Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c Vol. X. WEDNESDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 30, 1874. No. 39. THE 'DERAL 15 PUBLISRBD) 'EVERY WEDNESDAY NOWNING, At Newberry 0. U-9 BY TH09, Pr GRENUKMR Editor and Proprietor. wrimm, s2zo5 per ol-msA, Invariably in Advance. ,'~ Te pper is stopped at the expiration O1 tv&e fobr which it is paid. IrY The > mark denote expiration of sub scription. FOOLS. Of' all the poor fools who inhabit this earth Fools by misfortunfe,or fools from their birth; Rich fools and poor fools, and great fools and small The mam who gets druk is the greatest of all. TVse spendthrift who revels in riotous living, In spending, or losing, or lendiDg, or giving, Is foolish epough; but he has not yet sunk To the level of him who is constantly drunk. The maiser, eternally starving and slaving, For what he is earaing, or stealing, or say ing, .a be reckoned a fool, but x& is not quit So foolish as he who will get on a "tigbt." The am who will wager, and dicker, and lie 0% *W *W.* -2 cent, or the cast ot a die, Yet vould think as foolish as foolish could be. But the drur.kard is even more foolish than he. Investments in1"wildcat" are mostly a curse, But Javestments in whiskey are something still worse; For stocks do not always their favors refuge, But, whhskey investments are cEnwxI to Atd swra convinced of the truth of my I%Ua4 of he ikR poor fools, for this worid and - "eM4 .t The icef or.the poor, the great or the small, The- mun who gets drunk is the greatest of AILl MURIEL. -0 BY FANNIE FAIRFAX LEWIS. -0 "Thank Heaven the crisis, The danger is past And the lingering illness Is over at last; And the fever called 'Living,' Is conquered at last." -E. A. PoE. It matters little how we met. ] knew and loved the lady Muriel Graceful and well formed was she Her face was bright and beautifu and had a story to tell. The face was a proud one, too, and Mrs Moreton was said to be proud, haughty, and self-possessed. The villa in which she dwell stood at some distance outside the village; my father's farm was still farther off. 1 had been born and reared on the farm that had seen many gene rations of my fathers before me. I had been sent to college, edu. cated, and bad traveled in foreign countries; had dreamt bright and glorious dreams beneath foreirn skies. And now I had returned home to settle down into a quiet farm life. A life which in some re spects I was totally unfit for. My ambitious spirit could not brook the calm quiet of the country. Yet it seemed my destiny, and I tried to accept it. Moreton Grange was continual ly filled witltisitors, all of whom delighted to pay homage to its youthful mistress. She had bril liant and wealthy suitors, and how could I hope to win her. And yet I was madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with the queenly Muriel. I loved with a love that was more than love- I ceased to love, be cause I began to adore. I was an invited guest to all her fetes and assemblies. She was kind-nay, friendly in her demean or to me, so she was to the tame deerin her park. She admired my humble verses and musical tastes. So, too, did she love to look upon the fountain thatthrow its silvery spray high into the sunlight upon the lawn, or listen to the musical inkle of its waters as they shiver ed and fell inmto the marble basin beneath. I had known Miss Moreton a year, and as the months sped on I was no nearer Lhe goal of my hopes than before. My hopes, if I could call them such, wvere cloudy hopes, the sunlight scarcely broke through. My lady was the same calm, kind and sweet spirit as at the first. Oh, so calm and kind. .A rumor had gone forth that the was betrothed. I gave it cred cace, and determined to suffer and be still, to be silent and make no sign. The last beam of hope had departed. I had determined to see her no more-the beautiful and glorious face that I loved so. It was a beautiful day in autumn, the sun was high in the heavens, wreaths, of smoke curled up from the hill-sides, the leaves had be gun to turn into red splendor, the abrill whistle of the partridge was heard far and wide. It was a day for dreams and not for resolves. I had taken my gun and wander ed forth. I had been walking somhe distance, and was just cross ing the road, when the sound of approaching hoofs, at no great Elistance, told or% he approach of equestrians. I turned andI beheld two riders, it was Miss Moreton and a gentleman on horseback. Re was a stranger, and I1 remem ber how bitterly-may God for give me-I felt toward him at that moment. Her lover, thought