Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

I From the PcnUnular Gazette. Flirtation. This is emphatically" the ago of flirta? tion. Marriage has become an institution 1.00 old fashioned for anybody to patron? ize. The demand for white kid 'doves has diminished, and lho milliner's chance for selling that lovely bridal hat. has "grown small by 'degrees and beautifully less." Well, we will .now ask who is '.<> be blamed. Nol ?ja^Jtuv^ganty?ungman j Ussome dedaimei-s* would have us belioVc. . No indeed, the .sin ruu>i rest upon the shoulders of female flirts. Now this is a bold, assertion 1 know. Und I imagine now, that I can almost see some half-dozen young ladies sharpening their wits and pens to take me down for saying so, and 1 guess that their argu? ments will be, that men are more prone to this evil than women. "Well, suppose we do flirt, and I own that we do; we have learned it from such as you. No true man is a flirt until dis? appointment makes him one, and then loosing all faith in every thing, he un? wisely ^determines to make others suffer for the pang at his own young heart which can never more leave it. Nature did not make him so. The heart must first be poisoned by having its affections called forth, and then thurst back upon ?itself to wither ere he proves false to the ""??claTes of 'i^i^^nt^iV^y^tiKC^??. . Now who is this female flirt ? Not that man-killer whom we meet at the water places or in the ball room, whose polished brow, spotless cheek,*"faultless heaving bosom and cArlcd hair?brushed with great pains, and covering, perhaps a thimble full of brains, all proclaim in trumpet tones the coquette. Nor is it this young hopeful, Wh\t suffers you to drive her out of evenings?hand her up the steps, or hold .her parasol?present Tier with rose-buds, or twine her fan so elegantly?buy peaches for her on the cars?pick up her lallen gloves?hand her to her carriage, &c. While she flatlcrs vor. incessantly? comparing your eyes to' stars, und your lips to rose-buds. You receive her atten? tions for what they are worth, you lay no Stress on her hifalutin compliments, but swallow them as a dose nauseating at the time, but producing no future bad effect. You understand her, and her arrows fall to the ground without so much as reaching your heart._ This creature should not be called a flirt. In fact.-evcry body knows her to be simply a lady of honor. I rather like your man-killer for she has never killed any~bpdy yet, and very likely never will. She is convenient, for she helps to kill time, and while she fan? cies she is slaying your, heart she is only helping to murder your tedious hours. But the genuine flirt] is not known as such. The enigma of her profession is not written upon her brow; she is not. known as a coquette, for she <?oes about her work quietly?keeps up her reputa? tion and is generally known as a lady. You form her acquaintance in some quiet fcparlor, and she at once, murk - yO'ti fur her victim, particularly it'you arg just from school [or fresh from the country She begins by telling you that she detest coquetry in "every form and WrhsH. thai she seldom goes to balls, pic-nicks. A c. because not being able to flatter or flirt, she is not a favorite. Her manner is so delicate and yet so marked that our vani? ty is pleased. She does not tell you that she is happy to be in yo\w . compairy. or that your voice is sweet. Oh, oh no, she understands her business to well for that. She monopolises yonv attention, she effectually keeps yoc from visiting oth- J ers, she. ^seldom visits any V.^welL-Jjp--1 cause that is not her game. She plays her cards well, for her only object is to make you believe that you are all the ?world to her. . She will never tell you that she loves you, but site will use words the. enigma of which you can take in any sense that you please. Sho will talk of love, read lovo poems, sigh softly, and look at you. She will mark every bright ' ning of the eye, every flush of the check and every tremor of the lip. She knows exactly what to say, and how much to say, and when to say it. In fact she nev? er commits herself, and her tendcrost sentences are so carefully worded that ?aul Piy himself could make nothing of tiem. She teaches you, the language of tic eye, and knows exactly when a shot h'ts told. I must say that I think this w?man would make a good surgeon, for sh> can look upon the death throes of hei victims unmoved. Sho makes the hunan lieart a study, and knows exact? ly bj tho expression of your eye, what emotion is moving you. Well, weeks glide on, and madam rumor says that you are engaged, and what is