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BY GARDNER & BARROW.
THE GEORGIA lIIRROR,
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autobiography of a shinplaster.
BA' GEORGE AV. BRADAt’ItV.
I had rather be a kitten and cry mew.
Than one of these same shinplasters^
Shakspcare's Henry TV.
Os the place of my nativity I have no distinct re
collection, hut tiiat l'was born, and into me breathed
the breath of life somewhere, arc facts which do not
admit of doubt. I was one of a numerous, pro
geny, early set adrift upon the tide of the world,
awl at a time when mankind were disposed to
treat us with any thing but favor or kindness—
And it is only because my life has been one of
continued ill-fortune, that I have been saluted
with nothing but curses and maledictions, in all
mv varied journcyings, with a few slight excep
tion, that I attempt to trace this brief record of
my pilgrimage. Bear with me. then, I beseech
thee, gentle reader, while f rehearse a tale, com
mencing in grief and ending in sorrow—one
which emphatically is “a dark talc, darkly finish
ed.”
The first distinct recollection 1 ha\'e of being
in existence was finding myself nicely spread out
upon a table, joined Siamese-twin fashion, to a ,
number of connections. We were barely permit
ted to see the light for a few moments, when
others were placed upon us, newly brought into
being like ourselves. For some time the pile ,
sensibly increased, and at last, under lock and
key, we were safely and snugly stored away.—
Being but lightly skilled in judging of passing
time, 1 am unable to tell how long we remained in
darkness and silence. Like all others, though,
who are desti* ate. of common sense, as well as ex
perience, we were extremely anxious to be ush
ered forth into th« wide world.
When next overhauled, I was disfigured in
er'd places with tb" ru-’e marks of a pen. Vari
ous flourishes were made across my tuec, and 1
was finally separated from my companions. I soon
found myself in a drawer with some strangers, a
portion of whom were oi a similar age and com
plexion with myseif, but a majority were older,
and had seen something ot the world. They
were not improved by the collision, having imbi
bed curious notions of self-importance, and being
considerably puflfed up with pride and conceit—
So wondrous were their tales, however, that I
longed for an opportunity to display my power,
and learn the manners and customs ot those who
had grown old amid the lights and shadows of life.
Sooner than I had anticipated, were iny wishes
gratified. I was taken one day, rudely twined a
round the finger of the person who had given me
existence, and thrust into the greasy hand of a little
black rascal who fc r the last month had been
brushing the boots of his patron. “Good for a
dollar any how,” said my new master, as he tuck
ed me into his pocket. Truly rejoiced was I to
escape from my loathsome confinement. The
sister of the sweet youth, in searching his pocket
the evening after 1 came into his possession, laid
violent hand; on me, and deposited me in her bo
som. I should have suffocated outright in that
condition, had not the lady paid me away to a
shopkeeper for a pair of pink silk gloves. I was
rejoiced to find myself safe in a capacious
drawer again, with the wrinkles effaced from my
surface; hut was in noway gratified by overhear
ing the conversation between the spruce shop
keeper, and his boy.
“Jim, what money did that black wench hand
you?”
“I did not notice particularly, sir.”
“Well, you can not be too careful in these times.
Let me look at the bill.”
A single glance told the tale.
“What the devil did you take this thing for,
you stupid loafer ? Nobody has had any thing to
dp with these for several days.”
■“V/nk* * s sir ?” faltered Jitn.
“Why one of those cursed shinplasters.
Run after the girl.”
The big drops of perspiration started out upon
me timing the absence of Jim, and I shuddered
at the thought of the tortures I should be com
pelled to undergo, should Jim be successful in
the search, i was, therefore, inexpressibly re
lieved, when he came panting back with the into -
ligence that she was not to bo found. 1 _ pn ’
Shinplaster was my name. This was the it's
time I had heard it lisped. Shinplaster! It soun
ded curious, even odious; and I have since lent ti
ed from Shakspearc, that “a rose by any otlu r
nanjc would smell as sweet.”
