Camden journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1852-1852, June 11, 1852, Image 1
THE <'AMIM;\ JOURNAL i
VOLUME 3. ;'*3 CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, JUNE 11, 1852. NUMBER 47.
* THE CAMDEN JOURNAL.
published semi-weekly and weekly by
THOMAS J. WARREN.
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SATURDAY NIGHT.
.'. The week is past; its latest ray
Is vanish'd with the closing day,
And 'tis as far beyond our grasp,
* lis now departing hours to c!acp,
V. ....As to call back that moment bright
.When first creation sprang to light,
fejv; -The week is past; and has it brought
Some beams of sweet and soothing thought?
W ' . And has it left some memory dear
'.Of heavenly raptures tasted here,
Although it ne'er return again,
. ' As moruiue dew, or latter rain!
-^ vt -i" . p
And who would sigh for its return?
We ere but pilgrims born to mourn;
And moments, as they onward flow,
. Cut short the thread of human woe,
And bring us nearer to the scenes
^ Where sorrow ends and heaven begins.
THE STORMS.
, BT CHARLES SWAIN.
rti
E; '-The sky was blue from east to west,
Yet there was anger in the sky,
i, v And coming storm, as well express,
As if the blackest clouds rolled by;
|. .. No bird upon the air was seen,
" Th& leaves hung moveless,as in awe;
A gloom was on the very green,
And fear in everything we saw.
- (
So-sped the day, rtill from tb6 north
r The warring winds drove on the rain.
i f- . And the red tempest gallop'd forth
With lightning hoofacross the plain:
The trees in terror swept the ground,
The oak Iay7 like a giant, thrown;
?A?iitjfroiiitheIchannePd hi'Is around
Tfce narrow floods to spray were blown. I
When by the western ?lope, aloof
From river's marge and torrents bound,
J saw a lowly cottage root
With garden path and field around;
. 9,. - ^n(j frem tjje j00r< UMt0 the blast,
.. <. .. A helpless girl and babe were driven;
' ?v.' , Whose weeping eyes were upward cast
To Him, who sees our tears, in heaven!
Scant was her garb, but from her breast
She tor** the last thin robe she had,
And tenderly her babe carest,
And warmer its poor bosom clad!
She thought upon her shame?her sin?
And scarcely felt the tempest's rout;
Poor girl?the bitter storm within
Hfiifil Smote sharper than the storm without!
, Thesun.fiom forth the rainy cloud,
Fiash'd purpule jewels o'er the sky;
. The mist hung like a silken shroud,
As, robed in gold, the storm rode by!
But she?to misery still a prey,
" Sat shivering cold?the night's lone guest:
Alas! earth's storms speed soon away?
The storms of sin'do never rest!
The Boy and the Panther.
A WILD WESTERN SCENE.
It was a fine morning in August, when little
Samuel Eaton, about seven years old, was making
a dam in the brook that run before his fa
ther's door. He was an only ana beautitui cnnu,
and his mother, almost idolized him. There he
; . was with his trowsers tucked up above his knees,
lip working like a beaver, his mother's eye glancing
i . out from beneath his sunburnt hair, and with
some of his father's strength, tugging at a large
6tone in the bod of the stream.
'Samuel, you had better come in, hadn't you?'
said Hannah, in a tone of half mother and half
mate.
((Ni, 'No, I guess not,' said Samuel.
v An acorn came floating down the stream.?
The boy took it up, looked at it, was pleased, and
'reckoned' in his mind that there were more up
the 'gully,' and when his mother's back was
turned, otf he started for the acorns.
The gorge of the mountain into which he was
about to enter, had been formed (the work of
centuries^ bv the attrition of the stream he had
just been playing in; and walking on a level that
'< . bordered each side of the water, he boldly entered
the ravine. An almost perpendicular wall
or bai k asceuded on each side to the height of
a hundred feet, composed of rocks and crags,
. fretted by decay and torn into fantastic shapes
and positions. A few scattered bushes and trees
1 sought nourishment from the earth that had fallen
from the level above, and excepting their assistance.
and the unseen surface of the rock, this
i&s. natural part seemed inaccessible but to bird and
b^ast. About the eighth of a mile from the entrance
a cataract closed the gorge, throwiug
guardianship of the spirit waters. The verdant
boughs hanging over the bank cast a deep gloom
upon the bed below, while so lofty was the distance,
they seemed to grow up to the sky. Blue
??-! ? ?f iraM tri c/wii nmininir Wwppn
pamiies ui n#?,i ?,v r "I?b .....v._
them.
