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YOE. I. Georgia Times* & State night’s Advocate. PRINTED AND I*S BE 1811 ED BY .TEAR .11A DYKE .1. SLADE, AT THREE DOLLARS PER ANNY.II. GEORGIA TIJILS AMD j (is^Siaasa, 1 , published once a week, in the Town of Mil fi-dgevillo, at THREE DOLLARS per amiuni, it paid in advance, or FOUR DOLLARS, at the end of the year. Cfj” Advertisements inserted at the usual rates; those sent without a specified number of inser tions, trill le punished until ordered out, and charged accordingly. fSalesof Land, by Admin istrators, Executors, or Guardians, arc required, hv law, to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the fore noon and three in the afternoon, at the court house in the county in which the property is situate. Notice ol these sales must he given in a public gazette sixty days previous to the day of sale. Sales of negroes must he at pub lic auction, or. the first Tuesday of the mouth, between the usual hours of sale, at the place of public sales in the county \vhere the letters Testamentary, of Administration or Guardian ship, may have been granted, first giving sixty days notice thereof, in one of the public ga zettes es this State, and at the door of the court-house, where such sales are to be held.— Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like manner, forty days .previous to the day of sale. Notice to the Debtorsayd Cre ditors of an Kstate must be published for forty days. Notice that application will he made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published four months. Notice for leave to sell Negroes, must lie published for four months before any order absolute Shall be made thereon by the Court POETRY. PROM DKATtl's DOINGS. THE SERENADE. ’’fis midnight, and there is a world cf stars 1 lauging iu the blue heaven, bright and clear, Vnd shining, as if they were only made To sparkle in the mirror of the lake, And light un flower-gardens atul green groves. I!y yonder lattice, where the thick vine-leaves Arc canopy and curtain, set with gems Slick in the autumn’s gift of ruby grapes, A maiden leans:—it is a lovely night, Rut, lovely as it is, the hour is late For beauty’s vigil, and to that pale cheek .■sleep might give hack the roses watching steals. Slumber, and happy slumber, such as waits On youth, and hope, and innocence, was made To close those soft blue eyes. U hat can they iknow Os obis world's sorrow, strife, and anxiousness 1 What can Wealth he to the young mind that has A mine of treasure in its own fresh feelings ? And Fame,oil woman ! has no pert in it; and Hate, Those sweet lips cannot know it; and Remorse, That waits on guilt,—and Guilt basset no sign On that pure brow: ’tie none of these that kuep Her head from its downy pillow, hut there is A visksiwt to that pale maiden’s breast Restless as Avarice, anxious as Fame, — Cruel as Hate, and pining as Remorse, — Secret as Guilt; a passion and a power That has from every sorrow taken a sling,— A flower from every pleasure, and distilled Aii essence where is blent delight and pain ; And deep has she drained the bewildering cup; For Isadora watches and wakes with Love. Hence is it that of the fair scene below Mic secs one only spot; in vain the lake Spreads like a liquid sky, o'er which the swans Wander, fleece-clouds around the one small isle, N\ here lilies glance like a white marble floor, 111 the tent mode by pink acacia boughs ; In vain the garden spreads, with its gay hanks l 'f flowers, o'er which the summer has just pass’d The bride-like rose, —the rich anemone,— The treasurer of June’s gold ; the hyacinth, A turret of sweet colours ; and, o’er all, The silver fountains playing :—hut in vain! lsadore’s eye rests on that cypress grove : A blight warm crimson is upon her cheek, And her red lip is opened as to catch The air that brought the sound upon the gale. There is a sweet low tone of voice and lute,. And, oh ! Love’s eyes are lightning,—she has caught A shadow, and the wave of a white plume 1 Amid those trees, and with iier hair flung hack, j •"file.listens to the song . sweet, this is the hour ’time's loveliest to me; JFur now my lute may breathe of love, j And it may breathe to thee. Ail day I sought some trace of thine, But never likeness found ; But still to be where thou hast been Is treading fairy ground. 