Newspaper Page Text
THE DAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL
nY s. ft. WESTON.
posoit ctilcfkln lottml,
rCIILISIIEn EVERY TIICRBDAY.
jpgf.VS— Strictly in •id vet nee.
Three mont.il> 4*
pix months ' -5
One year a 00
From tlie Southern Magazine.
x fauily racmiiu.
by a. 11 LOXOSTiiEI'.T.
I describe a Georgia family. It is a
fair specimen of Georgia families gen
ially, at the heads of which are pn
ronts of good souse, good morals, and
well improved minds. To be sure,
there are in Georgia as many notions
about parental government as them,
arc in any other country, and tho prac
tice is as various as tho opinions. Some
parents. exercise no government at ail,
others Confine theniselve! exclusively
to the Government of the tongue ; and
others rule by the rod alone ; but by
far the larger class blend these sever
al modes of government, and prefer
tho one or the other according to times
and circumstances. To this class be
longed Mr. and Mrs. llutler, the heads
of the family which I am about to
describe. Gilbert was the Christian
name of tho husband, and Eliza of th o
wife. 1 was intimately acquainted
with them both before their union,
ami was ever afterwards admitted to
their household with the freedom of
one of its members —indeed I was a
connection of one of them.
They had been married about eight
months when a dull November even
ing found me at their fireside. Iu tho
course of the evening the conversation
turned upon raising children. “By the
way, Eliza,”said Gilbert,“l have been
thinking of interchanging views with
you upon this subject; and there nev
er can be a better time than now,
while Abraham is with us, whose opin
ions we both respect, and who will act
as umpire between us.
‘Well,’ said Eliza, ‘let mo hear
yours.’
‘lf wo should over bo blessed with
children (Eliza blushed a little.) let it
be a fundamental law between us that
neither of us ever interfere with the
discipline of tho other, either by look,
word, or action, in the presence of the
children.’
‘To that rule I most heartily sub
scribe.’
‘When a child is corrected by one
of us, lot not the other extend to it the
least condolence or sympathy.’
‘ln that also you have my hearty
concurrence.’
‘Let us never correct a dull In a
passion.’
‘Tho propriety of that rule I fully
admit, but 1 fear that 1 shall not al
ways be able to conform to its requi
sitions. I will, however, endeavor to
do so ’
‘Well, if you will do your best, I
shall be satisfied.’
‘Let us, as far as it is practicable,
introduce among our children the uni
versally admitted principles of good
government among men.’
‘That is a very indefinite rule, hus
band. I know very little of the prin
ciples of good government among
men, and much loss of those principles
which are universally admitted.’
‘Well, I will be a little more spe
cific I believe it is universally ad
mitted that laws should precede pun
ishment, and that none should be pun
ished who are incapable of under
standing (he law. In accordance with
those principles I would never punish
acliibi who is incapable of i|istinguisli
ing between right and wrong, nor un
til he shall be forewarned ol tha wrong
and taught to avoid it.’
‘Those principles seem very reason- j
able to mo,’ said Eliza, ‘but they nev- j
or can bo applied to children. If you j
tlo not correct a child until it is old |
enough tojearn from precept tho dis- 1
ference between right and wrong, there !
"ill be no living in the house with it |
for tho first five or six years of its life, •
and no controlling it afterwards.’
Gilbert received these views of his '
■wife with somo alarm, and entered up- .
°n a long argument to convince her
that they were erroneous. She main
tained her own very well, but Gilbert.
bad certainly the advantage of her in
tae argument. All he could say, how- ;
over, did not in the. least shako her
confidence in her opinion.
1 was at length appealed to, and 1
geye judgment in favoi*of Gilbert.
‘Well,’ said she, ‘I was never bettor
satisfied of anything in my life than I j
arrl that you are both wrong. But let j
•is compromise this matter. I’ll agree
to this : if ever I correct a child beforo
jt is old enough to receive instruction
hom precept, and you do not approve
°t my conduct, I will then promise
Jou never to do the like again.’
‘Well,’ said Gilbert, ‘that is very
; :Ur - Ouo more rule will settle tho
undamentals, and we safely trust all
clbors to future adjustment. Let us
U9ver address our children in the non
sensical gibberish that is so univorsal
y prevalent among parents, and par
m . y among mothers. It is very
81 v In tho first place, and it greatly
r ' l 'irds a child’s improvement in tho
second. W'ere it not for this 1 have
llu ooubt children would speak their
Mother tongue as eorreetiy at four
as th °y do at sixteen.’
diza smiled, and observed that this
'"as such a small matter that it had
" s<l better he left to future adjustment,
01 bis Gilbert reluctantly assented.
