The Central Texian. (Anderson, Tex.), Vol. 3, No. 39, Ed. 1 Saturday, February 28, 1857 Page: 1 of 4
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BY R. A. VAN HORN.
VOL. 3.
m
ANDERSON, GRIMES COUNTY, TEXAS, FEBUARY 28, 1857.
TERMS—$3 GO IN ADVANCE.
NO. 39.
Trials of an Editor.
How often we think, when reading the news,
Ah editor could please if he'd choose—
But such a paper as this, why, all must agree,
That a thing of less interest they never did see.
And, lest you persist in your steady denial
We'll give you a lew of an'editor's trials.
First, a pretty young lady, sprightly and fair,
With a paper in hand, waltzes up t« a chair,
And hastily glancing o'er all that she saw,
She throws it aside with a muttered " pshaw!"
No marriages here—
T think it is queer.
When there's ever so many,
They don't publish any.
. Sere's poetry, And battles,
Sketches, And sieges,
And tales, And law suits,
Without ending, A pending;
But no-picnics, or concerts, or parties for me,
Such trash on paper I never did see.
Then a nice young man, with a cane'and
by certainly thinks .Jie is cutting a dash,
Looks over the list of plays and soirees,
As if vainly trying his faney to please,
In theatres, In races,
Circuses, And chases,
Operas, In banquets,
Balls, And calls,
And finally wonders what editors mean
By printing a paper not fit to be seen.
- Sentimental young lady next picks up the paper.
And reads by the light of a dim burning taper,
And wonders if lines addressed to Miss Relio
Were not written to her by some clever young
fellow
Who's pretty and witty and wise;
But she stops in alarm at the " dark hazel eyes,"
For her's are deep blue,
What a pitty 'tis true •!
And now, Mr. Editor,
'Tis all blamed on you.
What speeches, And lawing,
And sermons, And jawing,
And news, And clawing,
By despatch, To match;
But no skétches or tales that I can see—
What kind of a man must the editor be ?
Next a grave politician who with dignity glows,
Adjusts his gold spectacles over his nos?,
Takes a huge pinch of snuff be fore he proceeds,
Then opens the paper and leisurely reads
Of breaches, Of Senate,
And speeches. Of House,
And foreign Of Railways,
Reports, And courts,
And says, as he reads the last column of war,
What a strange kind of people these editors are,
These rhymes and these love stories to print,
If 'twould do any good, I would give them a hint.
V)
i m
Now a prim old maid the paper espies,
And holding it carefully off from her eyes,
And frequently muttering " la and " du tell!:
She manages some way to read very well
The marriages, The robberies,
Accidents And murders,
Suicides All in
Deaths, A breath,
And finishing, wonders .what sort af a blunder
The whole of the eomwniuity is under,
To support a paper whqee print is so small,
She wonders how some people read it all.
Next, an angry contributor, eager for fame,
Rushes into the sanctum, to loudly complain—
" I'm ruined, sir, ruined—my success, sir, o'er,
So many mistakes were ne'er heard of before.
Look here at this' Sonnet addressed to my Lady,'
You've made it" A Bonnet and Dress for a Baby!
Don't talk of my writing, and say it was that—
Yóu're an editor, sir, but no gent—that is flat!'
The former complains that his crop is neglected.
While so much time is spent in guessing who'll be
elected,
The minister says it should be more sedate, •
And not so much wasted on matters of state;
And thousands of other complaints are made
known,
Which the editoras back has to bear all alone !
The Yankee and the Greased Fole.
Ezekiel Philpot, from the head waters of
the Penobscot river in Maine, arrived one
day in Boston with a load of " applesass,",
drawn by his old mare Bobbin. In due
season the " sass" was disposed of to good
advantage, and, with seventy-five dollars in
his pocket, Zeke began to look around to
see tbe sights.
•' Hello!" exclaimed Zeke, as he stopped
one morning before a blazing placaid which
adórned one of the brick walls in Flag
Alley; " wat'n tarnation's that ? A Golden
Ladder—a Road to Fortune—eh, fortin,
that's it—a road to fortin'."
Zeke went on to decipher the reading
beneath, and gradually he gained the in-
telligence that on Back Bay, below the
Common, there was to be a pole twenty
feet high raised, on the top of which the
proprietor would place a prize of two
hundred dollars, to be obtained by any one
who could obtain it. Chances $3.
