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til every other neighbouring steamer
has left; then her smoking, and wheez
ing, and bell-tolling will case until to
morrow afternoon, when a second edi
tion will be issued, and so on till some
other of the line is up. It’s a regular
thing with some boats.
“ And do the public stand it ?”
“ Her public have to: she’s Hobson’s
choice to-day. Do you remember
Tom , he who played the Kent
bu<de so effectually at Captain Rice’s
last concert I He was once on board
of her when all this fun was going on.
Bv-ana-bv both Captain and Pilot went
ashore some distance off, and Tom
mounted to the wheel-house, for he’s a
bit of an amateur Pilot, as he is an
amateur in music. Winking to two
or three of his friends on the levee, off
went the lines: the wheels were re
volving backward at the time furious
ly, and off she spun into the river, up
setting a brace of fat darkies who were
o
carrying supplies aboard, and sending
a dozen conchshells from a little w her
ry behind, to amuse the mermaids and
catfish below'. ‘ Stop her,’ cried the
Captain, running to the water’s edge,
and gesticulating furiously. The Pilot
fell to swearing (as all Pilots do in
emergencies),and the crowd about hur
rahed. Tom headed her up river, and
away she went for a few’ lengths ; but
he hadn’t calculated the current; and
the first thing he knew, he was against
a seven hundred-touner, just in, full of
Dutch emigrants, battering against her
sober sides like a battering-ram at the
walls of Jeru-alem, and frightening the
poor jaw-breaking linguists out of their
senses.”
“ It took Tom some time to work out
of that scrape. Old , who was
then District Attorney, gave it as hi -
opinion that the proceeding was ‘ flat
piracy but he couldn’t find a Grand
Jury to do anything but laugh at him
and call it a good joke. But here we
are off.”
And the Peytona spun into the stream
like a mettled courser at the drum tap.
She was evidently puffed with seifcon
ceit of her own power and ability; for
not a stair deigned to creak under the
loads of baggage and fat humanity
which had hurried up and down from
deck to deck ; not an inch of carpet in
the splendid saloon had dimmed be
neath the tread of passengers; her
smoke belched upward with all the
pomposity offurnace-kiudling ; and her
wheels beat the turbid w aters with solid
pats which were intended to strike suita
ble terror into the mammoth catfish
round about.
The “Peytona” w ; as built like all
other Western river steamboats, with
an elliptical hull, beaten out at the
poles more than is geometrical in an
ellipse, and upon the hull sat the ma
chinery, duly imprisoned and overlaid
by the mansion-like cabin, which was
pillaged up from how to stern. A flight
of steps from the water’s edge gave
passage to the boiler deck and entrance
to ihe two saloons beyond. Still anoth
er deck was over the inclosed cabin
whither the Captain and Pilot went in
to appropriate exile whenever the boat
was on its winding way, and where
children gambolled (is vice so young
on the Mississippi river, 1 think 1 hear
some listener say), while their papas
smoked in active opposition to the puf
fing escape pipes at their side.
We swept by the city. A mile or
so of shipping to eye, with here and
theie some caravanserai, like cotton
yards, and the houses had longer sepa
ration between them. Here was La
fayette, the asylum ofanglicised Dutch
men ; next we bent into Carrollton ;
and then commenced the monotonous
scenery of the Mississippi river: flat
land and winding river, trees, and sedgv
grass, with occasionally a bit of bluff,
with elevation like the snow’ hills your
schoolboy builds in the midst of a New
Hampshire winter.
Night came on, with it, the tea urn;
after which 1 plunged into a state room,
arranged my wardrobe for the next
four days, and settled down to sleep,
thinking of “ Longfellow” in the nar
row’ berth, and his poetry, especially
of the lines—
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is my de-t.ned end or way ;
But to I.ve that each to-morrow
Finds me. further than to-day
further up the Mississippi, of course.
******
One day upon a Mississippi steam
boat is generally a stereotype <>f all the
other days of passage, i'here may
sometimes occur a snagging, or a fire,
with perhaps a collision, to vary the in
cidents ot each sluggish hour ; but since
the river navigation is so well under
stood, and Captains and Pilots by be
coming owners of the crafts they guide,
are more careful, a total want of catas
trophe is the most expectable by even
nervous ladies.
One day, then, is the sample of all;
and how does it wear away ?
she dull light of morning becomes
brighter and roseate over the tree-tops
about, as the steam packet stilt putfs
an I paddles her way along.
As the sun emerges from the forest
a >out, sleepy travellers emerge from
their state-room doors on the outside
guard passage-way, and in every va ie
ty ot demi toilette, swallow the fresh
air. A heavy-eyelided negro will be
scattering dust in the cabin with seri
ous intention of accomplishing the
operation usually termed ‘'sweeping.”
