Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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r samx\Mm3lt6n, }Proprietors- All Independent Journal: For tlie Promotion of the Political, (Social, Agricultural and Commercial interests of the South. jlewism.geist,publisher. VOL. sT YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, APRIL 3, 1856. NO. 14. (Cljoice f oetrg. A CONTRAST. We have rarely read, says a late English writer, anything more simple and touching than the following contrasted poems. We cannot ascertain the name of the writer.? They are cut from an old newspaper, in which they were published anonymously: Man's Love. When woman's eye grows dull, And her cheek paleth, When fades the beautiful, The man's love fadeth : He sits not bc?ide her chair, Clasps not ht- fingers, Twists not the camp hair That o'er her brow lingers. He comes but a moment in, Though her eye lightens, Though her cheek, pale and tbio, Feverishly brightens; He stays but a moment near, I When that flush fadeth, Though true affection's tear Her soft eyelid shadeth. He goes from her chamber straight Into life's jostle? He meets at the very gate Business and bustle; He thinks not of her within, Silently sighing? ne forgets in that noisy din That she is dying! And when her heart is still, What though he mourneth, Soon from his sorrow chill ' Wearied he turneth; Soon o'er her buried head Memory's light sitteth, And the true-hearted dead Thus man forgetteth! Woman's Love. When man is waxing frail. And his hand is thin and weak, And his lips arc parched and pale, ' And wan and white his cheek ; Ob, then doth woman prove Her constancy and love ! She sitteth by his chair, And holds bis feeble hand ; She watcheth ever there, His want-? to understand ; His yet unspoken will She hasteneth to fulfill. She leads him, when the moon Is bright o'er dale and hill, And all things, save the tune Of the honey-bees are still, Into the garden's bowers, To sit 'midst herbs and flowers. And when he goes not there, To feed on breath and bloom, She brings the posy rare Into his darkened room ; And 'neath his weary head The pillow smooth doth spread. Until the hour when death His lamp of life doth dim; She never wearieth, She never leaveth liim, Still near hius, night and day, She meets his eye alway. And when his trial's o'er, And the turf is on his breast, Deep in her bosom's core Lies sorrows unexpressed ; Her tears, her sighs are weak, Her settled grief to speak. And though there may arise Balm for her spirit's pain? And though her quiet eyes May sometimes smile again? Still, still she must regret; She never can forget! % frctcstern J?kdt|. THE MEN OF THE WEST. From a long article in " Harper's Magazine," we take the following extracts illustrative of the characteristics of the men of the West. The article is by T. B. Thorpe, and is entitled 1 'Remembrances of the Mississippi." Two classes of people originally crowded into the virgin fields of the West. Marietta, the first permanent settlement on the Ohio, was?characteristically of those times ?made up entirely of renowned men of the Revolution: officers and soldiers, who, at the close of seven years' privation and suffering, found themselves turned loose upon the world, their private fortunes ruined, themselves estranged from their early and perhaps desolate homes, and to them all profitable occupation gone. Such men projected cities, opened farms, and laid wide and strong the foundation of future empire. There was another class to whom the excitement of the "war path" was a necessity, as it was difficult for these rude yet brave A. i. 1 Xl C iiieu w couirui au as tu penuiiii their allotment of the rough and confining labors of a frontier life. A place, however, was unexpectedly prepared for them, which required all their energy of character to fill, and which blended most happily the labors of civilization with those of the scout and hunter. The surplus of the rich lands of the West found an active demand, not only at the head-waters of the Ohio, but also among the rich settlements of Florida and Louisiana. A race of gigantic men was required to guide in safety, against a swift running current, the rude craft laden with rich stores through a perilous voyage of fifteen hundred miles, avoiding whirlpools, "snags," and 'sawyers,' and exposed to hostile conflict with the savage foe. The demand was supplied by the % y * 11 i i . 