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JOriLN HENRY SEALS, ) L UN COIN VEAZEY, ) NEW SERIES. VOL. I. WPIMd CRIMEU PUBLISHED EXCEPT TWO, IS THE YEAE, by JOHN H. SEALS. TERMS %1,00, in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year. RATES OF ADVERTISING. 1 square (twelve lines or le*s) first insertion,. .$1 00 Each continuance, 50 Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six lines, per year, f> 00 Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00 STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS. 1 square, three months, .. 5 00 1 sofliare, six months, 7 00 1 square, twelvemonths. 12 00 2 squares, “ “ . 13 00 8 squares, 11 “ 21 00 4 squares, “ “ .'...25 00 s3§C*Advertisements not marked with the number of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged accordingly. $3P = °Merchant3, Druggists, and others, may con tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms. LEG AX ADVERTISEMENTS. Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 500 Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 325 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 8 25 Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00 Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adrn’n. 5 00 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi anship, 8 25 LEGAL REQUIREMENTS. Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the of ten in the forenoon and three in the after noon, at the Court House in the County in which the property is situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a public gazette forty days previous to the day of sale. Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given at least ten days previous to the day of sale. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be published weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration must be published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin istration, monthly , six months —for Dismission from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of three rnonths. will always bo continued accord ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered. The Law of Newspapers, 1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscription. 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them until all arrearages are paid. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their newspapers from the offices to which they are di rected, they are held responsible until they have set tled the bills and ordered thorn discontinued. 4. If subscribers remove to other places without informing the publishers, and the newspapers are sent to the former direction, they are held responsi ble. 5. The Courts have decided that refusing to take newspapers from the office, or removing and leaving them uncalled for, is prima facie evidence of inten tional fraud. 0. The United States Courts have also repeatedly decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per son to take from the office newspapers addressed to him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher for the subscription price. JOB PRINTING, of every description, done with neatness and dispatch, at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All orders, it) this department, must be addressed to J. T. BLAIX. PKOSPECTTS * OF Tlir mmm criair, i ! [qFONDAM] TEMPERANCE BANNER. ▲ CTUATED by a conscientious desire to further the cause of Temperance, and experiencing great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals, we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of the fact that there are existing in the minds of a large poition of the present readers of the Banner and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties which can never be removed so long as it retains the name, we venture also to make a change in that par ticular It will henceforth be called, “THE TEM PERANCE CRUSADER.*’ This old pioneer of the Temperance cause is des tined vet to chronicle the triumph of its principles. It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fur nace ” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re appeared unscorched. It has survived the nempaperfamine which has eaused, and is still causing many excel r|r-■ journals and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex halations in the evening,” to rise no more, and it has even heralded the “death struggles of many contem poraries, laboring for the same great end with itself, ft “still lives,” and “waxing bolder as it grows older, is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In fero.lLiquorTr.fflc,” Ending like the “High Priest” of the Israelites, who stood between the people and Ahe plague that threatened destruction. * entreat the friends of the Temperance Cause to give us their influence in extending the usefulness < of t he paper. Wo intend presenting to the public a sheet worthy of all attention and a liberal patronage; for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal, we shall endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current events throughout the country. iarPrice, . Editor and Proprietor. Peaitaki, Da., Deo. Itß#. lebotcb to Cnnpmntcf, Moralttg, pteratare, (General Intelligence. Betas, For