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A TAffILY NEWSPAPER,-DEVOTFB TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE, ART, POLITICS k GEIERAL INTELLIGENCE.
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BISCBbb A_M_V.
The Eloquence of Ruins.
DV L. VIRGINIA SMITH.
W High on a desert, desolated plain
I In the far Orient, n stately band
I(X giant columns rise. Above the sleep
I Os devastated cities, mouldering,
■ Yet haughtily, they stand ; grint sentinels
■ Calling the watches of a vanished race,
I And guarding still from Ruin’s felt-shod tread,
■ Tlte mutilated chronicles of Eld.
I Heavy with melodies oil vast and vague,
I Lilt up a solemn voice where ages lie
I Entombed with empires, in the crumbled pride
I Os old Byzuuiutn. Dark Egypt’s lore
I lies in her catacombs, her histories
I hkilcu temples and her pyramids
I Lilt ponderous o\A tomes upon the sands,
BUr/a with the hidden records of the Past;
I Amid their gloomy mysteries, the Sphinx
I A gaunt-eyed oracle, essays to speak,
■ And the weird whisper of her stony hp
■ Sounds o'er the tumult of the rushing years.
■ iLcecte’. Iktr her shattered domes reverberate
■ Tiicihuscofs of a thousand gods that dwelt
lOu Ida and Glytnpus! Porticos
■ Hat droop above their portal, like a brow
■ Os meditative marble over eyes
I Diravtitk the haze of revery, still speak
■ Os imaentsages, and her pillars tell
I Os heroes that have sought the Lethean wave,
■ And shores of Asphodel. Then rising w here
■ ’lhe yellow Tiber Hows, some stately shaft,
■ iLikeaproud Roman noble in the halls
H Os the great Forum, stands the orator
lOf nations gone to dust; the obelisk
■ Girt with resistance, gladiator-like,
H Erom his arena challenges a liost
■ EX stealthy-footed centuries!
■ The lone,
I hark circle of the Druid, with its stones
■ ißugged and nameless, has a monotone
II Nlild as the ruins of Sages at the shrine
■ *Gf Thor and OJiu. Slow, and silently
I The pallid moonlight creeps along the walls
[I “heremid-night cower's ueatli a dusky veil
I In the old Abbey shadows. Timidly
■ h creepeili up, 10 list the tales they tell
[I Beauty, and of Valor, laid to sleep
I “ the low, vaulted chancel. Ivy-crowned,
[ I And crumbling to decay, how loftily
I Rise the old Castle towers 1 lls corridors
I Besoond with elfin echoes, as the bell
I N\ iud-roeked upon its turret, sends a knell
[I Lom cornice to eavazion. The owl,
I A diin-eved warder, watches in his tower,
I Nuu zephyr, like a wandering troubadour,
porta on the ruined battlement, and sings
i I u hreken bastion, shattered oriel,
•And fallen architrave.
i R , The western wild
out before us, and her voice a( might
IVh n 'Ederttess. Alone it swells
tr °pics bloom, and gray corrosion strive
ocrush the deep, and restless mutterings
hoary-headed ages. Dim and trangc,
K P r the vestal and the dark cazique
M a fci , oJVW
K s '' llrt u! ihe uameless tribes
*VW(Wtlm.)n ESmSl—
■isbl,io lfc.it d^ißMe!
ji,. But oh 1
q-L / ef ’ w 'l‘ler, more melodious far,
, ,* ’“I B** 8 ** wailing o’er
* ho mestead That ;u%akef
fKu I , U tte memor y iit brings
t >at it should be but memory,)
Os ° f the r °hin, and the hum
AnA , rclurn *ng bee— .the winds at eve,
Th -. ‘° W tinkle of the brook
Th, i' ’ roui, 'l the garden. Then we see
Tbii ‘ ‘ l '‘ ri, ’ s^ia< l ow ) with the threshold stone
Tha 1 ° U P the sunshine, and the vine
Cius t '^i ll aronn d the colonnade, and bloomed,
W, n ® as a I° ve unchangeable.
■Of ! a ’ P erc hance, we feel the blessed light
er sweet mother’s smiles, the holy breath
Os Other's benison, —we think
Du. ‘ “^ e ,aar hles where their hearts are lmd
Bitali 1 1* 0 a rta,n ‘ ess slumbering,—ah! than
•v Ilc Ihick, blinding tears, —and we can see
** more-; ’
,s ' 0l ° ard S AITHI believe that kicking against
n4 sp ‘ l^n g hi the Ihee of fashion, is a futile
M they ei,^eavor - Both may need correction—
-1 n,Uit **d will have their own way.
a** L t * iat the devil be the father of liars, he
s Pidlv family to look after, and that it is
i C7f*
ke rig^ L lr ‘ s are like kittens—gently smooth them
•*t gj Te . Wa - > tte >’ r*b and purr most affectionately ;
11 tit* mo, bish, and their back is up
1 manner. They like to be kissed,
* delicacy about the operation.
I believe human flesh is hard to digest. Jonah didn't
sit easy on the stomach of the whale.
I believe that simple honesty, the naked truth, pure
virtue, and a straight up and down way of dealing with
the world, have as much advantage over the vices,
tricks and stratagems in the long run, as a good squarc
| trotting horse has over a prancing pony or a racker
| ‘hat goes his mile or two like the mischief, and is done
for the rest of the journey.
Writlrn for the Literary Museum.
Aunt Aabby’s Tea-Party.
BV W\ O. EATON.
Aunt Nab by was determined to have a tea-party.
Aunt Nabby was not particularly fond of tea, any
more than she was in duty bound, as an ancient maiden
lady, and a lover of gossip.
