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THE CAMDEN JOURNAL, t / +,ri f* ? !< iimnnwmBamwmmmKMaEBSBMmsaaamBnmBmnmmmmMmmmmmmmmnammimwmmaMmmmBuammmmmmmummammmmMmmm VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, MARCH 23, 1852. NUMBER 24. , rp??i?in? ????a? i THE CAMDEN JOURNAL, rubu8ned semi-weekly and weekly by T H0IBM 1, YA&RiB. T~ TER3IS, The Semi-Weekly Journal is published at Three Dollars and Fifty Cents, if paid in advance, or Four Dollars if payment is delayed three months. The Weekly Journal Is published at Two Dollars If paid in advance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if payment be delayed three months, and Three Dollars if not paid till the expiration of the year. ADVERTISEMENTS will be inserted at the follow- | | Ing terms: For one Square (fourteen Hues or less) in the ] semi-Weekly, one dollar for the first, and twenty-five cents for each subsequent Insertion. In the weekly, 1 I seventy-five cents per square for the first, and thirty-sc- 1 von and a half cents for each subsequent insertion. Sin- i glo insertions one dollar. Semi-monthly, monthly and . quarterly advertisements charged the same as for a sin- f gle insertion. ?^"The number of insertions desired, and the edi- | ' tion to bo published in must be noted on the margin of r all advertisements, or they will be published semi-week- ; ly until ordered discontiued and charged accordingly, j CHARITY. t A poor wayfaring man of grief ? Hath often crossed me on my way, i Who sued so humbly for relief t That I could never answer "nay," < I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went, or whence he came; ? Yet there was something in his eye, That won my love, I know not why. Once when my scanty meal was spread, t He entered?not a word he spake; c Just perishing for want of bread ; I gave him all; he blessed it, brake And ate?but gave me part again? j v Mine was an Angel's portion then; f For while I sped with eager haste, ^ [) wM.of oencf trio mfjr.nft t.l m V tn?tP a. v. ..... h I spied him where a fountain burst, 0 Clean from a rock?his strength was gone; s The heedless water mocked his thirst? He heard it?saw it hurrying on: ^ I ran to raise the sufferer up ; ^ Thrice from the stream he drained my cup, n Dipt, and returned it running o'er; a I drank, and never thirsted more. b g Stripped, wounded, beaten, nigh to death, s I found him by the highway side ; e I roused his pulse?brought back his breath, ji Revived his spirit, and supplied tl Wine, oil, refreshment?he was healed? g I had myself a wound concealed ; But from that hour forgot the smart, f' And peace bound up my broken heart. Montgomery*. " A GOOD, HONEST HEART. bt g. linnaeus banks. v Tra happy, I'm cheerful, Fm merry and gay, ; a From year's end to year's end?so time glides " away. I Though on humblest of fare or dainties I dine | n l ontentment and peace are companions of mine. ! ^ There is joy in my cup?there is health at my > board ; I e And, though poor, yet in spirit I'm rich as a lord ; 1 a For this is a maxim from which I'll ne'er part: j n The true spring of peace is a good, honest heart! 's h I frown not 011 those whom the wot Id calleth great. ( For what God has denied can be no whim of Fate; I speak no ill word of my dear fellow man. But endeavor to do all the good that I can. Should the orphan and widow look in at my doo^ I wish them "God speed !"?f erhaps do something more ; For this is a maxim from which I'll ne'er part: The true spring of peace is a good, honest heart! What were this world to me, and the pleasure it bring?, If love to ray soul lent not freedom and wings? And as for the next?dare I dream of its bliss, g If ray duty to man were neglected in this? Then murmur who will!?let the selfish plod on, n And be true to the teachingof rule "Number One;" t This,this is a maxim Irom which I'll ne'er pert: f The true spring of peace is a gooJ, honest heart! a ' T From Godey's Lady's Book. h The Legend of Indian Hole. v A TALE OF HARRIS COUNTY, TEXAS, F BY " KSPERANCK." V CHAPTER I. \ Amidst the broad plain that the Rio San Ja- c cinto bounds on the North, and the Brazos on the south, rises the small but well-known stream r of Clare (now called Clear) Creek. Like all g streams or Bayous of its class, it presents noth- ^ ing remarkable in its appearance. During the , Summer and Fall?the dry season?the bed ? near its source remains nearly destitute of wa- f ter; but as you descend, the waters increase, t the banks become wider, and the timber, which , was but small and scattering at first, assumes t a larger and thicker growth, graduating its j density and size with that of the bayou, the f course of which it follows until finally it swells , j out into a largo forest as the creek enters Clear , Lake; through the lake the bayou forces ils j way on, winding along through prairie and , woodland, until