Newspaper Page Text
By this I do not mean that liPcatild
name, among his ancestors, one single
nobleman, knight, or even esquire;
but I mean he could trace his ances
try back to tho time when the first
Bentley left England, and could say
that not one of them had ever brought
disgrace on the name. Not one of
them had ever been hung, not one had
ever stolen; not one had ever been
known as a hypocrite, a slanderer, or
miser. Many of them had served in
the war of the revolution, and the mi*
mcrous Indian wars, and not one had
ever sustained other than the highest
reputation for courage and daring.
The first Bentley came over to Geor
gia about the year seventeen huudred.
He was a hard-fisted, independant yeo
man, whose object in coming to this
-country was to be free. Although he
4iad no genealogical tree, lie knew
enough of the stock from which he
sprang, to tell his children in the New
World that, centuries before that time,
their ancestors had been distinguished
by a mixture of sturdy independence
.■and proud loyalty of character which
greatly endeared them to their feudal
.chief. In his day though, things were
■changed. There no longer existed in
England the same organization of so
ciety which rendered the life of the
English yeoman one of excitement and
adventure, iu the service of his chief
tain. tu those “piping times of peace,”
the men who occupied a low position
in society had leisure to look around
them—to view their social inferiority
and to become dissatisfied with it.
About this time, the discovery and
colonization of America afforded an
outlet for many a restless spirit which,
though kept down by the stern law of
caste, yearned for liberty, and the po
sition of a man.
Balph Bentley was one of these
jestless spirits. lie was a, younger son;
and the law of primogeniture which ex
tended through all ranks in England,
cutting him off from all hopes of a
share in his father’s small but snug
property, he came to the colony of
Georgia with his young wife. Here
he lived, iu the full enjoyment of those
two great blessings—liberty and plenty
-—till the day of his death. He led
the life, to some extent, of a careless,
roving hunter, besides accumulating a
comfortable property which he left his
children.
These children, after their fathers
death occupied a social position which
the children of their father’s contem
poraries and equals in England, never
dreamed of. In a very few years, the
expansive and improving influence of
liberty made itselt apparent to a very
remarkable degree in the case of the
Bentleys. In the course of one or
two generations, they had accumulated
fortunes, educated their children, and
at the declaration of Independence oc
cupied a high position for wealth and
intelligence. As has been already
hinted, they were also distinguished
for a stern unbending integrity, a high
sense of honor, and a courage and dar
ing which was remarkable, even at
that day.
Os such a race sprung Horace Bent
ley ne and his sister -were the only
children of wealthy and indulgent pa
rents. Fortunately for Horace, he was
not easily spoiled, or the system of in
dulgence pursued by liis father would
t?CTi««<wn hjar-o U&cl Tlui liio
father always contended that the fact
that Horace was not easily spoiled was
the reason why he indulged him iu so
many whims. He said lie had made it
his business to study the characters
and dispositions of his children, had
found with joy inexpressible that
Horace, though rather impetuous,—
which he could forgive as it was a fam
ily failing—was a boy of warm, gener
ous disposition, and a nice sense of
honor which would never allow him
to be led into the commission of a
mean act, however many lie might
commit which would be deemed by the
■world imprudent.
He said too that if he had found his
boy needed curbing, lie would have
commenced with him in tinic.
Asa natural consequence of these
notions and tins system, Horace had
few ungratified wishes. He had guns
and horses and dqgs, at an age when
most boys are satisfied with hoops and
tops. He had a tutor too, who won his
regard and prevailed on him to devote
more time to study than was thought
possible, by the neighbors who saw
him so often scouring the fields and
woods with gun arjd dog and horse.
Indeed, few boys vyho were not de
signed to fill professor’s chairs, studied
so much as lie did. And lie not only
studied what .are termed text-books,
but he read |pn his tutor a great many
of the of English Lit
plays, poems, novels, ct cetera.
