The Darlington flag (Lydia, SC) 1851-1852, October 30, 1851, Image 1
DEVOTED TO SOUTHERN RIGHTS, MORALITY, AGRICULTURE. LITERATURE, AND MISCELLANEOUS NEWS.
JLJ g * -.. .Bn-~-a--aV
JAMES H. NORWOOD, EDITOR.]
VOL. 1.
• Am.,mi ■■ iTMTi
To thilte oicnsclf be true ; And it must follow as the night the day; Thou const not then be false to any man.—Hami.kt.
DARLINGTON C. H., S. C., THURSDAY MORNING OCTOBER 30 1851.
[NORWOOD i Di: LORME, PCBLISBERS
NO. 35.
THE DARLINGTON FLAG,
IS rVBLISlIBI)
EVERY THURSDAY MORNING,
AT DARLINGTON, C. II., *. C., HY
NORWOOD & DF. FOItHi:.
TERNS OF 8UBSCKIPTIOK:
In advance, (jn r annum,) - - - $3 00
At die expiration of six montits - 2 50
At the end of the year ... - - 3 00
advertising :
Advertisements, inserted at 75 cents a
sqnare (fourteen lines or less,) for the first,
aud 37| ete. for each subsequent insertion.
Business Cards, not exceeding ten lines,
userted at §5, a year.
MISCRIiLAKSODS.
[Prom the Grove Hill Herald.]
SOUTHERN ENTERPRISE.
It is truly gratifying to witness the spirit
of enterprise which has been awakened
in the minds of the southern people, in al
most every department ofbusmess; show
ing as it does, that a more properous con
dition awaits the country at large, and
the South in particular. Ssarcely a day
passes by, without bringing to light some
new enterprise, calculated to develope the
resources of the country, and thereby add
to its wealth and importance. Tlii-' is as
it ought to be, and should have been, years
ago; and had the southern people turned
their attention to it sooner, instead of be
ing, in some measure dependent upon our
northern brethren, we would now be inde
pendent of them, in every respect. But, as
the saying is, it is never too late to do
good, and at this late day, even though it
be “the eleventh hour,” the south can yet
place herself upon an independent posi
tion, by becoming a producing, instead ot
a consuming, people.
We have, in our midst, everything that
have a tendency to constitute us a great,
mighty and powerful people;only requir
ing a taking hold of the same and con
verting them to our use, to bring in wealth
by ihe wholesale; which, if done, will
surely be followed by prosperity. All we
hare to do. K to build railroads, running
through our country, by which the pro
ducts of the s’oil and the labors of our hus
bandmen and mechanics can be conveyed
to market; erect manufactories, wool and
cotton, wherein different kinds of cloth
required by our varied population. If we
so build and erect, w>* arc bound to be
prosperous; th ro is no lielp for it, the
very nature of things renders it absolutely
certain. Railroads and manufactories de
velope the resources of the country more
than any thing else; they furni-h profita
ble and constant employment to hundreds
and mousands of poisons, male and fe
male, who would otherwise b unemploy
ed; while they create a home demand for
everything grown upon om;soil.and keep
a large, immense amount ot capital at
work among us, where it properly belongs,
instead of letting it goto those who are
hostile to us and our institution*, whose
only desire is to rob us of our property.
It is by these things, together with the ap
plication of machinery to almost every
species of industry, that the northern
people have risen to their prosperous, iu-
dependeiitcouditioii,assisted by tin plun
dering of us of the south. Here we can
learn lessons of wisdom, leaving out
the rascality of the instructors; and, if
we are wise, we will be much profited by
the same. It is the spirit of enterprise,
fostered and kept up by them, that brings
prosperity to any people, and unless such
a spirit is appreciated aud assisted pros
perity will forever be a stranger to those
who do not do so. But such, we feel as
sured, will be the case of the southern
people, they having learned by bitter ex-
pOFienee, the folly of thus doing. Henee-
f>rth, unless we are greatly mistaken,'
genius and enterprise will lie duly appre
ciated aud justly rewarded, whenever de
serving, by the people of the South.
