Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, February 26, 1857, Image 1
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' sa l wmhklioh }pr?prietots' An Iudepeiident Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural aud Commercial Interests of the South. jlewish.oeibt,ptbiuhm.
t VOL. 3. ? YOBKYILLE, 8. C., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 26,1857. !N"0. 8.
rC|mce |Pottrg.
BURT ME NEAR MY OWN LOVED HOME.
BY HATT1E.
^ The following lines were composed on hearing
L the soliloquy of a patient in an Iusanc Asylum :
r Oh! bury me near my own loved home,
" 'Neath the shades of a willow tree;
| "Where sweetly rest in Heaven's high dome,
The spirits of those that dwelt with me.
Oh ! bury me where wild roses bloom.
O'er sacred homes of mouldering dead;
k Where calmly dies in the silent tomb,
^ ? My mother dear?to angels fled !
w Oh) bury me then when called to die,
r" When kind friends chant some Heavenly lay,
E Let their music break the parting tie,
. When round my grave assembled they.
Y Oh! bury me in the calm still eve,
V When birds may join their evening praise ;
* Then sadly, silently tako their leave,
When sun set sheds its ling'ring rays.
kBury me not in this dreary spot,
Where maniacs rest, their fatejnntold,
I Where I so soon shoold bo forgot,
_ When voioe is still and lips are cold.
Oh! bnry me not, oh, will you?say ?
In the lone spot where strangers rest,
When death o'er me his sceptre sway,
' Then lay me near my kindred blest.
Oh, 1 bury me.near my own loved home,
Where kindred friends shall never part;
Where my dear*Sfrildren may often roam,
To the spot where lies?a broken heart.
Jat 'ary-8, 1857.
i Cale of % IktioMflii.
THE HERO OFBRANDY WINE.
? Near Dilworth Corner, at the time of the
ft Revolution, there stood a quiet cottage,
I somewhat retired from the road under the
I shade of a stout chesnut tree. It was a quiet
K cottage, nestling away there in one corner
B of the forest road?a dear home in the wilderness,
with a sloping roof, walls of dark
rrmn otr>r>o ?v cnQpnipnf. hiflrlpn nmnnor
o
vines and flowers.
On one side, amid an interval of the forest
trees, was seen the rough outline of a
blacksmith's shop. There was a small garden
in front, with a brown gravelled walk,
and beds of wild flowers.
Here, at the time of the Revolution, there
' dwelt a stout blacksmith, his young wife and
| her babe. .
What cared the blacksmith, working away
there in the shadowy nook of the forest, for
war ? What feared he for the peril of the
I time, so long as that strong arm, ringing the
S hammer on the anvil, might gain bread for
I bis wife and child ?
I Ah, he cared little for war; he took little
^ note of the panic that shook the valley, when
some few mornings before the battle of Braudywine,
while shoeing the horse of a Tory
1 refugee, he overheard a plot for the surprise
and capture of Washington.
The American leader was to be lured into
the toils of the Tories, his person once in the
British camp, the English Q-eneral might
send the "Traitor Washington" home, to be
tried in London.
Now, our blacksmith, working away there
in that dim nook of the forest, without caring
for battle or war, had still a sneaking
kindness for the "Mister Washington,"
whose name rang on the lips of all men.
"So, one night, bidding his young wife a
hasty good-bye, and kissing the babe that
reposed on her bosom, smiling as it slept, he
hurried away to the American camp, and
I told his story to Washington.
It was morning ere he came back. It was
in the dimness of the autumn morning that
the blacksmith was plodding his way along
1 the forest road. Some few paces ahead there
was an aged oak standing out into the road
?a grim oia veteran 01 ine iorest, mat naa
stood the shocks of three hundred years.?
Right beyond that oak stood the blacksmith's
U house.
With the thought wanning his heart, he
hurried on. He hurried on, thinking of the
r calm joung face and mild blue eyes of that
wife, who, the night before stood in the cottage
door, waving him out of sight with a
' beckoned good-bye, thinking of the babe
that lay smiling as it slept on her bosom, he
hurried, on?he turned the bend of the wood
t ?he looked upon his home.
Ah, what a sight was there ?
Where, the night before, he had left a
I peaceful cottage, smiling under a green
chestnut tree, in the light of the setting sun,
now was only a heap of black and smoking
[ embers, and a burnt and blasted tree ?
This was his home !
And there stood the blacksmith gazing
upon that wreck of his hearth-stone; there
he stood with folded arms and moody brow,
but in a moment a smile broke over his
face.
He saw it all. In the uight his home had
^ taken fire, aud been burned to cinders. Rut
his wife and child had escaped. For that
he thanked God.
p wibQ tne con or nis stout arm, playing
[ there on the anvil, he would build a fairer
home for his wife and child; fresh flowers
should bloom over the garden walks, and
^ more lovely vines trail along the casement.
