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VOLUME 14 CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, TUESDAY MORNING MARCH 29, 1853. NUMBER 13. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY f THOMAS J. WARREN. )j I ~ TEKMS^ F Two Dollars if paid in advance; Two Dollars and Fitly Cents if payment be delayed three months, and I' Three Dollars if not paid till the expiration of the year. F f ADVERTISEMENTS will bo inserted at the fol- a lowing rates: For one Square, (fourteen lines or less,) seventy-five cents for the first, and thirty-seven and at ' ? c- 1- f? L half cents for each subsequent insertion, oiugie iu- sertions. one dollar per square; semi-monthly, month- c ly and quarterly advertisements charged the same as t for a single insertion. c L ?^"The number of insertions desired must be noted on the margin of all advertisements, or they will be published uutil ordorcd discontinued and charged accordingly. 11 ^fp???? ?i n JUisffllnnwiis. " Si From the Methodist Protestant. a THE TEMPTED; ,J A TEMPERANCE TALE. .. a n BY FIXLEY JOUXSOX. ^ CHATTER I. 1( "And so you are going to leave us, Ned V' i said old farmer Brian in a-tone of inquiry to si K his late assistant. it "Why, yes," was the reply; "I think that t< r by so doing I can do better. With the wages si 1 have saved I intend to buy a small farm, and when my little girl and I are married we shall s . f, DCllig mvm II ??'. ..... "I am glad to hear it, Ned, though it goes ti hard with U3 to part with you. You have e v> been faithful to your trust, and may you be h happy; but beware of your mortal enemy, o rum." v The young man was for a moment confused e but speedily recovering he replied: "Well, fi Mr. Brian, that I ain resolved on. For two !< years have 1 been without it, and think that now I can refrain altogether. So good bye, I tl have a long road to travel yet, and 1 mean to b reach my destination to-morrow." c "Good-bye?God bless you," said the lion- t est farmer; "and remember, as you value a your happiness, to avoid all intoxicating b drinks." e "No fear for me," cried the young man, as a he waved his hand ; and whistling to a huge, ti shabby dog, he took the road, and with a hap- a py heart sped onward c Edward Howard was one of those strong, ri i hardy men, that seem to have been made ex- si pressly to clear the way tor civilization. As lie trudged on his way with his dogat his heels, d and cast his eyes now on the vast expanse of g prairie land, and now on the rude hut of the v settlers, he seemed to have been formed for tl such a scene, I "Come on, Lion,?come on, old boy," he o cried, snapping his fingers, and bending down ft to stroke his dog. "You'll miss the old farm a end the old hearth, and the new folks pcrhajjs, will you call an ugly customer, but the girl h that loves me will love you too, old boy. \Vc e< are going to a new home." w And here he struck up a lively tune, while o the dog bounded on before him- wagging his v tail> as ifhe understood all his master said.? e Bright visions of the future came before the young man, and building fairy castles in the g nir, Ned Was happy. v He had not proceeded far before his ears ' were saluted with the shouts of a party who " were returning from the fields,?"Hillo, Ned," H they cried, "where are you bound ? llillo, old Lion, where For new?'' y "Why> my friends, I am going no farther g to-night than the Western House,' cried Ned, s ns ho shook them all by the hand 5 "and fur] }" Lion he'll not leave me. I must taste mother h Simpsons tea to-night." "A cup of whiskey would sit better on your h stomach," said one, as he slapped the young w man on the shoulders. i' "Or a glass of the old man's punch," rejoined another. "I wonder if Ned has any 'dimes,'" shout- ic ?* - a;?4 . nT nifiv'p ho fhe eu out ut a iiiiiu j m. inv v party." P ^ "Och, boys," cried a red faced Irishman, h "leave the man alone, his money is where h Paddy was?that's in the shark's mouth. It's I v a man like Ned that can keep money tight." a As the young man ga*ed around him and b heard the laugh with which this sally was n greeted, he felt quite displeased. His pride w was touched?if there was one thing which he if despised above all others, it was meanness, u and therefore it was with eyes of fire he gazed g around and in a stern voice said : t< "Hark, ye friends, I am no miser. It is true 1 that there is money in my purse, but 1 do not f< intend to drink or treal, which is perhaps to you disagreeable ne vs." a "Och, man, the news is just like Betsey's n scolding?the very thing expected," cried the n Irishman, and a loud laugh greeted his wit. b "It is not because. 