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A It E F It E X OF POTULAR EVENTS. Primkfr PttygttfiS, fjff W % %m% nnb t^cDiffusion of Ustful tinotolcbgc among all Classrs of XUorhing iXtrn. VOLUME1Y' SOUTH a ' . Cljt .^ntttljtrti CttttrprisB 13 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY W. P. -PRICE & C. M. M'JUNKIN, Proprietor!. wili.iam p. price, TERM'S, One Dollar a Year, In Adranco, $1.50, IF DELATED. aoewto. f; Vrmw S-ramw, E?q., Flat Rock. N. C. A. M. Pww, Fail-view P. O., Greenville I?i!>t niiMiS v Baos?, P!e????r Grove. Greenville. Cm. R. Q An!? <?.?* Khhmk Siuntjihluira I O. W. ki*o. Traveling Agent. jwltrtcii ^nttrij. [From the Boston Post.") "When King Cambyses Went to War. Or VALTU ANONYM. When King Cambyses went to war (So nncient history vouches) His army took |?o rifles?nor A bullet in their pouches. Ob ! vivid long in history The record shall remain Of that imuwmcta?blccd'.esi victory Upon Pelusium's plain. Fearless they met the foe's advance, Secure in their position : Nor bend b how, nor couched a lance, Tboir shield was superstition. ' The hideous idol* of his foes He cboliv placed in van, That they insght waid the invaders' blows When desperate fight began. Each warrior calmly bore in front Some monster statuette; IT' f l l . I i a vicanou*iy ic oear ine orunt, . When foo with foe was met ' Th'Egyptian# petrified with dread, Dared not a weapon wield ; Hut. panicstricken, turned and fled, As froin a haunted field ! Thn* inay it he when South nnd North? (Heaven long forefend (he day) III armed hostility go forth To meet the deadly fray. Let pvyry Southern soldier wear? (Then i* he fullv nrmed)? An Ebon math with crispy hair ; The foe would be disarmed I Woodless would he the intended fight, 4 The " slogan " wild would rend the air, " Death to the Anglo-Saxon Knight ! But spare the Ebon Idol, spare /" grilling little Itories. Have Faith in God and He will Guide : Thee. llie following thrilling adventurers from an Enirlish Macnzine : "' Father wiTl have done the great chimney to night, won't he, mother ?' said little Tom Howard, as he stood waiting for bis ' father's breakfast, which he carried to him at his work every morning. * ' He said he hoped all the scaffolding would be down to-night.' answered the mother. ' and that'll be a fine sight; fc.r I never like the ending of those great chimneys ; it is so risky : thy father to be the last up.' M' Eh, then, but I'll go and see him, and help 'em td give a shout afore he comes down,' said Toinr. *' And then,' continued the mother, 'if all goes on right, we are to Imve a frolic to^ morrow, and gb into the country, and lake pur dinners, and spend all the' day in the fronds.' *' Hurrah !' cried Tom, as he ran off to hi* father's place of work, with a can of gnilk in one hand and *om<* bread in the 1 other. His mother stood'at the door watch jng him a* he went merrily whistling down the street, arid she thought of the dear fa ther he wad going to, and the dangerous 1 Work he Was engaged In, and then her heart SougUl us i rue remsfB, anu sr.o prayed to God to protect and ble*s her treasure* "Torn, with a lipjhc heart, pursued his way ' to his father, and leaving him bis breakfast. wnqt to fcia own work, which was at some " distanea. In the evdning on hia way home, be went round to see how his father was " getting 011. James Howard, the father, and a number of other workmen, bad been building one of those lofty chimneys, which, in our great HMinnfcetnring towns, almost supply the place of other architectural beau tj. Tbie o' iinney was of the highest and most tapering that bad evar beeu erected, *> and as Torn, shading his ryes from thealant ing ray* oi the setting sun, looked up in searebof his father, \hi* heart almost sank within him at the appalling height. The eeaflMding was almost down ; the men 4t , the bottom were removing the last beam* 4, sad pjlea. Tora'i father Hood alone at the > .i "> 44 He then looked nil around to see that ev- j erything was right, and then waiving his hat in tile fcir, the men below answeredhim with a long, long cheer, little Tom shouting as heartily as any of them. As their voices died away, however, thoy heard a different sound, a cry of alarm and horror from above. 4The rope! the rope!' The men looked around, and coiled upon the ground lav the rope, wni -h, laTore the scadolding ' was removed, should hare been fastened to the top of the chimney, for Toin'a father to come down by 1 The scaffolding had been taken down, without remembering to tako the rope np. There was a dead silence. They all knew it impossible to throw the rope up high enough, or skilfully enough, to reach the top of the chimney, or if it could, it would hardly have bci n safe. They stood in silent dismay, unabU to give any help or think of any means of safely. 