Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

- ■ - VOLUME 11. | BY C. R. HANLEITER. \P ® E Y K Y ■ From the German. HAPPY MOTHER’S SONG. Look nt me, my pretty boy. With thy golden ringlets flowing, Bright blue eyes, and cheeks all glowing; Was there ever such a one ? No, I’m sure there can be none. Look at me, my sweetest boy, Rosy ns the summer morning. Sweet as dew the leaves adorning ; Was there ever such a one ? No, I’nt sure there can be none. Look at me, my darling boy ; No sad naughty child could evrr Be so loved and lovely—never ; You may wish for one as fine, But, good folks, you can't have mine. Should a merchant come to buy, Let him ope his golden coffers, Would I take his richest offers ? Never—buy where'r he can, He should not get my pretty man. ®[£ ILI© YU ® Ys\[L[£® o From Audubou’s Ornithological Biography. THE PRAIRIE. On my return from the Upper Mississip pi, 1 found myself obliged to cross one of the wide prairies, which, in that potlioti of the United States, vary the appearance of the country. The weather was fine—all around me was as fresh and blooming as if it had just issued from the bosom of nature. My knapsack, my gun, and my dog, were all I bad for baggage and company. But, although well morcasined, I moved slowly along, attracted by the brilliancy of the flowers, and the gambols of the fawnsaround their dams, to all appearance as thoughtless of danger as 1 felt myself. Aly march was of long duration; I saw the sun sinking beneath the botizon long ! before l could perceive any appearance of woodland, and nothing in the shape of a man had I met with that day. The track which I followed was otdy an old Indian trace, and as darkness overshadowed the prairie, I felt some desire to reach at least a copse, in which I might lie down to test. The night-hawks were skimming over and amund me, attracted hy the buzzing wings of the beetles which form their food, and the distant howling of wolves gave me some hope that I should soon arrive at the skiits of some woodland. I did so, and almost at the same instant a fire-light attracted mv eyes. I moved to wards it, full of confidence that it proceeded from the camp of some wandering Indians. 1 was mistaken : 1 discovered hy its glare that it was from the hearth of a small log cabin, arid that a tall figure passed and re passed lietween it and me, as busily engaged in household arrangements. I reached the spot, and presenting myself at the door, asked the tall figure, which proved to be a woman, if I might take shel ter under her roof for the night. Her voice was gruff, and her attire negligently thrown about her. She answered in the affii mo tive. I walked in, took a wooden stool, and quietly seated myself hy the fire. The next object that attracted my notice was a finely formed young Indian, testing his head be tween his hands, with his elbow on his knees. A long how rested against the log wall near him, while a quantity of arrows and two or three raccoon skins lay at his feet. He moved not; he apparently breath ed not. Accustomed to the habits of the Indians, and knowing that they pay little attention to the approach of civilized stran gers, (a circumstance which in some coun tries ia considered as evincing the apathy of their character,) 1 addressed him in French, a language not unfrequent partially known to the people in that neighborhood. He raised his head, pointed to one of his eyes with his finger, and gave me a signifi cant glance with the other. His luce was covered with blood. The fact was, that an hour before this, as he was in the act of dis charging an arrow at a raccoon in the top of .0 tree, the arrow had split upon the cord, and sprung back with such violence into his right eye as to destroy it forever. Feeling hungry, I inquired what sort of (fare I might expect. Such a thing as a bed was not to be seen, hut many large untann -ed bear and buffalo hides lay piled up in a corner. I drew a fine time-piece from my Abreast, and told the woman that it was late, and that I was fatigued. She had espied my watch, the richness of which seemed to operate upon her feelings with electric quickness. She told me that there was plenty of venison and jerked Buffalo meat, and that on removing the ashes I should find a cake. But my watch had struck her fancy, and her curiosity had to be gratified by an immediate sight of it. I took off the gold chain that secured it, from around my neck, and presented it to her. She was all ecstacy, spoke of its beauty, asked me its value, and put the chain round her brawny neck, saying how happy the possession of such a watch would make her. Thought less, and, as l fancied myself, in ao retired a spot, secure, I paid little attention to her talk or her movements. I helped my dog to a good supper of venison, and was not long in satisfying the demands ot my appe tite. ~ . The Indian rose from hie scat, as if m extreme suffering. He passed aud re-pass- AJW®®My M®'wsjp3ijp©ir g 4® IP®M4fi®Sp N®wsp ed me several times, and once pinched me on the side so violently, that the pain near ly brought forth an exclamation of anger. I looked at him. His eye inet mine; hut his look was so forbidding, that it struck a chill into the more nervous part of my sys tem. He again seated himself, drew his butcher’s knife from his greasy scabbard, examined its edge, as I would do that of a razor suspected dull, replaced it, and again taking his tomakawk from his hack, filled the pipe of it with tobacco, and sent me ex pressive glances whenever our hostess chanced to have her hack towards uv. Never until that moment had my senses been awakened to the danger which I now suspected to be about ir.e. I returned glance for glance to my companion, and rested well assured that, whatever enemies I might have, he was not of their number. 