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———————— _, TH SOUTHERN JOURN . •v .; i. _ . ■ _ i . 1!V COREA *c UOUVBNEAU*] , MONYICELLO, MISSISSIPPI, JULY 1. 1815. [VOL. V.-NlTil TEM &WOTBSMUL IS PCRLI3HD EVERY TUESDAY EVENING RV G. J. COHEA & C. GOUVENEAUX. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION . $2 00, For one year in ndvance. $2 50 At the end of six months, or, $3 00 at the end of the year. No deduction whatever will be made from tbe above prices. Those who pay within one monthafterthe timeofsubscribingwill be con sidered as having paidin advance,but in every instance where payment is not made in that time, the terms stated above will be d -mand ed. Unless otherwise previously directed, the subscription will be regarded as for the entire year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the publisher, until all arrearages are paid. We are thus explicit because we wish to avoid trouble nnddisputein tbe collection ofour subscription money. We beg that all who subscribe ,for the, Journal, will note the terms of the subesription. TERMS OF AOV'ERTIS 1NG. Advertisements will be inserted at the rate oF1 per square, for the first insertion,and 50 cents for each week thereafter—ten lines or less, constituting a square. The number of insertions required must be noted on the margin of the manuscript, or they will be in serted until forbid , and charged accordingly. Advertisements from a distance must be ac companied with the C'ASII, or good referen ces in town. Personal advertisements will be charged double the above rates. j Announcing candidates for State or District offices, $10; For County offices, $5. As the above rates are tbe same as those established in Natchez, Vicksburg, Orand Gulf, Yazoo Citv,and elsewhere in this state1 no deduction will be made from them in any case whatever. AIX JOB WORK MUST BE PAID FOR i ON DELIVERY. _ j flTJ* Letters on business must be post paid i or they will not be taken from tbe post office, j ————i in ii i iii ■■ i m ~i ini i i — i i Mary Hell. | A LAMENT. HV GEORGE li. WALLIS, ESU Sweet flowers arc in the dale, Mary Bel!; . Sweet voices in the vale,— Sweet odors in the gale, t Down the dell, But nor music, nor perfume, Nor the early roses’ bloom, Can reach thee in the tomb, Mary Bell. No more on earth we’ll meet, Mary Bell; i And we weep as we repeat, By 1 lie new grave at our feet, Fare thee well: V Thou hast taught us to revere, Thy voice as ever near, And thy memory ever dear, Mary Bell. Not lost forevermore, Mary Bell; For, as the ocean’s roar Is heard, as on the shore, In the shell, Though far its native tide,— So thine image shall abide, Like a presence tit my side, Mary Bell. And o’er thy favorite hook, ^ Mary Bell, Wo shall from thy, lattice look, To the path along the brook, In the dell, And shall hear thee, ns we deem, . J In the bird, the wind, the stream, Mary Bell. i Dear—dear—those halcyon days, Mary Bell,— When thy beauty and thy praise, i And thy childlike winning ways, j Wrought that spell, Which lias taught me to revere, Thy voice as echoing near, And that hour as present here, Mary Bell. ) That twilight hour in June, Mary Bell, When the silvering of the moon, So beautiful in June; Softly fell : On the whispering trees, and green, L And shadowy aisiesbetween, y* And the youth and woodland queen, jr ' Mary Bell. I a* * * * * ^X Peace—Eden’s peace—’tis tkine, Mary Bell, Of this we have a sign, In thy death, which is divine; Fare thee well: F'or we know that what is pure, Shall with the soul endure, That thy crown in Heaven is sure, Mary Bell From the N.\0. Picayune. B a b y p h o b i a . The Old Bachelor Again.—Old Musty lias changed his name. The barbarian has smuggled an alias; but we know him, despite his devices to conceal himself.— j He is the same unfeeling brute who ridi culed “anxious mothers” for taking their infants—those blessed things—to the ope ra last winter, as if a squall in the boxes did not help out the orchestra consumcdly. j lie was for putting whistling boys ‘down, 1 and indeed set himself up. as a censor of j manners. As well might oneswoelcn cof-i fee out of a vinegar cruet, as adapt society I to the whims of a sterile member thereof. Ho has been courting of late, and because lie got jilted be blackguards babies again; Ihose tender endearments that are not risible in the perspective of bis useless life. lie calls himself “Ccelebs”now, and j disguises his chirograph}'. But we know : him. We publish bis scurrility upon the : blossoms that blow in the nursery of life, j to show how much mercy there is in the ! world; for surely if justice were done him, ; ho would be lopped off and cast into the j fire as a specimen of animated botany that bears no fruit. Hear him. He* ven knows I am no misanthrope, I still less a misogynist! but something in my idiosyncracy lias certainly made me a mis-psha! — in plain English, I am a baby-hater. i r.u iitisiy, iicuruuss uiu uruiu: CACiumis ■ some lady reader of a certain—or, perhaps, uncertain—age. Brute, if you will, ma’am, though not old—perhaps, young enough to be your son. But before you condemn me, hear whether my sufferings are not my justifi cation. The relation of one tyisery out of many will be sufficient. I was lately invited to puss a few days at the residence of a friend in the country. It was a plain, unpretending mansion — such ns you may see on any plantation of the South—standing near a cool, shadowy river in the pine forests, and embowered among trees—the very place for a retreat in the hot, lazy days of summer. I ar rived in tlie cool of the morning, with some of the family, and met a kind reception from the ladies of the house, to whom 1 was not entirely a stranger. They were amiable, beautiful and accomplished, and in their society the day passed most de lightfully. As evening approached, a drive was proposed, and the old family carriage pre sently made its appearance. A queer looking, rickety affair it was—nineteen years in service, and now almost tumbling to pieces with age; betas 1 am neither ce remonious nor fastidious, it seemed the very thing tor our expedition. We got in— three ladies, myself, and a pretty little romp about eight years old— one of the gentlemen acting as driver; all in high spirits, and with every prospect of a pleasant excursion. But judge of my horror, when at the foot of a declivity, the carriage stopped, and a black nurse, who I. - -1 1 I * 1 uuu ui-cu oiuui” uy suuiiwij uimc u|» with “Missus, hea’s Evy.” At once (he arms of my fair companions were stretch ed forth to grasp the treasure. 1 was in for it—there could be no retreating for me. Isn’t she pretty, Mr. S? exclaimed one of the company. I am a veracious man, so i stammered forth my real opinion. No pretty! Itty booty, he call ’oo no pretty. Bad man, kiss’um. And the thing completely beslobbered my face. A bottle of sugared milk, with some bread and meat in an old newspaper bad been handed in, and one of the first oper ations was to craw the darling, who now completely engrossed attention. Itty bit, eat itty bit. Nice mick, dink. Dinky, dinky. The pewter tea-cup was emptied and the stuffing recommenced. Presently the angel’s dissatisfaction was manifested by a prolonged squall. She’s teething, poor thing, observed one. Toofans hurt it? Let Annie feel toofans, deary. A violent kick and squall was the an swer, accompanied by an unequivocal stret ching of the darling’s arms towards myself. My flesh fairly crept. Ts dat fady? Wantec goto fady? Mr. S. she wants to cultivate your acquaintance. And with these words the animated lump of dirty white fat was deposited directly on my lap! Dcrc now, itty ma’am, you satisfied?— Dodo. itty ma’am replied by a vehement yell. •**. Want bread? dood bread. But the bread was rejected, with a cry for meat; ar.d lumps of ham fat were accordingly deposit ed, partly in the child’s open mouth, but liberally on my new ash-colored inexpres sibles. A fit of coughing and choking presently occasioned a resort to the milk bottle. Half a cupful) taking the wrong direction was thrown back into my face in a shower, while at the same moment a vi gorous kick upset and broke the bottle, scattering its contents over my Parisian frock, and slightly scratching the young cherub, who began to roar,, like ten cull calves. All was at once anxiety and con fusion. Poor itty foot! Bottle hurt footens?— Naughty bottle! See, bottle dead, done broke! Poor footens! now kiss and make it well. The child was presently pacified. 1 stooped forward to pick up the remains of the bottle, when—oh, horror! theurching mrwlo n V’ininnf irraK of »-»-»*» n --„ C» .-J — hly fine and natural-looking one. 0(1’ it came, and in another instant was flirted into the road, and lay crushed into thfc mud beneath the wheels, and my bald cranium shone unprotected in the rays of the settimr i b sun! This was too much. The politeness of my companions could ill restrain their mirth. I had never before been suspected of baldness. * But our attention, hithgrto monopolized by the angelic brat, was now attracted by the menacing appearance of the skies.