With this resolve kindling over his face,
the blacksmith stood there, with a cheerful
light beaming from his large grey eyes, when
?a hand was laid upon his shoulder, lie
turned and beheld the face of a neighbor.
?
It was a neighbor's face, but there was an
[ awful agony flashing from those dilating eyes
?there was a dark and terrible mystery
I speaking from those thin lips, that moved
and moved, and made no sound.
For a moment that farmer tried to speak
* the horror that convulsed his features
At last, forcing the blacksmith along the
brown gravelled walk, now strewn with cinders,
he pointed to the smoking embers.
There, there amid that heap of black and
smoking ruins, the blacksmith beheld a dark
mass of flesh and blackened bones!
"Your wife !" shrieked the farmer, as his
[ agony found words; "the British; they came
0
j iu the night, they"?and then he spoke that
| outrage, which the lip quivers to tell, which
| the heart grows palsied to think of?that
! outrage too foul to name.
"Your wife !" he shrieked, pointing to
the hideous thing amid the smoking ruins;
"the British?they murdered your wife?
they flung her dead body in the flames?
they dashed your child against the hearthstone
!"
This was the farmer's story.
And there, as the last of the breaking of
day fell around the spot, there stood tne nusband,
the father, and gazing upon that mass
of burned flesh and blockenea bones?all
that was once his wife.
Do you ask me for the words that trembled
from his lips ? Do you ask me of the
fire that blazed in his eye ?
I cannot tell you. But I can tell you that
there was a vein going up to heaven from
that blacksmith's heart; there was a clenched
hand upraised in the light of the breaking
day.
Yes?as the first gleam of the autumnal
dawn broke around the spot, as the first, long,
red, gleam of the sunlight streamed over the
peeled skull of that fair young wife?she
that was last night?there was a vow going
up to Heaven, the vow of a maddened heart
and anguished brain.
How was that vow kept? Go there to
Brandywine, and where the carnage gatheis
thickest where the fight is most bloody?
there you may see a stout form striding on,
lifting hammer into the light. Where that
hammer^trikes, it crushes.
It is the blacksmith's. And the war-cry
that he shouts?is a mad cry of vengeance,
half howl, half hurrah ? Is it a fierce yell,
breaking up from his heaving chest ?
Ah, no! ah, no!
It is the name of Mary, it is the name of
his young wife!
0, Mary, sweetest name of wora?u?name
so soft, so rippling, so musical?name of the
Mother of Jesus, made holy by poetry and
religion?how strangely did your syllables
of music ring out from that blacksmith's
lips, as he went murdering on !
"Mary!" he shouts, as he drags that red ;
coated trooper from his steed. "Mary !" he
shrieks as his hammer crashes down, laying
that officer in the dust. Look ! another officer,
glittering in tinsel, clasps that blacksmith
by the knees, and begs mercy.
"I have a wife?mercy! I have a'wife
yonder in England?spare me ?"
The blacksmith, crazed as he is, trembles
?thore is a tear in hi3 eye.
"I would spare you, but there is a form
before mc?the form of my dead wife. That
from has gone before me all day?she calls
on me to strike!"
And the hammer fell, and then rang out
thatstrauge war-cry, "Mary!"
At last, when the battle was over, he was
found by a wagoner, who had shouldered a
cart whip in his country's service?he was
found sitting by the road side, his head sunken,
his leg broken?the life-blood welling
from his many wounds.
The wagoner would have carried him from
the field, but the stout blacksmith refused, i
"You see neighbor," said he, in that
voice husky, with death, "I never meddled
with the British till they burned my house,
till they?" he could not speak the outrage,
but his wife, his child, were there before his
crying eye?"and now I've but five minutes
life in me. I'd like to give a shot at the
British afore I die. D'ye see that cherry
tree ? D'ye think you could drag a man of
my build up thar? Place me thar? give
me a powder-horn, three rifle balls and a
good rifle, that's all I ask."
The wagoner granted his request; he lifted
him to the foot of the cherry tree; he
placed the rifle, the balls, the powder horn
in his grasp.
Then whipping his horse through the |
narrow nass. from the summit of a neighbor
r , - o
ing height, he looked down upon the last j
scene of the blacksmith's life.
There lay the stout man, at the foot of the
cherry tree, his head sunk, his broken leg
hanging over the roadside bank. The blood
was streaming from his wounds?he was dying.
Suddenly he raised his head, a sound
struck on his ears. A party of British came
rushing along the narrow road, mad with
carnage, and thirsting for blood. They pursued
a scattered band of Continentals. An
officer led the way, waving them on with his
sword.
