Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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|Proprietors. An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. {lewism.cant, *' ? |\ VOL. 2. YOBKYILLE, S. P., THUB|DAY, SEPTEMBER UB, 1856. JS~Q. afjfr Select fjflefrS'2 y ! ' WATCH t MOTHER ! Mother! watch the little feet Clambering o'er the garden trail, Bounding through the busy street, Ranging cellar, shed and hall. Never count the moments lost, Sever mind the time it costs; -Little feet will go astray, Guide them, mother, while you may. Mother! watch the little hand Picking berries by the way, Making houses in the sand, Tossing up the fragrant hay. Never dare the question ask, "Why to me this weary task ?" These same little hands may prove 1 Messengers of light and love. Mother! watch the little tongues, Prattling, eloquent and wild, What is said and what is sung, By the happy, joyous child. Catch the word while yet unspoken, - ~ Stop the vow before 'tis broken ; This same tongue may yet proclaim Plnoolnrvo in a Sorinnr'u namo 1U auniivui a Mother! watch the little heart , Beating soft and warm for you ; Wholesome lessons now impart; Keep, 0 keep that yonng heart true, v Extricating every weed, Sowing good and precious seed ; Harvest rich you then may see, Biponing for eternity. V* . fretlg Atones. THE REWARD OF MERIT. Annie had arrived at the mature age of (do not start, reader,) twenty-seven, and was yet in the state of single blessedness. Somehow or other she had not even fallen in love as yet. "Had she no offers ?" What a simple question!?Did you ever know half a million dollars to go begging? Offers? Yes, scores of them! It may be accounted as one of her oddities, perhaps, but whenever the subject happened to be touched upon by her father, Annie would say she wanted some one who could love her for herself, and she must have assurauce of this, and how could she in her present position ? Thus matters stoodj when Annie was led to form and execute what will appear a very strange resolution } but she was a resolute girl. We must now go back six years. One dark, rainy morning in November, as our old friend was looking composedly at the cheerful fire in the grate of his countingroom, really indulging in some serious reflection*, of the past aDd future, the far future, too, a gentleman presented himself, and inquired for Mr. Bremen. The old man uttered not a word, but merely bowed. There was that in his looks which said "I am he." The stranger might have been some thirty years or so of age. He was dressed in black, a mourning weed was on his hat, and there was something in his appearance which seemed to indicate that the friend whose loss he deplored had recently departed. The letter of introduction which he presented to Mr. B. was quickly yet carefully perused, and as it was somewhat unique, we shall take the liberty of submitting it to the inspection of the reader: " , 11 mo., 13?. Friend Paul :?This will introduce to thee, friend Charles Copeland. He has come to thy city in pursuit of business. I have known him from a youth up. Thou mayest depend upon him for aught that he can do, and shalt not lean on him as on a broken reed. If thou canst do anything for him,thou mayest peradventure benefit thyself, and cause to rejoic?, thy former and present friend, MIC AH LOOMIS." "It is not every one who can get old Micah Loomis' endorsement on his character/' said Paul Bremen to himself, as he folded up the letter of a well-known associate of former days. "Old Micah is good for a quarter of a million, or anything else?it will do?I want him?getting old, business increasing?must have some more help?now as well as any time." The old gentleman looked at all this, as he stood gazing in perfect silence on the man before him. At length he opened his lips. " Mr. Copeland, you know all about books ?" "I have had some i v years experience." "Any objection to a place here ??pretty close work?thousand a year." "None in the world." "When can you begin ?" "Now." A real smile shone upon the old man's face. It lingered there like the rays of the setting sun among clouds of evening, light mg up those seeming bard, dark features. A stool was pushed to the new comer, books were opened, matters explained, directions given, the pen was dipped in the ink, and in short, before an hour had passed away, you would have thought that the old man and the young man had known each other for years. In reference to our new friend it will be sufficient to remark, that he had been liberally educated, as the phrase goes, and though he had entered early into business, he had not neglected the cultivation of his mind and heart. He had found time to cherish a general acquaintance with the most noteworthy authors of the day, both literary and religious, and with many of past times. After a few years of success in the pursuits to which he had devoted himself, misfortunes came thick and fast upon him. He found himself left with scarcely any property, and alone in the world, save his two lovely sisters. As