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a 1
. THE CAMDEN JOURNAL ;
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? -"iii
VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, JANUARY 23, 1&>2. NUMBER 7.
- -? ^ ' - " - ' --^ataa: . - - , 1 ! n m __L_*1?
I I . -TTV
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THE FALL OF NIAGARA.
BT J. G. a BRA1XARD.
"Labituret libetur."
The thoughts are strange that crowd my brain,
"While I look upward to thee. It would seem
'As if God pour'd thee from his " hollow liaud," j
And hung his how upon thine awful front;
And spoke in tltat loud voice, which socm'd to him
"Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake,
The sound of many waters;" and had bado
"Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch Ilis centuries in the eternal rocks.
Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublimo ?
01 what are all the notes that ever rung
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side I
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him
Who drown'd a world, asid heaped the "waters far
Above its loftiest mountains??a lightwave,
"That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might.
THE FELON'S SON/
'QYrwar'd* the end of the Last century, -a young
man arrived at Marsciles, on commercial afihire:
he took up his abode at an inn, where he
had been about three weeks, when he received a
letter one evening, whscli obliged him to call
immediately on one of the principle merchants of
ftie town. The merchant was out, and, as his
wife said that he was most'probably at-the tliea- ,
trc. George, (so our hero called himself) went
.thither to seek aim. lie entered the pit, and loo- j
ked round in vain for the person he wanted; blit
as it was early he thought thdt the merchant
1 might still come, and he sat down to wait for
%im.
In a few minuets, George heard the word; ' turn
him out! turn him out!' uttered with great vehemence;
and looking round to see to whom they
were addressed, he preceivod they were iuteuded
for a youth of sickly appearance and very mild
countenance, who sat neat'him. ,
'How is this V cried George,'turning to the
jperson who sat next hhn, 'whtit lifts (he boy done
K/? tiwitivl in si??h a manner?'
iv ?yv vivmww ? ? ?
The person to whom he spoke was a man about j
fifty.
'Do you know liim?' said he coltllv.
fSTo?I never saw him before.'
'Well, then take a friends advice, and don't ,
meddle in the matter. The boy's name is Tinville:
he is a grandson of that monster, FouqUot
tTmvill.
At these words, George recoiled with h?*dr
in his countenance.
<My good sir,' said his neighbor, 'I sec that you
agree with me, that there are names which always
make honest people tremble.'
George heaved a deep sigh.
'And yet, said he, alter a moment's pause, 'If
the boy himfelf has done nothing bad, I don't
think it just or generous to insult him: he is already
unfortunate enough.'
The noise had "been suspended for an instant?
but, just as our hero uttered these words, the riotors
re-Commenced their cries. The lad feighned
not to precievc that he was the object of them;
h but bis alarm was visible in countenance. Enr
cooragefl by his timidity, one of the aggressors
began to pull his coat, and another took nim by
the collar. George quickly rose.
'Stop a moment,' said his neighbor, catching
hold of him; 'don't ycta see they are ten to one?'
'Let them he twenty to two, then,' cried he in,
dignantly; 'I will never stand by tamely and see
a helpless boy rfbused.'
Breaking from the gra^p of his prudent neigh
bor, he sprung lightly over the benches, and
threw himself "between the youth and his assailants?dealing
at the same time, some knockdown
blows to the right and left, and crying out,
Cowards!?you call yourselves Frenchmen?and
yon are not ashamed to fall, ten of you, upon
' one poor defenceless lad!'
The aggressors were young men, mostly in a
state of intoxication, yet not so far gone as to be
insensible of shame,
j 'He says the truth, cried one.
lie is in the right, said another.
By the group diabpeared: those who
t bad received the blows, skulked away and said
nothing; the others excused themselves; and, in a
*? ?tmnni.ilifv wm rofitnrpd. fipowft
lew uimuciB, S,
took the youth by the arm, led him out of the
theatre, and making a sigh to a hackney coachman
hurried away, without replying to Tinville's
thank?, and entreaties to know his name.
Three days afterwards, as he was passing
through one of the principal streets, he felt himself
seized by the skirt of his coat and, looking
round to see by whom, he perceived that he was
ftlie gentleman whom he had sat next to at the
theatre.
'Ileaven be praised! I have found vou at last,'
i
cried ho; truly, you have led me into a fine scrape,
'I, sir?impossible!'
