Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c Vol. XI. WEDNESDAY MORNING, JUNE 23, 1875. No. 25. ]MR. RA PID. -0 "What, you here yet, old fellow ?" said Jack Rapid to Sam the hostler, who had taught him how to clean a horse, and put him in a carriage, when Jack was a dirty little urchin, picking up a few stray coppers in the race-week, and at the fair time, and in those days when the "Angel" was full of company and farmers' carts nearly filled the inn yard. "You here yet, in this dull old place?" The hostler at first did not recog nize his pupil Jack. How should be? What resemblance was there between a lanky and ragged little lad and the heavy swell who now accosted him ? Old Sam took a careful inventory of all his fine clothes, and probably cast up the sum total of their value, ere he re plied: "Yes, I'm here, that is certain; but who you are I can't make out, for the life of me. You are not unlike Tom Henson, who .went away six or seven years ago, but they do say he was drowned, poor fellow. But he was stouter than you. You're never he, come back, with pockets full of gold from the Gold Coast, are you?" "Tom Henson? No, I'm Jack Rapid, now John Dashwood Rapid, Esquire, of Flyaway Hall. Don't you remember me many years ago, when I used to come and help you on busy days ?" "You, Jack Rapid ?" said the old hostler, taking a step backward to consider the speaker from a new point of view. "Why, how can it be that*little-" "Stay, Sam," said Mr. Rapid. "I know what you are going to say, and I had rather say it for you. How can it be that that little dirty boy has become such a gentleman?" "Well," said Sam, "I don't want to be rude; but when I remember what you were, I do wonder how you have mounted upward. Why, your horses are worth eighty guineas piece !" continued Sam, with an admiring glance at the animals. "Yes, Sam, times have changed thank my stars for' that. Do you know I went at last to London, and got a good place at a grand West end hotel, as a waiter in a billiard room; but that would never have put me where I am, had I got a guinea where I got a threepenny bit. No ; an old screw of a relation, named Wood, died two years back, and left me his savings, because he was my godfather, and I was named John after him. And now I live at Flyaway Hall, and drive, you see, good cattle, and spend my money like a gentleman, and show my gratitude to old Wood by calling myself Dashwood. Clever contriv ance, that ! don't you think so? And, Sam, I'm willing to be a gen leman to you, if you'll come and be my head groom." I'Flyaway Hall!I" echoed Sam, "Why, you don't mean to say you live at Flyaway Hall ?" "Yes, I do, Sam, indeed; and why should I not?" "Well,'' answered Sam, "I don't know why, if you've got plenty of money; but, bless me! Flyaway Hall must take a mint of cash for coal, if one is to go by the chim eys. And it has ruined two or three since I first heard of it. There was Lord Oakes-well do I remember going to his sale. A great auctioneer from London was talking and hammering for three or four days, and the wine and ci gars fetched enough to stock a farm; yet my lord only paid his reditors six-and-ninepence on the pound." Mr. Rapid seemed rather discon erted by these remarks. It was not pleasant to think of poor Lord Dakes floundering in deep waters of shame and ruin; but Mr. Rapid laughed the thought away, and giving his white beaver a jaunty toss, he took out a cigar and began to smoke. "Well, but, Sam," continued Mr. Rapid, "will you leave this moldy old inn and come and live with me? For auld lang syne we'll take a cup >'kindness yet, and say, 'Good wa ges and light work.' By the look of things you must be doing a seedy business here. My pair seem to be the only horses you've had in the stable to-day. Come, now, out with the secret ! How many nags have bitten your corn since last Wednesday-a week ago ? Why," said Mr. Rapid, laughing at his own conceit, "you've got your hands in your trowsers pockets, as if they were at home there, and had nothingelse to do !" And Mr. Rapid tittered away at his own wit. "Never mind," said Sam, some what huffed at the insolent allusion to t1m re,lining fortunes of the old THE HERALD is PrBLISHED FIVERYf WE-DNESDAY MOR-NING, At Newberry) S. Co BY TH09* F, GRENEKRtI Editor and Proprietor. Terms, s2.5o per efnnumlf Invariably in Advance. U-The paper is stopped at the expiration of time for which it is paid. 07 The >1 mark denotes expiration of sub scription. - PRESS ROOMI BILL. Slept alnight ona pleof stock But what'd he care! Had no friends. So he sends For apot of beer, and abite to eat, Ithe press-room, Where with jes' room To stretch out straight, He'd wait. Till the boys got round in the upper regions; And by legious, Held feed the sheets to the huDgry maws, And iron