more, sho know* it, but does not oare a fig. What is it ti her if she is keeping you away from ithers who would perhaps mean mk i something? And when she feels confi? dent that sho has won your love, she veils herself under the mask of friend? ship, and merely calls 3'ou her friend. Having become the mistress of your heart she will then slide away gradually, leav? ing the trail of the serpent over all your dreams of happiness. Sho is blameless. The world would call hors?. You nev? er addressed her. Site never spoke of any thing warmer than friendship. And now i while your happiness is sacrificed to her egregious vanity, she walks the earth proudly ami perhaps blameless in the eyes ?f $o< icty, where loving looks and accents endearing count for nothing, hut nay, not all the waters of the Atlantic could wash that sin from her soul. Now I ask what becomes of the victim; Does he pine away and die? No. Men have died and the worm's have eaten them, but not for love. A fate worse, than death is his. He finds himself like the miser who goes to sleep fancying his treasures safe, and wakes to find himself pennyless. He has trusted all, the fatal die is cast, and he has been deceived ; he makes one woman the standard of all, and when she falls from the pedestr.l where fancy has pictured her, he then looses faith in everything, his trust in wo? man is gone, his soul is poisoned, and he becomes'what true gentlemen and ladies alike despise. But when I sec him in the bajl-ro?m, the center oCa tlo-ya^as hear! less as him? self, and when I hear his hu .' ringing laugh and heartless jest, and when*!] look on the brow which blushes no more, and on the practiced eye which smiles but to deceive; yes, when I see him I arcing oth? ers on to the rock where he himself was wrecked, and glorying in the epithet of heart lessness, I sigh because a noble na? ture is rained, and to go back to the time when he was young and innocent, and lay the blame on her who. all hough the first to cry out agaiiisl him, made him just what, now is. I admit now thafho is wrong, but he has in the first ph/cc been most shameful? ly and cruelly wronged, and by one of the same sex, whom he now glories in de? ceiving. It was from her that he learned his first lesson in deception; and now let me ask, that vhile you despise their ways, that yon also pity them. :?-?*k HAiTixrss.?It is hard to form a true estimate of any man's happiness* because happiness depends most upon those things which lie most out of sight. Those joys, like those sorrows, are most real, dee]) and strong, which run on in a silent strean without making any noise : such are the joys which arise from eas}- reflec? tions, moderate desires, and calm content. "We see the false glare of greatness wlu'ch surrounds some men, and are apt to gaze at it with a foolish face of won? der. But we see not tho.se miseri'es which sometimes lurk beneath these pompous appearances. What avail al! the pomp and parade of life; which ai*pear abroad; if, when we shift the gaally flattering scene, the man is unhappy yher? happiness, like charity, musi bei^n it home? Whatever inirredi 1 en is pi' Mistf-Proyidciico may have poured into his cup. domestic iiii.-i.>ri.unes will render the whole com post lion disiustei'td. Fortme and happiness are two very dis? tinct ideas of life, and a wrongness of thinl/ing. may confound them. K:r better is a dinner of herbs where lov< is than a stalled ox, and hatred there wbh. That is, it is better to have peace wthout plenty, than plenty without pac1. That, where there but a slender subsistence, yet an uninterrupted intcr -^iui^re^^j^^y^^ among those of the saineMaih*tly,*iiiij<ur io u nra^. ? solid satisfaction than to fare sumptuous ly every day. or to live in great and pom? pous buildings, great and noble apart? ments, everything great, hut, perhaps the owners themselves. Industry.?Every young man should remember that the world always has and always will honor industry. The vulgat and useless idler whose energies of mine; ami body are rusting for the want of ex? ercise, the mistaken being who pursues amusements as relief to his enervated muscles, or engage in exercises that pro dticc no useful end. may look with scorr on the laborer engaged in his ton); but lijj scorn is praise; Ids conlcmpl ;s an honor, Honest iudustry will secure the respect o the wise and the good among men. am yield the rich fruit of an easy conscience! and give that hearty sell-respect which ii above all price. Toil on, then. ypun<j men and young women. .Be diligent h business. Improve the heart and tin mind, and you will find " the well spring of