Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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iewism.obist,proprietor.J An Independent Journal: For .the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. |wpeeasbvk,ih advabce VOL. 4. --???? -? YORKVILLE)~s O., THUESDAY, JUNE 17, 1858. . NO. ?? ? ? _____? , ? |oite |p fftfrg. "WHEN I AM OLD. When I am old?and. 0 how soon Will life's sweet morning yield to noon, And noon's broad, fervid, earnest light Be shaded in the solemn night! Till like a story well nigh told Will seem my life?when I am old! When I am old, this breezy earth Will loose for me its voicftof mirth? The streams will have an under tone Of eadness, not by right their own, And spring's sweet power in vain unfold In rosy charms?when I am old. When I am old, I shall not care To deck with flowers my faded hair; 'Twill be no vain desire of mine 1U i IUII auvi VVOklJ Uivuw *v W*?H? , Bright jewels and the brightest gold Will cbarra me not?when I am old. When I am old, my friends will be Old, and infirm, and bowed, like mc ; Or else, their bodies 'neath the sod, There spirits dwelling safe with God ; The old church bell will long have tolled Above the rest?when I am old. When I am old, Fd rather bend Thus sadly o'er each buried friend, Than see them loose the earnest truth That marks the friendship of our youth; 'Twill be so sad to have them cold Or strange to mc?when I am old ! When I am old?0 how it seems Like the wild lunacy of dreams To picture in prophetic rhyme That dim, far distant, shadowy time : So distant that seems o'er bold Even to ?"When I am old!" When I am old?perhaps ere then I shall be missed from haunts of men: Perhaps my dwelling will be found Beneath the green and quiet mound, My name by stranger hands enrolled Among the dead?ere I am old. JSre l Atn oia?mat time j? now, For youth sits lightly on my brow ; My limbs are firm, and strong, and free ; Life has a thousand charms for me? Charms that will long their influence hold Within ray heart?ere I am old. Ere I am old?0 let me give My life to learning how to livt! Then shall 1 meet with witling heart, An early summons to depart, Or find my lengthened days consoled By God's sweet peace?wheu I am old. % Storg for % From Arthur's Home Magazine. OTHER PEOPLE'S EYES. <Our parlor carpet is beginning to look real shabby,' said Mrs. Cartwright. ?I declare ! If I don't feel right down ashamed of it, every time a visitor, who is any body, i calls into see me.' 4A new one will cost ' The husbaud of Mrs. Cartwright, a goodnatured, compliant man, who was never better pleased than when he could please his wife, paused to let her finish the seutence, whif^h she did Droniotlv. by saying, 'Only forty dollars. I've counted it all up. It will take thirty-six yards. I saw a beautiful piece at Martin's?just the thing ?at one dollar a yard. Binding and other little matttrs, won't go beyond three or four dollars, and I can make it myself, you know.' Only forty dollars ! Mr. Cartwright glanoed down at the carpet which had decorated the floor of their little parlor for nearly five years. It had a pleasant look in his eyes, for it was associated with many pleasant memories. Only forty dollars, for a new one? If the cost were only five, instead of forty, the inclination to banish this old friend to an out-of-the-way chamber would have been no stronger in the mind of Mr. Cartwright. But forty dollars was an item in the calculation, and to Mr. Cartwright a i serious one. Every year he was finding it harderto meet the gradual increasing demand upon bis purse; for there was a steadily progressive enlargement of his family, and year after year, the cost of living advanced. He was thinking of this when his wife said: <You know, Henry, that cousin Sally Gray is coming here on a visit week after next.? Now, I do want to put the very best face on to things while she is here. We were married at the same time, and I hear that her husband is getting rich. I feel a little pride about the matter and don't want her ? ?? _rr to thiols tnat we re growiog worse uu tuun when we began life, and can't afford to replace this shabby old carpet for a new one.' No farther argument was needed. Mr. Cartwright had sixty dollars in one of the j bureau drawers, a fact well known to his j wife And it was also well known to her | that it was the accumulation of very careful savings, designed, when the sutu reached one hundred dollars, to cancel a loan made i by a friend, at a time when sickness and death in the family had run up their yearly expenses beyond the year's income. Very | desirous was Mr. Cartwright to pay off this loan, and he had felt lighter in the heart as ! the aggregate of savings came nearer and nearer to the sum required for that purpose. But he had no firmness to oppose his wife in anything. Her wishes, in this instance, as in many others, he unwisely made a law. The argument about Cousin Sally Gray was .... *.t lrresistioie. no more luau IU3 ttiis uiu I wish