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VOL. 2.
Be Kind.
pe kin<l to thy Father—for when thou wert young
Who loved thee soo fondly as he?
j| e janght the first accents that fell from thy tongue,
And joined in thy innocent glee.
pc kind to thy father—for now he is old,
11 is locks intermingled with gray ;
pi, footsteps are feeble, once fearless and bold ;
Thy father is passing away.
pc kind to thy Mother—for lo on her brow
May traces of sorrow be seen ;
0 well may’st thou cherish and comfort her now,
For loving and kind hath she been.
Remember thy mother—for thee will she pray,
As long as God giveth her breath,
With accents of kindness then cheer her lone way,
EVn to the dark valley of death.
Re kind to thy Brother—bis heart will have dearth
If the smile of thy joy be withdrawn ;
The flowers of ieeling will fade at their birth,
If the dew of afiection be gone.
Re kind to thy brother—wherever you are,
The love of a brother shall be
An ornament purer and richer by far,
Than pearls from the depths of the sea.
Re kind to thy sister, —not many may know
The depth of true sisterly love ;
The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below
The surface that sparkles above.
B* kind to thy father, once fearless and bold,
Be kind to thy mother, so near ;
Re kind to thy brother, nor show thy heart cold,
Be kind to tliv sister, so dear.
maaam—mammmmmmmmm
For the Georgia Citizen.
Ode to \atiirc.
WRITTEN BY DR. A. W. BURROWS,
At the Natural Bridge , Virginia , in 1830.
Ilai!, mighty work of Nature’s God!
In thee is seen enough, ’twould seem,
To prove to every earthly clod
That there exists a Great Supreme 1
llow can the skeptic gaze at thee,
Or east his doubting eye abroad,
The mighty Cataract to see,
And then exclaim, “ There is no God ” ?
What but a God could form thy arch
Os solid rock, and place thee here,
O’er which a score of troops might march,
And not the least of danger fear ?
Or who but God could teacli the sun
A proper time to close the day,
A proper hour again to come,
And uhacethe gloomy night away?
Nothing but God, the King of Kings,
Could hang the orbs of night in Heaven,
hr fill the earth with all the things
That unto sinful man is given _ o'*
i I ini of ‘ , < non
■*- . •* ene
iSfitessllftUS*
Tilt it down in the Bill.
BY MRS. IIARRIKT ROWAN.
“Now, my dearest Agnes, do look ! Here
is the most exquisite little basket I ever saw. ’
“Where?”
“Oh, there ; at the end of that Chatalaine.
Oh, I positively must have it. You know I
really want one, Agnes. One of the swivels of
my Chatelaine came undone the other day. and
all the things dropt off. 1 found two again, to
hr- sure ; but still, that’s not enough. Come,
Agnes, let us just go in, and ask the price, at
any rate.”
The two girls entered the store.
“Agnes,” continued Rosalie, “look! Here
is a bracelet that would just suit mamma. It
was but the other day she was saying she wan
ted one. How beautiful it is! What is the
price of it?”
“Let me see.” said the man. taking up the
bracelet. ‘-Thirty dollars, Miss.”
“Well ; that reallv is no’ much. Is it, Ag
nes. considering how beautiful it is ? And how
murh is that little basket ?”
“Three dollars Miss. Solid gold.
“And how beautifully chased it is?” observ
ed Agnes,
“\V||. Agnes.” said Rosalie. “I think I
m ist have it. It’s true, I have not any money
left ; but I’m sure Ir an make mamma give it
to me. Besides, if we get Mr. Baily to put it i
down, she mint have it; —and it’s not like rea
dy money, von know. AA e have a bill heie,
and it won’t make much difference. Indeed,
slip doo want anew bracelet dreadfully; and,
jmtnehow. he never will buy expensive things
for herself, unless I have them set down ; and
then, von know, she is obliged to keep them.
Agnes B’andford was one of a'large family,
carefallv educated not to lie extravagant her
self, and trusted with very little pocket-money ;
but she had a boundless idea of the wealth ot
mammas in general, (Rosalie’s in particular,)
and thought it a most excellent thing if they
c*nld be inveigled into buying anything they
having, as a race, a marvellous propensity to
covetousness, which must be caretullv checked
bv their daughters. Rosalie was of the same
opinion. She also had no pocket-money tegu
lariy allowed her. but lived upon mamma, get
ting five dollars from time to time, whenever
poor mamma was in a weak mood, an “ou i
suffer herself to be coaxed over.
“Then, you’ll send them this evening, about
eight. Mr. Daily, if you please, ” said Rosalie ;
and the two girls left the store, both thinking
they had done a very clever and virtuous ac
tion.
Rosalie’s parents, the Hargraves, lived in
great style ; they appeared both rich and fash
ionable—fashionable they might be, hut the
appearances of riches were most deceptive.
