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The Muscogee Democrat,
AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER.
—— %
By Andrews A Griswold.
Corner of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-stairs,
COLUMBUS, (ia.
TERMS.
THREE DOLLARS per annum —in advance.
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tCj” All Letters must be free of postage, except where
money is enclosed.
Vol. 111.
Col. Town’s Acceptance.
Talbotton, July 19, 1847.
Gentlemen : Your letter of the 30th ult. in
forming me that the late Democratic Conven
tion held in Miiledgeville had appointed you a
committee to communicate to me, the choice
made by them of a candidate for Governor,
reached this place, m mv absence, and was for
the first time seen by me on Friday last.
In accepting the honor conferred upon me by
the Convention, I trust I shall not be unmindful j
ot the relation I bear to the whole people of
Georgia, or forgetful of the gratitude due the j
kind partiality of political fricndsjbr this flat
tering expression of their confidence.
The free exercise of the right of suffrage by
the people, is their best guaranty for all the
blessings they now enjoy under the State and
Federal Government; uud in consenting to be
the candidate of the Republican party, I can
only offer, what I feel to be acceptable, an unul-1
teruble purpose, to the utmost yf my ability, un- j
uer all circumstances to prove true to Georgia, j
and the. interest o’-her people. Concurring with )
the political principles contained in the resolu
tions adopted by the Convention, I will not:
withhold the expression of a strong conviction.;
formed upon the most careful examination I have ;
been able to bestow, that the prosperity of the !
great iflSss of the people, as well as the perpe-1
tuity of the Union itsell, eminently depends on
the administration of the Federal Government,
upon the principles contained in the Conven
tion's first Resolution. But, however firm and :
unalterable the convictions resting on my mind :
in reference to these principles of national poli
cy may be, there is yet another of equal, if not
of greater importance at this time to the people
of the slave-holding States, embraced in the re
solutions of the Convention, and upon which
every friend of the Constitution, it appears to
me will unite—l mean the late demonstrations
made in Congress and elsewhere, to restrict the
institution ot Slavery to its present territorial i
limits, and thereby prevent the equal participa-!
thin ot the citizens ol the slave-holding States j
in all territory that may be hereafter acquired 1
by the United States.
This grand movement which is the embody
ing of all that is corrupt in politics, or hypocrit
ical in religion, has since its advent in the Con
gress of the United States, been better known
as the “ Wilmot Proviso.” \\ lien and where
this strange amalgamation of religious fanati
cism and political knavery was first conceived
or finally ratified, is not perhaps generally
known; but whether we regard the time, place,
the condition, or the political standing of the
parties who brought forward and supported this
dangerous measure, all must be satisfied from
that moment, an issue as direct as it is alarming
to all true friends of the Constitution and the
Union, was directly tendered us, from which we
cannot shrink without dishonor, and the proba
ble loss of our slave property. As long as this
question is pressed upon Congress and the coun
try, the interest and security of the South can
only be maintained by firmly insisting on the
guarantees of the Constitution. This attempt by
political intriguers and heartless hypocrites, to
deprive a fair portion of this great confederacy
of its just political influence in Congress, and
of its most valued property —to invade with a
ruthless hand our domestic social organization,
and remodel or destroy the very foundation up
on which southern prosperity afid southern so
ciety is based—are. wrongs too deep, atrocious
and insulting to be submitted to by the most pa
tient and even tempered among us. The Slave
States must stand firm, neither provoking a con
flict on the one hand, or on the other receding
from any that may be forced upon them. We
have nothing now to concede, nothing to com
promise. Our right to property in our slaves is
expressly secured to us by the Constitution—it:
is the express terms of the contract of the Un
ion. Property in slaves is that vital element of j
the concession and compromise, without which
the Federal Constitution would never have been
adopted. It is the great principle of the Con
stitution by which political rights are secured to
the different sections of the Uuion. Wc of the
South ask for no change, no alteration of the
contract. We are content with the work of
our fathers, we stand upon the terms of the bond,
and should be ready and willing at all times to
repel by all the means in our power, every at
tack made, upon the Constitution, under whatev
er pretence the blow may be inflicted. In view
of these sentiments, I most cordially agree with
the Convention, that no man should receive the
suffrage of the people of this State for Presi
dent, who is not opposed to the principles and
provisions of the Wilmot Proviso.