'No,"no, it is possible enough. You must
know that I have a brother, one of the principal
banker? of Marseilles - : every body speaks
well of him but myself; and I say he is a crackbrained
enthusiast. Why, sir, you have only tc
relate to him a trait of courage or generosity, and
he is ready to worship the hero of it. I told
* .1 *. t i . n .i i i7 i I i
mm me otnernignt 01 me mau inca you nuc
played, and he flew into a rage with me becaust
I did not seize and drag you to his bowse vi ei
artnis. I should not have cared so for him had
not my good sister-in-law and pretty nice joined
his party. In short, they turned me out, in orders
not to come again without bringing you in
my hand. I have hunted for you ever since in
vain; but now I have luckily found you, you will
not refuse to return with me to dinner.'
George woutdhave excused himself.
'He had only come,' he said, for a short time,
on business, which was nearly finished; he was
about to depart, and he had not a moment foi
any thing but business.'
'Even if you go to-morr6w, you must dine
somewhere to-day?and why not as well at m\
brother's as at the inn ?'
*Wrth' these words he put his hand under the
young man's arm, and drew him along, heedless
of all excuses.
It has been said that a good face is the best
letter of recommendation; and no one ever ha<i
a better than George. The banker and his family
were charmed with, each praised him in theii
r rii l i i 1 ; ^ _
way. i?ir. oienanai aarairea nis open counieuance;
his wife the modest propriety of his manners;
her mother, who was very old and rathei
deaf, the good natured and respectful way in
which he answered several questions which she
put to him. The daughter, a blooming girl ol
sixteen, said nothing, but perhaps the look oi
pleasure with which she listened to the praises
bestowed by the rest of the family, was not the
least eloquent part of the panegyric.
In the course of the evening, Mr. Stendhal
learned that his guest's name was George, that
he was an orphan, and that he would leave Marseilles
in five or six days. He mentioned alsc
the names of some of the merchants with whom
he had done business; and1 one of them happening
to be a particular friend of Stendhal's the
good banker went to him the next day, to make
inquiries respecting his new acquaintance.
? 4 11 *T 1_i_ / 1 1 1 it .1 i i?_ il .i
Ail i Know oi mm, saiu tnc mcrcnant, is mai
he comes from an old correspondent of mine, who
has recomended liim veir strongly to Jne. He
has transacted business for the gentleman with
several others besides myself and he is generally
regarded a? a clever and intelligent young man,
My friend lamented in his letter, that he had not
the power to offer him a permanent situation,
and he has asked me to look out for one for him
?but I have not met with any thiug likely'tc
suit.'
This was enough for Stendhal, who was a sort
of benevolent Quixottc in bis way. He wished
to serve George; but with the delicacy of true
gen-roeity, he desired that the young man should
fee! himself the obliger, rather than the obliged,
II.- told him that he wanted a clerk; George fell
into the innocent snare laid for him; he ottered
him iclf, and was directly accepted.
Mr. Stendhal was well satisfied with the abilities
of his new clerk, and not less so with lib
conduct : the only thing that he wished was, tc
sec in the young man more of the guity natural
to his tiuie of life, but he was constantly serious,
aud even sad, notwithstanding that his tcmpei
was so sweet, aud his manners so mild and ainia
Die,'that'he was a favorite with the whole amib*
Two years passed away and at the end of thai
time, George had become, what Mr. Stendha
emphateally allied his right hand; lie rcleivcd
the good banker from a great part of the fatiguf
which he hud till then taken upon himself; and
while he had never relaxed, in the slightest degree.
his attention to business, he fonnd time tc
render himself as agreeable and useful to the female
part of the family, as to the master of it.?
He was Leocndie's Language master to the greal
satisfaction of Mrs. Stendhal, who had no longei
any reason to reproach the dear girl with "thai
disinclination to study, which had been her only
fault. But what perhaps drew the hearts of botl
mother and daughter still more strongly toward'
him was, his unwearied attention to the good
grandmother, who was alike beloved and vener
ated by the family.
All at once Stendhal preccived that his wif<
appeared unusually serious and abstracted. Il
was evident that she had something on her mind
Kilt tvKnt /v?ii1r1 tlio't CAinoflntur Ko tdiKli uKz
VMV ? Ul?w VVUtM U1UV ?? JiJVIA njiv
concealed from her husband, with whom, til
then she had 110 reserve. After puzzling hii
brains for a little time with conjectures, the ban
ker took what he considered to be the onlj
right way in these cases?he determined t<
come to the point at once.
