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Prstellam).
STORY OP A HAUNTED HOUSE
In a very large, old-fashioned habitation,
perched on the brow of a beetling cliff, on
th® south coast of England, lived a widowed
lady and her children, with a large retinue
of servants, and every luxury that wealth
could give, but without the society of neigh
bors. The nearest town was several miles
off, and there were no country-seats near
them ; but the estate had been long in the
family, and, though rather lonely, it was a
favorite residence. The house had origin
ally been a castle; but had been so altered
and added to, that little remained of its for
mer appearance. Various rooms indicated,
by their furniture and the pictures on tho
walls, the time to which they belonged; and
long corridors led to many apartments nev
er used by the family. It did, however,
happen that a person was ill in one of those
distant rooms, and a nurse, who was watch
ing the sick woman, wi.s greatly terrified by
seeing the head of one of the old portraits
on the wall move like a living one. She
was sure that the eyes winked, and the head
moved up and down. She was transfixed
with terror, but controlled herself so far as
not to scream. When she recovered the
power of moving, she ran off to tell her mis
tress what she had seen, and that she could
not possibly return to that haunted cham
ber. Several persons went to the room,
but saw no motion in the old picture, and
the poor nurse was well laughed at for her
alarm. The next night the housekeeper
offered to watch in that same chamber, aud
she was sent screaming through the corri
dor by the same motion in the picture. The
sick person was now removed to another
part of the house, and the haunted cham
ber was locked up, and never used.
Some time after this occurrence the oldest
son returned from a long absence in the ar
my, and on hearing of the haunted chamber
he declared that he would find out if there
were any marvellous appearances, by pass
ing a. night there himself. His mother
and sisters tried in vain to dissuade him
from it; the young soldier chose to show
that he had no fear of ghosts or burglars.
He said he should not go to bed; he would
sit up armed, and have a bright wood fire
or a good lamp to read by.
The family retired, leaving him to what
they considered a use(pss vigil; but the
next morning he joined them, looking very
pale and haggard, and refused to say wheth
er any thing had occurred or not. He lock
ed up the room and forbade any one going
near it. In a few days he told his mother
that they must all quit that house, and live
elsewhere. She asked him if he was going
to bring a wife there, as the estate was his.
lie said no; tiiat he should pull down the
house, and raze it to the ground. “ That is
a new way to get rid of ghosts," said his mo
ther. “ This is to get rid of?what is worse
than ghosts," was his reply. But he re
fused all further explanation.
The old mansion was pulled down, and
many years after it became known that a
cave, under that wing of the castle which
contained the room, was used by smugglers,
who wished to frighten the family from oc
cupying the rooms above that cave, lest they
should hear the noises they made in carry
ing thcii brandy casks into it. One of the
gang had cut a hole through a thin partition
between toe chamber and a dressing room,
and made the aperture just behind a laige
portrait, lie had removed the painting
from the frame, had put himself its place, on
purpose to frighten the family, and make
them think the chamber was haunted
This plan succeeded so well that the smug
glers would have kept that part of the cas
tle uninhabited, had it not been for the con
duct of the sou and heir of* tho house.
When he was watching there, and occupied
with his book, two smugglers entered sud
denly through a trap-door in the dressing
room, and presenting their pistols to his
breast, ordered him to remove from the ta
ble where his arms were laid. A third and
fourth man entered and disposed of them.
They then told him that they were smug
glers, aud used a cave underneath, and
swore they would carry him off aud kill him,
unless he took an oath neve*’ to speak of
what happened that night, and to pull down
the whole house— Mrs. Farrar's “Recol
lections of Seventy Years.
From the National Baptist.
A Minister’s Wife in Minnesota.
11 Half the world do not know how the
other half live.’’ I was reminded of this
truism recently while reading an extract
from your paper, under the head of Minne
sota. It was there mentioned as a marvel
that a Baptist sister came out to meeting,
four miles distant, with an ox team, and
thence it was urged that good pastors should
hasten from their eastern homes and preach
the word to those so eager to hear it. Pos
sibly, some good brothei may have heeded
the call and may even now be looking west
ward. To such a one the inside of a Min
nesota parsonage may present an object of
interest. A pastor has been six years on
the field, preaching when he can and labor
ing for his own support meanwhile. Below
is such a journal as his wife would keep (if,
indeed, she took the time to record her own
labors,) of a few days in harvest. And this
is a fair sample of the entire year, or per
haps, we might say, of the entire six years.