Well, tew hundred dollars is some
punkins," soliloquized Zeke. " I've clum
some pooty skinny trees in my day. I'll
gist walk into that fellow's tew hundred, rot
me if I don't."
With this feeling of cupidity, Zeke
started for the scene of action, and as he
was jumping around, he knocked down a
dozen apple women, before he remembered
his entire ignorance of where Back Bay
might be, and when this information was
gained, he appeared to remember that the
** old mare" had n't been seen to.
Zeke was economical in his horsekeeping.
He hired a single stall in a small shed near
the Providence Depot, bought his own hay
and took care of his own animal. Thither
he hastened his steps, and having fed and
watered his beast, he took from his wagon
an old wool card, and raked down the mare
in the most approved manner. To be sare
the steel moved a little more harshly over
the horse than usual, but then Zeke was in
a harry, for that two hundred dollars was
in his eye.
At length, by dint of much inquiry, Zeke
found his way to the spot, where the people
had already began to collect around the
u Golden Ladder."
" Hallew!" exclaimed Zeke, as he came
np; " whar's the chap what keeps this ere
pole V
"I am the man," answered a burly fellow,
with a red nose and pimpled chin, who oc
cupied a chair near the pole ; " want to try
a chance ? Walk up, gentlemen—walk up
—only three dollars ! Who wants the two
hundred?*|
11 Hold on, old feller," interrupted Zeke ;
" dew yer mean to say as heow there's tew
hundred dollars in that ar bag up at the top
of that pole ?" :p
" Certainly!%
" An' if I feaA get it. it's mine V*
" You can ha^re a chance for three dol-
lars."
" Zactly—wall, there's yer three dollars,
and neow here's what goes for the whole
lot
Zeke divested himself of bis Coat, rolled
up his shirt sleeves/and, giving a powerful
leap, grasped the pole about ten feet from
the ground. A single second—not longer
—he staid there, and then 'slipped back to
terra firma. Zeké looked at his hands, and
then down tijwn^his sfripcd trousers ; then
he looked at hife~i ands again, and raising
them to his nose, while a deep, long smell
seemed to set his doubts and queries at rest,
he exclaimed:
" The deuce ! Hog's fat, by thunder 1"
A broad Ijiugh from the crowd soon
brought "Zekoito his senses, and convinced
him that he had been sold. But ere he
could find hi tongue again, an old salt,
about threesheets in the wind," paid for
his chance, apd essayed to climb the pole.
The sailor hajjged half way up, and then he
slid. The crowd laughed again. Zeke,
after waitingja moment in á sort of " brown
study," quietly slipped away, remarking to
the red nosed man, " he was going to get
three dollars more, and he would be darned
if he didn't tty it again."
In an hoar Zeke was again upon the
ground.
" Now, old feller," said he to the man
who took ths entrance money, " I want to
try that ere tfing wunst more, an' I want
yew to understand 'at I shall jist take off
my shews this time."
" Got nothing in your stockings ?" sug-
gested the red nosed man.
" Nothingbut my feet," returned Zeke, as
he planted tUirt&n inches of flesh and bone
into the lap the querist.
Zeke paidshis three dollars, and minus
coat, vest, ana " shews," he crept up from
the ground. He hugged like a blood sucker
to the greasej} pole, and By degrees neared
the top. Hit hand was within a foot of the
; of dollars, and he stopped to get his
breath One more lift, and then another
and the j'ize was within his grasp. Zeke,
slid to the earth, with two hundred dollars !
" Thar! I know'd I could do it; I hain't
clum spruegs and white maples all my days
for nothin'! Good by, folks, and ef etiny uf
yeou evar cum deown East, jist guv us a
call!"
Zeke left the crowd in wonder, and made
the best of his way to the stable. He shut
the door of the shed, and then pulling up
his trowsers, he untied from the inside of
each knee, one half of the steel toothed
leather of his old horse-card !
" Wall, old Dobbin," said Zeke, patting
the mare affectionately ou the back, while
he held the pieces of card leather in his
hand, the scattered teeth of which had been
filed sharp, " I rather guess I keen afford to
buy yeeu a new keard neow !"
The Little Joker.
