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The "Wilmington Journal" circulates upwards of 1 3
hundred copies weekly. Its circulation in the town
of Wilmington is as large as that of any other paper pub
lished in the ph.ee. We would further state that its
circulation in the counties which trade to this place is
thuee times as large as that of any other paper publish
ed in North Carolina, and that its list is daily increasing.
We aay, therefore, without the fear of contradiction,
t ,,al it is the best vehicle for advertising which the peo
,.e of Wilmington can select. One other observation
We think, that although a huge majority of the readers
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do a little trading, as well as the readers of the whig pa
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JOURNAL OFFICE.
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
WILMINGTON, N. C.
MYERS & BARNUM,
ittanufactums & Ben lets tn
KATS AND CAPS,
WHOLESALE Alfrt HF.TAII.,
MA UKET STREET Wilmington, N. C.
GEORGE W. DAVIS,
Commission anil Forwarding
OTERCIf ANT,
LONDON'S WHARF) Wilmington, N. C.
Auctioneer Commission Merchant,
WILMINGTON, N. C.
Liberal advances made on shipments to his friends
in New York.
September 21, 1814.
1-tf.
GILLESPJES & ROBESOtf
Continue the AGENCY" business, and will make
liberal advances on consignments of
Lumber, Naval Stores, &.C &c.
Wilmington, August 1st, 1845.
From the Georgia Scenes.
THE HORSE-SWAP,
During the session of the Supreme Court,
in the village of -, about three weeks ago,
when a number of people were collected in the
principal street of the village, I observed a
young man riding up and down the street, as
t supposed, in a violent passion. He gallop
ed this wav. then th;it, and then the other;
spurred his horse to one group of citizens,
then to another; then dashed off at half speed,
as if fleeing from danger: and, suddenly check
ing his horse, returned first in a pace, then in
a trot, and then in a canter. While he was
performing these various evolutions, he cursed,
swore, whooped, screamed, and tossed himself
in every attitude which man could assume on
horseback. In short, he cavorted most mag
nanimously (a term which, in our tongue, ex
presses all that I have described, and a little
more,) and seemed to be setting all creation
at defiance. As I like to see all that is pass
ing, I determined to take a position a little
nearer to him, and to ascertain, if possible,
what it was that affected him so sensibly.
Accordingly, I appproached a crowd before
which he had stopped for a moment, and ex
amined it with the strictest scrutiny. But I
could see nothing in it that seemed to have
anything to do with the cavorter. Every
man appeared to be in a good humor, and all
minding their own business. Not one so
much as noticed the principal figure. Still he
went on. After a semicolon pause, which
my appearance seemed to produce (for ho eyed
mc closely as I approached), he fetched a
whoop, and swore that " he could out-swap
any live man, woman, or child that ever walk
ed these hills, or that ever straddled horseflesh
since the days of old daddy Adam. Stran
ger," said he to me, " did you ever see the
YalloxD Blossom from Jasper?"
" No," said I, " but I have often heard of
him."
" Im the boy," continued he; " perhaps a
leetle, jist a fre'le, of the best man at a horse
swap that ever trod shoe-leather."
I began to feel my situation a little awk
ward, when I was relieved by a man some
what advanced in years, who stepped up and
began to survey the " Yallow Blossom's"
horse with much apparent interest. This
drew the rider's attention, and he turned the
conversation from me to the stranger.
"Well, my old coon," said he, "do you
want to swap hossesT'
" Why, I don't know," replied the stranger;
" I believe I've got a beast I'd trade with you
for that one, if you like him."
" Well, fetch up your nag, my old cock ;
you're jist the lark I wanted to get hold of. I
am perhaps a. leetle, jist a leetle, of the best
man at a horse-swap that ever stole cracldins
out of his mammy's fat gourd. Where's your
hossr
" I'll bring him presently ; but I want to
examine your horse a little."
" Oh ! look at him," said the Blossom, a
lighting and hitting him a cut ; " look at him.
He's the best piece of Aossfiesh in the thirteen
unite 1 universal worlds. There's no sort o'
mistake in little Bullet. He can pick up miles
on his feet, and fling 'em behind him as fast
as the next man's hoss, I don't care where he
comes from. And he can keep at it as long
as the sun can shine without resting."
During this harangue, little Bullet looked
as if he understood it all, believed it, and was
ready at any moment to verify it. He was a
horse of goodly countenance, rather express
ive of vigilance than fire ; though an unnatur
al appearance of fierceness was thrown into it
by the loss of his ears, which had been crop
ped pretty close to his head. Nature had
done but little for Bullet's head and neck j but
he managed, In a great measure, to hide their
to
1
DAVID rULTOJBi, Editoh
defects by bowing perpetually. He had oh
viously suffered severely for corn ; but if his
ribs and hip bones had not disclosed the fact,
lie never would have one it ; for he was in 'all
respects as cheerful and happy as if he com
manded all the corn -cribs and fodder-stacks :n
Georgia. His height was about twelve hands :
but as his shape partook somewhat of that of
the giraffe, his haunches stood much lower.
They were short, strait, peaked, and concave.
Bullet's tail, however, made amends for all
his defects. All that the artist could do to
beautify it had been done; and all that horse
could do to compliment the artist, Bullet did.