year after year passed away, he grew steadily in the confidence of his employer, who felt, though he said it not, that in him he possessed a treasure. Very little, indeed, was said by either of them not connected with the routine of business, and there had been no intercourse whatever between them, save in the counting-room. Thus six years went by, towards the close of which period old Mr. Sremen ! was found looking with much frequency and i earnestness at the young man before him.? | Something was evidently brewing in that old !; head. What could it be ? And then, too, | at home he looked so curiously. The Irish servant was puzzled. "Sure," said James, "something's a coming." Annie, too, was somewhat perplexed, for those looks dwelt much on her. "What is it, father ?" she said to him one morning at the breakfast table, as he sat gazing steadfastly in her face; "what is it ? Do tell me." "I wish you'd have him," burst forth like an avalanche. "Known him for six years? i KJ ii i n.K. irue us u icuger?a geuueuuau?reai bcusiuic man?don't talk much?regular as a clock ?prime for business?worth his weight in gold." "Have who, father? What are you talking about ?" "My head clerk, Copeland?you don't know him?I do?haven't seen anybody else worth an old quill." Annie was puzzled. She laughed, however, and said : "Marry my father's clerk ! what would people say ?" "Humbug, child, all humbug?worth forty of your whiskered, lounging, lazy gentry; say what they please what do I care ? what do you care ? what's money after all ? got enough of it?want a sensible man?want somebody to take care of it; all humbug." "What's all humbug, father ?" "Why, people's notions on these matteis. Copeland is poor?so was I once?may be again ; world's full of changes?seen a great many of them in my day?cao't stay here long?got to leave you, Annie?wish you'd like him." "Father, are you serious ?" "Serious, child !" And he looked so. Annie was a chip of the old block; a strong-minded, resolute girl. A new idea J 1 1 seemed 10 striae ner. "Father, if you are really serious in this matter, I'll see this Copeland; I'll get acquainted with him. If he likes me and I like him, I'll have him. But he shall love me for myself alone; I must know it. Will you leave the matter to me ?" "Go ahead, my child, and do as you like. Good morning." "Stop a moment, father. I shall altar my name a little; I shall appear to be a poor girl, a companion of our friend, Mrs. Richards, in II street, she shall know the whole affair; you shall call me by ray middle name, Peyton; I shall be a relative of yours; you shall suggest the business to Mr. Copeland, as you call him, and arrange for the first interview. The rest will take care for itself." "I see, I see;" and one of those rare smiles illuminated his whole face. It actually got between his lips, parted them asunder, glanced upon a set of teeth but little the worse for wear, and was resting there when he left the house for his counting-room. The twilight of that smile was not yet gone when he reached the well known spot, and bowed and looked "good morning" to those in his employ, for old Paul was, after his fashion, a polite man. On the morning of that day, what looks were directed to our friend Charles ! so many, so peculiar, so full of something, that the head clerk could not but notice them, and that, too, with some alarm. What was coming? At last the volcano burst forth: "Copelaud, my good fellow, why don't you get a wife ?" Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not have been more astounded. l>id Mr. Bremen say that, and in the counting room, too ? The very ledger seemed to blush at the introduction of such a subject, lie for the first time made a blot on the fair pages before him. "I say?why don't you get a wife??know just the thing for you?prime article?poor enough, to be sure?what of that?a fortune in a wife, you know?a sort of relation of mine?don't want to meddle with other people's affairs, know your own business best? can't help thinking you'll be happier?must see her." Now the fact is, that Charles had for some time past thought so himself; but how the old man should have completely divined his feelings, was quite a puzzle to him. In the course of the day a note was put into Mr. Bremen's hands by James, his Irish servant, the contents of which produced another grim sort of a smile. When the moment for his return home arrived, Mr. B. handed a sealed document of rather imposing form to Charles, saying? "Copeland, you'll oblige me by leaving that at No. 67 H street. Place it only in the hands of the person to whom it is directed: don't want to trust it to any one' else." The clerk saw on the outside, "Mrs. Richards, 67 H street." The door bell was rung. The servant ushered Copeland into a small, neat parlor, where sat a lady apparently twenty-five or thirty years of age, plainly dressed, engaged in knitting a stocking. Our friend bowed, and inquired for Mrs. Richards. "She is not in, but is expected presently; will you be seated ?" There was an ease aud quietness, and