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BY SAWTELL & JONES. ®l)t vGutlibcrt Appeal. Terms of Subscription: On* Tm... , .%i oo | Six Months $1 25 INVARIABLY IX ADVANCE. Rates of Advertising: One equart, (ten lines or lea*.) f 1 «K> for the •rst and 75 c-nt< so- each subsequent insertion Contract advnreisius ns follows : Space. 3 Months 6 Month!- 13 Months i t'olumns2s 00 sls tin $75 4 Colitinn 400» 75 0 ► 100 00 One Column.. .| 50 00 90 0w 15100 Obituaries. $1 oO per square. A Gr.ind Old Poem. Who ali.tll jml 'e a nun from manners ? Who shall know him by hit- dress ! Paupers may lw ttt for princes, Princes lit for nothin^fest, ‘Crumpled shirt and- dirty; jacket, May beclothe the ao&fi-u ore '> * Os tin* deepest thought and feeling— Savin vestments could do no more. There are spri|jgs of crystal nectar fiver wellijrig out of stones. There are atfjrple buds and golden. Hidden and overgrown : God, who^counts by souls, not dresses, Bovi* and prospers you and me, While Ale values thrones the highest Bur as pebbles iu the sea. M*n upraised aliove his fellows, /Oft forgets his tellows then ; Vi alters, rulers, lords remember r That your meanest binds are mea Men by labor, ram by feeling. Men by thought and men by fame, Claiming equal rights to sunshine Id a man’s eunobling name. There are foam-embroidered oceans, There are little weed clad rills ; There are feeble inch high saplings, There are cedars on the hills. God, who couute by souls, not stations, Loves and prospi rs you and me ; For to Him ail vain distinctions Are as pebbles iu the sea. Toiling bauds aline are builders Os a nation’s wealth an l l.une; Titled laziness is pensioned, Fed and fattened on the same ; By the sweat of other s foreheads, Living only to rejoice, While tlie poor man’s outraged freedom Vaiuly lifted up his voice. Truth and justice are eternal t Born with loveliness and light, Secret wrongs shall never prosper While there is a sunny light, God, whose world'heard voice is singing. Boundless love to you and me. Sinks oppression with its titles. As the pebbles in the sea. A Chicago W/ek M ets Her ©ivai,. —About dus> o t Thu.sday ■evening u woman was observed pucing up .and down the waiting n>«»iu iu the •St. Lou is depot. Site scorned to lie exceed, and very anxious for Hie haiii t« st rive, as at every sou ltd-she went to tlie •window and looked out. When the train cuine iu she got behind a door and closely scrutinized the passengers ■*s'they passed along. Neatly the last on* who went through the door leading to the street was u very pretty young woman about seventeen years of age. The woman rushed up to this lady and took her by the ear. calling her a ‘l>uz xy,' and saying, 1 h..vo been waiting or y>n some time.’ Slaj led her victim along Canal to ]A.adi.-on street, sltli ho'dilig Oil to her ear. Several gentle, men, witnesses to this »Xtraorditnoy proceeding, imagining that Die woman Mas a procures*, or intended to harm the young lady, pursued ulie pair ami stopj»e>l them. They demanded to .know what the young lady had done that alie shou and bn iron ed in t-kut warn tier, and the woman t«>ld them. Bfee «aid she w s mar ied and lived iu 'Chi cago. The gill resided in Jil inning ton. and had been Hilling with tier I his. bund and eorreupouding w ith him.— The other day a .letter came t>> -her house, addressed to her husband, and as her lord was away she hjk tied it„ It was from this gtrl, and she said «he would arrived in Ch o.igo by that train, and requested him to meet her ut the depot. She had met her, and intended to confront her husband and shatue him. The story was told in euch a manner as to place its truth be yond question, so the couple were per flitted to depart, the woman still re ■inmg her hold on the ear of the one destroyed her happiness and Monopolized the affections of her hus ■bnd. tr Fresh air liy day and by night, strung and nourishing loud, dry soil on which to live, sunlight and warm d-th sag, are the means of saving many lives which would have been hojielisslv lost in the preceding generation. If our conjectures are eoriect, this im provement may be expected to continue, And everybody cun help to make it greater. Ventilate the schoolrooms, and the workshops, and the stores, and the houses. In cold weather 'et the air, comfortably and equally warmed, be gently supplied from without, in a con «tantiy flowing current. Let those who can provide in their horses remember that an open fire winch sends two-third* of the heat up the Chimney, furnishes the best ventilation for a room of mod erate size which the ingenuilv •*.{; m ,m has yet devised, anu the heat escaping by the flue is t!ie price to be paid for it. Let in the sunlight and never mind the carpets; better they should fade than the health of the family. When a man proposes to build a-dwoiling in a swamp, warn him -of hie danger.— Dr. George Darby. tST' Charlie,’ said grandma, reprov ingly, ‘your portion will be in the burn ing lake, at least if you go on telling so many stories.’ 4 Oh, n«», grandma, 1 couldn't stand it,’ ‘ But yoij will be made to stand it, ipy boy.’ ♦ Oh, well, g r «ndiiw, if l can only stand it it’s uii KT Teacher ‘Come here, you yonng scamp, and get a sound spunk ing.’ Scholar-*-’ You han’t got no right to spank mo, and the copy you set mo says so.’ Teacher-— 1 1 should like to hear you read that copy.’ Scho ar (read*) — 4 Let all the ends tboq *iu»e»t at be thy country's.’ - - CUTHBERT |§|| APPEAL. Prince Pierre Bonaparte. Correspondence of the World.} Park, January 19.