Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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^v. ./ ** ' - ? - Jis #& ->,* * j t '42 PER A NNTTM Clmln'd louo Parly'1 arbitrary may, T"M ATWANOTK A .J-dAl? Ail il vJ i?l? VJ^i-? We cleave to truth Wlier'ere the lead* the way. AX* 2\XJ AiliyXv ' y'mV^ - v^iwr i .? , NEUTRAL IN POLITICS?DEVOTED TO LTERAliY, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, SCIENTIFIC, GENERAL AND LOCAL INTELLIGENCE. VOLUME IV- LANCASTER. C. H? SOUTH CAROLINA. WEDNESDAY MORNING, AUGUST 1, 1855 NUMBER 25 OPI FPVPn "PAT CO | with their song, until the young Esquire | tlio milling of hail?it was the rain 4lrii?. I rvmLl ? ? -***> ??5?? f?? ? i 11 1 *' L* *' * " ' ouduuimj iajjciu. [From the VVaverly Magazine. THE RECTORS DAUGHTER BY TH08. B. MITCHELL. It was a cold night; the library shutters rattled so as to tnake us nervous; but we pressed the strong iron bars over t&em, and then we could listen to the wind with less disturbance; and a wild, stroug wind it was, too. Now and then it would go out in w mad shriek upon the night watchers, like the wail of a mother over her lost boy?that wail of a crushed hope. Fitfully at first, as if the weep*r dared not weep aloud, then more distinct, until it swelled into a thrilling wail that made one start with fright ; and then it would die away faintly, as it the heart were breaking, and life had de parted Willi the last notes ot that sad, plaintive voice. There is an old tree above the wing 1^ that contains the library, and we?that is, Willis and 1?could hear it tussling with that mad wind, like a human being struggling with some bitter foe. We had listened to it an hour or more in perfect silence. I was writing hy the fire-light, and paused to listen, when it ceased. 1 looked for tny companion ; he stood by tbe window that overlooked ibe village road ; he had opened one of the shutters, and was gazing out into the night "There he goes! the spirit of the storm." As he spoke, there was a bright fla- h of lightning, aud I stood by his side watching the village road. It was a quick, anxious glance, yet I saw a black horse and its rider dash madly over the old bridge; the fiext moment tbey were lost in tbe darkness. Tlien followed a crash of thunder that shook the earth itself, and then went rolling away among the mountains; now louder echoing from some cliff or mooring, through some farott glen, until it died away, and stillness ensued, more sublime than the voice that preceded it. "Did you know Aline Loidf She grew up while you were away. She was beautiful, proudly beautiful, with her dark, mournful eyes, and pale features, and her form?it was so light and graceful. Aud very kind and gentle, too, was Aliue? ever by the sick couch of some poor stranger, or aiding the poor stranger on Ins lone pilgrimage; ami I verily believe there was not an old man in the village who did not dream of her when he dreamed of angels in heaven. Never was tlu-re one more beautiful than Aline?none save one." Willis paused for an instant, as he uttered that Inst sentence, and I saw a shade of suppressed grief pass, like a cloud in a swift wind, across his face. I knew that he stood in the presence of a holy vision. And, as the past went before him with stalely tread and solemn mien, as the loved past ever goes before lis in tbese latter years, I turned away my face and left bin) to the communion of that sweet dream, lie remembered the story he was telling no longer ; be remembered only that vision ; long years since, lie had Duriud it out of his sight; he heard the wind no longer ; lie heard only that low voice, now musical with laughter, now with soog. "At i natural consequence of Iter proud position?for aho win. the Rector's daughter?and her singular beauty, Aline Loid was someti.uos capricious and proud. She did uot attempt to cencenl her dislike for some of the forward who pressed their attentions upon her, or her displeasure at an Ill-expressed, or too open com pliment. How it was. I know not; perchance his silent admiration was better suited to her taste; perchance from the natural kindness of her heart, that led her to see the loneliness of his, and to compaseiooate the nervous tremor with which her presence inspired him; for these, or other reasons, she soon distinguished Oscar Lyle, and showed pleasure in convening with liirn. They were young then, very young, vet. ever after. Oscar Lyle *u Iter favorite. * You