£—___.
NORWALK GAZETTE :
PUBLISHED EVERY \VEDl'.\'ESD.\Y DIORNING.
the Bridge.
Tl-1llM3.—SubScrlpli0nS $2 a year,’ where de-
livered by a carrier or Post-rider, payable quar-
terly in advance.
Subscribers living out of thecarriers’ district,
calling fortheir papers. $1 50 per auuum, pay-
able quarterly in advance. \Vhere payment is
delayed to the end of the year, 82.,
Mail subscribers $2. payable in advance.-
(? No others attended to.
Advertisements. $1 per square for three inscr-
tious, and 25 cents for every subsequent inser-
tion. Yearly advertisers $10, including the pa-
per, payable quarterly. Advertisements not
marked. will be continued till forbid.
Orders enclosing payuient may be forwarded
by mail, postage paid.
T?
POETRY.
From the New - Yorker.
MUSIC AND POETRY.
\Vhat is the sordid gold of I€arth—
Its treasures, all conibinctl?
Give me. what is of greater worth,
The treasures of the mind.
Ileaveii lavish wealth on whom it will,
And Beauty's gentle power:
Give me the deep poetic thrill
Of soul—I ask no more.
Give me thelyre whose burning strings
Can wake to life each glowing thought,
‘Which over all so sweetly flings
The secret charm itself hath wrought.
I would not (give one sober hour,
Ofintelleciual joys.
Forthousands spent in Pleasurc's bower, ‘
Amidst her mirth and noise.
' No, rather let some humble lot
' Of poverty obscure be mine,
XV-'bile Earth and all its cares. forgot,
_ I bow to Music's hallowed shrine.
Ollie. Jan. 9, 1837. Ixitz.
From the Old Colony Jllciizorial.
In April 1777, Gen. Howe. in New-York, be-
ing informed that a considerable quantity of
stores were collected and deposited at Danbury,
(Conn.) formed a resolution to send a detach-
ment tindcr Gen. Tryon and destroy them. On
the landing of this detachment, alarm. and auxi-
ety, were the natural consequences; the people
running abo‘ut in all directions, not knowing
what to (lo. Aiiiotig these was a young gentle-
man of my acquaintance, (Maj. Hawley) afine
- looking fellow, a man of spirit, cotir:igc, energy.
and patriotic zeal. He mounted his horse, aml
rode round, fortlie purpose of collecting a stilli-
¢-ient force (especially of the regimen: to which
he liclonged) to meet in combat the body of free-
hooters. Riding to the top of an eminence. he
tiuinil himself within point blank gnu shot of
Tr_vnii's detachment. who discharged a whole
volley at him. IIe instantly reined his horse
round, tllltl with speed tlesccndeil the hill, and
continued his exercise of mtistctiiig a stillir-lent
flirt-e to meet the assailants. Sotnetiine after-
wards he met Gen. Silliinaii, who was engaged
"‘ - in the same pursuit.
One of the Connecticut bards (of which that
state had many ofall dimensions, as Trumbull,
Dwight. Barlow, and others.) put this excursion
of Tryon into a dramatic dress and pnblislicd it.
A\s,it. is a eoniprutnd of sarcasm. ingenuity. and
“I,‘gKlI\lay before t!ie public a few extracts, in
wliicn Ibelieve I have made no verbal iiiistakc.
’ it being fkriilll tnetiiory, not having seen the
paviiplilct this half century bar-k. '
The persons of the drama‘ are Gen. Hiiicc,
cnnimander in cliief of the llritisli army. Gen.
\ 'I'r_i/on. a iiiorose old fellow, ftirnierly Governor
of North Carolina, where by his despotic con-
duct lint-iiiiseil the insurrection of the ]?c_gnlrtI-
or. : Jo.s-ep.-’i. Gullmcrri/, a lawyer of Philadelphia,
and ti member of the illustrious Congress of
1774. but for some cause he alnlicatctl his coun-
try and look refuge under the protection of Gen.
,I-lowe iti New-York.
I
l
l
over the Store of Mr. Manson Ifoyt, west side
[St~cnc_/ii .sl—.\'r=u= - Yo/-l.~.]
\Vithout wit, without courage, half futldled or
, ilriiiik.
' . And rolling along arm in arm with his piitik,
The gallant Sir \Villiani,wlio fights all by proxy,
Spoke thus to his soldiers held up by his doxy:
Howit. '
l\[y lads, I am going to send you with Tr_yo:i,
To a place where voti‘ll all get as grtiggy as lam :
A ml the wounded when well shall have a ftill gill.
And the dead be allowed as much astliey will.
By a Tory from Danbury I'veju_st been informed
There's noborlg there, so the place shall he storm-
ed.
Tnvo.\'.
If tlicre‘s nobody ‘here. and nobody near,
Two thousand will conquer the whole, never fear.
Jo. GALLOWAY.
' Go fight, my brave boys that we all may be rich-—
. oi.DiEii.
Go get you halter. vouson of a _ ,
Do you think, you conteuipiible, thief‘-looking
Cfe‘Vc
That we'll fight to get becfftir such rascals as _i,«nu .7
"‘ -u.~..
