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-*.4 - Sutmoratic 30urnal, Dvasteh to tf e 5oudi) aunb $&udjjeru aigIj, pdi C %itest flews, Citrature, filoraliti, esmperue, Agricuture, &c. We will cling- to the Pillars of the Temple of Our WO, and It It must fall, wve will Prsh amidst the Ruins." SlNKKIlS, DURISOE & CO., Ptoprietors. EDGEFIELD, S. EMBER 24, 1856. - nr----se WHAT A EAR. What is a year? -"Tis but a wave On life's dark rolling' stream, Which is so quickly gone that we Account it but a dream: Tis but a single earnest throb Of Time's old iron heart, Which tireless now and strong as when Its first with life did start. What is a year I 'Tis but a turn Of Time's old brazen wheel, Or but a page upon the book Which time must shortly seal; 'Tis but a step upon the road Which we must travel o'er, A few more steps, and we shall walk Life's weary road no more. What is a year? 'Tis but a breath Fron Time's old nostrils blown, As rushing onward.o'er the earth, We hear it's weary moan. 'Tis like the bubble on the wave, Or dew upon the lawn As transient as the mist of morn Beneath the summer's sun. What is a year? 'Tis but a type Of lifes oft changing scene; Youth's happy morn comes gally on, With hills and valleys green; Next-Summer's prime succeeds the Spring, Then Autumn with a tear - When comes old Winter-death and all Must find a level here. A PLEA FORKISSING. The fountains mingle with the river, The rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet commotion; Nothing on the earth is single, All things by a law divine, In another's being mingle ; Why not I with thine 1 See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp. one another; No leaf or flower would be forgiven, If it disdained to kiss its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea, But what are all these kissings worth If you kiss not m 1 "PA GOES THERE !" "Mayn't I go with you, papa? Please say I may, Won't you ?" 'The words were utterred in a plaintive and sadly entreating tone, the hlands of the speakei clasping the knees of the listener. It was a boy of seven years who lisped them; a beautiful boy, with fair, high brow, around which there clustered a glorious wreath of au. burn curls; with dark, flashing eyes; cheeks rosy with health ; lips like the cherries of sum mer, and a voice like the birds which tate them. There were tears in -those eyes, at this tiue, though, and the dimpled mouth was quivering. It was a man of some live and thirty who li6. tened to this plea; a man who had been of no. ble looks and princely bearing. Ay, had Iteut! for the blighting truth was written over form and face. His locks were matted, his forehead scOwling, his eyes-red, but not with tears, there were furrows on his cheeks, too, and a brutish look to the expression of his lips. Twice did the little boy address him ere he answered. Then pushing the child rudely from hinm, he said, in a stern soice, "No, no. It's no place for you." Again those fair small hands encircled the knees. " 'ou go, papa. Why can't I too? Do let me go." For a moment the heatrt of the inebriate seem ed to wake from its sleep. H1e shuddered as lie thought of the character of the place hi~s pure souled boy would enter. HeI took the child tenderly in his arms, atnd kissed hinm as of old; then putting him down, he said kindly: ," You must not ask me again to take you there. It is no place for little buys," and seizintg *his hat hurried from the room, murmuring to himself, as lhe paced the way to the brilliant bar-roomn, " and no place for wen either. WVould to God I had never gone." For a long tipne Willie stood where his father *had le-ft him; then turning to the few embers that fatintly glowed upon the hearth, he sat down in his little chair, and resting his head upon his mn~ther's iap, said earnestly: -Mamma, why isn't that pretty store a good place for little toys ! Papa loves to go there." It was a trymng question for the poor, heart broken woman. She had so far kept from her sonm the knowledge of hi's father's sin. Shie con'd no(t bear that he should look with shamte upon hmim, or that, his pure amnd genitle litart .should thus commtune with so intense a grief. Kinidly she toyed with his long ringlets for awhile, then said endearingly, "Papa knows better ihiat you what is best for his little boy. When you grow older you will heairn why he does nut wish to take you." Tlhen rising, she carefully put downt her babe npon its little bed, atnd tied ont her hood and cloak. -Mitnd the cradle, now, Willie; I'1l- conme back soon, and them you shall have some supper, anid a nice fire to sit by, too," and taking a large b-taket, of ironed clothes she wont out. A weail th~y mnother would have been frightened at the thought only of leavintg so y.oung a boy at night fall all alone, with an infant to care