1 watched the blushing evening fling Her crimson o’er the skies,- - 1 saw it gradnal fade, and saw, At length, the young moon rise. And very long it seemed to me Before her zenith hour, When sleep and shade conspire to hide My passage to thy bower. I will uot say—wake not, dear love, 1 know thou wilt not sleep; Wilt thou not from thy casement lean, And one lone vigil keep ? Ah ! only thus to see thee, love, And watch thy bright hair play Like gold around thine ivory arm, Is worth a world of day. Gradual he had drawn nearer and more near, And now he stood so that his gracelul shape N\as visible, and his flashing eyes were raised NNitliall the eloquence of love to her’s : * s ho took an azure flower from her hair, And flung it to him.—Flowers are funeral gifts— And ere his hand could place upon Ills heart The fragile leaves, another hand was there— The hand of Death. Alas for her proud kinsmen ! Fis their work! the gallant and the young lies with the dagger in his faithful breast The destiny of love. L. E.L public executions. Tlie last Legislature of Rhode Island have passed a law, ordering all executions hereafter to take place in the prison yard, hi the presence only of the {Sheriff and Deputy Sheriff of the county, and of such other person or persons,as shall be by such sheriff specially required or jiernntted to attend such execution. -000- Most persons when they wish to wash ’heir black crape veils, use vinegar : "ashed in coflee, or rubbed with a doth "’ (, t with coflee, gives them a more glossy ’-lack, brighter appearance. Bombazine dresses are all cleaned in the same way. ’ oliee is better than vinegar, as il has less ’endenevto decompose the coloring mat ter, MISCELL AN TOYS. Figiitiug Fitzgerald. The way in which this noted bully forced his way into Brookes'Club, was truly ludi crous. Ilcapplied to Admiral Keith Stewart, to propose him as a candidate; and the wor thy admiral, well knowing that he must eith er fight or comply with his request, chose the latter alternative. Accordingly, on the j night in which the ballotting was to take I place, (which was only a mere form in this j case, for even Keith Stcfl.art himself had re | solved to bind,ball him,) the duelist accom panied the admiral to St. James’ Street, and waited in tile roo n below whilst the suffra ges were taken, in order to know the issue. The ballot was soon over ; for, without he ! station, each member threw a bhick-balt ; j and when the scrutiny took place, the com pany were not a little amazed, to find not j even one while among the number. How ; ever, the point of rejection being carried | ncm. ron., live grand affair now was, as to j which of the members hid tho hardihood to announce the same to the expectant candi date. No one would undertake- the office ; for tlie announcement was sure to produce a challenge; and a duel without Fighting Fitzgerald had, in almost every case, been fatal to his opponent. The general opinion, however, was, that the proposer, Admiral Stewart, should convey tlie intelligence, and that in as polite terms as possible ; but the admiral, who was certainly on all occasions, a very gallant officer, was not inclined to go on any such embassy. “No gentlemen,” saitk lie: “I proposed the fellow because I knew you would not ad mit him ; but really 1 have no inclination to risk my life against that of a madman.” “ But, admiral,” replied the Duke of De vonshire, “ there being no white-ball in the box, he must know that you have black-ball ed him, as well as the rest; and lie is sure to call youqut at all events.” This was a poser for the poor admiral, who cat silent for a few seconds, amidst the half suppressed titter of the members. At length joining in the laugh against himself, lie ex claimed, —“ Upon r»iy, soul, n pleasant job I’ve got into. No matte,- ; f won’t go. Let the waiter tell him that there was one black-ball; arid that his name must be put up again if he wishes it.” Tills plan appeared so judicious, that all I concurred in its propriety. Accordingly, the waiter was in a few minutes after des patched on the fliission. In the meantime Mr. Fitzgerald shewd ev ident symptoms of impatience, at being kept so king from his “ dear friends” above stairs, and frequently rang the bell to know the slate of the poll. On the first occasion, be thus addressed the waiter who answered iiis summons—“ Come here my tight little fellow. Do you know if I am chose yet?” “ I really can’t say Sir,” replied the young man : “ but I’ll sec.” “ There’s a nice little man. Be quick d’ve see; and I’ll give ye sixpence, when you come with the good news.” Away went the little man ; but he was in no great hurry to comeback: for lie as Well as his fellows, were sufficiently