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1 I , , || jho. i. miller & co., proprietors, j Ail Independent Journal : For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. J lewis m. grist, pnbiiitur. ( VOL. 3. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JTJLY 9, 1857. NO. 37. Original Ipottrg. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. TO MAGGIE. Oh Maggie when the sunset, Pours gold o'er yonder hill, And the breeie is softly sighing To my lonely soul?be still ; When the stars in mildest splendor In that distant land above, Shine upon the earth as tender As young Beauty's dreams of love; Oh 'tis then my gentle Maggie, That I love to think of thee, When my soul in all the heaven Of thy loveliness is free. Basking then in Hopes sweet sunlightDreaming what my fate shall be? Only is the future bright, When I think of love and thee. But those dreams soon pass away And my soul is left to pine, Till thy smiles like gentle starlight, Comes with soothing so divine. Oh I'd give, Fame, Wealth and Honor? All the treasures of the sea, Heaven itself, if it would win? Only win thy love for me. WILLIE. Ebenezerville, June 1857. Original Sktcjf. For the Yorkville Enquirer. ROMANCE Ml ITS iMMKK BT JIBS. M. W. STRATTON. "How sad, how very sad the truth, Life's drama has beeD all in vain; That-trifling manhood, wasted youth, Cannot be acted o'er again." "My soul is sad," was the melancholy heading of a piece of poetry which lately graced the columns of the paper for which this little article is intended. . We know nothing of the author, but we 1 wondered that a soul filled with such talent | as those verses indicate, could be sad at any i time. We think that it should rather pour '< forth songs of joyous thankfulness to God ] for so gifting it. A soul so capable of ap- < preciating the beauties of this green earth < of ours?the glories of the "star-spangled" i sky above it?the placid loveliness of the ' moonlight night?the grandeur of the storm < ?(when one's not in it) the loveliness of ^ flowers?the song of birds?the soul stirring s sound of music?the deep, deep charm of ' poetry?the thousand things which make it ( bliss to live, and agony to die; can such a ' soul be sad ? ' We do not think that those lines came * from a soul scathed by long, and real mis- ' fortune; such do not feel so vividly, or, so ' depict the heavy, unchanging ache the heart ] has borne for long years. There is no such ' "life in their despair?no such vitality of ! poison." But perhaps they came from one ' over which a gust of passion and disappoint- 1 ment has swept, carrying away some cher- | Ished dream some bright anticipation? 1 some brilliant hope?and what of that ? : They will all be replaced?others will arise 1 from their ashes, wanting only the freshness ! of the first. We will tell that young writer 1 a little story, or, rather "an owre true tale." ' Once upon a time (we stole that reader, ' but we really couldn't help it, for like Lord ! Byron, we have found ' "Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy (or prose) except perhaps the end.") ' Once upon a time there lived a fair young ( girl; she was blest with health, beauty, com- ' petence, and even a moderate share of tal- 1 ent. She could appreciate the beautiful, and love the true, but she adored the ideal ?the romantic. She could "let herself 1 down" to ordinary existence?go respectably 1 through most of the common duties of life 1 ?tolerate the people she met?mix in the 1 incidents and conversations of daily occurrence, and none suspected that she had "a ' mind diseased," that everything was done ' mechanically, that she felt no interest in any 1 thing around her?yet so it was. 1 An injudicious course of reading, began and 1 persevered in from childhood, (for she read 1 novels and poetry, when children usually study | the spelling book or primmer,) had diffused its poison through a system too well fitted to inbibe it. Early orphaned she had no one to watch the development of her mind?none to administer to it proper sustenance, or remove from it that which would be injurious. Her love of reading, her passionate fondness for poetry, might, with certain restrictions, have been productive of pleasure and advantage. As it was, they entailed on her months of despair, years of unhappiness, j and a life-lasting restlessness, which brought j vain yearnings, misdirected efforts, and partial unfitness for any of the useful pursuits of life. But we anticipate. She lived in a world of her own creation, peopled with "faultless monsters which the j world ne'er saw," and among them there | was one for whom she raised an altar in the j deepest recess of her heart, and there she j worshiped this idol of her imagination, and J with him, all who approached her were com-' pared, and how unlovely, how insipid, how revolting they (the real denizens of earth) appeared. In her romautic heart she cherished the belief that she should yet meet the counterpart of her ideal?that he lived somewhere, and lived for her. Among his attributes was of course extraordinary