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VOLUME I.
ssiififii *©■**.
BE NOT OVER NICE.
Young gents, if you do not wish to be- r
For remnant of your years,
The thing that Franklin used to call
A half a pair of shears,”
Fray let me whisper in your ear
A word of good advice—
Don't think to find perfection here,
Aud be not over nice.
Tke warning by my cousin Jack,
in his footsteps tread,
Oh. how I’ve teased and talked ta*him,
And tried to make him wed ;
But he is so particular ,
So of all the fair,
Jle’ll be a blue old bachelor
In spite of all my cure.
One is in height a mountain oak,
A second like a tub ;
A third lias got a mammoth foot;
Another’s nose is snub.
One cannot brew, or bake, or sweep;
Another cannot play ;
Another’s always in the suds;
Another quite too gay.
Miss A good doughnuts cannot mnke,
Miss B is said to paint,
Miss C is wilder than the winds,
M iss D too much a saint;
Miss E is careless in her dress,
Miss F is to precise,
Miss G is prone to take Scotch snutf,.
M iss H is fond of dice.
Miss I is silent as a doll,
Miss J a perfect parrot,
Miss K has ilaxen colored locks,
Miss L’s are like a carrot;
Miss M is always looking grum,
Miss N forever giggling,
Miss O is stiffer than a stake.
Miss P is loose and wriggling.
Miss Q is cold as wintry ice,
Miss R is fond of fawning,
Miss S has got defective teeth,
Miss T was caught a yawning;
Miss U for eyes has got an owl’s,
Miss V a pair that squint;
M iss Ws temper’s soft as wax,
Miss X’s as steel and flint.
M iss Y is past a certain age,
M iss Z a thoughtless miss,
And so with all some fault he finds,
Norfuncies that or this,
lie’s managed so with all the girls,
That they are all provoked,
And 1 am sure that ne’er he’ll be
With any maiden yoked.
So gents, I prithee take good heed—
Avoid Jack’s grievous errors,
And soon you’ll find that pretty girls
Are clad no more in terrors.
Aud when you meet a sparkling eye,
With soul and feeling lighted,
Rfunember that it speaks a hint
Which may not well be slighted.
§ 1 Sil §T VAtlfl.
Written for “ A Friend of the Family.”
A BELLE OF THE REVOLUTION.
BT Mill SUVA if A. •TUAFT.
“ Woman’s cheek
And brow were there, in deep devotion meek,
Yet glorified with inspirations trace,
While enthroned above
Beamed forth resolve, thus kindled by her love,
And that slight form
AYus that the leader thro’ the battle storm ?”
hat a beautiful place was, and is now , the Re
treat. Yes, one of the noblest among the many
that deck the soil of my native State —the Old
Dominion— and the home too ot as noble a race
<d brave men and beauteous women as ever exis
ted. How many a joyous day have I spent within
lls old walls, and with the grand children of the
heroine of my “o’er true tale.” The dance, the
laugh, and the harmless jest there, made days of
Christmas jolity fly but too rapidly beneath its
mirth-loving and hospitable roof. Many is the
Bine, and oft, that I’ve threaded those old corridors
; ‘nd called up i n imagination the descendants of
the gay cavaliers of old Virginia, who inhabited
the mans ion in its days of pristine splendor, and
s j; cn > trough the same vista, the many stately
< a Hies led forth in the graceful minuet, bygen
-10 l^e lull, asstatedy. But to my legend
10se past days, and to recount a page from
e ( p I e I mtul Me of one of the fair daughters of
the old house, Bessie Haughton.
i 1 ? S at l * ie tlme l hat Cornwallis was march-
J ng to his.fate, at the never to be forgotten surren-
J er 0 i orfctown—l mean by Virginians —that he
appened to encamp, late in the evening of a
altering, rainy day, in the latter part of Sep
\7 n ir’ ten miles from the Retreat. Col. and
* r §. Haughton had been summoned, by the sick
ess of a near and dear relative, from their home,
caving their old housekeeper and their orphan
? lece ’ th e beautiful Bessie, in charge of the old
house.
