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. ' ;V. -r - |V^ T}^f9 'V^gjl1 mimmwm ? jjr ^ * tfoL'l GREENVILLE, S. C.: FRIDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 3, 1854. NO. 25. "fTi-wiirr-'j-:w'' - ? r fie Imttymt (gntrrprifit, A REFLEX OF POPULAR EVENTS. ^ ! vsyaLWLaAaa jp? ipmaoaj, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. t. X ft W. P. Price, Publishers. f. nr* JB2 RitxM* #1 50, payable in advance ; f?2 if delayed. CLUlfcS of TEN and upwards SI, thr r.;c?ey la everr instance tn accompany the order. ADVERTISEMENTS inserted conspicuously at 'the rates of IS cents per square of 8 lines, and tiV cents for each subsequent insertion. Contract* for yearly advertising made reasonable. - Wtf-P?gggBS1 i?II J v (Drigiiuil ^ottq. v/.ittv.v.\^VA\^VAVA^VA\vv:v.-V-t^^j^vAv vv ? For tfr? Boothsrn Enterprise. J o "*q 1: Ir i e n d? BT OLA STA Uxeoxacioim Slekt aim! tameless (touring Thought, Ghastliest Woe, and wine-flushed Revelry, And holy Prayer nnd bloody-handed Crime: These nru Wight's children?yet I lovo the Sight 1 love in her still hour to open wide The book of Memory, tho' its pages oft Are darkened by the hand of dusty Cnre And shadowed by the ebon wing of Grief; For here and there amid its folded leaves The bright sweet hours I have spent with thee, I'eep forth like little stars of joy, my friend. When Sleep my soul a captive holds I dream That thou art near to elieer my loneliness ; i,r I dream upon my flushed and fevered brow v Thy gentle hand lies lovingly and cool? * And 1 am oomforted. Methinks thy voice, "Whose tone is my life's music, murmurs low A love-.word in mine ear; And thy bright face with nil its nameless beauty Bends kindly o'er me, and thy loving eyes ]<ook ofl me vtrith a pittying tender gaze? And I am blest All! there were few to love me, When thy deer voice first woke within my heart A thrill which none may ever wake aarain. Since then I've won and lo?t full many a friend? f V*-* Or many who have borne the empty name? Hut thou art faithful! There were few to bless ma When thou didst twine the tendrils of thy love About my lone heart, even as the ivy Clings tolU broken turret tenderly. Since then rvelearned full innny a painfulleeson: fre learned that there is not A bed of roses on this blooming earth, Where iron-handed envious Cruelty Hath not a thorn to plant I?and there are thoee Who dare to trample on a human soul, And lay a tyrant's galling flksn there? Hushing the inusic of that harp which God Hath tuned to love with his own loving hand! I've learned that hearta can change and lips can , He! * And words or* naught, and Constancy a word. I've learned that FsUefitkxl walks this lovely earth A gurgou-viaaged monster I But, sweet frieud, Thou on the aliarof whose guileless heart Faith, Hope and Love kindle the snored flame! Oh! thou from out the shadow of whose eyes I/Ooketh a spirit strong, and wild, and free, And full of gladness-?yet so beautiful, And, good and truthftil?I have learned that thou -ait jminjiu uui / <y OreenMl< Cbfefcr 17<A, 1854. a Stimtifnl ?tonj. -.. ' ywh>?i1 frttn tk* Q*nau for tbo Soil Eaterprto*. The Bellows-Mender of Lyeja. BY O. II. *S! i . /; :' Mr native place is a small hamlet near Montelimar, in southern France. My father was an intelligent but poor man, who never ( lost an opportunity to win*the smiles of the { fickle'goddess'Fortune, but despite all his sndwvoii to ftaa himself of poverty could never eacoeeu iu Hik Lia di ?ge he ; made a sorrowful living by the Manufacture , nod mending of bellows, Laving leafncd the imde in hi# y?uj&, ' This wm the vocation , to which I Waedodicatad. Kind nature had ( given me sagacity and qufek comprehension, . ond being w?ll endowed in body and mind, , was soon Mgyv of my craft. Having some ( Ambition, t *earohed for an enlarged sphere of action," fdtfmgjnduatry in Lyon had met there with ?uih aucceaa hat before long, be- ( ing the favorite of all chamber-siVridtf and , cooks?-my principal employe*, whose ( heart* my youth and handsome fa#e awaken , ed a lively interest, 1 never wl) out of em % I bad lired already two year* in fcLyom , prben mm evening, having finUhed my work, , mU going httfefcnr well dremed young men , ' flMt to me "and made noma bantering re- , .iHKfeujUn my trade. 