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A. 0. MURRAY, VOLUME X. THE AMERICAN UNION, I Published every Saturday Morning, I ■ A. Or. MTTimA-r. i , ICE ox broad street, west end the new brick I , Dollar in Dollars after six months. I Vn ttbaoripli° ns taken for less than one year, unless •“. in advance; and no paper discontinued (unless at the option of the Publisher) until all arrearages are t ADVERTISEMENTS conspicuously inserted at One I Hollar oer square of twelve lines, for the first insertion, and Fifty Cents tor each subsequent continuance. ALIA loertisements not accompanied bit a specific notice of V the number of insertions desired, unit be continued until ordered nut, amt charged for accordingly. I Sales under regular executions, and mortgage fi I- on r eal estate, must be published 30 days... .$2.50 Personal Property, under mortgage fi fas, must be published 60 days 5.00 l rotations for Letters of Administration, 30 days 2.75 I Tax Collector’s Sales, 60 days 5.00 N’otices to osbtors and Creditors, 40 days 3 00 of personal proporty of Estates, 10 days 3.00 1 Sales of Land or Negroes, “ 40 days 4.50 I T-niicationa for leave to sell lands or negroes, must ‘ be published weekly for 2 months 5.00 Vetices for Letters Dismiasory by Executors or Ad * n jnistrator, monthly for 6 months 4 50 Rr Guardians, weekly for 40 days , . 4.50 £<trays, 2 weeks ;• • • • • • J 50 I Announcing Candidates (to be paid in advance) 5.00 I Orders of Courts of Ordinary to make titles to land, ac companied by a copy of the bond or agreement, must be published three months. RATES”OF ADVERTISING. TH£ following are the llnte* of Charges for Adverti sing, determined on between the undersigned, to take effect from the time of entering into any new con tract gj-Transicnt Advertising, $1 00 per square, for the grst insertion, and 50 cents for every subsequent one. TTjvrKACf Akveuiisi.no, |3 inos.jti mos.JS mos 112 ms. liquors, without change,.. ;$ 6 00 $ 8 00!$10 (ID sl2 0(1 ‘ Changed quarterly,. 700 10 001 12 00 16 00 Changed at will 8 00 12 Ollj 14 00 18 00 2 suuares, without change,. 10 ,KI 15 00 20 00 25 00 Changed quarterly,.] 12 ooj 18 001 24 00 28 00 Changed at will 15 00| 20 Oo! 2.5 00 30 00 | Seiutrev. without change,. 15 001 20 00 25 tM>| 30 00 j Changed quarterly. J 18 OOj 22 00 26 00 34 00 I Changed at wi11,.'... 20 OOj 26 00 32 Olli 40 00 j i column, without change,-. 25 OUj~3U-UUj 40 001 50 00 ; Chaaoed quarterly,. 28 oo! 32 Ort! 45 00| 55 00! Changed at wi11,.'... 35 01)1 45 00j 50 00 60 Oil 1 column, without change.. 60 00 70 no 80 00 lIKI Ollj Changed quarterly,. 65 (Ml 75 001 On (KOI 10 00 ! Changed at wi11,."... 70 00] 85 OOjIOO 00,125 00 , “ijw, VII transient advertisements will be inserted until , ordered discontinued, and charged accordingly. A. A. C.Ari.mSCr, “Empire State.’’ ! AG Mlli I! As’, “ American 1 “iiion.” MISCELLANEOUS. The two Nephews. At the pal lor window of a pretty vi.Uiage, near Walton-on-Tliames, sat one evening at dusk, an 1 old man and a young woman. The age of the] m.m miwht le about seventy, whilst his (tomputt-, j on bad certainly not reached nfietcet), Her] beautiful, blooming face, and active light and tip* j right figure, were in strong contrast, with the worn countenance and bent frame of the old man, but in his eve, and in the corners of his mouth, • indications of a gay self-confidence, which aje and suffering had damped, but not extingush eJ. *Xo use looking; aqy more, Mary/ said he ‘neither Joint Mead nor l’oter Finch will be here before dark. Very hard that, when a sick uncle a-ks his two nephews to come and see him they I can’t come at once. The duty is simple in the extreme —only to help me to die, and take what I choose to ‘cave them in niv will ! I’ooh ! when I was a young man. I'd have done it for niv un- ; c!e with the utmost celerity, llut the world’s get ting quite hnrlless!’ ‘Oil sir!’ said Mary. j ‘And what does, ‘Oil sir !’ mean ?, ‘ll've think Islmn’tdie? I know better. A little more, and there’ll be an end of old Hilly <'ollett. lie’ll; have left this dirtv worhl for a cleaner—to tile ; great sorrow (and advantage) of bis affectionate - relatives! Ugh ! (live me a glass of the doctors •Luff.’ , The girl poured some medicine into a glass an 1 Collett, after having contemplated it for ai mnnent with infinite disgust, managed to get it down. ’I tell vou what Miss Mary Sutton,’ said he ] ‘I don’t by any means approve of your ‘Oil sir !’ | and ‘Dear sir,’ and..tlie rest of it, when I’ve told ] you how I hate to be called ‘sir,’ at all. Why ; you couldn’t be more respectful if you were a j charily-’’girl arid Ia beadle in a gold-laced hat. None of your nonsense, Mary Sutton, if you please. I’ve been your lawful guardin now six months, and you ought to know my likings and disii kings. ‘My poor father often told me how you dislik ed ceremony,’ said Maty. ‘Your poor father told you quite right,’ said Mr. Collett. ‘Fred Sutton was a man of talent— a capital fellow. Ilis only fault was a natural inability to keep a farthing in his pocket. Poor Fred! lie loved me—Pin sure he did. n be- : queathed me his only child—and it isn’t every friend would do that!’ ‘A kind and generous protector you have been!’ ‘Well I don’t know, I’ve tried not to lie a brute, hut I dare say I have been. Don’t I speak rough ly to you sometimes! Ilav’nt I given you good, prudent, worldly advice about John Mead, and made myself quite disagreeable, and lik a guar dian? Come, confess you love this perinyless nephew of mine,’ ‘Petmyless indeed !’ said Mary. ‘Ah, thereat is!’ said Mr.Collett, —‘and what business has a poor devil of an artist to fall in love with my ward ? And what business has my ward to fall in love with a poor devil of an artist ? But that’s Fred Sufton’s daughter all over! Haven't I two nephews ?’ Why could’tyou fall In love with thediscreet one—the thriving one?— Peter Finch—considering lie’s an attorney —is * worthy man. lie is industrious in the ex treme, and attends to other people’s business, on ly when he’s paid for it. He despises sentiment, and always looks to the main chance. But John Mead, my dear Mary, may spoil canvas forever, and not grow rich. He’s all for art, and truth, and aocial reform, and spiritual elevation, and the Lord knows what. Peter Finch will ride in his carriage, and splash poor John Mead as he trudge# on foot!’ The harangue was here interrupted by a ring at the gate, and Mr. Peter Finch was announc ed- He had scarcely taken his seat when anoth er pull at the hell was heard, and Mr. John Mead w sannounced. Mr. Collett eyed his two nephews with a queer aprt of smile, whilst they made speeches expres sive of sorrow at the nature of their visit. At last slopping them: ©re Awrritait Htiitm. ‘Enough, boys, enough!’ said he. ‘Lgt us find eomething’better to discuss than the slate of an old man’s health. I want to know a little more about you both. I havn’t seen much of you up to the present times, and for anything I know, you may lie ugroesor fools.’ John Mead seemed rather to wince under this address, but Peter Finch sat calm and confi dent. ‘To put a case now,’ said Mr. Collett, ‘this morning a poor wretch of a gardner came beg ging here. He could get no work, it seems, and said he was starving. Well, I knew something about the fellow, and I believe only told the truth, so I gave him a shilling to get rid of him. Now, I’m afraid I did wrong. What reasom had I for giving him a shilling! What claim had lie on me ? What claim has he on anybody ? The value of his labor in the market is all that a working man lias a right to, and when his la bor is <if no value, why then he must go to the devil, or wherever else he can.’ Ah, Peter! That’s my philosophy—what do you think ?’ ‘I quite agree with you, sir,’ said Mr. Finch ‘perfectly agree with you. The value of the labor er in the market is all that laborers can pretend to—all they should have. Nothing acts more perniciously than the absurd extraneous support called charity. ‘Hear, hear I’ said Mr. Collett. ‘Aou’re a clever fellow, Peter. Go on my dear boy, go on !’ ‘What result from charitable aid ?’ contined he. ‘The value of labor is kept at an unnatural level. State charity is state robbery, private charity is public wrong.’ •That’s it, Peter!’ said Mr. Collett. ‘What do you think of our philosophy, John ?’ I don’t like it! I don't believe it!’ said John. ‘You were quite right to give the man a shilling, I’d have given him a shilling myself.’ “Oh, you would—would you ?” said Mr. Col lett. You are very generous with your shillings. Would you fly in the face of all orthodox politi cal economy, you Vandal ?” “Yes.” said John, “as the vandals flew in the face of Koine, and destroyed what had become a falsehood and a nuisance. “Poor John” said Mr. Collett. “We shall never make anything of him, Peter. liealiy, we'd lietter talk of something else. John, tell us all about the last new novel.” They conversed on various topics until the ar rival of the invalid’s early bedtime parted uncle and nephews for the night. Mary Sutton seized an opportunity the next morning, after breakfast to speak with John Mead alone. “John,” said she, “do think more of your own interest—of our interest. What occasion was there for you to be so violent, last night, and contradict Mr. Collett so shockingly ? 