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Southern miscellany. (Madison, Ga.) 1842-1849, December 10, 1842, Image 2

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A noble Swede, who was traveling in Lap laird, wished to engage a messenger to go to a certain point on tile Gulf of IJothnia ami theio await some papers which he expected to be forwarded at about that period -to the point in question. He offered a reward about equal to ten reindeer for eveiy week his messenger was away. This was a mag nificent temptation to a poor Lapp, and an active, honest young man, who with his fa ther-in-law two children and wife, lived near the then quarters of the traveler, was per suaded by the father-in-law—to whom the promised accession of wealth had peculiar charms —to undertake the journey. When lie went home to communicate the proposed arrangement to his wife, the Swede—who was perfectly at home in the deer-skin win ter costume and rough dialect of Lapland ; went with him to sustain his resolution, and seating himself on a large stone near the tent, held himself ready to smooth down ev ery obstacle in the way of a speedy depar ture. It was in February, and the journey was to be performed mostly on foot, in snow shoes—a boat like a skate six feet long, with which a Laplander will travel GO miles a dav or more, with as much ease as an Eu ropean will walk 20 on his best roads. A true Lapp never thinks of washing himself or his clothes, therefore a change of raiment had not to be thought of, and bis snow shoes lay ready for use before him, so our messenger had but to explain the busi ness to his pretty wife, ask her for some smoked venison, and say farewell. The old man took upon himself the explanation, and relying much on the auxiliary promises of the Swede, he called out his daughter Ral la and told her of tho proposed expedition. Ralla turned pale at the thought of four or five weeks separation from her husband, but without saying a word in reply to the bril liant offers of the Swede, turned back to the infant encased like a mummy in a bark cra dle in her arms, and her child clinging to her garments. “ Do you love reindeer more than these children, Olaf ?” she demanded of her hus band, “ if not, why do you leave us to die in your absence 1” “ But he is not going to be away long,” interposed the Swede; “he will he back in a few weeks witli beautiful beads for your neck, and a rich silver ornament for your head.” “ Do not go, Olaf,” said she, “ we will love you more than reindeer can, and the sight of your eyes is betterthan all the beads in Sweden.” The father protested and the Swede rea soned, but Ralla turned the face of her child towards its father, and declared its spirit and liers would “follow him, and die in the tracks of his show-shoes.” Olaf was a true and tender hearted Lap lander, and could not resist the appeal. He renounced the ambitious dream of a herd of reindeers all his own, and with many ex pressions of gratitude to the Swedfeh gen tlemen declined his liberal offer. —BasriTt Travels. “ Come, gather round the Using hearth, And with reflection temper nimh ” Educate your children Early. —What it the object of education)? To form the character. How is this lo lie done ?—No; by lessons, but primn pally through the influ ence of example, and circumstance:,, and situation. H jst soon is tin child exposed to these influence* ‘! As sum: os it opens its eyes and feels the pressurenf its mother V bosom—from that time i: becomes oipuble of noticing what pusses mini nil it, mid'know ing the difference of one tiling from another. So powerful ure the gradual mid unnoticed influences f those curly months, that tie infant, if indulged or humored, may*grow to a petty tyruui at ten months old, and turtle about,in two years, a discon tented irritable .thing, that eveiy one hut tlse mother turns from ia do-gust. During this period, evrey human being is making its first observation, aud i- ;:i lug its first ex perience; passes bis early judgments, forms opinions, acquires habits. They may be in grained into their characters for life. Some right and wrong notions may take with firm hold, and some impressions good or bad, may sink so deep as to be with scarcely any force eradicated. There is no doubt that many of these incurable crookednesses of disposition which we attribute to nature, would be found, if they could be traced, to have originated in the early