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? % % 5 THE CAMDEN WEEKLY JOURNAL. . - v. . ' . ' ' ? ? ~r: _ " " " j==^rrm^^m i 11 1 ' -J?J-j Volume xvi. camden, south-carolina, Tuesday morning, june 5,1855. number 23. J ? - * " 'l- ?1 " D- ? I ??l> I IV*. Iv/iKuvrvrit\rr njr A'ypj-KTftns.?Tlirrfl $flfrteii Itortty ii ? ? RESIGNATION. , " "* 5 BY II. W. LONGFELLOW. - . . * ma^lia/1 a?J (Dn^A^ 1 mere 18 UU UW&, uvwcm ? , . Put one dead lamb is there! Thore is no fireside howsoe'er defended, [ t Cut has one vacant chair I 1 The air is full of farewells to the dying, > | And mourning for the dead; j The hearts of Rachel for her children crying e j Will not be comforted! . t Let us be patient!?'these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise; Cut oftcntirae celestial benedictions j Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mist and vapours, I Amid these earthly damps? - f What seems to us but dim funeral tapers, t May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no deathI?what seems so is transition; j This life of mortal breath Is but the suburb of the life elysian, Whoso portals we call death. She is not dead?the child of our affection? But gone unto that school, Where she no longer needs our poor protection, Aud Christ himself doth rule. < In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion By guardian angels led? Safe from temptation, safe from "sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. <' Day after day we think what she is doing in those bright realms of air; Year after year her tendersteps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep uubroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking thatour remembrance though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her; I For when with rapture wild . \ In our embrace we again enfold her, . t She will not be a child: I .. I But a fair maiden in her Father's mansion, | Clothed with celostial grace; ' t And beautiful with all the soul's expansion. Shall w# behold her face. ;.t, T-l ~ 1 Bisrclteons. , f ? i THE ONE CALICO DRESS t BY CAROLINE A. SOULE. , _ " J 8 iVnii trnfii r*/-* linrn i*acfAfr)ov ^ cQlil tllf* / 1 VII VCIV huv IIVBV J vonv.1 j k'wiv4 vmv ^ .e-ieher of a little village school, as she placed s i!?.'! hand very kiudly ou the cu(Jy head of one 1 :t her nupils". It was recess time, hot the little i gir! addressed had notgoue out to frolic away ( ; he ten minutes, jior even left her scat but sal j absorbed in what seemed a fruitless attempt to *] i)nk?* herself mistress of a sum in long division, j li'-r face and neck crimsoned' at the remark f iier teacher but looking up, she seemed Some what-re-assured.by the kind glance that met her and answered, "No, ma'am, I was not, but sister , Nellie was." ' - , "I remember there was a little girl who called ) h erself Nellie Gay, came in yesterday, but I did , tj.^t know that she was your sister. But why ( did you not come? You seem to love to study | very much-" . I "It wasn't because I didn't want to, was the. , earnest reply, nnd then she paused, and the deep ( j-ose flush again tinted the fair brow, out? oui, , .continued she, after a moment of painful embar- j rassment, mother cannot spare both of us conve- , jiiently, and so we are going to take turns. I j am coming to school one day, and sister the next and to-uight I am to teach Nellie all I have, learned to-day, and to-morrow night she will teach me all that she learns while here. It is ( the only way we can think of getting along, and j we both want to study very ranch, so as to some ; time teach school ourselves to take care of mother c for she has to work very hard to take caro of , iUS." ( With genuine delicacy Miss M forebote to ] question the child any further, but sat down beside her, and in a moment explained a rule .over which she was puzzling her young brain so that the difficult sura was easily 'finished. "You had better go out now in the air a moment?you have-etudied very hard to-day," said .the teacher, as the little girl put aside her slate. "I had rather not?I might tear my dress. I'll stand at the window and watch thereat." There was such a peculiar tone in the voice * .of her pupil, as she said, I might tear my dress' that Miss M was led instinctively to notice it. It was nothing but aninepenny print of a deep f pink hue, but it was very neatly made, and had ne\*er yet been washed. And-while looking at it she remembered that,during.tbe whole previ / a ? i i .if rs l.i j.j i 1 ?