Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

Till’ SOUTHERN SENTINEL Is published every Thursday Morning, IX COLUMBUS, GA. BY WILLIAM H. CHAMBERS, KDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. To whom all communications must bo directed, post paid. Ojjice on Randolph Sired. Terms ol Subscription. One copy twelve months, in advance, - - $2 30 “ “ ’ •• “ Not in advance, -3 00 . •* six “ “ “ - 130 ; txT Whore tin* subscription is not paid during the j year, 13 cents will be charged for every month'sdelay. No subscription will be received lor less than six mouths,and none discontinued until all arrearages are paid, except at the option of the proprietor. To Clubs. Five copies twelve mouths, - $lO Ten “ “ “ * - * WW \xT Tlte money from Clulis must in all cares ac company the names, or the price of a single subscription wdl be charged. ( Rates- ot AtlurtUsing. On, fyst J? Each suliseoi out ill “■TiTtHl^ A liberal Heduction on the-, emis will lie * n i%or of tliise who advertise by the year. V.. , AA-crfi sements not specified as to time, wi¥ I,je P Mt> ” ; lishi-d lit forhiil, and enarj(t‘d iccordingly. \ . . Mon til y Advertisements will be charged as r’" v -*' d ” vertiseid-nts at eacli insertion- I Legal Advertisements. \ N. | -s.'j:iles V 'df’ Lands, by Administrators! j' x ’ cctit’ irs,"rG>dardinns,are required by law to he hc%j”. ‘’■ l the lirsfTi.ie.sd*y in tin- month, between the hours w in t!).-(Krenoon and 3 in the afternoon, at the CtA ,lrt House nt the county in whieh'he land is situated, r. ’ tiees of ihese sales must be even in a puhlte ga* eue sixty days previous to the day ot sale. Sales of Neorof-s must be nade at a public anr-lion on the first Tuesday ol the month, between th > ‘ 1 limirs of sale, at the place of piblic sales m the eo.ndty where the Letters Te-tameritaiv, ot Admin: fratuei j • Guardianship, may have been gianted, hrst emn .-sT’ revs notice thereof in oncot thi public gazetU'sof fliw State., and at the door of the Cotrt House, vs here sjm.lt “NSf^,“tofr.r,o„,irro, r , r U.^n in like manner FottTV pays prevKUs to the da> “ \ Notice to the I> htora and Orchtors of an estate be published forty days. , r ,X, i Notice that application will te made to the < ( “rt ‘ i Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published Lij j ’ °Notii-c N for leave to Sell Negrois must he nubhdied lor V rout months, before any order absolute s'e he made tlii'rooti bv tin* i ourt. . . Citations for letters of Administration must he pub ti.sl.ed THIRTY DAYS—for dismissHn from ho. ciu-tn.tjon monthly six months—tor dismission fiom Guardian, hip, * ‘ iTi i.i’sVor the foreelosurc of a Mortgage must he pub lished monthly for FOUR months—for establishing 10-t , papers, for the FUl.t. space ot three aio.nths tor <> i pefling titles from Executors or Ad.n.n.-trators, h;r.- a Bond Ttas been given by the deceased, the fli.R si a to 1 hiblieations will a!wavs be continued according to these legal recpiireinents, unlessotheiwise ordered. SOUTHERN SENTINEL Job Office. HAVING received anew and eitensive assortment of Job Material, we are prepared to execute at this office, all orders for JOB Y\ ORK u a man nu-which can not he excelled in the State, on very liberal turns, and at the shortest notice. .- f We feel confident ol our ability to rive entire suti-tac tion in .-very variety of Job Printing, including Hooks, Business ('arils, Pamphlets, Hill Heads, ( 1 Ireulars, Blanks of cnry description, Hand Bills, Bills of Hading, Posters, <Spc. djre. S^e. descriptions otTrintingwhieh can Ire cx- VOL. I. _ • ; ‘sM.-, [From the Model American Courier.] LOO K , LO O K WITII IN . BY G. ZEI.OTE3 ADAMS, Look,look within, thou man immortal. When like a spectre,gaunt and grim, Athwart the Future’s opening portal. Life’s sorrows east their shadows dim ! Look.look within! —The land Hlysian— The land of song, lies in the breast ; The lreauteous world of Love's sweet Vision, By holy hopes and memories blest! Look, look within I —There ire the treasures, That take no iinretumingwing— The mind’s bright thoughts its golden pleasures, That bide through Heav n’s eternal spring ! Look, look within! —Themcld of glory Is centred in the death Us soul; Thy conquests there shal weave a story, To live while endless iges roll! Look, look within, wliei faint and weary ! In worldly thing- it patters not, Though bright the wold may ho. or dreary, If hut thy heart uphaideth not. Look, look within! nd gird thy spirit, Nor languish on lie’s thorny road ; ’Tis such who nohlydo inherit The praise of iflK, the smiles of God ! Mississippi, IS3O. ■ (From Graham's yagazine for January, 1351.] CHRISTIAN LACY. a tali; or the salkm witchcraft. EYG. T. R. JAMES. CHAPTER I. Close to tlie Vend of a small