1 am afraid of the ex- r " Hi* evos fl:i<s!iin?r with i peuse, ic|/ntv? ~j? passion. - t( "And is it because you are getting proud ?" i s retorted the tormentor. "You arc all wrong," said another of the party ; "Ned is not stingy after all. Come s on men?old Simpson has got a fresh supply. I Come along?Ned's a trump;" and placing ii his arm in that of the too yielding farmer, he led him on. v ' "Alas, poor Edward! the fatal step was t( taken. Urged on by his pride to show his a friends that he was not penurious, he passed p the Rubicon of safety, and plunged madly in n the vortex of dissipation. The tavern was n reached, and setting down upon a rude bench, d he called boldly for the intoxicating liquor.? g As he raised the first cup to his lips a warning voice spoke to his soul, and he felt dissatisfied with his conduct. But as the sonrrs ot his i' friends fell upon his ear, and as he heard their ? loud shouts of boisterous mirth, he was chain- g ed to the spot, and when morning dawned upon d the earth his money was almost gone, and he " himself in a sleep of drunkenness. It was 1" midday before he again started on his journey, tl and as he passed the threshold of the inn, he 'f cursed the follies of the previous night. Lion tl bounded on before him as if joyous again to l< see his master sober, but Ned's steps were not P as elastic as when first ho started. He felt |? himself debased, and his course was downward, tl The warning voice of his good old master was J \ / brgottcn, and entering the first low cabin in lis route he again drank of his enemy?rum. Thoughts of his betrothed?of his future pros>ects, would occasionally, like sunbeams, dart icross his mind, then all would be dark. Still te drank, and as he drew near the home of ler whom he loved, his steps were staggering, nd his head reeling from the effects of the loison. Ho had been tempted, and relying ipon his own strength, rather than the grace if God, had fallen. The first false step was aken, and hope was shrouded in the darkness if despair. CHAPTER II. Carrie Church loved Edward Howard?yea, oved him with all the strength ol a woman's ature. She viewed him only through the nedium of love, and all appeared bright.? Tis true he had one fault, still her faith abolved it. Hut her stern old father regarded it .s a fault which was to him a barrier not to e removed. Young Howard loved bis glass, nd when the father of the girl he cherished, casoned with him on the folly of his course, e would treat it lightly, and in a tone of carejssness pass it by. "Edward," said old Mr. Church "my child ball never wed a man who indulges in intoxtating drinks. It is useless to argue the mat?r; refrain from your enemy and my daughter ball be yours." T " - . -i?i._ _i?i u:.? J-ovmg Carrie uevuieuiy, no jneugeu uuuelf to abstain from rum, and going to work >r old Mr. Brian, he had saved up sufficient o buy a small farur. The reports of his altcrd conduct were time after time told to the ovinggirl and the hopeful old man. The time f his probation wanted but a day of closing i hen he started from the house of his employ r. Carrie's heart was beating high with joyil anticipations, and with a trusting soul she roked for the return of her lover. I The day of his expected return came and le bright sun imparted cheerfulness to all; i ut night had been ushered in, and yet he i ame not. The second day dawned, and still ? he confiding girl and the aged man were lone. Tears filled the breast of the latter, ut with all a woman's true devotion, the form r still hoped on?but it was almost hoping j gainst hope?the old man's thoughts were of ) fie lost?for he had heard that Edward was drunkard. A week passed by and still he ame not. A hopeless grief now bowed Carle beneath its heavy cloud. Hrokcn-heartcd, i lie no longer looked for her lover. One night as she was sitting engaged in eep thought, and now and then would cast a lance at her sorrowing father, a low knocking ras heard at the door, while at the same time ne pitiful whine of a dog sounded in the air. n a moment she sprang upon her feet and pened the door; but she uttered a wild and jarful shriek and fell fainting in her father's rms. As the old man gazed upon the object which ad so alarmed his daughter, he was astoundd at what he beheld. There stood Edward, ith shoeless feet ami no clothing hut a pair fold trowsers and a thin shirt. His eyes ,-ere dull and haggard, while his lips prescntd a fearful appearance. "Take him away, father," cried the excited id, "he is not my Edward ?no, no. .My Ednird is dead. Take him away; this is some end