>us ioruiigni, wary vaay uhu aueuueu, ocuuui ( ^regularly, she had never seen her wear bat one ( ^dress. She is a thoughtful little girl,"said - she to r ^herself, and does not want to make her poor . jnother any trouble. I wish I had mote such | scholars." ' - . j On the next morning Mary was absent, but < her sister Nellie occupied her Beat. There was , something so interesting in the two little sisters j one eleven, and the other eighteen months y on n- i ger, agreeing to attend school by turns, that j Miss M. could- not forbear observing thera very j /closely. They were pretty-faced children of j delicate forms, fairy-like hands and feet?the $ elder with dark lustrous eyes and chestnut curls tlin rnrnio-pp with nrlvi liVa rtin nlrtr nf JunP ber white neck veiled "by a wreath of golden ringlets. She observed in both tbe same close 1 attention to their studies, and as Mary had tar- t ried within during play tiimfilo did-Nellie; and < upon speaking to her as she had to her sister, 1 she received, too, the same answer, "I might tear t my dress." i The reply caused Miss M. to notice the garb i of the sister. She saw at once, it was off the j same piece as Mary's, and upon scrutinizing it < very closely, afce became certain it was the same i * dress. It (lid not fit quite so preUily oh Nellie and was too long for her, too and she was evi Jently all at ease whenever she noticed the tea* :hor looked at the bright pink flowers that were set'so thickly on the white gown. ThcvdisQ' wery was one which could not but interest a heart so truly benevolent as was- that which pulsated in the bosom of the teacher of that?little village school. She ascertained the rosiderice'of their nother, and though sorely shortened bv a narrow purse, the same night, hiving found at' the only store in the place a few yards of the same material purchased a dress or little Nellie and sent it to ber in sucb a way :hat the donor could not easily be detected Verr bright and happy looked "Mary Gay on | Friday morning as she entered-the school room it an <;arly hour. She waited only to place her xx>ks in neat order on her desk, ere she approached Miss M., and whispered in a voice that aughed in spite of all her efforts to make it low ind deferential?After this week Nellie is coming o school every day, and I am so glad." "That is very good news, replied the teacher, cindly. "Nellie is fond of her hooks, I see, and [ am happy to know that she can have an opportunity to study her books every day." Then be continued a little good natured mischief en ;ircling her eyes and dimpling her sweet lips. 3ut can mother spare you?" "Oh yes. ma'am, she can now. Somethiug tappened that she did not expect, and she is so find to have us: come as we are to do so. She tesitated a moment but her young heart was tiled to the brim with joy, and when a child is iar>nv U is na natural to tell the cause as it is or a bird to warble when the sun shines. So, >ut of the fullness of the heart she spoke, and .old her teacher this little story. She and her sister were the only children of a 'ery poor widow, whose health was so delicate het it was almost impossible to support herself md little daughters. She. was obliged to keep ,liem out of school all winter, because they bad 10 clothes to wear, but she told thein that if ,hey conld earn enough by doing odd chores for he neighbors to buy each of them a dress, they night tro in the spring. Very earneatty had the lttle girls improved their stray chances, and rery carefully hoarded the copper coins which lsunlly repaid them. They had each enough to calico dress, when Nellie was taken sick, md as thp mother had no money beforehand, ler own little treasure had fo be expended for ,he purchase of medicine. "Oh, I did feel so bad when school opened md Nellie could not fro, because she had no dress. [ told mother I would not go either, but she ;nid I had better, for I could teach her some and ilfflt would be better than no schooling. I stood t for a fortnight, but Nellie's little face seemed ill the time looking at me on the way to school, md I couldn't to happy a bit; so I finally honght of a way by which tp could loth go, and ' told mother I would lend Nellie my dress, and ihe might come, and that is the way . we have lone this week. But last night, don't you think iomebody sent sister a dress just like mine, and ?ow she can come too. Oh, if I only knew who it was, I would get down on my knees and thank hem, and so would Nellie. But we don't know mu so we've done all we could for them?we've graved for them, and oh, Miss M , we are so 0<\. Ain't you too?" ? "Indeed I am," was the emphatic answer. And when, on the following Monday, little STollio. in {lie new pink dress, entered the school oom her fac* nidiant as a rose in sunshine, and ipproaching the teacher's