THE CAMDEN JOURNAL,
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' i i *"'S *2>t: a
; VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, JUNE 1, 1852. % NUMBER 44.
M THE CAMDEN JOURNAL.
' ^
published semi-weekly and weekly by
THOMAS J. WARREN.
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THE END OF LIFE.
BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLAS*
"He lived all the number of his years, and they
were three score and ten."
l An old man sathv the window.
' " For the spring was drawing near,
And the corpse of the dead old winter
Had gone to the tomb of the year!
The sunlight soft and unclouded,
Streamed in o'er the oaken floor,
And fretted with gold the dark panels
Quaintly carved in the ancient door. j
The hands of the old man trembled,
His beard was frosted and thin,
And chill as the heart of December
Was the heat that was toiling within:
Like embers half quenched and dying,
vOn a desolate hearth at night,
Burnt the ashes of life in his bosom,
As he sat in the spring's clear light.
He looked on the young buds swelling,
And a tear o'er his wrinkles strayed;
He thought of the wife of his bosom,
Who slep't in the valley's green shade;
He thought how her steps had (altered,
Midway on the journey o( life;
And how on death's bosom she rested,
When weary and worn with strife.
The forms of his innocent children
She nightly had folded in prayer.
Anr) lai/) nti tho crtfV Ion nf elnmhop
<?vr With tender and motherly care,
Rose up in the old man's vision?
He saw that one tired and slept.
Like a lamb by. the side^^Uts mother,
t ' ' f ' ' *
One son had wandered from virtue;
- The father in spirit had yearned
' * To^raifithim forgiveness and bles>ing,
But the prodigal never returned;
Another had wedded with mammon,
And worshipped the prince of this world;
And one neath the cross had enlisted,
And fought where its banner unfurled.
A daughter, the fairest and dearest,
In loveliness walked by his side,
Nor envied the lot of her sisters,
Who dazzied in Beauty and pride.
Her voice was his hearts sVeetest music.
When from the blessed volume-she read,
That brightens valley of shadow's,
And smooths down the path to the dead.
j.
For all his affliction and sorrow,
For all his misgivings and grief?
r For the night of doubting and darkness,
-*VHe found iu its pages relief;
His life had been checkered with sadness,
j\nd as it drew near to a close, :
He longed for that home of the weary,
The land of immortal repose! *
? The old man sat by the window,
As the sun dropped low in the 6ky ;
His spirit, with silent rejoicing,
Went up to the mansion on high,
Another green hillock in summer,
Received the baptism of dew,
And down in the dust of the valley,
LHe rests by the tender and true.
From, toe Sunny South.
The Haunted House:
OR,
THE TAR RIVER EMIGRANT.
In the spring of 18?, Edward S s, or as
he was called, Ned, started from the place lie
was raised at in the turnp.ntine repion of the old
"North State, with a company of movers, who
were making their way for trie western district
l- -of Tennessee, or as it was called by the denizens
p 1 of the pinywoods the Forked-Dear country.
1 Ned was a poor boy, the youngest of a large
| i family, whose father Seth, sr., and Germrma had
kr died when he was quite a child, and had been
raised (or had rather grown up according to the
I i laws of nature) in the house of an old graudmoI
ther, who lived in a little ola smoky cabin about
" twelve miles from Tarboro' town; he had never
been to school, nor to the court house but once
to see a general muster ; had heard of the Revolutionary
"War, and of General Washington,
j but had no distinct idea of what the first meant,
or whether the General was yet President, or
'what was the meaning of President. He had
heard a good deal about witches, jack-o-me-lanterns,
ghosts, haunted houses, <fec. With this
stock of wordly knowledge, at the age of 18, he
started out with squire Massey, as one of his fa-milv
dmvo r?na of M.tlo narta
distinguish themselves from that interesting socf
lion of old North Carolina To seek his fortune
'"over the hills and for away."
Not more than a week after the movers had
set out, an incident occurred toNed, which lam
now about to relate, and which came near proving
fatal to the young man at the very threshold
of manhood, and the relation of which, in
k his own earnest and peculiar style, has in after
dava cost manv a suspender and waistband but-'
M|^^on to the fortunate few who have heard the stoDUBSBrv
from hi* own mouth. And for the benefit
BL
of those who never knew Ned, or heard him tell
the adventure, I will try and relate it in his own
words: ^
"One night," says Ned, "we stopped on or
about the South Carolina line, afore day the
Squire waked me up: says he?
