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when all of a sudden lie stopped, down went
his washand-busiand hegevsuch a piercing
fjijr.ek ! such a bust of agony as 1 never saw,
except wacn the prince sees tne ghost in Ham
lick'. down went his basin, and up went his
eyes; 1 really tiiougiit he was going to vom
ick 1
I rushed up to his Grace, squeezing him in
the shoulders, and patting him on the back.—
Every body was in alarm ; the Duke, as pale
as usnex,grinding his teeth,frowning, and rank
in’ tne most frightful extortions : the ladies were
in astarrix; and I observed Lazy Jim leaning
against tiie sideboard, and looking as white as
chuck.
1 looked in his Grace’s plate, and, on my
honor as a g’n’lm’n, among tae amins and rea
sons there was two rows of teeth !
•• L nv—l leavens!—what i —your Grace !
—is it possible,” said Lady Sungsinag, puttin’
her hand into the Duke’s plate. “ Dear Duke
of Haldersgit! as 1 live tiiey are my lost
.teeth!”
Flesh and bind coo In’t stand this, and I bust
out laffi.i till l thought 1 should split; a foot
man's a man, and as impregnable as hany oui
er to tire rediclous. I bust and every body
bust after me—lords and ladies; duke and but
ler. and all—every body except Lazy Jim.
Would you believe it? He hadn’t cleaned
out the glasses, and the company was a wash
in’ them -elves in second-hand water a fortnit
old!
I don’t wish to insinuate that this kind of
thing is general; only people had better take
warnin’ by me and Mr. Skeleton, and wash
themselves at home. Lazy Jim was turned
off the next mornin’, took to drinkin’ and evil
habits, and is now, in consquints, a leftenant
general in the Axillary Legend.
Edinburgh Scotsman.
iirrihij. Achievement.
The church of St. Peter and St. Paul is re
markable for its spire, the loftiest in St. Peters
burg.
Ail anecdote connected with this church and
not known I believe, out of Rusia. is too re
in irkable to be ornited. The spire winch ris
es
is terminated by a large globe, on wuich an an
gel stands,supporting a large cross. T'us an
gel less respee’ed by the weather than perhaps
Ins iioiy character de; e.ved, tell into disrepair,!
and some suspicions were entertained, that he
designed revisiting, uninvoked, the surface of
tne earth. Tae atHiir caused some uneasiness,
an . tiie government at length became serious
ly perplexed. To raise a scaffolding to such
a heig.it, would cost more money than all the;
•angels out of Heaven were worth—and in med
itat.ng fruitlessly on circumstances, without be-!
iug able to resolve how to act, a considerable
time was suffered to elapse.
Among the crowd of gazers below, who dai
ly turned their eyes and their thoughts towards
t ie angel, was a niijack called Telouchine. —
Tuts man was a roofer of houses, and Ins
speculations by degrees assumed a more
practical character than the idle wonders and
conjectures of the rest of the crowd. The
sp ,e was entirely covered with sheets of gild
e : copper, and presented a surface to the eye
a ; smootn as if it nad been one mass of burn
isued gold. But To’ouchine knew that the
s .eeis of copper were not uniformly closed up
on cacti otner; and above all, that there were
large nails used to fasten them, which project
ed from the side of the spire.
Having me ditated upon t ;ese circumstances
till nis mind was made up, the rnijack went to
the government, and olio red to repair the an-1
gel, without scaffolding, and without assistance,
on condition ot being reasonably paid for the
time expended in the labour. The oiler was
accepted, for it was made in Russia, and by a
Russian. On the day fixed for the adventure,
I elouchine, provided with nothing more than
a coil ol ropes; ascended tiie spire into the
window. Here he looked at the concourse of
people below. He cut a portion of the cord
in the form of two large stirrups, with a loop
at each end. The upper loops he fastened up
on two of the projecting nails above liis head,
and placed his feet in tiie others. Then dig
ging t.ie fingers of one hand into interstices of
the sheets of copper, lie raised up on his stir
rups on the other hand, so as to make it catch
a nail higher up. The same operation he per
formed op the part of the other leg, and so on
alternately. And thus lie climed nail by nail,
step by step, and stirrup by stirup, till his
starting post was scarcely distinguishable from
the golden surface, and the spire hand dwind
led in his embrace till he could clasp it all aro
und. So far, so well. But he now reached
the Ball, a globe ol between nine and ten feet
in circumference. The ange 1 tiie object of
I the suit, was above the bull, and concealed
1 from liis view by its smooth, round and glitter
ing expanse. Only fancy the man at the mo
iment, turning up his grave eyes and grave
beard to an object that seemed to defy the da
ring and ingenuity of man.