table, exclaimed in Loins as musical as those af a freed fountain," I urn mining to school every day and oh, I am so rlad!" Miss M felt as she had never done before, that it is indeed more blessed to give than to receive, and no millionaire, when he ?aw his name in the public prints lauded for his Lhousand dollar charities, was ever so happy as ivas the poor school teacher wlro wore her gloves tialf a summer longer than she ought to, and hereby saved enough to' buy that little fatheress girl a calico dress. We learn from our English files by the Baltic hat the British Government have at length de.ermined to embody and dispatch to the Crimea i large force of "navvies," not for the purpose >f carrying out one specific work ? as the conduction of.the Balakiava rail road for example? >ut as an actual portion of the army. The London Times justly says, that had a force of his description, sufficiently numerous, aecomjanied the army from the first, the greater porion of the disasters of the Crimea might have )een avoided. The road from Balakiava to the ?mp would hav^been constructed, the soldiers vould not have been overworked in.the trenches, ind the siege works would have been executed vith that skilled labor which spares so much .? l / .?- mi . / .1 Ll. )aintui toil, ine sirengiu 01 me aniiy iiugui bus be doubled without doubling its number >f fighting men. The Time? adds : "There is another consideration which is not vithout its importance. Whatever maj be the liflBculties-of-recruiting for the rank of the irmy, there will bo no serious difficulty in semiring the services of as many " navvies" and >xca\ators as we may require, provided-we give hem a sufficient remuneration for their services, rhat these services will bo needed if this war is >rolonged there can be no doubt. The war in he Crimea can no other than a war of posiions. Success must attend the happy solution >f a 8erie? of engineering problems, whatever nay be the system of strategy adopted by the Ts\rr] PnnmnrA will /In well I while he is thinking of the " navvies" not to brget the distinguished, raen^now existing in ;his country who have been in the habit of di ecting the labors of thoee stalwart fellows to a mccessful issue." Death of Dr. King.?We learn with great 'egret, by intelligence receive attbe CoUier Office, ,he death of Dr. Courtenay S. King, second son >f the late Col. William S. King. Dr. King had )een attached to the Medical Staff of the Ruslian Army in the Crimea, and early in April fell i victim to malignant typhus fever, contracted n the hospital ofSimpberopol. He was a young nan of great promise, and this sad closing of his sareer will quench many a bright beam of affectionate hope.?-Afrrctiry. * ? # Is tUlSIB LAUKA. A LEAF FBOM A BACHELOR'S JOURNAL. ' ? T ' m When 1 first saw Laura V , she was an only and petted child ; but her extreme beauty and captivating archness rendered her whims and caprices enduinble^ In my college vacations she was my chief playmate, and many a long ramble through dale aird over mountain top did we enjoy together. Then, despite her mother's anxiety lest her idol eehould be sun' burnt, she woold threw off hat and shawl, and bound over the green sward, defying me to follow at an equal pace. And when, tall stripling that I was, I ran past her, the loud laugh echoed among the hills. * UnrinfT mv I net tu'n onlleira vpjirq I (lid tlOt -t> ?J V-"6V J ? " . see her at all, nor, except h slight accidental meeting when I was travelling, for the next two; then 1 accepted an invitation to spend the winter at my uncle's. 1 tried to recall the pleasant visits of my boyhood to my memory, and to imagine myself again living over the same enjoyments. But 1 could not forget that Laura had become a young lady, and I instinctively shrank from the idea of playing the gallant *' nolens volens" to my cousin. I had become a retired man of books, and, notwithstanding a good share of"self-complacency, I was certain that natures bad denied th<^ requisites f r an accomplished ladies' inan. 1 thought I should enjoy the lonely walks over the frozen ground, andlhe novelty of a winter in a country village; but for social enjoyments, they were out of the question. I arrived at my uncle's in the evening. The old couple were sitting at the fireside, of course glad to see me. Laura was at a party. " So," thought I, " she did not stay at home to re/?aiva m? '' mid mv vnnitv wam so nibr.il wound ed, that 1 was obligee to console myself with the idea that possibly 1 might not have been expected. Pleading illness I retired early, and \vas#aroused from iny slumbers by the merry voices of young people approaching the bouse. Lauia