— Our vehicle was turned homeward; but too late. Down came the rain, a perfect torrent, against which the tattered roof of our crazy conveyance could afford no pro tection. In five minutes we were drench ed to the skin. But the squall without was nothing to that within. The food with which the interesting prodigy had been gorged sat uneasily on its stomach—(the condition of my vest soon bore evidence of the fact)—and wet, sick, scared and out cf temper, it screamed like a steam-whistle. In vain did mv companions, with incon ceivable patience, essay to pacify it— screech followed screech. My wits fairly deserted me; the last thing I remember was the breaking down of the carriage—a crash, a stunning blow, that seemed to come from the child—am] T was insensible. J woke to find myself with a broken arm, under the surgeon’s care. A three-weeks fever and delirium succeeded, during which I fancied myself in purgatory—tormented by infant imps. On the third day of my recovery, one of the ladies entered. Mr. S—,-, 1 llfivn lirAimllt Imrlf i /-» nnn 1/".__ . O- “''V JVM. “ICO UliJ} tweet—kiss um, darling. Itty darling baby tweet, sorry for poor Mr. _.? Day-day, Mr.-. The child’s kiss smacked most nauseat ingly of bread and butter, which 1 have loathed ever since. In spite of my weakness, I took my de parlure that very day. If there are infants in heaven, it is no heaven for me. Ccex.F.ns. A remarkable Case.— It is stated in a late foreign Magazine, that there is non living in the Isle of France a man endowed with such remarkable power of sight, that he perceives vessels several hundred miles at sea. He is pensioned by the British go* vernment,and every morning reports to the government house what vessels arc in the ofTing, and when they may be expected, and it is remarkable that he was never known to fail. When'the first steamer was sent from England to the East, he saw her at a distance of some hundred miles, but was surprised at observing she had four masts one of them smoking! When he reported this strange appearance, (no stea mer being expected or known to bo on its way) it was supposed he had lost his ex traordinary power of vision, but the result verified his story. m ‘ # % J A Domestic Chat. BY MRS. m.LT.EN C. KMIGHT. “This is pleasant!’’ exclaimed a young man takir g his seat cosily in the rocking chair, as the tea things were removed.— The fire glowed in the grate, revealing a pretty and neatly furnished setting room, with all -the appliances of comfort. The fatiguing business ot the day was over, and he sat enjoying what he had all day been anticipating, the delights of his own fireside. Ilis pretty wife, Esther, took her work and sat down by his side at the table. “It is pleasant to have a home of one's own,1' he said again, taking a satisfactory survey of his snug little quarters. The cold rain heat against the windows, and he thought he felt grateful for his present comforts. “Now if we could only have a piano,” said his wife. “Give mo the music of your own sweet voice before all the piano’s in creation,” he declared, complimentary, despite a cer tain secret disappointment that his wife’s thankfulness dH not happily chime with his own. ‘Well, bi^ we want one for our friends,’ said Esther. “Let our friends come and see ns, and and not to hear a piano!” exclaimed the husband. “But, George, every body lias a piano nowadays—we don’t go any where with out seeing a piano, persisted the wile. > “And yet I don’t know what wc want 1 one for—you will have no lime to play on i one, and I don’t want to hear it.” “Why, they are so fashionable—I think our room looks nearly naked without one.” “1 think it looks just right.” “1 think it looks very naked—we want a piano shockingly,” protested Esther, cm phatically. The husband rocked violently. “Your lamps smokes, my dear,” ho said, altera long pause. “When are you going to get an astral lamp? ^have told yuu a dozen times how much we needed one,” said Esther, peiish ly • “Those are very pretty lamps—I never can sec to read by an astral lamp,” declar ed the husband. “These will do, but you know every body nowa-days wants an astral lamp.” “Those lamps arc the preliicst of the kind 1 ever saw—they were bought at Boston.” “But I do not think our room is com plete without an astral lamp,” said the wife sharply, “they are so fashionable— why the D-’s and A-’s all have them; 1 am sure we ought to.” “We ought, if we take pattern by o!h--< er people’s expenses, and 1 don’t see any reason for that.” The husband moved uneasily in his chair. “Wc want to live a^ well as others | live,” said Esther. “We want to live within our means,” ' exclaimed George. c.