Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11.
BY C. R. lIANLEITER.
IP © IE T U ¥.
PLIGHT OP TIME.
Time speeds away—away —away ;
Another hour— another day—
Another month —another year—
Drop from us like the leaflets sear;
Drop like the life-blood from our hearts;
The rose-bloom front the cheeks departs ;
The tresses from the temples fall,
The eye grow dim and strange to all.
Time speeds away—away —av\ ay;
Like the torrents in a stormy day ;
He undermines the stately tower.
Uproots the tree, and snaps the flower;
And sweeps from our di-tracted breast
The friends that lov’d, the friends that blessed ;
And leaves us weeping on the shore,
To w hich they can return no more.
Time speeds away—away —away;
No eagle through the skies of day,
No wind along the hills can flee,
So swifily or so smooth as he.
Like fiery steed—from stage to stage
He bears us on—from youth to age,
Then plunges in the fearless sea
Os fathomless Eternity!
©HILIE©Y[I[D> T.ALIB.
From the Young Larfie’s Friend.
THE DUEL.
BY THE ED:TOR OF ZlOn’s HERALD.
The Rev. Mr. M was a veteran
itinerant preacher of the \\ est. He rela
ted many incidents of his itinerant life.—
Among them was the following, which I
give in liis own words as near as possi
ble :
About four miles from N is an exten
sive grove, well known as the scenes of seve
ral duels. As l passed it one morning on my
way to my appointment in that town, I per
ceived a horse and vehicle among the trees,
guarded by a solitary man, who appeared to
be the driver. My suspicions were immedi
ately excited, but l rode on. About a mile
beyond L met another carriage, containing
four persons besides the driver, and hasten
ing with all speed.
My fears were confirmed, and I could
scarcely doubt that another scene of blood
was about to be enacted in those quiet soli
tudes. What was my duty in the case ? 1
knew too well the tenacity of those fictitious
and absurd sentiments of honor which pre
vailed in that section of country, and which
give to the duel a character of exalted chiv
alry, to suppose that my interference could
be successful, yet I thought it was my duty to
rebuke the sin if I could not prevent it; and
in the name of the Lord I would do it. 1
immediately wheeled about and returned
with the utmost speed to the grove.
The second carriage had arrived and was
fastened to a tree, 1 rode up and attached
my horse near it, and throwing the driver a
piece of silver, requested him to guard him.
While threading my way into the forest, my
thoughts were intensely agitated to know
liow to present myself most successfully.—
The occasion admitted of no delay. 1 has
tened on and soon emerged into an oval
space surrounded on all sides by dense
woods.
At the opposite extremity stood the prin
cipals; their boots drawn over their panta
loons, their coats, vests and hats off, hand
kerchiefs tied fiver their heads, and tightly
belting their waists. A friend and a surgeon
were conversing with each, while the se
conds were about midway between them, ar
ranging the dreadful conflict. One of the
principals, the challenged, appealed but 20
years of age. His countenance was singu
larly expressive of sensibility, hut also of
cool determination. The other had a stout
ruffian like bearing—a countenance easy
but sinister and heartless, and he seemed
impatient to wreak his vengeance upon his
antagonist.
I advanced immediately to the seconds
anti declared at once my character and ob
ject. “ Gentlemen,” said I, “ excuse my
intrusion. [am a minister of the gospel.
I know not the merits of this quarrel, hut
both my heart and my office require me to
bring about a reconciliation between the par
ties, if possible.”
“Sir,” replied oncof them, ’‘the utmost
lias been done to effect it, without success,
and this is no place to make farther at
tempts.”
“ Under any circumstances, in any place,
gentlemen,” l replied, “it is appropriate to
prevent murder ; and such, in the sight of
God, is the deed you are aiding. It must
not be, gentlemen. In the name of the law
which prohibits it—in the name of your
friends, the principals—in the name of God
who looks down upon you in this solitary
place, I beseach you to pievent it at once ;
at least, wash your hands from the blood of
these men. Retire from the field and refuse
to assist in their mutual murder. ’
My emphatic remonstrance had a momen
tary effect. They seemed not indisposed
to come to terms, if I could get the concur
rence of the principals.