person- J al beauty?her poetical temperament could ; not dispense with that; a being so perfect | must also be intellectual, and lie must not j only love her deeply, and unwaveringly, but j the strength of his attachment must be al- j most equalled by its purity and refinement, j and it must be a Jirst love; he must adore j the ground her foot had pressed, the flower | her hand had touched, the book she read? ; and he must hoard up looks and tones, and ! smiles, to feed on in the absence of the bestower; he must have no thought which did not bear some reference to her, all this, and more she dreamed, and thus her earliest and best years were wasted, and worse than wasted, for (as we have said) they gave a color to her whole existence, which time and circumstances never did entirely efface. At last he came, this rara avis?this nonpariel?this thing of beauty?this man with an angel's soul, at last bowed down before her. Attracted by her beauty?interested by her intellect, and fascinated by that which : oftenest fascinates man, the evident interest i himself excited; he became for a time en- ; chained, and in return for this temporary i passion, this consequence of his vanity, this i little episode in his life, she gave that deep, 1 enduring, self-immolating devotion, which 1 few of either sex can feel, or even under- < stand. Devotion, said we? It is an ex- I pressive word, but far too tame?too weak t to convey an idea of the feelings entertained s by that enthusiastic and romantic girl. We s should call it "Idolatry," for such it was. i "And bliss Shone o'er her heart from every look of his; ^ And but to see him, hear him, breathe the air ^ In which he dwelt, was her soul's fondest prayer! And round him hung such a perpetual spell, ^ Whate'er he did, none ever did so well, a Too happy days! when if he touched a flower g Or gem of hers, 'twas sacred from that hour; When she did study him, till every tone, And gesture, and dear look became her own, I Her voice like his, the changes of his face t in ners renectea witn suu lovelier grace. Nature had given this man the appearance ^ of a gentleman, some education?and much ^ reading and travel had so cultivated his intellect, that if he had not talent, he had so keen an appreciation of it in others, that he ? could not be supposed entirely destitute of n it himself. His was not only a hackneyed ^ heart, whose freshness and purity had long been worn away by contact with the degra ded of both sexes,but he was constitutionally incapable of strong feeling; yet he knew jj how to clothe that which he had iu burning ? ? 6< language. He could write letters filled with words (meaningless sounds) which would ^ sink to the bottom of the heart which so ^ loved him, and la^ glowing there, lighting the eye, crimsoning the cheek, and making existence exstacy, when he had totally for- gc gotten them. He had no innate delicacy, ^ no refinement of mind, but then he had such fa i perfect manner; his language was so pure, ]_ it would not have seemed to her a possibility jn that a mouth so faultless in its beauty, could QI jver utter other than noble sentiments?that ^ :t could ever be distorted by anger, polluted to )y oaths, or degraded by the intoxicating :up; that the broad white forehead which jjj vas shaded by dark brown ringlets, which ji*neV? Knnnfy imcrVif ViMVO onviorl omilrl nv/?r je flushed and contracted by the excitements )f the gamingtable?but so it was; and ere ong, a partial knowledge dawned upon her. She was shocked and bumbled, but not presented by the blow, and like a true, lovejlinded woman, she soon began to make exjuses for him. His errors were all of the past?before he knew her?love had not [hen refined his soul; he would sin no more; she would be his guardian angel, and "with ill his imperfections on his head," was he ? aot still superior to all that she had seen or ^ known? In one blissful certainty (and such A immagination made it) she found deep con- ? solution. She was his first, and only love, = "the bright particular star" to whom he gave i fresh and undivided worship; his voice of music had never whispered in another's car ?his dark blue eyes had never rested fondly on another's face?she would rest her v( head upon his bosom with a certainty that no ar Dther head had ever rested there. "Non- " sense !" exclaims the sagacious male reader, hi crt if tttqq nnnconcn Wo fKo coatlio/l H experience-taught, time-hardened denizens ei of this work-a-day world know that it was m sheer nonsense. But to the girl it was (as w we have said) consolation, and without this F first ordeal, this premonitory blow, she could not have borne that which soon came?the " total demolition of every hope which rested on the honor, morality, or undivided love of a her idol. Her dream was suddenly, and rudely w broken, it matters not how, or why?it would be an old story if told. At first her reason y( reeled, then her health failed, but youth C md|a vigorous constitution bore her through, and after many months of physical and men- e: tal suffering, she was apparently restored; cc outwardly