Time has progressed since then, and we have listened to John Earl, Esq., in the capital of his adopted state, as in clear tones, and patriotic fervor, he stood advocating the great truths of republican principles, and we have listened with pride and admiration, when those words proved that the child of the people, was the people's advocate. He did not, in his hour of prosperity, forget the lonely widow of the prairie, but had her and her little ones brought to Cleveland, and having by letters found her friends, he sent her home rejoicing--the little one to whom he last bid adieu in the wilderness still remembered him, and with her little lips pouting for a kiss, was the last again to bid him farewell. We have traced our hero to the end of his wanderings, and leave him upon the stage of public action--on the road to eminence; and though many may read as though these words and scenes were the coinage of the writer's brain, yet let him assure those who so judge, that there be such “streaks of life,” in the book of a Typo's biography. “NOT A DROP MORE, MAJOR, UNLESS IT'S SWEETEN'D.” |In a small village, in the southern section of Missouri, resides a certain Major, who keeps a small, cosey, comfortable little inn, famous for its _sweeten'd drinks_, as well as jovial landlord; and few of the surrounding farmers visit the neighborhood, without giving the Major a friendly call, to taste his mixtur! The gay host, with jolly phiz, round person, bright eye, and military air, deals out the rations, spiced with jokes, which, if they are not funny, are at least laughed at, for the Major enjoys them so vastly himself, that his auditors are forced to laugh, out of pure sympathy. A good old couple, who resided about six miles from the Major's, for a long period had been in the habit of visiting him once a month, and as regularly went home dreadfully _sweeten'd_ with the favorite mixtur', but of late, we learn, the amicable relations existing between the Major and his old visitors have been broken off by green-eyed jealousy. On the last visit, good cause was given for an end being put to any more “sweet drinking.” “Uncle Merril, how are you, any how,” was the Major's greeting, “and I declare if the Missus aint with you, too--just as if he expected she wouldn't come. What'll you take Missus? shall I sweeten you a little of about the best Cincinnati rectified that ever was toted into these 'ere parts?--it jest looks as bright as your eyes!” and here the Major winked and looked so sweet there was no resisting, and she did take a little sweeten'd.