Newspaper Page Text
The State Press.
From the Mobile Tribune.
FASHION AND FOLLY.
This is an age of wonders rare,
Os vice and folly too;
Os notions that to me seem queer,.
Os sights strange to view.
And yet of all the silly things,
Os this most silly age.
Are those strange robes that fathlon flings
O'er fop and fool and sage.
There's one who sports a Shanghai coat,
That hangs below his knees;
With whiskers like a Billy Goat.
A fit resort for fleas,
lie struts and swells in bloated pride,
And thinks, tcAo but me!"
And act* a* though the world beside,
Contained no Ape but he.
And here’s another meets the view,
Os ratlicr doubtful gender;
lie wears a shawl, as ladies do,
Around his waist so slender.
What species of the race is he?
Pray tell me if you can I
Sure, such a looking thing can't be
One hundredth part a man.
And there's the parson richly dressed
In latent “cwf and feather
With silk and satin colored vest
An<l boots of patent leather.
His diekey in as stiff and high.
(Without one mote or speck,)
lie fears to turn his venal eye.
Least he should break his neck.
On Sunday morn he struts the aisle
Os God’s pure house of prayer;
But thinks more of some fair one's smile,
Than yon poor mourner’s tear.
He read* a lengthy sermon o’er,
In cold and measured tone,
Preached by some taint in days of yore.
Which now he culls his own.
And there's the maid, so blithe and gay,
With nicely padded breast;
Who thinks the men who gaze, will say,
“ See what a glorious cheat!”
From her small waist a hoop hangs down.
E'en to her little feet;
And thus equipped, she gads the town.
A most egregious cheat.
Others again, whose snowy breasts
In native fullness swell.
So fearful that no eye may rest,
Where these sweet hillocks dwell,
Must wear their dresses hanging low
Adown their shoulders bare,
That every man who looks may know
There is no cotton there.
And there's the little artful girl,
So innocent withal,
She, too, must enter Fashion's whirl,
And dance at route ami ball.
With arms around her mother's prest,
She cries and pleads and begs,
That, as big sister shows her breast.
She ought to show her legs.
And thus it is; foul Fashion's reign
Has cursed this broad, green earth ;
Nor modesty be deemed again,
The gem of female worth.
Where can the Christian's hope now rest.
While Fashion pleads and begs.
For maidens to expose their breasts,
And little girls their legs?
Mobile, August, 1857.
NOTHING TO DRINK.
The thirstiest mortal that over was seen
When he lived in his own native island so green,
AVas Paddy O’Frisky, of Badyporeen :
He loved his brandy and rum. and Irish poteen.
Which bad never paid duty or tax to the Queen :
And when he crossed over the ocean so blue,
What could be expected for Paddy to do,
As the (K ean was blue, but to get very blue too;
What a pity it was, but it's not the less true.
After drinking at least half a gallon of grog.
Very drunk on the floor lay Padd\ like a log.
Where he slept like a post and snored like a hog:
He waked up as thirsty and dry us dog;
The sailors, sad scamps, gave each other the
wink,
Not a drop would they give poor Paddy to
drink;
Says Paddy, you're worse than the Haythens,
1 think,
"When I'm dying wid thirst to give Nothing to
Drink;
Pray have you no water, or coffee, ortay,
T*o give a poor fellow here on the salt say,
Who's had nothing to drink the whole blessed
day (
Nothing to drink, ye nagiirs, I say!
Nothing to drink, when me throat is as dry
As powdher or dust —1 tell you no lie!
0, ye hard-hearted villains, some wather I cry.
Pray give me some drink, or surely I'll die.
Nothing to drink would they give Paddy O -
Frisky—
Neither water nor rum, nor brandy nor whiskey. ‘
But they dipped up some crine from out the 1 (
salt say,
And they gave it to Paddy as thirsty he lay.
The wind now arose am! the sky appeared low
ering. 1 ,
And soon in a torrent the rain began pouring; |
Paddy lay on the deck and his clothes were so ,
thin,
That soon, very soon, he was wet to the skin.
Being wet to the skin, he no longer was dry ; j
With no drop in his throat, tho'he'd one in hi- (
eye, '
Cries Paddy, “Hoorn, good luck and ohone, ]
Ye blackguards and nagurs, me thirst is all • ’
g‘me, t
5 e may go to the Divil, where ye'll soon go, 1 i
think, ; h
And the Divil a dhrop will ye get there to j
dhrink!”
COURTING t
u I don't sec why people cannot do their )
courting by daylight, and thereby save an ex t
tra of lights, fuel and forenoon naps."—A break- 1
fast table remark. >
Whew ! preach that doctrine until your »
head is gray and you are as toothless ns a new- <
corn babe, and still young folks will “set up"
until the stars grow tired of watching, and the 1
rooster begins to crow !
There is a sort of fascination in it. a positive I i
denial to the contrary notwithstanding. An i
indescribable, undeniable great charm in being 1
the sole occupants of a front parlor, with noth
wg to molest or make afraid, the sofa drawn
up before the shining grate, and the lamp reg
ulated to a steady blaze, that will not eclipse
the brightness of eyes, or make particularly
pleasing in hearing the last pair of household i
feet take a bee line departure for the upper
chambers, and feeling that the every swinging 1
parlor door will remain closed until one oi the i
party concerned choose to open it.
Talk of courting by daylight! Think of i
laming one's arm by quick hasty withdrawals
from around a certain waist at the ringing of i
the bell, or seethe puff combs ami curls fly in i
every direction, by a sound of coming foot i
htvp.*. Imagine proud lover at the feet of lair i
Ady, putting forth an eloquent, long avowal. :
with extraordinary expressions flitting over 1
his face; and at the same moment a puzzled i
little countenance peering through the folding i
doors, wondering what makes .Mr. M. “ pray <•
with his eye® wide open!” Or, more disagree- <
able still, to have mama open the door, with 1
out the prelude of a rap. of course. ju*t at riie •
moment you have ventured to test the temper- i
oture and sweetness of the daughter's lips.
