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EDG~AIEL ADERRSR "6We will cling to the Pillars of the Temple of oUr Liberties, and if it must fall, we will Perish amidst the Ruins." W. F. DURISOE & SON, Proprietors. EDGEFIELD, S. C., APRIL 18,1855. - -- - NEOS EPISCOPOS, Editor. Oz--_ WE trust our friends and readers will excuse the absence of editorial matter in this issue, when we say that such is the state of religious interest amongst us, that we have little time or inclination to attend to any thing else. Since the 3d inst., Rev. Dr. TEASDALF., of Washington City, has been preaching in the Baptist Church in this Vil. lage with much acceptance and happy re. sults. Day and night the house is crowded, and there is now apparent an increase rather than an abatement in the interest. Quite a number have been baptized and others wait. ing to do likewise. Everything has moved on quietly and orderly, with no undue ex citement to detract from the dignity and character of a revival of "pure and unde filed religion." May God speed the good work. OUR SAVIOUR. There is somhething inexpressibly sweet in these words, and their sweetness arises from their meaning. Happy is that man who pos. sesses that faith whose appropriate expression is, My Saviour. But who is this Saviour? He is God's eternal son-his only son-his well beloved son, whom he freely resigned, that he might die the accursed death of the cross for us. He is God man, possessinIg the sympathies of the human, and yet all the perfections of the divine nature, that he might be a suitable mediator between heaven and earth. His heart glows with the purest love that ever burned upon earth. His generous bosom heaves with compassion for perishing men. And what has he done? He has given his life a ransom for us. He hum. bled himself, and became obedient ynto death, even the cursed death of the &oss. He wept-he bled-lie summitted to insult and reproach; Lie wore a crown of thorns-he suffered the lash-lie felt the hidings of his Father's face, his greatest trial ; and all that we, ungrateful rebels, might have peace with God, and become the heirs of eternal life. And what does he promise ? " Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, I and I will give you rest"-all, all, without exception. " Look unto me, all the ends of earth, and be ye saved"-all, all, without ex ception, " Whosoever will, let him take the , water of life freelv." But where is this blessed Saviour? He is in heaven, where " he ever liveth to make intercession for us." le is there upon his throne, as " a Prince and a Saviour, to give repentance and re mission of sins." But shall we ever see him again ? Oh, yes, when he cones to judge the world, every eye shall see him-all his enemies shall see him, and shall quail before the majesty of his presence; while all his own redeemed shall rejoice in the brightness of his face. Reader, have you any love for this Saviour ? Do you remain unmoved un der the sweet invitation of his glorious Gos- t pel? Have you never felt a soft emotion in contemplating the wonders of his love? He is the loveliest character in all the universe of God. The Father loves him-holy angels love him-and who, who has greater cause to love him than you andl I, for whom he shed his precious blood, and poured out his soul unto death. My friend, I love to plead the cause of my great Redeemer. W1ill you not give him your heart, and help to plead his cause ? WVill you not approach him, and place yourself under his fond care and pro. tection t Oh, do my friend and fill the tenm ple of God with melody anid praise, and1 your own soul with peace that floweth like a river. When our Saviour' says, Come unto me, and the sindistracted soul replies, Lord, I come, it is but the signal for a general scene of exultation among the inhabitants of heaven.-Due WVest T'elescope. BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT. T1he editor of the Knickerbocker attributes the following to Ike Marvel. Last evening wve were walking leasurely along, the music of the choirs of the chur ches canme floating out in the darkness around us, and they were all new and strange tunes but one, and that one-it was not sung as we have heard it, but it awakened a I train of long buried memories, that rose to us as they were, before the cemetry of the soul had a tomb in it. It was the sw~eet old " Corinth" they were[ singing-strains that we have seldom heard t since the rose color of life was blanced :and we were in a momient back again to the old -village church, and it was a summer after-. .noon, and the yellow sunbeams were stream. izng through the wvest windowvs, and the silver hhir of the old deacon, wvho sat in the pulpit, .was turned to gold in its light, who wve used *to think