Hannah soon missed her boy, but as he had
. often wandered to the fields where his father
i was at work, she concluded he must be there,
and checked coming fears with the hope that
FT . be woukLrelurn at the hour of dinner. Wheu
r*" it came, neither Joeiah nor any of his men knew
' \
.< / \
i .. - J ... j.,-. ^
where he was. Then the agitated mother exclaimed,
'He's lost! he's lost! and my poor boy will
starve in the woods,
Gathering courage, she hastily summoned the
family around her, and dispatched them all but
her husband to search in different directions in
the neighborhood forest. To her husband she i
said?
Scour ever)' field you call your own, ana it you
can't find him, join me in the gorge.' <
'He wouldn't go in the gorge, Hannah.' <
'He would go anywhere.'
She knew not why, but a presentiment that
the boy had followed the course of the stream i
dwelt strongly upon her mind. I
I can't find him Hannah,' said the husband, i
as he joined her at the mouth of the gorge.
An eagle flew past the mother as she entered ;
the ravine. She thought to herself, the dread- <
ful birds are tearing my child to pieces; andfran- '
tic, she hastened on, making the walls of the ra- i
vine echo back with her screams for her offspring, i
The only answer was the eternal thunder of 1
the cataract, as if in mockery of her woe, as it i
threw its cold spray upon her hot and throbbing
temples. i
She strained her eyes along the dizzy height, 1
that peered through the mist, till she could no '
longer see, and her eyes filled with tears. 1
Who but a mother can tell the feelings of a i
mother's heart?' Fear came thick and fast up- i
on the reeling brain of Hannah. ;
'Oh, my boy?my brave boy will die!' and i
5 :: 1 r.?^rvTT elm eoillr in i
wringing iier uauus iu agvuj, cmo
husband's feet. 1
The pain of 'hope deferred,' had strained her <
heart strings to the utmost tension, and it seem- ]
ed as if the rude hand of despair had broken
them all. j
The terrified husband threw water upon her ;
pale face, and strove by all the arts he knew to i
win her back to life. At last she opened her <
languid eyes, started wildly around and rose i
trembling to her feel. As she stood like a i
heart-broken Niobe, 'all tears,' a fragrant of rock <
came tumbling down the opposite banlc. She ]
looked up. She was herself again; for half up <
the ascent stood her own dear boy. i
But even while the glad cry was issuing from i
her lips, it turned into a note of horror. I
'Oh, mercy?mercy!'
The crag on which the boy stood projected i
from the rock in such a way as to hang above
twelve feet over the bank. Right below one of
the edges of this crag, partly concealed among <
some bushes, crouched a panther. The bold i
youth was aware of the proximity of his parents, and
the presence of his dangerous enemy at ah- ]
out the same time. I
He had rolled down the stone in exultation j
to convince his parents of the high situation he i
had attained, and now stood with another in
his haijd, drawiug it back, and looking at them
as if to ask whether he should throw it at the i
terrible animal before him. Till then the mother |
seemed immovable in her suspense; but consci- j
ous of the danger of her son, if he irritated the J
beast, she rushed some distance up the rock and 1
montroncd with her hand that he should not <
"*** * * ? i _i.:i 1
throw. let, witn me k'ariessuiinu ui ciiiiuiiuuu
and a temper little used to control, he fearlessly
threw the fragment with all his might at tho
ferocious animal It struck one of his feet.?
He gave a sudden growl, lashed his tail with fury,
and seemed about to spring. 1
'Get your rifle Josiah!'
The poor man started not. His glazed eye 1
was fixed with a look of death upon the panther, '
and he appeared paralyzed with fear. His wife :
leaped from the stand, and placing her hands <
upon her husbaud's shoulder, looked in his face <
and said, !
'Are you a man, Josiah Eaton? Do you love
your child V J
He started as if from sleep, and ran with fu- i
rious haste from the ravine. 1
Again the mother looked towards her son.? i
He had fallen uj>on his knees, and whispered the i
liftlA nrnirpr* hn<] fniirrht him. not in COW- <
ardly fear, but a thonght came across his mind 1
that he must die. The distracted mother could j
keep still 110 longer. She rushed up the steep <
ascent with the energy of despair, reckless of danger,
thinking only of her son. The rocks cruni- ]
bled and slipped beneath her feet, yet she fell '
not. On, on she struggled in her agony.
