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Pcootcb to Literature, Science, mb TArt, tl)c Sans of Ccmpemncc, ©Dii Jxlloojslfipv Jtlasonrij, anb (general Jntcllicjciue. 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.