Litchfield enquirer. [volume], January 20, 1831, Image 1

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LITCHFIELD ENQUIRER.
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VOL. V.
LITCHFIELD, (CONN.) THURSDAY, JANUARY 20, 1831.
No. 52.—Whole No. 240.
fi.ltc$fteltt Enquirer:
PUBLISHED EVERT THURSDAY HORNING,
By HENRY ADAMS.
TERMS.
To tillage and single mail subscriber* 2 dollars per
year, payable before ilie expiration olsix mouths.
To companies of any number over six, $1 50 per
year, payable as abovK To companies less than six, i
$1 75 per year, payable ns before. CJ’25 cents w ill
be deducted from each of these prices when payment j
is made in advance. These prices are exclusive of
mail or stage charge for transportation.
No papers will be discontinued until all arrearages
nr* paid, except at the Hist relion of the editor.
Notice of a wish to discontinue must be given hefure
the expiration of the year.
Advertising. One square, three insertions, $1,
and the same proportion for to o or more squares.—
Half it square 75 cts. Continuance over three weeks,
20 per cent per week. A liberal deduction made for
advertisements continued 6 or 12 mouths.
Administrators’ nod Executors’ Notices, $1 GO
Commissioners’ Notices, 1 25
All communications must be post-paid.
T1ie following excellent Tale lias been some time
mi banil, bnl we have not before found room for it.—
Jl was we believe first published in the Boston Tran
script, nod ascribed to the pen of J. G. Whittier, ol
Hartford:—
THE SCOTCH PEDLAR.
lit one of our August days,such as will
come, in hotness ; when the sand dries the
sitocs to parchment and sweats the brow
with saturation, as though the brain was
creeping out through skull-pmts and pore ;
a man was seen coming into a faim-house,
with a Runyan pack on his back. lie was
on the wrong side of fifty, seemed fatigued,
and looked as though heat and humanity
wore at tremendous variance. Jt may not
be known generally that he who is dry or
hungry, by the simple asking, will obtain :
meal and drink almost any where in our
village ; and the fact of giving and receiv
ing is considered neither charity nor beg
ging. If you ask for water, the reply would i
be, would you not prefer cider I and one is i
as free as the other. If a family are not i
ut dinner, 4 come and take a scat with us,’
is the common invitation of every day, if
you tiro a stranger; ami so common are
these practices, that they are not put down
to the credit of hospitality, but considered
as matters of course. The pedlar of whom
1 have spoken, with but little ceremony,
disencumbered himself of his pack in the
largo kitchen into which he had ushered
himself, and after exercising his handker
chief about his nose, face and cars with :
great industry for a few moments, inquired
of a lady somew hat near his age, w ho sat at
n wheel spinning her 1 pound of llax,’
whether ‘ site ditma think it vera warm the
day 1’ Sho stopped the circumgyrations
<>| her noisy help-meet of industry, eleva
ted her spectacles and said she thought it
was. Cold water was asked for, and ci
der was as usually produced. The stran
ger, with a broad Scottish accent, inqui
red how far it was to a tavern, for he was
hungry, and was followed by a icply that it
was five miles, and as it was 4 after tute,’ he
would be too late for dinner, during which
the table, 4 span clean,* of white pine, was
spread, and the hostess placed on the board
what had been left at dinner, consisting of
boiled salt beef and pork, potatoes, cooler
than the guest, brown bread, baked with
care, and the w hole to bo washed dow n by
• old orchard’ alias cider. The stranger
fell to, and did justice to each. After this,
was brought forth (the pride of our dairy
woman) cheese. The stranger, as he dis
cussed each and all, would throw curious
and inquiring glances at the 4 gude w oman,’
as he called her, and he seemed to he peer
ing about the room like a llthjf or n pur
chaser. After having his inner man re
freshed, he observed, 4 Madam, 1 maun pay I
now for the dinner, and the vinegar, and
the curds, and you maun as wcel tell me
how much o’ the siller ye lack ?’ 1/ you
ever saw a storm, now it was to be scon in
its violence. 4 Curds !' quoth she, 4 my
best new milk cheese to be called curds!
Cheese I made with nty own hands!
Cheese fit for the President ! and nty hus
band’s cider called vinegar 1 you black
guard pedlar you, go about your business !
and then she took a pinch of snuff and re
sumed—4 talk to me about paying ! as
though I wanted money for a meal of vict
uals'; I’ll let you know who is who, and
what is what !—And let me tell you my
husband’s name it Jonathan Twist, and
he’ll twist you my fine fellow ! I knew you
was an outlandish man, the moment you
began your lingo, and if there is any law,
I will have you before the ’squire !’
