Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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jv - ^ ." " v ? * 3t, "' - ~ * j4kk sImxVmelton, }Propriet<,r'- An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. |lewism. gbist, VOL. 2 YORKYILLE, S. C., THUBSDAY, MAY 15, 1856. 3STO. 2Q. From the Columbus Enquirer. MOLLY, LET THE BOYS ALONE. BY MOLLIE MYRTLE. My misanthropic maiden aunt, She is three score years and ten, And she has a great antipathy To moustaches and young men. i She never lets me have a beau? Although I am fully grown? When ever I look at them, she cries? "Molly, let the boys alone?" Last week, I to a party went, Aunt Fanny was there too-?v.? A young man asked me if I liked Sleigh-riding in the snow. I was about to answer him? But all my thoughts had flown? 1 mAf nimt'c avp whir?h oppmVl tn Qfiv. Molly, let the boys alone ?" Last summer I my window raised, To enjoy the cooling breeze, A young gent pass'd ; and as he bow'd I heard aunt Fanny's sneeze. I bow'd not, he thought it strange, But I wished he could have known That aunt Fanny's sneeze surely meant? j "Molly, let the boys alone?" One night I sit up very late, And my candle went out quite, I softly crept to aunt's bed-room To procure another light. I made a slight noise with the tong9, Aunt turned over with a groan? And sleeping very soundly said? "Molly, let the boys alone!" I hasten'd back and went to bed, And cried myself to sleep, v And dream'd a wooden legged ghost. All around my bed did creep. The spectre laid its hand on mine, A hand, hard and cold as stone, And in a voice sepulchral said? "Molly, let the boys alone!" j YT 1.1 It. 1 .. .1 - L .^OW, Yilllil UI1 CU11U UU1 1 IU (IU : I All day, and all night long, I'm haunted by that vexing strain, That one continual song! I sometimes think I'll run away? And go marry Mike Malone, So 1 no more can hear aunt say? "Molly, let the boys alone!" j! pttmormts ji From the German of Ferdinand Stolle. __jr- r COURTSHIP UNDER DIFFICULTIES. J1 i < BY HUMOROUS HISTORY. | , When I left the University of Jena, 11 went to live with an uncle?who, since the j t death of my parents, had supplied their place j ( to me?at a pleasant country-house within j ( an easy distance of his manufactory. Uncle j ( Reinhold was much attached to me, and, j ( although he had not objected to my prolong- j ( ing my university life rather beyond the usu-! ( al age, when I finally quitted Jena he strong- ' ly urged me to turn my attention to industrial pursuits, holding out to me the prospect ( of becoming his partner, and ultimately sole proprietor of his profitable business. Accord- , ingly, for upwards of a year I applied ray- , self to master the mysteries of looms and i ( shuttles, correspondence and accounts, al- ( though these were much less to my taste than j the tranquil life I had led at Jena, study- j ing little law, but diving deep into our i 5 noble German classics, and storing my mind j from the works of the best prose-writers and j poets. Before the year was half out, I fell j deeply in love, but this I dared not tell my < J uncle. Minnie was the sweetest fairy that ( ever tripped over a lawn without doubling a daisy; her hair was of the richest auburn, her eyes were of the deepest blue, her mouth was a rosebud, and with my hands I could span her waist, but?alas! that terrible but ?she lacked one thing which my uncle set above all the graces ever combined in a goddess. Her mother, the widow of a poor j clergyman, lived upon a scanty pension, and j Minnie was dowerless. So we kept our loves j a profound secret, and tmsted to time and ! the chapter of accidents. Both young, we , could afford to wait, and, confident in each other's affection, the possibility of another union never entered the head of either of us. My uncle frequently spoke to me of ma- j trimony. He advocated ray early marriage ! ?perhaps a little from selfish motives, for \ he often joyously anticipated the charm a ' young and graceful women would bung into j his dwelling, and the delight he should have ! in dandling a grandnephew on his knee.? ; W arm-hearted and generous, he yet in every j thing was completely the man of business, j and he looked upon it as a settled matter, j that, although T had very little fortune of j my own, my expectations from him should j insure me a rich wife. This idea seemed j so rooted in his mind, that it sometimes oc- j casioned me uneasiness. I foresaw some anger and much opposition when the day j should come, and come it must, that I should j confess to him my love for sweet penniless j Minnie. One morning, in the usual bundle of let-! ters came one which seemed to give my un- J cle unusual satisfaction. I supposed it to ! contain a large and profitable order, for those | were the letters over which he generally ! rubbed his hands, twinkled his eyes, and gave other unmistakable marks of content- j raent. To my surprise, instead of tossing it over to me, with an exulting "There, my boy!" he carefully folded it up and put it tnfn thp hrpnst.nnplrpf'. nf his Pont. All that day he was in a state of particular exhilara- j tion. At dinner he said little, but something : agreeable