BY W. _LEWIS.
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A GLORIOUS LAND
BY W..T. PARODIE.
Our country !—'tis•s. glorious land !
With btoad arms stretched from shore to
shore
The proud Pacifie chafes her strand,
She hears the dark Atlantic roar ;
And nurtured on her ample breast,
How many a goodly prospect lies
In nature's wildest grandeur drest,
Enamerd with her loveliest dyes.
Rich praries deek'd with flowers of gold,
Like sunlighboceans roll afar ;
Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,
Reflecting clear each trembling star,
And mighty rivers, mountain born,
Go sweeping onward dark and deep,
Through forests where the bounding fawn
Beneath their sheltering branches leap.
And cradled mid her clustering hills,
Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,
Where love the air with music fills,
And calm content and peace abide.
For plenty here her fullness pours,
In rich profusion o'er the land,
And, sent to seize her generous store,
There prowls no tyrant's hireling hand.
Great God ! we thank thee for this home—
This bounteous birtbland of the free ;
Where.wanderers from afar may come,
And breathe the air of liberty !
Mill may her flowers untrampled aprirg,
Her harvests wave, her cities rise ;
And, till Time shall fold his wing,
Remain Earth's loveliest paradise,!
From the Montgomery Watchmen
ZEICE BEEGLE'S COURTSHIP :
OW
LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS
DIEDICLIS
I was just prepared to retire to my bed on
a stormy evening, in the month of October,
When I was called to visit the son of a farmer
in the neighborhood. The Messenger in
formed mo that the young man was danger
ously ill, and that my services were instantly
needed; without delay I started for the dewl
ling of my patient, and, as the house was
but a short distance from my residence T was
soon at his bedside. The sufferer, I found,
was a young man or about twenty years of .
age—long, lank, and -gawky, with red hair
and ferretty eyes—a most excellent specimen
of a live down-cast Yankee.
My patient's name, I soon ascertained,
was Ezekiel Beegle. I had heard of the
gentleman before: under the name of Yankee
Zeke, but until new had never the pleasure
of seeing him. Ezekiel, or Zeke, as we shall
call him, was very uneasy ; he had consider
ble fever, with pain in the breast and violent
conch, and was extremely anxious that I
should immediately relieve him. T put a
number of questions to him relative to his
ailment, and amongst them asked him what
he supposed it was that gave him such a
cold ; he hesitated about giving an answer,
and informed me that he would tell me at
another.time. I therefore proscribed for him
without troubling him further, and in a few
days he was entirely recovered. His hesita
tion abont answering my question relative to
the eanso of his cold excited my 'curiosity,
ant. I was determined to keep him to the
promise he had made to enlighten me upon
another occasion. Meeting him along the
road a short time after his recovery, I made
allusion to his recent indisposition and its
cause, and by promising, not to reveal any
thing, got for answer—that he had got a
most deuced dueltin' in the creek down by
the rneetin' house, a couple of weeks before
tic Ivas taken sick, and he always suppo
'scd that was the cause of his illness, and
hcsities that was darned near sweated to
dneth in an old barrel churn.
now wanted to know hoW he came to
5.7.>^t the ducking and churn sweating. At
this Zeke burst out into a loud haw, haw
and says he. if you'll jilt sit down on this
rile of rails a minute, I'll tell you all about
it, only you see, Doctor, 1 want you to keep
it shady. else if the gals about here find it
nut, tease the day-lights out of me.
:(Well von see, doctor I was se.ttin' in the
barn 'tethc-tr day cogitatin' over one thing or
ar'•: - )ther, when I berzan'to recollect that there
goinl to be a quiltin' over to Deacon
Snyder's. on the next Friday night : so says I
!i) myself, right out loud, says I Zeekle, T
e.ress as how a chicken ahnut the size of this
sot - newhero ahont deneon Sny
der's prrmisem a'rrlot of that oniltin'.
tbe etc. T
on en -If 'or t he-
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‘..l'Y'r . 7771 R Siitir: '7l
rt• I ist f:r Sal
ME
was stirrin' up squashes to make punkin pie•
i4rothee•says I, - and . 1 squeaked= so sharp it
nearly frigtened the Old • critter into fits;
mother I've got an' idee ; 'what, you got - an'
idee`Zeke, says she, why tbever know'dthat
sick a thiog troubled you in all creation.
