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compense you for the trouble and alarm our
sudden demand has given you.”
The curate stared in mute wonder upon
the strangeis, who seemed to cany some- j
thing fearful —almost ghastly in their looks ;
and the demand was repeated in an earnest
and authoritative manner. When the old
man had recovered -faan his first surprise,
he began mildly to represent that his duty
did not allow him to celebrate so solemn a
rite without some knowledge of the pnit.es,
and the intervention of those formalities re
quired by law. The other stranger hereup
on stepped forward in a menacing attitude:
“ Sir,” said he. “ you have your choice
follow us and take the sum we now oiler
you —or remain, and this bullet goes ilnough
your head.”
While speaking, he levelled his pistol at
the forehead of the venerable man, and cool
ly waited his answer; whereupon the curate
rose, dressqd himself and informed his visi
tants who had hitherto spoken Danish, but
with a foreign accent, that he was ready to
■•SiS* *">*>” r f™rr
clergyman. It was a dark autumn night,
the moon had already set; but when they
emerged from the village, the old man per
ceived with terror and amazement that the
distanct hurch was all illuminated. Mean
time, his two companions, wrapped up in
their white cloaks, strode hastily on before
him through the barren saudy plain. On
reaching the church they bound up bis eyes;
he then heard the side door open with a
well-known creaking noise, and felt himself
violently pushed into a crowd of people,
whose murmurings he heard all around him,
while close beside him some persons carri
ed on a conversation in a language quite un
known to him, but which he thought was
Russian.. As he stod helpless and blind
folded, he fell himself seized upon by a man’s
band, and di awn violently through the crowd.
At last the bandage was removed from his
eyes, anth he found himself standing with
one of the two strangers before the nltnr. A
row of large tapers, in magnificent silver
candlesticks, adorned the altar, and the
church itself was splendidly lighted up by a
profusion of candles. Tho deepest silence
now reigned throughout the whole building,
though the side passage and all the seats
were crowded to excess. But the middle
passage was quito clear, and he perceived
in it a newly dug grave, with the stone
which had covered it leaningagainst a bench.
Around him were only male figures ; hut on
one of the distant benches he thought he
lierceived a female form. The terrible si
ence lasted for some minutes, during which
not a motion could be detected in the vast
assembly. Thus when the mind is bent on
deeds of darkness, a silent gloomy blooding
of soul often prececds the commission of the
horrid action.
• At last a man whose magnificent dross
distinguished him from all the rest, and be
spoke his elevated rank, rose and walked up
to the altar; as lie passed along, his steps
resounded through the building, and every
eye was turned upon him—he appeared to
be of a middle stature, with broad shoulders
and strong limbs, bis gait was commanding,
his complexion of a yellowish brown, and his
hair raven black ; his features were severe,
and his lips compressed as if in wrath; a
bold aquiline nose heightened tho haughty
ajtpearance of his countenance, ami dark
shaggy brows lowered over liis fiery eyes.
He wore a green coat, with broad gold
braids, and a brilliant star. The bride, who
also approached and kneeled beside him at
the altar, was magnificently dressed. A sky
blue robe richly trimmed with silver, envel
oped her slender limbs, and floated in large
folds over her graceful form ; a diadem
sparkling with diamonds adorned her fair
hair, the utmost loveliness and beauty might
be traced in her features, although despair
now expressed itself in them ; her cheeks
were as pale as those of a corpse ; her fea
tures were unanimated; herlips were blanch
ed, her eyes dimtnied, and her arms hung
motionless at her side as she kneeled before
the altar; terror seemed to have wtapped
her consciousness as well as her vita! powers
in deep lethargy.
The curate now discovered near him, an
old ugly hag, in a party-colored dress, with
a blood-red turban upon her head, who stood
gazing with an expression of malignant fury
on the kneeling bride; and behind the bride
groom, lie noticed a man of gigantic size and
gloomy appearance, whose eyes were fixed
immovably on the ground. Horror-struck
by the scene before him, the priest stood
mute for some time, till a thrilling look from
the bridegroom reminded him of the cere
mony he had come hither to perform. But
the uncertainty whether the couple lie was
now about to marry understood his language,
afforded him a fresh somce of uneasiness.
