
Walter Burr is one of those rare young
men who occasionally appear in these de
generate days to revive the fading glories of
ancient gallantry. Handsome, talented and
fascinating, he prides himself above all other
qualifications on rendering himself agreeable
to the fairer part of creation—and that he suc
ceeds in his aim, the number of his rivals
and enemies sufficiently testifies.
If you chanced last week to see him cara
coling down Broadway, you probably, tho’t
him only intent oti displaying his faultless
person, or bis horsemanship j. no : had you
looked again you would have perceived him
a moment after, hovering around the equip
age of the beautiful Mrs. Grant, or leaning
towards the half open window to continue a
conversation commenced half an hour before
in her boudoir.
In the evening, you perhaps met him at
the opera. Do you think he was attracted
there by the music ? Not he ; but the lovely
Mrs. Meadows is passionately devoted to it.
Great was the consternation in town the
mother day : Walter had not been seen for a
week, either at the opera, the theatre,or any
of his accustomed haunts. The ladies were
inconsolable. What bad become of him ?
The cause of his sudden disappearance is
a secret, only whispered as yet in the most
exclusive circle of /taut ton; but it shall be
disclosed to you gentle reader, though under
a strict injunction to secrecy—at least for
the present.
It seems that his very intimate and fash
ionable friend, Mr. Grant, most unaccounta
bly thought proper a.few weeks ago to take
offence at the extra attention of our hero to
his lady, and wished to put a stop to it; but
well knowing that the charitable world al
ways supposes a suspicious husband to have
cause for his complaint, ho was extremely
desirous of masking his jealously under a
plausible pretext —and, fortunately, chance
soon offered an excellent opportunity for
ridding himself of his rival. He found means
to have him arrested for debt, and placed the
walls of a prison between him and his wife.
This is the manner in which it was man
aged: Mr.Grant one evening interrupted an
interesting conversant! between the parties,
.and drawing his lady aside said to her,
•“ A few of our friends are engaged to
dine with us to-morrow, but 1 have accident
ally neglected to invite Mr. Burr. You, my
love, must repair this omission of mine ;
Walter is too polite to refuse even a late in
vitation from you.”
“ He will come,” said the lady, towards
the close of the evening, to her husband.”
Ihe next day, therefore, at five o’clock,
all the invited guests were assembled at Mr.
Grant’s, with tne exception of Walter who
had not made his appearance ; and aftei de
laying the repast half an hour, just when the
Jfnpatience of the company began to display
itself by frequent glances at the clock, his
friend Charles Rashly entered, and, in a low
Voice,communicated something to their host.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr. Grant,
in a grave tone, “I have just learned that an
unforeseen occurrence must deprive us of
the pleasure of Mr. Burr’s company to-day;
but Mr. Rashly will gtatify us by taking his
place.”
“If any accident lias happened to the gen- <
tleman,” said Mrs. Meadows, a delicate lit
tle beauty, “ pray do not take away our ap
petites by telling it.”
& jFamUfi JLetosjmper: Brfcotetr to Hiterattire, Startatlture, J&ecfiawtco, 23Trucatfou, jForetcn autr ©omesttc XntcUiflcuce, tec.
“ Indeed,” said Mr. Grant, “ the event
has taken me completely by surprise, and I
certainly would not depress your spirits by
disclosing it.”
Os coarse, this appearance of caution in
creased every one’s curiosity ten-fold.
“ Perhaps Mr. Burr has been engaged in
a duel,” observed Mrs. Barnard, carelessly.
“ And be may have been wounded !” ex
claimed the lady of Colonel Elliot, while to
her husband’s ear at least, her voice appear
ed to tremble.
“Mr. Rashly,” said one of the gentlemen,
“ these ladies will never be satisfied till they
have heard the news you bring.”
“Unluckily,” said Charles, “it cannot
long be news to any one. The fact is, that
poor Walter is in debt—as who is not?—
but his creditors happen to be particularly
savage, and one of them arrested him to-day
just as he was preparing to join your party.”
“He fell into my trap,” thought Mr.Gi ant,
then, in an hypocritical tone, he exclaimed,
“ Poor Walter ! I had no idea of his embar
rassments.”
This affair furnished the principal subject
of conversation at dinner, during which the
prisoner was alternately blamed, pitied, and
defended.
“ The devil take him ! how does my wife
happen to be so well acquainted with his af
fairs ?” muttered the wealthy Mr. Barnard.