tell you What, doctor, that rather riled me ;
I my dander riz righe. up to abotit'fobr hundred
and ninety-six degrees belOw zerb,'and says
old ,k c iman',.l have got an idee, and 1 gtiess
as how you'll find it out too ; says I, Pm go ,
in' next Friday night to Deacon - Snyder's
riniltin', and if this chap don't put *hiniSelf
alongside 'of something in the shape of a fe...
male woman, my daddy's no-' judge of horn
ed cattle. The old woman was always po
kin' her fun at me, and I was all-fired riled,
I tell you, I shook ray head jist like a mad
gander, and says old woman, git out.
At that the old critter bur:st•right out loud a
laffin.', and says she, Zeke; you 'ain't got
spunk enough ; you'd he frightened half to
death at an old cloak and bonnet stuck on a
broom stick. Well; says I, old waman;•
you'll see)) -
"So when next Friday night came, just
about sundown, I hegen to put'on my fixhis'.
concluded it was best to look pretty smart
and cute on the occasion ; so I jilt slicked
down my hair with - a little hogs fat and ile of
peppermint, put on my gray bobtail coat,
pinned Sal's laced night cap to . my shirt'bo
som for a ruffle s and arter puttin' on father's
short breeches and strappin"ern down with
a pair of old gum suspenders, concluded
began to look pretty - caniptious t, I tell you
what, I felt as if I warn't to be sneezed at ;
I shook my feet jist as much as to say, 'go it
boots,' and away I streaked it for the dea
cons ; when I got there the house was chuck
full., The gals had got through quiltin' ; the .
floor was sanded, and the way old Cuff was
rippin' the hair of the horse over the bowels
of the cat, was a caution to dead niggers. I
tell you what, doctor, when I heard that mu
sic and seed all them cute lookin' gals, it
made my hair bristle right up like a porcu
pine's and my heart jumped about like a little
toad on a hot skillet ; now, says I, Zeke Bee
gle, let's see Your spunk ; so arter takin' off
my hat, and slickin' down my hair with a lit
tle bit more of the hogs fat and the ile of pep
permint that I'd wrapped up in a piece of
paper and stuck in my pocket,,and bitin' in
to a clove or two to make the breath sweet
and takin' I streaked it right off across the
room and sot myself down alongside deacon
Snyder's daughter Lucy. Save she, 'Mr.
Beegle. how do you do 'l' says I, 'l'm pretty
well, I thank you, how do you do
say's she, 'l'm right smart, Zeekle, 'cept I've
got a sort of pain in my breast.' You see I
know'd that a little soft sawder was good
once in a while, so says I, 'Miss Lucy, -I've
got a pain too ;' srlys she, 'Zeekle, where
abouts is your pain '?• -says I, 'Miss Lucy, its
right about my heart;' says she, and she
drawed a breath like a' wheezingturkey, 'and
so is mine too.' The ice was now bloke,-
and the way we chatted about the weather,
and the gals, and the Parson's sarnums, and
cattle, and quiltin', and corn-huskin's, and
apple cuts, was a caution. The critter was
tickled half to death, for she did nothing but
laugh, and giggle, and wink at the gals and
boys. We was jist heginnin' to git sociable
when the floor was cleared for a dance; and
now, says I, if I don't show
,em how to go
into the toe and heel speculation, my name
is not Zeke Beegle. Says I, 'Miss Lucy,
shall I have the pleasure of your company in
a straight.four ;"thank - you, Zeekle,' says
she, 'l'm very sorry, but I've jist, engaged to
dance with Si Faithorne ;' so I turned right
short tound on my heel, and says 1, Miss Lu
cinda Bailey,-shall I have the pleasure of dan
cin' a straight four with you 'l. I've just ax
ed Miss Lucy Snyder, and she's engaged.'