1 il . wnu spirits we nave aiiuciea to, ana tnus originated the keel-boatmen of the Mississippi ?men more remarkable than any other that ever lived, and whose pxaggerations, physical and mental, have given rise to the most genuine originality we can claim for American character. The keel-boat was long and narrow, sharp at the bow and stern, and of light draft.? From fifteen to twenty "hands" were required to propel it aloug. The crew, divided equally on each side, took their places upon ihe "Walking-boards," extending along the whole length of the craft, aud, setting one end of their pole in the bottom of the river, the other was brought to the shoulder, and with the body bent forward, they icalked the boat against the formidable current. It is not strange that the keel-boatmen, always exercising in the open air, without an idea of the dependence of the laborer in their minds, armed constantly with the deadly rifle, and feeling assured that their strong arms and sure aim would any where gain them a livelihood, should have become physically, the most powerful of men, and that their minds, often naturally of the highest order, should have elaborated ideas singularly characteristic of the extraordinary scenes and associations with which they were surrounded. Their professional pride was in ascending "rapids." This effort of human strength to overcome natural obstacles was considered by them worthy of their steel.? The slightest error exposed the craft to be thrown across the current or to be brought sideways in contact with rocks or other obstructions, which would inevitably destroy it. The hero vaunted "that his boat never swung in the swift current, and never backed from a "shute!" The chief amusements were "rough frol! ics," dancing, fiddling, and fist-fights. The I 5 J!L1 a 1 1 1?? XDcreaiDic sirengiu ox moir peutumi muovjiua, growing out of their peculiar labor and manner of life, made fights with them a direful necessity?it was an appetite, and, like pressing hunger, had to be appeased. The keelboatman who boasted that he had neverbeen whipped, stood upon a dangerous eminence, for every aspirant for fame was bound to dispute his claim to such distinction. Occasionally, at some temporary landing-place, a number accidentally came together for a night. From the extreme labors of the day, possibly quietness reigned in "the camp," when, unexpectedly, the repose would be disturbed by some restless fellow crowing forth a defiance in the manner of a gamecock; then, springing into some conspicious place, and rolling up his sleeves, he would utter his challenge as follows : "I'm from the Lightning Forks of Roaring River. I'm all man, save what is wild cat and extra lightning. I'm as hard to run against as a cypress snag?I never back water. Look at me?a small specimen?harmless as an angel-worm-a remote circumstance ?a mere yearling. Cock-a-doodle doo! I did hold down a buffcrlo bull, and tar off his scalp with my teeth, but I can't do it now? I'm too powerful weak, lam." By this time those within hearing would spring to their feet, and, like the war-horse that smells the battle afar off, inflate their : nostrils with expectations. The challenger A U goes on: i "I'm the man that, single handed, towed the broad-horn over a sand-bar?the indenti- ] cal infant who girdled a hickory by smiling < at the bark, and if any one denies it, let him < make his will and pay the expenses of a fun- ; eral, I'm the genuine article, tough as bull's hide, keen as a rifle. I can out-swim, out- 1 swar, out-jump, out-drink, and keep soberer ' than any man at Catfish Bend. I'm pain- ' fully ferochus?I'm spiling for some one to ' whip me?if there's a creeter in this diggin' : that wants to be disappointed in trying to do < it, let him yell?whoop-hurra!" llifle-shooting they brought to perfection i ?their deadly aim too told terribly at the i battle of New Orleans. As hunters, the i weapon had been their companion, and they never parted with it in their new vocation. : While working at the oar or pole, it was always within reach, and if a deer unexpectedly appeared on the banks, or a migratory bear breasted the waves, it was stricken down with unerring aim. By an imperative law among themselves, they were idlers on shore, where their chief amusement was shooting at a mark, or playing severe practical jokes upon each other. They would, with the rifle-ball, and at long distances, cut the pipe out of the hat-band of a fellow-boatman, or unexpectedly upset o nma nf trKiol'v flinf murlit nf Uinnnli.fitnA ** be fur the moment resting on some one's knee. A negro, exciting the ire of one of these men, Le at the distance of a hundred yards, with a rifle-ball, cut off the offender's heel, and did this without a thought that the object of his indignation could be more seriously damaged by an uusteady aim. Cuttiug off a wild turkey's head with a rifle ball at a hundred yards distance, while the bird was in full flight, was not looked upon as an extraordinary feat. At night-fall, they would snuff candles at fifty paces, and do it without extinguishing the light. Many of these extraordinary men became so expert and cool, that in the heat of battle they would announce the place on their enemy they intended to hit, and subsequent examination would prove the certainty of their aim. "Driving the nail," however, was their most favorite amusement. This consisted in sinking a nail two third of its length in the centre of a target, and then at forty paces, with a rifle-ball, driving it home to the head. If they quarreled among themselves, and thcu made friends, their test that they bore no malice, was to shoot some small object from each other's heads. Alike Fink, the best shot of all keel-boatmen, lost his life in one of these strange trials of friendship. lie ! had a difficulty with cue of his companions, I ! made friends, and agreed to the usual cere- ! monyto show that lie bore no ill-will. The j man put an apple upon his head and placed himself at the proper distance?Mike fired, ! and hit, not the inanimate object, but the . 