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WORKING FOR A LIVING. "Ruined I" Ralph Hartson made the exclamation in a half incredulous and wholly surprised tone; and no wonder 1 for Sidney Coster had but the day before been the richest of all that wealthy circle of which they were the representatives. "Yes, ruined." "But' I do not understand it, Coster," said Hartson. ^ "I suppose not." " "I do not?I cannot realize it," persisted Hartson. "You would if you were in my place," re? plied Sidney, bitterly. "How did it happen?please explain," said Hartson, lighting a fresh cigar. However much our friends may lose, it seldom interferes much with our pleasures in this world. "Simply and naturally enough," replied Coster, declining with a wave of his hand the proffered cigar. "Nfo, I must give up the lux? ury now; I have no money to spend upon ci? gars. I trusted my money to my uncle, who, by the way, is tne best fellow in the world, and he lost it all for me ; that's all!" "Fm amazed at your coolness," said Ralph. "No use in fretting about it now ; that won't mend the matter, or make it better." "That's true enough, but very hard to prac? tice, I imagine. How did your uncle, whom, by the way, I should call a very shabby fellow if he had lost all my fortune for me, lose all this money ? Large sum, I believe ?" "Cool hundred and fifty thousand," replied Coster as composedly as if the sum were but the same number of cents, or belonged to some one else. "And he lost it ?" "Yes, that's just it?speculating," interrupt? ed Sidney, as his friend glanced inquiringly at him. "And you, Sidney, what will you do ?" "Why go to work, of course! What else is there to do ?" "Work 1 Sidney Coster at work! He, the daintiest and most aristocratic of us all, at work! Why, the idea is preposterous and ab? surd." The sneering laughter which followed these words netcled his listener, and roused all the mauhood within him. "And why shouldn't I work?or you, either, for that matter? God intended that all his creatures should earn their bread, and because we have always lived and grown in the sun of j pleasure, and eaten of the bread of idleness, is that auy reason why we always should ? Out upon such idleness, I say ! and away with this false pride, that will permit a gentleman to swindle, lie, gamble, and steal, and not lower himself; but abases him to the dust if he dares to honestly earn his living. It's all wrong, and will not be bound by it!" He showed by his earnest look that he meant it, every word. Hartson was aghast at such leveling ideas, and said : j "Just as you please, of course, Coster. You ] are your own master. But, of course, if you choose to put yourself down in the dirt, you won't expect your friends to come down to the same level. I, for one, could never think of associating with a man who worked for a liv? ing." Sidney Coster's lip curled in contempt of j such a character. Hartson continued : "Why don't you go ahead, old fellow, and marry some rich girl ? You are a good look? ing fellow and might very easily do it." "What an honorable thing "that would be, wouldn't it? I would rather starve than thus degrade myself and deceive a woman !" "As you pleas. Good-day!" and one frknd was gone. Coster stood looking after him a moment, and in spite of his brave words he felt bitter against the fate that had made him a poor man. It was a pleasant life, this that he had been leading, and it was hard to give it up. The next thing to do was to search for em? ployment. He possessed nothing in the world except his clothes, a small stock of jewelry? relics of his former butterfly existence?ani a heart full of courage. He did not know how to work, had never attempted even the slight? est detail? of business, out he set resolutely about the task before him. He walked the city for days and days, but all in vain. No one wanted him. There were plenty of situations, but when Iiis qualifica? tions were asked he was forced to tell the truth and confess that he knew, just?nothing. How bitterly he regretted now, in his hour of need, that he had not spent the hours which he had wasted in acquiring his accomplishments, in learning something that could help him in his strait. Regrets were useless, and he went steadily forward upon the hard path of duty. At last he lo3t all hope of finding employ? ment in the city, and turned his face toward the spreading fields and shady groves, and con? tented, peaceful homes of God's own laud? the country. He did not know what he should do there; he had not a friend in the wide world, he thought, who cared whether he lived or died. Where his uncle?the unhappy cause of his'misfortunes?had gone, he knew not. He only knew that he was alone, tired, and heart? sick, and discouraged, turning with a longing heart from the hot and dusty city streets, to the fresh, green meadows of the country. He went. For two days he tramped slowly along, sick in mind and body. He had tried again and again to find employment as he came along, but still that helplessness of ignorance was his bane and barrier. He was sick, very sick, aud knew not where he might lay his weary head. At last he fell, and knew no more. After the long blank and darkness, he had a dreamy sense of a pleasant, shaded room; of open vine covered windows, filled with fresh, pure