[Scene changes to Danbuiy,]
_ TILYON.
I wish Iwas back, for I'm wofiilly scared,
-The light will be seen and the tioise will be heard.
And the fate ofthe wlicle will be doubtful, and
then-
[Gen. IVoostcr and (lit: inilitia appcrz:r.]
To arms! to arms! Ten thousand men.
Are pouring from the clouds! Ten thousand more
Have got between the army and the shore ;
Ten thousand womentoo! Run! run! no--stop-
-Here, help me oil‘ my horse before I drop.
[Scene changes on ship boarrl.]
. TRYON.
My belly's full of balls, I hear them rattle;
Sunonozt.
’Tis only, sir, the echo of the battle.
TRYON.
For as‘l stood, not knowing what to do,
\Vhetlier to fight, or fly, or to pursue,
A cannon ball of two and thirty pound
Struck mejust where Sir Peter got his wound-
_ SUl1GBO!il,lItlc7‘ru})llng.
You are i.‘9t hurt, you are alive and well.
' Tnrozv.
Between my horse’s_ears--and down he fell,
Sunazon.
You are tint hurt, I wish you would compose,
And try to get yourselfinto a doze.
’l.‘lie idle fears you have—(pray do not weep)-
Are not so dang'rous but they may by sleep,
With blisters, glisters, physic, air and diet,
Make you quite whole again—if you'll be quiet.
Tnoiv.
So thick by millions did the rebels muster,
Under their Gen’rals, Arnold and Wooster;
Sol °_ck and fast the bullets at tne flew.
Some hit me here, some there, some througliand
through; ,
That let me-—lel me-—let me---let me but
Get off alive! Farewell Connecticut.
[Ezietuit omncs.]
«.
.
VOL. 20.
“ i)oN"r GIVE UP THE siiip.”
onward, tail first; rattle, rattle, rattle, it went,
tailon end. through the green field, and present-
ly approached the stone fence; through this it
had gone in times past often, but by some acci-
dent. perhaps. it took the- wrong Hole‘, and got
jammed. It stopped, and riggled. and twisted.
and squirnied, and the scales gritted against the
obstructing stones, and then it stopped again,
and all was silence.
dThe dialogue, however, was at length renew-
e : ' ' " '
Heat-Z. Gentlemen ofthe body iolitic, what in
the matter there among you?
Rattles. Just step back a little; we have got
a littlejam ied, that's all, only a trifle.
Head. ut gentlemen, "how is this’; Did
ever ask this of you’! No; no, goon; Ican't:
say ‘go ahead,’ but go on.
Then followed the most energetic twisting.
N0l{VVALK,’CONN. WPIDNESDAY, DIAY 3, 1837.
NO. s; I
GLEANINGS.
A pleasant, cheerful wife, is a.raiiibow set in
the sky, when her husband’s mind is tossed with
storms and tempesls; buta dissatisfied and fret-
ftil wile in.tlic hour of trouble is like one of
those bends who are appointed to torture lost
S[)lt'!l$i '
1--9-—
Avoid a lady who has no nostrums—wlio
tells all her secrets. You might as well wed a
printing press or a town crier—sucli a one is not
to beirusted with a man's heart—she would un-
case it tothe first cat she met.
Loye is.like a lamp, that will burn the longer
for beiiigdini, and the fiercer for being damped.
He who will slander his neighbor, would steal
his purse could he have opportunity.
The best way to deal with most slanders is
not to notice them. Nine times in ten they will
die quickertlian you eat) kill them.
Some persons. says Swift, treat books as oth-
ers do lords—learu their titles, and brag of their
acquaintance.
Adversity/.—A_ certain philosopher said, the
greatestpobject in the universe, was, a good man
struggling with adversity. There is one greater
still-tlie man who comes to his relief, '
_ The friendship of an artful man is mere self-
interest; you will get nothing and may lose
much by it.
IVIISCELLANY.
Lpsr ONE.
A ‘ Lin:-o_ii(i~:n,”e‘rhplioyed on the St. .Iohn’s
river, in East Florida, left his cabin, situated on
the banks ofthat stream, and with his axe on his
sboulder,proceededtoward the swampin which
he had several times before plied his trade of-
felling and squaring the giant trees that afford
the most valuable timber for naval architecture
and other. purposes.
At the season which is the best for this kind of
labor, heavy fogs not unfrequently cover the
country, so as to render it dfficult for one to see
fartlicr than thirty or forty yards in any direction.
The woods, too, present so little variety, that
every tree seems the mere counterpart of every
other; and the grass, when it has not been burnt,
is so tall that a man of ordinary stature cannot
see over it, whence it is necessary for him to pro-
(seed with great caution, lest he should unwiting-
l
lows.» To increase the dillicuity, several trails
oliezi meet, in which case. unless the explorer
be perfectly acquainted with the neighborhood,
it would be well for him to lie down, and wait
until the fog should disperse. Under such cir-
cumstances, the best woodsmen are not uiifre-
quently bewildered for a while; and Iwell re-
metiiber that such an occurrence happened to
nyself, at a time when Ihad imprudently ven-
iired to pursue a wounded quadruped, which
ed me some distiince from the traelg.
