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108 ©rigittal JJoctrti. For th# Southern Literary Gazette. INTERCEPTED LETTERS—NO. 4. VROM A TOWN BELLF. TO HER COUNTRY COUSIN. Commencement is over at last, cousin Ann, And it was so exceedingly pleasant, I’m sure I regret quite ns much as you can, That you should have failed to be present. And now it is needless for me to describe The public events of th’ occasion, Since the men of the Press— gossiping tribe— Have given them all publication. So what can I tell you but trifles, my dear, That none but we girls ever notice, I know such a record must foolish appear, But it’s just what we like, and you know ’tis 1 The sermon on Sunday I thought very good, And the preacher is certainly handsome; So smart and good-looking, 1 wonder who would Refuse to be won with such ransom. I heard all the Sophomores,—nearly a score, — I wish they’d select sliorter*pieces: To listen for three mortal hours’s a bore, And soon all one’s interest ceases. The Juniors did very well, I must say, Though the ladies don’t thank Mr. F 1, And if ever he comes, a3 1 wish, in my way, It will be, as he’ll find, at his peril. What business had he to be prating about Those things that belong to us solely— Our whalebones and tournurcs —the impudent lout! —Should bo sacred, although they’re not holy ! 1 hope that if ever he gets him a wife, (Will there ever be woman so stupid!) To pay for his rashness, she’ll lead him a life Unknown in the annals of Cupid! On Wednesday I went to the Chapel at nine To get a good look at tho.gallants ; But really, dear cousin, F looked so divine, I confess, I scarce noticed the balance. The crowd was immense, and all the poor beaux Had to yield up their seats to the ladies ; And some surly fellows there were, p’r’aps,—who knows 1— Who wished all the women at Hades. I did not hear much of the speaking, I own, For F was within talking distance ; And his voice, though ’twas only a low under-tone, Was the sweetest, to me, in existence. The music was good, and that’s no little p!|rt Os Commencement, at least, to my notion; While it lasts, tender looks and sweet glances dart, An l we’re all in delightful commotion. When the boys were all done, and tho parchments bestowed, (Those proofs of their wonderful knowledge !) I wenthhomose —of course in my carriage I rode, Tho’ you know I live close by the college ! At night to “ the party ” I went, and oh Ann ! It was charming, delightful, nay, splendid ; Soon after I got there the dancing began, And I danced till the party was ended ! The supper was furnished with exquisite taste, Creams, syllabubs, fruits and confections; Not to mention the turkies, the tongues and the paste— To this hour I’ve sweet recollections. I’ve scarcely left room for the news of tho town, The chieftest of which is a wedding ; Mr. M sand Miss A were this morning made one, And now to the northward are speeding. It’s said that another young couple intend, This night to approach Hymen’s altar: Such rash annexation ! oh where will it end 1 My heart is beginning to falter ! I called at the bookstore, but could not obtain “ Jane Eyre ” or the “ Baronet’s Daughter,” So I thought I would send you instead “ Now and Then,” And a copy of Jameß’ “ Laurel Water.” And now, my dear cousin, I bid you adieu; Pray give my best lovo to aunt Betty, To unde, and Fanny, and Henry, and Sue, And bdieve me, as ever, your HETTY. The world was sad !—the garden was a wild! And man, the hermit, sighed,—till woman smiled! Campbell. § ® snr sa ns S3 &11ifis& &ib ¥ ©&s sis s ♦ (fclrctk of iDit. THE DOG DAYS. BY JOHN G. SAXE, ESQ. “ Hot—hot—all piping hot.” —City Cries. Heaven help us all!—in these terrific days! The burning sun upon the earth is pelting With his directest, fiercest, hottest rays, And everything is melting! Fat men, infatuate, fan the stagnant air. In rash essay to cool their inward glowing, While with each stroke, in dolorous despair, They feci the fervor growing ! The lean and lathy find a fate as hard, For all a-dry, they burn like any tinder, Beneath the solar blafce, till wither’d, charr’d, And crisped away to cinder! The dogs lie lolling in the deepest shade, The pigs are all a-wallow in the gutters, And not a household creature —cat or maid— But querulously mutters! E’en stoics now are in “ the melting mood,” And vestal cheeks are most unseemly florid, The very zone that girts the primmest prude. Is now intensely torrid! “’Tis dreadful, dreadful hot!”exclaims each one Unto his sweating, sweltering, roasting neighbor, Then mops his brow, and pants, as he had done A quite herculean labor ! And friends who pass each other in the street , Say no ‘ ‘ good morrows” when they come together, But only mutter, if they chance to meet, “ What horrid, horrid weather! ” While prudent mortals curb with strictest care All vagrant curs—it seems the queerest puzzle, The dog-star rages, rabid, through the air, Without the slightest muzzle! But Jove is wise and equal in his sway, However it seems to clash with human reason, His fiery dogs will soon have had their day, And men shall have a season! [ Union Magazine. MR. AND MRS. DOUBLEDAY. BY CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND. I have been frequently reminded of one of Johnson's humorous sketches. A man return ing a broken wheelbarrow to a Quaker, with “ Here, I’ve broke your rotten wheelbarrow, usin’ on ’t. I wish you’d get it mended right off, ’cause I want to borrow it again this af ternoon.” The Quaker is made to reply, “ Friend, it shall be done ;” and I wish 1 pos sessed more of his spirit. But I did not intend to write a