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THE CAMDEN JOURNAL. VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, MAY 18, 1&52. NUMBER 40. / THE CAMDEN JOURNAL, " published semi-weekly and weekly by THOMAS J. WARREN. TERMS. TnE Semi-Weekly Journal is published at Three Dollars and Fifty Cents, if paid in advance, or tour Dollars if payment is delayed three months. The Weekly Journal is publishod at Two Dollars If paid in advance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if payment bo delayed three months, and Three Dollars if not paid till tho expiration of the year. t ADVERTISEMENTS will bo inserted at the follow. tng terms: For one Square (fourteen lines or less) in the Bcmi-weekly, one dollar for tho first, and twenty-five ^ cents for each subsequent insertion. In tho weekly, ^ seventy-five cents per square for tho first, and thirty-seVen 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. gyThc number of insertions desired, and tho edition to be publishod in must be noted on the margin of all advertisements, or they will be published semi-weekly until ordered discontinued and charged accordingly From the Editor's Table of the Knickerboc-'xr. THE BEREAVED. Wbitten in 1588. Onetime my soul was pierced as with a sword, Contending still with men untaught and wild, When He who to the prophet lent his gourd, Gave me the solace of a pleasant child. A summer-gift my precious flowet was given, i\ very summer irdgrmice woonom^, Its dear eyes soothed me as the blue of Heaven, 1 When home I turned, a weary man of strife. With unformed laughter, musically sweet, How soon the wakening babe would meet my kiss, With out-stretched arms its care-worn father greet Oh! in the desert what a stream was this! A few short months it blossomed near my heart, A few short months, else toilsome all, and sad ; For that home solace nerved me for my part, And of the babe I was exceeding glad! Alas! my pretty bud, scarce formed, was dying! (The prophet's gourd, it withered in a night:) And He, who gave me all, my heart's pulse trying, Took gently home the child of my delight! Not rudely ca'led, nor suddenly it perished, But gradual faded from our love away ; As ifstill secret dews, its life that cherished, Were drop by drop withheld, and day by day. g c My blessed Master saved me from repining, So tenderly He sued me for His own; So beautiful He made my babe's declining, c Its dying blessed me, as its birth had done. e And daily to my i?| nn/tn anrt pvcn, L Our fading flower I bade his mother bring, c That we might commune of our rest in heaven, ^ Gazing the while on death, its sting. ^ And of the ransom for that baby paid, So very sweet at times our converse seemed, * That the sure truth of grief a gladness made, 1: Our little lamb ofGoo's own Lamb redeemed! s 8 There were two milk-white doves my wife had t nourished, ] And I too loved, erewhile, at times to stand, Marking how each the other fondly cherished, And fed them from my baby's dimpled hand. 1 So tame they grew, that to his cradle flying, J Full oft they cooed him to his noontide rest; < And to the murmurs of his sleep replying, ? Crept gently in, and nestled in his breast. , 'Twas a fair sight the snow pale-infant sleeping, 1 So fondly guardianed by those creatures mild ; Watch o'er his closed eyes their bright eyes keep- ' i"g? Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child! < 1 Still as hesickered seemed the doves too dwining, | Forsook their food, and loathed their pretty play; ] And on the day he died, with sad note pining, One gentle bird would not oe amen awuy, His mother found it when she rose sad-hearted, At early dawn with sense of nearing ill; And when at last the little spirit parted, i The dove died too, as if of its heart-chill. I I The other flew to meet my sad home-riding, As with a human sorrow in its coo; , rTo my dead child and its dead mate then guiding, Most pitifully 'plained?and parted too! 1 'Twas my first present, my first pledge to Heaven! And as I laid my darling 'neath the sod, Precious His comforts?once an intant given, i And offered with two turtle-doves to God! THE INCENDIARY. The wind howled dismally through the narrow streets of the city of T. The storm King was out on his airy flight, and lashed the earth in fury. The rain pattered upon the pavements r and a thick darkness settled around, unbroken save by the street lamps, which cast a pale and 'fitfa'i glare .on either side as they battled with the imps of darkness. The bespattered watchmen, f weary und drenched, had sought refuge where they might be in some measure sheltered from (the bristling storm, which seemed to gather strength as it continued; while a thick log settled in gloomy silence around the city, as if to shut it out from all conmiunicatiou with the .world. The hour of one |>ealed from a distant clock, .as a person crept slyly along the avenue which Jed to the house of Mr. Lester, a wealthy merchant, who was at the time snugly ensocnaoed in , 'his bed?little dreaming of harm <sr danger. 