"Ned! Ned!"
I jumped up thinkin' somethin' was wrong,
and just as I did so, thar was a powerful flash of
lightcnin' which made me feel quar; I always
was afraid of thunder and lighteuin', and the
Squire, say he:
"Ned!"
" Ser," says I.
"Ned," say he " the hosses is missin."
f " Missin !" ses I.
I " Yes," ses he, "and I want you to hunt 'em."
Well, I hated mightly to start off, and it a
lighteniu' and thunderin' so, and it in the dark;
but I was ashamed to say I was afeard, so just
afore day broke, L fixed up and started off in
tother direction to hunt the hosses. Well, I
went on a thinking where the bosses could be,
and how it could be supposed I could find 'em
in the dark; and a thinking too suppose I should
come across a jack-o-me-lanlern, and be carried
by it through grave-yards, briar-patches, logs
and swamps, and I should be lost and starved to
death in the woods by myself; when I looked up
and day M as fairly broke ; I was mightly relieved
at. this for I never was afraid of any thing
in daylight, so I went on lookin' for the hosses,
and called 'em?coap! coap! coap!?and whistJ|d
for 'em, but could hear nor see nothin' of
?rcf fVnnrr T lrnrvwn/1 T cowl onn nf tllP
^ Jk 41V AAAUU bUlllg JL AUVII VU) A WVVVi V?V Vk ??v
biggest white houses I ever had seen, with' a
powerful great clearin'?barns, and stables, nigger
houses and pailins all around the house, all
as white as snow. So I thought I'd go up and
ax about the hosses; I went up to the big gate,
it was at the road 'bout seventy yards from the
house, but I did'nt see nobody at all. Well, I
did'nt know what to do, I begin to feel all was
not right, but could'ntgit away. Howsumever,
so it was, I stood thar calling the hosses, coap!
coap ! coap ! but I didn't hear 'em nicker. Well
the first thing I knowed, I seed a nigger come
out to the side of the pailins, and there he was
a peepin' at me, and a peepin' at ine.
M Won't you come in ser," says he.
Being always bred to manners, I thanked him
and told him yes.
w I started very yearly this morning, I started
afore day, out huntiu' my hosses," says I.
i i i.... ?i
u.C ucvci acu uuc wuru, um imuii'i {^ijuuvu
like.
By th^thtoe sun was up, and wc had got to
the bof^flft^lly it was a fine 'un! glass^vin' ttoGfThrick
cli mimes"! piazers T porticoes ! Inch
as you see in Nashville town : think-ses-I, I am
in luck ; not having the least idea of what it
really. war, and what war to come. By this
time I could see the heads of several niggers,
black, and some mallatters, grinning at me thro'
the glass windows; but I had no suspicion; a
big old yaller feller opened the door and bowed
mighty polite.
" Walk in the parlor and take a seat sir," ses
he.
I thanked him and told his yes. "/ had started
very yearly this mornin\ I had started
afore day out to hunt my hosses." But as to
the place whar he tuk me to, which he called the
parlor! The walls were as white as could be
all around the windows hung curtains, red and
white, with brass bands to hold 'em back; and
there war a fire blazin' away, with two great
brass fire dogs, an a brass thing round the fire
too keep it in I reckon. And there were a cloth
flirts* an lirt flrvAH nud ? m/>? nmr
LU1U?? \JLI tUt3 U?7UI| dUU U,C5f5 UVI rtl,Jr
and puttier nor any saxon show you ever seed !
an tables war pure 'hogany.
Well, jest as I ware a gwine to set down, a
little 'oman came to the door and in the sweetest
voice you ever hearn ses she:
" Wount you walk iu an take some breakfast
sir."
I felt sort-r hungry, an I thanked her and
told her yes; ses I?
"I started very yearly this morniiC I started
afore day to hunt my losses.
Sol followed her inter the next room an my
eyes ! thar was only two white 'uns, a man what
looked about 25 or 30 years old all dressed in
brod cloth, standin' up with his hands on the
back of a cheer, up to a table, an a might ly
young 'oman the putterest you ever seed, dressed
all in white, an the gentleman, as I took it
for ses he?