evidently occupied his mind. At last, when, at evening, he had established ; himself in his easy-chair at the open window I his meerschaum in his mouth, a flash of gol- : den Rhenish at his elbow, a lovely landscape ; and gorgeous sunset before him, the niyste- i ry was revealed. The letter was from his I old friend, Counsellor Frager, who lived on his pleasant domain of Wieseuthal, about a 1 day and a halFs drive from us. The coun-' sellor, whom I had twice seen at my uncle's 1 since my return from college, was a wealthy ' widower with three marriageable daughters, whom I had uotseen. My uncle, it appeared, had lately been in correspondence with him respecting the propriety of bringing about a union between me and one of the young ladies, who were reputed handsome; and that morning's letter contained the counsellor's full acquiescence in the scheme, and an invitation for me to pass a few days at Wicsenthal. InvaindidI raise obstacles, and declare my conviction that none of the Misses Frager would suit me. Uncle Reinhold had the ready reply that I could not tell that until I had seen them. After making all possible objections, I felt that to persist longer might excite suspicions of a prior attachment. And, after all, it was but a week's absence, and no unpleasant escape from the monotony of the counting-house.? All that I was required to do was, to go and see the damsels, who assuredly would not carry me off and marry me by force. But when I told Minnie of my approaching departure, I thought she would have broken her heart. Her confidence in me was great, but the circumstances were certainly trying. She eould not endure my being thus driven Infrv fflmrvfotiAn SVix* liurl lmar/1 nf tho sollor's daughters as very handsome and very rich. She doubted not my truth, but she had forebodings of evil, and implored me not to leave her. I had promised my uncle to go, however, and I could not retract my word. It took a great many vows, and not a few kisses, to console the little timid loving girl, and even then she was but half consoled. Before my departure I had another grave interview with my uncle. "You will not regret your journey, Frank," he said. "The girls are pretty, witty, and well read. Not greese, such as one finds in our Kirchberg and other country villages. You must rub up your learning, I can tell you. And the chief thing is, that each of them will have her thirty thousand dollars. Bring me home such a golden niece as that, and T take you into partnership. A few years more, and I retire altogether, and you are a made man. My old friend, the counsellor, warmly desires the alliance. Not all wooers find their path so smooth. I ran myself nearly off my legs after my dear departed wife. The old people were against it, and would not listen to me. Luck lies before you, my boy; seize tnifli Vv/\4V* it nitu uvtu uuuuc. "All very well," thought I, as T got into the gig and drove off; "but my hands are jound, and my heart too. What is money compared to Minnie ? One lock of her lovey hair would make all the old counsellor's noney-bags kick the beam ! And even if (he were not in the way, 1 hate these mercenary unions, got up by third parties, where everything is for the purse? anu noining ior ~ he heart. To plca>e my uncle, however, 1 can very well manage to get through a few lays at Wiesenthal, and see the counsellor's graces on their best behaviour. I owe much move than that to my kind kinsman and second father. I will look at the ladies, but there is so fear of my marrying one of them. Poor dear Minnie ! But if the Frager girls ire such beauties, besides being fortunes, what on earth is the reason that none of them have got married ? I should not wonler if the glitter of their thirty thousand dolnrs had somewhat blinded my worthy uncle. $ [t would not surprise me if one of them squinted, and another had red hair. But there is no harm in going to see." Thus communing with myself, I rolled pleasantly along the level road, in the warm mtumn sun, through mile after mile of dewspangled orchard. Those were my romantic days, and nothing would have pleased me better than to have met with an adventure or two by the way. These were denied me; but, upon the other hand, an abundance awaited me at the place of my destination. It was between nine and ten in the forenoon when I reached the neighborhood of the rich counsellor's fine domain. The - - ? - - i?