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Terms, $2 Per Annum, in Advance. Second Year, No. 38-Whole No., 88.
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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
WILL YOU COME TO MY MOUN
TAIN HOME?
BY MBS. C. W . DUBOSE.
Will you eoinc, will you come, to my mountain
home,
Where the bounding deer through the forest
roam—
Where the free birds sing in the glad sunshine,
And the inserts hum in the summer time;
While the grasshopper chirps to the silent air,
Aud you list all day to their concert rare!
Will you come, will you come, to my mountain
home,
Where the willow hough droops in the river's
foam—
Where the meadows are bright with the harvest
sheaves,
And the forest is dark with the clustering leaves—
Where the green ivy clings to the old oak tree,
And roses are blooming in beauty for thee 1
Will you come, will you come, to my mountain
home —
Will you rest ’ncath the arching of nature’s domed
Where the sun always sets in a crimson shroud,
And golden and green is the hue of each cloud ;
While the soft summer twilight steals over the
scene,
And the moon, like a vestal, in beauty is seen!
Will you come, will you come, to my mountain
home and
hove biddeth you thither, no longer to roam ;
Where the river flows on with a murmuring
sound,
Ami the sweetest of odors are scattered around —
Where the glow-worm gleams in the summer
night,
And the stars arc shining in silvery light.
Will you come, will you conic, to my mountain
home and
Oh ! list to tho tones that are bidding you come;
Make thy bower ‘ncath the beams of yon lovc
lightcd star,
That shines like a vision of beauty afar ;
The sunshine of love all around thee shall gleam,
And thy life pass away, like a beautiful dream!
Tratujuilla, (la., I S ID.
Til IE si©jilAj'J®lsS,
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• For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
SUCCESS DEFEATED.
BY “LA GEOROIF.NNE.”
PART THIRD.
“Little things.’’ however necessary to
“the sum of life,” are usually tiresome in
the detail. And although we may see
much to interest us in others, we seldom
like to accompany them through all their
grievances and woes. We cannot, there
fore, follow Howard through all the weari
some hours attendant on a slow recovery.
Nor can we even notice all the little cares
and attentions by which Larsden endeav
ored to make suffering bearable; suffice it
1,1 say that after long enduiance, and un
remitting watchfulness, one came forth a
broken man, —the other worn with toils,
of which fatigue and anxiety bore but a
small part.
Happy is he whose sorrow can he les
sened ; but there are some whom sym
pathy annoys, and kind words aggravate.
Larsden did not exactly belong to this
class; to one or two he could have turned,
but those were they who had dealt the
wound, anil how could they heal 1 lie
shrank from the idea of their even sus
pecting the truth. Alas! he mourned not
not only the loss of his love, — it was the
the loss of his friend, Ella, whose soul
had learned to assimilate with his own,
who could enter into all his plans, and
brightened all with a warmth of heart
that was foreign to his own. He had
hived her for her confiding simplicity and
buoyant tenderness, and when, as she
grew older, her high-toned soul seemed
blending with his own, and he found her
ardently comprehending thoughts which
*o ordinary minds were strange, love of
Ihe child turned to admiration of the being,
ln d every thought of his heart became
hers. Was it strange, then, that the cheek
of the strong man should grow pale, and
that spite of his proud reserve, the world
should tnatk a change and attribute its
own causes.
“ l’ropeity,” said a man of solid dull
ness, “ properly has depreciated. The
Larsden estates are not what they were,
and I suppose Larsden is beginning to feel
the pressure of the times.”
“I doubt it,” replied another. “He is
not a man to mind trifles, and with such
wealth as his he can scarcely be embar
rassed. I rather think it is nothing more
than the want of something to do. Lately
he was constantly excited and occupied
by that young man, Howard; now How
ard has recovered, and he has nothing to
interest him. It is a pity to see a man
with such advantages making no use of
them. Here he is, with talents that would
do honor to any profession, living without
any object in the world.”
“Who? Larsden !” exclaimed an aston
ished auditor; “there is not a more effi
cient man in the State. Who is doing
more to improve our city ? who is bringing
all our talented young men to light, whose
poverty would throw them into the back
ground ? who is it that rescued so many
widows and children from penury? And
then his intellect —why the very influence
of such an intellect alone is incalculable.
Our young men look up to it and learn to
appreciate worth. Our old men find in
him a companion who with the wisdom of
age unites the ardor of youth, and our
daughters—Lord bless us—they are asham
ed to admire shallow-brained dandies when
Larsden is near.”
