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LITERAKY Crusader. PENFIELD, GEORGIA. L. LINCOLN VEAZEY, . v . Editor. THURSDAY MORN ING, FEBRUARY Is, 1858* We would say to “Carrie of Memory Dell,” seud us one of your prose productions, and we will be able to form a more correct notion of your powers than from a composition in rhyme. We will no doubt be pleased to have your contribu tions. We have had some winter at last. On Friday when we first looked out, the trees were covered with ice. It contintfbd sleeting during that day and a portion of the next, though none remained on the ground. At the time of writing, we have clear, beautiful weather. We acknowledge the justness of the complaint made by the “ National American ” in reference to the pieces we extracted therefrom, without credit. It was an unintentional omission. We have suffered no little annoyance from this cause ourselves, and are therefore always willing to make an amende honorable for every such violation of editorial cour tesy. Wk commence publishing, this week, Marian Edgely, a novellette by Mrs. M. E. Bryan, which will be continued until complete. It is a most charming tale; let none fail to give it a perusal. Arthur’s Home Magazine for March contains a beautiful picture of Neapolitan Scenery. The , • editorial article on “ Jessie Brown,” in this num ber, is worth the subscription price for a year, which is only $2,00 a year for a single copy; 4 copies, so,oo. Our Mail Carrier wishes our paper discontinued in order that he may not have to carry it to Greenesboro’. There is a very easy way for him to relieve himself of the trouble. The money which the department pays him for his services could doubtless be more profitably invested. The hardness of the times is much increased by hard hearts. If .“be indulgent; with each other” should be adopted as a motto universally, the financial gale would blow over with but few shipwrecks. “ When a man shows over-anxiety to engage in argument on some subject, you may be sure that he professes something which he does not believe. It is breath spent most uselessly to argue with such a man. lie would never acknowledge him self convicted, did a logical power greater than Locke or Bacon mark your reasoning. He can not be shown that his belief is erroneous, because j he has no belief. A man who lias acquired the ■ habit of doubting everything is not happy and still less wise. * mm t - • ■ Peterson for March is before us. Its fashion j plates, &c. are well gotten up, and it contains j some good reading matter. Price, $2,00 a year; j 3 copies, $5,00. j flThere is an interesting history connected with \ X almost every word in our language, if it could ! be traced. Some have derivations very apparent,, while others are quite as remote. Many of the articles of commerce are named from the coun tries or cities in which they were first manufac tured. Thus, muslin is so called from Mousul, a city of Asiatic Turkey ; calico from Calcutta, in India; nankin from a city of that name in China, and marseilles from Marseilles in France. So also of leghorn hats, cashmere shawls, brussels carpets, damascus swords, and many other things which we might mention. As words, so too of things; everything, however trilling, lias some history, if it could he made known. Apropos of this thought, we have clip- j ped somewhere a rather romantic \ History or a Cannon Bale. —At the commence mcnt of the action on board the President frig- , ate, a ball (an 18 lb. shot,) from the Belvidere j came over the waist cloths of the President, and j such was the force of the ball, that it actually i cut off, without throwing them down, the muzzle : of several of the muskets, (left there by the ilia- ; lines,) from six to eight inches in length, killed j one marine, took off the wrist of one midshipman, Mr. Montgomery ; killed another, Mr. Bird, to- : getlier with the quarter-gunner,and finally lodged upon the deck and was taken below by the narra- ; tor of this, and shown the lieutenant, Mr. Dallas, who took it in his hand and wrote on it with j chalk, “ cousin I have received your present and j will return it again clapped it in the gun him- j self, and fired the piece; and it is a remarkable ; fact that it actually killed several of the officers ‘ and men on board the Belvidere, and finally j lodged in the cabin of that vessel, and was at- j terwards hung un in the Belvidere’s cabin as a j globe during the war. Burr used to say, “I. never put off till to-mor row what I can do to-day, and I never come to a conclusion upon anything to-day, which I can put oft* till to-morrow.” Late actions and hasty judgments have perhaps done more to injure man than any two other faults that could be named. Yet, to both of them are men much addicted, and they are not seldom found to exist in the same individual. Os the dangers of delay, the world has had oft-re peated and most solemn illustrations. A few minute’s procrastination has often changed the whole current of a man’s life, and perhaps en tirely blasted his prospects of success. Some of the greatest failures which have ever happened to individuals or nations have resulted from this ■cause. In great military expeditions it not un frequently occurs that the fate of an army, and of the people for whose defence it is raised, de pends on the proper use of a few moments. The evils arising from hasty decisions of judg ment are not so apparent, but are none the less disastrous. It is a lamentable fact that very tew persons form their opinions with deliberation on any subject. To this cause much of the error abroad in regard to theories and principles is to lie attributed. Men think with precipitation, and then adhere to their notions, be they right or wrong. Hasty resolutions lead to hasty actions, and these are in almost every instance imprudent. There is a vast difference between doing a thing at the right time and doing it in a hurry. Fogyism in the Pulpit has been a fertile sul>- ject for ridicule from the days of the reforma tion up to the present. Indeed, while