The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, June 23, 1854, Image 1
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VOL.1. GREENVILLE, S. C.: FRIDAY MORNING, JUNE 23, 1854. I * N0~6. 1
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<C{rt ganttttrtt CnttryrtBf,
A REFLEX OF POPULAR EVENTS.
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. *
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ljt I5fnrfb dftmt Jfinsir. ;
Ibe* if Mlrts toe ?obe, ?
The hearts to love I liow softly sweet 1
The flying moments seem, .
When pns^d with those from wtom we meet j
The glow of friendship's Warn ;
That light, that beauty warm with tears, <
Immortal rainbow of love's spheres I
With friends the hours have golden huea?
The evenings pose awayLike
crimson tints from violets' dews,
At the last look of day ;
While joy gleams beautifufnnd faint,
Like showers of moonlight round n saint 1
The hearts we love t that joyous tone
Seem* evermore to bring
The thoughts that memory loves to own.
Fair as the flowers of spring ;
When fancies pure as angels hold?
Sweet dreams, like roses drcneb'd with gold 1
Within our home let friendship dwell,
.Nq other charm we seek ;
, The meeting smile, whjn bosoms swell
With more than tongues can speak.
Has such a power, such feeling worth.
To me, 'tis heaven gracing earth 1
I , I I BH*[feg?
51 Ifortj nf tjjt (Drfnu.
I V e &> e o$ 1 h e 10 e c k. * j
father, an invalid, 60 yean or more of age,
? was on hi* way, in company with bis son to
his son's house, there to die and be buried.
They were strangers to jue, but I made them
welcome to my house as if it were their own,
and insisted on their using it. JJuL [
<> Miss Sinclair was the first woman who had
| , 4 crossed iny doobMpne since I had been the
possessor of the nan. And well might she
nave been loved by better men than L She
I was very small and very beautiful?of the
use of Veouujrhich all men worship as the
perfection of #bnianly beauty, but having a
soft blue oft, strangely shaded by jet black
i , brows. :?mar face presented the contrast of
Sy of whiteness in the complexion, set off
W h*ir? *nd yet thai hair hanging in
wftg curie, unfunded by comb or fillet,
*# the whole fuse lit up with en expression
a * PP*;
J&. SJlsa'tf vSIfL
I was a lonely sort of a bachelor, and had
never yet known what young men style "the
passion." I had been a sailor from boyhood,
and when I was twenty-five, I may safely
say no man was more fit to command a vessel
among the mariners of England. And
at this time my uncle died and left me his
fortune. I had never seen hiui, and hardly
knew of his existence; but I had now speaking
evidence of the fact that he existed no
longer.
1 was verv young, strong in limbs, and I
think stout heart, and I was possessed of a
rental of some thousands per annum. "What
bar was there to my enjoyment of the goods
of life I No bar, indeed, but I felt sorely the
lack of means of enjoyment I was a sailor
in every sense. My education was tolerable,
and I had read some books, but my tastes
were nautical, and I nincd on shore. You
will easily understand, then, why it was that
I built a yacht and most of my time on her.
Slio was a fine craft, suited to my taste in
every respect, and I remember w ith a sigh, !
now, the happy days I have spent in the
"Foam.' I used to read considerably, in my i
cabin, jmd occasionally, indeed weekly, inn- i
ted parties of gentlemen, to cruise with me. 1
But the foot of a ladv had never been on the 1
deck of my l>oat, anrl T began to have an
old bachelor's prido in thut fact Yet, I con- i
fess to yon a secret longing for somo sort of
affection different from any I had heretofore
known, and a restlessness when men talked
of bcautiftil woman in iny presence. i
One summer evening I was at the old hall
in which my undo had died, and was entire- i
ly alone. Towards sunset I was surprised
while looking oVer my books, by the cntrancetof
a gentleman hastily announced, and
giving indications of no little excitement
M Your pardon, air, for my unceremonious
entrance. My horses have run away with
my carriage, and dashed it to pieces near
your park gate. My father was badly injured,
and my sister is now watching him.
