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f THE SOUTHERN JOURNAL.
L HY COHEA & GOUVENEAUX.] MONTICELLO, MISSISSIPPI, JULY 15, 1845. j^VOL. VI.—NO. 1 iwBsm IS PUBLISIID EVERY TUESDAY EVENING BY G. J. COIIEA & C. GOUVENEACX. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. $2 00, For one year in advance. $2 50 At the end of six months, or, $3 00 at the end of the year. No deduction whatever will be made from I the above prices. Those who pny within one months fter the time of subscribing will be con sidered as having paid in advance, but in every instance where payment is not made in that ’ time, the terms stated above will be demand 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 anudisputcin the collection ofour subscription money. We beg that all who subscribe for the Journal, will note the terms of the subesription. TCU MS OF advertising. 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ALE JOB WORK MUST BE PAID FOB ON DELIVERY. e"p Letters on business must be post paid or they will nut bo taken from the post office From the Saturday Courier. | Life. • Life is onward: use it Willi a forward aim; Toil is heavenly—choose it, And its warfare claim. Look not to another To perform your will; Let not your own brother Keep your warm hand still. Life is onward: never Look upon the past; Jt would hold you ever In its clutches fast. Now is your dominion; Weave it us you please; Bind not the soul’s pinion To a bed of ease. i v Life is onward : try it, Lrc the day is lost; It hath virtue—buy it, At whatever cost. If the world should offer Every precious gem, Look not at the scoffer, Change it not for them. Life is onward: heed it, In each varied dress; Your own act can speed it On to happiness. Ills bright pinion o’er you Time waives not in vain, If Hope chaunt before you, Her prophetic strain. Life is onward: prize it, In sunshine and in storm; ^ Oli! do not despise it In its humblest form, jfa Hope and Joy together, * Standing at the goal, Through life’s darkest weather, Beckon on the soul. tiara. From Noah's Times. Gen. Joseph Warren. “Warren and Bunker Hill,” fifty years ago, was a common expression. The bra vest man on Bunker Hill was Joseph War ren. He was horn in the town of Roxbury. Mass., in the year 1740. Roxbury bounds Boston, and is a beautiful place so far as natun is concerned. When he had attain cd lus I full year (1755) he entered college. While there, he gained a name for fearless -courage and almost superhuman persever* ance. Some of his college exploits arc related, in an old book printed in 1788, with apparent glee, by the writer. It was Warren’s plan to glue nutshells to the cats’ feet, and send the curiously shodden ani mals to the rooms of the tutors. He would also get out of the building at forbidden hours, by tying the sheets, in the dormito« rics, together, and thus making a rope by ^ . which he could (with his companions) get I -»m through a window and reach the ground j unharmed. The chambermaid was bribed to say nothing about the knots and wrin 'Wes in the linen under her charge. Ail j the shaving cups, and other pieces of crockery .ware adorned by handles, were frequently gathered together by Warren, tied in a bunch, and hanged over the door of tho principal professor’s room in such a manner, that when that personage .sought egress, the suspended articles would come clattering to the ground, disturbing and alarming, with tho horrid din, the whole college population. More than once his room-mates found their shoes nailed to the floor, and “many a time and oft” a com munity of frogs were turned from a snug resting-place in his companion’s best coat pockets. Once or twice evening lectures were proposed; but they were abandoned, for no sooner did the exercises commence than halt a dezen owls were loosened to dash at the lights and extinguish them.— The task of earthing and deliberating these I birds was Warren’s. Notwithstanding these wild pranks, he was esteemed a youngster of fine talents, llis.gcncrous deportment and suavity of manners gained him the respect of all with whom lie came in contact. Ilis fearless I ness and courage are illustrated by another j college anecdote, of which, no doubt, a number of our readers have had an inkling. The anecdote runs thus:— Several ol his class-mates were desirous ol arranging some college business in a manner directly opposed to his wishes.