Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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.From the Louisville Courier. OLDEN MEMORIES. BT J. B. "Alt Hl CK. From the dim, dim shores of the sorrowful past Comes the phantom of memory to me, As a billow borne forth by thedesolate blast From the storm-beaten heart of tho sea: TTith a thought of the beautiful years long gone? Those brightest, divinest of years? It murmi'js, to-night, in a rythmical tone That melts me to sadness and tears. It brings back the dreams of tho better time, When our heart like the music of birds, In the metrical flow of a melody-chime, "Were wed to the sweetest of words? When we gathered rich blossoms?wove garlands of flowers, . That emblemed love's holiest vow, As the wreath of fame, we counted as ours, "With a diadem for each brow. ? Ah'! rtis sad to think of those dear, old days? " The world-was so beautiful'then? Ere fancy and feeling had foUowed the ways Of wicked and sinful men: There.were innocent pleasures and soulful smiles, In the being of passionate youth? A faith that no art of the tempter beguiles In the sacred trust of truth. * Some ship has been wrecked on the merciless sea By the storm-kings merciless power, "Whence- comcth this spirit of memory to me Ln the hush of this sorrowful hour : It comes, as the reminder so sad, In .the memorable years now fled, Since, together, we sailed with a spirit as glad As tho ripples that trifller us sped. ' ?"- - ' " "??"? ?. ' '?' The night is dreary with darkness without? The windu they are piercing and cold, And the wings of the tempest is flapping about j As the snow falls adrift on the world; ? The embers are cheering and cheerful within, As thb heart no .sorrow .can dim, And my thoughts, to the brightest of memories akin, ? Bisoup as a well fo the brim. . There's a spectre-like hand in whoso tenderly grasp Beat the heart-bounding pulses of old: in its welcoming zeal?in the warmth of its clasp, Throbs a feeling that never grew cold : An hour^together,, we will run o'er the past, Recounting its pleasure and pain, As the beautiful visions, too lovely to last, Rises out of their ashes-again. Alining of silver?a frosting of gray, I trace in the raven-wreathed head; And.the eye that looks so wan, that was bright on the day When the saddest of farewells was said: A wrinkle or .two may be seen on the brow, A lurking of care in the face; . And sadness unspoken, how vividly now, * In the shade of expression I trace. Ah! oft through the joy that the lightest may know, Some grief steals direct to the heart, ' "When the looks that was stranger to sadness or woe, "May.be shaped in the congress of art; And the smile! 'twas so bright, I hover had thought " That brow could be shaded with gloom, In the days when first from existence wo caught, - The hoc of its freshness and bloom. Then a tear to the beautiful years that are gone, The. memories no sorrow can" shade, As the shadows of night that flee in the dawn, All else from existence may fade, Ye? with tho hope in the heart, and life in the eyes, And feeling that never grows cold, The future we'll trust?bid the present go by, And cling to the memories of old. Atlanta, Ga. Henry and Carolin?! ?K-HLIit' LOVE REWARDED, t4My tale is simple, and of humble birth A tribute of respect to real worth." <cYou are too parsimonious, Henry," said Mr. D. to one of his clerks, as they "were together iu the counting-house one morning: "give me leave to say that you do not dress sufficiently genteel, to appear rpas a clerk in a fashionable store.' Hen 4 ry*s face^as suffused with a deep blush, and, in spite of his endeavor to suppress it, a tear trembled on his manly cheek. 'Did! not know that your salary was suffi? cient to provide more genteel habiliments,' continued Mr. D., 'I should increase it.' 