to look poor in her eyes; and so, for the sake of her eyes, anew carpet was bought, and the old one?not by any means as worn and faded as the language of bis wife indicated?sent up stairs, to do second-band duty in the spare bed room Not within the limits of forty dollars was the expense confined. A more costly pattern than could be obtained for one dollar a yard tempted the eyes of Mrs. Cartwright and abstracted from her husband's savings the sum of over fifty dollars. Mats and rugs to go with the carpet were indispensable, to give the parlor the right effect in the eyes of cousin Sally Gray, and the purchase of these absorbed the remainder of Mr. Cartwright's carefully hoarded sixty dollars. Unfortunately for the comfortable condi; tion of Mrs. Cartwright's mind, the new car1 pet with its flaunting colors, put wholly out of countenance the cane-seat chairs and modest pier table, and gave to the dull paper on the wall a duller aspect. Before, she had scarcely noticed the haugings on the Venetian blinds; now, it seemed as if they had lost their freshness in a day ; and the places where they were broken, and had been sewed again, were singularly apparent, every time her eyes rested upon them. . 'These blinds do look dreadful V she said to her husband, on the day after the carpet nrant <Jrttpn tPon vrm romomlior whnt thev cost.' 'Eight dollars,' replied Mr. Cartwright. 'So much.' The wife sighed as she spoke. 'Yes that was the price. I remember it very well.' 'I wonder what new hangings would cost ?' Mrs. Cartwright's manner grew suddenly more cheerful, as the suggestion of a cbeapi er way to improve the windows came into hor thoughts. 'Not much, I presume," answered her husband. 'Don't you think we had better have it done V 'Yes,' was the compliant answer. 'Will you stop at the blind makers, as you go to the store, and tell him to send up for them to-day. It must be attendod to at once, I you know, for cousin Sally will be here on next Wednesday. Mr. Cartwright called at the blind maker's as requested, and the blind maker promised i to send for the blinds. From thence he continued to the store in which he was employed. There he found a note on his desk, from the friend to whom he was indebted for the one hundred dollars. 'Dear Cartwright,'?so the note ran?If it is possible for you to let me have the one hundred dollars I leaned you, its return tomorrow will be a particular favor, as I have a large payment to make, and have been disappointed in the receipt of a sum of money conddently expected.' A very sudden change of feeling did Mr. Cartwright expericucc. He had, in a degree partaken of his wife's pleasures in ob serving the improved appearance ot tneir little parlor; but this pleasure vt?s now succeeded by a sense of painful regret and mortification. It was nearly two hours before Mr. Cartwrigbt returned an answer to his friend's note. Most of that time had been spent in the vain effort to discover some wayout of the difficulty in which he found himself placed. He would have asked an advance of one hundred dollars on his salary, but he did not dream that a prudent step, ! and for two reasons. One was, the known oharacter of his employers; and the other was involved in the question of how he was working out this advance. At last in sadness and humiliation, he wrote a brief reply, regretting his inability to replace the loan now, but promising to do it in a very short time. Not very long after this answer was sent, there come another note from his friend, written in evident haste, and under the influence of angry feelings. It was in these words : ?I enclose your due-bill, which I, yesterday, thought good for its face. But, as it is worthless, I send it back. The man who buys new carpets and new fnrniturc, instead of paying his nonest debts, can be no friend of mine. I am sorry to have been mistaken in Henry Cartwright.' Twice did the unhappy man read this cutting letter; then folding it up slowly, he conceal- j ed it in one of his pockets. Nothing was said about it to his wife, whose wordy adI miration of the new carpet, at morning, noon, and at night, for the next two or three days, was a continual reproof of his weakness for VinT-inor riplded to her wishes in a matter where calm judgment and a principle of right, should have prevailed. But she could not help noticing that he was less cheerful; and once or twice he spoke to her in such a way that she thought positively ill-natured. Something was wrong with him ; but what that something was, she did not for an instant imagine. At last the day arrived for cousin Sally Gray's visit. Unfortunately the Venetian blinds were still at the blind-maker's, where they were likely to remain for a week longer, as it was discovered, on the previpus afternoon, that he had never touched them since they came into his shop. Without them the little parlor had a terrible bare look ; the stroug light coming in, and con! trasting, harshly, the new, gaudy carpet, I with the old, worn and faded furniture ? j Mrs. Cartwright fairly cried with vexation. 