an air of self-command about this person, which seemed peculiar to Copeland. He felt at ease at once, (you al ways do with such people,) made some common-place remark, which was immediately responded to; then another; and soon the conversation grew so interesting that Mrs. Richards was nearly forgotten. Her absence was strangely protracted, but at length she made her appearance. The document was presented; a glance at the outside. "Mr. Copeland." Charles bowed. "Miss Peyton." The young lady bowed; and thus they were introduced. There was no particular reason for remaining any longer, and our friend took his departure. That night Annie said to Mr. B., "I like his appearance, father." "Forward?'inarch 1" said old Paul, and ? ?WC ' -i*- ' ' . , ' - ^ \ * -w4; ,11V- -X- r*. - ' he looked at his daughter with vast satisfaction. "The ould niao's as swate to-night as a new potato," said James to the cook. The next day Charles Copeland came near writing several times, "To Miss Peyton, Dr.," as he was making out some bills of merchandise sold.. "Deliver the paper last eveuing ?" Copeland bowed. "Mrs. Richards is an old friend?humble in circumstances?the young lady, Peyton, worth her weight in gold any day?have her myself if I could." * # * * * * "How much you remind me of Mr. Bremen," said Charles oue evening to Annie; "I think you said you were a relation of his ?" "I am related to him through my mother," was the grave.reply. Mrs. Richards turned away to conceal a smile. Somewhat later than usual, on that day, Auuie reached her father's house. There was no mistaking the expression of her countenance. Happiness was plainly written there. "I see, I see," said the old man; "the accouut is closed?books balanced?have it all through now in short order. You are a seusible girl?no foolish puss?just what I want?bless you, child, bless you." The next day Paul came, for almost the first time in his life, rather late to his counting room. Casks and boxes seemed to be staring with wouder. "Copeland, you are a fine fellow?heard from Mrs. Richards?proposals to my relative, Peyton?all right?done up well.? Come to my house thiseveniug?never been there yet, eh ??eight o'clock, precisely? want to see you?got something to say." Yes, Mr. Charles Copeland, even kinder ( that you think for. At eight o'clock precisely, the door bell of Mr. Bremen's mansion rung. Mr. Charles Copeland was ushered in by friend James. Old Paul took hmi kindly by the hand, and turning round abruptly, introduced him to "my daughter, Miss Annie Peytou Bremen," and immediately withdrew. "Charles, you forgive me this?" He was too much astonished to make any reply. "If you knew all ray motives and feelings, I am sure you would." That the motives and feelings were soon explained to his entire satisfaction, no one will doubt. uCnnplonrl mir rlpnr frillntp " nlrl ^ V-, J V. J Paul, as he entered the room, "no use in a long engagement!" "0, father!" "No use, I say j marry now?get ready afterwards; next Monday evening; who cares ? Want it over; feel settled. Shan't part with Annie, though; must bring your wife here; house rather lonesome; be still; no words; must have it so; partner in business; Bremen & Copcland ; got the papers all drawn up to-day; can't alter it. Be quiet, will you ? won't stay in the room !" I have now finished my story, reader. I have given you the. facts. I cannot say, however, that I approve of the deception practiced upon our friend Charles. As, however, our Lord commended the "'unjust steward because he acted wisely," so I suppose the good sense shown by the young lady, in choosing a husband for the sake of what he might have possessed, merits our approbation. It is not every one who has the courage to ste'p out of the circle which surrouuds the wealthy, and seek for those qualities of mind and heart which the heart can neither give nor take away. ? "IT IS NOT HARD TO DIE." BY MRS. M.A. DENISON. "Now, doctor," said a sweet faced girl looking with confidence into the kind face that had bent over her so often, "tell me if there is any certainty that I shall ever recover! I think not; so you see I am prepared for all tidings, and I am continually 5. t: lS? ?r:ii lUiLUUUUU^ IliJ&Uli Willi LUC ({UUSliUU. IT ill you not be candid with me, dear Dr. Ellis ?" "While there is life"?commenced the doctor, but the frail young creature interrupted him, saying: "No, no, doctor, that won't do; I must have your professional opinion ; and when I say that my soul's happiness, for the remnant of this life, will be effected by your decision, surely you will grant me the request." "But could you bear " "Anything, doctor, but this suspense. I am willing to be told the exact state of my case; for you see, some days I feel so really well, that my hope is unduly excited; and again, when the sleepless hours and terrible pains come, death takes ~.n awful shape, and frightens me out of repose. But if I was certain"?she spoke with solemnity?"I would teach my mind to dwell upon it in such a way that my foolish fears would leave me. "My sweet girl," said the doctor, taking her wasted hand, 'I will then grant this request.' You cannot certainly recover, unless some extraordinary providence occurs.? Your life may be protracted for some months yet, but not over a year at farthest, so it seems to me." ThA nnln nVmolr crmrrr o T-volnr? Vin* I J. 11V ^U*V/ vuvvn o tgunws* J MUV the smile faded not on the gentle lips. 