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Ike POET'S coener.
Thf Child’s way to Heaven.
[The following beautiful poem was published a year
or two since in a Loudon annual. We know not the
came of the author.]
‘Oh! lain weary of earth,’ said a child
As it gazed with tearful eye
On the snow-white dove that it held in its hand,
‘For whatever I love will die.’
So the child came out of its little bower,
It came and looked abroad,
And it said, ‘I am going this very hour—
-1 am going to Heaven and God.’
There was a shining light where the sun had set,
And red and purple too ;
And it seemed as if earth and heaven met
AN around the distant blue.
And the child looked out on the far, far west,
And it saw a golden door,
Wlu re the evening sun had gone to rest
But a iittle while before.
There was one bright streak on the child’s dark face,
As if it had been riven ;
Said the child, ‘I will go to that very place,
For it must be the gate of Heaven.’
So away it went to follow the sun,
But the heavens would not stay,
For always the faster it tried to run,
They seemed to go farther away.
Then the evening shades fell heavily,
With night-dews cold and damp,
And each little star on the dark blue sky
Lit up its’ silvery lamp.
A light wind wafted the fleecy clouds,
And it seemed to tire child that they
sGre hurrying on to the west, while the stars
ere going the other way.
And the child called out when it saw them stray,
By the evening breezes driven,
Littlestars, you are wandering out of the way,
That is not the way to Heaven.’
ILcn on it went through the rough waste lands
” here the tangled briars meet,
Till the prickles scratched its dimpled hands,
And wounded its little feet.
It could not see before it well
And its limbs grew stiff and cold,
And at last it cried, for it could not tell
Its way in the open world.
> the child knelt down on the damp green sod,
” Gile it said its evening prayer,
•And it fell asleep as it thought of God,
ho was listening to it there.
A long, long s ] eC p—f or t | f oun( j jt there,
Gen the sun went down next day;
--od it looked like an angel, pale ar.d fair,
Lut its cheek was cold as clay.
Ie sun Geams glanced on the drops of dew,
That lay on its ringlets bright,
-Peaking i n every brilliant hue,
*ls c eA, lau y.
Rfiorin should (tr?in at Home.
A Domestic Chat.
band, nt exclai, . ned young hus
as the i • nI S sea * cos >ly in the rocking chair,
i the, ?* w rcln J. The fire glowed ,
Dished At!- 0 ’ revea! ‘ n o a Pretty and neatly fur- |
Comfort Tre all the appliances of j
oy er an i / at 'a a ‘ n g business of the day was 1
been iC S . at etl j°)ing what he had all day ‘
side. jr d ’ aun a delights of his own fire- |
andsat wife, Esther, took her work,
‘lt tr n t 0 1,,e table.
he sa’d .‘L ‘- l ard L* have a home of one's own,’
l littl e 0| taki,1 S a satisfactory survey of his
| ‘ 1<? ocdd ra ‘ n beat against the
fur all h;’ le thought he felt really grateful
‘Now *J Jresent conn forts.
wife. 1 ffeoid y bad a piano,’ exclaimed the
*G’
soj nie Jfie music of your sweet voice be
plimeni P' an °s in creation,’ he declared com
ment il m i •’ bes,de a certain secret disappoint
ly clli ' a ‘. ls “ife’s thankfulness did not liappi
h:s own.
Esther ‘ We v ' ant one for onr friends,’ said
‘Let
bear •> °- Ur nends come and see us, and not to
a piano.’
day everybody has a piano now-a
Pian^" e . 1 8° an y where without seeing a
‘And^ ie w^e *
“Tou ‘lfi * dont bnow what we want one for
don’t , Wl iave no time to play on one, and I
.^Vi" antto bear it.’
r ooni are so fashionable—l think our
‘I 0 -°r S . nearl y naked without one.’
ij .A' 11 ]'” looks just right.’
‘ IIU ;t very naked—we want a pi-
ano shockingly,’ protested Esther, emphati- ’
cally.’
The husband rocked violently.
‘Vour lamp smokes, my dear,’ he said, after
a long pause.
‘When are you going to get an astral lamp ?
I have told you a dozen times how much we
needed one,’ said Esther, pettishly.
‘I hose are very pretty lamps—l never can see
b) an astral lamp,’ said the husband. ‘These
lamps are the prettiest of the kind 1 ever saw—
they are bought in Boston.
( Ifi't George, I do not think our room is com
plete without an astral lamp,’ said Esther, sharp
iy, they are fashionable! Why, the Morgans,
and Millers, and Thornes all have them ; I’m
sure w’e might too.’
l W e ought to, if we take pattern by other
people’s expenses, and I don’t see any reason
tor that.’ ihe husband moved uneasily in his
chair.
*U e want to live as well as others live, said
Esther.
‘We want to live within our means, Esther,’
exclaimed George.
1 am sure we can afford it as well as the Mor
gans and Millers, and many others I might
mention—we do not wish to appear mean.’
George's check crimsoned.
‘Mean 1 I am not mean !’ he cried, angrily.
‘Then we do not wish to appear so,’ said” the
wife, ‘i'o complete this room, and make it
look like other people's, we want a piano and
an astral lamp.’