And then what time in the day could one t
take? Not in the forenoon. certainly. when 1
music teachers and fashionable callers are in t
vogue; not in the afternoon, when one's *cn>v- t i
are stupefied by the eating of a hearty dinner: t
not on Sundays, when everybody is expected (
to go to church, with pantomimic gestures that I
set the occupants of the neighboring pews a t
staring. No! there is but one time, and that i
the veritabh season set in old primitive days— i
a time and s *nson for courting. An hour when *■
you can pin? h Susie’s fingers to make her tell I
who she loves best: look in Susie's hand to
see what letter of the alphabet is formed by
the lines therein ; kiss her when you phase;
hug when yon please, and all this when the
old folks are sleeping, when the sound of foot
steps are scattering in the. streets, and there is
no one on earth so near little Susie as yourself.
Them's utn!
From the t’nssvillc Standard.
OLD JACK BEASELY THE IRISH AND CATS.
Some years ago there lived in the State of
Georgia, a peculiar, strange old man. whose
name is not essential, but xs bom we will call
Beasely. In stature he measured full sixteen
feet, rawboned, large hands and long feet.
Old Jack Beasely was anything but a fool, and
had an uncommon ta< t in adapting himself to
circumstances; and when in a strait, to devise
expedients for his own or other's deliverance.
Old Jack, by the way, was a considerable fid
dler; which art he had learned under the old
‘constitution,’ ami consisted mainly in mechan
ical evolutions, with now and then an extra
touch of the finger, making a grand ar pig-gi
o-e.
His main sport was in Ullin yarns ami ex
citing the risibles of all that come within his
hearing. On a certain occasion, while on a
visit to an obi acquaintance in the city of
P . Old Jack was fortunate in that he
gave rise to an excitement that will not be
soon forgotten by the inhabitants of P .
Old Jack was ever on the qui vive for an ad
venture*. During his sojourn in P .he
was lucky to form many acquaintances, ami to
their delight and his flattered vanity, spent
many hours in mirth and hilarity. Having a
pem hant for excitement, ami an um onqm ra
ble ambition for the adulation of others, Ohl
Jack was reluctant to take his leave before
making a more decided impression of his gen
ius, a< a theme for future gos>ip. About the
time of which we write, there were a number
i of Irish employed in ami about the city of P.
Iby the government. These sons of Erin were
wont to rendezvous every afternoon, at a ccr
tain corner of the street, where ‘pop-skull or
rot-gut’ whiskey was dealt out by the gill, by
virtue of a license from the Legislature; to
which ploce Old Jack x\ as by no means averse,
and there spent most of his time. The liquor
vender becoming tired of the tumult of the
Irish, had more than once refused them any
more drink ; and had even threatened to thru 4
them out if they did not leave immediately.
Old Jack, meantime being a looker on, de
termined to relieve the liquor seller, turning his
deliverance into sport for the city, at the ex
pense of the Irish. With a significant nod of
i the head, he gets the proprietor aside and
! gravely informs him that to get rid of these
I troublesome fellows, was an easy task, and by
| his permission he would promise to clear the
’ room in less than fifteen minutes. The liquor
seller gladly acceded, and with some degree of
curiosity, watched the modus operandi. Old
Jack turning to the crowd made a short speech,
in which he informed them that he too was of
| Irish descent, and always had a fraternal fecl-
• ing towards any of the flock,' wherever he
i might meet them. In order further to ingrati-
ate himself and get full control over their minds
and bodies, he expressed a desire to give them
mutual aid when it was within his power, lie
then informed them that he was acting under
commission from a large firm in the North, to
buy np all the cats in the southern country,
and as they might avail themselvos of the op
portunity. he would agree to postpone his de
parture until ten o'clock the next day. And
the unanimous cry was “and how much will
ye give a pair—and how many will ye ha?”
! To this (fid Jack answered fifty cents for
j grown, twenty-live cents tor half grown, ami
; ten cents f<»r kittens, each ; ami as many as
; you can collect by the time allowed. But a
few minutes and the room was clear sure
i enough. So. having redeemed his promise to
• thi liquor seller, he now found it necessary to
| look about in order to meet the approaching
! crisis, (fid Jack's fertile genius was not long
maturing a plan that would extricate him from
pecuniary loss, even should it involve others in
i trouble. After digesting his plans, he sets out
; to apprize the inhabitants of the city of what
was brewing, and to have all prepared to par
ticipate in the jollification consequent upon the
, hoaxed lri>h. With other arrangements, he
j had old goods boxes collected at the most
I prominent spot in the city, where he proposed
to secure his property. He also notified every
little boy, darkey, and man who came along,
and at a certain signal the lids of the boxes
were to be removed ami the dogs let loose.
About nine <fdock next morning, could be
seen, coming in every direction, the Irish;
some with baskets, some with sacks, while
some were on foot and others astride of an old
mule or an ox. Such was the rumbling ami
tumbling within the sacks that they remimlcd
one of Etna or Vesuvius in miniature. But
still the cry was, they come! At length Old
Jack announced the hour to have arrived, and
that al! those having charge of cats must go to
marking them by two round holes in each car.
and the tail severed dose to the body ; this, he
stated, was a strict law. and unless they each
complied, they would tbrfeit their pay. The
condition being new. they were not prepared
with knives sufliciently sharp, and the time be
ing so short, they were compelled to pitch in
with dull barlows, chicken callers, Ac. Now
the tumult, confusion, the battle that ensued is
far better imagined than discribed. The Irish
were determined to realize the dimes, and con
sequently gathered up nearly all the cats for
several miles around, amounting to near four
hundred. After their marking was over, the
operators themselves presented no beautiful
spectacle, as many a face ami hand ha«l been
lacerated and the blood spilt to profusion.
Now it would setm that the scene was over,
the money must be forthcoming. Old Jack,
however, thought otherwise. The cats all
safely lodged in barrels and boxes, the an
nouncement was made for ow’iicrs of cats to
meet at the grocery and there receive a treat
from Col. Beasely. No sooner said than off
they go. Old Jack leading. The instructions
given to certain initiated ones wa- whenever
they heard Old Jack play on the violin “St.
Patrick's day in the imu ning," they mu>t then
remove tho lids ami let loose the dog-. Old
Jack treated to a.gallon, and alter all h id in
dulged in pretty heavy jiotations, the fiddle
was called for and Ohl Jack was put to Lis
trade, viz; fiddling, singing and stamping, by
way of beating time. The excitement of spir
it and music had, for a time driven from their
minds all thought of cats, and they now tried
their gifts at wielding “the light fantastic toe,'*
but this didn't seem to suit so well, and they
struck up the ‘double shuffle.' byway of keep
ing time to Fisher's hornpipe. But amidst this
bachanalion hubbub, a cry was heard. ‘Col.