- - it. X 1 X? morning was sonne, me country so oeaunful, that ^determined to leave luy gig at a roadside inn, about a quarter of an hour's drive from Wiesenthal, and to proceed thither on foot. Perhaps, also, if truth be told, I was not sorry to stop at the inn to get rid of the dust of the highway, and arrange my dress a little. I had certainly no desire to please any one of the three Misses Frager, but that was not a reason for appearing to disadvantage before them. The disorder of my toilet repaired, T set out on my walk, j and soon came in sight of the counsellor's villa. A small birch wood lay before me, though which I had to pass, and then I should be in the garden, which stretched up to the house. As I proceeded I looked about me on all sides, thiuking I might by chance descry one of the three graces from which it was my uncle's will, but not my intention, that I should select a wife. The only women I saw were two peasants toiling in a field. I was about to enter the wood, when at some two hundred paces from me, the slender figure of a woman, attired in a fantastical costume, between a riding-habit j and a hunting-coat, and bearing a doublel>nlnrl /vim in lior linml cfnnnfir) Anl frAm ' Uaitcucu uuu iu iit*i iiauuj ovtj;|;vu uub iium ? among the foliage. Leaning upon her wea-! pon, she seemed enjoying the charming j landscape. "If that be one of Frnger's daughters," thought I to myself, "Uncle Kinhold was not so far wrong. A fine girl she seems." Not wishing to disturb the graceful apparition in her contemplation of the scenery, I walked on as if I had not perceived her. I had taken but a few steps when a female voice, melodious but powerful, shouted "Halt!" That cannot be addressed to me, thought I to myself, and walked on. Then earn? a sound like the cocking of a gun, and the next instant a bullet whistled, as it seemed to me, close over my head. The hint sufficed, and I halted at once. "The woman must be crazed," thought [, as I gazed at the reckless amazon, who w.alked slowly towards me. I had leisure to observe her, and to admire her remarkable beauty. Tier graceful figure was set off to advantage by the close fitting habit, and her blooming countenance by a profusion of fair curl*. I thought to myself, what pity it | was that so lovely a form should be that of a mad woman. When she arrived within twenty paces of me? "Why did ye not halt," she asked; in commanding tones, "when I ordered you?" I really knew not what to reply to the imperious beauty; so I varied the subject. "If I do not mistake," I said, "T heard a bullet whistle rather near me." "Are you afraid of bullets ?" "Well?there may be cases." "For shame! a man should never be afraid, least of all of a lady. You thought I should hurt you. Do you take me for an assassin, or to be a bad shot ?" "Neither, unon mv word." ' I *f "There is a fine apple hanging over your head. Lay it on your palm, stretch out your arm, and I will shoot it off. Will you bet that I don't?" "I am not fond of such bets." "Afraid again ?" "Every man has his moments of weakness/ "Poltroon!" scornfully exclaimed this demon in petticoats, raised her gun, and levelled it at my head. "For God's sake !" I cried, but before the words were out of my mouth came the flash and report. I thought I should have fallen to the ground. To a dead certainty the monster had hit my hat. "Take off your hat," said she. I mechanically obeyed. There was a hole close to the crown. T shuddered from head to foot. "Where are you going to?" said the terrible markswoman. Not to anger her, I replied, as courteously as possible? "To Wiesenthal; to Counsellor Frager's." "Beware of his daughters," said the female fiend, with a laugh that reminded me of the wild huntsman. And she disappeared in the wood. It mny be supposed that I did not linger long in so dangerous a neighborhood. The lady might take a fancy to load again. T made the best of my way towards the house, wondering, as I strode along, whether Wiesenthal wasa Turkish province, or whether we were back again in the middle ages, when people shot at peaceable passengers for pure pastime. What could this semi-assassin be ? Was she a goblin, a wood demon, whose occupation was to frighten men or real flesh and blood ? If the latter, where had she acquired this preternatural dexterity with the gun, and the abominable habit, of firing at travellers '( Haudsome she undoubtedly was, but when the devil disguises himself, he does not assume the ugliest form. ?ITtUl 1VIV rn.'.ugirts n-'vcrted to my pretty gentle Minnie, a less imposing beauty, hut a far safer companion than this lunatic William Tell, whose warning against the counsellor's daughters also recurred to my mind. I would not allow myself to suppose that the sharpshooter was one of Frager's daughter's; but if she was, and her sisters resembled her, there was no danger of my falling in love with one of them. I should as soon thought of becoming enamored of a Zouave. Hooked cautiously around me as I hurried through the wood, every moment expecting to seethe terrible double-barrel peering through the bushes. Tncas in the forests of the Hudson, with Pawnees upon his trail, could not have reconnoitred more carefully. At last I emerged from the trees, and breathed more freely as I entered the garden. My wish had been for adventures, and I was punished by its fulfilment. Romance and danger, were certainly combined in the one I had just met with. The worthy counsellor gave me a hearty reception, and made me welcome to Wiesenthal. I must be hungry, he said, after my drive, and calling a servant he bade him bring refreshment. Cold game and a bottle of Steinberger were soon upon the table, and truly I wanted something to revive me after my recent peril. My friendly host pledged me in a bumper, and lamented the absence of his daughters, whom he was most desirous to introduce to me. lie hoped they would be back to dinner. ] ventured a conjecture