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A ‘FAMILY lEWSPAPiit-BIVOTFD TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AIT, POLITICS, & GENERAL INTELIGENCe”
VOL. 3.
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r. hF THIRD VOLUME OF THE
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L. I\ W. AM)ItIAVS,
Macon, La,
- r — zwr.-MBKMBK 3SK*Jt . SjUjMMaBfIUMSW
. .. 5i:;i!Bi?: Jinsilirssfttrils|
S. A R. P. IIALL,
ATTORXEYS 4T LAW,
.11 ti c u n , G a •
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1.. N WHITTLE,
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>nJ .tUCOX, 0.1. -IT
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• I.K FIELDS!* it ro’l. HAT sroufc, M&CO!V oa.
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II !. Monroe, Pike, Houston, Dooly, Sura
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•)•’ ii * i',, lh\ jur and Columbus.
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o. .. Mciujnk
K G. JEFFERSON A O.
’ ill tl I.iIKR AMI WtiOLetlLß DEILSR* S*
CHAIRS,
Ji ■ ! St., first door above F. STLarin'v,
CULI MIJI S, GA.
•i hmd an excellent supply of Office, Wood
* . ,ioiu>bi md Rocking Chairs : Bedsteads, Wood
, fee. • , 1
i- -I, - >ft as above, will meet with prompt attsn
- nori—tf
H. W ftLLIFOKD,
„ ...... eepg7
¥rrnjjjj
.-uERREOTYFIST,
K A SON, GA.
■NO; KI.OMI tije avence.
P I J 1_ _
HOTEL,
SAVAXYUI.v.v.v.v.v.vGEORGIA.
P. CONDON.
- ‘a-is-.-nt Boarders, pet Ja>. 51,50. Monthly and ]
- ■ ) U-'in.rrs np. ofiortion. aprj—y j
HUtOEMAN HAMILTON,
f ’ and Commission Merchantsi
-WJCO.V, GKOHlii.l.
’ -aLION it HARDEMAN,
<St COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
S.tr.UY.V.IH, OF.ORG 1.1.
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v (n-m CHIS. r. HS3SII.TON. j
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“•-•ile Dry Good and Ready ,
Made Clothing.
c 3’ r,v AVENUt, MACON, GA.
. „ w - D. ETIIEIiIDGE & Cos., I
” rous & COMMISSION MERCHANTS, ’
p Sir t.Y.Y‘Jill, OF.OROIJi.
■in. having formed a Copartnership for the i
\ •■’ c above bosinec. tender their .-rv:ce.
v ‘ • -i. dme puMte rtiwogy nwt nlkit a *!' of
, t ’ “l tenet sUention to th raleofO tton 1
![.. , 1 N’ no=l 1.1 our cue and aM orders for Bag- i
ni.v.Ue* promptly attended 10
,t. ’ ’ Liberal ailvaucee w ill be made
. r 0 1 ‘*er prod'Ke eemsigned to us.
’ ’ -• 1 -y) w. i>. tTacnurn.
s : ’ ASiI aito iraroow blind
‘; ‘ 3 .”
i mamifac?urincr the above article* by ‘
n TRrv v ai very moderate price*.
, ‘ 1 KN ING AN PLANING.
rtv , ’usiuei.i,ard will ptnmnlly eie- i
ALEX.. McGaeCOR.
—i
c - H. FREEMAN,
( HitierjiCTUiLsa or—
* orilal*, Syrups, Ae., Ac.
I> V; LS,; tJul ‘ a - ‘-ittzm, CitUn Mv. tm. Go. ‘
Fma*, furnished at .hart notice and 1
CP or4r - for Cash.
v ’ K 7 mi, ' ry wwwpaaiea withtha money,
• ; ‘ -13—ts
] THE POET'S CORISER.
1 0 my Mother in Heaven.
y r. n. CUIVER.S, m. i),
‘All that is left me, distant stems to be,
And all I’ve lost—my sole reality Goethe,
Hast tiiou not wings ?
If thou ha<Li power to sear above,
Swifter than thought—far swifter than all things,
Why not return tome? return! iny lovo
Will shroud thee, as the smiles of God on high,
Now wrap thee in their own eternity.
I know thy voice—
I will remember it again—
Though it he changed by Death ! I will rejoice,
And be exceeding glad!—do thou return
A single semblance of what once thou wert,
And 1 will know thee—clasp trtee to iny Leart!
I long to hear
Thee call me thy ‘dear eon’
And speak the same sweet language which was dear
To me >n youth when I was tree Irotn pain ;
And see thee stand before me, giorioas—bright—
An Angel dad in robes of heavenly light !
Come, when the Hills
Are mantled with the mists of even ;
And nothing but the tittering of the Rills
Shall mar the silence of my prayer to Heaven!
And wln-n the pc: fumes of the flowery groves
Smell like the V irgin’s breath in her first love.
Come, with the last
Fend smile that lingered on thy brow,
And on thy bps played, tiil tby soul had passed
To Heaven above where it is shiifng now ;
And lis-k [K>n me with those same fond eves
! I iircugli which that sou! went biNghteuiiig to the
skies!
Perhaps thou art
j Too happy there to visit me!
i J>ut thou will have compassion on my heart,
M hose love was once what Heaven is now to thee !
i hor Heaven can be no dearer unto thine,
Than thv d> ursoul lias ever been to mine!