The way Miss Baily looked daggers at me,
warn't slow. tell von,' says she, 'Zeke
Beegle, if you wanted to dance with me, you
moug,ht have axed me rust ;I don't allow my
self to be made a convenience of, no how ;"
and she turned round and shook her shoul
ders like a mad heifer. I tell you what doc
tor, T begun to git mad too, and I felt gist
like lickin' all creation ; thinks I you darn'd
old coots, you don't git this chap off without
his havin' a little somethin' to say to some
gal, nohow ; so I walks right up to Charity
Mackintosh, and says I, 'Miss Charity, shall
I have the pleasure of your company in a
straight four 'l' well, says she, ‘Zeekle,
don't know but what you mought ;" git out,
says I, hands off, and I jumped right straight
up on an end, and says I, bowing very per
litely, 'lm your most obsquotulous.' Old
Cuff put it on the cat gut, and the way we
hoed it down, was enough to frighten old Sa
tan into fits. Some how - it appeared to me
they all kept up a darn'ed sort of sniggerin",
and old Cuff he showed his ivory, and rolled
his eyes about till they looked like a couple
of snow balls glistening in a coal hole. Di
rectly Jehoshaphat Acres bawls right out,
‘Zeekle, what's the duty on leather,' and
then they all; haw hawed like a party of
crazy loons. Says Miss Bailey, 'Zeekle, if
you arn't keerful, you'll lose something out of
your pockets :' with that I went to feelin' in
the pockets of my bobtail, and there some
on-'em had stuck a pair of Deacon Snyder's
slippers in one pocket, and an old boot leg in
the •'tother. Well after the dance was over,
we all sot down on the benches round about
the room, and the old Deacon handed round
pies and all other kinds of sass. Says Miss
Mackintosh to me, says she, 'Zeekle, what
kind of pie do you like best 'P (at the same
time she had a chunk of apple pie in one
hand and a slice of punkin puddin' in .the
other,) says I, 'Miss Mackintosh, what kind
o' sort o' pie do you-prefer 1' Says I, 'so.do
• 'O, no,' says she, forgot ;' I meant
punkin puddin'.' 'Law,'. says I, 'so do
'Well,' says she, 'don't you .like both. Zee
kle 'P Says I, 'sartin, Miss Mackintosh,'
and
d with that, the sarpint plastered one side
of my,-face with,the apple - pie, and 'tether
side with the punkin,and there I sot. look
inn like a
ff drowned jackass, with the .
appi• , s drippin O r_t sid e and th e pun ki n
7 tori7-ar. I'G7;, ii()c!or. th a t tact
rather ralsed my 21 , :me7.'r, and says 1," (if
thal.'s the way von aro. going '.a r.,arvett fellow
. „
darTiect may f.Ta to t3arnation.
Well, j Vr Pil t cut into kitchen and tr,ok-
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r - NTING,poN,- MAY 30,, ~,1855.
a blanket out of the cradle, and, arter-wiPin'
off the apple sass and • punkin',Sta.rted back
• to the dancing room. , Jist then,' Methueela
Sigafoos steps up, and, says he, Zeekle'
you'd like, introduce you t6Miss"Mehi-'-'
table Brigham ; we are going' to break. up
' shortly, and I:know she will want some chap
to see her .to home,' Says: I, 'MethuSela;
Pm 'jist .the critter'' and off we started to
where Miss' Brigham was sittei - 0. - She•was
acute looking' one, I tell you.' Says-Me- ,
thusela, 'Miss Brigham, I'll - make you ac
quainted with Mr. Zeckle Beegle, son of the
Hour. Hezekiah Beegle, and grandson of Jer
emiah Beegle,-.Esq. Zeckle Beegle, this is
Miss Ylehitable - Brigham. Jist then, that
tarnal old critter, the :Deacon wag passin'
round behind me, with a waiter chuck full of
apples and -- ,glasses of cider, and, as I went
'to bow, to Miss Brigham I. struck. the wait
er, and cawallop tent the apples and tum
blers in every direction: There was a great
squalin', then, I tell you ; some of the gals
got tripped up, treadin';on ehe apples, and
others 'was lamenting- dreadfully about the
cider 'splashin' on their new callicoes and
other dresses. Thinks I, the sooner I gig
out of these scrapes, the better. So, says I,
'Miss Brigham ; it's gitten late; shall I have
the pleasure' , of seein' you to home P—
'Well,' says she, 'Zeekle, as the night's put
ty clark, I don't care if you do.' Well, while
the boys and gals was talkin' about startin',
I jist slips out into the kitchen, -and, arter
searchin' round a while, gits hold of an