The live-oaker had been jogging onward for
several hours, and became aware that he must
have traveled considerably more than the dis-
tance between his cabin and the ‘hammock’
which he desired to reach. To his alarm. at
the moment when the fog dispersed, he saw the
sun at its meridian height and could not recog-
nize a single object around him.
Young. healthy, and active, he imagined he
had walked with more than usual speed, and
had passed the place to which he was bound.
He accordingly turned his back upon the sun.
and pursued a diilerentroute, gttided bya small
trail. Time passed, and the sun headed his
course: he saw it gradtially descend in the west;
but all around him continued as if enveloped
with mystery. The huge gray trees spread their
giant botighs over him, the rank grass extended
on all sides, not a living being crossed his path,
all was silent and still, and the scene was like a
dull and dreary dream of the land of oblivion.
He wandered like a forgotten ghost that had
passed into the land of spirits, without yet meet-
ing one of his kind with whom to hold converse.
The condition of a man lost, in the woods. is
one ofthe most perplexingthat can be imagined
by a person who has not -himself been in a like
predicament. Every object he sees. he at first
thinks he recognizes, and while his whole mind
is bent on searching for more tliatmay gradually
lead to his extrication. he goes on committing
greater errors the farther he proceeds. This
was the case with the live-oaker. The stin was
now setting with a fiery aspect, and by degrees
it sunk in its full circular form, asif giving warn-
ing ofa sultry morrow. Mypiatlsofinsects, de-
liglited at its departure, now filled the air on
buzzing wings. Each piping frog arose from
the muddy pool in which it had concealeditself;
the squirrel retired to its hole. the crow toils
most, and, far above, the harsh croaking voice of
the boron announced that, full ofanxiety. it was
wending its way to the miry interior of some
distant swamp. Now the woods began to re-
sound to the shrill cries of the owl; and the
breeze, as it swept among the columnar stems
ofthe forest-trees, came laden with heavy and
chilling dews. Alas, no moon with her silvery
light shone on the dreary scene, and the Lost
One, wearied and vexed. laid himselfdown on
the wet ground. Prayer is always consoiatory
to man in every difficulty or danger, and the
woodsnian fervently prayed to his Maker, wish-
ed his family a happier night than it was his lot
to experience, and with a feverish anxiety waited
the return of day. _
You may imagine the length of that cold, dull,
mooneless night. With the dawn of day came
the usual fogs of those latitudes. The poor man
started on his feet, and with a sorrowful heart.
pursued a course which he thought might lead
him to some familiar object,although, indeed, he
scarcely knew what he was doing. » No longer
had lieihc trace ofa track to guide him, and yet,
i
I
l
daylight he had before him. and the farther he
went continued to walk 'the faster. Btit vain
"were all his hopes; that day W38 SP9!“ I” F71!!!’
less endeavors to regain the path that led to his
liome. and when night again approached. the
terror that had been gradually spreading over his
mind, together with the nervous debility induced
by fatigue, anxiety, and hunger, rendered him
{T
y deviate from the i,l_l-defined trail which lie fol- out a struggle,
as the sun rose. be calculated the many hours of
almost frantic. He told me thatat this momezit
he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it not
been for the piety with which his parents had in
early life imbued'his mind, and which had be-
cotne habitual, would have cursed his existence.
Famished as he now was, he laid hiriiself oi) the
ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that
grew around him. That night was spent in the
greatest agony and terror. ‘ I knew my situation,’
he said to me. ‘I was fully aware that unless
Aluiiglity God came to my assistance, I must
perish in those uniuhabitable woods. I knew
tliatI had walked uiore than fifty miles, although
I had not met with a brook from which I could
queucli my tliirst,or even allay the burning heat
if my parched lips and blood-sliot eyes. I knew
that if I should not meet with soirie stream I
must die, for my axe was my only weapon, and
although deers and bears now and then started
within a few yards or even feet of me, not one of
them could I kill; and although I was in the
midst of abundance, not a mouthful did Iexpect
to procure, to satisfy the cravings of my empty
stomach. Sir, iiiay God preserve you front feel-
ingas I did the whole of that day !’ ' l '
For several days after, no one can imagine the
condition in which he was, for when be related
to me this painful adventure. he assured me that
he had lost all recollection of what had liap en-
ed. ‘God,‘ he continued,‘ must have taken pity
on me one day? fo,r.,_ as I ran wildly through those
dreadful pine barrens, Iinet with a tortoise. I
gazed upon it with amazement and delight, and,
although I knew that were I to follow it undis-
turbed, it would lead me t_qsp.n_ie water, my hun-
ger and thirst would not allow me to refrain from
satisfying both, by eating its flesh, and drinkiiig
its blood. \Vitb one stroke of my axe the beast
was cut in two. and in a few moments I des-
patched all but the shell. Oli, sir, how much I
thanked God. whose kindness had put the tortoise
in my way! I felt‘ greatly renewed. I sat
down at. the foot ofa pine, gazed on the the hea-
vens. thought of my poor wife and children, and
again, and again thanked God for my life. for
now I felt less distracted in mind, and more as-
sured that before long I must recover my way,
and get back to my home.’
