Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11. |
l>Y C, R. HANLEITER.
IP © E TT K Y „
Fur the “Southern Miscellany.”
DKSIRE TO ROAM.
KY CUYLEU W. YCIUK<S
-1 long to roam o’er Eastern climes —
O'er Falestine ami the Holy Land,
Where heroes lived in ancient limes,
Arid died among their god-like hand.
On the banks of the Euphrates,
Where Sin first made blind man to see —
Where traveled once Polycrates,
I most fondly wish to be.
‘Old Persia, with her fairy tales —
Armenia, with her lovely girls—
Dark Egypt, with her lowly vales—
Arabia, with her sea of pearls —
These are the regions fair and wide,
Whither fond fancy quickly flies —
Flitting along live rivers wide,
And even soaring to the skies!
ri——■——— l ■*! ■UHMIW.IIg
SiEHIOYtEE) TALI§ a
THE HARD MAN.
“ A man severe he was.”
Archibald Merton tvas llie son of an in
dustrious and thriving merchant, who, orig
inally poor, hod, at first from necessity,
and afterwards from habit, become a penu
rious man. Prosperous in all his undertak
ings, lie believed that poverty was invaria
bly the result of idleness, and, consequent
ly, felt no sympathy in the wants of others,
and was never known to extend his hand
in charily to any.
Archibald had imbibed and acted upon
the erroneous conclusions of his father.
Inheriting a handsome fortune at his
death, sufficient for the independence of
five of his limited wants and views, he still
continued plodding on and increasing his
store.
Two years after ho had succeeded to the
business he married—not for love, for that
was a sentiment he possessed as little of as
be did of charity—no—it was merely a bar
gain—and, if like most of his baigains, set
tled upon “ Change.”
A rich merchant, who had five daughters,
■offered him the choice, and a certain sum ;
and when he had made his selection, the
lit,ii.ltir wen mn.lo and ct'eptwl, w ith all
the coldness and forfnality of a commercial
I ransaction.
A daughter was the issue—the only is
sue ; for the wife died three months after
wards, and was buried with all the honors
■usually paid to the wealthy.
Archibald grieved exceedingly that his
better half had not lived to bring up the
child as he was compelled to put the child
out to nurse.
Notwithstanding his indifference, howev
er, the little Maria grew up ; and, when she
had attained the age of five, he began to
take notice of his only child, and had ex
pressed himself rather pleased wuh her win
ning ways and artless prattle.
His business, however, engaged the larg
er portion of his time at the office, and oc
cupied much of his thoughts at home, he
consequently had little intercourse with the
representative of his house.
Os late years, too, there lose a competi
tion in mercantile affairs, which gradually
assumed an air of speculation, that was ve
ry distasteful to the old fashioned merchant;
but he still persevered, although he found
he had not only much to contend with, hut
almost anew game to play, in which he
not unfrcquently found himself at fault.—
Still the reputation of the firm was high in
the market, and he commanded, where
others were obliged to solicit,
*****
Time progressed, and Maria was eigh
teen — a pretty, lively, intelligent girl, with
more common sense than accomplishments;
her great virtue, in the estimation of Archi
bald Merton, being Iter strict obedience to
his will.
He contemplated, however, putting it to
the severest test to which a parent can sub
mit his child,
Having no son to continue his business,
ho had “ speculated” upon taking a junior
partner, in the shape of a sou-in-law ; and,
having compared “notes” with a brother
merchant, who had an only son, he propos
ed the affair upon conditions, Szc.
After mature deliberation, the match was
agreed upon, provided the young couple
were ready 9rid willing to ratify the agree
ment. Archibald on his part smiled at the
idea of a demur on the part of his daugh
ter; and the introduction took place, the
father and son dining with Archibald.
Strange to say, the young people appear
ed mutually pleased ; for, stranger still
they had previously met “ promiscuously”
at the house of a mutual friend ; on which
occasion young Mr. Belton had been rath
er particular in his attentions to Maria, who
had been particularly pleased ; for lie was
a very fine young fellow, and was quite the
observed of all observers ; and Maria had,
it must be confessed, a little vanity in her
composition, and felt rather gratified at
“ carrying him off,” on that occasion, al
though she had never seen him since.
