Newspaper Page Text
outward circumstance and inward disposi
tion to induce, or rather to enable it to do
so. So slight a coldness, so small a sneer
is enough to repulse it and shut it up for
a long while to come. These characters
are often boundlessly unjust in their feel
ing towards others, if not in their judgment
about rhem : but it is very difficult for them
to help it. It may be because we are so
very thin-skinned that a touch has wound
ed us; (iut while the wound still smarls
freshly we can scarcely be chidden for
avoiding a repetition of the touch.
I am sorry to record that no further pro
gress was made in the construction of the
gown that morning.
In her evening self-examination. Clara
did not by any means spare her own fee
bleness of purpose. The next day, and the
next, and for many succeeding days, she
renewed her efforts with unflagging vigor.
“ To be practical,” this was the sentence
inscribed upon every thought, and prompt
ing it to immediate action. Very trouble
some she was, there can be no doubt of it,
in the first fever of her undisciplined use
fulness She wore a stern aspect, she
was grievously and unnecessarily punctu
al, painfully energetic, and so abrupt in
some of her resolves that it was more than
ordinary nerves could endure. She would
call in all the bills at unheard of times of
year, to the great discomfiture of trades
men, and introduce an unexpected char
woman to clean the drawing-room, in the
midst of a morning visit. But these nat
ural exaggerations, like the painter’s first
efforts at art, which, if he have true genius,
aie ofien caricatures, overstepping, not
falling short of, the modesty of nature, ex
uberant rather than deficient—gradually
softened down, as a habit grew out of a
succession of impulses. Her many fail
ures became so many lessons to teach gen
tleness; her perseverance was too strenu
ously vigilant of its own defects to degen
erate into obstinacy. She imposed one
law upon herself which she never broke,
and which perhaps more than anything
else tended to her improvement; namely,
that whenever any service, duty, or husi
ness was needful in the family life, which
was of a disagreeable kind, or in any way
repugnant to her own taste, she volun
teered to perform it. She resolutely ig
nored, so to speak, the peculiarities of her
own chaiactf r, doing violence to them with
a promptitude and energy which was the
su'-est test of the reality of her intentions.
No confession of disinclination—no look
of reiuctance appealed to the unselfishness
of those about her ; and it gradually began
to he taken for granted that Clara “didnot
mind” doing a hundred things which she
did cheerfully, but which perhaps she
would have given worlds to avoid. They j
still called her, with good-humored banter-!
ing, the “genius,” the “blue-stocking,”
the “ unpractical lady,” hut somehow or
other they did not act upon the notion
which was too permanently established in
their language to be uprooted.
“News, Clara, news!” cried Julia, as,
squired by Messrs. Archer and Dacre, she
entered the room, full of glee and glowing
w:th the exercise of a country ramble.
Clara looked up ; she was teaching An
nie her lessons, and Annie was wilful, and
by consequence slow to learn, and Clara
had the headache.
“O, we must not disturb Miss Capel,”
said Mr. Archer, with assumed deference ;
“this is one of the awful duties with
which our frivolous conversation must not
interfere for a moment. If we were to be 1
compassing the queen’s death our treason
would not cltecK that running accompani- j
ment, ‘ i, n, in—s, t, r. u, c,sstrut,c —t, i, o. i
n. tion, instruction.’ Have I divided those
syllables correctly, you poor little victim ?”
and he pulled the unreluctant Annie upon
his knee, and began to play with her long
cut!.
“ 1 don't know,” replied Annie ; “ I have
r.ot got into four syllables.”
“ That's a pleasure to come,” answered
her friend ; and opening her writing-book
her volunteered to piovide her next copy,
and solemnly set down in huge text-hand
the words, “ Heaven preserve me from
four syllables.”
Clara laughed ; but it was somewhat
languidly.
“There, there, we will release you this
once, Annie,” said she. “ And pray tell
me your news, for I am all curiosity.”
Her eye wandered to Mr. Dacre and Ju
lia, who were whispering together in the
background: but they did not respond to
the look, and Mr. Archer answered her.
“Mr. Middleton is going to be married.”
Clara was as much excited as any news
teller in the world could wish. Her won
derand interest w ere great. Mr. Middleton
was the vicar of the parish, a sensible,
agreeable, middle-aged man, indefatigable
in his duties, and supposed by all his
friends to he a confirmed old bachelor.—
She inquired eagerly concerning the lady.
“To begin with the most important
part,” said Mr. Archer, “she is very pretty,
and she is twenty-five years younger than
her husband.”