'Till now,' said he, 'we have been happy: it if
evident that you have ceased to bo so: tell m<
the cause of your uneasiness?and if it is inj
power to banish it, regard the thing as done.'
'Then it is done,' cried Mrs. Stendhal, embra
cing him.' My uneasiness arose from discover
ing Leocadie in love.'
'In love!?and with whom ?'
'With George.'
*So much the better?if he loves her.'
'If, Mr. Stendhal ?'
'If, Madame Stendhal?I say, if '
'And I say there is no if in the case: the poo:
fellow is too honorable to say a word?but I se<
clearlv that he is dvimr for her'
my dear, mother's eyes are not alwayi
to be trusted onthoso occasions: but I wil
speak to liirn myself.'
And, without any preface, he said to the younj
man the following day?'George, it is time fo
you to be looking about for a wife : what do yo\
think of my daughter!'
George had no need to reply: his eountcnani
told Mr. Stendhal plainly that his wife was ii
the right.
' 'Well, well,' cried he, in a tone of pleasure,
'you love her, lioy ?'
'It is true, sir; but' Heaven is my witness, I
- have never dared to breathe a syllable- '
> 'Ah, you were very right not to speak to her;
but why did you not tell me your mind ? You
) know that I despise the pride of birth, and that
[ I don't care for money. All that I desire is, that
I my son-in-law should be a man?of probity, and
I descended from" an holiest 'family.'
; -It is impossible to descril>e the mingled cx(
prcssion of grief and shame which appeared in
I the countenaucc of George when he heard these
1 words. lie was siient for a moment rat last he
said, in a voice of great emotion, 'You arc right;
i I never thought, I never hoped it could be otheri
wise. Hitherto I have concealed from you who
1 I am; but to-morrow you shall know all. Leave
me now Ibcseech you.'
Shocked with his evident distress,"Standlial
, pressed his harid 'kindly, begged of him to comi
pose himself, and left him. The good banker
knew not what to think of this scene; yet he was
persuaded that no blame was attached to George.
> The next morning, he learned with grief and
surprise, that the young man had quitted'the
house. The following letter, which he left bci
hind him, will explain the cause of this step:
1 'now little did you think yesterday, my dear
benefactor, that even in the moment when you
' meant to render me the happiest of men, you
strtick a dagger to my heart? Yes?I kno\v?I
' feel that the mind of your angelic daughter never
can be bestowed but upon the descendant of
' an honest nlan. I must then fly from her forev
Cr* -s
"i -will not leave you witnout telling you mr.?
| Know that I am the son of that St. Aubin, who,
P on being arrested for forger}*, killed one of the
. gen?-d1 amies, who was sent to seize him, and
expiated his crime upon the scaffold. I had returned
home from college about a year and a
! half before this dreadful event took place. Im,
perfectly acquainted with lrty father's ' circumstances,
I asked him to gvie me a profession.?
' lie refused assuring me that it was not necessary,
as his property was sufficient for us both, even
' independent of well founded expectations which
' he had, that I should inherit a considerAble for|
tunc from an uncle in the Indies.
| 'Satisfied with these reasons, aud concluding
from the style in which my father lived, that he
. must be very rich, I thought, no more of > pro\
fession. Some months passed away, when one
, morning my father entered my apartment, and
t announced to me abruptly that lie was ruined.?
. Shocked and overwhelmed 'as I was, I had presence
of mind enough to attempt to coasole him.
Tho education you Lave given me,' cried I, 'will
secure as frotn want, and you have still many
| friends.' 'Not one.?not, one!' cried he in agony.
( 'Driven to despair, by my losses on Cluuige, I
bad borroSved money where I could, and finding
ill luck continually pursue me, I had recourse to j
[ forgery. iMy crime is on the eve or being dis,
covered. I must fly, instantly: but I will not
[ leave thee, niy.poor ruined lwy wholly without
Tcsouree. Take this?it is "the half of what remains
to me.' lie offered me a pocket book : I
: rejected it with a look of hbrror. Tliis aloiie was
wanting!' cried he,in a voice of fhry, as he rushed
from the room. I followed him?I begged
, j his pardon on my knees, but I was resolute in
,; refusing his money. He fled : and just when I
[ began to congratulate myself that he was safe
from pursuit, I heard the overwhelming tidings
of his arrest and subsequent execution. A bur.
ning fever seized me?I should have perished
. under it, but by the charity of one of those who
had suffered most by my unfortunate father.?