Qf course shp complied with her parent s
request, that she should receive Helton as
her affianced husband, without a murmur,
although the little rogue did exhibit an ap
parent indifference on the occasion, which
was naughty, perhaps but pardonable.
& iPiimtls : Bcfcotftr to Eitrratuvr, agriculture, iAaccftfiulcs, Strucutiou, jFovcfsu aufc Semester KutciUgrucc, &c.
Letters were exchanged by the mer
chants, setting forth an agreement, that
“one month from the date hereof,” ten
thousand pounds should he advanced by
each on the day of the marriage of Frederick
Belton, Esq., junior, the son of Josiah Bel
ton, Esq., to the daughter of Atchibald
Merton, &e.
The young couple meanwhile passed a
delightful time in the interchange of the
tenderest sentiments, sanctioned by their
parents ; and, unalloyed by any pecuniary
considerations, which were left entirely to
the discussion of the oriainal contractors,
enjoying a felicity that was truly enviable.
Mantua makers and milliners were busi
ly employed in preparing for the happy
event, and Maria was in the anticipation of
earthly enjoyment when one week before
the proposed nuptials, / ’-iha!d returned
from “ Change” an hour before his accus
tomed time.
There was a cloud upon his brow, that
checked the exuberant joy of his child, ami
chilled the blood in her veins.
“ Girl !” said he throwing his hat upon
the sofa, “ that old fool, Belton, has been
speculating in hops; they have fallen in the
matket, and he is a ruined man—all gone —
found hanging in his warehouse!”
“ Gracious heaven !” exclaimed Maria,
dropping in a chair, and looking like a
corpse at the sudden communication of ill
tidings, “ poor gentleman !”
“ Poor indeed !” exclaimed Archibald
bitterly. “ I hold a thousand pouridsof his
worthless paper, and his estate will not yield
a farthing in the pound.”
“Oh sir !” said Maria, “ let us go and
comfort Frederick. What roust his feelings
be ?”
“Frederick ! comfort him ! You do not
think of your father you ungrateful gitl.—
Can lie pay me my thousand pounds 1 He
is a beggar ; think no more on him.”
“ Oh sir,” said Maria, “ you are wealthy.
This loss cannot, will not affect you. Bid
me not forget him whom you lia\e com
manded me to love and receive as my hus
band.”
“ Peace, unfeeling girl !"’ cried Archi
bald “ nor dare to mention the son of the
man who has robbed and plundered me.—
He is a beggar, and no match for the daugh
ter of Archibald Merton. Never more
shall he cross the threshold of tny door.—
Forget him !”
Maria did not hear his last command, for
she fell ns if stricken hv death upon the
floor of the drawing room. Archibald rang
the hell, and summoning the servants, left
the forlorn and hapless maid to their minis
trations, and retreated to his accustomed
coffee house, to ascertain if there were any
hope of a dividend from the estate of Bel
ton.
Recovering from her swoon, and finding
that her obdurate father had left the house,
Maria, attended by her maid, with the bold
ness of despair, immediately sought her af
flicted lover.
Her absence was unobserved ; her obe
dience, indeed, was undoubted ; but surely,
under the peculiar circumstances of her sit
uation, her conduct could not he reprehen
ded by the severest moralist, for the love
Archibald commanded could not be counter
manded at will.
A correspondence between the lovers
was the natural consequence ; at the end of
six weeks Maiia eloped, and married the
husband of her father’s choice.
Archibald’s anger was deep and inflexi
ble ; he uttered no expiession ; hut felt and
nourished an unnatural feeling of resent
ment against his daughter and her para
mour, and lie bitterly denounced the un
fortunate, and perhaps what worldly peo
ple would call, thoughtless Frederick.
