{ title: 'Herkimer County Democrat. (Frankfort, N.Y.) 1843-1854, December 14, 1853, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-12-14/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-12-14/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-12-14/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-12-14/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: New York State Library
TBRMS—12 A YEAlt ♦‘ tiiberty, Fratc!r«i||;y, anifl F<*ikality’’» 50 IN ADVANCE. YOLUME III. HEMIMER, WEDNESDAY IQ M IM , DEEElEER ,14. 1853. DUMBER 15. Counts iBtraotrat. PUBLISHED EVEEr ■WEDHEfDA.Y MOENlNa * A t gerl£iiiier« tBork:. Co., IV. V- ROBERT EARlIi P C. C. WITHERSTINEA ,t will be left at tb* P k o p r t b t o k s , ibscribers, $2,0( advance. __ R a t e ^ o f A d lvertisiB i§. ^ne square or less, one insertion,.. .$0 lent insertion, .............. 0 •ne squar« Each subsequi One square 3 months, ................... . 3 00 One square 6 months, .......... 5 60 One square one year, .............. ...'.. 8 00 liberal deduction will be made to those who advertise by the year. BOOK AKD JOB PBINTING, In all its branches, executed _ with neatness and disDatch. and on reasonable terms. SELECT POETRY. From the Home Journal. A BEAUTIFUL POEM- [The following sweet and touching lines on the “ Deatn of the Robin,” are from the gifted pen of our fair correspondent, Mrs. E m e l in e S . S m it h .] From his sweet banquet, ’mid the perfumed cloves, A robin soared and sung ; I of happy bard or lover ,1s of gladness rung, the distant hill-side. Loud Echo, . „ , Or hiding in the glen, Caught up, with thirsting lip, the tide of sweet- itering by r hiding in the g en bade it flow again. with the music ; to hear : mg their heads. ■And wily f And blushing enamoured, To list thatjoyance clear.” Just then, from neighboring covert rudely sing- Broke forth discordant sound ; ily fowler, from his ambush springing, ~ :ed eagerly around. Still upward, through the air that yet was thrilling, . To his melodious lay, t)ne instant longer, on a trembling pinion, The robin cleared his vvay. But, ah, the death-shot rankled in his bosom-- His life of song was o’er, Back, back to earth, from out his heavenward pathway He fell, to rise no more. A sudden sileiKe chilled the heart of Mature— Leaf, blossom, bird and bee^ Seemed each, in startled hush, to mourn the clear you might have almost seen the blood circulating through the delicately penciled veins. • ' <«. The boy was evidently industrious for he was then staggering under a bun dle of goods, which he was carrying to the-Providence depot for a countryman who had made a purchase of a few ar ticles for family use, and who had em ployed this young express-ihan tO'de liver it to the baggage-master. Being tired, he removed the bundle from his shoulder, and placed it carefully on'a bench near a group of frolicking boys, who were amusing themselves by roll ing marbles. ‘When the lad had wiped the perspiration from bis glowing face, he modestly and politely requested one of the boys to lend him a helping hand in raising the bundle from the bench to his shoulder. The boy to whom he spoke, was the only son of one of the wealthiest families in the Pilgrim city, and he spoke to him because he recog nized him as a school-mate and a class mate. At first -the young patrician paid no attention to the lad, but when he ear nestly repeated his request, he said, sneeringly: “ I—I am engaged. Who was your waiter last year “ Just give me a lift it will take you but a moment.” “ Who af^ you?^’ repeated the aristo- r am James Conner.” “ Well your father is a laboring man, let him help you.” Just at that moment a Beacon street lady plainly buJi richly dressed, ap proached-like a gOod angel, and after folding her parasol, cheerfully assisted •him, and then with a buoyant step, a light heart and pleasant face, went on her way rejoicing; It is iihpossible to perform a good deed with a good design, without reap‘ ing a reward in this life, eYen; and it is often a greater act of charity to aid a child vjitb Ms bundle, than to make great donations to be trumpeted through the world. The act of purchasing an orange or a paper for a poor child, is, in the estimation of some great and good circumstances, a jquence, than' dis- Waited