But Teloucokine was not dismayed. lie
was prepared for the difficulty ; and the means
by which he essayed to surmount it exibited the
same prodigious simplicity as the rest of the
feat.
Suspending himself in his stirrups, he girded
the needle with a cord, the ends of which he
fastened around his waist, and so supported, lie
leaned gradually back, till the soles of his feet
were planted agaiast the spire. In this posi
tion he threw by a strong effort, a coil of cord
over tiie ball, and so coolly and accurately was
t ie aim taken, that at the first trial, it fell in the
required direction, and he saw the end hang
j ingdown on the opposite side.
To draw himself up in his original position,
to fasen the cord firmly around the globe, and
With the assistance of this auxiliary, to climb to
the summit, were now an easy part of his task
and in a few minutes more Teiouchkine stood
bv the side of the angel, and listened to tne sud
den shout that burst like sudden thunder from
tiie crowd below, yet came to his ear only like
a faint and hollow murmur.
From the January number of the Southern Literary
Messenger.
In commencing the fourth volume and fourth
year of the Messenger, we have somewhat to
say beyond a mere holiday salutation to sub
scribers, readers and contributors.
We cannot look back upon the past with un
mingled satisfaction, we \ct derive from it
some pleasing thoughts; and much cheering
iiope for the future. Some useful and elegant
taient iias been called into exercise, nay it may
be said, has I >ooll created 5 since such is the
power of exercise over the faculties, that to
afford an attractive field lor their exertion is
in a great degree to create them. Some new
and valuable trutlies have been promulgated
through our columns; and a yet larger number
ol truths not new, has doubtless been present
ed m form.’, mo .e engaging or impressive than
before, and lias thus been stamped beneficially
upon many a mind. Some books, worthy to
be read, have been pointed out to the reader’s
notice; and some unworthy ones have been
marked, so that he might not misspend his mo
ney and time upon them. And it no other
good had been done, —many an hour, of many
a young person, who might otherwise been
given to hurtful foll.es, has by our pages been
waded away in harmless at least, if not salu
tary enjoyment. So little ascetic are we, as
to nold, mat whoever furnishes mankind with
an innoce.it recreation, is a public benefactor.
But the past is nothing, except as a help to
tiie future. Wo are earnestly desirous to ren
der the Messenger a vehicle of light ; of use
ful truth; oi moral improvement; of enlight
ened taste. To some extent, it has been so
already: but to an extent commensurate neith
er w*ti 1 our w shes, nor with tae fund of talent
slumbering in the community around us.
The mineral wealth of Virginia is a trite
theme of expatiation. It is unquestionably
immense. But the mines of Southern intellect,
ail unwrought, and many of them unknown
even by t.ueir proprietors, far surpass those of
matter, both in number and the richness of their
buried treasures. Not to speak of persons to
whom the ample page of knowledge, “rich with
tae spoils ol time,” has never been unrolled,
there exists, southward of the Potomac, a mass
lot cultivated mind sufficient, with only a little
industry and care in practising the art of com
position, to fill twenty such magazines as this,
with instruction and delight. Few are aware,
how improvable the facculty is, of expressing
thoughts upon paper. The gigantic increase
or the muscles in a blacksmith’s arm, from his
wielding the hammer so frequently ; the pro
verbial strengthening of the memory by exer
cise , or tae miraculous sleight which the jug
gler acquires by practice with his cups and
bails ; is not more certain than he who daily
habituates himself to writing down his ideas
with waat ease, accuracy, mid elegance he can,
will find his improvement advance with hardly
any assignable limit. Nor will only his style
improve. It is a truth so hackneyed, that on
ly its importance rescues it from contempt and
emboldens us to utter it, that “in learning to
write with accuracy and precision, we learn to
think with accuracy and precision.” Besides
this, the store of thought is in a two-fold way
enlarged. By the action of the mind in turn
ing over, analysing, and comparing its ideas,
they are incalculably multiplied. And the re
searches prompted by the desire to write un-
I derstandingly upon each subject* are constant
ly widening and deepening the bounds of
knowledge.
