University of South Carolina Libraries
1 .... %* . iiiiiiiiiiiiatiii i -lifirn r -ini?niii'ii i ' " - ' * A REFLEI^OF PO.FPLAIt EVENTS. Dmrtsb to progress, lije fiigljts of i\)t 53ontl), nnb 11)t Diffusion of ttssful Unoxolrirgf nthon# oil Onsets of XUorhinfl iilrn. "VOLUME IV. GREENVILLE. SOUTH CAROLINA. THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 20.1857. nmtmuvo on g&UiiAsgasesmKmssg!-???? " ' - Ml '&!].; j?ontl|tm (Enitrprisc . 1? XSST7BD BVBRY THUMDAT MORN WO, BY FBIU? jB noti uaZIn. SwiLRIAM P. PRICE, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. C. M. M'JUNKIN, ~j- p R I N T E R . Out bdUat anil Firrr Ctxm in advance; Two Deu^as If delayed. ' ^ .... \ CLUBS of PIVK and upwards, Onh Doiui, tha money in every instance to accompany the order. ADVERTISEMENTS Inserted conspicuously nt tht rates of 79 centa ner square of 11 lines* for th? first insertion, and 37$ cents for each subsequent insertion. Contracts for yearly advertising made reason able. AOBWTS. Wi W. Walk**, Jr., Columbia, S. C. Pars* SvkPLK*. Esq., Flat Rock, N. C. A, M. Peak*, KulrView P. O., Grsenvllle Plst William C. lUiLcr, Plennnnt Grove, Greenville. C vpt. It Q. Amokssox, Hnoree, Spartanburg. Itltrteh $ortrt|. The Primrose. br mrs. IIKMAX8. I saw it in my evening walk, A little lonely flower'; Under a hollow bank it grew, Deep in a mossy bower. An oak's gnarled root to roof the cave, With Gothic fretwork sprung. Whence jeweled fern and arum leaves, And ivy garlands hung. And close beneath came sparkling out, From an old tree's fallen shell, A little rill, (hat dipt about The lady in her cell. And there, methought, with bashful pride, She seemed to sit and look On her own miiden loveliness, l'ale imaged in the brook. No other flower, no rival, grew Beside my pendve maid ; She dwelt alone, a cloistered nun, Iu sollitude and shado.' No sunbeam on that fairy pool Darted its dazzling light; Only, methought, some clear, cold ctar VI inth ? * k!n i linrn O rviSvKt i*I MVIIIUIV ?1IVI V M? No ruffling wind could reach her there, ,,No eye, mctbought, but mine ; Or the young lamb* that cmne to drink Had spied her secret shrine. And there was pleasantness to me (n nuch belief?cold eyes That alight dear Nature's loveliness, Profane her mysteries. Long time I looked and lingered there, Absorbed in alill delight; My spirit drank deep quietness In with that quiet night. I i i fttt Suterrstitig &fonj. The Hussar's Saddle. Can the bracelet of the union bo composed of unequal I Tultt of a Parrot. Old Lndovic Harts always regarded his saddle with the deepest veneration, and yet there appeared nothing about it capable of eocittng his idolatry, it was a Turkish saddle, old and deeply stained with blood; yet to the brave Ludovic it recalled n tale of other days, when he, young, ardent, enthusiastic in defence of ins country, first drew bia sword against its enemies. lie had been opposed in battle to the hostile invaders of his native Hungary, and many a misbelieving dwg |,ad hi* good sabre smitten to the earth. Various had been the fortune of the war, and too frequently was iua ( lore of the Holy Cross uimmeu uy the Jnsire of the triumphant Crescent. such ( -"4 <h?n*terrt wero seldom alluded to by the brave hussar, but ha loved to dwell or. the fuoaawfui action* in which ha had been engaged. It was in one of ?he*e fierce combats, that cut off suddenly from hie party, ha found ldpueif auriounded by four infuriated Turks ; .?. "but the recollection of yon and your angel m Uhcr," would Ludovic say to hi* daughter, "nerved my arm. I was assailed by all my opponent*, ilow three MI ? knew not; but severe and long was the conflict with the laat of my fees, whose powerful ami was rtd*ed against ma. Already I saw toy wife g mournful ilrktow, and my child father end these dreadful t&oaghu infusing fresh vigor into my arm, I smote the infidel dog 'V to d?ath, hurled him from hie steed, and tided bin* as he lay. At this motaaat several o^fmd qpemy appeared in sight; but X was I. exhausted to rontw the pSriloun horse lay wounded, i^^MM^Em^Aofdeath. I threw my. on at tba n^p^Md until I regained my 1 v JjaMwiigk .... I squadron. The Middle was steeped in the blood of my foe, end mine mingled with it. When e cessation of hostilities permitted the troops to rest for a space from the horrors of war, i hastened with the treasure which, during the campaign, I had acattirod, to my home?purchased these fertile fields around my dwelling, and forgot for a season the miseries of war." The good Ludovio would here pause. He still retained a lively recollection of his lost wife ; and he oould not bear to relate the circumstances of her illness and death. After that sad event, his home became hateful to him, and he resolved again to engage in the arduous duties of a soldier. The