was returning. " Evidently a coquette," thought I, as 1 sank into a second sleep. Determined not to like Laura, 1 was vexed to remember in the morning that my dreams had been of her. I strolled out before breakfast, and on turning down a ravine which had always been a tavorite haunt in my boyhood.? Laura was before me. I would have escaped if I could, but sbe came forward with so much ease and frankness? " Cousin Jamie,'I am glad to*see you. I hoped to find you when I returned last nighL" (Then I was expected.) It is most agonizing to a man suffering from a fit of mauvaisc konte, to see the perfect selfcommand of a woman. Here was 1, suffering from the fear that I should h se my heart, while Laura seemed to have forgotten that there was snoli n rhimr ns .1 hf-nrf. in rh? w-nrlrt Dmilit ' O " " " less I looked like a fool; but notwithstanding my ill-humor and embarrassment, I bowed in my heart to her surpassing beauty. I encased myself, in . my imagination, in armor w! ich w as arrow-proof. " Laura," said 1,14 is doubtless expecting that I shall be her willing slave." Of course, 1 was constantly with her, and I could not deny that few young ladies possessed her excellencies of mind and heart. I discovered, too, that she was not a coquette; placing admiration in its proper light, grateful for it when voluntary, but never seeking to call it forth. Contrary to my expectations, I found in my comcrsation I must draw largely on my book knowledge, for with books she had long held sweet communion. So close became our intimacy, that I was surprised and piqued when I found the charms of ball and party were sufficient to lure her from the pailor; for in my opKnliictin /lirrnitf I Karl ?rontAri? tKa cvkviuwviv ) * ???VJ ivion VI II Hit amusements of social life. Iler Attendant, too, on these occasions, was a source of annoyance to me. lie was a very young man, the schoolmaster of the village?a self-taught man ; and 1 had always a sovereign contempt for a pedagogue,especially if not liberally educated.? There was, to be sure, no ccmpaiison between us. 1 was wealthy, had graduated, with academic honors, and was in every respect an " eligible match." Still, I did not like that Laura should be so glad to see him, as was apparent whenever he called. I protracted my visit at my uncle's to an unreasonable length, until the conviction flashed upon me that my heart was a wry little in danger. ' I do not want a wife," thought I, '"and besides, Laura is a mere child, aad though an inteligent and well-read girl, has not that mentul force and energy of character which I may reasonably expect in a wife." i l.r. .L- i ; !-if?. i-J!? *.?i i icn, me jiuub? t i.uuumieiyj | icauing urgtui calls from my own home. To conquer what I considered the trifling penchant, I travelled for six months; but it would not do. If I admired a flue view, I was sure to imagine Laura sympathizing with me; if I met with agreeable young ladies, I was certain to compare them with her, and And them wanting. I then bent my mind to study. For another six months I was a most hard-working student, and acquired more sound knowledge during that six months than in any other year of my life. But all would not do. Laura was still in my dreams. I determined to marry. 1 wrote to offer heart and hand. As I did not suppose myself likely to meet with any obstacle, the tone of my letter was perfectly confident. I did not forget that I was about to resign my own darling self, flno talents, heavy purse, literary acquirements and all were offered to a mere girl. I so little feared the result, that I was careless of reading her reply, until my preparations for the necessary visit to her father's were all made. Then, merely for the sake of seeing again her pretty penmanship, and nothing in the form of acceptance, I opened the letter. It was from her father. Laura was absent on a short tour. He supposed, from the direction of my letter' that I had not received the information of her marriage to Mr.??(my favorite the school^ master.) He recognized my hand-writing arid knowing "Cousin Jamie" was always a favorite ^C T i-1 9 3 J* .-T 1 <1 _ 1-JJ? ' TT ui ijaurasrtaa jorwaraea ineieuer. n. Gave him Fits.?"Because we ventured last week," says an exchange paper, "to introduce a few Latin wordainto a paragraph, just to make a little ahowof our knowledge, a cotemporary quotes Latin at us in a most ferocious manner. He says fit.1 Who is Nihil! Who did he fjt,afid what did-he fit.for!" , . - * * . (j. 4 . ' : . j it v-4- . .