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MNpII POETS AM) POETRY
P 'RKVIors To rii.N IVKIi.
p ; 4fK English language is n branch :
■ iff Ufeiitouie, the language ol“ the in
™ habrvts of central Europe before the
«law|*£ history. Its brothers from the
iKimti-rent are the Banish, Butch and
jCre.'.ii languages. It was introdue- j
. Ik'd it England in the fifth century by |
J She Iglo-Saxons, and gradually dis
j language of the Aboriginees
p |is til conquerors gained power, and
p f)bt:iil{ full possession of the island.
I | live centuries the Anglo-Saxon
■ .sexpeiced no change, except by an i
■ jfpsqHm from the Latin of the Monks.
-1* till the letters and till the learn
.•■||l4jtyi»ands. of an <> • ■asioiia! Icnn.
word. During the eighth
•cenitik'/, books were considerably multi
•plied by the exertions of these Monks, by
whospiidlnonce learning extended to the
uppdrMasses of the laity. During this
period an abundance of political, relig
ious and narrative poetry was written
both in the language of Rome, and in
the vernacular tongue.
Gildas and Nennius are two of
I the earli-*st names of the Anglo-Saxon
® writers. The former was said to be the
i author of a Latin tract on early British
history, and the latter of another small
historical work. Even the persons of
i these two writers, however, are now
j consider l quite apocryphal.
St. CouwriJANUS, a native of Ire- ,
land, who died in Old, was the first
Anglo-Saxon writer, about whose exist
ence there can be no question. lie
wrote, as did his predecessors, in the
Latin tongue. No one composed in the
i native tongue. It was despised by the
literary class, as was the case at a later
period, and none ImT' Latin langu
age was .considered worthy of trans
l mitting to posterity the thoughts of
•candidajg*for immortality, and of those
wjvr sought to wear the honors of the
U*)fvine art of poetry.
W C.edmon, a monk of Whitby, who
f -died in 680, was the first Anglo-Saxon j
I .of note who asserted the dignity of his
native tongue, and demonstrated the fit
k ness of his vernacular to weave the mag
ic wreath of poesy. One of nature’s
noblemen, he needed not to be instruct
ed by education, in order to compose
poetry. Like Burns, a kindred genius,
he might have sung,
" Give me a spark o’ nature's fire,
That's all the learning I desire.”
Like Burns he sprang from the common
people, having at onetime acted as cow
herd, and like Caledonia’s brightest bard,
he rejected all other languages, and
1 wrote in his “ rnither tongue."
Bede narrates the developement of
r Caedmon’s poetic talent, with a strong
tinge of the marvellous. It was the
custom in the Anglo-Saxon hall, at sup
per, for each person to sing in turn, and
jiJiompany his voice with the tones of
the harp. So little had Caedmon learn
ed of poetry, according to the above
; L that when the harp was push*
iLirtowards him, he had to retire in or
'KT to hide his shame. On one of these
Hgbasions he went from the hall to watch,
stable-door. There,
Bcearicd withJ^'ox at ion and chagrin, he
s oon fell aslee|P> when a being appeared
, and said, “Caeflraott, sing me something.
1 u -l khow not Jwhat to sing,” was his re-
J ply; “for mylincapicity, in this respect,
i v/as’tte cause/my leaving the hall to
P come fith erf “Nay s said the strang
er hast something losing.
J “ Wha%Just I sing?” said Caedmon,
“feirig tie creation,” was the reply.—
•Vnd thereupon he sang verses which
h» had never heard before. When he
awoke, he was able to repeat the lines
already sung. and. to go on with the
riem Next morning he went to the
rJLve or Bailiff of Whitby, and told
'Mix had happened the night before.—
immediately carried to the Ab
4fl9T Hilda, and a caucus of learned
yH'l declared that he had received the
poetry from heaven. They ex-
Bounded to nim a portion of the scrip
xHire jn his native tongue, and required
plra its versification. This lie per
fectl*l so well, tliat the Abbess pre
-1 v ■fc/iiLon him to become a monk of
f t He became a very volurn
-1 in'Fs writer and wrote in verse many
I bible histipru'B, and a.so poems on mis*
C ccllapeoust • subjects, many of which
I survive t<» oU r day. He was continu*
I ally \ n mpeaf' ng to liimself
1 what ke|} iea nl, M., says Wright, in
J his " , Literaria”
j y :'\i'w a it, he
\\ e will here give our readers the
verses which, according to Bede, were
sung by (sedition to the stranger, on
the night during which be watched at
the stable-door. The specimen may
serve as a general one of Anglo-Saxon
poetry. Modern letters are substituted
for those peculiar characters employed
in that language to express/7o dh and v.