Thursday , Aug. 24^4.—Terrible heat.
Harvesters can remain only two days longer.
Wheat only half stacked, and oats ”yet
standing. Husband must go to his appoint
ment. . I half wish he would not go, yet I
know it is wicked to have such a thought.
Trust in the Lord and do good and verily
thou shalt be fed.” 3
Friday , 25 th. —Two acres of the oats cut
down yesterday, I have to day bound with
my own hands. So much is safe. The
poor horses will not go hungry this winter
as heretofore. Thanks for strength to la
bor ! We cannot hire this done, and unless
I gather the grain inyself it must perish as
it has done before. This toil roughens me,
yet does not render me the less acceptable
to those whose good I seek.
th. —Late this moruing my husband
left for his appointment, fifty miles distant.
How lie will get on in this terrible heat I
do not dare to think. I cannot bind oats
to-day. Again and again 1 have braved the
heat to no purpose. Thermometer over 100
in the shade aud not a breeze stirring. The
pressure on my brain is like that which
preceded my fever a year ago. I cannot die
now, for life is so sweet to me.
Sabbath , 11th. — Blessed day for the la
borers, worldly toil and worldly care alike
disposed Oi. Ihe cooler rays of the morn
ing sun come trembling through vine-clad
window and door-way. My daughter piled
up the pillows on the lounge aud said,“ now
mother, you can rest" The cool, shady
room, the piles of Sunday books and papers,
the couch and arm-chair, never seemed so
tempting as now. But the “ rest that re
maineth " is the only one that I can call
my own.
I rode to my Sunday school, four miles
on horseback, without a saddle. This opens
at noon. My little daughter turned her
face so imploringly to mine this morning
with the question, “ must I watch cattle
Sunday, too V* that I could not b tar to
leave her to her task alone ! so, taking her
behind me, I rode to the corn-field and re
mained with her till compelled to hasten to
my Sunday school. Meridian heat intense.
Ihe same headache, same faint-, weary feel
ing as yesterday. The.sight of the group of
scholars and the glad shout “ The teacher
has come," dissipated weariness and relieved
pain. The rude boys, unaccustomed to con
trol elsewhere, drop quietly in and listen
breathlessly while 1 teach them of God and
heaven. Thirty little immortals all ready
to learn, and none to instruct them but my
self. Surely duty lies Imre. I hastened
back to the corn-field and gathered up the
troublesome cattle and drove them to their
own homes, where their owners, unwilling
to watch them at other times, keep them in,
while their own children are taught in Sun
day school. This meets at 5, P. M. Here
both my children attend, the one to teach,
the other to sing; for my wild pupils in this
school are tempted from their Sunday sports
mainly by song. Sunset comes on. The
loving “good-night, teacher,’’ resounds from
bluff to bluff as wo return to our home. How
weary and how rested I am !
Monday, 28th. —At the oats again. Able
to put up only 300 sheaves, yet thankful for
so much.
Tuesday , 29/ft —Started before dawn for
the oat-field again. The grain is so dry
that it must be bound while the dew is on.
Finished early, and waited patiently for my
husband’s return. This hard work troubles
me, but so loDg as we persist in preaching
the gospel at our own charges, there is no
other way to get od. Yes there is! We
might itinerate through the field and be fed
and clothed by our parishioners, trusting our
old age to the care of Providence. But I
cannot abandon the education of my chil
| dren. -Sly boys, heaven holds. For my
! two daughters I hope long aud useful lives;
j and to this end they must be carefully and
thoroughly trained. For this lam cunfent
to toil. At 4 o’clock, P. M., my husband
came home, having rude forty-five miles on
a single biscuit. No one thinks of meeting
his expenses. We!!, the Master expressly
told us when he sent us to these by-ways to
hid men to the gospel least, “ They cannot
recompense thee, but thou shalt be recom
pensed at the resurrection of the just." Wc
can afford to wait. B.
A LESSON FOR LADIES.