cove running | from tin* waters of the Merrimac about a quaiter of a tniV uj> into tlie country, and on the right hank of that fitse river, sat a party of three men r. i an early autumn night in the year 1(501. The cove lies at the distance of somrtwsavcn o” eight miles from Haverhill, and ahotre it. on the course of the stream; anti as gently tint intt> the broader waters oßuc rivi/r, it forms a sort of allev | for the heYwem hanks still thicklv | wooded, hyjwliij-ii tin broad sheet of the | larger stream can he i-ached. On the ‘light of v, licli I spetik, no moon was in tire si v ; hut he stars were shining overhead with that peculiar look of lustre and mat: itnd< so sold,ln soon on tlie eastern side of the Alanlic; ;pid their light was quite sufficient o aflbrd.'a sparkle here and there trjthc ripfies of the Merrimac, while the cove itself lav darkllikc a black abyss, under /he thick v covered branches that Tie cliirpl.of the tree-cricket ml the ••res of all the many u: 3|| I'll’!:: -ml .11 •. had : Ik K ‘VV-'-W BfeuS H ■H ■ Hr* H ■’ . . | y-ffn vs •’ j I K ■I ■ K H B Wm ■ H |H H B B ■ , : j~A ;H: 4 > J - B ‘’ ‘■/c ; S H B R I H B B B B 1 elder of the three, “ they tell me there is dis cord in your village; the minister at war with his people—the pastor with his Hock, l How is this? It should not he. Amongst a God-fearing and testifying people, there should he nothing hut harmony. But the fathers have departed to their rest, and the | children will not walk after their way, I fear, it is sad to think that not one of those who led ns forth from bondage in the evil | times, is left to guide and admonish us now.” “ Ah, this will all pass away,” replied the ; younger man. “ Master Harris is a godly and a powerful man, though somewhat over fond, mayhap, of this world’s goods; hut he will be taught that love will do more than law with the people of Salem village, and j then all will he quiet again. Nothing will i come of it, he you sure.” Little did that young man know what aw : fill results would folk w the incidents of which lie spoke, or how deeply they would affect him and his. The third man, however, then took up the conversation, catching at one word which one of the preceding speakers had used. “ Evil times you say, Father Giles, ’ he ex claimed. “I am*stire these are evil times enough. Are we not troubled with wars, op pressed with taxes, inf sted by heathen savages, a prey to wild beasts ? and is; not the Prince of the power of the air , strong amongst us, seeking whom he may on- : snare? Nav, has he not ensnared many to become his mere bond-servants and subjects?” j “ -Nay, 1 know not that he has been more ; successful in that than he ever was,” replied the elder man; “there have been witches and wizards in till times who hound them selves to the enemy, foreswore their alle giance to God, and gave themselves over to Satan. But hitting the case which appeared in the good city of Boston, in the year of grace sixteen hundred and eighty-eight, just ; three years ago, come the fourteenth of this month, l have not heard of such infernal do ings in these parts for a long while.” “And who discovered it in eighty-eight ?” asked the other ; “ who but. that pious and learned man, Cotton Mather? Well, read what he says about w itchcraft, and how pre valent it is. Does he not tell us that we are surrounded on every side with evil beings, that we see not nor can discern ? Does he not say that, ii all the spectral appearances and molestations o! evil angels, and tricks of necromancy, and bodily apparitions of Satan and his imps, could he collected and re counted, that are daily'and nightlv going on, all righteous and godly men’s hair would stand on end with horror ?” “ Nay, Heaven forbid that such things should he so common,” replied the elder of the three. “ I cannot think God would per j mit the enemy to have such power. That there are, and have been, and always will he, unhappy wretches who give themselves over, body and soul, to God’s enemy and man’s, there can he no doubt; but they are always of the wicked, who seek to do evil to others, to inflict pain, or bring misfortune. By their fruits ye shall know them ; and I can : not think there are many such amongst a ! God-fearing and righteous community like ours. A pious life cannot conduct to such an end, and when I look about and think of all the people that I know, [ do not believe I could put my finger upon one who has tyit the truth of God at heart, and is not armored against all the power of the enemy.” “ Aon cannot tell, Giles—you cannot tell,” replied the other; “it is not given you to see into people’s hearts. Can not Satan himself appear as an angel of light? Many whom you think pure and holy, babes of Grace, may he