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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | A11 Jnirepenknt ftefospaper: Jfor t|je promotion of tjje political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % South. TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 23. YOEKVILLB, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 12. 1877. JSTO. 28. Jtlrrtd GOD'S WAY IS RIGHT. What God does, that is surely right, For perfect is his will; Whilst he my pathway ordereth, I gladly hold me still. For ne, my God, shall in my need My guide and guardian be, And naught I fear whilst this I know, He watcheth over me. What God does, that is surely right, He never can deceive; Or those who in his love confide Alone, unaided leave. In his protection I will trust, And patient wait the day When at his bidding all 1113' griefs Shall pass for aye away. What God does, that is surely right, His love can never fail; No other remedies but those He,gives me can avail To heal my wounds. I, therefore, bow Submissive to his will; Upon his truth I build my hopes, And trust his goodness still. What God does, that is sure right, He is my life and light, Who nothing evil can ordain To those who trust aright. Though hidden are his dealings now, The time fast draweth near When all his wisdom, all his love, Shall openly appear. What God does, that is surely right; Gives he a bitter cup ? I will not fear, but at his word, Obedient drink it up. The day shall surely dawn at last, When peace sbalf overflow Mv aching heart, and all my wounds His healing touch shall know. What God does, that is surely right, This truth will I maintain ; Yea, though my path in life should prove Rough, thorny, full of paiu, My heavenly Father's arm shall be My never'failing stay, And naught I fear whilst this I know, He ordereth all my way. fhe Jforg idler. ON THE PRAIRIE ; OR, A RIDE FOR LIFE. BY GEORGE W. BROWNE. A party of pleasure-seekers, consisting of a couple of young officers from Taylor, with their ladies, under the convoy of the wellknown Texan guide, Matt Spencer, were ri ding leisurely along over one of those vast prairies so commouly found within the broad domain of the Lone Star State. For the past few minutes the guide had seemed strangely uneasy, constantly moving in his saddle,and ever and anon castiug furtive glances behind him. The others are about to ask him the cause of his uneasiness, when suddenly he reins in his blooded bay with such an impetuosity of movement as to almost throw the noble courser back upou his haunches, and an exclamation escapes his lips, which causes the abrupt halt of the whole party. "By heavens, they are upon-' us ! I have been hoping they would change their course. But no, they are coming this way, aud we have got to ride for life I" "Who? What? Where?" cried the others, excitedly. "A herd of wild stallions are coming this way, mad and fierce with passion, as they always are, in this their pairing season. Hark ! don't you hear them ?" At that moment, as if to verify the words of the guide, there was distinctly heard the regular, heavy, thundering tread of a cavallada of wild horses rushing madly over the prairie, making the earth tremble for miles around them with their hoof-strokes. Accompanied with the heavy thud of their feet, could be heard loud neighs aud shrill cries of pain, as the wild hot headed beasts, mad with passion, were destroying each other and trampling the fallen into the ground beneath them. "Ha! there they come!" exclaimed the guide, as his eagle eyes caught sight of a great, black moving mass that seemed to rise on the prairie, and which was, indeed, the vanguard of the infuriated beasts. As the guide had predicted, the wild cavallada was coining directly towards them, aud would soon be upon them, trampling them into the earth. "Is there no way for us to escape ?" asked one of the officers, Captain Harlan, anxiously, while ashadeof anxiety overspread his handsome sun-browned features, not so much for his own safety as for that of his companion, the lady riding by his side. "I know of a place where we could defy the whole lot," answered the guide, hurriedly. "But with our horses so jaded and worn, we cannot hope to reach it. Still, it is our only chance, and we must try it. Ha ! the stallions have seen us. See?they have stopped fighting among themselves, and now their whole attention is bent upon us. We must not dally here. Come on!" As the guide finished speaking, he applied the spurs to his fleet footed bay, and a moment later was riding swiftly across the prairie, closely followed by his companions. The wild eavallada, snorting, rearing, plunging, rushed furiously on in hot pursuit. Mounted upon a good fresh horse, a ride on the prairie is pleasant exercise; but when ?' upon a tired steed, as was the case with our fugitives, and pursued by thousands of wild, mad stallions, it is the reverse?is, in fact, the most thrilling situatiou that can be conceived. Thus feel our little party, as they urge on their horses to still greater speed, knowing that, indeed, it :s a ride for life. On, on, ride the fleeing fugitives, urging their horses to the very utmost, till mile after mile is passed swiftly over. But still they find the wild stallions are gaining upon them. The guide, turning in his saddle, sees they are within easy rifle shot. Knowing that some-i . l- j _i i. ,L.: i tiling must ue uune iu uiieuis. uieu iubu uuieci, he quickly decides to try the only expedient they have. "Ride on, ladies, straight ahead. You Harlan and Colby, turn with roe and help shoot the leaders. With good presence of mind the others obey the orders of their leaders. The ladies ride on. The men turu with the guide, and simultaneously three reports ring out as one, and as many of the stallion leadere go down to rise no more. "Come on !" shouted the guide the next instant. "Load your rifles as you ride!" and once more they are riding for life. Looking back in his saddle, the guide sees the cavallada hesitate a moment at the sudden death of their leaders. But the next in^ stant a magnificent-looking roan stallion, with erect ears, curved neck and flowing tail, gallops out of the ranks and takes his place as a self-appointed leader, and again the great moving mass rushed madly on, seemingly wilder and fiercer than ever. The little that the fugitives gained by the death of the stallion leaders was soon lost, and gradually the distance between them and their pursuers grew less