The ssirit of enterprise now at work in
tiff) south, if fostered and assisted, will
make her a great country, the richest tin- j
der the sun; the different lines of railroad,
now under construction, will, when com-
I>lnted throw her nearer together, while
they will bring her products into market;
cities, towns and villages will spring up, as
it wcre.hy magic, through winch the iron
horse will pursue his firery coursethe
dense forest, where now the wild beasts
roam in Undisturbed possession, must fall
before the axe of the sturdy backwoods
man ; where nothing presents itself to the
wanderingeye of the weary traveller, save
unbroken wilderness, in a few years ah .
will be life and animation; the lonely Her
ron will have to seek the inmost recesses
of our swamps; and morasses, where the
jieettlential breeze rises fresh from the pu
trid nia«<, if she wishes to rear her young
beyond ihe sight of nan, and the inelau-
• holy notes ot the Whip-poor-will will fall
faintly upon the ear. Tne whole (ace of
nature must change; but it will be for the
better.
A great destiny awaits the south; her
many aud varied resources are beiag ra-
pidly deuploped; her rich stores of miner
al wealth, hitherto locked in the inouti-
tuin’a rock-bound side, are being opened,
and qnanttiies of ore, of valuable kinds,
find their way to market; immense coal- 1
lipids have been discovered, yielding an
abnndano* «f fuel. Tlie course of the
south is ouward and upward ; the sea of
prosperity is just before her, upon which
hIm m about entering, impelled by the
power«!'out' rpriao, w Uonj impetus is so
great and powerful that nothing can stay
it.
But we must, for thp present, close our
remarks upon this pleasing subjec ; want
of tim<‘ and space forbids us saying any
thing further; at another time, however,
we will recur to it again.
ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.
THE BEGGAR’S DAUGHTER.
The intelligent Varis correspondent of
the St. Louis Republican, gives us the fol
lowing sprighily sketch of a new actress,
who is about to make her debut in Paris,
and who is creating an immense sensation
beforehand, on account ofher beauty and
accomplishments.
The lady is about thirty years of age.
but her life has already been varied
enough to suit the most greedy romancer.
First, abandoned by her mother in the
streets of Paris, she begged her bread from
door to door, and slept wherever she could
find a shelter, until by force of begging
and economising, she purchased an old
second-hand guitar, and wiih that she
went a!>o«t singing half a dozen of the
most popular songs, in every court-yard of
the great city. Her youth, for she was
only thirteen years ot age. and the ex-
treme loveliness of her child-like counte
nance favored her greatly, and sous and
open silver pieces fell in showers at
her feet wherever she sang. She had a
small room in the sixth story of a house in
one ot the most popular quarters of the
city ; and there she lived quietly alone,
coming home as soon as ij was dark, aud
going out early in the morning to follow
her businuss. One evening, about six
months after she commenced the street
singing, she was sitting in her little room,
studying over the words of a new song,
when she thought she heard a groan in
the next room to her. She did not know
her neighbors at all, indeed had never seen
either, but she got up and went out, and
knorked at the door of the room from
whence she now distinctly heard the
groans repeated. There was no answer.
The little girl ran to the stairs and call“d
for help, but few people pay any attention
to cries that came trom the sixth story,
and the child waited in vain for someone
to come. (Then she found site was not
heard, she returned to the door, and turn
ing the knob found that it yielded, and a
moment after slip was in the room, but in
complete darkness. She ran back to her
own room, got a light, and returned, when
a sight met her eyes, such as ever, she,
who was accustlmted to misery, had never
seen. The oder of the room in the first
place was almost insupportable: piles of
rotten vegetables and old bones lay pro
miscuously strewn about the floor, aud in
one comer on a band of damp straw, lay
an old woman groaning in pain. The
child went to her and spoke to her, where
upon the old hag started as if she had
h'tm bitten, but immediately turned (kt
face to the wall again. The little girl
thinking she was very ill, left the joom
and went herself for a doctor; he came,
and disgusted with the appearance ofthe
room and odor, declared he could do
nothing until the patient was removed to
a better place; but the old woman swore
she would die where she was, aud all re
monstrances were vain). The doctor,
therefore, prescribed as well as he could,
but the next day the old woman died : but
before her death she questioned the little
girl about her former life, and finally re
vealed to her that she was watching over
the dealhlied ofher own mother: aud that
she had amassed a small sum of money,
which her daughter would find in the
straw, After the old woman’s body was
taken from the house, accordingly, the
young girl Searched, and found an old
petticoat; in which was found no less a
sum than 8,000 francs, in gold and silver.
All this the old woman had got by begging
and by picking aud searching in the
streets. Her daughter, upon finding her
self the possessor of such a fortune, placed
the greatet portion of it in the savings’
bank, and then placed herself in a good
boarding school, where her intelligence
soon developed itself, and at seventeen
years of age she was the most accom
plished, and by far the most beautiful girl
iu tiie school.