circumstances of life; just as a deformed or stunted tree, not from any natural perversity of seed, from which it sprung, but from the circum stances of the soil and situation where it grew. —Journal of Education. The Affections. —There is a famous pas sage in the writings of Rousseau, that great delineator of the human heart, which is as true to human nature as it is beautiful in expression; “ Were lin a desrt, l would find out wherewith in it to call f nth my affections. If l could do no betur, I would fasten them on some melancholy cypress to connect myself to; I would court them for their shade, and greet them kindly for their protection. I would write my name upon them, and declare that they were the sweetest trees throughout all the desert. If their leaves withered I would teach myself to mourn, and when they rejoiced I would re joice along with them.” Such is the abso lute necessity which exists in the human heart of having something to love. Unless the affections have an object life itself becomes joyless and insipid. The affections have this peculiarity, that they are not so much the means of happiness as their exercise is happiuess itself. And not only so, if they have no object, the happiness derived from our other powers is cut off. Action and enterprize flag, if there he no object dear to the heart, to which those actions can he directed. Future times may bring new interests and events—magnificence may display eve ry wonderful variety—hut the impression of “ Home, Sweet Home,” and the happy, innocent days of childhood can never he ef faced. The Alpine Horn is an instrument made of the bark of the cherry tree, aud like a sjieaking trumjiet, is used to convey sounds to a great distance. When the last rays of the sun gild the summit of the Alps, the shepherd who inhabits the highest peak of these mountains takes his horn, and cries with aloud voice, “ Praised Ire the Lord.” As soon as the neighboring shepherds hear him, they leave their huts and repeat these words. The sounds are prolonged many minutes, while the echoes of the mountains and grottos of the rocks repeat the name of God. Imagination cannot pictureany thing more solemn or sublime than this scene. During the silence that succeeds, the shep herds bepd their knees, and pray in the open air, and then retire to their huts to rest. The sun-light gilding the tops of those stupendous mountains, upon which the blue’ vault of heaven seems to rest, the magnifi cent scenery around, and the voices of the shepherds sounding from rock to rock the praise of the Almighty, must fill the mind of every traveler with enthusiasm and awe. Profanity. —There is no justification for the use of profane words. Yet who can pass a street, who can visit a shop, who can enter a church, without having his ears sa luted with words of profanity 1 Youngmen anil youth, old men and children, are guilty of this sin, and when angry, or a little vex ed, they do not hesitate to pollure their lips with the name of Deity. So habituated are some to this practice,that they seldom relate an occurrence, without mingling with their words language the most uncourteous and profane. If there is one vice more unjusti fiable titan another, surely it must be this. It brings no plersure—it adds no emphasis to what is repeated—neither docs it entitle the speaker to the rank of a gentleman.— “ Swear not,” is a Scriptural injunction, and whoever disregards it must receive, as he justly deserves, the frowns of an injured Deity. Human Folly. —lt is surprising to sec with what tenacity men cling to the fleeting things of earth. There is uot a passion which they have not spent their latest breath in attempting to gratify. The more sordid and sensual the desire, the mom earnest bl and perseveringly do they seek to satisfy h They tramp the earth as though it were ik> more than a stage of a tswawic theatre for children, instead of S< ;ng, os it is, the great arena where the conflict iierwoeri sin and the soul of man is fbugibl, eternal life heme the stake. ’ Men ire so mrlmod lo content themselves with what i* commonest ; the spirit and the senses to ensiV crow dendtnthc impression of Ibe ten ut du i aml the perfect, that every ore should study anil nourish in his mind the faculty of feeling .these tilings by every rootittad in hts power. For no man can hare to l>e entirely deprived of sneh enjoyments; it k. only liecnnse they are not used to taste of