jaws, Of the press. You can gess How he loved the machine and his work. He shirk! When he gave his word That settled it sure. Whatever it was, You could b 'e poz That he'd do as he said if it took a leg. Not a peg Would he move, whatever he saw or heard. To break a promise Was fartherest from his Thoughts of what was the ditty of man, And where the law of right began. One night the boss (Member of congress, now they say,! Came down stairs, Putting on airs, His usual way, Pretty soon he came across Bill~~~ wh wa put- th-frm -n-lae From man's condemning wrath. "Angel," but pulling his hands out of his pockets at the same time. "Never mind, sir, we are doing well enough for my contentment, and I must decline with thanks your well-meant offer to find me easy work and good pay at Fly away Hall." "Well, every man to his taste !" exclaimed Mr. Rapid; "but remem ber, Sam, in spite of your refusal, which is rather affronting, I must say Flyaway Hall will be always open to you. When you have got to your last shilling, I'll be your; friend for the sake of old times. I can always do with an extra hand,, and I think of increasing my stud. One knows, you see, so many good fellows, and one likes to see their happy faces about one, and they are generally as poor as rats; so I have to mount them all, and the rogues are not content unless they have the best horses and are in at the death." "Ah," said Sam, turning away his face and speaking low, "they won't be in at your death depend upon it." "My death ? . What do you mean?" asked Mr. Rapid,- rather sharply. "I mean, sir, your ruin, which, if all you say is true, is not very far distant. Your friends will suck you dry, like the oranges you used to be so fond of when you could get them, and then they will leave you. Flyaway Hall will want Mr. Hammer again, probably in a year or two, and if I leave the old inn on the moor, another will step into my shoes, and when I want them again, I shall have to ask in vain. No, Mr. Rapid; I'm not a betting man, but I'll wager a crown you are in the court paying your angry creditors so much in the pound before I have to part with my Pitt guinea." "Your Pitt guinea!" said Mr. Rapid, now getting seriously vexed-, and about to order his pair to be put into his fashionable drag, and to summon his smart tiger Tom from the tap-room fire. "What on earth is a Pitt guinea ?" "It is a guinea," answered Sam, "which the great statesman, Billy Pitt, as he was familiarly called, gave my father, one day, when he was hurrying in hot haste to Lon don on important business. My father's manner and re adai n ess pleased Mr. Pitt, and he gave him a guinea, which my father declar ed should be the last piece of mon ey he would ever spend. It has come to me, and I am determined I will never run so near ground as to need that guinea to float me. That giniea, Mr. Rapid, has made me a careful man, and I grieve to think you are throwing away with both hands, a fortune on fellows who don't really care a pinch of snuff for you. Let me beg you, as m old friend, to leave Flyaway Hall and live in a smaller and more lucky house, else you will be limp ig up to the despised 'Angel' in a few years' time, with rags on your back, to beg a crust and a job of cld Sam." Mr. Rapid could here no more such doleful forebodings, but hur - r-ied away' to pay his bill and to. hat with the more congenial land lord. The saucy Tiger soon appeared and grumbled at everything in the stable except Sam, who looked too big and resolute to insult. By and by the smart turnout bowled aw.ay; the landlord bowed, and thanked Mr. Rapid for his patronage ; and Sam remained more or less absent ll the day. In less than the time he had fixed, Flyaway Hall was again the scene of Mr. Hammer's toil. Again all that valuable furniture, pictures, wines, etc., went to the highest bid &er, and Mr. Rapid disappeared from view. Some time after~ a gaunt, ema ciated man knocked at Sam's door. Of course we know who it was-no one else than Rapid, broken, weary. dIying. He had no friends ; those who had helped to ruin .him were scattered every one to his own, and no one cared for poor Jack Rapid's soul. So he bethought him of the kind-hearted old hostler, who had befriended him in the adversities of his youth, and had given him the best of advice in his mad ca reer of prosperity. In the house of that good Samaritan poor Jack Rapid breathed his last, conscious of his folly, and taught by Sam to o as a penitent to the Cross, inl which the broken-hearted find rest mnd hope. And when he meets a young man given to loose and lavish ways, he contrives to conduct him some qjuiet evening to the churchyard, where beside Rapid's grave, he points the moral which the prodi gal's short life supplied; and often so sharply that several young