13ut'how little we know of the/ate which awaits us ! When the heart feels most secure, danger ?ay, death itself may be knocking at the door :to summon us away. 'Cautiously the person whom we have introduced proceeded, gazing around, as if he feared some unseen eye might behold the deed he was about to commit Suddenly he stopped, as if he caught the glimpse of a person turn a corner upon the opj?ositc side of the street, and disap- ! ^ par. ? Breathless, he stood a few moments, till feeling sure he was unobserved, he hastened on, and disappeared in a small wooden shed adjoining the house of which we have spoken. A few moments and he returned, while a small streak of flame was observable through the door f.om which he had issued. Hardly had he cast his eyes around ere they fell upon a person, whom he too well knew had been an observer of the crime. Quicker than thought he levelled him with the earth, and hastened away. A moment, as if struck by some thought, he returned and searched the pockets of his victim, and turning, fled. Peal after peal rang from the bells of the city, and the cry of ' fire! fireP resounded from eve**** Tb? f lrt/1 inki\bi*onte U'OPO COOtl ly uutuiuu. luc st.m?cu iwiuiujwihui ?^iv leaving their house?, and hastening in the dircc tion from which the flames ascended; the extreme darkness of the night rendering them so brilliant as to raise the impression that a large portion of the city was in flames. Soon the hardy firemen were engaged in their work of mercy. But nought could stay the angry flames. Suddenly a cry, most heart-rending, burst upon the ears of those gathered around. Twas a mother's sliTiek. 4 My daughter! my daughter!' which was heard above the uproar, 4 save ! save my daughter!' A shudder passed through the crowd at that cry; for who in the city knew not the lovely and accomplished Miss Emeline Lester ? And to know her was to love! Just bursting into womanhood, she was almost a perfect specimen of all we admire. Although flattered and caressed by all who knew her, she possessed a mild and gentle disposition, while her mind ihone forth like some rich diamond upon the x>ronet of a king. Such was she whom it now >eemed must perish in the flames. At the moment, Mr. Lester stepped from the :rowd which had gathered around him, and with i calm voice, while his face showed all the agoiy working within, made known that his daugher was in the third story of the burning buildng, and offered any reward within his power to >estow on the person who would rescue her from lersituation. A erroan of aconv ran through the crowd. vhich told the father that sympathy was all he ould expect from them. The stoutest heart [uailed at the thought of the iminent danger vhich would be incurred in attempting a rescue. The father again appealed in the most moving trains, while the mother swooned in the arms >f a friend. Suddenly a young man burst through the rowd and stood before the father. 4 If I perish,' xclaimed he, 4 you will inform my friends, whom ou will find by means of this,' and he raised uliar shape, and brownish'iiue. A* nfofneirfaWl ie was buried within the burning pile. The monents wore away. Agony was depicted upon very face, and each heart trembled at its own houghts. All labor was suspended. A deathike stillness reigned around, broken only by the ullen roar of the flames, as they shot upwards, treaking the sky with a vivid light, or the fall >f a timber, as it came down with a heavy crash. Hie roof was seen to tremble, as if it shuddered it the awful abyss into which it seemed about to ?lunge. Suddenly a cry of joy echoed around, as a lart of the wall came down with a tremendous irash, for, ere it reached the ground, a figure was seen to leap from the flames, bearing a burthen which he placed in the arms of the father and nstantly disappeared. The morning dawned brightly upon the ruins :>f the proceeding night; and with its first rays, i person in the well-known hotel, near the centre :>f the city, rose from his couch, upon which, if his looks were to be credited, he had obtained but a small portion of rest. Hastily dressing liimself, he sallied forth to breathe the morning air, and to invite the early breeze to play around (lis burning temples. An hour elapsed before his return, and in the mean time his room was tilled with a crowd of people, who apjn'ared somewhat disappointed at his absence. Unable to account for the excitement which seemed to exist he hurried forward and entered the room. Here he was addressed by a person who stepped forward to meet him in these, words : ' Have I the honor of addressing Mr. Augustus Montague ?' 