% Jubcucnbcnt |onriml-gt(ietA \ foliftcs, literature, Bete, Howls, ^gtitultet, Science mti> Srf.
BY FEATHERSTON & HOYT.
ANDERSON COURTHOUSE, S. C., THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 1, 1860.
VOLUME 1.?DUMBER ll
Stories ?f Iradid fife.
Leisure Moments.
" Are you fond of reading, Mrs. Lee ?"
said my good aunt Mary to a lady who
sat plying the needle as industriously as if
her bread depended upon her efforts.
" Yes," was the reply, " but I can't find
time for it."
"Time!" exclaimed aunt^Iary, while
her large brown eyes dilated with aston?
ishment ; for she knew the lady was in
easy circumstances?the wife of a physi?
cian in good practice.
"It is true," replied Mrs. Lee, in answer
to my aunt's look of inquiry. i: I know
you will think I might find time, but I
really cannot ; it keeps me almost con?
stantly employed to do our necessary
sewing. How your daughter Alice can
read as much as she docs I neve*?' could
imagine; I find her with a book in her
hand half the time, and yet she has three
children, and I only one."
" I might reply that one can find you
quite as much of the time, with some bit
of muslin, silk, or merino in your hand,
tlurt will never repay you for a tenth of
the time you expend upon it , Now I ad?
mire ind^Rtry, my dear Mrs. Lee, as much
as anyone, and I have often noticed how
indefatigable you are with your needle;
but/will you allow me to tell you that I
think your energies greatly misdirected ?
' If you wouid not include sue1 fancy work
in the necessary sewing you spoke of, be?
lieve me, my dear, you will find plenty of
tin>c for reading."
"And yet one must have these things."
answered Mrs. Lee with earnestness.
"a,nd it would amount to no small sum if
I were to purchase all I use. Indeed, I
pridje myself not a little upon being able
to atBf-ml- wiy awn-embroidery, and I as?
sure you it is quite an item of expense
saved."
" And yet it is a sad thought," said aunt
Mary, seriously, " that one must spend
all their leisure moments in decorating
the casket, without devoting any share to
the improvement of the jewel it contains;
__especially when we think of the lengt h of
time each 'arc respeem ei} acstrncTi to en?
dure. " Excuse me, dear," she continued,
as she laid her hands tenderly upon her
listener's arm; " excuse me if 1 speak
plainly, for nothing but the interest I feel
in you and your sweet little daughter
should tempt me to incur the risk of of?
fending you." -x
" You do not offend me," said Mrs. Lee
gently. " I know it takes a great deal of
my time to do my ornamental sewing?
especially for Ella's clothes. Perhaps I
am wrong, but I have only one child, and
it really affords me great pleasure to see
her elegantly dressed."
"But if this can be done at the expense
of timo which should bo devoted to greater
interests, you do yourself a wrong, and an
injury to her you love. When your little
daughter has arrived to years of under?
standing, think you she would not a thou?
sand time*? rather you had dressed her in
plainer clothes, than to have deprived
yourself of mental pleasures, and?it may
))C?to have neglected the proper devel
opement and discipline of her mind ? She
is a cliild of more than ordinary intelli?
gence, and to guide aright a mind like
hers?to watch with proper care the un?
folding of that bud of promise?will re?
quire that you should fortify and strength?
en your own mind by a judicious course
of reading and training which you can
never acquire with your leisure moments
so fully occupied.
" So you would have me give up every?
thing of this kind, would you ?" said Mrs.
Lee.
" Not everything," replied aunt Mary;
" but let us sec if we cannot compromise.
You carry the matter to extremes; even
your husband's linen must have its deli
cato vine of needle-work upon the bosom
^?and then your morning dresses and col?
lars would tlo very nicely^ if they were
not so elaborate^- embroidered; and as
for Ella's clothes, I vonturo to assert there
is scarcely an article in.her wardrobe that
has not cost j'ou hours of unnecessary
labor. A part of the time you spend in
this way, my dear Mrs. Lee, you surely
might devote to reading, and be wiser
and happier by so doing. Let me advise
you?set apart certain hours of each day
for mental pursuits, consider them sacred
to your own best intorests and those of
your child and let no trifling circumstance
cause you to infringe upon them."