I bsve Liken the liberty to ask your permis- .
aion to bring him to your residence."
Of course, my consent was instantly given,
and my own carriage dispatched to tie park
' gate. %-.*, fifcygfl*..
Mr. Sinclair was a gentleman of fortune,
residincr about 40 miles from me: and his
loini tabic determination. For Mary Sin- I
ilair had a mind of her own, and a tor-see- s
ng one too. She was 10 then. ti
lie father died in my house, and I atten- v
led the solemn procession tlyit bore'his re- a
nans over, hill and valley, to the old church I
n which his ancestors were laid?Once after h
hat I called on the family, and then avoid- v
sd them. I cannot tell you what was the I
vatme of the aversion I had to entering that ii
muse, or approaching the influence of that a
natch less girl. I believe that I feaicd the r
nagrc of her beauty, and was impressed with I
ny own unwortliincss to love her or be be- I
oved by her. I knew her associates were t
>f the noble, the educated, the refined, and o
hat I Was none of these. \Vbat, then, could >
[ expect but misery, if I yielded to the charm 1;
>f that exquisite beauty, or graces which 1 f
mew w ire in her soul ? \
A year passed, and I was a very boy in ^
ny continued thoughts of her. I persuaded v
myself a thousand times that I did not love t
ier, and a thousand times determined to fi
wove it by entering her presence. At length t
t threw myself into the vortex of London so- n
licty, aud was lost in the w hirioooL
One evening, at a crowded* assembly, I ?
vas standing near the window in a recess, n
alking with a lady, when I felt a strange v
hrill. I cannot describe it to you, but its 1
sffect was visible to my companion, who in- a
itantly said? " v
"You are unwell, Mr. Stewart, are you tl
lot t Your face became suddenly flashed, n
md your hand trembled so as to shake the s
surtain." c
It was inexplicable to myself, but I was o
.Un tied at the announcement of Mr. and Miss
Sinclair. I turned and saw she was entering n
in her brother's ann, more beautiful than e
nrer. Uow I escaped, I did not know, but I v
lid so. o
Thrice afterwards I was warned of her o
presence in this mysterious way, till I believ- w
id there was some link between us two, of ti
in unknown but powerful character. I have d
lince learned to believe the communion of a
ipirit with spirit, sometimes without material v
intervention. li
I heard of her frequently now as engaged a
to marry a Mr. Waller, a man whom 1 knew I
well, and was ready to do honor as worthy \
ot her love. When at length I saw, ss I s
supposed, very satisfactory evidence of the v
truth of thp rumor, 1 left London, and met s
them no more. The same rumor followed il
tne in letters, and yet I was mad enough to ji
Iream of Mary Sinclair, until months after I 1
iwoko to the sense of what a fool 1 had been, j
Douviuced of this, I went on board mytyaMit c
ibout midsummer, and four weeks nevcrwet t
foot on shore. * i:
One sultry day, when pitch was frying on
the deck, in the hot sun. wo rolled henvilv i
in the Buy of Biscay, and I passed the after- ti
noon under a sail on the larboard quarter ii
leek. Towards evening, I fancied a storm n
fras brewing, and having made all ready for
t, smoked on the taffrail till midnight, and
hen turned in. Will you believo lue, I felt
hat strange thrill through my veins as I
lay in my hammock, and awoke with it fifteen
minutes before the watch on deck called
suddenly to the man at the helm, 'Tort?
port your helm! a sail on the lee bow.
Stfeady so."
1 was on deck in an instant, and saw that
i still breeze was blowing, and a small
schooner showing no lights, had crossed our
fore-foot within a pistol shot, and was now
bearing up to the northwest The sky was
cloudy and dark, but- the breeze was very
steady, and I went below again, and alter
endeavoring to account for the emotion I
barl felt, in any reasonable way, I at length
fell asleep, and the rocking of my vessel, as
she flew before the wind, gave just motion
enough to my hammock to lull me into a
aouud slumber. l>ut i drcamod all night of 1
Mary Sinclair. I drcamod of her, but it was
in unpleasant dreams. I saw her standing
on the geek of the uFoam," and as I would
fancy at times,that my arms were around her
her head lay on my shoulder; and then by
the strango mutations of dreams, it was not
I, but Waller, that was holding her, and I
was chained to a post, looking at them; and
she would lusa him, and again the kiss would
ba burning on my Hps. The morning found
me wide a wake, reasoning myself out of my
fancies. By noon i had enough to do. The
ocean was roused. A touipost was out on
the sea, and the Foam went before it.