Rut Aunt Nabby had a grudge to gratify against
the two Misses Spangle, who were great boasters,
sneered at Aunt Nabby, and were quite famous for
gi'ing tea-parties and slandeiing llieir neighbors.
‘I won’t put up with it!’ said Aunt Nabby. ‘l'll
give a tea-party myself. Some folks can give tea
parties as well as some other talks, which gives them
selves airs, but is no better than they should be. /eon
make good tea, myself. I guess I knew what Skoos
hong was afore the Miss Spangles was born!’
The sweetest cider makes the sourest vinegar. The
purest love makes the deadest hatred.
It is very odd how- love will rile up some bodies.—
Love sas at the bottom of the difficulties between
Aunt Nabby and the Spangles.
Elder Samuel Sparrowgrass was the innocent cause
of it all.
I hey all belonged to tho same meetinghouse, and
the Elder was not only godly but goodly to look upon.
The Elder was a pink of a man. His hair stood
right up straight ofl his forehead. Ilis forehead was
square as a brick—narrow but intense. Ilis legs and
morals were straight. His white neek handkerchiefs
never cost him anything for washing. The sisters of
the church were proud t<> do it, for nothing. It was
a labor of love. They wished their white arms could
be substituted for the neck-handkerchief. When they
thought of it, they sighed over the suds.
Ifappy, happy Sparrowgrass!
henever the Spangles gave a tea-party, the ElJer
was always invited ; and he always went.
In fact, he was never known to refuse any invitation;
but the Spangles gave more invitations than anybody
else, they monopolized the Elder pretty thoroughly.
T hey gloried in it, and people wondered which of
the Spangles would turn into Sparrowgrass.
Rut Aunt Nabby hadn’t given her tea-party. It
was the tea-party of the season.
O, the rage of the Spangles! O! O!
\A hen they heard of Aunt Nabby’s intentioa they
knew something was in the wind. They were consi
derably younger than she but jealousy fired them,
utvei theless.
What! Invite the Elder Sparrowgrass, and not
invite them ? Would the Elder go? Yes, he would,
lie said io.
My gracious! After all the invitations they had
given him, after all the sneers they had vented upon
Aunt Nabby, and notwithstanding she had never given
even one tea-party, still the Elder was going.
The Spangles wept, and felt rusty.
Aunt Nabby made great preparations for her tea
party.
She invited just one dozen of her acquaintances, be
cause her table would accommodate exactly that num
ber.
She sent Rebecca Beck, a young woman who lived
with iier and paid her board by sewing, and Rebecca
Beck bought a whole new set of tea-croekery with
elegant pink sprigs all over it.
Resides this, Rebecca Reck bought a few gilt edged
and gilt sprigged dishe, designed for the special use of
Elder Samuel Sparrowgrass on this interesting occasion.
Besides this, Rebecca Beck bought some plaster of
Paris Cupid and angels, artificially made, to decorate
each cod and the centre of the table; for Aunt Nabby
bad a classic taste.
One full-blown Cupid was placed directly in front of
the Elder’s plate.
Besides this, R becca Beck bought a lot of sugar
cockles with mottoes in them, and Aunt Nabby exam
ined them and selected some on purpose to hand to
the Elder, and some for the Elder to hand to her, if
he should have a mind to.
Besides this, Rebecca Beck bought a lot of new nap
kins, a pound of the best shoushong she could find, a
lot of elegant laces and ribbons for Aunt Nabby to
wear, and ever so many little thing for Aunt Nabby to
cook with.
Aunt Nabby did not pride herself upon her cooking,
but she could make one Lind, of cake, besides simbalis
and so in order to have it appear like a variety, after
she had seasoned the dough, she baked it in different
shapes and eat it in different slmj*es, so that it seemed
as if there were eight or ten different kinds of cake
on Aunt Nabby's table, when in reality there was but
one kind, besides the s irnbaHs, and they were fried in
different forms—some straight like a sausage, some
round like a cart wheel, some criss-cross like kite sticks,
and some squirming like an eel.
Besides this, Rebecca Beck bought some May but
ter, a whole loaf of sugar, and a whole half a gallon
of fresh cream—she did.
The exciting occasion came at last.
There never was an elderly maiden lady dressed
with such taste as Aunt Nabby was.
Such fiue things as she had on ? Such brilliant
colors ! Such a variety 1 Such a number or yards
it took to cover her !
Everything she had ou ' ew and spanky clean.
It took sixteen yards of sky-blue silk to make her frock,
independent of the flounces. The good things of life
had agreed with her and kept her very happy. She
wore a sea-green satin cape, a fiery red neck ribbon,
spotted with blue sun-flowers, pink pantelettes, choco
late colored shoes and stockings, orange aolored drawn
muslin sleeves and writers, a yellow satin apron with
great worked pockets, double-breasted, and the biggest
white turban, with a bird of paradise in it, that ever
was seen. The rest of her dress was white.
The excitement and the heat of baking made her
face rositr than usual , and her blue eyes shone like new
ly opened oysters,
it is needless to detail how much her splendid ap
pearance astonished her visitors. Aunt Nabby wel
comed them all, in the best of spirits, and they kept
laughing continually till tea time —they were so happy.
She kept laughing, too, for she had a beautiful set of
false teeth, paid for.
O, what a triumph it was for her when the bell
rang for tea, and, taking Elder Sparrowgrass s arm,
she led the way to the tablc-wtbe highly decorated ta
ble !
There were the new crockery, the images, the smo
king shooshong too, the different kinds of the
cockles, the cream, and the May butter ; aud there was
the gilt sprigged crockery for the Elder.