—Crimsoned are his 1 1 limits in his Brothers’ b ood, and not <r«»m yesterday alone, nor is Victor Noir s assassination tfej most odious murder he has eoTnVnitted in his We which liegan H i Borne, the 12th of Sep temlnT, 1815. He is Prime Ltscien Bonaparte’s third son. He has all his life led an adventurers career. He was scarcely seventeen when, iri 1832, he went to the United States, where he re mained at Point Breeze, New Jersey, iu ibe house of his um-le, Joseph B<>na parte, ex-King of Spain. Here he Be came acquainted with General Santan der, of Columbia, South America, who pet KUi.ded him lo take part in tire san quinary disturbances, to this day’ the opjwwbi ium of most of the South Ameri can States. He guvo the new recruit a nntj r’s eotiitnission in some cavalry regiment. Prince Pit-ire «Mti l-ecmute satiated with this blood and crime stain? mJ anarchy, and returned to Like all of the younger members of the Bonaparte family (the eldest brother of the French Emperor regnant was killed in an insurrection itt the States of the l eg*.ti«m in 1833) Prince Pierre was Soon etee|>cd to the dps in political con B|>iranies for the overthrow of the Pope’s temporal power. It was not long before he became so active a carbomro (so these conspirators were called ) that fie received orders to leave the State* of the Legation This was in 1836, when he consequently was just turned twenty one. He refused to whey the order. A strong detachment of the I'ootdical finny was sent to exe cute the order of extrusion. Prince P-iefre resisted Arms were wswl on both sides Prince Pierre killed the cap lain iu command. Captain Castcllaeci, a highly esteemed tn.ui, wounded two soldiers, and w;m so severely wounded himself us easily to be made prisoner.— He remained some years confined in Smi Angelo Castle. He says he l>ore this captiv ty ‘wth the disdain a misera ble court cannot but inspire to a man wlto lias blood in his veins.’ AGAIN IN TUB UNITED STATES. The first use he made of his liberty was to return Hi the United States ft was, however., a mere flying visit; he quickly returned to Europe, made a brief visit to England, and was nest heard ot iu the lonian Islands. One day he determined to go shooting in Greece. You know it is «t» near that the lonian islands, horsemen not Utifre quently ut low tide, -come from the main to these islands, and ret mm the same day. Prince Pietre hired a boat which ■o.mbl be impelled by oars or by sails, and went to Greece. A customs offi cer, a sort of tide waiter, named Pali k ites, attempted to search the boat as was his duty. ANOTHER muader. P’ince Pierre 4mnght'ily ordered him off. Paliik.- res refused to go. Prim-e Porto stmt him down. Palhkares’s agp (he was u gray beard and u grandfutll errand the general esteem in which he was hwhl, nnwefl to a very high piten the indignation of the Greeks at this brutal, unprovoked murder, and the c.imifiioticni on shore became so great tlwt Prince Pierre saw his only safety lay in fl ght,-and lie n-enirued as fast as his mat couid go to the lonian Islands. Tlie English authorities no sooner w inude ai quahilcd wh.ii tfnjdastardly act than they ordered Prince Pierre to quit the Islands, and took measures, which were successful, to obtain a sum of mon ey for Pal lik hi ies’s family from the as sassin’s friends. H>- returned to Wes turn. Europe, and after malviug imffei-tu ai attempts to obtain service under Me heiueiit All and a commission ia the Preach Foreign Legion he wandered all .at 'England, Belgium, liolluud and Germany, until the revolution of 1848 gave all adventirurs who coulu pn lenu to be Fretiolimen a chance to better their condition. 'BT-IU. ANOTHER. During this stay in Belgium, amfthw sanguinary episode occurred in his ca reer. It is shrouded in a good deal of obscurity;; the only -clear circumstance in it is that he assassmattai swmelkidy ! one-stony goes that the pers<«« assassi nated was a jjoaelier, aliottKSr that a gamekeeper irritated the Prince amd was strut down, lie returned to Paris in fB4’ < , and obtained a commission as maj aiu the Foreign Legion. Ue was ordered to Africa, whore the legion serves, hut did not remain there long.— At the siege of Zaatcha he was about to le id his sold lets to the assault of a redoubt, wlu-n the Colonel of tii« regi tiienl gave him a severe scolding alw-ut some order wiiicti lie had misinterpreted Prince l’icire, without saying, a wind Mimed In* Inuse around, ixsle back to c amp, packed his c lothes and proceeded t<< Pans Had h s reputation for cour age nor been well established, this reck les-ness would have been attended with awkward consequences. His first visit in Paris was pa.d the Minister of War (General P. llautponl)' 1 who was iimiiz. ed t<> see hiiu, and the tallowing usy his commission was eanodled. This event gave rise to some discussion in the Con stituent. Assembly. In the course of the debate the Minister of War, spe.ik ing of his courage, said a skirmish had taken place before the assault of Zaatcha was ordered, and that Prince P.erre had KILLED AH ARAB with bis own hand, w hich was to be ex pected from a man who bore the name of “Bonaparte.” Corsica sent him to the Constituent Assembly. He always vo ted with the extreme left —he voted against the chambers, for the right to labor, for the progressive tux (levied on th‘o rich in proportion to their incomes), for the abolition of the salt tux, tor the amnesty of the insuigents of *une, and for the republican constitution. He was, nevertheless, a warm supporter of Prince L‘*uis Napoleon, although nick named in the Assembly Pierre le Rouge (red Pierre.) BLAPB A legislator’s FACE. One day an old man, M. Gustier, who •’at behind him, interrupted some speak er by crying, ‘He (Louis Napoleon) is a fool.” Prince Pierre immediately turned around and slapped M. Hastier. A scene of great contusion followed.— Prince Pierre was tried for this assault and fined two hundred francs. The newspaper L’Assembles National,; pub lished an article on the Prince’s conduct before Zaatchu, and b$ B<j«t a challenge, although he was not the author of the article. TWO DUELS. The duel took place at St. Germain. Pistols wore selected. The adversaries were placed thirty paces apart, each to have the right to advance five paces.