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f * I ' VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, MARCH 19, 1852. * NUMBER'23. _t ______________________________________ , THE CAMDEN JOURNAL, rCBUSHED semi-weekly and weekly by ?H0?SM i. mmm. TIRJIS. Toe Semi-Weekly Journal is published at Three Dollars and Fifty Cents, if paid in advance, or Four Dollars if payment is delayed three months. Tee Weekly Journal is published at Two Dollars If paid in advance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if payment bo delayed three months, and Three Dollars if not paid Jill the_expiration of the year. > ADVEKTlSKAllSiNXS WUI DO inscrieu at uu-iuuuw :ag terms: For one Square (fourteen lines or less) in the semi-weekly, ono dollar for the first, and twenty-five ? cents for each subsequent insertion. In the weekly, seventy-five cents per .square for the first, and thirty-scW ven and a half cents for each subsequent insertion. Single insertions one dollar. Semi-monthly, monthly and quarterly advertisements charged the same as for a single insertion. BT-The number of insertions desired, and the edi- ' tion to be published in must be noted 011 the margin of j all advertisements, or they will be published semi-weekly until ordered discontiucd and charged accordingly i Selected for the Camden Journal THE YOUNG MOTHER. I BY MRS. DORR. Is he not a little darling? Oh! I have so longed to be | With you once again sweet sisters, that ray trea-1 *- sure you might see! I felt sure that you would love liira, even for my sake alonp, Till his winning ways had taught you how to love liim for his own! Ah! you cannot coax him from me, for he does not know you yet, And he peepeth at you slyly, with his laughing | eyes of jet; See he clings so closely to me, 1 can feel his little heart Beating fast against his mother's?sure they are not far apart! Scarce a day, it 6eemeth, sisters, since I felt your parting kiss; Prom mine eyes the tears were raining, yet my heart o'erflowed with bliss; It was very hard to leave you, but I stood by Earnest's side, And I heard his deep voice whisper, "Come with me my love my bride!" Then a bride?and now a mother! Have I any older grown ? Oh, our years should aye be reckoned by the sor tows we have known ; And my path hath been all sunlight since I left you, sisters dear, And I have been fondly cherished, e'en as I was j cherished here. t r 1 . ? . . I - No he will not take the flower; you must seek a : stranger spell, Ere you win him from the mother he has learned to love so vt-ell; Oh! I wish that I could teli you what a thrill cf rapturous joy, His caresses light awaken, my own darling little | boy! I have thought so often sisters, since this child was on my brrast, Of the dear one who is lying in the churchyard, there, at rest, Of the deep, deep love she bore us, I had never dreamed before, Would that I had learned the lesson ere her day of life was o'er! And I know this precious baby, who so fondly clings to me, And who thinks my arms a refuge whence must every danger flee, Ne'er will dream how well 1 loved him, nor how, mother love, like mine, Round the spirit's inmost recess doth its tendrils * firm entwine. Well I know that he grows dearer, every moment unto me, And my fond heart often trembles lest he should an idol be; But the same good God who gave him, planted in my yearning soul, The deep well-spring, whose bright waters never more can cease to roll. When I'm far away, sweet sisters, and you kneel at eventide, Pray that He will be, hence forward, to me counsellor and guide J Pray that He will keep ray darling pure in thought an/1 zloo/1 a? nrtW. * Till he calls him a bright spirit at His own right hand to bow. THE CONTRAST. A few mornings since, having nothing to do and meeting ray friend Dr. S , I accepted his invitation to accompany him, and jumped into his gig. The doctor, as well as myself, was of a philosophical turn of mind, but, unlike me, he (lid not yield credence to all the truths of holy i i . writ. ft had boen my object, for some time past, 1 t.o tear the veil which obscured his mental vis- | ipp, and convince him, by argument, of his er- ! fors ; but of no avail. The gig stopped before a door, nf which the I knocker was mutitcd; the causeway in front i spread with tan, and everything indicated tliat! some inmate of the rich mansion before ino was extended on n bed of sickness* I ascended to the second floor with my medical friend, and ore we reached the door of the > sick chamber, I heard a noise seemingly made by several persons; bat, on opening the door, behold the patient, heaving about in his bed, uttering shrieks and cries of despair; one domestic sat in silence b3' his bedside. The invalid was naturally a fine-looking man, of about forty years old, but wasted with disease; his obtruding eye contrasted awfully with his sunken cheek. ' Doctor,' lie cried, as we entered, * save roe?oh, save roe!' 1 It is near his last hour,' whispered the doctor to roc, and then speaking aloud to his patient? 