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TH SOUTH In journal.
♦ " ——-1— —:- 5%'. .. BY COHEA & GOUVENEAUX.] MONTICELLO, MISSISSIPPI, AUGUST 19, 184S. , [V0L Vfr-tlO * TCBX mVIEDM IS FUDLISHD F.VEEY TUESDAY EVETOWG »Y G. J. COIIEA & C. GOUVENEAUX. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. $2 00, For one year in advance. $2 SO At the end of six months, or, ( $3 00 at the end of the year. No deduction whatever will be mads from the above prices. Those who pay within one months ftcr the time ofsubscribin g will be con sidered as having p aid i n advance,but in every instance where payment is not made in that time, the terms stated above will be demand ed. Unless otherwise previously directed, the subscription will be regarded aj for the entire year. No paper discontinued, unless at the option of the publisher, until all arrearages are paid. We are thus explicit because we wish to avoid trouble anddisputein the collection of our subscription money. We beg that all who subscribe for the Journal, will note the farms of the subesripticn. TERMS OP ADVERTISING. Advertisements will be inserted at the rate of$l per square,for the firstinsertion,and 50 cents for each Week thereafter—ten lines or 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 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