We listened a week ago, to a touching
funeral sermon over the body of a young
woman who had suddenly died in conse
quence of having fifteen teeth extracted. She
was youthful, plump, active, full of vitality
and overflowing with vivacity, but her teeth,
though good enough in quality, were not
so comely in appearance us she thought de
sirable. To think, was to decide with her,
to decide was to act. Forthwith she pro
ceeded to a dentist, and had ten defective
masticators drawn. But this was not suf
ficient. She was resolved to have a com
plete set of artificial teeth in her mouth of
solid make and handsome asDoct, Five
sound teeth should not stand iu the way of
the accomplishment of her desire. The
dentist remons'rated. “Save at least your
eye-teeth,” said he. But no; she was con
fident that she could endure the pain, and
she would not be baulked in her enterprise.
Out came the teeth. She did endure the
pain, and like a heroine. She went home
rejoicing in her courage and in the success
ful result of her adventure. But she little
dreamed of the consequences. Being a
woman of powerful will and vast self-control,
she had nerved herself by an almost super
human effort to the task set before her; but
the reaction bad yet to come. The over
strung nervous system, when it began to re
lax, gave way in a gush. Complete pros
tration followed. A long-concealed organ
ic disease of the heart suddenly developed
its mischievous character. Death quickly
came upon her, two or three hours after her
rejoicing; and before the teeth could be
completed that were to beautify her mouth,
her friends followed her corpse to the grave.
—Home Journal.
■ ' ■■■-■ « ♦ ■»--»» »■■■ -
Puzzle in Ancient Philosophy.—
Among our famous ancient dialectic prob
lems are the following dilemma’s, which are
framed with wonderful ingenuity, the acute
ness displayed in their construction being
unsurpassed. The fiist is Sillogismus
Crocodilus, and may thus be stated; —An
SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.
infant, while playing on the bank of a river,
was seized by a crocodile. The mother
hearing its cries, rushed to its assistance,
and by her tearful entreaties obtained a
promise from the crocodile, who was obvi
ously of the highest intelligence, that he
would give it hack to her if she would tell
him truly what would happen to it.—On
this, the mother perhaps rashly asserted:
“You will not give it backs’ The croco
dile answers to this : “If you have spoken
truly, I cannot give the child back, without
destroying the truth of your assertion; if
you have spoken falsely I cannot give the
child back, because you have not fulfilled
your agreeament. Therefore I cannot give
the child back, whether you have spoken
truly or falsely.” The mother retorted :
“If I have spoken truly, you must give back
the child by virtue of your agreement. If
I have spoken falsely that can only be when
you have given back the child. So that,
whether I have spoken truly or falsely, the
child must be given back.’’ History is si
lent as to the issue of this remarkable dis
pute.
The Worn-out Mother.
Not long since, a good-looking, well-dress
ed man, in middle life, came to our door
asking for “the minister." When informed
that he was out of town, he seemed disap
pointed and anxious. On being questioned
as to his business, he replied, “I have
lost my mother, and, as this place used to
be her home, and my father lies here, we
have come to lay her beside him.”
My heart rose in sympathy, and I said,
“You have met with a great loss.”
“Well, yes,’’ replied the strong man,
with nes’.tancy; “a mother is a great loss
in general, but our mother had out-lived
her usefulness; she was in her second child
hood, and her mind had become as weak
as h' r body, so that she was i|p comfort to
herself, and was a burden to everybody.
There were seven of us, sons and daughters,
and as we could not find anybody, willing
to board her, we had to to keep her among
us—a year about. But I’ve had more than
my share of her, for she was too feeble to be
moved when my time was out, and that was
more than three months before her death.
But I must say she was a good mother in
her day, and toiled very hard to bring us
all up.”
Without looking again at the hcarthless
man, I directed him to the house of a neigh
boring pastor, and returned to the nursery.
I gazed on the merry little faces which
smiled or grew sad in imitation of mine—
those little ones to whose ear no word in
our language is half so sweet as “mother,”
and wondered if that day would ever come
when they would say of me, “She has out
lived her usefulness; she is no comfort to
herself and a burden to everybody else.” I
hope that ere such a day dawns, I may be
taken to my rest.
God forbid that I should outlive the love
of my children I Rather let me die while
my heart is part of their own, that my grave
may be watered with their tears, aud my
love linked with their hope of heaven.