it empties its waters into the , broad Bay of Galveston. As I remarked, thpre is nothing extraordinary in the appearance of this creek, either in its , size or length, to distinguish it from many oth- < ers similar, and in the same section of country ; and it probably uever would have been so bnt for a scene enacted on its banks?the .r ...iw/it. ot:n _ ii ii __ m emorj ui wuiuu id out* gicuii in uiu recouec- i tion of many. Some six or eight miles from | its source, the bayou swells out around a kind Df point or projection of the bank, and then contracting again, forms a basin or pond which remains full, or nearly so, of sweet clear water, during the entire Summer. This is a lovely spot, and the one our tale refers to?it is known as Indian Hole. "Here scattered wild, the lily of the vale Its balmy essence breathes; here cotvslips hang The'r dewy heads, and purple violets lurk, With ali the lowly children of the shade." Look around you whilst we are here, and behold this vast extended plain that spreads out before us in solemn grandeur, its unbroken dew extending far away in the distant horizon, where the blue-arched sky seems to descend tnd meet it in gentle embrace ! What author's ien can do justice to this boundless prairie jcenn ? Its magnitude reminds one of the Atantic, and its grassy ridges waving in long oils, with the sunlight glistening in the valleys, tlso to recall to mind the ocean's swell after he gale has passed. Who can paint the bright lowers of rainbow tint that stud its bosom, vhose odor? the prairie's breath?scents the tir, transporting the weary hunter into an elysum sweeter than that created by fairy music, >r the Mussulman's vision of his future Paraiise ! Let us dismount, and, whilst our horses are grazing the tender young grass we will recline inder the shade of this oak, and, in the meanirne, enjoying the soft air from the Gulf, and he warbling of birds overhead, I will relate o you the history of this place?the Legend if Indian Hole. CHAPTER II For ages these green woodlands and plains cere unknown and untenanted?the deep, opiressive silence which reigned over all, unbro;en save by the war-whoop of the savage, the lowling of beasts, and the tramp of the wild lorse and buflalo. But anon, a change came ?? rPk/? Aimo nf tlio pnnntrv IYLT 11117 OUCIIU! A HO 111 ii v VI tuv vvw..>. J pread abroad?its rich lands, salubrinus dilate, and abundance of game were strong tiducements to the emigrating portion of the Vestern people. The white man appeared? is rifle rang through field and forest; the giantic old trees?patriarchs ! venerable in years nd grey headed with their mantles of moss? owed beneath the 6harp strokes of his axe. Soon cabins arose, forming the nucleus of a ettlement. Hundreds of hardy pioneers pouril in from the Valley of the Misissippi, bringng with them their all. Settlement after setlenient was formed, and their foothold made ;ood against the nations of the wilderness. The Red Men soon sought ihe destruction of lie intruders, for it needed no prophet's warnig voice as to the result of this encroachment 11 the hunting-grounds of their forefathers, iow came the strife for the supremacy, and, l the struggle that followed, the red tribes of lie forest were scattered like leaves before the t hirl i ind. Many were the bloody scenes encted ; but for every white man's scalp taken, dozen aborigines bit the dust. The Indians ed?leaving their hills and plains, their homes nd graves of their forefathers in tho possesion of the conquerors. Unhappy race! "ears have passed away, and the places that nee knew you know you no more! The forc?c Mi-it nnen sheltered the lodses of vour tribe iid echoed to the dance and war whoop, is ow usurped by the rising city! The ploughhare has again and again passed over the ones of your ancestors?the golden grain of -ores waves over their tombs! " Your day is o'er, Your fires are out from shore to shorp; No more for you the wild deer bounds? The plough is on your hunting grounds. Thepaie man's a.\e rings through your woods, The pale man's sail skims o'er the floods; Your pleasant springs are dry; Your children?look, by power oppressed, Beyond the mountains of the west? Your children go to die!" Among the many hostile tribes with whom he white men wire often engaged in deadly trife, there were none they encountered more requently, or who made more desperate resist,nce, than that of the Caroiiqueways. This ribe inhabited the entire coast of Texas; and, rotn their number, bravery, and savage charicter, were more dreaded than all others. \umerous and deadly were the encounters they lad with their white foes?defeat, instead of ..svoL-aii'mrr flioir pniimrrp KPrvt'd hilt to PXJ1S b o-' ? ? >ernte thein tlio more?they fought long and veil, and were among the last to retreat. Their >attle fields extend from the forests and