Months elapsed, and Archibald heard no
thing of his disobedient child ; and poor
Maiia, although married to the man of her
fathei’s and her own choice was by no
means perfectly happy ; for she had been
so accustomed to bow religiously to his will
in all things, that she consequently experi
enced many qualms of conscience at the
step she had taken, which ever and anon
passed like dark clouds across the sunshine
of her existence. Frederick, too, was una
ble to obtain any employment, and the little
money he possessed was fast dwindling a
way ; and, to add to the misfortune of the
young couple, Maria promised to become a
mother.
Too proud and independent to sue for
help where he considered it ought naturally
to have been proffered, Frederick tried ev
ery means in his power to procure means
elsewhere before he solicited the assistance
of his implacable father-in-law. Stern ne
cessity at last compelled him to do that
which he deemed a degradation.
“ VVliat is your business, sir?” demand
ed Archibald, with a chilling indifference,
when, by a suit of stratagem, Frederick
had obtained an interview.
“ I have no business, Mr. Merton ;” re
plied Frederick ; “ and indeed no pleasure j
in the application I am about to make to
you.”
“ Then the sooner our conference ends ,
the better.”
“ Not so, sir,” replied Frederick indig
nantly, “ and by heavens ! you must and
shall hear mo !” and rising abruptly, he
locked the door of the apartment.
“ Fear nothing, sir; you are Maria’s fa
ther and that is sufficient protection for 1
you,”
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 12, 1813.
“ I disclaimed and will disinherit the dis
obedient girl,” said Archibald.
“Listen, sir,” said Frederick. “You
sanctioned my addresses to your daughter ;
and did all in your power to promote the
match ; and had it not been for my father’s
misfortunes, you would gladly have ratified
the agreement into which you had enter
-1 ed.”
i “ Well, sir ; hut he failed in his part, and
I have every right to letract.”
“ You forget, sir, that this was not a mere
| contract of bargain and sale—that the affec
tions of the parties were involved. You
are still a rich man, and Maria isyourchild.
I do not ask you to give her the handsome
portion you promised on the wedding day J
but I do claim some assistence, which will
enable me to enter into business, and recov
erat least, apa 11 of that connection which
my father had by his industry and integrity
obtained. He was unfortunate, sir, not
guilty. “ Your daughter, too, is in a pre
carious state, and requires every comfort ;
and if you possess the feeling of u parent,
you will afford it to her.”
“ You have married the girl, and you
must he responsible for your own wilful
riess. For my own part, I care not if she
applies to the parish ; for the shame will he
upon your head lor your rashness. Have
you any thing more to say ?”
“ Yes, sir,” replied Frederick, “this char
itable prayer, that, when you are judged,
may you meet with more mercy than you
mete out to your own child.”
Disgusted with the hard-hearted man,
Frederick departed as much in anger as in
sorrow at t lie fruitless issue of his interview.
Some months after this, Archibald Mer
ton was gratified at hearing that Frederick
had quitted London. lie was comparative
ly happy, and once more pursued his avo
cations. Between ’Change and the coffee
house, he filled up the day of his existence
and increased his fortune.
There came, however, a “ lull” in busi
ness, and he was miserable, for he required
the excitement consequent upon money ma
king ; and, like a gambler, becoming des
perate,, be made a speculation, and lost a
considerable sum.
A change came o’er his golden dream,
and he was induced by some wealthy mer
chants to become a director in one of the
bubble companies of the day. The com
pany failed : and Merton being an opulent
man, he became the mark of attack ; the
rest of the “ board” proved men of straw.
Action upon action followed, and he was
mulcted in a large amount of damages in
every case, until the old merchant found
himself under the necessity of becoming a
bankrupt, to save himself from a prison, and
lie did find no one who struck a friendly
docket. He obtained liis certificate, hut he
was literally a beggar. He had no friends
not a soul 011 earth who cared for him for
he had in his prospeiity cared for none;
and he quitted London, and no one knew
whither his steps were bent.
*****
Twelve years had elapsed since the un
fortunate marriage of Maria and old Merton
had no tidings of her fate; for Frederick
was as proud as the old merchant was in
flexible. *******
It was a beautiful day in May—the haw
thorn was in full bloom, and the birds were
singing merrily, and filled the air with their
sweet melody. All nature smiled at the re
turn of summer.