all foul w ithin, whited walls, children of perdition.” “ 1 say, Roger, it would take a great deal j to sanctity your vessel — of the scent ofi whale-oil, I mean,” replied the youngest of .the three with a laugh. “When I went on j hoard of her last week, I am sure there must have been blubber still in the hold.” “Notan ounce,” cried the other indignant ly, “ she is as clean and sweet as a rose-hud.” ; “ Well, I was obliged to hold my nose,” answered the young man, “ and if all rose- I buds smell like that, let me lie quit of a flow er-garden. But tell ns something more of these witches—how shall one know them ?” “ Ay, that is difficult to say without trial, for which you and I have no commissions, John. They are for the most part, I have heard, old women, withered up and wrinkled with—” “ ‘The devil must have a queer taste, then,” replied John Proctor, “ Hush! thou art profane, hoy,” said Giles, sternly, and the other, whom they called Ro gor, went on, saying— “ Fools speak before they hear. I was about to toll you that they are generally i withered and wrinkled up with their own malice and evil designs, long before age would have so touched them. Satan chooses his temptations well, lad, and suits them to those ho has to deal with. To youths he may present women and strong drink. To girls gauds and fine clothes, and other vani ties—to others gold, or power, or the pamper ing of the belly—and to the old and canker ed, the disappointed and the spiteful, he may (offer means of tormenting and disquieting lothers. By every one whom he can lead lover to his accursed flock, he gains more and ■nore power over the rest of mankind. So Reware, lad, for be you sure this great ene- , ny is even now abroad, and more active and Howerful than ever. Hark! was not that a ■top ?” B All instantly started upon their feet and j their guns, looking in the direction which the speaker had turned himself, however, was apparent, and no sound was heard for a minute or two. man, “ or else it was a witch who lias herself away.” might he either.” replied the other ; “ hut 1 would have sworn that 1 |HI a light step fall upon some withered K.” pine cone falling from the trees,” said Proctor. |B^H r almost at the same moment the other raSßok. look ! There it goes like a shadow. ■IBB by the creek side. There, there! mg the little gh aut upon the w;.T. BpgHire the eyes of his two companions ■SHBatch ffif object he beheld, it had dis- amongst the tree-, so suddenly. o ’ ~ ’ 1 ’ ”* •'•'•••’ : whether it V.title corpufeal - ere ectre from tie COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 20, 1850. shadows. All calm conversation, however, now ceased. The men remained standing round the fire, alternately listening, gazing ! round them, and exchanging a few words of inquiry and observation, for nearly an hour and a half, looking anxiously for the light of the first morning ray, which they knew could not he very far distant. \t length the youngest of the three said in a low tone—“l wonder Christian Lacy has not returned. He said lie would be hack by three.” “Perhaps he has thought it better to wait for dawn,” replied Giles; “and if I mistake not, by God’s blessing the air is growing lighter. Think you not so, Roger?” “Ay, ay!” answered the other, “day is breaking, and glad enough I am of it.” Two minutes more had not passed, when from a considerable distance was heard the report of a gun, and John Proctor exclaim ed— “ That’s Lacy’s shot. He has brought down something, I will warrant. He never misses his aim, good lad. He will soon he here.” They waited for near an hour, but the young man they expected did not appear. It had then become broad daylight, and thinking he might have missed his wav, they shouted loud to guide him, their apprehensions of the Indians having vanished with the darkness. No answering shout was returned, and, af ter a short conversation, they shouldered their weapons and set out in the direction from which the sound seemed to come. The morning sunlight was gleaming bright and beautiful through the many-tinted trees, and every color that dyes autumn’s holy day robe was upon the leaves ; from the yellow of the golden streaks of dawn to the crim son of the sun’s last rays upon the Western clouds. The gleaming river, too, was all gorgeous in the pageantry of light, reflecting skies, and trees, and mottled hanks from its liquid mirror, and still the sky changed its hues ■ like a dove’s breast as the sun rose, and the deep blue shadows of hill and forest wander ed along from the West to the North west, becoming shorter as they went. The three men searched long and shouted loud, hut for a considerable time they heard no reply ; and they began to entertain se rious tears for their young companion’s