flowers; of a kind, hearty, rugged face, that came and looked at him, and then spoke cheerily to another kind and motherly face that hovered over him oftener, aud smoothed his pillows, and brushed buck his restless fever tossings; of another face?an angel he dream? ed that was?younger, and so fresh and sweet that the very sight of it seemed to put him far on his road to health again. This face did not come so often as the others. It would steal softly in for a moment with the other faces; and even then would dart out again in a frightened manner, and as the days passed on and he grew better, it did not come at all; and then lie grew impatient to get well and find where it had gone. At last the pleasant morning came when he was well enough to walk out and sit upon the JPeasant porch ; and then unmasked by them, or they were too kind to intrude upon his se? crets, he told them all his story, and they lis? tened and gave him their warmest sgmpathy ; and one face?the timid, fresh, young one? was bathed in tears behind the leafy screen, where it had crept unseen. He had found his haven at last. Farmer Royston?good, worthy, soul, that he was?of? fered him a refuge, and a place where he could earn his own living; and he wont to work. His whole heart was bent upon learning, and lie progressed rapidly in the duties of his farm ; and not there only. He made just as rapid way into the affections of the family Of the ' family in truth ; but of the shy young heart iu particular, he could not feel so sure. That very shyness that added such a charm to her sweet, young beauty, interposed an almost in? surmountable barrier to her confidence. He could not tell how she regarded him ; she was shy and reserved, scarcely ever speaking to I him, and never remaining alone with him a ! moment. i The months rolled on and he had been there I a year. In that year of independence and ! healthy labor, he had grown strong and rug j ged, and handsomer than ever. He had im? proved in mind, also, for though his accomp? lishments were thrown aside, he had gained a store of practical knowledge that was invalua? ble to him ; and, more, he was desperately in love. The young, shy face, had conquered him completely. One pleasant summer evening he strolled down beside the river, and unexpectedly came upon Hattie Royston, sitting silently beside the old tree that grew upon the water's edge. She started to her feet and would have ran away, but he gently detained her with his arm. "Why do you always avoid me, Hattie?" he asked, trying to look into her averted face. She made no reply, and only turned further away from him. "Do you dislike me, then, so much, Hattie ?" he asked reproachfully. > i [ The look she flashed upon him, was a denial I of the charge, yet she would not speak. I "I love you, so dearly and so tenderly, that my whole life must be a sad one if you do not love me in return. You do not wish my life to be that, do you, Hattie ?" ] The answer came so low and faint, that he j had to bend his face close down to hers, to hear the soft little whisper: "No; not that!" He bent so low that his face almost touched hers, and then he saw it was a rosy red, with now and then a tear sprinkled upon it like a diamond. He thought she was pained and in distress. "I am, so sorry, Hattie. I did not mean to give you pain." She stopped him with a little finger pressed upon his lips: and now she looked up, grown bolder in her joy. "Can you not* see that I am only happy ? that I am crying for that very happiness ?" and she smiled lovingly through her tears. "You love me, then, darling?" he asked, as he drew her closer to him, aud bent down to look within her eyes. "Yes, yes! I have loved you so much, ever since-" "Ever since, when?" he asked, as she paused in sweet confusion, and her old shyness re? turned. "Ever since the day you fell out there in the road, and wc brought you in." They said no more just then; what need ? the silence is full of words to lovers, and they were more content with this. "Will I let you have her? Of course, I will! aud glad of the chance to give her to so good a husband 1" said Farmer Koyston, when Sidney asked him for his prize; and the good wife spoke likewise. And so the days rolled rapidly along towards the one appointed for the wedding. And on that very morning a letter came from the ab? sent uncle. It was as follows: Deaii Sidney : The speculations that wc thought had ruined you, have turned out splendidly. I have in my possession over one huudred and thirty thousand dollars, all yours. Come and take possession at once. Theu followed his uncle's address and signa? ture. Not until after they were married did he show the letter to his bride. She rejoiced at his good fortune?for his sake?and said : "You were poor, Sidney, when I married you; so, you sec, I loved you for yourself alone." His rich friends would have come back to him, but they found no welcome. He had tried them, and they were found wanting. The Grasshopper Army To the thousauds of our readers who have for the past few years, and especially few months, heard and read of the grasshopper, the mighty spoiler of the husbandman's labors, but who have never seen or heard described the appear? ance and nature of the pestiferous insect, it may be that a picture of the creature aud its doings