for, arnd atn o~penm tireplace to sit beside. But poor Mrs. M. kne well she could trust Willie with his sister, anid as for burning up, there were not coals enough to thaw his blue, stiff tintgers. No, she did tnot fear to go and leave him, for he had thus been left tm:iny a timte, and always careful. ly obeyed her. And he meant to now ; but poor little fellow his thoughts would wainder to that brilliant cor. tier store, whither lie knew his father alway~ wet at e-vening ; anid his brain was busy wil eawronderings. lHe knew his father loved t< go, adknew thtere must be something there he liked, for he never came home again till loni after Willie was asleep. What lay beind thesm scarleL curtains warn a mystery he sought in i-air to ravel. At length he whispered eagerly, as if to en courage a longitig wish, "Papa used to tell me if I wanted to ktnow anything very bad, to per s-evert-, and I would find it out. Now I do wan' toi kntow what makes him love to go there so. know that there must be pretty things behmin< those windows. I abouldn't wonder"-and hii cheeks were glowing--" if it was like a fairy house. Why can't I go ?" Poor Willie! The temptation to know'was too strong to be resisted ; so he hunted through the closet for a candle, for he was a thoughtful little fellow, and wouid not leave his little sister I to the only danger that could menace her. He found a bit of a tallow dip, and lighting it, drew the stand close to her, that the flume might scare away the rats and mice, should they sally out ere his return. " I won't stay long, pretty dear," said he, pres sing a tender kiss on her sleeping lids, and drawing the blanket elcse over her fair arms. "No, I'I come back soon, but I do so want to take one peep." Swiftly his little feet bore him over the pave. ment, and in a trice lie stood beside the curtain. ed door. " How light it is, and how they laugh and talk. It must all be very funny there." A cold November blast swept around the cor ner as he spoke, penetrating his worn, summer clothes, and causing his flesh to quiver and his teeth to chatter. "I don't believe they'd hurt me, if I should 'go in awhile; I am such a little boy, and I am so cold out here," lie - said, as he pnsLted the door carefully from him, slipping in and closing it without a breath of noise. F or a moment he was bewildered with tho light and clatter, and half wished lie were away. But the warm air was grateful to his chilled limbs, aid finding that no one seemed to notice him, lie stole to wards the glowing grate, and spread out his pur. pie palms before the blaze. The group of men that encircled the bar were drinking when he entered. Soon, however, they set down their glasses, and dispersed about the room. " Ilallou," said one, in a loud tone, as going to the fire he spied little Willie. " What are you duirg here, my little fellow? Who are you ? and what do you want ?" "I don't want anything, only to see what you do here. My name is Willie M. My ppa lois to come here, and it looked so pleasant through the window, I thought I'd like to. But I must not stay long, for I've left the baby alone." The man's tones were softened as lie spoke again to him. " And where's your mother, boy ?" "0, she's gone to take home the wash, sir, Papa don't have as much work as he used to otce, and we're very poor now, and she has to help him." " And does it look as pleasant in fiere as you thought it w ould, my child !" 0 6, yes, it does. sir. I don't wonder pIpa loves to come here so mnch, it's so cold and dark at home. 4tut I should -think he'd mamma and me and little sia How . laugh to see this fire and and thos. Ilowers with lit sir," and he earnestly sei . of the listener, " please, boys can't come here with - "For God's sake do not said a deep, anguisheli voi, pure and iojy~ -inavisT My boy, my boy'" and W his ftter's arms-" vue ha% me from carth's vile-t.hel hand upon thy sinless brow, I promise ne% touch again the cup I have dratik so deep. my brothers in sin, as you value your soul's saivationi, tempt me not to break my vow. l1Ielp me, lIeaven-help me, met. so to live hereafter, that papa way never blush to take his boy along' -that it papa goes there, WilJie may go there .0o." Silently the door closed after them, and si lence dwult in the saloon behind them. The poreacber had been there in cherub form, and crazy, loose, unholy thought, or light and ribald jest was hushed. One by one they stolo away, and manmV a night wore smiles that night ; nor' did the Old bar tendcreveni, curse the little one tiat robbed him of so many dimes. Too deeply in his heart l:d sunk the voice of that, cherub preacher. " Don't you like me, papa ? Are you cross at me ?" aked Willie, ini a hesitativg tom,as they stood a few momenits on the pavement ; for thme scene ini thme bar-room was an enigma to thie child, and he half feared am reproot. "I was thinking what mamma would like best for suppel~r," said thme father. "Was you! was you ?" was the cager ques tioen, in a gladsomne voice. "0 then I know you ain't cross. 