lh* Temperance Crusader. A TALE OF PRIDE AND SORROW. BY EMMIE EMERALD. “Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh Your change approaches, w hen all these delights Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe— More woe, the more vour taste is now of joy.” Milton. “Life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to 1k v wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness In the brain, * * * * s Bi t never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining—- They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder.” CoLEWIWiF. It was a lofty, sumptuous apartment, whoso four walls enclosed many a rare thing of art 41 ud beauty, wrought by the hands of the old masters: in every niche stood a statue of most perfect loveliness; glorious pictures and glittering mirrors iooked out from gilded frame*; soft carpet ing, fresh from oriental looms, lay ou the floor; and flowers that might have bloom ed in Staniboul, filled crystal vases, and made the air redolent, with their fragrant i perfume; silken sofas, richly carved chairs, | and embroidered ottoman? were scattered profusely around, and in the centre was placed a curiously and'beautifully shaped table of white marble, bearing on its polish ed surface, elegantly bound books, a basket of wrought silver, and other costly toys.— This room, with its exquisite embellish ments, was flooded with a golden radiance that poured through amber drapery, the satin folds of which shone beneath fleecy curtains of transparent lace, that, looped back with the heavier fabric, swept graee fully over the high windows. Near one of these, and where the stream of sunny light fell brightest, sat two persons—a gen tleman and lady—the former extremely handsome, and the latter beautiful as an eastern houri. Iler’s was of that order of beauty that is rarely seen, save at the balmy south. She was tall and queen-like in form and mein, with large and wouderously bril liant eyes, a low white brow, and cheeks tinted like the summer rose, if there was any defect in that fair face, it lived in the too haughty expression of the arched red lip, which led one to suppose that the lady possessed not that sweet humility which becometh her gentle sex. The other was a lit companion for that queenly woman ; he was somewhat a love the middle height, yet not very tall, and the. contour of his figure was elegant and grace ful in the extreme. T e lower part of his face was much bronzed, as if with travel and exposure to a tropical sun, while his forehead was fair and biue-veined as a mai den’s ; his eyes were of a deep azure, half veiled by long, curling lashes, which gave to them that steady, shaded expression so rare ly seen, and yet so beautiful. It was diffi cult to read the young man’s character from the lines of his face, for so many expressions were blended theio as to render it a hard, if not impossible task. The broad Shakspea renn brow, told of a noble intellect and open, generous nature, while the srnilethat curled his finely chiseled lips, gave evidence of pride and a sarcastic humor, but then again the eyes were soft and pensive, and the pe culiar cut of the chin denoted a grave, be nevolent turn of mind. This youthful pair ! were newly wedded, and indeed it was very 1 perceptible that they had not dwelt long j enough in the troubled vale of matrimony for ! love to put on his deshabille. Ernest Rivers sat on the same sofa that; supported the fairy form of his young wife, reading; but ever and anon he would lift his eves iroin the page he was perusing to glance at the portrait of himself that she was rapidly sketching ; at such times, a grave, sweet smile would pass across his haughty lip, and a fond look of Jove come into those shaded eyes. •‘Oh Ernest,” exclaimed his companion, as if with sudden recollection, and throwing aside, as she spoke, sketch book and pencil. “Oh Ernest, our favorite play is to be per formed at the tJieatre to-night; we really must not miss it.” Ernest laid aside his book, but ere he could reply the lady con tinued, “Now Ernest, you must not plead business as an excuse, for I intend to have I my own way for once, and you shall go, wil | ling or not.” i “Sweet one,” said he, taking her hand and imprinting a very lover-like kiss on the fair 1 palrn, “I would be only too happy and wil j ling to obey your behest, if it were in my ! power, but dearest, it is not, for I have an engagement to meet several gentlemen on very urgent business this evening, but to morrow I will be at your service, will not that do, sweet,” he added, soothingly, “But the play I wish to see will be per formed to-night, Ernest,” she said half pet tishly, “and by Miss L ,too; do, Er nest, postpone your engagement and go with mo, will you not,” she continued, ooaxingly. “That were impossible, dear one,” he re turned, “for the gentlemen leave the city in the morning.” “Well ” commenced Mildred, in a very, doleful tone, “But oh I” she exclaimed with a brightning face, “Marian intends going to night; I will write her a note and request her to call for me,” and springing up she ap proached the centre table, and taking from the wrought basket a delicately tinted sheet | she seated herself and prepared to