caneirakes of the Trinity to the surf-beaten shore ?f the Gulf of Mexico. At the time of our tale, but a few years had jasscd since this part of the country had been ettled by immigrants; and the feud was at its leight. Scarcely a month would pass away vithout witnessing the blazing of some lonely ' squatter's" hut?the murder of his wife and diildren, and the quick and fearful retribution hat followed. Such was the state of affairs vlien a report catno to the settlers, on and near he Brazos, that a large party of Caronqucway ndians had just returned from a successful bray against a tribe friendly to tho whites; ind that they, flushed with their late victory, ivere how preparing to attack and exterminate :he settlers. This news spread like prairie fire, tnd very soon every man and boy within fifty miles, capable of bearing arms, had shouldered bis gun and marched to a designated point, - I'"-" nil ii'nrn onrnllprl intr? ft ftnmtuinv. A? wiici^ uu ?v.v v... v..w? ...? ? 1 j soon as possible, they reached the encampment of Indians, and the memorable fight with the Caronqueways, near tho pass of that name took place soon after. Many of the combat ants say the fight was well, bloodily contested The Indians finally gave way?not before however, they had lost half their number, an< made tlieir escape with their prisoners towards Clear Creek. With the while men engaged in this fight was a tail, finely formed, young Indian warrior, i He belonged to the tribe whose village had been lately sacked and destroyed by this same band. He it was who brought the intelligence to the white*, and eagerly supplicated their aid in chastising them, and rescuing some of his tribe j still prisoners in their bands. During the enI counter lie fought with great bravery?his warcry ringing like a trumpet's note above the din J of battle?cutting down all who oppposed him, i and following the white men in every charge ! that was made But after the enemy had 1 given way?when the noise and confusion of the conflict had subsided?and the whites were i busily engaged in burying the dead and relievj ing the wounded, Co>hntte ? for such was hi? name ? retired to a short distance, and, covering his head with his robe, seemed to be the 1 prey of great emotion. The captain of the company, seeing him evidently in distress, and ' fearing he was severely wounded, called him ! up, and, with a friendly speech, sought to know i of him the cause of his trouble. The Indian ' drew himself up, and, dropping the buffalo robe i which had covered his breast, so as to give i full freedom to his gestures, spoke to the follow! ing effect? " White brothers, listen ! This day lias the red wolf been struck. The white man's bul| lets are deep into his body ! Already do the black vultures scent his blood, and are whetting their beaks for the feast. Many a warrior will be missed from the council lire of his tribe. There will be mourning in the lodges of the Caronquewaj's.?Coshatte has fought by his white brothers ; his tomahawk has been buried in the brains of their enemy ; his knife has drank their blocd?it is good, but the heart I Jo hinm' WhitA mpn. listpn ! ; u. ,a ,,|V. But two moons have passed since I accompanied the warriors and young braves of my tribe to the big plains of the West to chase the wildhorse and to hunt the buffalo. Our old men, onr women and children we left behind us? for we were at peace with the white man, and we dreamed no harm from our red brothers; but we were mistaken ?the Caronquewav wolves had their spies upon us, and but a few days had we left when they attacked our village. They killed our old men, they carried off' our women and children, and our tents are but a heap of ashes ! " White men, listen! Among the prisoners is our head chief's daughter?* the wild flower'?the pride of our tribe, and the betrothed wife of Coshatte. His heart cannot be hcppy , nor will he rest while she remains a prisoner j among tho destroyers of his tribe. (Joshatte j has spoken. Will his white brothers aid him I in taking the young girl from the clutches of I the hawk 1" | The Indian's gestures were so vehement, his looks so appealing, and the grief he felt evidentI !y so sincere that, although the white men were worn clown by fatigue and excitement, ! they with one accord determined to pursue the robber* and roscnc'the prisoners, if alive, at all hazards. As soon as the dead were buried and the wounded properly attended to?a few being left to guard them?the company proceeded at I once to the track of the fugitives. The In-j dian took the lead, showing all the eagerness ' and instinct of a bloodhound ; and often, When j I every vestige of the trail was lost, he would, t - i.find ;inrl nnrstin it with I uj HIS Uiiuilii^ ci^?.v.V, r :i rapidity that loft tlie others far behind. On the evening of the second day, about sunset, the party