W hen the bell tolled for that mother’s
burial, I went to the sanctuary to pay
a token of respect to the aged stranger; for
I felt that I could give her memory a tear,
even though her own children had none to
shed. u‘
“She was no comfort to herself and a bur
den to everybody else, though I must say
she was a gaud mother in her <lay, and
toiled hard to bring us a)L v)) /” These
crncl, heartless words rang in my ears as
the coffin was borne up the aisle. After all
her toil and weariness, she had ceased to be
profitable toher earth craving, money-grasp
ing children. There she lies now in the
coffin, cold and still, she makes no trouble
now, demands no love, no soft words, no
tender little offices. I thought (it might
be fancy,) that her marble features wore a
look of patient endurance—au expression
of grief for unrequited love.
When the bell ceased tolling the strange
minister rose in the pulpit. His form was
erect and his voice strong, but his hair was
silvery white. He read several passages of
Scripture, expressive of God’s compassion
to feeble man, and especially of his tender
ness when grey hairs are on him and his
strength faileth. After some touching re
marks, he leaned over the desk, and gaz
ing intently on the coffined furm .before
him, said reverently, “From a little child
I have honored the aged, but never till grey
hairs covered my own head did I know
truly how much love and sympathy this
class have a right to demand of their fel
low-creatures. Now, I feel it. Our moth
er,” he added most tenderly, “who now
lies in death before us. was a si ranger to
me, as are all these her descendants. All
I know of her is what her son told me to
day —that she was brought to this town from
afar, sixty-nine years ago, a happy bride;
that here she passed most cf her life, toil
ing as only mothers have strength to toil,
until she had reared a large family of sons
and daughters ; that she left her home here,
clad in the weeds of widowhood, to dwell
among her children; and that, till health
and vigor left her, she lived for you, her
descendants. You who have shared her
love and her care know how well you have
acquitted her. God forbid that conscience
should accuse any of you of ingratitude or
murmuring on account of the care she has
been to you of late. When you go back to
your homes, be careful of your words and
your example before your own children, for
the fruit of your own doing you will surely
reap for them, when you yourselves totter
on to the brink of the grave. I entreat
you as a friend, as one who has himself en
tered the ‘evening of life,’ that you may
never say in the presence of your families,
nor of heaven, ‘Our mother had outlived
her usefulness; she was a burden t’o us.’
Never, never; a mother cannot live so long
as that! No; when she can no longer la
bor for her children, nor yet care for herself
she can fall like a precious weight on their
bosoms, and call forth, by her helplessness,
all the noble, generous feelings of their na
tures. Adieu, then, poor toil-worn mother;
there are no more sleepless nights, no more
days ot pain for thee! Undying vigor and
everlasting usefulness are part of the inher
itance of the redeemed. Feeble as thou
was on earth, thou wilt be no burden on
ie osom of Infinite Love, but there shalt
thou find thy longed-for rest and receive
glorious sympathy from Jesus and his ran
somed fold/’
A SURPRISED FATHER.
A fine, looking man, of noble physique,
and clad in overcoat, gloves aud stout boots,
was wa.king out the other day with his lit
tle three year-old daughter, a pale-faced
child, . with bare arms, and morocco slippers.
A neighbor meeting them, began to ask
with great apparent concern after the fa
ther’s health, adding,
. “Lut I m glad your little one does not
inherit your feeble constitu ion.”
“Feeble constitution !" exclaimed the as
tonished parent. “Why, I was never sick
a day in my life, while, as to my daughter,
wo fear she has her mother’s consumptive
tendencies."
“Indeed," replied bis friend, with a sly
twinkle of the eye, “You took such extra
care to protect yourself from the cold, while
she goes barenecked and in pas f eboard shoos,
I inferred that it was you that inherited the
mother’s consumptive tendencies, and not
she."
o-
OUR ANTIPODES.
Jatan is a country of parodoxes and
anomalies. They write from top to bottom,
from right to left, in perpendicular instead
ot horizontal lines. Their books begin
where ours end. Their locks turn from left
to right. /Their day is our night. Shops
go to customers. People sit on their heels.
Horses’ heads are where their tails would
be in an English stable, facing the entrance,
the food hung from the roof iu a baskst.
Their old men fly kites, while the children
gravely look on; the carpenter uses bis
plane by drawing it to him ; their tailors
stitch from them; they mount their horses
from the off side ; the hells to their harness
are always attached to their hind-quarters
instead of the front; ladies black their teeth
instead of keeping them white; their hair
is turned back from the face, which is
elaborately painted arid powdered; and
their anti-crinoline tendencies are carried
to the point of interfering not only with the
grace of movement, but with all locomotion,
so tightly are the lower limbs, from the
waist downward, girt round with their gar
ments. Top-spinning is followed as a pro
fession. They indulge iu frequent and loud
exultations, as evidence of a good meal.