Beasely, let us hq St. Patricks day in the
morning.' so Old Jack suited the time to tin ir
wishes, ami then for another Babel. But t|las!
the poor Irish only asked for what too soon
proved a prelude to their blighted hones. Ere
they had enjoyed the soothing sound of notes
that transported back to the ould couathry. the
work was done, the tocsin was sounded, and
now for a spectacle! The cats were out. ami
the <Jog> were pitching in, and thus commenced
the grand melee. But ere the Irish could gain
the spot a general stampv<le eir-uvl. here a cat
am! there a kitten—here a dog bounding and
bow-wowing—now shaking a cat, and then
upon his fellow dog. while kittens were mew
ing. ami cats are squalling and whining—boys
arc running to and fro. ladies waiving handker
chiefs from windows and balconies—a general
huzzah for the cat-man. deafens the city. But
the result! Where are the cats? Look ye
upon the branches of every shade tree, tops ot
sheds, in every nook ami corner, even down to
the wharf and upon mod pole high. Such was
the excitement, consternation and uproar in
the city of P.. oc<-a-ioned by the inventive gen
ius of Old Jack Beasely. For this demonstra
tion in- has ev*r -ince been known in Southern
Georgia, by the aohrequet. “the cat num.'*
But the poor Irish, what part did they a<-t in
the meantime ? So «oon as one voice could be
distinguished from another they gruffly de
manded their pay ; when < >ld -lack with perfect
sangfroid replied, “My beloved countrymen;
I am truly >orry tor this your calamity, ami i
> you must accept my condolence and heartfelt
sympathy’ for your loss. Ilad I have settled
for the cats they would have been my property,
• ami whatever might have occurred to scatter
or destroy them. I should have borne with the
} courage of a soldier ami the fortitude of a Chris
tian. but as the case now stands, 'tis not my
fault, but your mi fortune.” To all this the
sons of Erin gnashed their teeth, imprecated
vengeance upon all the dogs and their masters
included, with a low scurrilous anathema upon
the ‘head of their new kinsman. Old Jack
' having finished his work now essayed to leave
' the city, and make his way back to the “hill
' country.” But no, this could not be, this
1 strange man must be scrutinized—honored
with the best the wealth and hospitality of the
city could bestow. So Old Jack was detained
' for days, invited to the mansion of the still’
aristocrat and made to drink sangareo with
the accomplished and refined of the city.
The terrified cats having been scattered in
every part of the city, >o<»n became a nuisance,
ami the p'/lice were obliged to order out a com
pany <»f riflemen to exterminate them, before
peace and quiet could be restored. Such is a
faint description of one of Old Jack Beascly's
sui generous feats, to which several more could
beadded. ONE WHO KNOWS.
--
THSII.!.T?IG ADVENTURE.
We question whether in the history of‘hair
breadth' escapes, a imrallel to the following
can easily be found. The story was told us by
an old ami valued friend, whose early day
were spent near the scene of the tragic adven
ture here recorded :
It was about the year 1705 that I settled in
Virginia, near the fall of the Kanawha. The
I country at that time was an unbroken wilder
ness. But few settlements had been made then
by the whites, and they wire so far apart as
to render vain all hopt -of assistance in < ase of
an attack from hostile Indians—numbers of
whom still infested the neighborhood.
I lived then alone with my wife for several
months unmolested, and by dint of persever
ance, bcingthen young and hardy, had succeed
ed in making quite a large • louring in the for
( est, which I had planted with corn and which
promised an abundant yield.
One morning, after we had despatched our
humble meal, and 1 had just prepared to ven
ture forth upon my regular routine of labor,
my attention was arrested by the tinkling of a
cow-bell in the corn field.
“There,” said my wife, “the cow is in the
. corn-field.”
But the ear of the back-woodsman becomes
[• by education, very acute, especially so from the
i fact that his safety often <lepond> upon the nice
cultivation of that sense. 4t was not so easily
deceived. I listened —the sound was repeated.
“That.,'’ said 1. in reply to the remark of my
wife, “was not the tinkle of a boll upon the
p neck of a cow. It is a decoy from some In-
I dian who desires to draw me into an ambush.'’
Believing this t » be the case, I took down
j. my old musket, (I had no rifle) ami seeing that
it was properly loaded, 1 stole cautiously
around the field towards the point from which
the sound seemed to proceed. As 1 had sus
pected, there, in a cluster of bushes, crouched
( an Indian waiting for inc to appear in answer
to his decoy bell, that he might send the fatal
bullet to my heart. I approached without dis
( covering myself to him, until within good
shooting distance, then raisc<l my piece and
fired. The bullet sped true to its mark, and
the Indian fell dead.
Not knowing but that he might be accom-
I panied by others, I returned with all speed to
■ the cabin, and having firmly barricaded the
door, I watched all day from the port holes, in
I anticipation of an attack from the companions
of the Indian 1 had killed. To add to the dan
ger, and seeming hopvlessnets of my situation,
1 discovered I had but one charge of powder
left. I could but make one shot, and then, if
, attacked by numbers. I should be entirely in
„ their power. 1>( termined to do the best with
‘ what 1 had, I poured out the last charge of
’ powder, and put it into my musket, and thru
waited tor the approach of night, feeling confi
dent of attack. Night came at last. A beau
t'-iil m lonlight night it was too. and this favor
ed me greatly, as I would thereby be able to
observe the movements of the enemy as they
approached my cabin. It was some two hours
after nightfall, and as yet I had neither heard
mu-seen a sign of the Indians, when suddenly
I was startled by the baying of my dog at the
stable. 1 knew that the Indians were coming.
The stable stood a little to the west ol the cab
in. ami between the two was a patch of cleared
ground, upon which the light of the full moon
fell unobstructed. Judging from the noise nt
the stable that they would advance from that
direction, 1 posted myself at the port hole on
that side of the cabin.
I hud previously placed my wife on the cross
pole in the chimney, so that in case our ene
mies eflected an entrance in the cabin, she
might climb out through the low chimney and
efl'ect her escape. For myself I entertained no
hope ; but, determined not to be taken alive, I
resolved to sell my lite dearly.