little Theresa was kindly adopted into the family of his only brother, and there after a lapse of some years our good hussar found his daughter blooming m youthful beauty. Ludovic arrived only in time to close his brother's eyes, who, on his death bed, entreated him "to bestow Theresa on bis only son when they should have attained a proper age. Grateful for his almost parental care of his child, and moved by the situation of bis brother, whose whole heart seemed to be bent on this union, Ludovic promised that when his daughter should have attained the age of eighteen she should be come the wife of Karl, provided Karl himself desired the connection at that time; and satisfied with this promise, the old man died in peace. Thie engagement was concealed from Theresa, but it was known to Karl, who ex ulted in the thought that this rich prize wotdd one day be his. With low habits and a coarse turn of mind, the delicate graces of Theresa had no chaims for him; he lo\ed her not, but he loved the wealth which one day would be hers, and which he looked upon with a greedy eye. The tlious and soft and nameless feelings which accoinEany a generous passion were unknown to [arl. It was a hard task to him to attend his gentle inistre&6 ; nor did he ever appear disposed to play the part of a lover, except when some other seemed inclined to supply his place. It was a rural fetegiven by Ludovio to his neighbors at the termination of an abundant harvest, that Karl first chose openly to assert his right. He had taken it for granted that he should open the dance with '1 heresa. What, then, was his indignation, when, on entering the apartment w here the guests weie assembled, he saw Theresa, her slender waist encircled by the arin of a young hutaar, and moving in the graceful waltz. The evident superiorly of his rival, whose well knit limbs, firm step, free and martial { air, formed a strong contrast to his own clownish figure and awkward gait, only increased his ire, and in violent wrath ha advanced to Theresa, insisting on his right to open the dance with her. Theresa pleaded her engagement; he persisted ; she refused his request, and laughed at his anger. He became violent and rude. The hussar interfered. and tliA nimi-rftl ?a?ii ?a > ~ draw Ludovic to the spot. Karl, in a voice almost choked with passion, laid his grievances before him.? Theresa, in a tone of indignation, complained to her father of his insolence, and appealed to him whether she were not at liberty to select any partner for the danco she thought proper. u You have no such liberty," thundered forth Kail; M you are iny betrothed wife, and as such belong to me alone." Theiesa cast on him a smile full of scorn and contempt, but it faded as she looked to her father; and n paleness overspread her countenance as she inquired, " Father, docs this man speak the truth t" M lie does my child," was the reply ; and she dropped iusensible nt his feet. The young hussar now knelt down beside her, passionately kissed her fair fore head, and raising her in Ids arms, bore her to an adjoining apartment, followed by the father, and Karl. Theresa slowly revived. At fhst she saw no one, and breathing a deepsigh, sho murmured, '* It was all a horrid dream ;" an anguished groan startled her into prcception nnd agony. She looked up and saw her father standing before her with a countenance clouded with giief; Kail aino wiC?od near with au exulting smile: aud the hussar knelt beside her, but hi-> face was buried iu his lutiui*. Si* then found it was uo dream. Shu looked to tier father. * Father, is there no hope !" " None, my honor is pledged !" She turned to the hussar, and placed for a moment her oold hands on his; then ris. inif t? t)\A llifAiv ? 1" J I ?- ??* ?uw cci' Karl. M Oh, Kail, have mercy I I love another? you do not love me?have pity on us !" " By alt the power* of heaven and hell, you shall bo mine, There** !" MI appeal to my father." " Will your father violate hi* prorouo to the dead! 44 I will not," aaid Ludovio with solemnity. 14 Then, Theresa," exclaimed Karl, with i fiend like exultation, no power on earth bhall k save you frout being mine! and saying thus , he loft the house. Theresa rose fro** her knees and throw i herself into the arm* of bor lover. The r pretence of her father we* no restraint ou her pure tenderuess. Jler tears fell fast upon liia countenance, but his agony was too great for that relief. Ludovic wns deeply moved. He approached them, and he related under what <-ircuinstances his promise had been given; but bis concluding words, ** that he must hold it sacred," threw them into a new paroxysm of grief. 