Devoted as we are, to our long cherished
principles of “a strict construction of the Con.
stitution, an equal distribution of the benefits
and burthens of the General Government, a rev
enue tariff) opposition to a system of internal
improvements by the General Government, to
a National Bank, and to any modification ofthe
Y eto power,”—and satisfied “ that the usage of
the Democratic party in meeting in convention
for the purpose of nominating a candidate for
the Presidency of the United States,” under or
dinary circumstances presents the most une.x
ceptionable mode of selecting a suitable individ
ual for that office—with the qualification con
tained in one ofthe resolutions of the Conven
tion —“ that the democratic party will give their
support to no candidato for the Presidency of
the United States, who does not unconditionally,
clearly and unequivocally declare his opposition
to the principles of the Wilmot Proviso,” I know
of no good reason why all democrats, honestly
opposed to this measure, may not meet In con
MUSCOGEE .DENOCMT,
“AS LITTLE GOVERNMENT AS POSSIBLE ; THAT LITTLE EMANATING FROM AND CONTROLLED BY TIIE PEOPLE, AND UNIFORM IN ITS APPLICATION To ALL.”
vention and select the individual best qualified
to pdrtbrm'the duties of President ofthe United
State % Whatever difference there may be on
other questions, the South should hold no polit
ical connexion with any party in favor of the
Wilmot Proviso—much less can it be supposed
the democratic party of Georgia will support for
ChiefjyUagistrate of the Uuion, any candidate,
however unexceptionable in other respects.who
advocates the principles of the “ Proviso,” or
whose position is at all doubtful in relation
thereto. Believing it the right of the people of
the State, that my views on this question, so full
of interest to them, and especially that portion
to whom I am indebted for the no less honora
ble than responsible relation I now occupy to
them, should be fully known, I have presumed
at the risk of being considered tedious, freely
and frankly to express my utter abhorrence for
the principles ofthe Wilmot Proviso, and the
fixed determination on my part, to treat as ene
mies to the ConsUlßtioib’ the Union and the
South, all men of all parties advocating this
In i'efercnct3*tQ the War with Mexico, and ;
our gallant
with so much clfedit to'tTiemselves, and honor to
the. country, exchanged comfortable homes and
cheerful firesides, for the dangers, hardships
and privations of the tented field in a foreign
country, I trust my recorded votes on the Jour
nals ofthe House of Representatives ofthe last
Congress, will speak in terms that cannot be
mistaken by any. Believing as I do, the War
in which we are engaged to be just on our part, \
and brought on by the act of Mexico, without !
cause or excuse on her part—that the nation’s ‘
honor left Congress no alternative, but to pro
vide the President with ample means to carry 1
on the war iirst waged by Mexico, it was but !
natural 1 should have given my support to such :
measures as looked to a vigorous prosecution of j
the existing prosecution of the existing dillicul- j
ty. It to plunder our citizens in time of peace, ‘
of millions worth of their property, if the viola
tion of treaty stipulations, if an insult to the j
whole nation offered to our late Minister, if the I
threat on the part of Mexico to re-take Texas i
after its admission into the Union, would not
justify this Government in the estimation of civ
ilized ration*—surely, when it is remembered
that Cross and Porter, with other brave spirits,
were cruelly butchered by an armed Mexican
force, there can be but few among us at this
day prepared to condemn the War as unjust.—
But it is not my intention to enter into an argu- ;
me it on the subject of the War, or deal out un- !
meaning praise of the President, for the firm- j
ness, energy and ability, with which he has ;
prosecuted it, under difficulties of no ordinary j
character; nor will I here indulge in the terms
of admiration I feel for the gallant and skilful!
officers in command of our forces in Mexico, but !
[ will say lhat so long as the Administration |
goes forward in its present wise and just course j
of policy, in regard to our domestic affairs and j
foreign relations, and shall have the assistance j
of the great captains ofthe age, Generals Tay- •
lor and .Scott, to command American valor on
the Inittle-lield, none need fear that the glory of
our arms, or the purity or permanency of our
institutions will be compromised in the hands
of such men.