men an than1fn116 deli the abandnn ment of their follies from the still and solemn hour when old Sam's words seemed to go into their very souls, and made them consider their ways. GLORY OF LAUGHTER. Thomas Hobbes, of Salisbury, said many a wise thing in his time, but never anything wiser or more beautiful than this: "Laughter is a sudden glory." So assuredly it is, and but for this glory, which, splen did as sudden, bursts through our clouds of sorrow like sunshine in a shady place, what would become of us? Liberius will have it that this privilege of laughter is of Olympian origin, and alike distinctive of gods and men. "Risus enim divum atque homonom est seterna voluptus." Laughter is the everlasting delight of gods and men. To us sad so journers in a sphere which the poets are wont to describe as a val ley of tears the right and the facul ty to laugh are simply our dearest prerogative, our most indispensable poscession, It is the fountain in our desert, the manna in our wil derness. * "I have nothing for it," said Oliver Goldsmith, "but to sit down and laugh at the world and at myself, the most ridiculous ob ject in it." Some persons are far more rich Ly endowed than others with this happy gift, and the method of its manifestation in themselves and its effect upon others are among the most wonderful mysteries of our being. Such people may be ac pounted the comedians of private Life, and very pleasant and benefi cent is the mission they have to fulfill. Go where they may, they are ever welcome; for, provided al ways that their talent is refined by good taste and tempered by good feeling they bring the sum mer with them and make everybody the brighter for their presence. It is marvellous to think what at 'osphere fun seems to surround some people, what an air of festivity they throw around the dullest things, and what radiance of expression they impart to the most commonplace emotions. ' Like Ophelia, they turn "thought and and ariliction to favor and to pret tiness," and still as they go they "scatter smiles on the uneasy earth." We laugh at them and with them, but never ill-natur'edly so, for the mirth they awaken is ever genial nd has no taint of malice. Do what they may, they never fail to exhilirate and delight us. A wave of their hand, a glance of their eye, the slightest inflexion of their voice ay, their very walk-though they should never open their lips--suf aces to move our laughter. These are the people who acquire enthu siastic applause for jests and sto ries of little intrinsic value. Told by them, jokes of no great point sn anecdotes of no great interest will set the table in a roar. The worthless matter wins mystic value n the narration, and what from :ther lips would be dull and cold is lead is "sunshine spoken" from theirs. Lord Bacon has gone to the trouble to transmit to remote posterity a mot of King Jamie's than which nothing, me judice can be much sillier. "King James, as he was a prince of great judgment, so was he a prince of a marvellously pleasant humor. As he was going through Lusen by Greenwich he isked what town it was? They said Lusen. He asked, a good while after, 'What towvn is this we ire now in ?' They said still it.was Lusen. Then said the king, 'I will be King of Lusen.'" Now I am Fain to confess that I cannot for the ife of me see the wit of that royal re mark; I am not sure that I quite ap prehend its meaning, unless it be that the town being so long he must needs be long a king who should old the sovereignty of it. This may or may not be what Jamie meant; but wit that requires to be analyzed and explained hardly de serves the name. It should flash upon the fancy instantaneously as ight upon the eye, else it is no true1 wit. "The marvellous pleasant hu mor" must have dwelt in the king's way of 'uttering the words; and that humor is, of course incommuni able by writing. Addison men tions his having met a fellow in< taly whose talk was of the dullest, 1 "yet was there something so comi- 1 al in his voice and gesture that a 1 man could hardly forbear being pleased with him." Foote had a wit and humor of I us own, which being, even as he was imself, utterly brutal, came upon I Friend and foe like the kick of a I fray-horse. Such, for example, was I iis truculent reply to the inoffen- I ive little man who mildly remark- I adin ahAnmnu rmEa -"The devil you have! Who drovi you?" Sheridan's wit combined with thE flash of the gem its solidity, and was invariably free from gratuitouE rancor. It was "more nearly allied to good nature" than wit always is. Dean Swift's wit was usually like orked lightning, scathing an d blasting what it touched; but it was it times as mild as the moonbeams. [t happened one. day that his cook, whom he invariably called "Sweet eart," had greatly overroasted the nly joint he had for dinner. 