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TfiE CORNER STONE
Is PUBLISHED HTHHY THURSDAY MORNING.
JAMES N. BETTIUNE —Editor.
W. S. REYNOLDS,
PUBLISHER.
TERMS.—Two Dollars per annum. No name
will )>• entered upon our books unless the money
it paid in advanee.
The Loved of Early days.
Where sre the loved of early days?
Where are they gone—ah, where f
Beyond (he reach of mortal praise,
Beyond all mortal care.
They lire in our remembrance still.
We love to think of them,
Although remembrance makes us thrill.
And tears we sc race can stem.
Yet would we not forget such joy,
Such sunshine round is thrown,
Such happiness without alloy,
As we with them have known,
The look, the smile, the wastjy jest,
When all around wiulte;
•Striving who each shouljjyjtrva the best,
Whose praise might
But friendsip’s hand we still possess,
One warm and true as their’s;
Yet this doth make the loss no less;
‘Our heart still sorrow wears;
-And ever will, til) friend from friend,
And foe from foe, shall part,
Till life itself shall have an end,
The dead shall share our heart.
-All other wounds we sock to heal,
Savo sorrow for the dead;
for the living can we feci,
Beside the lost one’s dead.
Yet it were vain to thus deplore
The lot that God has given ;
He takelh one, He gtveth more—
His blessings are all even.
Though long-loved friends have fall’ll away
Though others false have proved.
Still this relloetions is our stay—
The many to be loved ;
So may we prize our present band
Os friendships, warm and true;
So may a pressure of the hand
Still thrill our pulse* through.
ill isctllmuous.
THE BRITISH PARTISAN;
A Talc of the Times of Old.
A PRIZE TALE,
BT lire* MORA.GNK, OF SOUTH CAROLINA.
CHAPTER VI.
“Let laurels, drenched in pure Parnassian dews,
Reward his mem’ry dear to ev’ry cause,
Who with courage of unshaken root,
In honor’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plauts it upon the line that justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.”
“They sin who tell us love can die.”
Months rolled on, and nothing was
heard of Ralph Cornet. He had ceased
to be classed with the living; but his
memory had not passed away with all.
In one heart the alter of his worship was
still fed with the daily sacrifice of pray
ers and tears; and as its fires burnt on
in secret, the fair priestess seemed to be
come less and less earthly. Her mind,
!>ka that dove which hovered over the
wide waste of waters, found no green
leaf for a resting place on earth; and it
dwelt among the invisible shadows of
the past.
Yet Annette Bruyesant refused to be
lieve in the death of her lover. She had
not seen him die, and in the slow, tortu
ring fire of unlimited suspense, her once
rosy cheek paled, and her rounded form
became every day more and more atten
uated and sylph-like.
The spring was far advanced —that
,4r&adful spring of 1781. The tories who
) had eseaped from the fatal rencontre of
King’s Mountain, had returned into the
.neighborhood, and literally ravaged it
with fire and sword. The whigs wore
led on by desperation to return the ag
gression, and murders committed and
revenged, until many of the families of
the whigs, who wore far in the minority,
were left without protectors, and with
out food—the crops of the last year hav
ing been destroyed—and despair seem
ed to have benumbed the energies of the
wretched survivors.
* At this crisis an individual came to
the rescue ot the suffering inhabitants,
and with a generous assiduity, a self-sac
rificing zeal, to which history has not,
nor never can do justice, he succored the
destitute women and children. Many a
‘verdant offering to his memory has been
perpetuated in the children of those who
felt his protecting benevolence. This
man was Gen. Pickens.
On the bank of the river, a little apart
-from Vienna, may bo yet seen the re
mains of a fort which was built for the
defence of the early settlers against the
Indians. Its walls’ were built of stone,
and formed ten feet high with port holes
and other appliances of a stout resist
ance. Here Gen. Pickens supported his
dependents, and old ago anit infancy
flocked dally to his protecting caro. But
thanks to the cowardice of the tories,
and their successive defeats in open
cOmbat, this weak garrison was in no
THE CORNER STONE.