could never die, so good was he, had concluded the applications and "exhorta tion," and the village choir were singing the lust hymn, and the tune wvas " Corinth." t i yeam-we dare not think howv many -since &jen, anda jhe " prayers of David, the son of Jesse are ended," and the choir are scattered and gone, 'rho girl with blue eves that sang the air-the eyes of one were like a clear June heaven at noon. They both became wives, both mothers, and both died. Who shall say they are not singing " Corinth" still, where Sabbaths nev er wane and congregations never break up? There they sat, Sabbath after Sabbath, by the square column on the right of the leader, and to our young ears their tones were " theI very soul of music." That column bears still their peniciled names as they wrote them in those in life's June, 18--before dreams or change had overcome their spirits like a sum mner cloud. Alas? that with the old singers most of the sweeter tones had died upon the ear ; but they still linger in memory, and they shall yet be sung in the sweet reunion of song that shall take place in a hall whose columns are beams of morning light; whose cealing ,in pearl, whose floors are gold, and where ;,aiilneVer grow silvery, and hearts never grow old. Then she that sang alto and she that sang air will be in these places once more. 000 REST OF THE SABBATIL. The North British Review illustrates the importance of sufficient sleep, on a paralel with the natural history of the Sabbath, as follows: " The Creator has given us a natural re storative-sleep ; and a moral restorative -Sabbath keeping; and it is ruin to dis pense with either. Under the pressure of high excitement individuals have passed weeks together with little sleep, or none; but when the process is long continued, the over driven powers rebel, and fever, delirium and death come on. Nor can the natural amount be systematically curtailed without corresponding mischief. The Sabbath does not arrive like sleep. The day of rest does not steal over us like the hour of slumber. It does not entrance us almost whether we will or not; but, ad dressing us as intelligent beings, our Crea tor assures us that we need it, and bids us notice its return, and court its renovation. And if, going in the face of the Creator's kindness, we force ourselves to work all days alike, it is not long till we pay the forfeit. The mental worker-the man of business, or the man of letters-finds his ideas coming turbid and slow! the equi poise of his faculties is upset, lie grows moody, fitful, and capricious; and with his mental elasticity broken, should any disaster Dccur, lie subsides into habitual melancholy, Dr in self-destruction speeds his guilty exit From a gloomy world. And the manual worker-the artisan, the engineer, by toiling yn from day to day, and week to week, the iright intuition of his eyes gets blunted ; and 'orgetful of their cunning, his fingers no lon ;er perform their feats of twinkling agility, ior by a plastic touch mould dead matter, r wield mechanic power; but mingling his ife's blood in his daily drudgery, his locks ire prematurely gray, his general humor iours; and salving it till he has become a norose of reckless man, for an extra effort, >r any blink of balmy feelings, he must tand indebted to opium or alcohol. AN ARAB LEGEND.-King Nimrod one lay comm-inded his three sons to enter his >resence, and caused to be pVDa hd Wore hem by his slaves three sealed if the urns was of gold, the othe nd the last of clay.-The king est son to choose amon- the urn ppeared to contain tNie treas reatest price.-The elder chose old, on which was written Empirc; nu pened it and found it full of blood. The econd chose the amber vase, on which.was ritten Glory ; he opened it, and found it lled with the ashes of men who had been umous on the earth. The third took the emaining vase of clay ; lie opened it, and und it empty; but in the bottom the potter ad written one of the names of God. Which of these vases weigh the most?' de anded the king of his court. The ambi. ious replied, the vase of gold ; the poets and onquerers, the vase of amber; the sages nswered and said, the empty vase, because hat a single letter in the name of God weighs acre than the entire globe. PRACTICAL PRAYER.