'My salary is sufficient, amply sufficient, sir/ replied Henry, in a voice choked with emotion, but with that proud independ? ence of feeling which poverty had not been able to divest him of. His employer noticed his agitation and immediately changed the subject. Sir. D. was a man of immense wealth, an<? ample benevolence; he was a widow? er and had but one child, a daughter who ?was the pride of his declining years. She ?was not as beautiful as an angel, or as per? fect as a Venus; but the goodness, the in? nocence, the intelligence of her mind shone in her countenance, and you had but to become acquainted with to admire her. Such was Caroline Delancy, when Henry first became an inmate in her father's house. No wonder he soon worshipped at her shrine?no wonder he soon loved her with a deep and devoted attachment, and, reader, had you known him, you ?would not have ?wondered, that love was soon returned, for their souls were conge? nial; they were cast in virtue's purest mould?and although their tongues never gave utterance to what their hearts felt, yet the language of their eyes was too plain to be misunderstood. Henry was the very soul of honor; and although he perceived with pleasure that ho was not altogether indifferent to Caroline, he felt as though ho must control the passion that governed his bosom. I must not en? deavor to win her young and artless heart, thought he. I am penniless, and cannot expect that her father would consent to our union?be has ever treated me with kindness, and I will not be ungrateful. Thus he reasoned, and thus heroically en? deavored to subdue what he considered an ill-fated, passion. -Caroline had many suit? ors, and some who were fully worthy of her; but she refused all their overtures with a gentle yet decisive firmness. Her father wondered at her conduct, yet could not thwart her inclination. He was in the decline of life and wished to see her happily settled ere he quitted the state of existonce. It was not long ere he suspected that young Henry was the cause of her indifference to others; thegevident pleasure she took in hearing him praised; the blush that overspread her cheeks whenever their eyes met, all served to convince the old gentleman, who had not forgotten that he was once young himself, that they felt more than common interest in each other's welfare. He fore | bore making any remarks on the subject, but was not as displeased at the supposi? tion, as the penniless Henry would have imagined. Henry had been about a year in his em? ploy. Delancy knew nothing of his fami? ly ; but his strict integrity, his irreproach? able morals, his pleasing manners, all con? spired to make him esteem him highly. He was proud of Henry, and wished him to appear in dress, as well as manners, as respectable as any one. He had often wondered at the scantiness of his ward? robe, for although he dressed with the most scrupulous regard to neatness, his clothes were almost threadbare. Mr. D. did not wish to think that this proceeded from a niggardly disposition, and he de? termined to broach the subject, and if pos? sible, ascertain the real cause?this he did in the manner before related. Soon after this conversation took place, Mr. D. left home on business. As he was returning, and riding through a beautiful little village, he alighted at the door of a little cottage and requested a drink. The mistress with an ease a'nd politeness that convinced him that she had not always been the humblo cottager, invited him to ! enter. He accepted her invitation?and here a scene of poverty and neatness pre? sented itself, such as he had never before witnessed. The furniture, which consisted of nothing more than was necesssary, was j exquisitely clean so that it gave charms to j poverty, and cast an air of comfort all; around. A venerable looking old man,; who had uot seemed to notice the entrance of Mr. D., sat leaning on his staff; his clothes were clean and whole, but so patched, that you could scarcely have told which had been the original piece. 'This is your father, I r>resume,' said Mr. D., addressing the mistress of the house. 'It is, sir.' 'He seems to be quite aged.' 'He is in his eighty third year; he has [survived all his children except myself.' 'You have once seen better days.' 'I have?my husbaud was wealthy; but false friends ruined him?he endorsed notes to a large amount, which stripped us of nearly all our property, and one misfortune followed another until wo were reduced to complete poverty. My husband did not long survive his losses, and two of my children soon followed him.' 'Have you any remaining children ?' 'I have one, and he is my only support. My health is so feeble that I cannot do much, and my father being blind, needs great attention. My sou conceals from my knowledge the amount of his salary, but I am convinced that he sends me nearly all, if not the whole amount of it.' 