'Sweetheart," said the dean, im bhe blandest possible tones, "this eg of mutton is overdone. Take It back into the kitchen and dc it less." The cook replied that bhe thing was impossible." But,' aid the dean, "if it had been anderdone you could have done It more." The cook assented. 'Well, then, Sweetheart," rejoined bhe master, "let this be a les on to you. If you needs must ,ommit a fault, at least take care hat it is one that will admit of a -emedy." The mingled wit and isdom of this admonition are de lightful. The comic factty of Sydney mith was magn4cent. It must aave been glorious in his conversa tion, for, apart frdm the enchant. ment of delivery, it is glorious in is writings. It foams and flashes fhrough his graphic page like an axulting river through a pictures Iue landscape. It now and then Dccurred that he fell in with a dull %rd who failed to perceive at once bhe aim and purport of the canon'E umor. This is /a "damper" tc most men, but Sidney Smith al ways turned it f. good account How very funny is this:---"A jok( goes a great way in the country I have known od6 last pretty well for seven years. I remembei making a joke after a meeting o the clergy in Yorkshire, wher there was a Rev. Mr. Buckle, wh( never spoke when I proposed hic health. I said that he was a buckk without a tongue. Most person pu hearin4g lauighed, but my net neighbor sat unmoved and sank it thought. At last, a quarter of at hour after we had all done, he sud denly nudged me, exclaiming, '.1 see now what you meant, Mr. Smith you meant a joke.' 'Y'es,' I said sir, I believe I did.' Upon whici be began laughing so heartily thai I thought he would choke, and was obliged to pat him on the back' 'his ex poste facto apprehension o: un stealing sluggishly over a Emo ban intellect, but at last flaming out -in uproarous mirth, has in it, to my thinking, something exceed ingly ridiculous. Equally comic is the canon's method of dealing with~ such witlings as take pleasure in 3harades. ''I shall say nothing ol charades and such sort of unpar ionable trumpery. If charades are made at all, they should be made without benefit of clergy; the offen Ser should instantly be hurried ofl bo execution, and be cut off in the niddle of his dullness, despite his atempts to explain to his execu bioner why his first is like his sec nd, or what is the resemblance be ween his fourth and his ninth.' Who can forbear a smile at the no ion of thus summarily ejecting the 'funny man" of a party, who, even while he is being extruded, desired bo explain why his first is like his second, end whatrelation his fourth :ears to his ninth? Lord Palmerston had a racy ense of the comical, which stood aim in excellent stead on countless >ccasions, enabling him to turn the augh against his adversaries, and bo avert an awkward argument by eans of a joke. Men will differ s to his qualifications as a states an, but there can be no second >pinion, about his bonhomie, or about his right to rank with those "Whose happy alchemy is such They turn to laughter all they touch." HARDENING THE CoNsTTTION. K/.en talk about "hardening the onstitution," and with that view, sxpose themselves to summer's suns md winter's wind, to strains and >ver efforts, and many unnecessary 1ardships. To the same end, ill rormed mothers souse their little nfants in cold water day by day ; ,heir skin and lesh and bodies are 3teadily growing rougher and thin ier, and weaker, until slow fever >r water on the brain or consump ion, carries them to the grave ; and hen they administer to themselves ,he semi-comfort and rather ques ionable consolation of its being mysterious dispensation of na ure, when, in fact, nature works to miracle to counteract our fol ies. The best way we know of tardening the constitution is to ake good care of it; for it is no aore imyroved by harsh treatment han a egaeor new bat is bneait-ter nn agabu THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE. The common complaint again our age and country on account i the alleged worship of the almighi dollar, as one of the chief sins i the materialistic tendency, is basE on misconceptions. The eagi struggle to accumulate wealth is i general a sign of a rise, not a d cline, in culture. It indicates thi business is less of a stupid routir than it was a hundred years agc that a career has been opened I industrial art and commerce f< energy and capacity; that soci position has ceased to descend 1: perpetual entail; and that the di tribution of wealth to one set i families and of poverty to anoth< set in feudal times is not to I maintained forever and acceptE with satisfaction as a proper awaz of Divine justice, or as a necessai condition of social order. Compai sons are often made between Amei ca and Europe, to