1 saw l’eter Finch laughing to himself. John you must be more careful or we shall never be mar ried.” “Well, Mary, dear, I’ll do my best,” said John. “It was that confounded l'eter, with his chain of iron maxim*, that made me fly out. I’m not an iceberg, Mary.” “Thank heaven you’re not !” said Mary, “hut an icebnrg floats —think of that, John. Re mo i her —every time you offend Mr. Collet, you please Mr. Finch.” “So Ido !” said John. “Yes, I’ll remember that. “If you would only try to be a little mean and hard-hearted,’’ said Slaty, “just a little to begin with. You would only stoop to conquer, John, —and you deserve to conquer.” “May I gain my deserts, then,” said John. “Are you not to be my loving wife, Mary ! And are you not to sit at needle work in my studio, whilst I paint my great historical picture ! How can this come to pass if Mr. Collett will do nothing for us ?” “Ah how indeed?” said Mary. “But here's viur friend l’eter Finch, coming through the gate from his walk. I leave you together.” And she withdrew. “What, Mead!” said l’eter Finch, as lie en tered. “Sulking in-doots of a fine tnorninglike this!” I’ve been all through the village. Notan ugly place—but wants taking after sadly. Roads shamefully muddy ! l’tgs allowed to walk on the foot-path !” “Dreadful!” exclaimed John. ‘I say—you came out pretty strong last night,’ said l’eter. “Quite defied the old man ! But 1 like your spirit.” “1 have no doubt you do,” thought John. “Oh when I was a youth, I was a little that way myself,” said Peter. “But the world—the world, my dear sir—soon cures us of all roman tic notions. I regret, of course, to see poor peo ple miserable, but what’s the use of regretting? It’s no part of the business of the superior class es to interfere with the laws of supply and de mand, poor people must be miserable. What cant be cured must be endured.” , • ■ “That is to say,” returned John, “what we can’t cure, they must endure ?” “Exactly so,” said l’eter. Mr. Collet this day was too ill to leave his bed. About noon be requested to see hi# nephew# in his bedroom. They found him propped up by pillows, looking very weak, but in good spirits, as usual. “Well, boys,” sa’.d he, “here I fim, you see brought to au anchor at last ? The doctor will be here soon, 1 suppose, to shake his bead and write recipes. Humbug, me boys ! Patients can do as much for themselves, I believe, as doctors can do for them, they’re all in the dark togeth er —tbe only difference ii that the patients grope in English, and the doctors grope in Latin!” “You are too skeptical, #ir,” said John Meade. “Pooh !” said Mr. Collett. “Let us change the subject. I want your advice l’eter and John, on a matter that concerns your interests. I’m going to make my will to-day and I don’t know how'to act about your cousin, Emma Briggs.— Emma disgraced us by marrying an oilman.” “An oilman!” exclaimed John. “A vulgar shocking oilman ! ’ said Mr. Collett, “a wretch who not only sold oil, but soap, can dles, turpentine, black ieadand birch-brooms. — Her poor grandmother never got over it, and a maiden aunt turned methodisl in despair. Well, Briggs, the oilman, died last week it seems, and his widow lias written to me, asking for assis tance. Now, I have thought of leaving her a hundred a year in my will. What do you think of it? I’m afraid she don’t deserve it. What GRIFFIN, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 20, 1855. right had she to marry against the advice of her friends ? What have I to do with her misfor tunes !” “My mind is quite made up,” said Peter Finch, “no notice ought to be taken of her. Shemadean obstinate and unworthy match—and let her abide the consequences 1” “ Now your opinion, John,” said Mr. Col lett. “Upon my word, I think I must say the same,” said John Mead bracing himself up boldly for the part of the worldly man. “What right had she to marry—as you observed with great justice, sir. Let her abide the consequences —as you very properly remarked, Finch. Can’t she carry -on the oilman’s business ? I dare say it will sup port her very well.” “Why, no,” said Mr, Collett, “Briggs died a bankrupt, and his widow and children are desti tute.” “That does not alter the question,” said Peter Finch. “Let Brigg’s family do something for her.” “To be sure!” said Mr. Collett. “Brigg's family aro the people to do something for her. She musn’t expect anything from us—must she John ?” “ Destitute, is she?” said John. With chil dren. too! Why this is another case, sir. Con found it, I’m for letting her have the hundred a year.” “Oh, John, John! What break down !” said Mr. Collet. So you were trying to follow Peter Finch through Stony Arabia, and turned back at the second step ! Here's a brave traveler for you Peter j John, John, keep to your Arabia Felix, and leave sterner ways for very different men. Good-bye, both of you. lve no voice to talk any more. I’ll think over'alFyou have said !” lie pressed their hands and they left the room The old man was too weak to speak next day, and in three daysafter that, he calmly breathed his last. As soon as the funeral was over, the will was read by the confidential man of business who had always attended to Mr. Collett's affairs.