The pedlar eyed her with most consum
mate nnn-chalance on the occasion, and
with great gravity, said, 4 the curds wltilk
I gathered dOubiless were cheese, but be
ing, as ye term it, an outlandish* mon, I gi
it the wrang name ; and foreby a’ the rest,
that it ha’ born made by yer ain scl’ to give
to a pure pedlar like, the’ ye winne tak his
money, 1 beg you to forgie nte. The ci
der wltilk is unknown aniaist our bonte
braes o’ Scotland, is very gude, even wer
ye to ca’ it vinegar, to a puir traveller that
hath'a weary pack o’ his shoulder. Had
ye nae better lak the siller and let me gang 1
uwa V
There was a softening in the good lady’s
brow, and as she gathered up the dishes,
she seemed to collect her good humor.—
She avowed that the cheese might not
have been so good es Iter last year’s and
offered that he might try any that was cut
in the cheese-room, and admitted that two
deyebofore, she told her husband to tap a
new barrel, but he could not find the apike
(tablet.
The pedlar declared * he dinna care as
to the material o’ his dinner, for whilk he
wur thankfu’ and to the leddy who had pro
vided.- Biit,’ said he, * I wad like to ha a
glimp at yere gude moil. He wad like to
hear from an auld frien’. Did he nae gang
upon the seas in ither days ?’ ;
The dame nibbed her spectacles with 1
the cover of her apron, and said, * yes, hard I
times he bad too, and w hen I married him i
I stopped his sea fairing life: poor man,
ho had to live on salt beef and no turnips
and cabbages, nor nothing else for months,
and then instead of drinking cold water
fight out of the spring, he was obliged to
take it out of a cask where it had been
three months—and then on dark nights
had to climb up rope ladders to haul in his
sheet, and that too when he was almost
froze—and then to keep a log book, when
there was no wood to make a fire in the
ship—and then to sec to the cook, when
there was nothing to cal in the vessel.—
Anil then, to cap all, ho went to Scotland
where they stick up posts for people to rub
their b.icks against, was himself oblige cl to
use sulphur, and came home smelling terri
bly of biimstone.’
During this speech the pedlar looked se
rious and humorous, and once or twice
rather winced under some undcfinable feel
ing. • YVeel leddy,’ said be, * the people
o’ Scotland are not watir folk after a’.—
They like their kirk and kindred, and nev
fir fasli themselves about ither folk matter.’
In reply, slio asked of what she termed
[lie outlandish man, whether he belonged
to Scotland. Upon an affirmative answer,
she then told him that her Jouathan had re
vived n great favor * in them are foreign
jails’—and if lie come from ‘thereabouts,’
10 was welcome to stay a month. While
his conversation was in transitu, lie was
ansacking his wallet and finally produced
i silver thimble, which lie offered to the
voman,observing that the 1 ane she had on,
vas o’ brass and wad bring sores’—-she do
dined and said she had worn her own
wenty years and did not likn to change it.
she then went to what is called the sink
•com door, and blew a tin horn to summon
icr father and progeby home from their lu
joi*.
» • • i . I __ t_
i ii n mi tin mil iiiv? 91111111 m ' iK* »*'is
id by h sturdy weather beaten old man, a
trapping sou of about 30, six feet high, a
due-eyed youth of about 14, pale and sick
y, nnd a young girl of a little more than
L5, barefooted and beautiful,except that the
mu bad kissed Iter cheeks too warmly.—
Flie old man when he came in cast a look
if inquiry upon his wife, and then on the
ttranger. IIis wife said that * a pedlar
'pointing him out) bad come from Scotland,
tear where Donald M’Saunder* lived, and
lie thought be might like to ask after the
nan who bad given him such a lot of inn
ley when lie had not got but six cents in
lis pocket.’ The old man shook hands
villi the stranger—sent his six foot son to
ap a barrel of bis best cider—and began in
be true style of New-England, to com
notice a conversation by observing it was
rather warm—bad travelling,’ &c.
In the mean while the eyes of the ped
ar had twinkled over the inquirer, or rath
3r introducer of speech, and every body
alse, and in broad Scotch replied, 4 It is
line like the braes o’ Bannockburn.’