About two months after this convor
-8 ‘ l °n Gilbert was ‘blessed’ with a fine
l" 11 ’ "’bora be namod John James Gil
■ '. 'b after the two grandfathers and
nniself—a profusion of names which
had cause afterwards to repent,
ust fourteen months and six days
tr caftor ho was ‘blessed’ with a lino
daughter, whom Eliza named Anna
brands Eliza, after the t.vo grunmoth
ors and herself.
fifteen months thereafter ho re
ceived a third blessing, like unto the
first, which lie called George Ilenry,
after his two brothers.
Thirteen months and nineteen days
after the birth of George, a fourth
blessing descended upon Gilbert, in
the form of a fine son, This took tho
name of William Augustus, aftci two
brothers of his wife.
Eliza now made a long rest of nine
teen months, four days and five hours
(I speak from the family record.) when,
by way of amends, she presented her
husband a pair of blessings. As soon
as his good fortune was lmidtf known
to him, Gilbert expressed regret that
lie had not reserved Ids own name un
til now. in order that the twins might
hear his name and mine. Seeing this
could qot bo doin', ho bestowed, my
lianio on the fi st burn, and gave me
(he privilege of naming the second. —
As i considered ‘a good name rather
to be chosen than great riches,’l called
the innominate Isaac—after the patri
arch, and a beloved uncle of mine.
In this very triumphant and lauda
ble manner did Mrs. Butler close the
list of lier sous.
iSlic now turned her attention to
daughters, and in tho short space of
five years produced three that a Queen
might have been proud of. Their
names, in order of their births, were,
Louisa, lleboeca, and Sarah.
John was about a year old when I
was again at Gilbert’s for the evening.
1 le was seated at the supper-table with
the child in his arms, addressing some
remarks to me, when I called his at
tention to the child, who was just in
tho act of putting its fingers into the
blaze of the candle. Gilbert jerked
him away suddenly, which so disap
pointed and incensed Master John
James Gilbert that he screamed insuf
ferably. Gilbert tossed him, patted
him, walkodjiim, whistled to him, but
bo could not detract his attention from
the candle. Ho removed him out of
sight of the luminary, but that only
made matters worse. He now com
menced his first lesson in the ‘princi
ples of good government.’ He brought
the child towards the candle, and the
nearer it approached the more pacified
it became. The child extended its
arms to catch tho blaze, and Gilbert
bore it slowly towards the flame until
tlie hand came nearly in contact with
it, when he snatched it away, crying
‘Bunnie finnios !’ which is by interpre
tation, ‘You’ll burn your fingers.’ Eli
za and I exchanged smiles, but neither
o£ Jill CM.Lt
Tiie child construed this into wan
ton teasing, and became, if possible,
more obstreperous than ever. Gilbert |
now resorted to another expedient.—
Ho put his own fingers into the blaze,
withdrew them suddenly, blew them,
,-liook them, and gave every sign of
acute agony. This not only quieted
but delighted the child, who signified
to him to do it again. He instantly
perceived (what was practically dem
onstrated tho minute afterwards) that
tiie child was putting a most danger
ous interpretation upon his last illus
tration. lie determined therefore not
to repeat it. Tho child, ndt satisfied
with the sport, determined to repeat
it himself, which the father opposing,
lie began to reach and cry as before.
There was but one experiment left,
and that was to let the child feel the
flame a little. This ho resolved to
try, but how to conduct it properly was
not so easily settled. It would not do
to allow the infant to put his hands in
to the blaze, because it would either
burn it too little or too- much. He
therefore resolved to direct tho band
to a point so near the flame that tho
increasing heat would induce the child
to withdraw bis band himself. Ac
cordingly bo brought the extended
arm slowly towards tho flame, tho
child becoming more and more impa
tient, with every moment’s postpone
ment of its gratification, until the hand
became within about an inch of the
wick, when ho held the child station
ary. But John would not let his hand
remain stationary, nor at the chosen
point. He kept snatching at the can
dle, till finding all his efforts fruitless,
he threw himself violently back, gave
his father n tremendous thump on the
nose with the hack of his head, and
kicked and screamed outrageously.
‘You little rascal,’ said Gilbert, ‘I vo
a good mind to give you a good spank
ing.’ .
‘Give him to me,’ said Ylrs. Butler.
‘You’d better net take Him,’ said
Gilbert, in an under tone, ‘while ho is
in such a passion.’