— Two shots were exchanged without re suit : thereupon M. de La Valeete’s second intervened and declared that while he felt it to he his duty to assume the responsibility of an article, although not its author, he regretted the courage and honor of Prince Pierre had been doubted ; both seconds declared honor satisfied His next duel waswith M. Pena de Rovigo, then editor of a satirical pa per, called Le Corsaire Prince Pierre took offence and challenged M. Rme de Rovigo. They fought with straight Ba bres in the Boisde B mlogne, if. de Ro vigo’s first lunge scratcho 1 the Prince’s hft breast; and the latter’* parry dis armed the former. The adversaries were again armed, and, during, the next, is" Prince Pierre was again wounded ; this dine his bands were scratched. The principals now insisted upon substitu ting pistols for swords; bat the s con da said honor was satisfied, and refused to allow the combat to proceed. You will notice that Prince Piorre is never mas ter of Mmselt unless in the presence «f an unarmed adversary ; fee then di rects hi* weapon with unerring accura cy.’ He bowed his head to the cotip d’rtat with the same spirit of resignation as Prince Napoleon (likewise a filming red republican) ! ami received the tides of prince aud highness and a considera ble pension without a single protest against the destruction of the republic. He lived sometimes in Corsica ami sometimes at Auteuil. He rarely went to the Tuileries; lor, whil receiving honors and money from the Emperor, he protended lo be wounded by the con fiscatioß of tlie,public liberties, WINCE I’liiKHfcHs personal appearance. His head is relatively small for his body. It seems formed of unusually strong bones. It is almost round inclin ed to be bald, for the brown hair is sparse; it is smooth and well arranged. Ihtve is u slight depression a fettle above each temple between the eye brows, which give the face rather a sin gular expression. His eyebrows are arched, but without shading the eye, v.lnch seeuis made of polished brown agate. It is small, bright, but not in tellectual; the left eye has a very slight tendency to squint. The lower eyelid is .swollen and furrowed by small veins —the'eyelid of a man of ungovernable temper. His nose is lat rather than neivous. His mouth and lower jaw are hidden by a mustache and mh immense beard The diameters Os his face at the cheek bone and at the chin are the same. His cheeks are heavy, fat aud pale. His ears seem glued to the head. He has an unu sually short ueck. Bi.ebp and Death.—‘To love without fearing death,’ said Hnfeluud, ‘is the only mentis off living happy and dying at a good oid age. People who dread death seldom attain longevity. Jf death presents itseif to us under a re. pulsive and terrifying aspect, it is solely owing to war (mbits and prejudices imv iag ’perverted unr feelings. Montaigne justly said that it is the darkening the room, the faces full of grief and desola tion, the moaning and crying, that make death tentfic. Civilization, by invest ing death with the most lugubrious as sociations that it can conjure up, has aiso contributed to rendering it a hide, ous spectre. It is the reverse with the patient. In nine cases out often is not only a relict, but almost a s.-nse of vo lupluousHe-sa. Sleep daily teaches us the reality id death. ‘Bieep and death are twins,’ said the poets of antiquity.— Why. then, should we feat death, when we daily invoke its brother as a friend and a consolation? ‘Life,’ said Bufibn, ‘begins to fail long before it is utterly gone.’ Why, then, should we dread tiie last moment, when we are prepared lor its advent by so many other mo ments of a similar character ? Death is us natural us life. Huh come to us in the same my, without our ctHtstio'Uft iiess, w ithout (arr being able to deter mine tire advent of either.. No one knows the ex.njt moment when he goes to sleep, Bone will know the exact mo* meat (if his death. Jf is ceitain that death is generally a pleasurable leeling. Lucan used to say that life would be uusuppnr table to inan if'the gods had not hidden from him the happiness he would experience in dying. Tullius Alarcellinus, Francis Suarez arid the philosopher La Mettrie, all spoke of the Voluptuousness if their last moments. — Such are the consolations which philos ‘ phy presents to timid minds that dread death. W a need not Bay what much higher and loftier consolations await the Cnristian v\ ho is firm and steadfast iu his faith, and has before him the prospect of eternal life. Tiik Island of San Juan.— Robinson Grusoe’s famous isle has been colonized by a well organized company of Get -' man emigrants. It was ceded in 1868 to Robert Wehrdan, an engineer from Saxony, who after Rei ving the United States as a Major during the war of the rebellion, engaged in exploration for railroad companies in South Ameri ca. He has induced a company o‘‘ Ger mans, sixty or seventy in number, to migrate to this island, and they are quite delighted with their prospects.— They find it a lovely and fertile spot, stocked already with herdsoi wild goats and with a few wild horses and don- 1 keys. They have brought 7,‘un them caltl**, swine and f,„vis, agricultural and fishing implements, and all needful equipments for a strong colony. The grotto so famous as Robinson's house, still remains. It is situated in a iarge valley, covered with an exuberant growth of wild turnips. A Chilian youngster who has charge of the swine, is assigned to this valley, as the turnips afford good feeding to the swine, and lie may revive memories of Robinson by taking possession of the grotto. As Juan Fernandez is now a regular stop ping plaee where whalers take in wood and water, we shall have frequent re ports ol the fortunes of the new colo nists. \ i t&, A rash chap says that the giving of the ballot to women would not amount to much, for none of them would admit that they were old enough to vote until they were too old to take any in terest id politics. CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 3, 1870. Bebw tie Ean h 3 Crast. From the Muskegcn (Micb.) Euterprae.] When we were publishing a p iper in Lewisburg, West Virginia, several years ago, a vi/ry singular accident befell a young man there, which we narrated briefly at the time A few day* ago we chanced to meet him here, in Muskegon, and