aud less. "Oh, if the wind would ouly change !" cried the guide, as they flew on at the rate of almost a mile a minute. "We could fire the prairie, it it would; out everytmng seems agaiust us." Arid it was even so. The stallions were rapidly gaining upon them, and there seemed no chance of escape. "We must turn and shoot the leaders again !" cried the guide, after riding a short distance further. The young officers have succeeded, after considerable difficulty, in re loading their rifles, and at the command of their leader they turn and fire with him, when, as before, three of the stallions fall, the magnificent roan goinsr dotyn with a bullet in his brain from the guide's unerring rifle. Once more the tired horses are urged on to improve the respite given by the death of the leading stallions, which, however, was of hut short duration, as uew leaders came forward at once to take the place of the fallen ones, and the mighty cavallada moved on as before. Another mile is quickly passed over, and they are still riding with the wind, no chance of escape presenting itself, and the wild horses gaining upon them faster than ever. The guide, usually so calm, is fast losing his selfpossession, as well as his companions, for well does he know that in a few short minutes the mad horde of wild horses will trample them out of existence. With anxious look he watches the prairie in every direction, hoping that something will come into sight which will enable them to escape. But right, left, ahead, not a single object is to be seen, only the unbroken, treeless prairie as far as the naked eye can reach. Still on, on, hopelessly on! The horses of the fugitives soon begin to show the effect of their hard driving; still the riders press them on in blind despair, till suddenly Colby's horse reels and staggers beneath its rider. The guide quickly sees that from sheer exhaustion the poor animal can go no | farther. Accordingly a halt is instantly or dered, and the guide is about to take Uolby upon his powerful bay, when suddenly, with a wild shout of exultation, he leaps to the earth. "Thank God, the wind has changed 1 We are saved!" The guide was right. The wind, which had been steadily blowing from the west, had suddenly changed to a little east of south, and the golden opportunity of escape, for which he had so long prayed, was at hand, and quickly kneeling upon the grouud he prepared to start a fire. The next instant a tiny jet of flame sprang up, which rapidly increased, and swept on by the strong wind, spread itself far and wide, rushing on over the prairie toward the wild horses, which, with loud neighs and shrill cries of terror, fled away to the northward to escape the new danger?their loud neighs, gnashing of teeth and shrill, frantic cries of mingled rage and terror, the heavy, thundering tread of their feet, and the hissing, snapping, roaring of the flames blending in strange contrast, making a wild, weird, neverto-be-forgotten scene. "If the wind had not changed just as it did, we should have, ere' this, been trampled in the dust," said the guide, as with folded arms he watched the conflagration sweep away upon the heels of the disconcerted stallions, until both were lost to view. The ladies, who had thus far borne up with remarkable fortitude, now that the ordeal of danger was passed, fell fainting into the arms of their attendants. After giviDg their horses sufficient rest, the little party slowly wended their way back to the fort, which they reached in safety, and to account for their long-protracted absence, they told to eager, anxious friends the story of their thrilling "Ride for Life." A FRENCH^ WIZARD. M. HOUDIN AMONG THE ARABS. The roost famous of magicians was the late Robert Houdin. He was never excelled, and seldom equaled in his calling. He was well declared to be the prince of conjurors, for he elevated his occupation to a profession, and was an able mathematician and mechanician. His ingeuuity was unlimited, aud it was absolutely impossible to detect the secret of his innumerable tricks and performances. Without the least assistance, he would hold an audience in delight and amazement for hours, everything beiugdone with a graceful facility which showed that Houdin absolutely enjoyed his business. He taught his son many of his original tricks, but never imparted them to others, while the secret of the most remarkable performances has died with their great master, and no one can ever hope to reproduce them. Probably the first iustance in-which a conjuror has been called upon to exercise his profession in government employ, was that of Robert Houdin. He was sent to Algeria by the French Minister of Foreign Affairs to exercise the black art in that benighted country, hoping thus to destroy the influence exercised among the Arabs by the Marabouts?an in fluence which was often mischievously applied. By a few cunning, yet clumsy tricks, these Marabouts passed themselves off as sorcerers, and were held in fear and veneration by the ignorant tribes. The French government desired to show the Arabs that these would-be leaders among them were mere imposters, and that their pretended supernatural powers were without the least foundation in truth. The best way to do this, it was thought, would be to send one among them who should eclipse their skill, and thus discredit their science and pretended powers. It was resolved to send Robert Hou din, and the wizard was ordered to appear at the government office in Paris. Houdiu was a little puzzled to know what | the Minister of Foreigu Affairs could want of him. The plan and purpose of the government were made known to him, and he entered with spirit into the idea and its successful application. With every facility and all needed protection, Robert Houdin sailed for Algeria to astonish the natives. Arriving under such favorable auspices, he went to work at once upon the object of'his mission, and gaping crowds followed him everywhere, thinking him to be inspired. He succeeded in showing the people that he could vanish the famous would-be prophets who had obtained such control over the ignorant masses of the population, and thus threw them into such discredit that he succeeded in disarming them entirely of their influence. Still, there was one of the Marabouts whom he had not yet met, and who scoffed at the reported power of this French wizard. A day was therefore appointed when the two should appear before the people, and each give evidence of