In the good old times of Kentucky, when
substantial justice was administered in a
log cabin, after a very free and easy manner,
a suit was brought to recover certain mon-
eys, of which it was alleged plaintiff had
defrauded b^ the ingenious operation known
as thimble rigging. In the course of the
trial, plaintiff's counsel, who happened to be
an " expert," undertook to enlighten the
Court as to the modus operandi of the per-
formance. Putting himself into position, he
produced the three cups and the little joker,
and proceeded, suiting the action to the
word:
" Then, may it please the Court, the
defendant, placing the cups on his knee
thus, began shifting them so, offering to bet
that my client could not tell under which
cup was the little joker—meaning thereby,
may it please the Court, this ball—with the
intention of defrauding my client of the
sum thus wagered. For instance, when I
raise the cup so, your honor suppDses that
you see the ball!"
" Sujypose I see !" interrupted the judge,
who closely watched the performance, and
was sure he had detected the ball as one of
cups was accideutly raised. " Why, any
darned fool can see where it is, and bet on
it, and be sure to win. There aint no
defraudin' thar."
" Perhaps your honor would like to go a
V on it ?" insinuated the counsel.
*' Go a V 1 Yes, and double it, too ; and
here's the rhino. It's under the middle
cup."
" I'll go a V on that!" said the foreiran
of the jury. " And 1, and I," joined in the
jurors one after the other, until each one had
invested his pile.
" Up!" said his honor.
Up it was, but the " little joker" had
mysteriously disappeared. Judge and jury
were enlightened^ and found no difficulty
in bringing in a verdict in favor of the
plaintiff, on the ground that it was the
darndest kind o' defraudin'. His honor ad-
journed the court and stood for drinks all
round, in consideration of being '• let off"
from his wager.—Recollections of the Bench
and Bar.
"I have always preserved my reputation,"
said Mrs. Smith, one evening, addressing
herself rather pointedly to another lady.
To which the latter as pointedly replied, "I
know you always set a most ridiculous
value upon trifles."
Scandal and Tale Bearers.
Of all creatures who degrade society by
their slimy and festering influence, save us
from the scandal-monger or tale-bearer. If
there is one human, or rather inhuman,
being who is meaner or more contemptible,
who will stoop to lower devices, or be
guilty of smaller tricks than the scandal*
izer, we have not yet seen him. Oily and
insinuating, he wriggles his way into t&«
society of the domestic circle, and his ap-
proach breeds a moral leprosy. Fro®
friend to friend, from father to son, fro
husband to .wife, from sister to brother, th
busy tattler, glides with slimy track, infi
sing his festering poison—destroying frien
ship—ruining domestic peace—creatin
misery among all he associates, lie, how'
ever, is a friend to every one; he pours hi¡
oily words into your listening ear,{and goe
to your bitterest enemy to feed his matt#
with a recital of your story, told to him" in
confidence. With whispering eagerness
he tells you of some imaginary wrong, and
flies to your neighbor to speak of your in-
dignation, and to inflame his passions. No
place is sacred from his presence; he oozes
his way into and intrudes«pon your privacy
a. _ a I. I J rvHi/in nnrl Ki'onrl fl'úan
Good Nature.
Good nature is not usually reckoned
amtipg the christian virtues ; but it is the
nurse of them all. Synshine if neither a
fruit nor a flower, but it is the parent of
both. What is good nature, but benevo-
lence ? It bears the same relation to re*
ligious benevolence which cQmmon sense
doesKo genius. Genius is common sense
in a sublime form, applied to higher pur-
suits. Good nature—a happy, smiling,
cheerful state of miud, which will not be
offended, and will not offend, borne about in
daily life, and pervading common, homely
and minute affairs—is a true benevolence,
though the specialities of it may seem small
and unimportant. Very lew gf us need the
times he strolls about, at others is con-
stantly in attendance. Like a surgeon,
who before going into operation has all his
bandages, and liniments, and knives, ar-
ranged and in reach, so the bar-keeper did.
We saw him 'do it. Here the sugar and
ice, and there the pick to bréak off more
small pieces from tne lump whén needed.
