Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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1 * , ,1 J?1? gggggsgg" .u. A REF LEX OF POP U L A R EVENTS. Deootefc lo Progress, tljettigljts of \\)t Soutl), anft ll)c Diffusion of Useful linoujlciige among all Classes of tUorhing itttn, VOLUME III. GREENVILLE, SOUTH CAROLINA, THURSDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 12, 1857. MI mpfd , - I'll,, ? j)t Cnttryrifle IS TUTJBD BVEHT TBUBBDAT MOBKTHO, BT PRICE & MoJCNKIN. 4 WILXJAM P. PRICE, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. C . M . M'JU N K I N , PRINTER. : TERIV9. Onk Dollar and Firrr Crmta in advatiea; Two ])*ium if CLUBS of FIVE and upwards Ore Dollar, tk? mnn?v In RtftPV Smtanoa In RAAAmnanv lk* order. ? ADVERTISEMENTS inserted conspicuously at Ui rates of 7fi cent* Mr square of 13 lines for the first insertion, and 37 J cents for each subsequent insertion. Contracts for yearly advertising made reason able. AQENTS. K. W, Csaa, If. W. cor. of Walnut and Third-st, Philadelphia, is our authorised Agent. W. W. Wai-kkr, Jr., Columbia, 8. C. " Pevaa Siisdut, Esq., Flat Rock, N. C. A. M. I'sdsx, Fairview P. O., Oreenville Dish William C. Hailst, Pleasant Grove, GreenvilleQar, It. Q. .An naason. Cedar Falls, Greenville. ^ottnj. [Translated from the German.] God's Support and Guidance. Forsake me not, my God ! Thou God of nty salvation ! Give me thy light, to be My sore illumination. My soul to folly turns, Becking she knows not what; Pl?! lead hei to inyself; M/ God, forsake me not! FnruVa m? nnl mi* finfl ' Take not thy spirit from me; An/1 suffer not the might' Of sin to overcome me. A father pitieth The children' he begot; K> father, pity ine; My God, forsako me not! Forsake me not, my God ! Thou God of life and power; Knliven, strengthen me, In every evil hour. And when the sinful Are Within my heart is hot, He not thou far from me; My God, forsake me not! Forsake me not, my God ! Uphold me tn going ; That evermore 1 may J 'lease Thee in all well-doing, And that thy will, O Lord, May never be forgot, In all my works and wavs. 9 J - My God, forsake me not ! Forsake me not, my God! I would be tliine forever ; Confirm me mightily - In every right endeavor. And when my hour is come, Cleansed from all stain and spot . Of sin, receive my soul 1 My God, foisake mo not! >. Death Painless.?It is nearly certain? indeed as certain as anything chiefly speculative can be?that in all deaths the physical sytfaring is small. Even where invalids experience the most excruciating agoav during 'the progress of the disease, nature eomea to their relief at the latt hour, and life goes out gently, like a candle in its socket. Those who have witnessed deathbeds HMt frequently?especially if they have beett intelligent persons, and. therefore, capable of judging?agree generally in considering the physical pain of death as inconsiderable, They say that the convulsive motions, which frequently attend the part ing breath, are not evidences of suffering, fer that the invalid is Insensible. They say also, that when the senses are retained, there is usually no such spasm. A leading medical authority states that scarcelv one Derson In fifty i? sensible st ihe point of death ; and 0Of#e physicians assert that they have never ?ee?) ? rje^tfe bed in which the patient was sensible. As life fails, natuse, it would seem, beneficently interposes, deadening the sensibility of the nerves, and otherwise preparing the individual for the great and inevitable phange. Jt M.? ?**'??*? *?. AtMsRCR,?Fashionable folks have ooaved to marry. Now, according to Jenkins and his imitators, M they form matrimonial alliance," upon which Susan Jane writes to inquire M if soch an alliance is to be considered offensive and defensive f* Mr. Punch ventures to reply? offensive, when misfortune or difficulty is to be attacked and overcome; defensive, when sorrow or sickness assails; and expensive, when eertain little parties whether or not, will join in the compact," A coTBMPoaART puflh Ross, the soap i man, and bis soap, concluding as follows: 44 The manufacturer of the beat aoap ever ??ed for eleaneing a dirty mmtttfac*. We lave tried it?therefore know,** Original Drpartment Written for th? Southern Bntrrprlii. POVERTY AHD COLD. " 1 am tbiuking of ilmt poor woman," said my wife, looking up, at length, froui contemplating the glowing grate, one bitter, freezing day last week. I had just come in, and in few words she explained who the M poor woman " was. An hour before our negro washerwoman, a widow with three children, had come weeping to my wife and said her son had died the night before of a cough with which he had long been afflicted. Some