might see tliem ary summer evening, sitting aid* by aide in Uio red twilight, talking aa familiarly as brother and aiatar of the future, and of the past aa well. And then there waa Aline** father, at atrong, floe-looking man; and good old Col. Graaon, who used to "drop in** of an evening, for pleaasnt converse. Those were sacred hours for those two youug hearts ; yet, alaa I the past never eoniN bach again, save in ineatppr?then only to pain ua with sad regrets of dark bourn for some unkindly spoken word. Sitting there in the old village church, in the red light that fa,I through th* a tamed glaaa windows?oven then ho felt ail are la must be like Aline artist arWtt meek and reverent face, listened to the worth of tb? good old Reet??r; bo looked toot upon the cold world m it m, bat M ft a How strangely oar childhood shadow* forth our lift!' It was May-day, and A lino wait to ba antra. A* they stola out throagh the om wicket, Ljla placed a wreath of dower* upon her white !?row. tied with a broad white ribbon. How Aliue thanked him with her smiles 1 And they were merry with their dance and $5% . v ' m'" \ * + * catuo ; lie was h young lad, no older thai Omar Lyle, hut proud and self willed And he must kiss the queen, forsooth ard Aline hlu hed, drew hack, until Osca camo to the rescue. There was a <j iuid movement of the youth's arm, and Will ter Grason fell like a log at his feet, whih Aline, weeping and trembling, tore th< wreath from her forehead, aud would siiq no more that day. It was nearly a week after that, whet Oscar Lyle visited the parsonage, tha they told him Aline wan unwell. H< paused for a moment, and hiacheek puled then, pushing the terrified servant aside be hastened to ber room. She lay hal reclining upon a rich velvet couch, looking 1 wildly lovely in a dress of pure whit* muslin ; yet her face wore a deeper shad* of pensiveness than was her wont, am she turned not to meet him when be en tered the rootn. ' Aline !" he gasped, springing to he side. She glanced up, and he knew all then the starred border of her bead dress?i wiigift?Walter Grason's. 44 It were no fault of mine, Oscar, if turn from thee," she said. 44 lie is mj father, and it is his wish ; he is all tlu friend I have in this wide world, but you J Oscar, and you will be my friend, mi brother, in this dark hour. You will for give mc, Oscar," and she laid her hand flittering with jewels, upon his arm, am raised those large, dark, pleading eyes U hir. You will forgive me, Oscar?" 44 May God forgive thee, Aline?/nevei can !" lie turned away, aud Aline Loiii was alone. The Hector met him in the hall. 44 Aline told you I" he said, inquiringly 44 yet blame her not, for it is better thus You are poor now, Oscar," and a bittei smile wreathed his lips as he turned away 44 I am poor now, Uerbert Loid, yel you shall feel proud to call me friend.' Oscar Lvle turned away as he spoke and when he left the part-ona^e, titers was another green grave in his memory : and another loved lorin had la-en buried in a lone spot in his heart. Aline Loid was to be a forgotten name in the future * It was a wild night, just such a night as this. It was the night before the trial. Yes, Herbert Loid had been charged with a crime by the laws of his country, un prrdonable. A dispute had arisen between him and his sou-in-law, Waller fell on the floor a corpse. The villagers pitied the poor old man, and everything that could be done, was cheerfully per formed. The services of the most renowned advocate in Kngland. had been procured, and many hoped that on the morrow, Herbert Loid mi{ht throw oil the chains of the convict; yet they dared not breathe that hope, it was so faint. One heart was bleeding all alone on that wild night, in the richly furnished bou loir of that old house. The heavy drapery that fell over the large windows, half concealed the slender form ; yet the face was such an one as you might see in the ideal of an artist's dream. The dark, mournful eyes beamed with a tender softness, contrasting strangely with the ashy paleness of that young face, so lovely in iU /? Lianiif"! ?? ?- -1 *? ?