The Lost One retiiaiiicd and passed the night
at the foot ofthe same tree under which his re-
past had been made. Refreshed by a sound
sleep. he started at dawn to‘ restime his weary
march. The sun rose bright, and he followed
the direction of the shadows.
ness ofthe woods was the same, and he was on
the point of giving tip in despair, when be ob-
served a rackoon lying squatted in the grass.-
Raising his axe, he drove it with such’ violence
through the helpless anitnal,tliat it expired with-
\Vhat he had done with the
turtle. he~now did with the rackoon, the greater
part of which he actually devoured at one meal.
With more comfortable feelings. he then resum-
ed his wanderings’—bis journey I cannot say-
for although in the possession of all his faculties,
and in broad daylight. he was worse off than a
lame man groping his way in the dark out of a
dungeon, of which he knew not where the door
stood. '
Days,1ine after another, passed—nay,_ weeks
in succession. He fed now on cabbage trees,
then on frogs and snakes. All that. fell in his .
way was welcome and siivoiiry. Yet he be-
came daily more eriiritrizitotl, until at length he
could scarcely crawl. Forty days had elapsed,
by his own reckoning, when he at last reached
the bank ofthe river. His clothes in tatters. his
once bright axe dimmed with trust. his fflC6"b€‘--
griinmetl with heard, his hair matted, and his
feeble frame little better than a skeleton covered
with parchment, there he laid himself down to
die. Amid the perturbed dreams of his feverish
fancy, be thought he heard the noise of oars far
away on the silent river. He listened, but the
sounds died away on his ear. It was indeed a
dream, the last glimmer of expiring hope, and
now the lightof life was about to be quenched for
ever. But again, the sound of cars awoke him
from his lethargy. He listened so eagerly, that
the bum ofa fly could not have escaped his ear.
They were indeed the measured beats of oars.
and now, joy to the forlorn soul! the sound of
human voices thrilled to his heart, and awoke
the tumultuous pulse of returning hope. On his
knees did the eye of God see that poor man by
the broad still stream that glittered in the sun-
beams, and htitnan eyes soon saw him too, for
round that headland coveted with tangled brush-
wood boldly advances the little boat, propelled
by its lusty rowers. The Lost One raises his
feeble voice on high ;-—it was a loud thrill scream
of joy and fear. The rowers pause, and look
around. Another, btit feebler scream, and they
observe him. It conies—liis heart flutters, his
sight is dimmed, his brain reels, he gasps for
biieath. It comes—it has run upon the beach,
and the Lost One is found. 1 —
This is no tale of fiction, but the relation of an
actual occurrence, which might be embellished,
no doubt. butwhich is better in the plain garb of
truth. The notes by which I recorded it were
written in the cabin of the once lost live-oaker,
the fourth year after the painful incident occur-
red. His amiable wife. and loving children,
were present at the recital, and never shall I for-
get the tears that flowed from them as they list-
ened to it. albiet it had long been more familiar
to them than a tale thrice told, Sincerely do I
wish, good reader, that neither you nor I may
ever elicit such sympathy, by having undergone
such sufferings, although no doubtsuch sympa-
ihv would be a rich recompense forthem.
It only remains for meto say. that the distance
between the cabin and the live-oak hammock to
which the woodsmen was bound, scarcely _ex-
ceeded eight miles, while the part of the river
at which he was found, was thirty-eight miles
from his house. Calculating his daily wander-
ings at ten miles, we may believe that they
amounted in all to four hundred miles. He
must, therefore, have rambled in a circuitous di-
rection, which people generally do in such cir-
cutnstances. Nothing butthe greatstrength ofhis
constitution. and the merciful aid of his Maker
could have supported him forso long a time-
AUDUBON.
The Practical Jolre.—A company of young
men. who were supping together at a tavern,
found the wine that wasserved of a very indiffer-
ent quality ; when one ofthein whose house was
not far distant. mentioned that be had in his
cellar at home some wine that was particularly
fine, and that‘ he would step to his house and
. teresting of course, and as the affecting inter-
fetch a couple of bottles, which suggestion iitucli
pieased the cotnpany. But after he was gone on
his errand. one ofthe cotiipau_v proposed to plav
him a trick, by going out to meet him in the way
and to friglileu llllll. To this practical joke
ihey all consented with great glee ; and accord-
tng_|yAofl' the planner went oti his c.\'pcdiiiou,
which promised to have so ]')lCt'.lS.'ll'll an cll'ct:t.
The night was dark, and a part ofthe way‘ was
in a lonely road: but what. heightened the fun
wasthatjust at Iiaud there was a tan yard. where
there lay tnaiiy fresh hides of cattle with the
horns on them, and in one of these our licro iii-
vestcd liiiiiselfiii order to complete the horror of
his figure.