The money for Mrs. Hargrave s weekly bills
issued in weekly struggles from Mrs. Har
grave’s pocket—thev were living beyond their
income; but out of three daughters and tour
sons, two of the daughters were comfortably
married, and all the sons were established in
professions ; so there was onlv Rosalie to he
provided for; and she. was betrothed, and
would prnbablv he married in about thiee or
four months’time ; so that the dashing town
establishment need only be kept up but a very
short ti me longer. With this prospect in view
Mrs. Hargrave struggled on. with what mise
ry. and with what hairbreadth escapes, only
those who kept up an expensive establishment
on small means ran ever tell. I l ’ the mean
time, she ‘bought it was no use telling Rosalie
of their difficu'ties ; she was shortly to be mar
ried tr a weal’by voting merehan ? ; and though
she Wrg PX tra'agant. what did ha* matter l
she vv uld ha e plenty; and it was a pity to
che-lc he generosity of her nature ! Besides
Mrs. Hargrave had some strange feelings, as
though it would lessen her daughter’s respect
for her parents, if she knew of their money’
troubles. The little daughter was only eigh
teen, and understood nothing at all about mon
ey; and she was so gay and thoughtless, she
would scarcely have believed Mrs. Hargrave it
she had told her. Indeed, several times when
he had said, “Really you must not be so ex
travagant, Rosalie, I cannot atlorrl it,” Rosalie
had laughed: “ Ah, that’s the old story, mother
dear. Now you know it’s all nonsense, isn’t
it?”
So Mrs. Hargrave determined to let matters
go on as they had done, and contented hersell
by making sacrifices ot various little things
which she otherwise would have had for her
self, to make amends for hei daughter’s extrav
agance—partly from affection to her child, and
partly from that miserable leeling of secrecy
in money matters which makes so much mi>e
ry. and which exists too often between moth
ers and daughters, fathers and sons, husbands
and wives. Had Rosalie known from the liist
that her father’s apparent wealth was really all
appearance, her naturally good heart would
have made her most willing to forego all ex
travagance, and she would have learnt the
wholesome art of self-denial, and have been
much more fitted fur her luture career in lile,
whatever it might lie.
That evening they were all assembled com
fortably in the drawing-room; Mr. Hargrave
in a large arm-chair, with his handkerchief ov
er his face, in a quiet, dreamless sleep. Mrs.
Hargrav e was sitting at the table, with a green
shade between her and the lamp, and an open
book on a small reading-desk before her; but,
what with the heat of the lire and the quiet of
the room, she gradually nodded off to sleep al
so. Leopold Malvern, Rosalie’s betrothed,
was sitting on the other side of the fire, and
Rosalie at his feet on a cushioned footstool,
which she was very fond of. They were quite
a pretty picture, they looked so happy and com
fortable, lie stooping dmvn to whisper some
thing in her ear, and she leaning her pretty
little head almost against his knee, like any
child. Rosalie was always treated like a child
and she liked it ; but she was a woman too,’
and capable of doing more than any one sus
pected for those she loved.
The servant opened the door.
“ If you please, mum, here’s a parcel from
Baily’s.”
Mrs. Hargrave awoke. “It must be some
mistake,” said she ; “ I have not ordered any
thing.”
“It is directed to you, mum.”
“Oh, I ordered it, mamma,” broke in Rosalie.
She had been so occupied with what Leo had
been saying, that she hadn t heard what had
passed at first.
Mrs. Hargrave looked round in ut’er fright,
for visions rose up before her of the sacrifices
of necessaries that must be made to cover this
extravagance. But nothing could lie done ;
so she told (he servant to put down the parcel,
lor that it was a ll •i fo l it, as Miss Rosalie had
ordered it ; and the man left the room. Mrs.
Hat-grave, endeavored to look as it she thought
what she said, totally unconscious that the ob
sequious servant, who disappeared at her bid
ding, and who seemed neither to see nor hear
any tiling that passed before him, had often
talked over her difficulties in the kitchen, and
lamented what a thorn in her side she must
find Miss Rosalie s extravagance.
Poor Miss Hargrave opened the jewelry,
and Rosalie sprang totlnj table to show it oft;
site put the bracelet on her own round white
arm. and held her fancitul little baskci up to
the fight.
“Now, my dearest mother, ain’t they beau
tiful! Leo. just look at this bracelet.”
“And pray, how much did they cost, Rosa
lie?” asked her mother,
“Thirty dollars the bracelet, and three dol
lars for this little love.” answered Rosalie.
“That is too much—l really cannot afford
it,” said Mrs. Hargrave rather seriously.—
“ They must be sent back,” continued she,afiei
a short pause.
“Oh, mamma, mamma, pray don t send
them back ; it will look so shabby— so horrid;
besides, it was but the other day tha l you said
vou wanted a bracelet so much : and l really
must have this dear little basket, Nuvv do—
tfiere’s a good mother.”
“My dear Rosalie, I have told you that I do
not choose to have the bracelet ; l am the
best judge of what I want. 1 should think.
“Well, then, I will just take the money out
of papa’s pocket; h<- won’t he angry with me, 1
know,for he hates anything that looks stingy.
Rosalie sp. ang forward to her fill her.
“Rosalie, Rosalie —don’t disturb your papa.
How very troublesome vou are! I really beg
you’ll never Ho such a thing again without ask
ing my leave. I can buy what I want, without
your doing it for me.”
Rosalie retired to her seat. Again she leant
her head towards Leo’s knee, almost crying.
He stroked her hair (as though she were a
child) to comfort her.
“Leo,’’ said she, looking up, “ when I be.
long to you, you won’t scold me so if I do such
a thing, will you?”
Leo stooped down and kissed her forehead,
but he said nothing ; for he knew that he
could not have the heart to scold her and yet
he felt that hers was an awkward propensity.
The three months passed on rapidly, and at
last, Leo and Rosalie was married. It was a
verygav wedding; the bride was lovely, the
bridegroom was handsome. They went their
bridal tour, and returned home. Leo took a
beautiful house for his bride, and she chose
beautiful furniture. Rosalie had no mamma
to ask now ; so she just had the things she
liked put down in her own bills. She was
fond of dress ; fond of jewelry ; fond of novel
ties ; he lik"d to see his dpar little wife beau
tifully attired—and wished her to have what
she liked—besides he was rich, and could af
ford to spend a little more than was, perhaps,
absolutely necessary on his bride ; and as they
had a large acquaintance, and biides ate ex
pected to go out a great deal and todre?s \xeli
he was not surprised that his expenses were
considerable, but he hoped they would soon
decrease, and so for the first year or two they
went on capitally.