'We must have something for the windows, Ilenry,' said she, as she stood disconsolate in the parlor after tea. 'It will never do in the world to let cousin Sally find us in this trim.' 'Cousin Sally will find a welcome in our hearts,' replied her husband, in a sober | voice, 'and that, I an sure, will be more grateful to her than new carpets and window-blinds.' The way in which this was spoken rather surprised Mrs. Cartwright, and she felt just a little rebuked. 'Don't you think,' said she, after a few moments of silence on both sides, 'that we might afford to buy a few yurds of lace, to put up to the windows, just for decency's sake V Vf. > J it.. 1 1 .1 C. 1 ? v, auswereu lub uusuauu, unuij. 'We have offered too much already ' His manner seemed to Mrs. Cartwright almost ill-natured. It hurt her very much. Both sat down in the parlor, and both remained silent. Mrs. Cartwright thought of the mean appearance everything in that 'best room' would have in the eyes of cousin Sally, and Mr. Cartwright thought of his debt to his friend, and of that friend's anger and alienation. Both felt more uncomfortable than they had for a long time. On the aext day cousin Sally arrived.? She had Dot come to spy out the nnkcdnes of the land?not for the purpose of niakinj I contrasts between her own condition in lift and that of Mrs. Cartwright?but from pur love. She had always been warmly attach cd to her cousin; and the years duriti| whioh new life-associations had separate! them, had increased rather than diminishei this attachment. But the gladness of thii meeting was soon overshadowed ; at leas for cousin Sally. She saw by the end of th first day's visit, that her cousin was more con cerned to make a good appearance in he eye,?to have her understanding that sh and her husband wcro getting on bravely ii the world?than to open her heart to her a * ** * 1_ !.t_ 1 f oi oia, ana excnange wun ner u ?;w in the history of their inner lives. Wha interest she had in the new carpet, or thi curtainless window, that seemed to be th most prominent of all things in the mind c her relative? None whatever! If the visi had been from Mary Cartwright to hersell she would never have thought for an instanl of making preparations for her coming, i the purchase of new furniture, or by an change in the externals of her home. A! arrangements for the reception would hav been in her heart. Cousin Sally was disappointed. She di not find the relative, with whom so man years of her life had been spent in sweet ir tercourse, as she had hoped to find her. Th girlish warmth of feeling had given place t a cold worldliness, that repelled instead c attracting her. She had loved, and sufferei much ; had passed through many trials, an j entered through many opening doors int I new experiences, during the years since thei [ ways parted ; and she had come to this old dear friend, yearning for that heart intei course?that reading together of some c | the pages of their books of life, which sh felt almost as a necessity. What interes had she for the mere externals of Mary' life? None! None!?And the oonstan reference thereto, by her cousin seemed lik a desecration. Careful, and troubled abou the things ot lite, snc louna tne aear, on friend of her girlish days to whom she hai come hopefully, as to one who could compre hend, as in early years, the feelings, thought and aspirations, which had grown strongei deeper and of wider range. Alas ! Alas How was the fine gold dimmed in her eyes 'Hear Mary?' she said to her cousin, 01 the morning of the day that was to end he visit?they were sitting together in the littli parlor, and Mrs. Cartwright had referred for the fortieth time, to the unshaded win dows, and declared herself mortified to deatl at the appearance of things,?'Dear Mury It was to see you and not your furniture, tha I came. To look into your heart, and fee it bcatiug against mine as of old ; not to pry curiously, into your ways of living, nor t compare your house-furnishing with my own But for your constant reference to these things I should uot have noticed, particularly, hov your house was attired ; and if asked ubou them, could only have answered?'She's liv ing very nicely.' Forgive me for this plait speech, dear cousin ! I did not mean t give utterance to such language; but th? words ure spoken now, and cannot be re called.' Mrs. Cartwripbt, if not really offended was mortified and rebuked; and tliis slat of feeling, uuited with pride, 6erved to givi coldness to her exterior. She tried to b cordial in manner toward her cousin?t seefe as if she had not felt her words; bu this was impossible, for she had felt them to deeply. She saw that the cherished frieni and companion of her girlhood was dt?ap pointed in her; that she bad come to look in to her heart, and not iuto the attiring of he home; and was going away with diminishci affection. After years of divergence, thei paths had touched; and