‘We want—we want!’ muttered the hus
band, ‘there is no satisfying a woman's wants,
do what you may,’ and he abruptbly left the
room.
How many husbands are in a similar dilem
ma? How many houses and husbands are ren
dered uncomfortable bv the constant dissatis
faction of a wife with present comforts and pre
sent provisions? How many bright prospects
tor business have ended in bankruptcy and ruin,
in order to satisfy this secret hankering after
fashionable necessaries ? Could the real cause
of many a failure he made known, it would
be found to result from useless expenditures at
home—expenses to answer the demands of fash
ion, and ‘what will people think.’
‘My wife has made my fortune,’ said a gentle
man of great possessions, ‘by her thrift, pru
dence, and cheerfuluess, when I was just be
ginning.’
‘And mine has lost my fortune,’ answered his
companion, by useless extravagance, and repi
ning when I was doing well.’
What a world does ibis open to the influence
which a wife possesses over the future pros
perity of her family ! Let the wife know her
influence, and try to use it wisely and well.
Be satisfied to commence on a small scale. It
is too common for young housekeepers to be
gin where their mothers ended. Buy all that is
necessary to work skilfully with; adorn your
house with all that will render it comfortable.
Do not look at richer homes, and covet their
costly furniture. If secret dissatisfaction is ready
to spring up, go a step farther, and vi-dt the
homes, of the poor and suffering ; behold dark,
cheerless apartments, insufficient clothing, an
absence of all the comforts and refinements of so
cial life, then return to your own with a joyful
spirit. You will then be prepared to meet your
husband with a grateful heart, and be ready
to appreciate the toil and self-denial which he
has endured in his business world, to surround
you with the delights of home; then you will
be ready to co-operate cheerfully with him in so
arranging your expenses, that his mind will not
be constantly harrassed with fears, lest family
expenditures may encroach upon public pay
ments. Be independent; a young housekeep
er never needed greater moral courage than
she now does to resist arrogance of fashion.—
Do not let the A's and B’s decide what you
must have, neither let them hold the strings of
your purse. You know best what you can and
ought to afford ; then decide, with a strict in
tegrity, according to your means. Let not the
censure or the approval of the world ever tempt
you to buy what you hardly think you can af
ford. It matters little what people think pro
vided you are true to yourself and family.
x\n Efficacious Chastisement. —A most
exemplary wife had the misfortune to wed a
husband who, shortly after their marriage, be
came almost a sot. lie was not a hard hearted
nor an unjust man, but, like numerous others,
could not resist temptation, and whenever asked
to drink had not the moral courage to say ‘No.’
llis wife, whom he really loved, expostulated
and reasoned, until he promised never to take
liquor again ; hut as soon as thrown into com
pany his resolutions were forgotten, and he fell
into his old degrading habit. She wept bitter
tears, and began to despair of ever wean
ing him from his monstrous vice especially as
she had implored one of his false triends in
vain not to lead her husband into evil compa
ny. Regularly, however, the corrupting asso
ciate called, and despite of her tears solicited
her husband to visit such and such a place. The
infatuated man could not resist, and went and
came in a beastly state of intoxication.
The wretched woman, wrought to frenzy by
the seeming ruin that awaited her, determined
upon some plan to free her liege lord from the
importunities of his deceitful companion. One
night, while her husband was asleep, she heard
tke well-known footstep and knock at the
door, and opening it carefully, with a stout
hoisewhip in her hand, seized the unwelcome
visitor by the hair of the head and inflicted upon
his body a chastisement of the most severe char
acter. As soon as she released him he ran off,
and has never since returned to sow thorns in
the domestic parterre of her once peaceful
home. Her husband was so impressed with her
strength of mind and courage, that he resolved
to be as much of a man as she, and lias since
been abstemious and happy. — Cincinnati Corn
mercial.
A Tight Place. —Mr. Robert Babcock, of
Pittsford, Illinois, was drawing wood, when, by
an accident he fell before the wagon, which ran
upon his left leg, above the ankle, and the front
wheels striking a tree, the right front wheel rest
ed there, completely locked—and crushing both
bones to pieces. Truly our friend B was in a
light place. There he was—too far from the
road to be heard by any one—the wagon heavily
loaded, and so fixed that the horses could not
move it an inch, either backwards or forwards
—the light fore wheel resting exactly upon his
legs—its bones crushed to pieces—his head lying
down hill, and within a few inches of a nest of
hornets, his mouth parched and dry, and the
thermometer ranging between 80 and 90 de
grees !
He attempted to relieve himsef by digging
the dirt away, so as to get his leg out; but his
knife failed him. He tried to frighten his hor
ses, so that they might run home and alarm his
friends; but the horses could not break away.
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, AUGUST 28, 1852.
He commenced clawing away the dirt with his |
fingers and finally succeeded in extricating hira
>elt, mounted one of his horses, and rode borne.
His bones were set and he is getting well.
From Wilson's Tales of the Borders.
The Widow’s only Son.
