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but bis tenderness toward me continued un
diminished. 1 thus grew up with Xarisa, for
so the infant daughter of the Alcayde was
called, as her own brother, nnd thought the
growing passion which l felt for her, was mere
fraternal affection. 1 beheld her charms un
folding, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morn
ing rose, each moment disclosing fresh beauty
and sweetness.
• At this period, I overheard a conversation
between the Alcayde and his confidential do.
niestic, and found myself to be the subject.
4 It is time,’ said he to apprise him of his paren
tage, that he may adopt a career in lile. i
have deferred the communication ns long as
possible, through reluctance, to inform him that ■
he is of a proscribed and unlucky race.’
4 This intelligence would have overwhelmed j
rtie at an earlier period, but the intimation that
Xarisa, was not mv sister, operated like magic,
and in an instant transformed my brotherly
affection into ardent love.
4 1 sought Xarisa, to impart to her the secret
I had learned. I found her in the garden, in
a bower of jessamines, arranging her beautiful
hair by the mirror ofa crystal fountatn. The
radiance of her beauty dazzled me. I ran to
her with open arms, and she received me with
a sister’s embraces. When we had seated
ourselves beside the fountain, she began to
upbraid me for leaving her so long alone.
4 In reply, I informed her of the conversation
I had overheard. The recital shocked and
distressed her. 4 Alas ! cried she, then is our
happiness at an end !’
4 How, exclaimed I; wilt thou cease to love
me, because 1 am not thy brother V
4 Not so,’ replied she; ‘but do you not know
that when it is once known we are not brother
and sister, we can no longer be permitted to be
thus always together ?’
4 In fact, from that moment our intercourse
took anew character. We met often at the
fountain among the jessamines, but Xarisa no
longer advanced with open arms to meet me.
Siie became reserved and silent, and would
blush, and cast down her eyes, when I seated
myself beside her. My heart became a prey
to the thousand doubts and fears that ever at
tend upon true love. 1 was restless and
uneasy, and looked back with regret to the
unreserved intercourse that had existed between
us, when wesupposed ourself brother and sister;
yet I would not have had the relationship true,
for the world.
4 While matters were in this state between
us, an order came from the King of Granada
for the Alcayde to take comm ind of the for
tress of Coyne, which lies directly on the Chris
tian frontier. Me prepared to remove, with
all his family, but signified that I should re
main at Cartama. I exclaimed against the
separation, and declared that I could not be
parted frortt Xarisa. 4 That is the very cause,’
said he, 4 why 1 leave thee behind. It is time
Abencaraez, that thou shouldst know the se
cret of thy birth ; that thou art no son of
mine, neithei is Xarisa thv sister.’ 4 I know
it all,’ exclaimed I, 4 and I love her with ten
fold the affection of a brother. You have
brought us up together; you have made us
necessary to each other’s happiness; our
hearts have entwined themselves with our
growth; do not now tear them asunder. Fill
up the measure of your kindness : bo indeed
a father to me, by giving me Xarisa for my
wife.’
4 The brow of the Alcaydo darkened as 1
spoke. * Have I then been deceived ?’ said he.'
‘ Ilave those nurtured in my very bosom, been ,
conspiring against me? Is this your return j
for my paternal tenderness ?—to beguile the '
affe jtions of my child, and teach her to deceive'
her father? It was cause enough to refuse
thee the hand of my daughter, that thou wert
of a proscribed race, who can never approach
the walls of Granada ; this, however, I might
have passed over; but never will I give mv
daughter to a man who has endeavoured to
win her from me by deception.’
4 All my attempts to vindicate myself and
Xarisa were unavailing. I retired in anguish
from his presence, and seeking Xarisa, told
her of this blow, which was worse than death
to me. 4 Xarisa,’ said I, 4 we part for ever !
I shall never see thee more ! Thy father will
guard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and his
wealth will soon attract some happiei rival, and |
1 shall be forgotton !
4 Xarisa reproached me with my want of
faith, and promised me eternal constancy. I
still doubted and desponded, until, moved by
my anguish and despair, she agreed to a secret;
union. Our espousals made, we parted, with
a promise on her part to send me word from
Coyne, should her lather absent himself from
the fortress. The very day after our secret
nuptials, I beheld the whole train of the Alcayde
depart from Cartama, nor would he admit me
to his presence, or permit me to bid farewell
to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, somewhat
pacified in spirit by the secret bond of union ;
but every thing around me fed my passion,
and reminded me of Xarisa. I saw the win
dow’s at which I had so often beheld her. I
wandered through the apartment she had in
habited ; the chamber in which she had slept.