* . .... in iik nt*|) grifi. M Will he come!" and the lady presaed her face hard against the damp glass, until it became clouded by her quick, fainting breath. Earnestly alio listened, yet there was no answer?no sound, save the rustling of the old tree against the window, and the fierce pattering of the rain against the glass; still her face was pressed hard against the window pane, and the pale features were lit up by n wild, intense excitement. Yet she could soe nothing?nothing only that gaunt old sentinel by the window, its huge form blackened by approaching night ; and the I ?ng, brick wing looking dark and shadowy in the deepening gloom. Fainter and more shadowy became the objects to her view, and the rain beat more fiercely against the window panes. She drew back with a cold shudder, and allowed the rich drapery to fall back into its place, while she sunk deeper and deeper amid the rich pile of cushions; and a smile?It was a bright smile?flitted over that pale face. Rhe was in dream-land. Oscar Lvle again stood by her aide, leaning against the chancel rail* in the old village church, listening to the voice of the good Hector; again sh?i wandered through the old wood; visited Fairy Knoll, and their old hai??i~ "*?? ( aud wove those wild forest flowers ioU bright wreaths, sitting there on the old s'one bencli in the pale moonlight, with the church spire in the distance. dreamed, and the smile of trusting faith tola over that pale face, like a raj ol 1 'fanlight over a summer elotid 8lw thought he waa doubting her ^instancy, and aht faped a wild, fervent rrplj? " Osea/, do you doubt me ?M Again she was olaepud to that manlj breast, i ind* wi!4.e?y of ioy warbles up from law throat; and then she starts Th? hrivlit ? ' 01 ......... aa> oun sinned frotn the OMdb, ami gazed .Mil into Ut? night ; jet *W eould li*c?rn nothing nothing, on I j n <Ur1t ahadow, m H no? k h) then #wapt put the win.low? u *m the old tree. Tue rein Mill heat ierc*lj againat the window pane*, and the con IJ , hear a faint, inoaraM, dismal found, Uk< r* ' 4 * ' r 1 ping in the court below. She sprang from the window and turn! el to a marble-topped table. A small r lamp of frosted silver, was burning upon I it, and nearer it, stood a liny bell of pure . gold. bhe grasped it with an impatient ft motion, rung it sharply, and then sunk ft back upon the couch, the shadows deepe{ ning upon her pale face. The clear, silvery chimes sounded coldly through those 1 rich spacious chambers, ami soon a scrt vant entered the room. Yet you could a not hear the fall of his footsteps, so heavy ; were those rich carpets, for your feet would >, sink down iuto them as if in a bed of f clover. r " John, has he come f" and she bent a eagerly forward, o?e white hand dutcha ing the heavy folds of the drapery. 1 " lie awaits be'ow in the vesiibule." " And is it him F" and her form trembled with excitement, while her hea l r beat wildly, and her dark eyes shone with a half maddened light. ; 11 It is the advocate, lady." t u You are sure it is him, John i" 44 I am Imlv " [ " Ah, how kind! and in such a storm." i A moisture gathered in those large, dark 3 eyes, and she sunk into a half uncoil, scions dream. r "Did yuj tell him, John!" and she started from the apathy into which she , had fallen. I " I told him nothing." ) " It is well, then ; yet the hour ?" " It is past midnight." r " So late 1 and 1 have been musing I here so long, and of him,"?8he checked herself, a deep blush suffusing her cheek. "You may usher him up, John ;" and ; she sauk back upon the couch, the w hite . drapery clutched convulsively in the jewr elled hand. A shadow fell over the carpet, and the t noble form of the advocate, stole into the ' room, lie rested one arm upon the mar, hie mantel, and stood gazing upon the ) l>e?utiful being before him, a bitter smile ; resting upon bia fine features. I " Alinel" broke in a soft whisper from I his lit>s. " Oscar 1" She sprang forward, breathing that dear name, and would have thrown her. self into his arms; but he waved her back with a proud gesture, and stood silent, with that proud smile still resting upon his pale features. She had sunk hack upon the couch, treinhling like a wounded dove, or like a bright flower, i blighted by the cold winter wind?an earnest, pleading prayer, beaming from those dark eyes. " Osenr! Oscar! spare me! I am wretched ! I ain punished. Spare me ! i spare roe ! I repent; he is dead?he for T whom I left you. Oh ! it was a solitary fault! bitterl),oh! how bitterly atoned for." i " Aline !" " Oh ! save me," she cried, interrupting him, and stretching out her arms in sup , plication. " Let me know that you are my friend in this dark hour, and that you forgive me, Oscar." i " Aline, I am. as ever, thv friend." ' - V " And you