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BY FEATHERSTON & HOYT.
ANDERSON COURT HOUSE, S. C, TUESDAY AFTERNOON, SEPTEMBER 4, 1860.
-?- _ ?ir' . . :--. . ? ????,,] u
VOLUME 1.?NUMBER 4.
fieminiscence of the Hon. S. S. Prentiss.
' fWe find in an old number of tbe Field and
Fireride, comprised in one of a series of sketches
from the pen of a talented author, the following
incidental reference to the great orator of the
Southwest, the lamented Pkentiss. Those who
.know anything of this extraordinary man while
living, and appreciated the many noble qualities
that adorned his character, cannot fail to be in?
terested in perusing this sketch; while those less
fortunate will find much that is instructive and en?
tertaining.?Ens. Intelligence*!. ]
Emerging from a romantic dell, we
tame upon a high road, which led us to a
small brick-enclosed cemetery, half hid?
den T>y Shrubbery. We had enquired for
Prentis3' grave, and we were told wo
should find it within this quiet enclosure,
wherein three or four, ancient looking,
moss-grown tombs were visible, half ob?
scured by vines. The iron gate was lock?
ed. I climbed it, and making my way
through matted grass and tangled creep?
ers, stood before the upright slab of white
marble which marked the resting place of
the great Orator. I bared my head in
the presence of the mighty dead; for.
with all his infirmities, Prentiss was the
peer of the greatest intellect of his age.
Justice has not yet been done to his noble
character. His errors are alt referable to
his physical infirmity. He was lame?
very -lame, and had been so from his
birth. When he grew to boyhood, sensi?
tive and talented and ambitious; he felt
keen his lameness and wept over a de?
formity; vv Inch, in his own mind, degraded
him in the presence of bis schoolmate's.
Early ho learned to taste the bitterness
of an ambitious and lofty spirit, feeling
physical inferioty, while he was proudly
conscious of intellectual superiority. When
he became a man, his painful sensitive?
ness to his lameness led him to withdraw
himself from all female society. Under
the cloud of his morbid feelings, lie fan?
cied woman scorned him He felt hum?
bled and degraded in her presence. Tbe
barb thus rankled ever in his heart. He
did not know till long afterwards, when
a lovely woman gave him her heart and
band, that a true woman is interested
more by the splendor of mind in man.
1han symmetry in person; that beautiful
women .look rather to the intellect and
are dazzled by it, no matter how plain
the casket.
For thirteen years of his earlier man?
hood he refused introduction to ladies.
Sucb was the sensitiveness of this proud
nature ! He well knew his own intellec
tual powers, and, knowing them, he de?
spised more and more his infirm body,
and believed that all others did. Yet his
face was wonderfully handsome. His
head was large and noble and grand in
outline. His smile was beautiful. His
powers of conversation were imperial and
unapproachable. Yet, constantly feeding
upon his own morbid emotions, he de?
spised himself. He felt (like some migh?
ty angel in chains.) bound to a body that
lacked the full and perfect impress of his
kind. This one, unendurable idea was
never absent from him. Once, an injudi?
cious friend, indiscreet with wine, said,
"Prentiss, what made you lame V
Mr. Prentiss turned upon him a with?
ering look of scorn, hatred and contempt,
and answered in a hoarse and terrible
whisper, before which the other trembled:
" God's Curse, Sir."
' Then turning his back upon him, with
a lip tremulous from unfathomable feeling,
he covered his face with his hands, and
hastening to. his chamber, cast himself
upon his bed in a paroxism of bitter
weeping. Who could not pity such a
man ? Who shall wonder, oh uncharita?
ble Pharisee, that he sought relief at the
gaming board, staking thousands reck?
lessly upon a card; or in the intoxication
of the wine cup ? He gambled not for
money?he drank not from love of strong
drink, but to escape the pressure of damn?
ing thought. The sight of his infirm limb
at times would drive this proud man to
fierce despair! What cared he for the
sots who flocked about him and drank sit
his expense! They were his tools. He
made uso of them to help him drown re?
flection ! They drank for sensual thirst of
drink; he, to quench the fires of thought!
He despised them! Xot one dare take a
familiarity with him I He who spoke to
him lightly of his lameness was uufor
given forevermorc!