H n< i! a P er^ec I beauty too, was that same Bessie
aughton,if we may trust to the taleof her man
old charms by her chroniclers of the “ negro
darters,”-some °* the veterans remembering her
with admiration up to the present era. There is
a picture of her also inr the hall, at the Retreat, a
gem of its kind ; and with all due allowance for
the outre dress of those days, she must have been,
as 1 said before, most beautiful. Tall, slender,
with the willowy light form of youth ; her
rwheent hair of jetty hue, hanging in massive
curls, around her swan-like neck, and fairsbould
ders ; and, by contrast, showing the gloss and
richness o-f her complexion, like nothing I can
compare it to, save the rich, creamy white of the
magnolia. Large, brilliant eyes of dark hazel,
rendered still more dark by the long lashes resting
on her peach-like cheek, and the saucy smile of
her lovely mouth made still more poignant by her
nose, une petlite retroussce . I cannot by my de
scription, however, convey to y’ou that half haugh
ty, half-loving expression of the countenance, so
’tis vain to try, but, must even beg you to call your
own imaginations to your aid to do it for you ;
suffice it, she was all too lovely, and too charming
for her cousin Gerald Haughton, to have escaped
heart-whole, and at the time, she is introduced,
into this legend, was the ajjiancee of that self-same
cousin, who had returned to old Wm. and Mary’s
fostering walls, to take his final degree of Master
of Arts, ere taking the perfect mistress too, of all
the arts of fascination and love that existed in the
peerless supremacy of that belle of the olden
time.
And all this while we have left poor Lord Corn
wallis encamped, or about to pitch his tents on
that blustering evening in the latter end of Sep
tember 17S1, to tell you of this magic beauty.—
But’twas needful, behold mv excuse. I think
the old legend goes on to sav, that his lordship
found himself short of steeds, and so, the first
thing he must do, was to send out a party of his
men, pioneered by those scent-hounds the Tories
to seize and bring into camp all such fine animals
as they could beg or steal in the name of King
George. Os course, the Retreat was a star of
too much magnitude to be overlooked, so on sped
the horse thieves, to that old manision. 1 leave
you to imagine the panic caused by the loud reiter
ated knocks and boisterous tones for admission—
’twas just candle light. The “clang of their
steel-girt tread ” struck fear into more than one
heart in that spacious dwelling ; and when the
leader of the marauders, with some four or five,
entered the parlour, where Bessie and Mrs. Som
ers, the housekeeper, were ; they found the for
mer in all her beauty, and more than her usual
quantum of pride and dignity, towering above a
perfect shoal of woolly heads, whilst the squeals
and exclamations, from their almost white lips,
made even the stout Britishers recoil. But above
and through all in distinctness, came the mellow
voice of the young heroine, like the clear ringing
tone of a silver trumpet:
“ What come you for here, sirs, at this time of
night? Surely ’twas a brave sally you’ve made
on two females and some few negroes,”
Her matchless beauty, her unexampled bearing
struck a chord of respectful admiration, in the
rude breast of those rough men ; and their offi
cer respectfully dolling his cap, made a half apol
ogy, as lie stated Lord Cornwallis’ orders to sup
ply themselves with horses for the service of King
George.
“My uncle is not at home, and were he, I am
sure he would never with his own will, give to you
his steeds, for your King ; and / re-echo the sen
timent. But lam aware ’tis useless, I however
beg from your courtesy as soldiers, you will spare
at least my uncle’s favorite horse, and whom it
would dist ress us all to part from ; and excuse me,
also, if I beg as a personal favor you will rid the
house as soon as possible, of guests who are as
unwelcome as unbidden. Cato,” she said, turn
ing to an old servent —“go with them, and give
them what refreshments they may wish, for tis
vain to resist,” but no Cato responded to the call,
as when he found he was about to be sent with
these formidable visitors, had dodged under the
table in too great bodily fear ; and for the first
time in her life Bessie found them mutinous, and
but ill to do her bidding. “ What! ”
she repeated, “will none of you obey me?—
Then I must even go myself and perform a disa
able task from which you could save me,” but
again arose that chorus of yells and exclamations
of “ have mercy oh Lud” —and their young mis
tress was grasped by more than one pair of dusky
paws to prevent her from going, whilst Dinah,
Cato’s better-half turned in anger against “ that
cowardly nigger,” as she dubbed him, telling him
“ the Lord, he knows you had better go, for with
me, ole rnassa, and massa Gerald, all three of us
will kill vou sure,” and up-rose at this speech Ca
to, all trembling from beneath the table where he
had ensconced himself, and with chattering teeth
and trembling limbs, stuttered forth : “ No, no
little Missus, for the dear Lord’s sake \ou must nt
think of gwine. What sure n-uff would ore
massa and young massa say to us niggers it we
let you go. They kin kill the ole nigger, but bet-
SAVANNAH, GA., THURSDAY,. AUGUST % im
ter die for young missus, for true ;” and he
grasped with one hand the proffered keys, and
with the other essayed to clutch by the arm has
old woman to bear him company in his misery ;
but she had no idea of it though she advocated
his going, and he was fain to betake himself with
the soldiers who cast more than one look of ad
miration, at the brave girl who bad th us bade them
defiance ; and with all respect, too, did they po
litely bow themselves from her presence, awe
struck and dumb. Bessie’s sweet voice again
sounded on their ears as she told Cato “ to re
member Tarquin .”