enjoyment in your own souls," and se? cure the confidence and respect or' al those whose respect is worth an effort b obtain. Aaron Burr as an Orator. Few public speeches have produced a more marked und decided effect upon the audience, than the address of Mr. Burr, on taking leave of the Senate, in 1805. lie appeared before them under circumstances not the most favorable to success. The prejudices of hjs hearers were against him, f?tjthe most part strongly so. He was i known to be man of almost unbounded , ambition, bid had aspired to the highest ' ofiice. in the gift of the nationj and had. failed to secure it. His prospects were j bliglfted. His political career was now to { I terminate. Leaving "the Senate, lie ivas ; to bid adietij at the same time, to all hopes ! of political distinction, and retire to pri? vate liie. a disappointed man. Not mere? ly this. JIe was known, moreover, to be a man of u little principle, whether polit eal, moral, or religious?? selfish man. ; whose own will- was his only law, and who in the pursuance ol* his chosen plans and enterprises, suffered no consideration of right or honor to impede Iiis progress. He had been from the first a marked man ?not more by his splendid abilities than by the distrust with which the more pru? dent and sagacious statesmen of that age regarded his course. Washington had re? ceived him when a youth, among his per? sonal followers and aids, but never gave him his confidence. There was on him, at the time of which wo speak, a still deeper disgrace. Hardly a year had elapsed since, on slight provocation, he h.m] challenged one of the most pure minded statesmen of the age to mortal combat, and quenched the figiu <>C that noble life. His country had not forgotten nor forgiven the death of Hamilton. Under all these disadvantages, Burr rose to make his parting address to the Senate. And such was the art and power ol' his address, as not only, for the time, completely to divest his hearers ol' their personal prejudices against himself, but entirely to enlist their sympathies, and win their admiration. The effect, as de? scribed by one who was present, was over? powering and most wonderful. '"The whole Senate were in tears, and so un? manned that it was half an hour before they could recover themselves sufficiently to come to order, and ehoo.se a Vice Pre? sident pro tern. "At tlie President's. on Monday, two of the Senators were relating these circum? stances to a circle which hail collected around them ;?one said he wished that the tradition might be preserved as one of the most extraordinary events he had ever witnessed; another Senator, being asked, the next day that on which Mr. Burr took his leave, how long ho was speaking, after a moment's pause, said he could form no idea?it might have been an hour and it might have been but a mo? ment ; when he came to his senses he Seemed to have awakened from a kind of trance." Taking into view all tho circumstances, would probably !>e difficult to find on re? cord a ease; more full cxhibithjg the power of t rue eloquence. -^ Women Ci?ixO to Bkd.?Some fine writer gives the following as the manner in which.a young lady goes to bed : "'When bed time arrives she trips up stairs*w1th fi candle in hand, and if she Had pleasant com;.any during the evening, with some agreeable ideas in her head. The caudle On the toilet, and her luxuri? ant, hair speedily emancipated from the thraldom of combs and pins. 11' she usu? ally wears ?? water curls," or uses the " iron." her hair brushed very carefully from her forehead, and the whole com? pletely secured; if not. why then her lovely tresses are soon hid in innumerable . bits of paper. The task accomplished, a night cap appears, it may be with plain muslin, or pcrlTapv, with heavy lace; which hides all save her sweet countenance?A_s^ soon as she tics the strings, sbc pobably takes a peep in the glass, and half smiles, and blushes at what she sees. The light is out?her, fair, delicate form gently presses the couch, and like a dear, inno? cent, lovely creature as she is, falls gently to sleep, with a smile on her still sweeter face. Wo don't approve of the description, and feel safe in saying thai the young lady at least takes olf her shoes and stockings, and becomes separated from her hoops civ her form presses the couch. The Milwaukee Daily Advertiser thus j Minis up on the Hanging question : " After a careful consideration of all the arguments for and against capital punish? ment, we have come to the conclusion that toe - debt of nature' should never be paid if it can't be collected without an execu [tion,." -~~rT-' George