With the assurance, gentlemen, of my high
regard for you, individually, and great conside
ration for the Convention you represent, I have
to be Your oh’t. serv’t.
GEORGE W. TOWNS.
To Messrs. Richard 11. Clark, Tomlinson Fort. Edward J.
Black, John Robinson and Howell Cobb, committee.
A MOTHER’S LOVE.
BV 11. MACNAMAKA.
There does not exist a more perfect feature in
human nature than that affection which a mother
bears towards her children. Love in its true
character is of divine origin, and an emanation
from that Spirit, who Himself‘is Love;’ and
though often degraded on earth, we yet find it
pure, sublime and lasting within the maternal
breast. Man is frequently captivated by mere
external'graces, and he dignities that pleasure,
which all experience in the contemplation ofthe
beautiful, by the title of love ; but a mother makes
no distinction, she caresses the ugly and deform
ed with kindness, equal to, if not surpassing, that
which she bestows on the most favored. Too
frequently are interested motives the basis of
apparent affection, but it is not so with her, who
clings more fondly to her children in their pover
ty, their misfortunes, ay, and their disgrace. The
silken chains by which we are bound one to the
other are broken sometimes with facility; a
word, a look, may snap the links never to be re
united ; friendship decays or proves false in the
hour of need ; we almost doubt the existence of
constancy —away with this doubt, while the ma
ternal heart coritinues as a temple for the dwell
ing of God’s holiest attribute.
She has watched her infant from the cradle ;
she will not desert him until separated by the ;
grave. How anxiously she observes the budding I
faculties, the expansion of mind, the increasing
strength of body 1 She lives for her child more
than lor herself, and so entwined has her nature
become with his, that she shares in all his joys,
and, alas !in all his sorrows. “ Not because it
is lovely,” says Herder, “docs the mother love
her child, hut because it is a living part of her
self—the child of her heart, a fraction of her
own nature. Therefore does she sympathise
with his sufferings; hor heart beats quicker at
his joy ; her blood flows more softly through her
| veins, when the breust at which he drinks knits
him closer to her.”
Say that her son falls into poverty; a bank,
rupt in fortune, he is shunned by his former ac. 1
quaintances and despised by most of his fellow,
beings ; but one there *vll] fc* found, like a min-
AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER.
A
COIiUHmUS, Georgia, Thursday Evening, August 5, IS 17.
istering angel at his side, cheering his despon
dency, encouraging him to new exertions, and
ready herself to become a slave for Lis sake.
Say that he is exposed to censure, whether
merited or unmerited —all men rush to heap
their virtuous indignation on his head ; they have
no pity for a fallen brother, they shun or. they
cursujiim. How different is the conduct of tliyi.
being wHb gave him life ! Site cannot believe
the charge ; site will nut rank herself among the
foes of her child. If at length the sad truth he
established, she still feels that he has not thrown
off every claim; and if an object of blame, he is
also one of pity. Her heart may break, but it
cannot cease to love him. In the moments of
sickness, when stretched on the lied of pain, d)-
irig perhaps from a contagious disease, lie is de
! sorted by his professed friends, who dare not,
and care not to approach him—one nurse will be
seen attending him; she will not leave his pre
cious existence to the care of hirelings, though
now every instant in his presence seems an hour
ol agony. Ilis groans penetrate her heart, hut
she will not let him hear the sad response ; she
weeps, but turns away, lest he should see the
She guards his slumbers, presses his fc
| verish lips to hers, pours the balm of religion on
his conscience, and points out to him the mercy
of that Judge before whom he ntay shortly ap
pear. W hen all is silent, she prays for his life ;
and it that may not be, for his happiness’ in the
life to come.
He dies—the shock perhaps deprives her of
life, or, if not, she lives as one desolate and alone, :
anxiously looking forward to that world where
she may meet her darling child never to part
again.