\\ ith breathless anxiety 1 watched at the
port hole. At length 1 saw them emerge from
the shadows of the stable and advance across
the vacant ground toward my cabin. One —
two- —three—great heaven! six stalwart In
dians armed to the teeth, and urged on by the
hope of revenge, ami 1 alone to oppose them,
with but one charge of powder. My case was
desperate indeed. With quick and stealthy
step, in close single file they approached, and
were within a few yards of the house, when a
slight change in the movement of the forward
Indians changed the position of the entire six,
so that a portion of the left side of each was
uncovered. They were all in a range—one
aim would cover all. (.Juick as thought 1 aim
ed ami fired. As the smoke cleared away, 1
could hardly credit what my senses showed
me as the result of my shot. The fifteen slugs
with which 1 had loaded my musket had done
their work well. Five of the six Indians lay
• dead upon the ground, anil the sixth had dis
appeared.
Although no enemy was now in sight I did
not venture forth until morning. 'There lay
the bodies of the live Indians undisturbed, to
gether with the rille of the other. Securing
the arms and ammunition of the fallen Indians.
I followed up the trail of the missing one, un
til it reached the ri'er; bey ond which point I
could discover no trace whatever. From the
amount of blood which marked the trail, to
gether with the unmistakeable evidence that
he had picked bis way with difficulty, I was
led to believe thal he was mortally wounded,
ami in order to prevent his body from falling
into the hands of his white toe, he had groped
his way to the river and thrown himself into
the current, which had borne him away .
The Indians had killed my cow. and that
vou mav be assured was no trifling loss, yet in
my gratitude for my isenpe from the mercilos
savages, I would have been entirely willing to
have made greater sacrifices. I was well pro
vided. (by means of arms and ammunition ta
ken from* the six Indians) in case of a second
attack ; but this, fortunately, proved to be my
last adventure with the savages. Not one oi
the band had iscape<l to tell the tale and incite
his brethren to avenge the death of his com
rades.
“Ah!" exclaimed the old num, while the
tears globed from his eyes at the memory ot
that eventful night, “that was a glorious shot
—the best j ever made.”
The hero of this adventure lived to see the
rude wilderness where he had pit< he«l his lone
ly cabin transformed into smiling field and peo
pled by hardy ami enterprising pale faces,
among whom his last day s were passed in peace
and plenty, undisturbed by the presence of his
old-time foes.
Remedy for a Felon. —The Buffalo Adver
ser says that the follow ing is a certain remedy
tor a Felon, ami recommends it to any who may
be troubled with that disagreeable ailment :
“ Take a pint of common soft soap, and stir
it in air-slncke*d lime, till it is ot th consis
tency of glazier'* putty . Make a leather thim
ble. till it with this com portion, and insert the
finger therein, ami idiangv the composite hi one •
I in twenty minutes,* and a cure i> certain."
MRS. SEDGWICK S PLEA FOR OLD MAIDS.
| Preface to “Married or Single,” just publish
ed by Harpers.]
The want of an innocent occupation may be
reason enough why one should write, but some
better reason or a plausible apology should be
! rendered for mflictmg the writ: ig upon the
public ; for if the public, in the large sense, is
not obliged to read, there is a small public of
friends who feed a moral obligation to perform
their duty. Ami a hard duty it may be when
the novel readers' market is supplied by such
producers as Dickens. 'Thackeray, Charles
Reade, and Mrs. Gaskell—all honor, praise ami
love to her—and our own popular writers in
thin department.
The writer of “Married or Single' has the •
fears and faltering of a stranger* in appearing ’
before the present public. The generation
know n to her, and which extended a welcome
and a degree of favor to her. has. for the most
part, passed away. Most of those friends arc
gone whose hearts vibrated (without the van
ities or selfishness of personality) to her suc
cess. and she is left to feel the chill and drea
riness of the “banquet hall deserted.'’ Still,
she has friends who speak the God-speed, and
young friends who will receive the fruits of
her observation of the defects and w antss of
1 our social life with ingenuousness, ami, per
haps, with some profit; ami, possibly, there
are those who will relish better a glass of wa
ter from our own fountains than a draught of
French concoction, whose enticing flavor but
disguises its insidious poison.
It might seem natural ami decorous that one
approaching the limit of human life, should—
if writing at all —write a book strictly reli
gious. but the novel (and to that guild we be
long) does not seem to us the legitimate vehi
cle of strictly religious teaching. Secular af
fairs should he permeated by the spirit of the
altar and the temple, but not brought within
the temple’s holy precincts.
One word more—the moral of our story—
to our young female readers. We have given
(we confess with some disposition to rebel) the
most practical proof of our allegiance to the
ancient laws of romance, by making our hero
and heroine man and wife, duly ami truly.—
Omnia rite tolemne acta sunt. We shall not.
therefore, be suspected of irreverence to the
great law of nature, by which, in every prov
ince of her infinitely various kingdom, “all
kindred drops arc melted into one.”
But we raise our voice with all our might
against the miserable cant that matrimony is
essential to the feebler sex—that a woman's
single lite must be useless or undignified—that
she is but an adjunct of man—in her best state
a helm to guide the noble vessel. Aside from
the great task of humanity, for which mascu
line capacities are best fitted, w’e believe she
has an independent pow er to shape her own
course, and to force her own sovereign way.
Happily no illustration is needed at this day to
prove that maidens can perform with grace
ami honor, duties from which wives and mo
thers are exempted by their domestic necessi
ties. Our sisters of Mercy and Charity, how
ever they may be called, are limited to no faith
and to no peculiar class of ministrations.—
Their smiles brighten the whole world.