which has come to mock me," and givig an awful cry, she fell prostrated on the oor?reason had Jled?she was mad. Sunken, degraded, as rum had made him, et his heart was touched at the agony of the ] irl. Throwing up his arms to heaven, he j houted?"1 am a murderer, a murderer! Do I ou hear? a murderer." And calling his dog, e departed. Two days alter Edward Howard might ave heen seen staggering up to the tavern here his first ruin was effected, and supplicatig for a glass of ruin. The bar-keeper laughd and turned away. TJill<>, Ned," cried out his former compan>ns, "cleared out, eh?" With an aching head and a crazed brain the oor wretch wandered through the neighborood. Often would his voice lie heard in the our of midnight. "Ha, ha; I am a murderer! killed her; that is not my Edward?no, no, fiend." lie too was a maniac. The vivid, ut cold, serpent like gleam of his eyes could ot be mistaken. Sometimes at midnight he ould be heard fleeimr bv the farm houses as 0 J ' for life; at other times loud shouts and cries ,'ould issue from the woods as if from one in reat agony, and at others he would mutter ' > himself by hours. He disappeared at last, tut one day, as the sun went down, its beams .'11 upon the pale face of a corpse. It was found lying at the. foot of a tree, and s strangers bore him to his Ia-t resting place, u eye let fall a tear, no breast heaved a sigh 0 marble marks the spot where he sleeps; ut there, unwept, unhonored and uncared for, ests the body of the victim of Intemperance. Young reader, take heed lest you fall into cmptation, and pray that God may give you trength to resist the snares of the spoiler. May a Gentleman Weak a Frock-Co at t an Evening Party??The New-York loine Journal, in a recent article upon changes 1 fashion says: "The disputed question : May a gentleman rear a frock-coat at an evening party? seems d have been decided in the nlhrmative, and, ecordingly, young gentlemen take particular (ensure in wearing that loiig obnoxious garicut, with the additional innovation of black eckerchiefs. White waistcoats are generally iscarded, and white kids yield precedence to loves of color."' A lady at the St. Louis Hotel, remarked i our presence recently, that she always atched with much interest the egress and inress of husbands and wives, to ami from the iuing and drawing rooms of fashionable hotels. If," said she, "the wives enter and depart a ttle in advance of their husbands, bo sure ley wear the?Oh, no, we never mention sins.' If, on the contrary, the husband take ie lead, you may rest assured they take the iad in everything else." This idea to us, is erfectly original, and we shall be somewhat articular hereafter in satisfying ourselves of le truth of such "significant signs."?uV. 0. 'kayunc. ' From the Olive Branch. The Bridal Wine Class. " Pledge with wine?pledge with wine cried the young and thoughtless Harvey Wood "pledge with wine;" ran through the brillian crowd. The beautiful bride grew pale?the decisiv hour had come. She pressed her white hand together, and the leaves of the bridal wreat trembled on her pure brow ; her breath cam quicker, her heart beat wilder. "Yes Marion, lay aside your scruples fo this once," said the Judge in a low tone, goin, towards his daughter, " the company expei it; do not so seriously infringe upon the rule of etiquette; in your own home act as yo please ; but in mine, for this once, please vie. Every eye was turned towards the brida pair. Marion's principles were well knowr Henry had been a convivialist, but of late hi friends noted the change in his manners, th difference i:i his habits?and to-night the< watched to see, as they snccringly said, if h was tied down to a woman's opinion so soon Pouring a brimming breaker, they held i with tempting smiles toward Marion. She wa still very pale, though more composed; am her hand shook not, as smiling back, she grace fully accepted the crystal tempter, and raisei it to her lips. Hut scarcely had she done so when every hand was arrested by her piercinj exclamation of "oh ! how terrible " What is it ?" cried one and all thronge* together ; for she had slowly carried the glas at arms length, and was fixedly regarding it a though it were some hideous object. " Wait," she answered, while an inspire* light shone from her dark eyes, " wait, and will tell you." " f see," she added, slowly pointing one jewelled finger at the sparklin* ruby liquid-?" a sight that beggars all descrip tion ; ami yet listen?I will paint it for you i I can. It is a lonely spot; tall mountain crowned with verdure rise in awful sublimit; around ; a river runs through, and