-In the vicinity of I- lived a poor but industrous man, lepeninig for support upon his daily labor. uis wife fell sick, and riot being able to hire nurse lie was obliged to confine himself o the sick bed and fatmily. His means of upport being thus cut off, he soon found iimself in need. Having a wvealthy neigh por near, lie determined to go and ask for wo bushels of wheat, with a promise to pay L soon as his wife became well enough to eave, that he could return to his work. Lcordingly he took his bag, wvent to his eighbor's, and arrived while they wvere at amily prayers. As lie sat on the door-stone lie heard the nan pray very earnestly that God would ,lothe the naked, feed the hungry, relieve he needy, and comfort all that mourn. The rayer concuded, the poor man stepped in, nd made known his busiiness, promising to iay with the avails of his first labors. The armer was very sorry lie could inot accom nodate him, but he had promised to lend a arge sumi of money, and had depended upon us wheat to make it out; hut he presumed eighbor A- would let him have it. With a tearful eye and a sad heart, the oor man turned away. As soon as lhe left he house the farmer's little son stepped up md said: " Father, did you not pray that God would lote the naked, feed the hungry, relieve he distressed, and comfort the mourners I" " Yes-why 1" "Because, father, if I had your wheat I would answer that prayer." It is needless to add that the Christian amther called back his suffering neighbor, and ave him as much wheat as he needed. Now, Christian readers, do you answer our own prayers. TuHE FI RST FAI~sEnHooD.-Never shall I Forget the first falsehood told by my only ion, The wealth of our first parental af. ~ection was lavished on that boy; aind how treat was my grief when *I found that the urity and ininocenc!e of childhood had de arted, and he had told his first uniruth. hat I considered an epoch in his life; and aying all work aside, I took the child upon my knee, while mildly and gently, but in itrong language, I explained to him the meaness and cowardice o( a lie, and the reat sin he had committed against God and nan. He was set apart and not allowed to associate with any one for a length of time. His little heart was almost breaking; and had I not felt that it was for his eternal welfare, I could not have left my child for the first time without a kiss. At night when I next saw miy darling, he was asleep in his little bed; but oh! what tears I could have shed when I thought of the first sin that had entered into his heart! On the seond nigrht after this occurrence, as I leaned over my child and talked to him i before he slept, I said,- r " My precious child have you asked God < to forgive you for tho falsehood you told C yesterday I" "Yes, mamma; I forgot it when I said j my prayers, but I asked him after I was in r bed," he said. Anxious to know what the child's feelings a were I asked him what he had said. Put. ting his little arms around my neck, and 0r drawing my face down close to his, lie whis pered. d " I said, please, Goodman, forgive me for that story I told yesterday." Then I asked, " And so you think he has forgiven you I" " Yes, mamma, I feel as if he has," he I answered readily. My tears of sorrow were turned into tears a of joy. My child had sinned and been for given. He had offered his first voluntary a prayer, and he felt that it was accepted. Some time after, while at play, I noticed that he was inadvertently about to misrepre- n sent something, but instantly checking him- m self, he remained silent a long time; and I saw that my lesson was remembered ; the m seed had " taken root, for it was sown upon it good ground." i a BE EM Y AND WISE. b Be merry and wise-'tis a song for each season y The happy lark sings it in bright-beamingskies; %V And whv are we gifted with fancy and reason, ul If 'tis not to teach us-be merry and wise? r( 'Tis the song of the season, the plants as they rise, rc The chorus of nature, be merry and wise! di g Be merry and wise in your moments of leisure, a On theevening's amusement the morrow will rise; We oft sail to sorrow in light barks of pleasure, p And sing while repenting-be merry and wise! h When facing the goblet or love-beaming eyes, There's danger, there's magic-be merry and wise! Be merry and wise, for, from reason's first dawning, to To the last parting hour time wasteth in sighs, te Your woes will depart like the mists of the morning, fo If you will but brave them. Be merry and wise! T The cheerful heart surely is life's dearest prize, n( Be up and be doing. Be merry and wise. in hc III tne Ij'~ae.a .'...- .-I. . A nd there's music in the voice of love, In its first low murmuring. There's music in the summer breeze, n And autumn's mournful sigh, of And stirring music in the winds, When winter storms sweep by. There's music in a pure, warm pray'r, tit That makes the heart rejoice; le And there's music 'round the cheerful hearth, wi In ainother's low, sweet voice. 