I With equal simplicity and eloquence, the ten
j dor affection ot Hagar for her child is expressed
in the Old Testament In the Wilderness, her
self pasehed with thirst and fainting with fatigue,
site beholds her infant—her only companion—
dying for want of nourishment. The watcr-bnt
j tic was empty. Placing her boy beneath u
j shrub, and moving to some distance, she cried,
1 “ Let me not see death of my child ! ’ “ Let me
1 not behold the severance of those ties which na
| ture compels me to support and cherish ; let not
I mine eyes witness the gradual departure of that
( angel spirit, which I had hoped w ould afford me
j comfort and consolation in my declining years.” j
And “she lifted up her voice and wept.” Put
she was not left childless, for “ God was with the i
lad.” v
If we reflect upon the vtiesiin,able value*-of
parent, wo can appreciate the beauty of the
psalmist’s expression, when he compares himself,
laboring under the extreme of grief) to one “it7io
mourneth for his mother.” And was it not in
accordance with the perfect character of our Sa
viour, that some of his last thoughts should be
j for the welfare of her who followed him through
j all trials? When extended on the cross, point-
I ing to the disciple whom lie loved, he said to
I Mary, “ W ouwn, behold thy son,” and to the dis
j ciple, “ Behold thy mother.” And from that hour
j the disciple took her to his own home.
| Among the greatest and best of our fellow
j creatures, we shall find that they never forgot
! the duty owing to her from whom they not only
| received life, but frequently inherited superior
J powers of mind. We are too apt to disregard
j blessings to which we have long been accustom
: ed, and to appreciate them only when it is too
late. Many of us have cause to regret the past
on this account, and some would willingly begin
life again, solely from a wish to serve and please
those of whose worth they are now aware.
Trifle not with a mother's love. It is too val
uable, too elevated, and though it last to the end
of life, fjm transitory. Like many objects of in
! estimable worth and power, it is yet delicate and
! sensitive ; —then wound it not by a thoughtless
woid or an unkind action, but cherish its exis
tence with feelings of the strongest admiration
and respect.
Let us endeavor to share in the sentiments of
the poet, Kirk White, as expressed in the follow
ing lines :
“ And canst thou, mother, for a moment think
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honors on thy weary head,
Could, from our best of duties ever shrink ?
Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink
Than we ungrateful, leave thee in that day
To pine thy life in solitude away.
Or slum thee, tottering on the grave’s cold brink.
Banish the thought! where’er our footsteps roam,
O’er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
W bile duty hois us all thy griefs assuage,
i And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.”
FALSE MARRIAGES.”
| A tale has recently been pbblished in Dougins
j Jerrold’s Magazine, entitled, ‘ How Agues Wor
j ral was taught to be respectable.’ It is the old
; saying—old in Europe, not yet in America, thank
: heaven—of a young lady’s marrying for an es
tablishment; no, not ‘marrying,’ we will not
! pollute that holy term by applying it to sue!) a
bargain and sale transaction—‘ selling herself,’
| as the author justly terms it, ‘ lor a better price
than the poor wretch who walks the street.’ We
do not think it worth while to publish the whole
j story, but the concluding reflections arc so just
and forcible, that we cannot pass over the oppor
tunity of strengthening, by their quotation, in the
minds of our readers, by the young and old, their
natural American hatred of all such connexions,
| which arc not hallowed and sanctified by mutual
| love. And in doing this, we do not mean to jus
i tify what are called ‘ mere love matches,’ hasty
affairs, entered into without consulting, or in op
; position to parents, and where the parties have
no sufficient means of support, for marriages,
even where there is true love, may he foolish
and ill advised. But let no woman forget, that
while she may, under certain circumstances,
properly refuse to marry him she love, in obedi
ence to her parents’ wishes—no considerations
of any kind should ever induce her to give her
hand where her heart cannot go with it. Hut
to our extract:
“Some of our readers may think we have
mode a great fuss about nothing, and that Agne#
was a fortunate young woman, to have found a
steady, respectablo, wealthy man to marry her.
| Is there then nothing in real life, except a world. 1
!y position end the me’erial advantages of a grand
house, splendid furniture, plenty of money?” Are I
they ot such overwhelming importance that they
deserve a young girl should sell herself for mon
ey, body and soul? That she should for money
consent to till a position that entails duties and j
responsibilities, which nothing but the most en-1
tire and perfect love can enable her to discharge? i
Do they deserve that a woman should swear to
a tie to obtain them, and by one comprehensive
act devote the remainder of her days to the infer-]
; ual gods? Do they deserve that a woman should ,
I brand on her inmost soul the burning shame ot’ j
| simulating, for money, that holy, passionate love,
which fuses two human hearts together, and of
two separate existences makes but one ?