then pot full of soft soap,-and sneakin' round
into the back room' where the gals had put
their fixins. I jist happened some how or
other, to spill about a quart of it right into
Charity Mackintosh's bonnet. I want much
skeered about it, but I streaked it out of the
room pretty sharp, and I guess when Miss
Charity went to put 'on. her bonnet, her face
looked about as slick as mine did,' stuck full
of apple pie and punkin puddin'. Arter
this conniption, I gi:s Miss Brigham, and off
we started ; when 'we got opposite the 'old
Deacon's barn, says I, 'Miss Brigham, bos
ses' hoofs ain't as easily soiled as morocco
shoes.? 'Why,' says she' ,what on, airth do
you mean, Zeekle?' Why,' says I, mean
that Pm agoiri' to git the old Deacon's mare
out for you and I to ride home on, for you
see the Bight's all fired dark, and it's most
oudacious muddy,' and with that, I slipped
into the stable, got out the old critter, chuck
-1 eel a hoss blanket over her for, a saddle, and,
arter helpin' Miss Brigham to a hind seat,
got on myself. The dear little son] put her
arms around me,' she said, for fear of fallin'
off. I swow, I never felt half so good and
queer my life. Well,' after we had got
right snugly fixed, I give the old mare a
couple of digs with'my heels, and now, doc
tor, I'm going to telt you about that ducking;
and mina I tell you gin, you keep shady.—
Well, you see, w,e streaked it along. -pretty
well, till we come 'to the creek, near the old
merlin' house, when instead of spin' over the
bridge, cuss the old mare, she would go right
through the water„ to drink. 'lt had been
rainin' for aday or two before, and the wa
ter was pretty well up, but I thought there
want any danger, and concluded, after the
old critter had enough to drink, she'd turn
round and walk straight out ; so, after she'd '
finished,l jist hits her a couple of cawollops
with my heels and sings out, ''come along,
old Doll,' and away she stalled like a ravin'
tearin' mad . cat ; instead of turnip' round,
shot rite across the water and begun a crawl
in'
up, the opposite bank. Quick amost as
she touched it, she slipped clown on her hind
legs and slid us both off, right casouse into
the water ; I tell you what, I never was half
so skeered in all my life; says I, 'Miss ,Brig
ham, are you drowned 'Oh, no,' says
she, 'Zeke ; but I tell you I'm pretty damp,'
and with that, she scrambled up the bank,
and commenced wringing out her clothes.
I tell you, but we was in a juicy pickel, and
if I didn't cuss all quiltin's and Deacon's old
horses, then my nam's not Zeke; the old
mare I guess was frightened worse than I was,
and she streaked it off in pretty short metre,
I tell you; after gittin' ourselves up and piety
well shook out, we started fur. squire Brig
ham's; arter we got there, Miss Brigham
opened the door, and says she, 'Mr. Beegle,
Pm much obliged to you for your trouble,
and hope you will call again some other
time," and then she shut the door cawallop
in my face. There i stood, shiverin' and
shakin', and now, doctor, if a feller ain't
likely to git cold after deb. work, Idon't
know what kind of mutton he's made of.—
Thinks I, this does beat all nater; if the devil
ain't in the women, then there is somethin'
pretty much like* him, that's all; and off I
started ; I was ravin', tearin' mad, but
howmesover, before I got to home, owin' to
the coldness of the night, and the duckin'
got, I was considerably cooled off, and says I
to myself, 'since I've had an invite, if I don't
call again on Miss .Brigham, you may take
my head for a punkin. Well the very next
Sunday night, there was a chap about my
size seen streakin' it off towards squire Brig
ham's. Now, the old squire he was out at
the barn, fodderin', so I walks right up to
him, and know iii' he was a pretty scientific
sort of a chap, I jist slicked down my hair a
little, jerked up my shirt collar, and. says
'squire, how
_are you? it's quite a sort a kind
of weather this; quite a fogmatical state of
the atmosphere; the thenomicon must a low
ered up to about three feet 'tether side of
sundown.' How do you do?' says he,
'what's that your business?"o, l says I,
'noth
particular, squire.' 'Well,' says he,
'Zeekle Beegle, you ain't wanted about these
premises,-and the sooner you make tracks,
