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T (Ml I IF AKSM EK .
From ihe Columbia (S.C.) I'lautr r.
Mr. Editor: —lt appears as if the youth
of the present day, imagine ihe only toad
to wealth and distinction, leads through the
professions of law and jthysick. And al
though those professions are already filled
to overflowing, hundreds are annually add
ing to the fullness. The consequence must
he, that the excess will be thrown upon so
ciety, to its great detriment, as well as their
own. With a high opinion of their own
merit, which they will conceive to he slight
ed or overlooked, too proud to dig and a
shatned to beg. they may fall under a ne
cessity of doing worse. T his evil is owing
to the passion of the times, which falsely es
timates the professions alluded to, and over
looks the most sure, useful and honorable
—agriculture. I hope this false taste is on
the decline, and that we are gradually ac
quiring a more natural and healthy one ; but
it may trot be amiss to accelerate it. To
this end, I will address a word to parents,
society at large, and planters generally.
All parents desire their sons to become
successful and honorable members of socie
ty. Now, lam sure, the planter is most
likely to become so. 1 will not present ar
guments, but facts, to sustain my position.
In a strip of country, immediately above me,
of two miles in width and ten in length, 1
can count one dozen wealthy planters, all
of whom have started in life within the last
twenty years, with a capital of from one to
three thousand dollars. From this little
strip, several have removed, and have be
come wealthy elsewhere—a few have re
mained pretty much as they started, having
no ambition but to be “ good livers”—and
none have fallen short of this last mark. I
am acquainted with a gentleman, known to
most of your readers, who started in life with
about twenty slaves. He never bought one
in his life ; and yet, counting what he has
given to his child ten, is owner of one hun
dred and fifty. Thus much for wealth—
and as it regards honor, l am sure, was the
planter educated as he should be, he would
not only be more honored, in his most use
ful profession, by discriminating good men,
but his fellow citizens would select him iu
preference to all others, to legislate for, and
govern them. Let parents then, educate
their sons as liberally as they can ; never,
for a moment, giving into the notion, that
education is unnecessary for a planter.—
Then set them to cultivate the earth, with
out any fear of consigning them to poverty,
dullness or obscurity.
The disposition to withhold tho honor due
to the agriculturist, cannot, iu the nature of
things, be strong, and a little reflection will
show, that he who excels, by superior man
agement,iti swelling earth’s products,should
be estimated beyond the ordinary states- j
man. We read or hear a speech delivered j
itiCongress—are captivated by its eloquence,
and admire the appatenl zeal and patriotism
of the orator. But how much wiser and
better are we made after all, and in what
measure are we profited 1 We read a ju
dicious agricultural essay —it suggests a val
uable improvement to thousands, all of
whom are beuefitted much by the practical
vieWs of the writer. Otheis in turn, exhib
it their experience, ami thus we go on, get
ting and doing good. Who benefit society
most, the agricultural essayest, or the noisy
tiolilical speech-maker? And which should
>e most honored ? To the planter, I would
say, the best means I know of, to produce I
a general improvement, both of the mind
and the plantation, is to write upon agricul
ture. Nothing will cause a man to fall iu
Jove with an honest calling, more than wri
ting about it. It will beget an additional
interest. We all desire to write to the pur
pose, lest our theory be laughed at. We
must be emulous to excel, and our zeal will
send us forth in quest of knowledge—and
the result of all will be, the improvement of ■
both fortune and mind. Doubtless, modes
ty will keep some from trying the experi
ment of writing. Hut am I not right, Mr.
Editor, iu supposing, that neither you or
your readers, expect practical planters to
soar beyond the orbit of common sense ; and,
that while your columns will he graced with
the rarest gems that thought has ever coin
ed, the most homespun detail of an inter
esting experiment or useful fact, will find a
welcome, and be treated with deflerence ?
My idea has been, that while you will have
a “poet’s corner,” philosopher’s, &c. after
the fashion of Westminster Abbey, tbe plan
ter will have a broad aiea to figure upon.