would not be uninteresting. When the grass? hoppers originally appeared in the Northwest? ern States to any damaging degree, a number of years since, they first attracted attention by their numbers, appearing as they did before the astonished farmer in countless millions, not as the innocent and harmless creatures which had hopped before his sickle in the grass ever since he was a boy, but as a dangerous, rave? nous and devouring army of innumerable pig? my enemies. They came in swarms, darkening the heavens as far as the eye could reach and alighting upon the green field like a black shroud, and only leaving it when nothing ver? dant remained out of their myriad stomachs. They were not near as large as were the domes? tic grasshoppers, neither green in color, but a brownish-colored insect, of half the size. They hopped with all the power of the old green specimens, but when it came to using their wings the "old inhabitant" grasshoppers were nowhere. The invaders (early named the "raiders") were very eagles in mi nature, and would on a still day soar from a ruined corn? field directly toward the sun and away from human vission. People not experienced in the devastating propensities of these pests can scarcely believe that so small an insect, and one hitherto looked upon so lightly as a powerless inhabitant of the farm, can do the harm which has been ascribed to them. Cut they can do mighty things on account of their numbers. It can hardly be credited that they come in sun darkening clouds aud cover meadows, fields and roads to the depth of from one to five inches of wriggling and hungry life, but they do. It can hardly be believed that they light upon the fen? ces, and gnaw away at the boards and posts with such assiduity that they leave them looking haggled and scarred, but they do. It can hard? ly be understood that they will stop a team by driving like a hail storm in the horses' faces, that they crush by hundreds euder the feet which step among them, and even stop railroad trains, with their grease when run over on up? grades, but it is true. Any farmer iu the infes? ted region who is experienced in their ravages will allirm these apparently extreme statements to be only tame facts in the presence of the actual "raiders"?-the Egyptian plaugc of Min? nesota and the torror of the husbandmen of the whole Northwest.?Chicago Journal. ? When they want to find out in the coun? try if a girl is courting or not, an old lady steps in and remarks; "I say, there ain't no one sick in this here house or nothing is there? 1 seen a light burnin' nigh into 12 o'clock last night, but I don't smell no cainphirc or nothin' round."?liostoa Traveller. ? Hanging "on the ragged edge of anxiety" is not original wit? Mr." Kecciier. A large number of members of Congress have been in precisely such a couditiou for two or three weeks past. A Famous Battle Field. Gettysburg, Pa., Aug. 7, 1S74. Editors Chronicle and Sentinel: Near the house from which I am penning these lines the headquarters of General Lee were located during one of the memorable days of July, 1S63. Not very far off is the spot where the Federal General Reynols, in the beginning of the first day'e jn^gement, had his neck broken by a snot from one of our sharpshooters. Ho was at the time (General Meade not having arrived) commanding the "Army of the Potomac." Visiting the ground a few minutes ago, I found a rude board indi? cating the place where he met his fate. It is not ea9y to realize that this region, now so quiet, so beautifully diversified with hill and valley, was the theatre of the most bloody and decisive battle of the recent war. There is nothing in this air so soft and balmy this morning to indicate that it was once vocal with the shrieks of shot and shell, carrying torture and death to the brave men who here struggled for Southern independence. Nor is there anything in the sumptuous entertainment furnished at the hotel which covers the spot where hostile armies met to indicate (save by contrast) the inferiority and scantiness of the rations on which our soldiers were compelled to subsist. I agree with those who think the fortunes of the Confederacy were scaled with our failure to succeed (we were not defeated) at this point. General Meade once said to your correspon? dent, "If Lee had whipped me at Gettysburg it would virtually have ended the war. lie could then have gone to Baltimore, Philadel? phia or New York. There were no troops which could have resisted him effectually, and he would have compelled an acknowledgment of the independence for which you were fight? ing." "And do you know," said I in reply, "General, how you came to whip us there? I will tell you. Stonewall Jackson was not there." It was even so. The occasion needed just the perseverance and dash for which this great soldier was eminent. But he, alas ! had fallen some sixty days previously by the hands of his own men, and could not, as he generally did, see and seize the key position of the con? flict. In common with multitudes of others, I have often asked why, when the enemy were in full retreat on the first memorable day, did our men cease from pursuit at 4 o'clock in the afternoon ? Why did they not improve the grand work of the day, and rushing on, cap? ture the famous cemetery heights so obviously (to