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THE REP VltE IC,
]S PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY,
OVER J- £>• WINN’S BRICK STORE.
COTTON AVENUE, MACON, GA.
A T $3,00 PER AN N UM,
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RATES OF ADVERTISING, Sue.
One square, of 100 words, or less, in small type, i
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subsequent insertion.
All advertisements containing more than 100 and
jess than 200 words, wii. l be charged as two squares.
To yearly advertisers, a liberal deduction will tie
made. , .
Sales of Land, bv Administrators, Executors,
or Guardians, are required by Jaw to Ire held on the
first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of
ton in the forenoon, and three in the afternoon, at
the Court House in the county in which the pro
perty is situated. Notice of these must lie given
in a public gazette, sixty days previous to the day
of sale.
Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate,
must Ire published forty days.
Notice that application will he made to the Court
~f Ordinary for leave to sell land, must be publish
ed four months.
Sales of Negroes must be made at public dr*c
tion, on the first Tuesday of the month, between
the legal hours of sale, at the place of public sales,
in the county where the letters testamentary, oi
administration of guardianship, shall have been
granted, sixty days notice being previously given
hi one of the public gazettes of this Stale! and at
the door of the Court House where such sales are
to he held.
Notice for leave to sell Negroes must he pub
lished for four months before any order absolute
shall be made thereon by the Court.
All business of this nature will receive prompt
attention at the office of THE REPUBLIC.
All letters of business must lie addressed to the
Editor, post paid.
BUSINESS CARDS.
FLOYD HOUSE.
BY B. S. NEWCOMB.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-ts
WHITING & MIX,
WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DF.U.KRS IN
ROOTS AND SHOTS,
Near the Washington Hall, Second street.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-ts
J. L. JONES & CO.
CI. O THING STO RE .
(Vest side .Mulberry Street , next door Inline the
Big Hat.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. lit, 1841. 1-ts
NISBF/r & WINGFIELD,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
Office on .Mulberry Street, oner Kimberly s Hal
Store.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-ts
DOCTORS J. M. & 11. K. GREEN,
Corner of .Mulberry and Third Streets.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-tl
E . J. CROSS,
—II a 8 lor Sale
DRY (lOOPS f (1 HOCKRIICS,
boots, shoes, cabs, and hats,
,11 John D. I Finn's Old Store.
Macon, Oct. 25,1841. 2-ts
FREEMAN & ROBERTS,
Na and die, 11" rn<: ss, and. Whip,
MANUFACTO RY.
[h ai rs in all hinds of Leather, Saddlery
Ila mess and Carriage 'lli minings,
On Cotton Avenue and Second street, Macon, Ga.
October 25, 1841. 8-'*
JOSEPH N. SEYMOUR,
DEALER IN
i>i(v uooim, groceries, hard-
WAIIF, &C.
Brie!: Store, Cherry Street, Ralston's linage, first
door below Russell & Kimberley s.
Mu- hi, Griirgin. Orl. 19, 1844. l~tf
GEORGE M. EGG AN ,
DEALER IN
I IKCV AIDSTAI’LIi DllV GOt>2»i
Jlnrd-1 fare, Crorkery, dims- Ware, &. c. &.C.
Corner of Second ami Clierrv streets.
Mac.m, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ls
jL~& W. (iUXNr
DEALERS IN
S T A I* 1. I-: D It V GOO*> S,
droreries , Hardware, Crorkery, &c.
Macon, Georgia. Ocl. 19, 1814. 1-ts
SAMUEL J. RAY & CO.
DEAI.EHS IN
r .ncv AX D STAi’liE DRY HOODS,
Ready Mmt<r~Clolhing, Hals, Shoes, &c.
Second street, a few doors Irion tlie Washington
Hotel.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 18,1844. 1-ts
REDDING "& WHITEHEAD,
DEALERS IN
FAIGY AND STAPLE DRY GOODS,
Groceries, Hard Ware, Cutlery, Hals, Shoes,
Crockery, &.C. &c.
Corner of Cotton Avenue and Cherry streets.
Macon, Georgia. Ocl. 19, 1844. 1-t!
R. F. ROSS,
dealer in
DRY GOODS AND GROCERIES.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-tl
J. M. BOARDMAN,
DEALER IN
LAW. MEDICAL, MISCELLANEOUS
and School Books; Blank Books and Stationery
of all kinds ; Printing Paper, &c. &c.