“ Well, he is in prison now, and there lie
may stay for all me.”
“ My wife seems unusually interested in
this young man,” thought Mr. Stanley, “hap
pily his prison walls are solid ; let him get
out if he can !”
“ 1 feel great sympathy for Walter,” said
Rashly, “it is no trifle to relinquish all the
articles of taste and luxury which he has
been at the pains of collecting. Rich furni
ture, choice books, exquisite pictures, and
many other articles of virtu, all must come
under the hammer.”
“ W hat!” said (he scientific Colonel, “ his
valuable shells and minerals?”
“His splendid French furniture?” said
Barnard.
“His library too?” exclaimed Stanley.
“ Our dear friend’s misfortune,” resumed
Charles, “ will soon become but too public ;
and it will scarcely be credited that among
his numerous friends, the sum of live thou
sand dollars could not be raised for him.”
“Mr. Rashly is very right,” said Mrs. Stan
ley, thoughtlessly.
“ Pooh !” said her husband, “ it is quite
enough for us to pay our wives’ debts, with
out answering for those of their gallants al
so,” added he in a low voice.
“ True enough,” remarked his friend
Barnard.
“ But,” said Charles, “ these things will
probably be sacrificed for almost nothing.—
We ought to buy them in, and though Wal
ter lias no wife to be benefitted by the trans
action, we may do it for bis sister. The plan
has succeeded admirably of late, for no one
will bid against the ladies, you know.”
“ Aba !” said the Colonel, “we under
stand ; but I suspect that trick will not serve
again.”
“Oh, never fear,” exclaimed Charles, “the
world is easily gulled. We must all go to
this sale, and that the business may be con
ducted completely among friends, I will de
vise means to keep off everyone but our own
party.”
“ I fear that will be less to Walter’s bene
fit than you imagine,” thought Mrs. Grant.
“ I will take the furniture,” said Barnard.
“ And I the library,” said Stanley.
“ The shells and fossils I must have,” said
the Colonel.
“ And will you not take part in the good
work ?” inquired Mrs. Grant of her husband.
“ There are several vacancies in our picture
gallery.”
“True; let the pictures be my share,”
said he.
Walter’s friends having thus divided his
goods to their own satisfaction, at length sep
arated with an arrangement to meet at an
early hour on the day of sale. But before
that time arrived, all the ladies had taken a
different view of the affair, and unanimously
agreeing that it had better be left to chance,
endeavored to dissuade their husbands from
. meddling with it.
But these remonstrances came too late,
and at the appointed hour all the gentlemen
assembled according to agreement, with san
guine hopes of finding the coast clear; but
on entering the rooms they were both sur
prised and disappointed to find six or eight
sturdy looking men already there.
“ Did you bring in these people ?” said
Barnard to Rashly.
“ Certainly not: on the contrary, in con
sequence of a mistake in the advertisement,
which I took care should not be rectified, the
sale is not-expected to tuke place these three
hours.”
“ Any how, these look like bidders.”
“ What if they are ? The worst they can
do is to make you pay a little more, and that
you can well afford.”
“ My wife was right,” muttered Barnard
between his teeth, “ it would have been bet
ter for me to stay at home. This affair is
going to cost me something.”
The sale now commenced, and the furniture
was first put up; yet rich and attractive as
it was, no voice but Barnard’s was heard to
bid upon it. This being the part which he
had selected, his friends Were too polite to
raise the price upon him.
“ Thu Jew !” thought Charles, *• It was
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 3, 1812.
worth three times what he has given. I
hope the others will be more liberal.”
But, alas ! distrust the generosity of your
friends, if they happen to be among the rich.
The valuable library, pictures, statues, bron
zes, and tasteful articles of every description,
all shared the same fate. Each of Walter’s
friends chose what he preferred, and seized
upon it without remorse : he was in the
predicament of a conquered soldier whose
enemies were dividing his spoils.
“ Thank fate !” thought the new posses
sors with secret joy, “ Walter is secure in
prison.”
“ Gentlemen,” said Charles, as he saw
them preparing to depart, “have you drain
ed your purses, or do you think there is noth
ing more to purchase ? The sale is not fin
ished.”
“ Indeed!” said Barnard, turning back,
“ what remains ?”
The rooms were now rapidly filling with
idle and curious spectators, attracted by the
novelty of such a spectacle in the neighbor
hood ; and, mingled with them, a few of the
unlucky creditors might easily be distin
guished by their elongated visages.