I. t would have been awkward for me to have kept on, not to say un ourteous. I waited a moment until they came up, intending to speak and pass on. "WVhy, good morning, Mr--," said the lady reining in her horse; "I am gl.d to meet you. Allow me to introduce my particular friend, Mr. Baxter, from the city." The gentleman bowed haughtily. I. stood uncovered and she contin ued. "'MIr. Baxter and myself have just been talking about nature ; our grand old mother. Now, I have a capital conundrum for you this morning: when is the best time to study the book of nature? Come, sir, be quick, and tell me, and I'll give you this bunch of violets." I began to stammer out some thing wvhcn she said: "Why, when a4tumfl is tarning the leapes, to be sure. You did not know I was so clever, did you, now ? Anid she broke o-ut into a-fit of musical laughter. The birds seema ~to catch up the silvery ripples as t he fell from her lips. "But you shall have the violets if you will promise me to honor us with your presence, this eve ning, at the Grange. I expect a a host of friends from the city, and we are to have some charades ; I will want you to assist." I could not do otherwise than promise, and thus it was written that we should meet again. I turned aside and spoke to my dog, who had been waiting patiently during the conversation. He leap ed up toward me, and his leg strik ing the hammer of my fowling piece caused it to explode. The explosion frightened the lady's horse, so that he reared up, and partly threw her off. Before he could run as he attempted to do, I had caught his bridle, and assisted the lady to the ground. She lean ed upon my shoulder all pale and white, and asked if I was hurt. I assured her I was not. "I am so thankful," said she, "that you are not injured, and that you have saved my life." Her cavalier assisted her to remount, and bowing to me, they rode away. The evening passed off brilliant ly, the glare and dazzleof worldly beauty and fashion was there. Need I say that in spite of all I was restless and most miserable. She had seemingly forgotten the almost tragic event of the morn in Y, and laughed and conversed gaily with all. When I looked with loving eves upon her glorious beauty and purity, and upon the marked attendance bestowed-upon her by her friend, Mr. B., I wa4 sorry that I could not have died at her feet in the morning. I could bear the sight no more, and stepped out upon the dark vine covered piazza. The night breeze fanned my heated brow, and I had began to grow calm, when a cou ple came out of the drawing r,oom and sauntered slowly up. I step ped back in the shade to let them pass. It was Muriel and a gen. tleman. I can hear her voice now, the low musical voice, she spoke calmly and deliberately: "No, my friend, I cannot accept your proposal, and since you press me, I must say that I do love one other than yourself; one who is high and noble." They passed on by me, and were soon out of hearing. I clenched my hands, and stood still. "Another poor fool," I mutter ed. "The chosen one is Baxter. I have heard from her own lips the words that seal my fate. All hope is now gone. I am glad to kaow the wvorst. I go out from her presence, and will see her face no more." I returned home and passed an almost sleepless night. Toward morning I fell into a troubled sleep, when I awoke the sun was shining in at my window, and I was hot and feverish. From day to day my fever increased, such days of dreary restlessness, of tossing to and fro, of times when the mind seemed to wander far off, and then, like the prodigal s-n, to return, of times a strange throbbng of heart and brain, of times wvhen the faces of friends and attendants would take strange and fastaetic sbapes, of times when the voices of loved ones would sound far away, so far away. And then a strange calm fell upon me, the old physician shook his head, and my friends wept. I was dying. The grave with all its friendly quiet was at hand. The last prayer was said, a friend knelt down to catch my last words. The earth was slipping fast away from beneath my feet. I. struggled for strength and mur mnured: "Tell Muriel I loved her to the last." The strange calm grew stranger -it grew dark, the friendly voices sounded miles and miles away. I felt that my eyes were being closed, and then all was still. Peace had come at last. IIow long I had lain thus I knew not-it seemed years. I heard a sound-it was the melody of heavenly music. It grew nearer and nearer. I listened with rapt attention, with awe. It was the solemn sound of the church organ, and voices