" Julia," exclaimed Dr. Lee, who had
ontercl the room Tinpereoived, and now
laid has hand genii}- upon his wife's
shoulder, "this is excellent advice, and
you knowr tho sentiments are my own,
for you have often heard me express
them. It is almost the only fault my wifo
possesses," he continued, turning to aunt
Mary, " but it is one I have sought in
vain to assist her in correcting."
" Don't, Alfred; pray do not say any
more now," said Mrs. Lee imploringly;
and the blue eyes she turned toward her
husband were humid with tears.
" I will try to do as you wish, and will
commence to-day, with that new work on
mcntnl culture which you brought me last
week."
?'Thank you, my darling;" and with a
pleasant smile Dr. Lee turned the sweet
face toward his own.
Bravely did the gentle wife fulfill her
promise, and truly has she proved herself
a suitable guide and instructor for the lit
le Ella.
Leisure moments! who can* tell their
importance ? Who can estimate the bear?
ing their use or misuse may have upon
our future lives ?
The Torn Pocket.
"My dear," said Mr. Huston to his
young wife, as he arose from the break?
fast table, --I wish you would mend my
overcoat pocket. The day is pleasant so
that I can leave my coat off without in?
convenience."
"Tory well, my love," was tho reply,
and a moment after the front door closed
upon the husband, who departed to the
store where he filled the [dace of a re?
sponsible clerk.
Mrs. Huston rose to attend her domes?
tic affairs, and occupied in them, soon for?
got the the torn pocket. About noon,
she had finished her work, and having a
spare hour before dinner, she sat down
and took up a late novel, in this she
continued to overlook the torn pocket,
until the meal was over, and her husband
again left the house; when going to look
for the overcoat sin- found that he had
put it on, the weather having grown cold?
er.
'?Oli I well, it will do to-night." said the
wift?. -Jjl suppose he will scold when he
finds I forgo! rr~?LiLL'..it can't be helped
now." " '~"*"--w.
Truth was, Airs. Huston was what
called "a good easy woman." that is, she
never intentionally harmed tiny one. but
was only thoughtless and forgetful; her
sins were those of omission. She found
no ntmcnttrv im dismissing ;,u iiin.-;.iiiiortu
ble thoughts concerning the torn pockety
and resuming her novel, was soon in
the miseries of the heroine.
About dusk there came a ring at the
bell. It was a magnetic ring, as iL were,
and expressed anger and great tribula?
tion, if not both, it made the somewhat
nervous Mrs. HustOiLstart with a little
shriek. She stopped reading and listened.
Directly the servant opened the door,
and the step of the husband was heard,
but heavier and quicker than usual. Her
heart unaccountably began to beat faster.
"Oh ! dear," she said to herself, -what can
be the matter!"
She was not long left in doubt. Her
husband came at once into the silting
room, emotions of rage and suffering al?
ternating perceptibly in his face. Fright?
ened at a demeanor so unusual, the wile
looked up, her lips parted in terror, una?
ble to welcome him as usual.
'?Sec what you have done !" cried Mr.
Huston, passionately, taking oil' his over?
coat, and turning the torn pocket inside
out, and throwing the garment into the
hearer's lap. "you have ruined me with
your negligence."
?'What have I done?" gasped the wile.
"Has ahythiug happened :"
?'Anything.-happened ? Didn't I lell
you I was ruined ? 1 have lost ?500, and
been discharged because I lost it, and all
because you didu't mend my pocket.
Xor is it the first time, as you know, that
you have neglected to do what you ought.
You are always forgetting. I have often
told you that you would rue it some da}*."
'?But how did it happen ? Can nothing
be done ?" timidly said the wife, after a
while.
'?How did it happen ? In the most
natural way possible. I had a. note to
pay for the firm in this part of tho town.
I brought the money up to dinner, and
upon going out, put it in my Overcoat
pocket, supposing that yon had mended
the rent. When I reached the Bank the
money was gone. It was then nearly
three o'clock! Almost frantic. 1 came
back within a lew steps of the doors,
hoping to find the money on the pave?
ment; it was madness, as I might have
known. I looked again and again, asking
everybody I met. At last I Avcnt back
to the store. But the news had preceded
me. The notaiy had already been there
to protest the note ; and my employers
would not hear one word of excuse. I
was discharged on the spot."
