Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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* , v . * f . ;v? ? -v i ' ' % * "" # ' . ' v'" * v * ' ' * r-. rao. l. hiueh &co.,proprietors.j Aii Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. {lewisk.oeist,puwiiher. VOL 3 YOBKYILLE, S. P., THUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1857. 3STO. 16. - Original JMrj). Written for the Yorkvillc Enquirer. LINKS OS THE DEATH OF A DEAR COLLEGE-MATE. Onr silent village gently sank to rest, The light, in every window paled but one, And in that room a young and noble breast Was yielding?death the victory had won. All nature seemed to mourn the torturing fate? The stars appeared, as weepers o'er his bed, And night's dark drapery swelled, as if inflate With deep-hued sorrows for the early dead. No long-loved hand his sinking body stayed; No dear familiar voice breathed on his ear; No Father by him watched, nor Mother prayed, Nor aught, that earliest youth reveres, was there. Alas! that those we love and cherish here? Friend, Father, Mother, all?should be away, When Death on harpy pennons hovers near, To prey upon earth's animated clay! So felt my youthful comrade when in thought, Like the lorn Gladiator Byron sung? His eyes with one large tear-drop over fraught, And his young beauteous spirit sorrow-wrung? He flew away to childhood's home serene Far by the rolling of Ogeeche's tide,? Inhaled the dew that pearled life's morning scene, Kissed those who now must weep for him, and? died. So I have seen some frail transplanted flower Reject the wooing of the sun's glad beam, Pine for its birthplace one grief-stricken hour, Then pass away like Hope's Elysean dream. We cage the nigi'tbird and it pines and dies, It's sone is mu'" vithin its prison walls; We love dear oouls and they like mist arise, And make their dwelling in mreal halls. Roll on thy tide, Ogeeche! evermore;? Wake with thy hymn thy peopled solitudes;? But change thy notes to grief?oh! nevermore Will he in youth and beauty roam thy woods! WILLIE. Ebskine College, April 1857. Jit Original Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. BY LIVY. Not many years ago, after an agreeable sojourn amid the pleasant scenes and associations of home, we started early one morning to return to College duties. We had not proceeded far on our journey, until we felt a chilling sensation creeping over us, the symptoms and nature of which we were but too well acquainted with?we were taking a chill. Our younger brother who accompanied us, advised a return, as we were at best in very feeble health and had rather a long and rough days travel before us. However, with that rashness which belongs to youth, and more especially to the Student, we determined to proceed en route until?if possible?we arrived at our destination. No doubt, too, we were buoyed up with an eager desire to meet old College-mates ; to grasp the haod of youthful friendship?and to recouut the adventures of a somewhat leDgthy vacation. We imagined?under the spur of the bright scenes and anticipations ahead? that we would be enabled to bluff off, or at least to bear up under our chill; but at each stage of our journey the ominous sensation increased until the shaking became so violent that it was with difficulty we maintained our seat in the buggy. To proceed farther became impossible, and accordingly our comrade determined to call at the first house. He soon drew up in front of a very dilapidated and antique looking residence, which to all appearance, had experienced the peltings of many a pitiless storm, and had withstood the surging billows of many a winter's chilling blast. Without ceremony, we entered? shivering and exhausted from a ten miles ride and nearly two hours chill or ague.? A group of three ladies were the only occupants that met my gaze?the eldest of whom, quite an aged lady handed me a large old fashioned rocking chair, (which we suppose from its very ancient appearance to have been au heir-loom handed down from her forefathers) saying very kindly, "sit down, you seem to be almost fainting." We sunk into the proffered chair, facing a large blazing fire, in a spacious old chimney, and ere long a reaction taking place, our fever began to rise. It did rise?and that to an alarming height. The brain throbbed and reeled ?reason tottered?in common parlance we were out of our head ! The old lady kindly led us to an adjoining room, where we found a comfortable bed. We were sick, sick, sick, and the room was so small and close that we almost suffocated ; wo knew not where we were, or what we were?everything seemed in a perfect whirl and uproar. Oh ! my brain was suffering the most intense agony. Just at this moment a sound?i shall never forget it?came from an adjacent room and fell upon my ears. I started ?alarmed and bewildered ! What! thought we?is this the tJiiiinlrriu<j$ of an awful destiny ! But hark ! louder and louder still?we caught the sound more distinctly; such curses, such awful oaths! Our inmost soul shuddered and trembled?my heart sunk within me. My God ! is this the muttering curses of the damned?is this the howling wail of the lost writhing iu endless agony? We at length could catch the words, "water! Oh! some water, water!" and then would follow another volley of oaths and curses, which would make even the hair on the head stand erect. Soon we heard the soft, soothing tones of a female voice cudeavoriug to u C quiet the miserable sufferer; then we caught "one more dratu?please. Oh! I shall die ?only one more drop," and then another volley of curses?"a deeper groan !"