1 asked the woman for my watch, wound it up, and under pretence of wishing to see how the weather might probably be on the morrow, took up my gun and walked out of the cabin. I slipped a ball into each bar rel, scraped the edges of my flints, renewed the primings, and returned to the hut, gave a favorable account of my observations.— I took a few bear-skins, made a pallet of them, and calling my faithful dog to my side, lay down, with my gun close to my body, and in a few minutes was, to all ap pearance, fust asleep. A short lime had elapsed, when some voices were heard, and from the corner of my eyes I saw two athletic youths making their entrance, bearing a dead stag on a pole. They disposed of their burden, and asking-fur whiskey, helped themselves free ly to it. Observing me and thejwoundecl In dian, they asked who I was, and why the devil that rascal (meaning the Indian, who they knew understood not a word of Eng lish,) was in the house ? The mother—for so she proved to be—bade them to speak less loudly, made mention of my watch, and took them to a corner, where a conver sation took place, the purport of which it required little shrewdness in me to guess. I tapped my dog gently. He moved his tail, and with indescribable pleasure I saw his fine eye alternately fixed ou me and raised towards the trio in the corner. 1 felt that he perceived danger in my situa tion. The Indian exchanged a last glance with me. The lads had eaten and drunk themselves into such a condition, that 1 already looked upon them as /tors du combat; and the fre quent visits of the whiskey bottle to the ug ly mouth ot their flam, 1 hoped would soon reduce her to a like state. Judge of my astonishment, when 1 saw this incarnate fiend takea huge cut lying knife, and goto a grindstone to whet its edge. I saw her pour the water or. the turning machine, and watched her working away with her danger ous instrument until the cold sweat cover ed every part of my body, in spite of my deteimiiiutinn to defend myself to the last. Her task finished, she walked to her reel ing sons, and said, “ There, that’ll soon set tle him ! Boys, kill yon , and then for the watch !” 1 turned, cocked my gun-locks silently, touched my faithful companion, and lay ready to start up and shoot the fiist who might attempt my life. The moment was fast approaching, and that night might have been my last in the world, hail not provi dence made preparations for my rescue. — All was ready. The infernal hag was ad vancing slowly, probably contemplating the best way of despatching me, whilst her sons should be engaged with the Indian.— 1 was several times oil the eve of rising and shuffling her on the spot; hut she was not to be punished thus. The door was sudden ly opened, and there entered two stout trav elers, each with a long rifle on his shoulder. I bounded upon my feet, ami making then: most heartily welcome, told them how well it was for me that they should have arrived at that moment. The tale was told in a minute. The drunken sons were secured, and the woman, in spite of her defence and vociferations, shared the same fate. The Indian fairly danced with joy, and gave us to understand that, as he could not sleep for pain he could watcli over us. You may suppose that we slept much less than we talked. The two strangeis gave an ac count of their once having been themselves in u somewhat similar situation. Day came, fair and rosy, and with it the punishment of our captives. They were now quite sob< red. Their feet were unbound, but their arms were still securely lied. We marched them into the woods off the road, and having used them as Rcgulatois were wont to use such delin quents, we set fire to the cabin, gave all the skins and implements to the young Indian warrior, and proceeded, well pleased, to wards the settlements. During upwards ol twenty-five years, when my wanderings extended to all parts of our country, this was the only time at which my life was in datigei from my fel low-creatures. Indeed, so little risk do travelers lun in the United States, that no one born here ever dreams of any to be en countered on the road; and I can only ac count for this occurrence hy supposing that the inhabitants of the cabin were not Amer icans. Will you believe good-natured reader, that not many miles from the place where this adventure happened, and where, fifteen years ago, no habitation belonging to civil- MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 8, 1843. tzed man was expected, anil very