safety. At length, however, John Proctor ex claimed—“ Hark ! there is a moaning sound comes from the bank—down there beyond the trees. Listen, listen!” They all paused as he spoke, and the next moment, with a pale cheek and eager eye, he bounded across the little open spot on which they stood, pushed his way through some trees that fringed the hank of the Merrimac, and swung himself down to a spot where a little hare point jutted out into the water, giving a view of a neat, if not splendid country house, and some cultivated grounds, in a bend of tlie river about a mile and a half distant. A low shrub or two and a single group of graceful hemlocks were the otdv vegetable things that covered the point. All the rest was sand or stone. But what was there upon it besides? All lying close together were what seemed the corpses of three persons. The fivst, over which John Proctor had nearly stumbled, as he sprang down the hank, was that of an In dian, painted and dressed for battle. He was dead enough, for a musket ball had gone right through his heart. A gun, discharged, had dropped from his left hand, apparently as lie fell ; hut in his right he held a long, peculiar sort of knife. A step beyond this grim sight were the other two persons —one, a young man, per haps twenty years of age —he could not he more—lay partly on his side, partly on his back, with a gun still tightly grasped in his hand, and a stream of blood flowing from his right side. He was a handsome youth, tall, powerful, and well made, with a fair and somewhat boyish face. His hat had fallen off, and rolled a little distance, and his long, fair, curly hair was dabbled with his own blood. Cast upon his bosom, with her face press ed upon his neck and shoulder, was a beauti ful young girl of sixteen or seventeen years of age, and her white garments were also all stained with gore; but it was not her own. “Merciful father!” cried old Giles, as he came down the bank, and saw this sad spec tacle, with his younger companion, John Proctor, gazing at it sternly. “Why, this is poor young Lacy, and, as I live, Mistress Alice Wainwright,” “To he sure it is,” replied J ohn; “what did he volunteer to come here for, hut to guard her father’s plantation and house ? because he knew that the savages have a spite at the bluff old captain, and had heard, as we all did, that they were prowling about. But how she came here, poor thing, I cannot tell. Help me to take her up, Roger; she is living, as you may hear her moaning.” M hen they raised her, they found that she was not only living, hut uninjured, except by the wound that rarely slays at once—sorrow. That, however, had nearly driven her’dis tracted. They then tried to take the gun from the hand of young Lacy ; but in doing so, with a sensation of jov and hope indescribable, his friend, John Proctor, felt the fingers of the still warm hand clasp more tightly upon the gun-stock, and he exclaimed: “He is alive yet! he is alive! Help mo here, Roger, to stop this blood. We mav save him yet.” A strange wild scream hurst from the lips of Alice Wainwright, and she fell back, faint ing again, on the bosom of the old man who wits supporting her. John Proctor gave no heed to her. Busy with his friend, he stripped off his neckcloth, and, with a certain degree of rude skill, con trived to stop the stream of blood which was welling slowly but fatally from the young man’s side. He heard the steps of other persons besides his own party come upon the ground, : and eager voices, and many and sad inquiries in anxious tones ; hut he took, or seemed to | take no notice till his task was done. Then, suddenly raising himself, and turn ing round, he said, somewhat sharply : “Ay, Captain Wainwright, this is young Lacy, and that your daughter. If it had not been for him, depend upon it, your house would have been full of Indians, and your self scalped in the gray of the morning; for he came here expressly to watch for you, while we guarded the passage and tlie cove above. Why the young lady came hither, or how, I cannot tell; but for tto harm, lam j sure; for lie is an honest man, and she a good young lady. You can ask her, by and : by, for she is opening her eyes again ; hut just now, if you have anv gratitude or kind ness, let your people carry this poor lad to your house, and send for the doctor over from the fort.” The old officer at once gave the orders re quired ; but, still unsatisfied, he turned to his daughter, while the rest were raising (he young man from (he ground, and said, in a sad and somewhat reproachful tone ; “Alice, why did you come hither?” The poor girl raised her eyes faintly but \ fully to her father’s face, and answered, in a low voice; “Because, I heard his gun, and knew that