singing a funeral dirge. The fact gradual ly broke in on my bewildered mind. I was lying in my coffin in the church. My first impulse was to endeavor to attract tbe at tention of some one. I might have quivered an eyelhd, by a most superhuman effort, and be saved, for I felt that some one must be at that moment looking at my cold upturned face. And then the thought came to me of Muriel. I remembered her woPrs * he did not love me. Why should I live? No, the grave was my waiting friend. I would die and make no sign. Death would come in a very few minutes, a painless death. The solemn chant was ended the perfume from the violets lying on my coffin stole in upon my senses, and a great and s-.veet calm descended upon me, as the well known voice of the village pastor fell upon my ear. The services were nearly ended, friends had taken their last look, the cof fin lid was iibout to be replaced, when a voice said: "Make- way - for the lady ; she desirQs to see the dead." There was a rustling of gar ments, and a deeper silence. I saw it was my loved Muriel, who was now looking down upon my poor, cold face. Something warm fell upon my hollow cheek ; it was her tears; faster and faster they fell, and,then I could hear the sound of sobs, some one seemed to force her gently away, when she broke out into a wail: "He is dead, and I loved him so. Farewell, my own, my dear one, f'arewell." It was the glorious voice I had listened to so often, and loved so well to hear. Something warm touched my lips, she had kissed me. I opened my eyes. I need not recount how, after long days of careful watching, I was, by the blessing of Got re stored to health, and to my own Muriel-the one who had spoken and saved my lite. LIEUT. HARRY BUFORT. THE LADY OFFICER OF THE REBEL ARMY-HER EXTRAORDINARY CA REER DURING AND SINCE THE WAR -SHE IS WOUNDED THREE TIMES ON THE BATTLE FIELD-RER EX PLOITS AND MARRIAGE iN ATLAN TA. Wednesday morning a represn tative of the Constitution had the pleasure of an introduction to Mrs., E. W. Bonner, who is at present in our city, and Who claims to be the original Lient. Harry F. Bu fort, of the Confederate army. Mrs. Bonner has such documentary proof of the truth of her assertions in her possession as to leave scarcely any room for doubt. Her career, taken altogether. is proba bly the most extraordinary of any woman who ever lived in the Southern States, and it is of pecu liar interest to the citizens of At lanta, from the fact that she was here repeatedly daring the war, and was married here to her sec ond husband in 1864. It will be impassible, in the scope of this ar ticle, to give more than a brief al lusion to the more prominent points in the life of this remark able lady, for it would take a vol ume to con:ain in detail her war record and travels since. MRS. BONNER'S EARLY HISTORY. Mrs.. Bonner is a lady slightly above the average height, thor oughly educated, and very fluent. She is fine looking, and when in conversation her face lights up with interest. She has no hesitancy in talking about the strange events of her life and answered readily all questians that were asked. Her maidea name was Loretta Jeanett Clapp; she was born in Havana,and is nowv 31 years of age. One of her nucles, a Mr. Theodore Clapp, flourished for many years in New Orleans as a Universalist minister arnd was widely est med and known. The family moved from Havana to the United States while Mrs. B3onner was quite young. Her childhood days were spent in Mississippi, but after she grew up to girlhood her family removed to Texas. The early part of Mrs. Bonner's life is entirely uneventful and about the same as tha.t of any other yung lady of the same years. Mrs. B3onner has no brothers or siste~rs living. Her father, Samuel S. Clapp, died a Confederate pris oner in Fort Hamilton, N. Y., in 1863. Her mother died in Texas, in 1860. While the family were residing in Texas,. Mrs. Bonner made the acqaintance of Mr. Wil liam E. Burnett, at the time a stu dent in the military academy at West Point, and whose family were her father's neighbors. An attachment sprung up between the young people and they were married in 1857, Mrs. Burnett be ing at the time under fourteen years of age and her husband a little older. The fact of this mar riage was not allowed to become known beyond the families, as it would have resulted in the expill sion of young Burnett from .tire aadmy at West Paint. Afte his graduation, Mr. Burnett was made a lieutenant, and ordered to duty in Pennsylvania, where his young wife followed him. TRANSFORNED INTO A REBEL LIEU TENANT. The