few ever seen, large mads are now laid out, cultiva tion has converted the woods into fertile fields, taverns have been erected, and much of what the Americans call comfort, is to he met with 1 So fast does improvement proceed in our abundant and free country. THE UNEXPECTED FRIEND. “ It must be, my child,” said the poor widow, wiping away the tears which slowly trickled down her wasted cheeks. “ There is no other nsouice. lam too sick to work, and you cannot, surely, see me anti your brothers, starve. Try and beg a few shill ings, and perhaps hy the time that is gone, I may be better. Go, Henry, my deal ; 1 grieve to send you on such an errand, but it must he done.” The hoy, a noble looking little fellow of about ten years, started up, and throwing his arms about his mother’s neck, left the house without a word. He did not hear ihe groan s os anguish that was uttered by his parent as the door closed behind him ; and it was well that he did not. for his lit tle heart was ready to break without it. It was a by-street in Philadelphia, and as he walked to and fro on the sidewalk, looked firtt at one person aud then at another, as they passed him, but no tine seemed to look kindly on him, and the longer he waited, the faster liia courage dwindled aw ay. and the more difficult it became to beg. The tears were running fast down his cheeks, hut nobody noticed them, or if they did no body seemed to care ; for although clean, Henry looked poor and miserable, and it is common for the poor and miserable to ciy ! Every body’ seemed in a hurry, and the poor hoy was quite in despair, when at last he espied a gentleman who seemed to he very leisurely taking a walk. He was dress ed in black, wore a three-cornered hut, and a face that was as mild and benignant as an angel’s. Somehow, when Henry lookeJ at him, he felt all his fears vanish at once, and instantly approached him. His tears had been flowing so long, that his eyes were quite red and swollen, and bis voice trem bled—but that was with weakness, for he had not eaten anything for twenty-four hours. As Henry, with a low faltering voice, begged for a little charity, the gentle man stopped, and his kind heart melted w ith compassion as he looked into the fait coun tenance of the hoy, and saw the deep blush which spread over 1 is face, and listened to the modest, humble tones w hich accompa nied his petition. “ You fhi not look like a hoy that has been accustomed to heg his bread,” said he, kind ly laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder ; “ what has driven yon to this step 1” “ Indeed,” answered Henry, his tears be ginning to flow afresh, “ indeed I was not horn in this condition. But the misfortunes of my father, and the sickness of n:y moth er, have driven me to the necessity now.’’ “ Who is your father?” inquired the gen tleman. still more interested. “ My father was a rich merchant of this city, hut he became bondsman for a friend, who sfion after failed, and be was entirely ruined. He could not live after this Insju and in one month he diet! of grief, anil l” death was more dreadful than any other trouble. My mother, my little brother, and myself, soon sunk into the lowest depths of poverty. My mother has. until now, man aged to support herself and my little broth er hy bet labor, and I have earned what 1 could hy shovelling snow and other wotk that 1 could find to do. But, night before last mother was taken very sick, and she has since become so much worse that”— here the tears poured faster than ever—” I do fear she w ill die. 1 cannot think of any way in the world to help her. 1 have not had any work to do for several weeks. I have not had the courage to go to any of rny mother’s old acquaintances, and tell them that she had come to need charity. 1 thought you looked like a stranger, sir, and some thing in your lace overcame my shame and gave me courage to speak to you. O, sir, do pity my pool mother!” The tears, and the Bimple and touching language of the poor hoy, touched a cold in the breast of the stranger that was ac customed to frequent vibrations. “ Where does your mother live, my boy?” said lie in a husky voice, “is it far from here ?” “ She lives in the last house in this street, sir,” replied Henry. “ You can see it from here, iu the third block on the left hand side.” “ Have you sent for a physician ?” “ No, sir,” said the hoy sorrowfully, shak ing his head. “ 1 had no money to pay neither foi a physician nor for the medi cine.” “Here,” said the stranger, drawing some pieces of silver from his pocket, “ here are three dollars, take them and run immediate ly for a physician.” Henry’s eyes flashed with gratitude— he received the money with a stammer and almost inaudible voice, but with a look of the warmest gratitude, and vanished. The benevolent stianger immediately sought the dwelling of the sick widow ; he entered a little room, in which he could see nothing hut a few implements ot female la bor—a miserable table, an old bureau and a little bed which stood in a corner, on which the invalid lay. She appeared week, and almost exhausted : and on the bed at her feet, sat a little boy, crying as if his