At an early age he was sent to West
he learned a little of mil
itary drill and science. Here, his chief
delight . was in the riding school where
he excelled, from the simple fact that,
like all Georgia boys, he had been ac
customed to riding on horseback, al
most? from infancy; and he went to
pFest foint a first rate horseman, while
most carets are glad to go away , toler
able W<&Jf
The disciplin^main
taiqed was little to his taste though,
and he , petitioned to be taken away,
before his course was half through. —
To this his father consented, on one
condition —that he should resume his
studies, under his old tutor. Horace
readily' agreed to this, as he said
lie had no idea of yet quitting his
books. Accordingly he came home
more in love with Georgia and every
thingconnected with it, than ever.
But notwithstanding his ardent love
for the place of his nativity his love of
travel and adventure was fully as ar
dent, He pleaded with his father that
youth was the time to travel—when
the fancy was free, the imagination
vivid, and the world appeared clothed
in colors brighter than any it wore ever
afterward.
“Men,” said he, “generally wait till
their education is finished—till the
freshness of feeling incident to youth
is worn oft’—until they have in a man.
tier grown old, before they indulge in
travel. Travel is a part of education
and should be taken, not after one has
gone through with his books, but
along with them. Men should not
quit their books to travel, they should
take their books with them. If they arc
to be gone long enough to interfere
materially with their studies, or if they
are not to be gone so long, let them
consider the tour a change from one
text book to another for the relief of
an overstraiued mind.
“In a few years, I shall feel called
upon to assume the duties and respon
sibilities of a man, and I cannot then,
with an easy conscience, waste my
time in trampoosing over the world.—
Before that time, I wish to visit our
western frontier, where the buffalo
and the wild-horse roam free and un
tamed. I wish to wander through our
primeval forests and our boundless
prairies, where Nature lies in all her
grand and unmutilated magnificence.
Where ”
“But my dear boy,” interrupted his
father smiling at his enthusiasm, “you
must recollect that travelling is such a
pleasant and fascinating branch of ed
ucation, that in pursuing that, one is
liable to forget the other branches. —
You surely do not wish to break off
from your books, now that you are
just beginning to penetrate the mys
tery of mysteries—the inner temple of
learning?”
“By no means father,” answered the
boy. “I do not wish to “break off,”
but merely to enjoy a temporary recess
which will better fit me for pursuing
tlie study of books. I shall only be
gone eight or possibly twelve months,
when I will return, spend six months
with you and sister—convince Jack
Royal that despite his practice, he can
not kill more snipes and
than I can; and then I think it will
be high time for me to take my books
and tutor, and commence that Euro
pean tour which you promised me I
should make, and which you yourself
consider a part of my education.”
And Horace had his own way as
usual. Avery good way it was, in
this instance, I think. Do you not
think so, reader ? He started, a mere
youth, to the West, in company with
an old friend of his father’s who was
fond of such expeditions. But his
restless activity soon rid him of this
olit ti-Si-rotter, Tvhcf ctcohtxtjvl liv Luul
rather be condemned to follow a young
Camanche than this hair-brained youth-
Attended only by his constant follow*
cr and valet —Howard—our young
traveller pushed on. He had his fill
of adventure. lie shot the buffalo—
he noosed the wild-horse—he fought
the Indian. Nor was his tour unat
tended with danger. He was once
captured by the Indians, and would
have had a practical experience of one
of their most time-honored customs—
roasting prisoners—had it not been for
the impression his handsome face and
figure made upon the imagination of
an Indian maiden, who loosed his
bonds, and gave him a horse and a
her blessing, while the rcstofthe lodge
were asleep.
Nor was this his only dangerous ad
venture with the Indians. The negro
Howard, who attended him, saved his
life ou one occasion, at the risk of his
own. Ilis whole tour on the frontier
was one continued series of adventures,
more or less rash and dangerous. He
nad what he sought—excitement—
life—activity. Besides, he noted eve
ry thing which he considered an ad
dition to his stock of information ; and
he said afterwards that his-expedition
had proven fully as useful and enter
taining as fie expected it to be,
Just then the hand of affliction smote
heavily on Horace. I believe I omit
ted to state that hjs inothor had died
during his infancy. G rowing up then,
with only one parent to love—he lov
ed that ono almost to idolatry. When
he was almost ready to-start home
from the West, he received a letter
stating that his father \yas dead, I
will not attempt to . describe his grief.