that they were on a visit somewhere. Not. a bit of it was the reply; each one of them had gone her own way, and on her own business. Business! thought I to myself, I what business can these young ladies possi- j bly have ? And I fervently trusted it was j not that of waylaying travellers, and shooting at hats with heads in them. ''Though I cannot show you my family," quoth the counsellor, when I had done eating, "if you will come with me into the next room, 1 will make you acquainted with their portraits." I followed Mr. Frager. Beaming out of their golden frames were three of the handsomest female faces man's eyes ever rested upon. But my admiration was converted into something like terror, when I recognized in one of the portraits the redoubtable guerilla who, one short hour before, had sent a bullet within six inches of my head. "This blonde," said Frager, playing the showman, "is my eldest girl, Louise, a terrible madcap and hairbrained puss, who should have been a boy. I always called her my Nimrod, for she is passionately fond of hunting, and rides and shoots to perfection. 1 own that l am not partial to such tastes in young ladies, but youth and high spirits must be allowed their way, and as the girl is a real angel in every other respect., and has the best heart in the world, 1 tolerate her cavalier customs." "As regards theyouug lady's shootiug," I ! replied, "I. have had souie experience of it ; myself this morning. She sent u bullet through my hat as I walked up to the house." j And I related my adventure. The counsel; lor tried to look indignant, but his frown ! melted into a smile. "Just like the gipsy," lie said. "Bui you i bad nothing to fear. Her hand is steady ! and her aim sure." 1 i "T will take the liberty to remark tLat I ; do not think such masculine accomplishments particularly becoming in a young lady." "Certainly not, certainly not," replied the fond father. "You are quite right, and I preach to her every day. But it goes in a1 one ear and out the other. And if I get seriously angry, she throws her arms around my neck, and vows she will be a better girl, aud gives me no rest till I forgive and kiss her. Then off she goes, and good resolutions are all forgotten. I confess my weakness; T have not the heart to thwart the child." The next portrait was that of the second daughter, Emily by name. Tt was that of one of the handsomest brunettes T ever saw ?a lofty commanding style of beauty, but the features wore an unmistakable expression of masculine earnestness and decision, "?* * \ n . it. . i i? I stood lost in admiration ueiore tne oeaunful countenance. The counsellor noted, witb evident satisfaction, the effect it produced upon ine. "That is my Dieflfenbacb," he said. "Your Dieffenbach !" T repeated, worn dering what on earth the name of the re nowned surgeon had to do there. "The same," replied Frager, smiling.? "Emily is the cleverest surgeon in the whole neighborhood. She is just now down at. the village, helping the doctor to amputate the hand of a gamekeeper who has had an accident with his gun." "A fine profession," T marked, nol knowing what to say j and I turned, with somewhat altered feelings, from the portrait of the fair Esculapius. The third portrait was not less charming than the other two.? Rich masses of brown hair shaded a countenance whosp features were more delicate, and its expression softer than in that of either of the other sisters. "Let us hope," 1 thought to myself, "that, this one has no such extraordinaiy and unwomanly tastes as Nimrod and Oieffenbach. She looks milder and more feminine." "That is my Oken," said Frager. "What. ! The naturalist ?" "The same. This,'fey youngest daughter, was baptized by the name of Ernestine, but 1 always call her my Oken. .No professor knows more of zoology, ornithology, ichthyology, entomology, and a few other hard named sciences. She is passionately fond of the study of nature, notwithstanding the occasional disagreeables connected with it." "Disagreeables ?" "Certainly. From her wanderings over hill and dale, through thicket and forest, the girl brings home so much vermin, that T have repeatedly been quite angry with her Snakes and lizards, frogs and toads, are continually crawling, writhing, and jumping about the house. She is particularly attachi'U it. sjnueis, -it i.i-.-M, e>10 collection. If you could procure her an American tarantula, which is the object of her most ardent desires, you would at onec attain a high place in her esteem. You should see Oken's boudoir," concluded the happy father; "you would never think you were in a lady's apartmeut, but in a museum of natural history." "My dear sir," I exclaimed, now completely astonished, "how is it that your amiable daughters have become addieted to such extraordinary and unfeminine pursuits ?" "The cause is soon told, my dear Mr. Frank," replied Frager; "they had the misfortune to lose their mother very young.? My occupation rendered it impossible for me to attend to their education, and I thought I had done all that was necessary when I entrusted the girls to a tutor highly recommend ed to me, but who brought them up like boys. Their only companion