Though thou hast been
Three years or more away from me—
-1 have not smiled !—I weep ! for thou vvast in
1 his world more than this world can ever be 5
And being now away, this world is gone—-
Gone—like my joy—while grief survives nione!
New York , Dec. 12, 1810.
BM 3JCEL LA¥y.
Highly Concentrated Sermon,
HV OLD HCXDKED.
My dear dandies and belles, fops and flirts,
loafers and other stragglers down the lull of life,
inv text to-day is that so much used and atSused
saying:
‘Does your mother know you're cut P
Poor silly infatuated grub-worms, I would
say from your shines and capers, that she don't
know you’re out. You, young lady, with a
parasol like a wilted cabbage leaf on a ramrod,
and chains of Iran down each cheek, like a !>• t
tlo-tailed spider dipped in blacking let I been
making his everlasting elopement over vour
rouge colored face; leaving a broad trail after
him, and on your back a peck of bran, and your
mincing gait like you were picking your way
among rotten eggs, or was ba.-footed in a briar
patch, and your arm linked to a brainless dan
dy (but I’ll come to him as soon as I'm done
with yon,) wriggling along the street, and for
what? to hunt up indigent virtue or suffering
innocence, to poor balm on the wounded spirit
of poverty, or only to smear your own giddy
heart with the corroding grease of vanity, to
hear fools whisper as you pass, ‘what a fair girl.’
Remember, vain one, beauty is but skin deep,
and the storms of matrimony and the bleak
winds of affliction, rubs it ail out and leaves
| the countenance as unbecoming as a weather
beaten barn door, unless you put on a coat of
j the everlasting [taint of meekness, worth and
< love, under the varnish of beauty. If you can
laugh like him who wins, and know that you i
are still loved and lovely, and that you are still
beautiful, now that ihe glass which hid your
worth and goodness,‘beneath its dazzling glare !
is gone, you shed a happy influence on ail near I
you, make us poor mortals feel just like a man j
almost frozen feels when besets down to a cheer- j
ful tire at his own home. lie hears the storm
but heeds it not; he is happy once more, liut j
have you done this? Inm fid v<.<t
• v '‘
L>rv..u, pideuu to oe pleased with that
fool's wit, when you know it was stolen ! Oh,
why such deceit, giddy’ fluttering worm of the
plant,you are sold, soul and body, for
a little empty, windy, useless adulation; yes
sold to that old,|nake w ith the fish hook on his
tad, the snake that fooled your mamma in
Adam'fegtrtijii patch—and oh! scissors how he
will strip that finery and raise adust for a mile
around, with that peck of bran. Sav. flower
sucking butterfly, does your mother know
y ou’re out ? It’ she does she is unfaithful to
!n.r trust, and ought, not to be trusted again,
any m**ro than the man who stole acorns from
, the blind sow; go home, gossamer and try to
prepare yourself to be a woman and then when
you arc abroad, any body will know that your
mother knows you’re out.
Now you that was cut out for a man. but was
so yiliauously spoiled in making up, i'll attend
to your case.
For w hat end did you burst upon the world’s
door and rush iu uncalled, like a man chased by
a toad bull, what good do you expect to bestow
your fallow man ! some useful invention, some
1 eroic act, some great discovery, or even one
solitary remark ? No, those who iook for any
thing good or useful from you will be just as
badly fooled as the man who caught the skunk,
thinking n w.. a kitten ; or the woman w hen
she made greens out of gunpowder tea.
You know where tho neatest, tightest pants
can be bought on ‘tick,’ but you don’t know
where the uext useful lecture is to be delivered;
’ ou know the fashionable color of a vest, but
ou never studied the gorgeous hues of a rain
bow, unless it w as to wish for a piece to make a
cravat of; you know how a fool feels in tuii
dross but you don’t know how a man feels who
oats the bread earned honestly by the sweat of
uis brow; you know how a monkey looks, for \ou
see one every day twenty times, in your landla
dy’s looking glass, but you dou't know how a
man feels after doing a good action; you don’t
go where that sight is to be sec,n Oh, you
1 waspwaisted, cat-fish mouthed, babboon shoul
! dered, calliper-legged, goose-eyed, sheep-faced
, be whiskered drone in the world’s bee-hive!
’ what are you good for * Nothing but to cheat
j your tailor, neatly’ lisp by notea line from wme
j milk and cider poet’s sentimentality, eat oyster®
• very gravely, smoke cigars lazily, make filly
’ girls act the fool most shamefully, Isay 7 , dots*
your mother know you’re out, poor useless toad?