reached Clear Creole about four miles below, where we will leave them, fcr the present, pursuing their course which led direct to this spot. CHAPTER III. I It was midnight. A large tire burned brightly in the bottom of this ravine, throwing a 6trong glare upon the forms of about forty warriors, who stood, with bows and war-clubs in their hands, in a circle around it. Many a head and limb bore frightful marks of a recent conflict; and every face wore aspect as hideous as paint and rage could make. Some few lay around wrapped in skins, and appear' ed, from their restless motions aud the occa: sionnl groans tlmt proceeded from them, to he desperately wounded. Some exciting topic had ! Kopii pv irlentlv lately discussed and settled bv | the warriors in council; and, from (lie large heap of brush and dry wood that lay piled up j close by, and from the angry gestures that j \ver<? occasionally directed to a particular spot, I it was not hard to divino what it was, nor that j was soon to follow. Close by the group of I warriors, and in full view, tied hand and foot ! to a tall stake, was an Indian girl. Her feet ' and arms were swollen up and bloody from many wounds inflicted by thorns and briars.? ! An embroidered and highly dressed skin of some wild animal hung in strips from her shrinki ing body, disclosing a form youthful and full of beauty. Her head was bowed in deep de jection, from which the long dark hair flowed j wildly over her heaving bosom, Now and : then her eyes would wander restlessly over the I painted faces of her captors, seeking, but in ! vnin, to catch some ray of hope in their un! pitying glances; but for this, she neither moved | nor stirred, and, to all appearances, was as inanimate as the trees that towered around her. As well might she expect mercy ns the young , lamb when the jaws of the wolf have fastened j upon him?or her sweet namesake, " tho wild I! flower," when winter's icy breath has touched i ; 11 or bite was sealed! >Soon very soon ' I ? ? ? -----i would her fragile body bo given to the fiery heat of the blazing faggot, and her gentle spirit ! [ would pass away amid shouts, and taunts, and , | yells of exultation. There she stood, boipid . ! and helpless, a feeble, unresisting woman?a . | sacrifice to be offered on the alter of Indian , ! superstition ! She knew that even now thost 1 j chosen for the purpose wore preparing to conv ?M1IBMIIIII I I II Fiujw ?! TTTTfcl rrnr mencc their infernal offices upon her. But her | thoughts were far away* Before her mental ! vision arises the home of her childhood?her j aged, parents, and the young brave to whom I her troth was plighted. Now her fancy roves 1 through the green woodlands and wide fields ' where she had so often strayed, listening to the } singing bird and running water. No more i shall the songs of the one, and the plaintive I rippling of the other, chidden the heart of! Keleotuc ! N o more will she greet them living! ' Now are the warriors gathering around her. See! they are heaping up the faggots. Listen to the taunts they cast upon their gentle victim ; hut she answers not?she hears them not. Like - the dying swan, she pours forth her latest ) breath in touching melody. Her soft, flute-like tones of voice comes floating through the mid. night air. In solemn chant, she sings, " Green earth! bright flowers! running waters! bear hence, far away unto Cashatte the young brave, the last sigh of Keleotuc ! Spirit of the waving trees! whisper forth through the air'?let the fate of the ' wild flower' reach the home of her kindred?let it burn In the hearts of her tribe. Companions of my childhood, ye birds of sweet note, sing my requiem ! Silvery stream of the mountain, murmur forth my name ! And now, Great Father, listen to thy suffering child! Oh ! send forth thy winged messengers?speed them quickly on?let them shield and bear me to thy bosom! Hark ! like meteors flashing through the sky I see them ! Their snowy pinions heat the air, and songs of joy are floating i round ! Welcome, sweet shadows of the spirit i land ! Welcome, bright sisters of the starry j robe ! To your outstretched arms I come ! 