— To do this without interference from him, lltOV dint lltnmeol roe itn -i«« n rnr.ivi n,1 i 1 — I carefully barred the door, lie could not obtain entrance without doing great vio lence. lie was determined to get among them, however, and culled out— “Friends, admit me!” “Our business is private,” was the re ply. “I must have something to say about it,” shouted Warren. “So you shall have all to say about it if I you can, without forcing the door, obtain j an entrance.” “Enough,” said Warren—“I will be ; there.” lie looked around, and discovered that the window of I he room was open. Further examination showed him a water pipe or spout, which ran, near the window, from the roof of the building to the bottom. Ido ascended to the roof, gently let himself ! down to the eaves, gained the spout, des* j cended to the window, and threw himself, | to their astonishment, among the council. I The spout was decayed, and htjfl its posi tion by a very weak tenure. -Just as his feet touched the floor, the spout fell clat tering to the ground. lie looked at it an instant,and, saying, “It did not fall until it had served my purpose,” turned to claim . 'ho right of participating in their delibcra i tions. In this instance, the determination \ and courage that clung to him through life ! were beautifully illustrated. In 1750, he received his first degree.— 14„ 1 I.: ._ .! . ... - ~ w ~ \SJ UlVf O l IU I J j of medicine, and was, a few years after, | one of the most eminent physicians in Bos S ton. But while giving his attention to the ! diseases which afflicted his fellow mortals, | he was not unmindful of the cancer which promised to cat up his country. The ill. | ness of the body politic claimed much of j his practice. Ilis zeal would not permit him to avoid danger in a blessed cause.— : The year that saw the commencement of the stamp act witnessed his ascension to the rostrum as a public speaker. lie also employed his pen—a talented one—in writ ing pamphlets against tho King and his measures. From the beginning of the stamp act to the breaking out of the war, his eloquence and pen were well and ar duously employed. He unhesitatingly de nounced the tax imposed on the Colonies by England as tho worst species of tyran ny. To this tyranny he advised the stout., est resistance. He publicly proclaimed that America was able to resist, success fully, any force that might bp sent to sub jugate her; and these spirited and deter mined movements of his confirmed many individuals who were wavering and un decided as to the course they ought to pur sue, in taking up ^rms against monarchial oppression. Warren was impetuous, zealous, and favorable to effective and forcible measures; but he was, withal, circumspect, prudent and wise. He saw clearly nnd quick in a moment, and was for acting upon what he saw on the instant, and without de*. lay. In the year 1768, the first caucus, or secret political assemblage, that ever met in this country, was formed in Boston, and of this caucus (which exercised an almost inconceivable influence over the country and its political concerns) our hero was a prpminent member. All the plans of de fence were matured and devised by this assemblage. Warren, it is said, was one of the “Indians” who destroyed the tea in Boston harbor. After the formation of the •‘tea party,” the existence of the caucus was made public. Warren was then cho sen the public orator of the town, and he proved himself a Demosthenes and a Cice ro combined. On the anniversary of “The Massacre,” he spoke twice, exhibiting in hisaddresscs the energy of a gigantic and daring mind. “It was he,” [Warren] says the oldest revolutionary biographer in print, “who, on the evening before the battle of Lex j ington, obtained information of the intend i ed expedition against Concord, and at ten 1 o’clock that night dispatched an express ! (the first express run in the country, we ‘guess,’) to Messrs. Hancock and Adams, who were at Lexington, to warn them of their danger. Thus our hero controlled the first battle fought for American Inde pendence! On the next day, the memora I Me 19lh of April, (which now comes and ! gees disregarded) Warren was very active, j Gen. Ilcatli, in his memoirs, states that on i that day a ball took off a lock of Warren’s j hair, just by the car. The army soon as sembled at Cambridge in a very confused state. Warren went among the soldiers and regulated them—instilling a system of discipline which had the effect of pre serving the utmost order. Hancock soon went to Congress, and Warren was there upon made President of the Provincial Con gress in his place. lie was made Major General, and received his commission four days before tbc battle of Bunker’s (or Breed’s) Hill. Upon this fatal (to him) I spot, when the entrenchments were made, he went among the men ns a volunteer, and encouraged them within the lines.