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Georgia Times, & State Rights’ Advocate.
BY ROCKWELL X It A WORD.
ASU
STATU RIGHTS’ ADVOCATE,
/«published Weekly in the 7birn of MUledgevUle,
AT THREE DOLLARS PER ASM*,
PAYABLE IS ADVANCE.
Advertisements inserted at llie usual rates:
those sent without a S|»eci!i«d number of inser
tions, will Ce published until ordered out, and
charged accordingly:
Sales of Land, by Administrators, Executors,
or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on
•lie first Tuesday in the month, between the hours
of ten iu the forenoon and three in the afternoon,
at the court-house in the county in which the
property is situate. Notice of these sales must
be given in a public gazette sixty days previous
to the day of sale.
Sales of negroes must be at public ruction,
on the first Tuesday of the month, between
the usual hours oi* sale, at the place of pub
lic sales in the county where the letters
Testamentary, of Administration or Guardian
ship, may have been granted, first giving sixty
days notice thereof, in one of the public ga
lettcs *!' this State, and at the door of the
court-house, where such sales are to he held.
Notice for the sale of Personal Property must
he given in like manner, forty days previous to
the day of sale.
Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an Es
tate 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 be
published for four months before any order ab
solute shall be made thereon by the Court
POETRI.
School and School-fellows.
rilOK THE LONDON MAGAZINE.
Twelve years ago i made a mock,
Os filthy trades and traffics;
I wondered what they meant by stock,
I wrota delightful sapptiics:
1 knew the streets of Rome and Troy,
I supp'd with Fates and Furies;
Twelve years ago I was a boy,
A happy boy, at Drury's.
Twelve years ago ! - how many a thought
Os faded pains and pleasures
Those w htsper’d syllables have brought.
From Memory's hoarded treasure;
The fields, the forms, the bets, the books.
The glories and disgraces,
The voices of dear friends, the looks
Os old familiar faces.
Kind Mater smiles again on me,
As bright as when parted ;
I seem again the frank, the free.
Stout bmh’d and simple hearted ;
Pursuing ev’ry idle dream.
And shunning every warning;
With no hard work but Bovney Stream,
No chill except Long Morning.
Now stopping Harry Vernon’s ball,
That rattled like a rocket;
Now hearing AVcnthworth’s “ fourteen all,”
And strikiug for the pocket;
Now feasting on a cheese and Hitch,
Now drinking from the pewter;
Now leaping over • halvey ditch,
Now laughing at my tutor.
Where arc my friends ? lam alone.
No playmate shares my beaker;
Some lie beneath the churchyard stone,
And some before the Speaker,
And some compose a I ragedv,
And some compose a rondo
And some draw swordsjfor liberty.
And some draw pleas for John Dec.
Tom Mill was used to blacken eyes.
Without the feaT of sessions ;
Charles Medlar loath'd false quantities,
A much as false professions;
Now Mill keeps order in the land,
A magistrate pedantic;
And Medlar's feet repose unscatiM,
Beneath the broud Atlantic.
And I am eight and twenty now :
The world’s cold chains have bound me ;
And darker shades are on my brow,
And sadder scenes around me;
In Parliament I fill my scat,
With many other noodles;
And lay my head in Bermyn Street,
And sip my hock at Doodle's. -j
But often when the cares of life
Have set my temples aching ;
When visions haunt me, ol a w ile.
When duns await my waking,
When lady Jane is in a pet,
Or Iloby in a Hurry ;
IV hen Captain Hazard w ings a bet,
Or Beaulieu spoils a curry.
For h ura and hours I think and talk,
Os each remembered hobby;
I long to lounge in Poet’s Walk,
To slnvcr in the lobby;
I wish that I could run away
From house, and court and levee,
Where bearded men appear to day,
Just Eaton boys, grown heavy;
That I could bask in childhood’s sun,
And dance o’ar childhood's roses;
And find huge wealth in one pound one
Vast wit in broken noses;
And play Sir Giles at Bucket Lane,
And call the milk-maids Houris; —
That I could be a boy again,
A happy boy, at I>rury’»!
yi IMIXIzI * EOIS.
the VIA* with an appetite.