But we speak especially to those of our
maidens whose modesty confines their efficien
cy to the circle which radiates from their line,
w e pray such to remember that their sexes
share of the sterner sacrifices as well as the
softer grace of Christian love, docs not belong
alone to the noble Florence Nightingales of
our day. any more than the real glories of fem
inine heroism were once all bound to the hel
met <ff Joan of Arc. it is not in the broad
ami noisy fields sought by the Apostles of
“Woman's Rights.' that sisterlv love and maid
enly charity best diffuse their native sweet
nos. 1 hese are sensitive flowers—too bright
and sweet, indeed, as our language has justly
partly implied to be fully typified by that pale
plant of which it i« said, that
'‘Radiance and odor are not its dower,’’
but resembling it in the essential character
from which it takes its name, Ihe modesty
ami sensibility, which, in a greater or less de
gree. belong to these flowers, as attributes, are
in this, its essential nature, inwrought through
every fibre of its delicate'texture. The same
qualites mark the maidenly virtues among the
pure theory of womanly graces. 'These they
enhance; of those, they are the distinctive na
ture. .May it never become less exquisitely
distinctive.
We do not, therefore, counsel our gentle
young friends to nourish a spirit of enterprize,
nor, of necessity, even to enlarge the plain and
natural circle of their duties. But in every
sphere of woman—wherever her low voice
thrills with the characteristic, vibrations which
are softer and sweeter than all other notes of
nature’s infinite chorus —maidens have a mis
sion to fulfill as serious ami as honorable as
those of a wife’s devotion or a mother's care—
a mission of w'uler and more various range.
W e need not ik>cribe it.
Our story will not have been in vain if it
has done anything towards raising the single
women of our country to the comparatively
honorable level they occupy in England. Any
thing to drive away the smile already fading
from the lips of all but the vulgar at the name
of “old maids.”
1 speak by permission and not of command
ment.
*****
Every man hath his proper gift of God—
one after this manner, and another after that.
1 say. therefore to the unmarried ami widows,
it is good for them if they so abide.
C. M. S.
New Yoke. May 12th, 1857.
DOMESTIC OPERA.
Since the comniinecment of the Sontag op
eras, an enthusiastic friend of ours and his
wife have been so carried away w ith the furor
awakened by the aitcmlaucc two nights at the
opera, that it is the hardest thing in the world
t »r them to restrain their dispositions to sing
everything—the more >o because they are both
proficient in music. The other morning w hile
ordering the dinner, the butcher—a sedate
man—was surprised to hear our friend shout
out with nio.-t emphatic enunciation:
“What will you take
For that ’ere stake
The butcher w inked at his partner, and an
swered, with an air of composure, “A shillin',
sir;” but it was evident that our friend was
(low n in the day-book of his estimation as a lu
natic. Making his purchase and going out of
the door, he met with his neighbor Jones.
Extending his hands frantically, he sung as fol
lows—
“ Ah. friend Jones, and is it you?
How do you do. Jones, how- do you do?
L»ng since we’ve met together,
Isn’t this delightful weather?**
Jones was astonished, as w ell he might be.
Passing into a bakery to procure some bread
for breakfast, he sung to a very plaintive air—
Bakers ! bakers I bless vour souls !
Let us have a dozen roils !’*
and rolled the word “rolls" out so tenderly
that the baker's wife burst into tears. The
rolls were taken down by the baker’s wife,
when, finding his voice again, he sang with
gnat feeling—
“ Dearest one, w ith lingers taper.
Tie the bread up in a paper!’
which she did. and he w « nt home humming
ami beating time on the paper parcels he held
in his arms. His w ife m t him at the door
w ringing her hands. The fit was on her and
she commenced singing-
My dearest Charles, what do you think?
The coffee’s all as black as ink ’
I’m so provoked that 1 can cry—
Citarles—
• Stop my dear, it’s al! in your eye!
When misfortune con.'-s. why bear it ;
1. your loving spouse, will share it.
Come, now. let us set at table,
Do the best that we are able,
Let the coffee go to grass,
We Will ha’, e some tea. mv lass.”
Wife—
“ Oh. mv Charles, vou bappv make me.”
Charles—'
“If I don’t the deuce may take me!
Hear the words, that now 1 utter—
My love is strong, and so’s the butter—
Trust me it w ill never be weary--
Pus* the toast and cheese, my deary.”
Both—
“ Now, good-bye, my dearest treasure.”
Charles—
“ Cook the steak just to your pleasure.
But see that it’s not overdone.
And 1 will be at home by one.”
Both—
“Good-bve, farewell,
’Tis bard to part ;
I cannot tell
How dear thou art.”
How this w ill end it is hard to foresee, but
friends of the family shake their heads, and
point to their forehead significantly, as much
as to say there’s something wrong about our
unfortunate friend s phrenology.
FUN FOR THE MILLION.
The motto of Brigham, the chief of the Mor
mons, should be : ‘Go it while you're Young.'
When the Duke of Rutland was Viceroy of
Ireland, Sir John Hamilton attendeded one of
his levees.
“This is timely rain,” said the Duke, “it
will bring everything above ground.”
“ I hope not. my lord.” said Sir John, “for I
have three wives there.’’
“ My friend,” said a philanthropic gentleman
to a chap whose w andering, unsteady gait be
trayed “ardent" familiarity with the “spirits,”
“ 1 thought you was a Son of 'Temperance.”—
“ .Mistake." hiccoughed Toodlcs. steadying him
self for the reply. “No (hie) relation—not a
bit—not even (hie) acquainted.”
An Ohio politician was boasting in a public
speech that he could bring an argument to a
pint as quick as any other man. “ You can
bring a quart to a pint a good deal quicker,” re
plied a Kentucky editor.
“ When a fellow is too lazy to work,” says
Sam Slick. “ he paints his name over the door
and calls it a tavern or grocery, and makes the
whole neighborhood as lazy as himself.”
“ I say. Sambo, does you know what makes
de corn grow so fast when you put de manure
on it ?” “ No, I don't know ’cept it makes
de ground strong for de corn.” “No, I just
tell you; when de corn begins to smell de
manure, it don't like de fumery, so it hurries
out of de ground, and gets up as high as pos
sible, so it can't breathe bad air.*’
An Eastern editor heads his list of Births.
Marriages and Deaths as follows: ‘Hatched,
Matched ami Despatched.’ The rascal's face
deserves to be scratched.
The young fellow whose girl told him she
did not want him any longer, put a brick .u his
hat to keep him from growing any longer.
‘Would you like me to give you a shilling?’
said a little boy to a gentleman he met in the
street. ‘To be sure 1 would,’ was the reply.
‘Very well, then,' said the boy, ‘do unto others
as you would that others should do unto you.'