The slop tub, just under the counter, for
passing tumblers through, is replenished;
the corks are drawn and fitted in easy; the
faucets in order. If, peradventure, a weak
stomach craves it, a lemon is cut and laid
by to squeeze. All ready, he wipes off" the
board again and agais. *
Here comes a man in shirt sleeves, dry
as a fish ; takes a pull at the big bottle—
courage which would face death and carry,|goes back to bed. Next one fills up the
us to martyrdom. We need a thousand
limes more those christian virtues which
|ipli keep us from being snappish before
Sreakfast ¡ which wffl make us patient
when some one treads upon a corn ; which
will quell pride upon petty provocations;
tfiat will make us attentive to the feelings
Of the poor and humble; which will arm
up With fortitude against the little frets and
bjekers of domestic life; or make us kind
Slid forbearing with men that seem, harsh
to empty his budget of lies, and breed fresh l ,.
mischief out of that which he has just.)alu? "nfait th*>r dealings with us.
created; he glides out to crawl in at some
other door to pick up a fresh load of scan-
dal, again to empty it in like manner. He
carries a
large bundle, which grows larger about 115 fo.r torment. Weariness, discour.
® <• i /• i . kflCTPmPllf lrntntinne iliemifoo mími
and still larger with age, and yet fattens
on it. His mind is so very low, his heart ^"dings mean pride and meaner vanity-
o very corrupt, hUfeelinge so very debased, ^
that Satan himself might well be ashamed
of him. He does the devil's work, and
earns the"deviPs reward. He is anywhere
and everywhere, at all times and upon all
occasions. He pulls you by the coat-sleeves
in the street to inform you that he respepts
B.'s integrity, and suggests that you had
better not confide in him. He. rends the
veil that surrounds the family circle with a
ruthless hand. He will insinuate to you
that Mrs. A. or Mrs. B.is too volatile—goes
to parties, balls, &c., too much, dresses too
fashionably, and does not attend to the
wants of her husband or children ; he will
say á thousand things to you, with no os-
tensible meaning, but still cunningly cal-
culated to leave an unfavorable impres-
sion on your mind. He will go to your
wife, shrug his shoulders, look pitying at
her, and say, perhaps, that it is very strange
where j ou spend so many evenings away
from home; intimate that there are such
and such places, situated so and so. Of
course, he does not mean to imply that you
are ever to be found there; but how un-
furtuiTafctf"'Trt>ülcl "be ifit WW0-** ■+ *
Indeed, if we chose to think so, daily
life is a martyrdom, and cares and annoy-
anees are the slivers and faggots heaped
agemeut, irritations, disputes, misunder-
tke victim to help immolate him
In our day, without doubt, it requires
more grace for some men to be good natured
—simply and evenly good natured—than it
required in some old martyrs to be burnt at
tke stake. There are coals hotter than any
which come from wood. There is smoke
which more suffocating than any which
can make. " He that is slow to
anger is better than the mighty ; and he that
rutefh his spirit, than he that taketh a city."
Prov. 16 ; 32. But it is worth whatever
it may cost. It will repay a_ man in his
own spirit. It will make life golden. It is
the philosopher's stone, that changes dull
etals to gold. It will give men power,
is not an ambitious grace, but it is a
graCe of signal powerfulness. No man has
such advantage over others, as he whom
no man can provoke.
A Sharp Fainter.
A person who kept an inn by the road-
side, went to a painter and inquired what
sum he would paint a bear for a signboard.
nra. ln Vw. « 1
he goes on, creating jealousies and heartii^®tlract customers.
i • i ! I. — A«a ««A " Piftopn Hnllar
burniugs, heaping coals upon the fire, and
fanning the flame with his pestilential
breath. The stories are circulated, and be-
come common property ; and here is to be
found one reason for the applications foi
the outrageous divorces so common in
our midst. Thus familes are broken up[
and each case affords a nine days' subject
for fashionable horror, when the victim of
victims are forgotton,and the seandal-moi>
ger glides along, a very respectable mem-
ber of society. This particular class is,
however, thank heaven, few in number. 1
consists of the bitter, malignant or disap-
pointed members of society, who give wajr
to their bad feelings, and seek to wreak
their vengeance on the world; those who
make tale-bearing a daily practice, and de-
signedly use their power of dissimulation to
promote dissension. It was one of this
class that Byron said, speaking of her
death—
"Down to the dust, where as thou roll'st array,
E'en worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay."