I visited the bovver of jessamines, and lingered
beside the fountain in which she had delighted.
Every thing recalled her to my imagination,
and filled my heart with tender melancholy.
4 At length a confidential servant brought
me word, that her father was to depart that
day for Granada, on a short absetfee, inviting
mo to hasten to Coyn, describing a secret
portal at which I should apply, and the signal
by which I would obtain admittance.
4 If ever you have loved, most valiant Al
cayde, you may judge of the transport of my
bosom. That very night 1 arrayed myself in
my most gallant attire, to pay due honor to my
bride ; and arming myself against any casual
attack, issued forth privately from Carlemn.
You know the rest, and by what sad fortune of
war I found myself, instead of a happy bride
groom, in the nuptial bower of Coyn, vanished,
wounded, and a prisoner, within the walls of
Aliora. The term of absence of tlie father of
Xarisa is nearly expired. Within throe days
he will teturn to Coyn, and our meeting will i
no longer be possible. J udge, then, whetiicr I
may not well be excused for showing impa
tience under confinement.'
Don Hod rigo de Narvaez wa» greatly moved
b y this recital ; for, though more used to rug
war, than acenes of amorous softness, Ik.*
was of a kind and generous nature
4 Abendaraez,’ said he, 4 1 did not seek thy
confidence to gratify an idle curiosity. It
grives me much that the good fortune which
delivered thee into my hands, should have
marred so fair an enterprise. Give me thy
faith, as a true knight, to return prisoner to
my castle, within three days, and I will grant
thee permission to accomplish thy nuptials.’
The Abencerrage would have thrown ffim
self at his feet, to pour out protestations of
eternal gratitude, but the Alcayde prevented
him. Calling in his cavaliers, he took the
Abencerrage by the right hand, in their pre
sence, exclaiming solemnly, 4 You premise, on
the faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle
of Allora within three days, and render your
self my prisoner V And the Abencerrage said,
4 1 promise.’
Then said the Alcayde, 4 Go! and may
good fortune attend you. If you require any
safeguard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be
your companions.’
The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the
Alcayde, in grateful acknowledgement. ‘Give
me,’ said he, 4 my own armor, and my steed,
and I require no guard. It is not likely that I
shall again meet with so valorous a foe.’
The shades of night had fallen, when the
tramp of the dapple giay steed resounded over
the draw.bridge, and immediately afterward
the light clatter of hoofs along the road, be
spoke the fleetness with which the youthful
lover hastened to his bride. It was deep
night, when the Moor arrived at the castle <>f
Coyn. He silently and cautiously walked his
panting steed under its dark walls, and having
nearly passed round them, came to the portal
dertoted by Xarisa. lie paused and looked
round to sec that he was not observed, and
then knocked three times with the hut of his
lance. In a little while the portal was timidly
unclosed by the duenna of Xarisa. 4 Alas!
senor,’ said she, 4 what has detained vou thus
long ? Every night have I watched for you ;
and my lady is sick at heart with doubt and
anxiety.’
The Abencerrage hung his latye, and
shield, and scimitar against the wall, and then
followed the duenna, with silent steps, up a
winding stair-case, to the apartment of Xarisa.
Vain would be the attempt to describe the
raptures of that meeting, "Vine flew* too
swiftly, and the Abep.terrago had nearly for
forgotten, until too hie, his promise to return
a [".'isoner to the Alcayde of Allora. The
recollection of it came to him with a pang, and
suddenly awoke him from his dream of bliss.
Xarisa saw his altered looks, and heard with
alarm his stifled sighs ; but her countenance
brightened, when she heard the cause. 4 Let
not thy spirit be cast down,’ said she, throwing
her white arms around him. 1 1 have the keys
ot my father's treasure ! send ransom more
than enough to satisfy the Christian, and re
main with me.’
4 No,’ said Abendaraez, 4 1 have given my
word to return in person, and like a true knight
must fulfil my promise. After that, fortune
must do with me as it pleases.’
‘ Then,’said Xarisa, 4 1 will accompany thee.