He ventured, however, to ask the bride
groom for his name, and that of his bride ;
“ Neander and Fendoru,” was the answer
returned in a rough voice.
The priest now began to read the ritual
in faltering accents, frequently stopping to
repeat the words, without, however, either
the bride or bridegroom appearing to ob
serve his confusion, which confirmed him in
the conjecture that his language was almost
unknown io either oi them. On putting the
question, “ Neander, wilt thnu have this wo
man for thy wedded wife]” lie doubted
whether he should receive any answer; but
to bis astonishment, the bridegroom answer
ed in the affirmative with a loud and almost
screaming voice, which rang through the
whole church, while deep sighs were heard
from every quarter of the building, and a si
lent quivering like the reflection of distant
lightning, threw a transitory motion over the
death pale features of the bride. When the
priest turned to her with the interrogatory :
“ Feodora, wilt thou have this man for thy
wedded husband V the lifeless form before
him seemed to awake: a deep convulsive
throb of terror trembled on her cheeks ; her
pale lips quivered ; a passing gleam of fire
shone in her eye ; her breast heaved ; a vi
olent gush of tears flooded the brilliance of
her eyes, and the “ yes” was pronounced
like the scream of anguish uttered by a dy
ing person, and 6eemed to find a deep echo
in the sounds of grief which hurst from the
surrounding multitude. The bride then
sunk into the arms of the old hag and after
some iuinutes had passed in awful silence,
the pale corpse-like female kneeled again,
as if in a deep trance, and the ceremony was
finished. The bridegroom now rose and led
away the trembling bride, followed by the
man and old woman; the two strangers then
appeared again, and having hound the priest’s
eves, drew him with violence through
the crowd, and pushed him out at the door,
which they bolted within. For some min
utes, the old man stood endeavoring to re
collect himself, and ascertain whether the
horrid scene with all its attendant circum
stances, might not have been a dream ; but
when he had torn the bandage from his eyes,
and saw the illuminated church before him,
and heard the mmmurings of the crowd, he
was forced to believe its reality, lo learn
the issue, he hid himself in a corner of the
building, and while listening there, he heard
the murmuring within grow louder and loud
er —then it seemed as if a fierce altercation
arose, in which lie thought he could recog
nise the rough voice of the bridegroom com
manding-silence —a long pause follow ed a
shot fell, the shriek of a female voice was
rrenra, wnirn -was sm-ceenea bv ritiotner
pause, then followed the sound of pickaxes
which lasted about a quarter of an hour, af
ter which the candles were extinguished, the
door vva3 flung open, and a multitude of per
sons rushed out of the church, and rail to
wards the sea.
The old priest now arose from his hiding
place, and hastened hack to the village,
where he awoke his neighbors and friends,
and related to them his incredible and mar
velous adventure; hut every thing which
had hitherto fallen out among these simple
people had been so calm and tranquil—so
measured by the laws of daily routine, that
they were seized witli a very different alarm
—tiiey believed that some unfortunate acci
dent had deranged the intellects of their be
loved pastor, and it was not without much
difficulty that he prevailed on some of them
to accompany him to the church provided
with picks and spades.
Meanwhile the morning dawned, the sun
tivoac, and tlic pricat anti his companion© as
tended the hill towards the church, they
saw a man-of-war standing off from the shore
under full sail towards the north. So sur
prising a sight in this remote district, made
liis companions already hesitate to reject his
story as improbable, and still more were
they inclined to listen to him when they saw
that the side door of the church bad been
violently hurst open. They entered full of
expectation, and the priest showed them the
grave which he had seen open in the night
time; it was evident that the stone had been
lifted up and replaced again. They, there
fore put their implements in motion, and
soon came to anew and richly adorned cof
fin, in which lay the murdered bride —a bul
let had pierced her breast—the magnificent
diadem which she had worn at the altar, no
longer adorned her brows, hut the distract
ed expression of a deep grief had vanished
from her countenance and a heavenly calm
spread over tier ientnroe. TVic old man
threw himself down on his knees near the
coffin, and wept and prayed aloud for the
soul of the dead, while mute astonishment
and horror seized his companions.