1 man, who fell to the ground, apparently ! dead. Standing by was a brother of this j victim either of treachery or hazard, and in | an iustant of anger .he shot Mike through j the heart. In a few moments the supposed | I dead man, without a wound, recovered his ! feet. Mike had evidently from mcrewantoni ness, displaced the apple by shooting bewccn ! it and the skull, in the same way that he would have barked a squirrel from the limb 1 I of a tree. The joke, unfortunately, cost the ! renowned Mike Fink his life. The glorious point upon the Mississippi I for the gatheringof the boatmen was "NatchI cz under-thc-Hill." In was at this landing I j that the best market was found for the products of the "upper country," and oftentimes there accumulated a mass of richly-laden boats, extending for miles along the shore. The peaceable inhabitants residing on "the bluff" ofttimes looked down with terror upon the wild bands of powerful men, who, having reached the terminus of their journey, were "paid off," and left without restraint to indulge their caprices in every form of reckless "rowdyism." Generally, they expended their animal prowess among themselves, but they would occasionally break through the acknowledged boundaries of their own district, and carry the devoted city, so beautifully situated, by storm. Taking possession of the streets, with equal impunity they rode over the law and every physical obstruction; rare, indeed, was it that the police could make any headway against these mighty men. Having gratified " 1. a^amhtioa rl AC uu uiun iiuuiuis, uriiuk up, ui ui/ueiwiot uwtroyed, all the whisky in their reach, with yells and war-whoops, that fairly wakened the aborigines sleeping beneath the walls of Fort Rosalie, they would retreat down the winding road that leads to the plateau "under the hill." most likely to meet with a number of their own set and engage in a pitched battle, the Herculean force of which finds no parallel, except in Homer's descriptions of the fabulous collisions between the gods. False, indeed, would be the supposition that these men, lawless as they were, possess- i ed a single trait of character in common with 1 the law-defying wretches of our crowded ci- 1 ties. They committed, it is true, great ex- , cesses in villages where their voyage terminated, and when large numbers of them were assembled together. If they defied the law it was not because it was irksome, but be- . cause they never felt its restraints. They had their own laws, which they implicity obeyed. With them "fair play was a jewel." If the 1 crew of a rival boat was to be attacked, only an equal number was detached for the scr- j vice; if the intruders were worsted, no one 1 interfered for their relief. Whatever was r -i i x i^i! : piaceu ill men care lor irauspuriauuu >vua } sacred, and would be defended from barm, ^ if necessary, at the sacrifice of life. They J would, from mere recklessness, pilfer the outbuilding of a farm-house, yet they could be 1 intrusted with uncounted sums of money, . and if any thing in their possession became damaged or lost, they made restitution to j the last farthing. In difficulties between persons, they invariably espoused the cause of the weaker party, and took up the quarrels of the aged, whether in the right or wrong. 1 As an illustration of their rude code of < honor, is remembered the story of "Bill Mc- 1 Coy." He was a master-spirit, and had successfully disputed for companionship upon t almost every famous sand-bar visible at lowwater. In a terrible row, where blood had ; been spilled and a dark crime committed, ] Bill was involved. Momentarily off his guard, he fell into the clutches of the law. The community was excited?a victim was demanded to appease the oft-insulted majesty 1 of justice. Brought before one of the courts holding at Natchez, then just closing its session for the summer vacation, he was fully ] committed, and nothing but the procurement i of enormous bail would keep him from swe.!- < tering through the long months of summer j in durance vile. It was apparently useless t for him to expect any one to go upon his < bond; he appealed, however, to those pros- < cut, dwelt upon the horrors, to him more cs- 1 pecially, of a long imprisonment, and'solemn- f ly asseverated that he would present himself ( at the time appointed for trial. At the last ? moment, Colonel W , a wealthy, and on ; tnc wiioie ratner a cautious citizen, came to i the rescue, and agreed to pay ten thousand < dollars if McCoy did net present himself to 1 stand his trial. It was in vain that the Colo- i nel's friends tried co persuade him not to s take the responsibility, even "the Court's" i suggestion to let the matter alone was un- j heeded. McCoy was released?shouldering 1 his