He among my readers who has gone
forth from the home of his childhood,
and left a father there—and who has
returned to find that father gone, with
the cold sod resting upon his breast—
and to hear that, he passed away—that
his life went out and his last words
werer spoken while he--—the lion, was
far away, with jest and laughter on his
lips—ho who can say,
“But when I saw thy vacant chair,
Thine idle hat upon the wall,
Thy book—tho penciled passago where
Thiuo eyo. had rested last of all—
******
And thought, while countless ages fled,
Thy vacant scat would vacant stand
Unworn thy hat—thy book unread—
******
Oh! father! then for her and thee
(lushed madly forth tho scorching toars”—
—lie who has felt all this, can under
stand Horace’s feelings. Others cannot
conceive of them.
As soon as the first paroxysm of
grief was over, llorac* set himself se
riously to work to carry out his father’s
will. It was but little trouble to do
this however, where he and his sisters
were the only parties interested. He
lived with his sister a year, or more,
in the house where their father died.
Active business, assisted by time,
blunts the most poignant grief; and at'
the end of a year, Horace felt his grief
so softened, that his old desire to visit
Europe returned. His uncle insisted
that they should quit their lonely re
sidence, and reside with him. Ho
race’s sister accepted the invitation,
while he prepared to leave for the Old
World.
The preparations were soon made;
and collecting his books and summon
ing his old tutor, he set out. Never
perhaps was there such a tour made
before or since, as this one. It is use
less to attempt to follow him in all his
wanderings. Sometimes traveling with
all the speed lie could command from
one place of pleasure, and, it must be
confessed, of dissipation, to another—
then, halting for weeks or months, and
unpacking his books, studying with
all the avidity of the mere book-worm;
now frequenting some old gallery,
where hung the master pieces of art,
studying them with all the enthusiasm
ot his nature, lost to all the world be
side—then betting, with a recklessness
which seemed madness, in some Pari
sian “ Hell”—to-day, reposing peace
fully and contemplatively in some ru
ral villa, on the bank of the- Loire or
the Po, where every thing was so se
rene and calm, it seemed as if no dream
of ambition or excitement could ever
disturb him who had once tasted of
its delicious repose —to-morrow, hunt
ing with all the recklessness and im
petuosity of his nature, the Wilde
Schwein, in some German forest, or
scaling the tops and leaping over the
precipices of some Alpine height—now
lingering, with his tutor on some clas
sic spot, the very Mecca of the literary
pilgrim —now revelling, weeks at a
time at some modern Spa —now laugh
ing amid the grisettes cle Paris —now
stealing glances with some soft-eyed
Circassian —such were some of the
features of this extraordinary tour.
Besides the book part of education
which Horace never lost sight of long
at a time, he improved himself in oth
er parts of what he considered the ed
ucation of a gentleman. In Paris he
continued his fencing, which he had
begun at West Point, besides learning
something more of the Art Terpsicho
rcan than he had known before. He
practiced pistol shooting, and he prac
ticed billiards, wherever he halted
long "enough to do so. Indeed, lie com
bined, in a manner scarcely ever wit
nessed in any one —perhaps never in
one so young improvement and
amusement. Consequently, when he
returned to Georgia, he was a young
man whose attractions a romantic
young lady would have found it hard
to resist, even if his handsome person
and manifold accomplishments had not
been backed by great wealth.