It had always been her intention, when
she had finished her education, to go on
the stage, but a soiree given by the mis
tress of the school, a young gentleman, the
son of a General of the empire, who had
left him the title of baron and a large for
tune, saw our heroine, fell in love with
tier, and soon after married her. For the
first two or three years nothing occurred
to dflfcurb their union; but suddenly the
young wife,who had hitherto shown her
self amiable, tender, and devoted, clMmgi d
entirely. Her spirits became unequal and
she no longer seemed satsfied with the
quiet happinessjof her home. Arrived at
dial stage of Iter youth, at the age when
all tins forces develop themselves, un un
settled aud ardent nature struggled great
ly against Iter good instinct. She showed
an inclination tor coquetting, slid the pas
sion for gambling seized upon her with
uncontrollable violence. Her husband suf
fered and trembled in silence. With that
weaknesH very common to tender hearts,
he had become a secondary personage in
his house, aud could not now regain the
power he had so quietly given up. Mad
ame had already lost large sums
at cards, and had secretly sold her dia
monds and replaced them by false stones.
TNie poorhttsband regretted not having
authority enough to bring about a reform,
and etqp the desperate course of his wife.
Ho woujd have given a great d.i*l to had
a jieaceful existence in the country, but
lie knew that at the first words any such
proposition would have been firmly ob
jected to. His perplexity was very great,
when a good idea came into his head.
Among the saloons of the elegant world
where gambling was allowed, there was
one more dangerous than the others, lie-
cause the worse sort of gambling was per
mitted and a very mixed society received.
Mr. X. consented to allow himself and his
wife presented to the gentleman of this
house, and he marched resolutely into the
abyss. Madame soon placed herself at a
card table,and immediately a middle-aged
gentleman came and placed himself oppo
site her. They played, and at the first
round the gentleman won a hundred louis,
and soon the losses of the beautiful game-
stress amounted to twenty thousand
francs.
“Shall we double?” asked her partner.
“Yes,” she answered, trying to preserve
her calmness.
She lost again, and her edversary
asked:
“Shall we double?’’
This continued question, and the un-
luek\ issue of the game was repeated se
veral times. Frightened at first, Madame
X. thought at la*t that h r partner was a
very gallant man, who wanted to lead
her on to acquit her debt at a single blow
by playing until the luck should change.
Ihu when the debt amounted to a hun
dred thousand crowns the gentleman
arose, excused himsell, and said :
“ W’e will stop now. MndamP? if you
please; you owe me three hundred thou
sand francs.”
This annouccment caused a gn at ex
citement in the saloon, and Madame X.
retired with despair in her heart. For the
first time she was afraid ot her husband.
However, the terrible confession must be
mad 11 him; she made it, pale, trembling,
and on her kness.
“Rise, my love,” said her husband, in a
sad but affectionate tone, “'ll is a misfor
tune which cannot now be helped. We
must nay the debt. • We shall be nearly
ruined, but your honor will be saved.”
The creditor arrived soon afterwards,
and Mr. X. went with him to his notary.
On his return he said to his wife:
“Al! that remains to us now is my little
domain in Auergue. I am well content
myself there, but it will be a gloomy abode
for voii,and that is what afflicts me.”
Touched by such exquisite kindness,
Madame X. set out for the country \wlh-
out regretting Paris and her disastrous
pleasures. After so much excitement, a
country life seemed delightful to her.
Ten years passed aw ay, and Madame
X. said to her husband one day, that they
had been the happiest yeara of her life;
and that nothing would disturb her peace,
it it was not for the thought of the large
sum of money she had made him pay.
“Console y ourself,” replied the husband;
“our economies w ould have more than re
paid your loss ; “but you lost nothing, end
our fortune is now doubled. The gentle
man who played with you is one of my
friends, who played on my account.”
The joy of the wife was extreme, and
they soon afterwards returned to Paris.
But Mr. X. was induced to endorse for
several friends, and in two short years
he lost all that he was worth. His w ife
is now going on the stage to try and re
pair the losses of her husband. I leave
ittoyouifher life has not been varied
enough.
a taleUfjealoisy.
THE baronet’s STORY.
The following story was related to
mo by an old friend, bish baronet, and
as far as my memory serves I will give
it to you in his own words :
About four mouths after my mar
riage, it was my wont, each morning
after breakfast, to stroll about my gar
dens and fields, until, perhaps, four o'
clock, at which hour 1 returned home
to enjoy my wife’s society: and when
the weather {icrmitted we occasionally
took a walk or ride.