Didn't she lead the Elder gracefully to his seat ?
Yes, she did ; with the exception that she stumbled
and pitched into his arms, just as he was going to sit
down, and smashed his dickey.
The Spangles would have liked to have seen that,
but the Spangles were not there.
Aunt Nabby was equal to her position. Her great
nature rose with the occasion, and she enucted the part
of the hostess in a manner which would become a reg
ular Lady Macbeth.
Then, too, there was Rebeeca Beck, who volunteer
i ed her services for the time, and waited upon the
I guests with great efficacy and alacrity.
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING. AUGUST 7, 1852.
Rebecca Beck,’ said Aunt Nabby, in the most in
sinuating manner, ‘please to hand me the Elder’s cup
und saucer.’
And Rebecca did so.
I don t put in so much Shooshong as I should, Mr.
Sparrowgrass,’ said she,‘it it wasn’t that you can fill
it tip with cream. Put in as much as you like and
sweeten just to suit your own taste. Hand him the
loaf sugar, Becky Beck ; it is very nice.’
After the Elder was thoroughly attended to, Aunt
Nabby administered to the others, keeping a bright look
out for the wants of her ‘chief guests,’ all the while,
and Becky Beck’ was kept as busy as a bee.
T bings went swimmingly, and the Eider, a man of
ravenous swallow was almost drowned with and choked
with stuffing down cake, buscuit, and and preserves.
It made Aunt Nabby feel good.
Everybody praised up the tea and the eatables, nnd
the decoration and Cupid and the angels were warmly
admired; and when the cockles——a happy idea of
Aunt Nabby’s— were sent around, the mirth was un
bounded.
A more stupid man then Elder Sparrowgrass could
easily have seen, by his cockles, what Aunt Nabby
was after ; and a less needy Elder would have favored
the idea.
Aunt Nabby had fire thousand dollars in the bank,
clean and smooth, and he knew it. She always paid
her pew rent, and he knew it. The Miss Spangles
were extravagant, in debt, without a cent, and did not
pay their pew rent, and he knew it. Money makes
the mare go, and he knew it.
So when Aunt Nabby sent him a cockle with the
motto—
‘To Samuel I resign my heart,
He only can relieve its smart.’
he gave her a cockle containing—
‘When Abigail's persuasive voice I hear,
My heart beats quick and I feel very queer.’
And when she handed him another, reading—
‘Wilt thou name the happy day,
O, my bosom's idol ?
Then myself 1 will array
For the tender bridal,’
he returned the following, which clinched the whole
business—
‘Flank of sweetness, hear me speak ;
Let us both hitch teams next week !’
Their eyes met, and ‘o did their toes, under the
table. Aunt Nabby was as good as married, and El
der Sparrowgrass rose from the table with five thousand
dollars more than when he sat down.
But the course of true love never did run smooth,
as everybody knows who kliows anything about it, and
Aunt Nabbv’s ease was not an exception.
Just as tea was finished, an unmerciful knocking
was heard at the door.
Rebecca Beck answered the knock, and immediate
ly returned with a hole in her frock.
‘lts them Miss Spangles,’ said Rebecca, in quite a
flutter, ‘xbnd when I told them you was engaged and
couldn’t see them, they tore my bet gowud, out of
spite, a-purpose.*
‘Outrageous!’ said everybody, including Elder
Sparrowgrass. Love had made him ungrateful.
‘Arc they gone jet?’ asked Aunt Nabby, red as a
cabbage.
‘No,’ replied Rebecca, mourning over the hole.
‘l’ll see to ’em,’ said Aunt Nabby, and she went in
stantly to the door, followed by the Elder. lie fell
anxious for his wife that was to be. The door was wide
open, and the wrathful Spangles were waiting there for
revenge.
‘What do you want, you creeehers ? Go away !’
As soon as the Spangles heard themselves called
‘creecliers,’ and in the presence of Sparrowgrass, they
made a despesnte on-sluuglit upon Aunt Nabby, and in
a few seconds had torn all her finery into smithereens,
in spite of the chivalric exertion of the Elder.
He was himself the unwilling recipient of a couple
of black eyes, and saw stars several times, and got his
hair pulled extemively.
The Spangles suffered some, too; but they were
compensated by the fulling oft’ of Aunt Nabby’s wig,
(O what a falling off was there!) and when she tried
to bite, her teeth dropped out.
Finally, Rebeeca Beck came to the rescue, and the
Spangle‘B retired from the field, but not
conquened.’ They had lost an Elder, but gained a
victory.
But their pleasure did not last long, while that of
Aunt Nabby lasted eighteen years—that being exactly
the duration of the serene and easy-going matrimonial
partnership of Elder Samuel Sparrowgrass, and his
fat five thousand-dollar wife.
Deatli dissolved the union, for they both died on the
same day,of eating green watermelons. But they died
with decency, and were buried in good shape, leaving
no creditors to mourn for them.
As for the Spangles, they faded out, long before.
They withered in the memory of Aunt Nabby’s tea
party, and died like disconsolate bananas.
‘Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.’
A Story with Spice in it.
We remember to have heard in ‘Yankee Land’ of
a young man that had but just entered into the silken,
bonds of matrimony. His wife, a most amiable crea
ture, had a mortal hatred of liquor; and though Torn
often indulged on the sly with his convivial companions
Ite took care always to be ‘right side up’ on going home,
lie would not have his wife find him in such a state for
ali the gold in the universe ; and yet he could not sign
the pledge of total abstinence, from the fact of being
the vice president of a club of jolly fellows, all of whom
believed in grape juice. For at least six months after
bis marriage, in the presence of his ‘better half,’ he
was as ‘straight as a pin,’ and she had set it down that
a blessing in the shape of a strictly sober husband had
fortunately fallen to her lot.