Y ct all this a woman does who marries with
out love, for the sake of obtaining a worldly pos
session. Slit* who does this thing, may go to
church in all the splendor of Brussels lace, and
Orange flowers—may have a dozen bridesmaids,
and the sanction of bridecake and a special li
| cense, but she still sells herself, in the coarsest
| and most absolute sense of the term; she makes
• a better bargain than the poor wretch who stands
in Ihe street at night—the la w guarantees its
fulfilment, and society agrees to sanction it; but
j die deep, burning degradation of the reality is
I the same in both. What is the race that can be*
[ expected to arise from such marriages as these ?
How can the children be noble, high minded,
I man-like, when the mother has crushed down
all the deep passionate instincts of her heart, and
ended by disbelieving them.
Jl, in the case of Agnes, we could look forward ‘
we should see the palsy of war ldlrrttfss benumb
ing all the warm spontaneous impulses of her
; youth—her loveliness and giddiness giving place
j only to hardness and selfishness; her life’s aim
and object, heaping together the glories of upliol
’ Aery, giving dinner-parties, and keeping up her
consequence in the neighborhood,.the leprosy of
intense v ulgarity valuing only that which is seen,
killing all the refinement and delicacy that is in
digenous to youth. Then the intense ennui,
which follows, and like a vampire feeds on the
| very life ; for as all has centered in self, and self
• alone has no suffering vitality, a thickened life,
and death is all that is left, unless she succumbs
j t‘> terrible stimulants ! This is not an over
j charged statement.
It a woman sacrificed only herself it would be
most piteous ; but a worldly marriage is emphati
cally one of those cases in which the sins of the
parents are visitation their children.” .
- l ■
Judge Ufagraw’s Yarn,
About a Mocking Bird and a Jackass.
liY EVKBPOINT.
Judge Magraw, and the sad end he came to,
will bo remembered by many! When some
time back, he was in the habit of visiting St.
Louis, his favorite house was the “ Planters,”
and his favorite scat, especially in the evenings,
was either of the two front benches.
Judge Magraw was the body of fun and the
soul of sentiment; so, of course, he always had
I a hard set about him, and the way they used to
stay out, at night, sitting with their legs cocked
up, was a caution to careful people.
On the Judge’s last visit to St. Louis, he sat
■ up, as usual, one night, telling stories and things,
till nearly the whole crowd died, laughing !
; Bach one, as he was killed, took himself off to
be buried, till, finally, there were but three sur
vivors ! These, to save their lives, insisted upon
i taking themselves off) also, when the Judge, des
! perately rushed up stairs to his room in the third
j story, opened the window to its widest gape,
j gave one look up at the heavens, another down
at the brick pavement"and then without a pray
er, threw himself on the bed, —for it was a
warm night, and the Judge wanted plenty of air
to assist his snoring. Well, the Judge’s last
story was a capital one, and, peace to his spirit,
we’re going to—spoil it, we fear.
“ You see, II , a clever young follow, was
giving his reminiscences of Spain, from which
country he had just returned, and he told, among
the rest, a bird story, that was a lectio too feath
ery to swallow. It was about the Duke of Mo
dena having taught a whole aviary to whistle an
overture, or something of the kind, and then, by
the way of closing the performance, advancing
I and firing a pistol, when the songsters would
; suddenly drop to the ground, turn over on their j
■ hacks, and appear to expire, as if each one had I
1 received an especial bullet.”
; “ Why,” said I, “It , that’s nothing to j
| what I’ve known an Alabama mopking bird to j
i do! He used to mock everything cartlilv, until
lie made whole neighborhood so ashamed of it.