Who will fling the stone ? Who will
condemn? Who can judge him who was
never in his place ? What mind can con?
ceive of the intellectual and moral tor?
ture of this proud, brilliant genius, going
through life hating his own form, and
shunning, for years, God's greatest and
best gift to man, from a sense of self-deg
redation in woman's presence?
Iso, justice has not yet been done to
"ihkp.wondatful and great man. He was |
not understood but by a few of his near?
est friends?never by his boon-companions.
They fancied he was such an one as them?
selves, when he towered above them like
a prince and despised them like a god.?
His own brother, who wrote his life in
two volumes, did not at all comprehend
his true character, and has unawares left
a false and unjust impression of him upon
the mind of his readers.
Even the graveJifts up its vojce in echo
of the vulgar opinion which classes him
with ordinary inebriates and reckless
gamesters. It was with pain I read the
inscription upon the headstone; it is with
sorrow I copy it. I give it below:
"If thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquity,
who shall stand ?
But there is forgivness with Thee that
Thou mayest be feared."
S. S. PRENTISS,
BORN AT PORTLAND, ME.,
Sept. 20, 1808.
Departed
THIS LIFE,
at
NATCIIES,
Ji-ly 1, 1850.
Had not the Holy Bible some other
verses than these bitter ones! M"e are all
sinners; but why should this man be held
up thvs as a sinner more than all ?
Permit me to add here the following
tribute to my noble friend's memory, (for
I knew him well.) as an oil'set, if possible,
to this severe memento mori, which, it is to
be hoped, will ere long be removed from,
the head of his grave it so inappropriately
distinguishes:
When intelligence of his death was.
sent abroad, scarce a journal arrived
without containing its tribute of respect;
to the memory of this gifted man. His
hold upon the hearts of his countrymen
was exhibited, not so much in cold hom?
age to his greatness, as in the warm en?
thusiastic expressions of admiration, alike
from political friends and opponents.?
Equally gratifying was the response from
the Northern States. Prentiss' fame was
no sectional thing. Iiis eloquence touch?
ed the heart and riveted the attention,
while his personal qualities attracted the
warm attachment of every one within Ins
reach. I copy from the New Oi lcans co
temporaries some portion of their hasty,
but eloquent and truthful eulogiums:
From the New Orleans Delta.
A weak and debilitated boy. with a
gentle lisp and supported by sustaining
cant;, was soon seen stealing away the
technical hearts of stern judges, and weav?
ing seductive tales in the honest ears of
sworn jurymen. Resistless as the pene?
trating breeze, his juvenile eloquence
searched every avenue of thought and
feeling. The classic page and tho varied
mass of modern literature were conve
niently stored away in the mass}* caverns
of his broad and fertile intellect. A close
train of didactic reasoning on the most
abstruse legal topic, was lit up with the
pyrotechnic fires of fancy. The most or?
dinary incidents of life, the merest com?
mon places, were caught upon the wings
of his imagination and blended and effec?
tively commingled, in his illustrative ora?
tor}', with the boldest and most gorgeous
metaphors.
Nor was Iiis mind "cribbed, cabined,
and confined" within the narrow limit;', of
a mere professional life, lie always iden?
tified himself with every project of patri?
otism, benevolence, charity, or literature,
that was agitated in his vicinage. A
monument to Franklin, or a sympathetic
appeal in favor of struggling Hungary, or
a donative response to the tearful orphan,
or a commemoration of the birth-day of
the Bard of Avon, would equally fire his
soul and syllable his tongue. He possess?
ed one of the most highly endowed intel?
lects we ever knew. His memory was
singularly retentive, so that he could re?
peat whole cantos of Byron on the mo?
ment. His logical faculty was very aeute
and discerning. It was often the com?
plaint of the court and his brother law?
yers, that he would argue a case all to
pieces. He would penetrate to the very
bottom of a subject, as it were, by intui?
tion, and lay it bare in all its parts, like a
chemist analyzing any material object, or
surgeon making a dissection. His read?
ing was full and general, and everything
he gathered from books, as well as from
intercourse with his fellow-men, clung to
his memory, and was ever at his com?
mand. But his most striking talent was
his oratory. We have never known or
read of a man who equalled Prentiss in
the faculty of thinking on his legs, or of
extemporaneous eloquence. He required
no preparation to speak on any subject,
and on all he was equally happy. Wo
have heard from him, thrown out in a din?
ner speech, or at a public meeting, when
unexpectedly called on, more brillian t and
striking thoughts, than many of the most
gifted poets ever elaborated in their clos?
ets, lie possessed a rare wit. His gar?
land was enwrcathed with flowers culled
from every shrub or plant, and from eve?
ry clime.