44 And Tom's father. Lie walked round and round the little circle, the diszy height seemed every moment to grow more fearful, and the solid earth further and further from liitn. In the sudden panic he lost his presence of inind. and his senses f>iile?t lo?? ? lie shut his eyes; lie fell as if the next moment he mutt bo dashed to pieces on the ground lielow. "The day passed as industriously as usual with Tom's mother at home. Site was always busily employed for Iter husband and children in some way or other, and to-day she had been harder at work than usual, getting ready for the holiday to-morrow.?She haw just finished her preparations, and her thoughts were silently thanking God for her happy home, and for all the blessing* of life, when Tom ran in. 44 His face was as white as ashes, and he could hardly get his word* out: 4 Mother ! mother! he cannot get down?' 44 4 Who, lad? thy father?' asked the I mother. 44 4 They have forgotten to leave him the rope,' answered Tom, still scarcely able to speak. The mother started up, horror struck, and stood for a moment as if parnlyzld ; then pressing her hands over her face, as if to shut out the terrible picture, and breathing a prayer to God for help, she rushed out of the house. 44 Wheu she reached the place where her husband was at work, a crowd had gathered round the f<?ot of the chimney, and stood there quite helpless, gazing lip with faces full of sorrow. "4 lie says he'll throw himself .down,' exclaimed they, as Mrs. Howard came up.? 4 Ho i* going to throw himself down.' 44 4 Thee inunna do that, lad!' cried the wife, with a clear, hopeful voice; 4 thee inunna do that. Wait a hit. Take ofl" thy nun-King, inn. ana unravel it, ami let down | the thread with a bit of mortar. Dost thou hear me, Jem V " The nmn made a sign of assent; for it seemed as if lie could not speak?and Inking off his stockings, unraveled the worsted thread row after row. The people stood around in breathless silence and suspense, wondering what Tom's mother could be thinking of, and why she sent him in such haste for the carpenter's ball of twine. "4 Let down one end of the thread with a bit of stone, and keep fast hold of the other,' cried she to her husband. The little thread came waving down the tall chimney, blown hilhet and tbither bv the wind, but it reached the outstretched hands that were waiting for it. Torn held the ball of siring while his mother tied one end of it to the won-ted thread. " Now pull it up slowly.' cried she to her husband, and she gradually uuwouud the string as the.worsted drew it up. It stopped, the string had reached her husband.? Now, hold the string fast, and pull it up,' cried she. and the string grew heavy and hard to pull, for Toin and his mother had i J - .1.: i- - . . I KWWIICU lllltik IU II. 1 n?y watched 1 it gradually, ami slowly uncoiling from the ground, a* the string wan drawn higher. "There was but one coil left. It "had readied the top. 'Thank God ! thank God !' exclaimed the wife. She hid her face in Iter liatttla in talent praver, and, trembling, ru joiced. The iron to whidi it should he fa> tened was there all right?hut would her husband he able to make tine of them f? Would not the tbrror of the past hour'have so unnerved him a* to prevent him from taking the necessary measure for his safety ? She di?l not know the magical influence which her few word* had eserrised upon lliiu. She did out know the strength that the toand of her voice, to calm and steadfast, had tilled him with?aa if the little thread that cwried him the hope of life once more, had conveyed to him some portion of that faith in God, which nothing ever de stoyed or ahook in hot true heart. She did not kuow that, as he waited there, the words oauie over him, ' Why art thou cast down, O, my soul, and why art thou disquieted within met Hope thou in God.' She lifted up her heart to God for hope and strength. She oould do nothing more for her husband, and her heart turned to God and rested oq him ae on a rock. u There wae * great about. 4 He's safp. mother ; he's safe!' cried little Tom.? 'Thou 'st saved my life, Mary,'said he. folding her in his amis. ' But what aiU thee t thou altera'at more sorry than glad abohl it.' % ? But Mary could not speak ; and if the strong arm of her husband had not hold her up, sho would have fallen to the gronnd?the sudden joy after shell great fear had overcome her. 4 Torn, let thy mother lean on . thy shoulder,' said bin father, 4 and we will take her home.' And in their happy home they poured forth their thanks to God for His great goodness, and their' happier life together felt dearer and holier for the peril it had been in, and the nearness the danger had brought them unto God. And the holiday next day?was it not, indeed, a thanksgiving day.1' [From tho Now York (Sunday