— He fought with them on the 17th of June, and just as the retreat commenced was shot in the head, fell in the trendies, and there yielded up his spirit to the God who gave it. He died at the age of 35. lie seems to have been the first in every thing. He died, the first victim of rank, in the struggle between America and Great Bri tain. lie had been a freemason, the Grand Master in America—consequently, when in 177(5 his remains were taked up and en ! tombed in the city of Boston, a mason de ; livered a funeral eulogy, j Ilis loss was poignantly felt. It was j universally regretted that lie courted a post of danger, at a time when the benefit of his counsel would have aided the cause for which he was sacrificed. GPorlinnc ^ o*n'c f lin /wwnnilm- />f LiT I .,. | of the Departed Heroes, Sages and States men of America,” ‘ his fall was useful to his country as it was glorious to himself. His death served to adorn the cause for which he contended, excited emulation, and gave a pledge of perseverance and ul timate success. In the grand sacrifice, which anew nation was that day to celeb rate in the face of the world, to prove tliei: sincerity to Heaven, whoso providence they had invoked, the noblest victim was the m«st suitable sacrifice. “There are few names in the annals of American patriotism more dearly cherish ed by the brave and good—few that will shine with more increasing lustre, as the obscurity of time grows darker, than that of Cion. Warren. He will be the personal representative of those brave citizens, who, with arms hastily collected, sprang from their peaceful homes to resist aggression, and the plains of Lexington and the heights of Charlestown, cemented with their blood the foundation of American liberty. “He was endowed with a clear and vie o orous understanding, a disposition humane and generous—qualities which, graced by manners affable and engaging, rendered him the idol of the army and of his friends. His powers of speech and reasoning coins mended respect. His professional, as well as political, abilities were of the highest order. He had been an active volunteer in several skirmishes which had occurred since the commencement of hostilities, in all of which ho gave strong presages of capacity and distinction in the profession oParms. But the fond hopes of his country were to be closed in death; not, however, until he had sealed with his blood the char* ter of our liberties, not until he had se cured that permunonce of glory with which we encircle the memory, whilst we cherish the name of Warren. “The battle of Bunker’s Hill was, in many respects one of the most remarkable conflicts that has moistened the earth with human blood. No spirit of prophecy is required to foretell, that from the conse quences with which it is connected, and which it may be said to have guaranteed, after ages will consider it one of the most interesting of all battles; and that it will be hallowed by the gratitude of mankind, as among the most precious and beneficent contests, ever waged in behalf of human rights and human happiness. “Dr. Warren published an oration in 1772 and qnother in 1775, commemorative of the 5th of March, 1770.” Gen. Warren’s sword, which he held in the grasp of death, was, a few years ago, in possession of one Mr. Daris, of Ply mouth, Mass. An American sailor pur chased it from the servant of the officer who ivjuivit aiuiu mu ueau iiLiiiu ui me lanicnieu patriot. Where it is now we cannot in form our readers. If we mistake not, Con gress lias it. What does He do for a Living? There is no phenomenon more striking or more perplexing to those who look up on the world in large cities, than to ob serve how many there are about town who seem to live well, but appear to do nothing —men who are as it were exempt from the toil of existence, and though without prop erty that any one knows of, do still con trive to make a gentlemanly appearance, and have their full share of the good things of the times—“Laskers in the sunbeam,” as a cotemporary of the Boston Transcript well remarks—not, like the Italian lazza roni in filth and rags, but like gentlemen of the first water in. broad cloth and white kids daintily dressed, and sometimes “per* fumed like a milliner.” And how do they live, having no bank accounts, as somebody else remarks of them—“drawing no dividends—making no deposites!” -‘All their wants,” says the same authority, “appear to be supplied in some occult and imperceptible manner— tailors make no complaint of them—boot makers or hatters trouble them with no little bills—they look a sheriff’s officer boldly in the face as they pass him, and his eye glances with professional indiffer ence over their dainty persons. How do they get their living?” Choosing A Wife. Young men, a word in your car. When you choose a wife, don’t be fascinated with a dashing creature, fond of society, vain, aristical, and showy in dress. You do not want a doll or a coquette for a partner.