*{ :vj ' v ' % ? f* J * * < ft . /* * ' T/VJ/t ULC \slflCl7lHlUl JIUlltUUl* JlCtA/tU, Value of one mile Saved iu a Road. The buildiug of railroads has hail three distinct eras, in each of which one step was made toward^perfection, both in principle and pUc tice. The first era was the period of the level road-bed and the inclined plane, with a stationary enine and cable, The cost, inconvenience aud vexatious delay, gradually introduced a spirit of nquiry ns'to whether some other and J -r L..!IJ; T J --.4 .-J Utiliet U1UIUUU UK UUIiUlllg CUUIU I1UL UC UUVlMiU. The result was the second era, when engineers racked their brains to invent graceful curves to pass the hills, and thus by leugthcuing the road escape the obstacle which they could not surmount. This, of course, added materially to the length and also to the uecessary cost. The . third era is that of lines, upon which we are just entering; and it is one of the many strange tkiugs that attend tlie history of every new branch of industry or science, that men will spcud years and sometimes centuries in attempt* itig by complicated contrivances to overcome imaginary difficulties, which have no real existence. Of such a character are many of the railroads between great commercial marts; they are made to bend and twist and tnrn in every way but the direct one, to"Siccominodate1iere a little town, and there a stream of water, while if they had been laid down in the first place as they should have been, there would have been no hill nor town to interfere with the direct line. But to our purpose. What is the economical value of oue mile of railroad saved ? At first thought a mile of railroad is a trivial thing, simply three minutes of time, or two coppers to the passenger. But " trifles make up the sura of life," and trifles though these are, they make au aggregate of tremendous importance. First, then, it is evident that oue mile of railroad saved on a given route is an actual saving of the first cost of that one mile, say $30,000. Second. It is an annual saving to the world at large of just so much money every year as would be earned on that one mile, say 7,000. Third. It is an annual saving to the company of the expenses necessary for working and keeping in repair that mile of road, say 3,000. Fourth. It is a saviug to the world of a vast amount of time. Our first proposition is in itself so evident -as to need uo further proof. Our second and third contain a point, capable of illustration. The aunual saving to the business world in the amount of their freights aud the cost of their travel is $7,000, raakimg au aggregate of annual saving equal to $10,000. Ten thousaud dollars per annum is equivalent to a capital of at least $1G6,G00 at the legal rate of six per cent, and that is as much as money in an ordinary season will and ought to be worth. The facts in the matter will then stand thus : Saving in cost of road - - - - $30,000 Amount of capital equivalent to annual saving on freight and expenses - - - 166,G66 Total saving. $196,606 The total value, then, of one mile saved in the length of a railroad is equal to nearly two hundred thousand dollars, in actual cash capital to the country. In other words as road between the same termini 101 miles in length is worth two hundred thousand dollars less than a road, between the same terminus only 100 miles long Astonishing as this result may be it is nevertheless true aud every days' experience is demonstrating it more and more clearly. But there is another point of iuterest: we said in the fourth proposition that is was a saving to the world ot a vast amouut ot time- lake for example the Little Miami Kailroad?there were carried, during the last year, over this road 322,421 passengers; saving of one mile in length would be these minutes to each. Three minutes each to 322,422 persons, makes the aggregate of 167,266 minutes orl6,222 honrs. or 1,692 woikiugdays of 10 hours each. The time wasted to the passengers runuing this extra miles, tjien would be equal to over five years of 313 working days each aud this irrespective ol'the time lost by tho employees of the company. Now $1,000 per annum is not too large an estimate to put on the time of tho merchants and traders *who form the bulk j of those that travel. Five working years are equalent to $5,000. The loss of time may there fore be estimated at #5,000 per annum, which is equivalent to a capital of $83,333- This amount added to the aggregate of$l5'6GG as before, gives $279,998, or adding in fractions, $280,000 as the peualty for increasing the length of a road the distance of one single mile. In view of such results as this, who shall say itis only a mile? That little only that is unnecessary, takes from the wealth of the world enough real capital to make ten times its length of