Horace was by no means an unsus
ceptible young man ; and he found it
hard to resist the promptings of his
heart, which bade him return, with
interest, the bright and kind glances
which greeted him on his return, from
eyes such as in all his wanderings
among the far-famed oriental beauties,
he had never seen surpassed. But
though lie saw among the now young
ladies whom he had left girls, several
whose glances were calculated to make
his pulse beat quickly and his heart
flutter strangely, when he saw that the
beauties of Eastern Georgia were ex
celled by the bright beauties of his na
tive Georgia; and though he saw,
among his lady acquaintances, several
whom he thought he might have been
proud to win, he exerted a string
self-control, and addressed them mere
ly as old acquaintances and play-mates.
This self control rpay seem strange in
one so impetuous as Horace Bentley;
and in truth this was one of the seem
ing inconsistencies of his character.—
It is true he was naturally a fiery, im
petuous man; but ho had labored
with a view to control himself in this
regard, until he had, in a great degree,
been able to do so; and now amidst
his seeming “madness,” in a common
way, there was a “method,” Indeed
it was frequently the case, that when
he seemed inost reckless, he was most
cool and prudent. For instance;
when he was betting in the gambling
saloons of Paris, or some German Spa,
and losing thousands, without, appa
rently, having an y idea what 'was the
amount of his' losses, and seeming*
from his reckless, excited manner to be
bent on ruin, the spectators were fre
quently surprised to sec him. cooly
quit the game, while his pocket-book
was yet stuffed; when they had thought
from his previous course, that he would
have gambled on, as long as lie had a
franc to lose. - At another time, when
he had had a long run of luck, and his
winnings were enormous, he would
break short off, on the very first re
verse, however trifling. This again
would excite surprise, as few men
who are fond of the excitement of bet
ting would have nerve to act in this
way, although in their cooler moments,
they will acknowledge it to be the
best policy.
Horace’s philosophy in the matter
was this. He believed that even the
passions could be made useful, and con
ducive to the amusement of a man,
provided he made himself master of
those passion?, and subjected them to
his control. On the contrary, he knew
that if the man allowed the passions
to be the master, they would lead
their unhappy slave through many a
rugged path, and over many a break
neck precipice—that they would in
fact render him continually miserable,
as all tyrants do their slaves. For the
reason that he believed the passions,
when properly directed might be ren
dered useful, lie endeavored merely to
control and not to eradicate them.
He did not wish to eradicate the
passion of anger because, for instance,
that in connection with his sense of
justice, would sometimes cause him to
knock down a stronger party for in
sulting or oppressing a weaker one, in
his presence, when, if it had not been
for anger, prudence would have pre
vented the act, and the oppressor
would have gone unpunished. An
ger was sufficiently strong to arouse
him to action before time had been al
lowed for the intervention of cold pru
dence. If instead of having anger un
der his control, to some extent, lie had
been entirely under its control, he
would, instead of merely knocking the
man down, have shot or stabbed him.
I might take other passions, and il
lustrate Horace’s peculiar notions, but
this example will suffice to give the
reader some idea of his system. Be
sides, I have filled all the space allow
ed me in this week’s paper, and must
wait for another number, to give some
further particulars concerning the early
history of the owner of Bentwold. —
Whether I do so iu the next number
is a matter of doubt, as the reader
doubtless wiahco next to hear some
thing of those long expected guests.
[TO IE CONTINUED.]
Jttisirllancons.
Hurry- Graphs.
No. 3.
SOCIA, DISTICTIONS.
One of the nost ridiculous errors of
republicans, is that of claiming dis
tiction on the score of distinguished
ancestry —boasting of the good blood
—the untarnished honor, and the wor
thy deeds of one’s fathers, as though
they were necessarily inheritable by,
and gave merit to, their descendants.