1 poeeeeeed some a I^BKWWed with good natured je?t and ha- ( MdT^rtfegey eallke, which appeared to ; f?PT Mrw then exchange ] . V* significant glances with each other, and heard one of them whisper to the rest: "This is the man we are in need of." These words at first terrified roe, but my fears were soon allayed, when one of the four men spoke to me as follows: "My friend, you shall eat supper with ns to-night; we havrf a plan on band which will benefit you very much. In case should you not like it, you will never on that account receive the least injury from us, provided you aiwny* keep our secrets, therefore don't be afraid to come with us I" They, appearing to me to be honorable and intelligent persona, I immediately accepted their offer, and went with them. The four young men led me through a numlier of lanea and atreetato a distant part of the city, and having arrived at last in front of a fine looking house we soon found ourselves in h largo room, occupied already by six other young men who seemed to have awaited the arrival of my companions with impatience. Sonic explanations having passed between them, we all sat down to supper. Young, frivolous, jovial nnd careless, as I was, the social disposition of the compan/made mo lively, amusing, and entertaining to every body. Gradually one after the other became serious and thoughtful, whilst oue of them got up, addressing me as follows: MMv friend, these teu persons, whom you have eaten with to-night are all engravers and painters, citizens of Lyon, andevory one opulent *i " * ?uivu|jii iuc {iritcuce oi uicir art. We are friends, and formed a happy society to the very momont when love excited discord among us. In the street St. Dominique, lives a dealer in pictures, very much respected on account of his wealth, otherwise quite an ordinary person, hut with whom we are connected by virtue of our profession. This gentlemnn has a daughter, a wonderfully fine, charming girl, endowed with all those attractions which will enslave the heart of man, but she has ono fault, that obscures her excellent qualities, and that is a boundless prido and arrogance, in proof of which I need only confess to you, that with the knowledge and consent of her father, who in me appreciated only the wealth I possess, I solicited her hear t and hand, but the proud beauty replied to me in the most insulting manner, 'Monsieur, do you flatter yourself for a moment that I will stoop so low as to l&ome the wife of an engraver!' In short, all of us here experienced her pride and admired her beaut* but we are now determined to avenge ourselves cm this haughty girl, and in so doing, prove to her that it. is even beyond her power to become the wife of an engraver. I therefore, young man, put the question to you, Will you becomo the husband of a beautiful woman, to w hose perfection nothing is wanting, except her pride be humbled and her vanity be broken ?" " 'Yes,* I replied, 4 I'll dare it,' overcome by the excitement of the lqginent. ' I coin-1 prebend what you want me to do, and taking all the pains iu my power, you never will have occasion to blush for you pupil.'? The next thrco months ufter this strange occurence, were entirely devoted to the preparation of that role, in which I was to play such a coMjPicuous part. With reiterated : promises <*mmlable secrecy, my allies paid the greatest Attention to transform me, a simple bellows-mender, into a handsome, dashing young nobleman. A fine, well selected, fashionablo wardrobe, the artistical efforts of a hair-dresser and other preparations, gave me quite a degree of refinement. 3ocac teachers attend I to my education, and during the evening hours of each day, 1 eras alternately visited by my allies, who endeavoured to instruct me in music, drawing, dancing and other fashionable accomplishments. My natural talents, with the desire to learn, and p retentive memory, ensured Lheir endeavors such suocess, that my friends were lost iu astonishment at my rapid progress. I was anxious to appropriate the rudiments of a good education as soon as possible, and could scarcely await the time to inter on my undertaking; but the time was yet to come in which I was to see the whole iffair in its true light. \ My friends, judging me at last sufficiently advanced, and equal to the task, introduced ins into the Apt 'society of Lyon, undec the tame and titles of Marquis de liennepont, the iwnerjt ex tensive estates in the Pauphince. Undei^Rs title I introduced myself to the i i i_ Li..?i? ?~ .v " ? ui picmrw in mo street at. qu*?-bougty ?ome of kit pwntingt, with the ynw<*rf*m *brttd pmrchm*. H?r w* . ^0> * ir'lsii 1 + ?' ' A.- r. ik. * mi n in wiw?WMPMBBWPMPMI ing now, familiar and freqnout intercourse with liim, be earl/ one morning sent rae word, that, receiving lately a valuable collection of paintings and mezzotints from Rome would feel highly honored by my calling on him, to inspect them. This invitation I eagerly accepted, nnd was received, not by Monsieur Clermont, but by his beautiful HaimLfa* n?