their peculiar powers. One of the great pretensions of the Marabout was to invulnerability. At the moment that a loaded musket was fired at him, and the trigger pulled, he pronounced a few cabalistic words, and the weapou would not go off. Robert Houdin instantly detected the trick, and showed that the touch-hole of the musket was carefully plugged. This rendered the Arab conjurer furious, and he, of course, abused his French rival without mercy. Houdin was perfectly cool, and said : "You are angry with me?" "I am," said the Arab. "And would be avenged ?" "Yes." "It is very easy." oT. 11 4l.? }J i en uie iiie way. "I will show you," said Houdin, quietly, j The Arab was all attention. "Take a pistol, load it yourself. Here are j bullets. Put one in the barrel. But stop?" "For what?" "Mark the bullet with your knife, so that | you may know it." i The Arab did as he was told. "You are quite certain uow," said Houdin, I "that the pistol is properly loaded ?" "Yes." "Tell me, do you feel no remorse in killing j me thus, eveu though I consent?" "No." | "It is strange." "You are my enemy," he coldly answered, | "and I will kill you." "Wait hut a moment." Houdin then stuck an apple on the point j of a knife, and calmly gave the word, as he I held the fruit raised iu one hand? I "Fire 1" The pistol was discharged, the apple flew far away, and there appeared in its place, stuck on the point of the knife, the bullet the Marabout had marked. The spectators, though aroused to intense excitemeut of feeling, remained mute with stupefaction, while the Marabout bowed before his superior, saying? "Allah is great. I am vanquished." Great was the triumph of the French wizard. Houdin then called for an empty bowl, which he kept constantly full of boiling coffee, though but few of the Arabs would taste of it, for they were sure that it was the devil's coffee-pot from whence it came. He then told them that it was within his power to deprive them of all strength, and to restore it to them at will, and he produced in illustration a small box, so light that a child could lift it with the fingers. And now came their astonishment. 'a linv cnrlrlonlv hpmmp an Hartv that the strongest man present could not raise it, and the Arabs, who prize physical strength above everything, looked with terror upon the magician, who, they doubted not, could annihilate them by the mere exertion of his will. The people expressed this belief, in which Houdin, of course, confirmed them, and promised that at a day appointed he would convert one of tffem into smoke. The day came, and the throng was prodigious. A fanatical Marabout had agreed to give himself up to the French sorcerer for the experiment. The preparations were on a grand scale. The Marabout was made to stand upon a table, and was covered with a transparent gauze. Then Houdin and another person lifted the table by the ends, when the Arab disappeared in a profuse cloud of smoke. The terror of the spectators was indescribable. They rushed out of the place, and ran a longdistance before some of the boldest could make ap their minds to return and look upon the Marabout. They found him near the spot where he had so mysteriously disappeared, but he could not answer their questions? he could tell them nothing at all?and only gazed wildly at them like oue bereft of his seuses. He was entirely ignorant of what had happened to him. This was Houdin's closing exhibition in Arabia. He filled the minds of the people with wonder, he was venerated bv all, while the pretentious Marabouts were in utter disgrace. Their influence was banished. He had met these conjurers on their own ground, and had, in a most incredibly short time, completely vanquished them. ^UsccUaucoits fkaflrog. SAGACITY OF A CIRCUS HORSE. Without depreciating modern establishments of this kind, our recollections go back to Astley's Amphitheatre, near Westminster Bridge, as it is used to be, thirty or forty years ago, under the management of the late Mr. Ducrow. The feats there performed by some of the horses were exceedingly wonderful. The animals seemed to possess a degree of humau intelligence. They were accomplished actors. Their powers of simulation with a view to entertain spectators, went far beyond what any one could expect, whose kuowledge is confined to the ordinary class of horses. We will mention a few particulars regarding the horses at Astley's as they occur to our memory. One evening the performance represented a house on fire. All the inhabitants of the dwelling had managed to escape except a lady in an upper story. You saw her at a window, throwing about her arms wildly, and screaming for help. Her appeals to the assembled crowd beneath were heartreuding. The firemen could not reach her, for the stair was seemingly in a blaze, and there was no fire escape. The spectators in the theatre were wrought up to an agony, it being but too evident that the poor lady was doomed to perish by a paiuful and violent death. In the midst of the commotion, a horse which belonged to the lady rushed upon the stage. In its stable it had heard the screams of its mistress, and hastened to do its best to save her. Without bridle or saddle, it was st-en to rush into the house and climb the stair, amidst flames and volumes ofsmoke. It reached the apartment where the lady was. She mounted on its back, holding by the mane, and the horse, descending the stair, brough her safely the g'ound. Prolonged shouts of applause rewarded the hazardous exploit. The whole thing was a beautiful piece of acting, and evoking throughout sentimeuts of pleasure and admiration. Nothing but kindness and long training could have made the horse so clever in knowing what to do and to do it well. The feat was the more surpris' ? ii i - j i n ing, as norsea usually nave a ureuu 01 ore which ia not easily conquered. It will be understood that the fire had been ao adroitly managed as to effect no injury on the theatre, and tli it never had there been any real danger. On another evening at Aatley's, a still more remarkable piece of acting, by a white h<.rse Darned Priuce, was offered for public entertainment. It was a play called the Highmettled Racer. The play was in several acts, I and designed to present different stages of degradation in the career of a horse, from j youth to old age. The spectacle was painful but touching, but unfortunately, in too many cases, true to nature. We shall eudeavor to describe some of the scenes. When the piece opens, we have a view of an English mansion. In front there are several mounted huntsmen in scar'et coats, ready | to set out on a fox-chase. They are waiting I until a youug lady comes out of the mansion i to accompany them. We see the lady, prop! erly equipped for riding, descend the steps to j the doorway, and by the aid of a groom mount i i _- .