and listened long, to catch the accents She ne’er would hear again. Oh, bird ! sweet poet of the summer \wood lands' ! How like thy lay lo tbdse Of tuneful bards, whose songs, begun fh glad- Have oft the saddest close. Thus, many a strain of human love and rd[itUte, Poured from a fond, full heart, Hath been, in one wild moment, hushed forever By sorrow’s fatal dart; THE TALE-TELLER. A GOOD LIFT; TH E U P S AND DOWNS IN BY GEO. W . BUNGAYi ' CHAPTER Ii- . THE MAGNANIMOUS M E B b ilA K f. Boston Common is a classical ground ~ a n d its thrilling history is not the on ly reason why foreigners as well as our fellow-citizens make it a place of fre quent resort. It is handsomely located, just where the lungs of the city ought to be, and it has been laid out with ex quisite taste.. The gravel walks—the green patches of sod—the umbrageous trees— the magnificent fountain— the variety of vale and hill—all contribute to make it the pleasant promenade ground in this eomraonwealth, or coun try. Well, one May morning, while dilitarians and dispeptics were out health-hunting, and domestics were drawing willow wagon loads of young patricians in pianofortes overthe smooth path, an incident occurred which ought not to be forgotten like a dream, nor confined merely to the numbers of those who witnessed it. As usual, here and there were groups of men engaged in carpets. Carpets are like mortals ; they are at first ad mired, then put down—then trodden upon—then beaten until their dust goes to duiit. That bright and blessed morn ing, every thing seemed to he full of in struction—even the trees were silent teachers, for their branches pointed up wards to the land of living spirits,- and their roots pointed downwards to the world of dead bodies. On their boughs here and there, might have been seen deserted bird’s nests, emblems of for^ saken hearts. These castles in the air were filled with faded leaves. Life, beauty and the stirring voice of song had departed, as joy and hope quiet the hearts, when the unrelenting winter of adversity sweeps away our promising prospects. Among the bustling multitude, nfo- ving like a living river through the Common at the time of which I write, was a fair headed boy, with dark dreamy eyes, and cherry cheeks. The boy was probably fourteen years of age. His patched garments were scrupnously clean—showing positive. proof, that he had a tidy mother, who spared neither §pap nor Cophituate to keep clpaq the clothes of her brava and beautiful boy Although, he wore an old chip bat, his bair was brushed smooth as the wiog of § robin, and bis corople^on Was so mCn, under certain deed of more consequence, than' tributing largely enough to endow a University. Good deeds, like good seeds, may be out of place and buried in the soil—but, as the warm showei* and the genial sun will quicken the lat ter to lifej a_nd_ causa them- to rl«e in their loveliness add beauty, so will kind Providence bring oqt the disinterested and noble deeds of the great hearted- who Jove to do gobdi A few months after thb occurrence which 1 have stated, it was announced through the medium of the press, that there would be public examination at one of the common schools, and other interested parties were most respectful ly invited. A gold medal was to be given to. the best scholar, a silver medal to the sec ond best, and a, handsome book to the third best. The teachers, and the taught} spared neither pains nor time to make the requisite preparations, so 4 s to appear to the best advantage at the exhibition. The boys (some of them at ail events,) got up early and sat up late, so as to thoroughly master their lessons. At the appointed time the lafgfest room in the building was filled with scholars and spectators. Most critical ly and searchingly were the scholars examined in all the C o m m o n branches —and as usual, in .Boston} there was no favoritism displayed in the examina tion. It-is worthy here to remark that the principal competitors for the most valu able prize were two boys of nearly the same age and size, although dissimilar in every other respect. One was a pa trician, the othef a plebian—one was elegantly dressed in superfine cloth, decorated with shining buttons, the oth er wore garments that were patched