'Pacify yourself?sleep, and I may save you.' j ' But lor a year, a month, a week?that I may strive to he better?I cannot die now doctor?I will not? you roust save roe!' In this manner ho acted for awhile, upbraid' ing himself for never having previously thought of death ; the paroxysm did not, however, last long; he gave one awful struggle, which threw him 011 the floor, gave forth a horrid imprecation on his soul, and when the attendants, who ' had just entered, raised him to replace him on ! the bed, the spirit had taken flight. My friend, the doctor, called in to take tea ! with me, just before sunset, one cool summer's | evening. It chanced that the foregoing incij dents were the subject of our remarks, and 1 [ was using them as an argument against iniquity and disbelief; for my friend allowed, that i the young man, whom lie had seen in his last | moments, had been a rich roue; one who, for i the vanities of this world, had sacrificed his j hopes of eternal salvation- , ' Uncle,' cried my little niece, Anna, run- j ning toward me, with the tears streaming down I !?**? ??Ac?? nliaaho i \lnrio wicltnc tn COP Villi in. IIV/I IUOJ UiiLUllO) *IJUI II* t' IW*IVW ?v -vv J ... J stantly.' I guessed the import cf this notice, and, inviting the doctor, proceeded a few rods, to a small cottage, which was the picture of neatness, and we entered. On a bed, covered bj' a snow-white counterpane, lay extended the withered but still beautiful form of .Maria. Though consumption had worn away the richness of health?though her eye had exchanged its once brilliant lustre for the supernatural fire of disease, the same soul was visible in her altered looks, the same smile of liolv loveliness played about those hneless lips. * I am happy that you havo come,' raid she tome, 4 and am delighted to see your friend. The last time, doctor, we met. I was well and happy, but disease has made me its victim. Yes, I am happy,' she added, turning to her aged parents, who salon either side of the bed, j holding her hands in their own. 'How itu- | measurably happy I am, fori know that my Redeemer livetli. 1 have sent for you,' she continued to me, ' because I feel so much better, and know that it indicates tbut. my dissolution is at hand. Tome this situation is not distressing, and I bless the bord that be lias vouchsafed lo tiiy ill's little strength before the final hour, that 1 may give evidence to mm tads i of the nowcr of religion ? thai 1 inaiv assure ; "* ~ , o j iiiV father and mother that i am happy, and : beseech thorn not to grieve that their daughter o t O is dead, but to recollect, that He, ia whom she has placed her trust, stands by her bedside, rendj to waft her soul to the regions of bliss. Pint not, then, lor me, hut let the joy with which I wait for the final summons, teach you the value of faith?faith in Him who can not j onh raise the dead to 1 treat he again thentmos- i phere of this woihl, hut can resuscitate the ! body to enter an eternity of glorv, My strength | is leaving me?1 feel I shall speak no more? 1 hear the voices of angels about my couch? I see their winged forms hovering about me? j see, they welcome me to their eternal mansion. ' Father?mother?friends, adieu 1' At this mo- | incut her strength failed ; her parents sited no tears; already they had received consolation ! from her last words. Suddenly she rose, and with vehemence cried,4 Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit!' and then falling hack on her pillow, her eyes opened, and fell with a placid look upon those about her; the}' then fixed lovingly on her mother, the lids relaxed, droojied, the silken lashes fell upon her check, ! and in a few moments she breathed no more. As we left the house, neither of us spoke a word; we reached my door, when the doctor's gig awaited him?he pressed my hand and jumped i:r On the next communion day, I beheld my worthy fiiend seated at the table. ' lllessed are the dead who die in the Lord.' A .Mother's Influence.?A mother teaching her child to pray is an object at once the most sublime and tender that the imagination can conceive. Elevated above earthly things, she seems like one of those guardian angels, the companions of our earthly pilgrimage, whose ministration we are incited to good and restrained from evil. The image of the mother becomes associated in his infant mind with the invot ation she taught him to his " Father who is in heaven." When the seductions of the world assail his youthful mind, that wellretnembered prayer of his " Father who is in heaven," will strengthen him to resist evil. When in riper yenrs lie mingles with mankind and encounters fraud under the mask of honesty ; when he sees confiding goodness betray ed, generosity ridiculed as weakness, unbridled hatred, ami the coldness of interested friendship, ho may be tempted to despise his