wa9 their brother Bernard, since unhappily drowned when studying medicine at the university. From him the sisters learned and inherited their various passions?Louisa, her riding and shooting, Emily her surgery, and Ernestine her natural history. I live in hopes that when they are well married they will he weaned from their strange fancies : housekeeping will not leave them much time for shooting and operating, or for collecting frogs and snakes.? I feel that 1 ought to have been stricter with the girls, but the harm is done now, and T can but hope in the future." I was far from displeased at the counsellor's revelation. The peculiarities of the | three beautiful sisters justified opposition to my uncles wishes. He could not expect me ! to take to wife a Nimrod, a Dieffenbach, 01 | an Oken. The thing was absurd. No aj mount of gold and beauty, could atone for j such unwomanly eccentricities. At the same time, I was curious to see the two younger sisters. They must be very beautiful.? I was less anxious for another meeting with Miss Nimrod. The whistle of her bullet? still resounded in my ears. The female Frieschutze was capable of shooting the cigar from my mouth, or the rose from my button-hole. I am not fond of such practical jokes. We had hardly returned into the breakfast room, when there was a barking of dogs I without, and Louisa dashed into the court | on a snow-white palfrey. Nothing could be * i 1 1 if ! more gracetui ana cnarming man mis sivu j der, daring amazon in her well-fitting habit, i .She sprung lightly from the saddle, and hur ' ried into the house. From the window the ! counsellor watched her with ill-concealed pride and satisfaction. The door flew open Louisa darted in, and, without taking the slightest notice of me. threw her arms round I her father's neck. to be continued. j A Beatiful Simile.?A few days sine* | a lovely little child of four summers wa; I buried. On leaving the house of its pa ! rents, the clergymau, Rev. M. Jay, pluckec i up by the roots a beautiful little "forget-me j not," and took it with him to the grave.? j After the little embryo of humanity had beer deposited in the grave, the clergyman, hold j ing up the plant in his hand said : << f hold in inv hand a beautiful flowe I - -- - > I which I plucked from the garden we haw j just left. By taking it from its present honv it has withered, but I here plant it in th< head of this grave, and it will soon reviv and flourish. "So with the little flower we have jus planted in the grave. It has been pluckei 11 from its native garden, and has wilted; but i ; it is transplanted into the garden of immor- a 11 tality where it will revive and flourish in , immortality, glory and beauty." I Select liisctllang. 1 O, THINK OF MR. Not when my heart with mirth is light, , Ami friends around tiiec smile, When on thy path the sun beams bright, And earthly joys beguile. Not when thou'st yielded to the spell ' Of music's soothing power, Nor when the chilling word " farewell1' ! Bespeaks the parting hour. ' But when thy heart is weary, love, And all seems dark to thee, 0, let one sunbeam pierce the gloom, And that my memory. When hearts you trust a mask unfold It chills thine own to see, Then nestle closer to mine own, For I'll be true to thee. , i And when the world is cold and stern, And darkly frowns on thee, ' i Then from it? heartlessne" 0 turn, . And cherish, cherish me. i BOOK MAKING IN AMERICA. * Tt is somewhat alarming to knjpv that the J j number of houses now actually engaged in j j the publishing of books, not including pe- s : riodicals, amounts to more than three hun- \ ! dred. About three fourths of these are en- 8 i gaged in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, ^ | and Baltimore; the balance being divided I between Cincinnati, Buffalo, Auburn, Al- r | bany, Louisville, Chicago, St. Louis, and a g few other places. There are more than three e thousand booksellers who dispense the pub- t lications of these three hundred, besides six t or seven thousand apothecaries, grocers and j hardware dealers, who connect literature with drugs, molasses and nails. The best printing in America is probably now done in Cambridge; the bestclothbind- v ing in Boston ; and the best calf and moroc- i co in New York and Philadelphia. In these c two latter styles we are, a? yet, a long dis- t tance from Heyday, the pride of London.? i His finish is supreme. There is nothing be- i tween it and perfection. c Books have multiplied to such an extent t in our country, that it now takes 750 paper c mills, with 2000 engines in constant opera- 1; tion, to supply the printers, who work day a and night endeavoring to keep their engage- e mentswith publishers. These tireless mills d produced 270,000,000 pounds of paper the i past year, which immense supply has suhMtn- z mmvuv w?i ii jsvuuti itIICI & quar- L j tor of rags arc required for a pound of paper, c and 400,000,000 pounds were therefore con- i I J* a:. IhaL OIL .. j suniea in iuia yyuj jui-l yvnr. 1 nr won ui c manufacturing a twelvemonth's supply of p paper for the United States, aside from la- e bor and rags, is computed at 84,000,000. o Some idea of the stock required