0, get oysters and craekers and tea, papa i; and a candle, 'cause there is only a piece. And please, patpa, tell mamma not to be cross at tme 'cause I left the baby. I don't believe she will though, 'cause yo)u know it' I hadn't gone as I didtyou wouldn't perhaps have come home yet, and she does lovc to have y ou home so much. Oh, I feel just like crying, I am .<o ghad." "Arid I feel like crying, too," said his father, solemnly ; and ere midniight lie did cry. and his wif'e, too. bitt they were holy tears, washing his heaert of the dust that had gathered on its beauty, aind hers of the sorrow that had draped it as a pall. AUsENCE OF MIND.--T'alkingt of absence of. mind, the oddest instance of this sort happented to me once ini forgetting my own name. .I knocked at a door in London, antd asked: " Is Mr. B. at home ?" " Yes, sir, pray what name shall I say 1" 1 looked the man in the face astonished " What nau'a ? what name ! ay, that's -the qnestion--what is my name ?" I believe that man thought me mad ; but it isI literally true that, during the space of two or three minutes, 1 had no more idea oft who I was thian if I had enever existed. I did not know whether I was a dissenter or a layman. 1 felt as dull as sternhold anid flophins. At last to my great belief, it flashed across mec that I was Sydney Smith. I hea~rd of a clergyman who went jogging along the road till he~ camne to a turnpike. SWhiat is to pay 7" "Pay, sir, for what ?" asked the tturnpikte wan. "Why, for my horse, to be sure." "Xour horse, sir, whlat horse!? There is no horse, sir." " No horse ?" said he, suddenly looking~ down between his legs, "God bless me ! I thoughmt I was on horse back !" ()] One boy, the other day, borrowed a stiek of candy fronm a comrade, to show how lie couldl swallow it amel pull it out of his ear. ie swal lowed it, anid then twisted himself abhoet in va rious ways to extramct it, but at length lie informed his cotmpanion that lie ha~d forgotten that part of thme trick. W No one should ever imake a promise un less lie looks well into thte circumstances before hantd, iand has every reason to belive that it, will be in his power to fuefful his promise. W Money and time are the heaviest bur. dens of lire, and the unhappiest of all mortals atre those who have more of either thean they kniow how to use. gi What is an india-rubber conscience ? Why it is to be a rogue among rogues, and live hionest among honest folks. Transpose it in the former case and you may as well shut up shop at once. g:: Somebody says it is better to die poor thtan to live upon the hard earnings of the un * ristmias !% Written expressly for the Advertiser. THE FESTIVAL AT THE BROWN COTTAGE. A SKETCH FOR CHRISTMAS! The crimson curtains were drawn-the-light om the hickory fire gleamed and shimered over I the carpet of the same warii hue-gay ruddy flashes scintilated here and there about' the well-kept furniture. An aged couple sat in op posite corners of the fire-place. On a low seat, at the feet of the white headed old nan, was a fair young girl of fifteen; one arm was thrown over.the veteran's knee, the other hung carelessly across the silky neck of a huge New Foundland dog. Near a circular table, in a cor ner-on which stood an astral lamp, and over which were strewn magazines and books-were a youthful pair in earnest conversation. The tall dark haired youth was the youngest child of the old couple, a newly dubb'd physician, of superior abilities, and a heart warm, generous, and large enough to embrace -the whole world. The pensive maiden at his side was the betrothed of his boyhood; an oppressed or phan who had for four years felt the bitter bon dage of mistrust and surveilance. The oppressor had gone to her long account. Could that gen tle heart have returned evil for evil, most truly would she have been avengeJ, in witnessing the undying remorse, the agonizing terror of the departing soul as it, in its wild delirium, recount ed the wrongs cone her young kinswoman, to ward whom she had vowed to show and feel a parent's kindhcss and love. On the morrow the coming christmas morn-they were to be wedded in- the neighboring'chappel. "Annie, darling, read me those letters ef your poor uncle's once again before we attend to worship; you will find them there in the Bi ble where I put them this afternoon." The young girl sprang lighly up and in a few moments commenced: - , SCOTLAND. My DEAR AND IloNOCRED PARENTs!,Six ---1u blue eyed Jessie tiful. Terrible. was i .. - from me, my heart's dcaret treasure. Beauti ful, that it rendered her so superlatively lovely in er hectic