Sign of the I-urge Bible, two doors aboee Shot
well's corner, west side of Mulberry Street.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. l-il
15. R. WARNEIL
AUCTION AND COJIUISSION MER
CHANT.
Dealer ill every description of Merchandise.
“The Public’s Servant,” and subject to receiving
consignments at all times, by the consignees pay
ing 5 per cent, commissions for services rendered.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ll
“ Bless me,” said an old lady, lately,
as site read “all hail, Missouri!” at the
head of an article in one of the political
papers, “bless me! liain’t they a very
late spring there if it hails vet f”
“ I live in Julia’s eyes !” said a dirty
looking beau, affectedly. “She must
have a sly there, then,” was the remark
made by a friend of that lady.
When you pop the question to a lady,
do it with a kind of laugh, as it you were
joking. If she accepts you, very well; il
not, you can say, ‘you were only in fun.’
“ I say, Jack, how do detn talers turn
out dis year ?” “ Well, Cuff da am ber
ry much like de long hair getnmen —all
top, no bottom.”
THE RED
BY 11. C. CROSBY.
VOLUME 1.
MISCEL L A N Y.
Frorq the Journal of an Officer.
INDIAN TREATY SCENE.
Great numbers of Indians from every
section of the north-western country were
assembled lo hold a treaty with the Uni
ted States.
On a large open space, just north of the
fort, was constructed a long and wide tern
porary shelter, covered with boughs of
trees, under which the savages were to
assemble to hear the “talk” of the com- j
misstoners of the United States. A long l
table was placed across the upper end of
the bower, at which sat the Lhree com- !
missioners, their secretary, and several
agents and interpreters. Others benches
around the former were occupied by offi
cers of the army and other visitors. A
silver pipe was now produced, holding;
near half a gill of KinlVick:r“ r - with a
long stem ornamented with blue ribbon,
the emblem of peace fixed into it, and
each of the whites took two or three whiffs
and passed it to the Indians, who all did
the same. In companies of six or eight,
the O-maw-haws, large muscular savages,
who inhabit the country on the Missouri,
a thousand miles above St. Louis, were j
ranged along the west of this bower. — !
Next to them sat the stern and repulsive- ■
looking warriors of the Yanc-tons, who
inhabit the regions north-west of the Falls
of St. Anthony. Then came the Chippe
wavs, who roam through the almost illim
itable extent of country lying to the north
and east of Prairie du Chien; also the
Winnehagoes, the Sacs, the Foxes, the
Potawattamies, Menominies, and many
others. They were dressed in their best,
and their fiery eyes shooting through their j
fantastically-colored lids,gave an appear
ance to them well calculated to startle one;
so unused lo such sights. r
One of the commissioners then rose j
and commenced an harangue. “My chil
dren,” said he, “your great Father, the
President, lias sent us here to buy from
you part of your lands.” This the in
terpreter lor each tribe repeated in suc
cession, and as soon as each concluded,
they whom he addressed, exclaimed,
something in the manner of the audiences
in the British House of Commons, “Hear,
Hear,” by a deep interjectional, gutteral |
sound, that, as well as it can he express
ed on paper, was “ Howe, IIowc.” The
Commissioner continued, “We are glad
that the Great Spirit has allowed us a
bright sky and clear day to meet together.”
This was explained, and mol with the
“Howe” that is uttered after each sen
tence. “ The river runs bright, the birds
sing in the air, anti the face of nature
j looks smiling; these are good signs, they
■show that our hearts are not foggy, and
ilint our trade will lie made in friendship.
Your Great Father loves his red childreft,
and wishes to lie good to them. They,
must try to deserve good at his hands; |
he has a large quantity of land, and his
tire governed by old and wise j
chiefs —his villages are full of btaves, who
never fear the tomahawk or the scalping
knife; some of them even laugh when
they stand before the big guns of their
enemies. These braves and warriors
your Great Father wishes to use for your
protection, and to keep peace among his
red children; so that, instead of war par
ties roaming through the country, } T ou may
he at rest, smoke your pipe in security,
raise your corn in safety, and make up
vour packs of fur without molestation. —
If you know what is good for yourselves,
you will open your ears to the words of
your Great Father, and do as he says.—
Be careful, then, and do not listen to had
birds which arc flying about and whis
pering black lies to you. Your Great Fa
ther knows there are many of these, and
he wants to put you on your guard.—
These birds will cat up your corn, and
destroy your families; they will make
you iJik one way, while they fly the other
with your wives, your children, your
goods. Mind what l say—l’ve got only
one way of talking—l don’t say ‘yes’ with
‘one side of my mouth and ‘no’ with the
other. My words come out of the mid
dle, and 1 don’t talk crooked.” lie then
went on and finished his speech, by sta
ting the object of purchasing land for
which they were assembled.