I am afraid that you have no mother nor never
1 had,
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY- MORNING, MAY L 1852.
i You are ot no more use in this world than a
time-picco in a beaver dam, or a Lair mattrass
iu a hog pen. You fill no larger space in the
wot ids eye than the toe nail of a mosquito
would in a market house, or a stump tail dog
in ft, ‘ doors ; you areas little thought of a>
the lellow who knocked his grandmother’s last
toot:i down her throat, and as for your brains,
ten thousand such could be preserved in a drop
I of brandy and have as much sea room as a tad-
I pole in Lake Superior! and as for your ideas,
j you have but one, and that is stamped on your
skul.s iu letters an inch deep, that tailors and
females were made to be gulled bv you, and
tiiac all may envy yoiirappcarauce. Poor use
less tobacco worm you are a case. Does your
mother know you’re out ? It is lunch time, so
start, buy a toddy on tick from some good na
tured landlord, and eat lunch until vou are as
tight as a drum, sneak to bed and think of no
thing until you fall asleep, to dream of apes,
p mts, straps, and tailor’s bills, not to awake un
til the dinner calls you to eat again,
llnw many harmless, shallow mortals of ano
ther order go skulling about on the surface of
the world’s great waters without an aim, and
without a motive, guided by chance, whim or
impulse, like a mellow bug in a big eddy under
a shad) willow, until they are swallowed up by
the greedy bass of death, and the first thing they
know they know nothing! When 1 see one of
these I always think poor bug, your mother
don’t know you’re out.
11 >w many silly ones neglect their business
•and get after some foolish pleasure and chase it
like a boy after a butterfly, until they wear out
their consiitution, beating tho ground in the
hope of catching the swift phantom, and finally
fall into some hidden pit, covered with flowers
to rise no more! I then think poor fool, your
mother don’t . ;ow you’re out—and you won’t !
be out soon again.
When I see a young man step into the skiff |
of dissipation and start down tiie stream of ■
pleasure using the oats of impudence, while I
folly holds the helm, passing the shores ot pro- j
priety faster than a streak of lightning could !
pass a sick crow, and at last draw over the falls ;
of total destruction and dashed into atoms as a j
drop of water from a four story roof, and then j
ask of myself, for I can’t ask of him, did his mo- !
tlier know that he was out ? When I see a boy
leaving the prison door after a long and dreary
confinement with a paie face and withered
hands, his steps weak aud tottering, and skulk
ing along, dodging ail he meets like a guilty
thing, shutting his eyes from the usual glare of
daylight, cut from the society of his fellow be
ings, for some trial offence committed in the
thoughtfulness of erring boyhood, when if mild
treatment had been resorted to and the crime
buried i)i silence and inducements held out for
him to think well of himself, perhaps that boy
might have been saved from treading the slip
pery road of villany. I say when I see this 1 |
think of the grey-haired mother at borne, if a i
hovel can be called a home, the scalding tears
of misery chasing each other off her high cheek
bones and her bon) hand shaking uitli ague
and sorrow fur her only hope, her son, while |
her boiled looking eves rest on nothing; I say j
to myself, poor, sufi ring woman, you don’t!
know lie’s out! yes, lies out of jail, out of j
money, out of friends,out oi’credit, aud out upon j
the world a scoundrel the rest of his days, all .
for the commission and punishment of a boyish J
crime. So the world goes, and so it will con- j
tinUr to go till it tuns down, and I begin to :
think that few of our mothers know that we re
out. We will be dismissed
Washington’s Bible.
It has lately been slated that the biole used
on the occasion of the admission of Washing
ton a> a Mason,is in England. A writer in the j
New York Journal of Commerce, who dates I
from Fredericksburg, denies the fact. He says;
I presume that our friends across the water’ j
have been imposed upon by a spurious copy—
the original being now, as it always has been, j
the property of, and in possession of Fredericks
burg Lodge, No. 4 It is asrnall quarto volume,
engraved title'page, having the inscription—
“ Cambridge,
Printed by John Reid,
Printer to the Universitie,
1668.”
When Gen. La Fayette visited the Lnitedi
qr.ro..- I b-> 1 -e-vfl . S . • ( >f T ’
found that ‘George Washington entered’ an ap- i
prentice on the‘4th day of November, 1753,’
was passed, March 3d, 1753,’ and was raised
August 4lb, 17-33,’ all in ‘Fredericksburg Lodge,
No. 4.’ He is also recorded as ‘present’ at
subsequent meetings of tins Lodge. When it
is remembered that the old Bible referred to,
lias been from the time immemorial used in this i
Lodge, is very unlikely that another copy should
have been used on the occasion ot General
Washington’s initiation ; anci still more so, that
it should have been, under any circumstances,
‘alienated’ by the Lodge, had such been the
fact. YYmr*. respectfully, J- C.
The Eloquence of Motion. — Every one
has read of the ‘action,’ ‘action ‘ ‘action’ ot De
mosthenes, and of what a variety of emotions ;
and passions Roscius could express by mere ges- j
turcs. Let it not be supposed that.such perfec- j
tion of art belonged to the ancients only.— ;
The following anecdote of William C. Preston j
is illustrative of our remarks:
‘Some years ago, among a thousand others, |
wc were listening to oue of bis splendid ha- !
raagues from the stump. Beside us was one as
deaf as a post, in breathless attention, catching
apparently every word that fell from the orator’s
lips. Now the tears of delight would roll down |
his cheek, and now, in an ungovernable ecstacy, j
he would shont out applause, which might have j
been mistaken for the noise of a small thunder ,
storm.
‘At length Pre*ton launched oat one of those
passages ot massive declamation which those
who have heard him well knew- him to besoca
pable of uttering. In magnificent splendor it
was what Byron has described the mountain
storms of Jura. Its effect upon the multitude
was like a whirlwind. Our deal friend could
contain himself no longer, but bawling into our
ear, as if he would blow open with a tempest,
he cried:
‘Who’s that a speaking!’