aware of Fitzgerald’s violent temper, and vvished to come m contact with him as seldom as possi ble. The bell rang again ; and to another waiter tlie impatient candidate put the same ques tion : “Am ! chose yet wailber?” " The balloting is not over yet Sir,” repli ed the man. “Not over yet!” exclaimed Fitzgerald; “but, sure, there is no use-for balloting at all, when inv dear friends are all unanimous for me to come in. Run, my man, and let uic know how they are'getting on.” After the lapse of another quarter of an hour, the bell was rung so violently, as to produce a contest among the poor ser vants; as to whose turn it was next to visit the lion in his den ; and Mr. Brookes, seeing no alternative but resolution, took tiro mes sage from the waiter, who was descending tlie slair-casc, and boldly entered the room, with a coffee-equipage In his band. “Did you call for coffee, Sir ?” said Mr. Brookes, smartly. “ Confound your coffee, sir ! and you tori answered Mr. Fitzgerald, in a voice which made the host's blood curdle in his veins,— “ 1 want to know, stir, and that without one moment's delay, sur, if I’m chose yet?” “ Oh, sir,” replied Mr. Brooke’s, who trem bled from bead to foot, but attempted tosmile away the appearace of fear ; “ 1 beg your pardon; sir ; but 1 was just,coming to an nounce to you, sir,—with Admiral Stewart’s compliments; sir,—that, unfortunately there was one black ball iu the box, sir; and con sequently by the rules of tlie club, sir, no. candidate can bo admitted w ithout anew e* lection, sir, until one month from this time; Sir.” During this address Fitzgerald’s iia. cibili tv appeared to undergo considerable m«Uf cation; and, at its conclusion, the terrified landlord was not a little surprised, and pleas ed to find his guest shake him by the hand, which he squeezed heartily bet ween bis two, saying,—“ My dear Mr. Brookes, I'm chose ! and I give you much joy ; for I'll warrant, ye’ll find me the best customer in your bouse. But there must be a small mistake iu my clcc. tion; and as I should not wish to be so un (rented as to take my sate among iny dear friends above stairs, until that mistake is du ly rectified, you’ll just step up,and make my compliments to the gentlemen, and say, as it is only a mistake of one black ball, they will be so good as to waive all ceremony on my account, and proceed to re-elect their humble servant without any metre delay at all. So, now, mv dear Mr. Brookes, you may put down the coffee ; arid I’ll be drinking it while the new election is going on.” * Yway went .Mr. Brookes, glad enough to escape with w hole Ihimcs, for this time at least. On announcing the purport of his errand to t|,c assembly above stairs, many of the mem bers were puniest ruck ; for they clearly fore saw, that some disagreeable circuuMancp was likely to be the finale of ihc l uee which they had been playing- Mr. Brcioki - stood silent <Ol ham miiiu* l s waiting for an an “ We never despair of any tiling-—Trntb being onr guide, we sail under lier auspices." swer; whilst several of the members whis pered and laughed in groups, at the ludicrous figure which they cut. At length the Karl of March, (afterwards Duke of Qitccnsbury,) said aloud, —“Try the effect of two black balls. Confound bis Irish impudence; if two black balls dout take effect upon him, 1 rlont know what will.” This proposition met with unanimous approbation; and .Mr. Brookes was ordered to communicate accordingly. On re-entering tire waiting room, Mr. Fitz gerald rose hastily from his chair, and seiz ing him by tho band, eagerly inquired,— “ Have they elected me right, now, Mr. Brookes ?” “ 1 hope no offence, Mr. Fitzgerald, said the landlord; Iwit 1 am sorry to inform you, filial the result of the second balloting is, I that tico black balls were dropped in, sir.” “ Oil, then,”exclaimed Fitzgerald, “ there is now two mistakes, instead of one. Go back my dear friend, and tell the honorable mem bers, that it is a very uncivil thing to keep a gentleman below stairs, with no one to keep him company but himself; whilst they are enjoying themselves with their champaignc, and llieir cards, and their tokay, up above.— I Fell them to try again, and t hope they will leave better luck this time, and make no j more mistakes, because its getting late I won't be chose to-night at all. So, now, Mr. Brookes, bo off with yourself, and lave the door open till I see what despatch you make.” Away went Mr. Brookes, for the last time. On announcing his unwelcome errand, every one saw that palliative measures only pro longed the dilemma ; and General Fitzpat rick proposed that Brookes should tell him. “ His cause was hopeless, for he was black balled all over, (tom head to foot, and was hoped by all the members that Mr. Fitzge rald would not persist iu thrusting himself in to society where his company is declined.’’ This message, it was generally believed, would prove a sickener, os it certainly would have done to any other candidate under simi lar circumstances. Not so, however, to Fitz gerald, who no sooner heard-the purport of it than he exclaimed, “Oh i perceive it is a mistake altogether, Mr. Brookes, and I must sec to the rectifying it myself ; noth, ing like dating with principals; and so I’ll step up at once, and put this thing to rights without any more delay.” In spite of Mr. Brooke’s remonstrance that his entrance into the club-room was against all rule and etiquette, Fitzgerald found his way up stairs, threatening to throw the land lord over the hamster, for endeavoring to stop him: he entered the room without any fur ther ceremony than a bow ; saying to the members, who indignantly rose up at this most unexpected intrusion, “ Your servant, gentlemen ! 1 beg you will be sated."' Walking up to tlie fire-place, he thus ad dressed Admiral Stewart—“ So, my dear Ad miral, Mr. Brookes informs me that 1 have been elected .’hrcc times.” “ You have been ballnltcd for, Mr. Fitzge rald; but I am sorry to say you have not been chosen,” said Stewart. “Well, then,” replied the duelist, “did you black-ball me ?” “ Why, good sir,” answered the Admiral, 11 how could Von suppose mroL -* 1> iUiJ !” “Oh, 1 supposed no such tiling, my dear fellow ; 1 only want to know who it was that dropped the black balls in by accident, as if were.” Fitzgerald now went up to each individual member, and put the question seriatim, — “Did you black ball mo, sur?”—until lie made the round of the club ; and it may well be supposed that in every case he obtained a similar answer to that of the Admiral. \\ hen lie had finished his inquisition, he thus ad dressed the whole body, who preserved as dead and dread a silence as the urchins of a parish sciiool do on a Saturday, when the pe dagogue orders half a score of them to be horsed for neglecting their catechism, which they have to repeat to the parson on Sunday. “ You see, gentlemen, that as none of ye have black balled me, I must be chose ; and it is Misihcr Brookes that lias made the mistake. But I was convinced of it from the beginning; and I am only sorry that so much time lias been lost as to prevent honorable gentlemen from enjoying cacli other's good company sooner. Waitlier! come here you raskal, and bring me a bottle of cliampaigrie, till 1 drink long life to the cluli.and wish them joy of their unanimous election of a rad gentle man by father and mother, and—.” This part of Fitzgerald's address excited the risible muscles of every one present ; but lie soon restored them to their former lugubrious po sition, by easting round him a ferocious look, and saying, in a voice of thunder—“ and who | never missed his man! —Go for the cliam paig.nc, waitlier; and, d’ye hear, sur, tell your masthur, Mistiiur Brookes that is, not to make any more mistakes about black balls; for though it is below a gentleman to call him out, I will find other manes of giving him a bagfull of broken bones !” The members now saw there was nothing for it but to send the intruder to Coventry, which they appeared to do by tacit agree ment; for when Admiral Stewart departed, which he did almost immediately, Mr. Fitz gerald found himself completely cut by all his “ dear friends.” The gentlemen now form ed themselves into groups at the several whist tables ; no one*ciiose to reply to his observa tions, nor to return even a nod to the toasts and healths which he drank whilst discussing bottles of the sparkling liquor, which the ter rified waiter placed before him in succession. At length, finding that -no one would commit nreate with him in cither kind —either for drinking or for fighting—he arose, and mak ing a low bow, took his leave as follows: “Gentlemen, I bid you all good night; I am very glad to find you are so sociable ; I’ll take care tooomc earlier next night, and we’ll have a liitle more of it.” The departure of this bully was a great re lief to every one present; for Ihe restraint caused by bis vapouring and insolent beha vior was most intolerable. The conversation immediately became general ; and i* was u iianimously agreed that halt a dozen