clergyman had written her case on a bit of paper, and she was soliciting aid to bury him.. I went early in the afternoon to the num oer sue gave, and was directed, with sulkiness, by a slatternly, impudent mulatto girl, to the fourth story of a large, dingy brick house, jammed between high walls, and approached by a dark, narrow passage some distance iu the heart of the square. I groped my way up six short flights of narrow, cold stairs, in Egyptian darkness. On knocking I was admitted. In a amnll room containing a bed, a small cook store, with a few common utensils, was the mother, a slight made woman of 3d, and a delicate little mulatto girl, almost white, who was performing the office of nurse to a boy almost her own size. The woman talked away in the most business way about herself; said she had been bought and freed by her father in Baltimore when a child, had come to New York, had married, and was now a widow with three children. She then opened a door and showed me the corpse of a little mulatto boy Ave years old, thin and emaciated by consumption, lying in a little dark room adjoining where her wash tubs were piled up. Here, than, in tlijs little de?, four stories high, at $50 year rent, alio lived, had all (he washing she could do, and made about $3.50 a week. With a negro's improvidence she bad saved nothing but $4 for rent, and L. 1. ? ' * ' mo re?un oi ncr oay's truclgtng was 25 cant*. Shu seemed more tioubled about how she was to get her boy into the ground than anything else. After going a few blocks I found an undertaker who agreed to furnish a coffin and take the child in the same cart with another coffin to New York Bay Cemetery at a low rate, I pledging myself to see hiiu paid. The next day I called at her room and found her at her wash tub. She had received no further aid, and giving me the money sins had, I paid the k?ud un dertaker the rest of his bill myself. She did not think worth her while to say, "Thank you.w Poverty, cold, hunger and death tpust sometimes make human na'ure stolidly Indifferent. And so I left her, after seeing that she had the wherewithal to buy food and coal. Iler case is quite comfortab'e. though, to many thousand white people and negroes in the city. A ft Or tli/WA ttrrKU ori/1 ?oa,!in? frlasa v counts of the daily pros, and hearing the appeals from the pulpit, to consider the poor, I am more sorry than ever for misguided theorists, who, with honest but mistaken plans, endeavor to nid the negroes of the South ; but with unmitigated abolitionists, who, with a!) |)>js jn view, and more too, |u?p on Inflaming the people, I h?vo Jess patience than ever. As I contemplate that brick house, dingy and cold, without furnace to heat, or croton water or gas, (so necessary heie.) divided into twelve rooms, occupied by about thirty free negroes, I feel unhappy. Take that woman as a sample, She buys her coal by the peck, brings water from tbe hydrant across the street up those dark, weary stairs, and frequently finishes her week's work ironing till one o'clock Sunday morning. She roust pay her 14.50 a month, or leave. When Sunday comes bow much (Jospei are they ready to go aud hear, in churches wuoro jicwb iuu uicnp at fou rent I TV DAI hopo has Juor old age to loofe *? I What U bar ton to do in a city where servant* and drayinen are ninety-nine-one-hundredths forejgfla1^ ??d her daughter to follow ber hopeful vocation, or more likely, and much the mora probable, become ? Imrlot t Take a# ordinary servant woman in Greenville, with a master wjio had two ideas of buman feeling and human necessities, and melta bar understand that *ba VM really to occupy this room, with the above pros pccts, leaving the chances of lingering disease out of the question, would she exchange f Seeing and foeling is believing. Refractory servants are sometimes threatened with the sugar plantations. Let them drive a dray in New York, or wash clothes in a fourth story, and dry them on the roof with a north-easter fresh off the Hudson searching through thetn, and I will guarantee future docility. Yours, vory truly. KARMLKY. New York, Jan. 23, 1857. Snterrating tittle itorirn. The Soldier's Vow A iKl'b I ALik. One beautiful Indian Summer day, in the autumn of 1844, a stranger appeared in the streets of Hanover, N. II., whose garb bespoke the utmost poverty and destitution. As he stnggeied along, he was aurroutldod by a crowd of village boys, who amu*od themselves by insulting him with coarse jests and personal indignities. Ho bore their abuse with exemplary patience, and begged them to wait till he felt a little better, and he would sing them a tine song, llis voice was thick with unnatural excess, and he was too weak to