" Take a cheer ser," just as perlite, "an take
breakfast, I expect you are tired (or somethin'
so.)
l pulled on my hat an went to lay it down,
but one of the niggers, who had a white cloth in
his hand, with a apron on tuck it from me, an I
never seed it any more. So I thanked the gentle
man (as I thought,) an told him I would as
Iliad started very yearly this mornin, I started
afore day out a huntin1 my 1tosses." At that
minute the gentleman sneezed, and the lady
she stooped down sorter an the niggers begun to
snigger the quarest you ever hearn. Seeing the
lady still kept her head down, I thought somethin'
was under the table, so I looked down an
saw somethin' white in her lap and thought it
was my handkerchief, in course nothin' war the
matter, I just poked it in?and poked it into my
pocket about this time the lady looked up, and
zounds! her face was as red as blood, and she
looked like she had been crying. All this time
I ware trying to git in my linnin and kep lookin'
'bout me eatin so 110 one mite see what I
was at; the next thing I knowd, the whole table
/a ?viaii/) ifMnnrrJo mfi } Tf ctr 11 r?lr mn of
U('f/U/L tl/ //Wl'V VWIVM.I WO r??rv ? *v .7VIUV(% 1UU lib
once it was a haunted home, an I went to push
back my cheer to git out out of tko way of the
table, when the whole platter cum right over
me! With that thar war a powerful noise an
screaniiu' sorter like people a laffin'?an sorter
like people a crying,?but I saw nothiu'?I shot
my eyes rite tito for,'bout a minit, I then thought
that ware no place for me; so I ris and got out
?sum how?an jest as I left the steps the big
yaller niggcfr catched me by sumthin' white a
hangin' from my briches?I hollered murder! an
pulled, ses I?"I started very yearly this mornitC
I started afore day to hunt my bosses.
44 Give me the table cloth f ses he an jerked.
I fell inter the yard?but I ris from thar, an
never looked back till I reached the camp!?
i Whar I told the story, but none of 'era would
I 'bleve but what I had gone to sleep an sum bo!
dy had stole my hat, an that I told it for a ev
cuse. But boys I tell you how, it was all tw
positive truth."
The Silver Currency Again.
The Northern Journals, or their correspondents,
are still engaged in earnest discussion on
the merits and defects of Mr. Hunter's coinage
bill. We have never known a subject so susceptible
of precise and simple treatment so entangled
by contradictory and confused reasoning.
Now the advocates for taking from our silver
coins a certain quantity of the silver they contain,
and not adding to the quantity of gold in
our gold coins, contend that this is the only
mode of restoring the true relative value of the
metals ; they also contend thao to put more gold
into our gold coins would be unjust to the debtor
who has made engagements to pay a given sum
in either gold or silver. The only injustice is
unu iib js pioenieu. liuiu paying a siipuiaieu.
! amount in one of the metals which has suffered,
or which may undergo depreciation. But the
inconsistency is not perceived that to take from
the silver coins is unjust to the creditor, as it
forces him to receive, the option being with the
debtor to pay either in gold or silver.
In this stage of the question the Banks have
taken the alarm, Mr. Hunter's bill being at present
hung up between the two Houses, and there
being apprehensions that it will pass the House
of Representatives. Those connected with the ,
management of those institutions insist that if
the bill pass it will drive the remainder of our
silver currency abroad, for all that fund of silver
coins now retained by the banks, at some sacrifice,
they will be compelled to part with, to avoid
a much greater sacrifice. They may be willing
to lose 2 or 3 per cent, on their stock of silver ;
coin ; but not 7 per cent, as they would,Jf Mr. ;
Hunter's bill passes, for this is the loss which
will be incurred by that bill to all those banks
which retain a stock of silver coins. This will
be the difference between the new and the old .
silver coinage. ,
Now when all this discontent and apprehen- ,
ded evil may be avoided by the simple expedi- (
ent of making silver the sql?_?tamLu-d^y^^gaI
louder, we a surprised at the pcrtTiu^HHRR
1 those who adhere to gold as that standr^^^H
I fnn/d ai? otwl o a/1 lr In o si ttmf lit a
v^uuci) ?IIU oevrv uu auju^b tuc
ue of the two metals, a matter incapable^HH
justment. It is replied to this mode of
ing the evil that a loss would fall on Government.
On whom can that loss fall more fittingly ?
Who should pay the penalty of the blunders of
Government but the Government itself? It is
computed that if Government receives its dues
in gold and ceases to pay in gold, it will lose
?5,000,000, supposing gold has fallen 5 per cent,
?100,000 millions being the amount supposed to
be in circulation. If there is ouly one legal tender
established, and that tender silver, this first
loss would be the only loss. If both metals continue
to be legal tenders, the loss, of course,
would be continually renewed to individuals?
the class of creditors.