to launch t a popular work may be gathered from Mes- r srs. Longman's ledger. These gentlemen t report, that when 25,000 copies of Mr. Macaulay's two recent volumes went flying all c abroad from Peternoster Row, no less than t 5,000 reams of paper, six tons of pasteboard, j and 7,000 yards of calico, were swallowed a up. t Most of the large publishing houses now c stereotype everything they intend to print. I The electrotyping process is largely employ- t ed j and an experiment is now being made in j Boston, of which we shall hear more at some 1: future time, which, if successful^ will de- g crease the expense of stereotyping about one- p third. We have lately heard that a machine e is in use in New York for type setting, and u that the second volume of Mr. Irving's Life s of Washington was prepared for by its aid. Four hundred years ago, a single book of a gossipping fiction was sold before the palace a gate in the French capital for fifteen hun-1 li red dollars. The same amount of matter j t contained in this expensive volume, Mr. v Harper, now supplies for twenty-five cents, t Costly books, however, are not yet out of v fashion, for we are all glad to know that d seventeen hundred subscribers have already fi been obtained for Prof. Agassiz's splendid 1, new enterprise. I The Harper establishment, the largest of c our publishing houses, covers half an acre of c eround. If old Mr. Coxton, who printed I those stories of the Trojan war so long ago, \ could follow the Ex-Major of New York in a one of his morning rounds in Franklin E Square, he would be, to say the least, a lit- t tie surprised. He would see in one room ? the floor loaded with a weight of 150 tons a of presses. The electroyping process would 3 puzzle him somewhat; the drying andpres- 1 sing process would startle him ; the bustle j would make his head ache; and the stock- g room would quite finish him. An edition | of Harper's Monthly Magazine alone con- ] ' sists of 160,000 copies. Few persons have j " any idea how large a number this is as ap- ^ * plied to the edition of a book. It is com- a puted that if these magazines were to rain a ' down, and one man should attempt to pick \ them up like chips, it would take him a r fortnight to pick up the copies of one sin- t gle number, supposing him to pick up one j 1 every three seconds, and to work ten hours f j a day. f The rapidity with which books are now t manufactured is almost incredible. A complete copy of one of Buiwer's novels, pub- t ? lished across the water in three volumes, 1 3 and reproduced here in one, was swept 1 through the press in New York in 50 hours, t I and offered for sale smoking hot in the streets, f - The fabulous edifice proposed by a Yankee i - from Vermont no longer seems an impossi- i i bility. "Build the establishment according ] - to my plan," 3aid he; "drive a sheep in at 1 one end, and he shall immediately come out i r at the other, four quarters of lamb, a felt hat, i a a leather apron, and a quarto Bible." i b About one book in one hundred only is a e success. When Campbell, at a literary lese tival, toasted Bonaparte as the friend of literature because he had a bookseller shot, t he was a trifle too rough on the trade. It I is impossible always for a publisher to decide ightly. All publishers are naturally shy of f l new MSS of poetry, for instance, for they f enow by experience that the deadest of all a lead books is a dead volume of verse. The \ epulcher of deceased poetry in Mr. Burn- c lam's churchyard of old books, in Cornhill, s the largest bin in his establishment. Some of the best books which have afterwards had the largest sales have been in 11 nanuscript most widely rejected. The novel c >f "Jane Eyre," so much praised by Mr. a ?urtis in his lecture this season, was turned c tway from the publishing doors of almost ^ ivery respectable house in London, and was ^ Dulled by accident out of a publisher's iron * lafe, where it had begun to grow mouldy, * jy the daughter of the bookseller, who had s limself forgotten it. "Eothen" was carried 1 >y its author, Mr. Kinglake, to twenty dif- F erent houses, till at last, in a fit of despair, s le gave the copyright away to an obscure 1 bookseller, paying the expenses of publica- ' inn mW nf Vila nun nnnl*nF ATr Tlionlrn. 0 ivu i;ui. vi uij un u |;vvavi<ii< j uav.i\t* ay's "Yanity Fair" was rejected by Mr. ' jolburn, for whose magazine it was written, ? hat astute gentleman complaining there was 1 10 interest in it. A New York publisher 1 ought the writer of a now popular book from ^ ipring to autumn, and at length gave in from c iheer inability to escape importunity longer. 1 \fter it was stereotyped, and before it was ^ irinted, he offered every inducement to per- c made a brother bookseller to take it off his c lands, but without success. In despair he * it last published it himself, and the sale 8 vent up to 20,000 in one season. a The life of an extensive publisher is of ^ lecessity one of great labor, both of mind e ind body. He begins with the author and r snds only with the purchaser. Between ^ bese two worthies there lies a world of de- 0 ail known only to the "Trade." Success to he useful craft! 