Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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THE CAMDEN WEEKLY JOURNAL e / i ......... ... -L._JZTT:: "i-'l j VOLUME XVI. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, TUESDAY MORNING, AUGUST 2!, 1855. NUMBER 34. ? in . in ? i i ii i ii 11niliirrr " '' ii'iln-nf ???i SeUrteli poetry. STANZAS. ? TVin cnttinrr nf ? Hr.-int TTnnp ia likp tllO BPttint? of the sun."? LOSOFELLOW S IIYPEIUAV. Well did the poet say or sing The setting of a mighty hopo is likQ tho close of day. When the bright warm sun has sunk to rest, And the night como* chill and grey. The flower of life doth pass away. The music and the tono depart with tho hope that disappears And nothing more remains behind. But the darkness and the tears. The sun may sink behind the hill, The flowers upon the valley's brink, may wither, wane and die. But the dav-god shall come forth again. Tho world to beautify. The day-god shall come forth again. And earth shall leap to life again, in presence of her King: The hills shall laugh in glorious light? Tho vales, with mirth shall ring. But when the hope that gilt our life, Hath vanished into outer night, despairing and forlorn, There comes to it no rising more, To us, no second morn. We wonder darkling on our way, Wc mark no freshness on the earth, no brightness on the ware; Repining ever, till wc find Rest in the quiet grave. IT. W. TT. er?.?r ? ?oe?eww?uammm 3J5isrrllmtroiia. THE HIGHIVA V?I A V s FRIEND. A TALE OF TlIK HOAD. Tin: worthy Toby Simpton was the most up n!* Quakers. Sortie years retired from business lie inhabited a pretty villa in the su ' 'i lis of London, which surpassed all similar ill.'is in the world l?v an additional grace it r tiled from the. presence of his only child, a I M*Iy girl of about seventeen, as good as she was fair. To the dazzling lustre of English beauty, of which she was the perfect type, her p? rsua>ioit and manners added a subdued gravity and winning gentleness of manner, which rendered .Mary an object of the most unquuli tied admiration to all the young men of her acquaintance; those in her neighborhood vied with each other lor her regard. Their efforts v.ere vain. .Mary was no coquette, and far :oin enjoying the effect of her charms, she as quite annoyed by it, even feeling quite - a<ed w ith the conduct of her pertinacious ets. except in the single, instance of a i mi Mr. Edward M'eresfoid, a young artist, who was admitted by her father to his entire ci?ntideiie?*. A sudden stroke had carried off -I A.. I I |.? ??? Hie lieautilui ?tie or me v^ujiiicr, mm uv, ??uao?s r.? preserve a oteincnto of one so dear, had .uiiirr.ontd the skill of the painter to gaze on ''. lifeless features and transfer them to the ivass, animated I?y the bloom and radiance Ii.et lied forever. The success of Edward i- delicate task, and his unaffected svnipa I ui;b the deep grief of the hushand and had won the warm esteem of both at it was bedde her mother's death bed that ' I >ard ffst saw the lovely "ill, so tonchiii"IV ii- itie in ihe sincere sorrow of her early orphaiiage; and there it was that there sprung .. m their breasts a deep and earnest love, ! '< ?i ?>f the tears of one and the soothing alien s of ?he other. The year which passed . ... . I..wl /Irotvi. cfill i.ln.oi' tlu. tin lurmcd n such auspices, and the young man had ? tigth hid I elore the father his wishes and ; s. The excellent Tohy saw no reason t?? : j->>e the iiiiiliial inclination of the young ; "pie. Mary had a respectable fortune, and .' -aid. without being rich, earned by his pro< sm? n eiiuuyii to afford him an honorable in ilfia-ndeiice. Mis father, Mr. Weresford, :iu old city merchant, had retired from trade with a forttn e teulold increased. It was a rare example of rapid success in his speculation ? so rapid indeed that few had hecn able to trace in. exact progress of the accumulation.? WYie>ford. who was of a harsh and capricious temper, now resided alone in one ol the out kiit* of the city, and taking little interest in Ids run's proceedings, left'him at perfect liberty, he was one of those easy egotists, who troubled no one, in order to avoid troubling themselves?a class who are usually very complaivn.t so loi g as you require nothing of thent. lOdward was, therefore, free to pay his addresses to the pret'y Quakeress, quite 6ttre that his father would never think of opposing his niarliage. The young couple were goir.g on pros* per?