Let otheis excel then, in fine writing, the
planter may enjoy a weekly intellectual re
past. the fruit of their superior endowments,
while the consciousness of contributing a
full share (though of coarser material) to the
general good, will stimulate him to greater
exertions. Although the eye be placed up
on a commanding eminence, in the neigh
borhood of the citadel of life, and in the vi
cinity of the great sensorium—still, the feet
are scarcely less useful. The planter may
occupy this humbler position. ‘Tis certain
he forms the very foundation of society—he
bears up the republic, and whether society
and the republic honor him or not, he’ll not
cease to plant “ in hope and reap in joy.”
A ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,
Shall find him happy: and consenting spring,
Shed her own rosy garland on his head.”
CtDAP. Creek.
June, 1943.
The Garden. —ls there is any one thing
more than another, which is neglected by
the generality of farmets, it is the garden.
“ If a snug, well kept kitchen garden is not
an infallible proof of thrift,” said Mr. Huel,
“when seen near a farm house, it is a pretty
fair indication of comfort and good sense. It
shows that the owner is well to live, and in
tends to live well, so far as bis labor and
his lauds can conduce to good living. For
it will not be denyed, that the farm and the
the garden may be made to produce, not
only the substantial, but a great many of
the luxuries of life—we mean those luxuries
which while they are grateful to the senses,
neither pall the appetite, vitiate the taste,
impair the health or coirupt the morals of
those who partake of them.
In order to have vegetables floutish in the
garden, the cucumber*, melons, cabbages,
lettuce, onions, beans, pen*!, squashes, Ac.
Ac., must be kepi free of weeds, us they
not only appear bad, but rob the valuable
plants of a great portion of their food.—
Plant cucumbets, melons, and beans for
pickling. Transplant cabbages of all sotts ;
carrots, parsnips may now be sown for win
ter use. If you wish early turnips for ta
ble use, sow now as soon as possible, and
be sure and select a light sandy soil.
If you have anything in your garden that
you desire to force onward, give it a good
dose of soapsuds twice a week, and you
will be sure to see your labor rewarded,
by a growth of the plant that will mote
than fulfill your most sanguine expectations.
Weeds of all kinds nim*t be kept down.
The produciions of the garden, when
well managed, are all useful- in the econo
my of a family ; they afford a grateful vati
ety, and tend to lessen in no considerable
degree, the quantity of solid and expensive
food, which would betequired without them;
and yet they may all be produced in suffi
cient quantities for an ordinary family, upon
a quarter of an acre of ground, and without
setiously abstracting ftom the ordinary la
bors of the farm. A garden therefore, is
truly a matter of economy in a pecuniary
point of view ; hut when we add to this
consideration, the comfort and pleasure
which it affords, we are persuaded we are
in the line of duty, in commending the sub
ject to the particular consideration of our
readers.— N. Y. Funner.
Salt and Ashes. —Take equal quantities
of salt and ashes, and wet the mttss so as to
make it adhere, and place it in your feed
troughs ; it is better than salt alone, and
horses and cows soon become very fond of
it. A friend of ours, who is excelled by no
one we ate acquainted with in the manage
ment of horses, says, that any one who will
keep salt and ashes constantly in troughs,
will find that liis horses keep much more
healthy, and their coats decidedly improved.
So far as our observation has extended,
planters generally pay too little attention to
salting their stock. Nature clearly indicates
salt is as important to the health of the low
er animals as to man’s. Many of them will
go miles to a salt lick, and a “lick log” is
quite as fashionable a place of resort for
horses and cows, as the “ Exchange” or
“ Shakspeare House” for certain bipeds,
who prefer brandy to salt.
The beneficial effects of a free use of salt
is abundantly proved by the testimony of all
stock who have used it freely. Com
bining ashes with it, however, has a mani
fest advantage. All animals (nt least it is
so with horses,hogs, and cows) that are per
mitted to over feed at times, are as liable to
acidity of the stomach as man, and the alka
li of the ashes collects this, and keeps the
digestive organs in a healthy state.* For
fattening hogs, it should always be used, as
they are often gorged by over-feed it m.—
Columbia S. C. Planter.
My Mother's Butter.—My mother’s mode
was to have a barrel about half full of brine,
made ftom Turks’ Island (not English)
salt, which is the purest as well as strongest.
The butter when made was divided into
lumps or rolls of about four pounds each,
and put in to the brine, and kept below the
surface of it by a clean board cut to fit, with
holes in it.
r i he butter, if well worked at first, never
became rancid in the least, and was better
twelve months after it was made then at
first. The band, of course, should be al
ways in a cool cellar; cool in summer and
warm in winter.