/?f i- T i? ? ' .?TO4 v.vaxl. a POU VUllb f1"! for the first time in my life, and for the first time, also, experienced the power of beauty. A new world opened to my eyes?I forgot totally my prescribed role, and fell deeply, irrevocably in love with her; that feeling alone occupying my heart?the whole faculty of tny inind concentrating in that one idea. Cecily perceived her triumph, and appeared to listen with pleasure to the unconnected expressions and confession of iny love, that stammeringly escaped my lips.? This occurrence scaled my destiny for ever? the felicity I felt in her society, forced me onward, and made tne blind to all consequences. For months I visited, and spoke with Cecily ever)' day, and enjoyed an ir? describable happiness, that was only disturbed by remorseful feelings and self-accusation during my lonely hours?which were only extinquished by the necessity of my calling occasionally upon my employers for money, | jewelry, and other requisites. Finally, the father of my Cecily gave at his c'ouutry seat a family party io my honor, and seizing such a glorious opportunity, forgetting all but my love for his daughter, throwed myself ?t Cecilyfc feet, a suitor for her heart and hand. She listened to me with modest dignity, while a tear of joy trembled in her brilliant dark eve, shading its lustre, and proving to me beyond a doubt, tbat her heart wag not ruled by pride alone and that I was beloved by her?as she alone could love. True, I was a cheat, but heaven is my witness, that in deceiving my charming Cecily I suffered the greatest pangs of conscience. In her society, I thought only of her, but in the quiet hours and solitude of night, disappeared all that sophistry aud passion, opening a terrible future before my enchanted gaze. Again, when I thought of Cecily and the miserable lot that foil to her, picturing to myself her delicate taper-fingers preparing our coarse meals, and scouring a wretched dirty hut, I trembled with horror, and sprang, in cold sweat, from my bed; but vanity and self-love came to my aid, and I imagined that, loving mo really, she might still be happy. I vowed, therefore, to dedicate all my energies in the endeavor to strew her path through life with flowers. Cecily's father put unlimited confidence in me, ami Vw>ll0-trA<) oro??fj -1-? no ?uom my estates in the' Dauphinee, a distant province in France, particularly as 1 insisted that tho dowry of his daughter should Iks placed under her sole control. I was free, therefore, from the reproach of having robbed her. We were married, and unmanly as it may seem, I could not help weeping at that solemn occasion, the lust sign of my departing virtue; the crowd ascribing my emotion to strong sensibility. About a fortnight after our marriage we left for Moutclimar, according to agreement between me and my employers, in whose unconditional power I was. My poor wife believing us all the time hastening towards _ the estates and castles of my ancestors, so mo of the engravers and painters accompanying us in die guise of foot-men, post-boys, grooms and couriers of out splendid equipage. The , moment of inevitable discovery came at last so anxiously feared by me, and proved to b? 1 far more formidable than I ever imagined. Arrived in my native place, my companions ( ordered our grand carriage to be driven be- , fore the entrance of tho miserable hut where- i in my poor but roepbetfed father resided, he setting before tho door, occupied in repairing sundry old bellows. Now came that tenri bis discovery : the carriage stopped, and j helping out my poor, deluded, surprised Cec- * ily, ail my employers immediately formed r< 1 circle round us, took off their disguises, and j the man she had refused to marry, now act-, , ing as spokesman of the party, addressed < her in the following atraip: " Madam, you < certainly were right in saying that your birth J and education entitled you to higher views than to marry an engraver; indeed I think , such would been too much honor for 11 you; we decided, therefore, a Bellows-Mender, in every respect Competent to become 1 yofcr future husband, and such you behold ' in him that it now before f?