fellowmen, but be will remember his " Father who is in heaven." Should he, on the contrary, abandon himself to the world, ami allow the seeds of self-love to spring up and flourish in his heart, he will, notwithstanding, sometimes hear ' a warning voice in the depths of his soul se- ! verely tender as those maternal lips which in6truccd hint to pray to his " Father who is in | heaven.t* But when t ie trials of life are over, ' and he may be extended on the bed of death, , with no other consolation than the peace of an approving conscience, he will recall the scenes , of' his infancy, the image ol his mother, and; with tranquil confidence will resign his soul to . his " Father who is in heaven." [From the Boston Christian Observe).] I The Blind Boy nud his Teacher. One day a little blind boy was brought into mv class, who had lately come to reside near the Sabbath school. lie was a beautiful child, and his light flaxen hair, his clean attire, and I especially his sad alHirtion, rendered him the nltinnt /\f nrnnnrol uftontiim l*Vrvr*i mt* / litlrl. ! J V jjVUV UJ MHV UUUII, A I villi ll? ? VllliUhood I had always entertained a feeling of pe- I culiar regard for those whom God, in his prov- i idence, had been pleased pcrmineiitly to afflict; and though in 1113* early days ! was full of mis- 1 ' chief, and fond of amusing myself at the ex- t pense of others, yet nothing could induce me j; to join with those who would take a mean ad- j ' vantage of their afflicted fellow-creatures ; on 11 the contrary, I always felt disposed to stand I up for their help, however great might he the I odds against me. As soon, therefore, as this ! interesting child entered my class, I felt all my j tendcrest sympathies awakened, and the tears 1! stood in my eyes as I contemplated his heavy | j calamity, I drew him gently towards me; pat- 1 ted his little head ; spoke many kind and sooth- 1 ' ing words to him ; and thus endeavored to gain ! 1 bis confidence and affection. In this I soon 11 succeeded, for he was naturally amiable and j1 docile ; and then I commenced the work of in- I strnction. As I could not teach him to read, : 1 (for then we had no books with raised chnrac- j I ters for the blind,) I instructed him in the lend- j in": doctrines of the Gospel, and taimht htm ' such hymns mid passages of .Scripture as were ! ' calculated to impress his youthful mind, Hut | nothing delighted hiin so much, or appeared ; 1 more to interest the class, than to take him on I ' my knee and describe to him the glories of the | 1 heavenly world, and the happiness of its Lliss- 1 ful inhabitants. Upon those occasions he would I sit with mute attention, occasionally passing i his hand lightly over my face, as if anxious to !! obtain some idea of the expression of my tea- ! teres. And while I spoke to him of theglori- ( fied body of the saints, free from all imperfec- . lions, and the certainty of all who were good and loved Jesus seeing him in heaven, his sight- ! less lilue eves would move rapidly to and lro, ! and his whole countenance brighten np with 1 pleasure and delight. " Are there no blind ' people ii heaven he would sometimes ask, ''and docs eveiv one see Jesus? Then I will he good, for 1 should like to see Jesus. But when will it Le? Isn't it a long time?" By such inquiries as these he greatly endeared him- j self to me, and a circumstance soon happened , which strengthened the chord of affection which , hound us together. i Our school was situated in the centre of a | 1 dirty narrow street, in one of the worst dis- j ' tiicts in London and we were frequently annoy- j 1 ed )>y the conduct i I a number of low, disor- 1 di-ily hoys, who interrupted the children in their ' passage to and Iroin school, and threw stones, i j cabbage-stalks, and other missiles into the door i | and windows. My class was generally the i first that was dismissed, and one day a boy ; s came running back with his clothes bespattered i" I 1 ?!..,? llw.ra ' Willi IIIUU, UIIU unit Uiv* v VI V | boys outside pelting him. 1 instantly rushed j to the door, for I thought of my little aillicted one whom I had just sent home, with a class- ; mate to lead him. 1 stood hut a moment, for i at a short distance 1 saw a lug hoy dragging the j blind child towards a heap of mud, into which he presently fell. My indignation was thoroughly aroused. With the fierceness of a lion, I darted to the spot, and, having rescued the little sufferer and placed him on his feet, I hastened after the crowd, who, with his companions, had taken to his heels. Through several turnings I followed him, and seeing him at length run down a street, to the other end of which there was a short cut, I went round that j way, and we met at the corner. Finding that j lie could not now escape me, he prepared for n i stout resistance, hut the struggle was brief, he 1 was quickly overpowered; and, a fellow-teach- I or coining to my assistance, lie was conducted