His tail was nicked in superior style, and ex
hibited the line of beauty in so many direc
tions, that it could not fail to hit the most fas
tidious taste in some of them. From the root
it dropped into a graceful feston ; then rose in
a handsome curve ; then resumed its first di
rection ; and then mounted suddenly upward
like a cypress knee to a perpendicular of about
two and a half inches. The whole had a care
less and bewitching inclination to the right.
Bullet obviously knew where his beauty lay,
and took all occasions to display it to the best
advantage. If a stick cracked, or if any one
moved suddenly about him, or coughed, or
hawked, or spoke a little louder than com
mon, up went Bullet's tail like lightning ; and
if the going up did not please, the. coming
down must of necessity, for it was as different
from the other movement as wa;- its direction.
The first was a bold and rapid flight upward,
usually to an angle of forty-five degrees. In
this position he kept his interesting appendage
until he satished himself that nothing in par
ticular was to be done ; when he commenced
dropping it by half inches, in second beats.
then in tripple time, then faster and shorter,
and faster and shorter still, until it finally died
away imperceptibly into its natural position.
If I might compare sights to sounds, I should
say its settling was more like the note of a
locust than anything else in nature.
Either from native sprightliness of disposi
tion, from uncontrollable activity, or from an
unconquerable habit of removing flies by the
stamping of the feet, Bullet never stood still ;
but always kept up a gentle fly-scaring move
ment of his limbs, which was peculiarly in
teresting. "I tell you, man," proceeded the Yellow
Blossom, " he's the best live boss that ever
trod the grit of Georgia. Bob Smart knows
the hoss. Come here, Bob, and mount this
hoss, and show Bullet's motions." Here Bul
let bristled up, and looked as if he had been
hunting for Bob all day long, and had just
found him. Bob sprang on his back. "Boo-oo-oo
!"' said Bob, with a fluttering noise of
the lips; and away went Bullet, as if in a
querter race, with all his beauties spread in
handsome style.
" Now fetch him back," said Blossom.
Bullet turned and came in pretty much as he
went out.
" Now trot him by." Bullet reduced bis
tail to " customary;" sidled to the right and left
airily, and exhibited at leat three varieties of
trot in the short space of fifty yards.
" Make him pace !" Bob commenced
twitching the. bridle and kicking at the same
time. These inconsistent movements obvi
ously (and most naturally) disconcerted Bul
let; for it was impossible for him to learn,
from them, whether he was to proceed or
stand still. He started to trot, and was told
that wouldn't do. He attempted a canter, and
was checked again. lie stopped, and was
urged to go on. Bullet now rushed into the
wide field of experiment, and struck out a gait
of his own, that completely turned the tables
upon his rider, and certainly deserved a pat
ent. It seemed to have derived its elements
from the jig, the minuet, and the cotillon. If
it was not a pace, it certainly had pace in it,
and no man would venture to call it anything
else ; so it passed off to the satisfaction of the
owner.
"Walk him!" Bullet was now at home
again ; and he walked as if money was staked
on him.
The stranger, whose name, I afterward
learned, was Peter Ketch, having examined
Bullet to his heart's content, ordered his son
Neddy to go and bring up Kit. Neddy soon
appeared upon Kit; a well-formed sorrel of
the' middle size, and in good order. His tout
ensemble threw Bullet entirely in the shale,
though a glance was sufficient to satisfy an)
one that Bullet had the decided advantage of
him in point of intellect.
" Why, man," said Blossom, " do you bring
such a boss as that to trade for Bullet ? Oh,
1 see you're no notion of trading."
" Ride him off, Neddy !" said Peter. Kit
put off at a handsome lope.
" Trot him back !" Kit came in at a long,
sweeping trot, and stopped suddenly at the
crowd.
"Well," said Blossom, "let me look at
him ; maybe he'll do to plough."
" Examine him !" said Peter, taking hold of
the bridle close to the mouth ; " he's nothing
but a tacky. He an't as pretty a horse as
Bullet, I know: but he'll do. Start 'em to
gether for a hundred and fifty mile; and if Kit
an't twenty mile ahead of him at the coming
out, any man may take Kit for nothing. But
he's a monstrous mean horse, gentlemen ; any
man may see that. He's the scariest horse,
too, you ever saw. He won't do to hunt on,
no how. Stranger, will you let Neddy have
your rifle to shoot off him ? Lay the rifle be
tween his ears, Neddy, and shoot at the blaze
in that stump. Tell me when his head is high
enough."
Ned fired, and hit the blaze ; and Kit did
not move a hair's breadth.
" Neddy, take a couple of sticks, and beat
on that hogshead at Kit's tail"
Ned made a tremendous rattling, at which
Bullet took fright, broke his bridle, and dash
ed off in grand style ; and would have, stopped
all farther negotiations by going home in dis
gust, had not a traveller arrested him and bro't
him back; but Kit did not move.
" I tell you, gentlemen," continued Peter,
" he's the scariest horse you ever saw. He
an't as gentle as Bullet, but he won't do any
harm if you watch him. Shall I put him in a
cart, gig, or wagon for you, stranger ? He'll
cut the' same capers there he does here. He's
a monstrous mean horse."
During all this time Blossom was examin
ing him with the nicest scrutiny. Having ex
amined his frame and limbs, he now looked
at his eyes.
" He's got a curious look out of his eyes,"
said Blossom.
" Oh yes, sir," said Peter, " just as blind as
a bat. Blind horses always have clear eyes.
Make a motion at his eyes, if you please,
sir."