*n , V ~ , I. V S -w. Trembling with rago, I whs at the point of answering them in a forcible manner, when my late employers witily jumping into, the carriage drove off, with them also vanishing my wealth and greatness, like tlio changing scenes of a theatre. [conclunkd next week.] I B I I f?ma iXXiscHitmmts. Jtoepfy-six ifouiP3 on n fiqff. a thrilling narrative. Peter McCabk of Ireland, who was rescued from the raft and brought to New York, publishes a letter, in which, aftor stating that he remained on the Arctic until the water reached the main deck, and the vessel commenced sinking, says: I left tho door, and gdt upon the raft, which had been partially constructed from the spars wo took from the vessel. A great many persous were trying to get on the raft. 6ome were clinging to it with one hand, and although it was already crowded, others were striving to get a foothold. Among the number who were upon it 1 saw four ladies. Their names I did not know. Altogether, there were seventy-six persous on the raft. The sea. thntierh tint ?".?I. , e? IUUK" and the wave*, ah they washed ov?i it, washed away a portion of its living freight I shall never forget the -awful scene. There we were, in the midst of the ocean, without the slightest hope of assistance, while every minute one or more of our unfortunate fellow passengers were dropping into their watery grave from sheer exhaustion. Those who had life-preservers did not sink, but floated with their ghastly faces upward, reminding those who still remained alive of the fate that awaited tbetn. In the midst of all this, thank Heaven ! I never lost hope, but retained my courage t? the last. One by one I saw my unfortunate companions drop off; some of them floated, and were eaten and gnawed by fishes, while others were washed under the raft, and ret mained with me till I was rescued. 1 could see their faces in the openings as they were swayed to and fro by the waves, which threatAed every moment to wash me off.? The raft at ono time was was so crowded that many had to hold on by ono hand.? Very few words were spoken by any, and the only sound that we heard was the splash of the waters or the heavy breathing of the poor sufferers as they tried to recover their breath ;ifter a wave had passed over them.? Nearly all were submerged to their arm pits, while a few could with great difficulty keep their heads over the surface. The women were the first to go. They were unable to stand the oxposure more than three or four hours. They all fell off the raft without a word, exept one poor girl, who cried out in intense agony, uOh, my poor mother and sisters !M When I was about eighteen hours on the raft, there were not more tliau three or four left. One of these gave nie what appeared to be a small inap, but which I understood him to say was a sort of title deed to his property. In a few moments after I took it, he too, unloosed his hold, and was added to the number that floated about the raft. I endeavored to get the .paper into my pocket, but found this impossible, on accountof my crampled position, s<^ I placed it between my teeth, and held inhere till 1 was overwhelmed by a wave, when I lost my hold of it, and it was washed away. Another who bad qu oiled silk coat on, called on me, for Heaven's sake, to assist him, as his strength was rapidly falling, and he must full if not relieved. As he was about four or Ave feet from ine it was difficult to reach him; ' but after considerable exertions, I succeeded in doing so, and helped him with one of my ! knees until I became quite faint, when 1 was obliged to leave him to fate. J'oor fellow ! 1 be promised roe, if he ever got to New York 1 alive, he would reward roe well, lie clung 1 with terrible tenacity to life; but he, too, 1 dropped off in his turn. < 1 was now left alone on the raft: not a 1 solitary being was alive out of seventy ; but J still my hope continued strong. The night ' of the second day was about closing on me, 1 and during the whole time I had been in the ' water 1 nau not eaten a particle of anything 1 or drank a drop. My strength, I found was , beginning to give way, and my sight had be- 1 come so dim that I could not perceive ob- * jects a few feet off; even the ghastly face ' of the dead that looked up at me from under 1 the raft, were hardly disoernable. I deter- ^ mined on making one more offort for life ; 1 raised myself on my knees upon the raft, ' ?nd though the dusk of the evening I saw, ' or thought I saw a vowel. My strength 1 loomed to revive, and in a few miutes I heard ' the voices of persons in a boat approaching. 1 Ten minutes more, and I, too, would have 1 gone; but Providence had mercy on me, ?nd after twenty-six hours' exposure, I was, 1 by its mercy, preserved from a * Mr. McCabe is lying in a low oomlftion in 1 New York, and seems at times partially 4? ranged. Bines taken from the rsfklne sr options have taken pUce en bis limfe M ehtch, as well as his bands end are * & * i -- i?J very much swollen?frpro effect?, ai A supposed^ of boing immersed j^the water so l0ng* Ibe dliii)let' oJ Let it never come upon yov^Kw^ to that! (food nngels may protect you ffona thhfterrL ble evil?the winter of the begirt. Let no cliillinipnflucnce freeXw the fount, datioms of sympathy and bapp^Kss in A depths ; no cold burthen settlfwer its ered hopes, like snow on the fadql flowers* no rude bluets of discontent moan awfshriel through its desolate