” Have yon seen.her I” exclaimed Clara,
“and what sort of person is she? Will
she make a good clergyman's wife? O!
how anxious the poor will be about her!”
“ She will make a perfect wife,” said
Mr. Archer; “she will always look hand
some and good-humored, she w ill he active
and affectionate, and she wi ! ! never require
the smallest mental exertion on her hus
band's part. It will be a very easy life for
him ; so long as he is satisfied with him
self, he may feel quite sure that she is sat
isfied with him.”
“ Mr. Middleton deserves something
more than that,” observed Clara, w ith qui
et disdain,
“Deserves? Perhaps; but what if he
doesn’t wont it? A hard-working man like
Middleton doesn't want a spur forhis times
of leisure—he wants a pillow ”
“And you think a wife is only meant
, for times of leisure ?” said Clara.
| “And times of sickness,” replied Mr.
Archer: “she may nurse him if he is ill,
and 1 think Mrs. Middleton will make a
very good nurse.”
Clara’s lips cuiled as she asked, “ Will
she be a companion for him 1”
“She is the companion he has chosen,”
answered Mr. Archer, leaning back in his
chair and laughing. “A woman's notion
of a wife is so different from a man’s 1 Let
her be handsome, good-tempered, warm
hearted, and well-principled, and she is a
fit companion for the greatest man that ev
er was horn, always supposing she is de-
vote I to him.”
“Without either refinement or intellect?”
I enquired Clara.
“Certainly without intellect,” replied he;
“intellect in a wife gives one so much
! trouble. It is rather in the way than oth
; erwise. Let her be positively stupid, dull (
! slow of perception, if only she looks hand
some, and flatters one’s vanity, by seeming
I to be fond of one, you will find a clever
tnan talk to her and busy himself about
! her for hours together without being wea
|ry And as to refinement, that may be very
easily dispensed with; one grows accus
j tomed to its absence, and so forgets to miss
J it. After habitual intercourse w ith a mind
[ that is not refined, one’s whole estimate al
; ters, and a mind that is so, seems prudish,
! affected, oppressive to us.”
“Os course you are not in earnest,” said
Clara; “you cannot really mean that the
verj highest anil closest union of which
human creatures are ca(table, should
j hut why do I argue about it ? It is very
absurd.”
“I am not talkingahout theories,” he an
swered, “such as youug ladies cherish in
the deep recesses of their hearts; but about
| pla : n matters-of-fact. It may be very
shocking that it should be thus ; neverthe
less, thus it is, and it is useles to attempt
to conceal it. But I should like very much
j to hear your notion of what a wife ought
j to he, though I think I pretty well know it
I without asking.”
“Tell me, and I will tell you if you are
right,” replied Clara.
Mr. Archer heaved a deejt sigh, cast up
his eyes, and answered in a low, agitated
voice : “ She should live only for him, be his
in every word, thought, and feeling; cling
to him with the most submissive devoted
ness; and have her own way in every
thing.”
Mr. Dacre and Julia, who had joined the
disputants, laughed heartily at thisdefini- j
tion, hut Clara looked cross. “ Aftcrthis,”
observed she, “I can hardly be expected to
state my theory.”
“Oh,” cried Mr. Archer, “I wasn’t talk
ing about theories, but about practice.
Very few people w ould like the look of j
their practice if it was exhibited to them in
the shape of a theory.”
“Clara, how can you look so gvava ?”
exclaimed Julia; “we all know Mr. Ar
cher is not in earnest.”
“ Indeed, I am,” persisted he; “I never
joke. My witticisms are as lame as my
leg. When I introduce Mrs. Archer to
you, you will all discover that my theory, j
at least, suits my practice.”
Six weeks after this conversation, Clata j
and Julia paid their bridal visit at the vi
carage, and were introduced to Mrs. Mid
dleton. She was very pretty, with lively,
open manners, and hut little of the bashful- I
ness which is generally supposed to be in- ;
dispensable to a bride. She made the gills J
feel quite at their ease, walked lound the
grounds with them, to exhibt the improve- 1
ments, and dwelt particularly on threharms !
of a certain new hay-window, which “Mi.
Middleton had built lor her, to her own lit- 1
tie sitting-room.” The apartment in qties- ‘
tion hail been a mere closet, hut was now 1
the prettiest in the vicarage, w ith its deli- 1
cately-tinte l wails and white muslin cur
tains. its flower-strewn carpet, luxurious
couch, and low, embroidered chairs, its
prints, and its hooks, and, above all, itsde- I
licious, half-solitary, half-social w indow, |
with a charming view of lawn, and orna-!
mental flower-baskets, and winding w-alks. j
and cool, shadowy trees in the background.