the better,' .andehe old sarpint motioned at
me with a pitch-fork,• as much as to say,
Zeekle Beegle, if you don't want a couple of
ilet holes drilled in your carcase, you'd bet
ter lean.' It don't take; this chap long to
take a hint,'no-how, especially if it's a pret
ty pointed one; so off I put, but says Ito my
self, 'old chap you don't git clear of this
chicken jist yet,' so r slid round the barn
yard towards the house, and there I seed Miss
Brigham settin' all alone in the kitchen,
s ir :g in; a psalm tune.; the moment she snioLi
this chap, her fUct - : colt:rot' up like a turkey
troblers, says she, •Z eagle, why I ,iicn't
expcct to See yoc to no how.' .0, Say:
I tit out' • •I then pup and told-her all about
'my chat with the - old Squire; end axed her if
she• would keep company., with me that even
ing- Says she; 'Zeeklei I wouldn't mind
keepin' "company with you, but father's ter
ribly wrathy about you, • 'cause you-got me
.sick a duckin' in the creek; howmeseever,'
'says she, 'if you want to have my company,
you must hide somewhere about the house
until after the old folks have gone to bed,
Says I, 'agreed Miss Brigham, any port in a
storm,' says I; - so says she, 'Zeekle, there's a
barrel churn over in the corner, there; jist git
yourself down into that, and keep right quiet
there till I come back ; I'm goin' over to Par
son Evans' a minute, and I'll be right back
.agin. l So I gits myself down into the churn
and Miss Brigham puts on the lid, and then
started right straight off for the Parson's;
after I'd been in there about an hour, I began
to think that Miss Brigham was mighty
slow a Bitten' back, and says I to myself,
'Zeekle, - a churn's welt enough to keep milk,
but• as for any human critter bein' cooped up
in one like a ground hog, it's too (Imtation
bad. I was jist about raisin' up the lid to
straighten up a little, when I heard the door
open, and in come the old squire and his wife;
the way I drawed back my old calabash was
nothin' to nobody; . says Mrs. Brigham to the
squire, guess since Mehitable's gone over
to the parson's and
,won't likely be back
right 'soon, I'll jist do up a little bit of churn
in.' Thinks I, guess you won't do it in
this churn, no how;' and I was jist twistin'
myself round a little, when off come the lid,
and down come a pot of cream right on my
carcase; I swow, the duckie' I had down by
the meet in'-house want a circumstance to it.
I jumped right upon an end and gin an al
mighty sneeze, while the liquor was stream
in' down' my head and shoulders; I tell you
what, I guess old aunty thought the day of
resurrection had come a little bit to soon, the
old critter went right into•a fit of the high
strikes, she dropped her milk-pot, and the
way she scratched and kicked about the floor,
you'd a thought a passel of crazy . loons had
jist got out of bedlam; after the old squire
had got his breath, for he was amazin' skeer
ed, says he, 'what on airth 'are you doin' in
my churn Zeeke BeegleP Nothin', says I,
squire 'in particular,' and with that, the old
feller cotched up a boot-jack, and says he,
'you sassy varmint, Pme a great mind to
pound the daylights out of you;' with that I
hopped out of the churn . and scratched for
-the door, but the tarnal thing was fast ; jist
then, I happened to see t window open on
''other side of the - room, and arter the old
squire had chased" me round the premises
once or twice, Iran to think it was about
time I was' gittin' out there; so I made a
jump with all my might, and out I went; but
I din't land where I thought I would, by a
long way; I went right slap into the old
squire's swill-tub, that was sittin' under the
winder, and when I got out, if I wasn't juicy,•
jest shake me; arter I got out o' that scrape,
I put for home, and I railly believe, doctor, it
was the milk, - swill and'water gave me that
spell of sickness."
Zeeke," says I, "the probability is,
that your attack of sickness was brought
about by your trippie ducking; but as you
have now fairly recruited, you must forget
the past, forgive Charity Mackintosh, the old
squire and Mehitable, and hope as Jacob
Faithful says '"For better luck next time." "
The Beauty of Forgiveness
"How beautiful falls from human lips that
blessed word FORGIVE."