‘No danger,’ said she ; ‘hand him to
me.’ ’. . . ,
As sho received him, ‘hush, sir,
said*she sharply, and the child hushed
instantly, and was asleep in a few
minutes.
‘Strange,’ said Butler, ‘how much
sooner the mother ucquires control
over a child than the father.’
‘Not at all,’ said Mrs. Butlor ‘You
would have controlled him as easily as
1 did if you had given him tho- same
lesson beforehand that I gave him. He
'got in just such an uproar the other
dav, and finding nothing elso wouul
quiet him, I spanked it out of him,
and I have had no trouble in quieting
1 him since., , , ~ T
‘1 begin to think, 1 utler, said i,
that Eliza was right in the only points
of difference between you touching
tho management ol children. 1 o>-
1 served that you address the child just
nowin the gibberish which xiu so
much condemned before you became
a father ; and though it seemed u
diculous enough, especially in you, 1
think it would have appealed sti.l
1 more ridieulousif you had sai l to a
child so young, ‘John my sou, ao not
DAWSON, GA., THURSDAY, MARCH 9, 1871.
put your fingors into tlie flame of the
candle, it will burn them ’ And your
experiment had taught you tho abso
lute impossibility of governing child
ren of very tender years by prescribed
rules.’
‘I am half inclined to-your opinion,’
said Butler. Eliza’s discipline lias
performed several good offices. It
has relieved us of John’s insufferable
noise, it has taught him to controll his
temper at its first appearance, and it
has learned him the meaning of a
word ( ‘huah’jwhich will often supply
the place of correction, and always
forewarn him of desires unlawful.—
However, this case is an exception to
mv rule rather than a refutation of it.
After a child gets old enough to un
derstand the language of instruction
lie should always be premonished be
fore lie is punished.’
Eliza again joined issue with him,
and an argument ensued in which
Gilbert silenced his wife as before, but
with no better effect upon her judg
ment. Tho matter referred to me, and
1 decided this time in favor of tlie
wife; rather upon tho doctrine of
chances than of dialectics.
Gilbert now squared himself for an
argument a little more obstinate than
that from which he had just come vic
torious After waiting a reasonable
time, ‘Well,’said lie ‘proceed.’
‘Proceed where ;’ said I.
‘With your reasons.’
‘l’ve got no reasons,’ said I ‘except
that you wife thinks so.’
‘Well, really,’ returned he, ‘that is
very profound, and proves you to bo
the best judge for the decision of my
wife’s controversies that she could se
lect.’
‘There may be more sound pliilos
phy in it, rejoined 1, ‘than at first
sight appears. Your wife lias already
proved herself to be a better judge of
these matters than both of us put to
gether ; and I think I understand why
it is so. She has had ten times the
experience in them that we have had.
Her habits of life have been domes
tic, she lias seen children of all ages
and under all circumstances, and six
teen to twenty-three she supplied her
mothei’suplaee in her father’s family.
‘A pretty handsome ft treat,’ said
Gilboit.
Long boforo the second son arrived
at the reasoning age Gilbert abdicated
unreservedly in favor of his wife eon
tending himself with the subordinate
station of her ministerial officer,, in
which he executed her orders in ca
ses requiring more physical strength
than she possessed.
Passing over tlie intermediate per
iod, L now introduce the reader to
this family after most of the children
had reached tho ‘age of reason.’ In
contemplating tho scene which I am
about to sketch, lie will be pleased to
turn his thoughts oec.asionly to Gil
bert’s ‘principles of good government.’
Sarah was about two years and a
half old when Gilbert invited me to
breakfast with Mm one December
morning near the Christmas holidays.
It was tlie morning for his second
killing of' hogs ; which, as tlie South
ern reader knows, is a sort of family
carnival in Georgia. I went and
found all the children at home, and j
Gilbert’s mother added to the family
circle. John and Anna had reached j
tlie age when they were permitted to j
take seats at the first table ; though
upon this occasion. John, being on
gaged about the pork did not avail
tiiis privilege. Tho rest of the
children were taught to wait for the
second table. Breakfast was an
nounced ; aml after tlie adults and An
na had dispatched their meal, tho
children were summoned. As they
had been taught not to seat them
selves at the table until bidden, and as
there were some preparatory arrange
ments to he made, they all gathered
around the fire, clamorous with the
events of the morning.
‘By jockey,’ said William, ‘didn’t
that-old black barrer weigh a heap ?’