Meanwhile the young ladies themselves
were not silent.
“What can be troubling Mr. Larsden.!”
exclaimed one.
“Which one ?—there are three.”
“ Oh, pshaw ! not Mr. Larsden, sure ;
nobody ever sees him, to find out whether
he’s in trouble or not. Mr. Henry Lars
den, he’s not worth talking about. Mr.
Edward Larsden—the grand, the sublime,
the unapproachable, the affable —whose
only fault is that he makes every body
fall in love with him, and won’t fall in love
with any body.”
“Excuse,” blushed a third, “I’m not
one of your every bodies.”
“There now, Annie, you are over head
and ears in love; just see how she’s
blushing.”
“I’m not! I hate him; he’s a proud,
cold-hearted aristocrat.”
“Mr. Larsden! Mr. Larsden !” scream
ed the first speaker, from the head of the
stairs, “Annie Lawton says she hates you.
She says” —
“ Come ! do for heaven’s sake hush !”
“What’s that, Miss Emma?” called
Larsden, with a laugh, from below.
“ Mercy!” exclaimed the wild girl,
aghast, at her own impudence. “La!
you little fool,” she laughed, looking at
her blushing friend, and dashing down
the stairs, she was heard greeting Larsden
with shouts of laughter.
After a little while the door slammed
down stairs, and the laughing girl came
running up again.
“Mercy!” she exclaimed, pressing her
hand against her panting heart; “that
man is too witty—lie's been keeping me
laughing ever since 1 went down. He
asked for you both, only I wanted to have
all the talk myself, and was determined
you should not come. So I told him you
had a head ache, and didn't like to take
the trouble of coining down to see people
that you hated.”
“Why Emma!”
“ You need n’t look so shocked ; he
sent you a most respectful message, and
said he consoled himself with the hope of
meeting you after the ball. Hut T declare,
girls,” she continued, in a grave tone, “ he
is not at all himself. He was as gay as
he could he while talking, hut when you
are answering him, he looks at you as if
he was reading your very soul. I got
vexed, and declared that I would not speak
to him—for all the time he was looking
at me as if he did not believe one word 1
said ; he laughed in an odd kind of way,
and said something about getting into had
habits. I wonder what is the matter;
these sickly sentimental people always
make one laugh ; hut to sec a man like
that, looking like a blasted oak, is enough
to make we tender-heaited ones cry,” and
the laughing girl rubbed her eyes and
played off hysterics, until the tears actu
ally did roll down.
Howard, too, was dreadfully altered.
Already he was poring over deeds and
law hooks, bat Larsden was shocked to
see that the frank, careless being of for
mer days, was transformed into a grave,
thoughtful man. The joyous laugh had
given place to a smile, bright and animated,
hut gentle almost to sadness; and the
daring hopefulness which constant adver
sity could not affect, had been worn away
by the silent working of suffering. The
world looked at his placid dignity, and
called him an improved man; but Larsden
thought him a wreck.
Released from the self-imposed duties of
nurse, most men would have left their pa
tients to lake care of themselves, hut Lars
den was not one to do tilings by halves;
he said that Howard would, if left to him
self, forget his own feebleness and plunge
headlong into fatigue, and as he had no
idea of this, he kept a close look out on
the wayward invalid. At least a dozen
times a day, it was—
“ Down with that book, Howard!”
“Now Edward, be off.”
Until at last Howaid declared that he
never came to the bottom of a page with
out expecting Larsden to walk in.
“ I must say, Edward, that for so sen
sible a man, you are the veriest teaze that
ever lived.”
“Very possible; now just wrap that
cloak around you, and don’t keep me
waiting.”
Linder such ‘ care and keeping,” strength
slowly returned, and if a lapse of several
months found Howard an altered man,*
they at least found him energetic and tal
ented as ever.
And now, strange to say, the immovable
old gentleman began to vascillate. Ru
mor which for a long time was only afloat,
now embodied itself in a regular statement
of facts, which (as is often the case) came
very near the truth. Now Pat might have
grumbled forever, and the whole race of
parvenus might have clammorcd without
even being heard, but the murmur of his
own class was a very different thing; and
Mr. Larsden not unfrequently heard his
conduct commented on in terms which at
first astonished, then incensed, and finally
set him to thinking of the true state of af
fairs. Rut if his mind had begun to wa
ver, its bent was determined by a conver
sation which he overheard between two of
his acquaintances; men who boasted
blood as royal as his own, and conse
quently whose opinions deserved some
weight.