'Then he is not with you ?' 'Xo, sir, he is clerk for a merchant in Philadelphia.' 'Clerk for a merchant in Philadelphia! "What is your sou's name ?' 'Henry W-' 'Henry TV-!' reiterated Mr. D.; 'why, he is my clerk! I left him alMny house not a fortnight since.' Here followed a succession of inquiries, which evinced an anxiety and solicitude that a mother alone could feel?to all of which Mr. ?. replied, to her perfect satis? faction. 'You know our Henry,' said the old man, raising his head from his staff. 'Well, sir, then you knoAv as worthy a lad as ever lived. God will bless him for his good? ness to his poor old grandfather,' he added in a tremulous voice, while the tears ran down his checks. 'He is a worthy fellow, to be sure,' said Mr. D., rising and placing a well filled purse into the hands of the old man. 'He is a worthy fellow and shall not want friends.' 'Xoble boy,' said he, mentally, as he was riding along, ruminating on his interview ?'noble boy?he shall not want wealth to enable him to distribute happiness. I believe he loves my girl, and if he does he shall have her and all my property in the bargain.' Filled with this project, and determined if possible to ascertain the true state of their hearts, he eutered the. breakfast room the next morning after his arrival home. 'Henry is about to leave us to go to England and try his fortune,' he carelessly observed. 'Henry about to leave !' said Caroline, dropping the work she held in her hand ? 'about to leave us, and going to Eng? land!' she added, in a tone which evinced the deepest interest. 'To be sure; but what if ho is, my child ?' 'Nothing, sir, nothing, only I thought we should be rather lonesome,' she replied, turning away to hide the tears which she could not suppress. .'Tell rqe, Caroline,' said Mr. D., tender? ly embracing her, 'tell me, do you not love Henry ? You know I wish your hap? piness, my child. I have ever treated you. with kindness, and you have never until now hid anything from j^our father.' 'Neither will I now,' she replied, hiding her face in his bosom, 'I do most sincerely esteem him, but do not for vrorlds tell him of it. for he bus never said it was re? turned.' 'I will soon find that out, and without telling him, too,' replied the father, leav? ing the room. 'Henry,' said lie, as he entered the count? ing house, 'you expect to visit the country shortly, do-you ?' 'Yes, sir, in about a month.' 'If it would not be inconvenient,' re? joined Mr. D., 'I should like to have you defer it a week or two longer.' 'It will be no inconvenience, sir, and if it would oblige you, I will wait with pleasure.' 'It will most certainly oblige me, for Caroline is to be married in about fivo weeks, and I would not miss having you attend the wedding.' 'Caroline to be married, sir,' said Henry, starting, as if by an electric shock?'Car? oline to be married!?is it possible ?' 'To be sure it is?but what is thero wonderful in that ?' 'Nothing, sir, only it was rather sudden ?rather unexpected?that is all' 'It is rather sudden, to be sure,' replied Mr. D., 'but I am an old man, and wish to see her have a protector?and as the man of her choice is well worthy of her, I see no use in waiting any longer, and I am very glad that you can stay to the wed? ding.' \ 'I cannot stay, sir, indeed I cannot,' re? plied Henry, forgetting wbathe had.? pre? viously said. 'You cannot!' replied Mr. D., 'why you just said you would.' 'Yes, sir, but business requires my pres? ence in the country, and I must go.' 'But you said it would put you to-, no inconvenience, and that you would wait with pleasure.' 'Command mo in anything else, sir, but j in this respect I cannot oblige you,' said Henry, rising and walking with rapid strides across the floor. . Poor fellow ! he had thought his pas? sion subdued; but when he found that Caroline was so soon, irrevocably to be? come another's, the latent spark burst forth in an unextinguished flame ; and he found it in vain to endeavor to conceal his emotion. The cid man regarded him with a look of earnestness? 'Henry,' said he, 'tell me frankly?do you love my girl ?' 'I will be candid with you, sir,' replied Henry, conscious that his agitation betray? ed him, 'had I a fortune such as she merits, and as you, sir, have a right to expect, I should think myself the happiest of men, could I gain her love.' 