The main object in rendering bullet
proof against spoiling, is to keep it from the
air, and when put away there should be no
buttermilk or water in it. lam now speak
ing of firkin butter.
The Arabs melt their butter over a slow
fire, which expels all tbe watery particles ;
it will then keep without salt; and the Irish
have adopted with success a similar mode
for exportation to the East Indies
T he mode of keeping butter in a conven
ient state for daily use, is what I thought
might bo new to some of your readers, and
which you can, if you think proper, make
them acquainted with. a farmer.
Pulling Cucumbers. —A correspondent
of the New England Farmer gives an effi
cacious method of pickling cucumbers,
which he learnt from an old sea captain in
the West Indies. The receipt is very sim
ple, and the superiority of pickles cured by
its directions, lias been tested by many years
experience. They are neither affected by
I age, season, nor climate. The following is
i the receipt : “To each hundred of cucum
bers put a pint of salt, and pour in boiling
water sufficient to cover the whole. Cover
them tight to prevent the steam ftom escap
ing, and in this condition let them stand for
Uventy-four hours. They are then to be ta
ken out, and after being wiped perfectly
dry, (care being taken that the skin is not
broken.) placed in the jar in which they
at eto be kept. Boiling Vinegar (if spice
is to be used it should be boiled with the
vinegar) is then to be put to them, the jar
closed tight, and in a fortnight delicious
hard pickles are produced, as green as the
day they were upon the vines.” The best
vinegar to be used.
Humming-Bird's Nest.. — Wc wereshown,
a day or two since, (says the Lowell Cour
ier,) a humming-bird’s nest, which we can
not but pronounce one of the most ingenious
and perfect specimens of architecture we
over saw-. It is built of tbe down of the
meadow-flag (well known among children
in the country as “ pussy-tails, ”) and is fas
tened upon a limb apart from branches. It
is quite deep and nearly circular, with a
small aperture at the top The means
which the cunning bird employs to conceal
it from observation are quite worthy of a
reasoning being. The outside of the nest
is perfectly covered with small pieces of
moss gathered from the same limb on which
the nest is built, giving the nest the appear
ance of a small knot or wart upon the limb.
The pieces of moss are woven on by fibres
of the down, which on close examination
can be seen encircling the nest in every di
rection, and render the external covering
quite firm. The nests of this cunning little
bird are so artfully concealed and disguised
in this manner that they ate seldom found.
a<Dwwinjßm£! masGtßiLiLAit’sr®
LAIBIKE®’ (DEPARTMENT
Fiom Mrs. Fllit,’ “Oaunlitrrsof Buglnnd.”
FASHION—ITS IMPERIOUSNESS
AND ITS EVILS.
Oneofthe greatest drawbacks to the good
influence of society, is the most unrivalled
power of fashion upon the female mind.—
Wherever civilized society exists, fashion
exercises her all-pervading influence. All
stoop to it, more or less, and appear to es
teem it a merit to do so; while a really
fashionable woman, though both reprobated
and lidiculed, litis an influence in society
which is little less than absolute. Yet, if
we would choose out of the worthless, the
most contemptible, and the least efficient of
moral egettts, it Would be the slave of fash
ion.
Say the best we ran of fashion, it is only
an imaginary or conventional rule, l>y which
a certain degree of order and uniformity is
maintained ; while the successive and fre
quent variations in this nile, are consider
ed to be the means of keeping in constant
exercise our aits and manufactures. lam
not political economist enough to know
whether the same happy results might not
be brought about by purer motives, and no-*
bier means, but it has always appeared to
me one of tbe gratest of existing übsurdi- I
tis*t, that a whole community of people, dif
fering in complexion, form, aud fealitte,
as widely as the same species can differ
should not only desire to w’ear precisely the
same kind of dress, but should often labor,
strive and struggle, to deceive, envy, and j
cheat, and spend their ow n substance, and
often more than they can lawfully call their
own—to do what l To obtain a dress, 1
which is to them unbecoming, or an article I
of furniture wholy misuited to themselves !
and their establishment.