‘Look here, young gentleman,’ said
his mother, ‘where did you pick up
such language as that ? Now let me
ever hear you ‘by-jockeying,’ or hy
ing anything else again, and I’ll war
rant you.’
‘But the black barrel-,’ said George,
‘didn’t weigh as much to his sizo as
the bob-tail speckle, though.’
‘lie did.’
‘He didn’t.’ _
‘llusli you disputing this instant!
sto i it l You shall not contradict each
other in that manner. And let us
hear no more of your hog-pon wonders
—nobody wants to bear them.’
At this instant William snatched a
pig-tail out of Isaac’s hand.
‘Ma,’ yelled Isaac, make Bill gi’ me
muh tail.’
‘You William ! give him his—thing.
And if 1 was near you Id box your
ears for that—Mr. Butler, you will
really have to take that fellow in
hand. He's getting so 1 can do noth
ing -with him.
•If he don’t behave himself,’ said
‘lf he don’t behave himself,’ said But
ler carlcssly ‘just turn him over to me ;
1 reckon 1 can*manage him.’
‘Ma,’ said Bill, ‘lie took my blath
er.,
‘Hush !’
‘1 didn’t’
‘You did.’
‘Don’t I tell you to hush your dis
puting ?’ .
| ‘Well, Ma, Uncle York give it to
; me.’
He didn’t Uncle Monday give it to
mo ’
‘He didn’t.’
‘He did.’
Here the mother divided a pair of
slaps between tho disputants which
silenced them for a few moments.
I AY this juncture Bebecca cried out
1 with a burnt finger, which she re
cievod iu cooking another pig-tail. —
Tlie burn was so slight that sho for
got it as hor mother jerkod her from
the (ire.
You little vixen ?’ said the mother
‘what possesses you to be fumbling
about the fire ? Mr. Butler, I beseech
you to forbid negroes giving tlie child
ren any of those poison pig-tails ; they
are a source of endless torment.
And now, young gentlemen, one and
all of you, the next one of you that
brings one of those things into tho
liouso again, I'll box his oars as long
as I find him. Now reinombor it!
Como along to your breakfast.
In a little time, after somo contro
versy about places, which was arrest
ed by the motlioi-s eyo, they wero all
seated; John happened in, in the
meantime, taking his fathers seat.
‘ls s-sp !’ said William, ‘sassidges !
that’s wliat 1 love.’
‘Hoo’ said Isaac, ‘sparribs! that’s
what I love.’
‘Well, cease your gab, and oaf
what's set before you without com
ment. Nobody t ares what you love,
or what you don’t love.’
‘Souse!’ said Abraham; I don’t
lovp souse. I wouldn’t eat souse;
tain’t fitten for a dog to eat.’
‘Get up sir ; get right up from tho
table, and march out of the house un
til you learn better manners. I’ll be
bound, if I say you shall eat souse
you’ll eat it. Do you bear me, sir?’
Abraham raked himself lazily out
of bis seqt and moved slowly off, cast
ing a longing look at tho many good
things on the table, which he evident
ly thought, ‘fitten for a prince to eat.’
‘Ala,’ said he as ho retired, ‘I wish
you’d make Bill quit laughing at
me.’
‘William, Ivj as great a mind as
I ever had to do anything in my* life
to send you from the table, and not
let you cat a mouthful. 1 despise
that abominable disposition you have
of rejoicing at you brother’s misfor
tunes Itemeniber, sir, what Solomon
says : He. that is glad at calamities
shall not go unpunished. ’ .
‘Ma,’ said Abraham, ‘mayn 1 1 come
to my breakfast ?’
‘Yes,’ if you think you can now be
liavo yourself with decency.’
Abraham returned, and they all
broke forth at once.
‘Ala, mayn’t I have some sassidgo ?’
‘Ala, I want some spar-rib.’—‘Ala,
lain t got no coffee.’—‘Ala, if you
please ma'm, let mo have some ham
jgravy, and some fried hom ny, and
some egg, and—’
‘And some of everything on the ta
ble, I suppose. But down your pluto
—every one of you. George, what
win you na,(••;”
‘Some sasssdge, and somo fried po
tatoes. ’
‘John help yonr brother George.—
Wliat do you want, NV illiam?
‘I want some spare-rib and some
hom’ny.’
‘Nancy, help AYilliam. What do
you want, Abraham?’
‘I reckon,’ said John, smiling, ‘ho 11
take a little souse.’
‘New behave yourself. He has
su tiered tlie punishment cf his fault,
and there let it rest ’
‘lll have,’ said Abe. ‘some bam
gravy, and some eggs, and some hom
ny.’