extraordinary part of our heroine's career commences with the war. She followed her husband about previous to that time, from post to post and became acquaint ed with a number of the old army officers. In the early part of 1861, at the inauguration of the war, Lieutenant Burnett determined to follow the fortunes of his State. He threw up his commission in the United States army, returned to Texas, raised an independent company, and was ordered to duty at Pensacola, Fla. This brought about a separation between husband and wife, and now Mrs. Burnett first conciaved the idea of entering army berselL. It was arranged between her hus band and herself that she should raise a company and join him in Pensacola. Thus making him a battalion commander. She ac cordingly donned the FULL UNIFORM OF A SECOND LIEU TENANT in the regular Confederate army, and went to Arkansas, where she succeeded in raising a company of one hundred and thirty-six men. She also assumed the name of Lieut. Harry F. Bufort. She speaks even now with much pride of her company. It was com. posed of splendid material, and not one of the men knew that the gallant young -commander was a woman. The Lieutenant, with her company; joined her hus band in New Orleans, to which place he had been ordered, and the two companies were merged into the "Louiqiana Greys." In the Ltter part of 1861 her husband was killed, and the young Lieuten ant was left a widow. She went to Fort Pillow with her command, and was promoted to be a first Lieutenant by Gen. Pillow, then commanding at that place. The Lieutenant did not remain long attached to any -command. She became what she called "an inde pendent .officar," and so remained, until 1864; being employed by the Government most of the time in carrying dispatcbes. It would take a book to hold all of her trav els from point to point while on this duty. WOUNDED THREE TIMEs. Lieutenant Bufort has seen con siderable service in front of the enemy. She was in the first bat tie of Man assas, with Col. Charley Drew's battalion, and was near Drew when he was killed. She went into the battle of Malvern Hill in the 12th Mississippi, under Col. Taylor, and was here wound ed in .the right fot, She was in the battle of Shiloh, and on the: Monday evening after the fight, was wounded badly in the right shoulder and hand by the burst ing of a shell. HER CAREER IN ATLANTA. The lieutenant was in Atlanta a number of times, from 1861- to 1864 and was married here in 1864 to her second husband, Capt. By ron De Camp.of Van Dorn's cavel ry. She kne w Capt. DeCamp be fore the war, he being a regular army officer. After the death of her husband he courted her by letter, and the correspondence was kept'up for some time. After the battle of Franklin, Tennessee, she met the captain on the battle field, and was introduced to him. .She had recognized him and had a bun die of his letters in her pocket, but he did not for an instant sus pect that the young officer by his side was his sweetheart. On her trip through this city in 1864 she found the captain sick in the hos pital here, w hen she made herself known to him and at his earnest solicitation married him. The cere mony took place at the old Atlan ta hotel, and was performed by a resident Methodist minister. Af ter a brief stay here with her sec ond husband they were forced to separate. She had dispatches to carry to a distant place, and he re turned to his command in Missis sippi. Before she could join him, she received news of his death, and did not reach Corinth, where he died, until after his funeral. RUNNING THE BLOCKADE, ETC. After the death of her second, and, at her request, she was employ d by the Government on a differ ent kind of service.- She made several trips to and from Havana to bring supplies. She was also re peatedly in the northern lines and smuggled through supplies as well as much valuable information. She, at this ime, devoted much.of her attention to alleviating the sunferngs of southern prners.a TRAVELS SINCE THE WAR. After the war and in 1866 she was married to Mr. John W. Was son, of Kentucky, and with him went into South America with the expedition organized by Dr. Henry A. Price, of Virginia. The emi grants went out under charge of Mr. Fred Johnson to Venezuela, and found that they bad been gross ly deceived, as to lands and assist ance from the Government. Here her husband died. After remain ing in South America for a short time our heroine returned to New York. From this place she went to Austin, Nevada, and there, and on the 29th of January, 1868, was married to her