The sounds gradually died away in the house ;
and Bessie had began to quiet the alarmed ser
vants who still pressed too closely around her.
An hour, however, had not gone by, when old
Cato rushed, as fast as his legs would bear him,
into her presence, with : “Oh, Lud! oh, Lud!
but the thieves have got his horse ; master Ger
ald’s horse, what he do love so much, poor Tar
quin ! he save massa’s life once, but he’ll never
see him againand the old negro fairly bawled
aloud.
For the first time, Bessie’s lips trembled as
she asked, “ have they got outof the avenue yet.”
“Just turned the clump of trees that leads to
the “Old Place,” where they’ve camped. They
have left old Rock, all alone, poor old fellow,
and when I begged them on my knees to leave
Tarquin, they tole me old Rock was good enough
for a rebel to ride, another gin me a kick, and
sed I was an old snow ball, and if 1 did not hush
up he'd slit my windpipe, and so I was too terri
bly fraid to say another word.”
“ Then I’ll say another word for the good horse.
Go, instantly, and saddle old Rock for me and
I’ll go to the camp and see if Cornwallis himself
will not give back my uncle’s horse, which would
grieve us all to part from.”
This appeared to awake the old housekeeper
from her lethargy, into which fright seemed to
have precipitated her,and she too joined loudly,
but vainly in the entreaties of the servants to leave
Tarquin to his fate. The determined girl had
however made up her mind, and in atone ot com
mand, insisted on Cato’s obeying her. Again the
old servant withdrew, still more reluctantly to
obey his self-willed, but beautiful mistress. Soon
she had secured herself against her inclement
journey, as mounted on old Rock, with Cato at
her side, she set out, ’mid darkness and storm,
for Cornwallis’ camp.
The lights soon began to dance through the
trees, as she neared the encampment, and still
dauntless and fearless went she on, and was
hailed by the “ Who goes there?” of the sentinel,
“A Female, who desires to speak with Lord
Cornwallis.”
After the sentinel and others had seen Bessie
and her companion, and looked into her pale, yet
still courageous face, whispering among them
selves they led her on with her timid escort. —
After some delay she was ushered into the tent of
Lord Cornwallis, where he sat with some two or
three of his officers, around the hastily construc
ted table, whereon was placed the remnant of
their repast, and where yet gleamed some flasks
of wine.
But little of the interview need be told, save
her success in her mission, and the gallantry of
the old General, who sent her back with an escort
to the Retreat, and himself placed cn route , as he
had received some important intelligence, which
caused that movement.
Many and many a time did old Cato, hold forth
in after years, concerning his prowess and deeds
of bravery, as he recounted his own and his young
mistress’ adventures on that wonderous night, to
an open mouthed, admiring circle ; he would rod
around his eyes, smack his thick lips very com
placently, and speak with not much truth, “about
dis nigger’s bravery, as how me and young missus
went to Cornwalshes’ tent, and brought back
Tarquin. The old horse fairly neighed when he
see’d dis nigger, he kriow’d I’d cum for him.”
Need I add also, that the same heroine was
gravely reproved though warmly thanked and
embraced by both uncle and cousin ; and in course
of time, she Ijeoarne the wife of Gerald, and ever
after lived in harmony and love, so as to he regard
ed by the neighbors as a “ model couple for their
conjugal felicity.”
LOVE IN A PRINTING OFFICE.
I once heard an old Jour, remark that a prin
ting-office was no place tor love-making, and 1
have since exporienced the truth of bis observa
tion—being now convinced that the flower of love
cannot bloom in the midst of types, stands, and
printing ink.
It was my fortune once to sojourn for a few days
in the village of . Directly opposite the
office was a pretty white cottage, with a rose-bush
clambering round the casement, and I was not
long in making the discovery that the aforesaid
white cottage, with the rose-shaded windows con-
tained a fair inmate—a flower, whose love far
outshone the roses that clustered around the win
dow. She was a little blue-eyed, saucy looking
creature, of some sixteen summers. She was the
belle of the village. Her name was Mary—
sweet, poetic Mary.