bright flow ers grow to the water's edge.?There is a thick warm mist, that the sun seeks vainly to pierce Trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the air motion of birds; but there a group of Indian: gather; they flit to and fro with something like sorrow upon their dark brows. And ii heir midst lies a manly form ?but his cheel how deathly, his eye wild with the fitful fireo fever. One friend stands beside him?naj-, should say kneels; for see, he is pil otfing tha poor head upou his breast. Genius iirruins?oh! the high, holy looking brow ! why should death mark it, and he si young? Look how he throws back the darn] curls! see him clasp his hands! hear his thrill ing shrieks for life ! mark how he dutches a the form of his companion, imploring to b saved. Oh ! hear him call piteously his fath er's name?see him twine his lingers togcthe O O as he shrieks for his sister?his only sister? the twin of his soul?weeping for him in hi distant native land. " See !" she exclaimed, while the bridal par ty shrank back, the untasted wine treinbliiij in their faltering grasp, and the Judge fell overpowered, upon his seat?"see! bis arm are lifted to heaven?lie prays, how wildlv fo mercy ! hot fever rushes through his veii^ The friend beside him is weeping. awc-striA en, the dark men move silently away, and leav the living and the dying together." There was a hush in that princely parloi broken only by what seemed a smothered sol from some manly bosom. Tlic bride stood ve upright, with quivering lip, and tears stenlinj to the outward edge of her lashes. Her beau tiful arm had lost its tension, and the glas? with its little troubled red waves came slmvl towards the range of her vision. She spok again ; every lip was mute. Her voice wa low, faint, yet awfully distinct; she still fixe* her sorrowful glance upon the wine-cup. " It is evening now; the great white mooi is coming up, and its beams lay gently on hi forehead. He moves not; his eyes are set ii their sockets; dim arc their piercing glances in vain his friend whispers the name of fathe and sister,?death is there. Death?and in soft hand, no gentle voice to bless and sooth him. His bead sinks back ! one convulsiv shudder! he is dead !" A groan ran through the assembly, so vivii was her description, so unearthly her look, s* inspired her manner?that?what she deseri bed, seemed actually to have taken place tbei and there. They noticed also that the bride groom bid bis face in his hands and was weep ing. " Dead !" she repeated again, her lips qniv cring faster, and her voice more and more brc ken ; " and there they scoop him a grave and there, without a shroud, they lay him dowi in that damp, recking earth. The only son o a proud father, the only, the idolised brot^e of a fond sister, And lie sleeps to day in'-tha distant country, with no stone to mark th spot. There he lies?my father's son?m; own twin brother! a victim to this deadly poi son. " Father," she exclaimed, turning soil denly, while the tears rained down her beauti ful cheeks, "father shall I drink it now?" The form of the old Judge was convulse with agony. He raised not his head, but In smothered voice he faltered?"no, no, in child, in God's name?no." She lifted the glittering goblet, and letliii; il suddenly fall to the floor, it was dashed in thousund pieces. Many a tearful eye watch cd her muvcmeiit, and instantaneously ever wine-glass was transferred to the marble tabl on which it bad been prepared.?Then as sli looked at the fragments of crystal, she tunic to the company, saying, " let no friend hereal ter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my sou for wine. Not lirmer are the everlasting hill than my resolve, God helping me, never t touch or taste that terrible poison. And h to whom I have given my hand?who watche over my brother's dying form in that las solemn hour, and buried the dear wnndcrc there by tiie river in that land of gold, will, trust, sustain mo in that resolve?will you nol my husband 1 ii* _i:. 