rifle, and threading his way through the Indian nation, in due time he reached his ( home in "Old Kaintuck." , Months rolled on, and the time of trial < approached. As a matter of course, the i probabilities of McCoy's return were discuss- j ed. The public had doubts?the Colonel 1 had not heard from him since his departure. ( The morning of the appointed day arrived, 1 but tire prisouer did not present himself.? i The attondiug crowd and the people of the < town became excited?all except the Colo- 1 nel despaired?evening was moving on apace < ?the court was 011 the point of adjourning, 1 when a distant huzza was heard; it was < borne on the wings of the wind, and echoed j along, each moment growing louder and 1 louder. Finally the exulting cry was caught ] up by the hangers-on about the scat of jus- I tiee. Another moment and McCoy?his . board and matted, Jus hands torn to i ] pieces, his eyes haggard, and sun-burnt to a < degree that was painful to behold?rushed i iuto the court room, and from sheer exhaus- 1 tion fell prostrate upon the floor. Old Colonel \Y embraced him as he : would have done a long-lost brother, and ;' eyes unused to tears filled to overflowing j( when McCoy related his simple tale starting ;: from Louisville as "a hand on a boat," he i i found in a few days that, owing to the low :' stage of water in the river ' ul other unex- j1 pected delays, it was impossible for him to ! reach Natchez at the appointed time bysucli ; i a mode of conveyance. No other ordinary j i conveyance, in those early days, presented ; i itself. Not to be thwarted, he abandoned !: ;the flat," and, with his own hands, shaped a canoe out of the trunk of a fallen tree, lie | had rowed and paddled, almost without ccs- j sation, thirteen hundred miles, and had thus j redeemed his promise almost at the expense j of his life. Ilis trial in its progress became a mere form ; his chivalrous conduct and the ! want of any positive testimony won tor linn a verdict of not guilty, even before it was ' announced by the jury or affirmed by the ! judge. An old resident upon the banks of the lower Mississippi relates an incident stri- j kingly characteristic of the early times. On | one occasion, when quite a young man, he j wa? sitting upon the gallery of his house | looking out upon the wide expanse ot the river. In the far distance was seen, lazily moving with the current, a boat, upon the deck of which was dimly discernible two or three men and a number of women and children, evidently a family of emigrants. While lie was mechanically gazing, he observed a rude fellow, just in front of him on the shore, endeavoring, by a series of ridiculous and indecent antics, to attract the attention nf llie rvevenna nil the hnnt The eflfhvh WAS quite successful, as one of the men shook his first threateningly, as an evidence of disapprobation. The landsman continued his performances until lie showed a desire to insult the party in the boat. "When this was clearly perceived and comprehended, "the man at the sweep seized his rifle; but the distance from its proposed victim seemed to render it harmless, and the offensive conduct was persisted in. A light cloud of smoke and a dull sound followed, when the planter, to his astonishment, saw the reckless landsman press his hand to his side, stagger a pace or two, and fall heavilyupon the ground. Hastening to his assistance, he arrived only in time to hear the last sigh of a dying man. The fatal rifle had done its work. The flat, meanwhile, disappeared behind a projecting point, and probably its occupants ever remained ignorant of the extent of the terrible revenge taken upon the thoughtless wretch ashore. Select JlcaMmj. LOST! LOST! r.Y T. 1!. ALDRICII, KStJ. r 1?ll V beautiful Soul is lost! V beautiful Soul went down, down; Down, like a sliip at sea ! ? iVho knows if a Soul be lost ? flic moon went into a cave iVhosc stalactites were pointed with stars, iVith scintillant crescents of stars? \nd a sweet south wiml caine over the rye Vnd broke on the lattice bars! Invisible fingers of Air Just lifted the curtain's fold, fust rippled the calm of her golden hair? Liquescent and glittering gold ! Vnd she stood like the thought of a sculptor, carved In marble, snowy and cold ! 3ut her pure, sweet look was as foul a lie As ever a woman told! Eler shriek went up through the night To spheres that rolled overhead: She lay at uiy feet, and her face was white, [t hauntcth me now, 'twas so very while. As I whispered it low, "She is dead!" \ statue lay chill at my feet! She lay with her eyes in eelipse; V darkness hung in the length of her hair, And shadowed her perjured lips. [ strangled her voice, but. oh, Cod ! I would I could strangle the moan rhat follows me out in the silent streets When I walk with the midnight alone ! rHE CRADLE AWAY UP IN THE GARRET. It was an old fashioned little cradle. The proud daughtcr-in-law would scorn to have t in the nursery, llcr childrcu sleep in lainty cribs ; and the relic of olden times is pushed into a darkened corner, away up in : :hc garret. It is a quiet autumnal