‘William C. Preston,’ replied we. a# loud a-,
our lungi would let u.
‘Who?’ inquired he, still louder than before.
‘Willtarn C. Preston of South Carolina P re
plied we, almost splitting our throat in the
effort,
‘Well, well,’ returned he, ‘lcan’t hear a word
he or vou are saying, but great Jericho, dou t
he do the motions splendid P
The income of the Wesleyan Missionary Society is
half a million dollars ptrtanum.
A Short Sermon.
TEXT—PAY THE PRINTER.
Dear Patrons, who are in arrears. Behold
us standing before you in great trepidation, with
tear? in our eyes, sorrow in our hearts, and
worse than all, no money in our pockets. We
me no orator as Brutu.i was, therefore you will
please excuse us from using any rhetorical
flourishes or bursts of eloqueuce, but permit us
to sticE to the pint, which is, who don’t vou
PAY TIIE PRINTER.
Let us state a few facts. The expense of pub
lishing this paper is full SIOOO, a year, which
has to be paid or put as I. O. U. To liquidate
that in part, is the subscription, which, it will be
remembered, falls due the first of January. Il
is now the middle of April—the cotton is most
ly sold—our debtors’ pockets will soon be as
empty as chariot bdxcs. perhaps our creditors’
also. Open your ears that you may hear. We
have just counted our subscription list, find but
about 150 out of /OO which have ‘Paid 1 year,’
! opposite the name. Shocking to believe, yet
i true. 1 hose that have squared up and that ex
| pect to soon, ate the best fellows this side of
Paradise, and can have anything we possess
except our prospect for matrimony and love iu
a cottage—that we shall Imng to as long as we
have a hair on our head, v Inch will not be long
unless we cease grieving over the sfate of our
subscription list. Will you see us driven bald
headed, and that too before we marry, thus
blightmng the hopes of a trusting youth ? We
pause for a reply. Every body knows we com
menced business • with but a pair of patched
pants and a cotton shirt more than Adam star
ted with, the balance was on ‘time.’ From 0
it looks to us that 3 or 8400, we owe cannot be
taken, if so we hope our creditors will take it,
as it will ease our minds considerable. We feel
bad but no doubt our creditors feel worse than
we do. They expect their pay, we don’t have
the least idea of paying it till we get it. They
are disappointed, we are not. We pity them,
poor fellows,and sometimes when they ask if
we are anything ahead, we instinctively run our
hands iu our pockets, but find a vacuum, what
ought to be there is in 500 men’s pockets, each
ot whom can take it out and pass it over much
easier than he can jump up and clap his heels
together three times before coming down—try
it and see.
Wagons cannot run without wheels—boats
race without steam—bullfrogs jump without
leg?, or a newspaper be carried ou, on everlast
ing time, no more than a little dog can wag his
tail when lie has none. Our subscribers are all
good but what good does a man’s goodness do
when it don't do you any good. We have no
doubt evetry one thinks all u . • paid except him,
and as wo ar\ a clever follow and this a little
matter, it will make no difference. It would !
not if it were confined to only a dozen cases, but j
when the riow fever seizes most all, the com- j
plaint is altogether too general, as the bullfrog j
said, ilri fun for you but it's death to us.
Those of you that think of stopping vour pa
per because you are asked to pay for it, are re
quested to cogitate- on the matter. A paper
costs 4 cents a week, and a plug of tobacco a
quarter. Few the men that will not spend five
times tiie cost of a newspaper annually. Thiuk
of it.
You know if you don’t pay soon it rises a half.
That’s 25 per cent Great Jebosefat! That's
enough to make a little Ljy strike his daddy.
It would ruin the count ry and had not ought to
be thought rtf fora moment. We hope all will i
remember the interests of thoif country.
As it is a hard year we advise those who are
in debt to pay their small ones first, and leave
their large ones, for it is better to disappoint one
than a dozen. Remember that, and also that
ours is about the smallest you have.
Those that never expect to pay for the paper,
are requested to drop us a line postage paid,
and we will stop it, as we make by the opera
tion. To al! such we will send a red covered
Testament, as we like to encourage honesty.
Those that are like ourselves, without money,
do as we— let utn dun, if they git it before you j
do they'll be smart. So mote it be -Ax.
Maxims to Marry By.
The following maxims to marry by, address
ed to single men are copied from a very oh!
number of Blackwood, printed so long ago that
oi l *Kit North’ must have been something of
a fer-ii jit the time he wrote them
mm indeed >n malting most, other things— the
beginning is the difficulty. But the French pro- i
verb about beginning —‘C’est le premier pas
qui eoute', goes more literally to the arrange
ment of marriage; as our English well illus
trates the condition of love: ‘The first step over;
the rest is easy.’ Because, in the marrying af
fair, it is particularly the‘first step, that costs,’
as to your cost you will find, if the step hap
pens to go the wrong way. And most men,
when they go about the business of wedlock,
owing to some strange delusion, begin the affair
at the wrong end. They take a fancy to the
white arms, (sometimes only to the kid glm-es,!
or neat ancles of a peculiar school girl; and con
clude from the premises, tliat she is just the
very woman est the world to scold a household
of servants, and to bring up a dozen children !