It looked the very temple of pleasant study, j
dreamy leisure, or intimate camerie.
“What a boudoir!” cried Julia, as thev j
w alked home. “It is perfection. I declare. !
I think 1 could marry Mr. Middleton for
the sake of such a room as that!”
“ And how exactly the lady suits the
room!” rejoined George, who had accom
panied his sisters; “she is much belter
■ looking than 1 expected. She has more el- j
! egance of person, if not of manners, than
1 Mr. Arther led one to imagine. How blue i
j her eyes are ! I do admire blue eyes.”
“Talking of the bride, of course,” said 1
Mr. Dacre, joining himself to the group.
“Yes,” answered Clara; “what do you )
think of her ?”
“ She is exquisite !” exclaimed Mr. Da- 1
1 ere: “and so naive and girlish—she is like
! one of Murillo’s pictures.”
“ She is very pretty and pleasant,” said
[Clara; “hut 1 do wish she had not made I
| Mr. Middleton build that bay-window.”
There was a general outcry, what could i
| she mean ? was it possible she did not ad
mire it ? It was the gieatest improvement
conceivable, &e. &c.
“ Well,” said Clara. “ 1 think it is a great
j improvement in one sense, but not in anoth
er. Mr. Middleton uspil to spend all he
1 could save from his income in charity ; and
I think a clergyman’s wife ought to help
her husband in his self-denials, notencour- 1
age him to relax them.”
“Oh, dreadful! my dear Miss Chapel,” ‘
cried Mr. Dacre ; “ the poor clergyman has
trials enough out of doors. Do, for pity’s
sake! let him find comfort and indulgence
I at home.”
Clara thought it perfectly necessary that
he should do so ; but she did not think that
1 a wife’s devotion to her husband’s comfort
implied the necessity of her leading him in
ID UOSBID ID © 5 WEIEG.I?
to expenses for mere luxuries, and so she
said. She said it, moreover, in a very un
pleasant tone of voice, shortly and sternly,
as if she were sentencing Mrs. Middleton
to the galleys, and feeling that she deserv
ed it.
“My dear Clara,” observed George, “ I
think this is uncommonly like judging
one's neighbors.”
Clara felt rebuked. She was never cross
to anybody except Mr. Archer; so, after
reflecting a moment, she looked up at
George, with a frank, blight smile, and re
plied, ‘ It must be very like indeed, George,
for I suspect it is the thing itself; and as
that is a much worse offence than building
unnecessary bay-windows, I will let poor
Mrs. Middleton alone.”
•• Yes, pray leave her to enjoy her sweet
i little boudoir unmolested,” said Mr. Dacre.
“ AH the bloom and fragrance would be
crushed out of life, if duty held it in so iron
and perpetual a grasp. A woman’s great
est charm, after all, is that she is—a wo
man! and that charm Mrs, Middleton pos
, sesses in the highest degree.”
He turned to Julia as he finished, and the
rest of the walk he spent in wrangling with
j her about the color of her ribbons, and com
j menting upon the curls of her glossy dark
I hair, apparently quite as much to his own
satisfaction as to hers. He followed them
into the house to ask Clara’s opinion upon
a difficult German passage, discussed it with
J her for about a quarter of an hour in a
steady, business-like manner, and then took
his leave.
Shall we admit the reader to another ro
! liloquy of Clara’s as in one of her rare
j half-hours of idleness she stood at the table
J arranging some freshly-gathered flowers to
j decorate her mother's bedroom ? “ Charm!”
she repeated slowly to herself, “that is
j what I have not. Mrs. Middleton is cap
tivating; she may do what she pleases,
J she has the gift, the mysterious, enviable
! gift of winning that interest and admiration
; which are sure to ripen into love. Julia,
j too—it is no matter what she does or says —
I she fascinates by what she is But I—peo
-1 pie esteem me, and make use of me, and
| are very much obliged to me, and value me,
| and so forth; but for me, for my own self,
| they care nothing. It is the book I discuss,
! or the sonata I play, or the service I per
form, about which they think ; the person
j w ho discusses, or plays, or does what they
j w ant, has no interest for them except as a
vehicle. Those whom I best love miss me
in absence because of what I did for them,
j not because of what I was to them. I
J have not the gift—l have no charm.” Poor
■ Clara ! was she not a very women ? lam
ashamed to confess it; hut 1 suspect she
would gladly have changed (daces with Ju
lia at that moment, for the sake of posses
sing Julia's mysterious power of attraction.