Another of the same description will
be summoning courage for the exertion
of shaking the large cabin-bell, whose
sound is intended to diminish a pas
senger’s quota of sleep. Other sleepy
waiters will emerge from unknown parts
of the boat and attend to the compli
cated machinery of the table ; which
by their exertions (although five min
utes before it had scarcely afforded room
for the lounging legs of a Hoosier) soon
becomes a long table ready for break
fast, dinner, or supper at the appropri
ate hours for each meal. At the noise
of the clicking plates and rattling knives
and forks, the hungry passengers from
door-gaping state-rooms, and from side
doors, and through the windows from
the hurricane deck watch with stoma
chic interest the evolutions of the wai
teSs:. They anathematize the laziness
of this one or commend the briskness
° 5 iat one - They count the plates,
and endeavour to smell out the bill of
aie as opens the pantry door. And
wL Vu” e y. e * f hey measure the bread
e cabin boy carefully puts out
y eveiy plate (delicately plunging a
fork into an immense bread tray full
of bread-chunks and then executing a
quit-claim by a dexterous shove of his
dextre forefinger.) By degrees there
accumulate before the watching eyes
hot corn-bread and rolls; steaks and
chops ; while pitchers of milk and ba
sins of sugar are deployed in the cen
tre of the table. A fat waiter enters
with a coffee urn, which is bubbling
musically. A retinue of leaner waiters
similarly armed, with now and then an
urn of tea, follow’ him. Diffident pas
sengers edge slowly up. The “ old
travellers” march towards the head of
the table with confident air and select
ing a particular chair, stand behind it
and eye it as if determined to risk life
itself before surrendering up a seat or
missing the first dive atabeafsteak and
plate of rolls. Other gentleman have
walked towards that steamboat sanc
tum sanctorum ycleped ladies’ saloon ;
and self-complaeently watch the open
ing doors, for well they know they
have a seat reserved. The hungry
dissidents, and “old un’s below are eye
ing with envious sullenness these afore
said reserved seats and their reserv
ed future occupants. Presently the
Captain descends from his place of
exile on the hurricane deck; takes off
his hat and polishes his red forehead
with a still redder handkerchief, and
marches dignifiedly to the top of the
table, followed by admiring eves at the
foot. The admiring eyes soon reas
sume an hungry aspect. The bell rings,
and down drop the passengers and pro
creed to attack the edibles. The la
dies’ table is a complete battle-field of
affectation struggling with the appetite
which a river breeze induces; steam
boat coffee is criticised ; biscuits are
nibbled ; and perhaps in a certain quar
ter a plate of hot rolls furnishes text
for an anti-dyspeptic lecture from an
old lady to whom dry toast proves a
great consolation.
Breakfast over, the ladies retire to
their toilette, or their lace and worsted
work, or perchance a book ; others of
them enliven the cabin with music from
the grand piano which every first-class
boat provides for her company. The
gentlemen seek the boiler deck, where
they sit in gaping arm-chairs; and talk;
or read in their books with coloured
covers the various wonders of modern
romance; or hang their legs over the
rail and smoke in musing silence as
they gaze at the scenery about. Poli
tics is the prevailing theme; although
now and then a reckoning of distances
affords an exciting topic of conversa
tion for the moment. The waiters
within have taken to pieces the com
plicated table machinery, only to put
the pieces together again in a few hours.
At one of the bits of table there is card
playing. Some gamblers are near by
watching an opportunity to join the
party. But they are compelled to be
cautious and diplomatic; for gambling
on the Western waters, like watch-stuf
fing in goodly Manh ttan, has come to
be understood ; and there is little card
fleecing nowadays on the Mississippi
first-class packets. At another table a
billious-looking youth is endeavouring
to write ; but gives up in despair upon
hearing a passer by remark sotto voce
to a friend “ how proficient that young
man is in short-hand hieroglyphics.”—
At another table some infatuated youths
have commenced a game of chess ; but
before five moves a castle, urged by the
shaking boat as she labours over a sand
bar, and which was still hemmed in by
unmoved pieces,gives check by a strange
freak, and bishops and knights prance
about merrily.
On drives the boat; perhaps stop
ping “on a sw'amp-bound coast” to land
a passenger or take one up ; in either
case shoving a narrow plank ashore and
sending him to walk it as if both him
self and plank were troubled with an
ague fit no patent medicine could pal
liate. Or the boat stops at some town
or city builded almost among a prime
val forest; and the passengers step
ashore to stretch their legs and walk a
bit through the town or buy refresh
ments.
Or the boat hungers for wood, and
at a given signal there pushes out from
the river bank a flat boat loaded with
a dozen cords. A line is thrown and
the flat boat made fast to the steamer’s
side, where the w r ood soon changes po
sition without any loss of time save in
speed diminished by towing along ad
ditional floating matter. The wood un
loaded, the lines are cut, and the flat
boat floats back to its station.
Lunch vs an agreeable interlude. So
is dinner; arid the siesta in the hot
cabin. Or the afternoon lounge by the
favoured few in the ladies’cabin, where
there is of course the usual variety of
nonsense, flirtation, and music. Or the
watching the daylight fade as promena
ding the hurricane deck. Then rings
the tea bell. There is more eating and
drinking. The cards thereafter shuffle
brisker at the table by the bar ; and the
laughter and fun in the ladies’ cabin
sounds better from beneath the brilliant
lights. Then comes sleep ; and closes
a day the like of which you will see to
morrow, and as long thereafter as cir
cumstances and low water keep you un
der headway.