'Then she is yours,' cried the delighted old man; 'say not a word about property, my boy, true worth is better than riches... I was only trying you, Henry, and Caro? line will never be married to any . other than yourself.' The transition from despair to happiness was great. For a moment, Henry re? mained silent; but his looks spoke vol? umes. At last, 'I scorn to deceive yon, sir,' said he, 'I am poorer than what you suppose?I have a mother and grandfather, who are?' 'I know it, I know it all. Henry,' said Mr. D., interrupting him. 'I know the reason of your parsimony, as I called it, and I honor you for it?it is that which first put it into my head to give you Car? oline ?she shall be yours, and may God bless you both.' Shortly after this conversation,. Henry avowed his love to Caroline, and solicited her hand, and it is needless to say that be did not solicit in vain. Caroline would have deferred their union until the ensu? ing spring, but her father was inexorable. He supposed he should have to owu one falsehood, he said, and they would willing? ly have him shoulder two ; but it was too much, and he would not endure it, he had told Henry that she was going to be mar? ried in five weeks, and he should not for? feit his word. 'But, perhaps, added he, apparently recollecting himself, and turn? ing to Henry, 'perhaps we shall have to defer it after all, for you have important business in the country about that time.' 'Bo merciful, sir/ said Henry, smiling. 'I did not wish to witness the sacrifice of my own happiness.' j 'I am merciful,' replied the old gentle? man, 'and for that reason would not wish to put you to the inconvenience of stay? ing. You said that you would willingly oblige me, but you could not, indeed yon i could not.' j 'You have once been young,'sir,' saidj Henry. 'I know it, I know it,' replied he, laugh? ing heartily, 'but I am afraid too many of us old folks forget it?however, if you can postpone your journey, I suppose wo must have a weddingj We have only to add, that tho friends of Henry were sent for, and the nuptials solemnized at the appointed time; and that blessed with the filial love of Henry and Caroline, the old people passed the^ remainder of their days in peace and hap? piness. ?-o TnE Ixfidel Agbjbeing With Paul. ?An admirable reply was once mad by a careful reader of the Bible to an infidel who attacked him with such expressions as these: "That the blood of Christ can wash away our sin is foolishness; I don't under? stand or believe it." The Bible student remarked: "You and Paul agree exactly." The infidel replied, with much surprise : "How is this, that Paul and I agree ?" Said the student: "Turn to the first chapter of first Corinthians and read at the 18th verse." The infidel read: "For the preaching of the cross is, to them that perish, foolish? ness ; but unto us which are saved, it is the power of God." The infidel hung his head, and ever af? ter studied the Bible, and soon believed it to be God's power unto salvation. -o ? A correspondent of the "Missouri Baptist Journal" says; "In one of the oldest (if not the oldest) Associations of Georgia the colored people have always been represented. This representation never gave offence to the sons ot the soil, nor to new comers from the North and South. It sometime created surprise, but never downright dislike. The sons of Africa knew their place and felt happy in keeping it. While Northern Associations shut them out by a law more summary than that of formal legislation, the South bid them enter the inner courts of Zion, and treated them as brothers." ? An Irishman, having accidentally broken a pane in a house on Washington street, attempted, as fast as he could to get out of the way, but he was followed and seized by the proprietor, who exclaim? ed? "You broke my window, fellow, did vou not?" "To be sure I did, an' didn't you see me running home lor the money to pay for it ?" -? ? The celebrated Dr. South on one oc? casion preached before the corporation of tailors. He took for his text the appro? priate words?"A remnant shall be saved." ???