And if at times the thorn lurked beneath
the bright flower, the wound it inflicted
was soon assuaged and healed by some
mirthful and laughter-moving palliative.
His heart overflowed with* warm, gen?
erous, and patriotic feeling. He was as
brave and chivalrous as Bayard?as soft,
tender, and affectionate as a loving child,
untainted by the selfishness of the world.
All small, selfish, narrow feelings were
foreign to his nature. His bosom was the
home of honor?his imagination was full
of lofty thoughts, and his mind disdained
the grovelling feelings and considera?
tions of the worldly minded. Let not his
friends be inconsolable.
It is proper that such a mind should
thus glide from these scenes of worldly
trouble. It is just that a bright exhala?
tion, which has shone so brilliantly,
should disappear thus suddenly, ere it be?
gins gradually to fado and flicker; that
the fire of so noble an intelligence, should
not diminish, and gradually and slowly go
out, amid decrepitude and physical decay;
but that, like the meteor shooting across
tho heavens, illuminating the earth, it
should sink suddenly and forever, into the
earth from which it sprung !
From the New Orleans Crescent.
Xow that he is dead, it will not be
deemed invidious to the living, for a friend
to say that as a popular orator he had no
equal in the Southwest. Gifted with a
voice of great compass and power of mod?
ulation?with a face of eminent beauty
and intellectuality?
-"His gestures did obey
The oracular mind that made his features glow,
And when his curved lip half open lay,
Passion's divincst stream had made impetuous
way."
His imagination was "as wild and free
of wing as Eden's garden bird," which
fluttered and toyed with every beautiful
flower, while his wit relieved the tension
of the heart strings, drawn to pain by his
pathos. Never did wc hear a man who
had so much hold on the masses. A
friend once said to him in our presence,
"Prentiss, you always mesmerize me
when you speak." lie answered, "then
it is an affair of reciprocity, for a multi?
tude always electrifies me!" One secret
of his grca.t power undoubted was the
sincerity of his speeches?the sympathy
which hound him to his audience, was the
tie which bound them to him. It was as
a lawyer, however, that his early and in?
timate friends most admired his talents.
It is rarely that vivid imagination, point?
ed wit and strong reasoning powcv are
united. Where, however, there is this
union we have the character of the orator.
Such was O'Connell?such was Prentiss. I
Of our friend, as a man, we have not
the heart to speak. Where he was
known he was loved as much for the
kindness and generosity of his nature, as
he was admired for the brilliancy of his
genius and the power of his intellect.
He leaves a wife and children to mourn
his death, but to treasure his memory.
Amid the widow's weeds shall sparkle
the brightest jewel, a husband's reputa?
tion, while the children, if rich in noth?
ing else, have a princely heritage in the
lather's name. May they prove heirs as
well to his eminent talents and hi;} many
virtues.
-?
Unwise Men.?The following are a few
of the characters coining under this head:
The jealous man ; who poisons his own
banquet and then eats it.
The miser: t iat st: rres himself to death,
that his heirs may feast.
The mean man ; who bites off his own
nose to despite a neighbor.
The angry man; who sets his own
house on fire, that ho may burn up an?
other's.
The slanderer; who tells talcs, and
gives his enemy a chance to prove him a
liar.
The sclf-conccitcd man ; who attaches
more consequence to dignity than to com?
mon sense.
The proud man ; who falls in the csti
: mation of sensible observers, in propor?
tion as he rises in his own.
The envious man; who cannot enjoy
life and prosperity, because others do.
The dishonest man; who cheats his
own soul more vitally than he does his
fellow men.
The robber who, for the consideration
of dollars and cents, gives the world liber?
ty to hang him.
The drunken man; who not only makes
himself wretched, but disgusts his friends.
The hypocondriac; whose highest hap?
piness consists in rendering himself mise?
rable.