1e id! There is music all round us, bi In the murmuring of streams, e. In the gentle voices of our friends, jn And in our golden dreams. in * * te There's music in an old tom-cat. ch Preparing fur a fight; And there's music in a squalling lbrat, a At any time of night. al: There's music in a yelping cur- ho in a pig with a corkscrew tail ; ae And solemn music in " Jinm Crw, G And " Sittin' on a Rail !" bi m There's music in a scolding wife, That keeps her house in awe ; And there's music in a grating hinge, ki A nd the filing of a saw. y There's music in a Chinese gong, e Of most peculiar tone, at And there's music in an old tin pan, And in a crack'd trombone. But the sweetest music seems to be, p In these degenerate times, P The clattering of knives and forks,t Or the ringing sound1 of dimes. SPEI FZACIIARIAH SPICER. m On he uesion "Which enjoys the a reatest amount of happiness, the bachelor or the married man in" Mr. President and Gentlemen-I rise to th advocate the cause of thme married man.- A And why should I noti I claim to knowv tI something about the institution, I do. Will tI any gentleman pretend to say that I do not? b; Let him accompany me home. Let me con- tl front him wvith my wife and seventeen chil- el dren, and decide. b High as the Rocky Mountains tower ' above the Mississippi Valley, does the char- b acter of the married man tower above that te of the bachelor. What is a bachelor What was A dam hefore lhe got acquainted n1 with Evei What but a poor, shiftless, help- bi less, insignificant creature? No more to be ai compared with his afterself, than a mill-dam h to the great roaring cataract of Niagara. o (A pplause.)t Gentlemen, there was a time, I blush to 0 say it, when I too was a bachelor; and a n more miserable creature you would hardly a expect to find. Every day I toiled hard, 5 and at night I came home to my comfort-. less garret-no carpet, no fire, no nothing. g Everything was in a clutter, and the words " of the poet.a " Confusion was monarch of all he sur. n veyed." Here lay a pair of pants, there a dirty pair of hoots; there, a play-bill, and here a pile of dirty clothes. WVhat wsonder o that [ took refuge at the gaming-table and c bar room. I found it would never do, gen. 'I tl., and in a lucky moment I vowed to ti eform. Scarcely' had the promise passed ny lips, when a knock was heard at the loor, and in came .Susan Simpkins after my lirty clothes. "Mr. Spicer," sdys she, "1 've washed for rou six months, and I haven't seen the first ed cent in the way of payment. Now I'd ike to know what you are going to do bout it?" I felt in my pocket-book. There was othing in it, and I knew it well enough. " Miss Simpkins,'' said I, " It's no use enying it. I haven't got the pewter. I vish for your sake I had." " There," said she promptly, "I don't vash another rag foi you." " Stop," said 1. " Susan, I will do what can for you. Silver and gold have I none; ut if my heart and hand will do, they are t your Eervice." "Are you in earnestI" said she, looking little suspicious. " Never more so," says I. "Then," says she, as there seems to be o prospect of getting my pay any other -ay, I guess I'll take up with your offer. Enough said. We were married in a reek; and what's more we haven't reported . No more antics for me, gentlemen. I ve in a good house, ad have somebody to lend my clothes. When I was a poor, iserable bachelor, gentlemen, I used to be thin as a weasel. Now I am as plump as a poker. In conclusion, gentlemen, if you want to a a poor, ragged fellow, without a coat to ur back, or a shoe to your foot; if you ant to grow old before your time, and as icomfortable, generally, as a "hedgehog lled up the wrong way," I advise you to main a bachelor; but if you want to live cently and respectably, get married. I've t ten daughters, gentlemen, (overpowering plause) and you may have your pick. Mr. Spicer sat down amid long-contiued audits. The generous proposal with which concluded, secured' him five sons-in-law. DOYT DEPEND ;PN "FATHER." Stand up here, young man, and let us talk you-you have trusted alone to the con nts of " father's purse" or to his fair fame r your influence, or success in business. hink you that " father" has attained to emi mnee in his profession, but by unwearied dustry ? or that he has amassed a fortune, nestly, without energy'and activity ? You ith them till you have learned their value your own industry, lie perpetrates untold schief. And if the old gentleman is lavish his cash towards you, while he allows u to idle away your time, you'd better leave n ; yes run away, sooner than be made an becile or a scoundrel through so corrup. g an influence. Sooner or later you must rn to rely on your own resources, or you il not be anybody. If you have never lped yourself at all, if you have become e, if you have eaten father's bread and tter, smoked father's cigars, sported fath. 