After a short interval the auctioner laid
his hand on a small ivory casket of delicate
workmanship, and turning the silver key,
drew forth a gold cross and chain.
“Twenty dollars, for this cross and chain,”
cried the auctioneer.
“ That is as much as it is worth,” whis
pered a jeweller to his neighbor.
At this instant a man who stood near the
auctioneer, one of those whose appearance
had pteviously alarmed Barnard, stepped
foi .vhrd and requested to examine the arti
cle. T his man with bis companions had at
tentively followed all the movements of the
game, and seemed, like a prudent player, to
have been watching a favorable moment to
throw in his stake.
“ Thirty dollars!” said lie.
“ Ah,” thought Barnard, “ it must be of
some value. Forty dollars !”
“Forty dollars for the cross and chain !”
Barnard having weighed it in his hand and
found it light, began to repent his offer, when
bis opponent with the utmost sang froid cal
led nut,
“ Sixty dollars!’’
“The deuce,” thought Barnard, “that
man must be crazy.”
The cross, passing from hand to hand, at
length reached Elliot, who touching a se
cret spring which bad escaped the attention
of the others, it flew open and displayed a
curl of black hair.
“Two hundred dollars!” exclaimed the
Colonel, hastily closing it.
“Elliot, are you dreaming?” said Mr.
Grant, slapping him on the shoulder.
“ Let me alone,” cried he, roughly sha
king off - his friend’s hand.
“ Two hundred dollars for the cross and
chain !”
. “ Three hundred!” said the first bidder.
“ Four hundrnd I” shouted Elliot, in a
threatening tone, as if resolved to intimidate
his adversary.
“ He must have lost his reason,” thought
Grant; “ after purchasing articles of great
worth for a tenth part their value, he is now
ready to ruin himself for this bauble.
“ Four hundred dollars for the cross and
chain !”
“ Five hundred!” exclaimed the pertina
cious stranger.
“ Six hundred !”
“ Seven hundred !”
But here Elliot’s friends crowded around
him, and in spite of his efforts and menaces
they stifled his voice, until the cross was de
creed to the stranger. As soon as he was
released, the Colonel sought him in vain
among the crowd : be had disappeared.
A pearl necklace was next drawn from
the casket.
“ An hundred dollars for a pearl neck
lace,” cried the auctioneer.
“ That is dear for it,” murmured the jew
eller.
“ An hundred and fifty !” exclaimed an
other of the mysterious band.
“T wo hundred!” sighed a voice from the
crowd.
“ Who bid two huudred dollars?”
it j >
Every eye now turned on Mr. Meadows,
and observed with surprise the paleness
which overspread his countenance. Then
commenced a struggle between him and the
unknown bidder, similar to the one we have
already described. Each pearl was valued
higher than the whole had originally cost.
The creditors rubbed their hands joyfully;
and Charles began to imagine that Walter’s
friends were amusing themselves by paying
in this manner for the rich booty they had
already acquired.
The necklace soon reached such a price
that the auctioneer determined to stop the
frantic contention by suddenly adjudging the
object in dispute at fifteen hundred dollars:
and while Mr. Meadows foaming with rage,
threatened and stormed in vain, the stranger
cooly paid for his prize and departed.
“ An antique Cameo, set in diamonds, one
hundred dollars,” cried the auctioneer.
“An hundred and fifty!”
“ Ah, here goes again,” exclaimed Bar
nard ; “ this box seems to be enchanted, and
to contain talismans : let me see the cameo.”
Stanley, who stood behind him, leaned
over his shoulder to examine it also, but
scarcely had his eye rested on it, wheu he
called out in an agitated voice, *
“ Two hundred!”
“And are you running mad too ?” exclaim
ed Barnard, looking round in amazement.
“Three hundred !” said the first bidder.
“ Four hundred !” persisted Stanley.
The price of the cameo now rose rapidly,
and soon exceeded that of the necklace.
“Bravo,” thought Charles, “Walter i3
free.”
“ This is necromancy,” said Grant; “it
far exceeds my comprehensionbut having
examined the ring, he whispered a few words
to Barnard, and a meaning smile passed be
tween them.
“ Stanley,” said the latter, “ if you were
not my friend, I should be tempted to bid
for that ring—but I know it must be inval
uable to you.”
A burst of laughter accompanied these
words. Stanley blushed, and relinquished
the cameo to his adversary, who paid for it
and was quitting the room, when he essayed
to follow him, but found himself detained
with iron force.