?For nearly three hours our fever lasted, and the scene in the adjoining room was enacted over and over. We thought, amid our wild iniag iniDgs of Pollok's lines?for we heard him? li "curse o: Almighty God and curse the Lamb and curse oi The Earth?the Resurrection morn and seek And ever vainly seek for utter Death." Although it has been several years ago> C1 yet the scene is still vividly impressed on j our memory never to be eradicated, our fee- p ble pen can but poorly portray the concep- n tion, which even now is before my mind's ^ eye, exciting in us some of the horrific feel- jr ings which on that occasion agitated our q bosom. When our fever abated and our p senses were gradually restored, we were en- tj abled to comprehend our situation and the sj nature of what we had heard. The "demon a, incarnate" who had so disturbed our over- ^ heated imagination was nothing more nor w locc fVinn <1 Tinnr nld man in the last staeres of IVCW v"w" fvv* v'~ ~ ^ o protracted delirium tremens, we might add g in the last stages of his earthly career. Those d who have beheld such a spectacle have a s) sufficient idea of its horror, even to a man perfectly at himself; but when brought home a to one like ourself whose brain was reeling q beneath the torture of a maddening, burning fever?whose sensibilities were morbidly and w intensely alive to every impression, and whose g imagination was conjuring up a whole pano- jv rama of dreadful imagery?the spectacle ,w must be tenfold more vivid and affecting.? S{ It was to us a perfect Hell on Earth; and y{ may it never be our fate to witness a similar a, scene! When we were able to leave the bed t} and return to the room occupied by the la- ? dies, the same kind, gentle but grief-stricken t( old lady, very politely extended the large g armed rocking chair. She had evidently w seen better days?for there were a grace and ^ gentleness of manners about her indicative ^ of good breeding. As soon as seated, tnc w good old lady, as if she thought some ex- e, planation necessary, began to unravel the jr" mystery, which had raised our sympathies and curiosity. With tears gushing from her pj eyes, she briefly related his history and that e( of their family?a synopsis of which is as follows: said she, "the wretched sufferer in the next room is my husband?he was once an excellent and well doing man, and we tt lived happy: He formerly owned a large p tract of good land here where we now live ft on the banks of Reedy river, and also that e( fine mill-seat which is now in view. We had aj everything in abundance?in short, we were hi what people call "'very well to do" in the g( world; we were raising a large family of ri lovely and promising children and all was hi prosperous and hopeful. "Rut" said she, tli drawing a heavy sigh and the tears again ei starting from her eyes, as if the idea almost te overwhelmed her?"this happiness was not 0f to last?the destroyer came?the insidious tu serpent entered our little Paradise and all v< icas lost! A grog-shop?those work-houses of destruction, was erected a short distance to from here; it was a rare thing, for liquor tb was not so plentiful in those days as it is ? now. My husband first began by lippling ~~ once a month, then once a week, and finally it became a daily habit. I earnestly and affectionately warned him against his danger _ and besought him to stay away. "Lead us not into temptation." I appealed to him for every consideration of interest, of duty and of affection to stay away; but all would not do. Confident in his strength, he still per- pi sisted, neglecting his business for the bowl, of until finally he was undone?he became a w slave to an ungovernable appetite for strong drink!" Here she paused, overcome by m tW Jnfpnco pinot.snn which a woman's?a tr mother's and a wife's heart alone can feel, 1c when recalling their troubles and sorrows ? d: At length, she resumed : "my happiness was h< at an end?I have had no peace from that in day until this. My husband continued of driukiug until he has become the miserable pi Uvitli/ sot you now sec him." Said she, tli "you see the result; we are stripped of our u< properly, of our reputation and of every as comfort and pleasure, yea of almost our all. We live here in this old house ready to fall 01 upon our heads, dependant upon the cold gl charities of a miserly, heartless world?and cj ray husband is a curse to himself and all a- k< bout hiui." She paused?gentle reader shall in we too draw the curtain and leave you to fill pi out the picture in your imagination, or shall ly we aid you by narrating what really present- w cd itself to our observation, and the thoughts to which then and there occupied our bosom ? tc We did "sec the result"?it was very ap- sc parent to the most superficial observer?so | plain, that "he that runs may