If there is anything which has power to
bind the heart of man with a firm, enduring
affection, it is forgiveness, called forth by
meek, sincere, unconditional repentance.—
Every 'one of us, however short our lives,
and slight our experience, can perhaps, re
member, when having done injustice to some
one near and dear, garden has been implored,
and ' forgiveness readily and affectionately
granted ; can remember, I say, the magic
with which it sweeps away any lingering
trace of alienated feelings, and bound with
renewed-strength every sentiment of regard
and esteem. The faculty of forgiving and
receiving forgiveness is one of the finest in
human nature. It is the main point in every
noble, every refined, and elevated character.
Dark, sinister, and intriguing men can never
forgive, and the consciousness of being for
given is sufficient to arouse their darkest pas
sions. A.n illustration of this may be found
in the Rashleige Osbaldistone of Walter
Scott when, in his dying moments, he calls
his cousin, and pours into his ear a torrent of
impotent, scornful hate, and in the face too,
of kindly manifestations of forgiveness.—
That very manifestation, so superior in its
man linens to his own malignity caused him to
realize his own worthlessness, and aggravated
his hate.
If a man wishes to live a peaceful, ration
al life, he must call forgiveness often into
action ; and will find it has the magic of a
charm to allay all bitterness, reconcile all
differences, dispel all those petty quarrels
which so often embitter the intercourse of
every good man. It is the glorious element
in God's government over man, the essential
life-giving principle of the . plan of redemp
tion. It is the leading feature in Holy Writ,
and finds an ardent, sincere response in the
bosom of every high-minded man.
It is the strongest link in the chain that
binds the heart of every Christian to his
Lord and Master. It is the consciousness of
being forgiven, that awakens all the nobler
emetions of his soul, and rouses his dormant
energies to active service in the cause of his
Redeemer. Forgiveness from Got} or man
lays an individual under obligations that to a
sensitive, delicate mind are anything but un
pleasant or humiliating. A certain degee of
pride of character is far from beina•reorehen
sible.--it gives force and dignity; but the
pride that cannot ask forgiveness is obstinacy,
is stubborness, and the mind that will not
melt and subdue, must be dead to all that is
noble. Could the world at_ large be induced
to enter upon 'the practice of forgiveness,
alike whether it were sought or unsonaht, its
usP would con ho oliviatod, and the rni:leni
um dra-..-. - n upon es in a . l its snlcrld.or and
glor
L y.
ot us, then, rerner,hri
t , -..1. , a , in t:-...e ncc-]::
the greatest commotion is produced by the
action of some particles one upon another, so
we, although insignificant members of an
extended community, are constantly coming
in contact one with another, and transmitting
our thoughts, feelings, and opinions. And
however our feelings may be injured, our
characters assailed, oar tempers vexed and
tried, let us remember it is God-like to for
crive• •
And let us remember that, if destined for
a better state of existance, where none but
the 'tiger and more elevated faculties of our
immortal nature will be called into action,
that the cultivation they r.?ceive here, the
better prepared we shall be to enter at once
upon the enjoyment of their practice in futu
rity. Let us, then, as far a possible discard all
our conflicting propensities, everything, that
is debasing, and elevate our standard of mor
al and intellectual character, as far as can be,
to that which must be ours when inhabitants,
if ever, of a realm of stintless purity and
perfect bliss.
An Awful Picture
The Rev. M. Geecham, a member of the
"London Wesleyan Mission," recently re
turned from a visit to Africa, and in the
course of a sketch of the moral and social
condition of the negroes inhabiting the Gold
Coast and its vicinity, he furnishes a truly
awful picture.
Thus :
"Scarcely has one of their barbarous and
bloody customs been abandoned, from the
earliest period of which anything is known
of them. They still pave their court-yards,
palaces, and even the streets or market pla
•ces of their villages or towns with the skulls
of those butchered in wars, at feasts, funer
als, or as sacrifices to 'Bossum.' Still their
wives and slaves are buried alive with the
deceased husband or master. When Ada
henzen died, two hundred and eighty of his
wives were butchered before the arrival of
his successor, which put a stop to it only to
increase the flow of blood and the number
of deaths in other ways. The remaining
living wives were buried alive ! amidst dan
cing, singing, and bewailing, the noise of
horns, drums, muskets, yells, groans,
screeches of women marching by headless
trunks, bedaubed themselves with earth and
blood. Their victims were marched along
with large knives passed through their
cheeks. The executioners struggle for the
office, while the victims look on and endure
with apathy. They were too familiar with
the horrid sacrifice to show terror, or to ima
gine that all was not as it should be. Their
hands were first chopped off, and then their
heads sawed off, to prolong the amusement.