chapter on involuntary loans ; I have a story to tell. One of my best neighbours is Mr. Philo Doubleday, a long, awkward, honest, hard working Maine-man, or Mainiote, I suppose one might say; so good-natured, that he might be mistaken for a simpleton ; hut that must be by those that do not know him. He is quite ail old settler, came in four years ago, bring ing with him a wife, who is to him as vine gar-bottle to oil-cruet, or as mustard to the su gar, which is used to soften its biting quali ties. Mrs. Doubleday has the sharpest eyes, the sharpest liQse, the sharpest tongue, the sharpest elbows, and, above all, the sharpest voice, that ever “penetrated the interior” of Michigan. She has a tall, straight, bony figure, in contour somewhat resembling two hard-oak planks fastened together and stood on end; and, strange to say! she was full five-and-thirty -when her mature graces attract ed the eye and won the affections of the wor thy Philo. What eclipse had come over Mr. Doubleday’s usual sagacity, when he made choice of his Polly, I am sure I never could guess; but he is certainly the only man in the wide world -who could possibly have lived with her ; and he makes her a most excellent husband. She is possessed with a neat devil; I have known many such cases; her floor is scoured every night, after all are in bed but the un lucky scrubber, Betsey, the maid of all work; and wo to the unfortunate “indiflidle, ” as neighbour Jenkins says, who first sets dirty boot on it in the morning. If men come in to talk over road business, for Philo is much sought when “the public” has any work to do, or school business, for that, being very troublesome, and quite devoid of profit, is of ten conferred upon Philo, Mrs. Doubleday makes twenty errands into the room, express ing in her visage all the force of Mrs. Raddle’s inquiry, “Is them wretches going?” And when, at length, their backs are turned, out comes the bottled vengeance. The sharp eyes, tongue, elbow, and voice, are all in instant requisition. “ Fetch the broom, Betsey! and the scrub broom, Betsey! and the mop, and that’ere dish of soap, Betsey! And why on earth did’nt you bring gome ashes ? You didn’t ex pect to clean such a floor as this without ash- es, did you ?”—“What time are you going to have dinner, my dear ?” says the impertur bable Philo, who is getting ready to go out. “Dinner! I’m sure I don't know! there’s no time to cook dinner in this house! nothing but slave, slave, slave, from morning till night, cleaning up after a set of nasty, dirty,” &c., &c. “ Phew!” says Mr. Doubleday, looking at his fuming help-mate with a calm smile, “ It’ill all rub out when it's dry, if you'll on ly let it alone.” “ Yes, yes; and it would be plenty clean e nough for you if there had been forty horses in here.” Philo, on some such occasion, waited till his Polly had stepped out of the room, and tlmn, with a hit of chalk, wrote, on the broad black walnut mantelpiece,— v Bolt and bar hold gate of wood, Gate of iron springs make good, Bolt nor spring can bind the flame, Woman’s tongue can no man tame,” and then took his hat and walked off. This is his favourite mode of vengeance, —“ poetical justice,” as he calls it; and, as he is never at a loss for a rhyme of his own or other people’s, Mrs. Doubleday stands in no small dread of these efforts of genius. Once, when Philo’s crony, James Porter, the black smith, had left the print of his blackened knuckles on the outside of the oft-scrubbed door, and was the subject of some rather se vere remarks from the gentle Polly, Philo, as he left the house with his friend, turned and wrote, over the offended spot, — “ Knock not here ! Or dread my dear, —P. D.” and the very next person that came was Mrs. Skinner, the merchant’s wife, all dressed in her red merino, to make a visit. Mrs. Skin ner, who did not possess an unusual share of tact, walked gravely round to the hack door, and there was Mrs. Doubleday up to the eyes in soap making. Dire was the mortification, and point blank were the questions, as to how the visiter came to go round that way; and when the warning couplet was produced in justification, we must draw a veil over what followed, as the novelists say. Sometimes these poeticals came in aid of poor Betsey; as once, when on hearing a crash in the little shanty-kitchen, Mrs. Dou bleday called, in her shrillest tones, “ Betsey ! what on earth’s the matter ?” Poor Betsey, knowing what was coming, answered, in a deprecatory whine, “ The cow’s kicked over the buckwheat batter!” When the clear, hilarous voice of Philo, from the yard where he was chopping, in stantly completed the triplet;— “ Take up the pieces and throw’m at her!” for once the grim features of his spouse re laxed into a smile, and Betsey escaped her scolding. Yet Mrs. Doubleday is not without her ex cellent qualities as a wife, a friend, and a neighbour. She keeps her husband's house and stockings in unexceptionable trim. Her emptins are the envy of the neighbourhood. Her vinegar is,—as how could it fail ?