and thread-bare. One lived in a splen did mansion; that commanded a ^ew of the Common—the other lived in a rick ety old crow’s-nest of a house in a dir ty lane, in an obscure part of the city. The father of the former was the mil lionaire—the father of the latter was one of a million. One had nothing to do but study his lesson—the other em ployed a portion of his time, when out of school, in doing errands''to earn something to help in 'supporting his brothers and sisters. After a severe, but fair examination, the gold medal was awarded to the poor boy, “ Who is that lad ?” inquired the Hon. George Burton, the father of the unsuccessful competitor of the prize. “ His name is James Conner I Why that is an Irish name.” “ Yes, the boy’s parents came from Ireland, but fife was born in this coun try.” “ Well, I declare he h§s the true grit in him.” “ Yes, indeed j be is as punctual as a clock, and quite aslndustj-jous; besides, he is blessed with extraordinary intel lectual powers.” \ What is 'his father’s oecup&tion, ptay?” “ He carries a bod. Sir,and I am sor ry to inform you that he sometimes put the bricks into bis bat, instead of put ting them Into the hod—but the boy|s mother is h remaTkable woman-r-rsbe is an honest, bard working, and tidy crea ture, and’very anxious ta give her Son 4 good education.” “ The boy ought to go to one ojF pur highest schools.” “ He could have gone there some time ago, but his parents were too poor to purchase the books and apparatus he needed,” replied the teacher. The,Hon. Mr. Burton tore a scrap from his memorandum, on which .he wrote a check for fifty dollars. “ Give that to the boy’s mother,’^ said the magnanimous merchant; “ and tell her to send her son to a high school, and whenever funds are needed^ to de fray the expenses of his education, tell her to call on me.” CHATTER II. A MAGNIFICENT LADY. • Why, ma, where have you been all the forenoon, pray ?” inquired a sweot little rose-bud of a girl ten or twelve years ofage. * j “ I went to the Common School, my dear child, to witness the .examination, and when the exercises were concluded, I waited to speak a word of congratula tion and encouragement to the lad who obtained the gold medal.” “ Are you acquainted with him, ma ?” “ No daughter; but I saw him on the Common a few weeks ago, and helped him to raise a package of goods to hts shoulder. You may remember, for I think I told you at the time, that proud little fellow, who was playing on the path near by curled his lips with scorn, when the burden bearer-asked him to assist in raising the bundle,” “ Oh, yes, I recollect the circumstan ces perfectly well.” “ These lads attend the same school, and are class-mates, and were the prin cipal competitors, for the chief prize, and the handsome little Irish boy won the prize. “ 1 am glad he Was so fortunate,” ex claimed the young beauty. “ I t was indeed a singular coincidence, and the best of ithe story remains to bo told. The father of the unsuccessful candidate for the medal, and the golden honors, gave the winner of the prize a check for fifty dollars, to be expended in educating him, and a promise of more funds when needed.” “ It is nearly two o’clock ; surely the school did not remain in session so long ?” observed the girl. No', Agnes ; the meeting was dis missed at twelve, but I made a call and was detained at the house I visited much longof thrarr I been.—— I called to see poor Mrs. Brown, the widow v^oraan, who calls here so fre- quentlyv I understood she was ill, and availed myself of that opportunity to render her some assistance.” Where does she live, ma ? Will you tell me all aI)out your visit ?” She was deeply indelited to one. of her neighbors fpr many acts of kindness .