“What in the world has gotten into
Larsden?” remarked one: “does he sup
pose that his long established respectabili
ty rests on so slight a basis that one ma
rauder can shake it? It does well enough
for families that have grown up on stills
to dread being knocked over, but when
one is built on the stronghold of genera
tions, I defy any marriage to lower them,
or even to lower the individual unless that
family itself casts its branch from them.”
“It is the verriest folly I ever heard of,”
replied the other. “Besides, this young
man Howard, so far from being a parvenu,
belongs to a most respectable family ; true,
they are not remarkable for ancestry, but
their name is unsullied, and the young
man himself would do honor to any sta
tion. Moreover he is an orphan, and has
no near relations whatever, who could in
any way interfere with his success. Why
the moment he married into the family, he
would he classed with the Larsdens at
once. Already the mere fact of his being
Edward Laisden’s lriend has placed him
in the first circles.”
“Ah, his own talents had something to
do with that.”
“His own talents, I acknowledge, have
kept him there ; but Larsden had a great
deal to do with his getting there.”
What more they said the old gentleman
did not hear, but anew idea was started ;
he was intimating a doubt of his own
standing by his fear of lowering it, and
from that moment pride took a different di
rection. He determined to prove that the
Larsden connexion alone was sufficient to
ensure elevation. Thus it is that pride
and public opinion, so often blamed for
their devastations, not unfrequently ‘.urn
upon their votaries and compel them to a
different course, ultimately bringing them
to the very stand to which common sense
and feeling at first pointed.
“1 begin to hope again,” said Ella, one
day, to Larsden, as he lounged on the sofa
beside her ; “father constantly alludes to
the power of rank, and when he says a
true aristocrat can do as he pleases and
incur no risk, I fancy”—
“ That he alludes to Howard, —well, it
may be so, and for your sake, I hope it is;
good-bye.”
Larsden spoke sincerely, but he little
knew the strength of his own attachment.
A day or two after Howard was poring
over a ponderous folio; his law books
were ranged in shelves around him, and
his door opening directly on the street, was
only half closed; a book was wanting,
and musing he rose in search of it. His
eye rested on Larsdcn’s approaching figure,
but he was thinking of other things, and
instead of meeting him as usual, he turned
away and stood in a recess looking at the
passage he wanted. A half muttered
tone startled him, he turned suddenly and
unseen—stopped speechless. Larsden had
thrown himself into a chair, his head rest
ed back, his limbs hung motionless, and
the expression of- his face was that of
most intense agony. He had come intend
ing to greet Howard with a smile, to tell
him that the long denied consent was gain
ed, and then he dared not look farther.
Had Howard been seen, the whole world
could not have extorted one sigh ; but
alone, the spirit lad nothing to bear it up,
and he fell insensible to every thing, save
his own utter desolation.
“My God! my God!” he muttered,
rising, with his hand clasped over his
aching brow. “Kil me! kill me! oi l
shall murder myself.”
A suppressed exclamation, and Howard
had thrown his arm a-ound him.
“Edward! Edward!'’ he said, “ what is
the matter ?”
In a moment Larsden icturned to his
senses; he saw the gulf into which he had
thrown himself; he saw that one more un
guarded word would make his friend as
wretched as himselfhut what to say—
what to do : he stood bewildered. How
ard was equally shocked and perplexed ; he
had never seen him so excited. He knew
not how to act. That something dreadful
had happened, he was certain ; but at one
glance he felt that what could so move
Larsden, was beyond mortal control. He
who could with his indomitable spiritover
come every obstacle, was not to be crush
ed by weight that could be removed. These
thoughts rushed through his mind, as still
keeping his arm around his friend, he look
ed on the downcast and troubled face, so
different from the usual calm intellectuality
which rested there.
Larsden was the first to speak. “ I nev
er knew the power of a friend before,” he
said ; “ your very voice has stilled a tem
pest.” His natural manner returned, and
throwing himself again into the chair he
looked up as if expecting an answer.
Howard had not recovered himself suffi
ciently to know how to speak, hut as he
met his eyes fixed on him a smile of deep
feeling stole over his face, and he replied,
“1 have felt your influence more than
once, Edward. Often when I have been
inclined to give up and leave every thing
to its fate, the very sound of your footstep
has made me feel that something yet was
left to live for, and that the world never
could be utterly void so long as you were
in it.”
“I knew the cause of your depression,
Howard. 1 had been with you through
every scene of hope and disappointment,
and it was but natural that your cares
should grow lighter when the friend that
shared them approached. Rut you know
nothing of this. Were others not concern
ed you should know as much as 1 do.”