As he ceased speaking, he threw him?
self on a chair by tho table, and buried
his face in his hands. His discharge was
indeed a terrible blow. Without fortune
or an3*thing to depend on but his charac?
ter, ho saw, in tho loss of his place, and
consequent refusals of his employers to
recommend him. a future full of disasters.
And for what? All because his wife
could not remember the simplest duty.
No wonder in his hour of trouble that
he turned away from her and buried his
face in his hands. No wonder?that he
felt angry with her, the author of his
evil.
For a while Mrs. Huston knew not
what to do. Tears ran down her checks,
but she feared to approach her husband.
"He will drive me away," she said to her?
self. '-Hut I have deserved it all."
At last she ventured to approach him,
and at last he was induced to listen.
With many tears she promised never to
be neglectful again. "It has been ? les?
son to me," said she, "which I will never
forget."
Nor has she forgotten it. Years are
past, and the Hustons arc now compara?
tively well oft* for after a while Mr. Hus?
ton obtained another situation, and final?
ly became partner in the house.
But to this day, when the wife sees ci?
ther of her daughters negligent, she
calls the offender to her, and tells a warn?
ing story of the torn pocket.
-
A Little Hero.
Grace Greenwood writes the following
little story?and a true one it is?for
"The Little Pilgrim." a child's paper.
She gets the facts from an incident de?
scribed in the Hartford Daily Times some
years ago, as having happened in Colt's
Meadows.
In the city of Hartford. Connecticut,
lives the hero of the true story I am about
to relate?but no longer "little," as the
perilous adventure, which made him for a
time famous in his native town happened
several years ago.
Our hero was then, a bright active boy
of fourteen?the son of a mechanic. In
the severe winter of IS?. the father
worked in a factory, about a mile and a
half from Ids home, and every day, the
hoy carried him his dinner, across a wide
piece of meadow lanct.
One keen, frosty day, he found the snow
on this meadow nearly two feet deep, and
no traces of the little loot path remaining.
Yet he ran on, as fast ns jmra'lt'e?iiiuuit?,
jjU?jA^^-r^^rTrr^?"Keeping himself wann
by vigorous exercise, and brave cheerful
thoughts.
When in the midst of the meadow?ful?
ly half a mile from any house, he sudden?
ly felt himself going down, down, down!
He had fallen into a iccU!
He sunk down into the dark, icy water,
but roso immediately to the surface.
There ho had grasped hold of 21 plank,
which had fallen into the well as he wont
down. One end of this rested on the
bottom of the well?the other rose about
four feet above the surface of the water.
The poor lad shouted for help until he
was hoarse and almost speechless, but all
in vain, as it was impossible for him to
make himself heard for such a depth, and,
at such a distance from any house. So at
last he concluded that if he was to be
saved at all he must save himself, and be?
gin at once, as he was getting extremely
cold in the water. So he went to work.
First, he drew himself up the plank and
braced himself against the top of it and
the wall of the well, which was of brick,
and quite smooth. Then he pulled off his
coal, and taking his pocket-knife, cut off
his boots, that be might work to greater
advantage. Then, with his feet against
on.' side of the well, and his shoulders
against the other, he worked his way up.
the most fearful exertion, about half the
distance to the top. Here he was obliged
to pause, take breath and gather up his
energies for the work yet before him. Far
harder was it than all he had gone
through, for the side of the well being
from that point completely covered with
ice, he must cut with his knife grasping
places for his fingere, slowly and careful?
ly, all the way up.
It was almost a hopeless attempt, but it
\va3 all he could do. And here the little
hero lifted up his heart and prayed fer?
vently for help, fearing he could never get
out alone.
Doubtless the Lord heard his voice,
calling from the deeps, and pitied him.
He wrought no miracle to save him, hut
breathed into his heart a yet larger mea?
sure of calmness and courage, strengthen?
ing him to work out his own deliverance.
It is in this way that God oftonost an?
swers our prayers, when we call upon
him in time of trouble.
After this, the little hero cut his way
upward, inch by inch. His wet stockings
froze to the ice and.kept his feet from
slipping, but his shirt was quite worn
from his shoulders, ere he reached the top.