protect him from the rude jostling* of the crowd, yet he smiled on the tormentors, and exhibited no other sense of i his helpless and forlorn condition than a look of grief and shame, which, despite his efforts and smiles, would occasionally overspread his countenance. Late in the afteruoou, the writer, then a student, passe] him in company with a friend, when our attention was arrested by a i voice of unusual power and beauty, singing the favorite national air of France, La l'a-' ritienna. As he proceeded, a great number of students from the college, gathered around hitu, and At the conclusion an involuntary expression of delight broke from the entire mass. He was enthusiastically on.l afterwards the Afaraeillaise called fur. The same rich, clear voice, rang out that tvihl melody iu the very words which are wont to arouse the spirit ot the French soldiers to frenzy. The admiration of the poor inebriate's auditory was now raised to tho highest pitch. Despite hi* tittered and tiJthy gtruteuls, his squalid beard and briinles* hat, now that the fume of kquor had subsided, his form appeared symmetrical and manly, and bis face glowing with the sentiments of the patiiolic song, aod Hushed wjjh excitement at the unexpected praise he was winning, assumed an expression of intelligence and joy that beautifully set o))'hjs really fine features. " What and who is this strait ger f" was the uuiversal inquiry. " Ilis singing is incomparable, and his Knglish and French are faultless." M Yes," said he, dropping his eyes, " lean give you German, or Spanish, or Italian, as well, or Latin and Greek, either," he added, carelessly. In leply to the many questions that were showered upon him with the com ho so much needed, he at length said, in a sad tone, and slowly endeavoring to push his way through the crowd : " Geutleinen, I am a poor vagabond, eq tirely unworthy your kind sympathy. Leave ma to rags and wretchedness, to go on my way." vui turuwuj' wm urn mucii excucu io allow this, and amid Joud oheets, we escorted him to a room, where he was furnished with water a?d good clothes, and the barber's art put in requisition, and after an incredibly short time, he re-appeared upon the college steps, smiling and bowing gracefully, a man of as fine appearance and noble bearing as eyes 6vor behold. The delight of the crowd at this transformation was intense and repeated shouts rent the airt M fiive us J,u Paritienne /" echoed from all sides, and as soon as silence could be obtained again, that clear, rich voice uttered these inspiring words: w Ptuple Prancoit, pcuple de bra ret, La Liberie rauvre de brat lie was then conducted to the spacious chapel, and there he held an audience of one thousand persons spell-bound for two hours by one of the most interesting autobiographies that it was ever our lot to hear. Horn in Paris, of wealthy parents, ho had, in early life, been thoroughly educated at the University of Willemberg, and received the Master's degree. He soon after joined the fortunes of Napoleon, and wjtji the raqjt of lieutenant., ho was with him ng all hit campaigns, in Egypt, in Italy, in Aus trift, in Hussia, and at Waterloo, His account of scene* in battles, and bit description of places find pjljps wpre expressed irp choice and graphic terms, and on being compared with history, were found to correspond in every particular. Ha related many unwritten and carious incidents in the life of Napoleoq, which bad come under his observation, and finally closed witb A touching account of bis own career after the battle of Waterloo, lu the terrible route that followed that memorable event, his detachment was chased by a body of Prusbiap hussars, and, becoming scattered in tlie night, lie wandered for thieedav* and nights | in the woods and by places without food or i drink. j 1 lie chase being at length given over, the i poor Frenchman sat down weary and sick with his wounds, and ready to die by the roadside. A humane Dutch girl, discover ing him iu this situation, brought him refreshments, and cordials, and among the latter, a fla>k of brandy. " Here," said the old soldier, " was tho beginning of ray woes, That angel of mercy, with the beet of motives. brought me in that flask a deadly foe, which was to prove more potent for evil to me than all the burning toils of the Egyp nun i^?iii|>Hjgu, or uia intolerable trusts and snows of the Unssian?more fatal thnn the cannon of 73 battles?which kindled in me a thirst more insatiable than that which forced ine to open my veins on the desert sands of the East. Till that day I had never tasted strong drink. I hud uttered a vow in my youth to abstain from it, and to that vow I owed my life. For not ojie of nil my