will save him, my father !" " If (tod's will permits." " May Heaven bless you !" " Aline," and the same cold smile wreathed hi* lip*, ** I was young when I i first met you at the parsonage, and I thought no love like thine; you were my i angel. Yet when I learned that wrong, ' my heart was crushed ; yet, in that dark i hour, 1 found a friend?my mother ; and i on her, I lavished all my young atfeei tions. When poor, she shared my pover, ty, and cheered me on to brighter days. I became wealthy, and she smi'ed upon I my home, sharing my wealth." I " Yet, Oscar, forgive me I only ?ay that you forgive me." i ' You are forgiven, Aline ; and may I you forget the blighting of one young heart." *' Has he gone?" and Aline l,oid pressi ed her handa wildly upon her forehead. >i r i i ?* -?- L . * untv ?ovn mill?J I'l, on I Wlint A IIIC61ing 1" and the young gill sank upon tbo floor. There itm * wild cry, no fonder than (be not?*a of a ford, yet *> full of agony. Tliey laid her gently upon the coucb, and watched by ber aide ibat night; for sbc ?kk, very sick?yet it was hearlaickneaa, The trial was over, and Herbert Loid was acquitted. Tbo jurors, atern men though they wore, Could not resist (be I>11 r11111u eloquence ol tbe young advocate ; and, without leaving tbcir sent*, they declared llie prisoner at tbe bar, not guilty. Then arose a cheer, ao loud that it shook tbe building; and then the yard in front tilled with the crowd, ail anxious and eager to catch a tie*/ of tbo young advocate. Ho noon appeared. with * flne-iooking woiuan Uniting upon ?rin, M lowed l?y ' the old mail Mini A'iih?'. llo grevud i ihetn kindly, pausing nu# and theft to . iirup the rimffervd IihocI of one more > eager than the real to hear that voice > again. , ? Ha took Alina'a hand aa they reached r the carriage, and aeaiated her in, Uien the i Med Rector. * May heaven Uea you, > (Hcer." The targe, monniful eyea vera I fixed with i' wild intensity npoa hi*, and I when tha carriage drove off, aod ahe Iwwm.x. IIV IVI'^VI uvro 111111 U111 11IU IIIUU"' she sunk down amoug the cushions?the light of that young ueart had gono out forever. They never inet again. Oscar Loid bocame a renowned barrister; hut Aline lies in the village church-yard. The old man lives alone in the old house; and whenever a stonu s-veeps over the hills, he hastens to the grave of Aline, and, clasping the cold marble in his arms, watches there all through the long night. It is there that his mad fancy has taken him to-night. * * lie watches by the grave of Aline. DERVI8ES IN CONSTANTINOPLE. [Wo have translated the following story from a German journal. Die Grcnzboten, published at Lcipsic, Germany. It is given there as a translation from the Servian-Croatian language. The author is a priest of the Franciscan order in Bosnia, liis name is Inkie. He was well known as one of the agitators in the last Bosnian rebellion.] Numbers 01 devout dorvises go up every year to the large cities of the Ottoman empire. They are especially found in Constantinople. A year does not pass in which they do not appear in this holy city. Some come from Pert ia, others from As a Minor, others again from Bagdad and elsewhere. Here they surround themselves with a cloud of piety and poverty, aud remind the inhabitants of Constantinople how noble is their calling, how great their piety aud virtue, how exulted their holiness, because they go clothed in rags about the streets of Constantinople, begging alms. 1 do not know how it happens that in the year 1828 greater crowds than usual of these hoiy guests came to Constantinople. They were well aware thut the more of the same kind there were, so much more scanty would the gifts of the devout be shared by individuals*, nevertheless the > came in floods ^^Constantinople, and several hundreds were assembled there at once. A stranger might hare suppoaed they came to defend the city aga nst a foreign army. The brotherhood of Islam had arrived the first. So long as these were alone, they got along tolerably well, but matters afterwards went worse. On a certain Sunday, Ussein, the oldest of the company, addressed his assembled brethren, and begun to complain, in a voice interrupted by weeping, "My brothers, we are twelve oithodux Mussulmans. You see for yourselves how black this year is to us; three days have passed without our having collected a para or a dinar. There is no longer any true belief among the Turks; people have no longer any