Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

THE TIMES & SENTINEL. TENNENT LOMAX & ROSWELL. ELLIS, EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS. THE TRI-WEEKLY TIMES tfc SENTINEL Is published EPKRY fVKDXFSDAY and FRIDAY MOliX -IXO and SATURDAY EVF.XIXG. THE WEEKLY TIMES fc SENTINEL is published every TUESDA Y MORXTXG. Office on Randolph Street, opposite the Post Office. TEHMSS THI-WEKKLY, Fite Dollars per annum, in advance.” WEEKLY, Two Dollars per annum, in advance, rsr Advertisements conspicuously inserted at One Dollar per square, for the first insertion, and fifty • ests for every sub sequent insertion. Liberal deduction will be made for yearly advertisements. [WRITTEN FOR THE TIMES k SENTINEL.] A. Scrap from Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. THE PEA-GREEN TAFFETA. By c uroliite Lee Ilcniz. Estelle, a little older than when she last ap peared before the reader at the wedding feast ot her sisters, was seated at the side of her ancient Aunt. It was a dark, rainy night, and the child, as she looked from the hearth to the windows, against which the sere leaves drifted, thought of her faraway sisters, Emma and Bessy,and was sad. Bhe was getting to be a little more wo manly in her tastes—more literary—was espe cially fond of romantic tales of love and chival ry, and, consequently, did not draw quite so largely from Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag, as she formerly did. Yet there were moments, such as the present, when that venerable receptacle seemed to her, as in the morning of childhood, the hiding-place of the genii. “Aunt Patty,’’ said she, opening the closet, mounting a high chair, taking down the memor able bag, and depositing it in Aunt Patty’s lap, “tell me the history of some of your scraps, to night. There is a plenty left here, though I made that large patch-work counterpane, so carefully put aside. Aunt Patty, 1 do believe your scraps are like the Widow’s cruse. You may take ever so many out, vet there are ever so many left.” “Yes, yes,” replied Aunt Patty, trying to draw up the contracted sinews of her neck, but suf fering it to lull painfully again towards the left side, “when so many nice, friendly fingers are filling it up all the time, it isn’t strange that the bag, like the cruse, keeps full. Let me see. 1 hese are most all new scraps. Somehow or other, l can’t remember about these, as l can the pieces, given me long ago. The people, now-a-davs, it seems to me, don’t do as many smart things, nor say as many smart sayings, as they did in Parson Broomfield’s day. They are more alike, as it were, and what you hear of one will do about as for another. There is nothing to remember, and I know I’ve got as good a memory as any body of my age ever did have. 1 don t believe there is one single tiling that happened when I was a girl, and that I then knew of, that ever escaped me.” “I remember everything that Frank says and does, Aunt Patty. 1 wonder to hear you say that the people were smarter when you were young than they are now. Mr. Selwyn said the world was growing better and wiser every day. I’m sure 1 grow wiser every day myself.” It was amusing to see the air of precocious wisdom that dignified Estelle’s blooming face. Aunt Patty smiled benignantly, fully believing all that she asserted of herself, though some what doubting the truth o( Mr. Selwyn’s re mark, and leaning forward on her crutch, put her trembling right hand into the bag. “How in the world,” she exclaimed, drawing a piece of pea-green colored taffeta from the rainbow shreds on the top, “how in the world did that get here, mixed up with the new scraps ? This belongs to old time history. Well, well; this does carry me back, sure enough, a long way, full fifty years, it not more, when I saw Patience Hilliard dressed out in that fine smooth taffeta, looking so fine and pretty, just as if she stepped out of anew band-box. Poor Patience ! I wonder if she is alive now.” “What makes you call her poor, Aunt Patty? I should think anybody who wore such a fine, rich silk as this, ought to be rich.” “ There's such a thing as shining in borrowed plumes, child, as you shall hear presently. And that reminds me of a bad habit little girls have now-a-davs. Borrowing each other’s finery and tricking themselves out in each other’s rings and gew-gaws, like the Jackdaw in Fables. Don’t do any such thing, darl ing. It will be sure to bring you into trouble. Now, Patience Hilliard was a poor girl, and used to dress, at home, in homespun, and noth ing finer than calico abroad. Her mother got her living bv spinning and weaving, and mak ing butter and cheese, and