‘Help him, Chaney. What 11 you
have, Isaac ?’
‘l’ll have some ham-gravy, and some
hom’ny, and some sassidgo, and some
spare-rib, and some —’
‘Well, you are not going to have ev
erything on the table, I assure you. —
What do you want ?’
‘I want some ham-gravy and some
hora’ny.’
‘John, help I—’
‘No ' I don’t want no gravy ; I want
some spare-lib ’
‘Jehu, give him— ’
‘No ! I don t want no spare-rib ; I
want some sassidgo.’
‘Well, if you don't make up your
mind pretty quick you 11 want your
breakfast, 1 toll you. 1 m not going
to be tantalized all day long by your
wants. Bay what you want, and have
done with it’
‘I want some ham-gravy, and somo
sassidge, and some honi’ny.’
‘Help him, John.’
John helped him to about a tea
spoonful from each dish.
‘Now, Ala, jest look at Bud John !
He iiain't gi me only jist these three
little bit *o bits.’ ‘ -
‘John, if you can’t keep from tan
talizing tho children, fill mo so, and
I'll not trouble you to h-lp them any
more. I confess that lam at a loss
to discover what pleasure one of your
n£o can take in teasing your younger
brothers. Bebecca, what do you
want!,
‘I want my pig- tail, ma'am.’
‘Bless my soul and body ! haven't
you forgot that pig-tail yet '.lts burnt
up long ago, 1 hope. Look, Bob, and
see ; and if it isn t, give it to her. 1
wish in my heart there never was a
pig-tuil on the face of the earth.
Bob produced tho half charred pig
tail, and laid it on Miss Bebecca s
plate.
‘There,’ continued Iter mother, ‘I
hope now your hearts at oaso A
beautiful dish it is, truly, for any mor
tal to take a fancy to !
*Ma, 1 don t want this pig-tail.’
‘Take it away. I knew you didn’t
want it. you littlo perverse brat. 1
knew you didn’t want it; and 1 don’t
know what got into me to let you have
it. But really, lam so tormented out
of my life that, half tlie time, I hardly
know whether I’m standing on my
head or my heels.’
‘Missis,’ said Chaney, ‘Aunt Dorcas
say please make Miss Ixiuisa come out
do kitchen. Say if you don’t make
her come out do tiro, lier’ll git burnt
up d’reekly. Say every time elnj tell
hor to come out do firo aho mako a
mouf at her.’
* ‘Why, Rare enough ! where is Lou
isa ? Go tell her to come to her break
fast this instant.’
‘I did toll hor, ma’am ; and sho say
sho won’t come till sho gits done bak
in’ her cake.’
‘Afrs. Biftlor left the room and soon
returned with Louisa sobbing and cry
ing ’
‘Aunt Dorcas jerked mo hard as ov
er she could jerk ’fore I did anything
T all to’lior.’
‘Hold your tongno ! she served you
right enough , you’d no business there.
You’re a pretty thing fir be making
mouths at a person old enough to be
your grandmother. If I’d thought
when 1 gave you that lump of dough
that the whole plantation was to be
turned upside down about it, I’d have
let you do without it.’
Miss Louisa, after a little sobbing
and pouting, drew from her apron a
small, dirty, ashy, black, wrinkled,
burnt biscuit, warm from tho kitchen
shovel, which would have been just
precisely the accompaniment to ltebec
ea’s dish ; and upon this, in preference
to everything on the table, she com
menced her repast.
‘Well, Lou, said tho mother with a
laugh, ns sho cast her eyes upon the
unsightly biscuit, ‘you certainly have
a strange tasto.’ *
Everybody knows that tlio mother’s
laugh is always responded to with com
pound interest by all her children. So
was it iu this instance, and good hu
mor prevailed around the table.
‘l’m sorry.’ said Abraham, ‘for Lou
isa's b-i-s, bis k-i-t, kit.’
‘Well, really ’ said Mrs. 8., ‘you
are a handsome speller. Is that the
way you spell biscuit ?’
‘I ran spell it, ma,’ bawled out Ike.
‘Well, sped it.’
‘B-i-s, bis, c’—(‘Well, that’s right.’)
‘h’—
‘Ah, well! that’ll do. You needn’t
go any farther ; you’ve missed it worse
than your brother. Spell it, William.’
William spelled it correctly.
‘7»ia,’ said George, ‘wliat is biscuit
dori ved from ?’ ,
‘I really do not know,’ said Airs B. |
‘and yet 1 have somewhere read an
explanation of it. Julin, what is it
'derived from ?’