'Thank you, doctor,' was her reply, 'thank you for your trust and confidence in me. You shall see that. I will not abuse them.' The beautiful consumptive sat alone in her large easy chair some moments after the doctor had gone. She gazed about ht r on luxuries which wealth unbounded had procured for her pleasure, and the large, untroubled eyes grew dim. 'Then 1 must die !' she said to herself, 'and oh, this fear, not of an hereafter, but of that dread passing through the valley, which shadows my hours of suffering ! Even my religion does not dissipate that shrinking, shuddering fear. The impressions of my ehildhood will not away, but return with - ^ u , . "t 4 ** V . t new'force.' And as sfe thus half whispered to herself, a lovely matron entered, and hurrying to her side, kifsed the fair brow. 'You are better to day, child,' she said in tones of forced calmness; 'nay, don't shake your head so mournfully; indeed, if you knew how much improved you appear,' and she drew a low seat towards the young girl and sat gazing in her eyes with the holy love of maternity. ^ _ 'Mother,' said thelconsumptive, as she took the matron's harfd in her own, 'there is something I wanty^t to do for me/ What is it darling : know I would ; lay down my life for you.' For an instant the pale lips quivered ; but commanding herself, the young girl said gently: < <1 want you to talk to me of death?of mv own death, which is certain soon.' <My Amy!' was all the mother could ar- i ticulate; her voice seemed frozen by horror. <Yes, mother; for listen a moment, it will 1 make your poor sick child more willing to s leave earth, and find heaven. If you will i talk daily and cheerfully of passing away ; I if you will surround the thought with cheer- i fulness and make the last struggle seem j pleasant to me, this strange, horror with I which I regard it would fade away, and my { mind be drawn more wholly to the better < land. It may be a sacrifico to you my mo- t ther, but I shall learu to look forward to , my deathbed with calmness, which I strive in vain to do now. Will you try to do this, mother? Will you talk of it often ? Will you repeat the sweet words that dying saints . have spoken ? Will you speak of the smiles that repose upon their faces, until I can think cheerfully, and talk without reserve of that change, even as I would lie down, and put my garment by, ready to attire my- j self when I should awake in the fair morn- > ing ? Will you tell those who call to see ( me never to shrink from speaking to me of death ? * Will you do this my mother?' The matron promised, and retired to her > chamber, to shed the tears of anguish born 1 7 v ? of this request. She, too, had long felt that ^ her child must die, but had put it afar off, 1 <the evil day.' And in the strength of God, \ she performed her duty. I Seven months had passed, and still gen- \ il? A i: J rTL - a ' ue ineu. iue iarai crimson Durni us death lire into her check, and her eyes ( gleamed with the fitful flash of disease ; but I about her sweet lips hovered a constant * smile; she had conquered her fear of the ? king of terrors, and dwelt- upon her depar- 3 parture with almost exulting joy. ?f knew 1 that though Christ, I was prepared to go,' i she said to her pastor; 'I knew there were ( glories in the bright world above, that the * imagination cannot conceive of; yet, I have , shuddered from my infancy at death. The f thought of dissolution, with its icy chills 1 and quivering breath made me cold to my heart, and I strive to forget, but cannot.? / Yet, since you, since my mother, since all I who know me have made it a familiar and a * household world?clothed it in beautiful } thoughts, and surrounded it with heavenly J images?it has become less and less terrible, ^ till now I can hold my hand to him who un- j locks the spirit, and say, 'Death, where is 1 thy sting V 1 As she spoke thus, a ray from the setting ? sun imaged a crown of glory upon her fair ? brow. Her mother and friends at that mo- v ment entered. ^ 'Hush!' said the pastor, with uplifted ? hands, and they stood transfixed. With C that last holy smile he had marked an in- J stantaneous change; and, as he bent for- 'j ward through the lips so beautifully wreath- J ed, there came no breath. ^ 'Well might she exclaim, 'Death where j is thy sting !' said the pastor, turning with C tear-filled eyes, 'never saw I the king of ? terrors in so lovely a garb. How sweetly she A sleeps!' I Aye ! sweetly still, in a grave yard upon ? the hill side; and on the white shaft that F bears her name some lovely hand has chisel- j. led? "It is not hard to die." i A NIGHT RIDE IN KANSAS. C The following is an extract of a