AN e will not name the village where the ac
tors in the following incidents resided; and it
is sufficient for our purpose to say, that it lay in
the county of Berwick, and within the jurisdic
tion of the Presbytery of Dunse. Eternity has
gathered forty winters into its bosom since the
principal events took place. Janet Jeffrey was
lett a widow before her only child had comple
ted his tenth year. While her husband lay
upon his death bed, he called her to his bed
side, and, taking her hand within his, he groan
ed, gazed on her face, and said—‘Now, Janet,
Lm gann a lang an’ a dark journey; but ye
winua forget, Janet—ye vvinna forget, for ye
ken it has aye been uppermost in my thoughts,
and first in my desires, to mak Thamasa min
ister, promise me that ae thing, Janet, that, if
it be Ilis will, ye will see it performed, an’ I
will die in peace.’ In sorrow the pledge was
given, and in joy performed. Her life became
wrapt in her son’s lile; and it was her morning
and her evening prayer that she might live to
see her ‘dear Thamas a shining light in the kirk.’
Often she declared that he was an ‘auld farrant
bairn, and could ask a blessing like ony minis
ter.’ Our wishes and affections, however, often
blind our judgment. Nobody but the mother
thought the son fitted for the kirk, nor the kirk
fitted for him. There was something original,
almost poetical about him; but still Thomas
was ‘no orator as Brutus was.’ His mother had
few means beyond the labor of her hands for
their support. She had kept him at the parish
school until he was fifteen, and had learned all
that liis master knew ; and in three years more,
by early rising and sifting late at her daily toils,
and the savings ot his field labor and occasion
al teaching, she was enabled to make prepara
tions for sending him to Edinburgh. Never
did her wheel spin so blithely since her husband
was taken from her side, as when she put the
first lint upon the rock for his college sacks.—
Proudly did she show her neighbors her double
spinel yarn—observing, ‘lts nae finer than be
deserves, poor fallow, for he’ll pay me back
some day.’ The web was bleached and the
shirts made by her own hands; and the day of
his departure arrived. It was a day of joy min
gled with anguish. He attended the classes
regularly and faithfully ; and truly as St. Giles’
marked the hour, the long, lean figure of Thom
as Jeffrey, in a suit of shabby black, and half a
dozen volumes under his arm, was seen issuing
from his garret in the West Bow, darting down
the frail stair with the velocity of a shadow,
measuring the Lawnmarket and High street
with gigantic strides, gliding like a ghost up
the SoutUi Bridge, and sailing through the
gothic archway of the college, till the punctual
student was lost in its inner chambers. Years
rolled by, and at length the great the awful day
arrived—
‘Big with the fate of Thomas and his mother.’
lie was to preach his trial sermon, and where ?
in his own parish, in his native village ! It was
summer, but his mother rose by daybreak. Her
son, however, was at his studies before her ; and
when she entered his bedroom with a swimming
heart and swimming eyes, Thomas was stalk
ing across the floor, swinging his arms, stamping
his feet, and shouting his sermon to the trem
bling curtains of a four post bed which she had
purchased in honor of him alone. ‘Oh, my
bairn ! my matchless bairn !’ cried she, ‘what a
day of joy is this for your poor mother! But
oh, hinny, hae ye it weel aft’? I hope there’s nae
fears o’ ye slickin’ or using notes ?’ ‘Dinna fret,
mother —dinna fret,’ replied the divine; ‘stick
in’ an’ notes arc out o’ the question. 1 hae ever
word o’ it as slick as A B C.’ The appointed,
hour arrived. She was first at the kirk. Her
heart felt too large for her bosom. She could
not sit, she walked again to the air, she trem
bled back, she gazed restless on the pulpit.—
The parish minister gave out the Psalm—the
book shook while she held it. The minister
prayed, again gave out a Psalm, and left the
pulpit. The book fell from Mrs. Jeffrey’s hand.
A tall figure paced along the passage, lie
reached the pulpit stairs, took two steps at once.
It was a bad omen—but arose from the length
of his limbs, not levity. He opened the door,
his knees smote one upon another. He sat
down, he was paler than death. He rose, his
bones were paralytic. The Bible was opened,
his mouth opened at the same, and remained
open, but said nothing. His large eyes stared
wildly around; at length Ids teeth chattered,
and the text was announced, though half the
congregation disputed it. ‘My brethren !’ said
lie once, and the whiteness of his countenance
increased ; but he said no more. ‘My brethren!’
responded lie a second time; his teeth chat
tered louder; his cheeks became clammy and
deathlike. ‘My brethren?’ stammered he a
third time, emphatically, and his knees fell to
gether, A deep groan echoed from his moth
er’s pew. His wildness increased —‘My mother!’
exclaimed the preacher. They were the last
words he ever uttered in a pulpit. The shak
ing and agony began in his heart, and his body
caught the contagion, lie covered his face
with his hands, fell back, and wept. Ilis mo
ther screamed aloud, and fell back also —and
thus perished her toils, her husband’s prayer,
her fund anticipations, and the pulpit oratory of
her son. A few neighbors crowded around her
to Console her, and render her assistance. They
led her to the door. She gazed upon them with
a look of vacancy, thrice sorrowfully waved her
hand, in token that they should leave her; for
their words fell upon her heart like dew upon
a furnace. Silently she arose and left them, and
reaching her cottage, threw herself upon her
bed in bitterness. She shed no tears, neither
did she groan, but her bosom heaved with burn
ing agony. Sickness smote Thomas in his very
heart; yea, even unto blindness lie was sick.