Thus, whether the concious possessor of tal
ents desire to enrich and invigorate his own
mind, or to act with power upon the minds of
others; we say to him “ WRITE.”
Tlx; Messenger is a medium, through which,
the best talents need not disdain to commune
with the public. Whatever it contains, worthy
to be read, finds not less than ten thousand
readers; besides tho.>e whom republicutions
procure. And most of these (it is a pardona
ble vanity to say) are such readers as any auy
author may well be proud to have. Where
is the orator so gifted, that he might not glory
in addressing so numerous an auditory of the
enlightened, tne fair, the exaulted in station !
By all tiiese powerful considerations then, —
by the desire of self-improvement—by an hon
orable ambition—by disinterested patriotism —
by the pure wish to diffuse light and do good,
—we invoke the dormant talents of the .South
(especially) to rouse up from their slumber,
and employ the means now offered them, of
assisting to mould and fashion the age, if not
of leaving names, which a distant posterity will
contemplate with grateful veneration.
AN AUTHOR.
Strange the countrast between the writer’s
actual situation & that which he creates. I have
been writing all my life, and even now I do not
understand tiie faculty of composition; but this |
I do know, that tiie history of the circumstances j
under which most books are written, would he i
a frightful picture of human suffering. How
often is the pen taken up when hand is un
steady with recent sickness, and bodily pain is i
struggled against, and sometimes in vain !
I low often is the page written hurriedly and
anxiously—the mind fevered the while by the
consciousness that it is not doing justice to its
powers! and yet a certain quantity of work
must he completed, to meet the exigencies of
that poverty which has no other resource.—
But there is an evil beyond all this. When
the iron of some settled sorrow has entered into
the soul—when some actual image is predom
inat, even in the world of imagination and the
thoughts, do what you will, run in one only
channel—composition is then a perpetual
struggle, broken by the one recurring cry,
“ Hast thou found me, 0I1! mine enemny ?”
Something or other is for ever bringing up the
one idea: it colours, every day more and more,
the creations which were conjured up, in the
vain hope to escape from it. “ I cannot write to
day,” becomes more and more the frequent ex
clamation. It is, I believe, one of those sha
dows which deepen on the mind as it ap
proaches to its close. It is anew and dread
ful sensation to the poet, when lie first finds
tnat “ his spirits do not come when he docs call
to them;” or, that they will only come in one
which makes him cry, ‘take any shape but that.’
It is anew sensation to Ijc glad of any little
return of power, and a most painful one.
AN AUTHOR.
ENFORCED MARRIAGE AND HAPPY RELEASE.
Sir Walter Scott used to relate the follow
ing curious anecdote : “‘Mv cousin Wattv,’
said he, ‘ was a midshipman some forty years
ago in a ship at Portsmouth ; he and two other
companions had gone on shore, and had over
staid their leave, spent all their money, and run
up an immense bill at a tavern on the Point.
The ship made the signal for sailing ; but their
landlady said, “ No, gentlemen, you shall not
escape without paying your reckoningand
she accompanied her words by appropriate
actions, and placed them under the tender
keeping of a sufficient party of bailiffs. They
felt they were in a scrape, and petitioned very
hard to be released. “ No, no,” said Mrs.
Quickly, “ I must be satisfied some way or
|t’other; you must be well aware, gentlemen,
that you will be totally ruined if you don’t get
011 board in time.” They made long faces, and
confessed that it was too true. “ Well,” said
| she, “I’ll give you one chance. lam so circum
j stanced here that I cannot carry on business
as a single woman, and I must contrive some
how to hove a husband, or, at all events. I must
be able to produce a marriage certificate ; and,
| therefore, the only terms on which you shall all
three have leave to go on board to-morrow, is,
that one of you consent to marry me. I don’t
care a snap which it is ; but, by all that’s good
one of you I’ll have, or else all three "o to jail,
and your ship sails without you !” The vira
go was not to be pacified, and the poo r youths,
left to themselves, agreed, after a time, to draw
lots, and it happened to fall on my cousin.