Their pocket is their sleeve. They wipe
the face with a nice square of paper, aud
carefully fold the envelope into the sleeve,
or give it to an attendant to throw away.
Their music is without melody ; their land
scapes without, perspective light or shade;
their figures without drawing—mere crude
colors and grotesque forms dancing in mid
air, without ground to rest on. They have
bank notes of the value of a farthing. They
have long perfectly understood the utiliza
tion- of sewerage, and the manufacture of
paper, not. from rags, but from bark of' trees,
of which they have sixty-seven different
kinds, all with different uses. They use no
milk or animal food; horses and oxen and
cows are employed for purposes of draught
only; the flowers have no scent, tho birds
no song, and their fruits and vegetables no
flavor.
From t .e Evening Mirror.
Humbug!
This is an age of humbug—arrant, unblush
ing, transparent humbug. The people of the
South have just come out of a four years’ war
penniless ami well nigh ruined, and it was to be
j hoped that, necessity, if not good sense, would
[ have taught them the importance of making
good use of the little ready money at hand.
But the abstinence of the four years past, in
stead of teaching them wisdom, seems to have
whetted their appetites, and they are biting at
every species of humbuggery with an avidity
almost unparalleled. The papers o ’ the South
are filled with advertisements of circuses, con
certs, magicians, and all sorts of mountebanks—
of gift enterprises, sewing machines, reaping
machines, new fangled plows, patent ; ills and
lotions, et id omne genus, and our Northern
friends , much to their own surprise no doubt,
are reaping a rich harvest from a people whom
they have been fighting and robbing duriagfthc
war, and from whom they now propose to take
what little is left, iu away not less criminal than
at the point of the bayonet.
Is it not strange that our people will not
learn wisdom by experience ? These traveling
shows, to say nothing of their immoral ten
dency, are made up of men who were either
part and parcel of the Yankee army of inva
sion, or would have been if they had had the
courage to face honest men on the battlefield.
Nine-tenths of the labor-saving inventions which
are sought to be put upon the people of the
South are miserable failures, which the shrewd
farmers of the North will have nothing to do
with. A large majority of the patent nostrums
which Southern newspaper publishers advertise
to the world, frequently at lower rates than they
charge their own townsmen, are utterly worth
less But the most bare-faced, unblushing,
ridiculous humbugs in the land, are the gift
enterprises, which promise so much and do so
little. How in the world any sensible man can
be taken in by them, is a mystery to us. They"
propose to sell for one dollar what purports to
be worth ten or a hundred dollars. One con
cern in New York has sent us its advertise
ment for publication, but we have notified it
that our columns are not open to that kind of
advertising. This establishment proposes to
sell $500,000 worth of jewelry, pianos, etc., no
article worth less than $5, while some are said
to be worth SI,OOO. For twenty-five cents,
they agree to send an envelope entitling the
holder to someone of these articles, and after
he has opened it, and ascertained what it is to
draw, on sending an additional dollar to these
philanthropic individuals, the article will be
forwarded to the fortunate holder of the lucky
envelope. Now, does any sane man suppose
that this concern can afford to pay store rent in
New \ork city, and advertise extensively in the
newspapers, and then sell an article worth not
less than $5, and probably SI,OOO, for $1 25?
Is it not evident that they arc either uubl tshing
swinulers, and intend to keep your money when
you send it to them, without making anij return
whatever, or that the jewelry they propose to
sell is pinchbeck, and worthless ! And yet, we
dare say, thousands of dollars from the South
go to these and just such vagabonds every day.
to say nothing of what goes into the pockets of
similar establishments in our midst.
Planets Destroyed.— The bel es that this
world is ultimately to de destroyed by fire is
supported by the discovery that such a sate
has betalleu far larger planets ib«n ours.
I rei:ch astronomeis as-ert that no ft wer
than fi teen hundia and fixed strr a In ve van
ished Horn the firmament within the last
three hundred years. Tycno Brahe gives
an interesting- account of a brilliant s.ar of
toe largest siz ?, which on account of its sin*
guiar radianc'*, had become the suecia! ob
ject of his daily observation for several
months, during which the shir gradually bt -
came paler, until its final uisappearat ce.