A farmer once told his man. who was thor
oughly Irish to run to the pasture and catch
an ox. ‘ I mean the oft’one, I w ill manage the
other myself.' said he. Pat ran to do as bid
den. but suddenly paused on his way. with the
exclamation : ‘He's a resonable person, any
how, be dad —and how am 1 to know which
is the orphan?’
‘Bill. I've bought a lot in the cemetery, and
half an acre for a residence just north of it.'—
Ju>t north! what the deuce arc you going to
live there for ?’ ‘Well. Bill. I wanted to make
sure of a home beyond the grave.’ Bill
looks solemn, and both vanish, whistling a
melancholy air.
Jemmy remarked to his grandmother that
old Mrs. Cranshaw had the appearance of a
person with one foot in the grave. “ Well,
really, upon my word." said the antique lady.
“ 1 thought I noticed she walked a leetle lame,
lately.”
A medical gentleman says that those ladies
w ho make it a business to trouble dry goods’
clerks and never buy any thing, ought to be
cailed counter-irritants.
“ What is the best attitude for self-defence?''
asked a pupil of a well-known pugilist.
“ Keep a civil tongue in your head,” was the
reply.
A lady complaining that her husband was
dead to fashionable amusements, he replied,
“ But then, my dear, you make me alive to the
expense.”
There is a good reason why a little man
should never mflrry a widow. He might be
called the “ widow's mite.”
REARING BOYS.
We submit the following in four chapters as
it has such a capital application just now, and
may be read with profit by many :
CHAPTER 1.
“What, stay at home for that squalling young
one ? Catch me to,” and the young mother
threw on her bonnet and shaw 1, and humming
' a gay air, sauntered out on the promenade.—
( hie and another bowed and smiled as >he mov
ed along, flushed, triumphant ami beautiful. A
young man met her just as she was passing the
shop of a w ell known firm.
1 “Ah. out again. Delia,” he said earnestly.
“Where is Charley ?”
“With A anna of course. You don't expect
me to tie my*elf to him.” she returned.
The young man's face grew cloudy.
“No," he returned w ith half a sigh ; “but I
can't bear to have him left w ith the servants."
“Oh. well. I can,” she said, and w ith a radi
ant smile left her husband hard at work and
flitted on.
CHAPTER 2.
“Answer all his questions ? make a slave as
I should be obliged to ? < >h, no. can't think of
it. If I give him his breakfast and aplenty of
playthings. I consider my duty done. I don't
believe in fii-sing over children—let them find
out things a< they grow up.’’
“There's danger," replied the dear old lady
casting a pitying look upon the richly embroi
dered cloak her son's wife had been bent over
all day. “they'll tind out thing that ruin them,
unless the mother be constantly imparting the
right kind of knowledge.’’
••(), you w ant to make him a piece of perfec
tion like his father : w ell. I can't say I do ; I
don't like these faultiest men. See—isn’t the
contrast beautiful ? Come hi re. Charley, love
ly. he shall have the handsomest cloak in the
whole city.
CHAPTER 3.
“A cigar! bless me, what a boy, and only
twelve! Are you sure that you saw him
smoke it ? Well. I daresay it made him sick
enough ; boys will be boys, you know’.”
“Yes, but to think yon should allow him to
go to the theatre without my knowledge !” and
the husband groaned.
“Dear me. what a fret you are in : do let the
child see something of the world.’’
CHAPTER 4.
“In jail! my God! husband —not our boy?”
“Not our boy ! notour Charlie! no. it can
not be ! Let me die—kill me—but don’t tell
me (’harlie is a thief.’’
The boy was sentenced to the State prison,
and the mother may yet be carried to the luna
tic asylum.
Doing G<m>d to Others.—Here is a pretty
story of a little girl. Perhaps you have read
it before, but it will do you good to read it
again :
“A mother who was in the habit of asking
her children, before they retired at night, what
they ha<l done during the day. to make others
happy, found a young tw in daughter silent.—
The elder one spoke modestly of deeds and dis
positions. founded on the gulden rule. “Do un
toothers. ns you would that they should do un
to you.’ Still the little bright face was bowed
down in silence. The question was repeated,
and the dear little child said timidly, ‘A little
girl who sat beside me on the bench at school,
had lost a baby brother. Ail the time she stu
died her lesson, she hid her face in her book,
ami cried. I felt so sorry, that 1 laid my face
on the same book, and cried with her. I hen
<he looked up and put her arms around my
neck ; but I (io not know why she said I had
done her so much good.”
OF WHAT WOMEN ARE MADE.
“Os earthly goods the best is a good wife,
A bad, the bitterest curse of liuniun life.’’
Simonides, a poet, famous in bis generation,
who flourished about four hundred years after
the svige of Troy, tells us, in a noted satire,
that the gods formed the souls of women out
those seeds and principles which compose sev
eral kinds of animals and elements, and that
their good and bad dispositions arise in them
according :is such and such seeds and princi
ples predominate in their constitutions. He ;
says :
The souls of one kind of w omen were form
ed out of those ingredients which compose a
swine. A woman of this make is a sloven in
her house, and a glutton at her table.
A secund kind is of the fox. foxy, and has
an insight into everything, good or bad ; some
of this class are virtuous, and some vicious.
A third kind of women were made upon of
• canine particles; these are scolds,always bark
ing and snarling, and live in a perpetual cla
mor.
A fourth kind were made out of the earth.
Such are the sluggards, who pass their time in
indolence and ignorance, hang over the tire a
w hole w inter, and apply themselves with alc
rity to no kind of business but eating.
The fifth species of females wire made out of
the sea, and are of variable, uneven tempers—
sometimes all storms and tempests, sometimes
all calm and sunshine.
The sixth species were made of such ingre
dients as compose an ass. or beast of burden ;
these arc naturally sloathful and obstinate, but,
upon the husband exerting his authority, will
live upon hard fare and doevory thing to please
him.
The cat furnished ingredients for a seventh
species of women, who are of a melancbolly,
forward, unamiable nature, and so repugnant
to the otters of love, that they fly in the face
of their husband when he approaches them
w ith conjugal endearments. These species of
women are likewise subject to little thefts,
cheats and pilfering.
The eighth species of females were taken out
of the ape. These are such as are both ugly
and ill-natured, and having nothing beautiful
in themselves, endeavor to detract from or ri
dicule everything w hich appears so in others.