The old gentleman looking closer nt the
pedlar, replied—4 No sir, and it seems that
you are acquainted with those braes'?—
have you any acquaintance in their neigh
borhood 1’
’ Vtdlar. 1 ken na mucle about them.
Ptriffid. Do you know Donald M’Saund
tlrs ?
P. A leetlc—nap guile—nac guile.
rJ\ Wliy, you will not say any thing a
gainst him—lie was a rich and hospitable
man—would do a favor to a stranger ?
P. Then ye know mair about him than
I ken and ye need na have speerctl at me.
T. Who ore you ?
P. A Pedlar that ha’ mad’ a glide bar
giu wi* your gude woman for curds—
cheese and the saut meat, and the vin—ci
der, as she will attest.
7'. What is your name?
P. Of nac consequence to you—tak’
your money for my cheer, or I gang about
my business.
T, No sir—no sir—you have slandered
a friend of mine, and you shall answer for
it—the friend of my young days shall not
be traduced now. 1 have sons to protect
him—If they cannot, I can.
P. Veri week Let me gang my ways.
7’. No—you stir not till you tell more.
P. Umpli—I am the man—and I will
thank your lang legged chield for the cider
—whilk is better than the last, begging
your pardon Mrs. Twist aud ‘ Auld lang
syne,’ to you but yankee wine.
T. Are you Donald M’Saunders ?—but
you look like bini—you a pedlar? and in
this country too ? why this farm is yours
and all 1 have. You carry a pack ! sons,
daughter, wife—all of you! Here is he
who owns all that we possess—his money
has fed us with our labor for years. Do
any thing and every thing which ho says
you must do, unless against conscience,
and I know he will not tell you to do any
thing against that. Here he shook the
pedlar bv the hand with no countiugroom
grip. The pedlar preserving his gravity
•aid! that ‘ lie didna like the ceremony ot
having his shouldor dislocated, but he bo
ned to be forgiven for the curds and the
Vinegar. The sii feat fallow was first in
(induced to him, of whom he asked the fol
lowing questions : * What business wad you
follow gin ye had the mind 1’ In answer,
' A farmer.’ Q. Ha’ ye got any siller V—
* Yes, two hundied dollars by overwork in
my father’s employ, and can now earn en
ough to support the whole family and you
too.’ Some snuff was used by the Scotch
man on the occasion, and in reply, after
long silence, lie said ‘ Braw lad—lie dinna
need my care’—but slowly and carefully
lie asked afterward, ‘should the auld man
come to want and should the bairnes lack
porritch, what should ye do, gin ye had the
siller V Feed, clothe and watch over them,
was the prompt answer. * Gang your
ways my noble lad [leaving his Scotch]
and there is a reward above and below, be
yond that which I can afford.’ The pale
young boy was next brought to him. His
name was Henry ; there was thought on
every lineament of his face ; weakness for
agricultural pursuits in his limbs, but intel
lect seemed to have embodied his whole
frame. From this figure it would have
seemed, that he was formed to have been
early translated to another sphere. Ho
never was cast for a farm house—he seem
ed more like the ejements of nil exhalation,
to bo carried on high from its precincts,
than as one doomed to delve amid earth.
The old pedlar asked his father, * and what
do ye cu’ this !’ The father said he could
make but lit tlo of him, as he was to weak
even to manage a flail or a plough—he was
given to study of hooks arid such nonsense,
and even when they had sent him out of
(he fields from home, he would sit up till
twelve o'clock at night reading. It had
spoilt him for business, though he must say
he was kind and obliging to nil around him.
If lie was like the elder brother for busi
ness, 1 should never fear wan'.’ The
pedlar placed his eye upon the boy, who
was sitting in the corner of the room read
ing his hook, and as ha looked at the wast
ed lad, u twinkle of interest like a sunbeam
through the corner of a cloud lit upon his
brown hair from the eyes of the pedlar.—
There was that visible, and plainly visible,
which interests all who are not strangers
to the strange formation of human intellect.