A beautiful fair-haired girl was playing
with a pet lamb in a meadow adjoining a
handsome farm house, where the bailiff - of
the lord’s estate resided.
A poor old man, with gray hair, and bent
double with age and infirmity, walked slow
ly up to the style which divided the mea
dow from the high road, arid resting his
arms upon the upper bar, regaided the
child..
He was not long unobserved ; and with
all the elasticity and sprightliness of youth,
the little creature bounded towards the men
dicant.
“ Poor old man,” said she, “ you look
fatigued—have you walked far ? Shall I
bring you a bowl of milk ? Here sit on this
bank, and take care of my lamb, will you.
I shall he with you presently.”
And away ran the joyous little creature
to the farm house, and quickly returned with
a wooden bowl of milk and a slice of bread.
“ Thank you—thank you,” replied the
old man and heartily devoured the welcome
meal, while the little girl toyed with her
pet; and, at last, weary and rosy with exer
tion, seated herself at the beggar’s feet—a
beautiful picture of innocence !
” W ho taught your heart charity towards
the poor ?” said the old man.
“ What do you mean ?” said the artless
child.
“ Why do vou give me this bread and
milk ?”
“ Because I thought you were tired, hun
gry, and poor,” replied the child ; “ and fa
ther won id be so angry if 1 had let you go
on without offering you something. Oh !
he is so good, and every body loves him ; and
I love him and my mother better than all
the world.”
“ And are they rich ?” demanded the
old man.
“ Oh ! no! rich people ride in a carriage
you know, and are so proud ; but we have
every thing we want, and can always give
something away besides. Did you ever
see anything like Jessy ? Look how she
butts at me ! Sbe is so naughty ; and yet
I feed her and wash her everyday. Come
here ; do, you thing, and let me cuddle your
little woolly neck.”
And she entwined her little arm around
the lamb’s neck, and hugged it to her.
“ Bless you and thank you !” replied the
old man, returning the bowl and taking up
his staff - . t
” Don’t hurry yourself. lam sure you
are tired,” replied the child ; and you may
I stop here as long as you like, and sleep in
1 the barn, too, if you please.
“ Sleep !” cried the old man, looking up
wildly; and then, as if recollecting himself,
lie added—“ if 1 may he permitted to rest
my weary limbs till morning.”
“ Indeed you may ; and you have no oc
casion to be frightened, for we have no
dogs, for father says they always bark at
poor people ; and mother does laugh so
when lie says they are faithful, but not char
itable, for she is so fond of them. Shall I
show you the barn 1 ami depend upon
it, I shall he up by five in the morning, and
I’ll bring you such a nice mess of hot bread
and milk, and some meat, too, if you like it.”
“ Thank ye,” murmured the old man as
lie arose, and scalding tears rolled down bis
furrowed cheeks as lie followed his pretty
little prattling guide.
*****
True to her promise, the little girl bro’t
the weary wanderer liis welcome meal at
five o’clock in the morning; and seating
herself 011 a truss of straw beside him, talk
ed to him like sweet music.
He had scarcely finished, when a manly
voice, outside the barn, in a laughing tone,
said, “Come, let us see the child’s guest;
the little rogue wants to engross all the mer
it to herself.”
The door opened, and in walked the bai
liff - and his buxom wife.
“ Well, gaffer,” sa : d the hearty young
farmer, “ 1 hope you have been well cared
for ?”
A shriek from liis wife startled him ami
frightened the child, who hurst into tears,
and rushed to her mother’s side.
“ Father !my poor father!” exclaimed
Maria, and fell swooning in the arms of
Frederick.
“‘T “rrtDITIg w ’ * 111 rnrimwiiwn ■iiiiiiwiin
YME F& ® M ER a
(Ci? 3 We cannot place anything belter un
der our Agricultural bead this week, than
the following sensible communication from
a true Farmer’s wife, to the editois of the
“ New York Central Farmer.” We most
especially commend it to all out lady read
ers, town and country :
ECONOMY.