4 That is my name, sirP returned he. 4 You are my prisoner,' exclaimed the former, seizing him roughly by the arm. Had a thunderbolt opened a path at his feet, Montague would not have been more surprised than he was at these words. His face was, for a moment, overspread with a deadly paleness, which was quickly construed by the officer into an evidence of guilt. 4 Come! march my boy P exclaimed he, rudely seizing Montague by the collar, 4 your face shows plainly we have made no mistake in the person!' 4 Why am I thus rudely treated ?' exclaimed Montague, indignantly shaking the officer from him. 41 am ready to accompany you ; but why am j. awesieu s x You are quite forgetful,' was the reply. 4 But come'!' and :tbey <inoved otf together, followed by a score of ragged loungers, who had congregated around them. 'W.e will not follow Montague through his examination, but leave him in prison, awaiting his trial for the crime of arson. It was a beautiful morning. The sun rose clear and undimmed by a single cloud. The air was as pure and fresh as a new blown rose, and it swiftly bore upon its wings the sound of a well known bell, which sent a thrill through tire heart ot many a person connnea wiinin tne strong walls of the City Prison, around which a crowd had now collected. Slowly the massive gate swung back upon its hinges, and a prisoner, with a proud step and lofty bearing, issued from the walls, attended by an officer, and proceeded toward the Ilall of Justice. That prisoner was Augustus Montague! As he entered a general hiss ran through the crowd, which expressed their feelings toward yo him but too well. Although there were some present who gazed upon his fine form with ad- by miration, (and amongst these the females,) yet wi none gave vent to these thoughts except it Were fir exclamations of surprise, that one of such noble foi bearing should have been engaged in 60 enor- ha mous a crime, as that of arson. dii None appeared to doubt his guilt, and all seemed to rejoice in the detection of one whom erl they believed to be the author of all the alarm, all on account of the unusual number of fires that lin had taken place of late, which bore upon them- tei selves the marks of an incendiary. JDid 1 say re1 all believed him guiity ! There was one among that company who would not believe the noble being before her, could have been guilty of so dreadful a crime as that charged upon him, and ini this was the fair Emeline Lester! The moment ab her eyes fell upon him, a thrill ran through her frame unknown before. That face, that form, th seemed familiar to her, but where she had seen cn him, she was unable to say. A thousand be- Tt wildering thoughts passed quickly through her an mind. There was a secret chain that linked that form to her mind, but in vain she strove to dis as] cover the key by which she might disentangle its intricate folds. Unsatisfied and perplexed, m< she strove to dispel the subject from her mind, but her efforts were only succeeded by its roots wc becoming more deeply implanted. on But to proceed with our story. We will not a < follow the Court through the many ceremonies noi prescribed by law, and sanctioned by justice, I a i .. 1 . - ,t 1 I 1 1a _ _ A. _ I. ! t_ . _ # out nasien 10 me eviaence aaaucea 10 esiaonsn 01 the guilt of Montague. vie The chief witness that was brought against an< him, having taken the oatli usual on such occa- an< sions, deposed:? ' rot 4 That passing the building destroyed, a few wit moments before the alarm was given, he perceiv- Th ed a person suddenly emerge from the door of pre the shed, adjoining the house, and hastened to- ] ward the hotel where the prisoner lodged. Sus- I b pecting some foul play, he had followed and tha overtaken him. That a smart struggle ensued to between them, in which the prisoner had drop- cha ped a pocket-book, which was now before the noi Court, bearing the prisoner's name?and which pie he had declared since to be his?and which he tha has owned he lost upon the night of the fire." kej The servant of the Hotel, who also declared i that Montague had left the Hotel at about 11 pui o'clock and had not returned until after the ing alarm of fire. These circumstances, with some yoi others of minor importance, were deemed enough woi to warrant the Jury in returning a verdict of me 4 Guilty.' When called upou for defence, Mon- hai tague arose, and addressed the court as follows : .1 iiave. JDK, defence^in this case, trot yon aright. Of the charge laid against ine, I am abl perfectly innocent, and 1 am willing to trust my- chf self in the hands of a wise and just God, knowing he will not let the guilty go unpunished. tio Sitting alone in my room, upon that evening, gei the events of which have placed me befote you, red a low whisper in an adjoining room attracted my ral attention. Curiosity