heart would break. Deeply moved at this sight, the stranger drew near the bedside of the invalid, and feigning to he a physician, inquired into the nature of her disease. The symptoms wete explained in a very few words, when the widow, with a deep sigh, added, “ O, sir, my sickness has a deeper cause, and one which is beyond the art of the physician to core. lam a mother—a wretched mother. I see my children sinking daily deeper in misery and want, which 1 have no mean* of relieving. My sickness is of the heart, and death alone can end my sorrows ; but even death is dreadful in me, fur U awakens the thought of the misery into which my chil dren would he plunged if ” Here emo tions choked her utterance, and the tears flowed unrestrained down her cheeks. But the pretended physician spoke so consoling to her, and manifested so watm a sympathy for her condition, that the heart of the poor woman throbbed with a pleasure that was unwonted. “Do not despair,” said the benevolent stranger, “ think only of recovery and of preserving life that is so precious to your children. Can 1 write a prescription here?” The poor widow took a little prayer book from the hand of the child wlio eat with her on the bed, and tearing out a blank leaf, “ have no other paper,” said she, “ but per haps this will do.” The stranger took a pencil from bis pock et and wrote a few lines upon the paper. “ This prescription,” said he, “ you will find ot great service to you. If it is neces saty, 1 will write you a second. I have great hopes of your recovery.” He laid the paper on the table and went away. Scarcely had he gone when the elder son returned. “ Cheer up, dear mother,” said he. going to her bedside and affectionately kissing her. “ See what a kind, benevolent slrangerhas given us. It will make us rich for several days. It has enabled us to have a physi cian, and he will he here in a moment. — Compose yourself, now, dear mother, and take courage.” “ Come nearer, my son,” answered the mother, looking with pride and affection on her child, “ Come nearer, that 1 may bless you. God never forsakes the innocent and the good ; 0 may He still watch over you in all your paths! A physician has just been here. He was a stranger, but he spoke to me with a kindness and a compas sion that wete a halm to my heart. When he went away he left that prescription on the table; see if you can read it.” Henry glanced at the paper and started back—he took it up, and as he read it through, again and again, a cry of wonder and astonishment escaped him. “ What is it, my son ?” exclaimed the poor widow, trembling with an apprehen sion of she knew not w hat. “Ah, read, read, mother! God has heard us.” The mother took the paper from the hand of the son, hut no sootier had she fixed her eyes upon it, than “ My God I” she ex claimed, “It is Washington I” and fell hack, fainting, upon her pillow. The writing was an obligation from Washington (for it was indeed he) by which the widow was to receive the sum of one hundred dollars, bom his own private pro perty ; to be doubled in case of necessity. Meanwhile, the expected physician made his appearance, and soon awoke the mother from her fainting fit. The joyful surprise, together with a good nurse with which the physician provided her, and a plenty of wholesome food, soon restored her to perfect health. The influence of Washington, who vrsh ed them more than once, provided for the widow friends who furnished her with con stant and profitable employment, and her sons, when they had arrived at the proper age, they placed in proper situations, where they were not only able to support them selves, but to render the remainder of their moibei’s life comfortable and happy. Let the children who rend this story, re member, when they think of the great and gooil Washington, that he was not above entering the dwelling of poverty, and carry ing joy aid gladness to the hearth of its in mates. This is no fictitious tale, but it is one of a thousand incidents which might be related of him, and which stamp him one of the best of men. Vegetable Weather Prophet. —The atten tion of scientific men has recently been di rected to a curious discovery of Professor Stiefel—well known throughout Germany for his researches in natural science—the result has been the attainment of a more accurate knowledge of those changes to which the atmosphere is subjected than was possible by the eld method. The instru ments hitherto'in use have been the thet monetor and the barometer: hut an unerr ing standard has been considered a deside ratum : that is said to have been at last sup plied in the shape of geranium fruit, the awns of which are involved and evolved, hy the dryness or humidity of the atmos phere, in obedience to laws so regular and unvarying, that being fixed upon a dial plate, properly graduated, the change from one part of the room to the other may be noted with the greafett accuracy. mD©© EL L IN Y □ PARENTAL COUNSELS TO A YOUNG MARRIED COUPLE. The following is extracted from a letter written by tlie Hon. C. A. Wickliffe, Post Master General, to his son Bobeit and his wife, soon after their mat t inge when they