The marc with a flowing mane, which was
never broken to servile toil and labor, compose
a ninth species of women. These are they
who have little regard for their husbands;
w ho pass aw ay their time in dressing, bathing
and perfuming ; who thow their hair into the
nicest curls, and trick it up in the fairest flow- ;
ers and garlands. A woman of this species is
the very thing for a stranger to look upon, but
very detrimental to the ow ner, unless it be a
king or a prince who takes a fancy tu such a
toy.
Tin* tenth ami last species of women were
made out of the bee ; and happy is the man
who gets such a one for his wife. She is alto
gether faultless and unblamable. Iler family ;
flourishes and improves by her good manage
ment. She brings him a race of beautiful and
virtuous children. She distinguishes herself,
among her sex. She is surrounded with gra
ces. She never sits among the loose tribe of
w omen, nor passes her time w ith them in w an
ton discourses. She is full of virtue’and pru
dence, and is the best wife that Jupiter can
bestow* on man.
THADDEOUS KOSCIUSKO.
During the American struggle for indepen
dence, Washington was greatly embarrassed
by the arrival of foreign officers w ho expected
nothing less than one of the highest posts in
the army, and frequently, when accepted, prov
ed unworthy of the stations assigned to them.
Experience of this kind led Washington to be
exceedingly cautious in receiving foreign officers
into the service. At this period. Kosciusko
presented himself to Washington, fortified by a
letter from Franklin. The first interview be
tween the gallant ami generous Bole and the
equally generous Washington, is thus described
in the third volume of Washington Irving’s
Washington, just issued from the press :
“What do you seek here?" imptired the
Commundcr-in-( hies.
“To fight for American independence.”
“ What can you do?’’
‘ “Try me.”
Washington was pleased with the curt yet
‘ comprehensive reply, and with his chival
rous air and spirit, at once received him into
1 his family as an aid-de-camp. His subsequent
noble and gallant carver in the American ser
vice, is w ell known, and has inseparably joined
his name with that noble struggle to which we
ow e our present rank as a nation.
For a number of years a suit has been in pro-
1 gross in the courts of the District of Columbia,
prosecuted by his collateral heirs, to recover the
property left by him at his decease in this
country, which now amounts to upwards of
fifty thousand dollars. We believe that a final
decision has been rendered, establishing the re
lationship of the claimants and the validity of
their claim.
Steam Hod Carrier. —An exchange has the
follow ing description of a “steam hod carrier,,'
which was in operation in Philadelphia some
time since :
“The motive power w as a small steam engine
upon wheels, which although stationary at the
time, looked as though it could be moved rvad
ily from point to point. A mammoth hod.
holding 12 or 15 times the (piantity of brick
and mortar that could be carried up by the
the stoutest laborer, was w hisked to the top of
the building in a trice by the same hod carrier,
w ith the aid of a crane and a block and tackle.
One man attended the engine, another loaded
■ the mammoth hod, another attended to its safe
delivery up aloft, and w ithout toil or sw eat the
little steam engine did the work of full fifteen
men.
A Good Joke.— We had a painful trial of
our patience to-day. An individual w ith a I
show of friendship, approached us at a time
when suspicion was asleep, and in a tone that
would “wheedle the devil.” asked what dill'er
ence there was between the new cent and an
old fashioned quarter ? We looked in hisface.
but saw no expression beyond a mere inquiry
for information, and after giving the subject
• suitable reflection, replied, “don't know.”—
••You don't know !” said he, “w hy there’s 24
• cents diftcrcnce, isn't there ?" It seemed very
evident that he was right.— Button Gazette.
The Sober Drunkard.—“A violent temper
1 of passion tears down the human constitution
worse than a typhus fever,” said Dr. Weldo.
and a greater or more important truth wasne
’ ver enunciated in simple words. There is no
difference w hatever, physically speaking, be
tween a person in a passion and one intoxicat
ed. Both are, for the time, hideous to look at:
both are beyond the control of reason ; and
yet then are apostles of temperance in drink,
who are constantly intemperate in speech and
action. They are mental inebriates of the most
incurable kind, and as much need hospital
treatment tor their malady as those who have
occasionally the same disorder of the brain by
the use of alcoholic stimulants. A drunkard
is a drunkard, whether his drunkenness arises
from Port or passion, anger or can de cie.
Sunday Timet,
A Phym ian’s Idea of a Beat tieul Wo-
MAX . Three young gentlemen of position and
< iilt i\ati-m. one of ’bcm 8 | hysicianVho had
just received his medical degree, were standing
on Fourth Street, yesterday, when a beautiful
damsel' a reigning toast, moved majestically
and brilliantly by. and smiled wry sweetly as
three unexceptionable “tiles" were lifted in re
cognition of her presence.
'•What a charming creature.” exclaimed one;
••she moves as Virgil tells us Venus did —skim-
ming. not touching the earth !”
“Ami her form." said another, “it is like He
he's—so delicate and yet so >ymnivtrival and
palpitating w ith beautiful and joyous life !*'
“Oh yes, her figure.” broke in the youthful
Machaoii. in a glow of profi>>ional enthusiasm
•would't she make a magnificent subject ?
how I would like to direct her!” — Ga
zette.
THE REAL SOURCE OF WEALTH.
A w riter in the “Mark Lane Express,” main
tains the position that commerce and nnmnfnr*
tures must ever be secondary to the cultiva
tion of the soil, and that the latter is the otftv
source to wealth. In proof of the truth oi
this position, he compares the nature and re
sults of other industrial pursuits with that of
the cultivation of the soil.
First, as tocotnmerce. There is nothing pro
<luced by commerce, its (Alice being merely the
barter of commodities. And whether this
barter takes place between one countrv and
another, or between individuals of the* same
country, it is but an exchange of equivalents.
Hence it is regarded as a mere medium for the
distribution of wealth, and not as in any wax'
contributing to its existence or production.—
Then as to manufacturers, there is no matter
produced which did not previously exist their
office being only to convert material previous
ly existing into forms of greater utility or con
venience. Mining at hast sight may appear to
have greater claim to the production of wealth,
but does not. in reality, produce anything that
did not before exist ; every pound of iron, coal,
silver, or gold, having previously existed in the
bowels of the earth before taken from them.