yet Home held all secular and religious learning interdicted to the common masses by the pontifical keys, Erasmus convulsed all Europe with laughter by * his “ Letters of obscure men.” In these, he ex posed the gross ignorance of those who had set themselves for lights of the world about the most * familiar subjects. No man could be better quali fied to make such an exposure. He had op portunities of becoming intimately acquainted with the weakness and follies of the priesthood, and none could escape his scathing sarcasm. , Great, however, as were the failings and even vices of the Roman clergy, they presented fewer points for tlie ridicule of the common masses than many who succeeded them in Protestant denom inations. In the offices which the Catholic Priest had to perform before the people of his charge, few opportunities w r ere given for the display of individual peculiarities. Every act was done ac cording to prescribed rules, which he was bound to obey. But the Reformation, in disenthralling the human mind from the shackles of religious bigotry, likewise wrought a material change in the forms of public worship. With many of the sects which soon sprang up, every minister w r as free to choose any style and manner he might prefer. That by this the services of the sanctuary lost much of their stately, impressive sublimity, no one can for a moment doubt. About a hun dred years after this, a sect arose in England, characterized by a very eccentric, but to all ap peara ices, a sincere piety. So quaint and un couth were their language, manners and habits, that they became a butt of ridicule for the whole nation. For a while their numbers gave them a political power that raised them above contempt. But nothing could render a sect respectable which considered all learning, not exclusively religious, as a badge of disgrace. It was only when they gave up these false notions and began to act like other people that they began to gain credit for their zeal and piety. But our own country has been more disgraced than any other by religious fogy ism. Here a de nomination of Christians, respectable for number, and in a multitude of instances not wanting in piety, boldly advocated the doctrine that secular learning was not only unnecessary, but a positive crime. The first called of the Saviour were ignor ant rustics and fishermen; and why, asked they, should His followers of the present day aspire to greater wisdom? They remained for many years ice-drafts in the warming current of civilization; but they could not resist its thawing influence. They have now become rare relics of a departed age of darkness. This was religious fogyism. There are, however, fogies in the Pulpit who are not religious fogies. Their principles and doctrinal views may be or thodox, but their tastes once formed in jouth remain unchanged through all the variations of fashion. It would be impossible to convince such an one that anything could be done in a better manner than that in favor of which he has be come prejudiced. It may be uncouth and un becoming ; but he clings to it with persevering tenacity. If he be a man of good sense, he will of course conform externally to the opinions of others. Occasionally we find some headstrong fogy who attempts to take society by the ears and compel a compliance with their antiquated no tions. When such persons are good natured and well meaning, we only pity them; they seldom escape, however, reaping a large share of obloquy. It is to be hoped that the day is near at hand w r hen such men will no longer be lound. Al most every Christian sect is manifesting a lively ; interest in the cause of ministerial education. The absurdity of placing men in the Sacred i Desk who are more weak and ignorant than any of those he is appointed to teach, has become too glaring to be longer tolerated. The church lias been imbued with the progressive principles of the age. Learning, secular as well theological, is now as necessary a requisite for success in gospel ministry as piety. The Preacher who would wield ; an influence in a community must possess, in ad dition to a pure, moral character, talents and at tainments which will command respect. In such a state of things, pulpit fogyism must soon pass away, leaving no relic of its existence, save the mirth-moving ridicule that it once excited. A century may seem but a short period when compared with the sixty that have circled away since our first parent trod the virgin walks of Eden ; yet, if we cast a glance over the events which have transpired within the last hundred years, it will seem a long time. What vast chan ges has it wrought in almost every part of the world ! Just one hundredjjyears ago Europe was lighted up with the conflagration of the seven years-war—the flames of which extended to every part of the habitable globe. The House of Bour bon sat securely on the throne of France, and the reign of her privileged aristocracy seemed likely to be eternal. Spain was then the first kingdom of the earth in wealth and the extent of her do mains, and third only in military prowess. The furred Russian had then peeped little from his northern home; but under the vigorous, though dissolute sway of Elizabeth, was slowly consolida ting that vast strength which he now displays. Lord Clive had just planted the banner of British j | conquest on the shores of India, and was laying the foundation of that splendid Oriental empire. America then lay an untrod wilderness, except | a narrow slip of plantations and a few youthful : towns along the coast. Since that time what a multitude of stirring j l events have taken place! The Stamp Act ; the j : Boston Massacre; the War of Independence, with ‘ its heroic victories, and patiently-borne defeats; the establishment of our Federal Government ; the upheaving of the down-trodden masses of France; the reign of terror ; the beheadment of Louis XVI; the rise of Napoleon—his dazzling, brilliant career; Montenotte, Austerlitz, Marengo, Jena, Waterloo; the re-establishment of the Bourbon