My own idea, and I believe it is founded
upon a long-cherished, and prehaps too ar
dent admiration of personal beauty, is, that
fashion ought to favor all which is most be
coming. It is true, we should at first be
greatly at a lossto knowwhat was becoming,
because we should have the power and the
prejudice of fashion to contend with; but
there can be no doubt that individual, as
well as public taste, would be improved
by such exercise, arid that our manufactures
would in the end be equally beuefitted,
though for some time it might he difficult
to calculate upon the proable demand.—
Nor can I think that female vanity would
be more encouraged than it now is, by thus
consulting personal and relative fitness ;
because the young woman who now goes
into company fashionably disfigured, believes
herself to be quite as beautiful us if she was
really so. Neither can I see that we are
not bound to study how to make the best
of our appearance, for the sake of our
friends, as well as how to study how to make
the best of our manners, our furniture, and
our food.
Fashion, however, takes this into account.
According to her arbitrary law, the women
of sallow complexion must wear the same
color as the Hebe ; the contracted or mis
shapen forehead must be laid as bare as that
which displays the fairest page of beauty :
the form with square and awkward shoul
ders, must wear the same costume as that
which boasts the contour of the Graces;
arid oh ! most pitiful of all, old age must he
“ branded up” in tbe light drapery, the flow
ers, and the gauds of youth ! In addition to
all this, each one, as an indispensable re
quisite, must possess a waist considerably
below tbe dimentions which are consistent
either with symmetry or health.
It will be an auspicious era in the experi
ence of the daughters of England,when they
shall be convinced, that the Grecians had a
higher standard of taste in female beauty,
than tliat of the shopkeepers arid dressma
kers of London. They will then he willing
to believe, that to be within the exact rule
of proportion, is as important a deviation
from perfect beauty as to be beyond it ;
and that nothing which destroys the grace
of easy and natuial movement, which de
prives any bodily function of its necessary
exercise, which robs the youthful cheek of
its blossom, or, in short, which ungratefully
throws hack trom our possession the invalu
able blessing of health, can he consistent
with the good taste or right feeling of an ami
able, intelligent, or rational wo main
These remarks are applicable, in their
fullest force, to every deviation which is
sanctioned by fashion, from the strict and
holy law of modesty and decorum. And
! of this most injurious tendency of fashion,
1 how insidious is every encroachment, yet
how certain its effect upon the female mind !
It is no uncommon thing to hear women
express the utmost abhorrence of the cos
tume of ome old portrait, who, in the
course of a lew years, perhaps months, are
induced hy fashion to adopt, with unblush
ing satisfaction, an equally, or more objec
tionable dress.
The young girl cannot too scrupulously
shroud her modest feelings from the unspar
ing test of fashion. The bloom ei modesty
is soon rubbed off by vulgar contact! but
what is thus lost to the young female can
never be restored. And let her look to the
risk she incurs. What is it ? On the one
hand, to be thought a little less fashionable
than her friends and neighbors—on the oth
er, to be thought a little more exposed than
a delicate woman ought to be. Is there
any comparison between the two! Or is
there one of the daughters of England, who
would not rather be known to choose the
former?
If possessed of any genuine feeling on
these important points, a young woman will
know by any kind of instinct, that a bare
shoulder protruding into sight is neither a
delicate nor a lovely object; that dress,
either so made or so put on, as not to look
secure and neat, is, to say the least of it, in
bad taste, and that the bigbest standard at
which a rightly minded woman can aim
with regard to dress, is, that it should be
becoming, and not conspicuous. In order
to secure this last point of excellence, it is
unquestionably necessary to conform in
some measure to the fashion of the times in
which we live, and the circle of society in
which we move ; yet, surely this may be j
done to an extent sufficient to avoid the j
chatge of singularity, without the sacrifice
either of modesty or good taste.
Whatever may be the beneficial influence :
of fashion upon the interest of the country
at large, its effects upon individual happi
ness am iujurotts in proportion to their ex
tent; and in what region of the world, or
among what grade of humanity, lias not
this idol of the gilded shrine, this divinity of
lace and ribbons, wielded the sceptre of a
sovereign and asserted her dominion over
mankind 1 All bow before her, though
many of her subjects disclaim her title, and
profess to despise her authority. Nor is her
tenitoiy less extensive, because her empire
is one of trifles. From the ermine of the
monarch to the sandal of the clown; from
the bishop’s lawn, to the itinerant’s cravat;
fiomthe hero’s mantle, to the mechanic’s
opt on ; it is fashion alone which regulates
the form the quality and the cost.