The inconsiderato man; who neglects
to pay the printer.
Schrieb ^pwtrf.
The S ounds of Industry.
I love the Dimging hammer,
The whirring of the plane,
The crashing of the busy saw,
The creaking of the crane,
The ringing of the anvil,
The gra ing of the drill,
The clattering of the turning-lathe,
The whirling of the mill,
The buzzing of the spindle,
The rat ling of the loom,
The puffing of the engine,
And the fan's continuous boom?
The clipping of the tailor's shears.
The driring of the awl.
The sounds of busy labor?
I love, [ love them all.
I love the plowman's whistle,
The ret.per's cheerful song,
The drover's oft repeated shout,
As he ?pur's his stock along;
The bustle of the market-man,
As he hies him to the town,
The halle, from the tree-top,
As the ripened fruit comes down ;
The busj sound of threshers,
As they clean the ripened grain,
And buskers' joke, and mirth and glee,
'Neath the moonlight on the plain ;
The kiuc; voices of the dairy-man,
The sL ephcrd's gentle call?
These sounds of active industry,
I love, I love them all.
For tbev tell my longing spirit
Of the earnestness of life;
How much of all its happiness
Come.' out of toil and strife. ?
Not that toil and strife that faintcth
And nurniurcth on the way?
Not the toil and strife that groancth
Bcnei.th the tyrant's sway,
But the toil and strife that springeth
From n free and willing heart,
A strife which ever bringeth
To the strivcr all his part.
Oh, there is good in labor,
If w<: labor but_aright,
That g:vcs vigor to the day-time,
And a sweeter sleep at night.
A good that bringeth pleasure,
1 Ever, to the toiling hours?
For duty cheers the spirit
As tie dew revives the flowers.
Oh, say not that Jehovah
Bad 5 usjall to labor as a\loom;
No, it is his richest mercy,
And will scatter half life's gloom ;
Then let us still be doing
Whiite'cr we find to do?
With tin earnest, willing spirit,
Wil a a strongjiand//?<?<: anil true.
Cleveland Democraj*.
-+--j
Childhood.
Happy childhood ! sunny hours,
Daj s of gladsome mirth and glco,
Roving forth amid the flowers,
Loi cly, innocent and free.
Ever bright, and free from sorvow,
Full of prattle, joy most wild,
Singing of the bright to-morrow,
Pu re and tender, joyous child.
-*-;
Maxim? for Married Women.?The
unmarried woman, says an exchange,
who can read this without indignation,
ought to be married :
Let every wife be persuaded that there
are two ways of governing a family.
The first is by the expression of that will
which belongs to force; the second to the
power of mildness, to which every
strength will yield. One is the power of
the husband: it wile should never employ
any other arms than those of gentleness.
When a woman accustoms herself to say
" I will," she deserves to lose her empire.
Avoid contradicting your husband.
When w2 smell a rose it is to imbue the
sweets o:? odor ; we look for everything
amiable in woman. Whoever is often
contradicted feels insensibly an aversion
for the person who contradicts, which
gains strength by time, and whatever be
her good qualities, is not easily destined.
Occupy 3'ourself only with household
affairs, wait till your husband confides to
you those of higher importance, and do
not read lectures to him. Let your
preaching bo a good example, and prac?
tice virtue yourself to make him love it.
Command his attention by being al?
ways ki id to him; never exact anything
and you will attain much; appear always
flattered, by the little he does for you,
which will excite him to do more.
All n.en are vain; never wound his
vanity, not even in the most trifling in?
stances. A wife may have more sense
than her husband, but she should never
seem to know it.
When a man gives wrong counsel, nev?
er feel that he has done so, but lead him
by degices to what is rational, with mild?
ness and gentleness; when he is con?
vinced, leave him to the merit of haviner
found out what is just and reasonable.
When a husband is out of temper, be?
have obligingly to him; if he is abusive,
never retort, and never prevail over him
to humble him.
-o
Mrs. Partington says it makes no differ?
ence to her if flour is dear or cheap; she
always has to pay the same price for half
a dolla r's worth.
The True Art of Teacidrg.