such like. Patience was right industrious and helped her mother as much as she could, so that siie got her name up for being the smartest girl for work anywhere about. She was as pretty a girl, too, as one wants to look upon, and always as neat as a new-bound hymn book. It was a pity she got it into her head to be proud of her good looks and ashamed of her nice, homely dress. But that wasn't so much her fault, as the silly folks that were always flattering and fooling her. She used to carry the butter to the stores, all stamped up with flowers and devices, and I remember it was the nicest butter 1 ever Law in m v life. Mrs. Hilliard had a nice, green clover patch behind the house, and her cows didn’t starve, I assure you. All her butter was as yellow as gold, and it turned into gold, too. The young men who stood be hind the counters, used to praise Patience’s red cheeks and bright eyes more than they did the butter, so I’ve heard say, till she set such store by her beauty that she took mincing steps and talked as if cotton was in her mouth. In those days we used to have quilting frolics, and many times they were worth a dozen such stiff, formal parties as they have now.” “Why didn’t we have a quilting frolic, Aunt Patty, when the scrap counterpane was quilted? It would have been such a nice opportunity.” “M ell, I don’t know, child. I suppose it is because 1 am too old to think of such things, and Mrs. Worth, my niece Emma, that was, don’t care about that kind of party gathering. When she was a young girl, she never did. She never liked frolics.’’ “Do grown folks ever play forfeits, Aunt Pat ty ?” asked Estelle, opening her blue eyes in as tonishment. “I thought it was children’s play. “There’s many a grown up child, darling, and life is pretty much made up of children’s play.j Well, 1 was talking about quiltings. It they ; are old-fashioned now, they were all the rage j then. The young men—they used to call them < sparks —always came after the quilting was i over, and the fiddler came, too, and they wound j up with a dance. Now, one of our neighbors had a mighty great quilting, and invited ever j so many young people to it. Though l was i always so lame and awkward, and couldn’t i dance, 1 could use my needle curiously, and : they were always glad (o get me at the quilting frame. 1 was never thinking about the sparks 1 like the other girls, and kept steadier to my ‘ work.” “Why, Aunt Patty ! What’s the reason you never thought of them ?” “Because there is not one in a hundred worth thinking about, and they are all after beauty I and finery, and havn’t a word to fling away to a poor cripple like me. Now, Patience never wanted for admirers, though she would have been better oft’ without them, for had it not been for them she never would have thought of doing the mean trick I am going to tell you about. Just before the great quilting, Patience went to take care of a lady who was sick—a very rich and beautiful lady—who wore the prettiest ; clothes of any one in town. She never went to j any of the gatherings, for she lived, as it were, above them ; and vet she was so good and kind to the poor, nobody called her proud. Patience couldn’t come to the quilting; lint when the dance began, she came rustling into the room in a beautiful, shining pea-green taffeta, just like this. I could hardly believe my own eyes, for I’d never seen her dressed in anything finer than calico before. She had artificial flowers in her hair and gold ear-rings in her ear, all set with pearls. She swam about, for all the world like a peacock with its tail flashing in the sun, and, really, if it hadn’t been for the astonishment one felt, one couldn’t help thinking she was wonder ful pretty. There happened, (l can’t conceive how, hut he was sure enough there,) there hap pened to be a young Frenchman there, who danced as light as a butterfly, and had teeth as white as polished ivory. He took a won drous facy to Patience, whom he probably thought the finest lady in the room. Everybody was whispering about Patience and wandering where her fine dress came from. “It isn’t hers,” said one, “any more than it’s mine. If it is, she stole the money to buy it, for butter and cheese never manufactured that.” “I don’t believe no such thing,” says 1, think ing it right to take her part, because they were all talking behind her back, which was mean and unchristian-like. “Patience always was an honest girl and her mother brought her up well. It must be a present to her. I dare say Mrs. Shalee gave it to her. That was the name of the sick lady ; and I really did believe it, though I didn’t think of it before I said it. Patience J was a belle that night if there ever was one. Her cheeks were as red as damask roses, and j her eyes sparkled like live diamonds. Yet she looked uneasy-like, as if she didn’t want us to follow her too close, or watch her too hard. I | tell you what, Estelle, it must be an awful feel -11 ing when anybody does anything they don’t , wan’t found out; but, remember, the Lord finds out everything we do, just as easy as if it were ’ | done in broad sun-shine, no matter bow secret and dark we may be. Towards the close of the evening, when Patience was dancing more like i a spirit than a human being, her dress caught a ! nail and tore a great ugly place right in the front breadth. 