ethereal decline. She sleeps well, my parents, and my. grief has been so selfish that I have not ere this apprised you of the same. My little Charlie, and his dove-eyed sis ter, are quite well, and are under the care of an ant of their mother's, who is to them every thing that is desirable. You may think it a wild project, my father. but in the course of a week I at to jonm an ex pedition which goe; to discover, if possible, the fate of Sir John Franklin and his gallant crew. I have been ardently wishing of late that I could in some wvay assist my fellow beings. I have been living for umyself alone since mry .Je-se's death. I have given up the practice of my prio fession for months. ,When I think of that lone ly mourner, the lady -Franklin, as she watches each distant sail whose prowv is turned toward her native elitfs, with her bosom heaving in its breaking agony, oh, how I long to be one of the favoured number who shall br-ing to her the glad tidings of a husbanm's rescne. My knowledge of medicine may perhaps lhe oif service to the poor weary wanderers in the frozen waters of the shrouded North. Should I return, as I fondly hiope, successful, I, and my little ones will soon be with you in your trans-atlantic home. Should I never return, a friend is coin missioned to convey them to you. For the pres ent farewell, and the Good One be with and bless you. Yotur CHAR LIE. "Now read the other, my child," sighed the good grandfather, wviping his eyes, " I shall be glad to hear it once more." Ox BOARn -rua Pase AnaET-, Oil' Melville Cape, Aug. 15th 1851. Mv Frrnuen aNI Mo-rint:-Sad and dispiri ted we have turned our barque homeward. Thoghi the dread mysterious North has revealed its wonders to us, yet, we have no tidings to give ot the loved and lost. We have beheld the arctic sun like sonme huge bird of prey describe its excentric convolutions from the zenith to the horizon, and then with a solemn majestic swo'>p hide its burning disc behind the palisades of eternal ice. lIn a few short hours as if sated in its insatiable greed, it rises again and pursues its tuntiring round. We have seen the Aurora in all its effulgent beauty, blush like the rustic mad, when youth's earliest rose opens on her chek, anid then with a mighty and supgnal im pulse dart its coruscating fires, like molten gold across the entire heavens. And then again, with arc above arc thrown athwart the firmament on high, it looked as if the blue dome above were supported on its magic pillars. We have wended our way amid mountains of ice tower ing above our tiny barque like Mt. Blanc amidst his envious coampeers. We have braved dan gers and death, but without avail. The heart broken Lady yet weeps and casts her vision over the blue sea, with her prayers to Heaven, for her husband's deliverance, and he comes not yet. More than that, my parents, I ani going home to die. I feel that the disease which took away my Jessie, has fastened its fangs in my heart. I hope yet to survive until we land, that I may rest in the old Kirk yard beside her. Oh that the old towers of Dalkeith could once more cast their shadows o'er me. O'r that in my home where my kind uncle reared me so ten el, under the etling brow of the mighty Helvellyn, I could rest But it ma never be. If so, n.ayL e my ur will in the event of my.d my childre immediately to you. I t iind wear Adieu! . Pray fo A suceession of sobs o t old lady an a heavy sigh from her hub d roke the still ness that succeeded the * fthe last le ters from their eldest soM n Martel, th father, had emigrated .di gland whe Charles wa sin his tenth years aftei an uncle, for whom he was an ind who wa wealthy and childless, by loig.' :earnest em treaties had prevailedOn his rents to giv Charlie to him. He had, ej0and profitei by superior advantages. 'dS trian tou throughout Scotland, he had and won hi Jessie. Charlie* was ac1e,. - fellow but as his father had dubbd erfect par adox. He was either on the m summil or in an abyss, always. - On the morrow. suceeding 0 eoening o1 which we introduce ou- dramatsj um toth reader, William the yoinget mi& as iarr; Edith May. He had been her A on at th village school when the D * .omine caused her to. quail before his dergusts o passion; and when rude .boys ruder girb jeered and quized her for being teted, hi would proudly yet silently taktINs station a her side, and walk with -her k her home, I home it could be called, where, ui*n ing wo man taunted her every hour in he day, fojr he friendlessness and depeudaince. Tdeathof thi relative had caused an earlier age 'etweei the parties than would-otherwise 'e been con sumnated-for the "kind old gei an who ha< taken her to his home thought i that the should marry at once. An ex irold bach elor uncle had educated her, an ugh givin her the advantage .of eveiv nee ry accom ishment, he had so little fuitl.i er sex-in smuch as one had proved. fait. to de lare that he would do nothing er for her until she proved purely worthy. 