dynasty; the trial of Queen Caroline; the rapid growth and expansion of our country into a first-rate power, and a hundred other events pass in review before the mind’s eye. The giants who rose, flourished and fell during that period constitute a lengthy catalogue. The two Pitts, Grenville, Grafton, Junius, Rockingham, Burke, Fox, Sheridan, Castlereagh, Peel, Mira beau, Vergniaud, Robespiere, Henry, Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, Clay, Webster and Calhoun, were the brilliants of the political galaxy. Os warriors, there were the brave Wolf and the no less gallant Montcalm, Clive, Hastings, Hyde, Ally, Washington, Greene, Clinton, DeGrasse, Napoleon, Murat, Nelson, Wellington, Blucher, , Decatur, Jackson and Scott. Os distinguished authors, both prose and poetical, the list is almost innumerable. There were Johnson, Goldsmith, Boswell, Coleridge, Campbell, Southey, Scott, Bryan, Wadsworth, Allison, DeStael, Mrs. Hemans, Dwight, Barlow, Irving and Tennyson. These are only a few of the scenes, events and characters which the last hundred years have seen. We might write on this theme for days, weeks and even months, and yet the half would be untold. v The Dearest Scot on Earth. —The following little ballad was sweetly sung, by Miss Anna Kemp, at Thalberg’s concert, with great ap-! plause: The dearest spot on earth to me, Is home, sweet home ; The (airy land I’ve longed to see, Is home, sweet home ; • There how charmed the sense of hearing, There where hearts are so endearing, All the world is not so cheering, As home, sweet home. j I've taught my heart the way to prize, My home, sweet home ; I’ve learned to look with lover’s eyes, On home, sweet home; There where vows are truly plighted, There where hearts are so united, All the world besides I’ve slighted, For home, sweet home. Daily Paper in China. —A daily newspaper, called the Daily News, has been started at Hong Kong by Dr. G. M. Ryder. This is the first daily paper that has been published there. “ Before marriage, expect great ease and little cross es ; after marriage, greater crosses and less ease.” The Ice Crop. —A dealer at Woburn, Mass., is cut ting ice which is from ten to eleven inches thick, and se curing at the rate of 1,500 tons per day. A Boston firm has contracted for 8,000 tone at Bath, Maine. Onward ! There is a volume of eloqyence in that word —powerful as any strains that ever fell from the lips of Tully. It awakens all the inner emotions of the heart and arouses them for action. It falls like a heated fire-ball on the glowing zeal of the spirit and kindles it into a wild blaze of enthusiasm. The world ceases to be a dreary lump of marl, fitted up for the soul to agonize and the frame to toil, and becomes a bright scene for conquest and victory. Onward! With what fearful grandeur it falls upon the soldier’s ear who proudly treads the ground that ere an hour has passed may be his gory bed of death ! The sweet memory of the past is swept from his mind; the bright pictures of hope which fancy touched bright are withdrawn from his gaze; the present, the living, active, stir ring present only absorbs his whole thought. No time to indulge fond reveries of departed joys or coming glories. Onward! the voice of command bids him to the bayonet’s point or cannon’s mouth —to victory or to death. When the artillery’s peal has hushed, the smoke has rolled away it* columned wreaths—when hundreds have thought’ of their beloved Argos and died, he calmly won ders at the strength that sustained him amid the terrific uproar. Onward! w T e hear it in afar different, lmt not less inspiring, scene. The low Macedonian wail has come across the waters and fell, like the tongue of an angel, trumpet-toned, upon a sympathetic ear. “Friends, connexions, happy country,” are all resigned and laid with a cheerful smile upon the altar of duty. The blue billows are crossed, the soil his infant feet once trod left far behind, and he stands an exile and a stranger on a for eign shore. Does his heart falter and his pulse grow still? No! his watchword still bursts from his unblanched lips in all its eloquence. Onward! It is the watchword of the world. With steady, never ceasing tramp, march “the innumerable host that move to take their cham bers in the silent halls of death.” And thus we all go onward to death—to the grave—to eternity. was a fine and true remark, that they who X will abandon a friend for one error, know but little of human character, and prove that their hearts are as cold as their judgments are weak.” They who can do this have never felt oven the first instincts of a noble and generous friendship. This delights to meet the erring one in his course, point out the dangers which he is likely to meet, and softly wipe away the tear of penitence, if one bedews his cheek. Engaged in offices like this, friendship becomes enrobed in a vesture of mor al beauty, which nothing of earth can surpass. It is a Christian virtue, pure and sublime as all must be, that claims this origin. Abandon a friend for one error! Who then could we claim as friends? Fallibility marks, without a single exception, the whole human race. “ All have gone astray ; there is none that doeth good, no not one.” If, then, we should blot out from our list of friends all in whom we find an error, we should soon leave it a blank. One who adopts this rule must cink into the des ponding gloom ol‘ misanthropy and end his days in an anchorite’s cell. There are some errors of a character so heinous that one is sufficient to break every tie of friend ship. But to find a fault of this nature in one wiio before was worthy of esteem, is an event of rare occurence. Great crimes always have step fling stones by which they are approached, and one is seldom attained at a single leap. In almost every case, you may forgive seven times seventy sins ere one be committed of sufficient magnitude to demand your condemnation. Pardon the erring. Words of forgiveness pos sess a sanitive power, and may lead the wander ing spirit back to the paths of virtue and happi ness. - Air-castles. —And so saying, Titbottom lay back upon the ground, and, making a spy-glass of his hand, surveyed the landscape through it.