-i._i _i 1 I a young aua oeauinui snapeu wuue nurse that is in readiness for her. She speaks to it affectionately and calls it her dear Prince. The elegant form of the animal, its proud bearing, its glossy coat and the spirited way it prances about, excite general admiration. i After a little galloping to show its pace, the | horse, with its fair rider, goes off with the i huntsmen and hounds in pursuit of a fox, that | was also a taught actor in its way, which | leads the party through a variety of difficulI ties, such as climbing up rocks, leaping over j hedges, &c., till at length, on the point of bej ing run down, it dashes into the cottage of a i poor old woman, who humanely gives it shel' ter. She takes up the fox lovingly in her j arms, and saves it from seemingly impending ' destruction. That may be called the first j stage of the horse's career, during which ; Prince was well attended to and happy. I At the beginning of the next act, the horse i is, to every appearance, several years older, and is no longer fit for racing or hunting. ! The lady, its first owner, had from some cir! cumstunce been compelled to part with it. From its swiftuess in running, it had been ! purchased to run at celebrated horse races, at | which it had, on several occasions, won prizes, j and its sprightliness obtained for it the name of the High-mettled Racer. After this it was i transferred from one owner to another, always in a descending scale, until poor Prince j is seen in the condition of a cab horse in the ! streets of London ! It has somewhat the look i of its former state, but is terribly broken ' down in figure and spirit. Its plump and glossy appearance is gone. It is dirty and dejected. It hangs its head droopingly down. Its ribs shine through its skin. Its joints are stiff. It stands on three legs, with the other leg resting on the poin. of the foot, just as we see cab horses trying to rest their aching limbs, when standing in a row for hire. What a wretched down-come from that which Prince had enjoyed, in life's young dream! There awaits it, however, a still lower depth of misery. In the following act, Prince is reduced to i the forlorn condition of drawing a sandcart, when he can hardly draw his own length after him. To appearance it is half starved. A child offers it a few straws, which it is glad to eat. It seems to be little better thau skin and bone. The cart in which it is yoked belongs to a rude jobber, whose object is to wring the utmost possible work out of the animal, be" - i i mi-3 a ir c rore selling it to Be suien. a teeuug vi uviror and compassion thrills through the spectators. They can hardly believe they are only looking at a play, for the simulation is perfect. Staggering along with his draught, under the cruel nrging of the whip, the moment arrives when Prince can go no further. Its unhappy span of life is terminated. It suddenly drops down under its weary load? to die, and be relieved of all its troubles. Unyoked from the cart, and relieved of its harness, there it is, stretched out, with a crowd of idlers about it, seemingly at the last gasp, and offering in its fate a dreadful instance of undeserved cruelty to animals. "Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn." Quite true; but,alas 1 inhumanity to man is nothing in comparison with the inhumanity which is recklessly exercised toward the herse. There is a concluding scene in the life of the horse we have been describing, which, on no account, must be omitted. While lying in the streets, in his death struggle, and when preparations were making to drag him off to the shambles, a lady who is passing recognizes the dyiug animal as being her favorite horse, Prince, which she had ridden years ago at the I fox-chase. At the same time, the poor beast, faintly lifting his head, recognizes its old mistress, and with failing eyes, seems to implore her compassion. In a state of distraction the lady kneels down, takes the horse's head in her lap, speaks to it consolingly and once more calls it her dear Prince. Ohl what would she not do to revive the dying animal and give Prince a new lease of existence! Just at this juncture, in the manner of the old plays, when something supernatural was required to get over a serious difficulty, a sylph-like being, in the character of a benevolent fairy, appears on the stage, carryiug a magic wand. Her mission, she say9, being to redress wrong, she touches the dying horse with the wand and bids it rise. In au instant Prince starts up from his recumbent position, and to the delight aud amazement of everybody, it is as fresh, glossy and beautiful as when it went out with the hounds in the foxchase. The lady springs upon its back, and off Prince goes at a splendid gallop. The applause was, of course, immense! Perhaps in the whole annals of horsemanship, there was never demonstrated a more ?"? M I AftnA /\f V* Aran karl oil VVUUUC11UI UOQC \Jl ULLIU^I JL Ills UUIOV HUM oil along been feigning for public amusement. It had feigned to be a cab-horse. It bad feigned to be tired when it stood on three legs. It feigned to he dying when it dropped down ' in the sand-cart. The whole affair was a piece of simulation, and by means of some adven- 1 titious aid in discoloring the skin, the deception was complete. A hasty rub with a cloth puts it all right; and iustead ofdyiug, Prince I gallops off in the consciousness of having per- 1 formed a brilliant piece of acting. What we have narrated from recollection, will assist in illustrating the natural intelli gence of the horse, and the extent to which it i can be educated by patient and gentle train- i ing. Harsh treatment would be all a mistake. Words kindly spoken, some small reward in the shape of a mouthful of what is agreeable? a trifling sweetmeat, for instance?will work wonders in forming the character of the horse, and teaching it to perform any required feat. We have always thought that an impressive i moral lesson was conveyed in the play of the i High-mettled Racer. ? * From the Charleston Journal of Commerce. GOV. HAMPTON AND WaLL STREET. New York, July 1.?Gov. Wade Hampton reached this city ten days