's cane, worn father's boots, cut a swell father's buggy, and tried to put on father's luence and reputation, you might fiar bet. r have been a poor canal boy, the son of a imney sweep or boot black-and indeed a would not swap with you the situation of poor, half starved, motherless calf! Mise I objects you are that depend entirely on or parents, playing gentlemen, (alias dady afer.) What in tne name of common se, are you thinking of? VWake up there ! o to work with either your hands or your 'ains, or both, and be something ! Don't erely have it to boast of that you have own in " father's" house-that you have getated as other gremen horns! but let folks ,ow that you count one. Come, off with mr coat, clinch the saw, the plow handles, e pick axe, the spade-anything that will mable you to stir your blood ! Fly round d tear your jacket, rather than be the pas ve reciient of the old gentleman's bounty! oner than play the dandy at dad's e. mse, hire yourself out to some pontatoe itch, let yourself to stop hog holes, or wvatch e ars;'and when you think yourself en .led to a resting spell, or a recreation, have on your own hook. If you have no other ans of having fun of your owvn, buy wvith ur earnings, an empty barrel, and put mur head into it and hollow, or get into it id roll dowvn hill; don't for pity's sake don't ake the old gentleman furnish every thing, id you live at your ease. Look about you, you wvell-dressed, smooth ced, do-nothinig drones! Who are they at have worth and influence in society? re they those that have depended alone on eold gentleman's purse?1 or are they those iat have climbed their way to their position Stheir own industry and energyi True, eold gentleman's funds, or personal influ ice, may secure you the forms of respect, it let him lose his property, or die, and hat are youi A miserable fledgling--a ich of flesh and bones that needs to be ken care of! Again we say, wake up-get up in the orning-turn round, at least twice before eakfasthelp the old man-gve him now id then a generous lift in business-learn Dw to take the lead, and not depend forever a being led ; and you have no idea how me discipline will benefit you. Do this, and ur word for it, you will seem to breathe a es atmosphere, possess a new frame, tread new earth, wake to a newv destiny-and ou may then begin to aspire to manhood. 'ake off, then, that ring from your lily fln er, break your cane, shave your upper lip, 'ipe your nose, hold up your head and, by II means, never again eat the broad of idle. ems, nor depend onfarther. TiH Turks have a very simple method f making pantaloons. 'They fasten two offee bags to a vest and the work is done. 'he bags answer for legs, and the vest for se. waistbnds. iN AD WOMN NOW-A-DYS. Somebody is reporting for the Boston Journal certain speeches of " Father Langly, who is a very sensible old cove. The fol lowing is his opinion of the present gener ation: " Failed has be? I wonder they don't all fail? For, what with the extravagance and good-for-nothingness of men and women now-a-days, where is it to end? Call them selves "Sons of the Pilgrinms!" do they? I wish to mercy their old grandfathers could see them! They were true grit-real hearts of oak-but these popinjays are nothing in the world but veneering. If we go on at this rate, the race will run out in another generation-we shan't have; nothing left but a mixture of coxcomb and money! The women, too, are no better it is just even. They are brought up for nothing under the sun, but to put in a buffet. When I was a boy, it wasn't so-the spin ing wheel stood in the corner. They were set to work as soon as they could . walk they had no nursery maids to run after them -then mothers weren't ashamed to tend their own babies. They could sew on a patch and rock the cradle beside. The gals were good for something in those times; they could spin and weave wool and linens, linsey wolsey, red and blue, and wear it too after it was done. They could eat bean porridge with a pewter spoon, and they were enough sight happier and better suited than the gals are now with their silk gowns, their French messes, and silver forks; yawning i and moping about; silly, pale face things, with nothing to do. Set them to work.