The blacksmith loaded his rifle; with that
eye bright with death, he took the aim.
"That's for Washington !" lie shouted,
as he fired.
The Officer lay quivering in the road-side
dust. Ou and on came the British, nearer
to the cherry tree, the Contiuentals swept
through the pass. Agaiu the blacksmith
loaded?again he fired.
"That's for mad Anthony Wayne!" he
shouted, as another officer bit the sod.
The British now came rushing tothechcr|
ry tree, determined to cut down the wounded
man, who, with his face towards them
bleeding as he was, dealt death among their
ranks. A fair visaged officer, with golden
hair waving iu the wind, led them on.
The blacksmith raised his rifle ; with that
hand stiffening in death, he took the aim?
firPfl fllP Vfilinnr Urifrm foil TrWlt n unrl.
^ "vu
den shriek.
"Aud that, cried the blacksmith, in a
voice that strengthened into a shout, "and
that's for "
llis voice was gone?the shriek died on
his white lips.
His head sunk?his rifle fell.
A single word bubbled up with his deathgroan.
Even now niethinks I hear that
word echoing and trembling there among
the roeks of Brandywine. That word was
Mary !
JteaT*'Johnny, ray son, do you know that
you have broken the Sabbath ?'
'Yes, daddy,' said his little sister, 'and
mother's big iron pot, too, in five or six
pieces!'
Select litaMng.
PULPIT CELEBRITIES IN LONDON.
From an interesting letter of the Dev. Dr.
Cross, which we find in the Christian Advocate
of this week, we copy the following
sketches of two of the most popular preachers
in the Great Metropolis :
DR. CUM.MING.
Sabbath morning we sought the Scotch
Church, in Crown Court, where Dr. Cumuiing
ministers, and has for the last twenty
years. It is a spacious and rather handsome
edifice, with the pulpit on one side, and a
deep gallery in front, and across the two
i Tt _ j? ; x 1 i 1 i r
enas. lis aimensions .1 k.uuw uui>, uuu a
counted eleven large windows in the upper
tier of one side alone. Before the llev. gentleman
entered, the church was crowded to
its utmost capacity both above and below.?
The service commenced with a hymD, which
was sung by the whole assembly standing,
without the aid of any instrumental accompaniment.
Next the Dr. read a lesson from
the Old Testament, which he followed with
a clear, comprehensive, and very beautiful
exposition, occupying fifteen or twenty minutes.
The prayer which succeeded was appropriate,
but nothing remarkable. Then
an anthem was chanted by the choir, a short
invocation was offered for a blessing upon
the word, another hymn was sung by the
congregation, and finally the pastor begau
his sermon, which was just like one of Dr.
Cumraing's lectures, and could never have
been mistaken for anything else, by one familiar
with his works. There were passages
in it of considerable beauty, but nothing bold
or striking. Wo were wafted along by a
gentle breeze, on a smooth and placid stream,
lined with the vernal emerald, with here and
there a gay bank of primroses, and a cluster
of sweet breathing violets, while the soft air
trembled with the mellow symphonies of birds
and the chiming of silver bells; but there
was no Niagara, no thunder cloud upon the
deep, no trumpet summoning to the battle,
nothing to stir and stimulate the soul, though
there was much to soothe and fascinate the
hearer. The manner was suited to the mat
tcr?gentle, winning, iauitiessexcept main
was rather too fine?too manifestly studied
and artistic?for the pulpit; the voice very
pleasing, the enunciation remarkably clear
and precise, the elocution finished and elegant
to the last degree. The great excellence
of his preaching is its practical character:
whatever subject, he undertakes, he
is sure to turn it to good account. If we
except Mr. Spurgeon, Cumming and Melville
are the most popular preachers in London
; but the three ought never to be mentioned
together, for each is entirely of a different
type from the others. I)r. Cuuiniiog
is, withal, a very industrious man ; and while
presiding over one of the largest churches in
England, manages to write and publish two
or three volumes a year.
In the afternoon I visited the Doctor's
Sunday School. It is very large, numbering
over thfee hundred scholars, and is curried
on in the most orderly and beautiful manner.
The polite superintendent urged me to address
the school; and I did so, giving them
a pretty full account of our Sunday School
of three hundred colored children in Trinity
Church, which opened every eye and every
ear; for they knew very little of our colored
population, as I was told, except what they
had learned from "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
The following description of Mr. Spurgeon
is more favorable, and probably more
truthful, than some that have been heretofore
published in this country :
Mr. Spurgcon's style is very unequal; pas.1
. - p i x__ i i r
sages otnevwisc 01 exquisite ueauiy oeiug oiten
disfigured by expressions common even
to coarseness; as if the "storied windows
! richly dight" in Westminster Abbey were
patched with plain glass and putty, or the
magnificent Victoria Tower of Westminster
Palace, finished out with a clumsy superstructure
of brick and mud. His great excellences
are, his origiuaiity, simplicity, and
directness; the fearless and earnest manner
in which he states his views of truth ; an exceedingly
happy faculty of illustration ; fidelity
of application, and fervor of appeal,
with a powerful and well managed voice, and
an action at once easy, natural, and impressive.