Nu wr scoolun hcriau,
lleofon-ricos weard,
Metodes milito,
And his mod-ge tJusic .
Wera. wuldor t'a’dCT: •
Swa ho wundra ge-hvvafs,
Ece ihyhten
Cord onstealde.
Ila ajrest ge-sceop
Ylda boarnum .
Ifeofon to lirofb
Hallg sevppend!
Tha middan-geard
Mon-cynnes weard,
Ike dryhton,
Aefter teodo.
Firum foldan,
Frea selmihtig.
TRANSLATION.
Now we shall praise
The guardian of heaven.
The might of the Creator
And his counsel,
The Glory-lather of men.
How he of all wonders
The Eternal Lord
Formed the beginning,
lie lirst created
For the children of men
Heaven as a roof,
The holy Creator.
Then the world
The guardian of mankind,
The Eternal Lord,
I ‘reduced afterwards—
The earth for men,
The almighty master!
It will be observed that in Anglo-
Saxon, the verse is neither in measur
ed feet, like Latin verse, nor vet in
rhyme, as in English. The sole pec
uliarity, says Mr. Wright, is a very reg
ular alliteration , so arranged that in
every couplet there should be two prin
cipal words in the line beginning with
the same letter, which letter must also
be the innitial of the first word on which
the stress of the voice falls m the sec
ond line.
Caedmon’s account of the Fall of
Man, resembles that given in Paradise
Lost. And Milton almost seems to have
plagiarised one scene of his epic from
one in Caedmon's poem, detailing Satan’s
speech after his recovery from the con
sternation of defeat. Here is a trans
lation of the passage alluded to:
Boiled within him
His thought about his heart:
Ilot was without him
His dire punishment.
Then spake he words:
This narrow place is most unlike
That other that we formerly knew
High up in Heaven’s kingdom,
Which my master bestowed on me,
Though we it, for the All-powerful.
May not possess.
We must cede our realm;
Yet hath he not done rightly,
That he hath struck us down :
To the fiery abyss
Os the hot hell,
Bereft us of heaven’s kingdom-p
Hath decreed
To people it
With mankind.
That is to me of sorrows the grptest
That Adam
Who was wrought of earth
Shall possess
My strong seat;
That it shall be to him in delight
Misery in this hell.
And we endure this torment, —
Oil had I the power of my hanclj :!s * * *
Then with this host I
But around me lie
Iren bonds;
Presseth this cord of chain;
I am powerless!
Me have so hard
The clasps of hell
So firmly grasped!
Here is a vast fire
Above and underneath.
Never did I see
A loathlier landskip;
The flame abateth not,
Hot over hell.
Me hath the clasping of those rieigs,
This hard polished band
Impeded in my course,
Debarred me from my way.
My feet are bound,
My hands manacled;
Os these hell-doors are
The ways obstructed;
So that with aught I cannot
From these limb-bonds escape.
About me lie
Huge gratings
Os hard iron.
Forged with heat
With which me God
Hath faatriod by the neck.
Thus perceive 1 that he kuoweth my ilnd,
And that he knew also
The Lord of hosts
That should us through Adam
Evil befall,
About the realm of heaven,
Where I had power of my hands.
It is useless to give the larallcl
passage in Milton. The reader is too
familiar with it. He cannot fail to per
ceive, however, the similarity I 'tween
the two passages. And if Milk n ever
read the poem from which the a love is
extracted, as it is probable a rriai of his
learning did, we do not doubt h ■ made
Caedmon’s description, iu this scene, the
basis of his own, however much ie may
have improved upon the origin! I. At
the same time it cannot be denied, that
there is a good deal of sublimit) in the
Anglo-Saxon’s description. The char
acteristic baldness and simpli tty of
Greek poetry is also character itic of
(M’dmon’s poem.