Ilis tongue was like heated iron in his mouth,
and his throat like a parched land. He was led
from the pulpit. But he escaped not the perse
cution of the unfeeling titter, and the expres
sions of shallow pity. He would have rejoiced
to have dwelt in darkness for ever, but there
was no escape from the eyes of his tormentors.
The congregation stood in the kirkyard, ‘just,’
as they said, ‘to hae anither look at the orator;’
and he must pass through the midst of them.
With bis very soul steeped in shame, and his
cheeks covered with confusion, he stepped from
the kirk-door. A humming noise issued through
the crowd, and every one turned their faces to
wards him. His misery was greater than he
could bear. ‘Y'on was oratory for ve!’ said one.
‘Poor deevil!’ added another, ‘l'm sorry for him,
but it was as guid as a play.’ ‘NN as it tiagedy
or comedy?’ inquired a third, laughing as he
spoke. The remark fell upon his ear —he gra
ted his teeth in madness, but he could endure
no more ; aud covering his face with his hands
he bounded oft’ like a wounded deer to his mo
ther's cottage. In despair he entered the house,
scarce knowing what lie did. lie beheld her
where she had fallen upon the bed, dead to all
but misery. ‘O mother, mother!’ he cried,
‘dinna ye be angry—dinna ye add to the afflic
tions of your son ! Will ye no mother? will
ye no ?’ A low groan was his only answer, lie
hurried to and fro across the room, wringing his
hands. ‘Mother,’ he again exclaimed, ‘will ye
no speak ae word ? Oh, woman ! ve wadna be
angry if ye kenned what an awful thing it is to
see a thousan’ een below ye an’ aboon ye,’ and
round about ye, a’ staring upon ye like con
demning judges, an’ looking into your very
soul, vo hae nae idea o’ it, mother—l tell ye,
ye hae nae idea o’t, or ye wadua be angry. The
very pulpit floor gaud down wi’ me—the kirk
wasgaed round about, an’ I tho't the very
crown o’ my head wad pitched on the top o’the
precentor. The very een o’ the multitude loom
ed round me like fishes! an’ oh, woman! are
ye dumb? will ve torment me rwair? can ye no
speak, mother ?’ But he spoke to one who
never spoke again. Her reason had departed,
and her speech failed, but grief remained. She
had lived upon one hope, and that hope was
destroyed. Her round ruddy cheeks and port
ly form wasted away, and within a few weeks,
the neighbors who performed the last office of
humanity, declared that a thinner corpse was
never wrapt in a winding sheet than Mrs. Jef
frey. Time soothed, but did not heal the sor
rows, the shame, and the disappointment of the
son. lie sank into a village teacher, and often,
in the midst of his little school, lie would quote
his first, his only text—imagine the children to
be his congregation, attempt to proceed, gaze
wildly round for a moment, and sit down and
weep. Through these abberations his school
dwindled into nothingness, and poverty increas
ed his delirium. Once, in the midst of the re
maining few, he gave forth the fatal text. ‘Mv
brethren !’ he exclaimed, and smiting his hand
upon liis forehead,cried, ‘Speak, mother ! speak
now !’ and fell with his face upon the floor. The
children rushed screaming from the school, and
when the villagers'entered, the troubled spirit
had fled forever.
A Queer Marriage. —A Minnesota corre
spondent of the N. York Spirit of the Times,
gives some anecdotes of a Justice of the lYace
out there, who being destitute of a statute book,
or any forms of proceeding to serve as a guide,
tried to evade the performance of his duties
whenever he could, lie was occasionally caught,
however, and then he was sure to make a sad
blunder.
On one occasion (says the correspondent.) he
was required to tie a mystic knot for a couple
who were too anxious to wait for a ‘Preacher,’
who came along every several months. This job
he thought he could get safely along with, as
there would be no opposite party h> take an ap
peal from his action, for both parties wore wil
ling. After fortifying himself with sundry cor/s
of cogniac, he told the victims to stand up,
when it suddenly occurred to him that a neigh
bor who had some experience in such matters,
might possibly have a form that would help
him out. Keeping all hands waiting on their
feet, he started off an express, which soon re
turned with a copy of ‘lke Marvel’s Reveries of
a Bachelor’—saying that ‘this was all the work
on the subject of matrimony Mr. L. had.’ After
looking carefully through the book, reading oc
casional .passages, very much as you can ima
gine, to tiie edification and encouragement of at
least two of liis hearers, he ‘could find nothing
that exactly suited this case,’ and went ahead.
‘You T P , take this young woman,
whom you hold by the right hand, to be your
lawful wife, and you now promise to cleave
unto her, and all other women, so help me
God !’
You will not be surprised to hear that this
‘young woman’ applied within three weeks to
the Legislature for a divorce. You can ascer
tain that such is the fact by reference to its
printed journals ; that body, however, refused
to grant her prayer —influenced no doubt, by
the belief that 1* had not violated his con
tract.