she was the same as in ether days, hi but "her soul was sadshe felt as the wri- y< ter to whom we have alluded, speaks ; and II like him she gave vent to her anguish in V poetry?only the impassioned language which si in poetry is licensed, could describe her wild si despair?expressed in plain prose, it would tl have seemed madness. d< Had hers been a properly disciplined ^ mind, it would never have thus succumbed; n ? Tl it would have found an immediate cure for 11 the pain in the knowledge of the unworthi- P1 ness of its cause. It would not have con- ai tinued to cherish the serpent which had ^ stung it, Dor have constantly aggravated the wound by poisonous palliatives. It would 8' rather'with a determined hand have cut it ai all away, and time would soon have oblitera- tl ted even the scar; but not so, "her soul was a sad," and she resolutely closed it against all al influences which might have dissipated its gloom. It was long thus, but at last, "time ^ the restorer," in spite of herself, wore off the ?' edge of her grief; she was no longer hopeless, despairing, but her mind never became w healthy?she was never what she should P have been. Excitable, eccentric, subject to oi fits of melancholy, or intervals of unnatural w gaiety, longing for fame which she had not t' the talent to win ; craving wealth, not for its tl own sake, but that she might do strange 01 things that no one else would ever think of. p But all this was not always apparent to the E casual observer; she had a mask and robe I] for the crowd, and though they both at times q fell of!', and she excited vague surprise, dis- j u like or fear, she could resume them ere any I tl of those impressions became certainty. Her; b life might furnish materials for a novel, but v it would be a waste of time to write it, for it I could answer no better purpose than may i( this little sketch. s< Our misguided heroine lived as we have said, and died not of a broken heart, but of a restless spirit,a discontented soul?and she left no halo round her name?but we will hope that "after life's fitful fever she slept well." And he of whom we have spoken?he who was her fate, it may be asked, what became of him ? Had lie no share of suffering ?? Well, he did feel uncomfortable about it at first. He had given her all the love that he could spare from himself, even more than he had ever given any one before, and he was sorry that she was so exacting. During his acquaintance with the pure-minded and devoted girl, he had felt himself "not all evil;" he had even dreamed of an existence differ jnt from all the past; he had began to entertain a respect for the virtues and proprie;ies of life?they had lost some of their insipidity. He thought he might make a. respectable family-man without too much effort, tnd if he did retain a favorite vice or two, le could do so in the quiet manner which vould suit his indolent temper, as well as it vould suit his altered circumstances. But vhen the curtain of the past was undrawn, ind all the degradation of his former life, ind the deformity of his disposition laid bare sefore the astounded girl, and he saw its lorrifying effect upon her, he concluded that o set it all right; to make for himself a new haracter in heT eyes, to regain her confilence (heartless as he was, he knew that she tad given him an undying love) would retire a stronger effort than he had the courge to make; in short, there were too many roracn in the world, no one was worth so luch trouble, superior though she was; so rith well-acted reluctance, and many high ouudiug words about "a blighted heart?a >yless existence," and a few beautifully 'ritten letters (which were hoarded through fe, as the miner hoard's his gold) he acceptd the freedom she pave him. and returned erhaps with renewed zest, to the life which is episode with her had interrupted. A issipated manhood, a disreputable age, and solitary death were his. Young man, young writer, let not "your >ul be sad," indulge no idle melancholy, rood over no fancied injuries, grieve for no ithlcss friend, or lady love. It will scarceentail upon you suffering like that we have aperfectly described; such is for women ily, and fortunately but for few of them, i it it may paralyze your energies, cause you i neglect opportuniiies which may not cffer I emselves again?unfit you for real active ! *e. You have no right to despair, for I "The gloomiest day hath gleams of light. 1 X it C UtLl l\Cdl M U 1 V UuiM <7 * * * w ' j t And twinkles thro' the cloudiest night ( Some solitary star to cheer it. The gloomiest soul is not all gloom ; ! The saddest heart is not all sadness, And sweetly o'er the darkest doom There shines some lingering beam of gladness. 