0 s SELF-TAUGHT MEN. I In the different monarchies of Europe, e vhere the means of early education are lim- o ted; where the inhabitants are divided into b lasses, and power is exclusively vested in tl he hand of the wealthy or the noble, where n a word aristocracy rules and the mechan- o c is too often regarded in the light of a ma- e hine, intended to increase the comforts of g he favored few who inherit wealth and dig- s; lity. Honor and distinction, those stiinn- u ants to high-souled and enterprising deeds, h re presumed to be beyond the reach of the b aan who gains bis livelihood by honest in- n lustry?yet even there, where immorality, ^ mbecility and nrooertv are too often conaid- a Tctr arrmrrYiirougt jrmg, tuc uumuie uieriianc ana the lowly serf, undaunted by the a heerless prospect before them?have in many a nstances struggled successfully for fame and listinction against the tremendous tide of c irejudice; and by the force of energy and h nterprise alone, have attained the summit 9' f eminence and wealth, and gained immor- a ality, by increasing the knowledge or ad- a ainistering to the comforts and happiness of n heir fellow men. a Richard Arkwright passed the earlier part * if his life in the humble occupation of a bar- I >er?but he was fond of reading, and what t; iroved of more value to him, he had early a cquired habits of reflection. He conceived tl he idea of spinning cotton by means of ma- tl ihinery, and notwithstanding he mas misera- ti >ly poor and friendless, notwithstanding he t! eas everywhere ridiculed, as a visionary pro ector, who deserved a cell in a mad house, t iy the force of energy and application he ? ucceeded in carrying his design (whioh has d iroved so beneficial to the human race) into o fleet?and afterwards reveled in all the lux- a iries of wealth, and was knighted by his tl overeign. p John Leslie was the son of an humble far- ^ aer of Largo, in the Lowlands of Scotland, g nd when he had attained his sixteenth year h ie had made considerable progress in all the n i i ? ? .1 _Mt _ -1 1 TT. /i irancnes raugni ai tue yuiage scnooi. ne ras then employed as a herdsman?and as ? he pastures in which he tended his cattle rere for the most part hedged in, his atten- h lance was more a necessity of being in the d ields, than an employment. This gave him o eisure, and he sought to improve his mind. t< ly some means he became possessed of a tl opy of Simpson's Euclid, upon whioh ho b omraenced his career as a mathematician, ti le powdered the foot-paths of the hedge fi vith sand?delineated his figures thereon? n nd closing his book, went through his de- a aonstration. It so happened that ODe day n he Minister of Largo was taking a walk? c rhich led him by the other side of the hedge, a nd he was startled by hearing muttered e ounds, and listening he could hear distinct- t y the words angle?triangle?*perpendicu- a ar, and hypothenuse?and A, B, C,?min- g ;led with words and sentences. "Thismust c te the mathematics" quoth the minister of h jargo?and he was truly astonished to find s fohn Leslie overcoming that in solitude and 1 without instructions which the minister him- o elf had never been able to overcome amid 3 ,11 the science and stimuli of St. Andrew's v University. Suffice it to say that by his J neans Leslie received a University educa- e ion?became afterwards distinguisdea ior s lis scholastic attainments and grasp of in- v ellect?and succeeded the lamented Play- ii air as Professor of National Philosophy in n he Edinburgh University. t William Clifford was the son of a dissipa- v ed mariner, and at his father's death was t eft friendless and forlorn ; he was put on t joard a coasting vessel by his god-father, as j i cabin boy, where he remained until he was \ fourteen years of age. He was afterwards r ipprenticed to a shoemaker, and continued it this trade until he was nineteen years old. During his apprenticeship, he devoted every s leisure moment to study, and1 without any 1 instruction made himself master of Algebra i ind Geometry. Being destitute of paper, g nens and ink. he hammered out pieces of t r ? / leather as smooth as possible, and wrought t his problems on them with a blunted awl.? ] His perseverance and iuduatry were reward- 1 ed. The fame of his literary pursuit* reach- i ed the ears of a gentleman, who interested i himself in hia (ate?he was the means of 1 >urchasing the remainder of his time, and of ilacing him in a situation, where he could cquire a classical education?and he after* rards became one of the ablest writers, and Qost distinguished critics of the day. S. CAROLINA AND THE UNION. We admire the State pride and lofty disnterestedness of South Carolinians. The haracter and condition of her people affords mple proof that Southern institutions do tot operate injuriously on the physical com* ort, the morals, or intelligence of society. Vit-h so much that is valuable and desirable o preserve, we do not wonder that she u lighly conservative in feeling, probably mora o than any State in the Union. We concur fith her that it would be treasonable and >rofane to imitate, at the Sooth, the restless pirit of change and innovation