“ I have a poetic passion for the name of Mary.”
It was a beautiful summer morning, and I had
raised the window to admit the cool breeze fiotn
the flower-decked fields, and it was not long be
fore I perceived that the cottage window was al
so hoisted, and that sweet little Mary was seared
near it, busily engaged with her needle. I worker!
but little that morning. My eyes constantly wan
dered towards the cottage window, were little Ma
ry sat, and all sorts of strange and fantastic no
tions whirled through my fancy-lighted brain, and
I began to think that 1 felt a slight touch of what
the poets call love , sliding in at the corner of m-y
heart.
A few days passed away, and an opportune
chance made me aeqauainted with Mary. Hea
vens ! she was a sweet creature —she had a form
that would have shamed the famous Venus de
Medici—a cheek that outblushedi the richest peach
—and a lip that would have tempted a bee from
his hive on a frosty morning. I thought as !
gazed on her in mute admiration, that I had nev
er gazed on one so exquisitely beautiful. She
seemed the embodiment of all that is lovely and
bewitching. Well, time passed on, and one day
Mary expressed a desire to visit the printing-of
fice. Gad ! thought I, what a chance ! I'll do it
there in the very midst of the implement of mine
art —why shouldn’t I! Love in a jwhiting-ojjice—
eh ! There was something original in that, and
I resolved to try it at all hazards. Well ! Mary
came to the office, and I explained to her the va
rious implements of the black art —the press and
the roller —the ink and the stands, and the boxes
of the A B C’s I took an opportunity to snatch
her lilly white hand, and she drew it back, knock
ing a stickful of matter into pi !
“ 1 must have a kiss for that, my pretty one , r>
said I, and at it I went ; I managed to twist my
arm around her wrist, and in struggling to free
herself, she upset a galley of editorial, a long ar
ticle on the Oregon question. Nothing daunted,
I made at her again. This time I was more suc
cessful, for I obtained a kiss. By St. Paul ; it
was a sweet one ; and the little witch bore it like
a martyr ; she only screamed once; hut as 1 lif
ted my head from her, she lifted her delicate little
hand, and gave me a box on the ears that made
me see more stars than ever were viewed by Her
schel through his telescope. Somewhat nettled,
and with my cheek smarting with pain, I again
seized her waist, and said :
“ Well if you don’t like that, just take back
your kiss.”
She made a desperate struggle, and, as she
jerked herself from my arms, her foot struck the
lye-pot, and over it went with a woeful splash !
Another galley of editorial was sprinkled over
the floor, and, in her efforts to sustain herself, her
hand—her lilly white hand—the same little hand
that had come in contact with my ear, oh, horri
be ! was stuck up to the elbow in the ink keg!
Shade of Franklin ! what a change came o’er the
beauty of that hand! She slowly drew it from
the keg dripping with ink, and asked me what
use I made of tar! I began to be seriously alarm
ed, and apologized in the best manner I could,
and to my surprise, she seemed rather pleased
than angry—but there was “ a lurking devil in
her eye,” that told me there was mischief afloat.
As I stood surveying the black covering ot her
hand, scarcely able to suppress a laugh at its
strange matamorphis, she quickly raised it on
high, and brought it down, “ ker slap,” upon my
cheek ! Before I could recover from my surprise,
the same little hand again descended, and again
left its free imprint upon my cheek.
“ Why, Mary,” 1 exclaimed “ what are you
about
“ l think you told me you rolled ink on the face
of the form,” said she laughing, and again her
hand lit on my sac a broad slap in the
middle of my countenance, and most wofully be
daubed my eyes. With a light step and a merry
peal of laughter, she skipped beyond the door.
She turned back when beyond mv reach, and,
with her roguish face peering in at the doorway,
shouted, “I sav, Charley what kind ot a roller
does my hand make ?”
*‘Oh,” says I, “you take too much ink !”
“ Ha! ha!” she laughed ; w'ell good bye, Char
ley—that's my impression —ha !”
I went to the glass, and surveyed myself for a
moment, and verily, 1 believe I could have passed
for a Guinea negro without the slightest difficulty.
“And so,” said I to myself, “this is love in a
printing office. The deuce fly away with such
lov e. ” — Pcnnsylvan iu n .
About 2,000 persons fled from Columbus, Ohio,
in fear ot Cholera.
NUMBER 22.