The company in high expectation, waited
some time for the result of the frolic. At last
tlieitcompanioii who had been for the wine, eti-
tered with two bottles according to protnise; but
as theirjocular companion did not appear, and
being inipatientto learn the history oftliejokc.
they plainly asked him if he liad not met with
something of rather a shocking appearance on
the road? He answered, ‘indeed sonietliingof
that sort had made an attack upon liiui, probably
a robber in disguise; but,’ continued lie, ‘ what-
everit was, I have done its business, furl quickly
run my sword through its body, and it dropped
instantly at my feet wiiliout a groan.’ Terror
now seized the wliole_ company, they all l'llSllCll
out in search of their unfortunate friend, whom
they too soon found enveloped in the c0w’s bide,
lifeless, and weltering in his blood.
Applz'catz'on.--A practical joke is alwaysliablc
more or less, to be attended by very dangerous
consequerices; it is the resource ofliiols who are
incapable of foreseeing the great risk they. run of
involving themselves or the object. of their uti-
feeling iusi-‘pid wit in some fatal catastrophe ; it
is a cruel and hazardous jocularity, which has
often turned a comedy into the deepest tragedy ;
the instances that might be brought as proofs are
innumerable. The proverb says, ‘ To the wise
it is a great pleasure to hear counsel mixed with
mirth, as to the foolish to have sport iiiiiiglctl
with rudeuess.’—N. Y. Jlliri-gr. '
THE TVVO VVIVES.
‘ The blast howls like the scream of-the wild
goose, and the feathers will sooti fall in llfé
l8l’ll0OD, HS “'8 \VCl'B Sl€ll'l
brown
house,’
have heard of my Maria; a paragon of women;
the best of wives; Alons; you shall see how
she will receive her liusban'd’s frientls,.’-
Alonzo Igggl mentioned his wil_'e. to me before,_
and although there was nothing particularly en-
gaging in the description, yet one that you often
hear of, you feel some curiosity to see. As we
hied towards the mansion which my friend rent- l
ed, we met our mutual friend Daggctt.
‘ A wife he has indeed,‘ said Alonzo, ‘but no
more like mine than--thau—r:oui
with iiiipoteticy at the thought!
has not the heart ofa woman wbic
to be, all sensibility. My friend Daggett is a
fellow of mind, ofgeiiius, but unliappily he is
united to a woman who cannot appreciate. liiiii,
and who is a complete nothing.
house. Enter, and see whatwomau can be.’
As Alonzo pronounced these words the door
flew open. I glanced at the staircase, and saw
that the broom had not passed over it very late-
ly. The hall lauip is uutriuinietl, and the brass-
e's on the door haduot seen rotten stone in many
days. VVe entered the room. A young lady
sat by the window, apparently coiiutiiig her fin-
gers, for no other occupation seemed to engross
her attention. Her dress was good so far as the
quality ofthe cloth was concernctl—but there
was a great lack of neatiiess therein. and even
the vulgaridea of soap and water intruded as
we looked tipoii the lSlllIl’lUS'-VlllCll joined her
head to her shoulders. But we had not long to
make these remarks, as she arose on our Pt‘:-
trance and embraced Alonzo‘ as if she had not
seen him befcre iii a‘ month. I wasintroiluccd;
and Maria gave us to understand, that as the
acquaintance and friend of her incomparable
Alonzo. we were abundantly welcome.
Having stumbled over a broom and band-box
which lay in elegant negligence in the niiddle of
the floor, we found our way to a chair thickly
covered with dust. It was ratberlate in the af-
ternoon, and we were glad to hear Alonzo tell
her to place dinner on the table. She replied
‘ Certainly, my Alonzo, nothing gives me more
pleasure than to waiton you; you know it is my
meat and drink to obey your wishes.’
Alonzo turned to us with asniile of triiimpli,
as she went slowly out ofthe room, and said,
‘can I forbear adoring a woman who so readily
executes all my orders. You heard what she
said? '
VVe bowed and waited. I liccame extreme-
ly hungry. In the course of half an hour we
heard the slow heavy tread of Maria, approach-
ing the room.’ Now, thought we. we shall break
our fast. The raw air gives one a tremendous
appetite.
Maria entered, but instead of bearing in her
hands a smoking platter, or a table.. her arms
wereloaded with books and pictures. \Ve now
expected that Alonzo would seriously eliide, but
he again glanced at us most triiiruphaiitly, and
whispered, ‘see what it is to haye an intellectu-
al wife!’
\Ve were now compelled to examine a dozen
volumes, and listen to the reniarks of the en-
lightened Maria. The stin had declined very
iiearthe naked tree on the western bill, before
the subject of dinner was again mentioned-
when Alonzo seemed to start as if from a trance
and rather peevislily requested that dinner should
be brought immedialely.
The harsh tones of his voice broughttears into
the eyes of Maria, wliothrew her arms about
his neck. and declared she could not live if he
was offended with her. This was all very in-
l
view lasted some time, itsecriied to give usa
better appetite for dinner. After Alonzo had
soothed his beloved, and dried her tears. be dis-
covered that his ruffles had sull'ci'ed much from
the embrace, and gently hinted tliathe should
like to put them oil‘, and equip his neck and bo-
som.