1.: a HIS gllMUIIIIlff U^'VS, HIS Nlll, SWL'UU MIllll was his answer. The J udgo left the room, air when an hour after he returned, and with more subdued manner took part in the enter tainment of the bridal guests, no one eonli fail to read that he, too, had determined t< banish the enemy at once, and forever from hi princely home. " Those who were present at that wedding ; can never forget the impressions so soleninl t made,?many from that hour foreswore the sc cial glass. m. a. d. s The Dead Wife. h In comparison with the loss of a wife, al e other bereavements are trifles. The wife she who fills so large a space in the domesti r heaven, she who is so busied so unwearied? d bitter, bitter is the tear that falls on her clay :t You stand beside her coffin and think of ill s past, it seems an amber-colored pathway 11 where the sun shone upon beautiful flower; or the stars hung glittering overhead. Fail would the soul linger there. No thorns ar ' remembered above that sweet clay, save thos s your hand may have unwillingly planted. lie e noble, tender heart, lies open to your inmos y sight. You think of her now as all gentleness e all beauty and purity. But she is dead ! Th ' dear head that laid upou your bosom, rest 1 in the darkness, upon a pillow of clay. Th s hands that have ministered so untiringly, ar ^ folded, white and cold, beneath the gloom; portals. The heart whose every bqatnieasuret J an eternity of love, lies under your feet Th< '> flowers she bent over with smiles, bend nov J above her with tears, shaking the dew Iron their petals, that the verdure around her ma; 1 be kept green nnd beautiful. s Many a husband may read this in the si s lenceofa broken hope. There is no whit "arm over your shouraer; no speaking face t< 1 look up in the eye oflove ! no trembling lip I to murmur?"Oh! it is so sad!" ? The little one, whose nest death has rifled I gazes in wonder at your solemn face, puts u| its tiny hand to stay the tears, and then nest f less back to its father's bosom, half consciou s! that the wins which sheltered most fondly, i U v f broken. There is so strange a hush in every room j No smile to greet you at nightfall. And th< * old clock ticks and strikes, strikes and ticks f ?it was such a music when she could hear it 3 Nosv it seems to knell only the hours througl I which you watched the shadows of death gatli 1 ering upon her sweet face. { .It strikes one!?that fatal time whon th f death warrant rang out?"there is no hope.1 I Two! she lies placidly still?sometimes smil 1 ing faintty, sometimes grieving a little, for sh is young, to tread the valley of the shadow ? There! the babe has been brought in, its littl " face on her bosom for the last time. Four P her breath becomes fainter, but a heaven!; * joy irradiates her brow. Five! there is i 1 slight chance?0! that she might live! Fath c er spare her. ' "Thy will be done;' r It was her soft, broken accents. Yes " Heavenly Friend, who gavest her to bless m 3 Thy will be done? ?i.\! there are footsteps near. Weepinj ' friends around. She bids them farewell as sh s murmurs "meet me in heaven." The dam '? drops gather upon her pallid features at th s- eeveteiii hour. She lies very still?sometime r she hears sweet music. Eight! passing awa ? so gently! But her hand yet clings to youri * and so she lies, while the old house clock tell e forth nine? ten? eleven ? twelve ? solcm strokes. You spring to your feet. The lip -II . !!..? Tl,? crtiol 1 linn , 'i are suu?ruiu iu j uui upa. * ue o>uui> I) I has fallen back ; its touch grown icy. She i 11 gone. She will never speak to you again 01 g earth. You must bear that cold gaze that lov . so lately kindled- - and you fall weeping b her side. y And everyday that clock repeats that oh e story. Many another tale it telleth, too?c s I joys past?of sorrows shared?of beautifi j words and deeds registered above. You fee ()! how often, that the grave cannot keep hei i, You know she is in a happier world, yet tha s sometimes she is by your side, an angel pres n euce. You look at your innocent babe, an . think that a seraph is guarding it. Cheris r these emotions?they will make you happier 0 Y et her holy presence be as a charm to kee[ e you from evil. In all new and pleasant con (5 ncctions, give her a place in your heart-. Neve forget what she has been to you?that she ha J loved you. lie tender of her memory?s 3 may you meet her with a soul sustained? . bright and beautiful spirit bride, where no om shall say any more for ever?"?>hc is dead.' i- Invitation?.?"Mr. and Mrs. A ] , will see their friends on even ing, between the hours of 8 and 11." "Mr. and Mrs. C I) , reqiics ! the pleasure of your company from 8 to 1L ui i evening." f These are the latest New York model card f' of invitation. Wo like their style; you ar t thereby notified when to come, and also whei c ' to go. There's much good sense in this rt y i form in another particular, to wit: the draw j. j ing room hours : Receptions now take plac 1.1 at such time as will neither interfere with busi j. j ncss?deprive the guests of tie nccessar amount of sleep, or in any way disturb th J j laws of health. Heretofore, night has beei a turned into day?"arrivals," in conformity t y previous