I never, for the life o* me, could under
hand why a man of ten stone should pay
much for coach hire as one ot twenty.
1 here’s neither reason nor virtue in it;
a *id the stage coach proprietors must be
a set ot unjust jolterheads not to alter it.
she rogues weigh your dead stock, your
luggage, and, if it be what they call “oyer
weight,” they make no scruple ot charging
>ou so much a pound for every pound a
h°ve a certain number of pounds, but
they take no account at all of overweight
hi living luggage, and will cl arge just as
n 'Uch for carrying a little whipper snap
per of a passenger, whose entire corpus,
la lull dress, might be tucked into a coach
pocket, as they will for a great over-fed
lellotv, whose empty waistcoat would but
ton round a hay-stack ! It a man will
st uff himself till he’s as hig as a roasted
Manning-tree ox with u pudding in his
hellv, let him do so—there is no statute
j° the contrary thereof, that I kno ol ;
"Ut I see no reason why he should ob
trude his fat upon folks of reasonable
rornpass, or expect to have his overweight
°f blubber carried about the country for
t* n t!iifle. y vatlvc stone is about the aver-.
ago weight of a man: and if the coach
owners wore not blockheads and boobies,
blind to their own interests and to com
mon equity, they would establish a scale
ot fares, hang weighing chairs in their
coach offices, and demand so much addi
tional fare upon every stone weight above
twelve : reducing the fares to those of
less weight in proportion. If they could
do that, a man wedged info a six inside
coach, between two of these enormous
bowel-cases, might take some little com
fort to himself in knowing that what he
suffers by suffocation he saves in pocket.
And, truly, your political economists,
your Maltliuses and McCullochs, are lit
tle better than strainers at gnats and swal
lowers of camels, or they would have pro
posed some such regulation as a check
upon over-consumption; it would do
more toward saving the national victual
than any ot their line drawn schemes for
stinting day laborers iu brats and pota
toes.
It was our fate to have one of these
two-legged prize cattle, “a certain frank
lin in the wilds ot Kent,” as a travelling
sixth in the Dover coach—We took him
up, or rather he was heaved up by the
coachmen and half a dozen helpers, at a
road side public house, somewhere be
tween Sandwich and Deal ; and when
lie was up, and had jtoked forward, half
way across the inside of the coach, his
hips stuck in the door-way, so that he
was obliged to turn aside before he could
bring in his rear. At length lie was all
in ; and down he went squash ! into the
only vacant seat, between two venerable
spinstcr-like ladies ; his bowed elbows
soreading over them in front like a cou
ple ot Brobdinagian sausages, and bis stu
pendous catastrophe tearing all before it
as it subsided. “.Mercy on us!” cried one
of the spinster-like venerables, “I declare
you have torn my gown completely out
ot the gathers!” “And mine too?” said the
other. “Really, sir, wc must get you to
sit up a little,” said both. “Aye, I thought
I felt something give way,” grunted the
mountain of mummy ; and then, instead
of sitting up, as they had requested, he
leaned slowly from side to side, so as to
almost smother eaeh lady in her turn,
whilst the other was dragging her torn
gown from beneath his abominable brawn.
However, all things being arranged, and
room having been made for his legs, as he
called them, on he went, but we had not
gone more than a mile, when he grunted,
“Can’t stand this!” “Stand what* sir? you
seem to me to be sitting!” said somebody.