C.edmon stands forth as alrr Ist the
sole representative of Anglo-Sa: on po
etry, He died as has been befc. ir* suit
ed, in 680. After him come % few
names of inferior note, in Angle Saxon
literature, filling up the chasm b tween
his day and that of the “ ve; -ruble
Bede ” —such as Alohelm, abbot f Mal
mesbury, Ceolfrid, abbot of Wear mtith
and Felix of Croyland. Thes were
writers who neglected their 'ow i tong
ue, and employed that of the 1 tin.JL.
Bede, who died* in 785, though ofmueh j
more note than any of the foiLohm
was also a p .yso using tb kLatm
| tongue. Then came Aline, arch-bish
op of Canterbury, who did like
wise. lie died iu 1006. Cynewulf,
bishop of NY inchesler, NY ulfstan, arch
bishop of N ork, and some others bring
down the. list, of -Anglo-Saxon authors
to the Conquest. Most, of these are
writers in prose. NN’e mention them in
cidentally, as we coniine ourselves most
ly to writers of poetry. The Anglo-
Saxon portion of English literature, ex
tends, properly speaking, over a period
of only about 500 years, though it. in
some sense, had a protracted existence,
| until the breaking up of the language
;in the 12th century. It was, however
j graced by no names of note, after those
j mentioned above.
After the Conquest, which estab
; lished a Norman King, and Norman no
bility upon the shores of England, the
Norman French became the language
of the law courts in England and of the
upper classes generally. The Anglo-
Saxon tongue shared the same indig
nity as did those who spoke it. It was
still the vehicle of communication be
tween the masses, however, and main
j tained a stout resistance to the language
of the invaders. Finally, in the course
of the 12th century, it underwent con
j siderable changes. Its sounds were
greatly altered, its terminations and in
flections changed, and the pronunciation
of its sylables cut short. The words
themselves were lost in these many
changes, which Br. .Johnson supposes
affected the Anglo-Saxon language more
than the introduction of new words, un
til, in the first half of the loth century,
it was more difficult for the people of
that time to understand the original
language, than it is for us to understand
Chaucer. Thus was a foundation laid
for the present English, a rich compound
of all the wealth of the Anglo-Saxon,
Latin, Norman French and (more latelv)
Grecian, tongues.
Before the invasion of England by
William, considerable attention had been
paid to writings poetry by French au
thors. The language iu which they
composed was called the liomane , be
cause it was a corruption or dialect of
the Roman. This was again divided in
to the Northern and Southern dialects.
The Southern was popularly called the
Provencal. The Northern was called
the French , and that particular dialect,
afterwards used in England, was styled
the Anglo-Norman. ’The Provencal po
ets were styled, in their own tongue,
trobadores , o r troubadours. In the North
ern language the same word was used
to christen the poets, but it was written
trouveres. The Provencal poets became
very elegant and courtly in their versi
fication, while the Normans were plain
er and more pointed, and became even
more celebrated than the Troubadours
of the South. The Norman poetry,
which flourished in England after the
Conquest, was as much the production
of authors in France as of those upon
the island. It, however, forms a link in
the chain of English poetry which must
not be overlooked.
Maistre Wage seems to be the
chief representative of this era of what
may be termed Fhn/lish poetry; though
written in the French, language. About
1160 he wrote a narrative poem, entitl
ed Le Prut U An<jkterre, or Brutus of
England. The plot of the poem is quite
a fanciful one. The hero was a son of
Aeneas, who is represented to have
founded the British Empire many cen
turies before the Christian era. But this
idea was not original with NVa.ee, for a
monk called Geoffrey of Monmouth,
had already written in Latin what he
termed a, history, tracing the affairs of
Britain through a dynasty of Trojan
kings, beginning with Brutus, son of
Aeneas, and ending with Oadwallader,
689 B. C. This history is a remarkable
work, and not only served as the basis
for NN ace’s poem, but was the rich store
house from.which many writers of ro
mance drew th<» materials for their thrill
ing narratives. And even at a later
date, it was a fountain from which many
of our noblest poets drew inspiring
draughts. From it. Shakespeare, got the
istory of Lear, Sackvfile that of Ferrex
and Porrex , while Drayton re-prodnces
rnm-.h of it in his Pohjotbion, and Milton
and many others, have allusions to it in
their productions.