“ What is the matter ?” said he, perceiv
ing that it was Barnard who held him pris
oner, “ lef go my arm ; you hurt me.”
But vain were his efforts to release him
self from that convulsive grasp.
“Fifty dollars for this bracelet,” cried the
auctioneer.
“ Three hundred !” exclaimed Barnard,
in a hoarse voice, apparently hoping to dis
engage competition by the extravagance of
his offer.
“Five hundred!” said one of the unknown
bidders, with the utmost nonchalance.
On hearing this, Barnard’s emotion be
came so excessive that he fell fainting into
the arms of his friend, and while he remain
ed insensible, the bracelet passed into the
stranger’s hands, who soon followed the
steps of those who had already borne off the
cross, the necklace, and the cameo.
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr.Grant, “how much
this story will amuse my wife ! But,” ad
ded he, “ who the devil can these people
be, who have half ruined themselves to drive
all these gentlemen crazy, and frighten poor
Barnard into fits ?”
As lie made this remark, the auctioneer
drew from the enchanted casket a medallion,
richly mounted, and containing—oh, mis
hap ’ —the miniature of Mrs. Grant. As he
held it up to view, it was instautly recognis
ed, and several voices were beard loudly
praising the resemblance ; but no one ap
peared to bid against the disconcerted hus
band except Barnard, who, having regained
his senses, and smarting under his own mor
tification, seemed to take malicious pleasure
in running it up to an exliorbitant price.
Thus these trifles, which a jeweller would
not have valued altogether at three hundred
dollars, sold for five times more thau the
library, the pictures, the furniture, and every
other valuable united.
The friends separated with many a silent
pressure of the hand—now fully compre
hending wlTy the ladies had so strenuously
opposed their design.
However, as wonders are never to cease,
Colonel Elliot on returning home found his
lady ready dressed to attend a charitable
meeting. She wore the identical cross and
chain, and laughed incredulously when her
bewildered husband asserted that he had
just seen it in Walter’s apartment.
As for Barnard, on reaching his own
house he seated himself at table without say
ing a word to his*wife; but after dinner,
having arranged his plan of vengeance, he
assumed an amiable air, and looking stead
fastly at her—
“ I believe, my love,” said be, “ that we
spoke of going to the theatre this evening,
and I wish you to wear your emerald brace
let ; I have not seen it this long while.”
Certainly, my dear, if you desire it,”
she replied, without betraying the slightest
emotion.
Tiie amazement of the husband may well
be imagined, when she appeared a few mo
ments after with the bracelet sparkling on
her arm.
A similar scene passed at Mr. Stanley’s
and Mr. Meadows’.
As for Mr. G rant, he bitterly repented his
trick on Waller, and has thought best to take
his wife to New-Orleans, where they will
probably pass the winter. But before his
departure, indeed on the very day after the
sale, Walter Burr, released from his bonds,
and, prompted equally by civility and grati
tude, left his card with each of his liberators,
not forgetting Mr. Grant.
Macon, Georgia,
Parental Partiality. —There is one fatal
danger in family government, which every
f arent should avoid, and that is partiality.
t is too often the case that fathers and moth
ers have their favorite child. From these
two evils result: In the first place, the pet
usually becomes a spoiled child, and the
“flower of the family” seldom yields any
other than bitter fruit. In the second place,
the neglected part of the household feel
hatred towards the parent that makes the
odious distinction. Disunion is thus sown
in what ought to Ire the Eden of life; a
sense of wrong is planted by the parent’s
hand in the hearts of a part of his family ; an
example of injustice is written on the soul of
the offspring, by him who should instil into
it, by every word and deed, the holy princi
ples of equity. This is a subject of giea,t
importance, and I commend it to the partic
ular notice of all parents.
“ Fondness for fame is avarice of air.”
M 0 ® © E L (L A KI Y .
THE MAINTOPMAN’S DEATH-BED.
BY EDWARD UOWARD.
The assistant surgeon, and the overgrown
and womanish-looking youth who tended
upon the afflicted, were the only pereons in
the sick-bay, excepting the departing sea
man, John Rock wood. The evening breezes
dallied gently with the white and extented
sails, and made a melancholy music, pecu
liarly their own, among the tightened and
well-stretched standing and running rigging.
The sounds from these rough and noble
harp-Strings might, fancy-aided, have been
thonght to breathe a requiem of the most
soothing melody to the dying maintopman.