The clergyman found himself obliged to
make this event instantly known, with all
the circumstances, to his superior, the Bish
op of Zeeland ; meanwhile, until he got far
thei instructions from Co] enhagen.he bound
all liis friends to secresy by an oath. Short
ly afterward, a person of high rank, sudden
ly arrived from the Capitol; he inquired in
to all the circumstances, visited the grave,
commended the silence which had been
hitherto observed, and stated that the whole
affair must forever remain a secret, threat
ening at the same time severe punishment,
to any person who should dare speak of it.
After the death of the priest, a writing
was found in the parochial register narra
ting this event. Sonic believed that it might
have some secret connexion w : th the violent
political charges which occurred in Russia,
after death of Catherine anil Peter the First;
hut to resolve the deep riddle of this myste
rious affair, will ever be a difficult, if not im
possible task.
“ Come, gather round the blazing hearth,
And with reflection temper mirth ”
For the “Southern Miscellany.”
THE SABBATH.
’Twns Sabbath morn:
The rising snn had chased the mists of Eve,
And drunk ihe pearly dews that nightly bathed
The green earth’s verdant breast. Upon his brow,
Radiant and bright, no shadowy cloud was cast;
But far and wide h s golden beams he threw
O’er loftiest mountain peaks, and rugged cliffs,
And smiling vales, and cultivated land—
Enlivening with his smile the hearts of men.
Sweet day of rest!
Thou art the herald of a brighter day—
A day that yet shall dawn, clear and serene,
Upon the servants of the living God;
Its points unmarked by ’1 ime’s rude diary.
No change shall pass upon the scenes
Which then shall he reveal’d. Our Sabbath's here
Soon end, and Time’s rough current sweeps us on
Upon its fretting surf again. But then,
No rooting flood shall rise—no tempest low’r—
No gathering cloud sweep darkly o’er the sky—
No night shall follow in the track of uy :
Thut day shall know no end. The impress of
Eternity is set upon its duwn !
When it shall rise, as from the grave of Time,
On that bright morn, the gathered mists of years,
That long have mantled o'er the brow of night,
Shall he illumed, and the pure rays of light,
Fresh streaming from the unveiled face of God,
Shall shed their brightness up the new-born.sky.
The cerements of the dead shall hurst that day,
The inoulderingvlod revive and God's own Sanits,
Cloth’d with immortal life, and crown’d with Joy,
The blessed truth shall ever realize—
“ That unto them a rest thenceforth remains !”
.. r n E ’ L ’ W ’
Madison, Georgia.
The ‘Jamil)ifireside —Home and its Enjoy
ments. —As the nights grow longer, unci the
weather becomes colder, the enjoyments of
home, the comforts that nestle around the
domestic circle, the warmth and content
ment which, when they characterize the
family fireside, are sources of exquisite en
joyment, are begining to be appreciated,
even by many who during summer weather
cannot ho tempted from their out-door pur
suits, and their exciting enjoyments amid
jj'd)! IP Ji Hi it SSHSCDIBILILiISt ‘2T
gay companions, or in the bustle of the world.
The charm of home is now more fully real
ized, and the qualities of mind and of dispo
sition which renfler home a place of peace,
repose anil happiness, should now he exer
cised by the ministering spirits of the do
mestic circle. “It is temper,” in the lan
guage of an eloquent author, “ which cre
ates the bliss of home, or disturbs comfort.
It is not in the collision of intellect that
domestic peace loves to dwell. Her haven
is in the forbearing nature —in the yielding
spirit—in the calm pleasures of a mild dis
position, anxious to give and receive happi
ness.”
Harshness, asperity, unkijtdness arid ill
will should all he banished from tlat hal
lowed sphere. There, all should assist in
the general happiness. All violence, all dis
coid all bitterness of feeling should be avoid
ed. Knowing the weaknesses of eccli Oilier,
we should he especially mindful not to
wound them —knowing the follies aid frail
ties, we should deal with them gertly aud
generously, and more with a view to cute
by consolation and sympathy, than to excite
and irritate by harshness and ill natpre. —
Home is a most important school, |s well
for adults as for children. For the litter, it
is the school of manners and of mofals. —
The lights and shadows of young character
are formed and influenced by the gloom or
the sunshine, the joyousness of heart or tie
dullness of spirit, of the elders, to whon
the young naturally look up with awe atd
respect. “Our parents, our teachers, otr
companions,” it has well been said, “dl
serve to modify our dispositions. The very
proximity of their faults, their failings, or
their virtues, leaves, as it were, an impesson
the $ flexible mind of infancy, which the
steadiest reason can hardly do more than
modify, and years themselves can never
erase.”