Low water!
I gathered some experience as to the
meaning of that phrase after getting
into the Ohio. Our skilful pilot had
brought us past a half dozen of boats
smaller than our own w ho were aground;
many of them, however, very distin
guished in a general way. Tht re was
the “General Scott,” puffing and blow
ing on a sand bar with all its fires fore
most. There was the General Worth,
and the General Taylor, and the Gene
ral Washington, all striking their flags
at two or three feet of water, covered
with the ignominy of our passing shrugs
and laughs. But the turn of the “Pey
tona” came next; and with a bump
which threw the head steward into the
door of a state-room he was entering
among a parcel of trunks ; and brought
powerful groans from all the freight of
nervousness on board ; and upset the
calculations of a trio of amateur sharp
ers who were being pigeoned by their
would be victim. The boat “ brought
up” on a sand bar.
“ More steam” was the word passed
to the engineer; while the heaviest of
the passengers held a mass meeting in
the stern to lighten the weight of the
boat on the bar, and thus enable the
boat to back out and feel a better chan
nel. Swfifter and swifter revolved the
paddles; fire flashed from the furnace
eyes of the “Peytona;” she was spur
red to the utmost of her powers; but
“ the nature of the course proved too
much.” A flat boat was near at hand
and the usual business of lightening
cargo by throwing us overboard—don’t
care—into the said flat boat was imme
diately resorted to. The latter was
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
soon filled with her male cargo, leaving
the ladies and babies on board ; thus
forming a sort of nautical Methodist as
semblage. The proceeding answered,
and the good river Ohio, no doubt,
pleased with this offering of man’s pride
to the power of her channel lowered
the sands beneath us and over the bar
we went.
Os all places in the world for the
study of humanity in all its variety of
light and shade, in all its grotesque
ness, picturesqueness, and kaleidoscope
changes of character, give me the Mis
sissippi steamboat. Industrious pa
tronage of Manhattan omnibuses, par
ticuly the line which boasts the guardi
anship of town-renowned “ Kipp &
Brown,” or of the Harlaem railroad
cars below “ Twenty-Seventh street,”
may do something for the “proper study
of mankind.” lam not sure but that
diligent pursuit of novelty in the direc
tion of our city suberb, “ Hoboken,”
of summer afternoons, may be of ben
efit in the same line. But travel on
the Mississippi river and you will give
the palm to its steamboats. Here you
meet all the grades of life ; a thousand
chapters of human history bind them
selves ever in the cabins, capable on
slight acquaintance of an interesting
reading; human passion in every va
riety turns its sides for inspection. A
week of contact rubs off the outer coat
ings of selfishness ; picks the locks of
mind; unfolds a score of conventional
heart coverings ; lays bare a thousand
tricks of life; and fills your book of
mental observation with curious and
valuable notes and addenda for refer
ence.
Let no Manhattaner hankering after
foreign travel neglect to “voyage it”
on the Western waters before breath
ing European air.
(T'ijr ‘it)nrltr nf /asjtion.
PARIS AND LONDON FASHIONS.
Promenade or Carriage Costume. —
High dress or pelisse of shaded silk,
the tints sage-green and rose colour. —
The skirt, which is made very fall, is
trimmed up the front with rows of nar
row sage-green velvet, set on in a zig
zag or \aidyke pattern. This trim
ming gradually diminishes in width
from the edge of the skirt to the waist,
and widens as it is carried up the cor
sage, over the front of which it extends
nearly from side to side. ‘The sleeves
are demi-long, widening at the ends,
where they are finished by a reverse or
sort of turned-up cutF, trimmed with
rows of velvet, set on in the same man
ner as the trimming on the front of the
skirt and corsage. Muslin under sleeves,
consisting of full puffs, confined at the
wrist by a band, above which there is
a row of needlework, which falls on the
sleeve. Round the throat a small mus
lin collar, having a very narrow frill
of needlework quilled at the edge. —
Bonnet of drawn crape lined with pink
silk. There is no trimming whatever
on the outside, and the under trimming
consists of very small pink and white
flowers intermingled with white tulle.
Gloves of pale yellow’ kid.
Full Evening or Ball Costume. —
Dress of white tarletan muslin over a
slip of white satin. The skirt of the
dress is trimmed with three flounces of
lace, each headed by three folds of white
satin, placed at some little distance the
one from the other. The corsage is
low, and the sleeves so short as to be
entirely covered by the berthe, which
consists of a double row of lace, finish
ed by a fold or piping of satin at the
top. The hair is simply banded at each
side of the forehead, and arranged in
twists at the back part of the head.—
The head dress is a beautiful wreath
composed of hearts-ease, wild rose, and
geranium, tastefully arranged in full
tufts at each side, and finished with
pendant sprays of grass of a brilliant
light green. The bouquet de corsage,
which is of a very large size, is com
posed of the same flowers, mounted in
a corresponding manner. Deini-gloves
of white kid, and on each arm several
splendid bracelets set with precious
stones. Pocket handkerchief edged
with a very broad row of Brussels lace.
Pardessus for the Opera or Theatre.