Fashion is unjustly spoken of as presid
ing only in the festive dance, the lighted
ha!!, the crowded court. Would that her
influence were confined to these alone! but,
alas ! we find her in the most sedate assem
blies, cooling down each tint of coloring
that else might glow too warmly, smoothing
off excrescences, and rounding angles to one
general uniformity, of shape and tone. Her
task,however, is but a short one hete, and
passes on through all the busy haunts of life,
neglecting neither high nor low, nor rich nor
poor, until she enters the very sanctuary,
and bows before the altar, hot only w'alking
with the multitude who keep holy day, but
bending in sable sorrow over the last and
dearest friend committed to tbetomb. Yes,
there is something monstrous in the thought,
tHat we cannot weep for the dead, but fash
ion must disguise our grief; and that we can
not stand before the altar, and pronounce
that solemn vow, which the deep heart of
woman alone can fully comprehend, but
fashion must be especially consulted there.
MDSGEILILANY.
The Grave i>f a Fog. —Mr. Chandler, of
the U. S. Gazette, in a very touching and
beautiful article, describes a visit to the
gtave of a favorite and faithful dog. It is
too long for us, but we cannot resist making
the following extract:
It is not seemly to mourn for a dog ; hut
when eleven years the animal lias followed
your footsteps—when his clear voice has
greeted your return, or when, coiled up at
your feet, day after day, he has lifted his
flexible eyebrows and turned hisdatkeye
to see when you would leave the writing-ta
ble and go forth for bis pleasure, as he had
tarried for you, you feel as if the death of
even a dog might warrant a melancholy
sensation, and be pleaded in excuse for a
recollection at least of his canine virtues.
Hunter had become a sort of precursor of
out own comings ; and those who would
meet us, as we catne to or went from our
office, would watch for Hunter that they
might find us. A feeling had sprung up
between üb, and we had learned even to
check each other’s faults. He undoubtedly
had the most to do, or at least the most to
suffer, in that respect, but still be tried, and
sometimes succeeded.
The poor dog had bocome a member of
the family when it was small; and the flock
that had risen up like olive branches around
our table, were affectionately guarded and
tenderly fondled by Hunter. But lie never
confessed the l ight of mastership in them.
He took his place on the hearth-rug before
them with as much independence as if they
had been bis offspring instead of ours ; and
when business or pleasure called us from
the city, lie took upon himself the guardian
ship of the domestic circle, and declined his
daily visit to the office, as much as if lie had
a pecuniary investment in the dwelling, or
was morally and legally responsible for the
welfare of its inmates.
Hunter had been in perils. He was bit
ten, with one other canine friend, by a mad
dog.—His friend died with hydrophobia—
kind attention saved Hunter. He remem
bered it to the last; and when the sickness
came from which he was not relieved, the
beseeching look and the particular emphasis
of his moan showed that he remembered
with gratitude favors past and desired a re
npplication of the remedies.—But he asked
in vain. He pined away, and faculty after
faculty departed, until voice failed, the hear
ing ceased, the eye was lifted up slowly but
dim, and the tail slightly moved, to inti
mate his recognition of him who had been
so long his companion, and his last effort
was to lick the delicate hand of a child, who
had come to take his leave of the last one
that seemed twined in liis earliest love, and
whose name was the first word lie had ar
ticulated.
OM Samson took the dog in his barrow,
and went forth with a measured step to find
a place where he might give him the decen
cy of burial, without intruding upon the re
pose of human beings who, made in abetter
image, justly claim a sanctity for their dust.
The little procession, as it went forth, had
with it something of a touching air. The
body of Hunter was decently covered, not
ostentatiously, lest ridicule should attach to
the scene, and Samson had put on liis best
clothes, avowedly less for funeral purposes
than that he might appear decently before
the mistress. —Little Willy, the only follow
er of the train, had drawn his cap over his
eyes, to hide a few hasty tears, and was re
gulating his step by the solemn and measur
ed movement of Samson. Few felt an in
terest to inquire what was hidden beneath
the white pall, and the unwanted melacholy
of the boy was suffered to pass without in
quiry.