“Can’t ride baekered—never could,”
grunted tallow-kccch in reply. Now it
so happened that directly opposite to him
sat a tine fat bouncing dame—fat, fair,
and fifty, tightly done up in blue braided
broadcloth, overhung with a gilt Belcher
chain, almost big enough for a chnin ca
blo, an/I tlio no hooikt 1 Lie oom.
plaint of not being able to ride backward,
than she offered to change places with
him; whether from sympathy with his
fat, or respect to her own blue broacloth,
did not appear. But how this change
was to be brought about, was the thing;
to the lookers on it seemed to be abont as
easy, as turning a couple of buttocks in a
watch-box; but as the necessity for it
was growing more urgent every moment,
the attempt was made. In the first in
stance they each essayed to rise like ordi
nary people; but that tvoul l not do; be
fore (lie ‘male’ halt was up, down he went
again—squash! and they repeated the at
tempt! a second time with no better suc
cess. “I’ll tell you what, tna'tn,” grunted
tallow keccli, “you’d better catch hold ot
my hands.” The-lady complied ; having
hooked their fat fingers together, in the
way the boys call ‘butcher’s hold,’ they
! succeeded in .bousing’ each other up, fair
ly out of their respective seats ; but in the
attempt to turn they miss’d stays, as it
were, and swung horizontally across the
laps of the rest of us. Here was a pretty
predicament. Iu a moment we were all
mixed up together like so many maggots
ina grease pot, all trying to get the upper
hand of each other ; the bouncing dame
squalling, the fat fellow grunting, and all
of us sprunting with might and main to
keep our heads above brawn. Luckily,
the two fat ones had “a kind of alacrity in
sinking ;” their ability to sprunt being di
minished in exac* ratio to their supera
bundant blubber, so that wc soon got them
pretty well under; hut nevertheless, there
is no knowing what the upshot might
have been, had not a lean and 'ongneck'd
linen dealer in the corner, poked his head
out at the window, and implored the
coachman to slopt —“Coachman, cried he,
‘‘Coachman ! for Heavens sake stop the
coach!” The coach did stop, and that
right speedily, for the cry was urgent,and
both doors being set wide ojtcn, we (the
four lean ones) as soon as wc could disen
tangle ourselves, got out upon the road,
shoe-top deep in mud,and the rain pouring
as though it thought the sooner wo were
cooled "the better; w hilst the two hit
ones, assisted by the coachman and others,
were getting themselves set up aright on
their own propria jtersona scats ; anti
this matter achieved, wc all got in again.
Now you would think perhaps, that alter
such a squabbash, the fat man’s appetite
would he sadly deranged ; and I thought
so loo; but I was mistaken ; for in loss
than an hour after 1 sat down to dinner
with him at one of the inns in Dover, and
I’ll just tell you the manner of liis feeding.
It was a sort of four shilling ordinary—
plenty of food there was; and some
l tweniv or thirty fccditr*—cucli with a
•lUEfjEDIiE I7L/J?, RT’/IATV/Ml’ SEPTEMBER, IS, 1833.
four ounce lump of bread by the side of
his plate, “Y ou’ll take some soup, sir?”—
said somebody to the fat Franklin. “Yes,
I’ll take soup,” said he ; and did three
plates full, to which he added the afore
said four ounce lump of bread.—“ You’ll
take salmon, Sir?” “i’ll take salmon, and
some bread waiter.” The plate of bread
was handed to him, and hawing paw’d
on three four ounce lumps, he ingulph’d
two of ’em with the salmon “Shall I
send a fried sole, sir?”-“Ycs, I’ll take fried
soles, and some fresh ale, waiter.” A
quart jug ol ale was beside him ; and
having ingulph’d a great goblet of it, he
sent down a half a pound sole, and the
. fourth lump of bread after the salmon.
“Here’s some fine brill, sir ; allow me to
help you to some !” “Yes—l’ll take some
brill, and some bread waiter.” The
plate of bread was again handed to him,
and having paw’d off' lour ounce lumps,
down went ono of them with the brill,
another of ale cleared his gullet for the
second course.
Second course :—Roast beef, roast pig.
call’s head, and boiled leg of mutton.