— This was a marvelous book-keeper of more than sixty. I know another man who lived in his Spanish castle for two months, and then was tum bled out head first. That was young Stunning, who married old Bliul’s daughter. She was all smiles, and mamma was all sugar, and Stunning was all bliss for two months. He carried his head in clouds, and felicity absolutely foamed at his eyes. He was drowned in love—seeing, as usual, not what really was, but what he fancied. He lived so exclusively in his castle, that lie forgot the office down town, and one morning there came a fall, and Stunning was smashed. The hills beyond the river lay, yesterday, at sunset, lost in purple gloom : they receded into airy dis tances of dreams and fancy ; they sank softly into night, the peaks of the delectable mountains.— But I knew, as I gazed, enchanted, that the hills, so purple-soft of seeming, were hard, and gray and barren, in the wintry twilight ; that in the distance was the magic that made them fair. So, beyond the river of time that flows between, walk the brave men and the beautiful women of our ancestry, grouped in twilight upon the shore.— Distance smooths away defects, and with gentle darkness, rounds every form into grace. It steak the harshness, from their speech, and every word becomes a song. Far across the gulf that ever widens, they look upon us with eyes whose glance is tender, and which light us to success. We ac knowledge our inheritance ; we accept our birth right; we own that their careers have us to noble action. Every great life is an incent ive to all other lives ; but when the brave heart that beats for the'world loves us with the warmth of private affection then the example of heroism is more persuasive, because more personal. This is the true grade of ancestry. It is founded in the tenderness with which the child regards the father, and in the romance that time sheds upon history. CLIPPED ITEMS. A line may be remembered when a chapter is forgotten, Mrs. Le Vert, of Mobile, has telegraphed to Rich mond, that she has just collected one thousand dollars for the Mount Vernon Association. Mrs. Fogg, of Ten nessee, also telegraphs that she has collected over two thousand dollars. The Saw Mill belonging to Mr. D. F. Bishop, of Cass county, was burned on Saturday last. A large quanti ty of lumber near the mill was burned also. Charles A. Piece, Esq., for some time past editor of the Tuskegee, (Ala.) True Union, died in that town on Monday night last, of consumption. But eleven cases were returned to the February Term of Hancock Inferior Court. So far as we have been able to learn, the dockets in all the interior counties are universally short. The fact is worthy of note. It is said that there were to he a larger number of marriages in England on the bridal day of the Princess Royal, than were ever known to be celebrated in one day before. “I thought you were born on the Ist of April,” said a Benedict to his lovely wife, who had mentioned the 21st as her birthday. “ Most persons would think so from the choice I have made of a husband,” she replied. Take all sorrow out of life, and you take away all richness, and depth, and tenderness. Sorrow is the fur nace that melts selfish hearts together in love. It is not wisdom, hut ignorance, which teaches men presumption. Genius may be sometimes arrogant, but nothing is diffident ns knowledge. Mr. H. A. Livingston, Associate editor of the Neui nan Blade , died at his residence in Newnnn, on the sth inst., of pulmonary consumption. ! A medical student, named Weems, was sliQt and kill ! ed at a ball in New Orleans, a few nights ago, by R, Bond, a lawyer. A true picture of despair, is a pig reaching through a hole in the fence to get a cabbage that is only a few inches beyond his reach. The Charleston Courier, of yesterday, on the author ity of a private telegraphic dispatch, announces the death of Col. Wade Hampton, of Columbia, S. C. This sad event took place on the 10th Instant, at one of his plantations in Louisiana. The body of Col. Hampton is now en route to Columbia. Gov. Joseph E. Brown has appointed Clarence Y r . Walker, of this city, (of the first brigade, of the second division of Georgia Militia,) Aid-de-camp to tho Com mnnder-in-Chief with the rank of Colonel. The State of Ohio has established an asylum for idi ots near Columbus, and has now under instruction, with favorable progress, sixteen pupils. THE RECOMPENSE, - Concluded from Crusader of the \th ivr.t. EY EMSIA EMERALD. CHAPTER 111. “Do not concern yourself about that lady,” he an swered, “ only “tell me that you will place your case in my hands.” *’ “V She remained silent for a moment, and then turned towards the stranger and extended her hand, while her dark eyes were suffused with gratitude. “I will ac cept your offer, sir ; and whether you gain my cause or not, I— * “Thanks, madam,” interrupted the young fnan, raising her hand respectfully to his lips—“ thanks, and believe me, if human agency can assist you, you shall not suffer for the guilt of which you are innocent. When he was gone, the lady pressed her hand to her brow, like one awakening from a dream ; then her face brightened ; hope was struggling with despair in her bosom. As the stranger, whom we may henceforth call fad ward Gray, left the prison, and wasTiastily crossing the street in which it was situated,, a voice called alter him to stop; hepauspd, and glancing back, he saw approach ing him, a stout, rosy-cheeked ntan, wearing the dress of a clergyman. “ Ay, Mr. O’Brien,” exclaimed the young man grasp ing the other’s extended hand. “Why, Edward, is it really you?” gasped the old man, whose hasty walk had left him almost breathless —I thought you were in the South.” “ So I have been, my dear sir, until within the last few days. lam here on urgent business.” “ Stop—l am at home,” said the priest pausing be fore a little brick