— Choose rather one of those retiring, mod est, sensible girls, who have learned tode ny themselves and possess some decided character; but above all, seek for a good disposition. A popular writer well ob serves, that no trait of character is more valuable in a female than the possession of a sweet temper. Home can never., be made happy without it. It is like the flowers that spring up in our pathway, re viving and cheering us. Let a man go home at night, wearied and worn by the toils of the day, and liovv soothing is a word dictated by a good disposition. It is a sunshine feeling upen his heart. lie is happy, and the cares of life are forgotten. A sweet temper has a soothing influence over the minds ofa whole family. Where it is found in the wife and mother, you may observe kindness and love predominating over the bad feelings ofa natural heart.— Sometimes, kind wods and looks charac terizc he children, & peace and love have their dwelling there. Study to acquire and retain a sweet temper. It is more valuable than gold. It captivates more than beauty, and to the close of life re* tains all its freshness and power. Nettle Bottom Ball. BY “SOLITAUE.” “Well itarc afactboys,” said Jim Sikes, “that I premised lo tell you bow I cum to get out in these Platte diggins, and I spec ulate you mout as well have it at onst, kase its bin troublin my conscience ama zin’ to keep it kivered up. The afurr rai sed jessy in Nettle Bottom, and old Sam Stokes’ yell, when he swnr he’d ‘chaw me up,’gives my meat a slight sprinklin ofa ager whenever I think on it. “You, see, thar wur a small town called Equality, in lllinise that sonle speculators started near Nettle Bottom, c6s thar wur a spontaneous salt lick in the diggins and no sooner did they get it a goin’ and build some stores and groceries thar than they wagon’d from Cincinnate and other up stream villages, a pacel of fellers to attend tbe shops, that looked as nice, all’ays, as if they wur goin’ to meetin’ or on a court in’frolic; and ‘salt their pictcrs,’ they wur eternally pokin’ up their noses at us boys of the Bottom. Well, they got up a ball in the village, jest to introduce them selves tu the gals round the neighborhood, and invited a few on us to make a contrary picter lo themselves, and so shine us out of site by comparison. Arter that ball thur w'an’t any thing talked on among the gals but w hat nice fellers the clerks in Equali [ ty wur and how nice and slick they wore | their har’ and their shiny boots, and the i way they siirrup’d down their trowsers. j You could’nt go to see one on ’em that she _.il. 1_ r.t ^11 ■M/MIUII i vjiiv IV uuu ui iuuou luiiuns at jUU and keep a talkin’ how slick they looked. 11 got to he perfect pizen to hear of, or see the critters, and the boys got together at j last to see what was lo be done—the thing had grown perfectly alarinin.’ At last a mcetin’was agreed on, down to old Jake Sents.’ “On next Sunday night, instead taken’ the gals to mcetin’ whore they could see these fellers, wc left ’em at home, and met at Jake’s, and I am ot the opinion thur was some congregated wrath there—whew! wan,t they? “II—II and sissors!” says Mike Jelt, “let’s go down and lick the town, rite strait!" “No!” hollered Dick Buts, let’s kitch these slick badges coinin’out of meetin’ and tare the hido and feathers off on ’em” “Whyd—u ’em, what d’ye think, boys,’ busted in old Jake, ‘Iswar if they ain’t larnt our gals to wear slam cushions; only this mornin’ 1 caught my darter Sally puttin’ one on and tyin’ it round her. She tho’t l was asleep, but I made the jade repudi ate it and no mistake—quicker!" “The boys look a drink on the occasion, and Equality town was slumberin’, for a short spell, over a con tiguous earthquake. At last one of the boys proposed bcfoic we ! attack the town, that we should get up a ball in the Bottom and jest out-shine the town chaps, all to death, afore wc swallow ed ’em. It was hard to j?in in to this i>rn.« position, but the boys cum to it at last and every feller started to put the affair agoin.’ “I had been a long spell hankerin’ arter old Tom Jones’ darter, on the branch be low the Bottom, and she was a critter good for weak eyes—maybe she hadn’t a pair of her own—well if they warn’t a brace of moving light-houses. I wouldn’t say it— there was no calculation, the extent of handsomeness of the family that gal could bring up around her, with a fellow like me to look arter’em. Talk about graceful ness, did you ever see a maple saplin mo, yin’ with a south wind? It warn’t a crook ed stick to compare to her, but her old dad was awful. lie could jest lick any tiling that said boo, in them diggins, out swar salcn,and was as cross as a she bar with cubs, lie had a little hankerin’ in favor of these fellers in town too fur they gin him him presents of powder to hunt with, and he was precious fond of usin’ his shootin’ iron. 1 determin’d anyhow to ask his darter, Botsy, to he my partner at the Nettle Bottom Ball. “Well, my sister Marth, made me a bran new pair of buckskin trowsers to go in, and rile my picter, ef she didn’t* put slir rups to ’em to keep ’em down. She said straps were the fashion and I should wear ’em. 1 jest felt with’em on as efl had somethin’ pressin’ on me down—all my joints wur so tight together, but Marth in sisted, and I knew I could soon dance ’em off, so I gin in, and started off to the branch for Betsey Jones. “When 1 arriv, the old feller wur siltin’ smokin’ arter his supper, and the younger Jones wur sittin round table takin’ theirs, A whappin big pan of mush stood rite in the centre, and a large pan of milk beside it, with lots of corn bread and butter, and Betsey was helpin’ the youngsters, while old Mrs. Jones sot by admirin’ the family collection. Old Tom took a hard star’ at me, and 1 kind a shook, but tho straps stood it, and I recovered myself, and gin him as gocod^as he sent, but I wur near the door *nd ready trfbrcak irhe showed fight. “What the h-11 are you doin’ in disgise,' says the old man—he swore dreadfully —‘are you commin’ down here to steal?’ “I rilled up at that. Says I, efl wur commin’ for such purposes, you’d be the last I’d hunt up to steal off on.’ “You’r right,’ says he, I’djnake a hole to light your innards, ef you ^id.’ And the old savage chuckled. I meant because he had nothing worth stealing,’ but his dar ter, but he tho’t ’twas cos I was afear’d on him. “Well purty soon I gether’d up and told him what f cum down fur and invited him to cum up and take a drink and sec that all went on rite. Betsey was in an aw* way fur fear he wouldn’t consent. The old Wan here spoke in favor of the move, and old Tom thought of the heker and gin in the measure. Off bounced Betsy up a ladder into the second stnrr. and one of the small gals with her to help put on the fixups. 1 sot down in a cheer, and fell a talkin’ at the ’oman. While we wur chatin’away as nice as relations, I could hear Betsy makin’ things stand round above. The floor was only loose boards kiver’d over wide joicc, and every step made ’em shake and rattle like a small hurricane. Old Tom smoked away and the young ones at the table will hold a spoonful of mush to thur mouths and look at my straps, and then look at each other j and snigger,’ till at last the old man seed ’em. “Well, bv gun flints,’says he, ef you ain’t makin’ a jessey ‘Jest at that moment, sometin’ gin way above, and may I die, ef Betsy, without any thing on yearth on her but one of those starn cushions, didn’t drop rite through the floor, and sot herself cushion and all cochunk fat into the pan of mush! I jest tho’t fur a second that heaven and yearth had kissed each other, and squeezed me between ’em. Betsey squealed like a I ’scape pipe,—a spot of the mush had spat tered on the old man’s face and burnt him, and he swore dreadfully. I snatched up the pan of milk and dashed it over Betsy to cool her off,—the old ’oman knocked mo sprawlin’ for doin’ it and away went my straps. The young ones let out.a scream, as if the infarnal pit had broke aiiu 1 ujcai gm nan oi my niae to have bee out of the old man’s reach.— He did reach fur me, but 1 lent him one of my half-lows, on the smeller, that spread him, and maybe I didn’t leave sudden.' J didn’t see the branch, but as 1 soused thro’ it, I heered Tom Jonos swar he’d 'chaw me up"1 ef an inch big of me was found in them diggins in the morn in.’ “I didn’t know for a spell whore I was runnin,’ but hearing nutliin’ behind me I slacked up, and jest considered whether it was best to go home and get my traps strait and leave, or go to the ball. Bein’ as I was a manager, I tho’t I’d go have a peep through the window to see ef it cum up to my expectations. While 1 was lookin’ at the boys goin’ it, one of’em spiod mo, and they hauldme in, stood me afore the fire, to dry and all hands got round, insist tin’ on knowin’ what was the matter. I ups and tells all about it. I never heard such laffin,’ hollerin’ and screamin’ in all my days. “Jest then, my trowsers gin to feel the lire and shrink up about an inch a minute, and tho boys and gals kept it up so strong lafiu’ at my scrape, and the pickle I wur in that I gin to git riley, when all at oust 1 seed one of the slick critters, from town, rite in among ’em hollerin’ wus then the loudest. “Old Jones said he’d chaw me up, did he?’says the town fellow, ‘ veil he all'ayt keeps his word.’