Here, then, seemed to be an end to my adven
tures for the time. I was laid away in a corner
of the drawer and treated with absolute contempt.
Such of my own kidney as came in contact with
me, pretended to despise me more thoroughly
than any body else. But so goes the world.
“When fate and fortune cease, to smile,
Prepare for insults from the vile.”
To be deemed «.i impostor by those no better
than ourselves, is at all times sufficiently grievous.
I remained in seclusion several days, and at last
was very abruptly drawn forth on a certain occa
sion, much to my astonishment, as may be con
ceived.
“Is this good ?” was asked by one of the swee
test and most musical voices I ever heard.
“Certainly, ma’am, perfectly current. We
keen no other money. It isasgood as gold.”
Without a word of remonstrance the lady de
posited me in a fine purse, enveloped the same in
a hankerchief and walked out. I hardly dared to
breathe lest my bubble of good fortune should
burst and vanish—lest the dream should prove
“too flattering sweet to he substantial.” To be sure
I had some scruples about the propriety of be
coming the lady’s property through the falsehood
of the merchant, but seeing no wav of convenient
ly avoiding it, I silently acquiesced in the change.
She was a woman of rare virtues and loveliness,
and treated me with kindness and attention. Un
der her care, I sensibly improved in my personal
appearance, and was no longer ashamed of my
figure. My with this lady was one
of the bright spots in the desert of existence.—
Several times she gratified me with a survey of
the town in her rambles, and I feared a separa
tion much sooner than it came. It was curious
to witness her excursions among the shopkeepers.
One afternoon, particularly, I was exceedingly
amused. At the first shopshe inquired for some
thing which they were so unfortunate as not to
possess; after a short confab with an oH acquain
tarw», she passed to the next store, asking for a
different article, which was also found wanting
Although avc stopped at more than fifty places, it
was a singular fact that she seldom inquired for
the same thing twice, and finally obtained nothing
she wanted. So queer is it that the shopkeepers
never keep the goods which are most in demand.
The manner in which she finally disposed of
me was curious enough. She received a visit
from a gentleman one evening, who fay some ac
cident got a view of my phiz.”
“Where did you get that thing ?”
“I do not remember; why ?”
“It is good for nothing.”
“Are you ccrtaiuof it ?
“In truth I am, nobody takes shinplasters.”
“It is then useless?”
“Perfectly worthless.”
“Suppose 1 make you a present of it then ? for
I view you as of equal consequence.”
“Do, I will preserve it as a relic.”
In one instant mote I was thrust into the pocket
of his vest. Here was another change of fortune,
and in an instant I was awakened from the brigh
test dream of my life. Few people have any
taste for a description of love scenes or any thing
approaching thereto. They were long since worn
threadbare. Consequently i shall not detail the
conversation which occurred between my late mis
tress and her admirer. A declaration ot love en
sued, and various amusing things were said which
they both knew were lies, and which caused me
to laugh right lustily in my sleeve. I should have
been still mote tickled had f not been confined in
such a situation as to preclude all observation ou
my part; I could only overhear the conversation.
There was much simpering and sighing—many
fond protestations, and finally a downright par
ting scene, described by Juliet as “such sweet
sorrow.” We came aw ay.
“Now-,” said my possessor, as soon as we Avere
fairly in the street, “that business is done with,
there is .1 little too much nonsense about it for
sport. As for this and -d shinplaster, 1 guess it
is good for a glass of liquor any how; so here
goes,” and we plunged into a cofiec-house.
“Jack, give us a bit of brandy.”
“Sugar in it sir ?”
“No, I drink it clear; take the change out of
that.” . . ,
Jack examined me very closely, scrutinized the
hand writing on my face with much apparent cir
cumspection, and finally laid me on the counter.
A little of the brandy had been spilled, Avhich rvas
absorbed by myself and hence the reason why
people ever afterwards supposed me to be an in
veterate toper.
“We can’t go that sir,” said Jack.
“Not go that! 1 took it here last week; besides,
’tis the only small bill l have.”'