There was that awful bush throughout the
populous ship which, though not absolute
silence, might be said to be something more
still. The low moaning of thegentle winds,
the faint splashing of the waves, and the
careful tread of the few officers who were
moving about, indicated that life and action
still existed, but existed with a subdued
solemnity, well befitting the quiet death-bed
of the humble and the good.
The.hardy and stalwart seamen were at
quarters, and they whispered to each other
in sorrowful accents that their shipmate
was “ going aloft,” was “ under way for the
right place,” had “trippled his anchor for
glory,” and in many other sea-taught and
quaint expressions intimated their convic
tion that lie was down in the “ good behavi
or list,” and had secured “ a good berth”
where the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary find rest.
The men had been mustered, whilst the
slanting sunbeams streamed through the
port-holes upon the glistening cutlasses : all
the dreadful appurtenances belonging to
“ glorious war” had been reported ready
for action, and secured for the night, and
Captain Dabricourt was on the point of or
dering the first lieutenant to “ beat the re
treat,” when the assistant surgeon walked
slowly and lightly accross the quarter deck,
and whispered the surgeon, who approached
the captain, and communicated with him in
a low tone.
The commander of the Majestic bowed
bis head sorrowfully at this information, and
approaching the break of the quarter-deck,
commanded, in a subdued tone of voice,
that the boatswain’s mates should pass the
word fore and aft, for the men to disperse
themselves quietly. One man on board was
to hear no more the cheerful rattle of “dou
blingdrum.”
Attended by the surgeon and his assis
tant, Captain Dabricourt proceeded to the
sick-bay, and was soon standing near the
hammock, where swung, on his death-bed,
the honest and once blythe maintopman,
John Rockwood.
There was no chaplain on board. At the
time of which we are speaking, there were,
at most, but three or four clergymen dis
persed among many ships, and it was sel
dom that a single cruizer was so fortunate
as to possess one. As Captain Dabricourt
stood over the dying man, gazing wistfully
in the wan countenance beneath him, he
held open the prayer book at the office of
the visitation of the sick.
“Isherationalenoughtobebenefitedby the
divine consolation ?” said the captain, ad
dressing the surgeon.
“ I hardly know, Captain Dabricourt.—
The poor fellow fancies that he is overlook
ing a party of agricultural laborers who are
moving down the grass in the green fields of
his native village. He is very restless.—
Listen !”
“ The scythes want sharpening, lubbers
all!” murmured Rockwood. “ See the
waving grass rises again fast—fast as they
sweep it down. A ropeyarn for such mow
ers ! They do no more than the summer
wind as it sweeps over the fields ; there—
there —there 1” and he pointed to the danc
ing waves, all green and joyous, which rose
and fell not unlike the bending and rising
grass in a meadew ready for the scythe.
Rockwood was then silent for a space,
gazing intently through the port-hole upon
the sea, and feebly nodding his head and
waving his attenuated hand to the motion of
the waters. “ Yes,” he continued, “ I know
ifiat I am very ill, and it is terrible to die
here, away from my gallant ship, and my
jolly, jolly messmates. I always hoped to
be buried in the cool blue seas, a thousand
fathoms, below all the sharks. What a quiet,
loomy, pleasant grave ! No mould, no dirt,
no filthy worms. But now, poor Jack will
be huddled into the churchyard, among the
bones of a parcel of shoregoing sinners, to
rot in a six feet deep grave. How I bate
that rotting! Mow away, mow away, ye
lubbers! You see the grass is up agaiu be
fore you have time to bring your scythes
round.”
An expressive look passed between the
captain and the surgeon, which plainly indi
cated that they thought the poor fellow in
extrimity, and that they ought not to pray
with, hut for him. The captain then com
menced with a solemn voice, reading the
prayers for the sick at the point of depar
ture. When he came to the words—“ We
humbly commend the soul of this thy ser
vant, our dear brother,” the sailor rallied at
the word brother amazingly, for very strong
ly bad the captain emphasized it.
“Brother? my brother ! Where is hfc?
j NUMBER 23.
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
and where atn I ? No, no, no—your honor s
you are not my brother!” andhemadean abor
tive effort to perform the accustomed pluck
at the forelock—the mark of dcfcrcncetohis
commander; “ I know better than that:
you are my captain—God bless you, sir.”
“ Your brother—your friend and broth
er !”