read." The m house which had formerly becu quite a re- jn spectablc residence, was very poorly aud .?] scantily furnished within, and it was wcatli- ; w er-beatcu and dilapidated without. The j l,( fencing was either down or tottering to its n, fall?the garden pailings were rotten and fall- j fi, ing oft'?the stables and barn were, if possi-1 m ble, in a still worse condition; the flower w : parterre and shrubbery had long since been i Ji [ neglected and gone to ruin, in sbort, every I 0i i fliirw tho Drim/sitnt's lloillr ! All ai ! wns decay and dreariness, and gloom. No J w I flowers sent their fragrance upon the morn- | sc : ing air ; no rich perfumes were wooed by the ! |v gentle zophers amorous of their embraces; ! (j ; no blooming shrubbery thrilled with delight j \\ | the heart of the passer-by, telling of the joy ai ! and comfort which reigned around the | j family mansion. No! not one spot of verdure j | cheered the dismal scene; not even? 11) ' A rose in the wilderness left on the stalk, j C( To tell where the garden had been." j k We reflected that, notwithstanding the | ai striking physical desolation around us, there ! ^ were, if possible, a still greater social and j w moral wreck?that if nature herself gave j such sigual proof of neglect and decay, how j e' must it be with the heart and with the soul; i ^ ( i 1 that if the mansion was weather-beaten and i,JI j gloomy, what must be the condition of its ja' | pitiable inmates?that if time and want of j 1): j attention and culture had obliterated every , 111 external manifestation ofvirdurc, peace and j ! prosperity, how much more dark, miserable, j tl I ray less and hopeless, must be the internal j n< aspirations of the soul and the heart? There j tl was an old man stripped of everything cal- h eulated to make age desirable; all the com- v; forts and joys which flow from a well spent el fe, tottering on the very brink of the tomb; f whom it may justly be said in the language f Scott's Marraion, "Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, More deeply than despair,' ursing his maker, that God before whose readful tribunal he must very shortly apear?without any possibility of reform?for ;ason had long since fled, and appetite had lounted the throne and was now past hurlig its wretched victim into a Drunkard's rrave! Should he lookback and contemlate the past he can only find an aggravaon of his misery, by reflecting upon the ;riking contrast between what he is now, ad what he might have been ; and should e cast his longing eyes into the future, all ill be wrapt in impenetrable gloom?the WlnnlrnoCQ nf must shut out his aze and sicken his heart, for the irrevocable ecree hath gone forth?"No Drunkard lall enter the kingdom of Heaven !" Here was an old lady, whose accoraplishlent of intellect and graces of manners, ualificd her for the highest circles of socier, poverty-stricken and almost frindless; hom grief and trouble had rendered hagard?whose earthly prospects were not ilimined by one single Star of Hope, and hose only consolation could be found in retching out the tendrils of her heart beand the bourne of Time into great eternity, ad entwining them about the foot of that irone of Mercy, whose Author has said? I will be a friend to the friendless." Here >o, was a daughter whose cup of sorrow was lied to overflowing,^ (for her husband, hom poverty, and a family disgraced by runkenness, had induced, her to marry, ad recently been conveyed to prison to aait a felon's doom) sitting with downcast , fesand the furrows of grief fast entrench- , ig themselves in her beautiful countenance. ut we will gently draw the curtain over this icture?for the sorrow of that early widow3 Heart is too sacred to be here revealed? "0! hush the song and let her tears I Flow for the dream of her early years!" One more instance and our tale is told? len we will have done with the Drunkard's , hme. Here was a grand-daughter, as grace- ( il as a sylvan nymph?her form was round3 for all the bewitching arts of love, and though not richly attired, yet Cleopatra in j ir golden barge; gently reclining on her >rgeous sdfa, gliding swan-like down the , ver Cydnus to the soft tones of flute and , lrp, was not more lovely! Yes, here was lis beautiful girl in the first bloom of maid> loveliness?with a countenance rendered n-fold more interesting by the slight shades , grief which played upon her exquisite fea- j res, sitting beneath the room of a cruel ad:rsity, and wasting "her sweetness on the ] ;sert air." Is this history not applicable j hundreds of other families even within ( ie borders of South Carolina? Cjmicf Jleabinjj. j From tlie Spartanburg Express. A VISIT TO THE COWPENS. A few days since, in company with a coue of friends, we paid a visit to the battle field ( ' Cowpcus, and gathered up some tilings 1 Inch may prove interesting to our readers. ( The road, as it nears the battle field, re- ' inJs the traveller forcibly of the low eoun- ' 1 y. The country through which it runs is vol, the soil sandy, and the pines arc abun- 1 int and of unusual size. We remember 1 taring some of the members of the Wash- J gfon Light Infantry last spring speaking ' ' this, and saying what an agreeable surise