“Arc you certain we gave it to you ?"
“Certain ? I am not in the habit of lying about
small things; have the goodness to give me the
change.” „ , , .
Without further parley I was deposited in the
receptacle for cash. I here remained for some
time. Numberless endeavors to get rid ot inc
were made in vain. The scenes I witnessed were
extremely amusing, not to say instructive, lor
instance, what could be more funny than to sec
prominent men in the cause of temperance call in
and toss oft* their liquor with infinite nonchalance.
After being poked from one corner of the drawer
to the other for several days, the proprietor one cve
looked in upon his cash, bestowed some term
of opprobrium with a curse or two upon me, and
finally twisted me up for the purpose of lighting
his cimtr. He set fire to me by the caudle, with
the utmost indifference, by which operaf.on some
thing over one half my dimensions was reduced
to ashes The remainder he placed in lus pocket.
I must have remained in that place with scraps of
tobacco, rusty nails, and old buttons for some
weeks He finally took me out one day, through
mere accident, and closely sun-eying my ph.z.ex-
Cl “One’ of them Shinplasters, by Jupiter;
thev are good noxv.” , , ~
I was by this time in a most dehpidated coi
tion. Ragged and greasy as I avis, the fellow
pasted a piece of rough brown paper over my en-
FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1838.
tire back, ami succeeded iu getting rid of me with
but little difficulty. My adventures alter this
were ieAV, but well worth relating. 1 am, however,
in nothing but fragments, with siender prospects
of any improvement. Old age is doing its ac
customed work upon me, and 1 can feel that the
>ands ot life are running loav. If at my future
tim« I should become so much rcnoA’ated as to be
able to write out a few additional reflections, they
shall be given to the Avorld in the proper place.—
Reader, fare thee well, if you require any re
ward for reading this sketch, you are welcome to
me wherever you can find me. I am poor and
poverty stricken—as Avorthless as a shinplaster.
MANAGEMENT—A YANKEE STORY.
I’ve hearn folks say that the Avimin Avas contrai
ry, Avell they is a leetle so, hut if you manage ’em
rite, haAvl in here, and let ’em out there, you can
drive ’em along without whip or spur, jest which
Avay you Avant ’em to go.
When I lived doAvn at Elton, there Avas a good
many first-rate gals doAvn there, but I didn’t take
a likin’ to any on 'em, till squire Cummins cutn
down there to live. The squire had an almighty
puty darter. I sed sum of the gals Avas fus rate
but Nancy Cmmins was fus rate, and a leetle more.
There was many dressed finer and looked grander,
but there was somethin jam about Nance, that
they couldn’t hold a candle to. If a feller seed
her Avunce, he couldn’t look at another gal fora
Aveek. I tuk a likin to her rite off, and we got as
thick as theves. We had used to go to the same
meetin, and sot in the same peAV. It took me to
find the sarins and hims for her, and Ave’d swell
’em out in a manner shockin to hardened sinners ;
then Ave’d mosey hum together, while the gals
and fellors kept a looking on as the, they’d like to
mix in. I’d always stay to supper, and the Avay
she cood make injutn cakes, and the way 1 wood
slick ’em over with molasses and put ’em away,
was nuthin to nobody. She was dredful civil tew
always gettin something nice for me. I was up
to the hub in love, and Avas goin in for it like a
locomtive. Well, things went on this way a
spell, till she thotshe had me tite enongh. Then
she begin to shoAV off kinder independent like.
