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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.