— The group that sat around him, preserved a de corous appearance of disinterestedness, and the usual preamble to the will having been listened to with breathless attention, the inan of business read the following in a clear voice : “1 bequeath to my niece, Emma Briggs not withstanding that she shocked her family by marrying an oilman, the sum of four thousand pounds, being fully persuaded that her lost dig nity, if she could even find it again, would do nothing to provide her with food, or clothing, or shelter. “John Mead smiled and, Peter Finch ground his teetli—but in a quiet, respectable manner. The man of business went on with his read ing : “Having always held the opinion that woman should be rendered a rational and independent being,—and having duly considered thefaetthat society denies her the rightof earning her own living —I hereby bequeath to Mary Sutton, the only child of my old friend, Frederick Sutton, the sum of ten thousand pounds, which w ill en able her to marry, or remain single, as she may prefer.” John Mead gave a prodigious'■tart upon hear ing this, and l’eter Finch ground histeeth again now in a manner hardly respectable. Both however, by a violent effort, kept silent. The man of business went on reading: l have paid some attention to the character of my nephew, John Mead, and have been griev ed to find him much possessed with a feeling of philanthropy, and with a general preference for whatever is noble and true over whatever is base and false. As these tendencies ate by no means such as can advance him in the world, I bequeath him the sum of ten thousand pounds—hoping that he may thus be kept out of the workhouse, and be enabled to paint his great historical picture—which, as yet, ho has only talked about. As for my other nephew, Peter Finch ho views all things in so sagacious and selfish a way, and so certain to get on in life, that I should only in sult him by offering an aid which he does not require, yet from his affectionate uncle, and en tirely as a testimony of admiration for his men tal acuteness, I venture to hope lh,.t he accept a bequest ot five hundred pounds towards the completion of his extensive library of law books.” How Peter Finch stormed, and called names, how John Mead broke into a delirium of joy— how Mary Sutton cried and laughed, and then cried and laughed together, all these matters I shall not attempt to describe. Mary Sutton is now Mrs. John Mead, and her husband has ac tually begun the great historical picture, l’eter Finch has taken to discounting bills, and bring ing actions on them, and drives about in his brougham already. That’s the Talk. A foreigner was seen to vote the American ticket, last fall, by some of the ‘United,’ who ‘counted on him strong.’ ‘Look here,’ exclaimed’one, ‘do you know what ticket you voted ?’ ‘Yes, the Native ticket.’ ‘Now ain’t you a d—d fool! Don’t you know that the Natives want to take away your rights, and won’t let you hold office ? Vote for a party that proscribes you, eb ?’ ‘l’m not proscribed. Tbe Americans have al ways treated me well, ar.d no doubt will, so long as i behave myself. Besides, my children are Americans—born here; and, as a father, I don’t want, by example, to teach them as they grow up, that they must depend upon strangers.’ *Oh! you are willin’ to have your own throat cut, eh ? There’s a Christain ! bless them that persecute you, eb ?’ ‘I bless those who have blessed me and my children ; and placing foreigners in office, more often proves a curse than a blessing to us. But that’s not tbe question. Aro you Americans competent to govern yourselves ? If you are, our services, as office holders, are not required by you. If you are not #o —make public proclama tion of the fact, call upon us for help in a manly way, and then we’ll do the best we can for you. All I desire is that we shall not be considered intruders.’ The substance of the above conversation took place in one of the Camden Countv hotels last fall. “Prove all thing*; hold fast that which is good.” From the London Morning Herald, Sept. 22. The War Just Commenced in Europe. j Maj. Curzon arrived in London soon after mid-, night with the despatches of General Simpson do : tailing the events which accompanied the fall of Sevastopol. Ere we shall have concluded the re marks which we have thus commenced we shall in all probability have in our possession those de tails of the terrible loss by which the possession of ; that fortress has been purchased, and will bring agony to many a home. The nation lias not grud- I ged its blood in the contest in which we aro en- j I gaged. Over the wail ot individual anguish,; mourning private loss, the shout of national triumph ascends to Heaven, and public rejoicing drowns | the cry of many a widow and orph in from hearths ! , left desolate by the glorious but fearful victory of j the Bth. I Nevertheless, the fact that so many of our conn ; trynien have fallen in the bloody enterprise which it has to crown with success —the number of brave and devoted men by whose sac rifice this sue.ess has been won theso things surely compel us almost involuntarily tonsk For what has these sacr fices been made 1 They im pose upon us the duty of seeing as far as we can, that they have not been made in vain. It is not for us to depreciate tbe triumph tliat the allied arms have achieved. In the columns of this journal it was that the invasion of the Cri mea was first urged upon a timid ministry. Two 1 years have passed since for days together we (.pointed at Sevastopol as the place in which a vital blow might be struck at Russian power with com j paratively little risk to ourselves. When men I were dreaming of peace, wo repeated week by | week, and day by day, the cry that Sevastopol ! must be destroyed. It is not, then, for us to les sen the value to the allied cause of its demoli tion. Still we must caution the nation against exaggerating its importance With the taking of Sevastopol the war only in reality commences. Russia is not humbled. Her power is not broken. Her gigantic might still lies almost unscathed Her powers of aggression are, it may almost be said, unimpaired. Her barbarian hordes are still in the reserve of her immeasurable planes, ready to be precipitated upon Europe; whenever Europe js divided or weakened enough to be incapable o’ resistance. Her frontier is still un assailable by j hostile armies, and in the gloomy recesses of her ! impenetrable domains her statesmen still plot that i dark conspiracy against the libcities of the world which is the policy of Russia. What is to be the next move ? \Ve do not now speak of manoeuvres in the Crimea. If there are to be such, they blit a little longer protract the hour when the allied powers must determine upon some course of action very different from storm ing a fortress in a remote angle of the Russian territory. We suppose the Russians driven from the Crimea —wc suppose the whole peninsula in the undisputed possession of the French and Eng lish armies—what then ‘ The question may seem strange to those who believe that after such disasters Ru-sii will sue fur peace. This was the delusion under which this war was originnllv undertaken. Lord Aber deen deemed that a demonstration -the appear ance of a fleet in the Baltic, the knocking down a few miserable walls at Bomorsund. or tbe shelling a few houses at Odessa—would bring the Russian government to their senses. Just ns miserably de ceived are they who now expect that the conquest of the Crimea, even were it complete to morrow, will have the smallest effect in forcing Russia to yield. Most assuredly it will not. Her strength lies in her enormous power of endurance. Russia cun tolerate and grow strong upon a thousand de feats. The burning of Moscow did not quell her. We question if the destruction of St l'etersburgh would do more than compel her court to retire in to those fastnesses in which the very distance to he travelled would he the protection against an invading foe. This may seem a disheartening picture of the contest in which wc are engaged. We believe it nevertheless to he a true one Let us ask then when the Crimea is conquered an<l Russia makes no sign of yielding a safe and honorable peace, are those who guide the destinies of England pre pared for the next move ? There lies Russia, strong in her passive resistance, secure In the very extent of her territory. She may. or she may not, in the spring send down fresh hordes to attempt to reinvest the Crimea, always supposing we have takeu it from her hands. We may drive them back, but we lire only at the point where we arc now. It is time that we should ponder on ttie questions—For what arc wc to contiuue’tho war ? How are we to continue it ? We believe it a mere delusion to continue that war in the hope that’ by any amount of success we may gain, we wil 1 drive Russia, to the terms of a secure pence. This Is the death struggle for Rus sin’s policy—a policy which she will only surren der with her life. If the war is to be pursued at all, it must he pursued with a different object.