One morning feeling myself not quite
well I returned much earlier than usu
al, about elovon o’clock, and went into
the house by a back entrance; as nei
ther knocking nor ringing announced
my arrival, my wife not aware of mv
return.
1 sought her first in the drawing
room but not finding here there procee
ded to her bed-room, and while passing
through my dressing-room to it I was
surprised by a sudden rush to the bed
room door, which was instantly bolted
within. I distinctly beard a low whis
pering and ns 1 thought, hurried reced
ing steps: yet, altogether, I was not
kept waiting more than a few seconds.
My wife’s maid 0|>eued the door, when
to mv great perplexity 1 beheld my
wife’s usually pale face suffused with
crimson blushes. I also detected her
inameuvtag a comb through her hair to
to hide, hs I instantly suspected, her
blushes trom me, or her disorderly
curls.
“What is the meaning of all this?”
thought i, “it is strange ! the maid too
looks confused and much frightened !”
M) wife did not hasten to meet me
with her usually sunny welcome ; there
waa not even one smile to greet me.—
At length, recovering herself a little,
she with a hesitating manner said—
“Well, love how goes on the farm <’
But I waa grieved, for the first time
iuiuylifc. 1 lelt tiiut I was not wel
come. I felt something was going on
that i was not to know. So merely
saying “1 will tell you when we meet
in the drawing-room,” 1 abruptly quit
ted iter.
Not knowing whither I was going
or why 1 suffered so sudden so fright
ful a revolution of feeling,! iiunied
down stairs rush through the hall across
the lawn, and plunged into the fire-path
that leads to sequestered part of the
ground; nor did 1 slacken my pace un
til I was fully a mile from the house,
when 1 threw myself upon the green
bank by the side of the river, the most
miserable of men. I, who one half
hour before was the the happiest of
men, now unaccountably, utterly
wretched.
Pride had, at the moment prevented
my asking for an explanation; that 1
thought, ought to have been given un
sought, and i determined not to ask
my lady why my visit was so unwel
come.
But henceforth I resolved to keep a
watchful eye upon her. A thousand
cruel thoughts srowded upon me now
1 had discovered there w as something
w ife conccalod front me;
she whom I thought so free from all
duplicity.
At this period I had attained my thir
tieth year. Lady was only two
years younger than myself, hut from
sweet girlish style of beauty ami gay,
happy manner, no one could suppose
her more than twenty. She been edu
cated on the continent. I knew that
soon after leaving school she had re
ceived proposals—if she had not actu
ally been engaged ta gentleman—be
fore quitting Paris. Hitherto this cir- !
comstaoce had never given the slijriiteri
uneasiness hut now my thoghts invol
untary reverted to it—haunted me i
day and night.
Between my w ife and her maid
tliere was an unusual intimacy, owing,
as i understood, to the latter being
what is called an old follower of the
tamily. This woman was one of the
tallest 1 ever saw, ami large iu propor
tion her face was handsome, the fea
tures strongly defined her eyes large
intensely dark ami |tenetrating her long
ringlets looked false; in appearance
you would have said that she was near-
erjifty than forty. This |>erson with
tier erect figure w as taken altogether,
what many would pronounce a very
fine looking woman, hut some what
masculine.
Having described my mile’s maid
how shall I tell you of the horihk* sus
picion which seized upon my imagina
tion ?
I thought perhaps, the maid—w as—
Iter foreign lover in disguies!
And yeti did not could not, lajieve
though the frightful idea never absen
ted itself from my brain. To hint such
a thought to my beautiful Agnes my
beloved wife 1 could never bring my
self. I strove rather to banish the idea
from my mind as a suggestion of Sa
tan.
From that day I became much chan
ged both in the outward and inward
man. My happiness was gone my
naturally light and cheerful manner
gave place to irritability and gloom.—
Time flew on days and weeks passed
without any particular occurrence, un
til one morning having arranged to ac
company a gentleman iu tiie neighbor
hood on a fishing excursion, I informed
Agncss that I should not return until
evening when I would bring my friend
to dinner.