Never shall you return a prisoner, and I re
main at liberty.*
The Abencerrage was transported with jov
at this new proof of devotion in Ids beautiful
bride. All preparations were speedily made
for their departure. Xarisa mounted behind
the Moor, on his powerful steed ; they left the
castle walls before day-break, nor did they
pause, until they arrived at the gate of the cas
tle of Allora, which was flung wide to receive
them.
Allighting in the court, the Abencerrage
supported the steps of his trembling bride, who
remained closely veiled, into the presence of
Rodrigo de Narvaez. ‘Behold, valiant Al
cayde !’ said he, ‘ the way in which an Aben
cerrage keeps his word. I promised to return
to thee a prisoner, but I deliver two captives
into your power. Behold Xarisa, and judge
whether 1 grieved without reason, over the
loss of such a treasure. Receive us as your
own, for I confide my life and her honor to
your hand.
The Alcayde was lost in admiration of the
beauty of the lady, and the noble spirit of the
Moor. * I know not,’ said he, ‘ which of you
surpasses the other; but I know that my cas
tle is graced and honored by your presence.
Enter into it, and consider it your own, while
you deign to reside with me.’
For several days, the lovers remained at
Allora, happy in each other’s love, and in the
friendship of the brave Alcayde. The latter
wrote a letter, full of courtesy, to the Moorish
king of Granada, relating the whole event,
extolling the valor and good faith of the Aben
cerrage, and craving for him the. royal coun
tenancy.
1 lie king was moved by the story, and was
pleased with an opportunity of showing at
tention to the wishes of a gallant and chival
rous enemy ; for though lie had often suffer
ed from the prowess of Don Rodrigo de Nar
vaez, he admired the heroic character lie had
gained throughout the land. Calling the Al
cayde of Coyn into his presence, he gave him
the letter to read. The Alcayde turned pale,
and trembled with rage, on the perusal. 4 Re
strain thine anger,’said the king; ‘there is
nothing that the Alcayde of Aliora could ask,
that 1 would not giant, if in my power. Go
thou to Aliora; pardon thy children; take
them to thy home. 1 receive this Abencer
rage into my favor, and it will be my delight
to heap benefits upon you all.’
The kindling ire of the Alcayde was sud.
denly appeasf and. He hastened to Aliora ; and
folded his children to his bosom, who would
have fallen at his feet. The gallant Rodrigo
de Narvaez gave liberty to bis prisoner with,
out ransom, demanding merely a promise of
his friendship. He accompanied the youthful
couple and their father to Coyn, where their
nuptials were celebrated with great rejoicings, j
When the festivities were over, Don Rodrigo
de Narvaez returned to his fortress of Aliora. !
After his departure, the Alcayde of Coyn
addressed his childien: ‘To your hands,’
said he, * I confide the disposition of mv wealth.
One of the first things I charge you, is not to’
forget the ransom you owe to the Alcayde of
Aliora. His mugnanimity you can never re
pay, but you can prevent it from wronging
him of his just dues. Give him, moreover,;
your entire friendship, for lie merits it fully, 1
though of a different faith.'
! Ik A bennerrage thanked him for Ins gene
THE SOUTHERN POST.
rous prepositions, which so :ruly accorded
with his own wishes. He took a large sum of
gold, and enclosed it in a rich coffer ; and, on
his own part, sent six beautiful horses, superb,
ly caparisoned; with six shields and lances,
mounted and embossed with gold. The beau
tiful Xarisa, at the same time, wrote u letter to
the Alcayde, filled with expressions of grati
tude and friendship, and sent him a box of fra
grant cypress wood, containing linen, of the
finest quality, for his person. The valiant
Alcayde disposed of the present in a charac
teristic manner. The horses and armor he
shared among the cavaliers who had accom
panied him on the night of the skirmish. The
box of cypress wood and its contents, he re- j
tained for the sake of the beautiful Xarisa;
and sent her, by the hands of the messenger,
the sum of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her
to receive it as a wedding present. This cour
tesy and magnanimity raised the character of
the Alcayde Rodrigo de Narvaez still higher
in the estimation of the Moors, who extolled
him as a’perfect mirror of chivalric virtue;
and from that time forward, there was a con
tinual exclumge of good offices between them.
From the New York Mirror
ABDUL ORRINDEC.