it was, coming as it did at the end of ' icir long inarch. They felt themselves con- 1 jcted with the place by one more pleasing sociation. Arrived at the ground, we of course paid ( lr first respects to the monument. The earn of the surmounting eagle catches the 1 ;e from afar through the trees, and awa- | 3ns and prepares the heart of the approach- . g pilgrim. Finished, chaste and appro- ' iatc the monument rises firmly and proud- ' among the waving pines, aou the man 1 ho can stand by its side with a heart unuehed by the many associations that c-lus- 1 r around it, must surely be destitute ol all |' risibility. A tree which stood very near the monu- . CDthns recently fallen down, and in so do- i g has slightly displaced one of the loose abs laid around the base. Most of the trees , hich v.ere near enough to fall on it have en cut down, and we wonder that they are >t all removed, for, although they seem in and green now, they ate so tall as to ake them liable to be blown over by the . in 1 of the frequent storms which we have uring the summer. We hope that some j ie in the neighborhood will see that they !? c speedily removed. We noticed too, ith pain and displeasure, several names irilblcd upon the while marble. This sil and disgusting practice is as common ' iroughcut our country as it is disagreeable. rheuevcr our attention is called to it we j ;e reminded at once of Burns,' ' j ifcftl* wn.l i*AinA n/iw't' tlm friftin rrtO lie ?/!., V . ...v fc.v ..U To sco oursclvc-s as ithcrs sec :'s." ! those who have thus thoughtlessly defajd with their pencils the fair tablet could now how ridiculous their uamcs appear to 1 unprejudiced eye in jnxtn-position with lose of Morgan, Washington, Howard, &c., care quite sure they would be in no little urry to efface the record of their ill-advised forts after immortality. Wc are glad to now, however, that the monument will soon 2 enclosed with an iron railing, which will Id to its appearance, and, in some degree, roteet it from such insults as we have just otieed. At some distance from the monument icre is a plaee which the tradition of the eighborhood assigns as the burial place of ic slain, and it hasbcen said that this should \ ave been the honored spot. The two adautages possessed by the present position of 1 levation above the surrounding country and i 4* proximity to the road, justify, we think the choice of the Light Infantry. The spot referred to, however, should be examined? interesting relics may be discovered, and it will certainly add to the interest of the battle ground to have this tradition verified. After satisfying our eyes with the monument, we traversed the battlef'eld, endeavoring, with the aid of the books we had brought with us, to gather material for a correct conception of the memorable fight. But returning from our tramp, with little satisfaction, we were fortunate enough to meet with Mr. Robert Scruggs, who lives about half avmilc distant from the field, and acknowledge ourselves very much indebted to him, for the kindness and urbanity with which he imparted to us his large and interesting store of traditionary information.? He has lived from early childhood in the vicinity, and has shown a commendable and well directed zeal in collecting the traditions of the neighborhood concerning the battle. He has visited the field with many of those who were engaged in the hgnt, ana listened to their own accounts. He says (and we have no doubt of his correctness, siuce the accounts given by all who have written on the subject seem to justify the belief,) that within his own recollection the ground upon which the battle was fought has undergone very great changes; that the branch which now takes its rise some two hundred yards to the left of the road as you approach the field, once ran across, or at least took its rise immediately from the left side of the road; that the ravine was much deeper than at present, and wIicd a boy he remembers to have gathered reeds at the head of the branch. This must have been the branch and ravine over which the battle was fought, and the same mentioned in the historical accounts. The traditional account given us by Mr. Scruggs, of the approach and position of the opposing forces, is however, somewhat opposed to the historical account of Simms and others; but fortified as it is, by various circumstances and traces of the fight, we think it none the less reliable, nud ti our minds, even more probable. The account which he has received from many old soldiers who were in the engagement, is somewhat as follows : Morgan being pressed hard by Tarleton who had a much larger number of meH, after crossing at Grindell Shoals, some twenty miles below Cowpens, was making bis way is fast as possible, along the ridge between Pacolett and Ilroad rivers towards Guilford Oourt House, where lie expected fobc rc-cn forced. When within a few miles of Island Ford upon IJroad river, he found that Tarleton would certainly overtake him, before lie could reach Guilford, he determined to ;ive him battle, and for that purpose marchid back to Cowpcns as the most favorable >pot for such a fight. Ifc encamped not far from where the monument now stands, aud made preparations to