>usly in their love, ana imnest i??uv looneu on with smiling pleasure. Nothing was to be clone but to fix the 'lay for ll.c wedding, which he had deferred until he should receive some rents arising to him from certain farms, as he intended to devote the money to the extra expenditure of the ceremony. The time had arrived. He went to a country house of his, at some miles from London, where he was in the habit of settling with his tenants, and, as he had promised not to remain more than one day from home, he used all possible diligence in his arrangements. However, he was detained somew hat longer than he had reckoned on, and it was lato on the second evening that he pre pared to set out on his return. Tho night fell dark ; and as the road was a lonely one, it was not withous uneasiness that he perceived at some distance a horseman drawn up, as if waiting for him, full in his path. He stopped, uncertain whether to tuin back or proceed. The ?nadn.uliilo ndvnnrml tmvni-ds Kim SlUlllgCi, and the Quaker could no longer hope to escape; so lie put a good face on the matter,and resumed his easv trot. As he approached the man , I.. perceived that lie was masked?an ill *men, which was soon realized, for the unknown, coming close ap to Toby, took out a pistol, which ho pointed deliberately at him, and roughly demanded his purse. The Quaker did not want courege, but c?lm by nature, and till more so by rr ligion, unnlle without arms to resist an armed man, lie had no resource.? j lie quietly took out a purse containing twelve i guineas, and handed it to the robber, who count cd the pieces, while the victim, glad to have escaped so easily, passed at a quickened pace. But the bandit, seeing no resistance made to I him, and kindled by the hope of a second booty, I. 1. ? a cAA/ih/t tiniA 1 soon oven on u ine wormy iiii'h^owvmiu barred the way, and repenting tho mancEuver with the pistol, like one well used to such pro- i ccedings, he cried? " Vour watch!" The Quaker, though possibly surprised at j this new demand, did not betray the least sign of emotion. He very colly drew a handsome ? 1 ? *-?!- nf flip Itoil I* JJt'IU Widen UUIII HIS ?*W xww.y I and gave it to the rubber, merely saying: ' Now pray allow me t<> return home; my ; daughter will be uneasy at my absence." " An instant," replied tl.o masked rider, cm-! i boKieued by his weakness, "swear to me that j ) ou have uo other sum." ' Fiiend, 1 never swear." said the Quaker. " All! indeed ! Weil, theiLallinn that you j i have no other money about you, and on the j honor of an honest robber, incapabie of using i violence to any one who yields w ith so good a j grace, 1 will permit you to go 011 your way." j Toby considered a moment, and then shook j his head. " Whoever thou art," said he gravely, " thou j hast divined that I am a Quaker, and I may J not hetray the truth, though it may cost my j life. Therefore thou must know that I have 1 hero, under the flap of my saddle, a sum of two hundred sterling.*' 4' Two hundred pounds!" cried the rubber, his eyes sparkling through the mask. "15ul if thou art good, if tiioii art humane, j thou wilt leave me this money," resumed the \ poor Quaker. " My daughter is going to he j married, and this sum is wanting for her set dement. I have not had so much together for j a long time. The dear child loves her betroth- | ed. and it would he very cruel to retard their ( union. If llmu lust a heart, perhaps thou hast ; loved; surely thou wilt not commit this wick- j I ed act io:i!"' ; 4 What is your daughter's marriage, or her j iove tome? Less words and more speed in | I your actions, I must have this also, friend." T<>In handed the heavy litde has; to the! ma.-ked highwayman, and, with a sigh, was j 1 llltMltt I A Ok! <111 illUt/IJl IV I'll. , " Stay, friend Quaker," said the robber, lay- j ing his hand on tlit* bridle, " \uur horse is bet- ; tcr than mine. Alight, my excellent fiietid and j we will exchange." It was rather too late now to begin to resist ? though these repeated exactions were of a j nature to stir the bile in any one but a Job. j The good Toby descended, and took, with i an air of resignation, the wretched hack that j was given him, wondering that he had not fled away on his own superior steed at the first ; approach of th.- robber. The masked horseman, meanwhile, thanking j him ironically for his complaisance, clapped i spurs to his horse and disappeared. Helbre J iiniving in London, the despoiled traveller had | abundant leisure tbr meditation on bis mishap,! and on tlie grief of the poor young people, I ! wh >se happiness was thus ruthlessly adjourned. ! As to the inntioy, it was irrecoverably lost to j him; In.