Night came down gloomily. The very
blackness of darkness was on the water as we
flew before the terrible blast. I was on deck
lashed to the wheel, by which I stood, with
a knife ready within reach to cut the lashing
if necessary. We had not a rag of sail on
her, and yet she moved more like a bird
than a boat, from wave to wave. Again and
again, a blue wave went over us, but she
came up like a duck and shook of the water
and dashed on. Now she staggered as a
blow was on the weather bow, that might
have staved a man of war, but kept gallantly
on; and now she rolled heavily and slowly,
but never abated the swift flight towards
shore. It was midnight when the wind was
highest The howling of tho cordage was
demoniacal. Now ascrsam, now ? .Uriek, .
now a wail, and now a laugh of mocking
madness. On, on we flaw.
I looked up, -end turned quite around thafa
horizon, but oouldMajOio sky, no ?&, nojl
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felt Again that strange thrill and at the intent
fancied a denser blackness ahead ; and
he next with a crash and plunge^the Foam
rus gone 1 Down went my gallant boat,
,nd with her, another vessel, unseen in the
>lack night. The wheel to which I had
een lashed, had broke loose, and gone over j
k ith me before she sank. It was heavy and
cut it away, and seeing a spar, went down
a the deep eea above my boat, I seised it,
nd a thrill of agony shot through me as I
ecognized the delicate finger of a woman,
drew her to me, and lashed her to the spar
>y my side, and so, in the black night, we
wo alone floated away over the stormy
<*an.
My companion wns scnselees?for aught 1 .!
new, dead. A thousand emotions passed
lirough my mind in the next five minutes.
Vho was my companion on the slight spar I
Vliat was the vessel I had Bunk ? "Was. I
nth the body only of a human being, or was
hero a spark of life left 1 and how could I
an it to a flame f Would it not be better
o let her sink than float off with me, thus
lone 10 starve or die of thirst and agony.
I chafed her hands, her forehead, her
houlders. In the denso darkness I could
lot see a feature of her face, nor tell if she
rere old or young?scarcely white or black,
lie silenc0*bn the sea was "fearful. So long
s I had been on the deck of my boat, the
irind whistling through the ropes and around
lie spars had made a continual sound ; but
ow I heard nothing but the occasional
pringing of the spray, the dash of a foam
ap or the heavy sound of the wind passing
n my curs.
At length she moved her hand feebly in
nine, lfow my heart leaped at that slight
videncc that I was not alone on the wide
rorld. I redoubled my exertions. I passed
ue of her arms over my neck to keep it out
f the water, while I chafed the other hand
nth both of mine. I felt the clasp of that arm
ighten, I bowed my head towards hers. She
rew me closer to her, and laid her chock
gainst mine. I let it rest there?it might
rarms hers, aud so help to give her
ife. Then she nestled close to my bosom,
ud whisjiered "thank you." "Why did your
train so wildly throb iu iny heart at that
vhispered sentence J She knew not where
he was, that was clear. Her mind was
rendering. At that instant the end of the
par struck some heavy object, and we were
lashed by a huge wave on it, and to my
oy were left on a floating dock. I cut the
ashes from the spar, and fastened my comtaaion
and myself to a part of the new raft
>r weeck, I knew not which, and all the time
hat nrm was around my neck, and rigid as
f in death.