After that there came a change ; the whee 1
of fortune turned. Leo lost first one of his
ships, and then another; his speculations
failed; and at iast one sad, gloomy Christ
mas, he catne one day through ‘ the dark
fog to his wife, and told her that he feared he
was a ruined man. Rosalie was astonished ;
she had thought the riches of her husband
! inexhaustible, a r d she had acted accordingly
i The dinner was passed over in gloomy silence:
; and after it the hqshand and wife, with thought
j f u J faces, left the dining-room, and with the
1 doors of their drawing room close shut, they
4 . i ■**” *• t . *t’ i
“ in nil tilings —llfntrnl in notjjing/’
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 10, 1851.
sat down to talk matter over. Leo sat in his
chair by the fire, and Rosalie where she ul
ways did, at his feet: hut she was quite a differ
ent Rosalie now; to what she was two years
before ; there was no thoughtlessness in her
face now—no, nor passionate grief even. Leo
was astonished ; he had expected quite a scene:
hysterics and reproaches, and bewailings, or,
at any rate, tears; but Rosalie was calm and
spriotts. She looked determined to meet her
misfortune courageously; and Leo felt it a great
help to him, as it gave him courage: and he
loved his little wile still more than ever; though
it was no longer as a mere child, hut as an es
teemed friend, with whom he could reason
calmly as to what was best to lie done.
“ Must we leave our house?” asked Rosalie,
timidly; for she fell that would be indeed a
trial.
“ Not if I can manage to meet my expenses
this Christmas,” replied Leo; “I hope and trust
your bills are not large.”
Rosalie was silent.
“Have any of the Christmas bills been sent
in. Rosalie?”
“les, some of them, Leo.”
“Have you any idea how much they come to,
dear? I mean not the house bills, but your
bills, my love.”
“1 don’t know, but lam afraid it’s a great
deal, —Are your bills heavy this half year,Leo?”
“No,—l knew that things were going badly
with me, though I had no idea how badly, so I
took care to keep my bills under.”
“Oh! if I had but known, too,” said Rosalie,
sorrowfully.
“ I w ish you had; but I thought it would on
ly frighten you, perhaps needlessly. And be
sides I did not know, darling, how well you can
bear things. Will you get those bills you
have,” continued he, after a short pause, “that
we may look them over, and see if it will be
possible for us to remain in our house?”
Rosalie rose; she opened her exquisite little
desk, and gloomily took out three or four Ion”
bills; silently she put them in Leo’s hand and
sat down again. He looked them over, and
she heard him sigh heavily, but he said noth
ing. She knew they were enormous; higher
this year than they had been the year before
“Leo, may I look at your bills ?” she said
meekly.
He gave her his accounts, and she. looked
them over. She was astonished how much
lower they were than hers; astonished to find
how many things lie had denied himself- Then
for the first time she broke into tears,
“Ah, my dearest Leo, how many thing® you
have done without! How many things you have
denied yourielf that you really must have wan
ted, and all to spare me ! Oh, I see it all; you
thought that, being so economical yourself, we
might get over this Christmas very well, in
spite of my extravagance. Oh, Leo! Leo! how
selfish I have been; I might have known that
you did not leave off cigars because you was
tirecif of them. Oh, will you forgive me, Leo ?
Rkuovv lam the cau:e of our difficulties. Ir'l
hid not been so extravagant, all might have
been well—but even now, perhaps, with a lit
tie help from papa—”
“Your father cannot assist us,” returned
Leo, gloomily; “he says he has the greatest
difficulty to live himself.”
“Well, well.” cried Rosalie, “then we must
sacrifice Everything, so that we can but pay
what we owe: for it’s no matter being poor, so
that one is not in debt. Oh, how selfish I have
been! But, Leo! and a rest Leo! will you prom
ise me one thing!—that another time you will
tell me how poor we are, that l may make
sacrifices too. There are so many more things
l can do without than you can (oh, how blind 1
was!); —I’ll have no more jewelry. I’ll make
ail my things at home, and I will do without
millions ot things that are of no consequence
tome: 1 will have no more bills; and I shall be
so happy, tor I shall feel that I am doing right.”
“My darling Rosalie,” said Leo, as he kiss
ed her affectionately, “how foolish I was not to
nave told you of my difficulties from the first; it
wouid have saved you of much sorrow and pri
vation now. We must let this house and go
into lodgings. I will make the greatest exer
tions; we will sell the furniture of our house to
pay our private debts; iny lather will help me
with my business ones; and in another year 1
trust we shall lie all right again ; and I will
confide all my joys and troubles, my wealth and
poverty, to you; and you shall be my darling
wile and helpmate.”
How worthless and paltry her trinkets ap
peared now! How she hated ever to think ot
them, and how firmly she resolved, if she could
once be tree from the load ol debt that weigh
ed so heavily upon her, how differently she
wouid act tor the future ! All this passed
through Rosalie’s mind with the rapidity
ofliglituing; and when Leo ceased speaking,
site tell an altered being. From that moment
might be dated the commencement of anew
era in her life.
it is pleasant to add, that the timely aid of a
friend prevented the sacrifice of the house and
furniture; and that following Christmas found
Leoand Rosalie free from debts,but those which
they could easily pay. Rosalie howeter, nev
er lot got the lesson she had received ; and du
ring the whole of her alter life, if she took a
fancy to any expensive trinket, see always paid
lor it at the time, and never on any account,
desired the jeweler to put it down in the
bill.