1 ain afraid that she would rather have !
been teased about ribbons than consulte 1
about German. Then she resorted to Mrs.
Middleton ami her bay-window, and con
demned herself for censoriousness : but af
ter all could not manage to bring herself
into a right state of feeling about it. Sure
ly it was, without doubt, a deliberate act
of self-in lulgence ; and it was difficult for
‘ Clara to be lenient to deliberate acts of self
[ indulgence in others when they were just
the very thfngs against which shewasma
king so vehement a crusade in herself. It
is so hard to avoid self-consciousness in
the voluntary and independent pursuit of
duty.
Clara went up stairs with her flowers,
hut was stopped in the dressing-room by
little Annie, who came to meet her on tip
toe, and with her finger at her lips. “Mam
ma is asleep,” whispered she; “I have
been sitting to watch her, and she is quite
fast asleep now. 1 gave mamma her din
ner. She said, when you came in, I was
to be sure and tell you that she w antsa new
book from the library, and that there was
rather too muc h salt in the broth. 1 was
to tell you —not Julia, because Julia never
remembeis. I have been hemming a pock
et handkerchief for mamma. O, Clara,
how happy it is to be useful
The little girl’s face was radiant with in
nocent pride and glee: and she looked up
into her sister's eyes for approval and sym
pathy. “Do you think,” asked she, “when
I grow up, I can ever be as useful as you
are ?” Clara kissed her, without speaking:
and they went out together to procure the
new book for Mrs. Chapel. It was quite
an expedition for Annie to gti to the libra
ry, and she was in the highest exultation.
As they passed through the garden, they
came upon a most busy and tumultuous
scene; the next day was Mr. Chapel's
birthday, and the children were to surprise
him w ith a feast in the summer-house. Em
ily and the boys had just completed their
preparations, wreathing the pillars and ped
iment with green leaves, and bringing their
choicest geraniums to stand on either side
of the entrance; they were contemplating
their finished work with the highest sat
isfaction.
Poor Annie! She was to have helped in
the arrangements, but she had been forgot
ten. True,they had called her,but shedidnot
answer, for she was in hei mother's room;
so they went merrily to work, and never
thought of her again. She stoo I still, tears
of anger and grief gathering in her eyes.
Some slight sense of wrong they had cer
tainly, hut after once saying they were sor
ry, and it was a pity, they went back to
their chaplets, quite at ease, Emily expres
sing a consolatory hope that she “wouldn't
ihe such a baby as to cry about it.” Poor
’ Annie! She had not even been missed,and
’ the gathered tears began to fall.
“Stay, and help them, darling,” said
; the sympathizing Clara ; “you may fetch
the pink gladioles from my garden—and
hark! don’t say anything about it, but 1
will send for a parcel from the town, of
something good for the feast!”
0. how quickly the tears changed into
sparkling smiles! O, how eagerly the little
laborer hurried to her welcome toil! no
sense of slight or sorrow remaining, work-
ing with all her might among the oiherst
overflowing with gratitude and happiness.
And as Clara went forth on her solitary
walk, her conscience said to her, “The
kingdom of heaven is of little children.”
[Cu .c ndod n xt week ]
If 111 1U !>&&!&¥*
, ■
~'.c ~ 1
A BULL-BAIT.
Four o’clock in the afternoon being the
hour of commencement, for many hours
before this time the populace were throng
ing along the line ol the Alamhla del Achcv
and making their way to the scene i fattrac
tion. Under the trees of this line promen
ade, the Indian female venders of “chica,”
•‘pisco”i(the native brandy,) and picantc.
hail spreal their tables, and placed their
jars for the temptation of the passers by.
At two in the afternoon a very goo! vol
i unteer military company and band of mu
sic were m the march tothe amphitheatre,
1 and I mingled with the crowd accompany
ing them. The vast amphitheatre wassoon
animated and filled to overflowing wdth a
living mass ot both sexes, and of all ranks,
colors, and ages. Soldiers, Indians, and
negroes, with ail the c onstituents of a mot
ley mob, occupied the open benches, and
the boxes weie brilliant w ith the bright
-colored shawls of the saya-amanto-dis
; guised females and with the glittering uni
forms of military officers.