write. I “Mr. Fitzgerald ia not at home,Mildred,” IWIELD, GA, SATURDAY, MARCH 22, 1856. remarked her husband, somewhat gravely, as he watched her movements. “Yes, I am aware of that, but Marion’s ; brother will be our escort.” Rivers started, and'an angry frown gath ered on his brow. “It is my pleasure, Aiadatn,” he said in a quite peremptory toffe, “nav, my positive command that you remain at home, tonight.” Mildred turned towards him hastily, arffi, with a haughty look and flashing eyes, “)kio not receive commands from any, s\xy she began in a proud, scornful tone, buj, Sudden ly checking herself, she continued, ait4r a pause, in a low voice of forced calmness, “My intention remains unaltered, Mr. Riv ers.” ( “Very well, Madam;” he spoke calmly, but his face grew stern and pale as he bent over the book he held. The lady again re sumed her pen, but her small white hand trembled so violently that she dashed it aside, and ringing the bell, gave the servant who appeared a verbal message to her Iriend Mrs. Fitzgerald, and then turned to leave the room—but on the threshold she paused, and glanced at her husband—a thousand recollections of his tenderness and regard for her trooped up to her heart, but pride, a most indomitable pride, waved them back, and whispered in her heeding ear, “He has no right to dictate thus to you,” and she passed out. “All that was grave, and fair, and all that was neither,” were gathered at the city the atre. It was a brilliant scene, for bright beauty lent its witching smile?, and wealth its jeweled magnificence, and glittering pomp, to render it so. It was a gay scene, too, withal; radiant lights were flashing, joyous music filled the air, and happy smiles wreathed every face. Among all the fair beauties who displayed their charms that night, there was one who slione like a bril liant star, brighter and lovelier than all oth ers; she was beautiful, beautiful as a poet’s dream; her cheek wore the hue of a strange brilliancy, and a most radiant light gleamed in her dark eyes, that fascinated like the Si rens of old. She was the life of a gay party, her laugh rang loud and clear, and her voice was glee some as the wild music of some woodland bird. Ah, who would have surmised that those sunny smiles were a bitter mockery, that those gay words choked down rising sobs, and that unbidden tears were ready to spring into those peerless eyes. Ah, truly, very truly did our noble bard sing of woman, “there is not a feeling out of heaven her pride o’ermastereth not.” Ernest Rivers sat alone in his gorgeously furnished apartment. The lute he held had fallen from his grasp and lay on the brilliant carpet, while he unheedingly plucked the velvet leaves from a rose that had silently dropped from the vase beside him. The ex pression of his countenance was much changed ; the softening lines had all faded away, leaving that face stern and strangely cold. When one by one, he had torn all the bright leaflets from the flower, he slowly scattered them around, and watched, half unconsciously their fluttering descent to the floor; then, as if wearied of this childish sport, he turned restlessly in his chair, and his head drooped on his arm. While he sat thus, one of the tall mirrors, “clear as’twere a door of air,” glided noiselessly back, and his fair voung wife stood within tJie room. (To be continued.) For the Temperance Crusader. EXTRACT FROM A LECTURE ON PHI LOSOPHY, Ddi lyrcd in ThommciUc. Get. BY JOHN M. DYSON. Respected Audience. —I could not pos sibly invite your attention, this , evening to a more interesting theme than Philoso phy. To the student who loves solitude and reflection, it possesses many endear ing Not the flight of more than twenty centuries, nor the long re gn of darkness during the middle ages, nor yet the absorbing utilitarian spirit of mod ern times, hath sufficed to diminish aught of its lustre. Originating with the first efforts of the human mind, to think, and render to itself an entelligible account of the causes and relations ot things, it is nothing less than the very jiedestal of civilization. Having its birth in the very adyta of nature, it is not less the language of reality, than of poesy to call it the child of the skies, ministering to man in all his efforts to multiply his power, and extend his dominion over matter. Men of business, whose lives are spent chiefly inaction, sometimes restrict the signification of the term, Philosophy, with in too narrow limits. They usually apply it to th t department ot knowledge alone, which has for its object the investigation of the laws of physics; whereas, its ety mology authorizes a more enlarged import. It is derived from the two Greek words phileo and sophia: the former meaning to love, and the latter, wisdom. Among the Ancients, it was employed to designate particularly that science, which ia chiefly occupied m determining such laws as govern the operations of thought; but it has come to be applied indifferently to natural science, theology, and inctapysics. Thus we speak of the philosophy of nature, the philosophy of morals, the philosophy of mind, and the philosophy of govern ment ; and with the utmost propriety; for, though, like the several species of man