-7 iShe informed me that Mrs. Conner did her washing every week—called to see her every day, and frequently made up for her little delicacies to e a t; and that this kind neighbor of hers was very poor, but invariably refused any con sideration whatever for her unsolicited and untrumpted deeds of charity. She furthermore stated that her noble son, James Conner, chopped her fire-wood, shovelled her coal, into the cellar, and perforlhed other acts of kindness too nu merous to mention.” V What a good lad, I am pleased to think that a rich man made him such a handsome present, I have no doubt he wilUbeepme a distinguished man by- and-by. ' I do think, ma, that poor.peo- ple have asmtich fe’elingsfor each other, as the rich fdr each other.” - *'0 yes, iny dear, very often they have raoie ; for the wealthy having all that the heart can desire, or at least all that money can purchase, since they never suffer themselves, nor sympathize with those who do. I speak in general terms. There are exceptions. Some of our merchant princes here, spdnd as much for the benefit of others as they do for their own personal benefit. Not a few, like the magnanimous merchant, who made the donation,to James Con ner to-day^ cheerfully avail themselves of opportunities to aid others; and nev er fail to realize the golden promise vouchsafed to the cheerful giver.” CHAPTER III, - A MEETING IN THE STREET. Nearly fourteen years after the occur rence of the events recorded in the fore going chapters, a yopng man coarsejy clad was seen pushing a hand-cart thro’ Tremont street, when 4 careless team ster, who was staring-stupidly at the panorama of life moving 'Refore him, ran his ponderous wheels against the band-cart, which was wreckedinstantly. \ What shall I do ?” exclaimed the owner of the hand-earL “ What is the matter, ray dear man ?” inquired a gentleman, who was walking on the payement neay by at the time of the accident. “ Wby, Sir, my cart is broken, and a costly mirror, which I was directed to take to Shawmut Avenue, is broken ift- to a thousand pieces.” , “ You have been unfortunate, and I for one, will give you a lift.. “ Mrs. Brown, you know, Agnes; has seen better d a p . The tim'e was whe: fire. He became so immersed in debt,' liberally educated. My good father' —j i,.-- ......... .... who is now in Ms grave, spared neither pains or expense in his efforts to culti vate my mind;” “ Strange, indjeed, that you do not pursue ail occupation less laborious, and more profitable.” “ Mine has been an eventful iife,:Sir. Although I am a young man, I have ex hausted a fortune left to me b'y my fath er. My old acquaintances, when they ascertained the real stataof my pecuni ary embarrassments, .cruelly cut' me ia the street. When my cash and credit were gone, I saw before me but two alternatives. I kuevy that I must work, or starve, so I concluded to turn over a new leaf-^slop gambling. Which has been the causb of my ruin, and be gin life with a hand-cart, as my father did.” “ Pray what is your name ?’* I think f have seen you before, ' “ I have assumed an alias, for ob vious reasons.' her husband lived next door to Us on Beacon street, but his ships foundered at sea, and his stores were burned wiih ind his creditors were so clamorous, and Ms pride so mortified, his embar rassment put a ispeedy termination to bis life. Por a long time his amiable and accomplished widow struggled against the eter- advancing and never- retiring tide of poverty. In order to feed, clothe, and educate her children, she sold every article of furniture she, could possibly spare, and moved into a plain neat cottage, where she exercised the most rigid economy^ “ Her eldest daughter was but nine years of age at that time, yet the child was so thoughtful she urged her mother to allow her to take music lessons, so that at some future day she might be come a teacher of music herself. Sick- nes.s, and unforseen inisfottUnes, have hovered like vultures over her path, from the time of her husband’s death until now. She has grown poorer and poorer—and b-ut few of her former friends have manifested the least piety, or rendered the least assistance. When I discovered her place of abode, my heart sunk within me. She lived in a poor old house in an obscure eburt, sur rounded by hives of human beings in rags and filth. A pale girl, perhaps ten or twelve years of age, answered the rap at the door, and in a lady-like manner invited me to walk in.” Was it Mary, who used to play with me when I was a little child ?” Yes, d ear; she requested me to sit down, at the same time giving me a rickety chair, the cracking of which seemed to plead poverty. The ^oor of the house vuas clean as- a platter^—and the curtains at the windows as white as Where is your mother ?” I inquired: “ Mother is sick a bed,” was the re- piy* “ Is she dangerously ilf ?” “ I /ear she is, for she has no desire to eat, and speaks with great difficulty. I set up with her last night, and the- night before, and this morning 1 nailed on the doctor just around the corner, but he refused to come when'linform'ed him vre had no money-. Step into tile next room and see her,” continued the child, “ for although she is unwell, she will be pleased to see such .a kind friend,” ‘ ' , ; “ When I entered her humble apart ment.' I saw the poor; iiiValid dipoh the bed.. She recognized-me rut a glance, and in feeble whispers, thanked me for visiting her in her .affliction.' It was with the utmosLidilfieuIty shuspofce; bu^ she managed toi make me You are verv kjhASir.” vill it cost to repair the Wh*at wi cart ?” “ At least five dollars,” replied the porter “ Here is a V,” said the gentleman. . “ Thank you. Sir. Your generosity will be appreciated during a life-time.” “ It strikes me,” continued the gener ous gentleman, “ that you are possessed of educational advantages seldom pos sessed by men in your humble sphere of life.” “ You are right. Sir. I have been Shoulder’; and I distinctly recollect how my lips oriuisdned with shame when that amiable lady, Mrs, Curtis, gave you a helping hand.” ‘ Do you recollect that Mrs. Curtis had a daughter named Agnes,” inquired Mr, Conner. “ Yes, indeed, I recollect her quite well,” replied Mr.' Burton, as he brush ed a tear from his eye. “ I should like to see her once more, blit I dare not look in her face.” “ Well, just make up your mind to shun the society of such men as those who have fleeced you. Follow me to my house, arfd I will give you an intro duction to Agnes, who happens to be my;,wife.” , . They halted at a clothing ware-house long enough to procure a decent suit fur the returning prodigal, and then direct ed theirstepsto a beautiful and substan tial dwelling, handsomely situated and tastefully furmshed. - At the door they met Miss Mary Brown, the only child of the sick wid ow, who died several years before.— She made Mr. Conner’s house her home until she became the happy wife of George Burton, who received such a lift from Ms school-mate that he afterwards became a merchant prince, himself.— Finer o f Our Union. A TREE THA!f NEVER FADES.,- “ Mary,” said''George, “ next sum mer I will not have a garden. Our pretty tree is dying and I won’t have another tree as long as I live. I will have a bird next summer, and that will stay all winter^” “ George, don’t you remember my beautiful canary ? It died in the mid dle of the summer, and we planted bright flowers in the ground where we buned i t My bird did not live as the tree.” * Well, I don’t see as we can love any thing. Dear little brother died be fore the bird, and I loved him better than any bird, tree or flower. 0,1 wish that we could have something to love that Would’nt die.” The day passed. During the school hours, George and Mary had almost forgotten that their tree was dying; but- at evening as they drew .their ehairs to the table where their mother was sit ting, and began to arrange the seeds they had been gathefing, the remember- ^nce of the tree came upon them. “ Mothers” said Mary, “ you may give these seeds to -cousm John j I nev er want another garden.” “ Yes,” added George, pushing the papers in which he had carefully folded them, towards his mother, “ you may give them all away. If I could find some seeds of a tree that would never fade, I should like to have a garden. I wonder mother, it there ever was such a garden ?” “ Yes George, I have read of a gar den where the trees never die;” A real garden, mother ?” Yes. my sou. In the middle of the garden, I have been told runs a river of pure water, clear as crystal, aifd on each side of the Tiver is the tree of life a tree that nevfer fades. That garden is heaven. There you may love and love forever. There will be no death-==-no fa ding there. Let your treasure be in the tree of life, and you will have something to which your hearts can cling without fear and without disap pointment. Love the Saviour here and he will prepare you to dwell in those green pastures and beside those still waters.” W ITHIN AND WITHOUT. e y ' b a e e y CORN-VS-ALL. ; '[\WITHOUX.] The winds are bitter, the skies are wild. From the