1 1 Despair is never quite despair ; i Nor life, nor death, the future closes ; And round the shadowy brow of care I Will hope, and fancy twine theirroses." i Columbia, June 26th, 1857. , IJkellaimras easing From the Chicago Tribune. AN OLD MAN'S SPEECH. We print below the remarks made by a . jteran one hundred and seventeen years of re, at the Pioneer Festival in Madison, Wisconsin, on Thursday last. What events ive been crowded into this man's life !? fhen he was born, Frederick the Great, was igaged in a furious war, and Anson was iaking his remarkable voyage around the orld. He was a "chunk of a boy" when ranklin made his great discoveries in elecicity, of which the electric telegraph is ie result. At the time of Braddock's deat he was as old as many a lad who carried musket under the lead of Washington vcnty years later. He was 25 years of age hen resistance to the stamp act in Massarusetts began, and was qualified by his jars to occupy a seat in the first Colonial ongress in 1756. He might have accompanied Boone in his cplorations of Kentucky?a State that now jntains more than a million of people. Had s gone to Europe wheu he was over thirty jars of age, he might have seen and heard Lrutne, Burke, Johnson, Pitt, Goldsmith, oltaire, Klopstock and Lessing?all long , nee dead, and historically valued by their , lccessors. He was a middle aged man, in ( ie full vigor of life, when the war of In- , epeudence closed, and Washington was , resident of the United States. lie saw the se and opening of the French Bevolution; ( [e was a witness of the whole career of Na- , oleon. He was old?more than three score . ad ten?when Hull surrendered at Detroit; ( et, how few who were there then alive to , ill the story now ! He hasseen the country row from a collection of Endish. French , ad Spanish colonies, containing a pcpulaon of less than two millions, to the rank of first class power. But, in one hundred ad seventeen years, what has he not seen! ( Joseph Crelic, whose remarks we copy , om the Madison Journal, is probably the Idestman in the United States. He said:? Fellow Pioneers :?I have looked forard with deep interest to this meeting.? 'ermit me, an old man, with the frosts of ne hundred and seventeen winters now hitening my brow, to greet you to-day and ) you express the hope that you may live icso many years to meet together on similar acasions. My own pioneer life has been eaceful, rather than eventful. A native of etroit, I was partly raised at Kaskaskiaand 'rairie du Roche, in Illinois, and subseuently became an inhabitant of St. Louis, nder Spanish rule, and for many years of ae last century was engaged as a voyager etwecn St. Louis and Prairie du Chieu, ia Wisconsin and Fox rivers and Mackinaw, was. in 1814, a participant with the Amer:ans in the conflict at Prairie du Chieu, and 3rved as aa express carrier in the Blaok Hawk war when a companion was shot dead by my side by the stealthy Indians in ambuscade : being myself a Frenchman, and my wife related to the Indians, I have reason to believe I was purposely spared. Forty-one years ago I located at the Wisconsin Portage, and nearly a third of a century since I was a mail carrier between Mineral Point and Green Bay. It has fallen to my lot to live successively in the same country, under French, British, Spanish and American Governments?and I have defended the latter at the hazard of my life. Though I have thus spent my life upon the frontiers, ray memory is too frail to permit me to go into dates, and could I recall them, I fear they would only serve to fill up the picture, already but too well known, of border dangers, difficulties and privations. I have been three times married, and of nine children but a single one survives?the seventh by iny first marriage, and she has nearly reached the age of three score and ten allotted to our race. But I have grand children almost without number; and for the benefit of some of the latter, hope yet to obtain some bounty land from Government for my early services. I come down to you, fellow pioneers, from a former century?an old man, with the habits, customs and feelings of the simple hearted, contented race of a century ago, with few wants, and no ambitious aspiration. I can in truth say that I love my native land ; ; I have cheerfully risked my own life in its defence, in repelling the British and Indian i foe; and I trust there are none here to-day, who will fail to stand by our country in every j hour of trial and danger?none who will i ever, under any plea, lend themselves to the i disreputable work of weakening the ties that bind together our glorious Union. I have lived here in the West, under despotic sway, and know full well how to appreciate the j blessings of free government, which I hear- s tily commend to your final love and protec- < tion. 1 In conclusion fellow-pioneers, I can only 1 give you?it is all I have to offer?an old i man's prayer and blessing. 1 Of the proceedings the Argus and Demo- t crat says: * The old pioneers went off into the most i jovial reparteeiDg of their owd, telling stories, making comments on the progress of e the West, and indulging in not a few hearty r old-fashioned jokes. An occasional scintil- i lation of wit from a rough and hearty "old e settler" would convulse the house in laugh- v ter, and again a sudden -f [{ESSE, ?ot infrequently into the eyes of f those preseut. The occasion was one of ex- ] traordinary and peculiar iuterest, aud all v seemed to feel it so, from the new comer to e our State to the first adventurers within its i wild territory years ago. Quite a number of t the fairer sex, who were pioneers also, and t had shared in the joys aud sorrows of fron- t tier life, were present, and joined in the convivialities. Sonic of their children, men t md women grown, were also there and e pointed out with pride by the speakers, who a fairly run over with enthusiasm. 