Beef, Sir?—“Yes ; I’ll take some beef:
Champ, champ, champ, chatnble, cham
ble, chain, and gulp—gulp—gulp ; and
there was an end ol the beef, and a third
goblet of ale.—Some calf’s head, sir? “Yes;
I’ll take call’s head; —slerrup, slcrrup,
chamble, champ, slerrup; gulp, gulp,
gulp.” A little more calfs head, Sir!
“Yes; I’ll take a little more calf's head ;
slerrup, slerrup—bread, waiter, —slerrup,
chamble, champ; gulp, gulp, gulp;” and
thus ended the second course.
Third course :—Shall I send you the
wing of tin's goose, sir?—“Yes; I’ll take
the wing of a goose,*’—and he did. Al
low me to send you a slice or two of the
breast, sir?—“Yes ; I'll take some of the
breast;” and he did. Some boiled fowl
and oysters, sir?’’—“Yes ; I’ll take some
boiled fowl and oysters—slerrup, slerrup,
champ, champ, champ—stop waiter —
where are you going with that duck?—l
I shall take some duck?” and having fiin
islied his boiled fowl and oysters, he help
ed himself to the breast and leg of the
duck. By thistimo bis eyes stood out
like a lobster’s ; the perspiration stood in
large drops upon his bald front But still
he Menton champ, champ, champ; and
tearing the pastry would be cleared away
before he had iiinished his duck, he con
trived to eat the solid slices from the breast
on one side of his mouth, whilst he gnaw’d
the meat from the leg with the other—the
drumstick poking out from the corner of
his mouth, till it dropped completely
picked upon his plate. Then, gulping
down the remainder of his ale. he tossed a
glass of brandy after it ; and asked for
damson tart ; swallowed it in a twinkling;
a little custard pudding? Yes, Cheese?—
and finally a bottle of sherry!—ls it not
monstrous, that a fellow like this—Mho
will cram lumseir nun m-.. = t j lau
would sereve a dozen moderate men,
should obtrude his abominable paunch up
on decent people, and get his overweight
carried about from town to town for
nothing?
TL# Bag ol Gold.
The following well told story, by the
poet Rogers, will be read with interest
even bv those who have seen it before.—
We should deem it susceptible ol a fine
effect from the stage.
“ There, lived, in the fourteenth centu
ry, near Bologna, a widow lady of the
Lambtrtini family, called Madonna Lu
crczia, who, in a revolution of the state,
had known the bitterness of poverty, and
had even begged her bread ; kneeling day
after day, like a statue, at the gate of the
cathedral —her rosary in her left hand and
her right held out for charity—her long
black veil covering a lace that had once
adorned a court, and had received the
homage ol as manny sonnets as Petrarch
lias written on Laura.
“ But fortune had at last relented; a
legacy from a distant relation had come
to her relief; and she was now the mis
tress of a small inn at the loot ot the Ap
pennines, where she entertained as well
as she could, and where those only stopped
who were contented with a little, ihe
house Mas still standing, when in my
youth I passed that way : though the sign
of the White Cross, the Cross ol the Hos
pitallers, was no longer to he seen over
the door—a sign which she had taken, il
we muv believe the tradition there, in
honour of a maternal uncle, a grand-master
of that order, whose achievements in Pa
lestine she would sometimes relate. A
mountain stream ran through the garden ;
and at no great distance, where the ro:ul
turned on its way to Bologna, stood a lit
tle chapel, in which a lamp was always
burning before a picture ol the \ irgin—
a picture of great antiquity, the work ol
some Greek artist.