He did reach it at last?crawled out
into the snow, and lay down for a moment
to rest?panting out his breathe, in little
white clouds, on the clear frosty air.
He had been two hours and a half in the
well!
His clothes were froze to his body?but
he no longer suffered with cold, as, full of
joy and thankfulness, he ran on to the
factory, where his good father was wait?
ing and wondering.
The poor man was obliged to go with?
out his dinner that day?but }*ou may be
Sure he cared little about that, while lis?
tening, with teara in his eyes, to the
thrilling story his son had to relate to
him.
He must have been very proud of the
boy that day, as he wrapped him up in
his own warm overcoat, and took him
home to " mother."
And how that mother must have wept
and smiled over the lad, and kissed him,
and thanked God for him!
T have not heard of the i: little Hero,"
for two or three years, but I.trust he is
growing up into a brave heroic man?and
I hope he will never forgot the Heavenly
Friend who did not forget him in the
hour of his great need.
There is an old saying that truth lies at
the bottom of a well.
I trust that this bravo boy found and
brought up from there, this truth?God
lid}"* those who help themselves.
-i-*
Marrying an Editor.
Tos, I'm Mrs. Peter Snow, an editor's
wife. I well remember the day when Mr.
Snow asked me to become his wife. I
confess. I liked Mr. Snow. and. thinking
it would he a very fine thing to be an ed?
itor's wife, I said 'yes,' as pretty as I
knew how, and I became Mrs. Snow. I
have seen ten years of married life, and
find my husband to be an amiable, good
natured man. He always spends his j
evenings at home, and is. in that respect, j
a model man ; but he always brings home I
piles of exchanges, which is only limited j
by the length of his arms, and reads,
while I patch the knees and elbows of our '
boy's pantaloons and coat. After we have
had a Quaker meeting of an hour's
length, I break the silence by asking:
'Mr. Snow, did you order that coal I
spoke to you about Y
'"What did you say, my dear?' he asks,
after a few moment's silence.
<71U ?.-Ali nvdnr.Jliat r??-il T <i>f-?1.?ntv> i-qji..
about V
'Indeed, my dear, I am sorry, but I
forgot all about it. It shall come to-mor?
row.'
Another hour's silence, which is re?
lieved by the baby's crying, and, rather
liking to hear a noise of some sort, I make
no effort to quiet him.
'My dear.' says Mr. Snow, after he has
cried a minute or so, 'you had better give
the 'baby some catnip tea to quiet him; he
troubles me.'
'The baby is still; another hour p&sses
without a breath of noise. Becoming
tired of silence. I take a lamp and retire
for Ihe night, leaving Mr. S. so engaged
with his paper that he docs not see me
leave the room. Toward midnight he
comes to bed, and just as he has fallen to
sleep, the bain* takes a notion tr cry
again. I rise as quietly as possible, and
try Lo still him. "While I am walking the
room with a small Snow in my arms, our
next?a boy of three years?begins to
scream at the top of his lungs. What
can I do ? There is no other course but
to call Air. Snow, so I call out:
'Mr. Snow! Mr. Snow!
'The third time he starts up, and re?
plies :
?What, Tim, more copy?'
?As though I was Tim, that little imp
running about the office, I reply, rather
tartly:
\> o, I don't want any more copy?I
have had enough of that to last me my
lifetime?I want you to sec what Tommy
is crying about.
'Mr. Snow makes a desperate effort to
rouse himself; as Tommy stops to take
a breath, ho falls asleep again, leaving me
to pice the room in as much vexation ?s
I can comfortably contain. The next
morning at breakfast, when I give Mr.
Snow an account of last night's adven?
ture, ho replies:
'Ixlccd, my dear, I am very sorry the
children troubled you.'
'This is always the way. If I com?
plain, it is, 'indeed, my dear, I am very
sorry*.'
' But should the very same thing occur
the subsequent night, directly before his
eyes, very likely he would not see or
know anything about it, unless it happen?
ed to interrupt his train of ideas. Then
ho would proposo catnip tea; but before
I can get it into the infant's stomach, he
will be faraway into the rea.ms of thought,
leaving me not a littlo vexed at his stu?
pidity.