receive the enemy.? farlcton's force which, after traveling very late in pursuit of Morgan, stopped sometime iftcr midnight, and encamped to refresh themselves some two, or two miles and a half aelow, and in a direction a little south of last from Morgan's Camp, struck their tents lbout daylight next morning, and came upjn Morgau about sun up, when the fight jommcnccd. According to Simms accounts, lark-ton had marched some five milts that morning, but Mr. Scruggs says that lie remembers, when a boy, to have seen the spot, ind that it was pointed ou* to him by those who lived at the time, as the place where Turlcton encamped the night before he "ought Morgan, and that many things, sueli is broken ware of various kinds, &c., renaiucd to mark it, as, without doubt, the irery spot where he pitched his tents. If we understand, too, the historical ac :ounts of the direction from which Tarlcton ipproachcd the American forces, they are lot sustained either hy the traditionary ncjount, or the marks and relieks of the fight. U'e have already said the account given by Mr. Scruggs fixes Turk-ton's camp some two ,-r two ar.d a half miles in a direction somewhat south of east from where the monuneut now stands, and from this direction he must have made the attack. The marks up m the trees ?0 to prove this statement, as hey shew that the balls must have been tired ivith the parties thus opposed to each other. .Those balls found in the east side of the trees lave almost all of them ranged higher than ihosc from the west, corroborating what is tated in history, and what we have always tiiderstood about the battle, that the "Britth overshot our men." Numerous reliss, iuchas guns, pistols, stirups, spurs cat ridges, jatridge-boxes, &c., which have at various limes been picked up, together with the places which tradition points out as the bu*ial places of the slain, all go to show this tatcment correct. We have not time uor space to say all we would like to at present, and must hasten to put an end to our account. Mr. Scruggs has juiteau inexhaustible store of anecdotes and incidents of the battle, and we hope before long to give our readers more of them. He says, when he was a boy they used to have chopping frolics in order to get the lead from the trees on the battle field; that if they ^ould get powder in those days, when the demand for it made it so dear, that they 20uld always supply themselves with lead from the trees, upon which the British wast2d so much in that memorable battle. The Influence of Woman.?It is better to pass an evening once or twice a week in a lady's drawing room, even though the conversation is rather slow, and you know the girl's songs by heart, than in a club, tavern, or in the pit of a theatre. All amusement of youth to which women are not admilted, rely on it, are deleterious in their nature. All men who avoid female society have dull perceptions, and are stupid, or have gross tastes, and revolt against what is pure. Tour club swaggerers, who are sucking the butts of billiard cues all night, call female society insipid. Poetry is insipid to a yoke; $ beauty has ho charms for a blind man ; music docs not please a poor beast who does not know one tune from another; and as a true epicure is hardly ever tired of water anchy and brown bread and butter. I protest I can sit all night, talking to a well regulated kindly woman, about her girl coming out, or her boy at Eaton, and like the evening's entertainment. One of the great benefits many men derive from a woman's society is, that he is bound to be respectful to them. The habit is of great good to your moral man, depend upon it. Our education makes us the most eminently selfish men in the wdrld. We fight for ourselves, we yawn for ourselves, we light our pipes and say we won't go out; we prefer ourselves aud our case, and the greatest good that comes to a man from a woman's society is, that he has to think of somebody beside himself, to whom he is bound to be constantly attentive ana respectful.? Thackeray's Lectures. Correspondence of the Charleston Courier. LIFE IN WASHINGTON. Washington, April, 1857. We had heard so much of the superb music to be heard at the Catholic Cathedral in Canal-st., New-York city, that we joined our friends in a visit to that stately edifice to see the celebration of High Mass. It was a bright, calm, Sabbath morning, and the church bells of various tones, but all in harmony, were calling out and resounding to one another. The ordinary bustle of the great metropolis and the hum of busy life were measurably stilled. When we entered the building it was yet but imperfectly lighted, and a picturesque effect was given to the crowd hastening to the great altar as they passed successively in wan light and deep shadow. After walking round the church slowly and with many pauses, we placed ourselves beside a massive pillar near the principal entrance. There was a sudden silence and an increase of light. The bells which had been outchiniing each other as it were throughout the whole extent of the city, all at once made a pause; and the movements of the crowds entering became more plainly audible Lights too began to peep out from various dusky corners, bringing