roof comes plunging the drowning Without, in tatters, the world’s poor child Sobbeth aloud her grief, her pain } No one heareth her, ho one heedeth iihf , But hunger, her friehdj with hiS bony hand, Grasps Ifer threat, fvhispering huskily, “ What dost thou, in a Christian land [ w i t h i n .] The skies are wild, and the blast is cold, . Tret riot ahd luxury brawl within ; Slaves are waiting, in crimson and gold-, The fire is crackling, wine is. bubbling Hp in each glass to its beaded brim ; Jesters are laughing, parasites quaffing ‘'Happiness,” “ honor,” and all for him. [ w ith o u t .] She who is slain in the winter weather. Ah ! she once had a virgin fame : Listened to love on the moonlight heather— Had gentleness, vanity, maiden shame ; Now her allies are the tempest hewling— Prodigial curses—self-disdain— Poverty—misery. Well, no matter ; ■ There is an end unto every pain, 1 The harlot’s fame is her doom to day, Disdain, despair ; by to-morrow’s light The ragged boards and the pauper’s pall, And she’ll he given to dusty n ight; - Without a tear or a human sigh. She’s gone ; poor life and its “ fever,” o’er 1 So let her in calm oblivion lie, While the world runs merry aS heretofore. [ w it h i n .] He who yon lordly feast enjoyeth, He who doth rest on his couch of down. He it was who threw the forsaken Under the foot of the trampling to-wn ; dastard sin ? . imes they shun Unbar yon palace, and gaze within ! There—yet his deeds are all trumpet-sounded— There upon silken seats recline Maidens as fair as the summer morning, Watching him rise from the sparkling wine. Mothers all proffer their stainless daughters ; Men of high honor salu'e him “ friend !” Skies 1 oh where are your cleansing waters ? World I oh where do thy wonders end T he “ SECdND-liATE” F ashionable L ady .— Attends “ skule” a t home un til she is fourteen, and ihen qompletes her education at Madanae Crapan4’S Seminary; “ comes out” in a large ballj in a thousand dollar dress; and other necessaries to match—appears in socie ty until she is married. Weds either a foreigner, with aft aif “ distingue” and penniless; or “ & ^Ime^of^raT s(moo/°co^ tune.” \^GriveS liei* young responsibiiij tends dances and the opera. Is disgus ted at the sight of real poverQ?-—but Weeps immoderately during sorrowful scenes at the Theatre. ‘ Goes to church once on the Sabbath, irt great style, provided that the weath er is favorable for a display of Paris ian finery, and her head does not ache* Thinks the gospel necessary to comfort the poor in life, and the rich in the hour of deatji. Gonsiders the Bible .a very good book' ibr the “ seriously in clined,” or those whor^ disappointment has made sick of the world. Rises late in the morning—shuts the nursery door'“ lolls on the sofa, and reads light literature until it is lime for “ fashionable TOorning calls.” Completes a three hours’ toilet, and steps into her. carriage with a haughty air while a poor beggar passing looks wistfully and as vainly for the opening of a pufse. Begins to-fade, sees others more ad mired than herselfi becomes discontept- a’d, and works off her unhappy feelings ,in\frettingat an inattentive spouse and .two unruly children. . : . . I Endurns a remprseful old ipi^nk- im narcotics and jplayine whist. 'In the Dies Ira” whh shall * t M t ' h^)r -WrbftsrWing! -- - ■ ^ .r . ^ \.1^(1 . . .1 ■.'(till ' me of ope .of ray- school compahipns,” remarked the gentleman. = I do not wish to be recognized,” ob served the porter. “ Do not deem me impertinent, when I dsb if you did not attend the Common School on H-f—- street, fourteen years ago ?” , “ I did,” was the reply. “ You attended Harvard Oollege af terwards.” “ I did.” “ Your name is Greorge Burton, sou of the Hon. George Burton.” “ Say sp in whispers, for I have for feited all claims to the napie. But who are you ?” “ I used to sit by your side in school.” §0 you d id; and now I recollect you . won: the gold medal on that memorable day we ijrere so roughly examined,’* Your honorable father, blessed be his memory, helped me to obtain a clas sical education.” “ Often have I heard him apeak of James Conner, hut I have forgotten the fact that hp assisted yoft. Are you a professional aftan ?” S ’ “ No, I am a. mero^aftt. and if you will accept a situation in my establish ment, I shall be most happy to give you a i m , ” , I . . . ,■ : “ In the .CQursiei of our conversation 1 you. have]used the. woyd lift twice, find! each time.h hay© heeftvreminded of the faejr, that When a boy at pIay.'on the Boston -f/ommon, not more than -a .Sthnelii throw from this^ veryAprit, I pupe refused tp lift a bundle to yoftp shok time sincel'^ 'The man who^hter- ed tbd'tofirh wasn’t wtde-a\fftke, so the, horse took the |»riae, ' ' HISCELLAMY. From the P^ayetteville (Ark.) Independent. MONKEY HUNTINS IN SOUTH AMERICA- I am now in the midst of a heavy speculation in these tropical wilds.