Where then can these influences be exer
cised so thoroughly as at home I Even a
joyous child a careless sunny, thougftless
creature, will sometimes scare away the
shadows of discontent in circles that seem
borne down by sadness and adversity A
happy disposition, a cheerful manner i the
head of household or in its ministering an
gel—woman —are indeed sources of perpet
ual sunshine. They serve to diffuse ail at
mosphere of light around, and brighten with
something like smiles, faces that otherwise
would be perpetually enveloped in gloom.
During the long nights of winter, when
storm rages without and everything in na
ture seems chilled and petrified, what a ref
uge from the elements, from vexations of
business life, from the jealousies and envies
of ambition and the pursuit of mammon, is
home with its cheerful fireside, its voices
of welcome, its looks of kindness and love !
How disposed are we to forget the past,
to draw a veil, as it were, over exciting
events of the day, to place a partition be
tween (lie out-door and the in door world,
and to fancy that—rage as the storms of for
tune rnoy, stiU wc ohull find a refuge and a
haven in"the circle consecrated by the mage
of home, and the precious group which
consists of mother, wife and little ones—of
friends long tired, and long endeared, of
relatives that only cling the closer, when
misfortune wears a somber aspect. The
crackling anthraciate, the blazing wood, the
easy rocking chair, and all the little et cet
eras which constitute real comforts, to say
nothing of some good book, some well told
story, some instructing narrative of voyige
and travel—these appreciated and enjoyed
by listening ears, eager and inquiring minds
serve to form a picture of domestic life end
home contentment, truly enviable, and
only really enjoyable under the influence; of
civilization, good nature, moderate views
and Christianity.
Early formation of good Habits. —ls a
child is neglected till six years of age, ao
subsequent education can recover it. If to
tiiis age it is brought up in dissipation and
ignorance, in all the baseness of brutal hab
its, and in thut vacancy of mind which such
habits ci eate, it is in vain to attempt to re*
claim it by teaching it reading and writing.
You may teach what you choose afterwards,
but if you have not prevented the formation
of bad habits, you will teach in vain.
An infant is in a state of perpetual enjoy
ment from the intensity of curiosity. There
is no one thing which it does not learn soon
er or better than at any other period of life,
and without any burden to itself or the tea
cher. But learning is not all, nor the prin
cipal consideration—moral habits are, ac
quired in these schools; arid by their means,
children are kept out of the nurseries of ob
scurity, vulgarity, vice and blasphemy., In
the establishment at Westminister, none but
children between three and five years of age
are admitted, and there they are kept o>t of
the streets, and taken care of by a patefttal,
indulgent dame, while their mothers are at
liberty to go out and work. Whether the
children learn less or more is of little conse
quence. The moral discipline is the great
consideration.
Brothers and Sisters. —As fathers love
their daughters better than sons, and moth
ers love their sons, better than daughters, so
do sisters feel towards brothers a more con
stant sentiment of attachment than towards
each other. None of the little vanities,
heart-burdiug jealosies, that, alas for poor
human nature! are but too apt to spring
up in female hearts, can rise between broth
er and sister; each is proud of the success
of the other, because it cannot interfere
with self—nay, on the contrary, is flattering
to self. Hence, if there be a bond of fami
ly union more free from the selfish bolts
that interrupt all others, it is that which
exists between an affectionate sister and
brother.
Plain Diet. —This is what children ought,
on every account, to he accustomed to from
the very first. It is vastly more for their
present health and comfort, titan those little
nice things, with which fond parents are
apt to vitiate their appetites; and it will
save them a great deal of mortification in
after life. If you make it a point to give
them the best of every thing; to pumper
them with cakes, and sweetmeats, and su
gar-plumbs, if you allow them to say with a
scowl, “ I don’t like this, and I car.’t eat
that,’ and then go away and make tiiem a 1
little toast, or kill a chicken, for their dainty
palates depend upon it, you are doing them
a great injury; not only on the score of de
nying them a full muscle and a rosy cheek;
but of forming one of the most inconvenient
habits, that they can carry along with them
in after life. When they come to leave you,
they will not, half the time, find any thing
they can eat and lltus you will prepare them |
to go chafing and grumbling along through i
life, the veriest slave, almost in the world. —
Humphrey.