gradually into view every part of the vast structure?every part except the choii^; there a solitary taper twinkled like a star on high, serving to make the place seem darker from the effect of contrast. At a signal sung out by a silvery bell within the church, the whole congregation become at once motionless, and a procession issued forth from a open door?boys robed iD white, with crosses, censers, and lighted tapers in their hands, leading the way; some half dozen priests followed, some in white surplices, and some in the rich and pictufesque attire appropriate in their several stations. As they appeared, the mighty organ awakened its living power, and tones of richness and sublimity, such as might almost announce the uprising of a new heaven and a new earth, tilled the building, and imparted a tremulousncss to all its stately columns, as if a giant hand had shaken them. Tt was like a whirldwind of sound, roling wave after wave, in something diviner, higher, than mere mckdy; how it swelled out into soft thunders, that vibrated through the long aisles up to the vaulted roof; then it died away to a whisper, faintas thesigh of a child, only to rise again more glorious than before. Oh ! the sublimity of that ocean of song! It swelled and sank all individual discords, until it seemed a fitting type of that lufiuitc company which, gathered from all the ends of the earth, shall one day be beard "praisiug God with a loud voice." This storm of harmony was suddenly lulled, aud while two figures in white robes, holding in their hands tall wands with lifted tapers on their tops, ascended to the altar steps, a soft, sweet symphony stole out into the air, and seemed us a prelude to some delicious melody. Well was the promise kept. There may be voices of more transcendent merit?voices richer and more flexible; but one who relishes sweet sounds is not always over curious in comparison?and the voice of unearthly sweetness that flowed not into our car only, but into our soul, was such as ccmed to fill up the measure of which man, through his sense of hearing, is susceptible. It. was an air that breathed of innocence and affection, i ?x ana II, M limes, uoies were siguuu uuv iTiiu a tenderness which made the sweetness plaintive, it was not, therefore, the less holy,?it seemed a well remembered strain of primeval Eden, warbled by u voice, to whose pathos penitence had'impartcd a charm which Eden could not have understood. There was a strange fascination in this voice filling the quiet Church as with a soul whose breathing was melody. For ourselves, it filled us with a sense of enjoyment so intense, that w#c would have felt constrained to follow after it, even had we known it would lure us, to some murderous precipice, like the dangerous sirens in the haunted woods of Germany. It left us when it ceased, motionless, wrapt, as if with suspended faculties, listening for its reeommencemeut. While this chant was being sung, two priests, in rich vestments, swinging burning censers high, offered incense at the great altar, and pulpit attendants, one at each side, were occupied in completing its illumination. As they touched in slow succession, each large taper, a third wreath of smoke gushed forth, and after coasting for a moment, about and above the nascent flame, passed into the mass of odoriferous cloud with which the altar was encompassed. All in the back ground was * ' 1 ? . UUTK WOCD mesu curcmuuics wuiuicubtu , but soon this brilliant illumination revealed the exquisite picture which formed the altar piece. The subduing work of art thus presented to view was a figure crowned with sharp thorns extended on the cross. In the countenance was exhibited agony unutterable without disfiguring it by a line of harshness. In the countenance so marked with suffering, were a union of sublimity, tenderi ness and affliction. * That exquisite air that lingers round our ; heart like childhood's dream of Heaven, and haunts our memory yet, was "Sweet Home." Beloved Ruben ! There is, as every body knows, a trumpet shaped little intrument with which the surgeon plays eavesdropper to the machinery of life. There is something sublime in the idea, thus to bring one's ear close to the heart's red brink, and hear the tinkling of the crimson tide. But what would you and I give for some instrument, some stethoscope of the soul, by which you might hear the music of the heart, and the foot fall of thought in tho hall of the spirit! Such utterances we do sometimes hear, and music is the melodious wing that wafts and warms them on their mission round the world; that will not let them droop; that will not let them die. "Sweet Home!"