that which is necessary and which would be productive and useful. It is a waste of energy and means siuful in extrrcme, and which will unquestionably open the door, at some future day, to successful and economical competition. No Word for Home.?Is it true that the French have no word corresponding to our "home?" If so, how significant ?f the tempers and tastes of that versatile and volatile people. Thev live to eniov the visible and material of J ' y y earth, not the contemplative and ideal. They live to visit, to talk, to hear, to be amused, to be excited, to be admired?and thus find their chief pleasure out of doors, inlhe midst of the 'beau monde.' Home, though dear to them, docs uot occupy that first place in the affections which we accord to it. Hence, while we have given it the softest and sweetest name in our language, they have scarcely wherewith to designate it. As illustrative of the peculiarities, of Parisians especially, in this respect, we will mention a simple incident as it was told to us by one who was there; Monsieur B was in love with Mftdamnifu>II? C??. He visited her constantly and might have been beloved in return. Her father's mansion was a fashionable and delight ' ful resort, and Monsieur B was the envied of all bis bon-camarades. At length, matters continuing as they were for months and months one of his friends asked him in some surprise why. he did not marry Mademoiselle D???. "An, mon Dieu!" replied he, "Would you have me deprive myself of the only pleasant place 1 have to go tor How could such a fellow appreciate the quiet sweets of. home? Yet such is Paris. And as Paris, so is Prance.?Edgefield Advertitcr. JilCUt} HIMI JWH99IW A treaty has been signed between this country and Russia, of which the following' arc the provisions: . Ahticle 1. The two high contracting parties recognise as permanent and immutable the following principles, to wit: . ' 1. That free ships make free goods?that is to say, that the effects or goods belonging ?o subjects or citizens of a power or State at,war' are free from capture and confiscation when found on board of neutral vessels, with the exception of articles contraband of war. rr?i . .1 . r> t *1 ... 'i. mai tne property 01 ncuirais ou-.ooaru r?? enemy's vessel is not subject to confiscation unless the same be contraband of war. They..'engage to apply these principles to the commerce ami navigation of all such powers and States as shall consent to adopt them on their part as permanent and immutable. Article 2. The two high contracting parties reserve themselves to?come to an ulte'rior understanding, as circumstances may require, with regard^ to the application and extension to be given, if there be any cause for it, to the principles laid down in 1st article. But they declare from this time that they will take the stipulations contained iu said article 1st as a rule, whenever it shall become a question, to judge of the rights of neutrality. Article 3. ft is agreed by the high contracting parties that all nations which shall or may' consent to accede to the rules of the first article of this convention, by a formal declaration stfpu lating to observe them, shall enjoy the rights resulting from such accession as they shall be enjoyed and observed by the two powers signing this convention. They shall mutually communicate to each other the results of the steps whicU may be taken on the subject. Article 4. The prescut convention sball.be approved and ratified by the President of the United States of America, by and with the advico and consent of the Senate of said States, and by his Majesty the Emperor of all the Russias, and the ratifications of the same shall be ex changed at Washington, within the period often months, counting from this day, or sooner, if jiossible. Storm.?Its Melancholy Effects.?We had a very severe storm on Friday evening, accompanied by an unusual quantity of electricity. There were several deafcniug claps, one of which struck a house in the lot of Mr. J. F. Gamble, of this place. There were several negroes in the house at the time, one of whom was very much stunned. A crib containing a little infant was capsized, without inflicting the least damage Mr James Hendrix was in the dwelling hpuse at the time, and was prostrated by the shock" With the "exception of the negro house, there was no damage done. It is rarely that we hear of a more miraculous escape. The ways of electri city are past all finding out. We have heard a number of compluints of tile damage done by washing? and of the bottom lands having been in many places ccompletely inundated. We regret also a most melancholy occurrence that happened about