he nariated his adventure at our request. It occurred on the farm of Gen. A. W. G. Davis, in Greenbrier county, in 1856 We give the story in his own words, as near as we can re collect them : ‘I was plowing on Gen. Davis’ farm, in 1856,’ said he, ‘unsuspicious of being on insecure ground, when suddenly the earth seemed to fall beneath me. 1 saw the horses descending, but was too frightened t<* let go the plow handles. Tne pitch of the horses with the earth gave my fall an impetus, and somehow 1 caught the mane of one of them in my fa I and so held instinctively. What falling, I can hardly tell. At any rate, I did some rapid thinking. When I landed I fell oo the horse whose mane I had hold of, and, although the horse was instantly killed. I was merely stunned and confused On recovering I looked up, and the hole through which I had fallen looked so small I concluded i must have fallen 150 feet. My first thought was to eull for aid, but I instantly recollected the fact timt I was at least a mile from Gen. Davis’ house, and that there was not the rein >test probability that any one had seen my descent into the earth. ‘lt was then eaily morning, and as I had brought out my dinner with me, no one would tniss me before nightfall.— While going over these facts m my mind, I beard the rush of water near at band, and it occurred to me that I must have fallen upon the lied of Sink ing Creek, which as you know, falisinto the eartli above Frankfort, and does not come out but once till it reaches the banka of River. To say where I was, or to attempt to follow the subterraneous pasage, was the next question. I sometimes took the team to my own tenant stables, and therefore might not be missed for days; so i de termined to fmlow the stream. I wa ded iu it, and, judging from its depth of from one to three'feet, I concluded it must be the identical Sinking Greek spoken of. Leaving my dead compan ion behind me, 1 so lowed the stream.— For most part 1 had pretty easy woi*k of it, but some.t nes 1 came to a deep place, w here 1 was forced to swim for a con siderable distance; again was often precipitated headlong into deep water by the precipitous naure of the rocky bed of tfte stream. ‘Talk about tlie darkness of the grave.’ The grave itself could not have been more iinpalpably dark than the pas sage I was following. The -occasional rippling of the water was an inexpressi bly dear sound -to my ears. Day and nigltt were the same to me. At last, wearried with my efforts, I laid down on a comparatively dry rock to Test, and must have slept for hours. When 1 awi<ke again I took to <he water/ careful y ascertaining which way it ran, so as not to lose my labor by retracing rny sieps. It seemed to me that the further 4 went the mere difficult pro gress became. When f had gone per haps a mile, I came to a place where the archw.y narrowed so much that i had to crawl *on niy hands and knees in lie water. ‘Here was a dilemma I had not look ed for. I tried either bank of the liver, but. found no passage. I could swim under w ater lor a considerable distance, but the distance before me was un known, and I hal ed long before ma king tlie dangerous venture. At last I concluded that my fate whs equally doulnful in returning as in proceeding, and plunged bokily into the current, and soon found that it whs so swift in its contioed pas.-age that I only needed to hold my breath to go through, in the course of tweniy or thir.y feet I again got rny head above water, and took a long breathing spell. Again the archway above Seemed to enlarge, and the bed of the stream became more even. 1 sped along compar a.iv'ely lapi ily, keeping my hands outstretched to prevent my running against the jagged locks. Wearied out, I again iaid down acd slept sound ly in my wet clothes. ‘On awakening 1 pursued, my course down the subterranean stiearn, and at last, in the long distance ahead, saw a glimmer that looked very bright in the darkness 1 was then shut in. Nearing this, I found that it did n<-t increase in brightness; and when I had gone per haps a mile, I came to another place where my path narrowed to the very tunnel tilled by the water. My case was now become more desperate. I conid not possibly retrace mv steps, so I submitted myself to the current, and was immeasurably overjoyed to find myself i apidly sw, pt into daylight. Ex hausted and half drowned, l crept out upon the land and was not long in re cognizing tlm olj. cts about me .1 had come out irilo the Greenbrier River, as I knew' from ‘the familiar look of Gen Davis mill on the bank. On reaching home I lound that I had been over for ty-eight hours in making my perilous journey of six miles underground.’— The hole where this man went through is now fenced round. Oo listening, one can plainly hear the rush of water be low, and a stone thrown down will sometimes be heard tc splash in the stream. „ Another, aioon for the Earth.—A German scientist has recently created a considerable sensation by the publica tion of a pamphlet, in which he takes the ground fbat the zodiacal light pro ceeds from a gaseous ring surrounding the earth at a distance of only a few thousand miles from its surface. This gas, he tliiuks, is in a state of quiet combustion, but is now fast cooling olf, and in consequence, wiil soon burst and aggregate into a globular mass, and form u second moon for the earth, inside of the orbit of onr present luminary.— His idea is founded on the now general ly received theory that all the planets and moons have been formed in that manner. The supposition is possible. We know but little of the cause or con stitution of the phenomenon known as the zodiacal light. —Mining Prat. JGfcg- In Chicago, husbauds are said to be so much under petticoat government that they add to their announcement of future movements the letters 4 W, P.,’ which means ‘ wife permitting.’ The St. Louis Ghost Story. For the St. Louis Republican.] There is a fresh rumor in the way of a haunted house, and while fully as in credible as such stories generally are, it is creating a small sensation. This time the mansion is not in a boggy pra ine bottom, but near the corner of Six teenth and Morgan streets, a three •story brick, with a gray, desolated ap pearance We are not disposed to fill much space with detuils on such a sub ject, but for the edification of the lovers of the ghostly we give the statement of the young girl principally ccncerned. It is exactly as she made it to a visitor: STATEMENT OF MISS JENNIE DEBONNAIRB. My name is Jennie Debonnairej 1 am fifteen years of age; I think it was last Thursday I went to the house on the corner of Sixteenth and Morgan street first; I had heard people talking about it, and wanted to see; so I got the the agent and went there; I wan eirUFsee if there was any truth in the stories; I got to the bouse as it was getting dusk; I think it must have been near seven o’clock ; I went in and stood in the hall, inside the hall door; I called out, ‘if there are any spirits, or anything of the sort here, in the name of the Lord let it appear.’ Then I saw near the top of the staire which goes up to the second story from the hall, as if it was the head of a man.— The face was pale and bloody. There were cuts c n the throat and "head. It w r « that of a light-complected man, with curly hair. Then it seemed as if I t-aw the man kora the waist up; then as if the form was complete, but one leg was cut off. The man called out, 'Zoola, Z »ola.’ This was the name my father used to call me. 1 said : ‘That’s not my name, and I will not answer.’ Then the man replied ‘Jennie.’ I ask ed him in the name of the Lord, what was the matter with him? He said, ‘Come and I will show you.’ Then I followed him down to the cellar, he leading me. I was quite close to him, and he seemed dressed like any other man and with two legs. The stairs to the cellar are underneath those leading to the second story. When 1 got down into the cellar, it lighted up. A white light like the day; I don’t know how he did it. The man pointed to a spot in the East side, and said down there is $3,000 in gold, and then pointed to an- other spot more North, he said, down there rny bones are hurried. 1 asked his name; and he said Joseph Scott, ar.d he told me he had been killed by a man named Phil. Amberg, who was now in Philadelphia. He said he had been murdered for his money, and that the man who had killed him had taken most of the money away with him, but that he had buried the $3,000 iQ the cellar, as it was too heavy to carry. He after wards got too scared of the place to comeb.i-k alter it. lie asked me to go and tell the Masons about it—for he was a Mason.; that he wanted his bones -buried, -ji«d r asked me if I wouldn’t do it for him, I said I would. When I .went upQq the front door he kept close by me, but aST was going out fee sud denly vanished. Mother and i next day went to the house, and slept in ft two nights. We had to h-Mve it. Mother could no tstund the continual hammering noise which went on, and the sound of a man walk, ing heavily up the cellar staii-s, Three knocks would bo given at the room, whe’i’e we were, and then l would see tlie same man coming it seemedthrough the door. When we were in bed, he would coine arm stand at the foot, and ask me if I would not have his bones bu ried. Then when I would be going out of the house, I would see a hand just above the cellar stairs fa ckmfing me down there. I was not afraid. I went to tlie big building on Market street where I saw tfae Mason’s sign. I told them there, and they sent me to Third street, and a man directed me to the po ice office, and 1 told the story to the captain. I can do no more. I can’t go down into the cellar and dig myself.— Anyliody who goes to the house can hear tue noise, and anybody who docs not want to make fun of the case can see the man, Joseph Scott. He told me so.’ Such is the young person’s entire ex perience, as reheat sed by herself. If Mr. P. Amb-rg lives in the Quaker City, we have no doubt he will be either greatly amused or greatly shocked at that bill of iudictmeut drawn up by a child. There were several visitors yes terday to Miss Debonnaire, to make in quiries, an>l the cu'iosity is on the in crease. Will no chivalrous young gen tlernun volunteer to dig in the cellar until they find the money and the bones? Young Men. —An exchange truly says: ‘‘Thousands of young men are to day drifting helplessly about or the ocean of life, vainly hoping that ere long some favorable breeze will opting up and drive their vessels into some safe harbor. Where that safe harbor is they have no idea ; because they have no definite object in view. They have nev r deejjjbtJ upon any course of life, but permittTieir actions to be shaped arid moulded by the circumstances ol the hour. Is it any wonder that disas ters follow each other in quick succes sion ? More men are ruined through in decision than from a wrong decision.— Few men will deliberately lay out and pursue a pianos life that will ultimately work their ruin. Most young men of ihe present day enter the great battle of life without any well defined system of warfare, and consequently spend their best days in aimless pursuits. In decision is the bane of our existence.