Gentlemen —Will you give a place in
your columns, to a few desultory thoughts
on Economy ? I suppose you are not
much troubled with communications from
the ladies on this important subject—for 1
believe that we, (as a class,) have paid less
attention to it, than the gentlemen of small
and reduced fortunes could desite. l)r.
Johnson thought it was the duly of every
individual to make some improvements in
the chart of his life ; to point out the tocks
and quicksands where he has suffered loss
himself; and 1 suppose it is equally the du
ty of him who has sailed on a smooth sea,
to leave liis compass and his wake for the
direction of future travelers.
Observation is worth something as well
as experience ; arid when we see the poor
debtor sui rounded by a set of clamorous
creditors, grasping the last cent which the
law allows, we may realise all the evils of
mismanagement and extravagance, without
partaking of their bitter fruit. My atten
tion has been called to this subject, by the
failure of several farmers, and as, (in such
cases.) whole families are involved in the
general wreck. I trust I shall be pardoned
if I offer a few suggestions to those wives
and daughters, who share proportionally in
the weal and woe of the farmers’ life.
First, il debts have been contracted, it is
for you to save the means and help lay by
in store, sufficient to meet those dues. I
have always noticed that there was a better
state of feeling in those families in which
the woman knew something of business
matters, than in those in which she is en
tirely ignorant of the extent ol her husband’s
resources. In the latter ease, it is not un
common for her to desire and expect a sim
ply of means which il is impossible for him
to furnish. The short and decisive refusal,
without the why’s and wherefore’s is the
end of the matter with him; hut not so v\ith
her. She thinks il over, the denial rankles
deeper and deeper, till she half believes it
was the result of unkiudness alone. Now
very likely if she knew all the circumstances
of the case, she would not have expected
or even asked for what she knew it was
impracticable to purchase ; for it must be
remembered that we, (a majority of us at
least,) are reasonable beings, and of the mi
nority, I know there is a class, (though I
acknowledge it with shame,) who arc deter
mined to gratify the suggestion of a giddy
fancy, whether they are able or nor. Many
a fanner is injured if not positively ruined,
by the enormous amount of bis store bills.—
The silk dresses, and satin shawls, the fine
kid gloves, and expensive bonnets, with all
the corresponding things for table, parlor
and chamber, create a style of things too ex
pensive for the man who has no income but
the ptoducls of a small farm. This passion
for dress and fine living, is owing altogeth
er to a perverted taste, a false estimate
which we place upon appearances. Rus
tic attire renders us none the worse, nor
gaudy trappings, any better.
1 have noticed, aiso, that the plain farm
er’s fare is giving place to the luxuries of
the moreopuleut. Instead of tlie products
of the farm alone, they feast you with the
products of other dimes. Expensive tarts
and pies, rich cake and sweetmeats, with
the mackerel, shad and steak, which are
often bought, createdebts to the gtocernnd
butcher, larger than a fat mer, (unless he is
a very wealthy one.) ever ought to pay. —
My plan is to live plain myself, and give my
company the same sort of living. Better
indeed to give them the plainest food, and
furnish nought but cold water, “ sparkling
and bright,” than present them with choice
viands, fine Java, and the best of Old Hyson,
at the expense of our creditors. Let us not
feel willing that others should suffer loss by
our excesses. Let ijs not say their gains
were obtained by fraud and oppression, and
no matter if they do loose. • It is enough for
us to seo that ‘.heir demands as far as we are
concerned are promptly met. Letusculti
vate a high sense of honor, of integrity of
purpose, and truthfulness of heart. Let
us become like the women of the Old School,
simple in our diet, economical in our dress,
cheerful in our labor, and patient in suffer
ing. Ours is indeed a life of care and la
bor, but it is one favorable to the enjoyment
of the true happiness, and the cultivation of
our moral nature. We need not sigh for
the ease and indolence of the fine lady, for
could we but feel the languor and ennui
that oppresses her, we should sigh again
for that healthful labor, that calls us tip at
the rising of the sun, and gives us but little
respite till the going down of the same.—
Now in recommending strict economy, and
labor, I do not propose to abridge the
comforts of life, but on the other hand to en
hance alt its joys. An active employment
and simple diet, give vigor and elasticity to
the whole system. In fact, they are the
(■•seiitia! conditions of its regular and health
ful action. Freedom from debt, and a con
sciousness of integrity, give satisfaction to
the mind, such as the fraudulent debtor can
never know.