This pardessus will be found exceeding
ingly useful as a wrap on leaving crowd
ed assembles; or, as tneautumnal sea
son advances, it may be available for
the evening promenande at the seaside.
It is composed of rich green velvet,
lined with white quilted satin, and
edged all round with a narrow row of
ermine without tails. The pardessus
may be made of satin, if preferred,
and a trimming of swansdown will be
found to have a very light and pretty
elfect.
General Observations on Fash
ion and Dress. For walking dresses
shaded siik continues to be a favourite
material. Blended tints, in which green
or dark blue predominates, are most
fashionable. Colours of a decided tone
have this season taken the place of the
pale hues heretofore generally adopted.
For trimming bonnets or caps, ribbons
of rose colour or rich amber are very
much employed ; and those tints are
aso very fashionable in shaded silks
blended with green, brown, or other
dark colours.
Among the prettiest canezous may
be mentioned those made of clear white
muslin, with triple pagoda sleeves.—
The sleeves are trimmed with rows
ot lace or needle work, so disposed that
the undermost row reaches to the wrist,
and the uppermost descends to the el
bow. Each of these rows, which, of
itself, seems to form a distinct sleeve,
is looped up at the inner part of the
arm, and fastened by a small bow of
ribbon. These canezous are open on
the bosom and meet at the waist,
where they are attached by a ribbon—
they are finished at the waist by
basques, or merely by a row of lace
or needlework. In the latter case, this
kind of canezou may be properly call
ed a spencer.
In outdoor costume, pardessus and
mantles of worked muslin are very
much worn. Sometimes they have li
nings of coloured silk, but are most
fashionable unlined. The needlework
on some of these muslin mantles is ex
quisitely elaborate.
Someshaw'ls of dentelle-de-laine have
recently been imported from Paris.—
They are in various colours ; but they
have not, as yet, met with any general
favour.
In Paris, leghorn bonnets have been
very fashionable this summer, and they
are now beginning to appear in Lon
don. They are trimmed much in the
same style as other bonnets suited to
the more elegant styles of walking cos
tume. The latest novelty introduced
by the Parisian milliners in the trim
ming of leghorn bonnets consists in the
strings being exceeding long, and made
of very broad ribbon, thus presenting
almost the effect of a scarf tied under
the chin. Sometimes these strings are
sufficiently long to allow oftheir being
fastened by a brooch to the waist, and
the ends are left to hang down the front
of the dress in the manner of a sash.
One of the most admired wedding
dresses of the present season has just
been completed for a youthful Parisian
bride. The dress itself is composed of
organdy muslin, trimmed with two
flounces of Brussels lace ; the lace be
ing so deep as entirely to cover the
skirt of the dress, and forming, as it
were, a double jupe. The corsage is
high, partially open in front’ ala Louis
Quinze, and richly trimmed with lace;
the sleeves with double pagodas of lace.
The bridal veil is a very wide scarf of
Brussels lace.
Parasols of white moire are among
the most elegant of those used for the
open carriage. They may be trimmed
either with fringe or lace. The handles
of some consist of carved ivory or
coral; others are of enamel. We have
seen a parasol of French manufacture
destined for a foreign process, the han
dle of which is of nanel, inlaid with
mother-o’-pearl and tuiquoise. This
parasol is covered with Brussels lace,
and is lined with pink silk ; the lace so
disposed as to hang over the lining,
and to form an awning round the para
sol-
€l)c jnirrrii Slltnr.
THOSE THAT SEEK ME EARLY,
SHALL FIND ME.’-
Now, while every pio.-pect cheers?—
Now, while in thy youthful years,
Eie ihe treacherous snare? ol sin
Lure thy feet and d.aw thee in,
Hear the Go pel’s warning tone ;
Give thy heait to God atone.
Leave your sports and earthly toys,
Seek for mo.e substantial joys ;
Listen now to wisdom’s voice,
Early make her ways your choice ;
Bear this precept still m mind:
“Seek me early, you shad tiiid.”
Hast thou in thy youthful days,
Sought in pleasure’s giddy maze,
Eartlily pleasures that must fade?
Joys that death will soon invade !
Hast thou an immortal mind !
Seek thy Saviour—seek and hud.
Now is the accepted time,
Seek the Lord, while in your prime ;
Give to him your youthful days—
Spend them now in prayer and praise !
On the heart, this precept bind—
“ Seek me early, ye shall find.”
Time with you is speeding fast,
Youthful days will soon be past;—
Will you give to God your prime ?
Will you .-eek the Lord in tune ?
Seek the joys for you designed—
“ Seek Him early, you shall find.”
THE CHRISTIAN’S DIGNITY.
“ For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is
in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and
Mother.”—Matt-xii. 50.
These are gracious words, and pro
ceed from the lips of Him who spake
as never man spake. In them we have
the constitution and dignity of the Chris
tian character.
The constitution of the Christian
character. It is well for us to consid
er what is required of us as the genu
ine followers of Christ. What is in
cluded in doing the will of God ]
It is to believe. This is expressly
stated as being the Father’s will. It
is more than a common faith: the
devils believe and tremble; but many
who profess Christianity have never
trembled before God. This faith is
connected with experience ; it is of the
operation of God, and works by love.