whui if excellent, that the generality of people take delight inmlly and insipid things, provided they he new. For this reason, we ougitt every flay, at feast, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it lie possible, to speak a few reason ulife words. Miss Mitford, in her interesting bird sto ry, called the Hop Gathering, observes— “ To raise a magnificent geranium is to in crease and multiply beauty, nnd to strength en and diffuse the feeling of the beautiful in this vrork-a-day world. Art herself does lit tle more.” It is upon this principle that we experience a sense of obligation towards those who embellish their grounds or adorn their parlor windows with flowers. They ate in some sort public benefactors, for a love of the beautiful leads to virtue. In its highest and purest sense, utility is beauty, inasmuch as well-being is more than being, soul more than body; hence it is that the Crea tor has embellished the world with every im aginable form of beauty. Think of a state of society in which there is no beauty, or ele gance, or ornament; arid then may be seen and felt the utility of grace, the utility of flowers. T[EMIPg®AlK]© [liT~ O, that nwtn ibonid put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains ! that wo should, with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves tnio beasts l —SßArapEir.e. A touching Incident. —While the Rev. Mr. Chambers was addressing a Temper aneeMeeting in Philadelphia, the other even ing, as we learn from the Ledger, a man who had been occupying a seat in a dis tant part of the room, arose with a little boy in his arms, scarce six years old, and came forward to the speaker’s stand; all gave way for him. He placed his child on the stand, and while the tears were run ning fast down his cheeks, and with his trembling accents addressed the speaker ; “ My little boy said to me, ‘ Father, don’t drink any more!’ Gentlemen,l have taken my last drink.” The effect produced upon the audience beggars all description. The speaker and the whole audience were bath ed in tears; and such was the good effects of this example, that seventeen others came forward and signed the Pledge! Mr.Cham bers, with tears streaming down his face, caught the boy in his arms, exclaiming, “ Well may we say that the grave of Alco hol has been dug by this little boy !” Congratulate Him. —A few days since, in passing a rum-shop in Frankfort street, we noticed an unfortunate being who had broken his pledge. He was surrounded by several who were congratulating him for leaving the Washington Society and proving recreant to his pledge. Congratulate him, thought we, on what—on his bloated coun tenance -on his ragged and filthy appear ance! Yes, ’twas this they were congratu lating him on. On the following night this unfortunate being became drunk, and while in that state was riotous. He was taken to the watch-house, aud on the follow ing morning was sentenneed as a common drunkard. Congratulate him, gentlemen, on liis downfall and degradation—congratulate his starving wife and children, who but a few diiys since thought they had a husband 1 and a father reclaimed.— Washingtonian. s<dwipm nib p saas©mLiL Aif'sr® ta a ® © is l e, a ini y . Little Vexations. —lt is Dr. Johnson, we believe, who says that little vexations are more trying to the tcinjier, and harder to he borne, than greater troubles. We heard the other evening a querulous-looking little manufacturer illustrate tho tiutis of the re mark, by a ludicrous narrative of small an noyances, that made an nggtegate of large misery. “ I went,” said he, “ into mv bar ber’s this morning with my temper soured by letters from the attorneys of five bank rupt debtors at the South west; postage un paid, of course—oh ! yes; bankrupts don’t pay postage to their dupes —oh no! 1 was vexed, too, at a painter, who had received half pay in advance to paint me anew sign; but he must go a sailingon the bay on Sun day and get drowned—-just as like as noton my money : any how, he ‘ died and made no sign.’ I was in a dreadful hurry, for 1 hud to raise money to take up a note, and was short full one half. There was a young sprig in the barbel’s chair, who passed me, and got into the shop about a yard before me, by acting as if he wanted to speak to a man who was ahead of me—a contempti ble trick 1 Well, sir, there lie sat, feeling of his chin after every round of the razor, and ‘ asking for more,’ till his beard was close reaped into the middle of next week; reading the whole time the only paper that I ever do read, which he continued to do all the while the man was curling his hair and whiskers, evidently just to sjiite me. It was an hour before I getaway from the barber’s; and then the friend who would have loaned me fifty dollars, in my strait, had taken the morning cars for Newark. After attending to some necessary business nt the store, 1 sallied out fora ‘shin’day in Wall-street. Every bodv was ‘shoit,’ though each one ‘could have done it yesterday,’ which struck me as rather curious. It was not far fioni j three, and the day was of the nastiest Ati | gust kind ; hot as melted lead, muggy, and I sticky. 1 had on a pair of new hoots, which rr.y shoe-maker (for the first time I really believe in twenty years) had made too small. Heavens! how they hit at the heels, Mis tered as they were from slipping tip Und | down in them ! My stock, was continually twisting round, hind-side-fore. My sliiit, too. seemed possessed, I couldu’t keep it down behind. It kept crawling tip, and finally rolled into an inaccessible lump, sat urate with perspiration, and rested in the small of my hack. This annoyed me al rnosa as much as a flea, the first I had felt this summer, that was”nipping me at his leisure in a secure position which if. had ta ken up between my shoulders. At this in teresting juncture, I was seized by the bnt j ton by perhaps the most perfect specimen of a horc that can be found in New York ; not one of your big pod-anger sort, hut a fellow that twists a gimlet into you with his right hand, while he detains you by the but ton with his left, taking it out now and then, when he thinks it is going rather hard, to blow off the chips,and forthwith inserting it in another place. He was telling me, in a loud voice, of a shabby trick that had lately been served him hv a man who had just passed a*, and he had that rooming said to him : ‘ Said I, Sir, you are ad and liar and scoundrel!’ ect.; and I could see, as passers by turned round to look at U3, that they thought he was addressing this compliment ary remark to me. I didn’t wonder, either, that they should think so, for my face must have been a good deal inflamed withjmpn tient endurance. Well, when I could stand it no longer, I broke’dropin upon tho only friend whom I thought would help me out—and what do you think 1 He had ‘just lent every dollar he had’ to the man whom my button holder had been serving up to me in parcels—his ‘ particular friend !’ As I came out of this office, the clock struck three. I went home more annoyed, more grieved, than I remember ever to have been before in my life. 1 was now wrought up to the highest pitch. I went straight to my bed room, and, after a long search, I found the little black rascal that had covered my hack and shoulders thick with oblong welts of blotches; and was glancing at the demoniac al revenge depicted in my countenance as 1 passed by the looking-glaes, rolling my prisoner ‘as a sweet morsel’ under my thumb and finger, when the door belt rang, and the girl came to say that ‘ a gentleman wanted to see me.’ 1 stepped below, with something of exultation in my manner, and in the hall found the notary. He handed me a protest, and walked out ; aud when he had gone, I said to him ; ‘You and your bank may go to the d—l! I’d rather have the pleasure of torturing this little torment to death, than to have the stamped note in my pocket!’ After manipulating my vic tim with due economy of enjoyment, I thought I’d see how he bore it. Now would you b’lieve it ? it wasn’t the flea, d—n him! af ter all ! It was only a bit of black lint that had worn off’ from the lower side of my stock. This was the bitterest disappoint ment of that unlucky day !” Whimsical Horse. —There is a very fine horse in the jiossession of Sir Henry Meux & Cos., the eminent brewers, which is used as a dray-horse, but is so tractable that ho is left sometimes without any restraint to walk about the yard, and return, to the stable according to his fancy. In the yard, there are also a few pigs of a jieculiar breed, which are fed oti grains and corn, and to these pigs the horseha evidently an insuper able objection, which is illustrated by the following fact:—“ There is a deep trough in the yard holding water for the horses, to which this horse goes alone with his mouth full of corn, which he saves from his supply. When lie reaches the trough he lets the corn fall near it on the ground, and when the young swine approach to eat it, (for the old ones keep aloof,) he suddenly siezes one of them by the tail, pops him into the trough and then capers about the yard, seemingly delighted with tiie frolick. The noise of the pig soon brings the men to his assist ance, who know from exprience, what is the matter, whilst the horse indulges in all suits of antics, by way of horse laugh, and then returns quitely to his stable.