‘Tom,’ one morning, 6aid she, lovingly, ‘we have
now been a wedded couple half a year, and never once
have I had the slightest occasion to reproach you.’
Os course Tom was delighted to hear his dear little
wife talk so encouragingly,and express happiness at his
behaviour ; and he repeated assurances of his deter
mination always to be an attentive, sober husband.
But in the ocean of life how little we can foresee
the breakers of temptation! Tom had to dine that
very evening with the ‘Owls’ (the ornithological title of
his club,) and he felt in admirable spirits, and his health
was drunk warmly and frequently after the removal of
the cloth; the consequence was that by the time the
company separated ho was in a happy state of eleva
tion, with a vivid notion of men, women, and all thiugs
terrestrial.
‘Hic-c, I r-really believe I’m d-d-runk !’ soliloquized
Tom, poising himself on his heels, with his arm clasped
endearingly around a lamp post. ‘W-w-what the
d-d-evil’s to be done ? Am I d-d-reamiDg, or am 1
d-d-runk —which is it ? Wiil somebody telly me?’
A knot of w ags passing at the moment, hearing his
voiec, roared in combined tones —‘You're drunk—
beastly drunk ?’
‘There, now, it's out, and no more than I s-suspect
ed,’ continued Tom, mournfully, iu a maudlin voice.
‘What will Clara say, ugh? Curse that last julep, I
sa y if it hadn’t been for that I’d have passed muster;
but now she can tell it by my eyes—l f-f-feel as if I had u
dozen pair of eyes; aud as for ton-tongue, IVc got a
score all waggin’ away for dear life.’
Tom here losing a proper and important equilibrium,
his heels suddenly flew higher in the air than is nu
eessary for every day eases of pedestrian ism, Wid, per
consequence, he was the next morning in a most un
gftteious position in the gutter.
‘Hip. hie, this is r-rich, Im-ai-ust say. ’Spose Clara
should s-see me now—’twas only to day she p-p-praic
ed my in-in-integrity. Tom, Toni, you’re a b-b—yes
you are, so don’t deny it—you're a b-beast!’
By dint of a series of vast efforts he succeeded in
gaining his feet, and proceeded towards home, reeling,
and talking to himself all the way. After mistaking
the house next door, the door front of which was the
same, for his own, he had an undecided search of at
least an hour for his latch key, which he at length found
in his boot, it having slipped down his trouser leg
through a hole in his pocket.
Now in the hall, he leaned up against the wall and
undertook a cogitation. He could sufficiently gather
his senses to remember the clock in his wife’s room
was out of repair, and as she had retired, she would
not be able to tell the time he had got in. That was a
grand point gained.
‘I kno.v what I'll do; I’ll go to bed in the dark, and
then she won t notice my eyes,’ruminated Tom. —
But hold on—l'd like to forget it—she’ll smell my
breath—how can I fix that?’
He puzzled for a few moments, and in the end con
cluded to seek the kiteiu-n, and meddle slightly with the
spice box. Down the stone stairs he went, and after
putting his hand into half a dozen various fluid*, fi-eling
into a row of pans, jugs and dishes, at length he found
a handful of cloves which he thrust into his mouth as
if they had been so many sugar plums,
‘T-t-tliev’re d-devilish hot,’ spluttered Tom, with
his face all aglow ; ‘but they answer the purpose. How
I wish Bob stiles was hereto tell me whether the bran
dy is sufficiently disguised.’
Satisfied that the fragrance of the cloves had out
odoured the scent of the ‘ardent,’ he mounted the stairs,
and, with the exception of a couple of small stumbles,
gained hix chamber in safety. Now he would have
been happy had hts wife not been wide awake.
‘ W hv, Thomas, how late you are,’ said she; ‘where’s
the candle?’
‘Oh, never mind the candle,’ said he, in ns steady a
tone as he could assume. ‘lts not late.’
‘I should judge it was very late,’ said she; ‘dear me,
I must have the clock fixed.’
‘Y-e-s, so we must,’ said Tom, with miraculous de
liberation, for one solitary hiccup would have betrayed
him. As to thu clock’s uncertain condition, it was a
phenomenon of good luck for him.
‘Does it look like rain, dear ?’ kindly inquired Clara.
Now, if Tom had been put on bis oath he could no
more have answered correctly, in regard to the appear
ance of tho weather, than the man in the moon, and
not half so much, for it is fair to suppose that if there
be a man in the moon, lie is not addicted to the practice
of drinking, and, therefore, keeps a bright look-out on
things belcw.
lie replied guardedly— ‘ ‘Pun my word I don’t know,
but I’ll look,’ and, feeling his way to the window he
threw aside the curtains, and a ray of pale starlight
threw itself immediately on his wife's lace. ‘Clear as
crystal, you perceive, dear’—and down went the cur
tain. |
Clara was very thoughtful and affectionate, and sug
gested that if the curtain was kept up he could see his
way better about the room.
‘No, no, dear,’ replied Tom, very slowly, as before;
‘l’ve beard that starlight produces lunacy after'—mid
night he was about to say, hut caught himself dexter
ously, considering bis situation—‘and that’s dreadful,
you know.’
Tom made several stumbles after this, and presently
his wife caught a whiff of the cloves.
‘Good gracious, Tom, how long you are, nnd how
dreadfully you smell of cloves.’