We would not detract from the re
spect Avliich every one owes to the
memory of ;iis fathers —we would not
diminish that regard which all should
cherish for the virtues and the noble
ness that may have distinguished
their ancestry through successive gen
erations. But we do urge an uncom
promising warfare against the idea,
that the hondr and virtue of the fath
er, are always perpetuated in the son,
and that the latter is entitled to the
respect and consideration due to the
to the former, as an inalienable in
heritance. We cherish an unmitiga
ted contempt for those degenerate cions
of a noble stock, who, having no vir
tue iu themselves, are everlastingly
boasting of their family , the qualities
of the Wood that courses in their veins;
and who insult you by obtruding their
diminutive selves upon you, at all
times as the representative and embod
iment of all the virtue and honor of a
long line of illustrious ancestry.
Such specimens have been very
aptly compared to certain well known
plants—the only valuable portion of
which is buried under ground—while
they merely vegetate upon the sur
face,
These distinctions, predicated upon
a supposed nobility of blood—or su
periority of lineage—rather than upon
individual merit, may be very well
cherished and preserved in communi
ties whose political organization is dif
ferent from ours. Where power is in
heritable —where those in authority
owe their elevation to the acoident of
birth alone, it may bo nqocs.wy that
they should be regarded as of nobler
stock apd better blood than the masses
—when place and influence descend
from father to son, it is consistent to
maintain that superior merit and ca j
paeity descend along with them. Other
wise, wo do not see upon what the
people are to base the respect and con
fidence Which they owe always to their
rulers.
But this idea has no foundation in
the necessities of our political constitu
tion. With us, place is bestowed
where it is deserved. Office is con
ferred upon those who merit it, and
who arc competent to its responsibil
ities-; and fooqor belongs to those who
win it, by laudable effort. And this
without any regard to birth or an
cestry.
Pope has said :
“Honor and slianio from no condition rise,
Act well your part there all the honor lies.”
But the truth of this sentiment is real
ized fully, only in republics, andbeau
ful instances of its illustration occasion
ally occur in our midst. Witness the
recent correspondence and interchange
of compliments between Judge Pep
per and Gov. Johnson of Tennessee.
High places of honor and profit in the
land, may be filled by those whose ap
prenticeship was served at the forge, or
the tailor’s board, as well as by those
whom fortune may have raised above
the necessities of daily labor—and by
those of humble birth and pedigree,
as well as by those whose ancestry
furnishes a long catalogue of illustri
ous names.
We all admit this truth, and boast
of it in the praises we so liberally and
deservedly bestow on our “peculiar
institutions,” and our political organi
zation ; yet how sadly do we disregard
it in our social arrangements and in
tercourse ! We theoretically recog
nize individual merit as the standard
and measure of our estimate of men,
yet we graduate our respect for them, by
their wealth and social position ; and
this is the rule by. which society ar
ranges itself into classes. llow often
do we hear among the fashionables (for
whom we have in store a bottle of wrath)
“Mr., or Mrs. or Miss such-an-one
doesn’t belong to our circle.” And
why, pray, do they not belong to your
circle? The reason is just this (or
something else about as sensible) Mr.
—Mrs. is perhaps the daughter of
a mechanic, and Miss ’s father can
not afford her a carriage to ride in.—
In the name of all the gods, what de
merit is there in any, or all these
things? Wherein do they tarnish
honor —detract from worth, or corrupt
the heart or mind ? Yet such is the
arrangement of our republican society.
Oh, for a realization of that republican
simplicity of which we talk so much
and see so little —where true merit,
wherever found, should meet its just
reward, and the hollow emptiness of
the proud and vain, its merited rebuke.
Then, many who now walk in humble
ness and obscurity would stand forth
as worthy examplars to their race—
while others, who move in high places,
and 11 seem at home when angels bashful
looks would descend from their high
estate —disrobed of all their false col
ors, and be honored even in being as
signed a position astride the line that
divides man from brute.
The Hurry-Grapher is no model re
former, but if he possessed some magic
influence, and was commissioned to
purge society of wliat lie considers its
greatest evil —lie would banish all social
distinctions other than those founded
on individual merit, and feel that he
had done the greatest service in his
power. Hurry-Grapher.