NY ace wrote several other works
besdes the above poem.
Benoit was a contemporary with
YVaee. He wrote a History of the Dukes
of Normandy.
Guernks, an ecclesiastic of Pont
St. Maxcenee in Picardy, wrote a met
rical life of Thomas a Beckett. These
two poets are the only ones worthy of
being mentioned, with Wace, in'connec
tion with the development of English
literature and poetry. They wrote most
frequently in rhymed couplets, line
containing eight syllables. The follow
ing is a short, specimen of this kind of
poetry. It is from YVace’s “description
of the ceremonies and sports presumed
to have taken place at Arthur’s emula
tion :
Quant li rain leva del mangier
Ale sunt tuit esbanoicr
De la cite eii champs itfsimit;
A jrfusors gjeux so despurtirent.
“WITHOI’T PEAK, FAVOR OH AFFECTION.”
E VTONTON, TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 1854.
The Rhyming Chroniclers be
gan to be conspicuous in English.litera
ture about the close of the 18th century.
Layamon may be considered the
lirst of the Chroniclers. He translated
some of the poetry of Wace —among
other tilings the extract we have given
above in Norman French.- We will
here give a short speciiflen. of this trans
lation, in order that the transition of
the Anglo-Saxon into English may be
apparent:—
Tlia the lgeten hafdc
And al his mon-weoredo
Tha hnrgan out. of burhgc
Tliekies swithen balde.
Alle tha kinges,
And heore here-thringes.
Alle tha biscopcs,
And alle tha clarckos,
Alle the eorlcs,
And alle tha beomes.
Robert of Gloucester was the
first Rhyming Chronicler , after Laya
mon, following at a long interval. He
lived during the reigns of Henry 111.
and Edward I. He wrote, in Alexand
rines, a history of England from the
time of the imaginary Brutus, down to
his own day, using as authority the work
of Geoffrey of Monmouth, which had
already been translated by Wace into
Norman French, and by Layamon into
Saxon. AVe here append a short speci
men from Robert’s Chronicle:
Engelond is a wel god lond, ich vvene of echo
lend best,
Y-set in the ende of the world, as al in the west.
The see goth hym al about, he stont as an yle.
Here ton heo durre the lasse doute hut Bit be thorw
gyle.
Os tolc of the selve lond, as me hath y-seyo wyle
From South to North lie ys long eighte hondred
myle.
Robert Manning succeeds Rob
ert of Gloucester. He flourished in the
latter part of the reign of Edward 1.,
and throughout that of Edward IT.—
Here is his
Praise of Good women.
Nothing is to man so dear
As woman’s love in good manner.
A good woman is man’s bliss,
Where here love right steadfast is.
There is no solace under heaven,
Os all that a man may neven,
That should a man so much glew.
Asa good woman that loveth true.
No dearer is none in God’s hurd
Than a chaste woman with lovely wurd.
It was not until the English lan
guage had risen to some importance
that it became, in common with some
other languages, the vehicle for roman
tic metrical tales. As far as probability
goes, the reign of Edward IL, (1307-
27,) may be set down as the era of Eng
lish metrical romances, which .were gen
erally English versions from such works
in French. These romances are quite
numerous. NYe give a specimen, from
one called “ King of Tars.” The Sou
dan of Damascus, having asked the
daughter of the king of Tarsus in mar
riage, receives a refusal. The extract
tells how he behaved when he received
the intelligence of the refusal. Strang
-1 y enough he acted too. “ King of Tars ”
was probably written about the begin
ning of the 14th century:
The Soudan .sat at his dess,
Y-served of the first mess;
They comen into the hall
To-fore the prince, proud in press,
Their tale they tolden withouten lees.