‘Eh?’ said Tom, startling—’C-l-o-v-e-s ?’
‘Yes, cloves!—any one would think you’d been
embalmed like a mummy.’
This made him twitch and go wool gathering.
‘Phew ! you're regularly scented with them. Where
have you been to-night ?’
Tom was thrown entirely off his guard ; his brain
rambled, and without the remotest idea of what he
was saying, replied—‘W-w-why—hie—Clara, dear,
the fact is I’ve just been on a little trip to the East
Indies , and i chile I was there I fell over a spice box!’
This told a tale. Clara immediately sat up in bed
and shed tears. The cat was out of the bag, and we
should not be surprised but that a Caudle lecture as long
aR a charity sermon was the consequence of poor Tom's
unfottuuate slip of the tongue. He has never touched
cloves from that day to this, and it is probable, ere long,
he will avoid the ‘bottle’ entirely, his wife insisting that
every one that drinks must sooner or later keep com
pany with a subterraneous person, distinguished from
the rest of mankind by a remarkable species of tail and
a ‘cloven’ loot; this tatter sJornment would keep Tom
out of his road, if nothing else succeeded. Most de
cidedly.
From the Family Visitor.
Opening ibe Gate.
‘I wish that you would send a servant to o,icrf the
gate foe me’ said a well grown boy of ten, to his mother,
as lie paused with his satchel upon his back, before the
gate and surveyed its clasped fastening.
‘Why, John, can’t you open the gate for yourself?’
said Mrs. Easy. ‘A boy of your ago aud strength
ought certainly to be able to do that.’
‘I could do it, I suppose,’ said the child, ‘but its heavy
and 1 don’t like the trouble. The servant can open it
lor me just as well. Tray what is the use of having
servants, if they are not to wait upon us ?’
The servant was sent to open the gate. The boy
passed out, and went whistling on his way to school.
When he reached his seat in the Academy, lie drew
from his satchel his arithmetic and began to inspect his
sums.
‘I cannot do these,’ he whispered to his seat mate;
‘they are too hard.’
‘But you can try,’ replied his companion.
‘I know that I can,’ said John, ‘bui its too much
trouble. Pray what are teachers for if not to help us
out of difficulties. I shall carry my slate to Prof. Help
well.’
Alas ! poor John. lie had come to another closed
gate —n gate leading into a beautiful and boundless
science, ‘the laws of which are the inodes in which
God acts, in sustaining all the w'orks of llis hands’—
the science of Mathematics. He could have opened
the gate aud entered in alone and explored the riches
of the realm, but his mother had injudiciously let him
rest with the idea, that it is as well to have gates opened
for us, as to exert our own strength. The result was,
that her son, like the young hopeful sent to Mr. Wise
man, soon concluded that lie had no ‘genius’ for math
ematics, and threw up the study.
The same was true of Latin. He could have learned
the declensions of the nouns and the conjugation of the
verbs as well as other boys of his age; but h.s seat
mate very kindly volunteered to ‘tell him in class,’ and
what was the use in opening the gate into the Latin
language, when another would do it for him. Oil, no!
John Easy had no idea of tasking mental or physical
strength when he could avoid it, and the consequence
was. that numerous gates remained closed to him all
of his life —gates to honor —gates to riches—gates to
happiness. Children ought to bo early taught that it
is always best to help themselves. c. w. .
OCj~ Some enterprising new-spaper reader has fished
out of the advertising columns the following interesting
hair oil certificates:
‘A geutlema* writes—* I broke a ttotde of yonr in
valuable oil in my pocket, and the next day l found
there a sufficient pfopof hair to braid a watch chain.”
‘Says another—w 1- A customer called to day to say
that his wife accidentally dropped a bottle of your
celebrated hair oil on his entry floor, last night, and
this morning she discovered a splendid hair mat in the
entry. A fact like this speaks volumes.’ ’
A Tempest in a Tea-Pot.
BY W. O. EATON.
Husband , Wife and Tommy at Dinner.
HUSBAND.
My little wisely wife,
Will you please to hand the knife?
And I will carve the meat for you
In lovely style, my life.
A slice most rare and tender
Unto you I will render ;
For you’re the pink and paragon
Os all the female gender.
WIFE.
O hubby, hubby, hubby,
Only look at little bubby !
I will not hand the knife until
lie stops his rubby dubby.
I can’t eat my meals in peace,
He will get all over grease,
And then a dirty table cloth
My drudgery will increase.
HUSBAND.
Your drudgery! your drudgery.
You know that talk is fudgery ;
You have but little work to do,
But owe to me some grudgery.
O wifey, wifey, wifey,
You are bothering out my l'lfey ;
Now do u’taeold any more, my dear,
But hand me the knifey.
WIFE.
I’ll see you first in Tuphet!
If you want the knife so, go set-
Ch it yourself, for 1 won't do it sir,
By kiudness I don't profit.
There! Tommy’s broke a dinner plate,
I’ll break his little shining pate —
Take that! you wicked Tommy, you,
Upou your little shining pute.
HUSBAND.
I won’t stand this, by thunder! now ;
What riles you up? I wonder, now.
You act so like a termagant,
You tear iny heart asunder, now.
I can’t eat my dinner here—
I can’t as I’m a sinner, dear ;
I’ll hasten down to Parker’s place,
And drink there like a grenadier.
WIFE.
He’s gone! And now I’m going, too
He’ll find that lam knowing too ; *
I’ll say that iny desertion was
Ilis cruel treatment owing to.
Ilail to gay life! et cetera ,
Os every wife the bciterer,
Who ridicules the marriage vow,
And will not let it fetter her!