A Protection against Evil. —lt is said
that bees and wasps will not sting a person
whose skin is imbued with honey, lienee those
who are much exposed to the venom of those
little creatures, when they have occason to hive
bees or take a nest of wasps, smear their face
and hands with honey, which is found to be the
best preservative. When we are annoyed with
insult, persecution, and oppression from per
verse and malignant men, the best defence
against their venom is to have the spirit bathed
in honey. Let every part be saturated with
meekness, foi berance, patience, and the most
spiteful enemy will be disappointed in his en
deavors to inflict a sting. We shall remain un
injured, while his venom returns to corode his
malignant bosom ; or, what is far better, the
honey which lie comes in contact with will neu
tralize his hatred, and the good returned for
evil, overcome evil with good.
Temperance and Siren^th.
Among the Arabs, the Persians, and the
Turks, you do not meet with those undersized,
rickety, consumptive beings which are so com
mon in Europe ; do you not meet with such pale,
wan, sickly'looking countenances; their com
plexions are bright and florid ; they are strong
and vigorous—able to ride a hundred miles a
day, and capable of performing other most
amazing feats.
I remember seeing a most striking instance
of their powers. A band of men from the Him
alaya Mountains had come to Calcutta for the
purpose of exhibiting feats of strength, and they
were indeed perfect Samsons. Their size struck
me with admiration. I know nothing that I
can compare to them ; but perhaps some of you
have seen the statue at the bottom of the stairs
of Somerset House—it is Hercules leaning on
his club, is about seven feet high, looking like
a being capable of executing the most difficult
task, and such men were the athletie.
We selected five men on board the Glasgow
frigate, a similar number from one of the regi
ments, and likewise from an Imliaman, all fine
picked men ; and yet, upon a trial of strength,
it was found that the Himalaya mountaineers
were equal to two and three-quarters of the
strongest Europeans. They could grasp a man
and hold him in the air like a child, and, if they
had not been under control, I am convinced
they could have crushed him to death. I felt
them, and I never felt such flesh in ray life ; it
appeared like rolls of muscle, and yet none of
these men ever tasted spirits.
I did not say that drinking water was the
cause of this, but it serves to prove that absti
nence from intoxicating drinks is perfectly com
patible with the possession of great bodily
power.-- Buckingham's Lectures.
“Clifton, A NoYel.”
We briefly commended this work in our
last number, then just published by Messrs. 11.
Long & Brother, Ann street. But for the lack
of available space, we should ‘then and there’
have accompanied our comments upon the work
by the annexed spirited and characteristic ex
tracts. Listen, in the first place, to a descrip
tion of a ‘colored engagement,’ with its consum
mation, which is thus announced:
‘lf you please, Colonel Miller,’ said the over
seer, ‘Pilot wants to marry Thillis.’
‘ls her mother willing?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Send him to me.’
‘Mr. Clifton, we will now visit the cotton-gin.’
‘Do you raise cotton, too.’
‘Oh, yes, several hundred acres.’
‘They approached a frame building, in which
there were immense quantities of cotton, some
of it prepared and ready for market, while a
large amount had onlv been removed from the
ball.
‘The cotton-gin is almost indispensable. llovv
did you ever do without it ?’
‘The process of extracting the seeds wasslow
and laborious. We are under great obligations
to the inventor of the machine; without it we
could not supply the world with cotton.’
‘Well, Pilot, what do you want?’
‘The question was addressed to a powerful
negro, that stood awkwardly twirling his hat,
as he cast furtive glances at his master.
‘Speak out, fellow, you have not been guilty
of any misconduct, liave you ?’
‘No, no, rnassa; ony Ise fallen in lub vvid
Miss Phiilis.’
‘Andyou want to marry her?’
‘lf you please, rnassa, I should like to be uni
ted to her in materinony.’
‘Will you make her a kind and affectionate
husband ?’
‘Sartain, rnassa; I will shiel’ her from de
winds ob heaben.’
‘Very well, then, marry her. But recollect,
if you do not treat her kindly, I will sell you.’
‘Neber fear, massa.’
‘And the happy fellow walked off with state
ly dignity for a few steps, and then, unable to
restrain his feelings, he exclaimed : ‘Phillis am
mine !’ and then followed those feats by which
an African indicates his pleasure, lie threw
himself upon the ground, and rolling over seve
ral times, be at last sprung up, and rapidly turn
ed somersets, lie finished his demonstration
by throwing his arms around a negro who was
leaning upon a post, and squeezed him against
the Limber with such violence that he fairly
writhed with pain.
‘Slaves rarely make cruel husbands,’ observed
Colonel Miller; ‘but it is well, nevertheless, to
keep them under a wholesome restraint.’
The Southern negroes, we are given to un
derstand in ‘Clifton,’ are very ‘aristocratic’ in
their feelings and notions. Those who belong
to wealthy individuals, lawyers, successful poli
ticians, distinguished officers, and public persons,
hold themselves apart from the colored fraterni
ty whom they consider less fortunate. The fact
is well illustrated in the following passage:
‘They have a mortal aversion to any one who
is poverty stricken, whether he is white or black.
It is the prominent feature in the negro charac
ter. I have often been amused by the conver
sation of my slaves, when they thought rny at
tention direcied to something else. Hark! we
will hear it illustrated now :
‘lse tell you what, Sambo, you’ve been wid
Miss Tucker quite long ’nutf; you knows berry
well dat her massa am extricably evolved in del,
and still you will pay her ’tention.’