The impatience of the multitude for the
commencement of the exciting exhibition
was somewhat kept in ckeck by the per
formance of some admirable evolutions by
the volunteer company. These over, prep
arations commenced for the more import
ant event of the day.
Twelve men entered the arena; six on
horseback, and six on foot. Part of those
on foot held short implements in their hands
j shaped something like a bricklayer's trow -
el ; others being armed with straight
! swords. Those on horseback had long
j spears in their hands, and all had crimson
j shawls or cloaks on their left arms. The
figure of the English cottager being placed
\ in the arena, these persons, of which each
j class has a technical name, drew off to one
side of the ring, with the exception of a
j single horseman, who stationed himself at
the mouth of the entrance, to receive ihe
bull at his onset. All was now ready,
and the murmuring noise of the assembled
i multitude was hushed into the silence of
momentary expectation ; a rocket whizzed
! through the air—the gate flew open, and
j the bull, wild with fury, into which he
| had been goaded, rushed into the arena.—
He rushed immediately upon the horseman,
who sprang off at full speed around the en
closure ; the bull following in mad pursuit,
and keeping close upon the flank of the
horse. The ruler let flj his red cloak, and
j streamed it through the air before the bull's
| eyes’ who plunge 1 his horns again and a
-1 gain at the deceptive obstacle. At length
! he paused, in disappointment; and now the
other men and horsemen rushed at him in
a body, irritating him by loud cries, and
flaunting the crimson cloaks in his face.
Amid clouds of dust, and the shouts of the
J assembled arid exciting multitude, he rush
:ed upon first one and then another of his
j tormentors. Os the men on foot, one
would stand and wait firmly as the bull
(•came rushing upon him. and, as he bowe l
! his head to gore him, would spring nimbly
aside and receive the thrust upon the crim
son shawl Another, flying, would con
duct the pursuing animal to the central en
closure, when the man, gliding between
the posts, and turning quickly, as the hull
dashed his heal against the enclosure,
thrust sharpened iron spikes into his shoul
ders, and left fhem sticking there.
Turning in pain and wild rage from
these persecutors, the bull came suddenly
upon one of the men advancing towards
him. The man had not time to pre
pare to receive him, and turned to fly :
he w’as some distance from shelter, and as
the bull gained upon him the spectators
gloried in the excitement of this pursuit,
and loud cries of “Hurrah for the bull!”
I.• Hurrah for the bull!” showed which had
! their sympathies. The bull rapidly earn
ed upon his flying enemy, and, as he low
ered his horns for a loss, the man leaped
over the barrier and among the spectators,
much to the disappointment of all,who ex
pected a more thrilling termination to the
race. The paper figure now attracted his
fury, and with one plunge he demolished
it; but found his head and face in the
midst of the fire and noise of exploding
trackers.
Having been vexed, worried, and goaded
; in this manner sufficiently long, one of the
! horseman, to whom was assigned the task
of dispatching him, approached for that
purpose. The bull rushed upon the horse's
fore shoulder, and nearly overturned him,
but the rider wheeled ami returned to the
encounter. This time the bull thrust his
horns under the shoulder and breast of the
horse, and, with a to>s, slightly raised his
fore legs from the ground, and, as the bull
uirned from the altack, the legs of the
horse were seen crimsoned with his own
J blood. A third time, and more successful
ly, they came upon the devoted hull, anil,
as he lowered his head to meet the assault,
the horseman plunged the spenr deep into
the neck at the junction of the head. He
sank to the ground, and instantly,
“ Without a; o:m, without a struggle, dies.”
The drums now rolled, and the breath-
lessness of hushed excitement broke into
the confused murmur of many voices.
Four horses, harnessed to an axle on
low wheels, were now brought in, and the
dead bull's head being lashed to the axle,
they hounded out of the ring a! full speed.
The next bull was to be killed by one of
the men on foot, with swords. The Eng
lish dandy figure took the place of that of
the peasant-grl! another rocket flew
through the air, and the enrage I animal
dashed into the ring. Having gone the
same round ol worrying, had p kes thrust
into him, and fire arms exploded about him
his antagonist, when the animal was in
his wildest fury, advanced to the encoun
ter of life and death. The bull having
discovered him, came upon him with des
perate rapidity, but the man stood immove
ably upright to receive tire attack, and, as
the bull bowed his head for the plunge,
which it appeared must toss the man into’
the air, at this critical moment, the “ ma'.a- ‘
dor” thrust forward the red cloak on his!
left arm, and uncovered the naked sword I
in his light hand ; the next moment it is
buried to the hilt in the chest of the ani
mal. The “matador” stepped hack, the!
poor brute ‘urned his head up, with his j
eyes fixed upon the gay boxes, in a look
of deep agony; a crimson column spouted
from his mouth, his head dropped, and he
fell lifeless to the ground. —From Wood's
“Sketches of South America.” Ifc.
i this Aiidfosjia,
I
qxbw J?
