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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. Two copiea for $5, “ “ “ Ten copies for S2O “ “ “ Two dollars for six mouths. “ 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.