John. —‘Erom tho French; ‘bis,’,
twice, and ‘euit,’ baked.’
Butler.—‘Bather from two Latin
words which mean tho same thing ;
one of which the French have changed
as we have it, while they have pre
served tho other unaltered.’ |
• William. ‘Why, Ma, you don’t
bake biscuits twice over.’
Abraham. —‘Yes, Ala does some
times ; done you, Ida, when cwiupany
comes ?’ j
Mother.—‘No, I sometimes warm
over cold ones, when I havn’t time to
make fresh ones ; but never bake
twice.’
Butler.—They wero first made to j
carry to sea; and then they were baked j
twice over, as I believe sea-biscuits
still aro.’ (
Isaac. ‘Ala, what’s breakfast
’rived from*?’
Mother.—‘Spell it, and you will see.’
Isaac. —‘B-r-o-a-k, break, f-u-s-t,
fust, breakfast.’ I
Mother.—‘Well, Ike, you’re anoth
er speller. Break-fast is tho word ;
not break-fust ’
Abruliam. —‘I know what it comes
from.’
Alother. —‘Wliat ?’
Abraham.—‘You know, when you
call us chillen to breakfast, wo aU
break off and run as fast as wo can
split.’
Alother.—‘Well, that’s a brilliant
derivation, truly. Do you suppose
there wasn’t breakfast before you chil
dren were born ?’
Abraham.—‘But, Ala, everybody
has chillen.’
Airs. Butler explained tho term.
Isaac.—‘Afa, 1 know what sassidgo
comes from.’
Mother. —‘What ?’ )
Isaac.—‘Cause it's got sass in it.’
Alother.— ‘Well, there, there, there !
I’ve got enough of derivations, Unless
they are better. You’ll learn all these
things as you grow older.’
Just here, Miss Sarah, who had
been breakfasting at a side table, was
seized with a curiosity to see what was
on tho breakfast table. Accordingly, 1
she undertook to draw horseif up tj
tho convenient elevation by the table
cloth. Her mother arrested her just
in time to save a cup, and pushed her
aside with a gentle admonition. This
did not abate Aliss Sarah’s curiosity
in the least, and sho recommenced her
experiment. Her mother removed her .
a little more emphatically this time.— I
These little interruptions only firod
Aliss Sarah's zeal, and she wus re- ■
turning to the charge with redoubled
( n rgy, when she ran her cheek against
tho palm of her mother’s hand, with
a rubificent force. Away she went,
to her grandmother, crying, ‘Gran-ma, :
Ala whipped your prettous, darlin, an- .
gc>l baby.’
‘Did she, 1113- darling ? Then Grand
ma’s pveciou j v darling, angel must be ,
n good child, and mother won’t whip
it any more.’
‘Well, 1 will be a dood child.’
‘Well, then, mother won’t whip it
any more.’
‘Ala. just look at Abe,’ cried Wil
liam, ‘be saw mo going to take a bis
cuit, and lie snatched up tho very one
1 was going ta talco ’
‘Abe, said the mother, ‘I do wish I
could make you quit nick-naming each
other, and I -wish more that I had
never set you tho example. But down
that biscuit, sir, and take another.’
'Abraham returned the biscuit, and
William took it with a sly and trium
phant giggle at Abraham.
‘Ala,’ said Abraham, ‘Bill said God
dura.’
.Law, what a story ! Ma, I declare
I never said no such thing.’
‘Yes you did, and Chaney heard
you.’
William’s countenance immediately
showed that his memory had been re
freshed, and he drawed out, ‘I never
now,’ with a tone and countenance
that plainly imparted guilt to some
extent. Ilis mother suspected that
he was hinging upon technics, and she
Sut the probing question, ‘WeU, what
id you say ?’
‘I said Ibo toetotly ’od ’urn.’
.‘And that’s jusfras bad. Mr. But
ler, you positively wiU have to take
this boy in hand. He evinces a strong
propensity to profane swearing, which
if not corrected immediately, will be
come ungovernable.’
‘Whenever you can’t manage him,’
said AL. Butler as before, ‘just turn
him over to me, and I reckon I can
manage him.’
It is duo to Butler hero to state that
it was mutually understood between
him and bis wife that her credit was
not staked upon these general drafts,
and therefore he did not feel himself
bound to honor them ; but whenover
she valuod on him (as the merchants
say) for a specific amount or a special
purpose, hor bills wore never dishon
ored.
‘When did he say it P’ inquired the
mother, returning to Abraham.