And on their knees gan fall;
And said ‘Sire the king of Tars
()f wicked words is not scarce,
Heathen hound he doth thee call;
And ere his daughter he give thee till,
Thine heart-blood he will spill,
And thy barons’ all! ’
When the Soudan this y-heard,
•Asa wood man he fared;
His robe ho rent adown;
He tare the hair of head and beard
And said he would her win with sword.
By his lord St. Mahoun.
The table adown right he smote
Into the floor foot hot,
He looked as a wild lion.
All that he hit lie smote downright,
Both sergeant and knight,
Earl and eke baron.
Hitherto we have seen English po
etry only in the form of the chronicle
and the romance. It has not yet been
used to paint natural scenery, to give
expression to satiric feeling, or .to ex
press the softer feelings of the inmost
heart. The dawn of miscellaneous po
etry is faintly to be discovered about
the middle of tha 18th century, when
Henry 111. sat on the English throne,
and Alexander 11. on that of Scotland.
The earliest of this class that possesses
literary merit is an elegy on the death of
Edward 1., (1807,) written in musical
and energetic stanzns- of which one is
subjoined:'— ,V
Jerusalem, lltou hast More
The flour of all cliivtUrie;
Nou Kyng Edward livotli na more
Alas! that yc yet shuldo deye!
He woldc lia rered up full hoyo
Our banners that bueth broht to ground;
Wel longo we rriowo dope and eric
Kr we such a kyng ban y-foundo!
Minot, in 1850, com
posed* a fjtties of short poems on the
victories oi Edward 111. II is name first
occurs in the department of English
miscellaneous poetry.
Richard Rolle flourished about
the time of Minot,. He was n hermit of
the order of St. Augustine, a Doctor of
Divinity, and was about as dull and as
cetic as might have been expected. He
wrote many soporific paraphrases of pas
sages of scripture, and a didactic poem
called u Pricke of We
append one tolerably good specimen,
describing what there is in heaven:
Thor is lyf without,' ony deth,
And ther is youtlie withoute ony cldc. .
Robert Langlande flourished a
bout the same period. He wrote a sati
rical poem called “ 'lhe Vision of Pierce
PloughmanP He was also a priest, but
seems to have made eon siderable .prog
ress in (.’lightened sentiments. His poem
shows very expressively the progress
which .was made about the middle of
the 14th century, towards a literary
style. In many points of view it was
one of the most important works that
.appeared in England, previous to the
invention of printing. It is the popu
lar representative of the doctrines, which
were silently bringing about the Refor
; mation, and it is a peculiarly national
poem, not only as being a much purer
i specimen of the English language than
Chaucer, hut as exhibiting the same sys
tem of alliteration which characterized
the Anglo-Saxois poetry. It is, in fact,
both in this peculiarity, and in its politi
cal character, characteristic of a great
literary and politcal revolution, in which
the language, as well as the independ
ence of the Anglo-Saxons, had at last
gained the ascendency oveYThose of the
Normans. The hero.of the poem is re
presented as having fallen asleep on the
Malvern hills, and as seeing in his sleep
a series of visions. In describing these
scenes, Langlande exposes the corrup
tions of society, but particularly the dis
solute lives of the religious orders with
much bitterness. Here is a short extract
from this poem, in which Mercy and
Truth are thus allegorized:—
Out, of the west coast a wench, as mo thought,
Uarne walking in the way: to hell-ward she looked.
Mercy liight that maid, a meek thing withal.
A full benign burd, and buxom of speech:
Tier sister, as it seemed, came soothly walking,
liven out of the East, and west-ward she looked
A full comely creature: Truth she hight;
For the virtue that her followed, afeard was she never.
When these maidens mette, Mercy and Truth
Either axed other es this great wonder,
Os the din and of the darkness, &c.