“ I cannot very well make out my bear
ings and distance,” said Rockwood, hesita
tingly, and with a very feeble voice. “ I
seem to be in two places at once—in my
own village and in my aunt’s room, looking
out upon the half-yearly parish land ; and
yet, things are about me that could only be
on board ship. lam sure I’ve had a metho*
dy parson praying with me the last two
glasses; and what vexes me is, that I, &
thorough seaman, who has always done a
seaman’s duty, should be buried in a dirty
grave ashore!” This was uttered with ma
ny interruptions, yet the meaning was dis
tinct.
“John Rockwood,” said the captain, “I
never, purposely, deceived any one. Col
lect yourself, my good friend. Believe it,
that you are now very dangerously ill,on
board bis majesty’s ship Majestic.”
“In deep sea, and in blue water ?” asked
the poor man, anxiously.
“ The water blue as midnight—the depth
unfathomable—we have no soundings.”
Then, after a pause, the sailor said, in a
very low, yet firm voice—“ lam ready
aye—ready!”
“ Then turn your thoughts with me to
your Maker,” replied Captain Dabricourt.
He then read the necessary prayers, to
which it was evident that the departing man
attended devoutly, as, when the office was
finished, he’appeared to lapse into cons
ciousness; his embrowned andjnow bony
fingers were uplifted, and he was perfectly
heard to ask—“ Have I done my duty ?”
“ Gallantly, nobly, bravely—always—al
ways !” said Captain Dabricourt, with a
voice trembling with emotion.
“ Alow and aloft—alow and aloft! Hur
rah !” How faint, how pitiable was that dy
ing shout. It was the last sound uttered by
John Rockwood, the maintopman.
In the middle-watch, two of bis mess
mates were assisting the sail-maker in sew
ing John up in a hammock, chaunting, in a
low voice, the simple dirge—“ He’s gone,
what a hearty good fellow !”
“ Give him a double allowance of shot,”
said one; ’cause as how, poor fellow, be
had a notion that the deeper he went, it was
more becoming to a regular out and out sai
ler. But it’s my notion, that seeiug as if we
does our duty, it won’t signify where we
start from, when we are all mustered at the
last day. \Ve shall all be in time, depend
on’t!”
“ I think so, too,” said the sail-maker.
THE END OF THE DRUNKARD.
The New Yoik correspondent of the
Uuited States Ga zette, describing an event
on the Battery, concludes his letter with this
affecting incident.
“A crowd had gathered near the gate at
the southern extremity of the Battery, and
several voices rose at the Same moment on
the air, crying for vengeance upon a tatter
ed form that reeled into the enclosure in a
*beastly state of intoxication. He was ap-
! latently about fifty years of age, followed
>y a young, beautiful end interesting girl,
not out of her teens. A moment before I
saw him lie iiad raised bis arm and struck
this lovely being to the earth. For Ibis the
crowd was pursuing him, and doubtless
would have committed some summary act
upon the inebriate wretch, had not the same
delicate form interposed to prevent the con
summation of the deed. She approached
timidly, and fondly begged the monster to
go home. He swore by the living God that
he would never return.
Little did he think as he uttered the oath
that the vengeance of that God his sacrile
gious lips had profaned was at that moment
hanging over him, and that the angel of
death was waiting upon the waters to bear
him with all his sins upon his head, into the
presence of the Creator he bad mocked.
He shook the fair girl from him with a
curse and staggered to the railing. A clus
ter of boats was at some distauce from the
shore, and a few voices were singing one of
Russell’s songs. The drunkard had contriv
ed to clamber on one of the uppermost rails,
and after having seated himself, called out
to the singers to perform something lively,
or “ d—n his eyes, he would come out there
and sing for himself.” These were the last
words he uttered. In endeavoring to change
his position, his foot slipped, and he fell in
the waters to rise no more. Great exer
tions made by the boats to render him
assistance, and more than one daring soul
plunged into the sea; but all in vain—his
body has not yet been recovered. The tide
was running strong at the time, and we may
hear of his body being washed upon the op
posite shore in a few days.
The poor girl was utmost frantic—she
rushed to the water’s edge crying—“ Fat
her ! fathei ! dear father! far Heaven’s sake,
save my father!” It was indeed her father.
He had once enjoyed a handsome property,
hut liquor ruined him. He sold uis house
for it, and at last his garments. His wife
died from want, and this daughter had sup-
C ot ted him and her brothers by the labor of
er bands.
He swore he would never again enter her
house, because she would not givo hi® h-