This is convenient deduction, but not always a
safe one.
White arms and neat ancles, bring one na
turally, at once to the very important consider
ation of beauty. For don't suppose because I j
caution you against all day-disabilities, that 1 |
want to fix you with a worthy creature whom it \
will make you extremely ill every time you look ;
at. For the style of attraction, please yourselves :
my friends, I should say a handsome figure, j
if vou-don’t get both advantage*, is better than
a merely pretty face. Good eyes are a point j
never to be overlooked. Fine teeth, well pro-’
portioned limbs; don’t cast those away for the
sake of a single touch of the small-pox; a ;
mouth something too wide ; or dimples rather
deeper on one side than the other.
‘lt may at some time be a matter of consid* |
eration, whether you shall marry a maid or a
widow. As to the taste, 1 myself vvili g.ve no
opinion, I like both ; and there are advantages
peculiar to either. If you marry a widow, l
think it should b“ one whom you have known
in the lifetime of her husband ; because, then
ad poetic ad posse, form some notion of what
your own will be. If her husband is dead be
fore you know her, you had better be off at once;
because she knows (the jade!) what you will
i jike, though she never weans to do it.; and de-
I pend upon it, if you have only one inch q f pen
\ chant . and trust yourself to iook at her three
i times, you are tickled to a certainty.
! ‘Marrying girls is a nice matter always; for
; the) are as cautious as crows plundering acorn
! field. You may ‘stalk’ for a week, and never
get near them unporeeived. You hear the cat
tei w auling as you go up st-airs, into the draw
inn- room, louder than thunder; but it stops,
I W'if by magic! the moment a (marriageable)
man puts his ear to the key-hole. I don't ray
self, I confess, upon principle, see any objection
to marrying a widow. If she upbraids you at
any time with the virtues of her former hus
band, you only reply that you wish he had her
with him, with all your soul. If a woman,
however, has had more than three husbands,
! she poisons them ; avoid her.
‘ln widow-wiving, it may be a question
w hether you should marry the widow of an hon
est man or a rascal. Against the danger that
the last way have learned ill tricks, they set the
advantage, she will be more sensible (from the
contrast) to the kindness of a gentleman aud a
man of honor. I think vou shoal t marry the
honest man’s widow; because with women,
habit is always stronger than reason.
‘But the greater point, perhaps, tp be aimed
at in marrying, is to know, before marriage,
j what it is you have to deal with. You are sure
;to know this, fast enough, afterwards. Be sure
i therefore, that you commence the necessary
1 prequisitions before you have made up your
j mind, and not as people generally do, after. Re
i member that there is no use in watching a woman
j that you love; because she can’t do anything,
| do w hat she will, that will be disagreeable to
’ you. And still less in examining a woman that
loves you ; because, for the time, she will be quite
sure not to do any thing that ought to be disa
greeable to you. I have known a hundred ti
gresses as playful as kittens, quite more obliging
than need be, under such circumstances. It is
not a bad way, maid or widow, when you are
fancying a woman, to make her believe that
you have an aversion to her. If she has any
concealed good qualities, they are pretty sure to
come out on such an occasion.
‘Don’t marry any woman under twenty, she
is not come to wickedness before that time, i
Nor any woman who has a red nose at any age: j
because people make observations as you go j
along the sheet. A ‘cast of the eye,’ as the |
lady casts it upon you, may pass muster under !
sornecircurnstance,.? and I have even known those
who thought it desirable; but absolute squint
ing is a monopoly of vision which ought not to
be tolerated.’— lilarkwood.
A Maiden’s Mistake:
or a Kissing Adventure.
Say what you will about it, 1 am ready to
swear that I never was kissed, as far as I remem
ber, but once. But that once has not been for
gotten, and if you will heave your main yard
aback I'll tell you the story, though it won’t do j
for me to catch you laughing at it. It lacked on
ly half an hour of midnight, ! had been on a
visit to one of my neighbors, and found such
agreeable company that the hours passed by
unnoticed—by me, at least; but I finally got un
der way for niy lodgings. The night was cold
and nearly starless, and the wind blew fresh |
from the north ; but it didn’t hurry me much, ;
for I sauutered along w histling the familiar tunc
of ‘Oh, no, I never mention it.’
Suddenly while passing an aristocratic-look
ing mansion, 1 i front window in the se
cond story softly raised, and a white hand
seemed to beckon me to approach. Wonder
ing who it could be, and what was wanted, 1
darted through the front gate and was under j
the window.
‘ls that you, Charley?’.asked one of the sweet- i
est voices you ever dreamed of hearing, I was !
soprised—astonished—as you will readily be
lieve, considering the lateness of the hour; but
I was pretty well convinced that it was me, and
nobody else, so l replied—
‘Yes, here !am!’
And there was a tremble, like a skvsail pole i
in a gale of wind. And then came the response |
to my answer—
’ ‘We!!, I am ready!’
What do you think of that , coming as it did
from a young lady at that hour of the night ? I
fitting time for a revelation of horrors! Rea- !
vD j
dy! what could she mean? I was thunder
struck.