La P;ace states that one of the vanished
fixed stars of the northern hemisphere af
forded indubitable evidence of having been
com timed by fire. At first the star was a dsz*
zlintr white, next of glowing red and yellow
lusire, and finally it became pale and ashen
color. The burning of the star lasted six
teen months, when this sunny visitor, to
which perhaps a whole series of planets may
have owed allegiance, finally departed and
became invisible forever. —Louisville Demo
crat.
Stature. —A French savant argues that Adam
was one hundred and twenty-three feet, nine
inches tall, and Eve one hundred and eighteen
feet, nine and three-fourths inches. This is
akin to the Mohammedan fables, which repre
sent, our first parents of such prodigious stature,
that when Adam stood with one foot on the top
of a mountain in Ceylon, the other was in the
sea, and that w,ben Eve lay with her head on
one hill near Mecca, her knees rested on two
others in the plain, about two musket shots
asunder.
A Copious Language. —The Arabic language
is one of’the most copious and iacile known.
The alphabet has 29 letters, and there are 150,-
000 words in the language; whereas, in the
English language there are but 65,000 words.
In some respects, however, it is too copious.
For the sword there are 150 names ; for an old
woman, 160; for the hyena, 120; and for the
lion, camel and horse, even more. It is said
that a great. Arabic poet is only expected to
write fifty or sixry lines ; hut this would seem
hardly probable, with such a copious language.
Bishop Potter, of New York, in a recent
sermon, was very severe on operatic singing in
the Episcopal churches of New York city. The
whole thing, he said, had become a scandal; it
Was time to speak out about it, and it was time
it was suppressed. The prayer-book contained
an abundance of beautiful and impressive
hymns, suited to every stage of life, and these,
he said, should'be used.
ikiictj).
In a certain parish in Yorkshire, not long
since, an old clergyman, who had got a strong
lunged curate, observed that one of his hearers
was becoming railier irregular in bis atiend
ance at church. Os course the divine felt it
his duty to visit the backslider, and he accord
ingly went, to the house, but tho gudeman was
not in. He inquired of the wife why John was
so seldom at church now. “Oh, - ’ she replied,
without the least hesitation, “that your.g man
you’ve got roars sae loud that John canna sleep
sae comortable as he did when preaching yer
stdf sae peaceably.’’
A Frenchman on coming to America, and
finding himself utterly unobserved, no official
asking for his passport, no policeman dogging
his steps, no mayor demanding his business,
feir. sad and lonely, and exclaimed that he was
made “no more of than if he was a latle dog.”
A mm proves himself fit, to be higher who
shows that he is faithful where he is. A man
that will not do well in his present place be
cause lie longs to be higher, is tit to ba neither
where he is nor vet above it.
The heaviest fetter that ever weighed down
the limbs of a captive is as the web of the gos
samer compared with the pledge of a man of
honor. The wall of stone and the bar of iron
m iy be broken, but the plighted word never.
“ Arc these pure canaries?” a*ked a gentle
man of a bird dealer with whom he was negotia
ting for a “gift for his fair.” “Yes, sir,” said
the dealer confidently, “ 1 raised them ’ere birds
from canary seed!”
Rats are now killed by electricity in Paris’
Bits of meat and sugar are placed on wires in
connection with an electric battery ; the rats
nibble and are forthwith killed.
Childhood knows only the innocent white
roses of love ; later they become red, and blush
with shame.
nmmmmmmmmcamm mmEmmmmmmmmmummcmmmmamammmmmnHnaammmmmmmm
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
For a square of twelve lines or less,
One insertion, .SI.OO
T a o insertions, 1 75
Three insertions, 2 50
Four insertions..... 3 25
Five insertions 4 00
' Two montns 600
Three month.*, (13 weeks) 9.00
At the same rates f>r any number of squares, and
for any length of time.
Professional Car is of six lines $lO for six months.
Adv. rti-*' ments instrted at intervals to be charged
as new adv« rtisements-
Adverti*emrnts erde ed to be published on any par
ticular page, to be charged a* new, each insertion.
The money for advertising to be considered duo af
ter the first insertion.
Advertisements out of the city must be accompan
ied by the money.
Advertisers may state hoiv many squares they wish
used, and for what time , and can thus determine by
the above rates how in ch money to sent’.
T e space occupied by twelve lines in the type
which this notice is set, is considered one square.