Howard looked pained, and after a little
pause, Larsden concluded with, “ Believe
me, it adds no little to my grief, that my
lips must he sealed.”
Howard questioned no farther; he felt
that his friend’s confidence had never been
withheld, and that it was not now to be
urged. Larsden remained for a while as
if in deep thought, and then suddenly
starting up, exclaimed, “ My own cares
must be heavy, indeed, when they make
me forget your happiness. Now, don’t go
crazy at the news I came to bring you.”
“I can’t promise, if your looks speak
true. You have something to tell me about
Ella. What are you hesitating about ?”
“ Don’t go head foremost out of the
window. No, don’t fly off like a mad
man.”
“‘No,’ 1 Dont.’—You scamp! there’s
no getting anything out of you,” exclaim
ed Howard, seizing hold of him with a
a touch of his former spirit.
“Behave yourself, Howard. I knew
there’d he no managing you. You long
faced lovers ”
“ Edward, will you never hush ?”
“ laird, man, you are getting your
strength back again. Now if you can
make up your mind to act like a gentle
man, you can go and spend the rest of the
morning at my uncles.”
“ You are not in earnest, Edward!”
“Would I trifle where your happiness is
concerned, Howard ? Sage bachelor, tho’
I be, I can sympathize tviih fools some
times.”
“ Fools! I only wish some fair girl
would make a fool of you, Edward.”
“ A fool of twenty-seven ! I had as
soon be a grey-headed baboon,” and tak
ing up their hats they went off together.
Strange to say,Howard, as they approached
the house, seemed almost to have forgotten
his friend’s existence. Ilis heart, perhaps,
told him that there was something still
wanting, hut the thought assumed no defi
nite form, and as he stood upon the long
forbidden threshold, nought was remem
bered save Ella. Alas! he was not the
only one to whom she was the all-absorb
ing object. Larsden’s self-control had al
most failed, and had any been there to
mark him, they might have seen in his
ghastly cheek and compressed lips, the to
kens of an inward struggle that had well
nigh overmastered him. Content with
ushering Howard in, he went on to his
own room. Despair gave him momentary
strength. He felt that to make her happy
he had resigned his last hope—that there
was now nothing in the world to live for,
and but one thing remained—it wasdeath !
Death which he had once abhorred, but
which now came to his relief. Yet he
turned shuddering from self-murder. “I
dare not! I cannot!” he muttered, clasp
ing his bands again over his brow. He
turned to take up his pistol. Ilis mother’s
picture was before him ! Her gentle face
seemed to look pleadingly on him. He
dropped the pistol and fell before it.
“Mother! mother!” he groaned, “would
to God they had lai I me beside you.” His
brain seemed fading, and yet his eye was
on that face. A faintness came over him,
hut he still knelt before it. At last life
seemed ebbing, the heart became still, and
his breathing ceased. “My prayer is an
swered,” he murmured. One pang shot
through him. He rose and gasped—but it
was 100 late.
And now to the happy pair. Hour after
hour passed, and Ella still sat by the side
of her once hopeless but now happy lover.
In other days lie had never more than kiss
ed her hand, hut now he sat with his arm
encircling her, an?l as she listened to the
words which he poured into her ear, per
fect happiness left her no thought for re
proof.
“ Charles, dear Charles,” she whispered,
as his soft k i -s pressed her forehead, “ we
shall only I).- happier now. I never should
have loved .ou so dearly if you had not
endured so much, and you never would
have prized me so highly if I had not been
so hard to v in.”
It was time to go. One thing only re
mained —the old gentleman. He was in
the library, and thither after some little
hesitation from Ella, they bent their steps.
Through the very door which had last
opened upon his agony, he now passed
with the blushing Ella oil his arm. Alas!
how changed ! The old gentleman saw it
—he felt it as they approached him.
“My children! my children!” he ex
claimed, clasping them in his arms. Then,
indeed he was venerable ; his silvery locks
floated on his daughter’s neck ; his whole
soul shaken with emotions once smothered
but now restored. He felt only that his
rhild was happy, that they were all happy,
even while he hung weeping over them.
A sound as if of a fall alarmed them, and
Howard, breaking away, flew to his friend’s
room. Ella, trembling, she knew not why,
followed, and the old gentleman, wonder
ing at his own fears, could scarcely carry
himself up the stairs. The door was lock
ed, and whilst Howard vainly tried to open
it, Ella found her way through their dress
ing rooms, and unlocked it within. Lars
den was to all appearance dpad. His pray
ei had been granted—his senses were gone.