That fickle minister of Allah, whom the
Franks call fortune, nnd picture as a blind
fold goddess, seemed resolved in heaping her
favors on Abdul Orrindec, to show that her
hand is not always unsteady nor her eye blind
ed. He was one of those instances which she
delights some times to set before the sons of
men, to convince them that inconstancy is no
necessary part of her nature —that she can
pour forth unmingled sweets, and crown with
an unfading garland. Or perhaps she has
consigned Abdul’s earthly lot to the ministra
traiion of those houris who are now attending
him in the seventh heaven, and who had fallen
in love with him before he left this world for
his native seat.
Be this as it may—his lot was well seen to.
lie was a fortunate and a hajvpy youth. Sor.
of the prime vizer of our greatest sultan—a
wise though indulgent father—he saw smiling
around him all the luxuries which wealth and
influence could procure. As he bounded
through his spacious palace or fairy gardens
on the banks of the Tigris, moving every limb
with the agility of an antelope—his neck
curving more proudly than the desert serpent’s,
his eyes sparkling above his cheeks like two
stars above the redness of the northern dawn,
enchanted the fair girls who had forgotten their
native vales in his delicious grottos; and he
saw through the scented foliage the glance of
their beckoning arms.
lie had a frame at once healthy and deli
cate. His pure blood, cxquisitivcly sens tive
to every delight, sported like quicksilver thro’
his veins.
And Abdul failed not to partake of all the
good which Allah had spread around him.
Tlie nimble courser, the dancing boat, the
cooling sherbet, and the rich, red wi ic ; the
maiden’s bower, and the fresh zephyrs laden
with music and perfume floating through it—
he joyed in all.
But Abdul’s soul was large. His eigh
teenth summer had not flown over him when
he was found often alone. No : Hafiz was
with him ; he conversed with the sweet bards
jof the days that are gone. His boat often
i lay still, midway on the broad, calm, sunset
flushed bosom of the Tigris, and their strains
were in his ear. Anew power woke within
him; and he sighed with joy when he found
that it could conjure up richer scenes than anv
within the blue mountains of Bagdad’s hori
zon. He imagined.
And in his palace lie gazed often and long
on a marble head, such as the Franks have
about their stairways and halls. It was one
which his father lmd seized at the sack of An
tioch—a head of the Greek dervi.se, Plato.
And Abdul gazed upon it till Hiadce and gen
tle Liiua grew jealous of its broad, still fore- j
head. And ere long the books of the Greeks!
were in Abdul’s palace, and in his choisestj
; shades, and in his boat; and a Greek captive
! taught him to read them. Abdul thought.
, His days were now days of labour. Plea
! sure was no longer his business. His thoughts j
; were with things afar, and with things past,and j
with things to come. One evening, as he was!
gazing from his window upon a noble palm—
“ Three years ago,” he exclaimed, 44 how was
I happier than thou art ? I luxurated in mv
health and vigor, and comeliness, living on
outward influences; and so dost thou. But
now”—His eye glanced to heaven, first with
pride and then with gratitude.
He had sounded all the joys of sense ; but
thought and knowledge spread before him an
ocean, on which he might sail for ever and dis
cover neither bottom nor shore.
He saw the merry together in their merri
ment, and the thinker alone in his thoughtful
ness ; and he sighed not, but smileckas he re
flected that he now found that happiness in
himself which he was once obliged to seek in
companions. He loved his present pleasure
the better that it was his own—that its spring
was unkown and uutasted by those about
him.
He did not envy the gay their smiling and
laughing; for he knew from experience that
these were the tokens of mere bodily exhilara
tion. “When I smiled and laughed like the
best of you, it was my body, I remember, that
rejoiced ; but now that my spirit is taking its
pleasures, look into that, if you can, and you
shall see it smile.”
Thus thought Abdul. Would lie have
thought, and felt, and been all this, had lie
grown up in labor and restriction ? Or would
he not, when he grew old and rich, have look
ed murmuringlv upon his body, as not having
afforded him all the enjoyment it could pro- ;
duce ? Disgusted with that application of
which he knew only the drudgery, and allured
by that gaiety and boisterous mirth of which
he knew not tlie shallowness, might he not
have resolved to mnkc amends for a youth
void of pleasure, by becoming that most loath,
some of living things, a sensual and profligate
old limn ?
How little knowest thou, O mortal, of thine i
own good! It may be well for tliee, even to
hove been born a prince. w. it. s.
Blessed ore they who expect nothing, for
■they shall not be disappointed.