kind, each of these scieoes be distinguiaha ble by |*ecu]iaritb'S of its own, .yet, from their necessary correlation, they may till be claaeeduinder a few general principles which pervade the whole of them. The in vestigation of these principles we define to be philosophy. In other words it ia the science of knowing the truth. There is a limit imposed on philosophy, in thatjthe human mind beyond a certain {xvfnt, is incapable of pursuing further In vestigations on the same subject. Thus in respect to heat, we know its sources to bh the sun, friction, combustion, electric! ty, magnetism, and the ignition of the in terior of the earth ; we know that it exists in all bodies; we can explain the cause of its conduction, but of its real essence we know nothing; so with light. Wc know its prime source to be the sun ; we know how it is reflected; we can perceive its agency in the respiration of plants, and the phenomenon of vision, bnt we are ig norant of its substantial nature, and can not toll how it is propagated, whether in minute particles darting off in right lines, or in a series ofundulatory motions through the atmosphere. And who can solve the problem of the connection between mind and matter? It will, probably, ever re main a mystery to man. Other questions eonld be adduced to show how imperfect is all our knowledge, how unsatisfactory to the heaven bom aspirations of the soul. What though we reason high “0/ providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute?” We cannot shut out a sense of the finite; this is always present, and is the first pole of philosophy. But, although it is not given the intel lectual faculties to comprehend all things, they may understand something of all that exist. Both objective and subjective ex istence, both matter and mind, and even the attributes of deity, fall under their cognizance. The sphere of observation and reason is boundless. The whole uni verse, throughout the realm of space, is populous witii creatures varying in size from tlje smallest atom scarcely percepti ble through the most powerful microscope to the mighty planet that wheels with fear ful velocity in its regular orbit. Whether we turn our eyes to the canopy of the blue sky, and behold the myriads of stare shedding their selectee influence on the calm stillness of night, or confining our attention to this terrestrial globe, we con sider its diurnal and annual motion, its various phenomena of heat and cold, rain and snow, electricity and magnetism, the composition and the decomposition of substances; whether we descend into the bowels of earth, and contemplate the geo logic changes which have been going ou for ages, or inspecting ourselves, we exam ine the complicated mechanicians of man; on all sides, within and around us, abun dant material may be had for profitable study and reflection. Behold, on every hand, what a prodigious multitude and variety of objects, forces, motions, powers, fancies, thoughts, feelings, and agencies: to ignorance what unintelligible jargon 1 Yet, philosophy, in all this discord, is able to discover harmony ; in disorder, method; in anomalies, unchanging law ; and in ap parent confusion, to arrive at the last ana lysis of the reason of things. It investi gates, it discusses, it disengages, it collects, it systematizes principles, and bequatbs them as the.property of intelligence. Af ter ascertaining what exists, it is wont to find out the rational of its existence, and from the height of this great argument to view displayed in the bare bosom of crea tion the perfection of wisdom, even as Mo ses caught agliuqwe of the divinity from the mount. Thus does it move towards infinity, the second pole of philosophy, To be- exmtinned. THE HOME OF JEFFERSON. It was a pleasant afternoon in Novem ber, when I set out with a party to visit Montieello, tlie site of the residence and tomb of the Father of American Democra cy. After walking leisurely along for two or three miles, and toiling np the moun tain, upon the summit of which it is situa ted, we arrived at the place. The first object which attracted my attention, was the family cemetry. By climbing over a wall ten or twelve feet high, we reached the inside of the inclosnre-—the confused and dilapidated appearance of which, evinced the utmost inattention and neg lect. Mr. Jefferson’s tombstone is ad mirably in keeping with the principles which he advocated when alive. No gild ed sarcophagus holds his dnst; no impos ing monument marks the spot where he sleeps, but a simple block of granite, from a neighboring bed, is placed over all that was mortal, of the greatest Statesman America has ever produced. Upon the block is his name, the date of his birth, and of his death. A shaft of the same ma terial with the block, rises about four feet above it, and formerly bore the following inscription: “ Here lies the founder, oj the University of Virginia , and the originator of a bill in the General Assembly secunng religious freedom and This epitaph was en graved by his own order, but is now by the ruthless hand of thoughtless visitors, (who with a penchant for relics not easily accounted for,) have pecked off the comers and edges of the letter*, rendered totally illegible. This