Blossom did so, and Kit threw up his head
rather as if something picked him under the
chin than as if fearing a blow. Blossom re
peated the experiment, and Kit jerked back
ID considerable astonishment.
" Stone blind, you see, gentlemen," procee
ded Peter ; " but he's just as good to travel of
a dark night as if he had eyes."
" Blame my buttons," said Blossom, " if I
like them eyes."
" No," said Peter, " nor I neither. Pd rath
er have 'em made of diamonds ; but they'll do,
if they don't show as much white as Ballet's."
" Well said Blossom, " make a pass at
me."
VOL. 3. NO. 43.
1 J
umttattin
I
GOD,
WILMINGTON, N. C., FRIDAY, JULY 9, 1 847.
No," said Peter; " you made the banter,
now make your pass."
" Well, I'm never afraid to price my hosses.
You must give me twenty-five dollars boot."
" Oh, certainly ; say fifty, and my saddle
and bridle in. Here, Neddy, my son, take a
way daddy's horse."
"Well," said Blossom, " I've made mv
pass, now make yours."
" Pm for short talk in a horse-swap, and
therefore always tell a gentleman at once what
I mean to to do. ou must give me ten dol
lars." Blossom swore absolutely, roundly, and
profanely, that he never would give boot.
" Well," said Peter, " I didn't care abcut
trading; but you cut such high shines, that I
thought I'd like to back you out, and I've
done it. Gentlemen, you see I've brought him
to a hack."
" Come, old man," said Blossom. " I've been
joking with you. I begin to think you do
want to trade ; therefore, give me five dollars
and take Bullet. I'd rather lose ten dollars
any time than not make a trade, though I hate
to fling away a good hoss."
" Well," said Peter, " I'll be as clever as
you are. Just put the five dollars on Bullet's
back, and hand him over ; it's a trade."
Blossom swore again, as roundly as before,
that he would not give boot ; and, said he,
" Bullet wouldn't hold five dollars on his back,
no how. But, as I bantered you, if you say
an even swap, here's at you.'
" I told you," said Peter, " I'd be as clever
as you, therefore, here goes two dollars more,
just for trade sake. Give mc three dollars,
and it's a bargain."
Blossom repeated his former assertion ; and
here the parties stood for a long time, and the
by-standers (for many were now collected)
began to taunt both parties. After some time,
however, it was pretty unanimously decided
lhat the old man had backed niossom out.
At length Blossom swore he " never would
be backed out for three dollars after bantering
a man;" and, accordingly, they closed the
trade.
" Now," said Blossom, as he handed Peter
the three dollars, " I'm a man that, when he.
makes a bad trade, makes the most of it until
he can make a better. I'm for no rues and
after-claps."
' That's just my way," saicl Peter; " I nev
er goes to law to mend my bargains."
" Ah, you're the kind of boy I love to trade
with. Here's your hoss, old man. Take the
saddle and bridle off him, and I'll strip yours;
but lift up the blanket easy from Bui let's back,
for he's a mighty tender backed hoss."
The old man removed the saddle, but the
blanket stuck fast. He attempted to raise it,
and Bullet bowed himself, switched his tail,
danced a little, and gave signs of biting.
" Don't hurt him, old man," said Blossom,
archly; " take it off easy. I am, perhaps, a
leetle of the best man at a horse-swap that
ever catched a coon."
Peter continued to pull at the blanket more
and more roughly, and Bullet became more
and more cavortsh: insomuch that, when the
blanket came off, he had reached the kicking
point in good earnest.
The removal of the blanket disclosed a sore
on Bullet's back-bone that seemed to have de
fied all medical skill. It measured six full
inches in length and four in breadth, and had
as many features as Bullet had motions. My
heart sickened at the sight ; and I felt that the
brute who had been riding him in that situa
tion deserved the halter.
The prevailing feeling, however, was that
of mirth. The laugh became loud and gener
al at the old man's expense, and rustic witti
cisms were liberally bestowed upon him and
his late purchase. These Blossom continued
to provoke by various remarks He asked
the old man " if he thought Bullet would let
five dollars lie on his back." He declared most
seriously that he had owned that horse three
months, and had never discovered before that
he had a sore back, " or he never should have
thought of trading him," &c, Sec.
The old man bore it with the most philoso
phic composuie. He evinced no astonishment
at his late discovery, and made no replies.
But his son Neddy had not disciplined his
feelings quite so well. His eyes opened wi
der and wider from the first to the last pull of
the blanket"; and when the whole sore burst
upon his view, astonishment and fright seem
ed to contend for the mastery of his counte
nance. As the blanket disappeared, he stuck
his hands in his breeches pockets, heaved a
deep sigh, and lapsed into a profound revery,
from which he was only roused by the cuts
of his father. lie bore them as long as he
could ; and, when he could contain himself no
longer, ke began, with a certain wildness of
expression which gave a peculiar interest to
what he uttered : " His back's mighty bad off ;
but dod drot my soul if he's put it to daddy as
bad as he thinks he has, for old Kit's both
blind and dec, I'll be dod drot if he eint."
" The devil he is," said Blossom.
" Yes, dod drot my soul if he eint You
walk him, and see if he eint. His eyes don't
look like it; but he'd jist as leve go agin the
house with you, or in a ditch, as any how.