Dispatch.] The Unhappy Mairiage. BY TRUTH. About thirteen years since there resided in the town of 8 a young mat), whoso nal name we will not give, but for conve nienee sake, we will call him Henry. He was blessed with a good home, kind parents, and everything calculated to make life pleasant and happy. He was beloved and esteemed bv all who knew him, and, by his kind disposition and gentle manners. Ire had gained many warm friends. When Henry arrived at a proper age, he commenced his apprenticeship in a manufacturing establishment in his own town. Here, too, ho aoon gained the respect and oonfidcnce, both of his employers and those with whom he was associated in his daily toils. As we have said, Henry was blessed* with kind parents, yea, and he loved them, too, with strong affection. But there vns one thing which filled his heart with sadness. The hand of disease was upon the form of that dearly loved mother, and it was with pain ful solicitude that Henry,day by day. watch ed the progress of that sickness which he feared would soon take from him his best earlbly friend. lle felt that her days were numbered, and that soon bo would be called to bid her farewell. He had hoped she might be spared to him, but an All-wise Providence had ordered it otherwise.? Death came! and he was called to follow her cold remains to the silent tomb. It was with a sad heart that our young friend rc sutued his employment. lie felt lonely and sad. ****** Time rolled on, and amid life's du'ies and scenes, ho had putlially forgotten hib great bereavement. * * * * * The time had now arrived in Henry's history when lie began to think of selecting for himself a companion for life?one calculated to share with him its sorrows and its joys?one who should he to him u solace aud comfort in this dark world. * * * * * * It was about the first of Febuary, in tinyear 185?, that he called with a friend one evening upon a young lady residing in the same town as himself. Henry had nevei had the pleasure of hyr acquaintance before, but there was something about her manners and conversation that he admired. The evening passed away very pleasantly, and, gentle reader, we need not tell you that this was the commencement of a pleasant court ship. The days passed happily away, and often, at their close, our beio might be seen wending his way to the home of her he loved. Yes, he loved her, and ho felt that that love was reciprocated. He felt that he had, indeed, found one who could sympathize wiiii nun iu trouble, ami rejoice with biiu iu the hour of prosperity ; and that she was worthy of all the love and ntfection which he bestowed upon her. This attachment for her grew stronger and stronger, and every opportunity for enjoying her society was improved by him.* ? Thus matters progressed for nearly a year, each dav strengthening the cords of affection which hound together the hearts of Henry and Mary. He was now all hope and j??y. He felt that his fondest anticipations would sooti be realized. Owing to a change in business affairs. Henry now left his own town vftiete he had so long resided, and removed to a neighboring city. Maty and her mother removed thither also, and there as before our lovers tnight be ofteu found together. The time was now fast approaching which was to make them one. * * , * * * On a fine morping in November 185?, there might have been seen an assemblage nf nnronna tKa Kahoo a? : ? w. IMW MV'IIOVJ V* 11JU III B . Soon a carriage drove op in which may be seen Henry and hie lovely bride. The hour arrives; and there in the presence of Gad and those frieuds as witness es, the nuptial ceremony is performed.? After receiving the congratulations of friends and stopping for a short timo at the former home of Mary, the newly married pair started on their wedding tour. it was wirb hearts full of joy that they returned again to their home. Life now seetned bright and joyous, their happiness now seemed complete, Henry and his srife boarded with their mother for a few months, and then secured a bouse of tbeir own* For aboui a year, they lived very pleas attly together. The* sea of lifo appeared I quite and calttf, but the storm whs coiping on. Soon might "bo heard its pel ingn and heavy surges. O. how?oon areour cheiished plana prostrated, and our fondest hopes swept away. Little did Ilpury know of the sorrow and trouble that lay, as a serpent, in his pathway. Well it is that we do not know what is before us. A kind Providence bad ordered it thus. Henry soon found that Wary bestowed Iter affection" upon others. He f>und that all his love bad been bestowed npoj one unwoillty of it. What a stroke was tlist to his heart. Hut it was too true. Yes, she sought the society of others, and hated that of her hushand. Imagine, dear reader, if you can, the hitter anguish of mind and sorrow