VOL 2.
danger of attack. It was more like the
residence of a pleasant family, than a
warlike station, and during the occasion
al visits of the Good General, as he was
affectionately called, added to it the
charm of an universal cheerfulness; for
he was not more eminent for the soldier
like qualities which gained him the dis
tinction of an officer, than the gracious
affability by which lie won all hearts.
The victory of the Cowpcns had given
a breathing space to the militia of the
General’s brigade. Most of them had
returned on parole to their families, and
the General took occasion at this time to
visit Fort Charlotte —which was the
name given to the fortress bv the loyal
subjects of his majesty, (jreorge the
Third.
The concentration of the British on the
other side of the district, lulled the in
habitants into an easy security, and the
fort was consequently under but few of
the restraints, which martail discipline
imposes. Gen. Pickens was walking one
night alone and meditatively, on the
outer side of the wall, when lie perceiv
ed the figure of a man leaning against it,
in the deep shadow which the dark trees
opposed to the moonlight. Having hail
ed him several times, and received no
answer, the General took a pistol from
his pocket, and walked up to the spot to
assure himself that ho was not deceiv
ed.
‘Speak, or you are my prisoner,’ said
he, as he approached the stranger.
The man made no show of resistance;
but as the General was about to lay his
hand on his shoulder he retreated a few
paces, and folding his arms on his breast
answered doggedly:
‘Shoot if you will—l will be no man’s
prisoner.’
As he stepped back, the moonlight
streamed clear upon a majestie form, and
showed the bold outline of a counte
nance which looked pale and molancho
ly in that pensive light.
Gen. Pickens looked at him a few mo
ments in silence. The subdued and sad
expression of his features and attitude
seemed to have awakened in his heart
some feeling of commisseration for the
youthful, and apparently unhappy stran
ger.
‘Young man,’ said he in a softened
tone, ‘whoever you are, or whatever may
be your business here, it is my duty to
have you arrested; but it would be
more congenial to my feelings, if you
would spare me that trouble, by telling
me frankly your name and intentions.’
‘My name can interest no one,’ said
the man in the-, same tone iu which he
had firot spoken, ‘and I have no business
except to seek one who has been long lost
to me.’
‘Yon speak haughtily, sir,’roplied the
General, ‘have you then no interest in
making friends? Know 3'ou not that
you are at this moment in m3’ pov ar?’
‘Friends!’ repeated the other, with
sad emphasis, ‘I care not for friends,
since I cannot call back the lost: lam
alone in this world—as to the rest, I de
fy even the power of Gen. Pickens !’
‘Hal’ said the General, ‘3'on know me
then V and for a moment ho cast his
eyes in deep thought to the ground.—
When he looked up, the mysterious stran
ger was gone. This little incident dwelt
on the mind of the American General.
Ilis feelings had been Btrangely interes
ted by tho appearance and language of
the unknown; but he imagined that ho
must have some evil design in lurking
round the fort. Why elso should he bo
so mysterious ? Perhaps he was a spy,
sent by some foraging party of the Brit
ish, who supposed that the stores of the
fort might be an easy prey. At this last
thought General Pickens determined to
place a stricter guard, and immediately
sent out a body of men to scour the
neighborhood ; but they returned witlj
the intelligence that not a single person
had been found stirring within a mile of
the fort.
It was a custom with General Pickens
to make a circuit of the fortress every
morning, to look into its welfare, and at
tend to its little wants and necessities;
at such times lie had a smile and a pass
ing word for every one.
‘llow goes it, Andrew, this fine morn
ing ?’ he inquired of an old man, whose
silver locks still curled up from the
broad, fair forehead, which a serene tem
per and healthful exercise had kept
smooth and unwrinklod.
‘Yera weel, yer honor,’ said he, ‘Gaid
be praised for a’ his mercies, and thanks
to yer honor besides I Yer kind heart
has been a blessen to this county, an’
‘Well, Andrew,’ interrupted the Gen
eral, smiling at the grateful garrulity of
the old Scotchman, ‘no flatteriesbetweeu
friends—it is the cause—the cause—the
meanest soldier that fights for liberty do
serves the same praise.’