Scenes in Illinois.
This State has a sort of heterogenous population—a
sort of pepper and salt mixture of the races of man
kind. The smoking, phlegmatic German, the Swede,
the Norwegian, the beer-drinking Dutchman, the self
complacent John Bull, the canny Scot, the Israelite,
the mercurial Frenchman, the frolicking Irishman, and
the ever-present ever-active Yankee, together with the
Buckeye from Ohio, the Iloosier from Indiana, and the
generous Southerner —all are here in about equal pro
portions, and give about their equal quota to the char
acter of the State, and supply a choice variety of their
peculiar expressions to its language. The Iloosier
‘allows,” the Southerner ‘suspicions,’ the Buokeye ‘reck
ons,’ while the Yankee ‘calculates.’ and the’ Missourian
‘opinions.’ The State lias yet no settled character—
its different elements having yet had time to harmo
nize and settle together. So with its laws, its man
ners and its languages.
The Yankee here is the same as the Yankee any
where —only more so. More liberal, less saving, less
religious, less honest, less careful of appearances—but
quite as enterprising, and bound to get a living at his
own or somebody’s expense.
The Irishman is improved here —more intelligent,
thrifty, and steady, and in every respect more of a man.
and better citizen, than he is elsewhere where I have
seen him.
The Englishman gets good property here. He fares
wall, drinks his grog when he like*, ati l always alone,
or with his own < on ryrnen-^keeps a pointer or setter,
a double-barrelled gun, and enjoys field sports when
he pleases. A great many are scattered over the
country, but do not readily assimilate with the people,
and prefer brandy to corn whiskey—in which they show
good taste.
The Scotchman here is always a good citizen, and a
man of property, steady, thrifty, and law-abiding,—
The German and the Jew do the fiddling and huck
stering, and gardening, wood-sawing, cooking, and a
large part of the drinking. The only men 1 have
seen drank here were Germans, and yet they are good
citizens. The Swedes and Norwegians are steady,
hard-working fellows, and give nobody any trouble.
The Hoosier is a sort of cross between the Southern
er and the bear, all his qualities, mental, moral, and
physical, just about equally divided between the two
races, wiih a touch of the Wandering Arab. He is a
wandering animal, and his, home and lioase are wher
ever his wagon happens'to be, pear some timber or
fence for firewood, and where there is water enough
for coffee; Whiskey lie takes raw, and washing is to
him and his, a work of supererogation.
The young Sucker, the rising generation of all these
heterogenous materials, is the devil just as nearly as
he is anything, unlettered, ignorant, uncivilized, self
dependent, free, lawless, unpolished, resolute, careless,
confident, tobacco-chewing, whisky-drinking, suspi
cious of good clothes or good manners in others, and
finally, lo use his own expression, ‘don’t care ‘shucks’
for law, gospel, or the devil. One general characteris
tic of the animal is, that he is always anticipating that
somebody will ‘feel big,’ which ho considers his duty to
resent before it happens.
The way the young Sucker volunteers fought in
Mexico, may give you some idea of his characteristics.
He was there perfectly desperate in a fight. One of
the officers related to me a little scene which occured
at Buena Vista, when the whole brunt of the Mexican
advance was borne by an Illinois regiment. It seemed as
though they would bo annihilated by superiority of
numbers, and there were -some signs of wavering, when
a young Sucker drew his ride deliberately and dropped
a Mexican, ‘Set up the pins!’ he shouted, and the
whole regiment took up the word, and at every fire
would shout-—‘Set up the pins!’ The officer said they
fought like demons, and with as much drollery and fun
as if on a spree. At another time when a charge was
ordered, one of the officers could not think of the word,
and he shouted, ‘Let ’er rip!” when the whole line
burst out with the yell, ‘Let ’er rip,’ and dashed in a
mong the Mexicans, laughing and shouting the new
hatile cry. Os course there are many honorable excep
tions, but the characteristics of the young Sucker are
mainly as I have represented. The State itself is yet
but little over ‘twenty years of age,’ and was settled
all in a heap. Poverty piled in the settlers very un
ceremoniously, and they had to struggle with all
sorts of hardships and difficulties, sickness, privations,
bereavements, and even dangers. So the youth were
conceived, nursed, and brought up in a mixture of all
sorts of exigencies, which mattes them vvliat they are.
Many curious and most laughable scenes are of daily
occurrence in the courts of Justice. I will relate one
which occurred in Kane county, in th- circuit court, a
few years ago, when Gov. Ford > the presiding
Judge, which wifLserve as On.-u'i
An old minSt'and land? 1 ,,/‘ JLonsiderable
v*
wealth, was summqpeq ns one jury, lie
came to drunk - 1 te—in fact,
tile court was organized, arn. . in try
ing a ease. lie came staggering in, dressed in buck
skin, and making his way to the bar, addressed the
court qud people with—‘How are ye, darn ye,’ at the
top of Id* voice.
The Judge put on a decorous frown, and said, Mr.
Clerk, enter a tine of five dollars against Mr. .’
*\Aal, Judge, I guess you think this old hoss hau’t
got the money, but you're mistaken,old feller.’
Judge. ‘Mr. Clerk, enter a fine of ten dollars.’
‘\A al, old feller I can fork up.’ And lie threw down
the gold to pay the fine.