May Heaven's choicest blessing light upon the
[ worthy man! Far from.reproaching me, he took
[ pains to console me. He even carried his char,
ity so far as to recommend me to the merchant
[ in whose employ in I was when you took mo
. into your house. You will feel that, after the
, avowal, wo can never meet airain. Farewell.
forever, my friend?my benefactor!?May happiness?eternal
happiness?bo the portion of you
and yours, George St. Aubin."
The first impulse of Stendhal was to cause im?
mediate search to be made for George; but all in
vain: he had quitted the town, and no one knew
1 whither he had gone. Stendhal was at the first
1 truly grieved at uis flight?but when he began
I to reflect coolly on the circumstances of the case,
he was not sorry that George had quitted him as
he did; for with all his affections for the young
1 man, he shrunk from the idea of giving his daugh^
to the son of a convicted felon.
* He felt, however, deeply, for the effect which
j the flight of George evidently produced upon
Leocadie; and, after a consultation with his wife,
i ho determined to tell her the truth. She wept
" bitterly at hearing it; but it was evident that her
mind was releived, for, from that time, she np}
peared more tranquil. She devoted herself still
more exclusively to her family, shunned society,
as much as she could, and though always even
1 tempered, and at times cheerful, it was easy to
see that she was not happy.
Four years passed; Leocadie received many of *
. fers of marriage, but refused them so perempto
rily, that her parents despaired of ever seeing he^
married: itgreived them, but they would no
constrain her inclinations. In the beginning of
the fourth year, Stendhal went on busincs to Paris,
where he met, by accident, an old friend,
whom he had not seen for several years. After
r the first greetings, mutual enquiries were made
? as to what had liappened to each since thqy last
met. Stendhal had enjoyed an uninterrupted
s course of prosperity, whilst his friend had expe1
rienced many reverses of fortune.
'I was,' said he, 'at one time, extremely rich;
j severe losses reduced mo to a competency, and I
r w:ts deprived of that by the dishonesty of a friend
. ?v T l .1 ?,1 T ornlimf
4 WUUIU 1 1UVCU, 4W1U 111 ttxivill A
confidence.'
c 'And how ?' said Stendhal, in tone of anxious
i inq uiry.
'Why, now, thanks he to Heaven, and to the
honestest man I have ever known, I have recovvered
my last loss/
'IIow so?1
'The son of a man who robbed me, cam<^ un- j
expectedlv in possession of a very considerable 1
property, and the first use he made of it was to ,
pay every shilling his father owed."
'What a worthy fellow V
Mil ?H.. l.i 1 _il rm
- in. wu ttuui say son you Knew an. inc ,
father, who was universally believed to be very j
rich, had taken up money wherever hS could; and ;
the aniont he owed was within a few hundreds ;
of the sum his son inherited. The young man j
did not hesitate; he paid the hist farthing'of His ,
unworthy father's 'debts As none of us had
the smallest claim against him, we felt it our duty
to offer to give up a part; but he would not
hear of it.'
'That was right; I like' theHepirit;' atfd, p6or
follow, it was hard for him too, to have only a few
hundreds left.'
'Nay, lie has not even that.'
'What do you mean ?'
Why, he has assigned the interest of it as a
pension to the mother of a gens-d'armes whom
las father shot.'
"Tis he!?by Heaven, it is St Aubin!?It
mast be lie!'
'It is, indeed: but how did you become acquainted
with him V
'Never mind that now, but tell me instantly
where he is.'
'He is, or at least he wa3 two months since, a
clerk in a banking-house at Amsterdam.'
Stendhal lost not a moment in proceeding thither?and
presented himself to the astonished
George.
t vuiuc, v,ucu m*j luhiu, iiij uvai nvut uutivc wj
all happy, by receiving the hand of Leocadie.
Ah! never yet did the most splended achievements
of an ancestor confer upon his decendants
greater lustre than your high-minded probity
will bestow upon yours.