No time was lost, and off they marched to
church, and my poor relative was forthwith
I spliced. The bride, on returning, gave them
a good substantial dinner, and several bottles
of wine apiece, and, having tumbled t’ em into
i ll wherry, sent them off. The ship sailed, and
the yong men religiously adhered to the oath of
secresy they had taken pi evious to drawing
lots. The bride, I should have said, merely
wanted to be married, and was the first to pro.
pose an eternal separation. Some months
after, at Jamaica, a file of papers reached the
midshipmens’ berth; and Watty, who was ob.
seved to be looking over them carelessly rea.
ding an account of a robbery and murder at
Portsmouth, suddenly jumped up in lii s
ecstasy, forgot his obligation of secresv, and
cued out, “ Thank heaven, my wife is hung,
ed!’ ” 5
JUNIUS.
11l the library of the late Sir Philip Francis
is a regular series of the Public Advertiser du
ring the period when Junius’s letters were pub
lished in that journal, in which nearly every let
ter is corrected, and the regular stops inserted,
by Sir P. Francis, in bis clear and very dis
tinct autograph.
The recent death of Mr. Philip Francis,
only son of Sir Philip Francis, may possibly
elicit some new facts relating to the author of
the Letters of Junius. Sir Ph lip Francis be
queathed his house in St. James’ square, his
fine political and classical library, also his
manuscripts, to Lady Francis, and to his son.
His collection of political pamphlets, published
about the same time when Junius’s Letters ap
peared in the Public Advertiser, are illustrated
with manuscript notes relaiting to the persons
who figured in those memorable epistles. It is
possible that some information may be found
respecting the copy of these memorable epis
tles, bound in vellum, by Henry Sampson
Woodfall, and sent to the author. Sir Philip
Francis left sealed up in his library, in manu
script, a history of the period in which he lived,
containing ‘biographical sketches of the emi
nent statesmen, his contemporaries.
TULIPS AND ROSES.
The following is a very pretty and very plea
sant epigram:
My Rosa, from the latticed grove,
Brought me a sweet boquet of posies,
And asked, as round my neck she clung,
If tulips I preferred to roses ?
u I cannot tell, sweet w ife,” 1 sighed,
“But kiss me ere 1 see the posies.
She did. “ Oh, I prefer,” 1 cried,
“Thy two lips to a dozen roses
For the Southern Post,
To the Memory of 3lrs. llemans.
KY MRS. C. LADD.
T II E TRIBUTE.
I’ve seen the glorious sun arise
And dart its brilliant rays
O’er all the face of nature bright—
Yet, ere the moon had past, ’twas gone
And buried from my sight:
Clouds, deep and dark, had spread
Their mantle o’er the face of day—
Yet w e forget not how the sun
Had cheer’d us in the morn,
With its resplendant ray.
The recollection of it e’er will die ;
Like thy unfading fame, ’tw ill live
Through all the gloom of night.
THE SIMILE.
I’ve seen the Rainbow, in a summer eve*
With all its varied tints, it burst
Upon my view—and seem’d to take
Creation iri that one embrace !
What art —what skill—
Can copy the refulgent dye ?
None, none, hut the hand that form’d
Can e’er portray, or bring back to our view
Those beauteous colours bright,
llemans ! ’lis like thy muse—
Past imitation’s art;
Yet, ’tis not like thee in each simile,
For the remembrance of it rests
In our mind’s-eye alone ;
But thy sweet muse can never be forget,
’Twill bloom in each of thy poetic lays,
When rolling years have pass’d away,
And we are mould’ring in the dust.
LAMENT.
The poet’s sigh—the poet’s tear—
All that he had was given
To waft thy disembodied shade
Unto its native heaven.
The hero sigh’d when thou wert gone,,
Who could so well portray
The feelings of a hero’s breast,
On the dread battle day.
What heart did not thy loss deplore—
For who is left to tell
How deeply Woman’s soul can feel,
Or love, but half how well.
THE VISION’S CONSOLATION*
A vision bright passed as I sigh’d, .
And whisper’d on the breeze,
Thou hast a gentle spirit left, 1
Thy sorrow’s to appease.
Homans is in that blest abode,
Free from all care of mind ;
Tho’ far from us she reigns in bliss—
Sigourney’s left behind.
Vinevi Uc\