* had no means of recovering it n.?r! tracking the audacious robber. Struck with a , sudden idea, however, he stopped his regrets. ' Ye<.': said he, "this means may succeed j if the fellow inhabits London. Heaven, no j doubt, lias permitted him to he thus imprudent. A little consoled by i know not what hope, I Tobv went home apparently undisturbed, and said nothing oi his adventure. He did not go to the mngi>tiute*, as he at liist intended, hut embraced his daughter, and went to sleep trust' ing in Providence. IJut he resolved, knowing that Heaven helps tlio>e most who try to aid j ' -i.-i .... i.:. ..." ItlCtllSi IVOS, Ill'M U.'IV 10 lieglll ins lu.naituirs. j He had the marc brought out of the stable where she had passed the night, and leading , her into tin; street, threw the bridle over her neck, in the hope that as she had fasted, she j might instinctively find her way to.her master's I hotfte, while he followed on to detect the crimi- . nal. 13ut he had relied too far on the poor ; animal's sagacity. She wandered to and fro,' without end or aim, now to the right, now to j the left, sometimes coming to a full stop, and ; then retracing her steps, till Tubv began to] despair. "The robber," thought he, " has never lived j in London. What lolly of me, instead of! giving notice to the proper authoiities in time, | to think of trusting to the random vagaiies of i that sorry beast." He was roused from bis reverie by the cries ; of some children, who had been almost tram- j pled on by the horse, which, till then so quiet,, suddenly started off at a full gallop. The cry of " stop her, stop her," was raised j in the street. "No, no, don't stop her, for merry's sake i or I will bo ruined!" cried the Quaker, to the utter astonishment of the bystanders, who fan- J cicd he must be mad; and following anxiously the animal's track, be saw her turn quickly i into the suburbs, whither her waudeiings had led her. " It must be here, thank Heaven!" mur- j mured the pious Friend. He hastened on, and in passing by, he saw through the gate a groom patting the. poor * ? ? ? 111 . . ? I. _ % A.1 1 _ If Least s oat-K, as lie leu ner to me siaute. xiu asked lite lirst coiner who owned that house. "Why/' said he, "you nuist be a stranger here not to know I hat tins is the residence of the lick merchant, Weresford." The Quaker stood petrified. ( Weresford," repeated the informant, supposing himself not to be understood, "you must have heard of him?he that made such a wonderful rapid fortune." " Thanks friend, thanks," said Toby, lie was stunned. r I ?t._ f...I e t* 1 I ? " VV eresioru, me luuitr ui duwhiu, ? iii.iii of such standing, to be a robber!" He fancied himself the sport of a delusion, and was about to return home. However, lie remembered several instances of people of high consideration connected with bands of malefactor's; and then this rapid fortune of uncertain origin; and then the mare, which seemed to recognize the place?welcomed, too hy the servant. Toby resolved, at all risks, to fathom the mystery. He walked boldly to the door, and asked to see Mr. Weresford.? The porter answered that he was not tip yet. Now it was near noon?s<> here was another ! token of a busy night. The Quaker insisted on j being admitted, as lie had particular business, i and soon found himself in the owner's bed- ; room. NVoresford, who had just awakened,: ' - > ?i...a ! runoea ins eyes, ?iuu ?smu < tone, 14 who are you sir, and what do you want with me ?"' The sound of his voice struck on his visitor's remembrance, and added the last pi oof to his suspicious, lie drew forward a chair and qui. otly installed himself near the hod wiih his; hat on his head. " Why do you remain covered ?" s.-.id the merchant. ,4I am a Quaker," replied the other calmly, "and thou k no west that such is our fashion." At the word Quaker, We res ford sat tip and studied the visitor's face. He recognized him, doubtless, for he turned pale. 44 Well, sir," said he, 44 what is?if?you please ?the?the nature of-?of your business?" " mo fur tmimr in silllh a liaSte.'" Hit swercd Toby, '* but between friends there need be no ceremony, and I come simply to ask back tiic watch llmu didst borrow from 111c yesterday." " TIjc?watch ?*' " 1 prize it highly. It belonged to my poor wife, and 1 cannot do without it. Besides,my brother in law, the alderman, would be very j much displeased were I tc give away a tne- j meiito of his sister/' The name of "Alderman" seemed to move the merchant* Without waiting lor a reply Toby went on. "Thou wilt oblige me also by returning the twelve guineas which 1 lent thee at the same j time. However, if thou hast need of them, I will leave them with thee for a time, if thou i wilt give me a receipt." The phlegmatic manner of the Quaker so j disconcerted We res ford that he dared not deny | lite possession of the articles, but not wishing to acknowledge them either, he hesitated to commit himself, while Toby added, "I have also come to inborn tliee of the approaching ?: - ? ..... \i iff I rocniT. IIIUIIJ.I^U VI III) \ltlUglHV I'llliv A II.