The Southern journal., June 10, 1845, Image 1

About The Southern journal. (Monticello, Miss.) 184?-18??

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imm vmumfM*
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^^rngg^BBSSSSSSStB^SSSSSSSSl^SS^SSSSSSSSS
The Broken Bow. 11 v *'
BY HENRY MORl'OHB.
The arrow quivers on ihe Filing,
Rly old oak bow bends well,
A moment, and the cord shall sing,
And the little arrow lake his wing
Wlieie never arrow fell.
Draw upward, upward, to the eve
A moment mote it speeds!
Once more, the broken splinters fly,
And the loosed string gives one wild sigh
For high but perished deeds!
And here the useless arrows 1 ie,
There’s little reck of them;
And seldom shall the passer by
Who treads the quiver, think of why,—
Or how those fragments came.
I stepped this morning to the goal
As young steps to his death;
I had the archer in inv soul,
As little hud I brooked control —
As feared opposing breath.
I’ve drawn the shaft, I’ve bent the bow,
I’ve neared the archer’s aim;—
l\ly arrows all lie trampled low,
And feelings in my bosom grow—
1 almost fear to name.
Shall it be told that I have drawn
A bow that bent and broke?
IJave I thus far my gauntlet gone—
To find my quiver trampled on,
And crushed my faithful oak?
For look! the gibing crew I dared
To meet tire in the-test—
The fow whose honor only shared
A place with him they all have shared—
Mock at my drooping crest!
The ring will clear, the sport be dope,
While I am bending here,
And they will tell the craven son—
Whose wavering shot*! lic*pi ize has won,
That I am not his peer!
| 1 break my arrows on this spot,
They shall not grace a foe,
" j And though they all scoff at my lot,
’Tis not my arm that bears the blot,
It is my broken bow!
Labor.—It is to labor, and to labor only
tat man owes every ihing of. exchangea
le value. Labor is the talisman that has
used him from the condition of the sav.
Jj|e; that has changed the desert arid the
rarest into cultivated fields; that has cover
ed the earth with cities, and the ocean with
^ ships; that has given us plenty, comforl
a,.d elegance, instead of want, misery and
^ barbarism.
. Some wag says that the only borrower]
ajticle he ever returned promptly was a tis*
from a pretty girl’s lips. Of course he re.
turned it on the spot.
* ELL AN ECUS'1. Z«|
Jr - »v“-4*
Porte says,. r sole honor or I
merit-lies-iii hit part well,-what
ever tic tfifc char ..e'assumes on the
stage of life. it fqjgrowled, then,
1V
r - iWRWOl Fleet-,
well, of wW.r _ >enk j as a
yidualWbr the critic
who*woiU^ speak o^arogingly of his per
formance, would reflect on the histrionic
^nve^fa Siddons or a Talma.
Like ^Jher great actors^dim is aware of
t^ejuJjtantag^to be derivedifrorn dressing
'V|[ll.fo^his part; and licnqkhe_jnjttyarli-'
cirtar attention to costumePL Said his
halent is remarkably versatile, sometimes
enabling q.af Mpr as an* tar, minus
au argtyvhich heTosf, or is wont to say
be fcst,|^fa.Qommo(!i)r'e Per/y ou Lake
Erie; at othfcr times, again, asoaewho was
on board the sterrmboat which,, blew up on
the Mississippi, and who JaBsiTthut his
j bfe by the catastrophe, andWM saved only.;
| bj. his swimming ashore. *
| Yesterday He made' bis appearance, in
| dtp city,-as one of the men—so many of:
! whom reside m^h^vestern snburbs^f N.
: Orleans, and w^rdt|^|jflheir timfe beWedn
Ltagiilining” in the''swamps and fishing in
utc hike. A better impersonation of such
j an amphibious chaise ter it woulQtje'liard
■ to see.
I Going to the residence of one oT our well
i known and respectable citizens, he rang
| the be!!, and the servant appeared in an
j swer to his summons. He asked her if Mr.
A . was within. She replied in the affirm
ative, when he requested to sqc him. The
I uertiinf i-nt.iv.mJ !i „ i I - 1 l r* ,
-- ----
" here she had left her master, informed
him of the wish of the stranger, and lie
went out to see him .
j Ilow do you do, Mr. W.? said Jim, iu
a half familiar, half-deferential hind of
!
1 tone.
Your servant,said Mr. W., locking close
' ly at his visitant.