— London Paper. {£?* It is belter, girls, to he a romp than ’ to have a distorted spine or hectic cheek. Advertising. —No man, be his line of bus iness what it will, can prosj :r :, i these times, without advertising. This i an advertising nge ; it is an advertising country. We have seen two stores, side by side, one crowded with customers, the other vacant and desert ed. What made the difference 1 One ad vertised and the other did not. We have seen two artists, equally skilful, one going on the full tide of fortune, the other lying neglected on tho flats, forlorn and discour aged. The reason is obvious. One had enterprise and liberality enough to make himself known, the other had not. — Dollar Weekly. Pills, S /natives, §r. —Every body nowa days is laboring for an agency to sell pills, sanative*, or syrujis. It is the only sure way to make money fast. Mankind are such consummate fools, that they will he dtijied by the flaming advertisements that appear in the papers, setting forth the won derful cures produced by the thousand and one newly invented pills, drops and balsams —and do worse than throwaway their mon ey in purchasing them. Almost every week brings us the important news of the discov ery of some invaluable medicine, destined to cure all the ills of life. Our papers are crowded with such advertisements—so that they appear more like apothecarys’ show hills than jiublic news journals. Yet |>eo ple |iay for such documents by swallowing the jiills and jjanaceas thus brought to view. There is scarcely a shop where some kind or another of medicine is not hi. But mankind die as fast as ever, and suffer from the same diseases. The whole secret of this pill and balsam business is, the making of money. Not one in a thousand of the drops, or sanativesnow before the public,ev er was, or ever will he beneficial. People are deceived by the lying recommendations from persons who never existed—or if they did exist, who were well paid to secure their signatures. Never pay the least attention to medi cines advertised in the papers; never throw away your money in purchasing them. If you are sick, consult a regular physician, and for a dollar or two, if it is possible to help you, he will do it. But you may ex pend fifty dollars in purchasing the stuff ad vertised, and be all the worse for its use.— You may depend upon it, that like Pindar’s razors, the pills and drops and syrups, with which our cities, towns and villages are flooded, were all made to sell, nnd not to benefit mankind. Os all the ways to expend money, none appears to us so foolish—so supremely ridiculous—as to purchase the medicine which is brought to notice in the papers. We have heard men and women confess that they have expended from folly to fifty dollars for pills and balsams of vari ous kinds, and yet never received the least benefit. The truth did not reach them till too late, that all this stuff advertised, was made to accumulate property, with no refer ence whatever to the wants of the human system. It is a burning shame that such men as Brandreth, Wright, Dyot, Hewetr, and scores of others in our country are roll ing in wealth by the sale of their vile trash —while they know as little about the human system —the nature of disease, or the effects of calomel, salts or aloes on the human sys tem, as a child unborn. These are facts. If mankind are wise aud will open their eyes and discountenance the making and the vending of pretended medicines, our coun try will he purged of the evil, and never be fore. Tt will save wealth, promote health and happiness, and secure a thousand bless ings, to banish nowand forever every vestige of quack medicine from the land.