one who now looks over the field) the emi? nence which must secure victory to the party obtaining it? With four hours good daylight remaining, why did they not perfect the work of the enemy's demoralization which had been so effectually begun ? I only know one answer to these questions. The old Roman would have said, sic -non volocre parcas. Asa Chris? tian, I say "the Divinity that shapes our ends" did not intend it. With victory actually in our grasp, had we but shut our hands, with the prize sought almost in view, we lost it! Well, since ordained by a higher power, I accept the situation. I hoped, 1 worked for Southern in? dependence, but since it could not be, I am willing to believe that it is better for all con? cerned that the struggle terminated as it did. But for the tyranny and oppression which have characterized victors who could well afford to he magnanimous, it would be far easier to ac? quiesce in the result. Despite the mailed hand with which they have governed us and arc still seeking to impose measures most odious and iniquitous, if we are but true to ourselves and to the Great Arbiter of human destiny, we shall emerge from all these calamities purified aud ennobled. A common impression prevails that Ceme? tery Hill was not occupied by the Federal troops on the first day of the engagement. But this is a mistake. At half-past 8 o'clock on the morning of this day, General Howard ' and his signal officers, together with the Pro? fessors, in the College located here, were sur veyeing the country, when one of the Profes? sors, an old resident, called the attention of the General to the importance of the position. Howard was so much impressed with the value of the point, that on the arrival of General Steiuwehr's Division at 1 o'clock p. m., though his aid was greatly needed to support the Fed? eral columns which were giving away before the galling lire of the Confederates, he ordered Steinwehr to occupy the hill and be prepared j for any emergency. The Federals claim that our men pursued their advantage until they were repulsed by a fire from the sharp Bhooters on this eminence. However true this may be, there can be no doubt that it would have been far easier to wrest the position from a demor? alized foe, than to wait, as was done, nearly twenty-four hours and then attack them when they had fully one hundred guns in position and been recruited by the divisions which were concentrating there from the surrounding country. How true is it in war, as well as in peace, that men reap the glory which has been won by another. The man most honored and eulo? gized by the dominant party in the late war, is the President of the United States, and yet the South was virtually conquered when he. took command of the Federal army. We never had a victory after the Gettysburg disaster. Of course there were repeated engagements in which we secceeded in holding our entrench? ments and fortified positions. There were times when we could not be driven back so rapidly as our assailants desired, but there was no marked success. And yet Meade, who fought the most important battles, was quickly superceued and forgotten. Though General Grant appears as the Chief Captain when our fortunes were obviously and rapidly waning, and when it would seem that almost any man of any calibre, with such vast resources, must have been successful against an enemy exhaus? ted by protracted contention against superior odds, he is the great man of the day, reaping all the honors, and taking his place in history :is the acknowledged hero of the war. But it matters very little now with Meade what was thought of him. "He has fought his last battle !" He has been met and over? come by an enemy who always proves himself too strong even for the most mighty ; an enemy before whom every reader of these lines will one day succumb ! Our own beloved Lee, too, has fallen before the power of the same enemy. But I will not say fallen. He has met that enemy, and has triumphed over him. "Isihal n itoalli lir<l whorn a Christian dies? Yes, Imt mil his, 'Iis Dentil itself liiere dies," Lee was as fine a specimen of a Christian gentleman as I ever saw. He was a type of men who do honor to our humanity. Meade was, by profession, a Christian, and I hope he was what he professed. Meade and Lee! how vividly the scenes around one recall these com? manders who confronted each other on this field of carnage! 1 know them both ; and 1 knew enough of good in both to make one. hope I they arc now united in the service of the Prince of Peace. ? When you sec, an old ,ludy in pantaloons jerking his eyuha!!? heavenward and deploring j i the exposure ui wickedness m high places,give ' him all the grccu watermelon ho will hold. ' Tlic Romance of Southern History. More than seventy yearn, ago, when the .star of the great Napoleon was beginning to de? scend from the meridian of his glory, France held all that portion of the United States west of the Mississippi. Her American possession extended from New Orleans to Oregon, and had come into her hands by virtue of the discove? ries of La Sallo, Joliet and Father Hennepin. Even to-day, in many portions of New Orleans there are the characteristics that mark the prominent national fruits of the earliest set? tlers. Frenchmen jostle the shrewd Yankee