^ lite Mim itntt From the Southern Cnlfinator. THE CULTURE OF VEGETABLES. by cn.vri,es a teabody. T?TtNTPS.?The Turnip has been cultiva? ted as a garden esculent for centuries, and has been cultivated in field culture in Eng? land for the last century, to the great benefit of the English soil, and in the increased production of beef, mutton, and fine wool. To such a state of perfec? tion have the English brought the culture of turnips, that they have revolutionized the agriculture of the Kingdom, and the turnip crop of England is annually worth more than the cotton crop of the United States. Lord Townsend was among the first to introduce the field culture of turn? ips into England, and with so much assid? uity did he combat the strong prejudices of his countrymen, that in derision they called him Turnip Townsend. England is now reaping more substantial benefit from the philanthropic labors of her "Turnip Townsend," than from all the glory of her Marlboroughs, Nelsons or Wellingtons. If the turnip crop is so valuable to Eng? land how much more so may it be in the Southern States, where they do not have to be pulled or housed ? Here are the natural sheep pastures of the world, and with the Ruta Baga and other turnips, to help out the feed, the Southern States can surpass England in the production of wool, as much as they do now in cotton. To have early garden turnips, the seed should come from a more Northern lati? tude. Early Dutch Turnips may be sown in January and February, and in August and September for fall crops. Plant in drill, twelve or lourteen inches apart, and thin out to six inches for field culture. Sow common Turnips in August, Septem- j ber and October. The Ruta Baga should be planted in drills, two feet apart, and thinned out to twelve or fourteen inches. The Ruta Baga is destined soon to work a great change in Southern agriculture. They are as easily managed as the com? mon Turnip, are more nutrive, keep much longer, and afford greens equal to collards, if Hot superior. Stock of all . kinds are fond of them, and from their rich golden color, sweet and delicate flavor, are un? surpassed for the table. Farmer, try the Ruta Baga, and learn how it saves the corn-crib! The Ruta Baga is not inclined to seed in this climate ; but this is a bene? fit rather than an objection, as thereby the root keeps sound much longer. To save the seed of oilier kinds of turnips, transplant them and cut the tap-root off. Seed thus saved, will hold its original qualities for years, but it is the interest ol every planter and gardener to change seed occasionally.- Seed from Old or New England, Tennessee or North Carolina is preferable for a change. The turnip de? lights in a rich sandy soil, but they Avill grow in almost any soil that is rich enough. Land fresh from the woods suits them best; a piece trod by sheep or cattle yields enormously in turnips, and is one of the most profitable of the farm. Ruta Bagas kept with us this year fit for the table until May.?-Ed. So. Cult. IMPROVEMENT OF POOR LANDS. In the October number of the "Farmer," a correspondent from Dinwiddic county asks lor some advice in regard to making "permanent improvement of poor lands." You have probably answered his enquiry more fully and satisfactorily than I can do in subsequent numbers which I have not seen. Be this as it may, I am willing to contribute my mite toward "making two blades of grass grow where but one grew before." I might further premise that I have bad some acquaintance with, the worn-out lauds of the Sonth. The first operation is to plough the ground well; subsoil it, if convenient. If this cannot be done, plough deep?five or six inches at least; then put on about thirty-three bushels of lime to the acre. Sow with oats?not too thick?not over two bushels to the acre; cover with a spike harrow and sow clover seed imme? diately after the drag?about six quarts to the acre. Make a drag of light brush and brush in the clover seed. The sow? ing of clover seed should follow that of the oats before there is any fall of rain to form a crust. Pass a roller over the ground, if the soil be light. This is mere? ly the starting point, and very much de? pends upon its being done well. I have seen ploughing done in the South that I could not call ploughing at all; it was only scratching. In fact, I have not seen a plough in the South that would cut and turn over a furrow slice as it ought to be done. * . When the crop of oats is taken off, let the young clover grow on until fall with-' out any stock running on it, and it will start nicely