1 passed immediately to the oldest of
them. His countenance became more te
pulsive as I approached him. It was deep
ly pitted with the small pox. and there was
upon it the most cold blooded leer I ever
saw on a human face. He had given the
challenge. I besought him by every con
sideration of humanity and morality to re
call it. I referred to tlm youth and inex
perience of his antagonist —the conciliatory
Jk W®@Mj s ID)©T©<t®dl t© 3P<q>MM©s 9 ILMsimta?®* M©©lhsim© Antis* <&© o ,
| character by a retraction.”
■ 1 reasoned with increased vehemence, hut
no appeal to his judgment or his heait
! could shako his desperate firmness, and 1
! left him with tears which I have no doubt
| he would have shared under other circum-
I stances. What could Ido farther? I ap
i pealed again to the first principal hot he
! spumed me with a cool smile. 1 flew to
, the seconds and entreated them on any
j terms to adjust the matter and save the
I shedding of blood. But they had already
measured the ground anil were ready to
place their principals. “Gentlemen,” said
I, “ the blood of this dreadful deed he upon
your souls, i have acquitted myself of it.”
I then proceeded from the area toward mv
i horse.
What were my emotions as I turned
away in despair? What ! thought I, must
the duel proceed ? Is there no expedient
to prevent it ? In a few minutes one or
both these men may he in eternity, accurs
ed forever with blood guiltiness ! Can 1
not pluck them as brands from the burning?
My spirit was in a tumult of anxiety ; in a
moment, art! just as the principals were ta
king their position, I was again on the.
| ground. Standing on the line between
[ them, I exclaimed, “In the name of God
! I adjure you to stop this murderous work.
It must not, it cannot proceed.” “ Knock
him down,” cried the elder duelist, with a
fearful imprecation. •“ Sir,” exclaimed the
younger, “ I appreciate vonr motives, hut
[ 1 demand of you to interfere no more with
I our arrangements.” The seconds seized
I me by the arms and compelled rue to retire,
j But I warned them at every step. Never
before did I feel so deeply the value and
hazard of the human soul. My remarks
were without effect, except on one of the
friends of the younger principal. “ This is
a hotrihle place,” said he, “I cannot en
dure it,” and he turned with me from the
i scene.
“ Now then for it,” cried one of the se
conds as they returned. “ Take your pla
ces.” Shmlderingly l hastened my pace to
escape the result.
“One—two”-—and the next sound was
lost in the explosion of the pistols! “OGod,”
i shrieked a voice of agony! I turned round,
j The younger pt iucipal, with his hand to his
j face, shrieked again, quivered, and fell to
! the ground! 1 rushed to him. With one
} hand he clung to the earth, the fingeis pene
j trating the sod, while with the other he
{ grasped liis left jaw, which was shattered
| with a horrid wound. 1 turned with faint
j ness from the sight. The charge had pas
| sed through the left side of the mouth, cros
sing the teeth, severing the jugular and pas
i sing nut ut the hack part of the head, lay
ing open entirely one side of the face and
! neck. In this gaslly wound, amidst blood
j and shattered teeth, had he fixed his grasp
i with the tenacity which eoyld pot ho re
moved. Bleeditiir'proti’iaqly auihconvulsive
most frightful spectacle 1
, ed. The countea,jj<vt?s iff
annoifnclM “
I crand ‘ 1
Oiie of tje^)rg^py.,,w* l i.despot,died on
inv horse to communicate ijj*iqlre#dftil news
tntlie f'aioi j rn Tjlfl!i}emill was
’ cleanse, i frorp bis;y*.<; :f md b orne
ately t<> liis carftfgpff'l 9pCompa:iied it. —
It stopped beffir,# a,#ipnril IjtuC elegant house.
The driver rag Lu<ltC|d‘M'i nr.d rapped. An
elderly lady opened it, with frantic agitation,
at the instant w hen we were lifting the ghast
ly temains from the carriage. She gazed
for a moment, as if thunder struck, and fell
fainting in the doorway. A servant remov
ed her into the parlor, and as we passed
with the corpse into a near room, 1 observed
her extended on a sofa, as pale as her hap
less son.
