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VOLUME 11.
Froru th Botoa Alla*.
ORIGINAL ODE.
BY T. S. GRIMKE.
Who would sever Freedom’s shrine ?
\Vho would draw the invidious line ?
Though by birth one spot be mine,
p e nr is all the rest —
p ea r to me the South*s fair land,
p ea rtho Central mountain land,
Pear New England’s rocky stnmd,
Pear the praried West.
gv- our altars pure and free,
By our Laws deep rooted tree,
jjvthe past’s dread memory,
By our Washington—
By our common kindred tongue,
By our hopes—bright buoyant, young,
By the tie of country strong,
We will still be one.
fathers! have ye bled in vain ?
Ages, must ye droop again ?
Maker, shall we rashly stain
Blessings sent by Thee ?
So! receive our solemn v >\v,
While before thy throne we bow,
Ever to remain as now
“ Union —Liberty ! ”
•Glisrellmnj.
D"ATH OF LITTLE NELL
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
For she was dead. There, upon
ter little bed, she lay at rest. The
solemn stillness was no marvel
BOW.
She was dead. No sleep so beau
tiful and calm, so free from trace of
pain so fair to look upon. She seem
ed a creature fresh from the hand
if God, and waiting for the breath
of life; not one who had lived and
suffered death.
Her couch was dressed wiih here
and there some winter berries and
green leaves, gathered in a spot she
had been used to favor.
“When I die, put near me some
thing that has loved the light, and
had the sky above it always.” —
Those were her words.
She was dead. Dear, gentle, pa
tient, noble Nell was dead. ITer lit
tle bird—a poor slight thing the
pressure of a finger could have
crushed—was stiring nimbly in its
cage! and the strong heart of its
child mistress was mute and motion
ess forever.
Where were the traces of her
early cares, her sufferings, and fati
gues? AH gone. Hers was the
! rue death before their weeping
e jes. Sorrow was dead indeed in
H hut peace and perfect happi
ness were born ; imaged in her tran
!]uil beauty and profound repose.
And still her former self lay there,
unaltered in this change. Yes.
old fireside had smiled upon
sweet face; it had passed
• rC a dream through haunts of mis
"y a nd care ;at the door of the
schoolmaster on the summer
en >ng, before the furnace fire up
-01 the cold wet night, at the
dill bedside of the dying boy, there
r ; and been the same mild, loving
So shall we know the angels
pheir majesty, after death.
old man held one languid
|| ar tn m hi Sj am j that t h e sma ll hand
folded to his breast, for warmth.
1 the hand she had stretched
. him with her last smile—the
’j n d that had led him on through
their wanderings. Ever and
J aori he pressed it to his lips; then
°gged it to his breast again, mur
muring that it was warmer now ;
as he said it, he looked, in ago
to those who stood around, as if
them to help her.
She was dead and past all help,
| u ‘ of it. The anc/ent rooms
|\vh’ sceme d to fiM with life, even
I, Jl e “ er own was waning fast—
I e garden she bad tended—the
| yes s he had gladdened—the noise
| Ss haunts of many a thoughtful
tn i'itrrntnrr, Irintrf mih slrt, ijje Inns nf Cfntjmw, m /fllntnsljtp, 3ff!nsntmj nnh rnl StaWligntrr.
hour—the paths she had trodden as
it were but yesterday—could know
her no more.
“It is not,” said the schoolmaster,
as he bent down to kiss her on the
cheek, and gave his tears free vent,
“it is not in this world that Heaven’s
justice ends. Think what it is,
compared with the world to which
her young spirit has winged its
flight, and say, if one deliberate
wish expressed in solemn terms
above this bed could call her back
to life, which of us would utter it!”
When morning came, and they
could speak more calmly on the
subject of their grief, they heard how
her life had closed.
She had been dead two days.
They were all about her at the lime
knowing that the end was drawing
on. She died soon after daybreak.
They had read and talked to her in
the earlier portion of the night, but
as the hours crept on, she sunk to
sleep. They could tell, by what
she faintly uttered in her dreams,
that they were of her journevings
with the old man ; they were of no
painful scenes, but of those who had
helped and used them kindly, for
she often said “God bless you!”
with great fervor. Waking, she
never wandered in her mind but
once, and that was at beautiful mu
sic which she said was in the air.
God knows. It may have been.
Opening her eyes at last, from a
very quiet sleep, she begged that
they would kiss her once again.
That done, she turned to the old
man with a lovely smile upon her
face—such, they said, as they had
never seen, and never could forget
—arid clung both her arms about
his neck. They did not know that
she was dead, at first.