Wonderful Operation.?An operation, says a
London paper, exciting more than usual interest
among the medical profession, was performed
lately, at Charingeross Hospital, by Mr. Hancock,
the surgeon, in the presence ofu large assem'blage
of the leading members of the racidical profession
and students. Tire case was that of a
young woman from St. Albans, who, some nine
years qgo, had her left arm amputated above the
elbow, but not long after which, however, the
part was affected by neuralgia, a constant quivering
and shaking of the stump, rendering the girl's
lift* a *vAr?-w?f mionM- TTnlr?Ar fV?n offltolinn tVio
"patient submitted to a variety of treatment, but
from none did she derive any relief, .and about ten
montlis ago entered Charington Hospital, where,
ifter a period, an operation was performed on the
nerves of the stunip, and the patient was discharged,
as it was imagined, cured. This, however,
did not prove to be the fact, and she returned
to the hospital, where an evening or two
since, under the influence of chloroform, she underwent
the operation of having*the stump of the
arm removed from the socket, which was most
skillfully and scientifically performed by Mr. Han'e6ck,
not more tlian half a minute being occupied
by that gentleman in its removal. Since the operatic!!
the patient has been progressing well, and
it is believed a perfect cure has been achieved.
Ohio and Abolition.
A correspondent of the N. Y. Evening Post,
thus explains the attitude of Oliib. He seoraa
to^peak understanding!}*.
. Ohio. Jan. 2, 1852.
It has been stated several times lately that a
majority of the Congressional delegation from
this State are of the Democratic party; so that
if the presidential election were thrown into the
House, the vote of Ohio would be given to the
Democratic candidate. And generally, those
*ho are making calculations for 1852, set down
this State tor the Democratic nominee. All this
is to be taken with some allowance.
Our delegation in Congress consists of ten old
line Democrats, nine Whigs, one Freesoil Democrat,
and one Freesoiler that was a Whig. The
Freesoil Democrat, Dr. Townsend, has shown by
his not voting for Mr. Boyd, for speaker, that
his vote, and consequently the vote of Ohio in
the House of Representatives, cannot be cast for
a friend of the fugitive slave law. This is well,
for otherwise the State would be misrepresented.
Dr. Towusend wjuj one of the most active members
of our legislature at the session when Mr.
Chase was elected to the United States Senate.
These two men represent in Congress .in important
part of the Ohio Democracy?the anti-slavery
part?comprising many men who did not
vote for Mr. Cass in 1848, and many more who
did, but never would again if he were lioiuiim.
ted.
A great majority of the Democratic party in
Ohio are well known to be friends of freedom,
and opposed to the infamous fugitive law; but
I speak now of those who not only feel so, but
are rssolved to vote so upon all proper occasions.
These free democrats have been acting with the
Democratic party in its great State measures or
constitutional reform and equal rights, upon
which the late election turned. They carried the
adoption of the new constitution by their votes
last summer, and this fall they swelled the party
majorities beyond all precedent. During the
last three* years, they have been growing iii numbers,
and they are conscious of their strength.
They hold the "balance of power" in the State,
Trvii-naonrl /Iaao in flin ^alocrofiAn of WojK_
ivj Jl/1 xun iioviiu uwo m uuv uvn^nnuu ?v ? * wu
ington; and like his, their votes will not be cast
for an avowed supj>orter of the fugitive Law; they
will not support an enemy of freedom. Eta.
Texan* Pkodcck.?The Austin South Western
American estimates that the produce of Texas
during the ensuing year will show an increase
of one hundred per cent over last year. An immencc
tide of emigration is represented to Imj
flowing into the State from all quarters.
Deep Plowing.
Now is the time for plowing deep, when we
have the aid of winter freezes to soften and pulverize,
and no hot suns to scorch and bake the
earth. Care should be taken not to operate when
the land is too wet. This is injurious either in
winter or summer plowing. The land is not oo
iy uijureu, out it is jong oeiorc 11 can oe reuepea
from the harsh^ crusty formations produced br
such injudicious working. Where there is much ^
stubble or vegetable matter, a large turning plow 4
should be used, which will break deep, ana effectually
envelope alUuch matter; thereto Eeand
decay as much as posasible before planting time,
hard or close lands, this operation is beneficial in
keeping the soil open and light, and hinders nioidk
waste by the washing of the sprulg rains. It. is
only in such cases as already mentioned thatw*
are the decided advocates for the use of the large
turning plow in Southern culture. We think
the tree and indiscriminate use of these plows
have done great damage to our soils, and would
in most cases, when practicable, prefer deep plowing
without changing very materially the order of
V ?l U t-- ii-"-1
mt auiintc. iiiv; ouLut: ixrueuui wvuiuw imported
to the growing crop if the land could be broke
deep by some subsoil plow, leaving the surfacfe
and the substrata all in the same relation, without
"bringing any of the underlayere to the surface,
and the soil suffer much less damage and hat much
longer. Our objection to the deep turning off
lands applies only to the agriculture of the South,
where winters are short, and the fteece too slight
for perfect pulverization often leaving the land
when the winter closes in a rough, decomposed
state, which the clay and underlayere of ear$
unmixed, to burned by our early and. long hot
summer's suns. We are aware fhkt a few croes
plowings in the spring, seem.to put all right;
but wo have noticed another thing, also?that
since the introduction of the turning plow, th?re
seems to bo a premature decline of our lands?