Lawrfnce Minot, Richard Rol
le and Robert Langland, were the
immediate predecessors of Chaucer. —
j NYe have thus traced English poetry,
I from its earliest dawn, through the ehao
j tic mass of Anglo-Saxon alliterated sen-
I fences, and rhyming chronicles, and met
| rical romances, down to the time when
j Chaucer, who is called the father of Eng
lich poetry, began to mould it into some
thing like the divine shape, which it lias
assumed in our day. We have seen
Cicdmon, the Anglo-Saxon Burns, assert
the dignity of his own tongue, and amid
the jeers of the Roman eclesiastics, who
held the learning in their own hands,
exhibit to the world the ever-brighten
ing radiance of genius, in spite of the
darkness which the cloister sought to.
throw around learning and litera
ture. We have scan how the Norman
romance blended its mellow tints with
the strong and balder back-ground of
the rugged Teutonic, until the begin
ning of the 14th century, when Eng
lish poetry, through the genius of Chau
cer, became a thing of life and light—
“thoughts that breath and words that
burn.” In a future paper we will give
some account of the immortal Geoffrey,
who, as a poet, can boast the paternity
oi such names as Milton, and Shak
speare, and Byron. ■
The cause of the
Quarrel between Russia and Tur
key. Though a great deal has been said
in the newspapers about the present diffi
culty between Russia and Turkey, people
yet inquire what is the immediate cause of
the present disturbance?—The general
intention of Russia towards Turkey, it
being pretty well understood, are the
aggrandisement of the former at the ex
pence of the latter. This would no doubt,
have been pushed on more rapidly, but for
attitude ofliostility assumed by the'other
European powers whenever Russia seems
disposed to accomplish its annexation
project. Presuming on the weak condi
tion of Turkey, Russia endeavored to
gain a foothold in the Sultan’s dominoins
under the pretext of protecting the Greek
Church. The Sultan reigns over some
thirty-five millions of people. Os these
twenty millions are mohamedan, and
twelve millions belong to the Greek
Church, and the Czar modestly required
Turkey to give him such a power of super
intending these twelve millions as would
virtually give him a control over them,
and be a pretext for his interfering with
the affairs of Turkey, when his designs
sufficiently ripened to enable liim to swal
low the ’whole empire.
The Greeks, for protection of whose
religion the Czar is nominally laboring,
do not seem to covest or desire the inter
vention. The report is that the Patriarch
recdftly called together the whole of the
Bishops of Constantinople and neighbor
hood, and put them to collectively the
question, whether they had anything to
complain of in their present circum
stances; and whether they wished for any
further privileges ? Then- answer being
unanimously in the Patri
arch requested them a paper to
that effect, which was ( jwne, and the
ouent was duly translated to the Grand
Yisier. The Greeks appear to fear the
protectorate of Russia more than the su
premacy of the Qjftoinan.- Philndepkia
Ledger. f
“ No riati/n is drunken,” says Jeffer
son, in his lettfrs where wine is cheap; and
none sober where the dearness of wine
Substitutes ament spirits as the common j
beverage.” \n Maderia, even with the
peasantry, sap the Home Journal, a j
drunkard is Ms reputable than a thief
necessity may make the one, nothing put
<®ruiiiutL
'"V
For the Independent Dress.
JLiltlc Crcorge.
The following passage is from the X. 0. True
Delta’s, account of the burning of the Steam-ship,
Georgia:—“A lather who had rescued his wife .and
six children, went back for a .seventh and was lost.”
The flames ran high—th . w tiers hissed
As burning fragments strewed the wave.
And fathers prayed, and mothers kissed
Their infants o'er a burning grave.
The fire-fiend leaped up to the sky,
.Vs men upon the wharfage rushed—
Unearthly shrieks told.death was nigh,
Then in the grave those shrieks were hushed.
” Are they all here?”—-a father said
As panting on the shore he stood,
Six children by their mother led,
Saved by his arm front fire and flood.
“ Where’s little George?”—the echo rang
Around the weeping, trembling group:—
“ Where’s little George?”—the father sprang
Where marshalled death his fiery troop.
Back rushed he to the spreading flame—
The mother cried, “Oh! save my ..child!"
The children sobbed their brother’s name.
As flame on flame was madly piled.
lie's gone—the mother’s heart in pn ye •
Beseeches deatli to stay the rod—
He’s lost amid the blazing air—
“ Protect my child and husband, God! "
•• Ha, ha—he comes—he Itcars my child”—
And little George stretched out his hand
To meet his mother as she smiled
To think he soon would join their band.