‘Na, na! yer honor,’ said the old man,
‘it’s na that ye light for liberty sae weel;
but that ye pity the rmir!’
‘Every man should do the same,’ said
tho General, ‘it is bad enough fighting;
but it must be worse starving. And
now that I think of it, Andrew,’ lie con
tinued, ‘I would advise a stricter watch
kept over this place. I must go hence
to-morrow —my presence is required be
fore Ninety-six—and I can leave but a
small garrison. You have only to keep
close and be on the alert; there may be
no harm meant, but I saw a very suspi
cious looking man prying round those
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 9, 1 854.
walls last night, who answered me very j
haughtil3*, and refused to toll his busi
ness.’ u,
‘Lord bless 3'er honor, what kind o’ a
mon was he ?’ asked Andrew Morrison.
‘lie was tall and good looking, as far
I could judge,’said the General, ‘hut
his manner was proud and melancholy,
and ho disappeared very suddenly; I
sent out men immediately in pursuit of
him, but’
‘Heaven defend ns!’ exclaimed the old
man, in a low and rapid enunciation,
‘belike it was Ralph Cornet, or
his ghaist.’
The General was not superstitions, bnt
he seemed struck with anew thought.
‘Comet!’ said he, ‘What, Captain Cor
net who rendered himself so famous a
mong the British ? I thought he was
killed or drowned in this neighborhood
some time ago.’
‘lt was believed sae, yer honor,’ said
Andrew, ‘but I canna think sae. Why,
he was like a wild duke in the water;
because, 3'er honor, if he gaed over sae
inony times to the bottom, he ayo come,
up alive and weel. Bnt if the puir boy
be dead, I ken weel his ghaist wod bo
haunting this place, for’
‘You say this Cornet is a comely per
son V said the General, interrupting this
speech, with an irrepressible smile at the
old man’s simplicity.
‘A braw handsome lad as yer honor
ever saw,’ replied the Scotchman, who
was delighted at this opportunity of spea
king the praise of one for whom his heart
overflowed with love and jaity; ‘yistlike
a young poplar, fu’ six feot high, and
portly; there was nae tho lad in a’ the
country sao strong, sao bonie, or sae
kind as the young Ralph. Wae’s the
day when the British blinded his young
e’en wi’ a sword and plume—he hae’s
been soor and monrnfu’ iver since; for
lie had plighted his troth wi’ a sonsic
young leddie here, and her futhor, wha
lias bin sinking to the ground iver since
the tories—fail fa’ them—broke his arm
—winna hear of the match.’
‘Who! tho old Frenchman’s daugh
ter ; all! I see it all now,’ said the Gen
eral, musingly.
‘What is’t yer honor sees V inquired
Andrew, respectfully.
‘Why, Andrew, the man I saw’ la9t
night must have been this same Cornet,
from your description. I took him for a
spy; but it is likely, that his ghost, as
you will have it, was seeking an inter
view with this young lady.’
‘Like enough, like enough,’ said the
old man, eagerly, ‘the puir boy, deed or
alive, wod run a’ risks to cateh a glint
o’ her honnie e’en.’
‘I must look to it,’ said the General,
as he walked on.
‘An sae mann I,’ said the old Scotch
man to himself, ‘if the puir boy has es
caped once mair, it mamma be told that
tho bairn o’ my ould friend has na ano
friend in a* this land.’
As the General passed on, ho next en
tered a tent in which was sitting a lady,
yet in the bloom of fife, whose vivacity
of manner betokened a spirit which no
misfortune could conquer. She was ca
ressing a little boy of five or six years,
whose brown, curling head lay on her
lap, whilst at her feet a little cherub
girl was lying asleep. As the happy
mother lOOL dup smiling from her ba
bies, her rad iant face afforded a striking
contrast to the thin pale features of a
young girl who sat not far off, with her
head leaning on her hand.