When the procession had reached the
place of sepulture the body was lowered,
not thrown, into the grave, and Samson re
marked that the collar was still about Hun
ter’s neck. “ I’ll take it off,” said he; “it
will do for another dog.”
Little Willy leaned over and looked down
into the grave ; and then, lifting his stream
ing eye to liis sable companion, he said,
“ No, let it be, Samson, let it be. I don’t
want any mote dogs; and if I do have odo
I don’t want to see Hunter’s collar on his
neck.”
Samson sodded up the grave and turn
ed towards him. “ Will you ride in the bar
row, said lie to Willy.
The child turned and looked at the car
riage with a shudder, and walked onwards.
\v lien \\ illy reached home lie went and
sat down alone beside Hunter’s “ house”
and wept a flood of tears; and it was only
when the memorials of his faithful friend,
more than twice his own age, lmd been re
moved, that lie could dry up his tears. And
even now the mention of the dog makes the
“ clouds return after the rain,” and cast a
gloom over the sunny spirit of the child.
Labor and IJlchc.su. — All true Work is
sacred : in all true Work, were it hut true
hand labor, there is something of divineness.
Labor, wide as the Earth, has its summits
in Heaven. Sweat of the brow; and up
fiom that to sweat of the brain, sweat of the
heart; which includes all Kepler calcula
tions, Newton meditations, all Sciences, all
spoken Epics, all acted Heroisms, Martyr
doms—up to that “Agony of bloody sweat,”
which all men have called divine ! O bro
ther, if this is not “ worship,” then I say,
the more pity for worship; for this is the
noblest thing vet discovered under God’s
sky. Who art thou that compluinest of thy
life oftoil? Complain not. Look up, my
wearied brother; see thy fellow Workmen
there, in food’s Eternity; surviving there,
they alone surviving; sacred Hand of the
Immortals; celestial Bodyguard of the Em
pire of Mankind. Even in the weak Hu
man Memory they sut vive so long, as saints,
as heroes, as gods ; they alone surviving ;
peopling, they alone, the unmeasured soli
tudes of Time! To thee Heaven, though
severe, is not unkind ; Heaven is kind—as
a noble Mother; as that Spartan Mother,
saying while she gave her son his shield,
“ With it, my son, or upon it!” Thou too
shalt return home in honor; to thy far dis
tant Home, in honor; doubt it not, if in the
battle thou keep thy shield ! Thou, in the
Eternities and deepest Deathkingdoms, art
not an alien ; thou everywhere art a deni
zen ! Complain not; the very Spartans did
not complain.
And who ait thou that braguest of thy
life of Idleness; complacently shovvest thy
bright gilt equipages ; sumptuous cushions;
appliances of folding the hands to mere
sleep 1 Looking up, looking down, around,
behind or before: discernest thou, if it he
not in Mayfair alone, any idle hero, saint,
god, or even devil ? Not a vestige of one.
In the Heavens, in the Earth, in the Wa
teis under the Earth, none is like unto thee.
Thou art an original figure in this Creation;
denizen in Mayfair alone, in this extraordi
nary Century, or Half Ceutury alone ! One
monster there is in the world ; the idle man.
What is his “Religion?” That Nature is
a Phantasm, where cunning, beggary or
thieving may sometimes find good victual.
That God is a lie; and that Man and his
Life are a lie.”— Carlyle.
West Indian Bees. —A traveled man
was descanting one day upon what he had
seen in his peregrinations. He was parti
cularly impressive on the largeness to which
common reptiles and insects grew in tropi
cal climates. “In the West Indies,” said
be, “ bees are about the size of our sheep.”
“ And how large may the bee-hives he ?”
inquired one of the company,—“Oh, about
the ordinary size,” said the traveller with
out thinking of the exaggerated size be bad
just ascribed to the tenants of these recep
tacles. “Then,” said the inquirer, “ how do
the bees get into the hives?” “ Oh,” replied
the detected Munchausen, “let the bees
look to that !”