eight miles south of this place. The house of Mr. Jesse fJrazzIe was, during the storm, struck by lightning, killing Mr. Brazz'.e and a step daughter instantaneously it is supposed. There were fbur little children in the house at the time, none of whom were injured. Nothing was known of it in the neigh Dornood until next morning. We also learn that Mr. Osborn Yongue lost two little negroes on the same evening. They had gone out hunting for cows, and in attempting to cross a ravine or hollow, that never, ordinarily, contains water, but had become flooded by the extraordinary rain, were drowned. The vicinity of Monticello, we have heard from several reliable sources, was at the same time visited by a rain, accompanied with hail of an unusual size. One of our informants says that the stones measured nine inches iu circumference; another that they were fully the size of goose eggs. The former gentleman remarked that he was sixty years of age, and had" never seen hail half the size before. We have heard of no serious damage being done. Fortunately the hail stones, although large, wore few and far between.? Winnsboro Register. ? ? New Post Offices. The following new Post Office* have been established in this State since April 1, 1851 : Adauisville, Marlborough district. . , Black River, Sumter district. Benson's Mills, Pickens district Bug Swamp, Horry district. Blanton's Cross Roads, Horry district Bronchville, Orangeburg district. Barley Wood, Spartauburg district Cottage Hill, Greenvjlle.district Cotswood, Newberry district. Craigsville, Lancaster district. Chesnut Grove, Chester district Camp Ridge, Williamsburg district. Peep Creek, Anderson district. Banner's Cross Roads, Cliarleaton district Estatoe, Pickens district Fowler's Creek, Pickeus district. Greenland, Barnwell district Hebron, Spartaubhrg district. Hodges, Abbeville district. Jamison, Orangeburg district. Kingsville, Richland district. Level Land, Abbeville .district. Long Pond, Newberry district. . Mount Carmel, Abbeville district. McCantsville, Orangeburg district. Maybinton, Newberry district. Mount Pleasant, Laurens district. Mullin's Depot, Marion district. Blount Zion, Spartanburg district. Norrisville, Edgefield district, a.i Tv.i j. uaaway, JTiuneu ? UKinut. Prince's Store, Horry district. Powell's StQre, Marlborough district. Pine Tree, Chesterfield district. . t . Reevoreville, Colleton district. * vr J Rock Mountains, Pickens district. '' " " '1 f Shellville, Pickens district. . Saud Hill,Beaofort District. i 8ilvertonf .Barn well district/ ' ....) Teraperanceville, Orangeburg district Toxaway, JPickens district." I ^ White Cane, Orangeburg district. White Hall, Abbeville district. Wood Shop, Darlington district. Waysido/PickenediStrict. <' 1 4 rite two classes in the community, says the Lou-", iayille Jonrnal/who feel seriously the<fisadvaftt?gfe" ' of having had/fathers-?uauu fy, persons Whuti' fathers wore excoodengly obecurfc ainl^ieraoh^ whoso lathers appropriated oilier people'* hoisjes , . c and were guilty of crimes for which they wejro suhsequentiy. l^au^yd. We know py0!'^ would rather see jffie ghost of the. witch of En dor the "ghost of Hamlet's fathcry the Cock-Li ipe* ghost, and indeed forty other, vcifitahje ghosts^ grinniug aujjgriin.thuutosee the ghost yftli&V own miners, a may onusjuong, uegizeneasilk,'tajewejjpu-iojteriwjrorejKlB, fcod. making 'a^ vast display'of grandeur-at h?r <3iiii?cr parly," would I? torribfjt worried-fctbo appariftonof' . tar honest'figlgk a pedlar in a very small " tray^ with his leflihecpack oaliis back,ihoald*talk' W? the midst.of.tlieir hilarity, mid inquired Vrh lheiC any pins, hpedle?, ot brass bottoiw were wuntw by any of life graciods company there assent ~ bled- , - ' < Wc once knew a lady of fashionable tfiutioncK , tion the daughter of a cobbler,^who usedtie* ' picayune jobs on the heels and toes of vhoes I# process ofdilapidation, who-baring had the lock to marry a chap with an empty head and a ftdll pocket, soon^.became known as a leader of society* Her nose had'so delicate au organization1, - that? she avowal she could smell a mechanic a quarter of a mile oftrr This- excessive - olfactory delicacy* would luiva hppn ovppssivplr. nnnnviinrtn Din l?nv iii question had she been* "medium," atid-batf' the spiritof her father .appeared' frequently to? her; for the old copk, it must be confessed; baita4 vile sino'U -of leather and wax ends abou^imn,* This lady went into hysteric^. 01 e day omthq appearance of a venerable aunt, in lrer porjfrr; weilo she was doing the elegant .to a brace of sweetsmelling gentlemen. Iu spite of the denials of the lady as to the relationship between hen$If and the old .woman, tlie latter protesttHlthafshe \V;is a genuine aunt, the sutjJt of Peter Simj>kuisf cobbler, from whose loins the spleficlid kjdy.