The Southern journal., August 05, 1845, Image 1

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

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To my Mother.
’Tie even, and the moon, Mother,
Is streaming o'er the trees;
And the voice of many a blooming bough
Comes SBfUy o'er the breeze:
The rill is ringing out,
From yonder dewy vale;
And a' spirit-stirring anthem,
Floats out upon the gale.
And echo from thn dell, Mother,
Steals sweetly on the soul;
As the dashings of the waterfall,
Along the valley roll;
The whippowill forth pours her song,
I From yonder dark pine bough;
And the silence gently broken,
Breathes a calm aroung us now.
And I dream that thou art nigh, Mother,
1 dream that thou art nigh;
But it is, it is a dream, Mother,
And a tear is in my eye—
A tear fur joys departed,
Sweet moments that are flown;
For pleasures long, long faded,
Loved faces that are gone.
Yes, I dream that thou art nigh, Mother,
Upon that shady hill;
Where the “locust trees’* with odors.
The breeze were wont to fill;
Where we oft have strayed alone,
When dim night had wrapt the earth;
To pass an eve of joy,
Round a kindred rural hearth.
And then I was a child, Mother,
And I lit tie knew of life;
MOW us sweetest Bowers, us greenest paths,
With ihcrns were thickly rife;
1 knew not of the madness,
The shadows or the woe;
That time, forever flowing,
Might o’er my spirit throw.
But he hath taught me now, Mother,
How life is little worth;
|md wrought but to deceive us,
Are the brightest dreams of esrth;
The present ever knowing,
j I calmly wait the morrow;
And with each gleam of sunshine,
Anticipate its sorrow.
Thy step was firmer, yes, Mother,
Thy step was firmer then;
And the beam hath fled thine eye;
That may ne’er return again ;
Time’s breath is on thee now, Mother,
His breath is on thee now;
His trace is written on thy cheek,
His shadow dims thy brow.
Ab,I remember well,'Mother,
As eve drew slowly on;
And the bills were lost in darkness, r
That er. silently stole down;
How we have sat together
Around the bright fire’s blaze;
And how a dream stole o’er thee,
Of thy childhood’s parted days.
When thou wert in thy prime, Mother,
And life and hope were new;
And bright eyes were shining rouad thee,
The lovely and the true;
And then I saw thee weep, Mother,
For those brig at end golden hours ;
That had passed thee o’er thus brightly,
In thy own, thy sunny bowers.
The two Hospitals.
[There are many charitable persons
who err in the same- general kind as the
heroine of the following story, though not,
perhaps, precisely in the same particular
manner. The sketch, which is a translation
from the French, we. cut from the New
York Mirror.]—United Slates Saturday
Post. < „
• • _ ..,
“Indeed,” sb id she, on my entrance, “my
dear sir, you have come quite apropos.—
You loo are a philanthropist.and will not
refuse to be my cavalier, on this my day for
the unfortunate. I make it a practice to
devote Fridays exclusively for their benefit,
and it is this least (can as a charitable lady;
the rest of the week 1 have so many occu
pations.”
Madame de C—— is twenty.eight, and
her husband sixty; she has preserved all
that freshness of form and complexion
which a life exempt from all species ofex
cess secures. United it seventeen to an
old counsellor of the royal court, she made
up her mind to her fate—had dogs, and
fed the poor—in short, she became a sistei
of charity.
To withhold my services in a work ol
philanthropy, especially when invited by a
pretty woman, and her carriage awaiting
us, was impossible. I therefore con
sented.
It Was about noon! <*nrv,p wilt u, it wm
rather late in the day for so good a cause
but better late than never.
“Where ia Madame going t”
“To St. Thomas d’Aquin.”
We soon arrived there. Madame dc
C-, after crossing herself before ever)
image of the Saviour, took me with her at
far as the sacristy; she then proceeded alone
into a sanctuary, which seemed interdicted
to the profane vulgar, leaving me mean
while in a kind of antechamber, 6il!ed with
all sorts of priests, some young,some aged,
but all with ruddy faces, rounded limbs,
nnd hands white and dimpled, discussing
gaily of politics, sermons, finances and
even theatres.
At length my beautiful companion re*
turned. On going out, I said to her: ‘‘II
seems to me there appears to be more fal
canons here enjoying life, than unfortunate
persons to console.