The eyes of the savages were fastened
on the speaker as he proceeded, hut when,
through their interpreters, they were made
acquainted with the offers made for their
lands, a gloom overspread their counten
ances, and their eyes were lowered to the
ground. As the speaker discontinued
“Car-rce-maun-nce,” or “the turtle that
walks,” started to his feet, and his eagle
eye glanced with a lightning glare into
the eyes of each of that vast assemblage;
and then, as if it had learned in that tran
sient look the minds of all, it rested with
a startling fierceness on the former spea
ker. His wild, jet, entangled hair stream
ed down his back. which was only partly
I covered by the blanket that hung with a
Roman since over his lett shoulder, and
which, being gathered round his loins,
was held by his left hand, which grasped
the folds with excited nervousness, llts
face was blackened with charcoal for lie
was in mourning; his breast was striped
with white clay; on his blanket were the
Vermillion prints of ten hands, which
numbered the scalps he himselt had ta
ken ; his foot seemed to spurn the ground
on which he stood. The expression of
his countenance was of a mixed nature;
it was hard to tell which predominated,
MACON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, IS 11.
the deep melancholy of a bleeding heart
or the savage ferocity of an excited soul.
His manner, as he spoke, was full of en
ergy; as he proceeded, he heat his hand
upon Jjis breast, which swelled and ebbed
like the tumultuous ocean; and, its the
words came raging from his mouth with
the impetuosity of the resistless surge,
even thos* who did not understand the
deep gutteral of Lis Winnebago tongue,
felt roused by a feeling indescribable in
its nature. lie was the orator of his tribe
and those who have listened to him will
never forget his manner.
“ The red man,” said he, “is the friend
of the white man; the red man listens to
the words of his Great Father. The
Great Spirit tells the red man ,that it is
right, that when our Father sends his long
knives amongst us, we treat them well.
You have much land—heap of land—but
you want more; I say no. It is a story
amongst us, that before our fathers, a long
ti,ne aso, gave your fathers a little land
to put their feet »;.'?• they had to live in big
canoes, tossed about iR 'he big waters
which reach to where the suu goes to
sleep. The Great Spirit gave you no land,
so you begged a litllc;” he said this with
a sarcastic smile of indignation—“from
us — a very little land from us; as soon as
you got it, you pushed us oil) and offi and
olij and soon you would force us into the
big waters, and so we would be worse oil’
than you wore at first, for the Great Spirit
might not give us any of diosebig canoes
you used lo live in. No, I say ; anil 1
hope those around me will do the same;
we want our land, and sell it not. You
have enough; what do you want of the
graves of our fathers? They’ll do you
no good. We wish to keep them. This
bosom has been torn lately; a little tree
that was planted here has been torn up by
the roots, and 1 have planted it on a moun
tain top. Do you wish me to sell that
spot —to sell the hones of my child ! —a
brave bo}* —sixteen winters had just pass
ed him, and already lie was the owner ol
two scalps taken by his own hand; and
one of these,” he cried, showing the skunk
skin whose bushy tail waved Irom his an
cles and trailed on the ground as he strode
nearer the commissioners, “was around
his knee, for my people had owned him
as a brave. Give up our lands, where
dry the hones of our fathers—where sleep
the bodies of those who led on our war
parlies—where lie those who have shout
ed loudest in our scalp dances—who have
washed their hands and faces in the blood •
of our enemies—who have gone out emp
ty and returned loaded with severed limbs !
of our foes! Give up these lands, so sa- ;
crcd to all we hold dear—do you ask it, j
and do we listen tamely ? The Evil Spirit l
has taken away our longues when the
white man lias come among us, anil our j
tomahawks are 100 heavy to be lilted j
when the long knife tells us what he pleas
es. Sell! —give up!—forsake!—remove
from the lands where we first breathed,
where we have hunted, lived, and been
happy! This is impossible,” and his
voice sunk to a lone of deep and impas
sioned feeling; but‘, regaining his lofty spi
rit, ho dashed the blanket from bis body,
and exposed his form naked, except the
breech-cloth and a huge turtle which
hung by a cord round bis neck, and com
pletely covered his hack. “Look here,”
lie cried, pointing to die cicatrices on his
limbs; “these are the marks of wounds
in defending these lands, and I would
rather that each sh iuld open again and
bleed afresh than that we should lose the
soil in whose defence they were received.