comrades who indulged in the use of it survived the horrors of the Egyptain Campaign. * But, as I lay in anguish, longing for death, and momentarily expecting his approach, a sweet face appeared to me, wearing an expression of deep pity and sympathy for my sufferings, and I could hut accept without inquiry whatever sho gave. She gently raised my head and wiped with her handkerchief the dampness off iny brow, and administered the cordial to my lips. It relieved me; I looked around, my courge, my love of life returned. I poured forth iny gratitude in burning words, and called down the blessings of Heaven. Ignorant of what it was that so suddenly inspired uie, as soon as toy spiiil flagged, I callod for more, I called for more. 1 drank again, and again ; for three weeks her loved voice soothed me, | and her kind hand administered to my wants. As soon as my strcrgth was sufficiently recovered, fearing that some enemy might still be linking near, I bade her adieu, with many thanks and tears, sought the sea-side, and embarked as a common sailor on the first vessel that offered, and have follower) the sea ever since. My fatal thirst has ever accompanied and cursed mo, in port and on deck this foe has debased me, and kept me VIM oil biinuvc >'i promotion. Ml), now olten have I. in (lie depth of my Ijearf, wished I liad died on the field of Waterloo, 01 breathed out iny life in the arim of iny gen tie preserver. Six weeks ago I was wrecked in the packet ship Clyde, off the coast ol New )Jiim*W'ick. I have wandered on foot ' through Canada and New Hampshire, sing1 ing for a few pennies, or begging for bread. : lj|| I met your sympathy to-day. How do these college walls, and this noble band of j students recall to recollection the scenes of former years." The emotion of the stranger for a moment overcame his voice, and when La resumed the tears were still coursir.g each other down his cheeks. " I know not why God should direct my steps higher; but, gentlemen, thii shall be the beginning of a new life in ine and here, in jjjs presence, and in that o those witnesses, I swear, as I hope to meet you in IIeas-en, never to taste a drop of alcohol in any form again." Prolonged and deafening cheers followed these words, and 1 noticed many a moist eye. A collection was immediately made, and more than fiftydollars was put in his hands. As he ascended to the coach to take his departure, he turned to the excited multitude, that stir| rounded him, and said : " It is but justice , that you should know my name. I am i Lieutenant Cannes, a nephew of the great ) Marshal I,annes. May God bless you all? ! farewell J" As these youths thoughtfully returned to j their aeoustoined pursuits, not a few resolved, in their deepest souls, that temperance and virtue should ever mark their character, #nd that the soldier's vow should he theirs. ?? ? *-44^ The Infidel and His Dying Child The following passage has a touching interest. It is extracted frotn Mrs. Mcintosh's " Charms and Counter Charms." Eustou Hastings, their father, is an infidel : The child's disease was scarlet fever, Ten days and nights of ever deepening gloom had passed, and in the silent night, having insisted that Evilyn, who bad, herself, shown symptoms of illness through the day, should retire to bed, Euston Hastings sat alone, watching with a tightening heart, the disturbed sleep of the little Eve. It was near ro'd-niffht when that trouble*! sIpao broken. The child turned from side to side uneasily, nud looked soinewhct wildly around ber. What fs the matter with my darling !" asked Elision Hastings, in tones of tnelting tenderness. " Where's mama ??Eve want mama to say, Our Father P " Huston Hastings had often contemplated the beautiful picture of hie child kneeling, with clasped bands, beside her mother, to lisp her evening prayer, or since her j!|ness forbade her rieing from her bed, of fyelyn kneeling beside it, taking thoee olaspt-d hands in hers, and listening to Eve's softly murmured words. Well be knew, therefore, what *m meant by Eve's simple phrase, n 44 To say, Our Father." t " Mama is asleep," he said ; 44 when she t awakes I will call her." c " No?no?papa; Eve asleep then." fi " I will call her at once, then, darling," and he would have moved, but the little ; hand was tain on him to arrest him* 44 No, don't wake poor mama ; papa, say c 4 Our Father V for Eve." * 44 Will Eve say it to papa ! Speak, then, my darling," he said. Hading that though " the hands were clasped, and the sweet eyes devoutly closed, Eve remained silent. 