stout constable:, should be in waiting the next even ing, to lay him by the link, and hear him off to the watch house, if he attempted again to I intrude. Os sonic such measure Fitzgerald I seemed to he aware ; for he never shewed himself at Brooke’s again, though he boasted every where that he had been unanimously chosen a member of tlie club ! The writer trusts that none of his readers ate impressed with the idea, that want of per sonal courage on the part of any member con tributed in tlie smallest decree to prevent Fitzgerald fruti being kicked out of the so ciety into which he had so unwarrantably thrust himself) more particularly when lie considers tint :1m whole affair was so eccen tric as to create mirth, rather than a desire to effect chastisement ; and that many, particu larly the junior members, had no small curi osity to witness the termination of an a Ivcn lure so impudently and ludicrously carried on. But, these considerations apart, it is not to he supposed that men, whose courage on ordinary occasions might easily ho “screwed up to the sticking point,” should Ije very rea dy, as Admiral Stewart expressed it, “ to risk their lives against that of a madman.” Moreover, in addition to tlie well founded and rational dislike which many men have to duelling, family considerations, and a natu ral love of life, wus sufficient to deter any man of sense from encountering the fighting Fitzgerald, cither with sword or pistol ; for, being really a good swordsman and marks man, and being accounted almost ineulncrable in iiis own person, the result of a combat with him ceased to he an affair of chance, I,ut a inounlcd to a dead certainty, ls.it surpris ing, then, that no gentleman should have the hardihood to espouse the cause of all, by throwing away his own life on the desperate chance of overcoming a professed bully ! To the foregoing a'-count of the notorious Fitzgerald, given in that amusing work, ‘ the Clubs of London,” we mav add, that at a sub sequent period, he fought a duel, as it hap pened, with swords, when he was fully de tected in wearing armour beneath his clothes, which accounted at once for liis extraordina ry boldness. This discovery blasted hid re putation,—he betook himself to Ireland where, with a band of associated, he waylaid and shot a gentleman ill cold blood; lie resist ed ii 11 civil I'uree in <iTa|>luring Inin j liis IliqiSC was at last seized by a military party, alter a regular bombardment; lie was taken, tried, and condemned ; and finished bis atrocious career, in the most cowardly and miserable plight, on the common gallows. Tlie history of a very Clever Fellow. 1 like your clever fellows amazingly ; your j open-browed, open-hearted, open-handed, shrewd, enterprising characters; hut as to ; your very clever fellows—l mean Yankee clever—there is an ominous emphasis in the expression. The appellation was never be stowed upon me but once, and then 1 imagin ed I could feel myself losing my foothold on respectabilitv, and sliding, like the man in Leggett’s story, down—down—down. But that’s not to the point. Did you know Jack Easy?—l am sure you did, for you lived at the same time, in the same town with him. Every body there knew him, every body loved him and every body said he was a very clever fellow. And a beautiful boy be was. asheMtliy arid enCCTItn a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked lad as ever played at ball, or biind-tnan’s-bufT. He was the joy of his parents, ihc pride of his playmates, and the fast friend of every human being who had ever exchanged glances with him. Jack exhibited bis peculiar qualities very early in life : when a child lie would give away all iiis marbles, and let the little urclnris split his top; and lie always treated ins own gingerbread as the English clergymen treat their parishioners—lie took a tenth part. He was too fond of play to be a good scho lar; yet he was so ready to acknowledge liis errors, received a scolding in such good part, was so kind and conciliating to liis teacher, listened with so much patience to his “ long talks,” and paid so much respect to his learn ing, that the pedagogue could never find it in Ins heart to “ reform” him; so our hero, ] while at the academy, learned little more than to describe a circle on the ice, and add apples to the “ school fund,” by subtracting them from liis neighbor’s orchard. After having got through, or rather gut over his education, he was transplanted into a retail store as clerk, where he increased his employer’s popularity