of heart which Henry experienced, when he knew tins. But a fact it was, and what could he do. He thought be knew sorrow when be buried that mother, but that was uo Borrow computed with this. It seemed as though his heart would break. He had loved her, and lie loved her still. lie was kind and gentle towards her, and used- every moans within his power to save her from disgrace, and the awful ruin which threatened to engnlph her. But it was of no avail. The more he said and done seemed only to make her worse.? There was now apparently hut one step for him to take?one course to pursue?and that was to leave her to her own wicked desires. Oh, reader! you' know not the feeling? which now filled tho heart of the young husband. The future seemed to him but one long night of gloom and despair. The crisis had arrived, lie looks upon her for the lust time, as his oxen lovely Mary. That sad hour he will never forget. The thoughts of that broken hearted one was known only to his Maker and Judge.? He is now a member of a Christian chinch, and although at limes he feels sad, yet the religion of Christ i* his portion. He feels that in him lie has a friend that will nevei forsake him. mid his prayer is dial Mary may ye,t repent, become an ornament to so ciety, a blessing to her fiiends, and that lie may meet her at last, eloihed in the spot less robe of Christ's righteousness. Header, my story is ended. What 1 have wiiitends no fiction. Beware, oh, be ware, upon whom you bestow your affection ? beware, ere you lake llie fatal step. God grant that this true story may do good.? Reader, ponder it well, and may your ex perienee never be like his of whom I have now written. ftlisrrllnnrmin limbing. Indian SummerThere is always a second summer in tlx American year. When the September gale? have swept over the woods, and hakeii tin first leaves of autumn to the ground ; whet from the gardens the more delicate buds and flagrant blossoms have parsed awav | when the eaylier fruits have lipemd am been gathered ; w hen evening l>egin ? soonei (o draw the curtains of the day, and th< sun's horses start later on their morning courses; when the pleasure parties of tlx season is breaking up, and tho words of faro well are being said, and over the most buoy ant mind a certain pensiveness steals, and regrets fall upon it as if from out the am tutnnal air, then the year, which had begun to wtthdrnw its face, turns again with a part ing smile, and kisses its "hand to us. Then comes a succession of golden days, when tlie air is still, and the heavens, slightly veiled with purple haze, are without a cloud. Tin autumnal flowers are arrayed in all theii glory.* The orchards yield up their red >ided, gold-colored apples for the winter's store. The grapes are tut tied to purple.? t he latest pears'melt upon tho devouring lips, and the lust drops of sweetness are bo ing distilled into the yet unplucked poaches Now the diligent house-wife gathers from out the leaves, still green, the yellow, shin ing quince and, correcting its tart juicet with melted sugar, lays it by for winter tea drinking*. The farmer husks his corn, mak ing the green sward shine with the long broad line of glittering ears, lie piles up also, the yellow pumpkins, or hangs th? squashes against the*wall, by their necks.? His boys bring home Ht night the cows from still green and thickly-matted meadows with udderswido distended. The poultry yards are full of cacklintr. and youthful at tempts at chanticleering. Fleets of geest and ducks float down tlio brooks, or lit moored on tlio ponds, and tlio half grown turkey-cocks gabble and spread tlieii tails over vast spaces of yard and pasture. Thi? season is the mellowing of the year. In sunny European lands, and beneath sacred oriental skies, the grapes are now trodden in the wine press, and even in our own prosaic New Jersey, the bounty of naturo runs to sweet eider. The earth has put forth hei great productive power, and rejoices as s woman after child bearing; the sun liar done bia year's work, and ripened all seed* and grains; there is food garnered up foi man and beast ; and the great Ood seemr to look down out of heaven upon what lit bath wrought And pronounoe tt good. A Sad Honeymoon. Clmrlea Alhnugh wrk recently tiled, con li victed and sentenced in Cleveland, Ohio, for t' robbing the mail. A Columbus paper says: tj " Charles Albangh is oulv 20 years of age. g and the event* of the past few months will a til! "an important chapter in hi* life's history, c On ChrUlnmui day he eloped with hi* land- tl lord's daughter, a Miss German, in her six l< teenth year, went to Alexandiia. nnd were h Uiarried. An effort was made to keep the n affair secret, but it was di-covered by the h girl's patents, who weie highly incensed at t i their daughter's imprudence. ? " On the 