1 44 No?Eve too sick, papa?Eve can't talk F so much?papa kneel down and Ray, 4 Our F Father,' like mama di4, lest night?won't * you, papa I" ' Fusion Hastings could not resist that ci pleading voice, nnd kneeling, ho Inid his hand over the clasped ones of his child, and ' for the first time sinpe he had murmured it 1 with childish earnestness in his mother's ear, 1 his lips gave utterance to that hnllowed form of prayer which was given to man by a Di ^ I vine Teacher. At Slicli an hnnr nrwlnr circumstance*, it could not be uttered care- 8 lessly ; and Huston Hastings understood its 1 solemn import?its recognition of God's sovereignty?its surrender of all things to Him. lie understood it, wo say?but he trembled 8 at it. Ilis infidelity was annihilated ; but * he believed as the unrecoiled believe, and his heart almost stood still with fvar while" Thy * i will be done on earth even as it is in heav- ' I en," fell slowly from his lips. Soothed by his compliance, Eve became 1 still, and seemed to sleep, but only for a few 1 minutes. Suddenly, in a louder voice than had been heard within that room for days, ( she esclainjed, " Papa?papa?sec there? 8 up there, papa !" * Iler own eyes were fired upward, on the 8 ceiling, as it seemed to Euston Hastings, for " to hiin nothing else was visible, while a smile of joy played on her lips, and her arms ! were stretched upward as to some celestial visitant. 44 Eve coming," she cried again. "Take | Eve!" 44 Will Eve leave papa f" cried Euston ' I Hastings, while unconsciously he passed his i arm over her, as if dreading that she would | I ?..II.. I? 1 r 1 i>o uorne iroin nun. " VVitli eyes still fixed upward, and expending her la?t strength in an eftort to rise from ' the bed, Eve murmured in biokeu tone*, " l'apa corne too?mama?granpa?little ' . brotlier?dear papa?" The last word cou)d have l>een distinguished only by the intensely listening ear of love. It ended in a sigh ; and Euston Hastings felt, even while he still olasped her cherub form, and gazed upon her sweetly smiling face, that his Eve had, indeed, left liiui forever. That she had ceased to exist, with the remembrance of that last scene full | in his iniiwl, ho could not believe. Ilcnce| forth, heaven with its angels, the minister- ' 1 ">g spirits of the Most lligh, was a reality ; I it was the habitation of his Eve ; and his | own heart bent longingly for it. llis proud, I stern, unbending nature h.id been taught to j tremble at the decree of " Him who rulcth ovei the armies of heaven, and aniang the f inhabitants of the earth." The Heing and Nature upon which he had hitherto speculated as grand abstractions, became at once I unspeakably interesting facts. Would He i contend with him in wrath f Would He snatch from hill) one by one the blessings of his life, crushing the impious heart which had reviled His attributes and denied his existence ? or was lie indeed " so loner suf I fering," so " plenteous in ujercy," that He I would prove even to him that Ilis might was the might of a Saviour ! Such were his thoughts as with still concentrated agony he turned from the grave of his cherished child to watch beside the stif, fering Evelyn, ftlie had taken the terrible disease from hor little Eve, and lay for many days insensible to her owu danger or her husband's agony. But God was merciful, and her husband and father received her i back from the grave. The beart which judg} inent had aroused, mercy melted. A con- , | sciousneas of his own gnwortbiness of God's mercy?a fear that Ac could not be beard? j checked the cry which anguish would have , extorted from Euston Hastings ; and the first , real utterance from his heart to heaven was in the lauguage of thanksgiving. A Fact With a Moral/\ ce)chrated artist, in one of his rambles, ^ met with the most beautiful child lie had ever seen. " I will paint tho portrait of this child," ho said, "and keep it for my own : for 1 n)*y n.ever loojf upon its like again." lie painted it, and when trouble came, and i evii ftfcssions nrjoypd his apirir to rebel, her g$?ed upon the likeness of tho boy, and pas-1 I sion tied, and holier thoughts entranced his 1 soul. Years passed ft way, and at length within a prison's walls stretched out upon I the floor of a stone, he sees a man stained with blood, with glaring eyes and haggard face, and with demoniac rage, cursing him- j self and hi* fellow beings and blaspheming i God, as he lay waiting for the hour of his < executjon- The artist transferred his like- i ness also to canrass, and placed it opposite thp child's. How striking, how cprnpletp the contrast! The angel boy?the fiendi?j> man! L I What mint havf been tho feelings of the 4-> v ">*VM rltst, when, upon inquiry, ho ascertained lint both the portraits he had made were of he saine individual! The beautiful, inn- * ent child had grown iuto the hldeoua, sint