The most unhappy^ —The King of Persia,
conversing with two philosophers, and his
vizier asked, “ What situation is most to be
deplored 1” One of the philosophers re
plied that; it was old age accompanied with
poverty ; the other, that it was to have the
body oppiessed by infirmities, the mind
worn out, and the heart broken by a series
of heavy misfortunes. The vizier, howev
er, replied that he knew a condition far more
to he pitied. “It is that,” says he, “of him
who passed through life without doing good,
and when unexpectedly surprised by death,
is sent to appear before the bar of the Sov
ereign Judge of all.”
Forgiveness. —There is a pleasure in for
giving those who have done us an injury,
which very few seent willing to enjoy. In
stead of the kind word and pleasant smiles
so powerful to subdue the most obdurate,
and make them realize their perverse dis
positions—mankind are tho apt to add fuel
to the flame of passion, by harsh words
and unkind epithets. Os what avail is it,
even if we are really wronged, to harbor
revengeful feelings 1 Do vve not by this
course, make ourselves miserable, and de
stroy rite tender emotions of our souls! A
forgiving disposition is what vve should all
labor to possess —not only for the sake of
the enjoyment that will accure to ourselves
therefrom, but also for the beneficial results
on the minds of all with whom vve associ
ate. If there is a feeling in unison with
that of angels it must be a forgiving spirit.
Portland Tribune.
Labor. —There is a fashionable aversion
to labor. But the natural life of man is
labor or business. Riches, which the vul
gar suppose to confer happiness, an unnat
ural state, and therefore, generally, a state
of misery. Life, which is drug in the hands
of an idle man, never hangs heavy on the
hands of men in active business. This is so
true that it may be said a wise man would
never leave his children so much money as
to place them beyond industry, for that is
too often putting them beyond happiness.
The heaping lip of riches for posterity is,
generally speaking, heaping up destruction;
and entailing large estates, entailing vice
and misery i
ma©©il l /a m y
From the Portland Bulletin.
ENGLAND AND CHINA.
Os all the cold-blooded, unjust and hell
ish wars, that ever stained the annals of his
tory, and degraded the name of man, that
of England upon China takes precedence.
Let the abettors of British tyranny gloss
the matter over as they may, the facts in re
gard to it may be briefly stated thus, “ Buy
our opium,” say the magnates of Britain,
the keepers of the pretty puppet called Vic
toria. “We want it not,” replies the great
Celestial—it poisons and beggars my peo
ple.” “ Have it you must and shall,” ex
claims tho arrogant Briton, and stealthily
introduces a large quantity of it into the do
minions of the “black haired race.” The
great Celestial orders it to be destroyed, and
thereupon war commences. War! quotha?
Is it called war when the wolf breaks into
the sheep-told, and wearies himself in stran
gling the defenceless flock ? Is it war when
the shark darts in among the “ rudder fish?”
Is it war when the hawk domes down upon
the nest of the sparrow ? A fiendish mas
sacre ensues, such as makes every one pos
sessing the least spark of humanity, blush
to think that the myrntidorns engaged in it
have any claim to the name of man. What
is it but an inioad of a gigantic power,
skilled in the trade of butchery and blood,
upon a weak, inoffensive race, who seek on
ly to live within themselves.
So cold-blooded and cruel were the Bri
tish troops towards the poor, defenceless
Chinese, that rather than fall into tlicir hands,
they destroyed themselves by scoies and
hundreds—mothers despatched their chil
dren and then strangled themselves—houses
were found in the captured villages filled
with their corpses.
But let us look at some accounts given by
tlie British themselves. At the frightful
slaughter of Ningapo, about 12,000 Chinese
crowded in dense masses in the narrow
streets, advanced towards the market place,
in the centre of the city, when “ the British
artillery came up, unlimbered within onq
hundred yards of the crowded fugitives, and
poured in a destructive fire of grape and
canister. So awful was the destruction of
human life, that the bodies were obliged to
be removed to the sides of the streets to al
low the guns to advance.” Nine thousand
persons were thus slaughtered.