The ferocious creature paused a moment when i
he heard the wretched mother approach. True I
to his nature, he sprang at the boy. He barely <
touched the erag and fell backward, as Hannah i
ascended the opposite side. <
"Ah!" said she, laughing deliriously, "the <
panther must try again before he parts us, my '
boy; but we won't part." and sinking on her I
knees before him, she fondly folded him to her i
breast, bathing his young forehead with her 1
tears. . s
Unalterable in his ferocity and the manner
of gratifying it, the panther again sprang from <
his situation. Tins time he was more success- I
fill. His forefoot struck the edge of the crag. (
"IIe will kill us, mother, lie wiil kill us!" and he
nestled close to his mother's bosom. The animal
struggled to bring his body to the crag? i
his savage features but a step from the mother's j
face. i
"Go away, go away," shri"kod the mother. <
hoarse with horror, "vou shan't have 1113' 1
child!" * 1
Closer?still closer he comes?his red eyes j
flashing fury, and thick panthings of his breat h j <
came in her very face. At this awful moment 1
* - .. I.
stio liears tne taint report ui mo mun tuning
from the gulf below?the panther's foot-bold j
fails, his sharp claws loosen from the rocks, and ,
the baffled beast rolls down the precipice, at j
the feet of Josiah Eaton.
The sun's last rays gleamed on the little group
at the mouth of the gorge. They were on their i
knees?ilm mother's raised over the head of j j
her sod, and the voice of prayer going to their <
Guardian for llis mercy iu thwarting the pan-1 <
th^r'e Jeap. ' |
Boy's Evenings.
Many a boy ruins his character, and wrecks
all his hopes, by misemploying the evening hours.
School or business has confined him during the
day, and the rebound with which his elastic nature
throws these duties off, carries him often unawares
beyond the limits of propriety and prudence.
Besides the impetuous gush of the spirits whose
buoyancy has been thus confined, there are influences
peculiar to the time, which render the
evening a period of special temptation. Satan
knows that its hours are leisure ones for the multitude,
and then, if ever, he is zealous to secure
their services; warily planning that unexpected
fascinations may give attractive grace to sin, and
unparrelled facilities smooth the path to ruin.?
Its shadows are a cloak, which he persuades the
young will fold, with certain concealment, around
jvery error, in seductive whispers telling them,
'It is the black and dark night?come." How
many, thus solicited to come, "as a bird hastening
to the snare, knowing not that it is for their
lives," let the constantly recurring cases of juvenile
depravity testify.
Parents acknowledge the evil here pointed out,
md anxiously inquire, " what is to be done; can
we debar our children from every amusement?"
Bovs themselves confess it. but plead, in reply to
the remonstrances of their friends, that evening
is their only play time, and they must have some
sport" It is certainly very proper that the
poung should have amusement. None better
than ourselves are pleased to hear the lips of
childhood eloquent with the exclamation, "Oh,
we have had lots of fun!" It seems like a voice
joming back in echo to us from out of a long
lapsed past.
The amusement should, however be innocent; |
md innocent amusements are most easily secured
md enjoyod at home. Here parental sympathy |
may sweeten the pleasures, and parental care j
dieck the evils of play, frequently intermingling |
ts incidents with lessens of instruction. If pa- J
cuts would use half the assiduity to render an
evening spent at home agreeable, that Satan employs
to win to the haunts of vice, they would
oftentimes escape the grief occasioned by filial
misdeeds, and secure a rich reward in having
their children's maturity adorned with many virtues.
A word to boys concludes all that we would
now say. Spend your evenings, boys, at home.
Vou may make tliem among the most agreeable
and profitable of your lives, and when vicious
companions should tempt you away, remember
that God baa said, ''Cast not thy lot with them;
walk not in their way, refrain thy foot from their
path. They lay in wait for their owu blood; they
lurk privily for their own lives. But walk thou
in the way of good men, and keep the paths of
.he" righteous."?[Bangor Whig.
Parental and Filial.?Two family accidents
ihow great results * from little causes. Baron
oiivier, when a very little boy, was encouraged
by his mother in collecting and delineating objects
of nature?the study of minerals, plants,
to., aided by drawing. During the researches
and discoveries made by this great man he often
referred to this maternal incident as one of the
happiest circumstances of his life, furnishing good
mac/in t<i Knl!r>i.-p th.-it tVir>- vast, services rendered
to science and to the world by this great uaturalist
and good man are to be traced to the judicious
treatment of one mother to a little son.