-uofortr her sprang. The old lady was tumbled oiit, buj? the story got wind, sadly to the discoinhturb,'fot the lady, who, in the height of . jier.' piissions, wished that she had neverliad any relatives,?aud that she had come into this earth ag spontaueoqar ly as an unparented mushoom. - - r'e A man, however, is what he makes Jiiuise^ and not what his ancestors make him. ThereT^a nothing more common than to s.oe chilJreu altot getlier unlike tlierc parents, and who, if it w jjrg not for the affinities of bloody vyould. have . V?~ry few affinities with these from whom they sprang. The son of a scamp may turn out to be ajiatterv of mora,' worth, and the darling boy oCft. linr^ thiet may teel inmseit called op to convgfl..tlig Thugs of India to an obedience to the deca^j Kue ; . *> }- -*j A French Decision.'?It has recently been settled-by a Parisian tribunal that 'Sitter is1 not obliged to pay for a portrait unless it resembles.? Mademoiselle Lucille Duran conceived the idea that her delicious image hung up in the chamber ofa person whom she tenderly loved would serif# to bring her to rcmemberancedxrth later at nieht and earlier in the morning than otherwj^ With, this view she submitted her lovely face to Ah# contemplation and pencil of Monsieur Sittings wcrepatieut and artist enthae?a*tw,and in process of time the work was dechrred^ J^ completed an effulgent image of a Iem(do Attt . in uo way resemblant to Mademoiselle Cucilio Durand. Sent home varnished and in aiijOval frame, it wa^ accompanied-.by the inovitaWo little bill. Pavment being nrotested and tbe uio ture being sent, indignantly back, the-matter came before a legal tribunal. Tjbe cause ,-wfs lucidly stated by the paiuters's counsel and it looked very much as if the suffering and 'poorly recompensed man of genius would t>e ' promptly awarded his full claim. Simply for the satisfaction of the court it was ueccssary to show the picture and confront it with the charming Sf?d ungrateful original. It was therefore T)roflji$it forward and the court beheld a robust and' ro^Y image, of the Flemish, school, representing what might be a burgomaster's buxom daughter. The original was then summoned to the bat and up stepped the -delicate, and sentimental .^Mademoiselle Lucille, no more like the pieiuftethan a kid glove is like the animal it is swotu to have been a part of. The court decided tliat the resemblance was not sufficient to constitute, a legal claim for the painter. .. *r r . ' , . . Mr. Cartkk is DxAij.--.The Brooksvilhes, (Ind.) American tells the following good Story : Some of the students cf the. Indiana State University were suspected to be in the. habit of drinking brandy., Where they obtained it was a mystery; - Dr.. Dally determined to ferret out the mystery. Calling into a drug store, the proprietor asked him, " how that side student, Mr. Carter, came oy ?" Smelling a^rat, the Doctor answered in an evasive manner, and soon drew out ot the apothecary man, that students under susptdion, had been in the U^bit of purchasing brandy for a sick student ?y the name of Carter; that he was kept alive_\v stimulants; that the young gentlemen seemed very much devoted to him. Now the secret was out. This Carter was a fictitious character, and the Doctor had the secret. However, he kept his own counsel. The next time >he students assembled iu thw chapel /or prayers, he cast his eyes over the. crowd and satisfied himself that,Carter's nurses were all present. The devotions were duly conducted, and then he called tfie students, remarking that he had apiournful task to perform; as President of the University it became his duty to announce the death of (KSir fclkttv student, Mr. Carter; After a lingering illness of ? cpvp'ml weeks.', a portion of which, he was onlv kept alive bjr stimulants, be bad breathed hU last! He had no doubt this announcement would fall sadly-on the ears of those who so faithfully attended to his wants, but he hoped, they would bear it with resignation; he b6ped' they would reflect,upon the oft-rcpeatedyrords, " Memento if or?1?that.he would now no longer detain, but lcavp them to their own reflations! 1 be result of this announcement,was startling.' None of the professors, and the students, ever beard of Carter.Who is1 he-f' was whispered. - NbnekbW*but the kind friends who attefaded Wfo, and the' president seemed so deeply affected they didn < ufct to leak him.-1'- ^ Vr** 4 J,'. >.. <wi ? * ~fJ n*SS ^ I lialClTji . . %. i .-- C dMfaljil - ra