Colmau being once asked, if he knew Theodore Hook?"0, yes." was his reply, " Hook and 1 (eye; arc old associ? ates." i A Kind "Word. Is it not easy spoken Ah tlic word that givcth pain? May not friendship's chain when broken, Ue by its kindness linked again ? Nay, while light ar.d joy impressing, Truth and rectitude accord, Fraught with every sovereign blessing. In the kind, forgiving word ! Shall the heaving breast of ocean To the spring mild gale concede'.' And the heart of wild emotion, .Breathing kindliest;, scorn to heed ? Xo, the tender thought revealing, That no anguish can impart, Language, eloquent of feeling, Cannot fail'to reach the heart! Tuneful voices?were they lent us, With the music charms of love. That should folly e'er incent us, They might like our passions prove? Christians li ving one another, Meek and gentle, of one mind? Brother! dost thou love thy brother ? Speak, oh, speak uuto him kind. -o Triflos. A cloud may intercept the sun, A web by i lscct workers spun Preserve the life within the frame, Or vapors take away the same. A grain of sand upon the sight May rob a giant of his might ! Or needlepoint let out his breath, And make a banquet-meal for Death. How often, at a single word, The heart with agony is stirred, The ties thai years could not have riven, Are scattered to the winds of heaven, A glance, that looks what lips would speak, " Wi)l speed the pulse and blanch the cheek ; And thoughts; nor looked, nor ye! exprcst, Create a chaos in the breast. A smile cf hope from those we love May be a n angel from above ; A whispe red welcome in our cars Be as the music of the spheres. The pressure of a gentle hand Worth all that glitters in the land; Oh ! trifles aro not what they arc, But fortune's ruling voice ami star. - Life. IIV THOMAS MOORE. Wiiu. that surveys tins span of earth we press? This speck of life in time's great wilderness, This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, The past, the future?two rrlrcmi'ier? Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare. When he might build him a proud temple there, A name, that long shall hallow all its space. Ami be each purer soul's .high resting place? Hon..?Tlu- last refuge of man is hope. When tfliictions come upon him fast anil thick- when care feVcra his brain and sorrow gnaws his heart; when the tide of misfortune has prtrted the last cord that held his bark to her moorings, and the sound of its parting sinks like a death knell into his inmost soul, awakening all its sympathies to the fearful reality of the. moment?the intensity ot excitement gives way to a burst of anguish, a bitter tear of disappointment, or to the more strange, uncontrolable, yet silent power, despondency. Biit il is lor a moment only?one convulsive throb?one long draw.i, heart-heaved sigh, and it is all over?a flush passes over tliu heart like the fleeting sun-shadow of an April day, and Tope, the divine prince ofcheats, the ?lorious emperor of deceivers sits, smiling on it> throne'. And so, not satisfied with having been belboled a thousand times ten thousand Mines before; not content to wipe away the :ear of sad and melancholy disappoint? ment that has just been made to gush from the fount of life's feelings; not ima. giniag that the scene of sorrow ihrotlgji which he had just passed, could be enac? ted ovo'* again, and that the same foot thai spurned him can spurn him again? he foils down and worships its light as the Persian kneels to the sun-god of his soul's idolatry:? *^ii.'e hope for life even in its latest hour, We hope for health when sickness fast draws near, Wc hope for freedom when in skrv-cr^yiower: Wc hope for courage when assailed by fear ; Wc hope for all the sweetest joys of life, When most afilictcd with its deepest strife." -? Manners of Younu Ladies.?In en? deavoring to avoid everything like dis? play, young ladies, especially, should be careful not fall into the opposite extreme ?that of prudery. There is more sincer? ity, if there be less nicety, in the conduct of a really virtuous woman, than t here is in that of a prude, and some degree of free? dom so far from being incompatible with the strictest virtue, is one of its principal privileges. If a lady is obliged to receive company en dishabille, it is a sign of bet good breeding if she appears perfectly at ease, and makes little or no apology .t'ot? her appearance. A person who changes her manner with her garb must be innate? ly vulgar. -o-.? A lady being asked her opinion about moustaches, replied, i;I always set my face against them." Benjamin "West. Benjamin West, tho celebrated painter, was born in 