- 1 Put them at it early. Idleness is the devil's foreman; and no chain is so strong as the iron of habit. Watts was nobody's fool, I can tell you, He knew what was what. Folks don't stand still in this world; they are always going one way or t'other. If I they ain't drawing the sled up hill, they'll I be sliding down. Adam was a farmer, and Eve hadn't no "Irish gal" nor "nigger I wench" to wait upon her. What do these popinjays say to that? Ashamed of the old I folks, I'll warrant. Adam wasn't nobody they know it all. But they can't work, they're so delicate, so weakly. What has made them weakly? Send off your chamber, maids, your cooks, 1 your washerwomen, and set your own gals c about it. It made smart women of their t &L- ~~AA aa t L1_4 a;P slippery these iel"-., are. They drive fast t teams without bittor curb; buy all they can t and pay for as little as they can; pocket all r they carry; make a smash; snap their fin- t gers at their creditors; go to California or t to grass-nobody knows which-and begin I again. Good gracious, if some of these fellows had lived forty years ago, they'd have clapped them in prison and shaved their t heads. A Quakeress, being jealous of her hus. band, took occasion to watch his movements rather closely, and actually discovered the truant hugging and kissing a pretty servant girl whilst seated on the sofa by her side. Broadbrim was not long in discovering the face of his wvife, as she peered through the half-open door, and, rising with all the cool ness of a general, thus addr-essed her: " Betsy, my wife, thee had better quit thy peeping, or thee will cause a disturbance in the family." The effect was electrical. A boarding miss deeming 'cat' a word too vulgar for refined ears, defines it thus: ." To insert nutritious papulum into the dentiteular orifice belowv the nasal protuber ance, which being masticated, pereginates through the cartilaginous cavities of the larynx, and is finally domicilated in the re ceptacle for digestible particles." TI[ERE is only one objection to people who 'mean wvell,' and that is they iiever can1 spare time to carry out their meaning. IT is said to have been satisfactorily dem onstrated that every time a wife scolds her I husband, she adds a new wrinkle to her face ! It is thought th:.' the announcement of this fact will have a most . 'atary effect especially as it is onderstood thaL every time a wife smiles on her husband it will re move one of the old wrinkles ?1 SPEAKING GaRAMIIAIcALLY.-" Sal," ex claimed Ebenezer to his dearly beloved, when he arrived in Gotham with his bride, on a wedding tour, "Sal, get on yer Sunday go-to meetin' dressing and things, and let's take a pendicular promenade round the pre juncts of the principality." "Well, Zeb," replied the fair one, " I'll do it and nothing shorter. But can'& you say your say without talking grammner and college edification ? If you wvant me to take a slater round, and take a trot with you, why in salted Jerewalem, don't you say soi" A LTTTLE CIIILD'S PRAYER.-The editor of the Detroit Tlimes says he heard, a day or two since, the following illustration of early piety: "Pray God bless father and aother, and Anna, and by jink I must scrab ble quick to get into bed before Mary does. I TOLD YOU so.-" Wife, wife, our cow's dead-choked with a turnip." " I told you so. I always sed she'd choke herself with them turnips." " But it was a pumpkin-" " Wall, it's all the same. I knowv'd all along how it would be. Nobody but a ninny like you would ever feed a cow on pumpkins that wans't chopped." " The pumpkins was chopped. And 'twant the pumpkins neither that choked her. 'T was the tray-and the end on't is sticking out of her mouth now." " Ugh! ugh ! There goes my bread tray. No longer -ago than yesterday, I told you th*at tenw would swallow that travy.'' LAST WORDS 0F NICHOLAS ABOUT THE UNITED STATES, ENGLID AND FRANCE. The N. 0. Bee publishes the following passage from a letter addressed to an eminent foreigner, now in that city, by a Russian friend, residing in St. Petersburg. The Bee says it may be regarded as entirely anthen tic. The views of the dying Czar, in regard to America and the future of England and France, will not fail to arrest the attention of the reader. ST. PETERSBURG, Feb. 1855.-Before my letter reaches you, you will probably have received intelligence of a loss that will spread a gloomy veil over all Russia; for the dnath of such a man is a blow that not only strikes his own country, but resounds from the shores of the whole world. In my last letter I did not dare openly declare what we were expecting from day to day, for we were unwilling to accustom our hearts to an idea which our minds were incapable of conceiving. The last days of our Czar are a whole century in the history of Russia, and will never be forgotten by those who witnessed them. Do not imagine that he was exasperated with his foes. Quite the ontrary ! Impartially, like a prophet, he gazed upon the present situation of the dif. erent European powers, and predicted the uture with the accuracy of one who looks rar beyond the present. "England," said lie, "has reached her ulminating point either for life or death. 