[__ i _i_u _ _i i | ford it as well as the B-'s and L-’s, ! and many others J might mention —we do not wish to appear mean.” George’s cheek crimsoned.” “Moan! 1 am not mean,” he cried angrily, j - “Then, we do not want to appear so,” said the wife. “To complete this room, and make it look like other people’s, wc want a piano, and an astral lamp.” “We want—we want!” muttered the husband; “there’s no satisfying the wo man’s wants, do what you may,” and he abruptly left the room. How many husbands are in a similar dilemma! How many homes and hus band’s are rendered uncomfortable by the constant dissatisfaction of a wife with pre sent comforts and provisions! How many j bright prospects for business have ended ; in bankruptcy and ruin, in order to satis ] fy this secret hankering after fashionable necessaries. Could the real cause of ma ny a failure be made known, it would be j found to result from useless expenditures i at home—expenses to answer the demands ! of fashion, and—‘what will people think?’ j “My wife has made my fortune,” said | a gentleman of great possessions, “by her thrift, prudence, and cheerfulness, when 1 was just beginning.” “And mine lias lost tiny fortune,” answered his companion bit terly, “by useless extravagance, and re pining when I was doing well.” VVImt a world does this open to the influence which a wife possesses over the future prosper^ tv of her family. Be satisfied to commence small. It is too common for young housekeepers to begin where their mothers ended. Buy all that is necessary to work skilfully with; adorn your house with all that will render it comfortable. , Do not look at rich homes, and covet their costly furni ture. II secret dissatisfaction is’ready to spring up, go a step farther and visit (lie homes of the poor and suffering; behold dark, cheerless apartments, insufficient clothing, and absence of all the comforts and refinements of social life, then return to your own with joyful spirit. You will then he prepared to meet your husband with a grateful heart, and be ready toap prcciale that toil and self denial which he has endured in liis business world to sur round you with all the delights of home; then you will be ready to co-operate cheer fully with him in so arranging your ex penses, that his mind will not be constant ly barrassed with fears lest family expen ses may encroach upon public payment.— Be independent, do not let the A-’s and B-’s decide what you must have, neither let them hold the strings of your purse. \ou know' best what you can and ought to afford; then decide with a strict integrity, according to your means. Let not the censures and nnnroval of the wnrM ever tempt you to buy what you hardly think you can afford. Thus pursuing an independent, straight forward and consistent course of action thcie will spring up peace and joy all a round you. Satisfied and happy, you will make your husband so, and your children will feel the warm and sunny influence. Happy at home, your husband then can go into the world with a clear head and Sell-rmyiug Ojiim; oomtssiu, un.nu=i:,6.. will not sour and sully his heart, and he will return to you again with a confiding and unceasing love. Depend upon it, beauty, grace, wit, accomplishment, ro mance, have far less to do with family joys and family comfort, than prudence, econ omy, thrift and good sense. A husband may get tired of admiring, but never with the comfortable consciousness that his re ceipts exceed his demands. „_____ Beards. An Armenian priest, who rejoiced in an extremely long beard, preaching one day, remarked in the church a peasant whose tearful eyes were constantly fixed on him. When the congregation had left the church the priest, who had not lost sight of the man, approached and said to him, “.My friend, l remarked the attention with which you listened to me, and I thought I perceived the traces of sadness in youi face; open your heart to me; confide youi troubles, and, if it is in my power to sooth them, believe me I shall do so with pleas' urc. My words perhaps.” “I do not com prehend exactly what vou wish to sav sir,” interrupted the man: “that I am sad, is true, but your sermon was not (lie cause, | for to tell you the truth, I did not listen tc ! it.” “And what, then, could have occa sioned the tears I saw.you shed?” “Oh. j sir, that is another matter, listen: 1 am a ! poor man with a large family; all my for | tune consisted in a goat; which my wife , and children loved dearly, lor she nour | ished with her milk my youngest child.