Not Bad. —A correspondent of the
Country Gentleman, speaking of book
farmers, says:
“Yet oft-times I am reminded of an
anecdote of Judge Peters, of Pennsyl
vania,' who was somewhat noted for his
agricultural papers many years ago.
A certain' German farmer, one of the
best in his neighborhood, having been
much pleased with the Judge’s essays,
concluded much more benefit might
arise by a visit to his honor’s residence,
expecting to find everything in its
place, and a place for everything. But,
on the contrary, the gates had no
hinges, the barn only part of its weath
ering, a plough in this fence corner,
at, and a harrow in that; so that the hon
est yeoman was quite astonished.--
Meeting the Judge, he expressed his
surprise at the departure from the or
thodox practice of farming, to which
the expounder of Blackstone and the
statutes, replied,—‘Why, man, you
certainly don’t expect me to write and
work too.’ Just so, friend editors, you
can’t expect farmers to work and write
too. ‘llowsomever,’ as the chronicler
of Slickville says, they can and do
write, and though not always accord
ing to Murray, yet with pretty good
effect; and perchance having a two
fold result, teaching their fellow-work
ers of the soil some of their knowl
edge, and also prompting them to a
more careful scrutiny of their experi
ments,”
Printers’ devils are generally ladies
men, notwithstanding they have pret
ty hard names. Some time ago, one
of these hard named fellows and his
lady-love were walking along, and
chatting very briskly upon the numer
ous topics of the day, when she sud
denly caught his hand, and looking
smilingly into his faoe, asked: —“Do
you know why I cannot got religion ?”
“No my dear l do not,” he replied.—
“It is because J am in love with the
cleviL”
An Excellent Plan for Grow
ing Cucumbers. —We clip the follow
ing from an exchange. Wc have tried
the same plan and proved its ex-cel-
Icncc i
Take a large barrel, or hogshead;
saw it in two in the middle, and bury
each half in the ground even with the
top. Then take a small keg and bore
a small hole in the bottom; place the
keg in the centre of the barrel, the
top even with the ground, and fill in
the barrel around the keg with rich
earth,- suitable for the growth of cu
cumbers. Plant your seed mid-way
between the edges of the barrel and the
keg, and make a kind of arbor a foot
or two high for the vines to run on.
When the ground becomes dry, pour
water in the keg in the evening—it
will pass out at the bottom of the keg
into the barrel and rise up to the roots
of the vines, and keep them moist
and green. Cucumbers cultivated
this way will grow to a great size, as
they are made independent both of
drought and wet weather. In wet
weather the barrel can be covered,
and in dry the ground can be kept
moist by pouring water in the keg.
Never Treat Religion Lightly-
Impress your mind with a reverence
for all that is sacred. Let no wanton
ncss of youthful spirits no compliance
with the intemperate mirth of others,
ever betray you Into profane sallies.—
Besides the guilt that is thereby incur
red, nothing gives a more odious ap
pearance of petulance and presump
tion to youth, than the affectation of
treating religion with levity. Instead
of being an evidence of superior un
derstanding, it discovers a pert and
shallow mind, which, vain of the first
spatterings of knowledge, presumes to
make light of what the rest .of man
kind revere. At the same time you
are not to imagine that when exhorted
to be religious, you are called upon to
be more formal and solemn in your
manners than others of the same years,
or to erect yourself into supercilious
reprovers of those around. The spirit
of true religion breathes gentleness
and kindness. It is social, kind, cheer
ful—far removed from that gloom and
illiberal superstition which clouds the
brow, sharpens the temper, dejects, and
teaches men to fit themselves for an
other world by neglecting the con
cerns of this. Let your religion on the
contrary connect preparation for heaven
with an honorable discharge of the
duties of this life. Os such religion,
discover on every proper occasion that
you are not ashamed; but avoid ma
king any unnecessary ostentation of it
before the world.— ltd. Herald.
Large Stories. —We have all
heard of big “fish stories,” but the fol
lowing, which was related some time
ago, by one of a lazy crowd in a bar
room, will, we think, “take the palm.”