It was a something fur beyond human rea
•a.ltl,*!. III.,. i I,.. oliinili lui'lt'IIM
soiling, which iikb ino stamp oi nniven,
impressed a kindredncss on tlio heart that
called the pedlar to show kindness to tlio
hoy. He came to him blushing, und tlio
pedlar told him that lie had tilings to sell,
and asked what he should prefer! * A rib
hen for Maria.' The pedlar replied * I can
gio ye a glide one for the sma’ sum o' saxty
rents.’ The little fellow declined, ns lie
had but sixty two and a half, nnd ho owed
It is mother four coins of the whole. The
pedlar fumbled over his pack, told his
youthful trader, there was one ribbon worth
a’ the siller which he had to gi’ him, and
he might pay him when ho liked—when
he were able—or if he would take it from
an auld, Scots pedlar us a free gift and gi’
it to his bonny sister, ho were right wel
come.’ The lad hesitated and then bowed
nnd received the ribbon. At this time
the family were close urotind I his strange
dealer of pedling wares. The father told
his story of being in Scotland, away from
his ship—of being robbed upon a moor—
of meeting with a stronger his present guest
—of his park and grounds, and hospitality,
and courage of his friend there present,
who had furnished many years since, the
means whereby he was now at home, un
der a roof of his own—that all he possess
ed belonged to the pedlar before him, and
that the least he could do would be to sup
ply all his wants even at the expense of all
that little he possessed.
It wns rather laughable than other wise
to see the good damo at once respectful
and generous, offering her store of goods—
stockings by the barrel, cheese by the toil,
butter by the firken, and catnip by the bale.
Next Nathan, the six f«v>t fellow, offering
to work for him five years for his * vict
uals,’ a* he termed it—the boy »tood with
tears in his eyes in tlio corner and said
nothing. 4 My young bairn,’ quoth the
pedlar, 4 canna ye do naithiug for your fa
ther’s frien’ l for-bye the ribbon I gio ye l’
‘ No,’ said he, 4 I can only give you my
gratitude.’ 4 Very weel said,’ replied the
pedlar, 4 but your sma’ sliins can bring me
iny pocktnanteau.’ It was brought instant
ly by the sickly messenger. 4 What have
you read my little frien’ !’ 4 Shakspear,
’and Burns, and Cicero.’ The twinkling
eye of the Scotsman looked closer at the
boy—4 Vera weel, nnd then ye ken the
Latin; and how does the oration against
Cataline begin !’ 4 Cano arma yirum’—
4 Toot tout moil, that is Virgil. The
youth turned to his sister and burst into
tears for his wild mistake. The pedlar
called him again and asked him what was
the beginning of Cicero—4 Quosque tan
dem abuterc’—4 Stop,’ said the pedlar, 4 ye
are a gude chid, and when I lack for the
siller, I mun ca’ upon you. The rich man
may lose a’ and ha’ his brain, while ye ha
the' brain and the lo’ o’ God afore ye, the
corn and the oil will be afore ye, and when
the lung grass grows ower yere grave, it
mun be a peacefu’ and honoured mansion
o’ rest.’ The pack being brought he
seemed anxiously engaged in examining us
heterogenous commodities* wn^n lie drew
from a corner of his portable shop, a small
parcel neatly doue up, end holding it in
one hand end bis snuff bux in the other, he
•eked of the father, how much tiller it
would eoet to send e bairn to college, gm
he kept school i’ the winter T The old
man replied that it would cost about four
hundred dollars—his neighbor’s son had
accomplished a graduation for that sum at
a neighboring university by great prudence.
‘ Vera weel,’ said the pedlar, ‘your bairn
there mun gang to college, lie is nae fit for
any thing else, and there is six hundred ]
dollars just to pay his way, and I will take i
his note for twenty year, simple interest. !
Come here you pale faced loon, and say j
winna ye gang to college V—The boy !
looked on him so gratefully that tiie pedlar !
took it for an answer, and with his usual;
‘ vera weel’ asked him, 'and what profess
ion he would select 1’ The boy answered
he did not know. * Whilk is the best—
cannn be a minister to the kirk ?’ The lad i
replied he could never be good enough for !
that. 'That proves,’ was the reply, ‘ that
ye are amaist fitted already—but dinna ye
meddle with physic and men’s lives—if ye
are loo skilfu’ye will run hazards—if ye
are ton ignorant, ye mon poison God's im
age ; do become a Phoenix as they ca’ a
bird wi’ lytreat tail and a lang nose—be an
honest lawyer, and ye shall nivertyay the
note for the six hundred dollar.’ The
young scholar consented, and was sent off
with a kindly pttll of the ear as happy as
innocence and gratified desire could make
him. Maria was then called upon, who
came sidling up to the travelling vender, to
whom in broad Scotch, he said—' Ye are
i young lassie, and ye maun play the very
Jeevil aiming the hearts o’ the young
chiefs who will say very pretty things to
ye—-I maun gi’ ye something to buy blank
ets when ye shall marry some am*. It is
muled in this parcel and line ane shall ken
bow much—ye mun a’ o’ ye say tiaething
ibout it. The rich man come to woo ye
Maria and the gold and the land intice ye.