prompted me to listen.? be< l'lacincr myself near the door, which was partly open I soon caught the theme of their conversation, which was no less than a plot, the effect are of which you have witnessed. I had not heard enough of their plans to take any effectual meas- he ures for their defeat, ere the persons left the room am and disappeared; but not till I marked them both, fac The love of adventure has been implanted in my tal breast from my early youth, and the only reason his I can offer for keeping what I, overheard a sc- vei cret, was the novelty of the adventure which I anticipated, and the fear of its being overthrown, he Determined, however to prevent the designs of to those plotters, I immediately repaired to the ke house of which I had heard them speak, and re- th< inained in its vicinity till long past midnight, rie without hearing anything from the villians I wan- ral deredsome distance from the house and had just of returned and stood opposite the door of the th< shed which has been described to you, when I co perceived a light near the inner edge. Stopping foi to make of the fact, I caught a glimpse of a fig- ini are behind me, and before I could turn I was to struck down by the villian who must at that wl time have taken the book from my pocket, either for the purpose of implicating me in the th " ^ 11* ? mirrkf l\a nf VD crime, ur lur me guppu^muu mat it tui^itu v. j value. I soon recovered from the blow sufficient- he ly to rise and walk to my lodgings, where I soon be recovered entirely. I then hastened back to the burning building, where I arrived just in season to hear the appeal of a father for the prcscrva- te: lion of his daughter. How well my heart an- ar swered to that appeal I will refer you to this'? na raising his arm, which he had bared, and disclo- ali sing to his ast.nished hearers the idenitical spot 111 which many of them had witnessed upon the night va of the tire, and which now seemed to appeal to be every heart and disclose the innocence of the pri - T1 oner. ta A joyful cry here burst from the crowd of la- di dies, and the words, 'It is he!' burst from the lips of the sweetest maiden present. Memory had tw done its work, and Eineline Lester, in imagina- th tion, again stood within the burning building; Bl again the shadow of a rescue burst upon her w< closing eyes as she swooned away in his arms; ta and iii Montague she now recognized that shad- tr. 1 1 ?--J -- 1 ? ? in hprhroasf Bl ow wnicn nau ?o iohjj; siumwivu Nothing could exceed the excitement caused by his words, and ifthere was a person who was to before convinced of his guilt that same person fo now had not a doubt of his innocence. When st sufficient order had been restored for him to pro m ceed, Montague continued: 01 'Whether I have been justly confined as a prisoner I leave you to decide; but I would this la time point out to you the real incendiary, and al- re so his accomplice.' di Raising his arm slowly, he fixed his piercing si eyes upon the chief witness against him, and de- of clared him to be the man. Then turning to a P person who had been one of the loudest to de- la clare the guilt of the prisoner, he exclaimed: 'You, sir are the man whom I over-heard in iur conversation on the night of the fire.' Trembling with guilt and fear, and goaded on a guilty conscience, the former stepped forard and confessed himself the author of the e, and that he had charged it upon Montague the purpose of obtaining the^reward which d been offered for the detection of the inceniry. Suffice it to say, that Montague was set at libty, and in a short time, was amply repaid for his troubles, by receiving the hand of Emcie, while those who had so basely made an atmpt a: his honor and his life, received the just ivard of their crimes. Better to Work than to Beg. Let no poor boy, after reading the following teresting fact, ever despair of making a respectle living. A gentleman was once walking down one of e streets of P , when a beggar loudly ived " a few coppers for a night's lodging." te gentleman looked earnestly at the poor man, d inquired: "Why do you not work? You should be Earned of begging." "Oh, sir, I do not know where to get employmt." "Nonsense!" replied the gentleman, "you can >rk if you will. Now listen to me. I was ce a beggar like you. A gentlemau gave me ;rown piece, and said to me, 4 Work and do t beg; God helps those who help themselves.' it once left P , and got out of the way my old companions. I remembered the ade given me bv my mother before she died, J I began to pray to God to keep me from sin, I to give me his help day by day. I went ind to the houses in the country places, and II a nni*t nf mv fivo stiillirirrc Vviiirrlit nlrl ranra ... _ J ...J ...? ? ?.v. esc I took to the paper mills and sold at a fit. [ was willing to give a fair price for