At the capture of Amoy, 5000 Chinese
were ambushed between two parties of the
British forces. Capt. Bingham thus des
cribed the scene : “ Many hand to hand en
counters took place, hut the long Chinese
spearcould make but little resistance against
the British bayonet. Many of these men
(the Chinese) fought with despat ation, the
residue fled by hundreds to the water ; here
the fire of the rifles were most deadly; tho
stream shortly became tinged with blood.”
Not till the general came updid the carnage
cease. “On this day so unhappy for the
black-haired race, fifteen hundred of whom
must have perished, our loss amounted to
sixteen killed, and a few wounded. With
such a tremendous bombardment os had
been going on for two hours in this densely
populated neighborhood, it must be expect
ed that pitiable sights were to be witnessed.
At one spot were four children struck down,
while the frantic father was occasionally em
bracing their bodies, or making attempts to
drown himself in a neighboring tank. Nu
merous similar scenes were witnessed.”
At Anninghoy the bombardment was of
the most terrific description, and soon drove
the Chinese from their guns. “ Ihe run
becoming general, many tried to escape
round the base of the ltiil, in doing which
they became exposed to the Blembeim's
broadside when numbers fell. Finding this
fire too hot to allow them to escape along
the beach, they took to the water crawling
along on all fours, and Lobbing their heads
as they saw the flash of the guns, blit escap
ing Scylla they fell into Charybdis ; for they
had no sooner got clear of the ships than
they became exposed to the rocket boats.
Truly it was att awful day for the black- j
haired race of Ham.” \
On another page we have an account of
a skilful manoevre which placed a large bo
dy of the Chinese between the two fires,
by which COO were slain, with a loss to the
British force of only one killed.
Not the least revolting feature of the pic
ture is, that England must starve her myri
ads of poor people at home to raise the
means of sustaining such hordes of butchers
in their diabolical work.
But at length—the crowning outrage .of
the series—the Chinese ate forced to pay
the enormous sum of twenty-one millions of
dollars to their inhuman murderers, and to
open flood gates for their country to be de
luged with the poisons of the British em
pire, as the only means of putting a stop to
these unexempled slaughters! Was ever
such wholesale piracy and murder tolerated
by the enlightened wotld before? And yet
these diabolical murderers and tavishers,
“ donning the livery of Heaven,” to con
ceal their deformity, have the impudence to
come and prate to us on bended knee, with
streaming eyes, about tlie evils of our slave
ry! We are a Northern mart —vve are no
abettors of slavery, Heaven forbid—but we
should be pleased to know how lotigit would
take for such miserable hypocrites to pre
vail upon the Southern States to relinquish
their slaves ?
When vve look upon the inhumanities
practiced by England towards her own de
graded poor, towards the patient Irish, to
wards the down trodden millions of India,
towards the Chinese, towaids every portion
of the earth, save those that she fears, and
thank Heaven there are such, vve are lost in
wonder that she should have been allowed
to go on so long, iti her barbarous policies,
with impunity —and ate ready lo exclaim
“Great Goil of Justice ! God !
When wilt thou lift on hit'll thine own avenging rod ?”
Successful Manufacture of Cornstalk Mo
lasses.—Mr. James L. Vaughan, of Henry
County, Tennessee, has succeeded in man
ufacturing excellent and clear molasses from
cornstalks. A letter in the Nashville Ban
ner, in relation to it, says: “It is pronounc
ed by all who have tasted it far preferable
to that made from the sugar cane. It lias
somewhat the appearance of honey, and the
move you use it the belter you like it. The
mill for grinding the stalks is very simple,
costs only six duHars, and cun t>c nmilc ly
any common mechanic who lias ever‘once
seen it. With this mill, which would an
swer very well for an apple mill, and which
runs with two horses, he produced one hun
dred and twenty gallons of juice per day.