-M WWN * oil a sum of two hundred pounds lor the occasion, hut bv an unlucky accident I lost it on niy way h? London yesterday evening; sol am forced to request thee to make some settlement on thy son; which otherwise I would not have requested." "My son!" "Yes; dost thou not know that he is in love | with my Mary , and that he is to marry hei?" . "Edward!" cried the merchant, starting up. "Edward Weresford," said the Quaker, gently helping himscll to a pinch of snuff. "Let us see; do something for him; lie is a worthy lad. 1 do ml wi?h," pursued he, in a marked manner, "that he should know of what transpired last night; hut in case thou dost not think well of idviii" him so much as I had promised, 1 fear I shall he obliged to tell him how it went." Weresford hurried to a press that was in the room,look out a triple lockcn casket which h? opened and presented to'J'ohv, in succession his purse and his money hag uf- ?!?..# ..I! ?V .i^L'rt/1 tlin mnwlirint I > '.II?ii (ill \ un ?? it in. iiDnuu *? ?- mvi alirnpt 1 y. "Not nl!; I require something more than thy friendship."' "Speak!' "] Msinhcrit thy son." "iiuwr "Disinherit him, I say; I will not have it said that inv Mary speculated on thy wealth,"and so saying, the Quaker left the room. "No," niuriuurred lie, "the child is not responsible for the sins of thy parent. Mary shall marry the son of this man, hut possess his ill-gotten liehes?never never?"' lie went down to the court-yard. "My dear friend," said he to Wercsford, who stood at the window in his dressing gown. "I have brought back thy inure, let me have my horse." Some miti utes alter Toby, well mounted with his moneybag before him and other valuables in his pocket bade farewell to his new friend and returned home in a sober trot. "I have just been paying my wedding visit to thy father." said he to Edward, whom he found before him, wc shall agree very well." "Two hours after, Werosford came to Toby's house and took him out one side. "Worthy Quaker," said ho, "my best and most amiable i i.:..a.w...? i... II IL'IJU, J "J" i rxuiumo.i ii?io ivuLiiiu IIIC iu tuv bottom of my soul. You couid have dishonored my son, degraded mo forever in his eyes by exposing my crimes, and made him unhappy by refusing your daughter's hand; but you have preferred mercy to justice and have acted like a man of true piety and feeling, Uehcve : tneyour conduct has not been lost upon me. I will no longer have a blush before you; take these papers and open them when 1 am gone. Adieu, my true friend; you will see me no more. I And lie went awav. I After bis departure the Quaker inspected ; the papers; there were first orders forconsidc i rable sums 011 different bankers in the city* Then a list containing a great number of names and opposite to each figures for a greater or less amount of money. With it there was a note in the following words? "An unforseen commercial crisis first drove /L.cnuie iiiiIhwImI mu'inc #.f nrrt tin , III iuj viv^.uii, ... ............. ...v...... ... p.w. I curing funds t<? answer my calls. Success and the unsuspected security of my position, templed me to continue my criminal practice. The names above are those of persons who have been robbed of the sums also specified. Draw the money as if for my use, and do you privately make restitution to the injured parties with interest from the date of their losses.? What remains is honestly my own; I am going to live abroad and your daughter will one day be able without shame to accept the inheri tnnce." The next day Wcrercsford had quitted London, and every one said he had gone to France to spend his great wealth. At the wedding of Edward and Mary, the Quaker assembled a largo party of joyous friends, among whom were a unmbcr of people ready to praise to tuo skies the L.onaon nignwiiyinnn who through the medium of the excellent Mr. Simpton, had suddenly restored their long lamented cash capital and interest. fuliiain as a Spy The fallowing anecdote of one of our worthiest revolutionary patriots is fill! of the eccentricity which characterized t lie old "wolf exterminator:" Among the officers of thu revolutionary army noiio, prolialdy, possessed more originality than Gen. Putnam, who was eccentric and fearless; blunt in his manners?the daring sol I dior, without the polish of a gentleman. He ! might well he called the Marion of the North, though