present husband, Mr. E. R. Bonner. He is in the mining business, and is at present with a mining expedition in New Mexico. MRS. BONNER'n MISSION HERE. Mrs. Bonner has come East to see about a book she contemplates publishing, containing a history of her life. The book is to bo writ ten by Mark Twain, and will sell well. She is now on her way to New York, to see the celebrated humorist. REMEMBERED HERE. The reporter has seen a number of people here who remembered Lieut. Bufort, and several who were at her marriage. She was frequently seen upon the streets and at the depot, in her full lien tenant's uniform, and a lovely im perial. S h e certinly made a handsome officer, and was as gal lant as good looking. Not the least interesting among her col lection of papers is a number of love letters from young ladies here and elsewhere, whom the lieuten ant visited while in the army. She says that her sex was only discovered after she had been wounded, and that she passed for a man here until her marriage. Considerable interest has been taken in Mrs. Bonner by a num ber of our city officials and citizens. She bas been an object of great cu riosity during her few days visit here, and her army acquaintances, as Lieut. Bufort, with several ex confederate officers is well remem-. bered. She yesterday removed for New York, but she will return to the October fair. During the fair she has, by invitation, consented to en ter the riding con test, and arrange ments are on foot to have her de liver several lectures. Mrs. Bon-1 ner has one child-a boy five1 years old-at present in New Or leans, and has lost two. The people of Iceland for a thousand years have been famed for their simple virtues and a civ ilization and learning strangely in contrast with the bleak desolation of their rugged island. The nation al character was strikingly dis-1 played in their celebration of their millennial anniversary, which be- I gan on the 2d ultimo, continuing several days. The Republic of Iceland was first organized in 874, so that this year completes the1 millennium of its national exist ence. The ancient Repubile was I betrayed to Norway in 1241 ,and' passed-under its ruie in 1264. By I the union of Denmark and Nor- E way in 1380, its sovereignty pass- I ed to Denmark, where it has since I continued, and t he feeling of loyal ty is very strong among the Ice landers, although they detest thei Danes. The millennial anniversa ry was signalized by a visit of King Christian, of Denmark, and ( the promulgation of a now con stitution, by which Iceland secures local independence and released from the taxation of Denmark. The first day's celebration consist ed of a visit by the King to the cathedral in Reikiavik, where af-I ter a sermon, a noble anthem, both music and words composed by Icelanders in honor of the day, was sung with remarkable power and sweetness, the emotions of1 the audience responding to the 1 words, so that tears of joy flowed :down their cheeks.- Later in the< day a banquet to the King was givea, in which he gave the first . toast to the honor of old Iceland in the true Norse style. As he touched the goblet to his lips the i cannon boomed and the people cheered. In the evening the peo- 1 pie of the to.vn gathered at a hill I near by, and songs and speeches f losed the day. Bayard Taylor E costributed a fine ode, "America E to Iceland," which was rendered i into Icelandic by one of their poets < and sung on the occasion. For several days the celebration con tinued, marked throughout by a 1 dignity and simplicity surrounding it with more true grandeur than could have been conveyed by the greatest pomp or elaboration of, risany. - THE DEACON'S STORY. It was court time in W., and the place was crowded to its utmost capacity. The jolly host of the Black Bear rubbed his hands and stroked his well developed waist coat, as room after room in the tavern was filled. The bar-room was, as usual, well stocked with emstomers, and frequent were the calls made on "mine host's" sup ply of liquors. A crowd was con gregated in the immediate vicini ty of the fire and seemed in a hap py state of mind collectively. Jests ind repartee were bandied from >ne to another, and mirth-pro voking stories were told. The chief talker, however, was i smart, dapper little lawyer, who bad gained a case that day, and Lherefore seemed to consider him elf as "something considerable." Ie bad a smart saying for every )ne,and but few escaped his jest. His principal victim, however, was Deacon Jones. Many stories be told about deacons, and inquir d if Jones was the.Deacon who, 