separating one more, she felt that they would never rui parallel again. A few hours later, cousin Sally gave he a parting kiss. How different in warmth t the kiss of meeting! Very sad, very dis satisfied with herself, very unhappy did Mrs Cartwright feel, as she snt musing alone af ter her relative had departed. She was con scious of having lost a friend forever, be cause she had not risen to a higher level ti which that friend had attained?not in ex ternal, but in the true internal life. But a sharper mortification was in ston for her. The lettcrof her husband's friend in which he returned the due-bill for om hundred dollars, fell accidentally into he hands, and overwhelmed her with conster nation. For that new carpet, which hat failed to win more than a few extorted sen tences of praise from cousin Sally Gray, he husband had lost the esteem of one of hi; oldest and best friends, and was now suffer ing in silence, the most painful trial of hi life. Poor, weak woman ! Instead of the pleas uro she had hoped to gain in the possessioi of this carpet, it had made her complete!; Whilp siltimr almost StUDefiec with the pressure that was ou her feelings, i neighbor called in, and she went down t< the parlor to meet her. 'What a lovely carpet!' said the neighboi in real animation. 'Where did you buy it? 'At Martin's,' was answered. 'Ilad they auy more of the same pattern ? iuquired the neighbor. 'This was tbo last piece.' The neighbor was sorry. It was the mosi beautiful pattern she had ever seen, and sh< would huut tho city over but what she woulc find another just like it. 'You may have this one,' said Mrs. Cart wright on the impulse of the moment. <Mj husband does'nt particularly fancy it. Youi parlor is exactly the size of mine. It is al! made and bound nicely, as you can see ; anc this work on it shall cost you nothiog. W< paid a little over fifty dollars for the carpel before a stitch was taken in it; and fiftj dollars will make you the possessor.' 'Are you really in earnest ?' said th< neighbor. 'Never more so in my life.' 1 s! 'It is a bargain, then/ ; I 'Very well/ 8 ! 'When can I have it^' e 'Just as fioon as I rip it from the floor/ - said Mrs. Cartwright in real earnest. Z Go to work/ replied the neighbor laughd ing out at the novelty of the affair 'Before d your task is half done, I "will be back with r the fifty dollars, and a man to carry home it the carpet/ e j* And so she was. In less than half an '* hour after the sale was made, in this offr hand fashion, Mrs. Cartwright sat alone in e J her parlor, looking down upon the nakecl n . floor ; but she hsd fiv ten dollar gold pieces. 8 I I- mm#] tliAn *f*A*A mAVA nnlitA in > III Ut'l ijuuuj nuu llicj ncic vi luvir vatuc xu j s her eyes than twenty carpets. Not long did 1 she sit musing here. There was other work e to do. The old carpc: must be replaced.? e And it was replaced. In the midst of her hurried operations, the old blinds with the 1 new hangings came in, and were put up to the windows. When Mr. Cartwrightreturn > ed home, and stepped inside of the little n parlor, where he found hia wife awaiting him, y he gave an exclamation of surprise. " 'Why Mary ! What is the meaning of e this ? Whore is the new carpet ?' She laid the five gold pieces in his hand d and then looked earnestly, and with tears in 7 her eyes, upon his wondering face. '* 'What are these, Mary? Where did they e come from ?' 0 'Cousin Sally is gone. The carpet didn't seem attractive in her eyes ; and it has lost ^ all beauty in mino. So I sold the thing, and here is the money. Take it, dear Henry, 0 and let it serve the purpose for which it was r designed.' ' 'All richt aeain!' exclaimed Mr. Cart ?. u c wright, as soon as the whole matter was clear 1 to him 'All right ? Mary, dear! That t carpet, had it remained, would havo wreckg ed, I fear, the happiness of our home. Ah, let us consult our own eyes, hereafter, Mary e ?not the eyes of other people. None think the better of us for what we seem?only for ^ what we are. It is not from fine furniture j that our true pleasure is to come but from a consciousness of right-doing. Let the inner a life be right, and the outer life will surely , be in just harmony. In the humble abode ] of virtue there is more real happiness, than j in the palace-homes of the UDjust, the selfish, and wrong-doers. The sentiment is as old a as the world; but it must come to every r heart, at some time in life with all the force B of an original utterance. And let it so come ' to us now, dear wife !' ^ And thus it did come. This little expe, ricnce showed them an aspect of things that ^ quickened their better reasons; and its smart j remained long enough to give it the power of a monitor in all their after lives. They ^ never erred again in this wise. For two or three years more the old carpet did dnty in their neat little parlor, and when it was at ' last replaced by a new otfe the change was made for their own eyes, and not for the eyes of another. : pkellwrs