South Carolina Temperance Advocate

COOLING OFF IN AN OLD FIELD.

Reader, you remember what a biting cold day last Saturday was? The wind came whistling along from towards the land of Pumpkin pies, seemingly determined to get into one's marrow's nolens volens, and mayhap pinch off the end of his nose into the bargain. Well, that was the day—we were riding on the skirt of an old field, about the middle of which sat a young man, genteelly dressed, on the ground, without cloak or overcoat, airing himself.

That is an odd fellow, thought we, to come out here to snuff the fresh air such a day as this. It seemed a confirmed case of absent-mindedness, produced by a somewhat intimate acquaintance with a Grog Shop.—

Presently he made an effort to rise, which, after a lurch or two, he succeeded in doing—to stand still however, was no easy matter, and to go ahead not much better; he therefore very wisely concluded to "take another round," as the little boys say, playing at marbles, and with a tremendous flourish, off he went, now east by south, then west by north, until he was brought to a stand on the brink of a large clay pit, where he paused a moment, seemingly undecided whether to fall in, try to jump over, or to stagger round: the first seemed the most probable result, and decidedly the most natural; but he did neither. Something gave him an impetus in another direction, and he shot off towards Granby and as far as we could "see him on his winding way," he showed no partiality for any particular side of the road, giving the middle also a due share of patronage.

By the next morning he could probably solve the problem, whether a man makes a good bargain, who barters his reason for a glass of whiskey?