he was watching over us here all last night. Old Jane brought me word that he would do so, at sundown yesterday.” The father clasped her hand, and kissed her brow, saying: “Good, true girl!” And the sad procession moved away to ward his house. CHAPTER If. It may seem a contradiction of terms; nevertheless, there is such a thing as being a rigid and yet a tender-hearted man. Nothing could he kinder than Captain Wainwright’s conduct to young Christian Lacy, during a long and tedious convales cence from the terrible wound he had re ceived. For many a day the lad hung be tween life and death. Ali questions were for bidden—all conversation—all excitement; and (lie okl officer keeping strict watch that no one should disturb the sick young man, walked up and down the long hall that ran through the middle ot his dwelling, giving iiis orders to the sentries, who now surround ed the house, in a very low and subdued tone, and stopping the surgeon every time he cani” Vo trout the sick room, to inquire “What hope?” But toward his daughter—toward his own child—he showed no such great forbearance. The first intelligence—the first assurance that Christian was not dead—that there was ti chance of his recovery—had re-lighted the lamp ot the heart, for Alice \\ ainweight. Anxious, fearful, she could not help being; hut siill there was an undercurrent of happy confidence—oh, blessed security of youth— which buoyed her up wonderfully. Her father, however, seldom mentioned the youth's name to her—spoke naught when she expected him to speak—shut up his thoughts and intentions in his own bosom, and seemed to have forgotten altogether that she had gone out to seek Christian Lacy, in the early gray of the morning, and that such an act bespoke no common interest in him. It is a sad disappointment, when we have done that which we think must force expla nation and decision—when we have made up our minds to encounter remonstrance, op position, anger, for a great end—to do battle, as it were, for love, or friendship, or convic tion, or enthusiasm —it is a sad disappoint ment, 1 say, to find all our preparation thrown away—no opponent ready to accept the com bat, hut still a dark, adverse cloud hanging upon the horizon, and threatening to fall up on us when we least expect it. Nevertheless, tlie days that followed were ; happy days for Alice Wainwright. Hour I after hour hope grew up and blossomed. — j From the cold, doubtful, warning shake of the head, and the dull, “It is possible,” of j the surgeon, to the warm sound of “A good : deal better,” and the still more cheering “Good hope, good hope, Miss Alice,” and ul- \ timately, “Out of danger, I think,” her poor little heart mounted up a ladder of sweet j sensations, thinking ever that she was near ; the top round of joy. For Christian Lacy, it was enough that he was in the same house as Alice Wainwright. That very feeling did him more good than the surgeon, except in the extraction of the ball. But still, there were matters which made him anxious and apprehensive, as soon as he was strong enough to think clearly of aught hut his own perilous state. lie sent for Captain Wainwright; he begged to speak with him; hut the Captain did not come. He persisted, however; he j sent again and again, so urgently that the old officer at length presented himself, with a very grave, stern face, and told him, in rough tones, to he quiet, and keep himself stili. “The doctor says you must not talk, on any account,” said the master of the house; i “and so, if you have a mind to kill yourself, talk away, young man.” “I must say a few words, Captain Wain- ; wright,” replied Lacy; “for you do not know all.” “I don’t want to know all, or any thing,” i growled the old officer. “But you must hear me for a moment,” ! said the lad, “for your own sake, for Alice’s, ; for mine. The savages have sworn to have i revenge on you and yours, for what you did two years ago, at Nashua.” “Ay, I taught them,” said the old officer, with a grim smile. But the young man con tinued : “I heard of it,” lie said, “from an old wo man, a slave of my mother’s, and was glad to come with the scouts, on that account. — The savages sent out one man to spy whether you were over here or not, and, depend up- j on it, t'l'itgli lie is dead enough, 1 am sure they v. . have tidings, and attack you. Now, your house here is a beautiful place ; hut tlie walls of Haverhill will be safer for both you and Mistress Alice.” “And what is to become of you, if we go?” asked the old officer, abruptly; “the doctor says it would he your death, to carry you a stone’s throw.” “Oh, never mind me,” replied tlie youth, “I shall do well, do not fear. The savages will not come nigh the place when they hear you are gone hack, and you