44 We must part then, Arnold," aaid the weeping Theresa, 44 we must part?ah ! can we survive this cruel blow 1" "No," said Arnold, 44 no, I cannot live without you; let us once more entreat your father to have pity on usand the youthful lovers threw themselves at his feet. 44 Arnold," said Ludovie sternly, 44 thou a 1 soldier, and ask ine to tarnish iny honor 1" Arnold felt the appeal; he started up, raised the weeping Theresa, cut off with his sabre one long tress, embraced and kiss ed her, placed ber in the arms of her father, and fled. Every passing day carried with it some portion of the fortitude of Theresa, as she saw the near approach of the period which wns to consign her to a fate so dreadful.? Three little weeks were all that lay between her and misery. Ludovie endeavored to soothe her, but she would not be comforted. Even bad her atfections been disengaged, Karl would have been distasteful to her; but, with aflections placed ou another, tlio idea of a union with him appeared insupportable. 44 My dear child," would Ludovic say, interiupting a passionate burst of grief, 44 l>y what Maoifi lias Arnnlrt rruino.l your heart ?" I " lie is a hussar," replied Theresa. There was something in this reply which moved Ludovic. lie recollected that he : himself had imbuded the mind of his daughter with sentiments of respect and esteem for the character of a good soldier ; and conscience reminded hint that he had too often < exulted in the profession of arms oier the i peaceful and unobtrusive occupations of the husbandman. Was it w<>ndciful, then, that j Theresa should have embil?ed something of this spirit, or that she should have yielded Iter heart to one who |K>sseased courage to defend her, and tenderness to soothe her under the afflictions of life? Arnold dwelt near them, he had been the early playmate I of Theresa, and together they had often with glowing checks and sparkling eyes, listened to the warlike exploits which tho good Link vie delighted to narrate to them and to these conversations may be altirbuted the passionate desire of Arnold to adopt tho profession of arms. Accustomed to see them play together as children, and liking the society of the generous and spirited boy, Lu dovic forgot the danger, when their childhood passed away, of their affections assuming a totally different character. It was so, Lndovic now saw. with deep grief, that his daughter was unalterably attached to tho youthful soldier. If Theresa was unhappy, her father was scarcely less so. lie blamed his own imprudence ; and on contrasting tho characters of the two youths, a violent conflict between his feelings and his duty arose in his breast; but the stem honor of the soldier triumph ed, and be deemed himself bound to complete the sacrifice. Unable, however, to endure the sight of her grief, ho carried her to the abode of a youthful female friend, who formerly resided near them, but on her marriage had removed to a village about sixty mile* from the dwelling of Ludovic. There he left Theresa, after receiving hor solemn promise that she would return with him the day before that on which she should complete her eighteenth year. 14 Father," said she with streaming eyes, 441 have never deceived you. If I live, I will return ; but do not grieve too deeply should my heart break in this fearful struggle." The old hussar dashed away a tear which strayed down his scarred and sun-burnt cheek, embraced his child nnd departed. Time wore gradually away and at Inst the day arrived which was to seal Theresa'* fate. It found her in a state of torpid despair.? Exhausted by her previous struggles, nil feeling seemed to be dond, but her mind wat awakened to new suffering. A fiietul , arrived to conduct her to her father. The ; good Ludovic apparently lay on the bed of death, and with breathless impatience Theresa pursued her journey, j On her arrival, her father's sick room was | not solitary. The detested Karl there. aud tliere, too, was the youthful husband. M My child " said Ludovic, 44 my days are numbered ; my fate must soon be decided, And alasl yours Also. To my dying brother I solemnly promised that on this day 1 would offer you to Lis son for bis bride.? Without fulfilling my engagement, I could not die in peace?even the grave would afford no rest. Can you sacrifice yourself for tnv future repose!" "I can?I will," cried the unfortunate Theresa, sinking ou her knees,14 so belp ine I leaven !' 