Now you go try him." The laugh was now
turned on Blossom ; and many rushed to test
the fidellity of the little boy's report. A few
experiments established its truth beyond con
troversy. " Neddy," said the old man, " you oughtn't
to try and make people discontented with their
things. Stranger, don't mind what the little
boy says. If you can only get Kit rid of them
little failings, you'll find him all sorts of a
horse. You are a leetle the best man at horse
swap that ever I got hold of; but don't fool a
way Kit. Come, Neddy, my son, let's be mo
ving; the stranger seems to be getting snappish."
HALL.
A Lesson for Scolding Wives. " And I
dare say you have scolded your wife very of
ten, Newman," said I, once.
Old Newman looked down, and his wife
took up the reply
" Never to signify and if he has, I deser
ved it !"
" And I dare say, if the truth were told, you
have scolded him quite as often."
" Nav," said the old woman, with'a beauty
of kindness which all the poetry in the world
cannot excel, " How can a wife scold her
good man, who has been working for her and
her little ones all the day ? It may do for a
man to be peevish, for it is he who bears the
crosses of the world ; but who should make
him forget them but his own wife ? And she
had best, for her own sake for nobody can
scold much when the scolding is all on one
side."
I Geography: First Class. Teacher. "What
isTexas bounded by ?" Scholar. " By an
nexation on the East, by Indian treaties on the
West, by nothing particular on the North, and
by the Halls of the xVIontezumason the South."
Tea cher. " What are its products?" Schoia r.
" Bowie-knives, rifles, revolving pistols ; and
in summer, pecans and horned fiogs." Teach
er. " Good ! The school's dismissed.
-r s r 7 m f
iv. u. uetiu.
Existence is only felt to be valuable while
it is necessary to some one dear to us. The
moment we become aware that our death
would leave no aching void in a human heart,
the charm is gone.
our country, and liberty.
A NIGHT OF YEARS.
BY GRACE GREENWOOD.
My Reader I have sat some minutes, with
my pen suspended in air above my paper. I
have been debating a delicate point I am in
a position. You will perhaps recollect that
one of Fanny Forest's exquisite sketches was
entitled " Lucy Dutton."
Now, it happens the real name of the hero
ine of the " ower true tale," which I am a
bout to do myself the honor of relating to you,
was no other than Lucy Dutton. Shall 1 rob
her of her birthright compel her to wear a
nom de guerre, because my sister-authoress
accidentally gave the true name to one of her
ideal creations ? Shall I sacrifice truth to deli
cacy ? that's the question. t: No ?" You said
no, did you not ? Then Lucy, Lucy Dutton,
let it be"
Some forty years since, in the interior of
my beautiful native State, New York, lived
the father of our heroine, an honest and re
spectable farmer. He had but two children
Lucy, a noble girl of nineteen, and Ellen, a
year or two younger. The first named was
winning, rather than strikingly beautiful. Un
der a manner observable foits seriousness,
and non-like serenity, were concealed an im
passionate nature, and a heart of the deepest
capacity for loving. She was remarkable from
her earliest childhood for a voice of thrilling
and haunting sweetness.
Ellen Dutton was the brilliant antipode of
her sister ; a " born beauty," whose preroga
tive of prettiness was to have her irresponsi
ble own way, in all things, and at all times.
An indulgent father, a weak mother, and an
idolizing sister, had all unconsciously "con
tributed to the ruin of a nature not at the first
remarkable for strength or generosity.
Where, in all God's creatures, is heartless
ness so seemingly unnatural is selfishness
so detestable, as in a beautiful woman !
Lucy possessed a fine intellect, and as her
parents were well reared New Englanders,
she and her sister were far better educated
than other girls of their station, in that then
half settled portion of the country. In those
days, many engaged in school teaching, from
the honor and pleasure which it afforded, rath
er than from necessity. Thus, a few months
previous to the commencement of our sketch,
Lucy Duttoa left for the first time her fireside
circle, to take charge of a school, some twenty
miles from her native town.
For some while, her letters home were ex
pressive only of the happy contentment which
sprang from the consciousness of active use
fulness, of receiving, while imparting good.
But anon there came a change ; then were
those records for home characterized by fitful
gayety, or dreary sadness; indefinable hopes
and fears seemed striving for supremacy in the
writer's troubled little heart. Lucy loved, but
scarcely acknowledged it to herself, while she
knew not that she was loved ; so for a time
that beautiful second birth of woman's nature
was like a warm sunrise
cold mists of morning.
struggling with the
But one day brought a letter which could
not soon be forgotten in the home of the ab
sent one a letter traced bv a hand that trem
bled in sympathy with a heart tumultuous
with happiness. Lucy had been wooed and
won, and she but waited her parent's approval
of her choice, the betrothed of young Edwin
W , a man of excellent family and stand
ing in the town where she had been teaching.
The father and mother accorded their sanction
with many blessings: and Lucy's next letter
promised a speedy visit from the lovers.
To such natures as Lucy's, what an absorb
ing, and yet what a revealing of self is a first
passion what a prodigality of giving what
an incalculable wealth of receiving what a
breaking up is there of the deep waters of the
soul, and how Heaven descends in a sudden
star shower upon life. If there is a season
when an angel may look with intense and fear
ful interest upon her moral sister, 'tis when
she beholds her heart pass from the bud-like
innocence and freshness of girlhood, and ta
king to its very core the fervid light of Jove,
glow and crimson into perfect womanhood.
At last the plighted lovers came, and wel
comes and festivals awaited them. Mr. W
gave entire satisfaction to father, mother, and
even to the enacting " beauty." He was a
handsome man, with some pretensions to fash
ion, but in manner, and apparently in charac
ter, the opposite of his betrothed.