‘Good morning, madam,’ said the Gen
eral, pleasantly addressing himself to the
elder lady, ‘your countenance is truly
agreeable in these gloomy times—it is
always sunshine.’
‘Wh3’, General,’ said she, with per
fect ease and good breeding, ‘thanks to
your care and that of the tories, I’ve no
thing left to cry for. My husband—
God bless him!—is fighting in the true
cause; and if I had a dozen husbands, I
should wish them all so eraplo3 r ed.’
‘But suppose they were all killed ?’
said the General, with a wondering
smile.
‘Then I should teach my little Willie
here, his duty to the British,’ said she,
twining her fingers in the long silken
curls of the pretty boy.
‘Well,’ replied the General, ‘with ma
ny such mothers as yon, America would
become another Sparta. But can’t you
inspire my little friend here with some
of your enthusiasm ?’
‘Bless yon, no!’ said the lad3” with
privileged sauciness, ‘she is as mopish
as an old owl in a hollow tree. There
she has been sitting for the last half hour,
poring over a loclc of hair, which she
found by the wall, very curiously wound
into a love knot, I suppose, heaven
knows how it camo thero. But, Gener
al, I have been planning an excursion to
amuse these sentimental 3'oung ladies.’
k I should rather you would not go out,’
said the General. ‘There was a strange
man prowling about here last night,
and’—
As the General commenced speaking,
he had fixed his e3’es with an expression
ot curiosity upon Annette Bruyesant,
who sat seemingly regardless of what
was passing ; but he stopped short, alar
med at the deep emotions his words had
excited in her. The blood seemed to
have forsaken her fair face, and every
blue vein was plainly marked in her clo
sed eyelids as she sank back in her seat,
with her arms clasped tightly together.’
j Her white lips moved unconsciously,
•udtlio words, ‘lt is lie!—it is he!”—
though murmured passionately, were ra
ther road - than heard by the General,
who was observing hor with a keen con
viction of tho truth of tho matter. A
frown passed over his countenance, bnt
it was quickly succeeded by an expres
sion of pity; and, turning to tho elder
lady, lie observed, ‘I shall bo obliged to
leave the fort to-morrow, and I would
sdvise you, ladies, to keep as close as
possible daring my absence.’ The lady
addressed would have domnrred at this,
‘hit the General asked to be admitted to
the presence of old Mr. Bruyesant, who
was confined to’ an inner apartment of
tne tent. What passed between them
wis never known. General Pickens de
parted next morning, leaving orders
wittofchesmall garrison, which remained
forire protection, that no one should
leaVe the fort except on business, and
that no stranger should be admitted.—
Btit Nrfio, by arbitrary measures, ovor
‘forced a woman into a sense of her duty?
Ere three days had elapsed, tho gay Mrs.
Cornet had rebelled against tho orders
of therGeneral.
Po'jdme, girls,’ said she, one fine evo
-1 ci*,*‘let ns play them a trick! Fin sick
to treath of this dnll place; and despito
t)ie old General and nis ghost story, what
say yon to a little fun ? Eli, ’Lina, what
say you to a sail on the river? Come, I
must give you a little fresh air, or a cer
tain someone that shall be nameless will
nos know you when ho returns from
the war,’
“‘Bat how shall we escape?’ asked So
lina Anderson, looking up listlessly from
her sewing work.
X Q, fio! leave that to me,’ said tlie
lively creature, with a significant nod,
as she tripped off towards the gate,
where a soldier stood, true to the orders
he had received.
Annette and Selina wore well ac
quaited with tho mischievous tricks of
this lady; but whilst they stood now
wondering what she would devise to
tliwaft the vigilance of the gate keeper,
she had walked up and was screaming
in the oars of the man, in tho tone of
well-affected surprise, ‘Mr. Dobson, are
you deaf?’
‘Madam!’ said the little man, staring
at her with, amazement.