dwelling—” come in and dine with me, Edward.” The young man had not been long in Father O’Bri en’s cosy little parlor, ere.he became aware that some thing was weighing upon the priest’s mind. He ap peared dejected and absent-minded, and his once mer ry smile had given place to a nervous, anxious expres sion. After they had dined, Edward cofided to the priest the nature of the business that had brought him to N . When he had ceased speaking, he hap pened to raise his eyes to the old man’s face, and, to his amazement, found it strangely pale and full of strong emotion. “Do you know her—do you know the accused ?” ask ed the lawyer, eagerly. “No, no,” replied the priest in an agitated voice— “ but my God!” “ What is it, Father O’Brien ?” exclaimed the young man. springing to his feet. “Oh Heaven! that 1 might, speak,” groaned the priest. “ What do you know ? In Heaven’s name speak,” said the young man, in a state of terrible excitement. • “ Impossible,” replied the priest, who was no less agitated, “I cannot betray the secrets of the confes sional.” “ Father O’Brien,” exclaimed Edward Gray, grasp ing the priest’s hands convulsively, “FatherO’Brien, you know that which would save my innocent client— you know, and you will not speake I charge you in the name of the God you serve, to tell meall—to save her. ’ The young man poured forth these words in the most rapid, and intensely excited manner, without heeding the attempts the other had made to intercept him; when lie paused, from want of brgatli to proceed, the old man who had regained his composure, spoke. “Ido know that, my son, which would clear the poor lady who is accused. I “cannot reveal it to you myff'lf, but I will exert all the influence 1 possess with those who can, to persuade them to speak.” The young man, finding that entreaties were vain was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance. The priest, when Edward left him, remained for some time absorbed in thought. The striking of the little clock over the mantle aroused him; he arose from his chair, muttering to himself, “I must see him,” and wrapping his cloak around him, left his warm parlor to encounter the chill evening air. He directed his steps to a portion of the city, where unswept streets and di lapidated buildings, marked it as the abode of poverty. The priest seemed to be acquainted with the inhabi tants as well as the locality ; he would pause now and then, to stroke the tangled curls of some bare-foot ur chin, or to quiet the barking of a noisy cur, by a pat on the head ; then his mellow voice would answer with a benediction, the warm greetings of one and another of his poor parishioners, all of whom had cause to be grateful to the good priest. Father O’Brien at length paused before a small, nertly white-washed house.— His gentle rap was answered by a young and pretty Irish woman, whose dress, like her dwelling, was su perior in cleanliness to those of her neighbors. “ How is James ?” asked the priest eagerly, after her cordial welcoming was over. “No better, your honor—but it is not the fever that is ailing Janies ; the trouble is here,” she said, placing her hand on her heart, and shaking her head sadly. The priest followed her into the house, and was ush ered into a small, low-ceiled room, containing a bed, a chair and a table, over which htfng the highly colored sketch of the Madonna and child, enwreathed with a garland of artificial flowers, the humble Christmas of fering of the poor woman to the holy ones, whom the sad*picture represented. On the bed lay a man; he was young, and there was a manly beauty about his bronzed face ; but the expression of his handsomely cut mouth, was greatly wanting in firmness. He lay with his eyes closed, but he was not sleeping ; for as the door opened to admit the priest and his wife, he started up, and placed his wild haggard eyes upon them with a gaze that was startling in its intensity. “ I hope you are better, James,” said the priest, scat “ing himself by the bed. “Your honor knows that I will never be better,” groan ed the man, burying his face in the coverlid. “ Oh, James, don’t say that,” sobbed his young wife, kneeling by his side and putting her arms tenderly around him. “Ican,t bear your kisses, Mary,” said the poor fellow shrinking from her; “if you knew all, you would not be the devoted wife that'you are—you would hate me, Mary.” “ Hate you, James,” exclaimed Mary, raising her head and opening her blue eyes wide with astonishment. “ Oh. Father O’Brien, she continued, appealing beseech ingly to the priest, “ what does he mean ?” “You had better leave us my daughter,” answered the priest gravely. “Yes, go Mary,” said James gently, unclasping her arm? from his neck. With a lingering, wistful gaze on James’s face, Mary left him alone with his priest. “Well, James,” said the priest when she had gone, “I have come again to urge upon you to do your duty.” “You know why I cannot do it,” answered the man in a broken voice. “ I do not fear for myself, Father O’Brien, but my poor Mary and her innocent child— they too, would suffer for my crime; they would be left alone anduucared for.” “James, the woman who is accused, and who, if you remain silent, will be punished for the crime, is as in nocent as Mary and Dermont,” answered the old man sternly. “Oh God?” groaned the other, covering his face with his hands. “You haveerredgreatly, James,” resumed the priest less sternly ; “yet, in the opinion of the world, there ( may be many excuses found for you ; you were offered a large bribe, and you w'ere poor and ignorant, and , in feeble health, with a family to support, you were greatly tempted; and the man who tempted you, had , placed you under a lasting obligation, ‘while he whom , you sent to his long home had wronged you by suspi cion and unkindness ; all this will work in your favor; and the consequense to you may not be so serious as you imagine; yet, you will not escape unpunished ; there may be in store for y>u some years ofamprison- j mont ; yet that will be easily borne in comparison