1 thought she would have gone raving distracted about it. Everybody 7 got round her | to see what was the matter. ” “This is a bad accident,” said the young Frenchman, who was dancing with her. “No, sir,” she cried, sobbing like a baby , “it is a pea-green taffeta.” Every body laughed, and that only made her | cry the more. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her; so I told her if she would come into an other room with me I would try to mend it (or her as well as I could. I was always eonsider | ed a good hand at darning, though one wouldn’t think so, to see my poor fingers. I made her | take off the dress, and set to work in right good j earnest, and it really looked so nice one hardly | could tell where the rent was. But one of the girls that belonged to the house, and 1 do believe : she did it out of envy and spite, insisted upon j pressing it with a warm iron, to flatten the ; stitches, and she scorched it as brown as my snuff’ There was a piece as large as the palm of my two hands scorched right out. “Oh! mercy,” cried Patience, turning as j white as a snow-flake, and wringing her hands, j “what shall I do? I’m mined and undone—l wish I was dead—l wish I’d never been born.” “I’d be ashamed to take on so, about a fine dress,” cried the gill, who had spoiled it; “it’s j right down wicked, I declare it is.” “\ou did wrong to burn it,” says I, looking her right in the eye, all the time—“you know you did—you never tried the iron on a piece of cloth first, to see if it was hot. You wouldn’t have served vour own dress so, you know you j wouldn’t.” She got mad at that, and went out slamming the door after her. Then Patience and 1 were alone, and though I thought she was wrong, I tried to comfort her! “Oil! Patty,” said she, “I’ll tell you—l couldn’t tell any body else in the whole world. If it was mine, I wouldn’t mind it so—but it is Mrs. Sha lee’s. I took it out of her bureau drawer, think ing it would do no harm and that she never would know any thing about it. I meant to put it back, and all the other things too—-oh, dear 1 What shall Ido ? What will become of me ?” “Tell the truth, Patience,” says I, feeling won derful bold to speak, for I knew I had right on my side. “She won’t be half as angry, as she will to find it out in any other way, tor find it out, she must. Besides, it is your duty 7 , and as you’ve done the sin, you ought to bear the shame.” “I can’t,” she cried, “I havn’t got courage i enough; you might do it, but I can t. It we cut a piece off the breadth, perhaps she never j would know it. Please help me, Patty’, and see if it would do.” I shook my head and told her 1 would’nt have any thing to do with it, if she went on deceiving, but if she was willing to tell the righteous truth, 1 would go to Mrs. Shalee’s the next day and stand by her, while she did it. . 1 Patience never went back into the dancing j room that night, but when the quilting broke | up, she peeped out of the window and saw the young Frenchman, that was so taken with lie., i waiting on a girl with a calico frock on, one I whom she despised too. The way she cnee 1 then, l couldn’t begin to tell, (or lie had asked i he might wait on her, most as soon as she Came ! into the room. I don’t believe sue slept one i 1 wink that night, for when the conscience is un quiet the eye-lids won t stay down. “How can you tell, Aunt Patty, asked Es- ; i telle, looking up fondly to that good, but home- ; ! ly lace, “when you never did any tiling wioug, j l in your life ?” “That wont do to sav,” replied Aunt l a tty, meekly’, laying her hand gently on Estelle s ring leted head, while a warm and genial ray of sat- j | isfaction penetrated her heart, at this expies- , j sion of perfect confidence in her excellence— j “I’m nothing but a poor, erring creature at the best, but Ido try to walk in the right way.