he disliked disguise, probably from the | fact of his lisping, which was wry apt to overj throw any trickery lie might have in view. At I this time a stronghold called Horse Neck, some | miles from New York, was in the hands of the I lJritisk. Putnam, with a few sturdy patriots, I was lurking in the vicinity, bent on driving i theni from the place. Tired of lying in ambush i the men became impatient, and importuned i the General wiili a question as to when they were going to have a bout with the foe. One morning lie made a speech something to the following effect, which convinced them some; thing was in ilie wind : | "Fellows, you have been idle too long and so j have I. I'm going to Hush's, at Horse Neck in an hour, with an ox-tiam and a load of corn If 1 come back I will let you know the particulars ; if I should not, let them have it, by hoky." lie shortly afterwards mounted his ox-cart, dressed as one of thecommonest order of Yankee farmers, and was at Hush's tavern, which was in the possession ol the British troops. No sooner did the officers espy him than they began to question him as to his whearcbouts, and finding him h complete simpleton, as they thought, they began to quiz him, and threatened to seize the corn and fodder. "How much do you ask for your whole concern?" asked they. "For mercy sake, gentlemen," replied the mock clodhopper, with the most deplorable look ! of entreaty, "only lot mo off. and you shall have inv hull team and load for nothing ; and if that won't d<>, I'll giro you my word, I'll return tomorrow, and |>av you heartily lor your kindness and condescension." "Well," said they, "we'll take you at your word. Leave the team and provender with us, i and we won't require bail for your appearance." Putnam gave up the team, and sauatered about for an hour or so. gaining all tho informa tion lie wished. He then returned to his men and told them of the foe, and his plan of attack I The morning came and with it sallied out the I gallant band. The British were handled with rough hand*, and when they surrendered to Gen. Putnam the clodhopper, lie sarcastically remarked : - Tt?* ?i r ??i,i I "UoiHienutii, i r.ave Kept m> ^uiu. i iviu you I would cull and pay you tor your kindness ; and condescension." i ^ editoriat. pnoprirtirs.?There is good sense in ilie following remarks from the Newark Dady \dvcrtiser. It will he a protul day for the editorial profession when we all act up to these suggestions: Next to the pleasure of having opinions is ' that of expressing them ; in some persons the ' latter is the greater of the two. Thousands, i indeed, don't care half so much for the real i right and wrong upon a subject, as lor an op; portnnity t" have a shy at it on one side or the I n.,.1 it iu i-.f imii'li r>mi<sprno>nr*n which. ; Serious discussions to them are out of the ques lion. A running commentary on events, or | popular questions, is t.no method of Accomplishj ing their wishes, and this is easy and agreeable j enough. I Another is a kind of editorial conversation ! in the columns of a paper. This may he good | matured, or otherwise, and affords a mighty j convenient way of filling them. But is it very I profitable to the public to bo obliged to overi hear personal altercations, whether in good or j bad temper? : Gossip or tattle of this sort may he some times fiitertainiuir. frenuentlv spicv, but the | consistency, or inconsistency, the mistakes and I faults, of an editor are not s> interesting to the ! connniiiiity, as to the parties. Their contro! vei6ies are often trivial to the last degree, and ; not seldom tend to lower all concerned in pub| lie esteem, certainly in that of the judicious, : and rightly too. Personalities, to be tolerable ! to all but vulgar minds, must be of the good humored sort; gossip, to be lit for the common ear, should have a foundation of common in1 terest-, or agreeable information. I It will largely promote the dignity and utilij tv of the press to divest whatever comes under I fluur notiee. as much as possible, of personal j bearing. Lot questions be debated on their real merits, without refercnco to men. Deci! sions wiil then be likely to be more correct, than when complicated and distorted with : considerations external to them. .. Savb tiii: Man witii the Red Hair.?It re: quires great coolness arid experience to steer a , course down tho rapids of the Sault St. Marie; ; ami a short time before our arrival two Americans had ventured to descend them without j boatmen and were consequently upset. As the ! story was reported to us, one of them owed his ! salvation to a singular coincidence. As the nc' cident look place immediately opposite the town . .1. 