Heating. , DESTRUCTION OP JERUSALEM. e A few weeks ago, Sir E. Bulwcr Lytton 0 delivered a lecture in London, which city e he has for a number of years represented in o Parliament, on the early history of Eastern t nations. He gave an outline on the history 0 of the Babylonian, Assyrian, Persian, Egyp1 tian, Greek and Jewish nations, and closed .. ?it. ? r..l nrxA ' Willi IIJU luiumiuj; pUWCIIUI Iiuu uiauiuui. ! description of the destraction of Jerusalem r by Titus: "Six years after the birth of our Lord, r Judea and Samaria became a province, une der subordinate governors, the most famous 11 of whom was Pontius Pilate. These governors became so oppressive that the Jews r broke out in rebellion; and seventy years 0 after Christ, Jerusalem was finally besieged '* by Titus, afterwards Emperor of Rome. No ' tragedy on the stage has the same scenes of appalling terror, as are to be found in the history of this siege. The city itself was rent by factions at the deadliest war with 5 each other?all the elements of civil hatred had broke loose?the streets were slippery with the blood of citizens?brother slew e brother?the granaries were set on fire?fam, ine wasted those whom the sword did not b slay. In the midst of these civil massacres, r the Roman armies appeared before the walls - of Jerusalem. Then for a short time the 1 rival factions united against the common foe; - they were again the gallant countrymen of r David and Joshua?they sallied forth and s scattered the eagles of Rome. But this tri urnph was brief; the ferocity of the ill-fated s Jews soon again wasted itself on each other. And Titus marched on?encamped his ar mies close by the walls?and from the height i the Roman General gazed with awe on the j strength and splendor of the city of Jebo1 vah. 1 "Let us here pause?and take ourselves a } mournful glance at Jerusalem, as it then was. The city was fortified by a triple wall, save r on one side, where it was protected by deep i ' I nnrl ;mnoocnhlwitines. These walls, of the i most solid masonry, were guarded by strong ' towers; opposite to the loftiest of these < towers Titus had encamped. From the height of that tower the sentinel might have j t seen stretched below the whole of that fair i territory of Judea, about to pass from the j 1 countrymen of David. Within these walls i was the palace of the kings?its roof of ce- i dar, its doors of the rarest marbles, its chamj bers filled with costliest tapestries, and ves- < r sels of gold and silver. Groves and gardens i I gleaming with fountains, adorned with statI ues of bronze, divided the courts of the paU { s ace itself. But high above all, upon a pre- I t cipitous rock, rose the temple, fortified and i adorned by Solomon. The temple was as { strong without as a citadel; withiu more a- j 5 domed than a palace. On entering, you be- j hold portions of numberless columns of por- | pbyry, marble and alabaster; gates adorned < with gold and silver, amongst which was the wonderful gate called the Beautiful. "Further on, through a vast arch, was the sacred portal which admitted into the inte-1 rior of the temple itself?all sheeted over with gold, overhung by a vine tree of gold, the branches of which wefo as large as a man. The roof of the temple, even on the outside, was set over with golden spikes to prevent the birds settling there and defiling the holy dome. At a distance the temple looked like a mount of snow, fretted with golden pinnacles. But, alas ! the veil of that temple bad been already rent asunder hv nn inexniahlenrime. and the Lord of Hosts did not fight with Israel. But the enemy is' thundering at the wall. All around the city arose immense machines from which Titus poured down mighty fragments of rock, and showers of fire. The walls gave way?the city was entered, the temple itself was stormed. "Famine in the meanwhile had made such havoc that the besieged were more like spectres than living men; they devoured the belts to their swords, the sandals to their feet.? Even nature itself so perished away, that a mother devoured her own infant; fulfilling the awful words of the prophet who had first led the Jews towards the land of promise? The tender and delicate woman nmoogatyou, who would not adventure to set the sole of her foot upon the ground for delicateness and tenderness, her eye shall be evil toward her young one and children that she shall bear, for she shall eat them for want of all things aecretly in the siege and straightness wherewith thine enemy encompass thee in thy gates.' 'Still, as if the foe and famine were not scourge enough, citizens smotcand murdered each other as they met in the way, false prophets ran howling through the streets?every image of despair completes the ghastly picture of the fall of Jerusalem. And now the temple was set on fire, the Jews rushing through the flames to perish amid i;s ruins. 