ago, and since that time has been busily engaged, spending part of his time among the capitalists. On < his arrival it was rumored that he had come to secure the arrest of his predecessor, Chamberlain ; that his mission was of a political nature; that he was to visit old friends; that he wanted to capture Niles G. Parker, one i of the South Carolina ring, who now resides in Newark, and so on. The fact is that Gov ernor Hampton came here to raise money for the treasury of South Carolina. The Legislature which assembled soon after his installs- i tion, empowered him, should he deem it necessary, to borrow 8100,000, on the credit of the State, the sum to be used for the payment of interest on the State debt. This loan was necessary because of the non-payment of State taxes pending the settlement of the Gubernatorial troubles. In Governor Hampton's search for an ac- < comraodating capitalist, he has given it to be understood that his own people have offered i to lend the State the money, but they asked i too high a rate of interest, and so he came to ( this city in the hope of placing the loan at i four or five per cent. Small as is the sum asked, and despite the pledge of the credit of one of the original thirteen States, Governor i Hampton has found that he has a hard task i on hand. He has applied, among other prominent bankers, to John J. Cisco, S. S. Babcock, Eugene Kelly and Brown Brothers. He has ( spent much of his time in Wall street, and told a friend, recently, that he bad expected to j negotiate the loan among his personal ac quaintances. His Attorney-General, Mr. Jas. j Conner, who is at the New York hotel, has been ill for several days, and has, therefore, i kn/iiioP omoll corvino in flio difflnnlf. npontift v. ? ? ?a lions. A Sun reporter, in searching for information on this subject, fell in with a bolder of the bonds of South Carolina. "Look here," i said he, producing a large package of these i securities and laying one of them before the i reporter, "here is a 81,000 bond of the State : of South Carolina. As you see, it was issued i in accordance with an act of the Legislature i of the State, quoted on its face; it is signed by i the Governor of the State, countersigned by i the Treasurer of the State, stamped with the < great seal of the State, duly numbered; and | you see that the faith, credit and funds of the I State are by this bond itself pledged for the j payment of the interest and the redemption i i of the principal. These bonds were sold in i this market by the authorized aod accredited < agent of the State (Cherubic Kimpton,) from whom I myself purchased them. Now, sir, i when, after these things, you find that these I ; bonds are to-day worthless, how can any man i j in this street, where the validity of a contract i | and the honor of a signature are the supreme 1 law, regard any other pledges that may De i made by the government of South Carolina. The Governor, whose signature is attached to this bond, is to-day an adherent and upholder I of Wade Hampton. The same is to be said of the State Treasurer whose name adjoins the Governor's, and many members of the Legislature who passed the act authorizing I their issue are to-day members of Governor < j Hampton's Legislature. Yet this bond and i these bonds are worthless." i "But, then, were not these bonds issued by a fraudulent State government," asked the < Su7i reporter ? < No, by the legal government of the State; recognized as such by the whole population, which obeyed it, paid taxes to it and enjoyed the right of citizenship under it I know very c well that it is said that these bonds wens is- v sued by corruplionists, and the proceeds of t them stolon by plunderers. But look here v again, said the holder of South Carolina bonds t to the Sun reporter: Here is a bond of the i city of New York, issued during the reign of i the Tweed ring corruptionists, under the sig- ti nature of Richard B. Connelly, the proceeds , t of which were stolen by Tweed and his fellow r plunderers, yet the government of the city of v New York does not on that account perpetrate the infamy of repudiating this bond, or do me, its possessor, the wrong of holding me responsible for the crimes of its authorized f rulers. It honors these bonds and regularly t pays the interest on them. It is a maxim of c law that the principal is responsible for the p acts of his authorized agent, and this is pre- y eminently trne in the realm of credit and fi- t nance. When a man or a State dishonors his ii or its penuniary pledges under any pretext, s beware of any further promises from the same f3 source. Millions of dollars worth of these e South Carolina, bonds for which the State s drew the money from this city and from small a investors here, have been repudiated. Gover- s nor Hampton and his Legislature cannot is- t sue any bonds that have a higher technical s legality than these South Carolina bonds now fc in your hand, and I know not how soon bis s pledges may be repudiated by his successor, s as he himself has repudiated the pledges of a his predecessors. 1: But were not these bonds gobbled up by a i ring of Wall street speculators?asked the s Sun reporter I b I must tell you, my young friend, what a c terrible wrong to many men is involved in 11 the suggestion of your question ; why, sir, the u veteran and accomplished author and editor, b Charles F. Briggs, who died but a few days 0 ago in this city, had put the proceeds of half b a cpntnrv nf induntrv and economy into these e ~ J "" """ *J ^ repudiated South Carolina bonds, and when v they were dishonored the veteran was plunged J1 into financial ruin; and worse still, he left his w widow and orphans withont that fortune which d it had been his pride to accumulate. Ask ? the unfortunate Charles H. Webb, and the tl broken down Mr. Blank, whom you yourself P know, if it is fair to class them among the speculators who have grown rich on the bonds 0 of South Carolina. Look at myself, ill able w to stand the loss I have suffered by that State. Scores of men of limited means put their fi money into these bonds, when the State offer- f< ed them in this market, and many of them a have been utterly ruined as a consequence of tl trusting in its good faith ; they are absolutely ' worthless, although I believe they have been ^ quoted within a few months at one or two per 81 cent, on the dollar. Why, only to-day, when fi a dead beat came to me to procure a loan of 8' the wherewithal to purchase