11)311 V u: me 1IUI.1UI1.1IILO miu Iiiinmmu vj Uiv , bank of the river to watch the struggle* of the j unfortunate men, thinking any atempt at a ! rescue would be hopeless. Suddenly however a j person appeared rushing toward the group, j frantic with excitement. "Save the man with the red hair!'' he vehemently shouted and the exertions which were made in consequence of his earnest appeals proved successful and the red haired individual in an exhausted condition was safely landed. "He owes mo eighteen dollars," said his rescuer, drawing a long breath and looking approvingly on his assistants. The Mwi.!i:iir<>d innri's friend had not a creditor at I - - ? ? the Sault, and in default of a competing claim, was allowed to pay his debts to nature. "And I'll tell you what it is, stranger," said the narrator of the foregoing incident complacently drawing a moral therefrom?"a inar.'ll never j know how necessary he is to society, if he don't make his life valuable to his friends as well as to I himself."?Blackwood. Freedom from Danger in Deseending Wells. ! . Quits a number hare lost their li\cs from gas by descending into wells for I lie purpose of cleani ing them out, and the Cleveland (Ohio) Herald gives, acsottnt of a case which recently occurred, : in Columbus in that State where four persons alter being nearly deprived of Life in a wo!!, ! wore only rescued from their perilous situation ! at their last gasp. The cause of death In such j cases is carbonic acid gas, or ns it is familiarly ' called, "choke damp." It prevents respiration; : it extinguishes and is generally found at the | bottom of wells it being of greater specific gravity ; than air. It is generated by vegetable decumposi i tion, and also by combustion, and commonly finds its way into the wells from seams in the strata of the earth from adjacent places where chemical action is going on. . Any well may be descended with perfect safety by the u-c <>f quick or fresh burned lime recently slacked or without being slacked, i When there is chokcjdamp in a well it can easily I be known bv letting down a lamp or candle by a cord. If the light burns freely, it. is a sign ! that no choke damp is there, and the well may be entertained with safety but if the candle burns j dimly, or is extinguished, it is a sign of danger. I Trt miniit-it tliw rriic :in to rruirlpr if innoxious i *v ...... 0*... j to the person out cling the well, all that has to be done is simply to throw down some pieces ! of fresh burned iimc into the water, and agitate it with the bucket on the rope, or with a pole. Another plan i< to slack the lime in a small j heap, mix it with water in a tub, and throw down three or four pailsful into the well. Or I if it is desired to enter the well and not disturb the water in it, take about half a pailful of slacked lime, mix it quickly with cold water in a small tub and lower it down into the well by cords attached to its lugs so as to rest on the surface of the water. The contents of this tub must be stirred up for ten miuntes with a pole in the well and then left supended for an hour. When drawn up, any person may descend I,., ...oil M-ttl, C.C..Ii- Tim tihilnsnnlir nf this ; ytv ?. v?i ".u. -..w r ?y-.j - | is that moist lime lias a great affinity for car! hor.ie acid gas, ami it therefore absorbs it rapidly from the atmosphere. If we take some fresh slacked lime and stir it up in a vessel containing cold water and allow it to remain so for five or six hours a hard scale, like that of thin ice, will be found ou the top of the water. This scale is carbonate of lime, formed by the absorption of carbonic acid gas J from the atmosphere, (a very small quantity I of carbonic acid is mixed with all the air we | breathe.) and the scale is a thin pclidc of stone ? marble. The lime of wood mortar becomes bard by returning to its former condition of limestone by the absorption of carbonic acid nr.