Wo placed the corpse on a tablo, with
the stiffened hand still grasping the wound,
when a young lady, neatly attired in white,
and with a face delicately beautiful, rushed
j frantically into the room and threw her arms
around it, weeping with uncontrollable em<*|
tion, and exclaiming with agony of feeling,l
i 11 My brother! my dear, dear brother! (ife
it be—O, can it be I” Tim attendant bwre 1
disposition of the seconds—the fearful ‘con
sequences to his soul if he should fall, and
the withering remorse which must ever fol
low him it he should kill the young man.—
He evidently thirsted for the blood of his
antagonist, hut observing that his fiend and
; the surgeon seconded my reasoning, he re
plied vv’th uttdissemhled reluctance, that he
I gave the challenge for sufficient reasons,
and that if those reasons were removed, he
. might recall it, but not otherwise.
1 parsed to toe other. 1 admonished him
|of the sin he was about to pet petrate. 1
referred to his probable domestic relations,
; and tin 1 allusion touching his heart, he sud
-1 denly wiped a’tear from liis eves. “Yes,
| sir,” iie said, “there are hearts which
would lueak if they knew 1 was here.” I
| referred to my conversation with the sc
j condsand the other principal, and remarked
■ that nothing was now necessary to effect a
1 reconciliation hut a retiaction of the hin
-1 gunge which had ofiewled his antagonist.—
! “Sir,” replied he, planting his foot firmly
I on the ground, and assuming a look which
■ would have been sublime in a better cause,
“Sir, 1 have uttered nothing hut the truth
■ respecting that man, and though l sink into
the grave I will not sanction liis villianous
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 11, 1841.
j her away. I shall never forget the look of
utter wretchedness site wore as they led her
away—her eyes dissolved in tears, and her
j bosom stained w ith her brother's blond,
i The unfortunate young man was of New
j England origin. He had settled in the
i town of N whore bis business had pros-
I pered so well that lie had invited his moth
j er arid sister to reside with him. His home,
endeared by gentleness and love, and every
temporal comfort, was a scene of unalloyed
happiness, but in an evil hour he yielded to
| a local ahsutd prejudice—a sentiment of
| honor, falsely so called, which his edtica
; tion should have taught him to dispiso. He
j was less excusable than his malicious mur
! derer, for lie had more light and better sen
timents. This one step ruined him and
I his happy family. He was inteired the
next day with the regrets of the whole com-
I mnii’ty.
! His poor mother never left the house till
j she was carried to her grave, to be laid by
the side of her son. She died after a deli
• rious fever of two weeks’ duration, through
out which she ceased not to implore the at
tendants, with tears, to preserve her hap
less son from the hands of assassins, who,
i she imagined, kept him concealed for their
murderous purpose. His sister still lives,
hut poor and broken hearted. Her beauty
and energies have been wasted by soirow,
and she is dependent on others for her daily
bread. 1 have heard smile uncertain repoits
of his antagonist, the most probable of which
is, that he died three years after, of the yel
i low fever, at New Orleans, raging with the
horrors of remotse. Such was the local
estimation of this bloody deed that scarcely
j an effort was made to bring him to justice.
I Alas for the influence of fashionable opin
ion ! It can silence by its dictates the laws
i of man and of God, and exalt murder to
; the glory of chivalry!
When we consider how many hearts of
mothers, sinters and wives have been made
to bleed liy this cruel and deadly custom,
shall we not invoke the influence of woman
to abolish ift It rests upon an accidental
state of public opinion, a fictitious setili
. ment of honor. YY hose influence is more
1 effectual in correcting or promoting such
! sentiments titan woman's? Human laws
have failed to cotrect it, hut her influence
can do it. Let her then disdain the duelist
,as stained with blood. Let her repel him
from her society as one who has wrongly
escaped the gallows. Let her exert all the
, benign influence of her virtues and her
, charms to bring into disgrace the murderous
sentiment which tolerates him, and it can
| not Ik? long before the distinction between
the duelist and the assassin will cease.
FRANKNESS.