If our gold coins are received for Government
dues, at their nominal value, and not re-issued,
the proper corrective would at once come into
action. There would be an increased domestic
demand for silver, for coinage. This would elevate
its vahte in the United States, counteractive
of the foreign demand and higher foreign value.'
Connected with this should be the calling in of
all the debased Spanish coins now in circulation,
so as to produce uniformity of denomination and
value iu the whole mass of our silver coinage;
making no change in our silver coins in any regard.
As an adjunct to the scheme of an exclusive
standard and legal tender in silver, gold
could be assayed in the U. S. Mint in bars or ingots,
of a determinate weight and purity. They
would assist to keep our silver coins in circulation,
for they would be employed in international
commerce to adjust balances, provided we did
not displace our silver coins by depreciated paper
currency. If we issued no notes below live
dollars, we would retain the whole of our silver
coius. If no notes are emitted below the value
of one dollar, we shall still retain our subsidiary
silver currency. Gold would then find its true
commercial value as a commodity. Its fluctuations
would affect the class neither of the debtaiv
r\nr r?rn<litafj Pomitfowaao ?*aii1 I )\n ir?n/^o
vio uvi V/ivuii'Vin. ivgiuittaiitud ?vuu isv iikkkixj
in gold for the adjustment of a commercial balance
more especially as to the country to which
we become most frequently and largely indebted,
we arc bound to make good our engagements in
gold.
We hope, then, that Congress will get rid of
that anomaly and embarrassment of a double
standard and a double legal tender, and invest
that metal with these functions that preserves
its value most uniformly. Silver is rapidly becoming
the universal standard and legal tender.
This must be the consequence of a general conviction
that it is fittest for these offices.
Charleston Evening Neies.
The Press.?The men of the Press, are among
the hardest working and noblest sons of toil.
While others are enjoying a festive occasion, the
toiler of the Press is transcribing the record from
their lips, with pen and pencil, while in yonder
building busy hands are striking it off in sheets
that will lie upon our breakfast tables to morrow
morning, and be flying far and wide, on
wings of lightning and steam, to tj)0 world's
end. The press is a mighty airent in the work
of progress, nnd faithful to its trust?truth, freedom,
humanity?above any other element of the
' world's progress.?Dana.
% ?('. a. .
The Character of Paul.
by j. t. headly.
Paul, in his natural character, before his conversion,
resembles Bonaparte more than any
other man?I mean both in his intellectual developments
and energy of will. He had the
same inflexibility of purpose, the same utter indifference
to human suffering when he had once
determined on his course; the same tireless, unconquerable
resolution; the same fearlessness
both of man's nowerand oninions. and that calm
self reliance and mysterious control over others.
But the point of greatest resemblance is in the
union of a strong, correct judgment, with rapidi
ty of thought and sudden impulse. They thought
quicker, yet better than other men. The power,
too, they possessed, was all practical power.
There are many men of strong minds, whose
force, nevertheless, wastes in reflection, or in theories
for others to act upon. Thought may
work out into language, but not into action.?
They will plan belter than they can perform.
But these men not only thought better, but they
could work better than all other men.
The same perfect self-control and perfect subjection
of hirf emotions?even terror itself?to
the mandates of his will, are exhibited in his con- ;
duct when smitten to the earth, and blinded by
the light and voice from Heaven. John, when
arrested by the same voice on the Isle of Patmos, ,
i>_11 P _ 1 1 J J .1 1
ien on nis race as a aeaa man, auu uaieu uvu ,
stir or speak till encouraged by the language, '
"Fear not." But Paul, (or ffaul) though a per- J
secutor, and violent man, showed no symptoms
of alarm or terror. The voice, the blow, the
light, the glory, and the darkness that followed, j
were sufficient to upset the strongest mind; but t
he, master of himself and his emotions, instead
of giving way to exclamations of terror, simply
said : " Lord, what wilt thou have me do ?" j
With his reason and judgment as steady and
strong as ever, ho knew at once something was {
wanted of him, and ever ready to act, he asked
what it was.