About twenty years since, a little boy in Western
New Yurk entered with great energy into
the collection of minerals and other objects of
nature. Ilis parents soon coming to the conclusion
that it was not safe to repress his spirit
and his eflbrts, allotted to hiui a room and
shelves for storing and arranging his collections,
and by various modes encouraged this young
explorer of Nature's riches. His ardor and his
intelligence pointed him out at the age of six-,
teen for an assistant engineer on an important!
railroad route, liv his skill, energy, and fidelity
in the work assigned him in this responsible undertaking,
he was, in a short time, selected as
the principal for surveying one branch of the
fjeneral route. At the age of seventeen he was
employed as assistant geologist fortlie State of
New York. When that great work was completed
he was elected to a professor's chair in a
Avfonen-A fnmoln coininnrr in Alhnnv.
tcij CAiviioiic iviumv J ?u , .
After holding that chair for several years, he
resigned it for a visit to Germany, where he spent
Uvo years with Liebig, renowned for his researches
and discoveries in animal and vegetable chem,stry.
On his return from Europe he was elected
to a professor's chair in the Lawrence School
)f Science, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He
now holds, at the age of thirty-two, this important
place in an institution designed to advance,
in scientific investigations, the graduates of colleges
and universities. He is Professor Horsford,
on of lion. Jerediah Horsford, now of the New
Vork delegation in Congress. It adds to the
credit of this young and promising Professor
that during his whole course his support has
.'oine from his own efforts. H.
Our Mother.?Children ought to love, obey
md honor their parents. Let your mother in
particular, who in your tender years, has the more
mmediate charge of you, be on earth the most sa
jred object of your affections. Let her be your
friend and chief confidant. Conceal nothing from
lier, but make her acquainted with the company
which you keep, the books which you read, and
jven the faults which you commit! Happy is
the son and particularly the daughter, who are
not afraid to communicate to their mother their
more secret thoughts. While they remain thus
artless and undisguised, they are free from danger.
Children obey your parents in youth ; but
whenever you are no longer under their care, let
not vour reverence abate. If bv the providence
of God you should rise above them in the world,
grow not ashamed of them. While they are
bending under the infirmities of old age, still
continue to treat them with respect as well as affection.?Dr
Fretrpan.
-if. i *''*?. s*. vl
D?u'( JLive Tio Fast.
The prosperous condition of affairs, for several
years past, has led to au increase of private expenditure.
Men, having made money easily, seen
determined to spend it freely. Where Brussels
carpeting formerly satisfied the utmost ambition,
Wilton will now scarcely do; where Wilton
once answered, Axmnister is scarcely good
annnrcli of iM-nonnf* on/1 wUm A vmin^tOr _ i%TQT(L
\.UVU{^U ail ^ivotllt^ UI1U MiiCIV AJk.?un..vvv. J
aiu's," was sported, impossible substitutes, of a
more costly character still, are longed for despairingly.
Ideas of furniture have uudergone a similar
revolution. The same inflated ideas, too,
| have risen up with regard to dwelling-houses.?
I Individuals of moderate means, who used to think
j a two-story house quite nice enough, now sigh
j for three-stories, or aspire after four; and fashionables
who considered plain brick very desirable,
are now discontented unless they can shine in
j sandstone, or gull in stucco. The old streets
; are quiet deserted by all who pretend to ton.?
j Nothing will do now but lots in the West End,
! at eighteen dollars a foot; and blessed, indeeJ, is
j the man who can secure one, opposite a square,
j.at even that! The good, substantial, unpretenI
ding pattern of a plain front, with dormer win!
dows. is nuite scouted out of cood society; and
: " . v " ? ? o -?
nothing will satisfy folks now but ornamented
windows, and a carved doorway, worth almost
the former price of a dwelling. In a word, we
are living too fast.
For as it is with furniture and house, so it is
with horses. Everybody that is anybody, or
wishes to be considered such, must ride now a
days.
We might multiply instances without end.?
Ladies who, a few years since, were well content
with lutestring at a dollar a yard, are now scarcely
satisfied even with brocade at three: and
where ten yards once made an all sufficient dress
pattern, twenty are now indispensable to be in
the mode. Families, that spent their summer
economically at farm houses, now flout at Saratoga,
or shine at Newport. Champagne has supplanted
claret at the table; claret driven out porter;
porter excluded water, the sweetest and healthiest
of all. Were a plain joint once served for
dinner, canvas backs, young lamb, or other rare
and costly delicacies are now considered indispensable.