{ Alice Ray was one of those beings whose
communications are an index toiler heart—
whose conversation faithfully mirrored her
inmost soul. h?he utteied a hundred things
that you would conceal, and spoke with that
dignified assurance that made you wonder
tlmt you had ever hesitated to say them
youtself. Nor did this utireseivedness ap
pear like the weakness of one who could
not conceal, or a determination to make war
on the forms of society. It was rather a
calm, well guarded integrity, regulated by
a just sense of propriety—knowing when
to he silent, but speaking the truth when
she spoke at all.
But you may just visit Miss Alice for
half an hour to night, and judge for your
selves. You may walk into that little par
lor. There is Miss Alice on the sofa, sew
ing n pair of lace sleeves into a satin dress
—in which peculiai ly angelic employment
she may persevere until we finish another
sketch.
So you see that pretty little lady, with
sparkling eyes, elastic form, and beautiful
hand and foot that is sitting opposite to her ?
She is a belle ; the character is wi itlen in
her Fee—it dimples in her smile, and pre
cedes, the whole woman.
But there—Alice has arisen, and lias gone
to the mirror, nnd is arranging the finest
auburn hair in the world, in the most taste
ful manner. ‘l'he iittle lady watches every
motion so comically as a kitten would watch
a pin hall.
“ It is all in vain to deny if, Alice—you
are really anxious to look pretty this even
ing,” said she.
“ l certainly am.” said Alice, quietly.
“ Ay, and v>u hope you shall please Mr.
A. ami Mr. 1i.,” said the little accusing an
gel.
“ Certainly 1 do,” said Alice, as she
twisted her lingers in a beautiful curl.
“ Well, 1 would not tell it, Alice, it l did,”
said the belle.
“ Then you should not ask me,” said Al
ice. ‘
I declare, Alice !”
“ And what do you declare ?”
“ 1 never saw such a gill us you are.”
“ Very likely,” said Alice, stooping to
pick up a pin.
“ Well, for my pait,” said the little lady,
“ I would never take eny pains to have any
body like ine —particulai ly a gentleman.”
“ I would,” said Alice, “ if they would
not love me without.”
“ Why, Alice! I should not think you
were so food of admiration.”
“ I like to he admired very much,” said
i Alt vac, returning to the sofa, “and I sup
body else does.”
,*,*<* I (don’t care about admiration,” said the
Mde lady. “ I would be as satisfied that
people shouldn’t like me, as that they
should.”
“Then, cousin, 1 think it's a pity we all
like you so well,” said Alice with a good
humored smile. If Miss Alice had any
penetration, she never made a severe use
of it.
“ But really, cousin,” said the little lady,
“ I should nut think sue ha git 1 as you would
think any thing about diess or admiration,
mid all that.”
“ l don’t know what kind of a girl you
think 1 am,” said Alice, “hut for mv own
part, I only pretend to be a common human
being, and 1 am not ashamed of common
human feelings. If God has made us so
that we love adinitation, why should we
not honestly say so? 1 love it, you love it,
and every body else loves it; and why
should not every body sa v so ?”
“ YY’hy, yes,” said the iittle lady, “ T sup
pose eveiy body has a—has a — general love
of admiration. lam willing to acknowl
edge that 1 have ; hut—
“ But you have no love for it in particu
lar,” said Alice, “ I suppose you mean to
say; that is just the way the matter is dis
posed of. Every body is willing to ac
knowledge a general wish for the good
opinions of others; hut hall the world are
ashamed to ow n it when it comes to a par
ticular case. Now I have male up my
mind, that if it is correct in general, it is
correct in particular, and 1 mean to own it
both ways.”
“But somehow, it seems mean;” said
the little lady.
“ It is mean to lice for it, to lie selfishly
engiossed in it ; hut not mean to enjoy it
when it comes, or even tosccA’ it, if we neg
lect no higher interest in doing so. All
that God made us to feel, is dignified and
pure, unless we pervert it.”
“ But, Alice, 1 never lieaiff any oi.e speak
out so frankly.”
“ Almost all that is innocent and natural
may lie spoken out; and as for that which
is not innocent and natural,it ough not even
to he thought.”
“ But can every thing he spoken which
may be thought ?”