You seem not to remember me, sir, said
| Jim, apparently astonished that lie was not
instantly recognised by a gentleman who
j had never seen him before—you seem not
j to remember me, sir; but I know you like
a book, begging your pardon for making so
tree, sir; my name is Jim Fleet well.—
[llere he touched his hat, to show his sub
missiveness.] Doesn’t you remember, sir,
: how 1 used to be out a fisliin’ with you
! when you was down at the Balize? Doesn’t
i you remember what jolly spoi l we used to
! have calf bin’ oysters? and, iny eyes! may
j he you usedn’t to give us any first rate old I
brjjndy at all! Oh! to be sure you didn’t
| use to.
Upon my word, my good fellow, said
Mr. W., 1 really forget the particular tune
or incidents you allude to. ] certainly
; have been on more than one agreeable
; fishing excursion at the Balize, but I really
j do not now remember all the parties who
were along with me—I do not at the same
time mean to question rfhe truth of what
you say.
Well, that aint iiere nor there now, said
Jim; all I’ve got to say is, that 1 rcineni
; oers your Kindness on them 7ere occasions,!
; and I doesn’t think I shall ever forget it
| while my name is Jim Fleetwell. [Query,
how long would he have to remember it?]
But what brought me here, and what I was
a goin’ lo say is, that I’ve as nice a lot of
ducks, some croakers and soft shell crabs,
below in n^y craft, at the New Basin, as
you’ve seen yet. Just let your servant
take a basket and come along with -me,
and I’ll send you a sample of ’em up, in re
gard to old times.
O, you arp very kind. Said Mr. W. •
but—
But send him you must, said Jim. Jim
Fleetwell is not the man to-forget an act of
friendship, or to be prevented from re
payin’ it.
Mr. VV., seeing remonstrances useless,
ordered out his servant, who, busken on
arm, took his place behind Jim Fleetwell,
with the view of following him to the New
Basin.
Oh! by the way, said Jim p’raps you’d
like an eel? I’ve a few fine ones.
6 come albff
i#€|’sai(1j£Lw: ** ?
advarteed a J^pvwtp-', feeling Ins
pockets in fiie meantime, nnrl uic n hirnedjJ
suddenly on his jieel? before Mr.^Wrgfg
time to tofrn^tin saying— Jf ^
Mr. W. rh% just tenyembcred that]
I’m a doiT^r ntJn a half short of Some little
things P^mrcl^sed on my way here—if
you’ve got sdf'nrftfc'h change alioii^youy let
methane it-jit’H save me a,seco|id wall; to
tjj^ Basjft^mutVjl send it back by the boy
iere.' ^ '
tgM. ... ... ' • * * •
Certainly, said Mr. W. 5<here areJwo
dollars; it is all, the change I have'about
meat present.
Jim Fleelweli took it, bade his former
fishing companion another good morning, ’
Mid was off.
Mr. W. turned in to breakfast, and while
he sipped his Java, lie mentally moralized j
mi jjjg policy, npt to say the wisdom, of |
trealtsg'our fellow men in every degree of
life with kindness—at least with courtesy.
Here, thought he, is a grateful poor crea
ture, to whom it. appears I once in my life
gay.c a glass of whrskey or something of
that sort—though, I dog|| remember it—
antf now, fancying he has it in his pow'er to
pay mea compliment,h#fseeksme out with
the intention of performing it. .
Mr. VV. prepared to go out in the city,
about his business. Before he went, Tom,
tho black boy, had time to go and come
back twice from the New Basin, but still
he had not returned, lie went out, but
before going left orders how one of the
ducks was to he roasted—how the cel was
io be broiled—how the soft shell crabs
were to he fried.
When he returned he found Tom at
UUliiC—ujitMuii mu in iii m a r namo rn»*
was afraid of being whipped for*being on!
so long—but ho found neither duck, eel or
soft shell crabs.
What did you do with the fish, Tom?
said his master.
I didn’t does nuffin wid it, massa, said
Tom.
Did not that man with whom you went
out give you some fish?
No, sa, said Toni. I links, massa, j
as how he’s an imposterer. Dat 1 j
does.
Did lie not take you to the New Basin?;
did he not give you some fish to bring j
home? and did he not give you the two
dollars which I loaned him? Answer me
that? said Mr. W.
Nosa, said Tom, he gib me nuffin—lie
sent me’board de boat fo’ ducks and soil
shell crabs, and I nebber seed him after.