Into the province of logic, I judge,
he seldom or never intrudes ; nor ought h^
to; for, most evidently, whatever he was
made for, he was not made far a reasoner.?
With this exception, if indeed it be not
deemed a capital defect, he has all the eloquence
of superior oratory ; and with his
extraordinary dramatic power, T do uot wonder
that the common people follow him by
thousands, wherever he is to preach.
No pulpit man, but Whitfield and Edward
Irving, ever attracted such crowds in
London. Ilis chapel being found too small
for the audience, an immense hall lias lately
been engaged for him, where he holds forth
on Sabbath mornings, for the present, to
eight or nine thousand hearers. They are
! admitted on tickets, at a shilling apiece;
j yet multitudes come who cannot even obtain
a standing place in the hall. The money
thus collected, after paying current expenses
is to be applied to the building of a large
tabernacle for his congregation. Recently
the young man was married, and thousands
flocked to witness the ceremony, and it is
said there never was so large a concourse on
any similar occasion in the metropolis. He
is a man of great industry, energy, and zeal;
and probably no minister in all Englaud docs
J more work than he. He has religious service
of some sort in his chapel every night
| of the week except Saturday, and a prayer
| meeting often at sunrise. His pulpit indiscretions
are those of a frank, simple, warm
hearted boy, (for he can scarcely be called a
man ;) his eccentricities are the eccentricities
of genius; and the egotism and self conceit
so often complained of, seems to be the natural
expression of a brave, honest, and unsuspecting
soul. His rough corners will
wear off by and bye; for he can scarcely
float in a current, without BtrikiDg here and
there against the shore, and grinding now
and then among the rocks; and if populai
applause does not spoil hiui, (and atpresenl
he appears to be truly pious,) he is likely tc
be a very useful man. I had a pleasant in
iervicw with him in the vestry after service :
found him cordial in feeling, and perfectlj
childlike in manner; and left him, I musl
say, with an improved opinion of his cbarae
tor as a mau of God.
ENGLAND .AND RUSSIA.
English writers regard it as an inevitable
result of the 'course of events,' that England
and Russia shall, sooner or later, come into
collision in the East; and they evince no
little alarm at the evident preparations which
Russia is making for this great conflict for
dominion in Central and Southern Asia.?
rni if/r 1, Ti * !1 1 T>
inc (limcUHy wiin jrersia lsascriueu iu j.vussian
influence. "The wires of the autornatou
Court of Teheran," remarks a recent
English writer, "are worked from St. Petersburg;"
and he adds:
The Russians dream of one day dictating
the terms of peace to us at Calcutta. Rut
the British and Muscovite power will have
come into collision in another quarter of Asia,
before their battallions can meet in mortal
strife on the banks of the Indus. The peninsula
of Syria is the key to the British possessions
in the East. Moreover, in the future,
it will be the most important commercial
position in the whole world. It is towards
this region that Russia will in the first
instance seek to make her way. The hosts
now assembling on the shores of the Caspian
are not so much designed to measure swords
with the British in Afghanistan, as to consolidate
Russian influence and power in Persia,
in order to secure a basis for future operations.
The Russian Government is the
most patient and wary in the world. It
rarely misses its game by springing at it too
soon. Having consolidated its power in Persia,
and influenced the Kurdish tribes of
Anatolia, it will then press down into the
valley of the Euphrates, and measure its
strength with us in right good earnest.
In this contest Russia will possess extraordinary
advantages, and these advantages are
sketched with true prescience by the writer
to whom we have referred:?
We cannot doubt that a Russian po^ilation
will yet spread over the central zone of
Asia, and descend as masters to the shores
of the Pacific. The Slavonian, in truth, is
semi-Oriental. He is a connecting link between
Europe and Asia. He stands halfway
between the energy and almost infidel
self reliance of the French and British peoples.
who carp but little for kingo, nnil seldom
rely much on Providence, and the fatalism
and instinctive reverence of the Oriental
nations, which make them adorers of
sovereignty on earth, and only too acquiescent
in what seems to them the decrees of
Divine Fate. Snch a race is well fitted to
be the rulers and civilizers of a large portion
of Asia. The laws of climate will regulate
their settlement in that continent, as it
has done that of the Anglo Saxons in all
parts of the world. In the temperate regions
of Asia the Slavonians will gradually colonize;
in the more southern regions they will
spread as a dominant caste. In this latter
manner they will extend their power into the
Turkish and Persian territories, exerting
great iufluence over the populations of these
empires, and coming into contaet with British
power. In process of time the Russian
colonies and settlements in central Asia will
surround with a net work of civilized power
the roving tribes of the desert and steppes,
who will be won or impressed into service or
co-operation with them. And then, in all
probability, the world will be startled by a
series of nomadic invasions, such as it has
not seen since the days of Attila and Genghis
Khan.