letter da- t ted Leavenworth, August 17th, from "C. 1 W. 0." a Virginian, now in Kansas. It is ^ a good illustration of "border fighting." i On Friday evening Gen. Clarke received T a note from Col. Titus, requesting him to ? bring over as many mounted men as he j could spare, to go over to assist Col. Tread- v well in defending himself from an attack, J which it was understood would be made on F him that night. We left Col. Titus' that l night with eighteen men, and as we had not s horses enough to mount them all, some had ^ to double; but on the road we managed to \ mount most of the men by pressing horses E into service. We continued on the road ^ until we reached the house of Mr. Lehay, p a pro slavery man, who lives about eight miles from Lecompton, when we learned that we were too late, as Lane had attacked Treadwell's camp that day, and driven him ^ off. After resting ourselves and horses a few minutes, we started on the return, and had A ridden about four miles without interrup- 11 tion, when it was suggested by Col. Titus, ? who was in command, that we should go by the house of a man by the name of Wakefield, who had figured to a considerable ex- ^ tent in the Kansas difficulties, and take his P horses. After proceeding on the way about s: a quarter of a mile, (Wakefield's house in h full view before us, and the moon shining b very brightly,) we observed about a dozen 0 men at the house, and in a few moments we e saw two mounted men start from the house d in full gallop, on the road to Lecompton.? v The order was given to follow them, which b we did in style, and as I happened to be P mounted on a pretty fleet horse, with about three others, I led the pursuit, and continued to run them, occasionally firing on them, ^ until we found ourselves slap in a party of ' about two hundred and fiftv of the enemv. ^ who were doubtless on their way to Lecomp- P ton, and until wo had gotten up to them, had been hid from our view by a fence. We hauled off and joined the rest of our party who had by that time gotten up. We were ordered to form with a view of charging into them, but after taking a full survey of the party, it was decided best to return at once to Lecompton, and prepare for defence. By the time that deoision had been come to, they commenced firincr into us. and then commenced the race for life. They had xuoie than double the number of horsemen we had, and had strung themselves all along the road for the distance of about three hundred yards, and as we passed them we received their volley, which some of our men returned. Then we had it; we running from them and they after us; and for the distance of about three miles. I don't think Lecornpton in his best days could have caught me. All of the party, however, were not so fortunate when we pulled up and counted noses. We found two of our men missing and three wouuded; one of them had a ball put through the calf of his leg as he was riding by my side ; another had a ball through his hand, md the Colonel was slightly wounded in liis finger, to say nothing of the horses shot tnd hats shot off the heads of the men.? [low any of us escaped is matter of surprise :o me, and I cau only account for it on the ground, that they were thrown into such ionsternation by our sudden appearance that hey could do nothing. Stlett $ easing. From the Examiner. MOUNTAIN MUSINGS?NO. I. UY J. WOOD DAVIDSON. Thought* on Cursor's Head. stood upon the mountain's brow alone? tn exile from the irksome solitude )f Company?a pilgrim to that fane Vherc worship gushes like a mountain stream, Ind meditation mounts aloft like prayer? i. devotee flushed with devotion's glow? t refugee, ye wilds ! 'mid ye at home? t lover, maiden Nature, in thine arra9 ! I stood upon the mountain's brow at dawn, fo greet in dewy glimpse the differing heights [hat sentinel around this sovereign peak, Vhich roars o'er all its royal Roman head? jo prouu, so stern in look and haughty, rears Tis brow, that seems to look, without a smile, Vitliouta frowu, or love, or hate, or hope; Ind so has gazed for untold centuries Jpon that concave waste, that plain which sweeps )ut from its base below?the Dismal's wild? lud so he gazed, and ages yet will gaze, n profile Boman, Fancy felt its power. Mie lnurol on its brow, by Nature twined, luggestcd him who never "looked along The land he made not Rome's," and classic taste las named it C/E.sar's Head. I stood at dawn Lnd marked the rising day, ns gusli by gush )f light revealed a yet more western height? Ls gush by gusli like pulsings came the morn; Till sunlight crept in silence on, as if Lfraid to wake these slumbering hills, yet came ?rom height to height o'erglancing on; but first | !he highest over. So are hopes in youth ; 'lie least earth-near are lighted first and then 'he level aims of soberer life receive L later thought. These day-beams lift from out , iach lowly cove its vapory veil, and each n patent ruggodnoss appears ; like things ' )f common life revealed?to common sight. ret vales have warmer hours by day than high ( ind haughty steeps ; so love reposes less iniid the towering strife, and less illumes, 'hey say, the prouder points of human life. l low like our hopes are mountains thus !?how like 'he real^life, the homelier vales! Seo, hopes n earliest years arc lit which prove but rocks, is verdurelcss as high. Again, in life's 1 lecline, the fading facts are witnessed still !y these?by hopes?and these alone are lit V'liile life recedes. And like our hopes, away, 'he farther mountains still o'ertop the near, 1 ind lose themselves in one true, highest, last, ( larth-rcsting peak; but yet above them all ^ I'ei floats a cloudlet like a mountain blue, 'he dearest of them all. 