It was decided that Lucy should not again
leave home, until after her marriage, which at
the request of the ardent lover, was to be cel
ebrated with two months, and on the coming
birth-day of the bride. It was therefore arran
ged that Ellen should return with Mr. W ,
to M ,to take charge of her sister's school
for the remainder of the term.
The birth-day had come. It had been ush
ered in by a May morning of surpassing love
liness the busy hours had borne away, and
now it was nigh sunset, and neither the bride
groom nor Ellen, the first bridesmaid, had ap
peared. Yet in her neat little chamber sat
Lucy, nothing doubting, nothing fearing. She
was already clad in a simple white muslin,
and hei few bridal adornments lay on the ta
ble by her side. Maria Allen, her second
bridesmaid, a bright eyed affectionate hearted
girl, her chosen friend from childhood, was ar
ranging to a more graceful fall, the wealth of
light ringlets which swept her snowy neck.
To the anxious inquiries of her companion,
respecting the absent ones, Lucy ever smiled
quietly and replied:
" Oh, something has happened to detain
them a while we heard from them the other
day and all was well. They will be here by-and-by
never fear."
Evening came, the guests were all assem
bled, and yet the " bridegroom tarried." There
were whisperings, surmises and wonderings,
and a shadow of anxiety occasionally passed
over the fair face of the bride-elect. At last,
a carriage drove rather slowly to the door.
" They are come !" cried many voices, and
the next moment the belated bridegroom and
Ellen entered. In reply to the hurried and
confused inquiries of all around him, Mr.
W muttered something about " unavoid
able delay," and stepping to the side-board,
tossed off a glass of wine, another, and anoth
er. The company stood silent with amaze
ment. Finally a rough old farmer exclaimed,
" Better late than never, young man so lead
out the bride."
W strode hastily across the room, pla
ced himself by Ellen, and took her hand in
his ! Then, without daring to meet the eye
of any about him, he said :
" I wish to make an explanation Ian un
der the painful necessity that is, I have the
pleasure to announce that I am already mar
ried. The lady whom 1 hold by the hand is
my wife.
Then, turning in an apologetical manner to
Mr. and Mrs. Dutton, he added, " I found that
I had never loved, until I knew your second
daughter."
And Lucy ? She heard all with strange
calmness, then walked steadily forward and
confronted her betrayer! Terrible as pale
Nemesis herself, she stood before them, and
her look pierced like a keen cold blade into
their false hearts. As though to assure her
self of the dread reality of the vision, she laid
her hand on Ellen's shoulder, and let it glide
down her arm but she touched not Edwin.
As those coid fingers met hers,- the unhappy
onvnul
wife first gazed full into her sister's face; and
as she marked the ghastly pallor of the cheek,
the dilated nostrils the quivering lip and the
intensely mournful eyes, she covered her own
face with her hands, and burst into tears,
while her young husband, awed by the terri
ble silence of her he had wronged, gasped for
breath, and staggered back against the wall.
Then Lucy clasped her hands on her forehead,
first gave voice to her anguish and despair in
one fearful cry, which could but ring forever
through the souls of that guilty pair, and fell
in a deathlike swoon at their feet.
After the insensible girl had been removed
to her chamber, a stormy scene ensued in the
room beneath. The parents and guests were
alike enraged against W ; but the tears
and prayeTs of his young wife, the petted beau
ty and spoiled child, at last softened somewhat
the anger of ihe parents, and an opportunity
for an explanation was accorded to the offen
ders. A sorry explanation it proved. The gen
tleman affirmed that the first sight of Ellen's
lovely face had weakened the empire Gf her
plainer sister over his affections. Frequent
interviews had completed the conquest of his
loyalty ; but he had been held in check by
honor, and never told his love, until when on
his way to espouse another, in an unguarded (
moment, he had revealed it, and the avowal
had called forth an answering acknowledgment
from Ellen,
They had thought it best, in order " to save
P3.1" tG Lfficy,H and prevent opposition from
her and to secure their own happiness, to be
married before their arrival at C
Lucy remained insensible for some hours
When she revived and had apparently regain
ed her consciousness, she still maintained her
strange silenc. This continued for many
weeks, and when it partially passed away,
her friends saw, with inexpressible grief, that
her reason had fled she vas hopelessly in
sane ! But her madness was of a mild and
harmless nature. She was gentle and peace
able as ever, but sighed frequently, and seem
ed burdened with some great sorrow which
she could not herself comprehend. She had
one peculiarity, which all who knew her in
after years must recollect ; this was a wild
fear and careful avoidance of men. She also
seemed possessed by the spirit of unrest. She
could not, she would not be confined, but was
constantly escaping from her friends, and go
ing they knew not whither.
While her parenfs lived, they, by their
watchful care, and unwearying efforts, in some
measure controlled this sad propensity ; but
when they died, their stricken child became a
wanderer, homeless, friendless and forlorn.
Through laughing springs, and rosy sum
mers, and golden autumns, and tempestuous
winters, it was tramp, tramp, no rest for her
of the crushed heart and the crazed brain.
I remember her as she was in my early
childhood, toward the last of her weary pil
grimage. As my father and my elder broth
ers were frequently absent, and as my mother
never closed her heart or her door on the un
fortunate, "Crazy Lucy," often spent an hour
or two by our fire-side. Her appearance was
very singular. Her gown was always patch
ed with many colors, and her shawl, or man
tle, worn and torn, until it was all open work
and fringe. The remainder of her miserable
wardrobe she carried in a bundle, on her arm,
and sometimes she had a number of parcels of
old rags, dried herbs, &c.