When I’d go to the meetin, tliore Avas no room for
me in the pew ; when she’d cum out of meetin
she’d streake off with another chap, an leave me
suckin my fingers at the door. Instead of stickin
to me as she used to do, she got cuttin around
Avith all the fellors jest as if she cared nothin about
me no more, none Avhatsumever. I got consid
erably riled and thot I mout as avcll come to the
end of it at wunce : so doAvn I went to have it out
with her, thare was a hull grist of fellors there
They seemed mity quiet till I went in, then she
got talkin all manner of nonsense, and uothtn to
me, and darned little of that. I tried to keep my
dander down, but it twarn’t no use. I kept moo
vin about as if I had a pin in my troAvsers. I
sweat as if I bin thrashiu. My collar bung doAvn
as if it had been hung over my stock to dry. 1
couldn’t stand it, so cleared out as quick as I cood,
for 1 seed 'tAvas uo use trying to say nothing to
her. I Avent strate to bed, and thot the matter
over a spell; thinks 1 that gal is jest tryin of me,
taint no use of her playin possum; I’ll fake the
kink out of her ; If I don’t fetch her out that High
grass, use me for sassage meat. I hearn tell ofa
boy wunce, that got to skeAvl late one Sunday
morning, master scs, you tarnal sleepin critter,
Avhat kept you so late ! why, ses the boy, its so
everlastin slippy out, I coodn’t get along no how
every step 1 took forrard, I went tew steps back
ward, and I coodn’t have got here at all, if i hadn’t
turned back to go tuther way. Noav, that’s jest
mv case. I have been puttin after that gal con
siderable time. Now, thinks I, I’ll go tutu ’v way
—she’s been slitin of me, uoav I’ll slite her—Avhat s
sass for the goose is sassfor the gander. W ell, I
Avent no more to Nance’s. Next Sabbaday, 1 1
slicked myself up and l dew say, when I got my
fixins on. 1 took the shirt tail clean off of any spe
cimen of human nature about our parts. About
meetin time off’l put to Eltham Dodge’s—Pa
tience Avas as nice a gal as you’d see ’twixt here
and yonder, any more than she wasn't jest like
Nancy Cummins. Ephraim Massey had used
to go to see her ; he avhs a clever teller, but he
was dreadful joins. Well I went to meetin with
Patience, and sot right afore Nanc ; 1 didn't set
mv eyes on her til! arter meetin, she had a feller
Avith her avlio had a blazon red lied, and legs like
a pair of compasses; she a face as long as a grace
afore thanksgivin dinner. I knOAvd avlio she was
thinkinabout, an ’twarnt the chap with the head,
nuther. Well, 1 gotbocn Patience about a spell.
Kept my eye on Nance, seed lioav the cat Avas jum
pin, she didn’t cut about like she did, and look’d
rather solemnly, she’d g’in her teiv eyes to kiss
and make up. 1 kep it until I like to have got’.n
to a mess about Patience. The critter thot l was
goin arter her for good, and got as proud as a lame
turkey Won dayEphecuin doAvn to our place
looking as rathy as a officer on a trainin
day, look here,'ses he, Seth Stokes, as loud as a
small thunder clap, I’ll be damd Hallo!sea
I, what’s broke ? Why, ses, he, l come down to
have satisfaction about Patience Dodge, here I’ve
been a courtin her ever since last grass a year,
and she Avas jest as good as mine, till you cum a
goin arter her, an now 1 can’t touch her with a for
ty foot pole. Why, ses I, what on airth are you
talkin about, I aint got nothin to do with your gal.
but spose I had, there’s nothin, fur you to get
wolfy about.
If the gal has taken a likin to me, taint my fault;
if I’ve taken a liken to her, taint her fault; and if
we’ve taken a liken to one another, taint your
fault: hut i aint so almighty taken with her,’ an
you may have her for me, so you h dn t ought to
get savage about nothin, W ell, says he, (rather
cooled down) L am the nuluckiest thing in creation,
I went tuther day to a place Avhere there was an
old woman died of the bots or sum such disease,
an they Aver selling out her things. Well, ses he,
ther was a thundering big chist of drawers lull of
all sorts of truck, so I bot it and thot l made a spec,
but Avhen I cum to look at’ein, ther warnt nothing
in it worth a cent except an old silver thimble, and
that Avas all rusted tip, so I sold it for less than I
give lor it; well when the chap that bot it tuck it
hum, he heerd sumthin rattle, broke the oldchist,
an found lots of gold and silver in it, in a false bot
tom I hadn t seen. Noav if I’d tuck that chest
hunt I’d never found that inunny, or if I did they’d
bin all counterfeit, and I’d bin tuck up for passin
on’em. Weill jest told Patience about it, when
she rite up an called me a darnd fool. Well, ses
I, Kplie that is hard, but nevermind that, jest go
on, you can get her, and wen you dew get her,
von can file the ruff edges off’jest as you please.