14 Heaven will bless s dutiful child !" said Ludovx with favor. * Karl, draw near." Karl obeyed?Theresa abuddored. H That, however," continued Lndovie, " which I look upon a* my greatest earthly treasure, I give tny daughter. Yon, Kar), believe me to have some virtues. Alas I alaa 1 you know not tfie secret sins which have sullied my life?the rapine, the murder .s i f*I .nxf ml IMww i'?! )'-1 ??but enough of this. I have confessed to my ghostly father, and have obtained absolution for the dark catalogue, but on the condition that I leave all my wealth to the church m an atonement ft.r my transgressions. I could not forget I was a father?I pleaded tho destitute state of my child ; 1 implored, 1 entreated. At length I wrung from the pious father his consent that I should retain my greatest treasure for my Theresa. I chose my saddle. Keep it, dear child, in rcmemberance of nn- affectionate father.? And you, Karl, are you satisfied to relinguish worldly goods for my soul's health.? Are yqn content to take my daughter with this portion ?" " Fool 1" exclaimed Karl, "doling idiot! how dare you purchase exempdon from punishment at my expense ? Your wealth is mine?your possessions should bethoportion of my biido. I will reclaim them front those avaricious monks and tear them from the altar!'* " You cannot?p ou dare not !n replied Ludovic, raising his voice in anger! " my agreement with your father bad reference to my daughter only?my wealth formed no part of it." " Driveller?dotard !" vociferated Karl? "think you that I will accept of a portion less bride? you must seek some oilier for VAIlV nlUMvno/* T * 1 j |...i |nnKj?i luuuuiice ner,' 44 Give her to me, father," cried Arnold : 44 I swear to cherish and protect her while life is in mv body 1 Give her to mo, dear father ; and when she shall be the loved wife 1 of my boeom, I will live for her?ay, and die for her !" Karl laughed in mockery. " You value life but lightly," said he, ** when you talk of I sacrificing it for a woman ; I never knew one worth the trouble of winning, and least of all, Theresa." The young hussar laid his hand on his sabre. At the same moment Ludovic sprang fiom his couch?toro the coveting from his head?snatched his saddle from the wall whore it hung?seized the sabre?with one stroke laid it open, and a stream of golden bezants, oriental pearls, and sparklingjewth fell on the earth. Wretch ! worm ! vile clod of the earth ! art thou not justly punished ? Hence, reptile ! fty l?efore I forget that thou art of my blood !" Ludovic i aired his sabre, and the dastnrdv Karl fled, without daring to give utterance to imprecations which hung on his colorless lips. I Tramping under the foot the costly jewels ( which lay strewed around, Theresa rushed forward and embraced her father, exclaiming, * is this a dream ? tiro you indeed restored to mo ? caii this bliss be teal ?" 44 Forgive me, my child," exclaimed Ludovic, 44 the pain 1 have been obliged to give your gentle heart. My*effort to make that wretch resign his claim to your hand lias been successful. Grudge not that a pail of our store has been appropriated to the Holy Church ; not to purchase the forgive ness of the sins I enumerated, and of which, thank Ileaven, I nm guiltless, but to be the blessed means of saving you from a misers-' ble fate. Kneel down, my children?ay, support her. Arnold?lay her innocent head upon your bosom, Hnd receive the fervent beuedictioo of an old hussar." Jfiistellimtnits 11 wiling. Boles for Ladies ETIQUETTE OF THE DIXKKIl TAD1.E. To perforin faultlessly (lie honors of the table, is one of the most difficult duties imposed by society. The lady of the house, to make her friends feel at ease, should express no anxiety, and mention no disappointment to them. ! When the servant announces that dinner is served, every gentleman conducts a lady j to the dining room. If the company merely pass from one room to another, he gives the lady his right hand ; if they descend a stair, lie gives her the wall. The lady of the house should be led to the I dining-room hy the principal person present, j or the pcrsou in whose honor the dimier is I given. | She should enter the dining-room first, and take her station at the head of the table; for if she enters it last, as was formerly the custom, she finds some difficulty in assigning eats to her guests, which it is her duty to | do, if tbero are ladies amongst the company. The gentleman of the house, should a)- | ways enter him. The ladies take their seats immediately but the gentlemen remain standing, until every lady present is seated. The conversation of the dinner table should be very general. Napkins and linger glasses are essential to all retined society. When the party is large, it is customary for the table to be beautifully spread with the desert, and decked with flowers; the viands are then carved by servants at side tables. When this i? the case the cloth is not removed. Too great a display of plate, or too dax sling a diow of crystal, unless upon toine particular occasion, is in had taste. Simplicity ? the soul of good breeding, as it in the essence of nntnral beauty, and to put your Visitor on looting with yourself, is the best compliment you can pay hint. When I you see company, therefore, lei the ?al?Ie he| set out tastefully. but not