speculator and the merchant of Louisiana in the Cotton Exchange ; Frenchmen mingle iu the discussion of questions to advance the public good?or rather check the public bad ?and the French market is eloquent with sug? gestions of some of the quaint old quarters of Paris. It is a bit of" Old World life trans? planted and re-set amid the bustle aud activity of the New. There is a strange romance about the history of these former French possessions; a singular illustration of the remarkable strides that our country has made in settlement and prosperity, that makes it exceedingly interesting to the student of human advancement. When Jolictjtbe Canadian fur trader, and his pious companion descended the river, the banks on cither side were but the borders of a wilderness that stretched away for hundreds of I miles. Now and then, on their lonely journey j they would see the face of some wondering sav- | age, and tarry a while to minister spiritual food to the copper-colored tribes. Often they passed through hostile countries, where the dark woods were pregnant with treachery and ambush, while again they would be received j with hospitality and friendship. Time passed, j The Rev. Father had given up his life on the shores of the mighty river, and once more it belonged to solitude. But civilization ad? vanced and built her outposts on the present sites of the cities of New Orleans and the St. Louis, and the Mississippi was no longer an unknown river. France held all that mighty domain until the birth of the nineteenth cen? tury when it was ceded to Spain. That coun? try held it but a short time. Napoleon appre? ciated its value, and after much negotiatiou it was retroceded to France. The great French Consul intended to make it a province of France, and with it off-set the possessions of his hatred rival, England, in the New World ; but. it was reserved for a grander destiny. The United States, then but a struggling nation, had up to that time, becu sorely troubled to obtain the right to navigate the 3Iississippi. The Minister at France, Mr. Livingstone, had been instructed to negotiate for the purchase of New Orleans; but hiseffurts had been in vain. At last, circumstance, came to his aid. France was threatened by another war with England, and it was currently reported that it would be a part of the policy of the English, ministry to scud a fleet into the Gulf of Mexico. As Na? poleon was then situated he could not prevent the invasion, so he choose the lesser horu of the dilemma, and sold what was then known as Louisiana to the United States for fifteen millions of dollars. Seventy years ago, when the sale was made, the country purchased was a mighty wilder? ness. The bosom of the river was only broken by driftwood, aud, perchance, the canoe of some stray Indian, or the bark of some sturdy fur trader. How different to-day. It is divided into cities aud territories'; great cities aud marts of trade ; thriving villages, farms, schools ?all of the characteristics of a prosperous population?have risen up on the sites of the great forests. Aud the transformation has but barely begun. The old Spanish adventurers who dared death iu a hundred different forms to obtain the wealth of the New World, were not so far wrong in thinking it an El Dorado, but they did not know where the riches lay. It was not to be found in mines of gold and pre? cious stones, and in the rivers and gulches, but in the broad plains, the rich ores, the bounteous soil and the magnificent water-courses?natural allies to commerce that were unsurpassed. It was gold that would come as a rich reward for honest, toil that constituted the wealth of the New World, and the practical eyes of the set? tlers saw and appreciated the fact. But the South, is only in its infancy. It has received a stimulus during the last few years, that will develop its rich resources in a manner that even its most enthusiastic admirers do not dream of. Capital is flowing towards it; its agricultural wealth is growing greater every day; its mines are being operated; great man? ufactories are rising everywhere; the people are throwing off their indifference, and pre? paring to engage in the commercial battle for which she has so many natural advantages, and to-day her future is more assured than ever. There is no place in the broad uuiverse where capital may be more safely and profita? bly invested; and the Southern press and peo? ple owe it to themselves to keep this fact be? fore .the world. Is there no romance In all this? No romance in the quick and sure conversion of a wilder? ness into a civMlized nation?prosperous, en? lightened and contented ? Aye, there is more than romance in it. It is one of the great miracles of modern progress of whioh'our coun? try has given the most magnificent illustrations. The waters of the broad Mississippi, that three quarters of a century ago were desolate with the silence of barbarism, are to-day covered with richly freighted barks that ply between the marts of trade upon its banks ; the silence has been broken by the voice of civilization, and the steady puff, puff of the stately steam? boats. Rafts and flat boats float down its waters with their wealth of lumber and grain ; the forests have given way for broad plantations, aud the voice of the iron horse shrieks out "Progress" as it thunders along its banks.? 