with , the remorse that would haunt you, it a good and inno- j cent woman suffered for your fault; the law may not ( doom her to death; her sentence would probably be im prisonment for life ; but frnil and delicate ns she is, al- , ready crushed by sorrow and unmerited disgrace, death would soon free her ; and you, James, would you not feel yourself a second time, a murderer?” “Oh, Heaven! you will madden me, ’ shrieked the , sick man half springing from his bed, and throwing his arms wildly about him. “No, nty son, 1 hope to bring you to reason,” an swered the old man mildly ; “and James,” he continued with h. sorrowful earnestness, “I tell you that Mary 1 and her child will not be more surely left unfurnished 1 for if you confess than if you do not; the weight of sin 1 and-remorse that is resting on your mind, will make i her ft widow and Dermont fatherless.” “I know it—Oh, God! I know it,” muttered the \ wretched husband disparingly. ’ “Then, James, do your duty,’* urged the priest; “save the guiltless lady who is accused, and come what may i I will provide for your wife and boy ; they shall never | want a home; while John O’Btien has one to give them.” . “ God bless you for that promise,” exclaimed James, • grasping the old man’s hand, and bursting into tears; “now I will do my duty.” •CHAPTER IV. The day of the trial at length arrived; the court room was densely crowded with men, women, and even children. Many of those women who looked on with such chilling indifference, were former friends of the prisoner; and the men who dared to gaze so rudely and insolently on her uncovered face, had once bowed before her with the servility of slaves. She was calm and composed; and now that her dress was attended to and her hair neatly arranged, appeared as beautiful as ever, although intensely pale. Her’swas indeed a try ing situation for one of a sex that always needs support and protection; on all sides of her, were cold frowning faces that seemed eager for her condemnation. She had no relations; and now that she was disgraced and deprived of her wealth, she was without friends also. Alter she was seated, and her eye encountered this mass of threatening glances, for a moment her lip quiv ered like a frightened child ; but the emotion passed quickly, and was succeded by a smile of calm disdain. Not far from her were seated the relatives of the de ceased, a legion that surrounded her like so many fe rocious hounds thirsting for the blood of a wounded deer. Among them was a dark sinister man with a most lugubrious visage ; this was Mr. Joseph Lynton the eldest brother-in-law of Mr. Le Strange, and the one whose family had been most highly favored by the will. The death of his n lative had been so great a shock to his sensitive perstnage, that it had caused him a lit of illness, from which he had just arisen to hear the condemnation of his prisoner ; of this, he felt as sured, for he had employed an able lawyer, whose efforts, joined with the evidence he had summed up, he hop ed would secure the friends of the deceased the satis faction of having this murderess punished. The trial commenced; the evidence, which was indeed over whelming, was given in, and the prosecuting attorney arose, and labored hard for an hour, in attempting to prove the pale, shrinking woman before him, without claims to mercy; and finally closed with an eulogy on the departed,'forgetting to mention, however, that he had embittered the existence of all connected with him by his harsh and domineering character; that his good was gold; that he ground the poor, and scoffed at reli gion ; in fact, that he was an old scamp that deserved to be hung instead of poisoned. “ It was only remember ed,” to use the words of the learned lawyer, “that his gray hairs had been brought to an untimely grave by the foul machination of a wicked and heartless woman who had outraged the laws of God and man.” “ The indignation excited against the prisoner was so intense, that ’twas almost impossible to keep it with in bounds, when, at length Edward Gray arose and an nounced himself as defendant for the accused. His voice was drowned by groans and murmurs; whenthese were hushed, the young stranger went on in a clear, calm voice, that attracted the attention of all. Head dressed the court but for ten minutes, in a few able con cise words. t “ Gentlemen,” he said in conclusion, “ I think you will thank God for my appearence here to-day, for it will prevent you visiting the crime of the guilty, upon the head of the innocent.” He then sat down, saying “let William Brown and James M’Makin be called as witnesses.” At this, a loud exclamation burst from Mr. Joseph Lynton, that drew all eyes upon him, and he was found to be ghastly pale. The two men were placed on the witness’ stand and sworn. William Brown’s deposi tion was as follows: “He was in the employment of Mr. Joseph Lynton in his store on the wharf on the second of December; the day before the death of Mr. Le Strange, his employ er had placed in his hands a small sum of money, and desired him to go to a druggists, and bring him a quan tity of strychnine, to poison rats with, as he said; but i that on the way, he (William Brown,) forgot the name of the article mentioned by Mr. Lynton, and merely asked for rat poison, and arsenic was given him instead. The brother-in-law appeared displeased at this, and at first wanted him to carry it back ; but finally changed his mind and put the package in his pocket. Mr. May, the druggist, testified to the truth of William Brown’s assertion, and he sat down. James M’Makin was then called; he appeared ex tremely agitated, and trembled so much as scarcely to be able to stand. He had been employed in the office ot Mr. Le Strange ; his voice was almost inaudible as he proceeded to state, that on the morning of the third of December, as lie was in the office by himself, Mr. Lyn ton had entered and fallen into conversation with him, as he had very often done of late; on this morning, as usual, the topic was the harsh, domineering conduct