Thud;—An Allegory. — When Noah plan
ted the first vine and retired, Satan ap
proached it, and said, “ I will nourish you
charming plant.” He quickly brought three
animals, a lamb, a lion arid a hog, and kill
ed them one after the other near the
vine.—The virtue of the blood of these an
imals penetrated it, and is still manifested
in its growth. When a man drinks one
goblet of wine he is agreeable, gentle and
friendly, that is the nature of the lamh.—
When he drinks two he is a lion and says,
“ Who is like me ?” lie then talks of stu
pendous things. When he drinks more,
his senses forsake him, and at length lie
wallows in the mire. Need it be said, that
then he resembles the hog.
The York-Ouse Boy. —Every body, says
that sterling old periodical, the Knickei bock
er, “ every body has seen or heard the
“ Misletoe Bough,” that Iladcliffian story
in song, of a bride who hid hetself in an
oak chest (which closed with a srping,) on
the night of her marriage, and who was seen
no more, until years had rolled by, when
her skeleton in its bridal gear, was acciden
tally discovered in the living tomb, which
she had sought in merriment. There is a
capital parody on this very Germanic tale,
entitled “ The Vork-’Ousc Boy,” which is
set to the same music and sung with a par
ticularly lugubrious and “ dying fall” in the
chorus. It would create a soul under the
ribs of death to hear it “ executed” in the
voice and with the instrumentation, of a
certain fiiend of the “ Old Knick’s,” who in
rendering it, preserved the orignal pathos
and irresistible cockneyism, to a cliarm.—
The last verse brought tears to our eyes.”
N. O. Tropic.
THE VORK-’OUSE BOY.
The great coals hung in the voik-’ouse hall,
The vite ’ats shone on thevile-vashed wall ;
And the paupers all were blithe and gay,
Akeepin’ their Cliristmus’ ‘oliday:
Ven the Master he cried, vith a savage leer,
“ You’ll all get soup for your Christinas cheer!
Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!
Oh ! the vork-'ouse boy !
At length allovus to bed wasseut:
But a boy vus a missin’—in searah ve vent 1
Vejßought him above and ve sought him below,
And ve sought him vith laces of grief and vo!
Ve sought in each corner, each kettle, each pot!
In the vater-butt looked—but found him not 1
And veeks rolled, on and ve all vere told
That the vork ’ouse boy had been Burked and sold !
Oh 1 the vork-’ouse boy !
Oh! the vork-'ouse boy !
But ven the soup coppers repair did need,
The copper-smith came and there he seed
A dollop of bones lie grizzling there,
In the leg of the trowsers the boy did vear !
To gain his fill the iad did stoop,
And dreadful to tell—he vas biled into soup!
And ve all ov us said, and ve said it vith sners,
That lie vas pushed in by the overseers!
Ob ! the vork-'ouse boy!
Oh! the vork-'ouse hoy!
The bright Poker. —The widow Mugg c .
ridge, in her best room, bud two pokerl_
The one was black and somewhat bent ;| le
other shone like a ray of summer lights.;,’
was effulgent speckle steel. Both poker”
stood at the same fire-place. “ What!”
ask, “and did the widow Muggerid<m s tj r
the fno with both V Certainly not. \y as
a coal to be cracked—the black poker crack
cd it; did she want a rousing fire th".
black poker was plunged relentlessly i nlo
the burning mass to stir np the sleeping
Vulcan ; was a tea-kettle to be accommoda
ted to the coals —the hlack poker sunn,, r
ted it, “And what,” methinks von say ”
“ did the bright poker ?” 1 answer, noth
ing, save to stand and glisten at the fire-sido
its black begrimed companion poking, rak
ing, burning, banging, doing all the sweat
ing work. As for the bright p iker, that
was a consecrated thing, Never did Mis
Muggeridge go to Hackney fur a week to
visit her relations, that the bright poker was
not removed from the grate, and carefully
swathed in oil flannel, and awaited in grea
sy repose the return of its mistress. Then
once more, in glistening idleness, would it
lounge among shovel and tongs ; the jetty
slave, the black poker, working until it was
worked to the stump, at last to be fluno
aside for old iron! One dozen black pj!
kers did the bright poker sec out; and to
this day—doing nothing—it stands lustrous
and inactive ! My son, such is life. When
you enter the world, make up all your ener
gies to become—A Bright Poker.— Punch.