20th of January, Mr. Prentiss, r j the U. S. Mail Agent, arrested Allmugh up v J on a charge of robbing tbe mail ; ho was k 1 taken to Cleveland, tried, corn ivied and i tenced before the United States Court, and <1 upon reaching Cardinglon on his way to u the Penilentiaiy, the young wife came aboard t the cars to bid farewell to her convict bus- t band. The meeting was a painfully affect t ing one. She begged him to keep up his t spirits, to make a Arm resolve to do his I whole duty while in prison; she vowed to stick to him, though all the rest of the world ' forsaked him ; for, said she, " Charley we are. a both young; we have years of happiness in i store for us, and when your time has ex t pired, we can go to some oilier land where f the offence will not be known, where we can ? live happily together, and cam an honest c livelihood. " The poor girl nerved herself to the task, and as she wiped the tears away from the 1 cheeks of her young husband, she never whim . pered. " The car was full of passengers, who w it * nessed the scene with tcaiful emotion. The i conductor who, at the request of the officers, i had kindly delayed a few moments, to give t the young couple an opportunity of meeting I each other, at last notified them that he t could delay no longer, and the whistle gave ? notice that the cais were about starling.? ]l 1 4 Keep up couiage, like a man, Charley,' i i said the lair heioiue, and as she ki?ed lib-I; ' cheek, she turned to leave him, hut over- J< powered bv her feelings, thai she had thus t j far kept under control, she fell fainting in It ! ilie arms of the by slanders, who carried h?*i i | gently into the station house, and the cars | rolled over the rails with increasing speed to, ' make up for lite detention. i i The Farmer. I I What a sovereign man is the intelligent, | industrious farmer Within his own realm | of earth, he wields a sceptre to which all 1 t must bend. The balance of the wot Id's life < and comfort he ludds in his stalwart hand. ; Neither courts nor camps, nor nrmi?s, nor Meets can exist without his aid. He is the feeder?aye. and the gaimenter. virtually? of the race. Cities spring from the traffic | in the products of his iudu?try. Commerce is lairn at his behest. Of the State he isthe " first estate.Lord of the land, no man | has firmer hold of the e-sential title of no bility. Ami he need las no plodder because lie is a farmer. The da\ is past when the . soil tiller was confounded with the t l d turn | ed by bis plow. The soil is his suivitor, he r smiies it, and lo 1 the harvest comes fwith.? } The hoe and the sickle inade him music r braver than dulcimers, and sound the march \ of a triumph, grand as it is peaceful and blessed. Hut he is not forever in the furrow. Foi I liitn are broadest fields of study?fairest ( fields of delight. For him are honors linked to beauties and wisdom ; for him. periods I of communion and tut-itnm ..t" iI.a ?. ?I ? ? """II bird#, the flowers, the streams, the stars, and 1 all wondrous things of the universe may | ( bear witness. A brave man art thou, wielder of the mallet and the plane ; and thou > skilful worker of welts; and thou, deviser j of all machines whereby the laltor of man's hand is speeded or abridged. Hut ye are all ( second to the fanner, lie is master of the most needful of toils, and the most serviceable products. He can live without you, but j you cannot exist for a day without him.? Honor to the farmer ; may his sphere widen and his stature be exalted. And honor to all honest toil, for of such are the fruits that | form the crowning glories of the world, I [North Carolina Planter. \ Bkautifitl.?The following lines are from i . the pen of George I). Prentice: i 44 Why, is it that the rainbow and the ( cloud cflrne over us with a beauty thai is ' not of earth, nnd then pass away, and leave . . j us to muse on faded loveliness I Why is it I j that the stars that hold their nightly festival around the midnight throne, are placed above the roach of our limited faculties forever mocking us with their unapproachable i glory ? And why hr it that the bnghl form* : of human beauty are presented to our view i and then taken from us. leaving the thou sand streams of affection to tlow back in al mighty torrents upon the human heart )? . We are from of a larger destiny than thai of earth. There is a land wheie the stai- < will be set out before us like island* thai slumber in the ocean, and where (the be.uut, . ful beings that pass before ua like a meteor wM'stay in our presence forever." | ^ f PtviNR coniolati?>ns are then nearest i< us, when human assistances are furthest from us.. * V ' <4 ? 