Even some
_who a ssisted to fill the grave
were hustled in alive, in order to add to the
sport or solemnity of the scene. Upon the
death of a King's brother, four thousand vic
tims were .thus sacrificed. These ceremo
nies are often repeated, and hundreds slaugh
tered at every rehearse'. Upon the death of
a king of Ashantee, a general massacre takes
place, which there can be no computation of
the victims.
"At their 'Yam Customs,' Mr. Bowditch
witnessed spectacles the most appalling.—
Every cabocer, or noble, sacrificed a slave as
he entered at the gate. Heads and skulls
formed the ornaments of their processions.
Hundreds were slain, and the streaming and
steaming blood of the victims was mingled ,
in a vast brass pail, with various vegetables
and animal matter, fresh as well as putrid,
to compose a powerful Fetiche. At these
customs the same scenes of butchery and
slaughter occur. The king's executioners
traverse the city killing all they meet. The
next clay desolation reigns over the land.
The king during the bloody - saturnalia, look
ed on eagerly, and danced in his chair with
delight !
"The King of Dahomy paves the approach
es to his residence, and ornaments the battle
ments of his palace with the skulls of his
victims; and the great Fetiche Tree, at
Baadagry, has its wide spread limbs laden
with human carcasses and limbs. There the
want of chastity is no disarace ; and the
priests are employed as pimps. 'Murder,
adultery, and thievery,' says Bosman, care
here no sins.' "
How we got rid of Moths. -
A year since we had occasion to store a
lot of furniture,- with a_considerable amount
of woolen garments, carpets,, bed clothing,
&c. As the house necessarily used for sto
ring was infested with moths and cockroach
es, we had some fears on this account, but
we procured a pound and a half of gum cam
phor, and packed all woolen materials in a
single close room, with large lumps of the
camphor in several places. The loom was
then closed up tightly, and left till a few days
since. On opening it, we found it still filled
with a strong odor of camphor. The lumps
of gum, which were about the size of a hen's
egg-when put in ; had now lost about half
their bulk, and not a single thread of any
cloth in the room had been injured by moths
or other insects.
One thing surprised us not a little: the
of the room was literally covered
with thousands of moths, though none were
found elsewhere. 'Lie dollar expended in
getting a large amount of camphor probably
saved us from many dollars' loss, since a bit
of stair carpet, and an old fur muff, which
were left in another room with some furni
ture, were entirely destroyed. —American
Agriculturist.
(From the Little Rock Gazette, April F 1.7.)
Hard Times in Arkansas.
The "hard times," of which we have
heard and read so much, are now upon us,
and no mistake. In our life we have never
before lived in a community, rinv part of
which was threatened with want. What is
now knocking at the doors of our citizens, in
almost every part of the State? Not poverty,
or want of money, for we do not know of a
single beggar, or one who is not able to pay
for what he needs, hut actual want of the ev
cry-dro: twee.Fs-trse , . of !ifc, wl con: , ot
had. Ter any pric,?, beclr7:7,i'ner net
crAlntly.
not, - io T,;l,Ce 7?;-i;`1,'
flour, a bushel of meal, or a' pound of cpffe
or sugar for sale. Flour would go off readi
ly here at $l5 a barrel, and
_corn meal at $2
a bushel; sugar and coffee would sell at any
price. There is the greatest scarcity of ©v
ery article of provisions or family groceries.
do not know what our people will do.—
Perhaps some of our merchants, or somebody
else, may fit up wagons arid hau 1 supplies
from White River. We know of no other
chance to live. •
It is now conceded by the most Skeptical,
that the Arkansas river will not answer the
purpose of a navigable stream. Here we are,
nearly at the first of May, and the river yet
too low for navigation. The planters have
not yet shipped their crops of last year to
market, or received their supplies for this
year. The merchants are in the same condi
tion. The people, who have to depend on'
the rivers, are next door to starvation. The
State of .rkansas usually raises enough of
bread and meat for home consumption; but
the drought of last year cut their crops short;
the emigration of this year makes the sup
plies, dependant on crops still shorter. As
a consequence, the country is now in almost
a destitute condition in regard to the neces
saries of life. Our lesson, though a severe
one, will not, we hope, be without its bene
ficial results. Our low river and "hard times''
furnish the molt striking and convincing ar
guments in favor of a connection with the
world, by means of railroads.