“ Here she was dwelling, respected by
all who knew her, when an event took
place which threw her into the deejicst
affliction It was at noon-dav, in Septem
ber, that three foot travellers arrived and,
seating themselves ou a bench under her
vine-trellis, were supplied with a flagon of
Aleatico by a lovely girl, her only child,
the image of her former self. '1 he eldest
spoke like a Venetian, and his beard was
short and pointed after the fashion ol
Venice. In his demeanor he affected great
courtcsv, but his look inspired little confi
dence ; for when he smiled, which he did
continually, it was with his lips only, not
with his eyes; and ihcy were always
turned from joins. Hi" companion* were
bluff and lrank in theirjmanner, and on
their tongues were many a soldier’s oath.
In their hats they wortj a medal, such as
in that age was often distributed in war ; j
and they were evidently subalterns in one
ot those tree bands which were always 1
ready to serve in any quarrel, if a service !
it could be called, where a battle was more !
than a mockery ; and the slain, as on an
ojiera-stage, were up and fighting to-mor-;
row. Overcome with the heat, they
threw aside their cloaks; and, with their)
gloves tucked under their belts, continued i
for some time in earnest conversation.
“At length they rose to go; and the'
\ cnctian thus addressed their hostess : j
4 Excellent lady, may we leave under your!
roof, for a day or two, this hag of gold V j
You may,* she replied gaiiv. ‘But re
member, we fasten our doors only with a
latch. Bars bolts we have none in our
village ; it we had, where M ould be your
security V
“ ‘ln your word, lady.’
“ ‘But what if I died to-night ? where
would it be then ?’ said she, laughingly.—
‘The money would go to the church ; for
none could” claim it.’
“ ‘Perhaps you will favour us with an
acknowledgment.’
“ ‘lf you will write it.’
“An acknowledgment was written ac
cordingly, and she signed it before Mas
ter Bartolo, the village physician, who had
just called by chance to learn the news of
the day; the gold to be delivered when
applied for, but not to be delivered (these
were the words) not to one, nor to two,
but to the three; words wisely introduced
by those to whom it belonged, knowing
what they knew of each other. The gold
they had just released from a miser’s chest
in Perugia; and they were nowon a scent
that promised more.
“They and their shadows were no
sooner departed, than the Venetian return
ed, saying, ‘Give me leave to set my seal
on the bag, as the others have done;’ and
she placed it on a table before him. But
in that moment she was called away to
receive a cavalier, who had just dismount
ed from his horse; and, when she came
back, it M'as gone. The temptation had
proved irresistible; and the man and the
money had vanised together.
“ ‘\"Vretched woman that I am !’ she cri
ed, as in an agony of grief she fell on her
daughter’s neck ; ‘what will become of us?
i re we again to be cast out into the wide
world ! Unhappy child, M'ould that thou
hadst never been born !* Atid all day long
she lamented ; but her tears availed her
little. The others were not slow in re
turning to claim their due : and there were
no tidings of the thief; he had fled far a
wav with his plunder. A process against
her was instantly begun in Bologna ; and
what defence could she make—how re
lease herself from the obligation of the
bond! Wilfully or in negligence she had
parted with it to one. when she should
nave kept it for all; and inevitable ruin
awaited her!
“‘Go Gianetta,’ said she to Iter daugh
ter, ‘take this veil which your mother has
worn and wept untit-i » nfm n . an l im
plore counsellor Calderino to plead lor
the day of trial. He is generous, and will
will listen to the unfortunate. But, if he
will not, go from door to door; Monaldi
cannot refuse us. Make haste, my child,
but remember the chapel as you pass by
it. Noting prospers without a prayer.’
“Alas ! she went, but in vain. These
were retained against them; those de
manded more than they had to give ; a'd
ail bade them despair. What was to be
done? No advocate, and the cause to
come on to-morrow!
“ Now Gianetta bad a lover; and he
was a student at. law—a young man of
great promise, Lorenzo Martelli. lie had
studied long and diligently, under that
learned lawyer, Giovanni Andreas; who,
* though little of statute, was great in re
nown, and by his contemporaries was call
ed the arch-doctor, the rabbi of doctors,
the light of the world. Under him he had
studied, sitting on the same bench with
Petrarch; and also under his daughter,
Novella, who would often lecture to the
scholars when her father was otherwise
engaged, placing herself behind a small
curtain, lest her beauty should divert their
thoughts; a precaution, in this instance at
least, unnecessary, Lorenzo having lost
liis heart to another!.