‘You mus’ confess, Dinah, dat de gal am bvu
tiful.’
‘And ‘spose she am, what den ? Does dat
make her massa rich, consequently ‘soectahle ?
You ought to be old ’nutf to no dat ’spectabili
tg am ebry ting in dis world, and who can hab
dat widout money ?’
‘But de gal ain’t to Idem ’case her massa am
’bliged to morgige all bis plunder.’
‘lt am her misfortin,’and misfortunate indi
widuals mus’ ’sociale togedder. Dey can’t
’spect de hairistocrisy to deviate dem.’
‘But I seed you, Dinah, convarsing wid Tom
White, de lor l ie’s man.’
‘And ’spose you did ? don’t he b'long to our
set ? Don't his massa pract vze at the bar room?
Y’ou ar’t acquainted wid noffin,’ Sambo; you
are a monstruss ig’rant nigger. Can't you see
that siety makes ’strictions a tween people who
am engaged in different hoccupations ? De lor
ricr, de rich man, de politicener. and sufforth
and sufforth, am’sidered ’spectable, werry ’spec
table. Fashionable pusons mus’ ’sociate wid
each odder. Dev ain’t ’speeted to stoop down
to de level of everyboddv. Neber pull de un
fashionable up to your own persition, nor try to
keep up dem who war once your hequals, but
who had fallen. Oilers ’sociate wid fashionable,
who am fashionable now.’
‘Well, I don’t see, ’cause why a gal happen to
b’long to a poor man, dat she should ’ceive no
’tention howsonaever.’
‘Dat is kase your eddication hab been ob de
vulgar hordes. Now you hab been sold into a
’spectable family, and you must conduct your
sel’ as sicli.’
‘But how can poor nigger tell fashionable co
lored women ?’
‘Ladies, Sambo, ladies; you must draw ’stinc
tion atween women and ladies. Dey ham sep’-
rated by a himpaseable ditch. How can you
tell a fashionable lady ? Why, by de company
she keeps! Dat’s de inwariable rule. And if
you're ig’rant of gentil sKty,cut all but dem
who b'long to indiwiduals wid whom master and
missus ’sociates. Don’t I speak your sentimen
tality, ladies and gemblem?’
‘You hab dewined the extinction correspon
dently, Miss Dinah.’
‘These ladies of the ten then changed the
subject of conversation.’
If the brief colloquy isn’t ‘colored’ all over,
then we hare mistaken its character in the pe
rusal, that’s all.’— Knickerbocker.
Honest Labor. —Labor, honest labor, is
mighty and beautiful. Activity is the ruling
element of life, and its highest relish. Luxu
ries and conquests are the results of labor; we
can imagine nothing without it. The noblest
man of earth is he who puts hands cheerfully
and proudly to honest labor. Labor is a business
and ordinance of God. Suspend labor, and
where is the glory and pomp of earth—the fruit,
fields, and palaces, and the fashionings of mat
ter for which men strive and war? Let he
labor scorner look around him, look to himself,
and learn what are the trophies. I rom the
crown of his head to the sole of his foot, unless
he is a Carib, naked as the beast, he is the debt
or and slave of toil. The labor which he scorns
has tricked him into the stature and appearance
of a man. Where gets he his garmenting and
equipage? Let labor answer. Labor, which
makes music in the mine, and the furrow, and
the forge. 0, scorn labor, do you — man who
never yet earned a morsel of bread ? Labor pi
ties you, proud fool, and laughs you to scorn.
N ou shall pass to dust, forgotten, but labor will
live on forever, glorious in its conquests and
monuments.
Learning the Currency.—A good thing
occurred a few days since, with the keeper ot
a small‘‘Lager Bier’ saloon, in this neighbor
hood, who took to teach iiis assistant, a thick
headed sprout of “Faderland,’’ the difference
between “five pence’’ and “six pence.’’
“\ou see John, de piece mil de vomaus ish
de five pence, and de piece midout the Tomans
ish de six pence.’
“Yah!’ said John, with dull twinkle ofintel
ligence.
A wag ofa loafer, who overheard the lecture,
immediately conceived the idea ofa “saw and
“Lagier Bier’’ gratis, for that day at least.
Procuring a three cent piece, he watched the
departure of the ‘boss,’and going up to John, he
called so r a mug of “bier,” throwing down the ■
com and looking as if he expected his change.
John, who remembered recent lesson, took up
the piece, and muttered t > himself:
“Midout de vomans—tisli von six pence,’’ he
handed over three coppers change.
How often the aforesaid drank that Jay, we
know not, it depended upon his thirst and the
number of limes he could exchange three cop
pers for three cent pieces : But when the “boss’’
cante home at night, the number of small coin
astonished him.
“Vat ish dese, John ; >ou take so many !”
“Six pence,’’ replied John, with a peculiarly
satisfied leer.
“Sixpence! Dunderand blitzen ? Y r outake
all dese tor six pence? Who from?”
“De man mit peard like Kossuth ; he bhring
all day mil himself.”
“Derteul’ul catch de Yankees,” was all the
astonished Dutchman could say.