Judge. ‘Mr. Clerk, enter a fine of twenty dollars.’
‘i\ til, Judge, there's the pewter, but if only we two
arc going to play this, put up your money if you do rake
down the pile.’
Judge. —‘Mr. Clerk, enter a fine of fifty dollars.’
‘Hold on Judge, that's too big an ante. This old
boss's got the lead, but I won’t play if you don't put
down your stakes—l draw the bets.’
By this time the Judge was savage, while the whole
crowd were vastly amused.
Judge. -‘Air. Sheriff, commit this man for contempt
of court.’
‘Hold on, Judge, you're too fast, or I be, and I guess
it's me. I bid off the jail-yard, jail, and all, for the
taxes, and I guess I own that are public institution,
and you won't imprison a man in his own house, 1
reckon.’
This was said with a kind of drunken gravity that
made it irresistibly ludicrous. The Sheriff dragged
him off, however, and the next day when he was
sober, he made a proper apology, and was forgiven.—
Equally ludicrous scenes have occurred among this free
and easy people enough to fill a volume; but the class
of men who were the actors are rapidly disappearing,
and in all the towns of ten or twelve year’s growth,there
are now good lawyers, good public buildings, and re
spectable courts, though conducted with none of that
imposing ceremony which you see in Canada, or even
in New England. —Slanstead (Canada East ) Jour
nal.
Boys.
Mrs. Dennison, the accomplished assistant
editor of the Olive Branch, gives the following
excellent exposition of that queer and inexpli
cable creation—a boy:
A boy is the spirit of mischief embodied; a
perfect teetotqm; spinning round like a jenny
or tumbling heels over head. He must invari
ably go through the process of leaping over ev
ery chair in his reach, makes drum heads of the
doors, turns thetinpa in nto cymbals, takes the
best knives out for bait and lo
ses them, hunts up the molasses cask and leaves
the molasses running, is boon companion to the
sugar barrel, searches up all the pie and pre
serves left after supper and eats them, goes to
the apples every ten minutes, hides his old cap
in order to wear his best one, cuts his boots ac
cidentally if he wants anew pair, tears his
clothes for fun, jumps into the puddles for fun,
and for ditto tracks your carpets and cuts your
furniture. II” is romping,shouting, blustering,
and in all but his best estate a terrible torment,
especially to his sisters. H<* don’t pretend to
much until he is twelve; then the rage for frock
coats and high dickies commences. Atfourteen
he is too big to split wood or go after water,
and the time these interesting offices ought to
be performed, contrives to be invisible, wheth
er concealed in the garret with some old worm
eaten novel f>r a companion, ensconced in the
window shed, trying to learn legerdemain tricks,
or bound off on some expedition that turns out
to be in most cases more deplorable than ex
plorable—to coin a word. At fifteen lie has a
tolerable experience of the world—hut, from fif
teen to twenty, mav we be clear from the track
when he is insight; lie knows more then than
Washington and Benjamin Franklin together;
in other words, he knows more then than he
will ever know again.
Just hail one of these young specimens ‘boy,’
at sixteen, and see how wrathy he gets ! If he
does not answer you precisely as the little ur
chin did, who angrily exclaimed, ‘don't call me
a boy, I’ve smoked these two years,’ he will give
you a withering look that is meant to annihilate
you, turn you on his heel, and with a curl of the
lip mutter disdainfully, ‘who do you call boy?’
and Oh ! the emphasis.
But jesting aside—an honest, blunt, merrv,
mischievous bov is something to be proud of,
whether as brother orson; for in all his scrapes
his good heart gets the better of him, and leads
him soon to repentance; and be sure he will
remember his fault—at least five minutes.
Fast Hen and Women.
A writer in the City Item “hits off'” a certain
class of fashionables in New York, after the
following style. The picture, though perhaps a
little too highly colored, is correct in the main.
The New York “upper ten” are essentially a
“fast set,” and they seern to value themselves,
as we more quiet people value our trotting
horses, for their speed and action alone. To
follow out the simile, the New York woman is
thoroughly broken tor the track. The polka,
waltz, gallop, Schottish, Redowa, are all paces
with which she is perfectly familiar—she is al
ways in fine condition—no print from the Mag
azine des Modes is more perfectly faultless in
costume—no racer less encumbered with su
perfluous flesh—however long the dance or late
the supper, she never appears “distressed.”—
While the panting stranger who may have so
licited her hand for the dance, is endeavoring
to recruit his energies, she takes a turn with
several intimate friends. If very fast, she will
probably take a drink with you or a smoke
with you, or a quiet game of cards at your own
stakes. To use an expressive word, she is up to
anything.
The New York fast man, or the residue of a
man which dancing and dissipation has left,
“does his mile” also in the fastest possible
space of time. Early in the evening he looks
very much like what an undertaker would call
“a handsome corpse,”—his cravat is so nicely
tied, his boots so perfect—his white kids so un
exceptionable, and every thing about him so
fresh and blooming, save his haggard and col
orless face. Arriving late at tfie ball lie “trots
out” some fast woman, who on the very slight
est invitation is only too happy to be put
through her paces by him, though lie may
never vouchsafe a remark. In fact lie has noth
ing to say, except that the music is too high or
too low, too fast or too slow, and when his dance
is over, he drops his partner and is off to spend
the rest of the night in the various dissipations
which New York presents.