— Thank the Lord ! the lame can find room in the straight and narrow path, as well as the whole and strong. II it were not tor this crutch, I might be farther from the kingdom ot Heaven than I now am.” “Did you refillv go to Mrs. Shales s, Aunt Patty ?” asked Estelle, after a pause, in which j Aunt Patty seemed lost in devout meditation. “Yes, child, I did go; and 1 wouldn’t have missed it for all the pea greep taffetas, this room could hold.” “Please tell her,” said Patience, “I can’t do it, ; I should die before I got through.’ I never pitied any body worse in my life, than I did Patience. Her eyes were all swelled up, and there was a red rim round them, and her cheeks were all ot a bluish white. I walked softly into the room, making as little noise as I could with my crutch, on the line, sott carpet. I had never seen Mrs. Shalee since she was sick, and I hardly knew her, her face looked so thin and white, and then she looked so sad and wistful out of her eyes, a kind of farewell look, as if she felt she was going to die. She held out her hand, and 1 was most afraid to touch it, so little and weak it appeared, at the side of mine. “Mrs. Shalee,” says I, “I don’t want to worry you, and I hope you won’t be angry but Patience” —here Patience burst out a sobbing, and I choked so, l couldn’t speak one worn. But presently I got my courage up, and told her the whole story, from beginning to end, without any palavering, and begged her to pardon Patience, as she expected the Lord Al mighty would pardon her at the judgement day 7 . I never shall forget her look, never, when I had finished. Do you think she was angry?” “Oh, no !” answered Estelle, “but sorry, very sorry. Was she not?” “Yes! her beautiful sad-looking eves filled with tears, as they fixed themselves on Patience, who stood by the side of the bed, with her apron ail over her face. Clasping her thin white hands together and lifting them upwards,” “Oh !” she cried, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, “of how little value is a silk dress, to ! me, lying as I am, on a dying bed. A white ! muslin shroud for m v body and a wedding gar ment for rny soul, is all 1 now ask of men or ; God.” ’ It was the scieinriest scene I ever beheld. It seemed as if an angel was speaking. She didn’t look as if she belonged to this world; | and I hardly felt that I was in it myself. ’There was something, I can’t tell what, that made Pa ’ tience take the apron from her face and look [ right at her. ; “Yes, look at me,” said the sick lady, in such ■ a gentle, mournful tone, the tears streamed from my eyes to hear her—“look at me, poor, de luded girl. What are beauty, dress, or admira tion to me ? Shadows, shadows, all vanished away ! ‘There is but one reality, and that is eternity. Remember this, when lam gone — and set not your heart on the passing vanities of earth.” “Oh, Mrs. Shalee”—interrupted Patience, in a burst of penitence and grief, “if you’ll only lor give me this time, I’ll never do so no more.” “I forgive you freely,” said the sick lady— “and may God open your eyes, to see the power of truth and the beauty.of holiness.” ( i “Estelle, I never forgot that morning—l never ! shall; old as lam now, and though that frail, 1 beautiful form is all dust and ashes, mingling with common dust—it comes back to me all alive as it were, as if but a day had passed since then. As I was leaving the room, she called me ; back to the bedside and said— “Y'ou are a good girl, Patty—l’ve heard Par son Broomfield speak of you, Patty ; I’m going to the land where the lame shall need no crutch, for the Lord God shall be their strength and their stay 7 .” Aunt Patty paused, and taking her handker chief from l*er pocket held it to her eyes. The memories of her youth rushed in such a full stream through the channel of age, that the vva . ters overflowed. Estelle, over whose sweet, j young face, a soft, solemn shadow Lad been | gradually stealing, laid her head on Aunt Patty’s ! lap and wept from sympathy. “Did she die, Aunt Patty* ?” “Yes, not many weeks after, she was laid in her grave, but l believe it ever a soul went to glory, hers did. It was the longest iuneral I ever saw. Every body followed her; the poor as well as the rich, and I don’t believe there was a | dry eye, when Parson Broomfield preached her j funeral sermon. Oh! he was a glorious man, Parson Broomfield was. I’ve heard good preach- , : ing since, but never any body that preached like j him. It seemed, when you were listening to ■ him, as if somebody was pouring oil all over I the soul—and he too, is singing the song of j Moses and the lamb ! ’ Again the waters of memory overflo wed, for the valves that close over the sensibilities of age are easily 7 opened. That beloved andven era ed