sympathy for its; everything is cold. Have you heard what has happened at Wurna am I Iiosliudza? I! ave you heard how llie Frankj oppose our belief? Are not the dervises under the special puuishinciil of (rod aud his prophet Mahom< t, who is angry with the Mussulman of the present day ? Do you not sec how the Turks parade in Frank pantaloons ? Shall these things prosper ? No, no : tne i urxiMi taitn t* declining. Listen by brethren, my deplorable companions, listen to me; we must separate?one go here, another there to seek ohr livelihood. We will go further ami leave Constantinoplo behind us to the anger of God. The Muscovite will avenge us on the dwellers of Constantinople, and repay them for their parsiinonv to us and the Turkish faith." nis speeeh was interrupted by streams of tears, which fell over his cheeks. The other dervises were moved by his address, and melted into tears also. Only Oiner turned his eyes around as if he had not yet lost al* hope. "Fear not, my brethren; fear not, my companions," began Oiner, "I am the youngest, and on that account the least wise of any among you. Will you permit ine to speak 1" They all answered, " It is permitted." * If it be so," continued Oiner, "sustain yourselves. We are uot yet lost! There are yet true Turks in Constantinople ; it is not true that they ate all turned Franks. Have rou not seen that whole troops ol dervises have come here, and since the saints are so numerous in Constantinople, they lose their importance?no one heed* them. This is the true reason. Let uh not he fools! Aly advice, if it is ayreeal>le to you, is tbif : to morrow is Friday ; I will stretch myself out slitf, and represent myself dead. You will then carry me into the middle of the street which leads to the jjreat mosque; you shall cover mo with a thin shroud, and lay me on a hoard. ' Foot of you will remain to watch me, and weep over ire. If any of the pa>M?r< hy ask you the reason of your sorrow, you will any to theiii thai one of the hro I tlierhood is dead, and you have not *? : much as will hury linn, in the inannei ; prwscrila-d hjr our law. No one will 1m an hard-hearted aa not to haveeompaasior at aitfht of a dead body. In rhia way w< shall collect money ostensibly for a funeral Constantinople is lariat and baa man) ino-qucs, and there are twelve of us whe can Mike our turoe, if Qod will. Is Uiii ajjreealde to ye*? i* And they answered with one roiee 14 Brt Aftra*, U is good, Oiuerl Wb< | nuuiu HJtvo UlOllgllL IIIHL UUl OI SUCll >1 head so much wisdom would have proceeded ?" "But you shall not be the first," cried Usscin, gayly; "I will be the first, I am the oldest, and then the others can follow in succession." "Yes, that is right, the oldest shall be first." assented the others. The derviaes could hardly wait patiently for tho next day, Friday. When the hour drew near at which the Turks go to the mosque, the dervises took up the board on which their elder brother was already stretched out and went with it to the mid die of the street which Imds to the mosque of St. Sophia. One winked to the other, and then they began to weep and lament. They had not long indulged in this loud expression of their grief when an Adzia, a worshiper, noted for his piety, stood before them, "lie will give something," thought the dervises. But the hypocritical dervises were soon convinced that men uro nfton /I ?.??! l? 11* I. ? ...v witvii uin-ciicu, ti uiic uicj itru striving lo deceive others. "What troublo lias befallen you servants of the Prophet ?" "O, do not ask dearest Adzia ; our blessed Ussein has dio?l to day. Ho was a bravo honorable and holy man, and the eldest of our number. We poor brethren have not the means to pay the hist honors to our elder: we have nothing where-1 with to bury him, if some one does not care for his soul. It is a pious work to I bury any dead, but how much greater to do this honor to a dcrvise, the eldest of the dcrvises. a man of such sanctity." "My ancestors, have done many such pious works, and 1 will do the same." said the Adzia. "Do not grieve yoursellves, go home; it shall be my care to bury him." So saying, he gave two ser vants who attended him, the keys of his dwelling, with orders to carry thither the dead body, and lock it in a room, and then return immediately to the mosque. 