That teekled him it did, an aAvay he went a leetle
better pleesd. Noav, thinks i, its time to look ar
ter Nance. Next day, doun I went. Nancy was
all alone. I axed her if the squire was in, she
said he Avarnt, cause, ses I, (makin bcleeve I wan
ted him) our colt sprained his foot, an I cum to see
if the squire Avont lend me his mare to go to town.
She sed she gess’d he wood, better sit down till
the squire comd in, doun I sot ; she lookd sort a
strange, an my hart felt queer all round the edges.
Arter a Avile, ses I, air you goin doun to Betsey Mar
tn’s quiltin ? sed she, didn't know for sartin; air
you a goin ? sed I rcckond I wood; ses she, I
spose youd take Patience Dodge, sed I mout and
agin I mout not; ses she, I hearn youre a goin to
get married; ses I shoodn’t wundera bit, Pa
tience is a nice gal, ses I. I looked at her. I
seed the teers a cumin; ses I, may be she’ll ax
you to be bridesmaid ; sheris rite np, she did, her
face as red as a biled beet. Seth Stokes, ses she,
an shecoodn’t say any more,' she Avas so full:
wont von be bridesmaid, ses I, no ses she, aud
she bust rite out; well then, ses I, if you Avont be
bridesmaid, av i 11 you be the bride—she lookd up
at me—l swan to man I never seed any thing so
aAvful puty ; I tuk rite holt of her han, yes or no,
ses I, rite off. Yes, ses she, that’s your sort, ses
I, as I gin her buss an a hug. I soon fixed mat
ters AA-ith the squire. We.soon hitch’d traces to
trot in double harness for life, an never had cause
to repent of my bargain. J. W.
WHO IS THE GENTLEMAN?
The ans Aver of this question, among the Amer
icans depends generally upon the condition, feel
ings, and particular modes of thinking, of those
avlio undertake to answer, and consequently he
who is veiy much of a gentleman in the estimation
of one person, is no gentleman at all in the opin
ion of another.
A gentleman, in the estimation of mine host, is
one who calls freely for all the good things apper
taining to the bar, the wine cellar and the table,
pays his bills punctually, Avithout disputing the
items or the prices; and speaks in flattering terms
of every thing about his landlord’s premises, from
the beds in the attic to Betty in the kitchen.
With waiters and ostlers, a gentleman is one
Avho is flush of his cash; who after having paid
their master as much as their services are worth,
pays them four times their value into the bargain,
“Massa Dash,” says Cuffee, “he be one real gem
man; he gid me half a dollar for brush his boots,
tree-quarter dollar for hold him hoss, and Avhole
dollar for callin’him a geairaan. And he be first
rate gemnian; and no mistake.”
A gentleman, with Dollv, the Chambermaid, is
one who says a soft thing to her, praises her good
looks, compares her cheeks to the damask rose,
her lips to red cherries, her eyes to the planet
V euus, and her Avaist to an hour glass; and avljo,
to prove the sincerity of his soft nothings, gives
her occasionally a shy kiss, a gentle squeeze of
the hand, and a blight silver dollar.
A dandy’s estimate of a gentleman is based on
a foundation peculiarly his own. He is not a crea
ture who has any thing to do Avith money, sense,
feeling, flesh or blood. He is Avholly a factious
animal, made up by the tailor, the seamstress, the
eordwainer, the hatter, and the corset manufactu
rer. He is, to be sure, a creature that walks, talks
and eats; but he does all these from no ordinary
motive. He Avalks merely to show his gentleman
ly figure; he talks only because he never thinks;
and he eats for the same reason that his tailor uses
padding, viz: to fill out his proportions.