Wall, I went ’board de boat and ax’d fo’
de ducks and soft shell crabs, and de man
wot was dare, said wot ducks and soft shell
crabs? and I said, ducks and soft shell
crabs fo’ massa—and he tolds me to clear
out—dat I was a goose and dat my massa
must be softer dan soft shell crabs to send
me dar.
Mr. W. now saw and heard enough to
convince him that Jim Fleetwcll was a
right smart swindler in a small way—and,
farther, that he was done out of his two '
uunuife, iiu wuuiu nave uorne it, in ai! j
probability, with a bad grace, had he not
learned from the first gentleman to whom
he told the story, that he, the gentleman,
had been regularly “sold”—served by the
same customer in precisely the same way’
The laughed at the address of the diddler,
determined, instead of,telling the police,
that they would do nothing to prevent him
from serving others the “same way.”—Ex
change paper.
A Curious River.—In the province of
Andalusia, in Spain there is a river called
the Tinto, from the tinge of its waters,
which are as yellow as topas. It possesses
the most extraordinary and singular quali
ties. If a stone happens to fall in and
rest upon another, they become, in one
year’s time, perfectly conglutinated. All
the plants on its banks arc withered by its
waters whenever they overflow. No kind
of verdure will come up where its waters
reach, nor can any fish live in its stream.
The river rises in the Sierra Morena
mountains, and its singular properties
continue until other rivers run into it and
altents nature.
"Stand oiitof iny"«fay\” said a roitglf
'/’free uwler my window, one'day *as 1 #ttt
BirMig^ver mJ buelfng scenes below
me, at my Idffgiugs. "Your honor will
please recoljefii.” replied a sharp, but
ion#\vhtttiffd!^hnt voiclE-^your hbndr
^ijrpleaso recollect thatjP’ am a . beggar?
rortovcns mu ch'righl to the road as youd1
sclf.” “A’ndl ;ialfjsf%»nkcr,” was retQ$t
pd still more gniflh^afad^artgrily. A/nniW
ed at this straage ditlegife, 1 Leaned river
thojcasesai^l beheld ffoo citizens' la the
position ofwkicli. j’jjirgilist would denom
inate jyuanec/'kheir Countenances some
what menacing, and their pdrPons presen-,
linga contrast at once ludicrous and in-«
structive ■ The one was a purse-proud,
lordly-mannered man, apparently in silk,
and protecting a carcass of nearly t^p cir
cumference of a hogshead; the other n rag
ged and dirty, but equally imptidcnl, and
self-important heisonage; and from a com
parison of their countenances, it would
have puzzled the most profound.M. D.
which of their rotundities w as stored hub
itual|y with good victuals or drink. J,
Upon a close observation, however, of
the banker, 1 discovered, almost as soon as
my eye fell upon it, a line bespeaking
something mTuimor, and awakened curi
osity, as lie1 (rood fixed and eyed his an
(agonist, and’this became more clear and
cdnspicious when he lowered his tone and
asked—"How will you mate right ap
pear? Said the beggar, -‘why listeria
taioment, and I’ll teach you. In the first
place,do you take notice, God has given
me a soul and a body just as good for all
the purposes’of thinking,eating and drink
ing and taking my pleasure as he has you
—and then you may remember Dives and
Lazarus as we nass. Then nanin it is a
free country, and here, too, we - are on an
equality—tor you must know that here
even a begger’s dog may look a gentleman
in the face"with as much indifferencons he
would a brother. I and you have the
same common master; are equally free;
live equally easy; are both travelling the
same journey, hound to the same place,
and both have to die and be buried in the
end.
“But,” interrupted the banker, “cWyou
pretend there is no difference between a
beggar and a banker?” “Not in the least
as to essentials. You swagger and drink
wine in company of your own choosing—
1 swagger and drink beer which 1 like bet'
ter than wine, in company which I like
better than your company. You make
thousands e day perhaps—1 make a shil
ling, perhaps—if you are contented, I am
—we are equally happy at night* You
dress in new clothes 1 um^ust as comfor
table in old ones, and have no trouble in
keeping from soiling; if I have less prop
erty than you, I have less to care about;
if fewer friends, I have less friendship to
lose; and if'I do not make as great a shad
ow on the pavement—I am as great as you.
Besides my word for it, 1 have fewer ene
mies, meet with fewer losses, carry ns
light a heart, and sing as -many songs as
the best of you.