A crash —a burst of flame—he falls! —
Sweeps o’er them both a sea of fire—
' The father prays—the infant calls
His mother from his funeral pyre.
11th Feb., 1854,
Select fjctra.
Legend of Heinz F<m Sirin.
Out from the dark wild forest
Rode the terrible Heinz Yon Stein.
Ho paused at the door of a tavern,
And gazed at the swinging sign.
Then lie sa,t himself down in a corner,
And growled for a bottle of wine.
Up came with a flask and cork-screw
A maiden of beauty divine i
Then he sighed with a dec-p love longing-,
And said, “Oh damsel mine,
Suppose you just give a few kisses
To the valorous Ritter Von Stein.”
But she answered, “The kissing business
Is not at all in my line,
And surley I shall not begin it,
On a countenance as ugly as thine.”
Then the knight was exceedingly angry.
And he cursed, both coarse and fine!
And he asked her what was the swindle,
For her sour and nasty wine!
And fiercely he rode to his castle.
And sat himself down to dine; —
And this is the fearful legend,
Os the terrible Heinz Von Stein:
[•Fart Diego Herald.
The Jfluscadine.
Our readers are aware that this is
an indigenous grape of the South, the
leaf and vine of which arc precisely like
the Seuppernong. The fruit, however,
is of ft dark purple color with si thick
skin and grows in small clusters as the
other. On the rich river and creek bot
toms we have seen them of a very large
size, and esteeifted them as a most de
licious fruit, But this was before the
Seuppernong was introduced among us
to any extent. Mr. Seth W. Roberts,
one of our citizens who has great taste
for horticultural pursuits, seems disposed
to contest the generally acknowledged
superiority of the Seuppernoffg, and
thinks he will yet be able to irarove the
Muscadine to an extent that will at least;
surprise those who have conceived the
idea tliat it possesses no particular merit,
A couple of years ago he transplanted
a vine into his grounds, liberally manur- 1
ed it and pruned it very freely. The
result is, lie is rewarded this season with
an abundance of fruit of remarkably
large size—many of the berries measur
ing full three incites in circumference—
and greatly improved flavor, tinder
Mr. Robert’s careful culture the Musca
dine may become as famous by and by
as the Scoppernong.
[Mobile Tribune.]
English Puritan Sirnam.es.
The following names are given in
“Lowers English Sirnames” as speci
mens of the names of the old Puritans
in England about the year 1658. The
names are taken from a jury list iu Sus
sex county. They wil cause a smile in
our day:
[ Faint-not. Howitt, Kill-sin Pitnple,
Accepted Trevor. Return Spelman.
Make-Peace Heaton. FighUthe-good-
God-Reward Smart, figitt-of-faith White
ti(}•liio'K Morp-frnit Ffiwlpr
Stringer. I fope-for Bending.
Earth Adams. Graceful lfa^ling.
\UMBER m
• Miss I,ester, on Statist. ■
“There is no wit,*’ says the author
of the Behaviour Book, “in a lady to
i speak of taking a 'snooze,' instead of a
nap— in calling pantaloons •pants." or
gentlemen‘gents;’—in saving of* a man
whose dress is gettingold lie looks ‘seedy .
and in alluding to an amusing anecdote,
or a diverting incident, tosaythat it is rich.
All slang words are detestable from the
lips of ladies. We are always sorry to
I hear a young lady use ,Mieh a word as
‘polking,’ when she tellsoKimviug been
; engaged in a certain dance tooikjluonable
not long since but happily
| going out and almost banished
Jj best society. To her honor, be it
membered, Queen Victoria has prohibit
ed the polka being danced in her pre
sence. flow can a genteel girl bring,
herself to say, ‘Last night I was polkinyJ
with Mr. Bell,’ ‘Mr’ Cope came andaskofl
me to polk with 1 iim?’ Its coarse and ifli
sounding name is wort hy of the daujM
Wc have little tolerance for yottftgladjHß
who having in reality neither wit#M .
humour, setup for both, and hjSm
nothing of the. right stock to goAB
1 substit.nl'' coarseness and-hjTperfffl
o. say impudence) and tryAL. A v *
'rnmiimr. mu I •,ittra«-i the attruliorßE|§WSsj|
■ ileiiicu by talking slang.
th.-vgm i»? Hotkey pick it
:■••• • :.m Or,from vulgelHßHß
Surely from am ««>miia)i ionMKgfeSHM
!i: i \ ,■ ];•• "ft il' '.'• • ladies.
ehmiei'il i" ho pmncflHHraj
thai was put drunk also t
l)";i;io; was drunk. ■i a •aiming ere. JK
her h i W hen disconcerted fH*./.'
