The Southern journal., August 19, 1845, Image 1

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

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TH SOUTH In journal.
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BY COHEA & GOUVENEAUX.] MONTICELLO, MISSISSIPPI, AUGUST 19, 184S. , [V0L Vfr-tlO *
TCBX mVIEDM
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»Y G. J. COIIEA & C. GOUVENEAUX.
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who subscribe for the Journal, will note the
farms of the subesripticn.
TERMS OP ADVERTISING.
Advertisements will be inserted at the rate
of$l per square,for the firstinsertion,and 50
cents for each Week thereafter—ten lines or
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insertions required must be noted on the
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serted until forbid , and charged accordingly.
Advertisements from a distance must be ac
companied with the CASH, or good referen
ces in toitfh.
Personal advertisements will be charged
double the above rates.
Announcing candidates for State or District
offices, $10; For County offices, $A.
As the above rates are the same as those
established in Natchez, Vicksburg, Grand
Gulf, Yazoo City, and elsewhere in this state*
no deduction will be made from them in any
case whatever.
ALL JOB WORK MUST BE PAID FOR
ON DELIVERY.
ITT Letters on business must be post paid
•r they will not be taken from the post office.
IP(P3BTjB<3r»
The Dyine: Jew to his Daughter.
Draw nearer to my couch, my daughter.
For my sight is fading fast;
Listen to thy father’s blessing—
Listen, it will be the last.
Thou art fairest, my beloved one,
Of the maidens of thy race—
May the God of Israel bless thee,
And support thee with his grace.
See! the hand of death is on me—
Wipe the cold sweat from my brow;
Only for thy sake, my daughter,
Do I grieve to meet the blow.
All alone and unprotected,
Friendless, orphan’d, and exile—
Thou no more wilt have a father,
My beloved, my only child.
Thou art young, and little knowest
All the ills that threaten thee;
Thou art innocent, and thinkest
Not how vile a world can be.
Scorn will point the finger at thee,
Pure and lovely as thou art;
Persecution, too, awaits thee:
Thou wilt need a heroine’s heart.
This the crime thou hast committed,
But to be atoned by blood:
Thou wert born a Jewish maiden,
And thou worship’st Abraham's God.
From the superstitious Pagan,
From the haughty Musselman,
From the cruel, heartless Christian
Mercy will be asked in vain.
Ask it not of them, my daughter,
Their’s are hearts of hardest stone; j
In thy deepest persecution,
Ask it of thv God alone. I
This the crime for which thy nation
Have been scattered through the earth:
They have worshipped as their fathers,
Him who gave their nation birth.
Ay! for this they have been driven
From their land—of lands the gem—
Judah’s vallies—Zion’s mountain—
Glorious Jerusalem.
But I see, with glance prophetic,
That the day will shortly come
When the scat tered sons of Jacob
Shall assemble round their home.
From the sunny plains of Asia,
From the regions of the North
From the islands of the ocean,
See! :hcy come in triumph forth.
There i’ built another temple, i
Praise and bless His holy name—
And the flag of the deliv’rer
Decks thy walls, Jerusalem.
Never, never—oh! my daughter,
Weakly yield thy father’s faith—
Better, scorn and persecution, |
Better, chains, and stripes, and death. i
Swear that thou wilt ne’er forsake it, I
Swear to keep it undefiled— I
Thou hast sworn, I die contented— <
God of Israel, blcS3 my child. i
Push on—Never Give Up.
Misfortune is more tolerable to an active
and energetic mind, than to one which
desponds and loses its force, just in propor
tion as difficulties are augmented. The
traveller does not hasten his journey by
lamenting the length and perils of the way,
nor will a bark stem the current unless
urged forward by the sinewy arm of its
oarsman.
Prosperity, unattended by effort, has
ruined more than ever did the unrequited
claims of industry. Wealth which has not
beed earned, will frequently leave its tem
porary possessor more indigent than if he
had never tasted its pleasures; while the
shilling which rewards the hard hand of
labor, will go further, and confer more real
happiness, than the unmerited dollar of a
nabob.
There are no mines of precious metals
in the rocky soil of New England, nor hid
den treasures in her caves and forests.—
Her rivers conceal-no gems beneath their
waters, nor will the richer products of the
Indies flourish beneath her changeful skies.