THE FUTURE OF TEXAS.
Judge Falconer, whoaccompanied the Santa
Fe expedition, described by Mr. G. Wilkins
Kendall, in the work, a new edition of
which has just been issued from the press
of Harper & Brothers, has furnished a most
interesting chapter for that edition, in his
diary of events that followed after the author
left the main command of the expedition,
below the Lauo Estacado. After giving this
valuable and important sequel to the history
of the expedition, Mr. Kendall goes on to
say: "Could Judge Falconer once more visit
Texas, he would be astonished as well as
gratified at the wonderful changes which
have been wrought; he could with difficulty
be brought to believe that it is the same country.
Between Austin and San Antonio, in
particular, he could not realize the wondrous
revolution which Anglo-Saxon enterprise or
goaheadity has made. In I84I there was
not a single house between the two places,
a distance of some eighty miles; now the
traveller is hardly ever out of sight of the
dwellings of the white man.
At our old camping grounds on the San
Marcos, the Guadalupe and the Cibolo, then
solitary and tenantless, may now be seen
thifty and growing towns and villages?
pleasant and prosperous communities, which
have leaned suddenly, as it were, into exist
r y ^ t
ence. North of Austin, too, where we encountered
uaught but the wild denizens of
the prairies, the country is now cheerful
with civilized life. The timid buffalo, deer
and antelope have been driven back by gentle
flocks and herds; the rude wigwams of
the red men have disappeared, and smiling
villages have grown up in their stead; waving
fields of corn and wheat are now seen
stretching in every direction where we found
boundless solitudes; the discordant howling
of innumerable wolves has been drowned by
the merry peals of countless bells, calling
the population to church or school; while the
narrow bridle-paths and obscure trails have
widened into beaten roads or open thoroughfares,
white with the wagon tops or crowds
of emigrants constantly seeking new homes
in this most fertile and pleasant portion of
the New World.
This is no exaggerated picture of the changes
which have been wrought in Texas?I
r have used no other coloring than truth. Am
r what is to be the future of a country so afflu
t ent in all that inay make a population pros
) perous and happy ? What shall we see whei
all its fertile bottoms and smiling prairie
; are brought under cultivation, and reachei
> by the many railroads which are already pre
t jectcd, or under construction? A Stat
whose limits are spanned by the degrees o
latitude, and as many of longitude, which i
twice as large as all France; which produce
sugar, cotton, rice, wheat, com, and ever;
1 species of grain, and in the most astonishinj
1 quantities, within its wide limits, whicl
1 affords boundless pasturage ready-made b;
1 nature, for countless herds of cattle, horse
and sheep; which can furnish wool, silk
hemp, tobacco and wine; which grows man;
of the fruits of the tropical as well as th(
temperate zones; which is, in short, a lane
literally flowing with milk and honey; wha
I repeat, is to be the future of this chosei
portion of the earth, when the iron horse, a:
the locomotive is familiarly termed, is seer
traversing its widest limits? Already iti
shrill whistle is heard at its portals; whei
the glad sounds catch the ear upon the bor
ders, the world will look upon a scene o:
wealth, prosperity and happiness, unexam
pled in its annals.
Many may deem these remarks out o!
place in a work like this, yet with the inaj
Texas before me, and with my knowledge ol
its wondrous resources, I cannot resist mak
ing them. And I will close by hazarding
the further remark, that many who may read
this chapter will live to see my poor predic
tions more than verified?will exist unti!
Texas can be justly claimed as the Empire
State of the great American Union."?Pic
ay unc.
German Constancy?A Romance.?
On Monday last on the arrival of the morn
ing train from the East, two Germans girls
epped out of the cars and were immediate
ly recognized by two young men who wer<
standing on the platform, when they wer<
clasped in each others arms. Their emigra
tion to this country forms an interesting
story. The young men are natives of Wur
temburg, Germany, and when in their na
tive place "fell in love" with the daughter!
of a wealthy citizen, and their love was re
ciprocated on the part of the daughters.?
Rut the attentions of the youths, who weri
poor, provoked the ire of the parents of th<
maidens. They would not be disgraced
the marriage of their daughters to the tw<
" poor young men ofJ^urtembuELlL JFifld
ing that the " old folks" could not be re
oonoilud, they hit upon the following plan
forming a sacred agreement:
11 The young men would leave Wurteni
burg, and come to the United States, ant
earn money, when having earned enough
they would send for the objects of their af
1 fection ; they declaring constancy till death.'