can send someone : over in tlie day, from time to time, to see I have all I want.” | “Pooh, pooh!” said Captain Wainwright, turning away and walking toward the door. : But before he reached it, he stopped and said, j “You are a good lad, Christian, but don’t he afraid; I have had news of the swine as well I as you, and have made all safe. If the red skins come here, they shall have worse than they had at Nashua; for I have men in the house and round the house, enough to pepper their jackets, if tliex- had any to pepper ;” and with a laugh at his own jest he walked away. Before proceeding further, it may be as well to say a word or two of the situation of the ; house in which the wounded youth was lodg ed, and the places adjacent. Haverhill, or Haverhill Point, as it is frequently called to j distinguish it from a place similarly named, at ! some distance, is now a growing town of no j mean importance, containing some thousand 1 inhabitants, and connected with the South i shore of the Merrimac by two handsome j : bridges—if not more. There are banks, manufactories, several churches, and more ! j sects ; and vessels of a hundred tons’ burden and upward, come and lie peaceably between : it and Bradford on the opposite bank, also an | important place. The land, though not the j j richest in the world, is well and generally j cultivated, and no one who sees the scene in ; the present day, could form an idea from its j aspect ot what it was some centurv and a half ago. 1 hen Haverhill was a small village—one ; of the extreme outposts of civilization, with a little rude fort, in which ordinarily dwelt the commandant of a small body of soldiers, a single church, and a population united by ! community of danger and exertion. When j ever the Alloquin or St. Francis Indians thought fit to make a descent upon the Bay State, or Province of Massachusetts Bay, as it was then called, Haverhill was sure to feel their first fury. Xor were these descents infre quent, especially during the time when dis sensions existed between France and Eng : gland ; for the French were the first, and at no time tardy, to employ the fierce and reck less courage of the savages, against their 1 civilized neighbors. As an instance of this, it may be stated that within ten years, to- I ward (he close of the seventeenth and be : ginning of the 18th centuries, Haverhill was three or four times attacked, anil twice plun dered and burned by the Indians. Nevertheless, with the characteristic ener gy and perseverance of the Anglo-Saxon i race, the inhabitants left alive, aided by fresh j settlers, still raised it from its ruins, still spread cultivation around; and at the time I I speak ot, several farms, with neat houses j around them, belonging to Haverhill, ap peared upon the opposite bank of the river, and testified their resolution to subdue the j waste, and make the forest blossom like a j garden. Amongst these was the farm I have mentioned, belonging to the commandant of the place, an enterprising but ill-paid soldier, who thought he might as well employ the abundant idleness of his occupation, when lie was not fighting the French or the Indians, in cultivating a rather fine tract of land on the side of the l iver, which he had received by grant from the crown. The house itself, built by the money which he had received | as the marriage portion of his dead wife, was 1 a very good one for the period ; large, roomy, j and solid; and not without the usual precau ! tions against surprise. The upper stories all round projected over the lower, so that any body of savages approaching to drive in or set fire to the door or windows, could be as sailed from above with a shower of musket balls, which not rarely put them to flight be j fore they cc-uld effect their purpose. The ! I approaches, too, were defended by palisades, 1 and various contrivances for impeding the j advance of an enemy, and now, ten soldiers ! from the fort, with a sergeant at their head. 1 were collected in the dwelling, so that there seemed little cause for fear, though the hostile attitude of the Indians was well known to the commandant. Ilis precautions were sufficient, indeed, and the next month passed peacefully enough. At the end of that time, however, the in- } creasing coldness of the weather rendered it j necessary that the family of Captain Wain wright should remove to warmer quarters in the village. But young Christian Lacy was , now well enough to be moved, and Alice had the happiness of sitting beside him in the boat which ferried them across. It was little she dared say to him, or ho to her, in truth ; for in the stern of the boat sat the Captain himself, with a somewhat gloomy j aspect, and a keen eye upon them. Love has ways of expressing