'It was a calm summer night?the 10th of > * .i_ 1- -t- i_?ii ? j *l,? August?me wnoie qui ou which siuuu mu temple, was one gigantic blaze of fire, the roofs of cedar crushed?the golden pinnacles of the dome were like spikes of crimson flame. Through the lurid atmosphere all was carnage and slaughter; the echoes of shrieks and yells rang back from the hill of Zion and the Mount of Olives. Amongst the smoking ruins, and over piles of the dead, Titus planted the standard of Rome/ THE BARGAIN FOB A WIFE. A young Norfolk farmer, on begininglife with a limited capital, found that two things were wanting to do justice to a large farm which he rented on a long lease?namely, a wife to rnlc the house at home, and an additional thousand pounds to iuvest upon the land. Like a sagacious man, ho conceived that the two might be found combined. and he "began to look about for a cheerful lass with a dowry to the desired amount. Accident threw him one day into company with the parson of a neighboring parish, with whom, as he rode home while returning from the market, he fell into conversation. Encouraged by the divine, the youth unburdened himself of bis cares and plans, and mentioned the desire he had for marrying as soon as he could find an agreeable lass ^ with a moderate dowry. <1 tell you what,' said the parson, 'I've got three daughters, aud very nice girls they are, I assure you. Suppose you come and dine with me next market day?you will meet them at the table; and if any one of them should prove to be the 'inevitable she' that you are in search of, I shall not be backward to do my part as far as I can.' 'Agreed,' said the youth. 'I'll come, as sure as you're alive, if you'll say nothing about it to the ladies.' 'That shall be a bargain. On Saturday next, theD, we shall have you at, dinner, at five.' And here their roads diverging, the two gentlemen departed. At the appointed hour on the following Saturday, the young farmer, in handsome trim, descended from his galloway at the parson's door. Dinner was served a few minutes after, and the young ladies, with their mother graced the table with their presence. All three fully justified the encomiums of their father, but the youngest? a rosy-faced, roguish, cheerful lass, just escaped from her teens?alone made a vivid impression upon the young farmer. The repast progressed agreeably, and when ended, the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentleman to chat over the wine. 'Well,' said the host, 'what do you think of my girls ?' ?I think them all charming,' said the youth; 'but the youngest?you call her Nelly?really is bewitching, and clever, too; and if I am to have the honor of being allied to you, you must give me her.' 'That is against all rule,' returned the host; ?to take the youngest first, but, of course, I cannot control your choice. What dowry do you expect ?' * Oly capital,' said the wooer, <is three thousand pounds, and I want a thousand more?and I must have it.' <1 will give you a thousand with the eJd- j est girl.' 'No; the charming Nelly and the thousand, or I am off.' 'That cannot be; five hundred with Nelly, if you like. The others are not half so handsome, and must have a fortune, or I shall never get them off.' 'No; my resolution is fixed, replied the poung gentleman ; and I shall not alter my mind.' Nor I mine,' said the parson, 'and the iffair is at an end; but we will be good friends notwithstanding.' The conversation, which each speaker jupposed to be strictly private, now fell into mother channel. The ladies returned with :he tea-urn, and chatted unreservedly with i :he farmer. Evening came on, and towards >unset, the girls having strolled into the ; garden, the youth rose to take his leave. He found his nag in the stable, and having bid ; farewell to his host, took his way through the shrubbery, that lead to the road. He was about alighting to open the gate, when I the rosy-faced Nelly started forward to save i him the trouble. As she lifted the latch, she archly looked up into his face and said : I Can't you tako my father's money ?' Yes, by Jove I will if you wish it.' ( Then come over to the church to-morrow morning, and tell him so after service;' and she vanished like an elfin sprite among the shrubbery. Musing on the proverb which says, <wall^ have ears,' the young farmer rode home.? He did not fail?how could he??of attending at the church next morning, and after the sermon declared to the parson his altered resolution. He married the fair Nelly three months afterwards; and she brought, in due course of years, a row of goodly sons, than whom there are few at the present hour wiser in their generation, or more worthy or more wealthy, in the whole of broad England.? Chamber's Journal. GRAVES OP THE PRESIDENTS. The remains of Washington rest at Mount Vernon, where, in accordance with his desire they were interred. The Congress of the United States has proposed to transfer his body to the national seat of government, and the Legislature of Virginia has requested the privilege of placing it beneath a monument at the capital of that State; but it has