Life, too burdensome to he borne, had
crushed its victim, hut had not lied. He
was laid upon the bed—a slight pulsation
alone giving any sign of life. The dread
ful expression of the face was again there,
and as Howard watched the returning an
imation, he could not but see that that
deep settled agony wns not the work of a
moment, and even while bending over him
in breathless anxiety he felt astonished at
the self-control which could master and
even smile upon such internal suffering.
He felt more than ever the nobleness of his
friend, and his own joys seemed dashed
away as he thought on his concealed mis
ery. Well was it he never guessed its
cause. Reared up in the house with Ella,
they were by all regarded as brother and
sister. And laughed at would have been
the suggestion that he cherished for her
more than fraternal affection.
When Larsden opened his eyes, Howard
was standing over him with Ella by his
side. He looked at them a moment as if
to read their thoughts, and then turned his
head away. Ella’s hand was on his fore
head. He held it there for a moment,
pressed it to his lips, and retained it in his.
Alas! it gave no pleasure to hold that
hand now that it was another’s, and yet
even its touch soothed him. As strength
returned he looked again towards, and then
with a smile which seemed half meant to
teaze them, said,
“ Rather a singular interruption of your
first meeting. I’m glad to see your color
coming back, Ella.”
“So is yours,” replied Ella, laughing.
“Now I shall leave you to the tender mer
cies of these two gentlemen.”
“ Well, be off, and have a good dinner
ready by the time I come down. No, no,
Howard; I’ve been playing the invalid
quite long enough. My dear uncle, this
nephew of yours always was remarkable
for doing as he pleased.”
“ The doctor’s come, sir,” said a servant
staring aghast.
“ Ask him to stay to dinner with his pa
tient.”
“ Now the Lord hah massy,” exclaimed
the astonished negro. “If massa Edward
airit gotde debbil in him, I make mistake.”
The bridal evening was past. Laisden
seemed endowed with a power superhuman.
The fever raged within, bill the outward
man was all life and happiness. His was
the stand nearest his friend, and the idol
of his heart gave herself to another with
his eye watching every varying expres
sion of her face, and when the gay as
semblage had departed, and each sought
their own homes, his were the loud wish
es, sinccrest of them all, and then his the
only throbbing heart of agony, mourning
his own blasted hopes. Said I only —no,
one, silent and unobtrusive amid the gay
assemblage, marked the anguish which
none other saw. She, on her lonely pil
low, without mother or father, sister or
brother, to comfort her, wept that he who
had been all to her, who had rescued her
from poverty and want; he, who without
seeking, had won her young heart, was
wasting with a love which she could not
soothe. The orphan slept, and dreamed ;
but he of whom she dreamed knew no rest.
Not long after, a vessel was clearing the
port. Many moved about herdeck—some
weeping, others looking hack in silent
grief, for all were leaving their native land.
Yet in spite of their own sorrows, many
were continually glancing at one seeming
ly bowed to the earth. They could scarce
catch a glimpse ot his face. Rut once had
he risen from his recumbent posture, and
that look had roused their admiration and
sympathy. Now he lay enveloped in the
fold of a heavy cloak. No sigh escaped
him, hut it was impossible to look and not
feel that no ordinary grief was there. To
wards evening there was a cry, “We are
going out of sight of land.” The stran
ger sprang up. Like a heavy shadow, his
country rested on the water’s edge. It
seemed a symbol of his life—once break
ing forth in light and shade, and stamped
with prospects innumerable; now, gloom
ing like a cloud in Ihe distance, while he,
hourly wandering farther, could see only
waves without and darkness within. He
turned away. All eyes were upon him,
strangers though they were. They mark
ed his agony, and he, drawing his cloak
again around him, descended to the cabin.
Here we leave him. One was “success
ful,” but to the other that “success was
defeat.”
AUILUE ASlfOSAffl.
A TOUCHING SCENE.
The New York Tribune records the fol
lowing beautiful incident connected with
the attentions to the Hungarian refugees :
“On Monday morning, three Germans,
evidently working-men, went to the Astor
House, and asked to see the Hungarians.