day ; 1 ;uch days are full of memories; and the old I rrandniother is thinkimr. She arises, at ? - - r / cngth, and totters up, and up, the lofty 1 lights of stairs; she passes through the < ilegant room; she gains the garret, and i sinks down beside that unsightly cradle; i ind blows her trembling head o\er it, as if . matching the slumbers of ababe. That little i rarret, with one long beam of sunlight strca- : ning from the high window ; and the spider ivcbs woven over the rafters and one eri.ckct : singing lonesomcly from some silent corner, s a good place to dream. Memory is unfolding picture after picture, for the grandmother to look upon. She sees a cabin home. It is in the flush )f summer time; there are green boughs in : :he fire place, and around the clock, and aver the mantle board. There are short, tvhite, muslin curtains, drawn partially \cross the windows. There are two beds, ivith a bureau between, standing in the eas- ] tern part of the room ; and a little stand, tvith a Bible and hymn book upon its white ; fringed cover, beneath the little looking- i .dass. There is her cupboard, with its bright- i ly polished pewter; and the pine table scourid by her own hands. And she is sitting < by the window, her foot gently touching that ] same dear little cradle ; and her eyes, lifted from her sewing, now and then, to sec if her . heart's pride is coming. How delieiomsly ] lier heart is stirred to I lie music of sweet thoughts. Tt is her first-born, her darling , Johnny, sleeping in the cradle. Never yet liavo his dewy, rose-bud lips murmured "mother;" but his dimpled arms clasp her , neck; his velvet check nestles against her breast, his clear blue eyes look lovingly into tier own. Mie is tne young niotner again, is ineinory paints tint sweet baby face. She Iioars the bees humming in that little bed of pinks, below the window. She sees the shadow leaves of the Virginia creepers, playing upon the grass, in the sunlight, as the breeze stirs the long elaspingartns that cling about the rough logs. She hears the rivulet ripple as it winds through mossy spots, and leaves the roots of the old sycamore, whose shadows fall upon her roof. She hears the birds singing, away oil" in the woods. She sees, oh ! best of all, her husband coining home from his daily labor, llis step is oil the sill, his merry voice speaks her name, and then liti i . i 1 i- i.:_ i . ue .jonnny is ciaspuu iu ins nean. Another picture. She is .1 little older i now. It is winter; there are drifts of snow on the leaves; as far as the eye can look, one unbroken mass of snow. She hears the winds moan through (lie sycamore. The j flowers arc dead; the rivulet frozen ; the birds silent. J>ut there is a bright lire upon the hearth, and the cabin home is warm with crimson light. Johnny is playing with father; and a baby girl, the .Little, Lizzie, is in the cradle ; fragile, delicate, beautiful; she lias dark eyes, like mother's onlv they bear a sadder, softer look, and her baby smiles seems sad also ; her hands are clasped and thrown above her head and she smiles in her sleep, as if the angels were whispering to her. Another picture. It is in the month of May, and all out of doors is so beautiful.? Flowers in the woodland; joyous music everywhere. Evcrywhrc? No there is sadness in the cabin house. There is another babe in the cradle. It is robust, and the blood of health flowers iu its veins. It is Charlie. Why are they sad, then ? Johnny sits with his face hidden in his mother's bosom, and she is sobbins. Under the front window is something covered with white. The neighbor women are moving noiselessly about, speaking but little. Lizzie is in her coflin. There is an empty grave where butter-cups dot the grass. Dear little Lizzie. Joy that the angels took thee home so ear'y Another picture. Johnny has grown up to nearly manhood. Charlie is a stout, merry boy, and there arc others about the fireside. The mother is a good deal older now. Ilcr hair is streaked a little with silver, her brow furrowed, and her cheek very faded. There are fair daughters and sons, that have been born unto her since Lizzie died. Grace, with her dazzling blue eyes and golden hair. Mary, with sad dark eyes, like her dead sister. Annie, with her lips ever dewy with i ?. i* 11 *.i ! !_ _ love anu joy. licgtnnia witn eyes so tine his father's. And Louis, the youngest, the put and the darling. An unbroken family, but not for long. Another picture. She is a widow now. Her beloved sleeps with little Lizzie. God knows how bereft she is; to IIim she looks for balm; to him she prayes for her dear children, and most of all for Reginald?the proud, the passionate, wilful Reginald. Ah, the mother's heart! IIow it goes with her children. How it would bear every pang that they might be saved. Yet, how often it is torn, crushed, broken by those she has sheltered in her bosom! God pity the mother whose heart thus beats against thorns. Another picture. 