1 i come !" i Thus sang Ivelootuc, as a warrior seized a j lighted torcli and hurled it at her feet.?Quickly ! the dry brush ignited, and a canopy of smoke, ! black as a volume front hell, rose fiercely to the i sable sky. One wild shriek of agony burst ! forth from the dying girl as the flames, wreath | ing round, blasted her with its fiery breath; a I maddened howl of derision from the infuriated i savages answered her. A moment more, and a crushing sound from the tramp of feet was ! heard, and, before the Indians could gain cov| er, the party of whites burst forth front the adjoining thicket, and poured out the contents of I their rifles upon them. I ' Then arose so wild a yell Within this dark and narrow dell, As if the fiends from Heaven that fell Had pealed their banner cry of Heli!" i The Indians, although losing several of their number, and taken entirely by surprise, ntain| tained their ground for some time, fighting hand : to hand with the courage of despair and the | ferocity of tigers. The blow of the tomahawk, ! the thrust of the knife, the shrieks ot tho wounded and dying, were now intermingled with tiic shouts of encouragement from 0110 party and the yell of defiauoo from the other. ' ? r - I ? A. i* LA i .Nunc expected or iSKen ror mercy, out lougui desperately, like the wolf, to the last gasp. In the mean time, the flames rolled on, lighting up the scene of battle with all its horrors? bringing every combatant into full view. Foremost, from the commencement of the affray, | was Coshatte, who, wielding his war-club, fought with the fury of a maniac, in the direction where he had discovered Keleotuc bound and enveloped with fire. None withstood him. for he struck down all who opposed, and made his way, through flame and smoke, to the side of the Indian girl. With one sweep of his knife he severed the bonds that held her, and springing back bore her out of reach?but, alas, too late ! No sooner did the blackened ' and charred remains of the young girl meet I his gaze, as lie bore her body off, than, with a j cry like that of a wild beast, he dropped his 1 burden and rushed amid the fight. Already i was his arms, face, and breast deluged with blood, and now his knife at every thrust was J deeply painted with its gory color. On he i rushed to the very centre of the enemy, and in I dnsnite of the wounds and blows be received ! from all sides, he grappled with the chief, and bore him, writhing and struggling, to the blazing tire that still roared and hissed for its victim. With a bound like that of a panther, he sprang with his enemy full in the midst of the roaring column of flame that shot forth its forked tongues for yards around.?For a moment a cloud of ashes and smoke obscured the view; then thousands of bright sparks ascended and fell again like hail on the green sward around. An instant more and Coshatte?his whole person, even to his long scalp-lock on fire ?burst forth, with his blazing shroud, like a tortured devil loosened from bis chains, and, feebly sounding his war-cry, dashed again among them. His enemies?the few C'aronqueways that were left?Hed in terror before this hhmn/r. frightful apparition, and to this day o' o # they believe that the white men were guiued and assisted by a supernatural being at the light of "Indian Hole." Coshattc lived but a few hours after the battle. llis body, as well as that of the Indian girl, was taken some three miles from the creek, and laid side by side at the edge of the prairie ?his war-club and knife being placed with him ?and a strong enclosure of young trees and brush built around them which can be seen to this day. The fate of Cosi.atte the brave, and Keleotuc. the " wild flower," forms the legend ol Indian Hole! How to know a Fool.?A fool, says the Arab proverb, may bo known by six things?anger without cause, speech without profit, change without motive, inquiry without object, putting trust in a stranger, not knowing his friends from his 1 foes.. r, i Unhappy Marriages in Alabama.?There were ' seventy -one divorces legalized at the recent ses- j sion of the Alabama Legislature. ' Old 3Ir. Theysay. Who has not heard of the world renowned Theysay 1 His name is tamiliar wit i all men ev? erv where. The high and low, rich and poor, bond and free, honored and despised, civilized and barbarian, Protestant and Catholic, Mussulman and Christian, all nations, kindreds, tribes and tongues, have heard of Mr. Theysay His name is almost a household word. But who has ever given the world a history of this eminent personage? Numerous as biographers are, no one has ever written and published the life of Mr. They say. I'araon me ir 1 undertake tne task oi writing a brief history of him. His Parentage.?His father's name is Slanderer, his mother's Tattle; of his genealogy nothing more is known. He was born in the town of Evil Report, in the Kingdom of Sin. His Age.?It is not known in what precise age of the world Mr. Theysay was born. It is my opinion that he was born soon after Adam and Eve were expelled trom the garden of Eden. If I am correct in this opinion, he must be very far advanced in life, and we should naturally expect to witness in him all the evidences of feeble old age?gray hairs, sunken eyes and palsied limbs. But he is really as strong and active, as fresh and fair, and hale and hearty as he ever was. Remarkable old creature. His Edccation.?Mr. Theysay's education is very limited. What knowledge he has obtained is principally Irom hearsay; hence he does not have any correct knowledge of any thing. His deficient education