The wants of nature are here appeased
only by enterprise and unceasing toil, and
fortunes are not achieved by dashing
speculations, but laid up in mills and six
penses.
Providence designs that we should lead
active lives, and for this purpose has placed
us in a bracirg climate, has given us a
pure, salubrious air, strength of frame—
quickness of perception, ingenuity and
boldness. Debarred nf thn CPflllPtiro in.
fl'.iences of luxury, and free from our birth,
we have an indomitable spirit, coupled
with stern morality, and the rocks which
we make to blossom like the rose in the
hours of peace, we could make impregna
ble fortresses in war—we havecnly equals
at home—and dread no masters from a
broad.
The ground is forced to yield us enough
for our daily bread; commerce gives us
still more, and the mechanic arts, while
they multiply our resources, make the world
our debtors. But every man is obliged to
labor, and the drone is neither reputable
nor happy.
If then your first effort to secure a com
petency is ineffectual, make another, and
a third, and a fourth; like the spider which
the chieftain Bruce brushed down from its
web, and beheld again renewing the work
which had been demolished unawed by
danger—and unfeiled by its disappoint
ment .
In the mean time, you will neither starve
or go naked; upon the whole you will
dress as well as those who have been more
successful, and cat of the same food as
your neighbors. The blessings of God
will surround you as much as though you
had never known pecuniary embarrassment.
His sun will shine upon you, night will re
fresh you with repose, tree and shrub and
flower will be as beautiful to your eye,
and as redolent to your sense, as that of
the millionaire. You will have no more
sickness, pain, indeed no more anxietv than
those in better circumstances, and if you
respect yourself, you will have that of the
community, and the benison of all whose
good wishes are worth any thing.
But do not in the worst of positions suf*
fer the corroding, benumbing influence of
despondency to impair your vigor, and
steal away your courage. Do not permit
misanthropy to darken your vision, and by
learning you to hate mankind, provoke from
ihem retaliating sneers, cold neglect, or
jpen hostility.
Be cheerful, put a good face on your mis
fortune, and lay out your whole strength
:or another effort. Your friends per*
teiving that you have some confidence in
pour own ability, will be more likely to
ifford aid, than if you wallowed in the
nira, and called the attention of the
vorld to your impotency, by cries for
tssistance.
The brave general conceals his wounds
rom the eyes of his enemies, and thus saves
limself and his friends from defeat and
lisgrace, while the coward flies from the
ield of battle, and makes himself a fair
arget for the shots of his wrathful i
ompeers—and those of his scornful enc* i
rties.
The Great Pestilence. .
The most awful pestilence which is
known to have visited the human family,
was, that which broke out in the year
1345.
The desease, like the cholera, made its
first appearance in India and other parts
of Asia. Medical science was then at a
very let&state. It ravaged the East with
a violence vastly greater than the cholera.
By a report furnished the Pope, whose
throne was then seated at Avignon, it is
reported that nearly twenty-four millions
of souls perished in the East during that
year.
It soon crossed over into Greece and
Italy, with unmitigated mortality. In Ve
nice, one hundred thousand are computed
to have died, and sixty thousand in Florence
It marched onwards with terrific fury into
France, Germany, &.c. In the most fa
vored districts, two out of every three per
sons died.
In many places fourteen to sixteen out
of twenty.
In some districts, not a single male adult
survived.
In Germany, millions perished. At Lu
bee, in that empire, fifteen hundred per
sons died in four hours!
In August, 1348, it reached England,
and entered London on the 1st day of
November.
Many writers have described it on that
island, as well as other parts of Europe —
It is recorded that in the church yard of
Yarmouth, a small town, 7,052 bodies were
interred in one year. In Norwich, 53,47*
perished in six months!
A great field was bought near London
to bury the dead in. After the pestilence
had gone, a monument was raised over the
grave “where dwelt the multitude,* with
an inscription in Latin, which, when tran
slated, was nearly ns follows:
A. D. 1349.
Consecrated to the memory of
Fifty Thousand Souls,
whose mortal remains
were interred on this spot
during the Great Pestilence.
May God have mercy
on their Souls.
S A men.
I
Exactly one year after its appearance,
it ceased in England, but its effects were
dreadfully felt, not only there, but through
all Europe. The oxen, the sheep, and
other cattle wandered over the country
without a care taken, and perished in gseat
numbers.