‘I say, aro you deaf, that yon stand
here so unconcerned, when your wife
has been calling yon lor the last half
hour? Run, for pity’s sake,’ continued
he, .concern, ‘I womld
of silpmci be in yonr place—yon
kne -^ilfs.'Dobson !’ ... ■
‘Dmdn’t hear it, madam l’ said poor
Mr. Dobson, who first fidgeted a little
uneasily, and then ran with all his speed
to a tent on the opposite side of the en
closure—besides the tories, there was no
thing on oarth the poor little man had
so good reason to fear as his wife.
Tho gate had been opened to admit a
provision cart, which now half filled the
eutrance. ‘Quick, quick, girls—follow
me,’ said the lady, who was almost dy
ing with laughter at the success of her
scheme. In a moment more they had
all glided through the opening unpercei
ved ; and the girls ran on following their
gay guide, until ho threw herself on the
frassy bank of tho river, in a perfect
elplessness of mirth.
‘Fie, Mrs. Cornet,’ said Selina Ander
son gravely, ‘how coold yon bo so wick
ed?’
‘Heavons! what a little fool yon are
Lina; you will never do for a warrior’s
wife I’
Selina blnshod, and turned away her
head.
‘Bless yonr heart, child, don’t you
know all tricks are fair in love and in
war ?j But then, poor Mr. Dobson!’ she
continued, ‘how he will fret and fume
when he finds ont that he has been quiz
zed. Bnt no matter, if the little man is
hen-picked, sure it is Dot my fault! And
Willie, you are here too, my little Gene
ral! 8 aid she on preceiving that the
child had followed them, ‘if you don’t
mind we will give you a ducking, ray
boy.’
‘You can’t do it!’ said the chid, sauc
ily, ‘Pa learned me how to swim, and
uncle Ralph used to throw ine in the wa
ter sometimes,’
‘Hush, child,’ said his mother, in a
low voice, aside to him, ‘did’nt I tell you
nottojtalk ot’3’our uncle Ralph ?’
‘I don’t care,’ replied tho boy, with a
grieved expression of countenance, ‘An
nette Bruyesant says I may talk of
him 1’
Annette turned doprecatingly, and
took the lovely child in her arms as if
to hush him; bnt in spite of hor efforts,
the silent tears trickled down on his
young head, to which her cheek was
pressed.
With all her vivacity, Mr9. Cornet had
too much real feeling not to understand
and appreciate that omotion; but it was
her nature to banish care; and now’
springing up from the bank, on which
she had been seated, she ordered tho girls
into a canoe that was lying thore, and
springing in herself.after them, pushing
into the stream.
A wild and frolicsome creature was
that Mm. Cornet. Sho cared not at what
expense she follow'cd tho bent of her
fancy ; and all difficulties wore.but tri
fles before the vigorous impulses of her
lively and independent spirit. As she
I sat in tho storu of that little vessel, and
propelled its light motion by a scarcely
visible effort, with those two beautiful
maidens at her feet, and the little cher
ub buy leaning over the vessel’s side, she
might have passed for Amphitrite in her
ocean shell. On, on they flew, and her
clear musical laugh rang over the waters
like tho touch of some tine instrument,
redoubled and reflected in mocking sil
very tones from those fancied water j
nymphs—their visible echoes. At length, i
the light bark moored itself on the point |
of a rock in the middle of the stroam. In
a moment more the delighted Mrs. Cor
net had gained the flat summit of the
rock, and gaily invited her less ardent
companions to follow.
It was indeed a beautiful position, and
well worthy of au evening’s frolic. For
many miles above, the broad bosom of
the river swelled on the eye, until is swept
down, and divided its crystal waters
against the rocky base of the island. Not
a speck orstain marred the bright reflec
tion of tho pure, spring-time-sky. The
blessed sun only was there, ‘careering in
its fields of light,’ and throwing its myri
ads of diamond sparkles on tho rippling
water.