ostentatiously in h manner suitable to your station, but uot, ns it were, to exhibit your piido and wenllji, more than your hospitality and social feeling. At a party never take soup or fi>h twice; at a family dinner, this is not of consequence. Never load the plate of any one ; and in helping sauce, do not cover tho meat or vegetable, but put it on one side of the plate. Never put inorelbnu one spoonful of soup into a plate. Take carc that the bread be cut in n cube form, not in slices, but in pieces of about Mi incb and a half thick. Knives weie made for cutting, and those who carry food to their mouths with them frequently cut their lips. Eat always with a fork or a spoon?unless, indeed, in those old fashioned houses whore '.hero are only two-pronged forks, you are obliged to use your knife. No, one, however, who gives parlies, omits to linve broad silver folks. In using your fork, bold it in your right hnnd. As knives spoil the delicacy of fish, and < are apt to he corroded with the sauce, fish ? is generally eaten with the assistance of a fork and a piece of bread. 1 Pears, curry, tarts, and pudding, should J be cnlcn with a spoon rather than a foik. In helping any one at a table, it is not ' proper to use a knife and fork, if a spoon , can be as easily substituted. { In supping, eating and drinking, make as 1 I little noise as possible. Never press people iocat moro than they choose ; never press any particular dish, it is ' sufficient to recommend it. ' Never send awav your own plate until nl' , your guests have done so. , Ladies should never have gloves on at dinner ; servants should never want them ; above id'., tako care that your servants' gloves be clean and white. Ideas of Woman. A recent work, published at lirnssels, con tains, among other interesting matter, a collection of aphorisms hy various authors, I mostly French, of which we append a few. i We give the names of the authors in sinnll i caps* I Ciiamfout.?In the choice of a lover a 1 woman considers more how lie appears in 1 the eves of other women than in her own. Love is more pleasing than inntiimonv, jus| as romance is moro pleasing than history. norQi'KMtr.?If we speak ill of the sex generally, they will all rise against us ; if we do the same of any individual woman, they will all agreo with us. Ciimu.ks Lkmkslr.? Most of their faults women owe to us, whilst we are indebted to (hem for most of our belter qualities. Dakikl Stkrkk.? Most women are en dowed with such naturally endearing charms that oven their very presence is generally beneficial. Madamk. de St a el.? Love, in a woman's life, is a history ; in man's, an episode. Catalina.? Only lie who has nothing to hope from a woman is truly sincere in her praise. Diderot?Tlmr# ovuiu nmn?? . I l< secret tie, like I lint among piiests of the came faitli. Tliev hate each otlier, yet protect each others inleiest. Staiil.?No woman, even the most intellectual, believes h<n?df decidedly homely. This self-deception is natural for there are some most dimming women without n particle of beauty. Octavk FkuIlutt.?Providence has so ordained it that only two women have a true interest in the happiness of a man?his own mother and the mother of his children, liesides these two legitimate kinds of love, there is nothing between the two creatures except vain excitement, painful and idle delusion. Ai.riionse 1\ a nit.?Say of a woman that she is wicked, obstir.nle, frivolous, hut add that she is beautiful, and be assured that she vvill ever think kindly of you. Say that she is good, kind, virtuous, sensible, hutvery homely, and slio will never forgive you in her life. Madamk dr Maixtknov.?In everything that women wiite there will be thousands of faults against grammar, hut also to a certainty always a charm never to be found in the lettors of men. Duclos.?Great and rare heart offerings are found almost exclusively among women; nearly all the happiness and most blessed momem* in love hio oi tnerr creating, and so also friendship, especially when it follows love. Madamk Fkk.? A woman frequently resists tiio love she feels, but cannot resist the lovo she inspires. J. J. liocHHKAC.?Men can better philosophize on the huninn heart, but women can read it better. MicnKLitT.?It is a universal rule, which, as far as I know, has no exception, that great won always resemble their mothers, who impress their mental and physical maik upon the sons. Maw are like hugles?-the more brass they contain tire further you can hear them. A 1 V Pay Your Small Debts. Time is a general call in our exchange !>npent, upon nil people who pay their small Ieltls, And no more sensible or tiuioly ap >eal*conlil be.made at the present juncture.?