1; ?? ?? ? e THE "MAKING UP." 1 "I wish I had'nt said it!" "Dear me ! f what would I give if I could only recall it," murmured Mrs. Leeds, as she leaned her 1 face down on the arm she had rested on the r breakfast table, while the thick tears sobbed r up into her blue eyes. c She was a pretty little woman, this wife i of a year, though tears dimmed her face, and t the trouble that was in her heart shut off the ^ roses from her cheeks, that cheerless Novera- e ber morning, with the dull, brownish clouds I piled about the sky, and the hoarse wind t cracking aud crumbling through the trees ? outside. c "To think, too," continued the lady, rai- f sing her head once more, and abstractedly t lifting the cover off the china tea-pot, "he c should have spoken so crossly and sharply 1 to niA inst hflnniisA T said T should like that v new velvet carpet at Mjers'. Well, I don't f believe, for my part, there was ever such a r thing as a woman satisfied with what she has got. I think it was real unkind in him any c way; and nothing in the world could have t made me believe, before I married Henry t Leeds, that he would have used that tone of a words in speaking to rue. But I guess I was c more to blame than he, after all; for I said t a great many satirical things. I almost wish o my tongue had been cut off before they pas- v scd my lips; but somehow my temper got a the better of me, and he went off without t ane kind word, or even kissing me !" Here I there was another outbreak of tears. c "He won't be home till night, and how a can I ever get through this long, weary, dis- fi mal day, knowing all the time Hal's angry t with me; he who has been such a true, generous, loving husband ! How I wish I could see him just a minute, and, forgetting all my pride, wind my arms about his neck, and f say, <Hal, I'm really sorry; won't you for- t give me ?' and I will, too." d The pretty lady sprung from the table, a o new determination heightening the faint t color in her cheeks, and bringing back the r sparkle to her blue eye?. r "I'll take the omnibus and go right down t to the office and make up with him, see if I a don't." i The young merchant was leaning witn a a weary, half-dejected sort of expression, over c his desk, about which were scattered bills, i drafts, and letters in endless confusion.? t Something had gone wrong. His clerks t knew this when he came into his store that f morning, so gloomy and retiring, so thor- c oughly unlike his usual brisk, energetic, t jovial manner, that always carried sunshine r into the dark ware-rooms. Even the porter ] felt something of this, for he stood at a re- j spectful distance from his employer, and t didn't indulge in any of his old stale jokes, j Suddenly the merchant looked up, and i saw his wife making her way through the i store, straight to his desk. How pretty she t looked that morning, in the little tasteful t velvet hat; with its crimson trimmings about i her cheeks, that were so charmingly becoming, and that half smile dimpling the rosy small mouth, that he could hardly believe had said such very unkind things to him only a few hours before. Now, Harry Leeds was very proud of his wife, and of the evident admiration which her occasional advent at the store always excited. He rose up to meet her, the surprise in his face half chasing the cloud therefrom. She came close to him. "Harry," whispered the soft, eager, timid voice. "I'm so very sorry I said those cross things to you this morning ! I was greatly to blame, and they've made me unhappy ever since; so I've come clear down here to make up, and hear you say once more that you love me." The cloud was all gone. There was a world of fond tenderness that looked down from those dark eyes on the lady. "Why, bless you, Adeline! you haven't come clear off here for that? I was more to blame than you a great deal; but some business matters were troubling me, and I am a touchy fellow, any how, I guess." "ino, you're not. l felt all the time that you were displeased with me. But you do love me just as well as ever?" That smile, that glance, would have satisfied any wife. "She is a jewel, any how," murmured Harry Leeds to himself, after she had left, as he arranged his disordered desk, with his face as changed and bright as the sky outside, for the sun had suddenly plunged through the clouds. "If we have pretty good sales this week, I'll just get her that carpet for a Christmas present, see if I don't." WHERE DOES WOOD COME FROM P If we were to take up a handful of soil ind examine it under the microscope, we should probably find it to contain a number )f fragments of wood, small broken pieces