exhibited by he now dominant party at the North. But re widely differ with her as to the best means if stemming this incoming tide of innovaion. Political disunion would not bring bout intellectual disunion. Public opinion s fabricated in Western Europe, for that is he centre of thought and fashion for Chrisendom. Thence it finds its way through iur North to the South. The current of hought, thus setting in upon us, will be sure o subvert our institutions, unless we can heck its advances; by originating a counterurrent at the South. There will be no long nice, or drawn battle, between institutions o opposite in their morals, their tendencies lid their influences, as ours and those of Western EuroDe and the North. We are ssentially one people, having similar wants, eligion, thoughts and interests, and controled by one public opinion, however different ur existing political institutions. Social forms so widely differing as those f domestic slavery, and (attempted) univeral liberty, cannot long co-exist in the Great lepublic of Christendom. They cannot be qually adapted to the wants and interests f society. The one form or the other must e very wrong, very ill suited, to promote be quiet, the peace, the happiness, the motility, the religion and general well-being f the community. Disunion will not allay xoitement and investigation?much less beet lasting peace. The war between the two jrstems rages everywhere; and will contine to rage till the one conquers and the other ) exterminated. If with disunion we could ave ? the all and end all there," theinducelents would but inspire our European and Lmerican adversaries with additional zeal, s;Lflir.hi lABBiiJ ail (fa tla dduce to show that the evils of our system re less than those of theirs. The time is eminently propitioufl for addning those facts and arguments, and the South i " about it." Our adversaries delight in ociological discussions; for they are bold nd rash exnerimenters. saneuine optimists I / u * nd perfectionists, who admit that they have >ot yet found the right form of society, and rc eager to listen to the suggestions of all rho propose to Bhow a new road to Utopia, jet us take the census of crime and of povery and of food, of the South, and of theNortu nd of Western Europe in one hand, and in be other the history of the famines, the riots, be revolutions, the infidelities, the superatiions, the immoralities, the agrarianisms, and he universal anarchical upheaving of free ociety. Let us compare the evils of the wo forms of society as exhibited in univer* al history. Let us weigh the authorities erived from the usages of mankind in favor f the one or the other; and finally let ns ppeal to the Bible in our defence. Within be last two years only has the Sonthern ress began to adopt this mode of dealing dth the subject. It has thrown down the uage to the North, and the North will not ike it up. The North still continues to deounce slavery, but will not meet the issue, ! Which form of society has been attended rith most of good and least of evil ?" South Carolina, we think, should take igher ground. Stay in the Union, and eneavor to control its policy. The discussion f the relative merits of the opposing sysims, will beget a fair and honorable rivalry bat may lead to much good. We do not ope, nor wish, to see slavery like ours inroduced at the North. There is no room )r black slaves, and we never wish to see rhite men made slaves. But we do hope, nd expect, and believe, that conservative a A __x a J A il ien everywnere are aoouc 10 aaupi me pnu* iple that men should be governed, not "let lone," and that each one should be governd according to his wants, and moral and inellectual capacity. This is the principle, nd is the only one that can save society from eneral demoralization and dissolution. How learly and promptly does Carlyle portray in . lis Latter Day Pamphlets this hastening of ociety into the gulf of chaotic anarchy !? 'he opposite principle is that of Lauez-faire, r political economy, which is ushering in lormonism, Free Love, and all the other ile isms of the day. Every man at the forth who values the right to private proprty, the purity of the marriage tie, or the aoredness of religion, must and will unite rith us. Conservatism there sees this, and 3 already uniting with us. Disunion is low, leutral, half-way ground, and becomes not he chivalry of South Carolina. She, who ras first and noblest at Molino del Rey and he city of Mexico, should bear the foremost >anner in these civil turmoils?not stay moling and fretting in the tent. Let death or 'ictory be her watchword, for death or victoy it must come to.?Richmond Enquirer. A Smart Woman.?A preacher not long ince, asking to stay all night at a country louse, was forbidden by the lady. Knowng her to be a member of the church and ;enerally pleased to entertain ministers, he >egan to quote Paul to her, hoping she would inderstand by this hint he was a preacher. T- V.J 1 11 A A ,,C anma cio ma mraiy got out, ior iuwvwj svuv nfe entertained angels unaware*," when the said : "but angels, sir, would not oome with tobacco in their mouth." The proaoher left without further ceremony.