“Oh! I did not come here for that,” she
replied, but the abbe is to preach a sermon
on benevolence, next Sunday, and I came
as a charitable lady to learn the exact hour,
Now,’, she added, “we must go and see m)
pretty cook next; I am to furnish the holy
bread for day after to.mbrrow, and I am
glad to give the order myself. The Baron*
ess de S-. presented it last week, and
I do not wish to allow it to be said
that she does thqse things better than
myself.”
• insuuair loon twenty minutes.
‘ Bem.it, drive to my miliner.”
I was confounded.
“I thought that this was a day for the
unhappy?”
“To be sure, hut you do not understand,
After the holy-bread, ought I not to ask
alma for the poor? and I have no hat for
that. Would anything be given me were
I to dress like a dowager? So, you see, ii
is only for the unfortunate I do it. But here
we are; and now instead of epigrams, assist
me with your taste.”
“Madame—”
“I shall not be long. To begin with
this. How do you like this hat? too close,
is it not?” This one is hot bad, but it is
not in very good taste—this rose-colored
one would become me very well—then this
gray, what do you think of it? I must
try it on.”
The modiste handed one hat after ano
ther, and I saw clearly all the shop contain
ed would have to pass through her hands,
We were thus employed nearly two hours.
I took out my watch.
“Madame,” I exclaimed it is near three;
l’Hotel Dieu will be closed, and I believe
you have a sick person to visit'
“HoW quickly time passes—one minute
more to examine this one—but I will re
turn again to-morrow—I am ready, my
friend.”
It is a touching spectacle to visit the
hospital. The unfortunate consoling one
another (for the rich seldom enter these
abodes of sorrow ;j children crying, mothen
concealing theif ‘ tears, thd dyingehdeavor
iog to smile, old friends depriving them
selves of some necessaries, in order to give
secretly some little luxury to their friends;
the overseers who come and go, these sis
ters who watch—the feeble, convalescent,
passing like shadows, ail this, singularly
strikes ihe imagination.
When we arrived at the Hotel Dieu,tbe
other visitors were about taking leave.—
What painful separations! what false hopes!
how malty eternal adieux! how many hands
pressed which were never to he pressed
again! how many orphans, how many wi
dows for the next day!
Hall, Saint Francois, No. 37. “This is
it.” said Madame jle C-, stopping be
fore a bed.
“Is it you, Madame?” muttered a bro
ken voice: “lhad given up the hope of
seeing you to-day.__ I have been waiting'
long for you.”
And a face, pale and emaciated came
out from beneath the blanket .
“Well, my good M>chel, how are you
to-day !”
“Very comfortable, Madante.”
“Where do you suffer? what is it ails
you?”
. “f did not understand what the physi
cian called it; but for my own part f think
it the rheumati-m—and no wonder, for the
lodging is so damp, so unhealthy. Madame
Vnil nrnir.icfiii t in n unn so
•V * - J —-“ J "MVIMUIV
arranged her hotel—”
“True, true, but bo tranquil; I will
speak to my husband about it, and next
year when the staircase is r built, I will
certainly think of you. But ho w do you
find yourself—well—do you not! The
food—”
“Ah, Madame, I must say the broth is
no stronger than it should be.”
“It is good; I tasted it the day when the
king, Charles X—for sick people it should
not be too stronge. But do you want any
thing I”
“I would be glad were you to give me
something to buy me some tobacco.”
“Tobacco, tobacco, that is a bad habit; it
can do yon no good in your state; and be
sides, it would be spending money useless
ly—I ought not—”
“Here, my good man,” said I, slippinga
piece of money in his hand.
“This must be the last time,” added she,
turning away.
TKe old man suppressed a tear, and we
left him.
“He is,” said Madame C—, after we
had gone into the carriage, “an old servant
of my family; I took him. into my service
after my marriage, and I look upon it as a
duty not to abandon him; fori have been,
as it were, brought up on his knees; I
therefore esteem myself happy in having
been able, as a charitable person, to pro
cure him an asylum in this hosnital—
where he may terminate his days in
peace
The carriage stopped on the boulevard o(
Mount Parnassus.
“What!” said I to my companion,“does
your benevolence come so far to succor the
unfortunate?”
“Here—oh, no; I come here to see my
Casca.”
“Who is Casca?”
“Did you not observe in golden letters
on the door, 'Establishment for tick dogs.'
Casca is one of my dogs. ”
“Ah—ah! I remember.”