nam i always touched a master chord ; and produced a long vibration. “What became of Patience 1 ” said Estelle. “Did she never get married 1” “I never saw any thing like children,” said i ; Aunt Patty, taking a larg pinch of snuff, from I the gold box, Mr. Selwyn presented her on his weduing eve. “They always ask such silly questions, as if all a woman was born and bred for was to get married. Why, some of the best women that ever lived are old maids, I just as lief speak it as not, and walk alone through the world scarring blessings every step they take. Ido think they are the most unselfish beings in the world, if they aint selfish, bt. Paul says it is better not to marry, but to live to glorify the Lord, and every body knows he was inspired and spoke with a cloven longue olf “7don’t mean to marry,” said Estelle, empir ically. “I think )you |are right, Aunt Patty, 1 . is better to be single. Frank asked me to wa j for him, but I wou dn’t leave you and morner , for any body, though I liked them ever so we , But you did not tell me about Patience. “Patience,” said her historian, ‘Svas an alterea girl, from the morning I told Mrs. Shalee abou the Taffeta. She gave up all her airs and hneiy, and though the girls in the village taunted her and called her by the nick name of * ea- GreenTaffetta,” she never talked back to them, but looked meek and sorry,remembering * hat : Mrs. Shalee had said to her. \ ou can t think how much prettier she grew, for the spirit that is in one makes a wonderful difference in tne looks. ! She did not care about going to any more dan ces, butthe young men waited on her to the sing ing’school as if nothing had#happened. She used to meet the young Frenchman there, for he staid about the village, and after awhile she ! walked home with nobody else but him. Ihe people began to talk and whisper, and said he wns making a fool of her, but one Sunday morning they were published, and in a month I more they were married, and I was at the wed ding, Patience hadn’t on one bit of finery, not ! even so much as areal flower, nothing but a plain, white dress, not so much as a lace tucker on it. Folks said she’d repent of her bargain, for he couldn’t be much, to marry a poor girl 1 like her. But he was a nice young man and made her a good husband, as far as I know ; he set up a sort of fancy shop and every one liked 10 buy of him, he bowed so much and had such a pleasant way of smiling and showing his I white teeth.” “Patty,” she used to say sometimes —“if it had not been for you —oh ! Patty, you’ve been a j good friend to me.” “ “I left the place when your mother married, and have never seen her since.” “How did you get this scrap of silk, Aunt Patty?” “I just cut a little piece from the top of the skirt, where it was turned under, that time f mended it for Patience—l didn’t call that any robbery.” “Oh no 1” cried the child ; “but here is a pret ty piece of purple satin. Whose was that ?” “Never mind now ; it’s getting sleepy time one of these days, perhaps, I will tell you all about it.” COLUMBUS, GA. Friday' morning, January, n, 1853 Mr. Stephens on Cuba. Mr. Stephens has made a very sensible speech on Cuba. We concur entirely with him, and we are right glad to do so for once. lie has no particular desire to acquire Cuba at this time, especially ns Spain is unwil ling to part with the Island ; but he will make no pledges for the future. “Let the future take care of itself.” He indulges, however, in a strain of congratulation over the “compromise,” which, we think, neither the j manner of its passage, nor the history of events since, at all justifies. The furor of abolition fanaticism has not at all abated since the occurrence of that auspicious ? event. Indeed, anew impulse has been imparted to it by the flood of abolition literature which has followed i the appearance of Mrs. Stowe’s infamous book; and, ! we doubt not, but that hereafter the power and inilu- I ence of this party will be more portentous and con- I trolling over the legislation of the country when occa sion offers for them to try their strength. Mr. S. congratulates the country that, by the pas sage of the compromise, the principle was established, that when a territory applies for admission into the Union, it may come in, with or without slavery, as the people in such territory may determine for themselves. Mr. S. admits that the “compromise” only covered the territory to which it applied ; but “the principle is much more comprehensive and of much greater value.” Doubted, Mr. S. Principles have been established in 1 a much more solemn manner than this one was, for the ; benefit of the South, which