j back to the school, where, leaving 1 im to he I dealt with as Lis conduct merited, 1 proceeded | to the house of" (he injured child. The dear hoy was still crying when I enter- 0 cd, hut, as soon as he heard my voice, he cc:rs- \] ed. and came running towards me. " I won't h cry any more/' he said, " for I nint hurt. lie v was a wicked boy to pull me into the mud, hut 11 there will ho no wicked hoys in heaven, and no a mud to fall into there. Toucher, I do love you, a I should like to see you ; and then, after a mo- 0 merit's pause, he added, " hut I shall sec you ,, in heaven." These remarks were made with r so much simplicity, that, were it not for the n condition he was in, I could have taken the h dear child in my arms, and pressed him to my a bosom ; contenting myself, therefore, with giv- ij ing him a few words of encouragement, l left |. hiin in the care of his mother, and returned to |, the school. c For some weeks after this, my little pupil t! never seemed so happy as when lie was at school, ami even then, ns when he was upon ^ my knee. " 'Feather/' he would say, " tell me v about .lesus. When ho was upon earth, he look little children in his arms and blessed them. Will lie take them up in his arms in j; heaven ? I should like to ho carried in his arms." Dorr child, I did not then imagine how soon his wish would lie realized; hut so it was. He sighed for a purer air; and he found it; ho o panted to behold the glories of the Redeemer, 8 and his desire was satisfied ; for in a few days ^ this tender plant was removed to a more gonial * clime, and those eyes, which never beheld the ^ KoliiP.il enn timi.il l.lnuoorl tvSMl fl Tllll Vlsimi flf ! .. tlio beauties and glories of the Sun of Right- ' k eousncss. I; At tlio very commencement of the dear child's illness, he seemed to have a presentment of his death. Although there was nothing in his indisposition calculated to excite the slightest alarm, yet he spake of his approaching end with as much confidence, and the same joyful anticipation, as the school-hoy of his " i.:_? i._I:.I << *.i ??i. ? I.,. o?:?l ?? I cij'jiioiicuiijt; Jiuimirva. :uiuiici, uu o<uvi, x shall die and go to heaven, that beautiful place, and there I shall sec grandmother, and little Willy, (a deceased brother,) and, above all, I shall see Jesus, for teacher says that nobody is blind in heaven, but that every eve shall see him." is mother, however, did not take much notice of bis remarks, being confident that in a few hours his usual health would return. The following day he appeared to be rather worse, and such remedies as were deemed requisite were administered, though with little benefit; still, no immediate danger was apprehended; but towards night it became evident that the child was seriously ill, and required more skilful medical aid. The doctor came, and everything that experience could suggest was tried to relieve the sufferer, fait in vain ; the child grew rapidly worse, and eventually his case was pronounced a hopeless one. All this time the mind of the dear boy continued in a peculiarly calm and happy state. His thoughts and desires seemed to centre in heaven, and nothing delighted him so much as the certainty that he was about to depart, and to be with Christ; and if his motli u .l-.-i -l - i a ?i.? ur ai any nine wouia say mai sue uupeu one was not going to lose her darling, ho would reply, " () yes, mother, I feel sure that I am [joiug to be with Jesus." On the night preceding his death he called bis father and mother to his bed-side, and told them that " the lime was come, and that he I was about to leave them." " To-morrow," said >aid he " will ho Sunday, and I shall not go to school to see my teacher; for in the morning I shall he along with Jesns. Do not disturb mv brother and sister, but bid them good-bye for me. Tell them to he good, and prepare to I follow me to heaven." A short time before he I jxpired, he raised himself in bed, in order that ie might pray on his kness ; in this posture he :outinuod a few minutes, and prayed that God would keep him iu the hour of death, and make lim patient to the end. lie asked for a blessing upon his parents, his relatives, and his teacher, and having laid himself quietly down a bed, lie sweetly, as the morning dawned, fell ( lsleep in Jesus. i From the (.V, }'.) I'lotc. Wlial is ZHlnuui'c ? Any substance which restores the elements of fertilily to the soil may he termed a manure, and n the language of Professor Norton, '-may be divided into two clnssta?organic an J inorganic; jrgntiic, when deiived from the remains of organised b noes, as plants and animals: inorganic, when produced from the mineral kingdom. Vegetable ditfers much in its action from animal kinglorn. Green vegetables, when deprived vf vitality, rapidly decay; their great succulency pro-1 notes this when assisted by air, facilitated no j loni.t Ln the ozotiscd matters of the sap, which mpart the putrefactive teudelicy, reducing llie fi-1 irons organ sin to carbonic acid, water, and am-1 no11in : ai the same time liberating its earthly and j -aline ingredients. Dry vegetables decay slowly ?the sap being dried up is less inclined to putrey; nut how soon it commences when moistened )r mixed with anitiiai matters, as when straw is inployed as litter! l'eat is a vegetable manure u which decomposition ii checked, not only by mtiseptic matters, but chiefly by excessive nnisure, and the consequent exclusion of air. Yet, vhen dried, and mixed with animal manures or; au.