In the season of flowers, her tattered bonnet
was profusely decorated with those which she
gathered in the wood, or by the way side.
Her love for these and her sweet voice were
all that were left her of the bloom and music
of existence. Yet no. her meek and child-like
piety still lingered. Her God had not forsaken
her ; down into the chaos of her spirit, the
smile of His love yet gleamed faintly in the
waste garden of her heart she still heard His
voice at eventide, and she was not " afraid."
Her Bible went with her every where, a torn
and soiled volume, but as holy still, and it
may be as dearly cherished, my reader, as the
gorgeous copy now lying on your table, bound
in "purple and gold," and with the gilding un
tarnished upon its delicate leaves.
I remember to have heard my mother relate
a touching little incident connected with one
of Lucy's brief visits to us.
The poor creature once laid her hand on the
curly head of one of my brothers, and asked
of him, his name. " William Edwin,' he re
plied, with a timid, upward glance. She caught
away her hand, and sighing heavily, said, as
though thinking aloud, 'I knew an Edwin
once, and he made me broken-hearted.'
This was the only instance in which she
was ever known to revert to the sad event
which had' desolated her life.
Thirty years from the time of the commence
ment of this mournful" history, on a bleak an
tumnal evening, a rough country wagon drove
into the village of C . It stopped at the
alms house, an attenuated form was lifted out,
and carried in; and the wagon rumbled away.
Thus was Lucy Dutton brought to her native
home to die.
She had been in a decline for some months,
and tdie miraculous strength which had so long
sustained her in her weary wandering, at last
forsook her utterly. Her sister had died some
time before, and the widowed husband had
soon after removed with his family to the far
West ; so Lucv had no friend no home but
the alms-house.
But they were very kind to her there. The
matron, a true woman, whose soft heart even
the hourly contemplation of human misery
could not harden, gave herself with unweary
ing devotion to the care of the quiet sufferer.
With the eye of Christian faith, she watched
the shattered bark of that life, as borne down
the tide of time itneared the great deep of eter
nity, with an interest of intense as though it
were a roval galley.
One day, about a week from the time of her
arrival, Lucy appared to suffer greatly, and
those about her release almost impatiently ;
but at night she was evidently better, and, for
the first time, slept tranquilly until morning.
The matron who was by her bedside when
she awoke was startled by the clear and ear
nest gaze which met her own, but she smiled,
and bade the invalid good morning!" Lucy
looked bewildered, but the voice seemed to re
assure her and exclaimed ;
"Oh, what a long, long night this has been!"
Then glancing around inquiringly, she added
" Where am I? and who are you? I do not
know vou."
. A wild surmise flashed across the mind of
the matron the long lost reason of the wan
derer had returned ! But the good woman re
plied calmly and soothingly :
"Why, you are among your friends and you
will know me presently."
"Then may be you know Edwin and Ellen.'"
reioined the invalid ; "have they come ? Oh
T bad such a terrible dream ! I dreamed that
thev were married ! Only think, Ellen mar
ried to Edwin ! its strange I should dream
that." -
"Mv poor Lucy." said tne matron, witn a
gush of tears "that was not a dream 'twas
all true."
" All true cried the invalid, " then Edwin
must be untrue and that cannot be, for he
loved me we loved each other well, and El
len m my sister. Let me see them, I will go
to them!"
TERMS : 82 50 in advance.
4
WHOLE NO. 1 47.
She endeavored to miso WMf tM
back on the pillow.
"Why what does this mean ."' said she
" W hat makes me so week .'"
Just then, htr eye fell on her hand ! She
gazed on it in blank amazement
" Something is the matter with my sight,"
she said smiling faintingly, "for my hand
looks to me like an old woman's."
"And so it is," said the matron, gently,
and so is mine ; and yet we had fair, plump
hands when young. Dear Lucy do you not
know me .' I am Maria Allen, I was to have
been your bridesmaid ?"
I can no more I will not make the vain
attempt to give in detail ali that revealing to
reduce to inexpressive words the dread subli
mity of that hopeless sorrow.
To the wretched Lucv the last thirty years
were all as though they had never been. Of
not a scene, not an incident, had she the slight
est remembrance since the night when the re-1
creant lover and the traitoress sister stood be-
fore her and made their terrible announcement
The kind matron paused f&quently in the
saa narration oi ner poor triend s madness and
wanderings but the invalid would say with
fearful calmness, "go on, go on," though the
beaded drops of agony stood thick upon her
foreheai .
When she asked for her sister, the matron
replied
She has gone before vou and your father
also."
" And my mother ?" said Lucv. her face lit
with sickly ray of hope.
1 our mother has been dead for twenty
years."
"Dead.' All gone ! Alone, old. dvine-!
Oh, God, my cup of bitterness is full !" And
she wept aloud.
Her friend, bending over her. and minfflimr
tears with hers, said affectionately :
but you know who drank that cuo be
fore you."
Lucy looked up with bewildered exnression.
and the matron added :
" The Lord Jesus, you remember him."
A look like sunheht breakinc tbroucb a
cloud a look which only saints may wear
irradiated the tearful face of a dying" woman,
as she replied :
' Oh, yes, I knew and loved Him before I
fell asleep."