But here isn.-1 many ‘ears
— J
bornratile-snake (the only snake by the way
rattles.
ofthe whole neigliborhood.
of boltluess, da:'ii'ig aiid_ niagiianiiiiity in his County Court.
composiiion—-and as he drew his
along iiiuudulatiiiguiovenients and aooiiturn- was a ‘privileged character.’
carry a
_.q_
<
1- . .
‘ lint Malia, my dear, you can send for
them.‘
"l‘hey are but just gone,’ said she, pulling up
ihe heel 01 hcrshoe to little it hole in her stock-
ing.
7 - . '. -
‘ Vi liy Maria! how many times have I re-
quested you to have aghaiige of linen always at
liziritl.’
I‘ I l{l_‘.(')_\_Y it_,_’ said she plaintively, alas! Inn]
.1 \V.l}.s iiiakuig those uuliappy wiioml mus;
I . Ii ‘ '
IOYL . _ '
‘Don’t weep, my dearest Maria!’ began Al-
onzo. ‘
Z
‘ \_Vell sa_id we,’ looking at our watch and
tiiriiiiigtqwai'tls the door, ' we have an appoint-
nient. and-
‘barely,’ cried Aloi.7.o ‘not before dinner-
liurry Maria, and have it tilt the table.’
Maria was gone a quartet‘ of an hour, xx-lion
she came in ‘Will! a platti.-rot tiicut, which 5]".
carried so tlatiitily, just tout.-liitig it with the tips
iiflier liiigers. that ll slipped lroui li_crgiasp—tlic.
thsh was broken to lragtiieiits. and the total roll-
ed on the carpet. Alon’/.0 broke fortli in a vio-
lent passion, when he accttleiitally SCI. l.i,i_oi-i_m
the grease when he came tuinbling to the floor.
His wife screamed and clung to his ii.et-la, dc-
""“”l"'Q'fl“-‘ “'35 l_l,”l,'li{ll)tl we liirtliwi_tli took
ourvlcpariure.
H_uii_gi'y, cold and won ry. we passe.) six-itily
along the streets. lax-ciiiiig had set in, and we
saw a bright and clicerfnl light shining through
the blinds of a neat." dwelling, on the tippti.s'ilc
side of the street. Dztggett'.~,' voice was the npxi
moment l,i_eartl. lie stunt! on the steps U1‘ his
liotise and invitctl us to walk in. “lo did so.-—
llis wile recciveil us without tiittch cercuioiiv.
for she was busted about her household ailiiirs.
She asked us ll we had slipped, "ml when we
told her we had not yet dined, she iiiovcd out of
the room llt)lSL‘lt'SS asa spirit, and quick as liligt-
uttig. \Ve scarcely had time to mark her fine-
ly lornu.-il ankle and pretty l:()‘Ol.,. before a snowy
cloth was spread on the table. Five iiiinutcs
siiiliccd to,co\_'crit with viands of a most deli-
CIOUS flavor. atitl cooked Ill a style scldoui sur-
passed. \Vhcn her husband spoke she was all
attciitiou, and before he had liui.-lied the thing
\\‘autcd was produced—tlie halfcxprt ssctl coin-
niantl was executed. it is true she did um tel]
him she loved him as a ,god—-but administered
I
\Ve left the house couifortablc in iuiiid
Boston G'ulu.r_i/.
From the i\'cw- Yur/c Gazelle.
TIIE SNAIKE ST()R".'
’.‘.'-." -f‘.1.‘.l‘."3“°l‘T:
Start not gentle reader, the story I am about
u tell is not calculated to shock delicate nerves,
nor yet to shed much light on natural l.ll.’~‘l()l')’-,-—
liougli it be asnalte story,auil iiiay brezitligi of
parison aches_ (loudly and poisonous fangs, and glittering scales
\V|.y' sir, she —though I aui
1, is, or qugm deucy are stri _
trace in it at least a uselul moral, why then my
labor islost, and ‘ there’s no snakes.’
gee to say its poiiii and its len-
y political, atid if you caiiuot
Once upon a time, and that time is now not
tiast, a magnificent snake, a native
not tlcscrvin_g the appellation of ‘rcptile') was
set‘-.n wititling his way. across his iiatixe l_ields.—
I-lead tip, full ofintelligence; tail tip too, full of
He was the admiration and jtist pride
There was an air
glittcriiig form
ed to bask him in the suii‘s ray. he seemed to
ssurauce that he felt. aiul new there was
not aiiollicr snake in the wide creation that could
hold a rattle to hint.
littl this noblespccimeti ofcreation wa=tloom-
ell alike with all subluiiary things to’ iiiitlcrgo a
l‘e\'0l\'ll()ll-—ll0 was in fact called on ‘ Io c.i-pci'i-
once an czi-pci-intciil.’ A nd it was something af-
ter this wise. On the day allutled to his snake-
ship was seen to stop in the middle ofliis native
fields, by a violent altercation between his ex-
treuies-—head and rattle—-antl asit as.-tiiiictl the
form ofa dialogiie, we tlius'gi\'e.it. ’
Ilatllcs. (after a most ll‘Clll(’.ll(l(_)llS Trac
lollwoed you now for many years, and act ortling
1'‘! (ll in icratic usage, ‘mm and turn about is fair
play. _ V '
Hcrirl. Gentlemen ofthe rattle. why thistur-
nioil. wliat is the difficulty? is there any dan-
ger abroad? is an enemy approaching. or an in-
caiitiotis intruder? shall I prepare the ileailly
fang to strike or to threaten’! for this is my duty
when I hear your timely rattle.