“And then,” said the hanker, who had
an along irieu 10 sup a worn in edgew ays,
•‘is the contempt of the world nothing?”
“The envy of the world is as bad as its
contempt—you have, perhaps, the one,
and I a share of the other. We aro match
ed (here, too. And besides the world deals
in this matter equally unjust with us both,
You and I live by our wits instead of liv
ing by qui industry; and the only differ
ence between us in this particular worth
naming is, that it cost society more to
maintain you than it docs me—I am con
tent with a little you want a great deal.—
Neither of us raises grain or potatoes, ot
manufactures any thing useful, we there
fore add nothing useful, to the common
stock; we are only consumers, and if the
world judge with strict impartiality, there*
fore it seems to me, I would be pronoun
ced the cleverest fellow.”
Some passers by here interrupted the
counversation. 'The disputants separa
ted, apparently good friends, and I drew
in my head ejaculating, somewhat in the
manner of Alexander in the play—“Is
there no difference between the begger
and the banker?”'
several year]
vyafe» WwY ' 1 4
they livei^ aiflrtiftoflier
ahanlog their graves
wlien 'i'i ■ Tbey wm
tjSjth# grains,
anduhe
M-/“fnl!y on qaefa
I ifijtU roirud t ho grave of i RSTrtli
They were both equally deserted,
ilifnidy and forgoUcm! , l thought too of
! lftfi destinies to 4hfph the’y had passe!!; of
! iliatsluie in which temporal distinctiun.cxj
! ist not, tempofhl honors, are-hoSuriled no},!
whore pride. and all thfe;. circumstances ;
which surround this i^e never find admit-:
tance. Then.the disUncuonttof time ap- j
peared, indeed, asanatnnf in the sunbeam ‘
compared with those vyliich are made in |
that changeless stale to which thevj bptji!
h id passed.—Exchange paper.
What am I.
1 When 1 ask myself this question,
“What am I?” it puzzles ,me to answer If.
Materially speaking, f am a sort of increa
sed nonentity—a small barrel of-unstrain
1 ed oil ofnotliing, thickened into substance
! by accidently coming info contalct with
; a cold, congealing world. Cbemir
| cally speaking, I am a'compound of phos^
phorus, gas, and atmospheric' wind—as
most of you have, doubtless, long discov
erer!. Mechanically, I am an old clock,
made, wound,‘set in motion several years
ago by the elockmrker of the Universe.—
I was made to run 70 years, at least; and
if Fate and Fortune will keep my in
ner works in order, I shall expect to keep
going til^ny weights have run the full
length of their chords. Morally speak
t 1 _..<• _1
, "'O’-- t. ....* ‘-- ’
I hie—a kind of vinegar and molasses mess.
So mceiy.ttre they inxed together that (lie
vinegar of vice is not too sour to be unpal
atable, nor the molasses of virtue so
sweet as to be sickening. My feelings j
are tender as toadstools —my passions as |
i strong as a decoction of tobacco juice—
I ° . J
my sympathies are as soft as down under j
an angel’s wing—and my desires lor the j
promotion of human happiness are just as
I happen to feel about the head, heart and ;
stomach.
Metaphorically speaking, I am a toy 1
thing of time, played for a short .period ;
; and then cast among rubbish; a footbali oi
| fate, kicked about till I burst, and am no
1 more worthy of a stick, and windmill j
excitement, that moves with the pop-;
ular breeze, but it is still in a calm and a |
current thermometer, inv mercury rising to 1
summer heat by the warm rays of hope,!
and sinking to below zero in the cold at
mosphere of doubt; a mean tallow candle,
already burnt one third of the way to the
socket, and every moment in danger of
i being extinguished by the snuffers of
death; an old boot worn by a pilgrim with I
| a wooden leg, over the rough roan of exis j
1 tence, till it is neither worth heeling,
; soloing, patching, nor preserving. In
fact, my friends, I don’t see that I am any
more use to the universe, (considered as
a whole,) than a shovel of poudrette to a
ten acre cornfield.
- When I uin dead and none. I shall be n= !
a thing that nevdr had been; arid the c 11i'-v
dren of posterity will probably shoot mar
bles across my grave, an unconscious of
their sacriligious doings, as a parcel of
mice g*nawing at the greasy leaves of an
old and favorite family Bible.
The Christian in Heaven.