his dinner, I gave " him his choice between twenty-five cents, e which was all the change I had in my pocket, e and one of these 81,000 bonds. He took the n tweDty-five cents, saying it was worth a sack- ^ ful of such bonds. Now, sir, when South 8< Carolinians come into this market again to borrow money on the faith, credit aDd honor 11 of their State, I can but shake these bonds in t< their face, as a proof of what faith and credit ei are worth to some very pretentious citizens, a not of African descent. The Sun reporter o had, by this time, heard enough about the grievances of the unhappy holders of the w conversion bonds of South Carolina. a h TOO LITTLE SLEEP. c It is often said, "Better wear out than rust ^ out." Very true, if one were compelled to choose between the two ; but what necessity is there for doing either? Our American g people are certainly in little danger of "rust-1 ^ ing out," and such a nervous, wiry, restless . people may be too tough to wear out easily. The number of long-lived persons to be found in almost every town would indicate that, as a people, we are hard to kill. But it is not T so much the loss of life that is to be appre- p hended from the hurried, energetic way in w which our countrymen rush into and dash S| through everything they undertake, as the wear and tear of the nervous system. v Too little sleep is an evil injurious to old and young, which is little noticed by those 01 who should have carefully guarded the health of those under their influence. Those who frequent places of fashionable amusements? parties, balls, theatres or concerts?are inva- ei riably kept up late, and on reaching home are wakeful from the unnatural excitement, tl the miserable practice of late suppers, and h the tea and coffee, if nothing stronger, that is provided. But, though they seek bed at most it unseasonable hours, if they are people of business or compelled to attend to household d cares, they cannot afford to regain lost sleep by late rising; or if young, with no cares that are imperious, a long sleep after the sun is ? t* ? ? -- i up is Dot oair so reiresning or neaiuuui as 11 o it was secured in the night?the natural time ci for sleep. Some foolish King once said, "Six hours n are enough for a man, seven for a woman, eight for a fool." How many mothers with young children obtain seven hours of quiet w 3leep ? If by chance they and many others It could secure eight hours, they ought not to be charged with folly. The amount of sleep w supposed to be necessary to insure good health and steady nerves depends much upon the d nature of the occupation through the day, but rr still more upon the constitution. Some are 30 nervously active that they consider a few a hours' rest sufficient; and even in sleep they find no respite from the daily care, but live it all over in their dreams. If one expostulates tl with them for giving too few hours to rest and sleep, they will assure you that they need ti no more, and that they are as fresh and bright u in the early morning and through the day as they would be if they had "wasted" double p the time'in bed. Such persons are sure to tl pay heavily in later years for the rest of which they robbed their youth. A sleep which is but a pretense?half sleep- T ing, half waking?is indicative of some un- p natural strain upon the nerves. A healthy, T sound sleep, which gives perfect rest to all a the functions of the brain, and the entire n nervous system, will restore the vigor used ai up through a day of active mental or physic- ic al labor, and mind and body thus refreshed it and strengthened during the hours of dark- p ness, will spring up elastic with the first blush fr of morning light, eager for renewed work, k which, after such a healthful sleep, becomes a m pleasure. nc Infants need all the sleep they can be in- ol duced to take. Sleeping ana eating are an ci that can be expected of them. Their rapidly- c< developing bodies demand this, and if healthy will secure it; and all the way up from infan- no cy, through childhood, there is little fear of ti their sleeping too much. But when the body a' is fully matured, from seven to eight hours, w according to the nature of the daily avoca- u tions, is a fair supply for good health if taken h at the proper hours for sleep, after the "early pi to bed, early to rise" rule. There are excep- vi tions to this rule, of course, occasionally, af- hi ter some season of great excitement or ex- ri haustion, such as cannot always be avoided. sc Mental labor demands more sleep than tr physical labor; but from mature youth to past b middle age, more than eight hours in bed is hi debilitating. If some peculiar temperameuts li and some avocations require more than that h' amount of sleep, better take a half hour or a< an hour even in the middle of the day. When al old age draws near, more sleep will be requir- tc ed, of course. di As a general rule, if body and mind have ir full exercise through the day, if the supper is w light, and the evening is spent in a happy, ci [uiefc and sensible manner; if one retires to a yell-ventilated chamber, and keeps it so i hrougb the night, a sound and healthy sleep < vill be the natural result almost as soon as he head touches the pillow. On the contrary, f the evenings are spent in work or amusenents that require late hours, the same excite- 1 uent which compels that will follow one to 1 he bed, and fevered fitful dreams will be the esult, from which one rises more languid and 1 yeary than when he retired. I THE MARKET-PLACE OF YE5ICE. The Rialto?centre of old Venice, faraway rom the fashionable centre of to-day?once 1 he centre of traffic, "the place where mer- 1 hants most did congregate"?what sort of a 1 dace is it now? About fourteen hundred 1 ears ago,the seventy-two islands upon which ' he city stands were covered by the sea; but . n the region called the Rialto there rose a mail spot of earth on which the refugees who 1 led for protection to the Gulf of the Adriatic stablished their little colony. An open 1 auare was left for the purpose of an Exchange, ! ud od one side a church was built, which is till standing?for in ancient days the free owns and cities placed the house of worship o that its shadow might fall upon the mart of business. Around this square, houses and hops and warerooms grew up and gradually pread abroad over the adjacent water-lots, mid much noise of pile-driving and brickaying, and heaping up of great marble blocks n territory, every