—the ne plus ultra of sharpness; and her pickles are greener than the grass of the field. She will watch night after night with the sick, perform the last sad offices for the dead, or take to her home and heart the little ones whose mother is removed for ever from her place at the fire-side. All this she can do cheerfully, and she will not repay herself, as many good people do, by recounting every word of the querulous sick man, or the deso late mourner, with added hints of tumbled drawers, closets all in heaps, or awful dirty kitchens. I was sitting one morning with my neigh bour, Mrs. Jenkins, who is a sister of Mr. Doubleday, when Betsey, Mrs. Doubleday’s “hired girl,” came in with one of the shingles of Philo’s handiwork in her hand, which bore, in Mr. Doubleday’s well known chalk marks, “ Come quick, Fanny! And bring the granny; For Mrs. Double day’s in trouble.” And the next intelligence was of a fine, new pair of lungs, at that hitherto silent mansion. I called very soon after to take a peep at the “latest found;” and if the suppressed delight of the new papa was a treat, how much more was the softened aspect, the womanized tone of the proud and happy mother. I never saw a being so completely transformed. She would almost forget to answer me, in her ab sorbed vratching of the breath of the little sleep er. Even when trying to be polite, and to say what the occasion demanded, her eyes would not be withdrawn from the tiny face. Con versation on any subject but the ever-new theme of babies,” was out oi the question Whatever we began upon, whirled round sooner or later to the one point. The needle may tremble, but it turns not with the less constancy to the pole. aAs I pass for an oracle in the matter of paps and possets, I had frequent communica tion with my now happy neighbour, who had forgotten to scold her husband, learned to let Betsey have time to eat, and omitted the night ly scouring of the floor, lest so much damp ness might he bad for the baby. We were In deep consultation, one morning, on some im portant point touching the well-being of this sole object of Mrs. Doubleday’s thoughts and dreams, when the very same little lanthe Howard, dirty as ever, presented herself. She sat down and stared a while without speak ing, and Vordinaire , and then informed us, that her mother “wanted Mrs. Doubleday to let her have her baby for a little while, ’cause Benny’s.” —but she had no time to finish the sentence. “ Lend iny baby! ! !”—and her utterance failed. The new mother’s feelings were for tunately too big for speech, and lanthe wisely disappeared before Mrs. Doubleday found her tongue. Philo, who entered on the in stant, burst into one of his electrifying laughs, with — “ Ask mv Polly, To lend her dolly !—” and I could not help thinking, that one must come “ West,” in order to learn a little of ev ery thing. ©ur 330u)l of Jptmcl). THE MODEL BABY. It is the image of its father, unless it is the very picture of its mother. It is the best-tem pered little thing in the world, never crying but in the middle of the night, or screaming but when it is washed. It is astonishing how quiet it is whilst feeding. It understands ev erything, and proves its love for learning by tearing the leaves out of every book, and grasping with both hands at the engravings. It is the cleverest child that w T as ever born, and says “ papa,” or something very like it, when scarcely a month old. It takes early to pulling whiskers, preferring those of strangers. It has only one complaint, and that is the wind; hut it is frequently troubled with it. It is the most wonderful child that was ever seen, and would swallow both its tiny fists, if it was not for a habit of choking. It dislikes leaving home, rarely stopping on a visit longer than a day. It has a strange hos tility for its nurse’s caps and nose, which it will clutch hold of with savage tenacity, if in the least offended. It is never happy but in its mother’s arms, especially if it is being nursed by a gentleman. It prefers the floor lo the cradle, which it never stops in longer than it can help. It is very playful, delight ing in pulling the table-cloth off, or knocking the china ornaments off the mantle-piece, or upsetting its food in somebody’s lap. It invents anew language of its own, al most before it can speak, which is perfectly intelligible to its parents, though Greek to ev ery one else. It is not fond of public enter tainments, invariably crying before it has been at one five minutes. It dislikes treach ery in any shape, and repels the spoonful of sugar if it fancies there is a powder at the bottom of it. Medicine is its greatest horror, next to cold water. It has no particular love for dress, generally tearing to pieces any handsome piece of finery, lace especially, as soon as it is on. It inquires deeply into ev ery thing, and is very penetrating in the con struction of a drum,, the economy of a work box, or the anatomy of a doll, which it likes all the better without any head or arms. It has an intuitive hatred of a doctor, and fights with all its legs, and hands, and first teeth, against his endearments. It has a most ex traordinary taste for colors, imbibing them greedily in every shape, especially from the wooden tenants of Noah’s Ark, which are to be found in the mouth of every baby. Tri fact, there never was a child like it, and the Model Baby proves this by surviving the thou sand-and-one experiments of rival grannies and mothers-in-law\ and out-living, to the ath letic age of kilts and bare legs, the villainous compounds of Godfrey and Dalby, and the whole poison-chest of elixirs, carminatives, cordials and pills, which babies are physical ly heir to. 1 ■ 1 *— A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE AND SUGAR. A Gentleman named Bull being in great trouble and distress of mind, is anxious to be introduced to some Casuist who will under take to quiet his conscience. Mr. Bull is the proprietor of certain colonial possessions de voted to the cultivation of sugar. In these he, some years ago, abolished Negro slavery, from a conviction that it was barbarous and wicked. In justice to his colonists he entered mto an arrangement to place a prohibitive