been deemed right to respect his own wishes. The tomb at Mount Vernon will soon become national property, thanks to tho efforts of a company of ladies, aided by the Hon. Edward Everett and others. The tomb of John Adams is beneath the portico of the Unitarian Church at Quincy, Mass. The vault was constructed by John Quinoy Adnma. whose own remains now repose in it. Thomas Jefferson's body lies at Monticello, near Charlottesville, Alberraarlo county, Vn., near his former estate, now owned by Com. U. P. Levy, U. S. Navy. The last resting place of James Monroe is in a little cemetery in Second-street, just below Third Avenue, in New York city. One step inside the neatly arranged grounds, and half covered with grass, almost conoealed by bushes, at the foot of a little wren house, which serves as his only monument, the grave of James Monroe, who served his country in the capacity of soldier, minister and President, is indicated, by a simple marble slab, bearing his name: The Legislature of Virginia has just appropriated 82000 to defray the expenses of removing the remains to Virginia, and for the erection of a monument to his memory. In a quiet country church-yard at Montpelier, Orange county, Va., thirty miles from the grave of Jefferson, lie the remains of James Madison. Until within a year, nothing but tradition has marked the spot, but recently a plain stone obelisk has been erected, to indicate the resting place of the departed statesman. The grave of Andrew Jackson is at the Hermitage, on the banks of the Cumberland river, about ten miles from Nashville, Tennessee. He was interred in the family tomb, at his express desire. He requested that no pomp or commemorative show should distinguish his tomb, and he was known to refuse a proffered present of an antiquated marble sarcophagus, brought from the Medterranean, and said to have once contained the remains of ancienf heroes. The body of I William Henry Harrison reposes in me I family tomb at North Bend, Ohio, a few miles from Cincinnati, on the banks of the Ohio river. Immediately upon his death his remains were laid in in the Congressional burying ground at Washington, but were j soon transferred to the family vault. Near Nashville, Tennessee, the former residence of James K. Polk, his body is now lying. The tomb of Zac'uary Taylor, is near Louisville, Kentucky, the former residence of his father. Like General Harrison, he was first interred in the Congressional burying ground at Washington, where he died a short time after his inauguration. In the fall of the same year, however, his body was removed and deposited in the family cemetery. The other ex-Presidents, Martin Van Buren, John Tyler, Franklin Pierce, and , Millard Fillmore, are now living.?Boston Courier. i I The Wealth op our Statesmen.?Jefferson died comparatively poor. Indeed, if i Congress had not purchased his library, and given for it five times its value, he would < with difficulty have kept the wolf from his door. 1 Madison saved money, and was comparatively rich. To add to his fortune, however, i or rather to those of his widow, Congress purchased his manuscript papers, and paid thirty thousand dollars for them. James Monroe, the fifth President of the < United States, died so poor that his remains found a resting place through the charity of i one of the citizens. John Quincy Adams left some hundred ^ and fifty thousand dollars, the result of in- ^ dustry, prudence and inheritance. He was ? man of method and economy. t Martin Van Buren is very rioh. Through- a out his political life he has studiously looked c out for his own interest. It is not believed p that he ever spent thirty shillings in politics, j His party shook the bush, and he caught the [ bird. t Daniel Webster squandered some millions t in his life time, the product of his profession p and his political speculations. He died, a leaving his property to his children, and his debts to his friends. The former sold for & less than twenty thousand dollars?the lat- e ter exceeded two hundred and fifty thous- n and. b Henry Clay left a very handsome estate. 0 It probably exceeded one hundred thousand ^ dollars.. He was a prudent manager, and a 0 scrupulously honest man. J ames K. Polk left about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?