The young men came to America, and b;
the persuasion of some friends who had per
ceeded them to this country, they settlcc
down to hard labor in Araberson's Valley
some miles distant from Shippensburg. Af
ter working about a year, they accumulatet
the means necessary to convey the idols o
their hearts from Germany to America, ant
immediately dispatched it to them, ?spend
ing many sleepless nights in anxiety for thei:
arrival." On Monday last, their cup of j<^
rrrr\ r* fillrt/1 frt* 1a1TA/1 An AO VAft Arl liniY
WiO illJL'Uj 1UI tUCll 1UVCU UUUO ICUVUCU bWCU
iu safety, and in health. They left homi
unknown to their parents, and came alom
four thousand miles, without meeting an ac
quaintance. till they^embraced their lover
at the depot in Shippensburg.
[,Sliippcnsburrj (Pa) Xcws.
t ? ?
From the Carolina Times.
LOTTERY INVESTMENTS.
In these our days of Lottery mania, whei
so many seem to be persuaded that an invest
mcnt of their scanty earnings will almost en
sure an easy and speedy return of fortune'i
favors in the shape of a bountiful prize, w<
would most earnestly commend the follow
ing, purporting to be written by one wh<
spoke from dearly-bought experience.
The prizes which are occasionally drawn ii
these Lotteries are always published anc
"paraded" with the most assiduous zeal, bu
who thinks of the vast multitude at the ex
pense of whose contributions the "rich prize'
is made up ? Nine times out of ten, how
ever, or even rjinety-nine times out of a hun
dred, the Lottery manager or the Companj
is the fortunate recipient of these favors?
for, all the tickets remaining unsold, falling
on their hands, constituting, notunfrequent
ly the major part, they, in this way manage
to get up a handsome contribution from th<
public for their own benefit. The truth is
if one will look at the subject aright, and it
all its relations, there is no more precarioui
investment than that in Lottery tickets. W<
hope that the young and the inexperiencec
will read and consider with care, the truth
flfftlrtmAnf nn/3 rtAiinenl rtf on Af
luioiatcuicuu auu vuuu^ui vt uu v*?
ant." If they will but do so, and heed it:
it will infallibly save them many a dollar.
It will be perceived, from what we havt
said, that we have not considered the subjeol
in its moral aspect or bearings. In this poinl
of view, Lotteries, of what kind soever thej
may be, are obnoxious to the gravest censure,
The spirit they engender?a spirit of wild,
reckless and uncalculating adventure ami
speculation, is, in the highest degree, and)
oft leads with infallible certainty, to the mosl
deplorable results There are various forms
of gambling in this world of ours?they are
as multitudinous as the desires to which they
are made subservient?but of all these
forms, we know of none that is more seduc
tive and dangerous than buying Lottery tick
ets. But we did not take up the pen t<
write a homily on the subject, but simply t<
call attention to the article which follows
and to importune the young and the unwar
to consider well the experience it so truth
' fully details.
From the Evening Dispatch.
The Chances por Making Money bi
! Buying Lottery Tickets.?After I ha<
d failed and settled up pretty mucL all my old
i- business, I bad yet several little conOdential
i- debts that I wished very much to pay. I
a bad 8100 in cash, every cent I had in the
s world, and I determined to buy Lottery Tickd
ets with it, in the hope of drawing a prize,
i- and then pay oS all I owed, and so be free
e once more. Before purchasing the tickets I
f called on an old friend to whom I owed the
s largest amount, to consult him as to the best
s mode of investing. I opened to him all my
y hopes and intentions. He applauded mymo1
tives, but remarked : "The Lottery appears
) to be a new thing to you, but it is an old one
tr tn mc% Af fha fimn nrKon T.AHflrioa wArn
3 rather new in Georgia, nine others and my,
self entered into a partnership which was to,
y last for ten years We each contributed S3,s
000, making the handsome capital of $30,i
000, which was to be used solely in <buyt
ing Lottery tickets.' Now, with all this
i money, all onr smartness and great facilities,
3 which you know nothing of, for buying, how
i do you think we stood at the end of ten
3 years ?
i I remarked that they must have coined
- money.
f "Well," said he, "of the original $30,600,
we received back *20,000, and lost the interest,
then at 8 per cent, on the whole for
f ten years. The $30,000, if invested at simple
) interest for the ten years, would have rcf
turned us 845,000 and at compound interest
- SG4,763. Thus you see, to sum it up, we
j lost the compound interest on $30,000
I for ten years, making $64,753
- Of the original stock 5,000
I '
i Making a total loss 69,763
And had returned to us 25,000
Making a loss clear of 44,763
"This, sir," he continued, is my first and
' last experience in lotteries, and you may act
* on it as you choose."