\ general compliance would furnish the key o unlock the doors of that abundance of which is now hoarded for wnut of confidence. Tlio evil of the day is too much credt. People have gone in debt too much.? It is scarcely Incorrect to say every body is n debt. The exceptions are as one to one thousand. This Wmg so, we may safely ?ay, that every dollnr paid, will, on an averige, in leas than a week, pay ten dollars of lebt, by muwHig from hand to hand. You Icar reader, pay us, (wo are supposing a rase,) we pay our debtor, he pays a third >eison, tie a forth, and so on ; and perhaps n its current the same dollar may coine jack to first hands in payment of a debt lue himself, l.el a man think of the good tie can thus do to his neighborhood and his jountry, to ray nothing of his own personal . ntiffaction and independence, and wo think tio will act accordingly, if he l>e a just man, with any feeling of kindness to his fellow tnd to uimscif. Tliero is unquestionably a great deal of wealth in the South. The prices of produc ions have ranged so high that tuany have l>ccome rich. Too often, however, instead >f paying debts with their income, men have laid it out buying more lands and negroes, and have suffered their d?l?ts, especially their small ilehts, to go unpaid. If tins wan wrong, heretofore, when times wore easy, it would relieve himself and many others from trouble. One of the immediate causes of the 5resent trouble which have spread from New 'ork all over the country, is, that country merchants who bought goods on credit, do not pay them when their notes are due.? And how can they pay, when the goods be ci edited out all over the neighborhood and no amount of dunning will induco the debto: 8 to pay ? We put this to every reader's conscience. Who can he cxcure himself, to himself or to his creditors, for cither neglecting or refusing to pay, when his own credit and the ciedit of his neighbor, the retailor, and the credit of the country, depend in a measure, great or small, on his conduct I Pay up, pay up, we say lo cveiy one who reads this. Pay your mechanic, your merchant, your printer?pay everybody who needs what you owe them, more especially if you owe theni borrowd money. Messonier's Table Cloth Sketches. An odd anecdote is told of Messooior, the great French forest artist, lie was lately dining at Brussels and among the company was Baron de Kuyff, who recently exhibited some charming landscapes At the Palais d'ludustrie. Smoking was the order of the day, and Messonier, while lighting his cigar, took it into his head to make a sketch on the table cloth with the burnt end. The Baron kept lighting matches, and as soon as the end was carbonized, placed them by the French pninter, nnd by the time ho had smoked iiis second cigar he had finished a charming sketch of an old rentieur, beautifully executed. When the evening was over M. de Kuyff took the table cloth, folded it up and going down to the mistress of the establishment, said :?" Madame, be good enough to lock up this table cloth witii great cure. To morrow I will call for it and pay you the value of it." "But sir," was the answer, " I must at least get it washed."? " Nothinfr of llie sort" oni.l tl>? ?? r O - ? wish to have it just as it is, with all its spots and inaiks." The next day, accordingly, he came ami took away the precious table cloth, which he has since had framed in a curious style, with a double frame, the sketch being placed in the smaller one, and tho rest of the linen carefully and tastefully arranged ill tho space between thu frames. It is said that an amateur has already offered M. d? Kttyff 5,000 francs for it. HkSI'LTS OF A CoitN lll'fiKINO.? At a pleasant lural village, down in Connecticut, called Ilitchcocksville, a few evenings since, their was held one of those merry meetings called corn husking*. Hast eior l>ecn at one, icadei ? If not, thou hast missed an experience in life well worth enjoying. On this particular occasion there were 300 bushels of corn husked, 40 giils kissed, 6 44 engagements " made up, and every body home before 10 o'clock. It strikes us that TTi'cLc5ck?vi!!e must be n liicc place to live in. Tiik notorious Loin Monies is lecturing in Boston against the Chinch of Home. She Attempts to show that there is only one great element of evil in the worhl?the Human Catholic Church?ami that she, the said Lola, is the only f?er*on tit to comlm; that evil. During one of her lecture* a man present shouted, " Yon are n liar," and left the llull. As he passed out, the indignant lady % sent a well aimed pistol after him, that came well nigh arresting his exit. Mari.noitot/cn's Mkanxf.ss.?-The Duke of Marlborough was sordidly uvuileiouA.-Ono duy a beggar u-ked nlm* of Lord Peter borough, taking him for the Duke. 11 Yon are mistaken, my good fellow," said his lordship, " I am not the Duke of Mnrlt?oro'; and to prove it, there's a guinea for you."