the next spring. Let it grow on the next summer until about half the bloom has turned brown, then turn it un? der with a good plough. Give it another coat of lime and let it lie until the follow ing spring; then put it through the same course again with oats and clover, and after this crop of clover is ploughed in, you may seed it with wheat, or wait un? til next spring and plant it with corn. Be careful not to sow the oats too thick j so as to smother the clover. The . object of sowing oats with the clover is more to protect it from the scorching rays of the sun; but it will, nevertheless, help to pay expenses. When the land is worn out. or naturally poor, the farmer must grow a few crops first for the good of the land before he begins to grow any for profit to himself, and he will find no system so cheap and and effective for the purpose, in my opinion, as the 6"he here recom? mended. In regard to the lawn, permit me to add a few words; for I delight to look at a well-kcu? lawn. The soil must be enrich? ed by top dressing-lime, guano, phosphate, poudrette, or any other kind of manure? it must have a plentiful supply, and that repeated. This is the first grand requi? site. The next is, mow, mow, mow, from spring until autumn, whenever the grass is six inches high, and you will soon have nothing growing on it but what ought to grow there?grass of a- lively green. A poor lawn is an unsightly thing. [Cor. American Farmer. -o ? A correspondent of the "Biblical Recorder" gives the following not very encouraging report of the condition of things in Louisiana: "The condition of the country is not hopeful. Many of the Commission Mer? chants in New Orleans arc unable to meet their liabilities, aud consequently cannot continue to furnish supplies. Many of the planters, who expected to be supplied until the present crop is made, will proba? bly be disappointed, and if they do not get assistance from some source, hundreds of acres of corn and cotton may, in a month or two, be abandoned to weeds and briers. Every thing used as food by man and beast comes from New Orleans. Much of the corn is damaged in transpor? tation, and the consequence is much sick? ness and many deaths among mules and horses. "The labor of the country is better than last year. Many of the frecdmen are working on shares, and, as a general rule, work well. In some few instances they work as well as when they were slaves. I have made enquiries which have result? ed in the conviction that, with good laws well executed, and favorable seasons, plant? ing will yet be profitable here. Sugar will pay better than any other crop. How the present attempt to reconstruct the Southern States and admit them again in? to the Union will terminate, is more than even a Yankee could "guess." The ma? chinery has already been put in operation. Commissioners to register the voters have been appointed for our Parish, and will soon, I presume, be at work. All our cit? izens, so far as I cau learn, will quietly ac? cept the terms and do the best they caa under the circumstances, "Religiously there is but little to note. Among our churches and ministers I hear of no changes or revivals." NATIONAL HOTEL, Near the Greenville and Charleston Depots COLUMBIA, S. C THE public is informed that the above Hotel has just been finished, and contains new furniture throughout, for the accommodation of Regularand Transient Boarders. The very best that the mar? kets afford will be found on his table, prepared in excellent style. Charges moderate. ROBERT JOINER. August 10, I860 17 , FO?TZ'8 CELEBRATED This preparation, long and favorably known, will thor? oughly reinvlgorato broken-down and low-spirited honet, by strengthening and cleansing tho stomach and intes? tines. It is a sure pre* ventive of all dU eases incident to this animal, such as LUNG FEVER, GLANDERS, yellow wa? ter, heaves, coughs, dis? temper, fe vers, founder LOSS OF appe? tite and vital energy, &c. Its use improves tho w i b d, increases the appetitc-gires a smooth andj glossy skin?and ? transformo the miserable skeleton into a fine-looking and spirited horse._' To keepers of Cows this preparation is Invaluabte. It increases the quantity and improves the quality. of the milk. It Iras been proven by ac? tual experiment to increase the quail' tity of milk and cream twenty per cent, and make tho butter firm and' aweet. Jo fattening cattle, it gives them an appetite, loosens , their bide, and ?