In every direction, indeed, luxury
moL-nc atriaoc A Ka/.),nlr?p nnw lias need of an
iiuiavo 011 i/(iviinvi ?*v?? ~ ? ? |
income, such as would once have satisfied a man
with a family; and the husband and father requires
for his single household, the means that,
twenty years ago, would have supported two
families, if not three. Daughteis are sent to
fashionable schools, at an enormous cost, there
to learn extravagance, to acquire habits of idleness,
and in short to become fitted for anything
but being t^e wives of poor men. Sons are ruined
with unlimitet^pocket mouey, late hours, and
almost total abscehce of parental control. Thus
we not only waste our own estates, but perpetuate
the vice in our children. In every way we
are living too fast.
Our grandfathers did not make their riches
in this spendthrift fashion. Their dwellings were
small, their furniture plain, an equipage was a
"terra incognita" generally. Instead of driving
fast horses, they stuck fast to their business; instead
of aiming for senseless show, they showed
-* r.f il.?^ TTiin/Irn/L *1AUT on.
lilCir st'iisf uj u. mvj ui curat. juuuuicwi uu? v...
joy, in substantia) rents, the fruits of their labors;
but alas! while living on their estates, we neglect
their economy. Others of us have to earn
our livelihood, like them, by persevering toil; but
we squander where they saved, and may yet die
beggars where they became millionaries. We
boast of our superior wisdom, but in the great
end of material life, the amassing of a competency
for old age, we exhibit an instance of folly
that would have won us the name of idiots a century
ago. Whatever other faults our forefathers
bad they really lived too fast.
A day of reckoning is sure to come for those of
us who give way, too uiuch, to this fashionable
extravagance. It is easier to get out of depth,
than to wade back safely; and when the tide rises
as rise it will, the thriftless must be overwhelmed.
Though the convulsions, which used to prostrate
the country every few years, appear to be growing
more scarce, they have not yet entirely ceased;
for some of the old causes still remain; and,
in time, we shall have, assuredly, another linancial
crisis, if not a catastrophe like that of '40.?
T of flia wtjo nn r>nr mifirrl. We had better
j trim sail before the tempest comes, than be capsized
by the squall with all canvas spread. In a
word we must cease living too fust.
Phil. Bulletin.
The most trifling actions that affect a man's
credit are to be regarded. The sound of vour
1
I hammer at five in the morning, or nine at night,
heard by a creditor, makes hiin easy six months
longer; but if he sees you at a billiard-table, or
hears your voice at a tavern, when you should be
at work, he sends for his money the next day.
Franklin.
A cheerful temper, joined with innocence, will
make beauty attractive, knowledge delightful,
o-M/t iwif rrm.ri nntimid Tt will lighten sit'lcilPSS.
T,.? - p ,
poverty, and affliction ; convert ignorance into
an amiable simplicity, and render defomiityitself
agreeable.
How pleasant is the thought of home? " the
place of all places." 'Tis sweet to think of, a fid
a blessing t<> all, to be possessed of a little home,
around which we can gather the pleasures and
sweets of life uninterrupted.
CONUXDKCMS.
Why are sitting hens trustworthy ? Because
they are on nest.
When is a man a part of a steamboat?
When he is a board of her.
What man is above all other men ? The man
in the moon.
When does a red deer change color ? Ans.?
When he turns to oay.
With what musical instrument would you
oatoh liahl Ads.?Caatra-neL
, I
u
, M
Tike Careless Mail.
Mr. Skimpole had beeu educated for the modi- ;J|
cal profession, and had once Jived, in his profes- j.
sioiial capacity, in the household of a German
prince. He told us, however, that as he had al- .
ways been a mere*,child in point of weights and J
measures, and had never known any thing about
them (except that they disgusted him,) he had
navfii. boon oKIo tn nr*>?r>ri1i? with tlio ronniKit'A
accuracy of detail. In fact, lie said he had no '
head for detail. And he told us, with great humor,
that when he was wanted to bleed the prince
or physic any of his people, he was generally- J; XgSj >
found lying on his back in bed, reading the news- . .v-jj
paper, or making fancy sketches in pencil^ and
couldn't come. The prince at last, objecting to
this, "in which," said Mr. Skimpole, in the frank-. -'jSm
est manner, "he was perfectly-right," the engagev- -||?j
inent terminated ; and Mr. Skimpole, having (as . }
he added with delightful gayety "nothing to live 9
upon but love, fell in love and married, and surrounded
himself with idsy cheeks."