“No! we have an instinct which teaches
us to be silent sometimes, hut if we speak
at all. let it be done in simplicity and sincer
ity.”
“ Now, for instance, Alice,” said the la
dy, “ it is very innocent and natural, as you
say, to think this, that, and the other thing
of yourself, especially when every body is
telling you of it ; now would you speak the
truth if any body asked you on this point ?”
“If it were a person who had a right to
ask, and if it were a pioper time and place,
l would,” said Alice.
“ YY’ell, then,” said the bright lady, “ I
ask you, Alice, in this very proper time and
place, do you think that you are hand
some ?”
“ Now, I suppose you expect metomake
a courtesy to every chair in the room, be
fore I answer; hut dispensing with that
ceremony, 1 will tell you fairly—l think I
am!”
‘* D > you think that you are good ?
“ Not entirely.”
“ YVVII, hut don’t you think that you are
better than most people ?”
“ As far as I can tell, I think I am better
than some people; hut really, cousin, I
don’t tiust my own judgement in that mat
ter,” said Alice.
“ YY’ell, Alice, one more question. Do
you think that Janies Martyns likes you, or
me, best ?”
“ I do not know.”
“ I did not ask you what you knew, hut
what you thought,” said the lady; “you
must have some thought about it.”
“ Well, then, 1 think he likes me best,”
said Alice.
Just then the door opened, and in walked
jhe identical James Martyns. Alice blush
ed—looked a little comical, and continued
on with her sewing, while the lady began :
Beally Mr. James, l wish you had come
in a minute sooner, to hear Alice’s confes
sion.”
“ YY'iiat has she confessed ?” said James.
“ YY hv, that sho is handsomer, and bet
ter than mot folks.”
“ That is nothing to he ashamed of,”
sain James.
” Oli, that is not ail—she wants to look
pretty anti loves to tie admiir-d, all—”
“ It sounds very much like her,” said
James looking at Alice.
“Oh, hut besides that,” said the lady,
“she has been preaching a discourse in jus
tification of vanity and self-love.”
“And the next time you should take notes
when 1 preach,” said Alice, “ for 1 do not
think your memory ts remarkably happy.”
” You see, James,” said the lady, “ that
Alice makes it a point to say exactly the
truth , when she speaks ut all; and I’ve been
puzzling her w ith questions. I really wish
you would ask her some, and see what she
will say. But, metcy! there’s uncle O'———,
come to take me to ride, 1 must run.” And
off flew the little humming-bird, leaving
James and Alice tete a tele.
“ There is really one question,” said James
clearing up his voice.
Alice looked up.
“ There is otto question, Alice, which 1
wish you would answer.”
Alice did not inquire what the question
was, but began to look very solemn ; and
just then 1 went out of the room, and shut
the door : So I never knew what it was Al
ice’s friend, James, wanted to be enlighten
de about.
Ml^—llSlllMM—lp—■——
IMfDSOEILLAIKIY-
Wine rs. Water. — Great anti-temperance
meeting. —A highly respectable meetings of
some of the most influential wines, beers,
and spirits was held for the purpose of con
sidering the best means of opposing the
Temperance movement. Among those on
the platform we particularly noticed Port,
Sherry and Claret; while at the lower end
of the room, were Cape, Marsala, and a de
putation from the British YY’ines, who were
represented by the Two-and-two-penny
sparkling Champagne, more familiarly
known as the “ Genuine YY’alker.” Most
of the principal wines wore the silver col
lars of the orders to which they respective
ly belonged ; and the Port having been
unanimously voted into the chair, the busi
ness of the meeting was opened by Cork
screw, in a concise but pointed manner.—
Champagne was the first to rise, in a state
of great effervescence. He declared that
he was frothing over with pure indignation
at the idea of wine being excluded from the
social board; and, indeed, he found it im
possible to preserve ton coolness which
ought to belling to him. He was not one to
keep any thing bottled up. (Hear, and a
laugh ;) indeed, when he once let loose, out
it must come; and he did say that the tem
perance movement was playing old goose
berry with him in every dilection, (cries of
shame ! fiom the Genuine Walker.) Clar
et said that he did not often get into n state
of fermentation ; 1 ut on this occasion he
did feel liis natural smoothness forsaking
him. He liogged leave to propose the fol
lowing resolution : “ That the substitution
of water from wine is likely to dissolve all