PRINTERS AND PRINTING.
J. T. Buckingham, Esq., in his series
of reminiscences, in course of publication
in the Boston Courier , speaks of the im
portance of the printer to the author, as
follows :
“ Many who condescend to illuminate
the dark world with the fire of their gen
ius, through the columns of a newspaper
little think of the lot of the printer, win .
almost suffocated by the smoke of a lamp,
sits up till midnight to correct his false
grammar, bad orthography, and worse
punctuation. 1 have seen the arguments
of lawyers, in high repute as scholars, sent
to the primer in their own hand writing—
many words —and especially technical and
foreign terms —abbreviated, misspelled, and
entirely out of place. I have seen the ser
mons of eminent ‘ divines'sent to the press
without points or capitals to designate the
division of sentences; sermons, which if
published with the imperfections of the
manuscript, would disgrace the printer’s
devil if he were the author. Suppose they
had been so printed. The printer would
have been treated with scorn and contempt
as an illitterate blockheal—as a fellow
better fitted to be a wood-sawyer than a
printer. Nobody would have believe 1 that
such gross and palpable faults were ow
ing to the ignorance or carelessness of the
author. And no one but the practical
printer knows how many hours a compos
itor, an I after him a proof-reader, is com
pelled to spend in reducing to a readable
condition, manuscripts that the writers
themselves would be puzzled to read.”
THE CONQUEROR AND PRINTER.
“When Tamerlane had finished build
ing his pyramid of seventy thousand hu
man skulls, and was seen standidg at the
gate of Damascus, glittering with steel,
with his battle-axe on his shoulder, till
he might leal his fierce hosts to new vic
tories and carnage, that pale looker-on
might have fancied that nature was in her
death throes—for havoc and despair ha I
taken posses ion of the earth, and the sun
of manhoo 1 seemed setting in the scat of
blood. Yet it might he on that very gala
day of Tamerlane, a little boy was play
ing nine pins in the streets of Mentz,
whose history was n ore important to them
ihan twenty Tamerlanes. The. Tartar Khan
with his shaggy demons of the wilderness,
passed away like the whirlwind to be for
gotten forever—and that German artizan
has wrought a benefit, which is yet im
measurably expanding through all coun
tries and all time. What are the conquests
and expeditious of the whole corporations
of captains from Walter the Penniless, to
Napoleon Bonaparte, compared with the
moveable types of Johannes Faust!
MECHANIC’S WIVES.
Speaking of the middle ranks of life, a
j good writer observes : “ There we behold
j woman in her glory ; not a doll to carry
! silk and jewels ; not a puppet to be flatter
| ed by profane adoration, reverenced to day
and discarded to-morrow; always jostled
| out of the place which nature and society
{ would assign her, by sensuality or by
I contempt, admired but not respected; de
j sired but not esteemed ; ruled by passion,
j not affection ; imparting her weakness, not
j her constancy, to the sex she could exalt;
| the source and mirror of vanity:—we see
her a wife, partaking the care and cheer
ing the anxiety of a husband, dividing his
toils by her domestic diligence, spreading
i cheerfulness around her, for his sake sha
| ring the decent refinements of the world,
[ without being vain of them, placingall the
joys and happiness in the man she loves.
Asa mother we find her the affectionate
and ardent instructress of the children
whom she has tended from their infancy,
training them to thought and benevolence:
addressing them as rational beings; prepa
ring them to become men and women in
their turn. Mechanics’ daughters make
the best wives in the world.”
-/as sHjjinDsaaif.
i
ANECDOTE OF LORENZO DOW.
Dow was very exactin the appointments
he made to preach, and sometimesairanged
them a long way ahead. He once preach
ed near one of the small towns of Upper
Georgia, and told his congregation on that
day one year he would preach to them a
gain!
The nextseason, one Saturday afternoon,
proceeding the Sabbath of the appointed
time, the old man was jogging along the
main road in the direction of his congrega
tion. He noticed before him a stout little
negro boy, of peculiar active step and man
ner, who carried in his hand a small tin
horn, such as are used to call people to
their meals.