1 was shot down and statibed—but I was
happy; the land for which I fought was
still our own; and when borne from my
wigwam to view the dance around the
scalps of our enemies, the Great Spirit
gave me strength, and I, who a moment
before could not stir a limb, leaped from
the ground, and, whilst iny wounds shed
tears of blood, l danced and spat upon the
trophies from our locs. Yield that land,
the thoughts of which make my very
wounds a pleasure? You would not ask
me if you knew how often in very delight
1 have thrust my fingers into these sores,
and tearing them open, exulted, thinking
myself, in bodily pain, once more facing
those who would dispossess us of our fath
ers’ tombs. Say no more—you have
enough; we beg a lilllc now ot you. It
you were not so much stronger titan wo,
we would be willing to meet you to fighlfor
them; but we arc weak, and would be at
peace. Leave us what we have, anti we
will forget that all was once ours.” He
seated himself on the ground, and draw
ing his blanket over his head smoked his
pipe in silence.
One of the Foxes then ros“, and-in a
flood of eloquence poured forth, in his li
quid language, sentiments of the same
cast, and ended by a flourish of high,
haughty independence, that, say what
I they will, only the unrestricted rover of
the forest can boast. “We arc weak to
jbe sure,” said he, “but the dying woll
lean snarl if he cannot bite. Come then
and take our lands. We’ve got but one
life, and when that lias gone there will be
no one to prevent you from going where
you like. lam only one of my people.—
I speak only for myself, and though your
soldiers, who hire themselves to our Great
Father to be shot, and shoot whoever he
tells them to, surround us, let me tell—l
hate the white man, and hope to see the
day when we will once more smoke our
pipes where now stands their big villages,
whilst their wigwams are burning around
us; he showed his snow-white teeth whilst
PRO PATRIA EX LEGIBUS.
he laughed, and bending his body, struck
his brawny hand thrice on the ground and
cried, “once more will all this be ours.—
Then if the Great Spirit lets any more
white men come in their big canoes to ask
us for our land, the scalping knife shall be
the answer. We’ll fill the cracks of our
wigwams with their hair, and the wind
shall not make us cold! You talk ot peo
ple over the water! Go, tell such stories
to our children who can’t understand, or
to our old women who can’t hear. This
hand has taken many a life, and is strong
enough to take many more. The Great
Spirit in a dream has told me I should be
buried under a mound of scalps!” As
these words were repeated to the differ
ent tril cs, he seated himself, and regard
ed with stern silence the Commissioners,
who were somewhat confused by this
powerful outbreaking of the warrior chief.
Seeing that little was to be effected in
this excited state of mind, the council ad
journed till next day, and in the interim,
by the mslributioti of presents, such as
blankets, calico, guns, powder, heads,
pork, &c. prepared those whose minds
were not made ol the “sterner stuff,” to
listen with patience, if not yield to a soli
citation lo barter away their lands. The
effect was apparent at the next meeting.
One by one the chiefs consented, but those
who had spoken the day before maintain
ed a gloomy silence ; and as they sat on
the earth, listlessly making marks in the
sand or plucking the blades of grass from
their roots, they seemed not to be aware
of what was going on. A stranger would
have thought they look no concern in the
transaction, hut under this- unruffled sur
face boiled he molten rage of mortified
hut not crushed spirits.
