VOLUME 14 CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, TUESDAY MORNING MARCH 29, 1853. NUMBER 13.
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY f
THOMAS J. WARREN. )j
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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