Modesty.
Behold the daughter of innocence! how beau
tiful is the mildness of her countenance! how
lovely is the diffidence of her looks!
Iler cheek is dyed with the deep crimson of
the rose: her eye is placid and serene, and the
gentleness of her speech is as the melting soft
ness of ihe flute.
Iler smiles are as the the enlivening rays of
the sun; the beauty of her presence as the silver
light of the moon.
Iler attire is simple; her feet tread with cau
tion and she feareth to give offence.
The young and the old are enamoured with
her sweetness; she carrieth her own commen
dation.
She speaketh not the first in conversation of
women, neither is her tongue heard above her
companions.
She turneth not her head to gaze after the
steps of men: she inquireih not of them whith
er they are going.
Site giveth not her opinion unasked, nor stop
peth her ears to that of another.
She frequenleth not the public haunts ofmen,
she inquireth not alter the knowledge improper
lor her condition.
So becoming is the behaviour of modesty, so
lovely among the daughters of women!
Is there one who hath forgotten to blush,
who playelh with the w anton glances of her
eyes, who replenishetn the cup when the toast
goes round, and despiselh the meekness of her
sister?
Shame shall overtake her in the prime of her
days, and the years of widowhood shall be in
famous as they are many.
One ot the chief beauties in the female char
acter, is that modest reserve, that retiring deli
cacy, which avoids the public eye and is dis
concerted even at the gaze of admiration. 1
do not wish you to be insensible to applause.
If you were, you must become, ifnot worse, at
least a less amiable woman. But you may
avoid being dazzled by that admiration which
yet rejoices the heart. When a female ceases
to blush, she has lost the most powerful charm
of beauty.
—
Fanny’s Letter.
We take the following mir th provoking let
ter from the columns of the Boston Olive
Branch :
“Don’t marry a woman under twenty. —She
hasn’t come to her wickedness before then.’’ —
[Blackwood’s Magazine.
Well—! It I knew any bad words, I'm aw
ful afraid 1 should say e’m !! 1 just wish I had
hold ot the perpetrator of that with a pair
tongs. I’d bottle him up in s| ii its, and keep
him for a terror to liars, as sure as his name is
Kit North.
Seta thief to catch a thief! How came you
to know when that crisis in a woman’s lile oc
curs ? Answer me (hat! I’ll tell you what my
opinion is; and won’t charge you any fee nei
ther! A woman cotges to her wickedness at mar
riage!—and if she knew anything good before
it all goes by the board, then ; its no more use
to her afterwards, than the fifth wheel of a
coach ! Don’t you know, you wicked calumni
ator, that thunder don’t sour milk more effectu
ally than matrimony does women’s tempers?
Come to their wickedness indeed! Snow
flakrs and soot! They would indeed never
know the meaning of the word wicked, if your
sex were blotted out ofexistence ! * *
***** We should have
a perfect little heaven upon earth—a regular
tereslrial Paradise, no runaway matches no ca
ses of- c—conscience ! no divorces, no
deviltry of any kind. Women would keep
young till the millenium; in fact millenium
would he merely a nominal jubilee ! because it
would have already come. The world would
be one universal garden of pretty, rosy, laugh
ing women ; no masculine mildew to mar their
beauty or how their sweet heads the blessed
year ronnd !
Now you’d better repent your sins, Mr. H hat’s
your name ; lor as sure as preaching, you will
go where you’ll have nothing to do But think
about ’em! aud you won’t find any women
there, either, lor they all go to the other place !
Fanny Fern.
Keep troubles out of sight.— Southy says
in one ot his letters—
“l have told you of the Spaniard, who always
put on spectacles when he was about to eat cher
ries, that they might look bigger and more
tempting. In like manner 1 make the most of
mv enjoyments; and though I do not cast my
my cares away, l pack them in as little com
pass as possible, and carry them as convenient
ly as 1 cun for myself, and never let them an
noy others.”
A little girl just passed her tifth year, while
chattering about the beaux that visited two of
the sex in the same house, ol more mature age
being asked, “What do you mean by beaux,
Annie ?’ replied, “Why, I mean men that have
not got much sense,’
= polm cs.
From the Hartford Daily Courant, August 5.
Scott and Hie Boundary Question.
Another situation in which Winfidd Sc->tt showed tho
versatility of his talents, and the adaptedness of his
mind to the affairs of peace as well as war, was in hia
agency in settling the difficulties that arose from the
disputed boundary between the United States and the
British provinces.
The origin of this dispute, its progress and its termi
nation, are well known, for they are of too recent a
date not to be remembered. They grew ont of the
geographical ignorance of those who made the treaty
of 1783, fixing the boundaries of the United States and
the British provinces. Each claimed a certain territo
ry ; each had exercised sovereign powers within it,
and each, exasperated by opposition, was preparing to
resort to arms. The danger of war was imminent.-
So strongly was this felt, that a measure was promptly
passed by both Houses—unanimously by the Senate,
conferring upon President Van Buren power to call
out the militia for six months, and to enlist fifty thou
sand volunteers. They likewise appropriated ten mil
lions of dollars for these objects. This was according
to the advice of Scott, although it conferred an im
mense power upon the President, but the Democrats of
those days did not indulge in the silly twaddle of cen
tralization—indeed, they never do only when out of
power.