The Farmer's Life. —The farmer’s
life is not to scratch with the pen —
rap, rap, with the hammer —nor an
everlasting unpacking and repack
ing of another’s labor. He walks
forth upon the open sky, his broad
acres spread out beneath his feet;
the blue concave, sunlit or starlit or
shrouded in clouds, is still above
him. Health claims him as her fa
vorite child, and the glorious sun
loves to kiss a cheek that is not
ashamed to wear the ruddy imprint
of affection. Nature’s own inimita
able babbling brooks, birds, breeze,
or rustling foliage, enters his car on
its glad mission to his heart. He
listens toinstructive voices, continu
ally speaking from the universe
around him. Hisevesgather truth
from pages of wisdom everywhere
open before him. Each day, each
month, season after season, year
after year, these teachings are giv
en to him, infinite in variety and
endless in extent.
When towards the close of a sul
try day the summer’s blessing comes
pouring down, and as in thebeauti
ful words of the Bible, the trees of
the field clap their hands, and the
valleys covered with corn, shout for
joy, the farmer, returning from his
labors to the friendly shelter of his
cottage roof, improves his leisure
hours with measures of wisdom.
So, too, while his fields aie sleep
ing beneath frost and snow, what
profession affords more available
opportunities for self-culture?—
Where was the lyric poetry compos
ed that made Scotland prouder of
her Burns than of all her ancient
race of warlike kings ? Was it not
between the handles of the Mossgeil
O
plough?
Laws are like grapes, that being
too much pressed, yield a hard and
unwholesome wine.
We ask advice, but we mean ap
probation.
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1850.
The Best Recommendation —A
3 r outh seeking employment came to
this city, and on enquiring at a cer
tain counting room if they wished
a clerk, was told that they did not.
On mentioning the recommenda
tions he had, one of which was from
a highly 7 ’ respected citizen, the mer
chant desired to see them. In
turning over his carpet-bag to find
his letters, a book rolled out on the
floor.
“What book is that?” said the
merchant.
“ It is the Bible, sir,” was the re
ply.
“ And what are you going to do
with that book in New York ? ”
The lad looked seriously in the
merchant’s face, arid replied. “ I
promised my mother 1 would read it
every day , and 1 shall do it
The merchant immediately en
gaged his services, and in due time
became a partner of the firm.— New
York paper.
Many years ago, in Connec
ticut, a certain Justice was called to
liberate a worthless debtor, by re
ceiving his oath that he was not
worth £5.
“Well Johnnv,” said the Justice
as he entered, “can y r ou swear that
you are not worth £5, aftd never
will be ?”
“Why,” answered the other, rath
er chagrined at the question, “I can
swear that I am not worth that
amount at present.”
“Well, well,” returned the justice,
“lean swear to the rest —so step
orward, Johnny.”
A Slight Mistake. —A young ladv
O t O J
out West who wished to have the
one room of a log-house appear
to the best advantage on a certain
occasion, had some trouble in keep
ing a large dog outside of the door.
After having turned him out the
third or south time, she heard a
slight tap on the door, when sup
posing it to be the dog’s paw, she
cried out —“Bose, you old dog, you
may rap as long as you’re a-mind to,
but I won’t let you in.” It was the
lergyman, who had just comincn
ed paying his addresses to her.
Breeches of Promisc.--’ Whoy Pete,’
said Sam Jonsing last evening to his
friend, omitting all interlocntary re
marks, ‘whoy Pete, aintyou got no
new pants yet ? I tell you wha’ ’tis
—you can’t shine at Miss Dina Dii
la’s party wid ’em ar, morra night,
no how. Tort you toll me how
massa promised you anew pair las
time I saw’d you.
‘Well, so him did, Sam,’ replied
Pete, ‘but he didn’t gib ’em, so dur
fore dey was breeches of promise in de
legal sense ob de term, an’ I tinks
as how I can sue him for dem.
‘Well, I tinks ’zactly so too, Pete.
Good ebenin.’ ’
The Throne <f Nimrod.—The ex
ploration of Mr. Layard among the
ruins of ancient Ninevah have
brought to light the throne, of which
Nimrod sat 300 years ago. It is
composed of metaland ivory, rich
ly wrought and carved. The rings
cfa large curtain, by which it was
separated from the State apart
ments, have been found in a state
of preservation. Every thing indi
cates the destruction of the palace
by fire ; and the throne seem parti
ally fused by heat.
By the disobedience of a lad in
1809, a garden gate in Rhode Island
was left open, a pig got in and des
troyed a few plants, a quarrel be
tween the owners of the pig and
the garden grew out of it, which
spread among their friends, defeat
ed the federal candidate to the Leg
slature, and give the State a Derno
icratic Senator by whose vote war
was declared in ISI2 with Great
Britain. — New York Day Book.