Now came the low wild wail thatpreceedes
he breaking of the storm. The air seemed
illed with viewless spirits mournfully singtig
and sighing. I never thought of her as
ii rtliiil/v nlaft iKim a Ts.
t*Mj Vino iui?U t* Ituilinu UUIU^I It Wits
hn( humanity, that dear likeness of life that
ndeared her to me. I wound my arm around
ler and drew her close to my heart, and
owed my head over her, and in the wildness
>f the moment I pressed my lips to hers in a
ong passionate kiss of inte&so love and ago>y.
She gave it hack, and murmured some
mine of endearment, wound both arms around
ny neck, and laying her head on my sliouller
with her forehead pressed upon my neck,
'ell into a ealm slumber. That kiss burns
>n my lips this hour. Half a century of the
old Kisses of the world have not sumced to
:hill its influence. It thrills me now as then.
X was madness with idol worship of the
orro God gave us in the image of himself
vhich in that hour I adored as even God.
I foci the unearthly joy again to-<lay, as I
emember the clasp of those unknowu arms,
md the soft pressure of that forehead. I
mew not, I cared not, if she were old and
laggard, or young and fair.
I oi\jy knew and rejoiced with joy untold
hat she was human, mortal of my own kin
>y the great Father of our race.
It was a night of thought, and emotions
md phantasms that never can be described,
doming dawned grayly. The first faint
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fie.uii ui iigni suowea mo a driving cioua
ibove my head, it was welcomed with a
ihudder. I detested light?I wanted to
lont on over that heaving ocean, with that
orm clinging to mo and my arms around it,
md my lips ever and anon pressed to the
passionless lip of the heavy sleeper. I aak?d
no light. It was an intruder on my donain,
and would drive her from ray embrace,
[ was mad.
But as I saw the face of my companion
gradually revealed iu the dawning light,
is my eyes began to make out ono by one
Jio features, and at length the terrible truth
?me slowly burning into my brain, I murnured
aloud in my agony, "God of heavens,
ilio is doad 1" ,And it was Mary Sinclair.
But she was not dead.
We floated all day long on the sea, and at
nidnighttho next night I hailed a ship and
her took us off. Every man from the Foain
md other vessel was saved with one e*copion.
The other vessel was the Fairy, a
lehoooer yatcht belonging to a friend of Miss
Pwhom she and her brother
f ladies and gentlemen had
* days previously for a week's
ra^w I explained that
4k - #
what interpretation I gave to the wild tumult
of emotions all that long night.
1 married Mary Sinclair; and I buried her
thirty years afterwards; and I sometimes
have the same evidence of her presence now,
that I used to have when she lived on the
Rnn>e earth with me.
&e Sohidbirj g.
It is the duty of every one to take some
active part as actor on the stage of life.?
Some seem to think that they can vegetate,
as it were, without being any thing in particular.
It is expected be should "act Well
his part." Ho must be something. He has
a work to perform, which it is his duty to
attend to. We are not placed here to grow
up, pass through the various stages of life,
and then die without having done any thing
lor tlie benefit ot tlie human race. It is. a
principle in the creed of the Mohomedans,
that every ono should have a trade. No
Christian doctrine could be better than that.
Is a man to be brought up in idlenc&s ? Is
he to live upon the wealth which his ancestors
have acquired by frugal industry ? Is
he placed here to pass through life like an
automaton ? Has he nothing to perforin as
a citizen of the world ? A man who does
nothing is useless to his country as an inhabitant.
A man who does nothing is a
mere cipher. He does not fulfil the obligations
for which he was sent into the world;
and when he diei, he has not finished the
*ork that was given him to do. He is a
mere hlauk in creation. Some are horn
with riches and honors upon their heads.?
Hut does it follow that they have nothing
to do in their career through life! There
are certain ditties for every one to perform.
lie. Something. Don't live like a hermit, and
die un regret ted.
See that young man, no matter what are
his circumstances, if he has no particular
business to pursue, he will not accomplish
much. Perhaps he has a father abundantly
able to support him. Perhaps that
farther has laboured hard to obtain a competence
that is sufficient for his sons to live
in idleness. Can they go abroad with any
degree of self-complacency, squandering
away tlie money which their fathers have
earned by hard labour! No one who lias
tlie proper feelings of a citizen, who wishes
to be ranked among the useful members of
society, would live such a life.