“ To him she flies in her necessity ; but
of what assistance can he he ? He has
just taken his place at the bar, but he has
never spoken ; and how stand up alone,
unpractised and unprepared as he is, a
gaiust an array that would alarm the most
experienced ?
*• ‘Were I as mighty as I am weak,’ said
he. *mv fears for you would make me as
nothing. But 1 will be there, Gianetta ;
and may the Friend of the friendless give
;me strength in that hour ! Even now my
i heart fails me ; but, come what will, while
; I have a loaf to share you and youi mother
! shall never want; I will beg through the
I world Ibr vou.’
“ The day arrives, and the court as- 1
scmbles. The claim is stated, and the i
evidence given. And now the defence is
called Ibr—but none is made ; not a sylla
ble is uttered ; and, after a pause and a !
cunsnltation of some minutes, the judges j
arc proceeding to give judgment, silence ]
having been proclaimed in the court, when
Lorenzo rises, and thusaddreses them:
“ ‘Reverend signors —Young as I am,
may 1 venture to sq»'ak before you ’ I
would speak in behalf of one who has
none c! rto help her: and 1 will not keep
you long. Much has been said ; much
on the sacred nature of the obligation—
and we acknowledge it in its full force.—
Let it be fulfilled, and to the last letter. It
is what we solicit, what we require. But
to whom is the bag of gold to be delivered?
W hat says the bond ? ,Vul to one — not to
two— but to the three. Let the three
stand forth and claim it.’
“ Front that day, (for who can doubt
the issue ?) none were sought, none em
ployed, but the subtle, the eloquent Loren
zo. Wealth followed fame; nor need I
say how soon he sat at his marriage-feast,
or who sat beside him.”
The author of the fol.owing from the
New York Standard could write Tom
Cringle — .lib. .Idv.
A LEAF FKO.H A ’‘REEFEK'N
LOG.”
When a man or boy first girds on his
maiden sword, —when he first hand! is the
trumpet as deck officer,—and when he
first kisses the blushing girl beside him, he
enjoys the most ecstatic moments that
life can afford. Os course a long shore
man can enjoy only one of the three, and
I doubt whether he can ever kiss a pretty
girl in a ship-shape fashion. It is not my
fault; if people will stay ashore, moored
head and stern like the Ohio, 74, all their
lives, how can they expect to knowhow
“Sweet is pleasure after pain.”
A savage allowance of hard work, and
then you go at pleasure like a hungry
Mid. at a lobscouse. But I must ball off
these remarks, and begin.
The Umtod (States ship Ontario , when
at anchor, was as pretty a looking craft as
ever floated—long, low, taunt-rigged, and
rakish. The starboard side was black,
with a narrow white riband, and the lar
board side exactly like it, barring the
white, that is dark as the wing of the
night raven. She carried standing sky
sail yards, with spunyarn lifts and braces,
and her long slim-jib-boom was somewhat
ahead, not far out of gun-shot.—No
craft that ever wore whiskers, had those
articles set upon her with more care; and
as to her discipline, if a man More his chor
of tobacco on the weather ssdc of his face,
when it was according to orders to keep
it to leeward, he was sure to have his
grog stopped for a week, il he did not get
a ride on the colt that the boatswain’s
mate drives.