The fop und the fule come, and by their
gaud and finery deceive ye—let them a
Innu lassie—chusc you one ol your sphere
and line matter for his poverty, gin ho be
licit in his mind and pure in his morals,
and nviir than a’ that lie loes ye weel—
tak* him, tak’ hint, if he be poorer than the
puir pedlar seemed when he came for the
water at your door—lassie the heart o’ sic
an ane, has mail riches than is contain in
that ragged pockmanleau—tak’ him lassie,
and when his hair is gray as mine, he will
still seem to you young and benutifu’—tak*
him lassie, and when ye are mild yoursel’
and die, the prayer and the tear will gang
up, like a pure gem to be worn on your
brow in Paradise, und ye will look kindly
down on (lie spirit that maun follow and
kiss thee in the bright country above us.’
He then called Nathan and told him in his
original droll manner, ‘Nathan, yo lang
legged turf digger, wi’ big calves and two
bundled dollar in siller, ye can get fodder
enough and dinna lack the usseestance of a
l»uir Scotch body.’ Nathan told him that
in had already overwhelmed llio family
ivitli benefits, and lie least required mon- j
*y. ‘ Gang awa, gang uwa, yo loon,’ said j
lie pedlar, 4 when ye lack the siller some
ither mild fil'd o' a pedlar like ntysel’ will
mine tiling and it to ye.’
The furnior began to make his acknowl
edgements lor the fuvors received, and
even begun to get out his pen, ink and pa
per, to give notes for the amount, when he ]
wns put down by the remark, 'Tout tout,
mon, I ha nao kif or kin, and I hae liberty
to do wi’ my money as I like s gin ye want
to ho grncofu’ just yore ane scl, bring my
pack for I mun be ganging.’ In spite ol
entreaty, the offar of a horse, and every
tiling else, he buckled on his pack, took
his staff, and ‘glide even, I will gang this
way sumo itlicr lime and tak’ a drop o’
your vine—cider, I think, glide leddy, ye
ca’ it.’ ******
Yoars rolled on with their leamery ireau
and like mountain streams passed unstamp
ed with any remaining impress of event.
The boy hud become n man—a young
bridegroom—a lawyer of rising fame and
distinguished talent. Maria was the bride
of a virtuous, well educated farmer, nnd on
the evo of their marriage broke the seal of
the * pedlar’s gift,' as it was familiarly call
ed, and found a draft of £600 on Scotland,
which was cashed instantly by a broker.—
On the eve of Henry’s marriage, a loud
tap was heard at tho door, and in walked
the Scottish pedlar, somewhat more grey,
but still hale and hearty as ever. * How
is a’ wi’ve the night V was his familiar ad
dress, and he deposited his pack on the
floor of the wedding room. Earnest to
kens of affectionate remembrance were
poured upon him, which he seemed to en
dure rather than receive. * It’s a’ very
we el,* said'he, * and now Maria yc ha’ les
sened the pack o’ the Scotchman, and can
ye pay the siller o* your wedding gift 1’—
The husband stepped forward and said that
‘by the prudence of his wife,he had become
able to pay hulf, and give him security for
the remainder in an estate worth treble the
amount of the whole debt.’ Tire Scotch
man surveyed him from head to foot, nnd in
answer replied—‘ Umph,’(and he took a
long pinch of snuff,) an honest chid that—
Maria remembers the direction.* Setting
himself in the arin chair, unmindful of the
minister, he askod Henry (who had mar
ried) to step forth and * send awa* his bon
ny bride.’ It was done. All but the fam
ily were left. He then in tho fulness ol
tone of an unawmmod vwice, and in broad
English observed, * Read this—by it yt,u
| will find that 1 am no pedlar—that I wu*
I done end rieli in the well thronged etreeti
of Edinburg—tlntt I was eccent ric— -t hat
saw (it to leave the land that called me its
own—my Scotticisms in this country were
assumed—myself is my own—the ship
waits to carry me to the land of my birth—
I have become a Baron, and to the duties
of the discharge of its office have I devoted
the remainder of my days. I have known
only one, and that is Henry, that 1 look
upon worthy to inherit possessions, which
to me are a pain. Henry, you and your
bride must see me across the river, and
when you come there you will meet not on
ly with hospitality, but more than a father:
yon must come within a year, for I find
that the fountain of life is becoming dry,
and that age is sending to death the poor
Scotch Pedlar.’ Henry and his bride gavo
the pledges, and they went over the waters
soon niter the pedlar. Nathan went on
with the farm and was comfortably rich ;
Maria and her husband had a regular an
nual visit front Scotland in the shape of
gooj sound guineas, the old man and wife
were comfortable and quiet in their aged
hours, and the * pale boy' is now near the
Golden Fleece in the good city of Glas
gow, the successor' to the hewer out of his
own high legal fame, and the successor to
the fortunes of the eccentric baron aud the
Scotch pedlar of America.