-^ My camp is on a small tributary of the Oronoeo river, about three hundred miles from the sea coast, t have been here about thrae years, and suppose that my old mother thinks I am dead, for I have not written to her. since I was at Panama in 1849, and then I was on my way to California, and wrote to hejp to that effect. When I was at Panama I got acquainted with a French man, a gentleman from Paris, who led me to embark in my present enterprise by repeated conversations. The weather is hot here all the year round. We have a very long rainy season, but it is hot in the hardest rains. My hut is covered B’ith flags and plantain leaves about three feet thick. It is thoroughly water-proof, and in the rainy season I lie up like, a bear, but in place of sucking my paw I suck a smattering of the Spanish lan guage from Cubi’s Spanish Graminer, and Neuman and Barretti’s dictionary. There are a great many vile tribes of Indians in this country th.at talk a kind of bastard Spanish, which is the cause of ray studying Spanish in the winter. ,_WeIl, the great speculation I am in. What do you think it is ? Guess ! I am engaged in monkey hunting. This may seem strange when you .recollect how sohersided I used to be. I am sa bersided yet. I never forg'et my dfgni ty; And I hunt monkeys with all the gravity of moral and gentlemanly char acter. Not being surrounded with suit^ able companions, or a population of any kind that is close observation, I have turned my attention to other things.—^ \There being no Worthy human nature to study, study raoBkey-naturej and you would be astonished, my dear old frieiidj to see how nearly our race approxi- rtiates in numberless instances to that animal. top-most branches to thegroun 1 . Ear ly of a morning, nature seems one con tinued scream and chattering, and you could conceive that nought else was in existence. Were! with 5 mu, how delightfully we could while away the hours with mon key tales. I have had some thrilling adventures. Monkeys sometimes fight like men. About a week ago, however, I saw a novel battle, Tv^ vigorous young ebaps seized each others tails with their teeth, and chawed away till they were both left tailless. Once my camp was destroyed while I was out on an expedition. The little rascals tore the cover off my hut and ate up every morsel of provisions I had in store. I got back just as I saw one fellow take a bit off a chunk of fire. I ’hey all Tan off as I approached, and carried away every rag of clothing I possessed, leav ing me without a change of clothing.—- I was forced to make a trip to Cumana for supplies. The methods I Use to get hold of monkeys are many. , I Sometimes shoot them with a “ 'small Deringer,” as Tom used to say. But this is only when they are shy. I have several gins and traps that would do credit to the ingenuity of a Yankee. In times of great plenty I club them; But I need not specify the various contrivances for capturing them My heart almost fails me sometimes. You cannot conceive how strongly the thought comes uppermost in my halnd that these creatures are human. My hand trembles, and I am almost un nerved when I strike one that most markedly resembles an old friend. Yes terday i slew one that for all the world looked like old Jimmy - ---- , that used to live over the Hver, I have been reminded of gay scenes and happy times ill watching them.