THOM, THE SCULPTOR.
The newspapers have already
announced the death of James
Thom, who expired at his lodgings
in this city on the 17th April. He
was well known as the au-
O •/
thor of those pieces of stone statu
ary, called Tam O’Shanterand Sou
ter Johnny, which several years ago
were exhibited in most of the cities
of the United Slates. He was a
native of Ayrshire, in Scotland, but
came to this country some fourteen
years ago in pursuit of a runaway
debtor, from whom he recovered his
money, and then settled near Pat
terson, New Jersey.
Thom was originally an obscure
stone cutter in his native place, but
bavinmade the Tam O’Shanler
group out of the common grey
stone of Scotland, began lo attract a
great deal of attention as a sculptor.
Among others who encouraged his
early labors, was Sir Walter Scott,
who speaks of him favorably in one
of the letters contained in Lockhart’s
Life, though, as we have not the
book now at hand, wc are unable
to quote the passage. Thom sub
sequently went to London, where
ho engaged in making busts, &c.,
which were generally regarded as
highly creditable to his ability.
The first time the writer of this
saw him was at the Little Falls in
New Jersey, where he had erected
a neat shanty, near the free stone
quarries in that region, for the pur
pose of enabling him to execute a
gigantic statue of Washington, on
which he was employed. This
statue was finished, and afterwards
exhibited in New York, Philadel
phia, Washington, &c.; but what
has become of it we cannot say.—
His famous Tarn O’Shan ter group
was occupying, at that time, a cor
ner of the bar room ot the hotel in
the village, exposed to the dust and
tobacco spit of those not very desi
rable quarters. Two of the figures
are now in the possession of Mr. R.
L. Colt, of Patterson, and are used
to ornament the doorway of his
splendid mansion. Another group
which Thom executed from the
same material, and which he called
“old Mortality and his Pony,” was
purchased by the Laurel Hill Cem
etery company of Philadelphia, by
whom it has been appropriately
placed at the entrance to their beau
tiful field of the dead. An impo
sing statue of Burns —whom, we
infer from such pictures as we have
seen, he greatly resembled in face
and form, as he did in certain points
of character—was executed about
the same period, but we have lost
all trace of its whereabouts.
He had a great taste for archi
tecture as well as statuary, and was
originally employed for the finer
stone work on Trinity Church in
this city, the greater part of which
we believe he cut. Having made
considerable money by that busi
ness, he retired to Ramapofin Rock
land County, where he put up a
house after a plan of his own, and
lived, up to within a short time of
his death. Thom was a person of
unquestionable genius, and with
greater care of his talents might
have achieved great fame. His eye
was so correct and his hand so firm,
that in chiselling his statues, he was
accustomed to work without meas
urements and without models.—
Having once determined the gener
al proportions and features of his
subject, he wrought altogether with
the eye ; but he never, we believe
attempted any design in marble.—
Evening Post.
All severity which does not tend
to increase good or prevent evil, is
idle.
‘I don’t think,’ writes a Western-
New York correspondent, from—
whom we are always glad to hear,
and whose ‘good words’ are cheer
ing to us, ‘I don’t think that any of
your law stories beat one told by
Justice G , of the Sixth District.
He was holding the summer circuit
in Chenango County. The day
was very hot and sultry. Avery
fat old lady was called upon the
stand as a witness. She took a seat
pulled out a handkerchief, and tried
to wipe oft* the perspiration from
her face, but the more she rubbed,
the redder her face grew, and the
faster the greater drops of sweat
rolled down. At length, in a per
fect agony of heat, she began to
unite her bonnet strings, but her ‘fin
gers were all thumbs,’ and she only j
succeeded in tying a hard knot.
Finnally she turned to the judge,
who is celebrated for his urbanity ,
and kindness to the sex, and asked
him to untie it for her, which of
course he did.
•There, thank ye, Judge,’ said the
old lady, with a profound courtesy;
‘when I have any thing to do, I al
ways like to strip to it ! ’
The court immediately took a re
cess.—Kn ickerbockcr.
GEM3.
What is joy? The honey of ex
istence ; really beneficial and agree
able when partaken of in modem- j
tion,but highly injurious when used j
to excess.
What is contentment? The phi
losophy of life, and the principal in
gredient of the cup of happiness;
a commodity that is undervalued,
in consequence of the very low
price it can be obtained for.
What is happiness? A butterfly
that roves from flower to flower in
the garden of existence, and which
is eagerly pursued by the multitude
in the vain hope of obtaining the
prize, yet it continually eludes their
grasp.