-is from (he nfmnsnhere. and the formation of | si tliiti scale <>f carbonate of lime vat, affords evidence of tlio manner in which some of the sedimentary rocks were formed. Xo person ! need l>e afraid of descending into a well if lie : pursues the directions given. By letting down ! a candle into the well, after the lime has been j allowed to play its part its light will indicate when it is safe to descend- For the safety of j life, we hope this information will bo circulated far and near.? Scirvtijic American. Why <lo Tic Hi Decay I All the theories that again and again have been advanced in answer to this inquiry, have long since vanished before the true doctiino of the action external corrosive agents. The great i and all powerful destroyer of the human teeth | is aeid, vegetable or mineral; and it matters i not whether that acid is formed in the moutii j by the decomposition of particles of food left | between and around the teeth or whether it is | applied directly to the organs themselves; the i result is the same, the enamel is dissolved, cor; roded, and the tooth destroyed. Much, very i much of the decay in teeth may be attributed | to the corrosive effects of ascclato acid, which | is not only in common use as a condiment j in the form of vinegar, but it is generated by j the decay and decomposition of any and eve ry variety of vegetable matter. When wc consider how very few persons, 1 comparatively, take especial pains to remove every particle of food from between and around the teeth, immediately after eating, can we j wonder that diseased teeth arc so frequently j deplored ??Exchange. 'J'ho above does not afford good reason why 1 the teeth of our nconle are so subject to early j decay, in comparison with the teeth of the peo : pie of some other countries. It is generally allowed that there is work for five the number j of dentists in the United States than there, is I in Britain and that while bad teeth is the ox* ! cop!ion there, is the rule here. Wo believe that our people take more pains with their teeth bv washing than the natives of . Ireland, and yet the Irish have far better teeth, i Ace tee aciJ cannot be the cause of this early I /l.toni' r.C ninfthd HQ infli.oil WO linilW it i UCV>?J VI Lttl.l (IIUVM^ iiiuvw " V ? v ?? % , is m>t. There is no subject of more importance ! tlimi this ; for if the early decay of tooth among ; our peop|e is not the result of ill health, wc all ; know tlint. bad teeth are injurious to health.? 1 The health of people is a question of the very first importance; it is of more consequence than any other. It is our opinion that if more ; coarse harb biscuit were eaten in early life, to | exercise the teeth, they would be less liable to ! early decay. The very form of some of our teeth are adapted to grinding, and if not propeily exercised, they must become tender and j delicate.? Scientific American. Postmaster's Compensation.?Postmasters should remember, in making up their quarterly returns for the quarter to end on the 30th inst., that their per centage or compensation is to be different for that quarter, from what iliey re j ceived for last quarter. Thus, they are to be I i r.?, .... f ti..?.o , ; UCIUiVltVl i*"> iv? *.. Oil any sum nut exceeding one hundred do! ; lars sixty per cent; but any Postmaster, at \ whose office the mail its to arrive regularly be1 twecn the hours of nine o'clock at night and five ! o'clock in the morning may be allowed seventy ! per cent, on the first hundred dollars. | On any sum over and above one hundred dollars, and not exceeding four hundred dollars 1 fifty per cent. ; Onanvsum over and above four hundred t .1 ...1 .... J:? ... <V.._ 1 dollars, anu not exceeding nvemv-iuui uuuuiw : dollars forty per cent,. , I And on all sums over twenty four hundred i dcllnrs, fifteen per cent. Tlic Pnlntetttf Kcgimenl. From :m article on ' Scott's Rattles in Mei> . co," contained in tlie August niVhiber of "liarI jh-Fs Magazine," we extract tile following accouut ; of tlic pari performed in* this regiment iii the affair of ChurubtUco: i "Soon after tlie battle Commented, fseoti sent 1 Piertc's and ShieltU' brigade# U tlie left, ! through the -fields, to attack the enemy in the j rear. On the causeway, opposed to thetn, were I planted Santa Anna's reserves?0,000 fooi.oi'd 4,000 horse?in a measure protect* d by a dctisfc growth t?f magUc^. Sbiej'Ja advanced intrepidly with ft force of 1,600. The gfbiind whs iharshi and for a long distance?having vainly ehdefirb^cd to outflank the enemy?his advance was exposed to their whole fire. Morgan, of the 14th fell wounded. The New York regiment suffered feat fully, and their leader Col. Burnet, tru disabled. The Palmettos of South Carolina and the 9th, under Ransom, wcro as severely cut up; and after a while all sought shelter in and about a largo barn near the causeway. Shields, in an agony at the failure of his nipve* ment, cried imploringly for volunteers to follow him. The appeal was instantly answered Col. Butler, of the Palmettos: 'Every South Carolinian will follow you to the death!' The cry was contagious, and most of the New Yotkcrs took it up. Forming at angles to the causei nnv StiinMe ln/t tK/vtn tirrtvo men under an incessant liail of shot, against the village of Portnles, where the Mexican reserves wore posted. Not a trigger was