The house was well fitted up. A woman
came out to meet us, and let us into a
small handsome saloon, to wait for the pro
prietor, who had gone to attend consulta
tions in the city. I had leisure to examine
the numerous bottles, filled with diverse
medicaments, and the terrr.ee ornamented
flowers, upon which fell the declining rays
of the setting sun, where lounged four-foot
ed convalescents of every description-_
There, was a lap dog in a wool ley cap;
here, a spaniel in a sort of waistcoat; far.
ther on, a greyhound with splints on one
of his legs; and a large mastiff with bis
mouth bandaged.
The Esculapius did not keep us long
waiting, became in, bringing with him the
object of our philanthropic visit.
“Casca!” cried Madame, as soon as she
saw bim.
The dull animal paid no attention.
“Casca!—he does not recognize me,”
added she, in the most dramatic tone, spd
the tears almost came to her eyes.
“He is better, nevertheless,” said the
doctor; but the country air is still necessa
ry to remove his heaviness. He must stay
here some time longer.
“Above all, spare nothing," resumed the
mistress, “I wish him to want for nothing.
Do you hear, air," and she hying a piece
of gold upon the table. Then drawing
from her bag, which until then 1 had thought
crammed with prayerbooks and lives of
saints,—forced biscuits, cakes and raacca
roni, she began to regale Gasca, who, in
an instant, exhibited all the voracity, and
importunity for which animals of the kind
are remarkable.
There, as at the milliner's, I was obliged
to remind Madame de C— that it was
near five.
“Impossible!" she cried, “and I have yet
to vigit three sick persons, three miser
able beings, who have hardly any straw
to lie upon, and perhaps no bed. It will
have to be postponed until next week; for
to-day I receive the curate, and it is im
possible foriiia stomach to pass fiveo'clock.
Let us hurry my dear friend—Olt! how
many duties one has to attend to, when one
is a charitable lady!
From the New York Alleghajiian.
A Mouthful of Pickled Dog.
A Iono-limbed wiry-made countryman,
<>f (he real Allerhany breed, determined
the other day to have a full view of Ntagra
tictoreemegratingfrom Western New York
to Wisconsin, whither ‘his folks’ were a'l
bound, Having partly satisfied himself
on Goat Island, he crossed to the Canada
side, and soon after presented himself at
the hotel near the falls, asking ‘if they
wouldu’t give a fellow something to eat,’
‘Where do you come from, my friend,’
said an Englishman,who sat smoking a ci
gar upon the piazza, nnd who thought he
saw in our friend a fit subject for a quiz.
‘Where do I come from, mister? why
from a good loi g way off, if you only
knowed it; and that is clean from the
Forks of the Alleghany, near down along
side the Seneca nation, in York State, is
my place when I’m at home.’
‘The Forks of the Alleghany!’ said the
other; then I suppose my friend, you are a
true specimen of what your countrymen
call an out-and out United Stateser, a real
live Alleghanian and no mistake,’
‘I never heard afore of such a emitter as
an Alleghanian; but I tell ye mister, I
come from jist among the spurs of the
mountains, the rani sprouts of the old back
bone; and if Alleghenian means the raal
prickly grit ot Ameriky, I am just some ol
that same—I am. A true Alleghanian
lioulder, by heaven, and I unly want to
see the man that has a word to say agin it
Ido’
‘I did not mean to annoy you, my friend,’
said tiie Englishman soothingly, ‘I only
wished to ask you about that dog of yours.
He looks to me like an Indian dog; and
hearing you ask for some refreshments,
suggested the inquiry whether or not that
was the kind of dog they eat ic the Sene
ca nation, near which it seems you have
resided ?’
‘Eat Hauk!—eat my dog Hauk! I’d
like to see the man or hound, mister that
would dare to put a tooth to him.’
‘Why my good fellow,’replied John Bull
whose sporting sensibilities were so roused
by this remark that he instantly forgot his
waggery—‘why I have a bull-terrier here
in the yard, that would eat him up at a
mouthful. I 8aid_he looked like an Indian
dog; but in truth, when I come to examine
him, he is nothing but what we would call
in England a miserable cur.’
‘I tell ye mister, if Hauk be a cur, he is
nevertheless a r^al. Alleghaniun cur, as
you call it, and such a cur will whip five
times his weight in English bull dogs.’
‘Why he has no scars about him to show
that he is a fighter ’ said the Englishman,
curiously examining the dog’s head and
ears.