A Drop iv the Eve. —Mrs. C. and Mrs. D.
were once talking together about their mutual
‘riend, Mrs. E, of whom it was beginning to be
whispered, about that she was falling into hab
its of intemper,luce. Mrs. D. noticed that a
little child of Mrs. C.'s who was present, was
listening intently to the conversation,and check
ed her as she was about speaking of Mrs. E. by
the significant remark, “ Take care, little pitch
ers have long ears.” Mrs. C. took the hint,
and intending to be very safe and prudent, she
said. “1 hey do say that Mrs. E. sometimes
has a drop in her eye , and I am afraid it is so.”
’‘Oh, there is no doubt of it,” answered Mr. D.
The child heard it all, and determined, on the
very first opportunity to make her own ob
servation on the subject. So the next time
Mrs. E. called to see her mother, the child sta
tioned herself directly in front of her, and fixed
her eyes steadily on her face,from which she nev
er once moved them, till at length the lady said,
“my dear, why do you stare so at me ?” I‘. Be
cause,” answered the child, “my mothey and
Mrs. D. said the other day, you sometimes have
a drop in your eye, and I want to see if it is
there now.” Os course the lady rose in high
indignation, and all intercourse between the
parties ceased. —Boston Courier.
A Distant Relation.
We saw yesterday a recommendation writ
ten by an Irish friend of ours, in favor of a gen
tleman who was an applicant for a commission
in the army. %Vmong the other things lie savs :
‘My friend. Mr. , is closely connected
with the President, his father liaviug fought a
duel with one of the Polks!’
The above brings to our mind an incident that
occurred some time ago at Cincinnati, on board
the steamer ‘Buckeye,’ just as she was about to
depart for New Orleans.
A tall countryman, carrying a pair of saddle
bags on his arm, and covered with perspiration
and who looked as though he couldn’t tell his
head from a bunch of shingles, rushed into the
cabin, calling out at the top of his voice—
‘ Whar is Col. M’lntosh ? Is Col. M’lntosh on
this boat V
No one answered.
‘Well, then, whar is the cap’ttn ? I must see
Col. M’lntosh.’
On being informed that the captaiu was on
the hurricane deck, our enquiring friend pres
sed through the crowd in that direction.
‘Haul in the planks and shove her off’!’ soun
ded in his ears, just as he had reached the
deck.
‘Stop her, cap’un—stop her! I am not going
to Orleans.’
‘Run out the planks!—ashore with you,
then—quick!’ shouted Capt. Hartshorn.
‘I say, cap’un, I want to see Col. M’lntosh
I must see him.’
‘Don’t know him, sir,’ quickly answered the
old sea-dog. ‘We oau’t wait—-go ashore—haul
in the plank, I sav.’
‘O, cap’un I must see the Kurnel, he is a dis
tant relation of mine, aud I never seed him in
my life.’
Now Captain H. was a warm hearted man,
as every body knows. The last .appeal touched
his feelings, and he kmdly enquired
‘llow near of kin are you to the gentleman
whom you are seeking?’
‘Why, cap’un, he is the father of my first
child.’ ‘
‘Cast off that hawser and let her go!’ wore
the last words we heard. And the boat and
the man that was in search of his relative, wen
ded their way to Orleans. We have not yet
heard that the man found Colonel M lutosbjor
the place where he landed.
Washington was once dining with several of
his officers, when one of them uttered a oath,
he instantly dropped his knife and fork, and in
a deep tone, with characteristic dignitv and
earnestness said : ‘I thought we alf regarded
ourselves as gentlemen I’
The Thief and the King. —A Hindis) thief was
once convicted aud condemned te die, but he hit ujon
the follow ing expedient to escape the penalty of the
law’s. He sent for the jailor, and told him he had a se
cret to disclose to the king, and when he had done so
he would be ready to die. The king aent to him to
know what the secret was. He told him he knew the
art of producing trees that would bear gold. The king,
accompanied by the prime minister and priest, came
with the thief to a certain spot, where he began his in
cantations. The thief at length produced a piece of
gold, declaring that if planted, it would produce trees,
every branch of which should bear gold. “But,” said
he, “ this must be put in the ground by a person per
fectly honest. lam not so, and therefore pass it to
your majesty!”
The king replied—“ When I was a boy I rein amber
taking something from my father, which, although a
trifle, prevents my being the proper person. 1 pass it.
therefore, to my prime minister.”
. The later said—“ 1 receive the taxes from the people,
and as I arn exposed to many temptations, how can 1
be perfectly honest ? I therefore give it to the priest.”
The priest pleaded that he received the sacrifice*, and
was equally exposed. At length the thief exclaimed :
“I know not why all four should not be hanged, since
not one of us is honest?”
The king was so pleased with the ingenuity of the
thief, that he granted him a pardon.
Prf.ttt Hands.—Some matter of fact genius raps
tho knuckles of pretty hands very roughly. Just hoar
him :
‘Delicate,’ beautiful hands! Dear Miss, how do you
contrive to make your hands so pretty ? And such
rings, too, as if to draw attention that way. Let us feel
them. Oh dear, how soft aud tender. Do you bake,
Miss?’
‘No.’
Do you make beds ?’
‘No.’
‘Do you wash floors and scrub the pots aud kettles ?’
’No.’
“So we thought, look at your mother’s hands. A n’t
you ash med to let that old lady kill herself out-right,
while you do nothing from daylight to dark, but keep
the dust from your face and the flies from your hands?
What are you good for ? Will a man of common sense
marry you for your delicate hands ? A person who is
a real inan would prefer to sec them blackened occas
sionally by coming in contact with hooks and trammels,
and callous by a day or two’s rubbing at the wash
hoard. Pretty fingers indeed ! what are they good for
but to move over a piano or stick through gold rings !