Washington, January 4.
The President’s house was open New
Year’s day according to custom. About ten
o’clock the multitude began to assemble.
The day was rather fair than otherwise, hut
somewhat cold. In about an hour, the
spacious apartments exhibited n goodly
number of beads. The Vice President,
Mr. Calhoun, though in the city, is said
not to have been there. That there ha*
been a breach between him and the Pres
ident, is true.
It is thought that Mr. Me*Duffle’s joint
resolution to amend tiie Constitution of the
United States will be adopted. It limits
the presidential term to four years—and
provides that tio man shall be Prcsideul but .»•
for ono term.
The holidays are now over* and judging
from the past experience, I presume the
houses will now get prottv seriously to
work, as they have but llttlo tirno befoio
them. But should the trial ofJudgo Peck
proceed at tlin rate it has done hitherto, T
do not see how much else can he attended
to. Both houses are now obliged to meet
at eleven, in order to despatch the mere
forms of morning business:, if tliey got in
to serious debate, this brief hour will not
servo for a single speech ; but the court
meets at twelve, and both houses are pres
ent. Mr. Meredith makes his opening
speech to day., Mr. Wirt, I fear, will for
some tinie be, in a general degree, incapa
citated from giving much attention to for
ensic duties, by the severe pressure of do
mestic affliction. Tito blow lie lias now
sustained is said, by those who are ueqaint
ed with the lovely daughter ho lias lost, to
be peculiarly severe. We are entering
with great ardfnir on the usual course of
winter dissipation. The dignitaries of the
land, and its beauty, and fashion have been
in solemn convocation to see a whetd-bar
row rolled up a rope at the risk of n%eckr
(of little value it is true) and they are from
night to night packed in parlors and sa
loons, where cotillions ate performed in a
varying space of about nine feet square.—
Thu corps of milliners and back drivers join
in mutual felicitations, while the dry-good
dealers feel a doubtful joy.—iV. Y. Sped.
Bankrupt Dividends.—The anecdote of
the Barbel ’s failure in Wednesday’s paper
reminded a friend to call and tell us of i
loss be met with a few days since by tho
bankruptcy of a professional polisher of
hoots. The disciple of Day & Martin
had his only change pair of siiow-trackors
in possession, for tho purpose of * gibid on
’em do reel shine’—but as they did not ap
pear at his door in due time in the morn
ing, ho put on the yesterday’s dull pair and
found his way to tho shop of Cufl'ee Brush,
which was fast its a door-nail could make
it. Cuff, however, showed the dark of his
couutenauce through a broken pane, and
said,
‘ Good motnin’ massa.'
‘ Open the door, Cuff.’
| * Oh, Massa, I bery sorry 1 can’t admit
your honor.’
‘ Can’t, why not V
• Whv, I met misfortine, and been'’bli
ged to turn bankrup.’
•Ah, that’s bad,—how much have you
failed for 1*
‘ Tirteen dollar sebenty-one cent, Mas
sa.’
• Well, hand out my bools. Cuff, make
an honest settlement with your creditors,
and you’ll do well enough.’
• Here’s one, Massa.’
• Hand along the otbei.*
• Oh no, Massa, I only pays dihidend ob
fifty centon de dollar.’—Bost. Traiu.
A Blacksmith in Alabama having been
slandered, was advised to apply to the
1 courts for redress. He replied, with true
1 wisdom, “ I shall never sue any body for
! slander; I can go into my shop and work
out a better character in six months than.I
could g«t in a court bouse in a 3 oar.”
If wa did not take great pains, and wee*
not at great expense to corrupt our nature,
our nature would never corrupt us.