-ticlime, how speedily it moulders down! The j irincipal supply of vegetables fi.r manure is de- j ived from the leaves,and stems of grain crops, j grasses, the collection of weeds, the consumption | if green crops, and, in some cases, of the seeds of j ilants. Seeds of plants are not directly used as 1 na mi res, being too valuable as an article of food, j seeds contain the richest elements for fertilisation -the phosphates and nitrogenous products; hence he rich manure obtained from cattle led on oil:ake or Linseed grain. The refuse of some seeds s used lor manure, as bran, rape-cake, malt-dust, Itc." Green vegetables are sometimes used as a heap method of fertilising the soi, either upon vhicri they grow, or by removing them to another ield. In this country, the principal green crop iscd for manure is clover. The waste of stiblance which would lorin valuable manure, ifsavd and composted, upon many farms, and by suing, economical farmers, too, would make them pen their eyes with astonishment if they could lily see the truth. We have known many a caroul, yea stingy New England li.rmer, who has all lis life time smi(Ted the tainted air of the privy, rhich has diffused its fertilizing grasses abroad i poii the air, instead of applying its substance as , manure upon his growing crops. How many of you, my readers, at this moment re complaining of short crops, and yet have piles f stable manure lying exposed to the bleaching fleets of winter rain, or under the evaporating nwer of a scorching sun? IIow many of you nve a barrel of ground piaster standing in your frm .Ini 1 v snrinkle the llonr. u mi wuifii ? | nd thus absorb the ammonia which is so often, ive, anil would otherwise escape and be lost? .'hat old greasy coal, hat, and boots, which 1 saw tst week disfiguring the landscape near your uuse, where they have dangled as a scare-crow ver since last spring, would make more corn than liev saved, it' you had used them as a manure, 'or the same purpose, we beg of you to save the lood and bristles of your butchering?it is a aluablc manure. I'innlly< bear in mind that almost every organic ubstanee is capable of being converted into niaure, and increasing the productions of the eaith jr the benefit of the whole human family. Tilt; Young Fitrmov's Choice. I take it for granted that you are a farmer out f choice, and that you prefer this profession, for ooil reasons. I am sorry for a man who is tied own to a business in which he lindsno particular attraction. He must have a "hard row to hoo,:' o say nothing about improvement, and success. 1hose are out of the question. Il you are a turner merely because that is the only business you now of in which you can get a living, you will lck that zeal necessary to the highest success. No man never attained eminence in his profession who did not love it with a littlespice of enthusiasm. If you do not like fanning, therefore, do-so me tiling else. Some ha\*e supposed that those voung men who are not sharp enough for the learned professions, as they are called, or for merchants, may do well enough for farmers. Now I hope it is 'too lato in the day for such doctrines. It begins to he understood that our business calls lor ail those good and sound qualifies of mind, which are necessary to success in any other calijug, and indeed a greater diversity of talents is caliea iuto action, niul n iTantnr orltrpn fnr ilia nt' them, than any where else in common Iile. So wo might with great propriety say of a boy who has not intellect and force enough for farming, let him learn a trade or study law. If you have a proper taste for your calling, and ! are willing to quality yourself for it, your firstaim j should be to arrive at the highest place in your I profession. The celebrated Dr. Wright, in his ; farewell address to the young men of a class about j to graduate, says, "whatever shall be your profession, let it be your first aim to gain the summit of it." To make this aim effective, it is necessary of course to have a just estimate of the excellence of the profession. ... ... The superiority of the farmer's vocation has been so often the theme of agricultural addiessps, and essays, that it has become trite. I,havfe'not a word to say nowabont the antTquttjr'of our business, or its poetic pleasures. As a plain matterof-fact business, it is worthy of'the highest efforts of a good mind. What is worth doing at all, is generally worth doing in the best way.