itself, however, without ! words, and their little row across was a plea sant one. loungLacy thought that he might now! very well be allowed to sit up the whole day, | and Captain Wain wright saw he would soon be so, at all events ; but for that dav at least lie sent him to his room immediately after their arrival, and before nightfall, he present- i ed himself suddenly to the young guest. “Now listen to me, lad,” he said, with a grave face, “you will soon he well enough to j go about the house like a tame cat, and vet not well enough to be sent home in this sharp weather. I dare sav you reckon upon a pleasant time of it, and look out to make love to my daughter Alice. But mark me, 1 will have no love-making. I don’t say what may happen ly and hy—l neither approve nor disapprove. All 1 say is, you are both too young to marry; neither I nor your mother can well afford to set you up ; and in the meantime, you must give me vour word there shall be no love-making while you are staying here.” It was a hard demand ; but after a mo ment’s thought, Christian Lacy replied, “Well, I will promise on one condition, Captain. .Now don’t look fierce, for the condition is a small one—only that you will tell dear Alice the engagement you have laid me under, oth erwise she will certainly think it strange that 1 do not make love to her.” Captain Wainwright laughed aloud at the youth’s simple frankness, hut he answered good-humoredl v, “That is fair enough—that is fair enough. I will tell her, and put her under the same bond, too—for girls can sometimes make love to lads as well as lads to them.” The promise was fulfilled on all parts, though, to say the truth, Alice and Christian were sometimes inclined to laugh outright when left alone together, at the padlock put upon their lips, when their hearts were as open to each other as if they had had as . many tongues as Fame, and as full of liberty to iis3 them. However, the time passed on, ■ and Christian Lacy each day grew stronger and stronger, till at length, a sleigh going | over to Salem, took him on his way to his mother’s farm, comforting himself with the thought, “Now I will make love to Alice whenever I meet her. Mv promise is at an end.” [to be coyrixrKD.] A mother having told her little son never to say fat, at the table, but gravy , the : nest day he saw a large man going by, and j exclaimed, “ Mother, there goes a gravy 1 i man.” Indian Colton and the Manchester Commis sion of Inquiry. We are not amongst those who anticipate any very important results—so far as regards an increased and improved supply of cot ton—from the commission of inquiry which certain ot our fellow-townsmen propose send ing out to India; nor do we believe that the report of .Mr. Mackay will suffice to dispel existing doubts on many important questions of Indian government and finance. Many individuals of very high character and of first-rate abilities, who have lived hi Ilindos tan, not throe years merely, but half a life time, have written and given evidence on the government of British India, and especially upon the fiscal system adopted there. But when we come to compare their testimony on any point—say on the influence of the land tax on cultivation—we find them not merely differing widely from, but diametrically oppos ed to, each other; some alleging that the land-t ax operates as a grievous and crushing burthen on cultivation ; others denying that it has the slightest influence on the condition of the cultivator, as it merely diverts into the public treasury a portion of the rent which ! the latter must pay to the land owner whether ; the tax exists or not. It is not unlikely that imAdi of this difference of opinion arises 1 from conflicting views on the nature and or igin of rent, with respect to which political economists are greatly at variance with each other. But until they have settled their va riances. we must be content to put up with very different conclusions on the part of those who have made, or shall hereafter make, the i condition of India a subject of study and in vestigation ; and we do not see any particu lar reason for believing that the researches of Mr. Mackay will make all men of one accord on the subject. He is not likely to gather a more copious or more important body of facts than that which we have alrea dy before us in the evidence of men who had far better opportunities of ascertaining the results of the existing fiscal system of India than be can possibly hope to enjoy; and with all die respect for his reasoning powers, we can scarcely expect him to solve that import ant theoretical question which has occupied, in vain, the minds of some of our ablest ccon j oniirts. M e are, nevertheless, exceedingly glad that ! his mission