We find the following in the papers with
out credit, and do not know its oriLfin :
1. MI young. chickens, ducks and turkeys.
should be kept under cover of the weather do
ring the rainy season.
2 Twice or three timer a week, peper,
garlic, &c., should be mixed up with their
food.
3. A small lump of assafcetida should be
placed in the pan in which the water is given
them to drink.
4. Whenever they Manifest disease, by
the dropping of their wings, or any outward
signs of bad health a little assafatilla bro
ken into lumps, should be mixed with their
food'.
5. Chickens which are kept from the dung
hill while young, seldom have the gapes.
theiefore it should be the object of those,who
haVe charge of them so to confine the hens as
to preclude their young from the range of
barn or stable yards.
6. Should any chickens have the gapes,
mix up small portions of assafcetida, 'rhu
barb, and pepper into fresklbutter, and give
each chicken as much of the mixture as will
lie on half the bowl of a teaspoon.
7. For the pip the following treatment is
judicious—take off the undurated covering
on the point of the tongue and twice a day,
for two or three days, a piece of garlic the
size of a pea; if garlic cannot be obtained,
onion, shallot or shires, will answer; and if
neither of these be convenient two .grains'
of black pepper, given in fresh butter will
answer
Some statistical genius declares "that more
money is expended
,in the United States for
segars than for all the common schools in the
Union
A wag, who is undoubtedly a lover of the
weed, seeing this statement going through
the papers, gets oil the following:
"It has been calculated that' the cost of
washing linen that might just as well be
worn two days longer, amounts to enough
in this country to more than defray the ex
penses of the American Board of foreign
mission,
"The expense of the buttons worn on the
backs of our coats, where they are of no
earthly use, - is equal to the support oral' oar
orphan asylums.
"The value of tails to dresS - coats (of no
value ih reality, for warmth or convenience,)
is actually greater than the cost of our ex
cellent system or common schools.
"It has been estimated that the value of
old boots, thrown aside, which might have
been vorri a day longer, is more than
enough to buy a flannel night gown for eve
ry baby in the land. Also, that the cost of
the extra inch of the tall shirt collars of cur
young. men is equal to the shrr. necessary to
put the Bible into the hands of every one of
the Patagonian giants."
.I‘l,txrms, DY LORD CHESTERFIELD.--A
proper secrecy is the only rhysterY of able
men ; mystery is the only secrecy of weak
and cunning ones.
A man who tells nothing, and one who
tells all, will equally have nothing told him.
If a fool knows a secret he tells it because
he is a fool; if a knave knows one, he tells
it whenever it is his interest to tell it. But
women and young men are apt to tell What
secrets they know, from the vanity of having
been trusted. Trust none of these, whenever
you can help it.
A man who cannot command his temper,
his attention, and his countenance, should
not think of being a man of business. The
weakest man in the world can avail himself
of the passions of the wisest. The inatten
tive man cannot know his business - and con
sequently cannot do it. And he who cannot
command his countenance, may e'en as well
tell his thoughtS as show them.
Spirit is now a very fashionable word ; to
act with spirit, to speak with spirit t means
only to act madly and to talk indiscriminate-
Iv. An able marl shows his spirit by gentle
words and resolute actions : he is neither hot
nor timid.
It is very dilicult to fix the particular paint
f economy; the best error of the two is on
the parsimonious side. That may be correc
ted, the other cannot.
A Western editor, who is a bachelor,
snys—:•We never cared a farthing about get
ting married, until we attended an old bach
elor's funeral."
Ever.; secort! of time, tl:rong,liont the
:Lll% nn:i iinrirg the sileni-e.
?.31 it»rnort7.l Eonl is passillg, fr,:+rn.
tl!Tie t(7,
1 , 7-..77P1
VOL. 10, NO. 60.
Rules for Raising Poultry
Curiou's Sta'tistics