0 Christmas morning dawned, e 'bright ani beautiful. Before the different n ers of th4 family had made their appearanei burly un couth looking man stopped at ti ;4oor and re Martel does though." " Well Martel or Bartel, it don't matter which; but Squire Jinkins, down to town, told nc as how to tell you that he'd got a letter froi a nman in Liverpool telling of him that ome of your children or grand-children one, as coming out in the whats-its-nane, or the what-you-call-it, one or tother, and thiey'o both lost." "B it,'' he continued, seeing the flusli which had suffused the old man's cheek at first, >ale until he looked as if lie would faint-" But here's a letter he give mae afterwards because hc was afraid I would forget." With a sudden renewal of strength, Job artel tore open anid read the note. It was romn his agenmt in town simply stating .that riend in Liverpool hiaud apprisedl him that or wo suicceseive days the Sea (Gull and Ocear ave woul embark from that Port and thai he children of Is son would leave for .Americr n one or~ the other, lie was not certain which 'lhe writer added that as there had already beer a considerable delay as to the :!rrival of th< essels, fears were entertained for their safety A feeling of relief simultaneously with a pant f sorrowu swelled the ol man's heart.. Pooi harlie was then certainly dead-his childrer ight possibly be alive. After comnpensatili he bearer of the intelligence, he wended hih ay slowly into the room where breakfasi waited him. The meal was eaten almost ii erfect silence, and surely no bridal bade fair t< e a more solen one thani this, On which, ii ienmed as if Iheaven would surely smile. In a dress of plain wile merino, with swanis own at thle throat and wrist, and a vail of shu tle illusion, confined at each temple with a spraj f pearl, and attended by Annie, as bridesmaid similiarly dressed, excepting the veil, was Editl led to the altar of the Village Church. Th< oung physician in his solgna suit of black, hi oble brow from which the black glossy hail was negligently pushed, the firm bearing anm bright flashing eye, gave ample assurance in lool ad manner, of proving faithful to his trust.. I few inivited friends were present and the ceremo ny began. The clergyman in flowing robes ant sowy cassock had demanded " who~ is there t give this woman away," when John Martel who moved forward to fill the requirement, wa preceded by the bachelor uncle, who had no deigned before to notice Edith since her returi from boarding school. The ceremony ended congratulations were tendered and the part; moved to leave-thie church. " What gentleman was that, that left th Church so quickly grand-pa," enquired Annie a they entered their carriage. " The minister from the parish of S., I pre sume daughter. His wife is lately dead and hear that himself and children are on a visit t the parsonage. I suppose he came by Doc Smith's invitation." " Oh, do look, grand-pa; there is Edith's ui ele assisting the widow McLeod to her earriag How handsome she is ! what a fine looking coup they would make." " Pahaw ! child, don't tal so. They say he hasn't spoken to a womani twenty years-not since he was jilted by son girl whose father forced her to mary a rich ol widower. Well, he's rich enough now himsel poor fellow, to buy a wife if there was no otht way to get one, but were Tom Martin not su . woman hater,.anno would do well to marr F him. I hear that his old housekeeper is his al t moner, and that many a poor family rejoice even a this day through his bounty, and there is no charitable institution in the place to which be does not belong." * * * * * * , * c Dinner was on the table-a real Christmas - dinner. The clergyman, his wife and daughters, and.a youth who had stood up with Annie, were e the only guests present. Edith's uncle had been I invited but had just sent a regret, promising that ', he would call to tea. s- Sincerely did the pious Doctor Smith appear - to sympathize with the old people in their anx 3 iety and bereavement, but he wound up every I fresh expression of condolence with the hope r that it might be a mistake, or that as Charlie * was so given when in trouble to look at the darkest side of the picture, he might still - be alive, and that his disease possibly did not terminate in consumption.. But no, the old la dy would not be convinced-the old man shook I his head doubtfully. "If my poor boy was alive he would not keep us in such anxiety," said his mother. " We wrote of this marriage two months ago. . If he were living and able, we know that he would have been present," contin ued the father. " Hope for the best, my parents," added the young