After all the others had told a yarn,
Bob Bonkeye’s turn came, and he com
menced :
“Well, I’d been out hunting one af
ternoon, had dreadful luck, fired away
all my shot, and had’nt brought down
anything yet. I began to get discour
aged, and was thinking about going
home, when all at once a lot of robins —
there were fifty of c’m, and all in a
row—llew by. Here was a capital
chance to shoot; but the worst of it
was, I had no shot. So I did the best
I could. I put in the ramrod, and fir
ed; and wonderful to tell, I took the
first robin in the eye, and it passed
through the whole row of e’m so they
fell to the ground all strung on the
ramrod as neat as could be.”
“How many robins did you say there
were ?” asked a bystander.
“Just fifty.”
“Sartin. Have you anything to say
agin it ?”
“0, no, certainly not; only it must
have been a pesky long ramrod, that’s
all.” Yankee Blade.
A Miser. —A miser, who, in order
to save expense used to draw water ev
ery day for his daily use fell into a
well. Several persons ran to his aid,
and stooping down, said with compas
sion :
“Give us your hand, and we will
draw you out.”
“Give ?” cried the miser, “give I I
never give an}*thing!”
So he sunk beneath the water, and
was drowned.
“Position of Parties on the Sla
very Question.”— The Philadelphia
Gazette , a leading and influential Whig
paper, in an article under the head
“Attempt to Repeal the Fugitive Slave
Law,” says :
“On the vote in the House yesterday
on Mr. Elliot’s application for leave to
bring in a bill for the repeal of the fu
gitive act, the Democrats rallied to a
man in support of the law, out of pre
tended devotion to the compromise
measures of 1850. It is natural that
that party, fresh from the unprincipled
violation of every other portion of that
compromise, should adhere to this pro
vision of it. Avery few Northern
Whigs voted against Mr. Elliot’s mo
tion, because they consider it inoppor
tune. But the position of parties is
still sufficiently clear and definite.
The Democrats of the North are the'
party of the fugitive slave act; the
Whigs of the North are opposed to it,
and desire its repeal. The question
has been sufficiently argued, and the
n)le will decide between the parties
ic controversy.”
The truth of this, says the Savannah
Georgian, Will bo questioned by no one.
The pasition of parties is unmista
kably “clear and definite* The Dem
ocrats of the North are the party of the
fugitive Slave act; the Whigs of the
North are opposed to it, and desire its
repeal.” And yet we find men who
have for years been the political asso
ciates, and still are, of these. Northern
Whigs, seeking the votes of the
Southern people. We find them det
nouncing administration and North:
ern Democrats, and striving to bring*
political defeat on the candidates of
of the Democratic party because of
their support of (be gdnpnistrotion
and their connection with the North
ern Democracy, The Southern
pie are not likely again to be mislo.i
by their appeals.. |
‘Arrah Jammie,’ said one Emeralde r
to another as'they stood 1 gazing upon
the fountain on Boston Common
‘what is it that makes that water
sphurt up so, do you know ?’
‘Och, now Pat, an don’t be after ex
posing yer ignorance and want of
sonce,’ was the reply, ‘everybody
knows it goes by steam !’
“Jim, does your mother whip you?”
“ IS -o-o—but she does a precious
sight worse, though.”
“ What is that ?”
“ Why,- she washes' me every morn
ing.”
♦ «♦- .
Tiie Tidal Theory ExPLiMEh.—-
A “scientific writer” in the Washing
ton Union thus disposes of the moon
theory in causing the tides of the oceaui
If there are such deep wide caverns,
many miles in length, and some of
them of unknown extent, on the dry
portions of the earth’s surface, and if
there are doubtless other caverns quite
as extensive in the submerged moun -
tains plains and valleys ot the ocean,-
as it is our belief that there are, and
lienee that in these huge recesses of
of the oceanic "lobe are the source of
the rise and fall of the tides, into and
out of the internal depths of the oceans
the waters are regularly flowing as the
earth regularly revolves, and neither
the moon nor the stars, nor the sun,
nor the winds, nor the clouds, can pro
duce any sensible effect upon them,
•f Promising Specimen ,
[We may have copied the following
before, but for fear we have not, we
give it a start. Children are growing
more precocious every day: ]
“ What are you writing there, my
boy ?” asked a fond parent of his hope
ful son and heir, a shaver of ten years.