‘You know that time you sent all us
children to the new ground to' pick
peas.’
‘Why, that’s been three months ago,
and you’ve just thought now of telling
it. Oh, you malicious toad, you, where
do you learn to bear malice so long ?
I abhor that trait of character in a
child.’
‘Ma,’ said Bill, ‘Abe liain’t said his
prayers for three nights.’
Abo and Bill now exactly swapped
places and countenances.
‘Yes,’ said the mother, ‘and I sup
pose I should never have heard of that
if Abraham had not told of your pro
fanity.’ 9
‘I know bettor,’ dragged out Abra
i ham, in reply to William.
'Abraham, ’ saftl the mother solemn
I}-, ‘did you kneel down when you said
your prayers last night ?'
‘Yes, ma’uim,’ said Abraham, bright
ening a little.
‘Yes, ma,’ continued Bill, ‘he kneels
down and ’fore I say- ‘Now I lay me
down to sleep, he jumps up every
night and hops in bed and says lie’s
done said his prayers, and he liain t
had time to say half a prayer.’
During this narrative my namosako
kept cowering under tho steadfast
frown of mother, until he transformed
himself into the perfect personification
of idiocy.
‘How many prayers did you say last
night Abraliaiu?’paused tho mother iu
an awfully portentous tono
' ‘I said one, and —(here ho paused.)
'One, and what?, * *
‘One, and apiece of another one.’
’Why, Ala, he couldn’t ha, said it
to save lii.s life, for lie hadn’t time.—
Hush, sir, 1 dont ask you for your
assistance.
‘I did,* muttered Abraham,‘l said
another piece after I got in bed.’
‘Abraham,* said his mother, ‘I de
clare I am so mortified, so shocked at
this conduct, that I am at a loss how
to express myself about it. Supposo
you had died last night after truing
with your prayers as you did, who can
tell what’would have become of you!
Is it possible that you oant spend
a few minutes in prayer to your Heav
enly Bather, who feeds you and cloth
es you, and who gives every thing
good you have in the world. You
poor sinful child I could weep over
you.
Boor Abraham evinced such deep con
trition under this lecture (for he sobbed
as if liis heart would break) that his
mother deemed it prudent to conclude
with suasives, which sho did in tho
happiest manner’
Having thus restored Abraham’s
equinimity in a measure, with a gen
tly encouraging smile she continued:
‘And now, Abraham, tell your Broth
er how you come to say a part of the
second prayer.’ I could’t go to sleep
till I said it ma’m .'
Well that's a good sign at loast.
And what, part was it?’
God bless my father and mother.
Airs. Butler felt quickly for her hand
kerchief. It liad fallen from her lap,
and she was glad of it. Sho depressed
her head below the table in search of
it, dismissed tho children before she
raised it and rose with a countenance
suffused with smiles and tears.
Boor babes,’ said she, what an odd
c ompound of good and bad they are!’
The grandmother returned just at
this time, discovering seme unoaso
ness at Mrs. Butler's tears’ the latter
explainod. As she concluded—‘The
Lord bless the poor dear boy,’ exclaim
ed the venerable matron, raising hor
apron to hor eyes, that shows he has
good hoart. No danger of the child
that oan,t sleep till he pray3 for his
lather and mother.
! , -L-Xl_ J. 1
To The Travelling Public.
MARSHALL HOUSE,
A.ii’.f.nnt/i, ft./.
This first-olass Hotel is sitoatnl on Brough
ton street, and is convenient to the business
part of the city. OmnibiisSes anti Baggage
Wagons will always be in attendance at the
various Depots and Steamboat Landings, to
convey passengers to the Hotel. The best
Livery Stable accommodations will be found
adjoining the house.
The undersigned will spar* neither time,
trouble nor expense to make bis guests com
fortable, and render this House, in every sub
stantial particular, equal, al least, to any in
the State,
A. D. LICE, Proprietor.
YOL. VI. — NO L
sK’rcfrujteaitf ©ante.
J. L. JANES,
Attorney At Law,
DAWSOIt, GA.
tlUOffice at Court House,
Feb. 9-6 m.
DR. G. W. FARRAR
HAS located in this city, and offers . 1
Professional services to the public!
Office next door to the “Journal Office," on
Main Street, whore he can bo found in tbs'
day, unless professionally engaged,' ahd' at
night at his residence opposite the Bandit
church fob. 2-tn
C. B. WOOTEN. L. C. HOTLto
WOOTEN. & HOYLE,
.Attorneys at Law#
lU IFSO.r, GJI.
Jan 8-1 y.