But then we have our small-fry scandal-
ízers—good, easy-going people, who would
not injure anyone for the world, but can't
help indulging in a quiet bit of gossip ov«r
a cup of tea, or a cosy fire. They beliere
themselves to be full ->f human kindness
really, and don't intend to create jealousy
or hard feeling, but still it gives spice to
their little supper to tell some story about
some neighbor, which gets bigger as it
grows older, and, like the snow-ball, keeps
increasing in size as it is rolled over and
over by the glib-tongue. These really
mean to be good people; and if they would
only reflect—if they could but appreciate
what one exaggerated tale sometimes leads
to—how hearts may be torn by it—ties
severed—minds jaundiced and embittered
—if they would think before they speak,
they would conclude that "in the multitude
of words there shall not want sin; but he
that refraineth his lips is most wise." For
this class there is hope, because the wrong
they do is unintentional; for the former
there is none, because they act with their
eyes open, and use dissimulation to further
their horrible purposes
"What's the matter, Uncle Jerry ?" said
Mr. •, as old Jeremiah K. was passing
by, growling most ferociously.
"Matter," said the old man, "I've been
luggin' water all the morning for Dr. C.'s
wife to wash with, and what d'ye s'pose I
got-for it?"
"About ninepenco."
"Ninepence ! She told me that the Dr.
would pull a tooth for me sometime!"
M. Humboldt, in his "Personal Narra-
tive," states " that in the thirteenth cen-
tury the habit of eating human flesh per-
vaded all classes of society. Extraordinary
snares were spread for physicians in par-
ticular. They were called to attend per-
sons who feigned to be sick, but who were
only hungry, and it was not in order to be
consulted, but devoured."
Fifteen dollars," replied the painter.
"That's too much," said the inkeeper;
" Tom Larkin will do it for ten."
" Is it to be wild or tame?" inquired the
painter, not wishing to be underbid by his
rival.
•' A wild one, to be sure."
" With a chain or without one^?" again
asked the painter.
«' Without a chain."
• Well, I will paint you a wild bear with-
out a chain for ten dollars."
" The bargain was struck, the painter
set to work, and in due time sent home the
8ignboard,on which he had painted a huge
brown bear, of the most ferocious aspect.
It was the admiration of all the neighbors,
and drew plenty of customers to the inn.
One night there arose a violent storm of
wind and rain, which led the inn-keeper to
look anxiously after the sign in the morning.
There it was, sure enough, swinging to and
fro, but the bear had disappeared. He im-
mediately hurried to the painter, and related
what had happened.
" Was it a wild bear or a tame one ?"
inquired the painter, coolly.
"A wild bear."
" Was it chained or not V
u I guess not."
«' Then," said the painter, triumphantly,
" how could you cxpect a wild bear to re-
main in such a storm as that of last night,
without a chain ? No bear would have
done it."
The inn-keeper had nothing to say against
so conclusive an argument, and finally
agreed to give the painter fifteen dollars to
paint him a wild bear with a chain, that
would not take to the woods in the next
storm.
It is only necessary for us to add that the
first bear was painted in water colors, which
the violent wind washed away, while the
second was painted in oil colors.
Liquoring on the Mississippi.
We do not know the writer of the fol-
lowing, but we admire the coolness with
which, after exhibiting so intimate a knowl-
edge of the subject upon which he writes,
he effects to be innoeent of any practical
experience touching it:
Our readers have heard of wooding on
the Mississippi, gambling on the Missis-
sippi, and even blowing up on the Missis-
sippi. A late trip on that famous high-
way introduced up to what is not less than
any of these a peculiarity, liquoring on the
Mississippi.
Did you ever, l'eader, salt cattle on a lick-
log, or give vermifuge to a score ef little
niggers on a little plantation ? Unless you
have done both, you cannot conceive of a
morning liquoring scene on a Mississippi
steamboat. It takes the first to give an
idea of the relish and the second of coming
up to it one by one. We rose early, and
by accident drew a chair on the guards,
where a full and inside view of the bar pre-
sented itself.
The bar-keeper knows the habits of his
customers singularly well. At certain
glass to taper point; works his lips together
as his hand touches it; turns it. round on
bottom ; stops it in an ajipred^bl# pjtrt of
¿second, just before the-ltnaftilt in a dry
and thirsty abyss that doubtless had swal-
lowed a cotton plantation in detaif—seemed
to see prismatic beauties as he held it sun-
ward ; down it went slow and easy; took
his chair near by, and looked thoughtfully
out on the shore, we wondering how his
inwards felt.
A man below the ordinary stature, but
thick set, wearing calico pants and a loose
linen coat leads the way with two others,
one looking seedy, the other careless. They
agree, after consultation, as to the dram—
don't seem hard" to suit, and it works like a
charm. They draw two chairs close, while
the third sits on the railing in front, and
talk aud laugh boisterously till breakfast.