Let it not be understood that we would
encourage a mean and avaricious disposi
tion, for this we consider still more repre
hensible than a careless and prodigal one.
Bui between two extremes, there is always
a mean, and this is as true in household op
erations, as in the problems of Euclid. We
may have all the real wants of life, at a
small expense, and in a simple way. We
are surrounded by every tiling in to
render our situation pleasing, comfortable
and happy. Heaven smiles propitiously up
on our labors, for we have the bright sup,
and refreshing showers, without the asking
wehave orchards and groves for the plant
ing—and clustering roses and honeysuckles
for the cultivation. I recollect that we were
told in an Agricultural Address, last year,
that we must not cultivate flowers in old
broken tea-pots and pitchers. Now as we
are upon the principles of economy, and
“pay as you go,” we think this depends up
on circumstances. If it is not convenient to
pay a mechanic for a day’s labor in making
boxes, we had 1 letter use something else.
Who would relinquish some cherished ex
otic, because she had nothing hut an old
broken pitcher to plant it in ? 1 would rear
some lovely plant, or fragrant rose, if I had
to beg the dust of the earth to nourish it,
and the dews of heaven to water it. If I
bad nought but a hovel to shelter me, I
should want a vine to creep over it, and
sweet flowers to breathe their fragrance a
bout it. It. is the love of nature, the love of
flowers, that gives us pleasure, and not the
love of painted boxes, eai them jars, or china
vases.
In-relation to funds expended for the ed
ucation of children, we have only to say, let
them be expended judiciously. Look well
to it, that you get the worth of your money,
for the country is filled with teachers who
care as little for the improvement of your
children, as the unfaithful hireling for the
improvement of your farm. When we com
bine our efforts to educate aright the young,
and overcome in them that repugnance to
labor, which is so prevalent iri our country,
the condition of the farmer will be truly de
sirable. And it is for us to render labor
pleasing, not we who write, nor we who
lecture about it, but for us who woik. Hab
its of industry are formed far earlier by ex
ample, than by precept, for the child who
sees a whole household rise with the dawn
and perform their allotted work with cheer
fulness and pleasure, will naturally catch
the spirit and copy the example of those a
round him. But he who dislikes labor may
prate about industry, and lecture daily upon
its advantages, hut the child, so long as he
remains a child, will wonder, (if it is so de
sirable,) why father don’t work, and mother
too. A drone placed in a community where
labor was universal, where it was consider
ed honorable,and rendered profitable, would
cease to lie a drone ; how much easier then,
to learn the child, whose habits are all un
formed.
There have been foolish fathers among
the farmers, who thought their sons must
obtain some learned profession, instead of a
knowledge of their own noble occupation—
and there have been foolish mothers who
| NUMBER 20.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
have brought up their daughters in idleness
and igiinimice. (t least of household affairs,)
hoping they would marry wealthy tradesmen,
or foitnnate speculators. But we belieTe
this lidiculous burlesque upon common
sense, is giving place to more rational views
atid expectations. But we are digressing
from tlie subject upon which we proposed
| to write, and also verifying the old proverb,
| that when a woman begins to talk* she nev
er knows when to slop. So I will add no
more, for fear of wearying you and taxing
tfie couitesy of our Editors, with too long a
communication. Economist.