Dr. John A. Hart, of Philadelphia, a
practical teacher, and long connected
with educational matters, has delivered a
lecture, in the course of which he evolved
one grand fundamental fact in the art of
teaching which ought to be fixed in the
minds of all who undertake the education
ofj'outh. This fact is the absolute ne?
cessity of arresting and holding attention.
Unless the attention of the child, or of the
persons to be taught, is secured, little will
be learned. Every teacher of youth
knows how difficult it is to gain the at?
tention of his or her class, but it is not eve?
ry teacher who knows how to interest
the minds of the pupils and win their at?
tention. The mere commanding of at?
tention cannot produce the desired effect;
hence a boisterous exercise of authority,
or the resort to different forms of punish?
ment, of a degrading or painful character,
are not only inefficient but harmful.
The mind of the child as well as the
adult naturally resists compulsion. Co?
ercion is the very worst plan in educa?
tion. The forcing or "stuffing" system
may appear to yield a temporary success,
but it is calculated to destroy the powers
of attention, and a permanent injury to
tho mind is the result. The giving of
long "tasks" to children, or multiplying
their studies to create the impression that
they are making rapid progress is an er?
ror quite too common in our schools.
Even the practice of stimulating children
in Sunday schools, by offer of rewards, to
learn weekly a great many verses of
Scripture or hymns, is not to be commen?
ded. Better <rive the reward for learning
a little well?for attention to what they
are taught.
It ought to be the first and chief aim
of every teacher, whether of children- or
adults, to develope the thinking or rea?
soning powers. The acquisition of knowl?
edge should be a pleasant exercise. The
mind should be taught to seek after infor?
mation?to inquire into the meaning of
what is obscure, and to be satisfied only
with a clear and perfect understanding of
the subject presented to it. The teacher
who can make his pupils think is the on?
ly successful teacher. And how fevv^.
comparatively, have the happy aj^-ef en?
listing the attentiom^u^-stinmlating the
faculties of tjic rfutTd into active exercise.
_ This subject is indeed, not only one of
surpassing importanjB^hut of great'eom
prehensiveness. It^^P$t*he satisfacto?
rily treated in one short newspaper arti?
cle, bnt if we can induce those engaged
in the benificent work of education to de?
vote more attention themselves to the
true art of success in the discharge of their
duties, wc will have accomplished some
good. Attention is essential on the part
of the teacher to win the attention of
those who arc taught.?Ar. Y. Sun.
-o-.
Dirt.?Old Dr. Cooper of South Caro?
lina, used to say to his students, "Don't
be afraid of a little dirt young gentlemen.
What is dirt ? Why, nothing at all offen?
sive, when chemically viewed. Rub a
little alkali upon that 'dirty grease-spot'
on your coat, and it undergoes a chemical
change and becomes soap. Now rub it
with a littlo water and it disappears; it is
neither grease, soap, water nor dirt. That
is not a very odorous pile of dirt you ob?
serve there. Well, scatter a little gypsum
over it. and it is no longer dirty. Every?
thing you call dirt is worthy of your no?
tice as students of chemistry. Analyze it!
It will all separate very clean elements.
Dirt makes corn, corn makes bread and
meat, and that makes a very sweet young
lady that I saw one of you kissing last
night. So, after all. you were kissing dirt,
particularly if she whitens her face with
chalk or fuller's earth. There is no tell?
ing voung gentlemen, what is dirt."
-*
Respiration as Affected by Food.?
A paper has been read before the Royal
Society, London, by Dr. Edward Smith,
giving the result of over two thousand
experiments which he has been making,
to ascertain the effect of different kinds
of food on the carbonic acid expired from
the lungs. He found that most kinds of
food increase the carbonic acid given from
one to three grains per minute, the effect
commencing soon after the introduction
of food into the system and attaining its
maximum in about two hours. The most
powerful stimulants of respiration are tea
and coffee, which sometimes increase the
quantity of carbonic acid evolved three
grains per minute. The experiments
showed that the following named sub?
stances are classed as follows in their effect
on the lungs: Exciters of respiration?
sugar, milk, cereals, potato,gluten, casein,
gelatin, fibrin, albumen, tea, coffee, cocoa,
chiecory, alcohol, rum, ales; non-exciters
?starch, fat,.coffee leaves, brand}-, gin.
-????3>
A Frenchman, wishing to compliment
a girl as "a littlo lamb," called hor a
"small mutton."