by diminishing his wealth; the rich customers would never pay him any profit, and he had not the conscience to ask any from the poor; he always gave good measure, and good weight, and was an entire stranger to the thousand little ways in which men cheat their neighbors, and there by gain a reputation for great shrewdness ; and, at last, bis master told him that the “ cre dit” side of his “ profit and loss” account was becoming so small, that it would be im possible for him to retain him ; yet lie must say, that, although he was not cut out for bu siness, still he was a very clever follow. About this time Jack’s f.tlicr,died leaving him ten thousand dollars as bis portion; whereupon a particular friend of his (money always brings particular friends,) who coul I feel the “ pleasures of hope,” as well as Campbell could write them, suggested the ex pediency of liis employing his capita) in the manufacture of anew article to be made by steam power; there was not the smallest ' doubt of a fortune’s being realized in a short time. The oiler was accepted, the money was expended, the project failed ; they went too much upon the high pressure principle— their boiler burst, thg manufactory went to tlie dogs, and Jack went to jail. Here our hero could have enjoyed himself in meditation and solitude; but not being quite as fond of meditation as Mr. Hervey, nor quite as much attached to solitude as Mr. Zimmerman, lie was happy to scrape an ac quaintance with the jailer’s daughter. Hi told her the circumstances cf his life, and related what luAvas pleased to call liis mis fortunes ; he spoke of many a “ deadly breach” of trust; f-hc loved him for the “ dangers be had passed,” an< l he “ loved her that she did pity.” f/iving souls! she had a few dollars in cash, and he wanted to cut the jail, so he married her. Although, like Mr. C'obbetl, decidedly fa- HILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, AYGYST 11, 1533. ; vorable to the matrimonial state, 1 do not i think that our friend, “ good easy hi .n,” was i sufficiently cautions in his selection of a com- I panton. “ Why not ?” you a-k. “ Was sire | a vixen?”—no, reader; site was gentle as a dove* “Was she a fool I”—no; she could (“talk like a book.” “Was she artflil ?” no; she would tell all she knew, and more ' i too. “Well, then,” you inquire again. '“ what is your objections to lier I” Why, to i tell you tlie sober truth, slm bad a queer sort i of a way of looking at (lie stars; of exciting, her imagination without refining lier senti j •incuts ; of-—excuse Inc for mentioning it—of taking a glass too ipueli; there, it’s ail out. But, mv lady.readers, do not scorn her. I doubt not but some of you have been intoxi- j catcd with flattery, which.is just as exhilara ting, and often as dangerous in its effects as i alcohol itself. “But what did Easy do.*—did he remon strate ?”—no; he was too gentle. “ Did lie get in a passion !”—no, he was too kind ; she was eloquent—he was yielding. She drank —be drunk. Have you never heard of female influence / Her career was like that of a comet, fiery, short, ami somewhat crooked ; and she soon | run outlier money and her existence. I Since that time Jack lias kept un auction store, and a lottery office, lias been a super numerary to a playhouse, and is at present runner to a steam-boat. He is now at tlie i bottom of tlie bill, gets many a hard rub, and serves many a good turn, but has never lost bis good nature—bis ruinous pliability of dis position, “ I would rather,” as Mr. Ilackett says, “ he whipped by a salt-sea roarer,” he a dan dy without whiskers; a fool without vanity ;j a Dutchman without a pipe, or a Frenchman ' without a fiddle, than a rcry clever fellow. The story is most veritable, and the moral is plain.—.V. Yi Mirror- THE SPOILED CHILD. My Aunt Shakerly was of an enormous bulk. 1 have not done justice to her huge ness in my sketch, for my timid pencil dccli i ned to hazard a sweep at her real dimensions. There is a vastness in the outline, of even moderate proportions, 'till the mass is louu : ded-off by shadows, tluit makes the hand hes itate, and is apt to stint the figure of its proper breadth: how, I have ventured 'to trace —like mapping in a Continent—the ! surpassing boundaries of tny Aunt Shaker- I >y • \V hat a visage washers!