* Well, as I had determined to invest I did
5 so and it was the last I saw of my $100.?
It was my first and to this time, my last at?
tempt to make money by buying lottery ticknia
A xt Arn ATrnnit a vt
cio* ixn \juu iuAivvnn.il A*
Augusta, Ga.
3 ? ? *- .
THE NOBLE EEVENGE.
The coffin was a plain one?a poor miser2
able pine coffin. No flowers on its top, no
2 lining of rose-white satin for the pale brow,
Y no smooth ribbons about the coarse shroud,
j The brown hair was laid decently back, but
- there was no crimped cap with itf nfiflf
- beneattithe chin. The sufferer from cruel
, poverty smiled in her sleep; she had found
bread, rest and health.
"I want to seg my mother," sobbed a
1 poor child, as the city undertaker screwed
j down the top.
"You can't?get out of the way, boy:
' why don't somebody take the brat away ?"
j "Only let me see her one minute," cried
. the hapless, hopeless orphan, clutching the
1 side of the charity box, and as he gazed in,
to that rough face, anguish tears streamed
- rapidly down the cheek on which no childish
1 bloom ever lingered. Oh! it was pitiful to
f hear him'cry, "only once, let me see my
1 mother only once !"
Quickly and brutally the hard-hearted
r monster struck the boy away, so that he
j reeled witd tne blow. i<or a moment tne
i bay stood panting with grief and rage; his
s blue eyes distended, his lips sprung apart;
3 a fire glittered through his tears, as he rais.
ed his puny arm, and with a most unchilds
ish accent screamed, "When I'm a man I'll
kill you for that!"
There was a coffin and a heap of earth between
the mother and the poor forsaken
child, and a monument stronger than granite
built in his boyish-heart to the memory of a
heartless deed.
The coyrt-house was crowded to suffoca
tion.
3 "Does any one appear as this man's coun'
sel ?" asked the judge.
There was a silence when he finished, un>
til, with lips tightly pressed together, a look
of strange recognition blended with haugh1
ty reserve upon the handsome features, a
1 young man 3tcpped forward with a firm tread
t and kindling eye, to plead for the erring and
- the friendless. He was a stranger, but from
his entrance was silenct. The splendor of
his genius entranced, convinced. The man
who could not find a friend was acquitted.
" May God bless you, sir, I cannot."
J " I want no thanks," replied the stranger
* with icy coldness.
2 ? j?I believe you are unknown to me."
5 ?Man! I will refresh your memory.
) Twenty years ago you struck a broken-heart1
ed boy away from his mother's poor coffin;
3 I was that poor miserable boy."
5 The man turned livid.
i .. TT J il 1. 1.1..
?? nave you rescueu me, men, to iaae my
life?"
"No, I have a sweeter revenge, I have
> saved the life of a man whose brutal deed
has rankled in my breast for twenty years.
5 Go! and remember the tears of a friendless
child, and the heart that can wrong him."
^ The man bowed his head in shame, and
r went out from the presence of a magna
nimity as grand to him as incomprehensible,
i and the noble young lawyer felt God's smile
L in his soul forever after.
)
t Tiie Gospel Tree.?The rapid spread
i of Christianity has always been regarded,
> and justly regarded, as one of the strongest
' evidences of its Divine origin.' It gratified
! no passions it fell with no prejudices, it was
supported by no authority. We may truly
- say that it had no human consideration in its
) favor. On the contrary, it had many things
) against it. To the self-rightous Jew and
> the licentiate Gentile, it was alike, " withJ
out form and oomelinessj" to the one as re
commending humility, to other as insisting
upon holiness. All, too, must have been
shocked by its proposing for their belief a
r suffering "Messiah and all would naturally
1 examine with more than ordinary circum*
spection the claims of a system which could
Dot be received without exposiog those who
received it to prosecution and ridicule. The'
establishment of the gospel under such circumstances
was evidently "the Lord's doing."