ill man I The Indian Story. Tire rapid growth of northern Illinois otnmenced at the conclusion of (hp war of 81'2. The log huts of the Indiana sudden* y disappeared, the smoke of the wigwnma 10 longer ascended towards the heavens. The rapid improvements commenced by he white man, had driven them into the trairies, and tho v/igwarns wore no longer litched in the vicinity of the towns, except vlien they came to barter furs for goods, 1'he music of the saw, axe and hammer had Iriven the game far away, The Indians' land, east of the Mississippi, iad already been ceiled to government by reatv, and the red men only dwelt there, by i.? * -< u? wiisciiv ui guverninem. >v nen We In. liana went away I went with them. I took ip my qunrtera at the head waters of the tViasebn, at the junction of two important trearas, tributaries to the great father of wears, and opened my store for tnid?. After exposing my goods, in all their ndian varieties for some days, without any mecess in selling, I becanio almost discottr* iged, and nearly concluded to give it up, [Tie Indians woulJ come into my store by lozens, and after examining my goo^a, go iwav without purchasing. They had plenty )f shu-ne ah (money) and furs, but bought no goods, and the reason was a m/$tery tq mo. At length the chief of the nation came iq :ompany with a crowd of Indians. He in. itaptly exclaimed, "How do, Thomas I Jom?, show mo. nice goo*ls. What do yeq isk for this? I'll take four yards of calico ?three cooi.??kin9 for ope yard?half a do|. ar exactly?by-rn by ; to morrow, J'lJ pay you." The next day be came accompanied by liis whole baud. His blanket above his waist was stntfed with coon skins. " Amer. ican, I will pay that bill now," said the In. Jian. Suiting tbe action to the word, he began to pull the skins fr?>m his blanket, and count* ing out twelve, held the thirteenth in hi? hand, and finally laid it upon llio rest, ex* claiming, "That's it, exactly." I gave it back to him, telling him he owed but twelve, and the Great Spirit would not )e| uiu cheat him. We coutinued to pass it Itn/1 for! 1* oooll ? *1?4 1 * ... WIUI VI1B ll-K-OI llllg 11J Ml )( belonged to the other. A1 I'tsl ll? tpjW?re<J satisfied, and gave ine a scrutinising look j then placing the skin within the folds of hit blanket, he stepped to tho door, and wi(h a yell, cried, " Coine !?eonje in, nil you, and trade with the pale face?he's honest?he will not cheat the Indian; he believes in the Great Spirit?his heart is big, he is an hot}t est trader!" lie then turned to me, and said, 44 If you had taken that ono coon-skin, I and my people would have had nothing to do with you, and would have diiven you away like a dog; l>nt jio^v I have found that you are the Indian's friend, and we shall he youra." The Indians then began flocking into the store, and to trade, and before the snn had gone down, I was waist deep in furs, And shu-ne ah in plenty. Thut one coon-skin saved me. Deurilm Tremens.?Of the deaths in the Charity Hospital, during the year 1856, no less than tifty-seven are attributed to rfc, lirium tremen*! This certainly is a fiightful exhibit for a single institution ; and if \0 that fifiy-seven be added, all those who, according to the verdicts of Coroner's jurira, have died in this eity, during tiie past year, from the effects of excessive intemnerarift* 1 ?t the list will be swelled up to over two hum dred. Just think of it, reflective reader. Within a single year, in a single city, over two hundred human beings are hunted from the paths of honor and respectability, by the dark demon of a self fostered insanity, and are east with loathing into dishonored graves. And not only did they bring ruin on themselves bv their mad carver, but innocent wives and helpless children were alike dragged down with them to poverty, and made to suffer ills, the extent of which will never be known till the secret* of all hearts are made manifest. The subject is worthy of being well pondered by those who have set out on the way which leads lo " death from the effects of defi^um trti metis!"?y. O. Picayune, Gordon* Cummixo, the great lion-slayer, was telling fiogers, one> day. bow ha came on a huge lion. "Thinking to frighten nun, I ran al him with a!! my might. said the huuter. " Whereupon," sai4 Rogers, 4 he ran away with all his mane, I sup. [rose !" 44 Exactly so," said Cumraing. Ou* devil says that whep you see a young man and woman walking down street, leaning against each other lijke a pair pf badly matched oxen, it Is a pretty good sign they are bent on consolidation. It ha# been asoorliinad that the average quantity of sugar consumed by every man. woman and chjld ir tbp United States is 2^ lbs. per annum.