6vhen he was elected to that high 3osition, was so overjoyed that, )n his arrival home. happening to neet his cow, he threw his - arms yn her neck, exclaiming, "0, Nun iy! you are no common cow now; (ou're a deacon's cow," and many )ther questions of like import. The deacon stood it pretty well, Lnd bore the laugh like a martyr. .t length, he said he had a story o tell, and demanded a hearing. ilence was obtained through the .xertion of the little lawyer, who as overjoyed at the thought of retting a story from the deacon. "Ye see, Mr. Lawyer," began fones, "last summer when the chol 3ra was around, I cetched it. -It ent mighty bad with me, I tell Fe, so that they gave me up, and I Aid my family good-by, and made ip my mind to die as only a Chris. ian can; I hope when your time ,omes you can do the same, but I'm afraid ;" and the deacon shook ais head salemnly. "Well, ye see, I didn't 'zactly die, but I came retty near .it. I went off in a ~rance." "In a trance I" exclaimed thie awyer. "Yes, in a trance-?" "What were your sensations ?" "That was jest what I was com-i ng to. I thought that the angel ~abriel came to my bedside and aised me up and carried me 4 hrough the sky, until we stood efore the gates of heaven. "I thought that the angel turned o0 me and said, 'Mortal, you are I rought here t6 see some of the ~lories of heaven and the miseriesi >f hell; then you will return and 't ejoin your friends on earth, to ibide there a short season, afterf hich you will return to heaven, Ld partake of the happiness of ,he elect. "Then we entered the gates, and ny ears were saluted with sounds >f melody aid praise. But Iwill not ttempt to describe all I saw and |< ieard. The angel was very com- I nun icative, and readily answered hll my questions. Wishing to a enow about a few of my friends, I ho had gone before me, I ques- e ioned him concerning them.- t ;ome he ealled to his presence, ] mt at the name of some he signi- ( icantly shook his bead. I inquir-t d for 'Squire Grasped. The shake vas repeated. Supposing he mis nderstood me, I again inquired. 3 Lnother shake. "'He was a member of ouri hurch in good standing,' said I. "'He was a lawyer,' said thet agel, 'was be not ?' " 'Yes,' said I. "'We have no lawyers here,' as the reply.4 A burst of laughter went up from he entire company, and the law ers themselves participated there- I n. The deacon continued: "'We then left heaven, and pass d through a dark cloud, entered he confines of hell. We paused at he gate an'l knocked. The door wung slowly back, ar'd we enter d. For a short space I could see ~othing but a confused mass roll ng here and there ; but my eyes I on became accustomed to the I ight and I perceived spirits dart nnow here, now there, and seem ng as if trying to escape some 4 errific fate. The Prince of Dark ess himself did the honors, and I owed us round. Still wishing to ee the Squire, I inquired for him. atan clasped his fingers to his head,1 s if in a study, and slowly ex-4 laimed: 1 "'He is not here.' "'Not here! I replied. Why he nust be here ; he is not in heav "'He was a lawyer, I1 believe ?" aid Satan. "'Yes,' I answered. "'<Ab hae snit here- We had 3o many lawyers sent here that with their dernurrers, their mo ions, affidavits, indictments, etc., my prerogatives were in danger, so ,bat I was obliged, in self-defense, ,o banish them from my king im.' "Thanking his highness for his "ourtesy, we left. I returned to earth and consciousness, and ever ince then have been pondering on ;he question, Where do lawyers ro to?" Peal after peal of laughter greet ,d the conclusion of the deacon's 2arrative,and the little lawyer was lumb. Next morning he left, as ie could not answer the question io often proposed to him of ;Where do lawyers go to ?" A STORY FOR YOUNG MEN. Several years ago, a youth of sixteen years of age, of good sense, nd a fair English education, not 2aving profitable employment at is father's home in Kentucky, )ought for employment among his ,nterprising neigh bors a few miles listant, and although wages were ow in those days of gold and sil 7er currency, he saved frorn his Jrst year's wages seventy dollals. Ele was then seventeen years of Lge, healthy, lively-looking. aspi -ing and ambitious to become use u , noble, and perhaps great. He iad already learned that money oaned at high rates of inrerest as oppressive to the borrower, ind reacted on the loaner, and in he falling of prices of nearly all ;be articles in the commercial world; that men sought justifica ion for their delinquency and )ankruptcy in th fact that they 3ad paid large