Singular Incident in the life of Washing
ton Allston. —The Boston Atlas, after re
marking that the strong devotional feelings
ofthis late distinguished artist, formed one
of the most prominent traits in his beauti
ful character, relates the following temarka
b!e incident in his life :
Not long after his marriage with his first
wife, the sister of the late Dr. Channing, he
made his second visit to Europe. Alter a
residence thereof a little more than a year,
his pecuniary wants became very pressing
and urgent—more so than at any other pe
riod r.f his life. He was even, at times, at
a loss for the means of purchasing the ne
cessaries of life. On or.e of these occasions,
as he himself used to narrate the event, ho
was in his studio, reflecting, with a feeling
of almost desperation, upon his condition.—
His conscience seemed to tell him that he
had deserved his afflictions, and drawn them
upon himself, by his irreligious neglect of
religion, and by want of due gratitude for
past favors from Heaven. His heart, all at
once, seemed filled with the hope that God
would listen to his prayers, if lie would offer
up his direct expression of penitence, and
ask for divine aid. lie accordingly locked
his door, withdrew ato corner of <lie room,
threw himself upon his knees, % ond prayed
for a loaf of bread for himself and his wife.
Y\ bile thus employed, a knock was heard
at the door. A feeling of momentary shame
at lieing detected in this position, and a
feeling of fear least he might have been ob
served, induced him to hasten to open the
door.
A stranger inquires of Mr. Allston. He
is anxious to learn who was the fortunate
pm chaser of the painting of “the AngeF
Uriel,” regarded by the artist, as onu of
his master pieces, ond w hich had won the
piize at the exhibition of the Academy.-—.
He is told that it has not been sold. •• Can
it lie possible ? Not sold !—Where is it to’
be had ?” “I ri this very room. Here it fs,”
producing the [minting from a corner and
wiping off the dust. “Is it for sale 1 Can
it be bought !” was the eager interrogatory.
“ It is for sale—hut its value has never yet,-
to my idea of its worth, been udeqoatcly
appreciated—and ! would not part with it.”
What is its price ?” “1 have done affix
ing any nominal sum. I liavo so far exceed
ed my offers. 1 leave it for you to nnrfte the
price.” “ Will four hundred pounds be an
adoquate"t - ecompense V’ “ It is more than
[ have ever asked for it.” “Then tjicr
painting is mine.” The stranger introduced
himself as the Marquis of Button]—and he
became, from that moment, one of the wann
est friends of Mr. Allston. By him, Mr,
A. was introduced to the society of the nobil
ity and gentry —and be became nil ft of the*
most favored among the tnsny gifted minds
that adorn the ciicle to which he was rhns
introduced, but in which he never was fund
of appearing often.
The instantaneous relief, thus afforded f y
the liberality of his noble visiter, was always
regarded by Allston, as a direct answer to
liis prayer, and it made a deep impiesaion
upon his mind. To this event life was ever
after wont to attribute the increase of devo
tional feelings, w hich become a prominent
trait in his character,
American Manufactured Silk. —Mr. John
W. Gill, piopiieter of a Silk Manufactory
at Mount Pleasant, Jefferson co., Ohio, has
been exhibiting til Barnutn’s City Hotel,
for some days past, a variety of very hand
sotn and substantial specimens of American
Silks manufactured entirely by himself.—
They consist of gloves, cravats, handker
chiefs, stockings, scarfs, pieces in the tvelr
for ladies’ dresses, of difl'ereut colors, be
sides numerous other articles, all of which
have been an admirable texture, and ap
pear to be of a highly durable quality.——
Mr. G. states that his enterprise has thus far
proved sucessful, even beyond his most san
guine expectations. Besides the factory,
which employs about fifty hands on ati aver
age, he has a large Mulberry grove, and an
extensive cocoonery, whereby he is enabled
to raise a considerable portion of the worm*
that supply the raw material. It is sever
al years since this enterprise was under
taken by Mr. Gill, and at present be has in
vested in it about thirty thousand dollars,
which yielded, as he states, a very hand
some equivalent. Having given ruucli in
tention to the business iu its various bran
ches, he has also had on opportunity of dis
covering the best manner of cultivating th®
worm ; to accomplish which, a ventilating
opparatus has been invented by him, to fa
cilitate the worm in feeding, found Id be of
great service. It is simple in construction,
saves much labor, and is accounted a highly
valuable improvement.— Baltimore Patriot,