Blind to his own Interest.
A Cincinnati paper tells tlie following capital anec
dote, the jest of w hich is a little old, but is funny enough,
we think, to provoke a second laugh from the reader :
One of Health's sprinkling wagons, used to dampen
the streets of our city by water from a large reservoir
containing several hogsheads, was proceeding slowly
down Fourth street, engaged in the laudable task of
flooring the dust, when the attention of a raw lloosier
was attracted towards the singular looking vehicle.
‘Hullo, stranger,’ said lie, addressing himself quite
audibly to the driver,‘you’re losing all of your water
thar!’
No answer was made by the person addressed.
‘I say, old boss,’ said the Hoosier, ‘you’re losing your
water right smart thar, I tell you, and I’ll be dog-on'd
if your old tub won’t be dry, next you know.’
The driver was still silent. The stranger again ad
dressed John :
‘Look here, you fool, don’t you see that somethin's
broko loose with your old cistern on wheels, and that
all o’ your water is leakin’ out?’
Still the driver was silent, and the Hoosier turned
away in disgust, saying:
‘I allow that that feller is little the biggest fool I ever
sec, but if he is so blind to his own interest as to throw
away his labor in that thar way, Kt him do it and be
darned.’
Bad News. —The following good ‘yarn’ was spun
more than thirty years ago; but as many of the old
fashions are now among the choicest new ones, we do
not see why an old joke should not pass muster —es-
pecially if really good :
‘ Well Peter, what’s the news V
‘Nothing particular, massa, scept Bob’s lame.’
‘Bob lame! What’s the matter with Bob?’
‘He hurt himself trying to stopde horses, massa.’
‘Horses! what horses?’
‘Old massa ’a horses ruu away wid do carriage ?’
‘Horses run away with the carriage. What started
them ?’
‘Cannon, massa.’
‘What was the firing for?’
‘To alarm do folks, and I make am oome to put de
fire out.’
‘Fire! What fire?’
‘Your big new house burnt down.’
‘My new house burnt down !’
‘lie catch fire while we all gone to the fun’ral.’
‘Funeral! who’s dead ?’
‘Your father dead, massa, cause he heard de bad
news.’
4 Bad news! what bad news ?*
‘De Bank fail, massa, and he lose all de money.’
‘You rascal, why didn’t you tell me this bad news
at once ?’
‘Cause, massa, I fraid it too much for you at once,
so I tell you little to time.’
A Law yer’s Trick. This story is related of a law
yer who has since attained eminence in his profession.
A ease in which he was engaged as a counsel for the
defendant came up on a certain day. As be was not
sufficiently prepared, he was very anxious to have the
case postponed for a few days, that he might have further
time for this purpose. Unfortunately there was a great
press, and he knew that this motion would bo over
ruled unless some extraordinary reason was alledged.
Under these eireumstances, lie bethought himself of an
expedient. Rising with his handkerchief to his face,
he addressed the judge in accents of great apparent
emotion—‘May it please your honor, I have just been
informed that my mother is at the point of death. My
emotions are too great for me to proceed in this ease.
[ move that it be postponed until daywfter to-morrow.’
This request would of course have been granted by the
court, whose sympathies were strongly excited in his
behalf —but at this moment, to the discomfiture of the
lawyer and the amusement of the audience, the shrill
voice of his mother was heard issuing from the gallery,
’lehabod ! lehabod ! how often have I whipped you for
lying ?’ The case wasn’t postponed nor was it gained
by the afflicted counsel.— Knickerbocker.
Progress in Democracy. A great deal has been
lately said, especially by young America, of the progres
sive character of Democracy. Our opponents are
fairly entitled to their claim of Progress. But then,
they sfiogji pot insist in the same breath, tljat they be
long to the old school of American Democracy. Noth
ing oan be more different than the Democracy of tho
early days of the Republic nud that of the present hour.
Bank, Tariff, &c., wero onoo warmly supported by the
Democratic party. Now they are denouuoed as the
distinguishing badges of Federalism. The progress of
the democratic party froip their ancient creed, and their,
claims still to be the genuine old American Democracy
finds a fair illustration in the following anecdote:
‘I say, Squire,’ said an individual who was indulging
in the luxury of whittling a pine stick in front of a ta
vern,‘this here’s my grandfather’s jack-knife.’
‘No, not your grandfather's , is it?’
‘Yes, it’s grandfather’s knife sartin.’
hat an old knife it must be! how have you kept
it so long ?’
‘B hy there's been four new blades, and six new
handles put in it since grandfather's time, but its
the same old jack-knife for all that.’
(£7~ The Model Clerk. —Has his hair and
whiskers curled and perfumed every morning;
wears a seal ring on his little finger, and no
mistake; litis a praiseworthy ambition to wear
a bigger bow to his cravat than any man of his
inches on the street; never budges the length of
a yard-stick, to wait on a female customer who
is neither young nor pretfy, (unless his employ
er stands by;) makes it a point of conscience
to pass over to Irish women and children, all
the ‘fopensapennys’ and questionable quarters
and ninepences ; thinks it a great proof of dry
goods genius to ‘crack up’ some obsolete shawl
or dress to tho uninitiated, as the ‘very latest
fashion’—‘the only one to be had in the city; al
ways tells cash, to be as slow as possible when
a pretty woman stands waiting for ‘change ;’ is
as obsequious as a lackey to the lady whose
horses stand prancing at the door, spinning a
summerset, in double quick time over the coun
ter (to the damage of his favorite ringlet) in or
der to pick up her pocket-handkerchief; be
lieves in segars, cologne, cream of roses, ‘soft
soap,’ and swearing—rattans, rope dancers, Ro
man punch’ and ‘rows ;’ puts all he earns on
his own adorable person, and ‘never saw the
country, ’pon honor!’