rates of interest. Feeling, therefore,tbat liberality is well as justice was necessary in )very man's dealings with his fel owmen, this youth loaned his seventy dollars to an exemplary, 3uterprising and prosperous trad ng man in his neighborhood, at he lowest rate of interest known n business in' that State, viz.: ix per cent. per annum. He work ~d another year,clothed himself in [entucky jeans and other cheap JJurnearL Ar*,k- --r--, went to a country .school three nonths in the winter of that year, ~nd learned the rudiments of Lat n, and something of the higher ranches of mathematics, working or a prosperous and liberal farmer, venings and mornings, to pay bhe board, and at the ebd of the econd year, or when he~ was eigh ,een years of age, he had saved inety-six dollars more. The young man's character for ndustry and integrity began to >e better known in the neighbor ood, and his services were sought or. lHe worked on a farm, and ode as collector for trading men ~nd the sheriff of his county; nd at the end of his nineteenth ~ear he had saved one hundred nd ten dollars more. With the interest accumulated n his other two years' wages, he ad now three hundred dollars, as comfortably clothed, and had good buciness education, which e imiproved from one winter to nother, till he became a scholar, oth literary and seientifically. Iis influence and usefulness in reasing, he had at the age of wenty years, fonr hundred and ighty dollars. At the age of twenty-one, this oung man had accumulated six andred and fifty dollars, and was iell k nown for his activity of life, s a young man of intelligence,vir ue and usefulness, as well as being young man of very attractive ays. He moved to a Western state where land was cheap, and intered one hundred and sixty mres by land warrant, which he yrchased with one hundred and ifty dollars of his money. He n,de a good selection of land, itb Sgood region of connotry, and used Sportion of the balance of his noney in improving his land, buy ng a little stock and a few imple nents for farming, and the second rear he raised a small crop. After he had gone to his new seighborhood with about four indred dollars in money, and ied it cautiously, he, by degrees, ained the name of a responsible ~itizen and a good paymaster, and is influence rose gradually from is appearance among his new ~nd scattered neighbors. Year after year he raised a crop, -ead the best newspapers, periodi ~als and books, which still further mproved his mind, till cattle, ~heep, and other stock grew up n flocks around him, more land djoining him being purchased from tip to time, till now he nds hi ifelf, when scarcely ar rived at the age of twenty-seVen ears, the fortunate possessor .of i o ample fortune and an enviable, ..anntationl. Advertisements inserted at the rat of $1 .00 per square--one inch-for first inserion, ard 75ic. t1r each subsequent insertion. Double column advertisements ten per cent on above. Notices of meetings, obituaries and tribute of~ respect, same rate per square as-ordimay advertisements. Special-notices in locat,edouimi 20 tents per line. Advertisements not marked wnt the num her of insertions wilt be"kept in till forbid and charged accordingly. Ppeciail contracs made. with lawg.advir tisers, with liberal deduetu s on *t4jj-ite,& Done with Nestnessandli& pta TABLE CUSTOM&'. While certain forms of -the table etiquette may seem altoget.her con ventional, even fanastic. the forms usually observed' are founded on good sense, and adapied 'to gen. ral convenience. Table etisuette is not, as is often allebged Merely a mater offashion,. altb~ough'some'. things that were in,vogup,. AQe-1 ration or two- ago, are no, longer' deemed polite. -The reason. is that. manners and *table, fornit4M.e -U. under,gone so many PhaqgeP; .h&V8 r eall 'so muac h i mpir'ovd, as' t6 ie quire a mutual re-adjustm ent. 70or example, everybody wasacoustom-ft ed twenty or thirty.ya~4'o,o twe the knife to lamrfodoh mouth because the.fork--of-teia was not adapted t& 6he r o Since the introduotlo ofheour7 tined silver fork, it-has s6 ebtire ly supplanted the Anife,-44tit.e, usage of the latter, in that -way, is not on ly sup erfluoas, bt wisre gardbd as a vqlgari= Another exampl.lis theA -dseqp l tinuance 6f the custom ofturing* tea or coffee from.-thi"u it $~ saucer. Althourgh sagl ,Plates were frequently empoe4v.setr the cup in, they were niot.v :M lli general use; and even4whei--thek,-. found on the face of iihe globe.2. -' ' - - 'At a meeting in 1ondoi~1?60YS~ a report from the missiomari~ sent ~ discover the tribes of hi~el1~or&H