of Mr. Le Strange. In the course of their talk, Mr. Lyn ton touched upon a subject that he had discussed very often, and that he (James M’Makin) had always shrunk from with horror until this morning.” At this, Joseph Lynton called out in a loud voice, that the man was a false witness, and had been hired for the purpose of ruining him. He was called to order, and the man continued to say, that being that morning incensed against his employer for his harsh treatment the day before, and that per suaded and tempted with a large bribe, by Joseph Lyu ton, who had once done him a kindness, he consented to his proposal, which was to mingle poison with Mr. Le Strange’s toddy, which he, (James M’Makin) pre pared for him at twelve every day. This confession created a great sensation ; the court adjourned in much excitement and confusion, and Joseph Lynton and Jas. M’Makin were taken into custody. It is unnecessary for me to enter into the details of the case; law proceedings are tedious; besides, I do not understand them sufficiently. I will merely state the result. Mrs. LeStrange was, of course, acquitted, and had her property restored to her; for the will found, was proven to be a forgery by Mr. Lynton. James M’Makin was tried for the murder, and the verdict rendered was, “ guilty.” He was condemned to death, but a pardon was procured from the Governor, through the influence and exertions of Edward Gray. Joseph Lynton was sentenced to ten years labor in the Peni tentiary. r Let me describe a scene that was enacted some two years after the events related: The climate into which I shall introduce you, is that of the South ; the sweet and subtle odors that enrich the genial atmosphere, and the balmy softness of the air, proclaim the presence of summer. In the centre of a fine and noble park stood a stately mansion, its white gleaming walls formed a fair and pleasan* contrast to the dark, green foliage of the trees that surrounded it. The front parlor of this dwelling was a lofty chamber fitted up with the lavish hand of wealth, and in a style that betrayed a love of the beautiful and a zeal for the fine arts. On the walls were soft and mellow paint ings, and in every nook an exquisite cast of some fa mous statue. There were engravings, too, and richly gilt books, and rare shells scattered on tables and stands. On a marble slab stood an alabaster vase of Grecian form, containing a starry blossom of the Magnolia ; from blossom of this single flower, there breath ed an odor that filled the languid air with a rich and in toxicating perfume. A silver lamp of strange form and foreign make, hung by a silken cord from the ceiling, diffusing a soft, yet brilliant light throughout the ap partment. And last, though not least, on a sofa near one of the open windows sat a lady and gentleman.— Both had passed the first period of youth, and not with out having tasted the cares of life, for there were lines on both brows, and a sadness around each mouth that spoke of some sorrow that, though passed, could never be effaced from memory’s tablet. The lady was very beautiful, though, perchance, there had been a time when her cheek wore a deeper bloom, and her smile had been brighter. The gentleman was not, strictly speaking, handsome, but intelligence was written on his broad brow, and a noble spirit shone in his blue eyes. “Edward,” said the lady to the gentleman, whose arm encircled her waist, “Edward, you have never ex plained to me how you came so opportunely, like my guardian angel, to save me from a dark and fate. Do you know that I almost looked upon you as a supernatural being, half expecting that when you had achieved my deliverance from * durance vile,’ you would vanish and never be heard of more?” The gentleman remained silent for a moment, and tflen spoke in an embarrassed and hesitating voice: “Ceeile,” he said, “ I should have made this explana tion before; it was a foolish and false pride that de tered me from it, and prevented my expressing in words the gratitude I always cherished in my heart.” “Gratitude!” repeated Ceeile. V I remember that once before in the prison of N you spoke of grat itude; explain yourself Edward.” “ Well, Ceeile,” continued the gentleman, with the same reluctant air, “ do you remember that as you were passing into the the theatre, some seven years ago, a i young man begged alms of your father, and was rude ly repulsed?” , “Yes,” answered the lady, after a little reflection, wondering what tin’s could have to do’wrtt the promised explanation. “And do you remember that you turned back and be stowed on the beggar the charity he had asked in vain of your father ?” “ Yes, I remember that also.” “I was that beggar, Ceeile, and the money you gave me then, saved my mother frorh starvation, and laid the foundation of my own future happiness in life, for it enabled me to return to my native place, where my name was known and respected, and where I received the aid and influence of my father’s friends. lat length achiev ed a fortune, Ceeile, and now a high place in the profes sion I had chosen ; but I did not forget my benefactress; and when I learned that you, to whom I virtually owed all of power and wealth and happiness { possessed, were, in your turn, reduced to wretchedness and mistrjr and in need of aid, I felt that the long delayed had arrived for me to repay your noble charity and —” “And you did repay it Well and nobly,” interrupted the lady, throwing her arms around his neck and ini printing a passionate kiss upon his brow. “ But, Ed ward,” she continued, regarding him with an incredu lous air, “ can it be that you— you were the beggar to whom I gave alms that winter night ?” “ It is too true, Ceeile; but do you already regret that you have married a eidevant beggar ?” he said, in a jest ing tone, though the glance he fixed upon her face was full of anxiety. “Oh! not that,” she answered eagerly, “my grai itude”— “ Your gratitude,” he repeated, with an exclamation of pain. “ Ceeile, then, is it gratitude only that you feel for me ?’ ’ “Edward,” she replied, taking his hand in both of her’s, “Edward, since with your doubts you will bring from me a confession that must appear ridiculous from a woman of my age, I will confess that I am romantic enough to be in love, and with my own husband.” Au revoir reader. Augusta, Jan. 10. FARMER’S COLUMN. COMMERCIAL,. augusta, Tuesday, Feb. 16. Cotton. —Sales Monday afternoon, 16 bales : 3 at 9; lat ;2 at 10; lat 11, and 9 bales at 12 cents. Sales to-day, 138 bales; sat 10J ; 3at 11; 90 at 12, and 20 at 121 cents. We heard this monflng of the sale of 152 bales at life. Savannah, Feb. 15. Cotton.— The sales foot up 238 bales : 112 at Hi ; 125 at 12, and 1 bale nankin at 15c. Augusta Prices Current. WHOLESALE PRICES. BACON.—Hams, & 11* @ i 2 Canvassed Hams, slb 13 to 14 Shoulders, ft 9 @ 10 Western Sides, ft ft 104 @ 11 Clear Sides, Tenn., slb . 114 to 00 Ribbed Sides, 3a ft 11 to 00 Hog Round, new, 38 ft ioj to n FLOUR.—Country ft bbl 500 to 600 Tennessee $ bbl 475 to 560 City Mills $t bbl 550 to 750 Etowah $ bbl 500 to 750 Denmead’s 38 bbl 500 to 700 Extra $ bbl 700 g 750 GRAIN.—Corn in sack ft bush 60 to 65 Wheat, white ft bush 1 10 to 1 *0 E ed ft lb 100 to 1 05 Oats bush 45 @ 50 Eye ft bush 70 to 75 Pea s 38 bush 75 @ 8# TT Corn Meal ft bush 70 (and 75 IRON.—Swedes ft 1b 5) 5f English, Common, 38 ft 3J | _ “ Refined, ft ft 31 to LARD.— ft ft 10 to 11 MOLASSES.—Cuba 3ft gal 25 kt 28 St. Croix gal 40 Sugar House Syrup 38 gal 42 45 Chinese Syrup 38 gal 40 to 50 SUGARS.—N. Orleans 3@ lb 8 to 9 Porto Rico ft 1b 84 @ 9 Muscovado ft 1b 8 to 84 Refined C 38 lb 10 @ 11 Refined B tp ft ioj @ 11 Refined A 3jt 1b 11 & 114 Powdered ft ft 12 © 13 Crushed 38 ft 12 to 13 SALT.— 38 sack 1 00 to 1 10 COFFEE.—Rio 3a ft lli to 124 Laguira ft 13 ® 14 Java 38 ft 16 @ 18 To Keep Tires Tight on Wheels. — A corres pondent of the Southern Planter furnishes the following valuable information on this interest ing subject : I ironed a wagon some years ago for my own use, and before putttng on the tires, I filled the felloes with linseed oil, and the tires have worn out and were never loose. I ironed a buggy’ for my’ own use, seven years ago, and the tires are now as tight as when put on. My method of fill ing the felloes with oil is as follows: I use a long cast iron oil heater, made for the purpose ; the oil is brought to boiling heat, the wheel is placed on a stick, so as to hang in the oil each felloe one hour for a common sized felloe. The ’ timber should be dry, as green timber would not receive oil. Care should be taken that the oil be made no hotter than a boiling heat in order that the timber be not burnt. Timber filled with oil is not susceptible of water and the timber is much more durable. The Jerusalem Artichoke. —The Editor of the Maine Farmer says — “In regard to a substitute for the potato as a cattle and pig feed, we have long had a favorable opinion of the common Jerusalem artichoke as it is called. It does not contain so much farinaceous matter as a potato. If roasted it will not crack open so mealy, as first rate pota toes will, but otherwise its ingredients are very much like the potato, and we think it vastly better than soggy half diseased potatoes. The tubers will soon obtain complete possesion of the ground where they are planted on a piece of waste ground not needed for any other purpose, and be come valuble on this account.” Planting a Walnut Grove. —As near as I can recollect, about twelve years ago I planted a row of these nuts south of my house, in the edge of the plowed land. I planted in the fall soon after the nuts fell, four feet apart, with a hoe, about two inches deep, as we used to plant corn down east. The next spring they came up with the other plants. I kept the stock from them for four or five years. The most of them grew rapid ly ; but they were too thick, and some are now dwarf trees, four to six feet high, while those that got the start went right up, and in six or seven years from the planting they bore walnuts, and they continue to bear and grow so that this fall I had several bushels of nuts, and have planted a ¥iece of two acres west of my house with them. hese I put ten or twelve feet apart. I think it would be better to plow your land as deep as you can before planting. I think it will make little difference whether you plant this winter or as soon as the ground opens in the spring. Keep the weeds down and the stock from them, and there is no danger i.ut you wity have a grove far more beautiful than the locust ; besides the advantage of timber and the nuts. —[ Cor. of Pra irie Farmer. *** m i iii m % Java Coffee in New York. —The New York Post of Thursday says: All the Java coffee in this market held in first hands, embracing 1,000 mats, was sold this morn ing at 16 cents, four months. The stock of this description of coffee is now entirely exhausted at all the ports in the United States,* and the pros pective arrivals are exceedingly small. We only know of one invoice expected in March, which, at 13 cents per pound, would scarcely cover the cost laid down here. Corn and Hogs. —From carefully conducted ex periments by different persons, it lias been ascer tained that one bushel of corn will make a little over IOJ pounds of pork—gross. Taking the re sult as a basis, the following deductions are made which all our farmers will do well to lay by for a convenient reference—That: When corn costs 12J cents per bushel, pork costs 1J cents per pound. When corn costs 17 cents per bushel, pork costs 2 cents per pound. When corn costs 25 cents per bushel, pork costs 3 cents per pound. When corn costs 33 cents per V -shel, pork cost* 4 cents per pound. When corn costs 50 cents per bushel, pork costs 5 cents per pound. The following statements show what the far mer realizes in his corn when sold in the form of pork: When pork sells for 3 cents per pound, it brings 25 cents per bushel in corn. When pork sells for four cents per pound, it brings 33 cents per bushel in corn. When pork sells for 5 cents per pound, it brings 50 cents per bushel in com.