The vield of molasses from the juice, as it
came from the mill, was as one to five. If
planted early, and cat ill August or Septem
ber, Mr. Vaughan thinks about CO gallons
of molasses from each acre in com might
be obtained, and perhaps more. The corn
which he used was planted very late in .1 tine,
and a severe frost fell before he finished cut
ting it. To this frost, and the fact that the
corn had not sufficient time to mature pro
perly, he attributes his failure in making
sugar. Mr. Isaac Not man, the mechanic
who constructed the mill, and who had been
an old sugar planter in Georgia, says that
he never saw finer syrup fiont sugar cane,
or which gave greater appearance of grain
ing, and that it did not grain must be owing
altogether to the frost, which fell a day be
fore they commenced operations. Mr.
Vaughan is, however, highly pleased with
the success of his experiment so far, having
demonstrated conclusively, that with a mill
not costing more than six dollars, every
farmer in Tennessee can manufacture liis
own molasses, and that of a superior quali
ty. Another year he hopes to add his su
gar also. It must be mentioned that the
‘ refuse juice’ which is skimmed off’ irt the
act of boiling, makes a most excellent beer,
and likewise may be made into excellent
vinegar.”
Transfusion of ihe blood of a Goat into
the veins of a Man. —A man, 3S years of
age, was seized with an haemoptysis, which
continued so long, and so violent, that the
only means of saving his life appeal’d to be
by supplying the loss of blood by transfu
sion. On the fifth day after the attack a
canula was introduced into the median vein
of his left arm; a syringe, previously heated,
was filled with blood drawn from the jug
ular vein of a goat, and about five ounces
were injected into the vein of the man.
Immediately he complained of a feeling
of oppression; but this soon afterwards
went off. An attack of phlebitis came on
next day, but was subdued in eight days
by means of cold applications alone. His
strength from this day returned, and at the
end of three months he was able to resume
his usual occupation. It is remarked, as
the interesting point of this case, that it
proves that the injection of the blood of one
animal into the veins of another is not ne
cessarily fatal.— Dr. Bleeding.
Gen. Washington's Toast. —At the close
of tlic Revolutionary! War, when the Amer
ican Army was disbanded, Gen. Washing
ton took an affectionate leave of liis officers,
and at a public dinner on the occasion, gave
the following toast:
“ The American Soldier of Freedom —
May he at all times secure a good and plen
tiful ration; and when he has finished his
tour of duty on earth, may he pitch his tent
in the Elysian fields, and there receive his
reward from the right hand of the God of
battles.”
(Lf* Politicians may look out for a breeze
at Washington, during tho present Session,
for Hon. Sidney Breeze has been elected
United States Senator from Illinois.
©ua©o M & L ■
For the “ Southern Miscellany.”
LETTER FROM MAJOR JONES.
NO. XII.
Pinerille, December 27, 1842.
To Mr. Thompson:
Dear Sir, —Crismus is over, and tho
thing’s ded. You know I told you in m y
last letter I was gwine to bring Miss Maty
up to the chalk a Crismus. Well, I done if
slick as n whistle, though it come mighty
nigh beiti a serious uudertakin. But I’ll tdl
you all about tbe whole circumstance.
The fact is. I’s made my mind up inore’n
twenty times to jest go and come rite out
with the whole bisness, but whenever I got
w liar site was, and whenever she looked at
me with her witchin eyes, anil kind o’ blush
ed at me, I always felt sort o’ skeered and
faintv, and all what 1 made up to tell her
was forgot, so I couldn’t think of it to savo
me. But you’s a married man, Mr. Thomp
son, so 1 couldn’t tell you nothin bout pop
in the question, as they call it. Its a mighty
grate favor to ax of a rite pretty gall, and to
people as aint used to it, it goes monstrous
hard. They say widders dont mind it.no
more’n nothin. But I’m makin a transgress
ion as the preacher ses.
Crismus eve I put on my new suit and
shaved my face as slick as a smoothin iron
anil went over to old Miss Stallionses. As
soon as I went in to the parler whar they
was all setin round the site, Miss Calline
and Miss Kesiali both laughed rite out —
“ There, there,” ses they, “I told you so,
I knew’ it would be Joseph.”
“ Whats 1 done, Miss Calline,” ses I.
“ You come under little sister’s chicken
bone, and 1 do believe she knew you was
cumin when she put it over the door.
“No 1 didn’t—l didn’t no such tiling,
now,” ses Miss Mary, and her face blushed
red all over.