pulled till they stood at a hundred and fifty yards from the enemy. Then the little band poured in their volley, fatally answered by tho Mexican host. Butler already wounded, was shot through tho hend, and died instantly. Calling to the Palmettos : to avenge his death, Shields gives the word to I charge. They charge?not 400 in all?over j the plain, down upon 4,000 Mexicans, securely I posted under cover. At every step their ranks are thinned. Dickinson, who succcded Butler in command of the Palmettos, siezes the colors as the bearer falls dead; the next moment he is down himself, mortally wounded, and Major Gladden snatches them from his hand. Adams, Moragne and nearly half the gallant band are proslrate. A very few minntes more and there will be no one left to bear the glorious fiag^ But at this very moment a deafening roar is heard in the direction of the tetedepont. RoudJ shot and grape, rifle balls and canister, eome crashing down the causeway into th? Mexican ranks, from their own battery. Worth is there?tho gallant fellow?just in time." Selection's for a Newspaper-?Most peo. pie think the selection of suitable matter for a newspaper the easiest part of the business, j How great an error? It is by all means the i most difficult. To look over hundreds of ex| change papers every week, from which to select j enough for om\ especially when the question . is not what shall, but what shall not be selectj cd, is no easy task. If every person who reach ; a paper could have edited it we sbopld hear it i . . r i . _ ! loss complaint. i\oi unirequenuy is it ino case that an editor looks over all his exchange papers for something interesting, and can absolutely find nothing. Every paper is drier than a contribution box, and yet something must be had, his paper must come out with something in it and he does the best he can. To an editor who lias the. least care about what he selects the writing that he has to do is the easiest part of the labor. Every subscriber thinks the paper is printed for his own benefit; and if there is nothing in it that suits him it must bo stopped, it is good for nothing. Just as many subscribers as an editor may have, so many tastes be has to consult. One wants something sound. One likes anecdotes, fun and frolic; and the next door neighbor wonders that a man of good sense will put 6iich stuff in a paper. Something spicy comes out, and the editor is a blackguard. Next comes something argumentative, and the editor is a dull fool. And so between them all, you see, the poor fellows get rougfdy handled. They ncrer think what does not please them may please the next man; hut they insist, if the paper does not suit them, It is good for nothing. Washington Glu&e. ? A Word to Boys.?Who fs respected? It is the boy who conducts himself well, who Bobedient, in nil things. It is the boj who if making an effort continually to respect his father and to obey him, whatever lie may direct to bb done. It is the boy who leaves no effort untried1 to improve himself in knowledge nnif wisdom every day, who is busy and active in endeavoring to do good acts towards others. Show me a Boy who obeys his parents, who is diligent, who resnpets n<rc. who always has a friendly *" r~ ? o ' #? s disposition and who applies himself dilligentl^ to got wisdom, arid to do good towards others} and? if he is not respected and beloved by everybody,j then there is no suoh thing as truth in this world. Remember this boys, and you will be ; rjspecte .1 by others, and grow up and become use-' I ful men. i A Word to Littli: Gikw.? ttho is loVelyi j It is tho girl who drops sweet words, kind ro! marks, and pleasant smiles as she passes along; j who lias a kind word of sympathy for every boy or girl she meets and a kind hand to help her companions out of difficulty, who never scolcs never teases, nor seeks in anv way to ciminish. - i :? | hut to increase, uieir iinj-puicaa >? uum n. jr.c,i you to pick tip a string of pearls, drops of gold/ diamonds, or otlier precious, stones, which can never bo lost. Sympathize with those in trouble, i .Strive everywhere to diffuse around you sunshine ! and joy. If you do tliio, you w ill be sure to be j beloved. ? ??. i A Singular Fougivknesr.? Sir Walter Scott j in his article in the Quarterly Review, on the i Culloden papers, mentions a characteristic instance of an old Highland warrior's mode of pardon. " You must forgive even your bitterest enemy, Kenniuir, now/' said the confessor to him, as he lay gasping on his death bed. " Well if I must, I must," replied the chieftnn, " but my curse lx? on you, Donald," turning townrds 1 his son, " if you forgrvc him."