Like many vain things of the earth, they are kept fin
show and nothing more. For our part, we would rath
er see them out in actual service, and as tough as a
coquette’s conscience! than so tender that a fliy’s foot
will make an impression upon them.
Missionaries Wanted.—There is great need
of “stated preachers 4 ’ within the domain of
Brokerdom about these days. \Ye wonder it
has never occurred to any of our religious so
cieties to send missionaries into Wall street-
Colporteurs would find the stock-exchange all
excellent field for the distribution of tracts. As
a good beginning in that quarter we vyould re
commend that the words “Thou slialt not steal”
be written over the portal of the rotunda where
brokers “ most do congregate,’’ and that ttie
same significant passage from the decalqguc be
cut on sidewalks, where speculators group to
gether iu the neighborhood, of the “ tables of
the money changers.” The late affair of Mc-
Kay and Cryder. involving, it is said, a loss of
$95,0Q0 to the Mijwaukie and Mississippi Rail
road company to say nothing of Ray Tompkins’
“raise” and the trifle of £2OOO, which Mr. Rus
sel Jarvis says he has been diddled out of, sug
gest the necessity for moral reform, in that
quarter. The eastern prospect from Trinity
Church, seems to confirm the truth of the ad
age—“the nearer the Church the farther from
God.” Stir up the heathen in that benighted
region. What is the use of reproving the
smaller fry, while bulls of T’ashan and bears
more voracious than those that tore to pieces
the mockers of the prophet, are doing Satan’s
work by wholesale, in Wall street. Tackle the
“generation of vipers,” oh! ye preachers. Talk lo
them at church w hen they go to hear about the
unfortunate heathen, and to subscribe for the
enlightenment of the same. —Bay Book
cjpAlli Aljc sii
The Sorrows of Soolh Carolina.
Reading the following account a few days ago, /'us/
before dinner , we fully appreciated the severity ot the
melancholy state of things which it discloses. J lie ac
count is from the letter of a correspondent of the
Charleston Courier, who writes to that paper from the
country :
“To give some idea of the abundance of what is
called the low country in this State, and the luxuries
within the reach of every planter who takes the trou
ble to make the proper arrangements for the regular
supply of this table, we will instance the dinner usually
partaken of, varied according to the season, but com
posed of the like materials whenever there is company
in the house & the family party happen to beat all aug
mented. Notone of the materials nsed, it will be seen,
by those who know the capabilities of the country, cost
the proprietor a farthing ; everything, from the
soup to the fruit, being the produce of his own domains.
‘The mere for his net, and the land fur Jii* game;
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame.*
‘The game killed probably by his own gun; the fish
caught either by his own line, or by that of one of his
own people, aud the mutton fattened in his own pas
tures.
‘First Course.—A calf*s head soup, or a vegeta
ble soup, or an imitation turtle soup made from the
Coota.
Fish —Fresh water trout, brim, or a rock-fish.
‘Second Course.— A fat barn-door turkey,roasted,
with saugages around him, an addermati hanging in
chains; a boiled leg of mutton nr a fillet of veal, potted
with tomato sauce—{with a view of having this dish
all winter, the tomatoes must be prepared and boiled in
summer, when they are in greatest abundance-)—a salad
in the centre of the table ; ham and vegtjblee on eith
er side ; in the spring, lamb and green peas.’ of course.
Third Course.—Haunohof venison, a wild turkey,
wlid ducks, snipe, woodcock.
Dessert.- Rice blane mange, a very cheap dessert
for the family table*, and easily made; jelly and cus
tards, rice pudding, nuts of several kinds, groundnut,
hickory, walnut; and at this particular period, when 1
am penning this article, strawberries and cream.
‘And as a crowning glory to the whole, it is not un
common, after one of these country dinners to find a
bottle of Madeira on the table which had been put
away with a happy forethought in the garret of the
old house long before the living proprietor was born;
stud the interest of the meal is greatly augmented if it
should so happen that the party had been waited upon bv
one of those venerable family servants, honored relics
of the past, of whom John Randolph, of Roanoke,
euco said, they belong to a class composed of the best
bred men in (he country, but now almost obsolete. Y o
may still find them hero and there, it is 'true; but et’ll
as it is the certain c-ilcct of our republican institutions,
to do away with all our old family landmarks and dis
tinctions. they are indeed, 4 few and far between.”
For the first time in our life did we feel like jetting
the nnlHjiers, when we read the abovj account. Be
fore us was a plain dinner of bacon and greens, flankfd
by corn bread, a few vegetables, and a pitcher of ;>ue
water, just front the spring. Plain as was this repast,
it was just as good as that of many other Virginians,
at w lmst? table bacon and greens is the first, second,
third, fourth, fifth and everlasting course. Our turkey
was reserving himself for Christines; our fish were,
still in the sea ; our haunch of remton , running w iid
on the Blue Ridge; and our dessert was nowhere.—
Under such circumstance*. we read the above juicy,
unctuous paragraph, enough to tempt an anchorite from
his abstinence, and converts model of self-denying
temperance into a sensnal gormandizer. Why, it would
have made the mouth of Abbot Boniiaee water in h -t
best dny We Uuak we see him at out of these Car
olina tables, portly and reverend, his snow white nap
kin spread upon his knees, and his fat, rubicund conn
tenance beaming like a full moon through the steaming
vapors of the groaning board. Ao monastery’s refec
tory nor castle’s dining hall ever boasted more sump
tuous cheer than that upon which the high mettloJ
chivalry daily feed.