1738, in Springfield, near Philadelphia, of Quaker parents. At the age of seven he begun to manifest his pictorial talents, by sketching, with pen and ink. a sleeping infant with which he was entrusted. From some indians he obtained red ami yellow, and his mother gave him some indigo; and to supply the want of camel's hair pencils, he clipped the fur of the cat. He was allowed to follow the bent of his genius, arid, im? proving as he tidvunced in years, he be- . came a portrait painter, and produced some meritorious historical pictures. In his twenty-second year he visited Italy, and. after remaining there some time, he settled in England, in 1703. He soon ac? quired a reputation abroad, and his patron, Archbishop Drummoiid, intro? duced him to George the Third, who im? mediately gave him a commission to paint the "Death of Kegulus," and continued ever afterwards to employ him. In 1701, he was appointed President of the Royal Academy. Among his last aud perhaps best works, are "Death on the Pale Horse," and "Christ^Healing the Sick." America could furnish this wonderful artist with no specimens of the sublime and beautiful, either iu statuary or paint? ing; of course, when he arrived in Eng? land, great curiosity was excited as to the effect which some of those stupendous works <if art would produce upon his mind. A magnificent Apollo was first shown him. where the god was represent? ed with bow and arrow, in all the intense eagerness of the chase. There was a lite, a vitality about it. which West had TTf'ver before seen. He raised his hand in astonishment, and trite to all his earliest associations, he exclaimed. "My (lodJJiow like a young Mohawk warrior!" Mr. West met with-munificent patron? age in England, but "he always retained a strong and unyielding affection for his native land." The countenance of the King nobly bestowed upon this highly gifted American, could not- fail to excite envy among his courtiers. A malicious individual, knowing his partiality lor the laud of his birth, resolved to make him give some unguarded proof of it which would be unpleasing to his majesty, in? censed as ho then was against the Amer? ican colonies. With an air of much .sat? isfaction, he one day informed the King that the Americans had ?let with a most disastrous defeat, and turning to Mr. West, he exultingly asked, '"How do you like these tidings, sir?" Mr. West, bow? ing low to his majesty^ answered, ," I am a loyal and grateful subject to my king, but I can never rejoice at any misfortune which befalls my native land." "A noble reply," said his sovereign; "and I assure you, Mr. West, no man will ever fall in my estimation, because he loves his coun? try." Mr. West retained his love for America to the day of his death; and he refused immense sums for some of Iiis most mag? nificent pictures, which he painted as af? fectionate gifts to the public .institutions of his native State. He died in 1820. ? Beautiful Extract.?One fountain there is, whose deep lying vein has only, just begun to tht'ow up its silver drops afiiong mankind?a fountain which will allay the thirst of millions, and will givo to those who drink from it, peace and joy. It is knowledge ; fountain of intellectual cultivation, which gives health to man? kind?makes clear the vision, brings joy to his life, and breathes over his soul's destiny a deep repose. Go and drink therefrom, thou whom fortune has not fa? vored, and thou wilt soon find thyself rich! Thou mayest go forth into the world, and find thyself evorywhore at home; thou canst cultivate in thy own little chamber; thy friends arc ever round thee, and carry on wise conversations with thee : nature, antiquity, heaven, are accessible to thee! The industrious kiug dTmT*(nM^Ai-ajit, the works of man, the rainbow, and mnsTe^Ss^cct cltpi-ds. offer to thy soul hospitality.?Fredereka Bremer? -?? The Rev. E-?. who lived not a thou? sand miles from Portland, was preparing his discourse for the next Sabbath. Stop? ping occasionally to review what ho had written, and to erase that which he was disposed to improve, he was accosted by his little son, who had numbered but three summers? i; Father, does God tell vou what to preach?" ;- Certainly, my child." ;,Theu xcliat makes yon scratch it out?" -* Ciiilduood.?There are seasons often in the most dark or turbulent periods of life, when we are suddenly called from ourselves bythe remembrances of child? hood ; something touches tho electric chain?and 16! a host of shadowy and sweet recollection? steal upon us. A Beautiful Character. '?A just man is always simple. 