1here is no middle path for her to pursue. )ne thing alone may save her, and that is a 'ree confession, not only by the government, )ut by the whole aristocracy, made to the eople, that they have been absurd from irst to last, that the Crown is unable any onger to maintain its power, and that the >eople must rise and unite together as one nan, to save the honor and preserve the in. lependence of the country. A candid ac mnowledgment of the truth may even now ;ave England, if her corrupt aristocracy can ie brought to the stool of confession. France, in the contrary, can maintain herself only iy falsehood and deception. The Emperor nay proclaim to his subjects that he governs Ind influences the affairs of all Europe, that iot a shot can be fired without his permis. ion, and that France is the first power in Europe ; but a single shock, one speech of a emagogue, may overthrow him and darken be star of Napoleon forever. I have offer I him, my li-ami tho hqngil ^f. bemselves in the mighty struggle between bie other nations of Europe. But they ever have been and never will be more han secondary powers, satraps holding au hority by the clemency of my House, or by iermission of the Western Powers. Yet ine consolation is left to me in the midst of 11 this ingratitude and villainy, and that is lie silent sympathy of that high hearted peo le on the other side of the Atlantia, the on y hearts in which I hear an echo of my truggles against united Europe. Never ave I forgotten the smallest kindness shown o me by the least of my subjects; let my hildren never forget what we owe to Ameri. a, and if ever an hour of danger darkens round the Union, let her find a faithful ally n my family." Trhese words may be of interest to you, ny friend, because you ara now living mongst the Americans; andl I mention them, mowing that your sympathies have bound rou to a foreign land necarly half a century. Jne learns to recognize his true friends in he hour of'danger, and you may rely upon t, that as long as a Romanoff sits on Rus ia's throne, the American States will never eed a friend. The above, (says the Bee) is a faithful nd almost literal translation from the letter, hich is written in German, by one of the mobles of Courland, residing in St. Peters. >urg. From the source whence wve recei red it, we have no hesitation in guaran tying ts authenticity. A Fzx.-A Farmer had occasion to send mis hired man -who by-the-way was a jolly utchmn-to a neighboring town for a bar 'el of molasses. The weather being wvarm, md road rough, and the driver, moreover, Iriving rather fast, the molasses took a no ion to " work," as it is generally called. But we will let him tell his story in his own vords. "Vell," said he, " I gomed along, and I veied along, till I got to dea hill vat stands atop of der blacksmit's shop, and den I ooks 'round pehind my pack, and ter sthuff ras all running out mit ter bung hole. Tfinks , I'll sthop dat: and so I sthops ter cart, nd chotches ter oxen mit a grabble sthone, nd trove te pung hole in as tight ash never t vas mit a ligh-woodnot, and gomed along gain, till I got to where ter forks roads ross each oder mit ter meetin' house, and I oks 'round pehind my pack agin, and der Suss'd sthuff vas all run'd over mit ter parrel gin. " Oh tam you," says I, "ll fix you now," and I picks up a chunk and hits ter pung hole mit all my might, and ter ting lew out mit a noise like a cannon, and knocked me down flat of ter mit my pac~k and scart ter cart, and it runned away mit der stheers, and turned 'em all over mit each oder, and proke everything all in pieces, and l'm gomed home mit myself, put ter scart ish runuing to ter tuyful." Naw MODE OF RoBBER.-Tlhe Cleve land Plain Dealer says a singular robbery was perpetrated on Saturday night upon a pasenger on the train from Columbus. Mr. S. C. Moore, of New York, was offered by a neighboring passenger several sugar lozen ges, which he ate. Soon after he became very drowsy and slept soundly till aroused by the conductor. Feeling very sick, and attributing his somnolency to the lozenges, he wvas advised to examine his pockets. He found them picked of his pocket-book, in ..ich ho had $275. THE NEW INlqUISITION. The Legislature of Massachusetts recent ly appointed a committee to examine 'the nunneries in that State: but unfortunately it appears, there are no such institutions (regu lar nunneries) within her boundaries. There was, however, a girl's school, kept by the "sisters of charity," numbering twelve pu. pils, in the town of Roxbury, to which the brave and gallant committee of seven, with twice the number of curious volunteers, bent apparently upon a regular investigation of this nunnery of female jesuits with the view of suppressing it, and exposing the crueltiel' and enormities practised therein. The fol.. lowing is from a long article in the Boston Advertiser: " On the Dedham Turnpike, in Roxbury, just beyond Oak street, there is an ordinary. house, in which a school is kept. by seven ladies, Catholic "Sisters