Now when such men. between their rich courses,
taik ul section and nullification, and swear that their
condition is intolerable and must be changed, we look
upon them with a wonder which we have no words to
express. We endeavor to think them sincere; w#
hope that all men are so ; but then thorp rises up be
fore us the monstrous inconsistency between a full
stomach and a miserable nrnd; between plenty and
discontent; between deep interest in the preservation
of order, and a rebellious, treasonable spirit. Some
hmv or other, we can never think of traitor or a rebel
as fat. We can’t imagine Arnold or Burr a* oth*r
than lank, lunthorn jawed persons, who rarely sat
down to good dinner. Cassius had ‘a lean and hun
gry look,’ and so, wc daresay, had Brutus. If those Ro
man patriots had 4 fed on sech meat’ ns these Caroliu
ians, C’wsar would have died in his bed. They talk
of oppression and wrong! They, amid smiling “fields,
golden harvests, the sweets of civil and religious liberty,
princely plenty, social and domestic joy— they talk of
wrong, and hurl defiance at their government, and
threaten nullification l
Shame, shame upon such ingratitude! It is as if
Dives, in his purple and fine linen, should have daily
complained of bis hard lot. thankless and careless that
it was so inuih better than that of the poor b ggnr
who lay at his gate, starving and full of sores. Lot us
but look across the Atlantic, and we see millions of ineiij
deprived of every political right; made mere hewers
of wood and drawers of water for the privileged class
os; not allowed to worship their God after the dictate*
of their own cmiscionees; their dearest domestic ties
made the sport of the heartless villainy or lawless out
rage of their superiors; no sacred ness of shelter in
their humble Lome*; no adequate reward of theif ex
hausting labor; poverty their only inheritance, an.!
Famine, War and Pestilence their frequent gu iN.—
When we see these millions of oppressed, famished aud
suffering, yet patient men, silent and uncomplaining,
yet waiting in faith and hope for the time when tin
houruf vengeance and justice shall come, we cannot but
think that South Carolina might bo content with her
lot, and not provoke the author of her uuexainpW
blessings to permit her to quit her father’s house, an i
reduce herself to a condition worse than that of t!,.j
prodigal son, feeding on garbage which her o.vn m
niah. would now refuse, and drinking the bitt.-r want*
of shame and remorse.— Mich. Rep.
\> jsesri-a.-Duriug the assembling of the
two houses of Congress, to attend the funeral ..f
Mt Kauffman. a very impressive spectacle was
presented. After the representative* had as
sembled, and the body ot the deceased ha i
been brought in, the Sergeant-al-Arim au
notmped the Senate of the United Slates and
that dignified body entered. Then followed the
Supreme Court, and then came the President
aud his cabinet. .Mr. Fillmore came tip the aisle
on W ebsterV arm ; and although the former is
a \ery tine looking mail, yet a stranger would
have undoubtedly taken Webster for the Piv>l
- lie sat in a large crimsou velvet chair,
in front of the Speaker, and by the side of the
f hie! Justice. i lie thick cloud seemed as ev
er to hang over his mountain-brain. His eve
lay back deep in his head; and could nqt but
observe that half the other eyes in the crowded
house were fastened on him. Someone Rear
me remarked, ’Look at Webster! he is the grea
test man in the nation.’ Another: 4 Sco Web
ster’s head! Oh, what a brain!’ And this is
Daniel Webster, He has the greatest head in
the nation. 1 here is no other brain like his—
it i# vast, grand, impressive. He is the intel
lectual Colossus of the republic.’’
Danoerous Agitation.—' We published in,
our last pajier a call for a mass meeting of Me
chanics, to be held in Atlanta on the 4th of Ju
ly. The fall we published the Columbus
Sentinel. We did not then notice the comments
of that paper upon the call, and would not now.
it we did not observe a systematic effort among
some of the Southern Rights papers of tlio
State to create an issue iu our midst between
the slaveholder and iiun-slaveholder. Verify
these papers are doing their utmost to verify
their own predictions. Having failed to con
vince a majority of Southern people that the in
stitution ot slavery was in imminent jeopardy
from the Union—that our continuance in it
would produce its abolition in twenty-five years,
as Gov. Towns predicted,they are attempting t<’
array the slaveholder on the* principle of inter
e>t against the re>tot the Southern people, by
the must senseless appeals to him as one of'a
( !ass, mainly, if not solely, interested in the pre
servatiou ot this institution. Such political
madness ie qnparallelled, save by the effort-,
made to dissolve the Union fur the purpose of
preserving the institution of slavery.
The Columbus Seutiuel in unqualified lan
guage denounced this movement of the Mechan
ics as the first step in abolition and those who
concerted it as ahoutiontsU and fanatics. Our
readers are aware that we have a law on the
statute book prohibiting negroes from contract
ing for mechanical work, passed by the Legiv
lature for the purpose of protecting the white
contractor, and as a matter, we suppose, of nub
lie policy. If then, the present movement of
Mechanics aims at abolition it is” not the first
step. It only seeks to extend that Law so as to
project the journeyman as well qs contractor.
A few years ago some excitement was cfeat- and
among the mechanics because by the legislation f
the State their labor come into competition with
the convict labor of the Penitentiary. They did
not succeed then and may not succeed now—
but it is uncharitable, to say the least of if, to
question the uprightness of their motives.
But this is not the worst feature of the corn
ments of the Sentinel. After making the charge
of “abolition and fanaticism,” tqou the Mvchag.
Nt ). (5.