Immediately after breakfast, we star
ted in a dog-cart. We had not pro
ceeded more than four miles when iu
turning a corner of the road a hoy who
was shooting sparrows, fired so near
the horse’s heel that it took firight and
dashed off at a furious gallop, nor stop-
ped until we were upset in a ditch.—
We were compelled to give up our day’s
excursion, and leaving the groom to
take careot the bruised horse my friend
and 1 walked smartly home by a short
cut and entered the house; after con
ducting my friend into the drawing
room 1 hastened up stairs to relate our
disaster to Agnes. As 1 passed
through my dressing-room 1 found the
door was again bolted, nod I distinctly
heard my wi^say w ith a faltering
voice, “He is returned ; we are discov
ered!” The scales feel from my eyes
1 had no longer any doubt my worst
fcarwete realised!
Oh, the agony of the moment! I
staggered back a few paces, my head
reeled my heart felt busting and 1 had
nigh falieu to the ground when a fren
zy of dearth- and rage seizing me, 1
nude one rush at the door, and roared
“Instant admittance !” Agnes opened
the door and stood trembling Iteforo me
her attendant Hew to the farthest end
of the apartment. 1 dashed my wife
aside, shouting, this moment quit mv
bouseand darting across the room
seized my rival by the throat, thunder
ing forth confess all, this instant you
die.”
There was a moment pause oh, the
agony of that moment!
Bale as a corpse, Agnes stood trans
fixed w ith horror, gazing breathlessly
upon the tableau before Iter, while in
suffocating accents, my victim sobbed
out, “Oh ! sir sir, as sure as the life is
in mv poor body I have nothing to con
fess hut that I was plucking out mis-
tres's grey hairs.”
The Rev. Dr. 1*. visiting a country
clergyman, (Eng) requested permission
tn preach to his congregation, which
his friends consented to, on condition
that he adapted the language of his ser
mon to the illiterate capacities of his
parishioners, and that he used no hard
words. After the sermon was over
Dr. P. asked his friend whether he had
strictly observed Ids condition I The
other replied that he used severnl words
beyond the comprehension ofkis hear
ers and instanced the w on! frliri'i/, for
which he should have substituted hap
piness. Dr. P. contended that one
word was as plain as the other; and to
prove it, proposed calling in the plough
man, and putting it to him which was
done. W ell Robin do you know the
meaning of the word felicity '” Ea,
said Robin (scratching his head, and
endeavoring to look w ise,) “ees, Sir I
thinks as how I does. ‘’Well Robin
speak up. Wy Sir I dosen’t know uis-
actly hut I thinks it’s some' at inside of
a pig!”
R E N 0 C N CI mTb Air H E L (I RIS M.
The editor of the Evansville Journal
went to another State and took to him
self a wife. On his return home and
on resuming the editorial chair he thus
discourses.
“And in anouncing the fact of our
return home with a rib, we cannot re-
(rain from expressing our profound dis
gust of bachelorism and bachelors—
and we ex|>ert to he disgusted with
both—several weeks. We well know
that iu times gone by we occasionally
made ourselves ridiculous in the eyes
of sensible men by upholding the bach
elor state as the only life of happiness
independence and earthly "lory. But
we were young and green then, and
of course knew hut side of the subject.
Now stand up here, you consarned ug
ly picters of humanity rejoicing in the
name of bachelors, and answ er us a
few questions.
“What an* yon fit in this world ?—
What are you doing for postirity ?—
What interest have you in generations
yet unborn you read of ? Where will
you be when old men if your vile hab
its ever permit you to arrive at a good
old age ? Won’t you he like lonely,
seared and scathed in a big clearing
without a companion and your life un
protected from the frosts by young sap
lings and shrubs at your feet? Or
won’t you belike pumpkins in a corn
field, more prominent because of your
prodigious ugliness than the stalks at
your side laden w ith golden grain ?—
Hold your head up and talk like men
whether you can act so or not. Now
don’t you feel ashame of yourselves?
Look at the girls about all smiles and
sugar—hearts overflowing with love
ready to be spilled on the first good fel
low that can touch their sympathies—
feelings rich as cream, which by a kind-
red spirit can soon l»e worked into but
ter and spread over your life till you are
as happy as the birds of spring, Look
at ’em aud feel the disgusting [(osition
you occupy in the cabbage garden of
humanity. What are you holding hack
for ? Now just reform—put on your
I vest looks and your other coat—visit
the girls, ice cream them talk to them
prettily drive them, walk them, please
them—then propose, get accepted, mar
ry, and—the country will rely on you
as a faithful and well disposed citizen
People who engage in litigation
should always employ great lawyers
to argue their cases before juries.—
Many a great law yer has won cates,
simply by flattering jut ies, when argu
ment, reason, and law entirely out of
the question. We have heard a good
story of a juryman in Maine, w ho had
lieeti listening to the |>ersuasivo plea
ding of R, A. L. Codtnau of Portland.