'Tis one that noon ' n blustering pomp will bring upon the breeze 1 'o wrap in storm these real heights nround, iud burst in devastating thunders here, 'he dearest?highest?aim we know, becomes, * i'hen dashed by Deity o'crimportuncd, !v'n at our feet, the desolating cause I >f life's completest woe. I've knelt me thus, n wildcriug anguish of intense desire, ' 'o the night-wandering winds?for darkness bows i ls naught beside the wounded soul in dust? , 've poured to them the burning prayer that heaven [ail spurned, and in the mad idolatry ( 'ledgcd life and soul and every hope on earth ( 'or one. The pilgrim winds keep wildly on, , Indl was not undone?was saved because 'he winds, like heaven, had heard my prayer in * cold, t !ontemptuous disregard. ' I stood upon ! he mountain's brow at eve, and saw the day epart. The eastern slopes whereon the morn f lad poured its dewiest gush now soonest dim, ( ieserted by those rays. On?on?aslant t sinks, as mount by mount in shades recedes, 'he highest lighted last, while all around sdark, and dim, and calm; as some high hope >ato lingers with us still in life's decline,? ( he highest earth can boar. And later yet, i'hen that is dim, the cloudlets catch the blush s hat flies to heaven, and would retain the glare; 1 .ike phantoms in a fever-dream, too late ? or fact, unreal and delusive shapes; like truths that glimmer 'cross the vale of Death. ' o varied were the feelings?such the vein? t a which I gazed upon that scene and saw , he princely sun draw near his rest in mute ? lagnificence?in stately silence seek J [is lone repose. I turned, and all was dusk; ] ,nd breathed a prayer that suns of human hope t light never set, and human hearts and lives / !e darkened never?never, if forever. WINN8Bobo', S. C. DEATH & CO. rHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN SP1R- ] ITS, WINE AND WALT LIQUORS c Take this opportunity of informing their i riends that they continue the trade of mak- 1 ag Drunkards, Bankrupts, Beggars and t laniacs on the most reasonable terms at the 1 hortest notice. c The subscribers return their sincere thanks f 3 numerous customers, ana to an tne tip- c ling part of the community, for the exten- 1 ive patronage they now receive; and they c ope that the many proofs that are now to t e found of their success in the above line t f business, will secure to them the increas- a d support of drunkards and little drop v rinkers, as well as forever silence the ad- i ocates of total abstinence societies, those r itter enemies of their long established and i opular trade. c Death & Co., beg leave to assure the pub- s c, that the articles in which they deal are t tie best and most pleasant poisons in the c rorld; and they will warrant them certain j eath in every case where the individual a ersevers in the use of them. c Death & Co., bring themselves under ob- ? '.irtVi-i: 5"~; .. i*^ j. r'. ligations to send more persons to the poor house,*the prison, the gallows, and the grave yard, than any other firm; and they will also do it with the greatest possible dispatch; to accomplish these desirable ends, it is only necessary for the . individual to take a glass occasionally, till he feels that quantity insufficient to gratify the craving appetite which it will soon create; and when this rum, whiskey, gin, brandy, wine, cider, ale, or porter appetite is formed, the persons,are then prepared to brave temporal and eternal misery for the sake of another glass. Jn short, Deathr& Co., will spare no pains or expense to bring the wives and children of their customers to misery, temporal and eternal,' and drive to delirium and death as many as the public good may require. They are constantly receiving new supplies of the poisonous liquids, which they will sell by glass, the bottle, the barrel, or the bogshead. n ii i . ? .1 * ror toe accommodation 01 tneir numerous customers, and for the dispatch of their increasing business, Death & Co., have appointed a sufficient number of active agents, who are stationed at convenient distances, in splendid palaces, beer shops, and public houses. These palaces, beer shops, and public houses and groggeries may be known by the squalor, filth, obscenity, or misery of J the customers who congregate around them, as well as by the odors of the poisons continually polluting the air around. Satisfactory references can be given to county jails, houses of