The blue rock which covered nearly
one half the extent of the island 4 and dot
ted the stream on each side, were strew
ed with mosses, and the lovely flowers
of a thousand little twining, fibrous roots;
whilst behind them rose A thicket of all
that is sweet- and fair in the American
forest. There were the lovely jessamines,
und woodbines in clustering garlands
over every tree and brush. The queen
ly flowers of tho rose laurel sitting so
proudly on their emerald stems, the beau
tiful whito acacia, and the long feathery
pendants of the gray ash, with the sweet
wild honeysuckle in its delicious freshness
were there, forming a wilderness such as
Eden must hare been in its first crea
ton.
Mrs. Cornet felt all the wild delight of
a native child of tho forest newly enfran
chised ; and oven her young companions
forgot tho subject of their grief for a time.
That heart must be indeed cold and cal
lous, in which the freshness and beauty
of nature cannot awaken a correponding
tone of gladness. With smiles half of
pleasure, and half of wonder, Annette and
Selina watched the motions of their spor
tive guide, as she leaped like a chamois
over the rocks, now bendiug from a high
point over the glassy 6tream, and again
leaning most perilously from a bough to
gather flowers. After a time, she stole
away unperceivea, and w hen they looked,
on hearing her gay voice, they beheld
her apparently clinging to a rich garland
of jessamine, which hungfrom the branch
es of a large oak, far in the midst of the
island. The girls screamed involuntari
ly with surprise. How has she got
there, unless she had the wings of a fai
ry?
The island was to all appearance per
fectly unfrequented. Not a pathway, not
a broken bush, not even a footstep mark
ed the place where any living thing had
penetrated. The luxuriant canes filled
up the interstices of the giant trees, and
flowering shrubs, rendering it all dark
and inaccessible. But there she stood,
witli tho flowers clustering around her
face which flushed with exercise, and
brilliant with excitement, looked the fair
est flower there.
The mystery was soon explained. Tho
trunk of a very large tree had fallen
across another, supporting it* farthest
end on the edge of the rock, and thus
forming a kind of natural bridge ever the
tangled maze below. Tho young ladies
proceeded along it, to where Mrs. Cornet
stood at its extremity ; but scarcely had
Annette—who was foremost —reached
her, than she turned deadly pale, and
her eyes seemed riveted in the glassy
faze of horror, on Borne object before her.
he would have fallen to the ground, if
Mrs. Cornet had not caught her, and
supported her against the tree by which
she was leaning:—
‘Lord have mercy’ on us!’ she ex
claimed, ‘what is the matter with the
child ?’
Selina Anderson, who was too much
terriSed to discover the cause of Annette’s
alarm, began to weep with affright; but
tho little boy, seizing his mother by the
dress.oxclaimed with delighted eagerne s;
—‘La ina 1 here’s Hover!—ma, do look
at Rover V
Following tho direction of the child’s
eyes, they saw a large b.ack horse rais
iug slowly from the ground. The canes
and shrubs for a small space around him
had been trodden down, and the ground
was pawed down into holes in many pla
ces. How he came there was a mystery,
for there was no mark of ingress or egress;
but a trough was fastened to a tree, whore
it was evident he had been fed for some
time. .
‘Gracious heavens! can it indeed he
Rover ? What then has become of poor
Ralph ; or may he he is about lioro,’ said
Mrs. Cornot looking round a little wild
ly.
At the montion of that name, so fraught
with terrible remembrances, an undefin
ed awe seized tho minds of the adventur
ous females. Tliey clung closer togeth
er, seeming for the first time to feel alone
in that unfrequented place.
‘Lee us go from hero,’ whispered An
netto faintly: hut before they turned to
depart, Mrs. Cornet, to assure hcself
that it was indeed the horse of her bus
hand’s ill-fotod brother, called him by
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name, and the nimal to the sound of her
voice, walked lip tsrher and evinced his
recognition of her by many mnte r bnt iu--
telligiblc signs of joy.
A musing spirit sceinad (0 Have poized’
Mrs. Cornet. She left her stora of gath
ered flowers to wither on the rock, and
resumed her station in thejeanoeiri silence-
At length she said x
! ‘if Ralph Cori.et is about here, we shall 1
: soon see him :—hut then,’she continued,,
: ‘the horse seems to have been a long time
on the island.’ For the first time in her
lite she appeared to ho puzzled, and she
said no more.