— Portland Tribune. Difficulties icith. Morocco. —The Philadel phia North American has received a letter from Gibraltar, under date of September 12tb, which status that our difficulties with Morocco have not yet been adjected. “Your government,” says the writer, “ will have to send out a large naval force, and coerce the Emperor into terms of Amity and re spect. The Bashaw of Tangiers, who was appointed by the Emperor to treat with Commodore Morgan, has refused to accede to his demands. The matter has consequent ly been referred back again to the Emperor who seems disposed to sustain the Bashaw. The United States cannot recede with dig nity and self-respect. Our Consul, Mr. Mul loway, has not been recognize l ’ “ the Em peror, and is waiting permission to return home. He will be sent out, I trust, with demands which the United States will be prepared to enforce.” The well known incompetency of the new Consul, precludes the possibility of an ad vantageous and honorable settlement of the difficulties with the Moorish Empire. It was an unjustifiable act of the present ad ministration to remove the late Consul, and to that removal may be alleged the continu ance of the troubles now existing. Mr. Carr was removed for tio reason, save that he was a Democrat. The responsibility of the recall of Mr. Carr, and the appointment of Mullowny, we have heard put upon Mr. Webster. It may have been effected through his instrumentality; but still the administra tion should be held resjiotisible for an act so uncalled for.— N. Y. Plebeian. A meeting was held at Alton, lately, of persons favorable to the occupancy of the Oregon Territory, by the United States. A Resolution was passed to encourage, by ev ery means, emigration to that country ; and the meeting resolved, “ that we will never give our consent to surrender any part of Territory, lying between tho Russian and Mexican boundaries, to any nation, for any consideration whatever.” The attention of the people of the Western States, and of the Legislatures, is especially invited tothissuh ject, and the meeting declared that they view the conclusion of a treaty ivi.h Eng land, without settling our Western bounda ry, as wholly overlooking Western interests. Gen. Semple, late Charge d’Affairs to Bo gota, cx|)i esseil himself in favor of the Reso lutions, and illustrated the importance of the question by a series of remarks in reference to the trade which would ho brought within our limits through the territory of Oregon. {£7 a ’ Monroe Edwards has paid his law yers in forged paper. llambunctious. —A British member of Parliament has been “ walking into our mut ton,’’ pretty considerably. He lately said that American sheep were worth nothing hut for the wool and skin; and that our hogs were not fit to eat, because they fed upon American mutton ! Had Dickens said this vve wouldn’t have been surprised —and,in fact wo are natmuch surprised that a mighty M. P. has said it; for we are well assured that a member of jiarliament knows no more about American mutton than he does about American man ners ; and that amounts to—o. The Eng lish are “ death” on mutton. Some of them have lived on the article so long that a sort of lamb’s wool grows upon their chins, in the place of a heard : and they have a sheep ish look, which can be accounted for in no other way. Compassion of a Judge. —A very learned and compassionate Judge in Texas,on pass ing sentence on one John Jones, who bad been convicted of murder, is said to have concluded his remarks as follows: “ The fact is, Jones, that the court did not intend to order you to be executed before next spring, but the weather is very cold; our jail, unfortunately,is in a very bad condition —much of the glass in the window is bro ken, the chimneys are in such a dilapidated state that no fire can he made to render your apartments comfortable : besides, owing to the great number of prisoners, not more than one blanket can he allowed to each— to sleep soundly and comfortably therefore will he out of the question. In considera tion of these circumstances, and wishing to lessen yoilr sufferings as much as possible, the Court, iu the exercise of its humanity and compassion, do hereby order you to be executed to-morrow morning, as soon after breakfast as may be convenient to the Sher iff-and agreeable to you.” Contentment. —Haji Baba tells us of a Calijrh who was informed by his uncle that he should recover from his depression of spirits, when he could exchange shirts with a man who was perfectly hapjry. To find such a one, he despatched emissaries in ev ery direction. After long searching, such a man was found ; hut the exchange could not be made, for he had been always too poor to afford the luxury of that delicate garment. The poorest of all family goods are in dolent females. If a wife knows nothing of domestic duties beyond the parlour or the boudoir, she is a dangerous partner in these times of pecuniary uncertainty. “My Countrymen.” —Dickens, in his “notes,” says that the most impertinent peo ple he found in the United States, were his own countrymeg. Highly complimentary! ©ROmO M /A L For the “ Southern Miscellany.” TO FANNY. Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave. Byeon. Oh ! Fanny, I had ever deem’d This heart had calloi:3 grown, Till thy dark-glancing orbs on me With peerless lustre shone ; Till I beheld thy Nymph-like form Os symmetry so rare, Thy ruby lips, thy blooming checks, Thy glossy auburn hair ; With steadfast, wond’ring eye gazed on Thy snowy forehead’s height— Betok’ning thy blight-sparkling mind, Which beams with heav’nly light— And heard thy sweet melodious voice Sound soft as angel’s lute, Surpassing far (he Orphean lyre That tamed the wildest brute. Ah ! then I felt— what did I feel ? Oh, heavens! such a feeling! I felt as if ten thousand bugs Were “ o’er me sorTLY stealing!!” B. For the “ Southern Miscellany.” LETTER FROM MAJOR JONES. NO. X . Pineville, December 5, 1542. To Mr. Thompson : Dear Sir —l do blieve last week was the longest one ever was. It seemed to me that the exeltree of the world wanted greas in or something or other was out o’ fix, for it didn’t seem to turn round half so fast as it use to. The days was as long as the weeks ought to be, and the nites hadn’t no end to ’em. Some how or other I couldn’t sleep o’ nights nor eat nothin, and I don’t know what on yeth was’the matter with me, ’thout it was the dispepsy, which, you know, makes people have mighty low sperits.— Cousin Pete thought lie was monstrous smart, and went all round town and told ev ery body that my simplems was very bad, and sed he was gwiue to put a strenthenin plaster, made out o’ Burgemy pitch, on my bl est, to keep my hart from hi akin. I know what he thought, hut if he sposed I was gwiue to make a fool o’ myself bout Mary Stallions he’s jest as much mistaken as he was when he tuck the show man for Tom Peters, from Cracker’s neck. I did feel sort o’ vexed bout the way she tuck up with Crotchett, hut then she was so disappinted when he turned out to he a runaway Bar ber, that 1 couldn’t help feelin sorry for her too. It’s a monstrous curious feelin when enyhody tries to hate somebody that they cant help likin. The more one trys to spite ’em the worse he feels his self. But I was tarmiried to hold out, and if she hadn’t come to, I I Fact is I don’t know what I should a’ done, for it was monstrous tryin, that’s a fact. But it’s all over now, and everything’s jest as strait as a fish-hook. Old Miss Stal lions was over to our hous to take tea long of mother, one evenin last week. She and mother talked it all over bout Crotchett and Miss Mary to themselves, and when I went to see her home, she didn’t talk of nothin else all the way. “ nomination take the retch,’’said tho old woman, “to run away from his wife and childern, the fidlin wagabone, and come out hear a tryin to ruinate some pore innocent gal by marryin ’em, when he’s got a wife to home ! He ought to be sent to the Pene tentiary, so he ought.” “ Zactly so, Miss Stallions,” ses I; “hat he was mighty popler mong the gals—some of’em was almost crazy after him.” “ I know they was, Joseph, I know they was, and now they want to turn it all on my daughter. Mary, when, laws knows, the child couldn’t bear the creater, only for per liteness.” “ Yes, but,” ses I, “ she went to church with him, you know, and he was to your hous every nite when I was thar, talkin to her.” “ That was only for pcrlitcness, Joseph. That’s what she larnt down to the Female Kollege,” she ses. “If a gentleman comes to see a lady, she must be perlite to him who ever he is—” Cus sich perliteness as that, thinks I. “ And ’tant no matter if she despises him off the face of the yeath, she must talk and smile to him jest like she liked him ever so much.” “ But Miss Mary looked like she thought a heap of Crotchett,” ses I. “ It was all decate, Joseph, all decate and perliteness,” ses she. “ That’s the way with gals now-a-days, Joseph, and you mus ent mind ’em. It didn’t use to he so when I and your mother was gals. I’ll warrent no Crotchetts didn’t come bout us if we didn’t