is ail that he, who more than any other, has left his impress upon our Government, wished to call to remem brance the deeds he had done, and point out his resting place to posterity-! And it is enough, for so long as there is one spot under Heaven, where the bird of freedoifi may plume his wing, the memory of Thom as Jefferson will be cherished; he will be forgotten only when liberty depreciates, and patriots are no more. Near him, are the grave? of his wire, and two daughters, the whole of his family. From thence we proceeded to the house, which is now owned and used as a summer residence by an officer in the United States Army. Upon a hand-board, posted in a conspicuous place, I observed this notice: “ Montieello is aprivale residence ,* none admitted except acquaintance# of the pro prietor f Ido not question a man’s right to the exclusive control of his own premi ses, but will leave you to draw the infer ence concerning the liberality and proprie ty of posting up such a notice. I did not choose to take the hint thus delicately thrown out, but applied to an old woman, who! learned kept the keys dnring the absence of the family. She .consented to show us through the house for 25 cents apiece. Think ot it? Jefferson’s resi dence the sul)jeet of such speculation!— The bnilding contains 18 rooms, and is upon a style of Princely magnificence. I passed through the hall, parlor, dining room, tea room, and various others, and finally came to the apartment in which the old hero breathed his last! The bed stead npon which be died, is still standing in the room. It was to me a hallowed spot. I saw a large assortment of natnral curiosi ties which he bad collected—also several works of art, among which was a bust of himself, anoter of Voltaire, various engrav ings, <fec. But an enumeration of the articles which I saw to interest me, would extend this communication to a tedious length. An.observant person could form an idea of the man from his home ; every thing about it is in accordance with his character. The dormitory built by him for his negroes, show the care which he had for their comfort and happiness-—the pains taken to secure which, is an infalli ble test of a man’s private character. The sun was sinking behind the blue ridge as I turned away. I took another look at his tomb —gathered some seeds fr<>m a ruse bush nigh it, and passed on ; and as I thought over the list of “earth’s great ones,” I could remember none whose claims upon immortality were more just. }h B. FANATICISM OF INTEMPERANCE, Then- is a. mystery in the actions of men. The infatuations which rule them, are strange-unaccountably strange. They will madly throng the hani-beaten path to the idol ear whose ponderous wheels have for ages crushed its millions into the dust.— The light of the ignis fatuus will attract them through the miasma of death-falls with a deadly heat upon the brow. Where the altars of blood are the reddest, they crowd and jostle to offer themselves as fresh victims. With a scornful laugh they will lift anchor and launch out upon a sea full of whirlpools, and npon whose wreck strewn shores there is no haven of safety or beacon to cheer. No star which ever cast its light upen earth, has wrought such ruin as that of ram. Its malign light has followed man from the cradle to the grave. Like a sirocco hot from the burning wastes lof hell and fiercely red with the glare of ruin, it blast? and withers the holiest and fairest things of earth. It burst upon an Eden, and all is a charred and blackened waste. It falls upon the -nobleman of earth, and the-Godlike specimen shrinks ami crisps into a grinning devil. It beams in upon a heme, and the fires of hell are kindled npon the broken altars, till even innocence in the cradle is consumed, and the ashes of all earth’s hopes are left upon the desolate hearthstone. Stars of the first magnitude pale and go down in night nn der the meteor scath of that lurid orb. The poet hath said: “ Faith—fanatic faith once wedded fast To some dear error, hugs it to the last” No where in the history of the universe of God, can there be found such fanaticism as that exhibited by a Christian people in clinging to the bloody altars of the rum traffic. And yet, unlike the heathen bigot, our people know better. They walk down to death amid the fresh-sodded graves of their kindred. Fathers cry out for the goddess of the Ephesians while npon her altars the blood of their own children is freshly smoking! Children stand in the deep-worn tracks of their fathers and at the same shrine offer up health, property, name, body and sonl. Brothers cling to the fatal cup whose clammy brim is yet reeking with the kiss of the dead. Reel ing from broken hearth and neglected grave, the husband grasps at the ‘‘death light” which has burned manhood from his rained soul. In our native county not long since, we witnessed this infatuation. One whose eldest born died in a far off land, and among strangers from the effects of his habits, raves like a roadman at the meas ure which aims to save the youth of our country. Another, a rumseller and equal ly as rabid, has three or four sons now drunkards. And yet another, his lips whitening with rage at the mention of the ( TERMS: Sl-OO IN ADVANCE. | JAMES T. BLAIiY l i*ni M: It. VOL. XXII.