Jfrzltlcs. No, we know of neither: but we
tliiuk that as‘ you have led so long and we
have followed it is high time to take the lead.
anti let you follow fora time. ‘whiz. whiz. whiz.’
Do you hear that, master Head? \Ve have
come to the conclusion that you are an aristo-
crat, and as we out-number you at least in noise
and rattles, we should take the lead—that is
all. =
Ifcarl. \Vell,gentlemen, Istibiiiit; but mark
what Isay: the great disposer of events,long,
long before Crockett,’-s (lay, determined that
where the brain was, iliere should the head he;
and that therefore true wisdom decided that the
course should he ‘go ahead.’ But you say
‘ go a-tail.’ \Vell, be itso. experience after all
is a useful schoolniaster—if. however, you find
that taking the lead and guitlance have not its
pains and responsibilities. quite equal to the
pleasure it affords, remember that you -are now
told as much, with sincere hopes that no worse
will become of the experiment.
Rgttlcs. I-la. ha, niasfer’Head. you know
much, btit you are to learn much yet; we, who
can make so much noise, must surely have
some sense—wbcre there is much smoke there
-must be some fire. We'll teach yoti matters
you have yet to legirn, master Head. \Vliiz,
whiz, whiz.
Hear]. I doubt it not, gentlemen ; but while
you attempt to tenfcb wisdom. I hope ybu" will
learn it. Remember we are on smoolli soft
grass now; don’t be deceived by first move-
ments. In this case we cannot say as the French
do. that itis ‘the first step that determines.’
‘How unfortunately! cried she, ‘they have
not yet come from the waslierwoiiian‘s.‘
Here the dialogue ended for n time. and after
l.‘e'.l-- '
Stop. Mr, Head, we follow no more, we have-
and squirniiug, and grilling of scales, but no ad-
\'a:.'"e. One rattled and another whizzed, and
at length a voice, not before heard, proceeded
froni the ceiiire-tlie very bowels of his snake-
ship. lt was in a low, but firm tone, and spoke
decisively.
Centre. Gentlemen of brains, and gentlemen
ofthe rattle. it is not often that our voice is
heard. but when we speak we expect to be heard.
Situated as we are, atttl caring little for the dis-
tint-iiou sought for by the extremes, we are yet
so bound up in the general destiny of the body
politic, the whole commonwealth, that we can-
not rciiiaiti silent, when the best interests are at
stake. .
\Ve make shortspeeehes and no flourish; we
all perform our functions, or should do so, as
common sense, the great mother’ of wisdom, di-
rects. \Vc are all dependent on each other;
without brains‘, of what use would be rattles;
.-ind without rattles, what use would be brains:
and though we speak in modesty, what would
become of both of you, witnout" ‘us, the very
centre and belly of the commonwealth? We,
then, to use a common or uncommon phrase,
standing as we do, in ‘ mcdo tutissimus ibus.'
('2lll you to regard our common destiny, and re-
ilect. upon our present condition; ‘an experi-
incnt’ has been made, and where are we’! So
‘long as brains led us, we were well enough off;
but ‘let well alone,’ was a forgotten doctrine,
and tail ‘first, or ‘ ratileend fo_reiio_st,' was the
word; and here we. ate, jammed in the stone
fi~ut-e. Does it b,ecor_iie us to war against na-
ture, ‘for the mere pride of-opinio_n? It may suit
you, but it does not suit us, and therefore we de-
termine and decide for all; and that decision
is. ‘ Go Alteacl."
'1 ‘fine to spcaIc.—I have often heard a first-rate
anecdote told of some student of Chapelhill
Utiivcrsity. \Vhat his name was, we know not,
htil we do think hi_s reply is worthy of preserva-
lion. The college coalitions were at that time
very poor, particularly the article of butter. One
day a plate of it wgs placed upon the ‘table,
which from long keeping had becotne rancid.--l
One of the students. upon tasting it, was so ex-
asperaletl as to seize the dish, and throw it but-
mr and all, against the wall. The dish, ofcourse.’
was dashed in pieces, but the butter stuck to the
wall of the room. One of the tutors instantly’
rose, and dcinantled who was the perpetrator oi,‘-
the mischief. There was no answer. The de-_
mand was repeated, when after a few minutes
sileitcc. a sharp voice replied, ‘Ask the butter-
‘ ‘ ’ . ' I " II _ ' ' ‘ o - . . . - . , .
sllalle 0! 5“°“’ flabesv 53"}? A_l0‘-’-:7 '0 US 006- of to lllS conilorts, and anticipatetl his wishes with it is old enough to speak for itself.’—Ncw- Yorker.
