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