have been trodden under foot by a reckless Northern majority. Witness the Missouri compromise ; the fugitive slave law ; the ta ’ riff compromise; and the principle which was even ! engrafted into the constitution, that slaves should only | be taxed three-fifths of their value ; which one of them | has been respected ? Indeed, we deny that any principle was established by i the compromise. The North, with few exceptions, | voted against its most vital measures ; and even those ! few Northern statesmen who voted out and out for the I Utah and New Mexico bills, in which the principle is con ■ tallied, which Mr. S. regards of such moment, did so ] upon the avowed ground that God had stamped the ! Wilrnot Proviso upon every rock and valley of those i territories; and boldly expressed their determination Hfiever to admit another State into the Union which tolerated slavery in its limits. Such were the deciara | tions of Mr. Webster, the great leader of New Eng land, and, indeed, of Northern sentiment; and he came ; well nigh losing his popularity by the course he put - | sued in reference to those measures, And where angels i stumbled, men may well dare to tread, No ; the compromise settled no principle favorable to | the South ; and whenever occasion offers, vve venture | the prediction, that the North will trample Mr. S.’s i “guarantees” in the dust if it become necessary to effect j her selfish purposes. In God’s name, the farce of the compromise has been played long enough. Let us try to forget that j darlr chapter in the history of our native land, and turn j our eyes and energies to the building up in the South of ; a party of principle, which will, in the future, boldly meet and successfully resist the foul wrongs which are looming up in the future as the heritage of the South, j Election of Judge. At the request of highly respectable political friends in Randolph, we publish a call for a Democratic meet ing to nomiuate a candidate for .Judge of the South- Western Circuit. While professing to be a party man in the strongest sense of the word, neither the bounds of conscience, and in all that relates to our attachments to party friends, principles and organization, we feed : bound to express our regret at a movement which | tends to bring the ermine of the bench into the arena of political strife. We had supposed that the h ading object had in view by those who advocated a change in the mode of electing Judges, (a change which has our entire approbation,) transferring the election from the Legislature to the people, was to lift the Judgeship above the factions they had hitherto held, as the mere prizes and rewards of party fealty. We submit that nothing has been gained, in this particular, at least, if t these posts of Judicial dignity and responsibility are to be the goals of popularity and strength in a party con. flict. Wo are, therefore, sorry that our friends have started this movement. If to be initiated at all, we should have preferred to have seen it begun on the other side. Wo hope, therefore, that both parties will agree to a political amnesty in respect to the Judges’ elections. If, however, these offices afe to suffer th I common lot and be thrown into the arena of party com j bat:"if the mantle is not to he detur dignissimo, bu*- i ‘ j to the strongest and best party-man, we, of course, j shall enter the struggle on out* side and do our best Ur j our man, unless there should be a palpable difference in 1 favor of the opposing candidate in point of character and | qualifications. For we hold that, in an office like this, ! where the rights and liberties of the people are involved I party allegiance must give way to public interests. Mr. Clayton’s Letter. ! w e are bound, in justice to Mr. Clayton, to give his j communication a place in our columns, though there are many personal reflections in it which wa had rather had been left out of it. W e will admit a communication from Col. Winter ; bu t with this, the controversy must close, in our columns at least. I If this controversy shall end in enlightening the pub j lie as to the cause of failure, and probable issue of the ! suspension of the Bank of St . Mary’s, we shall not regret that it has found room in our paper. The South-West Georgian. j This paper is offered for sale. The reason assigned | by Mr. E. W. Allen, sole Proprietor , is that he has I “no inclination whatever to appear before the public in j any character, much less that of Editor.” A still i stronger one, we presume, may be found in a sen ten e | which we see in another part of the paper. It is this: j “Haying on hand a set of books with