0 God, have pity! The household altar is almost desolate.? Years have gone by?sad years. No wonder the palsied hand trembles, as it clasps the cradle. No wonder the old grandmother cries out, "Father have mercy I"?for she feels the need of strength and love. Johnny is still with her; lie is growing wealthy. Mary is in the grave, stricken in early womanhood, when life seemed so bright. Beautiful Grace, is gone?she knows not whither. Beauty, to her, was a curse, and she fled to a distant land with one fascinating as the serpent, but already wedded. Annie joined her fortunes to one, alas ! unworthy, and died far from her mother's house, of a broken heart. Reginald went into the gay .1.1 i wunu?WilJi lUllipiuu-?- WHO JUOL . auu me grave of the drunkard aud debauchee closes over his bright head. Louis, the pet, the youngest, is wiuniug himself a name beneath Italian skies; the beautiful life of the poet-painter is his own, and his face is inspired, almost by the beautiful associations about him. Over the ocean do his mother's prayers often go to him. Another picture?Oh na' it is too real. The old garret?the to-day?the empty cradle. She is living with Johnny, in his costly home. She is considered an intruder by the daughter-in-law; and her son?her Johnny, the first-born, whom she has watched over and cradled on her breast, aud loved so, says : "Mother is getting to be quite troublesome; she is growing childish." The desolate old grandmother knows this, and longs for the grave. She lias outlived all that makes life attractive. God compass that weary, almost worn-out heart, with His love, and take her to his house of many mansions." INFIDELITY IN LIFE. Glow much is this a yard ?' said a lady to an acquaintance of mine, proprietor of a large dry goods store. 'That ma'am, is worth'?and he then held it up for inspection?'that is selling for three dollars. It is a beautiful piece, ma'am, the best for the price in the city.' Gt is more than I am willing to give/ said the ladv : 'I will take it at two dol The merchant then went on, in the usual style, asserting that it was hss than cost,' hut it being lur she might have it.' 'After the lady had gone, said I, 'Why did you sell that without a profit ? 'Why did 1 ? You don't think me so much of a fool as that? T never dispose of goods without a profit." 'Hut you told the lady so,' said I. 'Poh ! 1 tell the same to twenty every day. 1 made fifty per cent, on that very cloth. lfo then went to attend to another cuslomer, and I thought to myself, 'Here is a man reckoned honorable as a business man, in good standing, as a member of-?church, esteemed a benevolent, liberal christian, absolutely lying, according to his own admission, at least twenty times day, merely to make a good bargain and gain a few pence Why is he called honorable? Heeause he will not forfeit his word when over-reached by a'cuter man ?'because he pays all his debts when due, to keep up his credit ?? Yes. These are sufficient in the business world. Why is he esteemed a christian? Merely because he owns a pew, is a communicant, ami gives liberally to benevoleut societies. .Judging from the acts of such, and acts arc the most correct interpreters of a per.-oii's thoughts, what claims have they to such titles as christians and honorable men ? It is not by those acts expecting to come before the discriminating, criticising public, that men are to be known, but by those little every day transactions, where there are supposed to be no observances. When the eye of community is not upon men, is the moment to judge of their honesty. Ask a tradesman why he persists in such a course, and he will readily answer? i <"\Ve must do so if we would live.' Has mankind'so degenerated that a man of integrity must starve ? Are all knaves, that we must deal in falsehoods or die ? No, God forbid ! It is a libel on the human race to say we connot prosper and be honest. Let me ask those who answer, <We must be dishonest/ how many have ever thoroughly tried the opposite course ? Now, conscience and integrity have succombed right, art, and success. Eaeh exerts himself to the extent of his sagacity, if Dot to get the better of a bargain, at least not to get cheated. We peed a host of ministers, yes, home missionaries, to preach against this growing faithlessness, this infidelity, not theoretical, but practical infidelity?this beggary of faith to each other.? Waverh/ Magazine. From Owen Meredith's Poems. CHANGES. Whom first we love, you know, we seldom wed. Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead. And then, we women cannot choose our lot. Much mn9t be borne which it i9 hard to bear: Much given away which it were sweet to keep. God help us all! who need, indeed, His care, And yet, I know, the Shepherd loves bis sheep. My little boy begins to babblo now Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer. He has his father's eager eyes, I know, And. thev sav too. his mother's sunnv hair. But when lie sleeps and smile9 upon my knee, And I can feel his light breath come and go, I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!) Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago. Who might have been . . .ah, what I dare not think! Wo all are changed. God judges for us best. God help U9 do our duty, and not shrink, And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest. But blame us women not, if some appear Too cold at times ; and some too gay and light. Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows tile Past ? and who can judge us right ? Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, And not by what we are, too apt to fall! My little child?he sleeps and 9mile9 between These thoughts and me. In Heaven we shall know all! THE AMERICAN CADMUS. The invention of the Cherokee alphabet is one of the most remarkable events in the history of the aborigines. The best account we have seen of it is by Samuel L. Knapp, who became acquainted with See-quah-yah, its author, in 1828. The English name of this celebrated Indian was George Guess.? lie is said to have been a half-breed; but whether he was so or not, he never associated with the whites, or spoke any language but that of the Cherokces. Prompted by his own curiosity, and urged by several literary friends, Mr. Knapp applied to Seequah-yah, through the medium of two inx x? x. -j.x. x- i.:~ _?: x?i? lerpreieiS; iu reiuu; tu mm, ao uiiuui/cijr as possible, the mental operations, and all the facts, in his discovery. The substance of his communications to Mr. Knapp was as follows : That he, Seequah-yah, was now about sixty-five years old; that in early life he was gay and talkative ; and although he never attempted to speak in council but once, yet was often, from the strength of his memory, his easy colloquial powers, and ready command of his vernacular, story teller of the convivial party. His reputation for talents of every kind, gave him some distinction when he was quite young, so long ago as St. Clair's defeat. In this campaign, or some one that soon followed it, a letter was found on the persons of a prisoner, which was wrongly read by him to the Indians. In some of their deliberations on this subject, the question arose among them, whether this mysterious power of the talking leaf was the gift of the Great Spirit to the white man, or a discovery of the white man himself?? Most of his companions were of the former opinion, while he as strenuously maintained the latter. This frequently became a subject of contemplation with him afterwards, as well as many other things which he knew or had heard, that the white man could do; bu^ he never sat down seriously to reflect on the subject, till a swelling on his knee confined him to his cabin, and which at length made him a cripple for life, by shortening the diseased leg. Deprived of the excitements of war and pleasures of the chase, in the long nights of his confinement, his mind was again directed to the mystery of the power of speaking by letters?the very name of which, of course, was not to be found in his language. From the cries of wild beast, from the talents of the mock'ing bird, from the voices of his children I and his comnanions. he knew that feelines ^ / ? and passions were conveyed by different sounds from one intelligent being to another. The thought struck him to try to ascertain all the sounds in the Cherokee language. His own ear was not remarkably discriminating, and he called to his aid the more acute ears of his wife and children.? He found great assistance from them. When he thought that he had distinguished all the different sounds in their language, he attempted to use pictorial signs, images of birds and beasts, to convey these sounds to others, or to mark them in his own mind, lie soon dropped this method, as difficult or impossible, and tried arbitrary signs, without any regard to appearances, except such as might assist him in recollecting them, and distinguishing them from each other. At first, these signs were very numerous; and when he got so far as to think his invention was nearly accomplished, he had about two hundred characters in his alphabet. By the aid of his daughter, who seemed to enter into the genius of his labors, he reduced them, at last, to eighty-six, the number he now used. He then undertook to make these characters more comely to the eye, and succeeded. As yet, he had not the knowledge of the pen as an instrument, but made his letters on a piece of bark with a knife or nail. At this time he sent to the Indian agent, or some trader in the nation, for paper and pen. His ink was easily made from some of the bark of the forest trees, whose coloring properties he had previously known; and after seeing the construction of the pen, he soon learned to make one; but at first he made it without the slit; this inconvenience was, however, quickly removed by his sagacity. His next difficulty was to make his invention known to his countrymen: for by this time he had become so abstracted from his tribe and their usual pursuits, that he was viewed with an eye of suspicion. His former companions passed his wigwam without entering it, and mc ';on?d. his name as one who was practicing improper spells for notoriety or mischievous purposes; and he seems to think that he should have been hardly dealt with, if his docile