the things ought, and did not try to sell them for more m I believed they were worth. I determined be honest, and God prospered me. My purtses and profits became larger and larger; aud v I have got more than ten thousand crown ces that I can call my own. On great thing it has contributed to my success is this, I have )t from strong drink and tobacco. Ajs the gentleman spoke, he took out his se and drew from it a crown piece, and handit to the astonished beggar, he said, M Now l have the same chance of getting on in the rid that I had. Go and work, and never let sec you begging again! If I do, I will id you over to the police." if ears passed away. The gentleman had for:ten the circumstance, until one dav, when e looking bookseller's shop, m oraet* to pur ise some books that he wanted. He had not been many minutes in convcrsau with the book seller, before the latter, ea ly looking into the face rf his customer, itiqui1, "Sir, are not you the gentleman, who, seveyears ago, gave a five shilling piece to a poor ;gar at the end of the street?" "Yes, I remember it well." "Then, sir, this house, this well-stocked shop, ithe fruits of that five shilling piece." Tears of gratitude trickled down his cheeks as introduced the gentleman to his happy wife il children. He was regarded as their benetor. When gathered round the table to parte of a cup of tea, the bookseller recounted i history from the above eventful day. It was ry similar to that of the welcome visitor. 1 __J J I.... ..CaJ'U i>y inuusiry, noncsiv, ana uupouueuwuumuu o lp, he had risen step by step, from buying rags selling papers and tracts in the street, theu eping an old book-shop, and ultimately to be 3 owner of one of the best circulating libras in the place. Before the happy party sepa:ed the large family Bible was taken down, out which a psalm of thanksgiving was read, and en all beut round the family altar. Words uld not express the feelings of those who med that group. For some moments silence, termingled with sobs, evinced the gratitude the Almighty Disposer ot human events ii? h was ascendir g to heaven. When they rose and bade each other farewell, e bookseller said, "Thank God, I have found ur words to ^be true. 'God helps those who lp themselves.' 'It is better to work than to g' An Accomplished Female Swindler.?Yesrday afternoon an officer of the mayor's police rested a female about tvrenty one years of age, >med Ann Eliza Burns, alias Shaw, alias Black, as Spindler, on the charge of perpetrating nuerous impositions and frauds, and committing .rious larcenies in Philadelphia and the ncigh ring towns of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. ie prisoner was taken into custody at a respecble house in Market street, where she was boarnfi - . !.!* i?i It has been ascertained mat wiuum mc uui ro or three years she has taken to herself no less an three husbands, (their names are Sbaw, lack, and Spindler.) She married only two ?eks ago. Ho is a young man of very respecble in Lancaster county. She has been lately avelling about, and last came to this city from elmont. Pa. Her native place was the vicinity of German >wn. She has been in the House of Refugt r early improprcties. In that inst tution she aid only a short time before winning a card o erit. At the age of thirteen she was bouuc it, but did not remain long at service. Her criminal career has been going on for tin st seven or eight years. Among the false rep sentations she made at different times and t< tiercnt persons hero and elsewhere were, tha io was the heiress to large fortunes on comiiu ' age, and owned a number of fine houses ii hila'io'iphia. Some of these buidings she tool dies to see, and point- d thein out as hers. "When she wedded Shaw, one of her husbands sbe refused to let hira work, saying she had plen ty of means, which she would very soon have the exclusive control of. The impostor is an exceedingly shrewd little : woman, full of l'un, and remarkably quiet in her demeanor. Her appearance is specious, and her manners wonderfully free from suspicion.? Two larcenies have already been traced to her, one of them the robbery ofa Mrs. Bell. All persons who have been swindled by her should call at the mayor's office.?Philadelphia Bulletin. Emigrattaa. Among the most remarkable social phenomena of our day the extensive emigrations now in progress are destined to exercise a permanent and all pervading influence. If the tide that sets from the shores of Europe to those of the United States were the only form of this movement ha results would be brought more within the limits of rational conjecture, in relation to the results, but there are such numerous affluents to the great stream, with some counter currents, that the mind is bafled in any attempt to foretell the cousequences. The usual relations as respects emigration