* makes them thrive much faster. In all diseases of Swine, such as Coughs,.Uleen In the Lungs, Liver, &c, this article acts as a specific. By putting from . one-half a paper to a paper in a barrel of srrill the above diseases will be eradicated or entirely prevented. If given in time, a.certain preventive and cure for the Hog Cholei-a. Price 25 Cents per Paper, or 5 Papsrsfor GL IBEPAEED BT S. A. FOXJXZ Sc BRO., AT THEIR. WHOLESALE DRUG AND MEDICINE DEPOT, No. 116 Franklin St., Baltimore, Md. For Sale by Druggists and Storekeepers through,, out the United States. ? For sale, at manufacturers' prices, by JOHN J. BAKER, Anderson C. H. June 26, 1867 2 3m . "KIND WORDS" IS PUBLISHED MONTHLY AT TEN CENTS A. YEAR, ALWAYS IN ADVANCE. No Less than Ten copies sent to one Address? nor for a less time than One Year. THE postage, by advices from the Pc-st Office De? partment, is on each package, at,the rate of one cent for every four ounces or fraction thereof, pay? able quarterly or yearly in advance, at the office where received. Money may be sent by mail at our risk. Pa? pers arc discontinued when the term of subscrip? tion expires, unless renewed. Each package is i marked with the number at which the subscription ' ends, and a cross mark is added on the last three packages. Minutes of Conventions, Associations, Sunday Schools, Societies and other printed matter. Ad? dress KIND WORDS, Greenville, S. C. Address all letter.", remittances,, copy, orders, etc., to Rev. C. C. BITTING, Cor. Sec. Greenville, S. C. Demorests* Monthly Magazine, UNIVERSALLY acknowledged the Model Par? lor Magazine of America;~ devoted to Original Stories, Poems, Sketches, Architecture and Model Cottages, Household Matters, Gems of Thonghf, Personal and Literary Gossip, (including .special departments on Fashions). Instructions on Hcalfli, Gymnastic, Equestrian Exercises, Music, Amuse? ments, etc.; all by the best authors, and profuse? ly and artistically illustrated with costly Eng>-a vings, (full size), useful and reliable Patterns, Embroideries. Jewelry, and a constant succession of artistic novelties, with other useful and enter? taining literature. No person of refinement, economical housewife, or lady of taste, can afford to do without the Model Monthly. Single copies, 80 cents; back numbers, as specimens, iO cents ; either mailed free. Year? ly, S3, with a valuable premium: two copies, 95.50; three copies, ?7.50; five copies, $12, and splendid premiums for clubs at $3 each, with the first premiums to each subscriber. Address W. JENNINGS DEMOREST, No. 473 Broadway, Ni w York. Demorest's Monthly and Young America, to? gether, ?4, with the premiums for each. March 27, 18?7 41 THE TRI-WEEKLY PH(ENIX publishes at COLUMBIA, SO. CA., CONTAINS the latest, most interesting and im? portant News from every scctiou. Neatly printed on good paper. terms-US advance: Tri-Weekly one year, ' $2 50 Weekly one year, 1 50 Advertisements inserted on reasonable terms. Address JULIAN A. SELBY, Columbia, S. C. DAILY SOUTH CAROLINIAN, F. G. DeFONTAINE, Editor and Proprietor, COLUMBIA, S. C. TERMS: Daily, twelve months, SO 00 Daily, six months, . 3 00 Daily, three months, 1 50 Single Copies, 05 To News Dealers, 2J (Strictly in advance.) Advertisements inserted on reasonable terms. Address as above. Clergymen are Furnished with the illcsteated PHRENOLOGICAL JOURNAL, DEVOTED to Ethnology, Physiology, Phrenology Physiognomy, Physchology, etc.?at Club rates $1.50 a year?single No's 20 cts. To others, ?2 a year. Prcmins, of Melodions, Pianos, Sewing Ma? chines and Books are given by S. R. WELLS, Publisher, 3S'J Broadway, N. Y. May 3,1867 3 4 ohas. ii. albee. oeo. w. wahres. ALBEE & WARREN, importers A3D dealers in 3PAI3STTS, OILS, GLASS,&C Kerosine Lamps and Oil, NO. 4 HAYNE STREET, CHARLESTON, S. C. ' 36 2m PLANTER'S HOTEL, AUGUSTA, OA., NEWLY Furnished and refitted, unsurpassed by any Hotel South, was re-opened to tho public Oc? tober 8, 18G?, by T. S. NICKERSON, Proprietor late of the Mills House, Charleston, and proprio, tor of Nickcrson's Hotel, Columbia, S. C. Nov 30, 18GG 6mi CARRIAGE FOE SALE. ' A NO. 1 Two-Horse Carriage, new and neatly trimmed, for sale cheap for cash. For partioulars enquire at this office. June 5, 1867 51 2