invitations, were "not looked for" un til 0 or 10 o'clock?"departures" never tool ir place until the "wee hours o' tho night" air a the morning, so beautiful and invigorating t< i. wiser men, whose habits accord with the pin y sical laws of nature, found the foolish votarie o of fashion weary, dispirited, and utterly unfi u for the duties of the day. All hail to Fashion' ij New Code ! Something good has at last com f. out of Gotham. il We hope that the time to bo observed b s invited guests, will ;ilso govern all voluntco o visitors, and that it will, hereafter he deemed o breach of etiquette for an evening call to 1> d protracted beyond a reasonable hour. Say H t o'clock the farthest. If that be done, farcwe r Dorrs ana uuuon noiaers?your race win me 1 be run and "Othello's occupation gone." t, Did you ever ride in an omnibus on a rain day, windows and doors closed, eight on a sid d limited of course to six, and among that nuir a ber two women covered with musk? "Dr - vare," said a Frenchman, "let tnc come out <i d ze dorc, i am suffocated! You 'nvo vat yoi a chII one musty rat in 70- omnibus!" s ' From the Philadelphia Inquirer. The Cotton Bond. I, While .1 strong disposition is apparent, on y the part of leading British statesmen, to ce> ment, in the firmest manner, the bonds of amity and good-will that already exists between Great Britain and the United States, anxiety is ever and anon expressed, lest trouble should II arise and thus the manufacturers of Manehes! ter, and other towns similarly circumstanced, be c cut oft* from their regular supplies of cotton. _ Hence efforts continue to be made for the dis! covcry of some new field for the cultivation of c this important staple. At the recent Annual >t Meeting of the Manchester Chamber of Com\} mercc, Mr. Bazley, the President, said that ii during the last eleven years America had supc plied cotton to an amazing extent, and the ine crease had been so enormous, that it had actur ally amounted to seventy-seven per cent.? t During the same period, the supply from the East Indies had been diminishing, and at the i 3 present time, the reduction was as much as s sixteen per cent. With these differences so nalpably before them, they could but arrive at c the conclusion, that there must be something y cgregiously wrong in the one country, while in i the other there was such an extraordinary deq velopment of energy and industry.- IIo attriv buted this, in a great measure, to the many ! railways in the United States, and to the aby sence of those channels of communication in India, and he said that the manufacturers and i. and capitalists of Great Britain, as well as of B India, should feel ashamed of their want of 3 succoss. s We also learn that the Manchester Cham* ber of Commerce recently sent agents to many | of tho colonies of Great Britain, with the ob3 ject of having the cotton plant tried, wherever the soil and climate seem to favor?first, iu s private gardens, then in. broad acres. It is s stated that on the Gold Coast of Africa thirty thousand plants are thriving, and hundreds of ! acres are being cleared by the Native Chiefs. 3 At Monte Video and New South Wales, like ? experiments are in progress, but the liveliest t hope is still cherished with regard to British li India. And yet this must be a delusion. A i. year or two ago, the Manchester gentlemen sent a special messenger, Mr. Alex. Maekay, e to that portion of the globe, charged partjcu" larly with the investigation of the subject. He |- died on his way home, but all his "Notes" e were confided'to the hands of the Board of . Trade, on wh'oso authority he undertook the e mission. Why have not these been publish! ed ? We can only imagine one reason ?their y unsatisfactory character. It is quite natural a that those who are so immediately interested, . should feel the deepest concern on this subject. But thus far the experiments have been productive of little else than disappointment. The | true policy of the two countries, therefore, is e to strengthen the bonds of peace in every possible manner, g We are, to a certain extent, mutually dee pendent upon each other, and in all our interp course a spirit at once of magnanimity and ree ciprocity should be made distinct and palpable, s Cotton is at present the great commercial and y agricultural bond between Great Britain and ?, the United States, but the indications are, that s the parent and child, for such we may describe n them, will every year, for a long time to come, s become more closely connected by liberal d principles. The Holy Alliance of Despotism, s so called, may render another alliance?that n of the constitutional governments of the world e ?absolutely essential. It may be, indeed, v that England, France and the United States, singular as the conduct of Louis Napoleon has d been, may yet be found co-operating harmoni>f ously together, and resisting the grasping and il tyrannical spirit of the Czar and his associates, si We look for stirring events in the European r. world within a few years from the present it time. The masses will yet make a mighty !