Ere iny curious speculations assumed a de
finite shape, the unseen lady lowered the end
of a rope ladder to the ground, seemingly for
meto ascend; butl fell back aghast. However, I
was spared the agony of a refusal. I saw in an
instant that the lady was about to descend to I
the ground ; 1 saw her suspended between hear- j
en and earth. Oh! how l Wished that the ropes j
mivllt fivp W!IV rt frit t rl>. ••) I j.-,
po*‘Uuu v.ot eatening her in iav arte? .But uie v ‘
.. Uc let i<t lit uia in \
safety.
And oh, joy! the instant she touched the \
ground she threw her arms around my neck and j
kissed me again and again 1 Wasn’t I happy ?
Os course I pressed her to my bosom with a
lover's ardor, and returned her kisses with more
than compound interest.
‘Oh! lam so glad you have come!’ mur
mured the fair creature, in tones that filled mv
heart with delight. ‘I have taken nothing but
my jewels aud ready money, for I have hopes
that a reconciliation will be effected. If not,
wo will love and be happy in a little world of !
our own-’
‘Yes we will,’ I replied in an emphatic man
ner, for I felt that she was all that mortal man
could desire. I now really thought tha* I had
secured a bride; and then the ‘jewels,’ ‘money’
‘reconciliation,’ rang in my ears like a dinner
bell in a one-eyed tavern,
‘And now Jet us hurry away before we are
discovered,’ said the lady, taking my arm and
leading the way. No doubt she thought me j
very backward, but, to tell the truth, I didn't!
know where to direct my steps. Following the ;
; *bent of her inclination,’ we passed rapidly up !
tho street.
‘Go ahead, mv beauty 7 , I'm yours till death,’ i
! thought I. But a sad change soon ‘come o’er :
| the spirit of our dream.’ Our rapid pace soon J
: brought us to the gas-light on the corner, and !
! then, for the first time she caught a glimpse of’
;my features. The effect of the look was elec- ;
I .riral. She disengaged her arm from mine, re
’ coiled a few paces and murmured wildly-—-
‘Merciful hear ns! Y’ou are not my Chatles!’
Her face was turned towards mine, and never
! had I seen woman more beautiful. Her eyes
i tvere as dark a* the starless night that enshroud- ’
?d us, and expressive of her giftedsoul. While j
: l was gazing upon her, I heard s-aoc one in
| the direction of the house we had just left whis
! tling the same tune I had been indulging in a
few moments previous. As l was about to
make some sage remark upon the singular co
incidence, my fair companion darted away in
! the direction of whistler No. 2 Th* whole ad
venture seemed a mystery to me; and there I
stood, wondering what would be the next
move. The cup of my bliss had been over
turned.
Five minutes aright have passed, and then
the lady made her appearance, leaning upoc
the arm of a noble looking man of about my
own age. I was just about to ask myself w'ho
could furnish us with pistols for two aGd a cof
fin for one, when the lady took my band, and
1 looking archly up into my fice, she aske \ me:
; *Wiif you accompany us to the Mr
smith’s residence, and see us married?’
I Ihe truth flashed upoa my mind in an in
stant. ihe lady was toe daughter of wealthy
j parents, and they were opposed to her lover,
considering him too poor, as he was a young
; merchant who had just set up in business He
’ was forbiduen the house, and as a natural con
sequence, the lovers planned au elopement,
She was to be ready on a certain night, he was
to give notice ol his whereabouts by whistling
j the tunc of ‘Oh, do, I never,’ Arc.
j *■ Well, there was no law against my whis
tling, at the appointed hour I happened to be
near the lady’s residence, and whistled my fa-
Ivorite tune, which chanced to be the signal
! Agreed upon by tho lovers. It was thus that
j she mistook me for her lover, whose name was
J Charfes.
J To make a long story short, I accompanied
them to their place of destination, and saw tho
j lovers united in tiie holy bonds of matrimony.
J Ihe rest of the night was passed in rejoicing,
j and the next- morning I called upon the lade's
i parents—gradually imparted the news to them. ;
I received their forgiveness for the l ivers- saw
j them reconciled, and agreeably to the request
I of the newly married couple have made their |
; house my home ever since, but never shall for-
I get the kisses I received by reason oft he ’Maid
en’s Mistake.’
The Challenge Accepted.
Below we publish au answer to Sophia’s ad
vertisement.
Sylvanus,you are a man of taste and nerve— :
that you are. We congratulate Sojthia on I
having found a ‘handsome young fellow just !
suited to (her) mind.’ Though Sylvan us some- j
wlntt botistfully details bis merits and lingers
* with evident delight on !us personal charms and
aristocratic habits, yet there is an exquisite
adolescence about him and a happy naive- ness
if not a native simplicity in his answer that is
really captivating. Will not Sophia think so
and be satisfied that she has caught the man she
baited for ?
Answer to Sophia.
All, Sophia, I’m your man! Since vou
evinced a desire to marry soon, my heart has j
been in a continued flutter. I have slept little !
and eat a good deal that I might endure the I
excitement until after Christmas. I may say i
that I am miserable—miserable in the constant
fear that some anxious youth will find you out
and address you favorably before llilfs meets
your eye. Goodness! If I lose you I’m un
done.