G. W. WARWICK,
Att’y at Law and Solicitor in Equity#
SMITH VILLE, OA.
Will practice in South Western and Patanla
circuits. Collections promptly remitted.*
K. J. WARREN,'
ATTORNEY AT LAW,-
S7»t ftKSPML.LE, - - ««/•
E .T JOHNSTON,
Watches, Jewelry, Silverware,
Fancy Goods. Cutlery. Musical
Instruments, Ac.
Particular attention given to Repairs on fine
and Difficult. Watches. Jewelrv Repaired.
Corner Mulberry and Second /Streets, J/a«
con, Georgia. dec22"*3m*
Dawson Business Directory.
Dry Good* merchants.
CRMI, A TUCKER, Dealers ia
Dry Goods Clothing, Boots and Shoes
Groceries Ac. A Iso agents for some of th#
most approved Fertilizers. Main Street.
KUTMER, EDWARD, Dealer in
Staple and Fancy Dry Goods, Grocerii 9-
Hardware, Crockery etc.
ORR, W. F. Dealer In Fancy and sta
ple Drv Goods, Main st., next door to
J. W. Reddick’s.
Grocery merchant*'.
HOOD, B. H., Denier in Groceries ands
Family snooliea generally, at W. F.-
Orr’s old stand, under ‘Journal’’ Office,
Main si.
LOYLESS, J. E. Grocer and Com
mission .Merchant, Dealer in Bacon,
Flour, Liquors, kc.
REDOICK, J. Grocer dealer in Ba
con, Flour, Lard, Tobacco, &c.
HARDWARE.
LEE A BROTHER, Dealer* ire
Hardware. Iron and Steel, Wagon Tim-'
bars, and Plantation Tools Also Manufac
turers ofTiu Ware,Mam st., at J. lb Perry’s
old stand.
Baldwin, Andrew. Denier
in Dry Goods, Groceries, Hardware Out
terly, Furniture, 2d door from the Hotel!
Driisgith.
Cl HEATH ATI, C. A., Druggist and-
J /■’hysieian. Will visit by day or night,,
patients in Town or Country—will preserve'
for any and all the ilia that flesh is heir to*.
Keeps a complete supply of Drugs and Meds
icines. School Books and stationary—Gar
den Seeds &o , &c , At his old Tho
Red Drug Storo on Main St., TERMS Strict
ly Cash for all articles sold. Monthly settle,
ments for Professional Services.
TATES, DR. J. K., Dealer in
Diugs, Medicines, Oils, Paints, By*
Stuffs, Garden Seed, Ac., &c.
Livery Stable.
HAYNES, SAMUEL S . (Sue*
cessor to Farnnra k .Sharpe) will do *
gen al Livery business Uo-scs and Mules
for S ile, Horses boarded. North side Pub
lic Square.
ULtCKS.miTH SHOD.
WARP, RANDALL. Will make
v T and repair Wagons, Buggies Plows,
Dickson Sweep, Shoeing horses, near Post
Office. Always ready to co work good and
c’lesp. Jan. 19-1 y
KBTARLISHED 1811.
CUSHINGS
& BAILEY,
BOOKSELLERS AND STATIONERS,
262 BALTIMORE ST.. BALTIMORE,
Have the
LARGEST AND BJT3T -4SSORT2TD STOCK*
In the City of
SCHOOL MADICAL
and LAW and D/TNT.i L
CLASSICAL and MISCELLANEOUS'
BOOKS.
An immemte pimply oj
GENERAL BANK .4N*D COUNTING HOUSE
STATIONERY.
Blank Books made to order iu any style of
Binding and Killing.
Tot same csreful Attention given to’
ORDERS.
sr to Personal Pitrchahks,
IN 8 IDE FIGURES AL WA i’S.-
.Send for Catalogues, Ac.
Dec. l-4m.
JOY OF THE WORLD l
AN ANTIDOTE}
DISCOVKKKD AT LAST POK
CHILLS AND FEVER*
| fT'ffE celbbTated Holton Pill. manufaCtnreOf
I JL by Dr. H. C. Bailey, at Amerious, Geor
gia, is undoubtedly the best medicine yet
dig-covered for the cure of tho different forms
of malarious fevers, such as chili and fever,*
I fever and ague, intermittent or bHiious re
mittent ft-vers, and all forms 6f diaeasS hav
ing a malarious or gin.
Sold bg Dr. J. R- J<fh(* I)avion, Od., and
Dealers Generally.
| Price One Hollar.-
J/uchoi r - lv.