-,. A groat majority ot young farmers must have regard to the profit of their business as a sure means of independent support. Very few in'this country are in circumstances to engage in agricultural pursuits. merely as amateurs; the pfdfifs rfrtist be looked to by most, and I might incidentally add, that it gives zest to all pleasures of labor, to feel that it contributes to the livelihood of ourselves and our families. The profits and the pleasures, and everything ! that moved you to choose this as your profession, should incite you to gain all that knowledge and ' skill which are necessary, and put forth all those I efforts which will give you the highest success.-? lleinember that the art of fanning is rapidly improving, and it requires no small degree ot study and earnestness to make the advances which you are called to do. , : <? > (' ! Prepare for Drought, ! What! another drought? exclaims one; uct so fast gentle reader?I only said prepare for one ?and if it actually ccmes you will be ready for it; or if good season* prevail you will not bo-hurt thereby. Now what I mean by preparing.for a ! drought is this, plough deep, plant weu,ana' imn clone. If possible, have your ground'sub-'iroiled; I but it'you are an unbeliever in this doctrine, and i cannot be induced to try it. why theri breakydur | ground with the deepe.-^ running plow you have, and don't hold them out of the ground, but let ; them down in proportion -to the strength ol tbo horse. List your fields close aha deep, and when planting be liberal with your seed, for it is better to thin than replant, and be sure von thin m time; (that is so soon as your corn will bear ih) Spare it not because it looks likely, but .if you i planted for one stalk in the hill, thin to one stalk ; j or if for two stalks to the hill, tljen thin to two : stalks. If thpse directions are followed, (aud I Hatter myself that some will follow them) and the 1 after culture he thorough and faithful, then will the reward be gratifying and ample. Who will try it? will you? I am making some experiments to test the capability of wheat's bearing manure and culture. I have it in drills varying from 18 to 36 inches apart ?and the grain more or less crowded in the drill from three to six grains to the foot. Some I cultivate, a id some I leave untouched. On portions of it, Iain trying the effects, and difference ol common manure, unlenchod ashes, plaster ofParis, and lime. The success or failure of each I shall note, and if I deem the experiments sufficiently iuterei-ting, give tliem to t lie readers of the Southern Cullicalor. .MartIn Richards. The Cottage, near Xorthport, Dec. I8ol. ^ ; . / PARAKS.? Many of us no doubt are not awan that the word "pagami," derived from "pugus," a village, signifies jiroperly the dwellers in hamlets and villages, as distinguished from the inhabitants of towns and cities; and the word so used, and without any religious significance, in the c-arii?r periods of the Latin lam guage. But how came it first to bo employed as equivalent to "health," to he applied to those yet alien from the faith ? It was in this way. Christianity first fixed itself iu the cities and ceutiies of intelligence; arid llio outlying villages, being the last to receive it, were designated as heathens, and so heathens and pagans came to be convertible terms. The formation of Angia from the Angles, and of Lngland out of Angleland, are familiar instances.? Trench. A Gambler Lynched.?We learn that a gambler of the name of Williamson, suffered the penalties of Lynch law at Hickman, a few days since, . it tho hands ef the mssenerfcrs of the steamer tSt. 1'auL It appears that a party of returned Calir tbrnians started for St. Louis ou the boat from New-Orleans, but as the boat was about leaviug port a police o'heer came ou board, and cautioned the passengers to beware of gamblers aud pickpockets during the trip, at the same time informing them that several of the fraternity were on tho boat. This made the Califoruiaus extremely cautious and wary of the approaches of their fellow-passengers. &ome distance above Memphis, this man Williamson, who had tried every menus to ingratiate lumself with the Califoruiaus, aud finding every project failed, persuaded one of them to visit his state-room to try a bottle of fine braudy. lie drank some of the liquor, which almost immediately made him p;<*k, and he rushed iuto i --- ...? <!...? n.? was ooisoned. It U1C CUMUI ITVtll^ Uliu ium j appears that the liquor had been drugged' with morphiue. The boat stopj>ed at Hickman, and the }?sscngors seiz"U Williamsou, proceeded to the wood", tied him up to a tree, nnd gave him sixty-soven lashes on his bare back, and turned lum loose.?Louisville Courier. Wlijr is a fine woman liko a locomotive ^ Because she draws a train after her, scatters the sparks, and transports the mails. _-i? ^ - . ..