has been determined on. He will j behold India, its people, and its Government, at all events, from a near point of view; and if he does not see them more distinctly, and j comprehend them more thoroughly, than pre i vions observers, lie is pretty sure to strikeout something which will tend to throw light upon | existing informa'ion, and which, by. chfcful comparison with the statements and opinions of others, may tend to lead popular opinion ; in the right direction. But w ill he show us the way to a better ! supply of cotton ? That is the important j question for the people of Lancashire. In I sooth, we fear he will not, at least within any | such period as the querists would consider at j all satisfactory. If we- are to wait for an in creased supply of that material until his re ports have been completed and discussed, and, by their influence on the British Legisla • ture, and, through it, upon the Government of India, have reformed the system of taxation, ! and improved the means of the Indian ryots, we fear the mills of Manchester will have to j contend with the evils of uncertain seasons ! in the United States for many years to come, j The regeneration of a people pressed down I by bad government and evil social institu ; tions is very slow work, as we see in Ireland; | and we have no reason for thinking that the Hindoo ryot is a much more improvable animal j than the Irish peasant. There arc some parties, indeed, who allege that we cannot, under any circumstances of government or cultivation, expect to receive any considerable supplies of cotton from In dia, because there are certain natural and in defeasible obstacles which must render it impossible. If so, of course, we may as well give the matter up at once, and save the money and the time which are now be stowed upon it. —Manchester Guardian. fleonomy is Due to our Employers. “ Waste not, want not,” is a good old pro verb. “He that is faithful in little is faithful also in much.” A person who takes no care of the materials committed to his hands by his employer, will never duly husband bis own property. Economy .and wastefulness are habits that will influence us in all things, both when we are engaged about our own substance or that of another. To waste an other’s goods is the same as to rob him. The loss in both cases is equal, and the principles from which they spring are very much alike. The man who takes care of his employer’s goods is sure to look after his own, and thus is on the road to prosperity. Jt would be dif ficult to calculate the immense loss of pro perty that every year occurs from careless ness and want of economy. Some persons are worth nearly half their wages more than others, because they never waste nor injure anything. The employer being wealthy, or stock abundant, is no excuse for carelessness. A loss is a loss, and a robbery is a robbery, whether taken from the heap of the miser, or the smaller store of the indigent. “Gather NO. 52. up the fragments that nothing may be lost,” is a divine command. Heaven allows noth ing to be destroyed. There has not been a single drop of water wasted from the creation until now. The decomposed elements of autumn, are the aliments of the following spring. Economy, rigid economy, is one of the laws of nature ; and we shall not realize “ the good time coming,” until we have a careful and economical world. Let this spirit prevail, arid not only will the employer he saved from loss, but, in many instances, the employee will preserve for himself a good situation. 03* A good one is told by an English paper of an old lady who had received a letter from her son, a sailor on hoard a merchantman, which ran thus: “ Have been driven into the Bay of Fun day by a pampoosa right in the teeth. It Mowed great guns, and we carried away the bowsprit, a heavy sea washed overboard tire binnacle and companion ; the captain lost his quadrant, and couldn’t take an observa tion for fifteen days; at last we arrived safe at Halifax.” The old woman, who could not read her self, trot a neighbor to repeat it to her three or four times, until she had got it by heart; she then sallied out to tell the story. “ (), my poor son !” “ Why, what’s the matter, mother? I hope no mischief!” “ O, thank God, he’s safe—but lie has been driven into the Hay of Firmament by a bam boozle right in the teetli—it blowed great guns, and they carried away the pulpit—a heavy , sea washed overboard the pinnacle of the tab i ernacle—the captain lost his conjuration and couldn’t get any salvation for fifteen i days—at last they arrived safe at Hallelujah.” “ La, bless us, what a wonder they wasn’t beat to atoms! Well, I wouldn’t be a sailor.” O’ He who will have no judge but him i self, virtually condemns himself.