groom, who so happy himself, endeavored to cherish the belief that there could be no real cause for sorrow on that day at least. The twilight came and the party presented pretty much the same appearance as on the preceding evening, excepting that the guests of the day were still with them. Annie, who sat between her grand parents, whispered to the old lady, "Grand-ma, did you ever see Doctor Smith so lively ? and yet sometimes when he is laugh ing so gayly, I can see him look at you with tears in his eyes; and did you notice how he keeps looking at the door as if he expected it to open 7 Oh ! dear, there is a carriage stop ping. I would think it was Mr. Martin but he never uses a carriage." A thundering knock resounded through the room, and whilst the servant hastened to open the door, two little pale faces, pressed against -the window pane, startled Annie who in her surprise had parted the curtains. Uncle Tom -.. -..r a tew iuzuc&-. Bedlam let loose. The old lady and Annie cried. The old man showered down benedic tions. The groom and bride,,cach with their arms around the motherless ones, laughed and sobbed alternately. The guests congratulated and laughed, the servants ran hither and thither with hats and wrappers-the New Foundland dog barked-the fire crackled with redoubled vigor -and, we came near forgetting the bachelor and the widow, who simpered, blushed, and looked as consciously happy as if they alone had brought it all about. A few words will sum up the denouenta. Un cle Ton wearied to death of his bacherlordom, when everybody else was getting married, went to the City to sec the widow, whose father had forced her to play false in her youth. He therei accidlentally learned that the Ocean Wave had just arrived with the Martels among her passengers. lie prevailed on the widlow to intarry him then andl there-invited Charles Martel and his children to share his commnodi ous carriage-drew a handsome sum from bank as a bridal present to his niece-and, as lie de clared it would be better to have the surprises "all at a time," prevailed on Charlie to wait until evening before lie madeo himself known to his faunily. As a matter of course Charlie did not die of the severe influenza lie suffered from in the poiar regions. Two letters written after his recovery were not received by his parents, and the friend who wrote of his children's de parture, in his haste, torgot to state that their father too was to leave with them. The tea had been handed-a circular table garnished with baset of golden oraniges, rosy checked apples, offragrant pine apple, creams and custards, with a tastefully decorated pyramid of bride cake in the center surrounded by confectionary, had been noiselessly wheeled through the folding doors to the ruddy, gleaming hearth. I opine it was a happy group that gathered round that cozy little board, dear reader. (that is pro vided my homely arid hastily written sketch gain nme a reader, in this merry Christmas time.) iWhat with thme billing and cooing of two wed ded pairs-the hair breadth 'scapes of Charlie ,the quiet.joy of the rest, and we trust the be nignant smiles of Heaven on each and every one. t " Good night,pad joy be wi' you a'." in S.A.L. r InAr HE WAs Cullro Fo,-It wau the habit of Lord Eldon, when Attorney e General, to close his speechies with some re s marks justifying his own character. At the trial of Hiorne Trook, speaking of his own reputation, he said, " It is the little inheritance I have to leave my children, and, by God's help, I will leave it unimpaired." t H-ere he shed tears, and to the astonishment rof those present, Mitford, the Sohicitor-Gen eral, began to weep. " Just look ~at Mit. ford," said a liystander to Horne Tooke, 3. " what on earth is lie crying for 1" T'ooke e replied, " He is crying to think what a little k inheritance Eldon's children are likely te a get." e Th'le attention of transgressors is invited da to the following little piece of psalmody : SWe had a dream the other night, r When all around was still h We dreamed we saw a host of folks 7 Pay nn their Printer's B LL! For the Advertiser. HOPE'S RETURN. Welcomel oh, welcome! my beautiful Queen! Thou one love-lit ray from my childhood's freul green 1 Thou etar-crowned and beauteous! all hail to thei now! Shed the glow on my heart from thy radient brow. Fold thy white wings round my sad heart awhile, Banish all grief with thy joy. giving smile; Bring back the bloom to my heart-flowers waste, Sing soft evangels to lull me to rest. All the wild flowers of poesy mine I've brought, my bright Queen, to thy desolate shrin To woo thee again, from thy heavenward flight But they've faded away in thy absence, my light ! Earth's dying beauty is all 'round me now; Stern Winter's coming with icieled brow, To check for awhile the brook's soft gushing