- I could tell you of many acts of naturM and inimitable politeness I have.seeft them perform; and a kind of mist cOfife^ over my eyes when I see a certain beau tiful she monkey that recalls one I fond ly loved in Kentucky. My hand has never been raised against that monkey* She ouRht to be dressed. _ How long I shall continue in this bu siness, I cannot say. I hope to make enough at it before I quit to render me independent. Then I shall return, and, like Othello, woo and win my Desdemo* nia by telling her father monkey tales, while she sits listening, with a heart all innocent, and drinking in the renewed adventures of her future lord. I know, my dear old friend, a grin grabs the mouth of every one at the mention of a monkey. But I never see anything ludicrous about them. They are certainly useful in their place.— They are sought most eagerly by the Eid glove makers of the French capital. Doubtless there is not a young lady in all the Union that makes p.-eteftSions to fashion that does not boast the glories of a monkey. She may be Unconscious of it. ^ But so sure as she exhibits upon her taper fingers, a superior article of kid glove, so surely is she adorned, with the beautiful that is extracted from the monkey. And when a too happy swaia receives a glove from the hand of his la dy-love,in token of Ms favor in her eyes* as he presses the memento to his heart,, he can be more highly exalted in his happiness; by the thought that he is folding a monkey there- ■ I must close, having too lohg, per-^ haps, dwelt on a tiresome subject ; but my dear friend, I have nothing else to write about. Don’t let any of my peo» pie know wheYe I am, or the business.I am engaged im I may write to you again before I leave here. Till then, farewell^ As of old, yours in all affec tion. OLIYEE SCOTT. A N o v e l — C o n d e n s e d . —-Moonlight night-^sbady grove—two Ipvers-’^eter- nal fidelity—=young 14dy rich—yoUng man poor—great obstacle-^young man proud-“very handsome—very smart—> Sure to make a fortune —young lady’s father very angry— won’t consent-^ mother intercedes—^no go—rich rival— Very ugly—very hard-hearted—lovers iUAJcw« —•/ . o ---- But before proceedhlg farther, I J n a bad fix—won’t part—die ffi-st-— ought perhaps to give you the reason why I am engaged at my present occu pation* Men do not hunt monkeys for nothing. Least of all do I. The French gentleman whom I have just mentioned led me into a secret that de termined me in the matter. He assur- 'ed nrie that nine-tenths of the splendid* kid gloves worn by the gay deceivers and killing belles of the enlightened world wera made of pure-monkey hide. I need not consume space by informihg yoti of the means 1 took to determme the truth of his assertion. But I was UUfisfied and here I ftiHi destroying the link tffat connects us with this great •anfmal kingdom. . ‘' d get from twenty to forty cents for every monkey hide I deliver to UarrU-^ foy Hermano, at the city Of Cumana, on the coast. I make only one trip a year with my peltripg,' and that !s just before the rainy season sets in. ' I-have three pack mules that carry in all three tliousatid skins. Each skin averages could kill ten times that number-were 1 disposed, btrt i cannot tab e ” care of Ihu bides of moro* You have tio idea of the immense number of the 'that dbound in the wbo^s. ' T reany be-'‘ •ReVe; I haveseeira'thousand^upoft'b^ moonlight again—garret window opens —rope-ladder—^flight—pursuit—too'Iate —marriage—old man in a rage—Won’t forgive them—disowns them—old man ficets sick—sends for his daughter—^all forgiven—all made up—^young man get ting rich—old man dies—young couple get alTthe money—live in the old man sion—quite comfortable— have little cMldren—much happiness. Finis. (C?“ This invocation will find i.u echo in many a sad h e art; - ; “ Music for the Mourner f Not the the wild measures that lead the daijpe* or first arouse wrath in the tempest-of battle. O, no soft angel whispeffngs, and plaintive as the moaningsof thean- guished heart. L e t them murmur^ o f blighted hope and buried love, till the erashed feelings are identified with the sympathetic strain. But let not the thought Tong ivander in the grave. Let the melody, embodied a!s it ^ere into a thoufeand varied hues, gild the pbrtM^ HT'-BogtonJs tie richest city in:lhe world in proportion to its Hits taxable property was equafiy df- Vidqd eveiy ansh, woman and ehihhin ^ tW .' Ybey jtot only cover Ihe RtohsJ She city would have fourteen liundrdd ji hut hangfail.twhiMwitiifMlj from the * and forty dollar?*