the disadvantag of the former, in reference to tl greed for money, as if the great< quietude of business in the latti couitry were due to a higher mor character, whereas it may be atti buted to the obstructions whic check enterprise there. There less effort to accumulate wealth the Old World mainly becau: there is less opportunity. TI bulk of the riches is in the hands < people who are forbidden by publ opinion to engage in traffic. TI poor receive wages so scanty th: they have no hope of making at considerable improvement in the situation. Business moves slow] Interest is low, land is almost st tionary in value, and any direct pa ticipation in commercial or ind-a trial pursuits excludes the guil individual from admission to ti highest social circles. Here t] opposite conditions prevail; bus ness is the ambition and pleasm of men of capacity. And yet n where are the people so luxuriol in their mode of life, so liberal their expenditures, so grand in th( plans, and so remote from every u serly feeling. In those csountri where families are preserved 1 primogeniture and e n tail, a2 where marriage is governed main by pecuniary considerations, the money is and must be worshipp( much more than in th~e Uniti States. We are told that the fine ar have declined in excellence and public estimation, but this asse tion is far from the truth. ] many points there is a rise, and others the decline is only relatis No century in history equals ti last hundred years in the numb< of great works in poetry, histor oratory, prose, romance, the dramn printing, architecture, .sculptur and music, taken together-perhaj not in any one branch separate] It has been said that the fifth ce tury before the Christian era pr duced more great worksi in arei tecture than our age, but I denyi while admitting that the interior no modern building equals the Pa thenon of Pericles in the beauty its shape, the fine adjustment of i proportions, and the eminent mer of the sculptured decorations ex< ented for it. Half a dozen oth< temples created about the san time at Athens may have been litt: inferior to it. But they no long< exist, and any comparison no made must be based partly on pr sunmptions. Judging from what v know of antiquity, however, thea is much reason to give the prefe ence to our time. The great worn of ancient architecture were near] all temples, comparatively fewi number, and erected mainly for ti honor of the gods, not for the con fort of men. They were not mad to accommodate large congreg: tions ; their interiors were sma and dark ; and their wonderfi beauty [was restricted to the exte: nal appearance. The theatre an amphitheatre of antiquity were in posing, but were not roofed ove the performances being given b daylight. Ancient dwellings wei low, small, and inconvenient. claim for the architecture of ft present, as a whole, great superio ity. We do not now spend so mue relatively on single structures a they did in the days of Pericles, Ai gustus, and Leo X., but we erect far greater number of splendi buildings, and we adapt them bette to the wants of men. Our govert ment buildings, churches,banks,ho; pitals, asylums, colleges, concer halls, ware-houses, international ei hibition palaces, elegant shops,gree factories, and costly privat~e dwel ings had no counterparts or a least no equals in pagan Greece an Rome, and they entitle us to claii a decided superiority in architei tre over antiquity, even if we less out of consideration the vast in prvements in marine and bridg arcitecture.-JTohn S. Bitell, i Qhrand Month1y for Mtay. THE FIRST ELECTION AT THE FORKS. There was young Deboon from Boston, a 'very learned man; in fact he was one of those fearfully learn d ed young men-a man who could r talk in all tongues, and think in n none. Perhaps he had some time been a waiter. I am bound to say Lt that in my observations, reaching over many years of travel, the most dreadfully learned young men y I have ever met- are the waiters in r the continental hotels. t Then there was Chipper Charley y -smart enough, and a man, too, a who had read at least a dozen books; ) but the Forks didn't want him for r an alcalde any more than it did De e boon. d Then there was Limber Tim, and d Limber certainly could write his name, for he was always leaning up i_ against trees, and houses, and . fences, when he could find them, e and writing the day and date, and e making grotesque pictures with a 'r great carpenter's pencil, which he r carried in the capacious depths of his duck breeches pocket. But . when Sandy proposed Limber Tim, h the camp silently but firmly shook Is its head, and said, "Not for Joseph." n At last the new camp pitched upon ;e a man who it seemed had been call Le ed "Judge" from the first. Perhaps )f he had been born with that name. ic It would