I he man of God was called. A few who
had known Lucy in her early days came also
There was much reverential wondering and
weeping around ner death-bed. Then rose
the voice of prayer. At first her lips moved
as her weak spirit joined in that fervent appeal
then they grew still, and poor Lucy was
dead dead in her gray haired youth !
But those who had gazed upon that placid
face, and remembered her harmless life and
her patient suffering, doubted not that the morn
of an eternal day had broken on her Night
or Years.
WHAT A PAIR OF ANDIRONS COST.
FROM THE PLEDGE AND STANDARD.
Peter,' said my uncle, knocking the ashes
from his pipe, and laying it on the corner of
the mantle piece, and then fixing his eyes on
the andirons, ' Peter those andirons cost me
one thousand dollars !'
' Dear me !' exclaimed my aunt.
Oh, father !' exclaimed the girls.
Impossible !' said I.
True, every word true. One thousand did
I say ? yes two thousand full two thou
sand dollars.'
' Well, well,' said my aunt, folding up her
knitting for the night, I should like to know
what you are talking about.'
My uncle bent forward and planted his
hands firmly on his parted knees, and with a
deliberate air, which showed no doubt of his
being able to prove his assertion, he began :
Well, you see, a good many years ago,
we had a pair of common old andirons. Your
cousin Letty says one day, ' father, don't you
think those old andirons are getting too shab
by ?' Shabby or not, I thought they would
hold the wood up as nicely as if they were
made of gold. So I paid no attention to Letty.
I was afraid she was growing proud. Soon
after that, Peter,' continued my uncle, your
aunt took -it up'
' There it goes,' interrupted my aunt, you
can't get" along without dragging me in.'
Your aunt took it up, Peter, and she said
' our neighbors could afford brass andirons,
and were no better off than we were.' A nd sho
said ' Letty and her sister Jane were just get
ting old enough to see company, and the stin
gy looking old andirons might hurt their mar
ket.' I knew that women will have their
own way, and there was no use in objecting,
and so I got the andirons.'
4 The price of them was four dollars and a
half'
' Ah, that's more like it,' cried my aunt; 'I
thought you said two thousand dollars.'
My dear, I wish you would not interrupt
me. Four and a half. Well, the first night
after we had got them, as we all sat by the
warm fire talking over the matter, Letty called
my attention to the hearth, the stones of which
were cracked and uneven. The hearth was
entirely out of keeping with the new andirons,
and I thought I might as well have it replaced
first as last. The next day a mason was sent
for to examine it. He came in my absence,
and when I returned home your aunt and cou
sins all beset me at once, to have a marble
slab. The mason had convinced them the
hearth would not look decent without a mar
ble slab, and they put their heads together '
' La, me !' exclaimed my aunt, ' there was
no putting any heads together about it. The
hearth was a real old worn out thing, not fit
for a pig-pen.'
' They put their heads together. Peter, as I
was saying, and continued till I got a marble
hearth, which cost me twenty dollars. Yes,
twenty dollars, at least. Then I thought I
was done with expenses, but I thought wrong.
Pretty soon I began to hear sly hints thrown
outabout the brick-work around the fire-place
not corresponding with the hearth. I stood
out for a month or two against your aunt and
the girls, but they at length got the better of
me, and I was forced to have marble instead
of brick. And then the old wooden mantel
piece was so out of character that it was ne
cessary to have a marble one. The cost of
all this was nearly one hundred dollars. And
now that the spirit of improvement had got a
start, there was no stopping place. The new
marble mantel put to shame the old white
washed walls, and they must be painted, of
course, and to prepare them for paint, sundry
repairs were necessary. While this was go
ing on, your aunt and the girls appeared to
be quite satisfied, and when it was done, they
had no idea the old parlor could bt made to
look so spmce. But this was only a short re
spite. The old rag carpet began to raise a
dust, and I found there would be no peace '
' Now, my dear !' said the old lady, with a
pleasing smile, accompanied with a partial ro
tation of the head
Now, father !' exclaimed the girls
' 'Till I got a new carpet. That again sha
med the old furniture, and it had to be turned
out and replaced with new. Now, Peter,
count up, my lad twenty dollars for the
hearth, and one hundred for the mantel-piece,
and thirty for repairs. What does that make ?'
One hundred and fifty, uncle.
Terms for Advertising.
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3 do. 1 &0
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do. do. 4 50
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A liberal discount will be made on advertise
menu exceeding one square, when published of
13 montfw, cath in advance.
dj'If ihe number of insertions are not marked
on the advertisement, they will be contTnoed tfmtf
ordered oat, and charged for accordingly.
rK"?0"' required to be PAID
Well, firfty for paper and painf -
lwo nunnred.'
Then fifty for a carpet, and one hundred"
at least for furniture'
' Jhree hundred and fifty.'
Ahem ! There's fnat clock too,- nJ the
blinds fifty more'
Four hundred exactly.'
My aunt amf cousinrinked at each ofhef .
row,' continued nryiclcf so much for
this one room. No sooner was the room fin--ished.than
the complaints came from all quar
ters, about the dining room and entry. Long
before this I had surrendered at discretion, and
handed in my submission. The dining-room
cost four hundred more. What dees thaf
count, Peter ?'
Eight hundred, uncle.'
Then the chambers at least four hundred
to make them rhyme with the down staws.'
I Twelve hundred.'