Be Something. Don't he a drone. You
may rely upon your present possession, or on
your future prospects, but these riches may
fly away, or hopes may be blighted ; and if
you have no place of your own, in such case,
ten to one, you will find your path beset with
thorns. \V hat may come upon you before
you are aware of it; and, having no profession,
you find yourself in anything but an |
enviable condition. It is, therefore, important
that you should be something. Don't depend
upon Fortune, for she is a tickled suprvrvvt
it'll!nKi aAah fuvlo u-lian vaii loan iiWAn
I'v/iUj n uivu v/i wu iwiio nu^u j vu i\ rtii u|/v/u
ner with the greatest confidence. Trust to
you* own exertions.
Be Something. Pursue that vocation for
which you are fitted by nature; pursue it
faithfully and diligently. You have a part
to act, and the honor in performing the part
depends upon yourself. It is sickening to
see a parcel of idle boys hanging around a
farther, speuding the money which he has
earned by his industry, without attempting
to do anything for themselves. uBe something,"
should be their motto. Every one
is capable of learning some "art, trade, or
mystery," and can earn a competence for
himself. He should be something, and not
bring down the grey hairs of his father to
the grave. He should learn to depend upon
himself. Idle boys, living upon a parent,
without any profession or employment arc ill
quailified for good members of society.?
And we regret to say, that it is often the
case that it it the parent's fault that they
are thus brought up. They should be taught
to be something, to know how to provide for
themelves in case of necessity; and to act
well their part:?that will reap the honor
which therein lies.?Sear's New-York
Magazine.
Lov* and Dibt.?-There is very little difference
between the man in love and the man
in debt Both the debtor and the lover
commence operations by promisaary notes;
the former giving bills to his creditor, and
the latter needing billeit deux to his fair
one. The lover, l?y promisingd|? cherish, is
honoured with a place in the lady's good
hpoks; and the debtor, by promising to pay,
winneth admission to the creditor's ledger.
Love keepeth its captive awake all night; so
doth debt. Love is uncalculating, and debt
holdeth no reckoning. The man who oweth
money is in need of brass, and ao is the swain
who poppeth the question.
Distribute cheerftffif m the time fo health;
for djatribunqfl on a death bed seems rather
a cheat frhaja charity, in vmuch an it is rather
a dUlributaott of another man's goods than
Fuwurr, good humor, and complacency
of temper outlive all the oharats of a fine |
fkca, and make the demy of it fouttble.
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(fljmiglits an iiurntimt. i
SdqeateO Dfotbelrs. <
There aro ninny considerations which go i
to prove the necessity of bestowing a proper i
education upon.the female sex. It is wo- '
man's privilege to watch over the expanding '
iTiiiiu cf youth, tO CitUii the Sr?t gliinpses 1
of the awakening intellect It is her hand <
that traces the first characters upon the pure '
page of childhood. It is hers to guard it 1
from stain and blot, and keep it unsullied *
and fair. She has the opportunity of moulding
the faculties of the young mind in almost
any form her judgement may direct.
Let woman be well educated, nud a broad
foundation would be laid of future prosperi- r
ty, lionor and renown. The seed of virtue ,
would be implanted in the genial soil of ^
fresh young minds, and those principles in- e
stilled whitHi would be "a 6un and a shield" ^
in the Rattle of life.
uWhai does France most need"?asked ?<
Nnpoloon on a memorable occasion. "Edu- r
cated Mothbs,"?was the reply from the t
lips of a true-hearted and noble woman. It is t
what every country needs, in order that her j
sons may be the "jewels'' of the State and her ^
daughters the ornaments of society. >
In history, we are told of a celebrated gen- ,
eral who led his little son to the alter of Ju- g
piter, and caused him to swear eternal enmi- f
ty to a people who were then the masters of {
the world;?and the after life of that boy ,
proved how well lie kept liis youthful vow. ,
Mothers can accomplish far more than the .