and unambitious disposition bad not been so generally acknowledged by his tribe. At length he summoned some of the most distinguished of his nation, in order to make his communication to them; and after giving them the best explanation of his principle that he could, stripping it of all supernatural influence, he proceeded to demonstrate to them, in good earnest, that he had made a discovery. His daughter, who was now his only pupil, was ordered to go out of hearing, while he requested his friends to name a word or a sentence, which he put down, and then she was called in and read it to them; then the father retired, and the daughter wrote. The Indians were wonder-struck, but not entirely satisfied.? See-quah-yah then proposed that the tribe should select several youths from among their cleverest young men, that he might communicate the mystery to them. This was at length agreed to, although there was some lurking suspioion of necromancy in the whole business. John Maw, with several others, was selected for this purpose. The tribes watched them for several months with anxiety; and when they offered them* selves for examination, the feelings of all were wronght up to the highest pitch. The youths were seperated from their master and from each other, and watched with the greatest care. The uninitiated, directed what the master and the pupil should write to each other, and these tests were varied in such a manner, as not only to destroy their infidelity, but most firmly to fix their faith. The Indians, on this, ordered a great feast, and made See-quah-yah conspicuous at it. How nearly is man alike in every age !? Pythagoras did the same op. the discovery of an important principle in geometry.? See-quah-yah became at once schoolmaster, professor, philosopher, and a chief. His countrymen were proud of his talents, and held him in reverence as one favored by the Great Spirit. The government of the United States bad a font of types cast for his alphabet; and a newspaper, printed partly in the Cherokee language, and partly in the English, was soon established at New Echota, characterized by decency and good sense, and many of the Cherokees were able ere long to read both languages. IMPBOPEB SPEECH AMONG CHIL. DBEN. There is no greater source of evil connected with this rising generation than the injudicious manner in which children are brought up. Parents are strangely inconsistent in the management of the little ones God has given. The following remarks on the culture of children are worthy of being read by all parents: " The proper culture of children looks to the elevation of intellectual and moral character,?and subsidiary to thii, a good conscience, high self-respect, are appliances not to be overlooked. If once the moral sense of a child becomes corrupted, or his feelings of self-respect deetroyed, there is no protection against at least a secret indulgence in crime, which like the pent up fires, may at last break forth in the most destructive conflagration, and if he sees not a proper example of purity, veracity, and veneration of the Supreme God, in his natural guide, it can hardly be imagined that he will respect these virtues in himself. To say nothing of that constitutional feature in youthful minds to imitate the words and acts of those around them, especially parents, nothing sooner makes a sensibility to right and wrong, than the use of indelicate and impure speeches in their presence, as nothing sooner discourages every attempt in them to do right than illnofin>orl an/1 nnnrnVirimio /lononraa? uatutvu uuu I f VVWUUIVU VU???Vterising them as 'mean/ 'vulgar,' 'fools/ 'Hare/ 'villians/ and the like. If they are clearly and manifestly guilty of such improprieties, some such mode of punishment as shall prevent a repetition of the deed in future should be immediately adopted; if they are not, it is decidedly unjust and wrong to charge it upon them. It should be sedulously remembered, that words are both suggestive and modifying, that crimes never before conceived are often suggested by a word; and that the mind mounted and fashioned by ideas received, easily adopts any course to which its ideas look. This is especially true where, by a false representation of character, every motive is taken away to do right. A child represented bad and wicJted, or cnarged with specific crimes, as prevarication, profanity, cruelty, reveling, &c., early comes to feel that he has nothing to loose or gain by his conduct in such cases; that if he refrains from such acts, he is none the better; or if he does them he is none the worse and with little hesitancy, therefore, he surrenders himself to any impulse that may prompt his future conduct. These are facts in the philosophy of mind, and they .forcibly illustrate the strictness which should be observed in promising, threatening, censuring, judging or condemning the acta of children. Christian Era. I^There is this difference between happiness and wisdom : He that thinks himself the happiest man really is so; but he that thinks himself the wisest man is generally the reverse.