From this time on, his track can be distin- j
guished by the commotion about it, and the
light alrove it. Straight back to Jerusalem, from <
whence he had so recently come with letters to ^
legalize his persecutions, he went to the east to
legalize his lot with those ho had followed with (
violence and slaughter. His strong heart never
beat one quicker pulsation through fear, when c
the lofty turrets of the proud city dashed on his .;
vision. Neither did he steal away to the dark
alleys and streets, where the disciples were con- ^
cealed, and tellj-htfn secretly lus tana in tae oon
of God. He^ strode into the synagogues, and c
tefor^he*j?onished priests preached Christ and
fury
^KH^HHM|HH^ging footwhere
unknown ancWHII^JBB^Iings would bo less
tried, he started for his native city, his father's house,
the homo of his boyhood, for his kindred
and friends. 'To entreaties, tears, scorn and violence,
he was alike impervious. Tho Anlioch
! and Cyprus, along the coast of Syria and Rome,
over the known world, he went like a blazing
comet, waking up the nations of the earth. From
the top of Mar's Hill, with the gorgeous city at
his feet, and the Acropolis and Parthenon behind
him?on the deck of his shattered vessel
in the intervals of the crash of billows, in the
gloomy walls of a prison, on the borders of the
eternal kingdom, lie speaks in the same calm
and determined tone. Deterred by no danger,
awed by no pr&encc, and shrinking from no responsibility,
he moves before us like some grand
embodiment of power.
The nations heave around him, and kings turn
pale in his presence. Bands of conspirators
swear neither to cat or drink till they have slain
him, rulers aud priests combine against him;
and people stone him; yet, over the din of the
conflict and storm of violence, his voice of elo
quence rises clear and distict as trumpet call, as
he still preaches Christ and him crucified. The
whip is laid on his back till the blood starts with
every blow, and then his mangled body is thrown
into a dungeon; but at midnight, you hoar that
same calm, strong voice which has shaken the
world, poured forth in a hymn of praise to God,
and lo! an earthquake rocks the prison to its
foundations; the manacles fall from the hands
of the captives, the bolts withdraw themselves,
and the massive doors swing DaCKon tneir mnges.
One caunot point to a single spot in his ca- .
reer, where he faltered a moment, and gave way ,
to discouragement or fear. Through all his per- ,
ilous life, he exhibited the same interpedity of ,
character and lofty spirit. With his eyes,fixed
on regions beyond the ken of ordinary mortals,
and kindling on glories it was not permitted
him to reveal, he pressed forward to an incorruptible
crown, a fadeless kingdpm. And then his (
death?how indescribably sublime! Napoleon, ,
dying in the midst of a midnight storm, with
the last words that fell from his lips a battle cry, (
and his passing spirit watehuig in the delirium, (
the torn heads of his mighty columns, as they ,
disappeared in the smoke of ponflict, is a sight J
that awes and startle. I
nut DCI1014 ram niso, a war-worn vewrau, uat- (
tered with many a scar, tl\o\igh in a spiritual (
warfare, looking not on earth, but to Heaven.?
Hear his o*dm, serene voice ringing over the
storms and commotions of life: 1 am now ready
to be offered, and the tinqe of niv departure is
at hand. I have fought a good nght. I have
finished my course, there is laid up for me a crown
of righteousness." No sfipnts of foemen, nor
smoke ofoarnacre of battle surrounding his spirit
struggling to be free: but troops of shining angels,
the smile of God, and the songs of the redeemed,
these guarded fyim, and welcomed him
home.
Folly.?To think that you can make pork
out of pig iron, or that you can become a. snoemaker
by just drinking sherry oobblers.
i .
Famine in Germany.?The condition of the
peasantry in many parts of Germany, says a
correspondent of the London Times, has, chiefly
through the failure of the potato crop last year
at length become one of such fearful and indescribable
distress, that 1 feel Sure a few particulars
respecting it will prove a subject of pairful interest
to many of your readers. Poor Southern
and Central Germany, still suffering from the
baneful effects of tbe late political convulsions,
is now, in' addition, visited by dearth, disease,
and famine. Truly heartrending accounts continue
to arrive from many parts well known to
and much frequented by English tourists for the
beauty of their scenery; so from Wurtemburg,
Bavaria, the Grand Duchy of Baden, Nassau,
and more esjiecially from the Vogelsbeig and the
Odenwald, rough mountainous districts?the one
situated in the northeastern part of the Grand
Duchy of Hesse, the other to the north, and forming
part of the "Bergstrasse," a road extending
from Darmstadt to Heidelberg, within thirtyeight
hours reach from London, and traversed
generally by excursionist on their way to Switzerland.
In these localities whole villages are being
deseited for want of food. Their unfortunate
inhabitants, who, in times of comparative prositv,
eke out but scanty and miserable existenoe,
have been wanting their staple food?potatoes.?