‘Shall I tell you why, mister T
‘Why?’
‘Because Alleghanian dogs is a kind of
critter that give scars instead of taking
them.’
‘Aha! that’s it, is it?’ said the Eng’ish
man, drily. ‘Well, my Alleghany friend,
I’ll bet you this golden sovereign against a
a silver dollar, that my bull'terrier ryill
shake that Alleghanian cur of yours to
pieces in leas than five minutes, by the
watch—in short, will make asingte mouth
ful of him.*
‘Wnl, wnl—that’s all fair,’ replied the
Alltghanian scratching his held. ‘But
you see, mister, Hauk ain’t had his vittles
to-day, no more than his master, and it
isn’t in flesh and blood to do its best at
fighting on an empty stomach.’
‘I will order vour dog to be fed then.—
You can meanwhile be eating your own
dinner, and we’ll have the fight after
wards.’
‘That’s all lair, that’s all fair, loo; but,
mister as to planking down my silver shi
ner on that yellow piece, I don’t know
that I altogether like that,somehow. We
don’t see so much gold our way, and that
sovereign, as you call it, looks to me only,
like a brass Indian medal.’
‘You won’t bet on your cur then, SBtd
John Bull, contenptuously. You repudi
ate, perhaps, all you have said in his
praise; in a word, you back out.’
‘Back out, mister? Nothing on earth is
further from my nater. 1 tell’d you I
were a boulder—a raal Alleghaman boul
der—and I am. But I want to fix things
in a Crisiian-like manner, and not rob
folks of their money on the highway as it
were.
‘How then shall we make up the match,
my good fellow?’ said the Englishman, not
unkindly.
Why, now,’ replied the Alleghanian,
with great simplicity, ‘if you and your bull
terrier want so much to get a fight out of
liauk and me, why can't you go in and
tell the gentleman who keeps the tavern
—whom you know and I don’t know—
why can’t you tell the gentleman to give
me and Hauk a taal good dinner, with
something good for a feller to drink, and
then let the dogs fight afterwards, to de
cide which of us is to pay the shot. Why
can’t you do that, I say, if you arc so tear
ing mad to have a fight that you’ll risk
your gold upon it?’
The Englishman could not help laugh
ing heartily at the Atleghanian’s notions
of what constituted a fair bet, for the pro
posed arrangement left John nothing t i
win, whatever might he the result of the
fight, except the possible satisfaction of
seeing the countryman’s poor cur receive
a drubbing from his bull-terrier. Diver
ltd however, with suck an original, he in
stantly ordered the tavern keeper to give
he Alleghanian whatever he might want
for himself and his dog, adding that he
would be responsible for the bill.
‘Wal, 1 guess I’m all ready, said ourAl
leganian friend, about half an hour after
wards, as he stepped out on the piazza,
smacking his lips, and wiping his mouth
with his coat-sleeve;‘I guess I’m ready,
mister, and you may bring that bull pup of
yotir’n as quick as you please, for 1 have to
hf> onintr *
‘Herdhe is, said John Bull, and in the
same moment a stout, tan-colored, com
pactly built, and vigorous looking dog, with
tusks like those of a wild boar, protruding
from his black muzzle, roused himself from
under the bench on which his master was
sitting. He gave a low, muffled giowl, as
he rose, while poor flack, who was just
thrusting his nose out of the door way,
shrank buck in terror behind the heels of
the Alleghanian.
‘Why, your dog has no fight in him, my
good fellow,’ quoth the Englishman pet
tishly.
‘Don’t be too sure of that,’ replied the
other, ‘the fight always lies deep down in
our Alleghanian dogs; but when you ons’t
get at it, ’tis the rual thing, and no mis*
take. As for Hauk here, he hasn’t bad
his drink yet; and besides that; I always
talk to him all alone by himself, afore he
goes into a fight—I always do.’
‘Well there’s water in the horse trough;
and there’s the bar-room for your talk,’
said John Bull, utterly confounded by
what he now cursed, inwardly, Pt the cool
impudence of the United Stateser, who
had swindled him out of a dinner in the
name of a dbg that would not stand up even
to receive a flogging.
‘Drink from a horse trough!* cried the
Alleghanian, disdainfully. ‘Hauk isn’t
that kind of a critter mister.’