indeed have been hard to Le think of him under any other appel It lation whatever. It had been easier y to imagine that when he had -first ir arrived on earth his parents met y. him at the door, took his carpet a- bag, called him "Judge," and in r- vited him in. s As is usually the case in the far, y far West, this man was elected judge ie simply because he was fit for nothing ie else. The "boys" didn't want a . man above them who knew too 0~ When Chipper Charley had been I proposed, an old man rose up, turn in ed his hat inside out with his fist, . twisted his beard around his left . ad, spirted a stream of tobacco e juice down through an aisle of rug yy ged men and half-way across the Ld earthen floor of the Howling Wil lderness saloon, and then proceed re ed to make a speech that killed the d candidate dead on the spot. d This was the old man's speech: "That won't go down. Too much ts book-larnin'. Shove him up." in But the new judge, or rather the . old, bald-headed, dumpy, dirty n faced little fellow, with the dirty [ shirt and dirty duck breeches, was e not a bad man at all. The "boys" e' had too much hard sense to set up r anything but a sort of wooden king ,to role over them in this little iso a, lated remote camp and colony of ethe Sierra. And they were per > fectly content with their King Log, y too, and never called to Jupiter for a- King Stork. SWhen the great Californian novel . which has been prophesied of, and t for which the literary world seems jto be waiting, comes to be written, r- it will not be a bit popular. And if that is because every true Cali bs fornian, no matter how depraved he t may be, somehow has somewhat of . the hero and the real man in his r make-up. And as for the women that e are there, they are simply angels. e So you see there is no one to do r the business of the heavy villain. SThis old idiotic little judge, with -. a round head, round red face, and e round belly, and no mind-he had e nomemory.-He hadtried everything . in the world almost, and always had :s failed. He had come to never expect y anything else. When he rose up to n make a speech of thanks to the e "boys" for the "unexpected honor," -. and broke fiat down after two or e three allusions to the "wonderful - climate of Californy," he was per 1 fectly serene, perfectly content. He 1 had got used to breaking down, e and it didn't hurt him. d He used to say to his friends in t confidence that he certainly would e, have made a great poet had he be. y gun in his youth. And perhaps he e would, for he was certainly fit for I nothing else under the su.n.-Joa e quin Miller, ini Overland Mlonthly .- for June. ,s The worst case of selfishness L- that was ever presented to the pub a lie emanated from a youth who complained because his mother put r a bigger mustard plaster on his - younger brother than she did on ;- him. -Happy the man who can endure the highest and lowest fortune. He L- who has endured such vicissitudes ,t with equanimity has deprived a mis fortune of its power. - After all, it is continued temper 0ance whichi sustains the body for the longspeidoti,an ewhich gost pereodly prese,e ad r m s eesreSi from sic~n085. ADVERTISINC RATES.0 Advertisements inserted at the rate of$rU-00 per square--one inch-for first ingwdton, and 75c. for each subsequent insertion. Double column advertisements ten;ter cent on above -lotices of meetings, obitagries and tribute of respect, same rates per square as ordinarY advertisements. Special notices in local codua 20 cents per line. Advertisements not marked with Ahe im-. ber of insertions will be kept in- M - forbid and charged accordin&l. Special contracts' made withA IsW 4erw tisers, with liberal deductions on itFae rat&s Done with-Nestnms and DWis. TeMs Cash._ "-1KINDER LOOKIN9 FOR IT." "Do you answer to the name of Merrifield Scott?" inquiredathe De troit court. - - - He was a young man of fou nd twenty, aud the "1dudsW 01. i back weren't enough in 'bulk.t make a good. sized pap.lHis.7a7-t-3 was down to his eyes,' .'.~e was coal dust and dirt all'over bim,andr . he moved around with slow. a&id solemn step. "Well, sir," resumed the Cour "yrou are charged with vag=acy The warrant says youbwe'noUmo, - - no occupation,'andthatyo - - buy a lemon if they s"old. 