Agriculture alone aftbrds an increase of mat
ter ; and the surplus of this over the cost ot
production, constitutes the only increase ot re
al wealth or capital. But, however true this
may be. it must be remembered that commerce
by the exchange of commodities and manufac
tures, by giving to the matters produced by ng.
riculture a more useful form, are greatly* con
ducive to the aggrandisement <if Nations; and
to the convenience and comfort of their popu -
lation.
Pay as You Go. —This is an invaluable mot
to. John Randolph said, that he found the phi
losopher's stone, so much sought after—and
that these words contained the vaunted secret.
Out of debt a man is safe. He can feel inde
, pendent. Even if he does not own a dollar
himself, it is a great deal to be able to say he
does not owe one. Debt is a great nightmare
that straddles across a man's |>eace ofmindand
destroys his happiness. If he cun keep clear
of this, he is truly free.
No one ever knew what the sweets of lib
erty meant who was ridden with debt all the
time. It is t<»ld of one of the most estimable
wealthy men of Boston, that he answered an
application for a loan of money which wa*
made him by a young man in this style : “I
w ill gladly let you have the money if. when'
you see me coming in the street again, vou
will promise not to dodge around the corner.”
Pecuniary obligations thus rob a person of his
independence, and cramp and finally crush his
manliness. If it be possible, debt is to be
avoided always, and when assented to, then ( n
ly so far as one can sagaciously see his wav
out of it again.
POET KNOWLEDGE.
The Boston Post gives us the following nice
, disquisition on a poet :
“Newcome Nonfit is a p(H*t. He showed one
of his effusions, the other day. and as it was
not long, we read it. It proved very plainly
that Mr. Nontit was one of those poets who
are neither born or made. So we said, softly,
“Why don't you write prose, Mr. Nontit
Nontit smiled, and answered, like a man who
could afford to waive the honor. “Never write
prose—have no taste for it—poetry conies much
more natural, and I always write poetry, if
anything. ‘But ‘morn’ and ‘dawn’ arc not
rhymes. .Mr. Nonfit.’ ‘No? they're allowable,
ain't they ?' said the poet, surprised at this un
expected criticism. ‘What would you do
where the word won't rhyme exactly ?’ ‘Leave
'em both out.' we suggested. ‘But how. in
thciasv. would you save the couplet?’ said
Nonfit. ’Omit the couplet, and it's safe enough.’
But that would sacrifice the thought ?. said
Nontit. amazed. ‘So much the better.' we an
swered, getting earnest as the discourse went
on—‘so much thi better. A thought you can't
express in good vest* mars the poem, and two
or three muiak ri: outright. Try prose aw hile,
Mr. Nontit ; leari grr.mmar—it's useful even
to :i maa of genius.m ps-t. Tu.x yourself
w ith syntax ; thin go from prose to pro.Msly.
You have ears enough ; but cultivate youriar;
and remember that .• poem made up of allow a-
' ble faults is not alh wable poetry.’
Mr. Nonfit retired w ith a look of cxtrvnnr
disgust, and sent his next eflusioii to that ele
gant hebdominal, •The Gu-hing Fountain and
Bushing Roarer.’ It was worthy of the ho
nor.”
AMERICAN LIKE.
American life is but the agony of a fewr.—
There is no repose fir us. We push on in
frenzied excitement through the crowd, the
none, the hot glare ami dud of the highways,
w ithout turning for a n oment to refresh our
selves in the quiet ami shade of the by-paths of
life. We have but om object in our rapid
journey, and that is to g-1 the start of our fel
low travellers. Our political equality, offering
to all a chance for the prize of life, ami thus
encouraging every one t*» try his speed in tho
race, is no doubt a spur to the characteristic
hurry of Americans. Our institutions, howev
er, are not responsible for the prize we choose
to strive for. There is no reason that w e know
of w hy a republican should have no other aim
in life but to get richer than his neighbor;
but there are a thousand good reasons, if we
value health and happiness why we should
pursue other and higher object®. When tho
pursuit of w ealth is the great object of life in
so rapidly a progressive state of material pros
perity as exists in our commercial communities,
it requires exclusive devotion, and the highest
-train of faculties to succeed. A fair compe
tence. however, is easily reached; and if wo
had learned to care for better things, we would
J not strive for more.
TIME FOR MATRIMONY.
Among the ancient Germans than whom »
finer race never existed, it was death for any
woman to marry liefore she was twenty-ono
years old. In this countuy very few ladies are
tit. either physically or mentally, to become
mothers before they reach the age of 21, 22.
and one or two years still older. The unsound
condition and constitution of theparent is usu
ally transmitted, with increased intensity, to
the offspring. By the laws of Lycurgus, tho
most special attention was paid to the physical
education of woman ; and no delicate or sick
ly women were on any account ollowed to mar
ry*.
Dr. Johnson, in his work on the Economy of
Health, says that matrimony should not be
contracted before the first year of the fourth
-eptennicl. on the part of the lady, nor before
the last year of the same in the case of the
gentleman ; in other words the female should
be at least 21 years of age, and the male 28
years. The Doctor says that there should be
a difference of seven years between the sexes,
at whatever period of life the connection is*,
contracted. There is a dift’erence of 7
not in the actual duration of life in the two’
sexes, but in the stamina of the constitution,
the symmetry of the form and the liiiacinents
of the face. In respect to early marriage, so
far as it concerns the softer set, for every year
at which marriage is entered upon before the
age of 21, there will be on an average, tb*'<‘ c
years of premature decay, more or less appa
rent, of the corporeal fabric,
Case of (’oxscience.—A celebrated liquor
importer in Boston, recently had his pocket
book, containing a large sum of money, taken
from his pocket while entering Church. A
few days subsequent he received the pocket
book through the post (postage unpaid,) ac
eompaulud with a note in w hich the write;
stated that after spending the money, he dis
covered to his horror, that he had been mak
ing use of funds obtained in that intainons li
quor traffic. He therefore returned the jMx kct
book, and would do the same by the money
should he be able to again lay hands on it.
Mr. Macanley ha-, it is said, given up
the idea of continuing hi- “•History ot Englami
down to a period w ithin the memory of living
men.” a. a: lir-t announced, ami w ill lom ludq
it w ith thvdcalh o| ()m < n Anne,