In other parts trade is standing still; of eighteen
thousands looms, in a single province of Bavaria,
almost exclusively inhabited by weavere,not half
ire at toll work. ine people are aepnved alike
Df the productions of nature and the fruits of industry,
and, to consumate -wretchedness and despair
and an extreme dearth of provisions, whole
lerds of cattle and sheep are killed l>y a rapidly
ipreading disease.
Fashions in Paris.?The correspondent of the
Boston Atlas has the following in his letter:
" Let me chronicle several suicides on the al- *
ar of fashion. Ladies in Paris have the greatest
horror of being fat; death has fewer horrore
,han corpulency. There is no doubt the corpuence
of the Duchess de Parsalin was the cause gjffa
>f her murder, and I really believe that if. the
?ahque law did not prevent a lady from ascen- I
ling the throne, the first empress would obtain
lie destruction of alhehildren who appeared'in:linel
to corpulency. During the past week,
here has been buried at Pere la Chaise the Mar[uise
de ***, who died in consequence of hang
mined her digestion by the excessive use of vingar;
the Princess de ***, from the same cause,
laving exhausted herself by refusiug to take
laffiniant. nnnriaViTriPTit. flrir) Mm a . . tha wifa
f an agen de change, "killed by vinegar." The
pother of vinegar is the first cousin of death?? ^
Tlie"nref anff^fife'd iasrpeistn?:tnabk'|iSly three
large tumblers of vinegar, and they died-rhomble
punishment?that.
"Between vinegar and cards, the fashionable
world here is in a sorrowful way.
The Power op Mosio.?The following singular
anecdote concerning the effects produced Dy
the musical powers of the Hutchinson faidily,
we find in the Erie Gazette. The editor suites
that the occurrence took place at Plattebufgh,
as he learns by a private letter from that, $ty.
The sweet melodists, it appears, happening to
spend Sabbath week in Plattsburgh, attended
the church of the Rev. Dr. , an eminent
Presbyterian divine, and, as id their enstom, participated
in the choir exercises. Just before the
rt w aI/mia/I fit a?* Vv r? iwvaKAI?%m AtlJ
oerwceo civrouu, uiiuj, i.?jr iwjuwv ocvjwi up cuiu.
sang a hymn of their selection,' which they did
with such thrilling pathos that the worthy pastore,
no longer able to retain himself, waved his
hands arfd cried out, "Yes! Glory, Hallelujah!"
and fainted away.
The Bran and the Maiden.?A summer
bird that has lingered late in the autumn,' leaving
its timid foot print in the first fell of snow
ever reminds us of that delicate fair one, in hghi
thin slippers, on a cold icy pavement. The turd,
however can escape to a warmer clime and in the
spring it can rc-appear but the lady is on that
journey from which there is no retina The
music of the bird may again gladden its native
tree but her voice will not again cheer theheaHh
of her home. The badges of sorrow and the
slowly returning hearse will soon tell what that
slipper has done. It has taken from up in the ?
bloom of life onp that we loved, but?would not
listen to the voice of admonition. Her bright
days are. now passed, the light of her countenance
has fled: and the nicrht of the crave cur
tains the deep couch, of her repose. Bat a voice
speaks tenderly from that grave to. those whom
she has left behind; it whispers the admonition
which she disregarded^ Shall that whisper; not
be heard. It i? a sister's voice that pleadB.
Phila. North, American.
?
The Washington correspondent of' the Commertcat
regales its readers with the following,
which we think will be news all arpupd:;
"The President is uneasy in his position as a
candidate. He has said lately that he would
now gladly if he had the liberty to do it, retire
iltogether from his position; but, he says, he is
not his master, and in this matter belongs to the
public, and that the friends of Mr. Webster and
of Gen. Soott both insist upon his remaining as a
candidate." _
'
Right in one thing becomes preliminary to
wards right in everything; the transition is not
distanfTroni~tfrc fittings which tells us that we
should dc no harm to ao. man, tj^th^t we should
do good to all mcnv
A young man without mpney is Kite a steamboat
without fuel. He can't go ahead. Among
the ladies he is like the moon oa a oloudy night..
(Io cant tAine,
* ' .* ' H '.^4 Z, "it:
Pardon is a glorious kind of revenge. I think
myself sufficiently revenged of my enemy if I
pardon him. Cicero did more commend Caesar
for pardonieg Metullus, than for the great victory
obtained over his enemies.