It is to obey. Obedience is the prac
tical evidence of faith. Faith may be
compared to a tree planted in the gar
den of the soul, rooted and grounded
in Christ, covered with the green leaves
of a lively profession, watered with
heavenly showers, and yielding the
fruits of obedience, and the graces of
the Spirit. Our obedience must be
right in its principle, sincere in its mo
tive, evangelical in its spirit, cheerful
in its manner, and universal in its ap
plication.
The dignity of the Christian char
acter.
It is attended with present benefits. —
Here is an endearing alliance:
“ I he same is my brother, and sister,
and mother.” It includes an interest
in his affections, intimate communion,
and sympathy.
It shall be succeeded with future hon
ours. He who owns them here, will
not be ashamed of them hereafter. —
They shall be kings and priests unto
God, pillars in his temple, and jewels
in his crown.
It is conferred without partiality. —
“ W hosoever.” There is no restriction,
but that which we put on ourselves. —
W e cannot go beyond the Gospel com
mission, for it extends to sinners whose
iniquities have reached unto heaven,are
as black as hell, and numerous as the
sands on the sea shore.
RELIGION IN EARLY LIFE.
No one, at the close of an advanced
life, has ever regretted that his early
years were spent iu the service of God.
But thousands have regretted when
upon a dying bed, that the morning of
their days was spent in rebellion
against the King of kings. “ If,” says
the eloquent and pious John Angell
James, “ there be true honour in the
universe, it is found in religion. Even
the heathen were sensible of this; hence
the Romans built the temples of Vir
tue and Honour close together, to teach
the way to honour was by virtue. Re
ligion is the image of God in the soul
of man. Can glory itself rise higher
than this ? What a distinction to have
this lustre put upon the character is
youth! It was mentioned by Paul, as
a singular honour to the believing Jews,
that they first trusted in Christ; and in
refering to Andromicus and J uma t he
mentions it to their praise, that they
were in Christ before him. To be a
Child of God, an heir of Glory, a disci
ple of Christ, a Warrior of the Cross,
a citizen of the New Jerusalem, from
our youth up, adorns the brow with ar
amanthine wreaths of fame, A person
converted in youth, is like the sun ri
sing on a summer’s morning, to shine
through a long bright day ; but a per
son converted late in life, is like the
evening star, a lovely object of Chris
tian contemplation, but not appearing
till the day is closed, and then bu for
a little while.”
flit llruirutrr.
Forthe Southern Literary Gazette.
EGER! A:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside.
THIRD SERIES.
I.
Maternal In fluences. —It was Madam
Compan. who, in reply to an inquiry
of Napoleon, proposed the establish
ment of an institute for the education
of Mothers. The mother is, in most
cases, and for obvious reasons, the only
teacher of the morals of the young.
The vital misfortune is, that she, her
self, has never been taught, or has been
taught eroneously. She is thus em
ployed to perpetuate error to the future
generations, and to sow and renew the
future growth of evil, as Eve did at
first. Many a fond parent has igno
rantly brought her son to the gallows.
The boy who bit off his mother’s ear
beneath the fatal tree, conveyed a ter
rible lesson to society,which, unhappily
for the young, it will not learn.
11.
Love of Self There is always one
grand passion of the heart, in w hich ev
ery man is without a rival.
111.
Diffidence of True Merit. —People
who possess the most, speak least of
their virtues. It is he who distrusts
himself that shows most anxiety to per
suade others of his possessions.
Experience. Experience is the stile
and stone in the highways, over which
we bruise our shins, and endanger our
necks. It is not until we have pained
and perilled our limbs in this encounter
with her obstructions, that we are pre
pared to traverse in safety the common
roadstead
V.
Secret of National Prosperity. —
Lord Bacon puts the secret of national
prosperity into a brief compass. He
says: “There are three things which
one nation selleth to another : the com
modity as it is yielded by nature, the
manufacture, and the vecture or car
riage. So,” says he “if the three
wheels go, wealth will flow in like a
spring tide.” We shew up the same
idea in our collocation : “Agriculture,
Commerce and Manufactures,” and the
old doggrel puts the philosophy into a
form scarcely less portable :
“ Let the Earth have cultivation:
Let the Seas give circulation,
Art bestow manipulation,
And you build the mighty nation.’’
Mighty, perhaps, but not absolutely
great or glorious or permanent, until
“ You give your people education.”
and I thus presume to add a line which
I conceive to be absolutely necessary
to the philosophy, if not the poetry.
VI.
Satisfaction in Discovery. 1 see no
reason why the person who has been
so fortunate as to find a mare’s nest,
should not be suffered to cackle over
the eggs.
Fortune. Happy accidents are the
parents of a thousand great designs;
but the same person who charges all
his miscarriages upon Fortune, never
makes the least acknowledgment to
the same Goddess, in t! e day of his
success. Sylia, among great men, is
almost the only exception to the rule,
on record. He conciliated the favours
of the Goddess, as we may do most of
the sex ; by waiving, with a becoming
humility, his own claims in deference
to hers.
VIII.