of Charity," mem bers of the order of Notre Dame. Tlihey have twelve pupils, young ladies, between the ages of ten and fifteen, all Americans.by birth. These nineteen ladies form the whole household, with- the exception of an Irish man, who is employed about the premises as - a servant. The house is located upoir a thoroughfare much travelled, it is not seclu. ded in any way from public gaze, the grounds are not surrounded by any barriers, nor does it have any of the characteristics of a mo. nastic institution. The ladies who reside there as teachers are highly cultivated and accomplished, and as much entitled to re spect and courtesy as any in the State. Their pupils are likewise respectable, and there is not the least evidence that their at tendance at school is forced, that they are subjected to any rigorous discipline, or obliged to undergo any sort of ill-treatment. "Such being the character of this estab lishment, the seven' ladies residing therein were surprised on last Monday afternoon to see two omnibuses drive up to the doors, crowded with passengers, who alight and inquire for the "lady superior," and being met by the head of the establishment, the spokesman of the party informs her that the crowd is a committee appointed by the leg islature to examine the house. No notifica. tion of the visit to be expected has been served upon the ladies, and they are obliged . to take the statement of the members of the, party on their own authority. We have already seen that the commiiie . .eie v a ew mure or less. "Nineteen ladies, twelve of them less than fifteen years of age, could not, of course oppose any effectual obstacle to the entrance of twenty-four full grown men into a con. mon house, even had the ladies known the rights guaranteed them by the constitution and laws of Massachusetts, and had they been disposed to maintain those rights by force. The "gentlemen"-we presume we must call members of the Legislature by this title--roamed over the whole house from attic to cellar. No chamber, no pas sage, no closet, no cupboard, escaped their vigilant search. No part of the house was enough protected by the respect for common courtesies of civilized life to he spared in the examination. The ladies' dresses hanging in their wardrobes wvere tossed over. The party invaded the chapel, and showed their respect-as Protestants, we presune-for the one God wvhom all Christians worship, by talking loudly, with their hats on, while the ladies shrank in terror at the desecration of a spot which they believe hallowed. " While in the chapel the ladies declined holding any conversation with their prosecu tors; but in another part of the house the principal expressed her perfect willingness to answer any questions propounded by -"the committee." One of "the gentlemen" ac cordingly pats her affectionately on the back with one hand, turns over the rosary sus pended round her neck with the other, and asks her if she is content with her situation, whether she canleave when she pleases. The young ladies were, of course, subjected to questions even more rude-whether there are any boys boarding in the establishment -what punishment they suffer for misde meanors, &c. It is scarcely necessary to describe such conversation in detamil; the reader can readily imagine what the scene must have been. " The examining party, of course, bad everything their own way, and when their searches and their insults had been protract ed to the extent of their pleasure they took their leave. It is scarcely necessary to say that "they found-no matter what; it wvas not what they sought"-unless the object of the visit was simply a " lark" at the expense of the State, in wvhich case the object wvasdoubt less attained. There were no nuns immured alive in contracted cells, nor any evidences. of abuse of any sort calling for legislative interference or even inquiry." MAR-rIN VAN BUREN, yR., died at Paris on Tuesday, the Veth uit. A large number of Americans accompanied his remains -to their temporary resting place in the cemetery of Montmatre. Ho had seated himself-at the dinner table when his head fell forward on his breast, and he expired without a wvord, without a groan. Yesterday morning, about 4 o'clock P. M., a small man named Jones, or Brown, -tr Smith, with a heel in the hole of his trousers, committed arsonac by swallowing a dose of suicide. The eerdict of the inquest returned a jury, that the deceased came to his facts is accordance with his. death. Hes leaves a child and six small wives to lament the end of his untimely loss. In death wo~are in midst of life. IF our Maker thomight it WroDi tr Adaui to live single whien thor. was not ?awoman on earth, bow criingily guuiltyare oldhikilie lors waih the world fulof~'retty gir-s.