The harvest was lost in the fields be
cause there were none to reap it, and fa
mine filled up the measure of this awful
visitation. The poor Jews partook of the
last dregs of the unequalled calamity._
The ignorant populace of that savage pe
riod, believed they had poisoned the wa
ters, and fell upon them with unremitted
cruelty, massacreing and burning many
thousand of that devoted race.
A Droll Individual.^
Major j^oah well says that Yankee Hill
is the very essense of drollery. If we had
a fortune we would give him a heavy sala
ry to travel and live with us. no melan.
choly reigns about Hill. He is continually
planning and executing the most laughable
p actical jokes, and they rarely fail of amu
sing every body, not even omitting the vie.
tim or victims.
Hill and VV. Rufus Blake were once in
Paris together on professional business.—
They lodged at a hotel in which all the va
lets and attendants were Frenchmen who
could not understand a word of English_
not even an oath. It was Hill’s delight,
(he could speak French) to get these un
fortunates in all sorts of dilemmas.
One morning he lectured every valet
that came to his room on the impropriety
of not understanding English, when they
served in a hotel whose lodgers were
almost entirely Americans and English
men.
“You must speak English,” said Hill, to
i grave, grey-headed valet, who was a sort
>f guide for all the rest.
“Out, monsieur,” speaking French.
“If,” inquired Hill, “a gentleman should
ray to you‘will you brush my coat?’ you
nust reply in English.”
The poor Frenchman shrugged his i
shouiderB as if to say “yes, but I don’t know
what to say.”
“Well, now remember,”said Hill,“when
a gentleman asks you to do anything, you
must say ‘go to blazes.’ ”
“What does that mean?”
“It'means,” replied Hill, “with plea
sure.'1'1
“Ah, out, out, monsieur. Ah! 1 am much
obliged.”
The confusion produced by this lesson
can he better imagined than described. In
about a week Hill had the whole house in
an uproar. No one could speak to a valet
without getting the most provoking inso
lence in reply. Every day would be heard
from some room a shout ol indignation—
followed by. the expostulation of some be
wildered valet, who was getting kicked
down stairs for politely commanding a gen
tleman to “go to blazes” or “to pot,” etc.
Hill at last made the hotel too hot to hold
him and was obliged to find another resi
dence. The valets no doubt still remem
ber him and their first practical lesson in
acquiring the English language.
^TimnortafityT^
Who knows whether the best man be
known, or whether thore be not more re
markable persons forgot than any that stand
remembered in the known account of time?
Without this favor of the everlastivg re
gister the first man had been as unknown
as the last, and Methuselah’s long life
had this only chronicle. Oblivion is not
to be hired. The greatest part must be
content to be as though they had not to be
found in the register of God, not in the re«
cords of men. Twenty-seven names make
up the firs* history before the flood; and
the recorded names ever since contain not
one living century. The number of the
dead long exceedeth all that shall live.—
The night of time far surpasseth the day,
and who knows when was the equinox?—
Every hour adds unto the current arithme
tic, which s.ands one moment. And since
death must be the Lucina of life, and even
Pagans could doubt whether thus to live
were to die—since our longest sun sets at
right descension, and makes but winter
arches, and therefore it cannot be long be
fore we lie down in darkness and have our
light in ashes—since the brother of death
daily haunts us with dying mentions, and
time, that grows old in itself, bids us hope
no longer durations—dinturnity is a dream
and folly of expectation- Darkness arid
light divide our course of time, and obli
vion shares with memory a great part even
of our living beings—we slightly remem
ber our felicities, and the smartest strokes
of affliction leave but short smarts upon
us. Senseendureth 110 extremities, and
sorrow destroys us or themselves. To
weep into stones and fables. Afflictions
induce collosities—misseries are slippery,
or fall like snow upon us, which notwith
standing, is no unhappy stupidity. To the
ignorant of evils to come, and torgetful of
evils past is a merciful provision of nature
whereby we digest the mixture of a few
and evi! days, and our delivered senses
not relapsing into cutting remembrance
our sorrows are not kept raw by the edge
of repetitions. A great part of antiquity
contended their hopes of subsistency, with
a transmigration of their sou’s—a good
way to continue their memories, while ha
ving the advantage of plural successions,
they could not but act something remarks*
ble in such variety of beings, and enjoy*
ing the fame of their passed selves, make
accumulation of glory into their last dura
tion. Others rather than be lost in the
uncomfortable night of nothing, were con
tent to recede into the common being, and
make the pubic soul of all things, which
was no more than to return into their un^
known and divine original again. Egypt
ian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, con
triving their bodies in sweet consistencies
to attend the return of their souls. But
all was vanity, feeding the wind, folly.—
The Egyptian minutes which Campses of
time hath spared, avarice now consumeth.