j sell) that it was afraid to own its name to travel- j
; ere. You see, this mocker sat up in a China )
tree, in front of the house, which was separated
: from the road by a lawn, and, the first thing, lie
: began at the birds about, making them all quit,
in mortification. The cats were his next vic
tims, and 1 wish I may he shot if there was a
‘Tom’ to open iiis lips for three miles round, i
Dogs, hogs and cattle generally followed, and j
, even Deacon Cood, that used to give out the I
hymes, had to clear out to next county. Well, |
1 finally there was nothing left but a jackass be- ■
longing to an old neighbor, and called Jnhenus, \
and he came to see what lie couid do for the crcd- j
it of the country. Up he came to the fence uu- j
dor the china tree, and first he takes a good long
breath, and then out he rips, and a better bray,
prehaps, hadn’t been heard often, but ’(wasn’t a
circumstance—out came the bird with a bray
worth two of it, and off went old Jo., wild and
cavortin’, and hardly knowing whether lie had a
right to consider himself a jack, or not! After a
while, however, ho recovered his confidence
somewhat, and up he comes again to the fence,
and first lie nerves himself, and next ho takes his
wind, and finally out he comes again, perfectly
awful; but ’(wouldn’t do, for, just as easy, old
birdee opens on him, and, Lord! heels, head,
mane and tail, away he went with a roll and a
’ruction, bringing up, finally, against the road
fence at the bottom of the lawn? Perhaps you
don’t believo ! Well, this was mighty bad, but
after turning it over in hi* mind a good while,
old Jo. thought it was a leetle too unjack
aosica! to bo boat by a bird, and so up he cornea,
nerving himself again, but mighty tkerryf I tell
you. ‘Go your death, old feller,’said the bird
to itself, and go it the jack did, till all creation
stood on end—-jack into bargain, but pride
couldn’t avail him. Out aC , ’"Niidee, louder and
longer, and thicker, and stfiirn?’ , and all without
the first flutter, and Johenus looked up once,
with a sort of “ 1 bequeathe you my shoes ” ex
pression, and just laid down and died —perhaps
you don't believes U t jr
“ ‘Yes, I do,’ said K it to be
a lie, and an infernal insult into the bargain, and
I’ll come mocking bird over you, by thunder! ’ ”
But how Judge Magraw didn't get whipped,
vve must reserve for auother not liking
to talfojnjout fighting on Sunday.
/ The Draught of Blood.
B V 8. M. CHARLTON.
At mid-hour of a gloomy night,
In France’s fair domain,
The eye beheld a wilder sight
It e’er may see again :
A vision of that troubled time,
Whew men, fierce demons were,
And each heart was the throne of crime,
Or horrible despair.
*\ To a prison’s walls, a savage crowd,
b ) With a wild outcry came,
And threats of vengeance deep and loud,
Their voices did proclaim,
Against the noble of that
By cruelty placed there—
The remnant of the fated Lund ‘
Os France’s brave and fair.
And one by one, each hapless heart
Was dragg’d from dungeon cell,
And quickly pierced by sword and dart,
’Mid shout and frantic yell ;
And as streamed forth the purple flood,
As fast as Autumn’s rain,
They quaff'd deep draughts of reeking blood
From every mangled vein, s
And in his turn, an aged man
Was led the portal through—
■ When from the crowd a maiden ran,
And to his bosom flew :
“ Strike ! if you will,” she wildly cried—
“ Wreak if you must, your ire;
Your swords must drink my own heart’s tide,
Ere they shall touch my sire
Those fierce men paused : that noble maid
Ifad won their savage heart;
But yet they stay’d with lifted blade,
Unwilling’ to depart.
And while*they thus uncertain stood,
. One seized a cup. of gore,
FillcU to the brim with nefje Mooo^
W fitch to the maid he bore :
“ Drink!” he exclaimed—“ this piwple stream
Hath flow'd from pamper’d vein—
A fitting goblet it would seem,
For one so fair to drain.
Drink ! and the deed thy sire shall save,
Ilis footsteps shall go free ;
But pause not, or a bloody grave
Shall hold both him and thee
The maiden took the proffer'd cup,
That she dare not deny,
While thousand torch-lights lifted up,
Flash’d full upon her eye !
Oh, ’turns a wild and thrilling scene,
To see that bright one stand,
Like guardian angel plac’d between
Her lather and that band !
And loudly rang a demon cry,
When she the bowl had ta’en.
And With a sad, averted eye,
The latest drop did drain ;
Down fell each red, uplifted blade,
That draught had quench’d their ire:
All honor to the peerless maid,
That saved her aged sire !
The “if” Letter.
And are you in love, my dear Harry ?
And can your last letter be true ?
And are you intending to marry ?
Alas ! what these women can do!
Can yon give up the pleasures of flirting?