— . Well, sir, I have lost it: ten days have pas ; sed and we know not what has become o her. To day, when I saw you 1 coulc not restrain my tears, for you resemble j so closely my lost animal that I thought 01 ; seeing you that it was our poor goat. I A avoie the reproaches of his own heart, his uex to escape the censure of the wotld. If the j last interferes ^ith the former, it ought l< | be entirely neglected; but otherwise there ; cannot be a greater satisfaction o an lion i est mind, than to see those approbation: which it gives itself, seconded by the ap plausc ol the public. A man is motcsuri of his conduct, when the verdict which In passes upon his own behavior is thus war ; ranted and confHtned by the opinion of al ! that know him.—Addison. In what color should our friendship be 1 kept? Ans.—In violet—(inviolate.) Learn a Trade. j fIow often do your middle aged men say, “I wish 1 had learned a trade-” Why do they express such a wish? Because they see that mechanics obtain good liv ings and prosper around them, while they and a thousand others 'barely get a sup- * port. Just look around your neighborhood. Who are the best olT? Who are suJTering the least of poverty? Mechanics- Is not your wealthiest neighbor a mechanic?— ' et strange to say. many young moo will not learn trades—they wish for a more res spectable business. They don’t wish to gash their hands by edged tools, or lay bare their shins by machinery. Nay, more, if they go to trades they soil their hands, brown their skins, and are obliged to wear coarse clothing. And some pa rents are unwise enough to permit their sons to live as they please and continually run themselves in debt. How frequently ! do too indulgent parents say, my boy is too weak to work at a trade. The fact' is, a little daily labor would help such a boy materially. This hatred of a handsaw and a sledge hammer, a printing press ora last is Ml the thing. Unless more boys are put to trades or on farms, in a few years, every city, town and village in the Union will be crowded with ruffle shirted I and starched up clerks, doctors, lawyers, ministers and paupers. Now in all con 1 science, we have too manv hv nnn j such characters, who are sucking the life blood from the communiry. A word to the young. Uearn trades. Work at something—no matter whal. 8° lnt0 a printing office, a tailor’s shop, or a sail loft; do any thing but study law, physic or divinity.—Then you will be happy if you live, and always have with in your leach the means of a goodTupport. I Rich or poor, no matter, do somethiing useful and you will never repent it, even ; should }ou live to the age of Methuselah. } Memory—it is strange—perhaps the j strangest of all minds’s intricacies—the , sudden, instantaneous manner in which | memory, by a signal,cast wide the doqrs "of one of those dark storehouses in which long past events have been shu^ up for : years. That signal, be it a look, a tone, lor a single sentence, it is the cabalistic I w ord of the Arabian talc, at the potent ma gic < f « hich the door to the cave of% the robber opens, and all the treasures that he had concealed, displayed. Upon the mem ory of the traveller rushes up the visions of , ins youthful days; the sports of boyhood, the transient cares the quarrels soon for j gotten, the pains which passed away like I ',|m|ncr clouds, the pure sweet sweet joys I of youth and innocence, and ignorance of ill that never return when passed away. Honoris a name that changes color, like the Indian beast, according to the light it is viewed in; now it is courage, now it is rank, now it is riches, now it is fine raiment or a swaggering air—once it was Truth. Some wicked old bachelor has said, ithat let us marry who we will, we af I lerwars find that we have not wed our intended. _ A golden cough brings no relief to the i victim of disease and a splendid for tune adds nothing to the comfort of a fool. --— * •• Honest industry has brought that •j man to the scaffold,” said a wag, as I observed a carpenter upon the sta , j g'"g A Quaker's Reproof.—Some time since, a sailor on one of the wharves was swear*, i | >ng most boisterously, when one of the So j ciety of Friends, passing by, accosted him .! very civilly, and said: >; “Swear away, friend, swear away, till thee get all that bae stuff out of thee, for thee can never get to heaven with that , stuff in thy heart-” The sailor, with a look of altonish ■ men' and shame, bowed to (he honest Qua . ker, and retired. ; ‘what did you give for that horse?’ in quired a friend of the facetious Mr. S., as he was riding by. ‘Mv note,’ was ! ’he significant reply; wasn’t that cheap enough ?’