What is ambition ? A fierce and
unconquerable steed, that bears its
rider onward in the high road to
preferment; but it often times
throws him such a fall that he rarely
ever recovers.
What is crime ? A wretched
vagabond traveling from place to
place in a fruitless endeavor to es
cape from justice, who is constantly
engaged in pursuit. A foe to vir
tue and happiness, though at times
the companion of poor innocence,
which is made to suffer for the
guilty.
Fashionable Education . —“ Fath
er,” said a lady to her indulgent
spouse, as he resumed his cigar af
ter supper one evening, “you must
buy our dear Georgiana an English
Grammar and spelling book ; she
has gone through her French, Latin
and Greek, music, drawing and dan
cing, and now must commence her
English Studies.”
The Beggar. —A beggar once
asked Dr. Smollett for a shilling ; by
mistake be gave him a guinea.—
The poor fellow perceiving it, hob
bled after him to return the money ;
upon which Smollett returned it to
him with a second guinea, as a re
ward for his honesty, exclaiming,
“ What a lodging honesty has taken
up with ! I would rather be that
man than a dishonest
The Patrie says: “One of our
friends received a few days ago a
letter from Sir R. Peel. It contains
this passage: —‘ I have no hesitation I
in giving my opinion on the present
state of things in France. France
is a diligence full of honest people
stopped on the road by brigands,
and which is waiting for the gen
darmes.’ ”
ABOUT POLITBNLIS3.
Jane —Mother, 1 love to visit
i Emilia Gordon, all the brother* ami
| sisters are so kind and obliging to
; each other. They are as polite to
| each other as other people are t
s Iran uers.
Mother. —\es, my dear, I have
observed it, ami that they do it, not
to gain applauses but from principle,
that is, they have a standard of ac
tion anti adhere to it. Can you tell
me what that standard is?
June. —l should think it must he
the “golden rule.”
Mother. —The golden rule is, in
deed, the fountain oflrue politeness,
i It is proper that we should be po
lite —It is a duty.
Jane. —Mother, is it that, then,
; that makes them always so happy ?
Mother. —Undoubtedly. Did you
ever see any little discords among
| them ?
Jane. —No, mother ; and I have
often been surprised at the ditler
ence between them and Mr. ale’s
family. The latter often find fault,
’ and disoblige each other. But,
mother, are we commanded to be
l olitc?
Mother. —Yes. “Be courteous,”
is an injunction of the Scriptures.
It is only one of the thousand varia
lions of the golden rule. So apt
are we to be selfish that a strong
rule was necessary to induce us to
do justice to others ; and in doing
justice, to do it agreeably, or in a
becoming manner. And as we can
not live independently of each oili
er, we are bound by gratitude to
return the civilities we receive.
Jane. —l thought very polite peo
ple were naturally so.
Mother. —They are, if they have
naturally obliging dispositions. To
our friends we should surely be
courteous, for our reciprocal claims
require it; and to strangers, be
cause their circumstances require
it.
Omnibus Trick. —A decent look
in” voung woman entered a Lon-
O m/ O
don Omnibus with an infant in her
arms, of whom the other passen
gers admired the beauty. Sir An
drew and the young woman
when the vehicle arrived in Skinner
| street, where the only parties left in
the carriage.
“ Will you have the goodness to
hold this child, while 1 step into that
shop, sir,” said the damsel.
“ Certainly,” answered Sir An
drew.
The living burden was accordingly
deposited, and away went the pro
prietor of it. A few minutes elapsed
—she returned not. The cad bang
ed too the door, ejaculating ‘All
right !” the omnibus proceeded on
its journey, carrying Sir Andrew in
the situation of Don John in the
‘Chances.’ When the Driver ar
rived at the corner of Ironmonger
lane,a grave, elderly gentleman was
taken up, who in liis turn expressed
his admiration of the infant’s beauty'.
Will you sir have the goodness,
to hold this child for one minute,
sir,” said Sir Andrew, in his turn,
beckoning the ead to stop at Bow
Church.
“ By all means, sir,” said the
elderly gentleman. Hereupon, Sir
Andrew, bounded from the carriage
paid the cad his sixpence, and ran
down Friday-sl., /ike the in keeper
in Joseph Andrews, ‘ without any
fear of breaking bis neck.’
Someone wishing to be a witty
on a gentleman with a large mouth,
asked him, “Ifhe had a long lease
of that mouth of his V” when he was
good humoredly answered, “No, I
have it only from y-ear to y-car
Sleep rs the fallow of the mind.
NUMBER 10.