1 Mr. Snow knows the nature of every
paper published in England and tho Uni?
ted States, but ho cannot, for the life of
him, tell the names of his children. He
kne ws precisely the years of every Amer?
ican journal, but he docs not know the
age of Iiis own baby. lie knows how ev?
ery contributor looks, but I do not be?
lieve he can tell whether my eyes are
black or blue.
' The world says Mr. Snow is getting
rich. All I know is, he gives me money
to clothe our boys, and that, too, without
a complaint of poverty. I hope the
world is right in opinion, and when I am
satisfied it is, I shall advise him to resign
his editorial honors, and spend a few
months in becoming acquainted with his
wife and children. The little ones will
feel much flattered in making the ac?
quaintance of so literary a man.'
-?
The "Wheel of Life.?Man-is the most
destructive of beings. He pursues the
great leviathan within the polar circle to
light his home. He ransacks the sea and
land in every latitude; he slays and plun?
ders with unsparing hand. He enslaves
the horse, camel, and elephant, he robs
and slaughters the ox, the sheep, the
swine, the bee, the beaver, and the worm;
the fowls do not escape him, and he levies
taxes on everything taxable. In this
manner he gathers his food and his rai?
ment, the balsam of his diseases, and the
fuel that cheers his hearth. Despite the
ravages of diseases, and violent and nat?
ural deaths he increases in number, every
season opens to him as bountiful a supply
as before. In civilized lifo he is often a
prey to numborless accidents, to the
beasts of the fields, and the monsters of
the deep. If he escape these, at the last
he becomes food for worms. Man cats
his mutton, and the lion eats man. One
law encircles, directs, and confines all
created beings?each within its proper
sphere. The evil that befitls one, the oth?
er cannot escape?disease and death arc
the lot of all.
-*
The Advantages of Necessity.?If
every man were wise and virtuous, capa?
ble to disccYn the best use of time, and
resolute to practice it, it might be grant?
ed, we think, -without hesitation, that to?
tal liberty woidd he a blessing; and that
it would he desirable to be left at large to
the exercise of rcj.igious and social duties,
without the hiterrn^'o"' r-Tliirportunatc
avocations. ._
But since felicity is relative, and that
which is the means of happiness to one
.man ma}- he to another the cause of mise?
ry, we are to consider, what state is best
adapted to human nature in its present
degeneracy and frailty. And. surely, to
the far greater number it is highly expe?
dient, that they should by some settled
scheme of duties, be rescued from the ty?
ranny of caprice; that they should be
driven on by necessity through the paths
of life, with their attention confined to a
stated task, that they may be less at leis?
ure to deviate into mischief at the call of
folly.
Pleasure of Contentment.?I have a |
rich neighbor who is always so busy that
he has no leisure to laugh; the whole
business of his life is to get money, and
more money. He is still drudging on.
saying that Solomon says, "The diligent
hand maketh rich." And it is true, in?
deed; but he considers not that it is not
I in the power of riches to make a man
I naPP.V) f?r was w'scly said by a man of
great observation, '-that there be as many
miseries beyond riches as on this side of
them." "Wc sec but the outside of the
rich man's happiness; few consider him
to be like the silkworm, that, when she
seems to play, it is at tho very same time
spinning her own bowels, and "consuming
herself. And this man}' rich men do?
loading themselves with corroding cares,
to keep what they have already got.
Let us, therefore, bo thankful for health
and competence, and above all, for a qui?
et conscience.
--e|*
JuntiE not'Rashly.?Alas! how unrea?
sonable as well as unjust a thing it is for
any to censure the infirmities of another,
when we sec that even good men are not
able to dive through the mystery of their
own! Be assured there can be but little
honesty, without thinking as well as pos?
sible of others, and there can be no safety
without thinking humbly and distrustful?
ly of ourselves.
-?
The Best Medicine.?Good, wholc
soma food, and temperance, with pure,
cold water to drink and bathe in, with
fresh air, plenty of exercise, and a clear
conscience, arc said to do more to restore
or preserve health, and prolong life, than
every doctor and medicine in the uni?
verse.
-O
Our Common Indebtedness.?Of those
whom Providenco has qualified to make
any additions to human knowledge, the
number is extremely small; and what can
be added by each single mind, oven of this
superior class, is very little. The greater
part of mankind must owe far the larger
part of it. to the information of others.