Ingenuousness of Innocence. —In the
ingenuous nature, the heart is continual
ly looking out from the eyes, as a
young girl from tin window. It is on
ly the knowing damsel who peeps from
behind the curtain or the lattice.
IX.
Tears. To tell us, by way of consola
tion, that the object lor whom we mourn
was mortal, is to offer the very reason
for our tears. Tears are the undoubt
ed language of mortality. Were
the case not remediless, consolation
would be easy ; and we should weep,
if only at the lesson which reminds us
that we are mortal also. Besides, how
should we forbear our sorrows, when
we discover that one who was a perpet
ual source of joy, can also prove a per
petual source of privation?
X.
The Heart. Alas! how should we
doubt of the fortunes of the heart,
when it was in the shape of Love that
Ahrimanes first found his way into the
egg of Ormusd !
XI.
Charity. It is charity, I suppose,
that sometimes puts out a poor man’s
candle, and reproaches him for going
in the dark. We are apt to disparage
the education of the poor, and to op
pose all legislation in its favour; but
nobody allows us to forget that pover
ty is very ignorant, very immoral, and
of the most unbecoming tastes and pro
pensities.
XII.
Self Government. No people can
be esteemed equal to the duties of self
government,w^Lose cupidity is such that
they dare not look the cost of their lib
erties in the face.
XIII.
A Compliment to Humility. It must
be very grateful to the man who hum
bly estimates his own claims, that the
world always heartily approves his
judgment.
XIV.
Great Men. Great men are a com
mon property. They form the solar
system for the world of mind, and
shine more or less brightly upon all
the nations.
ilMir Tetters.
Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette.
JAMAICA PLAINS, Mass. \
September 4th, 1850. }
Messrs. Editors : About four miles
south from Boston there lies spread out
a considerable valley or plain,surround
ed by hills of moderate elevation, and
undulating ground, and adorned by a
tine little lake of pure water. The bot
tom of this lake is of a moderately
coarse gravel, which renders its waters
richly transparent. Its sides are adorn
ed with sycamore and maple trees and
shrubbery which, in the sunshine, cast
their shadows on the water, and dance
on its ripples. Round its borders, on
rising land, are situated many tasteful
seats,belonging to merchants of Boston,
and retired citizens, with fine gardens,
stocked with every variety of the
choicest and most delicious fruits of
the country, so highly cultivated by
skill, labour and enriching manure, that
both their variety and perfection are,
every where not seen,almost past belief.
To show how perfect wild fruits may
be made by careful cultivation, we
would here notice that we have seen
the common wayside high bush black
berry, brought to a perfection in size,
and flavour, by garden culture in this
place, that we had never so much as
dreamed of, while its glossy exterior
and size, made it an ornament to the
tea table, to which place it was ad
vanced after the successive departure
of the strawberry and the raspberry, a
position, it will be acknowledged, we
think, sufficiently trying to test its gas
tronomic virtues and horticultural per
fectibility.
In and around this fascinating spot,
there are scattered, on hills, covered
with their rich and varied native foliage,
and pretty plantations of maples, firs,
pines, mountain ash and oak, and the
graceful, cone-like, deep green spruce,
more than one hundred lovely cottages,
and other evidences of magnificent
structure and tasteful adornment.—
With broad lawns, well cultivated gar
dens, and large orchards, redolent of the
early apple, rich pear, and luscious
peach and plum. Os strawberries,
raspberries and currants too, the season
has also been liberally productive,
while the hills have teemed with blue
berries, blackberries and whortleber
ries. The display of flowers too has
been, and continues to be, profuse.—
Every neat little cottage, as well as no
ble mansion, having its flower and fruit
garden. There is one handsome seat
here that has a splendid old avenue of
nearly or quite a half mile long, I
should judge, of alternate American
and English Elms; the former are
known by their broad spreading roots,
and the unequalled breath and surpass
ing gracefulness of their giant bodies
and limbs. The English pass into the
earth without any expansion of their
roots above ground, and are more com
pact ; but want the breadth and gran
deur of the American. This avenue
reminds one of the probable origin of
that lofty and noble architectural orna
ment, the Gothic Arch ; the intertwi
ning limbs of these noble trees, having
uo doubt, suggested its first design to
the human architect. Thus can we
trace to the unseen hand of the great
Architect of the Universe, “ the giver
of every good and perfect gift,” the
origin of all artistic, as well as all nat
ural beauty.
The spot which I have here described,
is Jamaica Plains, the seat of architec
tural and horticultural and agricultural
taste, and home of liberal hospitality.
Yours, &c.
THE WANDERER.
(Original fentjs.
DUELLING.
It is a great mistake, though a very
common one, to ascribe the origin of
duelling to the middle ages. The prac
tice is quite as old as the passions of
man—belongs to his sense of individ
uality as well as injustice, and where
the self-esteem is great, will always
follow the ebullitions of his anger.