- and concerted effort to secure their rights and d liberties. The dark night of despotism cannot h continue much longer. ? !> The Downfall of Turkey* 1 A late number of the London Times contains a leading article in which the editor contends that Great Britain has now in the Levant interests of a far more direct and serious importance than the abstract desire to prolong Is tin; existence of a barbarous system 01 govern, incut which is called the Turkish Empire, or the mere dread of the dissolution of that unwieldy body. The writer adds: "With the utmost political caducity, with a t total want of ability and integrity in the men who are still its rulers, with a declining Mussulman population and an exhausted treasury, the Porte unites, as if by way of derisory contrast, a dominion over some of the most fertile n regions, the finest ports, and the most enterprisingand ingenius people of Southern Europe, indeed, the signs of vitality still perceptible in its ports and cities are mainly attributable to the commercial energy of the mercantile population in their transactions with other eoun^ tries. Put whenever, as is every day more 0 probable, the feeble remains of Turkish milita11 ry and political authority give way before any 0 shock from within or from without, it is ofessential consequence to our own interests that j the connexion which has gradually been form1 cd by the exchange of the produce of the East 0 for our manufactures should not be impaired. "This point and the maintenance of a free s communication by the present overland route \ to India are two considerations upon which this s country will continue, under all circumstances, c and at" all hazards, to lay the greatest stress. It is scarcely necessary to add that if ever a )' change favorable to civilization and good govT eminent should he brought about in the East, il both these points are susceptible of incaleula 0 ble augmentations and improvement; ami al ^ though tliu present generation may not live to " see it, we have no doubt that trade and trallie 11 will one day overthrow the military despotism of Turkish invasion, and restore to our faith and our manors those territories which were v the finest provinces of the lloman Empire, and e the first scenes of Christianity itself. Mahomi etan barbarism has hung over them for centu1 ries like a curse, though even under the yoke if of Turkish Pashas the native population has u retained, to a large extent, its faith and ene-W "It is hard to comprehend how sb great a positive evil can have been so long defended by politicians as a relative good; and, though we are not insensible to the difficulties attend* ing any change in the territories of so huge an empire, we are disposed to view with satisfaction, rather than with alarm, the approach of a period when it will be impossible to prolong the dominion of such a government as that o(the Porte over such a country as thut which is now subject to its authority. Perhaps that period is less distant than is commonly sup- * posed; and it may be the part of wise statesmen to provide against such a conjecture, which is beyond their power indefinitely to postpone." * ? # What Culture Does.?It is a well known fact, that one piece of land yields vastly more than another piece of equal natural fertility} and it is equally well-known, that one man abounds more in knowledge and usefulness, than another to whom nature has been alike bountiful. It is culture: it is the industry and perseverance of man, exerted in one case, and" not in the other, that produces the marked contrast in both. The cultivator is sure to be re warded, in Ins harvests, for the care and labor he bestows upon his soil; and the reward is no less certain to him who devotes his leisure ~ hours to the culture of his mind. The soil administers to our animal wants.? Knowledge not only greatly assists in supplying these wants, but is the primary source of intellectual wealth, which dollars alone cannot give, and when united with good habits, lends to refine, elevate, and distinguish men above their fellows. Talent is not hereditary. You will see, on looking around, that most of the distinguished men of our country, have,-*- *\^ sprung from humble and obscure parentage! They are indebted for their present distinction to the culture which they have themselves bestowed upon their minds.