Mechanics' Wives.
Speaking of the middle ranks of life,
the solid and best portion of society, ?
modern writer makes the following ex
cellent remarks:
-There we behold woman in all her*
glory ; not a doll to carry silks and jew?
els; not a puppet to be flattered by profane
adoration; always jostled out of the plac?
which nature and society would assign
her, by sensuallity or contempt; admired,
but not respected ; desired, but not es*
teemed; ruling by passion, not affection;
imparting her weakness, not her constan?
cy, to the sex she would exalt; the source
and mirror of vanity; we see her as a wife;
partaking tho cares and cheering the an?
xiety of a husband, dividing his toil by her
domestic diligence, spreading cheerfulness '
around him for his sake- sharing the de?
cent refinements of the world without be?
ing vain of them, placing all her joys and
her happiness in the man she loves. As a
mother, we find her the affectionate, the
ardent instructress of the children Whorii
she has tended fromtheir infancy, training
them up to thought and virtue, to piety
and benevolence; addressing them as ra?
tional beings, and preparing them to bc^
come men and women in their turn. Such
mothers' daughters make the best wives
in the world."
-?
Firmness of Purpose.
A firm, energetic purpose,- and a steady
object of pursuit, arc the inevitable pre?
ludes to success. It is not the half form?
ed determination to resist, and the un?
strung nerve, that defeat the enemy in
battle, and send him subdued from the
field; but it is tho bold determination
and the steady nerve that accomplish the
purpose.
Men in all ages of the world hare un?
derstood and practiced upon this priciplc;
they have gone forth to the battle field
with trembling step and coward hearts,
ready to yield to the first charge from
their enemy; for they have known that
if they would conquer they must not fal?
ter, but fight on, having for their watch?
word victory or death. "Would that men
. would aet time in the field ofiife. We_
shf>rrld.iiot then sec.
noatrng no win" the stream of time in calm
content, trusting their worldly fortune to
chance, like, the unsilked pilot, who
watches upon the shores of time for vic?
tims to destroy.
Strange it is that men embark upon the
sea of time with such a blind guide, and
no rudder to direct their course. Are
their time and talents of so little conse-.
quence that it matters not how' they are
used ?
-*-:
Looking for Happiness.?Step into
the street and ask .the first man you meet ?
what he is thinking about, and if he an?
swers you correctly, it will be. future hap?
piness, or that which he thinks will pro?
mote his happinesS. So of the thousands
who pass 3-011 day by day. One inquires
?How can I accumulate gold ? Another
?How shall I acquire fame? A third?
What shall I do to obtain the good will
and respect of mankind ? But few indeed
?not one in a thousand perhaps?would
make the inquiry?Where can I find .vir?
tue ? how can I obtain religion ? where
is God and Heaven ? Among the count?
less throng who arc searching for happ'
ncss, scarcely one looking in the right
place and asking of the correct source.
The tinsel and glare of the world?its
gold and its ambition?urge people on in
the intricate and thorny paths of life, un?
til they become disgusted and painfully
declare?there is no happiness here. Ah,
if they but sought for virtue and Heaven
we should hear less complaints, and life,
instead of being a wearisome abode,
would be the glorious prelude to a_ bh>_s-_,
ed and eternal existence.
The Home oe Taste.?How easy it is
to be neat?to be clean! How easy to
arrange the rooms with the most graceful
propriety. How easy it is to invest our
houses with tho truest elegance. .Ele?
gance resides not with the upholsterers or
the draper; it is not in the mosaic-;, the
carpetings. the roso wood, the mahogany,
the candelabra, or the marble ornaments;
it exists in the spirit presiding over the
chambers of the dwelling. Contentment
must always bo most graceful; it sheds
serenity over the scene of its abode; it
transforms a waste into a garden. The
home lighted by these intimations of a no?
bler and brighter life may be wanting in
much which the discontented desire; but
to its inhabitants it will be a place, far
outvieing tho oriental in brilliancy and
SlorF' _^_
Bad Soil.?He that sows his grain up?
on marble will have many a hungry belly
before his harvest.
-?
A friend proposes to send us a gray
eagle. We should rather have a yellow
one.