Editors in this country are far in advance
of the penny-a-liners of Great Britain, in
marvellous inventions, and they have the pe-j
culiar merit of tinging their erratic creations
with the ludicrous rather than the terrible.
Readers of American newspapers are quite
familiar with the history of machines for do
ing wondrous things, such as throwing into
the hopper live bogs and birch trees, and by
simply putting the machinery into operation
by a crank, producing cured bacon, and brush
es ready for the handles, &c. The latest of
these invention is anew Musical Instrument,
called the Porkoforte. The Cincinnati Sun
thus describes it as an invention of the queen
city of the west: —“ The instrument is a large,
long box, fitted up with as many compart
ments as there are notes in the scale. Holes
arc then board in the side of the box, and
within each compartment a pig is placed, with
his tail extending through the hole. Outside,
! the instrument seems only a curiously shaped
piece of furniture, while the tails stuck through
! all in a row, and properly straightened, resem
i hie very much the keys of a piano. The in
strument requires very little trouble in tuning
j since if the pigs arc carefully selected, thev
will last for three years, and the intervals al
ways be found correct. The effect produced
:by this instrument is perfectly unlike that of
any other; the crescendo and the clearness of
the high not.os especially, are almost electri
! cal,
“When the Porkoforte is played on, the
J performer seats himself in front of it, and pro
| duces his notes by pulling more or less gently,
! the various tails before him. Some pieces
seem peculiarly adapted to this instrument.
Such are most of Rusell’s songs, mid very
many of the celebrated Strauss’ waltzes. The
only defect is, that the semi-tones in wet weath
er, are apt to get a comma too high, and re
quire great delicacy in pulling the tails.
“The Porkoforte is very much on the same
principle as the Catharmenican, and the idea
was undoubtedly taken from that instrument.
The only difference is, that the latter is com
posed of seven live cals instead of pigs, and
has a puppy dog in addition, to flat and sharp
Baltimore Monument.
INFLUENCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES.
Great men are those who have felt much,
lived much ; who, in a few years, have lived
many lives. The tallest pines grow only m
the regions of storms. Athens, the city of
tumult, was the mother of a thousand great
men; Sparta, the city of order, boasted but
one Lycurgus ; and Lycurgus was born before
his laws. Thus, we see that great men most
frequently appear in the midst of popular agi
tations. Homei, in the midst of the heroic
ages of Greece ; Virgil, under the triumvi
ra'e; Ossian, on the wreck of his country
and her gods; Dante, Ariosto nnd Tasso, in
the midst of the reviving convulsions of Italy ;
Corneille nnd Racine, in the ago of the Fron
de ; and Milton, chnunting the first rebellion
at the foot of the bloody seaflold of Whitehall.
And if we examine the individual destinv of
these great men, wo eliull find tliem harassed
by an agitated and miserable life. Cnmoens
cleaves the waves, his poems in his hand.—
D’Ercilla writes his verses on the skins of
beasts, in tlio forests of Mexico. Those of
them, whom bodily suffering does not divert
from suffering of mind, lead a stormy life, de
voured by an irritability of disposition, which
renders them a burden to themselves and to
those who surround them. Happy they who
do not die before their time, consumed by the
ardour of their own genius, like Pascal ; by
grief, like Moliere and Racine—or victims to
the terrors of their own imagination, like the
miserable Tasso ! N. Y. Mirror.
AARON BURR.
Small in person, butYemarkably well form
ed, with an eye as quick and as brilliant as an
eagle’s, and a brow furrowed by care far more
than time, he seemed very different from the!
archtraitor and murderer, I bad been accus-!
turned to consider him. llis voice was one'
of the finest I ever heard, and the skill with
which he modulated it, the variety of its tones,
and the melody of its cadences, were inimita
ble. But there was one peculiarity about him
that reminded me of the depth of darkness;
which lay beneath that fair surface. You will
smile when I tell you, that the only thing I
disliked was his step. He glided rather than
walked ; his foot had that quiet, stealthy move
ment, which involuntary makes one think of,
treachery, and in the course of a long life, I
have never met with a frank and honorable 1
man to whom such a step was habitual.
Ladies’ Companion.
Certain young men think that they exhibit'
rare wit when they sneer at woman. Their
conduct is not only unbecoming, hut all sensi
b!e people esteem them as weik in the head,!
or bad in the heart. Do these ever reflect
that their mothers were of the sex they affect
to despise? Shame, shame upon all such!
who pretend to he wiser than their fathers.