—tlie cheeks, a pair of hemispheres:—her neck literally swal lowed up by a supplementary cliin. Her 'arm cased in a tight sleeve, was as the bol ; ster, — her body like the feather bed, of Ware. The waist, which, iu other trunks, is an isth mus, was in hers only the middle zone, if a continuous tract,ol flesh; —lier ankles over lapped her shoes. With such a figure, it may be supposed that her habits were sedentary. When she did walk, the Tower Quay, for the sake of the fresh river breeze, was her favourite re sort. But never, in nil Ik r water-side pro menades, was she bailed by the uplifted liu ' ger of the Waterman. With looks purpose ly averted lie. Jcr lined; tacitly, such a Fairlo pian Fail. The llackney-coach driver, whilst she halted over against him, mustering up all , her scanty pullings for an exclamation, drove off the nether pavement, and pleaded a prior call. The chairman, in. answer, toiler sig mils—had just broken liis poles. Thus, her ’ going. s ? were era nipt w ithin a harrow circle .- many thoroughfares, besides, being strange to her and inaccessible, such as Thames Street, throilgh the narrow pavements;—oth j ers, like the Hill of Hoiborn, —from their i impracticable steepness. How she wa3 final ly to master a inure serious ascension, (tin sensible incumbrance of the flesh clinging to her even in her spiritual aspirations) wus a matter of her serious despondency—a picture of Jacob’s Ladder, by Sir F. Bourgeois, con firming Iter, that the celestial staircase was without a landing. For a person of her elephantine propor tions, my Aunt was of a kindly nature—for I confess a prejudice against such Giantesses. She was cheerful, anil eminently'charitable to the poor,—although she did not condescend to a personal visitation of their very limited, abodes. If site had a fault, it was in her con- 1 duct towards children—not spoiling them by often repeated indulgences, and untimely se verities, the common practice of bad mothers; —it was by a slmfter course that the latent and hereditary virtues of the infant Shakerly , were blasted in the bud. Oh, my tender cousin * * ? (for thou wert yet unbaptised. Oil! would thou had’st been, —mv little babe-cousin, —of a savager moth er born !—For tlieij, having the comfortably swaddled, upon a backboard, with a hole in it, she would have hung tlice up, out of harm’s wav, a .ovc the mantel shelf, or behind the kitchen door—whereas, thy parent was no ! savage, and so, having her hands full ofother matters, she laid thee down, helpless upon the parlour chair I In the meantime, the “ llera|d” came. Next ! to an easy seat, mv Aunt dearly loved a po lice newspaper;—vvlich*ho had once plun ged into its columns the most vital question | obtained from her only a ranidoni answer; — I the world and the roasting jack stood equally 'still, —So, without a second thought, site i dropped herself on the nursing chair. One j 1 little smothered cry—my cousin’s last breath, found its way into the upper air,—but the still small voice of tlie reporter engrossed the { maternal car. My Aunt never skimmed a newspaper, tc-: cording to some people’s practice. She was j as solid a reader, as a sitter, and did not get | up, therefore, till she bail gone through the j “ Herald” from end to end. W lien she did ! rise,—which was suddenly,—the earth quak-’j led—the windows rattled—the ewers .-plashed over—the crockery fell from the shelf-—and j the cat and rats ran out together, as they are J said to do from a falling house. “Heyday!” said my uncle, above stairs, j .-is be staggered from the concussion—and, i with the usual curiosity, he referred to Ins pocket-book'for the Royal Birthday. But j the almanack not accounting for the rxplo ! ston, lie ran down the stairs, at the hills of NO. 31. the housemaid—and there laV my Aunt, streti lied on the parlotir-lloor, in a fit. At the very first glim;ise, he explained the mat ter to his own satisfaction, in three words— All—the apoplexy !” Now tho housemaid had done her part to secure him against ibis t-nor, by holding up tlie dead child ; but as she turned the body .edge-ways, lie did not perceive it. M hen he did see il—but I must draw a curtain over the parental agony— About an hour after the. catastrophe, an inquisitive slle-in-ighbour called in, and ask ed if yc should not have the Coroner to sit on the body : —but my untie replied, “There was no need.”—“ But in cases, Mr. Sbaker- Iv, where the death is not natural.’"