'He is a man of direct aims and purposes. There is no complexity in his motives, and thonce. there is no jarring or discordancy in his character. He wishes to do right, and in most cases he docs it; he may err, but it is by mistake of judgment, and not by perversity or intention. The moment his judgment is enlightened, his action is corrected. Setting before himself, always-, a clear and worthy end, ho will never pursue it by any concealed or unworthy means. We may carry our remarks for illustration, both into private and public life. Observe such a man in his home; there is a charm about him, which no ar? tificial grace has ever had the power to bestow; there is a sweetness. T had al? most said a music in his manners,? which no sentimental refinement has ever given. His speech, ever fresh from purity and rectitude of thought, controls all that are within its hearing, with an unfelt and yet resistless sway. Faithful to every do? mestic, as to his religion and his God, he would no more prove recreant to any loyalty of home, than he would blas? pheme the Maker in whom he believes, or than he would forswear the Heaven in which he hopes. Fidelity and truth to those bound by love and nature to .his heart, are to him most sacred principles; they arc in the last recesses of his moral being, they are embedded in the life of his life, and'to violate them, or-even think of violating' them, would seem to him spiritual oxterminntion?thc suicide of his soid. Nor is such a man unrewarded, for the goodness that he largely gives, is largely paid back to him again; and though the current of his life is transpa? rent, it is not shallow; on the contrary, it is deep and strong. The river that tills its channel, glides smoothly along in the powert^"its course; it is the stream, which scarcely covers the ruggedness of its bed. that is UirTJuient and noisy. With all this gentleness there is exceeding force; with all'this meekness,-there'is impern> live command; but the force is the force of wisdom; and Hie command is the command of love. And yet the authori? ty which rules so effectually, never gath? ers an angry or'an irritable cloud:over the brow of the ruler; and^this sway which admits of no resistance, does not repfessjpthe honest impulse of nature, one moment of the soul's high freedom, one bound of joy from the heart's unhidderi gladness, in the spirits of the governed;" - " TuouonTFUL^ Kindness.?'It is- very easy, oftentimes, to do an act of kindness impulsively, and on the s2mr ?f an occa? sion. And as so done, it may bo often both useful and gratifying to the recipient; may confer a real favor, and merit thanks and the feeling of gratitude. Bnt how much more beautiful and nohlctta^his, and how much sweeter, and happ^^^I total influence on life and characte'r.*^.. that kindness which is thoughtful, con sideratc,">nticipatory; which busies itseH with contributing to the good of others, which-thinks beforehand what their wants are to be.'and how they may be met most pleasantly and efficiently; which 'thus sows the seeds of liappiness and progress along the commonest waysides of life ami shods an influence of refreshment 'and peace on all the circle. To such a friend, the affections turn with an 'attachment whicli is full, overflowing, most ultimate. Around such, grow up ine^faTn'eTali^elltts--. tiful associations, and grateful memories." For such friends, there is nothing -we would not bear, or attempt to accomplish. They arc enshriued in. our warmest and sweetest affections; and heaven itself takes a new charm from the hope, of thore meeting and communing.with them, for? ever:?Exc The Death of the Just.?Sublinv: ..ro are the words, "Blessed are the dead who ' die in the Lord!"; Would it be brcUgi.oys to say, " Happy are the. dead who dk>,be? loved!" Their fond and ardej^>iiearta had iij3yjxJ?r>r^fr--^iillcd by the witheHng*' ifflTTld of infidelity and ingratitude. They died in an ecstatic dream of perfect bliss on earth, and never were a wakened lotho world's mocking realities! They diet when tiny felt and believed in their heart of hearts that they were dearly beloved? could- not be loved more deeply; with that conviction death in a worldly acceptation can never be untimely. Probably they died still sufficiently animated by a latent, lingering spark of life, to press the hand that was so often linked in mutual pres? sure in happy days?to feel the burning tear of anguish drop on the pale cheek to hear the sad, the awful last word, adieu!?an expression that habit lias re dered trivial, but which bears'withj^j*| the teuderest solicitude tbo moi meaning, since, in pronot all that we cherish ur ai:d safeguard of God!