farther of Hannibal, even though their lot be '
cast in an humble home, and their influence ,
exerted no farther than over the youthful (
minds around them. They can lead them r
early to the fountains of knowledge, and ?
teach tliern to practice tb? golden lessons of j
virtue. Let it be remembered that "from a t
good home it is not far to Heaven,"?and v
that the early influences of the Fireside are v
the influences which direct and govjern the t
whole after life. ,
But woman requires education not alone ,
on aocount of tho influence she exerts in the j
Home Circle, but throughout all orders of (
Society. It is true that nature has thrown .
around her extractions which fit her for }
moving in a different sphere from that of (
man, yet still she needs a well-cultivated t
mind in order to enable her to perform her
varied and im]>ortant duties. Her path
through life may lead thro' "flowery meads
and vordant dales," yet it requires all the
boasted powers ascribed to man to enable
her to preserve "the even tenor of her way."
In the discharge of her duties, she has the
same difficulties to contend with, which
throng the pathway of man. And if it be
true that her influence is felt, and deeply
felt, through every portion of society, it
ought certainly to be salutary. In section
of the world are tliev more modest.
i more pure and delicate than among our- 1
selves; but if to these graces was added sui- 1
table mental improvements, the effect upon 1
society in general would be most happy.? '
A loftier moral feeling would be awakened, 1
and wo might, hope to witness the purity
without the extravagance of chivalry. \
The cultivation of the female mind cannot
detract from the power, influence or
pleasure of man. It will bring no "rival in
his kingdom''?it will not render her conversation
less agreeable?it will not render
her judgment loss sound and practical in the
management of domestic atfairs?it will not
render her less capable of performing all the
duties which may devolve upon her in after
years, Let knowledge unroll its ample page
to her view?let her possess the key'to'all the
varied sources of information?let education
enlighten and strengthen her intellectual
powers, and the harvest which would result
would be one of abundant profit and pleasure.
The fireside should l>e the throne of
happiness, and an educated daughter, the
brightest gem of tho circle.
[ Grorgia Horn* Gazette.
?ielT)ei)tpf(j ? due ft! I o 17.
Whew a man is independent in his cirI
rumfttJtnres- he mav suffer hi? rreniun nr hia I
fancy to find a purpose for him, but the first
thing that a young man, without independence,
must look for, is a mode or means of
living. Life is the first subject of consideration.
After this comes the ornamental department.
But we must not begin with the
ornamental. Build the cellars and the kitchen
first, and the dr&whig-rooras afterwards.
Now, elementary instruction of every des- ,
cription is fundamental, and may all be
turned to good account, even for making a ?
living in after life. Light reading is useful |
for enlivening the mind, for cultivating the 1
imagination, and increasing our knowledge j
of the world. But elementary knowledge, ,
the principles of the arts and sciences, and \
perhaps of one or two langugea, is always ]
useful and often indispensable to a right understanding
and a full enjoyment of the ,
Hght literature of any country, lime, therefore,
is never waisted upon it in early life,
and a young man may with perfect confidence
apply theroselvea to the ordinary
school learning of the day, without any suspicion
that be is wasting his time, if no profession
has tot bean selected for him which 1
imperatively demand his attention to other
hi meets. In fact, he i* preparing for himself
a means of living for an honorable profession,
and obeying tlie ftret law of natuire
?the preservation of life. By such diligence
i man eventually obtains a commission?
not, perhaps, in tne army or in die navyg?
lor from any rich or great man; but, as Edvard
Irving used to say, he obtains one
Vom Providence, who rewards him for his
liligence by finding employment for him
vhen he lias fully prepared himself for it.?
it is unreasonable to expect the Commission
vithout the preparation.