They were immediately introduced, and
remained some time in conversation with
Gov. Ujhazy and family. Finally, two of
them withdrew, and left the third, who
continued to talk, but seemed Jp have some
thing to say which he could not get out.—
At last, addressing Mile. Clara, the daugh
ter of Mr. Ujhazy, he said that, as exiles
who were remote from country and friends,
and whose property had been confiscated
in consequence of their devotion to freedom
and the peojile’s rights, they must be in an
embarrassed condition. Then, drawing
from his pocket a bank note, he said—
-1 Fraulein, this is hut little, for I am a poor
man, and have only what I can earn, but
1 could not refrain from giving the tribute
of my mite to you. Receive this, I beg
you, as the heart offering of a workman to
the defenders of liberty.’ Mile. Ujhazy,
who had not expected anything of this
kind, and was rather embarrassed, replied
in a tone of emotion, that she was deeply
grateful for such kindness, but that they
were not in a condition to ask it, when her
father said : ‘ Take it, my daughter, and
feel thyself and us all more honored than
if a monarrh had bestowed millions upon
thee!’ at the same time warmly pressing
the hand of the noble laborer, and assuring
him that they could never forget him. We
leave our readers to imagine the scene.”
EXTRAORDINARY INVENTION.
A Mr. Appold has invented a remarkable
machine, called the “Centrifugal Pump,”
for draining marshes, &.C., and a most in
genious affair it is. You have heard of
the turbine—a small box water-wheel,
possessing extraordinary capabilities for
work. Well, Mr. Appold’s model contains
such a wheel made of tin, a little thicker
but no larger than a half-penny. This is
fitted at the bottom of a square tube dip
ping into a small cistern containing water,,
which may represent a lake, &c. The lit
tle wheel being made to rotate with great
velocity, throws up water rapidly into the
tube above itself until it overflows in a
continuous stream at the top, and the vol
ume of the stream is such as to deliver
eight gallons per minute; and, on apply
ing a nozzle, the* stream is driven to the
distance of twenty feet. This, you will
say, is a marvellous effect from so appa
rently insignificant a cause; but a wheel
about fifteen inches in diameter, exhibited
at the same time, will deliver 1800 gallons
per minute; it requires to be worked by an
engine of four horse power. Mr. Appold
has lately proposed to the engineer of the
Dutch government to fix a similar wheel
on the Harlem Sea, now in process of be
ing drained, by forty pumps driven by
steam. A centrifugal pump of forty feet,
in diameter would do more work than all
the others put together, would deliver, so
the inventor asserts, 1,500,000 gallons per
minute. With such power at command,
one would think we ought never more to
hear of ships foundering at sea; and the
emptying and reclamation of the Zuyder
Zee resolves itself into a possibility.—For
eign Journal.
SOUTHERN LABOR.
Speaking of industrial operations, Gov.
Collier, in his inaugural address, says:—
“We rely too exclusively upon our agri
culture as a source of wealth, while we
are exhausting lands without an effort to
reciaim them. But few form attachments
for the soil, and only seek to make it most
productive at the least cost and trouble.—
Such a life is unfriendly to social enjoy
ment and the cultivation of the sympa
thies—it prevents us from devoting the
proper share of attention to the improve
ment of the intellectual powers, and the
elevation of the moral feelings. The rem
edy for these evils is, to divert labor into
all the channels in which it can be made
useful and profitable, instead of employing
the entire capital of our agriculturalists in
the production of a single staple, diminish
ing the price by an over supply. The
producer, the manufacturer, and the con
sumer, would then he placed in proximity
to each other —each pursuit would stimu
late and advance the other; and agricul
ture, which languishes in solitude, would
become animate and very prosperous. —
The concentration of industry and capital
at home, would arrest the propensity of
our people to emigrate, and education in
all the departments of knowledge would
receive an impulse which would be felt
and seen everywhere around us. The
benefit of such a state of things is exem
plified in many States of the confederacy;
but. perhaps, is more fully illustrated in
Massachusetts and Rhode Island. These
States take our cotton and wood, and man
ufacture them into cloth and ships—selling
us the former at compensating prices, and
with the other, become onr carriers upon
the ocean. Thus they grow rich, iu des
pite of the inhospitableness of climate and
inaptitude of soil to grow a sufficiency of
breadsluffs. While Alabama, with quite
enough surplus labor to manufacture her
cotton and produce all her provisions, with
out diminishing the product of her great
staple, is comparatively poor. These States
safely and successfully employ a banking
capital of forty-five millions, and have
millions always awaiting an opportunity
for profitable investment, while the people
of Alabama, with natural advantages great
ly superior, are, the most of them, borrow
ers, without an active monied capital, ade
quate to the supply of their wants. If, in
ice-bound New England, with a soil which
even in its virgin state, requires artificial
stimulants, such are the results of well-di-