With a duelist, he is no gentleman Avho refu
ses to fight a duel. He may enact as many vil
lainous tricks as he pleases; lie may seduce the
weak, betiay the confiding, cheat the honest, and
murder the unresisting; all those do not detract
one Avhit from his gentlemanly pretensions. But
if he refuses to stand up and be shot at he is no
gentleman. Having complied with this requisite
he is a gentleman every inch of him, adultery,
treachery, and murder to the contrary, notwith
standing.
With the gay miss, who never breathes freely,
except in the atmosphere of lolly and shew, a
Gentleman is one who exerts himself to promote
her wishes; Avho gallants her to threafres, balls
and sleigh rides; av!io neglects his business to at
tend to her amusement; Avho spends his money
to advance her pleasure. who, in a Avord, is pretty
much, if uot altogether, a lady’s man.
But with the y oung lady’s maiden aunt, a staid
gentlewoman of worth, the gentleman is still a dif
ferent personage. He is the essence of respect
ful attention, and does not indicate by Avord, look
nr action, that he suspects her of being older than
she once was, or that he prefers the company of
younger misses.
With old ladies of revolutionary times, a gen
tleman Avho Avears a three cornered beaver, has his
shirts ruffled at the wrist. Who wears short
small clothes, and -a long AA-aistcoat, AA-ith pocket
flaps; avlio Avears silver buckles that reach from
side to side of his well saved shoes; who walks
with a gold headed cane; and who, in his man
ner neglects no item in the ceremony of olden
times.
The pit-a-pat heart of a susceptible girl of 16,
tells her that a gentleman is a tall felloAA', with a
fine military cap on his head; a blue coat turned
up Avith red facings; a sword by his side; a neat
pair of whiskers; a measured step, and a “How
d’ye do, mv charming miss ? \ou are the loa'C
liest creature I ever beheld —upon my soul you
a * Miss Phillis, too—she hab her gemman. And
he a brack man, trait as a lamp-post. Avid white
tees, roily eve, shiny skin, flatty foot, plumpy skin
lip, broaiiy nose —a nigger who wear a red coat, be
decolor what it will, who fiddle like Polio, dar.ee
Vol. I.—No. 17.
like a Frenchman, make two ortree bows in a rain*
ute, and say, “O laddy! Missy Phillis, your un
pallatable beauty hab set my heart on fire. O glue
pot!”
Among fox hunters, a gentleman is a fellow who
can leap a five barred gate, jump a twenty foot
ditch, tread the windings of a forest at full gallop,
smell the track when the hounds are at fault, be
the first at the death of Reynard, dip the brush in
a boAvl of punch, and drink the washings of a fox’s
tail.
With a country housewife he is e\-cry bit of a
gentleman Avho praises her domestic accomplish
ments : extols her cookery, admires the neatness
of her house, and pats the heads of her children;
Avho prefers molasses to sugar in sweetening his
coffee; eat9sour bread without a wry face ; dis
patches the worst articles on her fable with the
best relish; rises at the crowing of the cock; and
washes his face at the pump, instead of disarrang
ing her ewer and basin, which are kept for show.
A sailor’s gentleman is a bit of a tar. He is a
man who can box the compass; knot, splice, hand,
reef and steer; who can run aloft with the nimble
ness of a calf, and keep his footing on a rope, as
fearless as a spider on his web. Who recks littio
AA-liether he sleeps in lfis hammock, on the round
top, or at the bottom of the ocean ; who fears nei
ther storms, nor a hostile sail; who cares not a
great deal for many; whose hand is eve: ' nat
the cry of distress; who loves his wife next- -
ship; cannot abide a fellow who comes in at a cab
in window; hates meanness and despises i laud
lubber.
THE ESCAPE.
We extract the following amusing account or
the escape ofa convict from the . * ■ »
itentiary, at Baton Rouge, from . ■
that town. It presents a mixture ot daring me
address rarely surpassed.