4 And when the hour of evening prayer arrives, when we are called from the minaret, we will then bury him," ho added. It seemed to the four dervises when they heard those words, as if all Constantinople was turning around them. But there was no help; the servants of the Adzia took up the living corpse, and the dervises with heavy hearts, were obliged to thank the good Adzia for this labor of lovo. But who could be so unhappy as these dervises, or more t?> bo pitied than they ? The pretended dead man was locked up in the cabinet of the Adzia How did his courage hold out? The four returned to their brethren,and as they told what hid happened to Ussien, they all fell into a deadly sweat. And poor Omer! They all fell upon him like a white crow. Foolish boy, we might have known that nothing beLser would have come from your silly skull!" In vain did Omer justify himself, and maintain that they were as foolish as lie to follow his counsel. No one would listen to him. Complaint followed complaint, | first for their companion and elder, and still more because the people wou.d say the dervises were deceitful people, and practised hypocritical tricks and there would be no end to the jeers about them. There came over the Adzia, as he returned from the mosque, a suspicion whether the dervisc was dead or not. The I Adzia was somewhat familiar with the arts of the dcr vises. Occupied with these ! thoughts, lie reached his dwelling?and behold, his suspicions were justified. On his enterance into the apartment he re marked that a cluster of tigs, which had been hanging on the wall, were no longor there. The liungrv rogue of a dcrvisc ' had eaten them, and then laid down a I gain in his place. The Adzia called his : servants, and asked whether he had taken away the cluster of figs. Their denial strengthened the suspicions of the Adzia that the dervise only pretended to be dead. "Rascal of a derviae," cried he, "whero are my figs, do you hear 1" Though the Adzia repeated tli.'se words several times, mockingly, and touched the apparently dead man with his foot, it was in vain, i The derviae was dead, and remained dead, and neither rose nor moved. At last the Adzia began to beseech liim to get tip, and assured him that no one should he told the story. The Adzia spent two hours i partly in prayers, and partly in threats that he would have hint buried alive. All \ was fruitless. The derviso still remained 1 stiff and stark. Hereupon the Adzia went out and sent a servant into the loom, with orders to make the derviae leave the place, either hv prayers or threats. Hut the servant effected nothing, and ami things remained the same in the Adi xiii's room till twilight. As it began to grow dark, the Adzia ordered his servants , to carry the dirvise to the burying place, i and leave him there. The servants hard, ly wailed for this order, but took him up tiud hurried him out. But what have they been doing to the dervise in 0*e mean ' time I They pricked him with needles, s they pinched him, licklod him on hia i toe, and slapped him with the palm of t their liands--4dl of which the dervise suf. fered like a martyr, for the glory of his r brotherhood, for they would have lost > much of the respect and consideration of ? the world if he had betrayed them. The servant announced to him the , threat that they would bury him if he did > not confess hie ohent and get up. When nicy at last saw that actually all tliey said and did was in vain, they dug a grave and threw the dervise into it. "So, die, then, if you are so fond of counterfeiting the dead," said the servants, and returned home. "Now, I am saved," thought the durvise; when all is quiet I will gel up and out of the du-t, but I must lie here until towards midnight" To get out of the grave was not very difficult for him, as the Turks cover their dead but lightly. Who would have thought that the hard case of the dervise would turn out well, and so much deceit and hypocracy have a good ending ? Towards midnight Ussein heard a noise ?lie thought hjs companions had come to take him out. lie raised his head, and what did he see?more than twenty robbers approaching bis grave. " We will stop here," said the leader, "here, near this fresh grave we are most secure." The others assented, and spreading out their cloaks, seated themselves to divide tli air money and stolen goods. "The eye is greedy when the cake is cutting, says the proverb, and so the robbers kept cry itig out among each other, one, "That far me," another, "No, I will have that." Halloo, see how the brave robbers scamper, Ussein stretched his