song, As it leaps o'er its pebbly bed, dancing along. But yet while-the winter god's reigning without, And scatt'ring with chill breath the dead leavei about, In my heart thou art reigning, my beautiful Queen, Shedding glory within like the sweet summer sheen, Then welcome again to thy home in my heart, My song-bird ! my star-crowned ! oh, never depart 1 For the wild-flowers of love I have laid on thy shrine, Will die if thy hope-light e'er ceases to shine ! DAISY. For the Advertiser. - WINE. MoNTEvINo Dec. 1st 1856. Mn. EDiTOR: Allow one of your constant and edified readers to submit a few passing rcmarks, on one of your articles, in your issue of the 26th ult., headed: " Wine, Beer and Temper ance." Why associate wine with lager-beer, and then with one fell swoop confound and con demn them together; and moreover add, to ag gravate the cuse, and to bring upon the inno cent wiaw greater disrepute, the infamous gin Palaces of England. Bad company even on pa per corrupts good morals. Utility, says Ben tham, is the criterion of human virtue and con duct. The unity and utility of truth are ever combined. The same may be said of wine, and of no other beverage. The experience of ages diffused all over our globe by a benevolent %ire ator. SALT is every where to be found; either in our vast terraqueous oceans; or along the extensive coasts laved by a hundred seas; or in the immense Rock-Salt mines of Wielickza, in Gallicia, which extend 460 miles, and which are 1200 feet thick; or upon the Salt Lakes and Springs of America and other parta of our globe. Next to it may be said that the vine, as a.plant, is the most widely spread over our earth. These two natural objects of creation, notwithstanding their utility, have been the constant object of sumptuary legislation, and even fanatical persecution. It would require more time and space than the columns of a newspaper wolild tolerate with propriety, for mc to enter here into details. Their utility has however been conceded by every one in all ages; and still, by some fanatics, they are abused as containing witLin themselves all the evils that have issued from Pandora's box. SALT, in the sacred volume, appears as the emblem of Eternity, of Repentance, of Recon ciliation and of Wisdom. A good man is the salt of the eayth. *' Dont speak of Deity with out fire, nor sacrifice without salt."-Hlence, at the consecration of an individual at the baptis mal fount, lhe ought to be made to taste Salt. The above precept was announced by Moses, and repeated and proclaimed in after times by those sages of Etruria ana Greece.: Numa and Py thagoras. "A substance dear to the Gods;" and Hlomer calls it " divine." Among the Arabs it is the emblem of hospitality. In Abyssinia, it is a sure mark of refinement and civilization to carry about one's person a lump of salt; and when one meets a friend, he pulls it out and gives it to 1im to lick, and the fashionable is sure to gain favour by returning the comple ment, so that there may be reciprocity of fellow ship ; and salt is thus made, not only the em blemn, but the material and intimate union of close friendship. Without going further back to quote less sacred authorities, Christ himself said: "I air the true vine, and my Father is the husband man."--If companionship can enoble an humble object of creation, the vine has been fully so ii this instance. The premised land of the cho sen people of God was covered with fruitfu vineyards ; an emblem of plenty ; and .pf thn positive happiness and prosperity of the land which was demonstrated by the enormous bun ches of grapes fromi the fields of Eschol. The tenacious tendrils of the vine are miraculously entwined by a most beautiful imagery with th< most sacred subjects of the Christian religion as wine is associated with one of the greatesi miracles of Christ, the conversion of water int< wine, and consecrated by himself also to perpet uate the sac:'ifice of his precious blood. More over asine was habitually and daily used by oul Saviour as an innocent beverage, for he wal called a wine bibber and a friend of publicans But then, we have the great impostor Mahome who forbids the use of wine, and makes it st important rule of hia creed, to distinguish him self from Christ and his followers, from thos christian " dogs and infidels." The Greek and Roman, as well as Moder poets, have sung in sweet verses the ineffabl pleasures, and the delight and health imparte by wine. It has been considered the true mil to. .danad thennrse offmntl mnerya of pure joys. And yet you, Mr. EDrron, haye gone so far as to pollute it by coupling it with . that brutalizing lager-beer that stupifies tho senses and benumbs the mind, fit only for those dull northern tribes, the Laplanders and Esqui maux. This was really, sir, a sacrilegious aso ciation that all