social ties, and is calculated to do material
injury to the constitution.” Rum rose, he
said, for the purpose of opposing this reso
lution, which he thought of too sweeping a
character. He, (Rum) so fat from wishing
to get till of water altogether, was always
happy to meet with it on equal terms ; and
he knew that he (Rum) as well as many
friends around him, had derived a good deal
of their influenco from being mixed up with
water, and going as it were halfway, which
there could be no objection to. Gin begged
leave to differ from the honorable spirit that
had just sat down, and who was so unaccus
tomed to be on his legs at all, that it was not
surprising he should have failed to make a
respectable stand on the present occasion*.—
(Cries of “Order!”) He (Gin) had no
wish to create confusion, (lronacal cheer
ing from Marsala.) He understood the
meaning of that cheer; and would certain
ly confess that the honorable beverage—for
lie would not use the stronger term of wine
(a laugh)—was nut likely to create confu
sion in any quarter. No ; he (the honora
ble beverage) was not stromg enough for
that. (Renewed laughter.) He (Gin) hud,
perhaps, suffered more from water than all
the other wines and spirits whom he now
saw before him put together. His reputa
tion had been materially hurt by it : and he
was strongly of opinion that the only thing
to be done with water was to throw it over
board. (A French wine, whose name we
could not learn, let something drop, hut vve
were unable to catch it.) Cape now rose,
but was immediately coughed down in a ve
ry unceremonious manner. The thanks of
the meeting having been voted to Port lor
his able conduct in the decanter, the meet
ing separated: but not until a committee
hud been chosen, consisting of a dozen of
wine and a gallon of beer, with power to
add to their number, either by water or oth
erwise.— Cruikshank's Comic Almanac.
Prospects of the United States. —ln 1840
the United States had a population of 17,-
068,GGG. Allowing its future increase to
be at the rate of 33 ; j per cent for each suc
ceeding period of ten years, we shall num
ber, in 1940,303,101,0-11. Past experience
warrants us to expect this great increase.—
In 1790, our number was 3.927.527. Sup
posing it to have increased each decade in
the ratio of 33} per cent it would, in ISIO,
have amounted to 16,060,156 —being more
than u half million less than our actual num
ber ns shown by the census. VY’itli 300,- j
000,000, vve should have more than 150 to
the square mile for out whole teiritory, and
but 250 An the square mile for our organ
ized States and Territories. England has
300 to the scpiare mile. It does not, then,
seem probable that our progressive increase
will be materially checked within the one
hundred years under consideration. At the
end of that period, Canada will numbef
at least 20,000,000. If vve suppose the por
tion of our country east and vvest of the
Apalachiari chain of mountains, known as
the Atlantic slope, to possess at that lime
40,000,000, or near five times its present
number, there will he left 290 000,000 for
the great central region between the Apa
luchiari atid Rocky mountains, and between
the Gulf *>f Mexico and Canada, and for
the country west of the Rocky mountains.
Allowing the Oregon Territory 10,-
000,000, there will he left 250,000.000 for
that portion of the Americun States lying
in the basins of the Mobile, Mississippi, and
St. Lawrence. If of these we add 20,000,-
000, fur Canada, vve have 270,000.000 as
the probable number that will inhabit tlie
Noith American valley at the end of the
¥, T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
one hundred years commencing in 1840.
If we suppose one third, or 90,000,000 of
this number to reside in the country na cl
--tivutnrs and artizans, there will be 180,000,-
000 left for the towns--enough to people 369,
each containing half a million. This Joes
not seem as incredible as that the valley of
the Nile only twelve miles broad, should
have, as historians tells us, contained 20,000
cities.
But lest one hundred years seem too long
to he relied on, in a calculation having eo
many elements, let us see how matters will
stand fifty years from 1840, or forty-seven
years from this time. The ratio of increase
we have adopted, cannot he objected to as
extravagant for this period. In 1890, ac
cording. to that ratio, our number wilf he
72,000,000. Os these 22,000,000, will be
n fair allowance for the Atlantic slpe. Os
the remaining 50,000,000, 2,000,000 may
25.000.000 fur the valley within the States.