of cranches or leaves, or other parts of the tree, [f we should examine it more mechanically, ve should find yet more strikingly, that it vas nearly the same as wood in its composiion. Perhaps, then, it may be said, the roung plant obtains its wood from the earth n which it grows ? ThefollowiDg experiment will show whethir this conjecture is likely to be correct or lot. Two hundred pounds of earth was dried n an oven, and afterwards put into a large iarthen vessel; the earth was then moistened vith rain water, and a willow tree, weighing friT spaced" five years', In 6' earth was careully watered with rain water or pure water, rhe willow grew and flourished, and to preent the earth from being mixed with fresh arth, or dirt being blown upon by the winds, t was covered with a metal plate full of very ninute holes, which would exclude everyhing but air from getting access to the earth lelow it. After growing in the earth for five years, he tree was removed, and, on being weighd, was found to have gained one hundred nd sixty four pounds, as it now weighed one lundred and sixty-nine pounds. Aad this iStimate did not include the weight of the eaves or dead branches which in five years ell from the tree. Now came the application of the test.? iVas all this obtained from the earth ? It had lot sensibly diminished; but, in order to nake the experiment conclusive, it was again Iried in an oven in the balance. Astonishing was the result?the earth weighed only ico ounces less than it did when the willow vas first planted in it! yet the tree had gainid one hundred and sixty-four pounds !? Manifestly then, the wood thus gained in his space of time was not obtained from the larth; wc are therefore compelled to retreat mr question, "Where does the wood come 'rom ?" We are left with only two alternates ; the water with which it was refreshed, ir the air in which it lived. It can be clcary shown that it was not due to the water; ve are consequently unable to resist the perilexiDg and wonderful conclusion, it was deived from air. Can it be? Were those great oeean-spales of wood, which are as old as man's inroduction into Eden, and wave in their vast >ut solitary luxuriance over the fertile hills nd plains of South America, were these all ibtained from the thin air ? Were the paricles which unite to form our battle-ships, ild England's walls of wood, ever borne the ii .1 A. i. __ : _ i___t roria adoui, not oniy on wings 01 air, dui dually as air themselves ? Was the firm able on which I write, the chair on which ! sit, the solid floor on which I tread, and uuch of the bouse in which I dwell, once in , form which I could not as much as lay my inger on, or grasp in my hand? Wonderful ruth! all this was air.?Life of a Tree. FRIGHTENING CHILDREN. The Troy Daily Times contains a letter rom a gentleman of that place, whose daugher, a young child, was frightened into a langerous illness by the injudicious course f treatment pursued towards her by her eacher. The girl was a sensitive, nervons lature, and a threat of confinement in a dark oom, made, and partly carried into execuion, proved such a shock to her as to cause ,n attack of sickness severe enough to affect ler mind. One of the most reprehensible, .nd in fact criminal acts of which a parent ir teacher can be guilty is that of endeavorng to enforce obedience in a child through he influence of fear. By this we mean, not he wholesome fear of correction, but the 'rightening of the offender so as to cause ex:essive nervous agitation. With the excepion perhaps of anger, fear is the most terible in its effects of the human passions.? ts power over those who are unhappily subected to its influence is often nrodnotive of r-~??.~ he most disastrous consequences. No corjoreal torture can equal the anguish which t inflicts. There are many children whose nental organizations are such as to render hem peculiarly susceptible of its influence, ind we know of nothing more deserving of eprobation and punishment than the tarn pering with such natures by those who have charge over them. Few who have not been taught by sad experience know the mental sufferings of a timid and nervous child.? Many a man and woman now in robust health secretly suffers from the injudicious and criminal course pursued towards them in their infancy j for so delicate a machine is the mind, and especially the young mind, that a slight shock will cause a derangement in it which years seem powerless to efface.? Philadelphia Evening Journal. A "TAIL" OF A SNAKE. "Animals," says the lawyer, "sometimes very nearly approach reason in their cunning. "I got interested in the study of serpents down in Arkansas, where I spent most of last year. I don't know why, but I was constantly watching them and testing their sagacity, by placing them in new situations, and surrounding them with novel expedi ents. Uf all kinds, I experimented most with rattlesnakes and copperheads. "One afternoon I seated myself on a little knoll in the woods to smoke and read? for I always had a book or newspaper with me?and had been enjoying myself for