lias ever been a serious embarrassment to him, for ho never dares to make a positive assertion, but guesses it is so, hopes it is so, and so on. His Personal Appearance.?I have spoken of him as being as strong, as active, etc. as he ever was. But who has ever seen Mr. Theysay? Have you ? Has any one ? If any one has, I know not the man. In my opinion he is intangible as Prof. Bush's resurrection body, which we neither see, handli, analyze, nor describe. But we know he exists, because every body is talking about him. And I have come to the paradoxical conclusion that he exists and does not exist; is every where and nowhere; is responsible and irresponsible? a sort of "will o'-the wisp, jack-with-the lantern" kind of being, whose personal appearance can never be described. His Character.?He is distinguished for wickedness. 1. He is a slanderer. 2. A deceiver. 3. A liar. 4. A peace breaker. 5. Every thins is bad, without possessing one redeeming quality. Reader, is Mr. Theysay in your family ? Drive him hence. Harbor him not a moment. Listen not to his vile slanders. He will involve you in trouble, while he will escape. Christian brother, has he visited your little christian community ? beware of him. He will cause divisions to spring up among you. Let him influence you, and your once prosperous society will be destroyed. Difference* of Opinion. "Truth crushed to earth will rise again, The eternal yearsol God are hers; But error, wounded writhes in pain, And dies amid her worshippers." Admirable poetry! But is it true in itself? We C ? ,/I to o rr?li-?r> /I IA COIUtfSj WB die auaiu n jo \jihj a gj/tciiuiu utuviif for it is notorious that errors which have been a thousand times refuted, and for a time, apparently annihilated, have suddenly sprung up again in renewed vigor?nay?several of the exploded humbugs of past ages, are at this moment flourishing as in their first youth. As the "eternal years" of tru'.h, we reverently admit it, so far as divine truth is concerned, but in all other respects, we will not assume to decide until all mankind have agreed as to what is truth. In matters of mere speculation, which are incapable of a sensible demonstration, no man, however learned or wise, can form an opinion which will not differ in some respects, from that of thousands as wise and learned as himself This consideration, it seems to us, should induce a spirit of toleration and forbearance toward those who differ from us. At all events, no man should arrogantly and obstinately insist on his own infallibility. "Orthodoxy," said a satiracal wit, "is my doxy, and heterodoxy is my other man's doxy"? a definition, which, stated in this way, appears ridiculous enough?and yet, how many men practically adopt it, without being aware of their ridiculous presumption. A Dartv of friends once lost their way in an ex tensive wood, and began to dispute about the direction to be taken to regain the path. In this, no two of them could agree; each individual insisted on being the guide of the rest. From words, they came to blows, and finding that this did not produce conviction, they finally separated and every one took his own direction. Soon, however, one of them hallooed to the rest that he had found the right path; but though all heard him, each continued on his own course, rather than acknowledge having mistaken the path, in consequence of which, he was the only one that got out of the wood that night. The story, we conceive, is easy of application. There are some few truths indeed, so seH-evident as to be universally admitted, even by those whose conduct practically gives the lie to their admissions. , A Greek writer remarks that it is a pleasant thing to stand upon the shore, and see the ships tossed on the ocean; a pleasaul. thing to view from the turrets of a tower the vicissitudes of a battle, whence no shaft can reach you; but no pleasure is comparable to that of standing on the all-commanding vantage ground ot irum, ana from that clear and serene elevation, look down upon the errors and wanderings, and mists, and tempests in the vale below. Now, we regard this sentiment as thoroughly selfish, and begging the old heathen's pardon, there is still greater pleasure ?a pleasure in which selfishness has no share? the pleasure of dispelling these mists and errors, and leading the wanderer up to the same unclouded eminence. It is contemplated "to Tiold a "great Southwestern Industrial Exhibition" in New Orleans, in May of next year. Alabama and Florida are most active in their preparations. The governor of the former State has appointed delegates from 30 coun-ics to attend a preiiminary meetin Xew Orleans in May next. Ir was the custom oHhe higher order of the Germans to drink mead- beaverage made with houey, for thirty days after every wedding.? From this custom the expression to "spend the honeymoon."