The treaty was settle.l on that and the
following days, and a day or two was as
signed for the signing of it. The chiefs
and principal men made their marks by
just touching the pen, and did it with a
thoughtless lightness. Carrce-maun-nee
was now called. His people hail decided
against him, and his duty required him to
abide by the decision of their council.—
He rose, hut how different was his hear
ing from that when, a day or two before,
he stood there giving vent to his soul, and
falsely believed his tribe would unflinch
ingly support him. The dream was over!
the delusion past! As he stole, like a
bashful girl, to the table, his form and face
enveloped closely by his blanket, with
maiden timidity lie stretched forth his
hand and trembling touched the pen. —
The touch was like an electric shock ; he
started—the blanket fell from bis head—
a choking voice catne from his throat —
’twas over; he gathered his mantle once
more about him, anil shrunk back to his
place as if it was the first time he had
known dishonor. As he scaled himself,
lie drew fbrtli his knife, and cut a rude
gash in the finger that had dared so to dis
grace him as by its touch to yield the bu
rial ground of his ancestors. A flash came
over him—lie sprang lo the ground, dash
ed aside the blanket and made one stride
U» the table. “I take back that mark,”
be yelled in a tone that blanched the
checks of those who had heard it —he pau •
sed—“ But no! it is done—my people
have said it!” With meekness he recov
ered himself and stole back to his seat. —
Every eye was suddenly turned to the
next person called, and as they sought
again for the last signer they found his
place vacant, lie had left a scene so
fraught with agony to his soul.
The Fox chief, whose bold and warlike
speech has been recorded, was now call
ed. His name was “ the cloud that leaves
a mark on the heavens wherever it has
been.” As lie heard his name called, be
was on his feet. No depression gained
the mastery of his proud unbending spirit.
The lire that shot from his eye on a previ
ous day was there still; the sarcastic
curve of his lips still smiled upon them ;
the heavy tread of his foot was unaltered;
indeed, he looked brighter and more cheer
ful, if any thing, than before. His disap
pointment. instead of quenching, had ad
ded fresh fuel to the flame; and, as he
tripped, self-possessed, to the table with
his blanket trailing behind him, he looked
more like a God than a mortal. The lip
of the forefinger of his right hand was
blackened ; he had put it in mourning for
the office it was to perform. He turned
his back to the pen, and thrusting his
bund behind him, touched it whilst he
cried, “My hand, not my heart, signs it.
Our chiefs have got milk, instead of blood
in their veins—by and by, perhaps, they
will get well; much they’ll niind the
White Man’s goose quill and his black
paint there. They’ll scratclt out those
marks with the knife, blot out the figures
on it with blood, and,” gritting bis teeth
as if he already saw his forebodings fulfil
led, “tear flic paper in pieces with their
tomahawks.” As he took his scat, he
j whisp red to a cunning chief who sat bc-
I side him, whose name denoted hischarac
j ter, The Snake that biles in the Grass:
“ The day will come, the Great Spirit vis
ited me last night, when our people, the
Sacs and Foxes at least, will make their
marks oil the skins of while men.” “Be
quiet now,” saiil the Snake, “ one of these
days we’ll present the Great Spirit with a
pack made of the skins of the pale faces.”
The Snake who bites in the Grass was
then called. He was dressed in only the
customary costume of breech-cloth and
blanket. Around his neck was the skin
of a rattle-snake, half swallowed up by
the full length skin of a moccasin snake.
'The raStlt-snake warns those who ap
wnraw w<# 1
M llw iB A #
S. 31. STRONG, Editor.
NUMBER 8.
proach it of its being there, the moccasin
bites without such friendly caution. This
arrangement of skins showed the reptile
stealthily conquering its more generous
enemy, lie was a spare man, with a
wrinkled lace, decayed teeth, arid insigni
ficant appearance. He might have weath
ered some forty years. There was noth
ing peculiar in his appearance, not even
his eye, except you caught it fixed on you.
When this was the case, however, how
different your opinion of his whole exteri
or. You thought him remarkable in figure
and face, and wondered at the entire al
teration. It was the indescribable some
thing in the gaze that met yours which
produced this effect. Ho seemed to
search into your soul, anil you imagined
you felt the fangs of a reptile fastening on
your vitals. But he seldom fixed his gaze
long; his eyes danced about in his head
with a restlessness that showed, though
he could study others he did not wish
them to study him. As he reached the
hoard, he addressed the assemblage in a
few words, speaking first to the commis
sioners:—“ Fathers,” said he, “triy heart
lias been sick for a long time—a good ma
ny moons have died since I have had a
heart that was not 100 heavy to carry.—
But’since I now see that our Great Fa
ther (meaning the President) has sent three
of his wisest chiefs to give us good talks,
clothing for our people, food for our chil
dren, powder and lead to hunt game and
bring in heaps of furs—l begin lo feel as a
new man. I see the dark’clouds that
make us keep in our wigwams blowing
away and the sun shining again. Our
Great Father is too good—he wants to
make us happy, to teach us to he like his
while children and have plenty to cat and
cltiiik; and till he asks is, a little land.—-
What is the land to us ? Our fathers sleep
in it, hut our white brethren wont dig
them up, they are too good ; and if they
wanted to, our Great Father would not al
lowjt. We have plenty of land left, and
I, who am a great warrior, willingly sign
this paper.”