— 1 We must take with the strong arm material guar antees, and with the strong arm we must keep 1 them. We must reduce the territory of Russia !by war and not by negotiation. If we posses# the | Crimea we must not wait for conditions of peace to altocate it. We must raise up a-nation free from Russian tyranny. Our future blows at Rus- I sia must be actual separations of territory from ‘her empire. Ouronly effective movement in the Baltic must be to declare und make Finland ftce j from her yoke. Really to assail her on the shores of the Euxine and the banks of the Danube we must reclaim from her to freedom the soil upon which we can erect a free confederation of emanci pated tribes. If we assail her in Central Europe we must win back her portion of the plunder of Poland, and in defiance of her armies make at least the Grand Duchy of Warsaw an independ ent State. But this will never he done in articles of peace. It must he done by war and in war.— I The movement of armies must become realities in the territorial distribution of Europe. We hear that fora war like this our ruler# *re not prepared There will prohably he many who will think us too bold in the enunciation of these view s We are not advocates of a war of terrilo- * rial aggression, even upon Russia but we foresee that in the long run it will lie found that it is the only war which we can wage upon Russia with , the slightest hope of lasting succe-s. We have no J faith in the influence of demonstrations or the i effect of disasters in forcing terms of penre. No ■ succession of defeats will extort from her eondi tions that will leave Europe really safe from her ambitious designs—we must seize by force and re tain by force material guarantees The phrase, j by the way, is one of Russian origin . in its inven- j tion she betrayed tbe secret of her advance, arid taught to Europe the nature of the only security . she can estimate. It was not by insisting for trea ties. but by seizing on provinces that her empire lias been extended. By the same process lies pow er must be driven hack, We would ask of those who may dissent from these views, one question: Suppose the Crimea'in our possession, and that Russia still nlistiiiateiy refuses all safe terms ot peace, whatv then, should he the next move ot the allied powers f Salt River- Not having of late years mademany trips up this famous stream, our present passage lip nf I'nhis some novel scenes. The last time we made the voyage iii a National vessel, was aboard tbe good o|d-hip Whig, Henry ('lav Captain. Be ing well satisfied with onr quiet location nt the head-quarters, and tiled of t lie swamps and shift iug qua ks sands ot the lower parts ot the river, we were not disposed to serve under the captains who, with various success, attempted the pass ~,,, down, until vve were’ like a multitude ot othets. bamboozled to enlist under Cobb, and cani'c down tbe river on a raft, named tbe “Georgia I’l.alform,” we re ascended again on’ the same craft under the command of the gallant Jenkins This year finds it; going up again un the Baik America, Andrews < ’-upturn, and we-not me in neb ; change ill the scenery, but more especially in the craft that Mow navigate the river. When vve were first acquainted with its navigation only two regular packets ascended and descended al ternately, now its surface is covered with a i im mense number of little boatsinost of them mann ed bv small and insignificant crews, but the cap tains strut over I licit narrow quarter decks and give the word of laumn.and with as much impor tance as though they commanded thousands.— < tecasionallv one is seen paddling his own canoe regardless off’ others. These small frv are very ant to get into eddies with which the liver is be set, and arc w hilled round till they cannot tell w het her they tire going up or down stream, <u the light hand from the lett ; the consequence of these circumvolutions isti sudden change of sides. It’any one of these* icceives help in his distress from any of bis fellow voyagers be most gener ally euts loose from them when lie finds lie can go bv himself, and lh<it turns loimd and shows his gratitude by assailing them in choice Billings < in onr vnvngo up this time we met the same Algerine < ‘oiair, “Fire Eater,” which ascetidi-il. the rivet in 1 851, and came down in 185.1. she Inis been newly painted over and varnished, a new crew shipped in addition to the former one her old name whitened over, (though it is still legible under the thin while-wash.) a lid the won! I tcinoeraev painted upon if. Her tudder was made out of a stolen plank of the Georgia I'lat fenn. She was gaily decorated with the flags of all nations, among which we looked in vain for the Stats and Stripes. Her approach w as her alded by an uncommonly strong smell of Soiir- Crout and liidi wliUkey and by a babel of cries in all languages. Her commander lav upon the quarter dec almost insensible, being afflicted with a grievous fit of indigestion from having swallowed some of his own words, uttered a gainst the Georgia l’latforin and its builders.