'emAt-a cent a miflion._ Straighbin , look me inthe -,eye, and give-mje your candid oninabout i. "Ther' hain't no- work," dawd the prisoner. "Have yon sought for wo&-V--. "Where ? CCWBA rye been kindei' .ook alaround towiL" "And your efforts -have ilotes. crowned with the success!" - - I&Nr. Scott," contini abi1~' ao hen faas-teldhstehinoap. cede all action that moves to asia- -. - tary purposes. Yet action is no. bier in itself than either thougb? or theory. Friendship is the cordial of life, - the lenitive of our sorrows, and the multiplier of our joys; the ,.. source equally of animation andli ~ RE-SENTENCE OF BUNCH AND HARDEE. The special court of general sessions of Charleston county met on Monday, Judge Reed presiding. An affidavit was submitted by ex-Judge M. B. Al len, attorney for Bunch and Hardee, and prayed that an execution of judg. ment be stayed and the proceedings be gone into de novo. The motion was denied by the solicitor. Judge Reed then addressed the prisoners as fol lows: Dennis R. Bunch and George Har. dee, when I last parted with you I had no expectation of ever meeting you again in this world. You had then recently each of you been con victed by a jury of your peers of the high crime of murder, and, as the re sult of that conviction, it was my painful duty to announce to you the solemn sentence of the law, fixing a da3 upon which you should suffer its ex. tremest penalty. The day assigned was Friday, the 16th of April last, but, upon the application of youl friends for further time within whic1t to prepare to meet your God, his ex cellency the governor extended youi probation for one week, at the end o which time, and during his temporar3 absence from the State, the lieutenant. governor, claiming the right to exer. cise the executive prerogative in that behalf, reprieved you until Friday, th< 28th day of May, which day- was per mitted by the sheriff to pass withoul enforcing the judgment of the court under legal advice, as he alleges, thai the lieutenant-governor had no consti tutional power to respite or fix a dal for the execution of the sentence. Un der these circumstances, tantalizinj and cruel to you, and derogatory t< the sanctions of the law, you agaii stand before me to hear a reiteratioi of its judgment. Have you, or eithe of you, anything now to say or an; cause to show why a new day shal not be assigned for your execution, il pursuance of the judgment which sti] rests upon you ? In answer to this interrogatory fron the court, Hardee replied that ther were some witnesses that he woul< have liked to have had upon the trial who were not present, and among thi number mentioned Mr. Murphy, hi employer, who, he claimed, was in fu] possession of the facts of the case. Judge Reed, continuing, said: am very sorry to say that that is sayinj nothing. It is r.ow too late, and therefore, you need add no more. You can say nothing additional t< what has already been said for you and it only remains for me to dis charge the last sad, painful duty o naming a new day for your execution But, before doing so, permit me to ex press my great satisfaction at the in formation I have received that th4 time given you has not been spent ir vain. You have been visited by ministers of the gospel, who have in, structed you in the doctrines of oui holy religion, and each of you, as] am advised, through repentance ani faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, have not only become reconciled to youi fate, but enjoy a confident hope that your exit from this world will bE your entrance into another, "wherE the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest." It this frame of mind you will havE little to - regret ; and to retain ii and strengthen it let me advise yov that during the very short time thai will remain to yon you endeavor tc wean your affections wore and m3ort from earth and earthly things and fis them exclusively on the "Lamb ol God that taketh away the sins of thE world." Endeavor and determine by the grace of God to realize in its full. est and most glorious sense that "This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given. Its smiles of joy, its tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, There's nothing true but heaven." The sentence of the law, as hereto fore announced to you, and now re published, naming a new day for its execution, is: That you, and each of you, Dennis R. Bunch and George Hardee, be taken from the place where you now stand to the jail of Charleston county, whence you last came, and there be safely and secure ly confined until Friday, the 25th day of June instant, on which day, be tween the hours of 11 in the forenoon and 2 in the afternoon, you, and each of you, be taken by the sheriff of Char leston county to the place of public execution, and there be hanged by your necks until your bodies be dead. And may God have mercy on your souls. During the delivery of this sen tence a deathly silence prevailed in the court house, and as the last words fell from the lips of the judge the prisoners both burst into tears. As soon as sufficient time had been given to recover themselves Bunch and Har dee were taken from the dock and re manded to jail. Absence diminishes moderate pas. sions and augments great ones, as bhe wind extinguishes candles and dnales th~e fie.