-, If you wish to be prosperous in your business, to know and profit ^ by the4uaprovement8 of the age, cultivate the - IVhM vkin in kn rt rnn In Unn enttiitf* ma . iiiiuu j iui into id nir ^icai iuuui oavmg ujochine. If you would excel as a mechanic, or merit the confidence and esteem of your /leighbors, seek early to qualify yourselves for the duties of social life, by the culture of the mind. In fine, if you would prosper in yoar business, and in society, cultivate the mind. But knowledge is not always wisdom; and, therefore, be as scrupulous in regard to your studies, as you are in regard to the seed which you deposit in the soil. You will reap what* ever you sow ; and the mind is as liable to be cumbered with weeds as is the soil. Acquaint yourself with tlje inventions and improvements of modern art, and study whatever tends to instruct you in your business, and to fit you for the responsible duties of life. S. T. H, Troupsburg, 1852. * Fatal Encounter with a Bear.?A correspondent at Triuidad, California, Jan. 23d, gives the following account of an encounter with a bear at Durkec's Ferry: "While the writer was awaiting the opening of the trail at the former place, a young man named Frauk, a native of M;nne, who was employed by Mr. li. Walker of Durkee's Ferry, iu hunting, was attacked by a grizzly bear, about throe miles from the house on the Union trail.? lie attempted to climb a tree, but unfortunately a dead branch, which he had caught to assist him, in climbing, gave wav, and he fell to the i 1 l-? I ground, ana was instaniiy seizeu uy iue oe?r.? An Indian, who accompanied liim, got hold of the uuforLunate man's rifle, and discharged it at the bear's head; then clubbing it, he beat the animal with it until he had broken it to pieces. After the rifle was broken, the Indian gaveinfor* mation at the Ferry, but. it was too late, the persons there refused to go out that night. On tho following morning they brought the poor fellow home, and procured the assistance of Dr. Whetmore, of Orleans Bar who dressed his numerous wounds; but it was of no avail. Death released him from his sufferings on the third day. He was horribly torn ; one wrist was nearly* bitten off. It seems he had seized the bear by tho tongue, and endeavored to choke him. His bowels also protruded from a wound inflicted by animal's claws." The Path of Life.?Why not strew the path of lifo with flowers ? It requires no stronger effort than to plant thorns and briars. Is it not strange that we bend all our efforts in cultivating thuse plants which afford no pleasure, but on the contrary abridge our happiness ; while we suffer to spring up spontaneously the few stray flowers that occasionally throw a smile along our way? It need not be thus. The few happy men around ua should teach us an important lesson. There is no reason in the world why we should not be as happy as they. If we were to look ut the path of life as a road, we must cultivate V ourselves, and go diligently about it, less fre- * I it **?/ * liuifA fin nan tii ?yv ah/v..__ UUCIILIJ >>uuiu nv; ua?G u?uog iu uivuuj u>t*r the bitter past or the dark and cloudy present. H our years have thus far run to waste, let us with diligence, influence the future, and with all care and attention, cultivate those fruits and flowers that will yield a harvest of agreeable pleasure. * Female Occupation.?Women, in the mid- ^ j die rank arc brought up with the idea that if they engage in some occupation they shall lose their position in society." Suppose it to be so; surely it is wiser to quit a position we can not honestly maintain, than to live dependent upon tne uoumy ana caprice or otncrs ; better to labor with our hands than to eat the bread of idleness, or submit to feel that we must not give utterance to our real opinions, or express our honest indignation at being required to act a base, unworthy part. And in all cases, however situated every female ought to learn how all household alfairs aro managed were it only for the purpose of bein?? "i able to direct others. There can not bo any disgrace in learning how to make the bread ] we cat, to cook our dinners, to mend our clothes, or even to clean the house. Better j to be iound busily engaged in removing the ^ 1 dust from the furniture, than to let it aecurna late there until a visitor leaves palpable traces where hi a hat or arm have been laid upon the table, 4