77/-' South. Lahor.?It is a mistake to suppose that la? bor is an unpleasant condition of life. It is a matter of experience that there is more real contentment iu attending to any kind of occu? pation than there is in looking for some oc? cupation. Attend, therefore, to your business as being worthy of all your attention. Work? ing men arc apt to consider tii.it their occu? pations alone are laborious, but in that matter they are mistaken. Labor of the mind is gen? erally even more fatiguing than labor of the body, and it is quite erroneous to suppose that others do not work as well as we do, simply because their work is different from ours. Labor is the earthly condition of man, and until the nature of man is changed, the want of something to do will produce all the horrors ot | ennui. Gambling and other reprehensible dis? sipations are all owing to the fact that human nature cannot support a slate of idleness. To live without a purpose, is to lead a very restless life. ? A Kentucky man while drunk ordered his wife to take a hammer and a nail and knock his teeth out. With that meekness of spirit and obedience which characterizes her sex, that loving wile obeyed the orders of Inn lord. When he got sober his swearing didn't count, because he mumbled it .-o it could not be understood. ' Business Prospects. It is now nearly a year since the occurrence of the great panic, and the country has not yet re? covered from it. It has been a year of contrac? tion and suspension, and yet, notwithstanding the extraordinary shrinkage of values, there have been comparatively few failures. Usually panics have been followed by failures, settle? ments, and then a revival of business; but in this case there ha?o been few failures, and con ! tinued inactivity. The general aim has been to I reduce expenses, pay off debts, get matters into shape generally, steer clear of speculations of all kinds, and wait for the result of the harvests of 1S74. Meantime, money has been abundant. Loanable capital has never been more plenty than during the last six months, but this has not encouraged speculation. As a result of all this, merchants and manufacturers are carrying very light stocks of goods, and consumers who have been buying from hand to mouth are also short. There is no great surplus of goods anywhere, with the exception, perhaps, of iron, and this trade will not revive largely until railroads re? cover, and this recovery will follow a revival of general business. The event to which business men have been looking forward is the harvest, and the season has progressed far enough to show what this is likely to be. The crops after all are the founda? tions upon which all other interests depend. What, then, is the condition of the crops ? It is safe to say that the United States never had a bet? ter average harvest than that of 1S74. Small grain has been secured, and corn is safe from eve? ry danger, except a very early frost. Oats are short in some places, as also hay and early potatoes, but taking the country through, there is a good crop of every thing. Ohio will, as matters now look, produce over eighty million bushels of corn. In some parts of the country tobacco is short, but this loss will be made up by high prices, so that the result in dollars will be a full one. The cotton crop, which it was feared about planting time would be short, now promises to be the largest that has been gathered siuce the war. Of course this crop is not out of all dan? ger, but the present prospect is good. Good crops being assured, the next question is as to prices, and these must be governed largely by the foreign demand. The advices from Eu? rope show that there will be a large deficiency in the supply of grain, and that the foreign demand will take the entire surplus of the United States at full prices. Wheat is probably lower now than it will bo at any future time up to next harvest, and the indications are that oats and coru will command higher prices than the average of the last year. Hogs arc high?s~ to $7.50 per 100 lbs. gross. This is S3 ahovc last year's average. IJog products have advanced seventy-five per cent, since the close of the last packing season, and by the incoming of the next winter crop the market will be bare of provis? ions. It is hardly to be expected that hogs will sell through the winter as high as they are now quoted, but they will sell much above last year's average. A large proportion of the heavy corn crop will, therefore, be put into pork at good prices. Europe will also take a large amount of corn, at fair prices. Last year the shipments of corn to Europe were large, and these are steadi? ly increasing. The stocks of cotton goods are light, and when the demand from consumers springs up, as it must, factories that have been half or wholly idle will he set in full motion in this country and in Europe, so that with an in? creased crop of cotton remunerative prices may be expected. With good crops and good prices, then noth? ing can occur to prevent a revival of business. Money, which has been scarce in the country, will be in good supply as soon as the crops move. This will give fanners and merchants something else to think about than hard times and a scarcity of currency, and it will also give full