a rapid wearing out, which did not belong to the
days of the culture, with the scooter and shoveL W e
remark, that we think most of the mischief has
resulted from the ill-judged use of this plow in the
culture of the'crop: and that we were not fuflv
prapared to pronounce against its use in bedding
and winter breakings. Indeed, Wo hardly know
how we xoufd dispense with its use in our preparations.
It is a remarkable fact, that the Indians
never wear out land. Perhaps it may be replied,
they never work enough to wear it out.?
This will have to remain a moqted question; but
if settled,we think it very'probable tVt much of
the reason would be found in their modes of culture,
and that the soil suffered less by the use of
the hoe,than by o\ir frequeiit ttptuniingjs with the
plow. We shall not insist, of course, that they
furnished models for our . adoption, but these results
may have iu them lessons from which sr,e
may learu something, and hpbh ivldch we might
improve. It is painful and an alarming disclosure,
that the soil is very soon exhausted by our
modes of culture, and it is time that we should
make the inquiry, and see if there may not be
no change for the better.?-Soil of the South.
A murderous affray took place in Philadelphia
on Friday between two brothers, Andrew
and Arthur McBrifie, over a card table, in which
the latter was stabbed by the former, causing
his death in an hour afterwards. A man named
Hugh Freel was also stabed by Andrew McBride,
and cannot survive. The murderer has
been arrested.
? - ?? f 4
The legislature of Alabama have determined
to postpone the election of U. S. Senator until
the 9th of February. The effect of this decision
is to leave an interregnum of eight mouths
in the senatorial representation of Alabama.
Names.?A contemporary says it is estimated
that twenty-five hhridred children in thi'counK
try have been named Jenny Lind. It is now
about twelve months siilce Jenny's arrival in this
.country. "Within the next twelve months at
least twenty-five .hundred children will be named
Louis Kossuth.
Paupers in Massachusetts.?The Secretary of
State of Massachusetts, in his report to the Legislature,
sets down the number of State paupers
at 16,154, and the expenditures during the past
year, at $484,6$8. The total number of persons
relieved or supported as paupers during the year,
has beep 27,624; of these, the significant fact is
stated, that probably 19,853 were made paupers
by intemperance in themselves or others.
Very True,?Almost ail the parts of our bodies
require some expense. The feet demand
shoes; the legs, stockings; the rest of the body,
clothing, and the belly a good deal of victuals.
Our eyes, though exceedingly useful, ask, when
reasonable, the cheap assistance of spectacles,
which could not much impair our finances. But
the eyes of other people are the eyes that ruin
us. If all but myself were blind, I should waiit
neither fine clothes, fine houses nor fine furniture*
Foreign Residents in Cuba.?Since the trial of
Mr. Thrasher, the Captain-General has adopted
a stjict policy of treating all residents with letters
of domicil as Spanish subjects. Instructions have
been given to grant no letters hereafter without
the Oath of adjuration and allegiance mad personally.
Heretofore, for many years, domiciliate
letters have been granted as a matter of course,
on the payment of agent's fees, and without the
personal attendance of the party, or the administration
of any oath. They could be taken out
for persons not on the Island. All this is mw
changed, and the party seeking to reside and
ki.uin/Mj in fhlhn. Inn cm r t.linn three
biniUHH/b VUOIUVOII *? ? ? J ? ..
months, niust take the oaths and be treated as a
Spanish subject.
Bold Robbery.?A telegraph dispatch has been
received at the Police Department in this Citv,
which states that the vault of the Virginia Bank,
at Portsmouth, Va., had been btoken into on
Sunday night, and all the funds abstracted therefrom.?
Char. ye in.
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