— j Beside him stood a portly Bishop in full pontiff- j cals, muttering pater Hosiers, w Idle a Jesuit gr. as- ■ ei'i bill) with holy oil, and rubbed it in with a eohh. With such matter on his stomach, his ease seemed desperate. There were some old, familiar faces among the crew looking w ild and seared tit the strange companionship they found themselves in, and we noticed someoldcomrades of ’52, whose look* said as plainly as FaUtaff words could sav, “If I am not ashamed of my j company, I'in a soused gurnet.” All soils of vutuperation and oaths in the ; tongues of jilt nations assailed ns upon our ap proach ; Burly John Bull devoted ns, and his own eyes to perdition. The Dutchman swore, by elonrur and hlitztn, the Frenchman capered and saerc ed, w hile vivacious I’addv, liitinoroiis in his eiuirtv. gave ns a specimen of his native eloquence in this wise, “Feaylett /Julian, ye spal peens! (Jlat the way fin’ the Dimici'ats! and ye’ll curse the l’ope, will ye ? Arrah, we'll Ining ye to your knees yet, ye Inivtliius, and make ye shorten h:s Holiness’ toe nails wid y,cr teeth, we will ! Will somebody lind inetlie loan of abrick bat, ?” and in default of Iris favorite weapon lie hurled a line Irish potato at us which fell short of the mark. If anybody thinks we treat too lightly the late solemn occasion of the sound ttirashmg'ltio American 1*; rty got from the Democrats. e can only sav that it is as well to laugh as mourn over it. We are not going to hunt up the rea sons for our defeat or to to write lachrymose ed itorials about it. We have been soundly thrash ed and that’s enough.— Wilkes Republican. Why may no*l too? —‘Father,’ sai! a young, man once, to a patriarch of the mountains, who is still living (after being told tliat he must not go with a half a dozen idle fellows, who had come to invite him) —‘father, why is it that you deny me those privileges which other parent*, grant so readily to their sons of iiv ilge?’ ‘Da vid,’said the father, after lifting up ami leaning Ins head upon the top of Ills hoe handle, T have lived much longer is ibis woild than you have, and I see danger which you little suspect. These young men are in a bad way. Such habits of idleness, and this going about to frolics and horse races, will ruin them. You will see. if you live,’ that some of them will get into tlie Suite's Pri son, by and bv, ami it is well if they do not-come to the gallows. These’are my reasons for wish-: ing you to have nothing to do w ith them.’ Di- 1 vid was satisfied. Years rolled away. These young men soon spent their patrimony, and tell | into dissipated habits. From step to step they Editor and Proprietor went on, til! the prediction of the patriarch wa# literally fulfilled. Two or three of them were sent to the State's I‘ri‘oti, and one at least, M hanged.— l>r. Ifiirn/ hrnj. What a Nf.vv.scapeh does without Re,ward. —The result of my observations enables me to state as a fact, that publishers of newspapers are more poorly rewarded than any other claM of men in the United Stales, who invest an equal amount of labor, capital and thought. They lire expected to do more service for less pay, to stand more sponging and “dead-heading,” to puffand defend more people, and sorts of peo ple, without fee or hope of reward, than any other class. They credit w ider and longer J get oftctier the victim of misplaced confidence, than any nth r culling in the community. People pay a printer’s bill more reluctantly (ban any other. It giies hauler with them to expend a dollar on i valuable newspaper than ten on a useless gew gaw; yet even body avails himself of the service# of i he‘editor’*’ and the printer's ink. How many ptolessioual and political icputati>*ns and fortune# have In ell created and sustained by the flierdly, though unrequited peii of tha editor? ll* w iii t n v end a v o tow n and cities have been brought into notice and pulled into prosperity by the press? How many railroads now in successful upera'ioii, would have foundered but for the ss sistanie of the ‘level that moves the world;’ in insshit,n t, bat branch of American industry or activity has not-been-promoted, stimulated and defended liV tbe press j And who has tendered it more than a misera ble pittance for its in igjitv services ? 