chambers. * Your life-path may lead you amid trials, which for a time seem utterly to impude your progress and shut out the very light, of of heuven from your anxious gaze. Penury may take the place of ease and , plenty; your luxurious hoino may be exchanged for a single, lowly room?the soft couch for the straw pallet?the rich viands for the coarse food of the poor. Summer friends may forsake you, and the unpitying world pass you by with scarcely a Jook or word of compsssion. You may be forced to toil wearily, steadily on, to earn a li>*elihood; yon may encounter fraud and tho base avarice which would extort the last farthing, till you well nigh turn in disgust from your fellow beings. Death may sever the dear lies that bind you to earth, and leave you in fearful darkness. That noble, manly boy, the sole hope of your declining years, may be taken from you, while your spirit clings to him with a i wild tenacity Avhich even the shadow of the | t&nb cannot wholly subdue. But amid all these sorrows, do not come ; to the conclusion that nobody was ever so . deeply afflicted As you are, and abandon ! every sweet anticipation of "better days' in i the unknown future. Do not lose your faith in human excellence, because your confidence has sometimes been betrayed, nor believe that friendship is only a delusion, and love a bright phantom which glides away from your grasp. Do not think that you are fated to be miserablo because you are disappointed in your e vegetations'and baffled in your pursuits, lid not declare that God has forsaken you, wlfijhiyour wav is hedged about with thorns, or renine sinfnllv. when lie /.alia - r?J ' * '? J ones to the land beyond the grave. Keep a holy trust in heaven through every trial; bear adversity with^brtitude, and look upward in hours of temptation and suf fering. When your locks are white, your eyes dim, and your limbs weary ; when your steps falter on tho verge of Death's gloomy vale, still retain the freshness and buoyancy of spirit which will shield you from the winter of the heart?Olive Branch. 3JUo)rl{! I have seen and heard of people who i thought it beneath them to work, to employ i themselves industriously at some useful labor. I Beuenth them to work! Why work is the i great motto of life ; and he who accomplishes J the most by his industry, is the most distinguished man among his fellows, too. And j the man who forgets his duty to himself, his j fellow creatures, and his God?who so far forgets the great blessings of life, as to allow his energies to stagnate in inactivity and < uselessness, had better die: for says Holy < Writ, "Lie that will not work, neither shall . he ?at." An idler is a curuberer of the ground, a weary curse to himself, as well as to those around hi in. I Beneath human beings to work I Why, ( what but the continued history that brings j forth the improvement that never allows him , to bo contented with any attainment he may ( have made, of work that he may have etfec- , ted, what but this raises man above the brute ( creation, and, under Providence, surrounds \ him with comforts, luxuries and refinements ; t physical, moral, and intellectual blessings ? ( The great orator, the great poet, and the great f scholar, are great working men. Their voca- t Lion is infinitely more laborious than that of i the handicraftsman; and the students'life has ( more anxiety than that of any other man. [ And ail, without the perseverance, the in- t leniion to real industry, csnnot thrive. * Hence the number of mere pretensions to ( tcholarship, or those who have not strength i i J i- i w-i i -i i . ? - 1 tuu niuuiury to u? real scuoiara, UUl slop halt , n ay, and are smatterera,'a shame to the pro fesaion. { Beneath human being* to work I Look , n the artist's studio, tlio poet's garret, where . the genius of immortality stands ready to leal his work with an uneflaceable signet, t md then you will only see industry stand t by his side, , Beneath human'beings to work! Why, t [ had r&ther that a child of mine should la- g Dor regularly at the lowest, meanest employment, than to waste its body, mind and soul, n folly, idleueM, and usaleMBess. Better to wear out in a year, than to n?t out in a cen- c tonr. Beneath human beings to work ! Why frhat but work has> tilled our fields, clothed f >ur bodies, built our houses, raised our minds fl ind souls? "Work out your own salvation," r ays the inspired ApoaUrto the Gentiles. Ha. ?r-y? - ??? Tarm** who oeg&U himself is aive in s iroe to be neglected by Others. I I . # V ' -* jje S)nrkmg-JHon. t Uglricqltqi-e toe JlrofeteipW. , Whetvpoung men are about completing th^r education, they very widely ask themaM ^hat t bey all all do. A few, scanning the variouaaHbits, luckily hit on something in harmoi^^^&tkeir tastes, while the greater part loo^^o the professions as the le^itimato #phewPaf educated men. Notr this Conclusion ift *11 wrnnir A J? ... 