His good friend Jarifdyce, and sotoe other of ' |5|
his good friends then helped him, in quicker or :
slower succession, to several openings in lifeqbut ' JjBj
to no purpose, for he must confess to two .of the\'_- ffifij
^1A'in ntAv!/)* aha tooa iKof llA; . < . I
Ul< C>L ILllll LUJLlCd 111 lug UV1JU. VUD tt ?*sj tuui mw, .
had no idea of time ; the other, that he had no |
idea of money. In consequence of which, he ne- '9B
ver kept an appointment, never cbuld[transact any- ' sil .
business, and never knew the value of anything! <^9
Well! So he had got on in life, and here he was. -rlpj
IIo was very fond of reading the papers, very -jM
fond of making fancy sketches with a pencil, very .
fond of nature, very fond of art. AJT he asked ,$:J
of society was, to let him-live. That wasn't
much. His wants were few. Give, him the papers,
conversation, music mutton, coffee, land- M
scape, fruit in the season, a few. sheets of Bristol
board, and a little claret, and he asked no more.
He was a mere child in the world, but he didn't
cry for the moon. He said to the world, "Go rs9
your several ways in peace! Wear blue coats,
red coats, lawn sleeves, put pens behind.-your ~
ears, wear aprons; go after glory, holiness, com- ''*
mence, trade, any object you prefer ;pnly-r-rlet ' " .
Harold Skinipole live!?[Bleak House, by Charles
Dickens.
Art of Swimming.?Men are drowned by rai- 4
sing there arms above < water, the unbound
weight which depresses the head. Other animals
have neither notion nor ability to act in. a "?
similar manner, and swim naturally. Whe# a ^.wSj
man falls into deep water, he will rise -to. the sur- :
face, and will continue there, if he does not elevate
his hands. If he moves his hands under
the water any way he pleases, his head will risaar>
so high as to allow him free liberty to breathe J ^
. and' if he will use hjs legs as in the act of walk-^
ing, (or rather walking up stairs,) his shoulders
will rise above the water, so that he may use . tthe
less exertion with his hands or apply them
to other purposes. These plain directions are recommended
to the recollection of thoa?j$vbar
have not learned to swim in their youth as they.
may be found highly advantageous in preserving
life.?Exchange.
' ./wwvwy/w^v mi in i "
The Chinese in California.?The Ameri ^
r>on minnrc in flalifi-unia JinvA rpfinlvnH nn #?TT?ftli
ing the Chinese from the mines. Accordingly, ^|1
one company of the Celestials, amounting to'-;' 'r'"
two hundred, have been driven of? and-their tents
quietly removed. The reason given for
this summary procedure is the determination of
the American miners to resist all moropoliea, and'
their aversion to the wholesale robbing of the
public lands. The squatter sovereignty doctrine
is not good iu that State, beyond the first ediEtiquettc.?The
National Intelligencer has a
correspondent who proposes a series of numbers
on this subject: ->
1. Before you bow to -a lady in the the street- 'InR
permit her to decide whether you may do so or-:
not, by at least a look of recognition.
2. "Excuse my glove" is au unnecessary apology,
for the glove should not bo withdrawn to
shake hands. '
3. When your companion bows to a Jady,you
should do so also. [When a gentleman bows to
a lady in your company always, bow to him in
return.]
Cool Impudence.?Yesterday afternoon a /.vjsj
rather genteel looking young man walked into :-M
the bar of the Woodruff House and cailed for
a whiskey toddy. He was served, and after he
had drank the toddy, ho obtained a cigar and.sat
by the fire and leisurely puffed it away. He then
called for another toddy, and having placed it be- r|
neath his vest, he calmly buttoned his coat, pul- -dl
led on Lis gloves, and turniug to tire barkeeper,
said:?
"I'm ready."
"You are ready are you?" replied the barkeeper.
"Well, sir, your bill is twenty-five cents.
"I was aware of that fact, replied the patron
folding his ai ms aud turning his face towards tho
door, "and now I'm ready."
nn._i_.i- V , 23
"neauy lur wuau
"To be kicked out. Hain't a darned cent?
couldn't do without liquor?been served like a
gent?ain't ashamed of poverty?take your pay,
sir?kick me out."
Thy Wr keoj&r bntfifigThr' "cfcip f\;li ili MFiT ?->??
est, obliged him with several applications of his
boot toe, lustily administered. The idler bore it
in good part, and after he had been kicked into
the street, turned, round, made a polite bow to
the bar-keeper and then apparently in a merry Jxj
mood, started down
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