We find it in Scripture history, at the
earliest periods. It is the very soul,
and forms the substantial interest of
the action in half the books of Homer;
was practiced among the Romans when
they were yet young as a people, was
not discontinued when they grew older;
and was employed for the redress of
grievances—whether effectual to this
end or not —and in a greater or less
degree, among most of the enlightened
nations of the earth. We are not now
justifying the practice, but stating it
simply, and do not wish to be misun
derstood. By those who ascribe the
origin of duelling to the middle ages,
it is confounded with the judicial com
bats of those periods. This is to mis
take a consequence for a cause. The
judicial combat was probably suggested
by the duel. Nothing, indeed, could
be more natural than the adoption of
some such mode of deciding a bewil
dering doubt, where no evidence but
that of the interested parties could be
procured, and at a period when it was
the social policy to encourage physical
courage as one ol the first of social vir
tues. A person wronged, oi professing
to be wronged, declared equally, by
his readiness to fight,the injustice which
he suffered, and the indignation which
he felt. Public opinion naturally
adopted individual opinion, and author
ity found its sanction of the process in
the universal recognition of the practice
This mode of arriving at the truth was
scarcely an incorrect one, where a large
faith in the combatants lend its aid to
determine the results, independently of
the lessons of skill, or the force of phy
sical power. The conscience entered
necessarily into the combat, and where
it was the conviction that “God would
defend the right,” the cry became
something more than a signal for the
combatant to lay on. The conviction
that he would do so went to the heart
of the nation. Shakspeare illustrates
this conviction, in the language of
Henry the Sixth, at the close of the
scene where the ’prentice kills his mas
ter, whom he has accused of High
Treason.
King Henry.— Take hence that traitor from
our sight ;
For by bis death u>e do perceive his guilt ;
And God, in justice, hath revealed to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow
Which he had thought to have murdered
wrongfully.”
It is true, the conquering ’prentice him
self had no such prescience of success.
He was, as the reader will remember,
monstrous apprehensive of the issue.
“ Oh, Lord, bless me, I pray God ! for
I am never able to deal with my mas
ter !” The recollection of numerous
drubbings before from the same hands,
might naturally lessen his confidence in
the saving faith of the nation ; but the
result of the combat was as naturally
to confirm it. Shakspeare's faith in
thus arranging the issue, was rather
in the greater number of ’prentices than
masters, who were habitual attendants
of the theatre. But for this, the fate
of the parties might have been differ
ent, But to return; —Even as a judi
cial combat, duelling had its birth long
before the age of chivalry, Mark An
tony challenged Octavius Cassar to sin
gle combat, in order to decide the right
to empire ; and what was the famous
duel between David and Goliath but
a question of strength between the
respective deities of Israel and Philis
tia. Talking of chivalry, by the way,
the wars waged by Saul and his war
riors, and the chiefs under David, Jon
athan, Abner, and Joab, against the
high places of the Philistines, exhibit
numerous individual adventures, which
are as much like the fighting of the
middle ages as possibly could be.
What were the exactions of Saul from
the audacity and courage of David, as
a condition for his daughter’s hand, but
of this sort! And how like to a histo
ry of chivalry is the scene in Second
Samuel, second chapter : —“And Ab
ner, the son of Ner, and the servants of
Ishbosheth the son of Saul, went out
from Nahanaim to Gibeon, and Joab,
the son of Zeruiah, and the servants of
David, went out and met together by
the pool of Gibeon ; and they sat down ,
the one on the one side of the pool, and
the other on the other side. And Abner
said to Joab, let the young men now
arise, and play before ns. And Joab
said, let them arise. Then there arose
and went over by number, twelve of
Benjamin, w hich pertained to Lhbosh
eth, the son of Saul, and twelve of the
servants of David. And they caught
every one his fellow by the hand, and
thrust his sword in his fellow’s side,
so they fell down together.” A fair
duel that, twelve against twelve : but
the parties were dissatisfied, and it be
came necessary for the armies to meet
In the fight which followed, when Ab
ner was beaten and fled, we haveanoth
er incident, the colouring and character
of which tell exactly as do those of the
chivalrous periods; “Asahel was as
light of foot as a wild roe. And Asa
hel pursued after Abner; and in going
he turned not to the right hand nor to
the left from following Abner. Then
Abner looked behind him and said l art
thou Asahel?’ and he answered ‘I am!’
And Abner said unto him, ‘Turn thee
aside to thy right hand or to thy left,
and lay thee hold on one of the young
men, and take thee his armour." 1 This
was in the generous spirit of the knight
errant, conscious of his superiority and
strength. But the vain glorious Asa
hel disdained this generous counsel.