employment to railroads aud steamboats. It will tax the transportation lines, by both rail and water, to remove the great crops this year as they have not been taxed for many seasons past. Although the prospects arc most charming, with good crops aud a heavy foreign demand at full prices, the autumn business will be in marked contrast with that of a year ago, and the prospects are that, when the first frost falls, merchants, instead of finding it difficult to sell their goods, will have more dilBeulty in finding goods to meet the demand.? Cincinnati Weekly Gazette. Stimulants. Tho man Is a maniac, a deliberate suicide, who drinks tea, coffee, or ardent spirits of any kind, to induce him to perform a work in hand, and when he feels too weak to go through with it without such aid. This is the reason that the majority of great orators and public speak? ers die drunkards. The pulpit, bench, the bar, the forum, have contributed their legions of victims to drunken habits. The beautiful wo? man, the sweet singer, the conversationalist, the periodical writers, have filled but too often a drunkard's grave. Now that the press has become a great power iu the land, when the magazine must come out on a certain day and the daily newspaper at a fixed hour, nothing waits, everything gives way to the inexorable call for copy; sick or well, disposed or indis? posed, asleep or awake, that copy must come; the writer must compose his article whether he feels like it or not, and if he is not in the vein for writing, he must whip himself up to it by the stimulus drink. Some of the greatest wri? ters of the century have confessed to the prac? tice, on urgent occasions, of taking a sip of brandy at the end of every written page, or oven oftener?Lord Jiyrou at the end of every paragraph sometimes! It may have escaped the general reader's no? tice, that more men have died young, who have been connected with the .New York press, with? in ten years, and that too from intemperance, than in all other educational callings put to? gether; young men whose talents have been of the very first order, aud gave promise of a life of usefulness, honor aud eminence. The best possible tiling for a man to do. when he fools too tired to perform a task, or too weak to car? ry it through, is to go to bed and sleep a week, if he can ; this is the only true recuperation of brain power; the only actual renewal of brain forces, because, during sleep the brain is iu a sense at rest, in a condition to receive and appropriate particles of nutriment from the blood, which take the place of those which have been consumed In previous labor, since, the very act of thinking consumes, burns up solid particles, as every turn of the wheel or screw of the splendid steamer is the result of the consumption by lire of the fuel in the fur? nace. That supply of consumed brain sub? stance can only bo had from the nutriment particles in the blood which were obtained from the ibod eaten previously, and the brain is so constituted that it can best receive and appropriate to itself those nutriment particles during the state of rest, quiet and stillness of sleep. Mere stimulants supply nothing in themselves?they only goad the brain, force it. | to a greater consumption of its substance until that substance has been so fully exhausted that | there is not power enough left to receive a sup-1 ply ; juHt as men are sometimes so near death by thirst and starvation, that there is not strengtli enough left to swallow anything, and all is over. The capacity of the brain for re? ceiving recuperation particles sometimes comes on with the rapidity of lightning, and the man becomes mad in an'instant; in an instant falls in convulsions^ in an instant loses all sense, and he Is an idiot. It was under circumstances of this very sort, in the very middle of a sen? tence of great oratorial power, one of the most eminent minds of the age forgot his idea, and after a moment's siler.oe said, "God, as with a 9ponge, has blotted out my mind." Be assured, reader, "there is rest for the weary" only in early and abundant sleep, and wise and happy are they who have firmness enough to resolve that "by God's help, I will seek it in no other way."?Hall's Journal of Health. ?-?? ? m A Carolina "Water Spout?A Singular Phe? nomenon at Langley Mill Pond. ! The Augusta Chronicle and Scfitincl gives the following account of the water spout at Langley, S. C., on Wednesday afternoon : A dense cloud was first seen approaching the pond, being apparently a considerable distance up. Nothing particular was thought of it, the citizens of Langley being at the time occupied in trying to keep cool?a hard thing to do with the thermometer at one hundred degrees in the shade. But presently a startling circum? stance occurred. The cloud had halted over the pond and established connection with the latter. A genuine waterspout had in fact been evolved, and an immense quantity of water was rushing skyward through the liquid con? ductor. When first seen, the water spout was near the dam, and traveled slowly across the pond until it reached the railroad trestle work, a distance of a mile and a quarter from its starting point, when it disappeared, and the cloud moved majestically off, carrying with it thousands of gallons of water which had been drawn from the