band out of the grave and cried out, "And what is for 'j me?" Tliis unexpected voice sonnd<> I tr? the frightened robbers like thunder. They " did not take time to put on their caps; they only shouted. "Run w ho can." , Our dervise did not neglect to make 1 use of this fortunate accident. lie run to the end of the grave yard almost naked, as lie had been buried. As he turned nbout he found the brotherhood?the other eleven dervises, who had come to reclaim 0 him, and who had witnessed the whole c scene; and now the dervises divided a- i mong themselves the robbers' booty, with the clothes they had left behind them. The robbers meantime sent one of the " boldest of their number back, with orders to look ubvnit carefully, but not to enter ^ the gravo-yard. The messenger heard the sound of many voices, and crept, half dead, back to his comrades. "Dear brothers," he could hardly speak from his deadly fear, "he is no longer alone?there is a great multitude; all the departed souls have assembled there. Let us fly." Each dervise took oil* as much as he could carry; arrived at their inn, they thanked Allah for such a great favor, and that ho had not left his faithful rons in their need. They all kissed the feet of U.ssein, their elder and benefactor. Who was so joyful as young Omer, not so much over the wealth he had gained as because he was relieved from the incessant reproaches and blame of his brethren ? "Say again, now, that Omer was a numbskull," cried he, with excitement. The brotherhood "Islam" was shortly the most respected in all Constantinople. The fame of the sanctity of this order, forced the other dervises soon to leave Constantinople, because they were in such favor with I ho people, lint Casein's party remained. Omer was selected by his brethren to ho the successor of Ussein, and I Outer's word had great weight with his j brethren, though lie never undertook to I recommend another audi artifice. Hut this was not necessary, as they had hencej forth a superfluity of oveiything they ' needed. How to become a Millionaire. Mr. McDonougb, the millionaire of New I Orleans, has had engraved upon his tomb I a series of maxims, which he bad prej scribed as the rules for his guidance thro' j life, and to which his success in business is I mainly attributed. Tliey are so sound, mm contain so mucn practical wisdom, ( i lljiit we cojiy them. ( "Rule* for the yu'ulance of my life, 1804 ?Remember always that lab if is oue of J the conditions of our existence. Time is l g*!d ; throw not one minute away but place each one to nccount. Dj unto all men as you would be done by. Never ; put off till to-morrow what you can do to I day. Never bid anitlier do what you I can do yourself. Never covet what is not j your own. Never think any matter so trifling an not to deserve notice. Never i give out that which does not first como in. Never speud but to produco. Let J j the greatest order regulate tho transac- J ! lions of your li'e. Study in your course of life to do the greatest amount of good. "Deprive yourself of nothing necessary -j to your comfort, hut live in an honorable simplicity and frugality. Lalior, then, to the last moment of y,,ur existence, l'ur- 1 sue strictly the altove rules, and the Divine | Messing anil riches of every kind will flow ! upon you to your beau's content, but, !ir.>t of all, rumcnil>er tliat tbe chief and great study of our life should be to tend, , by all means in our power, to the honor and glory of our !>ivine Creator. John McDonough, N. Orleans, March 'id 1804. I The conclusion to which 1 have arrived is, i that without temperance there is no health; without virtue, no order ; without religion, no happiness; and that the aim of our being is, to live wisely, soberly and right' ly." it very sickly 1;ere f said a aon i of the Emerald Isle llie other day to anothor.?Yea replied his companion, a great many have died this year that never died before. Money Below Par. A ship was driven out of her course, iiid cast away within sight of an unknown oast. All on board might have escaped n the boats, though rather crowded, but me of the passengers, on their refusing to nlinit his trunk in any boat, remained in he ship to unfastcu it and get out his * ocketbook, which contained notes to the uuount of ?20,000. This lie thought vould not detain him a moment, and he e<|uested them to wait, but in the hurry md confusion of the moment, ho could tot immediately recollect what he