inch of it rescued from the ea. The splendid palace of San Marco las since become the favorite place of conourse; but the original Rialto remains, with ts characteristic features for the most part mattered. The sauat stone humpback that iore upon his shoulders the platform on which Senders were once exposed, has lost whatever leauty of feature he may at first have possessd ; but he is still there, although his special ocation is gone. In a close, narrow street list at hand, you pass by Shylock's habitation, nth its narrow door and heavily-ironed winows, from which poor Jessica once looked ut longingly and lovingly, and within which he old usurer counted out his money, and lanned and plotted for his "pound of flesh." As we walked over the broken pavement f the square, a dilapidated Venitian, who ras engaged in sweeping up tbe cabbage- ' aaves and other vegetable and animal and shy rubbish, held out his hand for a douceur, j jr this is now a marketable place, and there re many odd things to be seen here. If any- 1 bing can be imagined that ever swam in fresh ! rater or salt, it is to be found here. The 1 'enitians will eat anything, whether it be ( nails, stingarees, horn-pouts, dog-fish, cuttlesh, or any other creature that ever wore a 1 bell, or a scale, or a skin, and even that I rhich is too gelatinous to be clothed with ither. The multitudinous cries of the vend- v rs of these and other articles, which we do ? ot know how to classify, are appalling. len and women rush frantically about with * brings of onions or a little bunch of carrqts, r the segment of cabbage, which they thrust J lto your face and importune every passer-by : ) purchase ; geese, ducks, turkeys and chick- 1 as are exposed for sale by the single joint; c neck and head, a liver, a gizzard, or any ? ther fraction of a bird, may be had separate- ' 7 ; copper cauldrons bubble and boil from 1 'hich cooked vegetables are served, all hot ? d smoking; immense baked pumpkins,also c ot and smoking, are sold in lots to suit pur- s hasers. We saw a man dealing out a huge oiled rice pudding?they call it polenta? c 'hich he sliced otf rapidly witn a piece or *ine, and accompanied by a small handful f cooked fish, all of which we were told sufced for a family dinner, and could be had >r the moderate sum of five pence. Nothingi thrown away here which is capable of being < iten. What shall we do with our Da ughers??I request a place in your valuable aper for the following?"What shall we do ith our daughters?" Give them a good sub;antial, common education. Teach them how to cook a good meal of ictuals. Teach them how to darn stockings and sew n buttons. Teach them how to make shirts. Teach them how to make bread. Teach them all the mysteries of the kitcha, the dining room and the parlor. Teach them the further one lives beyond aeir income, the nearer he gets to the poor ouse. Teach them to wear calico dresses and do , like a queen. Teach them that a rosy romp is worth fifty enuttic uuuouiu^tivco. Teach them to wear thick, warm shoes. . c Teach them to foot up store bills. Teach them that God made them in his j, wn image, and that no amount of tight la- e ing will improve the model. v Teach them every day, hard, practical com- j( ion sense. e Teach them self-reliance. a Teach them that a good, steady mechanic, r ithout a cent, is worth a dozen oily pated e >afers in broadcloth. (j Teach them not to have anything to do ith intemperate and dissolute young men. 1 Teach them the accomplishments, painting, j rawing, music?if you have the time and i loney to do it with. 1 Teach them to say no and stick to it; yes, J nd stick to it. Teach them not to paint and powder. T'n-fkio mnralo anrl nnt ' X cavil tUOiU 01/ lOgaiU bUU UiVtWiH} MXV? mv? 2 le money of their beaux. I Teach them essentials of life?truth, hones- l 7, and uprightness?then at a suitable time, j larry. J Rely upon it that upon your teaching de- l ends in a great measure the weal or woe of j leir after life.?Journal of Agriculture. The Passions that Induce Disease.? 1 he passions which act most severely on the hysical life are anger, fear, hatred and grief. ^ he other passions are comparatively innoc- t ous. What is called the passion of love, is 8 ot injurious until it lapses into grief and' nxiety ; on the contrary, it sustains the phys- j :al power. What is called ambition, is of j self* harmless; for ambition, when it exists _ urely, is nobility lifting its owner entirely om himself into the exalted service of raanind. It injures when it is debased by its 8 leauerally, pride; or when stimulating a t lan to too strenuous efforts after some great n bject, it leads him to the performance of ex?8sive mental or physical labor, and to the ^sequences that follow such effort. ? The passion called avarice, according to ly experience, tends rather to the preserva- ^ on of the body than to its deterioration. The ^ yaricious man, who seems to the luxurious ^ orld to be debarring himself of all the pleas- c res of the world, and even to be exposing Q imself to the fangs of poverty, is generally lacing himself in the precise conditions fa- ? orable to a long and healthy existence. By is economy he is saving himself from all a sks incident to penury; by his caution he is ? ' ? " * 11 -L. !_ _! J A " sreemng nirasen rrom an tne nsas lnciuein _ > speculation or the attempt to amass wealth y hazardous u-eans; by his regularity of j| ours, and perfect appropriation of the sunght, in preference to artificial illumination, j. e rests and works in periods that precisely 0 acord with the periodicity of nature; by his bstemiousness in living he takes just enough > live, which is precisely the right thing to 1; o, according to the rigid natural law. Thus, I i almost every particular, he goes on his tl ay freer than other men from the external t tuses of all the reduced diseases, and better i protested than most men from the worst consequences of those diseases from which spring causes that are uncontrollable.?Dr. B. W. Robinson, in Popular Science Monthly. Slavery in Egypt.?In Cairo, the slave dealers distribute their stock among their agents in various quarters of the city, and there, although the police are supposed to be on the watch to prevent it, buying and selling go on under the thinnest veil of concealment. An intending purchaser goes to one of the private but perfectly well known entrepos in which the dealers and their slaves are lodged, and, after examining the latter, selects what