A Convict Escaped. —On the I4ta May tun
Louisiana Penitentiary presented a seen' of
wonder, confusion, and commotion, occasioned
by the unanticipated departure of one of its in
mates.
Underwood, sentencecd to reside in the Peni
tentiary 14 years, for the gallant and bold of
fence of highway robbery, after 2 years residence,
got wearied of the monotonous duties which ht;
had to perform, and the damp gloomy Avails which
restrained the flights of his genius; and in a fit
of ennui, determined to break the chains Avhich
bound him to his home, and once more become
a wanderer upon the face of the earth. As he
Avas a blacksmith, he found but little difficulty in
filing the chain in a part Avhere it Avould escape
detection, and fastening it round his leg, appar
ently as usual. During the intervals allowed for
eating and relaxing from labor, he made a dash
ing pair of false whiskers, and thus prepared, he
Avaited Avith cool, but untiring watchfulness, to
seize any opportunity which might offer. For
tune soon granted what the larv denied*
The dinner bell rang out its heart-reviving
peal on the 14th of May, and the convicts left
their labor to solace themselves for the evils they
endured, and Undenvood, to devise a plan of
escape. The wardens were engaged attending
to several visitors, and he found himself, for a
few moments, free from their vigilant security.
In Aval king to his cell, seeming and resolving,
he accidently stumbled over a trunk in the way.
“D—-the trunk !” said he, grasping his toe and
dancing with pain. But a bright idea dawned
upon his mind, and a triumphant smile lighted up
his countenance. lie caught the trunk in his
arms and carefully peering along the dark passage,
he carried it into one of the dark cells. There
he opened it and extracted an elegant suit of new
clothes, a pair of green spectacles, a polished pair
of boots, a fashionable black hat, a pair of soft,
kid gloves, a bundle of segars, and pocket book
containing money, lie had no water to make his
ablutions, but he found a substitute, or perhaps
thought the matter beneath his notice. In a few
moments he had donned his apparel, whiskers and
all, and taking a coquetish peep in a pocket glass.
He surveyed—a ready dandy. With a smirk of
vanity on his countenance, he set down and indi
ted an affectionate valedictory letter to his com
rades. He then sallied forth into the yard, and
most foppishly SAvaggered round, combing his
whiskers, and contemplating the building with
marks of astonishment on his countenance. Af
ter shoAving off’ for a while, he concluded that
it was time to snuff the free breeze, placing a
cigar in his mouth he swung himself most lan
guidly into the blacksmith’s shop, and asked for
permission to get a light. His fellow convicts
boAved politely to the dashing dandy, who dreAv
the manuscript of an old song from his coat pocket
(left there accidentally by the former owner oftho
carment )and used it to light his cigar. “Poor
Betsey!” said he, sighing as he put if in tha
f, re —“How cruel lam to bum your letter—but
necessity orders it—there is noting else dean at
hand.”
He walked leisurely to the gate and entered
into conversation with one of the guards. “How
many miserable guilty mortals have you iu this
gloomy retreat of crime ?”
“There are about 120 convicts here now sir.”
“How my blood thrills when I think of the
degraded state of mankind, when l view so much
wretchedness and suffering. Have they any
chance ofescape ?”
The guard clashed his arms significantly.
“Ah ! you keep a strict watch ! —but I can’t
conceive how you can endure the sight of so
much suffering. I have always disliked to be
where crimes are punished ! —my nerves are weak ;
I feci for my fellow creatures however abandoned.
Good evening sir.” And he extended a paw wrap
ped up in glove leather, Avhich the guard respect
fully touched. The gate was opened, he entered
the pasage that leads to the street, met the war
den touched hishat and made a polite bow which
was no less courteously returned—and behold Un
derwood in the street chuckling at his success,
as the wind. ,
The whiskers were instantly removed, the bar
ber received a visit, and Underwood, now aha*
Selville, was shaved, brushed, perfumed, and