Mummy is become merenandize,. Mizi>
ram cures wounds, and Pharoah is sold
lor balsams.
There is nothing strictly immortal but im
mortality. Whatever hath no beginning
nay be confident of no end, which is the
>eculiar of that necessary essence that
■annot destroy itself, and the highest strain
imnipotency to be so powerfully constitu*
led as not to suffer even from the power of
itself—all others have a dependant being,
and within the reach of destruction* Bui
the sufficiency of Christian immortality
fiustrates all earthly glory, and the quaHi
ty of either state after deaths make a folly
of posthumnous memory. God, who can
only destroy our souls, & hath assured our
resurrection, either of our bodies or our
names, hath directly promised no duration.
Wherein there is so much of chance that
the boldest expectants have found uiihappv
frustration, and to hold long substances
seems escape into oblivion. But man is
a noble animal, spendid in ashes,and pom
pous in the grave, solemnizing nativities
and death with equal lustre, nor omitting
ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of his
nature.—Sir Thomas Brozvne.
“Bold as a Lion."—One of the best
jokes of the season is told by the amiable
Goines, of tonsorial notaricty. A South*
ern Adonis, no way celebrated tor his per
sonal attractions, on completing a some
what protracted toilet one morning, turn
ed to his servant and enquired—
‘How do 1 look, Caesar?’
‘Plendid, mass.!, plendid!’ was ebony’s
delighed answer.
‘Do you think I’ll do, Caesar?’ (giving
him a piece of silver.)
‘Guy, massa, nebber sec you look so
fierce in all my life; you look jis’ as bold
as a lion.’
‘Why, what do yon know about a lion?
—you never saw one, Caesar.’
‘Nehher 9PP A linn mnaoo t ■<•• 1
» -J J - -wv
massa Peyton’s Jim ride one ober to de
mill ebery day !’
‘No you fool, that’s a donkey.’
‘Ctn’t help dat, massa—you look jis
like him!'
Moustaches.
respectfully dedicated to those who have
more hair upon their face than brains an
their head.
‘His tawny beard tb’ equal grace.
Both of his wisdom and his face.’
Hudibba.
‘What’s them are things growing out of
your upper lip, Mister?’asked a country
Yankee, of a coxcomb, whom he met with
the other day.
‘Sir,’ exclaimed the dandy, fiercely rais
ing his rattan, and bristling up to the in
terrogator—‘what business is that to you,
sar?’
‘Oh no business of any consequence, to
speak on,’ replied the Yankee; 1 just axed
lor information, r.ot being much acquaint
ed with them are things.
‘Well, sir,’ returned the gallant, angri -
ly,‘what if you aint acquanted with etn?
Must a fellow of your cloih have the im.
pudence to to question a gentleman of
mine?’
‘Is that really your cloth, Mister, or is it
the tailor’s,’ asked the countryman.
‘The tailor’s?’ exclaimed the coxcomb,
fiercely—what do you mean by that? Do
you mean to insinuate that 1—S’death! qjr,
mi
‘Well, I thought as much,’ returned the
Yankee, carelessly sticking his hands into
his breeches pocket, and standing still be
fore the dandy; ‘I thought you never inten
ded to pay for them.’
‘What is that to you whether I pay for
them or not? Havn’t I a right to manage
as I please with my own tailor—pay him
or let it alone?’
‘Why, Mister, that depends very much
on what sort of a bargain you made. Ii
your tailor agree to let you cheat him.why
that’s his look out, note mine. But you
havn’t told me what you called them are
thing on your upper lip.’
‘Sar, you’re an impertinent puppy, sar.’