? Sung yesterday in a hovel, sung this morning in a hall. Where pipes Cape Horn throush frozen shrouds, the mariner hums "Sweet Homewhen hearths are desolate and cold; they sing "Sweet Home! in Heaven." Strong voices hymn it on deck and desert, in bivouac and battle, where beats a heart beneath Columbia's flag. The exile sings it while grates his pilgrimbarque upon a foreign shore. Lay your band upon your heart, dear reader, and tell me what is nearer to it than this sweet strain ? Tell me, can the jar of the world's battle drown those tones, while that heartbeats on? "It cannot die till the great congregation, the missing ones all gathered home, strike up the sleeping song anew, in temples not built with hands. The lips from whence issued this breath of immortality are now cold in death. The gifted writer lies in a distant grave-yard, without a stone to mark his resting place.? In Europe the author of such a strain would have been maintained by crowned heads, and had his grave bespoken in the sepulchre of kings; but in republican America the invention of a tarnscrcw would have been better rewarded. And yet if his spirit was barrassed and goaded with the vulgar cares of poverty, it was glorified also with conscious genius. He could retreat from the vexations of (tin wftfld tn flm can/?hi?irr rtf 1li? onrinhpd w ? ? J ? ? imagination, and there, amid all the evils of his outward condition, he could find in poetry its own exceeding great reward. This was a consolation which even his country's coldness could not dim. The fires of adversity only burned among the dross; and in the midst of all walked, unseen, the whitewinged angel. * M. J. W. "LET ME DIE QUIETLY." "Be still?make no noise?let me die qnietly." Vice President Kiny. 'Be still! The hour of the soul's departure is at hand; Earth is fading from its vision ; Time is gliding from its presence!? Hopes that cluster around young life, that swell in the bosom of manhood, have fallen from around it like the forest leaves, when the frosts of autumn have chilled them unto death. Ambition, with its hollow promises, and pride with its lofty look, have vanished away The world with its deceitfulness,? pleasure, with its gilded temptations, are gone; and alone in utter destitution of all that time promised, it must start ou its solemn journey across the valley of the shadow of death! Make no noise!' Let the tumult of life cease. Let no sound break the soul's coaimunion with itself ere it starts on its returnless flight. Trouble it not with the accents of sorrow. Let the tears stand still on the check of affliction ; aud let not the wailing of grief break the solemn silence of the death scene. Let it gather the accents that come from withiu the dark shadows of eternity, saying to it, Come home ! The whisperings of angels arc in its ear; obstruct not their silvery voices by grosser sounds.? A f"-ir.riflF itmsin nnme9 floating to it bv the ** v.. ? - " - O W air. 'Tis tlic sound of the heavenly harps touched by viewless fingers?uiar not the harmony by the discords of earth. 'Let me die quietly!' The commotion of life, the struggles of ambition, the strife and warring with human destiny are over. Wealth accumulated must be scattered; honor won must be resigned; and all the triumphs that conae within the range of human achicvement8 must be thrown away. The past, with its trials, its accumulating responsibilities, its clinging memories, its vanished hopes, is rendering up to the future its long account?disturb not the quiet of that awful reckoning. Speak not of fading memories, of affections whose objects perish in their loveliness, like the fiowers of spring, or wither in a slow decay. Talk not of an earthly home where loved ones linger, where a seat will be vacant, a cherished voice hush- i ed forever, or of the desolation that will seat itself by the hearthstone. The soul is at peace with God; let it pass calmly away. Heaven is opening upon its vision. The bright turrets, and the lofty domes of the Eternal City, are emerging from the spectral darkness, and the glory of the Most , High is drawing around them. The white t throne is glistening in the distance, and the i white robed angels are beckoning the weary | spirit to its everlasting home. What is life < that it should be clung to longer. What the | joys of the world that they should be regret- ( ted ? What has earth to place hefore the spirit of a man to tempt its stay, or turn it from its eternal rest??Albany Register. ? T .? -r I the31ysteries oftiie JjAW.?in j.uaine at the term of the Supreme Court now being held at Portland, a bill of indictment was found by the grand jury against John S. Sprague for the crime of polygamy. The iudictment charged thatSprague, on the 11th of September, 1854, being then and there i an unmarried man, was lawfully married to i Emily M. Clark, and that afterwards, on the 4th of December, 1855, his first wife being ; still living, he married Rhoda Sylvia Stew- j art, thereby committing the crime of polygamy. Sprague's counsel stated to the Court that the County Attorney was willing to admit, and that the defence could prove, that I the alleged first marriage was not a legal one, Sprague at that time being a married man and having a wife living; in fact, that he had three wives; bat as the indictment was based upon the legality of the second marriage, which was not legal, it must fail. And further, if the Government attempted to prove that the first wife was living when Sprague married the third one, he should object to such evidence, as there was no such allegation in the indictment. This last position being sustained by the Court, the County Attorney entered a nol. pros, and thus Spra gue, who was charged with having two wives, got clear by having three. "DIED