The Prince of Wale's Establishment. —
We perceive by Ftiday’s Gazette, that the
Prince of Wales has got a Chancellor and
an Attorney General; hut it is not univer
sally known that on the same clay his Royal
highness had a wooden scaramouch and a
tin soldier. When Mr. Pemberton, the
Chancellor of the Royal Infant, went to kiss
hands on his appointment, the Prince play
fully possessed himself of the nose of the
newly constituted dignity. We understand
the fact of his Royal Highness having expe
rienced this addition to his state w-as an
nounced to his Royal Highness by the Dow
ager Lady Littleton, in the following very
appropriate words:
“ Sal he have a Chancellor? Yes, that
he sal, a little pesliious. He shan’t be trnu
• hied with a little conscience. No, Hint he
shan’t. But lie sal have a Chancellor, all to
his little self, to keep his little conscience
for him. (Hush a by, baby, on the tree top,)
And an Attorney General too, to advocate
his little rights, and do all his little business
for him. (Be by, baby, bunting.) They
shan’t worry him with nasty accounts. No,
that they shan’t, hut he will have a little au
ditor, won’t lie. (One, too, buckle my shoe.)”
His Royal Highness condescended to re
ceive this notification very graciously, and
smiled several times as the nature of the
several duties of his new legal officers was
alluded to. — London Punch.
Insanity of the Negro race—Startling
Pacts. —An article in a late magazine, on
the subject of the census of IS 10, establish
es, from the statistical returns, some very
important and curious facts as to the rela
tive condition, moral and physical, of our
African population,free and slaves. It seems
that in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, (free
states.) the proportion of the insane among
the colored population is one in eighty-eight;
while in Virginia and Maryland, it is one
in one thousand two hundred and ninety
nine. A still more terrible inequality ex
hibits itself in the older northern states,
where the negro,has been longer free. In
Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire and
Vermont, the colored insane are one in thir
ty-four. If the proportion were as great
among the whites of the same States, there
would be, in these four States, 35,030 luna
tics. Maine, it seems, has even a more
shocking disproportion—or.e in every four
teen of hlack population being insane. Mas
sachusetts has a white population about
equal to that of Virginia. Had she an equal
black one, she would, upon the ratio which
holds there, have 11,600 lunatics, for whose
accommodation she would he obliged to lay
out above nine millions in building asylumns,
and to incur an annual charge for their main
tenance of about $1,740,000 —probably
some four or five times the present entire
expense ofher state government.
The facts as to the decay of the black pop
ulation in the free States, and the enormous
pievalence of crime among them in compar
ison witli the whites of the same region, are
equally striking. The whole picture is ap
palling, and must, to all who will consent to
look at simple fact, afford a perfectly decis
ive argument as to the fitness of that unhap
py race for freedom, and the benefits which
it confers upon them and the communities
in which they are found.— N. Y. Aurora.
A single day’s Adventure. —The Dover
(N. H.) Gazette says there is a man now
residing within the limits of that town, who
has had more events to happen to him in
one day than is common. lie started from
his home sober at 8 o’clock, got drunk bo
fore 9 o’clock, got a flogging before 10 o -
clock, pulled down a tent before 11 o’clock,
got into alockupbefore 12 o’clock,paid seven
dollars for sauce, and was released before 1
o’clock. Got drunk before 2 o’clock, fell
and injured his leg and was carried home
before 3 o’clock, and took an oath before 9
o’clock that he would never drink any moro
liquor, and has kept his word. He says
that no man has greater reason than he has
to hate rum, or thank God for having a lame
leg, and, he might have added, for having
sense enough to see the cause of all his
day’s misfortunes, and moral courrage
enough to avoid it in future.
No man should be honored, save for what
he is or has done—his station is but a cir
cumstance. If a man has done noble deeds
wise, vilient, self-denying, beneficient —then
honor him, though he but some squaild ne-.
gro. If he has done nothing of this soit
if his most noble acts have shown him selfish,
insincere, perfidious and base—then heap
no honors on him though bis station be high
est under Heaven. To do otherwise is to.
teach our Youth to stiivefor station rather
than desert—is to teach them that office is
desirable, not as affording opportunities to
do good, but because it covers g<xwi and bad
indiscriminately with glory.