“My compothition, thir,” replied the
youthful Grotius. “ But really, I shall
be unable to contbentrate my ideas,
and give them a logical relation if I am
conthantly interrupted in thith manner
by irrelavent inquiries.”
Taking Mfoien a •fudge.
One of the old fashioned attorneys
practising in Indiana, insisted on ar
guing a case before Judge 8., after it
bad been decided. The Judge repeat
edly told the unfortunate attorney that
lie would listen to no further argument
in the case.
“ But, may it please your honor, ”
says the advocate, “your honor will cer
tainly hear an argument if your honor
has decided wrong ?”
“No” replied the Judge, “if you de
sire to argue the case any more, take
it to the court of Errors.”
“ May it please your honor,” I don’t
see where in the devil I’d go to, for if
this ain’t a court of errors, I don’t
know where to find one !”
Revenge.
Bruise your shins against a stone
step on a cold day, then retaliate b v
trying to kick it over, especially if you
are troubled with corns.
A Slight Mistake. —A wag in a
country bar-room, where each man
was relating the wonderful tricks they
had seen performed by Signor Blitz
and the rest of the conjuring family, ex
pressed liis contempt for the whole
tribe, declaring that he could perform
any of their tricks, espcially that of bea
ting a watch in pieces and restoring it
whole.
It being doubted, lie demanded a
trial.—Several watches were at once
produced for the experiment.
‘ There,’ said he ‘there are the piec
es.’
‘ Yes,’all exclaimed,‘now let’s see
the watch.’
He used mysterious words, shook up
the fragments, and at length put down
the pestle and mortar, observing,—
‘ Well, I thought I could do it, but by
G eorge, I can't P
Virtue of Asparagus. —Liebig
(the illustrious German chemist) says
that asparagus contains, in common
with tea and coffee, a principle which
he calls “ taurine,” and which he con
siders essential to the health of those
who do not take strong exercise. Taking
the hint from Baron Liebig a writer in
the London Gardeners' Chronicle was
led to test asparagus as a substitute for
coffee, lie says: The young shoots
I first prepared were not ageeable, hav
ing an alkaline taste. I then tried the
ripe seeds; these roasted and ground
make a full flavored coffee, not easily
distinguishable from fine Mocha. The.
seeds are easily freed from the berries,
by drying them in a cool oven, ami
then rubbing them on a sieve. In,
good soils, asparagus yields seeds abun-.
dantlv; and if thgy are charged with
“taurine,” and identical with the seeds ;
of the coffee-plant, asparagus coffee,
may be grown iu the United, States, at
less than half the cost per pound of the
article now so largely imported.
The bell on St. Stephen’s Church in
Vienna weighs 35,400 pounds. A
small family could live conveniently
under the immense structure. It is
II feet high and 11 1-2 wide. Eight
men are required to ring it, as the
clapper alone weighs 1400 pounds. It
was cast in 1711 by the Emperor Jo
seph 1., from 180 Turkish Cannon, ta-.
ken by the Austrians. At the height
of 250 feet is the clock.
Dry Weather Sixty Years Ago.
In O’Riclly’s History of Western New
York, Dr. Coventry, who settled in
1790 with his family at the outlet of Se
neca Lake, furnishes a sketch of the
seasons and the health of this region
for a series of years. He says “in 17 95
no rain fell either in June or July ; the
water in the lakes lowered more than a
foot, the heavens seemed on fire, the
earth scorched, and the air saturated
with pestilence.” In 1816, the cold
year, the season was very he(dt{iful,