—“ My dear Madam,” interrupted my uncle, —■“ it was a natural death enough.” A foaple of Stray Leaves. “ EX t NO DISLE OMNKS.” Leaf the l’irst—-Six Months after Marriage. “ Ni i-11, my dear, will you go to the.party to-uiglii f you know wo have a very polite in vitation.” “Why, my love, just as you please, you know I always wish to consult your pleasure. “ Well lin n Harriet, suppose wo go—that is, If you are perfectly willing, now don’t say y< because I do, for you know that where you ar.e I am perfectly happy.” “ Why my love, you would enjoy yourself there 1 am sure, and wherever you are happy I shall be of course. What dress shall 1 wear, William I —iny white satin with blonde, or my ashes of ruses, or tny levant me, or iny white lace, you always know better than l about such things.” “Harriet, dearest, yen look beautiful in any thing, now take your own eftoice to-night —nut Ido think you look very well in tho wldle satin.” “ There William dear, I know you would think just as I did—oil! how happy wc shall he (hero to night, and you must promise not to leaycmc a moment, for 1 shall be so sad if you do.” “ Leave thee dearest, leave tlii-o I No by ymiller star 1 swear.” j “ Oil, William, dear William, how beauti . fid that is, you are always learning poetry to make me happy.” “And Harriet, my own prized Harriet, i would ! not do any tiling m this world to givo vou one moment's happiness. Oh, you arp so , very, very dear lo me, it »<-cins at times al most to much happiness to last. “Oh, do not sav so d.-ar William, it will last—ami wc shall ace many years happier j even than this, for will not our love be stron g. r and deeper ever; year; and now dearest, I will be back in one moment, and then we ' will go,” “There she lias gone, bright and beautiful | creature that she is—Oh ! liovv miserable 1 should be without iier—sin- has indeed cgst a strong spell around my heart, anil one that ne* ; w-r, no, never can he broken: she is the only star of mv existence, guiding me on to virtue and happiness, and cun I ever love her less ; that now ?—can 1 ever desert her, can I ever speak of her other than in terms of praise— j Oh, no it is impossible—she is too good, too ! pure,—happy, happy man that 1 am.” Leaf the Second—Six 1 ears after Marriage. “ I INIS COIiONAT ores.” “ My dear, I’ll thank you to pass the sugar, J you diii’rrt give me but one lump.” “ Well, Mr. Snooks, f and lari; you use su gar enough in your tea to sweeten a hogs head of vinegar. James keep your fingers out ol' the svveaupeat; Susan kept still bawl ing. 1 declare its enough to set one distract ed—there take that you little wretch.” “ Why, Harriet, what has the child done, I declare you arc too hasty.” “ I wish Mr.Snooks, you would mind your own business, you’re always meddling with what does not concern you.” “ Well Mrs. Snooks I want to know who lias a better light if I have not —your’re al ways fretting and fuming about nothing.” “ Fa, Thomas is tearing your newspaper all “ Thomas come here, bow dare you abuse my paper, I’ll teach you to tear it again ; there sir, bow does that feel—now go to bed.” “ Mr. Snooks, you horrid wretch—how can you slrike a child of mine in that way—come here Thomas, poor fellow—did lie get hurt— nevi r mind—in-re’s a lump o. sugar ; there, that’s a good boy.” “ Mrs. Snooks, let me tell you, you will spoil all the children, you know I never inter fere when you sec lit to punish a child—its strange that a woman can never do nnv thing right.” ’ ‘ “ Never do any thing right—faith, Mr. Snooks if nobody did any thing right in this house but yourself, I wonder what would be come of us.” “ Let inc tell you, madam, this is improper language for you ma’am—ami i’ll bear il no fungi r. Y'ou are as snappish and eurlv as n— a—she dog—and if there is a divorce to be hud iu the land I’ll have it—you would wear out the patience of a Job.” “Oh 1 dear, how mad the poor man is—- well goo 1 night mv dear—pleasant dreams.” “There, she’s gone. Thank Heaven, I’m alone once more. Oh! unhappy man that I am to be chained down lo such a creature— she is the very essence of all ugliness, cross and peevish ! Oh ! that I could once more be a bachelor! curse the day and liouf I ever saw the likeness of her. Y'es. I will got a uivcice; I can’t live with her any longer, it is utterly impossible.” Fercc of hahit. —Jcrif Snow, whose pe cuniary concerns were always upper-most iu bis mind, w.n once travelling in company, and very early in the morning was waked by his companion, who said, “Come Snow, dav is brcakiii;, “Well,” s.-.ys Snow, “let it break, it don’t otee me any thing.” A Miivihh- Futl. A parishmier a Led liis pastor the meaning of thi: line of i"'iipture, “He was clothed j with curses a3 with ii garment.” “It signi tii.," i plied the divine, that the individual 1 had a habit of ; wearing ”