pond. The latter covering an area of six hundred acres was, in fact, lowered fuily two inches. The huge column which joined the upper region to the expanse of wa? ter below resembled a cone in form, and rota? ted horizontally with exceeding rapidity. The marvellous speed with whieh the column turned impressed the beholder immediately with the idea that it was associated with a whirlwind. This was most probably the case, as a tremendous wind passed over Augusta from the direction of Langley some hours afterwards. The heavens were brilliant with incessant flashes of lightning after the spout described above had disappeared. There was no rushing noise connected with it, sis is the case in some instances. The water underneath the clouds just before the spout formed was in a state of great agitation. Waves rolled an the cloud hatted, a sort of funnel protruded from it and dropped siowly down, becoming larger as it lengthened, the broader portion or base being at the surface of the cloud. When it reached a point about one-fourth the distance between the cloud and the pond, the bulge on the surface of the latter rose to meet it, and the two at length joined, when the water from the pond commenced ascending into the cloud, which moved slowly towards the trestle work. The waves in the water?all leaping and tend? ing towards the spout?and the spout itself continued the vortical motion referred to above. The outside of the watery funnel was dark and not well defined, while- the centre was much lighter, being rather of a bluish cask This would seem to indicate that the column was partly hollow, the dark portions representing the sides. There can be no doubt but that the immense quantity of water which was trans? ferred from the pond to the cloud was literally sucked up. The spout finally disappeared, as if it had been drawn bodily up into the cloud, while the latter quietly moved off to parts un? known. Not a drop of rain fell during the occurrence or afterwards. The formation and subsequent motions of the spout are described as having made up a spectacle grand in the extreme. Nothiug of the kind was ever before seen in that section. The strangest part of the phenomenon was the fact that the cloud, so burdened with water, moved off" without dis? pensing any of it in the form of rain in the neighborhood. The following interesting statement was fur? nished by a gentleman who requested Mr. Wm. Philips, civil engineer, to make the calcula? tion : Area of mill pond, 600 acres ; depth of water diminished, two inches by a water snout which prevailed for about ten minutes. Tue superfi? cial area of one acre is 43,560 square feet; the decimal for the depth of two inches is 0.1666 of a foot; hence, 43,f>G0x0.16?6966.60 cubic feet is the quantity taken from one acre; and then 6006.(30x600 gives us 4,181,760 cubic feet as the whole quantity taken from the mill pond. The cube root of this last is about 161 feet, so a cube of that size would nearly meas? ure the quantity of water taken off. This quantity would make a column ten feet iu di? ameter, 53,243 feet high?rather more than ten miles. At 62} pounds to a cubic foot, the above 4,1S1,76? cubic feet would weigh 201, 360,000 pounds. UowHkProvkd It.?It is the custom in Mexico for the clergy to require a foreigner, wishiug to marry a native, to bring proof that he is not already a married man. An Ameri? can, about to marry a senorita of very good family, was required to furnish the proof of Iiis being a bachelor. Not finding any of his conn try mon who know him sufficiently well to testify to this fact, ho determined to supply tho deficiency with tho oath of a native. Meeting aMexicau in the street, whom he had never seen before, our countryman pro posed to him that ho should swear to his being unmarried for tho consideration of live dollars. The seuor, after a moment's study, said to tho Yankee: "Get down on your hands and knees, and en-ep about." Nut exactly understanding what he was at our friond oljcyod, much to the detriment of his unmentionable. The other party then told him ho was all right; that ho would swear that the American had not been married since ho knew him, and that was since the time he crawled. A Story of Robert Emmet.-?There is a story told of this young patriot in early life that proved his secretive power and resolution, lie was fond of studying chemistry, and ono night late, after the family had gone to bed, he swallowed a large quantity of corrosive sub? limate" in mistake for some acid cooling pow? der. He immediately discovered his mistake, and knew that death must shortly ensue unless he instantly swallowed the antidote?chalk. Timid men would have torn at the bell, roused all the family, and sent fur a stomach-pump. Emmet called no one, made no noise ; but stealing down stairs and unlocking the front door, went into the stable, scraped some chalk which he knew to be there, and look sufficient doses of it to neutralize the poison. ? An Irishman, newly engaged, presented to his master one morning a pair of boots, leg of one of whieh was much longer than the other. "How conies it, you rascal, that these boots arc not of the same length?" "I really don't know, sir; but w hat bothers me most is that the pair down stairs are in the same fix." grily and ?ceptible bulge was seen. As