I be p of 3 JLoss/
The following circumstance actually occured
in Dublin, once upon a time. Mr. L.
ras much attached to Miss C., the young
>eautiful, and accomplished heiress to a proptrty
of some fifteen thousand per annum ;
>ut, being himself lord of no other earthly
>oesessions than talents and good looks, he
1 never told his love," fearful not only of a
efusal on the part of the lady to reciprocate
lie sentiment, but of the probable imputaation
of mercenary motives by her friends,
diss C., however had sufficient penetration
o discover the genuine and disinterested afcction
for her swain, and the highly praisevortliy
sensitiveness which cju?u?rl Kim *n
brink from its avowal. She was by no
neans indisposed to encourage his suit, but
he consciousness of his comparative poverty
endercd more than the ordinary enoouragenent
necessary to stimulate his courage to
>ropound the decisive inquiry. How was
the, then, to give expression to her sentinents
regarding him, without at tho same
ime overstepping the bounds of 44 maiden
nodesty ?" She proposed a game at cards. t
4 For what stake shall we play ?" asked Mr.
"There's my stake, said the lady,
browing down a sovereign ; " if you win,
'ou win ?if I toin, I win yourself. I am
iware I have no chance of winning though,
igainst so exoert a player as you." Mr. L.
fas indeed about the best player in Dubliu,
whilst his fair antagonist knew little or nothng
of the game. Strange to say, however,
>n this occasion his luck deserted him. The
MX>r gentleman was so unfortunate as to
ose both the game and himself?and toon
he heiress ! Their marriage was celebrated
it St. Peter's church.
Fi8iies Tamed by a Child.?In a quarer
of the town of Hingham, known as
itockynook (Rays a Boston paper,) there is a
jond where a little girl, not sixteen years old,
ivlio resides near the bank, lias tamed the
ishos to a remarkable degree. She began
by throwing crumbs In tho water. Graduilly
the fishes learned to distinguish lior
'ootsteps, and darted to the edge whenever
he approached ; and now they will actually
'eed out of her hand and allow her to touch
heir scaly sides. A venerablo turtle is
among her regular pensioners. The control
of Van Amburgh over his wild beasts is not
more surprising than that which this little
girl has obtained over her fiuny playmates.
Visitors have been attracted from a distance
of several miles (n the -1>?
_ -V ?.?v IV OlIC CAUiUlin*
The fishes will have nothing to do with any
one but their friend. They will trust no one
else let them couio with provender ever so
tempting. Even fishes are not so coldblooded
but they will recognise the law of
kindness, and yield to its all embracing power.
Good and Bad Lock.?I may here, as
well as any where, impart the secret of what
is called good and bad luck. There are men
who, supposing Providence to have an invplacnble
spite against them, bcmoau, in the
poverty of a wretched old age, the misfortunes
of their lives. Luck for ever ran against
them, and for others. One with a good profession
lost his luck in the river, where lie
idled away his timo a fishing, when hfcshi&ld
have been in his office. Another, with a
good trade, perpetually burnt up his luck by
his hot temper, which provoked all his ein?
ployers to leave him. Another, with a lucrative
business, lost his luck by amazing
diligenoe at every thing bnt hi* b<>sin**s.
x _ 1 J- It 1 1 . ?
auuuivr ? nu sieauuy loiiowea ins iraae, as
steadily followed his bottle. Another, who
was honest and constant to his work, erred
by perpetual niisjudgiuents *, ho hicked discretion.
Hundreds lose their luck by indolent
men, and by dishonest gains. A man
never has good luck wliohas a bad wife. I
never knew an early rising, hard working,
prudent man, careful of nis earnings, at d
strictly honest, who oomnlained of had luck.
A good character, good habits, and iron iniustry,
areiinpreguable to the assaults of all
the ill-luek that fools ever dreampt of. But
when I see a tatterdemalion creeping out of
a tavern late in the forenoon, with his hands
stuck into his pockets, the rim of bis hat
turned upland the crown knocked in. I
know that he has bad bad lock, for the.
worst of all luck i* to be a sluggard, a knave,
or a tippler?Lrclurtt to Vounff Mcv, by
H. W.Beechrr.
A Great Lie.?"A great lie," says the
poet Cmbbe, "is like a great fish on dry land,
it may fret and fling, and make a frightful
bother, but it cannot hurt you. You hara
only to keep Mill, and H ml) die of iteelf.'*
jJHPT *
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