0- " W..VIJ? TOUW ation aims at a professional life no more than f any other, but only at a general discipline and culture of mind, which may be applied to all pursuits. There are, no doubt, some in each class, who are adapted to and will honor any of the professions; but the greater part aro not, and they enter them rather because tlnty are honorable than in hopes of honoring them. But we have little sympathy with those luminaries which seek toshine by a reflected light. "We have been taught to believe that the man should honor his of* tice, not the office the man ; and that it is better to move at the head of even aft humble calling, than follow in the rear of a dignified profession. We would rather raise potatoes which somebody will eat than makes speeches which no one will hear, or write books which no one will rbad. But if these young gentlemen will carefully look srouud, they will perhaps find other avenues to wealth and distinction, besides the professions. Take^for instance, agriculture?not simply the art of plowing the ground, but agrtculture viewed in all its practical and scientific bearings, and they will possibly find scope for the display of at least n$>derate capacities. Indeed, if we mistake not, somo enter the professions, who would not find a waste of talent in agricultural pursuits, and who are certainly quite as well suited to them. But so many young men are captivated with theidea of profesional or political titles and life, that they overlook what they call the humbler avocations. So away they go,talking of Robert Halls and Dftniel'Webaters, between .whom and themselves there is no more comparison than between the Alps and an ant-hill. We would not be thought to underrate the profession* by anv means; but we believe strongly in ati adaption, a fitness for things. If a man has not a natural capacity for one pursuit. let him take up another for which he baa a natural capacity. Better handle the plow with grace, than make a stupid argument. Nor yet does this avocation preclude access to political distinction, to which so many aspire. Wo know some farmers who stand as good a chance for office as many of their professional brethren, and who are as well able to flourish as delicate a hand, or quiddie as accurately, or talk as honiedly^ but in good sense and sound judgement, the e*~ , sential elements ot a man?they are by no 9 means inferior. We always like to see such men, good honest souls !?who lean not on * the dignity of their professions, but thcm> jelves. Such men are at once the streagth and pride of the country. Let not young men, therefore, think a profession the qua now" of human greatness, but let them east about and sew what they aro fitted and have a taste for.? They will go to work thoroughly and earnEsstly and be suro to succeed, while on the jther hand, they will most surely fail.? American Agriculturist. tsi Young America.?More than two million boys in the United States are now at;ending the various institutions of learning u this country. This is indeed a formidable irmy, and it may safely be affirmed that the uture politics and policy of this nation will mvy soon uepena upon uie political views, entertained by those now at school. These xiys will soon be voters, and share in giving lirections to the vast interests involved in our 'lections. It may therefore be of interest to ill who watch the 'signs of the times' to ask, aider what influence and agencies the young \mericans are subjected. What is the gensral tone of sentiments among them ! What ?ooks do they read ? What is the characer of the popular literature of the titn& f? These are oucslions cf deep import, and % nir view, tlio future is full of promise, for we lave no doubt that tho 'All lfail Hereafter' vill prove that noble aim* and generous ilea* will be felt in society to a greater ex.eiit than heretofore. Society in America low feela the impulse from our material proslerity, and the aay is not far distant when a lowerful direction will be given to ' the bought and moral power of the people from he hands of those now classed in the census us 'youth at school.' The young America of he school rooms will soon be of age, and peak for itself. Bkautxxdl is tbd love, and street the kits if a *iater ; but if you haven't a sister handy, ry your cousin?it isn't much worse. % Mak is a curiosity?the less use be has or money the more he worships it Mbers ire always folks of vary small s to machos and 10 What will you leave *r?e to your ?(V aid a lady to an Xriahmjm, Hd iarg m&f ** '> r 3JT. - ^ a ) ' s / !