correction, lunatic asylums, hospitals, work houses, insolvent debtors' courts, the court of bankruptcy, or the wives and families of those whom Death & Co., have had the happiness to make drunkards. N. B. Death & Co., beg leave to caution all tipplers and dram-drinkers from giving any heed to their wives, children, or friends, or any advocates of total abstinence societies, as these parties are enemies to this soul and body-destroying business. Gentlemen, by calling on our agents may see specimens of drunkards, and subjects for the charnel house, at all hours, by day and by night, Sundays not excepted. DEATH & CO. From the St. Louis Republican, Sept. 2. AN APPEAL PROM THE PEOPLE OF KANSAS. [We have received from ^Kansas City a printed paper, intended as an appeal to the people of the United States in relation to Kansas affairs. It is quito long, and takes a general view of events as they have transpired in relation to that Territory since the passage of the bill for its organization. It is not necessary for us to transfer this porportion of the appeal to our columns, and we content ourselves with giving the laBt hnlf nf it -1 To all this we submitted, under the promise that the laws should be enforced, Dur lives and property protected. What has been the result ? The House of Representatives proceeds with its efforts to disorganise our government?to set aside all our laws?to bring anarchy upon us. The army, falsely represented as our protection, is required to be disbanded, unless we are deprived of the protection of the law ! Mass meetings are held in every nonslaveholding State, to contribute aid to the rebels and assassins in our midst?National Conventions assembled to devise means for raising an army to destroy us. Lane?a traitor?a fugitive from justice?is permitted openly to traverse one-half of our States, enlisting an army to exterminate us. Not in effort is made to arrest him. While the enlistment of a hahdful of aliens :o fight against a foreign power calls forth ill the energy of our Government?the zeal ind activity of our Government?the zeal ind activity of every Officer, from the Prcslent to the City Marshal, to check it?is leemed, unatoned for, fit cause to hazard a war with the mightiest power on earth; an irmy is raised openly and boldly?is marchid thousands of miles through States and rcrritories, under the command of a fugi,ive traitor, to invade our soil, subvert our government, extorminate our citizens, with* rnt an effort to stay its progress?without t word of disapproval. Troops are enlisted from Boston to Cairo ?the army ia organized and equipped at Uhicago?is marched through Illinois, Iowa md Nebraska, into Kansas, and through the leart of our Territory?its progress is noted md heralded?its leader stops by the way o proclaim the war of extermination he inends to wage against us to gather, with the iromise of spoils, recruits to his forces.? Dhe whole government is paralyzed. The Federal, the State, the Territorial governnents, all alike dare not meet the invader. a V\??o n /~\ f tlin r?attrtrnmnnt aTara la a iwa L a jlixz uiuutu ui cu-5 T ciuuicut aiuuc iaaTTa&c ?the House of Representatives is active in emoving obstacles from its path. Lane with his array enters our territory, lis confederates in our midst, heretofore ionfining themselves to the assassination of ndividuals, the pillage, the burning of isoated dwellings, emboldened by his approach, >egin to embody; they strip the country of torses to mount the invading army, and ihronicle its arrival by sweeping from beore them every law-abiding citizen in the iountics of Lykins, Franklin and Douglas, rhey drive a whole settlement of unarmed litizens from the county of Lykins, burning heir houses and destroying their property? hey march thence to the town of Franklin, .nd attack the house of the Postmaster, with rhom a party of Southern men were boardng?set fire to the house, drive out the innates, abusing helpless women who could tot escape, rob the post office, and taking a lannon which had been left there by the heriff. With this, and their other arms, , hey march to the attack of another, colony if Southern settlers in Douglas connty, com- ; >el them to fly and abandon their dwellings md property?thence they go to attack the Iwelling of Col. Titus, batter it with cannon i&tii he and those wlw hai gone dei f':. . ' uv. -* -<k. - ? *? v. fence, are forced to surrender, when they are taken prisoners, his dwelling plundered and burned. They march thence/to tbfc very limits of oar capitol, and this, as they ' avow, was only saved hy the storm of rain that renderr their fire-arms useless. All this is done under the retry eyes of the troops of the United States. . And ho attempt is made to arrest them. When Governor Shannon, hoping that they would not harm him, who tyd t wiflfc v saved them from merited punishment who had, however unwittingly, so effectually pro- * tected them, ventures to Lawrence, which $ he had saved for them, and calls on them to . release the prisoners they bad taken, his life is