Never was that craft beat, in sending
; up or down, top gallant, royal aud skv
' sail yards; and as to reefing, furling, and
: mending sails that was considered a sort
;of off duty concern—‘pastime and prodi
gality.’ In short, auy kind of harbor
work, she was as muchathome as a mnr
■ iner is with a musket, but there was the
I end of it; she would not sail, and we
i could not make her sail. We gave her
' masts as much rake as those of a pilot
boat—she wouldn't went. We stayed
them forward till she looked as if she was
stumbling along like a sailor with six al
lowances on board—it was no go. We
got them as up and down as a dead calm
j — toda to mismo. All we could do Mas
useless, and we too often saw the old
I I Oofna’s. main yaixt string round as site
made signal No. 00—“ To come within
hail.” “'rite Commodore is in stays, sir,”
said I, touching my hut to the skipper who
was looking at her. (We always reported
every thing to him, no matter how well
lie knew it.) “Very well, sir, tell the offi
cer of the deck to give you tlte trumpet,
and do you put the ship about immediate
ly.” I did not say a word, nor did 1
jump, because I did not dare to do either
wn the quarter deck, hut I felt conlused
as a Mother Carey’s chicken ashore. My
message was delivered to the officer of
the deck, the officers were passed to me,
wc touched our caps, and 1 held the sym
bol ofeommand to which every man and
officer yields obedience. “Stations for
stays!” I trembled at the sound of my
own voice ; men tumbled up, and every
officer was on deck to see the fun. “Are
you readv forward, sir?” “All ready, sir.’
Keep her a good full for stays, quarter
master—now, down with your helm, sir
—h-a-r-rd a lew ; jib and staysail sheets.
The ship came up ill the wind like a lady.
“Rise tacks and sheets !” “Twit a wit,"
piped the boatswain’s mate, and all eyes
were fixed ujKm me.—“ Mainsail haul;!’
—and round went my aftervards. Now
was the time for shaktng and shivering,
and I’m sure I must have beaten an ague
lit, band over fist, had there been one
there. I raised the trumpet again.
“Take care !*’ whispered an officer, near
me, “you’ll get her in irons.” I had how
ever determined to give the order, and out
it came. “Haul aud overhaul—make a
run with them head braces, (no seaman
ever says those.) —She paid off, filled a
wav on the other tack, and I grew an
inch that very minute. Did not I see ev
ery thing done in style ? Breast back
stays set up, spritsail yard topped, all the
other yards braced up fine : and 1 had
just given the order, “Topmcn aloft to
| furl top-gallant sails,” when 1 was ro
ll ieved by a man swearing a swab, and
tnV “brief authority” was at an end. 1
| would now give “ten years of peaceful
life,” to live that few minutes over. For
the next week I rode every other young
i stcr down litc a main lack.
It was remarked by M. de Talleyrand
1 0l the affability of the late Emperor, A
; IcxHiidcr.tliat no doqiuiic Sovereign could
> have an excuse for a want of condescen-
I sion to Ins inferiors, but that constitution
‘ ul monarch* had many excuses lo plead
for thji di/tatr*. and regard of forms.
VOLUME I NUMBER 3b7
THE ETTRIGK SHEPHERD.
The follow ing letter from James Hogg,
the Ettrick Shepherd, was lately add tested
to an American clergyman, in reply to
one requesting from the jvoet a literary fa
vor.
“ALTRIVE-LAKE,bv Selkirk, June 20.
Rov’d Sir—Altho’ 1 have no great re
gard for such things as those you request
of me, 1 am almost daily obliged to con
tribute to the whims of other people in
these matters. A lady I have not the
heart to refuse ; and I have always had
such a veneration for the ministers of the
gospel, that I never once thought of refu
sing them any thing in all my life; IJliavc
never been able to find out what class of
society I belong to. 1 sing songs and ar
gue about religion with the shepherds, and
as I have the sc*ipture mostly by heart,
I am rather a heavy neighbor for them.