(1. , . ~ ‘ - .
_ . _ ‘"7. 1” ‘-10 COTDCI 01 it a cclcrity and propriety that novels seldom de-
suu the dream. street, and dreaming of sleigh bells and warm scnbc,
‘ ' 7 ' a . .
h§:lr.”'s' d IE” 9”?” gal) reaclli [your and hotly. and resolved when we took a wile, to 1
C ll'lllC le_, 0 .s.Ol'iTl “I )l£l'Sl ('h()_g_ge one who‘ [Dyed \‘\.‘;,'l'l her hands and ‘
forth. Come then, and go home with me. lou (‘get as well as -6.3,}, 1,9, i,(.,,,,_
A fellow went to the parish priest and told
iini, with a long fac.e, that he had seen a ghost.
\Vl:eri and wliere?’--—‘I. was passing by the
church, and up against the wall ofit did I behold
the spectre.’ ‘In what shape did it appear I’--,
asked the priest. ‘ It a lpeared, in the shape ofa
great ass.’- ‘ Q0 litigrie. and hold your tongue
abmit it,’ said the pastor; ‘ you are a very timid
man. and have been frightened at your ottpgi,
.s'luulozc. A '
T /It,’ Dcniocracy.-7-The presiding officer in a
neighboring town, on receiving the votes at the
late election. opened each one as he received it,
and saw the names of the candidates voted for.
On reeeiying the ticket of one of hispoor neigh-
bors. he (being the ‘ poor man's friend.') with-
held it frointlie box, and asked him, ‘Is this the
ticket you mean to vote for?’ and on being an-
swered in the affiimative, replied, with a signifi-_
catitleer, ‘I_ shall remember that, Sir.’ D (h
‘.I)cniocracy and our eouptry !‘-Coim.Hcral -.
Contempt of Com-t.—There was an old prac-
titioner over the tiiountainsin Virginia, whowas
a sort. of ‘Sir Oracle’ with the Magistrates or
VVhatever he told the Court
was tlielaw, the Court decided was law. H9,
Tliovgh the
Court considered Mr. Jones infallible, some of
the young aitornies psegl to venture a smirk pow
and then at his legal dogmas. On oneoccasion,
one of them ventured, so far. as not only to de-
ny that what M r._ Jones said was law, butto e_x-
press some surprise that he should assert, it to
be. This wasdownright ‘cotttempt,’ not only of
the Court, btit of Air. Jones. Whereupon, Mr.-
Jones so be-rated and d—d the young lawyer,
that he called upon the Court to protect him.
‘Protect you!’ said the Court. ‘You may
think yourself well oil, that the Court does not
conimit you !'
‘ for what !’
‘Because,’ replied the Court, ‘you put Mr-
.lones in a passion. and made him curseand
swear before the Court.
‘.._!.'~;-_z_, - . _
DOPIESTIC ITEMS.
I)isfres.si7ig‘.—E niily C. \Vood, a little girl 10
years of age. daughter of Hiram and Melinda
\Vootl, was burnt to death at her father's house,
near \Vashiiigton College, in this city, on Fri-
day night last. Towards evening, as she was
ptilting a stick of wpotl upon the fire, her clo
cauglit,anrl were almost instantly in ablaze. She
ran out towards the river. west of the college,
but before she could reach it, her clothes were
almost entirely burnt oil’. She however ran in»;
iotbe river, extinguished the flames, and threw
herself upon the bank, where she was found ‘by
her mother. She lingered in most execruciating
agonv until 12 o’clock, when she expired.-
l\'o'rlhern Courier. '
.Mclanclt0l_i/.—Mr. \Vil1iam Kelsey. aged 27
years, sort of Mr. Levi Kelsey, oftbis city, was
drowned in the Connecticut, on Tuesday last
near the flats, north of the bridge. He went
upon some log rafts in the morning, probably for
tne purpose of adjusting some of the floating logs
when it is supposed he accidentally slipped in
and was drowned. He was missed on Tuesday
noon, but no particular anxiety was felt about
him, until yestcii'ay morning, at which tii_n'e',
search was made about the raft. near which be
was last seen. His liankerchief and niem'oi'ans
rlum book were discovered between two logs.—
which was found in about an hour, directly un-
der the logs.’ He was an active, industrious, and
respectable young man.—1b. " '
Jlfail Lost.-—On board ofthe Steamboat Eancy
that was burned with all her contents a few days
since, says tlie"N'_al'chez Courier of the §th ' til!»
we understand was the Uhltiéd States Mail. Be.
sideslthe valuable cargotliat was destroyed, there
was also on board 81,3. 00 in paper money, which
a most tremendous whizzing, the snake moved
shared in the general estruction,
‘Commit me!’ exclaimed the young lawyer,
thee -
Immediate search was then made for his body. ‘
Norwalk Chronicler