two years’ earnings j duly charged, vve are fearful to risk a third year on the i credit system, lest the (old) hooks might not hold all . i and the profits would not authorize the purchase of a j new one” There’s wit it) that sentence, though not ; much wisdom. j A venerable writer, in speaking upon buying and selling, uses the following quaint language . “It is naught, it is naught, saitli the buyer ; but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth.” See also the “Horse Swap” in the Georgia Scenes, which is the best commentary vve have seen on this text. News from California. The steamship Daniel Webster arrived at New Or leans Jan. 7, and brings news from California up to the loth Dee. Sacramento City and Marysville have been again inundated. Much damage was done. Shasta City, it is reported, has been destroyed by fire. Catharine Hays’ concerts were crowded nightly; i the first choice seat brought sllsO. It was purchased by the Empire Engine Company. Anew block of marble is being prepared for the Washington Monument. Two flouring mills are soon to be erected in the Township of San Jose. It is calculated that SOO acres of grain will be sowed in that township, and 500 in Contra Costa county. f Executions by vigilance committees were continued I at San Pedro. i | Flour was selling at San Francisco at 40 a $42 per : | bbl.; pork at 38 a S4O per bbl.; hams 18 a 20c. per I b,; lard IS a 20e. KewYcrk—Governor Seymour's Message. Oar State Legislature met tu Albany to-dayof wheH j Governor Seymour’s inaugural massage was reacß^Copie* l of the paper were received in this city j* io-davf— ; Prolixity is a ponderous feature of the document. The State of New York, it is true, is in many important respects i a nation in itself, yet vast as are its public concerns, one ; finds it exceedingly difficult to conclude that a clear and ! concise exposition thereof should lougitudinaily outrun : I even the average dimensions of a President’s “annual.”— 1 | It contains much important mformation however—in \ 1 a full and authentic history of the Empire State for and < i during the year of grace 1852. 1 subjoin a few of the , j most important items. l i The number of patients in tlTe State Lunatic Asylum ii Utica under treatment during the year was 825. Dis • charged in the same time, 400. The number of insane ! persons in the State in 1850 was 2,500. | The public funds devoted to educational purposes on 1 I hand on the 3Cth Septemder l ist amounted to $6,641,- i I 93092. Total amount pai l I'm* Common Schools during ‘ | the year, $2,249,814 02. ■ j The number of convicts in the State Prnon is 1,783 — , 1 an increase 0f69 upon the returns of the previous year, i The finances of the Stats are stated to be in an unsatis factory condition. The Governor refers to the Comptrol i Jers’ report, which shows that the expenses of the St. ■ Governor, for the fiscal year ending September-20th, 1852 i exceeded the revenue about $200,000, an .1 adds, that • unless the expenses of the State are curtailed* it must withdraw its benefactions to institutions of learning ! and asylums for the unfortunate subjects of mental and physical infirmities, or it must increase the amount of tax ( esjmposed Aft* the support of the Government. Fatal Eailroad Accident—Further Particulars. Narrow Escape of President Pierce—lnstant Death | of His Son—Mrs Pierce, with a Number of Pas sengers, seriously Injured- Boston, Dec. 6.—A frightful accident occurra on the Boston and Maine Railroad* about noon-day. whereby the life o r the President elect was greatly err j dangered, and his only son instantly killed. When near j th<- town of Andover, in Massachusetts, the train was thrown off the track by some obstruction, and precipita ted down an embankment twenty feet high, turning a sum j rnei setand falling upon a pile of rocks at the bottom of the embankment. The ears at the time were filled with i sengers, among whom were Gen. Pierce, his lady utni i only son, an interesting boy often years. Gen. Pierce was the first to extricate himself from the fragments of th ! ear, which was literally smashed to atoms; and thoug-a sound in limb, he complains of considerable pain in tl back, His son was instantly crushed to death. Mrs. j Pierce received a number of severe contusions, nene t ! which, however, are considered dangerous. Many other i passengers were badly bruised, and the down train hfc* just brought in six or eight ot the wounded. i lie Citizen of Andover were assiduous in their attentions to the sn.- fi-rers. Senator Hunter has returned to Washington from Vir ginia. Nothing definite had transpired iu regard !o tl cabinet.