--NUMBEB 11. Maine Law, has a son who, last autumn, though a young man of talent, was aeen at the Five Point mission-house, begging a sixjmmw And yet again we have seen editors battling the benificient measure, and evidences living and dead, appealing to them for a far different course. Men are mad. They love to see humani ty drink, and reel, and die. By word and ballot they straggle to keep us from closing forever the floodgates of ruin. The drunk ards of the land with feebler and feebler stroke, beating the red waves around them, throw out their despairing arms in vain.— The wail breaking from the innocent and defenceless, is not heard. Rum mnst be sold—drnnkards be made and killed—and souls be damned. A worse and more re finedly devilish than heathen altar, must be loaded with its human sacrifice.. E <rth has no spot too sacred or tie too holy —the future no hope so dear—hut that all must be offered up that rum may be sold And yet the friends of the ram traffic talk about fanaticism! Is there no fanati cism here? God forgive the fratereidal band who, with red torch in hand, is seek ing to kindle consuming fires which shall leave our land desolate with home and -heart-wastes, and the future one of hope less night. —Cayuga Chief. SYDNEY SMITH ON TEETGTALISM. Sydney Smith, in spite of his reputation and habits as a diner-out, gives some very excellent advice on the subject of temper ance. In one of his letters, he says, he nev er knew a gentleman who ate or drank as little as was good for his health. In the fol lowing epistle to Lady Holland, he speaks still more decidedly in favor of abstinence from all fermented liquors: My Dear Lady Holland—Many thanks for your kind anxiety respecting my health. I not only was never better, but never half so well. Indeed, I find that. I have been very ill all my life, without knowing it. Let me state some of the good arising from abstain ing from ai! fermented liquors. First, sweet sleep; having never known what sweet sleep was—l sleep like a baby or a plow boy. If I wake, no needless horrors; no black visions of life: but pleasing hopes and recollections; Holland House past and to come ! If I dream, it is not of lions, and ti gers ; but of Easter dues and tithes. Se condly, I can take longer walks and make greater exertions, without fatigue. My un derstanding is improved, and 1 comprehend political economy. I see better without wine and spectacles than when I used both. Only one evil ensues from it; lam in such extravagant spirits that I must lose blood, or look out tor someone who will bore and depress me. Pray leave off wine—the stom ach quite at rest; no heartburn, no pain, no distention. THE RAINING TREE, The island of Fierro is one of the most considerable of the Canaries, and I conceive the name to be given it upon this account— that, its soil not affording so much as a drop of fresh water, seems to be iron, and indeed there is in this island neither river or rivu let, nor well nor spring, save that only to ward the seaside there are some wells, but they lie at such a distance from the city that the inhabitants can make no use thereof.— But the great Preserver and Sustainer of all, remedies this inconvenience by a way so extraordinary that man will be forced to sit down and acknowlege that he gives in this an undeniable demonstration of his wonder ful goodness. For in the midst, there is a tree which is the only one of the kind, inas much as it has no resemblance to any of those known to us in Europe. The leaves of it are long and narrow, and continue in constant verdure, winter and summer, and its branches are covered with a cloud, which is never dispelled, but resolving into a moisture,'causes to fall from its leaves a very clear water, and that in such abun dance that the cisterns which are placed at the foot of the tree to receive it, are never empty, but contain enough to supply both man and beast MEANNESS DOES NOT FAT. There is no greater mistake that a busi ness man can make than to be mean in his business. Always taking the half cent for the dollars he has made and is making. Such a policy is very lunch like the farm er who sows three pecks of seed where he ought to have sown five ; and as a recom pense for the meanness of his soul, only gets ten when he ought to have got fifteen bushels of grain. Every body bas heard of the proverb of penny wise and pound foolish. A liberal expenditure in the way of business is al ways sure to be a capital investment.— There are people in the world who are short sighted enough to believe their in terests can be best promoted by grasping and clinging to all they can get, and never letting a cent slip through their fingers. Asa general thing it will be found, oth er things being equal, that he who is most is the most successful in business. Os course we do not mean it to be infer red, that a man should be prodigal in his expenditures; if be is a trader, or those whom he may be doing any kind of busi ness with, that in all his “transactions as well as social relation*, he acknowledges the everlasting fact there can be no per manent prosperity in a community where benflts are not reciprocal.