The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, April 08, 1858, Image 1
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.
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[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.