The grain of mustard-seed grew into
a tree, which offered the birds of the air
a shelter in its branches; and, thanks to the
gracious Husbandman, it still waves in all
the gracefulness of luxuriant vegetation 1 It
has experienced the vicissitudes of many a
changing year. The cold of winter has
haply sometimes chilled it, and the drought
of summer has sometimes caused it to droop
in langor. A more genial season has revived
it. The refreshing showers have awakengd
it to new life and vigor ; rthJ, after the
lapse of eighteen centuries, the church is
among us a goodly tree, casting a noble
snaaow, yieiaing its proper iruit, ana luce
that still more noble tree which was Bhown
in vision to the prophet-evangelist, proda
cing "leaves for the healing of nations." "
Dowling
SHALL KANSAS BE A SLAVE
STATE P r
A most profound apathy has taken possession
of the Southern press in relation to the
fate of Kansas. Our cotemporaries in Vjr- *.
ginia seldom refer to the subject at all, and
wheneffer they do, it seems to be only to concede
that fair domain , to the rapacious grasp
of the Abolitionists. It must be confessed >
that the prospect is not so cheeringas it was >
some months ago, but the fault is with the
South. We have not sustained as we shouldr
have done by our influence and our means, * >
these brave and noble-bearted pioneers, who
have been rallying around the standard and
fighting the battles of the South in Kansas*
We have stood calmly by and suffered New
York, Ohio, Wisconsin and Vermontto make '
by enactment large contributions from their
treasuries to the cause of 'bleeding Kansas;' >
We have quietly permitted a persistent ahd;' *
systematic effort to be made to force the boasted
"freedom" of the North into a territory^ "
favorably disposed to the conservatism And
other healthful influences of Southern instfc . *
tutions. * - r Why
are Southern men so little interested
in the future of Kansas? What has lulled
the Southern press into such profound indifference?
Shall we, after having made a.
show of fight, put our swords back into their
scabbards, and surrender the held without a
struggle ? This is not the manner in which
Southern men, in their personal capacity, ><*
nrA in thp hflhif nf Milling thair dtflirtnltteg. _
Why 3hould a more slothful and timid policy
be adopted, when the South demands the
services of her sons ? ..
We are no advocates for any rash or. tin*
warrantable proceedings. We ore no upolo*. *
gist for unlawful or riotous conduct. ' We
give no countenance to any action on the
part of the South, which is inconsistent with
a due sense of self-respect and the natural
suggestions of self-preservation. But the
stake of the South in the fate of Kansas iff
mnch larger than many persons are apt to suppose.
Every proper effort should be
promptly made to secnre that territory as
Southern soil. When we see that immensesums
of money are being used to defeafonr
hopes and divest us of our rights ; when we
see that the most corrupting and infernal agencies
are employed to turn the scales against
us; when it is perfectly apparent U)
us that foul means are made use of to evade
the laws and oheat us out of our equality in
the Union, it is time, high time, for the South to
arise from her lethargy, and with her
strong arm, put the ravings of fanataoisim at
defiance.?South-Side Democrat. :?. '
How it is Done?Everybody knows that
when rain or sleet or snow maker a railroad ' *
track slippery, that the engine wheels are.
apt to slip around without drawing much;,
but everybody doesn't know how that difficulty
is overcome in slippery weather. Well,
a large box full of dry sand is placed on top
of the boiler, and pipes attacked which sift
it down very delicately on the traok, juat
forward of the driving wheels. This expert-,
ment had rather a novel origin, somewhat in
this wise: v , V v> tA
certain poor woman had a cow killed
by a locomotive, but could get no pay for her
grevious loss. Whereupon, for revenge, she
made the cow all into soft soap, and soaped
the track for several rods, just where the
animal was killed, and then sat down to enjoy
the result. In due time, a train came
whizzing along like a crazy demon, but suddenly
stopped; as though frightened at the
old woman, and though the driving wheels
fairly*buzzed around, the train stood per- fectly
motionless. Here was a dilemma,
and the old woman well nigh went into hysterics
with laughing. In course of half an
hour the passengers began to get excited
and wax boisterous, for they could not bodge
an inch either wayj When the shrewd dftttle
very quietly proposed that if theyv would
make up a purse and pay her for her cow,-~
a * . .a t il 1 ?v _ "
sne wouia msianuy sena inem on ineir way*
In a rery few minutes three times' that
amount was at her disposal. She then took
a bucket full of sand^nd sprinkledjthe soap
all over with it, and thk train went on withoat
farther difficulty.
A Witty Player.?A celebrated comedian
arranged with his grocer, one Berry,
to pay him quarterly j but the grocer sent
in his account long before the quarter was
due. The comedian, in great wrath, called
upon the grocer, and laboring under the impression
that his credit was doubted, said:
" I say, here's a pretty mul, Berry; you
li?n? o??i? in it?tii. 7ii'7J "Rorrv Viof/vra it ia
uayc DCUU1U J VU* ^V* j vv*v*v AW W
rfue, Berry. Your father, the e&fer, Berry,
would not hare been such a ^oose, Berry j
but you need not look black, Berry, for I
don't care a straw, Berry, and I shan't pay
you till Christmas, Beny.
No child ever makes a noise; and as
for babies, it is a well known fact that every
blessed baby that ever was born was the
"quietteat little thing in the world."