After retiring with his brother jury
men for the purpose of agreeing upon
a verdict his mind was filled w ith the
great orator who had been addressing
him, that he entirely forgot the case,
and wheti lie w as asked for hi* opinion
all that could begot out of him was—
“Pm for Codman.”
Value ovNewspapers.—We might
mention many instances of depravity
arising mainly from a neglect to take
the (mpers,” some of them so shocking
withal that we dare not publish them.
A rare instance occurred one Sunday.
A good old lady, who w as always reg
ular in Iter place on the Sabbath, at
at church was missed for two s*re*e>"
sive Sabbaths. In the afternoon of
the second Sabbath a friend called eu
her fearing she was sick, and found
herself and two daughters up to their
elbows in soap-suds.
“What said the visitor, “It can’t he
Mrs. Jones, that you do upyottr w ash
ing on Sunday ?”
“Sunday!” said Mrs Jones, “you
don’t go for to snv its Sunday ?”
“I do.”
“O crc-a-ted cndnrrnce! I told my
husband ’twonld he so. He said ho
was too poor to take a paper and -top
ped it and since that time things have
gone on badly. Lord forgive us for
past, hut I'll set ni}’ foot down that we
shall have a paper after to-day.
Eiu imtixg Children at Home.
Few parents realize how much their
children can Ik* taught nt home, by tie
voting a few minutes to their instruc*
tion every day. Let a parent make
the experiment with his sou often years
old for a single week, and only during
the hour not s|K*nt in school. Let him
make a companion ofliis thill, eon-
verse with him familiarly, put to him
questions, answer in<juries communi
cate facts, the result of his reading or
observations,"awaken his curiosity,ex
plain ditiirullics, the meaning of things,
and all this in an easy jilayfui manner
without ecemiii'r to impose a task, and
he will he astonished at the progress
which will be made.
Hasty am> Cool.—There is a sto-
ry going of a young man who was
onco invited to dine with a gentleman
of rathe r sudden temper. The dining
room was on the second llonr, and the
principal dish a tine roast fowl. When
the old gentleman undertook to carve
it, he found the knife rather dull ami in
a sudden passion flung it down stairs
alter the servant who had just brought
it; whereupon the young man seized
the fowl and with admirable dexterity
flung it after the knife.
“M hat on earth do you mean ?” ex
claimed the old man, as soon as lie
could speak.
“1 beg your pardon,’ was the cool
reply “1 thought you were going to dine
down stairs.”
Rules to he ohskrxed in an Edi
tor’s Sanctum.—1. Come at all
times. W hut business has he to ho
private ?
2- Take bis papers w ith perfect free
dom. What use can he have for I hem.
If you bring in a long communi
cation just “to fill up Ids jiaper.” insist
on rending and discuss ing it. Why
shouldn’t he he glad to spend an hour
in listening ?
4 If you see his exchanges (bled up
in an orderly manner on his table seize
and scatter them. What business has
he to he particular ?
5 If you find Ai* chair vacant at any
time, sit in it. Why should lie wish to
keejt his stationery and scissor ings from
1 his visitors?
6 But if you can’t get that chair,
though there be a dozen others in the
sanctum, he sure to sit on a table and
l>ut your feet on another. Ifyou can’t
| practice such innocent freedom in an
Editor’s room, where can you do it ?
7 If you see the Editor particularly
1 engaged iu writing “a leader” out cop-
1 py,” talk to him as industriously as
you can. Will he not be gratified to
hear you ? Of course he will.—T'x-
change.
Young ladfos educated 1o despise man
kind, generally finish their studiesbyjrun-
! uing away with the footman. Jr
Obtuse.—A Yankee gentleman
conveying a British gentleman round in
order to view of the different objects
of attraction in the city of Boston
brought him opto Bunker Hill. They
stood looking at the splendid shaft
while the Yankee said :
“ This is the place where Warren
l fell."
“Ah!” replied the Englishman,
evidently not posted up in local histori
cal matters; “did it hurt him much ?
The native looked at him with the ex
pression of fourteen Fourth-of-Julys in
liis countenance.
“Hurt,’’said he, “ha was killed sir.”
“Ah! he was eh?” said tiie stranger
; still eyeing the monument, and compe
ting its height layer, “well I should
think be would have been to fail so
far.”