— (Jould we look into the world of spirits we would find but few souls in the dark regions of woe that had resolved to reach that goal; nearly all who are there, and those who are hastening there, are in their present condition sim ply because they never decided whither they would go, and their indecision has been their ruin. A Valparaiso merchant recently receiving a challenge lrorn an officer with whom he had quarreled, sent back this answer : 4 1 have no desire whatever to kill you, still less do I deaere to be killed myself. Here is what 1 propose : Go to the nearest w;<»nd. Choose a tree about as stout as myself, place yourself fifty, thir ty, or even fifteen steps from it—just as you like—and then fire bravely on the tree If you hit it, I will admit that I was in the wrong, and will offer you an apology. In the contrary case, I shall be ready to receive yours,* How Some People Marry. A young man meets a pretty face in the ball room, falls in love with it, courts it, marries it, goes to housekeeping with it, and boasts of having a home and a wife to grace it. Tlie chances are, nine to ten, that he has neither. He has been “taken in and done for 1” Her pretty face gets to be an old story, or becomes faded, or freckled, or fretted, and as tha face was all he wanted, all he paid attention to, all he sat up with, all he bargained for,all he'swore to love, honor and protect, he gets sick of his trade, knows of a dozen faces he likes better, gives up staying at home eve nings, consoles himself with cigars, oys ters and politics, and looks upon his home as a very indifferent boarding house. A family of children grow up about him; but neither he nor his "face” know anything about training them, so they ootne up halter-sbelter ; made toys of when feabi«s| dolls when boys and girls, drudges r»‘hen men and women; and so passes year after year, and not one quiet, happy, homely how known throughout the whole household. Another young man becomes enamor ed of a “fortune.” He waits upon it to parties, dances the polka with it, ex changes iilktdoux with it, pops the ques. tion to it, gets accepted by it, takes it to the parson, weds it, calls it “wife,” car ries it home, sets up an establishment with it, introduces it to his friends, and says he, too, is married and has got a home. It is false. He is not married : he has no home. And he soon finds it out. He is in the wrong box; but it is too late to get out of it; he might as well hope to got out of his coffin. His friends congratulate him, and he has to grin and bear it. They praise the house, the furniture, the cradle, the new baby, -the new Bible, and bid the “for tune,” and he who husbands it, good morning. As if be had known a good morning since he and that gilded for tune were declared to be one. Take another case. A young woman is smitten with a pair of whiskers.— Curled hair never before had such charms: She sets her cap for them; they take. The delighted whiskers make an offer, proffering themselves both in exchange for one heart. The dear miss is overcome with magnanimi ty, closes the bargain, carries home the prize, shows kto pa and raa, calls her self engaged to it, thinks there aever was such a pair of whiskers before, and in a few weeks they are married. Married 1 Yes, the world calls it so, and so we will. What is the result ? A short hon eymoon, and then the discovery that they are as unlike as chalk and cheese, and not to be made one, though all the priests in Christendom pronounce them so. How to Plant a Tree. In transplanting treets, much depends upon the knowledge and skill exercised. Thousands of fine, trees are lost every year through the ignorance and care lessness of tirirnsjManters.' In taking up <u tree or shrub for transplanting, be careful to injure the roots as little as possible. But in all cases tlie roots w-ill be maimed -more or less. The feeding power ot -the tree is to the same extent decreased, and it will not be able to sustain the draft made upon it by the stem and leaves. These must be diminished correspondingly by heading back or shortening. In prepar ing a place for the reception of the tree, avoid, if possible, the sites of old trees. Dig a hole considerably larger than the clump of the tree’s roots, and from fifteen to twenty inches deep, placing the sods, if in sward land, in one heap, the soil in another, and the subsoil ii; a third. The hole should be filled with a mixture of the soil,subsoil, and rich, black loam, and little well-rot ted compost manure, containing wood ashes and lime, to the height where it is proper to place the tree, which should be mo deeper than ft grew in the nurse ry. With the hand or spade shape the soil for the roots into the form of a lit tle cone, on which to set the hollow in the centre of the clump of roots. If this is done some weeks or even months, before setting the Tree, it will be all the better. Avoid stable manure as the time of planting. If the ground be dry, or if the roots have been much exposed to the air since tlie tree was taken up, soak the roots and the lower part of the trunk in water twelve or twenty-four hours.— Cat off all bruised and broken ends of loots smoothly with a knife, and shor ten in the longest, so that the clump of roots may have a somewhat circular form. In cutting a root, always enter the knife upon the under side, and bring it out with a slope, to tire tipper side, sp that the fibres which may shoot out from the edges of the efut shall strike downward into the ground, instead of upward, as they would were the cut made as it commonly is. With good, rich soil fiill up nnder, among, around, and above the roots, straightening them out with the fingers, and placing therein a fan-like and nat ural position, being very cautious not to leave any, even small, hollow places among them. If the root is onesided, make the most you can of the weaker part. At this stage of tbo process, a buck et of water is to pour about the roots; but the watering, if the roots be fresh, is not essential, except ID the case of evergreens. Next, put m a little more earth, pressing it around the tree with the foot. After this, throw on an inch or so of loose earth, and the work is done. —Rural Carolinian. Chances of Marriage. —The follow ing curious statement, by Dr. Granville, js taken from a late English paper; it is drawn from the registered cases of 876 women, and is derived from their an swers to the age at which they are res pectively married. It is the first ever constructed to exhibit to females their chances of marriage at Various ages.