I drink toddy, and talk about the hreedsof
sheep and cattle, with the qualities of
soils and wool, with my brother farmers,
and with the nobility and gentry I am most
at ease and at home, of all. In fact a po
et does not belong to the clergy, so they
are the only class whom 1 have always
regarded as above me, as holding their
charter from a higher throne than that of
an earthly sovereign. This brings to my
mind a pleasant little anecdote which I
must relate. The Rev. Doctor Yorkston
was once examining a farm house where
I was a shepherd. He had been ex
plaining to us who were our superiors,
and whom we were to regard as our e
quals. Then, turning to a lad, Wn Gain
ing, he asked him who were his inferiors ?
“The tinkers,’’ quoth Will. The minister
w as obliged to raise both his hands.to cov
er his face, and laugh. So if Will's sa
gacity could find out no class lower than
himself, save the tinkers, mine has never
been able to discover any above me, save
the divines of the church.
“I remain, dear sir, yours most respect
fully, JAMES HOGG.”
The Tailor’s Dream —A tailor of Bag
dad during a severe illness dream :d the!
an angel appeared before him, bearing an
immense flag formed from the pieces of
cloth which he had abstracted at differ
ent times from his customers, and that he
chastised him severely with a rod of iron
while he waved the flag before his eyes.
He awoke in an agony of terror, and
vowed that he would never again steal
cloth from his employers Fearing,how
ever, the influence of future temptations,
he ordered his servant to remind him of
the flag, whenever he saw him too sorely
tempted. For some time the servants
hint checked the tailor’s avarice; but at
length a nobleman sent him a piece of
rich brocade to make a robe, whose beau
ty proved too strong for the tailor’s reso
lution. “The flag, the flag” shouted the
servant, when he saw the shears take a
suspicious direction. “Curse youandthe
flag,” answered the tailor, “there was not
a bit ofstufl like this in it; besides, there
was a piece wanting in one of the corners,
which tliis remnant wiJI exactly supply.
\LatiJeh Js'umeh.
We remember to have heard a story
of Inclcdon, the once famous vocalits,
that fits an “Affair ol Honor” most capi
tally. Poor Incledon was one of the un
sophisticated, and said and did a great ma
uy things out of sheer simplicity, that bud
been much better left unsaid and undone.
Something of this kind gave offence to a
gentleman with whom luclodon happened
to fall in company, and the offended par
ty resolved upon satisfaction. He sought
out the singer accordingly, and was lucKy
cuough to laid him cdjoying Ins bottle ol
portc one fine afternoon, at a ho
tel. “Mr. Inclcdon,’’ says the waiter, “a
gentleman wishes to see you, sir,”—
“Show him up, then,” says Inclcdon.
“Sir," said the visitor, in a towering pas
sion, “I’m told that you have been making
free with my name in a very improper
manner, and lv’e come to demand satis
faction.” After some parleying, Incledon
rose, put on his hat, and planting himselt
at one side of the room, began w arbling
“Black-eyed Susan, in his most delicious
sty le, \\ hen he had finished, “There,sir,”
said he, -that lias given complete satisfac
tion to thousands, and if you want any
thing more, I’ve only to say you’re the
most unreasonable fellow I ever met
with.”—A*. T. Travel lor.
Privileges oj Sexes in F.uglaud —The
ages of male and female in England are
different for different purposes : A male
may take the oath of allegiance; at four
teen is at years of discretion, and may
consent or disagree to marriage—may
choose his guardian, and if his discretion
be proved, may make a testament of liis
persona! estate ; at seventeen may be an
executor, and at twenty-one is at his own
disposal, and may alien his hands, goods
and chattels. A female at seven years
may be betrothed, or given in marriage at
at nine is entitled to dower ; at twelve is
at years of maturity, and may consent or
disagree to manage; and if proved to have
sufficient discretion, may bequeath her per
sonal estate; at fourteen is al years of le
gal distortion, and may choose a guardian;
at seventeen may be executrix: and at
twenty-one may dispose of hcrsell and
lands.’ So that’full age in male or female,
is twenty one years, who till that time is
stvled an infant in law. Scotland agrees
with England on this point.