“And Abner said again to Asahel,
‘turn thee aside from following me :
wherefore should I smite thee to the
ground? How then should 1 hold up
my head to Joab, thy brother V It
was a mingling of admiration with pity
for one so young, so swift of foot and
graceful, and withal so unwisely
courageous. “Howbeit, he refused to
turn aside; wherefore, Abner, with the
hinder end of the spear smote him un
der the fifth rib, that the spear came
out behind him, and he fell down there
and died in the same place.’ The cool
expert old warrior. But how, still
like the feudal periods in Europe was
the sequel. The noble Abner, sent
away in peace by David, is pursued by
the subtle politician and cruel warrior
Joab, with messages of kindness, solic
iting an interview. Confiding freely
and frankly, as was his nature, when
Abner comes to the meeting, then
•Joab took him aside in the gate to
speak with him quietly , and smote him
then under the fifth rib, that he died- for
the blood of Asahel, his brother.’ Here
is the germ of a middle age romance,
embodying a whole volume of the
spirit of chivalry. Hundreds more
could be cited; but this is already too
much of a digression. The origin of
single combat to decide question,
right, to go to the very roots of h,
subject, may be found in every *<;•).,, i
ground or college campus. The toner,
failing to produce conviction, v ,
more natural implement than the f,
for dernier resort. lam very sures
the J udicial Combat w as never resort* \
to when the testimony of any credili
third person was to be obtained
where the hostility and bad blood 1
tween the opponents, would not ha
brought them to blows; settle the q Uts . 1
tion between them as you may. \\
smile at the simplicity of those ages| iv
which this irrational court was recur
nized; butourtheory must be admitted
and for one thing, at least. Their ven
error of this description, must be
treated with respect. What a eonti
dence must they have had in the over
uling and special providence. What a
conviction that the truth would he
made manifest. What a faith not onh
in the justice, but in the immediate in.
terest and presence of the Deity, in
the affairs of men. What a belief in
his sympathy", in his interference in
their concerns. We have reason,—
but, verily, they had faith. We are
more wise than they, perhaps, but
more worldly also. They could be
lieve too, in those days, in their
ghosts and witches—their phantasms
and fantasies; but were these more so
than many of those wondrous specula
tions of stock and steam which rage
and madden through our days. In lo
sing our speculations, we have lost our
veneration. We believe nowin nothing
spiritual. I can forgive and respect
the mesmerist—the clairvoyancer, who
can see through stone walls, and across
lakes and mountains—if he honestly
believes that he sees. He is, simply,
a soul, which, struggling in darkness, is
yet struggling after new light. Nav, ]
am not sure that there are not some of
the Mormonites, who are really blind;
and who really have a sort of monke\
faith in their Joseph of Ohio, other
wise named Smith. There is no sav
ing what strange tricks human creduli
ty w ill play upon poor, struggling, hu
man judgment. It is a condition to be
pitied,this of the Mormons; who do seem
honestly busied only in setting them
selves apart, with the Millerites, to
await the Millenium, w hich they have
imagined for themselves, out of their
own erring, but earnest fancies. But
the knaves who build earthly palaces
and worldly fortunes, by reason of the
faith and confidence which is in their
neighbours—who preach falsehoods
equally great with those of Mormon
and Mesmer, only that they may riot
in their flesh-pots—who laugh at the
holy simplicity of the child of faith,
and mock delusions which are yet the
fruit ot a child like sincerity,—where
should these stand in the regardsof men
and angels?—these, who have no faith,
unless in the cunning of their own
right hands! Tluse, too,we may pity
yea, we should—for, of a certainty,with
more of the wisdom which secures
worldly wealth and worldly pleasures,
they are yet made of feebler and fouler
clay than enters into the creation of
these poor idol-worshippers. We
should pity them, true, but not forget
to punish them also.
■illisrrllnmj.
Packing Seeds. Mr. Editor: —It
is a fact eminently deserving the atten
tion of seedsmen, that all those seeds
which are oily, soonest lose their ger
minating power. Seeds of this kind
should be put up with sand, or earth.
The manner of packing is as follows:
first sprinkle into the box intended as
their receptacle, about three inches of
well dried sand ; then deposite the seeds
at distances proportioned to their size,
then another layer of sand one inch
thick, and so on, till the receptacle is
full. In this way, the vitality of the
seeds will be preserved for years or as
long indeed as they are kept dry. 1
have planted the castor oil bean fre
quently after it had remained two years
in a paper bag, kept in a dry place,and
never found them to germinate, while
the same seeds kept in dry sand, vege
tated vigourously after the second year.
[ Germantown Telegraph.
A Cure for the Bite of venom
ous Animals.— lmmediately on the in
troduction of the poison, make a posi
tive pressure with a tube of any kind,
sufficiently large to encompas the out
er edges of the wound. By this pro
cess the superficial circulation is inter
rupted, and the venom is almost instan
taneously exuded from the injured por
tion of the body. The rule applies to a
musquito bite.
[The above is from an exchange.-
The plan we believe is a good one, but
the difficulty lies in its application, es
pecially in repeetto the musquito bite.
To administer the tube to a moonlight
musquito bite, requires a degree ofoc
cular accuracy which the author ot the
above must be fortunate if he possesses-
Scientijic American.
Suckers should be carefully removes
from fruit trees of every description?
it is not sufficient merely to cut theni
offlevel with the surface of the soil,
•such a mode of treatmeut only c* use *
them to throw up a progeny ten tnfl‘
more numerous. To do the thing P
perly, the soil should be bared aw*.' 1
the suckers traced back to their orig”
and carefully removed with the p° ll “
of a sharp knife.
A man’s nature is indicated by U
dress. The open-hearted man ‘
his clothes loose and comfortable,” 1 *
narrow-contracted men sport
white choakers, tied very tight. 0 ‘
monied gentlemen, on the contrary? a
close shaved, and look glossy and co
like anew bank note. Never as”
favor of a man who wears his eo •
tight.