— Os the 876 females, 3 were married at 13 years of age; 11 at 14; 16 at 15; 43 at 16; 45 at 17; 66 at 18; 115 at 19; 118 at 20 ; 86 at 21; 85 at 22; 59 at 23; 53 at 24 ; 27 at 25; 24 at 26; 28 at 27; 22 at 28; 17 at 29; 9at3o ; 7at 31; sat 32; 7 at 33 ; 5at34 ; 2 at 35; 0 at 36 ; 2 at 37 ; 0 at 38 ; 1 at 39; oat 40 From this onr fair read ers may form a pretty accurate judg ment of the chances whiob they have of entering into the holy state of matrimo ny, and of enjijying the sweets (we say nothing of the Litters) of wedded life. Half Cash and Half Barter—a Cute Trick. A Connecticut broom peddler—a shrewd chap, Irom, over among the steady habits,wooden clocks,schoolmas masters, and other fixing—drove through the streets of Providence heavily laden with corn brooms. He had called at several stores and offered his load, or ever so small a portion of it; but when he wanted the cash, and nothing else, in payment, the}’ had uniformly given him to understand that they had brooms enough, snd that he might go further. At length he drove up to a large whole sale store on the West side, aud once more offered his wares. “Well, I want the brooms badly enough,’’ said the merchant, “but wbat will you take in pay f” This was a poser The peddler was aching to get rid of s bis brooms : he despised the very sight es his brooms; but he would no soo-ser sell a single broom for cash than the* whole load for any otherarticle—especially that which fee could not dispose of so readily as he could brooms. After a moment’s hesitation, however, he screwed his courage to the sticking point—it requir ed some courage, alter having lost his chance of selling his load half a dozen times by a similar answer—and frank ly told tfee merchant he must have cash. Os course, the merchant protested that cash was scarce, and that he must pur chase, if he purchased at aU, with what he had in his store to pay with. He really waßtcd the brooms and (fed «ot hesitate to say so. But tfee times were hard, and he had notes to pay, and had goods that must be disposed of. Finally, he said he would put the goods at tfee cost price, for the sake of trading, and would take the whole load of brooms which the peddler bad la bored so unsuccessfully at the other stores to dispose of. ‘So unload the brooms’ said he to the man from Connecticut, ‘and select any articles from my store, and you shall have them at cest price.’ The peddler scratched bis bead.— There was an idea there, as the sequel shows plainly enough. ‘I tell you what it is,’ he answered est last, ‘just *ay them terms for -half the load, and cash for t’other half, and I’m your man. RLwcd es I don’t sell eout. if Connecticut Biuks with all her broom stuff, the next minute.’ The merchant hesitated a moment, but finally concluded the change a good one. He would be getting half the brooms for something that would not sell as readily.; as for the cost price, it was easily gammon in regard to it. The bargain was struck, ibe brooms were brought in, and the cash for half of them was paid over. ‘Now, what will you have for the re mainder of your bill ? asked the mer chant. » The peddler scratched his head, again, and this time more vigorously.— He walked the floor, whistled and'drum med with his fingers on the head of a barrel. By-and by his ■came— slowly, deliberately and emphatically : ‘You Providence fellers are cute; you sell at cost, pretty much »I1 df you, and make money. I don’t see how its done. Now, I don’t know about your goods, barrin’ one article, and es I take any thing else I may be cheated. So, seem’ as ’twron’t make any odds with you, I guess I’ll take brooms. I know them line a book, and can swear to jest what you paid for’em. And so saying, the peddler commen ced re-loading his broom*, and having deposited halt of lu‘b former load, jump ed on his cart with a regular CJoneoticut grin, and leaving the merchant cursing his impudence and bis own stupidity, drove off ia search of another custom er. How He Got Her. —A late interview of Mormondom relates how Brigham Young got one of his wives, as follows : Ooe of his wives is very handsome, and at the same time elegant and dis tinguished. She is named Amelia, and oftener called beautiful Amelia. She was formerly the wife of a rich citizen of New York. Romantic and unoccupied, she dreamed of something eccentric to cure herself of the ennui which became atorment in the prosaic middle way through which her life led. The newspapers spoke of the famous Brigham Young, both as being a pope and a severing. Amelia read all this, and one day she said to herself: ‘I will become the queen of Salt Lake City ; by my handsome eyes acd my beauty I will subjugate this man and gain such influence over him that fee shall ever re nounce polygamy. She took pen and ink, a handsome sheet of paper, and wrote this note to him : ‘I believe that grace has come upon me. I wish to become a Mormon, if you will marry me.’ ' She did not have to wait long for the answer : ‘Come 1 you shall be received with open arms, and shall become my wife.’ Amelia sought a divofoe and obtain ed it, without having revealed her ob jeoc. Again free, she left for Salt Lake City with an escort of honor which the sovereign of Utah had sent her. Her arrival made a sensation. Nev er before had the Mormons seen so beautiful and elegant a woman. Brig ham Young was rayished, enchanted. He received her as if she were a queen, and covered her wdth flowers, laces and diamonds. She became all she anticipated in power and influence, with one exception. She could not induce Brigham to de stroy polygamy. He always said, ‘God has imposed it upon us. I cannot diso bey the will of the Most High.’ Bishop Simpson said in one of his recent leefnres that while in Europe he never travelled with a German stu dent without being told that he (the student) was saving money to go to America, nor rode with an Irishman that did not ask him if he knew his cousin! $&• A gentleman once asked.— ‘Wbat is woman V when a married man replied,—‘She is an essay on grace, in one volumn, elegantly bound. Al though it may be dear, every man should have a copy of it.’ OTA person being asked why he had given his daughter to a man with wh >m he was at enmity, replied : 4 1 did it out of t-ura revenue.’ VOL. IV- NO. 16. A Young Man in Debt. A young man running in debt i* • painful sight, lho disposition to do this is the forerunner and exponent of all evil. Apostolic authority says:— ‘The love of money is the root of all evil.’ But when a young man loves money so well as to get it while know ing he cannot repay, or be willing to take it before he has hdfeestly earned it, there is, in most cases, lying behind this, some passion so strong as to thus over bear his moral principles, ia clamoring for its indulgence. Pleasure, especial ly unlawful pleasure, is a perilous thing. Lawful, necessary and healthful pleas ure, like the pure mountain spring, have been made accessible by our Creator at comparatively little trouble and expense. Any indulgence may be known as unlawful when it can be reached only by running in debt The highway of sin is an expensive road to travel. The fare, the charges, are all high. And they have to be paid twice over, not only in currency, but also ia something more precious than gold, quarried from the depths and springs of our being.— No person ever traveled on that high way, so attractive in prospect, without beepming Bankrupt, and pawning his own peace and life, long before he got to the end of his journey. Whenever a young man, however moderate his salary, is seen always ■cramped for money, and ready to bor row of his friends, ho is surely on the downward grade of virtue and respect ability. Willingness to run in debt ia itself a great vice. It is caused by the wish to gratify the unlawful craving ly ing behind, perhaps undisclosed to the eyes of the world. Experienced men readily judge what this want of money indicates; and, however fair your char acter may Beem in other respects, they will be satisfied, from this alone, that there is some hidden taint and unsound- However small your income, always ness live within your means. There is far less unhappiness in doiug without evea necessary things, than there is in the consciousness of being in debt. Herod otus says, that among the ancient Per sians, ‘To teU a lie is considered them the greatest disgrace; next to that to-be in debt ; and this for many reasons, but especially because they think that one who runs in debt must, of necessity, tell lies.’ Does your ex perience, your conscience, tell you this is true ? Always keep an unspent and anpawn ed dime in the bottom of your pocket. Its touch will always be invigorating; and, with talismanic power, send through your soul energy, making you carry a countenance flashed with honorable frankness. This simple dime is invalu able, as the symbol of wianly independ ence. The consciousness of debt in a young man, begets incipient meanness of character and, when continued, de velops this info a confirmed habit, tain ting the whole nature. A man yet iu his prime, who has accumulated a for tune of two millions by honest industry, said,*] began with a 'determiilation t$ keep all my wages. . When getting only twenty five cents a day, I always saved something.’ This principle has carried him, and will carry you, to high elevation of character, to great influ ence, and to -independent fortune.— The Guide nt. Tea and Coffee- Hall’s Journal of health says : taking into account the habits of the people, teiandcooflee for supper and break fast add to human health and life, if a single cup be taken at either meal, ami is never increased in strength, freqnei cy or quantity. If they were mere Btimulaiit-i, and were taken thus in mode ration and with uniformity, they would in time, become inert, or the system would become so habituated to their employment as to remaid ia the same relative position to them as if they had never been used ; and consequently, as lo themselves they had better never have been used, as they are liable to abuse. But science and fact unite in declaring them to be nutritious as well as stimulant; hence they will do anew good to tire system every day to the end of life, just as bread and fruits do ; hence we never get tired of either. But the use of bread an and fruits is daily abus ed by multitudes,and dyspepsia and chol era morbus results; yet we onght to forego the use of tea and coffee, be cause their inordinate use gives neural gia and other ailments. But the habit ual use of tea and coffee, at the last and first meals of the day, has another high advantage— is productive of incal culable good in the way of averting evils. « We will drink at our meals, and if we do not drink these, we will drink what is worse—cold water, milk or al coholic mixtures. The regular use of these last will lead the young to drum feeness; the considerable employment of simple milk, at meals, by sederitarv people—by all, except the robust— will either constipate, or render bilious; while cold water largely used, that es pecially in cold weather, attracts to it self so much of the heat of the system, in raising said water to the temperaturo of the body—about one hundred de grees—that the process of digestion is arrested ; in the meanwhile," giving rise to a deathly sickness of the stomach, to twisting pains, to vomitings, purgiDg, and even to cramps. Danger From Eating Nuts. —Medical men advise that salt should be taken with nuts, especially when eaten at night. One time, says a writer, while enjoying a visit from an Englishman, hickory nuts were served in the even ing, when my English friend called for salt, stating that he knew a case of • woman eating heartily of nuts in the evening, who was taken violently ill.— The celebrated Dr. Abernethy was sent for, but it was after he had be come too fond of his cup, a»d he was not in a condition to go. He muttered “salt, salt,” of which no notice was ta ken. Next morniDg he went to this place, and she was a corpse. lie said that had they given her salt it wouhl have relieved her; if they would allow him to make an examination be would convince them. On opening the stom ach the nuts were found in a mass He sprinkled salt on this, and immedi ately it dissolved. 1©“ A Western paper, commenting on the high price of eggs, thinks that * hens could make piles of money u->w bv Paving strict attention to bn-Incas.’