He was, indeed, a warrior of note. No
medicine bag in bis nation held as many
scalps as his. He did not go forth with
war-parties, but alone; and the scalps of
many a man, woman, or child of some
tribe, whom their people thought had |>er
islied by cold, water, or beasts of prey,
hung in his wigwam. Without noise,
without the warning yell, lie had taken
more than a hundred lives, and so stealth
ily that the bereaved relatives never could
trace their loss to any particular tribe, let
alone the individual.
As he signed the paper and took his scat,
he muttered in the car of “the cloud that
leaves its mark in the heavens wherever it
lias been,” “I gave them lie for lie, did
I not?” and as he carefully exposed to his.
companion’s sight the handle of his knife,;
he made a chuckling laugh as he added,
“May we moisten some day every spot of
the soil we have sold them with their
milky blood.” The other responded
whilst lie exhibited the small war-club
concealed beneath his blanket, “May the
day come when this will be cut up with
notches.*
A CHILD OF SORROW.
During the late festive season, when
those who tljought at all, reflected that!
eighteen hundred and forty-three years
ago, the religion of the heart, bringing j
peace and good will on earth, came to sof
ten the rigor of the religion of form, a lit-!
tie girl not six years old, had been obser
ved by a lonely lady sitting day after day |
on the step of a door opposite lo her bouse.
It seemed to belong to nobody ; but at a
certain hoiir, there it was, wrapped in an i
old shawl, crouched on the cold stone, and
rocking itself pensively backwards and
forwards, more like an ailing old woman ,
than a child. Other children played |
around it, but this melancholy little being;
mingled not in their sports, but sat silent
and solitary.
Soon afterwards it was seen to peep I
about the area of the lady’s house, and j
look wistfully at the kitchen windows.—
The lady who was kind lo children, thin
king that the little girl might be trying to
attract her notice, opened the door sudden
ly and offered it some gingerbread.—;
When the door opened, there was a
strange, eager expression ot the child’s
eyes ; but when she saw the lady she
looked scared and disappointed. The
kind voice anil manner soon reassured the
startled child, who thankfully look the of
fering, broke it up into little bits in her
hand, and carried it to the door step oppo
site, where she again took up her station.
Another child, seeing the gingerbread,
came up to the solitary infant, who gave
the newcomer some, and by gestures, the
lady saw that she was informing the other
chiiil whence the gift came. After wait
in" a considerable time without eating her
gingerbread, the j>oor little gill rose dejec
tedly anil went away, still looking back at
the house.
A day or two afterwards, the same
child was seen lingering about the pave
ment near the area, anil holding out a bit
of sugar candy in its tiny fingers through
the rails.
The lady, who thought that the child
was come to offer it out of gratitude for the
gingerbread, went down into the area;
and as soon as she appeared, the child ran
away. Soon again, however, the child
was at its old station, the door-step oppo
* Some Indians an* in the habit of keeping a me
moranda of ihe lives ifie.V liavc taken, by cutting a
notch fuf each on some iveaptm.
site. The lady had mentioned this to her
only female servant as very odd, hut re
ceived no observation in reply.
One morning the door was opened to
receive a piece of furniture; and the same
child again suddenly appeared, and ad
vanced stealthily towards the door. The
lady who was near, said “ 1 see you!”
when the ch id immediately retreated to
her door-step.
“ This is very extraordinar}',” said the
lady to her servant; “ I cannot make out
what that child wants.”
; “ Madam,” said the servant bursting in
to tears, “it is my child.”
“Your child ! But go, bring her in.— l
Where does live ?”
“With my sister, and she goes to school*
I have told her never to come here ; but
the poor thing will come every playtime
i she gets. That day you thought site was
| offering you some sugar candy, I had been
to the school and given Iter a penny ;
when school was over she came to give,
me a hit of the sugar candy she had
bought. Ob, ma’am have mercy —forgive
me ! Do not send me away !”