“ Olt, you needn’t deny it,” ses Miss Ke
siali. “ yon long to Joseph now just as sure
as tliey’s any charm in chicken hones.”
I knowed that was a first rate chance to
say something, but the dear little creater
looked so sorry and kep blushin so, I could
n’t say nothin zactly to the pint, so I tuck a
chair and reached up and tuck down the
bone and put it in my pocket.
“ What are you gwine to do with that old
hone now, Major ?” ses Miss Mary.
“ I’m gwine to keep it as long as I live,”
ses I, “as a Crismus present from the hand
somest gall in Georgia.”
\V hen I sed that, she blushed worse and
worse.
“ Aint you shamed Majer ?” ses she.
“ Now you ought to give her a Crismus
gift, Joseph, to keep all her life,” sed Miss
Calline.
“Alt,” ses old Miss Stallions, ‘ when I
was a gall we used to hang up our stock
ins—
“ Why, mother!” ses all of’em—“to say
storkins rite afnu **
Then 1 felt a little streaked too, cause
they was all blushin as hard as they could.
“ Ilighty-tity !” ses the old lady—“ what
finement. I’d like to know what harm ther
is in stockins. People tiovv-a-days is giltin
so mealy-mouthed they cant call nothin by
its name, and I dont see as they’s any better,
than the old time people was. When I was
a gall like you, child, I use to hang up my
stockins and git’em'full of presents.
The galls kep laughin.
“ Never mind,” ses Miss Mary, “Major's
got to give me a Crismus gift— wont you
Majer ?”
“ Oh, yes,” ses I, “you know I promised
you one.”
“ But 1 didn’t mean that,” ses she.
“I’ve got one for you, what I want you to
keep all your life, but it would take a two
bushel bag to bold it,” ses I.
“Oh, tbnts tbe kind,” ses site.
“ But will you keep it as long as you live?”
ses I.
“ Certainly I will, Major.”
“ Monstrous finement now-a-days—old
people dont know nothin bout perliteness,”
said old Miss Stallions, jest gwine to sleep.
“ Now you bear that, Miss Calline,” ses
I. “ She ses she’ll keep it all her life'”
“Yes, 1 will,” ses Miss Mary—“ but what
is it ?”
“ Never mind,” ses I, “ you hang up a
bag big enough to hold it and you’ll find out
what it is, when you see it in the mornin.”
Miss Calline winked at Miss Kesiah, and
then whispered loher—then they both laugh
ed and looked at me as mischievous as tliev
could. They spected something.
“ You’ll he sure to give it to me now, if I
hang up a bag,” ses Miss Mary.
“ And promise to keep it,” ses I.
“ Well, I will, cause I know you would
n’t give nte nothin that wasn’t worth keep
ing”
They all agreed they would hang up a bag
for me to put Miss Mary’s Crismus present
in, in the back porch, and bout nine o’clock
I told ’em good evenin and went home.
I sot up till mid-night, and when they was
all gone to bed I went softly into the hack
gate, and went up to the porch, and that - ,
sure enough, was a grate big meal bag hang
itt to the jiee. It was monstrous unhandy
to git into it, hut I was tarmlned not to back
out. So I sol some chairs on lop of a bench
and got hold of the rope and let myself down
into the bag ; but jest as I was gitin in, the
bag swung agin the chairs, and down they
went with a terrible racket. But no body
didn’t wake up but old Miss Stallions’ grate
big cut dog, and here he cum rippitt and
tarin through the yard like rath, and round
and round he went tryin to find what was
1 sot down in the bag and didn’t
breathe louder nor a kitten, for fear he’d
find me out, and after a while he quit bark
in. Tho wind begun to blow bominable
cold, and tho old bog kep turnin rouud and
swingin so it made me sea-sick as the mis
chief. I was fraid to move for fear the rope
would brake and let mo fall, and thar I sot
with myteethratlinlikelhadaager. Itsecm
ed like it would never come daylight, and I
do blieve if I didn’t love Miss Mary so pow
erful I would froze to detb; for my hart was
the only spot that felt warm, and it didu’t
beat more'n two licks a minit, only when I
thought how she would be sprised in the
mornin, and then it went in a cantor. Bime
by the cussod old dog come up on the porch
and begun to smell bout the bag, and then