like tlier company, and we had to know nil bout ’em fore vve kep company with eny body.” “ ’Tant so now, though, Miss Stallions,” ses I—and I blieve I sort o’ drawed a long breth—“ It’s very different now. If a chap only comes from the North, or some place away out o’ creation, and is got a crap o’ hair and whiskers that wobld make a sad dle pad, and is got a cote different from ev ery body else, and a thunderin grate big gold chain bout his neck, no matter if he stole ’em, he’s the poplerest man mong the ladys, and old quaintances, whose been ra sed rite along side of ’em, don’t stand no sort o’ chance.” “ Not all the galls aint so, Josejih—my galls han’t no sich notions in ther heds, I’ll sure you.” By this time we was rite up to the door. “ Come in, Joseph,” ses she. “ No, thank you, Miss Stallions,” ses I, “ I blieve I’ll go home.” “ Oh, come in, child, and set a while with the galls—tbey’s pullin lasses candy in the parlor.” I was kind o’ hesitatin, when I heard Miss Marry’s voice say, “Never mind, mother, I spose he’s mad at me.” I couldn’t stand that, no more’n a gum stump could a clap o’ thunder. I hadn’t heard that voice for more’n a week, and it did sound so ticin. It made me feel sort o’ trembly all over. My face felt red as a pepper pad, and my ears burnt like they was frostbit when I went into the room. Miss Mary turned round with one of the witchinest smiles, with her hair all fallin over her rosy cheeks, lookin sweeter than the lasses candy what she had in her hand, and said, “ Are you mad at me. Major 1” 1 never was so tuck all aback—my tlirote felt like I’d svvallered a bundle of fodder, and I couldn’t speak to save me. I don’t know what would tuck place if it hadn’t been for old Miss Stallions. “ Oh, no, Joseph aint mad with you,child. Ther never was a quarrel tween the Stal lionses arid the Joneses, honey, and we’ve lived neighbors this twenty years !” “ What made you think I was mad with you, Miss Mary,” ses 1. Then I kind o’ stopped a little and cleared my throte.— “ You know I never could be mad with you!’ “ I thought you was,” ses she, “ cause you didn’t come to see us any more sens that nite that mean old Crotchett was here.” When she sed that, I do think she looked haiulsumer than ever she did, and she al ways looks jest like that butiful gal what’s settin by the branch in the moonlight at the bed of the “ Miscellany.” We was all set tin by the parlor fire, and the gals was pul lin lasses candy. Miss Calline ax’d me if I wouldn’t pull some. I felt so queer I did n’t think bout nothin but Miss Mary, who was pullin a grate big piece, rite close to me. “ Take some. Major,” ses she, “ and pull it for me, and I’ll give you this when it’s done,” and she kind o’ looked side wavs at * me. “ Well, I know it’ll be mighty sweet,” ses I, jest as 1 was gwiue to take up some out of the dish. “Take care, Major,” ses she, “ it’s dread ful hot. Whai’s the spoon, Cloe?” ses she, as she was pullin away as hard as she could at a great big brite rope o’ lasses. “ O, never mind,” ses I, and in goes my fingers rite into the almost bilin hot lasses. “ Ugh,” ses I, and I pulled ’em out quick er’ n lightnin. “My lord,”ses Miss Kesiah, “if the Major hant burnt his fingers dreadful. That las ses is rite out o’ the pot, I know. Hant you got no better sense, Cloe.” I couldn’t help dauciu a little,and grindin my teeth, and slingin my fingers, but I did n’t say nothin loud. “ Well, Miss Calline tell me bring some more from de kitchen,” ses the cussed nig ger. “ Oli dear !” ses Miss Mary, “ I’m so sor ly. Did you get much on your fingers, Major ?” The tears was runin out o’ iny eyes, but I didn’t want to let ou, for fear it would make her feel had. “ Oh, no, not much. It ant very bad,” ses I, aud the fust thing I knowed my trouses was plastered all over with it whar I rub bed it off on ’em, it burnt so alfired bad. They made old Cloe git a basin o’ water to wash the lasses off - , aud old Miss Stallions got some soft sope to draw the fire out, and after a while I sot down with the galls to eat candy and talk bout Crotchett. I tell you what I had the game all my own way this time. I hinted to Miss Mary that I was sort o’ fraid Crotchett was gwine to cut me out, and that I was a leetle jealous at first, and she hinted to me that 1 ought to know ed better than that, and that 1 ougbtu’t to expect her to show her feelins for me no plainer than she had done afore, and that