■ I!""reih Whoa submitting
thing unwillingly, ‘she was
the scratch.’ Sometimes she did
on the sly.’ She talked ofacertain.great,
vocalist‘singing like a beast.’ She be
lieved it very smart and piquant to use
these vile expressions. It's true, when
at parties, she always had a half a dozen
gentlemen about her, their curiosity be
ing excited as to what she would say
next. And yet she was a woman of ma
ny good qualities; and one who boasted
of having always ‘lived in society.
Jeremy Ip ateliers.
We have nfo patience with Jeremy
-1 Diddlers, particularly those of the gen
i tlemaniv class, whose dainty hands
; fuse to earn the food they cat . Those dan
dy idlers seen to be under the hallucina
tion that theyf are too good to work; tluV.
they were ipAdo for ornament rather than
use; that/their porcelain corporations
came into the worhl with a large credit,
in their favor. In other words, that the
world owes them a living, in return tor
their condeseendingy.to be born. Not
only must the flowerlbloom; the birds
sing, the bees make holey-, and trees bear
fruit to regale the sense* of these exquis
ite aristocrats; but Ihc\whole human
family mustlabor for theirsupport. The
farmer must dig the soil; sailor plow
the sea; the merchant devoVje himself to
trade, and the student to lettVrs; all to
adorn, and amuse, and Iced acukissot idle
swindlers, who contrive to live\on the
fat of the land, at the expence of t\ie com
mon industry of society. They t\us vi
late the fiat of the Almighty —*‘Vhou
shalt earn thy bread by the sweat oivhy
brow,” and crontradiet the
“He that will not work, neither shall
eat.”
As we began by saying, we have
j no patience, no respect, for these genteel
I paupers, these lazy incumbrances upon
families and society, who consume the/
bread they have not the manhood to earn.
Every mouthful they eat, every article
they wear, is a robbery from him who
earnedit. And yet these very “Diddlers"
will turn up their dainty noses in aristo
cratic disgust, at the hard and indepen
dent workers to whose labor they are in
debted for every necessary as well as lux
ury of life. To dig they will not, and to
beg they are ashamed. And yet the\
do not hesitate to borrow and rob and
swindle their lazy way through life. It
is out honest opinion, that for all such
miserable Diddlers, prompt suicide is fat
more honorable than such miserable
eloemosynary oxistence.
j .Y. r Mirror. }
An Englishman travelling in Missis
sippi lately, took out his note-book and
made the following entry: /
SI “Note Bene.—They flay peopl/aliw
■e, as they do slaughter oxen./ Asa.
proof of it, see the lbl lowi tig pa rag/aph ill
the Granada Republic:'? - /
We understand that Parson Parks
was skinned bv Colonel Willcoaj during
the discusion between the latter gentle
man and M r, Barry at Caml.ltou last week
'l'he parson made some remarks in rela
tion to the Colonel, while he was Speaking’
when the colonel turned «pon him, and
scored him until his jaw hung very low
and his mouth presented a huge obtuse
angle, embellished with rows of teeth;
while the whole of the cavity alluded 1o
offered an enticing opportunity for the
study ofthe anatomy of its several appen
dages, The reck fiery,appeare nee of the
orifice would no doubt shown him to he
still a fire-eater. * , V
Tlorible! exclaimed the English mast
and he ret. urned the note b.w»k m
pocket! y ■ 1^
A. mathematician being asked by a
Stout fellow, 1 1 f two pigs weigh
pom is, how much will a large Jtog
wetg i ?’said, - ‘Jump into the scales and 1
will ell you iutmtyilately. . %