Sixpence A Day.?A London paper,
furnishes the following interesting anec?
dote, which we wish our young friends
would read and think about t
"What is said about sixpence spent dai?
ly for one thing that is useless or hurtful
(strong drink, for example,) may be said
of the same sura spent for any other hurt?
ful or pernicious thing (tobacco, for ex?
ample.) There is now an old man in an
almshouse in Bristol, who states that for
sixty years he spent sixpence in drink,
but was never intoxicated. A. gentleman,
who heard this statement was. somewhat
curious to ascertain Jiow much this six?
pence a day, put by^ every year, at five
per cent., compounc^ interest, would
amount to In sixty years. Taking out
his pencil, he began to calculate. Putting
down the first year's savings (three hun?
dred and sixty-five sixpences,) nine
pounds sterling eleven shillings and six?
pence, he added the interest, and then
went on, year by year, until he found
that in the sixtieth year the sixpence a
day reached the startling sum of three
thousand two hundred and twenty-five
pounds sterling, nineteen shillings and
ninep?nce. More than fifteen thousand
dollars. Judge of the old man's surprise
when told that, had he saved his sixpence
a day, and allowed it to accumulate at
compound interest,ho might now have be en
worth that noble sum; so that, instead of
taking refuge in an almshouse, he might
have comforted himself with a house of .
his own, costing three thousand five hun?
dred dollars, and fifteen acres of. land,
worth two hundred and fifty dollars per
acre, and have left the legacy among his
children and grand-children, or used it for
the welfare of his fellow-men!
-+
Character.?That which forms and
reforms, and communicates life to the so?
cial world, is ? Character. Character
gives authority to opinion; puts meaning
into words, and burns thrC'.igh all things
that act as impediments to the weak
heart ?nd the dull in brain. Character is
a measure of man's capacity. His under-'
standing mayjgkyjw^thjthought, his con
seienc|irrirwith beautifuH4ealSWf^good^
. ^rdS?7T)ut character is the root and heart
of his being. It is the expression of no
particular mental quality, but of his whole
nature, and therefore governs all his ac?
tions. Man is nothing unlbss he acts, and
the evidence'of his character may always
be found in his works. It reveals itself
through all ma&ks and specious disguises,
and to the pride of reason and the vanity
of mere opinion, interposes its iron limi?
tations.
The Question has often been raised
whether character is the creature of cir?
cumstances, or whether circumstances
owe their origin to character. To admit
the former part of the question is to
strike out of character that vital causa?
tive energy whioh is its chief quality; to
admit the latter is to affirm that the mind_
can create a world out of nothing.?
Either would be caricature, not character.
The truth is, circumstances are the nutri?
ment of character. Goethe said: "Every
one of my books has been furnished by a
thousand persons. My work is the ag?
gregate of a number of beings and taken
from the whole of nature; it bears the
name of Goethe."
Lady Franklin; ? Lady Franklin's
name was Pordeh^Eleatior Ann Porden,
and she was born in 1795. She early
manifested great talents and a strong
memory, and acquired Considerable knowl?
edge of Greek and other languages. Her
first poem, "The Veils," was written when
she was seventeen. Her next was the
"Arctic Expedition," which led, in 1822,
to her marriage with Captain Franklin.
Her principal work was the " Coeur do
Lion," which appeared in 1825. Her po?
ems display much elegance, spirit and
richness of imagination. The foregoing
incidents in her life we find in a biograph?
ical dictionary. This lady has recently
attracted the attention and excited the
admiration of the civilized world, by her
energetic and persevering efforts to sent!
relief to her adventurous husband, in the
frozen regions of the North, or to ascer?
tain his fate and that of his companions.
-?
Prayer.?As every sacrifice was to be
seasoned with salt, so is every mercy to
be sanctioned by prayer. As gold is
sometime laid, not only on cloth and silk,
but also upon silver, so prayer is the gol?
den duty that must be laid, not only up?
on all natural and civil actions, as eating,
drinking, buying and selling, but also up?
on our silver duties, upon all most reli?
gious and spiritual performances. "Pray?
er moves the hand that moves the uni?
verse."
?
The loss of goods and money is often?
times no loss; if you had not lost them,
they might perhaps have lost you.