were on the eve of leaving his pareutal roof for Kentucky, where the son contemplated to establish himself in the ptactire flaw. Washington, March 24th, 1843. My beloved Children: —You have unit ed your destiny and pledged yourselves, in the presence of an all-seeing and merciful God, to love and cherish each other. In or der that you may he able to keep your mu tual vows, 1 conjure you to look and pray to your Heavenly Father to give you strength and support. A constant reliance upon Divine Providence, in all that we do in this life, is a duty enjoined upon us by his commands; and the man or woman who forgets his or her dependence on his Almighty power may flourish for a season, but sooner or later their deeds w ill be frown ed upon. Much, very much, depends upon your personal deportment towards each otheT ; a mutual confidence and habitual kindness are all important to domestic happiness.— A respect for each other's opinions should ever he cherished. The husband who does not consult his wife in all of his important concerns, no matter to what relations of life they pertain, acts foolishly. Her opinion should he respected and deferred to in all matters, and particularly those which con nect themselves with household affairs. If the wife differs in judgement with her husband, and maintains her opinion in refer ence to any matter in which her happiness is equally conceined with his, no matter how confident he may be, he should not act contrary to her wishes. If he is about to engage in any enterprise, pecuniary or political, she should he consul ted ; and in nine cases out of ten, the best answer he can give to the application to be come security is, that he will consult his wife, and if she has no objection, then he will consent to he hound. If 1 had adopted thiscourse it would have saved me thousand?. In the couise of time, incidents will occur in your family, about which you will natur ally enteitain a difference of opinion. That difference should at all times he expressed with kindness of manner, and feeling, and marked respect for each other’s judgement. Never buy what you do not need, and avoid indebtedness as much as possible. You will think it strange for me to tell you, that you should cultivate a fondness for the society of each other; and never un der any circumstances give, orseem to give, a preference to the company of another. Regular hours are all important to do mestic comfort, to health and happiness.— Early rising when in health, contributes to continue and confirm that health, and is important to those who depend upon their exertions for a living. The constitution of man is best satisfied with eight hours’ re pose ; and the remainder of the day should be devoted to the service of our Maker, “ Remember the Sabbath day ami keep it holy,” is a divine commandment. I pray you, my children, learn early its importance. It was a remark of my venerable mother, often made to me, that “no good ever came of Sunday work,” and I have usually found it to be so. Even if persons do not belong to any church, a regular attendance upon divine service chastens the feelings, and better fits and prepares them for compan ions. Avoid, my son, dissipation of all kinds, and eschew the company of the wild and evil-disposed, as you would the pestilence. You have now no fondness for drink, and it would be a great point gained, if you were at this eatly period of life never to taste ar dent spirits or intoxicating drinks. In your deportment towards your fellow men, be frank, candid, open hearted, honest and just in ull your dealings; slid never permit yourself to do an act which ynm con science condemns; or which you would not feel willing should be exposed to the pub lic view, in all your dealings, whcthei pri vate, public or official. Take no advantage of your fellow men in any contract, and never be tempted by the imps of gain to withhold from your neighbor that which of right belongs to him. Never insult a man intentionally; and if you injure him by word or deed, in due season andapt manner make to him amends honoiable. If you respect the rights of others, you w ill soon learn how to respect and maintain your own. Never permit yourself to get out of temper; hut learn to command that andtoregnlate it. A fietulunt man is neither agreeable nor use ill. Be patient in difficulties, and submis sive under the chastisements of an overruling Providence. The profession you have se lected is one of great responsibility; and of high honor and distinction. In its puisuits fame may be obtained if honor be consulted. 1 cannot in this letter venture upon nil the advice and rules necessary to insure respect for the lawyer; honesty, industry, punctual ity and fidelity should always be conspic uous tiaits of his character. A .prompt attention to business, kindness and dignity of manner, ore not incompati ble with a free and frank intercom se w ith the world. If you meet with your fellow mao in pov erty, and unride to psy you for your profee \* ‘ 1 | NUMBER 37. W, T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. sional labor, do not refuse on that account to engage for him. The reflection is enno bling that one has aided professionally an honest poor man. Never neglect the cause of the widow and the fatherless. 