Show me a young man who lets no opportu
nity pass for casting unkind reflections upon
the other sex, and I will show you one of
overweening self-esteem, or one of an evj)
h° art- Baltimore Monument.
LITERARY OPINIONS.
Wordsworth said of Dryden, that 4 he had
neither a tender heart, nor a lofty sense of
moral dignity. There is not a single image
from Nature,, in the whole body of his works.’
Southey says, in a letter to Scott— * Great
poets have no envy; little ones are full of it.
I doubt whetherany man ever criticised a ooodj
poem maliciously, who had not written a had
one himself.’ Did not the poet lauieat have
Byron in view, when he wrote that sentence?
, Dr. Johnson says, in his life of Sydenham—
• There is no instance of any man, whose
history bus been minutely related, that tlkl not.
in every port of his life, discover llie same pro.
portion of intellectual vigor.’
——
I here weie racenily no less than six eon.
certs given at Poston in one evening. .Some '
of them were attended by a 44 plentiful I
ty” of numbars.
THE FIRST OF MAY IN SAVANNAH.
‘ How oft the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
I he young contending, as the old surveyed ;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired.’
4 How different is'our celebration of May-day
trom yours ! While your streets are lumber
ed with old bedsteads, bureaus, and side-boards,
ours is bright and gay with music and military
parades. While your pretty lasses shut them- \
selves up, or run away from the city, to escape
the general sacking, ours are bedecking their!
fair brows with flowers, for the due celebra
tion ot the great day. The morning is passed
in a general parade of nil the volunteer com
panies, followed in the afternoon by a pic-nie,
in the woods, surrounding the city. About
three o’clock, the whole population of the town
was in motion, toward 4 the common,’ an im
mense lawn, near the southern suburbs,
stretching away for a mile along the citv, and
fringed on all sides by a forest oi evergreens/
Just were the town agd the forest meet, our
two quoit-clubs nave erected small white buil
dit’.gs, for the accommodation of the members,
which peep pretily out from the green trees,
the undergrowth from which Ims been cleared
away and levelled, so as to give the surround
ing groves a park-like appearance. In the
rear of these, are woods, filled with roses, and
jessamines, and wild flowers innumerable.
This was the scene of the rural festivities.
During the preceding night, some kind fairies
had erected a sylvan palace; and about a
stone’s throw in front of the portal, the same
liberal elves had erected a May-pole, adorned
in the most fantastic guise, with garlands and
flowers of every shade and hue. Around this,
stakes were driven into the sod, and surrounded
with a cord, to keep oft’the pressure of the
crowd from the fair inmates. The citizens
now began to pour in from every avenue of
the city, in carriages, gigs, ‘buggie?,’ arid on
foot, all eager to arrive in season for the grand
election.
‘ The fair candidates, too, now began to as
sume their places within the circle, while their
mothers, scarcely less eager, sat in their car-!
ringes, awaiting the decision. One could al-|
most see the hearts of the gny, brilliant, and!
beautiful creatures within the ring, fluttering
through their gossamer dresses, as they prome- j
naded around, in front of the immense throng. -
I have seen many assemblages of beauty in my ‘
time, but never has it been my lot to see so
many beautiful creatures, and the oldest not
over fourteen. They looked like sylphs, vvithj
their long hair floating in the breeze, streaming
with gay ribbons,and gayer, flowers, while their
eyes fairly blazed with the, unwonted excite
ment. The interest was yet too intense for
the merry laugh; but the amiable lasses smiled
as brightly as their own chosen day of the
year. Expectation was now on tip-toe, and
the throng outside manifested symptoms of
impatience, while all eyes within the consecra
ted circle were bent with eager expectation
toward the town. Presently a cloud of dust
in that direction, foretold to the fair expectants
Ihe art vent of their little beaux; and such a
cavalcade as it turned out to be, beggars all
description. Twenty or thirty youth, between
the ages of thirteen and fifteen, mounted on
line steeds, mid dressed in something like
Byron’s Grecian costume, in one of his por
traits, each with a light blue cap, bound round
with silver, and two broad white feathers,
falling back from the loop, and each wearing
a polished dagger, in a black shining belt,
buckled tight round bis waist: all together
formed one of the most beautiful and imposing
spectacles imaginable. These juvenile knights
dismounted and entered the enclosure; and
after paying their devoirs to ihe fluttering and
expecting little beauties, proceeded at once to
the grand election of the day. It was con
ducted upon republican principles, notwithstan
ding that it was the election ofa queen. The
The majority of votes wore told in favor of
httle Miss F- , who was crowned with all
due ceremony, and conducted to her sylvan
palace ; thence she was escorted to the dance,
by the gay cavalcade. The inspiring music
struck up, and the partners 1 paired off’ upon
the green. It was a charming sight to see so
many youthful hearts joyous and happy.