In heaven the believer ceases from all
care,in the exercises of religion. His
term of probation is expired; bis course is
finished; the coflict is over; the victory is
won. lie has no further need to mourn
over his ignorance, ingratitude, and re- i
hellion—to struggle with the evil passions i
and corrupt propensities ofhis wicked and j
deceitful heart; to resist the allurements j
of the world, and the more wily tempta- j
tions of Satan; to believe, even in oppo-1
sition to the dictates of sense and car
nal reason; and patiently to endure the
necessary chastisements of the divine
hand. Afflicting remembrdhees—self-ex
amination—earnest wrestlings with God
in prayer, a habit of constant self-denial,
and daily striving against sin and unbelief,
rff **
CL - *>J5i e.
are unknown in the a]
The waiing,gf c^TatiMohls .cxclyidge^.
for the song of .thanksgiving; M dim and®
<iist»!U discoveries of faith, for the* opgn
vision oi eiernaFfealiliesy atyd the pa&iijggg.^
of desire after the ef||fgood, for; tbcfu'l!
^>yment of his presencfe, and the 'con
templation of its excellencies. “The for "
f*ave parsed away.” The bc
let^no longef^j^^tMnfereeh ami 4,
terrible wilderness, »;herin are “ fiercer- :J . ‘
gents, and, scorpibns, and drouth, but in
herits his lot in the' celestialCanaan,
Pkicks the fruit of the? tree of life, breathes
the pure artd life.inspiring atmosphere,
aiml walks beneath the splendors of a cloud
less sky. • A
.t._ _.■ •
American ma±ims,—If%ypur coat is
comfortable, wear it two or three months
longer; no matter if the glossis off. “Ifyqu
Itave no wife get one; if you- have, God S
bless her stay at home with her,instead of .
spending your evenings in expensively-'^-.
Cries. 13c itonest, frugal and plain, sealcC’
content and happiness at lion#; be inddS*'"'
trious and persevering, and~our word - fbr^ *
it, if your circumstances arc now eoibar-A, ‘
rassed they will soon become easy, no mat- *
ter what may be the price oFstoek.
-Fthie of a newspaper.“is no
book so^cheap as a newspaperfnone so in
teresting, because it consist of a. variety,
measured out in suitable proportiona^aS to
time and quality. Being new every week
it invites to a habit ofreading, and affords *!*:'
an‘eaSy and agreeable mode of acquiring #
knowledge so essential to the welfare of ",
the individual and the community. It‘If j.V'
causes many hours to pass away pleasant*
ly and profitably, which would otherwise
have been spent in idleness and mis
chief.
lift lYlilflt knitn knnn ..r. —
-—U11 uouiv 101
nnrl alHnlrOf irlin first />vf»1a»morl 1
How many fond mothers and frugal house*
wives keep llieir pretty daughters‘‘and
their preserves for some extra occasion— v
s trne “big bug or other—tiil both turn
four”
Whenever you buy or sell, let or hire,
make a clear bargain, and never trust to
“We shan’t disagree about trifles.”
I* smoke offensive to you?” said a
landlord, as be took out his cigar, to a
family that had just moved into his house.
“Not at all, sir,” said the female part of
the household.
“1 am glad to hear it,” said he, “for all
the fireplaces here smoke so bad that you
will all be bact before you have inhabit*
cd the premises six weeks.”
Please to bestow your charity on a poor
sweeper, said one of the crossing gentry, in
London, to a frequent passer.
“1 haven’t go any,” was the gentleman’s
reply'.
“Sir, I believe you,” was the retort; and
the gentleman was so struck with it, that
he gave sixpence.
“Will you bet all that’s in your pocket
book against the election of my candi*
date?
•‘Yes, indeed; I’d bet my head”_.
“No, I thank you. I prefer the poc
ket book, lor that has got someting in
side of it!”
No one loves to tell a tale of scandal ex
cept to him who loves to hear it.
lie that shows his passion, tells his ene
my where to hit him.
Mind, and not Mammon makes the
man.
‘*1 will give you my head if you are
not wrong,” exclaimed a dull and warm
orator to-the President Montesquieu, in
argument.
“1 accept it, said the Philosopher; any
trifle among friends has a value.”
“My friend has a great respect fer
tile truth,” said a baronet one day to a
gentleman.
“So I perceive,” was the reply, “for he
always keeps at a most respectable dis*
tince from it.”
A wife cunnot be sued without the
husband, unless he is dead in law; and
law is enough to be the death of any
man ;
“I go it alone,” as the race horse said
when he threw- his rider and kept on around
the course.
, \ s