Can you turn from your clubs ami cigar ?
All the world for Miss Stanley deserting !
What fools some young officers are 1
Oh ! pause, ere too late to recover 1
Oh ! put not the noose o’er your head !
Don’t you find it a bore as a lover !
Think, think what ’twill be if yon wed!
Then listen, dear Hal, with attention,
And though you may love and admire,
If she’s one of the ifs that 1 mention,
Dear Hal, make your bow, and retire.
If you find that she can't darn a stocking,
If she can’t make a shirt or a pic;
If she says ‘ oh law !’ ‘ mercy !’ ‘ how shocking 1’
If she everdrinks beer on the sly ;
If soon of (lie country ..lie’s weary ;
If politics e’er are her theme,
If she talks about “ Ilerschell’s nice theory,”
And ‘‘Lardner's dear book upon steam ;” i
If she wears leather shoes ami poke bonnets,
If she gums down tier hair on her cheeks,
If she copies off essays and sonnets,
If she blushes whenever she speaks;
If she leaps a high gate on a hunter,
If she sighs when she looks at the moon.
If she talks about “ Carson ’’ and “ Gunter, - ’
If she sings the least bit out of tunc ;
If she crosses her legs or her letters,
If you’ve seen her drink three cups of tea,
If she don’t like your greyhounds and setters,
If she’s sick when she goes on the sea ;
If she seems the least bit of a scolder,
If her manners have any pretence,
If her gown doos not cover her shoulder,
II her bustle is very immense ;
If she’s nervous, or bilious, or sickly,
If she likes to have breakfast in bed.
If she can’t take a hint from you quickly,
I( her nose lias the least tinge ol red;
If she screams when she's told she's in danger,
If she seems a coquette, or a flirt,
If she’ll polk or gallop with a stranger,
If she’s stupid, or if she is pert.
If she’s one of these ifs, my dear Harry,
Oh, sever the chain she has bound 1
That it’s very unploarunt to marry
Bottom utfle and Socrates found;
A wife is a wretched invention,
And, oh, not a matter of course !
Shall I have one ?—that’s not my intention,
(Unless the girls take me by force.)
“And your petitioner will over prey,” as the
fox said when he aeked the farmer to let hi.r. into
the poultry yard.
fLOVpS CQIL&UUjj
Book & Job Printing Office.
By Andrews & Griswold,
corner of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-sltu^M K
PLAIN anil ‘•"papy xripi-rezrj? PIUNT
| such as Bill lpuds,. Post Bills, Handbills, drmhir. .
! Cards, Pamphlets, Checks, Hills of Lading, iSE.s
oj Red,.mge, Minutes, and Blanks us every,
description,
jcxucutoii in the tiCHtcvt st.lc oi ili t ; Art, iii variousco I*6: j j
l/tks, or in gold, silver end Bronze,
0
93* at the very lowest rates, xii
PRECOCIOUS CHILDREN.
Somebody, hot particularly fond of that class
of juveniles culled babies, tuy^: “Me never saw
a baby yet, however smart at home, that did *
credit to itself at a public assembly.” Although
we are ourselves as fluid of children, in their place,
as any one living, yet we must sustain the fore
going declaration. In this progressive age, the: a
rn>, however, no _uch thing as children— rr
1 cither baby, dr man, or
state. \\ e never saw a“ h infant fernoincuon
I sbowh off by a fond and anxious mother, but k
| contretemps, a complts failure, was the result
i ‘Ve never get a glimpse of the plot of a farce of
this kind, without backing out of the scrape, if
possible.
I It *s nn established fact, that every child in the
I estimation ot its found parents, is a natural genius,
I and no mistake. Dickens, in describing an inte;-
! esting event, which occurred in the Kenwigs
j family, indulges in the query, that if it be true that
every child is a natural born genius, where, in
j the world, do all the common-place, everv-day
people come from ? . , ■*•.
An additional instance of the danger of at.
I tempting to show eli children before company,
i was related to us, the other day, by a friend, who,
I although he has an interesting family of voting
tolks, who reflect great credit,on their “brought-
I en up,” does not exhibit them as prodigies.