‘So I heard you say. Now father’s got
atarrierdog—but he don’t tarry much, 1
can tell you—he’ll kill three rats fn two
seconds—but, as I wa9 saying, father’s got
atarrierdog that's darned rough and hairy
about the mouth—but Lord! he aint a cir
cumstance to you. He’d cling his tail be
tween his legs if he was to see you, and
cry ti-ti-ti-i! nnd run to the end of the
world without stopping. My gracious! how
like the devil you look w ith them are i
things.’ i
‘Look! why, sar, they areall the go now. I
There’s no finished gentleman now but <
what wears moustachers. ’ ,
‘Musty chers, do you call em? Well, by
* • . v ;■■■ >V
-T;1" ’ 1 ' rfasw—«a.^, —^ak»
hoky, they are musty and rusty tdfif' They
look very much like the latter had of a
dogs tail, when he brushes it on the floor.
Faugh! I wouldn’t touch ’em no tuora
than—’
‘Touch ’em, sar, ifyou offijr to put a fin
ger on them, I’ll cane you within an inch
of your life. I will,aar.^
‘What, with that are swich Mister? I
shouldn't mind it no more than I should an
oat straw. ’
‘WeiI,’sir, touch my ;mousticbers,jRld
see if you don’t get it.’
‘Touch your mustychers. Why, Fd as
lieve touch two old chaws of tohadcer that,
have just been spit out. Touch ’em ill
deed ! Why, mister, I wouldn’t touch ’em
with the tongs. 1 can’t conceive, for my
life,jwhat should induce any human crit
tur to wear such darned natty looking
things as them.’
‘Nasty looking! do you call ’em? Bar,
your have no taste. Nasty looking indeed
why, sar they are all the admiration of the
ladies.’
‘Ladies, ha! ha! ha! They must have
a queer notion any how. But thdfa are
women who are unaccountably toad of
puppies and sich like animals, andT have
seen ’em fondle and kits ’em as if they
were human critturs. But, Lord! I don’t
see how any woman could let her lips
come within gun shot of your’n. Admir
ation of the ladies!’
‘Do you question what I say, sai ?’
‘Why, Mister, I don’t knw what kind of
ladies you have in the city here. But one
thing I can tell you~our country gals
would not no more let you touch ’em than
iliey would a toad—they’re very particu«
what comes in contact with ih«i, lin, it...
Mister, how in the name of hair and bria*
ties do yon eitt? How do you go to work
to get the vitfles into your mouth, with
them are things hanging over it, like's
hedge fene»wor the side oTa ditch? Do
you eat meat and sich like! or do you live
on spoon vitlles?’
‘It’s none of your business, sar, what I
live on, I board at seven dollars a week;
and eat what I please, sar, and drink what
J please.’
‘Seven dollars a week! my gracious! we
git board and washing and all in the coun
try, for a dollar and fifty cents; but I spose
they ask you five dollars and a half extra
for them are mustychcrs. Fau^h! I
wouldn’t have ’em at the table far ten dol
lars.’
‘What a fool I am to stand here talking
to a man of your cloth.’
Thus saying, the man with the mousta
chers flourished his dandy switch, wheels
about and walked on. He had gone but a
ew steps when the Yankee bawled after
him—
‘Hulloo! Mister—dont you want to buy
a currycomb! I’ve go* some real fine
ones, with teeth on both sides. They are
bang up, I can tell you.’
‘Curse on your currycombs and you
too.*
‘Don’t swear, Mister-nor go off in a pas
sion, I mean no offence in what I’ve said.
But I must declare, you are the darndest
ugly looking man in the face I ever did see
in all my life.’
Singular Tradition—Among the Sem
inole Indians there is a singular tradition,
regarding the white man’s origin and su
periority. They say that when the Great
Spirit made the earth, he also made three
men, all of whom were fair complexioned •
and that after making them, he led them
to the margin of a small lake, ard bade
them leap therein and wash. One imrne*
diately obeyed, and came from the water
purer and fairer than before; the second
hesitated a moment, during which time the
water agitated by the first, had become
slightly muddied, and when he had bathed
he came up copper colored; the third did
aot leap in till the water -became black
with mud, and he came out WTth its own
:olor. Then the Great Sptrit laid before
ihem three packages of bark, &. bade them
■hoose, and out of pity for his misfortune
a color, gave the black man (He first
ihoice. He took hold of each of the peck"
iges, and having felt the weight, choee the
isaviest; the copper colored one then
hose the second heaviest, leaving the
rhite man the lightest. When the pack
ges were opened, the first was found to