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About Richards' weekly gazette. (Athens, Ga.) 1849-1850 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 10, 1849)
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.