At a party assembled at a'house on Fourth st.,
■! a few evenings since, theafcfe hostess wished to
i astonish her company of her
“ pretty little curly-headed'jjhy,'” of four years of
j age ; and Frank recited Lamb,” with
J great approbation.
‘ Why,’ remarked a gtfiKman in the crowd,
i anxious to propitiate the opotker the young ge
nius, ‘he pronounces his woidU'mth astonishing
distinctness—another proof*of his mother’s aduii.
1 ruble teachings.’ 1 .
‘ Y es,’ said the gratified mother, ‘’and I believe
in teaching children French in their infancy, as
well as in their native tongue. I have already
taught Frank to pronohnee a number of familiar
: French words. Listen. Frank, .say parlez-la—
pretty, now 1 ’
‘l’lie prodigy; thinking, no doubt, of that chil
dren’s friend, Peter Parley, answered this cor
reetly.
4 Oh admirable,’ said the gentleman,
j Thl lady, greatly encouraged by the applause,
proceeded.
‘Now, FtArjfi,jsgjr boU-ket, and you,shall have
J§nr.’
I* rank, flips encouraged, commenced, * Loo—
boo,’ but getting no farther, the mother contin
ued :
4 That’s right so far. Vulgar people always
say bo, —but bou what, Frank ? ’
l pon a second trial the child kept ‘boo—boo
ing,’ until his mother, fearful that ho would be
| set down as a booby, again come to the rescue
with
! ‘ Come, Frank, you can say it. Y’ou certainly
have not forgot. What do 1 put into the glass
■ e very morning ! ’
‘ Oh, I know now ! ’
‘ That’s a man. Well, Frank, what is it, my
| son'! ’
i ‘ Why, li-b -brandy, mother ! ’
j Frank did not get the ice-cream, but was sent
away to get up bis French. lie went out boo
j booing to another tune.
SCORN THE HAKE.
“ Ladies, scorn the Rake. Let him not sit in your
1 presence. Never condescend to speak to the man
who degrades your sex. Mark the looks, words, man
-1 ners, and private character of him who addresses you.
Let not his talents, his reputation, his family, and his
I wealth be what they may, give him any influence over
i you.”
We copy the above for the good sense it con
i tains, and the correct principle it inculcates.
Would it were in our power to impress the
i minds of our sex with a sufficient dread, if we
! may so express it, of the man who has the auda
city to indulge in dissipation, and then seek the
society of the young, artless and innocent. We
have often wondered liotv he dared to come
where xvc were, and with unblushing effrontery
! expect us to treat him with civility. Civility !
I Oh, ladies ! that you could, that you would but
| muster enough decision to spurn the heartless
i wretch who revels in the ruin of your sex.—
! Say! would you not feel insulted if the victim,
who, but for him, might have been welcome —
were to intrude herself into your presence ?
And is it l ight, is it in accordance with the first
principles of justice to smile on the destroyer,
and, if not pardon, at least tolerate his guilt !
As well might you fly from the poqr sufferer
quivering with the pangs of hydrophobia, and
press to your bosom the maddened animal by
whose bite the sufferer is dying. -Not that we
wish to justify’ or excuse for one moment the
! frailty among our own sex. They well knew
! the fearful penalty, the ruin, the utter degrada-
I tion, that would follow their guilt; and not on
i their guilt only, but a mere suspicion of such a
! thing. No matter under what circumstance in.
j etimd, no matter how, when, or where, the
j linger of scorn is still pointed at them, and what,
j ever might have been their position, they* are
I fallen, fallen, and forever,
i But if this doom is a just one, can you recon
’ rile it to your consciences to he on intimate
: terms with the being who has degraded one of
you ; who found her perhaps as innocent as l’u
j rity hersell, maturing honoatti the warm smiles
!of a happy home and I*< I. her from it, to leave
j her blighted and dying beneath the keen blasts
iof the w orld’s unkiiidness. Can you turn with
! contempt from her, w hom perhaps, a single er
i n) f |)a brought so low, and loan fondly, and
confidingly on him, the name ol whose sins :s
legion ?
We are nvnre that the usual excuse is, “wo
do ml know of these things ; how are we to
And them out And alus !in too many case*
i them is much truth in thi*. But, young ladle*,
let me ask if, when you discover thorn, when a
kind parent ora watchful brother warns you of
Wo. 31.