A sigh from Annette was the only an
swer she received. That speech bad
roused the poor girl from* sinwif.r
thoughts. ‘ “
They returned in perfect silence to the
fort, for Selina Anderson lud not suffi
ciently recovered from her fright to bo
con v-ersible, and the little boy had cried
himself to sleep on his mother’s lap, at
the thought of leaving his favorite, Mgge&L,
behind. ‘ w
Mr. Dobson, the much abused gate
keeper, whose goodness merited better
treatment than he received, admitted
them with perfect good humor; for he
had learnt a very sad lesson of forced
submission to a woman. But the little
man resolved in his inmost heart to be
fast enough for them next time.
(To be continued.)
NON-SUITING A CREDITOR.
There was a certa-'n lawyer on the
Cape, sometime ago, the only one im
those ‘diggins’ then, and for aught I
know, at present. lie was a man well to*
do in tho world, and what was somewhat
surprising in a limb of the law, averse fc>
encourage litigation.
One day a client came to him in a most
terrible rage:
‘Look here, Squire,’said he, that’ere
blasted shoe-maker down to Pigeon Cove,
has gone and sued me for the money for
a pair of boots I owed him.’
‘Did tho lx*ots suit you V
‘Oh! yes—l’ve got them on now—first
rate boots.’
‘Fair price?’
‘Oh yes.
‘Then you owe him the money honest
ly?’
‘Course.’
‘Well, why don’t you pay him?’
‘wliv,’ cause the basted snob went and
sued me, and I want to keep him out of
the money if I kin.’
‘lt will costfyon sdmething.’
‘I don’t care a cuss for that. How
much money do you want to begin with?
‘Oh, ten’ dollars will do.’ •
‘l* that all? Well, here is an X, so
go ahead,’ and the client went out very
well satisfied with the beginning.
Our lawyer next called on the shoema
ker and asked him what he meant by in
stituting legal proceedings against M.
‘Why,’ said he, T kept on sending to
him till I got tired. I know’d he was
able to pay—and I was ’termined to
make him, that’s the long and short of
it.’
‘Well,’ said the lawyer, ‘he’s always
been a good customer to you, and I-think
yon, acted too hastily. There’s a trifle
to pay on account of your proceedings—
but Ijthink you’d better take this fire and
call it square.*
‘Certian, Sqnare, if you say so, and
darned glad to get it,’ was the answer.
So the lawyer forkod over one V. and
kept the other.
In a few days his client came along and
asked how he got along with the case.
‘Rapidly!’ said the lawyer-‘we’ve non
suited him !—he’ll never trouble jon.’
‘Jerusalem! that’s great!’ cried the
client; ‘l’d rather a gin fifty dollars than
have him got the money for them loots /’
— ls. Y Spirit of the Times.
‘Dad, if I was to see a duck on the
wing, and was to shoot it, would you lick
me r
‘O, no, my son; it shows you are a
good marksman and I would feel proud
of you.’
‘Well, then, dad, I plumped our old
drake as he was flying over the fence to
day, and it wonld have done you good
to see him drop.’
A Lawykr’s Oven.—A Scottish noble
man one day visited n lawyer at his of
fice, in which, at the.time, there was a
blazing fire, that caused the noblotnan to
exclaim, ‘Dear sir your office is as hot as
an oven.’
‘So it should be, my lord,’ replied the
lawyer, ‘as it is here I make my bread.’
‘Fatiikb,’ said a roguish bey, ‘I hope
you wont buy any more gunpowder tea
for mother.’
‘Why not ?’
‘Because, every time she drinks it, she
blows mo lip.’
A man who had ascoldiug wife, beings
willing to excuse her failings whan cal
led upon to give some account of her
habits and character said she pret
ty well in general, only subject to a break
ing out of the mouth.
Life.—The greatest pleasure of life Is
love; the greatest possession, health; the
greatest ease, sleep ; and the best medi
cine, a true* frend.