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About The Dawson weekly journal. (Dawson, Ga.) 1868-1878 | View Entire Issue (March 9, 1871)
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.