-fifty thousand of j which he saved from his Presidency of foot years. John Tyler is worth fifty thousand dollars. Before he reached the Presidency he was a bankrupt. In office, be husbanded his meant, and then married a rich wife. ZachAry Taylor left one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What Makes the Negeo Bl\ck^The following explanation by Dr. Draper,, of New York, possesses some interest, chief* ly because it shows what may be said.;on the subjeot: inw Human blood is made up of littie'^cellflt fli containing among other element*, baernntin, a reddish substance, which is largely made * op of iron. One of the duties of the liver, is the removing of the old blood cells and' the forming of new ones, and this duty in* eludes the carrying out from the system of all excess of baematin. A hot olimate dis* turbs the normal action of the blood, and'also of the liver. . Imperfect oxygen attends great heat, and adds to the darkness of the arterial blood, while by the want of energetio respiration which it involves, there is^an over fatness and torpidity of the liver. The brematin, therefore, by this inaction of the great oleaniog agent is left in the system and wandering about, takes refuge in tlge*Jpwer' and spherical cells at the cuticle, which it thus bronzes from orange tawny^o negro black, according to the heat of thie (^imafe, the inactivity of the liver, and-.,the amount ofbmmatin left as refuse in ibj^system., Cold checks the action of^he|Rver equally with heat, and, therefore, tSe^feptexioo of the Esquimaux approaches' of the Mongolian and negro. Tnir:fs.?<M!tain1y a simple and an intelligible explmratioq^Tbe tendency of coloring matter to deposit Itself in the cuticle is well known. But let it hot be thought that this darkening process is the result of a disordered, in the shape of an unhealthful, action of the liver. In that case it would appear that provideoee design* ed only the temperate zones to be inbabi* ted, aod the wealth of the tropica to be lost to mankind. InYact, th*^ health aod vigor of the tropical tribes show thafblithe earth is man's intended dwelling placed ( ?. A Wonderful Book.?How that the Bible, composed by hamble'iiOO^v. in a rude age, when art amftfoieocelfeere butin their ohildhood, has exerted more infill- 1 ence on the human mind and on the social % system than all the other books put together ? | Whence oomes it that this book has achieved j such marvelous changes in the opinion of I mankind?has banished idol worship?haa j abolished infanticide, has pnt degpn jglyga- | my and divorce?exalted the oottdirion of 1 woman?raised the standara of public mor* | ality?created for families that blessed thing, j a Christian home, and caused its other triumphs by causing benevolent institutions,open and expansive, to spring up as with the wand of enchantment ? Whatsort of a book is this, that even the wind and waves of human passion obey it ? What other engine of social improvement has operated so long, and yet lost none of its virtues ? Since it appeared, many boasted plans of amelioration hare been tried, and failed?many codes of jurisprudence have arisen, aod run their course. Empire after empire has been launched upon the tido of rime, and gone down, leaving no trace upon the waters.? But this book is still going abont doing good, leavening society with its holy principles? cheering the sorrowful with its consolation? strengthening the tempted, encouraging the penitent?calming the troubled spirit?and smoothing the pillow of death. Can such a book be the offspring of human genius ?? Does not the vastness of its effects demon-i * ? ^ ? 4l?A MACTAt KA binilU IUC CAlXIICUUjr vl tuw |A/VT9? iv i#v vi God ? '*%* Fate op the Apostles.?St. Matthew is supposed to have suffered martyrdom, or was put to death by the sword io the city of Ethiopia. St. Mark was dragged through the streets of Alexandria, in Egypt, till he expired, St. John was put into a caldron of boiling oil at Home and escaped death. And be afterwards died a natural death, at Ephebos, a place in Asia. St. James, the great, was beheaded at Jerusalem. St. James, the less, was thrown from a a pinnacle or wing of the Templo and then beaten to death with a fuller's club. St PhilHp was hanged up against a pillar at Hicrapolisa city of Pbrygia. St. Bartholomew was flayed alive by the oommaod of a barbarous King. St. Andrew was bound to a cross, whence he preached till he expired. St. Thomas was run through the body by \ lance near Malipar, in the East Indies. St. Jude was shot to death with arrows. St. Simon Zelotes was crooifled in Persia. St. Matthias was stoned and then bebeid5d. ' St. Luke was hanged upon an olirfr tree n Greece. " Severe Judgment.?We are informed )y a private correspondent?'we will not much for the truth of the story?that a matt * Ann nf AAllfl. YH3 BtSVKUUJ bllCU IU VHG VI bus ISUIVW ww?iee of Arkansas, for cheating at cards, by i self-constituted judge and jury, under a ode of lynch laws. The prisoner was found ;uilty; and was asked by the presiding udge if he could read, and on bis replying the affirmative, he was sentenced to soli* ary confinement and condemned to a daily, ask of reading Congressional speeches. The trisoner, with tears in his eyes, protested gainst the harshness of the sentence, and egged that 'hard labor' might be subaritued for 'reading of the Congressional speechs.' The court was inexorable. Our infos* iant adds that the mind of the prisoner has een so sensibly impaired by the execution f the sentence that a reaction .has already iken place in his favor, and a petition is ju^ ironlation for his release ?Botton Courier. J9" He who relates the faults of others to OB