1 know you will like me—besides a cane and
jet black moustache, I am a right good looking
young man. 1 throw myself into ail kinds of
fascinating attitudes when I imagine any bodv i
is looking at me, and tug my standing collar ;
unremittingly when alone. I wear a tremend- i
otis spotted satin cravat, and well blacked boots
with the longest kind of toes and if watched ,
wheu off my guard, I may be seen crumpling ,
the same toes to get them to ‘turn up’ in a stvle 1
that my excellent taste will approve. Content
ment is one of my 7 leading characteiistics. If!
destitute of a clean shi:t, I am always satisfied
with a collar and dickey, and never allow
Self to imagine there will be occasion for me to
publicly strip off my coat. Not me! And
socks, I always wear them ; but as thev are not •
always seen, 1 am as well satisfied with a gen- ‘
tee! pair of legs as I could be with legs and feet j
Goth. The former cost? less you know, and if!
I can exhibit the top of a respectable sock ; ofj
course it will be granted, there is a foot of the
same material.
My mind is generally calm, never seriously j
disturbed, indeed, by his visions of oyster ’
suppers and fashionable young ladies, neither |
of which I have ever been able to enjoy very !
extensively, I am not distressed much about j
my coarse fare, <tc., as I know better could only j
be secured by work, and rather than work I'd
starve. Pooh 1 Drink I'd dig in tlie dirt as a
laborer, despoil iny casi mores,and get my mous- !
taclie powdered with mud ? Not I—l feel noble |
and am noble, although starving while idly j
twirling my cane with one hand and curling j
my moustache with the oilier. Then I have j
time to preserve ray only suit from blemish ;
time to talk about the ‘charming ladles’—time j
to secretiv bunt c’* I ">r ‘■’ *"•■ = ’
ic. luv • udooo.rtto with the laboring clas
ses, and shudder if com|tolled to recognize a re- *
lation among them with hardy hand and sun- i
burnt forehead. lam in the height of glorv
when I meet one ’moulded after my own
heart.’ Although I never have funds to tr*at
him to Champaigne, and would scarcely offer
him a cigar stump, yet I can sec amazing fun
with him in deriding the unshaven farmer who
plods to ouf market with bis chicken* and corn (
meal. I can laugh boisterously at the fit of in*
butternut coat with its bras* buttons, and his’ j
tight linsey pant*, but can’t exactly acknow
ledge that such men arc tiie ‘bone and smew of ■
the land.’ True, they live honestly and inde*!
pendently in the world, but if I can't bo booest
and independent without prying ox wagons I
from mud holes, and peddling butter aud eggs,
guess I'll live otherwise.
‘Music hath charms,’ tc.. *o T have learned
to ‘twang’ the guitar; and although I have
been told that my playing is awful, still I think
it heavenly, and that St. Cecilia or Mozart
would compliment though other? deride it The j
difficulty is I play so scientifically that impol- j
ished ‘suckers’ can’t appreciate it. I have read
all the fashionable novel? of the dav, and I no- j
ver fail to imagina myself he leading eharac- ’
ter; but I can't bear legal, statistical, geogra
phical, or historical reading. I would much
rather remain ignorant of the name of the noun
try I live in than to abuse my mind by such in- j
sipid stuff In short lam a modern gentleman, !
will let no man trace me back to parentage, in. (
sinuate aught against my blood nor question j
my claims to gentility Now Sophia, my dear
Sophia, what say you! Am I your man ’ Yes? !
You can't resist my fascinations so if you have .
tha means commence preparation* for our mar- \
: riage; and if you have not. like a good, iuduL
j gent soul, I will wait until you have.
RcLiaioff.*—Willis, when a
i student at Yale College, “professed religion.”
l It was then he wrote his popular religious po
| ems, and the ladies all tboughi he would make
j a “love of a preacher.” Alas! but he still, oc
! casionally, indulges his “serious” muse, namc
* Iy, whenever he gets into a scrape where his
moraliiy is impeached, as in ihe Forret case.
While Willis was being hauled over tha coals
iu the eouit* recently, under accusations ol the
most indelicate character, he was writing in
the pink sanctum ofthe “Home Journal’* read
able hymns to Jesus. They were in the spirit
of
“In the Savior's house sit down,
ITLtjy ihat conquer shell wear the crown;”
Willis is aq excellent Christian,
j CAIGH r IN ANOTHER M AN'S SHIRT.
! Thai was rather a singular “fix” that a young
j £■ :)tlonian gut himself into, in a certain smiil
l town in the West,‘once upon a time.’ He
; “MTcmd ° rn>e at the pleasant village of
j *• <*ne autumnal evening and pot up at
i its on > inn; and as he entered, be heard mutto
and dancing iu an upper chamber. The land
| lord, who \v:*. an oid acquaintance, informed
him that a l>a.i was going on in the hall above,
I and he asked to go up with him to !>e intr>duce<f
J to, and join the. revelers. This he declined, on
: the ground that he was not properly dressed for
I ,he and especially that his linen wa*
i too much soiled.
Never mind that/ &;> id the big burly landlord,
can g\e you a stlin, and he stepped into the
room and brought a garment that would have
been a large pattern tor Daniel Lambert, and
holding it up said—
* i here, now there is a comfortable roomy
shirt for you.’
Oh ina l would never do,* said the guest ‘1
should los** myself in it utterly.’