, The outside of the house had to be repair
ed and painted, of course. Add two hundred
oorteen hundred.' '
Then there mtrsf be a piazza in front-'
that cost two hundred.'
Sixteen hundred.''
Here aunt began to yawn, Letty to poke
the fire, and Jane to twirl over the leaves of
book.
4 A new carriage came next, Pe1er,tht cost
two hundred dollars.'
Eighteen hundred.'
Then there was a lawn to be laid ouf and
neatly fenced a servant to be hired parties
given occasionally bonnets and dresses at
double the former cost, and a hundred other
little expenses in keeping with the new order
of things. And all thii- grew out of those ve
ry andirons. Yes, Pettr, I was entirely with
in bounds when I said two thousand dollars.'
The opposition was silenced. My aunt
immediately rose and guessed if was bed time.
1 was left alone with my uncle, who was not
inclined to drop the subject. He was a perse
vering man, and never gave up what he un
dertook, till he had done the work thoroughly.
So he brought out his books and accounts, an J
set about making an exact estimate of the ex
penses. He kept me up till after midnight,
before he got through. His conclusion was1
that the pair of andirons cost him twenty-four
hundred and fifty dollars t
THE MAN" WHO KISSED THE THREE
GIRLS.
A young man who boarded at a house in
the country, where were several city damsels,
who seemed to imagine that men are terrible
creatures, whom it was an unpardonable sin
to look at, was one afternoon accosted by
an acquaintance, and asked what he thought
of the young ladies with whom he boarded t
He replied tliat they were very shy and reser
ved. " So they are," returned the other, " and so
much so that no gentleman could get near e
nough to tell the color of their eyes."
" That they may be," said the boarder, "yet
I will stake a million that I c.aa kiss them all
three, without any trouble."
" That you cannot do," cried his friend ; M it
is an achievement which neither you nor any
other man can accomplish."
The other was positive, and invited his
friend to the house to witness his triumph.
They entered the room together, and the three
girls were all at home sitting beside their mo
ther, and they all looked pum and demure as
John Rodgers at the stake.
Our hero assumed a very grave aspect, even
to dejection, and halving looked wistfully at
the clock, breathed a sigh as deep as Algebra,
and as long as a female dialogue at a street
door. His singwlar deportment now attracted
the attention 6l the girls, who cast their slow"
opening eyes up to his countenance. Perceiv
ing the impression he had made, he turnel to
his companion and said,
" It wants three minutes of the time !'
" Do you speak of dinner ?" said the old la
dy, laying down her sewing work.
" Dinner !" 6aid he with bewildered aspect,
and pointing, as if unconsciously, with curled
forefinger, at the clock.
A silence ensued, during which the female
part of her household glared at the young man
with irrepressible curiosity.
" You will see me decently interred' said
he, again turning to his friend.
His friend was as much puzzled as any bo
dy present, and his embarrassment added to
i the intended effect ; but the old lady, being no
longer able to contain herself, cried,
" Mr. C , pray what do yon apeak of?"
" Nothing," answered he, in a lngubriou
tone, " but that last night a spirit appeared
unto me !" Here the girls rose to their feet
and drew near. " And the spirit gave mo
warning that I should die exactly at twelve
o'clock to-day, and you see it wants but half
a minute of the time V
The girls turned pale, and" their hidden sym-
j pathies were at once awakened for the doom
ed. J hey stood chained to tne spot, looking
alternately at the clock and at the unfortunate
youth. He then walked up to the eldest of
the girls, and taking her by the hand, bade
her a solemn farewell. He also imprinted a
kiss upon her trembling lips, which she did
not attempt to resist. He then bade the sec
ond and third farewell, in the same tender and
affectionate manner. His object Was achieved,
and that moment the dock struck twelve. -Hereupon
he looked around, surprised, and
ejaculated, " Who would have believed that
an apparition would tell such a lie i it was
probably the ghost of Annania or Sapphira."
It was some time before the sober maidens
understood the joke, and when they did, they
evinced no resentment. The first kiss broke
the ice ; and, thanks to the ghost, tbey dis
covered there was some pleasure in a bearded
cheek.
Master of his Craft. One erf those hardy
sons of the ocean, (jack Tars,) in retorningto
his ship at Vera Cruz, captured a donkey, and
immediately mounted him, but seating himself
on the rump, the animal kicked up and came
near throwing him off. A soldier told him to
sit further forward on the mule and he would
not kick so. The tar replied- I'll e you
blowed first ; this is my craft, and I'd like to
know who'll stop me from ridingon the quar
ler deck of my ownJfackassT
The Hen-Pecked. A friend of ours on
Fourth street had a sprightly male Canarv
birds which he mated a short time since, and
Mr. Canarv soon built herself a nest in the
cage, had the right number of eggs, and com
menced sitting on ihem. It would seem from
what followed, that she now thought herself
entitled to exemption from all other labor,
even that of providing food for herself, and
that Mr. Canary was neglectful of her wants.
On Sunday last she came off her nest and went
at him, drove him about the cage, and after
picking at him severely, returned to her seat
on the nest. The result of the thrashing was
soon apparent ; Mr. Canary has ever since
been careful to keep her supplied with food,
bringing the seed to her and putting it in her
mouth in the kindest manner, the flogging
having operated to a charm.
Troy Telegraph.
True delicacy, as true geneiowty, is more
wounded by an offence from itaelf, if the ex
pression may be allowed, than to ittelf.
I