some time, when I espied a copperhead making for a hole within ten feet of where I sat. Of course I threw down my book and cigar, and proceeded to try a new experiment. As soon as I stirred the rascal made a rush for the hole; but I caught the tail as he got nearly in, and jerked him some twenty feet backward. He threw himself into a coil in no time, and waited for me to pitch in. But I concluded not to let him try his hole again. "After a while he started for it, stopping when I stirred to coil himself up; but as I kept pretty quiet, he recovered confidence and again went in. Again I jerked him out. No sooner did he hit the ground than he made a grand rush for the hole in a straight line for my legs! But that didn't work, for I got out of the way, and gave him another flirt. "This time he lay still awhile, appearing to reflect on the course to be taken. After a time he tried it again, though rather slowly. After getting his head a little way in, he stopped and wriggled his tail, as if on purpose for me to grab it. I did so ; and quicker than a flash he drew his head out, i and came within a quarter of an inch of striking me in the face. However, I jerked him quite a distance, and resolved to look , out the next time. Well, he tried thg ?a#l?,., TwrqincrrBFinnT * " "This time he lay in a coil half an hour, without stirring. At last, however, he tried i it once more. He advanced to within five | feet of the hole very slowly, coiled again, and then, by heavens! got the start of me by one : of the cutest tricks you ever heard of." "How was it?" we all exclaimed, in one breath. "Why," said the narrator, sinking his voice to the acme of solemnity, and looking as honest and sober as a man could look, "ichy he just turned his head towards my hand, and went down that hole tail jirst!" S8F Saturday Night ! rich in pleasant ; thoughts and memories 1 There is a low, murmuring music in the phrase, like dying away of Sabbath bells. The toils of a busy week are ended and the grasping throng goes seeking a home and its rest. The fires of trade, per centum and gain, burns down dimly, and a soothing tide flows back into the deep of the heart. Saturday night! how suggestive of many 1 pleasant things! Rest to the Masses. Peace ! to the stirring sons of toil. As the shadow of the evening lengthens, a blessed vision creeps up in its wake of a welcome smile 1 blessing a happy home, and of fat armed children with dimpled cheeks playing watch and wait around a vine shadowed gate. To ; some, and their name is legion, it stirs avis- 1 ion of a dove like creature waiting in eager suspense for a well known footfall upon a ; graveled walk, and a pleasant reunion with nothingbut moonbeams to mar its enjoyment. | Somehow it is an evening of more memories than all other evenings. The flocks and \ herds may not know when it cometh, but c a aU atw fknlr krtllo o cnftn* rtViim/} on/) ' auiuciiurr bucn uuiouaig a ovicbi vuiwbj uuu the birds are longer in getting their bills , under the wing, and even after the shadow of twilight has departed they chatter a lulla- ' by like little children before they slumber. Saturday night! how it stirs up olden mem- j oriesj and some blessed ones, the like of which we shall never see again; but let the ^ heart utter its thanks devoutly that a bright and blessed Sabbath breaks upon the Tomorrow !?Spirit of the Age. Customs of various Nations in their j Repasts.?The Maldivian islanders eat alone. They retire to the most hidden parts of their houses, and draw down the cloths which serve as blinds to their windows, that j they may eat unobserved. An absurd reason may be alleged for their misanthropical repast ; they will never eat with one who is j inferior to them in birth, in riches, or digni- [ ty ; and as it is a difficult matter to settle j this equality, they are condemned to lead ] this unsociable life. ; On the contrary, the inhabitants of the , Philippines are remarkably sociable. When- | ever one of them finds himself without a companion to partake of his meal, he runs until he meets with one; and, however keen i his appetite may be, he ventures not to satisfy it without a guest. Inoan oliin a tb7 til a beautiful varnish, and are covered with silk carpets very elegantly worked. The master of the house absents himself while his guests regale at his table with undisturbed revelry. They do not make use of plates, i knives, or forks, but their food is served up in dishes, out of which they eat in common; i and for this purpose every guest has two little ivory or ebony sticks, which he handles very adroitly. The Otaheitans, who are lovers of society, and very gentle in their manneri, eat nepar- i ate from eaoh other. At the hour of repast the members of each family divide; two brothers, two sisters, and even husband and wife, parents and children, have each their respective basket. They place themselves at the distance of two or three yards from each other, they turn their backs, and take their meal in profound silence. Among the greater part of the American Indians, the host is continually on the watch