1 lie bazars of fashion and folly, the haunts of appetite and dissipation, are tluoiiged with an eager crowd, beating gold in their palms, ami the commodi ties tln-ie vended are sold at enormous profits, though intrinsically worthless and paid for with scniptih ns piiiutinditv ; while the counting room of the newspaper is llie seal of jewing, cheapening. Hade, orders and pennies. It i# made a point of honor to liquidate ft gfrojjr in!l. but not, of dishonor to repudiate a printer’# lull. — ('Urelund Ltdgrr. Tin. * ‘attkkwisui Uailuoad.— The reporter of ihi‘ I'lnl.iih lpliiii Bulletin turtii>lien the follow* mg first rate notice of the mentioned Rail* road. It is fiotn the liioulli of Ti gentleman in* t crested iti an opposition line — the words being addressed to a traveller : ■ “tintteiwiser! Have you ever travelled on the CallerwiSer road !” “No, sir !’* said the old ; gentleman, looking rather surprised. “Don’t I lien,” said he, “if you believe in a hereafter— j don’t do it unh ss your life's insured—if I wna Agent of a Life Jnsnraiiee v ompanv, I'd put in to eveiy policy, that every man who travelled on the * ‘alterwiser road should pay five per tent ex tra, Did ve ever see the Caller w iser t” “No sir,” said the old gentleman. “Well, I'll tell ye how it is; they’ve gathered up all the sharp curve*, and long liridm, and high 11 esfie w.ak, and strep jjrarles on all the road, in tln* l ulled Slates as an il/ustrat on of what a Ibiihoad tin /re. Hut there's one advan tage ahoni the ('alterwiser, that's a Havin’ of ~ht If. roye. it winds round just like a snake, and w hen t lie ( ondtietor w ants to speak to the Engi neer he jt*st roes out to the himicr eend of tbo hind ear, and that brings him where he ran shake hands with the En gi neer, always. Yea sii r> e, there never was anything like themcurvet ; —there’s a plat eon the mail railed Riligtotra, , because llio road after describin’ a circle cornea round to the same place. I was goin’ on it the oilier day, when we come to that ar’ place I seed an engine coinin’ smat k into the hind car. I j thought it l longed toanother train, but it turn- I ed out to be the lornnfotivc of our train coinin’ , round like a cat after it's owfi tail, and the tlilfi cutty was, that they’d put on st> long a train that it went round tlm hull ring, and nothin’saved us but reversin’ the engine. There is one other ad vantage, si ranger, in the Catterwiser, ye never j need a doctor, they bridge right up the mountain usin’ the little ones for ’hutments, and the onljr level place is light on lop of the mountain, ao if ye do run off the track, ycr smashed up so that one man cannot he told from another.'’ A X A MEKICAK fcATDV TO BF. QcKF.N OF NaPLES. —li is rumored that Louis Xu|x)leoii and sires to put hi- cousin, Lucieti Murat, a few years ago a planter in I lot id i. on the throne of Naples. Mur at is a good nil til ed person, hut has neither en j orgy nor wit ommgit to make a king ill times like these. He has, however, one great advan tage to bark him, which no king in Europe can ! bmg of. for be bus a Yankee wife, and she is not only a handsome woman still, but has intellect, energy, and decision enough to keep her husband , oil the thro lie without the aid of a police. What a novelty 1 A genuine Yankee lady transformed into a r -gular Queen, and Queen of Naples, too, the lovliest spot in the world — not more famous I for its Vesuvius and Pompeii than its umivalled inacearoiu and soup. This may lead, if she gels there, to the tiaal settlement of this inextricably Italian problem — for Ly making the late Mr*. Murat, late of Florida, and now a princess at Paris, Queen of Naples and Empress of Italy, we may sec, at Ica-l, this beautiful land restored to content ami harmony, for the republican parly would !: satisfied to see a Yankee in |x>wer, while the royalists would make no objection as long as she was an Empress To Pkkskkve Smokeo Meat.—How often are we disap|M>ihted in cur liojk-s of having sweet hams <!11■ in ir tip; summer i After carefully cur ing and smoking. and then sewing them up in cotton hag*, we tile I tl.at either the fiv ha* com* inenceil a tainily in our hams, or that the choicest parts round the hone are laiuted, and the whole spoiled. Now this ran Imj easily avoided hr packing them in pulverized charcoal. No matter, how hot the weather, or how thick the Hies, ham* will keep quite a* sweet as when they were packed for years. The preservative quality of charcoal will keep them till the charcoal itaelf will de cay. Hotter, too, put in a clean crock and •mound ed hy pu'veiized charcoal, will uot become ran cid. *> “It is strange,” muttered a young man as be 1 staggered home from a supper parly, “how evil Communications corrupt good manners—l have , been surrounded by tumblers all the evening, and ’ now lam a tunj bier myself.” NUMBER 46