2 * * Tub Ai.rs.?Dmk in color, robed in evernsling mourning, for ever tolterring like h urliexa shaken by war. fearful as much in heir weakness as in their strength, and yet athered after every fall into darker frowns lid uiibuiniliated threatening, for ever instable of comfort or healing from herb or owers, nourishing no root in their crevices, 'inched by no hue of life on buttress or .'dg?\ but to (lie utmost desola'e ; knowing o shaking of leaves in the wind nor of grass oido tho stream?no other motion but heir own moral shivering, tho dreadful rumbling of atom from atom in their coropting stones ; knowing no sound of living oiee or living tread, cheered neither by tho id's bleat or marmot's cry; haunted only y uninterrupted echoes fioin afar off, wan ering nutter and lliit!ior among the walls, mabie to escape, and by the hiss of angry 01 rents, and sometimes the shrieks of a bird hat flits near the face of them, and sweeps tightened back from under their shadow iuo the gulf of air. And, sometimes when lie echo has fainted, and the wind has caried the sound of the torreut away, and the tird has vanished, and the mouldering stones ire still for a tiine?a brown mouth, openog and shutting its wings upon a grain of iu>t, may be the only thing thai uio?es or eels in all the waste of weary precipice, laikeiiing live thousand feet of the blue leplh of heaven.?Ritjslrin. .\ule to Owb the Government.?A Washington letter narrates the following utilising display of Congressional genius: "Notwithstanding' the 'dignity' which urrotituls the supteme legislative body of he land, some ludicrous sceucs occur with it the Ilall. Not long ago, a very enhusiastic and eloquent gentleman from Arcansas got up to address the House on the illibusleiing question, and as the discussion vas roaming extremly wide, lie soon found limself talking about public lands in his iwn State. On this thorns he waxed waimt itod in the midst of a burst of emhuviu-m, inl a feivent appeal it: favor of a donation ?f land to Aikaiisas. a wicked memher ask* ;?1 hint if that State had not once borrowed money from the General Governiucut. 'Yes, sir,' replied the excited member, my State did get money from this Government. She not only got it, hut she kept it J md let nie tell you, Mr. Chairman, that our i_ J * i uuwn 111 ai Kansas are an honorable people, and although '.hey never intend to pay that money, yet they will not repudiate, hut will always acknowledge the corn, atid confess that they do owe ' Uncle Sam,' and are able to owe Kim.1 Of course this acknowledgement brought down the House.'* ? Curious Spring in Alabama.?The Talladega Watchtower, in an interesting review f Professor Toniney's last report on the Geilogy of this State, stales that near the lino between Hancock and Lawrence, there is a spring of liquid bitumen or mineral tar, w hich i* said to bo somewhat remarkable for its curative properties and is said to be a known cure for scotfula, cancerous sores, rheumatism and other diseases in which al* teiifiive* are requited. The water runs out from a seam or crevice in tho limestone and die tar or bitumen floats on the surface, a black foam very cohesive and insoluble in water. 'Hie tar can be collected in masses, and .patients visiting the springs frequently lake it in the form of pills. Tin: likst ok Good Advice.?Avoid all boastings and exaggerations, backbiting, abuse, and evil speaking; slang phrases and >ath* in conversation; dcpreciato no man's qualities, and accpt hospitalities of the humblest kind in a hearty and appreciative (banner : and avoiu giving offence, and if 3*011 do fiend, have the manliness to apologise; infuse as much elegance as possible into your thoughts as well as your actions; and as you avoid vulgarities you will increase the enjoyments of life, and grow in the respect of others. ? 1 ?p ?-??? Rbad Them.?One of our exchanges justly remarks, (says the Nantucket Enquirer,) that those who fail to rei.d the advertisements in newspapers often lose more than they imagine. Advertisements are printed to be read just as much as any other item of news, and it is just as essential to read them.? There is not an advertisement printed that is not of importance to some one. Nothing peaks more clearly of a man's prosperity in business than the manner in which he ad* crtise*. Don't fail to read them. Fatai. Rkncontrr.? A rencontre took place, on Tuesday host, between B. Derrer ?nd Thomas Dickson, in the tailor-shop of the latter, which resulted in the death of Mr. Doner, 'lire blow was infitcled on the head M'ith a tailor's "board," and proved fatal in 1 bout tvto and a half hours. Of the causes which led to this unfortunate and vary lamentable occurrence, we can, with propriety, -h\ nolhimr. Mr. Dick*on MirrAci.l?r?d I.;.., elf, and hit* l?eei? lodged in jail to await Lis trial.? Vt?kutUt inquirer. A Yankri liked to have died laifin' to ad in km' clmp trvin' to pick up the in dow cf a swinging *'Rn to wipe his n<>so with.