Manufacture of Trifles. — A correspondent of an
Eastern paper thus writes of the Manufactories at Wa
ter bury, Maas,:
Has your father or grandfather got a pair of old gild
ed epaulettes not marked ‘ Waterbury ?’ Open your
jackknife, and see if ‘Waterbury’ is not cut into the
blade. Turn over a large ancient or small modern
gilded, or even yellow button, and ‘Waterbury’ can be
spelled around its margin. Look at your wife's—l
mean no matter—hooks and eyes, and seo them grin
‘Waterbury,’as they pull hard at each other. There’s
the end of your cane, the bitts in your horse’s mouth,
the tool you curry him with, the inetal trimmings of
your umbrella, the lock of your trunk, and all the un
thinkable little bits of metallic civilization, comfort and
ornament, that ever were used or seen, hailing from
‘Waterbury.’’ Only thjnk of a five-story brick build
ing, covering more ground than Greenfield Common,
all full of heavy and light machinery, costing any
where from twenty to fifty thousand dollars, with fifty
I men and boys making suspender buckles J Goto
another, where steam puffs off from a thirty-horse en
gine, and you hear a roariug and crashing, ns if fifty
thousand trip-hammers were pounding the Rocky
Mountains, and you find stout men very busy in getting
out those sixpenny pieces of iron that tip the ends of
the handles of cheap knives and forks. There is anoth
er concern hissing and snapping, with its $5,000 worth
of machines that pull in long coils of wire, and turn
out the eyes used in the wood and horn buttons—noth
ing else. And so you may go from one great shop to
another, till you break down in utter amazement at the
millions so profitably invested in manufacturing just
nothing.
Solomon's Wives. ‘Father, look’ye here. Wot s
the reason you and mother is alters a quarrelling.’
‘Silence, my son. Do you know what you’re a talk
ing about?’
‘Yes sir’e, I do. I was jist a wonderin’ what you’d
do es you head as many wives as old Solomon.*
‘Bah ! go to bed.’
I Yes, its werry well to say go to bed. Solomon had
more'n a hundred wives all on ’em a livin in the same
house, a eatin’ together and never a fight.’
‘Go to bed.’
‘Now wot a time you’d have es you had half as
many. Why you’d kick up such a rumpus as ’ud
fetch up the police—and kick things to thunder.’ A
broom stick interrupted the fugacious youth, and
very suddenly suggested to him the idea of traveling,
which he did.
Sufficient Punishment. A young man of good
family, but who had the bad taste to make professions
of scepticism, upon the point of committing matrimo”
ny, went lately to an ecclesiastic to make a clean breast
of it.
‘M. Abbe,’ said the young man, *1 have committed
nearly all the sins an honest man can permit himself
to do.’
‘You want a certificate of confession!’ demanded
the man of God, who saw at once the kind of penitent
he had to deal with.
‘They have told me it is necessary to obtain the nup
tial benediction.*
‘Go in peace, and sin no more.’
‘But, Father,’ said the young man, with a slight ac
cent of irony, ‘are you not going to order me to do
penance ?*
‘Have you not told me that you were going to be
married!’ repeated the confessor, smiling.
The Infallible Cuke.— Wife. — ‘Oh, Doc
tor, if you could cure my poor dear Augustus,
I should be so thankful! Two or three times
a week he was attacked with these horrible ver
tigoes, accompanied by weakness, and a slight
wandering of the mind, indicated by his call
ing his poor dear papa —(who is a deacou you
know) — a jolly old brick.’
Patient. —‘Don’t suppose, old Ipecac, that
I'm drunk; a little bricky,that’s all.’
Doctor —‘These peculiar cases of vertigo are
very prevalent, ma’am’ and very obstinate, and
a change of climate is the only remedy. I often i
recommend, therefore, a removal to the State
of Maine, where the salubrity of the atmos
phere will at once eradicate the disease.’
The following question has been debated in
several country lyceumsduring ihe last winter:
‘When a boy passes a graicvard in the night
does he whistle to keep his own spirits up, or
the spirits of other people down ?’
The president of the Brand’s Iron ‘Vork(R,
I.) Lyceum decided, after the subject had been
under discussion *hree evenings, that he ‘nev
er knew a boy that dasted to go through a grave
yard at night at all, and therefore the fellers
had been arguin’ for nothin,”
A young tnan in Barnwell, wishing to get
married, lately, and not having money sufiicient
to pay the fees, wrote to a person, as follows:
—“I humbly Beg your parding for taking the
liberti Os riten on this ere matter. As lam go
n to get married on Krismas da—-the lord
Spaerus Booth i ev taenThe liberty to axejou
for a trifel of 2 shillens and 6 pens to make the.
munney Hup.”
“Ifyou can’t stand before the truth you must
fall,” —as the man said when he knocked his
wife down with the Bible.
Mind yocr own Business. A midshipman one
night, in company with Joe Miller and myself, told us
that being once in great danger at sea, everybody was
observed to be upon their knees but one man, who, be
iug called upon to come with the rest of the hands to
prayers —
‘Not I,’ said he—‘its your business to take care of
the ship ; lam but a passenger.’
OCT” Epigram, on the marriage of Mr. Jacob Moore
and Miss Eliza Summer:
In sweet Eliza we may see, with praise,
How apt we aro to swell our store;
Though blest with joys throughout her Summer days,
She wish’d, and Hymen granted Moore !