The custom among many in the South
allows married men to go to their wives’
houses, and children to visit their parents
on Saturday evening, to stay with them on
Sunday, and as the negroes are musically
inclined, they carry a fife, or a horn, or a
banjo, to give notice of their approach, and
to beguile the way. In other cases they
whistle, sing or shout. A healthy, cheer
ful negro of honest intentions, uses some
means of association, even if he is obliged
to talk to himself.
Dow, according to his usual manner, en
tered into conversation with the boy, and
found he was about to visit the congrega
tion he had appointed to meet. If the truth
must be told, Lorenzo had an idea that the
character of his Hock was that of a reck
less, frolicksome, kind of careless people, u
pon whom it was necessary tomakcavery
decided impression, or his time would be
thrown away among them.
“ What is your name, my lad !” asked
Dow.
“Gabriel, sir,” replied the boy, lifting a
new straw hat, and showing his ivory,
while he actively stepped along to keep
pace with the preacher’s horse.
“ Can you blow that horn !”
“Oh, yes, master, I can toot a little.”
“ Well, let me hear you.”
So the negro inflated his velvet cheeks
and ma le the woods resound.
“ Do you know a tall pine tree near the j
stand at Sharon !” said Dow.
“ Yes, that I does, very well master.”
Lorenzo then put his hau l in his pock-!
el, and pulling out a silver dollar, showed !
it to the boy, and told him if he would \
climb up in the pine tree before the people
met at the meeting, and keep quiet there un
til the preacher called out his name, and ‘
then blow loudly on his horn, as he had |
j ist done, he would give him the silver dol- i
lar, il he did not tell any body about it. |
The negro expressed himself highly de-1
lighted at such an offer, and promised punc
tuality with secresy.
On the Sabbath, a large meeting assem
bled at Sharon to hear the famous Lorenzo
Dow. Serious old men and their wives,
wild boys and their sweethearts, almost all
on horseback, sometimes by twos and threes,
besides negroes from a great distance, on
foot, being readily captivated by’ the nat
urally eccentric, for they love anything that
has a laugh attached to it for they knew
that Lorenzo was good for a joke, even if
he did hit hard. Dow selected rather a brim
stone text, and male the application as
strong as possible, but he forced his way
slowly among the mercurial, healthful, hon
est heai ted people, who were hard to fright- j
en.—He enumerated the enormity of the
vices he thought to prevail, hut they were
so used to them that the words slid over [
them like water over a duck’s back. At!
length heholdlydescribed intheca'mest kind j
of language, the appearance and character 1
of ‘the last great day,’ and what would he |
their condition when that day came. “Sup
pose,” exclaimed the preacher suddenly, j
and then paused—“that this were the day'.’’ !
he saw some of the women became a little
fi Igety, and nodged the fellows into silence |
and attention. “Suppose,” repeated he,!
elevating his voice, “that this day Gabriel !
should blow his trump!”
At this moment the little negro showed
he was “trump,” and from the top of the
lofty pine a loud and clamorous blast over
whelmned the audience. The women I
shrieked, the men rose in great surprise,'he !
horses, tied round the camp, neighed, rear-1
ed and kicked, while the terrified negroes j
changed their complexion to a dull purple
color. Never was alarm, surprise and as- i
tonishment, more promptly exhibited
Lorenzo Dow looked with grave but
pleased attention upon the successful result i
of his experiment, until the firstclamorhad
subsided and some began to estimate the
character of the artificial angel, and were
about to apply a little hickory after the
pine ! But this suggestion was arrested by
the loud and solemn tones of the preacher,
who, looking very firmly into the faces of
his disturbed audience, as he leaned over
them tocontiline his discourse impressively
remarked—“And now, if a little negro hoy,
with a tin horn, on the top of a pine bush
can make you feel so, how will you feel
when the day does come'!”— Spirit of the
Tunes.
When will water stop running
downhill! When it gets to the bottom.
TAKING A LESSON.
Waiting in a friend’s library the other
i day for the servant to announce our pres
ence, we were much amused on over-he ar .
ing the following in an adjoining room:
“Vot note you call dat! Eh!”
“ Minim.”
“ Mee-num; very good. Now vat you
’ call him vit de black face !”
“Crotchet.”
“Cro-shay; ah! ties bien. Now vat
you call him vit de tail!”
“ Quaver.”
“Quee-vre; aha! Now, ma-dame, y ou
see de mee-num, go twice as sass as de
semi-brave, de cro-shay as de mee-num, de
qOee-vre as de cro-shay, and sofort. Now t
vot you call him ?”