YESTEBDAY." Every day is written this little sentence? "Died yesterday," so and so. Every day a dower is plucked from some sunny home, a breach made in some happy circle; a jewel stolen from some treasury of love. Each day from the summer fields of life, some harvester disappears?yea, every hour, some sentinel falls from his post, and is thrown from the rampats of time into the surging waters of eternity. Even as we write, the funeral of one who "died yesterday," winds like a winter shadow along the street. "Died yesterday." Who died? Perhaps it was a gentle babe, sinlees as an angel, pure as the zephyr's hymn, one whose laugh was the gush of a summer rill loitering in the bower of roses?whose little life was a perpetual litany, a Maytime crowned with tho passion of flowers that never fade. Or, mayhap it was a youth, hopeful and generous?whose path was hemmed by flowers, . . with not a serpent lurking underneath?one whose soul panted for communion with the great and good, and reached forth with earnest sttuggle for the gurdeon in the distance. But that heart is still now, he died yesterday." "Died yesterday." A young girl, pure as the orange flowers that elasped her fore-. head, was stricken down as she stood at the altar; and from the dim aisles of the temple, she was borne to the "garden of slumbers." A tall, browned man, girt with the halo of niA^AWT anrl ?f flirt rlnw'a rtlnfirt nn^AP Ilia t iviu k J j UUU ull VMV uuj u viwv^ wnwvs- wh# ? own vine and fig tree, fell to the dost even ; as the anthem trembled upon his lips; and he, too, was laid "where the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." An anged patriarch, bowed with age and cares, even as he looked oat upon the distant hills for the coming of v angel host, sank into a dreamless slumber; and on his door-post was written, "Died yesday." "Died yesterday." Daily men, women and children are passing away; and hourly, in some graveyards the soil is flung upon the dead. As often in the morn, we find some flower that blushed sweetly, in the sunset, has withered up forever, so daily, wlien we rise from tho bivouac to stand against our posts, we miss some brother soldier, whose cherry cry in the sieges and struggles of the past has been as fire from Heaven upon our hearts. Each day some pearl drops from the jewel thread of friendship?some lyre to which we have been want to listen, has been hushed forever. But wise is he who mouns not the pearl and music lost, for life with him shall pass away gently as an eastern shadow from the hill, and death be a triumph and gain. * # How to Make a Fortune.?Take earn- . estly bold of life, as capacitated for, and destined to, a high and noble purpose. Study closely the mind's bent for labor or a profession. Adopt it early, and pursue it steadily, never looking back to the turning furrow, but forward, to the new ground that ever remains to be broken. Means and ways arc abundant to every man's success, if will and * ? t r- xl a? actions are ngnuy aaapicu to incni. uur rich men and our great men have carved their paths to fortune, and by this internal principle?a principle that caunot fail to reward its votary, if it be resolutely pursued. To sigh or repine over the lack of inheritance, is unmanly. Every man should strive to be a creator instead of au inheritor. He should bequeath instead of borrow. The human race, in this respect, want dignity and * discipline. They prefer to wield the sword of valorous forefathers to forging their own weapons. Ibis is a mean and ignoble-spirit. Let every man be conscious of the power in bim and the Providence over him, and fight his own battles with his own good lance.? Let bim feel that it is better to earn a crust than to inherit coffers of gold. This spirit of self-nobility once learned, and every man will discover within himself, under God, the elements and capacities of wealth. He will be rich, inestimably rich in self resources, and can lift his face proudly to meet the noblest among men. I Anecdote of Schwartz.?Sanerant relates the following anecdote of Christopher Schwartz, a famous German painter, which, # if true, redounds more to his ingenuity than credit. Having been engaged to paint the ceiling of the Town Hall at Munich, by the day, his love of dissipation induced him to neglect his work, so that the magistrates and overseers of the work were frequently obliged to hunt him out at the tavern. As he could no longer drink in quiet, he stuffed an image of himself, left the legs hanging down between the staciner where he was accustom ed to work, and sent one of his boon companions to move the image two or three times a day, and to take it away at noon and night. By means of this deception he drank without the least disturbance a whole fortnight together, the inn-keeper being privy to the plot. The officers came round twicq a day to look after him, and seeing the well known stockings which he was accustomed to wear, suspected nothing wrong, and went their way greatly extoling their own convert, ..a? the most industrious and conscientious pointer in the world. Those who touch vermillion become red, and those who toach ink become black. So people take their characters from their companions.