Iftothese we add 5,000,000 forthc North A
meiiean’val ley, one third (nr say 18,000,000)
being set down as farming laborers and rural
artizans,there will remain the
towns, which might he 70 in number, having
leside west of the Rocky Mountains, leaving
each half a million of souls. It rati scarce
ly he doubted that within the forty-seven
veais, our agriculture will be so improved
as to require less than one third to furnish
food and raw materials for manufacture of
the whole population. Good judges have
said that we are not now more than twenty
or thirty years behind England in our hus
bandry. It is certain that we are rapidly
adopting her improvements in this branch
of industry ; and it is not to be doubted that
very many new improvements will be
brought out, both in Europe and America,
which will tend to lessen the labor necessa
ry in the production of food and raw’ mato
tials.—Hunt's Merchant’s Magazine.
Begging in New York. —The system ot
ingenious beggary, so curiously desciibed in
Grant's “ Great Metropolis,” is beginning
to be tried on in New-York. There is one
young lady (of very correct habits, I believe,
iti point of fact) who makes a living by
means that wear a somewhat, questionable
complexion out of “ distinguished stran
gers.” A member of Co'ngress, or a di
plomatist in transit, for example, receives a
note, the day after his arrival is advertised,
in a handwriting of singular beauty, Jit
the most graceful language, and with the
daiutest use of French phrases, he is in
formed that a young lady who has long
watched his career with .he deepest inter
est —who lias a feeling for him which is a
mystery to herself-—who met him acciden
tally in a place she will recall to his memo
ry should she he so fortunate as to see him
again—who is an unhappy creature of im
pulse, all too fondly tender for this harsh
world and its constructions—would like to
seo him on a ceitain sidewalk between eight
arid nine. By holding his head across his
left breast, lie will he accostad at that time
and The lady-likeness and good
taste of the note, so different from the usual
of that description, breed a se
cond thought of curiosity, and the victim is
punctual. After a turn or two on the ap
pointed sidewalk, he encounteis a tall young
lady, deeply-vailed, who addresses him by
name, takes his arm, and discourses to him
at first upon his own ambitious history, con
triving to say the true and flattering thing,
for which she has duly informed herself.—
She skilfully evades his attempts to make
her talk of things more particular, ‘ and re
gretting feelingly that she can only see him
on the sidewalk, appeals to Inswell
known generosity” for ten dollars to keep
her and her dear mothet from being turned
out of doors. She takes it with tremulous
pathos, demands of his honor that he will
not follow her, and slips round the eorner to
meet another “ distinguished stranger” with
whom she has appointed an interview fif
teen minutes later in the next street ! I was
in a company of stiangers at a hotel not
long ago, when one of these dainty notes
was produced, and it so happened that eve
ry man present had one in his pocket from
the same hand ! Among the party theie
were four appointments proposed by Urn
same lady, to come off on the four sides of a
certain square, for that evening! Sho is
probably doing a good business. — Mirror .
North American Forests. —We take the
following wild and eloquent description of
the autumnal changes in America, from an
extract from Neal’s “Brother Jonathan,”
published in an English wink, entitled
“ Rejected Articles.” The Loudon writer,
perhaps not knowing Neal to he an Ameri
can, pronounces him to he the most original
writer of his day, and the most extraordina
rily gifted, as far as mete faculties go.
“ The autumnal beauty of a Nntth Amer
ican forest cannot he exaggerated. It is
like nothing else on earth. Many a time
have we gone through it, slow ly tilting over
a pretty blue lake, there, among the hills ;
our birch canoe dipping with every motion
of the paddle —the waters beneath us—all
the mountain alamt—all—unknown to tho
world ; in a solitude—-a quiet, profound as
death, and blight as heaven; tLe shore*,
overhung with autumnal foilage; mul a sky
so wonderful—so visionary—that all the
clouds, and all the mountains were of apiece,
in the char water; and our boat was like a
balloon.
Soy what you will, there is ttothinjj to I t
NUMBER 4%.