On second thoughts, tho landlord, couW ‘do
better for h:m. One <>l the girts was ironing
some slurts in the kitchen for one of the boartL
ers and be would ‘get him one that would ht,
any bow.* So be disappeared and presently
cam*; in with a ‘sack,’ into which his guest
soon thrust himself, and having made a hasty
toilet ascended to ihe ball room. Being
a young man from a much larger place,
. rather good looking w ithal, he found noditticiL
j ty in obtaining partners, and these happened
;*° a judicious selection from the most beaut i-
I fu! gif Is in the room, i'he other beaux at length
j began to regard him with no little jealousy, and
one of them went so far as to say that ‘he'd cut
th** comb of the conceited cock, if he didn't
mind his eye? and ail this while the subject of
his beligerent remarks was regarding himself
vvtih the utmost complacency, being the ‘obser
ved of all observers. ’
Meanwhile, there was the ‘toot! toot! toot!
ofa stage horn in the distance; presently the
coach lumbered up to the inn, the driver threw
out the mail and lines to an attendant ostler;
and hastened into the bar-room, having no fur
] ther care nor labor upon his hands until next
day. Hit was also invited by the landlord to
go up stairs and join the dancers’; a proposition
” hich he at once accepted. Those were da vs
when a stage driver was amongst the most pop
ular men in every little community; for he had
travelled and seen the world. The driver re
tired to change his clothe*, and n .*th,ug farther
was seen or heatd of him until he entered the
ball room, his lace flushed, and his voice some
what husky with passion, and strode into tho
middle oi the hall. I'h** music stopped, and Iho
dnvertrpfkethe ensuing silence with the ques
tion. t
Is Mr. Samuel Jenkins, ofS . here.’*
* iam Air. baniuet .Tt-nkms, said our popular
guest, stepping forward doufttie vs an eying that
some new attention was to be bestowed upon
him.
*<)ho, von are Mr. JWki.is, be yntO*
4 Yes, and what may yoof business be with
me?’
‘Nothin only when you get through with that
shirt of mine that you've got on vojr back and
ar strut tin in, l and just thank you to leave h at
the bar!’
Female Society.—You know my opinion
of female society; without it we should degen
erate into brutes. This observation applies,
with tenfold force, to young men, and those who
are in the prune of manhood. For, after acer
tain time of life, the iiterary man makes a shift
(a poor one. I grant) to do without the society
of ladies, io a young man, nothing is so im
portant as a spirit of devotion—(next to his
Creator) to some amiable woman, whose im
age may occupy his heart, and guard it from
the pollution that besets it on all sides. A man
ought to choose bis wife as Mrs. Primrose did
her wedding-gow and, for qualities that will *♦ vear
well.’, One thing at least is true, that if matri*
! mnny has its cares, celibacy has no pleasures,
A New ton or a mere scholar, may find enjoy,
meat in study; a man of literary taste can re
ceive in books a powerful auxiliary; hut a man
must have a bosom friend, and children around
him tocheiish and support the dreariuess of old
An old lady who was apt to be troubled in her
dreams, aqd rather superstitious withal, inform*
ed the parson ol the parish that on a night pre
vious she dreamed she saw fief grandmother
wbo had been dead for t.m yeat*. Tin* clergy
man asked w hat site had been eating. “Ob,
only b:fa mince pie,’’
44 ‘Veil,’ said he, “if yon had devoured the
other hall, you might probably have seen you#
grandluth I too.
THE KISS.
Feom xn* Fbenoh.
Thanks to my gentle absent friend,
A kiss you in your letter send ;
But ah ! the thrii ing cha in is hst
in kisses that arrive by pot^
Thai fruit can only tastetoi be,
When gathered, melting, th© tree f
fIBJ LJB
BEAUTiri'L Sentiment.—From an address by
IJ. A. Bryan *A mot! lave’ Row
I ing the sound ! The angel spirit that washed
! over otir infant years and cheered us with her
j smiles! Oh! how faithfully does memory cling
S to the fa-t fadi ig momeutoes of a parent’s
; home, to remind us of the sweet conn-ds of %
! mothers tongue! And oh, how instinctively
do we hang over the scenes of our boyhood,
brightened by the r<?collections of that waking
eye that never closed while a- ingle wave of mis.
fortune or danger sighed around her child! —
Like the lone star u*’ the heavens in the dsc-p
solitude of nature’s night, she sits the presiding
divinity of the family mansion, is delight ard
its charm, its stay and its hope, when all around
is overshadowed with the gloom of deepen deg*
I cy and despair-’
Bin-firm Tomatoes.— *Th —■* who love good
tomatoes will fake pains to cultivate them so ?s •
to insure them as near as may be in their full
perfection. There is no otberfruit that delights
more iu air and sunshine than the tomato,
They should have therefore aburihioce of
room, ao*J the vines be sustained from tailing
to ihs eartfi. I have found stout brush firmly
st around ike plants, to answer the puqmae
better than any abac method. The btancfcc*
! have room toe fiend themselves a.3 thpy like
. while the limbs of the brush keep thppi in their
positions. By this method the fruit is mors
fuliy exposed to the genial influences pfthe nil
and sunshine, whereby it attains a more deli
cious flavor, larger size, ami com quicker u
piatu; ity.
NO. 4.