suits him, haggles for a time about the price, and finally closes the bargain then and there, or subsequently through a broker, who receives a small commission for the job. The dealers object to show their wares to " ? - t . J . y t . Europeans, unless tney De tniroaucea oy a native who is not merely a dragoman; but with that voucher and the thin disguise of a fez and a St&mboulee coat, a sight of whatever is on hand may be easily enough had. Franks are, of course, now forbidden by tbeir }wn laws to buy or hold slaves, but the prohibition is not always regarded by residents in tbe native quarters of the city, where, indeed a single man cannot hire a house, nor obtain lodgings unless he have a female slave. Prices range from ?10 or ?12 for a black boy 3r girl of as many years old, to ?70 or ?100 for an Abyssinian girl of from twelve to seventeen or eighteen, and from ?500 to ?800, or sven ?1,000, for a high-class Circassian. Adult women slaves who have already been it: service are cheaper, unless their skill in cookery, needlework, or some other useful art, balances the vice of temper or other grave defect, but for which they are rarely resold, rhft nrira of males above the aire of childhood varies from ?20 or ?20 to ?90 or ?100, Abyssinian youths and men ranging considarably above negroes. Put Life into Your Work.?A young nan's interest and duty both diotate that he should make himself indispensable to his employers. He should be so industrious, prompt ind careful that the accident of his temporary ibsenceshould be noticed by his being missed. A young man should make his employer his riend by doing faithfully and minutely all ,bat is entrusted to him. It is a great misake to be overnice or fastidious about, work. Pitch in readily and your willingness will be ippreciated, while the "high-toned" young nan who quibbles about what it is and what it 8 not his place to do, will get the cold shouller. There is a story that George Washingon once helped roll a log that one of his cor)orals would not handle, and the greatest Em-* >eror of Russia worked as a ship wright in England?to learn the business. That is just vhat you want to do. Be energetic, look and tct with alacrity; take an interest in your imployer's success; work as though the busiiess was your own, and let your employer enow that he may place absolute reliance on rour word and on your act Be mindful; lave your mind on your business ; because it 8 that which is going to help you?not those >utside attractions which some of the "boys" ire thinking about Take a pleasure in your - ? ? 1- ?--? !n a Hatl/iaa ?\*?wa] vurftj Uil nut jju auuut iu a jioticoo, luiujni nanner, but with alacrity and cheerfulness, ind remember that while working thus for ^ >thers, you are laying the foundation of your uccess in life. ? ? Large Mail Contracts.?A new branch >f business has lately been established in (Yasbington, that of bidding for mail routee. i company has been organized with plenty of lapital, which puts in a bid for every mail tage route advertised. It furnishes good >onds, so that the government cannot lose, rbe plan by which the company expects to nake its profit is this: The bids on all the outes for the past year, or perhaps for a seies of years, are carefully examined, and a >id a little lower than any of them is put in >y the company. In perhaps a majority of he cases the bid is the lowest, and the compaiv gets the contract. It performs no service, >ut sells the routes at a profit to the disap>ointed bidders. Through local combinations, the company low and then has to pay roundly for getting be service performed, but generally the jealosies and rivalries of home bidders allow con i i i /*. ? .1- L: T. laeraoie prom 10 me cuwuiuuuuu. xi way >e that the combination has facilities, up to he day of the formal "opening" of the bids, for inding out what other parties have offered to lerform service for, but there is no charge of he kind formally made as yet. Members of he combination are in the New England and Western States at this time, arranging for the arryiug out of contracts lately awarded. Ante-Bellum Prices of Cotton.?Below 9 the price of upland cotton at New York, for ach cotton year, from 1840 to 1861 inclusive, nth accompanying figures showing the Amercan crop for each year. In comparing presnt quotations for upland cotton with those of ,nte-war times, it must be remembered that ecent changes in grades have made the preent middling to correspoud to the "low midlling" of 1860: Cents. Balaes. 84 0 8.92 2,178,835 84 1 9.50 1,634,945 84 2 7.85 1,685,574 84 3 7.25 2,378,875 84 4 7.73 2,040,400 84 5 5.63 2,384,503 84 6 7.87 Z,1UU,JWS 84 7 11.21 1,779,661 84 8 8.03 2,348,634 84 9 7.55 2,096.606 85 0 12.34 - 2,096,705 85 1 12.14 2.355,257 85 2 9.50 3,015,026 85 3 11,02 , 3,262,822 85 4 10.97 2,930,027 85 5 10.39 2,817,367 85 6 10.30 3,527,845 85 7 13.51 2,939,589 85 8 12.23 3,103.962 85 9 13.08 3,651,481 86 0 11.00 4,675,770 86 1 ........13.01 3,665,086 Finding it Out.?A story is told of the laughter of a prominent person in the lecure field, which is peculiarly interesting and uggestive of unconscious wisdom. A gentleaan was invited to the lecturer's house to tea. mmediately on being seated at the table, the ittle girl astonished the family eircle and ;uest by the abrupt question : "Where is your wife ?" Now the gentleman, having been recently eparated from the partner of his life, was aken so completely by surprise that he stamaered for the truth : "I don't know." "Don't know!" replied the infant terrible. Why don't you know ?" Finding that the child persisted in her inerrogatories, despite the mild reproof of ler parents, he concluded to make a clean ireast of the matter, and have it over at once. !o he said, with a calmness which was full f inward expletives: ''Well, we don't live together; we think, as ?e can't agree, we'd better not." He stifled a groan as the child began again, nd her parents darted an exasperated look t her. But the little torment would not be uiet until she exclaimed: "Can't agree! Then why don't you fight t out as pa and ma do ?" "Vengence is mine," laughingly retorted be visitor, after pa and ma exchanged looks f holy horror, followed by the inevitable roar. I # t 93F Two young brothers may. be as devoted* y attached to each other as were Damon and ' 'ythias, but you will never hear of one of hem snatching the scuttle from the hands of be other and insisting upon going down in he cellar to bring up the coal. t