1 have, (without meaning to boast) done much for those thus bereaved, in my pro fession, without fee or pecuniary rewaid, and I am none the pooler for it. One other admonition I give, and enjoia its strict observance; never use your client’s money, hut pay it so soon as you collect it, to the utmost farthing. That the God of all grace may smile up on you both, and crown you his, in this and (he next world, is the prayer of your fond father, C. A. WICKLIFFE. Robert and Anna Wickliffe. How to get rid of a Big Stone without Pou-dei or a Patent. —A gentleman resid ing near our city, in a beautiful country res idence, was desirous of levelling off his lawn around his house, when much to his annoyance, his woikmen found a huge rock so near the surface as to render a removal of it absolutely necessary. This rock was a real hardheaded boulder weighing, perhaps, several tons; if it had been only one fust lower in the earth, it would not have been an obstruction to the retailed level of the lawn, but how to get rid of that foot was a puzzle; to blast it was impracticable, for the house was too near. Some knowing ones advised a burnirg, and then by throw ing on water to decompose; some thought hot cider would do the needful; others went so far as to recommend Brandreth’s Pills and Moffatt’s Lotions, that might in time work it off. In the extremity of this per plexity, a lank, slab-sided Yankee presen ted himself; and after talking with ‘.he pro prietor, who was all for lawn (though above a pun) says he, “ Squire, what w ill yon give now, if I put that eternal rock out of your way, or as much on’t as is necessary to se cure your level t” “ Why,” says the Sqntre, “ if you can manage to get rid of about one font ofT the top of that rock without blasting, and will have it done within a week, l’il give von—so much.” “ That’s a hard bar gain,” says Johnathan, “to one of us, hut m risk it.” Arid he off jacket, unu went to work with a spade, anil before senset of that day, he had dug a hole alongside of that rock deep enough for that purpose, and then taking a rail for pt y. lie tumbled it fiom its undei mined bed heels over head into the pit—where it now lies two feet below the 1 required level. On pocketing the sum agreed upon, says he, “Squire, I toll’d you that was a hard bargain for one of us; but seeing t hat 1 have given you a notion how to get rid of another such a critter inr ease you meet one in your lawn, it is almost equal to a patent right, ain’t it ?” and witlv that he bowed of! and depaited, leaving the gratified proprietor in admiration of that wonderful Down East mother wit. that seems ever ready to gi apple with and over come all difficulties, and in all “hard bar gains,” genet ally manages to keep on the safe side. A tall leant*—Crack Shot—Big Ufaali —- Under this caption, Thorpe, of the Gon-- cordia (La.) Intelligencer, and the author of “ Tom Owen, the Bee Hunter,” relates tlicu following anecdote. Talk about tall hunting—we heard of a shot the other day, perpetrated hy a friendi of ours, young in years, hut old and expe rienced in wood craft, which, as the fellow, saul who told us, “paralyses with any thing you’ve ever heain on, stranger.” Our friend, it will be remembered, is a crack shot, a perfect Leather Stocking so far as love of “ still hunting” goes. He would with pleasure, track a deer half a day at any time; and eo to turkey hunting, he is equal to our notable friend “ Stoke Stout.”— When a tut key gobbles within half a mite of him, he is just as certain of eating a piece of the breast as if the gohler was al ready cooked and carved—so admirable is he at imitation that the most experienced and longest bearded of the flock cauuot de tect his gobbling—thus lured to his fate, be is necessarily victimized. The hunter has tried all sorts of game; w heard, months since, of a splendid shot of his which killed a noted liear dog a hun dred and twenty paces— and then there waa. a noted gruiiicr laid low by his unerring ri fle ; hut these doings compare not with the shut mode by him a few days since. At euily dawn he was equipped fir a ‘ still hunt,’ wondered far and wide, jumped a big buck hut was not successful in getting a shot; his misfortune preyed so heavily on his mind, that he dctei mined not in return until he had “ slain some meat.” His Keen eye was arrested, about twelve o’clock, by the dun bide of an animal seen through the dense undeigtowth at about ninety yards ; up went “ Old Knock-nasty,” his fimirite gun; she was levelled with his usual un erring aim, a fine sight drawn, and th shrill crack re-echoed through the swamp forest—followed by an unrnistakeable low ing, a sound familial about milk pons; he stood thuuderstiuck, and might have petn bed, hut that old L. the stock driver, came galloping up on his swamp lackey,hallooing at his topmost voice— "Eh! eh! mass****, you brought down de meat dat time—eight hundred pounds— and de finest, and de fat—fat —fat—fattest cow you ever did see! Yiock! yockl yock! —I told ’em you’d do somethin’ dis