had lone with the key <f the trunk. Ilavng found it at last and secured the tnonly, he perceived, to his dismay, that every a^it was out of sight, while the ship was uTling apart, and suddenly found himself u iiju sea. v^atcinng at some article that vas floating by, he clung to it almost un<nsciously, not relaxing his hold even ilien his senses were failing. Fortuuatey ho was floating to land, and when ho evived, ho found himself lying on the each. As soon as his strength returned, e ascended to an eminence, but could ec no sign of the wreck or boats, or of ny human creature. But as he was caning despondingly against a tree, he vas suddenly startled by being slapped n ^he shoulder, while a voice in his ear xclaiined, "what, cheer up my hearty ?" urning round he gladly rocognizod ono f the crew, and enquired what had beome of the rest ? "Why, I don't know, but I suppose hey are safe by this time, but I have een nothing of them." "Were you with them in the boats?" "No, I stayed on board to the last." "And so did I, though I was not aware f your being aboard. I hope you sue- ? coded as well as I did in saving your iroperty." "I had nothing to save but a jack knife md a plug of tobacco?both safe enough 11 iny trowsers pockets." "Then why did you not think of saving ourself at on ef' ' No, 1 could not think of leaving the hip as long as the planks held together, she could not say that I was not true to he last. But come, comrade, let us seo vliat kind of quarters wo hare got into." They travelled some distance without my sight of a habitation. Necessity [uiekened their ingenuity ; they were sue:essful, occasionally catching fish, oysters >r birds, in all which the sailor's Jackcm fx proved of invaluable service in prewiring the proper snares and weapons, in ipening the oysters, cutting up or cleanng the fish or birds, above all, in striking i light to make a fire for the purposo of lookery. Once, also,- when they were atackcd by a wild beast, the sailor, by a irompt use of his jack-knife, savel their ires. Thev bad lived in this manner for innw nonths, when arriving at the opposite of lie i-iland, they found it iuhabited by savages, who conducted them to their king. I'he gentleman, anxious to conciliate his joppor-skinned majesty, produced a five itindrcd pound bank note, and politely )fl'crcd it to his acceptance. The king ?xanined it with some curiosity, applied t to his noso and tongue, and being satsfioil that it was not good to eat, return>d it with contempt. The gentleman toon found out that his twenty thousand ,x>unds could not procure him the smallist consideration. The sailor,on the con:rary, in a few days became a personage jf great importance,for the many services lie was enabled to render with his jackknife, among a people where iron was unknown. They literally supplied all their wants, and his rich friend was glad to [irodt by his bounty. One day, as they wore attending the king, on an eminence overlooking the sea, they descried a distant sail evidently nansinnr the island I'licy kindled a bonfire and hoisted signals, but they did not succeed in attracting notice. " If wc only had a boat," exclaimed tho sailor, I think we could get within hail, and she does ngt stand far out, though it is plain she intends to pass without touching this way.'1 The gentleman produced his twenty thousand pound and presented it to the king in exchange for a canoe, but his majesty rejected the roll of paper, and turned to the sailor with the single word? ' knife." The bargain was instantly closed, the lack-knife received by the king with no less delight titan was experienced by the Englishmen as they jumped into the canoe. By dint of bard paddling and a favorable currant tbey got within hail, and were taken altoard the ship, which pto..^.1 I 1? I' I I 1 vcu id do nu Biigiisu vowei noiuewaru bound. As the; came wi Jiiii sight of the white cliffs, the gentleman took the sailor Apart and handed him two notes, which amounted to a thousand pounds and said ; "You must not refuse to accpt this, for you have dome for me more than twenty times m much as I could have dooe. I trust you may find these bills, one day or other, as useful aa your jack-knife has been. I hare learned by this time that a man's wealth is to be measured not bv the e*- ? > tent of his possession, hut by the ese be can make or what be possess as. . our fourteen presidents, not eee was s citujw of a great-city. 'A4 1 m A\ ^ * - _JU