A Yankee, writing from tho West to his fath
er, speaks of its great matrimonial facilties and
ends by making the following suggestion, ‘‘Sup
pose you get our girls some new teeth, and send
them out.”
Weather and the Crops.
Corn in Laurens District is most luxurious,
and an experienced farmer who has recentlv
been in several parts of it has informed the Edi
tor ol the Latirensviile Herald that the prospects
for an abundant crop are, so far as he has seen,
better than they have been for twenty years.
I he copious rains which have ao much benefit
ed the corn crop, will probably prove injurious
to the cotton. The weed looks remarkably well
and there seems to be a large number of bolls
and blooms, but it is the general opinion that
many of them wiil be shed before maturity. An
exuberant growth of the plant is far from indi
cating a prolific yield.
The only dread entertained is, that the rains
will not continue so gentle as they have been,
but will terminate in an injurious freshet. If
this catastrophe is avoided, the farmers of Lau
rens will be able to furnish their western breth
ern with a supply of corn if they need it, and,
in all probability, upon as favoiablc terms as
they offered it to them.
The Lancaster, S. C., Ledger of the 21 st insf.,
says that the appearance and prospects of tho
growing crop are fair and beautiful, and have
not been equalled for manv years. On tho
20th inst. some gentlemen rode over the com
crop of Col. Dickson Barnes, of that District,
and the ledger understands from cne of them,
that the party concurred in estimating that tho
whole corn crop, consisting of from 275 to 300
acres, would make on an average, 30 bushels
per acre.
The Savannah Ga., Morning News says that
this will probably be the most bountiful year ev
er witnessed in Georgia. The wheat and oat
crops are already in, and have proved to be very
abundant, particularly the latter.
A letter from Barnwell District, in this State,
to the editor of the Augusta Constitutionalist,
states that the Corn crop in many places, is un
usually fine, and generally very healthy.
The Alexandria (La.) Republican of the ITtfi
inst., says that the crops of Cotton, Coin and
Sugar in Rapides parish are only so so. A
month ago they were more promising than they
are now.
The Spartanburg, S. C., Carolina Spartart
learns from all parts of the District, and indead
from those, surrounding, that the growing crop
of com is better than it has been for several
years back. It has been told, also, that the cot
ton looks welland promisesa fair yield.
The Yorkville, S. C., True Remedy says
that, on the 15th inst., there was in the evening
an excellent shower, and at night a very heavy
fall of rain, accompanied with thunderaud light
ning, which was general and greatly benefited
the District. Corn still commands 81, and is
received in bags from Wilmington and Charles
ton. All vegetation, however, is now flourish
ing.
The Madison, (La) Journal of the 10th inst.
says that the copious rains of the previous
week or two have made the corn, and will prove
most abundant.
Corrwjuiitktcr.
LETTERS FROM THE AORTIf
New Haven, July 30, 1852.
Dear Doctor :—The most beautiful as well as lb®
most classical of ail the Monuments recently erected in
tho New Cemetry lure, is ihe one dedicated to tho
memory of a mother and her three little children. It
is, perhaps, ten feet in height.and lias on its occiden
tal face, sculptured, in elegant Basso Relievo, an An
gel bearing up the mother into Heaven, while her threo
children, with the serene light of the joy of peace play
ing upon their countenances, sit high up on a bank of
golden glory-clouds, as if waiting to embrace her.
The two eldest children, oil the dexter and sinister
sides above, hold between them, in their arms, their
youngest sister, who appears to have died wi.h their
mother, while they both, (the one with her right aud
the other with her left baud,) beckon ber, with tho
courteous benignity of an Angel, to come up to them.
The triumphant ease with which the Angel bears up
tho redeemed and glorified spirit of the mother through
the parting clouds, is truly wonderful, and shows how
exalted the genius of the Artist was who could preach
sneha beautiful Evangel. In proof of which I may
merely mention here, that it is not only now, but will
be, for many years to oome, the ‘observed of all oh
servers.’
But one of the most beautiful as well as affectin'*
scenes that I was ever called upon to witness, was that
which happened on the very evening that I first beheld
this eloquent Monument.
Not far off from this Saintly Memorial of the right
eous dead, who were West by dying into the life of their
Lord, stands a little square Pedestal on which is plaocd
a beautiful sculptured miikwliite lamb, reciiuing iu the
utmost gentleness, tendernes and meekness of rept*e-*
just as any living lamb would lie down on the ground
with its little fore-feet placed, or doubled languidly un
der it.
The lamb, as you very well know, in Sacred Art,
i* the Hieroglyphic of Christ. When I first beheld
this beautiful little mute, though loudly speaking, sculp,
tured Hymn to the glory of God, lying there in such
artless and childish simplicity, I thought of that pas
sage in the Sciipture where David, in his sorrows
likens himself to a lamb whom God would lead with
bis right hand, out of the wilderness of trouble into
those evergreen savannahs of bis love where he should
lie down on the flowery banks of tfc e brooks of running
water, underneath the umbrageous boughs of tho sha
dowy Palm-tree, and there rest in peace.
My little daughter,
‘That dark-ej’ed child,
W ho is the load-star of my life,’
waa there with me. As soon as she saw this beautiful
little lamb lyipg ihere in such dreamless sweet repose,
she suddenly withdrew her hand from her mother's,
and running up to it with a ‘joy unspeakable and full of
glory,’ fell down upon its marble neck and kissed and
hugged it, and hugged and kissed it, a thousand, thou,
sand times, over and over again, as if her very soul
was ravished out of her body into an ee?tacy by tl >
perrennial newness of itsddjcate ani tenier beauty.
NO. 18.