threatened?he is told that they do not recognize him as Governor?that they are a portion of the "army of the North"? are at war with the government, and hold their prisoners as prisoners of 'tar. They 1 A- --L-i it ucujouu UUU WULJpxsi UIOJ Ui OXUUHUgtr UH9 gallant Titus and bis fellow prisoners for felons in custody, under arrest for anion and robbery. They bare now become so bold 3 that tbey make no secret of their intentions' They claim to be a portion of an army called by them "the army of the North," and to be waging a war of extermination against every man who is not an Abolitiopiflji.. Governor Shannon dared not await the arrival of his successor, but abandons his post and leu ;es us without a Governor, We have asked the appointmept of a successor, who was acquainted with pur condi tion j who, a citizen of the TerHteryt identified with its interests, familiar wit^ its history, would not be prejudiced or misled by the falsehoods which have been so systematically fabricated against us?one who, here- ' tofore a resident as he is a native of a nonslaveholding State, is yet not a slaveholder, but has the capacity to appreoiate, apd the; boldness and integrity requisite fitifhfolly to discharge his duty, regardless of the possible effect it might have upon the election of some petty politician in a distant State. In his stead we have one appointed who is ignorant of our condition, a stranger to our people; who we have too much cause, to fear, will, if no worse, prove no mote efficient to protect us than his predecessors. ~ ; With, then, a government whiph has proved imbecile?has failed to enforce the laws for our protection?with an army of lawless banditti overnnuing our country?what shall we do? " v Though we have full confidence in the integrity and fidelity of Mr. Woodson, now acting as Governor, we know not at what moment his authority will be superseded.? We cannot await the convenience in coming of our newly appointed Governor, we cannot hazard a second edition of imbecility or corruption. Wo mnof nnf nf AH/IA enJ AffAnliWAlw ? VI w uiuou uvv Ul uuve auu These traitors, assassins and robbers jnust be punished; must now be taught ft lesijpn they will remember. We wage no war upon men for thflpPopinions?have never attempted to exclude any from settling among us; we have demanded only that all should alike submit to.the law. To all such we will afford protectionK whatever be their political opinions. But Lane's army and its allies must be expelled. from the Territoiy. Thus alone can we. make safe our persons and property?thus alone can we bring peace to our Territory. To do this we will need assistance. Our citizens unorganized, many of them unarmed for they came not as soldiers?though able heretofore to assemble a force sufficient to/ compel the obedience of the rebelfj. n?* that they have been strengthened by^.tbla invading army, thoroughly drilled, perfectly equipped, mounted, and ready to march at a moment's notice to attack defenceless settlements?may be overpowered* Should wo be able even to vanquish this additional, force, we are threatened with a further invasion of like character through Iowa and Nebraska. " - " 4 ^ This is no mere local quaiTel, no mere riot ; but it is war! a war waged by an army I a war professedly for our extermination. It is no mere resistance to the laws; no eimple rebellion of our citizens, but war of invasion tLo owmvT ?t fnroirrn ovmw rr navnml Ult at U1J ? ??UiJ UUMitU the "Army of the North." /,. It is, then, not only the right, but the duty, of all good citizens of Missouri and every other State to come to oar assistance, and enable as to expel these invaders. Mr. Woodson, since the resignation of Governor Shannon, in the absence of Gcr. J , Geary, has fearlessly met the responsibilities of the trast forced upon him, has proclaimed the existence of the rebellion, and cabled on the militia of the Territory to assemble for its suppression. , , We call on you to come; to famo us assistance in men, provisions and mnhitions, that ws? may drive out this "army of the North," who would subvert our government and expel us from our homes. Our poo- * pie, though poor, many of them stripped of their all, others harrassed by theee firad*-*? that they have been unable their families, are yet true men; wilT with you shoulder to shoulder in of rights, .of principles in common if not deeper inteieet-thfln By the issue of this struggle is to be decided whether law or lawlessness shall ^ in our country. If we are vanqulsliiS y$u too will be victims. Let not our appeal be in vain. ' t. v D. E. Atchison, I B. F. Tbeadweix, .1 J. C. Anderson, it. O. Uook, T. H. rosser, Wm. H. Tkbbs, Wm, J. Preston, S.J.Jones, *. . - t A. A. Preston, J. H. SiRiaGrHidW, p. t. abell. .. ; August 26, 1856. We, citizens o? Missouri, urge our fpilpwcitizens and the citizens of other States, to the above call of the oitiiens of Kansas. A. W. Doniphan, | Oliver Anderson, y B. J. Brown, 7 Henry L. P*outt, A. Gh.Boone, Jesse Mor^v, Josh W. Reed, r B. P. Stbinoruow. August 27, 1850. \