between Europe and the U. States? restricted space and under paid labor, contrasted with cheap land and high wages?enable us to deduce the ordinary effects from the kind of emigration of which the impelling motive is to better physical condition. The only difference between former periods and the present, in this respect, is the more intense desire by which the population of Europe is impelled to emigrate. But within three years an entirely new element has entered into the emigration movement. The discovery of gold on tne shores of the Pacific has aroused iu the human breast every latent passion of avarice. The full consequences of thk are not even faintly shadowed forth by present results, or inferrable by comparison or analogy. There is no similar conjecture in human affairs. Wars and religious persecutions have driven large masses off into distant countries, and although great social changes have nsulted by the fusion of different races, the circle of these effects was circumscribed by time and place. But a commercial emigration that embraces people the wildest asunder, geographically and socially ?that includes the Englishman, the American, the Chinaman?people of every latitnde and lineage?disposes the mind to contemplation as to the tendencies and results of so singular a social phensmenon. The mere naked fact, that one hundred and fifty, or two hundred millions of dollars may be added annually to the existing stock of the precious metals, is only one and the least important aspect of such an event as the transfer of so much labor from one department to another of human effort and enterprise. The economic effects may tne pecuniary renutonaw nwmuw mnnauu f*'1 - ? ? tions of mankind. No such shifting of large musses of men under the influence of a powerful incentive, assuming the intensity of passion, can take place without an almoet general derangement of human affairs. It is already felt, that the demand for those commodities, and the means of transport necessary to feed, clothe and shelter the laigc number which have emigrated to California, has produced serious inconvenience to commerce; but if Australia draws off in the same ratio, adventurers, the means of feeding them, shipping. <fcc. how is fhe ordinary business of the commercial world to proceed, except at an accelerated pace in correspondence with these new movements and developments ? The arrangements of trade have for their existing basis that permanency which is founded on the nearly stationary geographical condition of the race. A moderate emigration is not incompatible with general prosperity, for it is not hostile to gradual improvement, feut the sudden transfer of the instruments of production?men, machinery, capital, art, science, from places of permanent location to opposite quarters of the J world, must leave a large void in some places as others are filled, which is destined to exert a great moral, as well as economic influence on the fortunes or* mankind. To what extent the interests of society will be affected, is yet in the indefiniteness of the prospect, among the inscrutable things of our remarkable era, but one such El Dorado as California was quite enough in the same century.?Evening News. Thr Chances or Lire.?Among the interesting facts developed by the recent census, are some in relation to the law that governs life and death. They are based upon returns from tho State of Maryland, and a comparison with previous ones. The calculation k is unnecessary to explain, but tbe result is a table from which wo gather the following illustration : 10,208 infants are born on the same day and enter upon life simultaneously. Of these, 1,243 never reach the anniversary of their birth. &,025 commence the second year, but the proportion of deaths still continues so great, that at the end of the third only 8,183, or about fouidifths of the original number survive. But during the fourth year, the system seems to acquire more ' strength, ana the number of deaths rapidly decreasing until twentv-one, the commencement of . maturity and the period of highest health. 7,1! 34 enter upon the activities and responsibilities of life?more than two-thirds of the original number. Thirty-five comes, the meridian of ' manhood; 6,302 have reached it. Twenty years ' I more, and the ranks are thinned. Unty 4,7*7, f' of less than half of those who entered life fiftyI five years ago>? are left. And now death comes more frequently. Every year the ratio of mortal, ity steadily increases, and at seventy, there are * not a thousand survivors. A scattered few live j on to the close of tins oeutury, and at the age j one hundred aud six the drama is ended. The r last man is dead. c Weeds that grow unmolested around the fences, stumps and stones, scatter their seeds I, over the farm, and produce a crop of trouble,