the waters of the Jordan canno' purify. You confounded them, because- both are made by you to go under the general appel lation of "fermented liquors." Now, Mr. EDIToR, wine is not a a liquor," and beer is not a liquor; and liquors are not feniee ted, though the result of fermentation 7 miserable beverages called wines, druggedith. alcohol and other even more hurtful substances. . that people have long been drinking in tis country, may well be called "liquors;" t certainly are not wine. The habit of drinliing - these drugged wines has so vitiated the pala of some would-be connoisseurs, that their organ of taste has become, as it were, copper-lined;-. so that they can not in reality relish a purely genuine wine, the simple and unsophisticated juice of the grape. I would not give much for the power of tasting wines, which this class. of gourmets, or wine connoisseurs, lay claim to. The rarest commodity even in France, in the, largest wine cellars, and in society, is a taster of wines. Therefore remember: "That pure wine Is truly " Divine ;" And that "M hontepuloiano Is the King of all wines." In conclusion: I am one of the few individuals who are devoting themselves to the production of genuine wines. manufactured from the pure juice of th grape. I have faith in "Wine-Temperance," and do not beleive in the efficacy of prohibitory legislation. J. TOGNO. For 9Wh Advertiser. MESSRS COI geOUTER: Ge --.t is truly desirous that you would awaken from the " Rip Van Wiile" sleep of youl; and be gin to enlighten some of us poor, dull farmers. upon matters-and things in general, and uncom man, in the line of making some of those enor mous yields reported at the recent Agrioultural Fair in Columbia.,..,. take an averagee of 120 ears to the bushel of corn, it would take 19880 ears, eich stalk to average two ears; there would be 8940 stalks. Planted in rows four feet wide, the stalks would have to stand 141-2 in hes apart. In rows three feet wide, they would stand 1911-16 inches apart, all over the ground. H. REMARKS : As we attended the fair at Colum bia, we had curiosity enough to enquire into the manner by which the above wondrous yield was made. This acre was in a rich basin of sandy loam, with a stream of water running through it. Some fifty (and more we reckon) loads of well rotted stable manure with guano, &c., were deeply plowed in and thoroughly mixed with the soil. The corn was planted, (we do not remember the distance,) and the stream of water raised so as to' water the corn whenever it was needed and cultivated with extra garden neatness and perfection. The won der should be that it made so little to the acre. As to what benefit the cause of agriculture will receive from these acre premiums "this depo nent saith not." It is argued that the premium on one acre, gives the poor man a chance with the rich, but we cant comprehend the point. It, would in our humble view be better to award a premium on the most corn made to the hand or an average crop per acre ; but upon the whole we believe that little or no benefit accrues to the cause of agriculture by these premium patches as they too generally cost more than they are worth. COLTER & SCOOTER. THE editor of the Germantown (Ohio) Republican wants an apprentice to the print ing business. As he has himself had some experience in that line, he states th'e qualifi cations acquired as follows : " We want a stout, active boy, not too old nor too young, who can read and write. We do not want one who will learn the trade in one day, for such a person is a bore; nor one who will know no more after slx mouths' trial than he did when he first came, for. such a one is a nuisance. We do not want one who is so lazy that "grass willegrow under hiscfeet,"l and wvho requires half a day to turn round ; and, above all, one who is not too sharp. We do not want one to act the dandy, or who will get above perform ing the ordinary duties which every appren tice must do; nor one who requires a week's furlough to recover from the effects of a mosquito bite ; nor one who will cut stick as soon as he gets enough new clothes to act the gentleman in for a few months, In short, we wunt a good, willing, honest, capa ble, industrious boy. Let such an one come along, right off." . Men are sometimes accused of pride merely because their accusers would be proud themselves if they were in their places. W Virture, like fire, turns all things into itself; our actions and our friendships arie tin... tured with it, and whatever it touches becomes.' amiable. W It is with certain good qualities as with. the senses-those who ire entirely deprivedt of them can neither appreciate nor comprehend' them. in A young man who was recently bathing' in he issssp river, seeing a number of li. C dies approach, drowned himself from motives off I delicac.