Your sacked city would have stopped still, bag
and baggage, to have beheld such a scene.
Before night closed in, the whole green was
covered with parties of dancers and waltzers ;
nor was it wholly confined to the ‘juvenile
portion of the community.’ Their elders soon
caught the infection, and many a fair bel’e
seemed glad to live over again her own girlish
days, in a frolic upon the sward. Ices and
refreshments, of every sort, circulated asfreely
as smiles, which were neither few nor far be
tween. Where the comfits came from, 1
could never learn. The fairies seemed to
have prepared every thing. The entire lawn
was literally strewed vvitl) flowers, and the very
trees seemed to have partaken of the univeral
gayety ; for they too were hung with bright
blossoms, and fragrant with the richest per
fumes.
‘These May-day celebrations form little
j eras in the lives of these lovelv, budding crea
tures, to which they can recur with pleasure,
thiough along life time. Few of our enjoy
ments are of the present tense ; they are most
ly retrospective or prospective, and are after a
certain period, for the most part, ‘pleasures
of memory.’ Is it not wise, then, to strew
those flowers plentifully along the path of life,
that their brilliant hues may be occasionally
caught, ns we look back over the scene? Long
mnv the beautiful ones who celebrated the first
(if Mav. 1839. i n Savannah, live to look back
upon it as one of the gayest and happiest days
oil heir lives!’ Knickerbocker.
HARD CUSTOMERS.
“ Sc\eml Merchants in Worcpstcr nrr
annoyed by the fervor of tl e friendship of rer
tarn young ladies for their clerks. They have
issued notices, saying that “ it is not conve
nicnt to accommodate loafers of the female
sex, who come courting our boys, when we ore
absent.”
LINES
a wmi’ rrATi’i or ai*ou>o cbowniwq mxmt.
Merit, if ihou art blent with riche*.
For God's ukr buy * pair of brerdua!
And yi v« them to thy risked broilier.
For out good turn deem. »not her.
NEWSPAPER ADVERTISING.
We are often asked why we fiil so much of
our space with medical and other advertise,
meats. Perhaps a better reason than the o„«
given in the following article could not bt
found ; and we think that the editor of thf
Berks and Schuylkill Journal has hit the nail
on the head in putting forth the followino f„ r
u is much the case with us, and we suppose
with others also :
’ “ While every editor must be thankful to a»
ceitam portion of Ins subscribers, for uniform
punctuality in their payments, and f or ,i ip
k ind interest which they tuke in the success
the paper, yet it is seldom, we believe, that ire
ready experiences any feeling of extraordinary
gratitude. The papers received by each
subscriber in the course ofa year, cost annually
mors than the price of subscription, m the
mere expense of material and manual labor -
arid if the editor finds after settling his accounts’
that lie has any thing left for his tiouble, iff
must come from the advertising columns*
I ersons who are so much surprised to find
long advertisements of quack medicines, &c.,
will therefore understand that they are not in.’
serted from a beliel that nothing more interes
ting to readers could be found, but for other
reasons equally important.”
A GRATIFYING SIGHT.
One of the most gratifying spectacles ex
hibited inf the New York celebration, was the
assemblage of twelve thousand Sunday School
Children on Staten Island, with two thousand
teachers. .No less than nine tow-boats and
four steamboats were engaged to take them
across the river. Upwards of two thousand
loaves ot bread were consumed, and about as
many pounds of beef. A more hcart-touch.
ing spectacle could scarcely be conceived. It
was witnessed bv a large number of benevo.
lent citizens, and our correspondent well re.
marks, will be remembered with feelings of
pleasure by hundreds, for many years to come.
. Philadelphia Enquirer.
INDOLENCE OF GENIUS.