The lady who had known adversity,
and was not one of those rigidly righteous
persons who forget the first principles in
culcated by the divine Author oftlic Chris
tian creed, looked grave, it is true, hut did
not shrink from the lowly sinner as if she
had the plague, although she had become
a mother before she had been a wife, by
die gay cavalier who hail deceived and
forsaken her. Nor did she turn her out
upon die wide world, in the virtuous stern
ness of her indignation. To the great
horror of some of her neighbors, she told
her servant that het child might conic to
see her every Sunday, beginning with the
next. When the child, who was no lon
ger the moping creature which it had been
before it was admitted to the mother,
heard this, she immediately and anxiously
inquired,
“llow many days and nidils is it to
Sunday?”
Sotrie may sneer at this ; to me tlforo is
something affecting in the quiet, subdued
demeanor of this offspring of shame, timid
ly watching toobtain a glimpse of her who
had borne it, tit an age when happier chil
li reu are never without ihose greatest of
enjoyments, the caresses ol’ a mother.—
Think of the misery of this poor child,
driven from the mere instinct of longing
for its parent, to the staid demeanor of
age, whilst the other merry little ones were
spirting around it. Think what she must
have suffered, as she gazed day after day,
at the frowning door that shut out more
than all the world’s value to her. Think
of the suffering mother, dreading to lose,
with her place anil character, the means
of supporting her helpless, prematurely
old infant! Oh, man, man, thou hast
much to answer for !
Worldly men. —The thoughts.of worldly
men are forever regulated by a moral law
of gravitation, which like the physical
one, holds them down to earth. The
bright glory of day and the silent wonders
of a starlight night, appeal to their minds
in vain. There arc no signs in the sun,
or the moon, or in the stars, for their read
ing. They tire like some wise men, who,
learning to know each planet by its Latin
name, have quite forgotten such small
heavenly constellations as charity, forbear
ance, universal love, and mercy, although
they shine by night and day so brightly,
that the blind may see them ; and who
looking upward at the spangled sky, see
nothing there hut the reflection of their
own great wisdom and book-learning. It
is curious to imagine these people of the
world, busy in thought, turning their eyes
towards the countless spheres that shine
above us, anil making them reflect the on
ly images their minds contain. The man
who lives but in the breath of Princes has
! nothing in his sight hut stars for courtiers’
breasts. The envious man beholds his
neighbors’ honors even in the sky. To
the money-hoarder and the mass of wot Id
ly folk, the whole great' universe above
j glitters with sterling coin—fresh from the
mint —coining always between them and
Heaven, turn where they may. So do the
i shadows of our own desires stand between
us and our better angels, anil thus their
brightness is eclipsed.
The giants of old. —In reference lo
the builders of the Pyramids of Egypt,
and to what has been termed Cyelorian
or Titanic construction of these edifices,
Mr. Gliddon, in a recent lecture remarked,
that it washy these unintelligibilities of
[expression, that some veil their belief, that
Giants erected all the huge buildings of
antiquity, without regard to the fact that
the very idea Giant is an inappropri
ate translation in our scriptural version.
The Ncphilim, as ;iie Hebrew text of Gen
esis Glh chap, -lib verse, designates that
which wo render “ there were Giants on
the earth in those days,” as in every oth
er instance where our version speaks of
Giants, never meant men of unnatural
stature , but merely men of extraordinary
mental vigor, associated with great wick
edness, or with great heroic renown.—
The far fumed Chibborim, Anakim, Enirn#
Repbnim, Sec., of the Bible, never meant
any thing beyond “ men of violent pas
sion, fierceness or celebrity” and all our
fables about such la gcmcn , as the giants
slain by “ Jack lhe giant killer,” proceed
from our own mistakes in translating from
the Greek and other versions, six different
wort Is lo mean giant, which, in the He
brew text, never had any such accepta
i tion, and which idea is [ittppsterous when
understood as applying to* men of imjw
j siblc stature. ___
An Odd Mistake. —An apothecary’s
; hoy was lately sent to leave at one house
a box of pills, and at another six live fowls.
I Confused on the way, he left the pills
where the fowls should have gone, and the
fowls at the pill place. The folks who
received the fowls were astonished at
| reading the accompanying diigctions:—
swullaic one arry two houtpi