“Those are semi-quavers, tied.”
“Aha! Now him!”
“ Demi-semi-quavers, tied.”
“An him !”
“ Hemi-demi-semi-quavers.”
“Oui. Now, ma-dame, you see if you’
tie de cro-shay, he will go twice as sass as
himself. You see ! He is de quee-vre. If
you tie him leetle more, den he viII go more
sass as de quee-vre; he is de sema-quee
vre. If you tie him once, twice, tree toims
more—vy de more you tie him, de fasser
he will go. Bime by he vill kick de sema
quee-vre to de debble, he vill go so sass!
Eh ! lou see !”
ftS"’ “Good morning,” said atravellerto
a Sand ridge cropper.
“Woho ! snap ! Good morning your*
! self, sir!”
“ Your corn is rather small for the sea
son.”
“ Yes sir; but we planted small corn.”
“ It looks rather yellow, too, to be in
good condition,” quoth the stranger.
“ Yes sir; but we planted yellow corn.’’
“I don't think you will make more than
half a crop.”
“ 1 don’t want any more, sir, for we
planted upon shares.”
A person in Owestry, impertinent
ly aco.sted oneofthe late Bishops of Asaph,
in the churchyard there, as his lordship
was taking a walk after the confirmation,
as follows: “My Lord, does the devil
wear a wig like you, or is he bare-head
el !” Wait awhile, my mail,” said the
prelate, “and you'll see.”
52 jh I A j'j n§ ♦
To preserve the quiet of his mind,
and that noble pride which supports his
destination, man was deprived of the sight
of more exalted beings, for probably an ac
quaintance with these would lead him to
despise himself; man, therefore, wasnotto
look into a future state, but merely to be
lieve in it.— Herder.
A little boy hearing his father sav
that “there is a time for all tilings,” climbed
up behind his mother's chair, and, whisper
ing in her ear, asked when was the proper
time for hooking sugar out of the sugar
i bowl.
JS*y“ It is ingeniously confessed in the
life of Hobbes, that for a man who lived so
long, his reading was inconsiderable. Nay,
he used to say, that if he had bestowed as
much time on reading as other men of let
ters, he should have been as ignorant as
they.
Before leaving Troy, King Mene
laus offered his daughter as a victim to the
go Is, in order to win propitious breezes for
the home voyage. We are reminded ot
this in modern society, when we hear of
some match-making parent, sacrificing his
daughter to “raise the wind.”
fe?” The town of Amity, Ohio, has on
ly seven inhabitants.— Chronotype.
It's a great pity that a larger number of
people cannot live in Amity. — Mail.
Sktf* Over caution and over preparation’
sometimes defeat their own end. Wash
ington Irving tells us of a Dutchman, who,
having to leap a ditch, went back three
miles, that he might have a good run at it,
and found himslf so completely winded,
when he arrived at it again, that he was
obliged to sit down on the wrong side to.
recover his breath.
BfcSF” When is a frog monatch of the ra
vens! When he’s a croaking, ( crow king )
Si 3s“ Why are smart clerks like a per
son's lingers! They are always on hand.
CfiiF” The Berkshire Chronicle states that
in some circulars sent round by the Bishop
of Oxford, to different parishes, was this in
quiry : “Docs your officiating clergyman
preach the gospel, and are his conversation
and carriage consistent therewith!” To
which a church-warden, about four miles
j from Wallingford, wrote in answer: “He
preaches the gospel, but does not keep a
carriage.”
Franklin is reported to have saidi■
in answer to a question put to him on the
discovery of “aerostation,” or balloon a* -
cents, “ What is its use!” “Os what use
is the newly-born infant!”
“ I shall be at home next Sunday,’
a young lady remarked as she followed
her beau to the door, who seemed to be
somewhat wavering in his attachment
“ So shall I,” was the reply.
Good nature like a bee, colled*
honey from every herb. 111-nature, like 3
spider, sucks poison from the sweetest
flower.
fifay- How,” said a Judge in Misso ttr ’
to a witness on the stand, “how do ) (111
know the plaintiff was intoxicated on the
evening refered to!”
“ Because I saw him a few minutes a
ter the muss, trying to puH off his tro* ers
with a boot-jack !”
Verdict for a defendant. See Blackstonfc
—page 37, vs, Gin and Sugar.
A law student, who is prepays
for his examination, has discovered t *
the only way to avoid being hauled 0T p J
the coals is to stick to Coke.