What does he drink thenf
‘Drink why he never drinks any thing hut
pepper-sauce. You may look, mister, but
it tell you, pepper-sauce is my dog’s drink.
1 ace that gentleman in the bar fan* lot* of
-- 1 . J ' .
buttles of it on the shelf, end if he wilt on
ly let me havea couple of’em with that
pail, in that back room, so aa I can talk to
Hank alone, while be drinks,—I say, if
you will only tell the gentleman in the
bar to furuish me with these convenien.
ces, I’ll soon show you whether or not that
British bull-tetrier of yonr’n can eat up an
Alleghanian cur at a mouthful.’
‘Give the follow the bo ties, the pail,
and the back room, roared John Bull
throngh the open window; ‘give him what
ever he wants, apd put the whole in my
bill; I’m determined to hold the knate to
his original agreement, in some way or
other.
Within the next five minutes the Alle
ghanian had ahut himself in the room com
municating with the bar, emptied the pep
per-sauce into the piaif, aiuTplacingliia Bog
Hauk therein, saturated thoroughly his '
shaggy coat with the pungent mixture.—
The Englishman all impatient, meanwhile
stepped into the bar-room, followed by the
the bull-terrier, when suddenly the inner
door was flung open, and there stood the
Alleghanian, gesticulating with one hand,
while he held Hauk with the other.
‘Bringon your dog!' he shouted—‘bring
on your British bull-terrier that is going to
eat us up!—bring him on, I say, let’s see if
an Alleghanian cur isn’t more than a
mouthful tor him.’
‘Sezt—sezt!—seize himf hissed John
Bull between his teeth, at the same time
clapping his hands and striding rapidly to
ward the inner door, white his bull-terrier,
with a fierce growl, sprang past him full at
the throat of poor Hauk. The Allegha*
nian had released his own hold upon his
dog, and it seemed as if all must be over
with him if those voracious jaws once fair
ly fastened on his neck. The yelp of
Hauk proved, indeed, that the bull-terrier
did give ene severe bite, but the next mo
ment saw the latter rebounding against
his masUc’slega and working his slaver*
ing jaws, as if trying to disengage a swarm
of hornets that had lodged upon histpulate,
‘You confounded scoundrel!’ roared the
Englishman, what poison have you put up
on the hair of your vile cur?’
‘Wal mister,' quoth the Alleghanian,
coolly, ‘1 rayther guess that Hauk wai in
put h an a't tired passion for a fight, the
pepper-sauce lie drank jist now must have
sweated through. At any rate, your bull
pup must have had enough of pickled dog
at one mouthful.1
-‘You scoundrel,you!’ thundered the in
dignant Britton, ‘I have a good mind to
tako you in hand myself, and punish you
well for the villainous trick.’
‘Now don’t use such ugly words mister;
I’m a boulder—I’m one of e^ I tell ye,
and no mistake—a raal Alleghanian boul*
der. But if you want, right in airnest, to
get a fight out of ine, all you have to do, ia
to order supper and a bed for me, and to
morrow, arter breakfast, you and 1 will
try a friendly knock down or so, to decide
who shall pay for them.' ?
The crowd which had , meanwhile col
lected around the door o( the tavern, shou
ted with laugher at this proposition* while
John Bull hastily retired from the .scene,
probably already had enough of a raai AU
leghanian boulder.
“JT don't JLfanct!"—An exchange paper
tells a good story of an innocent country
man who chanced to be in one of our ci
ties on Sunday, and concluded to go to
church. Arrived there, ^ waited outride
fir a moment, when profound sur
prise the organ struck up, from which he
concluded ihat some sort of‘shake down,'
was about to commence. Just at that mo
ment a gentleman invited him to walk in
and lake a seat. “Not 'zactly mister—I
aint used to fib 'such (Joins on Sunday; and
besides I don't dance!” and he retired,
shocked exceedingly.
Hints to Bachelors.—Attention .to a la?
dy whose society is. sought by a gentle
man, are justly understood to tend ’ to mat
rimony. If (he meetings are brought a*
bout by means not Originating with him,
! if they are unavoidable, orsougbt and oc
casioned by the lady herseif, the kind at*
ten lion of a gentleman may he ascribed to
mere courtesy. But when he lakes an ac
tive and eager part in the matter, when be
visits, Writes, courts, «nd above all, when
he adores and dies, there is no mistake:
he ought either to pop the question,or ‘get
aw,y”__JWiy Herald.