It was said of the great Dr. Johnson, who
was accustomed to read in bed, that rather
than get up and blow his light out, he would
frequently throw his hoot at it.
Thompson the poet, was found with both
his hands in his pockets eating apples from a
tree !
SINGING BASS.
An Ohio paper tells the story of a man who
was found of a Sunday morning without a hat,
sitting on a block of granite with his Lure feet
in a brook trying to catch a cold, so as to sing
bass at.church.
NEW DISEASE.
What did your son in the citv die with ?
said one old lady in the country to her neigh.
Ur. “ 1 expect it was with Morns Multicau
/is. They say the disease rages there ties
putly.”
•\ Spanish proverb says—the Jews ruin
themselves at their passovers, the Moors at
their marriages, and the Christians in their
lawsuits.
“ What in all creation hurts more than a
kick from a pretty girl ? Mich. Democrat.
, That’s more than we can say, ns we have
never been kicked by one yet. We got kick
ed over by a horse once—that hurt most con
founded!}'. N 0 . PiCi
Conscientiousness —Rending your neigh
bor’s paper, and not subscribing yourself.
T eneration. —Sleeping in church and snor
ing during the sermon.
MAIL ARRANGEMENTS.
EASTERN MAIL.
_ , DUE 1 CLOSES
Daily, at 4 o’clock, P. M. | Daily, at 9 o’clock, P. M.
WESTERN MAIL.
Daily, at 7 o’clock, P. M. | Daily, at 2 o’clock, P. M.
SAVANNAH—DIRECT.
Mondays, Wednesdays Mondays, Thursdays and
2 n , ? at . llr l a -'at Saturdays, at 9,'P. M.
6 o clock, P. M. Also, on Tuesdays, via.
Augusta, at 9, P. M.
DARIEN MAIL.
Same as the Savannah. | Same as the Savannah.
FORSYTH MAIL.
T uesdays, Thursdays and I Sundays, Tuesdays and
Saturdays, at 6, P. M. | Thursdays, at 6, P. M.
HAWKINSVILLE AND FLORIDA MAILS.
Mondays, Wednesdays & I Mondays, Wednesdays &
Saturdays, at 12, P. M. | Saturdays, at 6, P. M.
FEIDMONT, ATHENS AND CHEROKEE MAILS.
Close Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, at 6
o clock, P. M. K. TYNER, r. m.
a WANTED TO RENT,
A HOUSE of four or more rooms, wiih a Gar
den attached to the premises, in a central part
of the city. Apply at this office.
_ June 25 36
M TO RENT,
, A comfortable DWELLING HOUSE, on
Cherry street, convenient to business, and in
good repair. Apply to
JOHN J. BENNETT.
July 6 37rp
Georgia Female College.
It HE Examination of the Pupils of this Institution
will commence the 22d and close the 26th July
next. Parents, guardinns, and the friends of Female
Education, are respectfully invited to attend.
June 15
DR. RANDOLPH, of this City, and DR. W. C
FULL WOOD, late of the Army, have connected
themselves in the practice of medicine, &c. and prot
fer their serv ices to the citizens of Macon and vicinity*
June 21). 96p_
Fire Engine, Tender, Hose, &c.
EIIHE Phoenix Company offer to sell their entire ap
-M paratus, lor fifteen hundred dollars cash. 'l™
Engine, w hich w as built and received die prize of the
American Institute, in New York, in 1830, has been*
within a year, repaired and handsomely repainted, is <>!
n convenient size, and very compact; the handles be
ing on the sides, requires from if to 16 men to '', or ' 1
her, and is completely furnished with Pipes, Torches,
Spanners, &c. Original cost $2,300, . .. .
The Tender or Hose Reel is 18 months old, built >"
'I is ci'y, of the lest materials, patent boxes, &r„ ana
is capable of holding 600 feet Hose. It now contains
400 feet of the best double riveiied leuding Ho*®’
poried from Philadelphia, in 1837. In point “
m ss and beauty, the engine, for one of her class,
not be surpassed, and is only sold on account of
too small for the present purposes of ths Cotnpa y*
Apply to
E. C. BTONEY, or ,
R. W. HA COT, Charleston.
A. ALVAREZ. Ht.
July 8 * !-
POTANIIT
EMRST HORT.jUSt received sod fesj&M,
* HARVEY HHtiTWELL
CppasMs tba Onus! H»'<L
June f