Next an elderly getleman—looks rather
shy—he is quick in his movement—has the
change ready—wipes his mouth and is
gone.
A young man, neatly dressed and hat on,
sauters up and says "cock tail," or some-
thing with a tail to it. Did you ever see a
cock-taii mixed up ? It requires two glasses,
and mixing requires a genius. From one
to the other glass, right, left, right up, left,
down the sparkling fluid falls is. a length-
ening curve. It actually seems to rope—
'.he liquor does. At last it rests in one. It
was a curiosity to glance at the gentleman
who ordered that extra article. He toyed
with it until he feared the foam that had
been got up with such effort would subside
before he got it down.
They came thick and fast, now fortunate
foresight in. the bar-keeper to have every-
thing where he can lay hand on it. Young
men come, very young men, and men old
enough to know better. We saw no father
take up his son ; they do these things apart.
dulging an old appetite.
Ever and awhile a deck hand would come
to a side door near, and pulliug out a bag
with money, get a di am'without ice, sugar
or water—the undiluted stuff—those were
mostly Irishmen.
The variety in all this dreadful unity is
not the least interesting fact. One comes
for the liquor and nothing else—gets it and
goes. Another likes the place—lounges
about it—is in no hurry, and orders the
dram with an air of indifference. The con-
coction is not strong enough for this man,
and he says something to the bar-keeper,
who sprinkles something in it. That man
throws down the drink at a gulp, and throws
a glass of water after it as though he had
swallowed fire. One takes it for his sto-
mach's sake^and don't want to get the taste
it all the way down.
The ardent and pure stuff is goo<i enough
for some, while others coax and combine
the elements in every variety.
"A little ginger to mak¿ it hof,
A little ice to make it cool;
A little water to make it weak,
A little brandy to make it strong,
A little sugar to make it sweet,
A little lemon to make it sour.
A little effort to make it go down."
Verily, temperance has this stronghold
of her enemy yet to take—a Mississippi
steamboat.
Robbers.
ánd beauty,
than were'
oaks, or
e ruined
It does not need an unfrequented high-
way, a midnight hour, a bearded pard, a
brace of pistols, orfcn unguarded coach and
a hostile assault upon purse or person, to
constitute a robbery,
There are more thieves and oUfláws than
those who prowl in heavy forests where thar
solemn arms ot centuries stretch towards
heaven, and then shelter themselves in
the underground fastnesses of crumbling
castles, and revel on their ill-gotten gains.
In the society of the prest" **' " "
ing with its fashijpn, wealth
there are more daring robt
ever sheltered by the crowd
hidden by the ivy that creeps <
wall.
You have often met these robbers, re
perhaps, unconsciously, you are ot
jtourse'lf. Start
true; you are robbing yóür own irif
you are robbing your children, yon are
robbing your God.
In the curtained splendor of a richly fur-
nished room, a man once sat, enjoying his
ease. He looked at the stained windows,
the great, grand library, stored with the
thoughts of the good, the witty and the
wise. He gazed from his cushioned arm-
chair at the embodiments of beauty that
had first laid dream-like in some busy
brain, and been evolved therefrom, by the
power of industry, and the hand of genius,
and clothed with truth, elegance and elo-
quence; He feasted his eyes on the dyes
of the carpet, that seemed streaming always
from some eternal rainbow, so curiously
were they blended and so choicely chosen.
He smiled complacently, as his eye roved
from picture to picture ranged along the
lofty walls, a subtle and delicate atmos-
phere emanating from their wealth of
coloring, and he said to himself, "I have
labored .hard for these things. They are
mine, honestly earned. The craving of my
soul for the ideal and etherial, I can now
satisfy. I can read till I am weary. ,1 can
make my fill of enjoyment thorough and
satisfying. I will do what I please. I will
be under the dominion of no man. I will
be—"
. "A robber!" sounded startingly and sol-
era t.ly through the gorgeous apartment—
The man started wildly from his seat, de¿
mandidg who dared make an accusation so
heinous.