to solicit his visitors to eat, but touches nothing himself. In New France the host wearies himself with singing to divert the company while they eat. The Tartars pull a man by the ear, to press him to drink; and they continue tormenting him, till he opens his mouth; they then olap their hands and dance before him. Encourage and Sustain Your Mechanics.?The prosperity of all communities, be they large, or small, depends, in a great degree, upon the encouragement and Support given to that clasa of ftifcizonfl on. gaged in mechanical and industrial pursuits. The protection of home enterprise is one of the principal supports of every community, and upon it the well being of all departments of trade eminently depends. - Hence it follows that it is the duty of all to throw out to that substantial and reliable portion of the community?the mechanics?such encouragement as will induce them to remain and build up the business of the place. The importance of a good, intelligent mechanic to a community, cannot be over estimated. It is this class of men, indeed, who give tone and importance to the place of their residence. In them can generally be found generous impulses, honest intentions, and the true principles of friendship.? Through good and through evil report they are the firm and steadfast friends of their neighbors and fellow-citizens. In seasons of prosperity and adversity alike are they wedded to the community in which their lot has been cast.?Nashville Gazette. Large Earnings.?Mr. Joseph Segar, a candidate for the Legislature of Virginia, who has already served in that body, and who voted for all works of Internal Improvment engaged in by his State, in an address to the electors of his county, informs them that; All over TTnifo/t -? ?? v ^iMwg iauiuauo lai worse conditioned than our own are paying, and paying well. All the Southern and per cent. The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, with worse curvature and climate and far steeper grades, requiring six-tenths of its gross income to pay working charges, is earning more than 85,000,000 a year, more than 8500,000 a month, 818,000 a day, more than 8600 per hour, and 812 per minute. tOF" "If a man would see gray hairs upon his head before their time, beggary and ruin the sole legacy left to a wife and children, now rolling in every luxury, and brought up to it all; if he wants to see defrauded and indignant creditors, an old age of penury and dependence, a family driven by debt and false ideas into every degradation and crime then let him spread all sail which he can borrow credit to every reckless customer, boast of his sales, live in brown stone and rosewood, surround himself with carved furniture and costly imported luxuries of all kinds; let him bring up his children to be waited upon by troops of servants?the end will come sooner than he expects; he will be caught in some nip of the ice, and sink like i lump of lead into the mighty waters." Easiness of Writing Amusing Articles.?It has generally been imagined that joke-making, as a profession, was a very serious business, and clowns and comic actors are notoriously the most pains-taking and solemn members of a theatrical troupe. The necessity of being funny at a stated period, for a stipulated price, and for a certain time, has always had a melancholy and depressing effect upon the spirits of the practitioner.? The anecdote of the Italian clown who was advised by his physician to go and witness his own performance as a cure for his low spirits is well known. A friend of ours who dined with the Punch writers in London, last summer, said they were the most melan cnoiyset or men ne encountered in England. J?- Of Counsel to Parents, the following is an excellent chance bit:?"Whatever you think proper to grants child, let it be granted at the first word, without entreaty jr prayer, and above all, without making any :onditions. Grant with pleasure, refuse ivith reluctance; but let your refusal be irrevocable?let not importunity shake your resolution, let the positive "No," when >nce pronounced be a wall of brass, which i child, when he has tried his strength against it half a dozen times, shall nevermore endeavor to shake." Beauty.?Socrates called beauty a shortived tyranny; Plato, a privilege of nature; rheopharstus, a silent cheat; Aristotle afirraed that beauty was better than all tha letters of recommendation in the world; Homer, that it was a glorious gift of nature; md Ovid, alluding to it, called it a favor bestowed by the gods. A man should never be ashamed to own that he has been in the wrong; which !a Knf aowinrv in nflini1 vxr/ir/la of Kn ia man* ig k/uv UUJiU^ AU VVUVA nv*v?0^ bUHV AAV AO TT UJVi to-day than he was yesterdgy. So says Pope, and truly too; yet how many fools there are who persist in their own opinions to the disgust of all sensible people. Sliding Scale of Crime DeQuincy says, "if once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking: and from that to incivility and procrastination." Hard Times.-?Sitting on a oold grinditone aad reading the President's menage