Maine had sent a land agent, with a posse, to drive
out timber cutters from the disputed territory. This
body of men were seized and confined in prison in New
Brunswick. The people of Maine were much excited,
and after trying in vain negotiations with and letters
to Sir John Harvey, the Governor of New Brunswick,
they organized a military force. The Legislature
placed eight thousand volunteers and SBOO,OOO within
the power of their Governor. Sir John took the same
steps, and British troops were marched towards the
contested territory. Ever) - thing threatened war. The
people, on both sides, were eager for ?t.
Tilings were in this condition when General Scot!
reached the frontier. Here was a glorious opportuni
ty to gather anew crop of military laurels—a new
situation where‘the feathers and epaulettes’of a mere
ly military chieftain would have had a full display. But
M infield Scott loved peace better than war. He knew
that the crop of laurels could not be gathered without
the aid of the sickle of death. To their growth it was
necessary that they should be nourished with tears and
blood. The least irritation on his part—the least en
couragement of the belligerent spirit everywhere
breathing around him—would have excited two na
tions to a long, expensive, and bloody warfare, destruc
tive alike of the interests of both. But Winfield Scott
did not choose to manifest that irritation; he did not
wish to place the torch to the pile of combustible ma-’
terials he saw around him. lie negotiated, calmed,
soothed, qpieted, and the affair was settled, the excite
ment quelled, and the way paved for the acceptance of
the Ashbuiton treaty, so ably negotiated by Daniel
Webster.
Scott’s first efforts were directed to calming the ex
citement of the Legislature and people of Maine. 11l
this he was successful, and obtained from them such
conditions as would be acceptable j but they desired
that the Governor of New Brunswick should take the
initiatory steps. But Sir John Harvey had quarrelled
with the Governor of Maine, and no communication
existed between them. It so happened, however, that
Scott and Harvey had been on friendly terms. Their
intercourse h id commenced early on the fielJ of battle,
and the friendship of generous foes existed between
them. A renewal of their correspondence took place,
and Harvey was induced to take those conciliatory steps
that would satisfy the Maine Legislature, and preserve
peace. That body were then persuaded by Scott to
withdraw their troops from the disputed territory, and
both parties united in submitting the subject to nego
tiation.
Thus was settled by one man a quarrel that might
have led to the most serious consequences. Has not
the whig candidate then earned the title of the pacifica
tor, as well as that of the greatest military comman
der of the day ? What service has General Pierce
ever rendered to his country, in Congress or out of it,
that has ever equalled in greatness, in importance, this
one act of Scott ? It stands alone in its grandeur as
much above the deeds of such an ordinary man as the
pyramids tower above the felt-built tents of the Arabs
of the desert. Into what unutterable littleness and in
significance do the petty trivial votes of Franklin Pierce
dwindle when compared to this act of pacification with
all its consequences ?
Mr. Clay on Regular Nominations.
The dissatisfaction fell by the friends of Hen’-
ry Clay at his failure to receive the nomination
in 1848 was deeper and wider than that enter
tained by the friends of any of the unsuccess
ful ( andidates in the recent Whig Convention.
A movement was started in New York, under
the direction ot men who might have made it
a formidable one, to run Henry Clay as an inde
pendent candidate. It wanted but one word
from Ashland to set the friends of the great
Kentuckian into a blaze of excitement and en
thusiasm. As soon as the intelligence reached
him, he addressed a letter to his over-zealous
triends dissuading them from their purpose, and
urging upon them the importance ot standing
by the Whig nomination, regularly and fairly
made, and binding upon the party. The use
of his name he positively and absolutely for
bade.
The following letter, which speaks the sen
timents of Henry Clay’s whole life, and is a
daguerreotype of his character, is more credit
able to him than the regular nomiuatiou would
have been. Who that loves the memory of
Henry Clay is not proud of such a
Providence Rhode Island Journal , 24 th ult.
Ashland, Sep. 10, 1848.
Gentlemen I rereived your favors of the
sth instant, and as they both relate to the same
subject, and are of the same tenor. I have con
cluded to address you jointly,
I was apprized by letters'from J. L. White
and Mr. James Brooks of the purpose of some
of my friends in New York again to present
my name in connexion with the Presidency,
before I received your letters, and I instantly
answered them, stating that I could give no
encouragement to the movement, and that I
could not accept a nomination if it were ten
dered to me. You have, therefore, rightly in
terpreted my sentiments and feelings. My
honor, my peace, and my sense of public duty
and self-respect forbid my consenting to any
further use of my name in connexion with that
office. I am at the same time profoundly
grateful to those friends for the confidence, at
tachment, and zeal which they continue to
manifest in my behalf, and which prompts
them to this new movement. * * *
As it respects myself, it was sufficient that I
was not nominated. I have acquiesced in that
decision. 1 have done nothing in opposition
to that nomination. * * * *
The tendency at this late day of presenting
me as a candidate would be, if it had any ef
fect, to throw the election into the House of
Representatives. There is not the remotest
probability of my election. I should never
cease to reproach myself if, by any act of
ISO. 21,