"I," said Time, standing before him with
solemn eye and measured voice. "I am
not yotirs to pass in ease, or to squander
in pleasure. God sent me to you for a pur-
pose. I am your so.utojrarden ground, and
if I amjeft to desolatíoívyou steal from mjr
TosSSBi arm
lprit whom
Negroes in Canada.—The condition of
the negro population of Windsor, C. W.—
the terminus of the great " underground
railioad," is thus mentioned in a letter
written to a fiiend in the East by a Detroit
lady:
Windsor, which is directly opposite from
Detroit, joins Sandwich. It is the com-
mencement of the Great Western Railroad
and the rendezvous of Darkiedom. The
place is redolent with their misery, their un-
fitness to take care of themselves. If the
hundreds congregated there and at Chatham,
that abomination of civilization, are the
result of negro freedom, I never desire to
see another freed. 1 took a little girl of
fifteen myself from there some 6Íx month3
ago-as nursery-maid. Her mother had the
impudence to represent herself to me as the
veritable Eliza Harris, of Uncle Tom celebri-
ty. The grin of irrepressible delight with
which she consigned her child to us, entire
strangers, and beheld the train start, which
was to put some hundred miles between
them, seemed to me a gentle libel on those
tortuous partings in Uncle Tom, over which
have been rained such copious showers of
sentiment. The girl was given away, the
same authority to be exercised over her as
though it had been a monied transaction
south. And the result: frotrt the nursery
even now there comes a soft lullaby, and if
you were to look therein you would see a
small white face in close juxtaposition to
that black cheek, little cliuging (arms ever
round her neck, loving voices in her ear.
Question for a debating society: " Is it
wrong to cheat a lawyer?" No, but it is
impossible.
your own soul, and become )
no clemancy can pardon.'*
"I," said Labor, moving before his pre-
sence with the beaded drops of toil upon
his brow: "In robbing me you steal strength
from your limbs, power from your speech,
and lustre from your eye. You rob repose
of its sweetness and make rest of torture¿
Dare to deny me my rightful claim, and you
doom yourself to a worse fate than the
felon condemned to the treadmill. I jwill
harrassyou with vertigoes, apoplexies and
gout. I will "give yen such diseases that
you shall go to your bed with loathings
You have no right to rob me, or make me
sit inert at your bidding,"
"I," said Duty; "he WOuld be a base
thief who would presume to plunder from
ray treasury. What! when men are dying
for want of help—women and children
perishing even as they gaze from their
hovels of mud up to your palace widows—
rum and starvation, hand in hand, jeering
at their own rage and shouting at their
own blasphemy—the laws disregarded—
men placed in power who allow the wicked
to go unpunished—houses of pestilence
open at every corner—young men gambl-
ing away honor and reputation—your
daughters corrupted at the very hearth-
stone—yours sons ruined;"
"Hold," cried the would-be sensualist, "I
was wrong, I will not rob Time, for I see
that -by so doing I should rob God. I will
not steal from Labor her better than r byál
prerogatives, but will learn how to blend
with her exactions the joys and blessings
of an elegant leisure, I will not steal from
Duty, lest the blood of the lost be required
at my hands."
Thieves and robbers t you may be ricfe
and beautiful, you may possess soft voices,
shining eVes and ruby lips, you may have
the entree of honorable assemblies, and
positions of the highest power and wildest
influence; but if you are stained with this
immorality, what better are you for all your
attainments f
Yon idler, standing on the hotel steps—;
yon debauchee, with foulness covering him
as a garment—yon fashionable woman, fhll
of iniquity, though outwardly so lovely—*
yon drunkard with bleared eye and bloated
lip—yoD lean, vkuperous slanderer, gorg-
ing her venomóus appetite on the fancied
wrongs or imperfections of others-r-yon
mother, neglecting tbe councils of Holy
Writ, and, contented with the bloom, see-
ing not whether -her child is a weed or
flower—all are robbers in the worst sense
of the word.
In what a guise will sueh appear in eter-
nity. We are ashamed so hear it said that
any one whom we have loved have been in
prison or in jail for dishonorable conduct.
Let tis take heed, then, for we shall all be
arraigned before God, and our mortifica-
tion in that day will far exceed any punish-
ment that man can inflict. For morid
thieves and robbers there is an imprison-
ment, for the law of the Eternal, not of man,
is despised|and broken.—Olive Branch.
a
— * • a -v-.V *
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Hepperla, John C. The Central Texian. (Anderson, Tex.), Vol. 3, No. 39, Ed. 1 Saturday, February 28, 1857, newspaper, February 28, 1857; Anderson, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth181136/m1/1/: accessed April 25, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting The Dolph Briscoe Center for American History.